《A Journey of Black and Red》 Chapter 1: Cruel Genesis Where¡­ where am I?I take a deep breath in, which promptly turns into a coughing fit as I spit¡­ something on the ground. ! Disgusting. This is entirely too disgraceful. I hope there is no one around to witness my shame! The thought is born and dies in an instant. I struggle to remain calm, but I can already feel the onset of panic. I smell dampness, old stones, and rust. This is not my bedroom, nor is it any hospital I would be sent to. What has happened? I am lost. The stone bricks I can see through my waterfall of blonde hair are oddly well-defined, as if the distance did not affect my sight. Darkness is now just deeper shade instead of an impenetrable veil. I can hear individual sounds of dripping water and groaning wood with perfect clarity instead of as background noise. The air smells of dampness and iron and the taste on my tongue is as cloying as it is distracting. Every sensation is magnified, and each one catches my attention briefly before another one takes over in a disorienting dance. Soon, the sensory overload grows into a stabbing pain just behind my eyes. I feel sick. I need to understand. I take stock of my situation and shiver in fright. My wrists are shackled. My legs are on the floor, the skin scraped raw. I feel the coarse fabric of a simple tunic on my shoulders and¡­ Oh, I am not wearing undergarments! Someone may have seen me without... I cannot bear the thought. I twist a bit and feel wet hair plastered to my skull, falling to my shoulders. I see my legs, coming out of a rough piece of fabric. They are even paler than usual and dotted with red spots, which I realize is blood. The very same blood I spat earlier. I breathe deeper to control my fear. I shall not break down. I shall not scream. I am no tender flower from Charleston to faint at the mere sight of the crimson liquid. I am made from sterner stock! My fear does not recede, yet I am once more in control of myself. I do not know exactly the predicament I find myself in but I know that panic shall not help. I will not succumb to it. Wary, I continue my inspection. Bare walls of the ubiquitous grey stone and a single massive door with a barred window. Is this a farce? I am in a dungeon! I must be dreaming. Yes, this is a dream and I am still asleep. Or perhaps I am quite mad, and this is one of those ¡°hospices¡± I have heard so much about, and what is this? I am wearing rags! Even slaves would not wear such a thing! I swear, I will get to the bottom of this, or my name isn¡¯t¡­ My name isn¡¯t¡­ I am¡­ Cannot focus. My thoughts are a jumble of impressions and emotions, of needs I do not understand. They slip away before I can grasp them fully. I shake my head and bite my lips to clear them, to no effect. Nothing works. I cannot recall my name. I must recall my name. Unbidden, my mouth opens and the sound escapes. ¡°A¡­Ariane¡± The pain! I bend forward as much as I can while my throat burns me. Soon, the agony extends to my stomach and tears me from inside. My mind blanks from the sheer intensity. This is a hundred times worse than anything I have ever felt. God please, make it stop. Make it stop! Someone, anyone! And it seems someone listened to my prayer. I can hear the clang of a door open far in front of me. Three sets of footsteps approach. Faster, I beg you! ¡°Told ya I heard something. Sun just set, so it¡¯s possible.¡± Despite the lack of any light source, I can see with great clarity the face of my would-be savior, and now I know for sure that I am doomed. This man looks like a highwayman. Why, if I met him in the street, I would immediately flee and call for the nearest guard. He has unkempt black hair and a greasy beard that he must not have trimmed in months! Yet even then I could take him for a laborer were it not for a pair of insane blue eyes that freeze my very soul. The man smiles and displays a full set of uneven teeth. How very chilling. And yet I know with certainty that this man could help me, were I not stopped by a strange feeling. This man already belongs to¡­ someone else. And I would be better off not touching him. I know I should be curious, but the pain is making me dizzy. The second man is not white. He is not unlike some of the coolies who help dig the train tracks, with the same golden skin and slanted eyes, and yet to compare them is to compare a Pomeranian with a wolf. His arms bulge with muscles and his expression is fierce indeed. I can tell from his posture that he is a fencer, or a pugilist of sorts. He moves with the grace of a predator, and once again a strange feeling washes over me. I know with certainty that this man is dangerous beyond his appearance. He has a cold aura to him, and he cannot help me. The third man can. s?a??h th? N?v?l(F)ire.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. I feel joy and warmth fill my chest. Yes! This man is a captive like me, an adolescent with a lost look. He wears the clothes of a smith, or perhaps a cooper, and a thin chain hangs from his neck. He can make the pain stop; I just know it in my heart. And so, I . And I stop. I look in confusion at my stretched arms but of course, silly me. I am still in chains! Heavy locks of a silvery metal join my wrists to the wall in two taut lines. I am trapped. ¡°Wow! A feisty one heh? Come on, give her the boy.¡± The Asian man frowns. Our eyes meet and there is a hint of sympathy in his rugged features. He pushes the young man towards me. My left hand brushes the boy¡¯s collar. Yes! Yes, finally, I am saved! I drag my hero closer and breathe in his neck. Oh, this delicate bouquet, like an exquisite wine from a perfect year, so rich and intoxicating. I am losing my mind. My canines brush his skin, pierce the flesh. Something thick and sweet brushes my tongue. The world explodes in ecstasy. I have no words. For an eternity, nothing exists. Nothing but heavenly pleasure that rolls and roils and boils and drowns. I die and I live again, and I die once more. The wave of felicity ravages my very being and shatters my psyche. If this is half as good as lovemaking, I understand women who find themselves with child out of wedlock. This is good enough to sell one¡¯s soul. I love it. Love it, love it, love it. I wish it never stopped. Alas, at some point, it does. I do not know how long it takes but when the tide recedes, I know peace and the certainty that all is right in the world. How peculiar. No amount of prayer has ever brought me to such heights. I am touching on the realm of the divine! I release the young man who flops on the ground. He can no longer help me and worse, he smells terrible! The creepy man chuckles and drags the adolescent¡¯s chain to pull him out of my reach, as if I were an animal. How rude! I frown in disapproval. ¡°What¡­¡± my voice croaks ¡°What is the meaning of this?¡± How I wish I could convey my outrage at being held like this! Not even a bucket of water, or a chamber pot! Am I to live like a beast? I do not want to think about it. I do not want to think about a great many things. The smaller, white man jumps in surprise and even the Asian guardian lifts an eyebrow. What is wrong with them? Did they expect me to cower, to beg? ¡°Well, Milady. Forgive this humble Baudouin, heh? Did not expect ya to be so¡­¡± I huff with impatience and address his companion. ¡°How about you, warrior, care to explain why I am being held so?¡± While Baudouin is flustered, this one seems barely amused. ¡°It is for your own safety.¡± ¡°My safety? I will be secure when I am unbound and at home, you rogue! What will it take for you to release me?¡± Baudouin interrupts me, apparently miffed at being ignored. ¡°Don¡¯t ya worry your cute little head, Lady, you¡¯ll be released soon enough.¡± ¡°I¡­ I¡­¡± I want to go on, I want to extract information from the reluctant duo, but I feel so tired, so very exhausted. Torpor invades my limbs and makes everything so heavy. My eyelids slide down with the weight of an executioner¡¯s axe. I awaken in the same grey cell. There is no sign of the captors or anyone else. I feel odd. There is a part of me that fights and rebels and tries to make me question my circumstances. I am aware that there have been inconsistencies in, well, everything, and yet I find it hard to focus. Like a patient in the claws of high fever, my grasp on reality is tenuous and uncertain. No matter how hard I try to focus, I am only afforded bits of lucidity. I remember a nightmare. I remember yesterday. I remember my name. What was it again? Ariane. Yes, my name is Ariane, although I must be honest and state that it is merely a . Using my voice helped. I shall endeavour to do so again. ¡°My name¡­ is Ariane¡­ I am¡­ nineteen.¡± I am of age to be married. I have¡­ suitors. I think? ¡°I¡­ come from¡­¡± Two city names come to mind, one is Baton Rouge, and it gives a homey feeling. The other is New-Orleans and it feels more exciting but also tainted. I cannot finish the sentence. I feel myself drifting into apathy and I cannot let that happen, so I force myself to press on. ¡°I¡­¡± I what? ¡°I have¡­ a family.¡± Yes, I know this is right. I try to recall the man from my dream, his smile, and happy looks but his image blurs and another one replaces him. The second man is terrifying. I remember a cruel smile and doll-like eyes that mirror a soul as black as the night. My musings stop when the same craving comes over me. My throat is parched. It is only natural as people need to drink quite a bit of water every day. I remember stories of sailors going mad when deprived of it, their sanity robbed as they suffer surrounded by a liquid they cannot ingest. I am sure someone will come. If they wanted me dead, it would have already happened. Time passes with agonizing slowness. My thirst grows so much that I start moaning. My teeth bite painfully into increasingly dry lips. The only saving grace is that after two days I haven¡¯t had to go to the... Well, this is embarrassing and queer. How come I have had no need to visit the... the what? A distant clang interrupts my thoughts, whatever they were. I have already forgotten. Three sets of footsteps again. I wonder how I can tell with such accuracy but, well, it does not truly matter. They soon stop and yesterday¡¯s Asian man gives me a passing glance before opening the door. He steps in and stands aside with the dignity of a British Royal Guard. The second visitor is a woman out of a fairy tale. Truly, if anyone had described her to me, I would have called them a liar, and yet here she stands. Tall and lithe, her slender body is clad in a blue gown that would be the envy of King William¡¯s court. It suits her form perfectly and manages to be enticing without being vulgar which, given her silhouette, is quite an achievement. Her skin is as white as alabaster and her face is the very image of grace and majesty. Black curls fall with restraint from an elaborate hairdo and encase two striking green eyes, bright as emeralds. Why, if my mouth were not so dry, I would be gawping like some country bumpkin right about now. The same cold aura that encases the Asian man also comes from her and yet I hesitate to compare them as she seems in a class of her own. If the man¡¯s is a drum, the woman¡¯s is an orchestra. The pressure it gives off terrifies me to my core and I do not think that demanding anything of her would be a good idea. I turn to the last to enter, a man, and I am immediately in love. He is tall and incredibly handsome, like a legendary king of old. Brown curls and brown hair adorn a skin lightly kissed by the sun. His build is powerful, but it is not the solid weight of the farmer. It is the deadly grace of the duelist. I feel like I am kneeling before Achilles, or Romulus, such is the presence of this man. I just know he is the one for me. His aura is less cold and somehow familiar, so powerful and yet restrained. I bask in his presence as a strange warmth grows in my belly. Oh, the shame! Am I to be swayed so easily by somebody I just met? I must not! And yet I know that if this man touches me, I will be undone. I forget my thirst; I forget my discomfort. If he but takes me in his arms, I can die with no regrets. ¡­¡± I blink and realize that the noble Lady is talking to the Asian man, Ogotai apparently. What is most curious is that they do not speak English. This language of theirs is mostly sing-song vowels and soft consonants with the occasional guttural sound. I am sure I have never heard anything quite like it and yet I can understand it. ¡°¡± I must have day-dreamed again. This lack of attention is so taxing, and now my love must think me daft! I must give my best impression so that he becomes mine forever. I turn to him and use a lull in the conversation, or should I say the harsh reprimand, to address him. ¡°Greetings.¡± All eyes fall on me. No that is not quite right. If I speak English now, they will not think of me as worldly. ¡° Ariane?¡± There, concise and polite. My voice cracked mid-sentence, I am filthy and dressed in rags that an orphanage would not take but my manners remain impeccable. The woman scowls and displays such intense disgust, one would think I am drenched in manure. Without a word, she turns around and leaves the room while covering her nose with a perfumed handkerchief. I would blush in shame and anger if it were not for the man. He kneels in front of me and I lose myself in the intensity of his liquid eyes. He is smiling, he must be. He is proud of me, I think. No, he is proud of me. He loves me and only wants the best. I love him! I love him, and he will be mine forever. The comfortable blanket settles on my mind until only adoration remains. I wait with bated breath for a sentence, a word, anything until I can¡¯t anymore. I . Once more, the chains block me, my face only a few fingers away from the golden skin of his neck. I strain and stretch and the metal moans but, of course, I am too weak to break free. I am only human after all. I cannot bend metal. Can I? The man captures my attention and the thirst fades away for a while. The fragrance of his perfume makes me dizzy and at the same time, safe. I am where I belong. By his side. Yes. Yes. He places a single finger under my chin to raise my head until our eyes are level. The touch of his skin sends tiny shivers down my back. I nod in silence. Of course, I will do as he asks. I nod frantically. I want to say that I will be good, but I hesitate to talk. The man is done and stands back up before turning to Ogotai. Oh, how I loved it when he was so close. It was everything I expected. It is everything I could dream for. Ogotai¡¯s bow is almost servile, which should be odd on such a man, and yet how can I blame him? Who could stand before this man and call themselves his equal? Surely, even Alexander and Scipio Africanus would find themselves wanting. The man exits the cell without a look back. Why did he leave me so? I love him so much, surely, he must see it plainly! I am the one for him! Or am I simply not good enough? Is a landed Lady from Louisiana perhaps too rustic for his tastes? Perhaps I should GUT THAT GREEN-EYED PAINTED HARLOT AND STRANGLE HER WITH HER OWN ENTRAILS. Wait. What was I thinking again? I can hear a keening whine and soon realize it is coming from my throat. Augh! I need to get a hold of myself. What is wrong with me? A strange Asian man approaches me with a silver key. Ah yes, Ogotai. He was here earlier. He is to take me out of the cell and¡­ Do what? Ah yes, I finally remember. I am to obey that wonderful man. My love. No, AboMinAtion. Love. I remember his orders. I am to remain silent unless spoken to. I am to obey Jimena in all things. I am to behave properly. I will do so, since he asked this of me, and he is so irresistible. I just hope there will be something to drink. I am dying of thirst. ¡°Ah!¡± I cry. The manacles drop on the ground with a surprisingly loud clang and take with them a layer of skin. I look at my now free wrists. The horror! I am flayed! The flesh is raw and thick with black blood! Convinced I am about to retch I move forward and yet, nothing happens. I do not feel nauseous at the sight of those unsightly wounds. They are most certainly infected and will quite likely scar! Oh, the humanity! Shall I have to bear the stigma of my captivity for the rest of my life? I take a staggering step forward. I feel weak and light-headed. I pray they have water somewhere. Chapter 2: Jimena I seethe.The Asian man stares at me with a mixture of disgust and caution, and I cannot help but feel offended. Of course, I would not look proper dressed in rags and filthy like a coal merchant! The audacity of my captors is simply incredible. I finally leave my cell to the sight of a short corridor of the same stone. A single torch provides enough illumination to see everything clearly, which surprises me a bit. The passage is dotted with what I believe to be murder holes. How very quaint. I must have collapsed and been magically transported to some Scotsman¡¯s demesne. Ogotai locks the door behind me and I move forward, quite eager to be away from this dreary place. As I am about to reach the second door, the naked blade of a saber taps my shoulder. I turn around with outrage, although I remain silent. How dare he draw a blade on me? The master said I was to obey Jimena and he is not her. HE HASNO RIGHT TO GIVE ME ORDERS, I WILL TEACH HIM THE MEANING OF PAIN AND¡­ A hand grabs my raggedy shirt and propels me into the wall. He threw me like a doll! My back hits the rock and explodes in blinding pain. My head follows suit and my teeth rattle from the impact. Agony radiates in every bone, only exacerbating the discomfort I am already in. ¡°Ah!¡± His hand drills my chest in the wall. My bones creak and groan under his abuse. I frantically scratch his arms so that he lets me go but I stop when I feel a metallic cold against my neck. ¡°Agh!¡± There are red spots on his sleeve. It seems that, in my panic, I scratched him bloody. My nails are dark as black pearls, and quite sharp to boot. When did that happen? The blade of his weapon leaves my neck and its tip buries under my chin until I start yelling. Oh God, what have I done to deserve such treatment? Why must they be so cruel? It hurts! I whimper. How I hate to debase myself, but what can one do against such wanton brutality? Slowly, the man lets me go, although his blade remains drawn. I stay still and massage my poor chest. Terror starts creeping into my mind and awakens primal instincts. I want to run, but I cannot. The door is locked. I do not even know where to go. Ogotai patiently works his set of keys and I finally walk out to another stone tunnel. This one, however, is different. It appears that my jail is but one of many. Several blocks made with thick walls cover most of the area, lit by the occasional torch. Each cell has four walls and a passage that would allow the wardens to circle it completely. The murder holes I noticed let visitors look inside the corridor and, I assume, shoot through them as well. I do not know what manner of beast is normally held here, but I would complain about being treated that way, were it in my power to do so. The Asian man guides me through the labyrinth of passages to a massive door made of the same silvery metal as my shackles. He pushes it open with little effort. How strong can this man be? I walk up a set of stairs to several landings with more doors, but Ogotai does not let me stop. Eventually, we cross one last metal gate and finally emerge into a proper building. And what a building it is. I want to take a deep breath and celebrate being out of this accursed hole in the ground, yet I find myself at a loss. Who in their right mind would spend the fortune required for something like this? A hallway spreads to my right and left to an intersection and a dead-end, respectively. Closed doors alternate with subdued alcoves supported by Doric columns. The ground is made of marble and the walls of pink granite. Tapestries and paintings hang everywhere, leaving an impression of subdued elegance. Never in a thousand years would I suspect that such a place exists in the Americas! I believe I would need to cross the Atlantic, to Buckingham or Versailles, to find a match for this gaudy display. And the owners of this place have me at their mercy. I shiver once more. I thought I had seen wealth, how na?ve I was! These people are no rakes and outlaws out for a quick ransom and a ride West. Why, were I to escape and come across a lawman, who would he believe? A filthy waif or the masters of this place? My testimony would be the ramblings of a madwoman. What have I gotten myself into? The excitement offered me a moment of clarity, as if external stimulus could lift the veil upon my mind but soon enough, I find it hard to focus again. Why did I want to escape? I want to see that man again; it is my heart¡¯s fondest desire. Ogotai leads me up another set of stairs and down another corridor. We come across a man in a suit that would leave him drenched in sweat if he were to step outside, a pair of women in maid outfits who exude a pleasant smell, and a slip of a girl in a white dress. Every time we pass someone, Ogotai holds my neck and forces my head down so that I cannot meet their eyes, not that I need much encouragement. My embarrassment is reason enough. Finally, the warden leaves those endless alleys and forces me into a bedroom. Before I can even start to panic, he bids me to get cleaned and slams the door shut. Once again, I take stock. The room itself is rather small, which is only sensible as there are so many of them. It is also lavishly decorated in shades of red and gold. Whoever designed the baroque hallways clearly extended his influence on my new lodgings. The bed has four posters and takes the entire middle of the room with a writing desk and a chair lining the side wall. The living space is partitioned by white panels and I find a copper tub on the other side, as well as amenities and another surprise. This place has hot running water. I prepare a bath and rid myself of that vile potato bag I was wearing to slide in the bath with a sigh of pleasure. I do not know if I should attribute how I feel to my previous ordeals or the state of my body, but the very act of washing myself has never been so pleasant. Water caresses my skin with its silky touch as the heat of the liquid seeps into me, to my delight. I could almost forget how thirsty I am. Oh, how silly, there is now water to be found! What was I waiting for? I bring the warm liquid from the tap to my lips and take in a hasty gulp and I know without a doubt that, unfortunately, it will not do. How strange! Is it the symptom of some disorder? Well, I will think upon it later. When did my skin turn so white? Summer reached Louisiana a few weeks ago and I remember a light, but distinct tan, and yet now I look as pale as a Canuck. My nails are also black and quite sharp, which I cannot explain. One more mystery to add upon the pile. Or perhaps I should realize why I do not feel hunger? Wait, there are more urgent matters to attend. I must be presentable. If that warden comes in while I am still undressed, I shall surely die of embarrassment. There is only so much humiliation a proper lady can tolerate in a single day. I scrub myself vigorously and enjoy every moment of it. After drying myself, I find undergarments and a simple linen dress on the desk, which I promptly don. They do not fit me, exactly and are a bit tight around the waist, and yet I find I care little. It feels so nice to be decent again, and the sensation of soft fabric on my skin is simply divine. I luxuriate in it until I am disturbed by an insistent knock. I open the door to see two men outside. Ogotai stares me down without emotion, the other man is younger and dressed as a servant. My thirst surges at the scent of him. Such an intoxicating perfume! Before I can lean forward, Ogotai¡¯s hand grabs my neck once more. Ah! Must this man irritate me so! I want to CLAW HIM APART LIKE THE CUR HE IS! I force myself to swallow. I do not want a repeat of the cell scene. Those ruffians made it clear they would resort to violence given the opportunity. Except that handsome gentleman of course. The servant looks at me with undisguised fear. His chocolate eyes are fixed on my smile as he starts blabbering in some unknown language I care not about. His attempt at retreating is stopped by the Warden¡¯s steel grip on his neck and only serves to whet my maddening Thirst. It bites into my chest and drills into my mind, demanding satisfaction. Nothing matters but that merciless craving. How peculiar, the sight of a terrified man makes me¡­ giddy? And even more thirsty? This abduction has made me a moNster. What? No, this ordeal made me a little bit hysterical. Yes. Just a little tense. Nothing to it. I chuckle as I grab the man firmly between my arms, and then as he vainly tries to push me away. I am still laughing when his eyes meet mine and grow unfocused. I sigh as I take in the musk of his terror, with just a touch of desire. Scrumptious. I smile as my fangs puncture the skin of his neck and I can finally, FINALLY, slake this godforsaken Thirst. Rapture, again. I am transported, I am ravished, I am undone. If there is one way to transcend time and space, this is it. No dervish and no prophet, no shaman and no mage would come close to this divine experience. Not with all the incense and prayers of the world. I love it, love it, love it. A piercing pain brings me back into the real world. The warden¡¯s clawed fingers dig into the muscles of my neck, forcing my jaw open inch by inch. The young servant is dragged away, still mesmerized by God knows what. ¡°NooOooOoo.¡± I swallow as the pain turns my vision white. I stop moving. This is just too much. With the tip of my tongue, I manage to clean the precious nectar from the young man¡¯s skin even as the trickle stops. I waste not a drop. Eventually, Ogotai pulls him away further and he collapses against the wall in a daze. The expression on his face is content, for some unknown reason. I, however, am not. I need more. MUCH MORE. ¡°Aaaiiii!¡± I cry. Ogotai¡¯s hand does not relent. His other arm, now free, forces my own in a lock behind my back. I arch myself to prevent the agony from becoming too much. I barely struggle against his hold. My frustration is no match for the constant pain and the prospect of dislocation. The horrible Thirst finally abates. It retreats into the recess of my mind like a wary tiger, pacified but not gone. I am myself again. Wait, what just occurred? I cannot recall. Something to do with nourishment. Ogotai pushes me away and I fall on the bed. With a yelp and scramble, I am upright again. I am not so innocent as to not understand the implication of being in a bedroom with a man and the Warden makes me wary. Fortunately, my apprehension was unfounded this time. Ogotai bends to the servant to, I assume, check on his well-being. Apparently satisfied, he stands back up and bids me follow him. We leave the room, and I do my best to keep up with the tall stranger. Torpor once more makes my limbs heavy and my mind weary, yet I refuse to yield. We descend back to what I assume is the ground floor, and shortly reach a thick set of gates made out an essence of wood I do not recognize. Ogotai opens one with ease and shoves me in. The room I find myself in is, without a doubt, a training room. It is an extremely wide rectangle surrounded by an unadorned wall of grey stone. Racks of weapons line my left, targets my right and the far wall is adorned with benches. I am surprised to see that the ground is stone covered by a layer of sand, reminding me of this illustration of the Colosseum I once saw in a book. Why, if a lion and a gladiator were to strut in to the sound of a brass horn, I wouldn¡¯t even bat an eye. The only person present besides us is a woman with black curls tied in a bun. I cannot decide whether she shocks me or impresses me more. Her face is handsome, rather than beautiful due to an unfortunately squarish jaw and yet she exudes an aura of gentle grace that is only enhanced by a scandalously fitting leather armor. Her appearance makes me once again question my sanity. I know that Napoleon¡¯s ¡°Cuirassiers¡± would ride into battle with a steel breastplate, but she looks more like a poacher than a soldier and besides, the gentler sex should not dress so, it is just not proper. She ignores us as we approach until there can be no doubt that we come to address her. With a frown, she sheathes a blade she had been cleaning and turns to us. Her cold aura is as strong as Ogotai¡¯s yet more refined, and I believe she¡¯S oNe of thEm, I mean I believe it is the source of her self-confidence. Is she an Amazon, to stand here before that man without fear? I surmise that some horrible accident befell me, and I am now in the thrall of some potent concoction that causes me to hallucinate. she replies with a sneer. There is a flash of anger on Ogotai¡¯s twisted face, quickly hidden. And with this, Ogotai turns around and leaves us both stranded. I harbor some hope that this person would take pity in my plight, but those expectations are too soon dashed. The disgust on her face reminds me of Lady Moor¡¯s, only hers is laced with fury. I instinctively take a step back. A sense of danger dissipates my lethargy and I realize that the Warden set the stage masterfully so that there is no chance that I would find a friend here. I still do not understand what is happening. My mind is barely working. I am a woman playing an intricate card game without having been taught its rules and I am even forbidden from asking for help. The woman seems to resolve herself to the situation and gestures me to join her next to a rack. I gaze at rows upon rows of medieval weapons, including some that must have come from barbarian kingdoms. Never have I laid my eyes on so many bladed, pointy and blunt instruments, coming in all shapes and sizes. One is just a chain, with a blade at the end, and I simply cannot fathom how that could be a sensible weapon. We both stop and she looks at me expectantly. I have no idea what to do. Does she expect me to pick a weapon myself? I feel panic rising in my chest. Eager not to displease the harridan, I desperately look for something to defend myself and I find it. I grab it and hold it protectively before me. I nod in approval. Obviously, it is. ¡°Yes, sorry, I do not remember much, but I do know for sure that my¡­ father? Yes, my father, whose very face I cannot recall, would have never allowed me to take up fencing. Wielding a blade is so unladylike. Louisiana is already the dumping ground for France¡¯s debtors, whores, and scoundrels. There is no need for us landowners to act as savages as well. With that said, I did hunt for fur and meat, and there are enough escaped slaves to make leaving the plantation without weapon a foolish endeavor. ¡° -agh!¡± The woman¡¯s face turns into a mask of rage. She grabs me by the collar and in a seamless gesture, throws me across the room. My mind blanks. The world turns and twists before my eyes. I land, painfully, on my shoulder, and still I slide on the ground. Eventually, I stop against a machine. A second later, I hear the crash of my shield against a distant wall. Pain steals my breath away. I cannot think. It. Hurts. ¡°AaaAAAaa¡­¡± I do not know how much time I spend here, sobbing hunched on myself. Everything hurts, I am so tired, and I am still thirsty. Why? Why why why why why? Something cold pokes my ribs painfully. I open an eye to see that evil hag looking down. She uses a dull training sword as a poker. Oh, why, why must she be so cruel? S?a?ch* Th? N?v?lFire.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. And she stabs me. The tip of the sword pierces into my chest, not enough to kill me but enough to hurt. This new agony only adds to the old one and I go over the edge. I cannot do this anymore. Their cruel games, their pointless aggression, their cold demeanor. I did not ask to be here, ridiculed and humiliated at every turn. Abused. Tortured. And for what? What sinister game are they all playing, that they do not deem me even worthy of knowing the rules? I just want it to be over, I just want to die. Papa, please come save me, I can¡¯t take this anymore. And so, I bawl like a baby. Sobs wrack my body and tears stream down my face. I wait for the armored hellion to continue her abuse, crying all the while, and yet it does not come. A pair of hands picks me up gently and sets me against the stupid mannequin. I keep my eyes closed in terror. A finger brushes my chin and holds my face up. After a few seconds, I dare open my eyes. The woman¡¯s face is frighteningly close to mine. She stares at my cheeks with wonder. ¡°W¡­ Wha?¡± Is this woman entirely insane? This request is completely senseless! And yet, there is suddenly a longing on her face so powerful and so pure that my breath catches in my chest. My instincts tell me that she speaks the truth, as unlikely as it seems. It is all so very surreal that I find myself speechless. Is this the same person who tossed me across the room like a ragdoll? I must decide, and against my better judgement, I agree. I close my eyes as she slowly leans forward. A cold slip moves across my skin and I force myself not to yelp. This new sensation is so strange, and yet so intimate that I dare not move. The cold tongue traces the other side of my face. Immediately, I hear a gasp and a sob. I open my eyes once more to witness a spectacle that defies common sense. The woman, whose posture had been so flawless before is now sobbing before me. A pink tinge colors her and as I watch she slowly collapses forward. A protective impulse guides my left hand to the back of her head. I pat it in a soothing gesture. Her black curls are the softest thing I have ever touched. She tenses, at first, but soon she leans into my gesture and for a moment, we just lie here. My pain fades away quickly. Was I wounded? No, probably not. I let my arm fall. This feels so delightful. I believe I may just fall asleep right now. I blink. The Amazon is looking at me with her usual frigid mask. Have I dreamt the whole encounter? Surely not! Why, her skin is still rosy. I gulp in fear. I shake my head, too scared to cause another bout of mindless rage. She sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. She frowns. I silently gape at the woman. Fangs? Master? I am dealing with a raving lunatic! Jimena looks at me in utter disbelief. I reply with a dreamy voice. Jimena appears increasingly agitated, and I still cannot say whether I am mad, or she is. At the very least I learnt the name of my kiLl¡­ my master. Nirari. Such an exotic name. Perhaps one day it can be mine as well. ¡°Hmm?¡± Oh my G¡­¡± I cough, my throat suddenly obstructed. Jimena winces in sympathy. ¡° ¡°Y?¡± Finally, someone who understands my plight! Oh, I could cry in relief! Instead of answers though, Jimena just stands and starts pacing. Jimena stops pacing and stares into the distance. I wait patiently for her to elaborate. I can learn more about my circumstances from her, provided I do not agitate her further. I hope she hurries, as I find myself more and more eager to return to my bedroom. Perhaps there I shall find something to drink. Jimena mutters to herself, and I unfortunately manage to hear what she says. The woman can swear like a sailor! She helps me up. she says, I stagger forward. Chapter 3: False Haven I wake up in a bedroom that is not my own. Memories slowly come back to me and I find myself in a turmoil. I have some hope now that I found an ally in Jimena, and yet I have little doubt that she speaks the truth.I am indeed afflicted by some unknown condition. The realization almost crushes my spirit and for a while, I sit under the velvet canopy, too stunned to move. It does not last though for Jimena bids me join her and I must obey. I stand and make myself ready. The ill-fitting dress I wore yesterday is still clinging to my body. A few drops of blood have stained the front and back, yet I do not recall being wounded. Curious. This specific guestroom is similarly equipped as the previous one, so I quickly take another bath after making sure the door is locked. It takes all my willpower not to luxuriate in the sensual feeling of warm water on my skin, despite how thirsty I am. After drying myself, I find that someone left a strange looking grey ensemble by the entrance. I put it on. To my surprise, it is extremely comfortable, with the notable exception of the area around my, hmm, posterior, which is too tight. Nevertheless, it does not limit my range of movement in any way. What a great find! Oh, if only I could wear this in polite society, but it has trousers, and this simply will not do. Difficulty strikes when I try to sort the bird''s nest that my hair has become. There is not a mirror in sight! How do they expect a lady to show her best without a mirror to attend to herself I wonder? Does Lady Moor¡­ oh. She probably has servants of some sort. Fortunately, my hair easily parts under my tAloNs fingers, and I believe I am at least somewhat presentable. They do not expect me to appear in polite society in any case! With everything done, I leave. Fortunately, it does not take me long to find the training room. I take the stairs down and wander a bit until I find the double doors. During this, I only come across one maid who avoids my eyes as she rushes by. She has an enticing scent, but I do not let it distract me. I am, after all, expected. I only hope that Jimena has something to drink, this Thirst is killing me. I find her at a table, cleaning an elaborate fencing foil. Next to her is a short and stocky woman in a peasant dress. She has short black hair and stares at me with a frown and worried black eyes. As I come closer, I realize she smells divine, why, I just cannot stop myself- Jimena halts me with a hand on my shoulder. ¡°Oh, sorry, where are my manners! ¡± Jimena returns my greeting with a nod and a smile. ¡° The woman does not answer. Instead, she nervously swallows, and I find myself fascinated by the movement of her neck. Such a pretty neck, so very fetching. I turn to her and realize she is much closer than I am comfortable with. She takes my hands in hers. Her skin is soft and cool. At first, I find the entire exercise silly. Why, it feels like one of these hogwash meditation exercises those charlatans claim can cure blindness? Jimena, however, does not relent. She guides me with a soothing voice. When the Thirst becomes too much, she grabs my neck in a firm hold and it helps me remain in control. Eventually, I feel it. On the edge of the sugar cane fields stands a log cabin. It is barely large enough for a single bed, a chest and a small fire pit. It was never meant to be lived in. It is merely a shelter, unadorned and unpolished. The only thing that matters is that it is safe. I drag myself up on the straw mattress. It smells like soap and sunshine and I know I can wait here for him to return. A cool wind rustles the trees outside and carries the smell of rain on fresh soil. Now that the weather is better, he will come back shortly and hopefully bring me something to drink. In the meanwhile, I will just hug Mr. Scruffybear. Mr. Scruffybear is such a gentleman. I lick something exquisite. It must be the world¡¯s very best bonbon. Someone moans in pleasure, and I know I should be shocked but cannot make myself care. I bit down delicately. Something soft and warm parts under my teeth like the sweetest of fruits, and once again the delicious nectar comes to sate the Thirst. Rapture. It is so good, so very good. And yet, it feels duller, somehow. It does not compare to before. There is a partition between the feeling and me. I am enjoying myself, but part of me also sits in the bed of my cabin with Mr. Scruffybear. I can hear mostly two things. The first is a woman moaning most shamefully. I am not too na?ve not to understand that she¡­ Hah, I cannot even make myself finish the thought. The second is a heartbeat, and it has been beating increasingly faster. I do so immediately. The Thirst has abated enough that the urge is no longer so pressing. I also remember my master¡¯s instructions. I must obey Jimena in all things. I do so. I am overcome by a feeling of strong intimacy and were it not for my strange state, I believe I would be blushing. A moment later, I open my eyes. Jimena is holding Aintza in a princess carry. I dare not mention how inappropriate this all is, not to mention Aintza¡¯s rosy cheeks! Why, if someone were to come right now, I would surely die of embarrassment! ¡°Ariane.¡± ¡° Hrm.¡± I frown in confusion. What happened then? I cannot seem to recall. I reply in a dreamy voice. Before I can embarrass myself further, Jimena turns around with a sad smile. Jimena leaves and I am left alone. I can already feel that call of torpor even though I must have awakened not an hour ago. To distract myself, I inspect the training dummies. I am simply astonished when I realize that some of those are automatons! How wealthy must those lords and ladies be, that they can afford such intricate machinery for such a trivial task? I can only assume that they are from Europe, for duels are still a way to resolve a dispute among nobles. My musings are interrupted by the sound of the door opening and closing behind me. I turn from my inspection to greet a returning Jimena and instead recoil in surprise. There are now two people in the room, only a few steps from me, and I have never seen them in my life. How can they already be so close?! It is impossible! Unless¡­ I blink. What was I thinking about? Hmmm. It matters not. There are people in front of me and I haven¡¯t greeted them yet. I curtsy, even though I do not wear a dress. Master told me to sTop RunNing to behave, and I shall do so. And I wait. The woman on the left is wearing a richly embroidered cream gown with green eyes and shockingly red hair. She is extremely beautiful, and both her aura and her posture remind me of Lady Moor. A younger Lady Moor at least. Perhaps a relative? The black-haired man on the right is dressed in an assorted cream jacket that went out of fashion a century ago, and yet I would never call him on it. With his chiseled jaw and handsome face, he would be at home as a Shakespearian actor in the fanciest theaters of London. His own aura is blander, yet similar to that of his companion. While she is sneering, he appears to be a victim of the most dire form of boredom. His blue eyes dismiss me almost immediately. I have not grown to the age of nineteen without learning how to spot trouble. Whatever they want, I must delay it until Jimena returns without drawing their ire. And so, I remain silent. Time is on my side, and the newcomers know it too. The woman¡¯s sneer turns into a scowl as the first round goes to me. Jimena, I beseech you, wherever you are, come back with all haste! I must thread the needle between aggression and passivity. Too meek, and she will escalate. Too witty, and she will retaliate. I let silence draw as long as I dare before continuing. What is it with everyone expecting me to be a simpleton!? She says, eyeing me critically. Does she expect me to lose my composure so easily? It appears that I hit the mark. Her face freezes and her eyes turn calculating. The man¡¯s head turns to the door and he voices a warning. She continues, unfazed. I COULD NOT RESIST, HAHAHAHA. Oops. s?a??h th? ?ov?l?ir?.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. She was just waiting for an excuse. She , and I can see it. Something sings in my veins like the leftover of a good dream, and so, I as well. I go to grab her backhand and manage to catch her fist. This was a terrible idea. She is not quite fast, but the strength behind her strike is unthinkable. I am launched through the air as if I weighed nothing. By chance, I manage to roll on the ground without hurting myself too much. Her power is truly inhuman! If her backhand had landed, I would have had to collect my molars from the farthest door. How can a slip of a girl like her¡­ Wait, what was I thinking? I do not know; I know however that I am in danger. I grunt and pull myself on my knees. I somehow ended up between two of those automatons. Says the man, as impassive as ever. Melusine strides towards me, wearing on her face the promise of pain. Their urgency must come from Jimena¡¯s imminent return; therefore, I only need to stall for a few moments. I am, however, spent. This affliction has sapped my strength. My limbs are heavier than they were a minute ago. I will not be able to fight her. I will not be able to escape. In desperation, I do something that I can only attribute to my addled mind. I catch the side of the nearest automaton and pull its lever. At best, I was expecting the dummy to rotate and buy me a few moments. Instead, the unthinkable happens. A complex imprint flashes in the automaton¡¯s chest and basks it in crimson. It shudders and steps down from its wooden support, and then it stretches four arms ending in wicked blades. Its eyeless head finds the closest moving target, Melusine. I am too stunned to move. Sorcery! Sorcery of the vilest sort! I barely notice the man pulling his astonished companion behind himself, when a voice sweeps the room in one mighty roar. Jimena walks in with the confidence of a lioness. Her eyes find the dummy, which moved a bit forward for some reason and then settles on Melusine with an amused sneer. I jump as both doors shut without any visible intervention. A heavy silence falls in the room as Jimena closes the distance with the two outsiders. Before she can reach them, the man takes a step forward and offers a formal bow. Jimena stops and considers for a while. Is that all? After all of this, they are free to leave? WE SHOULD CUT THEIR LEGS AT THE KNEES AND MAKE THEM CRAWL ON THEIR STUMPS! No, it is a perfectly reasonable outcome for this farce, and I am delighted to see the back of them. They leave without a word. The woman sighs after the gates close. I respectfully disagree. Jimena flinches. Jimena stops to consider, then quickly nods in assent. I shiver in disgust, what a dreadful fate! She graces me with one of her rare smiles. Did Jimena almost say decades? Surely my ears deceive me, I would not want to wait until my hair grows grey to emancipate! Not that it matters, as soon as I may, I shall go home. Jimena looks at me expectantly. I can tell this is a test of my personality. I have known the woman for only two days, and I can already tell that she is honest and straightforward, perhaps a bit too straightforward. She steps forward and I recoil. My reaction hurts her, I can tell. I have not been moved to a forsaken corner of the earth, at least. ¡° I almost scoff at the thought. Why would diseased people be territorial, and why include savages and slaves in the decision process? Unthinkable. I scoff. Something flashes in Jimena¡¯s expression. I will do as she asks; I am to obey her in all things. Jimena leads me to a comfortable bench and holds my hands. I find the gesture quite touching coming from the Amazon woman. My face must reflect my astonishment, for Jimena decides to explain a bit more. ¡°¡± I interrupt, scandalized, ¡° A bEasT ¡± Jimena does not interrupt my ranting; instead she looks at me with pity. How I wish I could convince her. I¡­ What? Her attention flickers to my mouth. I am too astonished to reply. None of this makes sense. A mysterious disease? Clans and politics? A clan of three? I am not insane. I try to hold it but despite my best efforts I start crying. Nothing that happens in this madhouse can surprise me anymore. I nod in assent, then yelp as Jimena pulls me in her embrace. Before I can react, she licks my cheeks! How daring! We stay there. I would be otherwise offended at her familiarity and yet I realize how much I owe her. If what she says is true, and I have no reasons to doubt her words, then my master is a bit of a pariah. Our acquaintance taints her reputation. Her honesty and loyalty are costing her and yet she defended me. I can only be thankful that I met her. I feel so comfortable in her arms. I was already tired before my confrontation with that horrible harridan and now my entire body feels so heavy. I believe I shall take a quick nap. Just a few minutes. Chapter 4: The seed of Discord I open my eyes to green sheets and a bedpost made out of a reddish wood I have never seen before. Another day, another room, and I remember that this is no home. I am, at best, an unwilling guest in a gilded cage.I still savor the moment. I only have a few minutes of lucidity, of peace, before it comes. The Thirst. I do not know much about this affliction. I feel that every time I am told more, the ideas flee through my mind like through a sieve. Jimena told me that all will be made clear tomorrow when I meet Him again and I do hope it will be so. It cannot be healthy to remain in such a fugue state for an extended period. I go through my new morning ritual while the craving grows in me. It is a strange thing. The Thirst is not limited to the throat and mouth. It digs in my chest, my belly, and my mind with its needy claws. Every line of thought is derailed, and my feet carry me to the door whenever my attention fails. No, this cannot last. I find another grey set, the same as yesterday. It is again quite tight around the hips, and I suspect I am wearing one of Jimena¡¯s spare sets. As I finish, someone knocks on my door. As I move to unlock it, I pause. What if it is not my improvised tutor, but the Lancaster shrew and her stooge? They promised to leave me be. They also did not strike me as people of their words, and they are not the only ones who would do me harm. It is at this moment that I notice that there is a tiny glass window, no bigger than a thumbnail at the door. I look through it and lo and behold! I can see who is outside with all clarity! It must be some sort of magnifying glass, or a short telescope, mayhap? I thought running water in every room was a luxury, until now. Why, if their lavatories were encrusted with diamonds I would not be surprised. Speaking of lavatories, why have I not¡­ Hm? What was I thinking about? Another knock on the door, more insistent this time, wakes me up from my reverie. I unlock it and greet Jimena. she replies with a smile, She says, and only now do I notice another man. He is dressed well but soberly. He is tall, with brown eyes and curly brown hair and looks at me not unkindly. I greet him politely, which he returns. ¡°Buenas tardes, se?orita.¡± Jimena then bids me let them both in, which is I suppose acceptable since Jimena could be considered a chaperone. After that comes some more meditation and when we leave, Ricardo stays behind. I feel refreshed and the Thirst releases its hold on me. I dare not criticize too much since she gave it to me so graciously, however, trousers are indecent, particularly those that are, well, so very tight around the hips. Jimena notices my discomfort and smiles knowingly while addressing my concerns. I ponder her words in silence. I suspect that it has to do with her fall from grace and tactfully refrain from asking. In short order, we reach the edge of the many apartments to another set of doors. It appears that each level contains a square of individual living quarters surrounded on each side by waiting rooms where visitors may gather. I ask. She opens the door to a large boudoir. Comfortable seats are gathered in small groups and other afflicted in fineries mingle there. We ignore them and reach yet another door. Jimena knocks and, without waiting for an answer, gets in. We enter an antechamber of modest size. The furniture and decorations are of the same Baroque style as everything else I have seen since leaving the dungeon. This place has been designed for people to stay, not to live. An oaken chest in a corner convinces me that the sole occupant of this place shares my status as a guest, although he might be doing it willingly. A man sits at a work desk facing the entrance. He calmly puts down his pen and rises to welcome us. He is, without a doubt, on the same level as Lady Moor. His aura pressures my mind and while it lacks sophistication, there is a solidity to it that reflects his physique. The Cadiz clan lord has cornflower blue eyes, like my own, and black curls that reach his muscular shoulders. His facial features are virile and elegant and complemented by a roguish beard and mustache. S?a??h th? N?v?lFir?.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. Why, he must have stepped out of some pirate tale, ready to plunder and ravish! I am pleased to see, however, that his gaze is calculating as opposed to overly hostile. Once he reaches us, I curtsy, partly to hide my surprise. This man is muscular beyond compare! I believe Ogotai has nothing on him, and that he could bend metal with his bare hands. Are all Cadiz clan members so dedicated to physical prowess? I do so and stay silent as the man takes my measure. The man smiles wryly and turns to Jimena. In his mouth, the rank of Squire becomes praise for past achievements rather than an insult and I can tell that Jimena is grateful. Lord Ceron just chuckles. Jimena hisses playfully and crosses her arm under his teasing rebuke. Lord Ceron¡¯s eyes flicker to Jimena before he continues. I was not worried, but I certainly am now! Lord Ceron seems temporarily at a loss so Jimena takes my hand and continues in a reassuring voice. he says with a smile, Both Cadiz chuckle before my outraged face. Ah, but it is good to be with polite company, although I would not call Lord Ceron a friend. They were not me. As soon as we get acquainted, my Master will have no choice but to see that I am the one wHo should rUn away for him. No, they must be wrong. This is nonsense! An individual alone would never be able to¡­ I would have heard about¡­ He would NEVER¡­ What was I thinking about? I blink. Jimena signals to Lord Ceron and he graces me with an apologetic smile. Jimena clasps my hand between hers. I forgot how cool and soft they could be. I am a sword of Damocles hanging over Lady Moor¡¯s head. Lord Ceron sits back and spreads his hands. I answer, dejected. They leave me a few seconds to gather my thoughts. I want this to never have happened, but I know it is wishful thinking. Jimena told me to believe her, and that this disease has no cure. Then, what I desire most is¡­ I am too close to crying again, and I refuse to do so in front of the local head of the Cadiz clan. My passionate declamation only stuns my hosts into silence. I hope they do not find me whiny and pathetic, but I comfort myself in the certitude that I have cause to be a little dramatic! Some unspoken message passes between them until Lord Ceron finally returns his focus on our conversation. I reply, scandalized I hold my head between my hands, trying to come to terms with my circumstances. Eventually, I calm down enough to ask the Lord his terms. After a few pleasantries, Jimena and I leave the Cadiz enclave and she drags me to her proving grounds to teach me the basics of fencing, including posture and how to hold a blade. I successfully learn a few things before sleep takes me. Chapter 5: The Reveal Something is wrong. I¡­ What¡­ Who? I cannot think properly, everything seems distended and cloudy. I feel the urge to just stay there, and wait, but I know something is wrong.It smells like fire. The thought of fire horrifies me, a visceral reaction of such intensity that it forces me up. I¡­ I don¡¯t know what to do. No, focus, this has happened before. ¡°My¡­ name is¡­ Ariane¡­ I¡­ Am my¡­ Own.¡± Slowly, painfully, my psyche stitches itself back together, fraying at the edge. Holding my mind together is like holding sand, and I know I need something. I desperately need it. The Thirst hits me like a rock. I bend forward and grip my stomach. Oh God, it hurts¡­ I need it. I need it. I need it. I NEED IT! I need to find my master. He promised¡­ Then we will leave this forsaken place together. Yes. But first I need to FIND HIM NOW. I pull myself together and just walk to the door, carefully opening it. The smells hit me first. Woodsmoke. Gun powder. Blood. Excrements. The corridor is deserted but for two unmoving forms. The first one is a servant in a maid outfit. Her hands clasp a deep wound in her chest. They are so coated in red that she looks like she is wearing scarlet gloves. She is also quite dead. Tears trail down her face from half-lidded eyes. The other one is a man in a black leather overcoat. His clothes are military without being a uniform I recognize. I see no wound on him but he is lying in a pool of his own blood, also dead. I feel nothing. A distant part of me screams that this is not right, that I have seen bodies before but never like this. I care not. The man is holding a gun, a pistol of good make with silver embroidery. I get closer and see that it is discharged. A basic inspection yields silvery bullets and a powder horn, which I take. I reload the weapon and cock it. The woman took a bullet wound. Whoever attacked this place, they care not for unarmed women. They did not even have the grace to give her mercy, instead choosing to let her suffer atrociously before she drew her last breath. I will not have the same fate. I have not come this far to fall to some brutish lout. I need to flee the building. The smell of fire worries me. I dare not find Jimena, for if I know the woman, she will be in the heart of the battle if she still lives. Fortunately, I know where to go. We are in one of the wings of the fortress and the exit should be on the ¡°ground¡± level of the wing, quite close to the entrance to the dungeon. I am quite certain that there are hidden ways given the builder¡¯s strange tastes, but I am not inclined to look for them. I would rather risk a blockade. The Thirst is killing me. I go down one floor with all the patience I can manage and stop when something peculiar hits me. This is the floor where I first slept and the door to my first room has been broken open. Only one other room had its entrance forced. Are they hunting the residents? If so, how did they know where to find me? I reach the ground level and slow down. If the mysterious assailants are still around, this is where I will find them. As I finish this thought, a few footsteps echo from a nearby hallway and I hear Ogotai¡¯s distinctive voice. ¡°¡­incompetent, I would never have agreed to this! How many men do you need to¡­¡± Relieved, I step out of an alcove as Ogotai comes into view, taking care to hide my pistol at my back in case he proves himself to be too nervous. A gravelly voice retorts but I barely pay attention until his two companions step into view. Both of them look like hard men. The older one has deep claw scars on one side of his face, barely missing his black eyes. The second one is much younger, with red hair and a sharp look. Both of them wear the black overcoat of the intruders, enough weapons to start a small conflict and unexplainably, silver crosses. We all freeze at the sight of each other. I understand immediately. Traitor. I turn to run and Ogotai . I will never make it in time. And that is fine. A part of me that I do not recognize rises to the surface of my being. There is barely enough of me left to direct it and yet it is enough. I as well. Just as the edge of his blade kisses my neck I lift the firearm and pull the trigger. Point-blank range. A child could not miss. Ogotai is so surprised at the sight of the muzzle, that I see his mouth form an ¡°O¡± an instant before it is blown away. I am not done. The two men instantly pulled guns and are now firing. I grab Ogotai¡¯s body and use it as a shield. Two dull impacts make his chest shiver as I rush forward. I am barely thinking, something is taking over and I let it. I will live. I will live. And so they must die. Ogotai¡¯s body flies through the air to the older man who tries to dodge to the side. A pointless endeavor. The warrior¡¯s body is too massive and the corridor too tight. With a grunt, he falls. So thirsty. With a high pitched scream, I rush at the redhead until a flash of silver makes me dodge. Something flies over my shoulder. The corridor¡¯s tightness now plays against me and I to avoid another one. My foe anticipates it and a third something stabs into my arm with a flash of blinding pain. A knife!? I hiss and barely manage to endure it. He is close, so close! Something glows white and I am propelled backward by an implacable force. Swatted like an insect I bounce on the floor. No! No, this cannot be. I am too thirsty. I need it. I NEED IT! I manage to stagger back up in time to find the young man taking out another pistol from a recess in his vest and aim it at me. As he fires it, I throw my own discharged firearm. It impacts his shoulder as he shoots and a massive hole opens in the wall next to me. I need to get closer, but I can¡¯t! What to do! Oh. Of course. I rush forward once more as the man takes out a smaller pistol from yet another pocket. How many does he even have? This time he waits calmly for me to approach. When I am but a few feet away I pull the knife from my arm and throw it at him. I care not about the pain. I only care about the deliverance he will offer me. My awkward throw sends the flat of the blade to impact his nose and it breaks his concentration. As he recoils from the pain. I manage to around him. I grab his neck with two fingers and push him down. At the same time, I bring one of his arms back and bite. Ah, yes! Or no. This isn¡¯t close to what I had before! It simply will not do! I cannot take it in. It barely dulls the edge. I need more. I need him. s?a??h th? ?ov?l?ir?.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. I NEED IT FROM HIM! I¡­ what? Nothing makes sense anymore! Somebody cackles like a madwoman. Me. I stand up and grab a dagger. Ignoring everything else, I follow my nose to a draft of fresh air I feel. The air is tainted by smoke but this is the way out. I know it. I will live. In a daze, I leave the three bodies behind and walk past corpses of servants and soldiers as well as one inexplicable pile of ash to the scene from a battlefield. A broken down barricade stands not ten meters from a half-collapsed wall. I count more than a dozen bodies of both sides strewn about, including a few women and quite the assortment of weapons. It looks like the invaders stormed it and left no one alive. As I pass the barricade, the reason for their anger lies before me. The entrance to this wing of the fortress has been blown open, yet the wall partly collapsed, creating a chokepoint and corpses of the invaders litter the ground. Even in my dazed state, I am stunned by the extent of the destruction I am witnessing. What manner of fanatics would throw their lives away like this? What would justify such determination, or such hatred? I cross the door and find trails of drying blood. Recent. Someone dragged their wounded out. So thirsty. I stumble forward and find myself in a massive hall the size of a cathedral. The walls are natural. Is this some sort of cave? Another set of doors faces me. The cave goes up to my left but the draft comes from my right. I walk in that direction. This place is empty but for the dead. A handful of oil lamps provides enough illumination to see clearly. This hall is barren and its sole purpose seems to be to instill a sense of majesty or dread. I cannot tell. I quickly reach a set of massive stairs when two forms step down from it. I did not hear them at all! The first one is a bearded blond man with pale grey eyes in a blue overcoat who frowns at my sight. The second one elicits a gasp of surprise from me. I have seen many slaves and freemen, hailing from Haiti or the continent. They always have something about them while in the presence of many white folks. Sometimes it is fear, sometimes, respect and quite often, it is defiance, but what they all have in common is that they never let their guard down. Not this man. Dressed in a beige leather ensemble and quite visibly armed, he has a sarcastic smirk on his face that shows that he fears no one. Bar Master and my father, he is also the tallest man I have ever seen. The two newcomers are followed by brown haired twin men and a black woman, respectively. All of them exude the same cold aura I now attribute to afflicted, with the first two men being on par with Lady Moor and Lord Ceron. I need to go up. I NEED TO BREAK THROUGH. No. They are stronger, I cannot leave. The blond man steps towards me and before I can react, he faster than I can think and my vision turns white. ¡°Ah!¡± One moment I am looking forward, the next I am held above ground by five sharp things digging in my stomach. The pain is unbearable and the tenuous hold I had on my mind finally breaks. It is too much. I stay there, unmoving. I don¡¯t have to struggle. I don¡¯t have to breathe. Moving just means more pain. Better to stay and wait. Focus on fighting the fog. The last dregs of consciousness I can hold to. If I let go, it is over. I know it in my soul. As I drift in and out I can hear fragments of conversation. Somehow, we are going up. We reach another grand entrance, this one made of wood. We walk through the burnt husk of a mansion. We walk through a garden. We are outside. Finally, something shakes me from my torpor and I let out a weak moan. It¡¯s Him! My salvation! His mere presence stitches more of me back together. Enough to follow what happens. The blond man throws me on the ground. I curl up around my belly. I fight off the pain. I can do nothing else. I will live. I just need a few more minutes, and Master will save me. Just a little bit longer¡­ Master grabs my neck. I do not need to see him to know it. His touch makes my body lax. Even the pain and the Thirst fade. I find myself looking into his face. Ah, those handsome features! This kingly presence! His noble beard! HiS eIghT fanGs. Oh, my name on his lips! I am undone. I find myself smiling like a witless maiden. I love him so much! The world gradually disappears as my body relaxes completely. The world fades away and at the same time, I regain perfect clarity. Never since my awakening in this dark cell have I felt so focused. His attention goes to someone else. No! Look at me! He turns back to me. Yes! There is some commotion outside, after a while, He asks me more. Another commotion. Master looks pleasantly surprised. This time the commotion is quite loud. As I relay the encounter to master, his smile grows wider and more malevolent until he laughs. The sinister sound sets my stomach aflutter. A pause. He slowly drags me up to the crook of his neck. I do not understand what he wants until he places my mouth against his soft skin. My mouth instinctively opens and he lets himself be touched. I feel something thick and syrupy pass through my parted lips. Time stops. Even if one day I forget my name, even if I live a thousand years, even if I am robbed of every last shred of sanity I have, I shall never forget the moment I taste this essence. I will go on blessed by the experience and cursed by the knowledge that nothing will ever compare. Words escape me. I die of pleasure a thousand times. The wave of agony and bliss burns through me again and again, lasting both an instant and an eternity, and I am carried on it helplessly. After a while, visions like fleeting dreams appear to me. I I pull away with a gasp before the blazing potency makes me burn from within. My fraying mind is reforged at its sharpest and coldest. The power courses through me and invades every organ. I absorb it like a woman dying of thirst. I remember. My name is Ariane Lucille Beatrice Reynaud. I have a father and an older brother. Family, friends, hopes and dreams. I came to New Orleans with my best friend for a short stay. I intended to talk to an acquaintance at a ball and met Master here. He¡­ No. No. No no nonononoNONONONO NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO ¡°WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME, YOU! YOU!¡± The monster laughs, he is filled with mirth! NO! This cannot be, it is a nightmare! No. I refuse to¡­ No. It¡¯s¡­ ¡°What hAve yOu done? What am I? Why?¡± How can I hate him when I love him so much and I hate him so much and love him so much and¡­.. HAAAAAGH¡± His hand slides from my neck to my throat. ¡°Urgh!¡± ¡°Tut tut He smiles disarmingly. ¡° ¡± ¡° Despite my best efforts, I raise my eyes to the sky above. So beautiful. A canopy of light and darkness. A canvas where some divine artist threw lights and shades of colors in some unfathomable pattern. I never knew the heavens could be so breathtaking, and I would stare in wonder were it not for a new celestial body. Twisted clouds and roots of baleful purple enshrine an eye of black sclera and a slitted red pupil. It is absolutely massive. It dwarfs even the moon. The sky has a gigantic eye. A demonic cat eye in a purple crown. I stare, speechless. It stares back. I want to close my eyes but I cannot for Master bid me look. Sheer terror courses through my mind. It is alive. I feel a presence. Master says, Chapter 6: Uprooted The man throws me on the ground.he says without a care. I can barely lift my eyes to see the hem of a blue dress. S?a??h the N???lFire.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. This is all too much. I finally understand. I remember dying. I am now a monster. I have been a monster for four days. I drink blood. I am damned, an abomination. And the people in the corridor, they were priests. I killed a priest. That boy on the first night, I killed him too. And before that, my last nights as a normal person, I¡­ He¡­did things to me. This is not a nightmare, I know it with perfect clarity, just as I know that I should feel hysterical but cannot, I should wish for death but I do not. Something in me is broken. Old age may have robbed me of my mind, eventually, but what streams my consciousness, what moves my heart now is not the spirit of a person. It is much colder. Already, the tears I shed have dried on my cheeks. Panic has receded, replaced by cold certainty. I am no longer the Ariane that danced and drank fine wine on that night, the one who suffered, fought and begged for freedom then for a quick death. I am not her. Not entirely. I am a vampire, and I want to live. I may have been robbed of the future I envisioned but I will not throw away this pathetic excuse of a life until I fulfill this promise to myself. I am Ariane. I am my own. I will live, and I will go home. They cannot take this from me. I will not let them. Never. As Jimena said, patience and determination will carry me. Jimena. She helped me. She showed compassion, kindness, honor. Are they not all monsters? I turn my head left. There she is, her armor reddened by blood but otherwise unharmed. She looks forward like a soldier at a parade. As I look, she turns to me briefly. Long enough to see the pity in her eyes. I need to think, to evaluate. I need time. Lord Ceron answers. says Master, and the clearing goes deathly still. I turn my head in disbelief to the blond bearded man. Gaspard, the representative for clan Roland. Is he serious?! Can he not tell how utterly outclassed he is? the tall black man declares in a low rumble. Lord Ceron adds. Lady Moor continues with a voice as cold as it is uncaring. The group moves away and I push myself up to Lady Moor¡¯s icy eyes. I stand up before her and grind my teeth in silence. I do not know the rules that regulate vampires and therefore I do not know how freely she can kill me. I need to make her believe that keeping me alive will be more beneficial than finishing me off. That trollop, I so want to WRENCH OFF HER HEAD. Ah. So this is what it is. I can feel my own mind, twisted and corrupted like the surface of a lake, and there is something else, something deeper. When I was alive, I was prone to feeling anger, but this is different. It is like a twisted thing that prowls beneath the surface, pitiless and predatory. It is the part of me that fought those priests and took Ogotai by surprise, and if I release it, it will not throw harsh words. Right now, it is of no use to me. Any resistance on my part will be met swiftly and mercilessly. Mistaking my silence for complacency, Lady Moor smirks and moves away. I do, and finally take the time to check around me. We stand in the middle of an exquisite garden. The mansion dominating it might have been a sight at some point. Now, only blackened beams and collapsed walls remain. Somebody dug a path from the outside to the massive steel door at its heart. Bodies of those battle priests litter the grass although most seem to have died in some sort of defensive line. Collapsed tents and slain beasts form a grisly spectacle somewhere at the edge of the property. I can spot servants packing belongings in coaches in the distance, so it seems some of them survived. Vampires gather around a flat circle in silence. It seems that each lord has between two and five followers who stand behind them. I want to join Master, yet I place myself behind the Lancasters. Melusine turns in my direction and smiles cruelly. I do not react. The two combatants enter the arena. Lady Moor takes a white band and releases it without ceremony. I can see every detail on the Roland Lord¡¯s arrogant face: his pride, his disdain, the certainty of his victory. I shall never be so utterly brainless, and thus I promise to myself to keep the beast in check. What follows is a lesson, and this lesson is not for Gaspard. It is for the rest of us. One moment the Lord stands at the edge of the circle, the next moment he is right next to Master in a perfect lunge. His black bladed sword kisses the edge of Master¡¯s deep blue coat without touching it. Master has one hand on Gaspard''s sword arm and the second deep within his chest. Gaspard''s expression turns from triumph, to surprise, to pain, to horror. A torrent of black blood rains on the ground and the Roland clan representative staggers and lurches, only kept standing by Master¡¯s steel grip. With deliberate slowness, Master ignores the man¡¯s pleading eyes and releases the blade, which falls on the ground. He then grabs his throat. What follows is a moment I shall never forget. The sound of flesh tearing and bone breaking, the suction noise as the head is pulled minutely, the vertebrae revealed to the world with agonizing slowness. It takes the man ten seconds to die in a flash of blue fire. Ten seconds during which Master reveals his true colors: he is utterly bored. This is nothing to him, just another insect that needs its wings pulled so that the other vermin know better than to provoke him. The local master did not even warrant the satisfaction of the kill. He was such easy a prey. Master turns to the silent assembly with one raised eyebrow. Lady Moor bows to him. ¡°Melusine will show you to your ship, my Lord.¡± I derive a small amount of satisfaction from the abject terror shown on the little harlot¡¯s face. Unfortunately, when Master turns to leave, I take a step forward despite myself. I know I shouldn¡¯t, yet I must try. He ignores me, completely. He leaves without a word, without even a look. I don¡¯t understand. I have been a good girl. I did everything he asked¡­ I did my best! So why, why¡­ The other vampires are perfectly silent, so my outburst and the following shame are witnessed by all. When I think it could not possibly get worse, I feel two claws grab my neck. Lady Moor¡¯s cold breath on my ear makes me shiver. ¡° Her vicious claws draw blood and I convulse in answer. Ah! This really hurts! I can only be grateful that most other vampires leave to attend to other business as I slowly take off my gown, gritting my teeth. In short order, I stand in my smallclothes in the middle of the clearing, grateful that the view of my disrobed body remains hidden behind a curtain of green. This is the most indecent thing I have been forced to do. I wince as a memory worms itself to the forefront of my mind. It is, in fact, the second most indecent thing I have ever been submitted to. God, why did I have to die like this? What have I ever done to deserve such treatment? Why have you forsaken me? I do not receive an answer, not that I expect one. I do not wait long. A bearded man soon reaches us. I recognize the insane blue eyes that greeted me in my cell back on the first day. He leers at me shamelessly! I try to cover myself as best as I can. I hiss in outrage and he recoils. The man looks at me thoughtfully then throws me another dress, a humble apparel of white linen. I would never have let one of our estate¡¯s servants walk around in this rag, and yet I treasure it for it is the only material thing I possess now. I do believe that Lady Moor did not want me naked only so that the unspoken threat of this condition deters me from opposing her will. As soon as I am covered, we leave to join the procession of coaches and carriages leaving the fortress ground. The remaining Roland clan members precede us as I recognize the twins. It appears that the death of their leader has not affected them in the slightest. I am horrified when I see where I am led. Lady Moor turns to me, expecting a reaction, yet this time I manage to remain silent. A cage. They are going to transport me in a cage like a circus animal. Oh, I so wish to make them SUFFER, but I need to exert patience. Baudouin has a pair of manacles hanging from his shoulder, massive objects of cruel metal, and I have no intention of letting him come anywhere near me if I can help it. Lady Moor gestures to the door and I get in wordlessly. It is a testament to my circumstances that I am grateful that the cage is clean. Lambert silently rides a horse to my side. He pointedly ignores me and I am only too happy to return the favor. Clan Lancaster is the last to leave the fortress grounds. Only a dozen servants are left to clean up the battlefield. Our little procession is made of six coaches and four carts including my own, and we depart in silence. Despite my circumstances, I cannot help but look around me in wonder. For the first time, I truly appreciate night in the bayou. The oppressing wet heat of summer is mercifully subdued at night, or perhaps I am no longer so afflicted by it. Sounds and smells form a vast harmony and I spend quite a bit of time looking at strange arrangements in the leaves and barks of the cypresses, and ripples on ponds of brackish waters. Every insect and every plant hold a new fascination for me as if I had never seen them before. I suspect that vampire vision is highly superior to that of humans to help us perform some foul deeds, and it brings me some consolation that my new senses can be used for more than just evil. It is also my luck that the path is quite muddy, else I would be swallowing the entire caravan¡¯s dust. We are in July and night is the only time when the weather is tolerable. So, I am a vampire. I have no idea what that means. Never have I heard of such a thing. I have difficulties admitting that monsters could live among humans, moving faster than the eye can see and digging into people¡¯s chest at will without it being common knowledge. Surely, people would ask questions upon having their blood consumed? If those battle priests know of us, why not call the colonial militia and give us the cannons? I am simply baffled. There are so many things I do not understand. Truly, I am a toddler once more. Thinking on it, can I still bear children? Would I even want to? Would they not be twisted things, just like me? I abandon this line of thought. I will not give Lambert the satisfaction of seeing me cry a second time in a single night. I would also not want to ask questions. It appears that talking without leave is not looked upon kindly. My cart is at the very tail of the procession and we advance at a snail¡¯s pace, so much that we eventually lose sight of the rest. I assume that so many carts together in the middle of the night would attract undue attention, so I am only left with a human driver and the ever-taciturn Lambert. Fortunately, the new experience of the night entertains me until we come across a patrol of three armed militia. They look at me questioningly. I do not wish to resist at this point. Jimena¡¯s promise is still clear in my mind and I do not doubt that Lambert could disable them in an instant, should I try to force a rescue. I am therefore compelled to hear him explain how I am the wanton daughter of a tailor, who ran away from home after finding out I was with child, from an unknown father, no less. I apparently murdered the babe as he was born so I could continue with my depravity. The faces of the men turn from wariness, to shock and eventually, to disgust as Lambert spins his tale. He is as good an actor as I took him for, and I note to myself that I shall never trust a word he says. We leave the patrol behind us and cross a small village. The night comes alive with the smell of humanity. Under the stench of sweat and unwashed bodies, there is a perfume of vitality that makes my jaw ache. I pass my tongue over my fangs, only to find out that there are eight of them. They have replaced all my canines, and the outermost incisive as well. Jimena mentioned that my bloodline¡¯s appearance was unmistakable. This is certainly why. Now that my memory is clearer, the other vampires all have four. This is grave news. It means that I must absolutely keep the sight of my teeth to myself lest my lineage is immediately found. As I ruminate, we leave the village and come upon another patrol. This time, Lambert entertains them with a tale of my murder of the old man who welcomed me to his hearth, how I poisoned him and seduced his son to steal the family¡¯s fortune. Again, the looks of horror on their face are striking and I wonder why Lambert lies with such aplomb when there is no benefit to it. He is not even having fun. After a while, the land gradually changes and we find ourselves next to a colonial house of massive proportions. For a while now, I have smelled the barest hint of brine in the wind and I remember that clan Lancaster has an interest in sea trade. I suspect that we may not be far from New Orleans. The place of my demise. Lambert opens the cage and lets me out. I follow him in silence across a grand entrance and a series of corridors. We walk past tastefully decorated rooms and a few submissive servants in blue uniform to a closed door. Lambert knocks and we go in. The room is a boudoir of good size illuminated by candles. A handful of vampires lounge lazily on comfortable couches. I am horrified, not by their number, but by their immobility. There is not a whisper of moving fabric, not a sigh. They are not even breathing. Shocked, I begin holding my breath. I am still holding it as Lambert leads me to the forefront. I am still holding it as Lady Moor stands up from a throne-like seat to address the crowd. The vampires shift their postures to show attention. I feel like I am watching a puppet show, so unnatural their movements are. I count seven in total. Besides Lady Moor, Melusine, and Lambert, there are also a weasel-faced scoundrel, a bovine toad of a woman, a witless looking slip of a girl with crooked teeth, and a balding brute. It finally occurs to me that Louisiana is not a land of exiles just for the humans. The grisly automatons clap politely, like the obedient curs they are. The assembly does not betray any sort of reaction. I do not believe that such a sorry lot would harbor any kind of sympathy for each other. Not if I can help it. I feel like a piece of meat dangled before a pack of bloodhounds. I notice the vilest and cruel of smiles on the red-headed harridan. Ah, truly, I will need every scrap of self-control I can salvage. The rest of them stand as she leaves. Melusine reaches my side and grabs my arms as if we were the best of friends before dragging me out of the room. I am surprised to see that I am quite a bit taller than her but it matters not. She has me, and she knows it. This will be difficult. Chapter 7: Servitude I open my eyes to total darkness. The pantry sized room they call mine greets me in all its misery. In truth, it is a cell, for what bedroom has a lock on the outside?No nightmare tonight. A pleasant change. I hear footsteps coming. I do not even have the luxury of privacy. I have learned much in a week. Vampires ¡°die¡± at dawn and wake up at sunset or before. During that time, we are utterly defenseless. Sunlight kills us. Silver blades cut us deep. Fire will turn us into torches faster than one can say ¡°arson¡±. Our mind is prone to distractions unless we hunt. In return, our body is superior in all accounts and can heal even the most grievous of wounds, given enough time and nourishment. We do not have to breathe, poison cannot hurt us and we cannot drown. Only the destruction of our head and heart spells a certain end. This implies that Ogotai may have survived his wounds if one of the priests supplied him with blood. Blood. It is the Red of the Journey, the energy we need to consume to sustain the parody of life that animates us. It cannot be stored. It must be consumed from the source and without it, the predatory part of us will take over until it tastes the crimson nectar. Vampires who lose control, sometimes fail to get it back. They must be hunted down like beasts. The Thirst drives us. It taints every aspect of our existence. It can never be completely overcome, and it will never be truly sated. For fledglings like me, it is a daily struggle to control it, and then another struggle not to fall into torpor after we slake it. For this, we have a few tools. Vampire saliva can make the bite extremely pleasurable, and then closes the wound so that it fades at record speed. Bitten individuals will develop an unnatural loyalty for the vampire, despite themselves. Our eyes can confuse memory, though I am sure there is more to it than I was told. I have not been allowed to leave the building so far, and every night a new human is brought to me. Using Jimena¡¯s method, I have been able to stop feeding without Melusine hurting me too much. I can tell that she is disappointed, and the death of cattle would have been a good excuse for her to belittle me. The logistics used in feeding eight vampires must be truly staggering. That is probably how the battle priests usually find us. We have a few distinctive features, such as the claws and pallor but our fangs are usually hidden unless the grasp of the Thirst gets too strong. We are not reflected by mirrors either, which I find quite silly. All in all, it seems that whoever created us meant for us to infiltrate the human world. Hunting us must be quite difficult. When I asked about the priests, Melusine became unusually tight lipped and I had to drop the topic. I hear soft gasps. Joan is gathering enough courage to knock on my door. She does not have the submissive behavior of servants who have bowed to vampires for a long time. There is a fire in her that they have not managed to extinguish. Melusine knows this, and that is why she is charged with being the first I see in the morning. I mean, evening. If I drink her dry, Melusine has killed two birds with one stone. She is quite petty like that. So far, I have managed to control myself, but it is becoming difficult. Melusine is stopping my feedings just a little bit early. Every night, I find my self-control eroding a bit more. There is a knock on my door. ¡°Come in.¡± The courtesy is a joke and we both know it, yet I cling to any appearance of control and every scrap of manners to keep the Thirst at bay. ¡°Mistress Melusine requests your presence, Miss Ariane.¡± I nod, not trusting myself to speak and she leaves promptly. The scent of vitality caresses my nostrils and the Thirst punches me in the gut. I feel like someone scooped my innards with a frozen axe. Nobody has fed from Joan for a long time. So it would be fine if I had a taste. Just a taste. Melusine can punish me later. I need just a tiny, tiny mouthful. Just a few droplets. No. I must not. When I come to, my hand is on the handle of the door and Joan is standing still with her back to the wood. She is perfectly silent, her eyes closed and her face lax but I can smell the fear in her perspiration, hear it in the beat of her heart. She is doing her best not to struggle, knowing that a mere move will set me off. So close. So very, very close. Finger by finger, I release my hold and open the door for her. Only when I turn around does she leave. That was the closest call, BUT I SHOULD RUN AFTER HER AND TACKLE HER TO THE GROUND! THEN-- No. I will not. I get changed, mechanically, and reach Melusine¡¯s office. She is in deep conversation with a richly dressed man with a fetching appearance. He does not know what he is in for. I can see it from his flushed face and the scent of his arousal. To be alone with a woman like Melusine is titillating him. His mind has yet to be tainted by one of us. Prey. Melusine plays us both with a lengthy introduction. His initial frustration at being interrupted turns to pure lust at the sight of two beautiful women. I can imagine the lewd pictures his twisted mind must provide. How many indignities must I be subjected to before it is over? I have only been here for a week; a week of constant battle against myself and Melusine¡¯s petty humiliations. Finally, I am given an opportunity to embrace him under some ridiculous pretext. My hands reach around his shoulders and I nuzzle his neck. I am in the wooden cabin. One lick, one bite. Finally. I drank two more swallows than I was granted by enduring the pain of the hussy¡¯s claws in my neck. She drew blood. After I am done, she carries him to parts unknown while I attempt to scrub the memory of his erect manhood against my belly. How I wish padded pants were in fashion. With a knock, two other vampires join us and Melusine resumes her ¡°lessons¡±. What follows is what makes my predicament border on the intolerable. I have already been robbed of my humanity, now the Lancaster princess is after my sanity as well. Her teachings are a tragedy in two acts and four participants. First, she will demonstrate her knowledge of a specific topic, like the superiority of the Lancaster philosophy, with as much arrogance and derision as she can muster. While she does so, my fellow students, the bovine Charlotte and witless Sophie will gush at Melusine¡¯s intellect and overall superiority. Praises must be properly heaped on and the princess will select a different favorite every day, who will receive her benevolence while the two others accumulate scathing remarks and disparaging comments. Suffice to say, I only participate enough not to be punished. After a while, she will test our understanding with tricky questions. She has a way to slide cutting remarks and casual humiliations in every sentence that is designed to leave the rest of us ashamed. She expertly divides and conquers us, constantly pulling our group down but distributing just enough encouragement to foster a nasty form of competition. She gives her favor as easily as she takes it and does her best to keep us on our toes. I can only grit my teeth. I am less insulted by her numerous slights and more by the fact that she thinks herself smart. She can only do this because my two companions have the intellect of a shrivelled turnip between the two of them. I do not know who turned those two brainless twits into creatures of the night. I think they should have stabbed themselves in the groin instead. Charlotte gushes, that sow. If battle priests were to bust the door open right now and set us all ablaze, I believe I would let them, and be grateful to boot. How can she say that with a straight face? I see the malevolent glint in Melusine¡¯s eyes and I can tell that I should have nodded along with the two stooges. Now I must endure her for a bit longer before she switches targets. I can feel two baleful glares directed at me as I apparently overtake the two simpletons in the pecking order. I nod in assent. I do not like where this is going but I must play along. Whatever Melusine wants me to do, I will be compelled to do. My only hope is that she loses interest to pick on another. I freeze. With no heartbeat and no need to breathe, we vampires can reach a state of perfect immobility, which I am displaying right now. I absolutely need to show a hint of fear, and then submission. If she guesses the truth she might withdraw her offer just to see me suffer. I pretend to swallow nervously and flinch, before giving her a nervous smile. Please, I beg you, accept this lie. I would do anything to get out of this farce of a tea party if only for a few days. I will shovel horse dung by the cartload. I will crawl in the mud and catch frogs with my bare hands. Please, let me go. Three sadistic smiles inform me of the success of my little facade. I barely manage to contain my excitement the next hour. I compel myself to look suitably worried and act more submissive than usual. Finally. I may be able to go out. OoO I wake up to the whispers of gossip. Cattle are a strange sort. They are unusually obedient and unerringly loyal, yet their other flaws feel exacerbated. They backstab, plot and slander to earn the favor of creatures that will never see them as more than blood sources and bed warmers. They have their use, though. After a week of being harmless, they have started to treat me with indifference. They do not seek my favors due to my status as an outsider and rumors about my bloodline, and my lack of reaction means that they have lowered their guard when around me. And so, I have picked up quite a bit of information. Most of it disgusts me. The Lancaster vampires are a petty, vicious and promiscuous lot. Each one has their flaws, their twisted desires, and vile habits. They are all detestable, each in their own special way. Melusine enjoys breaking couples. She will track them for days, seduce and have her way with the fianc¨¦ and then arrange a public confrontation. The more violent the breakup, the better for her. Lambert is a compulsive liar who preys after young and ambitious merchants. He will deceive and scam them until they are ruined. It is only at the moment of their fall that he will display something more than his usual apathy. Charlotte is a violent bully with an inferiority complex. She enjoys breaking servants and I am convinced she used to be one. Sophie has the wit of a boiled potato and half the charm. She does not behave too cruelly because she lacks the cunning to do so. It could be an act, of course, and I never let my guard down around her. The weasel man answers to Wilburn and he is a serial rapist. Only his fear of Melusine has protected me from his attention. I surmise that he tried something on her, and she made the following lesson unforgettable. The burly, bald man is named Harold and he has a chip on his shoulder. Every perceived slight against him eventually turns into physical punishment and no amount of pleading and promises changes his belief that everyone is insulting him behind his back. If their continued existence is not proof that God has abandoned this world, I do not know what is. I repeat this sentence every twilight, in that small moment of peace before the Thirst turns me into a fiend masquerading as a person. I say it in the tongue of Akkad, the language of vampires. I was surprised to learn that the others had to study it. I have no idea how the knowledge just slithered in my mind, and I would rather not ask. Joan knocks on my door shortly after the Thirst hits. This time, I do not ask her in. Instead, I quickly send her away. I don one of my four outfits and get out. All my clothes look shabby and out of fashion while being functional. I look like the daughter of a family that fell on hard times, all of this to feed the image of the world as it exists in Melusine¡¯s twisted psyche. They are not even comfortable, especially around my, well¡­ They are just too tight. The rotund form of Charlotte blocks the passage. Her fat jowls quiver with fury at my rebuke. Ah, but her master must have loved Rubenesque women, and been short-sighted and deaf besides. Perhaps he lived in some remote corner of Finland and she was the only woman within a month of travel. I can think of no other explanation. Instead of leaving, her scowl turns to a smirk and I brace myself for the next inanity to be born from her addled brain. I insinuate. I smile. I am Thirsty and this stupid sow is in my way. Let her see the fangs. Let her remember what my vampiric siblings are famous for. She flinches and steps back when I pass her by. I may be weak, like all fledglings, but she is even weaker. She is the dreg at the bottom of the barrel. I will make every encounter a slap to her pride until she learns to leave me be. The Lancaster training room is on the first floor. If there is a basement, I have never seen it. Melusine is waiting. She is dressed in a strange outfit that bridges the gap between travel dress and armor. She is also holding a fencing sword. Sophie is already sitting on the side and Charlotte enters shortly after me. No humans. This is not very auspicious. If Melusine invited spectators, it means that she intends to humiliate me. She gives me a training sword and demonstrates proper handling and some basic moves while the two clueless twits fawn over her ¡°grace and elegance¡±. Still no humans. I am so Thirsty. I return my attention to the little princess. Watching her reminds me of Jimena¡¯s comment on the Lancaster clan. She mentioned their lack of prowess on the field of battle and I can tell from comparing the two women that it is accurate. Melusine may have had some formal training, but she is no master. Her movements are too mechanical. She lacks the deadly grace and seamless ease of the Cadiz squire. Jimena had made every demonstration natural and effortless. After a while, she orders me to copy her gestures and I do my best to learn. This is the most constructive activity I have taken part in since reaching this den of depravity. No amount of poorly-veiled insults will ruin my enjoyment. The physicality of the activity even manages to distract me from the Thirst. Since I am not talking, or thinking, life is simple. I lunge, I cut, I move. I let my body and the monster within guide me. It already knows how to do it. I have but to listen and follow. It seems my enjoyment was too obvious. Ah, it is time for the inevitable humiliation. I just hope it will be brief, and not too painful. Melusine retrieves an engraved glove of strange design. It is pretty enough to wear at a ball, I suppose, yet the amount of metal involved makes it look like some knight gauntlet. She says with supreme confidence. Should I go faster? It will make me even more Thirsty. In the end, my pride will not allow me to roll over and grant her an easy triumph. I . When I reach her, she lifts her gauntleted hand and speaks calmly. I left. Something smacks against my waist and leg. I am sent flying and spinning. How? I smack against the weapon rack. Steel beams punch my side and I collapse on the floor. My head is spinning, and the pain clouds my mind. ¡°Aaa!¡± It hurts. Why fight this one? Cannot consuMe. Too stRong. DoOr. Out. PREY. ¡°?¡± ¡°¡± I need the sweet nectar now. Need it, need it, nEed it. The red-haired woman sees something in my face and grabs my neck. She takes me out. I do not resist, this time. She is leading me to blood. I know it. We reach a black-haired woman. Cute. Delicious smell of terror. She knows. I smile. Tears. Beautiful. Wait no, need to remember. The log cabin. Maybe not this time? Maybe this time I can just let myself go? Joan. No, this is a trick. The red-haired woman hurt me. I sit in the log cabin. Outside, the wind rustles the sugar canes and carries the smell of wet earth. I am safe. This is a good place. My name is Ariane. Melusine is a trollop. Something is thumping. The rhythm is too fast and-- I pull out and lick the wound clean. Joan is unconscious and white as a sheet, but it looks like I managed to stop in time. S?a??h th? N0v?lFire(.)n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. I will not give that harlot satisfaction. If I kill cattle, it will be because I decided it. It occurs to me that her entire misbegotten farce of a clan is so twisted that she might actually mean it. In a few decades, I shall attempt to revisit the question while skinning her alive with a rusty letter opener. Ah yes, I should show my appreciation for their precious gifts. The glorified wardrobe they call a bedroom and all four of my outfits. I follow Melusine to the entrance. Apparently, twenty minutes of training qualify me for a soldier role. I spent that much time listening to Papa before he would even let me hold an unloaded pistol. My mind wanders. I wonder how my family is doing. They must think me dead. I remember waking up in a hospital after¡­the first night. I was in too much pain to remember much. I think Father was there. Then that man took me from the room and dragged me to a basement. I died there, on the third night. I push back unwanted memories. If they see me again, they will know. There was too much damage. I would have born the scars my whole life. Should I even attempt it? I must. I want closure. I need to say farewell to what I used to be. Bury human Ariane¡¯s hopes and plans. Grieve. We reach the main hall and turn left to what I know is Baudoin¡¯s office. I know he is mortal, but he is not cattle. I smell Lady Moor on him. She turns around and leaves. Curious. I knock on the door and a bored voice bids me come in. I close the door behind me and catch Baudoin staring at my backside as I turn around. I hiss softly, which is enough to remind him that I do not play. ¡°Yes? What do you want with old Baudoin?¡± His accent is quite strange, and I cannot place it, even after hearing English spoken from Acadian and Choctaw mouths. ¡°I was sent to assist you.¡± ¡°I do not want help from a fledgling of less than a year! This will require a delicate hand. Lady Moor herself said I could have Melusine for this task.¡± I need to add sloth to Melusine¡¯s long list of flaws. ¡°She did mention not wanting to run your errands.¡± ¡°Is that so? Well, you tell her to get back here, lest I tell the Lady, heh?¡± ¡°Of course Baudouin, I shall convey your message.¡± ¡°No, wait.¡± He says as my hand grasps the handle. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. Baudouin¡¯s office says a lot about the man himself. I am suitably impressed by the organized stacks of documents, the cleanliness and the stress on function over form. Under his appearance of a perverted and deviant highwayman, he is, in fact, a perverted and deviant businessman. Which is infinitely more dangerous. ¡°Perhaps, you will do.¡± I can understand the pain of forcing the little princess to do anything productive. ¡°What is it that you need?¡± I ask him. The man sits back in his comfortable chair. ¡°A young rogue by the name of Andre Villemain had the audacity of taking over one of our warehouses. Yesterday, he and his merry band broke in and set up camp among crates of our finest china.¡± Baudouin waits to see if I react. I gesture for him to continue. If he needed Melusine, it means the situation needs to be resolved with a scalpel, not a hammer. ¡°Normally I would sicc the boys on them and be done with it. Unfortunately, Villemain is the son of two rather important people and killing him would sour our professional relationships.¡± ¡°I assume they cannot rein him in?¡± ¡°Unfortunately, Villemain is at the age where one rebels against authority. Due to his lineage, he believes himself untouchable and flaunts his status to all who would listen. Worse, he attracted a gathering of children from good families and any bloodbath could impact our bottom line for years to come.¡± ¡°You need someone to convince them to get out without resorting to violence?¡± ¡°Not too much violence at least. He is quick to anger and your, ah, fellow immortals tend to be heavy-handed. I need a delicate touch. I also need to send a clear warning. We simply cannot be trodden upon. That is why I cannot bribe him.¡± ¡°This will require a delicate balance.¡± ¡°And now you know why old Baudouin is troubled, lass. What can an artist like me do without proper agents to carry my will?¡± I scoff. ¡°I am willing to try, but I require something in exchange,¡± The cunning negotiator¡¯s eyes suddenly turn cold. ¡°And what would that be?¡± ¡°Only general questions about the world. Despite my lessons, there is still much for me to learn.¡± ¡°And Melusine¡¯s choice of materials is not to your liking? Let me guess, you know everything about clan Lancaster¡¯s noble history?¡± ¡°Since the war of the Two Roses, decade by decade.¡± He laughs softly. ¡°Very well, as long as it is nothing too serious. You would not try to turn on old Baudouin now, would you?¡± ¡°Of course not.¡± I smile. He swallows nervously. I believe I shall never tire of the effect the eight fangs have on people. ¡°Before we leave, there is a small matter of security. I am sure you understand.¡± I am immediately wary. ¡°I will require you to wear this while we are outside.¡± He stands up and walks to a safe. A moment later, he retrieves a richly decorated bracer from it. It looks like jewelry that gypsies would wear. All gold and bright color. ¡°What is it?¡± ¡°A tracking object, linked to Lady Moor herself.¡± ¡°Magic?¡± ¡°Yes. Should you try anything that could damage me or the clan, she will be able to track you and disable you. That means our reputation too. And don¡¯t you try to remove it. Better people than you have failed.¡± I measure my desire to get out of this filthy den against my unwillingness to be chained like a dog. Eventually, I choose to preserve my sanity over my dignity. Besides, if it comes to that I may be able to chop off my arm and reattach it later. I am that desperate. The bracer is frigid against my skin and I can feel something dormant in the pattern of gold and stones that decorate it. ¡°Let us go then.¡± Chapter 8: Outside We step outside and something stops me in my tracks.The night, in all its glory. The oppressive heat of deep Southern summer days has cooled down a bit. Life in all its forms has come out to enjoy the small respite. I smell water from the sea and from the marshes, life in the trees and the scent of humanity. The woodsmoke and the cooking meats, the alcohol and the sweat and under that, all this vitality. I hear people and hunting things. Insects. Some distant music. Men and women dancing, drinking, and singing their worries away. Tomorrow, news of capricious floods devastating fields and villages may come, as they do every summer, but for now, they forget. I look at the many roofs and the burning lamps, and above it, the sky. There are so many colors, so many patterns I had never noticed before. The Milky Way slashes the sky like the thrown brush of an irate painter. At the center of this incredible vista looms the strange eye I first saw. Just as I look at it, it stares right back, and I can once again feel an alien presence. It does not threaten nor promises, it does not even judge. It just watches quietly. Perhaps I have somewhat come to terms with my new nature because I find it soothing. Even the ever-present Thirst takes a place in the background. An insistent pull on my sleeve wakes me up from my reverie. I expected anger from Baudouin, but he only displays patient amusement. ¡°I always wondered how your kind sees it. You all look like it contains a Faberge egg, or a tarantula.¡± ¡°You know of what we see?¡± ¡°The eye? Aye, Lady Moor mentioned it. She calls it the Demon¡¯s gaze.¡± ¡°It is not a demon, but a ¡± Baudouin flinches. ¡°What?¡± ¡°Lord Nirari used the exact same term. I guess his blood runs true eh?¡± He sighs ¡°They say every vampire who looks up sees the eye staring right at them. Scary stuff, aye.¡± I have nothing to reply to that. We walk towards the docks and pass by the brand-new Spanish buildings around the Vieux Carr¨¦. The bells of the Saint Louis Cathedral grate my ears. It is midnight. ¡°Is something the matter Ariane?¡± ¡°I walked here, not a month ago. In that exact same street.¡± ¡°Ah, I forgot. I am not used to working with one so young. We will have to adapt, lest you are recognized.¡± ¡°You make it sound like you are an old man.¡± As it turns out, he is. Baudouin is Lady Moor¡¯s human servant. They are bound together and so long as she lives, so does he. Only masters can bind someone so. I learn more useful facts from him in thirty minutes than I ever did from that slovenly whore. Clan Lancaster rules most of the English part of New Orleans while clan Ekon wormed its way into the Creole population. Clan Cadiz only has a nominal presence. The Roland are all in Baton Rouge. What is left of them is, anyway. Clan Lancaster is renowned for its business acumen and ¡°recruits¡± heavily from mage families, with whom they are constantly at war. Clan Lancaster makes good money from the trade of slaves and foodstuff. Most of the profits are paid as a tithe to the Main House in England. I am sure this vexes Moor to no end. Mages are another part of the magical population. Baudouin informs me that he will give me a more detailed explanation of the global magic community if I prove myself a trusted associate. He knows much about vampires. Fledglings apparently need more blood just to function. Physical exertion consumes a tremendous amount of energy and is discouraged during the first two years. In fact, it appears that fledglings need to be reared for quite some time before they are able to enter society once more. The youngest of us are either feral or apathetic. There is no in-between. I seem to be the exception, though I am not sure why. Master is not known for siring spawns of notable intellect. Baudouin learned about my confrontation in Jimena¡¯s training room. I am quite fast for a newborn, but also very fragile and physically weak. This is good to know. Master is very old and I had hoped that it would make me stronger but it seems life does not work this way. Vampires dislike firearms, bows, and crossbows because those are peasant weapons. Many powerful vampires predate the use of gunpowder. This is yet another sign of profound arrogance and imbecility to me until I remember Master and Gaspard moving faster than even I could perceive. Perhaps this makes the use of ranged weapons pointless among us. I still see no reason not to use it on humans. Speaking of humans, the battle priests are members of the Order of Gabriel. They are dedicated to the extermination of all magical beings. They also despise the Irish, the Mexicans, the Jews, the poor, and women. Truly, a charming lot. Quickly, we reach the warehouse and I halt Baudoin before we come in sight. Those streets are silent but for laughter coming from our destination. I drag him through a nearby alley and approach the target from the side. It looks more like a barn than anything else. It is made from a dark wood that smells faintly of rot and is large enough to hide a sloop. I move my befuddled companion towards the entrance but stop before turning the corner and getting in view of the door. This is where the laughter is the loudest. I track a ray of light to a small hole in a plank. ¡°It is too small to see through, Ariane,¡± says Baudouin with derision. I stare him in the eye, place my clawed index against the opening and push. The damaged wood bends and breaks under the sharp nail and my finger digs completely. The raucous conversations mask the small noise I made. I did not break eye contact. Baudouin pales a bit, even though he must have seen more impressive displays of strength during his many years of service. I successfully hide my relief that the wood yielded. It would have been quite embarrassing otherwise. I look in. Dull oil lamps cast a yellow blaze on a dozen men and women in the midst of a drunken revel. They are all young and flushed with heat and vitality. The girls show just a bit too much skin than their parents would allow. The men¡¯s smiles have a wolfish quality. The Thirst wakes up from its slumber. Greedy thing, you were already fed once tonight. Like a princeling on his throne, a dashing young man in an open leather vest, brown pants, and boots sits at the forefront. He has black hair, an opera pirate beard, and dreamy grey eyes. He currently holds on his lap a cute blonde woman in trousers whose generous bust is revealed by a ample cleavage. A tall and strong bearded man stands close with a wary eye on the door. There is no doubt in my mind that the rakish lad is Mr. Villemain, the person I will have to convince. His pretentious mannerism and cocksure air strike a nerve in me and I take an instant dislike to him. I also discover another interesting fact about myself. While I used to judge group dynamics around power play and cliques, what I notice now is entirely focused on hunting. This is a herd. It has a dominant male, a dominant female, and a powerful beta. I see who will fight and who will flee. I see who I can isolate easily and who the easiest prey is. The runt of the group is a mousey girl with heavy glasses who stares fixedly at dear Andre with what Papa would call ¡°des yeux de crapaud mort d¡¯amour.¡± Eyes of the toad dying of love. Poor thing. I know better than most what infatuation can do when one¡¯s chosen¡¯s heart is as black as tar. ¡°Baudouin, find out who I cannot touch.¡± With his help, I identify three men and two women whose disappearance would cause an uproar. Andre¡¯s second and the blonde woman are not among them. Excellent. A plan starts to take form. ¡°How much time do I have?¡± ¡°Until the next delivery arrives, that would be three days from now.¡± ¡°That should be more than enough,¡± I reply and walk to the doors. There is no sentry outside, which does not surprise me. Andre is quite confident in the protection his name grants him. I open the door in silence and enter peacefully. I initially believed that the princeling had chosen this place because he wanted to ransom its content, but I may have overestimated him. The smell of overwrought sex is pungent in here. The dark corners of the warehouse provided the group with long-awaited intimacy. I am confident that some of the ladies present will regret their decisions in a few months when the consequences grow too big to be hidden from their parents. The bearded man is the first to see me and he takes out a cudgel, only to stop in his tracks when he notices my appearance. Gradually, the assembly falls silent as they realize the presence of an intruder until Andre is forced to turn his attention away from the blonde woman¡¯s left nipple to address this new development. The hussy has the audacity to look at me with rage as she readjusts her top, furious about the interruption. ¡°Well well well!¡± says the imbecile as the men chuckle ¡°Are you lost, sweet thing?¡± ¡°No, you are. This is a warehouse, not a club.¡± Anger flashes in the man¡¯s eye. ¡°Would you kindly leave? My employer needs this place.¡± The blonde woman whispers something in his ear with a sadistic smile and he nods. Some of the boys start jeering and ¡°complimenting¡± my backside. The temptation to shred them all and bathe in their viscera grows by the minute yet I successfully resist it. ¡°Why don¡¯t you stay awhile and play a few games? Then we will consider your proposal¡­¡± ¡°I will take this as a ''no'' and shall return tomorrow to see if you have changed your mind.¡± I turn around to leave. ¡°Not so fast!¡± I reach the door. ¡°Hey, you slut! George, get her!¡± When George steps out, I am already gone. Now they know what their sin is, I just need to hand the punishment. I take a deep breath and release it. What an unpleasant nightmare. I take another calming breath as the phantom pain of cold blades in my stomach makes me wince. I may no longer sweat, nor does my skin peel but there is still a scent to my body. It is not entirely unpleasant, I suppose, but I will have to take a bath later when I return from the warehouse. Yesterday was strangely gratifying. I am already dressed when a new servant knocks on my door. Joan is resting and this one lacks courage. I suppose I can hardly blame her when I almost killed her predecessor. ¡°I know where I need to go. You may leave.¡± I walk to the back of the property and the pens. There are a few isolated cages where the Lancaster stow the problematic cattle. ¡°Good evening, Blanche.¡± ¡°M¡­ Mistress Ariane! Please, please let me out! I promise I won¡¯t¡­¡± I bring the blonde woman closer to me and hug her tight. After a night of sex with the princeling and day out in the sweltering heat, she smells quite ripe. Her trousers are sticky with perspiration. I lick the two white scars on her neck, and she shivers with pleasure. I bite. I did not truly taste her yesterday, only marked her. It takes all my self-control not to kill her on the spot. It would be so easy. I wouldn¡¯t even be blamed. Something stops me, a sense of ownership. Blanche is my first cattle. Or at least she will be after a few more bites. It would just feel wasteful. I lick the wound clean and the Thirst recedes in the background of my mind, like a patient tiger. ¡°Of course Blanche, you know I only do this for your own good¡­.¡± ¡°Yes, Mistress, mmmmh. I¡¯m so sorry, we were just playing! I will tell Andre and he will understand, he is a good man! After you explain the situation to him, he will surely agree to leave!¡± ¡°Naturally.¡± I reply, smiling. I let my captive clean herself a bit in a water barrel as we wouldn¡¯t want to be stopped by the militia simply because of the smell. Before we set out, I stop by Baudouin¡¯s office. ¡°Come in! Ah, Ariane, how may I assist?¡± ¡°First, you could stop staring at my bottom every time I turn to close the door.¡± ¡°I fear it is too late for me to amend my behavior, young one.¡± ¡°You old pervert. In any case, I should return to the warehouse tonight and have them leave.¡± ¡°What if they refuse?¡± ¡°They will not.¡± Baudouin raises a dubious brow but gives me leave to go, as well as the small knife I requested. I walk through the streets of New Orleans in a simple dress and a conservative hat, courtesy of Baudouin. I also carry the bracer and a leather satchel. The cunning man mentioned it yesterday as we were walking back, and he was right. Clothes and behavior really allow one to blend in. I change the way I walk to appear less confident by slightly bending my back, lowering my head and affecting a subdued expression. Soon, I fade in the background. Just another maid on an errand, nothing to see and no one to notice. It is a different sort of magic, the art of street artists and con men. The tricks of the mind. I find them exhilarating. We reach the warehouse quickly. There is no merriment tonight. The place is deadly silent, but not deserted. Andre is living in an illusion of his own making. His parents are feared and protect him, his friends are rich and admire him. Daughters of respectable families fall for his wealth and good looks and spread their legs for his personal enjoyment. He is living the life. Yesterday he founded the seat of his power in some fat merchant¡¯s warehouse. In his mind, they would have fun for a while then leave after being paid off, preferably before the place turns too rank; the first step towards the creation of his own criminal empire, perhaps. Then I came. Blanche stepped out at some point during the night to attend to some natural needs, with George keeping an eye out. I took him out with a small bite and kidnapped the girl. Bites make everyone pliable, if only for a while. I knock on the door and receive no answer. I can smell people inside. They expected me to return after yesterday¡¯s message. I need them out. Fending off an ambush at this stage would be tedious. ¡°Mistress?¡± ¡°I am sorry, Blanche.¡± I step back from the gate and grab her, then I break one of her fingers. What a beautiful voice she has. As expected, the door bursts open and what is left of the gang spills out in the streets with Andre at the head. Only five of them left. All men. This is truly pathetic. I force Blanche on her knees and grab her hair while she nurses her hand. Her quiet sobs are the only thing disturbing the silence. I appreciate the moment. I find it fascinating that real life would match fiction so deliciously. Here we stand, at the end of act three. The male lead bristles with rage while his loved one bemoans her fate. The trusty second¡¯s eyes grow wide at the sight of me. The seeds of the plot are ready to germinate and their battered group ready to implode. I shiver in pleasure. I am the playwright and I already know how it all ends: with my victory. ¡°Release her immediately! Or else!¡± Yesterday, they would have rushed me with their eyes full of bloodlust. Tonight, they are wary, and broken. I took out their princess. She sits on the ground in front of me in defeat, and after one day of search, they failed to find her, to rescue her. Hours of rageful and enthusiastic inquiries, then the feeling of powerlessness. Reality came knocking and they didn¡¯t like it. They have already suffered the casualties of those who were there for the guilty pleasures and banter, but find street fighting and kidnappings too pedestrian. It is already over. Before Andre takes a step forward, I remove the knife from my satchel and apply the blade against Blanche¡¯s tender neck, hard enough to draw blood. ¡°No, Mistress, please. I beg you¡­¡± It is too much for the one remaining noble. He drops his saber and runs away. This leaves Andre, George and two henchmen. Laughable. ¡°You will pay for this you whore! You have no idea who you are messing with!¡± ¡°Andre Villemain, son of Gauthier Villemain and Alice Wintraub.¡± ¡°Wh¡­ What?¡± ¡°We know who you are, we know who your parents are, and we know what you have been up to. You came here high on pride and arrogance, thinking yourself untouchable. You thought wrong. Ah, but before we continue, this is a private conversation. The two of you? Leave us.¡± The two henchmen look at each other and decide that it is not worth it. Now, only George and Andre remain. ¡°If you know my parents then you should know that you have messed with the wrong man!¡± ¡°Your parents disavowed your actions, Andre. They will not lift a finger. Even you are not worth a war with us.¡± ¡°You lie!¡± ¡°As long as you draw breath, Andre, they will not retaliate. This means that everything you own and everyone you know is fair game, starting with Blanche here.¡± I move the knife just enough to elicit a cry of pain. ¡°No, please wait! Wait. I understand alright? Let us all calm down. I will do it. I¡¯ll just leave. Hell, I will even compensate you for the damage. Just please, let her go¡­¡± Oh? He cares more than I expected. ¡°A reasonable proposal. Sadly, it will not suffice. George?¡± ¡°Yes?¡± I do¡­ something. It is like drawing on a rope that is made of beads. The harder I pull and the more frayed my control grows. Still, a link is made. The bites I made yesterday sank something in their souls and now I have limited control over them. S~?a??h the ???el F?re.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. ¡°For Andre¡¯s own good, bring him to me.¡± ¡°What!?¡± ¡°Very well, Mistress.¡± George punches Andre who collapses on the ground like a doll with its strings cut. He takes the man in a gentle hold and brings him closer. I can feel him fight me, but my request is reasonable so far, and George is a natural follower. The cold part of me enjoys itself and I finally understand those Lancaster inbred. This is entertaining! ¡°Understand, young Andre, that there is more to the night than you could ever imagine. We can tolerate joyrides and brash statements but this time you went too far. I am going to have to leave you with a reminder.¡± I place the tip of the blade against the edge of his eye socket and carve downward. This will scar nicely, and since I am feeling generous, he can even keep the eye. ¡°Wait¡­ What are you¡­ No! Aaaaaaa!¡± After I am finished, I calmly pocket the blade and stand up. ¡°And with this, we are done.¡± I say as he sobs and grabs his carved cheek. My hold on George just broke and Blanche¡¯s loyalty is tenuous despite the two bites. If I go any further, I will have to shed more blood than I planned. ¡°I expect the place to be cleared tonight. Farewell.¡± I walk away. I can feel the tether that binds the two humans to me evaporate like morning dew with this symbolic gesture. I do not want to keep them with me, for the simple reason that they will be used as leverage by Melusine and the others. Any possession I gather must remain hidden, or it must be intangible, like status. I will not let her use them against me. As soon as I am out of view, I hurry to the place where Baudouin and I first spied on the warehouse. ¡°You might as well come out.¡± Smiling, the man himself walks out from a recess with his arms raised in mock surrender. I think a human could have passed him by a thousand times without ever noticing him. ¡°I hope you do not take this as a sign of distrust.¡± I sneer. ¡°And if I had turned the street red, Baudouin, what would you have done? Scream for the¡­¡± I gasp as I am interrupted by a sudden and violent pain. It shakes my bones and rattles my teeth and leaves me trembling after a brief instant. ¡°What¡­ What happened?¡± ¡°I am sorry Ariane,¡± he says as he shows a golden band around his wrist, ¡°The tracking bracer can also be used to inflict pain and disable its victim, and before you use that vampiric alacrity of yours, know that the bracer will punish you, should you touch me. I hiss softly. What did I expect, that a clan full of liars and scoundrels would let me out of their house without a means to control me? ¡°Do not be too cross, little one. I will make it up to you.¡± ¡°How?¡± ¡°Before we begin, I have to ask. Why did you wait one day? Why the kidnapping?¡± ¡°You want to know the reason behind my plans? ¡°Yes, I am assessing you as a potential long-term associate. I need someone to replace Ogotai, if only temporarily. Harold and Wilburn are ill-suited to tasks that require a brain. As Lady Moor¡¯s human servant, I can shield you from most of Melusine¡¯s petty vengeance should you take that role.¡± Baudouin¡¯s expression turns to scorn at the mention of the other vampires. I am reminded that under his unsavory appearance, he hides a keen intellect. Also unsavory. "I have the Mistress¡¯ trust when running day to day affairs. So long I guarantee that you are better used solving problems than entertaining that arrogant twit, she will leave you be.¡± I consider his words for a moment. Getting out means the Cadiz can contact me more easily when the time comes. ¡°Can you truly protect me from Melusine? She does not strike me as one who easily admits defeat. She could just abuse you until you change your mind.¡± ¡°When you realized I hurt you, how close were you to striking me down?¡± ¡°I¡­ I¡­¡± Baudouin is right. The predatory part of me, the part that always pushes me to violence was strangely silent. ¡°Vampires do not attack human servants directly unless they are desperate or unhinged. It is a rule that is engraved into your kind¡¯s minds from the day you wake up again. Your very instincts will try to stop you.¡± He is right. I was not tempted to retaliate. How tainted has my mind become? Is it still even my own? ¡°Melusine shall not harm me, and she knows the price of annoying the Mistress too much. Now, Ariane, do we have an understanding?¡± ¡°I shall not do anything that would rob me of the little dignity I have left. I hope we are clear on this, Baudouin.¡± ¡°Of course, Ariane,¡± he smirks ¡°I would not force you to turn tricks. I have other agents for that.¡± I hiss again but my heart is not into it. ¡°Well?¡± I sigh. It costs me little to explain my actions. ¡°This group was fractured from the start. The leader had three associates with a poor background. The rest were scions of affluent families playing rogue. It was easy to make them confront the reality of the night. After that the mood was ruined, so to speak, and I just had to pick the pieces.¡± ¡°I see, and you judged that the best way to achieve this, to collapse their house of cards, was to abduct one of their members?¡± ¡°Perhaps not the best but certainly the most expedient. Few things match kidnapping as a wake-up call. Not to mention that I wanted a snack.¡± He laughs with abandon, then: ¡°Walk with me.¡± As we reach the brighter lights around the Vieux Carr¨¦, Baudouin starts in a soft voice. ¡°You are nothing like I expected, you know?¡± ¡°How so?¡± ¡°I have seen many fledglings being reborn to this world. Most start off as mindless beasts, barely more than automatons. It is only after some time that they regain some semblance of humanity. You started as your old self and are now becoming more and more like a vampire.¡± ¡°Surely, my circumstances are not unique.¡± ¡°They are not; however, it is still quite rare. I cannot think of anyone who was quite so¡­ alive, as you were when I first saw you.¡± ¡°I would prefer not to be reminded of this moment.¡± He chuckles. ¡°There is also the issue with you being so weak. Lord Nirari managed to foster spawns that would go toe to toe with knight squads in only a few years.¡± ¡°Give me some time.¡± He shakes his head. ¡°No Ariane, I can already tell that you will not match this development speed. You are faster than most fledglings, and some courtiers, but your strength is almost human.¡± I wonder how I can become more powerful. If I could be fast enough to dodge Melusine¡¯s dark powers and then grab her by the ankle and¡­ I spent some time imagining the red-haired harridan slamming into walls until we reached the outskirts of the city. I then realize something. ¡°Baudouin.¡± ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°You said you used Ogotai for this kind of work?¡± ¡°Indeed. His betrayal has caused quite a few problems, as you can imagine.¡± ¡°Did you expect his treachery?¡± ¡°No. I was stupefied when he found his spine. You see, Ogotai is centuries old. He has suffered abuse at the hands of the Lancasters for longer than I was alive.¡± ¡°Perhaps Melusine sent him over the edge.¡± Baudouin¡¯s laugh causes a few late revelers to turn. ¡°Ahh yes, I can believe that. You see, Ogotai was part of a horde of warriors from the East who invaded Hungary. He made the mistake of hunting a local Lord and the vengeance was what you guessed. Ogotai lacks something. He has never reached the rank of Master and he never will, if he still lives.¡± ¡°Can Lords figure out the best candidates for new Spawns?¡± ¡°If some do, they keep it secret. Some clans heavily recruit mages as they keep some of their powers, but for the rest, I do not know. I do not know what makes one vampire much better than another.¡± ¡°I see.¡± When we reach the house, a servant hurries inside and a few moments later, Melusine gets out the door like a devil out of a box. It occurs to me that I failed to warn her that I would not attend her circus act of a lesson. Oops? She and Baudouin stare at each other and a silent message must have been passed, for soon Melusine retreats. As the door shuts, I catch a glimpse of her face. It is twisted by the blackest of rage. Your move, witch. Chapter 9: A casual visit I awake and quickly repeat the now-familiar sentence. I have been here for two months, two months of playing thug and errand girl. I am even building a bit of a reputation.I wonder why I have so many nightmares, and if the others do as well. Unfortunately, I would sooner stab myself in the foot with a rusty meat skewer than share this detail with anyone here. My questions will therefore remain unanswered, for now. The phantom pain coursing through my body ruins my meditation. I wish I could cry, but this is a function of the body that I find myself unable to force. I endure the memory of burning to a crisp for only a minute before it is replaced by a more powerful imperative. I wonder if older vampires treat the Thirst as an old friend, or if they are all driven mad by it. Baudouin confirmed that fledglings consume more, especially the very young ones. I can only hope that I maintain a healthy self-control, at least long enough to grow out of ¡°infancy¡±. Like every night, I take the time to bathe and dress properly. I battle the Thirst with every bit of self-control I can muster to take the time to care for myself and my appearance. I even bought a comb. After a quick detour by the cages, I reach Baudouin¡¯s office. ¡°Ah, Ariane. Come in, come in.¡± ¡°Good evening. I am ready for the meeting.¡± ¡°Ah yes, well, unfortunately, you will not be attending.¡± I freeze immediately. During my time here, I took my role as a spy quite seriously. I have listed all their warehouses, their banks, and business partners. Every key ally, every lie and every weakness I have religiously catalogued. A sentence overheard, a confidential document left lying around, an unexpected visit, every activity is an opportunity to discover more. I have made reports that I have hidden well. If they fall in the hands of the Cadiz, they will be able to strike those degenerates down with deadly accuracy. Hit them where it hurts the most: their pride, and their wallets. Has Baudouin discovered my stratagems? I thought I was careful¡­ I even have an escape kit ready, hidden under the destroyed belfry of a derelict church. I found the irony delicious. Baudouin eyes me nervously. He does not know. He assumes I am mortally offended. ¡°This is not a punishment, in fact, I have something of a reward for you. Today, we had a situation. One of our whores made the unfortunate decision to laugh at a customer¡¯s privates.¡± ¡°On Delore street?¡± ¡°No, the Red Veil, unfortunately.¡± ¡°Ah.¡± This is the Lancaster¡¯s high-end brothel, and that means the offended party is rich and powerful. ¡°The issue is that the man, a Simon Henley, took justice in his own hands and carved her up. That will not do. He is in his estate now, with half a dozen guards.¡± ¡°You expect me to go there and intimidate him?¡± ¡°No Ariane, I expect you to kill him. He made some very public statements and demanded reparations. I cannot let this stand.¡± ¡°How do you want this done?¡± ¡°Do what you want. I will burn down the house when you are finished. The militia knows to avoid this place tonight.¡± ¡°Can I get a gun this time?¡± ¡°No Ariane, my opinion hasn¡¯t changed, we do not use guns.¡± Neanderthals. I harrumph, then make for the exit. ¡°Then I will be on my way.¡± ¡°Do enjoy yourself.¡± As I exit the office, my eyes are inevitably drawn by a figure going down the stairs. Lady Moor does not belong here. This land is young and rakish. Its wealth is stolen from native tribes and torn from the earth by the labor of countless slaves, brought here against their wills in floating coffins. It is no place for complicated intrigue and veiled threats, at least, not yet. Her appearance reflects this. Even her dress is too warm for the suffocating weather. She ignores me and soon crosses the threshold, followed by a smug Melusine and Lambert the ever-bored. They will attend a meeting with the representative of clan Ekon about some flesh market issue. I should have been there as ¡°muscle¡±. It would have been an opportunity to meet them and perhaps know what the Cadiz have been up to. Well, there is always a next time. I go back to my room to get changed and don a provocative attire with a shawl to hide my shoulders. Now I look like a streetwalker. If Papa would see me¡­ No! I must wear this as an armor. My appearance is both a weapon and a bait. Simon Henley expects some reparation from a bordello and this is what he will see, a suitable emissary. I will preserve my dignity according to my own rules and clothes are no longer a concern. I leave the house with the bracer and a heavy bag, keeping to well-lit streets. I have enough stashed away to run for a while with what I picked during my errands, the problem is that I would be hunted down and eliminated even without the bracer. I need a clean escape. Since we are going to an expensive side of town and a woman alone would draw unneeded attention, A carriage has been made available. As we drive on, I am for once thankful for my cold body. Without it, the enclosed space would have been stifling. After a quarter hour or so, we stop in front of a manor and the carriage leaves. The Victorian style house is without much embellishment, but the garden is impeccably maintained. Papa always said that understated signs of wealth are the mark of good breeding and I have trouble reconciling the tasteful residence with the image of a man who would disfigure a whore because she laughed at his manhood. Perhaps this was built and maintained by his father? I cross the deserted entrance and arrive in front of a pair of wooden doors. At this time of the night, there should be lights and servants about, but the place is suspiciously silent. I find myself growing wary. I knock on the door and it opens immediately. A rough-looking man with a scowl inspects me in silence. I curtsey. They are expecting me, it seems. With a grunt, the man invites me in. This is it. I could start killing right away but something stops me. The guard is armed with a truncheon and no other visible weapon. He is no danger to me. Something else is. Just like vampires have a cold aura, I feel something bright and colorful and it comes from deeper into the house. I am curious. What could it possibly be? I follow the guard into a modest ballroom covered with a plush carpet. Large windows adorn the wall opposite the entrance and there is only one door, the one I came from. On my left, a few seats have been gathered and four hard men stop their game of cards to take a gander at the newcomer. On my right, next to a piano of good make, stands the master of the house. He sits atop a leather throne that was brought here for the occasion. A flagon of spirits rests on a small coffee table to his side and next to him stands a bodyguard who immediately captivates me. He is tall and muscular with a trimmed beard and wears on him enough weapons to take over a small town. I count no less than two pistols and seven daggers at first glance. He even wears a helmet, indoors, like some uncouth savage. The colorful aura comes from him. Our eyes meet and he gives me the most peculiar of smiles. ¡°Why don¡¯t you take a seat?¡± asks Simon Henley, pointing to a modest chair in front of him. He is dressed in an expensive shirt and jacket that do little to hide his gut. His pale skin is the worm-flesh white of people who do not leave their house during the day, it is also covered in clammy perspiration. His grey eyes do not meet mine. He is scared out of his mind. Everything is wrong. The thugs should be leering or indifferent, not wary. Henley should be smug and arrogant, not terrified. The last man does not belong here. My instincts and intellect unite in the firm belief that this is a trap. Worse, the bodyguard probably knows what I am and he is convinced he can take me on. I remember the followers of Gabriel assaulting the keep. They, too, had a plethora of arms and the training to use it. They did not have an aura. This man is a mage. If I take this seat, I am dead, again. This will not happen. I step towards it and kick it into the pair. The mage easily dodges but Henley takes it in the face and collapses with a muffled scream. I back, and not one second too soon. ¡°Seal!¡± A white light erupts in a circle where the chair used to be and misses me by a hair. The room erupts in chaos and yells. The mage takes out a gun and fires it at me. I finish my by falling on the floor. The bullet misses me. I end up at the feet of a stupefied guard. I stand up and claw his throat in one movement. The geyser of blood distracts the other three. His blood stinks, there is something wrong with it. I hiss and grab a second guard to use a shield. An instant later something bites into my side. What? I stare down in disbelief. There is a large gash on my waist. The dress is torn apart to reveal shredded flesh seeping dark red blood. The man I used as a shield screams, dying. The mage shot his own ally! Something pings on the floor and I instinctively look at it just as it detonates. A thunderous explosion, and a white light blind me, deafen me. I drop the man to grab my maimed eyes. HURT, need to escape. Can¡¯t see. Behind me, cover. I move backwards and grab the edge of the poker table. With a grunt, I flip it and jump behind. I move to the side as something roars. Someone bumps against me and falls. I find a shoulder, a throat. I slash it open. The blood smells wrong again. The bottle of wine that was on the table smells wrong too. Something they drank? I can hear better now but my eyes still hurt. There are windows. Escape. I grab a body and blindly rush to the wall. Can find. Can break through. ¡°None of that! Seal!¡± Something bumps against me. It does not hurt but it pushes me back with incredible strength. I crash against the table and it breaks under me. A shard stabs into my back. It hurts. So Thirsty. Can¡¯t stay here. I crawl away from the mage. Waist hurt. Back hurt. Bleeding. Need blood, but it all smells wrong. Ah, I can finally see again. I turn myself as a throwing knife whistles past my shoulder and buries itself in the carpet. Finally, a decent weapon. I remove the shard of wood in my back. It did not go deep. The mage throws more daggers and once more I use bodies and the table to dodge and block. I grab one blade in each hand, then I throw a third one at him. It pings against his armor. The man is still smiling, he unsheathes a saber and a short blade and rushes me. I manage to stand up to meet him in the middle of the room. I realize very soon that this was a mistake. I may be faster than the mage but in everything else, he has the advantage. His reach is longer, and his technique superior. He deflects my strikes with precise and conservative movement. I am completely outmatched. Soon, I have a new long gash in my wrist, and I drop a blade. I cannot move my hand! I am not healing at all, and I am so very thirsty. I cannot get out! The pain becomes too much. I have one last quick move in me but after that, I shall be helpless, I have to make it count and-- What is that delicious smell? Blood. It comes from Henley! I need to-- ¡°Fire whip.¡± A red snake twists around my useless hand. My flesh immediately starts to smolder. I scream in agony and lash out with the last knife I have. Fortunately, whatever made his blades so painful also breaks the spell. I collapse on the ground shrieking. I can¡¯t stay there, I need to move, but... it hUrts so muCh. ¡°Aaaah, that backlash was nasty. You cunning bitch! Though I must say, I am rather disappointed. With all the talks about vampires being century old apex predators, I was really looking forward to a good fight. Yet here you are, a brute relying on her speed rather than technique. Sloppy, and pathetic.¡± PredAtoR saYs. YeS, viaBlE plaN. ImpLemEnt. ¡°Well, guess I have to find a knight next. Now, I was told that piercing the heart will incapacitate your kind. At least I can put that theory to the test.¡± YeS, prey, cOme closer¡­ ¡°I dare say killing that werewolf turned out to be more--AAARG!" I . I stay low, grab a knife and bury it behind the knee. Weak point. Now spring up his back, grab around with my claws. ¡° Pulse!¡± Something propels me backward and I smash into the coffee table and Henley¡¯s inanimate body. ¡°Aaaah, you BITCH! Ah, Heal! HEAL! Dammit.¡± So delicious. ¡°You¡¯ll pay for this! I was going to make it quick but now I think I¡¯ll burn you alive. Ah. Shit! Just you wait!¡± I am feeding from Henley, my back to the mage when something happens. I can feel all of my fangs pull. The strength I draw multiplies tenfold, a hundredfold. This time there is no bliss. This time, there is only life, and the strength I need to survive. This time I do not feed. I Devour. It takes less than four seconds for Henley to die. As the last of his life force is torn away from his body, I feel a temporary burst of power. The pain is still there, as is the Thirst. It just does not matter so much anymore. So this man is a hunter? He thinks I am game? S?a?ch* Th? N0v?lFire(.)n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. I am no beast. I am a vampire. I pull myself up and find the mage applying bandages to his wounded leg. His disbelief turns to horror at the sight of my face. Blood is still dripping. I give a ghastly smile. Then I throw the corpse at him. I put my hips into it and the body flies. The mage swears and ducks. I jump and fly with claws forward. I crash against him and send him on his back. I claw and lash, trying to reach his face. His armored bracers stand in the way but I manage to score hits in unprotected places. ¡°Shie--!¡± None of that. I use one hand to push both of his arms towards me and stab a finger in his cheek. I rake his face. Blood flows. Still smells wrong. I am weakening. I can feel him struggling to get something. I can¡¯t fight much longer. My strength is already waning. He pulls something that roars. I feel cold punching through my stomach. I ignore the armed hand and deflect the other. I put one thumb against his eye and push. With a ghastly crunch, the eyes pop and I bury my fingers to the hilt in his skull. Fluids splurts on my face. The blood in them is¡­ It smells horrible but there is so much power in there. It is fading quickly. I bite deep and take a swallow. The blood is potent, it is also laced with something that ravages my throat. The balance is barely in favor of the blood. I punch his face, once, twice, three times. The pain catches up to me and I collapse on the mangled corpse. Everything hurts. I have not felt this bad since my death. Then, all feelings fade. I feel strange. Pain is a distant thing and so is the Thirst. I expected to turn into a ravening beast, but it appears that I am, in fact, sated. Wounded, but sated. I can only draw strength from the red nectar so fast. The edge of my vision is growing darker and I remember. This is what dying was like, back when it happened the first time. The sensation of slipping, of letting go. ¡°Nom de Dieu, c¡¯est un cauchemar!¡± Ah. I remember now, we only killed three of the four guards, the mage and I. ¡°M¡­ Monstre! D¨¦mon !¡± The last one must have cowered in some corner. I do not blame him. He is growing a spine now, though. He took a knife. He is getting closer. I absolutely cannot move. I am¡­ So cold. Slumber calls to me. I could just close my eyes and¡­ forget, and yet dying is a once in a lifetime experience. Well, twice in my case. I would rather not miss it. And now somebody knocks on the ballroom¡¯s door. The guard squeals and jumps like a scalded maid. Heh. A black woman walks in. A vampire. She is dressed in leather pants and a tight white shirt. How unladylike, although to be fair, she is not baring her midriff to the world like I am. she says with a fanged smile. Chapter 10: No rest for the wicked Everything about the woman is predatory. Her walk, her posture, her mouth, they all speak of danger, but also of elegance. I am convinced that many men would deem her worth the risk.¡°Who¡­ Who are y--¡± The man does not finish his sentence. The newcomer unsheathes a dagger and with a casual swipe, slices his throat open. She did not even grace him with a look. I can see the tubes, and smell the fouled liquid. How vexing. I can barely perceive the woman passing by. So very tired. Just need to close my eyes for a moment. I blink my eyes open as something straddles me. The woman is here! She rubs her thighs on my stained dress, making herself comfortable. Then, she extends one hand and digs inside my chest. ¡°Urk!¡± ¡°Shhhh,¡± I stare in chocolate brown eyes twinkling with mischief. She is doing something, but I am too weak to act. ¡°¡± Something pulls on my stomach, but I feel no pain. A moment later, the strange woman is inspecting a silver ball held in a blood-soaked hand. She whistles. ¡° darling!¡± Is it? I frown. ¡°¡± Am I? I guess I am. I feel like taking a nap, but something is holding me conscious. How peculiar. Who? I see. She takes out a small canteen from her jacket and empties some of its content around my mouth. The burning sensation I had forgotten is simply washed away. She dabs at the damp spot with a clean tissue. I tentatively lick my lips. I am still sluggish, but now I can talk. The woman looks dumbfounded before exploding into laughter. Talking is tiring. I slightly turn my head to the broken chair and the corpse besides it. She leans forward. The distance between us grows intimate and when she licks her lips, I shudder. ¡° une autre go, ma petite ch¨¦rie.¡± Now that my gut is free of bullets, I can feel my body struggle to heal itself. The torpor is receding a bit, replaced by pain and a renewed Thirst. I still cannot do more than shake myself a little. ¡°¡± The smile falls from her face, to be replaced by regret and a little bit of shame. I recognize her now that my mind is clearer. She was with the representative of clan Ekon when I escaped the fortress. She stays silent for a while. We do not move. I am starting to drift. A hand pats my head softly. The sharp claws brush through my hair with a gentle touch, parting the strands without snagging them. The effect is so soothing that I shiver and relax. My eyes are closed but suddenly I can smell something. It is a fragrance like wet earth and spice, an exotic scent, something to dance and sing to. I feel soft skin against my lips. The perfume grows hauntingly strong. I am so Thirsty. This is not exactly what I need, but it will help. My fangs pierce her skin. This is so different from a human. There is no rush, no ecstasy of life. I barely get any energy and whatever I obtain feels sluggish. No heartbeat drives vitality into my aching body. What I get instead is power. If life is the thing that perpetuates my damned existence, what I get now is the essence that lets me do impossible things. I can feel myself growing noticeably more powerful. I suppose that I am so weak now, that every little bit counts. There was something similar with the mage. Drinking from magical creatures makes me stronger. I finally understand the reason why the other spawns are so much more dangerous than me. My Master feeds them the blood of powerful things, and possibly his own. Their quick growth must ravage their mind and turn them into the natural disaster that they are made to be. How dreadful. Baudouin said that vampires grow in power with age, implying that the Devourer and his spawns draw power from the things they feed on, much more so than the other bloodlines. I am not quite sure that this is common knowledge. I am however certain that no one knows how significant that is, here in Louisiana, and I fully intend to keep it that way. I am afraid that some would cull me before I become a threat, if they found out. says a sultry voice. I obediently lick the wound clean. This experience was far too intimate for my liking. I fear that Nami stole my first kiss, or whatever the vampiric equivalent is. With Nami¡¯s departure, something snaps and I immediately lose consciousness. THIRSTY! ¡°Ngah!¡± Ah, the pain! What? Where is my respite? Where is my minute of introspection?! I cannot move. I crack open my eyes. I am attached to my bed by thick ropes that twist around me and the mattress. I am still wearing the remnants of yesterday¡¯s dress under the layers of twine. It smells ripe. My face is coated with dried blood that cracks as I move. This is amateur work. I can free myself in a few minutes and hunt someone to drink dry. I squirm and the pain redoubles. My stomach lances me so much I could believe I have been shot once more. Ah, this is it. I must not have healed completely from yesterday¡¯s ordeal. If I had been alive, such a wound would have killed me within an hour. I would have gasped my last in a pool of my own blood and offal. There are some benefits to this cursed life after all. I hear footsteps just as I manage to sever the first knots with a talon. The door opens to reveal Lady Moor. She looks just as majestic as always, scrunching her nose in displeasure. How I hate her and her misplaced arrogance. She would smell like entrails and stale blood too if she got her dainty hands dirty, instead of parading herself in this barely civilized swamp like a peacock and letting others labor for her achievements. Hussy. This is no time for confrontation. I will escape, and much, much later, I will wipe that expression from her face. I will not let arrogance destroy me. I realized yesterday that mortals are fortunate when it comes to pain. There is only so much damage a person can take before one¡¯s body gives up, unless they are under the care of a particularly talented torturer I suppose. Vampires, on the other hand, can take so much abuse. Enough to drive one insane. I may be stronger than yesterday but I am still a sparrow to Lady Moor¡¯s eagle. I need much more time before I can even compare. I shall be patient. I must be patient. I will be feared like Master, even if it takes me a thousand years. I will see that pretentious wench broken before me. What? s?a??h th? N0v?lFir?.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. I explain what happened yesterday with the exception of my increased strength, such as it is. She scoffs, her carmine lips twisted by disdain. And whose fault is it that I ended up in harm¡¯s way equipped with a shawl? Bah! This woman would not know intellectual honesty if it slapped her in the face with a rotten catfish. Although¡­ Did she just imply that she cannot recognize lies from the truth? That is tremendous news! It means I can hide my little conspiracy from her. I still have to be careful, for she would not have survived this long without being crafty. Not with that attitude, at least. I did not mean to say that. My anger got the best of me yet again. It appears that Jimena was wrong. Vampires are racist, just not to each other¡¯s face. I remain silent. I finally see the end of my torment. I just want the insufferable woman to take her leave so that I may hunt in peace. Lady Moor ignores my protests. She sits on my chair, at my own desk and takes a book from a small bag, which she then proceeds to read. I shuffle in discomfort. My stomach is still quite painful, if not as much as before. My Thirst, however¡­ It starts from the chest, at the height of my arm. It spreads up and down until it reaches my throat and tummy. It is an itch, a burn, and a craving. There is nothing like it, and no human experience can quite compare. When I was a child, I held a heavy plate for as long as I could. At first, it felt easy, then uncomfortable, then painful until finally, it became almost unbearable. If I held longer, my entire existence had to be limited to the task. The situation is somewhat similar, in the same way that being stung by a bee is similar to being stabbed by an enchanted silver dagger. After a few minutes, I would roll around and fight the bindings openly, the pain in my stomach forgotten. I could not help myself. After half an hour I was hissing and grunting. Lady Moor had heavy chains brought by a smirking Charlotte , and I was held up like in a cocoon. After that, I lasted only a few more pages before starting to beg. ¡° There is barely enough sanity in me left to throw away my most desperate plan. I will use it as bait, as a sacrifice. She walks to me and takes out a wicked dagger from a recess of her robe. The weapon is terrifying. It is black as obsidian and strangely curved. I have never seen such a thing before, yet one look at it is enough to know it was designed to slay humans. She raises it and I flinch but she just frees my hands, and then removes the shackles. The rest of my body remains trapped. " She gives me the dagger hilt first and I grab it before thinking. I could just cut the rest of the rope and get some blood¡­ Doubt assails my mind through the numbing Thirst. Could it really be this easy? I extend my left arm and brandish the blade and I realize the issue. I am terrified of pain. I have suffered a lot in the past few months and one would think it would make me used to it. It does not. I do not want to be hurt. I do not want to bleed. But I must try. I have to. This is my best shot at freedom. I turn my eyes towards the master vampire at my side. She has a patient and slightly condescending look on her face. She seems so certain that it is impossible for me. I will show her. I take a deep breath, grit my teeth and move to with all the speed and strength I can muster. I will hack down and slice before my brain can register what I have done. My hand falls down and begins to quake. Oh. My. God. ¡°AAAAAAaaaaAAaaaahhh!¡± Can¡¯t move. Can¡¯t think. Hurts. Blade grates against the bone, buried deep. I keep screaming and holding my arm, with the knife still in it, for some time. The agony washes my mind free of anything but the blinding pain itself. The world turns white. There is only suffering. Eventually, another voice pushes through the dry sobs. A hand pushes the blade down in a resounding crack and I lose consciousness for a few moments. When I come to, the knife is halfway through my arm. Blood slowly seeps on the stained sheets. The only sounds are my whimpers. Too much pain. Too much pain and too Thirsty. I should continue, but I simply cannot. It hurts too much. I am not some hero out of a story, who can just ignore pain and adversity. I am not strong enough. I don¡¯t want to do it. I don¡¯t want to feel this torment. It will have to be the Cadiz. I am only lucky that Lady Moor forfeited a full interrogation in favor of humiliation. It seems that being looked down upon remains my greatest asset, for now. I would feel sorry about myself, but I am in too much agony for even that. I nod. Yes, God please, just make it stop. Make everything stop. I feel like crying but I will not let go of the shreds of dignity I am still clinging to. Lady Moor removes the knife and to her credit, she does it cleanly. The wound does not heal and I vainly hold my mangled arm to prevent more of the precious liquid from flowing away. So Thirsty. I can¡¯t take it anymore. She drags me to the cattle pens and I feed on two victims one after the other. Something changed. I notice that the sky outside of my mind refuge has turned dark. I should perhaps be worried, yet how could a vampire find daylight soothing? This is no more than I deserve. After we are done, Lady Moor drags me back inside and throws me on the carpet. I can hear a snicker from Harold who watches me from the stairs. Those jackals are ever eager to witness someone else¡¯s humiliation. I croak. I repeat with more conviction. Whatever it is, it is still better than the fate she has in mind right now. If Lady Moor is angered by my refusal, I see no trace of it. Chapter 11: The Gauntlet I was mistaken in believing I knew everything about the Lancaster''s various businesses. I used my free access to Baudouin¡¯s office to copy a few documents, including quarterly reports to the head of the Lancaster, in old English no less.I knew about the plantations, the factories and warehouses. I knew about the inns and brothels. I knew about the slave and flesh trades. I even knew about the occasional contraband. Of course, they would hide something so that it is not taxed, and so I did not know about the blood sports. New-Orleans¡¯ landed gentry is proving to be an utter disappointment. Their unusual tastes have created a demand for the most horrendous of spectacles. Two to three times per week, men and sometimes even women, are given the opportunity to be freed of debt or punishment in exchange for a night of combat. Should they survive, of course. Ladies and gentlemen in expensive suits and domino masks travel by coach to one of Lancaster¡¯s villas, walk through a cleanly cut maze of grass and sit with refreshments on the slope of a Greek-style amphitheater. An entertainer dressed in a toga and a full-face helmet loudly proclaims the night¡¯s program. The arena also employs a few prizefighters to guarantee some modicum of quality in the art of killing. S?a?ch* Th? ?0velF?re.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. OoO ¡°Hsss...¡± I breathe slowly. I do not need air anymore, but there is something in the cycles of breathing that provides the soothing rhythm I need to stay focused. Inside, the log cabin has changed. It is no longer comically large, like I remember it as a child. The building is simply more spacious with some semblance of furniture. The cot has turned into a bed with a canopy that reminds me of my own, before I became what I am now. The smell of wood smoke and fresh rain is just as prevalent as before. I let the light of the moon caress my skin from an open window and stare outside to endless fields of thorny trees. I do not recognize their essence and I know they should look menacing but I feel protected. Safe. Nobody will cross this expanse to harm me. They would be turned to bloody shreds in the labyrinthine forest. I have not stepped outside yet. I am not ready. I keep breathing. In and out. In and out. I just need to last a little longer. The Thirst will not make me throw myself against the bars. Never again. I have been here for two weeks, and it only happened twice. A clanging sound interrupts my meditation. Harold is opening the door to my cell. I can feel his hungry eyes on my body and I am once more thankful to Baudouin for his parting gift. He left clear instructions that I am not to be touched inappropriately, an order that the male vampire has yet to disobey. When I kill every last one of them, I will be sure to make the human''s death painless. ¡°It¡¯s time.¡± says the brute. I adjust my half mask and tighten the leather armor I wear. They are part of my public persona. I am, to the spectators, a Himalayan tribeswoman cursed with a taste for blood who fights without a blade. Yes. How they swallowed this much nonsense, I shall never know. We walk through a short corridor to the arena¡¯s gate. Harold stays mercifully silent the whole time. Just a few more minutes. I can do it. The gates open and I cross the threshold. The night smells of sweat, arousal, sand, and stale blood. In front of me, a burly man in a kilt and ancient helmet wipes his wounded shoulder with a stained piece of fabric. The corpse of a starved wolf lies a few feet farther. ¡°Laaadies and Gentlemen! Demetrius won his daughter¡¯s freedom, can he repeat the exploit for the rest of his family? Will you grant him your favor against theeeeeee Blood Beast?!¡± Seriously. I raise my eyes to the skies and find the purple shape of the . The twisted heaven grows closer as I am made aware of its presence. It does not judge. That is all I can perceive and at the moment, it is all that I need. I bask in the eldritch light and savor the simplicity of the eye¡¯s intent. The raging Thirst slides in the background, if only for an instant. My only valued companion is a gigantic eye in the sky. This says a lot about my current social standing. ¡°Five lives, I have five lives, who will give me a sixth? No? Five lives it is! May the gaaaaaaame, BEGIN!¡± The man grabs a trident and I finally notice a discarded net lying around. Baudouin must have gone for the Roman angle, as I recognize the attire of a Retiarius. That would make Harold a Lannista, the master of ceremony in a Roman circus, and me an idiot. The man charges me with a grunt and thrusts the trident awkwardly. I easily push the shaft aside and stab a claw in his shoulder wound before dancing away. I lick my bloodied finger for all to see. ¡°And we are one life down already! The Blood Beast teaches yet another lesson!¡± The man howls in pain. The crowd roars in approval. I want to consume the prey. He tastes so sweet. Fear does that, it brings life to the surface. I must remain patient. My opponents have ¡°lives¡±. Instead of going for a killing blow, I am to merely hurt them until they run out of it. Spectators can throw money to purchase an additional life for a contender, or they can pay that same amount to remove one. To win, they only have to draw blood. For me, the game is slightly different. I could finish the fight in an instant by , however, I have two objectives: provide entertainment, and spend as little resources as possible doing so. If I rouse the spectators, then Harold lets me feed on the defeated a little bit longer. On off days, the cattle arrives a little bit faster. If I am defeated, or if I am too fast or too brutal, pain and the Thirst follow. If Harold punishes me for no reason, I immediately kill my opponent. There is a balance of terror in our relationship. I successfully made myself too valuable to kill and too difficult to control. The failed Retiarius finally recovers from the pain and grabs the trident firmly with two hands, like an oversized sword. He swings at me menacingly a few times but I do not move. I can recognize the most obvious feints now. Out of patience, the man swings at my head and I dodge down and forward to close the distance. He reacts in an instant by dropping the unwieldy weapon and punching forward. He is much faster now, and I barely manage to block. The impact pushes me back. My arm stings a bit. He immediately jumps on me but this time, I was expecting it. I sidestep his bull rush and stab a talon in his side as he goes by. Not too deep. The man and the crowd roar at the same time as I lift a finger high. I lick it again. Hmm. I cannot wait much longer. ¡°And that is two! Is hope quickly fading for Demetrius? Can he make the monster bleed?¡± Monster is a code word by the announcer to tell me to slow down. Drag the fight. I am so Thirsty, surely they would understand? As Demetrius stands up, a heavy object buries itself at his feet with a thud. Silence descends upon the arena. Throwing objects, and particularly weapons inside is ground for removal, who would dare to¡­ Ah. A petite woman in a blue dress and a checkered mask waves her hand at me. Her crimson hair bobs up and down with her giggles. Melusine. The announcer recovers faster than me. ¡°Mistress! Do you grace Demetrius with your blessing?¡± She waves lazily and sits down. The dismissal is so well done that all the attention returns to him and forces his hand. ¡°Very well! Demetrius, you have been given a second chance. Do not disappoint this noble assembly!¡± I watch, speechless, as the gladiator picks up the massive knife and draws another one from his boot. So, not a Retiarius gladiator anymore. A Dimachaerus? Those are the ones who use two swords if I remember properly. I fall back before my opponent. It is obvious that he knows how to use those. His posture is different and he feels so confident. I see no opening. I dodge a slice, another. On the third, I try to grab his arm but his second blade lashes out. I barely avoid the bite. His moves are much more conservative and efficient. Melusine broke the rules to make the fight more difficult and I know well that she will receive no more than a slap on the wrist for this transgression. I slip to the side and sprint to my left. Demetrius easily keeps up with me, then I reverse course and rush forward. Caught off-guard, the gladiator stumbles. His weight makes it harder for him to change direction quickly. As I pass him by, he slashes the air. The blade slides against my armor with a scratch, a glancing blow that draws no blood. I roll forward and grab the discarded trident. As he jumps at me again, I swing the massive weapon and smash it against his side. He crumples in a heap. The crowd yells in approval, delighted at my quick thinking, such as it is. ¡°Oooooh, it appears that our valiant Demetrius still looks down upon the blood maiden! Three down, two left!¡± I lick the outer prong. Very little blood. Not sharp. Soon. Have to wait. ¡°The trident is not yours.¡± Once again, Melusine¡¯s voice silences the intoxicated mob. Oh no, she did not. I am not to speak so instead, I tilt my masked helmet to the side, hold the polearm like a javelin and throw it at her. Melusine¡¯s eyes widen in disbelief behind her checkered mask. She barely manages to fall to her side and the weapon hits the stone behind her with a loud clang. I threw it shaft first, as a precaution. Yup, it''s yours now. Your move, you insufferable daughter of a hag. Melusine shivers in rage but she already broke the rules twice for her own enjoyment. She is on thin ice, and she knows it. Fuming, she sits back down and I turn to the prostrate gladiator with a small scoff. I make sure she notices. Now that my anger dies down, the Thirst once more takes over. The wait is the worst. I am easily distracted from the craving but I do need something to focus on. I walk a bit and when my preparation is done, I stand in front of the panting gladiator. I wait. Perhaps I cracked his ribs? ¡°You bitch!¡± It is always the same insults with them. No lily-livered wenches, no unable worms and three-fold fools. Has no one told them that variety is the spice of life? ¡°F-for my boy!¡± says he, as he stands up, quite audibly too. The crowd erupts in cheers. The narration of the moment crystallizes in their sick minds. Here is the criminal with the good heart fighting for his family''s freedom. There, the cold maiden from the tribe at the dawn of time, the remnant of an archaic world where the fairer sex could wield blades as sharp as their tongue. I care not. I am Ariane, I am my own. I will live, I will go home. All those who stand in my way, be they saints or criminals, I will devour. The man rushes me again but he is slowing down. I easily dodge his slices by moving backwards and to the side. I leave my hands behind my back to everyone¡¯s amusement. Finally, he corners me then overextends and I throw the net I was hiding that whole time. There is an art to throwing a net. You have to make sure it is as wide as can be when it lands. Demetrius recoils in panic and raises his hand in reflex. The net wraps around him beautifully and I draw a furrow in his left cheek with a talon. Yes. We are finally reaching the conclusion to this farce. The crowd is silent now as the last act is about to open. The desperate man fumbles for a while and finally manages to get free. He immediately rushes me with a desperate roar. I stand my ground as the crowd watches with bated breath. When the knives reach me, I step backwards and grab both arms, let myself fall, put a foot against his belly and push. That is a neat trick. The big man is propelled like a derailed locomotive and crashes against the arena¡¯s wall in a fracas of metal. I am on him in an instant. I lock one arm with a leg, the other with my right arm. I pull his head back and bite deep. Finally. Wait. No, this is wrong! I know that stench! That Jasper ruffian used the same concoction! How¡­ A mage potion? How? When? There on the ground, a glass vial. He must have drunk it as he was fumbling under the net. But who would give it to him? I spit out. Livid, I turn around and point an accusatory finger at Melusine. She was bent forward in anticipation! I knew it! ¡°YOU WHORE! YOU TAINTED THE BLOOD!¡± Whispers and murmurs break among the crowd, growing in a crescendo. How dare she! How dare she pollute the precious substance! Pain from the bracer makes me collapse. Harold comes and picks me up before retreating to the corridor. I need it. I need it, need it, need it. When Harold brings me another prisoner, it takes all my self-control not to kill the whimpering sod on the spot. Two weeks later There are no signs of Melusine, and I can only assume that she was reprimanded for her idiotic display. Fights remain difficult but I am fed enough to remain sane. Mostly. Three weeks later The man facing me is an old French sailor with graying hair and nose flattened by repeated fractures. ¡°Non, you must move better. I show.¡± Marius is quite popular with the crowd, especially when he uses a ridiculous harpoon as a spear. He fights dirty and I learn a lot from him. We have an off night and I want to pick up a few tricks. God knows I could do better. This is unladylike, but I will do almost anything to survive. Four weeks later Marius is dead. He was killed by a downed debtor who stabbed him in the back after the fight had ended. On a positive note, I got to drink the shameless prick dry. I had a new fighter, an Italian lout, show me how to use a knife. Five weeks later The Italian lout made a name for himself as ¡°Benedetti¡±. His knife-wielding technique and rakish looks apparently made him popular with widowed female spectators. I am fighting a bit less as a result. We also picked up a coolie called ¡°Long¡±. He calls himself a ¡°Martial artist¡±. He moves well but fights too clean. Six weeks later I lost my first match in a while against a desperate fighter, a cavalryman of some repute apparently. He managed to stab my arm using a suicidal attack. The crowd loved it. I think he may even survive. Seven weeks later I wake up to a familiar ceiling of red bricks. There are four hundred and ninety-six of them, to be precise. Entertainment is sparse here. The cell is made of three brick walls and one made of metal bars to allow my captors a full view of my quarters, such as they are. The only saving grace is that I do not need to visit the lavatories, nor is it difficult to keep clean. No sweaty armpit, no dead skin for this young vampire. No moon blood either. Even my costume is cleaned after every fight by a terrified maid. There is very little cause for me to undress, and I have so far managed to clean myself at record speed and therefore avoided any spectator. I repeat the sentences every night, though my heart is not in it these days. I have achieved something I thought would have been impossible after waking up with no pulse. I am bored. I know, on an intellectual level, that I am in mortal danger. I also know that I am a prisoner, and yet my life has become routine. There are only a few variations. Sometimes, I am let out to practice with other gladiators as a reward for good behavior. I learn to move better, I learn where it hurts and what my body can do, but that barely covers an hour. Sometimes, I fight, and although it can be entertaining it is over too quickly. The rest of the time, there is nothing to do. I asked for a book and they brought me a bible. I suppose this was a crude attempt at humor. I remember the cross on the men of the order of Gabriel and their dreadful effects on me. However, when I opened my own copy, nothing happened despite the holy symbol on the cover. I thought that reading this most august of works would shed some new light on the world, now that I am aware of the existence of unnatural creatures. Sadly I found little of interest. It appears that a lot of the content is about who begat who and which tribe camped where. Disappointing. Two sets of footsteps approach my door. Harold comes into view, dragging a reluctant woman in a maid uniform. He opens the door and shoves her in. I approach slowly and she offers her neck, however as I draw closer, she seizes my arm. I do not show any surprise and when we are done, she leaves without a word. I open the folded paper she placed in my hand to read its content. The message bears no signature and I do not recognize who wrote the blocky letters. A moment later, Harold returns with a fresh armor. No helmet this time. ¡°Put it on, and hurry.¡± As I walk to the arena, I know something has changed. Winter is here. The air tastes colder and more quiescent, and the whispers and laughter of the crowd have fallen silent. When my feet tread the sand, I glance around in surprise. The rowdy crowd has been replaced by my so-called benefactors. Lady Moor sits in the middle, in a comfortable throne. Baudouin and Melusine are on either sides. The redheaded hag is smirking gleefully and I am now convinced my opponent will be a difficult one. Lady Moor glowers down at me. ¡°Let the mercenary¡­¡± she stops. Melusine leans towards her and whispers a few things. Moor considers her words for a moment before nodding in assent. ¡°You are correct, this is not technically against the rules. Inform Mr. Vauttier that he may start turning right away.¡± Harold nods and crosses to the other gate. A moment later, dreadful cracks and groans emerge from the darkened corridor in front of me. What in the world is happening?! The abominable noises continue for half a minute and culminate in a sound that freezes the blood in my veins: a primal roar of utmost savagery. The sound reverberates in the closed space. Birds take flight in the distance and the world around me holds its breath. A clattering of claws on cold stone announces the arrival of a creature of nightmare. Dark grey skin covers every muscular inch of a chimera between man and wolf. Even when hunched, it stands taller than me by half and its long and powerful hands end in claws that completely dwarf mine. What in the name of God is that thing?! I am supposed to fight that!? The creature¡¯s yellow eyes fall on me and in the same instant it jumps, and I . I sidestep the beast, slide under its extended arms and rake my talons across its powerful sides. It feels like carving into stone! The monster¡¯s hands grab air and before it can turn around, I rush from behind and kick its lower back. I used this move before to shove an unbalanced opponent into the wall with some success. Now? It feels like hitting a pile of bricks. The creature turns around and slices the air where I was standing an instant before. It misses me by a breath. That thing is fast, almost as fast as me unless I . That said, I am not giving a show anymore. I am well fed, and I do not have to give quarter. I draw into a deep part of me, the predatory aspect that ignores all rationality. The Lancasters fade away, the locked doors fade away. There is only me and the prey. BIG, RESILIENT. INFLICT CRITICAL DAMAGE. NO DRAGGING OUT. The monster rushes me, this time it stops beyond my reach and lashes out towards my torso. I , using the same jump I used to hit the mage. The enemy misses, but its arm brushes against my leg and I am propelled off course. I barely manage to swipe my target on the side of his head before ending up at its back again. This time, the creature howls in pain and reaches for the ruin of its left eye. I do not wait. I jump on it and dig both hands in its jugulars, then I pull. To no avail. My talons are stuck in the rock-hard skin. I fight and struggle in vain for an instant then the monster¡¯s claws hit my midriff and throw me away. There is a horrible shredding sound when my claws are torn from his arteries, and another when my body is sent flying. Are those my guts? Oh my God, it is, oh my God oh my GoD tHis¡­ ThiS is noT alRigHt. In a panic, I try to pull my intestines back as fast as possible while the beast coughs and hacks. I am almost done when it turns to me. Don¡¯t think about it Ariane, don¡¯t think about knowing what touching your own organs feels like. Gah! The beast jumps again. So much blood! It killed itself when it wrestled me, slit its own throat. I just need to last a little longer! It steps forward and¡­ Hmmm, such a tantalizing bouquet! I wilL paRtaKe of it. The creature lurches at me, then strikes. I for the third and last time tonight, dodging strike after strike with one hand against my stomach until eventually, I stumble. What? Why? I look down to my blood-drenched form. The wound is not closing at all. I am bleeding out! Using my distraction, the monster grabs my left arm and pulls. The pain is renewed as I feel things come out that should have stayed in. So strong! I manage to lift my right hand so the beast¡¯s other arm clamps on my torso instead. The pain is almost enough to make me faint, only panic and my will to live keep me off the edge. It opens a hellish maw, filled with serrated fangs. Oh God! It is going to eat me! No! I grab its lower jaw and pull it towards me. The beast¡¯s mouth bites on my fingers and a new pain joins the other, but I had enough time. The creature did not expect this. No prey wants to get closer. My mouth sticks to the gaping wound on its throat and I start drinking. The beast shivers, it is already too late. A rush of power and life unlike anything I have ever felt crashes against my mind. There is no time to think about any cabin, no time to prepare. I am just washed away. I push away from the carcass and take a deep breath in. This was incredible! It does not compare to my master of course, but it was the closest to have come to it. I hear a suction noise and look down. Under the grime and congealing blood, I am unharmed. Silence reigns over the arena. Melusine¡¯s face is a mask of stupefaction while Moor is contemplative. Baudouin is pale and sweaty. ¡° My Lady, this is a draw!¡± ¡°Unless I¡¯m mistaken, your candidate is a stiff. How is that a draw?¡± ¡°Enough! Do not argue in public. Melusine, do not be ridiculous. Take the loss and go.¡± ¡° Lady Moor¡¯s image blurs and I hear a loud smack at the same time as Melusine¡¯s face moves back. She collapses in a heap and coughs blood. Oh. OH. Let this moment be engraved in my memory until the end of times. Melusine¡¯s pretty face with the imprint of someone¡¯s hand on it and blood dripping down her poisonous mouth. Whatever God favors us vampires, praise be to thee. Hah! Torpor hits me like a hammer. I fed a lot and took a lot of damage in a very short time. I can barely keep to my feet. I look up to the as I am dragged away. ¡°GAH!¡± By all the saints in paradise, what is it with these inane dreams! How awful. Who in their right mind would hunt at night in the bayou? Preposterous. Strutting around in the dark, in the marshlands is a sure-fire way to get bitten by an alligator and drown in some murky pond. I would not be caught dead doing something this senseless. There is, of course, the small matter of the murder of my best friend. Unfortunately, I expect nothing else from those nightmares. I lay there in relative peace. I am fully healed from yesterday¡¯s fight and clean, and though my quarters are nothing comfortable, there is a pleasant feeling to just staying in bed. Inevitably, the Thirst lets itself known and like clockwork, two sets of footsteps approach my cage. When my donor comes into view, it takes all my self-control not to jump in joy. I school my expression as the door opens, as the donor slips something with the glint of gold in Harold¡¯s hand and as he leaves us alone. When I hear a shutting door though, I let myself smile warmly. ¡°Good evening Aintza.¡± The Cadiz have finally made contact. Chapter 12: Acte I, scène finale ¡°Lo siento se?orita. Time is short, and you must listen.¡±I shiver as Aintza¡¯s warm breath tickles my ear. We are sitting on my cot and I find her gesture distracting. ¡°We finally have an opportunity to force your escape. Unfortunately, it will have to be tomorrow. Is there anything that you can give us to justify our help? Please, my mistress wants to assist you, but her hands are tied.¡± ¡°Would a list of clan Lancaster¡¯s holdings, contracts, and associates do? It is quite comprehensive.¡± Aintza¡¯s eyes widen in surprise. ¡°Truly, you have gathered this much?¡± ¡°Indeed.¡± ¡°You are a prisoner, however. Do you have it secure somewhere?¡± ¡°Yes, and I shall give it to you, but I must ask,¡± I add warily, ¡°what stops you from taking the document and leaving?¡± ¡°Se?orita Ariane, you know of my mistress. Do you truly expect her to behave in such a shameful way?¡± ¡°I suppose not.¡± ¡°You can ask me again after you have fed, to assuage any doubt.¡± ¡°Will I not be fighting your Mistress for influence over you?¡± Aintza shakes her head with a light smile. ¡°Please, let us do it. Everything will be made clear.¡± I embrace the shorter woman, who obediently bares her throat. Unmarred skin greets me and the offering is just too tempting. I flick my tongue and she shivers and moans. Hmm, that was most lewd, and now I feel somewhat uncomfortable. ¡°Please¡­ please!¡± she urges me on. Am I being molested? Bah, quickly, let me feed and think of this no more! As I stand in my refuge, I realize something incredible. I am tied to the diminutive woman by a bond we forged months ago. That means that Jimena hasn¡¯t touched her companion in that long! That also explains why she could reach me without being recognized as another clan¡¯s human. There is no trace on her of the touch of another vampire besides my meager own. I can only applaud the squire¡¯s restraint and the servant¡¯s loyalty. It also means that she has been prepared to infiltrate the Lancaster clan since before I even entered their service. My vampire friend truly is a woman of honor. I am sure this separation has cost them dearly. I pull away long before I must. There is something too intimate about this experience that I am uncomfortable with. Aintza¡¯s rosy cheeks and the smell of her arousal are enough to convince me that she and Jimena may entertain a Sapphic relationship. Oh dear. ¡°Ask me again.¡± ¡°Hmm, do you and Jimena intend to save me?¡± ¡°Yes, you will be free tomorrow night. We have a plan. They will think you dead, and thus will not pursue.¡± ¡°And what is that plan, if I may ask?¡± ¡°Hm, I want to tell you, but Jimena said that it will not work then.¡± I want to question her more, but the sound of Harold¡¯s footsteps dissuades me. I quickly write a few directions to one of my hideouts for her. Time matters not. I have waited for six months. I can wait one more night. I can almost feel it. I am Ariane, I am my own, I will survive and tomorrow, I will head home, to freedom. I follow Harold through the maze in a dress reminiscent of what Melusine had worn during our extremely short sparring session. The warden turns back to me every five seconds, frowning at my bare arms. No shackles for this vampire! I can only assume that wherever we go, I may not appear as a slave. Harold fully expects me to make a run for it. I have taken his measure, and I am far from confident that I could escape him, and so I am patient. I will not endanger Jimena¡¯s plan for a harebrained scheme. A short time later, I climb into a carriage and settle down as it leaves. Lady Moor sits opposite me, wearing the finest white robe. She stares at me with an assessing gaze. I feel measured, weighted and judged. I bow slightly to return the courtesy. Vampire society is ruthless, yet polite. Manners and rules are more important, it seems, when everyone can remove spines from torsos with their bare hands. My eyes widen in shock. This sounded suspiciously like a compliment and an apology! Or, at least, as close to one as this stuck-up, arrogant twit can manage. They must be desperate. She waves a hand dismissively. I highly suspect "that savage¡± would give her a proper and well-deserved spanking. Desperate indeed! Oh, but I must not look too eager lest she suspects something. ¡° She knows me so well. I am amused to realize that ¡°Musket¡± is ¡°Fire staff¡± in the tongue of Akkad. I let Moor tell me about strategy with only half an ear. Now that the bracer is off, I feel so giddy. In short order, we stop in front of a derelict theater with a Spanish fa?ade of pitted stone. I walk in flanked by Harold and we reach an opulent entrance of yellow stone and red curtains. Two curved stairs lead upward to a circular promenade while a set of doors stands in front of us. Corridors open here and there, basked in shadows. Belying the decayed exterior, everything here is spotless. Without a word, Harold leads me to a narrow passage while Moor struts proudly forward. I follow him through twisted alleys, barely lit by the errand candle. Freedom, so close I can taste it. Harold opens a set of doors and the golden light of torches shines on a renovated opera house. The lodges have been left intact, but the ground has been entirely replaced by a sand arena. This must be where they hold blood games during the winter. I can feel quite a few vampires in the tribunes, as well as a smattering of mortals. A small gathering lies ahead of us. The silence is eerie. Lady Moor and Lambert stand on one side, while Naminata and the man I recognize as Lord Kouakou stand on the other. The twins, who had been Gaspard¡¯s subordinates back at the fortress, are in the middle. I meet my savior¡¯s eyes and she lowers them with sadness. Uh? I expected her to be more playful. retorts a frowning Kouakou. says Lady Moor with a smirk. One of the twins raises his hand and both sides fall silent. Both are men with very light brown hair, brown eyes, and tan skin. They are rather short and have the muscles I would associate with dancers. They wear an identical beige ensemble and the whole effect is decidedly monochromatic. I freeze in horror. Oh dear. I finally understand. So caught in the perspective of freedom, I ignored Aintza¡¯s drunken remark. ¡°They will think you dead,¡± she said. Oh no. This is going to be most painful. I hear a sharp breath intake coming from Moor. She clearly did not see that coming. Lady Moor falls silent and I use this opportunity to stare at Jimena as she approaches. I thought I looked good in that strange battle dress I wear, yet she puts me to shame. She is regal in a form-fitting leather cuirass. Elaborate metal bracers adorn her forearms and her hand rests on the pommel of a sword of exquisite make. ¡°Both champions are approved. The parties may regain their seats.¡± The others retreat and I am left with the twins and my opponent. Jimena¡¯s face is a frozen mask. The second twin turns to me: We both turn to Jimena. How are they so serious? One of the twins leaves and shortly comes back with a pair of identical dueling blades, made of silver without adornments. I pick one and Jimena, the other. Hold on, what!? To the death!? The twins leave at a leisurely pace. Then the door closes behind the judges. Oh dear. I am sure she has a plan, and she was quite clear that I use this sword to the best of my abilities. Very well. I , I try to swat her blade aside and lean in for a thrust, but she just lowers her blade then swipes it back up to deflect my blow. I keep more and more. Every attack is deflected, every feint is ignored until I turn it into a real attack that is, and then it is blocked. I rush at Jimena like an enraged mantis and she dodges by the barest of margins. Sometimes, she ripostes but her moves are transparent, and I parry without difficulty. I accelerate to the limits of my power and already the Thirst is back in strength. I try to grab her, I try to claw her. I try to kick and punch her. I attack her arm and legs. Nothing works. This fight has lasted longer than the fight against the werewolf. I have completed no less than five quick sequences and am approaching my limits when something odd happens. My head lurches, I stumble. My mind pops like a soap bubble. Every desire to fight evaporates and strength abandons me. My arms fall, the blade rolls on the floor. ¡°Huh?¡± What is going on? I am trying to think through a thick wall of cotton. Ah. There is a blade in my heart. Thick red blood flows freely to my feet. There is so much of it. Jimena approaches me with sorrow clear on her face. Is it over, just like that? There was a plan? No? Her talons reach my throat. No? With a ripping sound, she tears something and my vision falls to black with the sound of polite applause. S?a?ch* Th? ??v?l_Fir?.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. I come to with a gasp and terrible cough. AWAKE. THIRSTY. WOUNDED. An incredible treat in my mouth and down my throat. Delicious. So strong. Not enough. Prey ahead, chained and whimpering. I reach the prey. I drink deep. Rush of life. No pleasure, too hurt. It dies. I take a deep breath and cough. Blood droplets splatter on the bound corpse in front of me and my shoes. The battle dress¡¯ front is completely red. The hole in my chest is already closed and I understand. Jimena barely clipped my heart; even then the damage was massive. I understand the look on Gaspard¡¯s face as he died. I haven¡¯t felt this helpless since the night I met Him. My throat still pains me. I cough again to try and clear the airway. More of the crimson liquid drips from my lips. I take stock. I am in some wooden shed devoid of anything but the corpse of the tied man, a backpack and an oiled envelope on top of it. I approach the bag and notice a sheathed silver knife. Unbidden, a smile reaches my lips. She did it, Jimena did it! I am free! ¡°Ahhh!¡± Someone just screamed outside, I am not completely free it seems. I approach the door in silence and stare through the keyhole. I am in a courtyard occupied by two people. The first one is Aintza and the second one is Charlotte. The bovine woman is holding the servant¡¯s hand. Two fingers are already bent at an unnatural angle. Curses, what should I do? If I come out, I may be found out and this will have all been for nothing, assuming I even survive, and yet, not intervening feels wrong. I have a debt of gratitude towards Jimena and Aintza. I am not foolish enough to assume that we made a fair deal. They went to great length to guarantee my escape. Aintza is begging now. She might be slain. Curse it all. This shall not stand. I would never be able to face my friend if I let it happen. I will have to risk it. I open the door and the hinges squeal like a stuck pig. So much for discretion. Charlotte turns her piggish face to me and erupts in triumph. I say in a gravelly voice. I smile, making sure to show my fangs. This blood that was poured down my throat and the man that followed sated me, but the repairing damage is keeping the torpor at bay. I feel awake, strong, and quite happy. I am free, and now Charlotte comes to me without anyone knowing? This is just the cherry on the cake. I watch outrage and pride turn to hesitation then to fear. Yes, realize now your predicament you brainless excuse of a frigid ham. I step closer, slowly as that she does not panic. I do not want to run after her. I stop at arm¡¯s reach. She turns to run and I. The silver knife slides between her ribs and my hand on her neck buries her ugly mug in the dirt. She is so slow and pathetic. Turning your back to your opponent while they are so close? It is tantamount to suicide. I adjust my grip and bring the blade out. She cries briefly and I use the distraction to stab her in the heart. Her struggle immediately seizes. I hear a whimper as I drag her neck up. I drink her dry. When I stand up, a weak blue light starts to consume her lifeless body. I feel like I am watching a log disintegrate. Even her taste was disappointing. Truly, a waste of essence to the very end. Oh well. I turn to Aintza. She stepped away from the fight and is currently cradling her wounded hand. Her face is pale but resolute. ¡°Aintza--¡± "You must leave Ariane, or you will risk us all.¡± ¡°Will you be alright?¡± ¡°Yes, do not worry, this is not my first time running a scheme for Jimena.¡± ¡°She does seem too honest for her own good.¡± ¡°There is not a devious bone in her whole body.¡± She adds with a warm smile and dreamy eyes. She loves her. If I had any doubts before, there are none now. Even with the bonds formed from our recent bite, Jimena is still the most precious person in the world to the petite woman. I feel a pang of jealousy in my heart but I quickly suppress it. I do not need it. I do not want it. ¡°I shall take my leave then. Thank you, both of you, for everything.¡± ¡°Godspeed Lady Ariane. Read the letter with attention, it contains everything you need to know.¡± I nod and rush away into the night. After six months of servitude, I am finally free. I made it. And now, I am going home. Chapter 13: Homeward The town of Montfort where I grew up is about two-thirds of the way between New Orleans and Baton Rouge. It took us a day of riding to come here, back when I was alive. Tonight, it only took me two hours of running to reach the outskirts.I should have died. Even if my heart was barely clipped and my head still mostly attached, the grievous wounds I suffered should have been the end of me. Instead, I was given a few swallows of blood so potent, so incredibly strong that it amplified my healing and is even now carrying me forward. I have run before and any exertion quickly led to Thirst. This time, I ride on the wind of boundless energy, a well of vitality that just goes on forever. Even now, I feel sated. I do not understand what I was given; I only know that I had never heard of something similar. Whatever I was gifted, it was both rare and precious. One more debt to add to the pile. I slow down as I recognize familiar houses. At this time of the night, the roads are completely empty and with clouds covering the night sky, even someone staring out of their windows would be hard-pressed to notice me. I still walk through fields and copses of trees to reach the back entrance of my house. I do not want to take any chances. I reach the first of my family¡¯s cane fields. Winter is almost here so they lie empty and desolate. I keep walking. Wet earth and trees give me the peculiar smell I associate with home and I stop. I have done it. My primary purpose, the goal I aimed for since I woke up under the fortress has been fulfilled. I held to this feeling, this idea of freedom and heading home to keep my sanity and determination in situations that could have broken me and left me helpless. I now realize that I have no idea how to proceed now that I have achieved those priorities. Those were not plans that could be implemented, they were ideals without follow up. I sit down on a tree stump. What do I want? I am a monster. My family will know sooner rather than later, should I try to go back to my old life. Worse, the news of my return would spread far and wide and I might as well just send a missive to the Lancaster and the order of Gabriel to show up to my house with a sharp blade and a silver spike. I do not want to stay. I still want to know how my father and brother are faring. They need this closure as much as I do. I do not want to die. I do not want to be a slave. All those are negative desires. They are an absence of things. They are not goals I can strive towards. At a loss, I decide to read Jimena¡¯s letter. She might have provided some good advice. I take out the heavy envelope from my larger backpack and open it. I note in passing that it is coated in something, to protect it from liquids, no doubt. They really thought of everything. The first line is a series of strange runes, all wedges, and sharp angles. It looks like someone stabbed the paper and the ink is black blood seeping from the wound. I blink and the meaning becomes obvious. I do not even question how the knowledge ended up in my mind. The rest of the writing is in English. Jimena¡¯s letters are identical and evenly spaced. The paper does not have a single blot, which is no less than I expected from that straight arrow of a woman. Huh? I close the letter with a sigh of regret. Jimena¡¯s words are directions and warnings, there is no indication on what I should do with my life, besides surviving. I have only been delaying the inevitable. As much as I hate it, I will have to do some introspection. What do I want? I want to create something for myself and then nurture it. When I was younger, I wanted to build a stable and later a distillery. It is most likely impossible for now according to what I understand from Jimena¡¯s letter. I might be able to do it later. I will never be too old to start a new project, after all. If I cannot build then at least I can travel. I could go to Florida or Texas, or even visit the Anglos lands in the North. I could even go to Canada! Or, Paris! London! No, that seems like a terrible idea. I would need to cross the ocean and even my Master would not risk it without preparation. This would also put me in contact with other clans. No Paris, no Barcelona, no Berlin for this lone vampire. I shall make the New World my own. Yes. I can travel, I can discover things and meet people, and eat them too! As soon as I am done here. Suddenly my mood plummets. I ran all the way here, and now I am wasting time making inane plans that may never reach completion. I am¡­ I am scared. There, I said it. I am terrified by what I will find. What will I do if they try to kill me? What will I do if they are dead? No, no. They cannot be dead. I will not accept it. I stand up in a rush and stride towards the mansion, I am almost there. The log cabin. I slowly step to the place of my childhood. It is burnt to the ground. No! Black soot clings to the stone foundations and the few surviving beams. The charcoal is dark and shiny, its surface made smooth by a season of rain. The small hearth is half-collapsed and there is nothing left of the furniture. I step forward and kneel. I grab a handful of dark dust. What happened? Why is it gone, and why is it so small? My log cabin is tall. Large and strong, with a canopy bed! This pale imitation, this pathetic excuse of a dump cannot be the place of my childhood! I cannot accept it. Is this a joke? Is this some sort of trick? Is there a hidden place farther away? Perhaps I remember it wrong, this has to be a shed and the real thing is farther away? I am crying. I silently dab the tears away with a clean tissue. I am so terribly affected by the loss of this place. Why? Why am I so sad? I look up to the and suddenly, my mind reaches my refuge. The sky is still dark and cloudless. Staring into it gives a feeling of immensity. I look down to the solid walls that would shame the ramparts of a Roman Oppidum and step in. The gate opens before me, unbidden. The interior is warm and clean. The bed occupies the middle of the room, surrounded by furniture and the odd trinket, each a symbol of a significant memory. A fire roars in the hearth and the wood pops and hisses contentedly. I step out and end up sitting in wet ashes. So that is what it feels like, the death of innocence. It has been six months and the world moved on. It did not wait for me. I stand back up. No. This is nothing. This is just a building. I will not let such an event shatter me. I refuse. I keep going, after a while my childhood home comes in sight. It is a two-story colonial house, the wood painted white. An outside patio leads to a grand entrance. I know every room in it, every nook and cranny and yet there is a major problem. I cannot get in, at least not without an invitation. I need Papa to invite me. I walk away to his bedroom window, on the side of the second floor. I jump up. I easily grab the sill with both hands and dig my talons in it, then I look down. Impressive, I will have to remember to jump up to avoid pursuers. Turning my attention forward, I face a shutter. Of course. I slide my index finger forward and the wood gives way with an audible crack, and I lift the lock. The shutter opens with a shriek from its rusty hinges. Inside, a dog starts to bark. I stare through the window and drawn curtains. Surely, Papa heard me? He should be up and waving around a massive iron poker while bellowing threats at whoever dares do disturb his property and his rest. The door slams wide and a female figure with a small dog comes in. I duck and let go. ¡°Roger, someone opened the shutter!¡± ¡°Damn it woman, I told you to wait for me.¡± ¡°Dad? What¡¯s going on?¡± I stay where I stand. Curses, this is my aunt and her family. What are they doing here? And where is my father? ¡°You stay there, I¡¯m going to look outside.¡± ¡°Dad?¡± ¡°I said, stay there.¡± He is going to step outside, voluntarily? How convenient. Roger leaves the house with a lamp, the dog and a loaded musket. The small white thing keeps barking until it catches my scent. Then it starts shaking. I jump down from the patio and land behind him in perfect silence. I grab the man¡¯s neck between two talons. He freezes and drops everything to grip my hand. I let him frantically struggle for a few seconds, then I increase the pressure. ¡°I have some questions,¡± I say in a low voice. ¡°Ari?!¡± I stop dead. I cannot believe it. Did he recognize my voice? Roger and I were never close, we had not spoken since last May. How? How could he? ¡°Ari, is that you?¡± ¡°No!¡± ¡°Ari, what happened to you? We can help--¡± ¡°Silence! I do not--no! I ask the questions. Yes. And you answer. Now tell me, where is Papa?¡± ¡°Ari I am sorry, we had to--¡± ¡°WHERE IS HE!¡± ¡°In the dependence!¡± I can¡¯t stand this anymore. What the FUCK is he doing in the dependence? Those are the servant quarters! I turn Roger around and slam him against the wall. ¡°Why is he there? Why not here? THIS IS HIS FUCKING HOUSE!¡± ¡°I can tell you!¡± ¡°Please don¡¯t hurt my daddy!¡± Both of us turn to a small child, my nephew. For the first time, Roger¡¯s voice shows true panic. ¡°Please¡­ Lucien, no. Go home.¡± ¡°Aunt Ari?¡± No this is wrong, this is all wrong, this should not be happening! THEY DO NOT BELONG HERE! THIS IS THE NEST! SLAY THE INTRUDERS, DRINK THEM DRY, DISPLAY THEIR CORPSES AS WARNING FOR THE OTH-- No! No. This is my family. This parody of life has already robbed the human Ariane of her life, it will not take her family as well. I refuse. I am no slave, not to the Lancasters, not to Him, and certainly not to my own instincts. This will not stand. I release the old man who collapses on the ground. Lucien looks at me in wonder. Curses, he must have seen the teeth. Now they know. I should kill them just to be on the safe side, I can easily get rid of the bodies. What is wrong with me? I need to leave. ¡°Where?¡± ¡°Tom¡¯s old house. Wait!¡± I stop but do not dare to turn around and face them. ¡°He had a hard time handling your disappearance.¡± ¡°Then why is he not in his bedroom where he belongs?¡± ¡°He drank too much, he burnt down the resting cabin, almost burnt down the house too. He moved out. We are taking care of the slaves and his investment while he, well, wastes away.¡± ¡°¡­ I see.¡± ¡°Ari, what happened to you?¡± ¡°You did not see me, uncle. You never saw me here. I am dead. Do you understand?¡± ¡°We love you, Ari, we are your family. Just stay--¡± ¡°No! I cannot. I really cannot. I would endanger Lucien and Sara. I would endanger us all.¡± ¡°I understand. Is it farewell then?¡± ¡°It is.¡± ¡°Then, I wish you the best and I am sorry.¡± ¡°Goodbye Roger.¡± ¡°Goodbye, Ari.¡± ¡°Bye Aunt Ari, take care.¡± I sprint forward to a group of small houses. It only takes me a few seconds to find the right house and knock on the door like a fury. It takes him a long time to answer, long enough, in fact, for other people to wake up. I care not. Eventually, he opens the door and we stare at each other in stunned silence. It is him, it is really him. ¡°Let me in.¡± ¡°Ari?¡± ¡°LET ME IN, DAMN IT!¡± Astonished, he makes the barest of move and that is all that I need. I push past him and he closes the door behind me. Only a small candle provides light around us. His place is a hovel, filled with rickety furniture and empty bottles. It reeks of alcohol, digested alcohol, and sweat. We stay silent. I do not even turn to face him. I jump when someone knocks on the door. ¡°Mr. Reynaud, are you alright in there?¡± ¡°Yes. I am fine. Please, leave me be.¡± ¡°As you say, sir.¡± We both turn at the same time. I wear a winter traveling garb complete with a cape but my head is bare and my hair free. I am the exact copy of the woman who left his house back in July, down to the hair length. He, however, is but a shadow of his former self. His sickly skin is drawn taut over a skeletal frame. His blue eyes are sunken and devoid of their usual spark. His shoulders are slumped, he is hunched and even his proud blonde beard is matted and messy. I find the irony tragic. I am the one who was left behind but he is the one who could not let go. ¡°Is that really you, or is this some sort of cruel joke?¡± His voice is cold but his face shows an ocean of suffering, constant grief without end that even the bottle failed to blunt. ¡°I...¡± I hesitate, then I decide to go for honesty. ¡°I am so sorry, I do not know.¡± I start bawling like a child. God, how pathetic I am. The proud vampire who reigned undefeated over the Gauntlet reduced to a quivering mess. My father takes me in his arms and hugs me. I lean into it. We stay like this for a while. God, I wish this would never stop. After a while, I push him away. He lets me go. ¡°You cried blood on my shirt, daughter.¡± ¡°It was filthy anyway.¡± ¡°Tell me what is going on.¡± I start talking and I do not stop. The tale of what happens comes out in a messy jumble. I talk about being cursed, being dead, needing blood, escaping, my friend Jimena, how I first met her, fighting in the Gauntlet, running errands, the big eye in the sky. It just comes out in a big pile of nonsense and never does he interrupt me. After a good hour, I putter out like a wet pistol. He dries his wet cheeks with a tissue as I wait for something, a verdict I suppose. ¡°You believe that my daughter died in that basement?¡± ¡°I think so," I say with some hesitation, ¡°I do not think I am human.¡± ¡°Did she suffer? Did she call for me?¡± I look at him. His face is a mask. Should I say the truth? He would never believe a lie. ¡°Yes. I did.¡± He sits down and cries again. We have cried quite a bit this past hour. I even stained the front of my dress. ¡°I never expected you to come,¡± I say. I sit down. ¡°There was nothing you could have done. This is unfair, I know, but I can tell you this: even if you had found me, you would have died as well.¡± ¡°I failed you.¡± S?a?ch* Th? N?v?lFire.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. ¡°No, you did not. You made me happy. For those past nineteen years, you made me happy. This is what you were supposed to do Papa. Killing millennia-old monsters was never part of the deal.¡± ¡°If I had known--¡± ¡°But you could not.¡± We sit in silence. ¡°Do you really have to leave?¡± ¡°Yes. I just came by because I needed closure. We both did.¡± ¡°I guess.¡± ¡°Where is Achille?¡± ¡°Closing a contract in Houston. He has come to terms with your death, I believe.¡± ¡°I expected no less from my practical brother. How is Constanza?¡± ¡°She recovered, but her face is scarred. She was followed by a nice doctor from the city and they are getting married in April.¡± ¡°That is good to hear.¡± We stay for a while in comfortable silence. I do not believe I have ever stayed awake for so long since I died. I am dimly aware that I will need to find shelter for the day but right now, I cannot bring myself to care. ¡°I must leave Papa.¡± ¡°Yes, I suppose you do.¡± His eyes suddenly widen in shock and a silly smile lightens his features. I feel myself mirror the expression. It is so good to see life come back to him if only a little. ¡°Hold on! Before you go, I have your birthday gift!¡± ¡°What? You do?¡± And it finally occurs to me that I turned twenty in August. I was so focused on running errands and surviving that it never occurred to me to celebrate. Excited, Papa runs to his bedroom and rummages through various belongings. I hear him mutter and curse, then with a triumphant ¡°Aha!¡±, he returns with a long leather holster. ¡°Papa! Is that?¡± ¡°Indeed! I had Talleyrand make it for you. Try it out!¡± I open the cover and take out a brand-new rifle. ¡°Oh my, oh my! It¡¯s wonderful!¡± I jump excitedly and I touch the smooth polished stock of red-colored wood, the silver engraved firing mechanism, and the long barrel. The weapon is a work of art and love. I aim and it is as if I have had it my whole life. It is perfectly balanced and quite light, although I suppose I can thank my new strength for that last part. ¡°Incredible! It is as if it was made for me!¡± ¡°It was. Talleyrand used your exact measurements¡± ¡°Oh Papa, this is such a great gift! Thank you, thank you!¡± I jump and hug him again, laughing all the time. ¡°But wait, I haven¡¯t told you the best part yet!¡± He replies with amusement. For a while, my father goes to great length to explain how special the gun is. It is a more recent design that uses paper cartridges and is loaded from the gun¡¯s breech instead of the muzzle. The barrel is even rifled for increased accuracy. Truly, the wonders of science know no bounds. After that, it is time to say goodbye. I shoulder my backpack, the leather cover and pocket the bag of ammunition in silence. Father holds my shoulders then gives me one last hug. It is the first time in six months that I embrace someone I will not feed from. He backs up a bit then a rugged thumb caresses my cheek. ¡°I remember that you told me you are not my Ariane, but you were wrong. You still carry the same spirit, the same aspirations and God forgive me, the same love for unladylike things that go boom.¡± ¡°Father!¡± ¡°Shhh, hahaha, let your old man finish. You think that being human is what made you my daughter. It is not. Being you is what made you my daughter. You have always changed and grown, this particular change is just the latest and the most dire. Do not despair and do not let go of your past and our time together, yes?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t make me cry again!¡± ¡°Haha, it is fine.¡± ¡°The same goes for you!¡± I reply between two hiccups, ¡°You better clean yourself, mister. Don¡¯t make me feel ashamed.¡± ¡°Oh, believe me, I will.¡± I turn and step to the door before I lose every last bit of self-control I have. I am so emotional tonight, more so than usual. This strange blood might be to blame yet I feel no regret. I think that I needed it. ¡°Take the key to the Saint Landry warehouse. You can rest there today and, Ariane?¡± ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°You have enemies. Give them hell and no quarters. I refuse to lose you again, you hear? You are forbidden from dying before me.¡± ¡°I promise.¡± ¡°Good, now go, and don¡¯t forget to write!¡± I leave Montfort at a dead run, feeling light as a feather. I did not expect everything to have gone so well. I look up and exchange a glance with the . Its gaze feels softer tonight. ¡°¡± The road forward lies open. Chapter 14: Roadside snacks It has been a week since I left Montfort. I have been able to take shelter in sheds and barns locked for the winter without much difficulty. The ability to climb means that I never have to force a door open. At worst, I have removed a pair of planks.As for nourishment, it was not hard either. There are several kinds of victims. Some villages have sentries who walk around with a lantern. The light they carry makes them visible from hundreds of meters away, which I find very thoughtful of them. I have but to follow the signal and blood is to be found. There is also the odd travelers. A surprising amount of people move at night for one reason or another, merchants coming back home, doctors, soldiers on leave¡­ It is enough. If I ever grow desperate, I can always remove a layer of clothes and knock on a door with desperation on my face, although I shall do this as a last resort. I have followed Jimena¡¯s advice to stay on the move and to leave no body to be found. The best way to do so, I find, is to not create one to begin with. It seems that tonight will be the exception. I am reaching the end of settled land and have started to skirt Choctaw territory, moving East. This used to be Native country as well, but it changed hands when a certain governor decided that respecting treaties only applied when the other side had a modern army. I noticed that since passing Mobile, the land and its people have grown increasingly rough. Case in point. ¡°Your turn, Bouc!¡± I stand at the edge of a small clearing. A hound is attached to the opposite end and is voraciously devouring a piece of charred meat. Two patched tents sit on both sides of a small fire and the ground is littered with half-chewed bones and empty bottles. The culprits are three filthy men in their twenties who roar in laughter when a thrown knife kisses the cheek of a slave bound to a tree, eliciting a small whimper. I frown in disapproval. I understand playing with your prey but there is something about this situation that bothers me. The black man shows courage in the face of defeat, surely, this warrants some sort of respect, no? The situation is quite clear to me. The slave escaped, was successfully tracked down and now he will be returned, judged and punished according to the Black Code. The way they torture him and shed his blood for no reason feels wasteful and disrespectful of the and the . Those people disgust me, and I am Thirsty, so we shall see forthwith if they truly are the predators they believe themselves to be. I retreat and hide my backpack as well as my precious rifle. I quickly don my most tattered dress, leave my travel cloak on the ground and return to the camp. After some deliberation, I decide to bear one white shoulder for them to see. The bait is set. I take the hunched posture of the victim and cross my arm in a protective gesture. I step into the clearing, let out a loud gasp and deliberately step on a branch. The dog starts growling. The three men fail to notice me. Unbelievable. Only when the slave¡¯s eyes grow wide, do they turn around. I have maintained my frightened deer expression for a solid ten seconds now. Heavens, how much effort I am wasting trying to turn this into a proper contest! I could have broken two of the ruffian¡¯s neck and the last one would still be giggling like a cretin while scratching his privates. I really hope they will do better from now on. ¡°Well, well well sweet thing, are you lost? Don¡¯t ya worry, me and the boys will take reaaaal good care of ya, won¡¯t we lads?¡± says the leader, a gangly man with a cruel face. ¡°Yeah, huhuhu¡± replies a short man with a bushy beard and a lazy eye. The third man just stands there with an absent smile. A trail of drool drips down his chin. And just like that, my interest in a verbal exchange has died down. There is little cause for a battle of wit when my opponents are so obviously unarmed, so I let out a distressed yelp and turn to flee. As expected, the three launch themselves after with drunken laughter. I am forced to slow down so that they do not lose my trail. We eventually reach another clearing and I veer left, then I hide at the base of the tallest beech tree I can find. The trio reaches the clearing and the leader scowls. He makes a hand gesture and they separate to start to look for tracks. ¡°Should have taken the dog.¡± Says the leader. That would not have saved you. I wait a bit until they are properly split, then I let one foot hanging out of my hiding spot. As soon as the closest lout looks in my direction, I snap a branch and his eyes land on it. I hope he is dumb enough to fall for that more than obvious ploy. He is. I am not surprised, but still a bit disappointed. I see from the corner of my eye the man, the bearded one called Bouc, gesture at his friends to join him. Of course, they are already too far from each other to notice and so he would have to call them, warning me that I am spotted. Or he could take me by surprise. Bouc is eminently predictable. I know he will prefer to end the chase as fast as possible and I also know why. He is after another kind of sport. As the man creeps ever closer with all the subtlety of a drunken bull in a China shop. The wind blows and I catch a waft of his musk. Oh. My. GOD! Do I really want to drink from him? Can I truly not catch any diseases? I am afraid that I will have to burn that dress afterward, or risk being noticed from a mile away. How can a man allow himself to be so revolting? How has his nose not fallen off yet? Ah, this is getting worse and worse. The man extends a filthy hand to catch my leg and at the last moment, before he can stain my sock beyond anyone¡¯s ability to wash it, I . Two fingers close on his airway without drawing blood, yet. I smile to him and make sure he sees the eight fangs. I start whispering. ¡°Congratulations, you caught¡­¡± And I freeze. The man just soiled himself. I thought the smell could not possibly get any worse, I was sorely mistaken. ¡°Tch, you insufferable swine! I¡­¡± I stop again. Something is crawling from his beard to my arm. My eyes widen in shock as my enhanced vision reveals the unwelcome transient. Lice. ¡°Hsss!¡± Oh, that is IT! I punch the man in the throat, grab his arm and bite deep. In the safety of my refuge, I ignore both the rush of life and my memories to stare at the echo of the . ¡°Don¡¯t think about it, don¡¯t think about it, don¡¯t think about it¡­¡± ¡°Ngah!¡± With a last shiver of revulsion, I drop the bloody arm and the corpse it is attached to slumps on the ground. I made a bit of a mess and I silently scold myself. I should not, in any circumstances, waste blood. Still¡­ ¡°Bouc?¡± The leader is walking in my general direction with a scowl. I push the horrendous remains in a recess and walk forward in the clearing as if I were trying to be stealthy. I then seemingly notice the leader and run away with a scream of terror. The leader smiles and sprints, all thoughts of his friend promptly forgotten. We race for half a minute, during which the man manages to promise me that I will like it, threaten me if I don¡¯t stop, call me a dumb whore, and ¡°compliments¡± my rear. Really, what is it with men and my posterior? Should I ask? Eventually, I pretend to fall. The gangly lowlife stops to savor the sight of his target crawling on the ground. The glint in his eye is quite telling, and so is the way he licks his lips. Then I turn my head and fix a random spot in the tree. ¡°Behind you!¡± I scream in terror. The man frowns and turns away, only for two talons to grab his neck. ¡°I said,¡± I add in a sultry voice, ¡°Behind you¡­¡± I took my time enjoying the leader and I am now sated. The Thirst has left me be for the night and I now face a dilemma. Should I slay the simpleton in front of me, or let him go free? I am not confident about my ability to make him forget. When I drew from travelers on my way here, the bite and a look were always enough to send them off with no recollection of the event. A chase that resulted in the disappearance of friends, however, is another issue altogether. If I let him leave, will he speak of a blonde woman in a tattered dress? In the best-case scenario, informed parties might recognize the influence of a vampire. In the worst case, they could start a manhunt. He is dangerous. And yet is any of this truly his fault? He looks too dim to understand the evil of his ways. His ¡°friends¡± were quite possibly a bad influence. Am I not being too hasty? I am already feeling just a little tipsy. Could vampires get drunk from too much blood? Surely not. ¡°You woman! I fouuuuund you!¡± says the dullard as he finally notices me. He then proceeds to unhook his belt and lower his pants. ¡°I do you like the servant girl!¡± Well, that settles it. ¡°Teeheehee!¡± Oh but what a beautiful night it is! So nice and quiet, and peaceful, and the weather is so clement. Why, I could have a tea party under the moon! And the ! Except, with no tea, please. Instead, we could have gentlemen on the table and Jimena and Constanza could be there! And the gentlemen would be completely¡­ Nude! ¡°Teehehehehehehe, ¡± But first I have to clean up the bodies because Jimena said I should and Jimena is my best friend in the whole world! So, I bring them together, it is so easy. The idiot was already there, so I went to pick up the leader and it took me a little bit to find him but eventually I did and then I brought him and piled them and then I found the stinky one but he is too gross so I took the belt from the idiot and wrapped it around his leg and then I tied it to the head of the idiot. Now I only have to drag the idiot to move both of them! So, I take the leader¡¯s belt and attach his head the idiot¡¯s leg and now I can just return to the camp in one go with all three corpses! My ability to innovate knows no bounds! So, I pick the leader and start to drag and fall on my face. Heavy! I spit out a few leaves and stare up at the . It watches. ¡± I continue between two grunts, I navigate myself and the corpse train back to the camp and only fall twice and bump against one tree. Ariane, queen of dexterity! As I reach the clearing, the dog starts barking and howling so I roar once and it quiets down with a whimper. Good dog. I drop my luggage and look around for a shovel. There are no marshes around so I would be better off burying the bodies. Oh but wait¡­ I turn around and burp. A trail of blood drips from my chin. Ariane, manners! Ah yes, I remember now. The captive! I move closer and the black man looks at me with a surprising amount of calm. Why, how courageous. My mouth is positively covered in the red liquid and still, he does not flinch! Huh, did he just¡­ The man leans forward despite the ropes biting in his wrist and offers his jugular. s?a??h th? N?v?lF?re.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. That is so unusual and so exciting! He spoke the tongue! And he was so polite by calling me ¡°Nin¡±, a ! And this submissive position, I feel that I should not hurt him. Why, I am curious now. I was going to kill him cleanly but now I just have to hear what he has to say! The words escape my lips, unbidden. ¡°¡± The man almost collapses in relief. What? He was that anxious? ¡°, would you please free my hands?¡± It is a reasonable request, and besides, he cannot kneel properly as he is. The position of is all wrong! I walk to him and cut the ropes with a few swipes with my talons. Just like a cat! ¡°Teehehehehe!¡± Now the man massages his wrists, well, where is my kneeling supplicant? He freezes and slowly kneels and, again, offers his throat to me. Just so! Now, I am satisfied. So I stop growling. He does not move and so I sigh, ¡°You may rise.¡± Silly Ariane, you cannot expect every human to know the tongue! Bah. ¡°What is your name?¡± ¡°Toussaint.¡± A Creole! That might explain it. He is acquainted with the Ekon, maybe even that scandalous girl Nami. Possibly. ¡°How do you know how to address me?¡± ¡°, there is a Bokor who goes from plantation to plantation. He speaks to us of the Voodoo and the way of magic. He also told us of the loa, the loup-garou, and the pale ones. He said that if one meets a pale one outside at night, he should greet them politely, and pray they are feeling merciful.¡± I hold my hands up, this is a fascinating tale but I now have a most urgent matter to attend to. I rush to the nearest bush. ¡°OooOoOoo¡­¡± I throw up blood. It stinks! There is no vitality to be found in it, at all. Bah! I should not have drunk so much, but, well, I did not want all that life to go to waste. ¡°Hic! Uuuuh.¡± When I come back, Toussaint has not moved an inch, Droplets of cold sweat have gathered on his brow however, despite the chill. ¡°What is a loup-garou anyway?¡± ¡°A werewolf. A cursed soul who turns into a horrible monster under the light of the moon. It is said that it is as tall as two men, covered in fur, and strong enough to shred metal! Only by silver can it be slain, but it is no small task! For the beast is terrifying: its maw is like that of a wolf and lined with nightmarish¡­¡± ¡°Ooooh, so thaaaaaat¡¯s what it was. Well, it was delicious. Full of life and power. I wonder if I can catch another one?¡± Toussaint does not reply but he smells afraid again. Was it something I said? Bah. ¡°So you presented yourself as a supplicant. Now tell me, what is your request?¡± ¡°Hum, I would like to live.¡± ¡°Hum!¡± I tap my index against my chin and ponder those words. He would like to live. Well, it does sound reasonable, I suppose. I cannot stomach another human anyway. I could let him go? ¡°Ah Toussaint, I wish I could, but I really cannot have someone spread tales of my passage. You see,¡± I grab his shoulder and lean closer because it¡¯s a secret. ¡°I am trying to move inco¡­ Incon¡­ Wait. INCOGNITO!¡± He winces.¡± Yes, that is it. Teehee!¡± ¡°That is not an issue, .¡± He replies with the barest trace of panic. ¡°I can swear an oath on the loa!¡± ¡°So?¡± ¡°If I lie, my soul will burn in hell for all eternity! The Bondye will never forgive me!¡± ¡°Hmmm, give me your hand.¡± I lightly bite him and stare in his eyes. ¡°You meant to betray me?¡± ¡°No ! Toussaint is a man of honor!¡± ¡°Do you believe that if you break an oath to the loa, your soul will go to hell?¡± ¡°Of course!¡± He answers, scandalized. ¡°Humm. Very well then. I will consent to let you go. In return, you will help me bury the bodies.¡± ¡°? Truly?¡± He licks his lips, hope clear as day on his face. ¡°Yes. Now Swear!¡± I expected a hastily cobbled up sentence, instead, the man actually builds a small altar of wood and soot and mutters a long prayer, complete with a loud proclamation of demise should he break his word. How queer! I was having a perfectly reasonable night and suddenly, something completely out of the ordinary happens, a heathen ceremony. That is so quaint! After he is done, Toussaint finds a small gully and we drop the bodies there and then cover them with earth and heavy stones so that wild animals don¡¯t dig them up. Tada! They¡¯re gone. Ariane, queen of prestidigitation! We walk back to camp one last time. Toussaint assures me that he knows where he intends to go, that he will take care of the men¡¯s belonging and their dog as well. He also gives me some directions without prompt. On this note, we part ways. The expression of grateful incredulity he shows me when I leave is so touching. He is, as my father would say, a good lad. With his advice, I quickly find shelter in a natural cave system and although it is still quite early, I decide to call it a night. Chapter 15: Reap what you sow Yesterday did not happen. Nope! It did not. Nothing embarrassing happened, at all. The blood on my chin and clothes? A hunting accident. I was hunting a deer. Yes, a deer. A vicious one.I walk on a trail that skirts the border between Louisiana proper and the native lands. Despite yesterday¡¯s excess, I already feel Thirsty. I am also feeling a bit lonely. I never anticipated this to happen. I have been on the road for only a week, yet a simple conversation with this human, Toussaint, reminded me of what I had forfeited. I want to talk to someone, I want to learn something new, discuss ideas. I do not want to turn into some sort of hermit. I find it impressive that the mundane reasserts itself so easily. When I was attending the red-haired bitch queen, I wanted nothing but to be left alone. When I was in the gauntlet, I wanted nothing but entertainment, and now I want company. It is Humanity¡¯s lot to always crave for more, and death has not made me an exception. I sigh and shoulder my backpack. I now have exactly three outfits, with one being the battle dress with a hole in the chest. I should have brought a sewing kit¡­ S~?a??h the ??v?lF?re.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. I was too hasty when I skirted Mobile. I should have stopped and resupplied. The fact that I need no food blinded me and¡­ I stop on the trail. I have been walking in mostly forested land for two days now. Between the hills, the tree trunks and the occasional rock, visibility is limited despite my eyes. I close them. I hear the cracks and groans of living wood, distant birds, the wind. Strange, I could swear that I felt something, not the auras I associate with magical beings but something weaker and less alive. Hum. I start walking again a bit faster and leave the trail for the top of the nearest hill. My instincts have never betrayed me. Something is off. I reach the top and look around, nothing but trees and silence. I climb the tallest tree I can find using my claws to dig in. Still nothing, and now my fingers are sticky with sap. The feeling comes and goes again, both closer and stronger. I still have no idea what it could be, yet I can think of only one explanation. Someone or something is tracking me. Should I run for it? Can I? Running makes me Thirsty and finding blood here will be difficult if I have to rush it. Should I ambush them? That would be pointless if they know my exact location. Hum. Perhaps they cannot. I believe whatever is tracking me to do the magical equivalent of yelling to find someone in the forest, and the person yells back. I need more information. I shall hide and wait to see what it is and at the first sign of danger, I shall be gone like the wind. After half an hour, the feeling comes back. It is exactly as it was, that I can say. Someone is hunting me, I am sure of it. However, they stopped. I wait half an hour more without change. The feeling does no return and the implication scares me. It is likely, that whatever is doing this knows my approximate location. It decided to stop when it noticed me doing the same, and I finally understand why. Time is against me. If they can track me during daylight, I am finished. Most vampires protect themselves by slumbering in fortresses defended by loyal followers. This was made obvious during the fortress raid. I have none of those defenses. My only advantage in hiding is that no one was looking for me, until now that is. There is no labyrinth, no rock formation that will hide me from whatever is out for me. It would be child¡¯s play to find my body in some bear cave or abandoned shack and then dispose of me. How did this even happen? I thought I was being careful. Bah, it matters not. I must find what I am up against. My only saving grace is that it prefers to wait until I am defenseless, which means that it is not confident it can slay me in a fair fight. I do not have a way to track it, however. How should I proceed? I have superior sight, hearing, and sense of smell. I can use it. I also have my wits, such as they are. I have been on the move for a week, mostly going North and now East. Whatever is tracking me must logically be behind. I need to retrace my steps. Secondly, whatever is tracking me has a high chance of being sapient. Indeed, I find it unlikely that a beast would have the presence of mind to wait for daylight to slay its prey. It might well have followed the trail. I take out and load my rifle as a precaution, grateful that it has not rained in a while. I also make sure that Jimena¡¯s knife is within reach. The taste of tallow on the paper cartridge, I could have done without. Pah! I walk back, stopping every three hundred steps. I close my eyes and listen to sounds, taste the air. I do not detect anything abnormal and continue. I do this for a solid hour and it becomes increasingly difficult not to focus on the Thirst. Perhaps I should just drop everything and go to those small outposts Toussaint mentioned, hunt, and return? It would just take a couple of hours¡­ No! I am close, I can feel it. I am so distracted that when the tracking thingie returns, I yelp in surprise. It is closer and stronger than ever before! I could just run around and¡­ No. Focus, Ariane, you can do this. This was like a pulse, a ripple on the surface of a placid lake. Concentric circles going back and reflecting obstacles. I still cannot tell where it comes from, it could be anywhere¡­ I sniff in disappointment and it hits me. There is a new smell. I rush forward on the trail and I finally identify it, I just found horse dung. I walk closer. I can tell that it is still very fresh. I kneel and stare at the ground. Here and there are the deep imprints of hooves with horseshoes. I am no tracking expert, but I can already tell a few things. I am being hunted by humans because vampires and werewolves do not ride horses, at least not when they hunt. Natives do not use steel tips. Finally, there are more than one but less than a lot. That means the culprits are a small squad of either servants of Gabriel, or mages. Given that I am sure I am being magically followed, I shall go with mages. That is extremely problematic. They may have ways to mask their presence or turn invisible. Mayhaps, they can even turn themselves into newts! And then, what should I do to find them. I follow the tracks to a bend in the road where it disappears. I quickly figure out that they decided to leave the path at that moment. That must be when they realized I was not moving anymore. Time is running short, and so is my patience. I must find them before the cravings become unmanageable. I follow the prints to a mass of rocky outcrops covered in pine trees and lose them on the solid ground. I am not sure what to do. I have never hunted without a dog before. I sniff the air. The smell of pine sap is overwhelming and under it there is woodsmoke. Aha! A fire! I find the tallest tree I can and start climbing. Ignoring my ever stickier talons, I look around. Nothing, absolutely nothing. There is not the red hint of a cooling ember. Not a single pop or crack of wood turning to ash. Not even a trail of smoke rising to the skies. They are hiding. What should I do, what should I do? I can walk around for all the remaining time I have before I turn into a ravening beast and they slay me in a well-prepared trap. No, wait, they cannot be far, I can just go from hilltop to hilltop and smell them. Arg, this will take too much time. Ah, but I almost forgot. They have horses. I remember yesterday, I managed to scare the dog. Horses are prey, they should scare easily. I just have to do something to make them panic. I could set fire to the forest. No Ariane, this is the dumbest idea you ever had since you tried to deep-fry butter. You are not a creature of fire, no, you are a creature of the night. So let us scare them. ¡°Roaaaa!¡± ¡­ That was beyond pathetic. I might have scared three bats and a squirrel. This is wrong. I am trying to act too human. I close my eyes and focus. Under the smooth lake of my thoughts lie the instincts that saved me so many times before. I call upon them now, I draw them out, helped by urgency and The Thirst. I feel the slight wind on my face, smell the barest hint of woodsmoke. My blood sings in the night, this is my moment. The prey is cloSE. NO ONE TRACKS THE VAMPIRE. FIND. KILL. TAKE TROPHY. HIDING LIKE COCKROACHES. LET THEM KNOW. LET THEM KNOW I AM NO PREY. I AM THE APEX. THE NIGHT IS MINE. ¡°ROOOOAAAAAAR!!!¡± The terrifying scream erupts like a volcano, spreads and rolls over the valleys and the forests, filling every cranny, reaching under every root. Hundreds of animals freeze in terror as millions of year of natural selection reminds them of their place in the pecking order. It is fury made manifest, the screams at the dawn of time, back when the winner would eat its victim¡¯s blood-soaked heart. There, a neigh. PREY! Slightly to my left. They are so close! I rush forward and then I slow down. They know I am coming. Charging in against a mage has already proven to be stupid, and a few months of limited training has not suddenly turned me into an Amazon. I need to play this smart. OR CHARGE IN KILL DRINK. No. I hear another subdued neigh, as well as the sound of hooves hitting the ground. They are just behind this tall rock. I look around me. There is a colossal pine tree a maybe thirty steps away to my right. I carefully walk there. I drop my backpack. Change? Change. I wear the battle dress and I appreciate that someone would make something elegant and practical. It even has pockets! Imagine that. I tie the dagger to my hip and the rifle to my shoulder and I start climbing. I am not entirely silent but I still manage to slither between branches until I reach the proper height. There they are. Three men sit in a secluded clearing surrounded by rocks. The only entrance is facing away from the road, which means that whoever follows them would have to go around the pile of rocks then circle back. One of the men is doing his best to control three heavily laden horses, another sits in a meditation position next to a smothered campfire and the last one is staring towards the entrance of the valley with a¡­ Is that a blunderbuss? Ah well, at least they are taking this seriously. A circle of something surrounds them. It shines in my view in a white aura that makes the air shimmer as if it were heated. Despite the closeness, I cannot feel the colorful aura that I associate with mages. I consider my options. I have to kill them quickly, but I can try it in several ways. I could jump on them. That would let me kill one before the others retaliate, but I do not know what that strange barrier does. It could just prevent me from feeling them. It could also set me on fire, and would that not be unpleasant. Or, I could try my brand new Talleyrand custom made fifty-six caliber breech-loaded rifle that I haven¡¯t had the chance to try yet from the safety of a tree and bathed in almost total darkness. Hum¡­ BANG! The bullet hits the sitting man in the chest. Yes! He tips backward with a yelp of surprise. Wait, surprise? The circle fades. The man reaches from something in his pocket with panic and takes out a strange object, he starts mumbling something while the man with the blunderbuss kneels by his side and aims in my general direction. Uh oh. The wounded man points a finger and I let myself drop just as a storm of metal shreds my hiding spot. Never mind, close quarters it is. I leave the rifle and rush forward with my knife in front. I jump up and down the rock face and land in their camp. The first mage is still mumbling and I freeze in shock. The two other men are from the order of Gabriel! I thought this was impossible! A quick gesture wakes me up. The two hunters draw pistols while the mage takes out a sword, their faces are pale and drawn by worry. As they aim at me, I forward. The man guarding the horse fires too fast and his shot goes completely off but the other one waits until I get closer. I push myself and rush the mage. At the last moment, I pretend to slow down, then down instead. A roar deafens me as a bullet slices the air where my head was but a moment before. I dodge forward and slice the hunter¡¯s extended hand, Unfortunately, my blade catches his hand at an angle and merely makes him drop the spent weapon. A quick movement makes me raise my hand and a silver dagger pings uselessly against my forearm. Wait, this dress is armored? I did not know! I return my focus to the mage, he smells delicious! I jump on him. ¡°Fire whip!¡± An incendiary snake coils angrily around my neck, I and slice it with all my strength. The blade cuts into it and the magical construct pops like a soap bubble. ¡°Arg!¡± I block another silver dagger from the hunter and move around the mage. ¡°Hedgehog!¡± Silvery spines erupt from his back, easily avoided. I cannot touch his back without getting skewered, but I don¡¯t have to. I plant one foot in the ground, arm the second one and kick up with all my strength. My foot lifts off the ground in a shower of leaves and catches the mage square between the legs. He is launched up in the air and collapses in a miserable heap a few feet farther. Thanks for the advice, Marcus. As you would have said, ¡°Right in the jewels¡± I ignore the look of unmitigated horror on the other two men¡¯s face and rush the second hunter. The third one, the one near the horse, is brandishing a pistol like an amateur. LOW THREAT. I move more slowly now. I can still accelerate but the Thirst is growing by the second and I am afraid to lose control. Against those foes, it would be a terrible idea. I reach the expert hunter and try to stab him. He deflects my knife with one of his own, but it looks like I really hurt his hand after all. ¡°Run Gregoire, that''s an order!¡± The man with the horses hesitates but mounts a horse and gallops away. Arg! Must not¡­ The expert hunter uses my distraction to slice my wrist. I manage to move at the last moment and the blade slides against the dress¡¯ armor. ¡°Foul Monster!¡± This man is quite old, with a creased face and a gigantic scar on his cheek. His eyes are anything but dimmed though, and he harbors an expression of endless hatred. In a quick movement, he throws his knife at me and I duck to avoid it. ¡°In the name of GOD!¡± With a strange, silent explosion, I am propelled back against the rock wall. I barely manage to dive left when a bullet hits my right arm. With a scream of pain. I drop the knife. The hunter is already drawing a third pistol. I move forward, then to the side and grab the unconscious body of the mage to lift it. The hunter tries to circle me to get a clear shot I use my left hand to¡­ BANG. Time slows down as I move left. A burning line spreads to the side of my head. ¡°Gah!¡± It hurts! Dammit! Oh, just you wait. My frantic hand finally finds what I was looking for as the hunter rushes me with yet another knife. His hopeful face falls when he sees what I managed to grab. A pistol. I cock the weapon, aim at his leg and pull the trigger. With a deafening roar, the hunter falls, clutching his leg. I do not leave him the time to recover. I jump on his back and punch his neck, but not enough to kill him. He collapses. I breathe by reflex. I am alive, I won. I need to¡­ First thing, I need to feed. The downed mage is bleeding heavily from a bullet wound to the head. Waste. I put my mouth against the wound. Messy. Nevermind. Ah, yes, this man did not use the potion to poison his own blood. This is amazing. There is much less vitality than in a werewolf but all this power... I take my time to drink until the man dies. Ah yes, that was something. I stand up and roll my shoulder to my instant regret. With all this action, I forgot about the bullet wound. The projectile punched right through, fortunately. I soon feel my body start to heal itself under the influence of my recent feeding and despite the pain, I am quite alright. Good. On another note, one of my foes escaped, and that is not good. I rummage through the men¡¯s belonging until I find a rope and use it to bind the remaining man tightly. I then disarm him as best as I can. With that much rope, it would take a magician to escape anyway. I will have some questions for him when he wakes up. I start to race after the inexperienced hunter. Gregoire, apparently. I still have five hours before dawn and I have quite a bit of energy to burn. The man is easy to follow. Deep imprints in the mud lead me forward until I pick up a pained neigh. His horse is lying on the ground. One of its legs is bent at the wrong angle. The man left it to suffer here. I look at brown eyes made frantic with fear and pain. It¡¯s a beautiful beast. It is a shame. I stab it in the brain, it dies instantly. I, however, still have a quarry. Now, where did he go? I cannot follow his footprint as easily but he cannot be far. If I were a panicked and inexperienced human, what would I do? Keep moving forward, seek shelter. He is afraid and tired. I keep going. The ground of the forest is at an incline and I walk down. On my right, I see a large trace of disturbed soil, as if something had fallen heavily. I change course and see a few other clumps of disturbed earth. Thankfully, the ground here is softer. I follow it until down the vale then up to a small wooden structure. I approach it carefully. I have already been shot twice tonight. I creep closer and hear a voice. ¡°¡­ Midst of the shadow of death, I will fear no evils, for thou art...¡± Cute. I silently creep to the door and immediately encounter a problem. There is a massive silver cross hanging to the door. I cannot enter. ¡°Hsss¡± No invitation will let me step foot into this hovel. This is hostile territory. Hum. Let us try diplomacy. ¡°Gregoiiiire,¡± I say in a singsong voice. The man screams then keeps muttering his psalms. The sound grates my ears and sets my teeth on edge. ¡°Gregoire, let¡¯s talk, shall we?¡± No reply. I suppose I will have to be a little more convincing. This haphazard pile of rotten wood has suddenly been turned into a sacristy for some inane reason. Force will not help me. At least, not the kind of force I can apply with my bare hands. I do have a bargaining chip, however. I retrace my steps to the clearing. The mage is still dead and the servant of Gabriel still unconscious. I go to the pine tree to gather my belongings. With my hurt arm, it will be difficult to shoot through the walls and my dagger is barely better than my claws. I empty the mage¡¯s pockets and I recover a very nice pistol with golden engravings, a bag of silver bullets and two throwing daggers. I can get all the firearms I want now, hah! There are a few magical knick-knacks but I have no idea what they are for and so I leave them here. I also empty his pockets of a few Spanish golden doubloons. No point in leaving those to the wolves. Out of curiosity, I grab the strange gauntlet all mages seem to have and fasten it to my hand. ¡°Spike! Shield! Seal! Firewhip!¡± I spend a few minutes trying to shout incantations, imagine the effect, scream and yell. Nothing happens. I raise my eyes to the . Can a celestial body convey amused condescension? I believe it can. Dejected, I drop the useless piece of junk, grab my prisoner and walk forward. We reach the small hovel and I still hear the blithering idiot spewing the holy Bible verse by verse. Pah! ¡°Gregoiiire, are you still in there?¡± The man hiccups and the recitation speeds up. I have his attention. ¡°It is not polite to ignore a lady. Why, I believe I may even take it out on your friend here.¡± I reach behind for a finger and break it. The older man wakes up with a scream of pain. ¡°Oh my God, no¡­¡± ¡°Ah, I knew you could hear me Gregoire dear. Now, let us talk.¡± ¡°Gregoire, listen to me, don¡¯t tell her¡­¡± Tch, your participation is no longer required, old man. I reach in my backpack for the closest piece of fabric and shove it in the man¡¯s mouth. He looks at me in surprise, then in confusion. I have a better look at this specific piece of fabric. It is white cotton with a nice line of frills and a little bow and¡­ ¡°Gah!¡¯¡± I rip my underwear from the man¡¯s mouth and promptly replace it with a sock. I look up to the . It watches. ¡°Oh my God, oh my God!¡± Ah, yes, right. To the matter at hand. Yes. This never happened. Nope! It was a sock from the beginning. Yes. A sock. ¡°Now Gregoire, I am going to ask you a few questions.¡± ¡°I will not speak to you, beast! Get thee behind me¡­¡± ¡°And every time I do not like the answer, I will break something. After I run out of things to break, I will drink him dry.¡± Silence. ¡°Let us start with a simple question. What is this man¡¯s name?¡± ¡°Father Perry.¡± The bound man groans and shakes but he might as well wrestle a bear. Yes, this is the right way I can feel it. I will ask simple questions that cost him nothing. The more he replies, the more he will reply. I can take a little time here. I could¡­ I am sleepy. The immediate danger has passed, so my body is shutting down. The potent blood of the mage can only carry me so far. Curses! I have to hurry. ¡°Are you members of the order of Gabriel?¡± ¡°Yes! And we shall strike you down, foul fiend! The Wrath of God shall¡­¡± I think I liked him more when he was silent. ¡° You seem too inexperienced to be out hunting vampires. Why are you here?¡± Gregoire remains silent but eventually, he answers. ¡°I am an archivist. Father Perry asked me to come.¡± ¡°Did he now? And where is his squad?¡± Gregoire hesitates. I am about to snap another knuckle when I figure out the situation by myself. ¡°Let me guess, you are short-handed since your disastrous assault on the vampire keep.¡± ¡°The¡­ The warriors of God are legion! We are without number! Always, righteous men will answer the call and rise against the agent of Evil and¡­¡± ¡°Yes, yes, I understand now. What I do not understand is why the three of you would go to such an extent to hunt me down. And why is there a mage with you? I thought you hated each other. Are you not supposed to put all of them on a pyre and set it ablaze?¡± ¡°I..I¡­¡± ¡°Nine fingers left.¡± ¡°I am weak, but I know that father Perry would rather die than have me betray the secrets of the order. I refuse to speak!¡± Time is running short. I could always torture him but¡­ Hum. That could work. ¡°I have a proposal. You answer three questions of mine, and I will let father Perry go.¡± ¡°No, you lie.¡± ¡°I will swear on the .¡± ¡°Suqqam Hayatu? Ah, the Watcher. Really? No, you are a devil! You are trying to manipulate me.¡± ¡°Tell you what,¡± I say in the tone that got me fifteen pence on the bushel at the Montfort market, ¡°I ask three questions, you answer them fully. If at any point you think the answer is not worth your friend¡¯s life, you can stop and I will kill him cleanly. If you answer all my questions, I will drop him on the front of the door, no more harmed than he is right now, and let you take him in. At no point will I try to harm him or you. When the door is closed and you two are secured, our truce will end.¡± The man ponders while father Perry spits mumbled imprecations in my mud-stained sock. There are no tricks, no places to wiggle. If I swear and he answers, this will end with both of my surviving enemies secured and away. ¡°I consent.¡± Good. Father Perry screams in muffled outrage. Inside the shack, I hear the sound of furniture being moved around. The man remembers that I used firearms and thinks my end goal is to shoot them from the outside. He is building a shelter. I find his determination admirable. ¡°How come you are teaming up with a mage?¡± ¡°¡­ It was Father Perry¡¯s decision.¡± ¡°FULL answers, Gregoire. This was the deal.¡± I say with impatience. ¡°We did not have the numbers to track you down and you did not leave the trail of bodies we expected from a yearling, so we had to hire a mercenary mage to find you, despite our rules.¡± ¡°What made you go to such extent to kill me?¡± Gregoire truly hesitates this time. I do not understand why this is so important. ¡°You killed his son, at the fortress. We figured out who you were from the New Orleans Saint Lucia hospital incident. We knew the victim was Ariane Reynaud, but with the Order evacuating we did not have the numbers to take you down. That¡¯s why we did what we had to do. I owe the father my life, so I followed.¡± I turn and take a good look at the priest. That scar. I remember¡­ Oh my God. I look in that pair of grey eyes, I see hatred beyond limit. I see a lust for vengeance that neither time nor distance will ever grind, no drug and nor love will ever smother. This man forfeited his hierarchy, his vows and his very values for the sole purpose of killing me. Scorn to defy God. I am flattered. ¡°How were you able to track me?¡± ¡°The¡­ The mage¡­¡± ¡°Full answers Gregoire. If any mage could track down vampires at will I would know.¡± ¡°A lock of your hair.¡± ¡°What!?¡± ¡°We used a lock of your hair from one of your father¡¯s locket as a focus, it was well preserved and carried a strong meaning so the mercenary was able to use it!¡± I feel my entire body freeze. My voice is deceptively calm ¡°Gregoire, what did you do to my father?¡± ¡°Nothing! We will never harm the innocent!¡± I look at father Perry. I am not so sure¡­ ¡°We got it from your uncle Roger, we said we wanted to add it to a memorial to victims of violence in New Orleans! I swear. Also, this was the fourth question, which I answered willingly but my part is done.¡± Pah, he is right. As promised, I drag the furious priest to the door and step away. Gregoire opens the door and we take each other¡¯s measure. He seems captivated by me as I stand here in my blood-stained dress, arms crossed against my chest. Then he drags his friend in, locks the door and they both take shelter in whatever fortified nest he managed to construct. Our truce is over. The discovery of Perry¡¯s grudge and the risk he is for my father feeds slow-burning anger that pushes the torpor away. I calmly walk back to the clearing and find what I was looking for in the saddles of a panicked horse. I find more in their bags. After I have everything I need I head back to the shack. I tear a piece of tissue from their spare cloth and wrap it around a stick of dry wood, then I splash lantern oil on it. I emptied the remaining oil against one of the walls. Set the torch ablaze with tinder and set it against the wooden frame. After it catches nicely, I throw the torch on the thatch roof. This is not a church, but a sanctified hunter shack. As I mentioned, it has not rained in a little while. They last for fifteen minutes, but eventually, the smoke and heat forces them out. They both still fight to the end. I make it quick and painless. ¡°¡± I drink a bit from both of them, and then I throw their bodies and that of the mage in the funeral pyre that the sanctuary has become. I add the magical item, including the tracking device to it. I leave their crosses on a standing post outside. Later, I quickly find a cave and collapse, utterly exhausted. Chapter 16: Marsh March It has been three nights since I fought the renegades of the Order and I keep thinking about my experience. This truly was a good hunt. The enemy was strong and cunning, and I managed to fight better and outsmart them, the predatory part of me used in service of a well-executed plan. This is as it should be. Gr¨¦goire, Perry and you the unnamed mage, may you find rest in the afterlife.Between hunting parties, patrols and the occasional lone traveler, I have stayed well-fed without draining anyone dry. That includes tonight. I am crossing a meadow when suddenly, something attracts my attention. Not too far to my left, I feel a powerful aura that does not come from a person, but a spell. This one does not track or warn, it is a sort of polite invitation. How curious. A call in the middle of nowhere? I cannot perceive any malice or any compelling effect in the working. It is, in fact, the equivalent of a merchant hawking his goods at the top of his lungs in the marketplace. Although there appears to be nothing amiss, the prudent call would be to continue forward. Curiosity killed the cat after all, and a vampire has only one life... I am also growing increasingly bored. I should have packed a book, a good romance filled with moneyed gentlemen and impoverished yet witty women. Ah, but alas, I was so worried about my physical well-being that I failed to account for the mental one. It is probably nothing too bad. Just a quick look. I walk towards the obvious origin of the magic. Whoever designed it made sure that it could not be missed. I still make some effort to walk off the path and keep close to the edge of the copses I come across. After a few minutes, I reach the edge of a vast open field. This is the largest valley I have seen in a while. Despite the overcast sky, I can see for a good mile in any direction, and so I do not miss the strange construct that sits thirty paces away from me, nor the three natives who approach it. The construct is a wooden pillar covered in carvings from top to bottom. I identify several human and animal heads and body parts covered in garish colors. Branches have been drilled to form limbs that hold a variety of objects including a spear and a drum. This is the magic beacon. The trio eventually stops before it. They are quite the group. The first man walks with a strong limp and is helped forward by the two others. I am not familiar with native customs but his clothes seem haphazardly put on, as if he had opened a drawer and just piled on what he could find. Despite the variety of cuts and fabrics, he still manages to have parts of his chest bare in temperatures that approach freezing. He is also drunk as a skunk. The second man wears a mix of Western and native clothes, glasses and a bowler hat. I can appreciate the care that was invested in making the arrangement stylish. He looks scared. The last man is a warrior. If the eagle feathers, spear, and javelins had not given him away, his scowl and musculature would have made it obvious. His expression is that of a man who has utterly run out of patience and is one wrong word away from a tussle. Mesmerized, I observe them. What are they doing here so late? And why? The drunk man falls on his knees before the statue and starts muttering and shrieking imprecations in a language I do not know. His lunatic ravings reach a crescendo that ends in a sentence that he screams at the top of his lungs. What!? WHAT?! Did this buffoon actually¡­ Impossible. Implausible. This is surely a coincidence? The man quickly proves me wrong. He grabs a bowl from some recess of his cloth, stabs himself in the arm quite viciously and soon enough, the recipient contains a few gulps of blood. He then kneels and presents this offering towards my general direction. The warrior is at the end of his patience, he is about to intervene when the man with glasses holds him back. They start arguing between themselves, gesticulating and pointing at the kneeling lunatic, the statue and wherever they came from. The scent of the blood reaches me and despite being fed, my fangs come out. This man¡¯s blood contains powerful magic. Drinking it would be extremely beneficial, not to mention delicious. It¡¯s here, cooling in that bowl. It would be a shame to let it go to waste. With a last inspection of my surroundings, I leave the safety of the woods and silently approach the madman. My instincts tell me that it is safe, that the should not be ignored. Yes, this is right. A moment later, I drink the bowl and lick the wound close. The lunatic looks at me with brown eyes full of wonder, and I realize that he is much younger than I thought. He waits for me to release his arm and smiles toothily. That is not the reaction I expected. Regardless, the beacon and offerings mean they have a proposal, and now I am interested in hearing it. The two others jump and yelp as they finally notice me. The warrior immediately points his spear in my direction before realizing something. His eyes go from furious to afraid and when his companion pushes the weapon down, he does not resist. As I wait without a move, the lunatic places his head against my leg and sighs. I abhor physical contact from strangers, yet his gesture is so innocent and harmless that I decide to tolerate it. I place a proprietary hand on the young man¡¯s head. ¡°Well?¡± The pair look at each other and the hatted man lifts his hat and addresses me in French. ¡°Good evening madam, I am Iskani, of the Choctaw people. We invited you here because we humbly request your assistance.¡± He grips the hat nervously. I signal him to go on. ¡°Our tribe is hunted by a giant cursed alligator. It is said that the beast is as long as three men and black as the night. It comes out every month to eat a man or a child. We cannot let this continue. My chief Minco,¡± He points to the warrior, ¡°led several hunts against the creature, but they were not successful. It stays hidden and turns a deaf ear to the challenges of brave hunters.¡± The warrior crosses his arms as if to dare me to deride his efforts. "Our shaman Nashoba had a vision. He said that a pale one would be willing to help, maybe.¡± The man swallows in fear. He knows what we are capable of. He also knows that he stands without a weapon or a plan on an open field. I am curious about the beast, however. I was informed by Baudouin that vampires cannot feed on animals and indeed, beast blood lacks this vitality I crave so much. With that said, I successfully fed from a werewolf and I am not quite confident that a seven feet tall fur-covered wolf hybrid still qualifies as homo sapiens. He was technically a cursed human, of course, but with that form¡­ Could I perhaps feed on a magical beast to grow stronger? I am tempted to try. I could certainly use the distraction, at least. ¡°What do you offer in exchange?¡± The translator turns to his chief and the two debate for a while, eventually the chief points to Nashoda with a smirk. His companion frowns, yet still offers. ¡°Minco says that should you slay the beast, we will let you have the shaman to drink dry.¡± I remain silent and unmoving. This is not right. Only a free man can become a . Only what is offered freely can be taken fully. My lack of response produces the expected result. The two men start shifting nervously and Minco¡¯s grip on his spear makes the wood creak. I turn to the kneeling shaman. ¡°Forgive me pale one, our shaman does not speak...¡± He blinks slowly, first one eye then the other, like a wave. One of his pupils is much larger than the other. This young man is mad as a March hare and caution dictates that I should not trust a word he says. It would be wrong. Nashoba showed up exactly as I reached this clearing. Given our respective speed, he would have had to depart from his village far before I noticed the beacon. He also spoke the tongue, twice and that is no coincidence. It is said that genius and insanity walk hand in hand. Perhaps there is some truth to it. He also offered me something I did not ask for. Earrings that will help me hide? Did he see a reason why I would need those? Did he see my future? This man is dangerous. Perhaps I should dispose of him before he can be turned against me. No, this is wrong, a should never be harmed. What was I thinking? The shaman nods as if my approval was never in doubt. He stands up and points a finger towards one side of the valley that goes deeper into native land. A low incline leads to a sparse canopy of trees and the occasional glimpse of gray water. As a gesture of goodwill, I nod to his two companions, but they only stare at me with apprehension. This is a bit rude, though I harbor no grudge. Their fear is not unwarranted. I pick up my pack and set out while they do the same. Once I am out of view, I change into the battle dress. The original spotless garment now harbors a bloody stab wound, a bloody bullet wound, a bloodstain on the left shoulder and scorch marks. It also smells a bit rank as a result. I really need to stop and do some actual laundry. Ariane, the vampire that washes bloody rags under the moonlight. Perhaps I should sing, too. I quickly reach the edge of the marsh proper. Now, how to proceed? My quarry should be either in, or next to a body of water that can contain it. Even accounting for exaggeration, the beast should be massive and only the largest ponds would be a suitable habitat for it. I am reasonably confident that I can feel its magic. My plan is decided. I shall skirt alongside the aforementioned ponds and keep my senses sharp. I will start by going left and circle the marsh, then go inwards. I will use this opportunity to find shelter should the task prove to be too much for a single night. Nodding to myself, I set out and for a couple of hours, I search. At this time of the year, the marsh is unusually quiet. Strands of mist hover on the water and around naked trees. Their blackened limbs extend like the desiccated hands of crones, ready to snatch and strangle. Only the sound of my traveling boots in the odd pool breaks the ominous silence. Finally, I find the first trace of my quarry. Under a gnarled root, I find a severed arm. Only my keen nose led me to the relatively fresh appendage. It has been cut off at the shoulder and I push it with a shoe to stare at the grisly wound. I count three tooth marks. For an entire shoulder. Aha. I back up slowly and almost lose my footing when I step in a hole. Cursing, I quickly regain my balance and stop when I realize what I walked in. It is a footprint. It is¡­ Quite large. Really large. Surely, it could not be that big? When Iskani said that the creature was as long as three men, he was joking, right? That was poetic license, yes? It just has very, very big feet. Right? Oh my God. That thing must be as big as a bloody elephant! Nevermind my rifle; I should have brought a navy cannon, nay, a frigate, with a full marine complement! Did I truly agree to go after this Behemoth? Was I insane? Forget it, it would be better to cover the entire marsh in black tar and set it on fire. Problem solved. I stay like this for a few seconds, but my cold will soon reasserts itself. This is a hunt. The prey is deadly, and so am I. I secure my backpack and take out and load the pistol with a silver bullet. Should the beast assault me, I will rely on my speed to shoot and stab it in the eyes. Alligator brains are small and their eyes, unarmored. It will do. I hope. Another few minutes later, I stop as I see something promising. There is a small lake further inland with parts of the shore suspiciously devoid of vegetation. I creep closer and my suspicions are confirmed. There are a few stumps and dead trees as if something massive had passed through several times. This could be the lair of my prey. I start walking along the edge until I pick something up, the aura of a living being. I step away from the edge of the water as soon as I realize two problems. First, it does not come from the water but a copse of trees a few paces away. Secondly, it is wrong. This aura does not feel like a marsh animal should be like. It is powerful, yes, but powerful like a mountain, like steel. It is unbreakable, indomitable and it is ancient. I turn to the source, aim my pistol and cock it. Without being prompted, a nightmarish form stands up. And up, and up. What in the name of¡­ It is an abomination! An insectoid creature covered in moss and dead vegetation, with two arms and two legs and¡­ Oh. It is a very tall, very strong man in a black iron armor of strange make, covered with camouflage. ¡°Are ye quite alright, lass?¡± With an annoyed click, I close my mouth and holster the pistol. I must have looked like some scared bumpkin just now. What a disgrace! A giant insect? Please. ¡°Hum, yes, I am, thank you for inquiring Mr¡­?¡± The man in front of me is a force of nature. He is the tallest person I have ever seen by a wide margin and his shoulders match the rest of his physique. What can be seen that is not hidden by armor is scar-covered muscles and tan skin. The armor itself is a thing of wonder. It looks like it was built from a locomotive, with rivets and additions aplenty and shaped like a massive beetle. There are even gauges and buttons spread about. I cannot see his expression behind a conical half-helmet and glasses that look like a pair of tinted monocles. The rest of his face is covered by a majestic beard sitting under a huge, ruddy nose. Quite the character! ¡°Loth of Skoragg, lass, it is a pleasure to meet ye.¡± The man¡¯s voice is deep and cultured. It is much softer than I expected, even if there is a gravelly quality to it. ¡°Ariane,¡± I reply as I curtsy. This is new and exciting! ¡°May I inquire as to what you were trying to ambush here?¡± ¡°Of course. I am hunting an alligator of prodigious size that has been terrorizing the locals.¡± I freeze. Could it be? ¡°And were you perhaps asked to do so by a trio of Choctaw men?¡± ¡°Ah, ye saw their too?¡± Gah! Of course! They just attract anyone that has a chance and then throw them at their problem. Is this a scam? Have I been swindled? ¡°And may I ask what you have been promised as compensation?¡± ¡°A few shards of obsidian. Nothing too fancy. Ye?¡± ¡°A trinket, also I get to drink from the shaman.¡± S?a??h th? Nov?lF?re .??t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. Oops, I spoke too hastily! Instead of a reply, a whirr and click come from the man¡¯s helmet and his left eye¡¯s lens is substituted by a reddish one. ¡°Ah, a vampire. I never expected one so far away from a large settlement. Well, to tell ye the truth I am more interested in the beast¡¯s scales, unfortunately, it has refused to come out and attack me. I had resolved to wait on one of its trails until it passed by, but your arrival has changed things. Do tell, how did ye notice me, lass?¡± ¡°I¡­¡± I hesitate. The man raises a hand. ¡°I apologize for my manners, vampire. It has been a while since I had a proper discussion and I am understandably rusty.¡± He stands straighter and the armor creaks and groans like an old barn to accommodate him. That thing must weigh a ton! ¡°Hum hum, I, Loth of Skoragg, would like to offer ye to cooperate on this hunt. Since our prizes are different, there is no reason for us ta compete. Instead, I would like to ask for the help of whatever keen senses told ye of my presence. In return, I shall cover ye and provide ranged support to take down the beast.¡± I see no field cannon on that man. ¡°And what, pray tell, will you use to pierce through its thick dermis?¡± ¡°I thought ye¡¯d never ask, lass.¡± Loth turns back and leans forward. There are a few clangs, a few grunts and he eventually turns around to show me his weapon, proudly displayed in front of his hips. ¡°Oh, my, it is so big!¡± The man smiles as I admire his equipment. It looks like a harpoon launcher that would have been taken from a whaler¡¯s deck. It is humongous in size and no human should be able to wield this monstrosity. ¡°Aye, just wait ¡®till I start shooting.¡± By comparison, my poor pistol looks woefully inadequate. Oh, what an unpleasant feeling. ¡°Before I agree, I would like to ask you a few questions. Hum. You are not human, are you?¡± The man stops moving. ¡°Wh¡­What gave it away?¡± ¡°Hum you have an aura but you are not a mage, there is also your size, that strange armor of yours, the oversized harpoon¡­¡± ¡°Aye, alright, but what about my voice? My mannerisms? Close yer eyes for a while and imagine we¡¯re havin¡¯ this conversation in a nice salon, aye? Would I come off as strange?¡± ¡°This conversation? The one we are having about hunting a titanic magical alligator together, at night, in Choctaw territory, in exchange for blood and obsidian shards?¡± He nods frantically. ¡°Uuuuuuh, besides the obvious, you sound perfectly normal, I think?¡± ¡°Oof! Ya had me worried for a second here lass. Ya see I haven¡¯t had a talk this long in three months! I was afraid I was coming off as particular. Ya know? Borderline? Loony? Isolation can do that to ya¡± ¡°I¡­ I see. Hold on, you have not talked to anyone in three months?! What in the world were you doing!?¡± ¡°I was looking for magical beast skin.¡± ¡°¡­¡± ¡°¡­¡± ¡°Magical alligator skin?¡± ¡°Aye lass that would do, and that is why I need yer help! I thought I was blessed when I spotted that towering column of magic those lads set up and heard their proposal. But that beast is cunning! It hides from groups and things too big. I walked around; screamed obscenities that could be heard from here to the North pole and even showed it my arse but ¡®twas all for nothing! The beast will not take the bait. I have been stuck in that piece of armor for three bloody days! Do you know how hard it is when you got that itch in ya¡­¡± Does¡­ Does this man have any censure?! ¡°Ye alright lass?¡± I close my mouth with a click. I just wanted to know what he was! How did we end up talking about his itchy crotch¡­? Arg! ¡°Oooh, ye asked me what I am. Well, I am a Dvergur.¡± I stare in silence. ¡°Aye, don¡¯t look at me like that! I¡¯m telling the truth. I¡¯m probably the only Dvergur on the continent, well, the only one with pure enough blood to know what he is.¡± ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°Well we have a veeeery low birth rate, aye, and we are so close to human most can¡¯t tell, so many of us just marry into human families. Why, my second wife was human!¡± ¡°What happened to her? Where is she?¡± ¡°She died of old age! That was, oh three hundred years ago, give or take.¡± ¡°WHAT?! How old are you!?¡± ¡°Aye lass, that¡¯s sort of a personal thing to ask hey?¡± And telling me about the state of his unmentionables is not personal? Pah! Men, I swear. ¡°We are close to stone and steel. Always have been. We love metal and magic and we wield them well! Why, I built that thing meself! Oh, and we also love good liquor. And lasses, or lads! Ah, and we can live very long. My grand-uncle Lokri, bless his heart, was already a man when Rome fell to those Huns upstarts. And he¡¯s probably still alive if that harpy of a wife has not¡­¡± I spend a good three minutes listening to the man talk about his cousins twice-removed back in Norway and Lapony and whatnot, and I am growing increasingly worried. I am confident that the Choctaw tribesmen will not speak of me, not because I believe in their honesty, but because no warriors worth their salt will admit to having asked a foreign woman for help. I am planning to kill Loth, however. He already proved beyond the shadow of a doubt that he cannot keep his mouth shut. The more he talks, however, and the more I see the issue. Loth is a centuries-old battle-hardened veteran encased in a magical suit of armor of his own making. I would rather try my luck against the crocodile, bare-handed. Could I possibly wait until he lowers his guard? He will get out of this thing after the hunt. I can still work with him to slay our quarry, though I dislike the idea of murdering someone I fought side by side with. ¡°¡­ And then it took three weeks for their wives to figure out the twins had switched place, bahahaha! Lokri and Takk are such pranksters!¡± ¡°Loth of Skoragg?¡± ¡°Aye?¡± ¡°I propose that we kill the alligator together. You take all the skin you want, I get to try its blood and then we shall return to the tribesmen and claim our respective rewards. Do you agree?¡± ¡°Aye, sure lass, works fer me. We¡¯ve already delayed long enough as it is.¡± And whose fault is this you gossiping blabbermouth?! Gah! ¡°Let us set out then.¡± I walk forward, close to the water while Loth covers me from much farther away. When I asked him about it, he answered that the beast would only go after ¡°cute and juicy-rumped targets¡±, that I should not worry my ¡°pretty noggin¡± over playing bait because he could ¡°throw a Francisca through a troll¡¯s nostrils at a hundred paces.¡±, whatever that meant, and that I was, therefore ¡°Guarded as a dragon¡¯s bollocks¡±. After that, I decided not to ask any more questions. Loth is direct, vulgar and talkative but as I offer my back to him, I do not doubt that he will only protect it. My instincts agree. I do not want to fight him, but I want to fall back into vampire hands even less. .. We circle the whole pond without success and the strange man leads me to another lake where our target may be resting. ¡°Ya know, East of here there¡¯s a species of wetland trees with its roots bare. It¡¯s a bit indecent if ye ask me. They¡¯re showing their naked legs to everyone if ya think about it.¡± ¡°Ya know, all this mud reminds me of Aunt Gerda¡¯s cooking. She could not make a proper meal ta save her life. We used to say, just throw it up it will taste better the second time! I remember that even that starving fox¡­¡± ¡°Ya know, I think vampires should say yesternight, cause it¡¯s never yesterday, technically.¡± He never shuts up. I know a few nasty words could make him stop. I do not say them. It would be unwise to antagonize him now. Ah who am I kidding, I understand him perfectly. He has spent three months in solitude, and now he has someone who he can talk to about events that happened two hundred years before without being seen as a madman. He is also the only Dvergur around. I know that I should avoid other vampires like the plague but at least they are there. I am not the only one of my kind. I have Jimena. I have my father and Aintza. Loth is alone. How can someone so old be so alone? ¡°And here we are lass, I hope I did not bother too much with me ramblings aye?¡± ¡°Not at all Loth. Should we proceed as before?¡± ¡°Aye. Just so. Keep yer peepers open, I think it¡¯s the right one.¡± We keep walking. The immobility of the marsh grates on my nerves. At the same time, I feel myself growing sluggish. The tedious search is not the same as an active hunt, and since I fed almost immediately upon waking up, I... A noise behind me. I turn around. Massive jaws. Impossible, IMPOSSIBLE! I did not feel anything?! I and it compensates. With a snap, it closes. Caught. DRAGGED. STUCK. TRAPPED. MUST SLASH. The thing is too fast, its skin too thick, it drags me away. My head is submerged. There is muddy water in my mouth; there is muddy water in my lungs. It hurts. My leg hurts. IGNORE PAIN, KILL FIGHT. I grab the silver dagger and stab what I can reach: inside a nostril, the gum, a broken tooth. I fight like a fury. I grab the jaw and try to push it away. Suddenly, I surface. I manage to open the nightmarish maw, I free a bleeding leg. I crawl away. The beast does not move. I cough a lungful of brackish liquid. I turn again. It¡¯s dead. I cough more. ¡°Ariane.¡± I¡¯m fine, I¡¯m fine, I¡¯m fine¡­ ¡°Ariane! You are safe lass, it¡¯s over. We killed it.¡± ¡°Cough, I .. cough, I did not feel it coming, at all! Cough!¡± ¡°Yes, I understand now, it could mask its presence. I was looking at the water the whole time and did not see anything. Its eyes should have been visible.¡± I stare at the corpse of the beast. The alligator is as massive as expected, and its scales are completely black. The darkness is so intense it seems like it is swallowing the light. Even the corridors of the arena were never that obscure. The beast has a single, massive harpoon lodged to the hilt in its eye. Transparent liquid slowly drips down its side. This was an incredible shot. Loth is as good as his word. After a pause, the man goes on. ¡°Try the blood, then we can go back. I¡¯ll skin the thing tomorrow at dawn. ¡± Yes, I should not let myself be distracted by a near-death experience at the hand of a massive Saurian. I take my knife and stab into its throat. A thin trail of blood drips down. I must hurry before all the vitality disappears. I take one swallow. ¡°Blergh.¡± So bitter! This is completely undrinkable! I can feel the potency, but I cannot stomach its medium. ¡°Yes, I thought it might be the case. I met vampires in Boston, ya know? Some of them can distill essence from magical beast blood. I thought it was weird that ye tried to drink it raw.¡± He looks at me and frowns. This is bad, I don¡¯t want him to¡­ ¡°We should get back to my camp. I have rainwater. Let¡¯s wash the worst of it clean.¡± I look down at myself. The dress is beyond ruined. A massive tear runs from waist high down and shows my pale left leg on top of the existing damage. It is also disgustingly filthy. The walk back to the camp feels like an eternity, an eternity spent picking weed off my hair. Eventually, we arrive back where we first met. ¡°Come, sit.¡± I am not thinking straight. I am exhausted now. I still need to pick up my gear and find shelter for the day. This will be a closer call than I would like¡­ I sheathe the knife and drop my holster. I will have to clean those very thoroughly, preferably before I slumber. I really need one night spent on supplies and cleaning¡­ So bothersome. Loth grabs an entire barrel and slowly upends it on top of my head. I rinse my hair, my face. I remove the worst from the dress. I need clean clothes. ¡°Hey lass, that hunt was a bit anticlimactic don¡¯t ye think? We got all that anticipation, all that tension, and then bam, it¡¯s over in a second. Kind of disappointing, ya know. I was hoping for something that would get the blood pumping¡± It suddenly occurs to me that I am weakened, and completely unarmed. He¡­ he wouldn¡¯t¡­ ¡°I know what I want to do to get a little bit of excitement, a challenge if ye will. I heard that vampires are exceptional at it¡± No¡­ He wants a real hunt. I can¡¯t fight him, I am not at my best and he is dangerous, deadly even! Must RECOVER DAGGER, CREATE DISTANCE, HIDE, AMBU¡­ ¡°Say, let¡¯s have sex!¡± WHAT What?! ¡°What?!¡± I sputter. ¡°Aye, to celebrate the hunt, the fact that we¡¯re alive and the beast is dead aye? We Dvergur¡­.¡± His hand caresses my shoulder¡­ ¡°NOOOOOO!¡± I jump, I grab my knife, I wave it in front of me. ¡°STAY AWAY FROM ME!¡± He looks too astonished to move at first, then he slowly raises his hands to appear harmless. ¡°You, you stay away from me, don¡¯t touch me. Don¡¯t touch me at all. Stay away.¡± ¡°Alright.¡± ¡°You, you don¡¯t come near.¡± ¡°I won¡¯t come near. I¡¯m sitting down.¡± He does, and at the same time, he deflates. I know that he is the same size, but he seems to collapse on himself. Slowly, Loth raises his hand and unlocks something, then he removes his helmet, which falls on the ground with a loud thud. He then waits in silence. I realize that I am hyperventilating. Ariane, the only hyperventilating creature that needs no air. Pathetic. I am pathetic. I was weak. I am weak. We killed the alligator? What a joke. He killed the alligator. I was just floundering around like an idiot. I am still very much the Spawn that was thrown away by its Master after only four bloody days. Unwanted. A bargaining chip. The butt of the bloody joke. Damn it. We spend some time in this strange stalemate. I am standing with a blade trying to regain control, while he sits quietly, waiting for God knows what. ¡°I am so sorry, Ariane.¡± I look up and take his measure for the first time. Now that his head is revealed, I can see that Loth has a pleasant face, in a rugged gentleman kind of way. His hair is black and cut short and he has chestnut-colored eyes currently fixed on me. Right now, he looks like a beaten dog. A harpoon-equipped, armored, beaten dog. I say nothing. He waits. Why did this happen? I have been touched by people before without triggering any memories, without turning into a quivering mess. Except, besides my father, I have never been touched by a man who wasn¡¯t a cattle or a . They were all in my power. They were not men to me, not really. Loth is. He is mature, strong and we are not bound by oath or contract. What should I do? At a loss, I look up to the . Once more, its quiet gaze brings me a modicum of self-control. ¡°Ye¡¯re a fugitive, ain¡¯t ye ?¡± Well, that settles it. He figured me out. It has come to this. I should never have agreed to a truce, I should have fought him on the spot. I stand up. ¡°What if I am?¡± ¡°Aye, don¡¯t get yer panties in a twist. I¡¯m asking because, well, because I can help ya.¡± I scoff. Does he think me daft? ¡°Why would you ever do something like that? We just met.¡± I must run away. Even with his helmet off, I am far from confident that I can take him out. Loth¡¯s expression turns resolute. He stands up, takes a step back and methodically removes a gauntlet. I watch, mesmerized as he takes a small knife and slices his palm open. Blood wells. It smells pretty good. ¡°I, Loth of Skoragg, hereby swear that I shall protect Ariane¡¯s life, freedom, and welfare until next midnight, or die trying.¡± A powerful wave of magic washes over me. It tastes like snow, mountain, and unyielding metal, all things I am not familiar with and yet I feel them as if I knew them intimately. The intensity of the blood oath is stunning. The Dvergur closes his fist and kisses it without breaking eye contact with me. What?! What just happened? I don¡¯t know what to say. I certainly did not expect this. Loth of Skoragg, warrior, and craftsman, will die to defend me if it comes to it. I know this with the same certainty that I know the sun will rise in the East. It is inevitable. ¡°But why?¡± ¡°Perhaps I feel like a fool that ignored all the obvious signs. Perhaps I owe ye for what I just put ye through by being callous. And perhaps¡­¡± He pauses for a long time and I wait without a sound. This moment feels important. It would be sacrilegious to interrupt him. ¡°Perhaps I feel lonely.¡± I ponder this strange confession for a little while. His words make little sense to me. I cannot reconcile them with my image of him. ¡°I do not understand. You look human, you sound human, you can drink, eat and walk under the sun, so why are you alone?¡± ¡°Ye are so young to ask me such a question¡­ Tyr, I should have known. I should have noticed. Yes, humans are good companions. Did I mention me second wife, Agna?¡± I nod. ¡°I stayed by her side until her head went white. In the end, she could no longer walk, could barely see. Never did she harbor any grudge that her body would fail her while I would go on.¡± Loth marks a heavy pause. The pain in his eyes is sobering. ¡°It broke me heart when she died. I promised myself, never again. Our children were adults by that time, so I picked me things and left. I stayed in the mountains for a century to hone my craft. It did not help. Even today I can see her smile as a young lass, as a mother, as a mature woman and as I held her hand because she could not see me no more. If ye live long enough ye will know this too. Human lives shine bright, but they fade fast. I cannot let meself be burnt like that again.¡± ¡°And maybe I will die in two weeks. Fugitive, remember?¡± ¡°And maybe ye won¡¯t, especially if ye accept me proposal. The gist of it is, maybe in a hundred years, ye¡¯ll still be here. The humans won¡¯t, and there¡¯s nothing I can do about it. Just knowing it is enough.¡± ¡°Not to mention, you can¡¯t talk about that time your nephew Rollo showed his posterior to Edward the First without people starting to wonder how old that would make you.¡± ¡°Aye lass, ye got me there. Rollo two Beards we called him afterward!¡± ¡°Well, after what you said and that oath of yours, I think¡­ I think that I want to hear your proposal.¡± ¡°And I¡¯ll tell ye tomorrow. Ye¡¯re barely staying awake as it is, and we need to find ye some shelter.¡± ¡°Yes¡­ I am afraid you may have to carry me.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not the issue¡­ Don¡¯t ye want to get changed? Ye¡¯re kind of covered in swamp water¡± ¡°Ah! Let us make haste!¡± Chapter 17: Loth of Skoragg’s offer. My wrists and ankles are bound to the chair by massive manacles of steel and silver. Scarlet runes glow ominously.¡°Does it not look scrumptious, Ari?¡± The long table spreads in front of me. I am at the place of honor, where the ¡°pater familias¡±, the father, should sit. This isn¡¯t normal. The dishes are not normal. They shimmer in the semi-darkness like red-hot embers. ¡°It¡­ It sure does aunt Sara!¡± ¡°Does it now?¡± she replies with a smirk, ¡°Well then, should we start?¡± Her eyes are not the usual grey. They are as dark as the place between the stars and just as empty. My right hand is drawn forward to a fork by the manacle. I cannot resist. When I make contact, the cutlery flashes blue and my skin erupts in bloody blisters. I bite down screams of pain. ¡°Something the matter Ari? You are Ari, are you not?¡± ¡°Of course something is the matter darling.¡± Says uncle Roger as he takes a seat, soon followed by other members of the family. Black eyes everywhere. A powerful hand grabs my hair and pulls my head back. ¡°Did you forget to say the Graces, sister? Surely, only a dirty slut who sold herself to the Devil to survive would forget to say them?¡± ¡°No! No, I was just waiting for everyone to be seated, as is proper!¡± ¡°Proper hmmm? Well since you are so proper dear sister, you may say them first.¡± ¡°But Achille, Papa should be the one to do it, no?¡± Father enters the room. Each of his steps makes the ground tremble. He is so strong, strong enough to shatter my arms with a finger. On his collar stands a cross of the order of Gabriel, and in his hands, he holds wooden spikes and a silver maul. He takes the seat that faces mine, at the end of the table. ¡°Tut tut tut daughter. We awaited your return among us for so long. Just this once, you may take my place and do the rites. It is a great honor, one that only a wanton harlot would refuse. You agree, do you not?¡± ¡°O¡­ Of course.¡± ¡°Very good. Since we are all here, you may begin.¡± They all stare at me with hungry mouths just a bit too wide. The skin around their eyes cracks as the darkness spreads. ¡°B¡­ Bless us, cough, O cough, O Lord, cough cough, and these Thy¡­¡± My throat burns, clouds of ash and droplets of charred blood erupt with each word. I have to continue, oh no, they are standing up, no please¡­. I wake up to an unfamiliar sight: the canopy of a canvas tent. I am in a metal box with the top opened. I do not remember how I got there. I sit up and a simple cover of brown fabric falls from me. Under it, I am still wearing the traveled-stained dress I fell to torpor in. I take in the sights. A single lamp shines with soft blue light on the vast interior. A chest and a tidied cot occupy one side, while another accommodates a copper tub filled to the brim with water. A chair next to it holds soap and a folded cloth. ¡°Hello?¡± ¡°I¡¯m outside, lass.¡± I stand up. The box I am in looks suspiciously like a coffin, except that this one has a lock on the inside allowing its occupant to shut it tight and a symbolic quilt. That is quite thoughtful, and the effort makes me feel a bit better after this nightmare. I step to the entrance and move my head out. We stand in a clearing. Two torches illuminate a circle of grassy earth upon which stand tanning posts. Vast squares of black scaly skin are left to dry. Loth is in the process of dismantling the first one with an ease that speaks of experience. Tanneries usually smell like a latrine¡¯s latrines and I am quite surprised when my nose only picks up hints of chemicals and herbs. ¡°Good evening Loth.¡± ¡°Good evening Ariane, I drew ye a bath and ye can tell me if that dress fits.¡± ¡°Hold on, you skinned and tanned the alligator, made a dress and the coffin for me in one day?!¡± ¡°I would prefer the term sarcophagus¡± he replies with a laugh, ¡°and aye. You were slumbering for more than sixteen hours ya know? Ye must have been exhausted.¡± ¡°I see, hum, well, I¡¯ll talk to you later.¡± I feel a bit wary at the thought of disrobing while only a layer of fabric separates me from a man. All my concerns melt as I step into the bath. ¡°Aaaaaa.¡± It feels so incredibly good to immerse myself in piping warm, clean water after more than a week on the road. I submerge my head for a full minute and enjoy the feeling of weightlessness that no lack of air can disturb. I sit back up and grab a bar of soap. It is scented! Is that jasmine? I slather my hair and body. ¡°Ooooo so good!¡± It feels so incredible. Beware, world, Ariane the squeaky-clean vampire Queen is about! I hear Loth chuckle. He heard me! Gah! I get out and dry myself on a deliciously clean towel just as the Thirst makes its presence known. I dig out my last set of relatively clean underwear and put on the dress. It is a marvel. The cut is very simple and without any adornments but also comfortable and flexible. Dark green and brown cotton offer a natural camouflage and I can tell it has been reinforced at the sleeves. There are also, wonders of wonders, pockets! And it suits me! I come out in a rush. ¡°Loth, this is incredible! How did you know my measurements?¡± ¡°I promise I did not touch ye Ariane, I just have, hum, quite a bit of experience with women.¡± ¡°Oh¡­¡± I would blush if I still could. ¡°Just hold on for a bit while I pack.¡± ¡°Oh, let me assist.¡± While he gathers the skin, I take care of the tent and its contents. ¡°Thank ya. Now let¡¯s get all this on me ride.¡± I pick my bag and the chest and follow him. Across the clearing stands a huge metal box. I notice the enormous wheels stuck to it and realize that this is a carriage. If I had to transport all the jewels of India from one side of the continent to the other, I would place them in this. ¡°Wow.¡± What manner of beast could draw this monstrosity? Curious, I circle. ¡°Wow!¡± Loth smiles broadly and chuckles. His giant chest quakes with hilarity as I lay my eyes on a mastodon of a beast of burden. Someone must have successfully cross-bred a bison with a blue whale! The shaggy quadruped is bigger than most carriages I have seen. A set of horns that could skewer a horse extend from its bovine skull. ¡°Hah, meet Asni. Impressive, isn¡¯t he?¡± ¡°How?!¡± ¡°Ah don¡¯t mind the size, he isn¡¯t the biggest thing around. Instead, go closer.¡± I hesitate. ¡°Hum Loth, animals do not react well to my presence.¡± ¡°Asni is special. Come, come!¡± We walk to the front of the animal. A shaggy mane covers its eyes. Only its jaw moves, busy masticating. ¡°Touch him.¡± I am surprised to see that Asni has not reacted to my presence yet. I slowly bring a hand to its muzzle and pet him slowly. His pelt is surprisingly soft, and I find myself enjoying the experience. Loth stands in front of me proudly with its chest out. He places a hand in the small of his back and shows Asni with the other. He looks like a businessman unveiling his latest venture. ¡°Have ye ever had your mount flee after a werewolf¡¯s howl, or panic at the sight of a giant magical hyena? Does the scent of blood make yer ride unreliable? Well, worry no more, Loth of Skoragg has the solution. This here majestic beast is the result of decades of effort and selective breeding into making the absolute dumbest animal possible.¡± I giggle. ¡°That¡¯s right, ladies and gentlemen! This here beast is simply too dim-witted to be afraid. With Asni, experience the boundless courage of abysmal stupidity as it rides into battle with a serene heart and an empty skull!¡± I applaud and Loth bows perfectly. ¡°Let¡¯s be on our way before¡­¡± It starts as a whistle, then a trumpet, then whistle, then trumpet again and ends up with the sound of wet cloth flapping in the wind. It lasted for almost ten seconds. I stare at Loth, horrified. ¡°Aye, that¡¯s a problem. Let¡¯s move before we can smell it. That¡¯s also why I never park him near an open flame.¡± I am tempted to ask to ride in the back. I do admire the beast, but I am not inclined to be submitted to such cavernous bouts of flatulence. I know I do not have to breathe but this is simply a matter of principles! We load everything in the back of his carriage in comfortable silence. I notice that his armor is stored in the center with free access. The interior looks defensible. This was designed on purpose to let him defend himself should the carriage be intercepted. When we¡¯re done, I sit next to him. He takes out a massive stick and slaps the beast¡¯s rear with it. He places it back on the side and we wait. And wait. And wait. Finally, the beast starts moving forward at a placid pace, pulling the moving fort as if it weighed nothing. ¡°Takes a few seconds for the signal to reach its brain. Ye got to anticipate when ye want to stop.¡± I smile and let the movement distract me from the Thirst. I realize that our truce only lasts until midnight and if I want to consider staying with him, we need to have a talk. I decide to start with basic courtesy. ¡°I wanted to thank you for your care. You went beyond any reasonable expectations. I notice that you even cleaned my gun.¡± ¡°Ye¡¯re welcome lass. Now we go to get yer reward and that blood. How long can ye go without feeding by the way? More than a day?¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°I figured ye were pretty young. Ye¡¯re not a courtier are ye? Ye¡¯re a fledgling.¡± ¡°How do you know so much about us?¡± ¡°I think I mentioned that I met one of you near Boston. He goes by Constantine, and he¡¯s a scholar of sorts. We talked a lot and I got some good work done with his protection.¡± ¡°I see, and to answer your question, yes I am a fledgling.¡± ¡°How old are ye really? Ye don¡¯t have to answer by the way. I just know that younger vampires have more needs, so I¡¯ll know to adapt.¡± I hesitate. There is no reason for me to share this with him. The less he knows, the less everything can go to the dogs if the deal falls through and I don¡¯t manage to kill him. Loth gives me a sad smile. For some reason, seeing the pain on his bushy face makes me uncomfortable. Between the ruddy nose and glorious beard, he looks like a favorite uncle or grandfather. It is a face designed for boisterous claims and roaring laughter, not for the raw hurt I see on it now. ¡°Ya know, I can see the cogs turning behind those sky-colored eyes of yers. I know we just met but I believe I have been nothing but true to my word. Even if we part ways, I will swear an oath to secrecy. Ye have nothing to fear from me.¡± I believe him. I have spent so much time surrounded by the scum of the earth that I have forgotten that there are people out there whose sole purpose is not to make my life as miserable and brief as possible. ¡°I am twenty.¡± ¡°Oh, I thought that was less. Ye¡¯re almost a courtier then.¡± He stops. ¡°Ye do know vampires measure their age from the day they rise again, aye?¡± ¡°Uuuh now that you mention it, I think my friend mentioned this the first day we met. Then I am six months old.¡± It sounds wrong when I say it, as if who I was before did not matter, as if you could discard almost two decades of life experience on the ground that I was human when I had them. Loth thinks on it for a while. He looks angry. "That ain¡¯t right lass, that ain¡¯t right at all. Ye did not commit some sort of horrible crime, did ye?¡± ¡°Besides existing you mean? No. If you must know though, I have blood on my hands.¡± ¡°All vampires do. This ain¡¯t right ta force someone so new ta flee away. A yearling should feel the need ta hunker down and nest for safety¡¯s sake. If you felt compelled to take the road¡­ I dare not imagine what ye went though. I have no more questions, so just ya know, I want to invite ye to live with me. I¡¯ll protect ye and in return, there are a few things I can use yer help with, ye being an immortal killing machine and all. I¡¯ll compensate ye of course, and it will be exciting work, ye can rely on that. Oh, and no biting me. Ask your questions.¡± ¡°Before we start, I want to make it clear. I¡¯m not performing any¡­ Favor¡­ For anyone.¡± Loth suddenly turns terribly embarrassed, his nose becomes even redder than unusual. ¡°Hrm, again, I am so sorry for yesterday¡¯s indiscretion. I assumed ye were much older and vampires have a bit of a reputation fer that¡­ Please, forgive me. I have never taken a woman against her will and I shall never do so! Naturally, hrm, I will never expect anything of the sort. Please! Let us never speak of this again. Rest assured that I will never act in an untoward manner. My shame¡­¡± ¡°It¡¯s alright, Loth¡± I reply, smiling ¡°I believe you. I just needed to say it.¡± ¡°Hrm! Of course, of course.¡± S?a??h the ?ov?l?ir?.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. ¡°I do not have any questions at the moment. Tell me, what do you propose?¡± ¡°Aye, it¡¯s simple enough lass. I have a manor with a basement in the town of Higginsville, named after its founder, Philip Higgins. I met him ya know? A fine lad, a bit obsessed with garter belts and Rubenian¡­¡± ¡°Loth?¡± ¡°Aye, I was saying. A manor. I¡¯ll give ye a secure room and defend ye during the day. I¡¯m one of the two towns doctors. They see me as a bit of an eccentric, a gentleman of science. Why, this one time, young Tim Letterson came to me and¡­¡± ¡°Loth.¡± ¡°Sorry, as the town doctor I will ask for blood donations in lieu of payment, ye see? I¡¯ll say it¡¯s for experiments. So ye can just drink fresh from a chalice. Ye¡¯ll need a few glasses per nights and ye¡¯ll have ta hunt on occasion, but it should be fine. In return, I¡¯ll need yer help for a few things like hunting dangerous beasts, exploring caves, killing the odd brigand band and werewolf. Oh, and helping me carry heavy stuff. I only ask that you don¡¯t kill anyone from the town. Limit yerself to criminals and outcasts.¡± I stare at Loth who is now focused on the trail. He is giving me time to think. It sounds too good to be true. I could lay low in a remote town where no vampires would look for me, protected by a gentleman of repute who would defend and hide me out of his own free will. I could survive my most vulnerable years safely. I could build something. I could learn something. I could send letters to Jimena and Papa. I could live, as opposed to surviving. ¡°This is a very generous offer.¡± ¡°Aye, it is.¡± ¡°Is there a catch?¡± ¡°No, there isn¡¯t lass. Ye need to catch a break. I¡¯ll be happy to help. I wish someone had done it for me when I needed it.¡± ¡°I won¡¯t kill people if I don¡¯t want to.¡± ¡°HAHAHA! Lass, far be it from me to force a vampire to kill, aye?¡± ¡°I won¡¯t break my word for you.¡± ¡°And neither will I.¡± I want it. I really want it now. ¡°If I want to leave I can, and you will let me go and swear an oath to secrecy.¡± ¡°Aye.¡± I want it. ¡°I want to try.¡± ¡°Then open your palm and we shake on it. Be aware that ye¡¯re a creature of magic now. Ye can lie but ye can¡¯t break an oath without breaking yerself.¡± We slice our hands, him with a knife and I with a talon. We shake them without ceremony. A powerful wave of magic washes over both of us. I feel Loth¡¯s essence of mountain and steel and another one that smells of thorns and wet earth. It is done. I sit back into the chair and let the oath settle on me as the wound on my hand closes. This was strange and wonderful. This was an experience that I would never have thought possible a year ago. Perhaps, things do not have to be so bad. Half an hour later, we reach the edge of the valley where we met the Choctaw men. Asni is strong but also slow. I do not mind. We step down and walk to the statue, a totem apparently, and witness the approach of a strange procession. Nashoba walks with the help of two scowling women. He looks cleaner and tidier than yesterday. Minco walks at their side with a furious glare, while Iskani trails the two groups with the awkward look of the man caught between two friends arguing. They stop at ten paces and Iskani shuffles forward, greets us both with a bow and asks us how the hunt went. Loth smiles and throws him a bag that smells of dead meat to me. The translator opens it and turns an interesting shade of green. Loth whispers in a sound that only I can hear. ¡°It¡¯s the other eyeball.¡± I school my expression so I do not laugh. The man brings the trophy to his chief who also grows noticeably paler. Yes, Minco, you are not impressing us very much with that tiny spear of yours. Iskani grabs a satchel and hands it to Loth. My companion checks the contents then nods. It is right to make sure he receives his proper reward, even if it is of little value to him. It is my turn. I extend my hand towards my . Nashoba tries to free himself from the grasp of the two women, but the left one holds him back and starts arguing with him and Minco. My hand is still out. They wouldn¡¯t dare. They wouldn¡¯t dare break their word with me. I would have to teach them the consequences of their actions. I would have to make the lesson very thorough. ¡°Hssssssss¡± I feel anger overcoming me, I feel the beast beneath the surface waking up. The valley freezes. Even the wind dies down. Loth¡¯s measured and soft voice slithers through the fog over my mind. ¡°Ye¡¯re not trying to renege on a deal with a pale one, are ya? Because that would be a bad idea.¡± In the silence that follows, Nashoba frees himself from the paralyzed woman with the barest of touch. Good, now I will kill only her. My places his hand in mine. The other one brushes the skin of my wrist. I look at him. With an innocent smile, he reaches into his pocket and takes out a pair of earrings. Today, his eyes are clear and focused. ¡° The pieces of jewelry are made of copper and transparent stone engraved with strange drawings. No matter how much I concentrate on them they always appear out of focus. Nashoba closes my hand over the offering and slowly comes closer. He grabs one of my shoulders and offers me his throat. Mmmh, perhaps there is no need to slay anyone tonight. All is as it should be. I hold him up as I feed. This is unexpected. He is, of course, delicious, but there is something more. His power resonates within me. There is something familiar that echoes with the refuge I find myself in. I stop long before I need to. I have taken my due, I do not need more. I lick the wound close. The shaman smiles one last time. He walks to the two women who pick him up and leave in a hurry. They do not meet my eyes. The two men look at me, at each other and follow suit. I did not know people could go that fast without running. Loth and I leave as well and settle on the steel carriage. ¡°Ye sure know how to leave an impression. Well done.¡± ¡°You approve?¡± ¡°I¡¯d say ye left a warning without hurting anyone and that¡¯s the best outcome. I¡¯d also say how you deal with oathbreakers is none of my business. Ye ready to go?¡± ¡°Yes, I am ready and eager.¡± Loth pokes Asni. ¡°Good, now I wanted ta talk about yer lair. All good lairs need ta be hidden, protected and not worth the effort, as cousin Okri used ta say.¡± ¡°He is a locksmith?¡± ¡°Nah, a thief.¡± The carriage moves slowly into the night. Chapter 18: Six Months Later The log cabin has grown quite a bit, I muse, as I stare at the massive four-poster bed at its center. The fire roars in the chimney with a flame that will never burn me. A cool wind brings the smell of wet earth through an open window.Someone is knocking politely. I stand up and go down the stairs to the house¡¯s main room. I open the gate and stare outside. The small grass expanse that leads to the thorn forest lies empty. A path opens before me. I follow it to a dense line of trees stretching on both sides as far as the eye can see. Thorny vines twist and mesh to form an impenetrable wall that looks more sculpted than grown. The knocks come from behind. There is something familiar about the rhythm I cannot quite place. There is also nothing hostile about the invitation. If I were to compare it, it would be the same as a friend tugging on your sleeve to wake you up. I want to get through. The roots and trunks shiver then part before me with a deep rumble. An alley extends into the mists. I stumble when I cross the threshold, but something helps me regain my balance. I move through the white fog for a few moments until I come across a small mound. The air clears up and I am standing in a gorge. On both sides, sheer cliffs climb up beyond my sight while in front stands a most peculiar structure. It looks like someone carved a temple in the very rock. The architecture is blocky, massive and solemn. Styled lions stand guard at each side of a monumental entrance. What I thought to be a mound turns out to be a tortoise of massive proportion. It spreads all over the path and is currently sleeping contentedly. The Choctaw shaman is perched atop its shell. ¡°Nashoba?¡± The tortoise yawns and the mists close on me. ¡°Please miss, you gotta believe me!¡± ¡°Nope!¡± ¡°I swear, I am not the person you are looking for.¡± ¡°Yes, you are Charles Bishop, charlatan, conman, and horse thief.¡± ¡°You got the wrong person miss, I never heard of this Bishop.¡± ¡°And yet you ride on a horse that was stolen from the Mitchell estate this very morning by a Charles Bishop, charlatan, conman, and horse thief, who happens to match your description.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not right miss, you must have seen it wrong!¡± ¡°I found their brand on the beast¡¯s leg.¡± That was a lie, but it is indeed the right horse. I simply do love how Mr. Bishop¡¯s face falls for half a second as he rebuilds a tale in his brain that will accommodate my solid evidence. ¡°Ah, I knew my kindness would play tricks on me! I met this man not three hours ago, he looked desperate. He wanted to sell me this horse so he could take a coach to Atlanta to visit his sick mother. And I, the fool, believed him! I did not tell you because I knew there was trouble. You gotta believe me, I am the victim in this sordid affair!¡± Mesmerizing. He is spinning a tale and gauging my reaction at the very same time! Is this how people like him manipulate their audience, through constant adaptation? Truly, this man is an artist. It is no wonder that he could swindle old Margie Mitchell out of her pension. ¡°A famous tale Mr. Bishop. Now we shall play a little game. I will ask you questions and if you lie, I will break one of your fingers.¡± I grab his bound hands in my own and free his index without much fuss. ¡°Let us start with a simple one. What is your name?¡± ¡°Marcus¡­¡± Snap. ¡°AAAAaaaagh. What is wrong with you! This is intolerable, an abuse of power. Guards, guards, anyone, help! I am being assaulted! You better let me go before I have you arrested for your heinous crimes! The law is on my side.¡± The man swallows nervously. His eyes dart around my face, looking for hints of emotions. Hmm, perhaps I should stop smiling so much. It is at least fortunate that I had the presence of mind to hide my fangs. ¡°What. Is. Your. Name.¡± He hesitates ¡°Miss you gotta believe me I¡¯m telling the truth, I am the victim of an odious machination. My name really is Marcus¡­¡± Snap. ¡°Aaaaaa! FUCK! Aaaaaaahaha it hurts. Miss, please, have mercy. You¡¯re a sharp lady aye, I can see that. I am indeed Charles Bishop,¡± I was almost expecting him to double down! ¡°But I was telling you the truth! I am indeed the victim of an odious machination! Those Mitchell bastards are a bunch of heathens and faithless liars. I have done nothing as they say, they¡¯re just slandering me because the truth is that Jeremy Mitchell¡­. Is my father!¡± ¡°Pffff Hohohohaha this is just too good. Oh my! Do these kinds of lies work on anyone?¡± ¡°I swear it on God¡­¡± Snap. ¡°AAAAaaaa JESUS! FUCK!¡± ¡°Tut tut tut, do not anger me by making false oaths, particularly on that name. You know this is an experiment, correct? I am just determining how many fingers it will take before you realize I can see through your lies.¡± ¡°Miss, miss, enough. Please!¡± ¡°I only asked for your name and we are already at three fingers. I hope you can do better in the future.¡± I brush the top of the knee-high wheat with a gloved hand. This is frustrating. I had to drag Mr. Bishop half a mile into a deserted field while a man could have flashed his credentials and conducted the interrogation in a private room in the town hall. This is unfair. I even asked Loth for male clothes, but he said I had, and I quote, ¡°an arse ta send ships across the Aegean¡± and that he ¡°would not have innocent young lads question their sexuality every time ye cross the street.¡± Which I assume means crossdressing is off. So here I am. Entertaining myself as best as I can, in the middle of a wheat field in the back end of Georgia while I could be doing it in a comfortable room, with the full authority of the citizen watch simply because my genitals do not happen to dangle around when I walk. This is a disgrace. I almost miss Vampire society and its ruthless equal treatment. ¡°Miss?¡± How should I proceed? ¡°Besides cash, what did you steal?¡± A quick movement of the eye to the right, towards the town. ¡°So you did steal something.¡± ¡°No miss, please, you gotta believe me, I¡¯m an honest man!¡± Snap. ¡°Gaaaaaaaaaaaahahahaaaaaaaahaha!¡± ¡°Charles dear, you are almost begging for it. You already admitted to lying not a minute ago. Do you ever realize that you are going too far?¡± ¡°Baaaaahahaha¡± I watch, impressed, as Mr. Bishop spins an incredible tale of pain and misery for a whole minute. Tears flow from his eyes, and snot from his nostrils like unto the Niagara Falls. He is the very picture of despair and repentance. I just have to let him go, and after he buys medicine for his poor mother, he will lead the honest life he always craved. I try to look increasingly filled with pity as the story reaches its dramatic conclusion. ¡°Your poor family¡­¡± ¡°Yes, miss¡­¡± ¡°What caused your sister to go blind?¡± ¡°I, Uhh¡± Snap. ¡°AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA¡± ¡°Charles, Charles, now you are making me angry. Don¡¯t tell me you¡¯ve never thought of that! Of course, people are going to be asking questions to challenge your claims! You need to be able to answer such basic inquiries on the spot or the lies will unravel. What a poor performance. Ah, what am I to do with you?" Hmm. ¡°Anyway, onto the next question. Is what you stole in the horse¡¯s saddle.¡± ¡°YES, YES DAMMIT YES, IT¡¯S ALL THERE!¡± ¡°And the pension?¡± ¡°¡­¡± Snap. ¡°AAAAAAAAAAAAAA I DID NOT SAY ANYTHING!¡± ¡°You were thinking about it! You were licking your lips and calculating the odds! I am tired of this, you obviously cannot tell the truth to save your own miserable life! I broke six fingers! Six! How stupid can you be! Do not waste my time any further.¡± ¡°Yes, yes I will tell you.¡± I grab the man¡¯s hair with one hand and Jimena¡¯s dagger with the other. I place the blade at the base of the orbit, just below the eyeball. He freezes. ¡°I will now ask one more time. If anything but the precise and complete answer to my question comes out of your mouth, I will push the knife in. And I do mean anything. You protest, you beg, whimper or lie and you lose that eye and I go to the next target. You don¡¯t need any eyes, nor ears, nor fingers to tell me what I want to know. I will take them in precisely that order until I get what I want. Do I make myself perfectly clear?¡± He nods. ¡°Where is the pension money?¡± ¡°I buried it in a burlap sack under the apple tree behind the inn. The one that''s next to the shitter.¡± ¡°Very good.¡± I sheathe the dagger and go rummage into my backpack for what I stole from the inn. ¡°You¡¯re probably here for the bounty aye? You could take everything and let me go, keep the pension for yourself. If someone asks, you never met me. Just untie me and I¡¯ll be gone like the wind. You¡¯ll never see me again and the pension money will be yours.¡± Oh? ¡°Charles, Charles, Charles¡­ If I were to do as you ask and keep the pension for myself, why, pray tell, would I ever leave a witness?¡± Mr. Bishop turns to a pleasant shade of grey. Oh, he is so ripe with fear and vitality! A few more minutes and I will be unable to resist. ¡°I may consider letting you go if you do a little thing for me. A very simple thing¡­¡± ¡°Yes, yes, please anything!¡± Bishop yelps in surprise, and then in pain as I shove a brand-new candle between his bound hands. The look of incomprehension on his face as I use a match to light it is just precious. ¡°I just realized that tonight is my Birthday! Well, in a manner of speaking. I was not exactly born. Still, I simply must celebrate the occasion. I would just ask that you sing for me.¡± ¡°W¡­ What?¡± ¡°SING!¡± ¡°H¡­ Haaaaappy Birthday t¡­ to youuu.¡± I sing along and only take my dagger out once, to encourage him to finish. When he is done, I clap and blow the candle. Only the light of the moon shines on us now. ¡°Good! And now I need a drink, for what is a party with nothing to drink? Would you help me get something nice?¡± ¡°Of¡­ Of course! Drink as much as you like!¡± ¡°Why thank you!¡± I grab him by the throat and bite down. Several things have changed over the past six months. I can move faster and for longer periods of time. I can use the same energy to strengthen myself, although I find it much more difficult. I can also wrestle adult men without effort. The most valuable change, in my opinion, is that I can now stay awake for almost the entire night, though to be fair, the night lasts for nine hours in July. It is only by living with Loth that I realize how little I can accomplish every day. With only a few hours of complete activity, every project takes a week to finish. I should not be surprised that Father Perry managed to catch up to me. In two days of intense riding, he easily went further than I had in one week. Despite the short time I have at my disposal, I have managed to accomplish several things. I have assisted Loth in several hunts and I often help him with the finishing touches of delicate tasks. In return, I have learned to read several rune alphabets and although magic is beyond me, its understanding is not. I now comprehend the abilities of mages and the various tools at their disposal and I must say that I am incredibly lucky that those I faced were lone wolves. A cabal of them working together is a dangerous thing indeed. When I am not working with Loth, I read and hunt bounties. The Town we live in and its neighbors do not have a group dedicated to law enforcement. Lawbreakers are dealt with by groups of ¡°concerned citizens¡± who can be prompt to dish out mob justice. When the perpetrator manages to escape immediate punishment, the mayor issues a bounty so that he, or in this case she, who brings them back are compensated for the loss of income. Being a bounty hunter is no easy task. When the judge and half the jury know the victim personally, the executioner has his work cut out for him and the fugitives know it. Hence my arrangement with the good Mr. Partridge. I knock on the reinforced wooden door. ¡°Come in!¡± I enter a soberly decorated living room. I do my best to ignore the ever-present Christian imagery and focus on the man in front of me. Michael Partridge is a stocky man with a greying beard and a single good eye. The undyed clothes he wears underline wiry muscles that age has not managed to tear down, although he is starting to sport a little belly. ¡°Miss Delaney, did you find him?¡± Loth goes by Delaney, for now. S?a??h the ?0velF?re.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. ¡°Yes. I left him tied under the big chestnut tree, at the crossing between Jacksonville and the Holst farmstead.¡± ¡°Well done, I will pick him up tomorrow. The horse?¡± ¡°Tied up in front of the Fat Pig tavern.¡± ¡°And old Ms. Mitchell¡¯s savings?¡± ¡°All here,¡± I answer as I place the loot on his table. ¡°There is also a pair of silver candelabra and some cutlery. Hold on.¡± I exit the house and return with a bag I pretend to struggle with. I was never weak, for a woman, but I am not built like a day laborer and silver can be rather heavy. Loth mentioned that humans are designed to notice inconsistencies as a survival mechanism, and so I am careful when dealing with people I do not intend to bite. I deposit the heavy bag next to the first one. ¡°Good find. The Mitchells did not mention this. Could it be from another victim?¡± ¡°I doubt that he had the time. Perhaps old Lady Mitchell did not want to admit to being swindled and robbed blind. You know how ashamed people can be about being attacked as if it were their fault that they were targeted.¡± Michael nods thoughtfully. ¡°Or perhaps she forgot, but yes, that is plausible. I remember thinking if I had dodged left instead of backward, that Hessian spear would never have... ah but listen to me rambling like an old man. Thank you miss Delaney. I will make sure Margaret knows how much you helped.¡± ¡°You must be discreet¡­¡± ¡°Of course, of course.¡± I am about to leave but my host scratches his beard and gazes in the distance, a sure sign that something bothers him. ¡°Do tell, what is the cause of your uneasiness?¡± The man sighs and massages his tired eyes. ¡°Would you care for a cup of tea?¡± Even if I could drink it, I would refuse simply for that massive cross hanging above the table. ¡°It is late sir, and I should really be heading home.¡± ¡°Yes, and it is not even proper for me to ask, just as it is not proper... Ah, there is not a single proper thing to this whole madness. I am helping a lone woman apprehend dangerous criminals in the dead of night. This is insanity. You should be home in your bed at this hour, or better yet, in the bed of your husband.¡± ¡°And then who would have caught up with that Bishop fellow?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know! Phillips maybe, or the Mitchell brothers when they arrive! Not... you!¡± ¡°And do you believe they would have forced where he had buried his catch out of him if they found him at all?¡± He is about to retort when the information registers. Curses I should have remained silent. ¡°What did you do to him?¡± Way to go, Ariane. ¡°I just broke a few fingers...¡± ¡°JESUS, WOMAN!¡± I wince. ¡°Language!¡± ¡°Ah! I... I am sorry. This is wrong miss Delaney, just plain wrong.¡± I need to act. If our agreement is broken it will make hunting outlaws much less rewarding. ¡°When you return old Mrs. Mitchell her life savings, look her in the eyes and tell her it is wrong, tell her it was not proper. We live in a lawless land Michael, and for Evil to triumph, it is enough that good people do nothing. If we both do not stand up to treachery, who will? If we must choose between propriety and Justice, I know that my heart will lean towards what will protect our people.¡± Hum, I am laying it a little thick here. ¡°You... you are right miss Delaney. I have no right to object,¡± he says as a single tear rolls down in ruddy cheek, ¡±I only wish this bad leg of mine wouldn¡¯t hold me back.¡± Huh. It worked. He wipes his eyes and stares straight at me, nodding at my pretend determination to carry out the Law. ¡°I do not know why you were blessed with those skills even though you are of the fairer sex, but the Lord works in mysterious ways, and so long as we carry His will, that is all that matters. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, and may He have mercy on Charles Bishop for we shall not.¡± He stands up and grabs my hand, which he shakes with enthusiasm and leads me outside. ¡°Go home safe miss Delaney, sleep well and may God be with you. You did well tonight. I will leave the reward with your uncle.¡± I walk back to Loth¡¯s mansion. Hmmm, what just happened? Well, as long as I can keep hunting¡­ Chapter 19: A gentleman and a scholar I wake up to the same thing I have woken to for the past hundred days: complete darkness. My hand easily finds and pulls a handle. With nary a noise, the top of my sarcophagus slides up and away on a pair of well-oiled rails. The exterior is completely smooth. It can only be opened from the inside.My room is rather small but I like it. It is well furnished with a bed I barely ever use, a desk, a wardrobe that hides a secret exit and a small but well-provisioned library. I quickly dress and cross the fortified door that leads to the rest of the basement, rush up the steps and reach the study. Loth is not here so I quickly uncover two golden chalices covered with runes and gulp down their crimson contents. The chalices are of Loth¡¯s design and manage to conserve the vitality of the liquid for a short while. This way, I can get some nourishment from donors I will never have to touch. It is not much though, just a pale copy of the real thing to stem the Thirst until the next bounty. It will never suffice on its own. I close my eyes and listen. Loth is not in his office, which means¡­ I leave the part of the house that doubles as a doctor¡¯s office and reach Loth¡¯s private quarters. A woman is slowly walking down the stairs. Despite her conservative clothes and traces of gray in her hair, she blushes like a maiden when she sees me. ¡°Hello Mrs. Nobel.¡± ¡°Oh! Hum, Ariane! I did not see you there. I was just hmmmm.¡± ¡°Of course Mrs. Nobel, I wish you a good evening.¡± Turning a delicate shade of tulip, the mature girl makes an awkward exit on shaky legs. As she passes me by, I catch a whiff of her. Oh my, Loth, you have outdone yourself this time. Leaving our visitor to her walk of shame, I continue and hear Loth in the smoking room. I knock politely. ¡°Good evening Loth, are you decent?¡± ¡°Good evening Ari, come in, come in!¡± Loth sits leisurely in a very casual set of silk pants and jacket crossed over a muscular and hirsute chest. He sips Whiskey from a lowball glass while staring at nothing. ¡°It is good that ye came, there are three things I wanted ta address.¡± ¡°Oh?¡± I answer, suddenly wary. ¡°Nothing bad I assure ye. First, I recovered a letter from Jimena at the drop point. Here it is." He says, and hands me a sealed envelope. ¡°The second thing is a bit delicate, ya know. Would ya consider taking a seat?¡± he says, and gestures to a leather couch. I do as he says. ¡°It has come to me attention that the disgusting little weasel who abused poor Margaret was apprehended yesterday. I received a very thoughtful thank ye note from her, I should mention. She even offered to introduce ye to her favorite nephew, a banker from Savannah who happens to be looking fer a wife.¡± ¡°Pass.¡± ¡°I shall convey yer regrets lass. What concerns me slightly is the state of the weasel¡¯s hands. Now, ye have respected our agreement to the letter and ye had every right ta kill the prick where he stood, however, I would like ta offer ye a piece of advice, from an old monster to a young one.¡± ¡°How unusually serious. Do tell.¡± ¡°I know ya played with that one while ye simply bit and questioned that other conman from three weeks ago. Ya treated them differently. Why?¡± ¡°I was curious about Bishop¡¯s lies. It is as if he could not stop, as if his life depended on it. Testing the limits was quite interesting.¡± ¡°So ye did it on the spur of the moment, aye?¡± ¡°Yes?¡± Loth calmly puts his glass on the coffee table and crosses his fingers in front of him in a pose I now associate with lecturing. ¡°Many of us long-lived creatures do not attach the same value ta life as most mortals do. They will often hesitate ta torture or ta kill, ya know. It is a natural mechanism that I have observed in all of the peaceful societies I have lived in and is, I believe, caused by the need ta live in harmony. Killing becomes taboo. We outsiders are exempt of that. This is both a benefit and a tremendous risk. Ya see, the more you follow your instincts and the more you are prone ta fall the path of easy murder, until the very idea of civilization and peaceful cohabitation loses its meaning.¡± My Master being the prime example of that. ¡°Do you mean that I should not torture or kill?¡± ¡°Of course not, ye are a vampire. And besides, it would be hypocritical of me to ask this of ya, don¡¯t ye think?¡± I remember the only time we went after a band of outlaws together. They had raided a distant farm and spared no one. Loth had been¡­ Thorough. He does not play around like I do. He is methodical and merciless. ¡°I merely suggest that ye develop a code and try ta stick to it.¡± ¡°What if I decide that rapists and those who wear white at someone else¡¯s wedding can be mercilessly tortured before I kill them?¡± ¡°Then it is so. I am not judging the scale by which ye decide someone¡¯s fate, Ari, I only ask that ye find one.¡± I contemplate those words. Loth is experienced and there is a truth to what he says. I suppose I could at least try. ¡°I need to think of one. And it will not apply if my life is at risk.¡± ¡°Naturally. Now, onto more pleasant matters. I apologize fer the heavy discussion and I have just the thing ta lighten the mood. There¡¯s this English lad who came ta visit this afternoon. He wanted ta, what was it? Entertain me with a proposal that I would find to me taste. Or something. I thought ye might want ta hear it as well so I told him ta show up at eight.¡± ¡°That is very thoughtful of you Loth. I appreciate it.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t mention it lass¡± he adds with a smile, ¡°and if he¡¯s trying to, as aunt Freyja said, slather me up and shove me on a spit, I want ya to eat him.¡± I smile as we talk about yesterday¡¯s hunt. No matter what happens, tonight will be fun! ¡°Cecil Rutherford Bingle, miss, at your service!¡± The red-haired man removes his bowler hat and bows perfectly. I simply cannot believe my eyes. The chops, the wide, waxed mustache, the leather overcoat, everything conspires to make him appear as the hero of some silly book about mummies and damsels in distress. He has a ruggedly handsome face with a chin like a sledgehammer and the healthy tan of the consumate traveler. He even speaks as if he were in the middle of a theater and had to be heard by spectators on the fourth floor! I am simply in awe. Loth gives me a half smile and a knowing look. ¡°Oh, uh, it is my pleasure Mr. Bingle.¡± ¡°Hohoho, do not be alarmed by my roguish appearance young miss, I assure you, I do not bite!¡± What a coincidence. ¡°Yet the road is not safe, and a gentleman must do what he must do to guarantee his safety, I say! Now, I apologize if I seem abrupt, but the tardiness and the reason for my visit bear heavily on my heart, and I must beg you to hear me out promptly, for this matter is urgent, as you shall see Professor Delaney.¡± Loth answers in kind. ¡°Then let us retire to my salon. Ari, my dear, would ye be so kind as to brew a pot for our guest, and then join us.¡± ¡°Mr. Delaney, hrm hrm, far from me to tell you how to manage your house, hrm, however, the matters I wish to address are so grave as to, hrm, hurt delicate sensitivities, and I would be mortified if hrm, your niece were to be indisposed as a result of hearing them.¡± Loth takes a grave and tragic air. With his red nose and beard, he looks like a grizzled retired captain reminiscing about a doomed expedition to the North Pole. ¡°My esteemed guest, I appreciate yer tactful observation and I see that even in your hour of need, ye still show admirable concern for everyone around ye, however I ask now that ye trust in my judgment on this matter, as it pertains ta my expertise, and to please exert patience, as the necessity of her presence will be explained in due time.¡± ¡°Very well, Mr. Delaney, lead the way!¡± I leave the two men to go prepare tea and cups. I find the ritual of tea brewing relaxing, one of the reasons why Loth lets me use his precious reserve. It does not matter that I do not drink, the act of preparing it and the fragrance from a successful brew are rewards enough. When I reach the others, Loth is busy explaining the subtle differences between two rune systems, one of which I am unfamiliar with. After serving them, I sit in a comfortable leather sofa slightly on the side. After one last dubious look at me, Bingle starts his tale. ¡°Three years ago, I was stationed in Gibraltar when I met a most peculiar and delightful woman by the name of Flora Schaffer. The daughter of a Prussian Junker, she had a deep and curious interest in ancient history and when my service ended, I agreed to follow her in an expedition to Syria, deep in Ottoman territory. I shall not recount our tale now, as one night would not be enough to do it justice. Suffice to say she located a tablet covered in strange runes that she studied with a morbid fascination. Seven months ago, I received a letter from her and it was no small amount of surprise that I learnt that she was in the Americas, where her search had led her. Indeed, the only match for those strange runes came from a lone amphora traded to a collector of curios by a group of Natives who disappeared soon after. The letter was vague but hinted at the need for a dangerous expedition. Alas, when I arrived, she had already left to hire a group of adventurers of ill repute called the Valiant Companions. This was three months ago. I am afraid that her eagerness may have cost her dearly. I inquired about them and learned the most dreadful thing: they are now suspected of several acts of heinous banditry, such as raiding, kidnapping, and racketeering. They have since then escaped the vicinity of Savannah and thus, the arm of the law. Of my companion, there is no trace and I fear the worst has happened. Intent on gathering clues, I found her notebook in her personal effects, however many of the notes relate to a runic alphabet I cannot decipher. I was about to give in to despair when a friend of mine mentioned you, Mr. Delaney. He said that you were a scholar, a gentleman, and a crack shot, all qualities that I am in dire need of.¡± Loth nods in understanding. He opens the notebook and takes out a few drawings, then raises an eyebrow. He places them back and resumes the conversation. ¡°I appreciate the worth and the urgency of your task Mr. Bingle. Before we continue, I ask that you forgive my rudeness for there is something I need to discuss with my niece. If you will excuse us for a moment.¡± I follow Loth outside. ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°He is going ta ask me to join him on his expedition and I am going ta accept because I am bored and his story sounds interesting. I think ye should join too.¡± ¡°Isn¡¯t every trip dangerous? What if I cannot find a prey?¡± ¡°I think this will not be a problem, at least not at the early stage. I anticipate a lot of violence. The reason why I ask is because I recognized the runes on the tablet and amphora. Those are vampire runes.¡± ¡°Truly? In the?¡± ¡°Yes. They are vanishingly rare in mundane circles, and their presence outside of vampire cities makes no sense. I am curious as to how the trail ended up here. I also need to state that remote regions of the world are where deranged individuals hide, and strange runes are closely associated with them.¡± ¡°Hum.¡± ¡°There is a major issue though, should ya join, and it is that of your peculiarities. Mr. Bingle is sharper than he appears, and I have no doubt that he will figure out that something is wrong too quickly. I would be disappointed if we had to silence him.¡± ¡°If we travel together, I am afraid that it is inevitable. What do you propose?¡± ¡°Well, I caught a glimpse of Frau Schaffer¡¯s notebook and it contained ample references to magic although I doubt that she was a practitioner herself. I am convinced that Bingle knows about magic in general, and suspects that I dabble. Otherwise, he would have defended himself from believing in it beforehand so as not to appear as a lunatic. We could pretend that you are under a curse.¡± ¡°A curse? As in I am a human victim of a spell?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Would he believe it?¡± s?a??h th? ?0velF?re.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. ¡°He will if you are the one to tell him the tale. Vampires are unnaturally persuasive. I am sure you can come up with something.¡± ¡°What do we do with him after we discover the truth. I would rather know beforehand. I would not create ties or take oaths if we end up disposing of him.¡± ¡°If we manage to keep most of your physical prowess and my deadliest enchanted weapon under wrap, it should be within his expectations. If so, he will naturally assume that we are but two eccentric people and we won¡¯t have to kill him. If we reveal inhuman traits, then it is different. He will want to know the truth.¡± ¡°If we fight by his side then killing him would be distasteful.¡± ¡°Then let us make sure it does not happen.¡± I do not even suggest killing the man and recovering everything ourselves. This man is Loth¡¯s , he is also a guest and he has been nothing but honorable. It would simply be wrong to kill him. We head back and as I sit, Loth turns to me. ¡°Cecil, I ask that you forgive my poor manners. I had to ask my niece if she were comfortable about sharing the details of the tragedy... But before we begin, Cecil, I must ask. Do you believe in magic? Do you believe that in dark corners of the world exist things that have no place in civilized society? Do you believe that there is some knowledge that it would be wise not to acquire?¡± ¡°Mr. Delaney, no, Loth. I was afraid to say so, for who in their right mind would believe what seems like childish poppycock! Yet my eyes did not deceive me, back in Syria. I saw and fought things that will never have their place in a compendium of natural history.¡± ¡°Indeed, and this leads me to my poor Ariane¡¯s story.¡± In a shaky voice, I tell Bingle about my father, the African explorer. How he hunted dangerous game, and how one day he came across a strange altar while tracking a vicious lion on the plains of the Serengeti. Upon this altar sat the effigy of a bat. Curious, if wary, he brought it to a local sorcerer. He was told that the effigy was linked to a powerful spirit, that of a night hunter. A ravenous, bloodthirsty beast. He was told that the night hunter would share its gift upon the offering of a suitable sacrifice. Amused, my father brought the morbid statue back with him as a sort of grisly trophy. The years went by and we thought nothing of it until my father¡¯s vision declined and he was forced to retire. Alas, the thrill of the hunt could not be denied, and he became increasingly obsessed. What if he could still go after the most dangerous preys and fell them? What if he could move at night like the deadliest panther? The thought devoured him until he could take it no longer. I tried to stop him, to distract him, but it was in vain. One night, I saw a light in the distance and grew suspicious. As I approached, the most horrid spectacle was unveiled, and I almost fainted. Upon a meadow was my father, the accursed effigy and the bleeding body of the family dog. My father turned to me and the insanity in his eyes made me recoil in terror. ¡°Behold, Ariane, for we are blessed!¡± He said in a great and terrible voice. Then, with a great laugh, he ran into the woods with a vitality and gait most unnatural. I waited for his return and as dawn came, I saw him appear on the horizon. As the rays of the sun touched him, a dreadful shriek escaped his lips. He fell, unconscious. I immediately set out to rescue him but alas, no sooner had I stepped outside that a most abominable pain seized me and I was forced to retreat. The sacrifice, it seems, was not suitable. Indeed, how could such a dreadful entity accept anything but the most precious of flesh? We were deemed unworthy. In exchange for vision, my father and his bloodline were cursed never to walk under the sun on penalty of death. Worse, I now must follow their habits and drink the blood of living creatures! I left the family house without looking back and went to my dear uncle for help, for his knowledge of the world is renowned. He protects me and together, we have looked for a cure forever since.¡± Warm tears fall freely from Cecil Rutherford Bingle¡¯s weathered face by the time I finish the steaming pile of inanities that is this story and when he speaks, his voice is quavering with emotion. ¡°Such a dreadful tale my dear, such a dreadful, dreadful fate! Oh cruelty of cruelties to place this burden on the shoulder of such kind a soul, such amenable a temperament! If I can be of help...¡± I shake my head, my eyes wet with emotion, face slightly flushed despite their pallor. ¡°It almost seems like a lost cause Mr. Bingle, but at least I have my dear uncle to look after me. I wish to accompany and help, for if I cannot save myself, my heart can be at ease with the belief that I should help others.¡± Bingle lets out a terrible sob as emotion once again overcomes him. Loth grabs my shoulder in a paternal hand, his face also marred by sorrow and regret. As he turns away to wipe a tear I hear a whisper from him. ¡°Seven out of ten.¡± What?! The man is crying, I at least deserve a nine! Bah. "Cecil, ye may ask yerself why I wanted to share this delicate piece of information with ye, sir. Well I wanted ta explain why my niece is competent to hear such stories. She is also well-versed in dead languages. Ariane, could ye look at this?¡± I take the notebook and read what was transcribed form the amphora. ¡°Salt.¡± ¡°Salt?¡± ¡°Yes salt, the alchemical reagent. This is the language of Akkad, derived from Akkadian inscriptions. Notice the sharp indents. The runes are designed to be inscribed on tablet with stylus.¡± ¡°What could it mean?¡± ¡°This was most likely taken from an alchemy set. It hints at some sort of laboratory or even something larger.¡± ¡°Who would use a long dead language to perform alchemy?¡± asks Bingle. ¡°Someone who studied alchemy from a dead civilization, perhaps.¡± Or someone who was there when it was still very much alive. Loth clears his throat and the adventurer emerges from his contemplation to look at him. ¡°My dear Mr. Bingle, if I understand correctly, ye require my expertise in deciphering Mrs. Schaffer¡¯s notes, and ye also ask for me to join ye on this expedition, aye?¡± Bingle blushes in embarrassment when the enormity of what he asks is stated so plainly. ¡°Hrm, I am aware that I ask much, hrm, however, circumstances dictate that I put aside my pride! Indeed, the life of Flora is certainly at risk, and I would gladly sacrifice my reputation should it bring her back alive and safe. Please forgive me for this audacious request, and know that we Bingle are not without means. I will compensate you for this effort, naturally, though I know that for a gentleman such as yourself, the call of adventure, knowledge, and honor fulfilled are of greater import!¡± I never imagined that Bingle could assess Loth so accurately, albeit for the wrong reasons. I can tell that his curiosity is piqued. An amphora covered with ancient runes, found here? Even I am curious. ¡°Fret not, Mr. Bingle, fer yer call fer help has not fallen on deaf ears. I am willing, nay, eager, ta help ye rescue yer friend from those ruffians. We shall depart tomorrow and find those Valiant Companions you spoke of so we can determine Miss Schaffer¡¯s whereabouts. I have a few acquaintances in law enforcement who will be eager to inform me upon their current whereabouts. Perhaps the outlaws will be amenable to discussion and if not, we can extract this knowledge from them through violence or subterfuge.¡± The conversation devolves into minutiae and after a manly handshake, Bingle is gone. Loth and I go to his workshop. The massive room which takes half of the first and second floor is his sanctuary. I only entered the place a few times and never alone, so it comes as a mild surprise when he drags me in. ¡°Ariane, I have a service to ask of you. I am quite drained¡­¡± I chuckle. He smiles, a bit embarrassed. ¡°Yes, I did not anticipate Clara¡¯s appetite. In any case, I am tired. Could you please pack for me?¡± ¡°Of course.¡± He points out what he wants to take, and I spend a few hours moving heavy equipment and gadgets to the heavy carriage. Even though he does not intend to use it, I also take his massive armor as a measure of safety. I myself pack the practical outfits he made for me, as well as my rifle, knife and notebook on ancient languages. I go by the kitchen and prepare a significant amount of travel food. After I am done, I retire to my room. I pick a piece of paper. It was torn from an and on it are a few words. ¡°I love you daughter, do not forget your promise.¡± A tear smudged the ink a bit. I place it in a locket, which I put around my neck. Finally, I decide to open Jimena¡¯s letter. Most of the content is news about herself, but one line catches my attention. ¡°We have received confirmation that the Southern Lady was lost off the coast of Senegal with all hands.¡± This was the ship my Master was sailing on. I do not know what happened to him. I was told that older vampires can enter a form of stasis if they are trapped somewhere, so it is likely that he still lives, held in an iron coffin in the darkness of the deep ocean. I do not know how I feel about this. Artificial tendrils of twisted love make me yearn to go and rescue him, but they are quickly silenced. I am relieved that I will not see him again. I hate how I lose my mind when he is around. I am afraid of what will happen when he gets free. It is inevitable. Well, enough moping. This is far beyond my control. I drag the sarcophagus to the carriage, secure it and call it a night. Chapter 20: The Pursuer and the Pursued Bonk.¡°Ouch.¡± BONK. ¡°Ow! What in the!?¡± I open the sarcophagus and jump out in a fury. I am inside the carriage. It is currently running at full speed on a bumpy road. Why would they ever do something so¡­ Bang! Ah, of course. I open a small slit that allows sight to the forward coach. ¡°Uncle? I take it the negotiations did not pan out? ¡°Ah, Ari. We can¡¯t seem to shake them off. Can you think of something?¡± ¡°Miss Delaney, this is not safe, you should stay inside while we deal with those ruffians!¡± ¡°I¡¯ll see what I can do!¡± I jump and reach a hatch on the carriage¡¯s ceiling. I quickly open it and take a look outside. Around us, a dense pine forest hugs a trail that should be too small for our wheels. Behind, a dozen men on horses follow us with sabers and pistols waved fiercely. As I watch, one of them tries to overtake the carriage and catches a bullet for his trouble. I turn my head and end up face to face with a bandit crawling forward. His surprise turns to a vicious smile when he sees me. Could it be¡­ Breakfast delivery? How thoughtful! I grace him with my own vicious smile and as he starts screaming, I claw his shoulder and drag him to the darkness below, face first. I am about to bite when Loth yells. ¡°Hurry girl, Asni can¡¯t last much longer!¡± Hum, annoying, they are interrupting my moment. I stun the man with a hit to the neck and decide how to address the problem. Prey. PREY. WEAKLINGS. MAGGOTS. WAIT YOUR TURNS BLOODBAGS. CLIMB, HATCH. THERE. RUNNING AFTER ME! LET THEM KNOW. ¡°ROOOAAAAAAAAR¡± Horses panic and collapse. Men try to keep control and fail. The pursuers stop in their tracks. Good. Now, back to¡­ ¡°W¡­ What was that?!¡± Ah, oops? I grab something on the floor and open the slit to a pair of curious eyes. ¡°Uncle, it worked! Your phlogiston noisinator scared them off!¡± I yell while waving around what is essentially a fuel tank with a gauge and three connectors. ¡°Remarkable!¡± answers the eyes on the right. ¡°This invention is truly a godsend!¡± ¡°Yes, niece, I congratulate you on your¡­ quick thinking.¡± answers the scowling pair of eyes on the left. I nod happily and discreetly push the bandit¡¯s body under a tarp in case Bingle¡¯s eyes start roaming. ¡°Unfortunately, we are not safe yet. They are sure to resume pursuit and Asni has reached the end of his stamina. We need to hunker down somewhere and hold them off.¡± ¡°How about the river crossing, Loth. There is a small cliff on the side. We would be protected and have a commanding view of the passage.¡± ¡°Very well.¡± I close the slit. We don¡¯t have much time! I quickly drink the bandit, barely enjoying the experience. I open the hatch and let the corpse drop on the road. There. Ariane, queen of expedited evidence disposal. A few minutes later, we cross a small river, not large enough to prevent passage downstream by determined riders, I note. The carriage is parked some distance away and the men take their weapons and prepare to leave. ¡°I shall stay here and water Asni. Be careful uncle, please! And you too Mr. Bingle.¡± ¡°Hah, those low-lives will rue the day they came across Cecil Rutherford Bingle, I say! For it should be their last.¡± The man trumpets. ¡°I care not for the lives of those men, Mr. Bingle, I only want both of you to return to me safe.¡± ¡°Of course Ms. Delaney¡± he replies with a tremor in his voice, ¡°We shall come back safe and sound. You have my word!¡± I watch the two disappear in the darkness. Well, darkness for them, I can see perfectly well under the moonlight. I take out a humongous barrel and start rolling liter upon liter to the poor overheated Asni. A few minutes later, the crack of discharged muskets reaches my ears. Loth is only wearing a secured surcoat but I know he brought his night vision monocle. Those imbeciles are as good as dead. That said, there is an obvious way to circumvent their blockade. I close my eyes and focus. Yes, I hear the sound of hooves from across the water. I lay low and follow them. Two hundred yards downstream, three men on horseback emerge from the vegetation and start crossing at a cautious pace. I let them pass me by. One, two. Any time now. The horses catch my scent and neigh nervously. ¡°What is wrong with those¡­¡± Using the distraction, I jump on the last rider and stab him in the spine, then I haul him backward. ¡°Some sort of beast? Smith, do you see¡­ Smith?¡± I slap the panicked horse on the rump and the scared animal immediately goes to a gallop. Cursing, the two other men try to keep control of their mounts and I take down the second one in the same manner. The last man takes the hint and urges his horse to run away. Futile. I . I grab him and bite deep. Once more, I must hurry and do not enjoy myself. Curses, but this travel is having some unintended aspects, namely, vampire travel rations. I drop the third body and after making sure the horses are heading away from the crossing, I quickly run back. There, crisis averted and in perfect silence as well! Ariane, queen of efficacy. I make sure that Asni is cooling down and settle down to wait. The two men soon return without a scratch. I come from behind the carriage with apparent worry turning to apparent relief. s?a??h th? N?v?l(F)ire.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. ¡°Oh, thank G¡­ cough, thankfully, you are back! Are you both safe?¡± ¡°Yes, miss Delaney! Fear not, for we sure gave them what for!¡± Loth silently points at my cheek. Oops. I turn my visage away and pretend to dry tears while I do my best to clean the bandit¡¯s blood. ¡°Oh miss Delaney¡­¡± says Bingle with emotion. Loth takes me in a bear hug and pat my back. ¡°There, there, it is all over, we are safe.¡± And then more silently. ¡°How many?¡± I escape the hug and turn to him with eyes full of tears. ¡°This wait frayed my nerves! I know it was a short time, but it felt like three hours!¡± Loth nods. ¡°We gave them a lesson aye, one the survivors will not soon forget. Nevertheless, we should hide and recover for now. Let us depart, niece.¡± We find a small recess in a woody valley large enough to accommodate everything. The men promptly dig a hole while I gather wood. They build the fire inside and when it starts, the light is blocked by earth. Loth even uses some sort of grill to prevent smoke and floating embers from rising into the night sky. I do not mention that anyone with one eye and half a brain could follow our tracks. I offer to take the first watch and Bingle only protests twice, a testament to how exhausted he is. After three hours, Loth wakes up and joins me around the pit. ¡°So how did it go?¡± ¡°They denied ever meeting Flora. Bingle managed ta search their leader¡¯s hideout while I was distracting the rest of the Valiants with a demonstration of the latest iteration of the Skoragg repeater. Reminds me of that time my first wife Gurda distracted a crowd with the proper way ta skin a rabbit while I was robbing their granary. Anyway. He stole a diary and another notebook but was found out. We escaped before it could degenerate into a firefight.¡± Loth is quiet. I know him rather well after our six months of friendship and I can tell that he is not done. ¡°There is something strange about that Bingle lad, a kind of magic.¡± ¡°He is a mage?¡± ¡°What? No. No, it is different. All our timings were too perfect, too dramatic. His infiltration should never have worked yet it did, and his exit should have not been noticed yet it was. It is as if... the world works around him, somehow. Events are changed to make things more exciting and keep him alive at the same time.¡± ¡°Are we in danger?¡± ¡°Good question. I don¡¯t think so. He would not endanger us on purpose, ya know. Just.... consider the narrative when he is involved.¡± ¡°This does not make sense.¡± ¡°Welcome ta the world of wild magic, Ari.¡± ¡°... I suppose I should not complain when it comes to magical aid. Vampires are not exactly at a disadvantage either.¡± ¡°Heh. Speaking of vampires, how are ye feeling?¡± ¡°It is barely past midnight. I can go on for another few hours. Why?¡± ¡°I¡¯d like ya ta trace back our steps. See if we¡¯ve been followed. The leader of the Valiants, Crow, he called himself, he was a bit on the side.¡± ¡°You mean...¡± ¡°Aye, mad as a March hare, a few cards short of a deck, out there with the faeries, batty, nutty, off his damn trolley. Ya know.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll go. If I don¡¯t see him within one hour, I shall head back here.¡± ¡°Be careful.¡± I strap up my knives but leave the rifle. I do not intend to shoot anyone if I can help it. We need to be discreet. Chapter 21: Murder of Crows I quickly retrace our steps. As expected, a blind child could track us down. In half an hour I slow down when I see the smoke and ember of another camp.I creep closer until I happen upon the remainders of the ill-fated Valiants. Most of the group lounges dejectedly around the campfire. They lost more than half of their numbers today. Many men sit apart from each other. Eyes do not meet. A real group bound by links of blood or friendship would cling together tightly. Misery and fear would promote the herd instinct and a feeling of unity before the catastrophe. Those people are nothing like that. They are a band of jackals and hyenas brought together by greed and the promise of easy violence. Now that their failure is made evident, they are starting to split along lines of allegiance. This motley crew does not even qualify for the moniker of Warband. Truly pathetic. I can see the alpha and beta males in a contest. The beta is a huge man with an imposing black beard that reaches his protruding belly. The alpha is sitting on a rock, his hand on the pommel of a saber. I can tell why he calls himself Crow. His jacket, trousers, and boots are black. Even his hat is the same color and adorned with shiny dark feathers of the eponymous bird. I am getting flashbacks from half a year ago when I cleared the warehouse. I return my attention to the group. They have two sentries. I also count eight men in various stages of despair. Only the two leaders pose some sort of threat, or they would if they had adapted weapons, which I doubt. I feel disappointed and this feeling worries me. I know what is required for survival. I know from the books Loth lent me that victory is often achieved before the battle even begins. I am still frustrated. I want a challenge. I want to walk on the edge. I want a good so that when I defeat my opponent, their blood is that much sweeter. I remember Nami¡¯s expression when she let me drink from her. She was also seeking a thrill. Am I turning into a prideful fop? I looked down on Gaspard, the man my master crushed because he was arrogant. I fear now that this lust for danger will make me take unreasonable risks. On the other hand, measured risks are beneficial. I never learned so much about fighting as a vampire as when I was running the Gauntlet. There was a stake, a cost for defeat and therefore I was invested. Even Loth, old as he is, still takes risks. I find it unlikely that a single bullet even to the head could take him out, however fighting still brings a risk to him. He still does it. Perhaps this is what it takes to stay alive, actually alive, for so long. I will set my own rules now. I will challenge myself only if I am confident that I can at least escape and survive. Yes, that sounds reasonable. I shall still ask Loth about his opinion later. He must have guidelines for having lived for so long. Using a tried and true method, I wait until the first sentry gets out of sight to neutralize him. In the camp, nobody notices. This is the first time since the night with Toussaint that I am faced with more blood than I can safely consume. I can not afford to get drunk this time. I decide to try to Devour him. It may only grant me a fraction of the normal vitality, but it is faster, does not make me drunk and leaves me in control. Truly there is no better way to recover strength quickly. Now to do it. I plunge eight fangs in the man¡¯s carotid and pull. It is much harder than last time. The part of me that pulls is not quite AWAKE. MANY PREY. HUNTING GROUND. CATTLE. Wait, cattle? I smell the air. There, near the tent. It smells like unwashed women. Could it be... ¡°You might as well come out!¡± I turn my attention back to Crow who stands on the middle of the clearing. Everyone else is staring at him as if he were insane. ¡°Peter disappeared without a noise one minute ago and two men cannot account for all of our casualties. Not to mention, all of this occurred at night. I know what is happening, I know you¡¯re here somewhere. Come on out. Let me see the face of my doom. I dare you!¡± Ho? Now this is interesting. ¡°Do you now, little bird...¡± How they jump in fright at the clear sound of my voice. How they brandish their weapons in vain. Hopeless. I step out in the middle of the clearing with my weapon holstered. I know how I look: like a young woman in a traveling dress. Young, fresh and innocent, with the pale skin of those who do not work outside. The image in their head does not match with what they know. I present myself as a threat yet I do not look like one. Their expectations of the world will make them look down upon me until it is far too late. Such is the power of a vampire. Despite his bluster, Crow swallows nervously. He looks like a little boy who threatened the monster under his bed to come out, only for something to drag on his sheets. You called the night and it answered. I tap my index under my chin and this time I do not bother to hide what I am. Talons and fangs are out. I stop bothering to breathe or close my eyes. ¡°I am curious, little bird, what did you think would happen now? Hum? A heroic fight?¡° The man swallows and retorts with pretend confidence. ¡°Yes, as a matter of fact, I challenge you to a duel.¡± There is something desperate about the proclamation. Those are the words of a drowning man clinging to the familiar. ¡°And why would I accept?¡± ¡°Why not? Are you scared?¡± I , turn on myself to slash the throat of the man approaching me from the back with his knife drawn. I heard the sound of metal scraping against leather. I saw the looks of the others when they forced themselves to look straight away. I smelled his perspiration and his fear. I finish the circular motion in an instant, ending up exactly as I had started except for red liquid dripping down my claws. I hear blood spilling on the ground and the gurgles of the dying. I resume as if nothing had happened. ¡°Am I truly? Or do I simply not see the point in granting you this request? You will fight me anyway. Well, you will try. Why should I offer you a formal duel?¡± ¡°A wager!¡± ¡°Oh?¡± I can almost see the cogs grinding in his skull, looking for a solution to his predicament. ¡°I have information. I know you were looking for the girl and you think you¡¯ll get what you¡¯re looking for from my diary, well, you won¡¯t. You won¡¯t get anything. It¡¯s encrypted.¡± ¡°There is no cipher your mind can come up with that my friend cannot crack in twenty seconds.¡± He shakes his head. ¡°Not that kind of cipher. I wrote things like, I smelled strawberry today and it means I was thinking of my sister.¡± As he says so, he blushes. Hah, the dark and brooding Crow, thinking about a sister. ¡°It won¡¯t matter. I know things that I didn¡¯t write. Couldn¡¯t write. It was just too insane. I know who she really was, what she really was after, exactly where I sold her, and to whom.¡± ¡°And what are you asking for in return?¡± ¡°If I give you a good show you will spare my men.¡± The clearing is perfectly silent. You could hear a pin drop. ¡°We engage in bouts until blood is drawn. For every time you make me bleed, you get to choose one person. I will not hunt them, and they can survive the night. For every time I draw yours, you tell me something I want to know. If I don¡¯t like it or it is too brief, I shall assume you have run out of ideas and I will kill you. While we duel, I will not use my powers, just my body and my blades.¡± ¡°Deal!¡± ¡°Then let us begin.¡± I jump on the man, who desperately draws and attempts so slice me in the same motion. I am used to this now and I can tell where the blade will land. I simply block it with my knife and stab him in the shoulder with my left hand. Not too deep. Not the dominant arm. That would not be sporting. ¡°Gaaaaah! Hell!¡± ¡°Speak.¡± ¡°Gah, fine. Fine! That woman, she was not who she said she was. She had some weird rings and documents in German. When we captured her she said that she worked for the Order of the Heirs, whatever that means. She said they''re a powerful secret society. I thought it might be poppycock but what do I know.¡± Hum, it appears that everyone and their dogs manipulate poor Cecil. Ah well, I care not. As long as she does not endanger me, she can belong to the Chinese imperial family for all I care. As for the organization itself, there is absolutely no way that they would have a big enough presence here to be any of my concern in the short run. This is a problem for much later if indeed it is even true. I resume a guarding stance and we circle each other. Crow probes my defenses with conservative movements. I move as little as I can until he overcommits on a feint. I jump forward and hit the saber with the knife¡¯s small guard. We lock blade and I easily stop his left hand with my own. I stab a finger in his wrist and he drops the knife he had been concealing. ¡°Ah, dammit!¡± ¡°Speak.¡± Cold sweat has started to form on Crow¡¯s brow. A darker patch marks his wounds on his shoulder and sleeve. He smells delicious, like battle lust and courage in the face of certain death. I am sated, for now, thankfully, or resisting the Thirst would be difficult. ¡°We sold the woman to some insane communities up there at the southernmost peaks of the Appalachians. Some kind of inbred idiots who worship the weirdest things. Heathens and maniacs, the lot of them.¡± ¡°Where?¡± ¡°Hey come on, I...¡± ¡°Where?¡± ¡°F... four days of riding, to the North. They have some insane estate painted white and red. You¡¯d think you were transported to bloody Gloucestershire.¡± ¡°Hmm.¡± We resume guard position and this time, Crow goes all out. I use it as an opportunity to dodge with minimal movement and try to predict the way he moves his body, and yet the fight becomes much harder. His heavy cavalry saber was a liability in quick exchanges but now its weight and power make it harder to block and dodge. This exchange lasts for a very long time. Thirty seconds. Forty seconds. He does not relent. At the fifty seconds mark, he tires and slips on the muddy ground. I bounce forward but he surprises me. Instead of trying to block his fall, he uses a two-handed strike to swipe at me. I block with my left talons but stop as I am about to stab him in the ribs. We stay there for a second as I look in his terrified eyes. Humans blink a lot. I get back up and inspect my left hand. The blade caught between two talons and sliced my finger. The wound is already closed, still... ¡°Choose.¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°You drew blood. Choose.¡± ¡°Dalton.¡± As the name crosses his lips, I hear a scream from behind. I turn to see the large bearded man take out a gun and aim it. Not at me, at a very young man sitting terrified at the side. Tut tut tut I won¡¯t have someone ruin my moment. I . I stab every finger of my left hand in the man¡¯s chest. He gasps in pain and drops the gun. Ooowww! What? That hurts! I think I broke two knuckles! How are ribs so bloody hard?! Master put his entire hands in someone¡¯s chest and made it look easy! How! I remove my hand. The man falls without a noise and I face Crow again. I do my very best to school my expression. Ouch ouch ouch ouch... Gah! Dammit! Must focus. Crow looks at me warily. I just assume an en guarde position again and we resume fighting. I can tell that he is tiring. It is long past midnight, he has had a long day and he is bleeding. Crow has a pattern. At the end of an exchange, he loves to swing and hit his opponent¡¯s blade on the way up, then immediately slash back down and move forward at the same time before they can recover. It must have worked well against weaker opponents, particularly given how heavy his saber is. It is useless against me. The next time he does it. I strike the blade further out just as he reverses and get into his guard. I slice a shallow cut across his chest. ¡°Gah!¡± We are now on the last act of this tragedy and the others can feel it. I catch a few subtle glances and I hear footsteps. I turn around to a filthy man in a straw hat who is much closer to the edge of the forest than he was a moment ago. ¡°You run, you die first.¡± The man stops. This will give me a moment before I have to finish this. ¡°Speak.¡± ¡°I, hmm. The cult. They keep stealing people around for who knows what.¡± Stealing huh. I know who they have "stealing" those people. ¡°That is not helpful. Tell me how you knew what I was.¡± ¡°The... the head of the cult. I sold the woman to him. He called you vampires. He said that you are hoarding your power. He says that he will achieve this by himself and share the bounty with his followers.¡± ¡°Hmmm.¡± I return to the center of the clearing and wait for Crow to do the same. As soon as he is in position, he charges me, and all the Valiant Companions turn and run. I stand my ground. Crow sees his men run and charges me with a desperate cry. Remarkable! Of course, I was expecting no less from a crafty outlaw. I flip my left arm and a moment later, Crow stumbles and falls. He stares with disbelief at the throwing dagger in his chest. I did not waste my time those past six months. ¡°I did warn you when I said blades.¡± I move after every bandit. I Devour them one after the other without pause. In the dark, they are all slow and noisy. I make it quick and painless. When I return to the clearing, only Crow and that young man Dalton remain. ¡°It should not... be like this. We were meant... to be adventurers. Heroes¡­ Like knights of old.¡± Says the fallen leader with a strained voice. I straddle Crow and let my hair fall on his face. He is so warm and his perfume is exquisite. A perfect end to a worthy . ¡°Heroes, you say? Do heroes raid travelers? Do they keep sex slaves?¡± ¡°They are... natives, not white women.¡± ¡°They are sex slaves. Who they are does not change what you did.¡± ¡°That¡¯s rich... coming from a monster.¡± ¡°Ah, but I do know what I am. Just as I know who kidnaps people for that strange estate you mentioned, and just as I know why you were prompt to sell them the woman as well. You have fallen farther than most, Crow. Now, any last words?¡± Crow gives me one last smile with red-tinged teeth. Defiant to the end. I love it. ¡°I¡¯ll see you in hell.¡± Heh. ¡°Farewell human, When I am done, I stand up and take in the devastation I brought. Corpses litter the clearing, strewn around broken tents and trampled personal effects. The sole survivor of this massacre is kneeling on the ground with his hand on his head. I ignore him for now. I approach the largest tent and open it. The stench of unwashed bodies is pungent here, yet I fight through. Two young women stare at me with insane eyes. The first one is shaking with fury while the other one cowers behind her. They are dressed in the torn remnants of filthy rags. Their dark hair is stringy and matted. When I get closer, the stronger one growls and curses under her breath. Hum. I retreat and pick up a skinning knife, then get back in and drop it at their feet. I leave them be. Crow used a short stool to sit. I right it and settle near the fire. I need to think. Why did I accept the challenge? Why did I kill these men but spare their prisoners? What do I do with Dalton? Do I stick to the spirit of the agreement and let him go? Or do I follow the letter and make sure that he dies before he reaches a settlement? Was I led here by Bingle¡¯s preposterous narrative power because what I learned is vital to the continuation of our quest? I ignore the two native women as they stumble around the camp, kicking and spitting on corpses while crying and sobbing in their language. I accepted the challenge because it was right. It was right to offer them a chance to accomplish something instead of butchering them like animals. It made for a . And again with this concept. It certainly has something to do with the tainted blood in my veins. I never thought much about the concepts of the when I was alive. Should I stop? Will it kill me like blind confidence killed Gaspard? I do not think so. Crow¡¯s blood was both delicious and more powerful than it should have been because its potency did not stem from the man himself, but from the way it was taken. Respecting the spirit of the and winning makes me stronger. It also made me feel more alive. The contest forced me to work for it, instead of just taking it with overwhelming force, just like the blood of a tastes sweeter than that of the cattle. Yes, I know that I am right. I shall respect the prey and in turn, it will make me stronger, more patient and more cautious. Challenges will remind me of my limits and that I should never look down upon mortals, just like Crow reminded me of my imperfect technique when he sliced my finger. If I encounter a situation that is a challenge in itself, then I do not need to give myself constraints. Instead, I will use every tool at my disposal to achieve victory. Yes, it is as it should be. The red nectar needs to be earned. I must never forget it. Now onto the next concern. Who do I spare, and why? Loth was correct. Rules and guidelines are the first steps in any proper society. As the only vampire in the area, I need to set those rules and enforce them on myself, by myself. I shall now create ground rules, just as the Continental Congress established a constitution more than two decades ago. Those I call my friends, those that are bound to me by contract or oath, those I am negotiating with, and those who are too young should not be touched without their explicit consent. This includes . Those who are not related to me can be fed upon, but not killed nor enslaved. Those who have disrespected the by hurting weak prey, those who have broken their oaths to others, and those I have been contracted to capture can be fed upon, tortured and enslaved, but not killed. Those who broke their oath to me and my own, those that stole lives out of self-interest and those that stole women¡¯s dignity are fair game. Those rules apply to groups I consider myself at war with, but not their relatives. Those that endanger me by their existence and those that tried to kill me yet respected the spirit of the hunt can be fed upon and killed, but not tortured nor enslaved. Above all else, I must keep my word and protect myself and mine. Yes. This feels right. I shall apply those rules at least for now. I will adjust them as I go if I deem it necessary. I return my attention to the present. The boy has not moved, and the two native women are cleaning themselves while eyeing the prostrate man with suspicion. The taller one is caressing her knife with a contemplative expression. I start gathering supplies. I know what I must do with the boy and I want no witnesses. I prepare two heavy backpacks and return to the women. Diplomacy is made difficult because they do not speak a word of English, French nor Spanish, not that I blame them. With enough grunts and pointed fingers, they understand that they are to take horses and food and go, but they refuse. After pointing to the sky and fire a few times, I finally remember that this is currently the dead of night and traveling is not the best of ideas. I am sated and they represent no danger to me, so I decide to let them do as they please. Instead, I grab the boy by the elbow and drag him to the cover of the trees. He does not resist. ¡°Can you understand me?¡± He nods. ¡°You are safe from me for tonight, but tonight only.¡± The young man raises his head to me. Just like the other bandits, he is wearing a mix and match of farming and travelling clothes of simple but solid make. His brown vest is too large for him. I think he may have been the youngest person of the group at around sixteen. I end up face to face with liquid blue eyes paler than mine. They are large and strangely magnetic. Even when I look at the rest of him, my gaze is drawn back. He looks at me with a sort of childish wonder and though I smell fear on him, it is not as strong as I would have expected. I do not want to kill him. I do not believe he is a threat to me. He does not feel like one. ¡°If you never speak of this, nor of me, to anyone, I will let you go. Do you agree?¡± The boy actually considers my words for a moment, and only then agrees by nodding again. ¡°Swear on it.¡± ¡°I will not betray you. I swear.¡± ¡°Good, now I shall test your word.¡± I take his unresisting arm and bite, then stare in his eyes. ¡°Did you intend to betray me?¡± ¡°No. Never.¡± That was fast. According to my rules, I can kill him if I deem him a threat. I do not. He is not a friend either, so he can be fed upon, but not harmed further. I do not Thirst. Bah, enough, the hour grows late. ¡°Very well. You may leave and go where you wish. Respect your word, for if you do not, I will not be the only one to go after you provided you are even believed.¡± ¡°I will not betray you.¡± The boy¡¯s reactions are rather strange. Could he be retarded? That would explain why Crow chose him to be spared. He must be the least deserving of death of them all. ¡°You should leave the camp this very moment. I doubt your previous captives would forgive you for what they have been through.¡± ¡°I know where to go.¡± Again with the lack of any doubt. There is something wrong with this young man. He is entirely too accepting of the situation. Could he be hiding what he really is? No. I did get the barest hint of his essence when I bit him and he is, beyond a doubt, a mortal. Bah, it matters not. I have already delayed too long. I make sure I have all my weapons on me and promptly depart the area. The return trip is much faster since I do not have to search for our camp, nor do I need to hide my presence. Two hours after I left, I soon find the familiar lights of our campfire. As I return to the camp, I see a hint of magic in the air. Loth has not been idle while I was out. I cross the spell¡¯s demarcation, eliciting a light chime. I hear a sleeper waking up and follow the sounds to a slightly haggard Loth. He gestures to Bingle and we leave the warmth of the dying fire to discuss the night¡¯s events without waking him up. I tell him everything, including my findings, the ethic code and Dalton¡¯s fate. ¡°Hum. Ari, are ye tipsy?¡± ¡°What? Hum, perhaps? How could you possibly tell?¡± s?a??h th? Nov?lF?re .??t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. ¡°Yer attention is wandering and ye are more contemplative than usual. I saw this in Constantine back in Boston, he would have a similar mood after a lethal hunt. In any case, I must congratulate ye on tonight. Well done¡± ¡°You think so?¡± ¡°Ye eliminated the threat, left no dangerous survivors and got us what we wanted. Now ye¡¯re back safe and sound. Tyr, I wish all my raids had gone that well.¡± ¡°Yes, and now we must decide on how to proceed.¡± ¡°There¡¯s no doubt to be had aye? We¡¯ll ride North ta purge those madmen and recover the lass, if she lives. I doubt it, ya know? Any weird cult that buys people don¡¯t keep them around for long.¡± ¡°I do not like this. We are moving blindly into a situation that could very well be dangerous. Is there no group that should be sent to deal with this?¡± ¡°Aye lass, there is us! We are the two most powerful entities for a hundred miles so it¡¯s up ta us ta defend our territory. Hahaha, Tyr, you are still so human sometimes. Did you expect the gendarmes or militia to come and hunt monsters?¡± ¡°Hum, not them, but their supernatural peers? I assumed that the order of Gabriel or vampire knight squads would dedicate themselves to hunting those strange groups.¡± Loth looks at me in silence for a moment. The atmosphere grows heavy. A sort of pressure makes me want to avert my gaze and I am reminded of who Loth of Skoragg really is, not a gentleman and a scholar but an ancient being of vast magical knowledge whose hands are tainted with blood. I remember when we fought together. I remember the silent titan of cold metal slaughtering his way through fighting and pleading men without ever stopping, without ever flinching, and I shiver. ¡°Lass, this is our territory and we don¡¯t need no idiots to protect it for us. This is not the human world, where ye can rely on institutions and laws. For us, what is ours is what we can get and keep, and don¡¯t ye ever forget it. Besides, I won¡¯t tolerate those fanatical mongrels stepping foot on it anyway.¡± Loth closes his eyes and massages the bridge of his prominent nose. ¡°Aye, listen ta me rambling like an old man. I did not mean ta scold you lass. Sometimes, you are so good at being what ye are that I forget that ye¡¯re so young. As fer knight squads, ye don¡¯t understand.¡± He sits down and moves his hands together in the lecture stance and I sit comfortably. ¡°I mentioned that they fix supernatural issues before they get out of hand. I did not tell ye more, but I should have. Vampires are a rare breed. Ye are a territorial and arrogant lot. Ye¡¯ll rarely see more than fifteen in a large city, and they will be defended by a handful of masters. The reason why vampires sit at the top of the hierarchy where they are is because each master is incredibly dangerous. Knight Squads are groups of battle-hardened masters dedicated to war. There¡¯s barely a handful of them, but ye can be sure that if they get sent somewhere, the problem gets solved. Permanently. That¡¯s the thing though, they¡¯re always busy. They will only come here if the cult somehow gets out of hand and starts summoning horrors from the beyond.¡± ¡°They¡­ They can really do that?!¡± ¡°Aye it can happen, but we won¡¯t let it come to this. Don¡¯t ye worry.¡± ¡°I see. So it is up to us. Well, I won¡¯t let you down.¡± ¡°I know I can count on ye. Well. We have a big day ahead of us. I¡¯d better catch some shut-eye.¡± Loth lies down and five minutes later I hear both men snoring like two horns playing a duo. If I were a mortal woman trying to sleep, I believe I would be trying to smother them with their pillows now. I take out my notebook on ancient languages and review it as the night slowly reaches its end. Chapter 22: The Waiting Maw I place the dessert spoon back on the empty plate and rest both hands on my round belly.¡°Where are the kids?¡± Asks Achille with a smile. ¡°Mine or yours?¡± ¡°Both.¡± ¡°They are outside. Roger is looking after them, don¡¯t worry.¡± ¡°Good. There is somebody I wanted you to meet.¡± ¡°Really? At this time?¡± ¡°You already know him.¡± A young man enters the dining room. He is certainly not dressed for the occasion! Why, he just looks like an apprentice running errand for his mentor! ¡°That is exactly what I was doing.¡± Huh? Now that I am paying attention, he looks a little pale, and are those tear marks on his boyish face? ¡°What I was doing when you killed me that is. They captured me and dragged me to you. You were a new monster then, not yet the accomplished murderer you have become¡± ¡°We could have had children, family of flesh and bone and not those pathetic fantasies you still cling to.¡± Says a newcomer to my left. I recognize him. He was father Perry¡¯s son. My talons grip the edge of the table and I move forward a bit now that my figure is as lean as it should be. ¡°Yeah!¡± ¡°Hear, hear!¡± The dining room is full of men clamoring and complaining. I recognize some from my days as an enforcer, the estate where I met Nami and my days at the Gauntlet. ¡°We could have been so much more!¡± Achille grabs my hand. ¡°You will never create life. You will never make the world more, only less. Your very existence is...¡± ¡°Shut up.¡± I pick a knife and stab him in the wrist. The flesh breaks like porcelain, as if it were solid. I stare into cracking eyes as black as night. The entire assembly is focused on me like a pack of hounds on a wounded deer. I am no wounded deer. ¡°I claimed your essences to the last and you think your pathetic rabble of fools can stop me?¡± Night falls outside and the smell of roast is replaced by wet earth and woodsmoke. Something grinds against the walls of the dining room. Something huge, and covered in spikes. The ceiling breaks and strands of baleful purple light shines on the white sheets and posh chairs. ¡°You are no hunting party. You are just drained prey I left in my trail.¡± ¡°You can¡¯t stop us all.¡± Says Crow. I stand up and the wood groans and cracks under my feet. ¡°I already have.¡± S?a?ch* Th? N?v?lF?re.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. I wake up to the familiar darkness. Well. That was... different. I did not expect a nightmare to lead to anything but my death. This is also the first time that it refers to potential events instead of reinterpretation of my past. Now is not the time for introspection, however. I close my eyes and focus on my hearing. This is a new precaution I have come up with. We are in hostile territory and there is no guarantee that the carriage could not fall into hostile hands. I need to see if anyone is around before I make my presence known. There, a heartbeat. It stands just beside the sarcophagus. I feel a tug on my mind and the beat grows more excited. With a sigh, I open the sarcophagus. I slide the door open, already annoyed. ¡°I feel like I am repeating myself in vain, but you should really leave.¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°Yes Mistress, you are repeating yourself in vain.¡± I tap on the edge of my haven with a talon. The clinking sound echoes the noise of the rain outside. Dalton¡¯s large eyes do not have a hint of mockery. He just stands there being¡­ I do not know what he is. ¡°We will arrive at the estate within two hours. Mr. Bingle says that the heavy rain will help us with our cover as waylaid travelers. Mr. Delaney suggests that you wear the blue dress.¡± The blue dress is formal. Why do I want the formal dress? Why do we simply not move under the cover of the night and the heavy rain and slaughter everything? We already determined these cultists mass kidnap innocents. Just like the Lancaster. Fair enough, I am being hypocritical. Let us just say that I, as the resident vampire in these lands, reserve the exclusive right to the mass kidnapping of innocent people for the sake of sacrificing them to some dark entity, in this specific case myself. There. Now they are an enemy organization and all its members are fair game. This adventure is wearing my patience thin. Dalton leaves and I clean myself quickly, brush my hair and finally open the slit that separates the interior of the carriage from the drivers. ¡°Gentlemen.¡± ¡°Good evening miss Ariane, I hope you are well?¡± ¡°I am Mr. Bingle, thank you. I am however concerned by your plan to make yourselves known! Those ruffians are in the habit of capturing people. Why would they not put all of us in chains at the first opportunity?¡± ¡°You would prefer that we simply find Flora and make our escape, do you not?¡± Actually, I was planning on slaughtering everything and everyone and then setting the rest on fire. ¡°That seems more prudent.¡± ¡°Indeed, and I recognize there your kind heart, miss Ariane. Truly, you are too pure for this world, and indeed what you say makes perfect sense, but for two important factors. First, we do not know how many prisoners they hold, I wager quite a lot! We must also learn of their sinister purposes!¡± I wager those prisoners are not as many as he thinks, the live ones at least. ¡°And secondly, I know the type of people who lead such terrible and dreadful schemes. They are vain creatures, eager to display themselves and their extraordinary qualities¡­¡± Look who¡¯s talking. ¡°Therefore they will want to show how superior they are, as well as learn how we found them. And we shall let them know, I say! We shall let them know before the night is out! They will rue the day¡­¡± I ignore the rest of the rant. I am Thirsty now. Yesterday I managed to feed a bit from a Choctaw traveler who left his teepee to attend to a natural need. I had to wait for two hours for him to come out. He was weakened by the low temperatures and I did not get much vitality. Tonight will be a feast I am looking forward to. As the Thirst momentarily overcomes me, I feel my fangs draw out and something tugs on my mind. A pair of large icy eyes reach the slit. ¡°Are you alright, miss?¡± The invitation in his eyes is clear. He offers himself, his blood, to me. I should accept but something makes me uncomfortable. He chose me, not the contrary. He chose me not as but as something else. I am not in control. I should be in control. I should be the one to select who I want to feed on. It is not normal that one would be willing to serve an abomination like me. All humans should want to kill me because I prey on them. This is unnatural? I think? Right? Bingle interrupts his many promises of retribution and justice to express his concern. ¡°Miss Ariane, please do not be alarmed. I know you abhor violence, but this is not my first adventure and I will protect you with my life!¡± You fool, how can you promise such a thing? Can you predict the trajectories of bullets? Can you stop explosions before they deliver their deadly shrapnel? Could you have stopped Master from k¡­ Enough. Enough of this. ¡°He is right niece; it would be better for us to be invited in. They would lower their guard. Besides, young Dalton will remain hidden inside the wagon and bring us our weapons should we need them.¡± Mmmmh, as always, Loth makes a point. I could not get into the mansion without an invitation. Well thought. ¡°Yes, miss Ariane, young Dalton has proven himself an invaluable help since he joined us. He has been looking after you with dedication, and I am pleased at his change of heart. He is the proof that men who lose their way to darkness can always find the light if they look for courage inside their heart. A truly moving tale, I say!¡± Yes, invaluable help since he showed up at their camp with a wild tale of the Valiant Companions killing each other. He offered to show the group the way to the cult¡¯s base and drowned Bingle with a tale of contrition. It never occurred to the red-haired hero that Dalton¡¯s change of heart happened rather late in the group¡¯s criminal career. If he is not evil there is at least something wrong with him. I am unwilling to ask. After we return to civilization, he will have to go. Yes. That would probably be for the best. Around us, pine forests give way to empty fields and basic wooden shacks. I change seats with Dalton, who is supposed to remain hidden, when we reach the outskirts of the cultist base. I can smell cattle, the animal kind, and woodsmoke. It is not long before we arrive at the limit of a stone enclosure. If I were still mortal, I would pinch myself and check for a fever. The wall marks the border between semi wilderness and an outlandish version of a British cottage. Why, I am looking at something out of a book! A beautifully made manor of stone and glass, actual glass, with an arched rooftop of grey tiles sits at the top of a gently inclined hill. Even in the dead of winter, the trees are expertly trimmed and the lawn is taken care of. A small pond lies further to the side and a clean road of white gravel leads from an iron gate to the foot of the grand entrance. A cliff of sheer rock rises a hundred yards behind the property, adding a mysterious and grandiose air to the edifice. What am I even looking at? ¡°How peculiar!¡± says Bingle. What is peculiar is the color theme. The walls are painted, flawlessly, in white and red. ¡°Where are the workers housed? With so many fields there should be at least thirty people tending to them and cattle. They¡¯re not living in the manor, I assume?¡± I add. ¡°A most astute observation miss Ariane! We must assume that there are more buildings we are not yet aware of, and that we should keep an eye open for them. Indeed, who knows how many people live here?¡± I hope we do not find out when they rush us with torches and pitchforks? This¡­ This stupid plan! I want to leave, find somebody to drink. This farce can only lead to disaster! Gah, why am I so Thirsty?! I drank my fill less than a week ago! Do I really have to suffer through this for another year? Curses, curses, curses¡­ While I am ranting in the privacy of my addled brain, two men in mud-colored cloth emerge from behind the wall and open the door of the property for us. Maybe I can eat them? ¡°There, there.¡± Says Bingle with a comforting voice. He is about to pat my shoulder but then he hesitates and retracts his hand. That¡¯s right my good man, keep your appendages away or I will tear them off and shove them up your¡­ ¡°Welcome to the Abernathy estate gentlemen, and lady. May I inquire what business you have here?¡± We let Bingle drown the poor guard in platitudes and a story of lost travelers, unusual itineraries and some such nonsense until he regrets ever asking. Perhaps I should slice his throat to end his suffering, let the warm, red geyser of life¡­ ¡°Alright come in, come in, Mr. Abernathy will be delighted to see you.¡± He adds with a sinister smile. If I were a normal girl I would already be out there trying my luck with the grizzlies. Is everybody devoid of common sense? I gnash my teeth as the carriage climbs the small hill and we come in view of the manor¡¯s owners, apparently warned of our presence. ¡°Come in, come in, gentlemen, and lady! I, Rufus Abernathy, would like to formally welcome you to my humble abode.¡± The man who addresses us is in his fifties with carefully combed silver hair and an aristocratic face. He is clean shaven but for a small mustache and dark eyes. His prestance and charisma are impressive and are reinforced by a fetching tweed ensemble. I feel myself warming to his presence despite an inkling of what he is. He introduces his wife Maria, a portly woman with an astoundingly good skin. Her black hair is held in a severe bun, but her smile is warm and welcoming. Those people are good. They really look the part of the kind and welcoming hosts. They smell a little bit wrong, however, particularly the woman. There is something acid and altogether unpleasant about her smell. It is not rot or any disease I can think of. Odd. ¡°You are too kind sir, and we apologize for coming here unannounced. We were set upon by a dreadful storm and I was afraid we would have to spend the night outside, if you would imagine!¡± We follow our host through a grand entrance and up a set of stairs to corridors painted white. The furniture is a bit crude but the ground is spotless. We do not meet anyone on the way and I suspect it is not due to the late hour. My hearing confirms that this place is mostly empty. It is a fa?ade. Abernathy leads us into a large smoking room. Several leather couches surround a coffee table while the walls are covered with books and maps. The smell of cold cigar and alcohol is prevalent, it makes me suspect that this is used as a meeting room of sort. The number of seats hint at five or six people and I presume that the cult¡¯s leadership may include people we haven¡¯t met yet. After a short exchange of niceties, Bingle tells our cover story in a performance I judge passable while I do my best to ignore lady Abernathy¡¯s inspection of my appearance. I pretend not to notice, and play the tired and reserved niece until her attention switches to Loth. Free of scrutiny, I examine our surroundings. There is nothing untoward here. No scent of blood or corpse, no suspicious sounds. Were it not for the strange stench emanating from the woman at my side, I could have closed my eyes and imagined being back in New Orleans. With the niceties out of the way, our host finally hits his stride, much to my dismay. ¡°America was meant to be a land of opportunity and so it was for a short while, but man needs to rule and be ruled and now states and governments spread everywhere to bring order to what they perceive as chaos but in the end is just what Rousseau would say is the state of nature." ¡°Rousseau assumed Man to be good at heart, however...¡± answers Loth. ¡°Ah, a fellow philosopher? Would you not agree that...¡± And so they go on. Bingle who I suspect does not care the least about the enlightened philosopher and would prefer to treat every Frenchman as if they were the devil himself pouts in silence. It seems that not being the center of attention is an uncomfortable and unfamiliar feeling for our brave gentleman. I, however, pray that they finish their pointless conversation with commendable haste, or else... To my chagrin, Abernathy keeps on leading the conversation in the tried and true method which consists in asking a question, pretending to listen, and then saying what you wanted to say to begin with. Now he has ¡°masterfully¡± led us to where he wanted to be and starts his main point as tea is served by a shy maid. ¡°We who traveled across the ocean to this place have brought with us chains. Those chains I speak of are chains of the mind. We still worship what we should study and pray to what we should strive to understand. The judgement of others stirs the direction in which we...¡± Yadda yadda yadda I deem myself a scientist and ethical concerns hold me back. I get it. Abernathy now leans forward with a mad glint in his eye, his slight frame animated by the manic energy of the fanatic. ¡°You do not seem to agree, Miss Delaney.¡± I should have better schooled my expression. This pretentious fop is dancing a waltz on my already frayed nerve. Should I play the dumb blond? Should I throw Aristotles in the fragile construct of his theory? Should I START KILLING. ENOUGH GAMES. ¡°Mr. Abernathy, the road has been long and tiring...¡± ¡°Yes darling,¡± adds his wife who had been standing there like a scarecrow, ¡°we of the fairer sex have little taste for those grand endeavors, let me take care of the young Lady while you men remake the world.¡± ¡°A fair point, I wouldn¡¯t want to... overtax you.¡± Jerk. I stand and bow stiffly. Yes, a breath of fresh air and a drink is exactly what I need right now. ¡°Take good care of yourself niece, we shall see you again later.¡± Yes don¡¯t worry old man I shall take really good care of myself, indulge even. The mistress of the house holds my hand and drags me out in the corridor and deeper into the mansion, which I will tolerate without severing it from the rest of her arm nail after nail, knuckle after knuckle, because I am patient and perfectly in control. After a while, we enter a small tearoom with a roaring fire and decoration in shades of red and white, to no one¡¯s surprise. A woman in a maid uniform is stirring a log with a cast iron poker. ¡°My, your hand is freezing. How about some tea?¡± ¡°I would appreciate something hot to drink, Mrs. Abernathy.¡± ¡°Excellent. Rose, please give her a cup, my house blend.¡± The maid nods silently. While the water boils, I notice that she has the same wrong smell as her employer, and she¡¯s almost paralyzed by anxiety. ¡°You must forgive my husband. Ah, those men, always remaking the universe from the comfort of their seats while we toil to make the world around us better through action. I must confess that all those talks about ethics are going over my head!¡± ¡°Indeed?¡± I could suggest that she read the classics, starting with Socrates. I remember fighting with Achille, stating that we should act in accordance with virtue, not with what seems the most convenient at the time. I remember him telling me women did not understand such things. I remember informing him this was taken directly from Aristotle¡¯s Nicomachean ethics. I remember him mumbling something. I remember needling him about it for a whole week. Good times. It doesn¡¯t matter. We are on opposite sides of the conflict. I feel no need to advise someone I may have to kill. I do not have the patience. We exchange a few platitudes until the maid comes and serves me tea. I bring the cup to my lips and take a deep breath in. Essence of laudanum. A very powerful anesthetic. A single gulp would have sent me to dreamland for the next few hours. I raise my eyes to Mrs. Abernathy. I will not consider this oath-breaking because we are already hostile. This is more ruse or.... Huh? What?! I watch, astonished as Rose swings the iron poker with all her might and crashes it against the mistress of the house¡¯s temple. I hear a wet crunch and the woman falls like a puppet with its strings cut. Huh. Wow. She¡¯s dead. The maid killed her employer in front of me. Finally, something amusing. ¡°Ssssh! Please do not scream,¡± she whispers ¡°I mean you no harm!¡± Miss, that would work better if you were not waving that red-tinged poker around? Common sense? Nevermind, let me just nod. ¡°Please do not drink the tea, as it is poisoned. I apologize for this, but we must speak at all costs. Your companions and you are in grave danger! This place is not what it seems. It is a den of sin and iniquity of the most grievous sort! I beg of you, escape this place and take me with you!¡± I turn to the corpse of my deceitful host. The blood dripping from her temple and nose smells abominable. It is not disease or a spell but something tainted and abject. I feel as if someone had taken a painter¡¯s masterpiece and covered it in feces. I am beyond disgusted. I will never, ever partake of it. I look at the maid. She is a tall and sturdy girl and the loose uniform barely hides her well-endowed figure. Her face has a kind of honest beauty to it. I would think her smart but guileless. This sudden murder is rather unexpected. Alarmingly, she has the same revolting smell as her former employer. I knew it. I should have fed from Dalton. Why did I wait? Gah. So Thirsty... ¡°She is in on this conspiracy. Please, I know you must be alarmed and that this is difficult to accept but you must believe me! Those people here, Abernathy, everyone! They kidnap settlers and then they... They.... Snif. God as my witness you are my only chance. We must save your friends and escape!¡± I need to find them, and I need to find Dalton. ¡°We expected this. We are looking for someone who was abducted.¡± ¡°Wait. You knew? And you still came?! The three of you?!¡± ¡°We, ah, underestimated the size of the group.¡± ¡°There is almost a hundred people on the compound! Fighting is folly!¡± ¡°It is too late now. Let us meet up with the others and at least get our gear back. We can discuss a plan then.¡± ¡°Right, quickly before she wakes up.¡± She says. Huh... If she wakes up from that she can start her own religion. Nevermind, I should not mention it now. There is no reason to risk her turning hysterical. That would be the last thing I need. The first thing I need is blood, and quickly. ¡°Lead the way back to the salon. With any luck they are still listening to Abernathy¡¯s disjointed rant so my uncle and his friend can overwhelm him.¡± I grab the late mistress under her shoulder and pull her behind a couch, then I cover her with a table sheet while trying to ignore the smell of excrement. When I return to Rose, she is staring at me warily. Ah yes, I was supposed to be the brainless blonde. ¡°Ah, you are more, hm, resourceful than I thought.¡± ¡°I came prepared, although not prepared for this. You surprised me.¡± ¡°I...I suppose. I shall lead the way! Stay behind me and all should be well. Yes.¡± We walk back through an empty corridor. Yes, I remember. Now we go right and... I hold Rose back as she is about to turn and pull her towards me. She looks at me in confusion until I hold a finger in front of my lips and point towards our destination. We peek across the corner. A large group of very burly men is dragging two struggling shapes to parts unknown. There goes the team. I knew this was a stupid idea from the beginning! I should never, NEVER HAD AGREED. PATHETIC HUNTERS. BUFFOONS. Alright. Calm. Enough. Loth has probably decided to play along and he is counting on me to drink, I mean to save him later. Alright. I can¡¯t just go in and DROWN THE PLACE IN TAINTED BLOOD, HOW DARE THEY. ROACHES. MONGRELS. Yes. Yes yes yes fine, I shall wait. I shall rescue them the old-fashioned way, with dumb luck and outrageous plans that should not work. ¡°Nooooo we are too late! What should we do?!¡± My unfortunate companion whispers. ¡°Calm down. Do you know where they are taken?¡± ¡°Yes. Yes I do, all the prisoners are held in cells inside the mountain.¡± Inside the mountain?! What is this?! Shakespeare¡¯s Tempest? Will I meet queen Mab and Puck? Gah. This is all Bingle¡¯s fault! Him and his stupid fate magic! ¡°Can you lead me there?¡± ¡°Yes I was held there before I... before I joined them.¡± She shivers. ¡°There will be guards and other people on the way.¡± ¡°We need weapons and we need a disguise. Weapons first. Do you know where they took the carriage?¡± ¡°I do, near the stables and the pens. Follow me!¡± Chapter 23: Into the Heart I trail Rose through a set of doors and smaller stairs. We do not come across anyone and soon reach a side of the manor. In front of me stand the stables and in the distance, I can see a few barns of great size, possibly home to over a hundred beasts. More houses rise around interspersed with trees.After a quick glance to the for serenity and good luck, I order Rose to walk ahead while I stealthily move after her. My guide only crosses path with a patrol of two burly men walking around before we reach our destination. I easily avoid them by sticking to the shadows. There is something wrong with them that I had not noticed on the gate guards. They carry the same smell as lady Abernathy, only stronger. There is something too mechanical about their steps and their skin is too smooth for outdoor people. Their vigilance is also terribly lacking. It is not due to overconfidence or laziness, rather, their eyes are fixed in front of them with a strange focus instead of roaming around like proper scouts, seeing nothing and everything at once. All my instincts scream not in fear, but in outrage. This is more than blood wasted, the people here have desecrated that which should have remained untouched, for the good of everyone. I need to get to the bottom of this and stop it, even if it means revealing what I am. We enter the stable in total silence. Once more I grab Rose. ¡°Shhh, do you smell this?¡± ¡°Smell what?¡± ¡°Blood and death.¡± The woman moves in the darkness with a lack of concern I find both admirable and stupid. A moment later, she bumps into a prone body and falls with a most unladylike epithet. ¡°Perhaps this will help?¡± I add as I light a lantern. ¡°Ah, hum, of course, silly me. I just¡­. Wanted to be inconspicuous, in case¡­ Lord above!¡± Inconspicuous? You opened the door like a drunk octogenarian, fumbled like a gravid hippopotamus and managed to fall heel over head? You are as inconspicuous as an eight-month pregnancy, you undrinkable daft sow. Let me just kill every last person here besides Loth, set everything on fire, then sod off. Gah. ¡°Somebody is dead! Oh my God! There is blood everywhere!¡± I help the woman stand up and make sure she doesn¡¯t get blood on the white part of her dress. The lantern''s light falls on the remains of a burly man. He had his throat slit. Whoever did it left nothing to chance. The wound is so deep his head is half-detached. I move the lantern to the open door of the carriage, and another door opposite us. Another guard lies dead against it. The front of his chest is a mangled mess of shredded fabric and gaping puncture wounds. He was stabbed with incredible savagery. Dalton. I cannot pick the scent of pure blood, not even a hint. A quick look in the carriage confirms that our conventional weaponry is gone. He made it out with our guns. I choose to believe he will fulfill his part but this display of absurd violence makes me¡­ PROUD. COMPETENT VASSAL. DUTIFUL. CUNNING. WILL REWARD. Oh no no no no no dear instincts of mine, let us not get carried away. This is a good point however¡­ Ah, later. ¡°Our weapons are gone, and so is our ally, we must¡­¡± Rose is looking quite green around the gills. Perhaps throwing up will make her feel better? ¡°Rose?¡± ¡°My, My God¡­ All this blood. And¡­ Those people are.¡± I rotate the woman and stare into her eyes. ¡°Rose, I know you are unaccustomed to violence and this is hard to take, but now I need you to focus. We are still very much in danger. I need you to help me find the others, so we can all leave together.¡± ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t want to go back there. They dragged me in after they raided our caravan¡­ I did not want to, but I drunk the¡­ Jesus¡­¡± ¡°You drank what? Blood?¡± She gasps. ¡°How did you know!?¡± ¡°It is standard for a cult. They do this to make you feel bad, to make you feel like you do not deserve to be saved, but redemption does not depend on them now does it?¡± ¡°No, no indeed, it depends on the will of God. I¡­ I will not let them win! I will be redeemed, once we find and save the others. If I turn away now, I will never forgive myself!¡± There, it worked. ¡°Oh, miss Ariane, you are so strong and courageous. How I wish I could be like you!¡± ¡°Shhh, you are more courageous than you know Rose. You fought their influence alone, and you saved me from the poison. Use this iron will of yours, for the night is not done. Are you with me?¡± ¡°Yes, by God, yes. I shall show you the way.¡± Gah, finally. Why do all my motivational talks make the others think of God? I assure you, he was not included in the making of me. After drying her tears, my guide raises herself to her full height, takes a deep breath and we step outside. I follow Rose through paths and thickets to the edge of the mountain, until I see it. If the estate itself has already been impressive, this goes beyond my expectations. Two torches sit in a small clearing with a stone path leading to an impressive gate into the very rock. I am reminded of the vampire fortress access to the underground structure, so grandiose and unexpected the view is. Three guards stand with muskets and torches around it. There will be no sneaking in, at all. ¡°I need a disguise.¡± ¡°Oh, yes, that would be better. Hum, I know!¡± I follow her back. The cult¡¯s quarters are not only barracks as I had assumed. The women have their own personal sheds. I assume that Abernathy drags the choice morsels to one of his opulent bedrooms when the urge takes him, so the sheds are meant to provide intimacy for lieutenants. That brings all of them in the rapist category. There is no consent when the alternative is death. We find an unlocked door which Rose pushes open. ¡°This used to belong to Sophia but she... She disappeared shortly after I got inducted.¡± Guilt mars her expression before she regains control. She does have a good heart. As for the dearly departed Sophia, I do not doubt that she was set as an example. I do not believe for a moment that Abernathy believes in the sanctity of human lives. In short order, I put on a maid uniform. It is a bit tight around the hips as usual. It will be a pain to move in. We clean up and reach the gate once more. There are four sentinels this time, all alert. Most of them wear a dull brown overcoat except one. He is wearing all white and radiates arrogance. Behind me, I can hear shouts and the barks of dogs. It appears that someone kicked the hornet¡¯s nest. Rose leads the way and I smell tainted blood. A drying pool of respectable size was spilled to the door¡¯s right. Four pairs of eyes follow us and when we arrive, one of the men interrupts us. ¡°And what are you doing here, Rose?¡± ¡°We carry a message for the jailers. Let us through.¡± ¡°Do you, now? And why are you the one to carry this message? Should it not be a guard as usual?¡± I smell fear from her. She is about to falter. As expected, she is not one for deceit. ¡°All the guards are covering the ground so they can flush out the intruders, sir.¡± The man turns to me and raises an eyebrow. His eyes roam over my body with a complete lack of decency. He might be clean and tidy, but there is something twisted about him that reminds me of the Lancaster. Malice backed by cunning. ¡°Hmm. And who might you be?¡± ¡°Ari sir, I... I... drank yesterday.¡± The man is more alert and careful than all the others put together. I put out my best act. I lower my head in embarrassment. I am the newcomer, not quite yet indoctrinated. I feel fingers reaching for my chin. MAIM GUT KILL. No, later, he is no threat to me. I can kill him when I want. He lifts my face. I keep my eyes lowered so he doesn¡¯t see the fury in them. ¡°You do have the pure skin...¡± ¡°Leonard! This is not the time for your games!¡± Rose came to my defense. ¡°Of course, I will see you two... later.¡± Rose grabs my hand. We rush up some stupid stairs. Breathe in, breathe out. I can do it. Everything is under control. I will free the stumbling idiots then TEAR LIMB RIP HEAD PULL INNARDS. ¡°Hsss¡± ¡°Miss Ariane?¡± ¡°... Nothing.¡± Can¡¯t look up now. hidden. Must focus. Rose quietly guides me up a massive central staircase and then through a big side door. The two men guarding it let us pass without a word. I smell Dalton¡¯s blood. Not enough to kill him. Soooo intoxicating. Why did I ever refuse him? He shall be rewarded for his efforts, I will bless him with my kiss. A proper . Yes, I will do all of that. The passage we take is much darker than the previous one. The stone is rough and sparsely lit by torches. We follow it to yet another door, without guard this time. I get in to the sound of flesh hitting flesh. We stand in an antechamber. It is a guard post of sorts, with chairs, a rough wooden table with a deck of cards and a rack holding rifles and crude sabers. A pistol was left unattended and its handle bears the enticing smell of Dalton¡¯s blood. Light shines through an opening leading to a well-lit chamber ahead. I hold Rose and take a moment to lock the door with a set of keys next to it, which I then hide in a barrel. I open the firing mechanism of every musket I find and let the powder drop on the ground. After I am done, we cross the threshold. This is a large guards room, mostly devoid of furniture but for chests and table set against the wall. Five men are gathered in a circle kicking the prostrated form of Dalton. No, HE IS MINE TO DISPOSE OF AS I WISH. ¡°Gentlemen? Excuse me? Hello?¡± The group slows the beating. They blink and look at us like people waking up from sleep. It seems that most guards lack something essential, a sense of self perhaps. They are just too passive. A bit like... Drones. ¡°We are here to see the prisoners. One of you will lead us to them. Now.¡± I sense resistance. They are still human, and I do not fit into the category of people who can give them orders. They stir. ¡°We were sent by the Master himself. Do not waste his time.¡± I back the claim by the barest hint of suggestion. I focus on the one who seems most alert. ¡°Fair enough. Philips, you show them our guests. The rest of you back to your post. And you Wallace, take the boy to a cell.¡± Wallace and Philips move and open the reinforced door opposite the entrance with the grace and energy I associate with ruminants. We follow them inside a narrow corridor lined with cells. I close the door behind us which makes Rose look at me with worry, and catch up to the group. I bypass the girl and lift a truncheon from Wallace¡¯s belt. He does not notice. Wallace drags Dalton¡¯s unconscious form inside one of the dark rooms. It takes all my self-control not to follow them. The NEEDS US. PROTECT THEN CONSUME. No, I shall stick to my plan. Philips leads us to the very last cell. As the door clanks open, I smash the truncheon in his neck with far too much strength. The noise is covered by the whine of the rusty hinge. I pick the key and wordlessly hand it to Rose. There must be something wrong with me because she pales and nods frantically. We pass one another. She stinks. They all do. They do not belong here, on this planet. They need to die. I get in Dalton¡¯s cell at an unhurried pace. The cow-like guard stares dumbly when I get in. He looks surprised when my hand wraps around his trachea. His eyes bulge when I wrench his neck like a chicken¡¯s. I throw the twitching corpse to the side. What have they done to my A single liquid eye opens, unfocused. The other is covered by a purple bruise. Blood everywhere. They broke his nose. Thirsty, so Thirsty. He lifts a wounded arm to me. I grab his chain. I pop the collar like a rotten piece of fabric. There is something calm and relaxed in him, a sense of certainty, faith. I lick the wound on his brow. The blood calls to me. The tear is healed. The is safer, as it should be. I feel weird, and I feel like I am starving. I need to feed but it will kill him. I don¡¯t want to kill him. He is my not cattle. The first one. THE FIRST OF MANY. Somebody enters behind me. Man, Fresh sweat, Cologne. The adventurer. CAN KILL. No, oath break, oath to Loth. Cannot drink friends and business partner. THIRST. HAND REACHING FOR ME. NO RIGHT. TEAR LIMB. ¡°Cecil.¡± ¡°Ah, my apologies, I forgot, Loth. No touching. The boy though¡­¡± ¡°Let me handle it. She is very fragile. Please wait for us outside, aye?¡± ¡°Very well my friend, I am sorry.¡± ¡°Not yer fault.¡± Someone steps out. Mountain and steel get closer. Loth. Ally. Oath. Must not KILL. ¡°I¡¯ll help him.¡± needs help. Ally can offer. I cannot. Not in control. THIRSTY. I nod. Yes, ally. Do it. Mountain and steel leans forward. ¡°I need to get my supplies back. It¡¯s in the guard room. I will be back.¡± ¡°I am sorry Ariane...¡± Stupid, fragile, slow mortals. If Master were here, we could just tear through them and be done. I repeat myself, in English this time. ¡°Six little preys, fire sticks neutered. Do not let them run.¡± ¡°Alright.¡± Stinky woman comes closer. Temporary ally. Still useful. Displays worry, concern, not a threat. Sounds from exit. Fighting. Noisy one making claims, being boisterous. Sounds of flesh beaten and torn. Can feel the silent rage of the mountain and steel. Good. Soon done. Mountain Is back. Applies magic to Vassal¡¯s wound. Stable. Good. ¡°We need ta go. Rose, pick Dalton.¡± ¡°What about miss Ariane?¡± ¡°She will follow and no matter what, do not touch her, aye?¡± ¡°Yes, sir.¡± The stinky woman picks up the V with reverence. Care. Only stinky, still useful. Tolerate for now. Cannot touch . Could kill. Follow through doors, bowels of rock. Stinky woman guides from behind. Reach vast staircase. Go up. Hear sounds. Go left. Close access. They go up. I follow, I do not follow. Something in the way. Metal bars with Silver thingie. Magic. ¡°Ari, look at me.¡± Says steel and mountain. I do. ¡°You need to go back and hide before they find us. We triggered the alarm. Try to hide. We¡¯ll come back for you alright? You need to make it out." I nod. Try to hide. THIRST. They leave. Know where to hide. Up. Climb up, one hand, one foot on each wall. Hidden. Wait. Men come in. A dozen. Torches. A dog whimpers. Three of them are dressed in white, the other ten or so, in brown. The dog panics. Two of the white ones are arguing. Dog tries to run. One of the white ones frowns. Sniffs the air. Brows raise. It looks up. It sees me. It smiles. I am no longer hidden. Something bumps against my chin. It is a pendant. I know it. Inside there is a note stained by tear. S?a??h th? N?v?l(F)ire.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. It says this: ¡°I love you, remember your promise.¡± I cannot die before my father. I made the oath. ¡°Well my pretty, let¡¯s get you down.¡± There are no witnesses here. Only the stinky ones and my oath. ¡°HSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS.¡± ¡°Ah, SHIT!¡± I drop. Beautiful patterns in shades and strands. Pure red, stained beyond measure, both holy and blasphemous. I can hear them sing. They long to be free. I have ten needles and eight knives. The eight knives cannot do. They, too, are holy. The needles are used for dirty work, like now. Patterns flow free and pure. Other patterns fall towards me, they want to stop the dance but cannot. The dance is alive with the song of the night, the purity of the . Brown canvas falls quickly, the white canvas leave so that they are the head of the painting. It is alright, they are leading me to something greater. I go through a neck in the fabric. More brown pieces of canvas join at the shoulders. I follow the three white ones towards the right arm. Some of the canvas use faster and noisier patterns and one of them bites into me. It does not hurt much, but a little of the precious liquid is lost. My own ink. It calls for more, too concentrated. Strong but tired. I need more so that I can keep painting. More canvas is unmade as potential and made as fleeting perfection. Their strands blow like stars and bouquets, beautiful and rotten. The three go to another neck. I follow, there is no more brown canvas. I enter a room. A circle on the ground. Yet another canvas stands with the three others. This one is untainted. I can get more ink! I move forward and the circle comes alive. Patterns of silver block my way. Impregnable. I am trapped? Keep pushing the pattern until I¡­ NO! Hurts hurts hurts hurts dammit. So Thirsty so Thirsty cannot take it anymore. Never since Moore¡­ Alright, need to focus. ¡°I knew your kind would show up. Your arrogance and selfishness know no bounds. You try to keep the secrets of immortality to yourselves! But you will not triumph, oh no, this is a new world and a new century. A time of science and enlightenment. No longer will your powers be in the hands of the few. I shall usher in a New Age of¡­¡± Breathe in breathe out breathe in breathe out. Push the pain away from the core. Think. Instincts will not help here. I am inside of a magic circle. I am trapped. But not all is lost. Loth taught me the basics of magic and I know what I can do to escape. Magic requires three things: power, symbolism, and will. The power feeds magic in the working. Symbolism is the core of the working. Symbols are used to translate power into concepts. Mages use runes, bones, dice, and so on to give a frame, boundaries. Will shapes the meaning and unleashes it upon the real world. Thus is intent made manifest and reality is altered. I do not have Power; therefore I cannot cast spells. Loth mentioned that old vampires can use blood magic but this is an impossibility for me. I cannot counter the spell. I cannot stop the power, nor the will. I can, however, ruin the symbols. I slowly grab Jimena¡¯s gift from a holster against my thigh. Everything hurts. I can¡¯t even stand straight, so intense is the pain in my guts. I look at the circle. I recognize the runes. Western Standard. All mages from Europe use it, with minimal variation. There should be. There. The rune for Ulz, containment. I stab towards it. ¡°AAAAAAAAAAHHHH¡± Burns, Skin scalded but "containment" rune is now "understanding" rune. The circle flickers. The man stops talking. Need one more. Change hand. Find another Ulz. Stab. ¡°AAaahhhhahah¡± Dry sobs, Other hand hurts. Firesticks roar and something punches me in the left arm, something else in my breast. I cough blood. Arm dangles. Dagger fallen. Pick up with other arm. I walk forward, too wounded to run, too weak to . A man in white is too stunned. Slit throat. Tainted blood. Need the leader. Another man jumps at me. ¡°Fire Whip!¡± I swipe where I know the spell will lash. Easy to predict. The man falters. I stab him. I keep moving. Leader back against the wall. Cannot fight anymore¡­ Barely enough strength to¡­ ¡°Noooo stay away!¡± Nasty dagger aimed at my chest. Cannot block. Need to take and bite at the same time. Thock Mind pops like a bubble. ¡­Huh? I fall. Dark red blood spills on the ground. Thoughts... Broken... Huh? Exhaustion. Darkness. Chapter 24: Valor ¡°¡­ Potent blood for the experiments, Leonard¡­¡±¡°¡­ Over there next to the others, and cover her in chains¡­¡± ¡°¡­ Costly, but think of the possibilities! She is fully turned; we now have a benchmark¡­¡± Time passes. Sometimes I move my eyes. There are bricks. Sometimes I hear a sound. People are crying. Sometimes I smell fear and unwashed bodies. And blood. Time passes. I cough. A few droplets flash blue and turn to ash. Time passes. A flake of ash falls from my finger. It won¡¯t be long now. Time passes. Something is traveling underground. When it emerges from the ground, all will be ash. Time passes. It¡¯s cold, and sometimes very hot when I cough, but mostly cold. Time passes. Something grabs me. Pair of brown eyes. Worry, pain, guilt. I close my eyes. ¡°No, Ari, Tyr, Ari, stay with me.¡± ¡°Loth¡­¡± ¡°Sod off Cecil, she ain¡¯t dead yet. I need privacy. NOW!¡± Something wet falls on my face. I breathe in. Steel and Mountain. Feels safe. Can go now. ¡°No no no no it¡¯s my bloody fault. Don¡¯t ye dare. Don¡¯t ye fucking dare leave. Alright, alright. No choice you daft old cunt. You brought her here. Now pay the price. Only ye can do it. Right. Right, hold on girl. This old fool got ye.¡± I breathe in something fantastic. Absolutely incredible. Exquisite. I open my eyes, a red wrist. It forcefully parts my cracked lips. The pure liquid seeps on my tongue, drips down my throat. Aaaaahhh Yes. ¡°Ariane, please, Tyr, answer me.¡± My consciousness rises to the surface. ¡°L¡­ Loth?¡± ¡°Yes. Yes, I¡¯m here lass. I¡¯m here.¡± I cough a bit. I spit out something sticky and disgusting. I feel a wet cloth clean my mouth. ¡°How are ye feeling,¡± ¡°Hnn¡­As if Asni and the carriage trampled me a dozen times, then left me to dry under the sun.¡± I crack open my eyes. It¡¯s difficult to concentrate. Things come in and out of focus. All sounds come to me distorted. ¡°I¡­ Feel so weak.¡± ¡°Ye¡¯re lucky my blood is potent. I fear¡­. I fear the worst may have happened otherwise. For a fledgling to suffer so much and live¡­ I did not dare hope.¡± I try to lift an arm to my chest but I fail. The left one is bandaged tight and the right one is unusually heavy. ¡°Wow, slow down.¡± ¡°Bandages?¡± ¡°Ye¡¯re still not fully healed. Yer arm was punched clean through. Ye¡¯re lucky it¡¯s still attached. Ye also got lacerations, burn marks and a bullet through the right lung. And yer heart was stabbed.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t feel Thirsty¡­¡± ¡°What can I say, I am delicious.¡± We stay silent for a while, then... ¡°I think I need a moment.¡± I feel pain, though less than I should. More than that I feel empty, drained. I know we are probably still in danger but cannot bring myself to care. A little of the apathy I felt earlier still clings to my psyche despite the holes in my chest now being closed. I decide to focus on just breathing, not because I need air, but because it has always helped me settle. I count thirty cycles before I turn my face up to Loth again. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t we be on the move?¡± ¡°We need some time to organize the prisoners we just freed. The cultists have taken some of them and regrouped higher in the mountain complex. We must prepare before we continue.¡± ¡°How are the others?¡± ¡°Everybody is fine. Dalton has cracked ribs, nothing too serious. I gave him a tonic and he will be able to function for another four hours, then he will crash down.¡± Loth pauses long enough for me to realize he is considering something. ¡°He found you.¡± ¡°He did?¡± ¡°Yes. He knew where you went, somehow. You bonded. We will have to discuss this later, in greater detail, when we have time.¡± ¡°Right. Do we have a plan to get out? I cannot fight anymore tonight.¡± ¡°I think you will need a few days to recover, at the very least. Before we discuss a plan I have to ask. What happened? What managed to take you down?¡± I recount my evening to Loth. He frowns at the mention of tainted blood, raises his eyebrows in surprise when I mention that there are two mages left, and shows barely restrained anger when I share my pain. ¡°There, you have it. I expect that there are at least twenty more guards, fifteen tops if they did not pull back from the property grounds. The two mages are also a problem.¡± ¡°Yer immense Thirst almost killed ye because I did not anticipate this¡­¡± ¡°You could not¡­¡± ¡°Do not make excuses fer me, young one. I brought you on my raid and ye almost starved. This is my failure, and I will reflect on it when we are done here. As for the plan, I will explain when everyone is ready.¡± I finally take the time to look around. We stand in the middle of a vast, rectangular room with a single wide door. Chains are attached to the bare stone wall at regular intervals. Most are empty, but some still hold captives. As I watch, Bingle and Dalton walk around to free prisoners. They are a sorry lot, thin and weakened, but most look angry and eager for revenge. A small group of women stands near the exit huddling together protectively. Every one of them is pale and filthy. The cell has a rancid stench of unwashed bodies, old sweat, and excrement. ¡°Maybe we should¡­¡± ¡°Let¡¯s wait for a while. When we found ye, ye looked like a corpse. I thought¡­ Nevermind that lass. Just give it one more minute. Ye¡¯re already haler.¡± Hale? A vampire? I begin to protest, however, I realize that I do not want to move. I am warm here, and safe. Just five more minutes, then I will stand up. ¡°Mmmrglm?¡± ¡°Sorry Ari, we gotta go now. Come on.¡± Loth hoists me up and drags me to the rest of the group. I can barely put one foot in front of the other. Two women I do not know rush to take me under the armpit. ¡°We thought you were dead miss.¡± ¡°I thought I was dead too.¡± I close my eyes for a while until I hear someone clearing their throat. I look up to see Bingle¡¯s worried face. ¡°Miss Delaney, I cannot express how sorry I am to see you in this state. I failed to protect you. My shame knows no bounds.¡± ¡°Do not fret good sir, if you recall, this was my decision to put myself in harm¡¯s way.¡± ¡°And I remember recommending against it, and if you had followed my recommendation, I would be currently rotting in a cell and awaiting a fate most cruel. You saved my life twice tonight, miss Delaney, when you braved those corridors to free me, and when you sabotaged our jailor¡¯s muskets. I shall never forget it. You have my word as a Bingle!¡± ¡°Ah, I thank you for your gratitude, and yet I cannot accept it, for are we not saving each other? In the face of such evil, can good souls do else but to rise up to the challenge?¡± ¡°Well said, I say, well said! By Jove, what a loss it is for the armed forces that you were born a woman! I am most blessed to have met people such as you and Loth!¡± ¡°Thank you, Mr. Bingle. Now, I dare not ask, but did you find Mrs. Schaffer?¡± Ah, I should not have asked. How very tactless of me. ¡°Alas no. But I do not despair! There are still captives to be saved, and if not, I shall find a trace of her passage. I shall not grieve, nor relent until the light is shed on her fate, whatever it may be.¡± There is something chivalrous about this man, an indomitable will to fight with the belief that in the end, Good will triumph. Behind all the boisterous claims and bombastic sentences, Bingle has courage, honor, and compassion. I think he was born in the wrong time, that he should have been a knight riding fearlessly in the defense of the innocents. This anachronism makes him sympathetic and his friend¡¯s certain death all the more tragic. ¡°We can but hope.¡± ¡°Indeed. Now I shall address this crowd and then we will set out to end this menace once and for all.¡± ¡°Do you think it wise, sir? Many of those men are weakened.¡± ¡°Yes miss Delaney, for where you see sheep, I see starving wolves, and they shall be led by a lion.¡± With this ¡°optimistic¡° statement, Bingle calls for anyone¡¯s attention and we gather in a small crowd facing Loth and him. ¡°Ladies and Gentlemen, it is good that we were able to release you from the clutch of those faithless heathens, those worshippers of idols and devilry! Yet our task is not done. Although it is my fondest wish to see you all depart this forsaken place safely, I must ask, nay, beg you for assistance. Indeed, there is still a hurdle on the road to freedom! Our enemies stand strong and we are still in the black heart of their keep. I cannot prevail alone, and I find myself compelled to call on you brave souls for help. I know that your burden was great. You traveled West to find a new life, safe from starvation, oppression, tyranny! And on the cusp of success, succor was stolen from you by the most horrid of foes! Your pains are great and you have lost friends and family, and yet you still stand before me! Undaunted and unbroken!¡± ¡°Yea!¡± ¡°Hear hear!¡± ¡°Those hateful curs thought you an easy take, but settlers are made of stern stuff and they shall regret ever laying their filthy hands on you!¡± ¡°Aye!¡± ¡°And I ask you, my brothers and sisters in arms, will we allow this injustice to continue? Will we bend the knees like pigs to be slaughtered? Will we forfeit our dignity?¡± ¡°Nay!¡± ¡°Indeed not! For our hearts cry for justice and the righteous glory of the Lord! We shall not surrender, we shall overcome, and may God have mercy on their souls!¡± ¡°YEAAAAAAH!¡± I watch mesmerized as Bingle works the crowd. I finally realize why he is so convincing, it is because he is convinced himself. His eyes shine with emotion, his face is reddened with passion. He truly believes this motley crew capable of defeating two dozen well-armed guards, and he will personally lead them into battle. As the yells of fury die down, Bingle asks for everyone¡¯s attention as Loth walks to a wall where he draws a map with white chalk. ¡°The cultists have gathered in their ceremony room. It is a vast open cavern leading to a sheer cliff. It could easily hold two hundred people. We expect the cultist head to be at the altar which is situated in the middle of the cave and close to the edge. There is a main entrance that will undoubtedly be guarded; however, we have found an alternate way. On one side, the cave wall rises to an elevated platform from whence lady Abernathy could watch the proceedings. There is a very small corridor that leads to this platform and we shall take it. We will distribute muskets shortly. The best marksmen will stay on the elevation to provide covering fire while the bulk of us will jump down and engage the guards. Sir Bingle is volunteering to lead the attack himself.¡± With the leader dead, the drones will be affected. I need to make sure it happens sooner rather than later. There are no questions. Loth and Bingle distribute weapons taken from guards. There are truncheons, the odd saber, and a few old muskets. I would be worried if our opponents were not in the same situation. Rose and the men lead the way out and I notice Dalton standing guard outside. He joins me when he sees me. ¡°Thank you, friends, I think I can stand now.¡± The two women let me go with a nod and a knowing smile. Dalton silently hands me my pistol, some ammunition and one of my throwing knives. ¡°There you go, Mistress.¡± In his eyes, I find the same tranquil faith, the same blind acceptance as before. I find it hard to reconcile this peaceful demeanor with the mangled corpse of the stable¡¯s sentinel, its chest turned to ruin by relentless stabbings. It finally occurs to me that Dalton would make an excellent vampire. s?a??h th? Nov?lF?re .??t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. There is, of course, no way for me to turn him into one. I can still keep him as a . ¡°Do you understand the choice you have made? You are bound to me now.¡± ¡°I told you the night we met. I will never betray you and I know where to go.¡± I turn away, unable to face him any longer. I do not want the responsibility of another person¡­ Or do I? It is only suitable for me to have a Vassal. With him, I can easily hunt bounties, purchase lands, sign contracts¡­ The possibilities are endless. ¡°There is much I can accomplish with you.¡± ¡°Yes, Mistress¡­¡± I can already imagine it. We would track our quarry, then Dalton could handle the authorities while I snack. I would not even have to go into Partridge¡¯s house anymore! No more will I have to face tasteless Christian imagery! This is great! ¡°Are you feeling better Mistress?¡± ¡°Hum? Oh, I can walk but I cannot fight. You will have to do without me.¡± ¡°Not to worry Mistress. I believe your ¡­ Uncle¡­ has reached the end of his patience.¡± We silently move up a set of stairs, down dark alleys and corridors interspersed with storage rooms and studies. We do not meet anyone on the way and the silence is only broken by footsteps and tired breathing. We finally stop while inside a particularly dark and twisted passage and instructions roll down the line in frantic whispers. ¡°We¡¯re there, keep silent and wait for the signal before attacking.¡± What kind of signal would that be anyway? Bingle never said. Was he really an officer of his Majesty¡¯s army? This is amateurish, I believe. Little by little, the group enters a monumental cave. We stand on an elevated balcony with a low stone parapet. Below us, the cavern extends in every direction. Illumination is provided by iron candelabra suspended here and there. The reddish light of torches reflects on the sheer rock with an ominous glint. A natural opening into the side of the cliff on our left only shows the night¡¯s cloudy sky while on our right, the cave ends up in a massive set of doors. Our target stands in the center, surrounded by braziers and armed goons. He holds a chalice over a white altar and as we watch, a captive is dragged to its marble surface to be secured with bindings. A group of prisoners is kneeling beside, waiting for their turn. My senses are coming back and even from here, I can tell that the stench I smelled in everyone comes from what this chalice contains. The fact that I am not shaking with fury is a testament to how weakened I am. Now we just have to get in position while they are focused on making this victim drink¡­ ¡°YOU HAVE SHED BLOOD FOR THE LAST TIME FOUL FIEND! HAVE AT THEM LADS, FOR KING AND COUNTRY! CHAAAAAAAAARGE!!!¡± Bingle grabs one of the ropes that secures a candelabra and cuts it at the base. As the implement falls on the head of an unfortunate goon, he is propelled forward and up, lands feet first on another guard¡¯s chest and rushes the cult head with a furious yell. At the same moment, Loth bellows a deafening roar that washes over the cave as he jumps down and crashes against a hastily drawn line of opponents. They are sent flying like ragdolls before his fury. A second later, the rest of the men reach him and lay into their enemies with vicious enthusiasm. So... That was the signal. Huh. I turn to Dalton and remember to close my mouth. ¡°Did he just?!¡± ¡°It¡¯s been like that for the whole evening, Mistress.¡± My consternation is interrupted when the gates slam open and another squad of guards comes to the help of their beleaguered allies. They are led by a man in white: the surviving mage, Leonard. ¡°Over there!¡± I scream. The musket team was hesitant to shoot at the melee, but the newcomers are exposed and close enough to be easy targets for even an inexperienced marksman. The sounds of detonations and the smell of powder soon fill the air as both groups exchange shots. Two guards soon fall but on our side, one man falls back clutching the ruins of his left hand. ¡°Let me!¡± A burly woman grabs the fallen combatant¡¯s gun while a few others pull him to safety. She reloads with expertise and a few seconds later, yet another guard collapses with a smoking hole in his chest. Seeing that our cover advantage is too great, the mage orders his troop behind him and rushes our position. The balcony is on a slope which means that they will reach us too easily. ¡°Shield!¡± Two lead bullets crash uselessly against a transparent barrier to our side¡¯s consternation. ¡°Sorcery!¡± ¡°Keep firing!¡± I push myself against the wall and Dalton kneels against the parapet. An instant later, five guards led by a furious Leonard jump on the landing and push the men back. I notice Jimena¡¯s knife on his belt. Oh no he didn¡¯t. With a vicious smile, he raises his gauntlet to the fallen shooters and panicked women. ¡°You should have stayed in your cages.¡± That''s when I shoot him. The bullet goes cleanly through his skull and covers his neighbor in brain matter. He should have kept his shield up and his grimy paws off my precious knife. Hah. The drones turn to me and charge. I move to the side and collapse instantly with a hiss of pain. I watch powerless as a guard raises his truncheon. This is going to hurt. Dalton jumps on the foe¡¯s back and stabs him like a madman, my enemy falls with a yelp of pain. Our men regroup and charge back but I watch, powerless, as a second guard raises his truncheon. No escaping it this time, this is going to hurt. ¡°Lady Delaney showed us the way! YAAAAAAA!¡± A massive woman in a white bonnet and the clothes of a baker smashes into the goon with the power of a freight train. I can hear the ¡°oof¡± as air leaves his lungs and the crack of bones when she pins him into the wall like an ugly butterfly. With a deafening shriek, the rest of the women slam into the beleaguered guards with terrifying fury, overwhelming them in seconds. Goons are pummeled into the ground with boots, stones, and white-hot rage. I can scarcely believe my eyes. Not even the Gauntlet displayed this magnitude of unleashed violence. I stand up, pick up my blade and walk from group to group, delivering a jab when the guard is still moving a bit and in short order our victory is total. Below us, the fight is also taking a turn for the better. Our side would have been losing were it not for Loth of Skoragg. Suffice to say, the man has had enough. I can only imagine that following Bingle on his silly adventure has frayed his nerves. He is currently right where he wants to be: in the thick of battle. As I watch, he grabs the neck of an enemy who was about to kill one of our own and throws him in the feet of another. He then dodges a club and punches his assailant in the face, breaking his nose. As the man raises his hands to his face with a cry of pain, Loth gives him a gut punch of such strength that his opponent''s feet lift off the ground, then kicks him in the head. The guard flies back into one of his partners. Half of his teeth stay where they are. I know for a fact that he can kill more efficiently. He is just letting off steam. Men, I swear. My attention turns to Bingle who seems to be in a bit of a predicament. The cultist leader is harrying him with a fire whip spell which he manages to deflect with his saber. Unfortunately, Abernathy manages to snag the blade and tear it out of his hand. Bingle stumbles and Abernathy uses this opening to use a push spell. Our adventurer is propelled against the altar and I can tell he is in pain. I turn around and urge the nearest marksman to look at the leader and shoot him. It is already clear that I will be too late. ¡°You are blinded by your ignorance, fool!¡± screams Abernathy hysterically. ¡°It is you who cannot see.¡± retorts Bingle as he throws the cult¡¯s blood chalice. His opponent is caught off guard and although he stops the goblet with his arm, its contents splash over his face. Bingle ignores his distressed screams to jump back into the fray. He grabs his blade and puts an end to his vile foe. The rest of the cultists still fight to the bitter end, but they are disheartened and without a head to think for them, they only offer us token resistance. In short order, we stand victorious. It is finally over. People cheer and jeer, hug and cry. Bingle walks under the acclamation of the mass. His clothes are singed, he is hurt and tired and yet there is a spring in his step as he walks triumphant from group to group, shaking hands and patting shoulders. Dalton and I gather the wounded and bring them to Loth who sets up a temporary infirmary. There is a lull of activity when everyone catches their breath and I use this opportunity to approach the mouth of the cave. Finally, a reprieve. It is at this moment that I regret never learning how to draw. The land lays before me for miles in so many valleys and plains. The mountain range extends to my right at a sharp angle and the sky is enormous, almost overbearing. The presence of the greets me with its now-familiar light. A fresh breeze blows inside the cavern, making the light dance. It brings with it untainted air, and something else. I turn my gaze to the right when I smell something tantalizing. The perfume is gone as fast as it appeared. Stairs are going up along the cliff. ¡°This leads to the sanctum, Miss Delaney.¡± Says Rose as she walks to me. ¡°We need to explore it, make sure we did not miss anything and destroy the research.¡± ¡°Are you sure? I mean...¡± ¡°Yes, I am sure.¡± I leave the entrance with regret, but I have no choice. The sun will rise in less than four hours and I need to prepare for it. We gather and it is decided that Bingle, Dalton and I will go up while Loth stays with the rest to look after the wounded and protect the group. ¡°Don¡¯t worry lass I¡¯ll take a look later.¡± We set out. Chapter 25: The Source Stairs have been dug into the side of the mountain and railings placed at strategic positions. It does not help, I feel like I am a trespasser in a place that should have remained untamed and untouched.We quickly reach a small landing. Nestled between two planes of the mountain is a shack. It is little more than a shelter and when we enter, I notice that it can barely contain all three of us. A cot and cupboard have been pushed against the farthest wall. Most of the single floor is covered with an alchemy kit and a desk covered in paper. I let the men walk around and quickly find what I knew would be there: a research journal. The tome is hefty so I mostly glance through. The cult leader¡¯s writing is methodical and more importantly, it is not coded, therefore my reading is quick and unimpeded. I soon learn that Abernathy found the place three years ago thanks to hints from a Creek guide. He immediately found something which he refers to as the temple, further up, and studied the inscriptions left behind. Apparently, some of them contained European style alchemical annotations on the art of blood magic. He gathered several rogue mages and followers and moved in. A bit over a year ago someone broke through the temple and destroyed the lab and many of the notes, that is when Abernathy ramped up his activities and started kidnapping people for blood experiments. At the same time, he acquired something he refers to as ¡°the Source¡±. He believed he could produce an elixir of eternal life without the drawbacks of sun sensitivity and bloodlust. The attack on the lab was taken as an attempt to stop him from reaching enlightenment. We have to go up. Dalton and Bingle join me with little to show for their efforts. I wordlessly hand the adventurer a single sheet I took from experiment note. ¡°Subject: Flora Schaffer, female...¡± His voice dies down as he keeps on reading. I already suspected she would be dead of course. This only confirms it. My and I wait in respectful silence until he is done. The grief on his face is palpable. ¡°Forgive me, I need a moment.¡± We step outside, close the gate behind us and wait. I am a bit shaken as I realize that this is the first time I have witnessed the fearless adventurer with such a hopeless expression on his face. ¡°I wanted to ask you something, Mistress.¡± Says Dalton. ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°What are you exactly?¡± I turn to him dumbfounded. ¡°You decided to serve me, yet you do not know what I am?¡± ¡°I knew enough to decide, now I want to know everything.¡± I spend a few minutes telling him about my strengths but also my weakness to fire, silver and the sun. It only occurs to me when I am done that I did not even contemplate him betraying me. My instincts tell me that he will not. We have bonded now. His loyalty is as certain as the dawn. It doesn¡¯t take long for Bingle to join us. ¡°Forgive me for this delay. I am.. I was...¡± I place a comforting hand on his arm and address him with a soothing voice. ¡°There is nothing to apologize for sir, and I can only extend my condolences to you. I know it is poor comfort in the face of such pain, yet I must remind you that without our timely intervention, those unfortunate souls behind us would have suffered a fate most cruel.¡± Bingle seems surprised by my touch; his honest face brims with emotion. ¡°Yes, you are correct. Thank you so much Miss Delaney. We have done well tonight, and though salvation was beyond my grasp, we made sure that vengeance was not. A worthy end, I say!¡± ¡°Indeed. Now, that loathsome man¡¯s notes mention a temple above, and I would like to see it with my own eyes and make sure there is nothing afoot.¡± ¡°Of course, Miss Delaney! Your tenacity and rigor are an inspiration! No stone shall remain unturned until we ascertain that evil has been vanquished!¡± Right. ¡°Then I shall lead the way, forward!¡± Wait, what is wrong with me?! Why did I just say that?! Impossible... Is the man contagious? I certainly hope not. I would not want to turn righteous. My hearing has recovered enough to hear Dalton¡¯s amused chuckle. I may never live this down. We walk for ten minutes at a measured pace along the mountain and up a natural ridge. Eventually, the path turns right to end on a small plateau. Hidden from the worst of the wind, pine trees and knee-high bushes have prospered and spread around the place, turning it into a shelter. I notice regular formations that look too perfect to be the work of nature. Rather, someone grew a garden here and left it for at least a decade. Further up, the valley disappears between two cliffs. This feels awfully familiar. Oh. OH! I remember now. ¡° said Nashoba in that dream months ago. I found it! The place from the dream! Just as I remember it, the blocky architecture clings to the rock as if it had been dug in. Two lion statues stand guard on each side of the main entrance, a little worse for wear. I hear nothing suspicious. ¡°Let me in first Miss Delaney.¡± We enter the so-called temple and look around. The men take out lanterns and light the insides. Abernathy has mentioned that the place had been ransacked. That is not correct. The single room has been devastated by an impact of incredible power. Everything that stands near the door such as a stone bed and fire pit remains intact. Further up, debris litter the floor and the opposite wall has been shattered completely. On the side, I recognize a bare alchemy station under a pile of rocks curiously arranged. I walk closer. Somebody gathered stones with inscription. I recognize the tongue. ¡°Dalton, I need your lantern.¡± It is, of course, a lie for the benefit of Bingle. I read a few runes despite the poor state. Unfortunately, there is not enough to infer a meaning, unless... I walk to the shattered wall, dodging the errant stone. Something smells delicious. I know a very similar scent, from long ago. It¡¯s on the tip of my tongue... I approach the impact. Either someone brought a small cannon or... I place my fist against the central hole and push in. I touch smashed rock when I am elbow deep. Hmm. I take a look inside. The point of origin has a single black spot. Could it be.... I shove hand back in and after fumbling for a few seconds I manage to touch something. When I pull back my index has the slightest hint of a tar-like substance. I rub my fingers and sample the scent. A wave of emotion overcomes me. There is no vitality left yet this fragrance is unmistakable. Stunned, I stand back and realize the crater is surrounded by other runes. I pull two and two together. ¡°What are those Miss Delaney?¡± ¡°A poem in the tongue of Akkad. It says: Little bird flew low and high To the rock and to the sky Little bird flew far and wide Yet always one step behind¡° ¡°I do not understand.¡± ¡°This is a taunt.¡± My Master came here a year ago. He did not find what he was looking for. Someone took it and hid it from him. This is why he came to this remote place. This is also how he¡­ Found me. As to what his target was, I have no idea. If we find a container of some sort, we might get a clue. I decide to keep looking. I am particularly interested in where that precious smell comes from. I turn left and walk to the wall. A particularly well-preserved stone cabinet has escaped the devastation. That is rather suspicious. ¡°Help me move this, I think there might be something there.¡± Both men rush past me, intent on making sure I do not need to work. Alright, so there are some benefits to being of the fairer sex. I would still rather be allowed to go bounty hunting. With little effort, Dalton and Bingle push the piece of furniture out of the way. Light shines into a small bathroom, sparsely equipped with a stone tube and a storage shelf. More interesting is the prostrate figure on the ground. This is where the tantalizing scent comes from. I can¡¯t help myself. I walk past my companions and ignore their warnings. I fall on my knees before the humanoid thing and lift its chin. Two Amber eyes open and blink at me. They are too large to belong on a human face. The thing¡¯s traits have a strange alienness to them, different yet alluring. I think it is male, a he then. I lean closer. He smells so scrumptious, so incredibly delicate. This bouquet, this vitality ... I open my mouth and eight fangs manifest. The man cries a single tear as he shows an acceptance born out of the deepest pits of despair. He knows what I am, he knows what I will do and he has already given up. Good, now I just need to... ¡°Miss Delaney?¡± I close my mouth with a click. If I do this now, I will have to kill Bingle. I do not believe I can hypnotize him into forgetting someone¡¯s death. I don¡¯t want to kill Bingle. No. I do not want my instincts to get in the way of my long term plans. So I slowly force myself away from the most potent, delicious blood I have... S?a??h th? N?v?l(F)ire.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. Wait that¡¯s it. This entity provided the blood that saved my life the night of my escape. Or not. His smell is slightly different, spicier and more mature. I fed on his kind, however. ¡°Miss?¡± I finally force myself to turn. ¡°He¡¯s alive! We need to free him.¡± I compel myself to take a step back from that enticing, delicious smell. Bingle passes me by and kneels. I notice that he still has the keys he used to free the other prisoners fortunately, and that they fit. Hold on he will notice that something is wrong! I turn in a panic, only to see a perfectly normal, if unhealthy man where I left the strange creature. A quick study shows a sort of shimmer around his eyes and ears. ¡°Can you talk lad?¡± ¡°Y...Yes.¡± ¡°Are you hurt anywhere.¡± ¡°No... just sore, thirsty and hungry.¡± But not dirty. How could somebody dirty have such an incredible perfume! ¡°Don¡¯t worry lad. Your troubles are at an end! We shall take good care of you. You have the word of Cecil Rutherford Bingle!¡± Yessssssssss good care. ¡°Mistress you are drooling.¡± Whispers Dalton. ¡°Do you need more blood?¡± ¡°Thank you I¡¯ll be fine.¡± What is wrong with me? Besides the recently skewered heart, nothing. I do not even feel the Thirst. This creature just has a blood that I apparently cannot resist. I will not bite. I will not bite. Maybe just a little... NO! I will not bite. Calm down Ari, this is not like you. Just take a deep breath. Alright, this was a terrible idea. How can this man smell so intoxicating! Gah! ¡°Are you alright Miss Delaney?¡± I look away so he doesn¡¯t see the fangs. ¡°I apologize, it is just, I am sorry I need some fresh air.¡± I stumble out until I reach outside. Up here, a cold wind blows down the flanks of the mountain and carries on it hints of pine. I start feeling better or at least, more in control. Only a short while later, the three men exit the structure. In the open, the temptation is not so strong. Bingle looks at me with empathy and leads the way down. I follow him while Dalton supports the strange creature. I do not dare get closer. Actually, Bingle has his back to me so I suppose I could indulge... No. No! Oh, that is it. Get a hold of yourself Ariane! This is unsightly! I am no slave to my impulses. As I slap my cheek, the softest breeze caresses my ears as something whispers to me. ¡°Why did you spare me Nightwalker?¡± ¡°WOW!¡± ¡°Mistress?¡± ¡°Miss Delaney?¡± ¡°Hum sorry! Sorry everyone, I just missed a step.¡± Dalton is dubious and Bingle full of concern. ¡°Miss Delaney, I apologize! I should have remembered your ordeal! Foolish me! You, hrm, if you, hrm, if it is not too impertinent of me to offer, you may take my arm. I shall lead you to safety!¡± Yes, let me be downwind before I do something we shall all regret. ¡°If it is not too much trouble...¡± I approach and grabs his muscular arm. Hum! This is not entirely unpleasant. The man himself radiates with pride, it seems that my trust means a lot to him. Perhaps I should not offer my back to this creature though. It made it clear it knows what I am. ¡°Is this a cruel trap, Nightwalker?¡± Whispers the wind once more. ¡°My name is Ariane¡± I grumble back, too low to be heard by the humans. ¡°Very well, since you have given me the gift of courtesy I shall reciprocate. I am Sinead.¡± We continue our conversation in the same manner. ¡°What are you?¡± ¡°You truly do not know?¡± ¡°I wouldn¡¯t ask otherwise!¡± I softly hiss. ¡°Your kind calls us trespassers or errant ones. We are from far away¡­¡± ¡°How far is far away? India? Nippon?¡± ¡°We are from another dimension.¡± ¡°Ah¡­Really?! How did you even come here?!¡± The wind sighs with annoyance. ¡°My kind likes to play games. Sometimes we slip and fall into other worlds. This would not be an issue if your plane was not so heavy.¡± ¡°Huh?¡± ¡°Your reality is rigid. We cannot get through it. It resists us too much. We cannot get back and so we are lost, trespassers and prey.¡± ¡°Prey?¡± ¡°You must be young... Your kind captures us and harvests our immortal blood. It is kept in secure containers to be drunk as an emergency. We are slaves and cattle to you lot. Barely better than animals.¡± He adds with resentment. I now understand. Six months ago, I should have died from the wounds I suffered at the hand of Jimena. Only a miracle could have saved me, and this miracle was the blood of his species. ¡°I do not understand! I thought that blood must be consumed on the spot!¡± ¡°We are immortal. We do not age, and so our blood can keep its vitality indefinitely if harvested properly.¡± ¡°I never knew...¡± ¡°Curious, I would expect clans to inform their members of our existence so that you know not to devour us instantly should you happen upon our kind. It would be too merciful a fate, I suppose... Our essence remains bound to the blood so only a limited amount of elixirs can be harvested from the same captive, who then needs to be kept alive. My people has been reduced to kept assets and fugitives like me.¡± If what he says is true, and I believe him, then Jimena gave up on an incredible treasure to help me. What I used to run home could have been employed in combat to save her life instead! My gratitude towards her only ever grows. Why did she not mention it? Well, I am not surprised that my friend would try to hide the extent of her sacrifice, and yet there could be something else. Vampires may attempt to hush the existence of such a powerful secret weapon. I will have to be discreet. ¡°I know not what you have planned,¡± Says Sinead, ¡°and so I am left at the mercy of a creature of the night...¡± He goes on like that for a while and I learn a few interesting things. His species is called the Likaeans and they are powerful magic users. On their home plane, they can manipulate the very essence of reality the way a great painter manipulates colors. Down here, they are limited to a few tricks and illusions. I also learn that Sinead is by default the leader of his kind, the most powerful Likaean here, and that he has a second of sort. Finally I learn that Sinead is an absolute drama queen. Honestly, I am impressed. Grand declamations, laments and inflamed discourses pour ceaselessly from his lips. Some of it even rhymes! He goes on and on without pause, cursing this plane and its inhabitants, his fate, the moon and the stars, the neighbor¡¯s dog. Everyone. The worse thing for me is that he never even tried to escape. We are on a dark path outside, at night, he is not bound, and we are clearly exhausted and wounded and still, there is not a single attempt to even steal a knife! If it were me, I would have at least tried something... Wait, could he have played me all that time?! I turn in a panic but no, he is still hanging from Dalton¡¯s shoulder, looking in the distance like an opera main lead. I can still smell him when the wind gives us a respite. I believe that if his race is half as dramatic as he is, it is no wonder that they have been exploited by vampires. We all have one thing in common: ruthlessness. I continue musing while we walk down the path at a slow pace. With Bingle guiding me, I can stop focusing on my surroundings and Sinead¡¯s constant whining. He is clearly the Source mentioned in Abernathy¡¯s workshop notes. If I understand properly, the cult leader has been using his blood as an attempt to reach eternal life. Perhaps this is why it felt so wrong. Likaean blood is precious. It is not to be squandered by a fumbling idiot with no talent or experience. A few scratched symbols are not enough to reach the apex of mastery required to brew an elixir of eternity. I remember the woman in my vision, when I drunk from Master and was made a vampire. She was writing something on tanned human skin. It was an intricate formula, a work of art far beyond anything I have seen since, not even in Loth¡¯s workshop. This man could not have achieved his goal within three lifetimes. He only made an impure mix with fleeting effects, at the cost of one¡¯s free-will. How na?ve of him to even assume that our mewling rescuee could be a strong enough source of power. He is weak and pathetic here. He would not have sufficed, no. It would take something incredible to change a human at such a fundamental level. It would take a god. Truly, this entire project was doomed from the start. I take comfort in the knowledge that at the very least, we cleaned our own backyard. Oh, and we rescued some humans and that weird alien being. I suppose this counts as a success. ¡°¡­ So tell me, child of darkness, tell me why do you play with me so? What sinister fate awaits me, now that my freedom¡­¡± Sinead¡¯s ranting has progressed enough that he requires attention. Good. ¡°I have not decided yet.¡± ¡°Pardon?¡± ¡°I said, I have not made a choice. Now please leave me be, I tire of this conversation.¡± I do not have the inclination to handle this man today. I am not Thirsty, I am exhausted and his survival depends on a tangle of commitments and rules I do not feel like considering before a good rest. We soon reach the cave again. I go to Loth, still busy with the wounded. It seems that a few of them will not make it. ¡°Dalton?¡± ¡°Yes Mistress?¡± ¡°Please look after me, I need to rest my eyes for a moment.¡± ¡°Very well Mistress.¡± Yes, there is still much to be done. I just need a moment. Chapter 26: Self-Discovery I open my eyes to the familiar darkness. I am still wearing the ruin of the maid outfit and the congealed blood sticks to my skin in a most unpleasant way. The smell is not much better.Outside I can hear two heartbeats. I slide the sarcophagus open to the canopy of Loth¡¯s large tent. Just like six months ago, it is basked in soothing blue light. ¡°Good evening.¡± ¡°Good evening lass, quick, take this!¡± He hands me a silver chalice with a cover. The hint of fresh blood immediately wakes the Thirst. I take off the top and drink. It tastes so much sweeter than my usual fare. It is, without a doubt, human, with a hint of something special. A strange power fleets through its exquisite vitality, taunting and tricksy, but not malicious. It is the best human blood I have ever sampled since the first. ¡°Bingle?¡± ¡°Yes, he volunteered. He said he wanted to contribute to the potion that will alleviate the curse. It seems that it mattered to him quite a bit,¡± says Loth, as he finishes draining his blood in a second chalice. ¡°Loth¡­¡± ¡°Ye were hurt by my fault, so I will give ye my blood in good faith tonight. Take it as a day off. A night off. Whatever.¡± I stand up and take stock while he finishes. I am healed, yet still weak. It would be best if I do not have to fight anyone tonight. ¡°I believe I will take you up on that offer. Thank you, Loth.¡± I drink the second chalice, a full cup of steel, mountain, and power. Although nowhere close to yesterday¡¯s blood, it is still extremely potent. ¡°Thank you Loth! That was delicious!¡± ¡°Naturally. Now lass, we need to address your first follower.¡± ¡°My , Dalton.¡± ¡°Aye. The boy and I came ta an agreement. I need someone to clean around the garden, run some errands and spot me when I calibrate rifles. He¡¯ll do. I also expect him ta make yer hunting easier. Smooth things out, as it were.¡± I turn to Dalton. ¡°It¡¯s a very good offer Mistress, I could never hope for such a good position anywhere else.¡± ¡°Good, so it¡¯s settled then?¡± ¡°Aye, all that¡¯s left is that you, ah, seal the deal so to speak...¡± ¡°Wh¡­ What!?¡± ¡°¡­By drinking his blood.¡± ¡°Of course! Haha, yes, naturally.¡± Loth gives me a knowing smile and leaves the tent. ¡°So¡­¡± says Dalton. Why does he have to make it so awkward? It¡¯s just¡­ Hum, part of the deal! We just have to be intimate even though we met a week ago¡­ Is this how arranged marriage feels like? Bah, I don¡¯t want to think about this any longer. I approach Dalton who obediently tilts his head and embrace him. He smells like soap, sunshine, and liquor. Not a bad mix. His pulse quickens¡­ I lick the jugular and he swallows. The movement is so enticing. Slowly, I bite. Ah¡­ Yesssss. So good. It reminds me of that time with Aintza¡­ The same arousal¡­ Oh no! Hum! Let me lick this close with all haste and let him go. God, young men are so enthusiastic! Gah, this is embarrassing, but kind of fun. How I wish Jimena liked men. Then we could talk together and she could tell me more. We could even have many Bring them together and have them walk around with nothing on their butts! We could stare at their butts! Even touch them! ¡°Teeheehee!¡± ¡°Mistress?¡± ¡°Nothing! Now, I really need to take a bath. Is there water?¡± ¡°There is a river a few hundred yards away. I could draw enough for a bath and warm it for you?¡± ¡°Silly That would take aaaaaaaaages! Let me just go there. I don¡¯t need warm water. Cold water will help me wake up! It forges the character!¡± I step outside and immediately come across Loth, waiting for something. ¡°Ariane?¡± ¡°I¡¯m going to take a bath!¡± ¡°We do have other things to discuss¡­¡± ¡°After the bath! Now, where is the river?¡± ¡°You¡­ Want to bath in the river?¡± ¡°Of course not! Do you take me for a savage? Wait¡­ OOoooooooh of course, thank you Loth!¡± Silly me, to go out like that. I come back inside and pile my favorite jasmine soap of all time and clean clothes in the copper tub then drag it outside. ¡°Alright, I¡¯m gone!¡± ¡°Ari¡­¡± ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°¡­ The river is the other way.¡± ¡°Oooooh thanks, see you later Loth!¡± I manage to drag the tub with me through the undergrowth and only fall twice and impact a single tree. I don¡¯t know who planted that pine like that in the middle of the way, it¡¯s so stupid! If I catch the rogue! Ugh. The river is quite shallow and I only have to drag the tub to the edge, realize my stuff is still in it, take my stuff out, fill it with water and settle it in a nice secluded grove and ta da! It¡¯s done. I jump in and start peeling the ruined uniform and flaking red stuff. Aaaaah but it is so good to be there. I can enjoy the light of the moon, the water, bubbly soap and the caress of the wind on my skin. Stars illuminate the sky while the relaxing light of the Silent Watcher stands as proof to its eternal vigil. The riot of colors and sounds form together a chaotic symphony both complex and so very alive. The night is beautiful, and it is mine. I savor the moment and think back on yesterday. Loth is right, we have much to discuss. I will have to tell him about the vision. He is my friend and needs to know what I saw. Having a penis was a strange experience. I know how it feels now. Teehee. Oh my, I know how it feels to be inside of a woman! Truly remarkable. I am willing to bet some women would pay solid gold to feel what I experienced! And what an experience it was. The slow and steady moves, the feeling of a warm body against my own, the moans of pleasure... This is so much more than I expected. It was amazing... I stop and realize I am no longer applying soap. My left hand is cupping my breast and the other rests at the edge of my pubis. I lower myself in the tub and raise my hips. Yes, Agna had raised hers, just so. They had rolled with a hypnotic motion¡­ I lower my right hand until it parts the blond hair, and then I stop again. I let it lie there, quiescent. I always thought I knew all there is to know about sex. I saw animals go at it so I had a general idea about the process. I learned from the people around me that married couples do it to have children. I was told that men want it all the time and women give it. I understood that it could be painful or somewhat pleasant for us. Hussies are those who let many men have what they want from them and use it for their own benefits. This is what I was led to believe. It is also a lie. Yesterday, Loth showed me what could be. He showed me that sex could be a source of incredible bliss for both partners, a felicity that transcends the physical into the quasi mystic. When Agna climaxed, the sensation was so strong that she looked like she was dying. They shared this together. It was intense and beautiful. It was sacred. I remember what Master did. It does not have to be that way. I do not have to surrender this to him, not to anyone. It can be mine. I could even share it with someone else, one day. Maybe. I lower my hand. My sex is flushed and wet, not with water but something much softer. It makes my fingers drift smoothly over my folds and that little nub of flesh that¡­ Aaaaaaah. My body spasms once around my core in a wave that expands throughout my entire body. I arc my back away from the water. More. I move two fingers in slow and large circular motions. I take my time and enjoy the feeling building inside of me. My finger brushes the little nub, again and again, slow and steady. I remember yesterday, Loth¡¯s lips on her nipple. I use my other hand to touch and tease my own until the pink tips become hard and sensitive. I move progressively faster. I moan loudly and I don¡¯t care. After a while, I stop once more. I want to try things. I move my fingers horizontally or vertically, with more or less pressure. Sometimes my movements are slow, sometimes a little bit faster. I remember when Agna impaled herself on Loth. The look on her face¡­ I move my hand lower and slide a finger in. So wet! Yes, she was moving just so, pushing him in. I move my hips as well and do not forget the little nub. I find a rhythm I like, slow but purposeful and I lose myself in it. Time abandons its meaning, there are only the sensual dance and the pleasure that scours me. Eventually, the urge to reach something becomes too great. I play the nub again, faster, with a bit more strength. Something warm builds up inside. I want to know. I want to feel. I keep going on and on until I¡¯m on the verge of something great. I keep going, almost there. And then I climax. Oh. My. GOD! ¡°Ooooohohoho yesss!!!¡± For ten seconds my mind blanks as successive waves of ecstasy ravage body and mind. My body shivers and quakes around its center. Aaaaa soooo good! I splash back into the tub and just stay there for a moment, unable to move. I haven¡¯t recovered when an aftershock sends me into another shake that makes me curl my toes. Wow! This is great! Better than great! Aaaaa! For a while there, I could think of nothing! Why did I not hear of this earlier?! Who keeps this secret?! I swear that half of human conflicts would be solved on the spot if people experienced this daily! Hiding this is a disgrace, a vile conspiracy!!! So this is why vampires are rumored to enjoy lovemaking. It is a bloodless, victimless alternative to our usual fare, and without risks of disease and unknown pregnancy to boot! Aaaah this explains so much! Hum! I should try to get another one, for science¡¯s purposes. It is only true if it is repeatable, is it not? Thirty minutes later I finish dressing and start walking back to the camp, with a towel around my hair and the tub in tow. Well, this was enlightening and relaxing. Much of the tension of these past few days has been lifted from my shoulders. That said, perhaps I should not share my newfound knowledge with the men. I do believe it does not concern them. Hum, yes, this seems wiser. I wouldn¡¯t want them to get jealous! The poor things. Rather soon I find my way back to the carriage. I only fall once, and someone else planted another damned pine in the middle of the way! Who would even do such a thing? Three people wait in the small clearing, although I can see other campfires around and hear noises in the distance. I wave at them and promptly fall on my face. Bah, the ground of the forest is so uneven! Unbelievable! ¡°What¡¯s wrong with her?¡± I hear someone whisper. ¡°She¡¯s drunk off her arse.¡± replies my friend. ¡°Loth of Skoragg! Je ne vous permets pas!¡± ¡°In English my dear.¡± ¡°Then let it be known that I find your grrrrrrroundless accusations... Scandalous!¡° ¡°My apologies, now we need to reach an agreement with the latest addition to our merry band.¡± ¡°Who?¡± ¡°Me!!!¡± Replies the newcomer, red with anger. I get closer. This is a person of the male persuasion. Yes. Ariane, of the astute observations! It does not help me tremendously though. ¡°Uhhhhhhh.¡± I turn to Dalton who taps his nose. Wait, is something wrong with the smell? ... Delicious! What a wonderful fragrance! Ah, I remember now! ¡°Mmmmmmmmm.¡± I scrunch my face with effort. ¡°MMMMMMMMMMMM.¡± The others seem at a loss. Oh, just you wait. ¡°MMMMM AH! SYNOAD!¡± ¡°It¡¯s Sinead! Sinead, you disrespectful wench!¡± Dalton and Loth take a collective step back from the newcomer. ¡°I beg your pardon?¡± I say as I smile. Surely I misheard? I have been nothing but patient and respectful since we met. ¡°Do you have an issue with how you¡¯ve been treated so far?¡± Looking left and right, the Likaean realizes that the others are unwilling to help him with his current predicament. ¡°I believe I spoke too hastily.¡± ¡°It¡¯s alright Senerad, it was wrong of me to mispronounce your name. I will endeavor not to do so again.¡± Sinied glowers but says nothing. What a prickly fellow. ¡°I believe we were going to discuss his fate.¡± ¡°Oh yes! Enough distractions. So, hum. What should we do? I want to feed on him at some point¡± ¡°Well. I was hoping that you would not.¡± ¡°Hum!¡± I tap my index against my chin. Well. It does sound like a sensible request. He is no danger to me and I feel quite full. Ah, but he is both magical and delicious... what to do? ¡°Unless you name him as your friend, I can drink from him but not kill him. We rescued that man, I believe that there is a debt. Besides, I would be stupid not to get some power from him. I can get much. ¡° ¡°That¡¯s the thing lass, I had a talk with Sinead and I believe that should you bite, you will drain him dry and we will not be able to pry you away.¡± ¡°Is that so?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± says the man himself, ¡°I arrived in this land twenty years ago to look for my lost brethren. Alas, I failed to hide my nature at first and rumors of my happening drew the hated Nightwalkers of clan Roland to me! I was powerless before their strength, and they abducted me, dragged me to a hideout deep in the forests of Ardennes. There, I met others of my kind. I learned that we are mercilessly hunted and that our blood drives you mad the moment you taste it. A feeding is almost always fatal, therefore the red liquid is carefully harvested and used in potions that grant limitless power for a night. A vampire under the effect of our blood is nigh unstoppable. As I mentioned, we need to be kept alive for this to happen and our essence will not regenerate while the potion remains intact. Each captive thus yields a limited, but precious resource. We are under heavy guard, constantly. Fortunately, I managed to fool the humans at dawn by using a mighty illusion. My deception was not detected until far too late. To my deep regret, I was unable to free the others and had to escape alone...¡± Sinaiad¡¯s expression is one of utter guilt. He left his people behind! Well, I am in no position to judge. ¡°I stowed on a ship headed for the New World, thinking it would be a haven where I could plan a daring rescue. I was mistaken. Human mages successfully detected my presence and abducted me. I was soon sold to the man your party slew yesterday. The rest, you know.¡± The Likaean licks his lips nervously. ¡°While I was in the custody of this clan, I learned much and I would be willing to tell you, in exchange for safe passage.¡± ¡°Then are you a ?¡± ¡°Mustemiqu? Ah, a supplicant. Yes.¡± ¡°Then kneel.¡± The man turns red with fury. I do not understand the rage I see in him now. kneel. It is the way of things. It is what should be. We stand and listen, the speak and kneel, and if an agreement is reached, we grant a favor. Why the hatred? ¡°Ari...¡± I turn to Loth with a raised eyebrow. ¡°His kind is enslaved by your kind. He is their leader by default. Kneeling to you is... a humiliation.¡± ¡°How does that concern the matter at hand? Is he not the ? Do I not listen?¡± ¡°I see... in this case, I would ask that you forgive the lack of decorum as a favor to me. Just this once.¡± ¡°I...¡± I don¡¯t know. I find the very proposal distasteful. If proper forms are not respected, then what does that mean for the proceedings? Are we honorless beasts, to discard traditions so easily? ¡°Is your skin so thin that you need the worship, vampire?¡± Asks Sinead, irate. The haze I was in until now drops like water to be replaced by cold instinct and the death of empathy. I . I faster than ever before despite my weakened state. My hand closes around his neck. ¡°Gah!¡± ¡°Ari! Please wait!¡± ¡°Perhaps forms are important to us for another reason? Perhaps we need it to balance our humanity and that part of us that calls you food?¡± ¡°Ari, please. Please!¡± I drop my victim and turn around before I TAKE A TOE OR TWO. AND HIS TONGUE AS WELL. ¡°Safe passage in exchange for information was it?¡± ¡°Y... Yes.¡± Loth is fraught with worry. The alien insulted the protocol. That puts him dangerously close to the oath-breaker category as far as I am concerned. I would drink him dry, but he clearly made a deal with Loth and it means I cannot drink from him? Confusing. Perhaps I should just kill him and be done with it... No, I cannot do this to Loth. Not after what happened last night. ¡°I want this and blood. Your objections make little sense to me. You admitted that a potion can be drawn from his blood and that means there is a safe way to harvest it. I am not letting him go without a taste. You will find a way to provide it safely or I will take my chances.¡± "Ari..." "No! I bled and almost died for this, and refrained from feeding until we could reach a proper agreement. I have been more than reasonable! Blood, to be consumed on the spot, is to be part of this." "I do not know how to properly harvest blood. The task was done by human alchemists in the employ of the Roland." "Then Loth can help you draw it and preserve it in the chalice until I wake. If you are not around when I consume it, it should be safe." Everyone is silent. I will not back down on this. The blood will be mine one way or the other. "Very well Nightwalker. This is humiliating but you leave me with little choice. I agree to your terms. Blood and information in exchange for safe passage." The annoying man leaves with a huff. I track his movement then return my attention to Loth. ¡°We need to talk.¡± He points to the tent and we get in. I stand up and pace while he sits priestly on the only cot. I don¡¯t know how to start. How do you admit something this big to a friend? ¡°Why are you trying to save Sinead anyway? You¡¯re not exactly a bleeding heart.¡± ¡°Oh? Ye think me too generous in rescuing my fellow supernatural beings? Should I have been harsher?¡± He asks pointedly. I stop in my tracks. ¡°I¡¯m sorry Loth, I guess I deserved that one.¡± To my surprise, he chuckles. ¡°Ye¡¯re forgiven, but please say what ye want to say.¡± ¡°Aaaah how should I put it...¡± I explain how I saw visions and describe the first one, the battlefield. ¡°Aye I remember, I remember well. ¡®Twas my first real battle, it was. That¡¯s where my old uncle Strum got the nickname of ball-crusher after he accidentally fell on an anvil.¡± I ignore the juicy anecdote and tell him about the banquet. I describe the grey-bearded man in great detail. ¡°Aye, my father. Yes. He was so proud. Was there also a blond woman?¡± ¡°Hum, yes. She, huh, kept reaching for...¡± ¡°My cock, aye¡± I wince at the vulgarity, ¡°that was Gerda, good old Gerda! We called her the virgin hunter. Half of my generation blew their first load in her hairy...¡± ¡°LOTH!¡± ¡°Alright, alright. Ye win. Next.¡± I hesitate and lick my lips. I do owe him the truth. I don¡¯t want to hide this. Those memories belong to him. ¡°You saw Agna for the first time. She threw manure at Skeggi¡¯s face.¡± Loth studies me. ¡°How did you know it was Skeggi?¡± ¡°I felt what you felt, learned what you thought. You were not thinking of that Gerda woman in the short interval I perceived.¡± ¡°I see.¡± He deliberately marks a pause. He knows what follows is the reason I feel embarrassed. ¡°I was you when you made love to Agna.¡± The revelation is received a stunned silence. It takes a long time before Loth speaks again, long enough for the campfire outside to weaken. Long enough for Dalton to fall asleep in the tent next to mine. ¡°I don¡¯t exactly remember her face. I tried to engrave it, but it never looked quite right. Metal is a poor medium to create the portrait of a loved one, I find. I never managed to form what I wanted. It always felt dead, a farcical attempt at capturing that which cannot be held. Like sand flowing between my fingers, ya know?¡± Loth barely raises his head and looks at me. There is something there that I saw in Master, but also in Moor and even to an extent, Jimena. Agelessness. Before me stands an ancient being whose life has extended longer than some dynasties lasted. ¡°I destroyed every last one of them, and now I regret it. Memories grow hazy after a few centuries. Even a shadow of what she was would have helped me remember.¡± So the mind lost its grip, but the blood remembers. Loth sighs deeply. I give him some time as I realize that if he wanted an input he would ask for it. Entities of his age probably cherish moments of strong emotion as proof that they still live. ¡°What else?¡± Loth doesn¡¯t comment when I tell him about the rest. His only reaction is a bitter smile at the mention of his brother and wife¡¯s betrayal. ¡°And that is all.¡± ¡°I see. Well. Thank ye for sharing, I appreciate that. It was bittersweet ta say the least. ¡° I hesitate for a while before asking the question that has been nagging me for a few minutes now. Loth is always straightforward. If he thinks it inappropriate, he will let me know. ¡°Just ask yer question lass.¡± ¡°How did you know!?¡± S?a??h th? N0??F?re.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. ¡°When you are thinking too hard you forget to breathe. Humans may not notice but I do.¡± ¡°Aaaah no, this is a good way to get caught.¡± ¡°Hahaha give it some time, and stop stalling!¡± ¡°Fine. Why did you never return?¡± Loth freezes like a cat caught with its paw in the bowl of cream. ¡°... I¡¯m scared of boats. Long travel distance between here and home, ya know?¡± ¡°Loth.¡± ¡°Also, many projects here, can¡¯t decently just stop everything...¡± ¡°Loth!¡± ¡°I¡¯m scared! There, ye got it. I did not leave on good terms and I was an important warrior for my family. Many bad things could have happened.¡± ¡°How about a letter?!¡± ¡°Damn good idea lass, I¡¯ll just address it ta a clan of long-lived dwarves in the Kebnekaise mountain range somewhere in Sweden. The postmen could sure use a good laugh.¡± I do not reply, instead, I reflect in silence. This does not sound like the Loth I have come to know, and yet do I really understand him? I have never seen him face something he could not immediately handle. I have never known true love either. My friend lost his soul mate and could not overcome his grief, not even in a century. Is he constantly escaping reality? Should I say something? ¡°Don¡¯t be too disappointed in this old man, lass. The truth is that I care about my clan back home, and I miss them a lot. That doesn¡¯t change the fact that I was used by them, manipulated and then betrayed by those who believed they could do better. I have given much, and should I return, I will be asked to give even more.¡± I still say nothing. Loth made a few very good points and it does not matter. He is not doing anything because he is scared, that is the crux of the matter. I want to point it out. I also want to respect the boundaries he is currently setting. ¡°Damn it lass, you are doing that vampire thing again. Fine, fine. I¡­ I admit that I am still running away. I won¡¯t visit them but perhaps a letter will do. For starter.¡± How is being silent so efficient?! Is it because I do not breathe nor move? ¡°It would bring you closure, my friend, if only that.¡± ¡°Right. Yea. I was considering it, ya know?¡± Men are so good at self-deception, it is almost unreal. Well, time to change the topic. I shall verify later that he is indeed working on a proper means of correspondence. ¡°I want to ask, what happened after I fell into torpor?¡± ¡°We rested for an hour then moved everyone down. Bingle and I got rid of the handful of guards remaining. When we got outside there was a, well, a purge. The prisoners and freed servants picked seven among them and slaughtered them in the street. It was sudden and extremely violent. Bingle¡¯s voice was drowned by the vengeful mob. It was not pretty. After that, we all crashed down. In the morning, we gathered in a council to decide what to do. Bingle managed to steer the discussion effectively and it only took an hour to finish. Some decided to stay and take care of the cattle and fields. Those that left were allowed to take valuables and sundries to start over somewhere else, they are with us now. I¡¯d estimate around fifteen people. Rose is here as well. She and Bingle have grown quite close.¡± ¡°Hum.¡± Rose is both grounded and painfully honest. They could be a good match. I want to ask about our plans but I can see that Loth is tired. Even though I just woke up, I feel exhausted as well so we both decide to call it a night. Chapter 27: Coming of Age I wake up to the sound of animated discussion. I quickly don one of my armored dresses in dark blue and wonder if I should pick up my pistol. So far, I can only hear irate voices and the appearance of someone armed might do more damage than good. Let us try diplomacy first.I step out of the tent and realize that we are at the edge of a native city of respectable size. An earthen pyramid dominates the vista in front of me, surrounded by wooden buildings that form a circle around it. Well-tended farms dot the valley as far as I can see, and a few campfires give the place a festive feeling. Our campfire is not festive at all. Most of the escapees that elected to join us are in a circle of wagons to my left. The men stand around like sentinels and there is not a woman in sight. The voices come from a gathering a few paces away. Torches provide a reddish light to what I hope is just a heated negotiation. On one side stands a frowning Bingle, an old man who I know has weight with the people we freed, and Loth. Only the Dvergur seems somewhat relaxed. I can feel Dalton from somewhere inside the circle. On the other side is a most curious motley crew. The largest group is composed of men and women in light and colorful clothes. There are bells and jewelry in their hair, and pieces of mirrors hang from oversized necklaces. I notice at least one European and a few of the younger people are obvious mixed bloods. They are led by two siblings, a large man with a moustache and a red bandana and a shrewd looking woman. I think the man¡¯s moustache may even rival Bingle¡¯s! Is it why they are trying to stare each other down? I always thought there would be a brotherhood of the great moustaches, yet it appears that they are competing for supremacy. Perhaps they need to establish a hierarchy first? Men are strange creatures. My attempts at joining my allies discreetly are thwarted when the second part of the native group turns to me. They are dressed in more conservative undyed leather clothes. Nashoba limps from the group and greets me with a radiant smile, which I return. The argument dies down and all attention turn to me. Ah, this is uncomfortable. The circle expands to include me. After Nashoba¡¯s voice dies down I get varied reactions from the colorful group. Many are wary while a few look at me with doubt in their eyes. The European openly scoffs, which does not bother me much. I would rather he believed pale ones to be a myth from the mind of gullible savages. He adds with a smirk. I did not remember him being so assertive. It appears that the past six months have been good to him. It is the male Muscogee envoy who resumes the hostilities. He spews what I assume are scathing remarks to the rest of his band and wildly gestures at Nashoba and myself. I do not understand his language at all and apparently neither does the shaman. One of the Choctaw is growing increasingly red though, and I assume he is the interpreter. I notice that one of the women who picked Nashoba after I exacted my payment is here as well, although she is currently staring at the ground with rare intensity. Loth was correct. I did leave a lasting impression. The harangue lasts until his sister grabs his sleeve. Two newcomers are walking towards us from the village at a brisk pace. I immediately recognize one of them to be the shy captive I freed from the Valiant¡¯s camps. Not so shy anymore. At the sight of me she frowns before turning to the assembly. Her speech is short and to the point. The woman envoy asks her a few questions which she answers curtly. A wind of fear and surprise washes over the crowd with one single exception: the white man is apparently unimpressed and grows increasingly angrier. The male leader starts asking something, but the short woman cuts him off with an obvious rebuke and leaves without looking back. Her companion, an older lady, struggles to catch up. I suppose my identity has been verified. The Muscogee group is filled with whispers and comments which I suppose is good, however the white man in native clothes is moving forward and is about to be annoying. I look at Loth and he instantly grabs Bingle¡¯s and the old man¡¯s attention. My Dvergur friend is a rare treasure, to understand me so readily. The nuisance and I cross eyes. I focus on him. Hypnotizing people has always been difficult. Besides feeding, attempting to influence someone is always a hit or miss. This time, however, I can feel a tug. While not exactly subtle, I manage to push what I want to convey through the temporary bindings that connect us. Stop. Look. Feel. Understand. Cower. The world fades around me as the man stops in his track. I watch as his confused frown turns to bleak realization then to stark terror. He takes an involuntary step back. The connection frays and I break eye contact just as the rest of his group reaches a consensus. They do not address the European group. Instead, the shrewd woman and Nashoba exchange a few words before retreating in the darkness. The entire Muscogee delegation soon follows, including a bewildered stranger. The shaman smiles sadly. Well is that not convenient. Nashoba limps away, immediately followed by the rest of his small group. In short order, we are alone. ¡°What just happened?¡± Ah I forgot about Bingle and the old man. How am I going to explain this? One hour later, I stand in front of Sinead and Loth on the village¡¯s outskirt. I could tell that Bingle was doubtful about the shaman being a fellow archeologist, but our exchange in a "dead" language as well as the credit I garnered with him allowed the lie to pass. He even offered to accompany me on my next ¡°archeological expedition¡±, which is how I sold the whole thing. Only the assurance that it would be night-long pottery inspections changed his mind. I am touched, but I would rather clean Melusine¡¯s feet than attempt to hunt Nashoba¡¯s next target without the full extent of my power. One brush with death per year is enough, please and thank you. ¡°Still nothing?¡± ¡°Well he does smell enticing, even from far away but I feel quite fine.¡± ¡°How long does it usually take to manifest?¡± ¡°Under a minute.¡± ¡°I see.¡± Something is notable by its absence, something I have learned to live with for the past year. The Thirst. I feel fine. It is still here, just somewhat sated. As if I had a light feeding. ¡°Can ye tell me how many people there are around us?¡± I close my eyes and focus on heartbeats, the sound of footsteps and movements. ¡°Seventeen people in our camp. There are three sentries keeping an eye on us from behind that drying rack.¡± I do not add that there is a couple in the middle of a furious coit in the nearest wagon. Hearing this made me feel uncomfortable, as if I were spying. ¡°Yes that¡¯s twenty in total, good guess. Now look at the pyramid and tell me what ye see.¡± I turn at the shape half a mile away. ¡°There is a stone door leading inside. It¡¯s guarded.¡± Loth¡¯s eyes widen in surprise. ¡°Well I¡¯ll be. Can ye try to move quickly?¡± I do so and finish the movement behind him. As I touch his shoulder, he jumps with a short yelp. ¡°Hooooly cow Ari, don¡¯t ye frighten me like that girl,¡± he says, breathless ¡°my old heart cannot take it, ya know? ¡° ¡°It felt faster than even yesterday.¡± ¡°Aye, I know what¡¯s happening. It¡¯s incredible! Ari, ye¡¯re on the path to becoming a Courtier.¡± ¡°What? What do you mean a Courtier? I thought I was still a fledgling for another year!¡± ¡°Well¡­¡± Loth says, eyeing Sinead with suspicion. ¡°I assure you¡± retorts the offended party, ¡°I have no interest in sharing information with your enemies. They are mine as well, if you recall.¡± We do not say anything, because we know his comment is worthless. ¡°¡­ Very well, I swear an oath to secrecy.¡± ¡°Right. Ari, your Devourer bloodline must be hastening yer growth. How many powerful creatures have ye drained since ye awoke?¡± I think for a while. Sinead gasps in horror. ¡°How many creatures have you killed, Nightwalker?¡± ¡°Well, I fully drained two mages, three werewolves including two with Loth¡¯s help and one vampire. I got blood offered in good will by one mage, one blessed human, that would be Bingle, one powerful vampire Courtier and one centuries-old Dvergur. ¡± ¡°¡­ Yeah that would do it.¡± ¡°By the grove! In one year?¡± ¡°I have been busy. In any case, you are telling me that one year was enough? I assumed that it was fixed, like pregnancy.¡± ¡°It is not. Constantine said it took him only a year and a half. You are probably setting some sort of record, though you would need to compare yourself to others of your kind if you want a benchmark. And yes, I am aware that this is impossible. I suspect that it is as fast as it can get while retaining one¡¯s sanity. Your Master¡¯s other creations grew significantly faster, but they were hand-fed, so to speak.¡± ¡°You are a scion of the Devourer?¡± I expected fear in Sinead, instead he is contemplative. ¡°Yes. And?¡± ¡°Your Master has a bit of a reputation in Europe. It is said that every century or so, a faction tries to take him out for one reason or another.¡± S?a?ch* Th? ??v?l_Fir?.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. ¡°Foolish.¡± ¡°That is what is said, yes. They also say that he is always true to his word, both in letter and in spirit.¡± ¡°Are you sure? He made me to pressure someone he was negotiating with.¡± ¡°I never said he was kind, only that when the bargain is struck, he will stick to it. I choose to believe that his blood runs true.¡± ¡°Hssss.¡± ¡°Regardless of your opinion of him, you are of his bloodline.¡± I find no trace of contempt on Sinead¡¯s expression. This was not an insult, merely an observation that he deems important. It is true that from his perspective, all vampires must be equally threatening. If someone is ripping your throat open, why care if they have four or eight fangs? ¡°Fair enough, I suppose. Now, does somebody know what is happening?¡± ¡°I can tell you, since it is part of our agreement. Your host can attend as well.¡± Sinead clears his throat and proceeds with the lecture. ¡°During my seven years of captivity, I managed to gather quite a few tidbits of information from my jailors, be they humans or vampires. The conditions of drone and fledgling, you already know. The title of Courtier is more informal in the sense that it is traditionally bestowed by one¡¯s clan. There are several aspects of a vampire¡¯s powers one must master before they obtain this recognition, Those specific elements vary from clan to clan and reflect the organization¡¯s mindset and priorities. For example, the Hastings require the completion of a complex project while the Roland base it on ability in one¡¯s chosen field. I am not familiar with what your Sire would ask of you to acknowledge you, and I doubt it would matter. Concretely a Courtier is an adult vampire. The majority of vampires are at this stage, as it takes around a century to reach the next threshold in your development. The only real constant is that contrary to fledglings, Courtiers can go two days or more between feedings and stay awake for the whole night. Aspiring Courtiers typically start by improving their powers: Charm, Senses and Movements. Those are what separates Vampires from the rest of the mortals, besides your many weaknesses.¡± ¡°Could you elaborate?¡± ¡°Yes,¡° replies Sinead scathingly, ¡°I was leading to it. You already experienced them. Charm alters the mortals¡¯ perception; Senses is exactly what it says, and Movements is what allows your kind supernatural displays of strength and speed.¡± ¡°I can already do all of that.¡± ¡°Not to the best of your abilities, I believe. For example, the pyramid¡¯s door you inspected earlier has a small statue at the top.¡± Surprised, I check the earthen mound again and yes, there is something at the top of the white stone door. I try to focus on it, instead, my vision turns blurry and my head starts to hurt. ¡°It will come with time and practice, like most things. In any case, you have your work cut out for you. Now, let us continue.¡± Sinead carries on his lesson for a good two hours before my brain finally cries for mercy. My precious notebook finds itself filled with valuable information on various clans, major figures and ideologies. Little of that is of use to me now besides two critical pieces of information. The first is that there are three main political alliances in the community that covers Europe, the Middle-East, and North Africa. Their members shift to a degree, but not by much. Eseru is the group of hidden kingdoms, entire cities subverted to an openly vampiric ruling class. They have groups everywhere but mostly in the East and South of the region. Masks are partisans of secret dominion. They have a strong artistic and hedonistic side and a pull on several governments. They are mostly present in the United Kingdom, France, and Italy. Followers of the Path are a diverse bunch dedicated to causes outside of the more political spheres of influence, such as scientific and magic research. It appears that the community in Louisiana represents all three, which is rather surprising considering that they are currently at war. This is the second piece of news and it surprises me a lot. I expected vampire conflicts to be short, violent and usually one-sided. Instead, much time is spent on preparation for decisive strikes, plots within plots are revealed or unraveled every day and allegiances shift according to inscrutable arrangements. It even appears that they try to avoid fatalities whenever possible. I recognize that when I killed Charlotte, it put me at odds with our usual rules of engagement. Ah whatever, Melusine is next. That tramp. ¡°This concludes my presentation on European Vampire politics. I realize that human minds are fragile and feeble things and I see no objection to continuing tomorrow.¡± ¡°Yes, that would be for the best.¡± I answer with fraying patience. ¡°I need a break anyway.¡± I return to the encampment to find Dalton almost falling asleep on his feet. ¡°Mistress?¡± ¡°How are you feeling, besides exhaustion of course.¡± ¡°My ribs hurt and the road is not helping. I will be fine though. Say, be careful about Sinead.¡± ¡°Ah?¡± Dalton rubs his eyes and stares in the distance. ¡°Heard of his kind, I did, from my grandmother. I was born further North and my folks are from Ireland. She spoke of one like him, with big eyes, pointy ears and shiny hair that looks too colorful to be from this world.¡± Besides the hair it sounds like the Likaean indeed. Perhaps it will grow back? ¡°She called them the Fae. She said they like to play around and that not everyone survives their games. They are cruel and callous. Their amusement is all that matters to them. Our lives are worthless because they are so ephemeral, she said. Be careful. Sinead may be a victim, and an assailant too.¡± I pause, contemplating. Do I care? I don¡¯t want to get close to the man anyway. ¡°Thank you Dalton. Our bargain was already struck, however I shall remember his contempt for mankind. You should sleep. You look exhausted.¡± No sooner have I said those words that the young man falls on his cot. He is out in seconds. I reach our tent and find Loth writing in his own notebook. He closes it when I approach. ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°I was wondering what we were going to do now that our objective is complete?¡± ¡°We are going to the limit of settled lands, a place called fort Barrington which we should arrive in tomorrow. We¡¯ll report our findings to the authorities and split up with Bingle and the settlers there. Then we head home and prepare for your hunt. Ah but it is good to head home from a raid, ya know? Though I would have preferred more loot¡­¡± ¡°What about the Likaean.¡± ¡°He will accompany us. By the time you return, he will be gone. I¡¯ll put him on a ship to South America.¡± ¡°Good. Well, that is all. I¡¯m going for a walk.¡± ¡°Enjoy.¡± He answers with a predatory smile. I walk outside and away from the others. When I have reached the edge of the valley, I start to run. Finally alone. It feels good. It feels good to let go, to run around with no immediate need to hunt, no need to patrol or come back. Just me and the land. I enjoy the wind on my face, the earth and roots under my feet, and the sounds of the night, alive around me. I move in bursts of speed just because I can. Sometimes, my dress gets snagged or I stumble but it does not ruin my fun. The dress I wear is sturdy and so is the body it covers. For a good hour, I trot and sprint across the land with no direction. I am alive. My Master took my life and future from me and I turned this curse into a new beginning. I survived and endured and reclaimed. Now, I can choose and carve my own path. It will be difficult but for now, I can let go. ¡°Hahahahaha!¡± I run and run and run. I only return an hour before dawn, mind clear and hair riddled with broken twigs. I look wild, and I care not. Chapter 28: Like Herding Cats pt. 1 ¡°What is this place?¡± I ask as I exit the sarcophagus.¡°We are inside the Tillerson plantation house Mistress. The largest and most expensive manor in a hundred-mile radius! The furniture was made by a famous Philadelphia artisan and it has no less than forty windows. Please note the wonderful Corinthian column on the front porch, so lovely.¡± Says Dalton, deadpan. I am grateful that vampires rise fully awake. ¡°The Tillerson are very proud of the place, aren¡¯t they?¡± ¡°Yes, Mistress. They explained everything in great detail. Took one bloody hour.¡± ¡°And I assume that we reached fort Barrington safely during the day?¡± ¡°Yes Mistress.¡± ¡°And we have become their guests because¡­?¡± ¡°Why Mistress, how could Cornelius Tillerson let a good act such as this rescue remain unpunished? Of course, he must show the hero of the moment, sir Cecil Rutherford Bingle, to all of his posh friends! We are invited to the ball.¡± ¡°Loth has been unable to leave?¡± ¡°Unable and unwilling. We only arrived two hours ago, so leaving would have been unreasonable. Not to mention, suspicious.¡± ¡°What does suspicion have to do with anything?¡± ¡°We do not all have sir Bingle¡¯s winning charisma, Mistress. See, the brave man credited us for many things. Except, I¡¯m not exactly hero material and Loth is a bit odd. Not to mention a few widows and spinsters have been sweet on him. Never good to steal the women the first day in a new place, I can tell you. Was hoping you could use your legendary persuasion to smooth things out.¡± And by "smoothing things out" he does not mean killing everyone here, this time. ¡°Very well, but I want to clean up first.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll have the servants bring water.¡± The bedroom I am in is small but well furnished. It is too impersonal to be cozy, but I can appreciate the effort. As I finish picking leaves and twigs from my hair a harried-looking black woman drags a pot of tepid water inside before leaving without a word. I have helped organize enough receptions to know that improvising one is a tiring and thankless ordeal. The Thirst takes me as I finish putting on Nashoba¡¯s earrings and a mother of pearl necklace. The royal blue dress I wear is too practical to be elegant, unfortunately. At least, it is well cut and should serve adequately. I exit the bedroom and find myself in a corridor of respectable size, and I admit to being impressed. The Tillerson mansion is large indeed, and expensively decorated. I would think that more money than sense had been thrown at our surroundings. As the guest, however, I am also grateful for the care and will refrain from commenting. Dalton has been waiting for me faithfully. I notice that he is much more polished than his usual self. He is clean-shaven and his hair is combed back and even waxed. He has become darkly charismatic, the kind of men fathers are afraid of when their daughters come of age. A well-cut suit helped him transition from outlaw to prodigal son. Good. This image is more respectable than the last and should help him in serving me. ¡°Offer me your arm.¡± ¡°Mistress? You¡­ Are Thirsty?¡± ¡°No! Well, yes, but that is not what I meant. Offer me your arm so that we may walk together.¡± ¡°Aaaah. Of course.¡± I grab him and we move towards a set of stairs. I can hear quite a few people making merry below, as well as the scent of alcohol, vitality and sweat. And also¡­ I stop Dalton with a gesture and knock on a nearby door. ¡°Excuse me! Hello?¡± It is soon opened by a mortified man in the uniform of a butler. One of his hands is behind his back to hide the proof of his crime: a half-empty bottle of fine scotch. ¡°Hrm. May I help you miss¡­¡± When our eyes meet, I hit him with the full power of my hypnosis. With one small push, he tumbles back inside. To my dismay, his bow tie is in the way so I must feed on his arm. Well, nevermind. When I am finished, I return to Dalton and leave my donor in the haze he was so desperately seeking. It seems that it is impossible to find good help anywhere nowadays. Oh well, that is feeding taken care of for tonight I suppose. ¡°Where is Sinead anyway?¡± ¡°Oh, he mentioned something about filthy humans stinking up the air and left for the forest. If we¡¯re lucky a wolf will eat him¡­¡± ¡°Not before I get my due I hope!¡± ¡°I believe, however, that some na?ve daughter will give birth to a child with strange hair nine months from now.¡± ¡°¡­¡± That sounded personal. I am starting to think that someone in his family may have rolled in the hay with the wrong species. Hum. I shall leave those thoughts for some other time as we approach our destination. The ballroom is at the back of the property and it seems the party is already in full swing. Groups of revelers have spilled over the main hall and the garden beyond through open French windows. I notice the conservative yet expensive garb of wealthy landowners in light colors, but also more than a few army uniforms in dark blue, quite close to my dress in fact. I wonder if Loth did it on purpose? It would not surprise me, coming from the crafty old bugger. We are stopped at the entrance by a man in a butler outfit who is as puffed up as a singing bird. The self-importance radiating from his scowling features is remarkable. He considers Dalton with obvious distrust. I, however, seem to pass some kind of test. The condition of one¡¯s skin in the South is an easy way to determine their position in society. Anyone with a white and healthy skin is hidden during the day and sleeps at night. Thus, they must be rich. The dress and understated jewelry as well as my posture only reinforce this image. In half a second, the gatekeeper has deemed me worthy. ¡°Who should I announce, miss?¡± ¡°Ariane Delaney.¡± ¡°Oh! You are¡­ Hm. Forgive me.¡± The man is flustered by his breach of decorum. Well, I cannot blame him as I can already hear Loth¡¯s roaring laughter. ¡°Miss Ariane Delaney!¡± Announces the man to the crowd, to the general indiff¡­ Why is everyone looking at me? ¡°Miss Delaney, over here!¡± says Bingle in the center of the room. I bypass several groups of people, smiling and nodding to any guest meeting my eyes. Dalton follows me in like a shadow before merging into the crowd, unnoticed. Soon, I arrive before a group of people who I assume are the instigators of tonight¡¯s unexpected celebration. I notice in passing that Rose is absent from Bingle''s arm. I hope she is not being snubbed. ¡°Miss Delaney, it is so good to see you! Here, let me present to you our most excellent and generous Hosts: Cornelius Tillerson,¡± He indicates a jolly fellow with a large grey beard and mustache. His well-cut suit struggles to contain a gut, his nose is already quite red and his glass is empty, not the first one tonight I¡¯d wager. The master of the house is a man who indulges it seems. ¡°¡­ Lydia Tillerson¡­¡± His wife is much younger than him. She is also gorgeous and elegant. With her slightly graying hair, she is the very image of a mature beauty. Loth would be pleased. She smells of sex. This is rather interesting because her husband does not. ¡°¡­ And their daughter Cecily!¡± The last member of the assembly has unfortunately inherited her father¡¯s traits, although I have seen worse. What she lacks in beauty, she makes up for in self-confidence, and her calculating eyes hint at a keen intelligence. Since the introductions are done, I curtsy only for Cornelius to shove his hand in my face. I give him my own fully expecting a proper kiss, instead the man pumps it like he expects me to spit crude oil. ¡°The heroine of the hour! Bingle here mentioned your courage! A true testament to American women you are, not like those pale flowers the Brits seem to like, hah!¡± ¡°Haha. Surely Mr. Bingle is exaggerating. He and my uncle did most of the work.¡± ¡°He also said you were modest.¡± He replies with a sly smile. ¡°Corny dear, stop hogging the poor woman, you will scare her!¡± ¡°Is it true that you deceived a room full of guard and clobbered one of them?¡± Why does he make it sound so uncouth? ¡°Well, there were two of them. The other was guarding Dalton.¡± ¡°Hah! HAHAHAHA by God Bingle, you missed one! Aaaa thank you my girl, I have not laughed that hard in a long time. Now. Why don¡¯t you and Cecily enjoy yourselves with the young people while we crusty old folks reminisce about the past! My friends would never forgive me if I do not give their sons a chance to court you. Now go! Enjoy and be merry, and come back to us when you have made the round!¡± The young woman immediately locks arms with me while Cornelius and Bingle resume their previous discussions under the lady of the house¡¯s tolerant gaze. She drags me from group to group and introduces me to more people than I care to remember. I answer a barrage of repetitive questions with all the charm and patience I can muster. Am I engaged? No but I have prospects. Is it true I manipulated a group of men and used violence on one of them in order to save my uncle and the adventurer? It certainly is. Someone heard that I shot a pistol in someone¡¯s face at point blank range. That last rumor, which I deny in vain, makes me popular among the soldiers and younger people, not so with the more conservative fringe of the room. For some reason, I have a particularly warm reception from the women. I am willing to bet that quite a few of them would find swinging a club at their rivals a therapeutic experience. I am leaving a group of scowling spinsters when I catch a warning sign from the corner of my eyes. Dalton is frantically gesturing in several directions. Ah, it seems that I am being corralled. A few men in uniform are making their way across the crowd. I immediately spot the leader by virtue of his cloth being the shiniest, turn around and stop. ¡°What is it?¡± Asks Cecily. ¡°Someone could not wait their turn.¡± To her credit, my companion does not inquire more. Instead, she moves closer to me to offer a united front. In moments, a tall officer with a clean-shaven face and piercing brown eyes appears from the edge of a herd of guests. He is wearing a powdered white wig despite the sweltering heat. Whether it is by vanity or love for decorum, I cannot tell. His eyes fall on me with a frown. Yes, I was expecting you. What I was not expecting is for you to smell of sex and of Lydia Tillerson. This is an abuse of his position as guest. It makes me want to kill him. ¡°Miss Delaney?¡± ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°Would you please...¡± ¡°And who might you be?¡± The man¡¯s face ticks in anger at being interrupted. This is a trick I learned from Papa. People in a position of power are not used to opposition. If they are thwarted, their first reaction will almost always be to threaten. ¡°I am captain Lannes of the United States army, and you would do well to follow me.¡± ¡°Is there an issue, Jonas?¡± Asks my neighbor. You just lost the home advantage Jonas, let us see if I can take it for myself. ¡°I have some questions for your guest, nothing serious I assure you.¡± Says the Officer with a strained smile. ¡°Then surely you can ask them here.¡± I suggest loudly. A few people are starting to turn to us, sensing the tension in our respective postures. I could have been surprised that Cecily supports me instead of someone she lives with. I am not. My stay with the Lancaster taught me that people are always eager to employ newcomers as tool in an ongoing conflict. The rigid officer is not on his first offense, it seems, and Cecily is not someone I would offend lightly. Now to see if he stays or retreats. ¡°I was very impressed by your uncle¡¯s tale Miss Delaney. There is no need for hostility. I merely wanted to clarify a few points. As a member of law enforcement in those savage lands, it is my duty to shed light on your extraordinary adventure.¡± Cute save, mortal. ¡°I notice that you still haven¡¯t asked a question.¡± ¡°Your aggression does you a disservice Miss Delaney, it almost looks suspicious.¡± ¡°I confess, I am guilty of running out of patience. Ask your questions and be gone Jonas, we still have many guests to greet. ¡° Poor Jonas. You cannot touch me and we both know it. ¡°... Very well. What¡¯s your relationship with the group of outlaws known as the Valiant Companions?¡± ¡°There isn¡¯t one.¡± ¡°Really?¡± He smirks. ¡°Then can you explain why you came here arm in arm with one of its members?¡± ¡°And who would that be?¡± I answer immediately. The immediate riposte catches him off-guard. If he expected guilt and fear, I am going to disappoint him. ¡°Do not play coy. I am referring to Mr. Dalton.¡± ¡°Is he a member of the Valiant Companions?¡± ¡°... Yes?¡± ¡°Curious, I would expect him to be in chains then, since he is an outlaw. No?¡± Silence. I am aware that I am playing a dangerous game. The best would be to avoid the conflict. That would mean that they attempt to corner me for the rest of the evening however, and I am not letting that happen. ¡°Mr. Dalton¡¯s pardon does not absolve him of his crime before the Lord.¡± ¡°I suppose that is between them then, was there anything else?¡± ¡°...Yes, in fact, there is. I find it hard to believe that a woman with an interest in ancient writings could manipulate a room full of guards and neutralize one with a single hit.¡± ¡°You are mistaken in your assumption sir. I have plenty of experience in making men do what I want.¡± This gets me a few chuckles from the growing circle of people following the exchange. Wit will triumph over honesty here. ¡°As for neutralizing a guard, I come from a long line of hunters. The nape of the neck has ever been a vulnerable area.¡± ¡°Indeed. What an interesting pair you two are. Say¡­¡± The officer asks a flurry of questions about Loth, myself, our relationship and so on. I am not sure what he expected. I created Ariane Delaney over six months ago. I know this persona as well as an experienced actor knows their favorite character. After half a dozen questions the man relents and leaves with a polite farewell. I watch his back recede into the crowd and the spectators of our altercation return to their groups. We are departing this place tomorrow so we should be fine. ¡°Are you alright Ariane?¡± I sigh deeply. ¡°I apologize for this display of hostility. I did not mean to ruin the mood of the party but I could not just stand there and suffer those shameless accusations.¡± ¡°Please, my friend, it is I who should be apologizing. Captain Lannes¡¯ misplaced zeal has brought us no end of problems. He is as rigid as he is obtuse in his management of every issue to everyone''s dismay. He cares not about spreading strife and misery so long as his precious law is upheld.¡± ¡°Fiat Justitia, Ruat Caelum?¡± ¡°Precisely. Justice should serve the common good in my opinion. If we could redeem as we punish, the world would be better for it. His way leaves us with no teeth and no eyes.¡± We continue our round though I see that Cecily¡¯s mood has plummeted after our talk. Her dislike runs deep. We have just left my drunk ¡°uncle¡± with a trio of mature ladies when Dalton crosses our path. ¡°I am sorry to interrupt Mistress. Rose needs your help.¡± ¡°She does? Cecily, I must beg your pardon.¡± ¡°Oh do not mind me Ariane, I have been a poor host for the past hour. Some fresh air will do me good. Take care, and do enjoy the party!¡± ¡°Thank you Cecily, We should meet again later.¡± Dalton leads me through a servant access to a kitchen filled with rushing staff and a side corridor. Nobody questions our passage. ¡°Are you acquainted with the staff?¡± ¡°Yes, before you came I assisted them with the party preparations.¡± ¡°Well done, .¡± Dalton shivers. ¡°Thank you Mistress. It¡¯s over there.¡± I follow Dalton into a room that looks suspiciously like my own. We are still on the first floor, which means that this is the guest wing. I am surprised to see Rose is accompanied by a timid young woman in a grey dress, currently sitting on a large armchair. As I enter, Rose pats her companion''s hand in an awkward attempt at comfort. She is concerned and the girl, terrified. I can see it, and smell it. Curious. ¡°What is this about?¡± ¡°Rose¡­¡± says the newcomer. " I thank you, however I must beg..." ¡°Yes, yes, I will do as you say, though I do not approve. Ariane, I leave the young miss in your capable hands and shall return to the ballroom. Do let me know how things pan out, please.¡± Rose leaves and closes the door behind her. I do not say anything, for her perfume leaves me no doubt. That girl is also a After six months of isolation, I have been found. Before I can decide what to do the young woman stands up, gathers her courage and kneels with her throat exposed in the traditional gesture. How could I miss the two thin scars on her jugular? And why is she asking for me? Can become someone else¡¯s ? Is this adultery? are special, they are not cattle or prey but trusted seconds and aides. I feel towards her the barest hint of what I felt towards Baudouin: an unwillingness to harm, as if touching her were taboo. I now understand one of the most vital facets of their personalities: Vassals are willing. Dalton chose me of his own volition, fully knowing who, and what, I am, and this woman is the same. She seeks my help because I am a vampire, and to her vampires can be trusted. It is decided, I shall assist her if I can guarantee my safety. Good are precious things and protecting one for a fellow denizen of the night is a matter of... Let us say professional courtesy. Although nothing compels me to do so, I shall assist if only for the goodwill it will get me. Yes, I can feel it in my soul. I am no longer in danger. A supplicant is harmless to me, for they seek my power and in exchange, I will always be able to ask enough to protect myself. ¡°My name is Inez. I came here as an envoy for my Master to attend to some business matters. Unfortunately, I was followed here by my previous husband.¡± Fear, no, stark terror mars her face. Now that I look further, I notice that she has a scar on her right brow and the telltale of badly fused bones. She also bears faded marks or her left cheekbone and her lip. I do not need to see her body to know that she has suffered some terrible abuse. ¡°I take it that you did not part amicably?¡± Inez lets out a strangled laugh that quickly turns into a sob. Annoying. WEAK VASSAL. WOUNDED. Well, I can protect and calm her down, I even know how to do it. I approach the woman and place my hand on the top of her head. I caress her skin with the lightest touch and let my claws part the strands of hair. Slowly, she regains some measure of inner peace. ¡°Thank you, Mistress. I¡­ he, he is here for me. With his brothers and servants. I saw him. I left to hide but he will find me. He will never let me go!¡± ¡°Shhh. Your master is protecting you, I presume?¡± ¡°Yes. Rodrigo was warned and even punished, but he never takes no for an answer and never will. Oh, when my Master hears of this¡­ Ah, it matters little. My nemesis is here now. I will not survive to see revenge, for his twisted sense of honor calls for my death! If I am not his then no one else can have me, he said.¡± ¡°Focus, Inez.¡± I add quickly. ¡°And ask your favor.¡± ¡°Mistress, I cannot ask for mortal protection. Most judges believe that marriage is until death and many would return me to my husband to be disciplined! Please protect me!¡± As expected. ¡°If I guarantee your safety for tonight, what will you give?¡± ¡°Not blood, I cannot¡­ I have nothing¡­. A favor Mistress? Please, I beg you. Lord Suarez always pays his debts.¡± I have never heard from this man, which means he is probably one of the Charleston vampires. I am in a unique situation to create a bond I may use in the future, at the low price of defending this mortal. This is most likely a boon. ¡°A favor and secrecy from you and your Master. I do not want my presence here to be known.¡± ¡°Yes, I can promise this. If you save me your secret will be safe with us! Lord Suarez will agree, I would bet my life on it.¡± ¡°Now hide behind the bed, quickly. You too Dalton. Now.¡± They obey with commendable swiftness like proper . I sigh as I unbutton the top of my dress and slide it off my shoulder. Whatever happened to relaxing evenings? Is this a continuation of the Bingle effect? S?a?ch* Th? N?v?l(F)ire.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. Is the man contagious? Footsteps close in on us, the same footsteps I have heard noisily checking rooms for the past minute. My door is banged open by a tall and virile man dressed in black. I take in warm brown eyes, a mustache, and an anchor beard before I turn with fabric hiding my bared breast. ¡°Oh no! Lo Siento!¡± A little bit late for apologies mister. ¡°EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK!!!!!¡± The intruder slams the door closed and takes off, leaving his prize and his dignity behind. Let¡¯s make sure he does not return. ¡°PERVERT! HELP! HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELP!¡± I hear swearing in the distance. I rush to the window and see a form disappear in the tree line at a corner of the manicured garden. I finish buttoning my dress as the emerge from their hiding spot. Dalton looks quite proud. ¡°I think we will not see him again tonight, Mistress.¡± ¡°And you would be mistaken, my dear Dalton. People like him do not give up.¡± We drag Inez to the bedroom opposite ours, mercifully empty, and order her to lock herself in until she hears from us. The butler who introduced me is walking towards us with thunder on his brow by the time we are finished. ¡°Was it you who screamed like that? What happened?¡± ¡°A stranger entered the bedroom I was using to readjust my dress! This is scandalous!!!¡± I describe the intruder with pleasurable anticipation. I could, of course, follow the man and incapacitate or even slaughter him. There would be a risk, even should the bodies disappear. There is no need for this, however, I do not even have to dirty my hands. There will always be opportunities for violence and good hunts. Now is the time for an elegant solution. ¡°Are you saying that there is an intruder? Here? In the house of the Tillersons?!¡± answers the butler with outrage. ¡°I looked out the window and saw a shadow approaching the wall sir. I am so scared! Are we not safe even here, in this beacon of civilization?¡± If the man inflates his chest any more, he will surely explode. ¡°This shall not stand. Rodgers, to me, let us see what this is all about.¡± ¡°I beg you sir, be careful!¡± We go back the way we came. Before reaching the kitchen, we turn to a side door that is apparently used for deliveries and cross it. While I and a few servants wait on the sideline, the butler, a strong old man and Dalton walk stealthily into the treeline. Less than a minute after. We see them rushing back. The butler reaches us, looking a bit lost. My ever-useful takes the lead. ¡°There is a full carriage Mistress Ariane, with quite a few horses. I counted four men and there are probably more around the property. They have clubs and sticks.¡± ¡°We are beset by bandits! I must warn Mr. Tillerson.¡± ¡°No, they are not bandits. They only sent one man to look around and they have weapon to beat, not kill. They are looking for someone.¡± I add. The butler looks at me with no small amount of confusion. Before my expertise in illegal activities is looked into, I lead the conversation towards more interesting grounds. ¡°It is time to call for reinforcement sir. I suggest we ask the soldiers for assistance.¡± I say, and turn to leave. Dalton immediately follows and the poor man is carried by the wave of the small group of servants we have gathered. People are starting to whisper excitedly. We turn a corner of the mansion and reach its back. As expected, the party has spilled over and a large group of inebriated soldiers and male landowners is currently watching a weasely corporal in an ill-fitting uniform juggle an impressive number of knives. ¡°Hrm, gentlemen, please!¡± Over twenty people grant me their attention. ¡°I am terribly sorry to impose upon your evening, however circumstances dictate that we beg for your help.¡± I add meekly. I then turn to the butler at my side. ¡°Hrm, yes! Gentlemen, my name is Jonathan and I am the butler for this estate. We have spotted a group of ill-meaning¡­¡± I watch him recount his discovery and the inebriated minds of the group turns to violence with commendable speed. I am moving towards my goal and I have yet to use any of my vampire powers. This is fun and flattering! As soon as the butler is done I decide to stir the crowd in the right direction. ¡°Please, will you brave soldiers defend us? Who knows what those rogues are after!? They could be here to abduct women!¡± ¡°A threat!? A challenge!? Now that¡¯s my kind of party!¡± yells a red-hair lieutenant with a waxed handlebar mustache. ¡°Wilkins, take your men to the back entrance and circle around. Jackson you and your lads do the same from the delivery road. The rest, with me. When we start the scrap, jump them.¡± ¡°Yes sir!¡± The drunkest group moves straight forward with surprising stealth. I follow at a good distance while Dalton and the butler, and a quite a few civilians, join their improvised squad. A moment later the line of men disappears into the trees except for the weasely man who climbs one of them. A minute passes and my hearing picks up hard breath and rustling until the lieutenant¡¯s voice breaks the relative silence ¡°WHY GOOD EVENING LADS!¡± Immediately after, the sound of war cries, charge, counter charge and a merciless melee starts and dies within the span of twenty heartbeats. It is not long before a procession returns to us from the garden gate. The soldiers line up with a few trussed up captives between them and I take the time to congratulate them and listen to their boasts one by one. WELL DONE PUPPETS. I AM PLEASED. Yes, quite pleased. This was done without anyone seriously hurt. Poor Jonathan has the beginning of what is going to be a spectacular bruise yet it does not seem to diminish his pride in the slightest. Well done my minions, well done indeed. ¡°You are making a mistake! We are here on a mission of honor to reclaim a liar and a whore! She will not escape her fate!¡± says Inez¡¯s ex-husband. ¡°So you are after the women!¡± I retort before he can take back any control of the situation. The accusation is met with the righteous roar of the assembly. Yes, how dare they sneak about to steal your women... ¡°Don¡¯t worry, "friend", you¡¯ll tell us everything we want to know real soon. Come on lads, to the barracks!¡± With a victory cry, the soldiers leave while the happy civilians toast their resounding victory and battle prowess. Soon, the enemy troops numbered in the dozens, were all the size of Goliath and carried enough swords to equip a regiment of hussars. Ah, what beautiful tales we get when male pride and liquor intersect. I cross my arms, satisfied. And that, as they say, is that. Chapter 29: Like Herding Cats Pt. 2 I am walking back to the manor when Rose storms out in a panic. She immediately spots me and rushes to my side. From the red in her cheeks, I can tell that she has been running for a while.She still stinks of tainted blood. Gah, what is it with tonight? Can I not enjoy this party in peace? Is it too much to ask that the world polices itself for one evening? ¡°Miss Ari, your uncle asks for you, he has been challenged to a shooting competition and turned it into a three-on-three public match. Everyone is waiting!¡± Seriously... Seriously! I raise my eyes to the and think ¡°can you believe this?¡± I get a vague feeling that it is not impressed. Fair enough. ¡°Dalton, take Inez and make sure she stays safe. There could be more of them.¡± ¡°Yes, mistress.¡± ¡°And Dalton? Be careful .¡± ¡°I will be.¡± He leaves without a word. I am lucky to have him around. How did I manage society without his helpful presence? Ah, yes, I have been living like a recluse for six months. I was not managing anything. I stride towards the front of the house and notice in passing that the ballroom is empty. This explains the lack of reaction we got when the soldiers returned victorious. The other revelers did not hear us. The garden in front of the manor is a meticulously kept lawn. The party-goers have gathered in a semi-circle around two targets. My uncle and his three giggling girl friends are forward and to the left while Captain Lannes and his three stooges mirror him on the right. In the middle of it stands Cecily, currently playing the violin. In the distance, someone set up two target practice dummies. They are at least thirty paces away from the crowd and surrounded by lit torches. I cannot believe my own eyes. They are serious about this. Loth notices me and has the audacity of winking. I roll my eyes and join him on the lawn, feeling the heavy weight of the crowd''s attention weighing on my back. I turn around. The center of the semi-circle is occupied by our hosts and Bingle, the guest of honor. He seems a bit upset though when our eyes meet, I am graced with the most awkward and exaggerated nod I ever received. Cecily finishes her piece, a respectable performance, and joins her parents. Loth untangles himself from his improvised harem and struts forward. His booming voice soon fills the clearing. "Ladies and Gentlemen, fine people of fort Barrington, good evening! My name is Loth Delaney and I have the honor of being yer guest tonight, as well as yer entertainer for a very specific event. And what an event it will be! Indeed, ladies and gentlemen, my martial abilities, my very skills as a marksman have been questioned! Can any Southern Gentleman let this challenge stay unanswered? Nay! And what better way to dispel such a notion than a good and proper demonstration, I ask? There is none! For deeds speak louder than words! As the provoked party, I took the initiative to select a format that will, I hope, garner your approval! Three of us will take the field, for three opponents of captain Lannes'' choosing." That rotten twat, of course. "As my champion, as my second, I humbly beg the assistance of sir Bingle, the hero of the hour!" "And you shall have it!" replies the adventurer with a resounding voice that matches Loth''s tempestuous barytone. The crowd roars its approval at the theatrical display. It is just the start. "Thank ye sir, and for my second champion, I ask the only other person of my blood present. My niece, Ariane!" It is rude for a proper lady to raise her voice and so I merely curtsy. The announcement is welcomed with equal part excitement and disapproval, or is it merely surprise? "As for the rules, we shall take turns shooting at the targets before us. Each person gets one shot. Shots to the head are worth ten points, the body seven and the limbs four. The team that after three shots has the most points, wins! Now, let us begin, and may fortune favor the bold!" Applause fills the air as Lydia Tillerson steps forward with two engraved muskets. I pick one and a sneering officer with black hair picks the other. Well, aren¡¯t we confident? The crowd is still cheering, partly due to Loth¡¯s limited eloquence but more, I suspect, because of alcohol. I do so hate when Loth is bored. A solid looking soldier with greying sideburns goes first. He loads the musket with practiced ease, patiently lines up the shot and fires on his target. The roar of the weapon is accompanied by womanly yells of dismay. Yes. Firearms are loud... Lady Tillerson steps forward and verifies that indeed, it is a square hit to the chest. The assembly erupts in polite congratulations and I spot Cecily inscribe a big seven on a piece of blackboard brought for the occasion. The man is a cautious soldier and with the distance, it is not so easy to guarantee a headshot. For humans, that is. I judge his decision as wise with the limited information he has access to. Bingle steps forward but Loth will not have it. He jumps to his feet and bellows: S~?a??h the N?v?l(F)ire.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. ¡°As the eldest, I claim the first shot!¡± The facetious Dvergur then winks to me and stumbles as he takes the musket from my hand. He makes a show of loading the weapon and even has the paper cartridge brought to him by a blushing beauty. Loth aligns the sight, takes the time to give me a radiant smile then pulls the trigger. I roll my eyes just as our target¡¯s head bounces back. Dead silence spreads over the clearing. Unfazed, the lady of the house inspects and announces. ¡°Headshot!¡± The front of the house resounds with yells and cheers. On the soldier side, Lannes eyebrows creep up in astonishment. A smug ten appears on our board, outlined twice by a vengeful Cecily. The advantage is with us. It is the captain¡¯s turn. He loads his musket with slow and deliberate movements. Several seconds pass as he aims. The tension is palpable. A loud bang heralds their own target¡¯s head reeling back. The screams of excitement eclipse even the sound of the discharge. What started as a bet has turned into a memorable show. Let us see if I can make it unforgettable. Bingle detaches from the family and picks the musket and cartridge I offer him with a tense look. He, too, loads according to the manual and lines his shot with deliberate patience. Yet another cloud of blue smoke lifts in the air and after it clears, Lydia shouts the result. ¡°Body shot!¡± Again, the crowd cheers in delight. Both teams are now tied and everything will depend on the last competitors. Bingle chose not to take risks, nor to offend the soldiers. How politically minded of him. In perfect silence, the smug-looking officer loads and shoots with the ease of the veteran marksman. ¡°Body shot!¡± Yells the mistress to everyone¡¯s delight. It is my turn. I step forward and look at Loth. His smile is vicious and predatory as he points his finger towards the space between his eyes. I slightly turn to Cecily who makes a long and very obvious gesture of slicing someone¡¯s throat. Alright then. With the ease of experience, I hold the musket horizontal, bite the paper cartridge and pour powder into the pan. Spitting the piece of paper is accompanied by some whispers of disapproval from the traditional fringe of the assembly. I close the frizzen and place the butt of the weapon on the ground. I shove the cartridge in the barrel and push it down with the ramrod which I quickly reattach. I lay the weapon horizontal with a flick of the wrist, line the shot and fire. It took me around ten seconds which is fast but not inhumanly so. I wait for the hit to be witnessed. It does not happen. Eh? I turn around to a wall of shocked faces. The only one who isn¡¯t surprised is Loth. He is currently laughing to tears and drying his eyes with a handkerchief. ¡°Well well well niece, I believe you are half an inch wide to the left.¡± Oh, he dares! ¡°You were wide as well!¡± ¡°Aye, I overcompensated.¡± ¡°It¡¯s a headshot!¡± Yells Lydia with astonishment. It starts slow, ripples between groups and inflates until the acknowledgment of my prowess becomes a deafening ovation. Loth is looking like a cat who found the pot of cream. This is less about the result, more about playing the crowd. In the end we have a supernatural advantage and the experience to back it up. The soldiers including Bingle will aim for the center mass because it is enough to incapacitate any human they hit. We, however, train to hit quick-moving monsters. A stationary target at thirty paces is child¡¯s play. My eyes meet Cecily¡¯s. She is glowing with pride and sated revenge. Our victory is announced on the blackboard with broad letters. Lannes¡¯ group is less than pleased. I believe that once the rumor spreads, the loss of face will dog them for years. It does not matter that two of us and one of them pulled a very difficult shot. People will only remember that they were beaten by a girl. A pale girl with blond hair and deep blue eyes that came out of nowhere. Heavens, I hope this does not spread too far. I would not want someone to add two and two. Loth, what have you done? And why? Everyone spills on the ground to congratulate the victors. Our target is brought forward and the three black holes in the cloth held for all to behold. Our victory is proven beyond a shadow of a doubt and the few dissidents are quickly silenced. I meet eyes with the soldier with grey morse mustache and he salutes me. I find the move touching and quite sportsmanlike, and curtsy in return. For a while, I am forced to handle everyone¡¯s attention as politely as I can. Bingle comes to compliment me on my shot with Rose on his arm, expressing his complete trust in me. This man is unbelievable. His pride extends to those he sees as allies, and my success is a cause for joy. Truly a relic from the past. He should have sat at the round table. It takes a while for things to wind down. I find myself shooting another two times in friendly competition, while teams form up to emulate the original show. Loth may have created a trend here. I am about to follow my irresponsible pseudo-uncle inside the mansion when my nose picks the group''s heavy musk. I decide that I would leave them a few hours of intimacy before we have that discussion. When I turn around, a flash of light catches my eyes. Only a few people notice and then immediately dismiss it. Unfortunately for me and with how the evening has been going so far, I know I must investigate. I discreetly reach the tree line and rush in the direction of the sound. It doesn¡¯t take long before another flash of white light illuminates the undergrowth and soon I am close enough to hear a commotion. Oh, no. No! How could this happen?! We are still far from everything, practically at the edge of European expansion. This should not be possible. There shouldn¡¯t be another vampire here, and yet there is no mistaking this cold aura. Flash. A hiss of anger. Impossible. Sinead was spotted? We are far from everything!? Is this bad luck or some cosmic joke? I could just leave... I promised Sinead safe passage. That doesn¡¯t mean that I need to protect him... No! If he falls now I will never get his blood. That won¡¯t stand. This blood is mine. MINE! I run through the dense copse of trees until I see movement in the distance. I move forward and am immediately noticed. A man slowly steps out of a mass of ferns. I call him a man out of generosity for he is more beast than kin. He is also the vampire I felt. Some affliction took him over only to leave behind a tortured husk. His cloth is ravaged and stained. The stench of rancid blood overwhelms my sensitive nose and so does he. It is as if he had turned, like spoiled milk or vinegar. His pallid skin slouches lightly and instead of our needle nails, he sports true talons of malformed chitin. Is this what happens if we let go too completely? ¡°¡± This man is far gone. He licks his lips when I reveal a white leg and does not even seem to notice the knife I retrieve from its sheath. I first. I rush his left side and take a jab at his heart. His claw misses the blade yet at the same time he twists on himself and the blade only slides against his flank. ¡° We exchange a few blows, me with my weapon and him with claws. I am quickly pushed back. His strength is insane! I fail to deflect completely and his left hand slices into my shoulder. At the same time, I rotate and manage to catch his face with the tip. We separate. I got his left eye and he doesn¡¯t care a bit. Thick black blood seeps from half a dozen superficial wounds I inflicted using my superior range, while the one cut on my shoulder stings horribly. I rush him again, more carefully. I use my superior speed and range to harry him and even manage to slice off two fingers. If my strikes do something it doesn¡¯t show. He dodges back and places two feet against the trunk of a tree and . I yelp in surprise and duck, not a moment too soon. My foe barrels over me like a cannonball only to smack into a nearby tree with the noise of broken bones. ¡°How stupid can he be?¡± I think as I turn to stab him in the back. We¡¯re in the middle of the forest, of course he¡­ The man is already pushing his feet against the trunk he impacted. Too late, can¡¯t¡­ He crashes against me. All air leaves my lungs as I am propelled backward and against something solid. His claws dig into the bracer of my left forearm which I placed in front of my heart. His other hand digs into my fingers, trying to pry my knife off. Only his missing digits prevent him from carrying out his plans. So strong! Slowly I manage to angle my blade to slice into his hand yet at the same time, one of his claws reaches the bone. Hurts. TRAPPED. WOUNDED. BITE. His torso is against mine. I have no leverage. He is so powerful that a human would have had his arms ripped off already. Even with enhanced strength, I feel things tearing! I must escape this. With an impatient grunt, the man arches his back and head away from me. His forehead smashes against my cheek. I only managed to turn my head at the last moment. He arches back and I move and bite into his face. My mouth closes around his nose. DEVOUR. He tastes bad, sour, but not toxic. Power. Power is good. My foe once against shows his disregard for pain. He still pulls away and something rips. I spit the flesh and prepare to bite again. Something is wrong, the air shimmers around us. Instead of attacking me, my foe recoils in horror. His mangled hands raise up reflexively. Won¡¯t get a better chance. I stab him and he still manages to move at the last moment. I try to compensate and fail. It hurts. The blade still bites deep in his chest. I just need to slice and¡­ Both of his hands smash down into my forearm with enough strength to shatter the bone. PAIN. I lash out with my left claws and dig deep in his face. Both his eyes are red ruins now. I just need to slice his throat¡­ He angles his head down and when I stab forward, he bites down. I managed to move away and only get scraped by his canines. I twist away as he slices me but not quick enough. I was too committed. He catches me under my right breast and the strength of his strike lifts me off the air. I see the ground getting away. My ribs cracked. Something hits the small of my back, increasing the pain I already feel there, then another hits my head, then another hits my left leg. I land heavily on a root and roll on the ground like a ragdoll. ¡°Hss.¡± Owwww. This hurts! Aaaaah! Curses! STAND UP AND FIGHT. I slowly pick myself up, trying to ignore the litany of aches I feel in my body. The broken ribs are the most painful of all. I need to finish him off. There will be no egress for me with these wounds. On open ground, his ridiculous jumps will allow him to close the distance. How I wish I had told Loth instead of going alone. So stupid! Gah, I hope this mistake will not cost me my life. Just have to stand up Ari. Come on. Stand up. Up! STAND UP. With a cry of pain, I finish dragging myself against a trunk just in time to see that accursed vampire is blindly stumbling forward towards me, feeling the air in front of him with my own dagger. DEFILER. THIEF. FAE MINE, BLADE MINE. You, sir, are going nowhere. ¡°Sinead, give me noise!¡± I wait because I know why my opponent recoiled in terror and who produced the blinding flash of light. Soon, the sounds of the forest are amplified beyond reason. My foe is disoriented by the cacophony of the forest. I brace and jump above him, landing lightly behind him. I grab my chest in pain and take a second to gather myself, then I do as he did. I jump on his back. As expected he twists at the last moment but this time I¡¯m not trying to stab but to grab. I coil around him as best as I can with a broken arm and bite deep in his neck. He flails and bucks as I Devour, when this does not work he jumps back and crashes me against a tree, head first. I manage to protect myself with a raised arm at the moment of impact so the shock only allows me to bite deeper. It only takes a few more seconds for him to stop struggling. ¡°¡± he whispers with a note of fear. I keep draining him until there is nothing left. After what feels like ages I fall away from the corpse just as it starts disintegrating. ¡°¡± I say and wince in pain. That was some good power if a bit sour, now I just need to¡­ Trying to move sends a sharp spike of agony through my gut. What is¡­ Ah. He stabbed me. That faithless son of a mongrel stabbed me with my own bloody dagger. Arg! The CUR!!!! I touch the handle and hiss. I need this out but I am really tired and this is quite painful. The wind whispers in my ears: ¡°Hold on Nightwalker, I shall fetch your for you.¡± Yes, if he comes near, the Thirst will turn me insane. Ah, this was supposed to be a GODDAMN RELAXED EVENING, and now I am bleeding out in the woods with my own knife in my stomach. Why? Why why why why. Is this divine retribution for clinging to life? For not letting those fanatics spike my heart in the foul smelling depths of the vampire fortress? I should¡­ Just¡­ Bah! I slowly drag myself in a small recess just so that a misplaced root does not dig into my bruised back. I take quick and shallow breaths to fight off the pain. Damn it all, I need to staunch the wound. I use my unbroken hand to apply light pressure and realize the dress is already soaked with my blood. If I remove the blade I will be incapacitated for sure. And when I wake up again¡­ Aaaahh this hurts! Dammit. I wish I could look at the and meditate but the canopy is too dense. I have stopped being a real fledgling for one bloody day and I¡¯m already a wreck. Is there an end to this? My life hasn¡¯t changed since a year ago. I ran away from the fortress, ran away from the Lancaster and from the Order. Then I hid with Loth and ran around to assuage my Thirst while waiting to grow. Now that I can stay awake for longer than eight hours and don¡¯t have to spend a significant amount of that time hunting, I am running around to solve issues. I was supposed to be a leader, not everyone¡¯s problem solver! Why am I only able to handle the things directly in front of me? Is this my fault!? Should I plan better? And what of that vampire? I am quite sure that he was a fugitive. His words lend credence to my belief. Are there more like him? How likely am I to be found by an errant monster? Are they being tracked and could they lead others to me, or was this just the height of misfortune? So many questions. I know what I will next ask Jimena. I wince at a pain that does not abate. I think I am no longer healing. I close my eyes and focus on breathing. I am not dying, not like last time. I am, however, quite cold. And tired. I could just stop for a few moments. Let go a bit. Stop breathing. It does not even hurt anymore¡­ I have fled. I flee. I will keep fleeing. I do not need air nor water to keep pushing, to pummel the earth with my feet and leave dust and fallen leaves in my trail. So long as the tainted blood flows through my veins, the limitations of this form can be ignored. Unfortunately, the same goes for my pursuers. I can hear them behind and to the side. They are trying to close in and box me. I am fast and I am no city bird so I have managed to stay one step ahead but it is only a matter of time before a mistake sends me to my knees and my subsequent demise. "We will find you." They say, "It is inevitable." I keep going. What can I do but stay ahead for as long as I can? Eventually, my foot is snagged by a root I saw too late. I land awkwardly and even as I pick myself up the shadows gather around me for the kill. And then they die. Incredible power is unleashed to vaporize all my foes. Flames of blue spread and annihilate them where they stand. When it is done, not even ashes remain. I am paralyzed with terror as a giant with fiery hair walks past me and kneels by my side. ¡°Interesting nightmare, Nightwalker, if painfully classic. How I wish I could be my true self in the real world as well, and show your kind the error of their ways. I would keep you alive as a pet, of course. You are just so precious.¡± His armor shines in white and blue with such an intensity that I wonder why I have not been burnt to a crisp yet. He is terrifying, a force of nature. I dare not meet his eyes. For the first time, I see someone who could take on my Master and live. "Yes, proper respect, finally. If the Goddess wills, one day you will see it with your own eyes. Now, wake up." I regain consciousness on the bed of my guest room. Loth and Dalton¡¯s worried faces are uncomfortably close. I feel fantastic despite the closing wound on my stomach. ¡°Please do not tell me I had fae¡¯s blood and was not awake to experience it.¡± Their eyes meet and they look just a tad nervous. ¡°Very well Mistress, we won¡¯t tell you.¡± ¡°Dammit!¡± I say with feeling. I knew it was going to be delicious. I was truly looking forward to it! ¡°I¡¯m sorry lass, I should have been there.¡± ¡°Bah, how could you know. I did not even warn you before rushing into danger. I only have myself to blame for this mishap. Aah. It hurts.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t move Mistress. We only just removed the dagger.¡± ¡°Ah, I wish I knew how to use it better. I got stabbed with my own blade...¡± ¡°Not everyone can boast such an intimate knowledge of their weapon Mistress.¡± ¡°... Right. And what of my opponent?¡± ¡°We have spread the ashes lass. We are still unnoticed.¡± ¡°I cannot believe it. I have used the full extent of my physical powers no less than five times in the past week and Bingle and the others are still unaware of my true nature. It¡¯s miraculous, truly.¡± ¡°If you say so Mistress, I personally believe the word you are looking for is ¡®gullible¡¯.¡± ¡°As you say, Dalton. By the way, I missed the opportunity to say farewell to the adventurer. We are parting ways tomorrow after all.¡± ¡°Ah, he did mention it. Let me see if I can wake him up lass.¡± "I¡¯m sorry for having you raise at such a time.¡± ¡°Think nothing of it Ms. Delaney! It is I who should have remembered your, hem, condition. Besides, I am to blame for your next task. Are you sure that you do not want company? I can catch the next ship, I assure you.¡± ¡°Oh Mr. Bingle. Your solicitude moves me. I promise you that I will be well defended.¡± ¡°Ah yes, your uncle assured me that you had past dealings with the savage and that he was a man of his word.¡± ¡°Yes, and I will have a chaperone in the person of his sister.¡± Possibly. ¡°Indeed?¡± If Bingle¡® eyebrows raise any higher they will take flight. It is my fault for trying to make this situation anything less than absolutely scandalous. For the unmarried daughter of a good family to go gallivanting in forgotten ruins in the company of natives will never be acceptable in any country of the globe. At least Bingle does his best to mask his disapproval. ¡°Hum, truly you have the soul of an adventurer Ms. Delaney. I hope you will travel to Europe at some point. The Royal Museum would certainly be of interest to you. Why, I dare say you could teach the curator a thing or two!¡± I misjudged him again. This man is too pure for his own good. The discussion ends in pleasantries and extended farewells, which I hate. Bingle is dejected and tears shine in his eyes. I don¡¯t understand why he would grow so attached in such a short time. Finally, dawn approaches and torpor makes me stumble. This pushes the poor gentleman out of the room so that I can rest, at last. Chapter 30: Charm ¡°And what is this?¡± I ask as I get out of the carriage.We are in the middle of a meadow off the beaten path. Besides Loth¡¯s moving fortress there is also another one, an actual coach of outdated but solid make. ¡°That¡¯s yer ride. I need to keep Asni and the wagon with me, ya know?¡± ¡°Yes yes, I was referring to the man.¡± A prisoner kneels between Loth and Dalton. Sinead is standing a hundred paces away, busy drawing a pile of something in a notebook. From the smell, I assume it to be carrion. ¡°We were set upon by bandits, if you would believe it. We thought you might want some breakfast.¡± The captive¡¯s eyes widen in surprise. Having someone hunt for me feels like a bad habit to develop but I would not want this man''s life to go to waste. I can indulge for a night, I suppose. I draw closer and take in the man¡¯s appearance. Is this some sort of test? ¡°Is something the matter, Ari?¡± ¡°Loth dear, do not tell me you have not noticed what is wrong? This man is no bandit.¡± ¡°Excellent.¡± Whispers the wind. We all turn to Sinead as he makes his way to us. ¡°I was afraid that you would simply miss it, Nightwalker. I am pleased that it is not so. As part of our agreement on safe passage, I believe I still owe you a bit of information and so I have decided to turn it into an impromptu lesson. Consider it a mark of appreciation for yesterday''s timely assistance.¡± The Fae pockets his book and pen then turns to me with his hands against the small of his back. There is an intensity and fire to him that even his gaunt figure cannot dim. He smiles, pleased like a well-fed cat. ¡°Trickery, lies, and deception. Those are the greatest tools of your kind. It is not the strength of your arms that moves nations against one another, but a well-placed letter, a forlorn love or a single word at the right time. We both know why it must be so, do we not?¡± It is so because we would lose ourselves then lose our lives to a united humanity. There is no need to voice this, however. ¡°And how do they unravel, those plots and conspiracies? By the pull of a single thread. Find one inconsistency, unmask one perpetrator and the whole scheme falls apart like a house of cards. This is why it is so exciting, no? Patience and meticulous planning against paranoia and observation. The eternal balance of the secret battlefields. Tell the class, oh dweller in the dark. Tell us what you saw. And then I shall guide you on the next step.¡± I am loath to indulge him, however I am quite eager to learn from his experience. ¡°This man smells like soap and his clothes are rumpled but clean. His beard is trimmed and I can smell wax. Expensive. His skin is too healthy for someone who spends much time outside in squalor. Finally, his self-discipline is admirable. He is ex-military and lives in town. This is a mercenary.¡± ¡°Precisely! Observe the clean shoes as well. Amateurs always get the shoes wrong. And the guns! Too expensive. Too modern. Outlaw outfits rarely manage to obtain uniform gear. No, we have been deliberately attacked.¡± Dalton and Loth are only surprised but for a moment. Soon, their gazes turn calculating and our prisoner fear turns to stark terror. ¡°And before you two lovable meatheads take out the pliers and hot coals, I would ask your patience. I wish to instruct the Lady of the House in the subtle arts of suggestion.¡± Oh, this is going to be good. ¡°What annoys me the most on this forsaken plane of existence is not the fact that your kind enslaved my own. It is not even my unfulfilled wish to regain my true power so that I may turn my jailors into quivering piles of flesh for all of eternity, no. What truly sets me off is how pathetically primitive your mind techniques are. You had millennia of existence to come up with something fun and still miserably failed! I know that good techniques are wasted on mortals, but still, for the love of art! You should not settle for mediocrity! It is thus my greatest pleasure to introduce you to this most hallowed of pursuit. Now, Nightwalker, how do you perceive your own Charm?¡± ¡°Like a rope.¡± Sinead turns into the living embodiment of condescension. I need to learn how to draw properly so that I may immortalize the arrogance on his face if only to have a frame of reference when I eat him later. ¡°A rope. Truly. I expected so little and am still disappointed. Well, do you notice that this rope changes as you proceed with the manipulation?¡± ¡°Yes. It can be strong or weak, taut or loose and it frays under pressure, just like my tolerance for rude behavior.¡± ¡°Yes, hrm, a fair point. Obviously the strength of the bond reflects the depth of the relationship. Time and genuine care will improve it better than brute strength. The frays appear when you force your victims to do something against their will. The more unreasonable or absurd the request, the more they will fight it. Even the frailest human mind will buckle and fight if you, say, ask them to kill their own child.¡± I hope he does not speak from experience, that would be rather distasteful. ¡°You will, if you focus, notice colors and patterns in your... rope. They are the marks of emotion. Not all bonds are the same. I find that love trumps all, though terror is a close second. Now, the basics. What do you think is the most important thing in manipulation?¡± ¡°Subtlety?¡± ¡°Wrong, though not entirely out of topic. The answer is: the other. You are not stabbing a target, you are painting a masterpiece. Every working is different even when it involves the exact same person. You need to understand your target to some extent so that you may obtain the best results. A proper session is nine parts eloquence and one part magic. Without eloquence, you will not even understand which are the best questions to ask." "Let me take an example. You, , what is the first question you would ask our guest?" ¡°Hum, do you have mates and are they on their way here?¡± ¡°Not bad! I¡¯ll give you three out of ten. The proper question is: am I in immediate danger? What tells you that his ''mates'', as you call it, are the only things that threaten your life? Hmm? What¡¯s your name lad? How should I call you?¡± The man struggles a bit before admitting to himself that this is not exactly vital information. ¡°Hendricks, sir.¡± ¡°And Hendricks. Do you believe me to be in immediate danger?¡± Silence. ¡°Maybe a little bit eh?¡± The man reluctantly nods. ¡°It¡¯s not that the knife would have saved you. You saw us fight. Do you believe yourself fast enough to capture a hostage? Indeed not. Now be a good lad and drop it on the ground.¡± Dalton pales as an open straight razor drops from the captive¡¯s bound hands. Loth seems a bit displeased. ¡°First thing I¡¯ll teach ye when we¡¯re back is how ya frisk properly.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry sir.¡± ¡°Now, now, do not let yourselves be distracted! Remember, open-ended questions! Do not let your preconceived ideas get in the way of the truth. Do not demand a flower when you could inquire about the whole bouquet.¡± ¡°What are you doing to me?!¡± Asks the mercenary in a panic. Sinead considers him for a second as if remembering that this is an actual living being and not just the point of his demonstration. How does the puppet dare speak out of turn? Before things can get any further I step forward and our eyes meet. S?a??h the N?v?lFir?(.)n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. I smile kindly and brush a strand of errant hair behind his ear. ¡°Shhh do not worry, my friends are a tad strange, but I am here for you. You are safe now as long as we get what we want. You want to help us, don¡¯t you? Help us then leave?¡± ¡°Yes...¡± ¡°Hendricks was it?¡± ¡°Yes, ma''am.¡± ¡°My name is Ari. These men here just want to protect me. Do you understand?¡± ¡°Yes Ari.¡± ¡°You are strong. And courageous. Are you an army man?¡± ¡°Yes ma''am, I was a Marine before I signed up with this outfit.¡± ¡°A Marine eh? You served aboard a ship then?¡± ¡°Yes ma''am, I had the honor of serving aboard the USS Wasp!¡± ¡°Indeed! And you signed with ''your outfit'' afterwards then?¡± ¡°Yes, ma''am, seven months ago, hrm. The pay is very good. You understand, I am sure.¡± ¡°Of course! Soldiers are never well paid, even during a war, are they not?¡± ¡°Absolutely ma''am. A disgrace is what it is.¡± ¡°And I understand that your current employer would better reward a man of your talents?¡± ¡°Yes, they do what needs to be done and they know who to hire for that.¡± Keep him talking, keep him saying yes, build a rapport, make him talk about himself. Those are all things that I learned from my dad and from Achilles. I understand now that this is the heart of Charm. My ability to mesmerize is only one more tool in my arsenal and if I am not careful it will become a crutch. I will have to use it now, however, if I hope to reach the next part of our conversation. I place my hands on the sides of his head. He is close now. My cool breath ruffles his dark hair. ¡°It sounds dangerous.¡± ¡°Why yes, it is, obviously...¡± ¡°You have been placed in danger, my good Hendricks, by incompetent people,¡± I add with a frown. ¡°Yes, in danger.¡± ¡°They don¡¯t know how to work with you. They didn¡¯t know how to use your skills. Yes?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t you think it¡¯s unfair? You¡¯re so good at what you do, and they waste your potential so...¡± ¡°Yes...¡± ¡°Truly unfair. We should do something about it. We are friends, are we not?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°And friends protect and help each other. Yes?¡± ¡°Yes, protect and help.¡± ¡°So we should go and see them, those that sent you here.¡± ¡°Yes, they are not far.¡± ¡°Truly?¡± ¡°Yes, they wanted us to bring you to them.¡± ¡°Us as in....¡± ¡°Either the bearded one or the blonde woman.¡± ¡°And that is why you were hired?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°They showed themselves to you?¡± ¡°Yes. Two officers from the continental army. Bunch of pricks.¡± ¡°I bet they looked arrogant and thought they were better than anyone else.¡± ¡°Yes. Yes! Just because they are still in service. As if they didn¡¯t buy their rank! Hah!¡± ¡°This place is desolate. How would you ever find them?¡± ¡°Easily Ari, just follow the road west until you come across an abandoned farm with brown brick walls and a burned down barn. They are waiting there.¡± ¡°Thank you, Hendricks. Gentlemen?¡± ¡°I want to talk to those fine gentlemen promptly. Do hurry.¡± ¡°Go ahead lass.¡± ¡°Bon app¨¦tit, Mistress.¡± Normally, feeding is an intimate experience. In this specific case, I make it quick and lethal. There is something empowering about draining someone to death while surrounded by three killers. Even if the act of drinking should make me vulnerable, I am not afraid, because they are on my side. All those present know what I am and accept it, well, all those that will survive anyway. I am making a statement and I like it. Out of those killers, I am also the deadliest. My feeding shows my lack of concern. It is as much a show of self-confidence as it is one of trust. I have achieved much in the past year. ¡°We are expected, gentlemen. Shall we?¡± ¡°Aye lass, can¡¯t wait to see those twats again.¡± ¡°Language!¡± ¡°Yeah yeah.¡± We are polite monsters. Sinead kindly requests to sit next to me to continue the lesson which leaves poor Dalton to eat our dust. ¡°No worries Mistress. Just make sure you learn all you can!¡± Good . We sit down next to Loth and Sinead immediately turns to me with a smile. ¡°You are a natural, Nightwalker, but you miss the point. You are far too ruthless, too result-driven. Charm is an art that should be enjoyed for the sake of it. Aaaah, how many masterpieces has my race created over the eons, games millennia-long won by those we never even suspected of playing? How pleasant the retelling! Ah, but I digress. It will come to you in time I am sure. The young ones are always eager to go for the immediate reward instead of one matured to perfection. No matter. Now I shall teach you how to force a mood, then we shall move on to memory alteration and defense bypasses. The basics, really.¡± We spend a good hour working on each other. Sinead feels like a genius swordsman fighting with a spoon. He is blocked from most of his capabilities and yet his skill is undeniable. His insights are keen beyond compare and I feel myself progressing with incredible swiftness. I believe that he simply is the best Charm teacher on the planet at this moment, and my opinion of him improves drastically. We only stop when we are in sight of the abandoned farm mentioned by the dearly departed Hendricks. ¡°Excellent. Now let me see you apply this lesson to your next target.¡± All four of us silently sneak through the overgrown edge of the farm. I lead the way by tracking the smell of fresh sweat and bad cologne while Sinead manifests a light that only we can see. Without surprise, we spot Captain Lannes and his arrogant subordinate smoking nervously in the lunar shade of a great pine tree. I can smell the musk of their anxiety with the barest onset of panic. They are perfectly ripe. ¡°Someone wants them?¡± I whisper. ¡°I think you need them for practice, Mistress, lessons applied on the spot are the easiest to remember.¡± ¡°I concur with the mortal.¡± ¡°I want to watch ye at work lass, make it fun.¡± I stealthily move up and around. They have horses in the distance and more interestingly, a few unlit torches on the ground. ¡°I don¡¯t like this, they are taking too long!¡± ¡°Shut up, Jenkins.¡± Aha! I did not know the other imbecile¡¯s name. Since they have their back to me it is trivial to steal one of the torches as well as a match. It takes me a few tries to light one, however when the sound of burning Sulphur reaches their ears, they turn just in time for flames to shed light on my pale visage. Both men freeze with their hands on their pistols while I smile cordially. I do so love this moment when it dawns on them that the nature of the hunt is not as it seems, that their condition is not that of the predator. My fangs are still hidden, and my claws tucked away, but they know. Deep inside, they know. ¡°Why the cold shoulder, gentlemen? Was I not expected?¡± I walk slowly to the side as I speak. The predator in me taught me how to walk better, and it has become increasingly easier to bring this skill forward. My step is as assured as it is silent. I still walk as a human in public but here I do not have to. I know the feeling I give, more sinuous. Predatory. Lethal. The men instinctively take a step back. Lannes knows something is wrong. He is hesitating. I can hear the cogs turning in his panicked brain: ''We have been found out and the sellswords defeated, but why is this woman here? Why is it not Loth holding me at gunpoint?'' ''And why am I so afraid?'' I know the answer. Their well-honed instincts are telling them something is wrong while their societal mind tells them I am harmless. ¡°Well?¡± Lannes takes out his pistol and cocks it threateningly. My eyes meet his and Jenkins¡¯ and I capture their attention. Following Sinead¡¯s advice, I taste the connection. I still visualize it as ropes but this time there is a hint of colors and more details on its strength. There is fear here, as well as disdain and mistrust. I could brute force attraction, perhaps, but it would defeat the purpose of the exercise. I am here to learn how to properly Charm someone and as my improvised mentor said, it is an art. ¡°You are under arrest! Now tell us where Loth Delaney is!¡± The rope on Jenkins¡¯ side vibrates as a new emotion runs through it. I recognize it well. Discomfort and embarrassment. ¡°Under arrest? For what crime and under what authority, pray tell? Do you claim to serve justice as you lurk in the dark like a highwayman?¡± ¡°You and your ilk may have fooled the Tillersons and most of the garrison but I know better, oh yes! You are criminals and traitors of the vilest sort!¡± ¡°So you are acting on your own! Breaking the law by ordering hired thugs to abduct citizens? Are those the actions of law-abiding men? Is this not the sort of thing our fathers fought to end not two decades ago?¡± Yes! I knew it, Jenkins does not approve. With the lightest touch, I fan the flames of paranoia in both their hearts. It is difficult to affect two people at once but I still manage it with patience and concentration. With minute detail, Lannes¡¯ second reaches for his own gun while keeping a wary eye on his commanding officer. ¡°I do what is necessary to protect us from outside influence!¡± ¡°Whatever are you talking about?¡± ¡°Do not play coy with me! You are foreign agents!¡± ¡°Those are preposterous accusations that you pulled out of your hat! You have no reasonable cause to insult us so!¡± I lace the challenge with the barest hint of suggestion, just enough to make him choose outrage over caution. ¡°Schaffer was a spy!¡± What!? Oh my GOD this is Bingle¡¯s fault! Again! Aaaarg! ¡°¡­Who?¡± ¡°Flora Schaffer! The woman your British scoundrel followed was an asset for Prussia and your so-called adventurer knew it. Why else would he track her all the way to this god-forsaken mudhole?!¡± ¡°Love of course, you monster. He was madly in love with her!¡± I do not even need to act for Jenkins¡¯ discomfort to turn to doubt. Few people would be comfortable placing ¡°Bingle¡± and ¡°intelligence¡±, foreign and otherwise, in the same sentence. ¡°And what a strange thing to assert, Captain. Your covert actions do not strike me as those of a man mandated by the government! Where do these accusations come from, I ask? Not from our own spies I¡¯d wager!¡± ¡°You! I do not have to justify myself before a scandalous woman of dubious origin!¡± And now we have anger, the last primal dye to add to this first painting. It only takes a nudge to set the stone in motion. ¡°As a matter of fact¡­¡± says Jenkins. ¡°I would like to know from whence this belief came, sir.¡± ¡°You dare!¡± adds Lannes, incensed, ¡°I will not be questioned by the likes of you!¡± Oh, this is almost too easy. ¡°The likes of me!?¡± screams the second man in outrage. ¡°You are na?ve, Jenkins! People like me are what stands between our country and tyranny. We are the shield of civilization against the machinations of the old world and its darkest creations!¡± ¡°So you admit being part of a conspiracy!¡± I add with delight. ¡°It is no conspiracy! We protect the nation!¡± ¡°In secret and against our will! That is a conspiracy! Hah! Who is the traitor now?¡± ¡°The Brotherhood of the New Light is no group of rakes you wench! And you¡­¡± Lannes takes a step back from his subordinate and his pistol sways towards the man¡¯s chest but the righteous Jenkins has had enough. He jumps and manages to seize his opponent¡¯s arm. Both of them fall and struggle on the ground with grunts of effort and anger. I watch, fascinated. Admittedly it got out of hand before I could learn more but I don¡¯t care. This is¡­ Beautiful. A shot rings under the canopy with the distinct sound of gored flesh. Ah, oops? Jenkins recoils in horror from the mangled form of his superior. Only a gurgling scream can be heard in the dead silence, coming from the ravaged half-face of his victim. The sinus and other cavities are exposed to the air. One eye has been burnt from its orbit and as I stare, arterial blood splurts from the ghastly wound with every heartbeat. Ah, what a waste. With a step, I walk to Jenkins and use his pistol to finish off the Captain cleanly, as the demands. And now I have a whimpering and guilt-stricken human to handle. This is so annoying. He tried to kill you, he failed, and you killed him. The logic is sound. You were not even friends! ¡°Jenkins¡­ It¡¯s over calm down.¡± ¡°It¡¯s over, it¡¯s all over! I committed a murder!¡± ¡°No. Jenkins, look at me. There. Good. You defended yourself against someone you thought you trusted.¡± ¡°Hah,¡± he sobs, ¡°as if it mattered in a court of law!¡± ¡°There will be no court of law.¡± ¡°What? But¡­ I killed him.¡± ¡°No, I killed him. I pulled the trigger.¡± Jenkins stops to consider. I use this and the barest hint of suggestion to talk about conspiracy and duty, how Lannes'' associates must never know that they were found out and some such nonsense about sacrifice, the good of the nation and whatnot. ¡°You are correct miss Delaney, I must uncover this vile plot! I shall return and head a discreet inquiry, starting with this traitor¡¯s personal correspondence. But¡­ What of the body?¡± ¡°I came here to get answers but my companions are not far behind. The mercenary¡¯s ambush made them irate, as I am sure you understand. If you leave quickly I should be able to convince them to let you go, and take care of the remains beside.¡± ¡°But what should I tell the others?¡± ¡°Nothing. You know nothing of this man¡¯s desertion. I am sure that a thorough search of his personal effects will shed some light on the matter.¡± ¡°Yes¡­ Yes you are correct. Thank you Ms. Delaney, thank you! I shall return, and should I find something I will keep you and your uncle in the confidence. I will get to the bottom of this yet! Goodbye Ms. Delaney! Cecily was right, you are a true heroine.¡± Then the brave soldier takes his horse and leaves in a gallop. A true heroine, huh, at least he did not mention God this time. As the sound of hooves pounding the ground recedes in the distance, I hear a slow clap. The trio of men exits the undergrowth with a grinning Sinead at the head. ¡°A capital performance young Ariane. Aaaaaah it is so pleasant to see a new talent enter the scene. A first rendition of ¡°the False Egress¡± and ¡°the Turning of the Friend¡± in a single night! That is two out of the five basic plots as described by Arakus the elder in his famous anthology. You need but ¡°the Unrequited Love¡±, ¡°Brother Bane¡± and ¡°the Apprentice¡± and you will have completed an important rite of passage for us Likaeans. I am most pleased, most pleased!¡± I am not sure what to do so I curtsey awkwardly. This is the first time Sinead does not address me as ¡°Nightwalker¡± I believe. I will take the compliment. ¡°Let us travel together tonight so that I may impart a few more pieces of knowledge upon you, then we will split ways. Fate will bring us together again in the future. Of this, I am sure!¡± Before we leave, we draw straws to determine who will bury the bodies and I lose. From the other¡¯s innocent faces I highly suspect foul play, yet I decide not to press the issue. I made this body after all. As I dig and later, as we travel, I soak up Sinead''s knowledge for all I can until dawn and exhaustion creep upon me. Chapter 31: Winternight First comes the smell, then the buzz of flies, and last is the sight of a desiccated limb covered by loose strands of fabric. The bright colors of the improvised shrouds turn the bodies into macabre puppets.This one is a child, I note idly. They were the second to go, after the sick and wounded. ¡°Another one?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± We have been following the trail of the lost Three Rivers tribe for two days now, and my patience is running short. Nashoba insists that we catch up with them together, or the shaman who called for his help might simply attack me out of fear. I am concerned that by the time we reach them, there will be no one to interrogate. This splinter of the Muskogee people was expelled from their land by settlers a month ago and since then they have wandered West. A vision sent to my, well, ¡°employer¡± I suppose, spoke of a terrible beast stalking them and devouring their members. I now believe that this is the least of their worries. We have come across no less than ten cadavers in a single day of travel and they all exhibited signs of starvation. The bodies were husks, curled up on themselves by a devouring pain. I do not envy their fate. I want to roll my eyes but I refrain. Nashoba is only mortal, and he at least did not involve God nor smother me with speeches on the importance of grief and other inanities. I can understand his anguish, although I do not share it. ¡°Mistress, we should stop the carriage here and continue on horse.¡± ¡°Your Tushka is right. Road very small.¡± Nashoba gained mastery of the tongue through a dream quest apparently. The contrast between his flawless Akkad and his broken English is jarring. ¡°Then you take the horses.¡± I sniff a bit and detect nothing but pine, mountain air and the stench of a decomposing body. Noticing me, Dalton adds: ¡°It is cold Mistress, unseasonably so.¡± ¡°We are halfway up the Appalachians. Is this not normal?¡± ¡°No, Mistress.¡± I already noticed that the place is too quiet. There are clearly magical shenanigans afoot and time is therefore of the essence. ¡°Then you take the horses and light the torches. I will scout ahead and guide you. Hurry.¡± For an hour we climb up the twisted path. Scrawny pine trees and dried up vegetation with the occasional corpse make the place desolate and the trip unpleasant. All my instincts tell me that this is not natural. There are no spells here, nor creatures nearby. The influence is more pervasive. It is like an old grease smell that would leave an oily taste on my tongue. We make good time despite my companion¡¯s exhaustion and the path finally clears up as we reach a small plateau. Large slabs of granite covered with lichen alternate with diseased ferns. The remnants of a large camp can be seen in the center. There is a fire, still smoking a bit, as well as broken tents, pottery and baskets, and the shattered remains of a loom. No corpses. The others join me, and I raise my hand in warning. The plateau is rather small at the base. It could contain perhaps an encampment of a hundred people at most. The stone plane climbs up to the left and falls steeply on our right. The few trees offer little protection against the chilling wind. Nashoba stays on his mare while Dalton arms himself before disappearing in the darkness. I track him by sound until he stops moving. That means he found a vantage point. I turn back to Nashoba and point to my nose, then to the left. I follow the stench of unwashed bodies and rancid sweat to a hollow in the face of the rock. I lean forward and look in. The light reflects off the eyes of a dozen people huddled under grimy covers. A dying fire barely emits any heat. The smell is eye-watering. Under the abominable odor, I detect a mage power gone rancid. It is close in nature to Nashoba but with a most sour aftertaste that reminds me of the fallen vampire I slew a week past. It appears we found our shaman. Whether they are still sane is open for debate. Nashoba approaches the hollow then recoils in disgust. Perhaps I should have warned him of the revolting musk. I am much less affected by it than mortals both by my nature and by virtue of not having to breathe. The shaman places a scarf around his head and starts speaking to the miserable band. His inquiries are first met with silence, then answered by a wizened woman with a bone headdress sitting at the back of the group. Her gnarly fingers grip a staff adorned with a crow skull and she speaks in a deep gravely voice. I do not need to understand to feel the pain and terror in her tale. The remaining tribe members recoil under my gaze and refuse to look up. They feel like people who have given up on everything. They truly are a sorry lot, and I note in passing that there are no children left. This tribe is done for. Few could remain sane after going through what they suffered. Their best bet for survival would be to splinter and join other people, praying to their gods that they can forget the horror of their existence. Not that I care. I wait patiently until my companion is finished and I note that it is lucky that the female shaman can speak Choctaw. It is easy to forget that the natives are made of several people with their own culture and dialects when most of us white folks refer to them as savages. Being a vampire has certainly changed my perspective on the matter. After a few minutes, Nashoba walks without a word to the center of the clearing and restarts the fire using kindling and a few pieces of dry fabric. He has no right to demand it and his specific phrasing shows his acknowledgement. With that said, Nashoba is one of the few mortals I respect. He is also tired and lame. I can show kindness to those I favor. I also deduce from his anguished expression that the news is not good, and he may need some time to process it. We have found the survivors of the tribe and extracted the knowledge that we sought, after all. Some more delay is acceptable. I go around gathering firewood and, in some cases, making it. I find snapping the trunks of those weakened trees surprisingly easy. I suppose I have no more use for an axe, now. After three trips Nashoba informs me that I have gathered more than enough and places a large pot on top of the fire which he fills with water from his canteen. Before I leave, I discreetly reach Dalton¡¯s hideout and discover he hid himself with fallen branches. In the dark and covered with greenery, he is barely visible. I tell him not to engage unless he has no choice and follow the trail up the mountain. S?a??h the N???lFire.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. Without the mortals I can move much faster. A first inspection reveals no tracks, so the creature probably has some way to mask its presence. That would also explain why no hunter managed to escape it. Undeterred, I rush up the steep incline with as much celerity as I can without leaving myself open. In two minutes, I find my first body. It is a man, quite old. As expected, he is covered with bite marks that show a jaw several times larger than a human¡¯s. The beast devoured the muscles on the legs and arms, the back and most of his entrails. I am about to leave when I notice something peculiar. There are no defensive wounds and the reason is made clear when I push the head to the side with my boot. The man has been brained by something blunt before being devoured. My theory of the monster being able to hide increases and I feel the onset of paranoia as all my senses grow to their sharpest. I even spot rabbit¡¯s fur in the hunter¡¯s hand, proof that the beast left nothing that could be easily swallowed. A few meters away I find a mother and her child, still holding hands. They were killed the same way. I continue quickly, making a conscious effort not to run in a straight line and checking regularly behind me. I see nothing out of the ordinary, only abandoned personal effects and a mess of human tracks. In a few more minutes, I notice embers glowing in the distance. The night is silent. I approach from a side. Nestled among trees are the remains of the last campfire of the tribe. There is nothing left, not even a body, but the smell of old blood is pungent and after circling I see no tracks going further up. The lack of remains worries me a little. What manner of beast can do that? I walk warily forward. The unnatural stillness of this place is getting to me. Besides the freezing wind nothing stirs, not even the grey ash covering everything like stained snow. Massive bloodstains dot the site. They are only a few hours old. I am about to circle around to look for tracks, hints, anything, when I spot something among the embers. Curious, I approach. A branch snaps behind me. I roll forward and slice behind me at the same time only to hit air. There is nothing to see, which means... I turn, claws up and ready. Still nothing. I circle. Still nothing. The quiet sound of a breathing rabbit comes from the pines. I am jumping at shadows. I still move in the clearing so if the creature tries to rush me, I would still have some time to react. This foe is proving to be troublesome. It can hide and is probably quite strong and resilient. The dagger should be enough to hurt it and am confident in my speed, however it will be of little use if I am caught off guard. Tracks on the dust show signs of a massive scuffle. So many human feet, and what is this near the camp fire? Bones. Human bones Hundred of bones shattered, their marrow sucked dry, as if... As if... Well, that is curious, and illogical. Wait. No, it could not be. And yet... The hunters disappearing one by one, caught by surprise. The lack of anything but human tracks. The remaining tribesmen slaughtered in one spot instead of fleeing a large opponent. Cooked human bones¡­ I need to be sure. I jump in the bush looking for a very specific set of tracks and eventually, I find it. Multiple humans heading down the path. Now that I know what to look for it is easy to notice. God Bloody DAMNIT! Played for a fool! Aaaarg! I run down the mountain like all the hounds of hell are on my heels. Come on come on come on. Let me be there in time. Let me be there in time... A gunshot. That is not a pistol but Dalton¡¯s rifle. I move even faster. My chest is almost to the ground and the very wind pushes my hair away and back. With every step I dig furrows in the loam and fly forward ten paces. Faster. Faster! I will be on time. I¡¯m here. In a single moment I spot Nashoba in the middle of a magical circle with his pistol discarded on a rock. He is surrounded by the cannibals who silently slaughtered and devoured their own kin. It appears they lost their humanity in the process. Long, gaunt forms of white skin and bones are now revealed by their discarded blankets. The little flesh they have is twisted and taut like steel cable. Their face is human down to their upper lips, then it turns nightmarish. They bare distended maws of crooked and yellowed teeth to my companion¡¯s ward. Five of them press at the edge of a shimmering circle. The Three Rivers shaman is standing at the edge, still clad in her rotten regalia. She is dancing and croaking while waving her ominous staff. A seventh abomination is prone on the ground with a smoking hole through the torso. Dalton¡¯s handiwork. He must have shot as they were creeping on the Choctaw man. There is little time. I move faster than I ever have. I need to push them out of the way! I reach the first creature without slowing down and punch it in the gut. With a ghastly sound of shattered bones, the thing folds around my stretched hand like a wet towel. The momentum catapults it against two of its fiendish allies and they are smashed backward like pins. I finish the move by throwing my entire weight in a swipe. The first target¡¯s chest disappears in a curtain of gore. An instant later, the fifth creature¡¯s head just disappears. I finish the sequence with a silver throwing knife that shatters the enemy mage¡¯s headdress and sends a splatter of blackened blood flying. This will do for now. I crash into the thicket with all the subtlety of a herd of buffalos. A second gunshot guides me to Dalton. As I arrive, he unloads his last pistol in the face of the last standing foe. He must have missed the brain as the creature jumps on him with claw extended. Oh no you don¡¯t. PUNY WEAKLING. BOTTOM FEEDER. SCUM. YOU DARE RAISE YOUR HAND AGAINST HE WHO IS MINE? I dig two talons in the thing¡¯s neck and swing it over my head with a furious roar, sending it careening head over heel. The creature¡¯s short flight is interrupted by a large stone on which his head bursts like an egg, then a trunk, before finishing in a ravaged heap on the ground. Dalton is fine, if a bit stunned by my sudden appearance. I sprint back to the clearing and take out my dagger. I quickly finish off two wounded before turning to the enemy shaman. It is pressed against the wall of the cliff by Nashoba¡¯s staff. Its filthy yellow talons dig into the rock and her shrieks make my ears ring, yet my ally does not budge. It reeks like a pox-ridden pigsty. Nashoba glares at me in silence. I suppose I should not behave like a spoilt child. I can certainly use the power. I grab the thing¡¯s arm. It tries to fight me but compared to the fallen vampire I faced a few days ago, I feel I am wrestling a toddler. I still break all its fingers for good measures. Why take a risk? I bite down. I back up from the shriveled form of my victim. That was strange, though not entirely unpleasant. Both sour and tasty like pickled fish, and the power was good. On par with an experienced mage, I would say. I suspect Nashoba is interested in my vision, so I share it with him as Dalton joins us. Nashoba limps back to a stone and sits wearily. I must remember that they traveled through the day and it is now past midnight. They will need to sleep soon. he continues, The shaman is having a moment, which I can respect. Dalton has tied a scarf around his nose and busies himself piling the Wendigos while I feed the fire and wait. He scoffs. Powerlessness. I know this feeling all too well. I wish I were drunk so I could join in his melodrama. I shrug. I cannot share his emotions and I would not care to, but I can respect his grief and give him the time he needs. The is done, after all. It was interesting although the Prey was a disgrace to its own kind. I assist Dalton in building a funeral pyre. Thankfully material is abundant. Our native companion joins us as we light it. For a moment, all is quiet, then he starts singing. I do not understand the words and I do not need to. The song carries regret and impotent rage at first, then melancholy and finally, a measure of peace. We stay there watching warm winds carry motes of light to the sky. It no longer feels so cold anymore. Somewhere below us, an owl hoots and the fire crackles. At some point, the two men fall asleep. I make sure they are covered and when dawn approaches, I stand up to go. As I take a step, Nashoba shifts in his covers. I nod and leave. Chapter 32: Old Money When we return to Higginsville, Sinead is long gone. Loth does not tell me where he went and I do not ask. The Likaean prince did leave a few things for me, the first being a letter.I resolve to keep the tiny silvery tube around my neck, always. It hangs next to the pendant containing my father''s message. Those two are my lifelines, one for the body and one for the soul. The following months see us fall into a healthy routine. I spend most evenings helping Loth with various tasks related to research, both magical and mundane, as well as metallurgy. I even assist him as a nurse when his hospital sees an increase in traffic. My complete lack of queasiness is put to good use as my dear friend would insist that some of the tasks I am requested to perform will ¡°forge the character¡±. I soon learn that the expression is a hypocritical substitute for ¡°It is revolting, and now that I have an underling I don¡¯t have to do it anymore.¡± Loth also tests the limit of my physical power by, naturally, having me carry heavy loads for him. His final conclusion is that I am ¡°as strong as a gravid troll and marginally better-looking.¡± How he manages to sweet-talk all the county¡¯s widows into his bed with that tongue of his, I shall never know. The rest of my nights are spent in various activities. I continue my study of the Western standard rune system and look into several forms of shamanism as well. I also pick up drawing as a hobby despite Jimena¡¯s advice to try music. My disastrous attempt to practice the violin at the tender of age of seven still weighs heavily upon my soul. I work on by running around the woods as fast as I can and through knife-throwing and marksmanship training with Loth. Dalton adjusts to his new duty with perfect ease. He has a way of appearing unimportant to people unless he wants to be noticed that makes him fit everywhere, and when he needs to make an impact his dark charisma is enough. He quickly endears himself to both the male and female population of our little town. The only issue is the rumors surrounding us, not that I mind much. His presence makes bounty hunting trivial and fun. No longer do I have to work around my lack of acceptance. I only handle the fun part and my dutifully takes care of the rest. Many times, we cooperate to capture our mark in an entertaining way. This quickly gives him an ambivalent reputation, as well as a lot of respect. I also use this opportunity to practice both and . We continue like this for a while until I receive a letter from my dear Jimena. . February 1805, Savannah, Georgia. The Rosenthal Consortium building is fairly small, barely bigger than my childhood home and yet it manages to draw attention from a full block away. I would call the local architecture basic, only because I am feeling generous. The most common adornment is a coat of paint slapped on the ubiquitous horizontal planks, even for public places such as the Town Hall. The noble institution¡¯s house is orange. Yes, orange. Its walls are made entirely of vertical carved white stones and bricks of the fiery color. It stands like a jewel, or a pustule, amongst its prude neighbors. The barred windows and the reinforced gates only reinforce the impression of being an outsider. Without a word, Dalton fades into the shadows while I approach the guard. He pretends to ignore me until politeness demands a reaction. He looks quite solemn, dressed all in black with a white shirt, and his pale face sports an impressive beard. I smell gunpowder from him and, quite interestingly, spelled items though he himself is not a mage. I taste it and recognize a specific aura. When the man meets my eyes, my suspicions are confirmed. The protections are designed to ward off influence, which extends to Charm. Finally, an occasion to practice some of the tricks Sinead mentioned! The rope between us glances off a smooth shield. I slowly change our bond¡¯s color by matching it to his current mood. He is distrustful yet unworried. In the space of half a second, the string becomes one with the shield and goes through. I give the man a polite smile with just a bit of suggestion, which he returns. It worked! ¡°Good evening sir, is this the Rosenthal Consortium, Savannah branch?¡± ¡°Indeed miss, and we would be happy to assist. Unfortunately, we are closed.¡± That is fine, I will work on him until he believes me important enough to warrant special treatment. ¡°That is a shame, I was led to understand that you would operate after sunset.¡± Or so Jimena claimed. The guard¡¯s reaction is unexpected. He pales visibly and his pleasant smile evaporates. ¡°Ah yes, my apologies madam, we were not expecting you.¡± He turns to the entrance and bangs a pattern on the door. He then takes out a key from a recess in his coat and manages to turn it in after a few nervous attempts. The door opens invitingly. ¡°Go ahead, madam.¡± Hum. How queer. Did they infer my nature from one comment? This would not be a trap, would it? Unlikely. Jimena would not have sent me here without a warning otherwise. I walk in a beautiful lobby. I thought the exterior gaudy and I was wrong. The floor is entirely made of polished black stone with a massive white circle five paces across in its middle. Golden runes I do not recognize surround its edge. The walls are of the same black stone at the base, before going up in shades of bronze. The room is narrow and leads up to a high mahogany counter, behind which a teller is hard at work. Apart from the desk, there are only a few chairs and a medieval piece of armor holding a halberd as visible furniture. Beside the door I just crossed, there is also one on the left, another on the right wall as well as, curiously, a barred window. I also spot a corridor on the far wall as well as stairs going up. I immediately stop. This place is packed with magic. I already triggered some sort of alarm when I crossed the threshold which could not be avoided. I can also feel a significant amount of power coming from the circle, the suit of armor, the many doors and surprisingly, the counter. The man behind it stands up, notices me and freezes. The barred window to the right opens to let another frowning man with a gun look through it. Upon seeing me, he also stops in his tracks. Well, this is rather awkward is it not? ¡°I am here to open an account.¡± I would rather make my intentions clear before the set of armor starts moving on its own. ¡°Ah, hm, I¡­¡± The man behind the counter is what I would expect an accountant to be. He nervously tries to replace the monocle on his nose, but his trembling hand knocks it out of the orbit and it falls against his chest. Silence fills the place. I wait. Soon, footsteps can be heard from the stairs. They are slow and measured. A moment later, a man calmly reaches inside the room and walks in my direction. He is slightly shorter than me, with combed back black hair and piercing grey eyes. His traits are sharp, aristocratic, and his expression is that of polite respect. His black suit is exquisitely tailored and shows understated good taste. He is also a Courtier, a powerful one. I would place him at the edge of something greater. His aura is also one of the most disciplined and controlled I have ever felt. A complex set of emotions moves his otherwise unflappable countenance. I take his invitation and we walk side by side. You could hear a pin drop here as neither of us makes a sound when our feet touch the ground. He leads me up to the second floor and to his office at the end of an alley. We enter a spacious room lit by a single candle. A large window situated at its back gives us a view of rooftops and the clouded sky. Two comfortable leather chairs are on opposite sides of a large desk that speaks of hard work and obsessive organization. Stacks of folders are neatly arranged in wooden dividers and not a single document is currently out in the open, a necessity when one¡¯s guest can see so clearly. Bookshelves filled with writings on law, economics, and philosophy give the place a cozy feeling. He sits with dignity and gazes at me for a while then leans forward with mild interest. I wait for signs that he insulted me before admitting that this is not an unreasonable request. I am not carrying identification papers after all. He gives me a pointed look. His expression is solemn. Isaac¡¯s full presentation lasts an hour and is rather exhaustive. I doubt that I will need ownership of a company transferred between two fake identities any time soon, though it is still good to know that the possibility exists. In the end, I choose to create a checking account and invest the rest of the money I brought in a fund with a high, if volatile return rate. The crafty man offers me access to a strongbox as a commercial gesture which I accept but do not make use of. My most precious belongings all fit around my neck and in holsters after all. I go down and signal Dalton to join me with our stash. I have almost four hundred dollars in total from bounty hunting and helping Loth with various tasks. It is easy to save when one does not need to spend on food and lodging, even after granting my a fair share. Isaac invites me back up as we wait for my stash to be counted. Isaac thinks a bit before continuing. Ah, first question and I already revealed myself as a yokel. Well done Ariane. Wow. If he lived for that long and fought as much as I believe he did then he must be a force of nature. This is my reality now, something I forgot for not spending time with my kin. Some of us have lived to see Rome fall. Perhaps they even participated. Do I want to meet someone who would remind me of MastEr? I hate him and love him and hate him and¡­ And I am being a bAd giRl. I should gather enough money to get a ship, look for his resting place and dig him out So tHat wE¡­ No! S?a??h th? N?velF?re.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. Dammit! I have no idea if Isaac is offended. The man has as many facial expressions as a marble statue. This would be unnerving were it not for my habit of doing the same to Loth. Huh? I look pointedly at the meticulous desk and piles of papers. This man could visit anything from the Niagara falls to Key West and he chooses to stay here and do paperwork? In Savannah of all places? The save me from this lunatic. That is the first time I have seen a real display of emotion from him. Even then it was mild, at most. How queer! This is unexpected. This man came out as extremely polished and should I say, a bit pompous and now he is talking like a rake about to pull some villainous scheme? I am intrigued! He looks flustered. Curiouser and curiouser. The unfazed banker is suddenly losing his composure? All my expectations are destroyed. I follow the odd man outside through the lobby and out the main door with Dalton by my side. The guard gives a surprised look, though he refrains from commenting. We soon arrive in a small flower garden, empty at this time. Isaac turns towards me and stops. He strikes me as someone who dispenses words carefully, therefore I give him the time he needs to formulate what I am sure will be a request. Vampires cannot be because they can defend themselves, therefore it needs to be an equal trade between peers. I look forward to hearing it. Finally, Isaac takes a deep breath just as Dalton starts to look a bit worried at our unnatural immobility. My patience is going to be rewarded! I am sure it will be quite a tale. Ah. Chapter 33: The science of the Hunt Forget about gentle reserve, this man is utterly scandalous! Who would ask something like that on the first night? This is bold, quite bold in fact!His face scrunches in displeasure. His shame must be great indeed for him to display it so. WHAT?! He¡­ What? A vampire that never!? Are my ears deceiving me? My companion smiles sadly and it occurs to me that in my surprise, I have insulted him. I will only consent to a fair deal. Isaac and I are not friends like I am with Jimena, therefore I owe him no favor but the courtesy of listening. For anyone else I would refuse, however a vampire that swears an oath is telling the truth. Isaac does believe it to be to my advantage and his knowledge of our political system far outstrips mine. I would be wise to take this into consideration. He does not move. I ask with burgeoning impatience. Being spied upon by one¡¯s own followers? This is absolutely unthinkable. How can he not slay them, unless¡­ Ah, he is compelled to follow his master¡¯s orders. Well, that is humbling. Now that I am finally reconnected with other vampires, I am reminded that I am but a discarded ex- in a Frontier region with no connections and no power. Perhaps living isolated for so long has made me forget where I currently stand in the Night¡¯s pecking order. I find myself wanting to remedy that at some point in the future. I will not stay at the bottom. I refuse. Clues? Crime scene? Shadowed by Dalton, we arrive in the poorer area of Savannah fifteen minutes later. The houses there grow like uneven teeth. Some are barely bigger than shacks. The smell of humans and their refuse is mitigated by the cold, though not much. Behind that I also smell woodsmoke, soap and food. We walk to a small home, barely more than one room under the scrutiny of all those we come across. Our clean appearance and wealthy clothes set us apart at a time of suspicion. This is not right. We are meant to stand out like roses in a sea of grass, not like sore thumbs. The whole process makes me uncomfortable and only the urgency of our task prevents me from asking Isaac for the opportunity to get changed. We stop in front of an edifice of unpainted and unadorned wood and stone no different from the others around it. The sickly browns and greys of what passes as architecture here is so dreary that I believe putting the entire district to the torch would only improve its appearance. My companion knocks. Inside, I can hear three beating hearts belonging to two children and a crying woman. Perhaps we can hear what they have to say? ¡°Go to hell!¡± Well, we¡¯re off to an auspicious start. ¡°Excuse me madam, we are here about the missing woman.¡± I say in a calming voice. I hear a brief inhale, then heavy footsteps until the door opens with a bang. ¡°Who the fuck are you?!¡± I give her my best disarming smile and extend the courtesy of not tearing out her throat for provoking me. She is, after all, grieving. ¡°This is Isaac Rosenthal, a concerned citizen and Conall Dalton, the best bounty hunter in Georgia. I understand that there is a person missing?¡± I ask as I capture the woman with my eyes. I lightly push despair at the forefront. S?a?ch* Th? n0v?l(?)ire.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. ¡°She¡¯s gone! Nobody believes me, nobody! The coppers say she is just a whore turning tricks somewhere else but I know her, she said she would be home and she¡¯s always where she¡¯s supposed to be, and the room was a mess, and...Waaa.¡± I slightly pull the woman forward and pat her head. Her hair is dry and coarse under my touch but she smells clean. I comfort her for a while and ask her to invite us in. We follow her into the single room. The place speaks to me of dignity in the face of adversity. The white plastered walls are bare, the furniture all cobbled together from rough wood, some of it falling apart. What pots can be found are chipped and in the middle of it all stands a bed in a state of disarray. I can now tell for sure that the disappeared woman was indeed ¡°turning tricks¡±, as the smell of tobacco and stale sex is unmistakable. I seat the woman in a rickety chair under the worried gazes of two young children, a boy and a girl. They have the lost expression of those who know that something tragic has occurred, yet do not understand the implications. ¡°Are they here for mama?¡± I was mistaken, they do understand. ¡°Yes, we are. Now go sit on the bed while I talk to my new friend here.¡± I add with a hint of suggestion. I am bound to find the victim, that does not mean I have to suffer the presence and constant nagging of her spawn. ¡°Now tell us what happened.¡± While our host babbles, I steal a look towards Isaac and I immediately understand how he could maintain his sanity all those years. His very mind is predatory. Dalton looks aloof, taking in a few details but generally acting as a sentinel. By comparison, my kin is like a bloodhound. His gaze shifts from one element to another with absolute concentration, noting every detail and cataloguing them before switching to the next with a logic that only he can follow. No one here exists. He is in a world of his own where his intellect peels apart and dissects every bit of detail, every information his mind can capture. It appears my role has been decided, I shall calm the mortal down while he does his thing. I find the thread of hope in the woman and pull it. Immediately, her tears dry and she tells me her tale. I make sure that she keeps her eyes on me. My host¡¯s name is Suzanne and her sister is, or was called Christine. She lived alone with her two children and survived mostly through odd jobs. I also learn that it was common for her to place them under her sibling¡¯s care while she was practising the world¡¯s most ancient profession for a few more coins. When Suzanne returned today, she found the house empty and partially damaged. She knew immediately that something had gone wrong, but the neighbors had heard nothing out of the ordinary and seen no unusually suspicious people. The nearby road lies between warehouses and the docks after all, and traffic is heavy even late. When she finishes, she glares at me as if daring to comment. I understand why she is defensive. Her sister is a cheap prostitute and a scullery maid. She sits at the bottom of a vertiginous social order and there is no reason for us to care, at all. I find that I care, as much as I care about any other mortal. Those people are on the food chain just like the landowners, the soldiers, and everyone else, and just like everyone else they have their place, beneath me. They have value in what they can bring me and I shall not discard anyone solely because of their social standing. That is their intrinsic value and it does not even take into consideration the circumstances: that woman was not killed, she was abducted. Nobody died here, at least recently and I know why she was selected. Somebody went through the trouble of abducting a woman from her home. It is a risky endeavor even with meticulous planning. It speaks of means, will, and some measure of competence. I would be curious as to what motivated this decision. As to why Christine in particular, it is obvious. She was extremely vulnerable, an outlaw in the most literal sense of the word: someone who the law no longer protects. I would bet good money that the majority of the other victims share a similarity. If one day I must build myself a nest, those are the people I will recruit, not the posh nobles out for some thrill or the influential merchants, but the outcasts and the fringe members who life has not broken yet, for what they lack in power and influence, they make up in tenacity and scorn. Even now the defiance is Suzanne¡¯s eyes will not be extinguished. They are survivors, like me. I can buy influence and I can influence money. Nothing will replace that sheer will to live. Completely oblivious to the situation, Isaac suddenly walks up to a curtain and draws it to reveal a back door. He barely pauses before opening it and stepping outside. Not one for pleasantries I see. Our host certainly looks a bit out of sort at such a cavalier attitude. Well, time to go. I stand up to leave, Dalton in tow. ¡°We shall look for her and return to you when we have news.¡± ¡°But...Wait!¡± ¡°Stay here and take care of your niece and nephew, yes?¡± ¡°Yes¡­ Yes, of course.¡± Outside, my fellow vampire has crossed a vegetable patch and kneels in front of a path, barely more than a mud trail. A stone wall, refuse, and stacks of firewood block the view in every direction. Wordlessly, Isaac stands and follows it back towards the warehouse district. ¡°We are following a carriage?¡± ¡°Yes Mistress, there was no indication that the entry was forced so she let them in. It would have been risky to exit a well frequented street with a wrapped body however, so they probably dragged her out of the back door.¡± They? I look at the ground and indeed, besides our footsteps I count three more. One of them is very well defined, which hints at quality boots. It is unfortunate that the abductee would let men in without too much fuss as a matter of habit. The kidnappers chose their victim well. ¡°Isaac, should we not ask the neighbors what they saw?¡± ¡°No need, I know more than enough. The woman was neutralized quickly by three men she allowed to enter, then taken out the back and placed in a covered carriage of small size¡± Quite confident about the details, are we? I shall see if it is warranted. I expected us to lose the tracks, this being a busy place, however I was mistaken. The kidnapping was only a few hours ago and it is quite late, so only light traffic was in the street. The distinctive marks have not been entirely erased yet. We search for an hour. When the tracks are covered, such as in the middle of a busy intersection, Isaac simply inspects every possible exit road until he finds the trail again. Sometimes, men with hungry eyes follow the richly dressed and distracted passerby until a look from Dalton dissuades them. He has grown and filled out quite a bit in the past six months thanks to regular meals, and the glint of a pistol¡¯s handle makes for a compelling argument. Eventually, our guide leads us to a more remote part of the docks. It is perfectly silent at this time of the night and I am reminded of when I cleared the warehouse as a first task for Baudoin. I assume that just like then, this area is worked by people who know better than to ask questions. Isaac is inspecting a puzzling set of interlocking tracks when I decide to intervene. I lightly touch his shoulder and he turns around, frustrated. Silently, I tap my nose. He breathes in and his eyes widen in understanding. It smells like tobacco, more specifically of the same quality as the one we were subjected to while in the hovel. This time, however, it is still burning. We follow it to its source. We know we reached our destination when we walk past a city guard in uniform. Red embers from a cigar illuminate his sallow face and his eyes follow us until we leave his sight. There is no discernible reason for this man to guard a private property, alone, at this time of the night. So that is how the kidnappers managed to access Christine¡¯s dwelling without a fuss. Not everyone would trust an officer of the law but few would openly defy one. That is especially true for vulnerable people, like those that were taken. He must have demanded that the door be opened to them and they thought better than to cause a commotion. Here, their respect of Justice and its agents were used as a tool by criminals. Truly, fate can be ironic. We know how and what, now is the time to learn why. I see two possibilities. Either they were abducted for the pleasure of a monster wearing human skin, in which case the Hunt shall end here, or they were taken to be sold or used elsewhere. Breaking in silently will grant us the most options. I push the men in a side street. I first turn to Dalton. After working together on quite a few bounties, we have developed a way to communicate by gestures that I am rather proud of. I sign the message slowly and deliberately: Isaac, I, up, hunt, kill, you, go, sentinel, silent, warn, incoming. His answer is prompt: condition, enemy, come, kill, silent, agreement? I nod in affirmation. He can eliminate incoming threats at his discretion. I trust him. With this, Dalton leaves like a shadow and I take a moment to appreciate his skill. After he turns the corner, I climb the wooden walls of the nearest building and stride across the roofs, Isaac in tow. I turn with no small amount of curiosity. Can he not tell? I frown in anger. Of coUrsE thE mAstEr was rIgHt to choOse mE¡­ Wait, no, what does he mean? Have I been insulted? What? I doubt that his bloodline wants for attention span. Either my status is more interesting than finishing the hunt or he was delaying. No matter. We jump across the narrow ledge separating us from our target. I kneel, close my eyes and focus. Under the creak and groans of wood and the various sounds of the night, there are three heartbeats. It is too difficult for me to discern at this time if the victim is one of them. I need more practice. The advantage of hunting with a fellow vampire is that I do not need signs. I can whisper and his acute hearing will pick it up while the mortals are none the wiser. A strange decision. I do not understand his logic. Why make things complicated? We should just locate the women and kill those that infringe on his territory. Anything else is just¡­ Bah, enough. I agreed to help him. My word is given. At least avoiding the policeman¡¯s attention should offer some measure of challenge and make the interesting. I am an old hand at breaking into warehouses, sadly. The first step is always to scout it. I walk to the back and lower myself in front of a filthy window. I manage to glimpse the interior through the stained glass. Three men are playing cards under the light of a lantern. They are sitting around a table in the center of a mezzanine overlooking the ground floor. On the far end, just above the main entrance, I spot a small office. It is barely more than a cage, but it should suffice. I hoist myself back up and invite Isaac to follow. After stopping in front of the office window, I drop down and hang in front of it with my feet in the air and one clawed hand firmly planted into the wall¡¯s wood. Then, I close my eyes. The noises of the game come into focus. A few hands are played in relative silence until one gets especially heated. As a triumphal ¡°Hah!¡± echoes in the room, I dig my claw in the frame. My finger pushes through cleanly. It hurts a little. I wait in silence as they continue. I remain so far unnoticed. I slowly lift the lock with my finger and take it out, I then place four claws under the lower rail. I wait until the next commotion to lift the entire stile. This time, the noise was not entirely covered. ¡°Did you hear something?¡± ¡°No?¡± I still go to the roof as a measure of precaution. A few seconds later, it is not the players but the police officer who comes to check the source of the disturbance. I was heard from the outside. Fortunately, it is too dark for him to notice that the window is still open. After a perfunctory examination, he leaves. I admit that this is fun. My foes may be no match for me in a straight fight, but to outwit and outmanoeuvre them so completely is gratifying. Perhaps Isaac did the right thing after all. As soon as the coast is clear, I quietly slide into the office. The game of cards has resumed though it is more subdued now. I climb over a desk and down to the dusty ground to find that the room is cluttered with a strange hoard of everyday items including tools, ropes, pots and even a toy horse. Someone managed to create a path to the door. Isaac slides in behind me and his eyes latch on the pile of papers in front of him. Before he can get too absorbed, I whisper. ¡° he answers dismissively. I hiss quietly. He then turns and starts sorting and arranging the documents, completely absorbed in his task. Very well then, you insufferable bookworm. SCARED OF HIS TRUE SELF. WASTE OF ESSENCE. Yet I gave my word, so he remains in charge. He did, however, challenge me. The walls of the room are nothing but a small separation, they do not even raise all the way to the rafters. What was a handicap when trying to break in discreetly has become an advantage. I jump to a wooden beam and grab it with both talons and knees, then follow it out of the enclosed space. I am now hanging upside down and moving slowly towards the small group. Blood does not rush to my head, making the position strangely relaxing. Now to choose. The dominant male is a cruel-looking giant of a man with a respectable pile of coins in front of him. His clothes are grubby and there is something insane about his smile. The two others are wary of him in the typical way of people expecting violence. The second man is dressed as a docker and shows the stigmata of unfortunate souls whose mothers drank heavily during pregnancy. The last man is quite promising. He is a weasely fellow wearing a respectable but ill-fitting suit. His legs are locked around his stool in a death grip; I can also spot dirty and decrepit shoes. Perfect. This one is the archetype of the cowardly social climber. He will squeal the most and will likely have observed more than he should have. I reach the edge of the meagre circle of light, then fish a coin from my pocket. I throw it at a copper plate placed against the wall. The coin lands with a small clang as I am already dropping on the ground. The three men turn their heads away from me. I My left hand closes around the docker¡¯s neck and shatters it as my right lightly punches the weasel¡¯s throat. I jump across the table and dig my index in the brute¡¯s breastbone. The pain steals his breath. I grab his shoulder and summersault over his head, grab it and bite deep with all eight fangs. I devour the man¡¯s life force. I am not feeding, I am making a point. All the while, my eyes are on the weasel gripping his throat and struggling to take a deep breath. He stares at me with unmitigated terror as his bladder empties under him. I drop the lifeless body. Between my toss and now, less than four seconds have passed. I walk to the weasel with the grace of an immortal predator and lean before him with a red-tinged smile. I am close enough that my breath makes him flinch. He desperately crosses the air in front of him with a trembling arm in a pathetic attempt to ward me off. My smile only grows wider. It is a bit late to try and convert. ¡°I have some questions. You will answer me, yes?¡± He nods frantically, still trying to catch his breath. Rivers of tears fall down his grimy face and from his throat comes a weird keening. Good. I grab him and drag his mewling form up. ¡°You are the ones who took the woman tonight?¡± Nod. ¡°And the other women before?¡± Nod. ¡°Were they taken here first?¡± Nod. ¡°Do you know where tonight¡¯s woman was taken?¡± Nod. ¡°Were all of them taken to the same place?¡± He shakes his head. Hmm. I walk back to the office and open the door. Isaac has classified and reordered all the books and free papers and is in the process of organizing them, apparently. When I reach him, he turns around and whispers excitedly. Isaac takes in my captive, still hanging from my hand. He is turning a delicate shade of purple. I smile. He looks a tad uncomfortable. YES, THIS IS WHAT A TRUE HUNT LOOKS LIKE. PAPER DOES NOT BLEED, WEAKLING. ¡°Tell him where you took the girl, little man.¡± ¡°The.. The Frederickson estate.¡± He manages to croak. I ask with a deceptively soft voice. He is about to raise his voice but something in my countenance must have warned him. He pauses instead, then admits with no small amount of reluctance: he sighs, ¡° ¡° I ask as I point to our captive. He gathers a notebook and a few of the papers under his arm and leaves. Hold on, disposing of the bodies is part of my attributions now?! This little escapade is proving to be increasingly frustrating. Oh well, at least I will face the night with my belly full. Chapter 34: Ring Breaker I manage to convince Isaac to grant me enough time to get changed before our assault on the Frederickson Estate. I have cobwebs on my nice blue dress just because of that stunt on the beam. If possible, I would rather avoid bloodstains as well. Cobwebs can at least be brushed away.I decide against taking my rifle. It is useful but unwieldy, and thus unsuitable for infiltration. The sad truth is that I have difficulties moving around when burdened with it. I would sometimes crawl forward and forget its very presence, only for the barrel to clang against a doorframe. Embarrassing. Perhaps I just need more practice. Nothing will make me forfeit my pistol, however. I am a woman of elegance, refinement, and black powder. Try and stop me! Our carriage arrives at the previously agreed meeting point. As I exit, Isaac comes out from behind the shadow of a tree. We are now at the Western edge of Savannah and even the most miserable hovels are giving way to barren fields. The chill in the air is biting and Dalton¡¯s breath shows in small icy clouds. The vampire¡¯s eyes widen when he sees my outfit. Loth and I worked on it for more than thirty hours and it shows. It is a dress, black as night. No parties will it see, nor dance nor revels. It is a tool of death, an instrument of the Hunt, and a statement. It is enough to glance at it to know that its wearer has not come to parlay. It is mine and I love it. The outfit covers me snugly from neck to foot. Light metal scales held by silk threads cover most of my torso, arms, and legs. My heart is protected by a fully integrated Hastings-designed chest armor, while bracers of dull steel go over my forearms, strong enough to stop a blade. There are also holsters for my blade, throwing knives and a pistol. Dark boots and a skirt complete the ensemble, although the skirt is just me not feeling comfortable wearing man trousers. The cloth is snug so that when I move, there is no sound of fabric flapping in the air to betray my presence. It was designed and created for me. I walk to Isaac just as Dalton takes out a monstrosity of a crossbow, another one of Loth¡¯s creation. My Vassal has taken a liking to the ungodly contraption. It might be slow, but it is silent and the draw strength is terrifying. It was designed to kill werewolves, after all. ¡°Greetings, hrm, Ariane, the, hrm, estate. Just that way. Over the hill.¡± I should add distracting to the list of the armor¡¯s quality. Perhaps it is just a bit too close-fitting? Particularly, around the bottom? Surely not. Leaving those considerations behind for the moment, I look up to our destination. There is nothing to see, just an empty field going up. The road continues away to our right, and to our left, a small copse of trees hides the carriage. It appears that Isaac expects me to lead and so I do. I walk a bit to the side until we find a path. I do not intend to walk through the actual field. Vampire or no, I would end up with enough caked mud under my soles to start my own plantation. We follow the path in silence, and I keep my ears open for trouble. Soon, the edge of the Estate comes into view. Now, I admit to being a commoner. I even admit that the ¡°glorified peasant¡± insult I heard from Lady Moor hit a tad too close to home, so I am not the best one to judge other people¡¯s properties. With that said, if this qualifies as an Estate, then I am the queen of Spain. This is a decrepit farm, nothing more. Isaac seems to share my concerns. ¡°Is this¡­ really the place?¡± ¡°Undoubtedly,¡± I answer and point forward. The farm is surrounded by stone walls that go around and along the buildings. I see a house, servant quarters and a barn through a pair of opened gates. There is some activity in the courtyard, and I can spot the distinctive glow of lanterns. ¡°Could they simply not be doing peasant things?¡± Really? REALLY? ¡°In the middle of the night?¡±, I hiss, ¡°In February? And they need guards for this?¡± I add as I point to a pair of sentinels around the door. ¡°¡­I suppose not.¡± This man has been sheltered beyond belief! ¡°I assure you, they are the right people. Now, before we proceed, are we in agreement that everyone here needs to die?¡± ¡°I would prefer to capture a few so that I may interrogate them at a later time.¡± I grab my temporary employer¡¯s shoulder before I lose the last remnants of my temper. I stare him in the eyes, all the while trying to formulate a message that will not be perceived as unnecessarily rude. ¡°No need for formalities Ariane, speak your mind.¡± ¡°Very well. You requested that I offer support while you eliminate your foe, now foes, with the clear purpose of protecting your territory. Those are the terms of our arrangement, sir. What happened instead is that I killed your opponents and extracted a location from our prisoners. I assumed that you needed a little nudge and I was, obviously, mistaken. You will assault this farm. You will kill its inhabitants and reclaim your place as its apex predator, and I shall only step in if you find yourself in danger. Only then will you have experienced a true Hunt. If I do everything for you, what was the point in coming?¡± ¡°Yes, yes, you are correct.¡± ¡°Why are you reluctant to kill? Is this not one of the easiest things for us?¡± ¡°As a group, I suppose,¡± he replies with a hint of impatience, ¡°the issue is that I was trained not to do it. We Rosenthal learn how to dodge, avoid and flee because any conflict we get stuck in is one we should not have been involved in to begin with.¡± ¡°Then it is time to rely less on your training and more on your instinct, is it not? Look at those men, look at them.¡± Isaac turns to the pair of grumpy guards. They are complaining in low voices about their assignment and the cruel treatment the weather is inflicting on their gonads. ¡°Do you know what they are missing?¡± Isaac frowns and looks them up and down. I can imagine him going through a checklist of what he expects a member of a kidnapping ring should have. I sigh. ¡°Fear. Isaac, they do not know fear. They are here on your territory in the dead of night, and they know no fear. They even have lights up and strut around noisily because they are not even afraid of the militia, and why should they? How many of them are in their pockets? They have been poaching from you with impunity for who knows how long. Like rats. Does that not irk you? Is this how things should be?¡± ¡°No...¡± ¡°You do not need training to tear necks and crush bones, you just need to do what feels right. Yes?¡± ¡°Yessssss.¡± ¡°Then show me.¡± He slips into the shadows and moves around to approach the sentinel from the side. I watch him with a bit of concern, soon proven to be unwarranted. He remains quiet. The only issue I ever had with my instincts was that I tend to overestimate myself when I, let us say, succumb to them. Isaac¡¯s predicament is beyond comprehension. What manner of vampire fears his own power? I can only presume that I am missing a vital element that would let me understand. I return my attention to the present. Isaac is moving along the walls and will strike shortly. I signal Dalton and whisper in his ear. ¡°Go around to the front gate. Kill all who escape.¡± He taps my hand in understanding and leaves. Working for Isaac only increased my appreciation for the faithful Vassal. He is not only competent; he is also obedient and proactive. The Valiant Companions would have been a force to reckon with if he had been a part of their leadership. Their loss, my win. I keep looking as Isaac uses a lull in conversation to grab the first sentinel and smash him backward into the wall. Disappointing. Of course, the second sentinel hears the impact and turns around. The outlaw and the vampire face each other. And stop. Come on! Do something! I walk forward and grab a throwing dagger. I would prefer if the alarm were not raised. If we get spotted too early, it might turn into a chore to chase everyone, not to mention entering the house if anybody calls it their home. Just as the sentinel raises his musket in alarm, Isaac jumps. I recognize that move. I first used it by instinct in the Henley residence, back in New-Orleans. It is a great opener and finisher. The vampire¡¯s claws dig into the man¡¯s chest, stealing his breath forever. Blood erupts in a geyser and paints my companion¡¯s face crimson. I do not understand. He could have avoided this easily. He slowly passes his hand over his face, as if to clean it. A fruitless endeavor as they are both covered by the crimson liquid. He stares at his drenched hands. His eyes narrow, considering. He licks his lips. He raises his face to me and for an instant, I see a drop of baleful purple reflected in his tame brown, and then he¡¯s gone. I rush to the wall and jump on it. The courtyard is mostly empty but for a few crates. The doors of the barn are wide open and a small cart with a narrow frame is parked in front of it. A few lanterns scattered around allow limited vision to the mortals. A horse neighs in fear. I hear the sound of torn flesh and exclamation of surprise and dismay. My ally is savaging a downed man under the shocked look of a handful of other humans. I cannot see his face from here, I should... I should what? Why would I stop him? Because we need at least one prisoner in case an invitation is required. Curses. I jump down as the first musket is fired. Isaac is hit and that seems to stop his frenzy. He turns to the offender and moves, crushes his throat with a hand before throwing the corpse at another man. His movements are quick and savage but utterly inefficient. He spends far too much time on each victim and would have risked being overwhelmed if his enemies had been trained and equipped to stop him. I find myself disappointed again. I would have loved to see another one of my kind in action against someone other than me, for a change. This performance is rather lackluster. One of our opponents has the presence of mind to jump on the nearest horse to flee as his associates are slaughtered by the strangely resilient madman in their midst. He rushes to the front door and something must have reflected just right because he turns to me and our eyes meet. I smile lightly and point forward. He turns around just in time for a quarrel to appear in his mount¡¯s chest. They collapse in a heap. A magnificent shot, as always. Now I just need to select one of the survivors... ah, it appears that it will not be necessary. The front door of the house is banged open by a veritable mountain of a man in dirty coveralls. From here I can smell the stench of alcohol and old sweat, a revolting mix that speaks of decadence and neglect. He carries in his hand a large butcher knife covered with old blood, some of it human. Behind him comes the leader of this place. I know authority when I see it. The ringleader is dressed in a conservative grey suit that would not be out of place in a courtroom. His dark eyes sweep the courtyard without a hint of care for the fallen. He is not worried in the slightest, only angry that someone would dare assault his operation. Both men notice me at the same time. The tall one smiles with a most dreadful expression, while the leader only shows cold disdain. ¡°A woman.¡± ¡°Very astute sir, I commend you on your keen sense of observation.¡± They both frown. Ah yes, it is difficult to reconcile me with what they know of the world. In it, I should be cowering in fear like all the vulnerable people they kidnapped from their home. ¡°Get her.¡± Says the leader with a bored voice. I let the tall man approach me. The ugly smirk on his face would have had me worried two years ago. I am no longer that Ariane. His grubby paw reaches to grab my shoulder. I quickly stab his arm and dance away, ripping his artery open lengthwise. He recoils in pain and surprise. I do not understand his astonishment. I did not move, did not show fear. Did he truly expect me to stay there and wait for the cruel treatment his countenance promised? ¡°You bitch!¡± He advances with fury while his hands try to stem the flow of blood. I step back. This is my favorite moment. Fury turns to concern when he sees the puddle of blood that already escaped his doomed body, then to genuine fear and then to panic. He ties a filthy handkerchief around the gaping wound as if it could stem the tide. ¡°Boss, help me!¡± The ¡°boss¡± grinds his teeth in frustration and takes out a gun. He does not even spare a look for his poor subordinate. Ah, a true monster in human skin with no empathy and no honor. I shall enjoy toying with him. The brute falls on his knees as the other man passes him by. He is white as a sheet while the earth under him turns a beautiful shade of carmine. For an instant, I take in the beauty of the moment. The red, the black and the white highlights. Life and death intertwined for one fleeting moment. A wonderful trio of a dying man, one walking to his death and a woman who died and came back, each a victim of a fate beyond their knowledge and control. I sometimes miss the daylight, but times such as those make it all worthwhile. The second man reaches me and the painting fades. With a sneer, he lifts a pistol and shoots me in the face. Or at least, tries to. How very forward, and quite rude besides! Why, these Savannah people certainly are a brazen bunch. I move my entire torso to the side as he pulls the trigger and the smoke ignites. There is no need for me to dodge the projectile, just the man¡¯s aim. The bullet skims past my left ear like an angry hornet. Ow! Ow ow ow! So loud! This is quite painful! Why do I not have this issue on our house¡¯s firing range!? Is it because this time I¡¯m on the receiving end?! Gah! I force myself to keep smiling even though I want to RIP HIS THROAT OPEN. I just wanted to appreciate a little ¡°Memento Mori¡± instant in peace, is it too much to ask? Bah, I cannot kill him. Really, it is forbidden by my agreement with Isaac. The cold man in front of me shows a bit of wariness for the first time since we met. Fascinating. Seeing his men dead or dying should have clued him in, and yet it takes his own failure to realize his predicament? Hubris. The failings of a man used to seeing talent in himself only. ¡°You have no idea who you¡¯re messing with. You and your friends are already dead.¡± ¡°Unless?¡± The ¡°boss¡± scowls in frustration. Somewhere behind us, a man begs for his life. ¡°Go on. You were going to finish your sentence with something, no? You will all die unless you let me go? If you leave I will only ask for reparation? My many powerful friends will destroy you and your families? Do continue, I think I''ve heard most variations of the classics but sometimes, someone still manages to surprise me.¡± ¡°I will teach you respect, whore!¡± Boring. Oh well. The man unsheathes a rapier from an ornate scabbard and lunges immediately. I take a simple step back to avoid the tip of the blade while grabbing my own and swipe up to deflect a follow up that does not come. After his attack failed to hit, the man simply fell back and now circles me warily. ¡°You know, you might be decently trained but you lack real-world experience.¡± ¡°Shut up!¡± I dodge two more lunges, then bat the third to the side. Instead of using his superior reach to his advantage, he stops again. Another mistake. ¡°Shooting the head is good in a competition. Soldiers know better and aim for the center mass. Less chance of missing, that way, and the target is just as disabled, not that it would have helped you.¡± ¡°I said, shut up!!! You wench! I¡¯ll have you entertain the whole barrack!¡± ¡°So only three men, no, two now.¡± This man is trained to fight in a fencing room so I simply move more across the battlefield. He tries to follow as I dodge and weave around crates and bodies. ¡°You¡¯re too focused on me, keep an eye on your surroundings.¡± S?a??h th? N?velF?re.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. ¡°You slut! Once I get my hands on you, your friends will let me go and then I¡¯m coming after all of you! You don¡¯t know who you¡¯re fucking with!¡± I smile. Typical. ¡°Watch the leg,¡± I warn as I parry. The rapier slides on Jimena¡¯s gift above my head as I move forward and down. He jumps back in reflex and stumbles against the extended limb of one of his fallen comrades. ¡°I did not mean yours. Ah, this has been a disappointment. Crow was much more entertaining than you, puppet. Perhaps I should have offered a wager?¡± ¡°This isn¡¯t over!¡± ¡°If you look left, you will see that it is!¡± The man cannot resist, his eyes flicker to the left just as Isaac smashes into him from the right. ¡°Oops! I lied,¡± I say, then I stop. Something is wrong. Isaac¡¯s posture has devolved. He is hunched like a beast and his snarls and disorderly strikes send plumes of crimson into the air as he slashes ineffectively. His clothes are in tatters and the cold and orderly aura I associate with him has turned sour. Just like the vampire in the wood at the Tillerson estate. Bloody hell. I move forward, grab Isaac by the shoulder and push him away from his mewling victim. He rolls and faces me. I see no sign of intelligence in his brown eyes. His entire face is coated with blood. Oooh this is bad. ¡°That is enough, get a hold of yourself.¡± ¡°MINE!¡± He growls in answer. He hisses and I do the same. Trying to ASSERT DOMINANCE? WEAKLING. NOT EVEN ABLE TO CONTROL HIMSELF. WORTHLESS. I WILL PUT HIM IN HIS PLACE. And non-lethally. I may not warrant the attention of clan Rosenthal now, but should I slay one of its scions I certainly will. Briefly. He lunges and I move and duck. As he glides above me, I stab his solar plexus with five talons to stop his momentum. Then I slam him on his back. I aim for his heart and he grabs my wrist in panic. My other hand is already reaching up. I lift him and as his body leaves the ground, I find the opening I need. Two claws dig mercilessly into the back of his neck. He stops moving. ¡°Isaac, look at me.¡± He growls softly and shows me fangs. DEFIANCE? YOU CANNOT AFFORD DEFIANCE. Two spikes of black chitin pierce the bone of his spine. He whimpers. ¡°Isaac. Look at me. Isaac.¡± ¡°Yes... I am Isaac.¡± He closes his eyes in meditation and slowly, his body relaxes. The cold aura slowly loses its sour note until nothing is left but perfectly ordered strands. I haven¡¯t moved, and I still do not move when he looks at me, nor when his hand grabs the one I left resting on his chest. The intimacy of the moment gives me a peculiar feeling though I am not afraid. I made him submit. For tonight, our hierarchy is clear. ¡°Thank you, I would like to stand up now.¡± I drag him up. He looks beyond exhausted, even while his skin is smooth and his eyes clear. It is a fatigue of the mind and of the soul. ¡°How do you do it?¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°How do you keep it at bay, the great Beast, the one that needs to dominate and destroy. I tried so hard to hear it through my conditioning that when I succeeded, there were only screams in my head. Nothing mattered but to terrify and slay the mortals. It wanted more and more. Your voice is the only one that could pierce the veil, make it go quiet.¡± ¡°You just remind yourself of what your purpose is. The violent part of us lacks self-preservation. It needs to be tempered.¡± ¡°Is it?¡± He chuckles madly, ¡°Is it really a part of me? That thing that only craves death and subjugation? How do you live with it, Ariane, how do you live with its constant whispers?¡± ¡°There are no whispers. There has never been anyone in my head but myself. This is not some mysterious evil entity, Isaac, just a part of you that needs to be controlled so that it can be used as one more tool in your arsenal. I have always been me. ¡®It¡¯ has always been a part of me, nothing more and nothing less. ¡° My companion looks mortified as if I had just condemned him to death. ¡°What about him?¡± I point to the fallen leader to change the topic. ¡°Did you not want to question him?¡± ¡°I have an inkling as to what his business model is like. I do not feel like saving his life just to end it later.¡± ¡°You should drain him then, bring tonight¡¯s Hunt to a proper end.¡± ¡°I cannot, I...¡± He throws up. Black, disgusting liquid with not a shred of essence spills on the muddy ground. I step back so it does not stain my boots. ¡°I cannot.¡± Isaac stands straight and wipes his mouth with a dirty handkerchief. He takes a deep breath and addresses me with impressive solemnity. ¡°Ariane of clan Nirari, I, Isaac of clan Rosenthal declare your contract fulfilled. As a token of my appreciation, I offer you the prize of the Hunt¡± Magic washes over me, reminding me of my deal with Loth. This is the power of the oath and in this case, of a promise fulfilled. A wave of pleasure creeps up my spine with the purity and certainty of things made right. I smoothly go to the pitiful head of this defunct operation, brought low in a single night. I ignore his babbles and empty promises as I hoist him up. I disregard his cries of fear and pain as I bite deep. I feed. Yes, even in the relative serenity of my mind¡¯s fortress I can feel the power rushing into me along with the vitality of the vanquished. I can feel Isaac¡¯s presence at my side, waiting respectfully until I am done. It is empowering, flattering, and just a little arousing. I hope his nose is saturated by the stench of blood. When I am done, I throw the body away. ¡°I must leave now, Ariane. There is much for me to consider, and I feel unusually tired. I will handle the cleanup, do not worry.¡± I nod. He pauses briefly to consider something in silence. ¡°You really are good at this, you know? Being a vampire. Some of us lose ourselves to our instincts. Somehow, I figure this will never be a risk for you. Seeing you fight so naturally has been... enlightening. I thank you and wish you all the best. Do write when you have the time.¡± I nod again and he departs without a look back. When I am convinced that he is out of sight, I finally relax. ¡°Teeeeeeeeehehehehehe that was sooooo fun!¡± Damn it, I¡¯m drunk again. Chapter 35: Blood Ties Following our heroic return from opening a bank account and killing six people in the process, Dalton and I continue much like before. As a charming lad with good prospects and a secured income, Dalton starts receiving several discreet inquiries from good families to see if their daughters could be a match. He systematically turns them down. This only gives wind to the rumor mill. Now everyone says we are an item. Fortunately, we are protected by our good reputation and we are therefore seen more as an exotic pair than a couple of sinners.This leads me to consider a relationship with him. I am certain that he would not hesitate. I am also certain that our lovemaking would be pleasant and concern-free and yet, I decide against it. Although I cannot reclaim what Master took, what I give is still mine to choose and I want my first consensual intimate moment to be like what Agna and Loth shared. I do not want to indulge; I want what they had. My feelings for Dalton are not that of a lover, and so we cannot have what I desire. In the meanwhile, I, ahem, still have a way to entertain myself. While I wait for the conclave and for Jimena to submit my petition, I am not idle. My present circumstances give me access to a wealth of resources to work with. Following Jimena¡¯s recommendation on the pursuit of art, I am taking drawing classes. Well, that is not entirely correct. Upon Jimena¡¯s recommendation, I have picked up drawing. It is upon Loth¡¯s recommendation that I am taking classes for it, under the benevolent mentoring of old Margie Mitchell. What occurred, is that after a brief period of self-study, I showed Loth the fruit of my labor. He was not impressed. His very words were: ¡°Don¡¯t ye worry about yer lack of talent lass, ye got centuries ta learn. Now explain ta me how ye think that¡¯s a house. Please, I could use another laugh.¡± Rascal. Fortunately, my other pursuits are going better. My study of magic runes and their arrangement has progressed enough that Loth started showing how to build, avoid, and disarm magical protections and alarms. It will at least allow me to know what things can do, and then, break them. Casting even the most basic ward is still completely beyond me. When I ask how he knows so much about breaking and entering, Loth grows suspiciously evasive. He mentions something about a girl, a crown, and his good cousin Okri. I leave it at that. Bounty hunting has become interesting. There is a new market for escaped slaves and after learning of it, Loth offered me a trade. I would hunt down the fugitives and instead of delivering them back to their owner, I would lead them to isolated houses or lost paths, where others would take them. Loth explained that he was part of a secret network called the Underground Railroad dedicated to helping slaves travel North towards Canada or West to Mexico. Ah, Loth, always the bleeding heart. The rest of the bounties are the usual conmen, thieves, murderers, and rapists. Which leads me to tonight. May 1805, Georgian Wilderness. S?a??h the N?v?l(F)ire.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. ¡°That¡¯s them, Mistress.¡± Dalton points to a small gathering of people off what passes as roads in these parts. I see three wagons and three groups around one campfire. They unfortunately have a dog. I study them. There is a couple of young farmers, probably married since the woman is heavily pregnant. I also note a larger family with many children being fed by a heavyset woman while her husband smokes a pipe. He is dressed in the black attire of a preacher. The last two members are a crone in a rocking chair attended by a woman with the absent face of a simpleton. None of them look to be Mr. Darius Hill, charlatan, and thug. I like charlatans, they always have the best stories. ¡°And you say none of them saw your quarry?¡± I ask. ¡°Or so they claim, and they seemed honest. The thing is, it should be impossible. Hill followed the same path, and nobody remembered him in Salt Spring. Unless he went off-road before he came across this group, they should have seen something." I keep looking. I don¡¯t think they saw anything. They are traveling together for safety but there is no friendship here. If anything, the young couple and the simpleton are both wary of the preacher. He probably bashed their ears with threats of divine punishment during the whole trip. There would be no reason for a coordinated lie. It looks like a trek through the wilderness is increasingly more likely, though that does not fit what I know of the man. A conman cons his way through travel. Murderers are more likely to go brave the wilderness. Unless... No way! This is just precious. I stare a bit longer until I am completely convinced I am right, and then stand up. ¡°Mistress?¡± ¡°My dearest , you have yet things to learn! Follow and observe.¡± ¡°Yes Mistress, I bow before your superior wisdom,¡± he deadpans. How many vampires get sass from their I wonder? We make our way to the camp from the road. The dog is the first to hear and smell me. His furious barks alarm the assembly, and both men grab a musket. Dalton reaches the edge of the campfire¡¯s circle of light. The flames reflect on his deputy badge, making it glint. ¡°You again?!¡± Roars the priest with outrage. Dalton remains unfazed. ¡°Hsssssss.¡± The sound is too low for human ears. The dog barks, whimpers then falls silent. Good. I sidestep Dalton to get closer to the group. It is time for an exciting lesson. ¡°My dear Dalton, when following a prey, you must remember that...¡± ¡°Who gave you leave to speak, wench?¡± We are going to have a problem. I consider killing their dog as a warning when Dalton intervenes. ¡°I did. Now stay silent.¡± The priest stands up with rage at his treatment and opens his mouth but nothing comes out. The distinctive sound of a cocked pistol silences everyone. ¡°You would not dare firing on a...¡± ¡°Yes. I very much would. Now shut up, you are interfering with the duties of a deputy Marshall.¡± Nicely done Dalton, now I won¡¯t have to kill anyone. ¡°As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted,¡± ¡°You dare!¡± BANG! The priest falls backward with a yelp and his family panics, for one second, until it becomes evident that Dalton fired a warning shot in the air. When everyone¡¯s attention has turned to him, my Vassal calmly holsters his pistol only to take out another one from his other hip. His countenance is perfectly at ease. ¡°The next one is for your knee.¡± You could hear a pin drop. Good . ¡°... many imbeciles only see danger when looking down the muzzle of a gun. And so those that prey on others have found ways to make themselves appear harmless until it is too late.¡± I walk around the camp and stop in front of the simpleton. ¡°However, most criminals are stupid, and the disguise is often flawed. For example, senile women do not smell of cigar and liquor.¡± I snag the hat from the ¡°crone¡± head to reveal a bald skull. The wig has remained stuck to the coiffe. ¡°YOU BITCH!¡± screams Mr. Hill as he attempts to extract himself from the reclining chair with a face twisted by rage. An instant later, his hateful glare is buried under Dalton¡¯s leather-clad foot. Hill falls back down and screams. The simpleton screams, the couple screams, the priest¡¯s family screams. My poor ears. ¡°Darius Hill you are under arrest for assault with a deadly weapon, battery, larceny...¡± I watch Dalton work as he shackles the criminal. All this fresh blood dripping on the ground... I feel the Thirst awakening. I have been feeding on chalices for the past three days, and it is time for Mr. Hill to contribute. ¡°What is the meaning of this?!¡± yells the priest as he tries to regain some authority. ¡°You shared a campfire with a felon and a transvestite, that¡¯s what it means.¡± I smile and prepare to leave until I notice that Dalton is staring at the man, considering. ¡°You know, when I asked you the first time you said that God would reveal the soul of a sinner. And yet here he is, sharing a fire with you. Strange is it not?¡± ¡°What are you implying, you insolent scoundrel? Do you know who you¡¯re talking to?¡± ¡°No, but you¡¯re going to tell me. Name, surname, and place of origin please,¡± replies Dalton. ¡°I¡¯m the Reverend Luther Boone of the Baptist church of the United States, with the grace of...¡± ¡°Date of birth and place of origin.¡± ¡°I beg your pardon?!¡± ¡°For the last time, you will give me your date of birth and place of origin, sir, or are you refusing to comply?¡± ¡°This is an outrage! I have never been treated like this! I¡¯ll have you know...¡± ¡°You harbored a fugitive and now you¡¯re refusing to cooperate with a deputy Marshall of the state of Georgia. You will answer my questions, or you will be detained. Is that clear?¡± ¡°!!!¡± ¡°IS. THAT. CLEAR?¡± There is a moment of tension when I almost believe that the priest will lose his temper, until Dalton takes out another pair of manacles. The priest quickly looks around as if seeking support, however, the couple is looking at him warily and the simpleton is still sobbing on the ground. He swallows his pride and sits back down. What follows is a short interrogation during which Dalton asks a few pointed questions. The others do not realize it, but I see what he is doing. His tone and phrasing are not inquisitive, they are degrading. Interjections such as ¡°Is that so?¡± and ¡°care to repeat that?¡± constantly destabilize his interlocutor, giving the vague feeling that Dalton does not believe a word he says. The treatment lasts until the red in the priest¡¯s face no longer comes from his anger but from his humiliation. When he¡¯s done, Dalton turns away and before leaving, delivers a parting shot: ¡°I will be verifying these claims, sir, and if they are not to my satisfaction you can expect another visit.¡± And then we disappear into the night, captive in tow. The impression is only slightly ruined when the simpleton runs after us, bawling her eyes out. ¡°I think she likes you, Mistress.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t even start.¡± Our carriage is riding back towards Coolidge, the city where the now slightly anemic Hill was last seen. I believe that he grabbed the simple woman there and used her as a cover. We will drop her off as soon as we locate her abode. Said simpleton can speak quite a bit when she is no longer so scared. I learned that she lives mostly alone in a shed and that she really likes rabbits. Tonight¡¯s sortie is getting stranger by the minute. ¡°Dalton...¡± My sighs heavily, not meeting my eyes. ¡°I am sorry Mistress. It won¡¯t happen again.¡± ¡°Oh, no, far from me to rob you of your fun. It was a pleasant surprise, although, you understand my curiosity¡­¡± I see something rare in my precious ally, embarrassment. ¡°It happened long ago...¡± ¡°Then at least tell me what caused your ire. You are usually so stern¡­¡± Dalton takes a moment to gather his thoughts then he begins. ¡°There is a kind of person who enjoys being in power. They enjoy it so much, in fact, that they will try to make everyone around them less so that it remains. They beat their wife, they beat their children, they crush their spirits so that all there is around them is a bunch of broken cowards too afraid to stand up for themselves. Growth does not interest them, only control. Now some of those men, like this despicable cad from before, they found a religion. That religion tells them that they are the chosen of God and they know the one truth, and that places them at the top of the bloody world. How happy they are. Now when they beat their family it¡¯s to protect them from sin. And how do they know it¡¯s sin? Well, since they are the chosen of God, if they don¡¯t like it, then God must not like it either. And so it goes. An entire village of self-righteous feckless mongrels weeding out everyone who could cast a shade on their happy hegemony. ¡° It does not take a mastermind to understand where his resentment comes from. ¡°You did punish him beautifully.¡± ¡°Oh, no Mistress. The punishment is only getting started. You see, I did it in front of his kids. Now they know their father is fallible. Just an angry little man, really. When they are of age, they will remember this, and that one could face him and win.¡± ¡°The seeds of rebellion?¡± ¡°Perhaps. Perhaps none of them will have the guts, or they could all be like him. It doesn¡¯t matter. I gave them something to consider. That¡¯s more than I got...¡± With this last statement, Dalton grows unusually subdued. I decide to leave him to his musings. The rarity of his displays of emotion could be a cause for concern in others, it does not bother me. The unity brought by our bond cannot be faked, nor destroyed. ¡°I will not let my resentment endanger our cause, Mistress.¡± ¡°I know. I trust you, and I believe I understand now why you trust me, trusted me, that day in the Valiant¡¯s camp.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± he replies with a smile, ¡°I will take an honorable monster over a hypocritical human any day of the week.¡± We share a knowing smile and fall into a comfortable silence as the carriage takes us back. Savannah, October 1805. The guard opens the door the moment he recognizes me. The nervous accountant who handled my money last time trots up and speaks with reverence. ¡°Welcome back, Lady Ariane. Master Isaac will be with you shortly. If you would take a seat? Would you like something to dr... Uhhhh.¡± ¡°I am fine, thank you,¡± I tell the paling man. Yes, a poor choice of words. I would not take him up on his offer anyway, it would be quite rude towards Isaac. Not to mention that I liked the sound of ¡°Lady Ariane.¡± The bean counter scurries back to the illusory safety of his desk while I take some time to study the magical protections of the place. I now recognize the set of armor as an animated golem, currently unpowered. The book Loth lent me mentioned that they were indefatigable and did not know pain. They are a good defense against a vampire although their slow speed can be a liability. The easiest way to deal with them is to outmaneuver them. Barring that, they have a core that would need to be destroyed. The glyph on the ground is also interesting. It is a seal of Solomonic tradition, and although its full purpose escapes me, I believe it is related to the disruption of foreign magic. ¡° I stand up and curtsy before my host. My answer dies in my throat when I take in his presence. Something has changed. The cold aura that marks him as my kin has increased in power by a significant amount. Moreover, it seems to be in flux, growing as I look, and despite all this it is still as organized and disciplined as before. I refuse to take his offered arm which he accepts gracefully. We exit the building and leave on foot away from the docks, towards the more affluent part of the city. Dalton follows us at a short distance, ever vigilant. He shakes his hand dismissively. Isaac¡¯s perfect poker face only betrays his inner smirk. If he were honest, he would have apologized profusely. I hiss playfully. Loth, Sinead and now Isaac, it appears that loners end up being comfortable in my presence. How else to explain the ocean of sass I must deal with? Even Dalton teases me on occasion. His deadpan deliveries can be scathing when something manages to stir his emotions. Perhaps I am a refreshing breeze for them, someone who they know will not commit a betrayal. I suspect Master¡¯s reputation could get him some allies, or even friends, if he weRe not sUch a... Better not go there. I enter alone the lobby of a small hotel. Signs of age and constant use mark the desk and furniture. Instead of being decrepit, warm colors and the smell of soap and flowers give the room a homey feeling. The place is empty but for a heartbeat coming from the dining room. I step in silently. If my own heart were still in motion, it would be fluttering right now. He is sitting at a table, his back to me. His fingers tap a nervous dance on the scratched wood as he tries in vain to focus on a shipping manifest. I sneak up on him with childish giddiness. Oh, but I haven¡¯t felt this human in months! I place my hands on his eyes, covering them. ¡°Devine qui c¡¯est!¡± ¡°Ma petite fille!¡± He roars with pleasure. ¡°Let me take a good look at you!¡± He jumps to his feet and catches me under the armpits. He lifts me in the air like I am made of straw and turns me around like a weird animal. I realize with pleasure that he regained his normal strength, though his hair has more grey in it than I remember. I try not to let it get to me. After a few seconds, he returns his verdict. ¡°You¡¯ve gained weight.¡± ¡°Lies! Calomnies!¡± I sputter. ¡°Hahaha fine, fine. Come on, sit down here and tell your old man everything.¡± I give him a light recounting of the events after I left the house. As expected, I am interrupted almost immediately. ¡°Those damn fanatics hiring a mage? Typical hypocrites. Fucking pricks, I hope you gave them hell.¡± ¡°I did. Also, language!¡± ¡°Give me a break, daughter. Your aunt isn¡¯t here.¡± ¡°So I can start swearing too?!¡± ¡°Do you want to?¡± ¡°That¡¯s not the point!¡± ¡°Do as I say, not as I do, such is the privilege of every parent!¡± I hiss in jest. When I realize what I have done, I freeze. I did not intend to show this side of me, however, my expectations are dashed. Instead of being alarmed at the inhuman noise, Papa steps closer. ¡°Can I... Can I see them?¡± I hesitate. ¡°It¡¯s fine if you don¡¯t want to Ariane, I appreciate that it can be difficult.¡± ¡°No, it¡¯s fine.¡± Papa takes my hand in his and rubs the talon, careful not to cut himself on the edge. At the same time I open my mouth and allow my fangs to show. He lowers his head to inspect them. ¡°Hrm.¡± We both jump in surprise when we realize Isaac is in the room. ¡°Jesus man, don¡¯t you scare me like that!¡± ¡°My apologies Mr. Reynaud. I merely wanted to tell you that everything is in order. You will find the signed contract in your quarters. And with this, I bid you a good night.¡± He bows with perfect professionalism. I¡¯m never going to live this down, am I? We stare in silence as he leaves. ¡°You entered a contract with the Rosenthal?¡± ¡°Yes, they were looking for a trustworthy contact with significant storage capabilities. Our location allows them to bypass other clans¡¯ areas of influence.¡± ¡°That is good I, wait, hold on, wait, how do you know all of this?!¡± ¡°Hmmmmmmm.¡± ¡°Papa?!¡± ¡°I¡¯ll tell you if you tell me why Lucien asks me about you when his parents are not around.¡± ¡°Ah. Aha. Wellllll.¡± My father crossed his arms and raises a brow which means I¡¯m not getting out of this one. ¡°When I came looking for you, I passed by the manor first. Roger came out and Lucien trailed him.¡± ¡°They saw you? Roger never said...¡± ¡°I asked him never to mention me.¡± ¡°I see. As for why I know so much, well, your letters came from a vampire and I managed to get in touch with her.¡± ¡°What?! She never said so!¡± ¡°I asked her to keep it secret, I did not want you to worry.¡± ¡°Father, this world is dangerous!¡± ¡°And closing my eyes to it won¡¯t save me, not since they took you. In any case, Achille has expanded the business and a lot of transactions we thought strange make sense now that we can account for hidden groups of interest. Also, Achille does not know it yet, but I am planning to leave you your rightful share of inheritance.¡± ¡°Papa....¡± ¡°Tut tut, I fully expect you to look after your nieces and nephews, and their children after that. I want you to be around for a long time and I am charging you with protecting the family in the future.¡± ¡°... Alright, I promise.¡± ¡°Speaking of which, Achille¡¯s wife Nicole is expecting their second child! And so is Constanza.¡± The discussion continues on my family until I resume my tale. Eventually, I mention Dalton. ¡°We mostly hunt bounties together.¡± ¡°Is that what kids call it these days?¡± ¡°Papa?!¡± ¡°Hahaha joking. Well, remember to tell me in advance for the nuptials. I have to make arrangements.¡± ¡°Even if I did, we could not find a priest.¡± ¡°Aaaah who cares about that, I could do a pagan marriage. With that Nashoba lad attending us.¡± ¡°Pass.¡± ¡°Alright, alright.¡± After that, I have Dalton himself join us. They take the measure of each other and immediately hit it off. We finish the night on a pleasant note, and with plans for the future. I have not felt closer to human Ariane in a long time. I wonder if it will be a weakness and I realize that I do not mind. If I manage not to get killed, I will be forced to see all my family die of old age. Perhaps their children too. I need to enjoy the present moment while I can, and safeguard those memories. It feels important. I also realize that I am in a position to look after Achille¡¯s descendants. I am too weak to make a difference now, and the descendants in question are mostly yet to come. This is still something to consider in the future. This is all making me out of sorts. I know what I need, a good . Chapter 36: Cloaks and Daggers ¡°I already hate this .¡±¡°Ye¡¯re just a sore loser, lass.¡± ¡°Just because I end up being a loser a bit too often for my tastes...¡± Loth looks like the very picture of innocence, which I find extremely suspicious. I insist that we change the way we select who will go first every time, and yet I still lose. Surely, Loth is not capable of cheating at every game. Surely... ¡°Wipe that smirk off your face, mister. ¡° A howl interrupts his answer. I know how wolves sound. Their songs are eerie, beautiful and if you are outside, frightening. It does not compare to the grating abomination I am hearing now. More importantly... ¡°Loth, there are two of them.¡± ¡°Aye, I heard.¡± ¡°We need to help him.¡± ¡°No, we need to trust him.¡± Loth is about to hold me back with an extended arm then thinks better of it. Our eyes meet briefly. ¡°I hope that you can provide me with a good reason, Loth.¡± ¡°Aye, this is the lad¡¯s first outing. Don¡¯t clip his wings. Let him give a good accounting of himself. Have some faith, Ariane.¡± I grind my teeth in frustration. I don¡¯t want him to get hurt, I need to LET HIM HUNT IN MY NAME, yes, that seems fair. He is my , he will take down those CURS LIKE THE MONGRELS THEY ARE. In the clearing in front of us, torches burn at regular intervals centered around a butchered horse covered with three chalices of human blood. Dalton stands straight with Loth¡¯s latest iteration of the Wolf Slayer in his steady hands. A boar spear with a silver inlay is dug into the ground at his feet. Even my vampire senses can barely pick up any fear in him, only anticipation and the thrill of the deadly struggle to come. My chose the location himself, with the rationale that a clear line of sight was the most important thing to have. Loth did not comment so the idea must have merit, although I would prefer to HUNT THEM MYSELF AND MANGLE THEM LIMB FROM LIMB, except, I gave my word. Dalton drew the short straw and the attempt is his. They come. I lean forward in anticipation. Wood creaks and groans under the push of a massive body. Dalton turns and kneels. The Wolf Slayer is a massive crossbow. Its draw strength is guaranteed by an elegant system of pulleys and taut metallic strings. It must be heavy for a mortal, though looking at Dalton, you could not tell. He holds it with ease born out of rigorous practice. A hulking abomination crashes through the vegetation into the clearing. It spots Dalton. Dalton aims, and waits. The werewolf runs to him on all fours, its strange gait an obscene parody of nature. Dalton waits. The creature screams its rage and its thirst for blood, claws digging furrows in the tortured ground. Forty paces away. Thirty. Dalton waits. Twenty-five. I hear the twang of strained cords finally released, I do not see the barbed silver quarrel leave its slot. It is simply too fast. The werewolf¡¯s head explodes in a cloud of blood and brain matter. Its body drops in a tangle of monstrous limbs. Dalton stands up and brings out two pistols from the holsters on his hips as a second dark shape overtakes the first. He fires one second before the thing reaches him. The werewolf raises a paw to his ruined eyes but does not stop. The yowling form barrels past him as he rolls to the side, grabbing the boar spear. Before the blinded beast can recover, my buries his silver blade deep under its armpit. The creature shivers and struggles in vain. Dalton manages to keep it at bay through power and balance. With every movement its wound only becomes more grievous. Carmine blood soon spreads in a pool around it. With proper preparation and deadly skill, Dalton took down two of the most dangerous supernatural creatures of the land. ¡°Come and partake Mistress, before it is too late.¡± I move to his side with pride in my chest. He did so well! I feed quickly. It tastes exquisite, like a hard-won prize. An offering worthy of any king. When I come to, Loth is congratulating Dalton on his aim and his courage. ¡°Ice-cold lad! We¡¯ll make a sharpshooter out of you yet.¡± ¡°Thank you, my dear , for the show and for the meal. Now, I shall¡­ Wait. Shhh! I hear something.¡± Both men immediately fall silent, even their breathing grows subdued. I close my eyes and focus on listening. I hear the beating hearts of my companions, fire burning softly on the torches, the many sounds of the forest, and behind that, footsteps. A group of creatures is approaching us. They are confident if cautious. I focus on them. For a single moment, my ears are cleared of everything but them, then a furious headache makes me recoil. I scowl at the discomfort. There is still much for me to learn, but now I know enough. ¡°Group of men, three or maybe four. I heard creaking leather and metal so they must be armed.¡± I turn to Loth and so does Dalton. Tonight we went hunting at his behest and this is his territory. By right the decision should be his. ¡°We hide and observe.¡± I fetch the quarrel while the others take the boar spear and crossbow. We run to cover. We do not have to wait long before the intruders make themselves known. Three men in the now familiar leather outfit of the order of Gabriel trudge through the undergrowth and stop at the edge of the clearing. I lean towards Loth and ask: ¡°What do you want to do?¡± ¡°We need to kill them all.¡± Reasonable. Just then, I catch a whiff of them. Sweat, fear and under this, one of them is... Now that is interesting. ¡°Can I try something?¡± ¡°Sure thing lass, it¡¯s your turn, but they don¡¯t leave the clearing alive.¡± ¡°Very well.¡± I move out of sight to my backpack and change into my traveling dress as fast as I can. I enter the clearing from the side just as the others do. I crawl between the rings of light cast by our torches to a spot on the ground not too far from the two werewolf corpses. Now that I think about it, I did not know they could hunt in pairs. Loth never mentioned it was possible. Bah, it probably is just an anomaly. Nothing to concern myself over. The trio walks towards the center of the clearing with one man looking back at all times. I find it striking that they would adopt this formation, clearly designed to fight werewolves. The corpses of the two monstrosities are squat between two torches, clearly visible from where they are. The death of their prey as well as the presence of torches should hint that their enemies, if indeed they are enemies, use tools. With this logic, walking slowly out in the open and in sight of everyone is the last thing they should do. I focus on hearing again and confirm that they are not being followed. It appears that ancient vampires do not have a monopoly on rigid mindsets. I should not be surprised. Once more, I am putting too much effort in a confrontation that could have been solved at the speed of the crossbow¡¯s muzzle velocity. Ah well, at least I can make it interesting. I feel the threads of a beautiful rendition of ¡°The Turning of a Friend¡± blooming before me. Improvised, of course, but still interesting. The trio reaches the two monster corpses. One of them touches the body of one of the beasts. ¡°Still warm...¡± ¡°We should...¡± I sneeze. Three lanterns turn on me with blinding glare. I lift an arm to shield my eyes. ¡°Please... Don¡¯t hurt me!¡± Heavy footsteps draw close. A hand closes on my wrist and drags me to the floor. I yelp in surprise and pain. ¡°No... Please!¡± ¡°A woman? Here?¡± ¡°Who are you? What are you doing here?¡± says the one who manhandled me, now on my left. I whimper in fear, my eyes still closed. I am but a poor defenseless woman in a dark and isolated forest. Three men have me at their mercy. Anything could happen. I am terrified. ¡°Calm Gamelin, can¡¯t you see you¡¯re scaring her half to death? You, woman, what¡¯s your name?¡± Asks the man in the middle. ¡°M... Mathilda, sir, Mathilda Wallace.¡± ¡°What are you doing out there at this hour, huh?¡± Says a bitter man on my right. ¡°It¡¯s not my fault! I did not want to be here, but he took me...¡± ¡°Who? Who took you?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know! A man! I don¡¯t know him!¡± ¡°Hold on, start from the beginning. And you two, keep a look around. What is this, a picnic?!¡± With the lanterns away from my face I raise my eyes to their leader. I blink rapidly to clear them. He is an older gentleman with sideburns. More interesting is that I cannot Charm him. All three men are surrounded by a sort of cocoon centered around their cross. There is no bond between us, and when I try to force it I only receive a jolt that feels distinctly like a warning. Something like the taste of ash at the back of my tongue. Very well, the old-fashioned way it is. ¡°I... I was on my way to Hull. Not far from here.¡± I wave my arm South. We crossed the hamlet on our way here. ¡°Then this tall man covered with weapons jumped out of the woods! I was so afraid!¡± ¡°What sort of weapons?¡± ¡°Well, I saw, hmm, guns!¡± ¡°Women...¡± adds the bitter man. I am pretty sure he is the one with the interesting smell. Just you wait, you yellow-livered halfwit. ¡°Dale will you shut up for one blessed second, please? Miss... Wallace was it? What sort of guns?¡± ¡°Well. At least two pistols. Maybe more.¡± ¡°Go on?¡± ¡°He also had a strange sort of bow. With a handle.¡± ¡°A crossbow?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know sir, I did not see a cross.¡± Dale sniggers. With a supreme effort, Sideburns refrains from cuffing him. ¡°Anything else?¡± ¡°Yes, he had a spear. It was a hunting spear I think. I saw my father use the same.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not one of us.¡± ¡°Dale, one more word and I will use you as live bait. Miss Wallace, the man, what did he look like.¡± ¡°A very tall man, strong as a bull he was. He had a big red beard, flat nose and a ring above his right eye.¡± I just described Rolf Stonehead, possibly the dumbest of Loth¡¯s relatives. Somewhere in the treeline, someone chuckles softly. ¡°A ring, you say?¡± I nod frantically. ¡°Why should we believe that hussy. Any respectable woman should be in bed at this hour, she probably followed him here for a tryst.¡± I may be a scared lone woman but those accusations sting my pride and so I must show it. ¡°That is not charitable of you, sir!¡± I claim. The fear of the demon-like creature must soon reassert itself, however. ¡°Ooooh, this is a nightmare! This cannot be real...¡± ¡°Miss, look at me.¡± Although the leader of the squad affects kindness, his eyes remain calculating. This one is sharper than the rest. He can feel that something is wrong. ¡°Tell me, what happened after.¡± I lower my head and close my eyes, doing my best to remember. S?a??h the N???lFire.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. ¡°Hum, he grabbed me. He was strong and I was scared so I did not fight him. It didn¡¯t hurt. He said he needed bait.¡± Dale and Gamlin exchange whispers. ¡°Who might he be, an independant hunter?¡± ¡°One of the devil-worshippers perhaps?¡± I go on. ¡°Then he dragged me through the woods. He did not answer my questions, or my pleas. He only told me to... To shut up.¡± ¡°A wise decision.¡± Sideburns stands up and floors his subordinate with a powerful right hook. I cover my head and yelp at the sudden violence. I have to admit, it was done beautifully. To my inner delight, Dale growls. A flicker of doubt crosses Sideburns¡¯ otherwise stern expression. In typical fashion, he dismisses it almost immediately. Yes mortal, you are so close to understanding, and yet you dare not face the truth. ¡°Then what?¡± I swallow with difficulty, intimidated by the clearly dangerous man in front of me. ¡°And then... he brought me here. There was a horse carcass. And torches.¡± ¡°Go on.¡± ¡°When night fell, he used a syringe to draw some blood,¡± I say as I massage the crook of my left arm, ¡°and he just spilled it on the body. I thought he was a lunatic and he would do some evil ritual.¡± ¡°What tells you that he didn¡¯t?¡± Ah, a solid observation. This would destabilize many a liar. ¡°I don''t know? He dragged me to the side and he just stood there. Did not say a word until... until...¡± My voice quivers and I grab my head and collapse on the ground. My breath comes hard and fast and one of my hands is on my heart, as if to calm down its panic. ¡°Are those demons?¡± ¡°They are godless creatures. That is all you need to know.¡± He turns to leave. What, going so soon? ¡°Wait! Please.¡± Sideburns would ignore me but leaving a woman defenseless is more than he can tolerate. I have a short window of opportunity. ¡°Do you live nearby? Can I come with you?¡± ¡°No, we do not. And no you cannot.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t leave me here please!¡± ¡°Listen, they¡¯re dead now so we should be safe.¡± ¡°What if there are more of them?!¡± ¡°There are none. We have been tracking those two for three days now. There are no others.¡± Ah, so they already fought those creatures and that is how dear Dale ended up cursed. The fact that they have been traveling for three days also means that their base is relatively far. Perhaps Loth knows more. Now for the finish. ¡°Then at least come back to Hull with me for the night. You will be able to rest. You should not walk around with one of you bleeding like that.¡± They all stop. Oh, yes. This is so precious, the fateful moment when the seed of doubt blooms into a beautiful, tainted flower. ¡°What did you just say?¡± ¡°Nothing! Nothing! I¡¯m sorry! I did not mean to imply anything!¡±, I yell in terror. Sideburns grabs me by the collar and hoists me up. My, quite daring! ¡°Who! Who is bleeding?! What did you see?!¡± I just have enough time to raise my hand protectively before Sideburns¡¯ head explodes in my face. My dress is soiled with blood and pulverized brain matter. Ew. Also, really? I was expecting a fierce argument ending up in a fight. I did not expect Dale to be so trigger-happy. Oh well. ¡°No!¡± , screams Gamelin, taking out his own pistol, ¡°How could you!?¡± They throw themselves at each other in a mad tangle of limbs, trying desperately to angle the barrel of their guns towards soft flesh. ¡°I need to go back to Elise! I have to! I know what you will do to me!¡± ¡°Traitor! Did you not swear an oath like all of us? Are you so ready to forfeit your immortal soul?¡± ¡°Screw this! I¡¯m not cursed! I can¡¯t be! I¡¯m God¡¯s chosen!¡± Yes, yes, God¡¯s chosen. Father Armand also used to tell me God loved me and yet here we are. I watch with interest as they wrestle on the blood-soaked ground until it looks like Gamelin has the advantage. He slams Dale on the ground. Instead of fighting both his previous colleague and gravity, Dale suddenly pushes his arm down. In the brief moment of leeway he has, he aims his gun up and shoots. The bullet misses Gamelin by a wide margin. The cloud of ignited black powder, however, does not. The poor sod recoils and reaches for his eyes. The turncoat does not hesitate. He grabs the discarded gun, turns it on the man he called his brother and fires it at point-blank range. Gamelin¡¯s head whips back. He collapses, dead. I am sobbing and crying on the ground. Only my pathetic mewling and Dale¡¯s heartfelt curses break the silence of the grave that has befallen this clearing. Eventually, he stands back up and walks to me. ¡°No, please, please! I haven¡¯t done anything!¡± ¡°I know. I am sorry. I have no choice.¡± he says, while aiming one more pistol at my head. He turns his head away with an expression of pure guilt. On his cheek, a single tear trails down. He pulls the trigger. After the echo of the gunshot has died, he falls to his knees. For a long time, there are only bitter tears of guilt until finally he bellows his pain to the heavens. ¡°Why?¡± ¡°Because you broke your oath.¡± Dale turns in fright as I stand up and brush the grass from my knees. Now the travel dress has stains of blood, brain and soot. What a chore it will be to wash. ¡°What? No! I don¡¯t understand! Who are you? What is this?¡± ¡°This, is a passable rendition of The Turning of a Friend, with you in the role of the traitorous companion, and me as the puppeteer. Although, to be fair, you made it too easy.¡± ¡°How are you still alive? I shot you in the head!¡± ¡°Correction, you shot at my head. You missed.¡± ¡°It¡¯s impossible... I am insane, completely insane, this is just a dream, yes just a dream.¡± What an interesting development! He is losing his mind. I approach and kneel in the grass in front of him. The cross on this man¡¯s chest burns my hand when I grab it but I still manage to tear it off. ¡°It hurts right? All of this.¡± ¡°Yes, please make it stop make it stop make it stop. Let me wake up.¡± ¡°I will make it all better, little oath breaker. Just hold still...¡± He tastes like a play led to completion, and a hint of curse. Not bad. Loth and Dalton clap politely as they enter the clearing. Dalton piles the carcasses, Loth checks the priests¡¯ belongings and I gather firewood to build a pyre. Dale was a traitor and a fratricide. I look down upon him while I respect Sideburns, whose name I never learned. It is curious that I would harbor the least resentment to those who could have harmed me the most. I only feel respect for those who follow their beliefs to the end, even if it means that they need to destroy me. Perhaps it is... ¡°Ari, are ye tipsy again?¡± ¡°What? Psh, no, absolutely not. I would if I drained three people and I only drained two. So there!¡± ¡°Are you sure? I remember that werewolf blood is potent.¡± ¡°That was only one werewolf and half so it doesn¡¯t count.¡± ¡°Ye are being contemplative lass. You are contemplative when ye¡¯re tipsy.¡± ¡°Am not! I am perfectly fine! ¡°Alright, sorry. By the way , why are you adding their muskets to the bonfire?¡± ¡°...¡± ¡°...¡± ¡°Technically, they are made of wood. Mostly.¡± ¡°Right, lass of course. Go sit down for a minute or two aye?¡± Acting is hard. The towel is hung, the tub is empty, and my bedroom''s secured doors are locked tight. Loth retired after a last attempt at creating a magical skeleton key, his latest project. Dalton is long asleep. I walk naked to my bed, not the sarcophagus, and plop onto its soft mattress. It smells of soap. I smell of jasmine and the subtle spice of vampire skin. The canopy covers me in soft blue tones. I run a finger down my torso. The claw trails against my skin without breaking it, until my hand stops just below my navel. I turn my head to the nightstand upon which rests another of Jimena¡¯s gifts. It is a rare print of a story about a shepherdess and far too many handsome noblemen. I am going to have myself some ¡°me-time¡±. I open the book with one hand and start a new chapter titled ¡°In which our Heroine absconds to the woods with don Miguel¡­¡± What a delightful turn of events. ¡°¡­ and don Rodrigo.¡± Oh, my! Alas, as I start reading the bell rings. The urgent bell. The one that signals that Loth has an important matter that needs to be addressed immediately. Perhaps I can rip it from the wall and pretend it was an accident? With a resigned sigh, I pull on a nightdress and undergarments, don a pair of slippers and promptly exit my room. As expected, the house is dark and deserted. No fire, no intruder and generally, nothing that warranted me being disturbed at this most inopportune moment. I swallow my annoyance and climb upstairs. I hope this is truly important. I find Loth in the smoking room in a fine silk robe and a lowball glass full of whiskey. An empty bottle lies on the table at his side. The dying fire reflects in his dark eyes. Sensing the mood, I silently sit in front of him and wait. He slowly brushes his hand over his face, then pinches the bridge of his nose. When he can no longer delay, his voice starts rough from stress and the burn of liquor. ¡°It¡¯s yer fault, ya know?¡± He sounds defensive. ¡°Many things are my fault. You will have to be more specific.¡± Loth puckers his mouth, moving his great beard in comical fashion and finally hands me a rumpled letter, which I open. The text is entirely runic. My study of his magic system allows me to decipher a few key elements: wife, ship, arrival, a few runes that refer to people as well as a time coordinate which I realize is three days from now. It does not take long to piece the puzzle together. ¡°Loth?¡± I shake the paper like a flag. ¡°How long have you had this?¡± ¡°Grmgmlmlmrgmrl.¡± ¡°Loth!¡± ¡°A month!¡± The save me from procrastinators. ¡°Am I to understand that your correspondence has been fruitful?¡± ¡°No! As soon as Leikny, that be me wife, found out I was alive, she managed to track me down and now she¡¯s on her way ta Savannah! With that damn Rollo!¡± ¡°Rollo who showed his posterior to the king of England or swine-kisser Rollo?¡± ¡°Neither of them, it¡¯s a third one I never mentioned before.¡± ¡°Ah?¡± ¡°Aye, see, he¡¯s a wee bit of a cunt.¡± I splutter in outrage but Loth cuts me off. ¡°Don¡¯t ye start. I¡¯m wroth, and I¡¯ll damn swear if I feel like it. DAMNIT! I have ta confront them. Else they¡¯ll come here and I¡¯ll never hear the end of it.¡± I can imagine the commotion. All those widows coming here for a roll in the hay, finding out that their paramour is still married. Scandalous. Well, more scandalous at any rate. ¡°I feel a bit responsible. I could¡­ Convince them to head back.¡± Loth¡¯s eyes are reduced to slivers under his thunderous brow. I had to needle him before the temptation to cut and run could grow too strong. Now his pride will not let him retreat. ¡°I can solve me own damn problems thank ye very much. Just¡­¡± ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°Can ye come with me? For safety?¡± ¡°Of course.¡± ¡°Hold on lass, ye think I¡¯m being metaphorical. Am not. That Rollo is three snakes in a gambeson.¡± ¡°You suspect foul play?¡± ¡°Suspect? No. I expect foul play. So you and I are going ta make a short list of contingencies in case I¡¯m not as paranoid as ya think. Aye?¡± ¡°Of course Loth, I shall endeavor to assuage your fears.¡± ¡°Assuage? Come on, Ariane, stop being so damn respectable for one damn second.¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°Please¡­¡± ¡°Bah, fine, but just this once! If they dare touch you, I will fuck them up.¡± ¡°Thank ye lass, but did ya mean ta say that ye¡¯ll shove their heads up their¡­¡± ¡°Do not press your luck.¡± I never knew one could infuse so much meaning in a single gesture. Some smiles are worth paragraphs. Loth¡¯s sigh spells an entire book. Regret, anxiety, shame, hopelessness, resentment, disappointment, the list is long. We have set up a meeting point in a rather expensive inn at the edge of Savannah. Three people just arrived. Four had gone down the walkway a day before, carrying with them a massive crate. Big enough to contain an oversized man, like Loth for example. It does not take a genius to suspect that they want him back with a bit too much enthusiasm. ¡°I am feeling out of sorts Ariane. I am not quite sure what to do.¡± ¡°What does your heart desire?¡± Loth turns to me and I am reminded of the warrior in my vision, the one who had laughed as he had buried his axe into another man¡¯s chest. ¡°Let¡¯s not go there, aye? What my heart wants now even you would object, say it dishonors the Hunt or some such.¡± I feel a rush of excitement. This is not about the , this is about retribution. Those kin of his intend to commit some terrible offense, breaking their oath in spirit, and to their own blood no less. They would accept his offer of peace with ill intent in their hearts. Oath breakers. We should make an example out of them. PEEL THEM OPEN ONE BY ONE, EXTRACT THEIR SECRETS LIKE MARROW FROM A BONE. SEND BACK THE DREGS. LET THE REST WITNESS THE COST OF TRANSGRESSION. ¡°Do not tempt me lass, I beg of you, do not tempt me.¡± I wipe the ghastly smile from my face and retract all of my fangs. If Loth were after justice, his wife would be dead. He is after closure. I do not want to push him to do something he might regret. He deserves better from a friend. ¡°You want to confront them?¡± ¡°Spring the trap? It¡¯s bloody stupid, is what it is.¡± He mulls it over for a while, like prodding a wound to see how painful it is. When he finally turns to me, all his emotions have been boxed in tight. Only cold anger remains. ¡°I need ta know.¡± I look through the window. The inn is suspiciously empty. Only one table is occupied, around which Loth¡¯s relatives and spouse are sitting. The stocky blond must be Leikny, and she looks nervous. The other two share my friend¡¯s muscular frame and lush beard. The one on the right is an apprehensive red-hair, the one on the left has hair as black as night, curled in an elegant do. He has a vicious countenance to him and I would bet solid gold that this is Rollo. As I look, he reaches mechanically for a bulge on his side and I see the glint of chain mail. ¡°They are armed, and armored.¡± ¡°Of course they are.¡± Loth moves back from the cover of the carriage and stretches. Joints and bones pop like a military fanfare. ¡°Well, here goes nothing.¡± ¡°Loth? I was thinking¡­¡± ¡°Yes? ¡°Is it really kin slaying if they are your in-laws? Surely that should be acceptable.¡± ¡°Heh!¡± The large man only graces me with half a smile, but he feels less brittle. The raw grief is now covered by a veneer of fatalistic contempt. Before leaving, he turns to me one last time. ¡°Thanks Ari, and¡­ I am counting on you.¡± I nod in acknowledgement. Leikny¡¯s party is not stupid. They must have planned for Loth to resist and have measures in place. If they are not fools, they will have many. It is time for me to fulfill my end of the bargain. I circle the inn out of sight, find an empty alley and climb on the wall. In a few short hops, I am next to the inn¡¯s roof. Now, if I wanted to bring Loth back to his country with me, I would first try to convince him peacefully. It would only cost time. That is why Leikny is here herself. Failing this, I would make sure he is tranquilized. That is why the shadow I see detaching itself from the second floor window is here. So much treachery just to try to get him back. If they truly understood the man, they would know that five of his cousins and a two weeks drinking binge would do the trick. The silhouette moves enough that I recognize the shape of a man. I am intrigued. I cannot feel a single flutter of magic coming from him and yet there are clearly some occult shenanigans at play here. A concealment binding? I have difficulties seeing this person work. His actions come out as a jumble of movement that I find hard to follow, not because they are fast but because they are confusing. I manage to perceive more by not staring directly at him. He dangles from the roof and slowly lowers himself in front of a window. I see a glyph being hung on top of it, and then he rolls back, giving me clear access. Runic inscriptions of the script Loth favors are engraved into a transparent disk. They circle a pale blue stone in intricate patterns. I see several iterations of the same instruction: stop, surrender, sleep. If Loth jumps out the window he will drop like a stone. The strange man now lowers himself on top of the door. If I wait, the cloaked man may go back inside. If I attack him and I am heard, Loth may burst out of the door and be instantly incapacitated. What should I do? I decide that the ability to escape is more important. I wait for the man to get back in through a window and jump silently on the inn¡¯s roof. I climb down the wall using claws and study the first glyph once more. It has been fastened to the top rail with an adhesive substance. I also taste a small spell. There, next to the glyph is a small rune of alarm. It will warn its user in case of tampering. That will draw the stranger man out. I move. I rip both glyphs from the wall and rush back up, first on the roof and then on top of the window. I hide myself and focus on my senses. For a full minute, nothing happens, then the barest sound of well-oiled hinges tickles my ears. Coming from behind. Ah, curses! I stride silently across the roof until I am atop another window, lean down, and then wait. The light sound of the pane opening stops and stills. I wait. Then something small appears in front of me. It looks like a small silver disk at the end of a metal rod. The disk rotates. This is a mirror, which means... I move forward and over the edge, as I spin down I grab a gloved hand and pull it down. The window pane crashes on the side as a hulking form barrels past me and into the streets below. And that, is... Wow! I roll to the side to dodge a bolt. I start moving too late, fortunately the arrow head pings harmlessly against my arm guard. As I watch, the figure twists on itself and lands on the ground with perfect grace. I must not underestimate that one. I jump down the ledge. As I fall, my foe fires another quarrel. This time I am prepared and barely manage to block it again. I rush him, dodge to the side as he slashes me and stab him in the leg. Or at least, I try to. The man grunts and stumbles but when I withdraw my blade, there is not a drop of blood to be seen. I move and dodge as several silver knives whistle past me. As I step back, my opponent throws two knives at the same time, I almost miss the small flask that follows them. His aim is off so I simply duck and move forward. Then something explodes behind me. Incredible heat basks my back and I¡¯m sent tumbling on the ground. I¡¯m on fire. I¡¯m on fire I¡¯m on fire I¡¯m on fire. No! NO! MUST RUN. Must not run. I roll on the ground to extinguish the worst of the flames, jump back on my feet and sprint away. I turn the street corner. There, a water barrel. I lift it and empty it on my head. Immediately, a cool sensation spreads down my body, it brings me clarity of mind, and with it, the pain. It stings quite a bit. The acrid aroma of cat pee then assaults my delicate nose, it seems that the barrel contained more than just rainwater. Marvelous. Fair enough, you sorry excuse for a devious scoundrel. If your armor can stop my blade, then I shall have to teach you the meaning of blunt force trauma. I spot a half-sawn rotting beam placed against a nearby wall and dig my left hand claws in it. I ignore its mushy consistency and run back. The shadow warrior is hobbling to the inn when I approach. As I watch, he discards an empty vial, probably a potion of some sort. His movements are still harder to spot the more directly I look at him. I sprint silently and I swear he must have felt my eyes on his back. He twists and shoots at the same time. Another quarrel is soon embedded in the beam, which I use as an improvised tower shield. When I reach him, I swipe the heavy piece of wood in a circle aimed at his legs. As expected, he jumps up. As he is still in the air, I simply continue my motion until the circle completes, and goes on. The second passage does not miss. The beam hits him in the side and knee. At the same time, I reflexively twist as something rakes my chest. A blade cleaves the scales of my armored dress, parting them like water before stopping at the limit of my heart protector. The solid steel barely blunted the blow. I cough blood. A second later, the pain makes itself known. I hiss in agony, a sensation that only increases when a burning sensation spreads along the wound. KILL NOW. CRUSH THE HEAD AND DRAIN THE OTHERS. At this point, both of us stop. Something happened inside, something that was bad enough to trigger an event both awesome and terrible. Loth is angry. Perhaps the word pales to reflect the reality of it. Truth be told, Loth is mad with anger. A fierce bellow, less human and more like the clarion call of a great horn pierces the night¡¯s tranquility like thunder from a cloudless sky. Loth is angry. He is in danger! ¡°Hsss!¡± I need to move. I need to ignore the pain. I take one slow step forward, another. Loth needs me. I WILL NOT FALL. Especially not by one who thinks he can dwell in the shadows. THE NIGHT IS MINE. The shape turns and lobs something at me, I throw the beam. A vial breaks against the wood with a sizzling sound. An instant later the heavy object lands on its target with the ominous crack of broken bone. Acid eats at the darkness until it turns back into a screaming person. An armor made out of strange leather covers him entirely, and a few runes on his chest are being damaged by fuming acid. His head is covered by a helmet that would make Loth proud. Well aren¡¯t we covered in expensive gear? Let¡¯s see if we can put it to good use. I lean forward and grab him by the ankle before moving back to the entrance with the prisoner in tow, just as the sounds of broken furniture and crashing glass herald the start of a true rampage. As I reach the window, I throw my fallen foe through it. Damn it it still hurts. Gah. Note to self, move conservatively until the wound is somewhat better. I carefully hoist myself atop the broken sill, then fall heavily on the ground. I push myself up and stand witness to devastation the likes of which I had never seen before. Every piece of furniture but for the counter has been reduced to splinters, shards of broken glass litter the floor and the room is still lit by virtue of the lanterns being stuck to the ceiling. The red-haired man has been planted to his elbows through a wall of cheap plaster. Rollo is frantically trying to remove the chair leg embedded in his hand while Leikny is hugging the wall with tears in her eyes. In the middle of it all stands Loth. His presence weighs on the back of my mind as if he were three times the size. I know for a fact that he still fits in the inn but when I look at him, I see a giant. His elegant vest is now torn and scruffy. Breaks here and there show corded muscles flowing faintly with the twists and planes of tattooed runes. When he sees me, I fear for a second that he will not recognize me. A blink later and I am apparently in the clear. ¡°Number two, please.¡± I collect a secured vial of antidote from a pouch on my belt and pass it to him. Because of the continuous pain, I almost miss. Loth removes the silvery cap and swallows its contents down in one gulp. Then he crushes the metal container as if it were made of paper. Loth walks to the leather clad form on the ground and holds it by the neck. With a beautiful arc, he slams it on the counter, which sags noticeably under the brutal assault. A moment after, the helmet comes off. My opponent is a rather handsome man with a clean-shaven face. A vertical scar runs down his face on the right side, barely missing the eye. Loth¡¯s anger turns cold. He addresses his wife in English with a deceptively low voice. If those people were not part of his family, they would be formless meat on the ground by now. Even then, I do not know if we will finish the night without a death. ¡°Skjoll. You brought Skjoll with you. You intended to kill me?¡± The blonde woman blabbers in their native language. ¡°You have lost that right. I will not sully our tongue by sharing it with the likes of you. Now I am going to ask you again. Did you truly mean to kill me?¡± ¡°Loth,¡± I interrupt, ¡°he placed stunning glyphs on the door and window.¡± I finish the sentence and then cough some more blood. I spit reddish phlegm on the ground. So unladylike... Ah well, this is not the time to worry about such things, really. Just then I hear footsteps outside. Slowly, I try to get to my feet and wince. Nevermind, let me stay there for a little while longer, unless my assistance is required. Thankfully the wound has healed a bit and the pain is now barely tolerable. A fat guardsman and four others at his side crash through the door with all the authority and outrage they can muster. ¡°Now what is the meaning of... Of...¡± The squad falls silent as they take in the damage and, square in the middle of the room, the cause of it. ¡°Hey.¡± I say. Five pairs of eyes turn to me and I grab their attention like one grabs a handful of stalks. With that many people, I will not be able to work any subtlety, nor do I have to. Few entities could stand before Loth now without feeling a bit of apprehension, and these guards do not qualify. ¡°Flee.¡± They leave with commendable speed. Amusingly, the head guard takes the time to dip his hat in polite farewell before slamming the door close. He has more self-control than I gave him credit for. The woman speaks in anger and disbelief. Loth¡¯s answer worries me. He might hurt them in his fury, and he already did, but what I hear now is different. He has gone full cold. ¡°Aye, she is a vampire. And as to why I favor her over you, I shall tell ya.¡± With each sentence, he comes closer to her. ¡°She does not demand I stop being who I am. She does not demand I stop liking what I like. She does not demand I forget the past. She did not come to abduct me like some cheap highwaymen. She did not poison my bloody drink. She always has my back, and last but not least¡­¡± Their faces are only a hand apart now. ¡°She did not shag my brother for power, aye?¡± She protests. ¡°I don¡¯t care why ye did it, only matters that ye did. Now, whose brilliant idea was it ta kidnap me and bring me back ta the country trussed up like a dead boar?¡± She closes her eyes and cries. ¡°Ye don¡¯t have ta answer. Ye don¡¯t have the guts, Skjoll never starts anything and Haardrad is far too daft.¡± Loth goes for Rollo, who was crawling on the ground towards the stairs. He grabs him by the back of the neck and casually smashes him in the far wall, then he takes each arm and calmly breaks them at the elbow. This is savage even by my standards, though this vengeance is not my own and so I remain silent. When he is done, he pulls him up by the collar. Rollo tries to say something, only to be cut off by a terrible right hook. ¡°When I took the title of Jarl, I made an oath never ta shed the blood of my kin. Just as ye made an oath ta always protect the interests of the clan.. Well, lucky ye, we will both hold our promises in our own way, I suppose.¡± Loth encircles his treacherous relative¡¯s head in his massive arms. Once it is locked, he twists right, then left. The sound of shattered bones echoes through the room, soon joined by Leikny¡¯s horrified sobs. He is not done. Loth drops the corpse like it is garbage and walks to her. He takes something from his pocket and throws it on the filthy ground. It¡¯s a golden ring, with beautiful inlays. ¡°Consider yerself divorced.¡± He turns away and leaves. When he sees me still on the ground, he kneels. I did not notice but the front of my dress is slick with glistening black blood. The wound is not completely closed yet. Without a word, Loth grabs me under the shoulder and takes me up in a princess carry. I let him. I trust him. We reach the door and he kicks it down. The crowd outside lets us pass in wary silence. We reach the carriage with no one stopping us. Loth helps me up and after signaling Asni, and waiting for a few seconds, we depart. I do not move. I do not even pretend to breathe. This is technically my fault. Had I not pushed him, he would not have contacted them and he would not have been forced to kill one to make a point. There would have been no ambush. I thought I had done well. I thought this would help him. I was wrong. There was nothing to gain from facing the past, only scars to be reopened and old blood to be shed anew. Ariane, dimmest vampire on earth. Bah. ¡°Why are ye so down lass? It should be me.¡± ¡°How can you even tell?¡± ¡°Ye got perfect poker face, what with not breathing and looking like a statue, but when ye¡¯re sad ye bend yer back a bit.¡± I chuckle lightly. Is this how I manage to lose every game I play with Dalton and him? ¡°I should have stabbed myself in the foot the day I told you to send the letter.¡± ¡°Nah, ye were right. This had ta be done.¡± ¡°You¡¯re not mad?¡± ¡°I am mad. At them, at myself, at this fucking world that took Agna and left me with those rotten fucking snakes, but not at ye. I was stupid, too afraid and in a rush ta just get this over with. I forgot all I had learnt those past decades.¡± ¡°And what would that be?¡± ¡°Politics. Like it or not, I¡¯m a public figure. I can¡¯t just waltz in with a smile on my face and expect those twats to leave me the fuck alone. If I want to enjoy the presence of my kin without being used all the time I gotta prepare, gather allies. Only when I have a chance to be my own man will I return. Constantine showed me how to do it, but I was not ready. You may have noticed, but I am not the most subtle man around.¡± Understatement of the century. I somehow successfully hold my tongue. My, but when Loth is incensed, he is quite foul-mouthed. ¡°I, Ariane of clan Nirari, will assist you in this endeavor. I may have access to a safe way to send your letters.¡± ¡°Why thank you. And now oh Ariane of clan Nirari, the mighty vampire, care to explain why you stink like cat pee?¡± ¡°...¡± ¡°...¡± ¡°...¡± ¡°I was on fire! I had no other choice! There was this barrel...¡± ¡°Right.¡± Chapter 37: 1812, Overture. I open my eyes to an embroidered canopy. In the distance, the pops and hisses of the hearth¡¯s fire welcome me. I know where I am. This is my mind fortress in all its slumbering glory.I hear a deep sigh coming from outside. I walk down a flight of stairs to the grand entrance. The gates open as I pass. Under the serene gaze of the Watcher, flowerbeds extend on manicured lawn according to a bizarre pattern. I make my way to the nearest wall of towering thorn trees and they part before me. The clouds of the in-between flow past all around before resolving into a familiar sight. Nashoba is leaning against the shell of his giant turtle. He holds his head between two hands, his knees close against his chest. He looks more vulnerable than I have ever seen. I walk to him and sit on the ground. Nashoba is one of my favorite humans. I would be displeased if he were to die before his time. He smiles sadly. ¡°It is. The winds of war are blowing, Ariane. I see crimson clubs raised high to the North. Nothing will stop it now. It is inevitable.¡± Nashoba sighs heavily once more. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. The tortoise behind him rumbles lightly. I remain silent for a moment, expecting him to go on. He does not. Nashoba stands up and stretches, looking slightly better than before. The man moves his hand, the tortoise opens one blind eye and I fall backwards into slumber. 17th of July, 1812, Higginsville, Georgia. It has been nine years since I became a vampire. I cannot agree with my kind¡¯s way of measuring age. I am twenty-eight, with all the experience and knowledge I gained during that time. I draw as much from my human years as I do from what happened after. I lift the top of the sarcophagus. Soft blue light shines on my bedroom. I lift an arm and look at the black nails that end it. If I had not gone to the ball on that fateful night, my body would be different now, marked by childbirth and the passage of time. Instead, it appears exactly the same as the night I died, to the last strand of hair. Appearances are deceiving, however. The human Ariane could not eviscerate werewolves. What has visibly changed is my room. I used to think it spacious, back when I had three items and a broken backpack to my name. It is now cluttered with books and trophies representing my various pursuits. I stuck my best works on the wall: portraits of Dalton I draw every year, as well as one of Margaret Mitchell I made before she died, a Muskogee on his farm, a black child asleep outside of his house, a Choctaw dance. All of those are painted as seen by my vampire eyes, colorful and vivid even in the dead of night. In the middle, I placed my most ambitious work, a partial rendition of the Silent Watcher. Drawing the vampire aster is difficult. When I look up, I reach a state of serenity that is not conducive to the observation of physical objects. Rather, I can focus on parts of it but never the whole. After three days of fruitless attempts I reached the conclusion that it simply does not obey the laws of physics. I will never be able to draw it as it is, for even if my brain could comprehend what it perceives, my tools would not allow me to do it justice. And so I tried to draw a feeling instead of an image. I found a set of colors between purple and red and after almost a month of frantic efforts, I finally succeeded in capturing a glimpse of what it feels like to be in its presence. Dalton and Loth did not like that, not one bit. Merely looking made them extremely uncomfortable, they said. I count that as a major success. On either side of the wall, I placed bookshelves. They are filled with copies of Loth¡¯s own books, as well as quite a few others I managed to acquire courtesy of the Rosenthal consortium. I am now well versed in several mage traditions and systems although it is still completely beyond me to work anything myself. I also purchased books on hidden history as well as magical fauna and flora. I also have my own notebooks, packed with references and observations on subjects as varied as shamanic magic and gun smithing. Finally, the center of the wall is occupied by a desk containing my current subject of study as well as important letters. The most precious one is written in the tongue of Akkad by a steady and refined hand. It reads like this: This specific letter is currently my most precious possession. It is the hope that soon, I may come across one of my kind without having to fear slavery or death. I owe it to Jimena, who submitted my request at the previous gathering two years ago. It is unfortunate that such events only occur every decade, and yet it perfectly reflects the laissez-faire attitude of the current Speaker, the same attitude that may allow a Devourer reject to reach legal status. The wait is a small price to pay, all things considered. Next to it are the correspondence with my father, Jimena, Isaac who is back in Geneva as well as a few business contacts and even a scholar or two. The table holds a single fiction, a work by one Cecil R. Bingle titled: ¡°In the clutches of the Blood Cult.¡±, with an engraving of the man himself on the cover. He looks dashing and holds in his arms a fawning woman thankfully inspired by Rose. It does star as a side character the ¡®sensual and mysterious Adrienne, beset by an evil curse because of the sins of her father.¡¯ Loth still laughs about it sometimes, although he slowed down on the ¡°Oh ye sensual and mysterious lass, pass me the number three wrench¡± since I ¡°accidentally¡± dropped it on his foot. Bingle, the mark of your passage still haunts me eight years after. With a sigh, I get dressed and leave the vault. Loth has dropped two letters in a small basket by my door. I grab them and head up. I reach the smoking room and sit next to the man himself, busy snacking on a handful of nuts. ¡°Good evening Loth.¡± ¡°Evening lass, any good news?¡± ¡°We shall see in a moment.¡± I open the first letter and read its content. Our good Bingle is well in Sussex, and Rose is expecting their third child. He takes a moment to mention something I was not aware of. ¡°Loth, why is Bingle lamenting the unfortunate state of affairs between our two great nations?¡± ¡°Ah, yes, we are at war with the Great Britain.¡± ¡°WHAT?! Since when?!¡± "June. I just got the news. Something about illegal trade restrictions, arming the Indians and abducting sailors.¡± ¡°War! How are you not worried? This country has no real standing army!¡± ¡°This country, as you say, is not our worry lass. Its citizens will kill us if they learn of what we are anyway.¡± ¡°And this mindset will be of little help if a regiment of dragoons turns this entire town into a pile of cinders now, will it? Not to mention the Lancaster may want a larger piece of the pie if their home nation takes over.¡± ¡°Ye worry too much, they¡¯re busy in Europe right now. And broke. We¡¯ll talk again if they make landfall.¡± I do not reply. Loth is right, I do not have a squadron of ships of the line handy so right now my ability to contribute to the war effort is laughable. I turn my attention to the second letter. I do not recognize the writing style and there is no return address. How peculiar. Well, let us see what this is about. ¡°Miss Delaney, if you are reading this, then I am dead.¡± Well, we are off to a great start. ¡°I set an arrangement, so that if I were to fall, you would receive this letter as a measure of security. My name is captain Alexander Jenkins. A few years back, you set me on the trail of the Brotherhood of the New Light, after revealing to me that my superior at the time, Captain Lannes, was a member of this most sinister organization.¡± Lannes... Lannes... Impossible. The Tillerson estate party! Is this act giving dividends after so many years? This is incredible! ¡°What I discovered went beyond anything I ever thought, or even dreamt to be possible. Alas, it is the truth and no matter how strange my claims, how outlandish my accusation, I ask of you that you believe me. Heed my words and heed them well, for we are all in terrible danger. The purpose of this community of people is not to gather wealth and power, nay, it is to achieve eternal life by means most foul! You must find allies you can trust and take up the torch! For if we fail to stop them, I fear that we will witness horrors the likes of which civilization should have left behind.¡± How very ominous. Nashoba, and now the dearly departed officer warning me of some impending doom? This is no coincidence. ¡°Please find in this enveloppe the key and deed to a safe box in the first South Carolina bank in Charleston, where I secured my latest findings. I am sorry I could do no more. Good luck, and may God be with you. Yours, Augustin Alexander Jenkins.¡± Here go my plans for the week. ¡°Something the matter Ari?¡± ¡°Somebody died and left me with inheritance.¡± ¡°Oh? And what would that be?¡± ¡°The burden of stopping a mysterious and dangerous conspiracy whose monstrous pursuit will leave uncounted victims in its wake should no one step up to face it.¡± We ponder this for a few moments. ¡°I find that leaving money is usually better received.¡± ¡°Mmmmmh.¡± ¡°Anything I can do to help?¡± ¡°I need to go to Charleston.¡± S~?a??h the N0v?lFir?.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. ¡°Ah. Charleston. The third seat of power for vampires in North America. That Charleston. The city Jimena unambiguously told you to avoid. That one, aye?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°And what will you do there?¡± ¡°I need to retrieve some incriminating documents from a safe.¡± ¡°Oh, a heist! I love me some good heist!¡± ¡°No, Loth, I have the key.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± He looks disappointed. ¡°You know Loth, if you absolutely must commit grand larceny, why don¡¯t you just do it?¡± ¡°It¡¯s the stakes. It¡¯s not the same if there are no stakes, ya know?¡± This is how I feel about . ¡°I do. Now, I need to reach this bank, go in and out and leave with no one the wiser.¡± ¡°Ah finally we¡¯re talking! We¡¯ll get to proper planning, right after we celebrate your birthday! Death day! Ah, whatever.¡± Loth rings a bell. I hear the sound of something being wheeled to us as well as two heartbeats. An instant later, Dalton rolls in with a trussed-up captive on a sick bed, holding a lit candle in his manacled hands. Oh, so thoughtful! ¡°Happy birthday Mistress!¡± ¡°Happy birthday lass.¡± ¡°Mmgrgnfmmmlf.¡± ¡°Oh, you shouldn¡¯t have, thank you, thank you!¡± July 23rd 1812, abandoned house on the outskirts of Charleston, South Carolina. I once thought New Orleans imposing. I believed it to be a major trade hub for slaves and agricultural products, a cosmopolitan metropolis to match European towns. How naive I was. Charleston sprawls before me, covering a fang of land nestled between two rivers as wide as a lake. Lines of ships reach and leave its waterfront through a channel heading East, into the ocean. The city has more than fifteen thousand people in expansive districts, more than half of them black. The rest comes from Scotland, Ireland, France, the Caribbean, Prussia... the list is long. The streets ring with the sounds of a veritable Babel¡¯s worth of language. There is a marketplace made from stone, an exchange and even a bank that was built to be a bank, like on the old continent! Truly, a beacon of civilization. Countless slaves, bales of cotton and other goods pass through it every day. I wish I could spend more time in it, walking its roads and browsing its stalls. Alas, that would be unwise. As the maps would say, Hic Sunt Dracones, except here the dragons are real and will kill me for trespassing on their territory. And so, we are reduced to a ¡°smash and grab¡±, as my friend would say it. ¡°It¡¯s been a long time since I prepared a heist, feels nostalgic, ya know?¡± ¡°It¡¯s not a heist! I have a right to that box. I have the key!¡± ¡°We¡¯ve got a plan, disguises, and exit routes. Sure feels like a heist to me, aye?¡± ¡°Bah! Nonsense...¡± I grumble without much conviction. ¡°Go over the plan one last time, Mistress.¡± Dalton is serious tonight, even more so than usual. I have tried to hide my apprehension at coming across a Master or even worse, a Lord. I would not bet on my disguise over whatever Senses they have at their disposal. ¡°I go to the bank on foot and come in from the front, completely ignore the people keeping an eye on the entrance and get access to the box the normal way. Then I exit from the side entrance and make my way South to the pier. If I am followed, I go through the designated ambush points. I take the rowing boat across the river to James Island and we meet between the two blue lanterns no matter what two hours from now. The most important thing is not to alert the local vampires of my presence, and so I will limit myself to human abilities unless discovered.¡± Dalton nods and goes on. ¡°Is everyone ready?¡± ¡°Yes, before ya go, I have something for ya.¡± Loth takes out three ceremonial knives and gives each of us one. ¡°It¡¯s a tradition back where I¡¯m from, for good luck. Stab one into the table. It will be waiting for you to return and so return you will. Go ahead.¡± We stab our respective blades in the old wood and leave the room without a look back. The difficulty, I believe, is to stay in character. I am carrying three magical items right now: Nashoba¡¯s earrings, said to protect me from tracking, Jimena¡¯s blade as a safety and a small pendant made from cut glass. The last one is Loth¡¯s most recent prototype, an attempt at reproducing the runes he saw on Skjoll¡¯s armor. I did ask him how he managed to pay attention to those while smashing said Skjoll into the furniture, and as usual the answers were rather evasive. The result is worth it. The creation should mask my cold aura from any casual viewer for the duration of the operation. I would have to come face to face with a vampire for it to fail. If I do not demonstrate any strange ability or otherworldly speed, no one will suspect a thing. The local vampires should not even imagine that their territory was breached. I am sure everything will go according to plan. I don¡¯t even know why I am nervous. I am going to the bank to retrieve something that is mine. There is no cause for concern. Really. I am greatly concerned as I walk to the bank¡¯s door through a small plaza. The building is large and solemn, made of sandstone and beige plaster interspersed with white. The windows of the second floor are tall and proud, looking down on the people below underneath a church-like cupola. There are no first-floor windows, and the customers enter the building via a single round-arch gate that looks solid enough to resist a battering ram. It takes all of my self-control to ignore the three goons looking at the entrance like hawks. Three is far too many, and I wish to believe they are not there for the safe, and yet I cannot ignore the obvious. If I had eliminated Jenkins and wanted to ascertain that my plot is still secret, what better way than to capture those who will inherit his notes? It is also likely that they would not dare breach the vault themselves to retrieve its contents while they can have some poor sap do it for them. Jenkins, what on earth have you stumbled upon? My disguise gives me the appearance of a middle-aged woman. It is heavily padded, except around the posterior, which according to Loth needed no modification. All my hair is hidden under a conservative bonnet and I look to everyone like a matron huffing and puffing her way through a late errand. A touch of makeup helps with the general impression. A doorman in uniform with a truncheon tips his hat as I pass by, and soon I find myself inside. The main lobby is soberly decorated with landscape paintings and wood panels. At this late hour, only one counter is open, behind which a fussy young man with a monocle is working. The lights are subdued, casting the interior in long shadows. A guard struggling to stay awake is the only other occupant of the place. ¡°Can I help you?¡± ¡°Good evening young man,¡± I say in a lower pitch than normal, ¡°I would like to access my safe, please. Here are the deed and the key.¡± The man inspects the key with apparent disinterest until he sees the number. His eyes widen in excitement and fear for a single instant. He mechanically licks his lips. He knows. This is bad. The bank has been compromised. ¡°Of course Madam, of course. Please follow me. Barney? Barney!¡± ¡°Sir?¡± ¡°We are going to the safes.¡± ¡°Very well sir.¡± There is no mistaking the brief pause before the guard acquiesces. I am now on borrowed time. I follow the short man deeper into the building, through a door and down a set of stairs. At this late hour, the place is mostly deserted and gives an eerie feeling of emptiness. After unlocking and relocking a few more barriers, we enter a small room under the watchful gaze of a heavily armed guard. Boxes cover the place, set into the wall. We quickly locate mine. ¡°We will now give you some privacy.¡± ¡°That will not be necessary,¡± I answer as I open the safe. It contains a notebook, as well as several plans and letters in a great bundle, which I place in a secure briefcase provided by Loth. It should protect the documents well enough provided I am not set on fire. I quickly close and lock the safe then turn to my guide. ¡°I am done, thank you.¡± Drops of sweat trail down the paper pusher¡¯s brow and he practically fidgets. The armed man looks from him to me with a curious gaze. Whoever he is, he is not involved. ¡°Shall we?¡± ¡°Ah, yes of course, of course, please follow.¡± So far so good, it is now time for the next part of the plan. As we return to the first floor, I wait until he locks the door before addressing him again. ¡°One moment please sir. Circumstances dictate that I take measures to guarantee my safety. Do you have another way out?¡± The man¡¯s attention flickers towards the corridor behind me. As expected, there is a direct way to the bank¡¯s side entrance there. ¡°Yes, however it is for employees only¡­ I do not believe that¡­¡± ¡°Please sir, I am quite certain that there are people after me.¡± He laughs nervously, panic making him practically sway. ¡°I don¡¯t, I think, hum¡­¡± ¡°I am afraid I must insist,¡± I add, cocking a small pistol I took from my pocket. It is too much for the poor sod. He hiccups a few times at the sight of the firearm, then stares at me with tears flowing freely down his face. He completely lost his composure at the mere possibility of violence. So, he is fine leading me to a trap and yet one physical threat and he crumbles like a house of cards. Typical. With no small amount of impatience, I turn him around and push him in front of me. We walk down the corridor towards the exit. I am about to turn left when I hear heavy footsteps. I grab the man and shove him in a side room, then follow him promptly. We listen in silence as a guard making rounds passes us by. My prisoner tugs insistently on a sleeve and so I let him whisper near my ear. ¡°I cannot stay here, this is the women¡¯s restroom!¡± I straighten and turn to him. Really. This is what you are worried about? Without me having to reply, he lowers his face in shame. How meek. Dalton truly is a rarity; I should show him some more appreciation. After the guard has left, I resume my escape and we quickly reach a square vestibule leading outside, with an adjoining changing room. I open it and shove my unwilling guide inside, stun him with a light hit at the base of the neck and abscond with his keys. Good, now I only need to get out and reach the docks. As I step outside, I take in my surroundings, then I turn around to lock it behind me and take a second to think. There is a bank guard eyeing me suspiciously, and a fourth goon in plain sight. Really, this is too much. I am out of options, I need to run. At human speed. For a second, I am almost overwhelmed by my instincts. I want to Charm the guard into hitting the goon. I want to draw the goon into a side alley and feast on him. The temptation is strong, and yet I do not yield. The stratagem must be followed to its completion. I throw the keys at the guard who catches them by reflex, and I walk away calmly. There is around a second and a half of incredulity before they react. ¡°Hey you, halt!¡± I take off with both men on my heel. I grab the bag between my hands and run at the upper limits of what the human body can achieve. The guard is soon distanced; however the goon is not. Something strange is going on, something unnatural. The man is gaining on me, which should be impossible. I can also feel a trace of magic from him. He is no mage, nor is it something he carries. I am curious, but not curious enough to risk discovery. I turn South towards the piers and through the traffic. Even at this time, pedestrians, horses, and carriages navigate the streets in clumps. People turn towards us, but not many react beyond the odd shout. My pursuer is still gaining on me. I need to gain some time. I strafe left across traffic and turn onto a side road just as the goon is about to grab me. I skirt a horse coming from the side. The man, much heavier, smacks right into it. A neigh of pain as well as quite a few curses tell me I have earned a few seconds. I keep going and turn South again, weaving across clumps of people. ¡°There she is!¡± I glance behind me to see, to my surprise, half a dozen horsemen bearing down on me. Well, this complicates matters. I focus on my hearing. We are not far from a marketplace. If I can last until there, I can hopefully lose them along the stalls. I run low to break line of sight and weave in and out of traffic. The pursuers struggle to follow, until their leader just pushes his way through a group of slaves without care. I jump against a tall fence and hoist myself in a garden just as he reaches me. Without pausing, I run diagonally across a carefully tended vegetable patch, frightening a nanny and a small dog. No time to stop. I cross the opposite wall into a minuscule side street, not even wide enough for a cart. Something makes me turn my head back. The horseman circling the house spots me and stirs his horse to a fast trot. On his face, I see a smirk of triumph, and of contempt. ¡°Light will be shed!¡± he screams fanatically. I do not move. A feeling of heaviness assails me, of inevitability. The pursuer draws closer. When he is fifteen paces away, reality takes a breath and the wall to his right explodes in a shower of splinters. Something just blasted their way through a wall. When the shards clear, a tall man is holding the goon by his throat. The horse is collapsed on the ground, dead. The newcomer is dressed in finery and has the countenance of nobility. His face is dreamy and regal, and his brown eyes are fixed on his prey with the arrogance of the mighty. When he speaks, his warm voice cuts through the din of the city with supernatural clarity. ¡°Buenas tardes, gentlemen. Finally, you reveal yourselves. ? Then he drops whatever it was that masked his aura. Power, glacial and overwhelming crashes into me. I recognize this specific feel, like standing in front of a frigid wind roaring in my face. Oh. Oh, no. That is a bloody vampire lord of the Cadiz. I turn away to run just as the rest of the pursuers enter the alley. A man follows the lord through the crater he just ripped in someone¡¯s business. The newcomer is slightly shorter with a barrel chest and not quite as handsome. The vampire barely spares me a glance before turning towards the incoming cavalry charge. I can hear his words as I start running. ¡°Get the girl and bring her to me, alive.¡± ¡°Yes, Master.¡± And off we go. Wonderful. An actual Lord. If I wanted stakes, now I have them, for if this man approaches me, I am absolutely done for. I do not stand the ghost of a chance against that. I keep running South at the very limit of what would be suspicious. So long as I appear human, I may not be worth the effort. The person behind me is one too, and I can feel in my soul that he is the lord¡¯s . I should feel lucky that this is not a vampire and yet I am not. The reason behind his Master¡¯s trust is soon made apparent as my pursuer displays an incredible aptitude at moving through an urban landscape. I cannot compete, I simply lack experience. While I run around stalls, he jumps over them. When I pass a horse, he slides under it. He avoids crates, boxes, and bales with a sure foot and skirts gracefully across groups and individuals alike. I cannot lose him. Worse, I cannot hurt him in any way. My very being revolts at the thought. I even hesitate at throwing something in his path. In desperation, I start focusing on the movements of people. My perception slows and I follow a path that closes behind me, running at the edge of moving groups and passing carriages. Even then, he is about to jump on my back when a large man carrying a case of wine bottles abruptly turns and smashes into him. Both of them collapse in a tangle of limbs and broken glass. I can hear their exchange as I disappear into the night crowd. ¡°WATCH WHERE YE¡¯RE GOING!¡± ¡°Lo siento, senor! I must find that¡­¡± ¡°LEAVE WITHOUT PAYING FOR THE BROKEN STUFF AYE SURE WHY DON¡¯T YE ALSO COME TO ME HOUSE AND SHAG ME WIFE WHILE YE¡¯RE AT IT YA FUCKIN WALLOPER?!¡± A most timely rescue. Wait, do I smell blood? BLASPHEMY,WEHURTHIM. No, No! He¡¯s fine. Completely fine. Please¡­ Ah, dammit. The feelings of pain, surprise, and distress must have gone through the connection because something cold and absolutely massive is barreling down the avenue like some sort of natural disaster. I think he is running over the bloody roofs. Damn it. I need out. I need out now! I sprint low and fast across the street straight to the piers without stopping. The presence behind me stops for a handful of seconds, probably to ascertain the well-being of his protegee, and then it starts after me. Curses curses curses, I accelerate just above human speed as the docks finally come into view. Stone pavement stops at the edge of the harbor and ships of many sizes rest lazily on the placid waves. I turn right in the direction of the rowing boat, knowing full well that I shall never reach it in time. I need an alternative. Thankfully, there are few people at this time, so I slide left behind a pile of crates and go over the edge. I grab the wall with a clawed hand, then lower myself into the water. I keep the small document briefcase on the top of my head. A few seconds later, the Cadiz lord lands on the street. His aura bursts out like a miniature winter sun and I huddle against the brick wall praying the that Loth¡¯s rune works. I do not move, I do not breathe. I even close my eyes. The man never raises his voice and yet he can always be heard. I hear no other footsteps, which means that he gave those orders to vampires. There are a few choice words I heard Loth say that would be really appropriate right now. I need to cut line of sight. I spot a piece of flotsam and lightly place the precious documents on it with all the gentleness I can muster, then I fully submerge and turn face up, under it. The edge of the pier is distorted by the squalid water, but I can see and they cannot. With agonizing slowness, I drift along the wall towards my destination. Every time a shadow crosses the light¡¯s halo, I completely stop. I pass under bows, between wooden beams and through piles of detritus without a sound. Suddenly, a pair of boots appears just above me. I freeze. Please do not look down, please do not look down¡­ A moment later, there is a sort of disturbance in the water not an arm''s length to my right. Ah, it appears that I am being urinated on. Wonderful. If I feel a warm draft, this evening will truly be a complete experience. My unwitting abuser shakes his¡­ Thing, spits for good measure and leaves. I wonder, with all those cotton bales hanging around what are the odds of burning the whole city to a crisp? I am genuinely curious. At least he was not one of the vampires. Fortunately, the rest of the trip is uneventful. I do get a good sample of what Charlestonians throw into the sea, however. Forget fire, I fully intend to flay the entire populace alive and sew a giant flag out of their skins spelling the words: ¡°No littering.¡± I need a bath. I also need to forget. Eventually, I reach the rowing boat and drag it South fifty meters before daring to climb up. The trip South takes another fifteen minutes of solid rowing. Who would have thought that a river could be so wide? When I see the two blue lantern I almost cry. Loth and Dalton are waiting with worried expressions, turning into unmitigated relief when they spot me. I get off the boat and submerge again before joining them. Loth picks up the briefcase from the rowing boat while Dalton simply waits. ¡°Long night, Mistress?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t want to talk about it.¡± I really hope this was worth it. Chapter 38: Learning curve. August the 3rd 1812, Higginsville.I look around Loth¡¯s study number three, the one he usually uses for storage and long-duration experiments. It has now been cleaned, emptied and placed at my disposal for my first complete project. Time and time again, I have conducted my own studies, written my own dissertations and run experiments. This time is different. This time, I am handling this task from beginning to end. And what a project it is, to go toe to toe with the mysterious Brotherhood of the New Light and prevent it from achieving its nefarious goals. I will not tolerate this sort of competition. Sadly, the room is mostly empty at this stage, although this is about to change. We have a basic map of the South Coast with a pin on Charleston and a few tentative ones in other cities showing possible Brotherhood presence. We have a list of names, ranging from bankers to officers with possible or proven associations with the group. We have movements of goods, people and funds, most being sadly outdated. Finally, we have the object of their current activity and the reason for Jenkins¡¯ demise. His last notes speak of an auction for the sales of a surgery set (mostly intact) belonging to one Andrew Exeter, as well as a shipping manifest for the on its trip to New Orleans, dated 1792. The dearly departed officer mentions that most members know very little about the plan of the whole group, and so rather than going blindly from assumed location to contact and leave a trail of blood, I decided to exert subtlety, for once, and have Dalton consult the Port Authority archives in New Orleans. Alone, this time. ¡°I can start whenever, Mistress.¡± My looks a bit rough around the edges. He has been riding for three days straight. His thin moustache, which he has taken to grow lately, is scruffy and his large amber eyes are bloodshot. ¡°Make your report and then you should catch some rest.¡± ¡°Yes, Mistress,¡± he replies, not quite rolling his eyes. If I am without artifice, Dalton looks slightly older than me, perhaps like a big brother. This has made him more daring in public, going so far as to give me suggestions! How very daring of him¡­ I ring so that Loth can join us and soon, we begin. ¡°I obtained the information we sought without difficulties. The man in charge of the archives is an old bugger with a sharp mind by the name of Kilbride. The first thing to know is that we were not the first to ask about the . Some suspicious people came to inquire about the ship not a month ago. He answered fully and politely, though their dubious behavior was suspicious. Lo and behold, two weeks ago he had a break in: two masked men with knives. He burned the brains of one and skewered the other with a cavalry saber from his days in the light dragoons. The curious thing is that they were quite strong and did not attempt to steal anything. It is obvious that there was an attempt to silence him.¡± ¡°That is very thorough, my . If we have further need of him, we may need to offer some measure of protection.¡± ¡°That will not be necessary Mistress, I know all he knows on the matter.¡± Dalton straightens up and clears his throat before continuing. ¡°The British Merchant ship was due in New-Orleans in October 1792, however it never arrived and was believed to be lost with all hands. The crew manifest from a previous voyage mentions one Andrew Exeter as ship doctor. This implies that the Brotherhood is after something, or someone, who was on the ship, and that the wreck itself must have been located for the surgery kit to resurface.¡± ¡°I checked the shipment manifest, there was nothing of note.¡± ¡°There were also no mentions of the ship taking passengers both in the archives and on the notes we recovered. That does not mean that there were none. I suspect that the may have been used by smugglers or even the Brotherhood itself to transport sensitive goods or individuals. Illegal transport was and still is prevalent around here.¡± ¡°So, we know that they were after what the ship transported. That does not tell us what it was.¡± ¡°No, lass, it does not, but do let the boy finish.¡± Dalton nods in approval before continuing. ¡°We were fortunate in having the Archivist survive. He recognized his dead assailants as the men who had come to ask him questions and reported it to the guards. The lawmen, however, saw the dead bodies and considered the matter closed.¡± ¡°Typical.¡± ¡°Indeed, and while they gave up, Kilbride did not. He was understandably miffed by the attempt on his life. He found out by asking around that the trespassers had come from the North on a direct coach from Milledgeville.¡± We have been to this brand-new city a few times. It was founded just after I started living with Loth and the role of state capital was forced upon it during its infancy. ¡°He did not pursue, the risks were too high for his tastes.¡± ¡°Then we have two matters to look into. First, we need to find who sold Exeter¡¯s surgery kit to that auction, and second we need to go to Milledgeville, find out where the goons came from and ask some pointed questions.¡± ¡°I need to go to Savannah to pick up some orders lass, I will stop at the Rosenthal consortium and request their assistance. There is no way someone held an auction without them knowing about it. As for ye, ye should go and ask those questions yerself, ye¡¯ve been a wee bit tense since we came back from the heist.¡± ¡°For the last time it was not¡­ Augh! Fine, I suppose that you are correct.¡± I had to run away and hide like a cockroach. I thought it would not matter, but my instincts disagree. I need some action to take my mind off things. ¡°Very well. Dalton and I shall leave tomorrow evening.¡± August the 6th, Milledgeville, Georgia. ¡°I do not know what would have occurred without your help my dear Magdalene, you and your husband have our most sincere gratitude,¡± I say as I lightly pat the woman¡¯s hand. I am currently acting the part of Mrs. Langford, of the Savannah Langford. I wear travelling clothes bearing the subtle marks of wealth, in light blue. The conservative apparel and my impeccable posture give me the air of the scion of a very good family. I complete the deception by sitting with confidence in the middle of the eating room like a noblewoman holding court. Poor Magdalene has ruddy cheeks and covers her distended belly with a sack-like cotton dress. They are a humble family of honest workers. Her husband is laboring at the forge to repair our coach despite the late hour, and the woman is doing her best to play the part of the gracious host. A gaggle of children peeks curiously from the door when she is not looking. ¡°Think nothing of it,¡± she says with a blush, ¡°it is my honor, hem, I am happy I could receive you. Oh dear, please forgive the poor reception, I have so little to offer!¡± The woman is suitably flustered. ¡°It is I who should apologize for dropping by unannounced, alas, Man plans, and the ¡®lord¡¯ disposes.¡± I can actually quote the bible if I don¡¯t think too hard about which lord I am referring to. Saying ¡°God¡± will, I assume, remain an impossibility forever. We make small talk for a while, during which I praise her for her clean house and the impeccable morals and values it represents. Magdalene likes being the center of the conversation, especially while in my hallowed presence. She has much to say about Milledgeville and its most notorious citizens. Eventually, curiosity spurs her into asking the question that had been at the back of her mind since she invited me inside. ¡°And what brings you here in our beautiful city?¡± ¡°Oh,¡± I scoff, ¡°a most sordid affair, but I do not wish to burden you with the details, I do not know if it is even proper to mention them.¡± I can almost see the fire of gossip burning bright in her honest eyes. An affluent midnight visitor? A sordid affair? Her fame in the parish will be made for a decade, sharing those juicy tidbits. ¡°Do not mind me Mrs. Langford, we are hardy folks here, I am sure I have heard worse.¡± I am sure as well. I reluctantly share my anger and outrage at being swindled so. Two men from Milledgeville, coming to lodge at our family-owned flophouse and leaving with the strongbox. The audacity! What manner of ruffians could do such a thing? Magdalene is at first ashamed and displeased, until I mention that every city has its undesirables, and that it in no way impacts the respectability of its law-abiding citizens. We go on a tangent blaming the Indians for their raids until I specify that the scoundrels were clearly of European decent. No, they were not mulattos. Yes, they were white white, not half-white. Were they Irish? Perhaps. Excited, Magdalene starts a long list of all the people she has grievances against starting with her cousin who married a catholic, to that thief of a tanner. Eventually, she mentions some disreputable persons at the warehouses and even out there among the plantations. It is at this moment that she stops in fear. ¡°If those men came from the Baxter estate, I beg of you, you must desist.¡± ¡°Pah, I am accompanied by a marshal, what do I have to fear?¡± ¡°No miss, you must not think like this. We may be the capital, but we are still a frontier town. This attracts all sorts, even the worst and there are dark rumors circulating around. There are some who say that they are cannibals!¡± ¡°They eat people!? How monstrous!¡± Heh. ¡°Those are just silly rumors miss, do not take them at face value, I would still recommend that you exert great caution. The marshal¡¯s star will be of little use if you disappear without a trace.¡± ¡°I shall take this into consideration. Let us forget about this,¡± I add with a hint of suggestion, ¡°and talk about more pleasant matters. You said that you enjoyed sewing?¡± My host shows me some of her work, fearful of my judgement. It is precise and expertly made, if unimaginative. I congratulate her and she acts pleased as can be. After an hour, Dalton and the husband inform us that the task is complete. I decline their invitation to stay under the pretense that we are already expected in town and we soon depart. Dalton leaves them a suitable bonus. ¡°We are delayed Mistress, the inn¡¯s main room could be empty. I will make discreet inquiries tomorrow.¡± ¡°My time was not spent idly, my Vassal, there are already places for us to check.¡± We successfully located the base of the Brotherhood of the New Light at the Baxter Estate. The members make a show of being isolationist and hostile and so their neighbors leave them alone. Careful observation, however, reveals insignia, strange handshakes and a myriad of other behaviors that betray their allegiance. They are not even remotely discreet about it, nor do they have reason to. The Baxter estate covers easily forty acres of land with exposed access points and several patrols. No less than twenty-five men work on it and tread in groups of three, with attack dogs. This is less a safe house and more a fortress. This would not trouble me much in normal circumstances, however we are trying to get information and I will not obtain it through bloodshed. We need a careful approach, and to infiltrate the place properly. Abducting and interrogating somebody who might, in fact, know something remains a daunting prospect. The only one who displayed signs of authority is Baxter himself, who rarely leaves his enormous house. It is time for an abduction. August the 9th, Milledgeville, Georgia. I walk from shadow to shadow, ten paces ahead of Dalton. I guide him through copses of large oaks and sugar cane fields. On the outskirts of the property the place is mostly deserted. This will change soon. My ears pick up a sound and I click my tongue. Two clicks answer behind me. We retreat deeper into the woods. In front of us, three guardsmen and a dog walk the road. Despite the late hour, their attention is fully focused on their tasks and rays of light from lanterns swipe over the surroundings. The men do not speak. For this infiltration I dabbed peppermint oil on my neck and wrists. The smell is overpowering, and it should fool the hounds long enough for us to leave undetected. For some reason the perfume is fading very fast however, and I suspect that my nature is to blame for this. The patrol leaves none the wiser. I still wait for thirty seconds before signaling Dalton that we may go. The plan is simple. I will lead him to the Estate, which he will enter alone as I would need an invitation. Dalton will use a simple charm Loth made to disable Baxter and get him out, as well as gather any incriminating documents we may find. We will then escape and interrogate the man at a remote hunting cabin, where we will also dispose of his remains. This is a basic scheme with little opportunity for errors. It does depend on us remaining undetected, at least until our target is in our hands, though I am not worried. If needs must, I have a petrol bomb which I may use on the silo of molasses we located close to the house. The subsequent fire should give us a nice distraction should we need it. I skirt one of the last fields to take a side path going around the property. With Dalton behind, I hasten my step when suddenly, something metallic snaps under me. I jump in fright and am still in the air when steel teeth join where my leg was but an instant before. What in the?! ¡°Mistress?¡± whispers my Vassal. I walk back to him and mutter in his ear. ¡°Bear traps! On the path! How paranoid can these people be?!¡± ¡°Not enough, it seems.¡± ¡°Hmf! Given the average lout¡¯s memory, I¡¯m surprised they don¡¯t lose a leg a year, at least!¡± ¡°Those groups do tend to have a high turnover. Shall we?¡± ¡°Yes, I will keep an eye out for freshly turned earth, do be careful though.¡± Dalton smirks ever so slightly. ¡°I will just walk slightly off the path. And if I see you bounce like a scalded cat again, I will know you found another one.¡± Bah! He used to be so cute, looking up to me with adoration. Whatever happened? Truly, familiarity breeds contempt. We continue quietly until we reach a fence. The Estate proper lies before us and in its middle, the colonial edifice Baxter calls his home. The entire area is flat and devoid of any form of cover. The well-cut lawn is just an excuse to deny any covert entry. I spot a sentry near the roof, as expected, and three more groups patrol the area with their dogs. Torches placed on sconces provide reliable light sources at regular intervals. There is no good approach here, I will have to brute force my way through their defenses. I signal Dalton to stay put and crawl forward, close to the ground. I move slowly and patiently along a tortuous path. I avoid the most lit areas and always keep an eye on the sentry. So long as the sentry looks the other way, I move quicker but not too fast. Humans are good at spotting rapid movement at the edge of their line of sight. There is no need to make a mistake trying to save twenty seconds. After a few good minutes of slow progress, I freeze as yet another patrol turns the corner of the mansion. Their path will lead them in front of me. I stick to the ground and wait. They pass me by and are about to go on when their hound stops and growls. Ah, this might be an issue. Thinking quickly, I reach for the bottle of perfume and open it, spreading some on the ground. In a few moments the unfortunate dog stops growling and starts sneezing instead. Thankfully, I am upwind. The men mumble and drag their whining charge forward. I take a breath in order to sigh in relief, a habit I have not managed to shake off yet, and regret it instantly. The assault on my nostrils is unbearable. Pwah! If I smell peppermint again before the end of the century, it will be too soon! When the last torch disappears around a corner I rush forward and start climbing the plaster walls to the sentry¡¯s crow''s nest, it is nothing more than a repurposed balcony. I only tolerate one gaze watching me, and it is not his. I jump over the ledge and as his mouth opens in surprise, our eyes meet. I keep his attention captive as I choke him. As he loses consciousness, I release him and wipe the memory from his mind. I would prefer to leave as little evidence as possible. The man will simply believe he fell asleep. Once this is done, I take out a sort of whistle and blow it. The call of a bird of prey rings in the empty night. I watch Dalton¡¯s form run forward to join me. He stops and hugs the ground halfway to let a patrol pass through. His dark green coat is barely visible against the short grass. When he reaches the wall, I lower a rope and drag him up. He quickly joins me and immediately opens the window leading inside. As expected, it is unlocked to allow the sentry access. Dalton sneaks inside. I wait. Only someone who lives in a house can invite me in, so long as its inhabitants draw breath. We have determined that Baxter¡¯s study is most likely a room near the roof given that it is sometimes lit even at night. Dalton will try that first, then check the bedroom around for the man himself. I settle in to wait. This is the part I hate the most. I am not waiting for prey or for an opportunity, I am waiting for something beyond my control, and I hate it. It does not matter that Dalton is one of the most competent infiltrators in the entire country thanks to Loth¡¯s and my training. All I know is that he is inside, and I am out. Even his heartbeat is beyond my ability to hear, masked as it is by thick walls. He is grown up now. I will not be the one to break his wings. In the meanwhile, I keep an eye out but besides the patrols, there is not a sound. Until I hear a gunshot. Even muffled by the walls, the deflagration echoes through the night with unmistakable clarity. Then there is this single second of silence, when the world takes a deep breath, and everyone stops to make sure of what they heard. After that, all hell breaks loose. In the distance and towards what we identified as the barracks, a bell rings frantically. Shouts erupt left and right and the night shines red with lit torches. I can see the dancing lights of lanterns rushing in the distance, all aiming towards us. The closest ones are about to reach the clearing. Hidden by the wall, the main entrance of the mansion is banged open by irate men. Dalton is fine, I can feel it through our bond. He will not stay that way if we make a break for it. I cannot kill them all before they shoot at us. We need a diversion. With apprehension, I take out the petrol bomb I prepared. I take out a matchstick and light it. Come on Ariane, it¡¯s just a small FIRE, that will help us, really no need to BURN¡­ Gah! Fighting my own instincts, I light the fuse which sends angry sparkles everywhere and throw it at the molasses silo at the edge of the lawn. The projectile arcs beautifully into the night sky, leaving a trail of red embers. It lands and a small pool of incandescent liquid trails down the wall. I don¡¯t know what happens next. I think it touches an existing leak. No matter the reason, the fire spreads along a line to the ground and to the side with tremendous speed. In only a few moments, the entire structure is ablaze. The cries of alarm turn to sheer panic when a barn beyond our view catches fire as well. A cacophony of squeals, shrill and ear-shattering, soon smothers every other noise. It is the worst sound I have ever heard in my entire life. I get a sense of deja-vu, an echo of something that happened years ago¡­ Something Jimena mentioned¡­ I think it was in her advice letter. Oh yes, do not use pigs set on fire as a distraction. It never works as intended. Surely, she was exaggerating. It cannot be that bad? Right? Something breaks open under the onslaught of porcine panic. Quadruped forms charge through fences, through the grass and into the building, rolling around and hitting things. Maddened with pain, they leave trails of flames everywhere, which spread like the plague. Some people in the distance open fire and I can already hear cries of agony. One patrol in the distance is charged by a crazy animal and fall like pins. Two of the men catch FIRE. FIRE EVERYWHERE. MUST RUN. No, I need to wait for Dalton. The window behind me opens and he runs out, cradling his arm. He¡¯s bleeding. MUST KILL THE FOES, no, I must protect him, we need to leave. Now. I do not wait. I grab him in a princess carry and jump off. He screams in surprise. I manage to land properly and not break his spine. Without waiting, we start to run. The bowled over patrol is almost directly in our way. I forward. I need to protect him, and so they need to die. They see me and as well. I almost stop in surprise. They are inhumanly fast! Well, nowhere as fast as me of course. I charge the first one as he aims his musket and just as I reach him, the silo explodes. For a single instant, it is day. Then the noise and heat reach us. We are all sent to the ground, head over heel, by the shockwave. Flaming debris rain everywhere. In the distance, some of the forest ignites. Something warms lands on my back. Hot, HOT HOT! I roll on the ground before I am burned to a crisp. The budding flame is immediately extinguished but it still hurts like hell. NEED TO GET OUT. Damnit. I pull a shaky Dalton on his feet and drag him forward. One of the guards sees me and reaches for a holster. Oh no you don¡¯t. I jump on him and grab his neck, then I him. Perhaps this will stop the pain. S?a??h the ?0velF?re.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. So little. This man has almost no vitality! I have drained ancient grandfathers with more strength than him. Bah, no time. We need to leave now! Dalton has almost reached the edge of the forest. I quickly finish off the patrol with a knife to the throat, thus also masking the bite marks, then I join him. We dive under cover. Copses on both sides are already engulfed by the raging inferno. Crimson embers reach for the stars. We rush out without a word, only stopping to let running men pass us. Thankfully, Dalton¡¯s wound is not serious, and he already staunched the bleeding. Eventually, we make it out and back to our hideout and hunker down for the night. August the 13th, Higginsville, Georgia. ¡°Lass, I did say ye should ¡®ask some pointed questions¡¯. I never mentioned blowing up their property!¡± ¡°It was an accident! I just wanted a diversion! It¡¯s those accursed pigs!¡± ¡°Pigs? You set pigs on fire?¡± asks Loth with dread in his eyes. ¡°What¡¯s with all of you and the devil-cursed pigs? Huh?¡± ¡°Ye NEVER set pigs on fire! Even as a diversion! It never works as intended!¡± ¡°For the last bloody time it was an accident!¡± ¡°The place had pigs, and you set it on fire! What did ya expect!?¡± ¡°Enough with the damned pigs and the damned fire! I got it already!¡± ¡°Fine, fine.¡± answers Loth, deflating, ¡°we all need to do it once to learn anyway.¡± ¡°Augh!¡± I throw my hands up in frustration. I planned this whole operation and it was a complete disaster. I sit heavily on the chair. Dalton has not joined us. He is in bed as recommended by Loth after being not only wounded but also inhaling smoke. ¡°What happened?¡± ¡°Baxter, our target and the leader of the cell, happened. He resisted the charm you made and overpowered Dalton. He even rushed him while my had a pistol drawn.¡± ¡°A strong man¡­¡± ¡°No. Baxter was five feet two, grossly overweight with a potbelly and he smoked. The Society¡¯s members outside also demonstrated supernatural speed, on par with a young fledgling, I would say.¡± Charlotte had been that fast, although she was truly the bottom of the barrel. ¡°Did ye not mention that the Brotherhood member in Charleston was faster than even a strong human?¡± ¡°Yes, and when I consumed that guard, his vitality was extremely low, as if he were dying.¡± ¡°Do ya believe¡­¡± ¡°Yes, they have a way to temporarily boost their physical abilities, at a high cost to their life expectancy I would wager. I wonder how they do it.¡± ¡°I am sure a dissection would shed some light on this mystery.¡± ¡°Oh, I would be delighted to procure one for you. If Baxter is any indication, they are fanatics. It is getting one alive that will prove difficult. In any case, the raid was not completely fruitless. We did acquire a few things.¡± ¡°Oh? Do tell.¡± ¡°Dalton stole documents, coded, I already started working on them. It seems like a basic substitution cipher. Even then, there is no guarantee that it will be something useful.¡± I shrug. ¡°He also recovered a Brotherhood insignia as well as a special ring from Baxter, and we observed and recorded sets of signals they use. With this, we may be able to infiltrate a cell if we manage to locate it.¡± ¡°That is not so bad. I lost my temper a bit here. In my experience, any raid you can walk out of is a good one.¡± ¡°I would not be quite so sure.¡± I shake my head in frustration. ¡°It does look like a spectacular failure to me. I thought I was fast and efficient and instead I ruined what could have been our only chance at information, all because I misjudged our mark. Had I been more patient, more careful, I could have Charmed my way to more information.¡± I sigh heavily. ¡°Everything is wrong. This is my first true project. I thought I was ready¡­¡± ¡°You are. Ariane, listen. Ye mistake lack of experience for lack of talent. Ye may be good at being a vampire, but that does not magically turn ye into an all-knowing spymaster, ya know? Ya grew up the lady of a good family, not a swindler or a con artist. Give yerself some time and it will all come to ye.¡± ¡°We may not have some time¡­¡± ¡°We do. I am here to help. We¡¯ll succeed together. We will hunt them and erase them from our territory. Where ya see a failed attempt ta acquire intelligence, I see a partial success and the complete elimination of a major cell. No doubt this will set them back and put some fear in them. And you accomplished that with two people and in less than a week.¡± Loth is always supportive, and that is perhaps what I need right now. ¡°Perhaps you are right... Yes, it will not do to dwell on my mistakes. We still have much we can achieve. Speaking of which, were you successful in uncovering the origin of the surgery kit?¡± ¡°Sort of. Isaac¡¯s replacement knew exactly what I was referring to. He is human by the way, and he said the kit was sold in a semi-legal auction. Many items were most likely acquired by smugglers. They are also looking into it and he will tell us more in exchange for a service, as soon as he knows more.¡± ¡°Very well then. In the meanwhile, there are more documents to go over. I should get started¡­¡± ¡°Did I ever tell you about my first real raid?¡± I turn to him with no small amount of curiosity. Loth is always secretive when it comes to his past. ¡°We made landfall and I isolated myself to, hah, get myself some privacy. We had been stuck in the ship for two weeks and I was young, ya know? Anyway, the camp was attacked while I was otherwise busy. We were not prepared. Would have lost half our numbers normally. I did not even take the time to pull up my pants and just charged them from the flanks. I was screaming in fear and fury, totally naked from waist down and sporting a raging hard-on.¡± My imagination helpfully supplies a few images, which I could have done without. ¡°I assume your story has a point?¡± ¡°Aye, I thought I did poorly. I left my people behind to have a wank and charged the enemy without a plan and with my erect dong flapping in the wind, so ta speak.¡± ¡°Loth!¡± ¡°And they ran away. They all just ran away. A half-naked madman charged them with a battle boner, and they scattered in panic. I thought I was a failure but the psychological impact on them was incredible. It became a clan legend. My point is this. Don¡¯t just think about how you perceive what happened, think also about what the enemy perceives as well. Their base burnt to the ground, many men dead, all at the hands of a mysterious foe. Do not show weakness and you can capitalize on this in the coming battles. Turn an apparent failure into a resounding victory.¡± That¡­ Is some good advice. ¡°Thank you Loth, I really appreciate it, although your description of the events¡­¡± ¡°Aye ye always get flustered when I talk about naked men, let an old man have his fun, aye?¡± ¡°I knew it,¡± I grumble without much conviction. Chapter 39: The Righteous One The documents we recovered at the Baxter Estate turn out to be rather useful. It appears that we found the main base of operation of the Brotherhood in Georgia. This makes our failure to recover its leader intact that much more regrettable but also allows us to learn quite a bit.Many of the notebooks detail transfers of supply and money to various local cells, and by checking against records we ¡®convince¡¯ merchants to share, we identify three hideouts in the span of a month. Dalton manages to convince the third one that he is a member of the Brotherhood for long enough to learn a few things before we neutralize it. We confirm that they are on the trail of the wreck of the , and that the ship was used by their sister organization in London to transfer a relic of great significance. There is no doubt in my mind that this is the ¡®key that breaks¡¯ that Nashoba was referring to. Unfortunately, it soon becomes clear that those Brotherhood members are but low-level agents. They know barely enough to accomplish their objectives, a cautious policy that proves the experience of our foes in the business of secrecy. We still have no idea about who their leadership is and what they aim to achieve, or indeed what the relic really is. Some of their notable members may know more, though going after such public figures will require some preparation. I do not want to leave a slew of murdered high-profile targets. There is no surer way to attract the attention of powerful forces I would be unable to face. September 9th, Higginsville, Georgia. I am in the planning room reviewing notes when I feel panic coming from Dalton. I surge to the door and come across him in the entrance. ¡°What is it?¡± ¡°Mistress¡­ There is a vampire outside!¡± Ah. ¡°Only one?¡± ¡°That I can tell. They are wearing a mask, and they are dressed in grey.¡± My mind, which was on the verge of panic, immediately calms down and I smile happily. ¡°Grey, you say?¡± ¡°Mistress?¡± I open the door outside and take in the newcomer. Masked, she is dressed in a form-fitting lamellar armor of exquisite make. The whispers of powerful enchantments come from her armguards and the sword at her waist, a blade I recognize easily. ¡°Jimena!¡¯ Her voice comes clearly and carries a hint of a smile, yet it also sounds tired. I lead her up the stairs, Dalton has gone to warn Loth. I do not reply, and we soon find ourselves in the smoking room. Jimena takes a seat with a sigh that betrays a wariness that is not physical in nature. Jimena lets out a short laugh, bitter, yet relieved. Ah, so we were going to kill the commanding officer of a local force. This is troublesome. Murdered public figures attract a great deal of attention, something I could use a lot less of. Without a word, I leave to prepare, meeting Loth and Dalton on the way. I confirm that it is safe. In anticipation of a possible evacuation, I have an ¡®emergency bag¡¯ ready for a quick departure. I grab it and add a few personal effects, travelling clothes, and my rifle. I also take a silver bullet with a piercing glyph, courtesy of the master of the house. When it comes to assassinations, long-range weapons are always a safe bet. When I return to the entrance, I find all three people talking in quiet voices. Dalton is telling them of his latest arrest involving a duo of conmen pretending to be Castilian nobility. They did not speak three words of Spanish between themselves. ¡°Ah, you are here. Loth, Dalton, I am sorry but I cannot involve you in this.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I understand. Just make sure ya bring her back to me in one piece aye?¡± ¡°Yes, I promise, though I would not worry too much. I am sure she can defend herself.¡± Her tone is dismissive, her demeanour, distracted. I am deeply concerned. All the vampires I have met learn very soon how to school their expressions and keep their emotions under control. Beyond politeness, it is a question of survival. That Jimena would give it up fills me with worry. She politely bows to Loth and Dalton both and turns without a look. With a last goodbye, I hurry to follow. She stops in her tracks and turns to me. For the first time this evening, I detect a hint of hesitation. I reply with tremor. I will have to let her touch me, probably. It should be fine. I trust her, I think. Understatement of the year. She seems so lost, almost like a human. This bothers me more than I would like to admit. I still trail her without pause. We exit Loth¡¯s grounds and find a black carriage at a crossroad. I am surprised to see horses again and I remember that Lambert used to ride one. And that is it. Proper conversation is a lost art, it seems. It would be easier to pull rotten teeth from a grizzly than to draw words from my companion tonight. I give up, and we depart in silence after she covers her conspicuous armour with a cloak. I expect us to make good time and I am soon proven wrong. After less than an hour of travel Jimena leaves the Eastern road for a side path, and we soon arrive in front of a concealed lake lined with wildflowers. The landscape is so enchanting that I have little doubt that she selected it on purpose. The view of the stars and moon in the cloudless night sky is breathtaking. Tendrils of baleful purple reflect on the surface of the placid water, turning it into an exotic composition enshrined in a green background. The sounds of life and the movements around us only understate our immobility, a proof that we have more in common with what is above than what is around. Vampires in general are mostly static, until we are not. Jimena removes a ceremonial knife from a recess in her grey armour and turns it in her hands thoughtfully. The blade is not metal, but a crystalline and irregular form. I give her the time she needs to gather her courage. Eventually, she does and makes a conscious effort to meet my eyes. Jimena takes a deep breath before continuing. I pause, surprised. And where does this come from? I cross my arm in front of me in what I know to be a defensive gesture. I care not about showing signs of weakness in front of her. Apparently, we are past that. I ponder this for a moment. I like and respect her as a friend, I do. I owe her my life and freedom and quite a bit besides, and none of it matters. This oath, it is not one that stems from obligation. It requires free will in its purest form. A sister. I never had a sister, yet if I did, I wish she could have been like Jimena: unconditionally supportive, fearless, and caring. Jimena blinks in a show of powerful emotion. She swallows with difficulty and slices her palm with the glassy blade, then shoves it in my face like a bashful teenager at her first outing. My, so brusque. She really isn¡¯t one for long ceremonies¡­ I reply, and slice my hand as well. We join and for a beautiful moment, I feel the deep bond of kinship that we just created. We stay here for a while, enjoying the deep trust between us and the ephemeral beauty of the scene around us, and I¡­ Ah? Why you tomboyish lout! Can I not enjoy the moment?! She rushes away, towards the carriage. The fugacious satisfaction I had fades like dew under the sun, and my mouth curves into a pout. It really isn¡¯t fair. This is the sort of memory that lasts a lifetime, or several in our case, and she went and ruined it. Seriously¡­ When we depart once more, she will not meet my eyes. I settle into a sulky silence and wonder what it will take for her to share what is troubling her so. Only then would I be able to ¡°untwist her panties¡± as Loth would say it. We ride past sleepy hamlets and harvested fields in silence. I consider taking out my notebook and reviewing either runes or our latest progress and eventually decide against it. I have not been out here for a while, just enjoying the landscape as we pass it. This activity lacks the frantic pleasure of running outside that I do enjoy so much, and yet I find it relaxing in its own right. Perhaps I needed this. We have been focused so much on tracking the Brotherhood, that not an instant has passed that I did not think about it. This distraction is a boon in disguise. It is long past midnight when we come across a small patrol carrying torches. Two men on horses with muskets at their back ride to us. We are hailed by the lead. ¡°Hold! State your name and business.¡± ¡°We are travellers and our business is our own,¡± replies Jimena testily before I even manage to consider a diplomatic response. Hem, that is not the proper way to handle this situation. ¡°It is my business if two women are out there at this hour around those parts. Where are your fathers and husbands, I ask? Proper, God-fearing ladies have no cause to wander around after the light is out.¡± ¡°And proper gentlemen have no cause to accost women, after dark and otherwise. Now step aside and I will remind you to mind your manners.¡± ¡°I will not allow a woman to teach a man, she must remain silent!¡± replies the man with a triumphant sneer. At this stage, both the second patrolman, who is a young man with a frizzy moustache, and myself share a moment of horrified fascination. ¡°But I tell you that anyone who looks at a woman lustfully has already committed adultery with her in his heart,¡± retorts Jimena with deadpan delivery, ¡°See? Two can play that game.¡± Now that both parties have shown their ability to quote the Bible when it suits their purposes, we enter the next phase of any doctrinal dispute: violence. The man sputters in fury and pushes his horse to my sister who looks at him with the immobility of the gargoyle. I can feel the turmoil in her aura. Oh, oh no. I really hope she brought a shovel. ¡°I¡¯m going to teach you some respect, wench!¡± He grabs for her shoulder and pulls the other hand to throw a punch. Faster than even I can see, both his arms are imprisoned in a steel grip. ¡°By what right? By what right will you teach me a lesson? Because you are stronger? Because society allows it? Well, go ahead. Punish, oh mighty one.¡± What is wrong with her? Jimena releases one hand, and her assailant throws a hook in her cheek. ¡°Let me go, you crazy hag!¡± Jimena¡¯s dismissive slap cracks against his head, Blood gushes from his mouth and falls on the dirt below. His horse starts to panic. In front of me, the second militiaman looks on stupefied before grabbing his musket. Oh, well, it was nice meeting you. I . In a single bound, I cross the distance that separates us, then throw him on the ground and stab his panicked ride in the brain. I jump down as it falls and catch the downed man by his ankle before he can crawl away. I then drag my screaming captive under the cover of the trees. At least my need for blood is momentarily solved. Before leaving to a more secluded place, I turn back to a somewhat bashful Jimena. She holds her own prey in a choke and has the decency to look embarrassed. I make myself frown to clearly mark my displeasure. If she lets his horse go, I swear I am not running after it. What was this all about anyway? Ah, never mind that. Let me enjoy myself first. says Jimena with a grunt as she digs deeper. The hole required to bury two horses is very deep. It will take us the rest of the night to finish. Well, it will take her the rest of the night. I have elected not to help. Jimena sighs deeply and leans on the shovel. She lowers her head in shame. she replies with a bit of mirth, Jimena laughs at what she believes to be an idle threat. A short rendition of Auld Lang Syne for the departed patrol later, she quickly reassesses the danger her ears and sanity find themselves in. I close my mouth like one sheathes a blade. For the umpteenth time tonight, Jimena sighs loudly and painfully. She resumes digging and starts her story. At first, her tone is hesitant, almost shy, and she often lifts her head to look for a reaction. Then, she forgets about everything to let her story flow. She snickers but the sound comes off wrong. It is cold and empty, just a human gesture produced out of habit and politeness with no real substance. There is not a trace of mirth in it, and I soon learn why. Jimena¡¯s shovel arcs in the air, sending a plume of rocks and mud that falls like hail on the branches of a nearby tree. I know how this feels. The powerlessness, the unfairness, the pain, the guilt. Jimena¡¯s mood turns contemplative after that. I know that upon reaching masterhood, vampires are freed from the need to obey the one who turned them. It does not cut all ties, however, and it appears that her relationship with this Urraca lady is more harmonious than what I have with¡­ MastEr. Jimena looks older than eighteen. The life of a highwaywoman must have been harrowing, or perhaps it made her mature faster. For all her apparent candour, I did not miss the moment she said they left no witnesses. Jimena¡¯s question is a valid one. I think for a moment. Do I believe myself a blight on this world? Not really. I have killed, yes, many times, and yet I have also protected my territory from worse threats. We are the lesser evil, I believe. Were we to rule the world, there would be less freedom, and also less senseless slaughter. Something to keep in mind. My sister nods as if there ever were any doubt. As someone who has seen the worst humanity has to offer, we must seem mild to her in comparison. Jimena stops digging for a second and leans on the shovel, as if under a great weight. Jimena stares in the distance for a while then resumes her digging. She freezes completely. She puts the shovel down. I am not convinced that I should take any credit in this whole affair. I still nod in recognition. I say as I indicate that the hole is now deeper than she is tall. As fate would have it our target is near Fort Barrington, location of my last meeting with the honourable sir Bingle. I am tempted to check on Cecily and see if she found a good party, unfortunately we are ¡°here for business¡± as Loth would put it, and so I stick to Jimena and the plan. When she told me our target was in a military camp, I was imagining rows of tents and men at parade surrounded by earthworks and wooden towers, like I saw in those patriotic recollections distributed around town. I was mistaken. This is no temporary bivouac of an army on the march, it is for all intents and purposes a town. Fort Barrington proper lies on a fortified hill surrounded on two sides by rivers and on the last one by a complex of fortifications and redoubts. We have no issue passing those in our carriage, and I soon understand why. Beyond the first ring lies a mess of wooden huts of simple, but solid make. Between them and even at night, a crowd has gathered around an improvised marketplace. Sutlers operating from wagons provide men on leave with tobacco and alcohol. Women collect used uniforms and return them sewn and laundered. The smell of food is everywhere and the sounds of sex coming from a two-story building shows beyond a doubt that the world¡¯s oldest profession is practised here. There are at least five hundred people around us as we make our way to what seems to be the designated parking space. Some soldiers even walk around with their wives and children. We park between two empty wagons and I get down quickly. True to my word, I run my errand, making sure to Charm my memory away from the cloth merchant and return promptly to my accomplice. When Jimena sees me, her brows creep up ever so slightly. Jimena blinks several times as she takes in my uniform. I grumble and comply. Those trousers are entirely too tight where it counts and I am afraid that the seams will just pop open should I attempt to crouch too fast. When I am facing my sister again, she is biting her lower lip. ¡°Aaaw.¡± I was really looking forward to being disguised too¡­ Curious. Oh well, it matters not. In the next few minutes, we compare our murder apparels in an impromptu fashion meet. We promptly get prepared. I keep my Talleyrand in a black shoulder holster to prevent light from shining on it while we move, and though my sister frowns with disapproval, she does not object me bringing it. I would sure hope so! Next to poison, ranged weaponry is a great way to get rid of targets safely and we are hunting a human. Truly, my rifle is the optimal solution. Jimena has me memorize a basic map of the military camp itself and we settle to wait in companionable silence. The sounds of the night grow progressively more subdued as the crowd drifts to sleep. A little past midnight, she stands up and declares that it is time. We run through the village in perfect silence, easily avoiding the occasional late revellers. We soon reach open ground and accelerate towards our target. When we reach the first earthworks, Jimena easily jumps over it and I follow her immediately. As she lands, she seems to remember me and looks with worry, promptly turning to relief as I stop beside her. This situation is repeated a few times until she realizes that I have no difficulty matching her speed. All those nights spent running around have finally paid off. In the next few minutes, we weave and sneak our way through the base like ghosts. We step behind patrols, between pickets and above the walls of redoubts. Neither rocks nor spikes can stop vampires. Nor can eyes and ears catch us as we make our way through mortal defences with perfect discretion, unmatched and unbothered. The entire facility lies open and I use this opportunity to inspect it. Rows of wooden barracks housing a squad each alternate with smithies, armouries and barns. I have issues wrapping my head around the number of fighting men present here, and they only represent a fraction of the forces that would be brought to bear against an invasion! I can only imagine major battles involving tens of thousands of troops. What a spectacle it must be! How unfortunate that such actions only occur during the day. Without incident, we approach the general¡¯s quarter from the side. He lives in an old house that predates the camp by a few years, surrounded in turn by a square fort with guard towers on each corner. We easily jump up the wall and after making sure that the sentries are looking elsewhere, drop down. I immediately follow Jimena in the shadow of a small cabin built against the palisade. In the middle of the open ground stands the refuge of the man we are here to slay. It shines in my eyes like a city¡¯s night sky, while several squads stand at attention. whispers my companion and indeed her suspicions are confirmed. The stone edifice is covered in wards and spells of all kinds. It is enough to make it almost impregnable. Only someone warned beforehand would set up such an intricate and expensive work in place. This represents several days of effort for a team of experienced mages, and a small fortune in materials. Jimena was indeed betrayed, by someone with a connection to spellcasters. she asks. I turn to her dismissively. I examine our surroundings and locate what I expected. The fort is designed to be autonomous under siege even if artillery would make short work of the walls, therefore it contains a powder reserve. ¡°¡± I whisper, and share a simple plan. At first Jimena is reluctant. Her old-fashioned approach to operations conflicts with my method, and yet she cannot deny the allure of such a pragmatic solution. She is about to leave when she stops and adds in a whisper, without facing me: I breathe in and out with absolute calm. The two men on the guard tower slumber at my feet, their willpower no match for my full-powered Charm. The night is silent but for the flames of open torches and the heartbeats of tired men. I wait. A hundred paces in front of me, Jimena slips behind a bored guard and slowly lifts a set of keys from his belt. She turns and opens the door to the armory. It turns on its hinges in silence. She disappears inside and emerges a few moments later with a barrel of powder. I wait. She skirts the outer wall in the darkness to a shed facing the general¡¯s bedroom. I wait. A fire erupts from it. It quickly engulfs the small structure while Jimena slips away. Screams and sounds of alerts erupt left and right. I wait. The shed explodes in a rain of fire and shards. An alarm bell rings in the distance. At my feet, one of the guards stir. The air is filled with yells and screams. The camp is waking up. I wait. A trumpet blares in the darkness while a crowd of half-naked men rushes out of their beds, weapon in hands. They spread out. Additional torches redden the night, casting shades on the ground that shake and twist as if dancing in madness. I wait. The shutters open to reveal an old man with short hair wearing an open shirt. His eyes are a striking blue and a small scar on his left cheek are all that remain from a Creek arrow. s?a??h th? N?v?l(F)ire.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. Hello, Chester, and goodbye. I pull the trigger. With unerring accuracy, my Talleyrand rifle sends its payload into the night. Loth¡¯s engraved silver bullet shatters the wards as if they were flimsy glass. A red flower blooms on his forehead and I know his brains now splatter the inside of his bedroom. I take a second to holster my weapon. My task is accomplished. ¡°W-what?¡± mumbles a sleepy guard. I backhand him into unconsciousness again. I could just kill him, but I love the idea of leaving only one victim. The message is that much more potent. It shows that all those guards were so useless we did not even bother taking them out. As Jimena reaches me, we jump out and vanish into the night. The next evening. I add with a wince. I wince once more, not meeting her eyes. ¡°Halt!¡± We turn around to a strong picket of men checking the camp¡¯s exit. ¡°Am I disturbing you ladies in the middle of an argument?¡± asks the head guard with a smirk. He is an imposing sergeant with the countenance of a man who has seen much. Black pockets under his eyes are a sure sign that his shift should have ended long ago. With the assassination of its highest-ranking member, the camp is in disarray, and by now most soldiers only remain upright by sheer frustration. ¡°Of course not, sir.¡± ¡°And why are you leaving us so soon?¡± I capture his attention and realize the man is frustrated, he most likely believes the killer to be either a turncoat in hiding or long gone. He is also dismissive, as in his mind two young women could not possibly be the culprits. ¡°Our business is done, we are heading back to our village, sir.¡± ¡°Your business huh¡­¡± he adds, and I realize I was mistaken. He thinks us courtesans heading back to wherever we came from after entertaining officers. Our fresh faces and subdued clothes, coupled with the fact we travel alone, place us firmly in this category, I smile sheepishly. Yes, my good man, you caught us. ¡°Will you need to search the carriage?¡± ¡°How do you know we search carriages,¡± he asks with a frown. Jimena turns a worried eye to me but I reply without pause. ¡°You searched the one in front of us, and now you stop us. Sir.¡± My voice is candid and without arrogance. I slightly push on the feeling of dismissal and the sergeant soon turns around and waves us off. I nod and we depart. Jimena smiles appreciatively after we are out of earshot. Jimena ruminates on that before continuing. So, this is how Dalton feels when he gives me lip? My situation is hopeless, for he will never give up that beautiful vindication. We spend the trip back in stories and humorous bickering. Chapter 40: Masquerade I dreamt today. Nightmares torture me until I wake and other phantasms always start in the heart of my mind fortress so I know that this was different, only, when I woke, the images flizzled between my fingers before I could commit them to memory. There was a man, no, I was a man, and there was also a fallen knight. He died. I killed him. I remember the taste of him. There was something important to realize, if only I could remember what it was. Can a dream really matter? Is there more to it than my sufferings and Nashoba¡¯s unwillingness to send a letter like everyone else?The carriage rolls to a halt, interrupting my musings. It is not yet time. We have just joined the line of people waiting to be admitted to John Fillmore¡¯s party. John Fillmore, self-made man and the current governor of Georgia. Also, a high-ranking member of the Brotherhood and my target tonight. I lower my gaze to the mask in my hands and lightly caress its lacquered surface. This is the latest addition to my arsenal. Loth really surpassed himself when he made this masterpiece. The exterior is a perfect oval in lunar white with no features. Towards the middle, two discrete holes allow me to breathe in when I need to sample scents and the lower part can be removed, but is otherwise alien in its design. The total absence of feature makes me look like a true monster, and only serves to accentuate what I painted on it. I drew what can only be described as a giant mocking smile in pure black. It took me a long time to get the dismissive sneer just right, the perfect expression of amused contempt. Eight stylized fangs border the mouth in a powerful statement. There is a delicious irony in fully accepting my lineage only when anonymous. I also drew a pair of stylized brows and eyeshadows. When I angle my head forward, for example when I am in combat, the shades deepen and make me appear more murderous. The interior matches me completely so that it could hold even without straps. The mask leaves my ears and the back off my head free. It also contains the drawing of a rune, etched in gold, that should prove salutary. Its working masks my aura to an extent. It will not suffice when dealing with wards but individuals will have a hard time noticing me. It will, hopefully, allow me to outrun what I cannot outfight. I put it on just as my ride stops in front of the monumental doors of the Fillmore residence and I step out to pass them, formal invitation in hand. The open gates, the majordomo genially checking the cream envelopes, all seems to indicate that I am invited here and I go through the threshold without issue but not without apprehension. It worked. I move forward to the ballroom as the first revellers turn to take in my sight. For this operation we have forfeited discretion and gone for maximum impact and I must say that without the mask, I would not have had the gumption to carry this out. S?a??h th? N?velF?re.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. My attire is provocative. There is no other way to say it. I am wearing a black dress with long raven feathers covering the collar and shoulders. High gloves ending in chitinous talons cover my arms and while I show very little skin, the attire is form-fitting. Shards of obsidian are sewn in hypnotic patterns along my side to attract and distract those that dare look. Wearing this dress is a statement I have no choice but to own. And so I weave my way to the crowd, haughty as you please. I dodge and slide and strut and stalk with a grace that no mortal can hope to match, and leave in my trail envy and just a tiny note of fear. Those who look will know I am a predator. For a woman to walk thus should be unthinkable in good society, and the same rule that should constrain me does not allow the attendees to challenge me aloud. The sensation is almost intoxicating. Tonight, I am not Ariane the demure daughter of a landed gentleman, who was chaste and attended church every Sunday. I am Ariane of the Nirari, the daughter of Thorn and Hunger, she who carved a bloody path to freedom through vampires and werewolves alike. That Ariane does not care for peer pressure and the judgement of the cattle. She already has her place in the world, and friends she can rely on. I ignore the whispers, the gawking yokels and the dancers stumbling their way in the middle of the floor. I grab a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and make my way out towards the garden. From the corner of my eye I see the master of the place, leaning to the side to ask some questions to a second majordomo. I am no betting woman but I would match peanuts against solid gold that it concerns my identity. With the bait set, I step outside. It so happens that Mr. Fillmore likes young and confident women. I am also not someone he has ever met, having obtained the invitation through one of their business partners. If everything works well, he should approach me himself. I only need to hold on until he makes a move and I would rather avoid getting too stuck in discussions before it happens. I step outside and walk down a set of stairs on a gravel path surrounded by perfectly cut lawn. The garden expands before me, deserted at this hour. It is surprisingly vast. I slowly make my way alongside carefully carved trees and geometrically placed flower beds. Cubic hedges line the path forward. I recognize the marks of a French formal garden with its obsession of symmetry and control over nature. It used to be my favorite when I was younger. I had found its controlled lines and deliberate design soothing. Recently, I have found myself craving something a bit more on the wild side and the design of my mind fortress¡¯ ethereal park reflects this change of taste. There are more hidden paths and sinuous ways. The flowers have thorns and sprawl lazily where they please, covering strange rocks. My feet lead me to a small copse of trees, the only part of the property to have escaped man¡¯s controlling grasp and I am for once surprised. There is already somebody there. A bit curious, I dodge under a branch and become the uninvited guest to a most peculiar show. A man in a satyr mask with two horns jutting upright is playing a silent melody on a transverse flute. I quickly understand the lack of sound. The strange musician has placed the end of a light scarf on the embouchure and lip plate, so as to prevent his creation from escaping. His fingers danse a light gig on the silvery metal until, as I watch, they tangle and stop. ¡°Overly-complicated pretentious bullshit,¡± he swears with emotion. ¡°Is that the name of the piece good sir?¡± The satyr jumps in surprise at my voice and grabs his heart. ¡°Good lord, milady, please knock on a trunk next time,¡± and without missing a beat, ¡°you are as quiet as a whisper milady, please forgive my manners, I had not seen you.¡± He then bows smartly with his flute held to the side like a saber. ¡°You are forgiven, dear satyr. Though if I might ask, this is a strange place for a rehearsal.¡± I draw closer and study the weird human. He is probably quite young, dressed in a green suit adorned with leaves and vines in dyed fabric. His feet have been covered by a hilariously large set of fake hooves. Dark eyes without guile study me from behind the mask. A curtain of wavy black hair fall from it on both sides. ¡°Would you believe me if I said I am offering my songs to the goddess, hoping that Artemis herself will interrupt her hunt and descend from the firmament to bestow upon me the secrets of the night and perhaps even, her favor?¡± ¡°An exciting proposition my friend, though satyrs serve Dyonisos, songs are the domain of Euterpe and, sadly, Artemis is forever a virgin.¡± ¡°Curse classical education. My lies have been undone.¡± ¡°To be fair, overly-complicated bul¡­ Poppycock, sounds like a poor offering.¡± ¡°Nothing can escape your keen senses. Very well, I at least owe you the truth for submitting your ears to this unsightly display. I am hiding.¡± ¡°From whom?¡± ¡°Have you perhaps seen a woman in a brown dress rushing around? Wearing a dog mask.¡± ¡°I cannot say that I did.¡± ¡°She has been hounding me.¡± I groan at the poor pun, yet cannot help but smile. The delivery was top notch. ¡°It is true! Her name is Margaret Hart, daughter of a local furniture merchant, and she decided that we were destined for each other. I had no say in this decision, mind you. She has been courting me quite aggressively ever since.¡± ¡°Has she captured your heart yet?¡± ¡°No, though not for lack of assaulting it.¡± ¡°I see, and this mask will not protect you?¡± ¡°Oh, I cannot hide, I¡¯m afraid. Despite the disguise, we remain recognizable. We are an insular folk here, and have known each other for years. No thick cloth nor masks will rid poor cousin Francis of his unfortunate tendency to scratch his ass in public for example. Ah, pardon my French.¡± ¡°You are forgiven for your language, sir, but not from bringing this to my imagination. I am inclined to retaliate by bringing your pursuer¡¯s on you.¡± ¡°I am at your mercy milady. Though, I would like to point out that she would devote some of that attention to you.¡± ¡°As a rival?¡± ¡°Assuredly.¡± ¡°That seems far stretched, we only met.¡± ¡°The poor girl is craving excitement, and the appearance of a mysterious and beautiful woman will be enough to name you an enemy for life.¡± ¡°You must be exaggerating.¡± ¡°Her most favoured gossip remains her aunt¡¯s unwanted pregnancy.¡± ¡°It... Does seem like a serious affair?¡± ¡°Not if you consider that it happened thirteen years ago. The boy is almost as tall as her, though obviously not quite as heavy. This is, to date, still the most exciting thing to happen in her life.¡± ¡°Oh my, how dreadfully boring.¡± I would rather spike myself and face the dawn than to live such an existence. ¡°Now you can imagine my worries.¡± ¡°Marrying her would be a death of the soul. I understand. By the way, how do you know I am beautiful? I could be a gorgon under this guise.¡± ¡°This is a masquerade milady, I can choose to think you pretty and you would have to break the rules to prove me wrong. Besides, there is something in your countenance, something that speaks of confidence. This is not the mark of an ugly woman.¡± ¡°Oh my, how insightful. But tell me, is your suitor not beautiful herself?¡± ¡°I am afraid that she fell off the ugly tree at birth and hit every branch on her way down, then landed face first.¡± ¡°Surely she has a redeeming quality?¡± ¡°Her stature can only be called willowy if said willow has been cut down and turned into a barrel. Her temperament would suit Hades better than Persephone and if she ever had a moral fiber, it has long since dried out and been turned into a basket.¡± I cannot help but laugh. What fun he is! I have not had such a pleasant and carefree conversation since¡­ Since¡­ I cannot remember. I have been fighting and hiding for so long, even social events were only the setting for another intrigue. Come to think of it, this one is too. I still have a little time however, I must not rush this operation and besides, this is so entertaining. Yes. I missed this. Just a nice evening out with a pleasant conversationalist. Witty retorts and fun exchanges. It is lucky that he would be here alone, and he smells quite good, like soap and sunshine on clean skin. His heart beats so strong, a bit faster now. I could see him touch me and not be terrified. He would be tender and patient, and I would BIND HIM TO MY SERVICE¡­ No! I take a step back and retract my eager fangs. The mask saved me from doing something regrettable. This is not the time to be shopping for new followers. I have a mission to complete! And I would lose him. This man would not do as a vassal, I would have to bind him and after each feeding, he would grow ever more placid and obedient, and even less himself. A hollow shell. Cattle. My hand, which was about to touch his shoulder, falls down by my side. His own hand retreats and I can tell he is a bit disappointed. ¡°I am sorry. I do not know what came over me.¡± ¡°Haha, there is nothing to apologize for. I wish whatever came over you had stayed a second longer. This was¡­ Pleasant.¡± ¡°I would not want to be too forward.¡± ¡°Think nothing of it, I can handle unwanted attention, and this was not it.¡± I say nothing for a while. I liked this moment. I liked him as well, but now the spell is broken and I remember why I am here and what I have become. There is still something more I could steal from this evening. ¡°Regarding your unwanted suitor, I do believe you have been approaching the situation the wrong way.¡± ¡°You think so? I am open to suggestions. My next step was to unleash the dogs when she would next visit.¡± ¡°Nothing so crass I assure you. Think of your poor dogs. No, what you need is to stake a public claim. The humiliation will prevent her from pursuing the matter.¡± The man¡¯s stance shows hope. ¡°What would you suggest?¡± I lean forward ever so slightly. ¡°Invite me for a dance?¡± He licks his lips nervously. ¡°Yes. I see how this would be an excellent idea.¡± I place my arm in his. I am daring tonight! Constanza would be squealing if she knew. My mysterious friend leads me back inside and to the dance floor, chest puffed with pride. I realize that he is most likely much younger than me, an occurrence that will only happen more often as years go by. We enter under the curious glance of more than one attendant, line up with the other dancers and move with the sounds of flutes and violins. Dancing is ever the social activity. The slow rhythm invites flirting, though the presence of so many people around prevents anything too bold from happening. There is no physical contact except the occasional hand clap, though it does not stop me from making myself noticeable. Even the most minute change to someone¡¯s balance can make a twirl awkward or perfect and I am, to them, perfect. Every step, every twist is flawlessly timed, and I let my partner guide me and guide him in return. As the music goes on we become the centre of attention for none can match our display. From the corner of my eye, I notice a plump woman in a dog mask storming out of the room. ¡°It seems our little ruse has worked, your suitor just left the scene.¡± ¡°I would rather make sure, would you grant me the next dance as well?¡± I laugh happily. What my companion lacks in experience, he makes up for it in enthusiasm. Alas, I can see the next step of our plan unfolding and it will soon be time to get back to work. I must cut our amusement short. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I must decline my good sir. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned after all. I must prepare for my exit.¡± He is about to protest when I break protocol and place a finger before his lips. The gesture is enough to make him miss a step, thankfully promptly corrected. The poor lad looks completely dejected. ¡°Will I see you again?¡± No, we will not meet again. This was an experience born of the moment, and perhaps a sign that I can move on a bit, retake what should have been mine. ¡°Who knows?¡± When the orchestra stops, I merge into the crowd, leaving him behind, and make my way to the middle of the room where I am intercepted by another majordomo in a frog mask. ¡°Milady, forgive my impertinence. Mr. Fillmore would be delighted if you could join him for a moment if it pleases you.¡± I nod and follow. Our plan has borne fruit. I thought I would go to him directly upon arriving, however Loth said it would be preferable to be invited. Since my purpose is to be alone with him, it will require us to depart the room, which is better done without too many people¡¯s scrutiny. I harbored doubts and voiced them to Loth. How could I, a woman without much experience in flirting let alone seducing, end up alone with a notable man such as Mr. Fillmore? Especially in one night? Is he not overestimating me? The tall man had simply raised a brow and retorted: ¡°Aye how could a powerful man be convinced to be alone with a beautiful woman in his own house? Big difficulty that is. Guess ye¡¯ll have to impress him with yer knitting first, ya know? Engage in jolly conversation? Jokes aside, use yer instincts and Sinead¡¯s lessons. That man wants ta be seduced, so since ye¡¯re wearing a mask, use it ta be a little daring aye? Trust me, I¡¯m a man. It will work.¡± And so here we are. I just hope he will not be so vulgar as to touch me in public. That would be catastrophic for everyone involved. The crowd parts and I finally see our benevolent host. He sits on an actual throne, in a suit of cream and gold. A sun mask adorns his face, held in place by a golden crown. By his side, a large man with a clean shaven head stands at attention. This is the most blatant show of megalomania I have seen since leaving the Lancaster clan. ¡°Ah, good evening miss, I do not believe we are acquainted?¡± ¡°Naturally, sun king, this is a masquerade after all.¡± The man chuckles, though his eyes remain curious. ¡°How should I address you then?¡± ¡°Melpomene.¡± ¡°A muse! Dare I ask to see your cothurnus?¡± Cothurnus are shoes worn by classical Greek actors in tragedies. Achilles mentioned it once, thankfully, else I would look ridiculous right now. ¡°Surely you would not want me to be indecent at your own party sir.¡± ¡°Of course not, haha, of course not...¡± Right. ¡°Say, milady¡­¡± The following conversation is a careful exercise in patience. I immediately start by engaging Fillmore on his favorite topic: himself. At the same time, I remain mysterious and use a light touch in my attempt to keep him entertained. Any heavy-handed attempt might be detected by someone with his experience in social matters. I stay careful and do not overestimate myself. A light laugh here, an amused and snarky remark there, little by little I make him more comfortable and after his guard has let up a bit, I insert a bit of Charm in my eyes. It is then that my caution proves warranted as Mr. Fillmore is wearing a protective magical charm. How interesting. It appears that my dear guest has fingers in a great many pies, to be linked both to the secret society and to mages. Following Sinead¡¯s method once more proves to be a boon. I carefully align the essence of the bond linking us to his current feeling and I start to dig through the magical shield. This charm, however, is powerful. Much more so than the one the Rosenthal guard wore. I must now focus on both my conversation and the breakthrough. Thanks to hours of practice, I quickly succeed and get a glimpse of his thoughts. Unsurprisingly, my host does not hold me in high regard. I do not detect any feeling of respect or concern in his mind, he does however harbor no small amount of lust. It is only tempered by careful self-control and¡­ Apprehension. It cannot be that he knows what I am, the feeling is far too diffuse for that. Then what? Ah, of course, social pressure. My host is a widower, and although it would not be unacceptable for him to search for a new party, being seen going upstairs alone with a younger woman could become a stain on his reputation. This fear is a boon if I can carefully reduce it. Fillmore is clearly worried about his mind being tampered with, and any sudden increase of sexual desire may be regarded as suspicious. Instead, I will simply weaken his inhibitions. Nothing liquor could not have achieved, had he indulged a little more. Soon we reach a tipping point in our exchange. He had been boasting about a collection of Renaissance paintings he had shipped from Italy at great cost when he suddenly stops and turns to me. This is it. Tonight¡¯s crux. If he leaves, I will have lost my opportunity to enter his inner sanctum. We would lose weeks of work. I have to try it. ¡°How I wish I could see it. I am a painter myself.¡± ¡°You are?¡± ¡°Yes, though I do not claim to have any talent in it. I did not study Renaissance much, I prefer Baroque. Do you know why?¡± ¡°Do tell.¡± I lean forward and my arms press my modest bust forward. It is not much, but I can see a flicker in his eyes as he takes in the view. ¡°They capture the moment. Bernini paints David as he throws the stone and Vermeer paints the girl with the pearl earring as she turns towards him. They play with light and motion to make their work come to life.¡± ¡°Fascinating¡­ Yes, the moment. You do make a good case, and I would appreciate your opinion on my modest possessions.¡± ¡°I am quite tempted, although, I would be loath to hog you at your own party.¡± ¡°Think nothing of it. It is not everyday that I have the pleasure of entertaining a guest of such refined tastes.¡± I bet. ¡°Shall we?¡± He stands up and the majordomo and bodyguard both mask our exit in what appears to be a well-rehearsed maneuver. I follow him up a flight of stairs to a corridor where we inspect the paintings as we go. Fillmore prefers pastoral landscapes and nudes. Very few of the works displayed are religious in nature, and Greek mythology is prevalent. This might explain how he dared use ¡°cothurnus¡± in a conversation without suffocating under the weight of his own self-importance. Cothurnus. Honestly. ¡°And now, the prize of my collection.¡± We are alone in a room filled with curios and art. Fillmore¡¯s acolytes did not follow us up the stairs and I will not get a better chance. ¡°Impressive¡­¡± I say, as I drag a nail along his collar. I discreetly dig out the pendant¡¯s chain and easily snap it between two claws. My prey breathes faster as his desire gets the better of him. He does not even notice his protections being stripped away. I let go of any subtlety and crack his mind like a nut. I have been Charming him for the better part of an hour. He does not stand a chance. ¡°You want to satisfy me, don¡¯t you?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Do you keep notes related to the Brotherhood of the New Light?¡± ¡°Yes. Notes and blackmail material.¡± ¡°Where is it?¡± ¡°Some of it is in my safe, in my office. The rest is spread across the county.¡± ¡°Lead me there.¡± I do not need to maintain eye contact, though I cannot leave him alone for too long. We quietly leave for his quarters and he unlocks his study, making a rather complex ward disappear with an intricate key. Fillmore¡¯s office is all gaudy displays and hard work. He clearly does not owe his success to anyone but himself. I have not seen such discipline and efficiency since Isaac helped me open an account. I shove, without reading, everything I can to a secured inner pocket on the side of my dress. It will make a bulge, but I do not expect a great many people to notice. Owing to my experience in Charleston, it is also insulated against water, fire, smoke and even to some extent, bullets. There is also more than five hundred dollars in obligation, which I pocket. Spoils of war! I remember a derogatory remark from lady Moor about looting and dismiss it immediately. That pompous goose earns everything through prior investments and by smuggling alcohol. She and Melusine can go sunbathe in a volcano, this money is mine. ¡°Is there anything else of value for you?¡± ¡°Yes, my setup in the basement.¡± ¡°Wine?¡± ¡°No, the secret basement.¡± Oh my! He truly is an opera villain. ¡°How do I access it?¡± It turns out that the concealed entrance is hidden behind a false wall in his bedroom. I have him drink a few decanters of an excellent whisky I found on his desk and follow him there. ¡°There are several exits, all easily accessible from the cellar heading out. No traps.¡± I order him to open the way for me, close it behind and then fall into deep slumber. I wipe most of the memories of the past hour, leaving a blurred image tainted by alcohol. He should wake up realizing he has been robbed by a woman whose face he never saw, and the embarrassment should keep him mostly quiet. I doubt that he will complain to his secret society brethren, as I can easily imagine how they handle compromised elements. I follow a narrow set of stairs in semi darkness. I do not bother with lamps, and why would I? The passage carries me three floors down. I can still hear violins and the whispers of conversation through thin walls, signs that the party is in full swing. On the last landing is a secured door, with no wards this time. I open it and lock it behind me. What in the name of the is this?! I turn around and my eyes confirm what my ears and nose picked up. I stand in the middle of a vast room with a packed dirt floor and support columns. Steel doors lead further into this space, but what attracts my attention stands in the middle. There are four cages fastened to the floor and ceiling by steel chains, and in each cage is a woman. Fillmore you disgusting pervert, I underestimated your depravity. What an incredible setup! This is almost vampire-like in its nature, though terribly amateurish. I could mention three improvements off the top of my head. All the cages have covers, a jug of water and a chamber pot. In the first to my left I see a short Asian woman fixing the ceiling with an empty gaze. The second contains a very young black woman cradling her knees. A native girl turns her back to me in the third cage, this time to my left, and the last cage is occupied by a redhead who stares at me in disbelief. My, my, my, what should I do with this lot? I notice a desk by the entrance covered in notes and conduct a summary inspection of all his notes. It¡¯s sex. All of it. I should not have come here, this is a waste of my time. ¡°Psss! Please, I beg you.¡± I should just go. ¡°Miss. Please¡­¡± Sighing, I approach the red-haired woman. From up close, I realize she is even younger than I assumed. She is surprisingly clean, but exhaustion and misery are clear on her face. Her paleness serves as a contrast to the red of her eyes, the black of the pockets below and the blue of the numerous bruises I see on every spot of naked skin. ¡°What is it, ?¡± The alien word makes her recoil and she flinches in anticipation for some sort of punishment. Seeing none coming, she gathers her courage and continues. ¡°Are you with him?¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°Then¡­ Please help us escape.¡± ¡°And why would I do that?¡± The black girl¡¯s sobs turn to a panicked whine. I do not react and instead consider the girl in front of me. Resourceful. Daring. Not easily broken. I feel a kind of kinship with this one. She is a survivor, like me. ¡°I¡¯ll serve you. I can cook, clean and sing. I can swing a bat with the best of them. Please miss, I¡¯ll serve you with all my heart, you won¡¯t regret it.¡± ¡°Deal.¡± What will Loth say? Ah well. ¡°How do I open the cages?¡± ¡°Sir, I mean, that man who owns the house. He has it.¡± Damn it, I should have been more thorough in my interrogation! ¡°Any other way?¡± She shakes her head, licks her lips, thinking fast. ¡°He could keep a spare somewhere around?¡± I nod and look around. Besides the desk, there are also several wooden apparatuses that would not be out of place in a torture chamber. A rack holds tools I do not recognize, though their shapes speak of a tragic tale. Should I free this woman, Fillmore may not survive the night. I return to the desk. Unfortunately, a more thorough search only gets me a hidden knife. I am certain that there are no secret compartments. A quick search beyond the two steel doors only reveals the concealed exit and an actual cellar as large as a warehouse filled with crates and cleaning supplies. I return to the red-haired woman, who is starting to tear up and grab the door. I pull. ¡°It¡¯s steel, miss¡­¡± The metal creaks and groans, the hinge pops and the door opens. ¡°Hoooly shit!¡± ¡°Language.¡± ¡°Sorry!¡± I turn to the others. I could do the same or keep them as snacks perhaps? A noise comes from upstairs, heavy footsteps rushing down. What should I do? If I drag her now, they will rush us before I can open the concealed exit. Indecision takes the decision away from me. ¡°Stay here, pretend the door is closed,¡± I manage to whisper before the door bangs open and Fillmore bursts in with three men in tow. One of them is the bodyguard I met before, still as expressive as ever. The other two are more interesting. There is a tired looking old man with a graying beard and fat man with a red jacket stained with grease, pasty face red and out of breath. The two newcomers are mages, very likely the ones who made the pendant and set up the wards. ¡°You willwheezereturn the documentswheezenow!¡± says my host while brandishing a gun. Instead of answering, I run towards the darkness. Fillmore does not pull the trigger, not that it would stop me, but even the most soundproof ceiling will not stop the thundering blast of a gunshot. Instead of reaching for the exit, I enter the warehouse, lock the door behind me and jump up. I use my claws and feet to stick to the ceiling and wait. ¡°She went left?¡± ¡°No, right, idiot.¡± answers a gravelly voice. Probably the older man. The trio bursts into the room. The older man had the presence of mind to take a lantern and the bodyguard now has a club. ¡°We search the area, you go right I go left and we meet at the end. Alister you guard the door and catch her if she tries to make a run for it.¡± ¡°Do we really have to? We could just...¡± ¡°Shut up. Yes you really have to. Now go.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t have a light.¡± ¡°Then make one.¡± answers the leader out of patience. The fat man grumbles and complies. ¡°Light!¡± A pale orb rises and shines on me. They do not look up. No one ever does. The two men split up and start their search. Theirs is the only source of illumination here. With the clutter, it is easy to hide if only for a minute or two. ¡°Come on out, don¡¯t make it too hard on yourself. You know you¡¯re trapped.¡± I wait until they are a few meters away before dropping on the bodyguard. I may still spare Fillmore to avoid a major scandal. These men are expendable. I silently kill the bodyguard with a finger through the neck. I pull him down to avoid noise of a collapsing body and hide his form in the shade. One down, two to go. ¡°Don¡¯t be ridiculous girl, it can only end one way.¡± ¡°What makes you quite so sure?¡± Both men swing around, one with a yelp of surprise and the other with his gauntlet raised. ¡°He got caught huh? Nicely done, but you are only delaying the inevitable.¡± ¡°Again I ask, what makes you so sure?¡± ¡°There is only one thing that could stop me with no weapon, girl, and you ain¡¯t it. Now down on your knees.¡± I am delighted to see that this rune does indeed mask my aura quite well. Loth will be pleased. I press a small indent at the base of my mask. It slides open to reveal my really, really pointy smile. ¡°Think again.¡± ¡°Aw FUCK!¡± I . I almost behead the fat man before he can do more than open his mouth in surprise. ¡°Spike!¡± Translucent spines start to appear on the old man, before he can do more I am on him. I dodge to the side and grab him by the heel where his defenses have so far failed to appear and swing him bodily into the nearest pile of crates. The wood explodes under him. He gasps in pain as red foam taint his lips. A bar of rusted steel emerges from his battered chest. He gives me one last bitter smile, which I return in kind, before I Devour him. ¡°It was a good .¡± That was easier than I anticipated. Unfortunately, my short pleasure is interrupted by a gunshot. Bah, can a woman not enjoy her drink in peace? What manner of party is this? Then there is another gunshot, then two others. Oh. Oh no. I replace the mask and when I step outside of the room, a squad of men has gathered in a defensive circle around a shaking Fillmore and two others. A beautiful woman in a daring green dress and crimson hair stands with her eyes closed. Besides her, a tall man with black hair and a well trimmed beard is calmly reloading a pistol. He has the understated charm of old nobility and is clearly in command. The four girls are dead. The is sprawled on the ground with brain matter leaking from her shattered skull. Her one remaining eye is staring at the ceiling and freedom that never came. I... failed? I failed! I said I would free her and she died, under my care! The is dead, killed while I was feeding?! God dammit. I feel revolted. I was careless and arrogant and because of this a I swore to protect lost her life. Fulfilling my word should have come first! I should have massacred those idiots where they stood and forced my way out instead of trying to be smart. Or I should have refused the deal! Instead I went half-cocked and look where I end up. Pah! Ariane the fool. Ariane the conceited. Ariane, queen of three papers and a corpse. ¡°It¡¯s her! Melpomene!¡± I return my attention to the men in front of me. The squad surrounding Fillmore is armed with muskets all pointing forward. ¡°Imbecile, don¡¯t you know that Melpomene carries a knife? She gave you the hint and you did not take it... Typical vampire humor. You lot, fire!¡± I dodge left and down as a storm of lead clatters against the bricks behind me. I charge forward immediately. ¡°Belinda!¡± I brake and manage to slow down by digging my talons in the packed earth as a circle of silvery fire raises from the ground. The woman has her eyes opened, and a ring aimed at me. ¡°Bolt!¡± I barely manage to dodge the white hot beam coming from her. I am probably as surprised as she is though I certainly do not show it. ¡°My God she¡¯s a Master, up, up the stairs, now! Cover Belinda!¡± I take my dagger from a holster on my leg and stab into the barrier. The red-haired woman grunts but does not yield. The pain I feel is manageable in comparison to the deeply unsettling shame now coursing through my mind. Failure. I am forced to back off when one of the soldiers fires at point blank range. A small twist allows me to reposition but it is clear that this tactic will not succeed. Instead, I retreat to a torture table and grab it. The witch was practically sneering when I was falling back. Now that she sees me lifting the piece of furniture in the air, her countenance breaks. ¡°Shit. Inferno!¡± The spell goes off and she collapses in the arms of a soldier who drags her up. A moment later, the piece of furniture slams into a straggler and pulps him against the unyielding steel door, now closed. A wave of delayed heat explodes outward. I upend a table and take cover as it moved forward, igniting everything in its path. FIRE. Dammit. I need to get out. Now! I rush over ground shimmering with heat and don¡¯t bother touching the reddening handle. ¡°Yah!¡± I boot the door opened the way Loth showed me. The rectangle of steel bangs against the wall and I roll inside. ¡°Hot hot hot aaaaaaa!¡± The temperature keeps increasing, I manage to operate the locking mechanism and jump through the opening into the blessedly cool night. And then I run away. Fillmore will have rescinded his invitation so I cannot finish off my enemies, even if I were willing to take the risk. I got documents we will have to decrypt. In return I let them know they face a vampire. Ah who am I kidding I know what I lost, a and even perhaps a potential . As I disappear in the darkness, this night feels like everything but victory. Chapter 41: Stand your ground. Normally upon waking I immediately exit my sealed sarcophagus. There has been a lot to do recently, and time is precious when one is slumbering for as long as I do. Now, my hand reaches for the lever and hesitates.I need a moment for myself, to think. Last night was full of lessons. The first one is that my romantic life will require me to stop myself from eating my partner if he is a mortal. I can see that this would be problematic. The easy solution would be to court or let myself be courted by a vampire, and that is not going to happen any time soon. A problem for another time. The second important lesson was how easy it was to dispose of two mages and a guard. I butchered them in an instant. They did not stand a chance. Even a prepared group with a defensive circle did little more than delay me for a few seconds. I need to reevaluate the impact I can have when battle is joined in the future. I must remain cautious, of course, but I can see myself slaughtering my way through an entire squad if I catch them unprepared. I should be flattered by the progress I made, yet I cannot rid myself of the oppressive weight of my own failure. Even the overall success of the operation pales in comparison to the loss of the one I had sworn to protect. I am left bitter and deeply unsettled. I exit my protective shell and join Dalton on the driver¡¯s seat. ¡°Good evening Dalton, how are you doing?¡± ¡°I will be good for another few hours. Asni will have to drink at some point. It would be best if we stopped in a few miles.¡± ¡°Very well..¡± I keep silent as we trudge forward. Dalton once again shows his ability to read the mood and stays quiet. Letting me work through my problems. With no distractions, I submit myself to a pointless game of what ifs. What if I had decided to just finish Fillmore off? What if I had dragged her out the moment I heard footsteps? What if I had hidden completely and made them believe I had left by another way? I churn and mix scenarios in my head again and again until I am interrupted in my self-destructive musings. ¡°What happened Mistress? Talk.¡± ¡°How do you know that I am upset?¡± ¡°You lean forward and occasionally scrunch your nose when you rehash something.¡± ¡°Bah!¡± I will have to work on my composure when I enter vampire society. Being read like a book sounds like a terrible liability to have if Lancaster clan¡¯s byzantine politics are any indication. ¡°Well?¡± I dramatically sigh to convey my annoyance. ¡°I failed a promise.¡± I recount the night and focus on the death. Dalton takes the time to reflect before asking me a question I had not considered. ¡°Does failing hurt your pride and esteem or does it bite deeper? Your kind follows strange rules. Perhaps breaking them hurts you as diseases and age hurt us.¡± Is he correct? Breaking an oath is, for me, unthinkable, but perhaps vampires can be forced into situations when they see no other choices but to do it. What if two promises conflict one another? Then this would strike at our very essence. We are supernatural creatures and Loth has already demonstrated the importance of will and purpose. I dare not imagine what would happen to a vampire oath breaker. Then what about me? I did not let her die on purpose. Then why? If this is about intent and belief, then what do I believe killed her? Greed. This is it, is it not? I was not committed. I tried to both complete my task in an optimal way and to protect her somewhat. Indecision and greed were my sin. I focused so much on planning and long-term benefit that I forgot this simple truth. I am not a yet, to have plans within plans. If I give my word, I must pursue it with all my might, probably. ¡°Yes Dalton, it hurt me. If I had only tried to save her and killed Fillmore on the spot, this would not have happened.¡± ¡°Perhaps, or perhaps we would have the entire Georgian militia trailing us even now, looking for a red-hair woman with bruises on her face. Do you realize the ramifications of violently slaying a Governor, Mistress? Do you think me able to manage the situation during the day, alone and without plan as the nation¡¯s most wanted outlaw?¡± Now that he put it like that¡­ ¡°I was born North of here in an isolated hamlet.¡± I completely stop. I turn to Dalton and look at him with wide eyes. In our eight years together, he has never, ever mentioned his family even once. I know what food he likes, what music he prefers, even how he ties his shoes. I still have no idea about his origin and I did not pry. This revelation is simply unprecedented. ¡°Lots of religious folks moved to the New World because of persecutions and I got to give it to these European lads, many of them were correct. Some beliefs should have remained in the dark ages. Let me give you an example. You have a community. Each wise and holy man has several wives, and plenty of children. When women are of age, when they have their first blood, they are married off to other wise and holy men. When the men are of age, they are invited to travel the world, witness its debauchery, and accomplish some nigh impossible tasks. Do you see where I am going with this?¡± ¡°And if the young men return too early or do not conform, then something happens to them?¡± ¡°Nothing has to happen to them. The village elders shun them, and the entire community follows suit. There is little need for violence when you have absolute control, and they did. We were told that the outside world was unholy and monstrous, we were told that the wise men guided us for our own good and since some of them were our parents, we believed them. ¡°When my little sister turned thirteen, she was set to be married with the leader of our community, a man by the name of Holden. Holden was seventy if he was a day and something about this bothered me greatly. My sister was scared of him. I made the mistake to voice my doubts to my father. I was immediately ostracized, publicly humiliated. I was asked to repent. I was told that I was the victim of evil souls. My friends avoided me, all because I voiced some concerns. ¡°I did not even oppose the marriage. In my mind, this man was a saint. This ordeal opened my eyes to a series of petty abuse that was so unchristian that I confronted my father about it at dinner, as he was hurling insults at me. ¡°We came to blows. I was surprised but eventually, I won. I knew I had to leave and I offered my sister to come with me. She refused. ¡°That is the thing that bothers me to this day. She refused because she was scared of the outside. Because they had fed her with lies and manipulated her from birth, she could not envision anything else. It was preferable to have this ancient man touch her than having to face the road, uncertainty, starvation perhaps. ¡°She refused because she adored them and they could do no wrong, and they could do no wrong because if they had, her entire world would collapse. ¡°And that is why since this moment, I follow no one blindly. Nobody is free from mistakes, Mistress, not even you. Maybe not even God.¡± Until that point, Dalton eyes have been fixed forward as he reminisced those painful memories. Now, he turns to me with a fanatic light in his eyes. I never took him for a believer in anything and I was wrong. My has a set of values that is so deeply embedded in his personality that I could never tell he had thought them through. ¡°You can be wrong Mistress, and contrary to the others, you have an eternity to learn from your mistakes and make progress. Neither of us can say which would have been the better path. Only experience will tell you and you will get it, if you live. So stop blaming yourself, you did what you thought was best and failed. You cannot succeed every time, what matters is that you follow your values as best you can and never stop improving.¡± I never thought I could be so impressed by him. Dalton is usually so reserved, I sometimes tend to forget that his mind is no longer that of the shy boy I took from the Valiants. ¡°Those are words to live by, my Dalton. Thank you.¡± ¡°We are here for each other Mistress. As you know.¡± ¡°Indeed. Have you ever thought about returning?¡± ¡°Yes, and no I will not. I would find her comfortable in her existence and her place in the world, surrounded by a gaggle of children. And yes, I know there are other girls, but even if we go and break the walls of this prison they would only curse us for it, and rebuild them higher. It takes a lot to question one¡¯s value Mistress. Most people here tend to forget that the pursuit of happiness does not equate the pursuit of freedom. Liberty is a burden that not everyone is willing to carry.¡± ¡°Oh I know. In fact, I am counting on it.¡± ¡°Shopping for cattle, Mistress?¡± ¡°Eventually. We will depart the nest at some point. Carve a kingdom, maybe?¡± ¡°I want dibs on the ministry of justice.¡± ¡°One thing at a time.¡± After a few more jabs at each other, we continue in silence. Dalton¡¯s lesson makes me feel better. I made a mistake, yes, and that is normal. Vampire are hunters, not protectors. There will be a learning curve. I wake up to the ring of a bell. I hastily dress and leave my bedroom to see what the emergency is this time. As soon as I reach the main floor. I know that something is different. All shutters are drawn and the protective wards along the walls are on standby, humming quietly and filling the air with the promise of retribution. I count no less than twenty-five heartbeats upstairs and stop in my tracks. Loth voice reaches me from the smoking room. ¡°Ari? Please join us.¡± Still a bit wary, I climb up the stairs and spot men in a strange uniform equipped with long muskets. They salute smartly as I pass. There is a hint of fear in them, hinting that they know what I am. As I approach the door, I feel a familiar aura that surprises me to my core. ¡°Isaac?!¡± ¡°Hello Ariane. Excellent, you are here, yes, excellent. Please, do come in, there is much to discuss.¡± S?a??h the N???lFire.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. I enter the room and take the gathering in front of me. Loth is lounging in his favorite chair in full battle regalia, minus his steel armor. Facing him, Isaac sits upright with a mortal standing by his side. The man has a close-cropped beard and the bearing of a veteran. His mature face is frozen in a mask of disapproval and his eyes dart around the room, evaluating and gauging. Dalton is next to my seat. He is armed to the teeth and shows a few bruises but appears otherwise unharmed. ¡°Splendid, now that you are here, I can explain the situation in earnest. I will be using English for the benefit of Loth, Mr. Dalton, as well as Mr. Venet here, who is the head of my security detail. Be aware that I am here as the official representative of the Rosenthal consortium as it relates to the matter of the Now, your competent Vassal noticed two suspicious men circling the property and attempted to apprehend them. They turned out to be Brotherhood members and he put them down despite their physical prowess.¡± I turn to Dalton and realize now where the bruises come from. ¡°They can¡¯t outrun bullets Mistress, not like you.¡± His smile has a vicious quality to it that I mirror with pleasure. Those imbeciles tried to take down my precious . A quick death was too good for the likes of them. ¡°Yes, well, their bodies are downstairs and we managed to dissect them.¡± ¡°Wait, ?¡± ¡°Moving on, we found out that they have runes inscribed in invisible tattoos upon them. Those are mostly shoddy work and allows them to perform incredible feats at the cost of their life expectancy. They can momentarily increase their speed, strength or endurance. Never more than one at a time. Loth and I estimate the average lifespan after inscription to be around two and a half years, though that will certainly not be relevant to us. There is no known way to deprive them of this power. It is still fortunate that we found those two. The members of cells we had encountered while clearing secondary rings had not been marked. I suspect that only their trusted muscle will have access to runes and that can only mean one thing. ¡°They are onto us.¡± ¡°Yes. We are expecting them either tonight or tomorrow. Loth of Skoragg decided to make a stand and, though we do not approve, we will offer assistance this once.¡± Ah, I thought that the tension was due to the imminent arrival of our enemies, but it seems it is a question of ego between Loth and probably Venet. If the head of security thinks he can convince the old Dvergur to give ground, he is sorely mistaken. The only person on the planet who can convince Loth of Skoragg to retreat is Loth of Skoragg. I presume that my dear host felt no obligation to explain the extent of his formidable defenses to the newcomers. They have no idea, and neither does our foe. ¡°In the meanwhile, I shall explain the reason for my coming and the importance of the mission that is ours and by extension, yours. What we are looking for, is this.¡± Isaac removes a drawing from his briefcase and places it on the table in front of me with reverence. The paper is yellow with age and depicts an ornate black box with silver engravings. The lower right corner has been painted a deep black with a frantic hand, wild strokes of the brush contrasting with the realistic depiction of the object. ¡°Your painter had a stroke?¡± asks Loth with little humor. ¡°No¡­ This is deliberate¡­¡± I add without thinking. I lightly caress the black surface. Frantic lines, a sudden urge to render something that cannot be rendered, I know this effect all too well. ¡°He tried to draw it but did not have the tools.¡± Isaac looks at me with naked curiosity. ¡°Yes, very insightful Ariane. This is an illustration of the box containing the Gate of Beriah. It was drawn by Mr. Matthys, an artist under our employ during the late sixteenth century. We believe that the Gate bled through its containment and affected him. Matthys was an extremely rigorous man. When questioned, he insisted that his depiction was made faithfully. For the very same reason, we have no idea what the item looks like in reality. Scholars who got their hand on it have described it in confusing terms. Al-Din describes it as, and I quote, an aperture into the unfathomable path up and in. ¡° A key that breaks. Nashoba¡¯s prophecy is now confirmed. ¡°Let me guess, they all turn mad?¡± asks Loth. ¡°Curiously, no. All those who study it have been witnessed to be functional adults, or at least as functional as this sort can be. Their notes, however, grow increasingly cryptic and yet it appears that they understand them. Regardless of the Gate¡¯s true nature, it is an artefact of great power that is said to unlock man¡¯s true potential. The thing is that it requires energy to function, life energy to be precise.¡± ¡°Like the runes?¡±, I ask, ¡°Is this a coincidence?¡± ¡°It is not. Ownership and study of the artefact allowed the Brotherhood of the New Light, or Ascendency as they are called in Europe, to develop this extremely crude method. Let me finish, please. The artefact has been partially charged during only two events. The first one was the black plague and the second, the seven years war. The reason why we did not notice immediately is the staggering amount of deaths occurring at the time, as well as the general hysteria. Simply put, we are still uncertain of how it kills, only that it does and turns its victims into mindless creatures craving the vitality that was robbed from them.¡± ¡°Wait, what?¡± ¡°If the Gate is acquired and triggered, all humans in its vicinity but its bearer will be robbed of both life and sanity. They will turn into short-lived but murderous lunatics. At the same time, the survivor will acquire the strength to defy a Lord, if they manage to repeat the process enough times.¡± ¡°Indeed. The item was stolen from a secret vault by means unknown and later purchased by Ascendency. Before we could act, it was shipped to the New World.¡± ¡°And the ship was lost...¡± ¡°Precisely. And now, it has been found. Lady, and gentlemen, my task is to secure the artefact and return it to Rosenthal custody, I would appreciate your support in this matter.¡± Not that we have much choice anymore. Loth and I meet eyes and I start: ¡°I have questions.¡± ¡°Go ahead lass, I will ask mine later.¡± ¡°Thank you. What is the consortium¡¯s stake in all this?¡± ¡°The secured vault was ours. We have a responsibility to stop them.¡± Isaac gives me a pointed look, as if daring me to question his integrity. I shift my posture by the barest amount in a display of annoyance, a gesture that mortals will not pick up. Isaac returns an expression of contrition for a mere tenth of a second before his face turns back into a mask of professionalism. I let the matter go. ¡°Have you located the wreck of the ?¡± ¡°Not yet, but we have found those who have. I will elaborate further later.¡± ¡°Fine. I am done for now, Loth.¡± ¡°Alright. Ye said ye wanted to stop them aye? Those Brotherhood twats?¡± My talons click on my seat¡¯s wooden arms but I refrain from commenting. So long as there is an outsider here, I will not castigate Loth on his foul language. ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°You and what army?¡± Before Venet can object to the remark, Isaac raises a hand to stop him and replies with a conciliatory tone. ¡°Venet¡¯s company is well trained and they have the full trust of the consortium. If more men are required, up to a hundred will join us from Savannah. I did not bring a full company to a social visit, I am sure that you understand why.¡± ¡°Who did you say had the wreck?¡± ¡°Well that¡¯s the thing. The vessel that sold the surgery box belongs to a faction we have no influence on, more specifically, the pirates of Barataria.¡± I can scarcely believe my ears. ¡°Excuse me? We are to confront pirates?!¡± ¡°Indeed, my dear, indeed. Pirates and smugglers. We know where to locate them, and we will depart once we have repulsed the Brotherhood assault.¡± ¡°Oh, I¡¯m going ta repulse them alright, don¡¯t ye worry.¡± ¡°You think they will come tonight?¡± ¡°Aye lass, they don¡¯t want us ta escape, ya know? If ye¡¯re discovered ye have to launch the raid immediately or retreat. I don¡¯t know about ye but I don¡¯t see them half-brain fuckwits falling back. They think they¡¯re strong and canny and we¡¯ve been pissing them off for weeks now.¡± The wood under my hands creaks ominously in the silence that follows that statement. ¡°Ahem, yes Loth, indeed. I¡¯m going to prepare for the fight. Will you help Loth, Vassal?¡± ¡°Yes Mistress, before that I have a question as well. Mr. Isaac. Sir.¡± ¡°Ask away.¡± Answers Isaac with a pleased smile. ¡°You said the Brotherhood is related to Ascendency. Any chance of those guys coming here like you did?¡± ¡°Yes. A very good point, very good point indeed. We have ways to track them if they come from Savannah in great numbers, but yes, we can still expect them to receive reinforcements. The consortium is monitoring the situation and I will be advised if we are to face more enemies. In the meanwhile, our task is to locate the Gate first and make sure they cannot obtain it. Now, let us discuss tactics.¡± I leave and let Loth and Venet sort it out. I am not a tactician, or rather my tactics are radically different from theirs, and I am content to leave the squad planning in their expert hands. When Dalton and I return armed to the teeth, both men have managed to temporarily shelve their massive egos and align a little bit. Venet looks furious which, I assume, means that my host got the last word, possibly with a variation of ''ye can do as I say or ye can take yer gear and f¡­ and go away''. Isaac sits comfortably in his chair and harbours a genial smile. I know who I have to thank for a quick agreement. Loth explains the battle plan. Three of Venet¡¯s men would watch the back and two, the sides, while the remaining fifteen would gather around windows on the second floor and attic with the shutters closed. At the right moment, I will fire a flare to provide illumination and that will be the signal to shoot on the intruders. With the door locked and a clear view of our opponents, as well as Loth¡¯s surprises, we will turn the front of the house into a cross-fire field of death. I would deal with any surprise they may have. The plan has the merit of being simple and sound, and we take positions. Loth disappears into his first floor workshop under Venet¡¯s disapproving glance. I know what Loth is up to and find myself smiling inward, hoping that the Brotherhood sent enough men to annoy the grumpy giant. A little after midnight, they come. Six figures emerge from the tree line and sneak towards the house in dispersed order. I fire the flare gun and immediately line a shot. ¡°Now!¡± As the angry spark flies in the air and basks the lawn in furious red, I pull the trigger on my rifle and see the lead foe¡¯s head snap back. An instant later, the crack of gunshot rings into the night. I reload with vampire speed but as I watch, our targets are sprinting back with unnatural swiftness. Most shots miss as a result with only one other intruder falling. Just as they reach cover a thunderous boom resounds, taking both a man¡¯s head and part of a trunk. Loth has decided to open with his lowest caliber weapon, it seems. From the safety of the forest, red flowers and plumes of smoke erupt. Five, then ten, then forty muskets answer our challenge, their bullets clattering uselessly against the protective steel barriers now covering the windows. I aim and shoot at an exposed man but they are so many. ¡°I can¡¯t see them Mistress.¡± I grunt and reload the flare gun, doing my best to forget that shooting myself with this will turn me into a torch. I angle the small weapon and send an incandescent light close to the enemy line. With them illuminated, our side resumes firing. Undaunted by the futility of their attack, our foes keep shooting. I am not too worried about our ammunitions or defenses. What worries me is the implication of such an attack. They do not care about publicity. There is no way to hide the assault of half a company on a doctor¡¯s house. There will be an investigation. So why, why would they take such an insane risk? Just as I line yet another shot, they suddenly retreat and silence descends on the clearing. This is strange¡­ I would expect them to storm us¡­ As I think those words, a deafening explosion erupts from deeper into the copse and a small cannonball smashes against the main door. It pings, bounces back and digs a furrow in the ground. They have artillery?! I tap on Dalton¡¯s shoulder and scream: ¡°I¡¯m going out!¡± I drop from a window on the left side wall and rush to the cover of the trees. Just as I reach a large oaken trunk, I jump up, thus avoiding a furious swing from a tall man wielding a cavalry saber. The weapon buries itself in the wood as if it were butter. His eyes widen in surprise. ¡°Above you,¡± I add teasingly before stabbing him. I am immediately on the next man. There are six of them and they do not stand a chance. Even their improved reflexes are not enough to match me. Compared to father Perry, who had struck where I would be instead of where I was, those men are but awkward children. In only a handful of heartbeat there is only one left standing. He raises a musket and I decide to try something. As our eyes meet, I use Charm. Instead of my usual attempts at subtlety, I simply crush his mind like a rotten apple. He blinks and lowers his arm in confusion. Not waiting for any further results, I close the distance and take his head off. Huh, it worked! One more tool in my arsenal. I could even use it to destabilize a foe at a critical moment. My distraction does not last. Loth¡¯s wards may be sturdy, but not sturdy enough to repel sustained cannon fire. I move right towards the forest at the front of the house and the enemy artillery hidden within it, keeping my head low. Perhaps I should have painted the mask black. I finally hear heartbeats in front of me and take a close look at the men regrouping in the tree line and the defences arrayed around them. I am so surprised by what I see that my mouth hangs open. Only the sound of a second detonation a few heartbeats later manages to draw me out of my surprise. This is bad. I should fall back. I should fall back and warn the others and yet, I have an opportunity to learn more and to repay a debt. Just a minute. I sprint forward, trigger a proximity ward and jump up. I scramble up the tree like a squirrel as a man¡¯s voice gives an order in a commanding voice. ¡°Now!¡± Men erupt from the ground, shedding their camouflage in great sprays of mud and leaves, to find¡­ Nothing. The man from Fillmore¡¯s cave steps up from a dug-up shelter. He is dressed in luxurious hunting gear in green and brown and holds a decorated musket. To his right, Belinda emerges similarly equipped and I notice with pleasure that she looks just a bit apprehensive. To his left is a man I have never seen. He wears a steel helmet of unknown origin and the plastron of a ¡°cuirass¨¦¡±. On his chest, a massive pendant harbouring the symbol of a tower dangles and his clean-shaven face is scrunched in concentration. The biggest threat will have to go first, but before that¡­ Using the confusion, I throw one of Loth¡¯s beacon stones next to the six-pounder pummeling our door. You just wait. I shoot a pistol at Belinda, only for it to flatten against a translucent shield. I stare in awe. This was a silver bullet! Belinda yelps and the leader flinches, but the tower man barely moves. It¡¯s him. His shield has stopped my projectile. I now regret not taking one of Loth¡¯s special bullets. Before their eyes look up, I am already falling among the crowd. I cut a man open and claw a throat before they even register my presence but soon, they bring their numbers to bear. They all focus on speed and rush me all at once. I flip over the closest warrior and cave his skull in on the way. I land on another foot first and jump against a trunk, slashing a spine. Then with both feet against solid wood, I propel myself like the rogue vampire showed me and barrel forward closer to the mages. I land on a soldier blade first and send two silver throwing knives in the shield. It holds, though the enemy mage¡¯s hands start shaking. I do not dare get closer as I expect another silvery circle to close around me if I did. I cannot afford to get caught in a trap. It does not matter, MORE PREY TO THE SLAUGHTER. Yes, there is still work to be done. I jump backward and in the same motion, grab the dead enemy¡¯s pistol and fire at the witch. As I expected, more silver. I use the backward momentum to slide under another foe¡¯s slash and dig my left hand in his chest, raise him above me and send him flying into the shield. ¡°I can¡¯t take much more of this!¡± screams the tower mage. Dark joy fills my still heart. This is what I have been made for, this bloodshed, my foe¡¯s plans unravelling as I carve a red path through their terrified ranks. ¡°You brought sheep to a lion hunt,¡± I remark. ¡°I¡¯m done!¡± yells the witch immediately, ¡°Blood hound!¡± The world stills as reality submits to the will of the woman. A ball-sized projectile erupts from her gauntlet with a deafening shriek, leaving behind a trail of reddish gold. It flies straight at me. I ignore the retreating vermin and dodge to the side and under cover. The spell hits a trunk and melts through it without stopping. Its trajectory changes to track my movements. That might be problematic. I throw a silver knife through it without much effect, it hits a branch in a pile of molten slag. Running out of ideas, I rush at the man whose spine I severed and lift his still moaning body as the sphere of death is about to hit. I throw him forward. Spell and screaming man impact and with a thundering sound, he explodes. Blood showers all present. Note to self: do not get hit by that. ¡°Shit!¡± screams the witch, but her leader shows no trace of concern. ¡°It does not matter, vampire, and you know it.¡± The haughty man looks at me from behind a line of soldiers and the two mages. PATHETIC WEAKLING, HIDING. No, he is trying to gaud me into rushing forward. They probably have another trap and I do not want to risk it. ¡°And who might you be?¡± ¡°You can call me the Herald, for this is my purpose. Tonight, I bring death.¡± He is delaying, and so am I. Very well, let us turn this into a contest. I make a show of watching the corpses around me before returning my attention to him. ¡°You did send a lot of your followers to the Hades.¡± ¡°And their sacrifice will not be in vain. I am so glad that you and the interloper looking into our business work together. I do so love killing two birds with one stone.¡± He smiles viciously. I am unimpressed. I SHOULD SHOW HIM HIS OWN INNARDS. No, Ari, this is a trick. Think about something pleasant, like painting, the placid gaze of the , or the nice screams the Herald will give me when I shove my thumbs in his orbits. Ah, this is not working. Better move the conversation forward. ¡°This house is a fortress. Your pathetic band will never breach it.¡± ¡°Oh, I beg to differ. See the men behind us. Look at their uniform.¡± I already saw. ¡°You are bluffing. Your kind works from the shadows.¡± ¡°The time of shadows is past!¡± intones the man with solemnity. The next words are not for me, but for his men. ¡°The time of enlightenment is upon us! We will bring our full power to bear to fulfill our mission and usher humanity in a higher realm. Nothing shall stop us in this most august of tasks! You and your associates are but insects buzzing in our ears. Noisy and bothersome, but ultimately just a nuisance. Your pitiful attempts stop tonight. You see, contrary to you our reach is long, and you criminals did cause the governor¡¯s house to burn down¡­¡± Ah so that is it. I have to warn the others. At least I dropped the beacon in the midst of brotherhood members. ¡°I would love to stay and listen, but I do believe my associate has a message for you.¡± Hesitation mars the Herald¡¯s face just at the right time. For the second time, the night stills as a monstrous detonation shakes the earth and makes the very air vibrate. From the house, a large metal mouth belches a storm of steel and fire onto the forest. In a single instant, the maelstrom of incandescent death smashes into the six-pounder, its servants and everyone and everything around on a twenty feet radius. The cloud propagates outward like the Devil¡¯s own breath. When the dust settles, all that is left behind are splintered trunks, torn earth and the shredded remains of men and equipment. Fools, they thought they could outgun Loth. Laughable. With an ominous groan of rotating gears, the decorated barrel angles left. ¡°Fall back.¡± orders the Herald with a calm voice. His men form a ring around him, and they move deeper into the forest. I could go after them but I realize that I simply do not have the time. If what he says is correct, and I believe him, by morning this place will be swarming with enemies. We need to leave. I run back up and inside. I ask Dalton to fetch Loth and soon, we all gather in the entrance with Isaac and Venet. ¡°We have a problem.¡± ¡°I noticed lass. It¡¯s vaporized now.¡± ¡°Ah no, we have a real one. The cannon was indeed used by Brotherhood, but the musket line is not them.¡± ¡°No?¡± ¡°No, you see, for the past twenty minutes we have been firing on the United States Army¡­¡± Chapter 42: The Cruel Seas We left.Sitting on top of the box, I look behind to see what had been my home for nine long years go up in flames, embers carried high in the windless sky. Those mortals took my lair. We live to fight another day but the need to flee leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. My instinct to turn and fight conflicts with the knowledge that there is nothing to be gained and the house being already lost makes a difference in helping me stay put. I do not dare imagine how Loth must feel. He was quick to agree that fighting the actual army on the field and engaging in a protracted battle is a doomed proposition, and also stupid, but just like me, he is harried by his emotions. I am angry, deeply angry. Objectively, I know that we are at war and we were simply outmanoeuvred. and all this nonsense. Subjectively, I fully intend to watch the Herald beg for mercy as I pull his witch''s insides out and strangle his eyeless head with her intestines. Or some such. I will usher him onto his new age one limb at a time. I will¡­ Pah. I will plan properly and win. Behind the box are Loth¡¯s main gun and three drawn carriages carrying the supplies of Venet¡¯s men, who themselves trail us on their horses. Escaping was not too difficult. The house had three prepared tunnels and we managed to use the biggest ones. We piled what effects we could in the carriages, gathered the rest in my bedroom which was subsequently sealed. All non-essential items such as cheap raw materials, prototypes etc were consigned to the fire. Our ability to strike back is still intact though our lives are wrecked. ¡°Did you have the time to feed, Ariane?¡± Isaac¡¯s voice comes from inside the box. Venet moved him here, as it remains the most secure place in the entire convoy. My sarcophagus is there also, ready to protect me from the sun and, according to Loth, powder charge or even indirect artillery fire. Not that I would put it to the test. ¡°No.¡± Their vitality was simply too low. It was not worth the effort. ¡°I should be fine until tomorrow.¡± I do feel a light onset of the Thirst. I drank from a passerby on our way back to Higginsville, though not deeply, and this should allow me to continue until tomorrow. ¡°Good! Good. We need to keep going for a while.¡± My fellow vampire probably worries about my composure, a wise decision. My siblings are not exactly renowned for their self-control. With this said, the conversation dies out. None of us are in a talkative mood. An hour later we stop at a crossroads. Venet, Isaac, Loth, Dalton and I gather for an improvised war council around a map hastily drawn on their largest table.. ¡°We have two priorities. The first is to get the government off your backs. Fortunately, the consortium has given me full authority to draw on our ample resources and with what Ariane told me of Fillmore¡¯s basement, I have a perfect way to get rid of him.¡± ¡°Will he not fight back?¡± ¡°A man such as himself has many secret enemies, Ariane, people who are more than willing to withdraw their support for a shot at his position. I can have him retired by the end of the week, even if I have to ask favours from the Charleston enclave. You can count on me. In the meanwhile, I need the two of you¡­¡± Loth clears his throat. ¡°Request¡­ That the two of you go to the port city of Clarkson¡¯s Cove to the South and talk to a man called Dennis. He will have the information you need.¡± ¡°To do what?¡± ¡°Why, to find a pirate ship and board it of course.¡± Truly, fiction is no match for reality. Clarkson¡¯s Cove, Georgia, two days later. I step behind Loth on half-buried planks, over desolate marshland. His broad back is a bit hunched, not under stress but because of deep-seated hatred. I do not need to ask. My companion may act the gentleman now but he used to be a warlord. The veneer of civilization has always been skin-deep on him. Now, it is cracking. ¡°We¡¯re here.¡± ¡°Would you like to do the talking?¡± Loth turns, his eye manic under his thunderous brow, and yet he reasserts his control in a mere moment. I admire his discipline. ¡°Aye lass, why not.¡± Then after a pause. ¡°Thanks fer asking.¡± I do not reply. There is no need for that between us. We cross an open expanse to find a large one-story wooden house built on an elevated mound in the middle of the swamps. A fire burns brightly near its entrance and two sentinels relax after seeing that there are only two of us. Unwise, though not unexpected. They are armed with muskets, and quite a few blades besides. Their clothes are mostly green-dyed cotton and cured leather and they leave very little skin uncovered even in this early fall. Their bushy beards give them an unkempt, and dangerous look. They trail us as we climb up the path. ¡°I think you¡¯re lost, friends.¡± says the first man with a nervous smirk. No one can be completely relaxed in front of Loth, especially now that he exudes barely-contained violence. ¡°We¡¯re here ta see Quick Wallace.¡± ¡°Maybe Quick Wallace don¡¯t wanna see you.¡± ¡°He does.¡± Loth¡¯s voice has an unmistakable tone of finality in it. ¡°Stay here, I¡¯ll check.¡± Smart. The first goon gets in while the second steps back and eyes us nervously. As time passes by, the man becomes increasingly paler under Loth¡¯s pitiless glare. ¡°He¡¯ll see y¡¯all now. No funny business¡± I follow my friend inside to a large open room used both as a meeting place and a kitchen, apparently. The smells of roasted meat and tobacco permeate the air, the first coming from a fireplace upon which roasts a whole piglet. Men sit and lean among derelict furniture centered around a curious trio. The first is a blond man with an eyepatch, sitting lazily in the room¡¯s throne. The second is a huge black man in leather coveralls with an oversized machete standing by his side. He is as tall as Loth, and his face is covered in what seems to be ritual scars. The last one is a surprise. He is the only clean-shaven person of the lot, has a monocle hanging from his city jacket and is currently nervously holding a bowler hat that has apparently been subjected to this cruel treatment for at least a year. The blond man is clearly the leader. His posture is relaxed, assertive, and his brown coat is of good cut. Jewelled ring adorn his fingers. He leans forward and starts, with a smile and a cautious glance. ¡°I¡¯m Wallace. This is Moise,¡± he points at the tall man with a stiletto he is using to clean his nails, ¡°and this here dashing lad is Loustic. Now tell me why the fuck I shouldn¡¯t carve you up like a pig and stick your gal on my mast.¡± He smirks. I am wondering, do we really need him? We just need his crew, right? And I have a good way to ensure their loyalty. Loth who once again proves his unerring self-control simply throws Isaac¡¯s letter to the man. He doesn¡¯t look at it and instead passes the envelope directly to Loustic. ¡°We¡¯re not some pansy ass city folks here, we have Loustic to read for us. We have our ways. For example Moises here. He don¡¯t part the seas, yeah? He parts people.¡± We remain nonplussed. ¡°It¡¯s from¡­ Savannah, boss.¡± Wallace¡¯s face falls. ¡°You¡¯re one of them?¡± Loth slowly shakes his head before adding. ¡°Nay, she is.¡± All eyes turn to me. I grab everyone and roughly push terror at the forefront. The effort required leaves me a tad dizzy and a bit Thirsty. I should not have done that. ¡°Now that the pishing contest is done, can we go on or do ye wankers need to jack each other off before ye sail.¡± You could hear a pin drop. Aaaah Loth, you should have just told me you needed to unwind a bit. ¡°Bet you wouldn¡¯t be so tough without that monster behind you.¡± I take exception to that. Or rather, I would but Loth needs the relief more than I do. I grab Loustic by the wrist in the frozen room and head for the exit. Before I cross it, I turn and add in a dignified tone. ¡°Don¡¯t take too long.¡± I stand outside with the strange pirate by my side still holding our letter. The two sentinels stare at us, with expressions of bovine surprise. Inside the house, I hear the rustle of fabric as Loth carefully removes his jacket. Then the heckling start. ¡°Any of ye cocksuckers want ta put yer fists where yer mouths are?¡± There follows the sound of feet rushing forward, of flesh hitting flesh, and that of a body impacting the wall. Then all hell breaks loose. The sound of fighting, the crash of bodies, thrown furniture and broken glass, the grunts of effort and the moans of pain form a disharmonious symphony to match my survey of the land. The composition is not so bad, all in browns and greens with hints of red. I am almost tempted to draw it later. ¡°So¡­¡± starts Loustic with a shaky voice, ¡°come here often?¡± A pirate¡¯s body crashes through a window and lands in the mud, stopping after a few rolls. ¡°No.¡± ¡°Oh¡­¡± After half a minute, a roar explodes outwards and scares a few bats into flying away. ¡°Hah, that¡¯s Moise!¡± adds a sentinel with a vindictive smile. Loth bellows. The sound, flat and pure as if it were coming from a longship¡¯s horn makes the remaining windows shake. A duel of titanic proportion announces itself to us through the walls as if they were not here. Fists on flesh, broken wood and shattered pottery, massive bodies crashing around like battering rams. After a few more seconds the fight reaches a climax and the two men smash through the door like freight trains, sending the thing careening in the air. Loth landed on top and he stands up without trouble. Apart from a thin line of blood coming from his temple, he appears unharmed. Moise looks a bit dazed. My friend slowly walks to a dead tree by the path and simply uproots it. He breaks the trunk in half and approaches his opponent with his hideous, improvised club. The roots shake ominously as he marches forward. ¡°Remember what ye asked me two minutes ago?¡± ¡°Naw man,¡± replies the black man while spitting blood, ¡°I¡¯m stumped.¡± Loth looks at the thing in his hand, then at Moise smiling bloodily on the ground, then back to the improvised siege equipment. Then he drops it. And laughs. Both men roar with hilarity, soon joined by the recovering pirates. Soon, bottles start to appear and the whole group down bottles of rotgut like they¡¯re water. I don¡¯t understand what is happening. Is this a men thing? Fifteen minutes later. Wallace points at a map salvaged from under a broken table. ¡°This here cross marks Cotton Cove, it should harbour , one of the many smuggling ships used by the pirates of Barataria under that accursed Frenchman, Jean Lafitte, until the day after tomorrow. The ship stays anchored long enough for the crew to unload their goods, get drunk off their arses, load some more loot then fuck off. We¡¯ll catch them with their pants down.¡± Good, then I will have my fill of blood for the first time in two bloody weeks. ¡°To avoid detection I¡¯ll take Loustic, Moise and the first shift crew to go by foot and take down their land-bound team. Patterson, you¡¯ll drop us off half a mile up the coast and cut off their retreat. Milady, hm, would you mind staying with us?¡± ¡°Not at all captain.¡± ¡°Good, hrm, good. Then it¡¯s settled. Let¡¯s go.¡± Those mortals are only a little scared of me, and they are all deferent. I could get used to this, of the normal ones knowing what I am and accepting it. I remember the creed of the Eneru vampire faction and their hidden cities, filled with people who know what they are. I can see the attraction of a symbiotic relationship. Loth and I return to grab some effects and our weapons and board the pirate ship. The smuggling base at Cotton Cove is very cleverly designed, I will give them that. No road goes to it and as far as I can see, it is hidden from passing ships by judicious use of rocky outcrops and vegetation. Three ramshackle buildings huddle under cover and the telltale plumes of smoke are noticeably absent. I raise a fist and the men behind me stop. ¡°No signs of them. Stay here, I will scout ahead.¡± I to the compound and stop ten paces away from the main entrance. I smell that lot of blood has been spilt here very recently. I detect no heartbeat. I silently look through every window and see nothing but crates and personal effects. My summary inspection over, I return to the others and inform them of my findings. The mood turns grim. ¡°This ain¡¯t good,¡± mutters Wallace. ¡°Let¡¯s check the base thoroughly and then proceed with the plan.¡± I add. Ah, I was really looking forward to a good meal. This setback is¡­ Unfortunate. For our allies. No, Ari, hold on. They are under Isaac¡¯s protection and he trusted me with those enticing people. I need to at least try to keep them safe and sound and delicious. I mean, safe and sound. Ignore the Thirst. I have done it before and I can do it again. We reach the buildings once more and Wallace and a few others remove the cover from lanterns to inspect their surroundings. I lightly tap on the captain¡¯s shoulder. He turns with fury but flinches when he finds himself staring at my mask. ¡°Two people were killed here.¡± He points his light at the ground, where ominous red pools spread an extinguished brasero.¡± ¡°Recent?¡± ¡°Less than three hours.¡± The man swears like a sailor, which I guess he is so it should be fine really. I wonder if he would swear less if I made him more pliable. Just a small bite¡­ ¡°Those torches were lit, they were doused. Milady, can you see anything else?¡± I point at the largest building. ¡°More blood here. No one alive.¡± I lead them into what turns out to be the barracks. Two double beds and a few hammocks surround a cooking station as well as an upended table. Stained cards litter the ground. Blood marks in pools and splashes cover almost everything. The stench is unpleasant. ¡°Still no bodies¡­¡± mutters Moise. I do not reply, instead I grab under a bed to reveal a severed hand still holding two cards. Jack of spade and queen of heart. Ominous. Loustic runs outside to retch. I sigh. ¡°So they took most of the bodies. Who would do that?!¡± asks a pirate. I doubt it was vampires. It is far too messy. Even a rogue one would drink his fill. Out of ideas, I inspect the wound on the limb I found. A blade and overwhelming strength cut it which does not mean much. I believe that at least half of the men present would have the strength to do it. Are we too late? Did the Brotherhood¡¯s muscle do that? ¡°We need to get to the ship.¡± Loth and Dalton show no fear but the pirate crew is more apprehensive. A few mutter about monsters and one of them stops in the middle of signing himself when he realizes I am watching. ¡°Yea¡­ Let¡¯s go. Come on lads, time to earn your pay.¡± Our group leaves the abandoned buildings and we follow a small trail to a pier hidden in the shadow of an islet. We find an empty rowing boat and traces of blood. ¡°I ain¡¯t going! Tis some vile sorcery, it is!¡± mutters one of the crew. ¡°He¡¯s right cap¡¯n we don¡¯t know what we¡¯re up against!¡± A part of me knows I should let Wallace handle the discipline. This part of me is buried by another, much more interested in this development. ¡°So, you are not going then?¡± I ask lightly. Silence is made as eight people hold their breath. For a moment, nothing happens, then the entire squad scrambles aboard. Good. And also, slightly disappointing. Men start rowing while Wallace and I stay at the prow. The night is rather dark, and his attempts to spot something on the deck are so far fruitless. I could just tell him that there is nobody there but I do not bother. Rather, we have a small problem. ¡°Loth.¡± ¡°Aye lass?¡± ¡°If you use any more power to row we¡¯ll soon complete a circle.¡± ¡°Ah, right.¡± Even with Moise on the other side, the strengths of the teams are not balanced. I would need to row myself and that is not happening while MORTALS ARE HERE TO SERVE. We make our way across the cove in relative silence. The men smell appetizingly terrified. Perhaps I should¡­ No. I can wait a bit more. Soon, Wallace expertly aligns the rowing boat with our target and I jump on the deck while the others climb up a netting. Deserted, except for more blood. This one is slightly older and I deduce that whoever slaughtered the smugglers started with their ship. I open the only door to the lower level and listen. There is exactly one heartbeat left. The crew gathers upon the main deck with their backs to each other. The tension is palpable. I signal Dalton who relays what I found to Loth. The pair climbs down, soon followed by an irate Wallace, angry at losing the initiative. Two men are left behind to guard the rowboat. They exchange a nervous glance and when they turn around, the rest of us have disappeared. I wait, hidden in the sails. The smell of the sea and the sound of the waves lapping at the hull relax me. This is the waiting part. After a few seconds, something clicks on the treated wood, I wait. More things click on the side. Fascinating. They can at least breathe underwater. Now eight things are crawling up towards the clueless pirates. They are standing back to back with their pistols drawn, sweeping the darkness with their lanterns. I wait. One of the things pops its head above the railing and I am once more surprised, and pleased. This is a man-fish! Or a fish-man. Bah, it matters not what it is called, it is humanoid. A bald head covered in scales and a flat face without a nose sits atop a powerful chest and muscular arms ending in claws. Besides the white face, the creature appears to be coloured a deep cyan. This will be interesting. The thing grabs the railing with two hands and repositions in what I recognize to be a prepared jump, then it launches at the two men with a scream, interrupted when I boot its head into the wooden planks. The other four creatures already on the deck scramble and dodge instead of charging, and the two pirates miss their panicked shot as a result. If the detonations have not alerted the rest of the crew, their girlish screams will. ¡°What the fuck is that!?¡± I shelve my annoyance and grab a thrown trident by the shaft, only to return it to its sender with interest. The strange weapon catches the fish creature in its guarding arms and propels it above the rail. And then the one under my foot grunts a strange, sibylline cry and they all jump out, leaving me with the leader and two urine-soaked seamen. Marvelous. The thing is not struggling so I remove my foot to allow it to move up. It slowly does so and I take the opportunity to inspect my captive. The creature is almost as tall as Loth, though its build is lithe and sinuous. Its legs have been replaced by a muscular tail with pointy fins that slither on the ground. The white of its face extends down to its chest and only stops where the belly button would be. Its eyes are a dirty amber colour with no sclera, the black of its pupils fixed on me. It opens its lipless mouth to reveal needle-like fangs but otherwise stays put. I, however, am quite Thirsty. ¡°¡± I whisper with my fangs out. I freeze in surprise. What?! It speaks?! Its voice is raspy and strange and yet there is no mistaking it. It called my name?! Against all expectations, the creature bows in a supplicant gesture and offers its throat. ¡°¡± The rest of the pirate crew rushes out. Silence reigns as they take in their terrified comrades and the strange creature kneeling before me. ¡°It¡¯s that devil thing that killed the crew. Kill it!¡± screams Wallace. ¡°HSSSSSSS!¡± A collective intake of breath accompanies a collective lowering of guns. ¡°You would not be trying to interrupt my Mistress? Because that would be a bad idea,¡± adds a voice from the back. Loth and Dalton emerge from the depth with a portly shivering man between them. At the sight of the creature, the madman soils himself, adding a new and unnecessary layer to the complex cocktail of odors assailing me. Wallace does not reply. Loustic and Moise both pray, the latter in French. Their inane babbles grate on my nerves. ¡°, Mashulduru.¡± An . The creature offers his life to redeem the crime of his tribe. I approach and bite. Slowly, the sacrificial essence feeds the Thirst. Ah. Yes. Exquisite. It has been long since I tasted a blood this rich. A ritual offering made by a willing creature. It tastes of the sea, of blood and conflict, of regret. Of desperation. I let go as soon as I received my fill. I am merciful tonight. Those creatures are hunters like me, and they submitted before the power of the conquerors, as is fitting. There is little to be gained in annihilating their leader. I would prefer to earn a favour instead. I lick the wound clean and enjoy the strangeness of the cool scale under my tongue. The released fish-man''s eyes widen in surprise when I gesture towards the ocean. It bows deeply and slithers away. A splash announces its departure. ¡°You let that thing go?¡± ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°Are you insane, woman? It killed the ship¡¯s whole crew!¡± I walk towards the pirates. Everyone but their captain and Moise take a step back. With my half-mask I must look alien to them, although obviously not alien enough or they would not take the liberty to question me. ¡°And? You think to tell me how to deal with my prey? You intend to dictate the terms of our contract?¡± ¡°It¡¯s not about that! They are monsters!¡± ¡°And so,¡± I add with a smile, ¡°am I. You are not here to decide who lives or dies, you are here to assist us in getting the information we want. Is that clear?¡± ¡°Huh, aye.¡± Silence. Is that insubordination that I see in his eyes? We will see soon. In the meanwhile, I have a sailor to question. I grab the man and drag him to the prow of the ship. ¡°His mind is fragile Mistress, I do not know if we can keep him sane.¡± ¡°I care not, I only need one answer from him.¡± I sit the mewling man in front of me. He¡¯s a wreck, tearing up and shaking like a leaf in the wind. His uniform is stained with sauce and I presume that what we found was the ship¡¯s cook. ¡°Let me guess, you found him in the larder?¡± ¡°Aye lass, now hurry up because we have more ta discuss.¡± ¡°Is it related to their treachery?¡± asks Dalton. ¡°What do you mean? Have they betrayed us?¡± ¡°No lass, but they intend to. There are telling signs.¡± ¡°Really?! Really¡­ I was going to interrogate one but you seem so sure...¡± ¡°Yes, we are. Tell her the signs, Dalton.¡± ¡°Well, they are not trying to ingratiate themselves at all which anyone who wants to pursue an alliance would do, their men won¡¯t meet my eyes, and there are always at least two crewmen with their hands on their weapon keeping their eye on either of us. Finally, they are pirates. They are dishonest by profession.¡± ¡°I am not objecting, however, this could be caution and nothing more.¡± ¡°Easy enough to check lass, if they delay our landing until dawn, they are planning something that needs you to be out. In the meantime, question the lad.¡± I forcefully raise the cook¡¯s head to me. He stinks horribly, stubble covers his fat jowls and he has a face a drunk mother could not love. Drool drips down his fat lips. They let this creature prepare their food? At this stage the fish men eating them is just nature correcting itself. I grab the arm and bite lightly, capturing his attention with my eyes. ¡°Tell me your name.¡± ¡°They... they came from the sea!¡± ¡°Your name.¡± ¡°Huh?¡± ¡°Look at me. Good. Now give me your name.¡± ¡°Allan Parks.¡± ¡°Good, Allan. How long have you been serving aboard this ship?¡± ¡°Three years, as a cook, mam.¡± ¡°Under who?¡± ¡°Captain Strauss mam.¡± ¡°And during this time you stopped at Savannah, correct?¡± ¡°Yes mam, three times.¡± ¡°On the last time you delivered items for an auction, correct?¡± ¡°Yes mam, from stuff they found on that accursed wreck, capn Strauss and his dumbass first mate.¡± ¡°Where was the wreck?¡± ¡°The monsters, they...¡± I push harder and the rope between us starts to unravel. I grab it in the iron grip of my will and return his attention to the here and now. ¡°Where. Was. The. Wreck.¡± ¡°Agh! On the beach! By Black Harbor village!¡± ¡°And why did you say it¡¯s cursed?¡± ¡°Aaaaah my head!¡± ¡°WHY?¡± ¡°They came for him! The first mate! Those crazy strong goons! And then the monsters... Nooo!¡± I drop the babbling body at my feet. His mind is gone, snapped like a twig, but I have what I needed. So, some people abducted their first mate. It must be the Brotherhood, they know where the wreck is. I feel like we are always a step behind. ¡°Our foes know. We need to head back and warn the others.¡± I snap the poor sod¡¯s neck and we leave the prow to find the crew hard at work with sails and ropes. Loth first, we climb on the structure behind the biggest mast, called aftcastle according to my companions, to find the captain at the wheel. ¡°What are you doing?¡± asks Loth without preamble. Moise, by him, crosses his arms threateningly as matter of habit, surely. His frown softens when he realizes who he is trying to impress. ¡°We¡¯re leaving this place, I¡¯m not using the rowing boat with those things around. My ship will escort us back to Clarkson¡¯s Cove and you can be on your way from there.¡± He is not asking for hazard pay or about the fish-men. How¡­ Uncharacteristic. ¡°When do you think we will arrive?¡± I ask. I watch patiently from behind my mask as a rivulet of sweat falls from his temple. Nervous, are we? Truly these people do not have the means to match their ambition. ¡°Probably sometime tonight, huh, that said we¡¯re slower because we don¡¯t have a whole crew.¡± ¡°Is that so?¡± Sweaty silence. ¡°I was wondering, was taking the part of your agreement with the Consortium? ¡°Huh, sure it was. I¡¯ll settle it with Mr. Isaac. No worries.¡± ¡°Is that so?¡± Even sweatier silence. ¡°Well, I will be below deck until we arrive.¡± The man nods and when I turn around, I hear two sighs of relief. I should not be picky since those are pirates after all, but those gentlemen of fortune cannot be the sharpest tools in the shed, or in this case the saber rack I suppose? Disappointing. Annoyed at their mediocrity and quite proud at having used ¡®below deck¡¯ in an actual conversation, I open the door leading down, a decision I regret immediately. ¡°Ugh, this place stinks!¡± ¡°Pirates are not known for their pursuit of hygiene, Mistress.¡± ¡°Hsss.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t do that Mistress, or you will have to breathe more of this air.¡± I hate it when he is right. A flight of stairs leads to an open surface against the hull. Hammocks still hang from posts stained with congealed blood. Further up, a cooking space and the storage proper occupy the space. On the side are the main attractions. ¡°Is that?¡± ¡°Naval guns lass, yes. Four on each side.¡± ¡°They look old.¡± ¡°They are, but they are the cleanest thing on this sorry floating derelict.¡± ¡°Right, well, they shall remain unused. I will neutralize the crew and we can leave using the rowing boat as soon as it is convenient.¡± ¡°Right.¡± answers Loth with a twinkle in his eyes. Dalton looks strangely excited by our adventure, he inspects the interior of the ship looking for knows what. I hope they are not up for some dastardly shenanigans for I am not. We are going to head back to solid land and nothing untoward will happen. Nothing at all. ¡°I¡¯m heading out, ¡° I announce and approach the hull. As expected there is some sort of opening, currently shut tight, that allows the guns to be fired upon enemy ships without first blowing a hole through the thin partition separating us from a horde of fish-men, squids, and an entirely unreasonable amount of salty water. I play with the chains to try and open it, first by myself and then with the condescending help of my two companions. ¡°Hsss¡± ¡°Just trying to help!¡± The very picture of innocence, those two. I climb out with my talons stuck in the salt-encrusted wood. I am close to the water when something breaks its surface. The head of the fish man I spared earlier. He is accompanied by his whole party. Their agile bodies slice the surface and they cast unreadable glances at me before diving back under. I suppose we are in a state of truce for they are content with just watching me. I angle myself up and climb along the wall in complete silence. I detect eight heartbeats, as expected. There are three on the aftcastle and the rest moves around, except for one that stays at the prow. I slowly make my way there until I see him. Loustic is acting strangely, opening and closing his lantern to provide light signals. We are currently moving along the coast and he is making those signals towards the sea... Ah, of course, he is communicating with Wallace¡¯s ship, the Red Maiden. That is not entirely unexpected and not too worrisome. I shall just wait until the message is sent and then strike. I climb up ever so slowly as my unfortunate victim leans forward to better read the response. I push myself at the limit of the bannister. No one is looking. A blink later, I drag the pirate above the railing by the throat and bite, with one hand stuck to hold me and the other wrapped around his mouth. He is so close to me, intimately so. His heart thunders just below my elbow and my knee is a bit too close to his manhood for respectability. Both of his hands rest on my shoulder with all the grip he can muster. It does not hurt me and I do enjoy the light pressure. ¡°You have been a very bad boy haven¡¯t you?¡± The bite weakened the man¡¯s already fleeting resolve. This is like stealing candy from a sleeping child. Not that I would. ¡°Well?¡± He nods frightfully. ¡°You wanted to do something that would anger me, yes?¡± Nod. ¡°And that¡¯s bad right? You do not want to hurt me.¡± He shakes his head frenetically. ¡°I¡¯m a bit disappointed but I will forgive you, if you tell me what you had planned. Whisper it in my ear.¡± His warm breath tickles my skin and makes my hair flow. I think I would enjoy drinking him dry very much, though it would be terribly unwise. I am, after all, well-fed. ¡°We were not going to hurt you. We were going to seal you in a coffin and ransom you to the rich bastard.¡± ¡°And the others?¡± ¡°Them as well. We were just going to rough them up if they put up a fight. We were not going to kill you I swear!¡± ¡°I believe you,¡± I whisper back, then break his neck. I lower myself and the body to avoid making a splash. Just as I lower myself enough, the lead fish-man raises up from the ocean and grabs the body before passing it along. It disappears under the black wave. Now I understand. They must be acquainted with my Master and expect its spawn to leave behind a trail of corpses. Vindicating their beliefs annoys me slightly. I am not like him. They betrayed us first. I am different. When I reach the railing once more, I take almost a few seconds to study where my foes lie then strike. I jump from the railing up to the front mast and break the neck of a sailor working on a rope. Before he can react, I slay his companion. I immediately jump and land behind a third man and stab a finger between his eyes. A knife at the back of the head silences a man looking at the coast. ¡°Did you hear that?¡± ¡°Hear what?!¡± I jump on the aftcastle and rush the last sailor currently at the tiller, no it¡¯s called a wheel, and slice his throat open in passing before burying a hand in Moise¡¯s chest. Just as expected I need to stab behind the heart instead of the organ itself, then it¡¯s easier to go through the ribs. I flip on myself and throw a dagger at Wallace. The ship lurches and my throw misses. This gives the captain enough time to take out a pistol and a cross. With one hand I snap the pistol away and with the other, I crush his hand around the Christian symbol. ¡°It only works if you believe it, you imbecile.¡± Truly pathetic. I can hardly believe that those idiots exist on the same plane of existence as Synead. The world is vast indeed. ¡°Do what you will monster, I¡¯ll see you soon in the depth.¡± Uncaring, I almost take his entire head away. How is that for a witty retort? ¡°Mistress, the wheel!¡± Dalton erupts from below and sprints to the aftcastle. Ah yes, the corpse of the sailor dragged the wheel to the side and now we are heading towards the ocean. s?a??h th? N?v?lFire.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. My Vassal replaces the deceased, what was it called? Ah yes, a helmsman. He rolls the thing right and soon we realign. And not a moment too soon. From the other ship, a whistling sound comes accompanied by bells and the yells of men. We are discovered! Pah, I should have been more careful! If the ship had not changed course, we wouldn¡¯t have... wouldn¡¯t have... ¡°Dalton, why are you wearing a tricorn?!¡± ¡°No time! Mistress, go to the foremast and unfurl the sails!¡± ¡°Which one is the foremast?!¡± ¡°The front one!¡± ¡°And what¡¯s unfurling?¡± ¡°Loosen them so they expand and catch the wind.¡± I grumble my way and untie overly complicated knots, moving left and right like some accursed monkey. Disgraceful! I am a vampire, not a bloody deckhand! ¡°Brace!¡± From the Maiden comes the boom of canons and a terrible whistling noise, a moment later projectiles fly over us and rip into the sea, except one which smashes into our side with a groan of shattering wood. ¡°Bloody hell! They¡¯re firing on us!¡±, I exclaim. ¡°One minute a sailor and you¡¯re already swearing?¡± I slap my hand on my mouth. Aaaaa no! ¡°Unfurl the other one Mistress I think Loth is about ready!¡± I jump again and repeat the previous unknotting, silently this time. Just as I free the last one, a gun roars from below deck. ¡°Was that us?¡± ¡°Ahoy!¡± He¡¯s enjoying this far too much. The cannonball curves elegantly and maims the side of our opponent just at the limit of the sea line. Loth timed his shot perfectly, just as we were cresting a wave. ¡°The wind is picking up Mistress you need to reef the sails!¡± ¡°Did I not just unfurl them?! And what does a reef have to do with anything?!¡± ¡°Just do what I say!¡± ¡°Arg!¡± I follow his indication, all the while pestering against all those complicated words and Dalton¡¯s suggestions. ¡°No, I do not want to be the bosun!¡± ¡°But vampirates! Think about it!¡± ¡°No!¡± Loth fires once more, from a different gun this time and his aim is true. Another hole appears, slightly higher. This was too fast for a single man. I understand now, they loaded all four canons while I was cleaning house. Smart. It also means that once we are out it will take an eternity to reload. ¡°Brace!¡± The Maiden fires another broadside. This time no less than three cannonballs wrack our flank, one of them clipping a mast. It¡¯s only a matter of time now. Dalton still does his best to keep us more or less facing them but they are faster and it seems that their plan is working. In order to stay aligned, we are turning right. Or was it starboard? Whatever. Soon, we will enter shallow waters and possibly run ourselves into some rocks, or we will have to turn left and let them fire on us without returning it. Loth¡¯s third shot bounces on the surface of the sea and damages their railings, but nothing more. From the depth, a roar of anger in mixed English and Dvergur complaining about ¡®garbage pig iron¡¯, and ¡®inbred manufacturers¡¯ shakes the night. I am about to despair in the middle of reefing the other sail when I notice that our foe is starting to lurch. ¡°Those accursed sea dogs are taking water! Haha!¡± Seriously. Loth¡¯s last shot strikes the front of the hull and adds another leak. It seems to be the tipping point. The Red Maiden slows down and we start to overtake her. Then I hear screams. It appears that I made new allies. Silhouettes crawl over the tilted deck and slay distracted sailors while the rest ineffectually attempt to stem the tide of water invading their hull. The battle is won. ¡° This fish-man is a fish-woman now that I take the time to look. She distinctly lacks breasts but her form is definitely feminine, especially around the middle. Her face is also thinner and more delicate. She is the one who threw the trident at me, a weapon now lying on the ground as a gesture of peace. She was the first to timidly climb up our side, soon followed by the rest of the raiding party, and now kneels in the position of the . I want to tell her that if they managed to keep up with a ship for that long they can just take the bodies and go because I am not swimming after them to extract payment. The language barrier is a real obstacle, however. I sigh and look at my companions. ¡°What are you two even drinking?¡± The men are passing along a bottle of aged glass with blurred contents. Dalton is still wearing the accursed tricorn and refuses categorically to remove it. ¡°Aged rum from the Guadeloupe. A delicacy. It will put hair on your chest.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t you think you should remain sober at least until we reach the land?¡± ¡°Let us celebrate this victory lass, also, it¡¯s rude to let a lady wait, ya know? Even if she is half fish. Just as cousin Gromling used ta say, don¡¯t let the wet lady go to waste.¡± ¡°Loth!¡± ¡°Seriously, refusing offered blood is rude, pretty sure. Means you think her unworthy and whatnot.¡± Despite the decidedly dubious explanation, he is right. I should honor her offer. It¡¯s just that... Ah no matter, it should be fine. Yes, totally fine. Her blood cannot be that potent. I bite. She tastes less of the Hunt than her packmate. Hers is tradition, direction, and quite likely magic. I lick the wound clean and they are on their way. ¡°Right! No more idiotic pranks! We head back with huuuuh serious! And decorum!¡± ¡°Absolutely lass we¡¯ll do it right proper. And that¡¯s a promise.¡± One hour later. ¡°There were two lofty ships from old England came, Blow high, blow low, and so sailed we; One was the Prince of Luther, and the other Prince of Wales, Cruising down along the coast of the High Barbaree. ¡°Aloft there, aloft!¡± our jolly Dalton cries, Blow high, blow low, and so sailed we; ¡°Look ahead, look astern, look aweather and alee, Look along down the coast of the High Barbaree.¡± There¡¯s nought upon the stern, there¡¯s nought upon the lee, Blow high, blow low, and so sailed we; But there¡¯s a lofty ship to windward, and she¡¯s sailing fast and free, Sailing down along the coast of the High Barbaree. ¡°Oh, hail her, Oh, hail her,¡± our dread vampire cried, Blow high, blow low, and so sailed we; ¡°Are you a man-o¡¯-war or a privateer,¡± said she, ¡°Cruising down along the coast of the High Barbaree.¡± ¡°Oh, I am not a man-o¡¯-war nor privateer,¡± said he, Blow high, blow low, and so sailed we; ¡°But I¡¯m a salt-sea pirate a-looking for my fee, ¡°Cruising down the coast of the High Barbaree.¡± Oh, ¡¯twas broadside to broadside a long time we lay, Blow high, blow low, and so sailed we; Until the Prince of Luther shot the pirate¡¯s hull away, Cruising down along the coast of the High Barbaree. ¡°Oh, quarter, Oh, quarter,¡± those pirates then did cry, Blow high, blow low, and so sailed we; But the quarter that we gave them ¨C we fed them to the fish-men, Coming down along the coast of the High Barbareeeeeeeeeeee¡± ¡°Dammit lass, I love you dearly but you really, really can¡¯t sing for shit.¡± Chapter 43: Confluence After Dalton had his fun, Loth takes over and gets us moored or anchored or whatever it is called to the Clarkson Cove pier. Nobody in the tiny port town even reacts to the obvious signs of battle damage and I am reminded that this nation is at war with a naval power. Privateers and raided merchants are almost an everyday occurrence. There are even talks of ships fighting duels, one on one, as if they were champions of old.Loth heads out to the city of Black Harbor to scout it while Dalton and I leave to meet up with Isaac. I spend the day slumbering and at nightfall, leave him and our carriage behind to sprint across the land. I move faster than a galloping horse and a trip that could have taken a day took me only two hours. When I arrive at the inn Isaac decided upon, I find it surrounded by a modest but orderly military camp. The mercenaries on guard do not challenge me. Instead, they direct me to the building¡¯s main room, where I find Venet and Isaac with several officers surrounding a map of the surrounding states. ¡°Do you have it, Ariane?¡± The men turn and notice me. I left the mask to my side behind but kept the rest. We are reaching the end of this play, and I expect us to fight at any time. They are nervous, but not the shifty nerves of the pirates. They know that they face a creature against whom their training would not suffice. This grants me a modicum of apprehension tinged with respect. ¡°Yes. The wreck is one day away from the city of Black Harbor. We asked and located it. It¡¯s here.¡± I place a black claw on the map, at coordinates we confirmed with Clarkson¡¯s Cove only cartographer. ¡°There is more. The Brotherhood captured the first mate some time ago. They probably know where it is.¡± Venet and Isaac share a glance. ¡°Well this complicates matters. We have confirmed that the British have landed in Shreveport minor, here.¡± He points at the map, suspiciously close to Black Harbor. It is likely that the small port could not handle an expeditionary force of this size and decided to go to a bigger port to unload troops and equipment. ¡°There is no doubt that this is the work of Ascendency.¡± ¡°How many?¡± ¡°By our estimates, eight hundred plus field artillery. A hundred horses.¡± It takes all my experience to school my face into displaying no emotion. ¡°I cannot face those numbers plus their mages, even in a war of attrition.¡± ¡°And you will not have to. You will be pleased to know that Mr. Fillmore has been found guilty of abduction and other heinous crimes. He was quietly retired and the shame proved too much. I¡¯m afraid he took his own life.¡± Isaac¡¯s voice is filled with regret, a performance I am personally impressed with. It conflicts beautifully with the air of smugness he affects. Like a cat who has found the bird¡¯s nest. Note to self, the consortium can retire and kill off a governor in one week flat. ¡°Following this unfortunate event, you and Loth have received a full pardon and we can now draw on the strength of the local military. Match their troops with our own. I took the liberty of mobilizing the 4th regiment of line and the Georgia militia. I will sign their marching order as soon as this conversation is over, and our plan set up. Mr. Venet, how do you see us proceeding?¡± ¡°We should link up with the army and force march to Black Harbor. If we take the field first, we can set up defences and force Ascendency into a disadvantageous attack. Time is on our side since they can¡¯t get supplies easily, and if we have to attack them first, their Napoleonic war veterans will chew through our green troops like a hot knife through butter. My men can form a solid core but there is only a hundred of us and the locals won¡¯t trust us.¡± ¡°You are mistaken on the last point, Venet, time is not on our side. This is not a battle for land but for an artefact. The first one to get it wins, no matter if his army is decimated in the process.¡± ¡°With all due respect sir,¡± ¡°With all due respect nothing. If the Herald gets his hands on the box, we lose. I do not have to explain myself to you, I need you to trust me on this.¡± ¡°Very well sir. Our initial plan remains the same then, however we will need to apply constant pressure on their forces so that they cannot send searching parties. This will be... difficult.¡± ¡°I believe I can assist with this. I will have reinforcements from irregulars.¡± I add. Isaac raises a brow in a public display of curiosity. ¡°The Choctaw and the Muskogee will fight by our side.¡± ¡°We don¡¯t need help from savages.¡± ¡°Hssss¡± Silence. Isaac coughs lightly to lift the tension. ¡°I agree with Ariane of the Nirari Mr. Venet, we need all the help we can beg, borrow or steal. The land around Black Harbor is heavily wooded and native fighters will be of tremendous help.¡± Venet agrees reluctantly. His pride is misplaced, for beggars cannot be choosers. ¡°To summarize, Mr. Venet and myself will link up with the army and make our way to the wreck by the most direct route. In the meanwhile, you shall gather Loth of Skoragg and whatever irregulars you can gather and join us. If possible, delay them. They are closer to the wreck than we are. Is this agreeable?¡± I appreciate the courtesy and signify it with a minute nod, which he immediately mirrors. ¡°It is, then I shall be on my way.¡± The village is completely deserted. The smell of carrion spreads from cattle slain in their own fields and left to rot. The houses stand empty of light, broken doors and blood trails the silent witnesses of the horrors of war waged on the defenseless. In the distance, a dog howls dejectedly. ¡°Where are the people?¡± asks Dalton in a low voice. I point at the burnt husk of a church. Thin smoke and trails of ash stream in the wind and carry with them the scent of cooked meat. ¡°Why would they do that?¡± ¡°This is their main foraging party. Perhaps they did not want to leave anyone to relay their presence.¡± ¡°It seems extreme, even by Brotherhood standards.¡± I nod. This is the second depopulated hamlet we have come across while following the trail of the British horse. Well, either them or a hundred strong group of bandits sprouted out of nowhere and decided to devastate the countryside, which is practically impossible. We will find the Ascendency expedition at the end of this path. Dalton is showing signs of exhaustion. He has been working both day and night this past week, only catching sleep here and there. Watching his darkened eyes, the stubble on his cheeks and the strain in his voice causes me to feel unsettled. I am reminded that he is, for all his qualities, just a mortal man. He is vulnerable. A simple mistake may cost him his life and tiredness makes men prone to them. I need to keep him away from danger until he can rest. I wish I could turn him. I would lose a competent Vassal but I would gain a friend, alas it is simply impossible. It took me only one year to become a Courtier when most take around two, and that was already a record. I can¡¯t remember how many times I almost died again during that period. Assuming I keep the same growth, it will take another forty years to become a Master myself and that would make Dalton over sixty-five... He would be an old man, if he even survives that long. Perhaps I should ask Jimena if her clan is looking for a valuable candidate... No, then he would not be one of mine anymore. I will not share. I am at a loss. Loth mentioned it on the day we met, the ephemeral nature of mortal life. He said that being with someone who would not age made a difference. I believed that the loss of his loved ones had taxed his undying mind, and yet the same fear now grips me. ¡°What is wrong Mistress?¡± ¡°You will die before me.¡± Ah, I replied without thinking. Am I being too uncouth? ¡°Yes Mistress, I would hope so!¡± ¡°I cannot change you. I am too young.¡± ¡°I do not want to be changed.¡± ¡°Really? I thought...¡± Dalton shakes his head. ¡°Loth told me more about what the change means. It is irrelevant to you now but not to me. I do not want to become a vampire.¡± ¡°You will grow old and die.¡± ¡°Yes, as did my ancestors before me. Mistress, you are letting the future ruin your present. Cherish the instant and let the memories you create now accompany you throughout the centuries. For example, look at what we found,¡± he adds with a smile. In front of us, the road descends into a wooden valley currently specked with campfires. Rows of orderly tents cover the ground in a sprawling mass. A river cuts the plain in two and separates us from the major parts of their forces. A bridge joins both sides, and upon it, looted wagons loaded with supplies cross at a snail¡¯s pace. ¡°It appears that we found the expedition my dear .¡± At this moment, the bridge explodes in a deafening conflagration, sending horses, carriages and men into the air. Pieces of masonry smash into tents and cooking stations. Fiery embers in red and green ignite supplies and the night soon fills with screams and cries. ¡°And we found Loth as well! How convenient.¡± We just caught the tail of the foraging party and the explosion caught its head. A dozen men are on the ground, unmoving while the rest are struggling to maintain control of their mounts or running around without purpose. The chaos is simply marvelous. I try to capture the moment in my mind so that I can commit it to a canvas at a later point. Just as I think the scene could not possibly be improved, a tall, dark figure emerges from the thickets behind the rear guard. The man stands proudly, clad in a strange looking black armor like a barbarian of old, and with a voice that covers the field, it cries: ¡°UP YERS YA FOOKIN WANKERS!¡± Wonderful. If unnecessarily vulgar. In case the message was not convincing enough, Loth shoulders his monstrosity of a rifle, lines a shot and takes out the head of an officer trying to keep his men together. Quite literally. When he starts running there are already more than thirty men trailing him. ¡°I am sure he has a plan, nevertheless I shall run to the rescue.¡± ¡°I will hide the carriage.¡± I nod, put on my mask and move around the already nervous horses. No need to make them panic. Before me lies a wooded area, then the road Loth disappeared on. Furious riders spur their mounts there. I can see them through the branches. Now that I am paying attention, those are mostly auxiliary troops probably drawn from the local Brotherhood ranks. No red coats, and there is also something feral about them. They spur their mounts with more rage than sense, apparently unworried that the man who caught them in such a deadly trap would attempt to do so again. Imbeciles. I run parallel to them into the forested area with ease born out of constant practice. I decide not to overtake them as being closest to Loth right now is an unhealthy proposition. As expected, the road broadens into an open field ending in a steep hill. The path forward turns back towards the river, and stands empty. As no one is in sight, the herd of men slows down and only now do the least dim-witted members realize their predicament. Their cries of ¡®back!¡¯ is covered by my friend¡¯s deafening roar. ¡°Fire!¡± A line of muskets opens from the slope. The shooters are smartly camouflaged among stones and vegetation, and I am quite surprised to see two dozen of them. Where did he even find those men? Another officer arrives in the clearing just as the Brotherhood soldiers ineffectually exchange shots with their well-entrenched foes. His attempt at sorting the mess is interrupted by another one of Loth¡¯s flawless shots. Despite this, a few combatants still on horse are looking to escape. The first ones are already galloping back. That won¡¯t do at all. Time to show them why you don¡¯t use a horse when expecting to face a vampire. I stand on the dirt path, the head rider sees me and turns to run me down. Cute. Below the surface, the monster stirs. The part of me that always wants to dominate, to tear and to destroy, the part that I always keep in check because it does not care for what I can actually achieve, this part of me, I finally LET LOOSE. PATHETIC WEAKLINGS. IDIOTS. UNWORTHY OF BEING EVEN HUNTED. LEARN OF YOUR PLACE, AS YOU DIE. ¡°ROAAAR!¡± I catch the exact moment when the lead rider¡¯s pupils contract to a pinprick. The small intake of breath as realization strikes. His horse reeling in panic, soon imitated by all the others. Yes. This is my time. For the next minute, I can just... Let go. Claws into chest. Throw body. Red trail. Next prey. Cleave. Shear. Stab. Swipe. Tear and gore and slice and more. Always more. One behind trying to flee into the trees. Slow and cumbersome and pathetically awkward. Jump after. Roots and trunks are not obstacles, just convenient nooks for me to angle myself, position for the next strike. This is my territory. All of it. Crack the spine then return. Scythe my way through their scattered numbers. The last survivors have formed a turtle formation which I circle. I plant myself on their way. They fire their pistols. I fall to dodge and stand back up in a smooth motion. ¡°Who are you to oppose the coming of the new light?¡± screams a puny vermin. WILL NOT WASTE WORDS ON DEAD MEN. I rush forward, slide under their blades. No runes in this plane will let them match the speed of a Devourer. Crash into them and send men flying. Whirlwind of blood and limbs. The survivors run in every direction, a few steps before I take them apart. The last one raises pleading hands. No. As the corpse shivers on the ground, I take in my surroundings. Bodies and the moans of the dying. The air is heavy with the reek of gunpowder, excrement and their feeble blood. ¡°Hold fire.¡± Loth struts down the slope with absolute confidence. His heavy black armor does not slow him one bit, which would surprise his men if they knew how much it weighs. A bunch of tough fighters slowly emerges from the bushes with no small amount of apprehension. They truly are a motley bunch from all ages and sizes. The only thing they have in common is long beards and dirty cloth that merge in their surroundings. There is even a one-eyed grandpa with an actual monkey on his shoulders. Is this a carnival or a battle?! As I consider the assembly, Loth stops a few steps away from me and slowly, his followers form a half circle behind him. Their guns and blades are pointed at me though seeing the fear in their eyes, they know perfectly well how much good it will do. Nobody says a word. The tension makes them fidget. Beads of sweat drip down their foreheads, and a few of the most desperate ones even found God if their prayers are any indication. After having his fun, Loth¡¯s scowl turns into a merry smile. ¡°Nice showing lass, now where is Mr. Posh and his merry band?¡± I slowly incline my head but I do not answer. Loth wants to play the crowd. So will I. Blood drips from my talons onto the ground. Slowly. Drip, drip. Before the first of his men have heart attacks, I reply. Perhaps it is the moment, or perhaps the darker part of me is still close to the surface, my voice is sultry and dangerous. ¡°I left them behind, did not want to miss the fun.¡± The thugs relax. ¡°Ariane, let me present to you the band of the crow, merriest pack of bloodthirsty privateers this side of the Atlantic.¡± ¡°Pirates? This did not work so well last time.¡± The thugs tense. ¡°Oh don¡¯t ye worry I think they will obey just fine. They don¡¯t want to end like Big Pete.¡± ¡°Big Pete?¡± ¡°Their former leader, the head of Black Harbor city by mandate of Jean Lafitte himself. I mentioned the incoming invasion and he questioned my credibility and my honor. Was quite unpleasant about it as well. We had words.¡± ¡°Let me guess. Some of those were ¡®ah my eyes¡¯.¡± ¡°Quite so.¡± ¡°Good. Then I do not have to elaborate on what I will do to them should they step out of line?¡± ¡°Indeed not.¡± ¡°Excellent.¡± The thugs relax. ¡°I¡¯m a bit Thirsty though, I could use a dessert.¡± The thugs tense. This is fun. Unfortunately, Loth objects to me eating his allies and so I leave to get Dalton. The rest of the night is spent watching over them as they rest, and preparing for the next day. FOR ME. The sarcophagus opens and I jump out like a devil out of its box. ¡°Fire whip!¡± My silver dagger flashes out and the fiery line wraps around it and tries in vain to consume its prey. The blade twists and flashes and breaks the spell. A mage screams in pain in the torched remains of Loth¡¯s tent. My sarcophagus is marred by impacts and shocks and yet it remains inviolate. S?a?ch* Th? N0v?lFir?.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. I grab the mage by the throat. He is wearing the red uniform of the British. Utter panic deforms his features. ¡°Your time is up,¡± I whisper, and bite down. I devour him in moments, but my Thirst is far from sated. I did not feed yesterday, and expended a lot of energy. Loth barrels into the enclosed space. Only when he sees me does he show anything but dread. ¡°Tyr lass, we could use some help. Here, I managed to finish what you asked.¡± He hands me three small spheres with a little needle pointing out. ¡°How do they work?¡± ¡°Blood trigger. Prick yourself and throw. The enchantment should hold for another few hours.¡± I nod and without a word, come out. The tent was raised under the canopy of a great oak at the edge of tilled fields. Bare earth littered with bodies spread all around me, some clad in red, some clad in pirate leather, but most in the undyed cotton I associate with farmers. A few German style houses in the distance hint at the existence of a larger village. In the middle of a scorched circle stand two men in red coat equipped with metallic gloves and belts filled with strange implements. Mages. An infantry squad of around twenty men has formed around them and fires in the distance at shapes hidden behind fences and low walls. Return fire pings uselessly against a transparent barrier, to the pirates¡¯ cries of dismay. A ruddy man with sergeant stripes approaches one of the mages and screams in his ears. ¡°Sir! Remember our orders!¡± ¡°For the last time Crespin, you will stop whining or I will have you demoted! We are on the verge of...¡± ¡°Death.¡± When my voice echoes on the plain, both sides stop firing and the soldiers reform in fearful silence to face me. I smell the tantalizing musk of fear in the air. My, but those past few days have been filled with bloodshed, one battle after the other. I can smell the dried blood on the dress which is starting to show signs of damage. Even my mask is stained by layers of caked red. ¡°She¡¯s bluffing, she can''t stop us. It¡¯s just a legend.¡± says the first mage, a brash young man with a waxed moustache and black hair. Liar, liar, I can hear your little heart pounding away the delectable liquid. You know what you did. The second mage, a portly young man, does not answer. The sergeant licks his lips. His eyes dart left and right like a drowning man looking for salvation. None will come tonight. I am just waiting for them to unload a volley. It will be more convenient to dodge now than when I work on their shield. ¡°They can¡¯t be that powerful. It¡¯s just stories. Look!¡± Without using his gloved hand, he takes out a pistol and fires it. The powder fizzles and the shot fails. Awkward. The sergeant snarls and takes out his own gun. I see the trajectory and do not move an inch when the bullet buzzes angrily by my head, making a few errand strands of hair shiver. They collectively take one step back. Pathetic. TRULY PATHETIC. SUBPAR SPECIMEN. POOR HUNT. I prick my finger and throw the metal sphere into their shield. It sticks to the transparent surface and with a noise of brittle glass, a half-sphere crystallizes. A breath later my silver dagger punches through it. The whole defense shakes and falls apart with the shrill cry of the portly mage. Got you. The other mage¡¯s face shows incredulity as I remove it from his shoulders. Next are the soldiers. Skulls and rib cages are hard, so I stab them, throats are soft, so I swipe them. Arterial blood paints a darker red on the washed-out carmine of their uniforms. They fall where they are or while reloading or while striking. Some fall with their backs to me. Some I kill as they pray to God, some as they call their mothers. It does not matter, they all fall. The sergeant now faces me with the youngest soldier behind him. He points his saber in my direction, but his eyes are filled with manic fear. ¡°Please, he¡¯s just a boy.¡± The one behind him is very young, perhaps as young as Dalton when I picked him. I point at my mask with a bloody talon. ¡°Is this the face of mercy?¡± The veteran¡¯s pleadings turn into a mask of steely resignation. ¡°Come on boy, stand up.¡± The one behind him cries hot tears and yet he still obeys. Courage. WORTHY ONES. THEIR ESSENCE WILL MAKE ME STRONG. I make it quick and feed from the older man only. No time to indulge. When I am done, Loth and my are waiting at a respectful distance. His men are hiding far behind and none will meet my gaze. FITTING. ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°Sorry for the rude wake-up call. Our camp was overrun and we only attacked and took it back at nightfall.¡± Loth is in his black armor, not the steam-powered one. Dalton is wearing a lighter version showing a few impacts. They look rough around the edges and more than a bit tired. ¡°The sarcophagus held.¡± ¡°Naturally,¡± Loth scoffs, ¡°those amateurs could not pierce it in a hundred years.¡± ¡°Hmm¡± My resting place being disturbed makes me feel... Uncomfortable. FIND NEST. TAKE OVER. No, this is not the time to hide. I can do this later. ¡°We are five miles from Black Harbor and we¡¯ve been harassing their column for the whole bloody day. They haven¡¯t been able to reckon or gather much supplies. This was their best effort to take us out in fact, but on the other hand that¡¯s it. We¡¯re spent. If Isaac¡¯s men are not in position by the time Ascendency arrive, we¡¯re done. I can¡¯t fight no more and neither can those lads. Already had to execute two deserters.¡± ¡°Understood, I shall go there myself.¡± ¡°We¡¯re all going. The men need to rest anyway. Tyr, what a mess.¡± I grab my belongings, so my weapons and mask. The rest of it is... Out there somewhere. Like the paintings. It does not feel that important anymore. Loth guides me to a side path. The others, including Dalton, follow us at a distance. In my case it is due to exhaustion, but I am not here to coddle him. As long as he is not in danger he can look after himself. COMPETENT VASSAL. WILL REST WHILE I KILL. ¡°I am going back to the old country after this lass.¡± ¡°Hmmm?¡± Loth looks at me curiously. ¡°How many people have ya killed in the past week?¡± I don¡¯t know. I cannot remember. ¡°Can¡¯t tell hey? That means it¡¯s been going for too long.¡± ¡°You... said you were leaving?¡± ¡°Yes, after this is done. I will not rebuild. I have transferred all my stuff to warehouses on the coast. The Rosenthal will carry them East for me. I¡¯m going home. It is time.¡± ¡°That is... good for you. Is it not?¡± ¡°Aye, it is. How about ye? Any plan?¡± ¡°No and I know what you are trying to do. I¡¯m not going rogue. Stop trying to distract me.¡± ¡°Alright. Oh, look! They made it!¡± We go over the crest of a hill to see where the war for the gate of Beriah will be fought. A natural harbor extends in front of us in all its dark beauty. A village of respectable size is nestled at its end with a few fishing ships moored to its pier. Opposite us, on a rocky promontory, stands a heavily protected stone fort. Only a single open path leads to it, devoid of any cover and on a slope for a good few hundred yards. I see the black maws of a few cannons from where I stand. It would take an army to dislodge its occupants. Or one vampire. A lone flag I do not recognize floats lazily in the night wind. Further inland, tilled fields form an open plain large enough to accommodate the army camping on it. I recognize the American flag in front of some of the tents and a particularly well-ordered enclave that must be Isaac¡¯s mercenaries. The distance between the fort and the army camp gives the impression of our side laying siege. Well at least they¡¯re here. ¡°We should let them know we have arrived and that the Brotherhood is almost here as well.¡± ¡°With a full contingent of mages. Pricks.¡± ¡°Language.¡± ¡°Fuck off.¡± ¡°You do realize you are one of the few people on the planet who can say that and keep their insides on the inside, right?¡± ¡°I would not risk it otherwise.¡± This is fine, I can save all this frustration and put it to good use... Very soon. We leave the pirates behind and take a road leading to the camp. Dalton leaves to stumble to Venet¡¯s tents while we reach the main entrance guarded by two men. The officer¡¯s tent is clearly visible in the distance as the largest one. The first sentries spot us. ¡°Halt! In the name of...¡± I capture their minds and slap them like insects. ¡°Back off.¡± They take an involuntary step back. I have no time for this. I make my way forward with Loth in tow. I can hear his soft chuckle as men fall silent in shock and surprise at our sight. I know he is intimidating in his black armor, and that I am covered in blood. An angry looking old corporal steps up to bar our way. ¡°We¡¯re with Venet.¡± I simply say, and push on the uncertainty he feels. Yes, walking here like I belong and my mannerisms only give credence to my claims. I step inside the tent before he can react. And through a detection circle. Around a table with a large map stand a small assembly. Two men in the blue uniform of the army, and passably annoyed as well, form one group. Venet stands impassable in the middle while a curious trio forms the second one. They are mages, wearing gloves and a coordinated set of green leathers. There is an old man with an extremely long beard and a scholarly air, a strange person who appears to have shaven every inch of his skin and, to my surprise, a young woman with curly auburn hair. As I enter, the soldiers look up with exasperation quickly tempered by apprehension. Venet closes his eyes in anticipation of something bad and the three collectively jump like a bunch of frightened cats. ¡°Shit!¡± ¡°Dammit!¡± Exclaim the two young ones. The old man only tries to discreetly incline his staff in my direction while fighting down an intense panic. That won¡¯t do. ¡°You won¡¯t be able to cast that spell before I shove that staff down your throat.¡± He relents and swallows with difficulty. Clammy sweat covers their brows as they collectively look for a way out of this predicament. Ah, I know how it feels to be at the mercy of a creature renowned for lacking anything of the sort. When it happened to me, I was cheaply bargained into slavery. And them? It will not be needed. I already know why they are here. Mage groups must have conflicting interests, like we do. This cadre of spellcasters is on our side. I return my attention to Venet, but before I can ask anything the ranking officer interrupts us. ¡°Madam, please state the reason of your presence and then leave us. This is a war council.¡± At least he did not tell me that courtesans belong with the camp followers. Progress, I suppose. He is even quite handsome in a sharp kind of way. His uniform is well worn and covers a tall and wiry body. Light brown hairs are gathered in a neat tail reaching his shoulder. Two deep set brown eyes stare at me from the top of an aquiline nose, shining with intelligence and the knowledge that something is wrong. Loth steps by my side and tells a succinct report on the enemy troop composition and position. I do not really pay attention as this is nothing new to me. After his report is done, the officer does not show a single sign of emotion. His assistant, a smaller man with dirty blonde hair and fat jowls takes a discrete step away, anticipating some display of temper. ¡°And who are you? What is this, a menagerie? Venet, if you expect me to believe this POPPYCOCK, you are sorely... Ack!¡± I interrupt the officer by moving in front of him and grabbing both he and his partner¡¯s throat. ¡°I do not have time for this. You will believe us, or do you need a more... Convincing demonstration?¡± I let the two men struggle in vain for a few seconds, not expecting any answer, but I do not pursue. Isaac is coming, preceded by his aura. ¡°Ah, I have been careless.¡± he says as he pushes the fabric aside. The representative of the Consortium is dressed like a gentleman at a hunting event. The contrast with us is rather obvious. ¡°Shit there¡¯s another one?¡± whispers the woman. ¡°Yes Ms. Merritt, there is another one. Please give me a moment with dear colonel Strand here. ¡± We dutifully file out, the mortals only too happy to be away from us. A minute passes and Isaac points his head out again. ¡°Ms. Merritt, Mr Colvert and Langdon, please join me.¡± The trio looks at the tent, then at the camp, then at me, evaluate their chances of escape and wisely decide to head back in. Another minute later, Isaac invites the rest of us. Loth smirks when he sees the thunderstruck faces of the people inside. Colonel Strand looks like he has swallowed a whole lemon, skin included. ¡°Very well, yes, very well. I had not planned to reveal my hand and forgot that you two were going to lack the, ah, patience to try and find me first. Now that the different parties have been... Reminded of what is at stake, we should move forward with our main concern.¡± Blackmail is in season or is it just him? ¡°Even then, I don¡¯t see why we should work with bloodsuckers.¡± blurts the female mage to her companion¡¯s consternation. Isaac gives a minute sign and his eyes flicker towards me, faster that they can perceive. It seems that our roles have been assigned for this play. I am more than happy to act as the iron fist, this time. ¡°Am I to understand that you refuse to contribute?¡± I ask casually. The question hangs in the air for very little time before the older mage elbows his associate. ¡°Uhhhh no, no it¡¯s fine. Not the first time our order works together with mon... I mean with vampires. For the greater good and all that.¡± A vein starts slowly pulsing on the colonel¡¯s temple. ¡°Can we get back to the matter at hand?¡± ¡°Aye and first question is, where is the Barataria representative? The one from the fort.¡± While Strand takes a deep, calming breath, his aide de camp answers in his stead. ¡°He refused to work with us, nor give us access to his fortress. He was quite rude about it too!¡± I raise my eyes in annoyance. Apparently, our cause is not valid enough to garner support. It¡¯s just about the control of a weapon that can turn everyone around it into a murderous lunatic. Nothing too serious¡­ ¡°I¡¯ll be right back.¡± I emerge from the tent with a desire to KILL THEM ALL AND TAKE OVER, no, for a bath. Yes. A warm bath. Calming. With the jasmine soap that is currently ash in Loth¡¯s burned down tent... Arg! Alright Ariane, calm down. We will whip this assortment of idiots in shape and prepare to receive the Brotherhood and everything will be fine. Yes, absolutely fine. I shall head up to the fortress and convince the man in charge of his interest to cooperate through a subtle mix of charm and diplomacy. Yes. Then, I¡¯ll find a tub and peel this blood-soaked dress from my delicate skin. Half an hour later. I strut back into the tent with a man in tow, kicking and screaming. ¡°Nom de Dieu, let me go sorci¨¨re! Diablesse! Aaaaah!¡± I remove my claws from his neck, leaving two bloody imprints behind. ¡°These are the leaders of the army outside your gates. You will give them your full cooperation, or I¡¯ll do to you what I did to your bodyguard. Do we understand each other?¡± ¡°Yes bon sang. Please just leave my soul alone!¡± What? His soul? I don¡¯t even... Nevermind. ¡°Only if you serve us well. If you don¡¯t, I may just strip it from your blackened heart and feed it to a demon. Do not disappoint me.¡± The man nods but as soon as the good colonel recovers enough from his surprise to ask how many soldiers he has at his disposal, all my efforts are undone. ¡°And why should I share this information with a government dog?!¡± The clicks of my claws on the planning table resound in the silence that follows. Once I have his attention, I position one talon perpendicular to the surface and dig it into the table. Slowly. Our newest addition considers the sound of tortured wood for a brief moment. ¡°A bit above seventy fighting men.¡± Now that wasn¡¯t too hard was it? A bit more and I¡¯ll have all of my supposed allies actually trying to stop a madman from playing god with some eldritch artefact, and wouldn¡¯t that be nice? The rest of the meeting is spent coordinating tomorrow¡¯s battle. Isaac is certain that the Herald will look down on our troops and force an attack, and so soldiers are arranged near the fort. It is decided to leave the village uninvolved to avoid unnecessary civilian casualties. The army will be drawn along a line facing towards the Brotherhood expedition, with its right flank anchored at the pirate fortress and the left consisting of Venet¡¯s battle-hardened veterans. The center consists of militia and regulars in two columns with a solid reserve. The leaders use knives planted in the map to show where they will position themselves, which I find quaint. Loth even borrows one of my silver knives to indicate that he will be coordinating artillery strikes from the fort itself. Isaac brought him his cannon and enough ammunition for a bit of fun. With little left to do before dawn, I leave the soldiers behind to recover the sarcophagus, clean and prepare. Just as I depart, Strand¡¯s aide looks regretfully at the forest of blades and the finger-sized hole in his furniture. ¡°My table...¡± Our side knows its first casualty. Chapter 44: Daydreaming Perhaps due to my deep concern, or simply by chance, I find myself at the heart of my mental palace. The Watcher¡¯s tendrils float outside, more animated than usual. The fire in the master bedroom¡¯s hearth brings no comfort.I want to see. I need to see. For the first time, I live the incapacitation that comes with the day as the burden it is. I will spend almost ten hours in slumber, during which my friends and allies will fight, bleed and die, and there is absolutely nothing I can do to change it. I need to see. Show me. Show me! A tendril of purple flashes by the window and I feel a tug. I get out into the main hall and walk down the stairs. Twin reinforced doors open before me. The garden is as strange and beautiful as always, filled with unknown essences and strange rocks. I pace through its hidden alcoves and false paths with a familiarity born out of intimate knowledge. We are in my mind and the place I am going to now, I have never seen before. Curtains of thorny roots part to reveal a small circular pond. Trees curve inward and mask it from the outside. Its placid surface only reflects the eye above, and the black void surrounding it. The reflection is just as strange as the original but not quite as mesmerizing. It is like watching the sun through darkened glass. The blinding glare is tamer, though still as majestic. Show me. The reflection blurs and changes in a kaleidoscope of shapes and colors. I lean closer and the pond swallows me whole. A tall man emerges from the seas, walking leisurely as if the army arrayed against him was of no concern. Dark shapes swim behind as witness to the bloodshed to come. His black hair and beard are plastered against his golden skin and his dark eyes glint with dismissive amusement. An armor the color of the depths emerges from below and enshrouds his powerful form just as the first of his opponents spots him. The last thing they see of his face is the glint of eight cruel fangs before his body is encased in nightmarish plates and monstrous scales. On the shore, a small army has gathered. Two hundred men and women heavily armed with bows, guns and gauntlets. Their colorful robes and armors come from another age, with glowing auras and shiny runes pushing back the darkness of the night. Around them, formations and circles have been dug to stop, defend, and empower. They are ready. ¡°Fire!¡± From the ranks of fighters, a flurry of projectiles erupts. Arrows, bullets, spears and stones. Spells in beautiful shades of blue and gold. They curve across the sky like a charging horde and descend upon the man. He raises a hand. Three concentric circles of red runes form in the air, then he closes his fist. A blade of purple and crimson is born. It smashes through the collective offensive like the tide through a sandcastle. The curse travels back and hits the carefully erected shields. Layers upon layers are burnt through in an effort to stop the onslaught. Men and women fall to their knees with bleeding eyes and screaming voices. Those behind stop their offense to join the defenders. Finally, the hex fizzles. Behind the army, an old man in an elaborate dress raises an arm holding a stylized lock. At his feet, a complex rune formation ignites, mirrored under his dark-armored foe. Unbeknownst to the mage, the tall man points two fingers down and black runes encircle his wrist, a twisted mirror to the spell thrown at him. For the first time, he stops. The circles around him flash silver. At the same time, a woman in a red tunic sends forth a screaming scarlet orb and a couple in grey lamellar armor rush him from the sides. The fire hits, just as the man¡¯s black Claymore cuts through his target¡¯s throat and the woman¡¯s foil stabs his heart. And then the decoy collapses. Eyes turn to the mage in robes, but too late. Already his corpse is held aloft and his blood drained. The man in dark armor throws it aside and extends his arms, wrists together. A construct like a black tree erupts from them. Where its gnarly branches hit, combatants fall with their bodies mummified as if they had been years in the desert. The spells turns red with absorbed life force and is soon changed into a massive scythe. It impacts the red woman¡¯s defenses and scatters them. The man in grey armor surges forward and his foe steps back before countering with a deadly spell. The knight collapses. His companion lunges but her strikes rakes against an obsidian gauntlet. The same gauntlet lashes out and takes her head. The witch in red is interrupted in her next spell. She stares with disbelief at the blade in her gut. With this, resistance collapses. The vampire lord bends down to Devour the mage, and none stand before him I pull out of the vision. Not this. I saw it before, I remember it now. Yes, Master has returned. I don¡¯t care. He is on some island and good riddance, I only miSs hiM so mUch¡­ No! I don¡¯t need him! I don¡¯t need anyone! Show. Me. The. Bloody. Battle! Something strains and snaps but I don¡¯t care and push on. Yes! It is here, around me! IT HURTS! Agh! My head is like in a vice! Why? Why why why. Is it because I pushed this? The ability to see what was going on? Not worth it, not worth it at all, I could have just waited and now I am stuck with this devilish headache! Is this magical hangover? Curses! I push the top of the sarcophagus aside and find myself in Isaac¡¯s secure tent. Dalton is waiting anxiously with a bound man by his side. As soon as he sees me, his face turns horrified. ¡°Mistress? Are you alright?¡± I attempt to rub my eyes, only to find something sticky. Blackish blood sticks to my fingers. It appears I bled from my eyes and ears. Oh joy. I cannot even be dead in peace. ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡± ¡°What happened?¡± ¡°Later. Who is this?¡± Remembering the prisoner by his side, Dalton pulls him up. The captive is a shifty fellow wearing the blue uniform of our allies. One of his eyes is closed by a spectacular bruise and his hands are bound behind his back. His complaints are muffled by a gag, although his eyes move frantically from the sarcophagus. I can guess what is going through his mind. ¡°I knew that they must have infiltrated our ranks, so I kept my eyes open for suspicious behavior. This man was attempting to desert and join the enemy lines when I caught him. Oh, by the way, we won!¡± ¡°I know.¡± ¡°You do!?¡± I wave a hand dismissively. There is no time to explain. ¡°Did you bring him to be interrogated?¡± ¡°Yes, and I believe Isaac wants your help with something. He woke up an hour ago. You may not have the time to hunt.¡± With those words, my future breakfast panics in earnest. I hastily grab him before he can soil himself as it would sour the air, and bite. A quick interrogation reveals that he himself knows nothing. He was only promised a large reward if he could report on our force and their location. Once I am done, Dalton signals outside and the body is carried out by bored guards. I follow Dalton outside to Venet¡¯s command tent and to my surprise, find the three mages standing outside. Venet himself is by their side. ¡°I beg you wait a while, miss Ariane. My employer is¡­ Having a meal.¡± We had a few spies then. I turn my attention to the trio, with no small amount of curiosity. The older man stands with his eyes closed and it takes but a few seconds to realize that he is, in fact, fast asleep. The woman who I remember is called Merritt looks confrontational, but her companion is fidgeting with curiosity. His complete lack of any sort of hair gives him the appearance of a circus freak and his large eyes do not help. I might as well get acquainted with my allies. I have never talked to mages except to inform them how they will die. ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°Are you a corpse?¡± We are off to a great start. ¡°I ask because of humor. See, a corpse is filled with vile humor and is a carrier of diseases so if you bite someone as a corpse you will make them sick but at the same time your blood slave looks healthy so it¡¯s probably not that anyway I was just curious please don¡¯t eat me.¡± He talks a lot about disease for someone afflicted with verbal diarrhea. ¡°Dalton is not my slave, he is a Vassal. And I am not a corpse. I do not decay, nor will I ever.¡± ¡°What if you die again?¡± Seriously? ¡°We turn into ash.¡± The man looks shocked. ¡°What about mosquitoes? Lice?¡± ¡°We are magical creatures you cretin, we do not have diseases or parasites of any kind.¡± ¡°Even in your hair?¡± ¡°Yes even in our hair. Are all spell casters maniacs or are you just an extreme case?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t mind Colvert, he is obsessed with cleanliness.¡± ¡°is this why he looks like a walking alchemical accident?¡± She nods. ¡°He cleans his hands seventeen times per day.¡± ¡°You are sharing critical information with the enemy!¡± her companion hisses. The witch and I share a kindred moment between relatively sane people. ¡°I¡¯m Merritt by the way.¡± ¡°Ariane.¡± She scoffs and shakes her head in disbelief. ¡°I never thought I would one day speak with a legendary vampire. You are a thing of myth. It is said that to meet one is to meet death, and the cities you have taken over are black zones where to stay after dusk is to stay forever. And now I am talking to one.¡± ¡°It is a rare opportunity for me also. I only ever shared but few words with mages.¡± ¡°Truly?¡± ¡°Yes, and they were along the line of ¡®fire whip!¡¯ and ¡®please no¡¯.¡± Merritt laughs lightly. ¡°Hah! Yeah, I suppose. Say, one girl to another. How do you get so many men to listen to you? Those old codgers always go about me learning my place and all.¡± ¡°It is mostly Isaac¡¯s influence. We know each other from before, his trust in me gives me a measure of legitimacy.¡± ¡°So it¡¯s because of a man huh.¡± She looks dejected. ¡°Find someone reliable to be on your side and you will not have to fight for recognition every step of the way, he will do it for you.¡± ¡°How could I find such treasure.¡± ¡°Not with your personality, that¡¯s for sure.¡± interjects Dalton. I knew he had not forgotten the blood slave comment. The woman¡¯s face turns ugly and before our attempt at diplomacy is irredeemably damaged, I try to comfort her. ¡°A foe looking down on you acts carelessly, and the air of surprise they affect as they die is that much sweeter.¡± This excellent observation on the nature of the universe is welcome with stunned silence. What!? It¡¯s really solid advice! Born from personal experience! ¡°Ahem. Thank you for those kind words, I guess?¡± ¡°Hold on, I have questions as well. Are you all part of a mage organization?¡± Both mages exchange glances. The bald one only shrugs. ¡°Guess it does not hurt us to tell you. We¡¯re with Sanctuary, it¡¯s more like a vague alliance than a real thing. Not like those Houses back in Europe. Langdon is our mentor. He¡¯s in charge when he is awake, so, not that often.¡± Loth told me what little he knew about the mage population. They are the most numerous of the world¡¯s strange denizens, with easily a hundred thousand in the known world. Many only have a smidgen of power, but their trained soldiery is numerous and dangerous. There is a constellation of groups, lodges, secret societies, families, cartels and others with as many objectives and agendas as there are political affiliations. In a sense, they are the true representation of humanity. Insane cultists fight against devoted Christians who think their powers are a gift of God, while devious mastermind and police orders fight for control of local government. Loth¡¯s information is sparse, however, and I assume that there are some groups at the top. ¡°And you oppose the Brotherhood of the New Light?¡± ¡°Well yeah the guys in charge decided that having a power-hungry lunatic in possession of an artifact capable of mass murder is a bad idea. Go figure.¡± Common sense! I can scarcely believe my ears, surely I am mistaken? ¡°That is sensible.¡± ¡°It is, isn¡¯t it? Oh, it looks like it¡¯s our turn.¡± Venet waves at us from the side of the tent and we join in, the sleepy mage being dragged in by his associates. A more detailed map of the area is lain on a table at its center. The ink is still wet. ¡°Good evening! Good evening¡­ Yes. I apologize in advance if I seem abrupt, but time is short. As you know we have managed to repel Ascendency¡¯s main assault. I shall leave the management of the battlefield to our dear Colonel and focus on what is truly at stake. And by this I mean the key of Beriah. Our good Venet as well as sir Loth have noticed movements around Black Harbor Village as well as the beach, and so I am quite certain that the hunt for the relic is already under way. This is, of course, completely unacceptable. We rule the night, as they will soon remember. Ariane, I am counting on you, and you mages, please support her as best you can. The enemy has many spellcasters and we have not seen them today. Something is bound to happen.¡± Our mortal allies take the end of the sentence as a dismissal and exit with record speed. I stay. asks my host. Isaac nods, and adds as an afterthought: We both smile and I leave. I clean my claws with a torn piece of greyish uniform. There was only one group. Eight men with their suicidal runes, no mages. Strange. The three spell casters walk up to me and stop as they take in the devastation around. I can taste their fear in the air, and in their heartbeats, yet they remain silent. ¡°Unless they are truly out of ideas, this is just an attempt to waste my time.¡± S?a??h th? N?v?lFir?(.)n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. The old man will not meet my eyes. He licks his lips nervously before replying. ¡°Yes, but for what?¡± As soon as the words come out of his mouth, a series of whistling motes emerge from the Ascendancy camp, far to the North, before smashing into the ground. An instant later the night turns red. ¡°For this. Dammit. Back, back!¡± Chapter 45: Embracing Modernity I sprint up the cliff to the best artillery expert we have. Behind me, fiery flowers bloom in the midst of our encampments, forcing the remaining men away from their cots and their weapons. Already, a layer of cloying black smoke covers the stars. White tents and piles of supplies are set ablaze by the fire and no one is foolish enough to try and stop it. The air is thick with soot and the unsettling aroma of cooking meat.I left the mages and Dalton behind a ridge at the border of the village and I believe they are safe, for now. The rest of our troops, not so much. I find Loth in his steam armor at the gate of the fortress. From afar he looks like a machine, no, a golem of unstoppable power. The glowing runes on his chest reflect those I saw on his skin on the fateful day he confronted his family. His visor clicks twice. ¡°Hey lass. Funny thing, aye.¡± ¡°We are being bombarded!¡± ¡°I noticed.¡± ¡°Are those mortars? How do I destroy them?¡± ¡°Those ain¡¯t mortars lass, those are artillery spells.¡± ¡°What?!¡± ¡°Read about those. Incredibly rare. Takes a crew of three spellcasters working together to operate one and it can get pretty draining.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t understand. Why did they not use those today!?¡± Isaac appears from behind us, announcing his arrival with his disciplined aura. ¡°A good question Ariane, one we can answer later. Did you find those teams?¡± ¡°There was only one on this side of the shore. They¡¯re dead.¡± ¡°Yes, yes indeed, likely a distraction for this setup. Now the mages are quite likely firmly entrenched and waiting on you, my dear.¡± ¡°I will go.¡± ¡°We should¡­ What? Are you certain?¡± ¡°Yes. They have always relied on the same strategy. Mortals are not the only one who can adapt. Loth?¡± ¡°I have them and I¡¯m coming too. I have a score to settle.¡± ¡°I do not believe¡­¡± says Isaac. ¡°They burnt my fucking house.¡± The flames reflect ominously on Loth¡¯s polished plates. The fact that he is almost half again my size makes him intimidating. I like that. ¡°Alright, I¡¯ll get the mages and Dalton and then we¡¯re going.¡± ¡°Very well. We will reform the lines and advance immediately. Oh, and Ariane, do be careful.¡± With a quick nod, we descend into the plain and pick up the rest of our group on the way. Most of the magical shells are landing on what is left of the camp behind us, and so for a while, we will be relatively safe. This will change soon, however, as drums and trumpets sound the muster of the troops. It appears that our foe will attempt an attack. ¡°I thought nobody fought during the night,¡± I remark as we make our way on the remains of today¡¯s battlefield, weaving between corpses and discarded equipment. ¡°Look behind,¡± answers Loth. I do. Numerous fires dot the landscape. With the bodies around, we stepped into a hellscape that would equal a Bosch painting, were it not for the lack of demons. ¡°So?¡± ¡°Ah, I forgot sorry. Visibility is perfect here. Those pricks can just show up at the edge of the camp and shoot down anyone trying to retrieve their gear while they stay under the cover of the dark. It¡¯s perfect for them.¡± And here is why they patiently waited until night, so that our men would be unarmed and asleep. Devious. I stop the men behind the remains of a dead horse to eliminate a sentry. With the light of the inferno at our back, my companions will appear as black silhouettes and I cannot risk it. Finally, our little group finds relative safety under the cover of trees. Loth and I guide the rest through thickets and our attempts at discretion appear doomed when it becomes obvious that our spellcasting allies are¡­ Not the athletic type. They trudge through the undergrowth like gravid longhorns. Their breath is like a forge¡¯s bellows. I admit that I have an unfair advantage but Dalton trails me without too much difficulty while even Merritt is red and sweaty. By contrast, Loth is eerily quiet even in his massive suit. They are starting to look tasty. Hmm. No Ari, remember, no eating our allies. They haven¡¯t even proved their usefulness yet. When we reach the other side of the small forest, we get our first view of the enemy camp and its occupants. Soldiers are joining formations in front of their tents, harried by angry officers. I cannot fail to notice the tense faces, the bandages, the hungry looks. These men are not the heart of Ascendancy, they are the normal soldiers brought on a senseless adventure by corrupt men. They probably wonder why they are here at all, questioning the wisdom of their leadership. I smell weakness. I smell despair and the cohesion fraying at the edge. They are ripe for the slaughter, but it will not come by my hand. My prey is another, one who I have been looking forward to face for a long time. ¡°Are we¡­ There yet?¡± wheezes the bald mage. Perhaps if he spent less time worrying about hygiene and more time moving his hairless self around, he would not look like the rear end of a baboon right now. ¡°No. Follow.¡± Useless. We trail along the edge of the clearing. Fortunately, most sentries are distracted by the preparations behind them and we make good time without being spotted. We soon arrive at the artillery emplacement by following the smoke trails to their origin. I have assisted Loth countless times and even I am impressed by their set-up. The battery is situated at the top of a small hill, in the centre of a vast circle of naked ground. No trees will provide covers for anyone approaching, on any side. The installation itself is heavily fortified with dug trenches where men are lying in wait. Smaller canons are pointed outward, their servants ready to fire on any incoming enemies. Protective circles and the tantalizing aura of wizards lay everywhere. At the highest points, I can see groups of mages working around stubby artillery pieces that look as much as mortars as pieces of art. Their brassy surfaces shine lightly in the darkness with the smouldering red of burning embers, and the surfaces of the barrels are carefully engraved with rows upon rows of vicious runes. ¡°Skargard guns. Dvergur work.¡± adds Loth helpfully. ¡°They look expensive.¡± ¡°They are. You are looking at enough gold to equip a ship of the line here.¡± I have no idea how much a ship of the line would even cost, nor do I care. It is enough to realize that Ascendency went all in on this operation. ¡°We should circle around.¡± Both Loth and Dalton look worried. There is no doubt in my mind that this place is fortified in every direction and those look mighty indeed. I should be able to survive a direct approach. Loth may also, though probably not unharmed. The mortals will be turned to mincemeat. They will have to support us from afar, if at all. Silently enough we turn around until we are situated almost behind them. The pirate fortress is directly in front of us, visible as a dark patch above the treeline, while to our left, the lights of the Ascendency camp shine fiercely. Far away and to the front, fires dot the night and with the air distorted by the heated air, it sometimes looks like a whole city has been set ablaze. Our target lays directly in front of us, so close I could shoot the head off their soldiers. Even being in their back, I can still see at least one field gun aimed backwards and we still have a large force of British behind us. There is also a curious magical construct at the edge of the field, something that pulsates softly like a beacon. Its touch is light and familiar, and I realize that it is attuned to me, and to me only. Only one man could achieve such a thing, and only one man would be brazen enough to take such a risk. Finally. The first shield breaker orb hits the barrier protecting the twelve-pounder aimed outward, a courtesy for Loth and Dalton. The lead gunner barely has the time to widen his eyes in surprise before I remove his head. The second orb hits the circle around one of the mortars and the mage powering the defences screams in pain as I kill her two companions. S?a?ch* Th? ?ov?l?ir?.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. Then the trap snaps closed around me. The broken circle reactivates and turns silver. All of the other casters interrupt their firing with swear words and add their might to my prison. Hidden in the centre of the hill, men with swords and silvery shields surge forward, forming around the one they are tasked to protect. A very familiar redhead in a green dress walks towards me with majesty in her steps and a sneer on her face. ¡°So kind of you to join us, vampire.¡± ¡°Belinda.¡± ¡°You remember my name. I hope you do not expect me to be impressed, after all, your kind has always been better at reminiscing rather than coming up with new ideas.¡± The assembled mages look at me with a mixture of fear and relief. A motley bunch of different ages both male and female, they are brought together by their expensive-looking red dresses, seemingly made out of some kind of dyed leather. They gawk like children seeing a wolf behind bars. They know it can kill, just as they know that it will never shatter the cage. Despite the shimmering runes around me, the most primitive part of their brains is still pushing them to run. They should have taken the chance when they had it. This time, I am wearing all my gear except my mask, because I am not here to intimidate but to captivate. The men and women arrayed against me ogle my face, my nose, my lips, expecting it to be ripped open to expose the monster beneath, perhaps. It will not happen. Yes, the blonde girl before you is the cause of the slaughter at your feet. See the bodies. See my dagger and claws still coated in her blood. It really is me, no matter how hard it is to reconcile with your expectations. Belinda steps a few feet away from the containment as a statement of power, and of trust in herself and her abilities. I mirror her and we stand only a few feet away. She takes her time to inspect me while I drink in her presence. She is a mature beauty with large inquisitive eyes and an aristocratic face with barely a hint of crow¡¯s feet. Instead of detracting from her charm, it only shows that her confidence is born from experience rather than birth, an impression reinforced by her impeccable posture. The difference with Merritt is striking, I notice in passing. The poor girl looks like an overgrown street urchin by contrast. When she is done with her own inspection, our eyes meet and she flinches but holds. She has an amulet protecting her mind, I can tell, and I do not even try to Charm her through the barrier. There is no need. ¡°You look meeker than I expected.¡± Ten years ago or if she had caught me off-guard, I may have lost my composure. Instead, I slowly turn to the side and walk slowly along the edge of my prison. Then I bend down and her smile falters when I pull up the moaning form of the one surviving mage, the one in charge of the shield. ¡°Why don¡¯t you tell me what happens next while I enjoy this hors d¡¯oeuvre?¡± She opens and closes her mouth like a beached fish as I casually pull aside the leather coat of the woman I hold, denuding her shoulder. I recognize the glyphs around me. They are quite resilient and in return, quite inflexible as well. It would be nigh impossible to break the trap from within and at the same time, they cannot reach me. Only sound and light may pass, everything else would be stopped, even the air. That means that as long as this prison stays inviolate, so will I. The girl I Devour is short and a bit pudgy, with rosy cheeks and a bob haircut. I cannot risk the loss of focus that comes with a normal feeding but I do drag and enjoy the process for as long as I can. This allows me to maintain eye contact with dearest Belinda and enjoy the impotent rage boiling under the frozen mask she has donned. She and her companions deprived me of a potential Vassal. It is only fair that I share the distress they imposed so callously. When I am done, she still hasn¡¯t spoken so I decide to needle her a bit. It is obvious from her inner struggle that she cared about her sister in craft. ¡°Palatable, if a bit rustic.¡± I say as I drop the corpse unceremoniously. Aaaah, delicious, delicious anger. Her voice shakes with fury and sorrow. Magnificent. And it was so easy as well! ¡°You¡­ Will stay here until dawn while we defeat your allies, and when it comes, I will enjoy your screams of pain while the purifying sun turns your unholy flesh to cinders.¡± ¡°My, are we getting a bit emotional perhaps?¡± ¡°You are too full of yourself, vampire!¡± she spits the term as if it were an insult. ¡°You parasites are things of the past. This is the Age of Enlightenment! You will be left behind with the rotten temples and the insane superstitions. We will cleanse this world of all the freaks and curses our own ancestors unleashed upon us. Even this predictable resistance of yours is just the swan song of a dying era. You just went after us again and again in exactly the same way and your insane strength only carried you so far. You fought like a mad beast until you fell into our trap and now, I will put you down like one.¡± While she was talking, three suspicious hooting sounds came from around the hill. I need all eyes fixed upon me so I lean down against my dearly departed breakfast and unlatch her gauntlet, which I slowly fasten around my own wrist. My own armour leaves the talons free and this would be quite painful. ¡°You! You are bluffing! You are not a mage!¡± They instinctively all take a step back, which I find amusing considering that this formation around me would hold a mage with even more ease than it holds me. ¡°Oh no, this is not for spellcasting. This is for isolation.¡± I take the last of the three orbs Loth managed to create this evening and push it against the shield. Now this is not an actual spell, it is a construct in the same way that the circle around me is a construct. When the two clash, angry bolts of blue weave and dance like furious snakes. Belinda screams and holds her own glove as we push each other, but the barrier is meant to contain and the breacher is meant to pierce it. It is like pushing a needle away with one¡¯s bare hand. It also hurts me atrociously. I do my best to keep the ball in place, but it is so very painful I cannot even feel the tip of my fingers. I grit my teeth in silence. Only cold resolve and a healthy dose of pride prevent me from dropping the abominable thing where it stands. Hurts. Dammit! Allied mages form around Belinda, adding their strengths to her. The breacher glows red in my hand and I let it go before the bloody thing turns my fingertips into charcoals. It. Hurts. I am clamping my jaw so that I do not scream. It takes a good two seconds before Belinda realizes that the cry of pain she hears around her are not my work. One moment, two rings of men in compact formation devote their entire attention to the monster in their midst, next the hill turns into a giant melee as Muskogee in garish colours and Choctaw warriors in leather crash into them with unbridled fury. Ululating war cries blare through the night in a glorious cacophony, supported by insane war drums. Fire arrows land on unarmored chests. Magical white trails from our own team hit shields with keening sounds as tomahawks, sabres and bayonets hack into flesh with desperate abandon. But we are not facing weaklings. Belinda reacts immediately. She steps back under the cover of two of her comrades and though it is weakened, the barrier holds. Even if the middle of such chaos, she knows that letting me go is the worst thing that can happen. That is why she doesn¡¯t flinch when a blue disrupting spell hits her own, though her frown only grows. When a massive cross-bolt obliterates the chest of the man next to her, she still doesn¡¯t relent. I am impressed though it is, of course, all in vain. From behind, I hear a stomping sound that increases in intensity with each passing second. The heavy impact is such that even the in the deafening din of battle, some heads turn in wonder. Then the sounds stop. And coming from above, a roaring steel titan descends two glowing gauntlets on my prison. The barrier does not break, it explodes. Belinda is propelled backward, as well as quite a few combatants from both sides. I raise my hands in a protective gesture until the shockwave disperses. When I raise them up I meet Loth¡¯s goofy smile. ¡°Damn lass it¡¯s been too long! YAAAAAA!¡± And then he¡¯s gone. Unfortunately, a swarthy mage managed to drag Belinda behind a circle at the centre of the hill, the last refuge I presume, in case things go wrong. Those who can, join it and soon a green shield pushes back arrows and thrown axes. I, however, am running in the other direction. A thing of the past I am? Left behind? I run into my Vassal who looks a tad worried and I realize I am laughing maniacally. ¡°Mistress?¡± Still laughing I find what I was looking for and get to work. Inside the last stand shield, two mortar pairs form hands while the shield holders are pushed back by native warriors. They raise their arms in unison. ¡°Inferno!¡± Choctaws and Muscogees cringe in terror from the incoming wall of flame, however the blistering heat never reaches them. The war drums reach a crescendo and jade coloured tortoise scale appear around the shield, stopping the blast instantly. As the enemy mages stare in surprised horror, their defences are pummeled by a bloodthirsty Dvergur warlord and long-range shield disrupters from our own team of mages. I almost hope it will take long enough as I am almost done. Predictable and always using the same tactics huh? I stop mere feet away from the battle line. The warriors in front of me widen their eyes and flee to the side as they see what stands behind them. Belinda was looking around the battlefield for me. Our eyes cross and her pretty mouth form an ¡®o¡¯ of surprise. It mirrors the gaping maw of the captured twelve-pounder facing her beautifully. ¡°EMBRACE MODERNITY YOU HUSSY!¡± I ignite the prime charge. The gun vomits its payload in a sonorous deflagration. The grapeshot breaks the defences like stones through a flimsy window. I see Belinda fall and the native warriors surging ahead, brushing aside all opposition. ¡°Oof!¡± I was so incensed I forgot the recoil and I¡¯m actually pushed back by the moving wheel and slapped to the side. Oooow my poor breast. Can¡¯t even massage it properly through the armour. Ow! Two heavy boots land before me and Dalton helps me to my feet. He watches me rub myself where it hurts. ¡°Hum. Perhaps the timing is ill-chosen, Mistress?¡± I hiss and move forward. Loth is a bad influence on him. Now is not the time though. I would like to enjoy the fruits of my labour. I find the red-haired witch on the ground. From the waist up, she is her gorgeous self. From the waist down, I would say crushed raspberry. I kneel by her side and pull her head down more comfortably. Her panicked eyes search for mine, as I knew they would, eventually. ¡°We will never be in the past, because we are, and will always be, you.¡± I bite down. Delicious. Extraordinary. With the screams of the dying in the background, victory at last. Vengeance. Challenge answered and insults paid back in full. I am reminded of the first time I tasted a werewolf, back in the Lancaster arena. Ah, but what a wondrous fragrance, and this power. Wonderful. Nashoba joins us looking a bit tired. At the front, Loth is walking down back toward the crackles and pops we hear in the distance. Ah yes the night is not done, is it? I jump over the line of warriors, eliciting some shouts. To my side, Loth¡¯s face is just a bloody rictus and his eyes glint madly with red reflections. We do not need to share words. Led by their war leaders, the natives walk down the slope leading to the battlefield where red and blue troops are fighting for supremacy. We do not go through the forest this time, but directly to them, from behind. With Loth at the forefront, the walk turns into a trot. We are carried on the wings of victory. We tread on the corpses of the vanquished on our way here and the next to know death are in front, just around the bend. I lose myself in the breath and heartbeats of men running by my side flush with bloodlust, the maddened smiles and the predatory postures. Fresh blood and sweats. Maniacal laughs. A stolen memory of the smell of heated sand caresses my nose. I can almost feel the desert wind on my skin, dry, hot, and clean. The ¡°Hold rank lads, those are just men! Just normal men!¡± I blink. All around me, the ordered world of what is right collapses into the chaos that battle truly is. I realize I am holding a captain¡¯s severed head, still covered with a hat. Hum. I appear to have been slightly carried away. Ascendency¡¯s borrowed infantry has disintegrated. Their rout is complete and even the officers are running for their lives. Soldiers drop their weapons to run faster, with the native warriors on their trails. Farther away, the line is retreating somewhat coherently under the onslaught of Strand¡¯s regulars. A cursory glance does not reveal the Herald and his tower mage though they should have been here, somewhere. I am concerned, deeply concerned by what just happened. Those memories came from Master, I am sure of it. I knew my bloodline would affect how I think, not what I remember. Is this the result of our bond and will it disappear once I gain my full independence or is it fully a part of me now? My worries last but for a second before the cold part of my mind covers it, settles it. It does not change anything. It will remain a part of me for the foreseeable future and no one can change that. And what a part it was. Human Ariane could have had children and a suntan but I got to charge at the head of a host of bloodthirsty warriors like Boudicca or the legendary Amazons, so there. I was able to let go, and it was¡­ Glorious. Now there are still two persons I need to find: the Herald and his bodyguard. They were nowhere to be found. I did not even see their tent in the British camp now abandoned. I returned to our own to find men in the middle of raucous celebrations. Avoiding the crowd, I walk to Venet¡¯s side of the camp where order and discipline are always maintained and soon reach the command tent. Isaac and his second are present, and so are Nashoba, the mages, Dalton and Loth, the last one passably drunk. They look preoccupied except Loth who just looks plastered. ¡°Ah, there you are. Any news?¡± says Isaac, at the head of the table. ¡°I could not find the Herald.¡± ¡°Ah, you were gone looking for him I see. A thoughtful decision. I will let Nashoba speak on this matter.¡± The shaman looks exhausted and more than a little annoyed. He scolds me as if I were his little sister. ¡°Wait, I thought we broke their backs?¡± I continue in English. ¡°We did, Milady. We killed or captured almost four hundred men and that is more than half of their effective strength. They are neutralized as a land-based fighting force,¡± answers Venet, ¡°but they have ships. They might decide to burn Black Harbor to the ground, then send search parties after all is smoke and ruin if they so desire.¡± I turn to Loth in surprise. I thought he was an effective deterrent? ¡°Aye don¡¯t look at me lass, I¡¯m just one man and they got a lot of ships. They have three more frigates and if they play it carefully, there isn¡¯t much I can do.¡± ¡°Do you believe this is their plan? And how do you know how many ships they have at their disposal?¡± ¡°An attack by the sea is the most likely Milady. As for the frigates themselves, we pursued the survivors to a creek two miles up North. They were loaded aboard transports and covering fire from three of their warships prevented us from overrunning their position. I suspect that the Herald is already on board and that it is via this cove that they were able to deploy the elite mage squad you took down tonight without us scouting them beforehand.¡± ¡°I see. I would be of little use in an artillery duel,¡± I note. Venet shakes his head. ¡°Not as such, though there is still much we can do with your help Milady. We will relocate all our guns towards the sea before dawn. I understand that you already participated in a night boarding action?¡± I wince. ¡°And we will count again on...¡± Venet is interrupted by one of his men lifting the flap of the tent with visible excitement. ¡°Sir, I think you¡¯ll want to see this.¡± We all exit to see a British ship moored in the harbour and a rowing boat heading to the pier, well lit by lanterns. At its head, a man holds a white flag. ¡°Sooooooo do you mind if I ashk you a questshion?¡± I am currently cleaning every part of my armoured gown, a task that is normally a moment of calm and contemplation. ¡°What is it, Merritt?¡± ¡°Do you have to go to the loo?¡± Ah. So that is it. I now understand why we were sent these three specifically. The head mage wisely chose casters of respectable magical capabilities so he could not be accused of sabotaging the operation. At the same time, he used this opportunity to get rid of the most mentally inept and those whose habits placed them firmly at the bottom of the barrel, socially. I had noticed that Langdon is awake perhaps two hours while I am active, and his companion has been scrubbing himself raw in a bathtub for the past hour and a half. I was expecting Merritt to be at the losing side of a political play but no, oh no, she is just a raging imbecile. I delicately place my brush on the small workshop in front of me, drop the now clean plate next to the other and turn towards her. I am contemplating whether or not I should plant a massive ¡®DO NOT DISTURB¡¯ sign at its entrance with the witch¡¯s head firmly shoved on top it. That would be a good deterrent. She still isn¡¯t moving. I turn towards her in what I hope to be a firm rebuttal. ¡°I beg your pardon?¡± ¡°You know, you drink blood right?¡± ¡°...¡± ¡°So it¡¯z gotta go somewhere right? It¡¯s the only conclushion.¡± ¡°You know that conservation of mass and energy does not apply to magic, right?¡± ¡°But I tried to find a spell that stops peeing for years! How can you just do it naturally?!¡± Gah! ¡°Shouldn¡¯t you be, I don¡¯t know, somewhere else? Don¡¯t you want to unwind a bit? Dalton doesn¡¯t want company? Loth?¡± Here, two birdbrains with one stone. ¡°Dalton is helping Venet¡¯s men so I couldn¡¯t ashk... And Loth left with the laundry girls,¡± her eyes widen in awe, ¡°all three of them!¡± Battle always gets his blood pumping. ¡°And you came to me for...¡± ¡°Yasss! A lady moment! With two ladies!¡± ¡°Where is your friend then?¡± The insult does not even register. Her face scrunches in concentration until a deep realization comes upon her taxed mind. ¡°I need to pee!¡± ¡°Wonderful. Don¡¯t let the flap hit you on your way out.¡± I cannot really stay irate for any length of time. Merritt might be a strange one, but she is a potential source of knowledge on the mage factions of the new continent and someone I may be able to add to my circle, one way or another. Although I may not have accepted Isaac¡¯s proposal officially, I obviously need to. My presence has been noticed by dozens of people and the repercussions of a significant land battle will be felt for months to come. I lost my haven, and I will be hunted down unless I manage to find shelter and there is no better shelter than the ancient and respectable house of the Rosenthal. I am packing my cleaning oil and the last of my throwing daggers when Dalton knocks on one of the stone posts to announce his arrival although we both know I do not need it. Ah, manners. ¡°Come in.¡± My Vassal looks thoroughly exhausted but otherwise healthy. ¡°You should rest.¡± ¡°I will. Just one thing. Colonel Strand contacted us, he says the redcoats want to discuss terms tomorrow evening.¡± ¡°Evening?¡± Dalton nods. His large amber eyes twinkle in the candlelight. ¡°They know who defeated them.¡± ¡°I would expect them to avoid us.¡± ¡°You and Isaac will be the ones to decide anyway, in the end.¡± Will we? Will I? I am only here to make sure the key of Beriah stays contained. Isaac involves me in the decision-making process because I am our greatest weapon against their elite mages. Or does he? I should try to make a demand on occasion. I have refrained so far because he and Venet have things well in hand. Now though, I am curious. How important am I? ¡°I will seek him. Now go to sleep.¡± ¡°Right away.¡± As for me, I will seek Isaac. We need to align before tomorrow. Chapter 46: The Eternal Game Instead of asking me to wait, Venet¡¯s two sentries bow smartly and lift the flap of the command tent. I find Isaac sitting at a desk busy making notes, and he stands up as soon as I enter.¡°Hrm.¡± Huh, I came here to make sure we got the Brotherhood off the old continent and to see how important I was, I did not expect to get such an immediate answer. He frowns with a hint of worry. He laughs. Isaac leans forward as if he were about to deliver a juicy piece of gossip. For the next hours, Isaac briefs then drills me on negotiation practices and what terms are acceptable. One thing is certain, Ascendency is leaving this land. I step in Black Harbor village proper for the first time. Both armies mostly left the place alone and the inhabitants had been hiding. Now that rumours of peace abound, they leave their homes to watch us pass with curiosity. This is not much different from Clarkson cove. The houses are made of wood and purely functional. The only adornments are glass trinkets or small decorations that hang about to give some personality to the otherwise dreary place. The inhabitants themselves have sullen tanned faces and mostly plain clothes. Colours are rare. So are young men. I assume that most of them are sailors in one capacity or another and that they left their children, sisters and parents at home. The assembled crowd is strangely silent. The presence of men in uniform is the likely cause for their nervosity. At least nobody is throwing stones. The delegation consists of Strand and a squad of ten men, Venet and two guards, Langdon and Colvert, a war chief named Okili for the native tribes, Dalton and myself. We each represent one of the factions on our side, with the two mages here as an additional safety. s?a??h th? N???lFire.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. Loth stayed behind to work with the cannons while Merritt was tasked to protect Isaac¡¯s camp against possible infiltrators. She complained about it vocally too. One of Strand¡¯s men casts a fearful glance backwards. It appears that rumours have started to spread. Our eyes meet and he shudders, turns around and crosses himself. His companion snorts with disdain, so my nature is not yet widely recognized. We soon arrive at the village¡¯s rickety piers. The Ascendency delegation have chosen to mirror us, with a squad of soldiers in front and the Herald and his tower mage behind. The officer in charge is a short man in a powdered wig harbouring an air of anger and arrogance. He takes a deep breath before ordering his group forward. The Herald is a surprise for me. He does not look furious as I expected but instead, sorrowful. His brown eyes are darkened by exhaustion though he wears a perfectly tailored ensemble in dark green that could be worn at the court of Queen Elizabeth. He shows me the thinnest smile, the kind that comes with grace in defeat. ¡°You came, vampire.¡± Ingram turns to his charge in outrage. It appears that Ascendency leaders are at odds, which isn¡¯t surprising when one considers the result of their campaign. ¡°You will let me have this conversation, then I will give you free rein to conduct the negotiations as you please.¡± retorts the man calmly The Herald takes the time to study me. My own companions are obviously annoyed though they wisely decide to remain quiet. ¡°Such a pretty mask for such a dangerous thing. One would never think¡­ And yet¡­¡± ¡°Have you come here to pontificate?¡± ¡°No, I wanted to say goodbye. Tell me, what of Belinda?¡± ¡°She died well.¡± I am surprised that he shows so much regret at those words. I always assumed that those two were associates, but it appears that their relationship went deeper. ¡°I see.¡± ¡°I notice that you left your tower mage behind.¡± ¡°I did. I know that your kind never breaks their word. We are ever forced to dance around you with ruse and tricks while you take us down with your might. An Eternal Game, if you will. Tell me vampire, what do you know of the key of Beriah?¡± The surprises me though I try not to show it. What is his game? Even his allies consider him with worry. He should know that it is too late for that. ¡°If you are trying to bargain, know that¡­¡± ¡°No, I am not. We both know this is the end. Just¡­ Indulge me?¡± I see Dalton frown from the corner of my eye and pick up on his tension. I agree, it looks like he is up to something, and yet his pain, his sorrow, those are not fake. I am sure of it. ¡°It does not belong here.¡± The Herald nods as if I were a student and he, a professor. The strangeness of the situation is starting to get to me. I just want this to be over with. I want him and his ilk to depart these lands and never return. I am not interested in a post-battle contest of wit, especially not with him. ¡°Yes, I assume that you saw the drawing of the box, but you did not read the scholarly work on it. I did. And in all of them, I found the same thing,¡± he lectures, ¡°Cooperate, speak, receive, embrace. The same words, the same semantic field. I understood it then. The key is not just an artifact. It is¡­ Alive. Just like your mysterious eye in the sky.¡± ¡°What!?¡± ¡°Yes. And the next step was obvious. If it is conscious, if it is eager to share, then it wants to be found.¡± No. No no no no no move Ari MOVE! I need to kill him but¡­ I should not. We are under the flag of truce! And then it is too late. From a recess in his vest, the Herald removes a curved blue spike that cannot possibly fit inside, and the item swallows me. Just like the Watcher, it captivates but this time I can feel something terrible within. This is the Key of Beriah, and he somehow found it first. The construct is wrong. It should not be here. It should never have been brought¡­ So many depths, so many curves, inward and outward ad infinitum. Is there an end? I feel like the deeper meanings caress my consciousness with the siren call of knowledge, power, anything I want, if only I would let it¡­ The man raises it. He should not. The Key does not belong. The man raises it, still, and with a primeval scream of anguish, the world shatters. Impossible bonds curve up and down, but mostly out. They follow a shockwave that extends all over the village and where it hits, people scream. Their cries speak of pure agony, a pain so powerful and so intimate that it defies description. I scream too. The tendrils of power pull on my very essence and find no purchase, but they follow Dalton¡¯s bond into my soul and the tug of war for my essence is horrific. Pain, white hot, blinding. Let me just die, please. And then just as it had started, the scathing tendrils retract. Dalton, protected by me, stands before the Key master. He removes a pistol from its sheath and shoots the man in the heart. The Herald takes a painful breath, and the shockwave stops, reverses. All around us and deep into the houses, men, women, and children fall to the ground and stop moving. Filaments of the deepest blue emerge from the eldritch object and dig into the Herald¡¯s body. He is lifted in the air by the mind defying vitality and power. I cannot move. The pain has stolen my control away. No! I need to fight¡­ I need to do it. I must help my . I must help Dalton. One finger. Move one BLOODY finger. Come on! The horrible wound on my foe¡¯s chest heals before my very eyes. Faster than anything I have ever seen, or known to be possible. This was an engraved silver bullet¡­ Dalton lifts his second gun with perfect calm. The world ending around us does not concern him. He pulls the trigger. The Herald¡¯s forehead explodes and he falls back down spread-eagle. Need to take the artefact from him! Must move! I want to tell him to run. should not have to defend their Mistress but I can¡¯t. I watch powerlessly as the gaping hole on the Herald¡¯s head closes itself, the missing brain matter already replaced by sparkling blue light. The influx of power is simply too massive. ¡°No. Flee.¡± He cannot hear me. Dalton sprints to the fallen man to wrestle the key away from it. Just as he closes in, the thing speaks. The nerve-wracking sounds pierce my ears as if a god were swearing against creation. Dalton claws his ears and falls forward. The monstrous form lifts a single hand. No. I do the only thing I can think of. I take a deep breath and scream. ¡°Oathbreaker!¡± The Herald¡¯s eyes are now burning with an otherworldly blue light. He is held aloft under some magical influence and blue bolts extend from his feet to the ground. The thunderous discharges dig deep furrows in the shore¡¯s packed hearth. Each one is echoed by the miserable screams of the prostrate forms surrounding him. When he speaks, his voice is mirrored by another one, much deeper. ¡°I care not, vampire. I am a mortal man, not bound to... to...¡± Yes! His face twists in rage, then in pain. The ocean of power around him peters out. It is still there, but he can no longer control it. He is a magical being now! ¡°You harlot! You think you are so smart.¡± He smiles again. Gone is the refined gentleman. The thing looking back at me is no longer human. It bends forward and picks up something from the dying colonel by his side. Oh no. No! Damn it Ariane MOVE! ¡°As you took from me, so shall I take from you.¡± He calmly lines up his shot. I finally manage to push myself up from the ground. He pulls the trigger. I know that sound well, the one of metal hitting flesh. Dalton does not cry. He lets out a small yelp of pain and clutches his chest. No. This is not happening. This is not happening at all. This is a nightmare. Some kind of prophetic dream. It can¡¯t be real. And the people around us are rising, moaning, yelling, a choir of the damned. I ignore the cackling form fleeing away from us, towards the forest. I crawl to Dalton. I can still save him. I can feel our bond. He is not dead. PROTECT THE VASSAL. I am myself again, pick him up, kick and push the screaming mass trying to shed his blood, trying to reclaim the essence stolen from them to stop the maddening pain. I sprint away from Venet, Strand, Langdon, Colvert, the men who came here. I need to reach Loth. He¡¯s a bloody doctor, with some magic. He can save him. Definitely. I run and rush past children with their eyes gouged out, adults trying to rip their throats out with their own bare fingers. Those who smell follow with the fury of despair. I don¡¯t have the time. Loth is up in the fortress. ¡°Mistress.¡± It¡¯s fine he is still alive, if I hurry I can make it. ¡°Mistress, please.¡± Loth is a miracle worker. ¡°Please, stop.¡± No I can¡¯t I must go on, I must LISTEN. I stop and jump at the top of the town¡¯s church, of all things. Gently, I lay him on the wooden roof. He is so pale, and his brow is wet with perspiration. His familiar amber eyes are now feverish, clouded. ¡°You¡¯ll be fine.¡± I realize how stupid this is the moment the words cross my lips. He does not answer but his face turns tender, filled with sympathy, I don¡¯t care about sympathy. Fuck sympathy I want him with me. ¡°Please.¡± ¡°No. No, you can¡¯t . You just rest now and Loth will save you. He will. He¡¯s a good, good surgeon.¡± ¡°Please.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t leave me alone Dalton. Please don¡¯t leave me alone. I don¡¯t want to be alone again. Please.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t.¡± ¡°No... Just stay a little longer and I will find a way...¡± ¡°Isn¡¯t.¡± There is so much blood trailing down the stupid rafters of this stupid fucking church. Fucking useless piece of shit God. ¡°Hurts.¡± ¡°No shh rest, rest and we¡¯ll go. Just don¡¯t leave. Don¡¯t leave. Please.¡± ¡°Send me off.¡± Nononono. No. I... I MUST LISTEN. DUTY. Fighting every step of the way, I slowly bend forward, I gently cradle his head. I don¡¯t want to, but I have to. For him. He asked. The ultimate freedom of choosing how to go. I MUST HONOR IT. I cannot stop. He is in so much pain. I bite his neck softly. The bond snaps. It recoils like an angry snake and returns to its one surviving tether. It will kill me on impact, of this I am sure. At this instant, I cannot bring myself to care. A cloud of warm golden light stops the feedback. It slows down. Even then, the pain is so intense that I lose my mind. My talons dig in the thatch roof and tear it apart. My throat gets raw for screaming so much. Physical and mental agony wrack my body and my mind. Excruciating. Endless. I cannot sob, I cannot even look down. Slowly, I crawl my hand back to my throat where I manage to close it. Anything to make it stop. Please just make it stop. LIVE FOR US. I can¡¯t. It wasn¡¯t meant to be. Not so soon. Not like this. LIVE FOR US. No. Yes. No. Yes. My arm falls by my side and I abandon myself to the fire coursing my veins and my soul. An eternity passes. Eventually, the burning tide recedes. I am left shivering on the roof. My face is drenched with blackish blood trailing from my eyes, my nose, even my ears. I feel empty. I am lightly choking. I breathe great gulps of air that do absolutely nothing. Dalton lies next to me. I push him with my hand to wake him up. He doesn¡¯t move. I push again and again and again. ¡°Enough with the joke. Wake up. It¡¯s not funny.¡± I push. ¡°Not funny at all.¡± Have to breathe harder. It doesn¡¯t work. Choking to death. And so Thirsty. The feedback stops. He¡¯s dead. I already know he¡¯s dead. I am just lying to myself like the sorry excuse of a failure I am. Need to bring him back. I can¡¯t leave him here. He¡¯s family. I take his body in my arms and jump down. There are moaning people around, searching with despair. My sudden arrival triggers something in them. They attack. I kick the closest one and place the body on the steps of the church. Then I turn around, grab and bite. It¡¯s weak, so weak. Barely any essence there. It takes me less than half a second to feed. No matter, there are others. They are condemned anyway. The next is an older woman with an embroidered cap. The next is a young boy with a scar across the nose. The next is an old sailor with teeth stained with tobacco. The next is a young girl with a scarf dyed red. And the next, and the next, until there are none. So Thirsty, and so tired. My chest hurts. I feel hollow. Above, there are war cries and the sounds of battle. That means people, people who can help me. I pick him up and move through the twisted streets to another junction with more people. Every time I do so, I find a relatively clean surface and then Devour the meagre prize. Rinse and repeat. So little to take, but still better than nothing. The more time passes and the thicker the resistance is. Houses with their doors hanging open like tongues lolling from corpses. Moans. Somewhere, a fire. Smells of blood and offal. I do not know how long it took but I am out, moving up a hill. There are more people than ever. I walk, stop, lower the body, stab and slice and feed then I do it again. At the edge of Isaac¡¯s camp, the fighting is the thickest. I have to stop completely. Sometimes I have to to fight them off even though I can no longer afford the energy expenditure. Thirsty, always Thirsty. Always choking. I breathe like the runner at Marathon for the illusory relief it provides. More people come, a mountain of them. A sea. I am going to be overwhelmed. I find a tree and climb up. Place him as if he were having a nap. His head keeps falling to the side. I drop down. I keep at the edge of the herd like a circling wolf. It is easier to Devour when the density is less. I thin the herd. Minutes turn to hours and still I slaughter them and still, they come. There is no more sanity in them. The pain has turned them all mad. I am cold and methodical and keep doing it because they are in the way and because they are lost. Nothing matters. They never broke. At some point, I raise my eyes from my latest victim and everyone is dead. It takes me a full minute to find the tree and recover its charge and then I walk to the line. Venet¡¯s men and Nashoba¡¯s Warband have formed an impregnable fortress on a hill. A ring of corpses three men thick surrounds a small earthwork where the men stand side by side in unusual harmony. They are filthy, exhausted, and their gazes reflect a pain that will never leave them. No celebratory yells come with this victory. Loth is in the middle. He spots me and raises a gauntlet, then sees everything and lowers it. I walk up to him and the men part to let me through. I reach my friend and open my mouth but nothing comes out. I don¡¯t know what to say. Are there words? Is there even one language on this sorry rock that can adequately transcribe¡­ This? ¡°Here, here lass, let me take him from ye¡­ Let me take care of it. Ye¡­¡± he sobs ¡°Ye go see Isaac aye? Tyr, not this again. Let¡¯s go together. Come here lass. Come.¡± Loth does not pull me. He slightly nudges and I follow. I pass wounded men and others bawling like children. Some are looking in the distance, lost in nightmares of their own. Merritt stands at the centre of a circle of power, unconscious. Blood slowly drips from her nose. Venet¡¯s second is trying to bring some order around with a sonorous voice that wavers every four words. We get in the command tent. Loth deposits him on a low table, by the side. Isaac is here. His normally flawless composure is fractured by the ordeal he went through. I listen to the words. I understand the meaning behind them but somehow, they don¡¯t translate into anything I can use. I blink slowly, then start breathing again. I slowly clutch my chest, where it hurts the most. Isaac winces. The vampire hesitates, then realizes that I will not be moved unless he manages to convince me. Why does this even matter? This time, Isaac is clearly surprised. It does not matter. This entire conversation is pointless. Behind me, Loth has brought water in a barrel. He is undressing and cleaning him. Sometimes, he stops to wipe a few silent tears. Whatever. I still don¡¯t understand and do not really care to. There must be blood around here. So Thirsty. This doesn¡¯t make sense to me. I shiver. Of course, not you¡­ Daft creature. This is not about ANY PITIFUL REMNANT. I MUST RETALIATE. He should not have taken that which is sacred. He should have left Dalton alive. You do not touch are the binds, the souls, the living ones. They keep us centered, and safe. They remind us of rules and of others and of why we maintain that balance. They must remain inviolate, or the price is too high, for everyone. Now all of those Ascendency imbeciles, every last member of this pathetic rabble, none of them will see their home again. None of them will leave these shores, no matter the cost. There will be retribution. It has to be so. Not one may live. Not one may live. Not one may live. Not one may live. Not one may live. Not one may live. Not one may live. Not one may live. Not one may live. Not one may live. N?o?????t ?o???n???????e???? ?m??????a????y???????? ????????l??i????????v?????e??????.? ?????N???o????????t???????? ??o?????n?e?????? ??m?????a????y??????? ??????l????????i??v???????e??. ??N???????o?t??????? ?????o?????n?e??????? ??????m???????a?y????? ???l?????i??v?????e????.?? ?????N??????ot???????? ?o?n??e? ????m????a??y?????? ?l???i?????v??e??.???? ?????N??????o????t?????? ?o????n?e ??????m????????a???y? ?????l??i???????v?????e?.??? ????N?o???????t???? ???????o???n???e?????? ???m????a?y? ????l????i?????v??e???????.? ???N??????o???????t???????? ?????????o???n?e??????? ??????m????a??????????y?????????? ?????????l????i????v???????????e?.???????? ???N???????o???????t?????? ??????????o???????????n??????e???????? ???????m??a??????y????????? ?????l????????i????v????????e????????.???? ?????N??????????o????t???????? ???o??????????n??????e?????? ?????????m???a????????????y????? ?l????i???v??????????e??????????.??????? ?????N???????o??t?? ????????o????n???????e??????????? ???????m????a?????y????? ??????????l?????i????v????????e????.???????? ?????N???????o????????t???????? ???????????o???????n?????e???? ?????????m???????a?????y?????? ????????l????????i????????v?????????e??.??? ??????N??????o?????t???? ????????o????????n???????e????????? ????m???????a???y??? ????l??????i???????v??????e???????.??????????? ?????????N????o??????t????????? ????o??????n??????????e?????? ????????m????a???????y???????? ??l??????i?????????v???e?.?????? N?????????????????o???????????????t???????????? ???????????????????o??????????n????????e?????????????????????? ????????m???????????????????a??????????????????y??????????????????? ???????????????????????l???????????????????i??????v???????e????????????????.???????????????? ???????????N??????????o?????????????????????t??????????????? ????????o???????????n???????????e?????? ?????????????????m???????????????????a???????????y?????????????????????? ???????????????????????l???????????i???????????????????v???????????e???????????????????????.??????????? Not. One. Chapter 47: Nemesis I lean against one of the corners of the tent and breathe in vain. Isaac takes a step forward, as if to help, then shakes his head in shame.I care little. I don¡¯t need him to exert my vengeance. He is clearly torn but it is not up to me to grant him forgiveness. We will all have to face the consequences of our decisions in the end. Isaac has not given up yet. He clasps his hands and bends forward in a strange gesture. When he stands back up, the guilt has been replaced by a new resolution. He walks to a large chest and takes out a box. It looks like an expensive jewelry coffer made of lacquered wood decorated with strange glyphs. I cannot feel magic coming from it despite its obvious nature. Isaac rips the wood apart with his bare hands. Beams and planes are shed from the structure until only a metallic frame is left. It consists of a handle stuck to a bar with a series of spikes branching out and curving back inward as if meant to encase a cylindrical object. The metal is silvery and the structure a bit rough, seemingly made in a rudimentary forge by an apprentice, and yet upon closer inspection, the surface is covered in hair-thin runes forming a complex lattice. Its aura is subdued and oppressive, evoking restraints. I grab the artefact, cold and smooth under my fingers. Definitely used to restrain something until it is completely powerless... I shake my head and wince. I feel so weak. Things are seeping in. Memories that should remain dead and buried. I take the contraption away and turn to Loth. ¡°Aye lass, I¡¯m coming.¡± ¡°And so am I.¡± Merritt lifts the tent access flap soon followed by Nashoba. She looks like death warmed over while the shaman is the picture of concern. ¡°You don¡¯t get to tell me I can¡¯t come. They killed my¡­¡± ¡°You can come.¡± ¡°Friends¡­ Huh? You are fine with it?¡± Headache. What do I care how you spend your life? ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°We still stand a chance to stop him if there is no one to slaughter. I split up the Warband. They have orders to reach the nearest villages and have them evacuate before the Herald and what is left of his men can reach it.¡± I am, now that¡­ Now that the only bond I had to a mortal is gone. Nashoba lowers his head in disappointment. It is dark, not the embrace of the now-familiar nocturnal veil but the oppressive obscurity of the unfathomable depths. Pressure, crushing and unforgiving, bends my neck forward. There is nothing around but rocks surrounded by onyx sand as far as I can perceive, while above, there is nothing but the black of a fathomless canopy. The air, if it is air, is dry and scentless, Unspeakable things prowl lazily around, massive and contemptuous. Although I cannot see it well, I know that an obsidian obelisk lies before me, toppled. And upon it sits a mocking silhouette. It holds in its hand a strange skull and starts with a voice that nothing can silence. The voice should have been solemn, even fearful, as befits one who implores a Muse. Instead, it is ripe with bloodlust and the anticipation of the violence to come. Its owner leans forward until I look into eyes darker than even the abyss we stand on. I scowl in recognition. Tall, dark hair and beard, golden skin. The Lord of the Nirari looks as regal as always in a sand-colored outfit richly decorated with rivers of precious stones. He looks like a Caliph holding court, at ease and confidant even in this desolate place. My words escape me, unbidden. I must answer. He turns and walks away and I collapse with relief. My perception of the world fades and the scene grows distant. Something drives me forward until we lurch and spill in my mental fortress. I end up sprawled on the grass of my strange garden, next to a rock in the shape of the first merman I faced. A presence behind me makes me turn. Master is here, though he is somewhat transparent like I imagine a ghost would be. I want him out, but I cannot push him away. Something stops me. My defenses do not recognize him as a foreign entity. He turns his gaze to the statue and smiles, then with a wave of his hand, an arch emerges from the ground. I must still obey. A distant part of me objects to his coming here. He does not belong in my sanctuary. He desecrates this land by simply treading it. That part is drawn by another that insists that this is the most natural thing in the world. Both voices are right. I arrive in a circular plaza surrounded by tall walls of tightly woven roses, in black, white, and red. The ground is made of polished marble slabs but what attracts my attention is its inhabitants. The deceptively wide expanse is currently covered in statues, most white and standing, and a few colored and kneeling. Wherever I look, the open space widens, and more come into focus, only to fade as I look away. I recognize a few of them as people I killed, like the werewolf I faced in the Lancaster Arena. Others, I do not remember. Indeed, some of the constructs surrounding us are not only kneeling, they are colored while the others are alabaster white and they feel reactive. I recognize a few, including a very faint outline of Sinead, Bingle, Nashoba, Loth, Naminata of the Ekon whom I met just before being sent to fight in the pits. This is not a matter of words. I focus on the deep part of me, the one that wants to subjugate, and bring it forth. The plaza below us pulses once and something stirs in the depths. Its size defies comprehension. Above us, the purple light of the shifts. SUBMIT. The command spreads outward like a wave. The ones I killed kneel in turn but the ones that gave me their blood of their own free will stand up and fade in the background. Worse, those who kneel are not colored. Master chuckles and shakes his head in amusement. One of his hand holds his elbow while the other caresses his beard. I bring the deeper part of me towards the surface again, but this time I infuse a truth in the words, my own belief that they shall submit by the most ancient rule of them all, the right of the victor. SUBMIT. The statues kneel, this time with color. They raise their hands in surrender. Their powers are mine because they have no choice. Once more, those who gave me blood out of their own free will remain standing. I understand, I think. They trusted me, some trust me still, to have mastery over those gifts they offered. They are not mine because I crushed them but because they acknowledged me as one deserving of tribute. Loth loves me in his own way. Bingle sacrificed himself out of duty and friendship. They did not do it because I defeated them, but because they believed in me as a person, enough to expose themselves. I take a deep breath. I know what I must do. To conquer is not to destroy. To conquer is not always to stand alone. That is the difference. SUBMIT. Some kneel because they have to, some because they choose to. One by one, all the statues before me bow and color springs from the ground to cover them. Then, their powers unlock. I have never felt stronger. I bask in the ensuing bliss. I could send a werewolf flying. I could crush steel. I could outpace the fastest stallion. It feels amazing, more than that, it is a deserved reward. Master walks among the statues like a collector inspecting his latest acquisitions. I His inspection over, he returns by my side and places a hand on my shoulder. I feel the steel grip behind the light touch, and I am not scared, just a bit pleased at his approval. This is a dream. Many of my gut reactions are subdued. The shape of him evaporates in black vapor until only an eight-fanged smile remains, then this is gone too, and I wake up. Pain. Thirst. Claustrophobia. The sensation of choking. I gulp great breaths of air that do nothing but satisfy a vestigial reflex. My claws scratch the sarcophagus¡¯ inner padding until I grab the handles and pull them. I jump up and fall on the side, coming to my feet in an instant. Around me, dry earth and roots topped by a very low tent. Loth stares at me with a blank look from behind a tiny workbench. He has never looked more tired. No immediate danger. Clear exits. No need to FIGHTORFLEE. I clutch the center of my chest to try in vain to ward off asphyxiation. He came in my mind. He came in my mind and did what he wanted and I did NOTHING. Nothing to stop him even though I¡­ Even if he¡­ Gah! Only distance saves me from him anyway. If I were by his side, I would just be a bumbling and lovestruck wreck. Pathetic. Maybe I was lucky. At least I got to be myself from the onset. Now I just need to find somebody to eat to end this unbearable pain and I know just the man. In silence, I attach battered pieces of armor to my stained dress and affix my half-mask, leaving the mouth free. ¡°Lass?¡± ¡°I¡¯m ready. How are we doing?¡± He considers the lump of metal in front of him and removes his hands from it. Just as I recognize the object in front of me, its aura pervades the small space we stand in. I don¡¯t know how long it took for him to finish it but I would presume every waking hour since I fell to slumber. In typical Loth fashion, he took the problem and analyzed it then found a solution that would satisfy his need for violent revenge. Since it is too risky to get close, my friend made a shell. No, calling it a shell does not do it justice. He made a shell-shaped object that is more magical concentrated spite than steel. It is made from darkened metal engraved with vengeful runes pulsing a deep red like a wound leaking blood. Lines of glyphs criss-cross it in every direction like taut barbed wires. Loth¡¯s creation looks like what it is, the fruit of patient malevolence, made for the exclusive purpose of inflicting pain and death. Whispers at the edge of my hearing promise dark retribution. My friend lifts hollowed eyes to me. ¡°I¡¯m ready. Let¡¯s go outside.¡± We leave and I find myself in a depression surrounded by pines at the top of a hill overlooking a large valley. Dried needles and fallen cones cover the ground and let out a pleasant scent that offers a sharp contrast with the tensions of those in it. There are no fires, no gear and no horses around, only two exhausted mortals lying on the ground next to the covered form of Loth¡¯s steel canon. Nashoba and Merritt turn around and see me but do not react. Everyone is on edge. I lean down by their side. If they notice me trying to breathe, they do not comment on it. In front of us lies a vale with an open ground around a tiny stream. Muskogee houses and structures dot it with a few tilled fields in the distance. Signs of life are everywhere but I see no locals alive or dead. In the central plaza, the Herald is in an animated discussion with a handful of subordinates including the Tower Mage. ¡°The evacuation was successful. Merritt managed to track that bastard and we used our mobility to our advantage.¡± says Nashoba in English. I turn in surprise to the mage. Her eyes are bloodshot and her traits drawn but there is no mistaking the pride in her voice. ¡°That asshole left a lot of blood behind. I scraped it off the pier and made a compass.¡± ¡°Excellent. Loth, are you opening?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°When?¡± ¡°Right now. You two, get out.¡± The two mortals stand up without a word and run away in the opposite direction. ¡°Listen lass. As soon as that shell is off I¡¯m getting the hell out of here. You¡¯re the only one who can stand in front of the key and live. The rest of us would just feed him more power.¡± ¡°I know.¡± Loth stops and turns to me. In his eyes, there is not a hint of doubt that I will succeed. ¡°I won¡¯t say good luck. I¡¯ll see you on the other side. Now, stand back. This is my moment.¡± Loth removes the tarp from the gun¡¯s maw, I take position by his side. ¡°Betrayed.¡± he murmurs. His huge hands cradle the patiently made shell almost lovingly. The terrifying thing pulses in rhythm with his heartbeat. ¡°Bloodied. By oath broken and words made void, one was taken from us.¡± He slides the shell in the gun. I can see a reddish glow flowing down its length as the whispers grow louder then with a final ¡®thunk¡¯, it nestles deep within, quiet and ready to be unleashed. ¡°By the old laws, by our own honor intact, we come to claim our due.¡± He adjusts the gun with patience and a deceptive calm. The atmosphere is so heavy that I stop breathing again. I know that I am witnessing something unique, a master at work for a once in a lifetime performance. ¡°Your guilt and debt set ablaze, our vengeance expressed.¡± He walks back and grabs the rope that will release the primer. ¡°And made manifest.¡± He pulls the cord. The canon vomits its horrifying payload into the world. The shell screams its way down like a chorus of furious demons, a symphony of nightmares that fills my ears with its insane voices, I grit my teeth before the onslaught and watch the shell impact, then detonate. One instant, the village is empty but peaceful, the next, it is simply gone. The shield used by the tower mage makes as much difference as a teapot emptied on a house fire. The clearing is obliterated by a deafening explosion that sends pieces of rocks and soil high into the air. The shockwave extends outward and levels the entire forest in a wave of fire and destruction. The trees closer to the epicenter are simply torched. Not a single needle remains attached. And the fire keeps burning. First white, then an unnaturally dark red, the raging inferno emits heat that hits me like a wall even hundreds of feet away. I raise a hesitant hand to painful ears and return a few drops of dark blood. For a solid minute, I ignore Loth¡¯s retreating form and stare into hell itself. How could anything survive that?! And yet, a dark silhouette soon shows against the incandescent background, shambling forward mindlessly. As it exits the area, the flames gutter and die like a man losing heart. The hexed shell did its best. Now, dinner is served. I sprint forward with incredible speed, faster than I have ever been in my entire life and yet with absolute confidence in my steps. Over stumps and trunks and upturned earth I go, never slowing. My hair clings to my skull with the wind of my passage and in only a few heartbeats, I reach the Herald. As I watch, blue links and patterns do not knit flesh, but make it appear from nowhere. The aura I feel is incredible. It buffets me like an alien wind. I grab my prey from behind and bite down to Devour. ¡°AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH.¡± It burns! I spit blood and teeth, only for it to regenerate and melt again. I fall backward and crawl away, mewling in pain. So much power. Too much. Like kissing a thunderbolt. And despite that I feel strong, so strong. Just an instant, but it felt like drinking from Master. I calm myself, letting the lava-like substance drip away from my charred lips for a few seconds, but soon the sounds of the Herald regenerating behind me forces a new alarm. No. No! I will not let go. This. Is. Nothing! I draw on the deep and cold will inside to STANDUPANDFIGHT. My claws catch a half-formed arm and pull it out of its socket. The crack of ruptured ligaments is accompanied by a muffled scream that spurs me. I grab the other arm and the Herald¡¯s aura explodes outward. ¡°Oof!¡± I am pushed backwards, only to roll on the ground and sprint back up. The scrapes, the pain, nothing will stop me. This is to the death. ¡°You! You¡­ This is all your fault!¡± screams the Herald with a broken voice. His flesh is now intact, and I notice in passing that he is naked from the waist down. The tattered remnants of his hunting jacket cling to his form while hot tears run down his face. ¡°It was supposed to be my moment! I don¡¯t understand! What in the seven hells are you!¡± YOURDEATH. I slice and stab him three more times until his cries of pain turn to pure rage and he strikes. For a moment, he is faster than me, perhaps even as fast as Jimena. And he misses. His fist goes wide and his body collapses in the ashy ground. In an instant I am on him. I take his head, twist left and right and throw it away. I take out my blade and slice great swaths of fabric from his enchanted vest. I need that thing off. Once more I am blasted away but this time I roll and barely dodge a strike to the side before retaliating. The herald only screams incoherently at this point. ¡°Why why why won¡¯t you die!¡± I block the exact same strike coming from the exact same angle and counter-attack with a blade to the stomach. I jump away and gut him like a fish. His yells of agony sound strange in the deadened air. He grabs a fallen pine and tosses it, hoping to crush me perhaps? I step to the side to avoid the improvised projectile. I have been me for a decade. I know how my body works. He is just an inexperienced mortal playing demigod. For a good minute, I dance around him and use my experience to inflict terrible damage. I find that cutting off limbs works better than piercing flesh as the key regenerates it entirely. It takes more time and hopefully, more energy. Our contest is an unequal ballet between a wasp and a drunken, bumbling fool. He just won¡¯t stay down. I maim and amputate and slice and still his body is reformed in instants. Changing gear, I boot him away and to the side, then I jump on his back and bring him down. I savage his back. I know he will heal these wounds but this is therapeutic. Once more, his aura explodes outward but this time I cling to his jacket, tearing it to pieces. A second later, his actual body explodes. When I land and stand back up, there is something different. He is taller, paler, and his face is no longer fully human. His aristocratic beard is gone as well as his lips and nose. Only pale skin below two slits are left. Even his eyes shine a strange blue. ¡°I eliminated pain, vampire, and the key will repair my mind. It¡¯s only a matter of time now.¡± He is also fully naked. I search the rag in my hand for a pocket and find something cylindrical, but the contact is peculiar. I feel my fingers closing on it and yet it has no texture, no temperature, and then it is gone. ¡°Looking for this?¡± asks the Herald, amused. In his hand, the key appears. ¡°We are one now. You can no longer claim it, assuming your kind ever could.¡± I need it. I jump. He dodges and I follow up by cutting off his leg at the knee. The resistance is higher, for some reason. Is his body tougher? I block the following counter and am smashed against the ground once again. Stupid strength. I dodge a downward punch that buries itself in the earth and slice one of the arms on the way out, then I move around and grab the key. At the same moment, his aura once more explodes and I am flung away. ¡°Annoying insect!¡± The Herald is whole, and yet I can spot the barest hints of black veins under his skin, perhaps exhaustion or perhaps a remnant of yesterday¡¯s transgression. His aura is more and more manifest, buckling and thrashing against his control. He may be insanely strong but he cannot bring this power to bear. ¡°It is not for you to take.¡± My foe seizes the key and places it at the top of his forehead. The artifact digs into his skull with blue tendrils and latches, looking all the while like the world¡¯s most disgusting unicorn. He rushes me and slaps the air in front of my retreating torso. I dodge by the barest of margins to counter again. DODGE. I jump left just as an insane power erupts from his palm. With a roar, blue energy digs a deep furrow into the earth, smashing rocks and sending toppled trees spinning in the air like pins. PAIN. I grit my teeth and claw his face, blinding him. Pain. Pain! I check my right arm to see it now stops at the elbow. Where is my bloody.. Oh, here it is. I jump forward and catch it, then place the mangled limb against my stump. Come on! I feel a rush of wild energy and the need to howl, to hunt. Bones bound, muscles rejoin and skin knits before my very eyes. ¡°Where are you, harlot? Only one¡­¡± The Herald¡¯s eyes widen in surprise when he sees me healed. I open and close my hand around the dagger. Everything is fine. It doesn¡¯t hurt one bit. For the first time in two nights, I smile. ¡°You still do not understand.¡± I rush forward then back to avoid another shockwave, then forward again. My enemy screams in frustration while I dive under and jump above bolts of blue energy. His face melts under the intense power, only to reform again and again. Each time, the traits are more inhuman, more cruel. His teeth are now completely triangular. Great black arteries snake under his skin, leaving the flesh around blemished. Finally, I manage to sidestep a two-handed vertical strike and find myself behind him. Now time to DODGE. Massive bone spikes grown from his back in every direction. I did not manage to leave in time and two pierce my enchanted bracers as if they were butter, while the last digs deep into my belly. PAIN. I fall back and block a backhand blow with the dagger. The sharp blade cuts off the limb once more. Reprieve. Just need a second to¡­ ¡°This has been far too annoying, I do believe I will take it now.¡± The Herald extends his hand and grasps. I feel nothing myself, then the dagger jolts. I watch powerless as Jimena¡¯s gift is dismantled, deconstructed before my very eyes. ¡°Interesting.¡± The Herald lift his fingers and each tip is replaced by inches of silvery blades covered in runes. Not good. The blackened veins expand even more and I can feel his aura stuttering but that won¡¯t help me if I am dismembered in the next few seconds. I turn and run. ¡°You won¡¯t escape me you hussy! Hahahaha!¡± Not escaping, just looking for¡­ Ah. I turn my back to a large vertical rock upturned by Loth¡¯s cataclysmic shot. The Herald smirks and jumps. He stole my technique! I throw myself backward on the ground, trying to ignore the wound in my stomach. There is a single instant of faith when all I can see is the smoke-filled sky, then the stars are blotted by a body passing overhead. With a grunt of anger, my foe¡¯s steely claws bury themselves deep into the stone, and stay there. Cracks form almost immediately but I am faster. I dig talons into his wrist and break it apart, then grab the severed hand and use it as an improvised weapon. The first swipe guts him, the second blinds him, while with my right, I reach behind to grab Isaac¡¯s present and place it against his exposed spine. Then both of his hands explode. Silvery shrapnel hit me. Agony. I scream and roll on the ground. Take them out, MUSTTAKETHEMOUT! I remove a piece of smoldering metal from the meat of my shoulder then another from a calf, another from my right ear. After two more I finally stop panicking and stand up. The Herald is holding his head and yelling atrociously. The keening sound should be a torture but in truth, it is music to my ears. ¡°You! What have you done!?¡± If he had not turned off the pain, he would know that his organs reformed around something foreign. Now with the recent change to his body, I would be surprised if he could tell how many spikes grow out of his back. Energy explodes randomly around him. As I watch, his right leg bursts and reforms as a grotesque parody of an insect¡¯s feeler. Both his hands grow mismatched claws and tentacles. He finally remembers the cause of his woes, however, and charges me with the strength of despair. I surprise him by charging as well. He is barely faster than me now and just as he strikes, I dig my left foot into the ground and boot him with all my strength. I remember the maddened charge of the Natalis rogue and pour the same mindless energy in my kick. The Herald lifts off and crashes against a rock, a fallen pine, a burning stump and another rock. He sees me approach and tries to stand up, in vain. His mutated leg does not find enough purchase to pry the spikes off the stone they are embedded in. ¡°If you had not looked down on humans and their form so much¡­¡± I raise my hand and plant my feet in the ground to resist an aura explosion. It barely slows me down. ¡°¡­You would not have fought like a toddler¡­¡± I duck to avoid a bolt of energy. ¡°¡­ You would not have paid so much for an oath broken¡­¡± I grab the key on his forehead, dig claws in his chest to find Isaac''s suppressor and place both feet against his chest. ¡°¡­ And you would not have destroyed your organization and yourself.¡± With a ghastly sound of broken flesh, both objects break free of the form encasing them. ¡°I am Ariane of the Nirari. You were dead the moment you killed my Vassal.¡± The steel trap¡¯s spine close around the key and the connection breaks. Energy arcs from the Herald¡¯s prostrate form, raking him and the ground. My foe lets out a last, keening yell and in mere instants, he is but a scorched husk. I did it. The link is severed. He¡¯s dead. I won, and paid the debt. Now I just need to¡­ Return the key of Beriah for safekeeping? I know it should be the best decision, then something whispers into my mind. I look up. When did I ever think the was far? He is close, so close. A tendril descends and brushes a strand of hair away from my cheek. The eye croons and then asks like a very young child: No words are actually spoken. The requests appear in my mind instantly with a purity of meaning that the spoken word can never hope to match. This is not an order, not even a demand. There is something so innocent and beautiful about the simple request, so humble. I know I could refuse without consequence. There would not be a grudge. I raise the key. The closest purple limb closes around it, two things that do not belong here, and then the blue construct is lifted into¡­ I blink. S?a??h the n0v?l(?)ire.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. Space and reality hiccupped for a moment. I frown, trying to remember in detail what just happened but cannot. I¡­ Could not process what just occurred. My mind is simply not equipped. What I know with certainty is that the key is gone. I look up. The vampire aster is as distant and mesmerizing as always but for the first time, I feel something I never expected. Approval. Chapter 48: Pyre of Dreams I slowly make my way to a flat piece of ground and sit down.I feel tired, in a bone-weary way that I did not think possible. The pain of asphyxiation has mostly abated with the death of the Herald but the many wounds I collected are still slowly closing, Jimena¡¯s stolen dagger having bitten deep. So, it is over. I won. Victory tastes of ash and regret. Now, if I want to send Dalton off, then I will have to leave, flee once more. There is a chance that I can convince the knight squad that I am not some raving lunatic, but I would rather not take a chance. Their pursuit is strange, to say the least. What kind of influence do they expect me to have over Master? How is the death of Wolfgang any of my responsibility? It does not make sense. Worse, it sounds increasingly like someone holding a grudge for the death of their ally. If they expect my own demise to hurt my sire, they are terribly mistaken, not that it will matter much if I am slain. No, the best course of action is to escape. I am not without means, and I should be able to access funds via the consortium once I have found a place to settle. Far away from any vampire settlements until I can get those orders rescinded. There is still much time before the conclave. I stand up heavily, eager to rejoin the others and let them know of my success when my ears detect rushing feet coming from behind. Soon after, I perceive familiar heartbeats and Loth¡¯s steel and mountain aura. Merritt and Nashoba appear first, trailed by a dozen native warriors. A few others are helping Loth carry a coffin. They gather around the burnt carcass in a half circle. Loth puts down in charge and takes a step forward. ¡°So. You did it.¡± I nod. We stare at each other without saying a word but like old friends, we convey a mountain of meaning. Pain, relief, trust, regret, sympathy, much is shared. ¡°We followed the fight thanks to Nashoba. He used some sort of sorcery to watch you but lost it when you grabbed the Key of Beriah. What happened?¡± ¡°I destroyed it.¡± ¡°You did? I¡­ Alright, help me make a bonfire.¡± I find myself caught off guard. ¡°We will cremate Dalton here?¡± ¡°Yes. A proper farewell surrounded by bloodied warriors and on the corpse of his killer. I don¡¯t know a better way to send someone off.¡± I consider this for a moment. I was thinking of burying him. I was thinking like a Christian, a mortal. This is no longer what Dalton and I stand for. Their God no longer welcomes what I have become. Loth is right, we will pay our respects like the warriors of old, with a meaningful ceremony. ¡°We will mourn with you,¡± adds Nashoba, ¡°he fought for us like you did. We will be with you in this sorrowful time.¡± ¡°We¡¯re not leaving you alone.¡± adds Merritt. I say nothing. Besides Loth, they did not know him, but they wish to pay their respect. This is something that I can understand and consent to. With barely a word, we follow Loth¡¯s direction and gather pine wood from around us. The task is made easy by the ravaged land. Fallen branches and trunks litter the ground for hundreds of yards in every direction. Once the pyre is made on top of the Herald¡¯s remains, Loth drenches it in resin and oil. He lights a torch and hands it to me. ¡°Say a few words.¡± What is there to say? He is gone and will not return. And I will never be allowed to follow when my time has come. ¡°Share a memory,¡± insists Loth, ¡°something we will remember him by.¡± ¡°No man is truly gone who lives in someone else¡¯s heart.¡± Adds Nashoba with a whisper. ¡°I¡­ When I let him go, I saw myself through his eyes. For him, one of the most defining moments of his life was when I saved him in the blood cult¡¯s cave, after he failed to bring us our weapons. I barely remember it. I was half-mad with Thirst and did not care about anything but my next meal. He was on my side and already on the way to becoming my . Of course, I would save him. I barely remember this moment. For me, one of the most important memories we shared was when he took the initiative for the first time as we were bounty hunting. It made him reliable and independent in my mind. Different perspectives, really. In the end, it was the small gestures we did for each other that impacted the other the most.¡± I light the fire and walk back to the others at a respectful distance. We watch in silence as the flames lick the coffin. Embers rise to the sky and add to the melancholy. On the side, the Choctaw warriors sing a mournful song in their language. I do not understand the words, but I know they speak of the sky and of farewell. ¡°I have a story too.¡± Adds Loth in turn. He clears his throat and begins. ¡°When I was trying to build a magical key, I dropped a batch of prototypes and messed up so I forgot which was which. I was about to throw them all away, but the boy stopped me. He took them and the list and calculated the mass of each key according to the composition of its alloy. Took him a few hours to finish everything but he was so damned proud. I had been teaching him algebra for a few weeks by then and he was always eager. Eager to help, eager to matter, to make a difference. He never asked anything in return. He just did it for us. It was a point of pride.¡± The pyre¡¯s flame dance high by now. We listen to the warrior¡¯s songs for a while until Nashoba steps forward. ¡°I have story as well.¡± ¡°Drink first. Here.¡± Loth takes a flask from a pouch around his waist and throws it at the shaman who expertly grabs it and takes a swig. I can smell alcohol and the native¡¯s scrunched face confirms this is ¡®the good stuff¡¯. Nashoba¡¯s voice is hesitant at first, but progressively gains in fluidity. His mastery of English is still poor. ¡°We had many wives lost when cleaning at the river. We asked the white men around but were sent off. Then I offered bounty. No one takes. Then Dalton comes. He tracks group of six men and saves the girls then runs back to us. The bad men follow. We¡­ Punish. Dalton saves and gives vengeance. Life and death. Only crime matters, not the color of skin.¡± That¡¯s right. He never judged us for what we were, only for how we acted. Damn, I will miss him so much. And I am crying now. The bittersweet pain tastes different now that his killer lies dead. I feel like I can finally grieve properly. We are lost in our own thoughts. The pyre is in full blast now. From time to time, Nashoba throws a few leaves and resins in it until the clearing smells clean and fresh, like new spring, and blue smoke rises up in an ethereal dances. This is the first time that I have been close to a fire this size without a hint of apprehension. Even my instincts are subdued. And then, a new presence lets itself known. A cold aura that can only mean one thing. Vampire. For one frightful second, I fear that the squad of knights has found me. I soon realize my mistake. The man is alone. He is respectfully letting us know of his coming. I turn out of curiosity, though I already know who this is. The others mirror me and gasp. ¡°Lord Suarez.¡± ¡°Buenas Noches, Senorita. ?¡± The last time I had a good look at him, lord Suarez was blasting his way through an actual wall in a shower of splinters. Then, I was running through the streets of Charleston with his terrifying presence at the heels. Tonight, the monster is contained and the man facing me is a rich noble taking a stroll through his woods. Suarez is taller than Ceron, though a bit less muscular. He has melancholic chestnut eyes, dark hair that falls to his shoulder and a pencil-thin and perfectly groomed anchor beard and moustache. He looks too dignified to be a Caribbean pirate and too roguish to be a duke. Even his clothes are ambiguous. He wears a light orange and outdated courtly ensemble that would look ridiculous on anyone but him and sports a dangerous-looking fencing sword by his side. I point at a spot to my left while the warriors retreat at a safe distance. I do not have the heart to refuse. I felt his power before. If Suarez wants to sit, he will damn well sit and there is nothing I could do to stop him. Unlocking the might of my bloodline gave me the edge I needed to defeat the Herald and I am confident I could take on older , perhaps even several of them at the same time. A battle Lord of the Cadiz is an entire other prospect. ¡°Senorita¡­ The man is close. Even sitting, he is not just taller, he feels larger. Much larger than me, and yet, his voice is incredibly soft, and I can see longing in his eyes. I realize what he is asking. Lord Suarez extends a single claw against my cheek and recovers a pearl of red tear with religious reverence. He brings it to his lips, hesitates at the last moment then gives in. The mighty vampire turns his head away almost bashfully and takes one shaky breath. Silence returns to the clearing. I find myself captivated by the chaotic pattern of the flames dancing towards heaven. I am not surprised that they would be used to cleanse us from this world. There is something wild and unforgiving about fire. Those mages who use it in spells do not control it, they merely select a way to unleash its rage. Lord Suarez is facing me now. His cheeks are flushed in a decidedly mortal way. I wonder how it feels to drink tears. It does seem different from just shedding them. He nods in understanding. He stands, then kneels before the pyre and though his lips moved, no sound escape it. After a while, the vampire stands up and pricks his finger, sending a few drops to be consumed by the pyre, then he returns to my side. I am pleased by his show of respect. Dalton truly got a proper send off, like he deserved. He would never lie. I start my story with Crow¡¯s request and progressively move forward. I am not a coherent storyteller at the moment. Times are all over the place, anecdotes and remarks follow each other without sense and yet not once does he interrupt me. His few comments only show support and interest, or help me center myself. Towards the end, he urges me to speak of Dalton¡¯s demise and the fight that followed. When I am done, he considers his next words carefully. His gaze drills into mine He speaks the truth. Nashoba is here, so are Loth and Merritt. Isaac is gone but he left me with the suppressor. I have been carried so far by the bonds I created through joy, pain and common effort. Dalton may be gone but what we shared will live within me. I am not alone. I turn to face the night. Suarez stands to my right, while Loth, Nashoba and Merritt are on my left. The witch utters a small ¡°Ah, fuck me.¡± Before standing up but she joins us anyway. I have no idea what I did to get her loyalty. It doesn¡¯t take long for a few unknown vampires to step out of the shadows. They mask their auras. I knew it was possible, for how else could Suarez surprise me in Charleston? It is one thing to know of it, however, and another to see a squad of knights in full battle regalia surround me while coming out of seemingly nowhere. There are four of them, all in the grey lamellar armor I saw on both Jimena and Wolfgang. They are an eclectic bunch, though they move with a synchronism that speaks of trust and training. On one side is a taciturn man with a shaven head and an axe and shield. His muscular arms flex as he rolls his shoulders and inspects us. Opposite him is a black-haired lad with an almost girlish face and a long dagger he twirls between agile fingers. He is the only person smiling here, mischievously. Behind them, a woman looks warily towards Suarez as she holds a staff between clenched hands. Her face is covered by a scarf that only leaves dark eyes free. The last one, and their leader if I read the situation correctly, is fixing me with an angry glare. He looks straight out of the ¡®prince charming¡¯ page of a fairy tale book right down to the confident pose. A handsome face, a chiseled chin, deep blue eyes darker than mine, a regal air. He has it all, and even his arrogance could pass off as nobility. I instantly dislike him. We should not be allowed to look self-righteous. Not us. The hypocrisy is simply too much to bear. Hold on, what? That gets me a chuckle from the black-haired man. His leader looks at him, furious, but the roguish knight just shrugs helplessly. Lord Suarez uses the pause to take a step forward. I add with impatience. His fellow knights track Anatole¡¯s reaction with no hint of support. This only serves to make the man more incensed. The situation is disturbingly easy to understand, a poor prospect when vampires are concerned. I add between gritted teeth. This¡­ insufferable, obnoxious PRICK! Calm, Ariane, let Suarez handle this. I do not want to risk my friends. He scoffs. The Cadiz lord does not answer, he looks at me with a contemplative expression before returning his attention to the head knight. exclaims Anatole, his aura flaring. .¡± Suarez lets go of his control and his frigid power blasts all others like a father castigating rowdy children. All three mortals by my side swear softly, each in their own language, as the cold wave washes over us. I shiver. Such power¡­ Anatole shows apprehension for the first time, but not for long. Soon, his haughty face returns with a vengeance. persona non grata I sputter. Oh, I wish I could wipe that smirk off his face. He is a cad and a scoundrel, trying to finagle his way. There absolutely no way that Constantine would sign this¡­ This sham! I am stunned. Speechless. How, how is this happening?! He lies, does he not? I gathered support, I played by the rules I¡­ What? Everything was fine! I was going to join the society of my peers after ten long years! No longer an outcast! And now, the leader has signed my death warrant? Out of nowhere? There is a heavy pause as my ally digests the threat and thinly veiled insult. Anatole looks unbearably smug. I would be furious but cannot. Between the grief, my still aching wounds and now this? I must be asleep, there is no other explanation. I am living a nightmare. Surely, the world would not be so cruel¡­ Suarez turns to me and smiles sadly. Words escape me, so I just nod. says Anatole as he sidesteps the Cadiz vampire, The entire squad freezes and tenses at once. Even I can feel the threat, no, the promise of violence in the lord¡¯s voice. With a single word, Suarez reminds all present of the gap between himself and the others. Suarez positions himself between the knights and us. I struggle to understand the combat that follows. The Cadiz¡¯ lord aura washes over us like a tidal wave and a furious battle is joined. The four knights react immediately. They move as a single unit in complex and ever-flowing formations. The woman provides some subtle magical support I cannot identify, while the men alternate to contain their opponent. Anatole takes point with a black sword and dagger that appeared seemingly out of nowhere with the shield-bearer in support, ready to step up when he is pushed back. The playful man with the stilettos circles around, constantly looking for an opening. He is quick to strike and quick to retreat, always playing interference. In front of them, Suarez fights like a swordmaster. He is tempered fury and perfection in motion. Their dance is one I can barely follow and cannot understand. Their every movement is a complex dialogue in sequences that elude me, and I now realize the wall that separates me from them. They are not just faster than me, they are not simply godly fencers, they are also drawing on decades, nay, centuries of experience fighting their own kind. Every savage strike is also an expert move from a brilliant choregraphy. Every cunning feint is turned into a merciless attack if ignored. I am the witness to a spectacle that is as beautiful as it is daunting, and I am glad I did not try to fight the knights. They would have wiped the floor with me in mere moments, even if I were at the top of my form. I had felt a sense of power after slaying the Herald. I heard Isaac say that someone attuned with the key could go toe to toe with a lord. Clearly, they must have consumed more than a small village and used the artefact for longer than a single night. I am out of my depth and witness, powerlessly, the contest that will decide my fate. At first, Lord Suarez seems to have the upper hand as he manages to land a few blows that his opponents struggle to heal. For a while, Anatole is hard-pressed and his ally almost drops his axe. The Cadiz lord even manages to feint beautifully to catch the knife holder in the heart and through the armor, disabling him with a single strike. Shortly thereafter, the tides of battle change. With an overhead strike from his obsidian-colored blade, Anatole catches his foe¡¯s blade with an ominous clang. It is too much for Suarez¡¯ sword. It shatters in myriad pieces. The knight leader follows up with a slash that draws a bloody line across my ally¡¯s chest. Lord Suarez steps back. Soul weapon? Are those the black weapons vampire lords pull out of nowhere? Suarez takes a step forward and the three remaining fighters huddle protectively as he speaks in an unnaturally loud voice. His presence fills the clearing with an overwhelming sense of pressure. Even standing behind him, I must struggle to resist bending my back and lowering my eyes. Such is the power of a lord. Suarez straightens and breathes deeply. A massive ornamented two-hander appears between his hands, held vertically in front of him. The hilt is silvery and elegant but its surface absorbs the very light, while the very air shakes before it as an ominous hum covers the clearing. Just like Loth when he is truly angry, there is an unspeakable weight to it that goes beyond the mere physical world. The Cadiz Lord will now impose his will on the reality around him and nothing, not Anatole screaming orders, not the axeman charging him, not even the sorceress begging will stop. When he next speaks, the two words cover everything else. What happens next defies description. Suarez¡¯ eyes flash purple and then, he strikes. His sword bisects the heavier knight from right shoulder to waist, through shield, weapon, and armor. I did not see him move. His opponent falls instantly. Without pause, he slices horizontally behind him and catches Anatole mid-lunge. The monstrous attack cuts cleanly through the leader¡¯s chest as well as his right arm, and sends his own sword spinning in the darkness. The clearing goes quiet as the witch gives up and falls to her knees. The entire exchange lasted less than a heartbeat. ¡°Hooooly shit.¡± whispers Merritt. Well, yes. Quite. My ally turns to the last remaining member of the squad. I mistakenly assumed her to be a coward, but it appears that she merely possesses common sense. We watch quietly as she collects her companion¡¯s ¡®disheartened¡¯ pieces. Now that the show is over and done, the reality of the situation overwhelms me once more. I say accusingly, ¡° The witch spares me a glance. She will not meet my eyes. Pathetic. SPINELESS WEAKLING. Why Jimena wants to join their sorry excuse for an outfit, I shall never know. A moment later, we are alone in the clearing. This is all too surreal. We just witnessed a cataclysmic battle and all that remains is a handful of blood marks. There is also the small matter of my life, my entire project, being in shambles. Constantine¡¯s invitation? I might as well fold it and use it as a napkin. Unbelievable. Is this some sort of cosmic farce? All my efforts. Ruined. Well, this is not entirely true. I have made friends and allies, have grown stronger, experienced much. Even though I must run away again, I am no longer the weak fledgling who struggled to survive. And I am not destitute either. Suarez blinks in surprise, perhaps not expecting me to recover so fast. I haven¡¯t, I just need something to look forward to. he replies with a smile, The first to come to me is Loth. He looks sad and also a bit awkward. I imagine that the old warlord is not used to expressing his feelings, unless they relate to fighting, sex, or food. ¡°I cannot follow you.¡± ¡°I know. Take care of your family, and we will meet again. I promise.¡± ¡°Aye ye¡¯d better. You and I, we can do great things together. Also, I¡¯ll miss ya. Ah, Tyr.¡± Loth dries his eyes with a handkerchief. ¡°Be safe. Don¡¯t do anything too reckless.¡± ¡°Well, you know me. I¡¯m the very soul of caution.¡± There is a moment of silence before we both chuckle. ¡°I¡¯ll go before I turn into a moppy milk drinker. Don¡¯t forget your promise. You carry the boy¡¯s memory too now.¡± I nod and we hug. Loth then turns to leave and Nashoba joins me. My hands go to his gift. I wear them as a habit now. I only now come to realize how useful they must have been. I have no idea how many times they have protected me, only that they will save me once more. When the knights inevitably try to track me, they will have to do it the old-fashioned way. I wish them good luck. They will need it. S~?a??h the Nov?lF?re .??t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. ¡°So um, that was intense yeah?¡± Merritt. She really pulled through. I am pleasantly surprised. ¡°Thank you, mage Merritt, you stood by my side, our side, through everything. You are a credit to your organization and mages everywhere. I am glad you were here.¡± ¡°Wow! Do you really mean that?¡± For some reason, she appears moved to tears. I do not understand, is she letting the general mood affect her? ¡°Yes. Yes, I do.¡± ¡°Wow, this is the nicest thing someone has said to me in¡­ Forever!¡± Huh. That is¡­ Rather pathetic. ¡°It is well deserved. In my case, I must bid you goodbye and I wish you good luck.¡± She bites her lip, considering. Before she follows that specific thought I cut her off. ¡°You cannot follow. I will be going too fast.¡± ¡°Yes, I know. It¡¯s just, I admire you. You stand up for yourself so much, and you are so confident, and strong! Can we stay in touch? Exchange letters?¡± ¡°Well¡­ Yes of course. Via the Rosenthal consortium. Get in touch with them.¡± Her happiness is a curious thing. I never realized I could matter so much to someone without trying to, not since Loth anyway. Not if they know what I am. I take a step back and realize that all my belongings are somewhere else. I only have my mask and the ruined dress left, as well as my two pendants and the pair of earrings. I announce to Suarez. Before me is a majestic horse with a black coat and surprisingly red eyes. He is bound to a tree, his saddles bulging with supplies. Five minutes later I am riding full speed West, with the wind in my face and the grace of the immortal. ¡°Weeeeee! ¡± Chapter 49: The shadow over Marquette. September 1813December 21st 1831, Marquette, Illinois. Below my bedroom¡¯s largest window, I placed a mahogany desk. The delicate furniture is an expensive and wasteful affair I gifted myself last summer as a well-deserved treat for my birthday. Its surface has not been clear since then, always cluttered with messages, invoices, and orders I must countersign. Tonight, the right-hand pile will remain untouched. Tonight, I dedicate my time to contemplation. I lined the walls with some of my best paintings. The Eye, my favourite rendition of the Herald, a portrait of Dalton, another one of Loth. Those are the personal paintings while the rabble downstairs contents themselves with my landscapes and other portraits. There is even a single piece of poetry under a protective glass case, a Sonnet in alexandrines written by a passing artist singing the glory of my rear. That one made me laugh. The four-poster bed with a goose feather mattress, I seldom use, just like the vanity with its attached mirror. They serve to keep appearances in case somebody manages to break in. The two wardrobes are packed. I do have a reputation to uphold, one that requires a flawless appearance. Right now, I am wearing a blue winter gown with an ermine collar as I stare over the city. Two winters in a row now, the entire state has been covered in thick snow. Travel is almost impossible, and I expect that when it thaws, we will have to recover the corpses of the unwary and the unfortunate. The fluffy white mantle hangs over everything and even the dark soot of burnt coal has yet to mar its pristine beauty. For a few more hours, the alabaster cloth will mask the truth of what this city is: a rotten shithole. White powder to hide away the decrepitude like heavy makeup on an old whore. I appreciate the moment while it lasts. Then somebody knocks on the door. I sigh deeply and resist the urge to crumple the fragile letter in my hand, the one telling me of father¡¯s death three years ago to this day. I take one last look outside and enjoy the scent of jasmine and burning log, the crisp air inside before it is polluted. ¡°Come in.¡± Margaret¡¯s vixen face appears as I knew it would. She searches the dim room with her pitch-black eyes. ¡°Margaret.¡± ¡°Mistress¡­¡± ¡°Did I not leave specific instructions that I should not be disturbed?¡± ¡°Yes, but¡­¡± She swallows nervously. ¡°You also said to fetch you if the Alvaro were to come again. They¡­ They are here. Three brothers. Hm. Michael and George and Gabriel. Those.¡± Two archangels and one king. Pretentious. ¡°Very well. I will go.¡± ¡°And mistress? Hm. You might want to check Patrick. I think¡­ I think he¡¯s been drinking.¡± I wait a few seconds before answering. ¡°You may go.¡± She closes the door and scurries away, to prepare her promotion, no doubt. Margaret is my best cattle, and I believe she may have been Lancaster vampire material. That, or she is just a cunning, backstabbing harridan. I cannot decide which. This is, in essence, what cattle are. After three bites they lose most of their autonomy and only exist to serve us. The fires of ambition and inspiration in their soul is smothered. Their entire existence is reduced to menial tasks and spying on each other to improve their standing. I turned her into this because the twit poisoned my wine. I did Patrick because he tried to swindle me. They remain the most proactive of those I took in, and I placed them in charge of the dozen I keep around at all times. Sadly, their blood is just as insipid as their personalities. I wish I could have a Vassal but unsurprisingly, it takes a deep connection between vampire and mortal to form such a bond. The deepest connections I formed since my arrival consisted of my hand in someone¡¯s rib cage and I do not see it changing any time soon. I suspect that Masters can have several, though I remember Baudouin mentioning that only one can become the Servant and thus escape old age for a life of servitude. I step out of my room and in the corridor to the view of Margaret¡¯s quickly retreating back. The alley is decorated by my paintings and actual plaster, with doors on both sides leading to storage closets and the staff¡¯s personal quarters. I follow it to the end then down the set of stairs. The Dream is four stories high with three wings around an inner court. It is the largest building in a hundred miles in any direction, not that the South of Illinois abounds with those. I am about to reach the third floor when I come across a nervous Patrick climbing up. He sees me and stops. Under the stench of stale sweat, sex and unwashed bodies, I detect the subtle hint of expensive liquor. ¡°Patrick.¡± The weaselly man freezes in his tracks, not even daring to move. ¡°Mistress?¡± ¡°Turn around.¡± If the man gets anymore scared, I fear he may soil his pants. Human excrement is not something I wish to add to the already fragrant bouquet I submit myself to. ¡°Choose.¡± ¡°Mistress? I¡­¡± I slap him. He manages to cushion his head with an arm before it impacts the wall. Blood drips down his crooked nose. ¡°Choose.¡± ¡°A finger.¡± He shakily extends his hand. I grab the index and snap it. Ignoring his scream of pain, I drag him by his broken digit until he kneels before me. ¡°I can tolerate mistakes but not deception. One more incident and you will join Russel and the others, and I would hate to ask John to dig a grave in this weather. Do I make myself clear?¡± ¡°Yes, Mistress.¡± ¡°You will give the key to the pantry and cave to Margaret.¡± ¡°¡­ Yes, Mistress.¡± After one last twist, I leave the whimpering failure behind. Such a waste of my time. Two more landings and I am on the ground floor. Normally, the noise coming from the saloon eclipses even the moans and giggles of the upper floors. Tonight, it is unusually quiet. Even the piano stopped playing. John is waiting at the bottom with an iron poker and a big goofy smile. He cleans the drool from his cleft lip and bows. ¡°Miss Lethe.¡± ¡°Good evening John, I see you remember. Thank you.¡± The man nods frantically with a delicate blush. John is an interesting find. He is without a doubt the tallest and strongest man in town by a wide margin. He is also one of the ugliest men I ever had the misfortune of ever meeting. I wish I could say he is the stupidest. He is not, but he is close. ¡°I remember. September seventh eighteen thirty-one. If they come back, bam!¡± What John is explaining in his own words is my previous banishment of the Alvaro brothers from the Dream on threat of death, by strenuous application of the aforementioned implement. John¡¯s memory is simply uncanny. His ability to process information, not so much. With the poker held by my side, I enter the main room and calmly walk towards the bar where the trio is drinking, their back to the oaken strip. Gabriel, the eldest, is pointing an old pistol at the crowd while the two others nurse glasses and glance around nervously. The customers and girls alike stare at them and I can see quite a few predatory smirks. Those are not the delicate gentlemen and ladies of the East coast, but godless frontier folk and they are always eager for a free bloody show. When Gabriel spots me, he swings the pistol in my direction, and I catch a glimpse of the pan. Truly, it is a miracle that the entire Alvaro bloodline is not extinguished yet by the result of their sheer incompetence. A mistake that nature made and that I shall remedy myself. ¡°Well well well, and who graces my establishment tonight?¡± ¡°You bitch, we go where we want. You don¡¯t get to order us around, you know who we are?¡± ¡°As a matter of fact, I do. I remember telling you to leave and never return, or else. Isn¡¯t that right Gabriel?¡± ¡°You don¡¯t get to tell us that. We¡¯re the Alvaro. You gots to respect us. You¡¯re just a nasty slut, who cares what you want. Ain¡¯t that right?¡± I have almost reached them yet. I could Charm them into begging. I could make them leave with their tails between their legs, but I will not. I made a public promise, one I fully intend to fulfil. Their fate was sealed the moment they stepped into my domain without my leave. I do have a reputation to uphold after all, and the fancy clothes are only a part of it. ¡°I said, if you come back here, I will break your skulls with an iron poker.¡± I am close now, just barely out of arm¡¯s reach. ¡°I don¡¯t see no iron poker, you whore.¡± I slightly extend my right arm until the entire room sees the implement. A collective intake of breath and a few expressions of admiration welcome the barbaric statement. Gabriel panics, he lifts his pistol and pulls the trigger. The flint erupts in a rain of sparks as the people behind me yell in dismay. Nothing happens. That inbred cretin forgot to close the pan. His powder is on the ground somewhere. My strike catches him in the temple with a resounding crack. There is a trick to applying strength in public as a vampire. I only need to move at human speed and let the weapon¡¯s weight do the job for me. A two-handed swing takes care of George on the right, and a downward strike cracks Michael¡¯s head as he kneels by his sibling¡¯s side. For a beautiful moment, the room is filled and yet perfectly silent, then the mob lets loose. Cheers, jeers and laughter bloom at my back as I drop the poker without a care. I approach my barman under tumultuous applause. He is cleaning glass as if nothing of note had occurred. ¡°Oscar.¡± The man is a black freeman, an oddity around here. Light from the candles shines on his bald head. He raises sad brown eyes to me and nods in appreciation. ¡°I¡¯m sorry for giving them booze miss Lethe, they threatened me with that gun.¡± ¡°Did you give them the cheapest swill?¡± ¡°Of course.¡± ¡°Good man.¡± He returns to work and I approach the main entrance just as my men step in to get rid of the corpses. I smile pleasantly at the revellers complimenting me. ¡°Ice-cold miss!¡± ¡°You sure showed them!¡± ¡°Did not even flinch¡­¡± A man with a black beard and a brutish face is waiting right outside. ¡°Horrigan.¡± ¡°Boss?¡± ¡°Those three must have cut a way through the snow to come to town. Take three teams and go to the Alvaro estate. Kill all the adults, take the kids, and burn the house down.¡± ¡°Even old Mary Alvaro?¡± ¡°Especially her. Now go.¡± ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am.¡± I turn around. Horrigan is a brute and also the leader of my private army. There are around twenty of them at any time, a costly investment but one I can afford. The unruly pack will loot the place but they will also do as I ordered. I step back inside and use a side passage to return to my room unhindered. I meet a few couples on my way up. The men remove their hats and my girls curtsey, as I instructed. This should soothe me, yet it does not. The calm is gone. Well, I might as well do some paperwork. ¡°This concludes the meeting. Anyone else has anything to add?¡± Horrigan is already trying to escape and frowns as Kitty, the one in charge of the girls, raises a hand. He is not a fan of work, especially the kind that requires a brain. ¡°Preparations for the Christmas party would go better if your, ah, personal staff helped us shovel snow.¡± Margaret fixes her. If looks could kill¡­ ¡°Very well, the men only.¡± Kitty dips her head and soon my assistants file out. There is Horrigan for security, Kitty for the girls, Oscar for the entertainment side and old Martha for food and cleaning. Margaret is present as well, though their role is separate. When I settled here, I realized that there were very few positions of authority for women that did not start with ¡®wife of¡¯, so I became a madame. I run a brothel. If my father had learnt of it, he would have died of embarrassment. As for me, I don¡¯t really care that much. It is a means to an end, an excellent means besides. And the end is near. I just need two more years. My establishment, the Dream, was built with funds I borrowed from the Consortium. That debt is now repaid several times over. Indeed, I am in the business of pleasure and illusion, and business is booming. Mine is the only place of entertainment in the surrounding three counties, the only destination where one can forget about their miserable existence, their back-breaking labour or their nagging wife. This is the grandest building in all of Marquette, larger and more lavish than both the mine¡¯s office and town hall together. For a week¡¯s pay, workers and farmhands can come and drink rotgut in fancy glasses of fake crystal, served from ornate bottles by beautiful women who pretend to care. With only a handful of coins, they will find comfort in arms smelling of cheap perfume and wake up the next day just as miserable but with their mood, their purse, and their testicles lighter. Their aspirations are fulfilled, if only for an evening. All of their aspirations. The Dream is well provisioned. They want shy brunettes? I have them. Prissy blondes? Got them too. They want plump girls dressed in farm clothes they bend over to fulfil a cousin fantasy? They can. Refined ladies pretending to slum it to get their freak on? I got them as well, with quality acting delivered by the daughters of expert conmen. I got red-heads, I got auburn, I even got grey. Fat and slim, tall and small, luscious or boyish, I have them all. They want a black woman? No problem. A native? A Chinese? Right this way sir. They want food served? I have all the ribs they will ever need. I have beer, whiskey, gin and wine. I have music and dancers. I have games and jokes and all they will ever need to live the dream, to feel successful, to feel that they matter. And when dawn comes and the shining rays of the sun show the cracks in the wall painting and the imperfection on the bar¡¯s varnish, their money is already on its way to my office. Leading this small empire is not an easy task though. This is a company. We sell services and the logistics alone is already a nightmare. The amount of food required to satisfy almost three hundred people on busy nights is truly staggering, and this is without even considering cleaning. Before starting this, I had no idea how much effort is required to wash a hundred and fifty sheets, and well, let¡¯s just say that if a mer-woman lives downstream, she¡¯s pregnant. Growing and managing the massive structure has been a formative experience and I have a newfound respect for Isaac. Tonight is a town council night. As the owner and sole proprietor of the Dream, I count as one of the city¡¯s top dogs, which I guess makes me the alpha bitch. The big wheels gather once per week to discuss their domain¡¯s ongoing affairs and align to solve them. This goes from funding public works to handling disgruntled employees or undesirables, an initiative made necessary by the frontier¡¯s unequal rule of law. Until tonight, that is. I leave Horrigan and John in the town hall¡¯s entrance. A woman alone is a tempting target for those who do not know better, therefore I bring them along to intimidate people. And it works. I ordered John to smile and remain silent when people talk to him. The resulting facial expression is an abominable rictus that does not reach his eyes. As long as he doesn¡¯t utter a word, he appears dangerous instead of just plain stupid. I left no instructions to Horrigan, he only needs to be himself. The council room is a stuffy fumoir with heavy leather couches. The walls are yellowed by years of cigar smoke and the centre is occupied by a coffee table cluttered with alcohol bottles, often emptied and changed. Inebriation makes my colleagues more amenable, most of the time. I highly suspect this will not apply to the newcomer. ¡°Ah, here you are hehe! Miss Lethe, meet our new judge, the honourable Mr Richard Sullivan. Splendid, hehe, yes, now, order will finally come to our beloved city, hehe, isn¡¯t that right Mr Sullivan?¡± The mayor is a short and plump man with a sweet disposition. Under his affable air lies a shrewd businessman, one with probity, according to local standards. His striped suit flares around the middle making him bottom heavy. By contrast, the newcomer is dressed in black with a top hat, gloves and an entirely black suit with a white shirt. He is tall, with white hair and an abundant white beard, and painfully thin. Two pale blue eyes peer down an aquiline nose. His tone is glacial. ¡°Yes. Quite.¡± A silver cross hangs on his tie. Not from the Brotherhood thankfully, or our collaboration would have been brief indeed. Thankfully, I know how to handle his kind without leaving a corpse. I curtsey respectfully and offer my hand in greeting. ¡°It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, judge Sullivan.¡± And here is the thing, scorning me would not only be unbecoming of a gentleman in public, it would also insult the mayor, his host. After a slight hesitation, Sullivan relents and holds my hand. He bows slightly in a gesture that is calculated to convey disdain. ¡°I have heard much about you and your¡­ Establishment, Ms Lethe.¡± ¡°Only good things, I hope?¡± I add, ever the pleasant host. ¡°It is a den of sin!¡± ¡°You mean, prostitution?¡± ¡°So, you do not deny it?¡± ¡°No.¡± My calm statement takes him by surprise, and I use the distraction to push him further. ¡°We live on the frontier, judge Sullivan. Those are hardy and persistent folks, but they have base instincts. I merely offer them a safe and clean place to relax and¡­ ply their trade.¡± ¡°You attempt to present adultery as something inevitable!¡± ¡°Ah, but we both know that if your constituents were all respectable citizens, your task would be significantly easier would it not? I understand that you would see the Dream as a tool of chaos and evil, but you could not be further from the truth. When I came here, these women were living in poorly lit and filthy barns while the men were drinking dangerous concoctions made by smugglers and criminals. The squalor of their living conditions was appalling and every year, many would die to disease and exposure. The Dream brought civilization, such as it is, to those poor people. We provide a safe environment for them to¡­ Channel their impulses. As a man of law, I believe that you can appreciate our contribution to peace and order in this town.¡± ¡°Certainly, their time would be better spent attending church rather than a house of ill repute!¡± ¡°I am afraid that this would be the purview of pastor van Tassel. Ah, here he is.¡± An older gentleman in a dark ensemble joins us at the table, soon followed by a dour bald man who manages the city¡¯s coal mine for some Chicago firm. ¡°Mrs Lethe is right I¡¯m afraid. I fight an uphill battle to save the souls of those lost lambs. At the very least, her financial contribution to the church helped us repair it last winter so my efforts could continue.¡± Of course, I would fund the local church. I do need the priest off my back, not to mention that he likes curvy women and roleplay. Interestingly, so does his wife. ¡°An undisciplined rabble is what they are!¡± harrumphs the mayor, ¡°it takes all of Ms Lethe and pastor¡¯s van Tassel¡¯s efforts to keep them in line. Why just yesterday an entire farm was burnt to the ground as part of a criminal¡¯s quarrel, no doubt!¡± Ahem. ¡°You have your task cut out for you, judge Sullivan. You can, of course, count on all our help.¡± He continues. ¡°Hmpf!¡± The righteous man is not convinced by their arguments in my favour, but he is mellowed and that will be enough for a first contact. As in most things political, I will take my time, erode determinations and enmities by making them too costly to maintain. In truth, immortality grants me a unique mindset to appreciate long-term goals. So many decisions are motivated by biological imperatives to find fortune, a good party, or to leave a legacy to one¡¯s children within a few years. I do not disdain mortals for it, quite the contrary. So many great deeds are carried out through the motivation a limited lifespan offers. Short-sightedness is only an unfortunate and unavoidable side effect of this condition, and with no vampires around, insults slide off me like water. Betrayals are nothing but amusing distractions I need to repay in a particularly inventive and cruel manner. Finally, if the offenders decide it wiser to leave town, they never reach the next one. Metis and I make sure of it. A slow stream of notables joins us until all are present or excused. I remain the only woman present to the general indifference of all. It appears mortals can get used to anything, with time. Judge Sullivan introduces himself and what he stands for through a concise speech mentioning ¡°God¡± far too many times for my taste, and ¡°Justice¡± too few. Our discussions then lead to the town¡¯s Christmas celebrations. Van Tassel and I mention our respective preparations, and the meeting is soon adjourned. I never truly appreciated cold before. I feel it in my bones but it is no longer uncomfortable, nor distressing. Instead of shivers and lethargy, I enjoy the crisp air and silence only broken by feet trudging through snow. Then we reach the Dream and I am hit by a sensory wall. Bright lights, loud music, the overwhelming stench of sweat, stale sex and unwashed bodies. Spilled booze mingles with cheap tobacco in a concerted effort to saturate my mind. I immediately turn to a side door to escape the main room before one of our patrons gathers enough courage to accost me. ¡°Miss Ari?¡± ¡°Yes John.¡± ¡°Your head hurts?¡± How can he be so perceptive yet so dumb? A most peculiar man. ¡°No, the music is just too loud.¡± The towering giant nods wisely, or his version of wise anyway. Horrigan sneers but remains quiet. Once, I ordered John to execute a man who had shot one of our girls. The simpleton placed his hands around his victim¡¯s skull and crushed it like an overripe melon. Since that fateful moment, not a man has seen it wise to test or bully my self-proclaimed bodyguard. ¡°I will retire to my room. You two enjoy your evening.¡± I close the door behind me. Finally, blessed quiet, and the light scent of cleanliness and jasmine. And woodsmoke. And¡­ Roses. There is an envelope on my bed. NEST COMPROMISED. FIND THE INTRUDER AND KILL IT. KILL IT NOW! ¡°MARGARET!¡± Feet scurry outside, only to stop at the door. I bang it open and take her by her devious, lying throat. ¡°Who came here!? Who?¡± ¡°No¡­ Please!¡± ¡°HSSSSS!¡± ¡°No one! No one I swear!¡± A small gathering of cattle is now watching us. ¡°Who came in here?¡± ¡°No one Mistress.¡± They all shake their heads. They look scared, terrified even, but I detect no signs of duplicity. No shifty eyes, no one trying to avoid attention. They are all looking around trying to catch another lying, eager to curry my favor. I even forbid them from entering and as far as I know, cattle cannot, and will not disobey a direct order. ¡°Very well. Wait here.¡± I go back in and look around the room. The windows are sealed, and cannot be opened from the outside. I inspect all four of them without finding any sign of tampering. There are no magical auras either. Not even from the envelope. ¡°Margaret. Find anyone who came to this floor while I was away and bring them to me.¡± ¡°Very well, Mistress.¡± The letter smells of roses. I open it and read its content, a single piece of paper covered in a flowery script I do not recognize. What in the name of the Watcher?! ¡°Miss?¡± ¡°Yes Margaret.¡± ¡°They are here, and I heard some terrible news!¡± ¡°Do tell.¡± ¡°Old man Roger has been assassinated!¡± Old man Roger does not matter. His assassination does. I do not tolerate any bloodletting on my territory unless I am the instigator, and so I decide to head out immediately. Interrogation will have to wait. I leave the house with John in tow. The murder occurred near the Northern entrance to the town on a large square surrounded by warehouses where convoys unload their wares. The Southern entrance is mostly used to load coal and is easily recognizable by its spoil pile, an artificial dark valley devoid of plant life where the mine dumps its rejects. When we arrive, we find a small gathering even at this late hour. They part to let us through and I find that I am late to the party. The doors to one of the warehouses are wide open, the interior lit and in it, I find men surrounding what I assume is Roger¡¯s corpse. ¡°Ms. Lethe, would you mind explaining what on earth do you think you¡¯re doing here? This is no place for a woman.¡± ¡°Judge Sullivan.¡± The man is surrounded by four men in heavy cloth and identical leather coats with Marshal stars, quite likely men he named himself. None of them are locals which tells a lot about judge Sullivan¡¯s trust in local law enforcement and his willingness to be part of our community. ¡°I wanted to know if the dreadful rumors I heard about old Roger have any truth to them. He did some work for us after all. His well-being concerns me.¡± The man scoffs lightly but he questions my sincerity and not my motive, and that is all I care about. As for me I know the rumors to be true. The scent of carrion and blood is heavy on the air. ¡°See for yourself.¡± The men step back. On the ground, lies old Roger or to be precise, what is left of him. He has been savaged with full pieces of meat and most of the innards missing while the skin of his face has been peeled off and removed. Only his signature hat, his pipe and a missing right eye ascertain his identity. I have seldom seen such cadavers outside of animal attacks and this is simply impossible here. ¡°You do not seem shocked.¡± I raise my eyes to meet the judge¡¯s inquisitive brown eyes. ¡°I have seen worse, in animal attacks.¡± ¡°Did you now? And do you believe this to be an animal attack?¡± Ah, time to decide. Do I gracefully dodge the question, or do I make myself look competent? This is a defining moment, one that will shape our future relationship for the next two years. What do I want? I want him to consider me as an off-man. I have seen it before. Many of the more religious men see women as incapable of holding a business or dealing with violence. When confronted with me, those beliefs conflict with observable facts and when it happens, they simply discard me as an anomaly. I become an ¡°off-man¡±, someone who was conceived without dangling parts by some divine clerical error. Competence it is. ¡°Not at all, sir.¡± ¡°Explain.¡± ¡°A mauled man is always surrounded by a pool of blood, here the ground is mostly dry so he was not killed here. No beast large enough to inflict this type of wound would move the body, not to mention they would never reach this far into the city, nor open a gate.¡± ¡°What if an animal killed him and dropped the body here.¡± S~?a??h the ?0velF?re.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. ¡°Unlikely, there are no blood trails. And something is clearly missing.¡± He blinks. I hear his heartbeat accelerate in excitement. ¡°What is?¡± Is he not tired of testing me? ¡°Bite marks. Roger¡¯s corpse has been cut apart by claws or a claw like instrument but there are no teeth marks. Look at the chest, the pieces of flesh here and there have been clearly carved out but not bitten. It cannot possibly be the work of a beast.¡± The marshals all bend down to get a better look, a few looking a bit green around the gills. Sullivan¡¯s eyes widen and I realize my mistakes. They had not noticed yet. I hope I did not present myself as too competent. The judge takes a step forward, only for John to cross his arms at my side. I classify John crossing his arms as a spectator sport. When he does it, many men realize that waists are not that thick. They stare in wonder and their eyes drift up to a face even a mother would not love, which explains why he was abandoned as a kid. Then John smiles. Sullivan wisely decides to take a step back from the man who might very well be Illinois¡¯ second highest altitude after Charles Mound and asks his question from afar. ¡°How does a woman know all of that?¡± Because my eight hundred years old Dvergur friend taught me how to recognize monsters from their victims. ¡°Because I grew up in a farm, judge Sullivan. I saw dead sheep and dead horses and it was nothing quite like that.¡± Technically correct. ¡°So he was killed somewhere else. It cannot be far since he was still alive three hours ago.¡± No way. Too rotted. ¡°He was?¡± ¡°Yes, he and other drivers¡­¡± Sullivan stops abruptly and with a blush of embarrassment, realizes he is giving precious information to a civilian, and worse! One who wears petticoats. ¡°Thank you for your assistance Ms. Lethe. Now I will ask you to clear the scene.¡± I nod and gracefully make my exit, my bodyguard in tow. ¡°Someone killed Mr. Roger. Mr. Roger gave me treacle twice and tobacco four times.¡± It is a rare thing for John to speak first. The death must trouble him a lot. ¡°Who killed Mr. Roger, Ms. Ari?¡± ¡°A monster.¡± One who can mask his aura. ¡°Are you going to kill it?¡± ¡°Of course.¡± Chapter 50: Under the Skin Behind the Dream, two minutes on foot eastward, one can find a small shop called the Seamstress Union. Every month, a cart makes the rounds of nearby farms to drop off spools of cotton thread and pick up finished cloth. The best are dyed and sold here to Marquette¡¯s more affluent citizens, under the watchful eye of its proprietor.¡°Good evening Debbie.¡± ¡°Ms Lethe.¡± Deborah frowns. I¡¯d like to think that, if I had stayed human, I would have been a bit like her. She has five children and a loving husband, a flourishing business, and bears her age with beauty and dignity. The grey in her auburn hair and the crow¡¯s feet by her dark eyes fail to extinguish her charm. She carries herself with poise and confidence. She is also an untrained mage. I can feel in her the telltale aura of spellcasters. Perhaps because we are far from large cities, she never had any magical education and her potential only manifests in one curious quirk. She can spot lies in mortals. ¡°What is tonight¡¯s guess?¡± ¡°Sophia.¡± ¡°Wrong again.¡± ¡°One day I¡¯ll find out what your first name is.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t bother, it¡¯s Fernande.¡± ¡°Truly?¡± ¡°No, it is Berenice.¡± ¡°You are making a fool of me!¡± She pretends to scowl, then we both chuckle. ¡°How do I even know that you will respect your promise? I still cannot tell when you deceive me.¡± ¡°I gave you my word.¡± She snorts with bitter amusement. ¡°Who respects their promises nowadays?¡± ¡°I do.¡± Our eyes meet and though I do not use Charm, she recoils and shivers. She is quite perceptive despite her lack of formal training, sensitive enough to pick up when my own aura flares. I hold my promises, oh yes. All of them. ¡°You are one strange woman, miss Lethe.¡± ¡°I will accept this as the compliment I am sure this was meant to be.¡± ¡°Ah yes, of course.¡± She answers, lowering her eyes. I need to remember to blink more often. I did not mean to be intimidating. ¡°There is something I would like to know.¡± ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°The caravan Roger was in, was there anyone new in it?¡± ¡°The murders. Why can you never ask me about the latest gossip like everyone else? It¡¯s always dark things with you.¡± ¡°Someone has to ask, or nothing is ever solved. Speaking of which¡­ I would like my answer now.¡± ¡°Yes, sorry. It was only the old team. They struggled to make their way here from Springfield through all that snow and I don¡¯t think they could have a stowaway. Not unless it could have gotten its water from sucking icicles.¡± ¡°Fair enough, tell me of Mrs. Tucker¡¯s death.¡± She shivers and crosses herself. I resist the urge to hiss softly. ¡°Dreadful affair, that. She was found in her bedroom earlier today if you will believe it, only a few hours after attending Mrs. Callaghan¡¯s tea party. Did you¡­ Did you go to her house?¡± ¡°I did. Unfortunately, the body had been picked up and dragged to the morgue under the judge¡¯s office. He made it clear to his doorman that I was .¡± There was only a pool of congealed blood in her study, a sure sign that she was slaughtered on location. It was old as well, at least a day. ¡°Pushing you away, is he? Don¡¯t you think you ought to let him work? I know that John of yours is a fearsome lad but¡­ It may not be enough this time if that madman comes after you.¡± ¡°Two persons were butchered Debbie, people are scared and when they are, they tend to do unwise things.¡± S?a?ch* Th? N???lFire.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. ¡°But it¡¯s good for your business, right? Desperate people do things to feel alive? So, it¡¯s not too bad?¡± I stop flat and study my counterpart. This was¡­ Odd. For a mortal. Valuing profit over gruesome death is considered amoral. I know she is not, and her tone is slightly hesitant. Why would she ever risk appearing callous? Unless¡­ ¡°Are you worried about me?¡± The mask breaks and she explodes. ¡°Dear lord woman, this is not your duty! Do you know how horrible the town center was before you settled in? I remember it well! What happens if that maniac goes after you and your dunce of a bodyguard misses him? Everything will go to hell, again!¡± ¡°Calm your nerves Debbie, I have taken precautions. Should I disappear, the Dream will be taken over by people I trust.¡± ¡°Everybody may be replaceable Ms. Lethe, but not always by their match. Just¡­ Keep it in mind. Before you end up way over your head.¡± ¡°I shall take your advice under consideration. Now, the murder please.¡± ¡°You know, I don¡¯t need any intuition to know that was a crock of shit.¡± ¡°I did not lie just now; I used a polite yet unambiguous way to tell you off.¡± Debbie shakes her head and leans against the counter. A deep breath later, she returns her attention to me. ¡°I didn¡¯t want to tell you this. That old bat has been harping since yesterday about the dangers of accepting misfits and the inevitable fate that befalls those who frequent them. She insisted that God protected her because she was living a life of purity and avoided the congress of whores, witches, savages and foreigners.¡± ¡°Charming.¡± ¡°Is it not?¡± ¡°It¡¯s almost as if she provoked whatever killed Roger and the thing answered.¡± We stare at each other, the silence pregnant with signs of dispute. Debbie cracks first. ¡°You¡¯re going to do it, aren''t you? Set yourself as bait.¡± ¡°It could work.¡± ¡°Jesus Christ, I knew it!¡± ¡°I will be careful.¡± ¡°Right you are. Just¡­ Get out. And don¡¯t you dare die on me you hear?¡± I wave goodbye as I turn around. Her concern is touching, but I am not exactly defenseless, and it has been too long since I had a proper meal. A welcoming party awaits my return to the Dream, one I could have done without. ¡°Judge Sullivan.¡± ¡°Miss Lethe, I was wondering if you could clarify some elements for me.¡± ¡°Of course, would you like to step inside?¡± ¡°I would rather not.¡± Three of his marshals move to surround me and John in a thinly veiled gesture of intimidation. I raise one brow in mock surprise then we wait in silence. I have perfected the effect of annoyed boredom over the years and this is the expression I serve them now. Behind the judge, the gates of the Dream open and a man steps out, then gets back in. Annoyed at the delay, Sullivan speaks first. ¡°Two people have been horribly murdered in the past few days.¡± Silence. ¡°I could not help but notice that old man Roger was working for you.¡± ¡°Indirectly, yes. And?¡± ¡°There are rumors that he stole merchandise destined for the Dream.¡± I shrug. ¡°It would not matter. We check every delivery and only pay for goods that actually enter storage.¡± ¡°And Mrs. Tucker was quite vocal in her condemnation of your¡­ Establishment.¡± ¡°Her and quite a few others.¡± While we were talking, a steady stream of armed men have been leaving the Dream and casually taking position around our group. The marshals notice it but too late, they are already surrounded and vastly outnumbered. They think they can pull an intimidation on ? Preposterous. ¡°Do not play coy with me woman. I just arrived here and a killer butchers two citizens, whose disappearances favor you? It seems like somebody is killing two birds with one stone, removing opposition while making me look incompetent.¡± ¡°Why would I produce any effort towards an end that you yourself pursue so relentlessly?¡± ¡°You dare!¡± Sullivan takes a step forward only for John to repel him with a small hand push. Despite my bodyguard¡¯s apparent restraint, the older man almost loses balance. Only his associates manage to hold him upright. Sullivan inflates with anger like a furious toad but finally notices the dire straits he finds himself in. Most of my guards have completely encircled the lawmen. They stand close enough that any conflict will end up with the defenders quickly overwhelmed. Sullivan realizes this, just as he realizes that quite a few patrons have come to witness the debacle. I could make an effort to salvage the man¡¯s honor. On the other hand, I have the perfect opportunity to impart some rules to the newcomer. About our respective balance of power, for example. ¡°I find it curious as well. The deaths occurred shortly after your arrival, after all. Perhaps a member of your party is a monster in human clothes?¡± ¡°Scandalous! This¡­ Slander!¡± ¡°Just a theory, one that has as much merit as your own. More, perhaps. I have suffered insults from the likes of Tucker for more than a decade without ever losing composure. I have little reason to act now, especially because Mr. Tucker himself is one of our regulars.¡± ¡°What?!¡± ¡°Surprised? You should not be. All of those gossips, the town¡¯s history, and information on its most influential members are easily acquired through simple conversations with your constituents. And yet you did not even bother. Instead, you brought your goons from out of town and strut around like a rooster, throwing empty theories in the winds. We, the town council, have kept order since your predecessor¡¯s untimely death and you would do well to remember that we can still have you recalled. Now, if you will excuse me¡­¡± I walk without resistance past the judge and his small squad with my men trailing behind. There are quite a few sniggers and I hear the distinctive sound of Horrigan spitting on someone¡¯s shoes. Lovely. And a waste of my time. I need a plan to have Sullivan expelled from the city just in case he perseveres in his error. Killing a judge would be messy and I have reached my quota of ¡°mysterious disappearances¡± for the year. One more hurdle. I walk to the bar and smile at the friendly greetings I receive. Removing my coat, I lean forward over the bar to a few appreciative ¡°aaahs¡±. Oscar nods in greeting. ¡°I need a rumor started.¡± ¡°Yea?¡± ¡°Make sure everyone hears that I think Roger¡¯s killer is a coward, that he would never have the balls to come here and that my room is the safest place in the city. Safer than the bank vault.¡± The head barman stops wiping a glass and fixes me with his sad chocolate eyes. ¡°You sure about this boss?¡± ¡°Very sure.¡± ¡°¡­ Alright then. I see how it is. Be careful though.¡± I make my way to my bedroom. The truth is that I know too little about my target. I smelled nothing inhuman around the bodies, nor were there any traces of aura nearby. The only elements I have come from the victims. First, the corpses were left in supposedly secured locations where they would inevitably be found. The warehouse has a large traffic, even now, and Mrs. Tucker¡¯s house is a normal place of gathering for righteous old harpies to eat cake, break wind and blame it on their rat-like dogs. This speaks of supreme self-confidence. The monster does not care to stay hidden, for it believes that the entire population is powerless to stop it, which leads to the second point. If the bodies are messages, then Roger was meant to announce its arrival and Tucker¡¯s, to show that no one is safe. My intuition tells me that my target¡¯s arrogance knows no bounds, and that it delights in putting a show. Clearly, it has never come face to face with a vampire. In any case, setting a bait should work better than running around and attempting to track a creature that can quite obviously hide its presence. In the meanwhile, there is the small matter of securing my bedroom against further visits from my secret admirer. Then I will teach him or her the meaning of boundaries, one phalanx at a time. One night later. All my preparations are complete. I reinforced my door with two more locks and installed one of my creations near every exit. Based on Loth¡¯s take on a magical capacitor, the tool is a piece of silver looking like a drill on one end, and a key on the other. Its function is simple. Any spell cast in its vicinity will be disrupted and its energies absorbed. It will allow me to circumvent my own lack of magical skill and hopefully provide a bit of a surprise to any spellcaster who will not expect it, should they attempt to gain ingress through supernatural means. An elegant solution, if I do say so myself. There are limits of course. The range is extremely limited for one, and I also doubt that it will affect spells that are already cast. To guard my nest, it should be enough. In the end, I decided against placing mouse traps in strategic places. I would rather break those fingers myself. The last measure I took concerns my fellow hunter. She is ready and more than eager. And since everything is done I have no further excuses. Paperwork it is! I am not sure why I am billed fifty chicken but there better be fifty damn chicken on that Christmas table or I know how I will use those feathers. I will even pay for the tar out of my own pocket. A pair of footsteps announce the arrival of visitors. I recognize Margaret¡¯s fearful touch but not the other. Heavier. A man. After a moment of hesitation, Margaret knocks and I answer. ¡°Mistress, Mr Tucker is here. He wants to talk to you about the murders.¡± How interesting. ¡°Come in.¡± Margaret lets the man enter and leaves immediately, as ordered, and I take a moment to inspect my guest. Mr. Tucker is a mousey man. He has been one of our more discreet guests over the past few years. He owns shares of the mines, and works at one of the city¡¯s two banks as an accountant. Or owned, I suppose. Under his normal human smell, there is now another one, the light rot of a dried corpse. I would not have noticed it in a crowd, only the clean environment of my room allows me to pick it up with ease. There is still no trace of aura. ¡°Ms. Lethe. Good evening,¡± he says as he holds his hat between two nervous hands. An impressive facsimile, even to the mannerism. ¡°Ah Mr. Tucker, we have been friends for a long time, you and I, have we not?¡± The man blinks, then lowers his head nervously. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t say that¡­¡± Alright, I am impressed. And a tad worried. Was it a lucky guess, or does it have access to its victim¡¯s memories? If it does, then I hope there is a limit to it or this creature may have access to the collected knowledge of humanity. It would be dangerous if it had a physique to match. ¡°You were going to speak about the murder? You know what I find the most interesting?¡± I turn away and approach one of the two windows leading to the inner court, opening it despite the weather and the late hour. ¡°The victims were seen moving after they were dead.¡± I duck under the swipe of eagle-like talons coming from an elegant sleeve, grab it and . The thing that used to be Mr. Tucker is sent screaming into the night, properly defenestrated. I¡¯m not going to risk a fight indoors, not with how much furniture costs in this forsaken place. I jump lightly and land in a crouch next to the creature as it stands up. Besides the clawed hands, the thing¡¯s head is also split in half by a nightmarish mouth covered by a forest of needle-like teeth. Strands of skin peel off from the inhuman parts as if they had burst from the inside. The rank smell of carrion is stronger and I can finally feel the beginning of an aura. Where a werewolf is anger and unbridled fury, this thing is envy and pride, meant to pervert and desecrate. I feel disgusted at its sight and outraged at the challenge it dared offer. Judging from the speed of its attack and the strength it exhibited when slaughtering its prey, the creature is slightly more dangerous than a Wendigo. I am offended that something so weak would trespass on my territory. ¡°What are you?¡± It still speaks. I, however, am done. I move in and dig a hand in its chest to find¡­ Nothing. Not a hint of blood. Only layers upon layers of parchment-like skin. I recoil in surprise and swipe its face with a similar result. Only a trickle of blood drips from a few teeth I raked in passing. Before I can attack again, Tucker¡¯s face just falls from the monster¡¯s head like a poorly pinned drawing from a wall and below I find a young, handsome man with a haughty composure and deep blue eyes. The clawed hand extends towards me and my foe¡¯s aura flares, its tainted nature supplemented by the shimmering aura of spellcasters. ¡°Firewhip!¡± I focus. Deep in my mind palace, the statue of the transformed Herald shines an ominous blue light and in the real world, purple essence lines my claws. I swipe and the spell breaks, its heat dispersing harmlessly in the winter air. The surprise in its eyes is precious. An instant later, I pierce them and see a satisfying fountain of fluid emerges from the wound. Then the creature screams. The horrible and tremulous sound is ear-shattering, and the music inside of the Dream stops. ¡°What the HELL was that!?¡± Oh no you little prick, that¡¯s my business you are trying to disrupt! I prepare to jump after it but reconsider. The creature is turning tail and I cannot butcher it in the courtyard. Curtains are already being thrown aside by alarmed patrons. A change of scenery is called for. I let it run away and whistle. On my right, the stable¡¯s door bangs open and Metis comes out, fully harnessed. She is massive, a towering black presence that fills its surroundings with an ominous aura. Her hooves thunder on the packed snow as she trudges forward. I grab a leather strap on her chest and nimbly twist around as she passes me by, landing on her back. Metis is never saddled. The harness is only here to keep my hunting implements secured. I don a black cloak I had prepared and we rush left on a side street after the fleeing shadow. The creature is fast, but Metis is faster. The light of the moon reflects on a pair of panicked eyes, dark brown this time. A new face is shed and its limbs grow thinner and longer, then it jumps on a nearby roof. Wendigo. It can mimic magical creatures, not just mages. I lean to the side as my mount turns without prompt. When Metis has prey in her sight, a forest fire would not stop her. Now I don¡¯t want that thing jumping around delicate tiles, waking everyone around in the dead of night. One silver dagger later and the creature falls with a yelp¡­ On the other side of the street. I crouch and leap in turn. In a single motion, I reach the top of the incline and push myself to the other side. Too late, the street is empty. This isn¡¯t over. It THINKS IT CAN HIDE. I sample the air. The stench of rotten skin is strong but fading. I move up and down the street. Nothing. It is still there, hiding. There are only large log houses and a ceramic shop around. Nothing moves. I close my eyes and focus. I hear a few slow heartbeats barely perceptible through the thick walls, and then something else lighter, faster. I turn and throw at the same time. My third and last dagger hits MY PREY, a huge bat almost fifty feet away, which shrieks and falls in the snow. Uh, what. That is not my prey at all! With a revolting squelch, a stag emerges from the remains and flees away. Nevermind, it is. I rush after it and hop on Metis as she joins me from a side street. We gallop down the street like a charge of Hessian hussars, leaving clouds of brown and white in our trail. The stag is close enough that I could shoot or catch up to it but it is currently heading out of town and that suits me just fine. Metis will have her fun and I will have my peace of mind. We lightly jump over a fence and the last of the houses fall away. In front of us, there is only an endless sea of flat snow dotted by the odd copse of trees, shining like powdered diamond under the moonlight. The stag has grown large enough to break a path through the pristine layer. I can hear its panicked breath and Metis¡¯ own as the frigid wind caresses my skin. My hood falls back and my hair is free. There, under the dark heaven, there is nothing but the three of us dancing a ballet with an end as old as time and just as inevitable. It will soon be over but for now, we race and I cherish the moment. With Metis now at full speed, the distance between us closes until the metamorphosed horror can hear the nightmare at its back trampling snow beneath its cruel hooves. It darts to the side and enters a thicket. I hear another crack, yet another discarded skin, and take out my large game spear. Another one of my creations, this lance is a weapon designed to hunt from horseback. It has a spiked guard designed to keep the harpooned prey away from its wielder and a silver and steel blade two feet long, enough to pin two grown men to a brick wall. I lower it in anticipation. The largest werewolf I have ever seen emerges from the treeline. Its fur is dark and criss-crossed with claw marks and other scars. It opens its fanged maw and lets out a monstrous howl, a promise of blood that would make any mortal pale and any horse falter. Metis is not any horse. She accelerates, eager to answer the challenge. I lean into her, use my legs as support and catch the surprised foe in the throat. The spear lifts the beast off its paws and I stab it in the trunk of a great pine as deep as I can. Without waiting I jump off for the kill. I don¡¯t know how many layers of skin this thing has but I certainly intend to find out. Even if I have to spread enough human vellum on the forest ground to furnish the library of Alexandria. It¡¯s going down. Now. I savage the chest, break a clawed limb. With another hand, it quite literally grabs its face and discards it. The flesh disappears and a large bird is freed. The head! Of course! I grab the feathered head and tear off its beak, which breaks without resistance. We tumble on the ground as I ravage layer after layer of caked dermis, sometimes an animal but mostly humans. I do not hesitate when the creature changes into a child, or a pleading mother, or a sad-looking old man. CHILDISH AND PATHETIC. Such artifice is wasted on my kind. After twenty more faces, I stop the cast of another spell, then rip off the muzzle of another wolf, then break the spine of another wendigo. The skins are now shed faster, the creature desperate to break my hold by changing shape as fast as it can. A hopeless struggle. The only thing it unsettles is my sense of smell. I stop counting the shapes. I just slice and rip and tear and catch a limb when my captive manages to slither away. This is no longer a fight, just a messy execution, and after a few minutes my claw draws blood. I stop out of curiosity for a moment, even though I should know better. The real features are those of a native man, twisted by malice. Its eyes shine with utter malevolence. It spits insult and imprecations. Yes, struggle and blame your fate INTRUDER, YOU DIE NOW. I lean forward and¡­ Recoil. Ew ew ew he stinks to high heaven! Pwah! I would have retched my last three meals if it were physiologically possible. What in the name of is that?! Did his real body marinate for a decade under all that skin!? Pah! I shove the man headfirst into the pure snow, curse my delicate nose and drag him around the closest trees. When I am done, I slap him unconscious for good measure and look at the crook of his neck. No. Just no. Nope! I grab a wrist and wipe it energetically with handfuls of ice. I¡¯m not letting my meal go, out of the question! Seriously though¡­ I am not entirely convinced this is worth the effort. Eventually, the skin is clear and only smells marginally like a tanner¡¯s armpit. I cannot say it. This was unique and entertaining right to the moment where I had to dress my kill like some cavewoman. Well, nothing to it. Close your eyes Ariane and think of America! I bite down. I pitch forward, nudged by an impatient and hungry creature. Her warm breath tickles my ear. Bump. ¡°Aw Metis I stand up and let the exsanguinated body fall. I was almost done too! Alright, I will give the attention she deserves. I pat her head to congratulate her for a job well done and negotiate a truce until it is her turn. Metis¡¯ nostrils flare and I realize my mistake. Too late. The proud and offended equine neighs in distress at the ungodly stench coating my fingers, turns tail, and gallops away. Dammit. She got my shovel too! Agh I¡¯m going to have to return to the Dream and then come back with a shovel to hide that disgusting thing. This evening couldn¡¯t possibly get any worse! I stare at the opened door of my bedroom. I had left specific orders that it be locked again after my departure and I know for a fact that Margaret did it. I push it open and my nose is assailed by the cloying scent of roses. All the little silver traps I had prepared to disrupt magic have been carefully cut, twisted and assembled in an artful rendition of a nativity scene on my desk. Another envelope has been placed on my bed. I jinxed it, didn¡¯t I. With a heavy sigh bemoaning the cruel fate befalling this poor, humble vampire trying her best, I open it. Arg. That little¡­ I step out and immediately hail Margaret. ¡°Besides Roger¡¯s caravan and Sullivan¡¯s group, did anyone else come to town recently?¡± ¡°No mistress the town is entirely devoid of travelers, I am not sure that handsome gentleman even stayed.¡± What? ¡°A handsome gentleman? What handsome gentleman? This the first time I hear about this!¡± She blinks in surprise and her mouths twists with worry. ¡°I never mentioned him before? I apologize Mistress!¡± ¡°Nevermind that.¡± A handsome gentleman. Right. At least I know where to start looking. First the swan, the only formal establishment in the city. This is where visiting dignitaries and clergymen stay while they pass through town. Officially at least. I shall start my search there. Failing that, I will return to the Seamstress Union tomorrow and ask Debbie where that man is and why she failed to mention him before. This is just unacceptable. The Swan¡¯s main entrance reeks of roses. A fully blossomed flower thrones proudly next to the clerk¡¯s desk. Unbelievable. ¡°Excuse me sir, I am looking for a friend.¡± ¡°Of course you are Ms. Lethe¡­ Please refrain from disturbing the peace and silence of the place while you are here, yes?¡± The clerk, a tall and thin old man with a respectable air, struggles not to smirk at his own joke. I should have woken John up. I lean forward and stare him in the eye, letting a hint of threat slide through my composed mask. ¡°The owner can afford to disrespect me in public sir, can you?¡± The sneer turns to anger but I recognize him now. He is the night manager for this inn. Mostly incorruptible but not exempt of weakness. ¡°Can you, Philips? Can you afford to be unprofessional? What will your daughters do if you lose your income?¡± The sneer falls. ¡°I will ask you to leave, Madam.¡± ¡°After I am done.¡± I climb up the stairs, following the trail of perfume to the top floor and its master bedroom. I open the door to a well-furnished receiving boudoir around a fumoir occupied by a roaring fire. The balcony¡¯s door is open despite the polar temperature and from it, a melody emerges. The voice is male, with a tenor pitch that is nothing short of exquisite. A few notes played on a small harp or lyre accompany the song with tasteful and delicate arpeggios. The lyrics, however¡­ I look out the opening into a vis ¨¤ vis bedroom. In it, I see a majestic couch upon which languidly lounges a man I recognize. I groan and smack my head on the sill out of sheer frustration. ¡°Sineaaaaaaad!¡± The Likaean looks positively princely in an ornate green jacket. Gone is the emaciated ghost we rescued from that cave, his twinkling amber eyes are now surrounded by a filled-out, handsome face, both delicate and somehow virile. His hair is grown and surrounds his face in a pleasant halo, shining like wheat under the July sun. As I watch, a golden shimmer comes upon him and for an instant, his colors grow incredibly vivid before fading back to normalcy. ¡°Good evening poppet, it has been too long.¡± That rake! He planned this so well, I cannot even pinch him as he is in someone else¡¯s home. I even see a white leg emerging from the heavy bed cover, distinctly female¡­ Something clicks in my mind as I remember this part of town and who the house belongs to. ¡°Sinead, is that Louisa Watson¡¯s bedroom you are in?¡± ¡°Ah yes, Louisa, such a precious young woman.¡± ¡°You¡­ She has a fianc¨¦!!!¡± ¡°And they will be promptly married within the next two months thanks to me, I guarantee it. The lad should feel grateful!¡± ¡°Sinead!¡± ¡°I even taught her a few tricks that will positively delight him.¡± ¡°Oh my¡­ cough¡­ SINEAD YOU ABSOLUTE CAD!¡± ¡°Shhhh! You will wake her up. I am not here to talk about my delicious snack, no, I am here to discuss our upcoming cooperation!¡± he adds with a devastating smile. ¡°Cooperation my¡­ My posterior! How dare you!¡± ¡°Tut tut tut I did tell you I would test you when we next meet. Can¡¯t say I am impressed. It took you long enough to find a man who does not even try to hide.¡± ¡°I was otherwise engaged!¡± ¡°What, with the skinning monster? Pffffft. Laughable. It should not have taken you more than a few minutes to take it apart.¡± ¡°Aaarrg!¡± ¡°But let us first leave this dreary place. People here are so stuffy, so officious. Reminds me of the court back home. I have had enough seducing the virtue off of spout frogs mind you, I want some salacious lasses climbing all over me, three at a time.¡± ¡°You are so dead.¡± ¡°None of that! I have a wonderful proposal that you will not refuse. Just offer me the hospitality for a week and I will expose it in detail.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t see what¡­¡± ¡°I have the location of the Order of Gabriel¡¯s main prison on the continent, less than two days of travel away from this city.¡± The end of my sentence dies on my lips as Sinead smiles like the very picture of innocence. He is telling the truth, without a doubt. ¡°Well?¡± ¡°¡­ Fair enough, but there better be no tricks. One week of hospitality I grant thee.¡± ¡°Excellent!¡± Sinead lithely jumps, closes the windows and picks up a prepared travel suitcase. We walk down the stairs and he stops at the welcoming desk, from behind which our dear Mr. Philips gazes at us like an irate gargoyle. ¡°Ah yes, Ariane dear I appear to be strapped for cash. Would you mind filling for me, seeing as I am your guest?¡± ¡°What?!¡± The Likaean leans in and whispers in my ears. ¡°Is it not your duty to guarantee my well-being? We would not want me to go to prison surely, how would I guide you to the aforementioned locale then?¡± I should just let him rot. Or wipe the memory of my coming from Philips¡¯ mind and let that imbecile cool his rear on a prison bench for a bit but¡­ Gah, he is right, I cannot have the mortals annoy my guest. With clenched teeth, I ask for the bill. Philips smiles like a cannibal at a battle site and draws a veritable bundle of papers from a nearby drawer. ¡°Let us see here. Three nights, three breakfasts, lunches and dinners, bath supplement, as well as two bottles of Roman¨¦e-Conti, three of Vosne-Roman¨¦e, one Saint-Emilion, one Riesling, one bottle of Mumm black ribbon champagne, one of bourbon, a mignonette of Peach schnapps, a dozen pots of honey, three bars of Swiss chocolate and a quart of mead for a grand total of one hundred and twenty-six dollars and fifteen cents.¡± Breathe Ariane, just breathe. Count to ten. Can¡¯t kill him, that would be breaking the oath. ¡°Herm. My bank will honor it.¡± ¡°Certainly. Please sign here Ms. Ariane Lethe.¡± It takes all of my self-control not to stab the bill, Philips¡¯ eyes, then myself with the stupid pen. Once out, I immediately turn left on a side street. ¡°Hey, the Dream is not that way!¡± I find a metal bar in a barrel next to a construction material stand and twist it like a wet noodle. ¡°This better be a great, magnificent, STUPENDOUS OFFER YOU ABSOLUTE BLOODY SCANDALOUS RAKE! SCOUNDREL!¡± ¡°Tut tut no need to make a scene poppet, why, traveling here was a horrible experience and I needed to recover. Surely you understand? Don¡¯t you ever indulge?¡± I and stop with my index¡¯ claw right under his nose. ¡°Once this truce is over, I¡¯ll show you exactly how I ¡®indulge¡¯ mister, you can count on it,¡± Sinead just frowns. ¡°What¡¯s that smell?¡± I have unknowingly died and been sent to some absurd circle of hell. Chapter 51: Prince of Azure and Gold Sinead plops on my comfortable mattress and extends his arms with a satisfied smile.¡°That¡¯s my bed!¡± ¡°And it saddens me to see it go to waste. Goose feathers, the best one can find in this sad plane.¡± I massage the bridge of my nose between two fingers. I should have said no. It was folly to accept this wastrel into my perfectly controlled life. I just need to stay at the top for two more years then I can have justice. What came over me, to risk everything so? Ah yes, the prison. ¡°I have so many questions.¡± ¡°Ah mortals, so full of those. Always wondering about everything, all the time¡­¡± ¡°And you are any different?¡± ¡°Of course,¡± the Likaean answers with a shiny smile, ¡°what my kind cannot infer will not be answered freely anyway.¡± ¡°Yes, well, you will have to indulge this ex-mortal.¡± ¡°Of course! I will make some allowance on account of your young age poppet, ask away!¡± There are many things I wonder, and one that concerns me greatly. ¡°Alright, the first and most urgent one. How did you find me?¡± I catch the pillow thrown at my head and resist the urge to shred it. ¡°Oh no no no! Please! You do not receive enough sunlight to afford to be so dim! How could I not know where you are?!¡± What, is he tracking me? Wait¡­ Oh. My hand goes to my collar, under which my two keepsakes are hidden. The first is the promissory note to my father that I would outlive him. The promise may be fulfilled, but the emotion and meaning in that yellow piece of paper remain. The second is my emergency dose of Likaean blood in an enchanted silver canister, granted by the most insufferable creature this side of reality. ¡°You can really track this little blood?¡± ¡°This is my most precious of essence we are talking about here, you commoner!¡± ¡°Most precious!? If my observations are correct, you have been spreading ''essence'' around with utmost abandon!¡± ¡°Psh! Beautiful women should never be vulgar, poppet. It is beneath you.¡± ¡°You give me lessons even though you have the impudence of¡­ of¡­ oh, the audacity!¡± ¡°While beneath me, you will find dear Louisa Watson.¡± ¡°Sinead!¡± ¡°I am already bored, how can you blame me if I feel cranky, I ask? Why is there no proper liquor in your bedroom anyway?¡± I take a deep breath. The familiar gesture calms me, just like the belief that my location is still secure. ¡°I am abstinent.¡± Sinead¡¯s eyes flash in amusement and for a moment they shine with a golden color that poets dream of. ¡°That you are, though not entirely. I can tell that you know how to have a bit of fun.¡± If I could still blush, I would. I usually manage to keep a certain distance from my employees and their patrons. The mysterious aura works in my favor when I need to feed or to avoid unwanted attention and so far, I have not found someone that I would be willing to take to my bed. As Debbie would put it, the odds are good, but the goods are odd. Not so with Sinead. He somehow managed to get under my skin in only two days. I have lost my composure more times since he deposited that first envelope than during the past three years together. ¡°Your imagination is truly a wild and impetuous thing.¡± ¡°Is it?¡± he answers with a smug smile, then reveals a book I had on my night table from behind him, opens it at a random page and reads in a falsetto voice. ¡°Oh lord Alejandro, I can wait no longer. I beg thee, sheathe thyself¡­¡± ¡°GIVE IT BACK THIS INSTANT!¡± The uncouth rogue does not resist as I grab my¡­ ahem, relaxation book and put it back where it belongs. So embarrassing. ¡°Would it not be nice?¡± I turn around to face him. He is just standing there, looking awfully suspicious by not doing anything. ¡°What?¡± ¡°To have someone who knows you and appreciates you for who you truly are? Someone mature and skilled you could depend on?¡± When did he get so close? ¡°Would it not be nice to finally let go in the arms of a man you could have loved?¡± His perfume is tantalizing. Seeing him again makes me miss Loth, Isaac, Dalton¡­ I am so alone here, surrounded at all times by employees and cattle but not friends. I cannot bring someone in my confidence here, for how could I? How could I share what worries me with a mortal without sending them screaming to the nearest church? And I cannot expect anything valuable from cattle whose sole purpose is to please me. The mortals are at it downstairs, and in the city around, night after night. Being merry. Embracing each other. Whispering things about love. Making it. Sinead is insufferable, and I would not trust myself with him, but perhaps just a kiss? To see what it¡¯s like after waiting so long? What would be the harm? I should have had a kiss from someone brilliant and fetching for so long. I deserve it. I deserve to have someone take care of me, for a change. Sinead is witty, elegant and experienced, and he could charm the undergarments off a nun. Probably did it too, at some point. Perhaps I should try it. I lean forward and at the same moment, Sinead steps away. ¡°Alas, it cannot be me. Not as crippled as I am now anyway. I could not stand to be the weaker partner, and you could not resist the temptation.¡± Huh? ¡°You are such a tease!¡± ¡°Not so poppet, merely trying to help you. You are still too afraid. You need to be in control but when you are, you only stay where you feel safe. It would take an older vampire with might, a delicate touch and genuine feelings playing a balancing act to crack your shell from the outside. I am merely trying to help you get out of your egg by yourself.¡± ¡°You are the very soul of kindness.¡± ¡°I know.¡± ¡°Hold on¡­ I had questions! How did we ever get so sidetracked!?¡± ¡°Apologies dearie. Ask away, and be quick about it. I need to sample the bar downstairs.¡± ¡°Not so fast. Second question, how come I cannot smell you or detect your aura?¡± ¡°Without giving away precious details, know that I have found a way to contain my munificence to match your dreary world. As for the aura, surely you know they can be controlled, yes?¡± ¡°Hum. I know they can expand or retract, to match our mood?¡± ¡°Pfeh! You speak as if knowing when the tide comes is the same as controlling the sea. Child, I am talking about aura control. Control!¡± ¡°But, yours has disappeared! It¡¯s completely gone!¡± Sinead gazes at me as if I were the village dullard. ¡°I am prince of the Likaeans Ariane, why would I have anything but perfect mastery over myself?¡± ¡°It did not prevent you from being captured¡­¡± I grumble. ¡°True! You have to understand, however, that the very concept of having to hide was new to me. Not everyone can match your ability to scurry around and survive against all odds, poppet.¡± I frown. ¡°I think there must have been a vague insult here somewhere.¡± ¡°Whatever do you mean? How can I not admire your tenacity? Your uncanny skill at avoiding the foot of the mighty stomping down on you?¡± ¡°I am not a cockroach! And stop trying to distract me. How did you ever come here? I thought you were in South America.¡± ¡°Loth sent me to central America poppet, however I did not stay there. I have conducted a discreet enquiry that led me here, to the order of Gabriel¡¯s prison. I want your help dismantling it.¡± ¡°And in return?¡± ¡°Why, I shall grace your humble halls with my presence of course!¡± Silence spreads in the room as I cross my arms in exasperation. ¡°I do believe I have been more than generous in any dealing I ever had with you Sinead. You are abusing my kindness.¡± ¡°And on top of that, I shall grant you favors, yes!¡± Favors. Sinead has no money, no influence over those who matter to me. What he does have is knowledge, and for us, knowledge is priceless. ¡°How old are you anyway?¡± ¡°Oh my dear poppet, I am so glad to finally interest you as a person. Know that time flows erratically in the kingdoms. It should come as no surprise then, that I may not give you a satisfactory answer. Just know that compared to us, your civilization is in its infant stage, and I am using civilization in its broadest sense here.¡± Sinead¡¯s eyes shine like gold and his face twists with savagery. In an instant, the affable trickster melts away and I can see the Prince beneath. I remember the figure in my dream more than twenty years ago, with hair of fire and eyes of molten metal. With a wave of his hand, he had sent azure flames to engulf the shadows hounding me, vaporizing them in a single instant. I know in my soul that they are the same person. The balance of power between us now is a grotesque reversal of what it could be, no, what it would be, in his native reality. Unaware or uncaring, Sinead continues his speech. ¡°All of us caught here and used as batteries for your kind represent a library of Alexandria¡¯s worth of knowledge. Some have written pieces of poetry so beautiful that lesser beings have lost their lives hearing it. Others, sculptures and visual works so mesmerizing that one can admire them for centuries without ever growing jaded. They could make statues cry and yet here their voices are silenced, and their fingers broken by the basest of greed. There are no words in your coarse language, no insult dire enough to give justice to this tragedy, Ariane of the Nirari.¡± I am struck before the incandescent display and just as he is done, the moment passes. He is back to being just Sinead the witty and rakishly handsome socialite. ¡°But let us change topic. I fear I may be a tad sensitive over this particular issue, it relates to my utmost desire you see.¡± ¡°Your utmost desire? What is it?¡± ¡°Why, nothing less than the complete liberation of every Likaean on this plane and their safe return back to the kingdoms.¡± I almost sputter at the enormity of it. Complete liberation? Poppycock. ¡°Do you have any idea¡­¡± ¡°I have excellent ideas poppet, about everything. And you shall play a role.¡± The Likaeans are incredible assets for the clans who own them. To forcefully liberate them on a large scale would force a war between the conspirators and the whole of vampiredom. Loth estimates our number at a bit over two thousand in total. Even if only one in twenty is a lord, that still represents enough power to defeat any force on the planet. I saw what Lord Suarez could do. To stand against a hundred like him is folly. Pure insanity. ¡°You are mad Sinead. I should give up on you and drink you dry before another one does it.¡± ¡°You should, Devourer, and yet you will not.¡± I glare at him with all the outrage I can muster. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t be so sure.¡± ¡°Oh I am sure, I would not have survived and stayed prince if I were not an excellent judge of character. You have a cruel and violent streak in you, but it is always tempered by a profound sense of justice and honor. Is it not?¡± ¡°I wouldn¡¯t say that¡­¡± ¡°You did not punish your cattle in anger for allowing me entry, because they could do nothing and so were not at fault. Many vampires would have made an example. You did not break the spirit of the agreement between us to drink my blood while I was weak, yet you could have. You faced the Herald, though you did not have to, and you killed it.¡± Sinead approaches. He moves gracefully, like a dancer, not a predator like me. I find myself staring up in his too large iris. He slowly lifts a finger up to my exposed collarbone and touches my bare skin. The contact is intimate yet restrained. Respectful. ¡°I choose you as my knight in this endeavor for it is what you are. You will help me because I will make it worth your while, but mostly you will help me because I will stand for what you believe in, the right to exist and to be free.¡± He almost got me there. ¡°You have a grand vision Sinead but you seem to forget. We are not Prince and Knight. We are two fugitives in a box of wood painted gold at the back end of nowhere. There are hundreds of vampires who can snap my neck in an instant and they are the ones we would have to face.¡± ¡°Not if my plan succeeds, and for this, I need one of the prisoners we will liberate soon.¡± ¡°Who?¡± ¡°My fianc¨¦e, Princess Sivaya of the Court of Blue.¡± Oh, great now there is another one. ¡°Hum Sinead, I am not exactly aware of Likaean courtship customs¡­¡± ¡°It is considered an excellent omen if the husband has already fathered several bastards with lesser beings. Twenty is best, though the standing record is at six hundred and forty-seven known offsprings.¡± I have absolutely no idea what to do with this information. ¡°Oh but do not worry, I do not intend to break it. So¡­ Was there anything else?¡± ¡°Yes! Stop trying to distract me. The prize for my assistance.¡± ¡°And what would you ask?¡± I open my mouth to speak then stop. Sinead looks like a teacher with a predictable student. He expects me to ask something. ¡°You will teach me how to hide my aura like you do.¡± ¡°Of course!¡± ¡°And you will help me practice Charm.¡± ¡°Naturally, I am sure we can make this the entertainment.¡± ¡°And last, you will¡­ Go downstairs and do your thing.¡± His eyes flash dangerously. ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°Be yourself, be pleasant to be around, and witty, and charismatic. We offer a good service. What we lack is¡­ Cachet. Credence.¡± ¡°I see. You want my aura, so to speak. The figurative one.¡± I nod. Sinead leans forward, the very image of amused contempt. I memorize that fantastic expression for later. ¡°Of course, poppet. I shall do this for you.¡± ¡°Good.¡± ¡°For how else could I keep myself entertained while we wait for the snow to thaw?¡± Um. What? Marquette, March 1832 The geraniums are blooming in pretty shades of pink and blue. I make my way from one pot to another, pouring a little bit of water each time. I am surprised they survive at all. I have slain so many people I have lost count, animals fear me and I am barren. I almost expected my touch to wither plants, yet here they are, uncaring. Pouring water is soothing, a task that was listed as a ¡®ladylike activity¡¯ by that book on good manners I read twenty years and a lifetime ago. Perhaps there is some truth to it. You can also throw the metal sprinkler at someone¡¯s head in a pinch. Once I am done, I step out and take the report that Margaret hands me. Some issues, mostly negotiating new contracts, have been solved by Sinead while others by their respective managers. I note in passing that Kitty banished a girl for theft. Harrington had to break the arm of a patron and Sullivan made a fuss, but could not press the matter. Ah, something interesting. There is a suspicious group of men camping a few miles down the road who have been coming to town to buy supplies and inquire about some escaped criminal woman. They have a precise description. I¡¯ll handle that one myself. I walk down the stairs. Tonight, I wear a comfortable riding gown in royal blue as well as a scarf of the same color. John is waiting, as usual, at the bottom of the stairs. When he sees my attire, he greets me with his big, ugly smile. ¡°We go for a midnight stroll?¡± That sounded suspiciously like something Sinead would say. ¡°Did my friend explain what it means?¡± John thinks for a while, his face scrunching in concentration. ¡°No.¡± ¡°Yes, we are going on a midnight stroll, later. First I need to talk to the odd ones. Have them wait by my workshop, alright?¡± ¡°Thy will is my command,¡± he says, standing as straight as a grenadier on review. He salutes then leave. I shake my head in disbelief and enter the main room. It has changed a bit since last time. We used to have a large scene at the back, where performers would dance or sing. Sinead made it into an elite place, separate and above the rest. The shows are now under his direct purview. I am genuinely impressed by the results. I was expecting my regulars to complain but Sinead enchanted them all. He is simply magnetic, distributing jokes, praises and rebukes so that the room revolves around his presence. Every night he presides over the assembly like a king hosting a decadent feast. Men come to pay homage, drink a glass with him and leave feeling¡­ Special. He flatters some before the girls, asks others about their troubles, pats a shoulder here, shakes a hand there. They adore him. They worship him. They would do everything for him. My employees love him too, he is just that smooth. I even caught Oscar smiling and that happened twice since I hired him eight years ago. Truly, the man is a miracle, one that extends to business. Since he arrived, our sales have increased by twenty percent and our offer is diversified with very advantageous contracts. I could not be more pleased. In theory. I am slightly annoyed that he is so much better than me. I cannot even blame it on experience. Sinead is just a peerless socialite. He could sell rotgut to a moonshiner and they would thank him for it, then invite him to dinner. Then he would abscond with their wife. Frustrating. I enter the saloon to see that festivities are in full swing. A passably drunk duet is playing something while the crowd laughs raucously. A few stairs lead me to where my friend holds court. Couches and low seats are gathered around a coffee table. The man himself is relaxing comfortably with a woman in each arm, Janet and Hilda if memory serves. They look at me as if I caught them red-handed. I let Sinead sleep in my room since I do not use it anyway, and most assume we are lovers. I made it clear that I was not jealous but the two pretty faces in front of me are still worried. They are caught with the alpha male by the alpha female. With a smile, I dismiss their concern and lean towards my friend. ¡°It¡¯s time, let¡¯s plan the operation tonight.¡± ¡°Hmm?¡± ¡°Sinead, stop trying to stare down my cleavage, it is unsightly.¡± ¡°Ah but I can feel the touch of frontier spirit in my heart, urging me to explore yet untouched territories.¡± ¡°Keep exploring and the next thing you shall feel in your heart will be my right hand. We have work to do.¡± ¡°Yes yes, lead the way poppet.¡± Honestly, I thought he was in a hurry. After extricating himself from his comfortable seat, my guest holds my arm and we walk downstairs to the basement. It holds most of our storage space, the laundry room and my workshop. My secured chamber, where I slumber, is hidden below. The workshop is at the back of a corridor of brick walls, behind a secured steel door that would give most bank robbers a stop. Five armed men and one woman are waiting for us in silence. I unlock the door and let everyone into my sanctum. When I left Georgia, I only had clothes on my back. Several generous ¡®donations¡¯ from travellers and bandits gave me what I needed to get by, and when I reached Marquette I settled down and contacted the consortium. To my surprise, Loth had left me most of his crafting tools, with a letter arguing that he ¡°could get much better stuff back home¡±. Lies, of course. He just used his usual gruff way of helping me and trying to make it seem like I am the one doing him a service. Besides that, there are also my weapons, my spare battle apparel, painting tools and other raw materials. They have all found their place here. The room is a long rectangle taking half a wing with three exits, the one at our back, a trap door leading outside and a secret passage to my real ¡®bedroom¡¯ which houses the secured sarcophagus. The walls are of dark bricks with alcoves set at regular intervals. Support pillars dot the surface, against which I have placed lanterns. A large central table surrounded by wooden chairs occupies its center. On it, maps in yellow paper display the town and general area, with pins showing the most recently formed hamlets. The newcomers look left and right at working benches occupied with current projects, the well ordered tools and the weapons rack. Especially the weapons rack. Sinead whistles as he follows the shaft of my modified boar spear with a light touch. His gaze rests on the engravings on the blade, then on the smithy in the corner, then back to me. ¡°A woman of many talents,¡± he adds with a smirk. The rest of the group sits heavily in their chairs. They are people of few words, just the way I like it. The odd squad is composed of two Creek brothers, two escaped slaves, an old mute and a large woman with graying hair and a cruel streak a mile wide. They are the ones I call upon for all the discrete work that some may find unsavory. I can count on their discretion, not least because they do not have an ounce of credibility between themselves. I will admit that they are also a disciplined group and the old loner is a crack shot. Seeing as we will go after dedicated monster killers who have a tendency to bless everything around them, I figure that the time is right to recruit mundane helpers. ¡°Let us start. Sinead, can you tell us where the prison is and what we will be up against?¡± ¡°Well, I don¡¯t know where it is exactly.¡± He lifts a hand to hold my protests. ¡°I extracted all the information I possess by interrogating a member of the order. I never saw the compound itself, but I know how to get there and what we will find.¡± He points at the area map towards Marquette¡¯s North West. ¡°Two days travel from here, there is a small depression in the middle of a vast plain where our destination lies. The approach is completely devoid of cover, and under constant surveillance by teams of sentries with fanatical devotion to the order. Only the most steadfast of them are handpicked to guard it. I will mask our approach until we can close the distance and neutralize the watchers. Then we need to liberate the prisoners, destroy the facility and exterminate the staff to the last man. We can leave no witness, or we may attract more attention than we can afford.¡± ¡°Tell us about the facility itself.¡± ¡°There are four dug emplacements from where sentries look out situated at each corner, then there are four buildings of reinforced stone. One is the barracks, one is the processing building, there is also a warehouse and finally, the prison itself. The captives are all below-ground.¡± ¡°We will need to liberate the captives first, lest they are all slain by their jailors as soon as an attack starts.¡± ¡°Absolutely. There is a possibility that you may not physically enter the place, Ariane.¡± The squad knows I am not fully human. Most of them probably assume I am some sort of witch. ¡°Here is what I propose. As soon as we are close enough, we eliminate the sentries silently. Then, one group goes down to neutralize the prison while the other places charges on the barracks. As soon as the target is rescued, we detonate the explosives and kill everything. Would that work?¡± Shrugs and vague nods are the answers I get. The plan has the merit of being simple. ¡°I will provide the explosives. Ah, hum, while we are on the topic of setting things ablaze, do you know if they keep pigs around?¡± Sinead lifts an eyebrow. ¡°I do not think so, it would go against their desires to stay hidden. Discretion is their best defense, and is quite hard to achieve when you have swine squealing in the wind. Why?¡± ¡°Nothing.¡± Tom, one of the two black men, passes a hand through his large white beard before commenting. ¡°We need something to carry the prisoners, in case they can¡¯t walk.¡± ¡°Good thinking. We will need a cart. Anything else?¡± ¡°How many of those folks are we supposed to kill?¡± adds Laura, the woman. ¡°Around ten.¡± ¡°Who are they?¡± asks one of the Creeks. Silence descends on the table. I am not in the habit of being questioned by subordinates. This time, their concerns are warranted and I decide to answer. ¡°The order of Gabriel is a collection of religious fanatics dedicated to removing impurities from the world. The list of unacceptable people includes, but is not limited to, monsters, witches, shamans, heretics, loan givers, people who work on Sunday, Muslims, Jews, women who don¡¯t know their place, idol worshippers, people who frequent brothels, girls who work there, drunkards, philosophers, artists who create indecent work, Arabs, the Chinese, people who eat meat during Easter¡­¡± ¡°Hold on,¡± adds Tom, ¡°Just tell us who they tolerate. Reckon that¡¯d be faster.¡± ¡°Themselves and those who live according to their version of the scriptures. And orthodox Christians.¡± S~?a??h the ??v?l_Fir?.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. ¡°That true?¡± ¡°No, they burn orthodox Christians as heretics.¡± ¡°Well¡­ Alright I guess.¡± ¡°Good. We leave tomorrow just after sunset. Prepare supplies for five days, just in case, and your arms. Sinead I¡¯ll give you something. I¡¯ll also have a carriage ready and I¡¯m taking care of the bombs. Dismissed.¡± Two hours later, Marquette¡¯s outskirts. Midnight. Flat plains have a way to make the sky feel endless and for once, the sky is empty. The moon, the stars, and the dispense their diffuse lights to late travellers and thieves alike. Some inbred cretins raised a camp in the middle of a thicket by the road, a miserable affair made of three tents in a circle. A few men gather in silence around a blazing campfire in a futile attempt to fend off the chill of the night. Winter has not released its hold on Illinois yet, and their breath coalesces in little clouds before being dispersed by the biting wind. Metis¡¯ arrival silences their conversation. Fearful eyes glance up, and up, to the rider on top. Me. ¡°Bad time to be camping outside, is it not? The weather is inclement at this time of the year.¡± ¡°Who are you? What do you want?¡± asks one of them in the back. ¡°Excellent questions. You may call me Miss Lethe, and can you guess what I do? Hm?¡± I do not expect an answer. They are taken off guard and probably need a moment to regroup. Those are farmhands dressed in mismatched layers of undyed wool. They stink. The only exception is a young man in a slightly better outfit sporting a bowler hat of all things. He is the one who questioned me. ¡°I am the proprietor of the Dream, finest bordello this side of the Lake Michigan. And you know how I recruit my girls? Can you take a guess?¡± The farmhands all turn to the young man who is quite clearly the ringleader. He is still reeling from the surprise and the massive dark horse facing him is not easily discounted. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you. The truth is, you will not find a child who, growing up, wants to become a whore. Those who come to me are desperate or starving, or on the run. Sometimes all three at the same time. Quite a few are already with child when I take them under my wings.¡± Metis takes another step forward. She snorts and glares at one of the men, who swallows nervously. ¡°The stories are tragically repetitive. This one was beaten so badly by her brute of a husband that he broke her ribs. That one was raped by her uncle, or her father, or her older brother. This one was shunned by the community and forced to sell herself for stale bread or starve. Or sold by her family to some old swine. And so on, and so forth. It is a story as old as time, really. ¡°They come to the big city with sallow cheeks and the eyes of cornered animals, begging for scraps of food. Then I pick them up. I feed them and fix them. I turn them into¡­ productive members of Society, shall we say.¡± Metis stops mere fingers away from the fire. The dancing flames make her red eyes glint like a beacon in the darkness. ¡°What¡­ What is this about?¡± asks the head clown. ¡°This is about you. Most of the time, my girls are broken goods and nobody wants them. Sometimes though, their relatives or spouses are incensed by the loss of their favourite piece of meat. And so here they come, snooping around like the world¡¯s clumsiest sneaks. Soon we learn that our fair city is plagued by poisoners, thieves and debt dodgers that need to be returned to their owners for the sake of justice. You see where the problem lies, yes?¡± ¡°Annabel belongs with her family!¡± ¡°I don¡¯t care about you, or your family. You can all go to hell. Annabel is mine now. Take your bumbling gaggle of imbeciles and go back to the filthy mudhole you crawled out of before I bury you all.¡± ¡°You have no right to order me around you glorified strumpet!¡± ¡°Look around you.¡± Harrigan and a dozen of my lackeys come out of the shadows with muskets in evidence and the promise of violence on their loutish faces. The outsiders bunch up like sheep surrounded by wolves. They know how this will end. ¡°You may believe judges or religion will support your cause, and it will change nothing. I have the only right that matters. Power. When my men are done with you, you will lick your wounds and leave with your tails between your legs like the mongrels you are, or the next time I come, I will bring a shovel. Good night.¡± I turn Metis around as the first sounds of wood hitting flesh reach me. Music to my ears. Chapter 52: Fate and Absurdity I awaken to moans of pain and the coppery scent of congealed blood. My hands find the sarcophagus¡¯ opening mechanism and the lid opens without a sound.Something went wrong. We are still a day away from the prison, and from any patrol that would take exception to our presence. I make sure my dark battle gown is secured and my weapons ready before stepping outside. I left seven men and one woman in good health at dawn. Now Laura is missing, Tom is dying on the grass and we are short three horses. The survivors have formed a scattered perimeter along a ridge with a sheer cliff at their backs and a sharply declining slope on every side. Tall pines and large boulders dot red-tinted earth covered with dried needles. There is almost no cover to be found. This is a defensible position, and a deathtrap. We have our backs to the wall, quite literally. Farther down, I hear the soft murmur of running water and footsteps of encroaching foes. We have also gained a few newcomers. Four natives from a tribe I do not recognize have gathered with us. One of them, older, is praying softly while the others look out, clutching spears and bows in their nervous hands. Their faces are deep red and cracked by years spent under a merciless sun. John is the first to notice me. A smile of utter relief spreads on his simple face. ¡°Ms. Lethe! Ms. Lethe is here!¡± He is quickly silenced but now my presence is known. Sinead lifts the musket I gave him and crawls towards me. ¡°Ah, poppet, I am ecstatic to see you up and about. We find ourselves in a bit of a pickle.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t say.¡± ¡°Tut tut, sarcasm does not become beautiful women.¡± ¡°Less seduction more explanation, please?¡± ¡°Of course. We are beset by, and please believe me when I say this comes as a surprise, cannibal monsters. Yes. As to how we ended up in this predicament, we left late afternoon on schedule and made good time on our journey West. Not long after, we came across a group of natives and decided to group up for safety. Then an hour ago, the path led us to a rickety wooden bridge over a deep gorge. Laura had point and crossed first to see if the structure was sound enough to pass with our wagon. They fell on her like wolves as soon as she was on the other side.¡± ¡°They?¡± For the first time since he arrived, Sinead shivers and I see unease piercing though his usually unflappable countenance. Something terrible must have happened, and his usually jovial nature has been replaced with obvious worry. ¡°Thin men dressed in leather. Fast and feral. They unhorsed her and brought her to the ground in seconds. She managed to fire one shot and got an assailant in the chest, but he stood back up and joined the others.¡± Sinead licks his lips, unsure on how to proceed. ¡°They ate her alive, Ariane. Starting with her face. The screams were something I could have done without.¡± He lowers his eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to regain control. When he looks up, only cold resolve remains. ¡°My dear, I am aware that the success of my project is far from guaranteed but please, if it comes to this, do not let me be eaten alive. I would die of embarrassment. Not to mention, they do not deserve to taste a flesh as delicate as mine.¡± ¡°You won¡¯t fall to them. Continue your story.¡± ¡°Yes, yes of course. Many more of those things jumped out of the woods. They were frenzied, insane. I believe they were waiting in ambush but could not resist, and their lack of control saved us. I had everyone turn around and retreat as more of those came after us. We managed to hold ourselves and the horses together for a while, yet despite my best efforts, they soon caught up to us. Your men showed admirable control and we were able to go on a fighting retreat up to this position. Unfortunately, we lost two horses and a third one ran away when a creature managed to drag Tom down. Metis must have disappeared in the confusion as well. The monsters attacked relentlessly. They did not care at all for their own well-being.¡± Sinead¡¯s voice is barely a whisper now. ¡°There is something else. They eat their dead. I saw it with my own eyes.¡± ¡°I expected that, just like I know what they are. I just never came across them in such numbers.¡± Wendigos. They are organized now, enough to set up an ambush. Enough to take down a heavily armed convoy. The world is changing and I am not sure if I like it. I could go out and slaughter them. I am confident that they would all die but I also lost someone in the past by being overconfident. My priority should be to keep the rest of my allies alive. I need to stay with them. Now, should we make a stand or move? It would be more difficult to keep everyone together if we try to break out, not to mention the horses may panic. So I need the Wendigos to strike and slaughter them as they come. I also need to wipe them out. If a majority scatters and leaves, I may not be able to hunt them all before dawn and then the group would be vulnerable to a counter-attack. We need bait. I turn to Sinead just as I hear approaching footsteps at the edge of my perception. ¡°Somebody is coming. I¡¯ll stall them. Walk around and prepare a fall back circle against the cliff. We need to fire on them when they attack, then draw them in and deny vision to their reinforcement.¡± To my surprise, Sinead obeys without comment. Our situation must be dire indeed for him to eschew his acidic wit. Ignoring the urgent whispers spreading around I step onto the ridge to await the monster¡¯s envoy. Down the slope, a hungry mob of fighters has gathered in a loose line just out of musket range. The mass seethes and writhes in a tide of lean flesh and salient bones. Their sour musk pervades the very air. As I watch, a figure approaches. The man is larger and while still lean, he is not as skeletal as some of his brethren. He walks leisurely forward in a smooth gait that sometimes reveals his leathery skin and below, muscles like corded steel. I take an involuntary breath as I recognize the two crossed bands on his desiccated brown outfit. Our native allies during the battle at Black Harbor wore something similar. Those are Choctaw Wendigos. Nashoba, my friend... No. I refuse to believe it. They are so far from their land! No, it cannot be. I must have made a mistake. Or they are raiders. Or exiles. I shall learn the truth! ¡°Why do you come to us dressed as a Mingo?¡± The man stops and looks up in surprise. His black eyes inspect my body and when they reach my midriff, he licks his lips. ¡°I am a Mingo, a chief, white woman.¡± ¡°You are far from your lands, Mingo.¡± I realize immediately that I made a mistake. The chief¡¯s visage twists with inhuman fury, revealing a jagged set of teeth. To my surprise he regains control almost immediately. ¡°You do not know.¡± ¡°Know what?¡± He laughs. It is a mirthless and broken sound that grates the ears. A mockery of the real thing. ¡°We are so insignificant that the white men of the North do not even know what their leaders have done.¡± ¡°I do not understand.¡± ¡°Then I shall tell you, white woman. I shall tell you how we ended up here like this. So you know how we were betrayed and why you die. ¡°Long ago, my father fought alongside your warriors against the Creek and the English both. He was there with Pushmataha when New Orleans was saved from the invasion. We thought you our friends, bound by blood spilt and shed together. You called us one of the five civilized tribes and we respected you in return, but the memory of your kind is short and your greed, endless. ¡°Two years ago, we were invited to a feast at Dancing Rabbit Creek and told we would have to bow to your rule or be exiled West. I saw how your free men were treated so we left. We could not fight you. Your kind cheered as my people walked through your cities because they knew there was new land to be had. All of our previous treaties meant nothing. We did not deserve to be treated with honor. ¡°I should have taken my war club, painted it red and died like a man. Instead we were led into the swamps by incompetent guides. We lost our way. Many died on the trail of tears.¡± The fallen chief¡¯s gaze is lost in the distance and his voice grows heavy with memories. I am surprised by his self-control. I never thought Wendigos could even be articulate, and yet his command of English is flawless. ¡°I was so hungry. I ate a crawfish, raw, with the pincers. And worms. My... my wife. She was chewing her own fingers...¡± For a few moments, remnants of humanity bleed through the creature, only to disappear as the thing returns its attention to me. He has grown cold. His eyes are two black pits of nothingness smouldering with scorn and anger. ¡°Look at what I have become, because of greed. So hungry all the time. Like I have a dog gnawing from the inside. Enough. I was going to offer terms but no more. You will feel my pain, you, the Creek, the red people and the black men. All of you. I will eat the tender flesh from your stomachs, your breasts, and your thighs while you scream for mercy. Then, I will kill you.¡± He steps back and screams. The sound is guttural and charged with meaning. It speaks of carcass eaten to the last pieces of cartilage, of broken bones with the marrow sucked off. It speaks of hunger and madness. ¡°There will be nothing left of you.¡± Then he steps away. He is lucky I need him alive. That scream sounded like a CHALLENGE. One I will answer. Later. I trot back to the wagon and take out my rifle, then join my allies against the improvised trench. ¡°I can¡¯t see shit.¡± comments Russel, one of the two black freemen. Good point. ¡°Light the lanterns and give them to me, quickly.¡± The mute hermit and John scramble to provide what I asked. I take the first one as soon as it is ready and throw it. Everyone follows the piece of red ember as it arches through the sky, then crashes against a pine tree. Oil spills, setting the tree ablaze. The halo of scarlet light shines on the advancing force. It reveals parodies of men, some of them on all four. ¡°Fire!¡± Our side opens on the foes. The volley catches the creatures off guard and a handful falls. Unfortunately, the rest forfeits any attempt at discretion. They charge with throaty screams. There are quite a few of them, I¡¯d say at least thirty. I don¡¯t see their leader and deduce that he will use his more feral troops to soften us. Sinead and I fire our pistols, slowing segments of the incoming force as some of them fall on their dead comrades. Soon, the first creature is climbing up the ridge. ¡°Fall back!¡± The others retreat to the prepared positions. ¡°You too, John.¡± The simple giant hesitated but he has never disobeyed a direct order and today is not the day he will start. The others form a circle with the wagons at their back. The hermit and Russel reload frantically, preparing to cover the Creeks who have taken out steel tomahawks and stand shoulder to shoulder with the red-skinned men. Somewhere in front, the lanterns have set a tree ablaze and dark silhouettes appear clearly against the red-tinged background. I cave in the first Wendigo¡¯s chest with a closed fist. Snap the spine of a second one. I move slowly, hiding most of my abilities. Those are scavengers. If the tide of battle turns too fast, they will flee. I need to make it look like they might win while keeping my allies alive. Sinead and John must hold at all cost. The rest are replaceable. The assaults starts in earnest. A creature falls to a point-blank shot and the next to John¡¯s oversized metal club. I dance among the slow monsters and kill them where they stand. I am careful not to spread too much of their sour blood and I mostly break bones. One of the red-skins yells as he is dragged forward. I move and break his foe¡¯s spine, then throw the corpse near the ledge to slow down the assault. Another uses the opportunity to jump on my back. YOU DARE. I grab the thing¡¯s head before it can bite down and CRUSH IT, send the body flying. I kill three others in quick succession. Bodies are piling, some are fed on. Allies are being overwhelmed, too many. KILL FASTER. I go through their rank from one side of the circle to the other by slitting their throats and ripping their heads off. Spilt essence everywhere. Some of the mortals are already hurt, with fresh blood dripping from their wounds. The scent mingles with sweat, fear and Wendigo¡¯s acidic ichor to form an intoxicating perfume, pungent and heady. Too many, I need to THIN THE HERD. ¡°HSSSSSSS!¡± Oh no you do not want to leave. Look at me, all of you, yes, you are THIRSTY, SO VERY THIRSTY. YOU NEED THE PRECIOUS LIQUID. Feel the craving, the abominable pain. Come sate it. I am here. The creatures open their dislocated maw and scream in anguish before rushing me. YES, COME. This is my moment. The brothel, the politics and the others can all go to some lost circle of hell, this is what I was made for. I claw off half a head, grab the corpse and smash another with it. I dive under a grasping arm and stab another in the spine, use his corpse as a battering ram and crash into a group. They fall like pins. I stomp down and smash a skull, dismember them as they try to stand back up. Their screams of pain are a glorious symphony and the red mist of my labor caresses my nostrils. So good. Yes. MORE. Some of them falter. Oh no, that won¡¯t do. I find one of my allies on the ground and grab him by the throat. He is wounded. Yes, he will do nicely. ¡°Scream.¡± He obeys. Some others join in. The scavengers smell weakness as they recognize the sound of falling prey. The Mingo reaches the top. More than two-thirds of his base creatures are dead. The rest is spread on the floor, nursing wounds, or paralyzed by indecision. It roars in outrage. PITIFUL WEAKLING. YOU THINK ME AFRAID? YOU ARE DOG AND I AM QUEEN. ¡°ROOAAAAR!¡± Its face twists in terror. It turns to flee. One of his better-fed companions extends a hand and mutters a word. A translucent snake emerges from it, only to be bisected by my blue-clad talon. You call this magic? Pathetic. Die. I massacre what is left of the retinue, gorge on their blood as the fallen one abandons the field. Yes, A BIT OF SPORT. ¡°Metis!¡± The nightmare gallops seemingly out of nowhere and I jump on her back as she passes me by. We chase after the fleeing PREY. It turns just before the end, so that I can see the disbelief on its face. Metis runs him down in a cacophony of yelps and shattered bone. It crawls away. I drop and grab it by the neck. He tastes pleasantly sour and powerful, with a tinge of regret and thwarted vengeance. The forest, moments before filled with the clamour of battle, falls silent. And just like that, the hunt is over. I drop the broken remains of the dead Choctaw on the ground and look around. Two pines are still ablaze with sputtering flames, the sooty smoke trailing up to the sky. Bloody corpses are gathered in clumps where we shot them and where their allies fell on them to feed. The air is heavy with woodsmoke, gunpowder and blood. I lost control, for the first time in two decades. I revealed my wildest self in public, in full view of my allies. I brought the odd squad because rumors coming from them would be dismissed and they know it, and this time it might not suffice. It is one thing to suspect your employer of being a witch, another to see her mow through supernatural creatures like a demon from hell. S?a??h th? ?0velF?re.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. Oh, and I think I a few of them, did I not? Yes I did. Wonderful. Tremendous. Perhaps all that dismemberment was a tad overdone. Ripping the arms from your enemy¡¯s chest? So last millennium. Dammit. I did not need this. I must have enough men to assault the prison and access the areas that will necessarily be consecrated. The order of Gabriel has been formed and trained to slay things like me, it is therefore wise to use mundane means against them. I cannot afford a mutiny before this is done. Metis nudges me and brings me back to the present. I tear off the leather strips from the dead one¡¯s stomach and leave her to her own feast. The walk back to the fortified camp is a long one as I fear what I will find and the decisions I shall have to take. On the ridge, only John is waiting for my return. He is looking around at the charnel pit that this place has become. His brow scrunches in confusion, then he turns to me and asks me with a calm voice: ¡°Why did they attack us, Miss Lethe?¡± I stop by his side and consider an answer. I could tell him that they wanted to inflict pain in return for the pain they suffered. I could tell him that we were in the wrong place at the wrong time and made to pay for sins committed by men who would see me dead if they could. I could tell him that the world is a senseless hellhole where fortune and tragedy walk hand in hand for no specific reason, that I did not deserve to die for reaching above my station, and that my first victim should not have perished to feed me. I could add that I did not deserve to be saved by Loth or tortured by Lady Moor. I will not. It is a fool¡¯s errand to seek meaning in that vast cosmic circus of a world. There is no justice in that divine farce, save the one we dispense ourselves. Why did they attack us? Why indeed. ¡°Because they were hungry.¡± I pat the huge man on the shoulder as he nods beatifically. His all-knowing and all-powerful Mistress answered the question and explained reality, and now all is right in the world. Sometimes, I envy him. The men I left behind are bandaging their wounds when I find them again. They collectively recoil when my steps lead me down. Only Sinead and the old red-skinned man are not staring at the ground in hope that when they look back up, it will all have been a dream. The ancient warrior looks at me with a calm and contemplative gaze, and I believe that he had been ready to meet death long before our paths crossed. Sinead is inspecting the others and gauging their reactions, already planning ahead. Behind them, Tom¡¯s raspy breath and the man I forced to scream¡¯s soft sobs are the only sounds that break the silence. The fire dies out. I force back a sigh and bend to grab a defunct Wendigo. We have to stay here for a little while to allow the others some rest and clearing the battlefield is a necessity. Dead, my foes lose their bestial countenance and unnatural strength. They are thin and shockingly light, weighing less than an adult should. ¡°Light some torches.¡± They obey and we work in silence. When I have grabbed the last severed limb and added it to an improvised pyre, I turn and find their attention on me. Good, it is the perfect opportunity to deliver an important message. ¡°You just found out that the world is bigger and darker than you thought. All of you realize that I am part of it. If anyone wants to panic, or pray, do it now, because tomorrow you will perform according to my expectations or you will die. I do not care if afterward you run all the way to Texas screaming like banshees. Until this is over, you are mine. And in case any of you got any bright ideas about fleeing by day or warning the authorities, I will now explain why you should not. First, no one will believe you. And second, when I find out, I will make sure that your end is the stuff of legend. I will grind your flesh until you are ready to sell your souls just so that I allow you to succumb. No distance will be too great and no fortress safe enough to protect you from my retribution. Do I make myself perfectly clear?¡± A series of nods and ¡°Yes ma¡¯am¡± answers my question. Even the otherwise cold hermit seems a bit flabbergasted by the sudden display, though Sinead is just shaking his head and wincing. I am about to turn and go for a calming run when the old chief stands and greets me. Or at least I think he does, I do not understand a word of what he says. ¡°Allow me to help here,¡± says my Likaean friend. ¡°How do you even know his language?¡± ¡°I have a gift for tongues, as you may have guessed. I will translate for you.¡± ¡°Thank you.¡± The ancient man¡¯s diction is peculiar. His voice flows peacefully in a soft dialect that makes sentence structures hard to spot. The melody of his words is rhythmic and soothing. ¡°He says he thanks you for saving us all. His name translates as ¡®He who raided at dawn¡¯, and he came here in pursuit of his son.¡± ¡°Was his son abducted?¡± ¡°No, he says he is here to kill him.¡± That was unexpected. The chief grows agitated as he elaborates on his outrageous claim. ¡°He says that his eldest son used dark magic to kill both a brother and his wife. He is filled with malice and steals the skin of innocents to fuel his evil powers. And the monster cannot be slain, for every time it falls dead, it sheds its skin like a snake and is born anew. Only a bone spear made from a relative can slay the creature once and for all. Say, Ariane¡­¡± ¡°I know. Ask him if, uh, what was it again, Shandeen was the girl?¡± At the mention of the female name I dug from my memories, He who raids at dawn steps back in apprehension. He grabs his spear and eyes me with suspicion while his men look on, unsure of what to do. THREATENING ME. No! Not threatening me, he is merely afraid of something that can take anyone¡¯s form. I do not want to kill him unless I have to. He fought at my side and shows no sign of betrayal. It means something to me. ¡°Tell him I killed his son, the old-fashioned way.¡± The father lowers his spear. He and Sinead whisper in a low voice for a little while and though his fear has abated, there is a strange weariness to him. I think I understand. He committed to a desperate quest, willing to sacrifice his very life to redeem the honor of his clan only to find out that the transgressor is already dead and buried. The ultimate evil has fallen to another ultimate evil, one who likes petticoats and geraniums. I would be at a loss too. After a few more exchanges and questions about the death of the skinwalker and his final physical appearance, the old chief asks to see his son¡¯s grave and I accept. He then proceeds to vaunt my powerful magic and the ease with which I channel the spirit of the Mountain Lion and to be careful not to let it take over. He adds that he will repay his debt by assisting us in our next raid. This might be the nicest thing a stranger has said or done to me after seeing me at work, and I smile at his graceful offer. The exchange goes on until Russel walks to me and announces that Tom wants to talk. I leave the others behind, and find Tom¡¯s harried form is at the back of the wagon. He has been bandaged, but the wounds are too deep and his normally clear skin is ashy with pain and blood loss. Strands of white hair from his beard are plastered by sweat to his clammy skin. Feverish eyes follow me as I approach. A stained hand reaches out from under his cover. I grab it and hold him steady. His voice is strained but clear in the quiet vale. ¡°Miss Lethe¡­ I have a wish.¡± This is important. He is my fallen warrior. I must listen. ¡°I have no cause to hold a grudge¡­ I knew I might die here¡­ If you could just look after my son¡­¡± This is the first time Tom mentions a family. ¡°Who is your son?¡± ¡°His name is¡­ David. I left him behind. Left him on the plantation. He was too young¡­ I am so sorry, David¡­¡± ¡°David what?¡± ¡°King. The tobacco plantation of Mr. Dawes, in Louisville.¡± ¡°I will find your son and buy his freedom if he still lives. You have my word.¡± ¡°Good. Thank you. May God bless your soul¡­ Whatever you are. Please, leave me not here on the ground... To be eaten by jackals.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll bury you in a pleasant spot with a view on the river. We will not abandon you.¡± ¡°Thank you¡­ Ah¡­ It hurts so much¡­¡± ¡°Look at me. Yes, good. Follow my voice. There is no more pain. No more pain. You feel warm and cozy, under that cover. You hear the fire crackling. It is warm and cozy and comfortable. You are sleepy. Sleep is good. Now let go. Let go.¡± Tom sighs one last time and shivers. I lean forward and slowly close his eyes. He died a warrior¡¯s death in my service, and I will give him whatever last rites I can. This is just as important as respecting the hunt and my promises. It is a part of my identity, one I fully accept. I pick up the body, still warm. His blood has seeped through the bandages and cover. The smell mingles with the inevitable stench of released bowels but I do not mind. This is no longer Tom but what he left behind and respecting it is also about respecting ourselves. Russel is waiting by the camp¡¯s edge with a shovel and an attitude. ¡°I¡¯m coming too. He was my friend.¡± I nod in silence. I now understand why Sinead showed his displeasure at my earlier display. There were many ways for me to handle the situation and I went with threats. Someone as smooth as him could turn this raggedy outfit into a guard loyal to the death but I am not him, I am a survivor, and so I went with what I knew would work. For the first time, I realize that I took the wrong approach. Sinead had us stop a mile away from the prison and prepare, and now we are moving slowly towards it. The moonless night offers so little visibility that the mortals must hold hands not to drift. The noise of their stumble through soil and grass is masked by the Likaean¡¯s magic. I would not have noticed anything special about the hill we are heading to if he had not pointed it out. Even now, only a small window allows one sentry to look out. The opening is almost invisible from the outside. The obscurity serves us as well, though I am a bit worried about the smell. Our entire company is quite ripe after yesterday¡¯s battle and even if I managed to clean up in the river, the frigid temperatures deterred the others. I made sure I stood upwind. It¡¯s that bad. Our destination is a wall between two of the four watch posts. We reach it without incident. Behind it, the hidden complex sprawls. It looks more like a warren than something where humans live. All four structures are low, parts of them dug into the ground. Trenches provide access to buildings and instead of a roof, there are only mud bricks covered by a thin layer of grass. ¡°Careful,¡± I whisper, ¡°broken glass.¡± Somebody painstakingly glued jagged shards on top of the wall at the entire circumference of the camp. The dedication and time required to do that are impressive. I silently break off the sharpest parts and cover a meter-wide segment in mud and clumps of grass. Time to go. I attempt to jump and¡­ immediately fall back down on my bottom. ¡°Hsss.¡± ¡°Perhaps not a knight,¡± comments Sinead lightly, ¡°but you do have a future as a court jester.¡± ¡°It¡¯s blessed! The entire place is consecrated.¡± I whisper back. This is a terrible thing. I planned around buildings being forbidden to me, but not the entire compound! ¡°Impossible. Look left, there is a log gate to the outside. They must have blessed the wall only, to prevent intrusion. Listen, I can lead the men to the door and unlock it from the inside. You should be able to go then.¡± ¡°Hold on. I may have a better idea.¡± I walk back and tap on John¡¯s shoulder, then drag him up to the wall. He kneels by my side so that I can whisper in his ear. He smells of sweat and tobacco, a familiar scent that puts me at ease. ¡°Get over the wall, go right until you find a door. Open it quietly. Kill the man inside, in silence. Find a big cross. Break the cross. Stab the wood in the corpse. Return.¡± John nods and walks up with unquestioning obedience. There is a childlike purity in the way he murders people. I ordered it, and thus it must be right. This kind of unquestioning obedience is a precious thing and one that can be easily abused. I will not do so. John is mine and those who choose to become mine will be well treated. I close my eyes and focus. By my side, Sinead¡¯s calm breath and steady heart show that my friend is no stranger to covert action. I am not truly surprised, and I follow John¡¯s steps as he moves forward with a grace that belies his large size. The feet stop. A door slides on slightly rusty hinges. A man takes a sharp intake of breath, a muffled scream is interrupted by what I assume are my soldier¡¯s bear-like mitts. Flesh impacts wood, once, twice, thrice. Bone breaks. A heavy body falls on the floor. John¡¯s breath is just as steady as ever. He does not doubt and that is why I believe my plan will work. A minute passes, then I hear the noise of broken wood, of mangled flesh. It is done. John steps outside and walks back to us. I hear him counting steps as he makes his way. When he arrives, he turns with worry on his face, fixing the darkness with big round eyes. ¡°Miss Lethe?¡± His large hands search the wall lightly, finding the dirt cover. I grab one and see pure relief on his big ugly face. ¡°You have done well. Now, invite me in?¡± ¡°Please come in miss Lethe.¡± The silent warning dissipates before innocence corrupted and twisted to end a life. The barrier disappears almost¡­ reluctantly. I am in. With a tug, Sinead guides the others into the prison. The area is one of the queerest structures I have ever witnessed, and I was reborn in a cavernous underground fortress. Four buildings as large as family houses are dug into the ground and trenches lead from one to another. The roofs are covered in grass and vegetation. Excruciating attention to detail has been devoted to make this place as hard to find as humanly possible. Thankfully, there are no pig pens. ¡°Any patrol?¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°Then we proceed as planned.¡± The red-skinned men, who I learnt come from a people called the Navajo, split up and jump down into the trenches to wait by the guard post entrances. I grab a leather bag I had brought and open it to reveal ominous black canisters. ¡°Are those fire bombs?¡± asks Sinead with curiosity. ¡°Made of oil and resin, perhaps?¡± ¡°Oil and resin?¡± I scoff, ¡°Pfff! Nothing so pedestrian, I assure you. Those are powder charges of a special blend containing traces of magnesium and I assure you sir, that those devices will ignite beautifully, and reach temperatures as high as¡­¡± ¡°Yes, yes yes, alright, calm down woman. By the spheres, I never knew explosions could have such a rousing effect on you.¡± ¡°I thought you could appreciate true beauty you ruffian!¡± ¡°Shh! The plan! Focus on the plan!¡± Right. I leave the odd squad to set up an ambush around what we identified as the barracks and Sinead leads me to the smallest building. He turns to me. ¡°Ariane, I am going to reveal how I located my fianc¨¦e. Please promise me you will not share this secret.¡± ¡°You have my word.¡± ¡°I knew I could count on you. Look.¡± He takes from a pendant around his neck something that looks like a compass, with an arrow shining viridian even in the dead of night. ¡°This is keyed to her essence. If the secret of its existence should fall into the wrong hands¡­¡± ¡°I already told you I would keep your secret.¡± ¡°I know. Let us find out where my darling went.¡± The so-called jail is barely more than a shed. I am about to question Sinead¡¯s crafting skills when it comes to me. This is an underground prison. Sinead kneels in front of the door and fiddles with the lock until I hear a click. It opens to surprisingly large stairs and a packed earth landing. Soft murmurs can be heard further on. This is the moment of truth. I take a step in and breathe in relief. This area is not sanctified, and that means I know what I could find here. Captive vampires. I walk down the stairs to a large landing. A rectangular room leads to two massive locked doors to my left and right. They are made of reinforced steel and could probably hold a siege. The room itself is mostly bare. I spot only an armory, a table with chairs and my first piece of luck since starting this endeavor: the guards are kneeling on the floor, praying. Their gear was left on the ground. Oh, the irony is just delicious. I resist the disturbing urge to taunt them and instead pounce for the kill. The first man dies immediately, a second falls before realizing anything and the third one only has the time to widen his eyes before I stab his brain. Beautifully done, if I dare say so myself. At this moment, I hear a clang behind me. A fourth man gazes stupidly at my toothy smile and the bodies at my feet. Ah, damn it. I jump but too late, the door shuts close. I manage to grab it and pull open with a groan of tortured steel. The last order member gives up on closing it and takes out a cross and a pistol. ¡°The power of God compels you!¡± I hiss and take a step back. What does he take me for, the devil? I dodge to the side as he pulls the trigger, jump on the wall, then behind him. Then he dies. Outside, a second of silence follows the sound of gunshot, then men yell in alarm. Spotted. The others should be fine and my priority is the prisoner. There could be more guards and they could have a way to purge all the cells at once. That¡¯s what I would have done. ¡°It¡¯s clear!¡± I inform Sinead. The Likaean walks in as the sound of detonations confirm that my charges were conserved in a dry environment. Heh. I wish I could have seen the explosion. I turn around when my ally joins me and inspect the corridor I find myself in. Lanterns sit at regular intervals, shedding light on the brick walls as well as the fortified doors lining them. The corridor turns at a right angle further down. ¡°How can we tell which door is hers?¡± ¡°I can¡¯t. Her aura is too strong, the compass¡¯ needle is just twisting around.¡± I grumble at the loss of time but not too much. I wanted to check the other cells anyway. ¡°Return to the guard room, I shall examine each one.¡± Sinead is safe by the time I open the first door. It took me half a minute to find the right key from the jailor¡¯s massive collection. The cell is completely devoid of any comfort. There is not even a bucket or a pail of straw, only grey stones. On the far wall, a human man is chained, held by massive steel links. His wiry frame is covered in wounds and sores. A single manic eye glints with madness as he lifts his head. ¡°Finally, thou have answered my summons! Thine master orders thee, succubus!¡± ¡°Uuuuuh¡­¡± ¡°Now get on thine knees and suck my cock!¡± Ten seconds later I step back out, wiping blood from my lips. ¡°So?¡± ¡°No one important, next!¡± A few curses later, I manage to get the next room and immediately regret my lack of caution. The steel links have been shattered and a prostrate figure lies in the middle of the room. The cold aura of a vampire reaches me, one that feels strangely familiar. The man is muscular, and tall. Long black hair falls in front of his face and prevents me from recognizing him until he turns his attention on me and I recognize the slanted eyes and the foreign skin color. Impossible. Could it be? ¡°Ogotai?¡± The rogue opens a maw filled with serrated teeth. His long yellow claws rake the unforgiving ground, then he charges me. Chapter ex1: ??. Black and Red Healer 183? undisclosed location.I stroll leisurely alongside the river, enjoying the silence and the feeling of a job well done. Light from gas lampposts illuminates the doric columns of the massive building by my side. My guard is down, and this mistake costs me dearly. One moment, the world is as normal as it can get these days, the other, a sphere of void opens in front of me and tendrils of power snatch me like a child takes a doll. I barely have time to take out my dagger and slash at the power ineffectually before I am dragged in. ¡°¡± A massive hall. I stand in the middle of a spell circle. The construct is grandiose, almost on the scale of what Semiramis pulled off. I am filled with dread. Who would squander this much power to get me must have a purpose. As I watch, the last of the runes fade and a protective dome of force covers me. I feel no immediate danger, and so I take in my surrounding. The hall is a rectangular throne room of ridiculous proportions. The ground is pink marble polished to a delicate lustre. And the walls white stone smoothed to a shine. Golden leaves etched into the stone tell tales of valor, showing knights and heroes fighting mighty demons. Magic is clearly shown and in one of the decorations, a horned man with a furious glare blows off the top of a mountain. I really, really hope this is a metaphor of sorts. It also smells of stale air, and something unpleasant underneath. I think we are belowground. I return my attention to the people, now that the last flashes of magic die down and I can use most of my senses again. The room is not empty. Lines of guards in gaudy armour line it, and though I question their taste, I can tell that their gear is magical. Dangerous. At the end of the hall, several mages stand around who I assume to be the sovereign. They must be the summoners. Before they can even speak, I feel something to my right, eddies of power that even our magical restraints cannot stop. I am in only one of three circles. One contains remnants of flesh that appear as if a person had been made to go through a tube the size of an arm. The last is occupied by a woman. She is slightly taller than me, with raven black hair left to fall on her toned shoulders. Her clothes are that of a peasant. A white shirt hinting at a modest bust, brown pants ending with athletic legs. Her feet are clad in boots of good quality, made to fit. It is as if she did not care about her appearance at all even though she clearly could. And yet, her posture speaks of confidence, an absolute trust in her own power. She is lightly balanced on the balls of her feet with a grace that no mortals should be able to achieve. Truly, by appearing so normal, I feel like someone placed a tiny hat on a giant tiger. The woman turns to me lightly. Cold blue eyes take me in and assess me in an instant. She is mighty. I do not know how I realize this, only that it is a certain thing. Her essence has a terrible weight as if she were much smaller than she should be, and waves of tremendous magic pulse from her in waves. Fortunately, she continues her inspection. The woman checks the ground around her and the people in front of us with no hint of concern whatsoever. If anything her smirk has not left her face since I started to look. Finally, one of the men in the small assembly comes forward. He is rather ancient and clad in a garish cloak of red and gold. His smile is thick as molasses, and just as dark, ¡°Welcome! Heroes of faraway lands! You have been summoned by nobody lesser than the great and mighty King Abel! To fulfil the prophecy and rid this land of every and all demons!¡± He does not speak English, the meaning of his words is simply carried by a harmless magical tendril directly into my mind. I truly am not in my own plane. This is magic on a grand scale. Too bad it was carried out by what amounts to kidnappers. ¡°Ah great. The summoned hero story. Why put a barrier up if you want our help?¡± says the woman on my side, in proper English this time. Her voice has a strange accent that I cannot place, and there is something behind too. I feel like she could speak louder, loud enough to crack my mind open. ¡°We mean you no harm!¡± the man continues as he comes closer, and I can finally tell where the smell comes from. He is only playing at being a human but I can taste his essence through the barrier. It is foul. ¡°The shield is there to prevent magical power leaking outwards. You were chosen as prospective heroes, individuals with great potential. Young and surging in power!¡± the creature continues as it approaches. There is something off with its face as well. The Skinwalker was better at imitating people. This stinks of enslavement coated with a thin layer of bullshit. Is it so hard to imagine that ¡°Heroes of Faraway Lands¡± would have more intellect than the average hamster? Prevent magical power leaking outward indeed. They are not even trying. I flex my claws. No one enslaves me, not anymore. I just hope the blue-eyed monster thinks the same as she turns to me. ¡°What do you think?¡± she says, looking at me, ¡°That bundle of flesh doesn¡¯t seem quite happy about being here either.¡± ¡°A spell that has one in three chances of turning their target to mincemeat indicates that little care is given to their target,¡± I observe. Unwise. Our captors are beyond careless. This flimsy barrier will not hold the one next to me and even I should manage to break with the Herald¡¯s power, given time. ¡°How thoughtful. You are right. Though I must say, I would very much like to experience the full extent of this spell¡¯s power¡­ perhaps I could learn to resist it fully¡­,¡± the woman adds. Oh, so that¡¯s how it is. She¡¯s probably quite resilient, the kind to travel around looking for a challenge. I sincerely hope that she will not find it here. ¡°Why summon us?¡±, she continues, ¡°Doesn¡¯t the mighty, high and powerful king what¡¯s his name have enough powerful people to fight the war himself? You already have fourty eight capable knights standing in this very hall. Pretty wasteful if you ask me.¡± She clearly saw through their feeble attempts at manipulation. Her mocking tone is obvious, and if I were those imbeciles over there, I would start to reinforce the barrier or find somewhere else to be. ¡°You were chosen to fight the fiends who wield necromancy, blood magic and curses in their unrelenting pursuit of conquest! Are you not those good of heart and spirit? Those who would vanquish the evils of the world?¡± They must have messed up their ritual. This is the only explanation. ¡°Some of my best friends are necromancers. And blood mages¡­ and curse¡­ mages?¡± the woman adds, looking thoughtful. That is good news for me. At least she is not a zealot. ¡°Besides¡­ I can feel blood magic from your king. Seems a little dishonest to me,¡± the woman continues, then something strange happens. Her essence materializes into ash, which coalesces into a chair. At the same time, she reaches into the shadow of her aura and pulls¡­ a bowl of food. By the If only I could do the same thing, store items in my shadow¡­ then... I could store guns! Explosives! Maybe a whole canon! That would be so great¡­ Wait, no Ariane, focus. The big one is about to speak. ¡°Then, perhaps¡­¡± the ¡®King¡¯ starts in a voice like shredded metal, before coughing. ¡°Perhaps you would be interested to side with us after all-¡± he finishes. If the pitch was not already enough to betray his inhumanity, the blood would. The scent is tangy, reminding me of Wendigo. The thing on the ground is fouled, but what runs in his veins¡­ now that would be something. ¡°My King! You mustn¡¯t,¡± one of the sovereign¡¯s attendants interrupts. The King just punts him into a wall. Alright then. It might make for a GOOD HUNT, STRONG PREY. Wait, hold on, I was going to negotiate my return. This is not time to start shedding blood, if I can even do it. Who knows how powerful they are? I need to be cautious, extremely cautious. ¡°A¡­ being¡­ of ash. And one of blood,¡± the king says with an empty chuckle. ¡°Would you not serve me? You could be lords¡­ whole continents would cower before your might. As heralds of King Abel.¡± Cute, but something tells me we would have to conquer those continents ourselves. Besides, I SERVE NO ONE. Calm, Ariane, you need to stay calm. Diplomacy will get me through this. ¡°I¡¯m quite happy where I am. Can you send us back now please? I have obligations and I¡¯m sure the same is true for you.¡± the woman says and she once more turns to me, ¡°I¡¯m Ilea by the way, nice to meet you. Like the daggers and the whole corpse-like thing you¡¯ve got going on,¡± How rude! ¡°I am Ariane of the Nirari,¡± I grumble, ¡°and I am not a corpse.¡± Honestly, do corpses even move? Nonsense. At least she likes my daggers, so she has a few redeeming qualities. Before I can introduce myself further, the woman continues. ¡°Hey you¡¯re a vampire, right?¡± She knows. Dread takes my heart. She knows! I really hope that my judgement was correct and that I can join necromancers and blood mage on the list of approved creatures or else, I am done for. I can taste her essence in the very air. She will obliterate me if she wants to. Perhaps¡­ she could even hold her own against my sire. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it. As long as you¡¯re not a feral monster trying to eat me, there shouldn¡¯t be a problem,¡± she continues with the same unsettling smile, as if everything was an amusing distraction for her. I feel that if that smile were to disappear, terrible things would occur. At least I will be fine. It would take utter desperation or a truly maddening Thirst to force me to go against her. ¡°I am afraid such is not possible. Too much was invested to get you here. You will serve me. Willingly or not,¡± the king says, as he emits a powerful aura. This is bad. I have no time to think, no time to plan. There is too much I do not understand. ¡°Hold on, friend, perhaps we should try to negotiate with them first¡­¡± I tell the firebrand at my side. We can stall. They are ready and prepared for us now, with lines of knights. If we wait, perhaps security will be laxer and we will have a better chance of escaping. ¡°Okay mate. Last chance. Beam us back or I will literally rip off your head,¡± the woman replies. That¡¯s her way of negotiating? Well, we¡¯re in it now. I prepare to dodge a spell but I am not a target. A globe of power emanating from the King spreads out and hits Ilea. A ghastly wound explodes on her chest. Carmine blood stains her shirt, the ground, and her lips. That¡¯s got to be a lung. This is it. I take out my dagger, call the power of the Herald in my claws and watch in amazement as the woman¡¯s torso pops back in as if nothing had happened. Huh? Mesmerized, I stand witness to a miracle. First, a full set of bone-coloured armor emerges from the shadow of her aura to cover her entire body. Then, the thundering essence around her takes shape and slides over the first defense to form a streamlined layer the color of ash, if ash shone like white stars. It clads her from head to toe in an intricate tapestry of scales and plates as elegant as they look sturdy. This is the work of a true master, designed for her. The only thing exposed is a pair of glacial blue eyes under forward-facing horns, and they look cold indeed. There is an anticipation in the air. The time for talk is over. Now, we Hunt. ¡°I don¡¯t think you have a choice here,¡± she adds with a wink. Indeed I do not. S?a??h th? ?0velF?re.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. And it¡¯s your fault! Bah! ¡°Kill them!¡± the king screams as he discards his human form, exploding into a demonic grey-skinned abomination with a crown sitting atop a lupine skull. Quite tall too! Well, the bigger they are...the better they taste. ¡°Whoa, pretty disgusting there,¡± Ilea comments with the tone of a housewife seeing a half-rotten cabbage on the ground. She¡¯s correct, it is rather gross. Well, nothing to it. I , and go after the knights first. The smart thing would be to go after the mages or the creature that can make someone¡¯s chest explode from afar but I am counting on my unexpected ally to be the obvious target and she does not disappoint. She somehow appears in their midst and wrecks through them in moments. The magical armors which I had admired but moments ago folds like cheap paper as her strange back... tentacles? Literally rip the things apart. I still want those breastplates, they look nifty. I lay into the knights myself. I weave through them and stab necks, armpits and thighs, avoiding the protected areas. The knights¡¯ movements are good but they are far too slow. Their blood smells like a lesser version of the King¡¯s. Inhuman. TASTY. ¡°You dare defy me!?¡± the king roars with a broken voice, ¡°Yes, yes. I do dare. I¡¯ve heard this so many times before. What the fuck did you expect, summoning powerful heroes here?¡± Ilea asks, sounding weirdly reasonable as limbs and broken corpses rain around her. I am moving forward and to the sides, using walls and the knight¡¯s positioning against them. I need to avoid getting cornered. I stab and slash, sometimes pushing foes on the path of thrown spears and axes. The chaos of battle works to my advantage and allows me to stay one step ahead. Ilea¡¯s chest explodes once more, only to reform in instants. She does not even flinch. I¡¯m a bit jealous. ¡°You¡¯ll need more than that!¡± she says like a fishmonger asking for more change. Then she extends a hand and a cone of pure heat blasts vaporizes everything behind me. FIRE. RUN. ¡°Hsss!¡± Hot hot hot. I¡¯M ON FIRE. No, calm down, it¡¯s just my second most expensive dress. Aaaaaah. I glare at the culprit who shrugs helplessly as her tentacles stab and gut a knight poised to strike her. ¡°My dress!¡± I complain. That bloody thing cost me two hundred dollars! ¡°Sorry¡­ behind you!¡± Yes, yes, I know. I jump forward and knee the creature in the chest plate to unbalance it, then stab it. Ow. Should have just stabbed it. My knees! Ow! This is getting worse and worse. I hiss once more as another knight uses the opening to nick my leg. And there go my leggings too. Unforgivable. VERMINS. KILL THEM ALL. Ilea has nearly reached the King when one of the robbed mages erects a barrier. PATHETIC. I gather the power of the Herald in my claws and breach it. PREY. I fall on the robbed and Devour it in a second. Power, defiled and mighty roars in its veins. It calls for domination and violence, but it is also unstable and destructive. Delicious. Focus. I raise my head to see the tentacle woman looking slightly amused. She points at the King who is still trying to make her chest explode as if this time, the result would be any different. ¡°That guy,¡± she says and points at the malformed sovereign. Hm. Yes? A few dark spears blink into existence and rush the creature with enough speed and power to skewer a frigate. Our foe simply blocks it with its muscular arms, and I feel power reaching beneath me. Spikes of blood emerge from the ground. Before I can dodge, Ilea blinks before me and stop the onslaught by¡­ simply standing there and letting them crash on her torso. ¡°Want a bite?¡± she offers ¡°Certainly,¡± I reply. The King looks like a prize. Then she grabs me by the collar and tosses me forward. Huh? Aaaaaah¡­ Why that tricksy little¡­ Ah! I twist my body mid-air and manage to land knives first into the creature¡¯s eyes. It reels. It opens a wide maw. Before it can bite down, Ilea appears on its side and casually punches it. The impact sends the beast to the side. It is unbalanced. It¡¯s my chance. I claw my way in its steely flesh and latch to its throat. I bite down. I pull out. Power, unbridled, courses through my vein. The host was weak but the corrupting essence? It is incredible. Like a smooth fire begging to be unleashed. It tastes of cruel trickery and almost lies, of a game of patience that can never truly be lost. I fall down to a knee. Oops? Teehee. Wait, no, now is not the time to lose my focus. I am a mighty ruffian-propelled vampiric projectile of death and destruction. I am sharp and devious and completely, completely sober. Yep! ¡°It is done,¡± I announce. Ilea blinks before me and I jump back in alarm, though she simply lowers her hands. ¡°No worries. I¡¯m a healer,¡± she says. Yes, you are the very essence of the Hippocratic oath, you lunatic. ¡°It will heal. There is no need,¡± I reply. ¡°Ah, you can regenerate too, nice, can you lose your head too?¡± I don¡¯t like where this conversation is going. But hey, it¡¯s fun! ¡°In theory yes, though I would rather not find out. Why, can you? ¡± I ask with a smile. ¡°You¡¯re drunk, aren¡¯t you?¡± The woman smirks. Blasted! I am made. ¡°No! I am not! Just curious, is all,¡± I say, taking great care to have a good pronunciation. There! No way she figures it out now. Ariane, queen of acting! Instead of replying. She tears her head off. Just like that. I am not really here. Somebody managed to hypnotize me and I am now having a vivid hallucination. Either that or I am, in fact, dead, and must suffer for all eternity in this hell, enduring some sick being¡¯s twisted sense of humor. Those are the only reasonable explanations I can think of. ¡°Huh, I did not expect a demonstration. Perhaps one day, I shall develop the power to erase selective memories. That would be nice,¡± I add. ¡°Want a bite?¡± she says, and throws it at me. It really is her head. It¡¯s still even smiling. Gah. ¡°Made you lose your head in five minutes, heh. Who are you¡­ really?¡± I ask ¡°I told you, I¡¯m Ilea. I was brought here from Elos and I intend to go back,¡± she says. I have never heard of Elos. It is probably another plane. One thing is sure, if that woman is the norm, I don¡¯t want to go there, ever. Being able to walk under a foreign moon is not worth having spare body parts thrown at you mid-conversation. I will still play nice though, in case she expects me to return the favor. I like my own head where it is now, thank you very much. ¡°Ilea¡­ well met! I am a vampire as you have previously deducted. Do you perchance have a way to travel through the planes?¡± Somebody get me out of here. ¡°Nice to meet you too, Ariane. I can only return to my own realm. Maybe one of the mages here can help out,¡± she suggests. ¡°The mages! Yes! How could I forget?¡± We did not kill them all. ¡°I have no clue either, sorry,¡± she says. I look around and focus. One heartbeat, behind the pillar. ¡°I found one,¡± I say, and go grab the man. I drag him back to the pedestal, kicking and screaming. Dessert! No wait, I need him alive. To go home! ¡°Return me to the United States, promptly!¡± I demand. ¡°We can¡¯t¡­ the magic required¡­ it would take decades,¡± he whispers. ¡°I can supply it,¡± Ilea says. ¡°You just provide the magic circle.¡± ¡°Can we trust this¡­ creature?¡± I wonder. Ilea shrugs. ¡°No. Definitely not but do you have another idea?¡± Fair point. ¡°The circle is simple¡­ I understand it, studied it¡­ for decades¡­ please, let me live! I can bring you back,¡± the man pleads. He smells delicious, like¡­ a second main course. I Charm him in an instant, sweeping aside his pathetic defences. He is terrified and as a result, he wants to please. His survival depends on our goodwill. I lower the fear and fan the flames of devotion in his heart. ¡°You want to live, don¡¯t you? You are a powerful mage, are you not?¡± I ask. ¡°Yes I do. I am, quite powerful. Wiser than even King Abel!¡± ¡°Then you would surely be able to bring us back to our realms. To protect your own people,¡± I say, and I do not need to bluff to make him believe it. ¡°Yes, of course. But the magic¡­ it is impossible,¡± the man stammers out. Not if Ilea fuels it. She can grow heads like some grow petunias. What¡¯s a magical portal through time and space? I press on. ¡°With her help, it may be possible. You would be a hero! Having banished the monstrous creatures that have murdered your king!¡± ¡°I will get right to it! Only small modifications need to be made¡­ but I can only send you back from where you have come¡­ nowhere else,¡± he says and scrambles to the circle to complete it. I watch his back with satisfaction. ¡°Impressive powers. Does that come with the vampire class?¡± asks the woman by my side. ¡°Class? I know of no such thing. What are you? If I might ask?¡± ¡°I¡¯m a human. So are you, by the looks of it. You said United States? I¡¯m from Earth too, though I don¡¯t exactly call it home anymore. The place I¡¯m from has magic and monsters. And quite a few opportunities to find power,¡± ¡°Human¡­ you looked more monster than woman,¡± I add with some regret. I am so jealous. ¡°You too. Well, sometimes you just have to let it out, you know? Feels good to let loose and these fuckers deserved it. So, ready to go home?¡± The man motions us to join him, the modifications to the magic circle done. Last chance for a dessert. ¡°If I might ask... would you¡­ would it be fine for you if¡­ if I drank a little of your blood?¡± By the I sound like a . I hope she does not take offence. ¡°Knock yourself out,¡± Ilea says. ¡°But it does feel a little uncomfortable seeing you hold my head.¡± I return the body part which I was still holding for the simple reason that it would feel inappropriate to boot it under some column while its owner is just right there, watching. She makes the thing disappear. ¡°This should suffice for blood,¡± she says, and use a tentacle to literally wrench her heart out, breaking her ribs and everything. Alrighty then. I¡¯m sure Isaac has some methods to make memories fade in the background. Definitely. I hope. ¡°A parting gift,¡± she says with a bright smile as her chest cavity fills out again. ¡°Erm, thank you, Ilea of Elos. It was an experience to make your acquaintance,¡± I reply. I wouldn¡¯t mind seeing her again actually. Provided we are on the same side. ¡°Ready?,¡± Ilea asks as I step into the circle. ¡°Until we meet again.¡± Teleportation. The ability to open a conduit through time and space, sending and retrieving people and goods from unfathomable distances in the blink of an eye. Truly, a wonder of magic. If I am being reasonable, I should not be surprised, nor angry, that the panicked mage would miss the mark by twenty paces and send me back just above the river. ¡°FU-¡± Chapter 53: Three is a Crowd I dodge a clawing motion then another, stunned at what I see.So weak. Ogotai is pitifully slow, his movements jerky and inefficient. I feel like I am fighting a drunk child. Were rogues not supposed to be particularly dangerous? Was he always so feeble? I reminisce as I stop another assault and slam my old jailor against the stone wall. Back in the vampire fortress as I first woke up, he had been terrifying. I was powerless before his strength and the pain he could and did inflict. With Jimena and Master, he was one of the three individuals who had ruled my life then. I have trouble reconciling my memories with the sad wreck in front of me. ¡°Ogotai, The degenerate creature shakes its head and charges again with a yowl of fury. I seize his arms as he extends them and shatter the wrists. The beast screams in pain. ¡°Ogotai I will kill him. He is a traitor and not someone I intend to keep around. I just want to give him a chance of doing so on his own two feet, as a last courtesy from one vampire to another. Not like this. My words are useless. He just tries to bite my arm wherever he can reach it. His aura fizzles sickly and I am left to wonder how much time he spent here. When I disabled him and stunned Father Perry, could the priest have taken the vampire captive with him? Did the traitor spend more than thirty years in their custody, bound here by chains of steel and walls of stone? Did they even feed him? By the , I would rather rip my own throat and throw myself on a silver spike. I avert my eyes from the fallen one as I remember why I am here. I do not have more time to give him. With a hint of regret, I expose his throat and bite deep. I pull out. Thirty years trapped here, after I shot him in the face. He woke up to find himself already in chains. This must never happen to me. I need to find a way to escape, in case all is lost. I would rather not exist than exist in this world of endless suffering. Hell itself cannot be worse. Ogotai was changed by mistake or out of cruelty. This is a travesty of what we should be and his master shares a part of responsibility in this disaster. A waste, from the very beginning. I turn around and ignore the strands of ash clinging to my sleeves. The search leads me to three other mad wizards, whom I promptly Devour. The next room is more interesting. As I enter it, my nose scrunches in displeasure. Mutt. INTRUDER. KILL HIM. No, this is a captive, not an intruder. He TRESPASSES by accident. A man faces me, bound to the wall with chains shining silver. He is surprisingly calm considering the circumstances. He is also sniffing the air, his gestures mirroring mine in a way I find disturbing. His build is light and wiry, like a forester. Straw colored hair fall on a gentle face centered on vivid green eyes clouded by pain. A smattering of freckles covers his sun-kissed cheeks. What I find strange is that there is no defiance nor aggression in his posture. If anything, he looks like a man who would lend me an ear and comfort me if I were to share a tale. When he speaks, his voice is warm and smooth like good coffee. I wish I could hear him sing. ¡°Fair lady, I see you are not one of them. I would be eternally grateful for any assistance you could provide.¡± I realize that this is my very first time having a conversation with a werewolf. I was planning on rescuing the fianc¨¦e and vampires provided they agree to secrecy. Now I need to decide what to do with this unexpected find. Kill, or subsume? ¡°Fair lady, if you will not release me, will you at least end my torments?¡± ¡°You ask for death?¡± ¡°I seek freedom, no matter the cost. I would be thankful either way.¡± I don¡¯t need another essence of werewolf. I could, however, get some answers on a curse and lifestyle I know nothing about. ¡°Are you asking for my help? Are you willing to pay the price?¡± ¡°I would be willing to negotiate my liberty at a fair price, yes. You have my word, fair lady.¡± ¡° Very well. In return for freedom, you will swear absolute secrecy on me and mine forever. You will also protect me and answer all my questions for a duration of a week, and finally, you will offer me blood. Willingly.¡± ¡°Fair lady, this is a generous offer. I accept. Though¡­¡± ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°May I ask why do you need my blood exactly? I do not wish to renege, you understand, only to warn you that it carries a potent curse.¡± ¡°Oh,¡± I add with a toothy smile, ¡°I know.¡± The man¡¯s enchanting eyes widen in surprise when he sees my fangs, then he smirks. ¡°It appears that I am the one most in need of answers. What may I call you?¡± ¡°Ariane.¡± Ah damn. ¡°But please, in public call me Ms. Lethe.¡± I add, as I find the key to open his restraints. ¡°How very mysterious. My name is Alistair Locke, at your service. Rest assured that I will answer any threat to your person by whomsoever they might be given with the utmost urgency.¡± ¡°You are most kind, and since I see you so amenable, there is one more request I would like to ask of you before I draw your blood.¡± ¡°Please do.¡± ¡°Would you mind going to the other room and find clothes that could cover your manhood?¡± Alistair stares down and realizes his state of undress. I will admit that the view is quite nice, and I graciously step out of his way as he leaves. I also look after him just to make sure there are no anomalies. As a measure of precaution, of course. Nice butt. Enough distractions, however nice, I need to find that woman and there are only four cells left. The next one contains another werewolf, this one fully transformed and quite wild. I drink him dry. Waste not want not! I get a final werewolf and to my surprise a Wendigo. I Devour them as well and arrive at the second to last door. I have gone full circle. I open the gate to find myself in a bedroom. Instead of the naked stone, unpolished furniture clutters the area giving it a homey feeling. All four walls are covered with papers upon which strange glyphs and letters written with an elegant hand. A woman sits at an organized desk, carefully reviewing a document. She is breathtaking. Even the sackcloth they gave her does little to mask her grace and elegance. Dark auburn hair are tied in a messy ponytail that let a few strands grace her cheeks like the frame around a painting. She turns to me, her heart-shaped face regal, and I find myself staring into shining cerulean eyes. ¡°Lady Sivaya of the Court of Blue?¡± The woman lifts one imperious brow, then notices something on my face. ¡°V¡ª Vampire!¡± She then spouts imprecations in a voice that goes crescendo culminating with a strident scream. The princess raises a hand to her forehead, then proceeds to faint. ¡°Errr. Nice to meet you too?¡± Typical. I grab the woman and pull her up, then drag her to the main room where Sinead¡¯s face lightens with pleasure. ¡°Hah, you found her! Is she¡­ Alright?¡± ¡°Think so. She lost her nerve when she saw me. Don¡¯t know why.¡± ¡°Perhaps that would be because you are smiling and your fangs are quite visible. Did you find any documents?¡± ¡°Yes! A veritable¡­¡± I stop to find the right word, holding a hand so that Sinead waits. ¡°Plethora! Yes!¡± ¡°It would be better to wake her up and find out which she wants to keep, or I will never hear the end of it.¡± ¡°Of course!¡± I grab the princess by the collar and slap her vigorously. Sinead looks at me in wonder. ¡°Is something the matter?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve always wanted to do that¡­¡± Our exchange is interrupted by the woman¡¯s fluttering eyes. She looks from Sinead to me with a complicated expression. Then she reaches a decision and takes a deep breath as her brows furrow. I block her mouth with a hand. ¡°Mflrgn!¡± ¡°You handle the screaming part Sinead, I have two more things to do.¡± I leave the lovey-dovey pair behind and turn to Alistair, who had been watching the proceedings with bemused attention. ¡°And now dear , time to seal the deal, please assume the proper position!¡± Mr. Locke looks distinctly ill at ease in his pilfered uniform. I frown at his utter lack of manners. What good household would forget to teach someone how to do a proper blood offering. What household, I ask! Out of patience, I curtsey and expose my neck which makes him smile, which makes me frown, which makes him recoil, which makes me smile, then he obliges. ¡°Excellent. Now don¡¯t move, this won¡¯t hurt a bit.¡± In the confines of my mind palace, I am amazed. Werewolves have always been wild and this one is no exception and yet there is a noticeable improvement in Alistair. His aura is ordered and controlled. Underneath the beastly urges, there is deep peace and acceptance of his fate and an unwavering resolve to face it with all his might. I find an echo of my own belief in him, this desire to do the most with what we have and to never give up on what I believe makes my identity. I lick the wound clean and pull back a bit. He is flushed, and his smile is beautiful. ¡°I must say, this was¡­ Intense, miss.¡± Something pokes my stomach through, thankfully, two layers of cloth. ¡°I can tell.¡± ¡°Sorry!¡± I chuckle and let the man turn around to, ah, get things under control. I am sure he has the situation well in hand. As for me, I intend to¡­ ¡°Ari?¡± ¡°Yes Sinead?¡± ¡°Princess Sivaya needs to collect some documents from her room.¡± Silence ensues. I am not quite sure what he means. ¡°I fail to see how that is any of my concern.¡± Sinead looks a bit embarrassed and his fianc¨¦e, angry. ¡°Herm, I was hoping you could lend a hand.¡± I tap my finger against my lips in fake consideration. ¡°Let me think about it. No?¡± I leave the Llikaean to handle his lady friend. Hah! Serves him right. Pranking and torturing me daily for weeks? Making me pay for enough wine to roll a Scottish infantry regiment under the table? Do not expect any help. ¡°Teeheehee. Serves him right indeed.¡± ¡°I can hear you, you know?¡± I ignore that sore loser and open the very last door. Inside, I find a naked woman chained to the wall by a veritable tangle of chains. I can barely see the ebony skin beneath the many links covering her lithe form. Her face is haughty and beautiful with sharp cheekbones. She is also a vampire. I whisper. Hope flares in her dusky eyes. She strains against her restraints with unbidden excitement. I remember her. I was tasked with punishing a man by Baudouin and she walked in and saved me. Her name was¡­ ¡°Naminata!¡± ¡° I step much closer, excited. I am about to open the chain when a thought crosses my mind. ¡°Hm.¡± I scrunch my face in displeasure. There is something I need to remember. Something to do with why I am here. Arg, frustrating, I should run naked in the woods. The fresh air would do me good! She laughs lightly. I lean very close and claim in her ear, with pride. I nod to myself. Yep. Very roguish of me, if I do say so myself. I ask as I remove the lock and start untwisting the chains. She mumbles, I nod in echo with this absolutely outrageous statement. They keep records of all the insane things they¡¯ve done. Unbelievable. Before I can sate my curiosity further, we reach the main room and Nami walks boldly forth then stops with her hand on her waist in a confident posture. She is of course completely naked, and her shamelessness is so blatant that it transcends good manners and turns into some sort of assertiveness. Or at least, that is how I perceive it. Siraya hides behind Sinead who looks at me with a measure of apprehension. Thankfully Naminata remains true to her word and does not engage, only looks on with curiosity. Then she turns to me with a pure expression of wonder and starts with a girlish scream. I incline my head to the side. Surely, she would not dare¡­ Ah yes. That does sound reasonable. Even Alistair is¡­ Visibly distracted. Our problems start as soon as we get back out. The odd squad is gathered around one of the Navajo warriors, who is developing what will certainly be a spectacular bruise. ¡°What happened?¡± ¡°One of them escaped,¡± answers a Creek, ¡°He left the compound on horseback.¡± ¡°When?¡± ¡°Immediately after the barracks exploded. He came out swinging.¡± Do I have to do everything in this place? ¡°Very wellI shall handle this myself!¡± I whistle and Metis arrives at a trot. I jump on her back on the way. Time for another ! Teehee! I can enjoy the wind in my hair and on my skin, the crisp winter air. I go through the now open gate of the prison and pass underneath the earth, only to emerge from a concealed trap door at full sprint. Yes! The hunt, the open land, that low branch on my path! Why is it so close? Ow. Ow ow ow ow. Ow. Fine, I admit I¡¯m drunk. Ooooow. M¨¦tis snorts and nuzzles my prone form as I massage my poor forehead. If I were still a mortal I would have brained myself on that thing, not that it would have harmed any vital organ if my lack of prudence is any indicator. By the I am too old to be this silly! Note to self, Devouring too many magical creatures is still intoxicating. I stand back up and consider that my only saving grace is that no one witnessed this debacle. Now, time to find my prey. The last survivor fled on horseback so there should be tracks and scents. I inspect my surroundings and eventually find clumps of disturbed earth. Unfortunately, I do not smell nor hear anything out of place in the frigid night. The tracks stop at a river. The lone horseman followed it up or down the stream to mask his tracks and escape pursuers. I consider trying my luck and choosing a side on a coin toss, then decide otherwise. It matters little if news of the fall of the prison reach an order outpost earlier than planned. They did not see my face, nor do they know where I live. My priority remains the survival and protection of the rescued. With regret, I turn around but comfort myself with the knowledge that I acted reasonably and sensibly in these trying times. When I reach the others, they have thoroughly checked and looted all the buildings. Men and horses are laden with pilfered weapons and supplies. The Navajo, in particular, look pleased with their most recent acquisition of quality muskets. I find my sarcophagus placed snugly between walls of various loot including piles of rolled up documents. Soon, the convoy departs and Nami walks up to me. The taller woman, now dressed in my own dress, places a proprietary arm around my waist as I jump and yelp. Her cold breath brushed my right ear. She chuckles but relents. Her hand moves from my waist to my shoulder and she leans forward to continue the conversation. I sputter in shock. This is going to be a very long night. Two days later I slam the door behind me. Sinead, sitting at my borrowed desk, patiently places a pen down and closes his eyes. After a moment gathering his courage, he turns to me like a man expecting horrible news. ¡°It¡¯s about your fianc¨¦e.¡± ¡°I expected as much. Before we begin, I understand that our Navajo friend left?¡± I know he is attempting to distract me. I will only oblige because I intended to tell him anyway. ¡°Yes. We went to the place where I had buried the remains. The old chief¡¯s spear was pointing towards it in any case. After a brief ceremony we had a talk and they left.¡± ¡°They asked many questions, about how many warriors your kind has and muskets. I answered faithfully, I hope you do not mind.¡± ¡°Not at all.¡± ¡°This knowledge will be used against your kind, when the time comes.¡± ¡°My kind?¡± ¡°The Europeans.¡± I laugh. ¡°Vampires are my kind, and you are forgetting something. Do you truly believe you will make a difference?¡± Sinead stops to consider the idea, yet declines to answer. I go on. ¡°This is a tide that no one can stop. My friend Nashoba said that in order to stop the colonists, he would have to become like them. This state alone can marshal tens of thousands of militia with support artillery and a baggage train in weeks. Do you think the natives can match this? Do you think knowing will make a difference?¡± ¡°Knowing always makes a difference.¡± ¡°Only a modern army can stop another modern army. There are no foundries here, no weaponsmiths, no military academies. If he were a king and had decades of preparation it would still not be enough.¡± ¡°In the kingdoms, decades of preparation means an invasion will never succeed.¡± ¡°There is not enough magic in this plane to equalize the field when columns of men are brought to bear, and the blue cloud of spent powder reaches to the heavens. They could have victories here and there, but it will not suffice.¡± ¡°You seem certain.¡± ¡°It already happened before. East of here.¡± ¡°Interesting. Life is truly different in this plane.¡± ¡°Speaking of life here. I have an issue with your darling.¡± Many have issues with his darling. Sivaya has managed to offend everyone¡¯s ego in record time through supreme condescension and a complete refusal to communicate with the others. She spends most of her time isolated downstairs, busy with research. ¡°She doesn¡¯t speak English.¡± ¡°But she understands it, does she not?¡± I reply undeterred. Sinead winces. ¡°I think I preferred you when you were a bit more gullible.¡± ¡°Enough, her behavior is unacceptable. I will have you communicate the rules to her for the last time. If she does not comply, I will declare you in breach of your agreement as guests. Do I make myself clear? No spreading her mess outside of her designated areas clearly delimited by blue marks, no stealing my paint and no leaving the number ten wrench on her worktable like some avatar of chaos! I was looking for that thing for ages!¡± ¡°Yes, I will tell her. I promise. Please be patient, she is¡­ not used to this.¡± ¡°You are royalty too and she is far from being your equal in terms of insight and subtlety. Managing one¡¯s allies is a vital part of any political scheme.¡± ¡°She and I are not alike. We are the two most powerful Likaeans on this plane, Ariane, but in reality our backgrounds could hardly be more different.¡± Sinead¡¯s gaze drifts to the windows and the gray clouds outside. His face grows distant and thoughtful. A comfortable silence comes between us as he loses himself in his memories Eventually, he returns his attention to me, gauging. Then he relaxes and nods, coming to a decision. ¡°What I am going to share with you, I never intended to reveal. You have earned that much, for sparing my life then and for helping me now. I know that our contract is to my benefit and that you are aware of this fact. My gratitude for you is real, and I will repay it if I survive and my plan is carried out to completion. ¡°Sivaya is a princess of the Blue Court, one of their most talented scions. She has spent her whole life in the heart of the Cloud Spires, its airy halls and intricate research laboratories. When I confirmed her presence on this plane, I knew we stood a chance. Make no mistake, she is brilliant, but her outlook is extremely limited. Only research matters to her, and the notes we brought back from the prison as well as those she is nailing to every wall of your sanctum are the written statement of a revolutionary approach to planar travel. Like all geniuses, her other skills are¡­ lacking. She never had to fight for supremacy or survival. Her dreams were always within her reach, and the means to pursue them, always generously provided. The Court of Blue is also isolated from most turmoil. No army has besieged their capital in eons, for they are the architects behind the best workings in history. All those circumstances conspired to her behavior and while I do not expect you to excuse her, I ask that you act as the better person, and show her the patience and courtesy that she denied you, for me. Please.¡± ¡°It is not just a matter of image, Sinead. I am a vampire and you are on my territory. If you are not guests, then you are intruders, and I will not fight against myself to accommodate you.¡± I walk to the window and turn my back to him. I will not dull my words. He must understand. ¡°Your fianc¨¦e is no longer in the Cloud Spires. She is here, in this world, with us. If my second life taught me anything, it is that weak people are crushed when they step out of bounds. The nail that sticks out gets hammered down. This is a lesson you will have to impart upon her before someone else does it for you.¡± Sinead winces, then nods in the end. I am not done though. ¡°You surprise me to accommodate her so. Why the deference. Are you not her equal?¡± My friend chuckles bitterly. Once more, he appears more vulnerable than usual. His veneer of sarcasm is momentarily shed. ¡°I am Prince yes, one of many. The Court of Summer has a king, my father. Unfortunately, my mother is a dancer of the Wandering Court. She caught his fancy one festival year, and when they parted, she was with child. My siblings on my father''s side are numerous and many of them are well connected. I am not.¡± I watch, fascinated, the veil masking Sinead¡¯s otherworldly traits evaporate as he loses his usual focus. His hair shines like flames and his eyes like molten gold. Motes of blue dance around his shoulders as he continues his tales. He does look regal, I admit. And dreamy. ¡°It was only when I reached adulthood that I was admitted to court. I believe my mother wanted to protect me for as long as she could from cutthroat politics. She taught me art and poetry, and dance. A bit of fencing. All useless, I thought, until I realized that she helped me form a core of individuality. She made me who I am before the others could ruin it. I would have lost myself otherwise. ¡°Competition was difficult. It still is. Now though, this tragedy might be a blessing in disguise. There is another Prince named Revas who had decided that I was a threat to him, and was about to crush me. I would have had to bend, but now if we are successful, the return of so many lost ones will cover me with glory. Many a mighty clan will owe me favors. I could even earn my father¡¯s preference, who knows? So, my knight, now that I have unveiled my ultimate goal, will you stand by my side?¡± I smile at the return of his good mood. ¡°I still think you are insane. I will help you as a friend, but I will not forfeit my life on a suicidal attack.¡± ¡°Nor will I ask this of you,¡± he adds with a smile. I assume he has some grand plan, and I understand the need for secrecy. I would not trust myself with anything too confidential quite yet, especially with my status as rogue. ¡°We will leave in three days. There is so much for us to do, and we are too exposed here. We thank you for your assistance, and I believe we will have a suitable present. A token of our appreciation.¡± ¡°I will look forward to it.¡± ¡°You keep slaves. I saw them on the last floor.¡± Alistair seems wary. After spending two days together, I have determined that his disposition is calm and poised. He is also patient, protective, and an excellent listener. He is the last person I would have taken for a cursed one and yet he is. Just for the smell, I had to rent him a room at a nearby residence or risk hissing with customers present. This is the first time I see him consider me with anything but affable good will. ¡°You mean cattle?¡± ¡°Yes. They are robbed of something.¡± ¡°Indeed. Your point?¡± He frowns and stops to consider. My most curious guest has a tendency to think his words before uttering them, a good habit to have. Papa used to say that after words cross our lips, we belong to them. ¡°This is wrong and unexpected. I thought you a champion of freedom after you returned me mine. I will not dictate your actions, of course. I merely hoped to understand.¡± HE DARES QUESTION ME. No, this is different. He made a respectful enquiry and acknowledged that I did not owe him answers, despite the mild anger he is feeling. This is just a matter of courtesy. That blood pumping faster, the mild red on his freckled cheeks. Aaaaah. Thirsty. No Ariane, this is just gluttony. ¡°They tried to kill, cheat or trap me. This is their punishment.¡± ¡°Why not slay them? Surely, death would be preferable to what you have done to them.¡± ¡°Due to my nature, I need protection during the day, as well as servants who will not wonder why their Mistress requires no sustenance. Consider them a necessary evil, if it pleases you.¡± ¡°I thank you for your answer. You are my benefactor and I will remember this first and foremost.¡± I DO NOT NEED YOUR APPROVAL, WEAKLING. ¡°I thank you for your consideration. While you are here, I have questions.¡± ¡°Of course, Ariane. Do ask.¡± ¡°I faced loup-garous before, and you are different. Can you tell me more?¡± ¡°Yes. The answer to your question as well as many others you will learn in my tale, and I would like to share it with you, if you will allow me.¡± ¡°Please do, you have my attention.¡± ¡°Thank you. I was not always cursed. For the first part of my life, I was the son of a doctor in the town of York in Upper Canada. I got bitten during a hunting party. The monster slaughtered my horse but spared my life in a gesture that, I did not realize until much later, took an immense amount of self-control. When I realized the nature of my affliction, I attempted to take my own life, only to realize that the steel blade I was using was unequal to the task. ¡°I decided to find death in the wilderness and instead, my kin found me. They took me in and welcomed me as one of them.¡± ¡°Hold on. Werewolves live in communities?!¡± ¡°We prefer the term pack. And yes.¡± This is tremendous news! No, extraordinary news! Werewolves are organizing themselves? This has never happened before in history if Isaac is to be believed. I have to tell him. ¡°We have developed social structures across packs, spread all over Canada¡¯s most remote areas. The Indians leave us alone and in return, so do we. It is a peaceful life and one where the curse does not lead to human deaths. Our community helps us stay in control. I used to play the role of omega. For some reason, my inner wolf is more of a loner and finds no interest in the struggle for supremacy. This allows me to smooth things out, as it were, and welcome new members to our pack, or at least it was the case until last summer.¡± ¡°What happened?¡± ¡°I will not go into too much detail. We used to keep in touch with each other via a loose network of messengers. The mightiest pack of the North decided that they would prefer a pyramidal hierarchy with them on top. They have already subdued many clans by killing the local alphas. They are a detestable lot, those Black Peak ones, and they need to be stopped. It was decided that I would head South as an emissary, to recruit the help of local packs in our struggle for independence.¡± ¡°I am not aware of any packs around.¡± ¡°That would be because there are none.¡± Alistair smiles sadly. ¡°We are the only place where the structure developed and now I can see why. It appears that my kind is hunted like animals here. I do not blame you. I know the trail of destruction many of us leave behind and I know that some even embrace it. I only wish that some were given a chance. We are not cursed by our own choice.¡± ¡°You make a good point. My instincts are telling me to end your life, and I never questioned this before. Perhaps I am being too harsh.¡± Alistair pales a bit at that. He knows what I can do. I decide to assuage his fear. ¡°I will stop to consider before starting a hunt, from now on.¡± ¡°That is all I can ask. Was there anything else?¡± ¡°Any chance that Black Peak heads South?¡± ¡°Yes they will, eventually, and if there is any justice in this world they will cross your path. Be careful, for they are still a dangerous group with large numbers on their side.¡± ¡°I will. We will talk more later.¡± The man facing me wears a quality shirt and beige vest stained at the armpit by days spent under the sun. His light blue eyes are piercing, and the rest of his virile face hidden behind an auburn beard. His gaze alternates between the document on the table, the nervous flesh trader by his left and me. His jaw works on a wad of tobacco he bit off from a brown stick. The sounds of mastication and the stench grate my already fraying nerves. ¡°What¡¯s this about?¡± The obsequious merchant passes a hand in his greasy sand hair and speaks with a nervousness that hints at fear. Mr. Lipp, with whom I am now treating, is known for occasional bouts of anger. He has destroyed more teeth than the town¡¯s dentist. ¡°As I mentioned, sir, Ms. Lethe here would like to purchase the negro known as David King. Her offer is more than generous, as you will¡­¡± ¡°Bullshit Sharpe, you know what I mean. Ain¡¯t no negro of mine worth five hundred dollars. So what¡¯s this about really?¡± I have already spent more time on this than I planned on. Who knew slave acquisition would be so despicable, not to mention tedious? They have people lining up naked as if they were swine. Naked! Disgraceful. And unsightly! I have never been exposed to so many genitals and I live in a brothel. And the paperwork¡­ ¡°I will answer, if only to make you act with celerity. His father died in my service, protecting me from an attack by Indians. It was his dying wish that I take care of his child.¡± Lipp chuckles with a smile that does not reach his eyes. ¡°Women are sentimental and irrational. David King is a dangerous one. I applied the lash generously and read the scriptures and still, he defies me. You need an iron fist to deal with his kind.¡± ¡°Is my safety your concern Mr. Lipp? If that is the case, let me assuage it. John?¡± Heavy stomps batter the wooden floor, then the door bangs open. The tiny negotiation room goes from intimate to cramped in a heartbeat, as my giant bodyguard looms dangerously over my shoulder. ¡°Tell the gentlemen what you do to those who displease me.¡± John¡¯s ugly mug turns dangerous as he smiles. S?a??h the N0??F?re.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. ¡°Whatever you ask, Mistress.¡± Both men recoil instinctively. I used to think it amusing that they would be more scared of him than they are of me, and only realized after the prison raid that it matters not to the sheep if it is slain by a wolf or a lion. ¡°I assure you, I am quite safe and we already spent more than enough time on this nonsense.¡± I push the pen across, with just a hint of suggestion. Lipp¡¯s eyes drift to John¡¯s enormous paws, wrapped around my chair¡¯s back. ¡°Now, sign.¡± Twenty minutes later. David King is a hard man. His build is the lean of near starvation and his skin bears the mark of undue exposure to the elements, but despite this, he remains unbroken. I feel his gaze on me. Though he is taller, he has to look up for his horse is no match for Metis. ¡°You have a question. Ask it.¡± ¡°Is it true that you were sent by my old man?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°He never cared much for us or he wouldn¡¯t have left us behind.¡± John turns to glare at the newcomer, who he assumes is acting out of bounds. I calm him with a gesture. ¡°Humans will do terrible things when they are desperate.¡± ¡°With all due respect miss that¡¯s bullshit. He could have let us know. My mother died thinking he had been lynched somewhere.¡± ¡°Mr King, that is between your father and yourself. I fulfilled my promise and have little care for the rest. You will have to find your own answers.¡± My statement is taken with a sullen silence. When King speaks, his voice is more subdued. ¡°What happens now?¡± ¡°We cross into Illinois, then I will give you papers confirming that you are a free man. You should travel North to Chicago or East, where circumstances would be marginally better for you.¡± ¡°Is it true that you own a business?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°You hire black folks?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Would you treat me fairly?¡± Interesting. I turn to him and see worry in his eyes, and hope too. ¡°I assure you, I give every person under my employ equal concern.¡± They are higher than strangers and lower than . This is the proper order of things. ¡°I see.¡± David King turns around and his expression turns calculating. I only now realize that there may be others he left behind and may want to free. If he ends up working for me, I will need to insist that I am not dragged into any illegal mess against my will. The more time I pass here and the more I find myself bound to the world around me by deals and debts. I do not know how to feel about it. April 1832 The spear catches me in the sternum, pushing all air away from my lungs. I am propelled backwards into a trunk then dodge the following strike by falling to the side. My opponent¡¯s movements are always flowing and her weapon¡¯s tip drifts around in a hypnotic dance. A feint turns into a sweep turns into a series of quick jabs. It takes all my speed and reflexes to avoid being taken out. I find no opportunity to counter-attack, close the distance and stab with my dagger. Eventually, I fall into a trap and the bladed edge strikes my temple. I fall. I have recovered now, and stand back up. Spring is here, and the woods at the edge of town have sprung to life. I am having the Dream renovated following one last suggestion of Sinead before his departure. I do believe him when he said Sivaya thanked me for my hospitality, though it is hard to say. She sticks to that rhythmic and sybillant language of hers and refuses to sully her tongue with our coarse language. With nothing much to do, I have decided to resume combat training for the first time since Loth departed. I am confident in my ability to face hordes of Wendigos, mage strike teams and members of the Order, and in knowing when to flee. Vampires are another thing altogether. Without feeling their aura, it is a fool¡¯s errand to judge their strength. A slip of a girl could grasp a boulder and smash me with it and there is nothing I could do to stop her. By facing Naminata in combat, I am learning how to deal with a superior adversary. It¡¯s not going well. Naminata moves better, faster, strikes harder than me, and her technique is impeccable. All my tricks are seen through before I can even start. Whenever she gets serious, all I can do is find clever ways to disengage and survive for a handful more seconds. The lesson is clear. When having to face a superior vampire in combat, the solution is: don¡¯t. All is not lost of course. I practice against several styles and armaments and even learn the basics myself. I never knew, for example, that swords, sabers and foils were different arms that required different techniques. I rush her. Might as well go out with a bang. Her spear takes across my chest. I managed to angle the blow so that I am not pushed away. HURTS. This is nothing, we use blunt training equipment. I crash forward and jump back up while slicing, block her back step sweep and keep the pressure. I stay low and mobile. My footwork has improved, but not enough. At the moment I think I have her. She plants her spear on the ground and kicks around it. Her dainty foot catches me in the nose. Pain. More pain when she stabs my prone form. I wipe black blood from my face and nod silently. Nami describes herself as a ¡°fair¡± duelist, and she is a relatively new Mistress. I can imagine what facing an actual knight would be like. I believe I would just forfeit any attempt at honourable combat, shoot them if I can, and run if I cannot. We go on for two hours, two hours of constant defeats and failures on my part. Nami¡¯s style evolves to match mine as fast as I get used to her flowing movements and ethereal grace. I need to GO FASTER, ASSERT DOMINANCE. ¡°Oof.¡± AGAIN. USE SWIPES TO KEEP THE BLADE AWAY. IF I GRAB THE HAFT, I WIN. Stay close to the ground for faster movement. Force her to target a smaller area. Her blade tip catches my hand and breaks three fingers. The next breaks my jaw. ¡°Mpff.¡± FALSE. Her next strike is going for my temple. The wood haft smacks in my ready hand and I grab it just as it bumps back. Then with muffled scream, I strike and it splinters. I wait for my jaw to heal. I¡¯ve had enough of the pain for one night and the Thirst is waking up after expending so much energy. There is a twinkle in her eyes I recognize only too well. Fighting always gets her blood pumping, so to speak. I am not tempted, although I believe she is a beautiful woman. Naminata scoffs. We walk together back to the Dream with a pleasant discussion. Just like Sinead before her, I let Nami occupy herself however she wishes when we are not training and she already has many suitors, including quite a few white men. I reflect, as we walk, that her carefree attitude and pleasant disposition are at odds with the rest of our kin, and yet she still has the backing of Kouakou, the leader of clan Ekon here. I find the contrast comforting. There is some room in our community for fringe personalities after all. As soon as we reach the Dream, one of the cattle notices me and rushes forward with a message. ¡°Mistress. There is a woman with two children asking for shelter.¡± ¡°Yes. And?¡± ¡°She indicates that she knew you under the name Ariane of the Nirari. She also said that we would be attacked very soon by, and she was serious, wizards.¡± And here I was complaining about getting Thirsty. Chapter 54: Night-Owned Town I immediately recognize the visiting mage. Her hair color is more intense than I remember, reminding me of Sinead¡¯s true form. The rebellious girl has turned assertive and her beauty is now that of a mature woman, calm and composed. The black marks under her eyes and other signs of wariness do little to damage her elegance and poise. When I enter the study, she turns to me and her mask cracks. Under the apparent control is a woman at the end of her rope. Two children, a boy of around ten and a much younger girl are held protectively behind her.I cannot help but smile when seeing her. Because I am such a good host, I give her the fangless version. ¡°Merritt, it is so good to see you again.¡± ¡°Ariane¡­ You haven¡¯t changed at all.¡± She looks a bit surprised. ¡°And you have only grown more beautiful.¡± It is true. I did not realize it until now but she does not look a day above thirty. Do mages age slower? It does not seem to be the case for my local informant, though that person is untrained. ¡°I ask for shelter. Hold on, I was told by your friend from the consortium that you prefer when things are done properly.¡± She starts kneeling and I stop her. ¡°You stood by my side against the Herald Merritt, there is no need for this. Not for you.¡± ¡°Ah, very well.¡± She blinks owlishly. She looks a bit lost, not in the way of those who have missed a night but in that of people who have gone beyond their limits for weeks. Fatigue has stolen her wit. ¡°I¡­ I need shelter for my children. And I am sorry. I need to tell you! The assh¡­ The Pyke family is after me. They have tracked me here. I brought danger to your home¡­¡± ¡°Shhhh, it is quite alright. You want protection then?¡± ¡°Yes¡­. I would do¡­ Almost anything. For my children.¡± ¡°It so happens that I am in dire need of an experienced mage. You would be welcome here, and receive honest pay for mostly honest work. I have a security detail during the day and by night, there is me. Interested?¡± ¡°No enslaving minds? Blood magic? Summoning eldritch horrors from beyond the veil?¡± ¡°I was thinking more along the lines of wards and enchantments. The occasional fireballing of religious fanatics¡­¡± ¡°Standard stuff.¡± ¡°Yes. So?¡± Merritt takes a deep breath and stumbles forward, all tension leaving her body. Her children look up in alarm as I help her brace with one hand. ¡°There is still the matter of the Pykes. They are on my heels. I will help you¡­ Fend them off.¡± Naminata enters at this moment, with a smile and a glass of brandy. She favors bright color and exotic dresses and today, she wears yellow and white with a red sash around her tiny waist. ¡°Darling, you are in no condition to go anywhere. Here, have a little pick me up. Ari and I will see to the intruders.¡± ¡°Merritt, meet Naminata, my friend. She is right, you are in no condition to help and besides, you mages have an unfortunate tendency to set each other on fire.¡± ¡°A terrible waste of blood if you ask me.¡± ¡°Exactly, mages are a delicacy, and you lot tend to walk around fire-whipping everything in sight. A disgrace is what it is.¡± The harried mage blinks very slowly, her haggard eyes bulging as our conversation progresses. ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t know.¡± ¡°Merritt? What is wrong?¡± ¡°It¡¯s just¡­¡± She closes her eyes and grabs her children¡¯s shoulders. They stare at us with silent wonder. I am no expert on little ones, but I can tell there is something peculiar about them. They are a bit too serious, too focused. Perhaps they had to grow too fast. Unaware of my inspection, Merritt continues. ¡°I have been on the run for four years and on the road for two months. I had lost hope. I simply cannot believe that I could be safe now.¡± ¡°Oh, it is decided. You take care of your family and settle down. Kitty will help you with that, and I will leave John to protect you just in case. You can rest assured that your pursuers will no longer bother you after tonight.¡± ¡°Thank you. Thank you Ariane, so much. Before you leave, I have to tell you about them. I would not have you face them unprepared.¡± Merritt sits down heavily and upends the brandy glass in one swift motion, before setting it down with a click. Wow, that was so manly! ¡°They¡¯re my in-laws.¡± Oh! This is juicy, crispy gossip! I can tell that the twinkle in Nami¡¯s eyes reflects my own avid expression. ¡°What happened? Do tell!¡± ¡°Cornelius died is what happened. He was my husband.¡± She hugs her children tightly. They share her distinctive red hair and while the young girl leans into her embrace, the boy looks at me with what I assume is meant to be a threatening expression. I find it adorable. CUB. ¡°He was at odds with his family. So long as he lived, they kept their distance. That changed when he was killed in an ambush in 28. We were culling rogue practitioners when the order of Gabriel attacked all of us at once. It happened so fast¡­ Now, the Pykes want to recover Ollie and Lynn and this is not happening so long as I live. The stories Corny told me about the way he was raised¡­ I will never submit them to this.¡± I place a comforting hand on her shoulder and greet her frowning child with a wink. ¡°You do not have to justify yourself to me Merritt dear. Our deal is struck and will be honored. Speaking of which, we¡¯d better get on the way. The Dream is made out of wood and it is a material that is tragically flammable. Ta ta.¡± I leave the exhausted woman with a wave and give orders so that she and her children are protected and fed, then get back to it. Finally, some proper entertainment. ¡°¡± .¡± An hour later. I close my eyes and focus the way Sinead taught me. My own vampire aura is around me, always, a mark of my nature and a symbol of status. Tonight, I want it to be more subdued. Slowly, my perception shifts to the same sense I use when Charming. The aura is here, quiescent. I take it in. The sensation is strange and defies description, not because it is confusing but because I lack the words. It is not unlike using a muscle I did not know I had. My presence constricts inward and I start feeling as if I were too small for my gown. The sensation is only mildly uncomfortable. After a while, it becomes too difficult to continue. My concentration falters under the unusual strain. Sinead assured me that with regular practice, I could eventually mask my presence from all but the most sensitive of foes, or even alter its properties for a variety of use, and so I have practised dutifully every night. This is the first time I am granted an opportunity to apply that knowledge in a real situation. With my presence so hidden, I step into the second floor alley where our unwitting intruder and impromptu snack is currently tracking my friend. ¡°Good evening kind sir, and where might you be going?¡± The mage facing me jumps in surprise and takes his eyes away from the device in his hands. The brass colored apparatus shares enough similarities with a compass that it might be mistaken for one, were it not for the powerful aura it emits. It tastes like perseverance and a weathervane. A most peculiar mix. The man himself wears travel clothes of good fabric stained by heavy use. His face is covered with several days¡¯ worth of stubble below angry dark eyes that inspect then immediately dismiss me. ¡°None of your business, begone harlot!¡± I like it the most when they¡¯re rude. ¡°Oh, but I do believe this is our business, kind sir,¡± adds Nami as she steps behind him. Perhaps because he feels trapped, or perhaps his mind made a last-ditch effort to warn him of his imminent doom. He raises a gauntleted hand. ¡°Last warning hussy, back off.¡± I grab his wrist, which I break, then stab his palm with my thumb. His muffled scream is drowned by the music downstairs and Nami¡¯s hand on his mouth. ¡°But kind sir, we are not quite done yet.¡± I smile and enjoy the scent of terror, the frenetic heartbeat, and the bulging eyes. Nami joins my game. Her other hand digs into his shoulder with a sound of torn fabric and she leans delicately over his shoulder. ¡°Yes, mage, be our guest for the night. We insist.¡± ¡°You will be accommodating, yes?¡± Our captive clings to our words like a drowning man to a plank. His eyes search mine for a hint of mercy and find subjugation instead. He is not even wearing a protective charm. ¡°You want me to be happy with you, yes?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°It¡¯s important that we become good friends.¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°You are with the Pyke family?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°You came here by yourself?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°So courageous. You are a brave man, yes?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°What is your name brave man?¡± The flow of conversation breaks a bit as the pattern of questions changes, but not enough to affect the Charm noticeably. My victim is already caught, hook, line, and sinker. ¡°Matthias, miss.¡± ¡°Tell me Matthias, are you here to scout?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°To what end?¡± ¡°Find that insufferable whore and her spawns, for the family. They might be redeemed yet.¡± ¡°I see, and you have friends around yes?¡± ¡°Of course, this is a serious matter you see. Patriarch Benedict is here, as well as his two other sons.¡± ¡°Is that so? Surely, such august characters do not travel alone?¡± ¡°No, for such a task they brought their retinue, two mages trained for war and a dozen armed men. She doesn¡¯t stand a chance.¡± ¡°You sound very proud Matthias.¡± ¡°I am, miss, tis my privilege to serve them.¡± ¡°So it would seem Matthias, but tell me, where might I find this illustrious group?¡± ¡°We made our camp an hour down the road Eastward, in an abandoned farm.¡± ¡°Oh, I know the place. And now dear Matthias, there is a secret I wanted to share with you. I¡¯ll tell it in your ear¡­¡± Fifteen minutes later. Nami and I walk down the road at an energetic pace. I lent her one of my armored black gowns modified to fit her figure. With those and our spears and assorted blades, we both cut dashing figures. I considered bringing Metis, unfortunately Nami does not have a Nightmare and it would just be rude to have her trot by my side. Despite her promise to serve me for a year, we have maintained a cordial and respectful relationship so far and I intend to keep it that way. She is a Master and just as importantly, someone I consider a friend. Our relationship is more like that of relaxed mentor and experienced student, even though some of her lessons are more than dubious¡­ I decide to steer the conversation in case Nami has not fully detailed her preferences yet. Nami chuckles fondly. Pffft! It turns out that the abandoned estate I assumed Matthias had referred to stood empty. I would have been both angry and afraid, were it not for a suspicious trail of smoke rising further along the road. Naminata and I find two sentries keeping warm around a large pyre at the Patterson farm. Perhaps the Pyke family found the house empty and thought it abandoned. They were wrong. The Pattersons are a new addition to the area and the place reflects this. The English-style house is small but cozy, with the unusual luxury of colored glass windows. They made the effort of decorating the new structures with marks of individuality like blue flowers of an unusual essence, small wooden carvings hanging from the roof by twine and even a fake scarecrow with a humorously big gut. I know this because Jenny Patterson used to be mine. They have a child who is four now, and whose name I forgot. They tend to go to the city often to visit the father¡¯s family, leaving the house devoid of inhabitants. This might be problematic as I would need an invitation to give old Benedict Pyke my regards, if it is indeed his men outside. With a gesture, I indicate that we should check the back of the house and realize that we will not, after all, need invitation. The Pattersons came home tonight. They shouldn¡¯t have. Behind their home, Jenny kept a small garden. Some enterprising thug started digging a trench large enough to bury the family and stopped half way. They piled the dead haphazardly to the side, both parents, the child and their dog. Jenny¡¯s leg emerges from below the others, pale and naked under moonlight. Her shoe fell off at some point to reveal a patched up sock in a display that is so odious and disrespectful that it fills my heart with rage. I do not know why this tiny detail of desecrated intimacy strikes me more than the myriad others. It just does. The Pattersons were slain out of convenience and cast off to rot at the back off their own house like so much garbage. They did not even warrant the effort of a finished grave and a shroud. I find the depth of this insult abhorrent. ¡°We will have no trouble getting in.¡± Sensing the mood, Nami does not reply. Her expression turns cold and her aura gains this fleeting mobility that defines her fighting style. I strut to the front of the house, making no effort to hide my presence. The two sentries soon notice my approaching form and recoil, allowing me a glimpse into what they had been burning to keep warm: the Patterson carriage. Those are thugs of the common variety. They know they will have to silence me but their ability to improvise is limited by a stunted brain entirely devoted to cards and uninspired threats. ¡°You made a mistake Miss, there is nothing here for you.¡± As expected. ¡°I disagree,¡± I reply. I grab behind me to seize my silver pistol and point it at the closest man. I pull the trigger. The detonation rings loudly in the night. The heavy lead ball takes his right eye and most of his skull. Before the corpse even drops I grab the second man and allow my fury to show. ¡°You look cold, boy.¡± Into the pyre he goes, face first. The tremulous screams add to the vacarm as sounds of alarm come from the inside. In mere seconds, the door bangs open and a group of men exits their stolen abode. At their head stands who I assume to be Benedict Pyke, grandfather of Ollie and Lynn, a dead man walking. He shares some similar traits with his grandchildren like a delicate nose and piercing eyes. His aristocratic features are currently scrunched in displeasure as if he were smelling something particularly nauseous. Come to think of it, the stench of roasting pig permeates the air, so perhaps he does. His minions and two spawns whose hair are black where his are grey spread out and point their muskets at us, looking a bit unsure on how to proceed. ¡°Kill them,¡± adds the older man summarily. Before they can react, I take out my modified boar spear and forward, skewering the nearest hireling mage before tossing his bleeding remains on a mortal thug. I stab the rest of them before they can move. On my side, Nami silently matches my gesture and from the corner of my eye, I notice the three Pykes retreating back into the house. Ah, the human instinct to go to ground can always be counted on. I climb the two steps leading to the house¡¯s gate and push it open with the butt of my weapon. The instigators of tonight¡¯s festivities have formed the expected shielded circle in the center of the living room. ¡°Begone, foul creature. You can keep the woman, we shall depart from your lands at sunrise.¡± I turn to Nami with a fake expression of delight. ¡°Do you hear this my dear? Our intruder deigns to let us leave. We are blessed.¡± ¡°Indeed honey, such honor he bestows upon our worthless heads. We are free to go. Should we take him on his more than generous offer?¡± Tonight, I feel like gloating. ¡°I do not know, there is still the matter of feckless vermin sneaking into my lands and killing what is mine, then expecting to depart in all impunity?¡± ¡°As if his sins carried no weight and his survival was but a matter of fact?¡± Benedict sneers in a way that speaks of inborn privilege and a life-long lack of challenging encounters. I do so love when his kind comes to me. I delight in shattering foolish pride so much. ¡°You do not scare me, dead thing. Your kind cannot enter houses without invitations, your words are just empty bluster.¡± ¡°Semantics? Nami ch¨¦rie, I thought I told you to warn me when we would reach this part of the discussion?¡± ¡°My failings are many.¡± ¡°Yes, you see Benedict, it is homes we cannot enter, and this one,¡± I add as I step forward, ¡°is not yours.¡± I point my boar spear at him, and activate one of the two gifts the haughty Princess of the Court of Blue left me. The tip glows strangely and space twists around it as our brains stutter, unable to process what our eyes see. An instant later, the silvery spike finds its way deep into Benedict¡¯s chest as if his shield were never here. For all I know, it technically wasn¡¯t. I finish the motion and pin him to the wall like a butterfly. Naminata uses the momentary confusion to disable one of the two sons. The last one raises a gauntleted hand and meets my gaze. He flinches and his spell fizzles. I focus and the edge of my claw glows blue. I swipe the shield. Hurts. No, THIS IS NOTHING. ¡°Hsss.¡± Unprepared mages are just prey. I this one before turning to Merritt¡¯s nemesis. How fleeting the world is. One moment we are in control and the next, we die and sometimes even wake up in a strange dungeon with new and unusual appetites. I take my time. When I come to, Nami is licking her own lips and greets me with a feline smile. She chuckles at my reply. I drag the bodies out. Apparently, the bandits who killed the Pattersons fought among themselves until they perished or left. Over the loot no doubt. I make sure to pocket most of their valuables so the story is at least somewhat believable and look up to see Nami with an amused, and slightly condescending expression. Yes. She is absolutely convinced of the necessity of such actions. Now we just need to head back so I can add the choicest pieces to my collection. I recently purchased an extension at the edge of town, a wide communal house to lodge my employees. Some leave and retire, but we also have sick girls, those who can no longer work for one reason or another, girls on leave and something more: children. S?a?ch* Th? N0??F?re.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. They come with new employees or as a side effect of the profession, and someone needs to take care of them. Until now I found them to be noisy, smelly and generally obnoxious. I was therefore more than happy to have them contained somewhere I would not have to deal with them. Loth used to say that kids are like winds, one can only tolerate their own. The comparison is apt if typically vulgar. It is in this dubious haven that Merritt moved into until she could secure better accommodation. I find myself in a clean if austere room. Baths and the kitchen are common parts, and still there is barely enough space for a wardrobe and seats. The bed is the largest piece of furniture here, blocking the entire space below the window. I find the witch busy brushing the hair of her daughter Lynn. The copper curls resist the veteran spellcaster every step of the way and it appears that my newest ally may be defeated yet. I decide to offer her some respite. ¡°Good evening Merritt. How are you settling in?¡± ¡°Fine,¡± she answers. Then any further exchange is interrupted by the whistle of a heated teapot. ¡°Oh, hold this for me!¡± I look at my hand where suddenly a brush has landed. My gaze drift to the little girl¡¯s big innocent eyes. Oh, no the crafty witch would not dare! Alas, the malicious spawn silently points at the rat¡¯s nest above her brows. Curses! With a sigh, I resolved myself to my punishment after being so deftly outmaneuvered. I start working on a painless liberation, using my claws to separate the most uncooperative strands. I swear Alexander the Great himself did not struggle so much with the Gordian knot. ¡°To what do I owe the pleasure? You want to talk about the wards you need?¡± I turn to her while still working and realize Ollie has snatched a knitting needle from somewhere and is in the process of caressing the implement. CUB. FEARLESS. I LIKE IT. My heart swells with pride at having acquired such valuable followers. Yes, they will do nicely. After they grow up a bit. There is just a hint of fear on his face when he sees my smile and he still attempts to hide it. Merritt serves herself a cup of tea, unaware of the powerplay that occurred between me, the shaggy mop on top of Lynn¡¯s head and her pint-sized defender. ¡°Yes. As you know, I have established a business here, and I am quite satisfied with how I managed it so far with a considerable exception.¡± The witch sits by her daughter¡¯s side, intrigued. ¡°Do tell.¡± ¡°I need a day manager. I had a friend come here before and take care of the Dream as I was slumbering. He left recently, and his absence made me realize how much I lose and how much more effort I have to produce to offset my daylight absence. I could achieve much more with competent help and I believe you can do the job.¡± ¡°Hold on. You want me to take the head of your brothel?¡± ¡°Yes, though only during the day. You would be compensated accordingly, of course.¡± Merritt¡¯s composure shows wariness and excitement in equal measure. ¡°Why me?¡± ¡°There are no others who display all the qualities required to handle both Kitty¡¯s team and Harrigan¡¯s. He is my head of security.¡± ¡°The black-bearded, black-haired, vicious and barely legalized highwayman who broke a man¡¯s arm because he was annoying him?¡± ¡°Precisely! You understand my conundrum. I need someone with your spine to keep him in check and execute him if he goes too far, and I need the same person to handle that cackling, unruly mass of gossip mongers who work for me. Few people who qualify can do both to my satisfaction and I trust you to have the means to achieve this, and the loyalty not to stab me in the back.¡± ¡°This is a generous offer Ari, I am just not sure that I can live up to your expectations.¡± ¡°Do not feel pressured into accepting immediately. I wanted you to know and keep my offer in mind as you get to know the town.¡± ¡°Very well¡­¡± I did not tell her the entire truth. When I am gone, I intend for her to take over if she so desires. No need for anyone to know though. I gain nothing by having them plot accordingly. We discuss for a few more minutes but it soon becomes clear that she is still too busy to share her tale. I bid her farewell and quickly leave the premises. The large structure is surrounded by a vegetable patch and low walls. As I walk forward, I hear a strange crackling noise coming from a storage shed by the path and stop, considering. It almost sounds like burning black powder. Then the shed explodes. Chapter 55: Sins. And explosions! First comes a wave, then the feeling of being compressed, like under a cosmic rolling pin. The blast sends me into the air like a ragdoll. Up becomes down, down becomes left and earth is in the sky. For a moment, I feel lost, the certainty of my mind fractured. The next instant I see something at the edge of my field of vision that grants me enough willpower to regain my focus.No. I refuse! I gasp in pain and dig a claw in the ground, leaving behind tortured furrows. My trajectory changes at the last moment and I impact the house with a dull thud and falling plaster. I gasp in pain but I care not, I succeeded. ¡°Hah!¡± I exclaim to fate and the heavens both, before coughing pinkish foam. Ow. The flaming remains of a shovel shaft fall on my arm. I AM ON FIRE. No, I am not on fire, calm down. I pat the embers with a nervous hand until they die off. I did it. My eyes go up to the intact form of the outhouse only a few feet away. I bloody did it. I avoided crashing into human refuse, and my honor and dignity remain intact! Ariane, defeating the odds once more. My ears pop and the whispers of worried voices and crackle of dying flames make their return. People are going to react. The estate¡¯s door bursts open and Merritt comes out, hand covered by a shimmering gauntlet. Behind her, a few women peer out fearfully with loaded muskets. Irma the housekeeper stomps out with two cleavers held in her massive hands. ¡°What happened here?¡± she asks with her large wrinkled face scrunched in displeasure. I raise a hand to signal that I need a few moments and the reality of my situation finally occurs to them. In moments I find myself surrounded by a gaggle of yapping humans prodding and pulling at me. I resist the urge to hiss and successfully climb to my feet. If I had been a mortal, it would have been a bad idea to move me so. Come to think of it, if I had been a mortal, I would not have heard the powder and I would be a squishy corpse with my brains leaking down my nose. ¡°Are you alright? What happened?¡± ¡°The storage shed exploded,¡± I answer laconically. It distracts them for long enough for me to take some distance and consider what happened. Someone blew up a powder charge on my damn lawn and destroyed both my gardening tools and my credibility. This will not stand. I slowly approach the fuming crater while a few of the more quick-witted girls pour water on still burning wreckage. It is, as expected, quite large. I smell spent black powder in the air and presume it would have taken at least a small crate to achieve this result, a non-negligible amount. There is one more important thing I have to find out before everyone and their dogs come to trample the place. With a protective Irma and Merritt in tow, I circle the hole and find what I was looking for snaking along the debris. Burning powder left a long trail of scorched grass leading to the epicentre of the deflagration. This tells me a few things. First, somebody waited for me to come out before igniting the charge so I was presumably the target. Second, that person must have been close by. It appears that I have been upgraded to assassination target. Marvellous. I should get a plaque to commemorate the event. I try to step forward and see if I can get the scent of my mysterious admirer. Alas, it is not to be. I am literally dragged away and inside by irate and protective followers despite my best efforts to convince them that I am, in fact, unharmed. I could try to Charm them all or threaten them but decide against antagonizing my entire staff. In short order I find myself tucked in bed with a hot cup of chamomile infusion. This feels nice, a testament to the success of my infiltration and my meek public persona, hiding beneath the¡­ Ah whatever, it is just nice. I enjoy the feeling of people fussing around me until only Merritt and I are left, with someone sent to fetch John to escort me back. The mage builds up enough courage to ask what had been distressing her the past minutes. ¡°So, I have to ask Ariane.¡± ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°Is that sort of thing normal here?¡± ¡°If you are referring to structures exploding, it almost never happens. We had that warehouse back in 1821 but that was due to an unfortunate mix of highly explosive substance and poor judgement. No, this is a deliberate attempt on my life, I am sure of it.¡± Merritt stares at me with the face one shows when amusing a delusional patient. ¡°Of course, of course, say, can vampires get concussions?¡± I tsk in annoyance. One moment in bed and my entire reputation collapses, really? ¡°It was easier to let myself be pampered than to fight them off. My death would be catastrophic for them, at this stage.¡± ¡°At this stage?¡± ¡°Yes, I realize now that I made a mistake by not grooming a replacement. My lack of trust in others endangers my project. I understand their concern and that is why I consent to this farce but rest assured that I remain in full possession of my abilities. Which leads me to my next point, this amount of black powder cannot be obtained so easily, even here on the frontier. Somebody obtained this and we must find who.¡± ¡°Do you need my help?¡± ¡°Yes, I do. I want you to go to a shop called the Seamstress Union, two minutes on foot East of the Dream. The owner of the shop is called Debbie. Tell her Ariane sent you and inform her of what happened, then enlist her help in finding out if a shipment of explosives disappeared recently.¡± ¡°You want me to interrogate a seamstress?¡± asks Merritt with disbelief, I scowl. ¡°Debbie is the city¡¯s information dealer, and you would do well to take her seriously.¡± ¡°Oh, I understand.¡± ¡°You can work tomorrow during the day while the stores are open. I will ask Harrigan and a girl called Lizzie to see if the warehouse master knows anything.¡± ¡°Is Lizzie an informant as well?¡± ¡°No. The man likes petite brunettes.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll have John and Margaret go to the mine¡¯s foreman and that should be all I can think of. After they¡¯re done, they¡¯ll return to the Dream. Coordinate with them and prepare a report but do not engage if you find the culprit. I will take care of it at nightfall. You are not as durable as me, and there is no reason for you to risk your lives.¡± ¡°Understood.¡± John arrives shortly thereafter and I am escorted back to the Dream. I was hoping for some calm so that I may investigate on my end, but unfortunately a problem never comes alone. A man I could have done without is waiting for me by the entrance. His face is painted with hostility and when he sees me, the corner of his mouth lifts up. Only two of his men have come to back him up this time. ¡°Ms. Lethe.¡± ¡°Judge Sullivan, good evening. To what do I owe this pleasure?¡± I ask with enough emphasis on ¡®pleasure¡¯ to leave no doubt as to my real feelings. My nemesis makes a conscious effort to hide his delight and I am starting to wonder if assassinating a public figure really is too risky. Perhaps he could fall to his death from a tall building? Who knows? ¡°I am here to personally inform you that one of my modest proposals has been approved by the State judiciary committee in order to cleanse the sin from our fair city.¡± He is righteous anger incarnate. ¡°For too long I have tolerated the pit of degeneracy that¡­ some citizens have let fester around here, and it is my pleasure to inform you that starting on May 1st, 1832, only citizens of white descent and of pure pedigree will be allowed within the streets of Marquette. You will inform your¡­ employees of color that they must vacate the town on April 28th at the latest. One week from now. That includes employees of both genders, mind you, in case I was not clear enough. I expect you to comply with the law to the utmost of your¡­ abilities, and I will be checking on this establishment to ascertain your compliance. I hope I am being direct enough, and with this, I bid you good day." The judge shoves the crumpled ordnance in my hands, tips his hat and struts away with the pride of the just. Prick. ¡°Is Oscar a man of color?¡± ¡°Yes he is, John.¡± ¡°That means he must go?¡± asks the simpleton with a hint of worry. ¡°Not quite yet. Don¡¯t worry dear, I have been a bit lenient but it appears I need to give our brave magistrate a reminder of who he is dealing with.¡± I pat my bodyguard¡¯s arm to offer comfort and walk back in, already plotting. This will have to take priority over patrolling the city in search of some mystery bomber. April is dying and with it, the once pristine snow has melted into a disgusting sludge that sticks to our boots. The main thoroughfares are little better than mud alleys. Mortals can be heard from afar, one only has to follow the squelches of their soles leaving the ground, and I am grateful for whatever supernatural power allows me to walk over instead of through it. A light drizzle falls on the hood of my cape. The occasional fat droplets condense on the hem before falling on my skin, delivering their frigid payload. I may no longer fear the cold but I do abhor humidity. This weather is miserable and when I get my claws on whoever forced me out, there will be hell to pay. The warehouse at the Northern end of town I am looking for can easily be noticed, for it is the only one whose entrance is lit by a lantern despite the late hour. It swings with the occasional gust of wind, its meagre pool of light more a beacon than any effort at illumination. As is proper, I ignore the inviting door and step to a side alley. I find purchase in the walls¡¯ wooden planks and lift myself to an opening covered with shutters, before taking out a burglary kit from a recess in my cloak. It saddens me to say that I am an old hand at this. I pull myself inside and take a look around. I find myself on a small concourse devoid of any sort of furniture. Only pails of rotten hay lay discarded here and there, making the air wet and pungent. The wood used here looks brittle and decayed, its surface scored by pockmarks like the skin of a diseased man. If I were a mortal, I would be worried about catching tuberculosis just walking around this place. I would never tolerate such slovenliness in one of my own properties. Downstairs, rows of crates and barrels are piled haphazardly around the open space. There are no clear delimitations, and the only thing standing out is a table on which two men are working by the light of candles. One of them shivers and pulls on a cloak. ¡°Right, gonna take a leak.¡± Ah, excellent timing. The burly man limps towards a side door, opens it and disappears outside. I sneak back out and soon find myself overlooking my first victim as it leans heavily, one hand resting against the wall and the other helping his aim. I do so enjoy catching them with their pants down, pun intended. I drop behind him and snake an arm around to grab his throat. With the other, I place a knife against his jugular and force him to arch backwards. ¡°Mfrlgn!¡± I expected his frantic struggle and stay upright as he fights for purchase, in vain. Very soon, the reality of his situation overcomes the first instinctive response and silence returns as the last drops of urine fall on his trousers. I will not need charm here, I caught him at his most vulnerable. ¡°I want a word with Stutton and I expect privacy. You will leave now without looking back.¡± My captive nods frantically and I release him. I watch with interest as he struggles to sprint and lifts his trousers back up at the same time. It seems to cause him some difficulties, and I find the show amusing in a base way. Enough distractions, I have things to do. I sneak back inside and make my way around the warehouse in perfect silence. As I approach the second man from behind, he passes a hand in his greasy grey hair and turns his attention away from a pile of yellow papers. His coat is heavy and filthy and must have been blue at some point. In the distant past. ¡°What¡¯s taking him so long?¡± In lieu of an answer, I smash his head against the table. The old smuggler does not even attempt to struggle upon feeling the cold weight of steel on his neck. ¡°Good evening Stutton.¡± ¡°Who are you, what do you want?¡± ¡°You will remain silent until I let you speak and when you do, you will tell me the truth, and all of it. Now, two weeks ago you were tasked with transporting cargo. Who paid for it and what did it contain?¡± ¡°Listen, hm, miss, my reputation as a smuggler is everything.¡± ¡°I will get my answers from you now, or when you are but a pile of raw, quivering flesh begging for the sweet release of death.¡± ¡°It was some sort of powder and I don¡¯t think it was made of wheat. As for the buyer, he was a sullen man, black beard and very light grey eyes. Tall and thin. Not much of a talker.¡± ¡°Tell me more about this mysterious man.¡± ¡°Went by Bradley. Moved very quietly, all cat-like. Huh, I don¡¯t know where he went.¡± ¡°Is he here? In Marquette?¡± ¡°Aye, I brought him as a caravan hand. He paid me in gold doubloons too. The old Spanish kind.¡± This is highly unusual. If he used more of that rare currency, I can definitely track him . ¡°Anyone else with him?¡± ¡°Nah, he was definitely a loner, didn¡¯t mention anyone else here.¡± ¡°Anything else you can tell me to find him? Think carefully.¡± Stutton stops for a while to consider and that is good for him, because if he had just replied no I would have had to take a finger. ¡°He was armed at all times, like he expected a tussle. And he looked kind of angry.¡± Not much to go by. I turn Stutton and our eyes meet. He is already at my mercy and this makes Charming him trivial. ¡°Did you tell me the truth?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Is there something you hid from me?¡± ¡°Yes. I like rough women.¡± I sigh deeply, now aware of the man¡¯s aroused state. protect me from this town. Sometimes I feel like half of them are judgemental bigots and the other, shameless deviants. ¡°Anything else that concerns this man?¡± ¡°No.¡± Good. I wipe the memory of the last ten minutes from his mind and force him to sleep. I could have Charmed him from the beginning, however Sinead warned me against using it as a crutch. I try mundane means first, then make sure I did not miss anything. This method allowed me to become better at telling lies. S~?a??h the N?v?lFir?(.)n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. As I exit the building I consider his words. My target is a man, apparently alone, who pays in doubloons and doesn¡¯t like to talk. If he is indeed a newcomer then he must be living somewhere and that is not in one of the city¡¯s inns. His strange behavior and the amount of powder he procured means that he needs a base of operations of sort, somewhere dry and relatively isolated. This means an abandoned building within close distance and the list of possibilities is short. I decide to head back and find Nami first. I remember the shock and fire from yesterday and realize that I fear this man more than the group of mages we recently slaughtered, and for good reasons. He knows what I am, and he came prepared. This must be it. I have spent the last hour going from one possible hideout to another and this is my third attempt and the right one at that. The Smiths moved back East after Peter Smith inherited, and they left behind a quiet building at the edge of town, conveniently hidden behind a copse of trees. A perfect spot to hide unusual activities. I can see wafts of smoke coming from a chimney of the two-storey building, where there should be none. We discreetly inspect our target. This home is abandoned, a derelict, which means that I should be able to enter without issue. Mud tracks mar the wooden planks at the front and back entrance but whoever lives here made no effort to make the place more inhabitable. Or clean, for that matter. The garden plot is abandoned, only a fallow field covered in sickly weeds, a pile of mud and a half-fallen shed. I look at her in disbelief before realizing from her placid face that this is a test. She nods and walks back towards the copse, masking her aura. In moments even I cannot find her. I turn back to the house and approach the back door. Instead of using the handle, I close my eyes and focus. Wind. Cracking wood. Nocturnal animals chasing and being chased. No human heartbeat nor footsteps inside the house, though it could be covered by thick walls. On a whim, I punch through the fragile wood above the lock. Nami lets out a warm chuckle. What, one can never be too careful. Have a Dvergur ninja crawl down a wall to place a touch-trigger rune outside a window and you too will reconsider traps as a way to take out your targets, I assure you. How I wish I could trap my opponent, unfortunately he seems crafty and I am not exactly patient, particularly not when my real estate is at risk of being turned into smoldering cinders. I search my cloak and find a small hand mirror, and though I cannot see my reflection, I can use it to inspect the door for anomalies. It pays to be prepared. There is nothing. This is a completely normal door. With a sigh, I open it and find myself in a central room. Two pairs of doors lead to the right and left, and a set of stairs leads to the second floor. There are no cries of alarm and no sound of a heartbeat, and so I take my time to inspect my surroundings. The walls are entirely bare and covered with a thick layer of dust. The ground too has not seen any cleaning in a while, which allows me to notice tracks left by the same man coming and going multiple times. Interestingly, they only lead up. Did the man never use the kitchen? I am about to go forward when two irregularities catch my attention. First, there is a lot of mud, so he may have spent quite some time in the garden, but to what end? And then it comes to me. The pile of mud outside has not grown any vegetation, meaning it is quite recent! How have I not already drawn this obvious conclusion? I must be losing my peasant roots; Papa would be disappointed. So Mr. Bomber dug something out. Whatever it is, the access must be upstairs. Curious. The second irregularity is a single plank just before the stairs. It is suspiciously clean,as if the man had avoided it every time. I would be wise to do the same. Curiosity still leads me to lean above it and breathe in. Rot, mud, humidity, and below that the scent of gunpowder. So, there was indeed a trap. Satisfied, I climb up the stairs in silence, taking extra care to pause at every step. I consider climbing on the walls and just forfeit the damn floor entirely, but I am afraid that they may not support my weight. Not that I am heavy, the wood is just that damaged. After entirely too much time, I find myself on the landing to the second floor. Once more, there are a total of four doors and only two on my right have been in use. I walk up to the first one and look through the keyhole. It appears to be a workshop of sorts. I lean down and snap one of the most damaged planks to look in with my mirror. This time again, there are no traps, and I enter the room. All the windows have been shuttered. My vision dims, something that only occurs when in presence of absolute darkness. The room is mostly bare. I can only see crates, a worktable, and a cabinet filled with equipment set against the wall to my left. I am shocked by the contrast between this room and the outside. The floor has been meticulously cleaned, the walls are almost shining and the supplies and tools are strictly classified with a sense of detail that I haven¡¯t seen since Loth. Even the pots of powder on the shelf are labelled with the date of creation and chemical composition of its contents. This is where he made his bombs and I can only applaud his professionalism. I move to the table to inspect it. There is only one thing of note, a small book that I quickly skim through. The contents teach me nothing. The man just tracked the resources he expended with a rigor that borders on obsession. The letters are blocky, even childish perhaps, but the hand that drew them was assured. The crates and cabinet show nothing but the parts and components used by an artificer and a gunsmith, including the expected powder. I exit and walk to the last room, and I can tell that it is far more promising. From behind the door I smell cooked bacon and beans, as well as human sweat. Still no heartbeat. For what I hope to be the last time, I snap parts of the door to inspect the other side. A thin thread is attached to the handle and trails up to the frame, then through loop to flintlock firing mechanism lodged against a earthen pot of massive proportion. Hah. HAH! I knew it. I punch a hole at the center of the door to let my arm through, then after a second of realization, a second one to actually see what I am doing. With infinite patience and inhuman precision, I seize the thread between two claws and cut it. The piece of twine falls slowly on the floor, without a noise. With a smirk, I realize that I am in my opponent¡¯s sanctum. Pride fills my chest. YES, HIS NEST IS MINE NOW. Like his workshop, the place is perfectly clean, with only a small cot, basic cooking implements near a still warm hearth and a single wardrobe. The Spartan surroundings leave me uneasy. Did this man really live here for two weeks? I would have grown insane. The level of dedication required to maintain discipline for so long is both inspiring and terrifying, and I find myself respecting my foe for it. Even if he turns out to be insane, at least he managed to transcend his madness and turn it into a strength. With nothing urgent, I sweep the room to see if there are any clues as to his location. The most promising element is what appears to be a trapdoor at the edge of the room, now sealed. What is it doing here? I approach it and check it for traps as well before opening it. It leads down, far down, into a walled out section of the house. It is not deserted though, just filled with lit fuses. At least five of them, snaking up from the depths. Fuck. I tear the shutters away with the strength of desperation. Open air. Wide enough. I jump out. I hit the ground running as fast as I can, the world blurs around me and I whistle with all my power, hoping that Nami heard. The pile of mud, a passage down. He must have dug out his way to a sort of cave and holed here, but how did he know I was coming? I run around a bend of the road and roll on the ground, covering my ears. One¡­ Two.. Three... At the count of five, the house explodes. I scream as the deafening bang reaches me, and a wall of heat passes me by, singeing my hair. Flaming debris is sent so far in the air they can probably be seen at the other end of town. Wow. He really wanted to make sure huh. I stand up and survey the wreckage. The scene is apocalyptic, a valley of flame and scorched earth around a smoldering crater that may well lead to the gates of hell. Nami runs the periphery of the disaster zone and slides to a stop by my side. Her face twists with concern until she sees that I am well, then her smile turns wicked. She does not answer and instead just taps her ears. Ah. I am deafened. An instant later, my ears pop and a black liquid trickles down my neck. What was it about growing back? I realize that a side of my head is suddenly more sensitive to the warm wind blowing from the remains of the house and pat it. My hair. It¡¯s gone! My hair, my precious hair, blond and silky! My pride and joy¡­ ¡°Mes beaux cheveux¡­¡± Ah right, the man who almost roasted me, that little¡­ Ugh! ¡°No, he has dug some sort of passage down. He set off the explosion from there.¡± ¡°Do you believe that he killed himself?¡± That is an easy question. ¡°I find it unlikely. Everything was carefully prepared with several layers of redundancy to make sure I would end up as charcoal. He probably has an escape tunnel. It couldn''t be too long. We could look for a trapdoor heading out from that corner,¡± I answer and point to where the trapdoor used to be. ¡°Alright. We must hurry, people will undoubtedly come to see what happened.¡± We spread out and search quickly and for once we are in luck. The blast of the explosion pushed away all manners of things from its epicenter, including a dust covered tarp marking a secret exit. Truly, does that man know no limit? Who does that? I slam the door open and move aside at the same time as a precaution. Thankfully, it appears that the man ran out of powder. I peer down and find a tunnel heading down then back towards the house. I glance at Nami and with a nod, jump down. The passage is very narrow, it arches so that I have to follow it sideways and can only see a few feet forward. The earthen walls, barely reinforced by the rare log, give me an intense feeling of claustrophobia. If it collapses, I could stay there a long time, crushed by a mountain of rock and maddened by bloodlust. I shiver and chase the thought away. Nami knows where I am. I slowly move forward, taking time to make sure no support has been sabotaged but it appears I am in the clear. After entirely too much time, the passage widens and leads to a reinforced door adorned with a cross, fixed into the walls by bars of steel. As I come into view, a metal bar slides open and I find myself face to face with the business end of a blunderbuss. I down and forward and the following shot rakes the passage above me. In the blueish cloud of powder that follows, I spot a slit of light. In a single motion, I take out a pistol and fire at point blank rage. There is a ping of metal, then silence. The air rings with two consecutive detonations in such a closed space and swirls of spent powder cloud my vision. My ears pop once more, and I comment off handedly. ¡°You missed.¡± ¡°So did you.¡± There, where used to be the yellow glare of a lantern, now sit two grey eyes. The skin around is angry and red, signs that the cloud of powder from my own shot still marked my target. I try to Charm him more out of habit than anything else, though the bond is stopped by an invisible barrier that tastes like a warning. Just as expected then. ¡°I don¡¯t think we have met yet, Bradley.¡± ¡°We have.¡± I blink, trying to place him. His steely glare is unflinching. Not fearless, but beyond it. He knows what I am, he knows what I can do, and he still decided to come after me. He also managed to drive me to a stalemate. I cannot pass that door of his without preparation, a fact that escapes neither of us. I think I would remember such a man. Unless¡­ ¡°You were at the order¡¯s prison. You are the sole survivor, the one who got away.¡± He does not have to reply, the flash of fury on his face is answer enough. ¡°And you still decided to come after me,¡± I continue, ¡°alone. I do not know if I should salute your courage or laugh at your arrogance.¡± ¡°I am never alone.¡± Adds the man, still calm. ¡°Nobody else came here. I checked.¡± He does not answer, instead, a finger appears pointing down. I lower my gaze to the cross embedded into the gate with apparent dedication. The object glints with a silvery sheen, despite the absence of any sort of illumination. Strange to think that it used to be a familiar symbol and now, it is anathema to my very existence. ¡°I am never alone, unlike you.¡± ¡°Ah, we have reached the part of the conversation where you call me an abomination?¡± ¡°If you wish.¡± I smile at this. What a surprising man, and so unexpected. We are a minute into an exchange and I haven¡¯t been called a devil¡¯s harlot even once. What a novel prospect. I am enthused. ¡°Where is your righteousness, warrior of the order? Where are the insults?¡± ¡°I am not much for conversation.¡± ¡°What are you much for then, besides meticulous planning and demolition?¡± His eyes track my expression, gauging. Fool, I have played poker for thirty years now. Even Loth could not read me. ¡°You sure like to talk a lot.¡± ¡°Ah, but can you blame me? Such occasions are so rare. Old enemies forced to a truce by circumstances. We are like characters in the Iliad. So tell me oh defender of light, why come here alone? Why not gather a large troop and burn the city to the ground, hmm?¡± ¡°Wouldn¡¯t work. You don¡¯t sleep in that room.¡± ¡°Oh? How would you know?¡± ¡°I climbed the wall and had a look.¡± I look at him, aghast. ¡°You scoundrel! Peeping Tom! How did you even manage to slip past the guards?¡± ¡°During a change of patrol.¡± ¡°What? You know their schedule? How?¡± ¡°I observed.¡± I am having the most curious of experiences. I am talking to a door, with a man behind who would see me dead if he could and yet is more interesting than most people I have met. ¡°Are you telling me that in two weeks, you managed to infiltrate the Dream, blow up my shed, and set up such an elaborate trap all without attracting attention even once?¡± ¡°Hm. Yes? Why?¡± He even looks surprised. ¡°Have you considered that you could be a great vampire?¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°Never mind, I prefer my fellow night denizen to have a sense of humor.¡± ¡°You stole that from me.¡± ¡°I did?¡± He avoids my gaze for a moment to reminisce on some painful memory, no doubt. The pause lasts for but a moment and when it ends, the man is as controlled as ever. ¡°Not you. Your kind. Some demon worshipper cult.¡± ¡°You lost people to mages?¡± Once more, the naked pain and anger that flash on his face convey more meaning than a book ever could. ¡°I am no mage, and I worship no one if you must know. Why serve in a prison in the first place then?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t work well with others. They don¡¯t trust me in a team so they put me there. I took the prison¡¯s money cache and came after you.¡± ¡°I know you are entertaining me to waste my time until dawn. You are trapped here and this town answers to me, so if you want to see the day, you will have to do better. Why come after me at all, alone of all things?¡± Bradley sighs and closes his eyes, and I can tell that the pressure of the past two weeks has taken a toll on his mind. ¡°My sin was pride. Vampires are arrogant, is what I heard.¡± ¡°We are people. Some of us are arrogant, some of us know better.¡± ¡°You¡­ I guess it¡¯s true. You were a bit careful.¡± ¡°No, if I were truly careful, I would have sent mortals after you.¡± ¡°Then why didn¡¯t you?¡± This is the first question he asks. I smile wider, showing my fangs. He doesn¡¯t flinch. ¡°You did not hurt my people, so this Hunt is still between the two of us. Ah, and those demon worshippers, have you found them yet?¡± ¡°No¡­¡± ¡°Did you join the brothers for this?¡± ¡°They had the tools. And the training.¡± ¡°I see. It appears that I have to cut our conversation short. There are people coming. Goodbye Bradley, and see you later.¡± I turn around and get back into the passage. He does not fire on my back. Outside, I manage to avoid the attention of the handful of people already searching the wreck for survivors and quickly find Nami under the cover of the trees. I relay the meeting to her, which she finds immensely amusing. That sounded strangely specific. ¡°What will you do now?¡± she continues, ¡°Have your men smoke him out?¡± The number of people checking the wreckage has reached two dozen and the trapdoor is quickly found by an inquisitive girl. A couple of burly men volunteer to check the tunnel and I watch with fascination while reloading my pistol. I am still looking at the crater, expecting Bradley to exit from there when a noise warns me and Nami and I jump away. The earth collapses to reveal a mine hole. A dirt-covered form with a backpack brushes itself and emerges into the night. Nami and I exchange a look. There is no light here, he is blind as a mole! With a resolute air, the man steps forward onto something soft. The moment he realizes something is wrong is just priceless. ¡°That,¡± I whisper in his ear, ¡°was my foot,¡±. This is the moment of truth and Bradley does not disappoint. He shows determination and courage in the face of certain death and I admire him for this. ¡°Does the order know I am here?¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°Would you like to live?¡± ¡°Do not play with me.¡± ¡°I do not. Offer me your blood and swear to keep my existence a secret, and I will escort you to the edge of town. You will be free to pursue your revenge.¡± ¡°Why would you do that? You can just bleed me here.¡± ¡°Call it¡­ A professional courtesy, from one explosion-loving hunter to another. What will it be, Bradley? Your loyalty to the order and its principles, or a chance to pursue your revenge?¡± Silence. Nami looks at me in delight, probably happy that I would do something so reckless. Only his fluttering heartbeat betrays the man¡¯s desperate inner struggle. What will it be? I can¡¯t wait to see. ¡°Vengeance.¡± Yessss. ¡°Extend your arm and swear.¡± ¡°I swear I¡¯ll keep your existence secret, and never return here.¡± I bite down. Ah, so delicious. A broken oath to God and his peers for the pursuit of a grudge, the end of a successful hunt. Delectable. Once I am done I lick the wound close and whistle lightly. Metis trudges through the undergrowth like the massive warbeast she is and I climb up, then drag Bradley across the harness like a trussed up boar. ¡°Ya!¡± We ride like the wind into the night and as the smokey air clears up, I consider that I am truly glad to be alive. Chapter 56: Preparations The dream¡¯s warning does not fall on uncaring ears. In the following days and in preparation of my confrontation with Sullivan, I go through a flurry of measures and projects. Merritt proves herself to be a resourceful woman, just as I expected, and she wormed her way into Marquette¡¯s respectable society by attending the tea parties that were beyond my reach. Her networking has already borne fruit, though the most curious consequence is that between the two of us we have finished mapping Marquette¡¯s index of male sexual prowess. Quite the eye-opener. Between preparations, the necessary work and my training, the nights pass quickly.April 25th, 1832 ¡°Miss Lethe, come in, come in.¡± The mayor¡¯s office is luxuriously decorated in an honest attempt to equal the pomp and respectability of his Eastern counterparts. The stink of brandy and tobacco almost masks the musk of sweat and coal, though the effort is somewhat wasted by the ever-growing pile of slag I can spot from the window behind him. Sometimes, I think that this byproduct of coal mining may one day become the State¡¯s highest elevation. The man himself stares at me from beyond his desk, with the simulated expression of someone who knows he will have to refuse a request and does not want a scene. His mask falls when his second guest follows in my steps. Without a word, we sit down and I introduce my companion. ¡°Sir, this is Jason Mac Mahon, a marshal from the state of Pennsylvania. He came to lodge at my establishment and I wanted to use the opportunity of our meeting to introduce the two of you, and hope we can put an end to this regrettable affair before any rumor starts to spread.¡± The mayor, who has his fingers in far too many pies, blanches visibly and I allow myself a minute smile before Mac Mahon dispels his fear. The Marshal is a gruff man in a travel-worn duster. His scruffy chops and moustaches have been awkwardly waxed for the occasion, but what really attracts the eyes are the scars. From cheeks to knuckles, the marshal bears on his body the marks of quite a few tussles and is clearly still standing. He is amusingly awkward with a bowler hat clenched between his rough hands. ¡°Right, good evening Mr. mayor sir. As the lady said, probably just a misunderstanding, but if it¡¯s not, well¡­¡± ¡°Out with it man, what is it?¡± ¡°It¡¯s about one of your deputies, Mr. John Graham. See, I got this here warrant for a John Graham from Philadelphia regarding an assault charge.¡± ¡°Are you telling me that one of our own officers is wanted? Unthinkable.¡± ¡°There is a drawing of him, see if you recognize him.¡± Mac Mahon removes a folded poster from an inner pocket and gives it to the mayor whose eyes widen. Yes, it appears our dear judge who still refuses to hire local on fear of them being corrupted has a criminal in his employ. Our gazes meet, and I wink. Later that night. The man I summoned walks with hesitation down the empty street, the collar of his green jacket pulled up to ward off the constant drizzle. He steps with fear and his eyes dart left and right over dark corners as if expecting an ambush. At this time of the night, the warehouse district is empty and desolate. The rickety buildings inspire little confidence in a respectable member of society. His face shows relief when he spots me, standing within the yellow nimbus of lantern light like an oasis in the darkness. His comfort is short-lived when he notices my companion. No one does ¡°looming¡± quite like John. His presence towers so much that he might as well be a geographical feature, one that can break an adult skull on demand. My guest falters and I smile innocently before the yellow-livered fool attempts to run away. My time is precious. My greeting sounds hollow in the deserted alley. ¡°Mr. Collins, thank you so much for joining me. I am delighted to see you.¡± He stops five steps away from us. ¡°Look, Miss Lethe, if that concerns my obligation, I promise I will repay you fully by¡­¡± My ¡®come-hither¡¯ gesture interrupts him. We are having a conversation, not a screaming match. I will not tolerate disrespect from the likes of him. The imbecile hesitates and somewhere within John¡¯s peculiar brain, the realization that someone is disobeying me expands like the puddle of blood from a slit artery. My bodyguard stands straighter and from this single gesture, conveys a promise of imminent violence. His prodigious spine pops under the strain of warming muscles and he slowly caresses his monstrous hands. He¡¯s such a good lad. Feeling the mood, Collins steps closer and swallows his saliva with some difficulty. I watch his Adam¡¯s apple bob up and down with middling interest. He smells appetizing but also, weak. I fed yesterday from a rowdy patron, no need to indulge just yet. Let¡¯s get this over with. ¡°Collins. I will grant you a delay before I collect your debt. It will even be interest-free. In return, you will do something for me. Trust me, it will be to your advantage¡­¡± April 26th. The fumoir at the back of the town hall is packed tonight, and the divide between two camps could not have been more obvious to anyone with a hint of social grace. Marquette¡¯s most influential members sit in the first circle of comfortable leather chairs while others, including myself, linger at the edge, still present but not quite as influential. The air is heavy with the blueish smoke of cigar as tensions run high, and quite a few of the bottles are already empty. Judge Sullivan sits opposite me, surrounded by a posse of Marquette¡¯s most fanatical and self-righteous idiots. I notice with pleasure that the number is lower than a week before, a sure sign that the most recent scandal stained his previously immaculate image. The judge hired no locals under the pretext of avoiding corrupting influence and behold, one of his deputies was wanted! Truly, the man knows no shame, favoring criminal outsiders over our brave local lads. And the timing could not be worse! Just a day before the big meeting, to have a marshal drag his cuffed subordinate through the main street, for everyone to see. How very unfortunate for him. Our eyes meet, and I blink. What? I am the very soul of innocence. ¡°The session is open. The honorable mayor has the floor.¡± ¡°Thank you, thank you. Gentlemen, we have much to discuss today. Without further ado, I will now proceed with our first order of business, the injunction brought forward by the honorable judge Sullivan. As you know, it is our duty and burden to oversee our community and guide it on the right path. Although the lesser races are no less deserving of our benevolent counsel, it remains our right to protect our wives and children from any depravity that they may be exposed to. Starting May the first, our community will no longer welcome in its midst neither people of color nor vagrants. Our city is safe.¡± The statement is welcomed by polite applause which I do not join. Sullivan stares at me like a hawk, waiting for me to make my move. This only shows his lack of understanding. I have never talked in public for the simple reason that I am a woman, and that is enough for some to dismiss me. I very much prefer a puppet to dance for me and take the limelight. This is much more expedient. ¡°With that said, our nation is still a land of opportunity and we must find it in our heart to leave to others the chance that was offered to us to better our lot. Freedom and the pursuit of happiness should be extended to all regardless of their nature, and this is with great pleasure that I will now allow Mr. Collins to bring forward his proposal. For those of you who are new here, Mr. Collins owns Collins Construction and he has been a pillar of our community for more than a decade.¡± More polite applause. Collins stands up and brushes imaginary dust from his elegant ensemble. He clears his throat then starts with the mellifluous voice of the consummate salesman. ¡°Gentlemen, good evening. It is my honor and privilege to address you today. For thirteen long years I have been part of this community. I have seen it grow, struggle and prosper. Through years of abundance and years of famine we have endured, and now we are finally taking the first step towards becoming a real city, to rival those our forefathers founded when this country was in its infancy. Like all entities, we will face growing pain, but as the leaders of Marquette it is our sacred duty to manage them as well as we can, so God help us.¡± A few amen echo around us. I am rather proud of that touching religious moment. Hear this God? The daughter you abandoned still pays homage through her servant. I mean, representative. ¡°A population increase needs to be handled properly. For the first time in our history, we must plan our growth with vision and purpose rather than organically. That is why I propose that we open a new section of town reserved for the other races, so that they too may strive for fortune amongst their brethren. A new district for them, distinct yet with the same amenities.¡± Agitated whispers fill the room at the mention of such an ambitious project, and it doesn¡¯t take long for another notable to object. ¡°And who do you propose will pay for all of this?¡± asks a loud voice. The newcomer is twirling his massive mustache with an obvious air of doubt. That¡¯s my good friend Andrews, my main supplier of beef and poultry for all my businesses. ¡°Thank you for asking, I would not waste this assembly¡¯s precious time without an actionable plan. I, and the group of concerned citizens, have purchased the lands around the Smith residence, and we have sent a generous offer to them as well. We will fund the creation of this new district in its entirety, all for the benefit of Marquette. The only thing we require is your blessing before we proceed with construction, and that this new area be exempted from the ban.¡± A wave of approving nods spreads over the assembly. Since it solves their issue without costing them a penny, most of them would be inclined to agree. I still made sure to test the water beforehand. You never know, with mortals. They get obsessed over the most innocuous of things. Like mutilation. ¡°And another thing. I am sure that many of you work with citizens and freemen of Kentucky down South. Some of them may even have come across Gentleman Bennings who married a black woman. Now, I don¡¯t want to discuss his proclivities, but when he comes to town, should I tell him his spouse isn¡¯t welcome? A man of his stature and wealth? What about other travelers and freemen? Must they camp outside the city? Should we deny ourselves business because of inflexibility?¡± A series of nay sounds throughout the room. Sullivan has turned scarlet, because he knows where this is going. Anymore and he will be foaming at the mouth. ¡°This measure is designed to keep out undesirables, not endanger our livelihood. That is why I propose that we allow foreign visitors access to one inn so that they may stay while they conduct their business. I nominate the Dream as the most convenient location.¡± A few members look my way, mostly those who were not warned. Sullivan scowls with fury. He raises his hand indicating his wish to intervene. Collins ignores him. ¡°With this measure, we will be ready to face the consequences of the implementation of this measure with confidence¡­¡± The speech goes on with more details and the obligatory embellishments. I school my expression into one of polite attention and pretend I do not notice the reddening judge. Before the vote is cast, he gets his time. ¡°Gentlemen. Is a law a law, if it doesn¡¯t apply to everyone?¡± Andrews coughs loudly while a few angry whispers echo at the back. The word hypocrite may have been uttered. Sullivan scowls even more but he does not relent. He rambles for ten minutes on civic duty and the importance of the strict application of rules. ¡®¡¯ and all that. I watch with amused fascination as he loses the attention of even his most stalwart supporters, by repeating himself. Is this what a political wreck looks like? How can he not see the obvious? This is not the way the game is played. You do not get people to your side during the meeting. All relevant negotiations are conducted beforehand behind closed doors, in smoke-filled receiving rooms. A real politician would have understood this, what am I saying, a real politician would have seen it coming from a mile away and killed the proposal before it was submitted. The game is already over. Before long, the ballot is cast. The mayor counts the votes himself and comes up with the final result. ¡°The motion is accepted by seventeen votes in favor and five against.¡± For Sullivan, this is the last straw. He stands up in fury and walks in the middle of the room under more than a few disapproving glances. ¡°I have had enough of this!¡± ¡°Judge Sullivan, you do not have the floor, please sit down.¡± The mayor¡¯s warning falls on deaf ears. The judge is too incensed to listen. His voice rises to a sharp crescendo as he starts with the emphatic voice of the Baptist preacher. ¡°Don¡¯t you see? This is your divine test. The lord is offering you a chance to repent, to abandon your wicked ways and get back into his graces. For too long this town has glorified sin and villainy, with wanton women selling their bodies with the tacit approval of all. No more, I say, no more. Pray and reconsider.¡± I cower like the poor, unfairly slandered Lady I am. Oh, this is just too perfect. He is ruining the little credit the latest scandal left him with instead of biding his time. What a glorious declaration. Yes, dear judge, please insult everyone some more. ¡°Sir, I think you should sit down,¡± adds one of his supporters pointedly, ¡°now.¡± Sullivan¡¯s expression turns stricken, but instead of answering, he stomps away under the disapproving gaze of the entire assembly. Perfect, just perfect. My victory is complete, and I did not have to move a muscle, nor to intone a single word. Ah, Sinead, I wish you were here to see this. You would say this is a play for children, but it is still a masterful one. I hide my saddened expression behind a fan and receive more than a few sympathetic comments in the ensuing confusion. Even those that oppose me normally look aghast as their champion of justice just up and left after this final stain on their reputation. Ah, if only he could exile himself out of scorn, and then I could pursue and eat him! But alas, that would be too risky. Disappearing notables are always a pain to handle. After a few moments, calm returns and the meeting resumes. The next order of business is of direct interest to me, and it is put forward by the mayor with my unspoken support. ¡°There are rumors that native tribes under the command of one ruffian named Black Hawk are marching on land that was rightfully ceded to us under the treaty of Saint Louis. We must be able to defend ourselves should they attack. That is why, I propose that we fund a militia capable of defending us against all dangers¡­¡± A few questions follow, mostly on funding, but most of the men present agree that the prospect of armed poor white men is slightly less terrifying than that of Indian raiders, and so the Marquette militia is officially founded. Its new leader is nominated as well, a veteran of the previous war by the name of Wallace who enjoys buxom blondes and poker just a bit too much. Just as planned. As for how they will be armed, I am currently a shareholder of a Massachusetts arms manufactory that will, I am sure, make a reasonable offer. Thanks, Isaac. The meeting ends and as I leave, there are already groups gathering to discuss what should be done about poor Sullivan. It seems like the air of the countryside just doesn¡¯t agree with him. Probably all that coal in the air. I head back to the Dream with John in tow doing my best not to whistle. Half an hour later, Dream¡¯s meeting room. ¡°So I would call that a complete success. Now we only need to secure an armory and powder reserve for fast access, and I will make sure Wallace is under control. Merritt I¡¯m counting on you for the armory, search around the warehouse district.¡± ¡°Right.¡± The mage leaves with a pile of documents while Nami plays with a serrated knife, twisting it between her fingers with acrobatic dexterity. I can tell that something is on her mind. I am surprised, as well as a bit worried. Is she offended? I consider her words in silence. I did not, in fact, consider the victims. I never do, and this time I should have. I call Nami my friend and did not even consider her comfort. S?a??h th? N???lFire.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. Insufferable woman. Chapter 57: The Beacon The removal of minorities from Marquette goes without trouble, the few concerned individuals already resolved to their fates. The Dream as well as the main street are exempt, which makes my establishment even more popular among travelers, with our reputation reaching farther than ever before. Meanwhile, the new district opens and it takes more effort than I expected to keep it well provisioned. Many of my suppliers refuse to even enter the place and I am forced to arrange my own system of distribution, which in turn leaves me in a position of monopoly. I could easily make their lives hell if I so desired, and the memory of Nami¡¯s remark is ever present.On the military side of things, our militia sees immediate deployment when a warband led a by a Sauk named Black Hawk tries to resettle the land they had ¡®ceded¡¯ in ¡®treaty¡¯. The group is made of fighters from several tribes and meets with some initial success, including raids on settlers where they kill, mutilate and scalp men, women and children. This triggers a massive exodus of isolated settlers. They arrive in Marquette in small groups, bringing their families and cattle in great convoys that settle in fallow fields at the edge of town. Small circles of tents pop out of the ground like mushrooms after rain, filled with harried men and women with dangerous eyes. They stay there in insalubrious conditions that even slums cannot match. The newcomers are wary of everyone, including each other. Tension and distrust lead to more trouble for my new district. I have to deploy Harrigan¡¯s squads more than a few times in the following weeks to knock some heads before they can come up with stupid ideas. The hatred between newcomers and ¡®true¡¯ Marquette citizens burns bright. Paranoia runs rampant. Most of the fighting occurring between militia and Indians are skirmishes, but hearing the reports, thousands of bloodthirsty savages were soon going to descend upon the town to rape and plunder to their hearts¡¯ content. I don¡¯t even think they had a thousand men to start with. The panic makes people feel cornered and aggressive. Marquette becomes a powder keg of tension and deep-seated resentment. I am forced to have the few Creek under my employ wear white armbands at all times to differentiate them from hostile natives. All public gatherings are forbidden and any brawl suppressed with a heavy hand before they can degenerate into large scale riots. Then, because a catastrophe never comes alone, May brings us a cholera epidemic. Seeing people soil themselves to death really makes me appreciate my own immortality. We even lose a few girls, which frustrates me to no end. Diseases are not opponents I can simply massacre. Against this unseen enemy, I am powerless. Without means to retaliate, I decide to stop our normal operations to help fight the epidemic and between this, renovations and investing in weaponry, this year will definitely end in the red for me. That¡¯s fine, it¡¯s an investment. This complete mess reduces the time I could spend on aura training, running outside with Metis and sparring with Nami. The poor Ekon girl is growing restless in such a small city, so starting from June, I allow her to roam around the land and get back to me if she finds anything interesting. At the same time, news of the war restores confidence in the militia after their triumph at Horseshoe bend. That epic battle was just thirty men killing eleven but hearing the commoners speak of it, it might as well have been a new Waterloo. All the same, settlers start to head home which reduces the burden on the town. I no longer understand mortals. I kill eleven men all the time and you don¡¯t see me parading on the street with a flag. Bah. In any case, my mood massively improves when my latest purchases make their way to town in a large convoy. June 3rd, 1832, Marquette ¡°Ariane?¡± ¡°Yes Alexandra?¡± ¡°I told you to call me Merritt! And why are you laughing maniacally in the corridors? That¡¯s not good for your image.¡± ¡°I am most pleased.¡± ¡°Whatever happened that has you so merry?¡± Meritt asks, the very image of suspicion. ¡°My special delivery is here. Let¡¯s go, let¡¯s go. Quick!¡± We leave the Dream behind with John in tow. I walk through the evening crowd who parts to let me through. Some of them even greet me. My reputation has improved a lot since I spent my own money on civic duties, to the extent that even some respectable citizens have disregarded the origin of my wealth. A pleasant development. The trip is fast. In only a few minutes, we reach the warehouse district and my destination. ¡°Where is it? Where are they?¡± I ask the first man I recognize. The foreman stops backing when he realizes he has hit a wall and that answering my question is the safest way to save himself. ¡°In¡­ in here!¡± I disregard the poor sod and enter a smaller barn to find my little precious things well protected under tarps. Yesssss. They¡¯re here! S~?a??h the ???el F?re.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. Behind me, Merritt and the man confer in low voices. ¡°Why is she laughing like that? I was so scared.¡± ¡°No idea¡­¡± Fools! Can¡¯t they see the magnificence before them? ¡°John! Help me take off those covers.¡± We remove the tarps to reveal shiny gaping steel maws, all sweet and lubricated. ¡°Are those¡­ Oh. Oh no.¡± ¡°That¡¯s right Merritt. Feast your eyes upon those state-of-the-art, rifled, limber-drawn twelve-pounder field artillery guns. In a revolutionary new technique, they use balls that are fractionally larger than the bore so they engage with the grooves for that sweet, sweet spin. It will drastically improve precision, see? With that, I can put a hole through a man¡¯s belly button large enough to place a hand while leaving his crotch intact at two hundred paces!¡± If their faces are any indication, I lost them at ¡®limber-drawn¡¯. Bah, it doesn¡¯t matter that those heathens cannot appreciate the good things in life. I laugh and pet my little babies. Just wait until I drag you to a field for some testing and, oh, what is this? Besides the two expected guns, there is a third form. A small, stubby thing under a red cover. I pick a small envelope attached to it and excitedly read its content. A moment later, I lift the cover and am left speechless. Merritt walks by my side and after inspecting the intricate work before her, asks: ¡°What is that, it looks like a gun?¡± ¡°This, dear Merritt, is a Skarbrand runic mortar, a wonder of magical engineering that can send fiery spells to incinerate foes from a mile away. And you will be its operator.¡± The redhead¡¯s eyes widen in wonder as even she can tell what terrible destruction they will be able to inflict together. Perfect, this is just perfect. I bask in the afterglow of all these explodey things I now own. Oh, I am so very happy. If only Papa could see me! Yesterday a rifle, today, artillery guns, and tomorrow, who knows? A ship of the line? So many problems I could solve by the generous application of scorn and gunpowder. I almost can¡¯t wait for live targets. Whatever storm comes to find me, I hope they will be ready, for I sure as hell am. I only have two weeks to train the poor artillery crews, a thankless task that involves a lot of math and a lot of screaming, before something unexpected happens. At midnight in the heart of June, I feel a powerful magic pulse coming far away from the East. Its power shines like a beacon, demanding attention. It has started. June 19th 1832 I don¡¯t think I have ever felt such a powerful aura other than from the Herald. It tastes sharp and surprisingly focused. Since it¡¯s a mighty spell I do not understand, I naturally assume it is bad news. I decide to head out first to check what we are against while Merritt, John and the odd squad pack things up. They will join me at a safe house before dawn and I do hope the situation will be solved by then, though I do not harbor much hope. With my own pack always prepared, it is only a matter of getting changed and riding out. The buildings of Marquette and civilization fall behind me as Metis and I rush across the plain. This is my most hated time of the year. I have to spend so much time in slumber that every second is precious, and most are spent handling the Dream and all my new projects. I am glad to steal this moment for myself with only Metis, the night and the endless sky. I have no need to consider politics, be it with the humans or my fellow vampires. There is no appearance to keep or expectations to fulfill. The plane is vast beyond compare, especially for me, who grew up in the swampy South. Sometimes, a gust of wind comes to caress my skin and brings the scent of sap and dried vegetation, making the grass around us dance like waves on the ocean. We cut a way through that sea and leave meadows, forests and the vast fields behind, always in the middle of an endless green only matched by the endless midnight blue above. Life is vibrant around us as insects and beasts hunt, mate or die, and although I do prefer winter, I have to admit that there is a charm to this season. The Nightmare is also happy to let go, I can tell. I may be able to outrun her on short distances but for long runs she is without a match. There is also something exhilarating about trampling the ground on top of a hellish, flesh-eating warhorse who doesn¡¯t know fear. I already have a spear. I am just missing a banner and a helm, as well as some fancy warcry like the knights of the round table. What should I scream when charging? What do I fight for? Blood, freedom, and gunpowder? Hm. Not bad. I try it as well as a few others as we make good way until something attracts my attention and I stop. Before me, a bend in the road goes around a lake reduced to a pond by dry weather. A few trees mask the path ahead, and a peculiar shine attracts my eye. I close my eyes and focus. Heartbeats, at least two. This is an ambush. I¡¯m so excited! In all my years, I have never been the target of a robbery unless I was looking for it. Could it be that I finally got lucky? I could use the distraction to feed a bit before the inevitable showdown. As I slow Metis to a canter, she snorts in anticipation. Sometimes, I cannot tell how smart she really is. Obviously, she is smarter than some humans. I just don¡¯t know exactly how much she understands. We pass the bend and the trees hide the moon, casting us in an extremely deep shadow. The pond is currently to my left and to my front and right the plain goes on seemingly forever dotted with the occasional tree. The largest white oak I have ever seen stands at the top of a small mound, and on one of its lower branches, someone has installed a noose. How quaint! ¡°Come on out.¡± I order calmly. And two of Judge Sullivan¡¯s deputies exit from the cover of the forest behind me like children caught sneaking. One of them is a blond man who I remember is kind but shy, and the other is a quiet, stocky man with grey chops. I smile lightly. I should have expected this, really, considering the judge¡¯s personality. I just did not anticipate him to be so brazen. Hanging me is sure to gather a lot of attention. What was he even thinking? One more lanky deputy and Sullivan himself come out from further down the way, I assume they were the ones to stop me, and the men behind were tasked with cutting off my escape. I suppose it could have worked, although I cannot help but feel this is a bit amateurish. I would have placed a man on the other side of the road to shoot down the horse, just in case my prey attempts to flee through the plain. I would also have my men draw their weapons. What would happen if I started to run now, huh? How long before they can fumble their muskets out to line a shot in the dark? So gauche. The four close on me with what I assume is a vague attempt at intimidation. The effect is ruined by two things. First, they act like meek virgins, which in a way they are. Second, they gawk at my outfit and equipment like bumpkins instead of remaining stoic. Even Sullivan¡¯s eyes are wide in surprise. I am wearing an innocuous travel cloak, not my battle gown, but I am still riding without saddle and my covered legs hug Metis¡¯ flank almost horizontally, which is unusual to say the least. I am sure they are also taken aback by the wicked-looking spear in my hand. I would find it amusing to act the victim for the following play, unfortunately it is absolutely impossible to appear harmless while riding Metis, even without weaponry. She¡¯s just too dangerous, my sweet little toothy charger. Since I cannot fool them, I just assume the air of supreme confidence I am feeling right now, and since they appear hesitant, I will open the game. I take my most arrogant voice and begin: ¡°I must admit I expected very little from you and am still disappointed. Highway banditry, really? How have you fallen so low, Sullivan?¡± ¡°This is not banditry but justice!¡± he replies defensively. ¡°Justice at the dead of night? Without witness?¡± ¡°You leave me no choice, witch. Your talons are dug too deep into this town, and the only way to purge the body is to cut off the infected limb. I regret that it comes to this¡­¡± ¡°Lies.¡± ¡°¡­but only God can judge me now.¡± ¡°He already has, I believe the exact term was ¡®you shall not kill¡¯.¡± ¡°The exodus also said ¡¯Suffer not the witch to live.¡¯¡± He replies with fire in his eyes. ¡°And you are all here, certain that I am a witch? So sure, in fact, that you are willing to flaunt the law to put me to death? Is it your belief and your resolve?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± he replies with increasing fervor, ¡°for we are the hand of God, united in purpose and chosen to deliver His punishment!¡± I hope they¡¯re not, or humanity is done for. ¡°United huh, and where is Douglas?¡± I ask innocently. After the loss of one deputy to a bounty hunter, there are only four left and one of them was slightly more integrated with the town than the others. I notice that he is absent. Sullivan hesitates at this reminder that his men are not as devoted to his cause as they look. ¡°You already captured his mind with your sorcerous ways, he is too soft to do what needs to be done!¡± ¡°Have you considered that perhaps, the town keeps me around for a reason and you four may be in the wrong?¡± ¡°There is no doubt in my heart! My faith protects me from your poisoned words,¡± Sullivan replies with conviction, but too late. Two of his men look less than enthusiastic about this whole covert lynching business. I realize that I could just kill all of them and be done with it, but I would have to deal with the disappearance of a high ranking official and his subordinates, who may have informed someone that they were going after me. It would be much more efficient to manipulate the situation to my advantage. I am a after all, not some bloodthirsty imbecile. Let¡¯s see how fruitful Sinead¡¯s lessons have been. From the situation, I can see that two of them could switch sides, though Sullivan and the last one are so set in their belief that it would require me to shred their minds to get anywhere. Time for me to make my case, and I feel like justifying myself, for once. ¡°You believe that my influence comes from hexes, or from some strange pleasure magic that blinds men with the promise of sex. You think me some parasite sucking the life from Marquette, corrupting the souls of its inhabitants. You could not be more wrong. The people of the city tolerate me because many of them remember the time before the Dream, when this place was just one more mud hole on the frontier. They remember life without my work, something that you never bothered to ask about. When I came here, girls were already selling themselves and men were already getting drunk. When I came here, whore corpses would be found once every five months and dead miners once every two. Carcasses were left for so long that you could follow their path to the graveyard by the trail of maggots they left behind, and people were rutting behind barns or on pails of rotten hay like animals. What a sorry sight they all were, sick and covered in sores, with missing teeth and scarred faces. Any pass could end up with a knife to the gut and every bottle of moonshine was poison in waiting. Misery was the norm and chaos the law. This is what I found, and this is what I changed.¡± I feel myself getting more animated. ¡°I made a safe place and opened it to those wretches so that none could feed from their miseries. I brought them safe bedrooms to work and sleep, I brought them warm food and alcohol that was not made from sawdust. I made rules and forced manners to make them feel like people. I lifted them and ruled fairly, and I have protected them ever since. This is why I am tolerated, because I have become the last safety net for desperate people where none would, and everyone is better for it. ¡°You would know this if you had thought but for a moment, or if you had relied on your powers of observation instead of blind faith to understand the world. You have not. This loyalty I receive, I earned it. You believe John to be spelled? When I picked him up from the streets, I could circle his wrist with two fingers. Oscar? Cut down from a tree where he had been left to slowly choke. Kitty? She was almost beaten to death by her degenerate brother. This is why they accept me, not because of spells but because of the human decency that I showed them where your powdered ladies and respectable gentlemen would not, and you? You come here with your belief that the town is tainted, throwing around your weight and your book, expecting some kind of recognition? You do not even realize that I do more for this place¡¯s well-being in a day than you have done since you arrived. ¡°When you fail to garner the approval you expected, you do not ask yourself if you have committed a sin of pride. No, you just throw everything you have sworn to uphold down the gutter to assassinate a woman like some vulgar highwaymen, in the dead of night and in the middle of nowhere. You hide like the coward you are because you know the people would not stand this farcical sentencing, because you could not face your own inadequacies. You even hide from your own colleagues! You, a defender of justice? Don¡¯t make me laugh. This is not justice you are seeking, but base revenge for your wounded self-esteem. Come on, look me in the eyes and tell me this is divine will. Tell me you could go back to Chicago and announce what you¡¯ve done without being hanged until death!¡± My inflamed declamation is received with stunned silence, and I realize that I may have just gone a little bit overboard. I am myself surprised. Perhaps I did have just a tiny bit of frustration backed up after months of harassment from that self-important cretin. First to recover is the deputy to my left. He passes a gloved hand through his messy blond hair and addresses his superior with a helpless tone. ¡°She¡¯s right, we shouldn¡¯t hang her. We should bring her to another town and if she¡¯s really a witch they can burn her just as well.¡± ¡°Fool, she will enchant them too! We are committed to this. Just imagine what will happen to you if she escapes now.¡± ¡°What kind of justice bears no witness?¡± I interject. Inside, I am in turmoil. Not because of the trap, as losing the argument will not be my end. I just came to an awful realization. I care about Marquette. I really do. I dislike my circumstances and the ensuing isolation from my kind. I hate the smell of burning coal and human excrement. The cacophony of yells, songs and moans that surround my nights make me want to gut them all. And yet, despite all of this, I don¡¯t want them to suffer. They¡¯re mine. I protected them and those who have grown to produce something useful or to serve me well fill my heart with pride. They are the results of my effort, my... my subjects. Is this what ruling is like? How can master just travel from place to place like some obnoxious vagrant when he could be doing this instead? Nurturing those frail mortals into something that will shine briefly, but brightly. This feels like something worthwhile. Meanwhile, the argument goes on between two sides. On one end, we have Sullivan supported by the increasingly angry lanky man, who is decidedly on edge. On the other side is the blond man who argues about silly notions like due procedures, the and all manners of nice things that frontier people do not care about. He is supported in turn by Mr. Stocky whose name I never bothered to remember, but who is apparently a firm supporter of the equal application of laws. His muffled but frequent ¡®that¡¯s right¡¯ needle blondie forward and give him the legitimacy he needed to face the judge. A fascinating debate. No matter how interesting their moral qualms are, however, I should not stay to listen. I am on schedule. There is still the matter of the incredibly powerful spell being woven a few miles East to attend to, and I would rather address this issue before it explodes, or turns everything in a ten miles radius into turnips. I know just the way. Sullivan is still wearing a cross on his tie, the prick, and the warning aura that comes from it forces me to avert my gaze. Incredible how much would be revealed if they tried to exorcise me, or if they looked a bit closer at the spear I hold. Paradoxically, it is civilization that is protecting both parties. If they had just forfeited the trappings of law, we could have just gone medieval on each other from the start. I would have torn them apart, of course, but my cover would have suffered from it, to the extent perhaps that I would have had to disappear. Hm, I really need to focus. And Mr. Lanky is presenting me with the perfect opportunity. He is not wearing a cross and his paranoid mind is already inventing dangers where there are none. I meet his eyes and wrap him instantly. I push the fear to new heights. He is seeing monsters in every shadow now. That¡¯s right. You are in mortal danger. Your doom has come. As his terror peaks, I lightly push Metis and she takes a step to the side with a light neigh. That is enough for my target. His hand, which had been hovering over the handle of his pistol, plunges and grabs the weapon. He is taking it out before he can think. ¡°Gun!¡± I scream helpfully. In an instant, all hell breaks loose. Blondie and Chops raise their carbines while Lanky¡¯s aim wavers between the three of us. Sullivan also raises an engraved musket. I pretend to cower in fear. From below my arm, I capture Lanky¡¯s mind and force a fearful reflex. His finger tightens on the trigger. The shot sounds incredibly loud in the empty night. ¡°Stand down!¡± bellows Sullivan, a bit late. The others hold back at the last moment though tension is at its paroxysm. ¡°She¡¯s a witch! She is, don¡¯t you see? Burn her, burn the witch!¡± screams Lanky hysterically. The others do not react, but the moment has broken what little community they had. Sullivan frowns in frustration and barely contained anger, having sensed it too. I am now faced with a choice. I could start a bloodbath, or I could call this a victory and focus on my original task. In the end, pragmatism wins over. I wish I could finish this once and for all, I am just not willing to pay the price. Humility is a virtue I have but too few occasions to practice. I wish Nami or Sinead were here, we could have done something interesting. Now I am reduced to a gracious retreat. Time to make my exit. ¡°I am going to go on my way and let you men solve your problems. I am not stopping for anyone so if you are going to shoot me, you¡¯d better do it now.¡± Then I¡¯ll have to run less to skin your sorry hides. I push a mildly grumpy Metis forward. The smart girl can tell she just missed a meal, though I am not too worried. There will be more soon. The horse carries me forward through the immobile men slowly, then I start a canter as I pass them by, which quickly turns into a gallop. I handled this really well and I have no regrets about not hanging Sullivan with his own innards from that stupid tree before setting it on fire. Nope! No regret. Alright I have regrets but I am proud I managed to act like the adult and patient vampire I am. He is completely discredited now, even in the eyes of his own men, and will no longer be an issue. If he dares show his face in Marquette again I will have him arrested by the militia. I am only surprised that they did not comment on my appearance. My horse and spear should have garnered a few comments at least. I decide to put this behind me and return my attention to the beacon of power pulsating softly before me. I am almost at the safe house and yet still nowhere close to it. The might of this aura, even at this distance, defies understanding. I have difficulties accepting that something so massive could exist in our reality, for it feels more like the kind of spell the Court of Blue could produce. The closer I get and the more I realize that if this is the work of an individual, then there is little I can do to stop it. I can only hope that they are fully absorbed in whatever this is. I soon reach the safe house and leave a message to the others, then go on. The vast plains soon turn to valleys, and I start to see more variation in the landscape. The path itself zigzags between rocky outcrops and denser patches of wood. Pines replace oaks and moss replaces grass. All in all, it takes me another two hours before I find something. Just as I am crossing an empty valley, a gap in the ridge to my side lets me catch a glimpse of fires. I circle around slowly and climb a small elevation to see what it is I am dealing with. In front of me, in a small basin half a mile across, the most peculiar and remarkable of troops has gathered. A hundred men and women from all races and ages mill around in an improvised camp. Tents and wagons are spread haphazardly while the ground is covered with cooking fires, covers and personal effects. The place is messy and without order, a reflection of its inhabitants. Besides one morbidly obese man who looks like he escaped from the circus, all the others are painfully thin, dressed in rags and mismatched clothes and wearing haggard expressions. The whole place feels like the most miserable refugee camp that ever was. The only thing missing is bawling children. And yet, in the middle of it, stands a double circle of individuals chanting and raising their hands. The power coming from them is breathtaking, and the essence they weave is so potent that the naked eye can see it. Twirls of strange colors dance in the air, as ephemeral as flames. Sometimes, I think I see alien landscapes and once, even a city entirely made of bone. Curious, I keep looking, searching for priority targets. My surprise is complete when I realize what is missing. This place has no leader. On occasion, one of the lost souls stands up and goes to replace a caster who stumbles away from the circle to a cot or a cooking pit. Small groups gather and break, speaking in soft voices, but there is no focal point, no entity to direct this mass of wretches. I do not understand. My instincts and experience tell me this is an impossibility. A military troop that large could never function, much less this pile of reprobates. There is more to it than I can perceive. I need to get there and inquire. I stand up and carefully make my way down the slope. There are a hundred people and I wager they are too eclectic a group to know each other well. I am confident that with a bit of Charm, I can infiltrate their ranks. But first, I need to go right. Yes, right. There is something there calling to me, a buzz at the back of my head that I cannot ignore. I am sure that I will find some answers there, and when have my instincts failed me. Quite often really. No, my instincts have never failed me, though following them blindly isn¡¯t always wise. That¡¯s not what I am doing now. I am being very careful. Yes, I can tell now, those below are untrained mages like Debbie. They are no danger to me so I can just keep going and everything will be alright. It is completely safe. My steps carry me along the edge of the basin and to a small mound that overlooks it entirely. There seems to be a promontory on top of it, but the walls are sheer. I circle around to the right, leaving the camp and its few lights at my back. The path is deserted. Wait, what am I doing? I am doing what I should do, investigating this strange situation. I keep walking with the cliff to my left. If I can find an easy way up, I will have a commanding view from that promontory I saw earlier. Yes, seems reasonable. I should just claw my way up find a path because I am civilized and do not want mud on my pretty dress. After only a minute, I find an inviting way in. A tunnel, dug through the stone. A pair of stylized lion statues guard the entrance on each side, below lit sconces. The light and perfume are strangely soothing. This is what I was looking for. No wait, this is wro this is what I was looking for. Wait. This is definitely wrong. I saw this before. When I was with Bingle and the blood cult. Master had been looking for something in a similar¡­ I am being Charmed?! A massive wave of well-being flows through my mind and wraps me up in a comfortable cocoon. The presence it reveals gives up on stealth for a more direct approach, and the assault is not something I can stop. It is not something I want to stop. This aura is benevolent, it feels like¡­ It feels like family. And this scent. Warm sun on hot sand, flowers, spices. It is so strange yet so familiar. I step forward, at peace. I will now go and join her, because there is no other choice. I cannot stop myself anymore than I can stop the sun from rising. The corridor of stone leads up to a rectangular room of stone with a small pond, decorated by climbing ivy. A square hole in the ceiling lets me see the stars and the Watcher. I lose myself for a second in his comforting embrace, and it lets out a cooing sensation, like someone seeing a puppy. A door leads farther in. I pass by a bedroom, a laboratory and a small indoor garden. The place is both luxurious and intimate, like the private quarters of a queen. Then, the passage leads up and I finally step on the promontory. My mind freezes. Unadulterated surprise breaks through the fog of the compulsion I find myself under. What I am seeing is impossible, and at the same time there were many signs that could hint at it. I know I am gawking like a bumpkin and cannot find it in myself to stop. I stand at the edge of a circle once again dug through the stone by means unknown. A pair of chairs and a table with two cups and a teapot stand at the edge of the most complex spell circle I have ever seen by several orders of magnitude. The entire surface of the circle is engraved with golden runes so thin and precise, they are practically a work of art. The exquisite working makes Loth¡¯s efforts look like childish scribbles. This is magic at a scale that should not exist. This is a world changer. On one of the seats, a woman is resting daintily. Once, I read of how Helen of Troy provoked a war that lasted a decade, and how Cleopatra seduced the first emperor of Rome. I found the stories silly. Surely, no being is beautiful enough to change the course of history so. Now, though, I can believe it. She wears a white toga of delicate make, tied to her waist by a golden cord. She has wavy hair as black as the night and as shiny as stars. Her heart-shape face is sensual and generous, her lips are ruby and her skin is gold. Raphael or Vermeer could spend hours painting the crook of her arm, the shadow of her calf, without doing them justice and still, they would paint a masterpiece. She is beauty made flesh, and I know her. Once, I drank the most powerful blood in the world and I remembered an ancient ruler, one who inspired an entire civilization. Master did not see her beauty or rather, it did not matter to him. She was there, at the beginning. She guided his hand and his ire. She gave him the flawed elixir of eternal life so he would not succumb to his wounds. He called her mother. And now she is here, before my eyes. Her heart still beats, and breath still lifts her perfect bust after more than three millennia. The words form on my lips, unbidden, to confirm the mirage. She turns and smiles with an otherworldly gaze that even Sinead could not match. I wish I could capture this moment and remember it forever. Her voice is, as expected, exquisite, a vibrant alto with a delicate lilt that enchants the ear. Chapter 58: The First Queen As I walk across the circle, I sense power beneath my feet and realize what is happening. The untrained mages outside are not casters, they are fuel.Semiramis is casually channelling a spell that will change the world, sitting on a comfortable chair, while a hundred mortals unwittingly do her bidding. I have no idea how she pulled that off, but I know that the skill required to do so should not exist at all. The glyph pulsates with more energy than the Herald ever had. I feel like I am standing on the surface of the sun, only separated from my impending doom by a hair-thin barrier and my host¡¯s goodwill. When she invites me to sit, I comply. The ancient queen leans forward in a suggestive way that shows a hint of cleavage, and I do believe those who appreciate this kind of thing would have lost their minds by now. The gesture is sensual without being vulgar, and the pose is so easy and graceful it is worth painting. Despite the dire straits I find myself in, I try to commit it to memory. To my surprise, she serves me a cup of infusion from her pot. The liquid has an exotic reddish color and an earthy smell with a hint of spice. I hesitate, then realize that I should not refuse her hospitality. I have pretended to drink tea on numerous occasions. This is but one more. I wet my lips with the liquid and its fragrance covers my tongue. As expected, earthy and spicy. Its warmth covers my palate and I swallow. It has a minty aftertaste, peculiar and refreshing. Hold on. I just had tea, as a vampire. Impossible! My eyes widen despite my attempts to remain composed, and my host smiles lightly. She drinks as well, then gazes at me with a hawkish focus. I feel like a deer before a pack of wolves. Her tone turns glacial and laden with threat. My answer surprises her, I can tell, yet soon enough the interrogation continues. She lifts a beautiful hand, pointing up. I realize before lifting my eyes what she is referring to. The controlling glare of the judging queen fades away and I am once more but a valued guest in the world¡¯s most remarkable tea party. She takes a sip and continues: I blurt out, Her expression turns patient and understanding, like a teacher with an interested student. Semiramis looks stunned for a moment, then laughs merrily. The sound is like chimes in the wind, ethereal and pleasant. The queen sits straighter and captivates me with her dark eyes. Gradually, the world around me fades until I can feel warm sand beneath my feet, the smell of heated stone and spices and the din of a humanity that existed at the dawn of time, before reason and enlightenment made man the center of the world. Oh. Wow. And I thought brother Achilles and I had big fights. Once more she lifts a finger. I am too stunned to accept this answer. Genuine dread constricts my chest and freezes my mind. She can understand what is unthinkable? That would make her mind that of a god and I refuse¡­ I absolutely refuse to accept this. No human mind should comprehend this. It isn¡¯t right! Surely... I force myself to calm down a bit, surprised by my lack of control. I consider the might of the spell under us and the hundred people outside, laboring to an end they probably do not even understand. She can manipulate all of them, mesmerize me and cast this incredible working all at once, while sitting at a table having tea. Yes, I can believe her, and it terrifies me. After a pause, she resumes her outlandish tale. Semiramis shows something that I cannot accept: pity. I don¡¯t have a soul? I Don¡¯t have a soul, at all? I am¡­ not her? Then, when I woke up in that cell under the fortress, those were my first moments? Then¡­ the human Ariane died under Master¡¯s tender care, and her last three days were spent lying broken and bloody. Tortured. Defiled. Just for having addressed a man at a party? I look at the queen, expecting a hint of disdain or amused cruelty, but there is none. When she sees my doubt, she adds with a soft voice: This is bullshit. I thought I was continuing being me, a daughter, a sister and a friend. I thought I was honoring myself by enduring despite what life had thrown at me. And now it turns out that it was all for nothing? I was masquerading a dead woman after stealing her violated body? This was all for nothing? It was all a lie? Is this what this world really is about? Cruelty and malice without end? Endless destruction without meaning? Suddenly, all I have witnessed surges back in me, unhindered by my usually cold nature. I remember those children who died in their own dejection as cholera ravaged their frail insides, those people murdered and scalped for being at the wrong place or those others summarily executed for being the wrong color. When I arrived in Marquette, there were whores stabbed in the chest and left to drown in their own blood and men with gut wounds who died slowly, their blood poisoned by their own shit, for nothing more than a fistful of coin. Was there a reason for that? The girls barely entering puberty who would show up at the Dream pregnant by some relatives, those poor assholes with missing body parts left to die by the side of the mine, did they serve a purpose? All of those, I ignored because they were mortals, and suffering and dying is what mortals do. Now, it¡¯s coming back, all at once. All the pointless misery and senseless suffering. All the horror that can be blamed on nothing but fate. Was there a point to Ariane¡¯s existence, to be snuffed like this, so cruelly? And she was not the only one. What about Penelope who retired seven years ago, only for her to lose her husband and children in a flood and hang herself afterwards? The Stevensons whose only child died of a strange and painful disease? Is there a point? At all? There is no God. If there is one, it is merciless beyond measure. I hate it. I hate everything. I hate being cheated by fate. I hate having no immortal soul. I hate the lies I told Papa and myself. Do I even have a right to call him father? I¡¯m just some parasite who stole the lifeless husk that was left of his daughter after Master had his fun. Fuck. Annoying bitch. Did I ask you something? I lift my head in surprise at this admission. Her face is candid and open, and though I suspect it to be artifice, I am still appreciative of the effort. When she sees that I am paying attention, she continues. A flash of anger, gone in an instant. You are angry? Really? Who gives a shit? Not me and not the original Ariane, because she¡¯s dead. What a fucking joke. My dad, no, Ariane¡¯s dad, I lied to him. I truly am a monster wearing the face of his child. Just a thief born from an alien God¡¯s perverse curiosity. So, you enjoy watching your pet creature fuck, drink, and kill huh? You sick bastard. God fucking dammit. Alright, enough, I need to calm down. Now is not the time to panic. I pinch the bridge of my nose and resist the urge to glance at the vampire star. Normally, it would fill my heart with calm, like coming home. Now, I just want that transcendental arsehole to get a comet up its cosmic arse or something. Since I am still facing the second most dangerous entity I have ever come across, I close my eyes and do the next best thing. In an instant, my mental fortress appears before me and I leave the bedroom at its heart to walk through its inner halls. Tortuous hallways and illusory rooms fade in the background as I walk to the entrance. I will never get lost here, this home is mine. I know the emplacement of each memento, each statue and each tree. When I reach the grand entrance, the double doors bang open as a reflection of my mood and the garden greets me in all its glory. The purple tendrils look more subdued today, almost quiescent. I cannot resist. I look up to the dark aster that I always considered an ally. It looks down and once more to the familiar split pupil and red sclera. Its unconditional acceptance fills my heart with peace. And grief. I died. She died. And now I¡¯m here. I will deal with this. I just need a moment. I prepare to bask in the otherworldly light but something tugs at me. Several tendrils are insistently pointing in a direction. I follow and my gaze lands on a distant wall. There is something happening there. I draw nearer and look at the border of my mind. As usual, a forest of thorny roots and branches without end blocks anyone coming in, or at least it should. There is something there that doesn¡¯t belong, moving quietly through the otherwise impregnable wall. I focus and see the strange thing. This place is me, and that thing is not. I become more aware of that part of my mind, I survey it and gauge it. I can feel the wrongness, but I cannot identify it properly. I sharpen my will to a point and inspect the wall strand by strand. This is me, this is me, this is me¡­ The anomaly moves back, trying to escape. This is not me. Those are not mine! Somebody is trying to¡­ I open my eyes to see Semiramis¡¯ hand move back by a fraction of an inch. Our eyes meet. A single droplet of sweat pearls on her august temple. WEAKNESS. That thrice accursed donkey-shagged vixen tried something, probably some sort of mental-based Charm. The way she made me think this was part of me is the same trick I use to Charm someone through a magical protection. KILL. For one long second, tension reaches a paroxysm. She is weakened. I know it for sure. She has been casting for a full day probably without stopping, without sleeping, a spell of incredible might. She tried to pierce my mental defenses earlier through brute assault and then used a more indirect approach because dominating me was too costly. She is at the end of her rope. I think. I could take her. Or, she could forfeit the spell and turn that power against me to annihilate my form in a split second. Can I kill her before she can cast? I am far from certain of it. More importantly, she has kept Master at bay and that fits me just fine. I know if I meet him again, he will be able to order me around but I feel more and more like myself and right now, him being busy at the other side of the globe is perfectly agreeable. I don¡¯t need him. I DON¡¯T NEED ANYONE. But I do need her alive. Yes, that is right. I can¡¯t deal with my pain right now. I need to get out of here alive because her death would not be to my advantage even if I were to somehow succeed. I check my mind for foreign influence and find nothing. It appears that it truly is my own conclusion. What now? Survival comes first, then I will find a way to come to terms with, well, everything. How do I do that? A trade? Let us test the water. She smiles graciously and with perfect ease, assumes another enchanting pose. I know for sure those are all lies and masks, but I cannot help but envy her appearance. I used to be one of the prettier ladies around, or at least human Ariane used to be, but I now realize that I am an ugly duckling compared to her. King Ninos did not stand a chance, and neither would Jimena. She resumes the conversation as if attempting to bend me to her will was just a passing fancy. Oh, she wants to play. Good. We are like two wild cats arguing over the remains of a mouse. Neither of us is willing to get hurt for it. We cannot afford to. She cannot risk letting me go until she is done, this is clear enough. I am fine with that, though I need to guarantee my safety while I am here. There is also the matter of three nights being my limit for going without blood. I am pretty sure that eternal life means she is a magical being. I can reasonably trust hospitality if she offers it. Once more, I catch a small expression of annoyance. Did she really plan on letting me roast under the sunlight? Unbelievable. she adds as she waves a hand dismissively, ¡± That went better than I expected. I just need to confirm one more thing. The oath takes me like someone grabbing my heart from the inside. With this, our deal is complete. She will have to protect me and stay out of my head till the spell is complete, then we both go on our way and I will not speak of this. Semiramis delicately refills our cups. The strange infusion is still piping hot and as tasty as ever. I decide to ask more of her, since we are stuck here anyway. S~?a??h the N???lFire.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. She nods, the gesture strangely attractive. Her chuckle this time is slightly bitter. This isn¡¯t what I meant at all. She can destroy a kingdom? By the The queen raises brows in surprise and for one moment she looks incredibly haughty. I almost expect her to order hidden royal guards to throw me to the crocodiles. Just like everything else, she is incredible while doing so. I am a bit jealous. Still, she replies. Dragons? Magical duels? I was just trying to survive until I get proof that I was a city master, and now I am thrown in some sort of fairy tale? With no consideration for my distress, the Queen continues. Surely, I misheard. She leans forward once more, showing just enough golden skin to be distracting even to me. Her voice shifts into that of a story-teller. Where before I could feel sand and sun, now there is only darkness, blood and the clangs of battle, and her tone is as ominous as her words. She stops her tale to take a sip of tea. Her next glance to me is wary and she speaks more intimately, as if she were afraid we could be overheard. I wish I could make fun of this tacky name, but the memory of Master¡¯s hand through a lord¡¯s chest is still vivid in my memory. I am also surprised, as I do not remember ever watching him wielding a blade. By the truly this world is vast. My own struggles and achievements seem so petty by comparison, that I feel like a child boasting the sale of a bucket of apple to a British spice trader. I look briefly to the eye in the sky. Why did you want me to see this? My perspective changes once more, with straight lines being strangely curved and distance becoming meaningless. The pupil is now intimately close. It whispers, with a roar that deafens me, a very specific feeling. When I was a kid, I played by myself a lot due to there being no one close in age. It was not too hard, as I had an entire court of bears and puppets lovingly provided by my father. One day, I was playing with a tea set I had made from broken clay pots and realized I needed some actual water to drink. I picked up a jar, hoping to fill it with water. I walked back from the garden into our house, through the main hall and to the back. I noticed that the door to the fumoir was opened and peered in. Papa was playing cards with three men from town. On the table between them, there was a small pile of money. I count several whole dollars. It was more than I had received in allowances and gifts in my life up to that point. I stared at the pot in my hands and realized what adult games were, and for the first time in my life, felt inadequate. This is what the is showing me. This world is a vast and dangerous place, an eternal playground where powers fight for the resources, lives and souls of its inhabitants, and the more one knows and the deeper they go, and the deadlier the game gets. This is the abyss. The ultimate game. Master and his mother are locked in a millennia-long race for godhood and whoever wins, we may all lose. If Master succeeds, he will Devour her and then, with her no longer stopping his rise to power, he may just take over the world. Who would stop him? Who would even know there was someone to stop? Even the order of Gabriel, so effective against our kind, may not have a way to slay him for good. Even if they managed it, the devastation could be unheard of. If she wins, who knows what she may do with her magic? Would she change the fabric of reality until we match Sinead¡¯s land in fluidity, then announce herself as its sovereign? This is what truly is at stake, and what I have been shown. I do not know why. Compared to those old monsters, I am but a flea. Those two decades spent consolidating power and training are but a drop in the ocean that separates us. Why are you showing me this, Watcher? Will you also show the games of kings to a beggar? Do you not know that the nail that stands out gets hammered down? I can¡¯t get involved in this. Even if the world should burn because of everyone¡¯s indifference, I will not be the one to save it anyway. I am too weak. Semiramis does not mind the silence, so I raise my eyes and glance once more into the curious one. Is this what you want? To give me perspective? It does not answer, I only get the general sense of contentment he shares since I gave him the Key. I need to remember that the is barely sapient by our standards. There might be no reason at all. There might be a reason, but he might not understand the circumstances. A toddler could gather all its pet ants in a single spot without realizing that they are in the middle of a fight to the death. I need to get out of here in one piece and at the very least be legally alive. World ending threats will have to wait. Sorry! It appears that Semiramis is ambivalent. On one hand, she assures me that human Ariane is dead, on the other hand she calls Nirari her son. I find myself sharing her feelings in this matter. I still cannot accept that I am not her, at least not fully. I don¡¯t want to think about this right now. I decide to continue talking with her. For one moment, I feel anger bubbling inside me. What does she want me to say? That he does not bind his victims so that they always feel like they can struggle and escape? Before I can say anything else, the cold nature of my mind reasserts itself as fury is replaced by calculations. It is a testament to my distress that the idea of having no soul can torment me for so long. she answers guardedly. This time, her surprise shows. Is it because of exhaustion or because she feels safe now that our bargain is struck, I do not know, but her expressions feel more natural. With an amused smirk, she points at a corner of the room where a small stand holds supplies. I do not remark that there was nothing there a moment ago. I just stand up, pick the provided tools and start working on different views and expressions of her. While I do so, I relate what I saw of him in the vampire fortress, then in dreams. She does not comment, only asks questions, then starts mentioning anecdotes of her life as a teenager an eternity ago. Semiramis is a smooth teller and her stories are extraordinary. Her tales speak of vengeance and plans within plans. After a while, they all blur together as I draw her smiling, defiant, menacing or nonchalant. I expand to drawing her full body, then details until the task absorbs me completely. In this simple occupation, I finally find the peace that I had previously failed to achieve. Soon, dawn approaches and the queen walks me to guest quarters that I am quite sure were not there when I arrived. As she turns around to return to her spell, I come to a great realization that soothes my heart. Semiramis may be more skilled, wise, and powerful than me. Her beauty might be legend and her grace unmatched, but no matter what, and for all of eternity, I will always have the better ass. Chapter 59: Omen of the end. This night, I wake up to a strange ceiling. Vampire minds are instantly clear and I am spared the instinctive panic of one who comes to, in an unexpected place. Instead, I decide to take stock.The guest quarters are a set of two rooms and a bath, all in beige rocks, silk and goose feathers. The mix of both spartan and luxurious is peculiar, and I suppose this should be close to Persian aesthetics, though I could be wrong. There is even a basket of fruits, mundane ones this time. The antechamber doubles as a social space and its emptiness turns it from welcoming to ominous. There is not even a lamp right now. I take a deep breath to settle myself. Yesterday was taxing. I don¡¯t really care about the incredible revelations I heard, although now I have further questions. It was taxing because I realized what I really am. Not some cursed human, but a new entity built from a corpse and the essence of an alien being. I find that hard to digest. I feel degraded. More importantly, I feel like I lied to myself... and to Ariane¡¯s father. Or is it Papa? I have not decided yet. He helped and protected me after I escaped from the Lancaster arena. He gave me the Talleyrand rifle. He kept in touch via letters until I left for Marquette, then I had Isaac notify him that I had to go into hiding. I want to believe that he really cared, and so did I. We were there for each other when it counted. That was not a lie. And yet¡­ Bah, enough of this. I will not get my mind off this loop any time soon and I already told myself I had to get away from here first. I should go see my host, after all, midnight is close with summer nights only lasting a bit over nine hours. I sniff my skin. Vampires don¡¯t exactly smell bad, but we do have a scent and I have it now. I must now face a decision. Do I take the time to clean myself up or do I ask questions to the incredibly knowledgeable three millennia old archmage who created our race? Let me just brush my hair. Two minutes later, I emerge from the labyrinth of corridors and alleys onto the circle where Queen Semiramis waits. It appears that the facility is considerably larger than what this mound should be able to contain, which I would find stupefying any other day. Now, a giant walking broomstick could walk out of the ground to launder my dress and I would not even bat an eye. It has been that kind of week. Like yesterday, she sits at the table with a pot of mysterious tea, clad in toga the color of sand that manages to show her generous figure without being vulgar. In the background, the enthralled people are still dancing around, looking worse for wear. They now move with manic passion and those who stumble out collapse immediately. The queen looks exhausted. Dark pockets line her eyes and her face is tight. She blinks in a way that speaks of headache as soon as she sees me. If it were me, I would look like death warmed over. The queen, though, looks delicate and vulnerable. She is a tender rose that needs to be protected, never mind the thorns. And she does it so effortlessly too. She snorts and by that I mean, she pushes air through her regal nose in a way that makes me feel that I am intimate with a great personage. Her alto voice is rougher than yesterday and it has a bite. I almost smile at the offhand compliment. She has the devil¡¯s silver tongue, truly, and I am more than happy to oblige. I also need distraction. It is growing now, more and more. The Thirst. It has been three days. For a moment I consider asking for her essence but I reconsider. She knows what our bloodline is capable of and if I ask, she may consider me a threat. Or rude. Not much difference as far as her family is concerned. I would rather have answers to some pressing questions, even if the first one is still risky. Once more she looks like a teacher who finds her student amusing. This time she looks pleased. She nods in approval. Again, without paying attention, she referred to my human self as me. I decide to let it go for now. I remember Belinda and realize that she may have been slightly older than I thought. Not that it matters now. More than fourteen bloodlines?! So much to DEVOUR. Alright, calm down. Answers, focus on answers. Let¡¯s start chronologically. I remember that Master used his unplanned shipwreck to nap at the bottom of the Atlantic, proof that he is not immune. Huh. Nami already mentioned it, I think. That does not suprise me coming from those madmen. Moving on. Her face scrunches in mild disapproval, the most intense emotion she has displayed so far tonight. Entertainment, probably. Semiramis raises her eyes in exasperation. Never mind the Natalis, apparently it is the quiet and peaceful defenders of knowledge who have drawn her ire. I witness the explosion of temper with some trepidation. A sore spot, it seems. Either Isaac¡¯s progenitor is incredibly annoying, or Semiramis¡¯ control is slipping. Better distract her. she answers impatiently, What? The queen frowns, perhaps trying to decide if I insulted her or not. I really need to keep her talking. She inclines her head by a fraction, probably to show that she was not duped by my feeble attempt at distracting her. She still obliges. One of the knight squad members was an Amaretta then. Ogotai was an Erenwald! I need to check if I can approach animals again. In front of me, Semiramis chuckles with such a demeaning air that I feel like a child. I had felt hope for a moment here. So nice of her to squash it before it can grow. Yes, so nice. S?a??h the ??v?lF?re.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. Without further ado, she stands up and I mimic her out of politeness, only to realize that I am standing outside of the circle. I note in passing that space really isn¡¯t behaving around here but soon all other thoughts disappear in the background before the incredible show. I have my back to the entrance, and to my front and left, the overhang dips down to reveal the vale where her thralls are dancing. As I watch, the few tired dancers suddenly burst into motion, soon joined by frenetic companions. Concentric circles of men and women in mismatched clothes move with insane fervor, their clear exhaustion a sharp contrast with garish clothes and orgasmic faces. The mad waltz grows to a crescendo and from here I can see the sickly skin tones and the poisonous pleasure they have fallen prey to as they twist and jump beyond what their weakened frames can bear. She is killing them. The impact of their feet on the soil echoes with their heartbeats in a hypnotic music that makes me want to join them and drain them in equal measure. They scream in joy as the life is torn from their bodies, pooling visibly in the circle under their tormentor until the construct glows a vivid indigo. I have no idea how powerful a spell must be so that its fuel is visible with the naked eye, and then I find out. The mortals outside scream all at once and Semiramis drops the barrier separating her glyph from the world. Reality sobs. My mind blanks completely. Something incredible pulses once, as if the planet itself had a heart. I am physically compressed by the power unleashed and for one moment, I believe I¡¯m going to die. When I can think again, I need to take a few steps back. A double helix of pure power emerges from the ground to the sky above in great waves. The noise is deafening, and the heat and aura emanating from the woven strands force me to grit my teeth. Dark blood drips from my nose, eyes and ears but I cannot look away from the incredible scene. The queen herself floats above the ground with her arms spread wide. She speaks and I scream. We all scream. Her voice burns my mind with images of stabilized pathways and aligned spheres, concepts I cannot comprehend. Only my inability to comply saves my spirit from total destruction. Her command lasts for but a few instants, or for an eternity, I cannot tell. After she is done, colors bleed into each other like spilled dye until the spell overhead explodes. Another pulse bends the word again, in the other direction. I cannot see. I press my hands to my ears but I cannot feel. Even my instincts are silent. Darkness. I am in darkness. All my senses are gone. Am I¡­ dead? I reach into my mental fortress and find the comforting surroundings of the master bedroom intact. Not dead then, probably. I return to reality to find that I can finally see. Technically, I only see shapes but at least there is some progress. As my view improves, my ears pop and now I can hear a high pitch whistle. After that I feel stone under me. It takes a few more seconds before I cough a gobbet of blood and pass a shaky hand before my face to clear out the dark blood covering it. I can see now. Semiramis is on her knees, in the middle of her circle now black and charred beyond recognition. She looks drained, weak, but there is a smile of triumph on her face as she looks in front of her. BARGAIN COMPLETED, KILL. I held until the spell was done, as promised. If I were to strike her now¡­ Before I can decide anything, I find myself riveted by yet another display of impossibility. The construct was cast, yes, but its result is only now showing itself, and what a result it is. In the heart of the vale, human forms are strewn around like broken puppets. Some of them move weakly while a majority are clearly dead. At the center of the first circle of now deceased dancers, the world is broken. It is as if someone had brought a knife to a painting. In the background, we are still in Illinois. In the foreground, like seen through cracks in an opaque window, an endless desert of gray and pink stone spreads as far as the eye can see. Jagged spikes emerge from the ground under a sky of dusty blue while pale lichen clings to life under some round rocks. The sun bleeds an angry red, casting strange shadows on our side¡¯s grass. For a second, I fear I would disintegrate under the waning light but nothing happens. The foreign star¡¯s rays leave my flesh alone. Fascinated by this glimpse of another world, I almost miss the patter of heavy appendages on sandy ground and so I am surprised when something comes into view. There is life there, and it is terrifying. A herd of strange creatures trots forward from behind a larger shard of stone. A colder part of me reflects that they probably belong to the same species but with different purposes, like ants perhaps, or wasps. The vampire side reflects that those are clearly predators, COMPETITION, while the purely Ariane part can only think one thing. What in the seven circles of hell is that unholy pile of abomination? What sick god gave birth to those horrors? There are three types of beings. The first is the smallest and more numerous. They hover above their kin like a malevolent swarm. Dragonfly wings bat the air with a sinister hum, with two atrophied limbs tugged under a red lean body as large as a raccoon. Two more limbs ending in sharp claws encircle a triangular head with a smattering of eyes. They dart back and forth looking for the Watcher knows what. The second kind is clearly made of outriders. I spot about two dozen of them the size of small poneys, with six limbs ending in talons. They are as red as their brethren, but their face has only two eyes and a pair of pincers. And above them all dominates a horror I never thought could exist. The beast is as large as a small barn. Its six massive limbs support a body with a larger back end disturbingly insectoid in nature, while its face simply does not exist. Instead, the creature sports a set of tentacles equipped with bony protrusions facing inward. Whoever gets caught by this is not getting out, I believe. It turns towards me and samples the air with a long pink tongue. Its mouth is like a gate into the abyss. There is a sound like broken bones being set back and one of the breaks in reality snaps close. Besides a quickly fading blur, it is as if there had never been anything. The bigger thing sniffs the air once more then bellows. The sound is absolutely atrocious. The closest analogy I can find is a mix between shredding steel, a bobcat being skinned alive and a woman giving birth. I shudder in disgust. And to think I had to go to a hellish landscape to find a serious contender to the squeals of flaming pigs as the worst sound ever made. The abominable creature moves closer to the breach, surrounded by its unholy brood. I fight my body to force myself to move. I manage to close two fists and lift my chest off the ground but my legs are still unresponsive and I am growing Thirsty. Come one, get up. It passes its maw through the breach and samples the air again. The swarm around it grows agitated. Please no. The breach is too small for it, right? Right? One more break snaps back to normal and the warning spurs the monster forward. The others follow it through the break as it gingerly tests the grass with a hesitant stumpy leg. When nothing occurs, it gurgles and its followers fall on the defenseless mages in an orgy of blood and violence. The few surviving men and women can do nothing but slowly crawl away as fliers and outriders slaughter and devour them alive. In the middle of the grisly melee, the larger creature grabs corpse after corpse and makes them disappear in the abyss of its gullet with a horrific gurgle. A regal voice distracts me, easily covering the sounds of the feast. She sounds conversational, as if we were two ladies attending an event. Those who allowed her to come this far are being devoured as they still draw breath and she does not care in the slightest. They were just tools for her, and she sacrificed them without hesitation. Not even cattle would receive this treatment. I am a vampire. I have little sympathy for most mortals but tonight she is the real monster. There is not a trace of empathy in the woman before me and even if her heart still beats, it is cold. continues the queen, She stares down at me with a triumphant smirk. I do not even contemplate going after her now that she has nothing else to focus on. Even in her exhausted state she could surely turn me inside out with a flick of her finger. Wait, what does she mean I should hurry? I am no mage. Unless¡­ The safe house is only an hour away from here, at a slow pace, surely they would not¡­ The biggest creature samples the air and its revolting snout turns West. Ah, please no. With one last grunt the thing goes forth, followed by its menagerie. The swarm of fliers spreads out. Merritt. All my followers¡­ No, I won¡¯t let them die. I stand up, turn to Semiramis¡¯ amused figure and bow politely one last time. I turn around and run, past the studies and the private apartments, past the bedrooms and laboratory. During this, I hear the chime-like chuckle of the immortal queen, glacial and merciless. There are no unexpected space shenanigans and I find myself outside in record time, I whistle for Metis and she rides past as I grab for her. Hold on, she was waiting outside all this time¡­ Poor thing, I hope she did not suffer from deprivation too much¡­ A flash of pink attracts my gaze and I realize that the galloping equine is casually munching on somebody¡¯s hairy forearm. Ah well, she can take care of herself. Now that I am outside of the cave, I realize that Merritt set up a beacon and is probably looking for me. Such brazen display of magic is unusual, especially because she must have sensed the spell. It is not like her to be so careless¡­ I hope I am not too late. I angle Metis parallel to the path of the horrid creature and its nightmarish brood, leaving it to my right, and we soon gain on them. The Merghol creatures do not appear to be that fast, perhaps they make up for it in stamina¡­ And I spoke too fast. An outrider jumps from an overhang to block the narrow valley we find ourselves in. The fliers to spot and harry. The outriders to catch and corner. The behemoth to crush resistance. They are truly well designed, and this is before I know of whatever tool they have against magic. I spur Metis forward. Not with actual spurs mind you, I am not suicidal. The proud warhorse sprints forward with a defiant neigh and I grab my spear from my saddle. When we are but half a second away from the ready beast, another one jumps at us from above. I stab up and push into its body then angle the shaft to the left, using its own momentum to smash it against a rock. It yelps in pain and rage. I remove the spear with a gush of red ichor, aiming forward, for nothing. Metis snorts and as the other hunter jumps at her, she lifts herself on her hind legs and smashes down. I hear broken bones and screeches of pain, then silence as we leave its mangled form behind. She barely slowed at all. ¡°Well done!¡± I say, and pat her neck. Unfortunately, our triumph is short lived. More howls sound from behind us and the first fliers catch up easily. They hover around us, diving in on occasion to try to harry her flank. I pierce the first creature in the head and find it surprisingly hard. Hits to the body fair better. As their number increases, I switch to just damaging the wings to disable them instead of killing them outright. After half a dozen fall, the rest move to a safer distance but they do not leave. I now regret bringing nothing but the spear, and I have no way to warn Merritt and the others¡­ Time will be short. Metis and I soon overtake the small horde which we still hear behind our back. We tread through narrow valleys and escarpments at breakneck speed, leaving clouds of dust and broken needles in our path. I would be completely lost were it not for the beacon. I do not understand how Metis always finds the easiest path forward either, but I count myself lucky. Our window will be short. The safe house is located on top a forested hill, hidden from view by a dense patch of pines. It is a simple one-story edifice of logs half-buried into the ground. Stores of powder and weapon racks would allow defenders to repel a vigorous assault, and a small cellar acts as a last ditch protection against this place¡¯s most obvious weakness: fire. The problem here is that camouflage remains the most serious defense of this place, and this protection was thrown to the winds the moment Merritt announced her presence to anyone with a hint of magic. I slow down Metis to a trot as we make our way to the ring of tall pines and whistle when I come in view of the inner clearing. I cut my signal short out of surprise. In a single day, the unassuming bunker was turned into a defensible position by the apparent determination of Merritt¡¯s group. A full barricade of sharp spikes surrounds the structure and from here I can see the tip of hats and bayonets. Torches on sconces light the entire perimeter, giving even mortals a clear visibility. ¡°It¡¯s her!¡± yells a familiar voice. I approach and realize that quite a group has assembled here. My usual odd squad foot soldiers number around ten now, and they have joined with Merritt, John, and Nami. This is all well and good but we cannot stay here. ¡°Gather up, we¡¯re leaving. There are monsters coming and they are after mages. Merritt, hop on your horse we will need to drive them away from the main group then break off.¡± ¡°What monsters are we talking about exactly?¡± asks Nami with a frustrated voice. ¡°They¡¯re called mana hounds but I don¡¯t know what they can do. No one has faced them on earth yet.¡± ¡°What did you just say?¡± she answers with surprise. ¡°It¡¯s a long story, and¡­¡± ¡°Are you sure nobody has faced one before?¡± she asks with a widening, insane smile, ¡°No one ever? We would be the first?¡± Oh. Oh no. Chapter 60: Big Game Hunting All the remaining mortals, a dozen people including Meritt, gather around us to witness our untimely argument. I frown at Nami¡¯s display. Our arrangement is clear, she may be my elder and a Master but as long as the year of service is not ended, I remain in charge. This has worked so far in part due to my lax approach to ¡®service¡¯ and our friendly relationship. That is why I did not expect insubordination from her, not at this time. I hiss softly, baring my fangs to her alone.¡°You said those monsters hunted mages?¡± asks Merritt with a hint of worry. I turn my attention away from Nami who only seems amused by my display. I¡¯ll show her¡­ later. Focus, Ari. Ignore the THIRST. ¡°Yes. Do not use spells. You will be fine, we will ride on Metis and¡­¡± ¡°What happens if I do run? Will they stop at some point? Before sunrise? If they lose us will they go for the nearest mage after me?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know¡­ If you run¡­¡± ¡°What if they go after my kids?¡± Ah. Yes, her children. They already have an aura, even though they cannot use it yet. Merritt realizes that I know very little about the beasts when I do not reply. ¡°What if they rampage through the countryside unchecked? Can they reproduce?¡± David King, whom I bought and released and who joined the squad comes forth as well. ¡°Miss Lethe, we know you and Naminata try to purge the world from evil despite your curse. We will help you on this and, God willing, we will end this scourge before it can cause harm to the population.¡± The other members of the squad nod in approval, white, black and native united in purpose around God apparently. When did that happen? Did I create a new order of Gabriel? An order of Ariane, so to speak? In the background, John¡¯s simple smile is unerring. If I say we leave, he is the only one who will obey without complaint. Mistaking my intention, he frowns in an attempt to show he is serious. The ghastly result could send a prison warden running. ¡°I shoot for you miss Lethe!¡± he adds while waving around the heavily modified wolf slayer. The ominous crossbow looks like a normal-sized weapon in his hands, meaning it would be otherwise mounted as a fixed piece of artillery on some castle wall. I sigh in resignation. I have been outvoted. Me, the supposed vampire master of Marquette. Ah well. I pat Metis, dismount and jump over the barricade and pass between the group to the armoury below, adding as I go: ¡°Fair enough then, I¡¯ll get changed, keep your eyes peeled for flying horrors and breaking trees.¡± I rush into the main room currently covered in sleeping bags and personal effects, to a corner where my own gear lays. I change into my most heavily armoured gown, with an enchanted heart protector and add a knife belt, two pistols, and a long dagger made after Jimena¡¯s gift but without the enchantments. I also pick up my spear, my rifle, and a mining powder charge which I place in a bag at my back. A knock on the door makes me look up just as I am done loading and priming the last firearm. ¡°Come in.¡± John enters and closes the door behind him with measured movements, just as I told him to do after he broke too many pieces of furniture back in the Dream. He looks at me with shyness so I ask. ¡°What is it, John?¡± ¡°Miz Nami said you were too thirsty. She said you need a bit of blood. I want to help.¡± I consider. They are both right, of course, but I have always considered John to be in the list of people I would not drink from. According to my own set of rules, I cannot take the blood from people I am currently cooperating with, supplicants before the deal and children. I hesitate. Is an offering the same? ¡°Miz Nami said if you say no, if you are hurt later then you will lose control and take blood anyway. She says you have a choice now, but you won¡¯t later.¡± That is fairly accurate, and yet¡­ ¡°I say, why you don¡¯t want my blood? Is my blood bad because I¡¯m dumb?¡± ¡°What? No, no that¡¯s not true at all.¡± Somehow, I find the big oaf endearing. I do not want a follower to suffer needlessly. He is mine. ¡°Then take blood and help protect Marquette. I help too. I will always help.¡± I sigh and smile softly, disarmed by his helpless look. Denying him would feel like kicking the world¡¯s ugliest puppy. ¡°Alright John, you win.¡± The man extends his wrist and I realize that there is a small logistical issue with feeding this time. His wrists are as big as my leg. Five minutes and a painful jaw later, I come out of the cabin fed, armed and feeling like a brand new woman. The troop gathers around me, covered in weapons and primed for bloodshed. I feel a bit of pride at the sight. They are here because of what I built over the past two decades. Time for a plan, and as those things go, easier is usually better when we have so little time to prepare. ¡°Alright listen up. Those are magic-hunting creatures so Merritt, don¡¯t throw magic at them, keep the beacon going until they find us then switch to guns. Now, there are three kinds of monsters. The first is small, flying ones, don¡¯t shoot them unless you¡¯re sure of your shot. Let Nami and me handle them, and if they attack you stab them in the chest, not the head. The next is big hound-like creatures the size of small ponies. Those are your priority, use everything you can to stop them from overwhelming us. Finally, the pack is led by a huge creature the size of a small barn, do not get close to its tentacle mouth and let Nami and I handle the close-quarter fighting. That is all. You two get inside and grab all the muskets we have and load them. The rest, take your positions and good luck, everyone.¡± I turn around and take position at the tip of the barricade line. Behind me, mutters erupt in the group. ¡°Tentacle mouth? Did I hear that right?¡± Welcome to the party lads. A few seconds later I turn around when Nami leans on the earthwork besides me. Naminata nods knowingly, trying to act mature. It is laughable though I appreciate the effort. I sputter. How did this conversation start anyway? I have never felt so out of control in two decades. We remain silent for a few moments after that, but Nami is not done. We continue our friendly banter for a moment and I find that I bet twenty dollars with her that I would fell their alpha. In a few minutes though, the drone of fliers interrupts us. ¡°Merritt, drop the beacon and help us reload. All of you hold fire,¡± I yell as I take one of the five muskets King dropped by my side. Soon enough, the first scout enters the halo of torchlight surrounding our camp. Aim, shoot, switch musket. The first creature falls into the trees with its sternum turned into a smoking mess. Aim, shoot, switch musket. Merritt is by my side reloading with mechanical precision. Fearless, this one. Aim, shoot, switch musket. Nami takes a shot as well and gets one in the wings. Should have spent more time at the firing range, though I suppose I should be grateful she learnt at all. S?a??h th? ?0velF?re.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. Aim, shoot, switch musket. By then, several fliers are zipping around us and the baying of hounds grows closer. Nami switches to her pistol and takes down one creature that had drifted a bit too close. Aim, shoot, switch to the Talleyrand rifle. The first hound steps into the light and howls with a nightmarish sound. ¡°Hold!¡± I scream, though the gasps of fear and surprise suggest they would have hesitated. Aim, shoot, switch to a pistol. Two other hounds join the first one. ¡°Fire at will!¡± The crack of muskets and clouds of spent powder fill the air. Two of the hounds fall immediately, pierced by numerous bullets. The odd squad is well trained and at this distance, they won¡¯t miss. The third one yelps but still charges forward. Four other hounds enter the fray as we switch weapons and shoot as fast as possible. I empty my remaining pistol into a flier and send knife after knife into glittering wings. All the remaining scouts descend upon us just as the first outrider jumps over the barricade. Nami is already there. She stabs up and into its brain with her spear, before throwing the twitching corpse on the ground. Her war cry rouses the rest of us and we throw ourselves at the creatures with fury. The thrill of battle takes me and I rush into the melee. Screams of pain from humans and beasts merge into a glorious din. FIGHT WITH THE SENTINELS. LEAD THEM TO CARNAGE. I dance from group to group, slicing necks and appendages with my dagger to help and save wherever I can, while Nami focuses on taking out the hounds in innovative and exotic ways. Despite my efforts, one of my men is already bleeding out from a missing throat and one of the Creek is holding his scratched face and bleeding eye. FASTER. The Thirst returns as I force myself to move in long sequences. The last scout falls to the ground and I turn to see a hound savage a bearded man on the ground as the hermit stabs it repeatedly. I grab the creature¡¯s maw and force it open. It yelps first in surprise, then in pain as I break its jaw. SAVAGE? YOU DO NOT KNOW SAVAGERY. I WILL SHOW YOU. I claw its eyes off and stab into its brain. DIE. Then I dodge a flying piece of wood. The brood leader is here. It crashed against the barricade, sending debris and a few men sprawling including poor Merritt. Do those things know no fear? A slick barbed tongue shoots out and encircles King who screams in pain. I move and slice the filthy appendage. THIS MORTAL IS MINE TO DEVOUR IF I WISH. I will not share with you, stupid INVADER. KILL IT. I move to the side and hack and slash into the dense epidermis. The creature roars in pain and flays around with its many tentacles. I step aside. Then it pushes itself away from the barricade, great bloody gashes spurt blood from its chest as it turns around and flees. Oh no you don¡¯t! ¡°Metis!¡± I roar in delight. The charger gallops from the treeline and I jump on her when she goes by. The behemoth crushes its way through trees with surprising deftness. USELESS. We ride after it. Nami is rushing as well, I will NOT LOSE. TROPHY. We gallop after it, following the path of devastation it left behind. Stumps and splintered trunks litter the ground, and great tracks were raked through the undergrowth. A blind man could follow this. In no time I catch the creature. Metis weaves through pines and rocks in the wooded valley, over ridges and down narrow paths full of pebbles and vegetation with a supernaturally sure foot. At the same time, I harry the creature¡¯s flanks but the spear now works against me. Its reach is long but it has two prongs used to keep boars away, or in this case house-sized tentacular abominations. It also prevents me from stabbing deep enough to inflict critical damage now. I dare not move on top of it in case I fail to cause a mortal wound and get hurt as a result. Nami does not share my concerns. As we reach a clearing, she jumps on the hound¡¯s back and runs to its head before stabbing down where the brain is supposed to be. Her own pike digs at least halfway through the creature. Nami¡¯s triumphant expression turns dismayed when the behemoth screeches to a halt and smashes the shaft with a slimy appendage. I smile and take my own secret weapon from the bag on my back. Why bother precision when you can blow everything up? Those are the words I live by. I light the powder charge¡¯s fuse and jump off Metis¡¯ back, right in front of the brood leader¡¯s maw. ¡°Hey, ya ugly bastard!¡± I scream, channeling my inner Loth. It extends its tentacles and for one precious instant, its gaping maw is uncovered. My timing is impeccable and the sparkling herald of military engineering disappears in the creature¡¯s gullet. You¡¯re dead now, PREY. I dance away from the reaching appendages and turn my back to it, crossing glance with a stunned Nami. The charge explodes. With one last whine, the creature falls. I WIN. With class and pyrotechnics, as it should be. I smile smugly and address the loser of tonight¡¯s competition. ¡°Hah, The creature spasms and projectile-vomits a disgusting soup of saliva, blood, bile and half-digested body parts that covers me completely. For one precious second, the valley is perfectly silent, then it begins. It starts with a long drawn out yelp of incredulity then chuckles that quickly turn into a full belly laugh. Naminata runs out of breath and needs long, winded respirations to keep cackling her ass off while I sigh in defeat and remove gnawed fingers from my hair. Metis snorts, bends down to pick up a severed tentacle and trots off into the night. Traitor. , she manages to say between hiccups of hilarity, ¡° dollars .¡± I find myself smiling at the absurdity of it all. Here I am, ankles deep in eldritch gastric fluid wondering what it means to have no soul while my friend is mocking me, and my horse just fled with a snack. I raise my gaze to the and feel the same tacit approval and comforting presence as before. I have been through a lot of unfair things, and I will certainly face even more desperate battles in the future, and that is fine. It should not prevent me from smiling now. Nami interrupts my musings. Nevermind. Someone please just stab me in the heart. Chapter 61: Before the Storm September 4th 1833, Marquette.I awake in the darkness. As usual. I slide the sarcophagus¡¯ lid open and make a note to oil the hinges. The blasted thing already looks too much like a coffin, no need to have it creak ominously. The secured room I am in is bare, except for a survival bag, a dagger, and a single lantern. I light it and let its yellow glare shed light on the bricks around me. This is my haven. It only has two exits. One of them leads to a side street and cannot be opened from the outside, while the other leads to my bedroom¡¯s hearth back inside the Dream via a small vertical shaft. I follow it and unlock the passage, checking for heartbeats. I detect no mortal though Nami¡¯s polite aura warns me of her presence. My bedroom is almost cluttered with prizes and mementos now, so much that I had to send a few paintings to storage. I have portraits of Sinead and his bride hidden away for safety reasons, as well as a few sketches of the Queen I made from memory. I wouldn¡¯t want anybody to see those. Portraits of others are displayed openly, and in the center is a special gift for Loth which I will finish soon. Nami already picked her favorite rendition of herself, a nude unsurprisingly. She is beautiful in a lithe and dangerous way, and painting her would have been a real pleasure if it were not for her constant teasing. The muse herself is currently looking out to the many roofs of Marquette. She wears a simple white shift that leaves her shoulder bare. The muscles there and on her back are toned and give her a fierce touch, like those Amazons I read about. Tonight, she is in an unusually contemplative mood and I join her in silence. She smells of vampire and fresh sex and I notice that her hair is mussed. Ah. I nod in silence, marking my understanding. She is a wanderer at heart, and I am even surprised that she stayed here for so long. She hugs me and I awkwardly pat her back. I am not very tactile to start with, not anymore, and the feeling of her erect nipples against my own chest is a bit, well, too intimate. We exchange a few more sentences, mostly me making sure that she has everything she needs before she leaves. There are no emotional farewells like when I left Loth behind. We do not have that kind of relationship. After I see her off from the Dream¡¯s inner court with John by my side, one of the girls comes to me with a message, a terse note by Merritt¡¯s hand requiring my presence at the living quarters. On my way there, I come across a detachment of the Home Guard back from practice. The Home Guard is one of my ideas though perhaps not one of the best. Following the Black Hawk war, increasing concern over security has led a group of local women to form a defense committee with the explicit purpose of arming and training themselves. It was made clear that they would never form an actual militia or be deployed, but only be able to defend themselves against roving bands of marauders, hence the name Home Guard. The initiative was mostly ridiculed by Marquette¡¯s gentry and male citizenry until they called for my support. I knew that getting approval from the local council would be a near-impossible task, so I just purchased even more arms from the East and organized the whole thing in a discreet and efficient manner. There were only two dozen of them, and I was glad to share my love of ballistics. What was the harm? That was a mistake. After the first few training sessions, the local female gentry marched to the field and lodged a formal complaint about the trainees¡¯ behavior, mentioning it was not ¡®proper¡¯ and that any sort of warfare was under the dominion of men. The wives of Marquette¡¯s mining population came to show their support of the Guard and shared with the intruders their opinion of ¡®propriety¡¯ and in which exact part of their anatomy the malcontents could shove it. Followed a proper exchange of imprecations and threats that culminated with the intervention of old Marta Hartford, the spouse of a local caravan lead. An otherwise calm and composed woman, she had apparently had enough and unleashed the full might of her expansive insult arsenal. After a good ten minutes and a maelstrom of curses questioning the interrupting party¡¯s beauty, wit, general hygiene, intimate hygiene, sexual preferences, weight, height, ancestry, eating habits, marital status and even species, the poor newcomers had left red-eared and mortified. S~?a??h the N0v?lFire(.)n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. I noticed that the male population had wisely decided to lay low until the whole thing blew over, proof that frontiersmen¡¯s survival instincts are top-notch and their down to earth wisdom, unequalled. By that time, it was too late to withdraw my support as the issue had crystallized passions. This initiative undid hours of networking effort by Merritt with our more uptight citizens, and she still mentions it three months later. I don¡¯t believe those old goats would have been of use to us anyway. Who in their right mind would refuse to fire a musket? It is such a relaxing occupation. As for the Home Guard itself, their ranks have swelled to a hundred and they are quite motivated. They have become fairly accurate with practice, with most sessions ending in improvised tea parties where they mingle and gossip despite their differences in social status. It¡¯s not so bad, really. I only wish Sybil Stenton would stop cackling every time she hits the target¡¯s genitals. It is slightly disturbing. Especially because she is such a crack shot. I leave the patrol behind and decide that since I am departing so soon, any major blunder I make now should only be seen as an experiment. They are not even that major anyway. Soon, I reach the mansion used as living quarters for part of my employees. With a recent increase in business, I also used some of the lands next to the ¡°coloured¡± quarter to expand. As a result, the place is much less crowded and only a few families now occupy it. I get in through the main entrance and into the common room. Irma the housekeeper rears her ugly head through the kitchen door but recognizing me, nods soberly and returns to her business, which should be meat pies if my nose is any indicator. I climb up the step to the master bedroom and politely knock. A red-haired hurricane blows through and out, leaving me with a pile of documents, pamphlets and a childish drawing of what I assume is a cow. ¡°Gottagokeepaneyeonthekidsthanks!¡± it proclaims in passing. I feel like life is moving on and leaving me behind. Is this what older vampires experience? I shake my head and walk in to see Ollie scrubbing spilt green paint from the floor with his shirt while Lynn is crying hysterically in a corner, holding a drawing covered in, incidentally, green paint. The culprit, an emptied pot of respectable size, has rolled under their bed leaving its blood all over the wooden floor. I did not sign up for this. I signed up for mastery over mortal hordes, overseeing my numerous minions from atop a throne with the skulls of my enemies on the side and a handsome, virile man with a Claymore beheading those who disrespect me and don¡¯t cover their nose when they sneeze. The man would be half-naked too. Playing nanny was not part of the deal, at any point. Maybe I should just impress them? I hiss softly. ¡°Aunt Ari, I spilt the paint¡­¡± says Ollie on the edge of tears as soon as he lifts his eyes. CUB. I sigh and consider just jumping out the window and running very fast. ¡°I see that Ollie, it¡¯s not too bad. First, we¡¯ll get you and your sister cleaned up then we will see about the room. Yes? John, tell Irma we have an emergency, please. Now, where is the bathroom? Go wash while I comfort your sister.¡± Five minutes later, I ambush my supposed ally as she sneaks back in from the garden entrance. ¡°Alexandria Winston Pyke-Merritt.¡± The mage winces visibly under the ominous declamation of her full name. I step from the shadows and cross my arms. Her answer is rushed and just a bit panicky. ¡°So sorry Ariane, I really had no choice. The warehouse was about to close, and I had to get that shipment of beer¡­¡± ¡°And the fact that your bedroom was looking like a warzone, screaming victims included was just a coincidence hmm?¡± ¡°Sooorry. Hrm, did Irma say anything?¡± ¡°She expects you in the kitchen.¡± ¡°Ah. When?¡± ¡°Now.¡± Another wince. Irma can indeed give an earful and under her roof, she is the queen. Merritt resolves herself to her fate, but not before delivering a parting shot. ¡°Oh, nothing new except for one thing. Mr Pruitt is retiring from the tannery business and he wanted you to meet his son. I told him you would be over there tonight.¡± Ah, the treacherous knave. I grab her metaphorical arrow before it can bury itself too deep in my bosom and return it, plus interests. ¡°I will go then, oh, by the way, Lynn asked me for a trumpet for her twelfth birthday and I promised her one if she behaved. I will have it delivered before the end of the month.¡± I turn away and leave, hiding my smirk as a desperate voice falls on my uncaring ears. ¡°A trumpet? Ariane? That was a joke, right? Ariane? I¡¯m sorry! Waaaaait!¡± Serves her right. I walk to the tannery slowly, because I want to reflect and not at all because the entire workshop and its vicinity smells like a skunk mated with a three days dead Wendigo¡¯s armpit. Even if I do not breathe, the insidious stench worms its way through my delicate nostrils and my vampire senses carry it in all its pungent glory to my unwilling mind. I need a distraction and the redhead was kind enough to provide one. When Merritt first came here, she was like a cornered animal and her kids were not much better. Now, she seems much happier. She recently finished teaching tools for when Ollie and Lynn come of age and gain the ability to cast. I feel like she has finally settled. I remember her saying that vampire-held towns were black holes where to stay after dark was to invite death, or worse. I would wager that her opinion has changed now that she is confident enough to leave her children with me. I wonder how others do it. Do typically let citizens know of their existence? Do the members of Eneru rule like immortal aristocrats? I want to know, and soon, I will. Earlier than I hoped, the tannery comes into scent and view. At the outskirts of town and downwind, the small building houses one of Marquette¡¯s less developed, yet still vital industries. I walk into the main building and weave my way through the hanging skins and workstations to the back of the warehouse, where cured leather is stored to be later used in boots, tacks and machinery belts. Goodman Pruitt is bent over a desk, poring over a document while a young man with large droopy eyes stands at attention by his side. It takes a few taps on the old codger¡¯s shoulder from his assistant before he realizes he has a guest. He invites me in, and offers me tea and a conversation. Pruitt is a respectable mortal. He started from nothing and made his fortune through hard work and dedication. He also never even entered the Dream and is still happily married. He apparently decided to retire and to leave his business to his eldest son. The purpose of the meeting is for the two of us to become acquainted. I am the tannery¡¯s second most important customer after the mine consortium, having purchased quite a few cobbler shops where retired girls can find a source of income. It is just one more social call that is a vital part of any business where trust is of utmost importance, and so I carry out my duty with a smile. Staying in touch with mortals is important, they keep us grounded. After half an hour of getting to know each other, I wish the son and his old man their best and invite them to drink at my place sometime, an offer they decline with a blush. Then, I take my leave. I head back to the Dream to take part in our next order of business. Someone came up with the idea of a poker tournament and I approved of it. I already allocated funds for the event but the finer points of organization and security are still to be determined. As I enter through the back door, one of the younger kitchen helpers runs to me to deliver a message. The envelope is thick and heavy, and closed with a wax seal bearing the rune of the Rosenthal. Finally. I knew this would come within the next few days, but I did not dare hope. With what happened last time I tried to reenter vampire society, I was half expecting a last-minute hitch to my plan. Not this time apparently. I have done it. This is all so anticlimactic. I go back to my office and close the door behind me, leaving John outside. This is an important moment. Inside the letter, I find a note and a heavy parchment filled in Akkad, with three magical signatures at the bottom. I unfold it and read with trepidation. I close the parchment and take a deep breath. That¡¯s it, I did it. Under the Accords, no City Master can be considered a rogue and summarily executed. They have to be judged. Constantine may have sold me out for some reason but now he will have to acknowledge that I am not insane or break his own laws, which would spell his end as a ruler. I need but to signal the knights, in this case, Jimena because I am not stupid, and head directly to Boston for trial. I find a protective tube I use to store my paintings and secure the certificate. It is not that vital anyway. The document can be produced again, even if it were lost. The only thing I need to make sure now is to survive. I take the small note and read it. This one is in English. Interesting. I open the door and have Margie send a runner. Twenty minutes later, a knock on the door announces the arrival of the messenger. Sorrel is a stately man in an expensive travel duster. He has a dark beard and deep-set eyes that take everything in the room as he enters. After Margie closes the door behind him, he bows smartly and loses no time. he replies and grabs a leather bag by his side to retrieve a crystal orb with an intriguing aura. The mage focuses and chants in a low voice. I feel a thread going from him to the artefact and then from the artefact to¡­ somewhere. After a moment, smoke swirls in the recess of the sphere before parting to show me a nose. I raise a questioning brow. The nose retreats and I see that it is attached to a young man with caramel skin. He is clean-shaven with soft traits and large brown eyes. His face is crowned by curly brown hair in a small halo, that makes him look more like an artist than an accountant despite his sober attire. ¡°Is this thing working? Hello?¡± Sorrel¡¯s jaw locks fractionally as I hide my amusement. He¡­ is younger than me. This is not just his candidness. His gestures lack the grace and precision that comes with age for us. They feel a bit jerky to my experienced eyes. I realize that this is my first time meeting a younger vampire, though hopefully not the last. I feel strange. I always was the clueless newcomer and now, a youngling has heard of my prowess. I feel flattered. I think I like it. Next time I see Isaac I¡¯m releasing a boar family and a barrelful of firecrackers in his bedroom. I should have killed him when I had a chance. I have been too cautious and must now pay the price for my lack of foresight. Oh well, live and learn. Salim smiles lightly and his entire demeanor becomes lighter. What a change from the usual vampire¡¯s guarded expression. He bows respectfully. ¡± I add with fangs displayed, Chapter 62: Eneru September 22nd, 1833, Marquette.The council room is stunned into silence after hearing my revelations. Ten years ago, I would have been ridiculed for stating those facts in public, in front of a ruling assembly. Now, my reputation lends credence to my words, and the resources at my disposal are second to none within the town. Even the mine consortium cannot match me in terms of military strength and influence. They know I speak the truth. The mayor is the first to recover and passes a nervous hand in his thinning grey hair. ¡°Are you positive about their numbers?¡± ¡°Barring any major desertion, there should indeed be two hundred and fifty fighters at the very least, with a good fifth mounted.¡± ¡°I cannot believe it. Sullivan, what was he thinking?¡± Silence reigns while members eye each other nervously. Holden, the banker and one of Sullivan¡¯s previous supporters, steps forward. I have a good idea about what his argument will be and I need it to be stated and addressed here and now, lest it be mentioned later behind closed doors. We cannot afford dissent. ¡°Gentlemen, we are facing a destructive force but Sullivan himself is a known defender of the faith, if a bit misguided. Our first priority should be to enter into negotiation with them rather than seek bloodshed like savages.¡± The owner of Marquette¡¯s only luxury good store, an old man with a bushy white beard by the name of Dean, grumbles in the background. ¡°You call that misguided?¡± ¡°Please gentlemen, please, do not let fear and anger guide your mind. We are all civilized people here, I am sure that everything can be solved with just enough goodwill.¡± ¡°Easy for you to say,¡± replies the furious old man, ¡°you licked his arse ¡®till it shone like a freshly minted nickel!¡± Oooh, good one. ¡°I am merely asking that we hear his demands and see if an understanding cannot be reached.¡± His eyes bore into mine, or at least try to until he flinches. ¡°The sacrifice of the few to redeem the many is a small price to pay for peace and salvation.¡± Jeers, insults and some cries of approval are exchanged by the participants until the mayor screams. ¡°ENOUGH!¡± That¡­ is the first time I have heard him raise his voice in all those years. ¡°This is pointless. Of course, there will be a discussion, and of course, it will be for nothing.¡± The mayor stands up and walks through the room while we watch in wonder. He is usually such a stickler for protocol that even I find myself eager to see where this will all lead. ¡°I know what kind of man I am. During the seven years of my office, I have served as this city¡¯s most senior public servant. The people have followed my recommendations not because of any sort of authority, but because I always found arrangements that would benefit everyone. I have always pursued concord and compromises in all my dealings. It was my goal to resolve issues in the most peaceful and agreeable way possible between the miners and the merchants, the rich and the poor, the farmers and the caravan hands, for the benefit of all. Oh, I know what they say behind my back. That I am meek and weak. And they are not wrong! I am not the blood of noble warriors and soldiers who carved this land and took it from the grasping hands of the old world like some of you here. I favour peace more than I favour victory, and I will admit it. And it is because of this that I tell you now, there will be no agreement here.¡± By this time we are all drinking his words and the entire room watches, enraptured, as a leader is forged in a time of peril. ¡°Sullivan will not be content to close a bordello and bar a few drinking establishments. Do you believe a man who would forfeit due process and the rule of law so easily would be satisfied by a few concessions? Do any of you honestly think you will still have a voice in this council when he is done? No, I say. No. A man who is shunned and seeks to impose his will on the people not by his virtue or his ideas, but by the strength of his arms, will not stop until the world is broken and twisted to his vision. Sullivan will purge this city until its every responsibility, every position is filled by lackeys and sycophants. Even then, he will track opposition where he believes it may be. And if you ask for proof, ask yourself instead how he managed to rally so many men to his cause. Who backed up his claim with coin and arms? We do not know, but what I do know, Mr. Banker, is that an operation of this magnitude is an investment. And this investor will expect to be paid back. There is no wealth in Marquette but the one we created and own ourselves and mark my words, it will be taken. ¡°No, gentlemen, there will be no arrangement. There is only one word for a man who would impose his rule through strength and subjugation and that word is tyrant. As Jefferson once said, it is the blood of tyrants as well as ours that must from time to time refresh the tree of liberty. That time, gentlemen, is upon us, for I have not worked so hard and sacrificed so much to see my beloved city fall into the hands of a fanatic and a madman. Regardless of your decision tonight, I will fight this man to my last breath and send him and his minions to the depths of hell itself, one bullet at a time if I have to, for Marquette will stay free, no matter the cost.¡± The room is so perfectly quiet you could hear the shadow of a pin drop, then old man Dean bursts from his seat and trumpets. ¡°Bloody well said!¡± Thundering applause turns to a standing ovation. I am quite proud of our little mayor, and when did he even grow a spine? His incisive words shattered the peace party¡¯s fragile unity in under a minute, as even the most cowardly of them succumb to peer pressure. The rest follows with a degree of efficiency I am simply unused to. A town council resolution written in a single hour and voted unanimously? That is simply unheard of. In short order, the council mobilizes the militia and draws defensive lines that are quickly barricaded. The entire city helps with its erection while the mayor enchants the masses with rousing speeches, giving the entire affair an air of festival. I know what is coming and make my own preparations. The Order of Gabriel prefers covert methods, and my old spellcaster enemies are all broken including the Pyke clan. That leaves only one faction aggressive and powerful enough to commandeer an army like one does a wagon. Vampires. September 24th 1833, Marquette A vampire is coming to Marquette. I have Harrigan, my head of security, scout their encampment. Since he already looks like a highwayman he will fit right in, and I make sure to remind him that the Dream will be burnt to the ground if Sullivan wins, and not to get any bright ideas. My henchman confirmed it. An old acquaintance is on his way, and I am eager to receive him with all the respect he deserves. I am not confident that I can defeat him in single combat, but I can stall him long enough for his rabble to disintegrate. Their ragtag band expects to intimidate a hundred militiamen at most. They have no idea about the pyrotechnic devastation I will unleash upon their sorry hides. In preparation for their arrival, I have taken a few additional measures. I expect the fight to extend during the night and my minions, hrm, I mean my troops will need some light to see, so we erected pyres covered with pitch that can be lit easily from afar. I am sure that my own security will fight as I recruited them myself with this possibility in mind. The great question is, will the Home Guard? As I make my way to their training field where they conduct a late practice, I consider that they have trained to take potshots at marauders and cattle thieves, not to hold back a determined force. The warehouses of the Northern District fall away and as I pass the last guarded barricade, I hear the sounds of marching troops and clamours. The Home Guard is drilling in their usual spot but without the usual good humor. I have avoided their meetings so far and only now realize how many of my girls are in their ranks, some of them have not even retired from the Dream yet. Their expressions are grim and determined, though a few flinch when they look at the group of men arrayed at the edge of the grassy expanse. Those spectators wear clothes of varying quality, and the only thing really tying them together is the general sense of anxiety they display. A few of them spot me and a portly old man in a mended suit limps towards me, waving a cane in the air. ¡°It¡¯s your fault, it¡¯s all your fault!¡± he screams in a shrill voice. John stops him casually with a hand to the chest. The man¡¯s anger turns to my bodyguard for a fraction of a second before self-preservation kicks in, and he cautiously steps back. A few others pile on behind him to join their accusations to his. ¡°You and your silly ideas!¡± ¡°Not the role of the fairer sex!¡± ¡°Cease this nonsense forthwith.¡± And so on. I can easily imagine the cause of their anger. The Home Guard would have perhaps disbanded were it not for my support, and though the initiative was not mine, I am an obvious and easy target for their recriminations. I weather their insults with composure and the certitude that a solution will show itself very soon. In fact, it is currently crossing the field with thunder on its brows. A heavyset woman walks around the small assembly and plants her feet before the old man who now looks like a child caught stealing eggs. ¡°Augustus Edmond Schr?dinger Junior!¡± What a mouthful. ¡°My little dove¡­¡± ¡°None of that! You dare shame me before the entire damn town?¡± ¡°The front line is no place for a cutesy darling like you, wife of mine.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t you dare butter me up, do you think I¡¯m stupid? Y¡¯all think that you can just go to your homes and wait for it to blow over, huh? Let me tell y¡¯all something. Jenny there, she was in Johnstown when it got taken over by a bandit group and I don¡¯t expect things to go better here if they get their way. If y¡¯all pull your pants and turn around now don¡¯t expect us women to be safe because a winning army always needs to be entertained, got it? Now Augustus when you married me in a barn, I didn¡¯t say nothing, did I?¡± This is getting pleasantly personal. The men present recoil for they know that tone, but we gossip lovers lean forward with anticipation. ¡°No, my honey pot¡­¡± replies the poor sod. ¡°And when you were off to drink with your buddies while I was sick with the runs and taking care of the kids you did not hear me complain, did you?¡± ¡°Well¡­¡± ¡°DID YOU?¡± ¡°No sugar.¡± Ah, the wonders of selective memory. ¡°And when your ma came to live with us did I leave her out in the rain?¡± ¡°No, darling.¡± ¡°Then if you got to listen ONCE in your goddamn life it¡¯s now because I sure as hell ain¡¯t waiting for those clowns to walk around town like they own it.¡± ¡°But surely,¡± emerges a voice from the small crowd of men, ¡°Mr. Sullivan wouldn¡¯t let them¡­¡± There is a precious, delicious moment of silence as the entire assembly looks at the culprit, a youngish man whose face turns red when he realizes that his neighbors have wisely decided to step away from him. ¡°Peter Willikins, is that you I hear spouting nonsense?¡± screams an elderly voice from the back. Before the lynching can begin in earnest, Mrs. Schr?dinger signals that she is not done. ¡°Sullivan is an asshole.¡± Gasps. ¡°Aye, I said it! Whoever thinks he¡¯ll hold his word has forgotten his vow to uphold justice? To protect the people? Can you explain how we¡¯re protected with an army moving on us? Penelope dear, what is it you said?¡± ¡°Those who would give up essential Liberty, to purchase a little temporary Safety, deserve neither Liberty nor Safety,¡± answers an owlish girl with a lecturing voice. ¡°¡­And they won¡¯t get either,¡± Schr?dinger continues with a deceptive calm. ¡°Mark my words, those kind of people, once they have tasted power, they¡¯ll never give it back without a fight. We might as well fight now while we still can win.¡± A hum of approval comes from the female crowd and poor Augustus sighs, defeated. ¡°I understand, wife, not that I like it but¡­ I understand. I¡¯m just so worried¡­ I suppose it can¡¯t be helped then. We must do what we must do,¡± he replies, and walks away. The crowd disperses soon after, and while the girls go back to training, Mrs. Schr?dinger and Stetson stay next to me. I break the silence once we have enough quiet. ¡°I need to ask them.¡± I expected arguments but I don¡¯t get any. ¡°Aye, I suppose you do. Not that we need your approval to fight, you know?¡± ¡°Of course not. I just want those beside me to know what they are in for.¡± ¡°Yeah yeah, just¡­ let¡¯s get this over with.¡± We walk slowly to the field and the nervous women gather around in a vague circle. Some look calm, some less, but unless I miss my guess they are all here. Well, better get it over with. ¡°There are many forms of courage, and not all of them require violence. There are many ways to serve, to be useful to a community in peril. In the coming days, we will need hands to work, to take care of the wounded and to repair the destruction that will be done. I want you to understand that this is all anyone can ask of you. Tomorrow, Sullivan¡¯s troops will arrive and there will be a battle. I want you all to realize that in order to fight for the town and your sisters in arms, you must be willing to look a man in the eyes and pull the trigger to kill. You must be ready to see your friends bleed, suffer and die, perhaps even make the ultimate sacrifice yourselves. There is no shame in joining the nurses or the clean up crews and there is more than enough time to do so. Those of you who gather on the square tomorrow must be ready to go all the way, for our enemy will have no mercy. I will now leave you to make your choice and hopefully, we will all see each other at the end of this. That is all.¡± When I leave, the silence is complete, but it does not take one minute before the drill resumes. I have my answer. They will fight. September 25th 1833, Marquette. The moon is full tonight, and its light shines on us with a pleasant glow. The visibility is so good that even mortals have no difficulties moving around. I wonder if this was intentional, just like the timing of the invading force is intentional. The troop was set to arrive at midday but was delayed by their inherent lack of organization. They set up camp at the northern edge of town at nightfall and have been recovering and eating ever since, laughing raucously and singing ribald songs as if victory was already assured. My men have spent the day making preparations and I have refrained from looking at them from my dream palace, though I knew I could. I would rather save my strength for the confrontation to come. Now we stand on horseback facing the quickly assembling louts. There are three hundred of them in eclectic clothes, more a mob than a proper force. They gather around bandit lords and mercenary leaders in dense packs. An army from another age, as fierce and undisciplined as Germanic warriors facing the Roman legions. Behind us, the warehouse district is heavily barricaded except for an obvious weak point, the main street only has basic fortifications that a man can climb in a few seconds, manned in part by, well, women. Our purpose should be obvious. We look weak, so that they do not split their force to besiege us from less defended districts. We want them to look down upon us and charge forward expecting to smash our resistance in one fell swoop. It is working. My hearing picks assailants already commenting on what kind of girl they prefer. Hopefully, their lack of discipline will deny any flexibility to their leadership. We, however, have a plan which relies on drawing them further into the warehouse square. It has the merit to be simple, like most of my plans, and involve exploding things¡­ like most of my plans, actually. We also have other options if they do not take the bait. The small delegation by my side shifts uncomfortably. I have always endeavoured to look proper and a bit meek to offset my position as Madame. No one can look meek atop Metis. The Nightmare is a foot taller than even the tallest stallion and it took her all of two seconds to cow every other horse here. I am wearing my combat dress, which is sleek and form-fitting and looks exactly like what it is, armor. I also took my hunting spear and rifle which hangs from Metis¡¯ harness, and two pistols as well as a long knife. The various people of the delegation force their eyes forward, then cannot resist and one by one, turn to me. They blink when their eyes confirm my appearance and then resume looking forward. After ten seconds or so, disbelief forces them to look at me again to confirm that those outrageous memories are true. It¡¯s a circle. If their cats had come home dragging the corpse of the neighbor¡¯s dog behind it, they would probably feel the same. It¡¯s on my side but it is also much more dangerous than I anticipated. I care little for we have reached the end game. No matter what happens here, I will be gone in a few days. I am beyond worrying about my image. There are six of us, representing Marquette¡¯s citizenry. Half the council is here as well as another woman who represents the gentry and would not spit in my face if it were on fire. A few riders emerge from the quivering horde facing us and make their lazy way across the plain. There are twelve of them, which is a clear message and the exact amount of petty intimidation I expected by the man facing me, on their right. Besides Sullivan, he is the only person who does not look like he attacks caravans for a living. Riding a nightmare, he still wears a beige ensemble from another age like the first day I met him. His handsome face is still crowned by dark hair and his blue eyes still show the same utter lack of interest. The only difference comes from his aura. Lambert of the Lancaster, Melusine¡¯s counterpart and lady Moor¡¯s enforcer is now a Master. He meets my eyes and the annoyance he conveys is the most overt display of emotion I ever felt from him. The moment passes and he stares with condescending amusement at the town behind me. I have been dismissed. Sullivan stops uncomfortably close to the mayor and his own men do not exactly surround us, but the message is clear. He sneers when he sees me, and the arrogance of self-righteousness is clear to all as he first speaks. ¡°I will be short. I am not here to negotiate but to offer an ultimatum. You will renounce your wicked ways, or your entire city will be purged from evil. To show your contrition and acceptance of the light and will of God, you will deliver this¡­ woman, and her staff, to my custody. You will relinquish your weapons and direct yourself to the town church where you will await judgement in prayer. Do so and I shall be merciful. Even those who opposed me will be granted an opportunity to atone for their sins and keep their property and families mostly intact. Resist me, and I shall visit upon you the wrath of the Lord himself. We will track and punish evil and slay all in our path, for God is just and will sort you out. You have an hour, do not tarry.¡± And with all the dignity of the consummate bloodthirsty lordling, he turns around and leaves. The men behind stay long enough to growl and spit at our feet, and a few even ask us to resist as their men need to ¡®unwind¡¯. Lambert was the second person to leave. I did not even warrant a word from him, apparently. The mayor turns with as much disdain and dignity as his short, portly frame allows and we follow him quietly back to the barricade. The sentries open a short passage to let us through and close it immediately after. Still without a word, we follow our fearless leader to the command tent where captain Wallace, head of the militia and entirely in my pocket, awaits us. Instead of speaking, Mr. Mayor walks to his corner and rummages through his personal effects until he finds a plump smoked sausage. The rest of the council surrounds him in a half-circle but still he does not speak. Instead, he takes out a pocket knife and unfolds it, then plops the sausage on the town map I generously provided and that had remained free of grease stains so far. He raises his eyes and starts in a calm voice. ¡°My grandfather taught me a story of England, it is a good one, and though you may think my timing is ill-advised, I beg you listen to me now as all will be made clear. ¡°In sixteen forty-nine, a man by the name of Cromwell managed to install a republic and though we Americans see such regimes with benevolence, I assure you, it was anything but. Grampa told me of how they took power by defeating the royalists. A victorious regime will of course, for the sake of stability, purge the opposition from its government, sometimes permanently.¡± He cuts the end of the sausage and discards it on the side. ¡°¡®Tis only natural after all, and so nobody helped. Then, the Republic had to be united so the Welsh were next to be brought into the fold, and who would even help them? The others were not Welsh, and so they did not help.¡± A new slice joins the first one. ¡°But then dissenters surged in Scotland and they had to be put down as well. By then there were few people willing to help the Scots. And see, the proud highlanders stood alone and divided, and were defeated.¡± By now, the plump sausage is less than half its original size. ¡°And of course the commonwealth extended to Ireland. Cromwell brought the secession war to a close and who helped the Irish? No one, for there was no one left.¡± There is a fat third of the sausage remaining ¡°And of course, for the good of all and the salvation of their soul, attending the Church of England was made compulsory, and who would oppose it? No one. They had to bend or be fined for every transgression.¡± The mayor drops one last slice on the discarded pile and raises the stump of the original piece between stubby fingers. It is barely larger than the other parts. ¡°You are all brilliant men, I do not need to expand on this fable too much. Know this, when Sullivan realizes that the disappearance of Mrs. Lethe has not brought about the divine kingdom he envisioned, he will seek who he perceives as the nearest agent of corruption, then the next, then the next. By the time he is done, not one of you will be left whole. I will not even discuss his proposal with you for it is not a compromise but terms of surrender with a side of threats. Now, does anyone object? Speak now without fear.¡± Nobody speaks, even the supporters of peace can feel the coming of pitch and gallows, and although some would disagree in other circumstances, they now keep their peace. ¡°Then it is decided. Mr. Wallace, we will proceed as planned. I will personally, and alone, deliver our decision to Sullivan. Gentlemen, it has been an honor.¡± ¡°With all due respect sir,¡± I object and everyone freezes, ¡°I may have a safer and more obvious way to convey our refusal.¡± ¡°Do you, now?¡± ¡°Yes. I assure you, the message will be clear as day.¡± ¡°Very well. Gentlemen, return to your position and make ready. We shall express our opinion on Sullivan¡¯s offer shortly and God help us all. Dismissed!¡± Would the Christian God help me against another vampire? An interesting perspective. The council files out of the room in order and they spread around. I step out with the mayor at my side. All the present troops mill around with no clear purpose, throwing furtive glances at us as if I could not see them all waiting for us to speak. Those mortals are so cute, pretending to be busy like that. THEY ARE MINE. WE KILL TOGETHER. I make a gesture and they slowly gather around me with a mix of determination and shyness. John takes his place by my side with a serious air and the heavy wolf slayer in his oversized paws. A full quiver hangs from his shoulders. It takes a good minute for the bashful group to shuffle itself. The odd squad is spread around town, ready to suppress those I suspect of turning coat with only the Creek brothers present. The rest of my forces are all here. From my right to my left, I find my security detail led by an eager Harrigan literally covered in arms. Then comes a group of armed volunteers who joined us at the last hour, led by Mr. Schr?dinger who would not, and I quote, ¡°leave my wife to give those ruffians what for.¡± Finally, the Home Guard is here dressed in their Sunday best of all things. Everyone is wearing blue armbands for easy identification. I turn to the mayor and see him sneakily eat a piece of sausage. When he realizes I noticed, he shrugs and adds in a quiet voice. ¡°Eating always helps me settle down, sorry.¡± Well, that explains his gut, and now his magnificent demonstration is ruined by the suspicion that he might have had further motives when savaging that poor snack. ¡°Would you like to do the honours?¡± he adds with a quiet voice. Why, I am impressed! I never expected him to let me have command, for this is surely what he meant. I move to the side and climb atop Metis. My persona goes from overdressed madame to warlord in a second and when Metis takes one step forward, they recoil. She snorts in what I could swear is amusement. They are all waiting, and I need to be convincing, for the Lancaster¡¯s speciality is their influence on mortals. Those bandits and mercenaries outside have been gathered under his orders and he will motivate them to unheard-of displays of savagery, I just know it. Lambert has always been the very essence of arrogance and petty destruction. It is not enough that I am taken out or captured, he will destroy everything I have ever built, erase each of my achievements from the map. That is who he is, and what his men are here for. I take a deep breath and channel my inner predator. Tonight, I am no longer the hand behind the scene. I am Ariane of the Nirari, Princess of the Blood. I belong to the oldest clan that was ever made, and my essence is that of the conquerors. I have killed hundreds and carved a path of blood to survive, to free myself and now to rule. This LITTLE MONGREL cannot possibly understand what I have gone through. This field trip of his will be his last. I smile wide and in one fell swoop, capture the entire crowd. My eyes find Harrigan first and I use what I learned from Loth. ¡°And where are my men, my keepers of the dream, gamblers and drinkers, fighters and killers one and all? Where are my rascals?¡± They roar as I wake their bloodlust and their will to destroy and dominate. I turn next to the armed citizen of Marquette. ¡°And where are the militia volunteers? The fathers and workers of our city? Who took arms to defend their homes and their families? Where are the stalwart defenders of Marquette?¡± Another roar joins the first, this one made of pride and determination. They are the peaceful men driven to violence by circumstances, and like all those unused to violence, tonight they will know no restraint. ¡°And finally, where are the women of Marquette, my Amazons? Where are the frontier harridans, the unbowed and unconquered? Where is the Home Guard?¡± The third roar is shrill and high-pitched until a shriller voice yet interrupts it. ¡°Brave defender, pick your flintlock¡­¡± And a hundred voices echo. ¡°AND REMEMBER, AIM FOR THE COCK.¡± A small part of me is horrified while the other only thinks, GOOD, MAIM AND TERRORIZE. When did they even¡­ Never mind. Let me just continue. ¡°No army will come and save us. No miracle will sweep our enemies from the field. Look at those around you. This is it. We are what stands between the ravenous horde outside and your loved ones, your families and your homes. Some of us will bleed and some of us will die, and it is up to everyone to make sure that this sacrifice will not be in vain. So take your muskets and aim to kill. Tonight, you are not wives, husbands and citizens. Tonight you are warriors, fighting for each other and for your town. So tell me, what are you tonight?¡± ¡°WARRIORS!¡± ¡°Then warriors, remember the plan! Men in front, women behind, sharpshooters to the sides. Fight without fear and slay without mercy, and any wanker that shoots before I order, I¡¯ll shove their muskets up their arse!¡± The roar that follows is deafening and I can see from here the enemies hastily form ranks. No fighters will surrender, who can make such a cry. YES, COME TO THE SLAUGHTER, PREY. I turn to my artillery assistant, an old man with a serious expression. ¡°Let¡¯s give them our formal reply. Half a mile mark, fire at will.¡± The man turns and whistles, before shaking a red flag at someone far behind us. A moment later, it begins. I always found the mortars make a deeper, more quiet sound than field guns. Few things offer a clearer refusal than indirect artillery fire. The first boom resounds behind us and makes the dust on the ground vibrate. The shell climbs to the zenith of its trajectory, leaving behind a red trail and a whistle like the world¡¯s angriest teapot. A few seconds later, the projectile hits the earth with a resounding boom that even distance cannot dull. A beautiful fiery plume erupts in the middle of the encampment, setting tents and supplies ablaze. Some men scream as they are torched by the Skaragg magical shell, the same one Ascendency used against us at the battle of Black Harbor. I really much prefer to be on the side that does the bombardment. I only wish I could see Lambert¡¯s face right now. The mass of enemies is now running forward, a stupid maneuver that will have them exhausted before they reach us. Ah, but Lambert brought highwaymen to a war. I brought soldiers. Our line waits silently in front of the barricade in orderly ranks. ¡°Check range and adjust,¡± I tell the spotter, and leave him to do his job. Merritt is good at what she does and with the support of the borrowed Rosenthal mage, they will be able to fire quite a few shells from the protection of a circle. I signal the Creek brothers immediately after. ¡°Light them up.¡± Soon enough, flaming arrows land on the prepared pyres. The pitch goes off in an instant and a reddish glow lights the field. My mortals will have perfect visibility. We wait in silence and I turn with curiosity to the mayor. He is mumbling a prayer under his breath which irritates my ear. In his hands, he holds a Bible and a pistol. ¡°Praying for forgiveness, Mayor?¡± ¡°No Milady, I am praying for courage. Forgiveness will come later.¡± He returns a wan smile and I tap his shoulder as a sign of support. He is here, it is all that matters. The foes are still trotting towards us. Their screams and jeers offer a stark contrast with our own disciplined ranks. No one speaks, no one moves. There are only hard faces all around. The mortar fire now falls behind the assembled mass until the spotter raises another flag and the next screaming shell lands this time a bit short, still blocking the path with an incandescent crater. Somewhere to my left, a man throws up, only to be offered a handkerchief by his neighbour. The next shell lands squarely in the middle of the enemy. Two dozen men are instantly slain and their dismembered limbs rain on their comrades in arms, who remain unfazed. Lambert¡¯s work, no doubt. It will take a lot to shock them. ¡°Hot out there, innit.¡± whispers one of my bouncers. A few dark chuckles welcome the comment. In a few more moments, the first foes reach the halo of light. The blaze reflects in their manic eyes and the glint of their weapons. A low roar starts as we finally come in their view. The first few start running again towards us as the rest spread in the semblance of a line. One hundred and fifty yards. ¡°Ready!¡± The first rank lifts their muskets. ¡°Aim!¡± A forest of steel-tipped branches leans down and forward. One hundred yards. ¡°Fire!¡± The roar of the volley makes my ears tingle. The blue cloud of spent powder rises towards the sky as the first rank kneels and reloads without a word. In front of us, only a fraction of the men fell but the advance slows as even the most brainwashed moron hesitates to walk towards their death. A few of the rowdiest bandits return fire with little effect. ¡°Come on you bastards, you want to live forever?¡± screams a man in fancy clothes looking vaguely like a uniform. He raises a sabre and the foes resume their advance, faster still. ¡°Ready!¡± I yell again. ¡°Aim!¡± Fifty yards. ¡°Fire!¡± The Home Guard fires at a range where most can hit a target the size of a small mirror. More than twenty men fall instantly while others scream, holding mangled parts of their anatomy. The man with the sabre lets out a horrendous scream and falls to the side, holding what is left of his manhood. A girly titter with just a touch of insanity caresses my ears. I turn to the mayor. ¡°It¡¯s Stetson. She has a fixation.¡± He just nods, looking quite pale. The forward line is now in full sprint and even the humans should be able to hear their many feet pounding the ground, the heavy breaths from their chest and the yells from their lips. They are like a gigantic creature with a hundred hearts, bleeding and hurting but quite alive and very dangerous. A maddened grizzly. We are a steel line in ties, hats and frills. And they will not break us. ¡°Ready!¡± The first rank stands back up except a few too nervous to reload. ¡°Aim!¡± Twenty yards. ¡°Fire!¡± This time the volley is devastating. Dozens of men fall and roll to the ground, only to be trampled by the rest as they have worked themselves up to a frenzy. The fastest warriors sprint towards us with abandon. ¡°First rank, fix bayonets! Second rank, fire at will!¡± With practised ease, the men turn their line into a deadly expanse of sharpened steel. The Home Guard behind is reloading frantically. The mortar falls silent after one last shell as the enemy is now too close to us. And then it is too late to plan. The melee is joined when the first fighters jump over the barricade. The first ones end impaled but some manage to smash into our ranks, felling men here and there. It only takes a few seconds for the line to be bogged in heavy combat. Immediately after, the pressure is lessened when the Home Guard start firing on assailants as they climb the barricade. I see a man climb up and take aim at our line. I blow his brains out just as a quarrel from John¡¯s own crossbow sends a pair of ruffians flying back over the edge. After that, the other foes get the message. The barricade lessened the initial shock and my first line holds fast. On the left, the citizens fight defensively, covering each other with care and fighting with unity. To the right, my own security detail just makes use of the arsenal I put at their disposal to dispatch their foes with matchless savagery. Knives and balanced war axes fly through the air to catch the bandits as they pass over the barricade. Pistols are unloaded at point-blank range, more often than not in someone¡¯s face. The supporting fire from the Home Guard makes a real difference but there are still almost two hundred and fifty enemies and little by little, they push through. Before long, too many men are atop the barricade for our muskets to dispatch them fast enough and it is the scoundrel¡¯s turns to shoot into our ranks. The first female screams join the chorus of pain and fury. A girl beside me gets shot in the heart, fires her muskets and falls dead. Wounds accumulate and we are steadily pushed back. I reload my pistol almost inhumanly fast and take out officers and sharpshooters but it is not enough. Then it happens. A highwayman covered in clay pots climbs on a crate and holds two of his grenades to the cigar on his cracked lips. ¡°Damn it.¡± I curse with dismay. I need to¡­ but no time¡­ I grab a knife until a crack from my side surprises me. The madman covered in grenades falls with a surprised look and a deep hole in his chest. The mayor looks at the spent pistol in his trembling hands. Nice shot. I think it is time. I whistle and get the attention of the spotter. He nods and takes a trumpet hanging from his side. The clear sound of a horn covers the din of the battle. ¡°Alright lads, lob it!¡± Sparks emerge from deep within our ranks and soon, our own grenades arc overhead before falling amongst the chaos of the opposing side. The attackers mill around in despair. Some fall to their knees in an attempt to seize the bombs before they can detonate. I turn around and gallop to a side alley with the mayor and John on my heels. Our troops use the confusion to run, clinging to the side of the street. In the alley, Marquette¡¯s entire mounted detachment awaits with impatience. Anxiety has been replaced by anticipation in the eyes of those men, and they are more than eager to join the fray. ¡°It¡¯s about damn time,¡± grumbles their commander, ¡°gentlemen, forward.¡± I follow them as they slowly make their way into the main street. In front of us, men and women flee in disorder but as planned, they leave the centre of the main street free. The chaos from the explosions and relative lack of visibility allow most to slip away safely. ¡°Form up!¡± The riders form a tight wedge behind their leaders. LEAD, CRUSH AND SUBJUGATE. No, let them do their job. If I charge now, I won¡¯t hold back. Lambert is still missing. ¡°Swords out, CHARGE!¡± The entire detachment jumps forward without restraint, men scream at the top of their lungs and somewhere in the middle, a musician with a trumpet is having the time of his life. How does a disorganized infantry hold a cavalry charge? The answer is, they do not. The tightly grouped spear tip cleaves its way through the bandits, crushing them underfoot. I do not follow. I move around, picking stragglers with my spear. Some of my mortals are on the ground and beyond my help. I still spot a figure in a brown dress leaning against the wall to the side. She is the last one. I push Metis forward and we pick up the girl, who I remember is Penelope. She grabs my arm with a blood-stained hand. Her head rests against my shoulder. Somewhere in the melee, she lost her hat. Her brown hair tickles my nose as we ride back to warehouse square. We do not speak. She spasms one last time in my arms. When I lower her lifeless body in the arms of nurses behind our back up barricade, they too say nothing. There will be time to honour the fallen after. Warehouse square is the largest open space in the entire city. My mortals have regrouped and reformed rank behind a last barricade. Some are missing. Some others wear bloodied bandages if their wounds are not too serious. The wails of pain behind us comes from the infirmary. They remind everyone that there are no other fallback positions. A minute passes and the cavalry detachment emerges in disorder from the main street, before turning right to their assigned position. The enemy does not follow. Come on. You smell blood in the water. You want to follow us. Soon enough, a sound reaches my ears and explains the delay. Thundering hooves make the earth shake and raucous screams leave us with no doubt. Their cavalry is in the city. They must have taken the time to clear the barricade and allow themselves in. The sound of the charge grows louder and louder. The Dream security, citizen and Home Guard cling to their muskets with determination. They are bloodied but not down. Some look with undisguised anticipation at the piece beside them. The line of cavalry emerges from the darkness in one great torrent, with Sullivan at the head. He holds a crucifix in one hand, his face a mask of exaltation. He screams with fervour when he spots us. ¡°It is God¡¯s will!¡± I could not have put it better myself. ¡°Fire!¡± At the head of the charge, the riders show me a unique gamut of expression as they notice the gaping maw of the twenty-four pounder facing them. Curiosity, surprise, horror and even, acceptance. They all disappear as the field gun opens into them with a canister shot at optimal range. The world goes deaf. The cannon vomits a storm of fire and steel that takes the charge in enfilade. Tens of men are turned to red mist and flying organs in a moment, and the survivors can only look in terror as they bleed and die from musket fire. To the sides, the cavalry detachment and a militia squad that was waiting in reserve for this exact moment maul the foe in a deadly crossfire. YES, PERFECTLY EXECUTED. WELL DONE, MY MORTALS. ¡°They have a fucking cannon!?¡± screams a mercenary with dismay. Indeed not, silly human, indeed not. We have two. ¡°Battery two, fire!¡± The second field gun reaps a bloody harvest at another angle. Those who escaped the devastation of the first blow crumble and die. Panic spreads and for the first time, uncertainty pierces through the veil of fanaticism that Lambert placed there. They are RIPE FOR THE TAKING. Sullivan looks askance at the bolt nailing his cross to his palm, courtesy of John who can certainly be petty when he wants to. Our eyes meet. I did not shred their ranks with my claws, I did not engage Lambert in a battle of Charm. I fought like a queen, and now, I WIN. Sullivan, you were outplayed from the very beginning. ¡°Checkmate.¡± The lead ball catches the fallen judge under the nose. His corpse leans back, spread eagle on top of his panicked horse as it flees the carnage. ¡°Now lads and lasses, let¡¯s kick them out!¡± The order to charge comes from everywhere. Militia and cavalry sweep through the disoriented attackers like a tidal wave. Citizens and guards push forward with a great cry, eager to reclaim their land and the bodies of their friends, eager to exorcise the fear that had gripped their gut for days. It is too much for the bandits who expected easy prey. They disintegrate and run away with all the speed they can muster. And yet, the battle is not over. Musket shots ring from our left and I realize the issue immediately. A significant part of Sullivan¡¯s men, maybe half, went to the side. They probably expected to flank us. I rally the militia, still fresh and out for blood. Their officer already feels the danger and rushes to their aid. I open the way with the ever-faithful John by my side, until I see him. Lambert stands in the middle of a deserted shopping road. His usual air of arrogant nonchalance is gone, replaced by frustration. He is so emotionally dead that I wonder if anger is beyond him. The militia behind me instinctively turns to a side alley to go on. ¡°You go as well my friend, this is my battle.¡± John nods and reluctantly rides away. This is it. I climb down from Metis. Vampires are too fast to make mounted battle practical, and I do not want her to be harmed needlessly. The street is empty. The shops there are barred and their goods hidden. It almost looks like a ghost town, but the red glow of fires and the cracks of discharging firearms belies the sense of calm that permeates it. S?a?ch* Th? N0??F?re.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. Lambert walks to me, he the Master and the enforcer, me the one who escaped and prospered. He thinks me weak, still. Even with his men fallen and his plans in tatters, his prideful demeanour is unchanged. He does not understand yet, but he will. I am Queen here, and he is PREY. Chapter 63: Reign of Blood Lambert¡¯s blue eyes are the cold of the deepest ice as he steps towards me with barely contained fury. I take my spear out and twirl it casually. We will come to blows but I wouldn¡¯t mind talking a bit before that. Time is on my side in this case. Without his leadership, his rabble will collapse while my side has every advantage including numbers now.As he stops at a respectable distance, I consider that I have not interacted that much with Lambert. I know why now. He was the enforcer while I was the errand girl. In a way, it is a mercy that we did not meet so often. His perverted drive to taint and destroy everything a person is and owns before killing them is the mark of a sick mind, a deviant, whose sole entertainment is ruin. I use the silence to study him as he studies me. Arrogance. This is what he embodies. His posture is relaxed and confident. His handsome face is twisted by scorn and disdain. My enslavement and death are not even a game to him. They are a chore. Something he will inflict in passing before returning to more civilized lands. He only wears one weapon, a luxurious fencing sword in a scabbard by his left flank. His hands are gloved with white and his spotless beige ensemble fits comfortably on athletic shoulders. By comparison, I am dirtier than a farm hand after a slaughter. I do not mind. Those are the marks of who we are. I suppose Lambert expected me to threaten, beg, or negotiate. My uncaring silence has worn his patience thin and he is the first to talk. I pretend to consider it for a moment. he hisses, I snap back, Lambert tightens his fists, then relaxes, still in control. he scoffs, I did not, I called Jimena, but as long as she¡¯s here I will be fine. I say dismissively, I have his attention now. Every minute spent talking brings his forces closer to destruction. He may fall back just to avoid being surrounded by hostiles. I do wish to kill him, but I also wish to take little risks. I am so close to safety, to recognition¡­ he snarls, Lambert draws and charges. I push him back with a quick jab and we start circling each other. I probe his defenses and find them formidable. Even my fastest attacks are lazily deflected by the tip of his blade. When he attacks, he tries to bat the spear away but quick footwork and bringing the spear back allows me to keep my distance. Thank you, Nami, I cannot imagine how hard it would be to face him without your training. Lambert is clearly a master fencer and only my experience facing superior foes lets me fight him without already collecting wounds. His speed is only the same as mine, but his strength and technique are far above. PATIENT HUNTER. I will take my time. He looks down upon me. His overconfidence will give me an opening. We move around the street. He moves in a line while I move in a circle, mostly to counter him. We go faster now that we are used to each other¡¯s style. Then he stops and crouches. DODGE to the side. In an instant, he disappears, and a fiery line ravages my left cheek. Silvery runes glow on his blade. An enchanted weapon, of course. The unfamiliar feeling of cold air on my teeth almost eclipses the pain. Lambert blinks and inspects his left flank, where I left a little surprise. One throwing knife used, two to go. The Lancaster grunts and removes my weapon from his flank. Black blood seeps on his beige overcoat. Merritt¡¯s runes glow red. That has to sting a bit. I return a lopsided smile and we resume our fight. Lambert changes his style. He uses his strength more and tries to corner me recklessly. His blade bites into my left armguard but the blow is mostly stopped. The pain is still manageable. I retaliate by using more sweeps and exploiting his opening. Eventually, he tries to walk on my spear as I extend it. I dive low and catch him in the tibia with a horizontal swing that smashes him into a boarded window. He stands up with a snarl before I can capitalize on my victory, however, but a new black stain mars his trousers. He redoubles his efforts. I am on the backfoot and retreat as his attacks become ever more aggressive. He maneuvers me into an alley. I jump back then up, bouncing from wall to wall until I am on the roof to avoid being trapped in close quarters. I AM PATIENT. I cannot match him in strength. I just need to hold on and then, PUNISH. he asks with an arrogant voice. I keep my distance. I am a PATIENT HUNTER . I do not let my rage overcome me. I maneuver around a chimney. Lambert just jumps on it and lunges at me. The shock of our weapons sends me to slide over the roof. I twist to the side to avoid a downward swing. We crash through the roof into a cluttered shop filled with cooking and gardening tools. I weave my way around stoves and piles of pans, avoiding large strikes that shatter furniture and send metal flying. I almost lose my balance on an errant pot. Lambert¡¯s eyes narrow. He lunges. I kick the guilty pot and it shatters on his chest, enough to deflect. The sword still bites into my upper right arm. Lambert crashes into me, I manage to put my foot on his sternum and push with all my strength. He takes off and his back smacks against a support beam. I throw my second knife. Somehow, Lambert twists midair and it only draws a bloody line across his temple. S?a??h the ?0velF?re.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. Lambert lands lightly and gingerly touches his now bisected ear. He does not show anger, and this worries me more than the blood slowly dripping from my dress. I move my tongue around my mouth and find out that the first wound is mostly closed and that I can speak. I have nothing to say. He is just spouting nonsense. He tries to destabilize me. I¡¯m a PATient¡­ I am patient. And strong. He is just bluffing. I parry the next lunge and counterattack. Lambert grabs the shaft and uses it to throw me through the front door. I climb to my feet to face him. The enforcer steps out of the ruin of the shop¡¯s entrance. He casually inspects the small wound I inflicted on his hand as he threw me. He is supremely unconcerned, and his eyes are so cold. That twit¡­ I¡­ Lambert lunges once more, sliding under my guard. I twist into his attack and hit him with my shoulder. I might as well have hit a train. His hand reaches for my throat. I drop the spear and try to claw him. He drops his sword and captures my wrists, pushes me away without releasing his hold and drags me back. Light in my vision. Pain. I spit blood. No time. I dive before he can kick me in the face again and bite his unarmored sleeve. I barely pierce the skin before he releases me. I block a punch with an armguard, but still fly into the air. I land heavily against a wall. Nose bleeding. Mouth bleeding. Dizzy. I shake my head and push myself back. Use the wall to get back up. Need to be quicker. Lambert does not use the opportunity granted to him. He is still looking down on me, not that I can really blame him. Not long. Not long at all, in fact. We never discussed soul, but he could tell I had been changed. That I was different. I told him I died. I did. I told him I did not know if I was the same girl. I remember now. How silly. I tortured myself, wondering if I had betrayed his trust but I did not. I told him everything. This question was never for me to answer, it was for him. And he did. I was feeling guilty while Papa had answered decades before I even asked myself if I were still me. Suddenly and with perfect clarity, I remember his words. They ring in my ears as clearly as the night he said them, after I walked home, free, for the first time in my second life. ¡°I remember that you told me you are not my Ariane, but you were wrong. You still carry the same spirit, the same aspirations and God forgive me, the same love for unladylike things that go boom.¡± Yes. ¡°You think that being human is what made you my daughter. It is not. Being you is what made you my daughter. You have always changed and grown, this particular change is just the latest and the most dire. Do not despair and do not let go of your past and our time together, yes?¡± Yes. YES. I am me. I am always me. Not just a monster, not just a person, not just my father¡¯s child and not just a vampire. I am all of it, and more. I. Am. Me. Ariane of the Nirari, previously Ariane Beatrice Lucille Reynaud, daughter of Hercule Reynaud and Diana Anjou, scion of the first. Friend to Jimena, Nashoba, Isaac, Loth, Merritt and others. Protector of Marquette. And royally pissed. I parry Lambert¡¯s lunge before the blade digs into my heart. It slides along the armor, digging a furrow in my flesh. I grab the hilt and drag the sword forward until it digs deep into the wood. GOUGE THE TALON. I twist and slice, catching Lambert¡¯s arm and cleaving him to the bone. He hisses in pain. I am not done. I rush him. I have a knife and he has nothing, the sword stuck in the thick log behind me. He blocks and dodges but not enough. His suit is half black with blood. SUBJUGATE AND DEVOUR. Lambert winces and grabs something from his chest. My next strike is deflected by¡­ a shield!? DODGE. I dive under a claw and block a foot, I am propelled back and when I look up, Lambert is snapping something around his left hand. Ah. I should have expected that, to be fair. Lambert is a bloody mage. Not good. I dive to the side and pick up my spear. I rush forward. I had no idea he could cast! I don¡¯t even know how good he is. This will be a close one. I need to finish this quickly. I faster than ever. Massive red manacles emerge from the gauntlet. They hiss and slither to me like snakes. My claws glow blue. I will only be able to deflect such a strong spell once before running out of energy. It matters not. I only need one try. I slap the spell away. Lambert¡¯s face widens in surprise. Close. Lunge! The spear tip glows with Sivaya¡¯s gift. The Court of Blue¡¯s expertise clashes with Lancaster spellcraft. The spear tip digs through my foe¡¯s chest like a hot knife through butter. I lift his body and slam it into the ground, pin him like an insect. YES. YES! No¡­ Hold on, something is¡­ a voice coughs. I DODGE, but the angry links track me, find me. They snake around my arms and pull me to the ground. So heavy. Hurts. Everything hurts. Lambert grabs the shaft and pulls the blade from his bleeding lung. He spits blood and slowly gets back up. Impossible! This is impossible! No vampire can stand after losing their heart. The very idea is ridiculous! Our heart is¡­ our heart! How! I cannot be! he coughs bloody foam on his lips, ¡° He adds with a smirk as he grabs the spear¡¯s shaft. The lightly enchanted pole breaks in his fingers. I¡­ don¡¯t understand. Lambert painfully stands back up with an evil grin on his face. The chain constricts me, extending from his glove to my chest. The links grate painfully against my bones and the wound on my left flank. Without the Ekon¡¯s power, I would be screaming. Lambert screams as he dodges a silver quarrel. His focus breaks and the chains break and fade. He is right, I am out of tricks. I only have my ace left. I take the silver cylinder on my chest, pop its cap open and down the contents. Cheers! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAthatstupidtartAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA IT BURNS. Always before, a struggle, always before, not enough, always before, Thirsty! Too much too much, it is too much. The vitality and power carry me like a torrent, a tidal wave! They are everywhere and they do not stop and there is always MORE. I am exploding but inside, and exploding again and again and again. The power bursts into my bones, my ligaments, my organs, everywhere! They force themselves into me and then they become me and more comes and becomes me as well. It doesn¡¯t stop. There is more me, more of my essence, mine. MORE. There is as much power as in my master¡¯s blood but it doesn¡¯t let me stop, it doesn¡¯t let me breathe. I should be the size of a barn, and yet it manages to push itself into my tiny frame and there is still more! From my heart, I feel something pulsate once and find an echo somewhere above. It pulses again and again as each wave of power burrows itself into my essence and becomes mine. My wounds are long closed. My exhaustion was washed away in the first instant. Lambert is standing here, moving like a slug with horror on his face and I could snap his neck, but I cannot because I cannot move! I can only endure as the wave washes through me and in me, only to be replaced by another. The pulses come faster now, and I can feel it. My essence echoes from my heart to the rest of my body. My essence. I can feel my essence, for the first time ever. It is mine and mine only, the touch of the . My inhuman soul. My aura flairs and expands with unprecedented might. I am¡­ a Master! The power stops because it has pushed into me as much as it could, carrying me over the edge. I feel raw and tender but now the power courses through my veins, eager to be used. It purrs like a great cat. So much energy. I can do¡­ anything! ¡°HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!¡± I extend a hand to Lambert¡¯s face. A rune appears in the air, one I saw in the dream when Nirari killed Wolfgang and the army arrayed against him. A red branch emerges from it and crashes through a hastily erected shield. Lambert screams as his arm is mummified in an instant. His blood crawls back to me, a droplet in an ocean. I am doing magic! How can I not? I am a GODDESS. Why is that cockroach still alive? Power expands in a bubble and I see his own essence centered around his heart, which is¡­ on the wrong side of his chest! Is that how he escaped death? A circus trick? Laughable. It won¡¯t help him now. He runs, no, he limps away. I already hurt him so much. I lift a hand and the spear head jumps to it, unbidden. I do not need to run. The spearhead blasts away and pierces through the enforcer¡¯s chest, two walls and into a smithy with an ear-shattering clang. So easy. PREY is on the ground, unmoving. I reach once more and the body is dragged towards me, but slower. The power is going out. Why? Lambert¡¯s heartless form is before me. I kneel and grab him by the collar. Ignoring his panicked eyes, I push his head back to uncover a white neck. I bite down. I know the taste should be exquisite, but my senses are dulled. There is so much that happened. The power in me has mostly petered out. The rest is seeping into my heart as fast as it can welcome it, completing the transition. I feel so wrung out. Beyond tired. A pair of solid arms pick me up as I collapse. I see the softest smile¡¯s on John¡¯s hideous face. ¡°I help you now.¡± I am safe. I close my eyes and surrender to the darkness. Chapter 64: Knight Takes Queen. I wake up in my bed and stare in alarm. Something is wrong.A crimson ray pierces through the room¡¯s heavy curtains and basks a spot in the wall in an ominous light. It is death, death and agony. Terror grips my heart and I stand up to flee. Or at least, I try to. I feel so weak. My limbs are heavy and my attempted jump turns into a tumble. I slip from the bed and crash awkwardly on the floor. I feel feverish and weakened. With a supreme effort, I manage to climb back up to my feet and stare back. The ray is still here, slowly travelling up. Dread seizes me and constricts my chest. All my instincts scream of danger. I walk slowly to the fireplace and press a button on the side. The secret passage to my safe room opens quietly. I do not take it. Something strange is going on. I need to understand. These instincts I feel are most queer and this ray of supposed doom is quite meek for a deathly threat. I watch and resist the urge to cower. It slides up and up, then disappears, and with it, my weakness. In one instant, I go from feverish and weak to perfectly alert, as usual. Understanding makes me widen my eyes. The sun. I saw sunshine. I was awake before dusk! I truly am a Master! This was not an hallucination. Then¡­ I close my eyes and relax. I feel it within myself. My essence. It is centred in my chest and expands outwards in veins and networks to my extremities. The channels are thin for now but they should grow, in time. I try to hide my aura like Nami showed me, and though my control is already smoother, I have more difficulties. My aura flares and drops randomly. I am not too worried. I remember Isaac mentioning something similar. It will take at least a week before everything settles back to normal. And now, for the moment of truth. I wait with bated breath which isn¡¯t too surprising considering I do not breathe to begin with. Nothing. I can badmouth him! I can say bad things and I. Don¡¯t. Care. This is fantastic! Those are lies. I am merely testing the limits of my newfound freedom. Hahahaha! Eeep I jump in surprise when somebody knocks on the door. ¡°Ahem. Come in.¡± Merritt¡¯s tired face greets me. She stares at me with no small level of annoyance. ¡°Are you having fun?¡± ¡°I have no idea what you may be referring to.¡± She rolls her eyes, something that Ollie has been doing a lot recently and that I associate in her with exhaustion. I got it easy, going to bed. She must have spent a lot of energy handling the aftermath of yesterday¡¯s events. ¡°So, how are things?¡± I ask lightly. ¡°A lot happened while you were having your beauty sleep. Wallace¡¯s men went after the stragglers for most of the day and made sure they couldn¡¯t regroup. They think we¡¯re safe now, especially with Sullivan dead. Most of the bodies have been cleared and there will be a service on Sunday for our own. We lost thirty-seven people all included and probably another four more before tonight. The rest should recover though we still have more than fifty wounded. The Home Guard lost six, including Penelope. Annabelle got two fingers shot off. Harrigan says your security lost three but many are wounded. The citizens lost seven, including Mr. Schrodinger. He died covering his wife¡¯s retreat.¡± I wince. I care so little for mortal lives, usually, that it feels strange when I do. Merritt is not done. ¡°The militia found more than a thousand dollars in gold in their command tent. The council had an emergency meeting and decided that they would be used to repair the town and compensate the families of the victims. Marquette is still a mess and the barricades mostly stand. I expect it will take three days for things to return to normal.¡± ¡°I understand.¡± Merritt shows signs that she has something else on her mind, so I wait. She seems rebellious for some reason. ¡°Where did you disappear to? I was looking for you the whole night.¡± ¡°I killed the vampire attacking us in single combat then I collapsed.¡± All her built-up aggression melts in an instant. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I had no idea. It must have been hard.¡± I remember scraping the wall behind me to climb back up, covered in wounds and with a broken nose. ¡°Yes. Yes, it was.¡± ¡°Yeah, sorry. And uh, thanks. So, I got to ask¡­ are you leaving?¡± Ah, so that is how it is. ¡°We have already discussed it. I am leaving, this very night.¡± ¡°Could you not wait until everything is settled?¡± ¡°Knights are going to come looking for me sooner rather than later. I have to go, Merritt, we already had this discussion.¡± ¡°Well¡­ I guess!¡± And for one moment, she is the young mage I met fighting Ascendency. Despite all her experience, Merritt is still the same emotive woman who had stood up and faced a knight squad by my side, three days after meeting me. ¡°I will miss you too.¡± ¡°What?¡± she sputters, ¡°Hmm, yes I mean. Arg! Let¡¯s just go downstairs. There is still something I need you to solve.¡± I nod and before leaving, grab the backpack I prepared. Everything else is already prepared for shipping. The Dream is mostly silent, which surprises me. Battle has a way to make people seek the purest expression of life and little says life like mindless sex. I make my way down to the workshop where only Merritt¡¯s family¡¯s belongings remain. She is standing next to an anvil. I am surprised to see that the heavy piece is splintered in its middle. ¡°What is this?¡± She wordlessly points down and I walk around the smithing implement to see what caused it to break in such a way. ¡°Oh.¡± That would be the head of my spear. It¡¯s still intact too! Sivaya does good work. ¡°Would you mind removing it? Teams of men tried and failed, and Mr. Sully wants it back.¡± ¡°Not at all.¡± I brace against the solid piece of iron and pull the blade out with a shriek of tortured metal. I inspect the tip. It doesn¡¯t look damaged. I¡¯m impressed! Merritt shakes her head and whispers ¡°Vampires¡­¡± under her breath. I chuckle and she leads me back up, towards the main room. As she opens it, I hear a plethora of heartbeats and soon it is too late to flee. This is where the revellers were waiting. A legion of people lines the room wall to wall. They remain silent until I step in. Even the mayor is here. He applauds first, then everyone joins him to create a thundering clamour that shakes the building. Huh. I am¡­ I feel¡­ strangely emotional. Somebody hugs me, one of the girls who had joined the Home Guard. ¡°Annabelle¡­¡± Before she can release me, another joins her, then another. Meanwhile, drinks and food are distributed around as person after person wishes me goodbye. I was planning to leave unnoticed. One could argue that Sullivan came here because of me, that the army attacked us because I was there. On the other hand, I did a lot for this city and I stayed when it mattered. I followed the spirit of Eneru, to rule justly. This is the conclusion of twenty years of reign. I feel decidedly strange, and it is not because of my flaring aura. I feel¡­ I feel sad. I am leaving Marquette for good. For the past three years, this moment could not come any faster. Only now, at the moment of my departure, do I realize all the good things I will have to leave behind, and the best thing of all is the people. How I loved to hate them. Those frontier men and women. Stubborn and filled with superstitions, judgmental and temperamental they are, but under that, there was a kind and courageous heart. They came through when it mattered the most, when others would have panicked and fled. I make my way through the crowd and greet Oscar, my bartender, Solomon the rescue, the Creek brothers and the other members of the odd squad, Kitty and the girls, Irma and some of the families. Regulars who come every week and citizens who never stepped in here before, all come and pay their homage. Little by little I start to accumulate gifts as well. Harrigan leaves me one of his lucky knives, which has a bat skull as a pommel. Ollie and Lynn give me adorable drawings of me beating the ever-loving hell out of wolves and the judge. They even drew the fangs. I get trinkets, carvings and enough cutlery and tankards to start another inn. All of it goes into a giant coffer that I will have to ship as well. It takes me a solid two hours to run out of faces to greet. By then, each farewell is made longer by my interlocutor¡¯s advanced state of inebriety, and I have to extricate myself from more passionate declarations than I had to face in the past five years combined. I step outside to face the hardest farewell yet. I cannot bring anyone with me as I will technically be in ¡°custody¡±, and every aspect of my travel, including nourishment and security, will be in the hands of the Knight. ¡°John.¡± The giant¡¯s eyes widen completely and the bow of his horrendous mouth curves upward until¡­. ¡°BWAAAAHAHAHAHAAAAA.¡± His bawling sounds like a group of men blowing a pierced hornpipe. Before I can try to comfort him, he lifts me in his arms. ¡°Agh!¡± Ow, there goes my spine. That would have killed a mortal for sure¡­ I awkwardly pat his shoulder while he turns the front of my dress into his personal handkerchief. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, we will meet again. This is just goodbye.¡± It takes a long time before he lets go and when he does, he looks lost. I recognize in me an emotion that I almost never feel while awake. Guilt. The cattle will be sent to Charleston as part of another agreement but John is different. He is not cattle, nor nor . He is just a man who offered me his loyalty. And now I leave him behind. ¡°I need you to stay here and protect Merritt. She is strong but she cannot notice everything like you do. You stay here and watch her back. I¡¯m counting on you.¡± The simpleton nods and swallows his cries, which only makes his face even more tragic as tears trail down his ruddy cheeks. I am not too worried. Merritt can certainly use a bodyguard. Speaking of the red-headed devil. ¡°So, this is goodbye.¡± I nod. It is. ¡°I must say, two years ago I would never have thought¡­ but then¡­ God, I¡¯m making a mess of things ain¡¯t I?¡± I wince. ¡°Ah sorry. Still can¡¯t believe I¡¯m taking over a large part of town on behalf of a friend who also happens to be an immortal creature from legends. I had to run for so long to stay away from the Pyke family and protect the kids. I was ready to die in exile, so to speak. Is this all real, or am I dying somewhere of fever?¡± ¡°If you are, stop dreaming of me facing mortal perils so often, pretty please?¡± ¡°Heh. Ah, enough of this. You take care and if those Knights cause you problems, I¡¯ll come and kick their collective asses. Stay alive and come and visit sometimes.¡± ¡°Thanks Merritt. Be careful and write often. Goodbye.¡± I grab my backpack and with one last wave, I ride into the night. Then I stop behind a barn because John drooled all over my dress and I need to get changed. Metis¡¯ hooves join the sounds of the night in a rhythmical pattern. Beasts hunt, mate and die in a background of creaking wood and whispering wind. The scent of sap and dust is almost overwhelming. The road leads us on top of a small hill. The land here is flat, with the odd copse of trees to bring some measure of variety to the otherwise uniform landscape. I am nervous. This is it. A campfire shines clear in my sight, surrounded by three armoured wagons that an army would not dare assault. A small beacon has been lit, guiding me to them. Jimena is here, but she is not alone. This is the moment of truth. For the first time since my escape, I will have to surrender my freedom to a higher authority and hope that they respect their own oaths. Normally I would never take such an inane risk, but this is the best chance I am going to get. Metis presses forward. Next to the fire, I spot two figures in the grey lamellar armour of the Knights. Whoever else is there has decided to hide. I take one last deep breath to keep my composure and discipline my aura. Two sets of eyes track me as I dismount at the edge of the circle. I stop when I face them. Jimena is as dignified as ever, except for the wide smile that widens further when she takes in my new essence. Anatole, on the contrary, looks like he swallowed a bucket of lemons. His hand never strays from the princely blade by his side. With his blond hair, blue eyes and handsome face, Anatole still looks like the Prince Charming from fairy tales. The contrast with Jimena¡¯s square jaw and tomboyish look is striking. The bombastic prick and the pragmatic friend. The judgmental hypocrite who invokes the rules and the honourable knight who follows them, in letter and in spirit. I simply raise an eyebrow while Jimena adds in a slightly condescending voice. The disrespect is barely veiled. Anatole glowers as he complies. His voice is coldly professional with a hint of scorn. His hands are tied, he knows it, and he knows we all know it. The powerlessness and rage in his posture are delicious and I find myself relaxing and enjoying the present humiliation. I ask with surprise. he replies with annoyance, s?a??h th? ?ov?l?ir?.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. He looks hopeful for a moment. I notice Jimena¡¯s serene smile and her imperceptible nod. She is confident. I turn to Metis and release her from her harness. Once she is fully free, I turn to pat her but she surprises me yet again. The proud places her head on my shoulder. I am moved, and reach to caress her chin. As I approach she moves back, blows air into my face and gallops away with a neigh that sounds suspiciously close to a laugh. Jimena comments drily. Anatole remains mercifully silent, focused as he is on my gear. I approach and take out the spearhead, still not repaired, a silver pistol, three throwing knives and a dagger which I leave on the harness. asks Jimena with a knowing smile. I reply, asks Anatole with impatience. I think for a moment. Am I? I take out my earrings. They join the pile of things that have helped me survive so far. As Anatole speaks, a secured door clanks open on the side of a carriage and the veiled female Knight who survived Suarez¡¯s displeasure unscathed steps down, soon followed by the two other fighters. Her eyes are so dark they look like pits and with her perfectly controlled expression and aura, I find myself unable to read her. She picks Nashoba¡¯s gifts with a subdued grace and inspects them carefully. The carved amber glints under the firelight. She nods. Anatole asks as the rest of his squad exits the carriage. The woman closes her eyes and faces me. I feel the softest touch of power, not exactly intrusive but annoying, nonetheless. Silence. asks Jimena. With sudden clarity, I understand the game. Jimena stands with her back to me and a deceptively calm appearance, clearly showing where her allegiance stands. Anatole faces me, which leaves his side open to Jimena. His stance is tense and his face furious, which I would be as well if a subordinate humiliated me so before both his squad and an outsider. Finally, the three remaining members of his squad sit on the sideline, showing neutrality and by extension, a lack of support to their leader. The largest man of the squad is searching the hills for hostiles, probably. He is not a handsome man, and his shaved scalp makes him intimidating. I see that he found another shield and axe. The sneaky one with the knives leans leisurely against the carriage, and when our eyes meet, he winks. He is beautiful, with lush black hair and almond eyes so I suppose others may swoon. I have seen Sinead at work though, and I am partially immune to roguish charm. Too much trouble. The woman is the strangest of the bunch. She is shorter than me and quite thin, and she carries herself demurely. Her only obvious weapon is a staff that I recognize as an old-fashioned focus. Mages these days much prefer gauntlets as they are small, effective and more importantly, innocuous. Carrying a magical staff around in a country that burnt witches to the stake only a century ago is not conducive to discretion. With one last murderous glance, Anatole relents. Jimena answers immediately. Anatole stares coldly but says nothing as I follow my friend. I understand. Anatole brought his whole squad to arrest me and escort me back, and they were waiting not in ambush, but at the very least fully equipped. I know that Knight squads are valuable resources and he still decided to come with everyone to complete a task that Jimena could have done alone without issue. He still wants me dead. Thank the for Jimena¡¯s presence. The inside of the carriage is surprisingly spacious. Furniture in ash and white velvet gives the room a cosy appearance and I feel like I just entered a luxurious cabin in some line ship. A secured sarcophagus and a well-provisioned weapon rack are the only thing out of the ordinary. I love it. Jimena declares proudly as a triplet of mortals lines out quickly, keeping their eyes down. After they¡¯re gone, Jimena locks the door, presses a rune and with a hum, magic is deployed. Any noise from the outside is cut off. Jimena lifts me into a hug. Jimena asks, suddenly serious, I stare at Jimena with worry but if anything she looks ecstatic. Jimena shrugs. She smirks and lifts her arm. A weapon as dark as the void drops into her ready palm seemingly out of nowhere. One moment she is unarmed, the other, she holds a long rapier with a triangular point and a tip so thin, it could probably pierce through a sheet of steel by its own weight. The guard is delicate and small roses adorn its hilt. A scale is engraved into the hilt. It looks elegant and lethal. It is good to see Jimena again, and I realize as we gossip, that I am not so worried anymore. Chapter 65: Sur les Bords du Mississippi... The paddles lazily forward across murky water as I make my way to her deck. She is rather small as steamboats go, though no less majestic for it. The novelty of this experience has not worn off yet, and I enjoy it while it lasts.Long as a barn, she has white flanks shining with fresh paint, railings, and a chimney cleaned to shimmering perfection. The flat bottom and broad hull make her look like a corpulent lady trudging peacefully downstream at a sedate pace. I do my best to enjoy the view as I walk leisurely along, stopping sometimes to catch a moment I may paint later. My notebook will soon be filled with sketches of the riverbanks, of the sailors and merchants, of the officers and passengers. Time slows down and I use the meditative state I am in to think. We have been rerouted and I do not know why, nor do I have any influence on our course. I am not even part of the planning. Aisha received a sending and the Knight squad changed course on the spot, all previous plans abandoned. When I inquired about the delay, Jimena gave me an apologetic look and the promise that the current crisis is not related to me. Knights will go where they are needed, with or without their prisoner in tow. I only wished whoever sent them off had ordered Jimena to bring me back herself. That would have been common sense, a resource that appears in short supply around those parts. I am left with nothing to do. I am bound to stay under their surveillance as I am now while they take care of travel arrangements, decide on security matters and they plan the next operation away from my sensitive ears. My only role is to stay put and to behave. Even now, I can feel the curious gaze of Alaric, their dagger-wielding flanker, on my back. There is always someone keeping an eye on me. I am not in control of my fate. I hate feeling powerless. It does not matter that we use a trusted captain and have a security detail that a king would find adequate. When dawn presses upon my mind, I join Jimena¡¯s secured sarcophagus with the thought that I am at the mercy of men I do not know and cannot trust. It goes against all that I am and yet I do nothing. It would be unwise to act on it and so I bide my time. Any measure I could take to regain some independence now would harm my situation if I were found out. I will have to trust Jimena, and that is all I can do. With one last sigh, I finish a simple rendition of a dead trunk bent over the water, with its branches caressing the passing flow, and slam the book closed. I turn around to the cabin from which the helmsman steers the ship and decide to join him on a whim. It would be too inappropriate for me to visit the engine room and I do not want soot on one of the three clean dresses I brought anyway. The perch from which the ship is steered will do nicely. I deftly climb the ladder up and ignore Alaric¡¯s gaze on my back and lower back. The box is small, with windows offering a clear view of the surroundings. A solemn man is at the wheel, smoking a cigar and inspecting with care the land around him. He wears a comfortable-looking and well-cut shirt and his black beard shows traces of grey. ¡°Excuse me, sir.¡± The man turns and glares with a frown. I can feel his rising temper in the beat of his heart and the intake of breath, but the insults and complaints die on his lips at my demure air and pleasant smile. I am no Lady Moor, but I have never been hard on the eyes either and few mortals could resist the benevolent attention of my kind. ¡°And what can I do for you, miss? You¡¯re one of those folks that came aboard today aye? Something about an unexpected business?¡± ¡°Indeed. We were set for Boston, but were waylaid.¡± He nods in understanding and immediately returns his attention to the water before him. I cannot see any danger, but he frowns at things I do not perceive and adjusts our course with a few light touches. ¡°The name¡¯s Scoresby, mam, one of the two pilots of the esteemed . Pleasure having you on board. To what do I owe your unexpected visit?¡± The irony of a bunch of vampires travelling aboard a ship named does not escape me, nor does the pilot¡¯s guarded tone. It appears that I have intruded upon his sanctum and no amount of passive Charm will dent his offended pride. I decide to ask the difference between helmsman and pilot later. ¡°This is my first time aboard a steamboat, and I could not help but admire all I could. Why, I haven¡¯t seen a grander thing in my whole life!¡± I exclaim. S?a?ch* Th? Nov?lF?re .??t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. That is a lie. I witnessed a millennia-old sorceress remake the fabric of the reality while sipping an infusion and throwing witty barbs. Nothing can top that. I still go on with my shameless flattery, buttering the old grouch up with thick compliments and a pinch of manipulation so that he spills his gut. Metaphorically. ¡°I am sure you have seen so much and heard so many incredible tales! Would you mind sharing a few with me, to pass the time?¡± His caution melts like snow under a fire spell, and he puffs his chest so much that I fear he may pop buttons. Too late, I realize my mistake. The fellow¡¯s tongue is untied, the dam has been breached! A torrent of words escapes from his mouth with a Southern accent I realize I had missed. ¡°I¡¯ve been on this ship for a good year, I have, and by the by, I¡¯d say she¡¯s one of the finest old ladies to grace this river. And I know what I¡¯m talking about. I¡¯ve been at this for a score years and the things I¡¯ve seen and done, you could write a book about. Why, there is no finer pilot this side of Jackson, and I got the eyes of a cat and the mind of a fox, I do. No shallow or dark water there is that will make Andrew Scoresby lose his way, no mam!¡± Not once did he glance in my direction. His gaze is always forward as he keeps us on course. ¡°We pilots have to remember all islands, reefs, sand bars and bends, yes ma¡¯am, and they change all the time! We got to know the shape of the river like we know the shape of our wives, beg your pardon, better even! Like now at night. And here, we¡¯re in luck because the stars and moon show us the way but when it gets dark as a negroe¡¯s bunghole, beg your pardon, then it¡¯s another thing altogether! All lines look straight, and all shadows look like snags. You think they¡¯ll grab you like a scorned lover but no, tis but shades and bluster. And that bend that looks just fine will shove a rock up the old girl¡¯s arse, beg your pardon, and cause the loss of fifty lives and a quarter million-dollar steamboat, it will. And that¡¯s just the natural dangers we face. Tell me M¡¯lady, do you believe in the¡­ supernatural?¡± He affects an air of mystery, or at least tries to. ¡°I try to keep an open mind,¡± I reply drily. ¡°Then listen here, there¡¯s more that preys on ships than just treacherous waters, there is. I got a story from my cousin who was on the ship itself when it happened. He was a mechanic, mind you. Only eighteen at the time. I reckon the ship¡¯s name was the and she could carry one hundred and fifty people comfortably. ¡°Once, they were making their way to the Kellog plantation pier. It was a dark night, darker than this one! A fine mist was covering the river and the land was so silent, you could hear the first mate fart from the engine room, beg your pardon. ¡°My cousin was off shift and he enjoyed watching the pilot work. There were two of them on the like on this one. An old crusty man by the name of Knutson and a new dandy one called Lannis. Lannis was on the wheel then. He was looking out the cabin and frowning mightily. Sometimes, he would mutter and turn around to look at bends that my cousin swear looks exactly like bends should look like! His nervousness must have been catching, because soon enough there was a small crowd at the fore, muttering under their breaths. Out of patience, my cousin went up to Lannis to ask the poor fellow what troubled him so? ¡°Heavens, the pilot replied, something is damn wrong with the river tonight. Be a good boy and go fetch old Knutson, because either my brain is playing tricks on me, or there is some devilish force at work!¡± The pilot is not heated, fully absorbed in his story. He gesticulates wildly and points at imaginary things and people with one hand, the other still firmly on the controls. Even as he speaks, his attention never wavers from the river before him. ¡°The boy was scared beyond belief. Terror gripped his heart, but he did what he was told and woke up the old grumbler who first gave him quite an earful, but when he was told of the junior pilot¡¯s words, his brow furrowed and he climbed to the bridge like a company of savages was at his heels. ¡°Lannis old boy, he bellowed, where in hell did you get us to?! Knutson old bugger, Lannis replied, we were abreast the Wallis farm an hour ago, and now God only knows where we are! ¡°The old man paled and climbed to the pilot cabin, muttering in his beard furiously. He came by Lannis¡¯ side and took a gander around. Then with a great gasp, he recoiled and announced, Lannis my friend, no matter what happens you cannot have us flounder, you hear me? We must pull through! ¡°At his words, all the men at the fore were taken with a great fright, and they looked around to the shores but saw nothing but mist, reeds and gnarled trees with roots reaching into the water like witches¡¯ fingers. ¡°Lannis carried on with old Knutson guiding him until they came to a sharp bend to the right in the river, with what looked like really shallow waters. There was a moment of silence as the pilot guided the ship port. He reached to his tube and called this engine room, telling them to go slow and steady. ¡°He slowly turned her starboard and the measures of depth were coming like bells tolling for midnight. Thirteen feet, they said, mark twain, eleven feet, ten feet! The men were clinging to the railings with desperation for they had never seen the old pilot scared and they knew in their heart that if they were stranded here, a cruel fate would befall them. Nine feet, they heard, eight feet and a half!¡± Scoresby is now screaming with enthusiasm. I hope the other passengers to not think I may be assaulting him. ¡°Then suddenly, Knutson screamed: now! And Lannis grabbed the horn and yelled give me all you got, dammit, full speed ahead! The chimney vomited great gouts of smoke and the paddlewheel slapped the water with great vigor. They all heard sand scrapping the keel but a moment later, the ship was through! ¡°A great ovation rose to the sky and the two partners were celebrated for their skill and admirable sangfroid. Soon, the mist lifted and everyone could see a lantern to their right. The Kellog pier was in view, with a man sitting on a recliner who stood up and waved his hat like a flag when he saw them. Everyone started to relax and talk about that strange occurrence, and whatever happened to the river? Everyone that is, but the two pilots. ¡°Full speed ahead, screamed Knutson, don¡¯t stop for anything! ¡°My cousin was terribly surprised and asked the old man what was wrong! His teeth were chattering, and hair was falling from his beard from the stress. Lannis was not much better. Cold sweat made his jacket cling to his lanky frame. ¡°The forged ahead as the passengers stared, mesmerized, and when it became clear that the ship wouldn¡¯t stop, the man on the pier threw his hat down in anger. And his eyes were black as the devil¡¯s heart, they were, not just the iris, the entire eye! Abject horror seized all aboard. They were so scared they almost suffocated, and a few of them even lost consciousness. ¡°Fools, Knutson said, we¡¯re not out yet! And so the pilots kept going and soon enough, the shores became normal again and they landed safely a bit later. ¡°When my cousin asked the pair how they knew it was not the Kellog plantation, Lannis answered. The pier was right, he said, the man was right too, but the shore was wrong. Then old Knutson brought his partner, my cousin and a bottle of whiskey to the mess and talked about a legend that there was a wicked man who lived on an island in the middle of the river and made his wealth stealing from passing ships. ¡°One night, the river flooded and plunged the entire island under the water. The devil took his soul then, and will only let it go if he can bring enough dead to offset the weight of his sins. And that, m¡¯lady, is why pilots are so important and why we need to know the river perfectly.¡± I do hope we come across this interesting character. I bet he would taste nice. ¡°Thank you sir, I feel safer now that I know we are in such good hands.¡± ¡°Right you are mam, right you are.¡± How I wish I could stay and hear more of those outlandish tales. Perhaps there will be more time after I answer this call I just felt. The Mississippi is long and my destination unknown. ¡°I thank you for your time, Mr. Scoresby. I will leave you to your work.¡± That was a pleasant distraction. Unfortunately, I will have to shorten it. With one last smile, I step down the ladder to answer the summons of my smiling jailor. The ability to feel my essence is a tremendous advantage in just about everything I can do with my powers. It is so helpful, that I have no idea how I managed without it. I can better control my aura, which is now significantly more powerful and I am confident I will be able to hide it almost completely within a year. Healing can be directed now to specific wounds instead of just happening. I can faster, more easily, and for a longer period of time. All that I do tires me less and I wake up earlier every day. I also noticed that Charm works by sending a very thin tendril of essence to the targeted person or their aura, which means that I no longer need to imagine a rope, nor do I really need eye contact, though it helps. I cannot explain why eye contact helps. This strange logic always leaves me feeling ambivalent. The rational part of me, the one that trusts science and enlightenment, finds it all very strange. I would go so far as to say nonsensical. The deeper part understands it to a level that no words can do justice to. It remembers the fairy tales and the ghost stories, the strange rules of dusk, midnight and dawn. The power of oaths and beliefs. I am part of this realm and I know how to play the game, though I would be hard-pressed to explain exactly how, or why, it works. It is all quite peculiar. One of the side effects of an attuned essence is that one can use it to ¡®tug¡¯ at another vampire. A sort of signal, if you will. I am convinced that Alaric is being if not rude, quite cavalier in poking me so. His familiarity grates on my nerves. Yes, until I was interrupted. I would find more entertainment by SHOVING MY CLAWS IN HIS GUT AND PULLING HIS INNARDS INCH BY INCH, but alas, he may object. And so, I show a fangless smile and keep a pleasant tone. I just need to reach Boston to be rid of those buffoons until the next turn of the century, or until someone mistakes their gaudy carriages for a bank convoy and blows it to smithereens. I would be happy either way, as surely, they would eventually let Jimena lead a squad. Even the most corrupt imbecile must eventually run out of incompetent people to promote to leadership positions. Right? he says with a laugh, ¡° This is my first real conversation with him, as so far I have only kept the company of Jimena, who has been very protective of me. I appreciate the efforts of my blood sister as I doubt Alaric has my best interests in mind. Alaric¡¯s voice is mellow and cultured, with a hint of British accent even when he speaks Akkad. He bows to me like a dancer after a performance. He affects holding his wounded heart with a convincing impersonation of a dying mortal, before returning to normal and continuing our conversation as if nothing had happened. Alaric leans against the railing and smiles disarmingly. He lifts a brow. I confess, somewhat miffed. Alaric stands straighter. In one moment, he turns from dilettante to calm professor. Even his voice has changed. The Shade takes a mildly disapproving air, one I would expect from a mentor whose pupil asked a question he should have known the answer to. I refrain from commenting. When your ambassador gets your entire squad ripped apart by a furious Battle Lord, it might be time to ask for a reassignment. Alaric takes my silence for the condemnation it is but instead of defending his leader, he smiles knowingly and steps closer. His demeanor changes again and I am now wondering if he should not be the infiltrator. He sheds personas like one sheds shirts. He is close now, so close that I can smell his own perfume, similar to mine but not quite the same. The cold spice of vampires, alluring and dangerous. With a hint of vanilla and ethereal trickery. I find it enticing. The Shade¡¯s smile is roguish and handsome. I am quite sure he thinks highly of himself and that some may swoon in his presence. He is so close now. I could lean a bit and kiss him. I say as I place a finger on his lips. I am not done. I smile and show eight fangs, just to remind him of who he is talking to. The Knight¡¯s smile freezes, then blooms again. He looks almost impressed. It is then that our ship reaches a stop, and the moment is gone. We part and watch the attach to a small pier and goods and people making their way in and out. Alaric watches with attention and I find no reason to break the silence. Five minutes later, a cabin boy comes running and stops when he spots the two of us. I can taste a trace of terror in the air before his rational mind silences his instincts. He approaches, swallows with difficulty and stands at attention. ¡°Yes?¡± I ask curtly. ¡°Excuse me madam, are you Ariane Nirari?¡± How curious. ¡°I am.¡± ¡°That¡¯s the thing¡­¡± he licks his lips nervously, ¡°there is this Indian outside, says he knows you. Says he knew you¡¯d pass by and that you two should talk. Should I¡­ should I tell him off?¡± An Indian who knew where I would pass? Could it be¡­ ¡°Did he tell you his name?¡± ¡°Yes, mam. He said his name was Nashoba.¡± Nashoba, so you were alive all this time. Incredible. I must speak to him, I may not have another chance ¡°I will see him immediately. Where is he?¡± ¡°At the pier, madam.¡± I pick a coin from my pocket and toss it at the urchin. Double payday for that little twerp, for there is no doubt in my mind that Nashoba bribed him as well to carry this message. I am half expecting Alaric to stop me, as Anatole would have. Instead, he follows me behind and to my right, as if he were escorting instead of guarding. I would be grateful but I highly suspect that curiosity got the better of him. My steps take me down the now empty plank as I take in my old friend. We have not kept in touch, though he could have contacted me by dreams. I was wondering if he had perished and now I realize that perhaps, he simply didn¡¯t have the strength. Nashoba is dying. He is still handsome in a lost artist sort of way. He still has liquid brown eyes and mismatched cloth that reveal skin. There is grey in his hair and his hairline receded, but that only would make him look wiser if it were not for the rest. His skin is sallow, with a yellow tinge. It clings to his frame too tightly and his posture is slightly stooped, like someone who is in constant pain. He smiles before he turns to me and I am surprised once again when I realize that he came alone. Behind me, Alaric hisses softly when he hears the tongue of Akkad in a mortal mouth. He does not react further, and I decide that it is safe to speak, for now. He bows his head slightly and gives me a sad smile. My tone may have been a little more abrupt than I intended and Nashoba notices it. I add with regret, I just exposed my friendship with Nashoba before Alaric when I confessed I missed him. This was a mistake. I am being careless again. My hands are bound now but perhaps there is something I can do. Heh? Nashoba smiles once more and his posture conveys so much vulnerability that even my instincts are silent. There is no to be had there. He is as defenceless and weak as a child. says a voice that tightens my chest. Anatole is here without Jimena. This is the worst thing that could have happened. answers Alaric, ¡°Do you speak English, savage?¡± Nashoba answers sharply. Anatole¡¯s face is a mask of horror, then it twists into a scowl of deep hatred. His aura overflows and I shiver at the cruelty I perceive beneath. I have no idea what is happening, I only know that I must not let Nashoba be hurt by what may follow. says Anatole with a sinister smile. INTRUDER. THIEF. I hiss. KILL HIM. No, wait, no, I need to beat him through words, but how? Think Ariane, think. What can I trade for? Ah yes, his pride. I need to play this well. I remember Lady Moor and her demeanor, her poise and haughty expression that made anyone feel like insects polluting her air. I do my best impersonation and though I know I fall short, the cold in my voice surprises even me. My aura is frigid. It spreads over the pier like a blanket of ice. Anatole frowns. Taking Nashoba now would go against his vow to keep me well-fed as well as common courtesy. Alaric¡¯s eyes narrow at his leader and his crossed arms show mild disapproval, something that his squad has refrained from showing so far. I hope it is enough. How I wish my blood sister were here instead of the cabin with Aisha and the axeman, Alec. Oh, this¡­ brute! The is sacred, and he is going to police it? I clamp my jaw before I say anything I might regret. Nashoba was unwise to provoke this fiend, though I know why he did it anyway, despite the danger. My friend is scared. Scared, and in pain. I wish I had more time to talk to him. I can tell that the burden in his shoulder is heavy. In a way, death is a mercy. I take the shaman in my arms. He winces in pain until our eyes meet. Gently, I Charm the pain away. I smother it and shove it in the background where it can be ignored. Nashoba takes one shuddering breath and almost collapses. Tears of relief drip down his pallid cheeks. I ask softly. I finish with a smile. I gently take his neck as he eases his head back. I bite down. It is done. I pull back and Cradle Nashoba¡¯s unmoving shell. He is dead. We have known each other for thirty years and we haven¡¯t talked in twenty and now the chance is gone. Time caught up to him like it caught up to my father and others. I feel¡­ brittle. I can find no other word for it. Beyond sadness, I am overwhelmed by a sense of vulnerability that does not affect my body but my spirit. This is one more anchor to my human part I leave behind. I slowly lay the body on the ground. Once more, I wonder how someone could look at a corpse and think the person is asleep. The mouth is open, distended, and the vitality is gone from its muscles. My friend has passed and what he left behind is a painfully thin flesh puppet. It already stinks of relaxed bowels and soon, rot. There is no dignity in death. My kind is lucky to leave only ash behind. I jump in surprise when Anatole grabs the body by the ankle, and starts dragging it towards the boat. I hiss in anger. Anatole turns to me with a smirk. And with a lazy swing, he drops the corpse into the river. DEFILER. I move forward, have to recover the body but something holds me back. Alaric, I realize, has grabbed me under the arms and lifted me up so that my feet cannot find purchase. says a voice from behind, Anatole¡¯s cruel smile widens. He is most amused. KILL HIM, KILL HIM NOW. That¡¯s it, I am done with those idiots! I will¡­ I will do no such thing. I stop struggling and let the coldest part of me smother my heart before it can kill me. This is what Anatole wants, one more trap to force my hand into resisting him. He knows the game is almost over. Now he resorts to dirty tricks in a last-ditch effort to execute me before the journey ends. I can play that game too. I ask Alaric with a soft voice, and he does. I glare at Anatole and slowly, painfully, force myself to smile too. The word bites deep, deeper than I thought they would. He takes a step forward and his claw-tipped hands spread with animalistic fury. Oh, yes, you hypocrite, I can sting too. Anatole says with a voice strained with anger. I dodge Alaric¡¯s hand on my way up. The shaman¡¯s body has disappeared in the current and it is too late for me to do anything about it. One more debt to be repaid. The future is uncertain. Revenge isn¡¯t. When I am ready, I will find this man and kill him myself. I will add his essence to my garden and every night for a year, I shall pass by his kneeling statue and repeat the word that wounded his pride. Pretender. Chapter 66: ... un alligator se tapit. The veil of thorns parts. I move past the fog with all the speed I can muster, not believing my own instincts. For a moment, I see nothing, hear nothing, yet I do not slow. Eventually, the mist fades and I find myself in a clearing. Wheat and wildflowers cover it in a vivid cushion upon which a gigantic tortoise is resting. She is taller than I am, even with her legs splayed on the side. A figure leans against the marked shell with a relaxed posture and an easy smile. He is young again, with lean muscles and the eternally mismatched clothes.I stop in the middle, even more surprised. There is sun on my skin. Sun. Not the unforgiving fire that keeps me hidden and afraid, real, honest, July sun. I raise my head to see an endless sky of azure and lift a hand to cover the glare of the golden orb. I am crying. Thirty years. Thirty long years and now this memory that I will keep and cherish, untainted by the transformation. Immediately, guilt makes me bend my head. ¡° I chuckle merrily. I was right not to attack Anatole and now I no longer have cause for regrets. I will still kill him though. The tortoise snorts and Nashoba¡¯s smile fades, his expression turning serious. Nashoba smiles sadly. Nashoba grows taller and his eyes shine like stars. His voice sounds like a choir of singers speaking in unison. As quickly as it came, the moment is gone. I step back and pick a tulip. Its petals are red and silky. He winces. Nashoba places his hand on my shoulder. The touch is soft and intimate, it conveys more emotions than a book could. The tortoise puffs again. The world fades around me. The mist returns. I am once more in my garden. I decide to stroll along the garden, between hidden paths and statues. I try to forget what I know for sure happened. I refuse to consider it. He lied when he said perhaps. No, he was probably wrong. Probably. I wake up to a ceiling of lacquered wood. Jimena¡¯s cabin. I expected spartan furniture aboard. Instead, each vampire-occupied room is lined with chocolate-coloured planks varnished and polished to a lustre, with assorted chairs, table, and cabinet. There are no windows and we are at the bottom, behind several layers of reinforced doors. Between those precautions and the guards, it would take an immense effort to eliminate the squad. To kill us, one would need to catch up to us, board us, and fight through well-trained and well-armed guards. Then, they would need to escape as the men have instructions to scuttle us if it looks like the battle is lost. The intruders would have to dive and recover the sunk sarcophagus through the wreck and then blow them up before night comes. A daunting prospect. Despite those many measures, the most secure defence of the ship is still its anonymity. The steamboat carries carefully vetted goods and people aboard. It appears, for all intents and purposes, like any other ship sailing this great river. Truly, we are in good hands. The luxury is just an added bonus. I sit up and look around. Jimena¡¯s fortified coffin is at the side of the bed, and the woman herself is reading, already fully dressed. I am only wearing a modest shift to sleep. I say. The poor woman frowns and her hands flex on her book, the claws scratching the cover. Her lips draw into a line. I add with a smile, S?a??h the N0v?lFir?.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. I stand up and shake my head, giving up on the argument. I stop in my tracks. I make full use of this opportunity to learn more about my world, or what will be my world if I can finally stop being delayed. There are about one hundred and twenty vampires on the continent, an extremely low number for such a large territory. Half of them renounced their allegiance while the others are autonomous branches of existing clans, bound to the rules created by the Constantine. The man himself is an intriguing character. Jimena describes him as a talented mage versed in several schools, a rarity among our kind. As a Progenitor of his own bloodline, he was a master upon first waking up and had immediate access to singular amounts of essence. This, combined with his personal guard, allowed him to enforce rules that the European clans agreed to. Jimena reveals that it was much more profitable for them to set up the New World as a neutral ground where clans could peacefully make money, rather than cross the ocean and dedicate great resources to subduing a just for the privilege of being piled on back home by competitors exploiting their weakness. As for his bloodline powers, no one knows for sure what they are, and he has yet to sire a spawn. All she knows is that he dislikes bureaucracy and politics, preferring research which might explain how Anatole managed to get the kill order out of him. For all his apparent leadership flaws, the Accords are still an exemplary framework. Under their light rules, clans have a margin of liberty for expansion and covert actions while large scale conflict is heavily restricted. I am surprised that such an ass.. such a person could create good laws and fail to implement them until I remember that the gap between being good at theory and simply being good is an abyss. Jimena then goes on to explain that the Cadiz, Ekon, Lancaster, and Roland clans have territories while the others have yet to come. There are less than ten Lords and Ladies, which again, is very small. When prompted, she informs me that the difference between them and the rank of Master is the ability called . It apparently channels our essence in a pure expression of power that breaks the rules of reality. Each power is expressed differently and reflects the personality and skills of its wielder. On top of that, Lords usually have access to soul weapons, which I learn are the vampire¡¯s crystallized essence, given form by a crafter. There are only a dozen such crafters in the world and they are untouchable. No vampire will raise a hand against them, and they can travel everywhere even in time of war without fear. I inform Jimena that I saw Suarez use his power. she answers with a smile, she scoffs, I learn more about Masters next. Now that I can manipulate my essence, there is something I can do that I never considered. I shiver. Agony, cold, thirst. I push the memories away. I force myself to say. Becoming a Master did not erase all scars. Even my cold mind still reels from remembering those nights. We link arms like the best of friends and enjoy the summer evening. I used to do that with Constanza when I was still human. She is a grandmother now. I could even take a look at her, if we pass by¡­ No. I will not. Not while Anatole is around. We have a pleasant time, standing at the fore and looking out to the shore, its sleepy villages and budding farms, whispering in low voices about newly created spawns and the few newcomers who landed recently, until a distraction offers itself. Two gentlemen walk up behind us, confer in low voice about who should court whom before politely accosting us. Jimena and I exchange knowing smiles. ¡°Good evening, ladies. It is such a pleasure to meet good company. Are you enjoying the view?¡± asks the first, a suave man with an auburn mustache and a top hat, of all things. ¡°We needed fresh air; my friend was a bit out of sorts,¡± I answer with mischievousness. ¡°Yes, I felt light-headed and I would not want to go down on my friend.¡± I cough into my elbow to mask my surprise. I have spent enough time in a brothel to get acquainted with that specific expression. Note to self, never try to tease Jimena. She plays dirty. ¡°If I may, perhaps you should sit down as well,¡± adds the second, broad-chested and sporting impressive sideburns in an old-fashioned suit. ¡°I apologize if I am stepping out of bounds,¡± he continues, ¡°I am a medical practitioner. It comes with the job.¡± ¡°Oh, not to worry,¡± I add, ¡°she¡¯s healthy as can be.¡± ¡°My family doctor says I could live forever,¡± Jimena deadpans. ¡°You two seem very close. Oh, but where are my manners? I am Francis Levine and my doctor friend here is Frederick Schuyler. Pleased to make your acquaintance.¡± ¡°The pleasure is ours. I am Ariane, and my friend is Jimena.¡± ¡°No last name?¡± asks Francis with a smile that shows he does not feel rebuked. ¡°For now,¡± I answer. ¡°You two are quite close,¡± Frederick observes. ¡°We are¡­¡± I reply. ¡°Like sisters!¡± Jimena adds. We spend a few minutes in banter, the two friends asking us questions and us dodging them with an air of mystery, until Francis exaggeratedly shivers. ¡°It¡¯s a bit chilly, are you not cold?¡± Francis asks with a convincing expression of concern. ¡°Now that you mention it, the front of the boat is a tad windy. Come Ariane, we would not want to catch consumption.¡± ¡°My blood runs cold at the very thought.¡± We have been competing with puns since the start of the conversation. I will admit that Jimena is winning. Quoth that witty Frenchman Victor Hugo, puns are farts of the mind, and shame wars with amusement within my heart. ¡°Say, how about we continue this conversation in our cabin? We have a bottle of¡­¡± ¡°Francis!¡± exclaims Frederick, shocked, ¡°this is entirely inappropriate.¡± ¡°We do not mind, we are convinced that you will not do anything untoward,¡± answers Jimena. I nod in assent. Frederick looks a bit flustered and possibly a bit scandalized, though he is too polite to object. Together, we make our way down. Half an hour and a pleasant meal later, we leave the two resting comfortably with an empty bottle on the table and extremely fuzzy memories. Aisha is waiting outside for us. In civilian clothes, she wears a surprisingly colourful dress with middle-eastern influence and a heavy shawl with which she masks her lower face. It sometimes shifts enough to show unmarred skin. Whatever causes her to hide herself, it is not disfigurement. She bows elegantly and addresses Jimena. An elegant way to tell her to get moving and that she will be my watchdog. I appreciate the politeness, if nothing else. Jimena frowns but she cannot disobey a direct summons. At least, not without reasons. ¡± I remind her. Realizing that she will be keeping an eye on the cause of my woes, she relents and leaves with one last warning look towards her colleague. I almost jump and claw off the petite woman¡¯s face when she grabs my hand. Her eyes are wide and convey a sense of urgency. And then she drags me through an alley and down a set of stairs below deck. We pass by a patrol of guards who ignore us after a quick glance and to a smoking room, mercifully empty at this late hour. She practically slams the door closed and locks it. The stench of cold cigar is omnipresent, though the leather couches and warm tones are pleasant. She turns to me and bow deeply, to my surprise. Her tone is clipped and her voice, lower than I remember and a bit coarse. She takes out a sharp silver knife. AMBUSH. KILL. I hiss and step back, still uncertain. Aisha does not even spare me a glance. She digs the tip of her blade into her arm and slices along the artery. Before I can properly react, she bows low again and presents me with the bleeding wound. What is she¡­ SUPPLICANT. Can vampires even be¡­ OF COURSE SHE IS A SUPPLICANT. BLOOD OFFERED FOR AN AUDIENCE. DRINK THE OFFERING. LET IT NOT BE SPOILED. I bend forward and lick the wound, all caution thrown to the wind. Power overwhelms me and drags me under. I pull back. I have no better words for what I felt. The sense she used is not something I possess. The memory of using it as naturally as if I had been born with it is disconcerting. I do not have the time to consider it further. The small Knight collapses in my arms. SUPPLICANT. Aisha gasps through her shawl and grabs my shoulder with her hand. It takes her a few moments to recover. When she does, she stands back up at a respectful distance, as if nothing had happened. Ah. That is surprising. I will not make false promises like I did to that redhead under the governor¡¯s palace. she says. She silently walks to a couch and collapses in it with catlike grace. Outside, a trio of drunkards tries to open the door before giving up. We wait in silence until their laughs fade in the background. What? she scowls, It looks like she wants to argue then thinks better of it. I don¡¯t care about the Lancaster being vampires. They could be talking unicorns from Atlantis that I would still dump the whole lot of them into the nearest volcano, given the chance. I would sell Melusine to the order of Gabriel for three pennies and a rusty fork, and I don¡¯t even eat. Hell, if I were in a room with Moor, Nirari, Semiramis and two pistols, I would shoot Moor twice. Aisha continues her briefing with a noticeably darker mood. Ooooh, go dark! This is all so very mysterious and exciting, and the Lancasters could even be dead! I frown. she adds hurriedly. Well, she¡¯s not wrong. It just stings when someone else says it. She glares coldly. I reply with a smile. Well, this should be interesting. Let¡¯s start with the most obvious. I stare at her offering. Texas hold¡¯em? Three-card brag? Omaha Aisha tsks and lightly slaps my hand. Tarot she hisses. she says, drawing a card at random. I hiss back. I realize that we are very close, fangs out. I am supposed to let her teach me. This is a part of our agreement that helps both of us. I made a commitment. I pull back. She sniffs disdainfully. I have not left the best of impressions. Neither did she. Right. Nashoba said that distance, time and level of involvement all affect how easily I can see. The bloody thing is right in front of me, it¡¯s the present and I can hardly be more involved. This will be child¡¯s play. Probably. Card. The card. Card. The world, in all its horizontal glory. The infinity of potential upward and beyond. A crux. Two choices. One branches from immediate satisfaction, the other, from maturity. The second choice leads to a better path. I will need to act out of character. It will require- ¡° Ow!¡± I collapse forward. Aisha prevents me from hitting the floor by steadying me. I grab my head to ward off the beginning of a terrible migraine. Something sticky rolls to my lips. I don¡¯t know who I will have to forgive but if it¡¯s Melusine, we¡¯re all doomed. Chapter 67: Expect the unexpected. The docks without issue. Nobody challenges us as we walk down the gangway, which should not be happening. I was joking earlier, but perhaps it is true. They may all be dead. Without a word, the Knights and their staff form a small convoy and as we walk directly to the residence of the Lancaster clan, I do my best to hide my reaction.I do not recognize the city. The mix of blacks and whites is the same, and French is still prevalent, yet now German and Irish have joined the mix. Gas-powered lamps have popped up from the ground and added their unwavering light to the lanterns and candles, reflecting on the gold and silver of jewelry on wrists and earlobes. Fashions clash and compete in a carnival of colors. The smell of spice, alcohol and sweat has not changed, but it is now multiplied to match the tide of humanity clogging the streets, glad to be out after a day of suffocating heat. Only the architecture, showing hints of Spanish influence, has not changed so much yet.The city has grown and fattened formidably. I knew that the world would move forward without me, yet being subjected to irrefutable proof of the march of time still troubles me. And now is not the time to lower my guard. I trail behind the squad of Knights, with Jimena at my side and mortal workers at the back. I half-expected them to look like a military squad mid-operation, but it seems that my disdain for Anatole is clouding my judgement. They move seamlessly in and out of the flow of people. Anatole is the rich scion of a merchant family while Aisha is a meek girl on an errand. Alaric is the smiling rake, robbing hearts and catching the attention as he goes. Alec plays the role of the silent thug, on his way to ruin someone¡¯s evening and quite possibly, their kneecaps. He does not need any acting skill for that. They fit in. Only someone who would know to look for them could identify them. They do not even walk at the same speed. Without incident, we leave the Vieux Carr¨¦ behind and walk to the outskirts. The night gradually takes back its right and the deafening din of people lowers to a murmur. We come across fewer people and those who look at us lower their eyes and scurry away. They have good instincts. The Lancaster¡¯s mansion is dark. Anatole lifts a fist and after a quick series of signs, Aisha and Alaric disappear to the sides. Alec recovers a shield and axe from a crate. I check around. The last bystander is hurriedly deciding to change path. Hey, all the vampires in the squad have a name that starts with an A! Truly, Jimena does not belong. She should quit this silly notion of upholding the law across the globe and join with me instead¡­ I am interrupted in my subversive thoughts when the rest of the team moves forward. As a prisoner they are not authorized to leave behind, I have received clear instructions on how to proceed. They can be summarized as follows. Stay right behind Don¡¯t get in the way In fact, don¡¯t do anything Also, shut up. The language was a bit more flowery, but the meaning was clear. As soon as we pass the outer gate and the manor proper is in view, I can tell that something has gone wrong. One of the double doors of the entrance lies slightly opened and there are visible traces of damage. I can smell a faint scent of old blood beneath the usual roses and cedar. Anatole signs again and the others move. They stop at the threshold, inspect it for traps and get in. After a few moments, I join them. I have never seen the main hall so deserted. The place is empty and smells of dust and a bit of rot. There are no lights. A lone decorative amphora lies on the door, smashed. The door to Baudouin¡¯s study lies open. The squad is somewhere, silently clearing the place. Their aura is masked and they are silent, so I am not sure where they went. Slowly, I approach the study. I notice that the door has been forced. The office is wrecked. Someone went through it with methodical violence. The bookshelves are empty, their contents spread on the ground. A spilled pot of ink made a stain that dripped on the carpet. All the paintings are on the ground. I notice that one of them was hiding a safe which is currently closed. It looks like somebody attempted to open it without success. asks a neutral voice. I school my reaction and turn to Anatole. The bastard crept up on me. Suddenly I am useful, and he is polite. I could inform him that he is welcome to find the nearest bundle of bayonets and sit on it, but I manage to control myself. The matter is serious. I pass him by and make my way through the ground floor with the rest of the team in tow. Aisha and Alaric join us from the side alley, quickly signing what I assume is the code for ¡°.¡± We move quickly and silently. Since I have the lead, I am extremely careful. There are no traps though. No steel lines drawn across the corridor, no hidden powder charges and no magic. Nothing. What I do find are blood spots. People died here, but their corpses were disposed of. I open the pantry door carefully after checking through the keyhole and sniffing it for good measure. I focused on my hearing in case somebody trapped it like that priest trapped his home back in Marquette. Still nothing. The pantry itself is well provisioned and from behind a cupboard, I hear breathing. Something warns me and I move my shoulder before Anatole can touch it. I refrain from hissing. He is not looking at me but at the safe room. The squad carefully deploys while Alaric and Aisha remain in the corridor to guard the rear. Anatole slowly slides the piece of furniture aside. It moves on prepared railings with little noise. Behind, we find an empty room and in it, one of the cattle in maid uniform sobbing uncontrollably. She stinks of old fear and sweat, she also relieved herself in one corner of the room. The stench is horrendous. She disgusts me. We make cattle by removing from them what we appreciate in humans. The irony of despising our own creations does not escape me. The mewling human is still cowering as Anatole lights a lantern. She takes in his dark countenance and her tear-marked face turns ecstatic. ¡°Oh Master, Master, thank you!¡± ¡°Shhh. Tell me, what happened here?¡± ¡°Yes, yes of course. Where to start¡­¡± ¡°This place was attacked.¡± ¡°Ah, yes! The White Cabal found us. You know about them?¡± ¡°I do.¡± ¡°They assaulted during the day. The guards were quickly overwhelmed. Their vicious soldiers fought with no mercy. I was so scared!¡± ¡°Go on.¡± ¡°They killed Sophie. She forgot to lock herself, she was just slumbering in a bedroom upstairs.¡± Hold on. There were seven Lancaster vampires here when I arrived. Eight if you count the one that died in the fortress. I killed Charlotte the fat sow when I escaped, and Lambert in Marquette. Sophie the nitwit died here. That only leaves Moor, Melusine, Wilburn the rapist and Harold the bully. By the , I¡¯m halfway done! What an auspicious night! ¡°They failed to locate the others since the resting chambers can only be opened from the inside,¡± the cattle continues. Defense of a vampire nest is always the same. The enemy attacks at dawn. They need to successfully overcome the mortal defenders and then locate the vampires. We always sleep beneath the ground so it takes wit to find us and explosives to reach us. Sometimes, the mortals will also set the building on fire to slow down the assault like they did at the vampire fortress. If the attackers fail to eliminate everyone in time, the Lords and Ladies wake up first and they are usually displeased at the intrusion. I am talking about ripping your limbs off and bludgeoning your friends to a pulp with it levels of miffed. Then, as time passes, the situation grows more dire. It is a race against time, one that the White Cabal lost. People who attack a fortress during the night are simply suicidal. ¡°The mages escaped quickly when they realized they could not get at our Masters. They left the unarmed ones alive.¡± How very humane of them. I will have to remember this weakness. ¡°At night, Lady Moor ordered the others to pursue the Cabal and exterminate them. One of her mercenaries successfully managed to track the retreating group to a small hamlet North-West of here called Triste Chasse. Melusine was put in charge because Lambert is still not back from hunting that deviant.¡± A Lancaster calling me deviant? Pot, meet kettle. I hear Jimena scoff lightly at my side. Thank you for the support, sister! ¡°What about Lady Moor?¡± asks Anatole. ¡°After the others were gone, she evacuated the building with Baudouin, the new fledgling and a few others. I don¡¯t know where they went, I swear!¡± The squad leader is silent. I can tell he disapproves of a Lady leaving this insult unanswered. I can only assume that he and Moor are not acquainted, or he would know that she does not have a speck of honor. She does, however, care about her reputation. There must be more at play. Anatole does not react at the mention of a fledgling. He already knows of her poaching activities. ¡°Why are you still here?¡± Anatole asks. ¡°I knew you would come back. I am here to serve, Master!¡± the cattle says with an empty smile. Her eyes are full of blind adoration. Most likely, she is too far gone to live by herself. ¡°Of course. You have done well.¡± I can tell what is coming. All my instincts are screaming of it, yet I still raise a brow when the Knight decapitates her in one smooth summoning of his soul sword. The smile is still there on the detached head, manic and strained. Anatole is expedient. I am not sure if I approve of the waste. On the other hand, she would have slowed us down. he continues. The others nod, and we depart. It turns out that protocol dictates that any compromised lair must be purged. As we leave, I turn to take one last glimpse at the blazing inferno engulfing the manor, enjoying every second of it. The devouring fire cleanses Lancaster presence and my memories from this place, the flames climbing up to the heaven in a great roar. They cast strange shadows on surroundings that used to be familiar and that I am now leaving behind. Aaaaaah, yesssss. Enemy things set on fire. Beautiful. I could watch this all night. It¡¯s only missing a screaming Lancaster or two roasting on a pit to make it even more interesting. I could also laugh maniacally. Fortunately, I am a mature and devious Master vampire and I have no need of those artifices to feel satisfaction. It would still be nice though. Ah well. Our steps carry us North West through swampy ground and slums resulting from rapid expansion. Both the Mississippi to our South and Lake Pontchartrain to our North conspire to make the air humid and oppressing. Our mortal followers fan themselves despite the late hour. Our guide, a local contact we picked up near the pier, leads the way. Sometimes, he turns around as if to make sure we were still here and flinches when some of us are. The squad patrols along our small convoy by group, so when the poor man checks on us, he never sees the same faces. The others come and go without a noise. After two hours at a brisk pace we come in full view of our destination. Triste Chasse is a dump. It also means ¡°sad hunt¡± in French which I hope is not prophetic. No more than two hundred people live here at any time, piled in squalid houses centered around a central pair of workshops and a small church. Our guide informs us that the city provides cheap ceramics and tablecloth for the whole region. I will admit that Marquette was not much to look at, but even I can tell this place reeks of misery, of people barely eking out a living. There is no paint, only a few decorations, and piles of refuse litter the place. I smell the stench of rubbish and filth even under the acrid scent of smoke. That is the other important thing. Triste Chasse was the scene of a recent battle, of which traces can be clearly seen. Plumes of black fumes dot the city. More indicative of vampire presence, the church is missing, presumably collapsed. ¡°Form a camp. Hide,¡± Anatole orders, and the mortal assistants move to the side of the road with well-practiced ease. In the meanwhile, the Knights pick up their gear and leave for the seclusion of a thicket to get changed. Ah. I now realize that I can never join their rank. Ever. Now dressed in their armor and fully equipped, they spread out and disappear into the dense woods surrounding our destination. Jimena, Aisha and I are left behind, advancing at a sedate pace. The Vestal has her staff out and I feel magic coming from her, though it¡¯s extremely subtle. I use the down time to lean towards my sister. S?a?ch* Th? Nov?lF?re .??t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. she adds dreamily. I answer before slapping my mouth. Jimena does not say anything. Her ¡°gotcha¡± grin speaks for her. I got manipulated by Jimena of all people! Arg! I really need to focus or I¡¯ll never manage to save Aisha tonight. I keep silent and look around until we enter the village proper. The outer ring of houses has been barricaded. Furniture and bags of half-finished cloth are in the way, yet there are no signs of violence here. The entire setting is bizarre. It looks like the city was ready for a siege, but no one warned the authorities. It could be Lancaster influence at work or else, something more sinister. A hoot sounds to our right. We leave the first of three concentric circles of houses behind and move towards the sound. We also encounter our first victim. White Cabal ,¡± Jimena comments. The dead man is set against a wall, head bowed. He wears a white jacket stained with blood caused by multiple chest wounds, delivered with a blade. Sloppy work, that. A broken musket lies by his side. He does not have any gauntlet that I can tell. I whisper. I nod noncommittally. I rarely underestimate my opponents to start with. We go on and I keep looking around, searching for any signs of hostility. I find none. What I do find are blood tracks. A lot of people died here, yet only a few bodies have been left behind. They could have run out of time to clear out everything, I suppose. My unease grows as the strangeness of the situation only increases. There is a lot here that makes little sense, and so I keep searching around for hints. I inspect every house we go by for runes, in case our foes managed to hide the spell¡¯s auras. I check every window for movement in case they successfully masked their presence. So far, nothing. It takes us only a minute to reach a taller house closer to the center, moving low and fast. Our destination is grander than any other edifice we saw so far. Why, the planks are even a bit varnished! The proprietor attempted to imitate Victorian house architecture with modest means and poor judgment. The resulting horror is what I would expect if a skinwalker could turn into a building and were caught mid transformation. It even smells a bit similar. There really is no accounting for taste. Shaking my head at this embarrassment, I follow the other two inside. The rest of the team has converged into a living room of sorts. Honestly, I would just call it a surviving room instead, it is far more fitting. The furniture is made from wobbly planks, the couches are slightly decrepit and there is a dented tea set on a table near the entrance. As I enter, my nose revolts. At least half a dozen people died here, less than three hours ago. The blood is still sticky. And in the middle of the room, there is a conspicuous pile of ash. Four gone, three to go. says Anatole. The other members speak in turn. I learn that all the houses are empty, that there are tracks going out of the town¡¯s only road, to the North, so the population was presumably evacuated recently. The church is completely gone, but the pot factory still stands, and its entrance and few windows are heavily warded. Of the Lancasters, there are no signs. I do not pay much attention as the others exchange ideas on how to breach the workshop. If somebody is going to kill Aisha, taking us by surprise is still the best solution. I focus and look outside through windows. And I find something. I say, and the Knights turn to me. Before Anatole can tell me off, I point at a nearby house and say: They all turn to see where I point at. My target is a half-collapsed home near the main road to the North, slightly closer to the center of the town. The destroyed church is right next to it. says Jimena. I am once more grateful for her continuous help. Anatole lets us go without a word and the squad resumes their preparations, no doubt happy to see the back of us outsiders. Now that being an absolute tit interferes with his chances at survival, Anatole has been unusually amenable. I shall enjoy it while it lasts. Jimena follows me out. We move like shadows from cover to cover. At the edge of the road, she stops me. I nod and return my attention to the place I chose while she climbs a tree to get a better view. I did not choose the place at random. Nothing happened so far, and the city is empty. The Lancasters no longer have the numbers to kill Aisha, so the White Cabal are the most likely culprits, especially since they killed at least one of their attackers. If I want to know more and get some measure of warning, I need to gather information and this is the best place to start. The edifice in front of me shows extensive signs of battle. The logs that form its walls are pockmarked with bullet impacts and singed by more than a few spells. A White Cabal corpse lies near the entrance with half his head torn off, killed as he was getting in. I move across the road and through the door. The smell warns me in advance, but the spectacle is still impressive. Inside, I find at least four tracks of blood where bodies have been dragged out. There is also a pile of ash. Five down, two to go. I am just a little bit worried now. Besides the ash, only one body is left, and he is not White Cabal. Decked in a leather armor dyed black, the man is young and athletic, with a short mop of raven hair. He fell against a pile of rubble then to the side. The cause of death is a bullet to the temple made by a small caliber, one of the many wounds on his person. I count three blade cuts and another two firearm shots besides the last. One that broke his left arm and another that grazed his flank. He went down fighting in a puddle of his own blood. When I see him, I feel an inexplicable sense of loss. I push the silly emotion away, but it slithers back into my mind and settles there, increasing my apprehension. Something happened here. Something bad. I need to understand. I notice that on top of an elaborate rapier, the fallen warrior also has a mage gauntlet of exquisite facture. A patch on his shoulder bears the stylized ¡°L¡± that Lady Moor used as a seal for her important correspondence. A quick inspection reveals nothing else. No notebook, no convenient farewell letter. Frustrated, I close my eyes and open myself to other senses. The stench is nothing unusual. Blood. Sweat. Feces. Spent gunpowder. The night is as silent as it can be in the middle of summer. A pulse of magic comes from behind the man. At first, it was so weak that I dismissed it as a remnant of the numerous spells cast here, but I should have known better. I should have recognized the cold aura. I do now. I pick the corpse under the arm and lightly lift it, before placing it carefully on his back. On a whim, I close the dark eyes one last time and position both hands on his chest. This simple gesture makes me feel better and I now realize why. The man fought to the end, and with his dying breath, covered another body. A shock of red hair and pale arm dotted with freckles emerge from the rubble, previously hidden by the fallen warrior. Melusine, saved by the sacrifice of her . I remove the heaviest logs of wood crushing her body, uncovering it. Her petite figure is covered by the female equivalent of the Lancaster leather armor. I pull a few sharp spikes from her body, flinging them away with droplets of black blood. It takes only a few moments for her regeneration to kick in, as the wounds were not too serious. A caving in her skull pops back with a nasty sound and she blinks awake. She takes a deep breath in and whines in a broken voice. Uncaring of her surroundings, she crawls on the ground then on her knees towards the prone form. She keeps trying to breathe and say things, but only dry coughs emerge from her tortured throat. When she has reached her vassal, she sits on the side. With a shaky hand, she approaches a wound in his chest, then another, recoiling every time as if worried to hurt him. Her eyes finally find the hole in his head. The shaky hand collapses into a fist, with which she weakly hits his shoulder. Then, she pushes on the body and tries to make him move, show signs that there is still life. It takes a few seconds before she gives up. Her head dips until they touch forehead to forehead, and she wails. Her voice is weak and broken, so low that even Jimena should not be able to hear it. For a few minutes, she only cries, suffocates, then cries more. Her claws hold the fallen Vassal¡¯s armor in a death grip. Eventually, she stops. When her face comes up, blood drips freely from her eyes and on the dead man. Finally, she notices me. Her eyes find mine and she chuckles. It is not the laugh of amusement, but of someone who has gone beyond grief and emerged on the side of madness. No words are spoken. She bends her head, silent. I understand yesterday¡¯s intuition. Forgiveness through shared loss. This is what this is about, and the true question. Can I forgive her for who she is and admit that we now share something in common? Is this it? Preposterous. Absolutely ridiculous. Should I forget my nature and who I am for a so-called better outcome? No. The very notion goes against all I have done, against everything I am. We Nirari do not forgive. We get even. No amount of pain and suffering will erase the debt, unless we inflict it ourselves. With that said, there are several ways to get even and I do believe it is time for the smart one. I say. she croaks without much conviction. I seize her neck between claws and press down in a gesture of domination that, with delicious irony, she taught me herself. She hisses but does not resist. she asks, panting slightly from the pain and the loss of her bond. That disgusting swine. Good riddance. I add, Melusine scoffs, and sniffs, then unsuccessfully tries to wipe the blood from her cheeks. I ask with no small amount of curiosity. Instead of replying, Melusine points a bloodstained claw to the North, towards the road. A red light grows and grows there, increasing in intensity by the second. Soon, the sky is lit as if by a crimson dawn that does not reach the stars. The source comes into view. An army of torches lights the night with a vengeful radiance, some others move to the side and ignite the outer barricades, covered in cloth. From all around us, fires burn until the entire perimeter around the city is but one gigantic inferno, and from the North, the army of embers crests the edge of an incline, and its carriers come into view. At the forefront, sturdy men wield shields covered with crosses and silvery pikes, forming a wall. Behind, ranks upon ranks of musketeers in the uniform of the order of Gabriel march forward. They are led by a man on a horse wielding a battle standard upon which a winged archangel slays a horde of demons with cleansing light. His voice rings true. ¡°For if God did not spare angels when they sinned, but sent them to hell, If he did not spare the ancient world when he brought the flood on its ungodly people But allowed Noah to live, and seven others, and rescued Lot from heathens, Then the Lord knows to rescue the godly from trial and to hold the unrighteous for punishment on the day of the judgement! And that day has come!¡± ¡°Amen,¡± a hundred throats answer in unison. I turn back to Melusine¡¯s prostrate form, surprised that I managed not to gawk. she says laconically. Well, shit. Chapter 68: Dies Irae I cast a last glance at the army arrayed before us and return my attention to Melusine. I note in passing that she feels like a Master now, though weakened as she is, it is hard to tell for sure.Melusine takes a deep, shivering breath. I remember that it helps with the feeling of suffocation. For a while. She grabs her sternum and hiss softly, in pain. If we fight now, she will be mostly useless. If I let her live, that is. I press her neck until my talons draw blood. Her breath accelerates and she closes her eyes to deal with the pain. I had been thinking about something that would help me in the long run, and I believe I have just the thing. Melusine listens to my three conditions, even smiling cruelly at the end. She stares. With our truce firmly in place, I drag the filthy degenerate harlot up and we calmly make our way back to the Knights. The first condition is that she will let me have her blood once she has recovered, something I need to demand a lot more often if I ever hope to get powerful enough to stand against the mightiest Lords. The second is that she will help me in battle, once, in the moment of my choosing. The last is for the hearing to gain House status. I have no doubt that I will be acquitted, so I require no help for my trial as a rogue, but the hearing will take place just a bit later and Jimena made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that the Lancaster were a crafty lot. Even if they do not reclaim me, they could still demand compensation for my loss and this is not something I want to waste time on. We cross the street at a sedate pace, not trying to hide. The workshop harboring the Cabal remnants is not in view anyway, while the order troops have blocked the only path out of the fire, content to let us roast. There is barely any wind so it should take some time for the flames to reach us but the air is already heavy with smoke and, more unsettling, the smell of roasting meat. While we move, I think. We need a plan to get out. The order blocks the only access and they will shoot and pray away whoever gets close. Even the Knights would have difficulties breaking through that perfect setup. In fact, I believe Aisha will die if we try it. We need a way to cancel that advantage. Jimena jumps down as we pass by her tree. Her expression is sombre and does not improve when she sees who I help limp along. asks Melusine with a raspy voice. Melusine¡¯s eyes widen. What Jimena just did was to freely acknowledge our bond. It is a mark of support despite the political cost of doing so, something that genuinely pleases me. Ah, Jimena. You are so stupid. In a cute way. I reassure her. I wonder. Hmmm. It could work. Jimena and I drag the skank with us and find the squad where we left them. Anatole seems preoccupied, a sign of how serious the situation is. he asks, pointing at the weakened vampire between us. replies Jimena, Melusine does not object. She is staring in the distance, sometimes taking deep breaths. I ask, curious. Anatole frowns, then remembers that my security is his responsibility and keeping me in the dark does not help. If looks could kill, I would be lying on the floor right now. With a supreme effort, Anatole retains his self-control. he retorts, Aisha will not make it. I may not either. Anatole replies with a voice dripping with contempt. Everyone stops moving. No one does immobility quite like vampires, I think. Anyone entering now would have to take a moment to realize we are not statues. asks Anatole with regret. Yes, imbecile, you should not have given me such an opening. Melusine¡¯s breath hitches in her chest and I look towards her, but she does not even lift her head. I remember the horrible void I felt following Dalton¡¯s loss and I only managed to assuage it by consuming the depleted essence of half a village, something that only Devourers could manage. I will credit her for not whining. I suppose the strumpet has some spine after all, it is just a shame that it is not attached to a heart nor a brain. Anatole looks almost relieved. Anatole¡¯s eyes widen in shock as he realizes Aisha was the one to speak. Even Alec shows surprise on his bald rock of a face. she continues with a timid voice. adds Alec. Oh, how I do so enjoy watching the squad leader squirm. A mutiny! How fun. adds the grim axeman. It sounds like he is quoting something. Anatole appears to consider. We carry a lot of meaning through body gestures, when we want to. Alaric is currently neutral, but Aisha, Alec and Jimena all cross arms which is a clear sign of disapproval. I remain neutral. I do not want to squander my chances of fulfilling a promise for the pleasure of needling that bastard. After a short consideration, he concedes. I nod and exit the room, Jimena in tow. To my surprise, Aisha comes after me. What I asked? Oh! My weapons! she announces with pride, and hands me my dagger. Dagger. The proud Knight looks completely dejected. Pah. Elite group indeed. I reply, I turn around and my sister and I make our way to the fortified workshop. A dagger. I swear¡­ Well, nothing to it. Time to implement the next phase of my plan and try diplomacy. First, I need information. The workshop is rectangular. The cellar door is at the back, opposite the two other entrances. The approach is covered by stacks of crates and other sundries left in random piles. I suspect that the workers just dump whatever they are not using there. Their carelessness is a boon, as we make our way undetected. Jimena points to the gate, a double door made out of steel set almost horizontally against the wall. There is a thin line where it doesn¡¯t close exactly, and from it, I can hear moans of pain and low whispers. Under the smoke, I smell a bit of blood both old and fresh. I understand now. I can feel the wards placed here. There is an alarm, but mostly they increase the durability of the base material. It would take a direct hit from a cannon to blast through the thing. There is however, an obvious weakness. The space between the two doors is thin but not thin enough that I cannot get my claws in. I bet that they forgot to reinforce the steel bar. I grab below each pane, get down on my knees and with a grunt, channel both the Herald¡¯s power and my essence for an additional boost of strength. A month ago, I could not have easily bent steel by pulling on it. A month ago, I was not a Master. With a terrible shriek of tortured metal, the way opens to stairs heading down. At their bottom, a man with his arm covered in bandages wakes up with a jolt and stares at me, uncomprehending. I calmly walk down while Jimena stays behind just in case. In short order, I find myself in a vast open room with a stone floor. A dozen people lie there and they are all wounded. Most are men, ranging from a grizzled veteran to a young and portly man with what I imagine is an attempt at growing a moustache. There are women as well. A grandmotherly one holding the stump of her hand, and a girl with curly black hair and a bump on her head the size of a quail egg. They all stare at me with expressions ranging from disbelief to plain horror. Only one person is standing, a young woman with liquid red eyes and white hair tucked firmly under a nurse hat. She slowly lifts a trembling hand clad with a mage gauntlet. Before things can devolve, I raise two hands to show that they are empty, a universal gesture of peace. Not that being unarmed makes us harmless. ¡°My name is Ariane. I wish to speak to your leaders and offer a truce.¡± Nobody moves and I figure out why the nurse¡¯s eyes appeared liquid. Fat tears drip down her eyes as she opens her mouth. ¡°Bwaaaaahahahaaaaaaa¡­¡± She starts bawling. Her face turns into a red mess with snot dripping down her nose. Her still-raised hand wavers but she does not lower it. She just keeps crying like a fountain. It just doesn¡¯t stop Most of the wounded are awake now, and look at each other and the crying nurse, at a loss. Still crying. It¡¯s a little bit awkward. The door opens and a mage walks down the stairs. ¡°Sola? Is something the matter?¡± He freezes when he sees me. ¡°For Christ¡¯s sake Jebediah, not you too. Go back up and fetch Jonathan and the Dog, Ariane here wants to talk,¡± says a grizzled veteran with an annoyed voice. Jebediah opens and closes his mouth a few times like a beached fish, then turns around and mechanically climbs back up. Moments later, clambering footsteps and yells of alarm ring throughout the building. The door from upstairs bursts open and two men come in. The first one is panting heavily and holding his gauntlet and a large cavalry saber. He wears a more elaborate version of everyone else¡¯s white uniform as well as a thunderous expression. With his long grey beard and serious figure, he looks like an old general in the midst of battle. The second figure is deeply calm and walks in without fear, though not carelessly either. His familiar dark eyes take in the situation in an instant. I will admit that I am surprised. I knew this man as Bradley when he tried to blow me up back in Marquette. He was with the order then. How convenient for mortals, to be able to change their allegiances so. His heartbeat is the only steady one here. He must have guessed it was me from the name. There are so few of us, another vampiric Ariane would be extremely unlikely. Though, now that I think about it, if there is one I will have to find her and convince her that I am the Arianest of them all. The old man charges down the stairs like an enraged bull at the sight of the still sobbing nurse. ¡°I swear, if you hurt her¡­¡± he starts. THREATENING ME? ¡°If I hurt her then what?¡± I hiss softly, and completely release my aura. About half of the wounded are mages, and they shiver before the arctic onslaught. Even the old man¡¯s steps falter. As quickly as I displayed it, I pull my presence back in until it is entirely subsumed within me. I made my point. The nurse collapses in a heap, and other wounded drag her out of the way. WEAKLING. No, she is a healer. They have their use and should be respected. ¡°I have come to discuss a truce and temporary alliance,¡± I say. ¡°Why should I believe anything you would say, monster,¡± replies their leader, still bristly despite my rebuke. ¡°You should,¡± says Bradley. All attention turns to him. Normally, I am good at picking up leaders and influencers in a crowd, but in this case, Bradley¡¯s subdued presence misled me. The others look at him with respect, almost reverence. I did not anticipate that. Let us see if this can be leveraged. ¡°What do you mean, Jonathan?¡± the old man asks. ¡°I met her before. She held her promise, despite our enmity.¡± ¡°You faced a vampire in combat and lived?¡± asks a young mage with admiration. ¡°I tried to trap her and failed. She captured me.¡± At those words, everyone in the room stares with renewed fear and this time, respect. Apparently, piercing through their wards in seconds through guile and expertise doesn¡¯t count but one word from this ruffian and I¡¯m vetted? Typical. ¡°She let me go because I amused her. She kept her word. I believe we can trust her,¡± he continues in his calm voice. I remember him sounding the same when we were negotiating. Does this man ever show any emotion? I do not know who I should pity the most, his foes or his lovers. The crowd nods and even the old man goes from fuming to contemplating in a heartbeat. ¡°Very well, I will hear your proposal.¡± ¡°First, I offer a truce, between my faction and yours, for a week.¡± ¡°Done. What¡¯s next?¡± That went better than I expected. The next step should be easy then. ¡°I propose a temporary alliance, to face a common threat.¡± ¡°And ally with your kind? Never!¡± he spits with renewed anger. I jinxed it didn¡¯t I? ¡°Hold on,¡± says a female voice in the room, and silence is made. The person who talked is the old woman with a missing hand. She stands up from comforting the red-eyed nurse who she had been hugging. Her skin is pallid and there are deep pockets under her eyes but her voice is firm and her expression, cold and resolute. ¡°Sigismund Abelard Coolridge, a word please. In private.¡± The full name treatment? Somebody is in trouble. ¡°Is the timing well-chosen, woman?¡± asks a noticeably nervous Sigismund Abelard Coolridge. ¡°Don¡¯t make me tell you twice.¡± The gloves are off. The proud warrior leans towards his spouse and they confer in whispers. I can hear their conversation perfectly well. It is the age-old debate. On one side we have ¡®Can we trust them?¡¯ and ¡®I wouldn¡¯t be caught dead working with vampires¡¯. On the other, we have ¡®All those kids are going to die from your stubbornness you pig-headed fool¡¯ and ¡®One more hour and you¡¯ll be caught dead alright. We have no choice¡¯. I leave them to their arguments and return my attention to the former Gabrielite. Is Gabrielite even a word? Whatever, it is now. ¡°So, Bradley¡­¡± ¡°I go by Jonathan now.¡± ¡°Jonathan. Is that your new identity?¡± I ask with amusement. ¡°In fact¡­ that is my real name.¡± ¡°Hm.¡± It tastes like the truth. How queer. Could it be that he is more honest about his current alliance than the past one? ¡°How did you come to be a well-respected member of a mage group? They would certainly be looking at your past allegiances with distrust,¡± I remark in a low voice, low enough that the crowd looking at me with a mix of wonder and fear lean towards us in an amusing attempt to eavesdrop. ¡°I told you I was tracking a group of evil magickers.¡± ¡°I remember.¡± ¡°I followed rumors and gruesome crimes to their hidden base. The White Cabal was investigating them too. That is how we made contact. ¡°I am surprised that you would willingly reveal yourself so.¡± ¡°I did not. I took two of them for a scouting party and captured then interrogated them. They told me of their allegiance. I decided that we could benefit from working together.¡± ¡°That could not have been more than a year ago. How come this¡­ Dog? Believes you.¡± ¡°The Black Dog is the head of the military in any White Cabal cell. Coolridge is in charge of this war party.¡± ¡°He seems to hold you in high regard.¡± ¡°When I joined, they thought slinging spells equalled fighting. I proved them wrong. They opened to non-mages and varied their training afterwards.¡± ¡°And this is your doing? This assault on the Lancaster? Being trapped?¡± Jonathan smiles so lightly that some would have missed it. His smile has a sad and fragile quality that makes me want to draw the ephemeral moment. I commit his face to memory, for later. If we make it. ¡°I recommended against this assault. The leadership would not take the loss of Cyril without retaliation, however. I came because I knew I could save a few lives.¡± An act of courage and sacrifice. How many of those ended up with more cattle for the clans I wonder? Futile. Cyril must be the fledgling the maid mentioned. He is already changed and on his way to parts unknown, a member of Lady Moor¡¯s entourage. I understand their feelings all too well though. I would have done the same, had one of my people been taken. Before we can continue, the couple returns. The woman sits heavily, with a clear wince, while the Black Dog walks up to me. He is quite tall, and draws on his size and girth in what looks like an attempt at intimidation. I am not amused. AGGRESSION. DISSUADE OR PUNISH. The Dog pales and takes a step back just as I realize I had been letting a low hiss and showing just a hint of fangs. ¡°Cease your pathetic attempts old man, I have faced nightmares that would have swallowed you whole and lived to tell the tale. You are nothing,¡± I growl. ¡°Sigismund dearie, if you could stop being a pig-headed ass for one goddamn minute?¡± asks the old woman with a deceptively calm voice. The Dog gives her a quick, angry glance, though he also calms down. s?a??h th? ?0velF?re.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. ¡®Right. We¡ª¡° A few people snicker. ¡°I SAID, we have decided that we would entertain your proposal. Of an alliance. What did you have in mind?¡± That was quick. ¡°First, I would like to ask, did you have any plan to get out of this situation?¡± The old man immediately grows suspicious but Jonathan replies with his usual calm. ¡°I gathered all our remaining black powder and made charges with the clay pots we found here. I was planning on detonating them on a hunter path to the South.¡± ¡°Why?¡± I ask with curiosity. ¡°It is not a well-known fact. Explosions will snuff out flames, though if there is fuel they will restart. I believe it would have been enough for some of us to pass through.¡± I look around as I understand the implication. The path would be terribly hot and smoky. Those who manage to pass would have light burns and lung damage. The wounded¡­ would be left behind. Would they truly do this? I imagined the White Cabal to be suicidal idealists. They attacked a vampire city, after all. ¡°I never said it was a good plan,¡± says Jonathan, amused at my lack of reaction. The others lower their eyes as the mood plummets. These people are desperate. My intrusion distracted them for only a few minutes before the thought of their imminent demise returned to haunt them. I should not have worried about this alliance. Their leader¡¯s defiance aside, they are ripe for the taking. I just need to give them hope and they will eat it from my hands. And I do believe I have just the idea. The powder charges are the last tools I needed for the plan I had been considering. ¡°I will offer an alternative. Our main problem is not the fire so much as the order troops. Dig in or escape by blowing up a path, the problem remains the same. The order is coming for you, and for us, and you will be too slow to escape their fury. If they are defeated, however, the road North will open and you can go home safely with your wounded.¡± ¡°We know that,¡± the Dog snaps, ¡°it¡¯s just that a frontal assault would be stupid.¡± ¡°Not if we use the right tools. Their advantages lie in the presence of a chokepoint, their ranged weapons and their tight formation. I have a way to neutralize or even turn those advantages against them. It will require my group and yours to work together. We will need¡­¡± I expose my idea, and doubt is replaced by attention, then by a blooming excitement. ¡°Yes, this could work,¡± their bright faces say. Jonathan assists by making adjustments and corrections and even the old Black Dog offers a few pieces of advice based on his mages¡¯ abilities. We end up with a workable plan in less than five minutes. A miracle. ¡°Give me a moment while I tell everyone upstairs. Unless there are major objections, I will confirm the alliance and we will then implement the plan while you fetch your allies. Is that¡­ acceptable?¡± Oh, he is trying diplomacy. How cute. I nod and he climbs back upstairs, casting fearful glances behind as if I would suddenly murder everyone around. Jonathan follows him without a word. I am left alone, standing in the middle of the room while a dozen people gawp at the vampire. I do not enjoy being the centre of attention like this, not unless I am playing a role. To my surprise, the uncomfortable silence is broken by the nurse. I remember that her affliction is called albinism, and it makes her sensitive to sunlight. We have something in common, then. ¡°How could I not feel you? Your presence was hidden,¡± she asks with a vaguely offended voice. She probably blames me for her public meltdown. Before I can think of a proper answer, I find myself misquoting Sinead. ¡°I am a Master vampire, why would I have anything less than mastery over my own aura?¡± The mood changes once more as morbid curiosity turns into fearful respect. It¡­ it worked? It worked! Oh Sinead, Master of half-truths and boisterous claims, I bow before thine expert windbaggery. Your pompous turn of phrase allowed me to awe those mortals. I shall never doubt thee again, great one. Properly chastised, the nurse seems to deflate. I am almost disappointed that her spine would disappear so quickly. ¡°It took great courage to face me,¡± I say, remembering how she almost soiled herself and could do nothing but stand there and cry like a fountain. ¡°To protect your charge.¡± I realize that I mean it. She is not a fighter, but a healer. She still stood there and faced her death head-on. WORTHY PREY. No not prey. Remember Ariane, no eating your allies. It¡¯s important. ¡°Thank you! Hm, what I meant was, you cannot tempt me, night creature!¡± And there she goes and ruins it. ¡°Sola, help me up,¡± the old woman intervenes with a tired voice. ¡°Are you sure?¡± asks one of the younger men, ¡°the warriors have not agreed yet.¡± She shuts him up with one glance. Slowly, the wounded who can stand are helped up by comrades. Nurse Sola closes her eyes and a pulse of energy expands from her chest. The power spreads around the room harmlessly and I now remember what is missing. Corruption. Anytime I walked around a field hospital, the stench of opened bowels and souring wounds would assault me. Not so now. It smells of fear, pain and blood, a scent that I am accustomed to. The rest is missing. Is this some sort of healing magic? Interesting. I can understand why the Lancasters would shop for talents among the Cabal¡¯s ranks. I am tempted myself, though I think I can devise a much better way than plain open warfare. I believe I have understood the essence of openly negotiating as a vampire. Since it would be insane to work with me from a mortal perspective, I merely need prey finding themselves in absurd circumstances and appear as the sane choice. Like I just did now. It would be mad to walk through a fire, leaving wounded behind in the vain hope to escape an order war party. The world has grown insane, therefore doing insane things is the path to salvation. I am no longer a fledgling harried by the Thirst. I can establish working relationships with the powers that be, and they need not be vampires. I return my attention to the present when Jonathan pops his head from the upstairs door and addresses me. ¡°They agreed. Meet us in front of the workshop.¡± So¡­ so cavalier! Addendum one to the previous proposal, I shall establish working relationships with the powers that be and teach them proper manners! Being surrounded by a blazing fire and outnumbered by fanatics sworn to your destruction is no cause for such wanton vulgarity. Pah! Miffed, I exit the building from whence I came and meet with Jimena. She throws me a questioning glance. She stoops and scurry at my feet with a false limp. ¡°Ack!¡± We stand in the corridor to hell. Red flames and smoldering husks make up the world and a black cloud masks the heaven. The fire flickers and casts dancing shadows that turn into mocking demons when I am not looking. Suffocating smoke stings my eyes and unbreathing lungs like acid and this is not the worst. The only egress is forward, through disciplined ranks of well-trained, well-equipped, and dug-in vampire killers and this is not the worst either. No, the worst is the heat, a physical wall that crushes my mind and body like a cover of lead. It wipes my mind and bends me with its domineering presence. It tells me that I do not belong in this world, that I need to be purged. It tells me that my clock is ticking and sooner or later, it will get me. The heat will consume me and only ash will be left behind. To move is torture, to stand is agony and yet I trudge forward. No sweat can protect me from the inferno¡¯s rage. Even paces away and through my cover, it still sends embers to kiss my bare skin, blackening it like paper. The dark voice in my mind screams and harries me. It wants me to run, to find the darkness and cold that will welcome me in its blessed embrace, yet I endure. I must. Ping! A silver bullet hits the warded door, causing a small vibration to travel up my arm. For one instant, I falter and the improvised shield drops a bit. HIDE. With a hiss, I bring it back up. ¡°Hold,¡± the order commander screams, and no other shots are fired. Even with my senses, I can barely hear him over the roar of the fire, the creaks and groans of the dying homes. We move forward. I am at the head of the formation, with Jimena and the A squad¡¯s brawn by my side. They hold torn off doors and plates facing forward, like roman legionaries of yore. The weight of those covers is beyond mortal ability to carry, and this is where we come in. Our steps are slow and measured to prevent gaps from appearing in the improvised wall. Behind us and to the sides, carriages loaded with wounded and covered with tarp protect the flank from the implacable heat. Behind us, mages walk low. Their faces are covered in wet rags and they stay close to the ground with tears dripping down their abused eyes. I must have been insane to propose this. Perhaps I should have listened to Anatole when he announced he was not a glorified shield bearer for a sorry mass of uppity magelings. Ah, who am I kidding? The Knights would have suffered the most. This heat is too much, even for them. It assaults my mind with the urgency of my situation, of how I am fighting my own nature. No training will ever allow me to face this without dread. ¡°Steady now,¡± Jonathan says with a hoarse voice. His voice drags me back away from the panic. I focus on putting one step in front of the other. FIRE. I know, me, shut up. Fifty paces. We walk along at a steady rhythm. We had no time to rehearse, and we will have no second chances. I lost track of where we are. I dare not check through gaps to see our progress, lest the wall be disrupted. I can only stare at my boots and take another step forward, and another. My entire existence is reduced to that, and biting down whenever an errant flake adds yet another small burn to my growing collection. One step, silence my screaming instincts, another step, keep going. It goes on and on. It never ends. It never stops. My arms hurt. ¡°Halt.¡± I almost miss the signal and need to take my foot back. There are sounds from around us. The order has broken formation? I put the shield down, in case some order bastards decide to shoot my toes off. I bend and look through the hole where the handle used to be. A few outliers wearing heavy coats are trying to flank us. With their back to the flames, they slink at the edges. They are trying to enfilade us. ¡°Shields take a step forward, mages at the ready,¡± says Jonathan in a calm voice. The first flanker finds a gap and lines up a shot. ¡°Firebolt!¡± someone roars, and the Gabrielite is skewered. A few others rush to the side and take potshots but most of them are lost against the sides of the carriage. The order¡¯s formation is working against them. The flankers have to move out of cover to get in position while our mages can fire safely and more importantly, en masse. The order commander realizes it and rescinds his order. ¡°Back, back, tighten formation.¡± This is it. ¡°Shields up, forward!¡± says Jonathan firmly. I realize that the temperature is dropping. We are doing it, we are leaving the fire behind. And now, in front of me are those responsible. Ah, yesssss. Soon. Very soon. ¡°Stop!¡± We are so close. I can hear the Gabrielite¡¯s heartbeats, their controlled breath and the horrid prayers they mutter to themselves. They have spears and we don¡¯t. They have powder and we don¡¯t. Their shields will stop our spells. We have to charge through, and when we drop our shields to do so, they will unleash a barrage that will mow us like wheat. Or so they think. ¡°Now lob¡¯em!¡± screams Jonathan, and a dozen improvised powder charges arc over our heads to fall among them. Cries of dismay echo as some foes run, pushing others away and disrupting formation. A few pick up the heavy clay pots hoping to send them back, in vain. Jonathan is a master artificer and his fuses are perfect. The homemade grenades explode. Blood mist erupts in the enemy ranks as limbs and innards rain around. Their discipline is momentarily weakened by the incredible shock. ¡°Now, CHARGE!¡± bellows Jonathan. Finally! I raise the door with a roar of fury and toss the heavy metal and wood protection in the face of a very surprised enemy shield bearer. The heavy piece of hardware smashes into three men and squishes them like bugs. All around me, projectiles start flying into the surprised mass of the order. It is as I expected, they do not know how to face a combined force of mages and vampires. I rush forward and soon, there is no more room for deep thought. I kill. Slice up and down, slide under a man to avoid a shot, steal a pistol. Get pushed back by faith, slash a heel on my way down, gut a man on my way up. Throw the body on my foes, shoot a man yelling orders, stab and maim and roar and bite. YOU WANTED ME, I AM HERE. My essence sings as the air overloads with the smell of death and blood, the din of battle and the screams of men and women in a fight to the death. They do not break, they do not flee. They stand and fight. They rally and regroup. We are not facing bandits but dedicated and well-trained groups. WORTHY FOES. Pain in my flank. An errant bullet found me. I steal more guns from standing men and corpses. SLAY THE LEADERS, CLAIM THEIR HEADS. The other Knights are zipping across the battlefield. They disrupt formations and force the Gabrielites to react or to die, while the mages and soldiers of the White Cabal rush forward. Behind them, some of the wounded stand up from their carriage to shoot spells at targets of opportunity. It is not enough. Here and there, our mortal allies fall to bullets, blades and spears. As I watch, the old woman with a missing hand moves in front of the nurse. Her chest explodes in a red mist and she falls, face twisted in pain. Aisha has an arm missing. Alec is spilling black blood with every movement, his stature making him a target through sheer size. And I realize what is wrong. Alaric, Anatole, Jimena and even a weakened Melusine are at the edge of the battle on the other side, fighting defensively while Alec and Aisha, though bogged down, slowly make their way to them. The vampires are not fighting to win, they are fighting to escape, and they are right. This is the smart thing to do. Our alliance is not formal, we are fighting the same foes and that is all. We never said we would stay. I lose my focus for one instant and am rewarded with a bullet punching through my shoulder. Hsss. Hurts, dammit. I can¡¯t¡­ I can¡¯t¡­ I don¡¯t know what to do. Aisha pulls through with Jimena¡¯s help but as I watch, Alec finally takes a bullet to the back of the head and falls forward. He is immediately surrounded by shield bearers while a man takes out a silver spike. Not happening. I move forward and grab a dead Gabrielite with a loaded pistol. I channel the Natalis and werewolf essence as strongly as I can and the corpse. Prayers are not enough to stop their dead comrades and the line collapses backward. I aim and shoot the would-be slayer through a gap in their defense. Anatole is there in an instant. He takes Alec by the foot and extracts the heavyset man as if he weighed nothing. I follow. The world cools down and darkens. The vampires made it out, even Aisha. The Cabal is bleeding and dying behind us. I stop. The bullet in my flank exits from the wound to be replaced by unmarred skin, a benefit of Masterhood. I am still fully capable. I could still fight but I need not to. It is done. I have accomplished what I set out to do. All those I wanted to rescue made it out and the rest are but small fry. I can go now, leave the fire behind and rest in the gold-leafed and baroque buildings we call our own, and yet, I will not. This is wrong. My instincts are telling me this. Those are allies I left behind. I obeyed only the letter of the agreement, not the spirit. Those mortals by our side displayed bravery and gallantry in the face of certain demise. They are worthy. They are¡­ They are mine. After a fashion. And the day has not come that I will give up what is mine to those bigoted pricks. I turn around and face the world painted red, and for the first time since the beginning of this battle, my instincts and mind align. This will be dangerous, yes, but also exciting. I will face this horror and I will defeat it. My essence sings and my heart pulses once. I feel a hum of approval from the . It likes it, I think, when I do what I live for no matter the cost. I know what to do now. I whistle and from behind, the heavy stomp of dark hooves sound like war drums. The other vampires stop and watch with blank masks as I stand aside and grab the harness as she goes. Aisha whispers in awe. YES. Go Metis, go! For blood, freedom and gunpowder! I lean to the side and pick up a spear as we approach the melee again. The largest bulk of the order has rallied around their leader, a tall man bearing a battle standard. Perfect. A few heads turn when they hear the nightmare charging at their back, a few pray or scream to alert their friends, in vain. The leader turns, sees me. He turns a cross around. I roar. I throw the spear like a javelin. The projectile goes through his chest without slowing, then through the back of men facing the mages. Then Metis finishes her charge in their packed ranks. Physics plays its merciless role when the heavy steed¡¯s body impacts that of the squishy mortals. The back rank flies like pinwheels. YES, WE ARE WHERE WE BELONG. Metis stops in the middle and, essentially, unleashes her bad temper. She raises her front legs and shortens whoever she lands on. Her back hooves dent shields and skulls as she kicks and with each bite, she steals ears and noses. I am not idle either. I pick up a spear and protect her flanks, but soon our predicament becomes clear when the poor girl neighs in pain. Someone shot her! YOU DARE. I hiss and turn. A few musketeers have created distance and are already lining shots. I can¡¯t reach them. I will be too late! Then their heads start to fall. Jimena is here, picking those out of positions with ease. ¡°Come on men, one last push!¡± screams Jonathan from the other side. And then, what I never expected happens. ¡°Fall back,¡± a Gabrielite yells with authority, ¡°fall back!¡± His men all pick up shields as they can and stop shooting. They grab their wounded and slowly retreat in a defensive formation, looking like a large turtle. I use the distraction to get back to the Cabal ranks. I stand down and check Metis¡¯ health. As I watch, a slash on her chest slowly closes. She will heal. I sigh as fear leaves me. This was too dangerous. She could have died. Is it wise for me to bring her in fights like that, where bullets fly while she does not have my speed? There is only one reasonable solution. I need to get her a full plate barding, Dvergur-made, because I am not giving up on riding her into battle and I suspect that neither will she. Silence descends upon the field as the Cabal combatants lower their weapons and look around with disbelief. The battle is over. The night is ours, but no cries of victory sound through the night. There are only stares of disbelief and cries of relief. Only fifteen Cabal orders are still standing from a group that must have been around fifty two days ago. Many of the wounded will recover, yet they have still lost almost half their numbers. A terrible blow. I feel little pity for them. They were fools to attack to begin with. If Jonathan had not been here, none of them would have returned. I climb back on top of Metis and turn her around. Reddened eyes filled with grief follow us. I glance one last time at the old Dog, holding the body of his dead wife. I care not, my task is done. I say, and ride out into the night. Chapter 69: Trial We make our way to New-Orleans without incident. I remove a silver bullet from Metis¡¯ flank though she did not appear to be bothered, after which she trots off while munching on an arm. Jimena informs me that only a Nightmare and vampire with a true bond could call on each other like that, and that I must have been an exceptionally talented and domineering owner for her to be so subservient. When I inform my sister that Metis is anything but subservient and that the haughty, overgrown pony has a tendency to wander off when she feels like it, I am faced with a complicated expression.she declares after a while. Whatever that means. We take shelter for the day inside of the building that had hosted my fateful duel against Jimena. I learn that it acts as a sort of embassy, inn and government office rolled in one for the local vampires and their visitors. There, the Knights relay the situation to a representative of the Roland and Ekon clans who quickly dispatch mercenaries to the location of the fight. When they arrive, both the White Cabal and the Order are long gone. A night later, we take a ship to Boston with Melusine, who is to be interrogated about the whole disaster and her role in it. We settle in another boat ride which leads to yet another case of boredom. There is only so much coast I can watch before it becomes tedious. I occupy my time by drawing some of the things I saw like Jonathan¡¯s half-smile, the old woman sacrificing her life to save Sola, the albino nurse herself facing me despite her fear but before too much snot drips down her nose etc. Anatole stops harassing me and I get to practice guessing cards with Aisha¡¯s help, something she assures me I am moderately talented at. In addition, I exchange a few words with Melusine on occasion. Our conversations are usually like this. And so on. I am so beyond ennui that I wouldn¡¯t mind a pirate attack. I would scream the random words that Dalton taught me and have somebody, anybody really, walk the plank afterward. Alas, the days of the dread pirate Ariane have not come yet. I pester a sailor until he informs me that we sail at a speed of seven knots, then pester him further to learn that it is equivalent to eight miles per hour which is apparently really good, for a sailboat. After a week of travel and at sundown, we come in view of Boston harbor. The sea is covered in ships, warships, steamers and rowboats of all sizes. White sails and dark hulls contrast with the muddy green of the ocean. The flurry of activity does not stop, even at this late hour. We pass a few islands before our destination comes into view. An elevated landmass covered in buildings sits here, surrounded by waterways. ¡°Water on the other side as well,¡± an old sailor comments laconically. Rows upon rows of warehouses and factories start from the shore and continue out of view. The uniform mass of their dark roofs is broken here and there by the spire of a church, or by the white columns of official buildings. Columns of smoke rise into the night air like so many snakes, and the air is charged with the perfume of brine and burnt sugar under the overwhelming stench of raw sewage. I scrunch my nose with distaste. It doesn¡¯t take us long to moor at a pier where several carriages drawn by lesser Nightmares await us. We disembark and climb in without a word, and mortals soon lead us through the city. I look out the window as we pass by. I have never been to the original colonies, so this is quite exciting! We pass endless rows of factories, herds of animals led through the street and a few markets smelling of meat, rum, and tobacco. The population here is so¡­ white, compared to New Orleans. And the richer denizens sound weird, with an accent I have never heard before. I drink the sights until finally, we reach the southern part of the city and nature makes a reappearance. I return my attention to the interior of the ride. Jimena, Anatole and Melusine ride with me. I cross eyes with the red-haired harpy. She smiles lightly and her lips spell the word ¡°bumpkin.¡± Perhaps I should look outside more, it wouldn¡¯t do to slay her while she can still be of use. Cut stone and painted wood gives way to maple and birch as we ride South. After a few more minutes, we follow deserted trails until we enter a forest of tall pine trees. The scent of their sap and dried needles soothes my increasingly nervous mind, until we leave their cover behind. The path we follow leaves the forest behind and descends into a small expanse of flatland covered in vegetation. There, hidden from view, greenhouses and patches of greenery alternate with small homes lit by lanterns, with a few larger barns casting darker shadows. On the sides, the land falls abruptly into the sea so that an intimate valley is formed. In front of us and after the flatlands, a large mound of sheer cliff dominates the landscape, with the road dug into its stony flanks. Light shines from its summit and I can already see the edge of a slated roof. The carriages do not stop, and we slowly make our way up, past two security checks whose guards wave us forward. Soon, we reach the top and a manor comes into full view. We first travel through a last gate and a garden designed to look natural. Rows of trees block the wind and create hidden paths where revelers would have the illusion of intimacy. Behind that, the road ends at the foot of a majestic U-shaped edifice with the main body parallel to the sea. Its walls are of pink sandstone with only light decorations. Three wings, each more than sixty yards long, shelter in their embrace a French style garden centered around a fountain. A straight path leads from the entrance to a monumental set of stairs decorated on each side by columns separating the garden proper from a covered promenade. French windows on the left give me glimpses of a ballroom that could easily fit a hundred, and the entire second floor is adorned by one uninterrupted balcony. I can tell that there is a third floor and attic, and I expect that as in most vampire strongholds, a significant part of the structure will be buried. The most striking thing is not the architecture, however, but the vampires. A dozen of them cross the garden at a sedate pace and lean from the balconies in small groups of two to three. They affect indifference, but I can feel the weight of their attention on us. Their auras are deployed yet peaceful, and I can tell that most of them are Masters with at least one Lord thrown in. Jimena exits first and takes my side as I follow. We walk in behind Anatole, and I thank Sinead¡¯s harsh training for without which my aura would have betrayed my stress. Instead of a standard hall, the entrance leads to a lobby with the opposite windows offering a view of the sea and beyond that, the mainland. Tables and couches set on thick rugs form a harmonious rest area around a hearth in which a fire burns quietly. Light is provided by multiple candles though it remains subdued. On each table, pots filled with dried flowers and herbs perfume the air. It is not enough to mask the cold spice I associate with vampires. The air is heavy with it, both a welcome and a warning. A man stands in front of a front desk with his hand folded against his back. He wears an elaborate black suit with a bowtie that would look like a butler uniform were it not for the jacket being slightly too long and suspiciously heavy. Despite his obvious role as the welcome party, I find myself intimidated. His aura is powerful, probably more powerful than Moor¡¯s, and it has a wild quality to it that reminds me of werewolf. His eyes are so dark that I cannot tell the iris from the pupil and he wears his long sandy-colored hair tied in a tail, as well as a short and well-trimmed beard of the same color. His face has a ruddy quality, as if he had been an outdoorsman before being turned. From his expression, I can tell that he is not pleased. he starts with a deep voice, His tone makes it clear that this wasn¡¯t a suggestion. We turn left into a soberly decorated corridor, and then right into an antechamber. There are no windows here, only an empty desk and a few chairs. A single large door leads further in, and on each side stands a sentinel. And here the veneer of civilization falls off and the iron fist beneath the velvet glove is revealed. The pair are a battle Lord and Lady without a doubt. They held pole weapons the color of the void and were clad in a twin set of Dvergur-made enchanted armor that would cause Loth to whistle in admiration. I realize that there is enough might in this room to depopulate a small city and repress a shiver. The sheer pressure of so many crushing auras in such an enclosed space strikes me with a claustrophobia that has nothing to do with the lack of exits. Despite their fearful appearance, they open the door in silence and let us through without pause. This is it. This is where my fate will soon be decided. Jimena takes my hand for a fraction of a second and releases it, for which I am grateful. I let go of a breath that I had been holding since the garden. I take a second to inspect my surroundings. The room is split in two in its middle with rows of seats on each side. The top rows have unadorned desks with partitions allowing privacy. They lead to an elevated area with a tall desk which I remember is called the bench. I can see three highly decorative seats to the left and a door to the right leading to parts unknown. Large windows set high into the wall only show the night sky. The room is empty. Our advance grinds to a stop and I expect the others to be at a loss. I am quickly proven wrong, as Jimena leads me to the left front seat while Anatole and his squad sit on the right. Jimena proudly takes her place by my side and I hear a single click when Anatole¡¯s jaws lock together. We wait for only one minute before the right door bangs open and a man in a dark magistrate robe steps in. I don¡¯t know what I expected from Constantine but whatever it was, I am not disappointed. North America¡¯s only is very tall, but also quite thin. He has a hooked nose and sensual lips as well as large chestnut-colored eyes. His hair is dark and cut very close. His face¡¯s strange features would be ugly on anybody else, but on him the arrangement is eye-catching and magnetically attractive. His eyes immediately fall on me and I feel a pressing weight settling on my shoulders for a moment before he turns his attention to Anatole with obvious displeasure. His voice is a soft baritone that would be more fitting in a lecture hall but right now, it is dripping with sarcasm and disappointment. My eyes widen in surprise. Seriously? That little, pathetic, ungrateful prick! We fought together! Constantine says a single word, and his aura bursts out. Power. Unbridled. I gasp in surprise and pain, and even Jimena winces before the merciless display. My neck bends forward under the ominous pressure and I fight to remain upright. This is the power of a And he is the youngest of them? By the , Semiramis was right. I have never witnessed my Sire take anything seriously. The abominable wanker licks his lips with nervousness. How I wish I could KILL HIM for the¡­ the sheer audacity! he replies, I¡¯ll kill him. I¡¯ll fucking kill him and I will make it slow, shameful and excruciating. I will peel the skin from his back, I¡¯ll¡­ I feel shock overcoming me. Don¡¯t I have a say in that? Jimena mirrors my expression of dismay. answers Anatole with a dangerous glint. Oh no, please no¡­ Anatole scowls. Though he wisely decides to remain silent. You could hear a pin drop three rooms over. he slowly enunciates. Instead of exploding, Constantine raises an aristocratic brow. Both Jimena and Anatole stand up in protest after he is done but the Speaker¡¯s voice covers them all. The two sentinels grab me by the shoulders, and despite my hiss, take me away with ease. I do my best to calm down as they drag me down several steps of stairs until the coziness of the manor gives way to bedrock in dark granite. It should be alright. I can answer truthfully to any question they have, except perhaps on Semiramis¡­ By the I hope it will not count against me. It shouldn¡¯t. I have done nothing to harm the Accords. Yes, if anything, I have been quiet and cautious. I think it will be fine. I will be fine. The pair opens a heavily reinforced door at the end of the corridor and we enter a square room dug directly into the stone. A chair of dark iron. Heavy restraints. Pliers, pincers, a brasero. A painfully thin man with his chest bare turns as we come in. His face is dour and his dull brown eyes are lifeless. No¡­ The Master learnt that she could see into the future. The Courtier drank the royal blood and became Master. She slew the enforcer from the enemy clan. The Courtier followed the beacon. The Courtier ruled over Marquette. The Courtier tracked the key and faced the Herald. The Courtier lived and fought alongside Loth and for a time, the human Bingle as well. The fledgling ran through the wilderness. The fledgling served the Lancaster as their ward and their slave. The fledgling struggled to remain herself after waking up. The girl¡­ She¡­ Third night. The na?ve girl swallows air in big dry gulps between two cracked lips. Her body is but one large sore covered in scabs from which blood slowly seeps. Broken bones and failing organs. She is dying and knows it. She wants the embrace of death, to just make it stop. It will not come. Something dark is eating her from the inside, keeping the reaper at bay. It should not be. Her feverish thoughts are muddied. Demons crawl from the walls and from under the cot she was dumped on to scratch at her mangled flesh, to gnaw on her shattered digits. Please, just let it end. Please. Heavy footsteps. The monster is coming back. She tries to scream. Only a broken rattle escapes from her tortured throat. He bites her again. He forces her to drink the black thing. It is even more delicious than yesterday and the pain of drinking it, the feeling of violation, is even more. Her heart stops beating. Her lungs give up. Her last vision was that of the amused monster and a corner of dirty ceiling. Second night. The na?ve girl wakes up with a jolt. She fell asleep in the hospital bed. This is not the hospital bed. He took her back. She panics. Then, she calms down a bit, regains control. She is hurt. Soiled. Not broken. Not yet. She slowly sits back up. The claw marks on her stomach make her moan but she endures. She makes herself fall from the bed and gasps in agony. It takes her a minute just to stop shaking. One of her arms is broken. The left one. There is just an ocean of pain between her legs. She is in a cellar, somewhere. The door is open. She sees it by the light of a lantern. It is still day. She doesn¡¯t know how she knows it. She knows she must escape. She crawls forward. Drags herself with one hand. With each movement, the wounds around and in her core reopen. Tears fall down her eyes but she bites down and endures. Little by little, she goes on. She passes the door. On her left, a man with dark curly hair and a muscular back sits at a desk. She freezes. He finishes writing then turns around with a smile. He says something in a language she does not understand. She screams when he picks her up, when he breaks the fingers of her right hand. He bites her neck. He forces her to drink something. It is intoxicating, the most exquisite thing in the world, but it burns everything on its way down. The pain and violation defy description, but she cannot stop. The pain makes her consciousness shatter. First night. The na?ve girl and her friend Constanza flit from group to group in the prestigious New Orleans venue. The reception room itself is larger than any place they have ever been in, including the church. Smartly dressed waiters circle around richly dressed revelers, offering bubbly flutes and appetizers. The two friends have a lot of fun. They are newcomers, and the novelty of their presence as well as their pleasant appearance made them the center of attention for the young male gentry. They bask in the glow of their attention and enjoy their first outing in the big city thoroughly. The na?ve girl is not interested in the men her age. They speak of parties and events and gossip about childish things. She wants someone who speaks of economics and politics, who understands market trends and treats her like more than just a pretty thing. The na?ve girl has projects aplenty. She also had two cups of champagne. One man attracts her the most. He is slightly older but not by much. He is mostly silent, as if bored, yet his eyes drift around the room, seeing everything and nothing at once. She is intrigued. She should have asked to be introduced, as is proper, but she is tipsy. Her face is flushed and her heart full of bravery, so she will display a little bit of derring-do. At first, the man seems cold but after she has talked for a minute or so, he asks questions. She tells him everything. She speaks of producing rum and the infrastructure and funds needed. She speaks of investment, of distribution networks. She speaks of the home she wants for herself and even what kind of husband she wants. She doesn¡¯t stop speaking. He is a good listener. He knows exactly when to needle her on and when to focus her when she loses track. She feels like she has known him forever. She feels like he could be the one. She asks for his name, and if they could meet again. She wants to lick her lips and trail her hand against his broad chest, to feel it against her own. Constanza comes and bids them to go, as it is quite late. She agrees. She wants to meet the man again, later. The two friends leave. The na?ve girl giggles as she speaks of him. Constanza teases the na?ve girl. They walk to the inn where they stay and where they left their chaperone deep in his drinks. They pass next to an alley when it happens. A monster grabs the na?ve girl. Her friend screams and threatens. The monster smiles. It claws the face of Constanza. The girl falls, cradling her head. Red blood drips from it in great gouts. They scream. The monster takes the na?ve girl. He jumps from roof to roof. He lands near a deserted lumber mill. She tries to flee. He snaps her left leg. She falls and sobs. She fights, still. ¡°¡­ do not need this arm anymore.¡± A snapping sound. The na?ve girl howls. The monster shreds her dress. The na?ve girl fights the pain more than the man. The na?ve girl cannot believe this is happening. The na?ve girl sees herself as if she were outside of her own body. The monster moves between her legs. The monster defiles her. The monster bites her neck. The monster holds his own arm up. It stops moving. The monster slashes its wrist. It forces thick blood as dark as a winter night between her moaning lips. The naive girl drinks. The blood tastes divine. It ravages her insides. It is an indescribable experience. The monster takes the na?ve girl in his arms¡­ In the now, a door bangs open. A human girl charges in. She is a , with a hawkish nose and sensual lips. ¡°Ignace, you hijo de puta!¡± the says in fluent Akkad. Behind her, a vampire with short dark hair and a face more handsome than pretty stares at the na?ve girl with guilt. ¡°Mierda, Ariane¡­¡± the vampire whispers. The manacles are removed just as the naive girl regenerates digits three and seven. She grabs her own fingers and pulls on them, one by one. They were no longer mangled and out of position anyway, but it feels good to do so. The vampire and the help the na?ve girl take out the silver spikes in her body. The na?ve girl removes the ones inside her nose first, then from her face and then from the rest of her body. The na?ve girl has no more spikes. The female vampire smells good, like family. The female vampire helps the na?ve girl into a large tunic that falls to her knees. The fabric is very soft. It feels good. Like when the silver spikes are removed from her teeth. The two take the na?ve girl and guide her. They touch her but it is fine. The vampire is sister. The human is a . Up up up they go. They come across a Lord in a black ensemble. He has sandy hair and a beard. the Lord says. the says. She is very angry. They climb more stairs. Up up up they go. They arrive in front of two large doors, with a battle Lord and a battle Lady on each side. The walks in unopposed. The na?ve girl is dragged in too. They are in a pretty office. There are many books and precious things. A man stands behind a massive desk. He is more powerful than a Lord. He, too, has a hawkish nose and large lips. The screams at him in a strange language she never heard before. She is very angry. She is angry for a long time. The man tries to interrupt but she keeps screaming. The man stands up and approaches them. The girl screams some more. The man crashes against the desk then on the ground with a trail of dark blood dripping from his flattened nose. The na?ve girl looks at her fist, still in the air. Nobody moves, they just stare, astonished. ¡°Asshole.¡± ¡°Asshole,¡± she repeats. ¡°Asshole, asshole, asshole, asshole asshole,¡± I say. I jump on him. I punch him more. ¡°Asshole asshole asshole!¡± ,¡± the man protests while doing his best to fend me off. I am very fast and still manage to land a blow in his kidneys. Constantine says. His aura flares, Thick binding chains emerge from his hands and capture me with blinding speed. I call the power of the Herald but I am weak, it is sluggish and does not even manage to crack one link. I fight against the restraints, with no result. the Speaker asks. ,¡± the male Lord answers coldly. In vampire terms, this is a scathing rebuke, The room falls silent, except for me. I am still fighting the bindings. the retorts, unamused. The Progenitor clenches his jaws but does not answer. The others take me somewhere as I desperately pull on my fingers but no matter how often I do, the phantom pain remains. Come on, cold mind of mine. Do your thing. Push the memories in the background where they lose color and intensity. Make me forget. S?a??h th? N?v?lF?re.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. Please. Jimena whispers, Jimena caresses my head and I touch my fingers, one after the other. They¡¯re all there. They¡¯re fine. All there. All straight. Fine. Fine fine fine. Yes. Fine. All there. The door opens once more and Aintza comes in. She looks a bit older now, older than Jimena in any case but not shockingly so. She lies by my side, so I am between them. The covers are comfortable. Aintza is very hot also, so the feeling of her warm body next to mine is strange and rather comfortable too. A few minutes later, Meliton returns and lights a few candles then starts a fire in the hearth. The perfume of jasmine takes over the room. It is nice. Jimena smells good, the room smells good now as a result. And safe. I slow down on touching my fingers but I do not stop. I move my toes, also. Sometimes I move my arms because I can. The pattern of the fire is fascinating. The fire dances and rolls without pause, never twice the same. I watch it. At some point, the room grows darker because they close the shutters. Dawn comes. Chapter 70: Painful hearing. Jimena assures me.I answer with a wince. Jimena says nothing, and she makes no comment when I lightly pull on one of my fingers. We make our way to the dreaded courtroom. I have no time to prepare, no time to work on anything. My hearing is to start tonight and this is it. My only saving grace is that the request not to delay came from my self-appointed lawyer, Salim of the Rosenthal, the same who warned me of Lambert¡¯s coming. Jimena assures me that he is both experienced and competent. I do not have an eidetic memory, nor was I a lawyer in any point of my existence, so I shall rely on him. As my father would have said, they who choose to represent themselves have an idiot as a client. I just wish my fate did not depend on someone else, no matter how talented they may be. she answers with a thin smile. There is not a trace of apprehension in her, though whether it comes from confidence in Salim or acceptance of death, I cannot say. Seeing my worried expression, she continues. ¡°Hm.¡± I was settled in a second-floor bedroom. The central wing of the manor is almost entirely dedicated to lodgings, as well as a few private reception rooms. The right-wing contains suites meant for larger parties as well as a library, while the left-wing is dedicated to offices and records. The underground floors go deep and are extremely well defended, with wards and mechanisms that make any day assault hazardous at best. Even Jimena does not know the full extent of its defenses. She tells me of a well-furnished armory, a sophisticated training room, magical workshops¡­ and a torture room I suppose. We make our way along a corridor soberly decorated in earthy tones and dark woods, and down a large set of stone stairs. Wards are set at regular intervals and designed to reinforce the structure and, unless I am mistaken, to resist fire. They taste of snow and suffocation. The stairs end with a corridor crossing the one I had taken three days and an eternity ago. We turn right and soon come in view of the courtroom. We walk in. I remember to relax my grip on Jimena¡¯s hand when one of her knuckles cracks. She does not utter a sound. This time, the antechamber¡¯s desk is occupied by a severe-looking woman with mousy brown hair and a pinched face. She nods when she sees us and waves us in. Her aura is that of a weak, or very young Master. I recognized the well-ordered feel of the Rosenthal though I also notice a strange spikiness to it. Before I can notice more, we go between the two sentinels and into the room where my fate will once more be decided. I sure hope things will go better this time. On the right side, the plaintiff-side I remember, there are five people and I recognize most of them. At the top of the table, Lady Moor¡¯s onyx hair is held up in an elaborate hairdo. Beside her is a vampire I do not recognize. Male from the clothes, with very pale hair in a black suit. Directly behind her, I see the backs of Melusine, Baudouin and if I am not mistaken, one of the Roland twins who presided over my duel with Jimena thirty years ago. Then my eyes look at my side. At the front sits Salim of the Rosenthal. Behind him, Naminata lounges in a fancy white cotton dress with a lot of frills while behind her, Aintza is sitting upright next to a man I¡¯ve never met. I look at him as I pass by and notice to my surprise that he is a very old Dvergur with a wild look, a large bald spot and a scruffy white beard. He stares as I go by, his eyes assessing. Jimena stops by Naminata and lightly pushes me forward. I sit next to Salim who gives me what I assume is an encouraging smile. I do not find the strength to retort. Instead, I close my eyes. Fingers fine. Toes fine. Fresh air. Can move. Good. I repeat this mantra in my head. It helps. I hoped that my cold mind would smother the memories. I suppose I should not be too greedy. A mortal would have needed¡­ actually a mortal would have died. We do not wait long. It seems that Constantine is not the kind of person to make others wait as a power play. He enters the room from the right-hand door with three vampires in tow. It is only now that I realize the implication of being here. Boston is the vampire capital of North America and I am in the seat of its government. The first man to follow is tall and very muscular, not like a worker but like a circus strongman. The brown ensemble he wears is bulging, and though it was obviously custom-tailored, it looks painted on. As if somebody had stuck a bear in a tuxedo. I do not need to taste his aura to recognize a Natalis and I can tell that this one is old and very powerful. The second person to come through is a dainty young woman with blonde hair and crystalline blue eyes the color of the coldest ice. She wears an elegant sleeveless white dress and high gloves. She smiles innocently as she sees me and though her aura is subdued, I can tell without a doubt that this is a Lady. The last man to come in is a Lord as well though his aura feels like something is missing. He wears a scowl under bushy eyebrows and shoulder-length gray hair. His suit is also the color of ash, and shows a lean but muscular physique. His face is a bit older than the average vampire and with his steely eyes, he is like a wolf. He surveys the room calmly and without apparent interest. And to think I was impressed a few days ago. Forget about depopulating a small town, there is enough might in this room to destroy an army. Of course, they will probably never agree to fight side by side. The three newcomers take the elevated seats to my left and behind Constantine. They are diagonal compared to us, and their position gives them a commanding view of the proceedings to come. Constantine walks behind his pulpit and without ceremony, begins his speech. To my surprise, Salim¡¯s eyes widen at the mention of the last name. I feel a shift in all vampires present. Apparently the man is important. Good for him. Constantine finishes. the pale-haired man answers. He stands up and walks to the front. The man is quite handsome in an aristocratic way, but his sneer when our eyes meet twist his face into a mask of cruelty. The scoundrel walks back to his seat with dignity. I seethe. The audacity of these people¡­ Will this abuse ever end? Constantine says in turn. Salim stands up with a slight smile and takes the place Barlow had occupied. It lasts for one moment but I can tell that Salim¡¯s plea finds echo in the Speaker. He did strike me as a man who sees his own time as precious. Too precious, perhaps. My lawyer understands the judge well, an auspicious start. As Salim walks back, I realize that for the first time since leaving Marquette, I am feeling a new emotion. Hope. The haughty woman walks forward and to a small circle to the right of the open space I had not noticed before. She stands there as if her mere presence was a privilege we should appreciate. Her testimony is a heart-wrenching tale of how she ¡®rescued me¡¯ from the clutches of my sire, a man known for his depravity and the horrendous way he treats his spawn. No objections there. The Lady then elaborates on how she wanted to give me a chance at life despite my unfortunate ancestry, and did her best to educate and guide me until my fateful betrayal. I am furious though I hide it rather well, and find out that being angry helps. I do not feel so haunted anymore. Instead, I add Moor, Anatole, and that snivelling little prick to the list of persons I will personally flay alive then dip in a barrel of freshly squeezed lemon juice, before roasting them over a pit. Salim¡¯s turn comes. The difference between him and Barlow is striking. While the unctuous bastard speaks in flowery language interspersed with witty traits, Salim is sober and to the point. voices Barlow energetically, Constantine returns his gaze to Salim, indicating that he may answer. Constantine¡¯s attention goes to Moor. Silence. I know that nothing concrete was achieved with this exchange. This was merely a preliminary testimony to establish the circumstances of my servitude, and yet Salim broke their narrative. My status went from protegee to that of asset in only a few sentences. The next person to come up is Baudouin and I force myself not to smile at the implication. Melusine should have been next if they wanted to prove how much they contributed and how I repaid them. Their decision is probably for the best, though the jury might wonder why she did not intervene. The loyal explains in English, and in gory details, how I cleared a warehouse for him. He remembers how in the course of my work I displayed cruelty and malice beyond what was needed. He speaks of broken wrists and shattered limbs, of men and women drained of blood as soon I was given the opportunity. His twisted tale does not anger me. Baudouin is a and align with their Masters. It is the way of things. After Baudouin is done with his wild exaggerations, Salim stands up and smiles. Trust. Smart choice of words, Salim. Baudouin hesitates. Silence. Silence. Up till now, the jury had been quiet. This last sentence wakes up their interest. Suddenly, the atmosphere gets heavy and the weight of their attention falls on the . Constantine says in a deceptively soft voice. Painful, awkward silence as four judgmental sets of eyes land on Lady Moor. To her credit, she doesn¡¯t flinch. I know I would have. Baudouin walks back to his place as if he were on eggshells. The hostility in the jury¡¯s aura is an exceptional thing, as our instincts will naturally blunt the desire to harm . It appears that I am not the only one who despises captivity, and worse, captivity under someone who isn¡¯t a vampire. I steal a glance towards the Lancaster bench. Barlow and Moor are as impassive as ever but behind them, Melusine¡¯s fists are clenched. Our eyes meet briefly. I understand that Salim is well-prepared and doesn¡¯t need my input. He knows much about me and what I have done through Jimena, Nami, Isaac and Loth. I still think him reckless for proceeding so fast. There could be information I did not share yet and could be relevant for the trial. The next witness to be called by Barlow is one of the Roland twins. He recounts how he presided over a duel and confirmed it was to the death under the Accords. Salim only objects when Barlow implies my duplicity instead of demonstrating it, and does not ask questions. Then Constantine declares a short recess. He leaves the room first, followed by the jury. They gauge me as they pass by. They look interested. The defendants are the first to leave and we are escorted to a receiving room by one of the Speaker¡¯s silent sentinels. The groups do not leave together as a precaution against sudden violence. A wise choice, as I would happily stab them if I could get away with it. We sit on couches, including the old Dvergur who looks completely out of place, and also vaguely smells of fish for some reason. ¡°Introductions first?¡± I ask in English to be polite, and look at him. ¡°A noo who you be, lassie.¡± This voice, the insane eyes, the incredible age¡­ ¡°Are you¡­ Erlingur?¡± ¡°Aye.¡± I know of Erlingur. Loth mentioned him often. Erlingur is ancient and pretty much a legend in Dvergur clans. His temper is the subject of many a ballad and so is his lust for women and mead. It is said that he broke his first axe on the head of one of Trajan¡¯s legionaries. It is said he plied his trade as a mercenary from the cold Kievan Rus to the shores of Hispania, that he was a captain in the Byzantine Varangian and a bodyguard for the first Calif. It is also said that he once wrestled a roast boar at his ex-wife¡¯s wedding. The boar won. He is not exactly known for his shining intellect. Nevertheless, Loth thought of him fondly last time we talked. It is Erlingur who taught him English after coming back from a stint in the Scottish Highlands. He is also my friend¡¯s oldest surviving uncle. ¡°Is it true that when you caught that Narwhal¡­¡± ¡°Ahem,¡± Salim interrupts. I was distracted, and it felt nice. Though judging from the old man¡¯s scowl, I should have picked another story. Definitely not the one with the squid though. the lawyer continues, I hiss in response. All there. All straight. All fine. No, I need to focus more. Calm down. Salim¡¯s expression grows clouded and I recall Isaac mentioning torture training. He knows. Hmm. Jimena sits closer. With a light finger, she brushes the side of my arm. On the other side, Nami bumps my shoulder. I reply. Salim prepares me for the next fifteen minutes, insisting that no good lawyer asks a question he doesn¡¯t know the answer to. I use the opportunity to indicate that Melusine¡¯s loyalty is uncertain, something that Salim is sure he can exploit if they try to use her. After that, I ask for a bit of privacy with Jimena. The others queue out of the room without complaint. I ask. Weakness. Powerlessness. I had forgotten for so long how it felt and now I am reminded of it once more, in this room filled with old monsters. The members of the jury shift, perhaps amused? In any case, my innocence in subverting an Accord¡¯s sponsored duel should be established. It was not my ploy, and if they doubt my word, they can always ask Ignace for confirmation. That is one less tool in the Lancaster¡¯s arsenal of slanders and half-lies. Next, Salim has me go into details about the many tasks I had to do for Baudouin. My answers show a deep understanding of their structure and priorities, something that a barely contained thug would not have known. I briefly explain why the trophy-hunting mage¡¯s attack and Nami¡¯s subsequent rescue made Moor doubt my allegiance, and how she did not hesitate to use me in her arena. Moor tenses visibly at the mention of how much money was probably involved and Barlow looks suddenly quite interested. Take that you dishonest hag. Salim¡¯s measured diction calms me down and I realize soon that the three members of the jury intentionally subdued their aura. They do not feel so domineering anymore, instead, they are slightly protective. Yes, they are dangerous, but not to me or at least, not right now. It still takes all my willpower to stay upright. I just want this to end. I will go on a little bit more and all will be fine. Barlow stands up to interrogate me. Salim¡¯s advice was to answer the truth and not to worry about any impression I left. So, I will do that. I do not think hard, and I do not play coy. I answer concisely and that¡¯s it. It doesn¡¯t seem to go as well as Barlow thought. I suppose that after considering me as a bloodthirsty moron for so long, the Lancaster ended up believing their own myth. ¡°¡­¡± And so on. S?a??h the N?v?l(F)ire.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. I say as I point to the Servant in the room. A shocked gasp escapes the Hastings Lady¡¯s mouth. I add helpfully. Of course, at that time Aintza was not yet bound to Jimena, though I fail to elaborate on this specific point. I count. The three idiots who were lynching that escaped slave named Toussaint, incidentally the first time I got drunk. Then father Perry and his entourage. I answer, and explain who they were and the circumstances of their demise. Barlow ends with a few perfidious and slanderous comments, implying that my testimony is unreliable and that I may have killed those I had been feeding on without realizing it. He points out to the increased number of disappearances during that time period, to which Salim objects. This ends his counter-interrogation. Already, members of the jury display signs of impatience. They make it subtle enough not to insult their host but easy enough for the rest of us to pick them. The fact that they sit slightly behind Constantine helps. Salim smiles and introduces the next witness. King? Erlingur stands up and skulks his way to the front with a box in his gnarly paws. The artefact is an intricate silver construct with a needle on top, and a moderate magical aura emanates from it. It tastes like¡­ It tastes like Loth, like mountain and steel! He made the enchantment himself. ¡°Erlingur, please state the reason for your visit,¡± says Salim. It is extremely subtle, yet I notice that the Courtier¡¯s expression is just a bit amused. The reason soon becomes obvious. ¡°Loth ashked me. Aye, a knew him as a wee bairn. Ya ol¡¯ walloper he sed, ya spend aw day scunnert oot yer mind in ya fucken hoose loik a pure twally, ye disnae wanty go oot he sed, so a sed shut yer gob ye hackit goon ¡®fore I batter it, a don wanty, so he sed, get oot ¡®fore I burn doon yer gaff a got a job fer ya so I sed aye and here I be.¡± Silence falls over the room. Constantine¡¯s gaze drills into Salim who looks on placidly. The Hastings lady opens a fan to mask her obvious smile. the Speaker asks, annoyed. an extremely low-pitched and gravelly voice says. The one who speaks is the Natalis Lord. His voice is surprisingly soft for someone his size, and his words are slow and measured. the lord with the long gray hair adds. His voice is still a basso though not as low as his neighbor¡¯s. He also has a strange accent even in Akkad. There is rhythm to it, as if he were reciting. Constantine considers the item with curiosity. He¡¯s probably never seen one before. ¡°We shall hear your kin¡¯s message then,¡± he says. The sentence is barely finished before Erlingur pricks a thumb on the device. The box shines blue with runes, then an illusory globe rises in the air. It vibrates slightly with each sound the enchantment produces. ¡°Am busy! Get tae fuck!¡± my friend¡¯s inimitable voice says. A rare emotion fills my heart and I raise both hands to my chest. Loth¡¯s aura spreads through the room now, as if he were here. ¡°Is that bloody thing even on, ah yes. Ahem. ¡°My name is Loth of Skoragg. I have spent the past century in North America and for ten years, I welcomed within my home and hearth Ariane of the Nirari. During that time, she respected all the terms of our arrangement without fail. Never did she kill one of my citizens, and never did she endanger my life or secrecy. She showed loyalty and candor in her dealings, curiosity and ingenuity in her pursuit of knowledge. She fought by my side and bled with me no matter the odds or the risks to her person. She helped me face my demons and made me a better man, not out of self-interest but because she wanted ta help. She was in turn an apprentice, a confidante and an aide, and more than that she was a friend. A real friend who I would risk my life for without a sliver of hesitation. Ta all of ye oversea bloodsuckers, whoever ye are, ye have a diamond in yer midst and I regret every day that she can¡¯t be here with me instead of these arse-licking, unruly ninnies. What good Hunts we would have, hah! Anyway, I¡¯ve said enough. Ariane if ye¡¯re here, next time we meet I¡¯ll make ye a gun that will blow an asshole¡¯s head clean off from a mile and then do it five times more without reloading, ye¡¯ll see! Awrite. This is King Loth, signing off.¡± The sound bubble dissipates and I let out an uncontrolled gasp and lightly bend forward. Happiness. This emotion is so fleeting and precious that I forgot about the whole hearing to focus on that elusive warmth in my chest. I let it go through me. Only when it dissipates in the cold recess of my unbeating heart do I open my eyes again and straighten out. Both the jury and the Speaker are looking forward though I know they saw my reaction. They pretended not to see my momentary weakness. That is a sign of respect. On the other bench, the Lancaster discomfort is obvious. If I had to judge how the Hearing is going for them so far, I would have to use the word ¡°disastrously¡±. Despite their numerous setbacks, Barlow hasn¡¯t given up yet. ¡°Erlingur, the two of them spent ten years together. Would it not be possible for your King to have been under her influence?¡± Ah, trying to discredit the witness in front of his grumpy uncle? Brilliant idea, moron, let¡¯s see how that works out for you. ¡°Ye¡¯re off yer fooken heid ye daft cunt,¡± the old man¡¯s spits, shivering with rage, ¡°dinnae talk mince course we checked his mind, ya wee fanny!¡± adds Salim, deadpan. The only sound is the groan of wood as Barlow¡¯s claws slowly dig into his desk. Beautiful. Constantine declares while glaring at the Lancaster side. Barlow interjects respectfully. Gah, when will you give up? Constantine remains silent which the lawyer interprets as permission to continue. Constantine asks, out of patience. Right. Melusine stands up and replaces Elringur at the front. This is going to be good. Silence. Melusine¡¯s shoulders are tense and her face is a frozen mask. I dare not imagine the tumultuous emotion ravaging her mind right now, and I rejoice that she decided to honor our oath above her loyalty to her clan. Barlow repeats with visible anger. If I had been humiliated like he was, I would be angry too. he insists as Lady Moor¡¯s eyes throw daggers at the little minx. A condemning silence! This could not have gone any better. The sound is barely a whisper, so silent that the mortals could not have heard, and yet for us it is like thunder in a blue sky. Barlow half-screams. Melusine is screaming now. I bet they can hear her on the other side of the bay. Nevermind my earlier comment, this is a thousand times better than silence. Forget the bay they can hear her in London. The room grows quiet. Or at least I think it does, my ears are still ringing. By the . Wow. I am floored. Barlow and Moor gawp like a pair of beached fishes, aghast. Constantine adds politely while the irate redhair is still gasping for air. And that, as they say, is that. Chapter ex2: Glossary. List of bloodlinesAmaretta: A bloodline focused on prophecy and vision. Their Progenitor is active but only meditates. Most Amaretta members are female and they are concentrated around the western Mediterranean. Known member: Aisha, member of the North American knight squadAmaretta, the Progenitor Cadiz: A clan based in Spain, whose members are known to achieve supernatural focus. They boast many of the world¡¯s greatest duelists, though they sometimes suffer from tunnel vision. Their Progenitor has gone through a portal in search of a challenge. Many of their members support the Eneru faction. Known members: Ceron: Lord, first met by Ariane in the fortress, contributed to her escape in exchange for Lancaster confidential information.Jimena, Ariane¡¯s friend and blood sister, knight, owner of a soul sword called Justice.Suarez: Lord, first encountered during the Charleston heist. Ariane had previously rescued his Vassal and he repaid his debt by helping her escape the knight squad when they came to slay her. Constantine: Constantine himself has not yet sired a Spawn. His powers are unknown. Known members: Constantine, the man who established the political order for all vampires in North America, under a unified system of laws called the Accords. He is the Speaker. He has some limited military power and is also one of the world¡¯s greatest living blood mages, making him a powerhouse. Dvor: Dvor vampires bind with a territory and mostly remain there. They are significantly stronger when defending it against intruders and weakened while away. All of them support Eneru and make up most of the alliance¡¯s upper ranks. Their Progenitor is asleep in his city somewhere in North Africa, while his descendants concentrate around the Middle East and Eastern Europe. Known members: Torran, Lord. Not much else is known at this juncture. Erenwald: Based in Germany and central Europe, Erenwald vampires favor nature and the wilderness. They are the only bloodline animals do not shun, and rear most Nightmares. Some of them can perform druidic magic and their Progenitor turned himself into a tree. They contribute heavily to the Followers of the Path, the third vampire faction. Known members: Ogotai: Ariane¡¯s jailor back at the fortress when she first woke up. He turned against his superior Lady moor out of hatred and opened the fortress to the Order of Gabriel. He was killed years later.Wilhelm: not much is known about this lord, only that he is Constantine¡¯s steward. Hastings: Hastings can walk in undirect sunlight, though they consider it unpleasant. They also naturally wake up early and can consume food and drinks. In exchange, they are physically weaker than the other bloodlines though they should never be underestimated. Their Progenitor recently eloped with a mortal and they hide somewhere in the English countryside. The clan is a major contributor of the Mask alliance. They concentrate in the United Kingdom and France. Known members: Hastings, the Progenitor. She is on holiday.Sephare: not much is known about her yet. Ekon: Ekon vampires are obsessed with new experiences, gathering their impressions in a magical repository known as the Great Book of the Ekon. Their Progenitor died to experience the sun and share his experience. Several copies of the Book exist across the land updating themselves as soon as a new entry is made. Ekon vampires possess increased Thirst and pain resistance to assist them in their endeavor. They are mostly neutral and seldom gather, preferring to travel the land in their never-ending quest for the new and the exciting. As a result, they do not have a main territory. They are also one of the few clans recruiting in central Africa and the Guinean gulf. Known members: Naminata the Singing Spear, Master, Ariane¡¯s friend. Known for her reckless nature and legendary sexual appetite.Kouakou: Lord, one of the few Ekon who does not travel much. He handles Ekon financial interests in Louisiana and is a major supporter of the clan as one of their few sedentary Lords. Kalinin: Kalinin vampires can resist and even wield holy symbols so long as they believe their cause is just. Their Progenitor was killed in combat and devoured by Nirari. They make their home in western Russia, particularly around Moscow and Saint Petersburg. They are neutral. No known members so far. Lancaster: Lancaster vampires are exceptional at Charm. They are the other clan operating in the United Kingdom and also support Mask. Their Progenitor was killed by a once in history alliance of mages, Gabrielites and even some vampires. Known significant members: Moor: Lady, (previous) head of the Louisiana House.Melusine: recent Master, made a nuisance of herself for Ariane. Capable mage. She recently entered a truce with Ariane.Lambert: Master, enforcer, mage, had his heart on the other side of his chest. Slain by Ariane in single combat. Natalis: Natalis vampires boast incredible physical strength. It comes at a cost to their intellectual abilities, though most of them are not completely stupid. Their Progenitor has disappeared and some suspect that he has died. Natalis are mercenaries and bodyguards, having very few holds of their own. Most Natalis Lords support the Eneru faction. Known members: Jarek, Lord, not much is known about him yet. Nirari: The Devourer bloodline, the first vampires. Nirari can absorb a fragment of the strength of their victims and keep it for themselves at the cost of particularly strong instincts. Because of the Progenitor¡¯s use of his Spawn, only four Devourers are currently alive while some newer bloodlines boast numbers in the hundreds. Lord Nirari himself is locked in a secret war with his mother, a conflict that has spanned millennia. He is considered unstoppable by most organizations. Known members: Nirari: Ariane¡¯s sire. Ancient Prince of Babyon. The first one to receive the elixir of flawed eternal life. He is cruel and vindictive though he always respects his word.Ariane: you know.Svyatoslav : the first Spawn to gain his independence. Svyatoslav was a prince of Kivan Rus''. He is currently operating in Russia.Malakim: Nirari¡¯s right hand, a tortured soul devoured by hatred. Roland: Roland vampire boast an unbreakable will that lets them train harder, fight longer and pursue passions with more determination than any other bloodline. They, unfortunately, tend to be stubborn as a result. They are based in France and make up the core of Mask¡¯s military. They have a tradition of being patrons of the arts, even more so than the Rosenthal. Their progenitor is currently slumbering in an unknown location. Known members: Gaspard: Lord, slain by Nirari at the vampire fortress after provoking him.Anatole: a Master previous head of the knight squad, he is an arrogant prick. He went after Ariane hard out of blind hatred and got exiled for it. Nashoba called him a pretender. Rosenthal: The Rosenthals boast an eidetic memory and synthetic mind. They are completely neutral and act as the lorekeepers, bankers and administrators of vampirekind. They benefit from a positive relationship with other factions of the supernatural world and boast a powerful mortal military made of well-trained and loyal mercenaries. Rosenthal vampires are mostly uninvolved and are forbidden from taking part in conflicts by their Progenitor herself. They operate out of Switzerland but recruit everywhere. Known members: Isaac, Ariane¡¯s banker and wealth manager. He became a Master following a hunt they shared. He has a rebellious streak.Salim: Isaac replacement after he departed from America. Vanheim: The wild cards of their kind. Their powers are unpredictable, and the Progenitor is unknown. Vanheim are rare, few, and often isolated though they are not shunned outright. Known members: none so far. The three vampire alliances: Mask. Masks dominate Western Europe. They favor infiltration and influencing the world from the shadows. They are known patrons of the arts, funding extravagant works and hosting grand balls. Their games and contests are often cruel. Masks dominate Western Europe except for Spain. S~?a??h the ??v?lF?re.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. Eneru: Eneru members postulate that vampires, as long-lived and resilient individuals, have the potential to be superior rulers. That is not to say that any vampire has the necessary leadership skills, of course. Member of Eneru will semi-openly rule small domains over which they have near complete control, employing talented mortals as representatives and agents. They tend to be traditionalists though many of them still understand the need to change. Eneru vampires control Spain, parts of north Africa, parts of the middle east and parts of the Balkans. They are more fragmented than Masks. Followers of the path. The Followers are isolationists and can be considered a faction only insofar as they oppose the two others. Followers control central and Northern Europe as well as Western Russia. The Accords. A good number of vampires have moved to North America, until a community formed under the patient rule of Constantine. The Accords heavily regulate conflict between the eclectic members of the group. Constantine¡¯s personal guard as well as himself and a squad of knights ensures that discipline is enforced with deadly efficiency. The White Cabal. Based in the state of New York, the White Cabal is a group dedicated to the protection and development of mages in north America. They have recently started to gain a significant amount of power. Their budding military mixes mages and mundane soldiers and uses specialized tactics. The Order of Gabriel. A fanatical order devoted to the extermination of all things supernatural, they are well-trained and well-funded for the most part, and do not hesitate to sacrifice their lives in the hope of killing one more monster. They go mostly after practitioners, rogue and otherwise, but will attack vampires if they think they have a shot at taking one down. The attrition rate of the order is extremely high but there is no shortage of volunteers to join their ranks as supernatural entities often leave many vengeful victims in their wake. Other characters: Achille: Ariane''s brother, currently still alive. He is a bit on the judgemental and stubborn side though he does have a good heart. We know little of him save that he made the family business prosper and had many children.Aintza: Jimena¡¯s Sand long-term lover. She was instrumental in freeing Ariane from Lancaster servitude.Arthur: Melusine''s , he died saving her from an order ambush.Cecil Rutherford Bingle: an adventurer and a gentleman. He returned to England after sharing an adventure with Ariane, and married the woman he had met there, Rose. He has a peculiar magic that turns everything dramatic around him.Dalton: Ariane¡¯s first vassal, he was killed by the key of Beriah during the 1812 conflict. His death was avenged by Ariane after a major battle after which she gained the ability to destroy magic with her claws, at the cost of energy.Erlingur: Loth''s uncle. One of the oldest living Dvergur and possibly the dumbest as well, he is known for a strange mix of courage, blind luck and sheer stupidity.Harrigan: Ariane and now Merritt¡¯s head of security, a despicable but disciplined man.Jonathan Hopkins: dark hair, dark eyes, a sober man with a mind like a bear trap. Jonathan first joined the Order before switching allegiance and turning the White Cabal¡¯s military into a professional force.David King: a rescued slave who joined the odd squad after Ariane bought and freed him. His father died fighting wendigos.Kitty: the Dream¡¯s leading girl.Loth of Skorrag: A Dvergur (dwarf) from Scandinavia, Loth is a master artificer and a deadly fighter. He is also a scholar who will happily talk about his family¡¯s long and tumultuous history. He recently returned to his home country. Loth is extremely tall, bulky and the proud owner of a dark bushy beard. A few strands of silver have made their way into it, not that he much cares. Notably fond of mature beauties.Alexandria Merritt: previously free mage who joined Ariane as her second in command. Merritt is loyal though she is still fond of the occasional mischief. She has two children: Ollie and Lynn. All three are redheads.Semiramis: Nirari''s mother and the single greatest mage who ever lived, she was granted immortality by the entity known as the Eye or the Watcher against allowing his essence into the world. Semiramis is sometimes tasked by the Watcher with creating an elixir of flawed eternal life. Upon consumption, the chosen will become the Progenitor of a new bloodline. She is trying to become a goddess and is locked in eternal conflict with her son Nirari, the first vampire. Her den possesses strange dimensional properties.Sivaya: an ethereal beauty and princess of the Likaean court of Blue, she is a magical genius. Politically, however, she is a disaster according to Likaean standards. She is currently working on a way for her people to go home.Sola: a beautiful albino girl, a rare natural healer and purifier, capable of closing even grievous gut wounds. She is part of the white Cabal.Nashoba: shaman of the Choctaw nation. He made the earrings Ariane is still using to evade detection. He could see the future, and called Ariane ''daughter of thorn and hunger''. He died from Ariane''s hand as a way to escape the pain of his disease. Ariane liked him fondly and carries his memory.Papa: technically named Hercule Reynaud but effectively Papa forever, Ariane''s dad was ever supportive of his child even when she lost her soul. He met her several times and they kept a steady correspondence until his death in the early 30''s. His wife Diane died very early in Ariane''s life, making him her sole parent, a role which he dedicated himself to.Sinead: the most powerful Likaean on the planet, and a prince of the Court of Summer. He is at time a rogue and a dilettante, and at times a deadly schemer. No matter what, it always looks like he gets what he wanted in the end. Both Ari and him have done things for the other that they did not have to do...The Watcher: the embryo of a creator god, the Watcher will one day ''die'' to give birth to a new universe, or at least this is what Semiramis believes. Nobody is exactly sure what its agenda is, or indeed if it has one to begin with. All that is known is that the Watcher is sapient, can communicate and is intimately tied to vampires and their existence. Chapter 71: House Nirari I stand in front of Constantine with my arms crossed while he adds the finishing touches to the official document. It is a mere formality but it appears the Speaker enjoys his formalities.Once he is done, he delicately puts his pen down and crosses his hands before his mouth. In the following silence, neither of us yields. In the end, Constantine speaks first. I lift a hand in the air to interrupt him. His eyes light with anger. he yells, I stop, realizing I was screaming. Constantine remains silent. Constantine¡¯s brows furrow. Constantine considers me quietly. He shows no anger at my provocative speech which is a good sign. I wait patiently while Constantine ponders my proposal. I am too weak to do anything to him, yet. The past few days have shown me that despite reaching masterhood, I am still a small fry compared to the real decision-makers. I may be safe from rogue hunts or arbitrary execution now, but I am still a pawn in a chessboard full of ancient and cunning creatures to whom mercy is but a weakness to exploit. I will take time to recover and I will enjoy the world, and I will also start working on the future. If I want to face the threats Aisha hinted at, I will need power both personal and political. I shall train, feed and find weapons. I shall also ally with those I can rely on, be they vampires, Likaeans or mages. Hell, I would even work with werewolves and forfeit their sweet, nourishing essence. And tolerate their stench. Perhaps. Constantine sits back into his cushioned chair. He has reached a decision. It sounds like a great deal¡­ The Speaker hands me an official House declaration, properly folded. I know when I have been dismissed. I take the scroll and leave his office, greeting his mousy-haired secretary on my way out. I turn to the butler as I exit. He has been waiting for me and made no secret of it. I consider that with so many vampires around, rules and tact must apply differently. The personal rooms and offices such as Constantine¡¯s are warded of course, but the rest is not. Nami already taught me that etiquette demands I maintain my aura overt and non-threatening out of politeness, but what about the rest? Any whispers in Akkad will be heard from half a wing away. Everyone smells as soon as you enter the room if you have been intimate, and with whom. They know if you have been to the city or if you have been gardening, or if you haven¡¯t bathed in more than a day. I am reminded of living in very close space with nosy relatives. Suddenly, the notion of having my own sanctioned territory and only coming here to mingle sounds all the more attractive. I could strike a good balance between the countryside and its many exotic creatures, and the city and possible new bloodlines to add to my growing collection. the man says in a soft and cultured voice. I do not reply and glare instead. I am convinced that Jimena came to him for help and he sent her away. This is not the kind of resentment I can simply give up on for the sake of expediency. The truth is that I hate them. I hate them all. Resentment is no longer the smouldering fire in my chest that it used to be when I was human. It is a cold and hard thing, both patient and quite unpliable. There is a debt, and sooner and later that debt will be paid. What Ignace said was wrong, my body is not something that must only be preserved for the sake of survival. I am also my body. By maiming it repeatedly as he did, he hurt me in a way that I had not been even when my heart was damaged. Contrary to my expectations, the butler only smiles. I ask. He sighs, giving up. Ah yes. I stop rubbing my fingers which are all there, intact, and indicate that he should lead the way. We climb up a set of stairs, coming across two mortals in colorful dresses showing plenty of cleavage. Their cheeks are flushed and they smell of perfume and sex. The pair curtsies, keeping their heads bowed as we cross paths. I can feel through my aura that their vitality is a bit depleted, signs that they fed someone recently. Wilhelm comments in lieu of explanation. We come across a in a form-fitting, daring red dress of expensive make who also bows as we pass by, and quickly reach our destination. The butler also bows before presenting the suite. There is a lot of bowing going around and, fortunately, I am not the one doing it. I go in without waiting. The ball can wait. I want to talk to everyone. As soon as I close the door behind me, everyone inside stands up to welcome me, even old man Erlingur. I notice that Sorrel, the mage who allowed me to talk to Isaac through a crystal focus back in Marquette is also present. The small number of guests is at odds with the grandeur of the receiving room. Contrary to the rest of the manor which favors earthy tones, the decorations here are in shades of white and deep blue. The furniture is lavishly decorated with bronze and engravings. There are enough seats to host a party. My friends have gathered around a central table upon which a few snacks and drinks have been set. Erlingur is nursing his second bottle, and looks distinctly tamer than before. I approach with a smile. I am safe here, and surrounded by friends. All is fine. I force myself to relax my shoulders. All will be fine. In time. ¡°Congratulations!¡± the yells erupt. I am quickly surrounded, though I also notice that they leave a respectful distance between us. I don¡¯t want that. Nami is in front of me, so I grab her into a hug. I trust Nami. Clawed hands part my hair, rest against my neck for an instant, then trail down my spine. I shiver lightly at the intimate touch. A low rumble shakes her chest. Suddenly, another pair of arms surround me from the back. Jimena¡¯s scent is familiar and comforting. For the first time tonight, I truly relax, and let out a shaky breath. Salim grumbles. Our trio chuckles and they let me go. I join the small assembly and sit in a throne-like chair they left for me, facing the entrance. As if planned, everyone goes to a small pile of containers in the corner of the room that I had not noticed before. I give Jimena a questioning glance, but she just winks. Soon, my guests form a line and approach me one by one, Jimena first. ¡°Congratulations on becoming a Master! As I have mentioned before, reaching the stage of Master is a momentous occasion and a great cause for celebration. Even neighboring covens will often join the festivities. As your sister and the most important person in the room¡ª¡± Groans from the audience. Since she spoke in English, everyone can follow. I am appreciative of the favor she does the mortals. ¡°¡ªit is my privilege to be the first to grant you these gifts I bear.¡± She hands me a small crate filled with books. ¡°Go on, have a look!¡± I pick them up one by one, amused, and read the titles out loud. The books themselves are of high-quality paper and either brand new or truly ancient. ¡°Vampire History Throughout the Ages, a Primer.¡± ¡°A Guide to Proper Etiquette and Not Ending Up Skewered and Beheaded.¡± I notice that this copy is old and has seen good use. ¡°Lady Hornicia and the three brawny lumberjacks¡­¡± I glare at Jimena¡¯s impassive face while behind her, the group exchanges knowing smiles. ¡°¡­ with Illustrations,¡± I finish, hearing a few ¡°ooooh¡±. I notice that Sorrel is embarrassed. There goes my reputation. The next books contain written guides on many things vampiric, including the infusion of essence and aura. This is of special interest to me as those are the first steps to our version of magic. I thank Jimena with a smile and she walks back to her chair while Nami takes her place. I open her box, fully expecting something sordid, and take from it a strange shawl of a very light blue fabric. The garment is ethereal and practically floats in the air. I caress it, enjoying its soft and cool texture. ¡°This is so beautiful, what is it?¡± ¡°Tis called a cave shroud. Do not be alarmed when I tell you that it is in fact a spore colony from a rare form of magical flora. It is alive and will grow in length if it doesn¡¯t perish. Only the Erenwalds know the secret of its making.¡± I hold the piece of clothing between two hands and enjoy the smooth feeling. The shawl indeed has the lightest aura. ¡°It fears fire and the sun, just like us. Take good care of it.¡± ¡°I will.¡± I wrap the shroud around my neck and immediately feel better, while Nami goes back to her seat and Sorrel takes her place. I am surprised that the mage would step before Salim, and he answers my questioning look by taking out his transparent ball and chanting a few incantations. The crystal apparatus grows cloudy, then clears away to reveal a desk organized with manic attention. Isaac smiles as our eyes meet. I smile at his words, and after a few more pleasantries, we cut the call. We have not spoken for half a minute and Sorrel is already on the pale side. While the spellcaster sits to recover, I open his chest. Inside, I find a deed to a significant share of the coal company operating in Marquette, as well as a notebook enchanted to accept more pages. I set them aside with a smile. Salim is next, and he offers me a card upon which is the address of one of Boston¡¯s most up and coming tailors. He managed to get me exclusive services for two weeks. I will finally have the opportunity to replenish my wardrobe. ¡°Please, do not see it as a criticism of your current apparel.¡± ¡°Not at all. Thank you, this is very thoughtful, Salim.¡± ¡°You are welcome.¡± After that, Aintza gives me a pair of small concealed pistols which I immediately love, and Erlingur delivers a massive crate with a small letter covered by Loth¡¯s unmistakable scribbles: ¡°Ariane, Here is a suit of armor, hope you didn¡¯t fatten too much and that I still got your measurements right. I¡¯ll send you an experimental gun you might like as well. It is not suitable for humans but perhaps you can put it to good use. I hope to see you soon, Loth.¡± I take out a black, heavily enchanted ensemble. It is to my old suit what a ball gown is to a maid¡¯s uniform. Plates and scales cover every inch of it with glossy darkness, each enchanted separately and linked with minute precision. The chest is covered by a single large plate upon which a haunting rune is etched. It looks like a circle open at the top, with two wing-like lines going up and to the sides. Mid-way through the wings, downward formations have been placed, looking suspiciously like fangs. Forget discretion, this is an armor made for war. Anyone who sees me in that will know that I am here to kill, and that I can afford to do so in style. I bet that thing could stop an enchanted blade, or a volley of bullets. It is a royal gift. Now I understand why Loth always complained about poor tools and materials. This is what he can accomplish with proper instruments. This is what the true work of a centuries-old Master is. This is the dress of a Queen, made to clad her form as she drenches the world in blood. I love it. Love it, love it, love it. I want to try it on. Even the others are looking in wonder. I grab the thing and disappear through a door leading to a luxurious bedchamber in the same style as the receiving room. I quickly remove my last surviving dress and put on the armor, fastening it quickly. The inner fabric is smooth as silk and though the armor itself is heavy enough that a mortal would struggle moving in it, it doesn¡¯t hamper my movements in any way. I feel giddy and when I walk back out, the vampires cheer while the mortals look on with mixed dread and admiration. I wish I could use a mirror. I decide that tonight is not the night for a test run. I do not know if I can just run around the property, I do not know if it would set nearby alarms and more importantly, I would not be able to appreciate it properly. I change back, and we have a pleasant time together, speaking about everything but politics and torture. Between Jimena¡¯s knowledge, Salim¡¯s wit and Nami¡¯s and Aintza¡¯s humor, the conversation is as effortless as it is pleasant. I also learn that I am free to organize my introduction party and that they look forward to it. When I mention Constantine¡¯s offer, all agree that it is an excellent deal, almost suspiciously so. Salim wagers that Constantine is trying to mend our relationship while Jimena believes that the Speaker sees me as a potential enforcer. Nami merely asks that I make sure to have hunks on hand for when she decides to visit. Sorrel is the first to leave, exhausted. Erlingur soon follows, but not before I make sure he leaves with the gift I prepared for Loth back in Marquette. Salim is next as he has work to do, and I smirk when Nami manages to drag both Aintza and Jimena away. She is the very soul of corruption, that one. Once I am alone, I retire to the bedroom. Somebody left the secure sarcophagus I always use on a small dais by the bed. Before retiring for the day, I make a list of everything I will do next. I need to plan the ball. I already know what I want to do, what sort of image I want to give. I need to accept Constantine¡¯s offer and get in touch with Torran of the Dvor, see what he needs. I need to network while I am here, and find new creatures to sample. s?a??h th? N?v?lF?re.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. I need to learn how to do magic. I need to learn how to obtain a soul weapon. Only when I have everything will I take the next logical step, replace Constantine as the head of our kind in North America. And not as Speaker. As Queen. Chapter 72: All that Glitters I wake up and slide the sarcophagus open to an unfamiliar view. The ceiling is ornamented white plaster, a bit gaudy but a welcome sight. Nothing bad happened. I awake truly free for the very first time since I woke up in the Louisiana fortress. There is no abusive Mistress to obey, no knight squad to hide from, nothing. It took thirty years to achieve this state but achieve it I did.My elation is short-lived. Outside of these thick walls, the sun¡¯s merciless embrace lights the world with its radiance. Its weight makes me sluggish even here, behind walls of unyielding stone. I feel it like a buzz, or a roar at the very edge of my consciousness. Come out, it says, come out and face your nature. You live on borrowed time. You will be ash. Eventually. I shake my head and force my fingers to open one by one. I need a distraction. I also need to secure a supply of blood before tomorrow, as I doubt that the Speaker tolerates poaching on his territory. I dress quickly and walk into the reception room. All the windows are shuttered. A pair of enchanted lanterns shine with a light blue glow. A mortal woman in a maid¡¯s uniform consisting of a black dress under a white apron, with a cute little hat, sits at her desk and reviews documents. I send a tendril of essence to nudge her and she blinks owlishly. Then, her eyes find me by the door. She lets out a minute gasp, though she recovers quickly. She does her best not to show fear and surprise as she stands up, a good idea when dealing with us. With a careful hand, she places the sheets she was holding on the coffee table beside her before curtseying. ¡°Good evening milady, my name is Solveig. I will be assisting you during your stay, if it pleases you.¡± Solveig is a tall woman with golden blonde hair in an impeccable tail. I would place her in her early forties, though she would look younger to inexperienced eyes. Just like Jimena, she is more handsome than pretty, with a ramrod straight back and a sensible air. ¡°I am Ariane, it is nice to meet you. What assistance can you provide?¡± The maid lets out a small breath of relief. I suppose that some guests can be adversarial, and adversarial vampires can be a daunting prospect. ¡°Much. You can count on me to arrange anything from baths to a cab. We can get you clothes, weapons, send messages and arrange meetings with vampires and mortals alike. I am also free to share with you details on whoever is available, as well as arrivals and departures, should you wish to engage in social activities. You have access to loyal mortals should you wish to partake in their blood without hunting. Finally, the Speaker has granted you an allowance of two hundred dollars per week for expenses.¡± Convenient. Two hundred per week is more than I used to earn at the beginning of my reign in Marquette. Now though, it is merely a pittance. I still appreciate the gesture. ¡°There is more milady. You have received three letters, and an unknown Nightmare is occupying your reserved stable.¡± Excellent, I had been wondering if she would show up. ¡°She is a picky eater. Let me know if that becomes an issue.¡± Solveig blinks slowly, apparently at a loss. ¡°I-I will relay your words to the stable master, milady. That is all for now. Is there anything I can help you with?¡± ¡°Yes, have a bath drawn please.¡± ¡°As you wish.¡± I sit down and pick the first letter as she heads for the bathroom. The first one comes from Merritt and arrived before I did. I open it with trepidation. ¡°Ariane, Everything is fine here, though I have news. Your John eloped yesterday¡ª¡± WHAT!? ¡°¡ªwith Irma¡¯s cousin, Gladys. Now, I am not exactly complaining or anything, but I would appreciate it if you could get him back. He¡¯s been morose since you left (I believe this is the right word), and, well, you¡¯ll see. Let me know how things are going on your end! With all my love, Merritt.¡± He eloped? In ten days? I need to see this. I make a note to summon John, his wife and members of the odd squad who so desire as I expect I will need some hands to complete my missions. The day has not come that Ariane of the Nirari will be outgooned by the locals. I shall show them that when it comes to thugs, I have both quality and quantity. The next letter comes in an envelope sealed with wax and contains only a few words. Torran of the Dvor cordially invites me, in a sublime cursive, to discuss our possible arrangement at my convenience. He insists that he will wait for me. I find the attention flattering, but I smell a hidden agenda. He probably needs something from me and I better find out sooner rather than later. The last message is in English by someone with an uncertain command of the written word, asking for an audience. The wrinkled piece of paper is signed with the name ¡°¡±. This can wait. There is still much to be done. Solveig comes out shortly after and I give her my instructions. Tonight, I shall meet Torran, then take a carriage to town for some overdue shopping. To my surprise, she does know of Urchin. I watch, amused, as her manners conflict with her resentment. ¡°He is one of your own, milady, though, perhaps not quite as¡­ What I mean is¡­ Well¡­¡± I snort, amused by her inner turmoil. ¡°I shall meet this Urchin and see for myself the cause for your discomfort.¡± Her face twists in disapproval, though she only nods. After giving the rest of my instructions, including a letter to Merritt, I finally take that bath. It was long overdue. I enjoy the warmth seeping through my bones, but I do not luxuriate. Every time I close my eyes, I remember. Regrow two and seven. Two is my left-hand ring finger. Seven is my right-hand index. Regrow one and six. One is my left-hand little finger. Six is my right-hand thumb. They are still here. I check. Yes, still here, and still fine. I stand up and towel my body. The pale skin is unmarred, as it has been since the day I was born again. No trace remains of the decades of abuse I subjected myself to. No scar, no blemish, not even a change of texture. It is as soft and spotless as ever. It feels wrong. I can still taste the ghost of pain. There should be something to show for it. The discrepancy grates on my nerves. With one last shake, I push these thoughts at the back of my mind. There is much to do. S?a??h th? N?v?lFire.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. I dress quickly and realize with pleasure that my other dresses have been cleaned. The one I choose is a light grey ensemble with little embellishment. Only the form-fitting cut and the quality of the cloth mark it as a high-quality product. Those who see it as a sign of meekness will only betray their own lack of insight. Also, my more elaborate dresses are full of holes, so¡­ As a last touch, I add Nami¡¯s shawl and, again, feel better as my neck is covered. Solveig brushes my hair with a softer touch than I would expect, then I follow her outside. ¡°The Knights have left, and so has the Lancaster delegation, milady. Your friends Jimena, Naminata and Salim are set to stay until the end of the week, at least,¡± she comments as we go. Torran¡¯s suite is somewhere on this floor, yet despite the short distance, we still come across a Courtier. The man is tall with the build of a soldier, a squarish jaw and angry brown eyes. His aura is undisciplined and tastes of the Roland. The first chapter of the book Jimena offered me deals with greetings. When on neutral ground like we are now, it is customary for the Courtier to offer a minute bow to the Master who would then return a small nod. The man¡¯s aura lashes out and he displays signs of defiance. I stop as Solveig stumbles besides me, and look the man in the eye. I will not tolerate any sign of disrespect, especially not from a youngling. My own essence uncoils like a lazy snake. Tendrils latch around the man¡¯s figure, smothering his power. In them, I pour my cold anger, my suffering, and the promise of retribution. The Courtier perceives what I am. He bows respectfully, and I keep going. Things are as they should be. He and I understand each other. Solveig swallows nervously and lets out a shaky breath as we leave the man behind us. I cannot let myself be challenged, especially not now. We make the rest of the way in silence. Torran¡¯s suite is directly opposite mine, I discover, and as soon as he answers Solveig¡¯s knocks, I dismiss her. ¡°Please make the arrangements I requested.¡± ¡°Of course, milady, you have but to ring a bell to summon me or another maid when you are done.¡± She turns around and leaves as the door opens. The woman who lets me in isn¡¯t Torran but his . She inspects me with hooded eyes darkened by kohl, curious yet respectful. Her head is completely bald and covered in an intricate lattice of henna tattoos set in subtle patterns. They exude no aura, and I understand that they are purely decorative. She tilts her head before pointing a bejeweled finger to my host. I turn and take in the surroundings. This suite is a mirror to mine, though while mine is all azure and alabaster, his is crimson and gold. The gaudiness is less pronounced, thankfully, and the darkness gives it a feeling of royal intimacy. Torran himself stands by the fire where two high-back chairs have been placed. Our eyes meet. The Dvor lord bows first, a greeting I return, and invites me to sit. We take each other¡¯s measure in silence. His eyes are the color of steel, and his grey hair is bound back in a serious ponytail. A modest smile parts his ruddy face, taking the edge off. He is quite the handsome man if one sees past the wolfish countenance. Once he sees that I am done gauging him, he nods and speaks first. His voice is rhythmic and strangely melodious. I need to confirm something. Nami mentioned such arrangements before. Sometimes, visiting dignitaries are offered a vampire of inferior rank as a guide, guard and intermediary. Physical intimacy is often part of the package, and it is not something that I am willing to offer. Torran replies, I am curious. I ask with a frown. Torran just smiles. His next offer takes me off-guard. Come to think of it, I have been cooped up for too long. Some fresh air would do me good. Torran stands up, opens the window, steps on the balcony and casually drops down. Ah. I look at his , currently busy reading what looks like a poetry book. She did not even raise her head. Well¡­ Jimena¡¯s book certainly did not cover that part? I follow the lord outside and drop down as well, careful not to let my dress flare. I wouldn¡¯t want to give everyone an eyeful on my first night of freedom! I ask the waiting lord. he replies without concern. I would rather find out before someone drops from the ceiling. He offers me his arm, which I take, and we pass by the fountain. With the inverted U of the manor at our back, we turn left. I remember that the road up the mount is to our right, so I have never been where we are going now. Torran¡¯s pace is slow and deliberate. The road beneath us changes to a path of white gravel surrounded by grass, until we reach a wall of hedges of tall boxwood, split in the middle by a large entrance above which vegetation closes, forming a natural archway. We duck underneath and walk between two rows of solid oaks, interspersed with yet more hedges. Illumination is provided by runes shining green. We follow the tortuous path with no vision of the outside, until lights are revealed at the corner of a bend. A massive flower garden opens before us. Small paths weave between artfully arranged beds mixing several species by color and theme. Behind it, a few stone benches against a wall mark the edge of the cliff and beyond that is the bay, with Boston¡¯s shimmering lights far in the distance. The view is breathtaking, especially coming out of the tunnel, and I make a note to return later to spend a few lonely hours drawing and dreaming. With the sketches of the Mississippi, the burning house of the Lancaster and the faces of the mages, my painting list is getting a serious backlog. Torran quietly guides me around as I take in the exotic perfumes. Wilhelm has gathered four separate beds each with their own personality. The first is red and wild, with earth the color of fresh blood and tall flowers on thin stalks standing proudly and shamelessly. The second is green, blue and pink, with modest bushes arranged as if nature had received a divine inspiration. Only the smallest details reveal the hand behind the arrangement, the will behind the graceful chaos. In the center, a pond lies around a circle of lilies, surrounded by a handful of mangrove trees. The last bed is nestled against the wall and it speaks to me the most. The earth is black, and on it, thorn bushes and twisted trees with dark bark and branches like the fingers of a hag struggle for space. The flora is ominous, and yet there is beauty under the apparent savagery. Precious small flowers shine in the moonlight like diamonds on a midnight dress, fearless and uncaring. Elegance and doom living in harmony. I like it a lot. I stop Torran when we leave the pond at our back. The last garden, wall, water and sky form four bands of color with the Watcher at the top. It has been so long since I gazed into its depths. I do so now. The strange entity draws me in. I relax in the familiar embrace as it croons and drinks my madness. It takes the suffering and the hatred and inspects them carefully, then it returns them in full. I lower my eyes. My fingers are still all here, all straight and¡­ feeling good? Torran has taken my hand in his own. With one, he massages my palm and with the other, pulls delicately on each finger one by one. When he realizes that I have returned, he smiles sadly. The expression of sympathy is peculiar on his lean face. Then, as if sensing that he overstepped himself, he lets me go. I say bitterly. the lord reminds me, amused, L¡¯elisir d¡¯Amore, Donizetti. I have never been to the opera! I have a social life! And it is fancy! I half-mutter to myself, Torran does not object to the abrupt change of topic. If anything, he sounds helpful. Torran declares with a smile, and then as an afterthought: For the next half an hour, Torran and I have a proper discussion. We compare notes on how we rule our respective territories, the main difference being that his people know of what he is and respect it anyway. I find the notion outlandish, until he reminds me that his lands occupy one of the most remote and parochial reaches of the Austrian empire. The locals have been his for generations, and mistrust strangers with a ferocity that no Gabrielites or mages could hope to overcome. My style is closer to the Mask doctrine of hiding in plain sight. Rather than being offended that I would use his competitors¡¯ methods, Torran praises me for creating a sustainable system from scratch. We exchange anecdotes until a heartbeat emerges from the tunnel entrance. A maid I do not recognize timidly informs me that a carriage has been arranged. I steal a glance to the side. Torran¡¯s appearance is cold when he looks at someone else. His countenance turns predatorial and pitiless though I suspect he is only uncaring. It would be interesting to see him hunt. Perhaps I can arrange something. In the meanwhile, I am on a schedule. Torran walks me back to the garden entrance then stays behind, with a promise that we will meet tomorrow an hour before the start of the opera. I make my way to my bedroom with a busy mind, nodding on the way at the Courtier with a red dress I had seen yesterday. Nami and Jimena are inside, playing a game of chess while Salim is filling some papers. I do not mind that they let themselves in but I make a mistake by not greeting them immediately. My sister immediately realizes I am a bit flustered. What is the matter indeed? The matter is that I just realized what happened in that garden. I tell her. Just as the words cross my lips, I realize my mistake. Jimena and Nami share a knowing look, like two wolves spotting a limping fat deer. Salim asks with a worried expression. Jimena answers with mock shock. The sly lawyer winces in pretend disgust. he asks in a horrified voice. Naminata remarks. Jimena adds helpfully. I ask, exasperated, ¡° Naminata suggests innocently. Jimena decides with enthusiasm. Naminata decides to stay behind to ¡°sample¡± Lord Jarek while Salim waves us off with a last We leave hand in hand, and for the first time since leaving that dreadful dungeon, I feel no need to check my fingers. Torran¡¯s massage was surprisingly effective. I should ask him to do it again. Because of the therapeutic value, of course. Yep. The trip back to Boston proper takes half an hour. Jimena informs me that the maids and other mortals I have seen moving around are not cattle but employees from families that have served us for generations. Their loyalty is not taken for granted either. All those who come here are screened and submitted to redundant security checks. Constantine also has a contract with a die-hard mercenary company and the favor of the local governor, not to mention a dense network of spies, agents and informers handled by his secretary, Sophia of the Rosenthal. It would take an army to make the manor fall when a mouse could not reach it. I am, of course, not convinced. No matter how good defenses are, there is always a way to get through. Jonathan would find a method, I am sure. I am without alternative at the moment though, and will trust both my host and Loth¡¯s reinforced sarcophagus. The tailor we are to visit works from the outskirts of Boston, hidden between a large inn and a few barns meant to host animals before they are sold in the city¡¯s many markets. Lines of high trees mask the small workshop and its customers from view. We are welcomed at the door by an old man with curly white hair and beard, and smart chestnut eyes behind a pair of round glasses. He bids us in, clearly expecting our arrival. ¡°Come in, come in. You must be lady Nirari, I was told you would arrive. My name is Gunther Goode, tailor for over two decades. And you are?¡± ¡°Jimena de Cadiz.¡± ¡°A pleasure. Please, follow me.¡± The workshop is a single room, with models and fabric at the back. It lacks the usual counter one could expect from a business open to the public. A small table holding measuring bands sits near the entrance and this is where Goode leads us. He directs me with expertise, measuring everything and muttering about lavender and blush and whatnot. ¡°How many dresses did you need?¡± ¡°Four would be best, with one at the end of the week and one for tomorrow, if possible.¡± ¡°Difficult, but doable. May I ask what the occasion is?¡± ¡°I am going to the opera.¡± ¡°Ah,¡± he comments, delighted. The old man loses his professional countenance, replaced by genuine wonder. ¡°L¡¯elisir d¡¯Amore. It has everything to warm my old heart. Love transcending social barriers, music to melt a statue¡¯s heart, passion, a quack doctor! Yes, I will have your dress ready.¡± The old tailor continues his measurements, humming happily under his breath. I find it endearing. He is competent and creative, just what we admire in mortals. I am not surprised that my host would have him on retainer. ¡°Say, are you two related to Mr. Constantine?¡± ¡°He is a distant cousin¡± I answer vaguely, ¡°why?¡± ¡°All those of you who live there, you have this¡­ something¡­¡± His eyes lose their focus. A callous finger traces the edge of my dress to the skin of my wrist. ¡°Most mysterious¡­¡± His mouth opens slightly and his nostrils flair. I hesitate to intervene but thankfully, there is no need. Goode blinks and blushes, red as a poppy. He promptly removes the guilty appendage and finds the courage to meet my eyes. My instincts are silent. This one is no threat and his touch was a mark of adoration. I shall tolerate it. This once. When he realizes that I am not offended, the old man sighs in relief though his embarrassment remains. ¡°Ahem, where was I? Ah yes.¡± It doesn¡¯t take long for the measurements to be over and the tailor to usher us out so that he can focus on his craft. Jimena leans into me and whispers as we exit: Before I can reply, I feel a tug on my essence. The feeling defies description, like a tether attached to a part of me that does not physically exist. I recognize it now thanks to my practice with Aisha¡¯s cards. Fate is calling. I focus on my senses to see if I can perceive anything and soon, I do. Jimena tilts her head, then her eyes widen slightly. Thuds, impacts, grunts of pain. A serious brawl is taking place on the other side of the inn. The lack of drunken yells is proof enough that the participants are taking this seriously. I smile and point up. My sister grins and jumps on the inn¡¯s thatched roof in one graceful motion while I fasten the hooded cape I took to avoid attention. I move to the side of the wall, then behind, and see a sight I did not expect. The tavern¡¯s back court is a rectangular space occupied by crates, barrels and an outhouse. Four rough men in worker clothes are trying to corner a fifth one and not doing a great job of it. Two others are already out cold on the ground. The brutes are nothing special, the average dregs. The last man, however, is quite a sight. His attire is suitable for court and certainly not for this sorry joint, marking him as an outsider. He wears a black ensemble with a white shirt and stock tie, and even a top hat which currently lies discarded on the ground. In his gloved hands, he holds a scepter with a silver pommel, with which he strikes knees, jaws, noses and as I watch, testes. As a third man falls to the ground holding his abused crotch, a lucky kick finally makes the lone fighter stumble, an opening his opponents use to disarm him. The heroic combatant still escapes their grip and raises his fists in a pugilist guard. ¡°Now you shouldn¡¯t have done that,¡± the biggest goon threatens in a low voice. He spits blood and removes a very large knife from his vest. Now that won¡¯t do. I can¡¯t use a man robbed of his innards after all. I step out of the shadows. ¡°I believe that is quite enough.¡± The three men jump and turn to face me. The lone fighter uses this opportunity to make some distance and I realize that he favors his left side. He did not come out of the ordeal unscathed. ¡°Who are you? Are you his girl?¡± I can almost hear the rusty cog turning in the lead bruiser¡¯s cavernous head. His primitive brain associates me with weakness, and then weakness with hostage. ¡°Why don¡¯t you come over here girl, and we won¡¯t hurt you. Much,¡± he declares with a nasty grin while waving his pig-sticker in what I assume is an attempt at intimidation. I could, of course, kill them in an instant. I could also Charm them into stabbing each other. But that wouldn¡¯t be fun. Naminata had it right, gloating is the guilty pleasure of our kind and I am confident I can get the best out of it. ¡°My dear sir, I fear that you brought a knife,¡± I say as I pick Aintza¡¯s gift from my left pocket. ¡°To a gunfight.¡± Click. The leader scoffs. ¡°Pffft, what are you going to do? Shoot me?¡± I don¡¯t think I fully understand mortals anymore. Why would he tempt me so? I pull the trigger. The lout falls to the ground, clutching his knee. ¡°Aaaaaah you bitch! You shot me!¡± ¡°Very perceptive of you, sir.¡± ¡°Baldy, Shivers, get the whore.¡± The two men hesitantly take a step forward, no longer so certain about the outcome of the battle. I calmly holster the first pistol and take out the second one, with the predictable effect. Now that is proper intimidation. Dalton, wherever you are, look down and laugh, for you did not show me this trick in vain. On the field, the two remaining foes smartly step back. ¡°Take your boss and sod off,¡± I offer generously. They grab their whimpering leader and the sad trio limps out, leaving three of their numbers on the field, as well as quite a few teeth. Once we are alone, my rescue greets me with a smile. He has black hair in an aristocratic cut and dark piercing eyes. His face is elegant and refined, even with the beginning of a bruise. As I put back my weapon, he walks forward and grabs his cane and top hat, before offering me a dazzling smile and a flawless bow. ¡°Cornered and beaten I was, By treachery and despair, Till the villains were given pause By such a maiden fair Never has there been a rose, With such a thorny flair. Now this beauty did give them cause To fear a new nightmare. Milady, I thank you for your timely assistance. Nathan Riley Bingle, at your service.¡± Hah, his name is Bingle. Just like¡­ Just like¡­ By the . Oh hell no not this again! Noooooooooo! ¡°No need to thank me sir, I am merely doing what honor demands. And now, please excuse meeeeee.¡± I run away to the corner then , just as Bingle junior decries ¡°Milady, wait!¡± I rush headfirst into the carriage and order it forward. Jimena lands atop of it and slides by my side an instant later. she asks, at a loss, I hiss, Chapter 73: Mise en Abyme Wilhem¡¯s office shows a lot about the man himself. The walls are covered with rough wood, giving it the mood of a log cabin. The furniture was handmade by a patient craftsman. There are few decorations, yet the carvings show a level of intricacy and dedication that only hours of meticulous work can create. The few paintings are of landscapes by day. Wilhelm favors forests and mountains.In the corner, a grizzly head greets visitors with a silent roar. The hunting trophy would be tacky, were it not for the insane size of the beast. It would have been at least twice my size standing up on its hind legs. From behind his redwood desk, Wilhelm addresses me with a slightly bored voice. If Wilhelm is surprised, he does not show it. Eighteen years spent hiding out in the boonies with only a flesh-eating capricious pony as company can be a tremendous source of motivation. It was that or collecting pretty rocks. And going slowly insane. Wilhelm writes a few notes while I leave. I consider his parting words on my way back to my room, maid in tow. The ¡®butler¡¯ is more of a steward, I decide, and these words he said indicate that I have his ear. It might be that he was just being polite, or perhaps he is enthusiastic about a helping hand joining his coven. I remember the difference Nami made in Marquette simply by taking the odd mission. Vampire Masters are useful enough that even the crustiest grumbler will try to stay civil. Time will tell if Wilhelm proves useful. ¡°Solveig?¡± ¡°Yes, milady.¡± ¡°I would speak with this urchin fellow. Now.¡± ¡°He is in a guest room on the first floor milady, should I have him fetched?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± My maid leaves on her errand while I return to my den and settle to wait. Jimena has left for the night, so I prepare a list of the paintings I want to exhibit and consider including my best takes on the . Those are special because they get the most extreme reactions from their viewers. As I am done, a polite knock on the door announces the arrival of my guest. He walks in and I immediately understand why Solveig would disapprove of him. The man is a with a curious, flighty aura like nothing I have felt before. The cause for my faithful aide¡¯s disapproval, however, is appearance. Urchin wears a blouse, beret and threadbare pants, something I would expect from dockworkers. His face and poise firmly place him in the alley thug category, and not just any alley thug either, the vile kind. He exudes sleaze and low cunning. His rat-like face and crooked nose, his messy hair and hunched back. His hair-covered, gnarly hands. His small stature. He is like the living embodiment of the scam, the duke of deceit, the devilish deviant. A gullible Samaritan would not trust him with a broken shoelace. And he¡¯s ugly as sin. I am honestly impressed. Ah, sit. Even his Akkad is atrocious. I remember that not everyone inherits the knowledge from their sire¡¯s essence, yet surely, after all this time, he should have learnt. No? . English?¡± I frown with disapproval. Negotiations between vampires should be in Akkad. This is the proper way of things! Using English desecrates our interaction, makes it¡­ weaker. I hesitate, though in the end, I allow it. This man¡¯s command of the tongue is pathetic. We will get nowhere by sticking to tradition. ¡°You wished to speak to me.¡± ¡°Yes, Lady Nirari. I¡¯ll be brief yeah? My name¡¯s Urchin. A little bird told me you have a territory, yeah? I want to move in.¡± My talons click on the varnished wood of the throne-like seat I chose. Sensing the mood, Urchin lowers his misshapen head with respect. ¡°As your follower, of course, beg your pardon miss.¡± At least he didn¡¯t call me ¡®guv¡¯nor¡¯. I suppose I shouldn¡¯t be too judgmental. ¡°And why should I allow you on my territory, Urchin?¡± ¡°I know my way around the city, I do.¡± I stay silent. ¡°Also, I can do this. Watch!¡± Urchin furrows his caterpillar-like eyebrows and something peculiar happens. His aura flares, then a tendril whips out and strikes me with blinding speed. I raise a hand in reflex over my heart while jumping in the air, but the tendril just moves past it and latches on the shawl I am wearing. Then, it moves back, leaving my neck unprotected. S?a?ch* Th? N???lFire.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. HE DARES? In an instant, I am on him. I place one hand over his heart with the other around his neck. His large eyes widen comically but instead of resisting, he bares his throat. The gesture stops me. Smart. I take my silky property from his helpless, and quite frankly grubby hands, and fold it again around my neck. The smooth and cold fabric comes to rest against my skin and I immediately feel better. I need this. I need to feel protected and in control, at least until I make a full recovery. I take a small moment to luxuriate in the feeling before opening my eyes. Urchin is desperately trying to burrow into his seat and appear inconspicuous at the same time, failing miserably at both. I find out that I am no longer angry, and I reflect on what just occurred. His ability is strange. It was not a spell; I am sure of it. It looked like an instinctive ability, something that a should not possess. Unless¡­ ¡°You are a Vanheim.¡± ¡°Beg your pardon?¡± ¡°You are Vanheim. A wild card. You are of the fourteenth bloodline, are you not?¡± ¡°I have no idea, miss. I just woke up one day and I was like that.¡± ¡°You do not know your sire?¡± ¡°No.¡± His face shows pain, betrayal, then burning resentment. ¡°I got thrown away like an old shoe. Don¡¯t even remember my name, or who I was before that.¡± Scorn. I can work with that. I can also work with something else. ¡°You may prove useful after all. I will allow you to serve and live on my territory, if you pay the price.¡± ¡°And what would that be?¡± he asks with a hint of apprehension. ¡°Only the absolute proof of your submission,¡± I answer with a fanged smirk. I stand still as Solveig makes the finishing touches to my hairdo. Goode delivered. The dress is of a very light pink color I would normally avoid, and of an interesting take. The design is asymmetrical, with a brighter piece of fabric draping over my right flank, elegant yet daring. Both my shoulder, back and cleavage are completely covered, therefore I do not show more skin than is appropriate. Instead, the lack of modesty comes from the design itself. The cut is quite close to the body, including a skirt with barely any flare, so that my shapes are easy to spot. Some would find this distracting. The rich fabric and flawless work mark the garment as the work of a master, and so the result is ambiguous. Conservative busybodies could stare with disapproval for hours without ever being able to pinpoint exactly where I cross the line. I admit that the old codger is worth every penny we paid him, though I cannot help but think he may not be as innocent as he looked. To complete my image, I asked Solveig to pull my hair up, freeing my neck. I intend to wear the shawl even if the colors may clash a bit. The maid inspects her work one last time, then nods to herself. I cannot see for sure what I look like. I hope that Torran will like it. Also, I apparently care what Torran thinks of my appearance. Huh. I should probably not let this get to my head. He is probably just being nice. It is not because he is polite, respectful, smart, knowledgeable, interesting, handsome and thoughtful that I should be interested. Nope. I review the list of selected paintings and circle two of them to send to the special exhibit. Out of all the efforts I have made to evoke the with an image, these are the most convincing. It is just unfortunate that humans would feel distressed by it, and so they will be hidden from the mortal attendants in a separate pavilion. Such a bother. Besides those, I have one large battle scene as a centerpiece, quite a few landscapes, nightlife scenes, and portraits of vampires and mortals alike. In total, I pick my thirty best works in so many years, with the exception of the gift I sent Loth. I finish this and go over the guest list, realizing that I have no idea who those people are. As promised, no members of the Lancaster clans are invited. Serves them right. I finish setting up John¡¯s future living quarters when a knock on the door makes me put my pen down. Solveig walks up and lets Torran in. He takes in my appearance and smiles brightly. I am inexplicably proud as I stand and curtsey, a gesture he politely returns with a short bow. Yaaaaaaa of course I do! Alright Ari, calm down. Torran is a bit on the strict side with a grey coat over white shirt and trousers. Wearing white is a statement for us, as the smallest droplet of blood will leave a stain. It speaks of great control and trust in one¡¯s abilities. For us, white never speaks of innocence, for none of us has clean hands. Nor would we pretend to. Torran chuckles at my words and offers me his arm, which I take, relishing the feeling of solidity he gives off. We make our way down and out to a waiting carriage. As a true gentleman, he holds the door for me and pretends to help me up, then follows. I get a whiff of his scent as he passes by. It is the same cold spice as the rest of us, with a touch of something earthy, like midnight on a mountain. he asks. I start by complaining about staff being disturbed by my innocent painting of the godlike entity that breached the barriers between the worlds and unleashed a plague upon mankind for its own obscure amusement, then talk shortly about Loth who got me started on painting, then of Bingle and yesterday¡¯s meeting. When I ask Torran if he ever witnessed something similar, his answer surprises me. There goes my last-ditch solution to avoid the Bingle effect if we ever meet again. Torran continues, I pick up his gift which happens to be a small booklet. I nod and leaf through the booklet. The story is relatively simple, and takes a single page. I also learn that all the soloists are from a famous Spanish troop while the choir and orchestra are locals. We shall see how well they work together. I am so excited! It so happens that Boston doesn¡¯t have a proper opera house yet. Instead of spending tens of thousands of dollars on a proper edifice to rival those of the old world, the powers that be turned a barn into something that might pass. The carriage deposits Torran and me at the steps of the building¡¯s entrance, not far from Faneuil Hall and its market. Some efforts were made to add Doric columns on each side of the monumental gates, and admission is done by doormen wearing impeccable suits and grave expressions. It is not enough. The building looks like what it is: a glorified animal pen. Torran leads me through a small hall and throngs of spectators, up a flight of narrow stairs to the second floor, where our private booth is situated. Despite our restrained auras, we catch more attention than I deem wise from staff and guests alike. My pride will not let me try to fade into the background, however. I note with interest that the other visitors are not from the richest population of the city. Instead, we are surrounded by what appears to be merchants and their adult children. Perhaps the most affluent citizens do not deem opera as ¡®proper¡¯ fun. By silent agreement, Torran and I neither mingle nor tarry. We walk along a semi-circular walkway, then pass through a small door and find ourselves on a dais overlooking the ground floor seats, the pit where the orchestra is busy setting up, and the scene, now shyly hidden by a massive curtain. There are four small seats crammed here, and my host and I sit on the central ones. I will admit that whoever switched the building¡¯s function from cattle to the fine arts made a real effort. It is just a shame that my eyes are too good to be fooled. The golden decorations are cheap paint slathered on by untalented craftsmen. The wooden carvings are the work of apprentices, littered with flaws, scratches, and holes. Even the smell of varnish doesn¡¯t mask that of sweat and humanity. My excitement turns into a cold ball that sits in my stomach and burns it with resentment. So many unpleasant details accumulate and fray my fragile nerves, betraying my expectations. Then the lights dim, and suddenly all those flaws no longer matter that much. The orchestra is tuning. In waves and groups, they prepare their instruments with chaotic accords that fill the air and make my body vibrate, until from many notes it becomes a ringing whole. Strings start, then they are joined by the wood and brass instruments in a glorious explosion of discord that stops as quickly as it started. The remaining whispers from spectators die off as all remaining lanterns are blinded to plunge the room into darkness. I lean forward to see more. The conductor lifts his hands, causing the players to raise bows and flutes with military precision. Then the true music begins. I have heard groups, including a quintet on the street back in New Orleans. The songs they played had made me want to dance and sing. They had filled my heart and lungs with vivacious energy. The emotions I felt then formed some of my most pleasant memories. Even those moments do not compare to my experience right now. The orchestra transcends individual instruments in a harmony so breathtaking and unique that my jaw hangs open. This is unfair. This is madness. Wood, metal and catgut have no right to sound so hauntingly beautiful, to overwhelm me with such ease. I am no longer hearing with my ears. That simple explanation does not do the experience justice. I am hearing with my essence. The overture fills the air with a joyous melody, soon joined by the wood instruments. They play together to create beauty as ephemeral as it is poignant, and they carry me, helpless, to the beginning of their tale. The curtain lifts on a scene of village life. The mortals walk around under an illusory sun that doesn¡¯t burn me in simulated chaos. They are so perfect. Their clothes are free of mud and their face of the ravages of exposure, and their idleness is as fake as my innocence. They move with disguised purpose to trap us into their story. Their voices rise to the painted heaven with power and grace unlike anything I have ever experienced at church. They tell me, in Italian, of their simple life. They tell me that the sun is too hot, an opinion I can only agree with. The arias follow each other as the story progresses. Nemorino the peasant, played by a handsome lad with sandy hair, is in love with Adina, a rich landowner. And here she comes! The woman is not a classical beauty, but she is striking. Her dark and hooded eyes inflame those around and her steps are confident and proud. She shares the story she is reading of Tristan and Isolde, how the brave warrior stole the favor of the beautiful Irish princess from his uncle thanks to a love potion. I wonder if those really exist. And behold, the young peasant gets ideas! Oh, you cad, you want some alchemical assistance in your courtship, don¡¯t you? I have maimed some for less. And look, a newcomer! A dashing officer with his platoon arrives. He aggressively courts the cold-hearted beauty, caressing his square jaw and showing his muscular figure. A little while later, Nemorino declares his love but Adina sends him packing. She wants a lover a day! Hah, you do you, my girl. And now, a solution appears in the person of a quack doctor with a large gut, who sells the na?ve boy cheap booze disguised as an elixir of love. Shenanigans ensue, ending with Adina promising to marry the officer, Belcore. The curtain falls. The first act is over. It was¡­ It was¡­ I turn to Torran and try to express what I feel, but words fail me. I end up helplessly flapping my arms. It was¡­ More flapping. Torran¡¯s face was a mask, yet when he hears my words, he relaxes completely and a soft smile shines on his lips. I can tell that it was important for him that I enjoy myself. He now looks as pleased as a cat who found the pot of cream. I ask with surprise, he exclaims with sudden passion, I stare with amusement, and a bit bewildered, as Torran lists all the best organs, their impressive sizes and the time it took to build them. He is clearly an enthusiast. Being locked out of the best instruments remains a sore spot, not to mention that stealing one is completely unfeasible. After that, we quickly discuss the performances of the various singers. Torran observes that Nemorino is nothing special, but Adina is a prodigy, playing her role perfectly at the age of twenty-one. I was going to ask about the part of the quack doctor, Dulcamara, when the door to our lodge bangs open and a man sneaks inside, slamming it close behind him. I gently massage the bridge of my nose. The INTRUDER is, of course, Bingle. By my side, Torran stands up. I always thought him to be pleasant, with an edge. Now I realize that he is the edge. He radiates offended nobility and threat, and the most interesting fact is that he does it without his aura. His power only slightly circles but never escapes his steel grip to spread across the place, and yet, I gaze at him and shiver. Before he punishes the newcomer, I place a light hand on his sleeve and mutter ¡®Bingle¡¯, causing him to sit back with a knowing smirk. The walking calamity who invaded our privacy still wears his dark suit, with top hat and silver cane, giving a new dimension to the term ¡°conspicuous.¡± In short order, the annoying mortal turns to us and realizes that the lodge he chose as a hiding spot is occupied, and recognizes me in one swift motion. ¡°By jove! My fair rescuer, in this place?¡± he whispers. I did not realize it last time because of the surprise, perhaps, but Bingle sounds just as positively English as his relative. ¡°What are you doing here?!¡± I hiss in a low voice. ¡°I am here to save a life and solve a crime, milady. The soprano, the woman who plays Adina, is in possession of a most precious gem. The rakes I am trying to avoid are after it, and her!¡± By the . Why? Just why? ¡°If I do not reach her first, she will never return home tonight. They will make sure of it. Milady, I know I have no right to ask, but I fear that alone, I will fail. Please, will you not help me? It would be a most noble and valorous act, worthy of your valor.¡± ¡°You are absolutely correct, Bingle, you have no right to ask.¡± ¡°Ahem,¡± Torran interrupts softly, ¡°dearest one, would you please save her on my behalf? ¡± he finishes in Akkad. The opera season, ruined? That simply will not do. ¡°Oh, very well. After the second act.¡± ¡°Milady, time is of the essence,¡± Bingle urges. ¡°I assume that they will not try to abduct her mid-performance, yes?¡± I ask, annoyed, ¡°It can wait.¡± ¡°But surely¡­¡± ENOUGH. I grab him by the shoulder. The young man winces at the pressure as I pull him close enough to bite his nose off. ¡°Listen here, young Bingle. I am having the time of my life enjoying my first opera ever, after a very, very difficult week. I will watch Nemorino steal the cold Adina¡¯s heart or die trying, even if I have to dismember every last mortal in this room. So, you will sit down and watch the show, or I swear I will tear off your arm and shove it down your crumpet-eating, tea-drinking throat. Is that clear?¡± ¡°Ariane?¡± Torran asks in a soft and slightly worried voice. At the word, Bingle¡¯s face enters a mesmerizing metamorphosis. From apprehension, he switches to incredulity, wonder, then excitement. ¡°Ariane Delaney¡­ It¡¯s you¡­ It¡¯s really you!¡± Ah god fucking dammit. Now I¡¯m in it for sure. ¡°Father mentioned you so many times! I thought he was embellishing the stories but no, the legend was true. Incredible! You really did not age, and this blazing spirit! But, were you not in Georgia?¡± ¡°That was almost thirty years ago. I moved.¡± ¡°Astounding! I cannot believe my eyes, Ariane Delaney in the flesh. Oh, thank God. With your help, we will surely get to the bottom of this!¡± ¡°I assure you He had nothing to do with the situation. Now quiet, or it is to the bottom of the river you¡¯ll go.¡± Bingle Junior lifts his hand in surrender, and it doesn¡¯t take long for spectators to regain their seats, the light to darken and the show to resume. The magic is intact, and I let myself get carried away by the otherworldly music. Adina and Belcore¡¯s wedding is in full swing, a ruse by the cruel beauty to make Nemorino jealous. A lot of effort for such a small result but oh well, she is a rich single lady who lives in a village. Perhaps she is supremely bored? In the meanwhile, the poor peasant has conveniently inherited a fortune making him suddenly popular. More shenanigans ensue, following which Nemorino contemplates the single tear he saw in his beloved¡¯s eye in a heart-wrenching, sublime aria that makes me gasp with pleasure. All leads to a happy ending between the lovers with Belcore remarking without spite that there are plenty of fishes in the sea, and the quack doctor claiming undue recognition for what inebriation achieved. It is finished. The actors leave the stage, under thunderous applause. I lean back into my chair, close my eyes. That was perfect. I turn to see an indescribable emotion in Torran¡¯s eyes. His smile is soft and just a little sad when he tells me, with his strange lilt: I nod. Yes, this was a life-changing experience, one I will never repeat. As a mortal, I could have died before attending a single opera, and how is that fair? How is that sane? Madness, I say. Utter madness. ¡°Milady¡­¡± ¡°Yes, yes. We should depart now so that we can be backstage before the singers return.¡± While the artists salute the crowds, we quickly make our way out into the small concourse circling the second floor. Torran guides us to the right up till the end of it, then down a set of stairs hidden behind a heavy curtain. At the bottom of it, a heavyset man turns, his eyes widening when he recognizes Bingle. Without pausing, Torran slaps him into the wall. I realize with satisfaction that the unfortunate thug is still breathing. Leaving bodies lying around is oftentimes more trouble than it¡¯s worth, unless we are assaulting a remote location and everybody can mysteriously perish in a tragic house fire. The situation is only exacerbated by the presence of the godling. Judging by what I have seen so far, he would probably complain about the sanctity of life or measured response or some such annoying concepts. Personally, I only care because a corpse could have the opera closed for an enquiry. The horror. I take a look around. We are on the ground floor, in a part of the structure not meant for public access. No gaudy decorations adorn the walls here. We are in the naked guts of the structure where magic is made. Piles of props, seats and leaflets line our way. We make a sharp right through a door, into a passage with a gate leading outside. High windows give a glimpse of the stone walls of a nearby office. Directly in front of us, the artist entrance lies closed, guarded by a heavyset man with crossed arms and a stubborn air. I have a lie ready. I will just pretend to be the actress¡¯ childhood friend. From Madrid. I will even utter the few Spanish words my friend Constanza taught me, if I can remember them. In front of me, Torran does not slow down. ¡°Stand aside, boy,¡± he says calmly. The doorman takes a short look at the impeccably dressed herald of doom bearing down on him, evaluates his chances after refusing a rich and influential man, and finds them wanting. He obeys. Or we can just do that. Torran did not use his aura at all. I am slightly annoyed now, and decide that I will not use power at all next time I try to convince a mortal. I¡¯m sure I can do it just as well! The staff area is currently empty, and I assume it will be another few minutes before the artists stop drinking in the adulation of the spectators and pass through here on their way home. We find ourselves in a well-lit, large room with a way to what should be the pit. Discarded instrument cases litter the ground, as well as food, music sheets and even a lonely sock. Three private rooms share the cramped end. We head there. ¡°It will save us a lot of trouble if we can avoid the attention of the entire orchestra by waiting for your friend in her private quarters,¡± Torran comments. ¡°Indeed, sir, very astute,¡± Bingle comments. He must be unused to basic common sense. I am not even remotely surprised. We check the first room, which contains an impressive number of empty liquor bottles. ¡°The director¡¯s room,¡± Bingle says, ¡°singers avoid strong alcohol since it can damage their voices.¡± Torran nods, and we inspect the next one. That room has a small mirror, a pile of faded bouquets in the corner, and enough makeup to repaint the Sistine chapel. Flashy costumes and fake jewelry are strewn haphazardly across the cluttered ground. ¡°This is the right place,¡± Bingle claims with a smile. Torran and I wait until he turns away from the mirror and take position by the far wall. I notice that envelopes are tied to the flowers and retrieve an opened one. ¡°Madame, your lips...¡± Ah, this kind of correspondence. As we wait, Torran and Bingle finally introduce themselves properly. Upon learning that my companion is from Hungary, Bingle says a few words in Magyar. I can tell his pronunciation is horrible, though the vampire does not seem to mind. This is a neat trick to break the ice, and I make a note of it. Eventually, the diva herself closes the door behind her, takes a deep, exhausted sigh and turns to find her sanctum desecrated by a troublesome trio. Before she can release a mighty scream, Bingle gives an impeccable bow, and addresses his scared rescue. ¡°Senorita Diaz, please, do not be alarmed.¡± Her yell dies in her throat, replaced by a panicked croak. I am surprised as her last name is listed as ¡°de la Vega¡± on the leaflet. ¡°Who are you, how do you know my real name, and how dare you break into my room you maldito?¡± ¡°Forgive our intrusion. My name is Bingle, and these are my friends Ariane and Torran. I came here on behalf of Princess Padma, to warn you of a terrible danger!¡± I barely have time to raise an eyebrow at the mention of royalty before Bingle starts the most outlandish tale I have ever heard. That Diaz woman was apparently given a jewel by Princess Padma of the kingdom of Mysore, for safekeeping. Indeed, that jewel is part of a trio of precious stones that adorn the mythical Scepter of the Tiger, a royal ornament that the princess wishes to hide from her evil and manipulative uncle. Should he lay his hands on them, he would be able to reforge the artefact and claim the throne for himself! But alas, the secret was leaked, and the ruby and emerald of the Tiger already fell within his hands. Princess Padma called upon the illustrious adventurer Bingle to protect the last sapphire and its guardian from a most cruel fate! What a pile of rubbish. ¡°I can scarcely believe it,¡± Diaz whispers with a worried voice. Yes, neither can I. ¡°I never thought this day would come that we are found out. I must warn my cousin, then we must escape.¡± Gah! After a last look of shared disbelief, Torran and I follow the pair out. The other players are surprised to see strangers in their midst, but since Diaz vouches for us we continue unmolested. The diva knocks on the third door where we are answered by the man playing the quack doctor. Without his wig and fake belly, he appears significantly younger. ¡°Sara? Qu¨¦ est¨¢ pasando?¡± he asks. ¡°Oh Miguel, we are found out! Foes have come after us and the jewel. We must escape promptly.¡± Alarm fills the poor lad. ¡°How? They probably have us surrounded?¡± ¡°If I may,¡± I interject. When their attention is on me, I expose my plan. ¡°We could leave with a large part of the orchestra and choir. These thugs will never dare to assault a large group. We will leave their encirclement, then disappear once we are far enough.¡± ¡°A splendid idea, Miss Delaney.¡± To be fair, I used that trick with Constanza back when I wanted to dodge ugly suitors after mass. They do not need to know that though. Without any prompt on my part, Torran steps forward and he sort of¡­ inflates. Not physically, though, and not through his aura. I do not know how, but suddenly he has become the center of the room, the person around whom all groups orbit. He claps his hands once, and the sound reverberates like thunder through the entire room. Silence smothers all conversations. ¡°Your attention please! I am Prince Torran Dvor, from Hungary. I cannot express how pleased I am to find such brilliant artists here, so far away from Prague and Vienna. It would be my honor and pleasure to invite you all to the Blue Jay for refreshments as a gesture of my appreciation.¡± Whispers of glee at the offer of free food and drinks spreads like the plague through the eager musicians. They grab their effects and rush to the exit like a swarm of locusts spotting a wheat field. We are carried forward, and spill in the streets where a pair of men with hungry eyes see us go by without recourse. I almost stop in my tracks when I casually Charm one of them, feeling the lightest resistance. Interesting. Torran easily makes his way to the head of the horde and leads us forward with a sure step and enough speed to force our pursuers to scramble after us. We leave large streets and stone buildings behind for a more narrow street filled with people, then into a three-storied hotel and restaurant. A butler with jowls and a receding hairline looks worriedly at the approaching crowd, then recognizes the man at its head. ¡°Sir?¡± ¡°I am sorry to intrude upon you, Sylvester. Do you happen to have a private room we may use?¡± ¡°Of course sir, right this way. May I ask what the occasion is?¡± ¡°Certainly,¡± the vampire answers as he leans in. He makes up a story about a scorned lover and a daring escape for the poor diva, a tale of unrequited attraction that leaves the stoic waiter with the barest hint of a mischievous smile. Bingle, Diaz and Miguel speed to a backdoor for a quick escape, but not before I reassure the astounding adventurer that he can get in touch with me by leaving a message here. Then, the rest of us are led to a separate room where the musicians are promised drinks and appetizers. After a few minutes and some excuses, Torran pays the bill in advance and we leave through the front door. my companion casually remarks. We make our way in a narrow alley that only holds service entrances. Our pursuer rushes in only a few seconds later. I grab him and inspect his throat, ignoring the weak complaints. Mortals do not scream when they choke. I comment as I point at two barely visible fang marks. They are very recent, and the cause of my prey¡¯s small resistance to domination. Torran¡¯s eyes widen slightly at their sight, for he knows what we face. A vampire. Chapter 74: Vernissage When vampires hold a party, there are no half-measures. Take the manor¡¯s receiving room, for example. The solemn space could host hundreds of people under its exquisitely molded ceiling and crystal chandeliers. I could place a throne at one end, a pair of guards and pretend to be in Versailles'' Galerie des Glaces while dukes and counts dance and plot. The long rectangular surface is lined on one side by french windows leading to the inner court and its fountain, and on the other, by countless mirrors that do not reflect me. It is grandiose, but still mostly empty.Wilhelm and I welcome the partygoers by the door and direct them to the exhibits. Starting to the left and alternating with the windows leading to the manor¡¯s inner courts, I have placed my portraits. Loth, Dalton, Jimena, Nami and even Jonathan alternate with more exotic takes on human nature, such as the Herald before and after his transformation, one of the more courageous English soldiers right as he died and the insane face of one of the cultists. There are no Likaeans displayed, for obvious reasons. After that, the visitors can appreciate scenes such as ¡°A Slave Family¡¯s Home¡±, ¡°The Roofs of Marquette¡± captured on the coldest winter¡¯s coldest night and ¡°A Werewolf on the Hunt¡±. My favorites are those depicting the charging wendigos and the submissive mermaid shaman as she offered me her blood. In all of those scenes, I paid attention to the illusion of movement by catching my subjects mid-motion, or by adding elements such as fabric held by the wind. The result is that of life as if caught in amber. It took me a long time and the study of many bodies, most of them still alive, to achieve this. Around twenty such paintings line the left wall to its end. The back wall is also covered in mirrors, a curious choice that makes the place eerie, as the reflection does not have as many people as the actual room. The strange discrepancy makes it feel even larger than it actually is. My largest work thrones there. I painted the Choctaw, Muskogee and American infantry charging English lines at the battle of Black Harbor. The scene appears mostly normal until one looks more closely. First, they will notice that the largest celestial body looks strangely like an eye, then they will find Loth¡¯s colossal form clad in his battle armor, cleaving through ranks of men like an unstoppable god of war. Further examination will show that the twirls of shadows draw shapes of war chariots and ancient soldiers wielding glaives and severed heads, and the best part is that it takes some time to notice everything. I did not draw myself in that painting. I have not completely forgotten what I look like, I just cannot picture it well enough to paint. It bothers me just a little bit. To the right, a small pavilion covers the exhibit¡¯s main piece. A small notice on a pulpit by the entrance warns mortals that the view inside is disturbing and can lead to one being hypnotized. I left this to prevent any guest from having an unpleasant experience, fully expecting the pavilion to mainly attract vampires. I should have known better. A few daring individuals watched the , so to speak, and shared their experience with disbelieving friends. Soon, the attraction became a center of morbid curiosity, and my work was examined not only by the staff waiters but also the maids, the guests, the cooks, the handymen, the gardeners and no less than seventeen soldiers and assorted bodyguards. I refused three separate offers to sell the paintings, for a good sum too. Mortals are strange. They are curious when they should be scared and scared when they should be calculating. Oh well. The last part of the ballroom is occupied by tables around a bar where those of us who still digest can get refreshments. A few of the individuals sitting there are hired to provide a more vivacious kind of snack for those with a bit more bite to their Thirst. I greet a trio of vampires who present themselves as Rolands. The Master then moves to the side, with her two Courtiers trailing her like chicks after a mother hen. Wilhem informs me that they are refugees from a coven that found itself at the losing end of a power struggle back in Spain. They are here to find another coven to join, or for the right to establish their own. The butler adds that such visitors are quite common, and even more so during times of strife. The exiles will be using this gathering to network and make enquiries. The next person to go through the door fills my heart with joy. He kisses the hand I present and leaves behind the lingering touch of his fingers. His mysterious Servant bows deeply then trails him. Her respect appears genuine. Whilhelm comments offhandedly. Mhhh. I definitely need to ask him if he¡¯s courting me. More guests come and go. Wilhelm introduces them and I do my best to memorize their names. It is easier with vampires. They have a stronger existence to me, as I can taste their essence through their disciplined auras. Their individuality is simply more marked in my mind. S?a??h th? N0v?lFir?.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. Soon after, a man I hadn¡¯t seen in thirty years makes his entrance. Lord Ceron is just as striking as I remember. He has dark, curly hair, a well-trimmed beard and the muscles of a prize-fighter. His eyes are cornflower blue and shining with intelligence, warning others that under the brawny appearance hides a keen intellect. I remember that in the fortress, he invested in me before I even became a proper fledgeling. His decision brought dividends, as I have since struck devastating blows against his rivals the Lancasters. The handsome man smiles broadly before giving me a gracious bow. Ceron replies with a laugh, The Cadiz lord is right. I am wearing the second of Goode¡¯s creations. This one is an old-fashioned affair in shades of white and blue. It fits me like a glove and is just as mildly provocative as the other. Ceron and I conduct small talk, and I gather that he would be interested in a formal alliance after I have acquired a territory. I subtly assure him that I would be delighted and he moves to the side to allow other people to greet me. Some of the visitors are mortals from loyal families, and I make an effort to make them comfortable. Wilhelm warned me that Devourers have a reputation, and more than a few are more apprehensive of me than of others. I once more find the notion ridiculous. It should not matter to the sheep if it is slain by a wolf or a lion, and no bloodline is immune to rogues in their ranks. The next important guest is also a Cadiz. The current ruler of Charleston greets me with a smile. The bruised slip of a girl I had saved decades ago is now a mature beauty with perfect countenance. She greets me warmly, and the pair soon join Ceron in an animated discussion. I welcome almost fifty people in the space of an hour. Most move on quickly. Others have questions, including the one I am addressing now, a Hastings Master with grey hair and the look of a chief accountant. My smile grows strained, and I pull him forward while adding in a low voice. The man drops my fingers as if they were on fire. He looks scandalized by my threatening tone and turns to Wilhelm, presumably seeking support. ,¡± the steward remarks with a perfect mask. The Master realizes the battle is lost and pulls back with a last huff. Showing his BACK. WEAKLING. PREY. POUNCE AND¡­ and nothing. This is a party. Hah, I knew it. Under the veneer of rules and etiquettes, the beast lies. Perhaps I should invite Wilhem for a Hunt. Ah but no, it wouldn¡¯t be proper. I need to invite Torran first. I must ask Jimena the rules of vampire dating. If I invite a vampire for a private Hunt, is it a date? I have not reached that part of her book yet. I think it depends on the balance of power. When I brought Isaac on his first Hunt, it was definitely not a date. Hmmm. The next guests come quickly. Salim, Jimena and Nami arrive together with Aintza and a few of their mortals, soon followed by a sheepish Lord Jarek, supporting a tired woman under each of his massive arms. Lady Sephare of the Hastings joins late, apologizes for it and proceeds to fuss over my dress, which she compliments copiously. We are about to move on when an unexpected figure comes through the door. The man is from a bloodline I have never encountered, a rarity now. He wears a fancy purple silk vest over a white shirt and tie that shows his broad physique. He has that impression I had from my father, of a bit of fat over a lot of muscle. His face is large and squarish with fat lips, a blond mustache and glacial blue eyes. He sees me and gives me a smile that does not reach his eyes. I wait for a presentation to come but realize something is wrong. Wilhelm froze in place, and his face has gone from mild to stiff, his equivalent of screaming in anger. Pretending not to have noticed, the newcomer takes one step forward. One. Behind me, a familiar aura of cold night on a mountain flares, it seeps into the ground and though the land does not answer, there is a pulse far away to the East, as if something vast had answered the call. The aura is joined by the focused burst from two Cadiz lords, and a smattering of others. I feel eyes drilling into my back. The conversation in the room dies out in a matter of seconds when everyone realizes the apex predators among them have gone from quiescent to deadly. The man wisely stops, places a hand against his heart and gives a short bow. I do not return the greeting. Instead, I turn to Wihelm and ask in a calm voice that every vampire hears. the gentleman declares with a rolling accent, Relative silence falls over the room, with the mortal¡¯s slightly panicked breaths and heartbeats the only source of sounds. I am not sure what Sergei¡¯s game is. Perhaps he came to take my measure, or perhaps he was not aware of the support I had garnered. It matters little, for I know two things. First, his name is not Andrei so I will have to rename the A team, darn it. Second, he crashed my party and made no secret of it, disrespecting me and my guests in the process. There is a time for subtlety. This is not it. Sergei looks around, probably realizing that cooks and maids are lined in front of the tent, with my blessing I might add. He takes a breath, possibly willing to continue our verbal joust, but a deceptively calm voice interrupts him, backed by an arctic aura. I cannot resist, I turn around to see Torran right behind me, fixing the intruder with a steely glare that carries the promise of violence as certainly as a naked blade to the throat. That is all, just one sentence with a meaning as clear as crystal. Leave, or die. Either the Dvor lord is better at bluffing than Sinead himself, or he will, in fact, skewer the man¡¯s heart and rip out his spine. With one last defiant look, Sergei gives me a minute bow and retreats. The vampires in the room return to their conversations as if nothing had happened and the mortals let out a collective breath. I wonder if he was here to gauge me, the one who caused his predecessor to fall from grace? I see no other explanation. I turn to Wilhelm and a silent message of respect passes between us, then Torran comes to our side. I ask with trepidation. The sight of a potential new enemy rattles me more than I would like to admit. I don¡¯t want to go through this again. I can¡¯t think about going through this again. I am not ready. Torran suggests respectfully. Sensing my hesitation, Wilhelm adds in a whisper: I accept and take Torran¡¯s offered arm. He lightly holds my hand and does his massage that helps me relax while we go to the portraits. Guests respectfully part to let us through everywhere we go. Torran¡¯s touch is soft and his scent teases my nostrils. I walk my companion through the exhibit. I have a little story for each painting. I talk about the inspiration, I talk about the technique and I talk about my mood and what I enjoyed the most in the creation process. Torran chuckles at the tale of my father meeting me and asking to see my fangs when his portrait comes. Torran takes a deep breath, hesitant. This is so unlike the usually self-assured lord that my curiosity I remark as we reach the first landscape. I notice in passing that Jarek has stepped outside and Ceron is at my back. I do not feel boxed in. The auras present are cold but peaceful, though given so many flavors it feels more like a truce than an alliance. I will be safe tonight. We spend comparatively less time on the landscapes, simply because Torran does not have so many questions. When we reach the massive battle scene, we make a game of him spotting every little element I snuck in there. He manages to find them all with only a handful of hints. Eventually, we make it to the tent where mortals are still taking bets. They make way for us and genuflect as we go by. The interior of the small tent is lit by a single light blue lantern. Two images of the stare into our soul, the effect significantly dulled compared to the real one outside, but present nonetheless. The left one depicts the vampire god in a background of stars, and the right one as a baleful moon overlooking a lake. The left eye¡¯s pupil narrows. I blink and shake my head. Surely a hallucination. Or not. Who knows with that eccentric celestial entity? Meanwhile, Torran focuses on each frame, one after the other. His fingers brush against my knuckle and he loses his intense glare. Torran smiles brightly, and the shadow in his eyes lightens. I lean in and add with a devious tone, We chuckle and exit the tent, then join the impromptu gathering at the center of the room. There, my guests welcome us. Both Ceron and Suarez congratulate me on a well deserved victory and request a portrait. Naminata then asks for a nude of herself to send to a suitor, and Jimena shily orders a scene with both Aintza and herself. Just like that, my career as official vampire portraitist is all but certain, and I could very well retire in a distant cottage to spend my days in work and isolation if I so desired. I have a pleasant time creating bonds of friendship with old acquaintances and newcomers alike, until, an hour later, I feel the need for fresh air. I draw Torran away from his conversations and drag him out through the french windows and out near the fountain. We follow the path out then right into an open space by the road leading down. There, the gardener who created the intricate flower garden now at our back left the land more barren and open, so that walking there is like taking a stroll through the wilderness. I remain silent until we stop at a low wall marking the edge of the cliff. The bay and the river in the distance move with unstoppable slowness and for a moment there is no manor, no politics, just the flow of murky water under the endless sky and nestled in its midst, the alien being that allowed our existence, ever watching. Just as before, its presence is calming and its subtle approval puts my mind at ease. The Watcher is not a judgemental god. It is neither jealous or demanding, merely curious, and observing us for some unknown purpose. Sometimes I wonder if Semiramis was right and if it is the embryo of a universe, destined to consume itself in a great explosion. What it does with our experience, our sufferings and achievements and more importantly, our inherent predatory nature, I know not. There is something I have come to believe, however. Perhaps when we die our essence is not lost to disperse in the air like our bodies. Perhaps we come back to it and bring with us what we learnt. I think I would like that. I would not go where Nashoba and Dalton are, but at least what I am would not be lost, when my time comes. Sensing my contemplative mood, Torran remains silent. I appreciate it, and the efforts he made to accommodate my skittish nature. I think I am ready now to learn for sure. He chuckles, his amusement clear. Torran lets go of my arm to face me properly. He still has this slight smile that turns his steely, almost cruel demeanor into a distinguished one instead. Wow. I can¡¯t think of any clever reply. That was so¡­ raw. Then there is no more room for thought. Torran¡¯s lips are soft, and cold, but I do not mind that. His arms circle me in an embrace that I do not fear, just as my own reach to his shoulders. He smells and tastes delicious and crisp. And strong. I melt into it and come to rest against his body as we explore each other. I relax completely and forget myself in this new experience, at peace. Torran¡¯s kiss is daring and possessive. I let him take control and guide me through things until after a while, we pull away from each other. I just smile like an idiot. So does he. I rest my hand against his chest as he caresses my hair, then a sudden thought makes me pull back and narrow my eyes with suspicion. he asks, suddenly worried. Torran is only too happy to comply and after a little while, we are distracted by ponderous steps coming to our direction. Lord Jarek comes into view, only to stop at an appropriate distance. I appreciate the warning, as he only made noises to warn us of his arrival well in advance. I ask with a bit of concern. he starts with his singularly low-pitched voice. I ask the suddenly solemn strongman. he says. Then he walks up to the closest tree, an oak of respectable size, and grabs it with his two hands. He grunts with effort as the trunk is literally torn apart under his prodigious grip, then, with a last agonizing creak, the poor thing topples. Jarek is not done. He hoists the body like one would a javelin, aims, and tosses it into the bay. I watch, mesmerized, as hundreds of pounds of lumber arc beautifully into the night like the bolt of an ancient siege weapon. It takes more than five seconds for the vampire-propelled tree to finally topple beneath the waves. I close my mouth with a click. ¡°Ah?¡± ¡°Ah.¡± Just as I answer, a furious roar emerges from somewhere to my right. Jarek rolls his shoulders and two massive gauntlets with vambraces made of the void-like substance of soul weapons appear on his oversized hands. An instant later, he¡¯s gone and the first metallic clang of clashing weapons rings through the clearing. The fight has begun. I lean against Torran as I try, and fail, to follow the fight. I already know this is not a struggle to the death and they take great pain to avoid being too destructive. I see it more as a match than anything too serious and manage not to become nervous. Wilhelm does seem hellbent on teaching the Natalis lord a lesson, however, and his face is a mask of focus and contained fury. He wields a twin set of dark axes with which he attacks relentlessly in breathless rushes and large, flowing whirlwinds. By comparison, Jarek is more defensive and fights like a boxer. He blocks, attacks and moves in surprising bursts of speed that I would never have expected from somebody so large. For a while, they test each other¡¯s defense but neither one is willing to fully commit, resulting in a stalemate. Should Wilhelm land a blow, his vicious looking axes would do tremendous damage while anyone hit by Jarek¡¯s fists would be mercilessly punted into the bay. They are obviously trying to avoid that fate. After a few minutes, both combatants salute and the Natalis lord leaves for the manor while our poor steward stares, despondent, at the pit where his precious tree used to be. I decide to leave him for now and bid Torran follow me inside for that message. I have grown just a bit more sensitive over the past weeks thanks to Aisha¡¯s game and something tells me I should not be late. At the front desk, I am given a nice envelope by a matronly dark-haired Servant. The contents do not surprise me in the slightest. ¡°Ms. Delaney, I hope you receive this letter in time, for I was compelled to leave it at your friend¡¯s hotel. Indeed, the fight over the scepter has come to a close and light has been shed on this darkest of conspiracies¡­¡± Any more eye-rolling on my part and I shall soon see the back of my skull. Torran says as he picks up the guilty sheet. ¡°Ahem.¡± Declaiming like Cicero, Torran reads the letter with gusto while I snort and applaud appropriately. The frankly preposterous recollection of events Bingle saw fit to lay on paper becomes hilarious when recounted in the haughty and slightly sarcastic voice of the Dvor lord. I learn that he brought the two singers to his own secret abode to protect them from the goons sent to ransack their home. He managed to get the jump on them and learnt from a captive that they had been hired by the Sommerville consortium of merchants. After infiltrating their compound and the subsequent daring escape, he found out the location of a secret base and now requests our help in assaulting the location and hopefully recovering the stolen jewels. The tale ends on a moving plea to assist him in this endeavor. Torran folds the message back while I lightly clap before this masterful performance. my lover remarks with a hint of disapproval. I want to remind him that he officially did just that but consider that it was all a ruse. Instead and despite my annoyance, I come to the adventurer¡¯s rescue. We both pause. The carriage comes to an abrupt stop less than five minutes after leaving the compound. I finish fastening my heart protector, regretting that I cannot bring out my armor this time. Bingle still doesn¡¯t know about vampires and I would prefer if he did not find out. I open the slit leading to the driver seat. ¡°What now?¡± I ask with impatience. ¡°Milady, we are being robbed,¡± Urchin answers from the other side. ¡°Come on out with your hands in the air and nobody gets hurt!¡± a nervous voice screams in the night. Torran stands up. His aura blankets the space so that even outside, horses neigh with worry. He opens the door and takes one step outside. Around us, I count three mounted raiders to his side and one on mine slightly forward. Their rides take a step back. ¡°You¡¯re that man that¡¯s been flashing the money around town! I knew it! Give us your coin and nobody gets hurt.¡± ¡°Amateurs.¡± ¡°Wha¡¯?¡± ¡°Amateurs. You¡¯re too close.¡± Torran¡¯s hand blurs, I hear a sound like air displaced by something massive and the very specific sound of sliced meat. The three mounts on the left twitch, their heads gone. Cries of disbelief turn into screams of pain when the carcasses fall on the ground and on fragile legs. The man on the right swears in alarm, then realizes his gun is gone. ¡°Mine now,¡± Urchin says. My new minion shoots. He misses. I do not. The horse falls dead, trapping his rider like the others. ¡°When this is over, remind me to bring you to a firing range. I will not tolerate poor shots among my ranks.¡± ¡°That pistol was faulty!¡± ¡°The only faulty thing here is your aim. Now quiet, we need to ask a few questions.¡± I approach the nearest rider and notice that Torran has gathered their guns. I kneel by his side. The man is dirty and stinks quite a bit. A mask of filthy fabric wraps around his face and I spot the greasy ends of a beard peeking from underneath. His eyes are muddied by pain and confusion. ¡°Now whose brilliant idea was it to attack us?¡± The man instinctively turns to his leader, a tall thug with a black beard and a large scar across his ugly face. ¡°We no longer need the others,¡± I note. An instant later, three men are silenced. ¡°Oh shit oh shit, who the fuck are you monsters?¡± ¡°You attacked us and you didn¡¯t know?¡± ¡°What? No, please¡­ We just wanted your money. We would not have killed you!¡± ¡°I care not. Tell me who suggested this raid?¡± ¡°Please, I don¡¯t want to die!¡± ¡°Look at me. Good. Now, you want to live, don¡¯t you?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°I have a bargain for you. If you tell me everything I want to know. I will let you go with a one-minute lead and when I come after you, I will not run.¡± ¡°Right, right. I was scouting that eatery where all the rich folks go for a grub, then I saw your John coming and figured he must be loaded. Shook down a waiter for a story and followed the runner here, figuring he would come out alone. We only meant to take the swag and scram, I swear.¡± ¡°That was your idea?¡± ¡°Yeah?¡± I grab the lout¡¯s face and turn it around. No trace of bite marks, nor does he smell of one of our own. he answers with a smile. The rogue. I turn to the terrified highwayman and lift the horse off his body. ¡°As promised. One-minute lead.¡± He stares at me, frozen in disbelief. So I smile and make sure to show him all my fangs. ¡°Fifty-five seconds.¡± Ah, now that is much better. I turn to my helpful aide. ¡°Little Urchin, can you please head back to the manor and have someone clean this mess.¡± ¡°Yes ma¡¯am. Say, I did not kill that one there on the ground. Can I drink him?¡± ¡°Of course. Make sure everything is done before somebody notices Heavy hooves trample the earth. A large warhorse gallops through the darkness, its obsidian coat nearly invisible to mortal eyes. It is not Metis. Torran whispers with pleasure. He climbs atop the nightmare as it stops by his side. I echo an instant later when my proud ride joins us. I climb on her back. The two mounts greet each other while my friend checks a richly decorated pocket watch. After a while, he closes it and looks at me. The night is beautiful. The trees mask the city in the distance. The smells of blood and pine needles overwhelm all others and the forest is alive with predators and prey caught in their deadly dance. Somewhere in front of us, our quarry struggles forward, needled by dread. We will ride it down together and partake of his blood. Torran leans forward and kisses me lightly. His eyes shine with a mischievous glint as he pulls back and he whispers, with his exotic lilt. He is gone in a great thunder of flowing dirt and crushed shrubbery. Chapter 75: Oh, the Binglery! I lost the race.But only because Torran cheated! Then after a nice shared snack, we left to steal a few jewels. Bingle gave us general directions to a remote compound to the south of the city, not far from the manor. The private property sits at the edge of a fishing village, with only a muddy road as an entry point. The reek of decaying life and scummy waters slap me in the face long before the wooden palisade surrounding our destination comes into view. Bingle did not tell us exactly where he would meet us, but since his stupid power makes everything run smoothly, we easily find him by his scent and the noise of heartbeats. A mortal would never have erred for hours trying to regroup and that annoys me to no end. When I plan things, it must all be perfect or I end up with half of the odd squad stuck in a ditch and the other half on fire or eating their horses because they ran out of food. Bingle can just say let¡¯s meet around here and everyone gathers without a hitch. It¡¯s not fair. We sneak up from behind and I enjoy some vindication when I muffle the soprano¡¯s startled yelp. There are three people hiding behind a bush when we arrive. Bingle, of course in all his darkly charismatic glory, but also the singer Sara whose jewel they recovered safely from a hiding place, and a third man I had not met before. The newcomer is clearly not from around. He has bronze skin, and a soft face with melancholic traits and liquid brown eyes. The impression is tempered by a fierce moustache and an impressive stature. Ochre robes barely hide the man¡¯s rolling muscles. He also wears a white turban with a golden feather pointing upward. I am left wondering if we are truly trying to sneak in, and if we do, whether or not these people have any notion of camouflage. By comparison, I am wearing a travelling dress of midnight blue with a hood while Torran wears a suit and coat of the darkest grey, with the only glint being that of the steel sword by his side. In typical vampire fashion, even his slumming attire is of exquisite make. ¡°Ah, Ariane and Torran, splendid timing as always¡± Bingle half-whispers and half-declaims. ¡°Please meet the esteemed warrior Sarvajna, sent by my employer and friend to assist me in the recovery of the jewels. He left London just after I did and arrived only yesterday.¡± ¡°Greetings Sahib, Sahiba, I am one of Princess Cheluvambe¡¯s bodyguards, here to protect Bingle Sahib from his enemies,¡± the tall man declares. We smile and shake hands and pretend that he is not here to keep an eye on things. Sarvajna shows just a hint of apprehension when he meets Torran¡¯s eyes and radiates disapproval when he meets mine. He discreetly spares a glare at Sara and so I assume his displeasure is due to the relative parity of the group. Very few societies bring their women in battle, much less for night operations. S~?a??h the N0??F?re.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. After the round of introductions is done, Bingle shares with us the nature of our task. ¡°This remote compound is the seat of power of Augustus Summerville himself. That unconscionable devil is ever ambitious. He is the one who sent the thieves after the other pieces of the Scepter and there is no doubt in my mind that he works hand in hand with the princess¡¯ devious uncle. He will go to any length to see his grand adventure come to fruition, even if others must suffer for it.¡± Pot, meet kettle. ¡°We must recover the jewels and abscond, promptly. My conversation with Summerville¡¯s licentious son at that poker tournament earlier today led me to believe the pieces are held here, in the man¡¯s office. He will have a safe which I will crack.¡± ¡°Where will we find this office?¡± Sara asks with a small voice. ¡°A man like him is easy to read. His den will be at the highest point, as from those lofty heights, he gazes upon his dominion as he works to further his nefarious schemes.¡± We turn to the compound. Bingle¡¯s hiding spot is slightly elevated, and this allows us to see a few roofs. The largest building is probably a warehouse. There are also two more including a two-storied office with quite a few windows. If Bingle did not miss his guess, this is where we will find the precious stones. ¡°Are you confident that you can open this safe?¡± the tall Indian man asks with a bit of worry. ¡°I am,¡± the adventurer proudly answers, ¡°I even know exactly which model he purchased thanks to a most thorough inquiry.¡± It appears that Bingle did his homework. I should not be too judgmental. His father was perhaps helped by the hand of fate, but it was his competence that carried the story forward, and so it is with junior. I must give the youth some credit. ¡°What force can we expect inside?¡± Torran asks. ¡°I expect no less than a dozen guards, and possibly more asleep. And that is the problem. The main entrance is closed for the night.¡± I can spot from here the only road trailing through the marshy forest and to a set of double gates set on both sides by twin lookouts. Small movements show that the flimsy structures are garrisoned. Lanterns placed at regular intervals give the vigils a commanding view of their surroundings, enough to make a direct approach hazardous at best. ¡°We need to scale the walls,¡± Bingle continues, ¡°and while I do have a rope,¡± he points at a large dark bag by his feet, ¡°there are complications. Namely, they have patrols walking the perimeter. There will never be enough time for all of us to make the climb.¡± ¡°Why must we all go?¡± I ask with curiosity. ¡°A most astute question!¡± Bingle replies, beaming, as if my questioning of his intellect was a source of pride. ¡°I need milady Diaz here to verify the authenticity of the jewels themselves and alert me if I have been misled by decoys. She is the only one who saw them back in Europe.¡± ¡°My father is a jeweler,¡± the woman explains somewhat defensively. Well, isn¡¯t that convenient. ¡°Precisely. It would be riskier to carry out several infiltrations, not to mention that I will need someone to watch my back while I work on the safe. We need to bypass the patrol.¡± ¡°A distraction?¡± ¡°I would rather not. It could make them more alert and we would encounter a similar problem while going out. I suggest that we await the next change of the guard, then neutralize a patrol.¡± How very bloodthirsty. I like it. ¡°The only problem I have is that they have dogs. Massive, ferocious beasts that would alert the group.¡± ¡°I believe I can do something about it,¡± I announce. Torran appears surprised, though to his credit he does not question me in front of the others. I appreciate it, and let him know with an imperceptible nod. ¡°I have a way with dogs.¡± My outrageous claim is welcomed with incredulity by both Sara and Sarvajna. Bingle, of course, does not doubt me. ¡°Excellent. Can I rely on you to attract the attention of the patrol and keep their hounds calm, meanwhile Sarvajna and myself will sneak up on them and give them a good wallop. Afterward, feed this to the beasts,¡± he says, as he passes me a somewhat sticky piece of flesh wrapped in paper, ¡°it is meat laced with sedative. Anything that swallows it will promptly fall asleep.¡± I wonder why we can¡¯t just murder them all, dogs included, though I know better than to voice my concern. Just like anything involving that insufferable godling, we will produce a lot of effort for something that could be dealt with in two minutes straight if I could just go all out. Forget finding the combination of the safe, I would just massacre everyone and tear the blasted things from its wall and carry it to safety. But alas. Bingle. We decide that I will be assisted by Torran ¡®for safety¡¯ and the next hour I spent considering contingencies and sharing information. I learn from Bingle that the compound has a pier, but that it is well-lit and guarded without fail. I am, for one, appreciative of the fact that we will not swim inside as I have witnessed first hand what the water around a populous city looks like back in Charleston and I am not eager to renew the experience. After a while, the two patrols on either side of the gate come in and new ones lazily take their place. I notice that the guards are foreigners wearing the same cloth as our brave bodyguard. We are in the right place. ¡°Those men are from Mahishuru, my home. Traitors, the lot of them!¡± the man himself grumbles into his moustache. Bingle, de facto leader of the expedition, gestures us in and I silently follow Torran to the right palisade. We circle around slowly to give our mortal counterparts time enough to prepare. I ask with narrowed eyes. Torran replies, with a devious glint in his eyes. I answer with a smile. Torran is such a dearie, to find sources of amusement while sneaking through the underbrush like vulgar cattle-thieves. I just hope the guards speak English. We settle to wait at the edge of the perimeter. Soon enough, Bingle Junior and Sarvajna are in position. I light the lantern and we step onto the road. The patrol spots us walking in from seemingly nowhere and trots to us with a mix of fear and confusion on their gold-skinned face. I shove a tendril of essence into the growling beast before it can catch a good whiff of Torran and go mad. The creature blinks owlishly. ¡°What are you doing here? This is a private property!¡± the first guard declares in a surprisingly good English. He twirls his moustache with fury while his barrel-chested companion caresses a truncheon while wearily eyeing my lover. ¡°Private property? I bought these lands good sir, and here I take a midnight stroll only to find this hideous construct. Scandalous.¡± ¡°Absolutely,¡± I add not to be outdone, ¡°besides who would build their warehouse on an Indian burial ground?¡± At the mention of a cursed locale, the moustachioed man¡¯s eyes bulge comically. He takes an involuntary step back though he does not relent. ¡°It does not matter. You can¡¯t be here!¡± ¡°How dare you address me? I¡¯ll have you know I was a friend of Krishnaraja Wodeyar the third, your previous ruler!¡± Torran claims, and for a moment the magic takes. Lit by the flame of the lantern, the vampire Lord¡¯s stature and poise radiate power and barely controlled outrage. The hilt of the blade by his side reminds everyone that he is a warrior. He is domineering and mighty without using a smidgen of essence. I like that a lot. Also, he is not winning that contest. ¡°Absolutely, you worthless curs. Can¡¯t you recognize who your illustrious guest is?¡± I declare with passion, ¡°You have the honor of talking to the Duke of New York!¡± The men of the patrol freeze, Savrajna freezes, even Bingle freezes at the shamelessness of such a claim. Torran crosses his arms, as regal as any emperor. ¡°Whatever you think you¡¯re doing, you¡¯d better think fast,¡± I add with a pointed look at our partners in crime. Clonk! Two clubs smack the backs of the guards¡¯ heads and they collapse in a heap. I take out the meat and feed it to the still dizzy dog, who gulps the pieces down without complaint. I also find out that when Bingle said ¡®sedative¡¯, what he meant was ¡®a hefty dose of sweet liquor¡¯. Damn right I do. We drag the unconscious bodies under some trees and leave the dog panting happily there, his leash tied around a nearby pine. I am left wondering why Bingle would refuse to slay an animal but so liberally clobber the head of his fellow mortals. So many times, I¡¯ve had victims wake up not quite themselves or not as sharp as they used to be. The body is a fragile thing. Oh well, it¡¯s his operation. With the way reality bends around him, they will wake up with a light migraine and a newfound taste for scones and marmalade. Bingle throws a hook over the palisade and we climb wooden logs without difficulty, save for Sara who has to be pulled up. The compound is just as we expected, a circular space of packed earth containing a large warehouse, a barrack, and a two-storied office. In the back, a pier leads to the bay¡¯s murky waters. The inner court is much less lit than the exterior and there are no patrols. We head to the office with light steps, then wait as Bingle picks the lock. Junior can open doors and safes, I realize. Naughty. It takes less than half a minute for all of us to get in. After that, Bingle closes the door behind us and lights a candle, casting a fragile light on our surroundings. The room is actually a secondary storage space and its contents give me the first real bit of apprehension since the end of the hearing. The smell of black powder and the shape of some of the crates are a dead giveaway. ¡°What is this?¡± Sarvajna asks. I lean next to a nearby barrel and pop the lid open with my claws, then turn around and pretend it was already unlocked. Torran rolls his eyes at the theatrics. ¡°Is this..?¡± Sara asks. ¡°Yes,¡± I reply with an ominous voice, ¡°we are in an armory. There are enough weapons here to arm a hundred men.¡± Svarajna swears in an unknown tongue while the soprano pales a bit. Bingle frowns but shakes his head. ¡°We knew about Summerville¡¯s ambition. This changes nothing. Without the Tiger Scepter, his candidate has no legitimacy. We must find the jewels with all haste.¡± We nod and follow the intrepid adventurer up the stairs to a locked door, which offers only a modicum of resistance to our hero¡¯s nimble fingers. We all queue into Summerville¡¯s unreasonably vast office and take in our surroundings. I have seen some horrors in my Watcher-forsaken existence. I have witnessed Merghol mana-hounds feasting on the withered flesh of drained mages. I have gazed upon the corpses of starved children with bones cracked open, the marrow sucked by Wendigos. I have seen the world slashed open like a cheap envelope and still this shocks me to my very core. How can a man have such bad taste? How can the Christian God allow such horrors to be inflicted upon its children? From wall to wall, flashy colors, excessive decorations and gold paint clash with common sense and each other. Knick-knacks of horrible craftsmanship fight for space with empty bottles of very expensive wine and fake-jewel-encrusted cups. I learn that Summerville himself is a weaselly man of rotund proportion by the sheer amount of portraits and engravings of him plastered on the walls. There is even a large painting of him replacing Washington crossing the Delaware. In this ¡®piece of art¡¯, he is represented as being easily seven feet tall. It¡¯s a miracle that my eyes are not bleeding right now. I turn to Torran to ask if he is seeing this. Alas, the poor darling is leaning against the walls, eyes closed, gently massaging his temples. ¡°Right,¡± Bingle says, reminding us of what is at stake, ¡°let us find the safe.¡± I find his sang-froid admirable. I already want to set the place on fire and forget about the jewels. They must be cursed after staying here for more than a night anyway, we might as well deny Summerville his assets and be done with it. Why can¡¯t those adventures be simple Hunts where we chase some prey and eat a werewolf or two at the end? Those are nice, straightforward tasks with a meal included but no, we must absolutely investigate the den of the sin of Pride¡¯s most tasteless avatar. Bingle starts walking around, soon followed by Sara and then by Svarajna. It will be difficult to locate a small safe in this cluttered space. Unless, of course, it is defended by magic. A diffuse aura comes from behind a grandfather clock. I inspect the horrid thing and quickly notice a button, simply because the depression is covered in food grease and thus slightly less shiny than the rest of the contraption. I press it and with a clank, the upper part slides to the side to reveal a depression in the wall, and the safe therein. ¡°Well done, Mrs. Delaney, well done indeed,¡± Bingle whispers as he walks to me. I make a hand gesture to hold and search one of the pockets on my cloak. I expected to face a vampire, and to some extent, magic. I came prepared. I retrieve a pinch of white powder from a metal canister and blow it upon the safe¡¯s surface. In the darkness of the room, the powder spreads across a circular construct like morning frost over a spider¡¯s web, leaving it glittering softly. The spectacle is as beautiful as it is worrying. ¡°Do you know what this is?¡± Bingle asks while his two companions cross themselves and set my teeth on edge. I study the revealed construct. It is flimsy and there lies the problem. I could break through most spells worked upon a surface this small, and in this case it would be useless. ¡°This is an alarm, and before you ask, I do not have the means to disarm it. As soon as you start working on the safe, the net you see will snap and alert the person to whom it is attuned, most likely Summerville.¡± In order to bypass these defenses, one would have to slowly pull on each strand until the construct is either displaced or ¡®rolled in¡¯ so as to prevent it from triggering. Unfortunately, it requires fine magical control, a skill I do not yet possess. Behind me, Torran does not react. He is unwilling or unable to assist. No matter the reason, I trust his judgement on this matter. ¡°Summerville is spending time with a lady of the night, in an establishment not far from here. This would leave us a quarter of an hour before the ruffian¡¯s arrival. We could do it.¡± ¡°And possibly escape how?¡± I ask, more as a formality than out of real concern. ¡°Worry not milady, I have a secret trump card that will save the day.¡± ¡°Fair enough,¡± I reply, my doubts assuaged. ¡°We should use this opportunity to fortify this location, just in case,¡± Torran adds with a wink in my direction. I consider his words as the bodyguard voices his assent. Fifteen minutes of preparation. A hundred guns. Enough gunpowder to blow Summerville¡¯s hired help back to India by way of the moon. Bingle, you are officially forgiven. ¡°A very astute remark, my love. Let¡¯s get to it.¡± Sara stays with the gentleman thief to hold his lantern, no innuendo intended, as the three of us make our way downstairs and I try not to giggle like a child on Christmas morning. I light a few lanterns and take stock of what we have while the two muscular beefcakes get to work boarding the windows. I elect to create a small diversion by stepping outside with a few barrels of powder, then quickly return and start loading one musket after another at the very edge of human speed. Sarvajna sometimes stops to watch with disbelief, before moving more empty crates to block the way in. Soon enough, Torran volunteers to carry loaded firearms upstairs while the bodyguard and myself keep loading with determination. I slow down to be just slightly faster than him. I will not ridicule him, but I will not spare his feelings either. ¡°Bingle Sahib said your father was a great hunter, the greatest one who ever lived. Is that true?¡± I consider his words. The story I made up for Cecil Rutherford Bingle was one of cursed totems and twisted wishes, with my ¡®father¡¯ dying from his passion, burnt to a crisp by the dawn¡¯s sun as he was returning from a hunt. Regardless of those lies, Nirari is my father after a fashion and he is indeed the greatest hunter who ever lived. ¡°Yes, it is.¡± ¡°Are you a huntress as well, Lady Delaney?¡± I look up from a powder-filled pan and meet the Mysore warrior¡¯s eyes. There is no longer any sign of disapproval in the stoic man. ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°I thought so. The spirit of the goddess of war Durga is with you. I can feel the shakti, the energy when you move. Tonight, we will defeat our enemies together with your husband and return the Scepter to its rightful owner, the princess.¡± I hear a snicker from the stairs at the mention of matrimony. Hold your horses Torran, I am not tamed just yet. ¡°We will, Sarvajna. Summerville will regret ever keeping those stolen artifacts.¡± We continue loading the guns with renewed focus. Our group has more than sixty primed weapons at its disposal by the time Torran knocks on a wood beam and points upward. We gather the last of them and climb up to the second floor, where we find Bingle sitting at a table and working on a secondary lockbox. The safe lies gutted, and yet the jewels are still not ours. It appears that Summerville took additional precautions. I believe it would be better to take the lockbox and run for it. The danger of being trapped is superior to that of having the jewels be taken to another, more secure place. I suppose it is not my call. The show must go on. We turn to the compound¡¯s entrance, where a fire snake of men bearing torches descends. A pair of sentinels jumps from the guard tower and hurries to the door. ¡°I need a few more minutes,¡± says Bingle, tense, ¡°if only there was a way to slow them down.¡± In answer, I open the window closest to the office¡¯s door, grab a lantern and throw it down under the mortal¡¯s petrified gaze. The glass smashes open and burning oil ignites the pile of powder I had left there. Fire spreads through the trail I left for it, arching its way to the barrels I hid besides the left tower. The guards let out dismayed cries when they spot the impending danger. They flee as fast as their legs can carry them to the cover of the nearby barracks. The flames reach the barrels and seemingly peter out. I duck. Sara looks turns to me and asks: ¡°Oh, they were extingui-¡° Like thunder on a cloudless sky, the explosion takes everyone off-guard. Horses neigh and riders swear as flaming wreckage rains upon the marshland. A plume of smoke and embers soon hides the riders from view with the collapsed guard tower lying across the entrance. ¡°Not extinguished,¡± I reply as I remove my fingers from my ears. ¡°WHAT?¡± Oh dear. ¡°Very impressive, Miss Delaney. I will require but a few minutes to implement my plan. Do tell, are some of the guards of the Indian persuasion?¡± Bingle says. ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°Splendid. Do kindly try not to kill them.¡± ¡°You¡¯re asking me to miss?¡± I ask, outraged. ¡°Of course not milady, I only ask that you aim somewhere else.¡± Well, he got me there. ¡°I will be downstairs, my star. You may shoot to your heart¡¯s content,¡± Torran says on his way down. With him there, I can focus on blasting targets away without fear of being overrun. I would be grateful if I did not suspect that his sacrifice was motivated by his dislike of muskets. He¡¯s a bit old-fashioned as vampires go, after all. With the surrounding of the main gates at roasting temperature, the palisade is now working against Summerville¡¯s troops. I hear a strident voice screaming orders to ¡®get over the damn wall¡¯. It appears that some of our foes brought ropes, as the first few lassoes fly over the edge of the logs. On the ground below us, the men of the garrison test the windows for a way in. I wish them the best of luck and line up a shot. Above the palisade, a glorious red feather rises, soon followed by a shiny white turban, soon followed by a pair of inquisitive eyes. Mindful of Bingle¡¯s orders, I shoot the observer¡¯s hat off his head, provoking a yelp and a backward fall. It¡¯s not my fault if they break limbs, I really cannot be blamed for that. For good measure, I shoot the rope tied around the palisade, causing someone else to fall. It does not take long for the would-be assailants to try their luck elsewhere. Honestly, I could have just waited and shot them as they came. Bingle¡¯s rule is too restrictive, I sincerely hope there is a reason for that. Then comes the hard part. Our enemies find a section of the wall covered by the barrack and manage to go over it while behind cover, then, they join up with the rest of the guards to besiege us. Soldiers pick up axes and crowbars to force their way in while others shoot the windows to keep us busy. Thankfully the light does not reach up to us and the walls are thick, so we are relatively protected. Unfortunately, there is only so much I can do to deter the Indian soldiers without killing them. Even grazing blows do not faze the stalwart warriors as they peel windows open with grim determination. Local goons I saw at the theatre are mixed in the lots. Those, I kill without hesitation whenever I can. Unfortunately, there is only so much I can do while making sure I am not hit by stray bullets. It would be awkward to bear the mask of humanity for so long only for the others to see me close a hole in my skull. It does not take long before the first guards pull stabbed hands from under broken shutters. Torran is buying us a few precious seconds in a game of delays. I resist the urge to pressure the adventurer as even Svarjana has given up on aiming and just fire blindly between two enemy volleys. Sara is in a corner, praying and most likely reconsidering her life choices. I feel strangely excited. There is a stake now! Without much recourse, I simply keep firing until Torran walks up the stairs and slams the door closed behind him. he comments with a small smile. I nod and smash my musket on the fingers of a man who was trying to climb. He falls back with a resounding ¡°whore!¡±. Very well mister. Next time, I shall just stab you. I retreat to the center of the room. An attacker appears at the rear window and gets back down with a broken nose. Another takes his place while to the side, two more pop up. I bash a skull and grab a gaudy goblet which I use as an improvised projectile on another, forcing them back. ¡°I got it!¡± Bingle screams, and not a moment too soon. The bangs on the door cease and men stop climbing. Silence descends upon the base until a strident voice breaks it. It drips with contempt and lowly pretension. ¡°Surrender you fools, and I shall be merciful.¡± I do not need deep insight into human nature to know that there will be no mercy. We violated this person¡¯s, well, ¡®sanctum¡¯, and humiliated him. Such an act demands retribution. Bingle lifts two jewels the size of quail eggs from the lockbox, soon adding a third one from his pocket. They shine like embers in my sight and in my aura. There is power here, not just symbolic but mystic as well. He turns to the shattered window and approaches it without a hint of fear. I step by his left with Torran in support, while Sarvajna takes the other. Sara is still hiding. ¡°Who dares soil the abode of Augustus Summerville?¡± the strident voice resumes. I look down to find our interlocutor and realize my previous misconception. I thought the painters had done Mr. Summerville a disservice by giving a rotund and snivelling frame. They were instead granting him a favor, but alas, there are some appearances for which art can do little. ¡°¡®Tis I, Nathan Riley Bingle, you villainous coward, you bumbling mass of nefarious grease, you spineless bulb of quivering lard. ¡®Tis I who shall be your doom!¡± ¡°Hah! You move that wicked tongue of yours in vain! From where I am standing, the doomed one is you!¡± ¡°Appearances can be deceiving, as you shall soon learn.¡± Under the mesmerized gaze of half a hundred men, Bingle takes the pommel ending his silver cane. The globe retracts, then rotates under his hand, and splits open in half to reveal underneath the maw of a mighty beast. ¡°The Tiger Scepter!¡± a man down below screams, and the crowd erupts in agitated whispers in a tongue I do not understand. Undaunted, Bingle calmly places all the stones in indents made to this end. As the sapphire locks in place, a magical circuit is formed and pale light emanates from the artefact of power, pushing away the darkness and the harsh red glare of torches. One by one, the many Indian soldiers drop to their knees in amazement. Bingle is breathtaking. The dashing adventurer is no longer as rakish as before. His black hair shines under the pale glow, and his black eyes convey power and serenity I had never seen in a mortal. A sense of wonder erupts from my heart as I gaze upon what could have been, had this reality been slightly less rigid. All the sagas and stories that could have been written and all the heroes of the past are here now before me, trapped in the nets of causality and yet still shining upon the world. They carry with them tales as old as time whose mere mention robs even the most jaded men of their disbelief, if only for a moment. That glow radiating outward does not impose a will, instead it asks the question: What if? What if there were true heroes, true tales, true reality-defying magic? What if there were more to life than boring physics and realistic odds? What if we could be amazed once more? Bingle makes me believe it could happen. I gaze upon the face of the godling and take Torran¡¯s hand in mine. Our eyes meet and I see with pleasure the weight of timelessness momentarily lifted from his shoulders. Whatever silliness we have been through, this made it all worthwhile. I will cherish the memories I made today until the moment I return to the ashes. ¡°Noooooooo! Kill him!¡± the hysterical trader bellows. One of his men hesitantly lifts a rifle. A terrible roar of outrage erupts over the compound. Everywhere I look, Mysore exiles rise and overtake Summerville¡¯s mooks like an angry wolf pack. The slippery scoundrel himself only finds salvation by using his considerable girth to plow a way to the gates. Unfortunately for him, he forgot about his main foe. Bingle quickly attached his rope to the window frame and rappels down smoothly. He runs after his quarry and the soldiers part before him like the Red Sea before Moses. Sarvajna turns to us, stupefied. ¡°You do not understand. Everyone can hold the Scepter. Only those worthy can make it shine so!¡± Hah, what a great twist. On the ground, Bingle has caught up. Summerville casts a desperate glance behind him and drops on the ground to grab a musket, turning it on his pursuers. ¡°Back, back, you vile criminal. How dare you do this to me? Know your place!¡± Behind Summerville, the second guard tower creaks ominously. ¡°Your dastardly plans are at an end, Summerville! Surrender now, and you may yet live.¡± ¡°Surrender? To the likes of you? Never! I will leave this place and rebuild my empire and then I shall come for you, you meddling troublemaker!¡± ¡°Your words are empty, you sweaty globe of suet. Justice from above will strike you down.¡± ¡°Hah, I¡¯d like to see that!¡± With a last crack, one of the supports of the second mirador snaps and the great structure collapses. I watch, mesmerized, as a large beam falls on Summerville¡¯s disbelieving face. There is a vile crunching sound and the shifty man is no more. ¡°¡­then you should have been on the lookout,¡± Bingle deadpans. By the The ironic end, the banter, the horrible pun and its delivery! They are so bad they are good. I turn to Torran with a bright smile though he remains unamused. With a frown, he leans in and whispers as the victors cheer and rejoice. Chapter 76: Finale I dodge low and sweep the blade with my spear. The foe is strong, diverting his strikes takes all my might.Fighting during the day is wrong, I should HIDE AND REST, but being prepared pays off and I need to train now in case I get caught off-guard one day. My thoughts are sluggish and moving is difficult. Sometimes I need to stop and remind myself that I am fighting. Vampiric speed is all but impossible. Thankfully, I am not entirely defenseless. My strength and agility are still my own, though it takes everything I have to keep that specific enemy at bay. Torran lunges, feints and stabs again. I counter and dodge back at the same time, just the way Nami showed me. My lover is forced to abort his attack to deflect the strike aimed at his heart. The gesture is small and effortless. He lightly slaps the blow aside then his assault resumes. He is grim and relentless, a veritable storm of steel that follows me with no respite. By comparison, my style is much more chaotic. I am often low to the ground except for lunges, and change direction constantly. I keep the patterns as unpredictable as possible, capitalizing on every opening and opportunity I can spot. We are relentless perfection and savagery opposed, but the advantage is his. Despite my speed, I only managed to strike his flank once and paid for it by a slash to the face. By comparison, my training gear is already covered in scratches and tears. We face each other with steel blades so any wound closes promptly, but the sting to my pride does not heal so easily. He struck my heart at least five times. Torran controls a sphere around him where his existence is tyranny and he attacks with a relentless will that grinds all opposition. Despite my best efforts, my concentration wanes and I am soon entirely on the backfoot. One of his slices catches me across the shoulder and sends me careening through the training room. Night falls. I feel alive. Energy courses through my veins as everything gets back into focus and my mind sharpens to a deadly point. Then something unusual happens. I have practiced diligently with the cards Aisha gave me. Two times out of three now, I can predict the outcome and whenever I do, I feel a pull towards a direction that does not exist, not exactly inward but close. I feel it now. With perfect clarity, I can tell exactly where Torran¡¯s blow will fall, even with my back to him. At the last moment, I twist on myself. His blade rakes against my chest protector as I stand and swing at the same time. My blind talons find purchase in the flesh of his throat. YES, YOU ARE MINE NOW. Something pointy presses into my chest. His sword. I stop. Torran¡¯s steel grey eyes capture me. They are filled with pride. he replies, feigning outrage. Behind us, two mortal attendants wait with equipment in the manor¡¯s largest training room. One of them is a slightly older, burly man with a satisfied grin while the other is younger and obviously witnessing vampires fight for the first time. If he opens his mouth anymore, I will be able to shove a whole egg in its cavernous depths. We are alone for now in that bare room of dark stone, though soon vampires and mortals alike will tread its vast expanse, using dummies and targets to hone their skills while the most adventurous will make their way to the circle we now stand on. With nightfall comes something else. I feel, once again, a pull. There is something that I should be doing but I am not quite sure why, only that it is important. Torran waits in silence as I close my eyes and focus. Alas, getting anything else is impossible. I am simply not good enough yet, and the meaning escapes me. All that I can perceive is a diffuse sense of forgetting something, or of having a destination in mind though I do not know which. I frown in frustration. Did Nashoba not tell me that real life work would serve me better than blindly following hunches? And here I am, already forgetting. After a quick passage through changing rooms designed to this effect, we leave the blades in the hands of the two attendants and depart the arena. The training room is situated underground and is well provisioned with all manner of weapons, including pistols. The duelling ground is covered in sands to absorb spilled blood, a necessary measure for us. I follow Torran up a set of stairs dug into the very stone and through massive vault doors locked in case of emergencies. We are only in the first basement, and I am not sure exactly how deep into the earth¡¯s crust the complex extends. I have little interest to find out, especially because the torture room is two levels below. We quickly make our way to the front desk where we find Sophia, Constantine¡¯s assistant. The unusual Rosenthal stands straight as a rod, with brown hair in a prim tail and her hand on a saber by her side. The woman considers our problem for a moment. I turn to leave while Torran finds a seat to wait. The night past, we helped Bingle take the Scepter. I would not be surprised if the vampire at the other end of the chessboard had played their turn. If it is the case, it ends tonight, and quite likely through a physical confrontation. Time to try Loth¡¯s armor. I move to my bedroom, scaring Solveig on the way and throwing the special wardrobe open. The battle dress awaits me in all its baleful glory. I undress until all that remains are my smallclothes and put it on. I fasten it piece by piece, feeling the protective garment fit snugly until I am clad in it as in a second skin. Once this is done, I take a second to stretch and luxuriate in the feeling of the silk-like fabric against my skin. Each scale slides in position with uncanny precision, leaving me completely free to move. I then grab throwing knives, my silver dagger and the spear, finishing with the silver pistol I took from father Perry, the oldest piece in my collection. I tie my hair and grab my old mask from a container, the one I had worn at the masquerade, though I do not yet put it on. I am ready. A minute later, I reach the lobby once more and smile at the sight. The room is packed with vampires here to see the godling. The lobby¡¯s couches, normally mostly empty, are now filled with a variety of my kindred and their servants. Some pretend to read books while others confer, or plot, in low voices. An annoyed-looking older woman is knitting, her brow furrowed. In the middle of it, Bingle sits sheepishly by Torran¡¯s side. The adventurer has lost some of his flame. His clothes are in disarray and deep pockets have formed under his eyes. Even his back, normally ramrod straight, has a slight bend to it. Something bad happened. I sit by his side and skip the pleasantries. ¡°Talk to me.¡± ¡°I was a fool,¡± he exclaims bitterly. This is the first time I have seen him expressing negative emotions with such strength. ¡°Elaborate?¡± He sighs. He gently massages his temples with shaky hands. ¡°We were betrayed. Unknown assailants found our hiding place and kidnapped Miguel, Sara¡¯s cousin, while we were away. They killed Sarvajna. Stabbed him to death. While I was checking for traps, Sara found the ransom notice. She absconded with it and the Scepter, only leaving me with a hastily scribbled note and vague apologies. I know from her words that the exchange will be made at nightfall but she did not tell me where.¡± The more I look, and the more I see the myth fraying at the edges. Stubble mars his pointy chin, his traits are drawn and his eyes bloodshot. The most fascinating element is that he is still himself, a godling. He only now represents another aspect of the adventurer, the jaded one, the one who drowns memories and lost friends with gin and carries a gun instead of a cane. We are at a junction. I am not obligated to do anything, I can feel it. The pull of fate disappeared at the very moment I sat at this table. I could just tell him to fight his own battles and drive the hero down a darker path, one of vengeance and knives in the night. Along this route, there would be more opportunities for me to use him to my own ends. I won¡¯t. I have enough darkness around as it is. Soon, this period of respite will be over and I will return to my scheming, ruling, and the wholesale slaughter of mortals who overstep themselves. Bingle is the vaguely annoying yet cute cub that offers distractions regardless of one¡¯s own plans. Yes, Bingle is my puppy, I realize. I should not kick the puppy away. Besides, we are playing a game, that other vampire and I. One they are winning. It is my turn to play and it would be a shame if I had gotten changed for nothing. I emerge from my thoughts to see that the atmosphere around us has changed. The spectators of the scene stare not at the daring man but at me and my armor. The spear by my side shines with the flickering red of the hearth. The scent of Wilhelm¡¯s flower arrangements clash with that of vampire and human sweat. They want to see what I will decide. Some look eager. They know that one does not dress as I do for a tea party. I turn to Solveig who had followed me down and ask her to inquire after Salim. We will need his pet mage, Sorrel, to track down the unruly artist. ¡°Do you have the message she left you?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± he replies, taking a folded sheet from his breast pocket, ¡°here.¡± I pick it between two talons and unfold it. The writing is horrible, barely more than pinpricks. I also spot two wet marks, quite likely tears of regret that cannot end there unless shed on purpose. Sara¡¯s tasteless antics will end up making our task easier. It will work. I turn to the Bingle and take his hand in mine. He shivers at their coldness, and only now does he notice how sharp my ¡®nails¡¯ are. ¡°You know that I am different, don¡¯t you? You can feel it in your heart when our eyes meet, when you see me move.¡± ¡°I do. That curse, it-¡° His Adam apple bobs as he swallows his saliva with more nervousness than he had ever displayed. ¡°-it changed you.¡± ¡°Correct. It changed me. It also showed me a world that was previously hidden. I can find the woman for you, but then you will know and that will make me vulnerable.¡± ¡°I can keep a secret.¡± ¡°Good. What you see tonight, you will not write down, and you will not report either. You will keep it secret. Will you do that?¡± ¡°Of course. I am grateful for your help, Miss Delaney. I would never betray your trust.¡± I nod and fall silent. It doesn¡¯t take long for Salim and Sorrel to show up. I suspect that they were already on their way to this impromptu gathering. I negotiate a tracking spell in Akkad with a smiling Salim, and the serious mage immediately gets to work. Tracking spells are simple constructs for those with proper training. We have our compass in only a few minutes. ¡°I hope it is not too late,¡± says Bingle. Normally it would be, but the enemy being a vampire, perhaps they have not had the time to reach the exchange point. Something tells me that the godling¡¯s strange effect on reality would at least grant him a chance, though I am not so certain. Arriving just a tad late would be a good plot twist. If we want to have a chance, we will need speed. ¡°Follow,¡± I say, and go to the counter where Wilhem is waiting. The blond man¡¯s dark eyes fasten on my guest with a predatory intent. Bingle feels it and shivers. Wilhelm turns his attention to me. His considerations are short. After a few seconds, he reluctantly nods. Join me? Behind us, Torran walks up. comes a low, rumbling voice from behind. Lord Jarek is here, dressed in custom-fitted hunting leathers. It looks good on him though I suspect there is enough material involved to build a tent. I add without hesitation. If there were a price, he would have mentioned it, and I will not look a gift lord in the mouth. We walk out. S?a?ch* Th? N?v?lFir?.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. The pull of fate is silent now. It has been replaced by another, a sort of momentum that carries me forward and gives more weight to my steps. I am not sure what is happening, all I know is that it will be special. I turn to Bingle. He needs to understand. ¡°What you will experience now is a rare privilege,¡± I inform him. To ride by our side, vampires who have lived through hell and slaughtered legions. I know this to be true. Bingle nods, his expression serious. The weight of his failure has been momentarily lifted from his shoulders by his burning curiosity. He is still an adventurer at heart, and nothing speaks of adventure quite like a hidden order of whatever he thinks we are. The unexpected excitement is making him positively giddy. Our little procession stops at the edge of the inner court and Jarek steps forward. In my mind, the possibility of denying him dies before it can truly be born. Jarek is the eldest, and strongest. He shall lead the ride to a satisfactory conclusion. It is as should be. Above, the tendrils uncoil lazily. It likes it when I experience things, I can tell. The vague feeling of satisfaction is both alien and clear beyond any doubt. The Natalis lord steps forward and whistles. The ground rumbles with the weight of ungodly hooves. The largest horse I have ever seen comes forth from the darkness. Massive. There are no other words for it. I thought Metis large and she is, but she is also built for speed and power both. This newcomer is a charger, bred to carry armored knights to and through enemy lines. Its dark saddle is so high that I would never be able drag myself up to it without jumping. The beast waits placidly as Jarek hoists his gigantic frame onto it. The size of the pair plays with my sense of perspective, until the dense forest leading to the bay comes into focus and I am forced to accept reality. They really are that big. If Famine, War or Pestilence came to herald the coming of the apocalypse, they would look like that. Excitement fills my heart. Krowar is next and Torran takes Jarek¡¯s right, then Wilhelm comes and takes his left, pulling behind him a shorter Nightmare. I help Bingle up and climb on a visibly excited Metis by his side. We are right behind the Natalis lord on either side of him. Jarek turns briefly to ascertain that we are all ready. To our right, the balconies are filled with mortals and vampires who observe us in silence. The scene is deathly quiet as they wait for us to start. Jarek lifts a gauntlet covered hand to the heavens then forward. His unnatural destrier walks at a leisurely pace. We follow. We are slow, so deceptively slow, but there is, again, this momentum carrying us forward with the energy of an avalanche. We cross the bend at the top of the plateau and descend down the road along the cliff at a trot. The guards have opened all the gates and cleared the way. We trot down, our coming announced by a rumble like an emergent quake. We reach flat ground. Jarek lifts the compass in his armored hand. The construct looks no bigger than a marble between his giant fingers. The needle pointing South-East shines a strange purple hue. We accelerate. Everything up to now was but a preparation for the real event. Wind pushes strands of hair from my face as trees and road drift past, the group now moving at a furious gallop. We ride. We move into a forested path and soon, there is nothing but us and the way forward. The deafening sound of Nightmares trampling the ground expands and reverberates until we are no longer few, but an endless horde charging through an infinite forest to a battlefield at the end of time. Under the sky and its eldritch denizen, we ride, and we cannot be stopped. Nothing exists but the smooth movements of Metis, our destination in front and the other predators by my side, united in purpose. I do not know how long it takes for us to come in view of the clearing, probably less than a quarter hour. It felt both like much more and much less. Jarek holds a fist and we slow down. It is over. For a moment there, I was part of something great. With only four of us, I felt like Attilla¡¯s adoptive daughter riding down Aetius¡¯ legions. What could we achieve with twenty, one hundred? It will likely never happen. Vampires are too divided, too solitary. But perhaps, one day¡­ I shake my head to regain my senses. This is a thought for another time. Climbing down from Metis takes only a moment, one the others use to leave on their own business. I am left with a dazed Bingle, my own death pony and the mystical equivalent of a hangover. The adventurer is the first to recover and I realize that he is quite committed to his cause. I shake my head and follow his skulking form, realizing that if evil befalls the soprano, the opera season will be ruined. I need to focus on what is important. The clearing around us overlooks the Dorchester flats, with Boston far to our left. It used to be lived in but now lies abandoned and desolate. A single large structure stands in the middle, surrounded by overgrown vegetation on all sides. Upon closer inspection, the building is less a house and more a hall of some sorts with a glass cupola at its top. There are no lights and besides footsteps in the tall grass, no signs that this place has seen human presence in years. The contrast between the decrepit shell and the bustling city in the background is mesmerizing. Bingle does not care for this at all. While the experience of the ride distracted me, it made him more focused. He crosses the unkempt lawn in angry strides up to the door. I catch up to him before he can rush in. He turns to me, his face showing will and just a hint of bloodlust. Did I change the story, somehow? ¡°I will cover you in case something goes wrong,¡± I tell him. He nods in silence. As an afterthought, I pick up my silver pistol and present it to him, handle first. He carries another cane tonight and I fear that this one might not suffice. ¡°Take it. You may be heavily outnumbered.¡± I expected him to resist and I am surprised when he picks the weapon with a grip that shows training. ¡°My debt towards you only grows,¡± he notes with a frown, before sneaking in without a sound. Time to see this story to its conclusion. I look up and easily jump to the second floor, then to the dilapidated roof. I make my way to the cupola and realize with pleasure that one of the glass panels has been broken. I lean in and look below. The remnants of a library occupies the massive open space beneath, carrying the scent of mold and a familiar spice. The walls are covered with empty bookshelves, now only hosting a handful of rotten tomes. A smattering of candles brings light to the desolate place, though I doubt mortals can see more than a few feet away. In the center, three people occupy a space left clear by the removal of work desks. I recognize the soprano of course, currently trussed up like a turkey, but also her cousin Miguel who appears to be suspiciously devoid of bindings. He is talking to a man in an expensive jacket that has seen better days. They are speaking in Spanish, and though I do not understand the content, they are clearly disagreeing with each other. I now understand why Bingle would mention betrayal. Those two are conspirators, not enemies. I turn my attention to the new man. He holds in his hands the Tiger Scepter. The artefact is the only thing of beauty in this den of treachery and neglect. Curiously, I feel revulsion at the thought of taking it from him. Intriguing. I extend a tendril of essence down and to him, tasting his own. He is far and the exercise strains my control. The result is a vague sense of dampened aggression. A It appears that the decisive round of our little game will be played by our main assets. I will bet on the godling over whoever this one serves any night of the week. After all... Click ¡°Drop the staff, raise your hands in the air and step aside from the woman, slowly.¡± My agent came prepared. The unknown looks hesitantly to Miguel, then to the Scepter in his hands. ¡°I have not had to shoot anyone in two years sir, but do not think for a second that I would hesitate.¡± His voice is cold and commanding. Desperation brought out the pragmatism in my companion. He would make a good himself... No, Ariane, better not go there. I have enough trouble with mysterious and seemingly unstoppable entities as it is. No need to look for trouble. The reality of their circumstances finally dawns on the pistolless pair. The delicately places the Tiger Scepter on the ground and stands back while giving his partner a knowing look. They are about as subtle as two gravid elephants in a China shop. Bingle does not acknowledge that he is aware of the cousin¡¯s duplicity. He walks up towards the prostrate form of Sara now letting out muffled growls. Her treacherous cousin steps back and to the side. ¡°I always wondered how you knew Miss Diaz had the stone,¡± the adventurer says. His eyes are curiously on the ground by his side as he keeps his gun on the Vassal with a lazy aim. I watch with rapt attention as Bingle lays his trap. It will be good, I am sure of it. Miguel takes a hidden stiletto from his sleeve and creeps forward while Sara moans impotently in her gag. ¡°Or how a warrior like Sarvajna could be caught off guard. Now I know. All the evidence...¡± It happens fast. Miguel jumps and a glint of light reflects in the collapsed glass panel beneath me. I realize where the adventurer has been staring. He used the missing glass pane as a mirror. Bingle rounds on Miguel. He holds the pistol in a hammer grip and slams it into the traitor¡¯s hand. The other holds his cane below the pommel and presses a hidden button. A sharp blade snaps out of the implement¡¯s end before seamlessly getting buried in the traitor¡¯s tender abdomen. ¡°... points to you, Miguel.¡± Ah, he could not resist, could he? I smile and since my time has come, I put on my mask and drop down through the shattered canopy, onto an empty bookshelf. I land in a crouch without disturbing its delicate balance, and not even the half-rotten wood groans under my light touch. The was prepared and rushes forward. Only when Miguel¡¯s blood dots the floor with crimson droplets does he realize his predicament. His hesitation costs him dearly. Bingle turns around and calmly aims. He pulls the trigger. A form through the room from a nearby hallway and interposes itself as the shot goes off. I recognize her now! She was at the party with two Courtiers claiming to seek asylum. I remember little from her except that she is a Roland. Her face is strict and average with thick black hair, giving her the appearance of a governess, perhaps. She wears a black set of leather armor with plates around the heart and a metal choker. The bullet bites deep into her shoulder and I delight in the look of pain and surprise when she realizes that I only ever pack silver. Her two Courtiers are close behind and spread on either side of her. Their armor is similar and they hold duelling swords which they aim at Bingle. The one on the left has the appearance of a veteran soldier and knows how to use his weapon, while the one on the right is more bookish and clearly isn¡¯t enjoying himself. ¡°Let it go, child,¡± the woman says with a hint of wariness, ¡°you should know when you are outclassed. I believe this is my cue. I slowly clap while releasing my aura. It washes over the trio like a wave, forcing them to take a step back as I drop down. I slowly walk up to the small gathering, my smile hidden behind the mask. This is just so deliciously dramatic. While we talk, Bingle doesn¡¯t waste time standing around doing nothing. He unbinds a protesting Sara who pushes him away with tears in her eyes. He lets her go and grabs the Scepter at his feet. I ask innocently. The woman¡¯s expression turns hesitant. She thought she could lawyer me. Hilarious. she says, and draws. ¡°I reply mockingly even as her leaves. She charges in with her two companions in support. I sweep at the approaching figure only for the left Courtier to dash forward after the retreating forms of my allies. I smirk. Using one of Nami¡¯s tricks I step back and strike the approaching Master at the same time. I channel the Natalis essence and the strength of the blow catches her by surprise. She is pushed back. I reverse my grip and stab to my left without looking. The Courtier falls, a bleeding wound where his heart used to be. One down, two to go. the woman says before moving again, this time more cautiously and we fight in earnest. I have to admit, her confidence is well founded. I am faster and stronger but her technique is exquisite and my lack of experience fighting duels on open ground shows. She deflects my strikes with economical movements, waiting for an opening then counter attacks mercilessly. The Courtier by her side almost never attacks but his presence hovering by her side continues to pose a danger. Their style is the most defensive I have ever faced and I am starting to think there is some truth to them surviving the fall of their coven. I finally manage to overwhelm her after a flurry of blows that leave the air ringing with the sound of metal on metal. As she stumbles back, I throw two daggers with strength. She falls to the side, dodging them. As expected. The satisfied grin on her face fades as soon as she hears the gurgling sound of her companion¡¯s shred throat. The man falls incapacitated, the grievous wound too much for him. Only the Master is still capable of putting up a fight. Since it worked the first time, I launch another series of furious attacks, culminating in a sweep that knocks her blade from her fingers. Disappointing. I close in for the kill. An immediate sense of danger and urgency makes me falter and I barely react to her next move. She extends her hand. An instant later, an oversized estoc manifests in it and punches clean through my mask, leaving a deep furrow in my cheek. I fall back and resist the urge to touch the wound. Keeping hidden claws are we? Let¡¯s see how well she uses them. Now that her trap is sprung, she adapts her style to using her soul weapon. Her reach is longer and striking the blade feels like hitting the side of a mountain. I keep moving around her looking for openings but her defense is flawless and I want to avoid being hurt. Worse, my armor is now useless before this blade. Even the heart protector would only deflect a glancing blow. So hard to crack. So annoying. I could escape her easily but this is not what I want. I want her to be broken and at my mercy. The small wounds I manage to land do not impede her and it would take only one lucky hit to take me down. We dance for a while and then I get an opportunity. I block an overhead sweep and with one last ominous crack, the steel shaft breaks in two pieces. She roars in triumph. I let her blade slide along my shoulder plate as I crouch then push on, closing the distance. I stab at her with the half spear I now hold. She blocks it before I can bury its cruel edge into her chest. At the same time, I grab her other hand. This is now a contest of strength and I will CRUSH HER. She claws pointlessly at the armor¡¯s heavily enchanted arm brace while my own talons dig deep into her flesh until they shatter her wrist. She screams and drops her soul blade, then braces and tries to kick me in the face. Cute. Lambert did it better. I grab her foot and lift it higher, then sweep the other from under her. She falls. I fall on her. RIP HER APART. She manages to cover her neck while I straddle her. I slash her arms, painting great lines of blood across the floor. Mine now. Surrender? I will EAT YOU. A voice I was not expecting wakes me from my bloodlust. The familiar aura flares at my back, towards the entrance. Who does HE THINK HE IS? She¡¯s my prey, I¡¯m not sharing! I growl, and stop savaging my captive. The vanquished one under me stops moving as well. She shows her throat. Good. the intruder says. I growl. Torran starts, then seems to reconsider. His mouth twists into an evil smile as he steps forward, exuding confidence. ¡± he answers with a smile then opens his arms in welcome. He dares. I¡¯ll show him who is the queen, I bow before NO ONE! I jump at him, spearhead held tight in my fist. Torran smiles. He manifests his soul weapon. It is a two-handed sword of ridiculous size, the most intricate and beautiful work I have ever seen bar none. It is even more majestic than Suarez¡¯ broadsword. Breathtaking. He swipes, so fast that I can barely follow. The spearhead soars into the air. Oh. A hand at the back of my head punches me into the ground. I yelp in pain, then in surprise when two talons grab my neck. I try to squirm out but the pressure only increases. I stop fighting. Torran lifts me by the neck like a kitten until we face each other. With his other hand, he unfastens my mask which falls to the floor. The cold air washes over my face, stinging the wound on my cheek. He asks with a sly voice. I answer. I lick my lips. This is strange. I hate restraints with a passion and yet Torran¡¯s hand on my neck does not fill me with fury and horror. I trust him implicitly, therefore I am not trapped. I am, however, dominated. The same instincts that pushed me to kill a moment ago now ask that I present my throat so that I do not die and since it¡¯s Torran, and he is my partner, the sensation is not entirely unpleasant. He did, after all, just crush me. That makes him powerful on top of everything else. Hmm. We both chuckle, and he releases me. I drop down and lean slightly against his chest, breathing in the scent of him. He is solid under my fingers. His presence is grounding and even relaxing. We stay there for a moment while behind us, the woman helps her second Courtier up. The first one she will have to carry. A destroyed heart will not heal in a single night, unless one has access to extremely potent blood. The woman¡¯s Vassal returns and helps them and soon, we are ready to depart. We leave the building in a single group. Outside, I find Jarek on top of his monstrosity of a Nightmare patiently waiting for us. He lifts a brow when we exit the building with three vampires in tow, though he does not comment on it. In laconic fashion, he informs us that Wilhelm escorted ¡°your godling and that noisy girl¡± back to the city. The return trip is tamer than its predecessor, and while we ride in silence, I find myself thinking. More specifically, I think of him. Torran is by my side with his steely grey glare and impeccable poise. His ruddy face makes him look mature and weathered, the kind of man who has seen it all and remains unimpressed. He is a bit terrifying in a warlord kind of way, and he has the body and sword to back it up. Then, he turns to me and his entire demeanor changes. He goes from strict to roguish, and unbending to solid in an instant. His traits grow softer. I want him. I want him enough that I no longer fear intimacy. I want to kiss him and feel him and all those other things I know of. Living in a brothel jaded me towards lovemaking, or so I thought. Overexposure made it a messy, fleshy affair that I had little interest in, something that others did. Now though, I realize that sex is what you make of it and I really, really want to make something great. The last remnant of the conservative girl I was complains that we have only known the man for a bit under two weeks and that lying with him would make us a hussy. The more mature part of me says that we are technically a fifty years old spinster and that, really, fuck it. I have waited long enough. Carpe diem, or is it carpe noctem? No matter. I want him. I do. I ask in what I hope is an unaffected voice. he replies with half-lidded eyes. I¡¯m not subtle, am I? Torran takes a very careful expression. I hope I was not too forward, and that he doesn¡¯t think any less of me. And I thought I was too direct. I frown, but in the end, decide not to take offence. Nobody will take this night from me, not even myself. The door closes behind me. This is it. I am nervous. Torran walks up and hugs me from behind. I am not tactile, not since I was turned, yet this firm embrace soothes me. Torran is solid and dependable, and he has shown time and time again that he was there for me, even when I had lost myself. We have known each other for all of two weeks, I remember. Somehow it feels longer than that. My lover remains silent. He must have an idea what goes through my mind right now. He knows that I am scared. What he may not know is that I am also eager. It happened during our very short fight, when he showed me the steel under that composure of his. It was not the violence itself but the control and power behind it that made me want him. I turn in his embrace and reach up to kiss him. He is hungrier than before and a bit demanding. My nervousness disappears before his passion and I close my eyes to enjoy the moment. His hands caress my shoulders and my back and for a while, we just enjoy each other¡¯s presence. Rather quickly, I feel something hard push against my belly. Torran takes a half-step away. He knows what I felt. His face is unapologetic, waiting for my decision. In answer, I place my hand on the flat expanse of his stomach and trail down until I reach the tip of his erect member. Torran groans and grabs me as I yelp in delight. There is much I want to see, and he is eager to show. For the rest of the night, I know only him. I submerge in piping hot water and luxuriate in the amazing feeling of the warm water surrounding my body. Last night was so great. On one hand, I am horrified that it took me so long to experience lovemaking. On the other hand, it probably had to be Torran. That man is talented. Dangerously so. A knock on my bedroom door forces me to lift my head off the bathwater. ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°Guests milady. Your friends Naminata and sister Jimena.¡± I grumble, then louder: ¡°let them in, I will join them momentarily.¡± I dry myself in a hurry and pick up a light pink dress which I put on. I leave my hair down and come out into the main room. a sly voice remarks. I wince. I should not get Nami started on him or she¡¯ll be debating about the perfect¡­ scrotum. For a good ten minutes. Again. Jimena says. I ask with horror. I did not know that. Nami explains. I cannot help but remark. The other two smile at each other knowingly. Nami asks smugly. I ask with suspicion. Naminata smiles knowingly and nods to herself. On one hand, I understand him. I too, would prefer if someone was attracted to who I am instead of what strategic value I have. On the other¡­ I frown. Nami declares as if it was obvious. Jimena adds, Nami retorts, I hold my head between my hands. I complain, dejected. ,¡± Jimena says with a gentle voice. ,¡± Nami adds. This sounds like good wisdom, especially coming from her. she answers without a hint of embarrassment. I shake my head. This is a surprise, and though I understand Torran¡¯s choice, we must still have a talk. Nami and Jimena glance at each other. Jimena shrugs and Nami starts. Jimena continues, I bet he isn¡¯t. I interject, Nami continues with a devious smile, A dreadful foreboding fills my heart. She just smiles. I reply, appalled. Jimena smiles knowingly and asks in turn. At this moment, Solveig stands up to answer a knock on the door. She walks back to give me an envelope. It contains a message from Wilhelm requesting my presence, quite possibly to pay back the favor he did for me yesterday. I dislike having debts, and so I take my leave of the others and go see what the steward wants from me. Chapter 77: Wilhelm’s Task The moon is exceptional tonight. It hangs there in all its gibbous glory, beautiful and luminous but otherwise useless. The contrast with the Watcher is fascinating. The moon changes and moves across the sky but as far as I know, it remains at the same distance and is boringly inanimate. The Watcher exists at a level where distance and size lose their meanings. Under its eldritch influence, lines become curves and curves, points. It is also sapient, after a fashion, and alien beyond anything that exists on this plane. Right now, the strange celestial body is quiescent, but not bored. Never bored.Hesitant footsteps tread the loam at my back. I recline on a park bench and breathe in the scents of late summer. The grass under my feet is brittle and some of the growth around the small clearing is already starting to wilt despite the gardener¡¯s efforts. The heavy smell of vegetation is only offset by that of the sea, more pungent. A faint breeze brings me the scent of pines and human sweat. The woman stops at the edge of the clearing and her breath hitches in her chest. The park is deserted at this hour, so we do not risk being disturbed. Yet that same emptiness fills her with apprehension. I am intrigued by the source of light she is using though. It shines an unnatural pale blue, probably some sorcery. The newcomer¡¯s aura shimmers and buckles wildly, signs that she is a barely trained mage and a strong one at that. ¡°Come closer,¡± I say. For one moment, I think she will try to run. In the end, she chooses to walk to my side, but not too close. I turn to inspect her. She is young, in her early twenties with a candid air that life has not robbed her of yet. She wears a dark dress with a cloak that has seen better days and holds in her hand a crystalline sphere from which escapes the strange radiance. The item is magical, a weak artefact. It reminds me of fireflies or luminescent flora with its organic glow, shining over her traits. S~?a??h the N???lFire.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. I find myself thinking of Constantine. They have in common to be more striking than beautiful, and her brown eyes express frustration as a tendril of essence quests towards me. Rude. ¡°I cannot feel you at all,¡± she remarks in a soft voice. In order to cut that part of our meeting short, I calmly release my aura though I keep it subdued. The woman shivers when she tastes it. ¡°Hum, you are not a mage? But where are my manners, sorry. My name is Vera Wild. I thought I was to meet a man named Wilhelm?¡± ¡°Wilhelm of the Erenwald is busy and asked me to assist you tonight in his stead. You may call me Ariane.¡± ¡°Nice to meet you Ariane. So, if I may ask, what are you? No offense.¡± Curious, are we? ¡°A vampire.¡± It strikes a bell. She mutters and takes a small tome bound in leather from one of her pockets. It looks well-used, and she turns its pages with familiarity. ¡°Hold on,¡± she says, ¡°I think gran wrote something about your kind. Ah yes. Here.¡± She reads slowly and carefully under the pale light of her orb, like someone a bit unused to the exercise. I can hear her mutter the words. ¡°Vampires¡­ If you meet one of the de-denizens of the night¡­ who call them-themselves vampires, do as instro¡­ instructed. First, use your most po- hmmm potent! Potent fire spell¡­¡± Her eyes widen in surprise. ¡°Hmmm¡­¡± she mutters. I wait. ¡°Hm!¡± I still wait. ¡°Firebolt!¡± A pathetic gout of flame emerges from the half-ruined wand she just pulled from her handbag. I call the barest thread of the Herald¡¯s essence and slap the spell away. It sputters and dies at my feet as silence once more fills the clearing. The pathetic ring of blackened herb captures her attention and, apparently, her wit. She opens and closes her mouth like a beached fish. ¡°Why don¡¯t you finish reading that text of yours?¡± I suggest as I stand and move closer. The skittish dolt hesitates once more, then curiosity triumphs over common sense. A tragically common occurrence for young mages. ¡°That way if they lie you can¡­ scare! Scare the pretenders away, and if they tell the truth¡­¡± She stops and suddenly appears dismayed. I hear a few swear words. ¡°¡­ then hopefully you angered them enough to die with dignity.¡± Vera looks like the victim of a prank and holds her notebook with barely contained anger. Her tiny fingers grip it as if she wanted to tear it apart. ¡°Ooooo gran!!¡± she moans comically. Only after that does she realize her predicament. ¡°Eerrr, please don¡¯t kill me? I was tricked!¡± Laughable. I wish I could at least give her a good scare. Unfortunately, I gave Wilhelm my word and my hands are thus tied. I am to assist the hapless thing for the night even if I do not accept her as a Supplicant. ¡°Does that book of yours mention our propensity for mercy?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know, I haven¡¯t finished it. I¡¯m not the fastest reader, you see?¡± ¡°Indeed.¡± ¡°So you¡¯re not going to kill me?¡± she asks with a quivering voice. I sigh. ¡°No Vera, I will not kill you. Now, why don¡¯t you be a good girl and tell me why you would call upon us.¡± ¡°Good girl? You¡¯re not much older than I am!¡± she protests. Ah, a true neophyte. ¡°You don¡¯t know the first thing about vampires, do you? We do not age.¡± ¡°You mean you can live for a very long time?¡± ¡°I meant exactly what I said.¡± ¡°But then¡­¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I answer with a mysterious smile, ¡°I am considerably older than I look.¡± She gulps and I find the situation amusing. I am indeed considerably older than I look, just not inhumanly so. No need to tell her though. Let me bask in the glory of my mysterious and intimidating persona. I notice that she¡¯s a bit gullible. ¡°The way Gran wrote it, you are more dangerous than a werewolf, haha.¡± I cannot help but give her a grin, the toothy kind. She recoils in horror. I know I should not waste my time bullying the meek but she¡¯s just too amusing. Nami was right, gloating is our guilty pleasure. ¡°We consider werewolves as delicacies,¡± I announce truthfully. ¡°Wow! But¡­ I don¡¯t want Opa to get hurt, that was not our agreement!¡± ¡°Enough child, if I were here to kill I would have no need of you. Wilhelm mentioned an inheritance. What is this about?¡± ¡°Right¡­ Right. I¡¯d better tell you the story from the beginning. It¡¯s about my Opa, Mr. Schmidt. Mom¡¯s dad. She¡­ well, she didn¡¯t marry the right person. She married my da and they stayed together until he died. He¡­ was Irish.¡± Absolutely scandalous. Seeing my lack of reaction, Vera continues with more confidence. ¡°She went against the entire family¡¯s wishes and she was cast out for it. Only Opa took care of us behind their back. It changed recently though. He found out about what I could do. Also that my Gran, that¡¯s my dad¡¯s mom, she had been teaching me witch things. He got mad. Real mad. He told me bad things like I was Satan¡¯s whore and got my powers from, hm, sinning with demons. I don¡¯t do that, I haven¡¯t even seen a demon ever! I haven¡¯t even done anything more than kissing!¡± Kissing huh? You shameless harlot. ¡°Anyway, he said that he was going to leave all his money with somebody called Gabriel who would punish me for my wicked ways. Have you heard of him?¡± Oh, Gabriel you pitiless monster. I know thee well. ¡°I assume you are referring to the Order of Gabriel, a group dedicated to the extermination of any and all supernatural beings?¡± ¡°Ah, probably. That¡¯s bad, right?¡± ¡°It does sound inconvenient. What do you want, exactly?¡± Vera takes a deep breath then her lips shiver while her eyes turn liquid. ¡°I just want my Opa back¡­¡± she says. Fat tears roll down her pretty cheeks. She¡¯s making me Thirsty with her amusing weakness. She just smells too much like prey. Alright, Ari calm down this is not the time. ¡°I can make him love you.¡± ¡°Not like that! I want him to believe me when I say it¡¯s not my fault, that I didn¡¯t do anything bad with any demon or anyone really. I am not trying to deceive the hearts of men or some such nonsense, I¡¯m just trying to learn how not to set the curtains on fire every time I¡¯m upset! Is it so hard to understand?¡± She pouts. ¡°I think I could convince him if we can have an adult conversation,¡± I reply, ¡°where is he right now?¡± ¡°At the factory. He owns a printing press, the biggest one in the city.¡± ¡°Will he not be home at this late hour?¡± ¡°Nah. He always stays late. Not to work, mind you, he¡¯s just avoiding my grandmother.¡± That will be convenient. Vera takes my silence for doubt. ¡°No really, she¡¯s an old harpy. She turns the milk sour by standing next to it.¡± ¡°I see. Now, show me to the printing press you mentioned.¡± Vera leads me to the park¡¯s exit and then through half-deserted streets. The difference between us is flagrant. We look the same age but while I walk as if I owned the street, she scurries around like a mouse, casting fearful glances all around. Her bent back, nervous hands and rapid head gestures scream weakness and ¡°please mug me¡± to everyone around. I can see at least four groups of men stare at us like a pack of wolves. They do not act on it, however, and we leave a residential district behind us without me getting free snacks. Slowly, the modest houses with thatched roofs give way to small businesses and the occasional warehouse, all closed now. The gas lamps cast long shadows on the pavement as we walk by. We do not tarry, and it is not long before our destination comes in view. Vera was starting to forget to be scared and asking questions about what werewolves taste like so it is a relief when our journey ends at the gates of Schmidt¡¯s Reliable Printing. I am surprised to see that not only is the place still open, there are people hard at work. They come and go, carrying bundles of leaflets and other supplies. Schmidt Reliable Printing is clearly doing well. The facilities may be old, yet they are well-maintained as well as recently painted. I count two buildings. One is a very large warehouse with two doors wide enough to allow a carriage through. The other is a narrower two-story edifice of red bricks. The clang of machinery coming from it is almost deafening and it is surrounded on all sides by crates and barrels containing the Watcher knows what. Following Vera¡¯s indications, I drag her towards it under the curious gaze of the workers. Once more, disguise is decisive in facilitating my access. A well-dressed woman who walks with confidence is an unusual sight in such places, enough to garner suspicion. The key is a haughty demeanor that marks me as a rich wife or daughter, possibly of a client. While my presence without a chaperone at this late hour is improper, addressing me is even more so for those beneath my station. It would bring little to stop us and could cost them dearly, therefore nobody dares to overstep their bounds, and so we get in unmolested. A male vampire would have to take a different approach. Urchin could not get in the normal way, because he just breathes duplicity. The shady man could not walk three blocks without a police patrol asking him about his intentions. I will have to find a proper use for him. Without stopping, I weave my way through the long lines of the presses while staying mostly out of sight. I could easily Charm everyone barring us but I keep Sinead¡¯s words close to my heart. Power is a crutch. To depend on it too much is to invite disaster while to hone one¡¯s skills is the way to greatness. Besides, I have pride. I will not let an inattentive mortal get the drop on me, even while I am dragging a skittish bundle of nerves behind me. ¡°We can¡¯t be here like this! What if they tell Opa?!¡± said bundle hisses with panic. ¡°He will know we¡¯re here soon enough. Now, shut up.¡± We climb a set of stairs to a much quieter second floor. A corridor leads us past closed doors leading to offices and archives, up to the biggest office. A heavyset man with salt and pepper hair sits by the heavy oaken door, reading a book. He is tall and strong with the broken nose of prizefighters and the damaged knuckles that go with it. A worker outfit in grey and brown covers the body of a warrior gone slightly too fat. He has a bit of a belly, but also corded muscles covered with scars. He has not spotted us yet. ¡°That¡¯s Charlie,¡± Vera whispers, ¡°he is Opa¡¯s strongman. He will definitely recognize me. Oh my God, what are we going to do?!¡± This is as far as I can go on bluff alone, at least not without preparation. I keep moving forward without stopping. When we are close enough, the man lifts his eyes and frowns. I can see the onset of cataracts in them. He probably doesn¡¯t see very well. Our eyes meet and I instinctively send a tendril of essence, Charming him. Instead of resorting to brute force, I fan the flames of interest in his book and smother his curiosity towards us. His task is inherently boring while the book apparently isn¡¯t. He dismisses us as belonging here and soon returns his full attention to it. We pass him by and I take a peek out of curiosity. I cannot help but smile. The book cover is protected by an additional layer of paper bearing the image of a pugilist. The content is quite different. I read only a few sentences and realize that Charlie is fully absorbed in a tragic romance involving a woman and a man far beneath her social standing. His eyes widen as she laments their cruel fate. You do you, Charlie. Without knocking, I drag a stupefied Vera through the door and find myself in a large office. The room is clean and smells faintly of cigars. The walls are covered in overflowing bookshelves containing rare tomes as well as ledgers. Two comfortable leather seats face a massive lacquered desk behind which an old man is writing by candlelight. His traits are emaciated, and sad jowls drop on either side of his face as if he had lost a lot of weight recently. His skin is yellow and dry, and his eyes are bloodshot. White chops hang sadly by his side and the bald pate on his head is covered in liver spots. He puts his plume down and massages his eyes with a gnarly hand before looking at the intruders. He frowns when he spots us, then his expression turns horrified when he lays his eyes on his granddaughter. His shrivelled face, already pallid, turns cadaverous. Vera recoils as if physically hurt. He stands up slowly and painfully though his thin frame quakes and twin spots of red blossom on his cheeks. His gaze is fixed on my companion and conveys not just anger but also, longing. ¡°Vera! You¡­ And who are you? Another devil-worshipper?!¡± he asks with a fragile voice. I have learnt much in a short time, and I have a good idea on how to proceed now. ¡°I am not a witch, no. I am something else.¡± ¡°What do you mean?¡± he asks with suspicion, just as he slowly reaches for one of his drawers. ¡°You talked to the Gabrielite. Did they not explain who ruled the night?¡± It takes him a second to understand the implication. When he does, he frantically opens said drawer and looks around. It takes him a few moments to find what he was looking for and when he does, he jumps backwards as he realizes that I am now sitting in front of him, lazily inspecting a talon. He did not see me move. ¡°Stay away! Stay back, you devil!¡± he whimpers. His face twists in pain and he reaches for his flank. ¡°Opa?¡± Vera asks, with tears in her eyes. She is shared between the desire to help him and the fear of his wrath. Schmidt brandishes a cross and waves it around. We fail to scream and evaporate. I tug a bit on a finger and blink when it feels good. It appears that I am not entirely recovered. Finally, the old man¡¯s breath calms down and he swallows nervously. ¡°Why are you here?¡± he asks. ¡°Please, Mr. Schmidt. You know very well why I am here.¡± ¡°Are¡­ are you the one who set her on the path to damnation?¡± ¡°Nonsense. Magic is an inborn trait. Wickedness has nothing to do with it.¡± ¡°But the Order said¡­¡± ¡°The Order lies when it suits their purpose. Your granddaughter is not lost. She was just born with an unusual disposition.¡± ¡°But the bible says I should not suffer a witch to live¡­¡± ¡°Also that he who is without sin should cast the first stone. Yes?¡± It amuses me that I can quote the book if I am vague enough. ¡°But she has lain with¡­¡± ¡°No I have not!¡¯ Vera pleads with powerful emotion, ¡°Opa please, you know me. You have to believe me, I am still untouched. I would never do such a thing! Please, it¡¯s still me¡­¡± The old man is now equally distressed. His own eyes shine with unshed tears, but soon, he steels himself and turns back to me. ¡°I do not know what you thought you could achieve but it will not occur. You must both leave, before I have Charlie cast you out. Vera, I love you still, my little cat. I will not report you to the Order, yet I fear it is too late for you. Depart the city. Please.¡± ¡°I think not,¡± I reply, gathering his attention, ¡°I am only getting started. To make my point, let us see what Charlie thinks about all of this.¡± Even now, the cross¡¯ aura pushes me back and grates against my essence. The warning it gives is no weaker than before. If anything, its power has grown like mine. The silent threat still carries the promise of oblivion and with it, a subtle taste of ash. Charlie, however, is unprepared. I slowly lean forward and grab a small bell from the desk. A simple shake and the light chime summons heavy footsteps. The door opens and the burly bodyguard looms in, his eyes widening in surprise before growing dull under the full strength of my Charm. I showed the carrot in the person of Vera. Now comes the stick. I am not sure Sinead would approve of that last sentence. Oh well. ¡°Charlie. Join us,¡± I order with a pleasant voice. My captive blinks owlishly and comes to sit in the empty chair by my side. I stand up and walk behind him before placing both hands on his shoulders. Schmidt watches me with apprehension. His knobbled hands clutch the cross like a drowning man to a buoy. ¡°You are dying,¡± I announce without preamble. ¡°No!¡± Vera screams. She rushes to the old man and hugs him with the strength of despair, making him wince a bit. He looks brittle next to her. Fading. She could squish him if she held him too tight. Eyes still fixed on me and Charlie, the old grandfather reflexively leans into the embrace of the one he trusts. They form a nice contrast and I commit this image to memory to paint it later. ¡°You are dying,¡± I continue, ¡°and you want your inheritance to be put to good use. You were approached by a man who said the Order needed you and it took little convincing for you to appreciate the need to defend mankind. You were already witness to Vera¡¯s strange abilities. Am I correct so far?¡± ¡°Y-yes. He said that the fight against the forces of darkness was raging.¡± ¡°Correct. We fight a war that cannot end. They are without number and we are without limits, and so generations after generations of fighters fall to this conflict. There is something you should be wondering, however. Something obvious.¡± His mind is keen, still, and he immediately understands what I am getting at. ¡°Why do we not rise against you?¡± ¡°Correct. Why does the order maintain secrecy? Why does humanity not unite in a great war to purge us from this world. Can you guess?¡± Silence. ¡°Your kind is not as pure and disinterested as you think. There are millions of magic wielders and many of them are born to mundane families. We vampires are few but we have influence over a great many things, and you would be surprised at the number of rulers tempted by the eternal life we offer. An open conflict would be apocalyptic and there is no guarantee the Order would end up on top. And so, we continue our secret war, age after age.¡± I have their full attention now. ¡°There are unspoken rules, of course. One of them is that mortals who do not know of this conflict are mostly left alone. We do not lay cities to waste, slaughtering people in the alleys. If you join one side, however¡­¡± I grip Charlie¡¯s shoulder harder. He moans softly as my talons pierce his skin and draw blood. I relax before I tear into the muscle, though the damage is done. Both Vera and Schmidt stare mesmerize at the expanding red stains on the man¡¯s shirt. The bodyguard is as glassy-eyed and unresponsive as before. ¡°¡­ you forfeit your immunity,¡± I continue. ¡°You think you are doing humanity a favor by leaving the fruits of your labor in the hands of its defenders? You are not. You merely lay the burden of combat on the shoulders of those you leave behind, like our brave Charlie here.¡± I lift a talon and place it directly under the man¡¯s right eye. The needle-sharp end digs into his skin. I drag it down, leaving behind a bloody furrow. I cast a light glance at Vera as well. She does not see it, but her grandfather does. ¡°They will be the ones who pay for your decision. I am sure that your friend in the Order will speak of sacrifice and safety in number. You already have an idea of how safe you are. As for the price to pay, ask yourself this: if a man dies without a choice because of your decision, is he your sacrifice or your victim? You already know the answer.¡± Schmidt¡¯s throat bobs as he swallows. His voice is calm now. He has gone beyond fear, to the cold place where one stares the reaper in the face. ¡°Is there a way for this meeting not to end in blood?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°What are your terms?¡± ¡°Desist. Enjoy your last weeks with your loving granddaughter, make peace with yourselves and others and leave your company to one you deem a worthy successor, I care not. This is not your war, old man, and it is not up to you to decide who will fight it. Do we have an understanding?¡± ¡°Yes. I believe we do. I give you my word that I will not support the Order in any way. Will you need guarantees?¡± ¡°Your word is enough. You know what will happen if you change your mind.¡± ¡°I see. Yes. One last question. If this magic doesn¡¯t come from deals with the devil, then where does it come from?¡± I have a theory, actually. Loth had scholarly books that spoke of noetic fields and soul and some such. I believe the answer to be significantly more prosaic. ¡°Nobody knows for sure, though I suspect that some ancestors had children with fantastic creatures.¡± ¡°Like gnomes and korrigans?¡± ¡°Hm, yes,¡± I answer, thinking about a very specific bright-haired and absolutely scandalous individual. ¡°That remains a hypothesis that I do not have a way to verify,¡± I continue. ¡°A scientific-minded monster,¡± Schmidt remarks ruefully, ¡°that was all, thank you for your answer.¡± ¡°Then I¡¯m off. Remember, we will be watching.¡± ¡°I already gave you my word,¡± the old man growls, idly caressing his granddaughter¡¯s hair. They have things well in hand, and my work is done. Vera gives me one last grateful glance as I exit and release my hold on Charlie. Funny how she doesn¡¯t realize that I implied I would kill her. Oh well. Now the situation should be comfortably heading where we want it. I did not perceive any lie in the old man¡¯s words, and if he changes his mind and goes back on his word as mortals are wont to do... well, I shall visit again. Chapter 78: The Secret Task I take one last look at the note in my hand. It contains an invitation to visit the 26th Dorcer alley to meet an informant regarding mentors of the mystical arts. I had been looking forward to learning magic, so the letter was welcome. The problem now is quite obvious.There is no 26th Dorcer alley. The street is a dead end with a brick wall between a tailor shop and a writing supply store. Only the lack of ambushers convinces me that this was not a trap. Or is it? Two footsteps and two heartbeats come from my back. I turn around and stare at the newcomers as they make their way down the deserted path. They do not exude danger at all. If anything, the taller one is apprehensive while the shorter one, still a head above me, struts around as if he owned the town. The taller man is clearly the muscle here. He has the keen eyes and clean make of the mercenary rather than the common arm breaker. He checks corners and roofs with experience but no matter what, his attention invariably returns to me. When it does, he frowns and displays signs of incredulity. Intriguing. The second man is queer. There is something about him¡­ I cannot quite put my finger on it¡­ He has a greying beard and the air of a perfect gentleman, with an impeccably ironed dark blue vest and slack that suit him perfectly. His appearance is unfamiliar. And yet, and yet¡­ The man stops a few paces away from me and extends his hands disarmingly. His smile is smug beyond reason. In fact, his behavior screams amused superiority and condescending confidence in a way that I have only ever seen¡­ Oh no. It cannot be. I extend a trembling claw at the man and hiss in anger. ¡°You¡­ You! ARG.¡± ¡°Tut tut, poppet. Manners! You are embarrassing me in front of my friend.¡± ¡°Sinead! You dare! Do you know what this town is?¡± ¡°Vampire central? Bloodston?¡± ¡°It¡¯s the last place you should be! I swear to the if you get caught stupidly I will drink you dry before I let the others have you.¡± ¡°Oh so sweet, my precious poppet, but fret not, I took all necessary precautions to mask any hint of my presence. And we¡¯re leaving soon anyway!¡± I frown with suspicion. ¡°We are?¡± ¡°Yes, on a glorious quest to save one of my kin. He is being transported as we speak across the ocean deep. We will have to engage into a tiny bit of piracy to rescue him. You will have to kill a vampire I¡¯m afraid.¡± ¡°I am not sure this is a good idea. Not while I finally gained some legitimacy.¡± ¡°He is a distasteful man who enjoys torturing his prey before drinking.¡± ¡°Your point?¡± ¡°Ah, your heart truly is cold. He is also a Lancaster known for his tendency to go after his foe¡¯s human entourage out of spite.¡± On one hand, the risks. On the other hand, the return of the Dread Pirate Ariane the Bloodthirsty, Queen of the Waves. ¡°Let me just make a few arrangements and summon some interesting help. We do not want to leave witnesses right?¡± Sinead¡¯s smile would make any mortal tremble. Captain Smollett¡¯s tale It had been a bad year. The night carried an unseasonably cold wind that chilled Captain Smollett to his very bones. It had been a bad year and it could still get much worse. Frowning, the man knocked on the wood of the railing for good luck and kept an eye on the endless expanse of waves before him. A passing gust tried in vain to alter his unflappable countenance. Captain Smollett of the Blue Jay may have fallen on hard times, that was true, but he would never forfeit discipline nor manners. No sir! And not honor either. As for tradition¡­ Some things had to be sacrificed. It all started with the Compromise Tariff of 1833. Congress had passed a bill to reduce taxes on import to a more manageable level. Some businesses had flourished, mostly in the south. Some others, which heavily depended on protectionism to be viable, had collapsed. Such was the case for the Blue Jay¡¯s main employer. To make matters worse, one of his ship¡¯s two masts had split right in the middle during a particularly vicious storm, forcing her into drydock so that she could be repaired. Now his Blue Jay, his beautiful schooner, was at risk of being lost through bankruptcy. It was all because of bad luck. Desperation had led him to consider employment that he would have scoffed at a few months before. Now, even the notoriously underpaid sailors threatened to leave his ship. There had been no choice but to accept Simon Nead¡¯s proposal. His letter of marque had been genuine, as far the captain could tell, but the very act of privateering was distasteful and the guests Nead had brought on board¡­ There were ten mercenaries trained to kill. Smollett knew that kind. They did not look at you so much as through you and it only meant one thing, that when lead would start to fly, they would lodge an inch of steel in your gut like some shove a loaf in the oven. Clinical. Uncaring. They patrolled around the ship in pairs like bloodhounds and never mixed with the rest of the crew. Nead himself was entirely different. The man cheated at cards, the Captain was certain. As sure as the sun rose in the East! And yet his men did not care because he did not cheat to win but to make things more interesting, more alive. Every night now, the men off watch would gather around the table on the lower deck and throw their fates and fortunes on the table, at the mercy of painted paper and bone cubes. Spades and Hearts would mix with numbers in an unholy dance under the greedy eyes of breathless spectators. They would scream and moan and laugh until drunk with emotion. With feverish fingers and wild abandon, they would count coins and tokens and throw them with panache and far too little thought. Princes and first sons of merchant houses could not match their flair and passion. Glittering casinos could not match the fire burning in their veins nor the madness in their eyes, while enthroned in the midst of those improvised bacchanals, Nead himself would govern like a sultan of old. He would needle here and tease there. With one of his words, fortunes would change hands, then again in the other direction but no matter how much they lost, they could never stop. Every night the players were back and every night they would throw themselves at the game as if their life depended on it. And then there was the woman. A woman. On his ship. It was a non-negotiable clause of the contract bonding Smollett to the service of the enigmatic gentleman. The strange lady would be on board and that was it. She was a quiet one, and that worried him greatly. She would only come out at night and walk the bridge under the fascinated eye of the sailors at work. She would wear a proper dress that left nothing uncovered and yet hinted at a great figure. The others looked at her with more adoration than lust. She was unattainable, as ethereal and distant as the North star to rustic seamen unused to the fairer sex, for the only gentler contact they had were their relatives and the shore harlots, ugly things who would spread their hairy legs for a quarter a pass. She might as well have belonged to another species. Perhaps she did. The others would only steal glances but he did not have to. She was beautiful, of course, with hair like ripe wheat and eyes the color of the sky at summer¡¯s height. Her skin was fair and her manners graceful and yet there was something odd, something that grated him. It was her demeanor. His men saw her and thought she was an aristo, a blue blood or some such. Smollett knew it was a lie. He had attended wealthy parties where the richest scions of the land had gathered to intrigue. He had seen them, and they had not been her match. They had lacked the predatory grace, the unnerving movements and the perfect poise. She was something else. The woman would walk on the bridge with an incongruous tricorn sat on her pretty head, singing a queer song. It stuck to his mind like shells to a keel. She sang it with a beautiful voice, and slightly off-key. The whole thing was eerie and captivating. ¡°Here twelve poor men remained on a sinking frigate. So many lives were lost to a dreadful pirate Neither tide nor the sky gave the crew no quarter Off the coast of Cuba they would meet their maker Oooo, off the coast of Cuba they would meet their maker¡± As she sang, she would brush the railing and look out to the sea, where Smollett knew there was nothing, and follow some phantasm with a knowing smile. She was doing this right now. As he watched, her hand stopped on something and flicked it away with such speed that for a moment, he believed he had hallucinated the gesture. Then she resumed her stroll, humming under her breath. Smollett stepped forward as soon as she was away. On that piece of familiar railing used to be a stuck nail. The captain had damaged the sleeve of his favorite jacket on the protruding piece of metal, months before. It was gone now, as well as a long sliver of wood. Someone had dug a ghastly furrow through the salt-encrusted oak. Smollett closed his eyes and prayed. The ship had been moored for a day. Smollett had barely slept. In a dream, he had spied Nead overseeing a game of poker belowdecks. In front of the players, there had been no coins, nothing but tiny pearls emitting an incredible radiance. They were souls, he knew with certainty. The maddened sailors were betting their souls on the game, spitting and screaming and frantic as they played. Then Nead looked up and his eyes were no longer brown but a pale amber, and lo, on his head grew a great pair of horns. He had woken up in a jolt, clammy with cold sweat. Breathless. No amount of prayer nor alcohol had allowed him to catch a wink after that. Now the Blue Jay bobbed up and down at the whim of the waves, hidden behind a low island. Nead was no longer overseeing his games. He was waiting for passing boats and each time one would, he checked his compass and shook his head. Smollett had caught a glimpse of the strange contraption and one thing was sure, it did not point North. Sorcery. Smollett was sure of it now, there was vile wizardry at work. He was harboring devil worshippers! He would have liked to rally his crew and throw the disgusting heathens overboard, alas, most of them were already under the spell of Nead. Curse him! Curse that contract and curse the day he agreed to it. Rather sell the Blue Jay than work with the servants of the Enemy. Too late now, far too late. Nead had his evil claws deep into the minds of the sailors. Smollett would have to finish his task and hope for salvation. Then, there was the woman. She was strolling alongside the railing, singing slightly off-key in that haunting voice of hers. ¡°The cap¡¯n begged and prayed for someone to rescue The brave crew and himself ¡®fore the reefs claimed their due Neither angels nor saints would answer his prayer Off the coast of Cuba they would meet their maker Ooooo, off the coast of Cuba they would meet their maker¡± Their eyes met and Smollett realized she knew. About his belief. Her gaze pierced his mind and revealed the doubt and fear under, torching away the haze of alcohol and the numbness of habit to revive in his heart the freshest of terrors. She knew and did not care. Once more, her merciless stare aimed outward, to the ocean and beyond. She saw something. Smollett could not help himself. He walked up and searched for the source of her amusement. What dark delight brought such a smile to her graceful face? There was nothing but the night. ¡°You feel it, don¡¯t you? The world is holding its breath and those who pay attention have already noticed,¡± she said in a lovely voice. Her smile was sharp and dismissive. It angered him for some reason. The fury dug deep into his chest and lit waiting embers. They had no right to come here and steal his ship, his people, for their nefarious purposes! ¡°There is nothing there, nothing at all!¡± he yelled. ¡°Of course there is,¡± the woman replied with amusement, ¡°do you wish to see?¡± The captain froze. He wanted to say no. He knew he had to refuse, but his mouth was dry as the Sahara. It would not open to say the words and a sick curiosity needled him forward. He felt himself waver at the edge of that question like a skiff caught in a whirlpool. His sanity was sliding, slowly, but with a fateful certainty that gripped his heart and whispered sweet promises in his unwilling ears. He had to know. To find out the truth. It was the most natural thing. How could the truth be worse than whatever uncertainty and doubts were torturing his mind right now? Smollett did not resist when the woman¡¯s fingers gripped his shoulder. He shivered, surprised by her strength. ¡°Look,¡± she purred. And a veil was lifted. The sea was not empty, though he wished it were. His mouth opened though he could produce no sound. Terror. Mind-stealing, debilitating terror froze his very being. The sea was alive. It was teeming with unnatural life. The edge of a fin, the hint of a webbed hand, the end of a scaly tails. Baleful yellow eyes reflecting the pallid light of the moon above. Sinuous movements of slimy skin and unnatural limbs left and right. Smollett wanted to scream but the Boschian vista had robbed him of his voice. Only a keening sound emerged from his choking throat, and tears of the starkest fear trailed down his cheeks. ¡°Welcome to your new world,¡± the siren¡¯s voice by his side murmured. The Devil had his quarry in sight. Smollett brushed an idle hand on his filthy jacket. The reek of liquor was strong even in the open air as the Blue Jay sliced through the waves. His crew went through the motions like automatons. They licked their lips and smiled and exchanged gossip about the games, the previous ones and the others to come. They cared little about their surroundings, or they would have surrendered to madness as he had. Last night, his helmsman had met a cruel fate, thrown overboard and lost. He had been a resilient and pious man. Smollett found that he envied the departed. Nead was at the prow, no longer holding a compass but a mirror instead. The strange artefact hurt the captain¡¯s tender head when he stared too long. He knew what it did. S~?a??h the N???lFire.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. Under the Blue Jay, a perfect reflection of his beloved ship had appeared. Its light was supernaturally bright and yet its halo did not extend past the shimmering mirage. The sea around them was darker than a demon¡¯s soul, so that Smollett could barely see the murk bubbling with the passage of the monstrous pack. It was as if all lights had been captured by some evil witchery. They were occulted by a veil of darkness. The men aboard their prey were oblivious to their imminent demise. No cry of alarm had sounded yet even though they approached it at full speed. The woman stood straight from leaning against the railing. She was dressed in an armor of obsidian beauty, bearing an alien sigil. Like this, she looked like a savage goddess from a heathen nation, whose warriors raided shores and left nothing behind but burned husks and beheaded monks on stained altars. A desperate laugh rose from his chest. She sang still. ¡°Then a voice offered him with a frightful whisper The salvation he sought at this fateful hour For a price, the voice said to the tempted skipper Off the coast of Cuba you won¡¯t meet your maker Oooooo off the coast of Cuba you won¡¯t meet your maker.¡± They rammed the other ship. A terrible groan of tortured wood exploded like thunder on a cloudless sky. All of the men on their victim¡¯s deck were sent flying into the air. Some fell in the ocean. Others fell poorly, smacking into hard surfaces with ghastly crunches. Nead¡¯s men released their holds on ropes and lifted their muskets at the door leading belowdecks while the witch jumped up and let out a terrible whistle. Then she blurred. Something so fast it was practically invisible wracked through the stunned crew, leaving behind only mangled corpses and severed limbs tumbling. A mist of red spread over the deck as the incomprehensible carnage continued. Soon, the horrid forms of the fishmen he had glimpsed climbed up from the abyss and joined the fray. The shriek of the dying and the roar of the coming abomination filled the air in a hellish cacophony. Then, the door opened and men trailed out led by a pale warrior decked in full plate armor. It was at that moment Smollett knew he had gone mad. The creature screamed in a lilting tongue he had never heard and great fangs emerged from his ruby lips. The challenge was answered in full by a terrible deflagration as Nead¡¯s entire team fired upon the newcomer. Men died left and right, and the form blurred as well. The otherworldly scene devolved into a nightmare that even the most unhinged prophet could not have imagined. The fight reached a paroxysm of bloodlust and savagery until with a victorious roar, the witch severed the warrior¡¯s hand. Her next strike skewered him through the chest and before Smollett could register this new development, she was on him, biting into his throat with delectation. Around her, the abyssal horrors dismembered the last of the desperate defenders and the battle, if you could call it such, turned into a feast. Smollett sobbed as he witnessed scenes of great gluttony. Entire cadavers would disappear down the monsters¡¯ gullets in seconds and in the midst, the witch finished her business. The remains of her foe fell to dust until all that remained of him was a circle of black gore around her delicate lips, which she licked with gusto. ¡°Flawless ¡®execution¡¯, don¡¯t you think?¡± Nead joked by the captain¡¯s side, and the seaman laughed and laughed and laughed. ¡°Sixty men sailed to sea, only one did come back On a ship of red hull and with sails of pure black With the devil¡¯s due paid he would drift forever Off the coast of Cuba not to meet his maker Oooooo off the coast of Cuba not to meet his maker.¡± A huddled form sat singing in the center of a derelict room. The sickly man wrote frantically on a stained piece of paper under the light of a dying candle. Bottles of liquor and empty vials of opium littered the ground. He sang with a broken voice and ignored the spittle accumulating at the corner of his unshaved mouth. Finally, the man leaned back and sighed. Tension left the nerve-wracked silhouette. His shoulders, previously taut like bowstrings, finally relaxed. His face went slack as he closed his eyes. Peace, at last. All was recounted. His duty was done. He could finally let go. The man dried the paper with a pinch of sawdust, added the last page to a bundle which he carefully placed in an envelope. He inscribed an address and left next to it a small pile of money. Finally, he lifted a captain¡¯s cap from his desk and threw it unceremoniously on the ground. He grabbed the pistol underneath with an air of angelic felicity, placed the barrel in his mouth and pulled the trigger. In the next apartment, someone swore. Time passed. The door opened in silence. A tall man with amber eyes and hair like gold stepped in. He scrunched his nose with displeasure then walked to the desk, from whence he retrieved the sealed envelope. He opened it with obvious excitement and quickly read through the manuscript. Each new discovery was met with appreciative ¡®oh¡¯ or disappointed ¡®meh¡¯. After an indeterminate amount of time, the man grabbed the fragile testimony and approached his unwitting host¡¯s prostrate form. ¡°Not bad, not bad at all. Thank you, Mr. Smollett,¡± the intruder whispered in a sing-song language. The papers were soon committed to the flame of the candle. The bundle burnt brightly for a moment and the guest waited patiently, unmoving even as the fire licked his delicate fingers. When the work was consumed, he brushed his intact hands until nothing remained but a small pile of crushed ash. After he was done, he left the door open and disappeared into the bowels of the city. Chapter 79: Reception I tell Torran.¡°Hmm,¡± Torran replies, apparently lost in thought. I tsk and roll into the bedsheets so that my butt is covered. Torran blinks owlishly. ¡°Hmm? ?¡± Torran expertly dodges the pillow I throw at his head and chuckles as he sits on the bed. His tone switches from playful to half-serious. ¡°Oh,¡± I reply crestfallen, Torran chuckles as he moves next to me and tucks an errant strand of hair behind my ear, I reply somewhat relieved, he replies with increasing amusement. I ask. I say with a nod, I narrow my eyes at my lover who shrugs helplessly. Well, he is not wrong. A man entering the ballroom would think themselves transported to a fairy tale or a nightmare. Protestantism has seeped deeply into the cracks of American society and with it, a certain sobriety and disdain of ostentation. Successful people should have no need of splendor, for they ought to find happiness in God and hard work. Extravagance is discouraged. Vampires have no such qualms. The manor¡¯s right-wing is packed with groups of men and women dressed in exquisite dresses as stylish as they are precious. Cadiz in martial jackets mingle with Rolands in warm tones while on the side, a band of Ekon clad in garish colors joke and carouse to their heart¡¯s content. There is enough wealth on display to fund a small expedition. The crowd has been here long enough for an interesting phenomenon of social decantation to split it into three distinctive and immiscible layers. At the forefront, Courtiers socialize with each other, their entourage and loyal mortal families, the susurrus of their conversation providing a pleasant background to a talented string quartet. In this environment, politeness is an absolute rule. Rivals greet each other with veiled threats and smiles that do not reach their eyes. They exchange barbs and clever repartees with casual grace in an endless contest of wit, yet if anyone feels angered, they do not show it. Even the auras are hermetic and subdued as those who cannot control themselves were left behind. A second layer consists of Vassals, Servants and Masters in small clusters bound by interest. While the younglings joust, these men and women plot. A word or a few gestures exchanged behind a fan seal the deal on some obscure transactions, the nature of which I can only guess at. Beyond them, the third and last layer is also the thinnest, being host to a handful of lords and ladies, as well as their closest advisors. At these rarefied heights, the conversations turn to the mundane, or gossips. Indeed, deals worth the illustrious guests¡¯ time could only be conducted behind closed doors. Behind them, an elevated platform on which the musicians play takes the furthest part of the room from the entrance. After that, the illusion begins. Since the mirrors at the end of the ballroom only show half of the revellers, the reflection does not match reality and space seems to go on forever. It is as if the manor outstripped even the palaces of Rome or London, becoming a castle of mythic proportions. We first make our way layer by layer, coming across Cadiz and Roland who salute me rather coldly, Ekon who salutes me too warmly and even new Lancasters who I assumed would salute me not at all. Their polite greetings surprise me until I remember that with Moor an outcast and their territory in shambles, they have a vested interest in starting anew. After what seems like forever, we end up next to Sephare and Jarek. If I had been alone, etiquette would have demanded that I stayed with my peers. As Torran¡¯s companion, however, I am expected to remain by his side. I do not mind it this time, as I expect my peers would have subjected me to a proper interrogation. Masters already know what will be announced of course, yet none would waste an opportunity to extract a few useful tidbits from the mouth of one of the lovers of tonight¡¯s main actors. Lost to contemplation, I allow Torran to guide me through the crowd until a lull gives me the opportunity to assuage my curiosity. I whisper in Torran¡¯s ear. Despite the guests¡¯ delicate hearing, it is customary to act human. Besides, picking a voice among so many can be taxing. I answer while I watch Jarek and Suarez apparently agreeing to a spar. And indeed, the musicians pack up and leave the floor to Constantine himself. The Progenitor, flanked by Melitone who saved me from the torturer, climbs the two steps to the platform and faces the crowd with dignity. Torran gives me a last nod before joining Sephare and Jarek at his side. Silence is quick to come. ¡°Ladies and Gentlemen, my lords and ladies, thank you for joining in tonight,¡± our host begins calmly and in English, ¡°tonight, I am pleased to announce that three new clans shall join our honored community. Please give a warm welcome to the representatives of clan Natalis, Hastings, and Dvor.¡± We applaud politely. In formal occasions, vampires are announced by order of seniority, gender has no impact. I was surprised to learn that this cute slip of a girl is older than Torran. She looks and acts so human that I let my guard down. ¡°In the years to come,¡± Constantine continues, ¡°Lord Jarek will head South West to join the Texians in Mexico. The Dvor territory will depend on the leanings of Lord Torran¡¯s candidate and its location will remain confidential for safety reasons. As for the Hastings, their domain shall cover the District of Columbia.¡± I almost gasp in surprise and behind me, more than a few low whispers erupt across the room. Washington? Constantine is giving the Hastings free reign of the capital? The Congress? Is he insane? No wonder the negotiations took so long. He must have demanded quite a few guarantees. The Lancasters may control humans better than most but Hastings act human. They can eat. They can even stand the light of the sun! To give them access to this place¡­ I barely listen as Constantine speaks of the Accords, our great community yada yada. The Hastings are taking over the government of the nation, continuing centuries of Mask traditions. Checks and balances mean nothing when one has a finger in every pie. This is a momentous development. The worst thing is that there is little I can do to change anything. I need to secure my own den. I need Illinois. I must negotiate with Constantine with this in mind. I should have asked for it after the trial together with the Progenitor¡¯s blood. Oh well. Constantine promptly concludes his speech. Afterward, Jarek, ever laconic, talks about a haven for his kind and of strengthening the bonds that bring us together. Sephare¡¯s speech centers on development and independence while Torran¡¯s is based on the values and cultural roots we must develop. I notice that all three stress independence and the creation of a society separate from the old one, even Torran who will eventually return to his homeland. It could be Constantine¡¯s influence, or it could be that they all see the need of preparing against Mask and Eneru¡¯s inevitable power grab, Jarek and Sephare for their own interest and Torran for that of his spawn. At the end of the speeches, the three of them walk down and mix with everyone to answer their many questions. I have no interest in joining their territories, nor to be so close to so many people. I, therefore, decided to head outside through the French doors and on the promenade surrounding the manor¡¯s inner garden. The fountain gurgles happily and the humdrum of conversations is replaced by the sounds of the night. I breathe in relief, though my respite is short-lived. As soon as I exit, I detect a familiar aura to my right. I reply to the Lancaster by my side. Melusine wears a conservative emerald dress that covers her body but leaves the neck free. Her red hair is pulled up in an elaborate hairdo, and a single teardrop ruby sits at the edge of her cleavage. I planned on taking it at the moment I called upon her for a task. However, I can tell that the idea of owing me such an intimate favor irritates her. If I were vindictive, I would leave her now, yet something stops me. Melusine was my first rival. I used to call her a trollop every day in my head just for the strength to keep going. It feels like ages ago. In a way, it was. I have changed much since then and so did she. The loss of her Vassal has made her less petulant, sharper. I no longer feel like taking revenge and I do not wish to make one more enemy. Melusine inhales and blinks. She clearly did not expect me to agree so readily. However, she does not let the opportunity go to waste. she says, and I follow her to an alcove in the promenade. She sits first with dignity and I join her promptly. At first, she will not meet my gaze, then all of a sudden she frowns and glares at me. I reply, offended. I do know why she is like this though. It takes efforts to surrender oneself so completely and to do so to a rival is a terrifying prospect. she declares, and bares her neck to me, eyes closed. I lean against her. She has a pleasant scent and her hair tickles my nose. Her skin is very pale, and no pulse moves her blood. I lick once to numb the pain, making her sigh in the process then bite down. She is powerful with a little bit of that color that I associate with mages. To my surprise, memories start to surge. I pull back. I did not take much strength and still her memories almost overwhelmed me. Both Melusine and I shudder and we move away from each other. We stay there for a while, me processing what I saw and her possibly recovering from the ordeal. After a while, I wordlessly offer her a tissue and she wipes the little dark blood there is. I look around awkwardly. The garden is now home to a few groups of guests seeking privacy. Now that the main event is done, the celebration has spilled over into the surroundings and no doubt into the bed-chambers as well. What marks me the most is the absence of guards. They would be everywhere back in the Dream, always visible to remind both employees and customers that security is enforced, with or despite them. I comment idly. Melusine replies without emotion, I ask with curiosity. Melusine narrows her eyes once more, so I just wait to see if she is inclined to answer. After a while, she shrugs, her green dress slightly shifting on her white shoulders. I exclaim with genuine surprise. Melusine gives me a dismissive glare. I retort with a scowl. Melusine closes her eyes and shivers, acknowledging my point. It appears that she too experienced the tender care of hostile hospitality. I fire back. Melusine hisses but it lacks bite. Our truce holds. There it is, Master¡¯s gift. It was delivered earlier today by an uneasy Salim who held it at arm¡¯s length as if it were a snake waiting to bite. I can tell from the packaging that this is a book, which makes it the second precious tome I have received in a few days, which absolutely means that I am a cultural and sophisticated vampire and absolutely not the brute Melusine implies I am. Nope. I place the heavy bundle on my desk next to its companion. Sinead gifted me with this, a sublimely designed, leather-bound affair dyed deep blue with its title printed boldly in golden letter, as a reward for our short escapade on the seas. I find some of his methods wasteful, but there is no denying the expertise with which he sealed the fate of so many in so short a time. Despite the laconic title, this really is a one-of-a-kind tome of untold value. Its monetary worth itself is likely more than the entire Dream, not that I ever intend to sell it. If knowledge of the book¡¯s existence were to spread, it would cause no end of trouble for me. Sivaya wrote this specifically for me. It is a complete guide to their language including pronunciation, grammar, vocabulary and even idioms. I do not plan on visiting their land ever, especially if Sinead is the norm, and yet beyond the purely cultural value, there is also another one that relates directly to spellcasting. As Loth explained to me long ago, there are three elements to a spell: the symbols, the will and the fuel. In most cases, all three elements are required to bend reality to one¡¯s will, though I am sure that the most powerful casters out there can do without the symbol part. The caster¡¯s essence provides the energy needed for the working, visible as aura. Essence stems from the soul and though its energies can temporarily be depleted, they always return, unless one is robbed of their own will. I have heard of external energy sources and Loth even experimented with an electrum-based receptacle at some point, however they are extremely inefficient and one needs essence to start the process anyway. The will of the caster is the beginning and the end of any magical process. It guides the energies and transforms them to suit the purpose of their master. It is that will that alters the world and momentarily breaks the laws of physics, chemistry, and God. The more experienced the will, the more potent the spells cast and the more the mage can achieve before exhaustion inevitably takes hold. Unfortunately for us, our sad reality can only be pushed and bullied so far before she rolls back, smothering the offender beneath her ponderous yoke. To move her thick molasses, symbols are a vital component of the spellcaster¡¯s arsenal. It is also by far the most versatile. Spells themselves are mostly incomprehensible. We know fire. We also know through the work of Lavoisier and others of oxidation and a more scientific approach to it. Spellcasters still cannot quite tell how their magic transforms this fire from a natural phenomenon into an almost living entity that chases after its prey like a bloodhound. The causes and effects are more or less understood, but the why remains beyond a veil of strangeness that no experiment can pierce. As such, symbols can bridge the gap between that alien phenomenon and our primitive minds. They act as a translator between the will and the form, or a bridge perhaps. In any case, symbols are incredible and many systems were developed over the years by the countless cabals, covens and cults gracing our history to assist casters in their projects. Another element of symbols is one¡¯s relationship to it. For a man who has spent his life amongst the arid dunes of the Sahara, Finnish runes of reindeers and Aurora Borealis would be of little use. His mind cannot link symbols and his own ideas, and so that alphabet would be a hindrance. No, one¡¯s code needs to match one¡¯s mindset to be of optimal use, therefore the choice of which system to use is determined by affinity. Of this system, the most basic element is the language. In this regard, my sire favors his mother¡¯s system and uses Akkad when he throws his terrible curses. I planned on doing the same since Akkad is our sacred tongue. Now, however, I have a whole new option. I am not a Likaean by any means and yet I feel a deep connection to Sinead, their prince. Deception, ruthlessness and the lust for freedom are values that he defends and that I sympathize with. Likaean is a secret language and although its usage may spark some unfortunate bouts of curiosity, using it to cast spells is far from the smoking gun that the book would be. I am willing to take the risks, for secrecy and for one other reason. Likaean is a magical tongue. I mean it quite literally. I whispered ¡°sharrar¡±, their word for darkness, and I felt shadows creeping at the edges of the room. The whispered consonants slithered in the corners like smoky imps and drank the light greedily, leaving the room dimmer. If this is how life works in the land of the Likaean, I almost wish I could travel to the court of Blue and feast my eyes on the incredible things I could see there. A talented gardener could simply sing flowers to life, or a warrior could scream his enemies into bloody pieces. Incredible. I am giddy at the possibilities, especially now that I have more time to spend on personal projects. My smile falters when I return my attention to the unopened package. Nirari¡¯s gift. After a moment of hesitation, I tear off the paper and realize my mistake. I do not hold a book, but a book container. The metallic rectangle is engraved with runes of protection and containment. A circular lock was placed where a title would be, the key already engaged. The key itself is no standard work. It is a circle of silver and onyx without embellishments. Ominous, to say the least. I rotate the mechanism and hear a click. The lock opens and a powerful aura submerges me. Blood. Power. Death. The aura is intoxicating and heady. TREASURE. Precious and poisoned. Then, the moment passes and the aura diminishes until it is merely a trace, something that stays in the background. From the unorthodox box, I retrieve a tome. The piece is unadorned and old beyond measure. The edge of the cover is slightly cracked and mysterious dark stains mar the otherwise yellow surface. I caress it. Smooth, like skin. Some sort of vellum? Unbidden, memories surface of the vision I had back at the vampire fortress an eternity ago, when I drew Nirari¡¯s essence and stabilized my existence. It was the first time I saw Semiramis and she was inscribing runes on human skin. Ah. I am now the proud owner of an entire manuscript written on the literal back of mortals. Tacky. At least it looks well preserved. I open the first page to see only ¡°Spellbook¡± written in Akkad by an elegant hand, and ignore the ominous feeling I have to leaf through its contents. The first part is tightly packed text while the rest is page after page of blood magic spells described in excruciating details. I am not familiar with the rune system he uses but I can tell at a glance that they are complex. Once more I am reminded of the past, specifically the spell my sire cast against the army that opposed his return and the pale imitation I used against Lambert while drunk with power. This is an incredible gift, though I have little use for it right now. I can tell at a glance that the level of difficulty of the average spell is high. This is not a beginner¡¯s book, and it will take me a while to reach the level where I can use any of the spells contained within. I have so much to do. Every night, I practice with Aisha¡¯s card deck, with the only notable effect being that sometimes when I fight, I can tell what my sparring partner will do next. Every night, I also train and educate a grateful Urchin. Mock battles and fights with lords and masters are also common and allow me to experience a variety of styles and techniques, something that I have a great need for. Finally, I spend time with my friends, with Torran, shopping, at the opera, etc. The distractions are many and I am happy to indulge after being in hiding for so long. I simply haven¡¯t had the time to invest into learning magic. The irony of an immortal out of time does not escape me. That is fine. I have much to do, including drinking Constantine¡¯s blood and securing a territory. After this is done, I will dedicate myself to magic. The mystical arts cannot be pursued lightly, after all. I spend half an hour studying Likaean and writing observations in a brand-new notebook when a knock at the door distracts me. ¡°Yes, Solveig?¡± ¡°One of Lady Sephare¡¯s maids is here, milady. Her mistress would like to invite you for tea.¡± ¡°Tea?¡± ¡°That is what she said.¡± I wonder what she wants. ¡°We shall visit her momentarily.¡± Solveig departs and I stand up. I am wearing one of my latest acquisitions, a comfortable yet elegant interior dress in light blue. It will suffice. I walk out and follow the maid to Sephare¡¯s suite, which happens to be in the opposite wing. We enter a richly decorated reception room even more grand than mine in tones of white and pink. Lady Sephare herself sits at a table with a pair of plates, a teapot and cutlery. Pastries are piled on a strange contraption consisting of several plates set against a metal frame. Sephare is also blonde with blue eyes, yet we could hardly be any more different. Her colors are paler, for starters, so that meeting her gaze is like staring at the surface of a frozen lake. She is also a dainty, delicate thing while I am more, well, solid. She looks like a precious slip of a girl that belongs at court or in some seaside house dying of pneumonia, and her cheerful and seemingly awkward personality makes her appear more human. It is, of course, a ploy, and yet I find myself unconsciously lowering my guard. I have to remind myself not to give in too easily. I reply as I sit. I notice that she placed a teacup in front of me. Hm, what? S?a??h the N0v?lFir?.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. I ask, alarmed. I was really worried here for a second, and how does serving tea have anything to do with a mom?! I am suffering from culture shock ten meters away from my own bed-chamber. What in the world? Unaware of my inner turmoil, Sephare serves us both with painting-worthy elegance, each gesture as graceful as the next. Soon, the cup in front of me is piping hot with amber liquid and exudes a delicate fragrance. I pick it up and pretend to sip it, letting a few droplets spread on my tongue. My sense of taste is completely muted for anything other than blood yet my nose still manages to pick up hints of black tea though slightly more gentle than what I am used to, rose, as well as something else I do not recognize. It is pretty nice, I suppose. It smells more fragrant than what I have ever experienced, at least. Sephare lets me appreciate her tea in silence while she helps herself to a slice of chocolate tart. Her tiny fork bites into the tender filling with surgical precision. We do a bit of small talk mostly focused on the weather. I let her take her time as I assume that she will eventually get to the point and I am soon proven correct. she announces calmly. I hesitate, then decide that I have little to use in explaining my reservation. she asks with a knowing look and a sly smile. If I could, I would be blushing now. I grit my teeth not to react to that. This would mean that as soon as the first task, Torran¡¯s protection, is completed, I can taste the blood of a progenitor. I say before I hesitate. Sephare lifts a delicate brow which I take as an invitation to go on. Her delicate mouth forms a perfect ¡®o¡¯. she asks, and I feel myself weighted and judged by her penetrating gaze. Caution, Ariane, caution. I leave shortly after this with the uncomfortable feeling that I committed myself perhaps a bit too quickly. As they say, one door opens and ten others close, and yet I feel like by standing without making allies, I would not go anywhere. Someone as savvy as Lady Sephare is a good place to start. On my way back to my room, I come across one of Lord Ceron¡¯s retainers. He bows as I pass and whispers: I look back only to see him walking without pause. So, it has begun. Politics. And this time I will not be able to Charm my way to success. Chapter 80: Smoke and Mirrors The next night, I find myself teaching Urchin the most basic form of elementary etiquette in the privacy of my study.¡°No, it is not appropriate to compliment a lady on her bust. Or on her rear. If you must make a compliment, commend her for her poise, skills, presence...¡± I swear this man could not be any slimier if he tried. ¡°But what if I, beg your pardon, want to get to know the lady intimately?¡± Case in point. ¡°The only kind of lady willing to know you intimately would give you a discount if you would only shut up.¡± Urchin winces, looking a bit crestfallen which in his case gives him the appearance of a drowned rat and about as much charm. I remind myself of Sinead¡¯s lesson. He used to say that there must always be a carrot no matter how thorny and nailed-covered the stick. ¡°Listen Urchin, I appreciate how¡­ challenging your life has been up till now and how it might have not been conducive to learning social graces,¡± I continue. ¡°Say wha¡¯?¡± The Watcher grant me patience. ¡°You¡¯re a low-born ruffian and it¡¯s not your fault.¡± This revelation is welcomed by a confused stare. ¡°Huh, thanks I guess?¡± my pupil answers. ¡°Which is not to say,¡± I continue with superhuman control, ¡°that you must remain in this sorry state. If things go well, you will never age. You don¡¯t want to remain a shifty, pathetic dreg of humankind for the rest of your existence, do you?¡± ¡°No!¡± ¡°Good.¡± ¡°I want to be rich! Aw!¡± he screams as I slap him across the face with my dictionary. Reminder to self: wipe it later. I grab him by the collar and smash him against a bookshelf. ¡°Listen to me and listen well because I will not repeat myself. Your appearance, manners, and language are how you are judged by the people you come across, no matter who they are. Those reflect your nature and allow others to assess you before you exchange more than three sentences. It takes hours of interaction to reverse a first impression, and that is why we as vampires need to be at the very top. ¡°This is our ultimate weapon. Not our strength, speed or even our magic, but our ability to pass as rulers, to divide and conquer before the battle has even started. I have no need of a bottom-dwelling scum who can only snatch petty change out of pockets, do you hear me? You will learn and grow or you will fall.¡± Urchin¡¯s eyes, at first filled with terror, switch to contemplation. Gears rusted by idleness rotate in his cavernous head until he licks his lips, seemingly come to a conclusion. ¡°Appearance. Right, like a gang boss is not a leader because he¡¯s the strongest but because he¡¯s got the swagger.¡± Finally, we are getting somewhere. ¡°Correct. He talks, moves, acts and thinks like a leader and so people follow him.¡± Urchin looks far in the distance, then after a while, his attention focuses on me. I would be annoyed at his behavior, were it not for the belief that he is having a breakthrough. ¡°So¡­¡± he asks with hesitation, ¡°do you think I can be a proper leader one day?¡± Not a chance in hell. ¡°Yes, otherwise I wouldn¡¯t be using my precious time training you.¡± I think he can become quite useful when it comes to trickery and other unsavory tasks. I doubt that he will ever be a part of polite society. You can take the Urchin out of the street but not the street out of the Urchin. My musings are interrupted by a knock on the study¡¯s door. After a prompt, Solveig comes in from the main room bearing a message and an air of disapproval. ¡°The mage Sorrel has come, Milady; he says that there are two message requests for you.¡± ¡°Two?¡± I ask with some measure of surprise. Solveig only nods. ¡°I will see him shortly. Urchin, we must stop here for tonight. Please work on your Akkad and then meet me in the training room in one hour.¡± ¡°Of course, Mistress,¡± he replies somewhat smoothly. Then he stands up at the same time as I do and bows to me, then to Solveig. ¡°Then I shall take my leave, Mistress, Miss Solveig, I bid you goodnight.¡± I smile in approval and Solveig curtsies reluctantly, an immense improvement from her previous reaction which was a mixture of morbid fascination and fear normally reserved for baboons wearing coveralls. I follow him into the main room and sit to wait as Sorrel strides in. ¡°Good evening, Sorrel, please sit. What was that about two messages?¡± I hope it is not Merritt with some dire news. I can taste the messenger mage¡¯s stress on his perspiration and heartbeat. ¡°I bear two messages for you, milady,¡± the bearded man declares as his deep-set dark eyes search my face for some kind of reaction. ¡°Let¡¯s hear them.¡± ¡°Right, I should probably start with the first request. Loth of Skorrag wishes for a conversation.¡± Aha, I understand now what makes the well-dressed man shiver. Communication spells such as these become more intensive the farther the person is. Sorrel will probably leave this room drained of aura, and nursing a spectacular headache. ¡°You may start when ready,¡± I declare. The man nods, girding his metaphorical loins, no doubt. He takes the now familiar crystal sphere from a small bag by his side and starts casting with slow and deliberate care. It takes only a few seconds for the summoning to connect. Loth looks regal in a white ermine robe decorated with patterns of crimson and gold. A peculiar crown of bone sits on his noble brow and gives him an undeniable air of majesty. The impression is somewhat marred by the deep pockets under his reddish eyes and his vulnerable expression. In his hand, he holds a crystal snifter half-filled with amber liquid. He smiles sadly when he sees me but I can tell that it is a genuine one, filled with an intensity of raw emotion I had only seen once before, when I almost died back in the cave. He silently rotates his own orb and the image shifts, first showing walls of naked stone, not bricks mind you, actual smooth stone with very few decorations, then a massive bed next to which I find my gift. I made it for him back in Marquette and it took me close to two hundred hours of effort to get it just right. The piece consists of four man-sized panels of canvas on wood linked together. On each of the four parts, I painted Agna, Loth¡¯s first love, at differents periods of her life. The rendition had to be absolutely striking and I so thrashed perhaps seven or eight attempts that were not up to my exacting standards. On the first panel, young Agna stands defiant with her hands on her wide hips, telling the world that it can shove it. Her beautiful brown hair flows wild and free and her face is both strong and very feminine. This was the first time they met. The second Agna is the one he married, only slightly older with her hair held up in a complex hairdo. Blooming flowers cling to her braids and she stands shyly in a form-fitting white dress. Her smile is so bright and pure, I believe this is what the sun used to feel like before it became my bane. The third Agna is by far the most daring. She is the one who had given him a few children, the one I had seen naked under him. She stands with her bare back turned to us, her toned shoulder and large buttocks displayed without shame. Her hair now falls freely in a typical post-coital chaos, dotted with silver which in no way detracts her mature beauty. She is slightly turned to the viewer, only enough for us to see a mischievous smile and one ample breast tipped by a slightly darker nipple. With Nami¡¯s, those are the only two nudes I ever painted. The last Agna is her oldest form. In this one she is elderly and still her smile is here, warm and so very pure. She stands with difficulty on a background of flowers, grass and crags. I can almost smell the mountain air but more importantly, I can see the immense sadness and love in her expression. She died a few weeks after that. Of the second and fourth Agna I had caught but glimpses and so they were the hardest to paint, but now that I see it again, I could not be prouder. The image abruptly turns back to Loth, who starts with a hoarse voice. ¡°This... has to be the best gift I ever received in my entire damn life. Tyr, Ari, ye¡­¡± Two fat droplets trail down from the edge of his eyes, he makes no effort to wipe them and when next speaks his voice breaks. ¡°I had forgotten what she looked like! I could not remember! Ye¡­ I cannot express¡­ cannot tell ye. I needed this so much. Thank ye, by Tyr.¡± Something warm and unfamiliar fills my chest. I press a hand there, surprised that there is still something moving in those cold depths. ¡°Ari. Thanks¡­ Just thanks. Know that I owe ya more than I can ever repay. I am so, so very glad that you picked up painting ye know that? Hah! I haven¡¯t left my room in a day. Also had the best wank of my life!¡± ¡°Loth!¡± ¡°It¡¯s true! That ass...¡± he reminisces with nostalgia, grabbing at the air with a beatific smile. ¡°Ahem.¡± ¡°Right, sorry. I¡¯ll send ya a letter when I can think again. Just wanted ta express my gratitude in person.¡± ¡°I understand my friend. Please take care of yourself and do not succumb to melancholy again, yes?¡± ¡°Of course not. I needed a break anyway. Right, come and see me soon, I have so much to show you of the old country.¡± I wave as the connection cuts and sit back in my comfortable chair. S?a??h the N?v?lFire.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. This was too short. I would have preferred to talk for hours but alas, Sorrel was already blanching. Torran will inevitably return to Europe. When he does and after I have secured a domain, perhaps I should visit. I let Sorrel recover for ten minutes. He gulps down some alchemical concoction and I am only too glad to wait in silence as I reminisce about the good times we had together with the Dvergur and Dalton. This period is lost but the memories are bright and I am glad that I got to experience them. Even if Dalton¡¯s death was horrible, I have no regrets. It truly is better to have loved and lost than never have loved at all, for with time, most memories become treasures. Not the torture thing though, that I would gladly forget. In short order, Sorrel is ready again and starts a new incantation. This time it is significantly easier and the face I see is quite a surprise. ¡°Jonathan,¡± I greet him. The man who blew up my shed in Marquette and followed it with a vertiginous climb of the ranks of the White Cabal has changed remarkably in the short time I have known him. He still has a short black beard and penetrating dark gaze, but where they made him appear distant and a bit feral, now they grant him the appearance of a veteran commander. He seems poised and stable, as dependable as he is deadly. ¡°Ariane. A pleasure to see you again.¡± ¡°Likewise. What do you want?¡± I ask not to be curt but because Sorral is already on the pale side. ¡°I wish to discuss an agreement that, I believe, will be to both our benefits. Can you meet me at our headquarters in New York? The sooner the better, as it is a time-sensitive request.¡± I almost scoff at how ridiculous his request is. ¡°I do not run to you when called, Jonathan.¡± ¡°I know this well, but as I mentioned this is time-sensitive and I am confident that I can make it worth your time.¡± ¡°Do tell.¡± ¡°My contact with the House of the Rosenthal assured me that you had control over your House, if I remember the term correctly.¡± ¡°Yes. Your point?¡± ¡°As of last week I am the White Cabal¡¯s Black Dog, our military commander. As such I am qualified to offer a formal alliance between your House and our organization.¡± I question the value of such an alliance. ¡°Please bear in mind that the White Cabal represents a growing order of more than three thousand practitioners and with a trained combat corps of over two hundred men, half of those being war mages and led by me.¡± Oof. When he puts it like that¡­ ¡°It will not take long, I promise. I merely need you to assist me with our new generation¡¯s final exam. You will not be in any danger whatsoever and your security will be guaranteed by oath, mine and that of the mages under my command.¡± I am¡­ intrigued? I also need to wrap this up before Sorrel upchucks on my tea table. ¡°I will see if my current obligations can be postponed. When you say assist with examinations, what do you have in mind?¡± ¡°I need you to scare them out of their mind.¡± Oh, this is totally within my field of expertise. ¡°Very well, I will need direction.¡± We wrap up our talk and soon I leave an exhausted communication mage on my couch. There are people I need to see. Torran comments from his desk. I sit on one of the reception room¡¯s couches and grab a pillow to have something between my hands. I wait in silence for Torran to finish his document. When he is done, I gather my courage to talk. I start. Sensing the mood, Torran turns and gives me his undivided attention. I like it when he stops everything to listen to me. I feel like the most important person in the world. he replies. Torran holds his hands on his lap and considers for a moment. When he finally decides to talk, his voice is soft, softer than usual. I never considered it like that. he continues, I ask, he answers, as his lips curve upward ever so slightly. callipygianbeauty.¡± I consider this for a moment and realize that he is right and that I am too concerned about the ifs to enjoy the now. I also realize that I have no idea what callipygian means. Torran replies with a sly look that shows where this is going. I ask. Torran and I leave Boston at the same time. He, to build a weapon and I, to build an alliance. It takes very little effort to convince Sephare to let me go since, as she said, it will take a few weeks to lay the groundwork of her conquest. She just sends me on my way with a smile and instructions to ¡°have some fun, darling.¡± I hire an escort from the Rosenthal, seething at the cost. I then remind myself that this is an investment and that they come with their own gear, supplies and training. They are also absolutely loyal which in itself is priceless. The trip to New York only takes two days moving at great speed. As we travel, the weather takes a turn for the worse and soon the wheels of my carriage are covered in mud. The morose climate even manages to pierce through my guards¡¯ professionalism, and I hear a few heartfelt complaints. The only distraction occurs when I catch the scent of an interesting quarry, a werewolf on the loose. This one has turned feral and when I do find it, I can have a nice meal. Struck by inspiration, I bring back the corpse and have the slightly alarmed guards tie it up and place it on one of their wagons. Thankfully that werewolf had not fed yet so the body doesn¡¯t stink and should not turn bad before I have put it to use. ¡°No, there are no others. Yes, I¡¯m sure,¡± I tell the sergeant, a bald man with an impressive moustache by the name of Bannings. Finally, we arrive at the meeting point, an inn on the outskirts of the city proper. I expected it to be a den of misfits where I would conduct a shady transaction while hidden under a cloak, my penetrating gaze the only thing visible past the helm of my hood. But alas, it appears that the fiction I brought with me to pass the time set the wrong expectations. The traveler¡¯s rest is clean and well-lit. As soon as we get in, an old gentleman with the face of an experienced accountant stands up in a hurry and comes to greet me. His mage aura is obvious. ¡°Lady Ariane, it is you isn¡¯t it? Mr. Hopkins described you perfectly.¡± ¡°How did he describe me exactly?¡± I ask with a neutral expression. To my delight, the man immediately squirms and I enjoy a hint of Schadenfreude at his unease. ¡°Hem, he, hm, he said that you would look like a young girl but come in like a war mage channeling a fireball.¡± Ah. He got me there. ¡°To be fair,¡± the man replies, correctly guessing at my state of mind, ¡°you were the only blonde hair blue-eyed young woman to come in so late in the day.¡± I am being comforted by a mage I just met and who is probably younger than me. Ah, well. This is not the bad part. Indeed, the real problem here is how easily Mr. Jonathan Hopkins read me. Am I becoming too predictable? Am I getting old? No no no it is fine. I just let my guard down because I was not trying to blend in. Yes. That is the real reason. I follow the mage outside in silence. He misses a step when he takes in the veritable convoy I am leading as well as their very distinctive white uniforms. Nevertheless, he is quick to recover, and we follow him through small country roads to the edge of the lands of the White Cabal. We pass by farmlands and animal pens between two stretches of forest. The farms here are not the sorry functional structures I am used to but comfortable homes in the German style, with wood beams visible on the walls and a sharply inclined roof. The land here is tamed and controlled, under the dominion of the same owners for over a century. At the bend of a road I spot our destination: a long wooden palisade surrounding a tall gate. I can taste mighty enchantments from here. Once more, those are not temporary defenses, but static works embedded into the very earth. It would take more than my claws to tear those open. They are on the scale of what Loth would manage with resources and a bit of time. The mage, whose name is Potts, turns his horse around and trots back to my carriage. ¡°We have arrived Milady, allow me to be the first to welcome you to Avalon.¡± Pretentious name. ¡°I¡¯ll get us through the gate. Mr. Hopkins requests that you do not show yourself as he would like to keep your presence a secret. We will go directly to his estate and he will explain everything. Would that be acceptable?¡± he asks with just a bit of worry. I assent, and close the carriage¡¯s curtains. The gate guards wave us in promptly, an indication that we are expected. Avalon itself is an intriguing mix between a town and a military installation. We pass by solid stone barracks, as well as offices and further in, warehouses. There are also inns and restaurants, more often made from wood. Some perpendicular streets are filled with shops ranging from a smithy to bookstores. At this late hour, the people are mostly gathered around a pair of taverns, though the streets themselves are not empty. Patrols walk the deserted squares and empty alleys. I estimate that at the very least two thousand souls live here full-time. We do not stop and soon reach the outskirts. We ride past a firing range and kennels to more open lands. Spaced cottages fill the place now, each separated by thick lines of trees. We are still inside of the wooden wall which I can sometimes spot in the distance. In short order, we arrive at an unremarkable house where a familiar figure awaits us. I climb down and greet the worried woman. I remember her from the battle. She was the healer who stood up to me and cried a lot, easily recognizable by her white hair and red eyes. Her name was Sola if I recall correctly. Now that her visage isn¡¯t covered in snot, I can appreciate that she is beautiful in a fragile sort of way. ¡°Good evening! Oh, you are a bit early. Jon is still at a strategic meeting so we¡¯ll have to wait a bit. He won¡¯t be long.¡± I follow her to the door of the cottage and stop at the threshold. Sola returns when she realizes I am not following and looks on with confusion before realizing the issue. ¡°I am so sorry. Please come in.¡± I wordlessly follow her in a cozy, if cramped, entrance. An old maid with a disapproving frown glares silently. ¡°Hilda, please escort Lady Ariane to the study, would you?¡± Sola asks politely. The maid takes in my countenance and the girl¡¯s fearful tone. Her behavior shifts from suspicious to respectful in a heartbeat and I follow her up narrow stairs to a small room on the second floor. There, the homey aspect of the rest of the house is discarded in favor of an almost militaristic installation. Bookshelves filled with well-ordered reports and manuals line the wall, with a single desk set against a large window. Its surface is spotless with the exception of a pile of documents set in a case labelled ¡°to-do.¡± The only concession to comfort is a set of three chairs centered around a coffee table, currently empty. ¡°The young mistress will be with you shortly milady, would you like something to drink in the meanwhile?¡± ¡°No thank you,¡± I reply. The maid departs and I am left alone, so I decide to peruse Jonathan¡¯s collection. Most of the books are treatises of various topics ranging from military to ethics, administration and economy. On a corner, I find a stocky dictionary and decide to check what ¡°callipygian¡± means. I quickly find the right definition. Well-played, Torran, well-played indeed. Soon, Sola knocks and enters the room, searching for me with fearful eyes. Her aura spreads from lack of control, further betraying her nervousness. The scent of wood and old books is washed away by a more neutral one. Now, it just smells clean and crisp. She had already demonstrated that ability back in the cellar where I met her. Most peculiar power. I could certainly use someone with her ability in Marquette. Ah, to have a room that smells clean. The dream. ¡°Oh, hm, you are here,¡± she mumbles with a small voice, ¡°ah, where are my manners. Would you, huh, would you like some tea?¡± Her face scrounges with the perfect expression of someone who just realized she placed her foot in her mouth. I simply cannot let this opportunity pass. ¡°No thank you, I prefer my drinks with a little more¡­ body,¡± I reply, then show her a smile with a hint of fangs. She swallows nervously. Her fluttering heartbeat and the perfume of fear make her truly appetizing. That was a nice one. I shall have to tell Nami when we meet again. ¡°R-right. Jon should be on his way back now. I¡¯ll send him up. Hm. Bye!¡± And then she runs away. Jon, huh? I cannot help but notice that it looks like she lives there and I saw a ring on her finger. He is a fast one. It takes less than ten minutes for the man himself to stop in front of the door. I hear the imperceptible noise of a mechanism and turn to see that a previously hidden spying eye allows him to see in. I wave, and he enters. ¡°Forgive me. One can never be too cautious.¡± To be fair, he is the right amount of cautious. I am the one taking inane risks coming here. ¡°I do not mind. So, you wanted to talk.¡± ¡°Right, talking. Talking, talking, talking.¡± The curious man moves to the table and joins me in one of the chairs. He places a mug on the table from whence emerges wafts of tea. He takes a sip before continuing. ¡°I have done more talking in the past three months than in the past five years combined.¡± ¡°The cost of responsibility.¡± ¡°Indeed. I have to explain not just the thing but the why of the thing and the how of the thing and I need to acknowledge and thank and compliment and argue. Why can¡¯t everyone think with their head and focus on the goal? Why all the pointless bullshit?¡± Ah, that type. Jonathan sees politics and social niceties as a waste of time, a specificity of people whose intelligence far outstrips their social graces. Politics is an inevitability. He will get used to it, eventually. See it as yet another tool in his arsenal. ¡°Apologies. You did not come here to hear me complain. Let¡¯s talk about the plan.¡± ¡°Before that, I have questions,¡± I interrupt. He gestures for me to go on while sipping from his mug. ¡°You were promoted very recently, yes?¡± ¡°Correct.¡± ¡°And this is a city, probably with some sort of council that can remove you from your post at any given moment. Are you not taking a risk, asking me here?¡± ¡°On the contrary. I will be honest, I believe your presence will solidify my position and bring me, and us, multiple benefits.¡± ¡°Does it now?¡± ¡°Yes. I shall explain, since I am the one who asked you here. First, the current generation of war mages is graduating from our courses and there is a major problem. You see, they are exceptional. So good, in fact, that the old timers have already started to call them the golden generation. At least eight of them have the potential to become archmages. They know it, and it makes them cocky. Careless. As things are going now, half will die in their first few missions.¡± ¡°I see, and you need me to calm them down.¡± ¡°More specifically I need you to terrify the ever-loving shit out of them.¡± ¡°Language,¡± I protest. ¡°I mean it,¡± he continues, ¡°they need to face you to understand that they remain humans in a world of old monsters.¡± I mull this over. The way I see it, I am training mages to face vampires. I share my sentiment with Jonathan who only scoffs. ¡°Please, no amount of training can make us match your speed. Besides, I am serious about that alliance. Allow me to continue. ¡°The second benefit is political. Half of the council opposed my ascension to the title of Black Dog after Coolridge resigned even though he designated me as a successor.¡± ¡°They question your former affiliation?¡± ¡°Not even that, I am just an outsider to them. The old guard is loath to share their power with newcomers. Fortunately, the selection of a new Dog is mostly made by fighters since the Cabal¡¯s creation. Your support will greatly increase my prestige and demonstrate my abilities as a diplomat, a skill that I have not demonstrated yet. My opponents have criticized me for that. At length.¡± ¡°Which brings me back to my previous question. Won¡¯t they see me as a monster? It is, after all, what I am.¡± ¡°You underestimate the mystique around your kind. You are less seen as something to be fought and more as an inevitability. You, especially, led us through a blockade that would have been the death of us all. My men witnessed your savagery and spread tales of your actions upon their return. Trust me, your presence here will give me a cachet that will solidify my position beyond the council¡¯s ability to damage.¡± ¡°What about my well-being? There are probably more than a thousand mages here, and I have twenty guards. A well-coordinated assault could cause my death.¡± ¡°In conflicts, mages don¡¯t count. War mages do, and they are all under my command. With that said I took the liberty of having a secret shelter dug a hundred yards from here, its entrance camouflaged by powerful enchantments. You can slumber there.¡± ¡°I do not like this, but I will agree if that alliance of yours proves interesting enough.¡± ¡°Ah, yes, thank you for the reminder. This is not the third advantage your presence brings me. That one¡­ I would rather tell you after the test since I am not sure it will turn out to be correct. There was something else I wanted to address.¡± Jonathan places his cup on the table and leans forward. Our eyes meet, and I notice that he wears a pendant that protects him against my Charm. Like most of those, I could bypass it with time and effort. I will not, because we are negotiating as equals. ¡°Do you know what New York¡¯s most important feature is?¡± he continues. I gesture for him to go on. ¡°New York is the entry point for most European immigration right now. The reason why the White Cabal has grown so much recently is that we have heavily recruited from the newcomers. This has upset the balance of power within our organization, but it also represents a unique opportunity for us to turn into something new.¡± ¡°A national-level mage group.¡± ¡°Precisely,¡± Jonathan continues, ¡°the largest alliance in the world. Power-wise we are far from it, but number-wise we are getting close. ¡°I have studied the power structure of spellcasters extensively in the past few months. In Europe, the battle mages are mighty and dangerous. They wield spells refined over centuries yet also jealously guarded. The clans, cabals, whatever they call themselves heavily compete for resources and knowledge. ¡°This secretive and adversarial state of mind made the winners strong, but it also contributed to a fragmented landscape with small entities constantly bickering with each other. We aim to change that here. Sola and I, as well as senior members of the council, are forcing the creation of a vast depository of knowledge that any member of the Cabal could access if they have proved themselves dependable. This is the first step towards normalized, large-scale training.¡± ¡°And the creation of a modern society of mages. The vampires may object to the creation of such a powerful organization.¡± ¡°You would not be the only ones. Spellcasters with a darker agenda, the Gabrielites and God knows who else will oppose us. That is why I am pushing for an alliance with you.¡± ¡°Jonathan, I eat people.¡± ¡°You are honorable and can be counted on. We are not here to save the world, we are here to save ourselves.¡± ¡°Some members of your organization must want to purge the world of our presence.¡± ¡°Yes, and half of their fighting men died in Louisiana last month. We are at a crossroad, and with your help, I will steer the Cabal towards cooperation. The first step of our alliance will be to send a contingent of our more frontier-minded people to Marquette, where they will settle and create a branch of the Cabal. That way, we can start transferring population outside of the compound before it gets saturated and we occupy the place.¡± ¡°You are worried that other groups may take over?¡± ¡°Not take over Marquette obviously, but yes, we need branches around to prevent others from moving in. Nature, after all, abhors a vacuum.¡± ¡°Very well, but I have terms.¡± Jonathan picks up his mug and leans back, indicating that I should start. ¡°You get a territory where you may do whatever you want. You may not expand out of it before consulting with me and you may not enter the area around my nest without permission. You will support my men and me in any operations against my enemies, including other mages seeking my destruction. You will not prevent me from hunting. In return, I will also defend you and leave you to do your own thing on your end.¡± ¡°That sounds reasonable,¡± Jonathan replies, ¡°we¡¯ll write it all down and take an oath. I still need to convince the council and I propose that we try tomorrow after the exam. Would that be agreeable?¡± ¡°Yes. Now, let¡¯s talk about the exam. I have prepared a few things¡­¡± Jonathan listens to my plan and for the first time since we met, his grin is wide and genuine. Chapter 81: The Test Today is a mighty important day! It¡¯s the day we finally get to call ourselves full-fledged mages and wear the white uniform with the golden tassels, even us girls! Well, if we pass the final exam, of course. I am not too worried, though. Reggie said it would be a piece of cake, and besides, we passed every other exam with flying colors. What I really want is to beat Cornelius and wipe that self-assured grin off his stupid mug.The teams have gathered at the academy. The familiar complex of solid wooden logs with the practice field feels different at night. More like a field camp than a school. The instructors have lit braziers and they all wear a serious expression and their battle gear. This is all quite intimidating! Even instructor Lydia looks fierce with her pistol and gauntlet. I think they just want us to be in the mood and it¡¯s working. I haven¡¯t felt this stressed since the entrance examinations. As soon as everyone is here, Professor Tilley has us group up by teams, in ranks of two with the leader up front. Reggie is our captain. With his square jaw and dreamy green eyes, he is quite the dashing figure! He looks forward with aplomb and I find comfort in his confident stance and wide shoulders. That Cornelius wastrel sneers at us, but our dauntless leader would not even acknowledge his presence! That will show him. After Reginald, there is Carmela, looking as fierce and aloof as usual. True to her nickname of ¡°the Amazon,¡± she stands tall and uncaring, looking nifty with her saber. Our shield-master Cedric is his usual bubbling self. He can barely stop moving, and I can see the restraint he must exert not to start one of his usual jokes. Oh, what a cad! I hope his good mood carries us through this ordeal as well. Then, there is Will, as silent and brooding as usual. I¡¯m sure his keen intellect is already picking up clues and tips to help us get ahead. And then there¡¯s me. I may not look like much, but my firebolts are second to none! I worked hard for this, and even Professor Tilley commended me for their power and accuracy. Take that Cornelius! Where are your tradition and lineage now huh? You can shove your ¡°mongrel¡± remarks up your¡ª Before my thought can finish, a man exits the command room and walks to the center of the line of teachers. It¡¯s the Black Dog himself! My God, he is so young! I knew this, of course, but to see it with my own eyes! I met old Coolridge when he oversaw the entrance ceremony last October and, well, he looked like that kind of general from the stories who cares for his men. This Hopkins person is different. He wears the black uniform Coolridge had disdained and it suits him like a glove. And he seems¡­ I don¡¯t know, dangerous? His dark eyes pass over us and I shiver a bit. He reminds me of Will when he had us skirt the rules to win the previous game. Like he would go to any length to achieve victory. I¡¯m not sure I like it, but if that kind of man can protect others from what befell my family then I won¡¯t complain. After he is done with his inspection, the Black Dog addresses us. His voice is curt and clear, silencing our whispers in an instant. ¡°Welcome, students, to this year¡¯s practical exam. Tonight, you will take part in a mock mission that will push your training and adaptability to their very limits. I expect each and every one of you to act like the war mages you have trained to become. Good luck and do us proud. That is all.¡± With those few words, he steps back and Tilley takes the ground. That¡¯s it? That¡¯s the inspirational speech a general delivers? I cannot say that I¡¯m impressed¡­ But then there is no more time for diversion. Tilley is explaining the details of the mission. ¡°Your task tonight is as follows: you will go with your team to an outpost built deep within the Spiderwood forest. There, you will meet up with the patrol leader who will give you further instructions. We will send you out one team at a time. Team Zephyr starts immediately, the rest of you head inside the canteen to wait your turn.¡± We walk back inside the complex through a wide door and sit at our usual tables in the building¡¯s long refectory. Every team plans and discusses in low voices and we are no exception. ¡°What do you think?¡± I ask no one in particular. ¡°Orientation, followed by a patrol and a fight,¡± Carmela starts in her smooth alto, ¡°the Spiderwood is dense enough that they can set up an ambush. Test our awareness.¡± ¡°So kind of you to untangle that web,¡± Cedric deadpans, forcing all of us to groan. Yet when we resume our conversation, the mood is slightly lighter. This is Cedric¡¯s gift. He can always bring levity at our darkest time, like that time he comforted me during Christmas. I do not know if the others have noticed how much of a difference it makes, but I have. ¡°I agree with Carmela,¡± Reginald continues calmly, ¡°I think we can use lanterns until the camp then switch to spells during the patrol. That way, we conserve our aura and reduce our exposure right as the enemy attacks. What do you think, Will?¡± Silence. ¡°Will?¡± ¡°Yes, I heard you. I think it¡¯s fine.¡± We all turn to the broody boy. He is resting his chin on his hands, fingers interlaced together. He usually does that when he is formulating one of his dastardly plans. ¡°What¡¯s the matter, my friend?¡± Cedric asks. S?a??h the N?v?lF?re.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. ¡°Nothing yet¡­ just¡­ something Hopkins said.¡± ¡°What, that speech?¡± Reggie scoffs, ¡°that was miserable. Perhaps Cornelius was right, and this man doesn¡¯t have the shoulders to lead. A true general should make one¡¯s blood boil with only a few words!¡± he declares with passion. Reggie is so heroic! He is all fire and fury and I am so proud. With him as a leader, we are the best team around and fear nothing and no one! ¡°Hmm,¡± Will answers noncommittally as his dark eyes bore into Reggie¡¯s righteous expression, ¡°perhaps. In any case, we should do as you say until we receive further orders.¡± We continue to converse as two more teams are led away. Soon, only Cornelius¡¯s team, as well as Phenix team, Pearl team and ours, are left. I feel more and more anxious for some reason and soon realize the cause. The instructors are coming and going wearing peculiar expressions. Their faces are too¡­ blank. Should they be this nervous? I mean, we are the ones taking the exam, right? Soon, it is our turn and Tilley leads us away to the armory where we retrieve our gear, as well as lanterns, a map, and other sundries. ¡°Is something the matter, sir?¡± asks Will who picked on the professor¡¯s apparent nervousness. ¡°Nothing you need to concern yourselves with,¡± the older man retorts curtly, ¡°just focus on the mission, that is all you need to do.¡± We follow him to a smaller gate out of the enclave and directly into the Spider Wood. The line of tall trees looks much more ominous under the night light, their branches now the gnarled hands of some petrified witches. ¡°Your mission starts now. Good luck,¡± Tilley says, then hurries back as if there was an emergency. ¡°That¡¯s queer,¡± Cedric observes with furrowed brows. We do not reply, and soon all turn to face the expanse of dark woods before us. Spider Wood may have a sinister name, but in truth it¡¯s just a large patch of wood left completely untamed at the edge of Avalon. It remains untouched, mostly for training purposes and also as a buffer against the mundane world. We have crossed it a few times for orientation practice as well as games and mock battles. The ¡°capture the flag¡± operations are particularly fun because the wood is so dense. There are many hiding spots and secret paths and Will is devious beyond measure, giving our squad the edge every time. We are on familiar grounds. ¡°Night-patrol formation. Let¡¯s do this, people,¡± Reggie announces in his serious voice. We light some lanterns and walk into the dense shrubs, searching for a path. Cedric opens the way as usual. Not only does he have keen senses, he also wears an enchanted piece of cavalry breastplate and a heavy helmet. Reggie and Carmela follow and provide illumination. Then, there is me, who can throw the best bolts as well as a decent shield. Finally, Will closes the march in the black ensemble he chose. He also carries a small crossbow and though both he and Reggie know how to use pistols, we do not have any at the moment. We walk slowly through the dense vegetation in a single file and I am grateful that the clothes we wear are thick enough to protect my legs from both brambles and insects. It does not take long for the lights of the town to disappear and the forest to close in around us. The world is reduced to bulbous tree trunks strangled by ivy, branches and roots that grab at our feet and above our head, an impenetrable canopy. The two bobbing lights from the lanterns become our talismans to ward off the darkness. All I can hear are our heavy breaths, the snaps of broken twigs and the creaks of live wood. After a while, a curious sensation of timelessness grips my heart and I start to wonder if perhaps we are lost, if the trail no longer exists and we crossed some fae arch to disappear in this green hell for all of eternity. Fortunately, we find the beaten path before this curious idea grows into more than a fantasy. ¡°That¡¯s the Wilson trail,¡± Reginald comments, ¡°we can follow it to the flag clearing, then the camp is just around a bend, according to the map.¡± We turn right and walk for another fifteen minutes. It feels good to see the stars again. Eventually, the path widens into a glade with a massive willow tree at its center. That¡¯s where we won our first capture the flag battle against that pompous dolt Cornelius and his cronies! I remember the area well, except that under the light of the moon it feels much less friendly. Also¡­ ¡°Was this always here?¡± ¡°Jesus Christ.¡± ¡°What?¡± We gather in front of the huge trunk, struck by disbelief. Its previously pristine bark is now shredded, lacerated by a double set of claws. The marks are so deep that I could easily hide two knuckles in the furrows. ¡°It¡¯s like a beast marked its territory or something,¡± Cedric exclaims. ¡°What kind of beast?! There isn¡¯t anything in the Spiderwood that can leave such marks,¡± Carmela objects, her hand on the hilt of her saber. ¡°A black bear?¡± Reginald suggests, hesitant. Will approaches and silently places his hand against the maimed bark. Even spaced at their widest, there is no way for his fingers to touch the outermost ditches. ¡°My God¡­¡± I helplessly remark. A black bear? More like a grizzly! ¡°Do you recognize the markings?¡± Reginald asks our resident know-it-all. ¡°Maybe,¡± Will answer cautiously, ¡°it¡¯s just that¡­ No. No, it can¡¯t be.¡± ¡°Well, out with it, man,¡± Cedric urges. ¡°Werewolf.¡± We all freeze in shock and horror. ¡°The final exam can¡¯t be a werewolf, right?¡± Cedric asks with fear. ¡°Impossible! Don¡¯t be ridiculous, man,¡± Reginald chides him, ¡°they would never allow fresh recruits against such a monster and particularly not in a wooded area. No, I think it¡¯s unexpected.¡± ¡°What should we do then? We can¡¯t exactly go toe to toe against a werewolf!¡± ¡°I agree that it would be suicide, but right now we need to link up with the patrol at the outpost. It would still be safer than heading back.¡± We all agree, and I remember the classes we had on werewolves. They are cursed humans who turn into giant lupine hybrids under the influence of the full moon or, sometimes, voluntarily. In wolf form, they are vicious creatures that kill for sport. They are incredibly fast, monstrously strong, and their claws can carve steel as if it were wax. They are even more dangerous in forests and the deadliest ones temper their savagery with humanlike cunning. Only experienced groups track them down and still incur the occasional casualties. I remember that Carmela¡¯s elder sister was killed in such a hunt, poor thing. If this is truly a werewolf, we must act with all haste. We are vulnerable! ¡°Let¡¯s go quickly,¡± Will urges us. We follow the trail out of the clearing and the forest swallows us once more. Everyone has their weapons out and I call upon my magic. I feel my aura suffuse my body and I guide it to the gauntlet where it lays, quiescent and ready. The energy glows softly in my mind like a reliable and constant companion. I have but to use the right symbol and say the word, and by my will manifest a spear of fire that can go through a man without slowing down. Not that I ever did such a thing! We are tense, checking every angle but never stopping along the way. Visibility is reduced when the road turns around a bend. We instinctively accelerate as the fires of the outpost come into view. Something is wrong. ¡°Stay in formation,¡± Reginald urges us as we move closer. There are no sentries and as we get close enough, I notice a discarded helmet on the ground. Some lanterns around the perimeter are still shining. We enter the outpost still in a circle with me at the center. It is closer to a treehouse than to a real installation. Just a few benches around a fire, three tents and a rope leading up to an observation post. Reginald gestures us in. There are no bodies but it smells like blood¡­ and soon we find the source: a trail of red leading further into the woods as if something heavy had been dragged. ¡°God no¡­¡± Carmela whispers softly, her voice quavering. ¡°There is only one track, and the rest of the camp left in a hurry,¡± Cedric observes, ¡°think they went after the beast?¡± ¡°To rescue their comrade, undoubtedly!¡± Reggie proclaims. I look at the blood on the ground. All that red¡­ No, I have not seen the body so I must not give in to despair. Still¡­ ¡°We must go after them. They might need our help!¡± our fearless leader proclaims, and I feel courage fill my heart. Yes, we are to be war mages! We need to act like proper heroes! All of us nod, our faces grim yet determined. All of us except Will. We all turn to him, surprised. ¡°Will?¡± Reggie frowns, his chiseled jaw locked by anger. ¡°I think we should head back to town and call for reinforcements.¡± ¡°What? And leave the others alone?¡± Reggie explodes. ¡°Calm down, Reggie, please,¡± Cedric says with a grim expression. As for Carmela, she is staring around frantically, trying to cover all angles. I don¡¯t know what to say. This is the first time I saw Will argue for a full retreat. ¡°We are not equipped to face a werewolf. Only Carmela has a silver blade and my silver-tipped quarrels are too small, not to mention that I have only the three. If we fall back now, we can have this place crawling with veteran fighters in half an hour.¡± ¡°These men don¡¯t have half an hour!¡± ¡°You don¡¯t know that, and you should consider that we could be more hindrance than actual help.¡± ¡°I never took you for a coward!¡± Reginald bellows, red with fury. William, the ever-placid William, takes a deep breath in as his face contorts with unbridled anger. Then, just as I believe the two will come to blows, he settles down and his visage grows as cold and aloof as usual. I don¡¯t like it when he does this, bury it all inside, but now is not the moment to fight. We must follow Reggie¡¯s lead! ¡°Very well, I suppose you will have to learn by yourself. Lead the way, oh fearless leader,¡± the dark man answers, his voice dripping with sarcasm. I can tell that Reggie has been needled beyond reason but his anger is misplaced. ¡°Reggie, if we want to help them, we must leave now,¡± I declare. ¡°Right, form up,¡± he says, with a last venomous look at our friend. Reginald takes the lead with his gauntlet prepped and dagger raised. Cedric follows and then Carmela too, after a delay. She seems despondent. I don¡¯t like it. Oooh, I don¡¯t like any of this. Why is the team arguing now? And is Carmela fine? No one said anything to her. ¡°Carmie?¡± I ask in a soft voice, but she doesn¡¯t respond. Her eyes are still looking around, haunted, and her back is bent forward. I¡¯m not so sure that this is a good idea. We are in way over our head. What Will said is true¡­ No, I must not doubt Reggie, not now. He is a true gentleman and one day he will become Black Dog, I am sure of it. ¡°I will take point. Cedric and Carmela, be prepared to cover me. Mina, keep that spell ready and Will, give us night vision.¡± Night vision is one of those weird spells that Will picked up at the library that no one else wanted. Thieves¡¯ magic, Cornelius would say. It has proven useful on more than one occasion though. ¡°Pierce the veil,¡± Will whispers, and I can feel my view grow clearer and the world comes into focus. We leave the lanterns behind and trot forward. A blind man could follow the trail. Besides the blood, there are also the many footsteps of pursuers. We follow the chaos for a few minutes before seeing our first signs of combat. In another clearing, this one caused by a fallen tree, we find broken weapons and spell impacts but mercifully no other bodies. ¡°We can¡¯t be too far, keep going,¡± Reggie urges us. I am getting really worried about Carmela but there is little I can do right now. We burst into yet another clearing, this one unfamiliar, and stop in our tracks. Surprise robs me of my speech. I expected a battlefield, I expected dead people and to some extent, I expected howls but certainly not this. The small valley has an incline with us at its bottom. Above us, a massive stone rises up from the grass. Below it sit three mages, clearly still alive and bound by chains, and on top of the stone itself, the displayed corpse of the werewolf. I had never seen one before but there is no mistaking it. The body is humanoid, to some extent, though the head is as lupine as can be with a jaw filled with serrated teeth shining gloomily under the moonlight. Sharp, long claws hang from its long fingers. They are big enough to circle my waist with room to spare! And someone killed it? And took the mages prisoner? How can this be? Paralyzed by fear and indecision, we helplessly witness the spectacle before us. Reggie is the first to speak, and his sentence summarizes our minds well. ¡°What in the name of God is going on?¡± Immediately, we get our answer. It starts with an aura, not the rich and shimmering one we all share but a cold and unyielding wave of power unlike anything I have ever felt before. It crashes against the squad and pulls us under, subjugating our spirits beneath its frigid claws. I gasp and hold my chest. Carmela¡¯s blade slides from her helpless fingers. We all moan and fight the onset of despair, for something is coming. Heavy hooves stomp on the ground with deliberate slowness and I turn my head to the right to see a figure that my worst nightmares could not have conjured. A gigantic warhorse walks in our direction. Powerful muscles roll lazily under a coat as dark as soot. Eyes of flaming red regard us with disdain from up high, and even I can tell the incredible power waiting to be unleashed. This is the king of war horses, and if the apocalypse comes and the pale knight rides, it will do so on the back of such a creature. Sitting comfortably on the infernal beast is a young woman. She is beautiful, with delicate golden hair around an elegant face. Her blue eyes inspect us impassibly and the normalcy stops there, for below her neck she is clad in a midnight suit of armor that an emperor would envy. An intricate lattice of plates clings to her lithe form and on her chest, she bears an unknown coat of arms as strange as it is threatening. She also holds in her hand a cruel hunting spear coated with blood. The aura comes from her. It rolls from her silhouette in waves like a winter storm, flaying us with its sheer intensity. It freezes me to my soul. ¡°More snacks!¡± she mocks in a haughty voice, ¡°Such an auspicious night. You all just come running, do you not?¡± I turn to Reggie, too out of sort to even start to think. ¡°Who are you and what have you done? This is White Cabal territory!¡± he boldly claims. ¡°I say this is my territory since I hunt in it,¡± she replies, uncaring, ¡°and I hope that you will offer more of a challenge than your predecessors.¡± ¡°Release our friends immediately!¡± Reggie orders with a squeaky voice that I can barely recognize. I turn around and see that Carmie is ignoring us, still staring at the wolf¡¯s corpse while Will¡¯s expression is a frozen mask. The only other person to react is Cedric. ¡°Reggie¡­ My God Reggie¡­¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°I-I think¡­ she¡¯s a vampire!¡± We turn to the woman, even Carmela, and watch in disbelief as she slowly, slowly grins, revealing pointed fangs. As she does it, a passing cloud shifts and moonlight bathes her alabaster skin in a ghostly light. My fear turns to panic. ¡°Hold fast,¡± Reggie trumpets, ¡°hold fast and we have nothing to fear! We are the shield of Avalon!¡± The woman chuckles and slides off her mount with preternatural grace. She steps forward while twirling her spear in the air then stops fifteen paces away from us. ¡°You have nothing to fear? Let me put this to the test.¡± Then she disappears. One instant she¡¯s away, in a relaxed stance and the next she is by our side, holding Carmela by the neck. ¡°Shit!¡± Cedric swears. ¡°Let her go, you monster, guiding blade!¡± Reggie screams and he throws his dagger. The projectile flies into the air! Unfortunately, the devious vampire moves and the projectile rakes Carmela¡¯s flank! She screams in pain causing all of us to stop. The vampire lifts fingers now coated in blood and licks them languidly. ¡°Not the sharpest knife in the drawer, are you?¡± she asks Reginald with palpable contempt. None of us dare move. None of us act as the vile monster bares our sobbing friend¡¯s neck and bites it. We are still paralyzed a few seconds later when her groans are silenced and the creature drops her unmoving form. ¡°Noooooooooo!¡± I scream, ¡°no! Carmela!¡± ¡°You beast!¡± Reggie roars. She won¡¯t get away with it! I¡¯ll send her to the abyss! ¡°Firebolt!¡± Hundreds of hours of practice have made my spells true. The beautiful and familiar crimson streak dashes across the valley. The woman lifts a hand which now shines blue. With contemptuous ease, she slaps my spell away! ¡°Is that all?¡± she asks with a bored voice. ¡°Firebolt!¡± I yell once more, soon followed by the others. We send hexes and curses after the demon but she either deflects or dodges them all. She does not even move from her place! Is she mocking us? ¡°Do not relent!¡± Reggie bellows, and we keep firing. Three by three, we send ineffectual projectiles after her. I have never felt so powerless, even when my family was killed. I fight back the fear and the grief, not just for Carmela but also for the rest of us. We are going to die here. And then something else happens. I now realize that we have indeed attacked by three, which means¡­ that William disappeared! I now see a blur moving closer to the vampire, step by step. I must distract her! ¡°Light!¡± I scream, and a blue ray extends from my gauntlet to the creature¡¯s head. She closes her eyes. Yes! This is our chance! Will jumps at her back with one of his silver-tipped bolts used as an improvised stiletto. Hope surges in my heart. Then the monster turns and catches William mid-lunge. ¡°A commendable effort, you even masked the noise.¡± She dodges one last spell and bites down, staring Reggie in the eye. She¡¯s making sure we see William perish! No, I will not allow that! Reggie charges forward, and I follow him bravely! We must not give up! Then something queer happens. I am sent in the air. I push myself from the ground and spit grime and leaves. Gah! What happened? Cedric, Reggie and I are in a heap on the ground? How? No¡­ It¡¯s the vampire. She¡¯s toying with us. It¡¯s¡­ over, it really is. We are doomed. Carmela and Will, my friends¡­ I can¡¯t believe it. This has to be an illusion, a nightmare! We were just going to become war mages! How can it all turn out like this?! ¡°Disappointing. Pathetic. Are you really combat mages?¡± ¡°We will¡­ not falter!¡± Reggie spits, his spirit unbroken. The vampire¡¯s cold blue eyes turn to him with slow purpose and I feel an intense weight settling on my shoulder like a mighty yoke. Reggie flinches. ¡°You must be the leader of this sorry lot.¡± ¡°I am Reginald Lewis¡­¡± ¡°I care not,¡± the vampire interrupts and Reggie¡¯s voice dies in his throat. I feel something like a presence in my mind, a pervasive poison that fills me with dread but try as I might, I cannot shake it off. She¡¯s doing something to me! ¡°You are a poor excuse of a man to send this ragtag joke of a troop against me.¡± She blurs again and when I see her, she is holding Cedric by the neck, her other hand digging into his armor as if it were paper. Cedric, kind-hearted Cedric, squirms and screams in her hold. When will the nightmare end? I let my tears fall freely from my cheeks. What can I do? What can I do? She¡¯s just too fast, too strong! Nothing we¡¯ve done even bothered her! ¡°There,¡± she continues casually as if she were entertaining guests, ¡°do tell him about honor and glory. Go on.¡± She squeezes and Cedric yells in pain. ¡°Your pointless sacrifice honors the Cabal! Your fighting spirit will live on in the afterlife!¡± she declares in a fake voice, a mockery of Reggie¡¯s previous statements. ¡°Go on, leader,¡± she urges Reggie. Her fangs are bared in a nightmarish smile, sly and filled with disdain. Oh yes, so filled with disdain. ¡°Tell him you¡¯ll win.¡± We never stood a chance. Reggie¡¯s face is a mask of pain and powerlessness. He, too, is crying. Then to my surprise, he swallows his sobs and turns to me. ¡°Mina¡­¡± I am so scared. ¡°¡­ run.¡± Huh? ¡°Now! Run!¡± I obey. I leave all my friends behind in this place of death, their corpses strewn across the grass. I run and I do not look back, and the worst thing is that I already know it will be for nothing. She¡¯s just too fast. I won¡¯t make it back to the camp, much less back to town. It¡¯s over. It¡¯s all over. As I run with all the desperation, I suddenly remember something. A voice I heard only an hour ago. It feels like an eternity now. ¡°Act like the war mage you have trained to become,¡± the Black Dog had said. That¡¯s right. I am a war mage. If I must die, let my sacrifice be of use. I will warn the others! I shift right on the path, to a slightly more open area where the sky was opened by the fall of a large aspen. I channel all my power, all my will into one last spell. ¡°I wonder what you hope to achieve¡­¡± an amused voice comments behind me. I turn around and see her only a few steps away from me. She stands there like a lady at court, talking about the weather. The contrast between her polite observation and the slaughter behind chills me to the bone. The gauntlet thrums with power and my hand is uncomfortably warm. This is it. I raise the gauntlet and the woman lifts an aristocratic brow, only to display genuine surprise when I point fully upward. ¡°Firebolt!¡± I yell, and the spell takes off, its shiny radiance a reverse meteor that breaches the canopy and climbs to the sky. The spell explodes. The loud detonation sends leaves fleeting in the air, while the light shines like a small sun. ¡°A beacon?¡± the vampire asks. I turn to her, facing my death. I do not lower my eyes nor bend my back. I am a war mage and will die like one. ¡°Now, all of Avalon will come for you,¡± I declare, and close my eyes. I pray one last time, thinking about my friends and the regrets I have. I wish I could have lived longer, and yet I find that if I had to do it again, I would. Carmela¡¯s aloof grace and down-to-earth behavior, Reggie¡¯s spirit, William¡¯s guile and Cedric¡¯s humor. Yes, I was blessed to end in such a company. Nothing happens. Is she toying with me? ¡°, not bad, cub. Perhaps enough for a passing grade.¡± I open my eyes with surprise. The vampire is still here, tapping her index against her chin. Her eyes shift from the sky to me. They are no longer full of scorn. ¡°This exam is over. Follow.¡± What? What?! I sputter. What? Huh? This was¡­ not real? No? This was all an exam? No, impossible. The bodies, the blood. No? Maybe? Is this a farce? Am I dead or hallucinating the entire scene? This is¡­ too much. I burst into tears. ¡°If this is¡­ some sort of cruel game!¡± ¡°It is not. Your friends are waiting. Come, I don¡¯t have all night.¡± I stand there, wracked by emotions. The vampire turns and I meet her gaze. This time, it carries no judgement. ¡°Your courage was commendable. Do use it a bit longer, there are still three more groups to assess.¡± I stare in disbelief, then wipe my tears. Three groups, she said. That means she was part of the planning, probably. Also, there would be more bodies if she had found the other groups first¡­ and she has little reasons to keep me alive. The walk back to the clearing is an ordeal. My nerves are a frayed bundle of raw panic but I want to see them, I want to know. And finally, I do. The mages covered in chains are standing around the lying forms of Carmela, Cedric and Reggie and I now realize that the steel links do not cover their hands. William stands by the side with his arms crossed. I run to him and hug him, but I only allow myself to cry for a few seconds. I want to see to the others. Then I realize something is weird. I pull back, eyes narrowed, and the previous fear makes a return. ¡°Did you know this was a test?¡± He hesitates, but eventually relents. ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°And you did not tell us? Why?¡± His dark eyes inspect me, considering. ¡°There are some lessons that can only be learned the hard way. Reggie¡­ is a good man, but he needed that.¡± ¡°That? This¡­ nightmare? We needed to go through that?¡± He nods. I want to slap him. ¡°Why?¡± I demand, angry beyond measure. ¡°There will be time for talks later,¡± the vampire declares, and we turn. Carmela is on her feet, blinking owlishly. I jump to hug her as she takes in her surroundings. ¡°Huh, so this is how it is¡­¡± she says. I fiercely hug her and feel better when she pats my back. I know she dislikes physical contact, I just couldn¡¯t help it. ¡°Is that a real werewolf?¡± She asks with a hoarse voice. I pull back just as the vampire woman answers with the affirmative. ¡°Did you kill it yourself?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Can I take a closer look?¡± ¡°Yes, but hurry. You five must be on your way.¡± Carmela moves to the stone but I interrupt her. ¡°Carmela, your flank!¡± ¡°What about it?¡± I look for her wound but find none. I turn to the blonde vampire with a struck expression. ¡°I stabbed my own palm to get some blood. You should have noticed that it was too dark to be hers.¡± I hadn¡¯t. ¡°You panicked and your addled brain filled the gaps,¡± she continues, as Cedric now wakes up with a jolt. ¡°What?¡± he asks. Then he sees us all standing around, and slaps his forehead. ¡°Oh, the exam, dammit! I guess we failed, huh.¡± The exam. I don¡¯t know what to think. Cedric flinches when he realizes that the vampire is still here, but he soon tries to gather his courage and even starts a conversation! ¡°Hah, you¡¯re amazing. An illusionist? I never saw you around here, are you a new archmage?¡± The men look at him with utter disappointment mixed with disbelief. The vampire just ignores him. It takes him but a few moments to realize his mistake and he pales once more. Reggie is last to wake. When his eyes open, he also quickly understands that this was all a test. Our leader alternates between outrage and despair. Eventually, he turns to the head war mage, a dour man I sometimes saw at the practice field. ¡°What¡ª¡± ¡°Shut up. Stand up and prepare to follow us back to the town.¡± ¡°I have a right to¡ª¡° ¡°Two hours of detention.¡± Reggie clamps his jaws but he doesn¡¯t press the issue and he is right. I, too, can tell from the mage¡¯s stony expression that he will not hesitate to have us peel potatoes until the winter solstice, should we dare to mouth off. The vampire woman closes with Carmela and whispers something in her ear. My friend turns away from the monstrous corpse still laid atop the monolith and joins us, her face contemplative. As she passes me by, she squeezes my hand and I feel better. The walk of shame back to the town is the worst of my life. At some point, Cedric starts to whisper only to be told to shut it by the mage trio. They have left their chains behind, which were put on by another team. It looks like everyone will get to experience facing off against a monster of legend. We drag ourselves not to the barracks but to the administrative headquarters of the White Cabal military. There, we are made to sit on uncomfortable chairs with no water and forced to stay silent while the dour mage leaves, probably to report. Ten minutes later, we are summoned to the office of the Black Dog himself. We line in front of him as he leans back in his leather chair, hands crossed over his lap. He glares at us from across a spotless desk, managing to look down upon us despite being the only one seated. Eventually, he starts in a tone rife with disappointment. ¡°Do I need to spell out your result?¡± ¡°Sir, I must protest!¡± Reggie starts immediately. ¡°You must?¡± the Dog interrupts him, ¡°do you object to my methods? Perhaps you find me unfair? Perhaps you find my standards too high?¡± Reggie reddens with shame. ¡°Which specific aspect of this task did you find to be too hard?¡± ¡°The vampire?!¡± ¡°Indeed? Did I ask you to kill a vampire?¡± ¡°But¡­¡± ¡°Did I?¡± Black Dog Hopkins demands, raising his voice for the first time. Silence. ¡°Answer me, Reginald Lewis, did I give you the impossible task to kill a vampire at any time of the briefing?¡± Silence. ¡°So far, two teams have passed this test and will receive the title of war mage.¡± ¡°Impossible!¡± Reginald sputters. The Black Dog smashes his fist on his desk and we all jump in surprise. His next words drip with contempt. ¡°You have all been judged according to the exact same standards. Team Phenix and Flame successfully pulled back and reported the presence of a werewolf, as well as the disappearance of the patrol.¡± ¡°What? But, this is cowardice?¡± Reggie exclaims. ¡°Mr Lewis, what was the consequence of your so-called bravery this night? No need to answer, I will spell it for you. You and your entire team were killed to the last man, only managing to give some semblance of warning to our town because of the presence of mind of Mina Kinkaid. Did I summarize your achievements to your satisfaction?¡± Silence. Reggie looks¡­ defeated. Humiliated. I have never seen him so desperate. He who would always keep calm under any circumstances is now on the verge of tears. I want to comfort him against that miserable Black Dog and yet I do not because deep inside, I am troubled. Yes, we acted foolishly. William was right when he suggested a retreat. What looked like cowardice was in fact¡­ Common sense. ¡°The White Cabal military is a professional outfit dedicated to the defense of our kind against the horrors of this world and those who would seek to enslave or exterminate us. I will not accept glory hounds and sanctimonious imbeciles in the ranks of my beloved army, for failure is not an option. That is why, Mr Lewis, we do not charge in against a superior opponent with no plan. That is why, Mr Lewis, we prioritize the survival of our team through common sense and basic logic. And finally, that is why, when lectured by a superior officer, we do not question and object but stay quiet and listen. Do you understand?¡± ¡°¡­Yes sir.¡± ¡°Mr. Hope, Lady Ariane informs me that you saw through the whole thing. I am tired of wasting my breath on a bunch of incompetent morons. You will explain the situation.¡± William licks his lips and turns to us. He is a bit hesitant at first, yet soon his words flow with the same precision and clarity as when he explains his plan. ¡°The first hint happened during the speech. I can tell that you did not pay attention so I will remind you.¡± ¡°Act like the war mages you have trained to become¡­¡± I whisper, my eyes widening. ¡°Precisely,¡± Will says with approval, ¡°this was a strange thing to say. I expected him to speak about valor, intelligence or some such but the specific wording and brevity of the message struck me as odd. Then there were the marks on the tree. They were a little too obvious and also lacked some other elements of territorial marks.¡± ¡°Huh?¡± Cedric asks. ¡°Urine and fecal matter,¡± William adds helpfully. ¡°Oh.¡± ¡°In any case, the camp was also a setup. The trail was too clean. Normally, you would have a large splatter at the site of the attack and more chaos where the victim would try to get free. I was pretty sure that this was all a trick by that time and that¡¯s why I suggested that we fall back.¡± Behind Will, the Black Dog allows himself a small nod, the only sign of appreciation he has shown so far. ¡°Why not tell us?¡± Cedric asks, stupefied. Reggie remains silent but he, too, looks curious. ¡°That would have defeated the purpose of the exercise. We were meant to realize that we were outclassed and retreat, which I tried to explain. Instead, you called me a coward.¡± William¡¯s voice is not judgmental. If anything, he looks sad. Reginald purses his lips and averts his gaze. ¡°I became sure when we spotted the vampire. Lady Ariane, apparently. Do you remember the details of the disaster at New-Orleans?¡± We remember of course, they only escaped thanks to the help of¡­ oh. ¡°Is she the one?¡± ¡°The very same,¡± the Black Dog interjects. ¡°Right, I asked around out of curiosity and the survivors described her as a young-looking woman with blonde hair and blue eyes. That¡¯s why I was certain. When she pretended to bite me, she did not force me to lose consciousness so I faked stupor while she took care of you. She tasked me and the instructors with making sure you were all comfortable before going after Mina.¡± A series of ¡°oohs¡± and ¡°aahs¡± flow through the room. ¡°Good enough, now, attention!¡± the Black Dog says. We instinctively snap into salute. The Black Dog stands up and comes to stand before Reginald. He is quite tall, I notice. ¡°Reginald Lewis, your performance was dismal. You allowed your lust for glory to get to your head, leading to the death of your entire squad as well as a failure to inform command of your situation. You did not order the creation of a defensive perimeter to delay the vampire, instead attacking her recklessly. You disregarded the advice of your subordinate and insulted him in front of his peers. You fail. You are hereby relieved of your position as squad leader until you pass the seminary on squad management to the satisfaction of your instructors.¡± He walks to Cedric. ¡°Cedric Birmingham, you remained quiet when your fellow member objected to Mr Lewis¡¯ inane plan, you remained quiet after witnessing signs of a dangerous enemy, you failed to acknowledge your squad member¡¯s intense emotional distress¡­¡± Cedric turns to Carmela, face stricken by surprise then by guilt. ¡°¡­ and you omitted to establish a defensive shield to delay a superior opponent. You fail. You will attend intensive training for three months, following which you will be allowed to take the exam again.¡± He turns to Carmela. ¡°Carmela von Leeb. You should have known better.¡± ¡°Yes, sir.¡± ¡°You fail. You will follow the same program as Mr Birmingham here, as well as compulsory counseling.¡± ¡°¡­Yes, sir.¡± She lowers her head. ¡°Mina Kinkaid.¡± I want to close my eyes but I do not. I keep my spine straight and look forward. ¡°Not once did you question your leader¡¯s poor decision, nor did you act on the distress of your comrade in arms. You followed blindly. You fail.¡± ¡°Yes, sir.¡± ¡°Compassion and intelligence mean nothing if you do not use them. I expected more from you.¡± ¡°Yes, sir, sorry, sir.¡± ¡°You will attend the same training as the two others.¡± He stops before the last member of our group. ¡°William Hope. You displayed wisdom by objecting to the plan and loyalty by still sticking with your friends. Lady Ariane says that your obfuscation spell is, and I quote, amusing though he should also work on his smell. You pass. You have two choices. You can remain with your friends as they attend the supplementary training, or¡­¡± ¡°Supplementary training, sir.¡± ¡°I expected no less.¡± He walks back behind his seat and picks the next paper off the bundle in front of him. ¡°You have your orders. Now, get out of my office.¡± We leave. What a night. Chapter 82: Pact. It has been one hour since the end of the exam. Hopkins mentioned a complication and an opportunity and I decided to stick with him and see how things develop. Right now, I am not too worried as I patiently wait inside the White Cabal Council building, their seat of political power.I have to give it to the Cabal, they have a vision. The council building is a large, two-storied square edifice with plenty of windows and a cupola beneath which an amphitheatre serves as the hub of their decision-makers. Both the architecture and the furniture are austere and painted all white, with minimum embellishments. It gives the place an air of dignity that helps visitors forget that this alliance is young and still fragile. A few pieces of art tastefully placed attract the eye, and I am pleased to see that they chose quality over quantity. The paintings are all neoclassical, static and disciplined. I can appreciate their work though I prefer the passion and colors of the romantic movements. It illustrates the creativity and fire I admire in mortals that much more. Also, some neoclassical artists have probably never seen a bare bosom in their life. Seriously, how can they so easily ignore the effects of gravity? Ah, I should not complain. Not that there are any exposed female nipples in the antechamber of this majestic institution anyway. As I muse and inspect a faithful reproduction of ¡°¡± by David, which shows the three Roman brothers as they prepare to fight to the death for their city, a commotion comes from the corridor leading to the exit. The alley I find myself in circles the large chamber at the center of the building. Stairs lead up to a mezzanine and some offices, while large windows give me a commanding view of the city outside. As for why I am not worried, the reasons are two-fold. First, the only force that would pose a mortal danger to me is firmly on Hopkins¡¯ side and therefore, on mine. Secondly, I am well-protected by twenty Rosenthal mercenaries in their emblematic grey uniforms. That is why, when a large group approaches, I do not react, I do not stand up. I do not even avert my eyes from the masterpiece of civic duty and brotherly love before me. Bannings, their grizzled leader, approaches the newcomers. ¡°Halt,¡± he commands as his men close rank with their hands on their pistols, ¡°may I ask your business here?¡± ¡°I have no need to justify my presence at the heart of my own government!¡± exclaims the leader of the troop of mages who just appeared. I can tell from their aura that those men know how to fight though they do not carry the uniform of the Cabal soldiers. There are a dozen of them, some young, some old, all nervous. ¡°If it¡¯s your government you want to see, the door is behind you to your right.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not here for the door, I¡¯m here to take the vampire into custody in the name of the Council!¡± the man declares with far more confidence than he should. I can taste his fear under the cover of a bravado fueled more by pride than common sense. I do not react, nor do I need to. I was right to bring an escort, and Hopkins, always two steps ahead of his opposition, was right to give me some company. ¡°Who is this I hear making such bold statements? Is that you, Garrick?¡± asks a calm voice. An old man with a flowing white beard and kind chocolate eyes gently pushes Bannings aside to stand between the two groups. ¡°In the name of the Council? There was no such order, as we both know.¡± ¡°Councilman Frost?! Stand aside, this is no business of yours.¡± ¡°Of course it is, young Garrick, of course it is, since you just claimed a legitimacy you have no right to. Tell me, is this a coup? Are you rebelling against us and all of Avalon? Trying to seize power?¡± ¡°What? No! We only wish to preserve the¡ª¡± ¡°Then why do you lie so shamelessly, young Garrick? Why do you usurp the Council¡¯s authority? Under whose orders are you really here?¡± he asks, and the younger man clicks his mouth shut. I can appreciate that Councilman Frost is smooth, much smoother than the other man who looks more like a follower and lacks the older gentleman¡¯s political acumen. ¡°Let me explain something to you, young Garrick, because though you may be a brilliant lad, you do not have the years of experience that I have. ¡°Imagine that you don¡¯t want two people to be married. The easiest way to do that is to have their families fight, yes? So you send a member of your family to attack a member of their family, there is a fight and the marriage is cancelled. Now, the important part to remember here is that you do not need to win the fight. You only need the fight to happen.¡± Garrick frowns, unsure as to where the old man is going while his followers shuffle nervously. ¡°You, Garrick, have not been sent to subjugate the vampire but to create an incident, and I can prove it.¡± ¡°¡­I sincerely doubt it.¡± ¡°O ye of little faith, tell me, you know that the vampire you were sent to disturb is the one who saved our men during the disaster, yes?¡± At that, low whispers spread through the ranks. ¡°So? Vampires have no allies but themselves. Do not be naive.¡± ¡°Oh no, you do not understand. I am more concerned about the means than the cause. Why, I remember little Sola telling me how the vampire ripped apart the warded steel door of the cellar they were hiding in with her bare hands. Oh, and that lad Emmett said she moved so fast you could only follow her from the flying pieces of men she left behind, that her claws were shredding through their armors like a hot knife through cheese. I think the survivors have started to call her the Red Maiden on account of the rivers of blood she shed that night.¡± Some of the mages behind Garrick are starting to reconsider their night out. ¡°And your plan, my dear, was to show up here with your merry band and¡­ what exactly? Do enlighten me.¡± ¡°The¡­ the might of our magic¡­¡± ¡°Did I mention that she slapped away or dodged every spell thrown at her tonight? Yes. Slapped. Not shielded against or dispelled. Slapped.¡± Silence. ¡°Our greatest strength is not the magic we wield but our adaptability, training and coordination. We are not as savage as werewolves, nor as fast as vampires. We cannot match the raw power of blood mages and other warlocks, yet we still endure. By being prepared, smart and using the tools we have to their best effect. The first and best tool you have is your brain.¡± Silence. ¡°A brain that sits on top of your stupid shoulders, sadly unused. You absolute tool. Get the fuck out, Garrick, and don¡¯t ever let me catch you again acting like a complete dolt, or God help me I¡¯ll remind you little shits why they called me Frostbite. Aye?¡± Lots of smacking around, tonight. Garrick looks at the old man in front of him, whose aura has started to condense threateningly, and the trained soldiers by his side. There are also noises of boots hitting the ground in cadence outside. He assesses his chances and for once, caution prevails. He turns tail and scampers with his cronies in tow. The old man comes back to sit by my side with a heavy sigh. I address him. ¡°Very convincing, Mr Frost.¡± ¡°Thank you, miss. If we old farts can¡¯t protect the new generations from their own stupidity, then the world is doomed.¡± I do not think I was included in the ¡°old fart¡± comment. Probably. ¡°Nevertheless, I hope we get called in soon. My presence here obviously exacerbates tensions,¡± I reply. ¡°Not to worry, Hopkins usually does things fast. Ah, here they are.¡± The door to our side opens and the humdrum of whispers suddenly invades the corridor. The entire room is warded against sound and possibly other means of spying, therefore it was until now impossible to eavesdrop on the tumultuous debate going on inside. Now that the wards are disabled, a delicate hearing is no longer required to follow the proceedings. In fact, even Frost winces. ¡°You are fools to let this creature into our sanctum!¡± We step in. The Council room is a small amphitheater made not out of benches, but out of massive wooden thrones each bearing a different symbol. The first half-circle consists of only seven seats while behind, two more rows of smaller chairs make up the rest of the assembly. A single person sits facing the rest behind a bare pulpit. He wears a ceremonial robe in white that fails to mask his gut, as well as a mighty scowl above an impressive pair of chops. As we get in, he smashes an abused gavel on the depressed wood in front of him. If this session is the norm, I give the pulpit another three months tops before it collapses under the man¡¯s relentless assault. ¡°Order! Order! Councilor Pruitt, you do not have the floor.¡± He then turns the incandescent focus of his gaze to me, then reaches inside his garment to reveal a lozenge pendant shimmering with colors. I cannot read the artefact¡¯s aura since the room is saturated with auras, but I can guess. ¡°Ladies and gentlemen, please reveal and verify your protective amulets, thank you.¡± All present follow suit, including two guards by the door who eye me warily. Frost also reveals a defensive charm. I find it revealing that his own looks like a cross between a diamond and an icicle. The seated mages move to their neighbors, checking for defects. When they are certain that their minds are adequately shielded, they turn to the gavel man and nod. I do not try to taste the talismans nor probe their defenses, even though I am curious. It would not be worth it, and I may even get caught. Indeed, one of the main chairs, an old woman as wrinkled as a raisin, inspects me with a curious monocle. I perceive a tendril of essence sneaking towards me. Caution is one thing, disrespect, another. I block the probe and give the old woman a meaningful glance. Her brows rise in surprise, then she gives me an appreciative nod. I return my attention to the man at the center, who Hopkins explained to be the President. His role is to oversee the Council and make sure everything goes according to the rules. To do so, he must forfeit any other position for life to limit the risks of partisan behavior. Similarly, he does not have voting powers. Only the seven members of the Council representing the administration, army, education, treasury, research, intelligence and diplomacy can decide the course of the White Cabal, their uneven number helping to prevent deadlocks. ¡°Good,¡± the man continues, ¡°now I believe Councilman Frost has a proposal to bring forward?¡± I am left standing while the old man ambles to his own chair. He sits back heavily and answers. ¡°I do. The Chair of Diplomacy would like to bring forward a proposal of formal alliance between the Cabal and the vampire House Nirari, represented here by Ariane of the Nirari.¡± ¡°What?!¡± the irate man from earlier erupts from the side, ¡°Frostie, have you lost your goddamn mind? Hopkins let that thing move freely around our children! She must be purged, both of them must be purged!¡± The objector is a well-dressed mage with a hook nose and an elaborate dress. He is loaded with powerful artefacts, more so than any mage I have met before. I remember that the President called him Pruitt. ¡°Watch your tongue. I am done with your talks of tradition and values, they have proven their worth tonight.¡± ¡°What?¡± the man screams, ¡°I demand an explanation for those words, Frost.¡± ¡°Easy enough. I supervised tonight¡¯s exam at the request of Councilor Hopkins and I was shocked when your son ran away and left my granddaughter to die.¡± ¡°You old imbecile, this is a trick to move you to betray us and what we stand for!¡± ¡°I saw it happen with my own eyes. Your precious Cornelius turned tail and bailed out, leaving others to cover his retreat. If that is the lineage and greatness you claim, I¡¯d rather have little Margie marry a donkey!¡± Interestingly, Frost¡¯s aura starts to bleed out in the air and the temperature drops. I remember that Sola¡¯s aura removes corruption. His looks a bit more aggressive. ¡°Order, order!¡± the President repeats with a tired voice, a sign that he has said these words far too many times. After pounding his poor pulpit like a battering ram on a fortress gate, and threatening to have Pruitt forcefully removed, he finally restores a semblance of calm. Hopkins uses this opportunity to expose his project. The terrible performance of Cornelius Pruitt gave us an opportunity to push an agreement between my House and the whole of the White Cabal rather than just the military. Instead of a garrison, I could have an enclave with families, a library, workshops, everything. The people who would move in would certainly be the more agreeable members of their organization, further bolstering our cooperation. This is the third advantage, the one Jonathan had hinted at during our conversation earlier. It was heavily dependent on Cornelius Pruitt¡¯s poor performance, a hazardous prospect in my opinion. I was proven wrong and Jonathan¡¯s uncanny ability to predict human behavior once again surprises me. He would really make a good vampire. Not that he would ever accept. As for me, as long as I remain in control of Marquette I will have the means to guarantee the alliance. There is a possibility that my plan to take over Illinois with Lady Sephare¡¯s support does not pan out, but even if this is the case, I am still City Master. It would take a war to dislodge me and Constantine would not allow it. After Jonathan is done talking, the President turns to me. I am now the focus of at least seven archmages, their guards, and their subordinates currently sitting in the amphitheater¡¯s higher tiers. This is almost flattering. Silence descends upon the assembly. I still haven¡¯t moved nor talked. Simply, I do not have the floor, and as their guest I am bound to follow their rules. As a courtesy. If one of them starts flinging spells all deals are off. Nothing untowards happens. The President simply swallows nervously before addressing me. The entire room holds their breath. ¡°Ariane of the Nirari, do you approve of Councilor Hopkins¡¯ proposal?¡± ¡°I do,¡± I reply, and the people present shift in their seats. Hopkins warned me of the rarity of such a situation. For most of them, this is the first time seeing a vampire with their own eyes, not to mention conversing with one. ¡°You will truly defend us if we are attacked?¡± the woman with the monocle asks with disbelief. Gah, she doesn¡¯t have the floor! Why are they all breaking their own rules so easily? ¡°Alliances between mages and vampires are nothing new,¡± I remind them, ¡°an agreement was reached between several clans and cabals to take down the Lancaster progenitor, for example. Although those were temporary, nothing prevents us from forging a more permanent pact.¡± The mages mull it over for a moment, then the monocle woman raises her hand. The President gives her the floor so that probably means we can have a conversation. ¡°What¡¯s your interest in all of this?¡± ¡°Besides additional fighters in case of conflict, I could trade resources with you such as knowledge, training, enchantments¡­¡± ¡°Can¡¯t you have your own enslaved mages for that?¡± I tsk at the insinuation. As if I needed them enslaved. ¡°I don¡¯t keep people as cattle unless they show hostility.¡± ¡°So, any mage can just show up on your territory and live there?¡± ¡°You come to my lands, I will give you a chance to negotiate an agreement to stay if that is what you wish.¡± ¡°The vampires have been only too happy to leave us alone,¡± she continues, ¡°why change anything now?¡± I think of Sephare and Washington. ¡°You are mistaken. You are left alone because nobody has deemed it worthwhile to expand into your territory. Yet.¡± Whispers erupt around me. ¡°Lords do not operate on the same time frame as you do. Just because there have been no conflicts does not mean that there will not be any in the future.¡± The next question takes me off-guard. ¡°Would you fight by our side against other vampires?¡± A very good question, and also an easy one. ¡°If we enter an alliance, I will let it be known that you are under my protection. Any vampire who attacks you will know that it is a declaration of war upon me. Remember that our agreement is defensive in nature; if you attack a clan you are on your own.¡± A few of the councilmen nod in understanding. In the end, a table is brought and a contract drawn. The Cabal is allowed an enclave in Marquette in the nicer part of town. Within their controlled area they can do as they please so long as it does not endanger me. I place a limit to their number and to the business interests they can develop and acquire outside of the enclave itself. They are not allowed to interfere with my activities, even if I slay humans, a condition that I thought they would object to more vehemently. We add a few more terms including the possibility to trade for services and an exit clause to allow for a peaceful end to the pact, just in case. I read the contract with attention once it is done, and find no obvious loopholes, so I sign it and its copies, before leaving the room. The councilors were wary at first, but after I failed to sprout horns and wings, the whole negotiation became a tedious affair. As I exit, I consider a significant problem I had been ignoring for the past month. I have no plan. Rather, I have plenty of plans but no vision, no clear destination in place. Tactics I know, strategy, on the other hand¡­ I don¡¯t think I have had any strategy since gaining House status. Such a thing is as dangerous as it is stupid and quite unlike me. Even signing two agreements in such a short time was hastily made and not particularly smart. I reacted. There is even a small chance that I bound myself to a cause I may later regret. I climb in the carriage that will lead me to my retreat for tonight. I accepted Jonathan¡¯s hospitality, and will therefore slumber in a safe room under his house. If he did not have the soldiery under his control, I would never have taken such a risk, even with Loth¡¯s impregnable sarcophagus to protect me. I relax in the seat and continue with my introspection. What is my long-term goal? To kill my sire and his mother before either one of them becomes unstoppable. Or at least disable them permanently. How do I manage this? By accruing power, disabling Malakim, and forging alliances with people and organizations. I don''t even know if it will suffice. That step is simply the necessary condition to even find a way to deal with them. From then on, there are several ways for me to progress. One, on the diplomatic front, I should find a way to secure an alliance with the Cadiz and Constantine himself. I also need to secure the state of Illinois, if possible. Finally, I need to make sure the pact with the White Cabal goes well. This is the priority. The ultimate goal would be to become queen of the Americas. On the power front, I need to keep practicing what I already have until the state situation is resolved, then I need to study magic. Once I have solid foundations, I will keep training and find new and interesting people to consume. Beyond that, I have several opportunities to explore though they will have to wait. I nod to myself. I had the right to take some well-deserved rest after what I endured. Now, it is time to be a little more proactive. Jonathan joins me an hour later and we sit in his cramped yet comfortable living room, him nursing a cup of tea. I notice the small telltale signs that the man is exhausted and respect the fact that he hides it remarkably well. ¡°What did you think about the new recruits?¡± he asks. ¡°Not much. Some had potential, some less. They are still horribly green.¡± He nods. ¡°You are correct, of course. I hope tonight¡¯s ordeal will be a wake-up call for some of them.¡± ¡°Like that particularly arrogant team?¡± ¡°Yes, them. I will be running them ragged for the next three months.¡± ¡°Surely you are exaggerating,¡± I lightly object, ¡°they showed maturity for such young people. Isn¡¯t three months too much?¡± Jonathan lifts one imperious brow. ¡°Do you know, Ariane, that Cedric made some considerable effort to gather information about you after your encounter?¡± ¡°Oh? He is preparing for a rematch?¡± ¡°Indeed not. He was trying to find out if you had a boyfriend.¡± I ponder this revelation for a moment. ¡°You know what, you are right, beat some sense into them.¡± Sitting before my desk back at the Manor three days later, I consider the fact that I have made a mistake. Specifically, Urchin claimed he could now write, and though I somehow doubt he could master both orthography and calligraphy in so short a time, I gave him the benefit of the doubt. Never again. ¡°Urchin¡­¡± I start, holding his ¡°report¡± of what happened in my absence. ¡°Yes, Milady.¡± ¡°During my second life, I have suffered countless indignities¡± ¡°Milady?¡± ¡°I have been shot, stabbed, eviscerated, burnt and partially exploded.¡± ¡°Yes, Milady.¡± ¡°I had silver nails driven into my gums and my fingers repeatedly severed with what amounted to a silver-coated gardening tool.¡± ¡°Yes, Milady.¡± ¡°I was driven half-mad by Thirst, enslaved, caged and humiliated.¡± ¡°Yes, Milady.¡± ¡°And despite all of that, reading that report of yours is still one of the most grating, disturbing experiences I have ever had to face.¡± ¡°I am sorry, Milady.¡± ¡°It is a nonsensical amalgam of barely readable and horribly misspelled sentences that could not be called English by the most generous of teachers working in an asylum for the criminally insane.¡± ¡°Yes, Milady.¡± ¡°If I were to read this anathema to grammar aloud, I shall surely conjure up a demon, which would then wail in despair at the treatment and promptly beg to be sent back to hell.¡± ¡°I apologize, Milady.¡± ¡°Henceforth, you shall read what you wrote aloud before delivering it to me, and if you cannot make sense of it yourself, you shall write it again.¡± ¡°I understand Milady.¡± ¡°Or I will go over every mistake and use your own intestines as script to illustrate my points.¡± ¡°Very well, Milady.¡± ¡°You may go, the timing is ill-chosen for your Akkad lesson.¡± ¡°Very well, Milady, goodbye.¡± I watch the man¡¯s retreating back. I remember that I should not be too harsh in my treatment of my own subordinates, however after what that little scoundrel did to the written art I could simply not stand by and allow this ignominy to go unpunished. We ride through the woods in silence. Torran did not ask questions when I dragged him from his paperwork, nor did he question me when I told him I needed his help. Instead, he just followed with grim determination. Truly, he is as intense a supporter as he is a lover. I can only be thankful that he is so firm and solid in his character, and that his spirits are always up. That kind of thing. Truly this relationship has been more fulfilling than I had ever hoped. Metis and I emerge from the dense thicket first, soon followed by Krowar and my lover. A small pier stands before us, upon which a canoe waits where I left it. The lights of Boston shine from somewhere on the left while on our right, the ocean beckons. I dismount and rush to the small ship, but Torran intercepts me and sits first. he declares, and I let him. We push away from the rickety wood and make for the sea. I direct Torran to a cove and endure the scrutiny of his steely glare. I reply. he asks as we come in view of a one-mast skiff moored not far in the distance. I nod and we approach then board it. I rented this small ship for two days and had one of Wilhelm¡¯s men sail it here under the cover of secrecy. So far so good. I climb first and find the packed clothes next to the tiller, just as I instructed. I tell Torran. He is looking more bothered by the minute and yet he still does as I request. I climb down a hatch to the single deck and check around. Behind a row of crates, there is a very comfortable mattress as well as my own disguise. I don it and climb back upstairs. Torran looks just as amazing as I expected in a light blue officer uniform that fits him perfectly. He is currently inspecting the sea, leaning sensually against the railing. The sensual part might be just in my head. ¡°Captaaiiin...¡± I whisper suggestively. Torran turns and his eyes widen as he takes in my appearance. The scandalous pants, the outrageous open vest that leaves little to the imagination. The tricorn. His mouth forms a perfect o as I place my fists on my waist and push my modest bosom forward, clearly showing that I am not wearing anything underneath. We will be separated for a while to pursue our own projects. I want to make sure he remembers me, and doesn¡¯t get any ideas. Then something happens that I was not expecting. He throws his head back and chuckles. The chuckle turns into a cackle then a full belly laugh that shakes his entire frame. He is still laughing when I push him down. Torran takes a slightly embarrassed expression as I draw him. He is completely naked and stands proudly, looking into the horizon. I, on the contrary, am not naked. I am wearing the tricorn. My hand flows on the paper, drawing lines while I commit the colors to memory. I am distracted by a splash behind me just as Torran looks on with alarm. I turn to see a fishwoman staring at us. She smells of magic. Shoo!¡± I declare. She does not react. Her eyes are fixed on Torran. I warn. She does not reply. A dark tongue slides from her lipless mouth, tasting the air. She then turns to me. she observes with a raspy voice. Then she¡¯s off. The carriage stops at the bottom of the manor¡¯s ascent next to a small gathering of buildings meant to house less prestigious human visitors. The door opens and I smile as my minions walk out with tired expressions. Sephare requested that I take over a district for her. It will require a solid dose of diplomacy and finesse. For the rest, I will have them. The first to step down is one of the Creek brothers, who took the name Crews. Crews wears Western frontier clothes mostly made of leather as well as a war axe which is currently tucked away in his luggage. He greets me with a silent nod and lines up to wait for the others, his one surviving eye coldly inspecting his surroundings. Crews is a man of few words, even before losing an eye to the Merghol hounds. It is now hidden behind an eyepatch that does little to mask the impressive claw scar on his cheek. The second man to climb down is David King whom I bought in Kentucky, after his father asked this of me as a dying wish. The free man now sports a cowboy hat and a most impressive bushy beard. Oh yes, he will do nicely. He tips his hat and goes by Crews¡¯ side. I eagerly await the next two. First comes John with a beatific look on his horrifying mug. By the , but did I miss the big oaf. He drags his wife behind him, whom I meet for the first time. Six feet three, brown hair, blue eyes. The build and face of a veteran British grenadier. Oh my. I feel so very sorry for their children. If one person¡¯s appearance could be improved by being smacked in the face with a brick, it will be what comes out of that... woman¡¯s nethers. , why did I even think about that? Arg. Some things should never be. Unaware of my growing horror, John jumps forth to introduce me to his slightly bashful absolute mudspout of a woman. I smile at the pair and wish them my best wishes for their matrimony, exerting once more all of my self-control and vampiric poise to chase the image of these two together from my vulnerable psyche. S?a??h th? N?v?lFir?(.)n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. John is completely oblivious to my discomfort. He just bounces around with beatific happiness while his snaggletooth trog of a wife looks on with a mix of apprehension and distrust I associate with women fearing a rival. I would like to comfort her and assure her that she has nothing to fear, the two of them being in a category of their own. Possibly a species? I refrain. It would be in poor taste to do so and although I mock the woman¡¯s appearance in my mind, I have no reason to offend her in reality. And so, I smile and play the good host. John and his wife shall have a separate house for the duration of their stay while the two others have single rooms in the barracks. Solveig already arranged everything at my bequest. As I am about to turn around, I am surprised to see both Lady Sephare and Lord Jarek ride down the slope on nightmares. Jarek¡¯s humongous mount makes every mortal take a step back. the Hastings woman starts with a honeyed voice, Her face betrays nothing and her tone is just as pleasant as before. Still... Have I just been firmly rebuked? I have no idea. I reply somewhat defensively. the Lady smoothly replies, before leaving. I am still not quite sure whether or not she¡¯s mad. Instead of following her, Jarek climbs down from his monstrous charger and silently steps to John. He¡¯s completely ignoring me. I realize with surprise that they are about the same size, which places both in the category of height of people who always bend a bit before entering any buildings. They face off in perfect silence. Then, with slow purpose, Jarek grunts and takes a strongman posture, contracting arms and chest to display his impressive muscles. John is different. He is not as lean and corded as the ancient vampire. His body is broader but also just a bit softer. He looks a bit less like a trained knight and more like someone who could break a bear¡¯s spine with his bare hands then carry the carcass over his shoulder to the nearest town. John turns to me. I don¡¯t know what to do so I just sign ¡°go ahead¡±, which means that he will do as he pleases. My loyal defender huffs and puffs and places his fist over his head, his shirt protesting the abuse. Three buttons are on the very edge of popping, held together by faith and stubbornness. The two hold the pause for a few seconds. Then they both deflate at the same time. They shake hands. Jarek climbs back on his horse and leaves without a word. He still hasn¡¯t acknowledged any of us. I am at a loss. Is this a mortal thing? I turn to John¡¯s wife who looks just as helpless as I do. Or at least I¡¯m pretty sure she does. Hard to tell for sure. I take a few seconds to recover, then direct everyone to where they belong. Enough silliness. We have a city to take. Chapter 83: Divide and Conquer The planning phase of the conquest takes me by surprise. I expected many things from Lady Sephare: a cold and reptilian intellect, an impressive network of informants, a secret army¡­ something! I also expected her to give me a precise plan that I would have to follow since she is the leader in this operation.I was terribly wrong. I do not know if the difference stems from culture or her personality, however what is certain is that Sephare¡¯s approach to strategizing is unlike anything I have ever experienced before. And yet, I cannot deny its efficacy. First, she invites me for tea, again, and spends an entire hour questioning me about my takeover of Marquette. How did I proceed? Who did I recruit? What structure did I use? How did I handle the problems I faced? The questions are many and apparently important, since she asks me to elaborate on several occasions, never interrupting me. The next set of questions are even more curious. What opportunities did I miss? What do I regret? I do not understand why she asks these questions yet I answer, with the belief that she has more experience and a vested interest in her own success. Her inquiries are never personal enough to grate on me, and I have the distinct feeling that she is doing more than just preparing for the next task. She is assessing me as an ally, or even a rival which we will inevitably become if everything goes well. I have much to learn. Eventually, we move to another table containing a map of the district, and it is then that I realize the full extent of Lady Sephare¡¯s preparations. Washington is not as big a city, as I expected from the Capital. It is, in fact, two counties bound together artificially and placed under the direct control of the federal government. The location itself is the result of a compromise. Before the decision, it was mostly marshland. I am terribly embarrassed that a foreigner would teach me that. In any case, two counties make up Sephare¡¯s potential territory. To the east of the Potomac River, a federal city harbors the capitol and all the other important landmarks. To the west lies the city of Alexandria, an important slave trade location currently in decline, partly due to fear that the federal government will outlaw slavery within its own district. This is where Lady Sephare wants me to focus my efforts since I have ¡°just the right set of skills¡±. she says. I ask. Force them to negotiate or perish, make examples. Got it. And there lies her genius. She is alone, therefore she does not have the numbers to rule over an entire county, yet. By deliberately choosing a smaller city with a disproportionate political influence, she has made the best use of her means. This begs the question, why is she alone? Someone of her power should have a cadre of Masters and Courtiers surrounding her at all times. Perhaps she is the first wave, or an experiment, or perhaps It is something more sinister. Once more, I made an alliance with someone I did not fully understand and while it saved me before, it might just cost me in the future. In truth, I have rushed into the game with clumsy enthusiasm only to realize that I was surrounded by bear traps. Only my friends and Torran¡¯s interest have protected me from the consequences of my recklessness so far. This needs to change. Lady Sephare is the one I should emulate. She reveals little, learns much and weighs her decisions. Yes, I am convinced that she knows how to play. I still want to know why she is here, alone. I think about it as the meeting ends and she politely shoos me on my way. Back to my room, I pack my belongings and before I prepare for dawn, I do something I should have done before, ask Salim for a file on Sephare herself. Alexandria, District of Columbia, November 1833. John, Urchin and I are the last to arrive by carriage at the safe house Sephare has prepared for us. Alexandria is bordered in the east by the Potomac River, and the scent of muddy water battles that of misery to assault my senses. We are located at the southern end of town, and even from here I can see that the city was made by design rather than nature. Straight avenues split it in squarish blocks of perfect geometry, affording me and everyone else a commanding view of the land. As I step down, I spot a woman picking her nose five blocks away. The contrast between the regular lines and the outward signs of poverty defies logic. How can something planned so thoroughly also be so poor? Derelict warehouses and decrepit buildings outnumber affluent stores by a factor of five. The people in the street are clad in drab clothes, huddling in large groups and moving around with tense shoulders and shifty eyes. Here and there, manacled slaves shuffle forth under the vigilant eyes of their captors. Slave trade is the lifeblood of the city. Under the purview of the Franklin and Armfield Company which has the dubious honor of being the largest slave trading business in the United States, thousands of slaves are gathered each year to be sent to their Mississippi, Natchez and even New Orleans branches. The rest of the city is in economic decline and it shows. I can feel it. In the air floats a general miasma, a scent of anguish and rage, at lost opportunities and robbed freedom. It lacks the beautiful clarity of true anger I sometimes admire in my enemies. Instead, it worms its way in the heart like an insidious infection to sour everything and everyone it can affect. I close my eyes and listen. A few houses away, a man is beating a screaming child. Each meaty impact comes to interrupt an incoherent litany of supplications. It reminds me of Marquette, before I brought order to the chaos. Sometimes, I wonder if the mortals can truly be left to rule themselves. So many of them lack vision and long-term planning. So many struggle for power only to grab onto it with tooth and nail until one of their victims finally manages to take them down, screaming into the abyss. I shake my head. This is not the time to complain. With John, Urchin, and our luggage in tow, I climb up a set of stone stairs to what will be our temporary residence. The house is a three-story building surrounded by a garden protected from inquisitive eyes by a row of tall aspens. The wooden walls are painted the ubiquitous white, and the interior is soberly furnished and decorated. In other words, this building is completely unremarkable, which is exactly what we need. We let ourselves in. John will live here with both King and Crews until we can secure safer accommodations for them while Urchin and I will stay here during the whole operation. I let John explore while I climb down to the basement and my shared den. There, behind a fake wall, lies a secured and heavily enchanted gate. The workings themselves must have cost more than the entire edifice. Satisfied, I climb back up just as the two remaining members of the team join us. I drag everyone to the living room and they settle around the central table, upon which a map of the town was placed. ¡°I will now start the general briefing for this operation. As you all know, our goal here is to take over Alexandria from within, and that means going after every interest group that can stop us and bringing them to heel.¡± I place a few pins on the map as I continue my explanation. ¡°Fortunately, we will not have to take over major companies and the government as Lady Sephare intends to do it herself progressively over the next few months. As for our immediate targets, there are five: three gangs and two magic societies.¡± King raises his hand while idly passing a hand in his bushy beard. In order to fit in, he switched from a leather outfit to a more polished suit that marks him as a house slave. With his solid frame and placid face, he looks tame enough not to attract too much attention and intimidating enough that the local thugs will leave him alone. ¡°Yes?¡± I offer. ¡°How come there are so many? There are less than five thousand people living here.¡± ¡°Good question,¡± I reply, ¡°I suspect that the proximity of the capital caused the magic population to increase. As for the gangs, they are caused by a conjunction of poverty, human traffic, and the presence of docks. I do not believe that we will face anything unexpected. Keep your eyes open, in any case.¡± ¡°Of course.¡± ¡°Now for the plan, our best bet is to go after the different groups one by one, starting with the bottom of the social ladder. That means the gangs.¡± I point to the more affluent part of town. ¡°Over here are the Federals. They are almost legal, and they offer private security for visitors and businessmen alike. They operate a few loan sharks around town and control this area so I included them but I do not expect too much trouble. I will visit them tomorrow evening and talk to their director. The next two are more concerning.¡± I point at the docks. ¡°The riverside is under the domain of the Potomac Mudmen. They focus on smuggling and protection rackets, mostly, with some illegal fights on the side. They recruit from German and French immigrants and are relative newcomers around here.¡± s?a??h th? N?v?lFire.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. I then point at the slave pens. ¡°Those are the Pomm Street Ratcatchers. They are the most numerous group here, and the oldest gang around. They have the habit of starting fires in houses of people they don¡¯t like and since they control the fire brigade, extinguish it just a bit too late. Their other major source of income besides protection rackets is kidnappings. They have agents go over the North and find interesting black freemen, who they proceed to kidnap and sell here. The slaves are carried south, most of the time before they can be rescued.¡± I stop for a moment as King¡¯s massive hands clutch the table until the wood groans. ¡°Sorry,¡± he whispers, his eyes still shining with barely repressed hatred. ¡°As such,¡± I continue, ¡°they have the most money and power. Lady Sephare and I agree that three gangs is two too many. The Federals¡¯ illegal activities will be suspended and one of the remaining groups destroyed. After consideration, we have decided to ally with the Mudmen and destroy the Ratcatchers.¡± King visibly relaxes, while Urchin raises a hand. ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll take smugglers over kidnappers any day of the week, that said, why not take over the biggest group?¡± I nod to show my support. I encourage inquisitive minds, especially when they are employed in my service. ¡°We would prefer to keep this town¡¯s social structure mostly intact and cannot do so if the local hierarchy crumbles. The head of the Ratcatchers is a man who goes by Jed the Paunch. He has ruled the streets with an iron fist for the last ten years with the benediction of the local judge, with powerful lieutenants removed as soon as they became a threat. I estimate that, should I dominate him, he will lose the edge that allowed him to stay in power so far and fall within a week. His personality is simply too paranoid and aggressive to come to an amenable agreement without stripping him of his abilities, I¡¯m afraid. At the same time, there is no heir apparent to replace him should he fall. Any partial removal will lead to a struggle for dominance, so it makes much more sense to destroy the entire leadership in one blow and absorb the rank and file into a pre-existing organization.¡± I pause, considering whether I should share the rest of my thoughts. In the end, I decide to do it. ¡°He¡¯s also a despicable prick and I want him dead.¡± For some reason, all the others nod in understanding. ¡°Right. I will start working on the gang issue after I wake up. Tomorrow, I want King to find us a warehouse on neutral ground. Present yourself as my butler. Feel free to grease some palms.¡± ¡°Will do.¡± ¡°Crews, you stand out too much so I need you to stay hidden until we reveal ourselves.¡± The Creek warrior nods silently, a finger trailing the massive scar on his face. He is still wearing his hunter leathers and I see no reason for him to change. Unlike King, he will never fit in here. ¡°Good. You should rest tonight. Urchin and I will scout the town. Dismissed.¡± The tables at the King¡¯s Inn are spaced enough to grant their occupants some semblance of privacy. The white cloths and silver cutlery give it a luminous sheen, almost enough for everyone to forget the rampant poverty outside. The majordomo leads me forward with a light frown, hinting at the intense disapproval he feels. Mr. Cole is, after all, a married man. The unofficial leader of the ¡°Federals¡± gang is an old man with the weathered face of a career soldier. He sits ramrod straight in his chair, holding a book and sipping a tankard of ale. He lifts an imperious brow when I sit at his table without permission. The majordomo hesitates behind me, then decides to beat a hasty retreat. Tonight, I am wearing another elegant dress in pale blue unassuming yet of good enough make that those who see me would recognize affluence. Cole inspects me, then dismisses me almost immediately. ¡°Whatever you¡¯re selling, lady, I¡¯m not interested.¡± Indeed, his sin is not lust. ¡°I have a letter for you from the Premier Atlantic Bank. I suggest you read it. Now.¡± Cole frowns at my tone, but the mere mention of his main creditor brings fear where there was annoyance. Now, he stares at the piece of paper as if it were a bear trap. ¡°It would be in your best interest not to try my employer¡¯s patience, Mr. Cole.¡± The veteran businessman knows where this is going, I can tell. He may gamble with his money, and the bank¡¯s money, but not with his life. With shaking hands, he opens the missive and reads it with slow purpose. The message is short and unambiguous. We bought all of his debts and can freely repossess his home, his office and most of his assets. ¡°What do you want,¡± he asks in a low voice. His composure does him credit, though I can taste his terror and his stress on his perspiration and in the beating of his heart. The tip of my tongue slides over a fang. Patience. I am no glutton and there will be ample opportunities¡­ later. ¡°You are to cease all activities outside of your security business, including those pertaining to Wolfe and Jefferson streets. They will be taken over by my employer.¡± He probably has other activities besides those two loan sharks, but we have not found them yet. He does not need to know that. Anger manages to push his fear away. ¡°How do you expect me to repay you if you take away my income?¡± he hisses. An old round lady two tables away turns in our direction with the raptor-like focus of the consummate gossip. I lower my voice and lean forward. ¡°You will receive a two months moratorium on the interest payments if the transition occurs without a hitch. We would hold you personally responsible if something¡­ untoward, were to happen. I highly suggest you oversee the proceedings yourself.¡± ¡°Who the hell are you people?¡± ¡°That is not your concern. Good night, Mr. Cole, we will meet again.¡± I stand up and leave the noticeably paler man behind me. The Federals were by far the easiest target. Now, I can begin in earnest. The carriage deposits me in front of the office of the respectable Mr. Jones, harbormaster. I knock on the door of the large building and am quickly let in by an annoyed man with a pencil-thin moustache. ¡°What business do you have here?¡± he asks with as much disdain as he can gather. I ponder having John, who¡¯s right behind me, teach him some manners. Unfortunately, we are still in enemy territory and I need to keep a somewhat low profile for as long as I can. Frustrating. ¡°Mr. Jones is expecting me.¡± ¡°Is he now?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I add, with just a hint of pressure, ¡°he is.¡± The infuriating doorman takes in my appearance and finally recognizes the marks of understated wealth. ¡°Apologies, please come in.¡± We follow him inside and up a set of stairs to a cluttered office where the dockmaster awaits us. John takes position by the door, the easy smile on my host¡¯s face disappearing immediately. ¡°Are you¡­ Miss Lethe?¡± the old man asks, while nervously cleaning a monocle on an ink-stained waistcoat. ¡°I am. I require an introduction.¡± ¡°An introduction?¡± ¡°With your friends on Union Street. By the docks,¡± I continue. At the mention of his¡­ less savory acquaintances, Mr. Jones pales. He licks his lips as his eyes search for the exit, finding John in the way. ¡°I am not sure what you mean¡­¡± ¡°My employer is moving assets and we require additional security,¡± I soberly explain. Jones may look like a pleasant grandfather, but he has used the Mudmen on more than one occasion to quell unrest born from the low wages he pays his employees. As far as we can tell, he is one of their primary sources of income. ¡°Just business then?¡± the dockmaster asks, not believing his luck. I smile congenially. Indeed. Just business. For now. ¡°Well¡­ I suppose there is no harm,¡± he continues with clear relief. He still casts a dubious look at John. No one in their right mind would look at him and think ¡°peaceful financial transaction¡±. ¡°Let us go, then.¡± We walk along the river. At this time of the night, the silence is only broken by the sobs and prayers of living cargo, their stench and misery permeating the shore. One establishment is still open. The Mud Shack is a two-story building nestled between two warehouses. It is surprisingly large and well-lit, standing proudly as a beacon to drunkenness in the otherwise sleepy street. Men with keen eyes gather in packs, holding tankards and each other while singing rowdy songs. Their workman attire is so similar that they might as well be wearing a uniform. ¡°John, stay there,¡± I order my bodyguard after assessing the crowd. Jones looks back but does not comment and we soon reach the edge of the halo of light surrounding the Mudmen¡¯s retreat. Immediately, five different men gaze at us. When they recognize my companion, they lower their guard, though their eyes still follow me as I make my way to the door. We come in and I see that I was right to leave John outside. The Mud Shack¡¯s main floor is covered with round tables around which a good forty people have gathered. Not all of them are gang members, there are also dockers and day laborers. They are clearly happy to be there. The only members of the fairer sex are three serving girls and a barwoman. Not all gangs are averse to women in their ranks. The Ratcatchers employ grifters, con artists and pickpockets while they also have their own ladies of the night. In that case, women usually form a different subgroup within the organization with their own leaders and structure. The alternative is to leave the women home and consider them as civilians. This is the way the Mudmen went. If my intuition is correct, I will be received with less suspicion but it will also be significantly harder for me to be taken seriously. Taking John inside would have been perceived as a challenge. The hollow-eyed barwoman inspects me with palpable hatred. Perhaps it is my new dress, or the fact that I have all my teeth and do not smell like a barrack? Who knows? In any case, she quickly weighs my presence against the fact that I am led here by Jones and does what every good subordinate does: she lets her superiors decide. With a quick gesture, she directs us to a backroom. I manage to make it through the crowded room without errant hands trying their luck. At least they are well-behaved. Without a word, we make it to the backroom where six pairs of eyes watch us in silence. Four belong to poker players armed to the teeth. Guards. Inconsequential. The last two are the power here, the decision-makers. I can tell from their fearlessness, their pride, the way they look down upon us despite our superior social status. They make me want to kill them here and now, watch the horror and the pain in their eyes as I slaughter every last one of them and claim the place as my own. The drive to kill surges in my heart, only to be extinguished just as quickly. I am patient. They will bow, in the end. This is just a small part of the true game. ¡°Jones? Who is this?¡± ¡°Ah, my dear Ritter, this is Miss Lethe from Boston. She asked me to introduce the two of you.¡± I take in the leader of the Mudmen. Ritter is a man of medium height in his early forties. He has the body of a worker gone to fat, with a potbelly and solid arms. His hair sprouts from his scalp in undisciplined clumps but his moustache is perfectly groomed, and his light blue eyes show cunning and impatience in equal measures. His companion is much younger, with shoulder-length sandy hair and clear brown eyes. He wears the same attire as the rest of the gang with some extra attention to his appearance, like a colored scarf and a necklace. Just enough to be noticed. I decide that he is probably a prot¨¦g¨¦. ¡°Hear that lads? We¡¯re famous,¡± Ritter says with a gravelly voice. His stooges chuckle obligingly. I have two ways to do this. I could play the temptress, mixing elegance with just a bit of flirtation. This would position me as a ¡®traditional¡¯ woman and guarantee a polite distance. It could, however, backfire when they realize they will be working for Lady Sephare. The second way is to come out as an off-man. It would deprive me of my civilian status, in exchange for a more equal relationship. I will go with that. I step forward, overtaking Jones. Immediately, the smiles turn to cold masks. ¡°My employer believes we have a common problem.¡± ¡°Who is that employer and what problem would that be?¡± ¡°We will remain anonymous.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t think you will,¡± the man says as he stands up. Jones retreats to the side while the guards form a half-circle at my back. Ritter closes the distance between us with his pretty boy by his side. He invades my personal space. His breath reeks of cigar. ¡°Now¡­¡± he begins, then stops when he feels the cold business end of a concealed pistol pointing at his unmentionables. TOO CLOSE. SLAUGHTER THE SHEEP. No. Our eyes meet. I do not try to Charm him as there is no need. Then, slowly, Ritter smiles. ¡°You¡¯ve got stones, woman, I¡¯ll give you that.¡± With a handwave, he sends his men to sit back down and takes a respectful step back. He walks back to his desk and pours himself a glass of liquor. ¡°I¡¯ll hear you out, but watch your words.¡± ¡°We want the Ratcatchers gone.¡± That got their attention. I hear gasps and accelerating heartbeats all around as they realize the enormity of what I just said. To me the Ratcatchers are just one hurdle on the path but to them, it has been the dominating force in Alexandria for years. Always, they have had to live with that shadow. ¡°If it were so easy, we would have done it already, woman. You want to bring in an army?¡± ¡°I only need access to their leaders including Jed the Paunch. We will take care of the rest.¡± Wallace scoffs, his disdain clear. He does not think much of outsiders, an arrogance born from half a decade of unchallenged power. He is wrong. It is a mistake to believe that a stable situation will remain so in the future. A crown can be lost in a day. I hope that Jed has formed a similar bias¡­ Eventually, greed and hope overtake the man¡¯s caution. I can tell that he does not truly believe I will be successful. It is chaos that sways him, and hope that I will upset the Ractcatchers enough to damage their position in the city. ¡°In three days, there will be a Death Dance. It¡¯s an underground tournament that occurs every year with a good amount of money to be won. All of the Ratcatchers leaders will show up with their champions. Not that it matters. The Crusher is undefeated.¡± ¡°A contest of pugilists?¡± ¡°Bare-knuckled, vicious fighting. Crusher¡¯s been earning his nickname for a while now. Only the desperate and the insane join the fight now. Fresh faces looking to make a name, debtors, slaves looking for freedom, take your pick. It¡¯s still bloody fun. Just, people bet on how long the guys will last.¡± ¡°Do they accept new entries?¡± ¡°Yeah, you can join the tournament, but didn¡¯t you hear a word I say? Whoever you throw in there¡¯s either defeated by a contestant or killed by that monster.¡± I cannot help the slow, slow smile creeping on me. All of the Ratcatcher leadership under a single roof? A distraction? This is just perfect. ¡°Do not concern yourself, Herr Ritter. I have just the man.¡± Chapter 84: Bloody Games I miss the opera.The entertainment is better, and the spectators at least make a token attempt at maintaining personal hygiene. The Ratcatchers¡¯ Death Dance venue is a repurposed warehouse with a circle of sand in its midst overlooked by rickety ¡®lodges¡¯. I am in such a lodge now, with Urchin by my side. All of the remaining ones are occupied by the Ratcatcher leadership. On occasion, Jed the Paunch will ¡®invite¡¯ one of his subordinates for a private talk that will leave the poor bugger pale and sweaty. I can track the small signs of concern on his rotund face. Even from here, I see the grease-stained shirt straining to hold his expanding gut. He does not even have a neck. Instead, his repulsive face is ringed by a circle of worm-like flesh covered with coarse hair. I bet I could run a lantern for weeks on the fat of his body. I would not, of course. The stench¡­ His concern is well-deserved. John has gone through the brackets like a stiletto through the skin, taking everyone by storm. None so far managed to stem the placid violence of the man they have come to call Jolly John. My faithful servant is far from invincible. He lacks the adaptability and quick-thinking that defines true genius. He does have his strong points. I remember Ritter, the Mudmen boss, telling me that he was too soft. The gang leader took a look at my aide and dismissed him as powerful but otherwise harmless. Not a true warrior. He is somewhat correct: John will not fight as a first reaction. He is pure and innocent, unwilling to hurt those around him. Unless, of course, I give him the order. The beauty of perfect control is that John fights with no hesitation and no remorse. If I order a man killed, that man must die. It is right, because Ariane ordered it, and so it shall be. And killed he has. When I picked him up in Marquette, John was skeletal. It took me a full year to have him recover enough to work. Since then, he has been my bouncer, bodyguard and on occasion, knee-breaker. The truth is, John is both very well trained and experienced. His perfect memory extends to patterns and techniques, and though he does not always understand which one to use, he is quick to remember even the most complex of instructions. The result is an incomprehensible warrior with savagery but no ego, technique but no imagination, and caution without fear. I considered using Urchin in his stead, unfortunately, it would not do. Urchin is still too raw to win without moving at an unnatural speed and he is also quite short. In the minds of people, pugilists must be big and brawny. If he wins too often and too strangely, it will not only attract undue attention. He will also be accused of cheating. Image is everything in entertainment. As a result, I have relied on John. Tonight, we have gathered for the final match. Around the arena, men and women sit on chairs, crates and anything else they could get their hands on. Alcohol and conversations flow free in a strident cacophony. Scantily-clad girls cling to the arm of the more well-off gang goons while others, the grifters and con artists, gather in mocking groups who tease passing men and sometimes even relieve them of their purses. Some attendants drink, some scream, and a few have even set up an improvised ring where the hot-blooded may get a sample of the spectacle to come. The smell of sweat both fresh and old mixes with that of old wood and spilt beer to form the classic mix I expect from frontier watering holes. The main difference is the energy. The taint of despair permeating the city here turns into frenetic and deleterious energy. Hearts pump fresh blood to minds already intoxicated by the promise of violence and blood to be shed. I see it in their frantic eyes, the way they lick their lips and the manner in which they track movement at the periphery of their vision, hunting, searching, waiting for the coming of the gladiators. For those who will kill and die to enter the fray. Hail Caesar, those who will die greet you, captives used to say. But alas, the coliseum here is a decrepit dump and the imperator was replaced by a bulging sphere of suet, a disgusting mass that not even the most corrupt of emperors would have devolved into. Sometimes, life is a tragedy. Sometimes, a farce, and here the first act. A man appears from the changing rooms as if by magic, wearing an impeccable black suit over a white shirt. He holds a top hat in his gloved hands, which he waves about to attract the crowd¡¯s attention. Progressively, the humdrum of conversation dies down until his stentor¡¯s voice prevails over the remaining din. ¡°Ladies and Gentlemen, fine people of Alexandria, good evening! The moment you have been waiting for has finally come! Tonight, two men will give it their all in a contest of brawn and will. Tonight, two men will enter the arena for your greatest pleasure and tonight, only one will come out!¡± The audience screams with bloodlust. This is what they are here for. ¡°Please enjoy this show brought to you by your host, Jedediah Collins!¡± The toad-like creature slightly bends forward while the crowd applauds, momentarily sobered. For one moment, I wonder if he will collapse under his own weight. Fortunately for him, gravity proves itself unequal to the task of felling him. It appears that I have to provide a helping hand. ¡°And now, for our first contestant! He has taken the tournament by storm, defeating one opponent after another. The Frontier Felon, the Simple Savage, the man from the West who goes after the best! He has shown that he¡¯s not a man to be trifled with, and his fists could chip rock! Ladies and Gentlemen¡­I give to youuuuuu JOHN DOE!¡± The audience yells and jeers, the support from outsiders and equal-opportunity enthusiasts barely enough to cover the booing fury of the most fervent Ratcatchers. John follows a pretty girl inside while from the changing room, I catch a glimpse of King giving me the ¡°all-normal¡± sign. So, Jed did not try to hedge his bets. Color me surprised. He must have complete faith in his champion. John looks impressive in a thin white shirt that shows exactly how impossibly massive he is. His ugly face is calm, showing no emotion at all. He searches me and finds me above him in the lodges. Our eyes meet and I nod to him. John has his instructions and he will follow them to the best of his abilities, this I can count on. I saw the Crusher fight. I give my servant an even chance to win. Of course, the plan does not rely on his victory and should he be too much at risk, I would intervene. I will not lose John over some silly influence game. What matters is the diversion the fight provides. The Ratcatchers are on their home ground and the Crusher is a kind of legend himself. They want to see him win. They like to see him win. The bloodier, the better. The sheer emotional investment will keep their attention below, while Urchin and I can do what we came to do. ¡°But in the challenger¡¯s path lies a man we know and love. A man we fear! A man who eats steel and spits out nails for breakfast! A man who has ruled this arena undefeated for the past fiiiiive years! Can you bring him? Can you call his naaaaame?¡± The crowd, only too eager to obey, summons their champion with that very peculiar mob voice born of a hundred throats. ¡°Cru-sher! Cru-sher¡± And the man obliges. Jumping out from behind the curtain leading to the changing room, the Ratcatcher champion, Jed¡¯s bodyguard and lunatic extraordinaire, struts forward. He practically jumps on his feet. Now I realize why Jed did not take the chance to poison or incapacitate John. He believes he has no need. I have seen intoxicated men in my life, including those who become irrationally aggressive under the influence of alcohol, and the Crusher is at the deep end. Whatever Jed fed his attack dog is an order of magnitude more malicious. The Crusher¡¯s scarred face shines with nervous perspiration. The dark orbs of his eyes shift, bloodshot and manic, then dart over the room before landing on John with monomaniacal intensity. He licks his flush lips with a bloated tongue. I can see veins pulsing under his shaved scalp. This man is insane. If he was not before, he is now. USELESS. BROKEN TOOL. The madman steps into the sand ring to everyone¡¯s great enjoyment. He grunts and hollers, and the crowd echoes him in great waves of screams. Like a broken chorus. Oh, do I miss the opera. Finally, the room settles enough for the announcer to order everyone out of the fighting grounds. Employees darken lanterns until only the ring itself is fully visible to mortal eyes. John stands placidly at one end, as calm and gathered as if he were at dinner. Facing him, the Crusher paces on his side like a caged beast. Spittle foams at the corner of his mouth as he growls and mutters imprecations. ¡°Let the fight¡­ begiiiiiiin!¡± I clutch the railing before me, feeling a change in the atmosphere. It tastes like inevitability. The Crusher jumps forward, only to stop a few feet away from John who is already prepared to receive him. My servant stands low with a fist forward, offering as little a target as possible. Even then, he looms over his opponent. As for the Crusher, his guard is more fluid as he jumps from side to side. His muscles are lean and corded and he looks like one solid mass of spite. ¡°You dumb fuck! Dumb fuck!¡± he screams. Then, with great speed, he feints left and low, hits right and upwards. I have watched the Crusher¡¯s previous matches. The man has predictable patterns for those who know how to look. It would not matter to most, as the man can win most matches through speed, strength and unbridled violence alone. It matters to John, and so I trained him for hours in preparation for the confrontation by imitating his foe¡¯s most common moves until he could defend against them. The feint does not work, though the strike was still too fast for my servant to dodge completely. The uppercut slides along ribs while the Crusher pulls back and manages to deflect the counter-attack from smashing his face to just impacting his shoulder. The crowd roars. They have a match, and we have our distraction. I signal Urchin who opens the door leading to the platform outside and the stairs leading below. A man in a stained waiter uniform turns his head when he notices us. Urchin bids him come closer with a gesture. The man blinks and his eyes turn glazed. He closes the distance while I put on my mask, in case I get spotted. Urchin seizes the waiter by the throat and kills him, gesturing with his left hand to take the man¡¯s falling platter before it can hit the ground with a clang. Then, we are off. I turn left while he turns right. As the crowd roars, I open the door to the next lodge to the surprise of one of Jed¡¯s lieutenants and his bodyguard, slicing their throat under the cover of bloodthirsty screams. In the ring, John and the Crusher probe each other¡¯s defenses with quick jabs and the occasional low kick. I look at the dead man at my feet. Harry the Minge, according to Urchin¡¯s intelligence gathering. He was responsible for the Ratcatchers¡¯ staff from task distribution to recruitment. Next lodge, Velvet, the gang¡¯s resident Madam. On the opposite side of the circle, Urchin steals a gun before it can be fired and practically decapitates Elbow Jim, the ¡®head¡¯ of their protection racket. Our eyes meet briefly. He is doing well. Below, the exchange between combatants is getting fierce. The Crusher throws a right hook then dives, taking one of John¡¯s legs. John immediately encircles the other man¡¯s neck and leans forward, using his free leg to maintain his balance. He moves backwards and to the side when his foe presses on and otherwise punches him in the ribs. After a few seconds the Crusher gives up. He pushes John back with a parting left jab that hits my servant in the temple. John retaliates by digging his left foot in the sand and throwing a devastating right kick that catches the madman in the thigh and sends him reeling. John shakes his head and starts moving again. ¡°I¡¯m going to kill you, dumb fuck! I¡¯ll kill you slow and everyone will love it!¡± The crowd is on fire. In the lodges, Fast Jack and Crude Kurt die a silent death. In the ring, the fight gains in intensity as both opponents get used to each other and start taking risks. Most blows are dodged, deflected or blocked but still they fight with bare knuckles and the sounds of impact is loud enough for even mortals to perceive over the whispers and jeers. John is still fine, but he is just one simple man while Jed¡¯s drug-fed hound looks too excited to feel anything. He even laughs after some of the strikes. ¡°You stupid, dumb fuck! You can¡¯t do shit! You¡¯re just a fucking dumbass!¡± Both combatants are bloody. John is slowed, and I see some anguish on his normally unflappable face. He is in PAIN. MY SERVANT. No, I must trust him. Mortals should never be underestimated and this applies to the ones I picked myself. Pride is ever our greatest weakness, and to think only I can be depended upon is a clear sign of it. Let them make mistakes and suffer. It is also how I grew. Instead of acting. I move to the last lodge. Below, the fight is taking a turn for the worse. The Crusher is still not feeling pain. His attacks are relentless and drive John into a corner. My servant buckles. His breath is panicked, pained, and too fast. I need to hurry. I enter the last lodge on my side, just as Urchin disappears to complete his last objective. Jed is bent forward, staring at the show before him while munching on a chicken leg. Half-cleaned poultry bones litter the ground at his plump feet. Two bodyguards turn when I come in. I kill them with a dagger through the brain and hold their bodies as they fall. ¡°Yea, kill him!¡± Jed blurts. A piece of chicken skin glides through the air, leaving behind a trail of spittle. Need to act fast. I step forward, then stop. Beneath us, the Crusher had been increasingly red tonight, now though, I notice that he is a strange shade of purple. Could it be¡­ The Ratcacher champion stops. He raises a hand to his heart, frowns. John stops hyperventilating. He takes one last seismic breath and lowers his turtle stance. John bellows The yell pierces through the screams, the laughs and the encouragements. It pierces through the smacked furniture and applauses. It pierces through the very night as John moves. His fists blur as he abandons any pretense at defense or even at breathing. Then, John goes to town. The Crusher attempts to protect himself, in vain. John is a hurricane of knuckles and imbecilic rage, as relentless and unimaginative as an avalanche. Punch punch punch punch kick punch. He does not relent, not even to breathe, and the flurry of blows eventually pierces through his foe¡¯s guard, first with glancing blows, and then more consistently. The champion stumbles to the side, offering his back to John who smashes the exposed neck with a two-handed hammer blow. The Crusher is not even screaming anymore. John circles the man¡¯s neck with his massive arm and turns around, lifting the bruiser as if he were a bag of grain, then he places the man¡¯s neck on his own shoulder, his own two hands under the jaw and pulls. The snapping sound resonates like thunder. Wow. The Crusher¡¯s corpse falls to the ground, the head at an impossible angle. Hmm. I do not know what to say! Silence, sudden, deadly silence spreads over the room. It is¡­ over? I was not expecting this at all. You did it, you magnificent bastard. You won. John, bloody and hurt, covered in shades of expanding red and blue, John the underdog, but John victorious, turns to the crowd and lifts his humongous hands up. ¡°Who¡¯s the dumbass now, huh? Huh?¡± Cries of outrage now sound across the room. Jed somehow manages to jump to his feet, thus violating several rules of physics and inertia. He points a wavering finger at the man below him, who robbed him of his prizefighter. His shrill voice cuts through the chaos ¡°Seize him! He¡­ AAAAAA!¡± Many heads turn to us at the interrupted speech, their eyes going wide as saucers as they register that the gang boss is bent forward over the railing by a woman in a mask holding a pistol. Screams of fear and surprise now overcome those of anger. The mob shifts and roils, looking around at the noticeably empty lodges. I like that moment. The reveal. The moment they realize their castle of cards is folding after almost ten years of stability. All it took for us was to open the door and the winds of change sent the whole edifice crumbling. They realize their strength was merely an unchallenged weakness. And the thing the survivors of the purge to come will remember is that one white mask, basked in the light of dimmed lanterns above the bleeding corpse of their deposed tyrant. I pull the trigger. The detonation is deafening. A woman faints as pieces of brain splatter in and around her cleavage. That will not wash off. Some rush to the exit, some try to climb up, some go for the stairs. John is long gone, using the confusion to slip away with the help of King and Crews. I shoot my other pistol at a man grabbing a rifle for good measure and throw a lantern into the small bar on the side, then calmly leave the lodge. It feels amazing to let go a little after all those days spent skulking around. I take a deep breath, regret it instantly, and join Urchin near the stairs. He holds under his claws a dazed accountant desperately trying to keep his monocle from hitting the ground. We find a window and jump down next to utter chaos. Outside of the warehouse, a large group of Mudmen carrying truncheons were waiting for the signal to engage the fleeing Ratcatchers who are, quite ironically, caught like rats in the ensuing ambush. The combatants are now engaged in a desperate melee, with my allies acting like you would expect from someone with a blunt weapon, a target, and five years of pent up frustration. I quickly close the distance where my men are standing, next to a miserable John. ¡°How are you, dear?¡± ¡°It hurts, miz Ari.¡± ¡°Let¡¯s have a look,¡± I announce as I grab a first aid kit from a nearby barrel. We are at the back of the Mudmen lines and already a few concussed idiots are dragging themselves away. ¡°Miss? Could we go?¡± I turn my attention to Crews who unexpectedly talked first. I arch a brow in wonder. ¡°You mean¡­¡± He silently points at the ongoing brawl. ¡°Fair enough, be sure to return before dawn yes? And don¡¯t kill any allies.¡± ¡°Thanks.¡± And off he goes. Next is King who raises a surprisingly delicate hand. ¡°You too?¡± ¡°Do you have any ideas how many times those assholes called me a n¡ª¡± ¡°Oh, very well, off you go then. Same instructions.¡± King sprints away, gaining speed before jumping feet first into a Ratcatcher¡¯s face. ¡°Milady,¡± Urchin asks in turn. ¡°Seriously?¡± ¡°I¡¯m a bit thirsty as well.¡± ¡°Just go, I¡¯ll keep an eye on our¡­ guest,¡± I add, as I look at Urchin¡¯s captive currently hugging the floor and whimpering. My minion goes off to join his comrades in arms while I tend to John¡¯s many cuts and bruises. Nothing broken, apparently, but he should still rest for at least a week. ¡°I won,¡± the large man observes. ¡°That you did, John, it was an impressive fight.¡± ¡°It was hard,¡± he continues in a soft voice, then after a while, ¡°he was smaller but it was still so hard.¡± I continue cleaning and bandaging. ¡°I thought I was the strongest besides you. Now there are other strong people, like Urchin. Or that man with the grey hair. And that very tall man at the castle. There are many people and they are all very strong. Stronger than me.¡± I had not realized he was suffering from his circumstances until now. ¡°What can I do? I am not special anymore. I am just dumb now.¡± ¡°You do not need to be the smartest or strongest to be by my side. Besides, the Crusher cheated,¡± I interrupt him, trying to assuage his fears. ¡°Is it the kind of cheat that makes him lose the match if people know?¡± With the announcer in Jed¡¯s pocket? On their home ground? Not a chance. John reads my silence with surprising accuracy. ¡°Then it does not matter that he cheats.¡± ¡°John, you can¡¯t be the best at everything. I am not the best at everything. We can only improve ourselves and rely on each other, yes?¡± ¡°I want to be the best,¡± he replies softly, looking into the distance. In a way, I understand him. It feels good to be respected for your expertise, even if others share it. I am not sure what to say. For the first time since I picked him up more than a decade ago, I have not managed to convince him. John spends the rest of the night in silence. The man Urchin scouted then captured was in charge of the Ratcatchers¡¯ purse. With his¡­ enthusiastic contribution, we manage to recruit, eliminate or exile all of the remaining gang members as well as seize their assets in less than a week. The violence and suddenness of the assault gives them no time to recover and regroup. Soon enough, the Mudmen are left in charge of Alexandria¡¯s network of criminal activity. On a whim, I decide to allow Crews and King to handle the returning flesh traders coming here from the North to sell their kidnapped victims. They worked well and I find the reward appropriate. The warehouse we purchased at the Western edge of town soon becomes loaded with war prizes, legal documents and other confiscated goods. I spend a large amount of time suppressing reactions to our little takeover by convincing officials and journalists that they should focus on something else, for their health. This leaves me little opportunity to handle the rest and I end up accepting more than fifteen new recruits who prefer to join me instead of the Mudmen. I end up using them for patrols and intelligence. As for our allies, Ritter is fully occupied with glutting himself on the spoils of his erstwhile rival. The few times we meet, I obtain a new reaction I had expected. Fear. The tales of the masked woman fly around town from gossips to taverns. Most cannot attach a face to those rumors. He can, and he does not seem to be enjoying the experience. I understand him easily. I have already replaced one boss, why not another? As a result, he was more than eager to meet my ¡®employer¡¯, if only to avoid being next in line in the reshaping of Alexandria¡¯s underground power structure. That does not stop me from planting a few suggestions through Charm and bite among his most valuable subordinates, of course. I would be an idiot to trust him and his willingness to cooperate. Soon, we have a perfect map of the Mudmen and their assets, just in case we end up requiring a more¡­ aggressive approach to their management. Once I decide that the situation is well-enough in hand, I approach Urchin as he polishes his shoes near our de facto armory. He has taken my remarks to heart and gives more attention to his appearance now. The result is, well, better. I need to work on his poise more in the future. He does not walk, he lurks. ¡°Urchin.¡± ¡°Milady?¡± ¡°It has been a month since you became my follower, and you have now completed your first full operation in a satisfactory manner. I am pleased with your service.¡± S~?a??h the Nov?lF?re .??t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. For some reason, the poor Vanheim Courtier looks on in alarm. I can only presume that no one ever paid him any compliment without following it with a particularly horrifying betrayal. ¡°Th-thank you?¡± ¡°As such, I want to bestow upon you this gift I made,¡± I add, and offer him a small box. It contains a curved dagger made of a steel and silver alloy I made myself at the manor, with inlays enchanted at great cost by one of Wilhelm¡¯s retainers. The result is both elegant and deadly, allowing the wielder to stab and slice to his heart¡¯s content. The poor lad opens the box with reverent eyes, even waits for my approval to pick the weapon. He caresses its surface with his marginally less grubby hands and wonders at its exquisite make. I am quite proud of the result myself. ¡°No one has ever offered me anything. It¡¯s¡­ beautiful.¡± ¡°I am delighted to hear it. This blade will serve you well in the struggles to come.¡± ¡°We are doing well so far, are we not?¡± he mentions while looking at the plunder we gathered. ¡°Indeed. Sadly, this was the easiest target by far. We had good intelligence, the element of surprise and two vampires while they had no forewarning, no faith, and no magic. There was no real way for us to fail at this stage barring glaring incompetence. Those mages we must convince will certainly oppose us at first. You will have to be ready.¡± Against all expectations, Urchin jumps to his feet and stands tall and proud. In his case, it means he reaches just slightly below my nose. He then proceeds to bow with great energy, his beret falling from his scalp on the muddy ground. We are not quite there yet. Our next target designates itself when one of our newest recruits comes rushing the very same night. ¡°Boss lady, you said to tell you if there¡¯s anything weird going on, right?¡± ¡°What have you found?¡± ¡°Well you know that bookshop you asked me to look at, there are at least twenty people that went in, right?¡± ¡°Yes, and?¡± ¡°It¡¯s been three days and not a single one has come out.¡± Problematic. Chapter 85: The Library of Alexandria At the northern end of town, hidden between a cattle feed shop and a small glassmaker, stands the Alexandria Shop of Books Rare and Precious for the Discerning Gentleman. I immediately notice two major issues.The first, neither Urchin nor I are gentlemen. Second, there is absolutely no way that twenty people would fit in there unless the building also sports an extensive underground network, a stupid idea this close to the Potomac. Hypothetically, if a mage wanted to slay a vampire, an effective way would be to attract them into a closed environment then detonate it. It is how I would do it. At the same time, I was not baited nor do I have any reason to go there myself. ¡°Urchin, we will go down and ask some questions. If I tell you to start running, you do.¡± ¡°I understand, milady.¡± I gather my dress and we drop down from a nearby roof, then cross the deserted street to the entrance of the store. The curtains are fully drawn and the door, locked tight. I easily perceive enchantments of warning and reinforcement engraved into the solid frame. Those are permanent works and not the shoddy labor of a caster who expects to up and leave at the first opportunity. The perspective of some elaborate trap grows more unlikely by the minute. Only the most fanatical madmen would draw their enemies in the heart of their domain and destroy it around them. Satisfied, I do the most logical thing. I bang on the door. Urchin looks at me, askance, and I feel the need to explain. ¡°Lady Sephare bid us bring the mages to the negotiation table. There is no need for us to antagonize them if they bend willingly.¡± ¡°Are those men likely to accept her dominion?¡± ¡°Some will not, but some may, and it is them that will be of use in the coming years,¡± I reply as I keep smashing the wooden frame. ¡°I see,¡± Urchin replies thoughtfully. A moment later, the curtains part and reveal a panicked young man hastily fixing a monocle on one of his pale blue eyes, growing it to comical proportions. He bites an already bloodied lip and comes to a decision, opening the door between us. ¡°We-we¡¯re closed!¡± ¡°I am not here for the books,¡± I reply with a glacial tone. I expected many reactions, and yet I still find myself surprised at the sheer, pure expression of orgasmic relief on the meek man¡¯s face. ¡°Oh thank God, you are here to help? Right? Did someone get my message?¡± A message? Well, no reason to waste this opportunity. I give him my most genial smile and answer: ¡°Why yes, I am certainly here to help. Why don¡¯t you let us in and tell us everything we need to know.¡± ¡°Of course, of course. Sorry.¡± We follow the man, apparently a clerk if his sweaty clothes are any indication, to a short counter surrounded everywhere by bookshelves filled to the brim by tomes of all ages and sizes. The air smells stale, the stench of the man¡¯s ripe sweat overloading the delicate scent of ageing paper. Powerful waves of magic surge from a massive cabinet placed against a wall on the right, the apparently unused space an anomaly in the otherwise cluttered store. The clerk sits down heavily into a battered chair, sending a loaded pistol clattering on the ground. I note with interest that the seat is facing the aforementioned cabinet. ¡°Oh, where are my manners? My name is Eric Booth. And, er, who might you be?¡± ¡°My name is Ariane and this is my assistant, Urchin,¡± I reply with a light smile. I do not use Charm, as I do not think it necessary. This man is desperate. He wants us to be his saviors and his addled brain will naturally omit all the little details that should arouse his suspicion. ¡°No last name?¡± ¡°You should know better than to ask,¡± I chastise him with amusement, ¡°All you need to know is that we are only called when the situation is urgent. Speaking of which¡­¡± ¡°Yes, yes, my apologies. It¡¯s just¡­ I was getting desperate. It has already been a day, you see.¡± ¡°Why not start from the beginning?¡± ¡°Right! Right, so, the head librarian gathered everyone for his experiment, right? That was three days ago. I don¡¯t know much about what they were doing, only that it related to aligned spheres and some such, all hush hush spell thingies, right?¡± Oh no, please no. ¡°So, I was there last night minding my own business when I heard a terrible sound, like breaking metal. It was coming from the portal! I was close at that time so I jumped up and went to open it.¡± The first thing to do when magic acts erratically is to take cover and find protective equipment. This man is an absolute moron. ¡°So, I open it without worry and I hear the most horrendous screams! As if, er¡­¡± ¡°People were eaten alive?¡± I suggest helpfully. ¡°I guess? Hold on, you don¡¯t think¡­?¡± the clerk replies fearfully. ¡°Please go on.¡± Noticeably paler, the clerk continues with his recollection. ¡°I was looking down the stairs and then the lights started to flicker. Then after a while, I heard a noise, like something really heavy walking forward. I panicked and I closed the door and I¡¯ve been waiting here ever since. I managed to get a kid to send a message to magister Schultz. He must have received it since you¡¯re here.¡± Urchin hides his mouth behind a sleeve and whispers in a voice that only I pick up. ¡°There is a Schultz who died yesterday. He is the talk of the city, on account of dying after the consumption of an excessive amount of aphrodisiacs. It could be the same person.¡± I would not be surprised. ¡°I did not know what to do so I just took a pistol and waited in front of the door. I only left to go to the lavatories, make food, make tea and find the 1628 version of Don Quixote that had gone missing.¡± The world is doomed. ¡°Thank God you¡¯re here now!¡± ¡°Indeed,¡± I reply drily, ¡°I would like to have a look at the library now.¡± ¡°But¡­ you are not exactly armed?¡± I take a long silver dagger from a sheath at my back and wave it under the clerk¡¯s nose. Tonight, I am not wearing my armor but a light grey travelling dress plus hood, currently lowered. Urchin wears a black ensemble under his unfortunate beret. The clerk swallows nervously before looking at my companion currently spinning my gift in the air. He then materializes two throwing knives from a side pocket and starts juggling. ¡°Right away then.¡± While the man fumbles with a keychain, I open the cabinet out of curiosity. Three empty ink pots and a crude drawing. The Clerk rushes by me, closes the door, locks and unlocks it. Along the frame, metal decorations in curls and spikes glow gold before fading away. The magic pulses once, then fades back to normal. Eric Booth pulls the door open, steps back and gestures wildly. ¡°Welcome, miss, to the Library of Alexandria.¡± I walk forth, speechless. My hand caresses a marble wall engraved with images of scrolls and books. Monumental stairs descend onto a platform below, lit by shining blue orbs fixed on the walls by sconces of polished bronze. Their shimmering glow reflects in the odd square of golden sheaf discreetly integrated into nearby carvings. With every step, the light shifts to focus on another detail, another scene. Here, the titan Prometheus grants fire to mankind, before being punished by an outraged Zeus. There, a Renaissance scholar dissects a man¡¯s body before an assembly of his peers. Astronomers work side by side with dragons, mathematicians with sphinxes in an impossible festival of colors. Runes in all shapes and sizes flash before my eyes, harmless yet distracting by their sheer number. Still amazed, I finally attain the landing to find myself in a circular room. Filled bookshelves cover the walls. Two alcove doors lead left and right while right in front of us, glassless windows with a stone railing show similar openings in the distance as if we were part of a building around a circular inner court of massive proportion. I do not see the floor from where I stand. This place¡­ IS AWESOME. By the I wish Torran were here to see this! Is this library as large as it looks? A hidden depository of magical knowledge exists here, below my feet! How I wish to explore it, plumb its occulted depths in the search of rare tomes and fantastic knowledge. I could spend years here, caressing those august spines and searching through ink of red and gold for that one pearl of wisdom, that one exquisite manuscript! Excited, I pick a book at random, marvelling at the quality of the preserved leather cover. I turn it around to read the title. Hmm. Well. I mean. It would be unfair of me to expect all of them to be life-changing masterpieces. Aww, this just ruined the mood. Bah, never mind, I am here to purge and subjugate. I shall not let such trifling matters affect me. Really. On a side note, I see no trace of eldritch invaders from another dimension just quite yet. There is however, a strange beastly musk in the air as well as the stench of stale blood and wastes, the source of which I promptly find. To the side of the room¡¯s only desk, I find a ghastly pile of purple leavings. ¡°What is that?¡± Urchin the city boy asks with a mix of disgust and fascination. ¡°A massive pile of excrement,¡± I suggest helpfully. He stares at me, askance, before coming to a revelation. ¡°Oh, I know this one! You just used a metaphor, right?¡± ¡°I¡¯m afraid not.¡± My fellow vampire appears troubled by the droppings. I suppose that both the size and the unusual color are a cause for worry. Ah, and speaking of the devil. ¡°Mr Booth, go back up the stairs please. Urchin, come here,¡± I order. The Vanheim vampire looks at me uncomprehending. ¡°Take out your dagger.¡± He materializes it mechanically. ¡°If I do not miss my guess¡­ Ah, indeed not,¡± I announce casually as heavy footsteps sound from a side corridor. Soon after, a head made of a large open maw surrounded by questing tendrils emerges from the door, sniffing the air with the power of a forge¡¯s bellow. ¡°What the hell is that?¡± Urchin hisses, panicked. ¡°Tut tut, language,¡± I chastise him, ¡°that is a Merghol mana hound and you¡¯re going to kill it.¡± Silence reigns as the creature steps in and turns towards us. ¡°I am?¡± Urchin squeaks. In answer, I boot the vile creature back from whence it came as it jumps at us and then gently push Urchin forward. ¡°It shall be your first time facing an inhuman opponent. Enjoy the practice, and do your best!¡± Thankfully the creature does not call for its brethren as it throws itself on Urchin with abandon. This specific hound looks like one of the middle-sized ones we faced near Marquette, with several physical differences that could be due to any number of factors. This creature¡¯s skin is purple, it is shorter and stockier than the others and possibly stronger, though it lacks grace. I encourage Urchin as he does his best to fend the creature off. ¡°To the left. No, the other left.¡± ¡°Focus, Urchin, you¡¯re faster than it.¡± ¡°Do not concern yourself with that knife, you can just fetch it back with your power.¡± ¡°Good one.¡± ¡°Stab under the maw to free yourself now!¡± ¡°That is fine Urchin, you don¡¯t even need all those fingers. They will regrow!¡± And finally, because I am losing patience and the smell of Eric Booth¡¯s empty bowels are trying my patience. ¡° Urchin, are you a sheep or a vampire? I With one last scream of rage and desperation, my subordinate jumps on the creature¡¯s back and stabs its spine, flanks and neck repeatedly until the thing stops moving. Behind him, a rumble announces the arrival of some more of the pack. I suppose we were a bit noisy. ¡°I will be right back,¡± I declare. I enter the corridor and find three hounds and, on the ground, an old splash of blood with bits of mangled fabric. I stab the first hound in the heart as it passes by, cleave through the second one¡¯s neck and break the spine of the third just for variety¡¯s sake. In this narrow corridor, they had to come after me one by one, making them easy targets. I clean purple blood from my long dagger on a nearby tapestry depicting a man conversing with a devil, then return to my allies. Urchin is on the ground, looking a bit blankly at the alien corpse before him. Booth is slowly stepping away from us and towards the entrance. ¡°That should be all for now. Urchin, stand up.¡± The man obeys. ¡°And you Booth, come back here,¡± I order without even a bit of compulsion. The man is a wimp and a glorified doormat, used to taking orders without question. ¡°Give me the key,¡± I order, and extend a hand in which he places the golden and intricate object. ¡°What sort of mages are you?¡± He asks with a trembling voice. ¡°The sort that can defeat those creatures,¡± I reply. He just accepts the explanation without complaint. I do not understand why a secretive organization would not use their best agents to guard the gates. This level of oversight is beyond ridiculous, a sign of unwarranted confidence and a complete lack of common sense. Now that I think about it, those morons apparently opened a portal and got eaten as a result so I should not expect too much. All that knowledge and no brains. Disappointing. ¡°Now, I need to check something. Wait here.¡± I approach the window to the inner court and look out and down. Right above me, a ceiling imitating a night sky blocks the way up, indicating that we are on the topmost level of the library. Below, the structure continues over seven floors before ending on a large circular plaza of white and black tiles, over fifty paces across. In its center, an elevated platform of rose stone serves as a ritual locus. It also serves, for now, as a portal between dimensions. A large crack in the very air tears the veil between realities in a show so strange that my mind revolts at the sight, my eyes slipping away from the rift. The edges of the opening glide senselessly inside of the circle, painting the room in ever-changing shapes of magenta. As I watch, another hound crashes in, then shakes its maw and bickers with one of its siblings already pacing the hall. Creatures such as this one patrol the ground, sniffing at demolished furniture, pools of blood, and each other. Their grunts and huffs offer a disturbing counterpoint to the portal¡¯s steady hum. Of the mages, very little remains, most of it smeared on the ground. The runes of the portal flare wildly one after the other without apparent rule. Every five seconds or so, the rift rotates abruptly. This spell is far from being stable and there is also a good chance that the Merghol hounds disrupt it by their very presence. They do feel queer, the aura around them empty and deleterious. If they truly are magical scramblers, I can already see a few problems looming. Loth was unusually thorough when teaching me the art of magic despite my own inability to cast. He started out of affection, but the real cause of his seriousness is the perfectionism with which he approaches every aspect of his craft. Barring demanding circumstances, Loth will not start any work that isn¡¯t worth being done perfectly. One of the first lessons he taught me was the importance of safety. He would drill it into my mind until it became second nature. I still carry in my mind the lessons he shared. ¡°If it¡¯s unstable, it¡¯s gonny explode, and it¡¯s gonny explode in yer face,¡± he would say. And other pearls of wisdom. ¡°If it can splash on yer fingers it can splash in yer eyes, on yer feet, and on the neighbor¡¯s dog.¡± ¡°Measure twice cast once.¡± And finally, my favorite. ¡°It¡¯s only when I¡¯m elbow deep in quicksilver that my arse starts to itch.¡± That last one I was thankfully spared due to my immortal nature. One must note that Loth had a vertical pole covered in dense boar hair specifically installed to remedy the situation. It pays to be prepared. In any case, if he were here he would have some choice words about the situation. An experimental spell is fizzling quickly. An experimental spell that played with the very fabric of the world in a field of magic I am unfamiliar with for the simple reason that it did not exist two years ago. I cannot even begin to consider what the worst case scenario is. We are in uncharted disaster territory. The real question here is, do I cut and run? I could leave Alexandria to its fate. It would be the most reasonable action, at least in the short term. However, I dismiss this thought as soon as it comes to my mind, and I know why. It is not duty, though duty plays a part. To flee now is to give up on not just the task I was granted, but also on my alliance with Sephare and, possibly, even Constantine. Who would respect a vampire who had a chance to stop the cataclysm and turned tail instead? I would not. In managing our territories, we are expected to solve supernatural threats if only because we do not tolerate competition. It is not greed either, though greed plays a part. I found a treasure trove and I resent the very thought of leaving it for alien beasts to despoil. Already, the signs of their presence in those halls of gold and marble fill my heart with cold anger. We stand in a hallowed place, a temple to knowledge and humanism. I will not part with it so easily, and yet, it is still not the true reason. The real cause is, of course, pride. Our greatest sin. The ever-present cause for our demise. I have been thinking about it. I believe that in order to become a Lord, the influence is required. The mark of a Lord is the , their strange power. When Lord Suarez demonstrated it against the Knight Squad, his eyes briefly flashed with the color of the vampire star. I know that I am relying on a vague impression or rather a hunch when making this assumption. It matters not. Hunches are born from instinct and experience, neither of which have failed me when it came to understanding my own nature. That influence will not be bestowed upon the meek, the useless and the stupid. Pride is simply at the heart of what we are. To deny it is to deny our nature. I cannot flee as surely as a fish cannot breathe air. ¡°Booth,¡± I ask, ¡°where would the notes on this spell be kept?¡± ¡°The¡ªthe mage quarters on the fourth floor, I believe. All their laboratories are there.¡± ¡°Excellent. I will need those to close the portal safely. For now, we must prepare.¡± ¡°Milady?¡± Urchin asks with doubt in his eyes. ¡°We came equipped for a diplomatic mission. This is now an extermination mission, and I need my gear for that. We will return to base and fetch our weapons.¡± Pride must be tempered with caution. ¡°You mean, a search and rescue mission, right?¡± our guide asks worriedly. ¡°Yes yes, Mr. Booth. A search and rescue mission,¡± I reply with rolling eyes. Perhaps I should have just bitten that idiot. According to our guide, the Library consists of seven main floors and an archive under the central plaza, which contains advanced magical knowledge and tomes of forbidden lore. In other words, the good stuff. The Fourth floor is dedicated to offices, quarters and laboratories. Enough for twenty people to conduct their research comfortably. All of the rift¡¯s preparatory work should be there. Booth was quite helpful in describing the architecture of the library. I ended up biting him because I cannot take the risk that he would grow a spine as Urchin and I conduct our search. It would not do to solve the issue, only to return and find out he somehow sealed us in. ¡°Milady, I am scared.¡± ¡°Then don¡¯t look down,¡± I reply drily. The stairs up and down are situated at either end of the circle and we would be guaranteed to get in combat with packs of the beast. Fighting now would be counterproductive. We need to close the portal first, then mop up. And so, we climb down the face of the inner court, using our claws to prevent an untimely fall onto the plaza. Also onto said plaza¡¯s fauna and strange magical phenomenon. Even now, the chaotic light coming from below casts strange shadows on the walls¡¯ white stone. Urchin slips. I dig one claw in the carved figure of a well-endowed nymph and grab my accomplice by the collar as he gasps. On the other side of the wall, a few huffs signify the presence of a hound. The creature is unimaginative, however, and after a few disappointed grunts, we hear it paddle away. I shove Urchin against a column which he clings to like an oyster to a hull, then resume my descent. A few seconds of muttered curses after, Urchin follows suit. Our climb ends without further incidents at the edge of the fourth floor. Looking over the railing, I immediately notice differences. While other floors are densely packed labyrinths of bookshelves around small study rooms, this one is almost entirely open. The gap in front of us opens into a vast study room dotted with support pillars and luxurious desks, all of which stand abandoned. A few doors on the opposite walls probably lead to the offices Booth described. Contrary to my expectations, the center path to the laboratories is currently sealed by stacked bookshelves and other various pieces of furniture. A quartet of hounds patrol the open space, occasionally prodding at the improvised barrier. I know what that means. Survivors. ¡°Urchin, take the beast on the right,¡± I order. ¡°The one currently licking its¡ª¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I answer tiredly, ¡°that one. On my mark. Ready? Go!¡± I charge and impale the first hound in the heart before it can even detect my presence. In one movement, I dig out the spear and plant a dagger in its companion¡¯s head, then complete the twirl with a thrust forward that ends with Sivaya¡¯s spearhead in the last creature¡¯s skull. I turn around and watch Urchin as he climbs on his hound¡¯s back, using his gift to stab the creature repeatedly without having to extricate his blades. The hound gasps in agony, its shrieks dying in what passes as its throat under the unimaginable pain. In only a few seconds, Urchin has dispatched his target which is, I will admit, a marked improvement. My minion stands up and turns to me, proud of his victory. He takes in the surgically dispatched targets and my waiting form, deflating a bit in the process. ¡°You did well,¡± I reassure him, ¡°much better than last time.¡± Carrot and stick, Ariane, carrot and stick. he offers, pointing at the barricade. I correct him, stressing his mistake. I sigh and we get to work. Our task is made more complicated by the need to stay relatively silent. We are forced to cooperate and create a small pile to the side. Fortunately, we receive unexpected help when someone else starts clearing the blockade from the other side. After one last bookshelf tucked away, I come face to face with an astounded wizard. He is rather short, with frizzy dark hair and curious brown eyes of noticeably different colors. His face is handsome, with a scar on his right cheek that grants him a rugged look. His aura is peculiar, as if it had depth. ¡°You are not from the Society,¡± he observes. Too late, I feel a small spell bouncing against my essence, tasting it. The mage reacts immediately by taking a nervous step back. He pales. ¡°Indeed not,¡± I reply with a fanged smile. The mage stumbles away and crosses himself. I do not feel the same threat as usual. Rather than pushing me away, he is simply accepting his fate. I use the opportunity to inspect him. He wears a beige suit and white shirt set I would expect from a well-to-do gentleman, though currently wrinkled and smelling a bit ripe. His right hand is clad in the most intricate gauntlet I have ever seen. While many mages will restrain themselves to a few combinations of runes for a good balance between power and versatility, the man facing me has clearly gone for specialization. He wields a tool, not a weapon. ¡°So, er, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?¡± he asks, a bit flustered. So very courteous. ¡°My name is Ariane, this is Urchin,¡± I offer. ¡°Oh, where are my manners? Ricardo Solo, at your service,¡± he answers with a short bow. The familiarity of those words help him settle. ¡°Charmed. Where were we? Ah yes. We were on our way to visit your most honorary Society as we meant to¡­ get acquainted with Alexandria¡¯s respectable citizenry.¡± ¡°As is our wont,¡± Urchin contributes. ¡°When,¡± I continue with a reproachful look, ¡°we came across a tear in the very universe and a cataclysm of biblical proportion in the making.¡± ¡°Not to mention those weird dogs,¡± Urchin continues, on a roll. ¡°We would be really interested in a way to close the rift lest it swallows us all and casts our wretched coils into the great beyond.¡± ¡°Preferably before the sun rises,¡± Urchin finishes, to my dismay. Solo¡¯s wary expression turns hopeful, which I always find curious in people I have half a mind to eat. ¡°Oh, then our interests coincide! I, too, would prefer not to be disintegrated into my component atoms. Should we work together?¡± ¡°That would be brilliant.¡± ¡°Then follow me, fellow, er, non-hostile sapient beings,¡± he declares with just a bit of hesitation, before heading back to one of the doors in the hallways beyond. As we step forth, Urchin leans towards me. ¡°Milady, I believe this man is a bit out there, if you catch my meaning.¡± ¡°Thank you for your valuable input, Urchin,¡± I retort. We follow the weird survivor to a side room clearly set to be a laboratory. Working stations line the walls, covered in protective white ceramic. The stone floor is corroded or oddly colored in some places, while to the side, our guest has set up an improvised camp. Several experiments are in progress, one involving temperature variation to condense the collected water which then drips into a beaker. Ricardo passes by and casually gulps its contents before moving on. We follow him to the largest table, set in the middle of the room. On it, a plan of the central ritual has been laid out with colored notes and pins stuck in strategic places. The complexity is breathtaking, and the difference to Semiramis¡¯ work is that this time, it is simple enough that I manage to grasp some of the underlying concepts. The ritual uses two batteries, one instruction set, a stabilizing array on a loop and coordinates based on resonance codes. ¡°Where did you get this?¡± I ask while pointing at that last component. The glyph used is unknown to me while the rest of the runes are typical Western Standard. ¡°Oh, a practitioner as well? You must be well-educated to understand the spell that quickly,¡± Ricardo answers. When I do not volunteer more information, he averts his eyes. ¡°To answer your question, there has always been a, er, background mana signature in the air. Recently, that background became much more stable though we are not sure how and why.¡± Because an old monster decided to play god. ¡°There are several sequences of mana waves in the air, which we can capture on an electrum sheet using an appropriate apparatus.¡± Pretentious. Silver ought to work just as well. ¡°A mage from Switzerland correctly identified that the waves were not one, but instead a multitude of sequences of various lengths. I surmised that the main sequence identified our own world due to its intensity and perfect stability while others are echoes of distant worlds. ¡°Those worlds move relative to ours and so their sequence is not perfectly stable, but thanks to a mathematical model, I was able to predict a time when a sequence would match a specific set of coordinates. Now, you have realized that the door to the bookstore manipulates space, correct?¡± ¡°Indeed.¡± ¡°I made it ten years ago. The framework is mostly the same, the main difference being said coordinates.¡± ¡°Impressive,¡± I note with grudging respect. The design is simple, clean and elegant. I remember that powerful casters age more slowly as they grow in power. For most, the slowing down occurs in their later years, meaning that most archmage gatherings look like geriatric wards. The fact that Ricardo does not look one year above thirty is a testament to his skill and power. ¡°We now face a complication. The portal was fed energy for two days, and should naturally close within the next eight hours.¡± ¡°Let me guess, we do not have eight hours?¡± ¡°Well, the coordinates are slowly changing as the connected world moves away from ours. It will place an ever-growing strain on the portal. There are also unexplained disruptions.¡± ¡°Probably those creatures.¡± ¡°Hmm, yes, likely. Whatever the cause is, the spell will go critical in less than three hours.¡± ¡°Meaning?¡± ¡°Remember when I talked about disintegration?¡± We both fall silent. ¡°I assume you have a failsafe?¡± I ask after a while with just a little bit of apprehension. ¡°I do. Please look at this section.¡± I follow his direction and find a sub-system of runes attached to the two batteries. It is part of the spell, and at the same time, it will not activate unless triggered separately. The glyphs for a sort of vent that should syphon out energy in record time. ¡°This looks promising.¡± ¡°It will close the rift almost instantly.¡± ¡°I feel a ¡®but¡¯ coming.¡± Ricardo looks aggravated. ¡°Obviously, I could not let anyone shut down my experiment with ease after all the work I put into it. In order to activate the failsafe, I must input a glyph code in a very specific order.¡± ¡°Let me get this straight. Your fail-safe, which you placed on an experimental work of great might with the potential to explode in your face and lay waste to the entire region, can only be used by you and takes seconds to activate.¡± ¡°A full minute.¡± ¡°By the !¡± ¡°How could I know that things could go so bad?!¡± ¡°Yes, how could the disaster occur with such competent people at the helm? I am positively flummoxed,¡± I reply with an acerbic tone. Ricardo crosses his arm on his chest and lifts his chin, a gesture that would be considerably more intimidating if he were not so short. ¡°So the rumors are true, vampires are creatures of sarcasm, eh?¡± I take a step forward and invade his personal space. ¡°You should simmer down before I remind you of what else we are famous for.¡± In this specific context, extreme violence. Ricardo understands my meaning clearly and raises both hands in a placating gesture. ¡°My apologies. You are correct, of course, there were¡­ oversights. Including on my part.¡± I step back, signaling an end to the hostilities. ¡°If I understand correctly, we need to get you to that part of the glyph and give you one minute of calm, is that correct?¡± I ask the mage. ¡°Yes, preferably before long.¡± ¡°Before we plan for that, I have another question.¡± ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°How come you are the only survivor?¡± I ask lightly. Mr. Solo frowns as he realizes that I boxed him against the table. My relative closeness makes him uncomfortable. ¡°I¡­ did not participate in the casting,¡± he admits, ¡°The design is mine but I wanted to wait another cycle to double-check my calculations. Hazel, er, that would be our previous leader, he wanted us to be the first to reach a new world. I have been corresponding with other researchers around the continent. We were at the vanguard of research, but Hazel wanted the prestige associated with a first successful rift.¡± ¡°So he cast it himself?¡± ¡°Him and our other senior members. They took some precautions, of course, they even kept everyone around with battle spells ready. I had taken refuge in an isolation pod in a nearby laboratory just in case. When nothing exploded, I came out to the railing to watch the completed ritual. When I approached, I heard screams, then I saw the moving blasphemy my creation had vomited into this world.¡± He shakes his head and grows visibly nervous. He grasps his hands tightly as if to exorcise the memories from his mind. ¡°The screams, my god. Our spells did nothing against the creature. They only seemed to energize it. Then another came, probably attracted by the smell of blood, then another. There was nothing I could do. I retreated here and prepared a desperate plan to close that portal before it swallows us all.¡± Ricardo shudders and averts his eyes, now brimming with unshed tears. I feared that he may be dangerously cold, and I was mistaken. He merely postponed his grief and his horror. There is no deception in him, I am sure of it. ¡°Could there be any other survivors?¡± He considers the question for a moment. ¡°I find it extremely unlikely but yes, someone may have locked themselves in one of the reading rooms on the first floor. They are specifically designed for isolation and privacy.¡± ¡°Why?¡± I ask excitedly, ¡°are those where the books of hidden lore are stored?¡± ¡°Not¡­ exactly.¡± I look on with confusion. ¡°Well, the first floor contains a very expansive collection¡­¡± Ricardo continues sheepishly ¡°Of what?¡± I ask with impatience. ¡°Pornography and Erotica.¡± Just. I. What? I cannot. Seriously?! ¡°You have to understand¡­¡± he continues, while behind us Urchin sniggers. I throw both arms up in exasperation. I cannot stand this stupid place anymore. Those people¡­ ¡°We are mostly celibate¡­¡± ¡°Have you considered getting in touch with the exclusively female society of witches living in the same -accursed city?¡± ¡°There have been a few tentative openings, of course. Unfortunately, they didn¡¯t pan out. A question of ego, on both sides I¡¯m afraid.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t say. You treated them like conceited tarts and they thought you were a bunch of pompous dolts, am I correct?¡± ¡°More or less, yes.¡± ¡°Well, you were both right. Now, and before any more disappointing revelations, I would like us to focus on the task at hand. We have a cataclysm to stop.¡± ¡°Yes, my apologies. My primary concern is the ritual. Fortunately, the matter is simple, really. I need free access to the glyphs while remaining free of the attention of those wretched creatures. There has to be a dozen now, at least.¡± ¡°A little more than that, I¡¯m afraid.¡± ¡°But surely¡­ You are here¡­¡± ¡°We did not slaughter our way down, we bypassed them by climbing down the inner court¡¯s walls.¡± ¡°So, they are unstoppable¡­¡± Ricardo whispers with dread. ¡°We still killed eight on our way here,¡± I retort somewhat defensively. Nothing is unstoppable for me. Well, no, many things are unstoppable. Just not these mutts. Pah. ¡°Oh good,¡± the man continues, ¡°then perhaps¡­ Yes. If we could lure the beasts away from the central position¡­¡± ¡°Then you could get down the same way as us, and close the portal as the hounds are otherwise occupied,¡± I finish for him. ¡°Precisely. As for the lure, a powerful spell coupled with some noise should be enough to draw them to the upper floors.¡± ¡°But we can¡¯t cast spells,¡± interjects Urchin, who had been quiet until now. I silence him with a glare. We never admit a weakness before a stranger, though in this case, his mistake is minor. I would have had to admit it at some point. ¡°You are not a mage?¡± Ricardo ask me, stupefied, ¡°but¡ª¡± ¡°I am trained in magical theory. I haven¡¯t found the time to practice yet.¡± ¡°How can you not find the time to study the Art of all arts!?¡± Ricardo demands, scandalized. I grab him by the collar and pull him in until our noses almost touch. ¡°Because I keep being distracted from this noble goal by imbeciles with much more skill than common sense.¡± He averts his eyes. ¡°Point taken,¡± he croaks, and I release him. ¡°I cannot believe you have never cast,¡± he mutters as he fixes his tie. Clearly, the revelation has rattled him. Typical of one whose existence does not depend on his ability to make himself too bothersome to kill. ¡°Technically I have. Before you ask, I would not be able to reproduce the specific circumstances that allowed me to do it.¡± ¡°That changes everything! If you can cast, you can cast. I can help you.¡± ¡°Hold on, are you saying that you can teach me how to do magic in less than an hour?¡± ¡°No, not as such, no,¡± Solo mutters as he opens a cabinet under one of the tables and rummages through its contents. ¡°Aha!¡± he exclaims. The proud mage turns around and both Urchin and I watch the massive gauntlet in his hands. ¡°This is a focused gauntlet. It offers a considerable power boost, but you can only use it to cast one spell. We use it when we need to do some heavy lifting and neither flexibility nor subtlety are required.¡± ¡°It sounds right up your alley, Milady,¡± Urchin whispers before recoiling when I fix him with a murderous glare. ¡°With this,¡± Solo continues, ¡°you shall have no difficulty casting a basic spell. Did you have something in mind?¡± I consider it. Yes. As a matter of fact, I did. ¡°Must I engrave the central plate here with the appropriate rune?¡± ¡°That is correct. Do so, then follow my directions and you will find yourself casting in no time.¡± I have a feeling it cannot be this easy. Ricardo rightfully takes my silence for doubt. ¡°We are brute-forcing the spell. It will work, I am sure of it. I got a measure of your aura earlier and, well, you have a lot of power to play with. You will definitely succeed.¡± ¡°Hmm. If you say so,¡± I concede. The seventh floor, near the entrance. Everything is ready. I left my pistols with Urchin, whose task it will be to protect Ricardo from stragglers. They are noisy but powerful weapons. By the time he uses them, I should have the full attention of the packs. In the meanwhile, he has knives. The pair is hanging from a delivery basket on the fourth floor, ready for the signal. My spell. The very first one I will cast voluntarily and without Likaean essence flooding my veins. I look at the unwieldy gauntlet around my left hand. It fits snuggly. I believe that one day, I will have my own, crafted for my own needs and according to my preferences. For now, I will make do. I use a claw to slice my thumb and christen the rune on the back of my hand with a bloody imprint. I extend a tendril of essence through it and into the gauntlet, feeling a queer sense of feedback. The reaction is both filling a container and lighting a fire. After only a moment, something clicks and yet I still feed more power into the conduit until it grows uncomfortably cramped. I have the symbols; I have the power. The last ingredient is the will. I call the concept into my mind. The interior of the sarcophagus as I wake up. The shadow of a building in the dark of the night. Storm clouds passing over the moon. It shelters me, protects me, assists me. It is my element, a tool and a weapon. A familiar absence. Sinead used to say that under its dominion fall both the caress of the lover and the stiletto to end a life, and he was right. It conceals the whisperers and the moaners, those who succumb to pleasure and to death. Science says it is the absence of light. That it is empty. Foolishness, for it harbors the fear of men in its vast, incomprehensible depths. Let it come now. Let darkness be. ¡°Nu Sharran.¡± I open my eyes to¡­ nothing. The orbs are muted, the candles extinguished. Black clouds, tarry yet immaterial roll away from me, taking with it an amount of energy so large it makes me gasps. The spell is born. It slithers between chair legs and through the interstitial space in the shattered bookshelves. It crawls under blood-drenched banners and over the cooling corpses of the slaughtered hounds. Darkness, pure and simple. I see nothing, yet I know where things are. The awareness comes to me for the cloud is from me, and through me. It is me. And below, the creatures bay. They can finally taste the scent of the prey that had eluded their efforts so far. A stampede makes the ground tremble, starting from below. Suddenly, an intuition comes over me. The same way I sometimes know from where an attack will come, I feel something. My death. I am going to die? No, I could die. I need to¡­ I cling to the impression, focusing on it as it drifts from my grasp like sand. I need¡­ I need¡­ Movement. Yes, of course. My usual strategy will not work against those creatures. I need to keep moving, always. Vampire strength will not save my life here. Vampire speed will. I approach the railing and pass my head through the cloud of unnatural darkness to stare below and check my allies¡¯ progress. Oh. Oh no. Some hounds on the ground have not moved yet. They just paddle on the white and black tiles sniffing as they go. But of course! My spell is darkness. It must be stealthier than the classic firebolt, and they have not felt me! How did I not think of it? No¡­ What should I do? I need to attract their attention. Quickly Ariane, do something! Sounds? Well, I could just do that. I step over the railing. I stand straight, feet apart and hands on my waist. ¡°Preeeeeeeeeeeendi!¡± The hounds stop and raise their alien maws as my voice resonates, clear and, of course, horribly off-tune. On the fourth floor, the two men stare with sheer horror as I inflict the most disgraceful, the most shamelessly vile treatment possible on Adina¡¯s sublime aria. Somewhere in Italy, Donizetti¡¯s poor ears ought to be bleeding. ¡°Prendi, per me sei liiiiibero Resta nel suol natiiiiiiiio.¡± I slaughter the song and the remaining hounds rush up the stairs with the wrath of ten thousand sopranos. The men wince and with one last look of pained incredulity, make their way down with the delivery basket. I just cast my first spell and instead of riding the wave of my pride, I am forced to commit musical murder in the name of survival. Truly, this world is cruel beyond compare. No time to cry, the first beasts are already coming. The time has come for me to fulfil my purpose, the reason why our bloodline exists in the first place. The fracas of heavy bodies galloping on solid stone grows like the sound of a rolling drum. It echoes across the void of the inner court and down the maze of shelves on all sides. I take my spear and point it forward. I thrust through the first hound¡¯s skull, catch the one jumping over the corpse of its companion in the heart and sweep a third against the wall, then I fall back as three more take their place. With precise thrusts, I dispatch more hounds. A strike must kill with impunity or I do not take it. I run, I flee, it does not matter. Tonight, I am not the pouncing predator but a lone wolf harrying a stag. I cannot slay it in one go, and that is fine. Bit by bit, nibble by nibble, I will take their numbers down until the end. I just need to survive and not be swarmed. One mistake is all it would take. Thrust and sweep, kill two as they hamper each other trying to pass a small alcove. Always, I stay aware of my surroundings. I jump backwards over fallen bookshelves and slide below the largest desks while my pursuers ram themselves into every obstacle. I remain untouched, as swift and elusive as the wind. DANCE WITH ME MONGRELS. Yes, no matter how long I live I cannot give this up, the ecstasy of deadly combat. The waltz on the edge of a blade! Another fall as I dodge left, then retreat right, always keeping to the outside circle of the library. If I enter those labyrinthic inner rooms, I shall surely die. I go on, thrust, kick and dodge, until the inevitable happens. I hear growls at my back. I cast the spell while close to a first stairwell, and now I have completed a half-circle and reached the second. Without hesitation, I grab a desk and send it smashing into the lead hounds and turn around. I lower the spear and charge like a jousting knight, Stabbing into the first hound in front of me and pushing it into the next. I move left, along the railing, and use a palm to push a third hound away. A lucky swipe catches me in the calf, making me stumble. Not good. I use the other leg to propel me forward as I turn to check the damage. I find very little of it. A trickle of blood and a gash in the intricate network of mail. I test my weight gingerly and find my mobility unimpeded, the wound already healing. Thank you, Loth. I rush to the stairs, slaying two more creatures on the way and jump down as hounds arrive from everywhere. I hear a gunshot coming from below and hope that Urchin did not miss this time. I did train him, after all. At the next landing, I move again, the horde still on my trail. I am faster, but killing slows me down and kill I must, if only to avoid being overwhelmed. S~?a??h the ??v?lF?re.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. Dodge, thrust, sprint, push. My universe is reduced to these actions. There is nothing but the dance. Then it happens. A lucky maw grabs my arm. I punch the creature, jump up and dig my claws into the plaster of the ceiling, pushing away. Close call. Far beneath my feet, the portal dies with a whine and a fizzle. I stumble at the wave. The dimensional spell¡¯s energy bleeds out into the world. The purple beasts shiver, energized. Ah, by the . Faster now, faster, cannot afford to be boxed in. Just punch and sweep, no time to kill. Faster. And then, I feel a pull. The same intuition I practiced with cards, the very instincts that kept me alive so many times tell me that this is it, this is the moment. I listen. All the creatures must be here now, on this floor. Their insane baying drill into my ears. So loud. They are packed three-thick in the narrow corridors. Perfect. With a roar, I push forward and into a study, take a sharp turn and, with all my might, jump over the railings. The creatures scramble after me, many falling to their death. The head pursuers are pushed into the abyss by the ravening mass of their kin. I fly through the air in a beautiful arc, turn on myself and pull the satchel charge from my back. In one graceful movement, I trigger it by pulling on a rope and send the fuming package back where I came from. The dark leather bag disappears in the mass of bodies glutting against the gap. I remember to protect my ears. The charge explodes in a cataclysmic blow. The shockwave travels through the densely packed flesh with the ghastly sound of crushed meat and shattered bones. The explosion sends pieces of masonry flying in the central court, opening a hole six yards across. And from this gaping wound in the pallid flesh of the building, a cascade of purple ichor flows freely. The remnants of the creatures, torn apart by the detonation, leak the viscous fluid as if the marble was but a shell to some unnatural, titanic life. Monstrous slabs of bruised meat soon follow and with it, a few hounds saved by the unwilling sacrifice of their brethren. ¡°Oof!¡± A half-pillar smacks into my back, sending me reeling. Momentum carries me on the opposite balcony, around the third floor. I smash into the carving of the gargoyle arms-first and manage to stop my fall. On the ritual ground, Urchin and Ricardo step back as a handful of surviving beasts rise, shaking their heads. I let go and land on the closest one, spear first. I slam my weapon into the ground with a loud crack, turn around and dispatch the survivors as they struggle to climb to their paws. The others stare at me, open-mouthed. It is done. It worked. I can mop up the stragglers later. I have succeeded. All our objectives are fulfilled, and we are still alive. We won, and yet, I cannot help but feel a little bit of sadness. Urchin steps forward, as proud as can be. He grabs a dazed Ricardo by the shoulder. His stretched arm encompasses the unholy mass of alien flesh before him, the flaming pieces of masonry and other burning debris, the dark snow of burnt paper falling over us like some hellish weather in the apocalyptic vista of death and destruction this place has become. ¡°We did it, people! We saved the library!¡± Idiot. I slowly massage the bridge of my nose and ask the one question burning on my lips. ¡°Urchin, are those my precious pistols I see discarded on the filthy ground?¡± ¡°Errr.¡± Chapter 86: Et tu, Brute? The woman jumps in fright when I accost her. It is late, and dark, and she is not a denizen of the night like I am. When she sees I am a woman too, her shoulders relax, the fear receding from her wary figure.She turns in my direction and I see that under the heavy green hood, she wears an evening dress of decent make, a shawl and a bag containing at the very least one magical item. Probably her focus. She is young, not a day over eighteen, I¡¯d wager, and beautiful in a guileless and delicate sort of way. A pretty little sheep walking out, trying to grow. So easy to smother, so much life to draw. I will not. Instead, I take the demeanor of a bashful girl. I lower my head, avert my eyes slightly and force a tremble into my voice. ¡°Sorry miss. Are you, perchance, going to Carol Fletcher¡¯s reception too?¡± At those words the young lady relaxes fully. She takes on a more protective air and does her best to exude self-confidence. With her shoulders squared and back straightened, she addresses me with a voice full of authority. ¡°That I am. I do not recognize you, are you new?¡± ¡°Yes, I arrived in town recently. I came to introduce myself, but I must have taken a wrong turn somewhere,¡± I add to reinforce my image as an airhead. Only an imbecile would take a wrong turn in a city that consists of squares. It is enough for the girl to take my arm and guide me forward. I sign for Urchin and John to follow me and be ready. As for Crews and King, they are already hidden next to our destination. Their ethnicity makes them too easy to notice. She introduces herself as Camille, and I as Ariane. She asks me what I think of Alexandria. My opinion is that it contains far too many gang members, slavers, and chronic masturbators with far too much pride and not enough common sense to fill a tumbler, though arguably that last problem just solved itself. Instead of sharing this pearl of wisdom, I comment on the weather just like Sephare would. After a few more reassurances from Camille¡¯s part that everything would go smoothly, we arrive. My companion takes a turn from the wide main street to pass through a gate to an inner courtyard. The path turns to white gravel while on either side of us, a small garden of roses and other fragrant essence charge the winter air with their heady perfume in a display of magical skill. I enjoy the feeling of pebbles crushing beneath my feet since, this time, I should not be too silent. The large oaken door is reinforced with alarm and resistance runes of a peculiar make. The enchantment is made from wood and freshly cut flowers. Although it will fade fast, it is no less potent for it. I stop at the threshold and gaze up at the young lady already up two stairs. ¡°Can I really just come in?¡± I ask politely. ¡°Yes, of course. All are welcome in our community.¡± I honestly doubt that. Nevertheless, the invitation is enough and as I go by, the enchantments remain inert. I was invited, after all. Camille precedes me in an intimate antechamber where she hangs her hood. A set of stairs goes up by my left and a few closed doors lead to other parts of the house. On the white walls, paintings of severe women alternate with tapestries and landscapes. If it were not for the homey cluttering, the decorations would be impressive. With the presence of personal effects, the house feels like a middle ground between a home and a public office. Without hesitation, the girl leads me through a set of double doors to a ¡®grand salon¡¯ from whence I hear laughter and the murmurs of conversation. I am amazed at the size of the private receiving room. I did not expect so large a space inside of the city, and I find it obvious at first glance that great care has been given to its design. The ground is polished wood, the walls are painted white and blue with small windows. Instead, most of the natural light comes from a vast glass awning taking a good half of the roof and turning it into a solarium. Instead of flowers, however, Fletcher cultivates social connections. Clusters of witches converse casually in high-pitched voices, their colorful auras fluttering around them. A long banquet table occupies a side of the room, on which many dishes and desserts have been cut and prepared for the revellers. Brass cups and pitchers abound to allow them to wet their whistles for another round of gossip. If the variety of wares displayed is any indication, half of the food was brought here by guests. On the other side, a lone piano sits forlorn, for now, moved to make room for a large magical circle drawn in chalk, the work of several hours, at least. Camille waits for me to take in the sights with a knowing smile. She points at a trio at the far end of the room consisting of an old crone and a portly woman with a kind smile listening to a girl with black hair speaking with great animation. I focus and pick up a few words. It appears that she is wary of, and I quote, ¡®strange happenings in our fair city¡¯. Ah, to be this na?ve. ¡®Strange happenings¡¯ does not even begin to cover it. Thankfully, my mood recovered after the library debacle thanks to several factors. First, I poached Ricardo who is on his way to Boston with the library¡¯s most useful tomes and his own dimensional research. Second, I had Urchin clean my pistols until they shone. Third, and the most important aspect, I do not have to take care of the library¡¯s cleanup. Not my job. Dear Lady Sephare will just have to find a way to dispose of several metric tons of rotting purple meat on her own. ¡°Those are Carol, Grace and Moon Flower,¡± she explains, ¡°you should go introduce yourself after they¡¯re done talking.¡± ¡°Moon Flower?¡± I ask. ¡°She insists we call her that and not her birth name,¡± Camille answers, embarrassed. ¡°It¡¯s Nastasia by the way. But you didn¡¯t hear it from me.¡± Oh, juicy. Not three minutes in the room and I already know a pointless secret. ¡°She is the Black Dog. That means she is in charge of protecting us. Go to her if you have any security concerns.¡± ¡°Oh, I will.¡± ¡°She can be a bit¡­ abrasive. Don¡¯t let that deter you. She cares about us, even if her crusade against the social order can be a bit tiresome, at times.¡± An idealist. That could be dangerous. ¡°That is all,¡± Camille finishes and I notice that she is eyeing a group, probably her friends. ¡°Oh, Lucy is making eyes at me. Find me after you¡¯re done, and we will make the rounds together.¡± ¡°Thank you Camille, I appreciate it,¡± I tell her as a form of polite dismissal. A smile and wave and she is gone. I turn and delicately hold the shoulders of a woman before she can bump into me, then grab the plate she just dropped in surprise before it can land on the floor. ¡°Oh, I¡¯m so sorry! God, I¡¯m such a clod!¡± ¡°Think nothing of it,¡± I reassure her. This witch is dressed in an old-fashioned dress that has seen too many uses. She attempted to apply rouge with limited success and her frizzy brown hair is held in a messy bun. The overall impression is that of a complete birdbrain. Her aura is particularly vivid, however, glowing around her in ever-moving abstract shapes. ¡°Thank you, dearie. I would not have forgiven myself if I had dropped my carrot cake. Would you like a slice?¡± she generously offers. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I must decline. I am on a liquid diet,¡± I share with amusement. The lady blinks owlishly and her face falls off a bit. ¡°It smells delicious though, is that cinnamon?¡± ¡°Shhhhh!¡± she half-screams, ¡°it¡¯s my secret ingredient!¡± ¡°My lips are sealed,¡± I answer with amusement, ¡°here, let me help you.¡± I forcibly pull the plate from her nervous hands and deposit it on the table. As I do so, I notice that a few of the groups take a step away as we pass by. My companion is shunned by the group, despite her obvious power. An interesting development. This Society gathers women from all backgrounds and I would naturally expect them to develop a pecking order. I did not imagine that it would mirror the social order to such a frightful extent, with the richest members clearly at an advantage here. I am almost disappointed. What is the difference between them and a butterfly appreciation group? Does competence not matter for something? ¡°My name is Ariane by the way.¡± ¡°Oh, yes, manners. Sorry. I¡¯m Violet.¡± ¡°No need to apologize. Say, your aura is rather impressive. May I ask what your specialty is?¡± The change of demeanor of my interlocutor is truly mesmerizing. She straightens and her chocolate eyes, which until then had flitted across the room, suddenly gain a penetrating intensity. ¡°The art of oneiromancy deals with dreams and their applications. The dreamscape¡¯s malleability offers many opportunities ranging from training to long-range communication,¡± she proudly declares. Then the moment is passed and she deflates. ¡°Not that our sisters show much interest in it. Our society focuses on plant-based magic. Little effort is made exploring other techniques.¡± ¡°And such a shame it is. I knew a man who could invite me to his dreams from a state away. The things he showed me¡­¡± I reminisce as I think of Nashoba. He gave me back the sun, if only for a moment. Violet blushes a delicate shade of pink. ¡°Not that kind of experience!¡± I chastise her, and she turns even redder. ¡°Sorry!¡± I chuckle, and notice that the leadership trio finally noticed my presence. Nastasia, I mean Moon Flower, looks my way with a frown. ¡°Ah, it appears I am being summoned. Remember that if your skills are not appreciated here, there are others who would give you the attention and respect you justly deserve.¡± Leaving Violet behind with a shocked expression, I make my way across the floor. I suppose I let the vampire bleed out a bit there, at the end. I could not resist such a perfect poaching opportunity. The Black Dog walks forward to meet me first, blocking my way to the two others. ¡°Who are you? You shouldn¡¯t be here; this is a private party,¡± she spits out. She is one of the few who wears a real gauntlet and with a gesture, she sends a pulse of energy which I recognize as a detection spell. I close my aura completely, only allowing her a glimpse of the chill inside of me. ¡°You are not even one of us,¡± she scoffs. My, an elitist. ¡°Indeed not,¡± I reply neutrally, ¡°I am merely a messenger, come here to convey my lady¡¯s greetings.¡± ¡°You have some gall,¡± she exclaims. ¡°And what message would that be?¡± the older woman asks while the portly witch wrings her hands in distress. By that time, the underlying tension of our exchange has been perceived by the well-attuned assembly and they gather around us in a loose semi-circle. ¡°My lady has claimed the District of Columbia for herself. She wants us to be good neighbors and cordially invites you and your representatives for an evening together, to¡­ discuss the modalities of our cohabitation.¡± ¡°Should we care?¡± Nastasia interrupts, her voice filled with arrogance. In answer, I give a light smile and behind her, placing a hand on her shoulder and whispering in her ear. ¡°You really¡­¡± I start, and again to return to my starting position as she turns with a gasp. ¡°¡­really should,¡± I finish, and release my aura. A frigid wave washes over the assembly with the power of a blizzard, pushing on the lights of their lives like under a thick blanket of snow. They yelp and recoil and huddle against each other in groups. Even their precious protector takes a step back. Silence descends upon the room as I stretch my arms and walk around with deliberate slowness. I do not even have to raise my voice. ¡°For years you have huddled in your little corner of the world, blind to the great happenings outside. Now, your lands are claimed by the Lady Sephare of the Hastings. Under her benevolent supervision, resources and knowledge will flood into the city for those who deserve them. The protection she will grant you will shield the society from the depredations of predators, both mundane and otherwise. You have but to work with her.¡± I stop and turn to face the leading trio, all of them having recovered. They are simply waiting for me to finish out of politeness. ¡°The winds of change have come to Alexandria and it is time for you to choose. Will you embrace this change and the numerous opportunities it affords, or will you close your eyes and be swept away? You will have to decide for yourselves,¡± I finish, my goal completed. Nastasia is the first to recover. She finally came to fateful realization. ¡°You are a vampire.¡± ¡°We. We are vampires.¡± Whispers erupt all around us, curiosity just as prevalent as fear. Those witches stayed isolated for far too long, content to exchange balm recipes and snob each other, it seems. Many of them do not even know of my kind, their most dangerous predators. There should be a slang for magical bumpkins. I await the trio¡¯s reaction and I am not disappointed. While the crone is contemplative and the portly woman busy comforting her peers, the Black Dog acts first. She takes a step forward and invades my personal space once again. I already know that this one will not learn, will not bend. She will have to be removed. But not tonight, for I came as a guest and a messenger. I will never break those rules. ¡°I know a thing or two about you monsters. I know you drink blood and enslave humans, so you will forgive me if I call your negotiation for what it is, terms of subjugation! But you made a mistake in thinking that we would be easily cowed. This city has been a beacon of freedom since its very creation!¡± I scoff at that. Beacon of freedom? A slaver town? ¡°You are the last,¡± I reply. Nastasia¡¯s answer dies on her lips. I can tell when the pieces of the puzzle click in her mind and she finally figures out how much we already achieved. She does not show fear, however, but overwhelming anger. She bares her teeth in a rictus of rage. ¡°This isn¡¯t over, creature. I know of your kind¡¯s weaknesses. I do not know who invited you here but this is my home and you are no longer welcome. Leave.¡± The declaration smashes into me like a train. HAVE TO GET OUT. I move. Outside the reception room and through the warded gate which closes behind me. I land lightly on my feet in the garden. Oof. That was¡­ unpleasant. This is the first time someone rescinds their invitation while I am still in their home, and I did not expect it to be so effective. I felt like I was pushed by a mighty hand. The urge to leave was just as imperative as that to stay away from someone wielding a cross. Urchin had been waiting nearby, he rushes to my side when he notices me. ¡°Is something the matter?¡± ¡°Someone just slammed the supernatural door in my face, otherwise I am fine,¡± I reply. He scrunches his weasel face in confusion at my apparent lack of concern. ¡°Is that not bad, milady?¡± ¡°It was the most likely outcome. Besides, I achieved my purpose tonight.¡± ¡°You did?¡± I look at my minion and consider an impromptu lesson. Why not? He is showing some significant progress and some outward signs of respect and loyalty. I might as well keep trying to lift him. ¡°Do you know what we really came here for?¡± I ask, as we make our way across the empty street and jump on the roof. Jumping is better than dropping because I do not have to place my hands on my thighs to avoid indecency. ¡°I assume that you are not referring to Lady Sephare¡¯s invitation to the city leaders?¡± Urchin remarks. ¡°The invitation is only a pretext. What we are doing here is conquest, plain and simple. We are taking complete control over Alexandria, one group at a time, until Lady Sephare remains as the undisputed ruler. And what is the tool we use?¡± ¡°A blend of extreme psychological and physical violence?¡± ¡°No,¡± I reply with amusement, ¡°though you are close. It is fear. Fear is the tool we use.¡± I smooth my dress, wipe a few tiles with a handkerchief and sit down. Below us, Crews and King wait by a carriage and I give them the signal to hold. Once I am settled, I turn to Urchin who had patiently been waiting. ¡°Independent people wish to remain free by nature. This drive is a deeply embedded desire, an instinct, and that impulse is particularly strong on this land where being free is a matter of fact. The only way to override this desire for liberty so that men bend is to slowly subvert it.¡± ¡°But¡­ you just spoke of fear?¡± Urchin interrupts with a frown. I am pleased that he has been paying attention. ¡°If Lady Sephare is the de facto ruler of the land, its inhabitants will eventually come to accept it as a ¡®the way things are¡¯. The benefits of order and development she brings will slowly sway even the most stubborn dissenters. Eventually, she will be perceived as a benevolent ruler, akin to a mild government. Some of her current detractors may even turn into fervent supporters. Unfortunately, and as I mentioned, this will take time.¡± Urchin sits by my side, pondering on my speech. Some lessons have stuck. Already, his posture and fashion sense have evolved from lowly lout to merely disreputable under my teachings. Perhaps the one who sired him did see something in him beyond mere entertainment. ¡°The only way to beat an instinct in a mob is to oppose it with another instinct. Fear will beat the lust for freedom and the resistance to change. It will keep the different factions in line until the new status quo is mostly accepted. I used fear of bankruptcy against the Federals and the fear of death against both the Mudmen and the Ratcatchers. The Mudmen leader, Wallace, agreed to meet Lady Sephare because we easily slaughtered his old rival, not because we granted him more power. Remember this quote by Caesar: it is better to be first of a village than second in Rome. Many of those you will interact with will sacrifice some power to gain autonomy.¡± ¡°Like you, milady?¡± ¡°Yes. Like me. As for the mages,¡± I continue, ¡°the situation is different. I cannot simply murder talented spell-casters willy-nilly, or at least I would prefer to save it as a last resort. In their case, knowing our nature is already a strong fear motivator. We merely have to reveal ourselves to our foes for them to realize the danger they are in.¡± Urchin muses on that last sentence, staring at the now locked entrance to the witch redoubt. ¡°They will still fight you if their latest reaction is any indication,¡± he observes. ¡°Some of them will oppose us, yes. That is why I announced myself to the entire assembly instead of just their leaders. That way, the rank and file will pressure the leadership for a solution, and I expect many will favor a peaceful arrangement. They are not warriors, and they have much to lose in an open conflict.¡± ¡°So we wait until they come to a consensus?¡± ¡°Of course not. I did not bring the carriage for a midnight stroll. We will wait until the party finishes and abduct a pair who we will then bring to our warehouse. Let us see how long they last when we start kidnapping their members one by one.¡± The shutters are closed, and the house is secured and still, I can feel it outside. The unforgiving rays beat on the masonry and smother the tiles on the roof in their baleful embrace, even now at the end of fall. It crushes me. The sun. My powers are mostly dormant and according to John, I look deathly sick. I feel sluggish and nervous. Oppressed. Threatened. All by this most natural of phenomena. And the most curious thing is that it does not care. No matter how terrified I am by a tiny dot of pale white light leaking between two planks, there is no intent behind it, no ill will. The terror I feel is not reciprocated, not even by disdain. To take my mind off things, I organize paperwork. The absorption of the Ratcatchers by the Mudmen is proceeding on schedule, however the fallout from the death of all the mages needs to be carefully managed lest groups like the Gabrielites catch wind of it. I do not need the complications. Defusing this issue only requires a few paws greased, a price I am willing to pay. I must still monitor the situation carefully. I am reading a report from one of our newest recruits when it happens. The downstairs door bangs open with a noise like thunder, and a rush of feet come in, soon followed by multiple gunshots. The loud detonations ring loudly in our enclosed space. I stand up. What? How? No time to think, I grab my pair of pistols and run to the stairs leading from the second floor to the first. Then, I stop at the landing when I see it. Sunlight, like a wall of fire, blocks my way down. The intruders left the door open! And here comes the first one, whom I recognize. He is one of the Mudmen¡¯s main enforcers, from Wallace¡¯s personal guard. I shoot him in the face. His body falls back. Another face replaces him. This is Jack, Wallace¡¯s protege, the dandy young man I met in the old gang member¡¯s office. He gives me an apologetic smile and ducks. I aim down and realize that I left the powder and bullets in my office. Should I go get it, or just hold the line? Soon the decision is made for me. A furious aura emerges from below and the smug face of Nastasia appears, shield brandished before her. She smiles and moves up, Mudmen foot soldiers packed tight behind her. Ah, a rebellion. How quaint. Nastasia¡¯s smile crumbles when I grab a cabinet and push it down. The heavy piece of furniture slides down the wooden stairs. ¡°Move!¡± she yells, and a second later I hear a crash and a scream of pain. Male, unfortunately. I use the diversion to run to the office and grab my gear. I do not have the time to change into something more protected, unfortunately. I rush back and reload my pistol with frustratingly slow speed. A quick look down lets me see two Mudmen with muskets. I duck as they fire and shoot down one. The other leaves, screaming. ¡°She¡¯s here! Do it!¡± Do what? I move back and¡ª White. Void. P A I N Pain. Unspeakable. Overwhelming. Agony. I scream, the sound like three voices together, too high-pitched to come from a human throat. I burn. There is movement, there is sound, something grabs me under my arms and lifts me up. It blocks the light. Blessed darkness. The rays of light encircle the man¡¯s shape like a deadly halo. He carries me. Up up up we go. Pain. Pain still. It pushes every sensation away, smothers every thought. The tiny orb of my consciousness is pressed on all sides by the red tide of that pain. Then, coolness. Liquid surrounds my body. The pain becomes less. It fades until I am an island in a sea of magma, not a rock inside of it. I can think. No longer on fire. Count to ten. Count to twenty. Get the pain under control. Need to move. With my right hand, I push, find a wall of ceramic. Lifts. Find the edge. I am in a tub filled with water. Of course. I push myself up, pain flaring on my left side. I am in the bathroom. King is here, his long black beard plastered against his chest by wetness. I must have moved water around. The entire left side of my face, my arm and part of my chest and back are burnt. I use my right eye, the only one that still works, to take stock. Red bloody meat with black-charred edges barely covered by strands of mangled fabric. It looks just as painful as it is. Were it not for the Ekon essence, I would be nothing but a screaming mess right now. Even then, the pain is paralyzing. ¡°John?¡± I half-choke, then hiss as the agony from my left cheek robs me of my words. ¡°Holding them back.¡± ¡°Crews?¡± ¡°Dead, I think. He was on the first floor.¡± I refrain from swearing. That was so sudden. It is¡­ It is my fault. But no, no time for recriminations. We need to get out. I push myself and yelp in pain, falling back into the tube. Too much. ¡°I¡­ I need a moment.¡± ¡°We do not have a moment,¡± King replies, his voice noticeably strained. He¡­ oh no. I look up and only now realize that he is bleeding. The stench of fire had overwhelmed my sense of smell. ¡°No,¡± I whisper, ¡°get me a bandage, I shall¡­¡± ¡°Stop,¡± he interrupts. He grabs my right hand. His face is grayish, his eyes clouded. ¡°This is not the kind of wound us normal folks can come back from.¡± His beard is not wet with water, but with blood. His chest¡­ ¡°I am sorry,¡± I say. What else is there? I cannot save him. He took the bullet carrying me away. He saved me. I find that I am genuinely sorry. ¡°I am not,¡± he replies with a pain smile, ¡°live by the sword and all that. Now, come on.¡± He lifts me up until I stand inside of the tub, with the intact part of my dress completely soaked. ¡°Your wounds are not closing. You need blood, might as well be mine before it all ends up on the ground.¡± I say nothing as he drags me closer, against his muscular chest. At the last moment, he looks down at me and our eyes meet. ¡°We are even now,¡± he declares. I nod. ¡°Farewell, David.¡± He pulls me in so that I rest against him and bite down, drinking deep. We slowly fall to the ground until I am on top of him. When I pull back, he is dead. Power rushes into me from blood freely given by a brother in arms. His sacrifice gives me a sorely needed infusion of vitality and when I stand up, some of the wounds no longer look so frightful. I am still a maimed mess. I slowly drag myself to the door and go through. As I do, an impact rattles the shutters which resist. Ah, they must have punched through the second-floor windows and shutter with bullets to let sunlight in. It really took just a trickle to hurt me so¡­ Fortunately, the third floor contains the passage to the vault where Urchin and I retire. All the exits are padded with metal and even the roof is reinforced. I find John on the landing with his giant crossbow. He winces when he sees me and quickly returns his attention to the stairs. Below us, the Mudmen slowly creep across the ground, searching. They are in no rush, as it will take at least another hour before the sun sets. I limp to my only remaining servant. I have recruited a few new helpers over the past few days, only knows how many still live. Finally, the intruders make their way to the edge of the stairs. I hear several female voices arguing over who goes first. After a while, a woman named Gloria wins the honor of being the first to assault our position by virtue of having the strongest shield. A few moments later, our enemies yell and charge. The first to appear is a beautiful young woman with curly blonde hair. She raises her gauntlet and the air shimmers with her power. John pulls the trigger. His heavy silver bolt pierces the shield as if it were made of paper and propels the woman back. Her incantation dies on her lips as the projectile pins her against the floor. The war cries die as abruptly as they started. Two voices scream in distress. Gloria feebly tries to grab the bolt. She moans and coughs blood. Tears fall from her eyes in long trails that end in the expanding pool of red beneath her prone form. She extends a hand to her friends who dare not enter the field of vision of John, who already reloaded. It takes a solid twenty seconds for the woman to finally choke to death. Eventually, her pallid form¡¯s struggles weaken then seize. The voices below cry, argue and yell for a while in a debate that I fail to follow. The pain continues. I normally heal quickly but between the source of the wound and the hour, I suspect it will be some time until I am whole again. In the meanwhile, every step is a nightmare. My focus slips inevitably until I manage to shake myself awake once more. It appears the deliberations are at an end. Nastasia uses a spell to levitate her friend¡¯s body upward, then to the side to recover it. Her voice surges then, spiteful and confident. ¡°Stay there then, you monster!¡± As one, her group leaves. I hear the clatter of their footsteps going down. John and I stay unmoving for a while. Time is on our side. Or is it? I finally realize why they were willing to go. If they cannot kill us the old-fashioned way, they are more than willing to resort to drastic measures. The house is on fire. The perfect crime. The Mudmen control the firefighters, who will come too late to save the house. Tragic. Fortunately, I am not completely out of options yet. ¡°John, listen carefully,¡± I start. The big man turns his ugly mug to me and I can see that the deaths of his friends affect him greatly, yet as always, he remains unflappable in this time of crisis. His attention turns entirely on me, ready to get his orders. ¡°Go down to my office, find the key in my desk¡¯s left drawer, take it, open the right drawer, take its contents then put everything into my bag next to the stairs leading to the ground floor. Then run back up and open that window,¡± I say, as a point to the one closest to the neighbor¡¯s house. ¡°Climb up and jump on the neighbor¡¯s roof, the one with slightly redder tiles.¡± ¡°I remember.¡± ¡°Hide next to the chimney. Do not look down, do not search for me. Wait for nightfall then look towards the garden. Wait for my signal.¡± ¡°I understand.¡± ¡°Good. Now, go.¡± John takes off with a speed few would expect from a man of his size. I open the passage to the vault as the first wafts of smoke permeate the air, closing and locking it behind me. S?a??h the N???lFire.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. The descent along the stone shaft is a long one, alone, in an isolation that even the inferno outside cannot breach. Mistakes, mistakes, mistakes, always more mistakes on my part. King is dead. Crews is dead. The Mudmen turned against me. All because of my strategy. And if I had taken more time, the gangs would have thrown the city into an all-out war. And if I had not warned the witch of my existence, instead taking them out one by one, I would have forfeited any chance at diplomacy as requested by Lady Sephare. I did not expect the two groups to work together, considering one is a traditionalist Christian group and the other is made of witches. It will always be like that, will it not? I will always miss key information, underestimate one foe and overestimate the other. Mortals will always surprise me with their ability to twist their words and beliefs to suit their ends. I will always be the straightforward girl, better at planning a project than at manipulating nations from the shadows. Not like Lady Sephare. Am I too stupid to rule over a state? No, that is not the right question. The right question is, can I afford not to? And the answer is no. I reach the end of the shaft and drop down into the small room in which my sarcophagus lies. Urchin still slumbers away in his own coffin-like shelter, oblivious to the recent tragedy. I stare at my gear, set against the wall, and realize that I will never manage to put on the armor. I would need to peel off the dress first. I look at my arm. Some of the skin has started to regrow, the rest of the flesh is still raw muscle tissue covered in pinkish fluids and black blood. I feel a strange separation between my cold mind, and the pain, horror and disgust of the more human part of me. Is this really what I am made of? All that meat? I shake my head to clear my thoughts. Too much has happened, and the pain has not receded. I find it hard to think. I sit heavily against the wall. I just need a bit of time¡­ Ever so slowly, the wounds close and I can finally open my left eye. My mouth is sticky with King¡¯s blood. I must have made a mess. Time passes. Night falls. As darkness blankets the world, I can feel myself again. Vigor returns to my limbs and sharpness to my spirit forcing me to acknowledge, understand and plan. In front of me, Urchin¡¯s casket opens. He freezes when he notices me. ¡°Milady?¡± ¡°There is no time, Urchin, we have a dance to finish.¡± I unlock the trap door and push a lever. Through a clever use of pulleys and the power of vampiric strength, several hundred pounds of steel shift up and to the side. I pop my head through the opening to find quite the reception. ¡°You were right, sister, the rat had a way out,¡± a cold voice sounds to my left. ¡°Come on out, vampire,¡± the voice of Nastasia replies from the front. I pull myself out and slowly crawl out. The wounds are mostly closed and still I can tell from the assembly¡¯s visceral disgust that they are quite ghastly. Nastasia¡¯s mouth turns down into a sneer as she takes in my poor appearance, including my blood-covered face. I stand in the middle of a circle, with a witch at each of the cardinal points. The spell is a simple shield aimed inward that allows their own casts to travel through, giving them an undeniable advantage. Behind them, a dozen Mudmen gang members spread in a half -circle, holding weapons and crosses. At their head, I find Wallace and his prot¨¦g¨¦ Jack, armed to the teeth. ¡°Well, not so haughty, are you, vampire? I bet you did not expect that.¡± ¡°That certainly came as a surprise,¡± I admit. Speaking remains uncomfortable, though nowhere close to the torture that it used to be. I turn my gaze to Wallace. The grizzled gang leader¡¯s gaze is filled with disgust and hatred. ¡°I assume he found me?¡± Nastasia smiles smugly, a hand on her hip. Is she gloating? Yes, she is. ¡°I was right to seek the help of Alexandria¡¯s underbelly to track down your location. Imagine my surprise when not only did they know you, but they were also quite happy to lend a hand.¡± ¡°I knew it. I knew you were a monster,¡± Wallace spits. ¡°Oh please,¡± I retort, ¡°you are only too happy to conduct a little coup now that we placed the gangs at your knees.¡± ¡°I can help the Lord and help myself, it¡¯s the American way,¡± he replies with a shrug. Nastasia interrupts us, apparently out of patience. ¡°Enough of this. You made a mistake coming here but I will be magnanimous. If you tell me where Lady Sephare¡¯s resting place is and swear an oath to leave the country, we will let you go.¡± ¡°Moon Flower?¡± one of the other women, a slender brunette with eyes reddened by grief asks. ¡°I am sorry, Mary. We must place the interests of the community before our desire for vengeance. Finding her Master is more important than killing her. Gloria would understand, I am sure.¡± The other witch seems troubled but, in the end, she relents. ¡°Is that it?¡± I ask. Nastasia frowns. ¡°What do you mean?¡± she replies cautiously. ¡°You killed at least two of my men, and who knows how many of my newest recruits. Are you not going to demand that I forfeit vengeance? Do you think so little of me?¡± ¡°What do creatures like you care about¡ª¡± ¡°I do. I do care,¡± I interrupt her, and start pacing the ground. The blood of David King sings in my essence, filling me with a sort of energy that I had not felt from a mundane mortal before. Most of my skin has regrown. Some of the Mudmen¡¯s eyes widen in surprise and a few even take some steps back, clutching their crosses with panicked fingers when they realize how quickly I recovered. Quite a few do not react at all, as expected, and I force myself not to smile. ¡°David King and Timothy Crews. I bought David from a slave owner in Kentucky two years ago at the request of his late father who also died fighting by my side. He was proud of his beard. He was a devoted friend to other members of his squad. His favorite food was baby back ribs. Timothy Crews, a loner of the Creek nation. Competent hunter and tobacco lover. His brother still works for me.¡± Nastasia narrows her eyes. I can tell that I am making her uncomfortable by humanizing her victims. She probably never killed before. ¡°You truly do not understand us. We care about mortals, friends and foes, and we know that they can still surprise us. That is why we take precautions to account for our own mistakes, such as making sure an organization stays loyal. Isn¡¯t that right, Jack?¡± Ah, the beautiful moment when the bear trap closes on the unexpected leg, snapping it between its steel jaws. I am so wary of underestimating the mages that I sometimes forget that the sin of pride is not just ours to commit. Time slows to a trickle as I make a hand gesture and turn to my cattle. I bit quite a few people over the previous days as an insurance, and many of them are here tonight. Jack smoothly lifts his pistol and pulls the trigger on the brunette witch, killing her instantly. In the same motion, he unsheathes a knife and buries it deep in the chest of the gang leader by his side. The look of utter betrayal on Wallace¡¯s face as he falls is absolutely priceless. Then John obeys my signal and a monstrous bolt goes through the witch to my left, the one who had called me a rat. She falls without a scream. All hell breaks loose. With only two witches maintaining it, the spell wavers and breaks. A solid half of the late Wallace¡¯s personal guard turns on the other with single-minded mania. With surprise on their side, they cut down their foes with ease. I turn and kill the witch at my back by burying my hand in her heart. Pointless, yet cathartic. I recognize my guide Camille¡¯s surprised face just as her blood splatters on the ground, then I shrug and return my attention to Nastasia just as she lifts an arm to cast. She, too, displays great anguish, to my delight. She looks quite shocked when she realizes her gauntlet is gone. ¡°Mine now,¡± Urchin''s voice whispers by her side. I was not sure if he could pull it off, now I know. ¡°Make sure none have escaped, then you may feed,¡± I order him. He rushes after the fleeing form of the last surviving Mudmen not under my command. As for Nastasia, she falls on her knees, toppled more by utter shock than by despair. I walk to her and bend a bit, so that our heads are quite close. ¡°Relying on compromised assets was your first mistake. The second was to face me after dark,¡± I continue as I pull the gauntlet I previously used in the library, now part of my arsenal. ¡°I had this and an enchanted dagger to go through that amateurish shield of yours and I did not even have to use it.¡± ¡°Wait, please, I get it. You win. I surrender.¡± ¡°And the third mistake,¡± I interrupt, ¡°was to expect mercy from a vampire.¡± I drink her dry, with the house still burning behind me. It does not taste like victory, not even like vengeance. I prepared a contingency plan in case I was betrayed and activated it. The precautions I took granted me victory tonight. I am sure that Lady Sephare would not have had to face a rebellion. We are only here tonight because I lack finesse and subtlety. I am still a bumbling child to the Lords and Ladies. With this sad realization, my mind busies itself with the incredible task of managing the consequences of this incident. I will have to calm down officials, grease palms, relocate, reorganize the gang leadership and, more importantly, recover and give the last rites to the remains of my allies. When I am done feeding, I drop Nastasia¡¯s lifeless corpse and gather the remains of the four other witches in a pile. I do not stop as Jack comes to my side with the other controlled Mudmen by his side. ¡°Did I do well, Mistress?¡± I face him. His loyalty to Wallace was strong enough that even now, within my thrall, the grief he feels still wars with his unnatural loyalty. ¡°Of course, you did well. He betrayed me tonight, who knows when he would betray others?¡± I lie. Serenity returns to him, and with it, inaction. Such is the price of creating cattle. It is fortunate that Wallace did not rely on him being too independent yet. As for me, I have a delivery to make. Nastasia¡¯s home. I open a panel through the sunroof and drop the lifeless corpses on the ground one by one. There are plenty of servants here so they should be found promptly. I am taking a risk by making the threat so obvious but to be honest, I am tired of this entire farce. Let Lady Sephare play with her city. I am done with it. As I head back, I contemplate how close I came to death earlier this afternoon. It reminds me of my own fragility. I believe that my demise is inevitable. I am no immortal monster like my sire, who was unbeatable long before Darius turned his gaze on Greece¡¯s city states. Today¡¯s world is chock-full of powers vying for dominance or extermination. Many heroes and fighters have already tried to slay me before I even ruled over more than a toothpick. They have failed. So far. Time has lost its grasp on me and they will never stop coming. It can only end one way. At some point, my luck will run out, my intuition will fail me, and someone will finally succeed. I will turn to ashes. Hopefully, not too soon. Carol Fletcher got my message and I have no doubt that she will cooperate. It will soon be time for me to meet Lady Sephare. Chapter 87: State of Affairs Washington, two nights later.The venue Lady Sephare chose for her meeting is the top floor of an elegant gentleman¡¯s club she recently took over. The guests are led up through the deserted building by a butler exuding disapproval at the uncouth louts defiling his august halls with their unwashed bodies, grimy clothes, and rancid breaths. The gaping wastrels are then invited to sit at a long table in a large reception room upon which refreshments have already been served. When we come in, some of the rowdier ones are quaffing shooters of twenty-years-old Bourbon without ceremony like the absolute degenerates they are. Besides myself, Sephare brought a protection detail of men in top hats and dark suits, all of whom are wielding canes. Separate, they could be any upper-class gentlemen out for a stroll. Together, they look exactly like what they are: high-end enforcers. They silently take position at every corner of the room, in front of both entrances and along the open windows. As for the woman herself, she looks positively enchanting in a diaphanous green dress that reveals the curve of her alabaster shoulders. Our host walks forward and claps twice. Immediately, the room falls silent. When the new Lady of Washington speaks, she does so in a smooth and melodious voice that lulls me, rolls me into its rhythm until listening to her words becomes the most natural thing to do. ¡°Good evening gentlemen, welcome to my humble establishment! My name is Sephare Hastings and I cannot express how delighted I am to see you all here gathered tonight¡ª¡± ¡°A shrew? The new boss is a shrew?¡± one of the leaders erupts. He bares his teeth, two of them black, and stands up with fury. Oh dear. What Sephare does next is an exercise in control. She lifts the hem of her dress and runs behind the man with a speed that is just at the limit of what humans should be able to do. Too surprised by the suddenness of her reaction, the would-be rebel only manages to turn his head slightly before the diminutive blonde woman grabs it and smashes it down on his chair¡¯s frame. Once, twice, thrice she strikes, and with the last impact, a dreadful snap resonates throughout the hall as the man¡¯s neck bones shatter. Sephare drops the dying man who collapses face first on the table. Once more, she displayed just the amount of strength that a human could reasonably wield, but twice the savagery. The lady calmly removes her white gloves which she hands to one of her bodyguards while another fetches replacements from an inner pocket. She studiously puts them on in the ensuing quiet, the pathetic rattles of the paralyzed criminal the only perceivable noise. It takes him a good twenty seconds to choke to death. His mouth opens and closes like that of a beached fish while his bulging eyes search the room for a salvation that none can grant. Two of the guards grab the man under the shoulders as he takes his dying breath. Good idea, less of a mess. Sephare makes sure the gloves fit before resuming her speech in the exact same pleasant tone. ¡°Please, kindly do not speak out of turn. Now, where was I? Oh yes! I am so glad you all decided to join us tonight! I have grand projects for your fair city, and I am sure that by working together, we will achieve all our dreams! Isn¡¯t that exciting?¡± The hardened felons mumble and bob their heads in respectful assent. Nothing like breaking spines like twigs to make a memorable first impression, it seems. ¡°Over the next week, I will be meeting each one of you in private to better understand your position and your strengths, and see which responsibility you can be granted. We have a lot of work to do and many rewards to reap, so let us all do our best together, yes?¡± The barely veiled threat coupled with the promise of power and money smooth the mood of the visitors, which turns contemplative. How can they refuse when they have been presented with the alternative? In short order, the meeting is adjourned, and I follow her to her office without a word. She closes the door behind us as I take in her workspace. Sephare chose a corner office with a view on the Capitol building¡¯s cupola half-hidden behind tall trees. A large desk of dark wood has been placed below the window offering said view for additional symbolism. As expected of Sephare, a corner of the office is dedicated to tea and its consumption. What does surprise me is the windowless wall currently covered with maps teeming with pins and colored notes. s?a??h th? Nov?lF?re .??t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. I mechanically aim for the tea table but Sephare stops me with a gesture. The catches me off-guard. I count in my head. I have the Lancaster essence several times over, the Cadiz essence from Jimena, the Natalis essence from that rogue thirty years ago. Nami shared the Ekon resilience with me. Oh, obviously I have the Devourer essence. Who else? I have the Amaretta from Aisha, Erenwald from Ogotai and Vanheim from Urchin. That one is still inactive for now. I am still missing six. She nods. When she next speaks, the coldness in her voice would chill mortal listeners. To me, it only means that she is dropping the mask. she begins. I wince in reaction. She smiles at the memory, her thin fangs displayed in a show of greed and gluttony. Then, her expression returns to seriousness. I stare, askance. My surprise is simply too much. I reply, Sephare grins, as if I had told a joke. I already considered it many times. Sephare smiles like a proud parent. she asks. I hesitate at that. I object, but Sephare just shakes her head. I ask, surprised. I gape at that revelation. A rogue? I fight like a rogue? This does not make sense. Sephare pauses to gather her thoughts and resumes her pacing. I think I am beginning to follow. I do not reply to that. She is not the first to credit me with such a strange achievement. she asks with a mischievous smile. She then pulls her sleeve up and extends her arm. Her aura is concealed, the natural state of those of us with great control. Despite her best efforts, I can still feel her underlying tension. The act of offering blood is one of exposed vulnerability. It goes against our very instincts. I step forward and take the arm without ceremony. I know the experience is uncomfortable for her, and hurry a bit out of politeness. I lick once to prevent pain and bite down. I pull back and lick the wound clean, then lead the exhausted Sephare to her chair before sitting opposite her. I close my eyes and within moments, I am inside of my mind palace. In the stone square where the statues of my conquest are gathered, her form kneels. I return to the real world to find a visibly excited Sephare pouring me black tea. She is still weakened, and yet her enthusiasm is catching. I feel a new instinctive way to appear more mortal, move more humanly and even bring a pink sheen to my cheeks by expanding a bit of power, an ability I can surely develop with a bit of practice. There is something else as well, though as expected, her main ability eludes me. I pick up the steaming cup and dip my lips in the infusion. The warm liquid rolls on my tongue, the taste light and pleasant. Taste. I can taste it. I can swallow. I allow myself to smile as I put the cup down. My mind rebels at the very thought of anything solid. I inform my host. Her smile does not lose any of its strength. I interrupt her by raising my hand. I sniff the air like a bloodhound. There, this smell. The strong and unmistakable perfume of roasted beans, a powerful accent and a deep fragrance. Amazing. I ask with unbridled excitement. The deep, heart-wrenching sigh of abject betrayal that lifts my companion¡¯s dainty chest speaks of a disappointment beyond words. It takes only a week for me to wrap up everything and then return to Boston with John and a few promising administrators. As for the others recent hires, it turns out that Jack, Wallace¡¯s prot¨¦g¨¦ and my agent, has managed to save their lives when the Mudmen and witches took over the warehouse to rescue the hostage. Most of them decide to stay in their home city under the employ of Sephare. The few who do not are given the funds and means to reach Marquette. As soon as I arrive, I leave John in the arms of his worried ¡®tender half¡¯ Gladys and have King and Crews¡¯ personal effects sent back home. David King had no family left, unfortunately. Solveig ends up in my service once again and I find myself in the same room as before, now sadly empty. It will take Torran another week to finish his work and return, Nami traveled away to catch a giant squid, and Jimena is off on some confidential knight business which leaves me without company. As a result, I make some efforts to get acquainted with the manor¡¯s population. Melitone, Constantine¡¯s happens to be around and I take the time to thank her for her assistance. The bubbly woman dismisses my thanks immediately and embarks on a rant against the Speaker during which I learn that they are twins and that she does not hold him in high regard. I end up spending a few afternoons with her as we are both painters. Melitone is strange. She moves almost too well for a mortal. With Wilhelm of the Erenwald, the steward, I learn how to take better care of Metis. Although he is busy as the butler and master of ceremony, he still takes the time to visit the stables at least once per night and I manage to learn quite a few tricks from him. For example, Nightmares love having their teeth brushed, something that Metis now demands during every visit. I also learn that Nightmare teeth brushing is a spectator sport and that participants are encouraged to have a way to regrow fingers. The other thing I learn is the Nightmare¡¯s fondness for having sweet grass dipped in their drinking water. My big pony will gaze at the infusing liquid with unwavering fascination, sometimes using her nose to stir the concoction. It then occurs to me that Nightmares are deceptively malicious tea drinkers with a monotonous, meat-heavy diet. Therefore, Nightmares are English. The revelation helps me understand and tolerate Metis¡¯ snorting antics with renewed patience. Wilhelm also helps me repair the blue ethereal shawl Nami had gifted me. It had suffered from the fire and had been reduced to a single strip. With his help, I restore the ghostly living fabric to its former glory. Besides Wilhelm, I also get to know a few visitors from various clans, including Roland exiles who are the first members of their clan not to attempt to kill or capture me. I also spend some time with Constantine¡¯s secretary and assistant, a mousy woman who happens to be a Rosenthal renegade. They are apparently extremely rare. The woman, whose name is Sophia, carries a blade everywhere. It is her refusal to forfeit violence and bend to the clan¡¯s rigid laws and hierarchy that prompted her self-exile. She is only too eager to ¡®test my mettle¡¯; unfortunately, the fight is extremely one-sided. She relies on her memory and mind to analyze patterns and compare them to the styles she already studied in order to gain an edge. Apparently, my own style is far too chaotic and unpredictable for her to succeed. Add to that my superior reach and even without using much of my speed and strength, she still doesn¡¯t stand a chance. We practice for a few hours, mostly for her benefit, though I manage to become familiar with different schools of fighting which she imitates with mechanical precision. When I mention developing her own style, she agrees with me in principle, but observes that she has difficulties doing so as she simply lacks the mental flexibility. I find that I enjoy myself more than I expected. During that week, I also receive a few messages. Ricardo successfully arrives in Marquette with my newly looted tomes. He and Merritt finally broker an uneasy peace after bickering over laboratory equipment. My financial assistance in creating two separate labs proved vital. I also learn from my witchy deputy that the White Cabal moved in successfully, and that they have so far respected their arrangement to the letter. They were quite surprised to find a completely independent practitioner on my land. In a worryingly short amount of time, my poor friend received one duel and three marriage invitations, all of which she answered with extreme prejudice. I stock up on coffee beans, to Solveig¡¯s complete disbelief. Finally, I pay Urchin. So far, all I had given him was pocket money on top of a blood supply. I did pillage a few resources from Alexandria and decide to give the Vanheim Courtier a bonus, as a gesture of kindness. To my surprise, he decides to spend most of it on clothes. I direct my minion to Wilhelm and possibly the help of the tailor Gunther Goode who had so masterfully renewed my wardrobe. Only a true expert could salvage the situation anyway. To my delight, the work is accepted, and Urchin soon parades the manor in a well-cut grey suit that fits him like a glove. The Vanheim reject is almost respectable now that he no longer wears rags. And because he substituted his beret with a nice bowler hat. And since he takes regular baths. And combs his hair. Also, he walks, instead of skulking. And his back is straight which means he does not look like he is constantly plotting some unsavory plan that involves sneaking into women changing rooms. The improvement to his diction helps as well. He even stopped leering. Well. All in all, I would say that I did good work. He is almost no longer a rescue. With everything going reasonably well, for once, I hire the help of Salim and officially submit my claim to the state of Illinois. There are no specific rules concerning this sort of claim. Constantine remained purposely vague when listing the requirements in his laws. In order to be eligible, one must demonstrate sufficient martial power and have the means to control their territory. The rest is up to the Speaker, who is free to accept or not depending on if he believes the candidate has contributed or will be contributing to the community. I wiped out a Gabrielite base and an actual horde of Wendigos. That has to count for something. On the second day of December and three days before Torran is set to return, I am finally summoned to the Progenitor¡¯s office. Winter has come to Boston. A heavy cover of snow blankets the entire bay, including the manor. The air grows crisp and pleasant and the nights long and productive. I sometimes ride through the pristine cover of white powder shining like crushed diamond when I successfully coax Metis out. Tonight is different. I knock on the door leading to the Speaker¡¯s antechamber and Sophia ushers me in without fuss. she says quietly. I must admit that for all his flaws, Constantine does not keep people waiting. he mutters as he finishes reading a report. Once I am sat, Constantine tucks the piece of paper away and removes a file from one of his many drawers. He opens it with slow and precise movements to remove my petition. I realize that the other documents contained look like the intelligence report he put away. He has been keeping an eye on me. Constantine gazes at me from above his hawkish nose, assessing. I wait. The memories associated with this place surge and for a moment, I am tempted to pull on my fingers and check they are fine. Sometimes, it is hard to believe that I was tortured not two months ago. It feels like an eternity. I suppose that I should be grateful. he says softly. ¡° I reply with annoyance. The Speaker nods. I sputter with uncontrolled outrage, Constantine raises a tired hand to stop my furious tirade before it can even begin. Shock. Horror. Betrayal. Constantine smirks bitterly. His parting remark stings more than I anticipated. the voluptuous Courtier announces with no trace of condescension. She leads me to an intimate office in warm tones and closes the door behind me. Lord Ceron stands up and bows while I respectfully curtsey. It helps that I took the time to calm down. Incidentally, a pair of training dummies from the manor¡¯s armory were mercilessly savaged by some barbarian with an axe. If anyone asks, I was otherwise engaged at that time. Somewhere else. It hurts that the Lord did not change at all since the time he and I allied back at the fortress. It is with his assistance that Jimena extracted me from the clutches of the Lancaster. He was well rewarded for his efforts with comprehensive details on Lancaster economic assets, a condition of his assistance. In retrospect, I was incredibly na?ve to think of us as allies. Lord Ceron looks as good as the first time I saw him. He still has the same deep blue eyes and curly dark hair around a handsome face, and this time I can tell that his imposing muscle mass marks him as a brawler more than a fencer. Or at least he was before he was changed. I do so, hold my hands before me and start immediately. A pause. Lord Ceron considers me with widened eyes and chuckles, the old vampire equivalent of a full belly laugh. I note without much surprise. An agreement at that point was a long shot to begin with. I can tell that Lord Ceron is considering a reply, and so remain quiet until he decides on what to say. I do not have to wait long. he politely requests. Ceron relaxes in his chair as his eyes grow distant. I do not react, indicating that he should continue. I did request a briefing on her from the Rosenthal, and I also caught a glimpse of her memories when she shared her essence with me. I stare at Lord Ceron, waiting to see if this is some sort of joke. Ceron smiles magnanimously. For an instant, I am almost tempted to seek an agreement. It does not last. Devourers do not give up before the game has even started. Lord Ceron should have known, just as he should not underestimate the resources I can pull to get what I want. he continues, I retort, I click my talons on my chair and force myself to stop lest I start raising my voice. I must not display any anger. This is a game, only a game, whose rules have stayed unchanging for centuries. In the end, Lord Ceron is correct. There is nothing personal about his clan¡¯s scheme because there is nothing personal between us. We are neither friends nor even allies, and that makes us fair game for each other. We will now compete, with the loser graciously bowing out with their body and followers intact. I will play that game. I may not be the most intelligent and calculating vampire around, but I have a few strengths and one of them is that I know when to rely on the assistance of a skilled ally. By provoking me, the Cadiz have unleashed the very evil they had sought to contain. They think Sephare too devious? Not only will I call for her, I will also ask the support of the most devious and manipulative entity this side of reality. I am going to bring Sinead into this battle. Then, they will know devious. I tell him as I leave. It will not suffice. Chapter 87.5: Unhinged Laurel''s TaleDecember 13th, an unnamed hamlet in Illinois. Laurel was the last to come in. He slammed the door behind him to keep the cold at bay and sighed with relief. Warm, at last. The common room was mostly deserted at that time. The road to Chicago was closed at this time of the year, which was why they had decided to use this establishment as a rally point for Brotherhood activity. The refuge was an absolute necessity now that winter was in full swing. It was a stupid mission to start with. They were tasked with finding traces of suspicious activity in the vicinity. At least there would be none of the more dangerous species about. There were no records of butchered livestock, and what would the evil bloodsuckers do in such a shithole? Laurel striped off his heavy coat and dropped it on the hanger. His two companions were already sitting at their usual table and rubbing their hands to bring some life back into them. There was Sal, pale and gaunt and judgemental, and Karl who was the human equivalent of a cock rash. In addition to them, the room contained two other patrons. The first one he recognized. It was Joe, a squirrely boy from Bale¡¯s team. The lad barely had any hair on his chin and wanted to play the slayer. Hah, what a joke. The poor sod was reclining in his chair with a complicated expression, somewhere between fear and anger. The second man was also in the Order¡¯s uniform. It was not quite his size and yet he was wearing it with predatory grace. He was lounging in his own chair with perfect confidence and for a moment, Laurel felt a pang of jealousy. He murmured a quick prayer to keep the temptation at bay. Envy was a cardinal sin, after all. He should just thank the Lord that this silver-haired gentleman was on his side. ¡°By God, Joe you little shit, what are you doing here by yourself?¡± Karl roared while scratching the stubble on his carmine cheeks. His porcine eyes focused on the boy like two gun muzzles. ¡°You shall not use the Lord¡¯s name in vain,¡± Sal interjected in his low drone. As usual, Karl just dismissed him with one wave of his hairy paw. ¡°Yea yea, shove it Mr. Rent-a-Bishop. So Joe, where are the others?¡± The young man mumbled something. Too low for the trio to understand but apparently loud enough for the grey-eyed man to smirk minutely. ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± Karl spat. ¡°I said, they left me behind. Said I was a burden. They left me to die so I don¡¯t care about them!¡± his victim half-yelled and half-whined. Joe¡¯s eyes were shiny with unshed tears of outrage. As usual, neither Karl nor Sal cared a wit about the boy. Karl opened his mouth to start his usual badgering while Sal just sat there looking constipated, his thin mouth puckered in an eternal grimace of disapproval. It reminded Laurel of a cat¡¯s asshole. ¡°Enough of this,¡± he said, exasperated. Before Karl could redirect his ill temper on him, Laurel turned to the newcomer. ¡°And who might you be, brother? I haven¡¯t seen you before.¡± ¡°I am with Hodges¡¯ team. The rest of us will arrive tomorrow,¡± the man replied genially. ¡°Reinforcements? About damn time you pussies showed up,¡± Karl grunted. Laurel frowned. He could not quite place the unknown man¡¯s accent, and Karl was starting to get on his nerves. The new guy must have thought so too because he leaned forward and smiled dangerously. Laurel half-expected him to demand satisfaction, but it turned out he was wrong. ¡°You must be cold. How about a drink?¡± He then knocked on his table and called the barmaid with obvious pleasure. ¡°Barmaid! Barmaaaiiiiiiid!¡± he said. She soon appeared, putting on her apron and staring down at the one who had called her with annoyance. ¡°Barmaid. Kindly give these gentlemen a beer. My treat!¡± he declared generously. ¡°I¡¯ll put it on your tab,¡± the woman retorted before moving behind the counter. ¡°Are you new?¡± Laurel asked the girl with curiosity. ¡°Never mind that Laurel, you cockless twit, I¡¯ll take her over old Greta any day of the week. Hey, beautiful!¡± Laurel was tempted to slam the vile man¡¯s face into the table but quickly implored the Lord to deliver him from the sin of wrath. The prayer only kind of worked. ¡°Greta is upstairs resting. She has had a long day, and I would appreciate it if you could keep your voices down,¡± the woman retorted. ¡°Fuck that, we men need to unwind. Now get us that beer, I need to drown my molars.¡± With one last disapproving glance, the woman gritted her teeth and went for the pewter mugs. Laurel understood that lecherous prick Karl to an extent. The woman had golden hair like wheat under the sun, and sky-blue eyes. She was also beautiful. Her skin was rather pale with a delicate pink sheen over her cheeks. As she expertly drew beer from a barrel, he could not help but look down. She was moving with confident gestures that he found attractive. He looked down still and stopped himself before succumbing to the sin of lusty thoughts. The woman walked to them with the three mugs easily balanced in a single hand. She stopped at the edge of the table and frowned at Karl, who had licked his lips and was leering at her with naked sleaze. Without a word, the woman turned left and deposited the three mugs between Sal and Laurel himself, thus avoiding the risk of an errant hand. ¡°Avoiding me, lass?¡± the disgusting man asked with a touch of anger. ¡°I have good instincts,¡± she retorted. ¡°Karl, stop it,¡± Laurel ordered. He could tell that his repulsive teammate wanted to escalate but the horrid man restrained himself. Even he knew that they were sent here in this desolate place because they had fallen out of favor and could not afford any more offenses under their names. S?a??h th? N0v?lFir?.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. In the end, the man relented. ¡°Bah, at least the beer is decent here,¡± he growled. Karl then proceeded to slurp the liquid. ¡°This is a waste of time¡­¡± Laurel muttered, his patience and determination fraying under the combined effort of the remoteness, the weather and his insufferable allies. ¡°There has not been anything of note around here since the Red Maiden,¡± he continued with feelings. ¡°The Red Maiden?¡± a foreign voice asked from the other table. It was the grey gentleman, currently holding his mug in front of his lips. Laurel groaned as Karl banged his drink on the table, sending foamy liquid across the polished wood. ¡°Hah! You don¡¯t know about the Red Maiden! I¡¯ll tell you all you need to know, stranger. Your pal Karl knows a lot, he does! I got it all from one of them archivist eggheads who gathered it from interrogation reports and spying! Lend me your ears, because it¡¯s a tale like no other!¡± Behind the bar, the waitress started to scrub glasses with furious energy. She was clearly annoyed, and Laurel could see why. It only took people thirty seconds to guess that any story garnering Karl¡¯s interest would be vulgar. ¡°It all started in New-Orleans, the land of savages, whores, negroes and degenerates. The Red Maiden was made at Mardi Gras¡¯ greatest orgy from the slut who had won the best ass contest.¡± The barmaid sighed heavily, but she let the men continue. Laurel considered for one moment that he had joined the Order to protect mankind for the depredations of unnatural creatures and that he had trained hard to learn how to face them. He had not expected that asking too many questions would land him there at the edge of civilization, forced to slog his way through the snow by day and listen to bawdy stories by night, paired up with a fanatical idiot who could only speak in Bible quotes and the sleaziest asshole this side of the Mississippi. Perhaps a career change was called for. He could respect his oath even if he operated independently. Next to him, Karl was still recounting his gross story with gusto to the polite interest of the grey brother. ¡°Even the city¡¯s debaucheries could not satisfy her! She would tour the brothels and take part in bloody games to quench her unholy drives. Her appetite for the pleasures of the flesh was never satisfied! She would lust after genitals the size of bulls and balls the size of ostrich eggs!¡± Karl added while extending his arm to demonstrate exactly how large the unlikely pieces of anatomy were. ¡°She would drain the seed of hundreds of men with her mouth to steal their strength, and drink it as well as their soul, which was sucked through the urethra! And that is why she was also called the Devourer.¡± Laurel jumped in his seat at the unexpected sound of tortured metal. When he turned however, he could only see the barmaid still cleaning a mug with a terribly focused expression. He shrugged, imagining that she would find the story vexing and attempt to ignore it. The grey brother, however, seemed to be having fun. His expression was split along the lines of disbelief and amusement. ¡°Is that so?¡± the man lightly commented. ¡°Right! But the story doesn¡¯t end here! She left the city in her eternal quest for ever girthier manhoods and finally found a mountain man somewhere in Georgia. A spirit of stone and depravity.¡± Laurel noted in passing that the waitress was more affected than he thought. She was slowly thumping her head against the wooden bar while muttering imprecations. ¡°Perhaps you should stop your story there Karl, your tale serves no purpose but to cause distress and horror.¡± ¡°But we¡¯re reaching the best part!¡± his companion exclaimed with spittle flying in the air, ¡°How they labored together to create the ultimate sex automaton, a creature with endless stamina and an artificial Johnson that could be inflated in the middle of the action! They named it, the Key of Beriah!¡± A sound like an explosion. Laurel searched the room to find the waitress¡¯ fist buried through a table. Her beautiful visage was twisted with fury, most of it directed at the grey knight who had lifted his hands in helpless surrender. ¡°You think this is funny?! Sennak! An Suqqam Hayatu!¡± Laurel¡¯s heart skipped a beat just as cold sweat erupted all over him. A shiver of dread crawled up his back as terror, sheer terror, paralyzed his mind. The appearance. The strange words. This strength. Her suddenly paler skin. It could not be! The grey gentleman replied in the same tongue with a tone that suggested an answer along the lines of ¡°not my problem¡±. An instant later, the woman shook her fists with anger and started a low hiss. To Laurel¡¯s savvy eyes, she looked like a woman two seconds away from tossing cutlery with malicious intent. ¡°Those slanderous¡­ scandalous lies! Perfidy!¡± she sputtered with outrage, ¡°I would never!¡± Horrified silence covered the inn until an elegant voice interrupted it. ¡°Are you quite sure you never lusted after large genitals?¡± the man in grey observed while inspecting his nails, which were black and quite sharp. Then he turned to the woman with the deadliest shit-eating grin Laurel had ever seen. The suicidal moron added in a mocking falsetto voice: ¡°Is that your main gun captain, or are you just happy to see me?¡± Laurel upended his table and jumped to the side just as a stream of incoherent curses, in French of all things, turned into a scream of feral rage. ¡°Goujat! Malotru! Sombre cretin!¡± An instant later, a piece of the bar with the deformed nails still attached crashed against the wall, missing the other man only because he had dodged it with supernatural speed. Not one, but two vampires. Unthinkable. Laurel instantly knew that they were still alive because the vampires were bickering. He climbed to his knees and grabbed the pallid Karl, dragging him behind himself. ¡°We have to get out!¡± he screamed. Thankfully, they had the entrance wall to their direct back and the door was only a few feet away. They could do it. Sal did not listen. The religious retard stood up with an expression of triumph, brandishing his cross before him. ¡°In the name of the Fa¡ª¡± An instant later, the man¡¯s brains splattered against the stone behind them as the two survivors were showered with pieces of ceramic shrapnel. Laurel thought in passing that he had never seen a man killed with a thrown plate before. Laurel crawled to the door while on the other side of the upended table, a cataclysmic conflict was taking place with the fracas of broken furniture and the errant piece of gliding masonry. They finally reached the door. Laurel reached up for the knob, pausing only when a massive cleaver embedded itself only a hair away from his fingers. With his heart thundering in his ear, he finally managed to open the door and pass through. He turned around just to see a delicate hand ending in savage talons close around the neck of his companion before the man disappeared back into the room. Laurel turned and ran. He sprinted with all his strength, needled by despair. There was a derelict house in front of him across the town square. The stables were just behind. Five seconds. Four seconds. Three seconds. Almost there. Two seconds. One second. Behind him, the door of the inn crashed open as he was crossing the threshold of the ruin. A primal instinct made him turn. The woman was here with her arm up, claws extended. Laurel fell backwards with a scream, pointlessly covering his face. There was no pain. Hesitantly, Laurel removed his arm and took in his surroundings. He was inside the destroyed home. A quarter of the roof had collapsed, and it smelled of soot and unwashed bodies despite the open air. There was an extinguished fire by his left and a veritable rat nest of chest-high planks, tarps and clutter to his right piled against the wall. In front of him and on the other side of the threshold, the Red Maiden was staring in disbelief as she attempted in vain to enter the collapsed edifice. ¡°But¡­ how!?¡± she exclaimed. And suddenly, the rat nest exploded outward. In an instant, Laurel realized his mistake. The pile of debris was actually a makeshift cabin! A light shone from beyond the tarps and he could even spot covers on the others side. A ghastly apparition suddenly stood before him. It was a man with a long beard that must have been white at some point of the distant past, possibly before it was used as a napkin, handkerchief, and other things he did not dare contemplate. His bald head was oily and grimy and two insane eyes above a large nose were fixed on Laurel with an expression of sheer malevolence. From the waist up, the man was covered in more layers of cloth that he thought could be possible, giving him an air of impossible obesity. From the waist down, the creature was completely naked. Two hirsute spindly legs emerged from the mess of shirts, and between them freely dangled the man¡¯s shriveled genitals. They quivered feebly in the glacial air as he jumped up and down, spitting and vociferating. ¡°Get off my lawn!¡± The stench emanating from the poor sod was nauseating and Laurel covered his nose. He must have intruded in the home of the hamlet¡¯s reject. Then the reality of his situation came back to his battered mind and he fearfully returned his attention to the Maiden, only to find the vampire unmoving. She was cradling her elbow in one hand, the other hand massaging the bridge of her nose. Her eyes were closed. They stayed like this for a good ten seconds with the local idiot still jumping around. Eventually, she threw both hands in the air. ¡°That¡¯s it. I am done. I. Am. Done. Done!¡± Then she turned around and walked to the middle of the square, picked up the destroyed door, replaced it on its hinges and slammed it closed behind her. Laurel could not believe his luck and did not expect for it to last. He ran to the stable and took his horse, riding East until a pallid dawn cast its cold glow on the snowy land. And that is the closest a Gabrielite ever came to the Red Maiden without dying. Chapter 88: The Gathering Tide Constantine¡¯s office is as spacious and ordered as before, but now it feels crowded. To my right stands a tall man with dark curly hair and the beard and mustache of a Spanish Conquistador, which, arguably, he might be.He is also my rival for the ownership of the State of Illinois. Behind his desk, Constantine gauges the both of us as we sit at attention, studiously ignoring each other. he finally says. I hiss and stop, as Constantine immediately raised a hand to preclude any protest I may have. I reply without hesitation. I should not have lashed out at the mention of my torturer and yet, I have. My fingers itch. I ignore them. Constantine leans forward, his lean fingers intertwined on top of his desk. my neighbor replies. I add, already considering the implications. A year ago or so, I rescued a werewolf from the Order prison where Sivaya and Nami were also held captive. Alistair was his name, and he was originally from the city of York. He had mentioned that communities had formed in the Canadian wilderness. He had also mentioned a group called Black Peak that was trying to gain dominance. At that time, I had dismissed the whole affair as having nothing to do with me, and I had not helped him. Well, the joke is on me now. This mass movement is most certainly related to that whole business. Either those groups Constantine mentioned are refugees or, more worrying, the Black Peak wolves are trying to expand. I really hope this is the former. I could, of course, share my observations with Constantine and my rival, but I really do not see the point. Vampires only rarely interact with werewolves besides by hunting them down, though individuals are sometimes used as freelance agents. If I treat them as an organized faction from the beginning, it might give me the edge I need to win this contest. Constantine continues with a pointed look. I am sure he anticipates some level of treachery. The poor sod. He has no idea what I am about to unleash, witness or not. Melitone cannot be everywhere at once. That means that he can only rely on his subordinates, not his entire clan. Good news. he declares, then as an afterthought: I sputter in outrage! Calumnies! Shameless defamation! It seldom ever happens! My rival bows then to my surprise, turns to me. He grabs his fancy hat and departs the room. How dare he be polite and respectful while I plan to do unspeakably devious things to him and his party! This proper behavior will not save him from my wrath. His clan should have thought twice before annoying me. We wait until the door closes behind us. Then we wait some more. And some more. I am tempted to draw on the Hastings essence. Besides turning coffee into an elixir of the gods, it allows me to act more human. That means shifting in the seat, scratching my arm and other mannerisms that vampires apparently find endlessly annoying coming from another vampire, according to Torran. Fortunately, Constantine speaks before I must resort to psychological warfare. I instinctively grip the edge of my seat. If he dares¡­ Constantine shows the most minute signs of distress. A mortal would have missed it. he announces as he stands up. Despite my best effort, I must have shown a sign of excitement because my host looks a bit aggravated. Progenitor blood! A rare treat indeed. It will lack vitality, but this power... I join him behind his desk, a symbolic allowance on his part. He extends one bare wrist which I take delicately, then his other hand whips out and grabs my head with lightning speed. I freeze. From where I stand, I see the edges of a mage gauntlet of incredible power. The contained aura of the artefact thrums with a threatening rhythm like war drums in the distance. It tastes of blood, iron and the tide. I feel no aggression from Constantine and so I stay still. Even my instincts are silent as power emanates in waves from the Progenitor¡¯s form. He is considerably faster than me. He is also known as a blood magic genius, showing incredible innovation, a rarity among our kind. I am convinced that he will not kill me if I do not give him cause and so I keep my peace. I nod. I lick the skin over the vein, eliciting a sigh. I can feel the power crawling languishly under the pale skin. Despite my best efforts, I find myself anticipating the moment with great pleasure. I bite down. S?a??h th? Nov?lF?re .??t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. I pull back. I have seen enough; I have taken enough. The essence is mine now. I finally understand the secret power Ganiz, no, Constantine, has chosen for himself. Just as my own sire was driven by conquest, Constantine crossed the boundary out of brotherly love. The touch of his line will make the Servant better, more powerful. Inhuman. Not as strong as a vampire but sharing none of our weaknesses, they will be a force to reckon with. Not to mention that we still cannot touch them. The taboo is still here. I find his sacrifice touching. I need to remember that Melitone will display superhuman abilities, especially now that she has had a century to train. It also implies that should she fall, the murderer will have to face a vengeance like no others. Constantine idly comments to mask his temporary weakness. I care not. Again, so much power. I can feel it roll and merge into me. Its touch is gentler than Sinead and Sivaya¡¯s essence, a pond to their torrent, but no less powerful for it. I stretch in delight under the soothing effect, marveling at its strength. My essence follows the line of my body, while my aura is more diffuse and more flexible. I can feel it growing denser and darker. It feels good. I flex my claws. Now would be a good time for a Hunt, but alas, necessity makes law. I note in passing that I am not drunk, just like the night I tasted my sire¡¯s essence all those years ago. Perhaps it is due to the low vitality? Curious. Constantine studies me for a while, and I allow him some time to recuperate. He has not dismissed me yet therefore it would be rude to leave. I reply, I eye him with undisguised amusement. Constantine replies, frowning, he retorts with a bit of anger. I laugh as I leave. I chuckle and close the door behind me. I already knew I would need resources to complete my mission. The first step is thus to return to Marquette and gather those resources. Constantine correctly anticipated this move and I can rely on Melitone joining me shortly. As expected, I cannot count on Torran. Not that I planned on asking him for help. Torran is my senior in every regard, to rely on him is to send a signal that I am dependent on him. That will not do. Thankfully, I have much to work with. As I step outside of the manor and onto the inner garden, I am joined by the first additional member of our expedition. When I saved Melusine, I demanded of her a one-time assistance in battle, a favor I am calling upon now. As she turns and narrows her eyes, I will admit that she looks rather good in a brown traveling dress and deep green cloak that compliment her pale skin and carmine curls. she declares as we make our way along the fountain and onto the gravel road leading down. I nod and we both whistle at the same time. Metis trots out of her stable with a prancing gait that shows everyone that she is the best Nightmare around and she knows it. She stops a few paces in front of us and snorts disdainfully, like the big good warhorse she is. By comparison, Melusine¡¯s Nightmare is thinner, less muscular though arguably more graceful. She seems to glide on the earth with thin hooves while Metis¡¯ trample the ground with the sound of thunder heralding the coming of the Huns. What is this delicate flower of the night? This is not a Nightmare. A Nightmare exists to run down werewolves and smash into human lines like the wrath of the itself. Both Melusine and I finish our inspection of each other¡¯s horse and scoff at the same time. I turn to her with fangs bared. Melusine gasps in outrage and displays her fangs in return. a warm and slightly accented voice says from behind. I turn around to see my darling here and smile helplessly. He looks dashing in traveling leather, with that sardonic smirk that lifts one corner of his mouth more than the other. Without another word, he passes us by and calls for Krowar. The larger war horse trots forth with elegance and dignity. Torran climbs on it and rides first. Melusine and I exchange a glance. she reluctantly admits. Then after a pause, because I am not completely insensitive, and she did lose her and lover not too long ago. I concede. It is not every day that you will find a man who will hide your insensate form with his own dying body to save your life. We both fall silent as melancholy overcomes my companion. I grab her by the arm and pull her forward. Nothing like a good ride to clear one¡¯s head, after all. We gallop and soon catch up with Torran as he rides down the path along the cliff leading down from the manor. The humans guards, always vigilant, let us pass without a word after a cursory inspection by the light of their torches. When we reach him, my lover slows down and pulls alongside me. he declares while inspecting me. I ask with curiosity. We never actually discussed it, simply because I preferred his tales of home, games and politics and I wanted to make it clear that I was interested in him as an individual, not because of his role as a smith. This time is different. Torran initiated the conversation himself. I ask with excitement. Torran considers the question seriously. I ask, surprised. I do enjoy my guns. Torran is not wrong. Even my pistols are often used at point blank range. To be fair this is the best way to use a pistol as they are not the most precise firearms around. I reply with appreciation. While the cost of a single forging is not only astronomical, the services of the smith may not even be purchased with money to begin with. I go on. I remark. Torran turns his aristocratic face to me, his grey eyes twinkling with amusement. I jump on the occasion to ask another question that had bothered me. I shiver at the memory, a memory I have shared with him. To my surprise, Torran has never been touched by the golden orb¡¯s unforgiving radiance, though he has suffered countless other wounds. Yet less than a year of being able to move during the day and I have already been roasted once. Maybe I am just an idiot. I ask with worry. I cannot afford to weaken. Torran replies, he finishes with fake condescension. I reply with a murderous glance. Torran has grown more teasing in the past few weeks, following in the footsteps of Jimena, Nami and basically anyone who has grown close to me. Is it fun to needle ? Unfair. By now, we are crossing the fields and glasshouses covering the valley We continue in silence for a while, until I notice signs that Melusine wishes to speak to me. Surprised, I pull back after a last nod at my lover and align myself with her. As we ride side by side I realize with pleasure that between my size and Metis¡¯, I am easily two heads taller than her. I ask with a smirk. Melusine huffs, completely unamused. Ooh, we are on a name basis now. ¡° she reminds me with annoyance, I suggest. Melusine merely rolls her eyes. I stare at her, long and hard. Melusine does not flinch under my scrutiny. She lifts her chin with all the aristocratic grace embedded into her persona since she was dragged screaming into her clan so many nights ago. I coldly state. I ask disbelieving. She looks forward now, fully absorbed in her demonstration. In front of us, Torran shifts to let me see his amused smile. We must appear as children splitting a cake for one such as him. She closes a fist and turns to me again with a hint of disdain. I pointedly suggest. I consider her proposal. First, she is serious. I can tell from her posture and determined air. She also makes a good point. I will need to create covens. I am unwilling to sire spawn for now and Urchin does not qualify as a coven member. Second, and most important, can I trust her? If she is willing to take an oath, then yes. Despite her devious Lancaster ways, she is still one of our kind and we do not break oaths easily. It still bears the question¡­ Melusine smiles softly. She stares me in the eyes with candor. I phase out Melusine as she descends into cold rage, listing the many indignities she would subject her fallen superior to. Interestingly, many of them involve fire in some fashion. I think I can trust her. In theory, her arrangement is also to my benefit, though this time I will consider the question before taking any hasty decision. I will not repeat my mistake of agreeing to lady Sephare too quickly. I reply as I interrupt Melusine¡¯s next description on what she will do to Moor, which involves a box with a small opening, coals and a rabid wolverine. I continue and to my surprise, Melusine does not object. I continue. she replies. We nod to each other with grudging respect and return to riding in a single file. The rest of the trip to the way station is done in silence. A few hours later, Torran and I part ways after promises to spend more time together when all is done. He will travel around for a bit while Melusine and I rush to Marquette at high speed using armored carriages. We have a war to plan, and to win. Chapter 89: Council The Dream. My old bedroom.Marquette is still bustling with activity, but the nature of the night shifted. Perhaps leaving the city gave me the distance I needed to come to a realization. Marquette is no longer a godforsaken mudhole. When I came here for the first time it most definitely was. Now, even at night, ladies and gentlemen decked in good if conservative clothes walk the street, going to some fancy restaurants or the newly opened theater house. Even the Dream¡¯s clientele has visibly improved compared to when it started. The rowdy lights and loud songs are muted, and I notice that Merritt wisely decided to make Harrigan¡¯s security force shave and bathe. The world is changing, including the things I built... That is fine. I am changing too. I hope I will keep changing quickly enough. Torran told me tales of others who were left behind, who allowed themselves to drift. They do not truly fall, but their influence dims as they retreat to ever more parochial villages, their hearts filled with bitterness and the mistaken belief that they were cheated. I must never let that happen to me. With a sigh, I adjust my newest dress and open the window to jump out. That dress is the answer to an age-old dilemma. How can I appear as a leader of men without a dress that can also double as a mainsail? How can I walk through a salon and a battlefield with the same aplomb? And finally, is there a way to wear a dress and jump from a roof without said dress ending over my head, my unmentionables thus revealed for the entire world to see? I used to make do with good cuts and holding my hands on the sides of my knees but no longer! I have a new secret weapon. Based on the battle dress design, I asked for a traditional cut above the waist with just a bit of cleavage to expose my collarbones. The forearms are left bare so that I can wear bracers if the occasion calls for it. Below the waist, I wear trousers with a single layer of dress-like fabric sewed on. That way, it looks like a dress until I start running. Only then do the trousers become visible. So it¡¯s not cheating! Besides that, the new and improved battle dress also comes with a heart protector and some sheathes but no room for pistols and no additional armor. It is quite sturdy though, courtesy of Boothe, Wilhem¡¯s tailor. This one is red. I am making a statement. Our war room is set in a new office building close to Merritt¡¯s home and Marquette¡¯s warehouse district. As soon as I am far enough away from the Dream, I don a dark cloak and walk the streets without worry. I could not afford to be recognized in my old establishment but out there, the old wisdom is still to not look too hard at the passing strangers. The office is large, with three stories, proper windows and a side warehouse to store anything we might need ranging from spare wheels to muskets. The silver ingots used for crafting magical implements are kept in a safe upstairs. As I confidently step inside, a pair of guards notice my approach. The younger one frowns and grabs for his shouldered rifle but he is instantly stopped by his partner, one of Harrigan¡¯s veterans. The greying soldier shakes his head and the recruit swallows nervously before resuming his guard. ¡°Evening, gentlemen,¡± I generously greet as I go by. ¡°Mam,¡± they reply in unison. Ah, it is good to be home. Melusine is waiting for me in the soberly furnished lobby, just as I requested. Her own secured vault is under the main dormitory, the very same place where Jonathan blew up my shed, while Urchin¡¯s is right here. He should already be upstairs. she huffs, scandalized. Melusine half-pouts half-hisses. I reply with a knowing smile. The proud Lancaster keeps growling behind me as we climb up to the top floor, passing a few employees still working at this late hour. Right. Melusine huffs and averts her gaze. The cubs have claimed yet another victim. A guard in a leather overcoat opens the door to the state room, and we walk in. A crowd has gathered around the central table upon which several maps have been drawn. There is Urchin, impeccably dressed and currently twirling a knife in his hands with preternatural speed. He apparently picked up on finger acrobatics and this is possibly the first time I have seen him move with vampiric grace. Next to him, Sinead is helpfully showing my minion a few tricks to test his limits. He and his fianc¨¦e must not have been far to come this quickly. A lucky break, for me that is. For the Cadiz? Not so much. Then there is Merritt, currently conversing with a Cabal mage I am pleased to see again. John is not here, and the reminder of his absence dampens my good mood. Even if he was useful in the ambush and I thanked him for it, I can tell that something is bothering him. At his request, I granted him his first vacation since he entered my service and he has been spending more time with his wife. I am not sure what to think. John was never material. They are meant to help us maintain our humanity while John draws out my own controlling tendencies. He is the perfect puppet, loyal to a fault, but also lacking the wit and initiative that Dalton had. At the same time, he has always been special, and I find that the distance growing between us darkens my mood. Thankfully, I am quickly offered a distraction from those sad musings. Melusine comes in after me and gapes like a complete bumpkin, to my utter delight. Oh, to savor the moment. To remember it forever! She keeps protesting as I drag her forward, past Urchin who bows smartly without stopping his game. ¡°Hello poppet, and what a titillating morsel you have brought me tonight,¡± the prince declares in his usual velvety voice. Sinead has shed his disguise and his amber eyes and golden hair shine with an otherworldly glow. Wisps of blue flame dance in his pupils and his crooked smile only widens at the Lancaster¡¯s surprise. Sinead apparently decided that if he was not going to hide, he would be the most visible of all in a white suit and garish golden shirt. ¡°I am delighted to see you, Sinead. Rest assured that these two are sworn to secrecy.¡± ¡°Of course, my dear, you are not the sharing type. Oh, but what is this I sense in your aura? You found yourself a lover?¡± Is ¡®well laid¡¯ somehow written on my face? I hope not. ¡°Yes! And quite a capable one at that,¡± I retort with vengeful pride before realizing that it really is none of his business. ¡°Perhaps we should spend some time together so that you can compare,¡± Sinead replies in smooth and seductive Likaean. I frown at the term he chose for sex. Likaean obviously possesses several words and idioms for lovemaking, and the one he picked implies feelings shared in a casual relationship. Very daring of him indeed. ¡°If only you could handle¡­ all of my urges,¡± I reply in the same language, to Melusine¡¯s renewed disbelief. The poor thing is positively flummoxed. Sinead raises his hands in surrender, though he does not withdraw his offer and that is telling. He then rotates to let us pass. ¡°We can discuss more later, poppet. Let us start that war council of yours. I am eager to play.¡± I nod and drag the nonplussed Melusine to our next guest, Merritt. I note in passing that the concentration of redheads in the room is much higher than in the rest of the country. Is there something with me and gingers? I shall have to study the question. ¡°Merritt, meet Melusine of the Lancasters, a semi-competent mage. Melusine, this is Merritt, my second in command,¡± I announce, making the presentations. ¡°Oh hello,¡± Merritt greets semi-guardedly. ¡°Are you the mother of Oliver and Alynna?¡± Melusine asks with interest. ¡°Oh my God, did they do something? Alynna did not ask you to help her, did she?¡± Merritt asks with concern. ¡°¡­no no,¡± Melusine replies, just a bit sheepish. Oh, the blackmail material. Yes! ¡°Merritt is in charge of Marquette when I am not around. She will assist us in getting the supplies we need in a timely fashion,¡± I add to save my ally. ¡°And the reinforcements too if things get out of hand. Go finish your round Ari, we have a myriad things to go over,¡± With a smile, Melusine and I turn to the Cabal mage. ¡°Good evening Frost, I did not expect to see you here.¡± The old man smiles, his demeanor going from stern to grandfatherly in a heartbeat. His white hair and beard are impeccably trimmed, and he wears a dark grey suit that really complements his image of a benevolent elder gentleman. Until the smile turns almost feral. ¡°There were mentions of werewolf packs. I have to see it with my own two eyes.¡± ¡°Forgive me for saying so, but there should be a lot of traipsing. Should you not leave this to the younger generation, someone less important?¡± I ask. Frost considers me, tilting his head to the side in a gesture that vampires would consider predatory. I am amused, and keep a carefully neutral expression. Frost is trying to determine if I insulted him. I can feel Melusine¡¯s aura behind me shift from restrained to interested. Eventually, Frost and I smile at the same time, aware of each other¡¯s game. ¡°Do you know how long I have been at this?¡± he asks. ¡°A very long time? I know your aging slows as you grow in power.¡± ¡°You are correct, young one. I am, indeed, very old. Ancient, even! I asked to come here, because I do not want the younglings to risk themselves on what could be a very dangerous mission, you see? I am old and disposable.¡± He grins and crosses his arms, waiting. A test. The excuse he gave me was a false one. Not quite a lie, a half-truth. What reason could he possibly have to come here? Interest in me? No, he had plenty of opportunities before and I am not so fascinating. What then? And finally, it strikes me. His lack of concern, his game, the eagle-like gaze and the head tilt. Frost is not just a kindly and protective senior member of the Cabal¡¯s government. Besides that, or rather before that, he was a killer. Yes, I see it now, in the certainty of his stare. There is a¡­ hungry quality to it. ¡°You miss it, don¡¯t you?¡± The grin widens. ¡°The hunt,¡± I continue. Melusine steps up and now we are a triangle of apex monsters. Oh, Frost might be a mortal and his envelope is now frail, but the aura I feel underneath that he briefly revealed, that was interesting. ¡°I hope you bring me something new and exciting, Ariane dear. A few more years and I might just die in my bed, and wouldn¡¯t that be a shame?¡± ¡°Some consider it the best kind of revenge.¡± ¡°And they are completely wrong, it is merely the most convenient. Ah, but look at me rambling. I believe you have done all the little social niceties expected of you, so why don¡¯t we move to the meat of the subject?¡± ¡°Quite right. And I hear the last two guests coming.¡± As promised and a few moments later, the door is thrown wide open by an impatient Melitone. The and I have interacted only a few times, but it always struck me how similar she and Constantine are. They share the same aristocratic and exotic look, the same no-nonsense attitude and the same impatience to a world that does not move at their speed, nor matches their rational intellect. The only difference is that Melitone is slightly shorter and pretty, and that she is abrasive and direct where Constantine is distant and patient. ¡°I found this stumbling in the street. Is this yours?¡± ¡°Oh, evening everyone! Does anybody want some carrot cake? It¡¯s my specialty!¡± a disheveled witch declares with a wide grin. Some things apparently do not change. When I met Violet in Alexandria, the dream-focused witch had been a bit lost and isolated. I can tell that she has made some effort with her appearance tonight, with even her winter dress sort of color-coordinated with the rest of her outfit. Her hair is also combed, for once. Alas, she ruined the impression with some obvious last-minute rush. She chose a ditzy bright pink shawl that horribly clashes with the rest of her outfit, possibly because of the unexpectedly frigid air. The wind has blown through a badly attached ribbon and now brown strands erupt from a prim and proper bun. It would be barely acceptable in a teenager and Violet is obviously in her thirties. I welcome her with a sympathetic smile. She will be instrumental in our next operation, and I am always willing to tolerate idiosyncrasies in talented individuals. S?a??h the n0v?l(?)ire.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. ¡°Put the cake on the table, we are ready to begin,¡± I offer. As everyone settles in silence, an employee comes with refreshments including a cup of black coffee for myself to everyone¡¯s disbelief. I choose to remain mysterious and to not explain myself. Being mysterious is a form of gloating. Both Sinead and Frost fall on the cake like Mongol raiders on a farming village, and both of them congratulate Violet for her excellent use of cinnamon, to the witch¡¯s dismay. ¡°It was supposed to be a secret ingredient¡­¡± she mutters under her breath, apparently surprised at so many refined palates. After we are done with pleasantries, I quickly explain our mission, including the possibility of having to face large numbers of coordinated werewolves which I justify as this being a possible cause of so many groups of scouts being spotted. Indeed, scouts are used to draw maps and maps are used to wage war. Before I can ask my advisors what they think we should bring, however, Melitone raises her hand. ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°I am sorry for being the bringer of bad news, Ariane. Unfortunately, we received a rather rude missive from Mornay, official Master of Detroit. I¡¯ll summarize the content for you and remove the flowery crap. He does not trust outsiders. He will only allow you to bring a second and five mortals. That¡¯s it.¡± I blink, stupefied. ¡°I am sorry, was I not to assist him?¡± Melitone takes a placating expression. ¡°No need to protest, Ariane, you are preaching to the choir. The Roland clan called for help and since we accepted we are bound by the conditions they impose on us.¡± ¡°Fewer resources means worse results. Are my competitors under the same constraints?¡± ¡°I am sorry Ariane, you already suspected that Lazaro and yourself would not face the exact same trials. Rest assured that your additional difficulties will be taken into consideration.¡± I say nothing, but I know what the reality is. A failure is a failure, and excuses will never turn it into a success. ¡°Very well. Then Melusine will come with me. For the mortals I¡¯ll take Frost and four of his retinue, unless we are meant to bring in our own nourishment?¡± ¡°That would be a terrible breach of etiquette on Moray¡¯s part. He would not dare it.¡± I nod, and the rest of the council is dedicated to organizing our party. While we can only enter Detroit proper with a small group, nothing forbids me from having reinforcements around. Urchin will wait with mages and soldiers in a nearby village while we do our best to convince Moray that we are, in fact, here to assist. An hour later, everything is set and it is finally time for a second council, one of a darker nature. As the others leave the room, Sinead heads towards the liquor cabinet and helps himself to a crystal glass of amber liquid. He finds the room¡¯s most comfortable chair and collapses into it, somehow managing to make the gesture both lazy and elegant. ¡°How is Sivaya doing?¡± I politely ask in his language. His expression is guarded, and the circumstances are making me feel unusually awkward. ¡°She is well,¡± he replies in English, ¡°Her collaboration with your dimension mage, Ricardo, is going swimmingly. He figured out a reliable way to lock on specific realms using frequencies she had apparently regarded as too weak to matter. His success stings her pride, but her esteem for humans is growing as a result.¡± His voice is neutral. This distance between us worries me. ¡°That is good to hear,¡± I comment. ¡°Ask me,¡± he orders curtly, apparently out of patience. I take a breath and state my request, one I had so far only alluded to. ¡°Please help me take over the state by sabotaging my competitors.¡± Sinead grins, though his smile has an angry edge. He sips from his cup and leans forward. In a heartbeat, he goes from dilettante to deal broker. ¡°You annoy me slightly, Ariane, do you know why?¡± I shake my head. Who knows what that wastrel finds vexing? ¡°I could tell from your message that you need some assistance in making the other group¡­ ¡®look bad¡¯,¡± he quotes with disdain. ¡°You are still underestimating me, poppet. You still think of me as a schemer and a rake, as superficial as my acting would make you believe. Sabotage? Pfah! You expect me to send contradictory orders, sow discord, attack supply routes and spread false intelligence, do you not?¡± ¡°Well¡­¡± ¡°If that is the case,¡± he retorts, ¡°you only needed that Hopkins lad you mentioned. He would have done perfectly, yet you called me. You must understand that the mortals and I do not play on the same field. I am no human operative, poppet, I am an artist. A Likaean prince.¡± His stare drills into me. ¡°You said that your ally, the Lady Sephare, knows much about your foes?¡± ¡°Yes, though be careful as she is three parts scorn and one part black tea. For the rest, you can rely on Violet to pass messages and I can bankroll all of your costs.¡± ¡°Excellent. This will be enough for a proper demonstration.¡± Sinead tilts his head and looks through a window. He grows contemplative. ¡°I told you what games we play, and where true victory lies, but you forgot. Or you did not believe me, which I can understand. No matter then, I will give you a taste of what it means to play the true eternal game. Go wage your war, make your alliances and subjugate new foot soldiers Ariane. You will absorb yourself in your struggles and forget about me and the request you made. Only when the last pieces fall in place and the king is checked will you remember what you caused, and the rule I thought I had taught you.¡± I must look suitably lost because the Likaean sighs heavily. ¡°The best victories are achieved when no one ever figures out you were playing the game, poppet. Rather than creating long term tensions with the Cadiz like obvious sabotage would, they will blame their failures on circumstances. Only the most suspicious old monsters will look for signs of foul play and when they do not find them, your reputation will grow. They will consider the Devourer princess and wonder: what if? What if she made it happen? That, my dear, is the perfect triumph from whence a legend grows.¡± ¡°Nice words,¡± I reply unamused, ¡°you will forgive me if I wait for results before marveling at your unparalleled genius. And speaking of growth, I finally figured out where mages come from.¡± Now that I know that he will help me, there was another topic I wanted to raise with my most indiscreet of friends. ¡°Congratulations on finding out how babies are made, Ariane.¡± ¡°Stop trying to distract me. I always suspected but I had little proof, until now that is. Do you know that we have a slew of mage toddlers born from mundane mothers recently?¡± ¡°Is that so? How fortunate.¡± ¡°I am talking about your bastards, Sinead.¡± The Likaean smiles slightly. Most of the babies were born from those of my employees who did not take the necessary precautions. At first, I was merely suspicious of the unusually high number of births, yet only a look at the babies¡¯ hair was enough to understand the situation. They were like molten gold, like Sinead¡¯s own. ¡°You already knew it,¡± I conclude at his lack of reaction, ¡°you knew that mage bloodlines come from a Fae ancestor.¡± ¡°I find it amusing that our children are stronger than us. In our home worlds, they would be but amusing toys with little potential, yet here they are the only ones who can alter reality with any degree of success, simply because they happen to be local while we are not,¡± he continues with no trace of resentment. So, he did know. ¡°And now you so happen to have a new generation of spellcasters growing up in your domain,¡± he continues, ¡°free for the taking, and with your own retainers to train them. You are most welcome.¡± I freeze, stupefied. ¡°You¡­ did it on purpose?¡± Sinead swirls the liquor in his glass with that typical air of light condescension that heralds the start of yet another lesson. ¡°My actions can benefit you while still being pleasant for me, a lucky happenstance if you will. The mortals have a term for that, I believe. Was it serendipity? Yes, serendipity.¡± He licks his lips, tasting the word. When he returns his gaze to me, any hint of amusement is gone. ¡°Any prince of Summer who wants to live past the age of ten learns how to sow seeds and achieve multiple goals with a single word. Those mages growing in your backyard will be of use to you unless I overestimate your recruitment skills.¡± I frown, realizing the obvious. ¡°You ¡®help¡¯ me far too much, Sinead, especially when I do not ask for it. What are you really after?¡± The Likaean does not answer. He upends the glass and swallows its content, his face growing tense. ¡°We both know that we like each other and that all our arrangements and pacts are but formalities. You have already assisted me more than you should have, and I have returned the favor through my teachings. What do you want me to say, that I find you endearing? That from the moment you saved me from the cult, I have watched you with a longing only made more dire by the thrill of my inevitable doom, should I act on my heart¡¯s desires? Should I explain how your shows of kindness and ruthlessness, of efficient violence tempered by the odd bout of adorable quirkiness are like a breath of fresh dew on the withered fields of my happiness? There, I said it.¡± Hum. Wow. Did he just declare? Huh! ¡°Now be a dear poppet, and grow strong quickly so that I may return home, and you can finally see me as I am.¡± I remain silent. Sinead¡¯s expression is candid with the smallest dash of vulnerability. I can imagine how incredibly rare it is for someone of his rank and stature to bare themselves so. The pitiless society he came from would chew him then spit him out if he were to reveal this degree of vulnerability. As for his honesty, I do not doubt it. Just as he started talking, he opened his aura to me without restraint. I can taste it even now, in all its fiery glory. I do not think that even a master at control could imitate the genuine affection it radiates at that moment. And I realize that I do like him, after a fashion. I like Torran very much. I will not betray his trust, yet Sinead is and has always been the forbidden fruit. A fruit I do not intend to pick. ¡°I will not follow you,¡± I admit after a while even though I suspect it will hurt him. ¡°I am sorry Sinead, but my world is here, and it apparently needs me. I will not leave my life behind to go gallivanting in that cutthroat court of yours.¡± Contrary to my expectations, the Likaean appears unaffected by my rejection. He finally closes his aura and walks towards the door, a sign that our conversation is at an end. ¡°I know. In any case, you asked your question and I gave you an answer. I want to go home, and I want you to survive and grow. Let us work towards that end, yes?¡± Then he leaves without turning, closing the door¡¯s state room behind him. I would be lying if I said I was expecting this. I always knew that the way we helped each other went far beyond whatever arrangement we had, I never thought that Sinead would openly explain why. Well, it does not matter. I have Torran and I am not interested in building a harem, especially from people I cannot entirely trust. Sinead plays too many games on too many layers. Sometimes, it scares me. With a sigh, I gather a few maps we will need and head towards the Dream to pack. Chapter 90: Northern Wind. It takes us only two days of hard riding to head north up to Lake Michigan, then east until we reach Detroit. Melitone, Frost, and three of his men ride by day while Melusine and I slumber. By night, the roles are reversed and since we use lesser Nightmares to pull the carriage, we manage not to stop.During the trip, I learn from Melitone that she expects the City master to be somewhat hostile, which does not surprise me in the slightest. We arrive in Detroit from the South in the early evening of the second day. Detroit is old, older than most cities I have been to. It was named for the river it borders, the houses lined along ridges that start at the shore and extend north. As soon as we enter the city, I turn right to take in the piers. It does not take me long. To my surprise, Detroit is fairly small with a population barely reaching two thousand five hundred. Many of the edifices are made of wood while Alexandria and Washington had favored bricks. We pass a few groups of late-night pedestrians trudging in the dirty snow, who eye us suspiciously, and mutter in low voices in French, English, German, and sometimes even Irish brogue until we step on the embankment. The Detroit River flows languidly before us, its placid waters clear enough to reflect the buildings above and surprisingly unfrozen. I spot canals leading into the city bordered by trees. It feels peaceful and¡ª ¡°Have you seen enough? Can we go now?¡± a voice interrupts. I turn to Frost with a glare but he just shrugs. ¡°This is not the liquid I am interested in. And before you ask, no I am not talking about booze.¡± ¡°What are you talking about then?¡± ¡°Maple syrup.¡± Behind him, Melitone takes a dreamy expression as she gathers her heavy cloak around herself. ¡°What is maple syrup?¡± I ask, wondering if they are mocking me with made-up products. ¡°You have never tried it? Oh, you poor thing!¡± Frost exclaims in mock horror, ¡°it is as if the gods had shared ambrosia with us. It is as sweet as honey, it flows like water and tastes like heaven. I am surprised that you did not take the opportunity to try it.¡± ¡°I assure you that my change was not planned,¡± I hiss in a low tone. Melitone frowns at the old man who bows his head in apology. Once more, I am amazed at how quickly he can switch from old rogue to kind grandfather in a single heartbeat. Even his aura reflects this to an extent, currently crisp when he could be glacial. ¡°Ariane¡­¡± Melusine interjects. ¡°Yes, I feel them too. Lady and gentlemen, we have company.¡± I turn Metis back and we move towards the center of the city, leaving the carriage and Frost¡¯s men slightly behind. Three vampires step forward to intercept us from around the bend of the road, appearing from behind a snow-covered hedge. The one in the middle has sandy hair and traits a bit too sharp to be truly handsome. He is glaring fiercely, dressed in an elegant if incongruous dark ensemble that would belong more in a salon than outside in the heart of winter. The second man, to the right, follows the first with the respect and attention I associate with serving their sire. He has dark brown hair and a pencil-thin moustache that Loth would say he tolerates in his women. Both show the muscle structures of fencers and the overconfidence of bravos. The third person is clearly an outsider from her posture. She is beautiful with very dark curly hair and exceptionally pale skin, even for a vampire. She looks guarded and steps just a bit behind the rest of the trio. She seems familiar for some reason. All three have the aura of the Roland, which has a slight unyielding quality. Only the central figure is a Master and he is currently flaring his power in a display at the very limit of politeness. the leader asks with disdain. Or at least he tries to. Vampires, just like mortals, are susceptible to visual cues. Anyone on foot trying to look down on me while I am on Metis will only get a sore neck. In the silence that follows, Metis snorts and Zana, Melusine¡¯s nightmare, quickly follows suit. I intentionally wait for a few seconds to pass in silence before replying in a cool voice. He turns to his side to look at the woman with some contempt. And with this, the man dismisses us and turns to leave. Melitone interrupts in a low voice, Mornay turns once more, his face twisted in a grimace of rage. He flexes his hands, claws eager to rend and punish but with no real outlet. Melitone is completely beyond his reach. One minute later, only a slightly nervous remains on the muddy ground, and I observe an interesting phenomenon I did not expect to see from her clan. Blake is now looking to the side and downward in a somewhat bashful pose, and Frost as well as the other men guarding the carriage are showing concern and even sympathy for her. I can tell that she is not using her essence, therefore the strange magnetism she emits is only a product of her natural charisma and beauty. ¡°Right. Follow me,¡± she grumbles. I dismount out of politeness and soon all the others follow suit. As I walk by her side, she inspects me warily and I simply let her. We proceed in silence in a street running parallel to the river, then left towards the center of the town and up a small hill before stopping next to a three-story edifice, still in wood, lit by bright light. When we enter, Blake excuses herself for a moment and soon after several staff come to take care of everyone. Melusine and I are led into a small dependence surrounded by a garden and hidden from view by tall walls. There is only one floor arranged as a large salon with a hearth, seats and a small library. Blake wordlessly pulls a carpet from the ground to reveal a stone trapdoor surrounded by crappy enchantments the likes of which I would not use to secure a larder. she announces. Since I am a master perfectly in control of my emotions, I do not start insulting her and her hospitality right away. Melusine asks coldly. the woman replies somewhat defensively. Melusine and I stare in silence. Now finally, we are going somewhere. I ask before Melusine starts a tirade. Blake pouts, which even I find attractive. Oh, yes, I remember now! she sighs dejectedly. Melusine frowns, but she must also realize that we may have found our only ally in this place. By silent agreement, we all sit around a rickety coffee table while Melusine lights all the candles in the room with a snap from her fingers. I will never admit to being impressed by this trick. I will, however, keep it in mind as a gloating tool. I ask, not understanding. I ask. My dealings with the Rosenthal proved salutary during my exile. Without a starting capital, it would have been both difficult and risky to start the Dream from scratch. I would have had to steal. I mean, steal even more. Blake removes her hood completely and stretches. I recognize the kind of things we do to center ourselves though we no longer have the biological need for it. Melusine and I wait in silence. I summarize laconically. Melusine shows fangs but Blake smiles a bit. She is a young one, I can tell. he redhead advises. I agree and call a member of the staff to request their presence. After a few minutes, they join us, gathering around the table with warm drinks. Frost also picks a plate with what appears to be toast that was liberally drowned in some amber liquid which, I will admit, gives off an enticing perfume. Once everyone is settled, Blake begins her tale. ¡°Three weeks ago, we cornered and executed a werewolf who had come to stay in our town. We didn¡¯t think much of it until two more came looking for him. We killed them as well, only to realize that a fourth one had been staying at the edge of town. He fled before we could track him down and we lost his trace at the river.¡± So far, nothing too abnormal besides the high number. ¡°The loyalists we charged with disposing of the bodies informed us that they found matching tattoos on the victims. Two jagged black lines to be precise.¡± A stylized mountain? It would make sense if this truly is the Black Peak pack. Every new piece of evidence hints at a danger the likes of which we have never faced, and I am at the frontline with only a pair of disputable allies. How I wish Torran were here instead of Melusine, and I would not mind backup from Jimena, Nami or John either. ¡°We also found maps.¡± I must have reacted to that last sentence, because Melusine turns to me, soon imitated by the rest of the table. ¡°Maps are used to wage war. You dedicate teams to making maps when you plan an invasion,¡± I explain, relaying a lesson taught by Loth. ¡°But surely,¡± Blake intervenes, ¡°they could just ask for maps at the city hall?¡± I learn that Melusine¡¯s way of conveying deep contempt is to slowly blink. We ignore her na?ve remark and move on with the conversation. ¡°Since last week, the werewolves have returned. There are more of them and they stay far away during the night. We only smell them at the edge of our territory.¡± I wince at the memory of werewolves. They possess an innate vitality that makes them particularly appetizing to me, yet there is no denying that they have a peculiar musk which we find irritating. I remember having trouble tolerating the only werewolf I ever was on speaking terms with, the man named Alistair Locke. Every whiff of his scent would wake up my instincts and push me to track the intruder and slay him, even though he was a guest and never displayed any sign of aggression. ¡°Have you tried having your humans track them?¡± ¡°No,¡± Blake replies, ¡°Mornay has too few followers and none of them are fighters. He would not shed their blood by sending them against such foes.¡± ¡°I see,¡± I reply, turning to Frost. ¡°Yes, we have a way to track them using special charms sensitive to smells and specific auras. I would prefer if you were with us when we engage, however.¡± ¡°There will be no engagement,¡± I say, interrupting them. Melitone frowns, uncomprehending. ¡°What do you mean? The mission objectives¡­¡± ¡°¡­ are to find and identify the primary threat. Frost will be in charge of finding their tracks and will stay at a distance. When night falls, we will join you and follow them to their base. Then, we will learn the true extent of this new threat. We will not waste time going after the small fry.¡± ¡°So you do believe in the existence of some sort of werewolf alliance?¡± Melusine asks with some doubt. ¡°Maps? Coordination? Matching tattoos? What more do you need.¡± The Lancaster has no answer and for the first time since we began, I see the tiniest hint of concern in the way her eyes narrow ever so slightly. ¡°That works for me. I¡¯ll leave Duke with you, he can use a messenger spell. That will save us a lot of effort.¡± We conclude the council quickly with Blake being tasked with finding the maps for us to peruse. Melitone politely requests an interview and I follow her to her room while Frost and his men do some emergency work on our vault entrance. ¡°What is it?¡± I ask as she closes the door behind her. She left her luggage half-open near a narrow bed and her perfume already permeates the place, soothing me a bit. ¡°It appears that Mornay has elected not to cooperate with you in any meaningful way. I am allowed to share with you that he does not know the stakes you have in our arrangement.¡± ¡°Do you mean¡­¡± ¡°Yes, he is unaware that Lazaro and yourself are competing for control, otherwise he would have been even more obnoxious. Make sure that he does not figure it out or he could make unreasonable demands.¡± ¡°I will be sure to let the others know.¡± ¡°Good. The second point is that Jimena is close by.¡± I smile at this. ¡°You are not supposed to know,¡± Melitone warns me, ¡°and any help you receive from her would affect your final score if you ask for it against my dear brother¡¯s orders. I just wanted you to know in case the threat is just as dire as you seem to believe.¡± ¡°Right. But if she happens to come upon us¡­¡± ¡°Then it will be a lucky happenstance.¡± Oh, I can produce lucky happenstances, not to worry. ¡°Do you really think there is a werewolf army?¡± Melitone suddenly asks. I realize that I am not sure. ¡°Hope for the best, plan for the worst,¡± I answer noncommittally. ¡°In any case, we will keep you safe.¡± ¡°Good to know. Alright, thank you for letting me know and in case it was not clear, I am rooting for you.¡± With that polite dismissal, I take my leave and return to our salon. Melusine and I spend the rest of the night exploring the vicinity, and I find myself enjoying my trips over snow-covered roofs. Despite our efforts, we find nothing. The werewolf maps are also of little help besides proving their complete lack of cartographic and artistic skills. With dawn approaching, we retire to our significantly improved vault. The following day, my mental fortress. I come to in my palatial bedroom, surrounded by pillows artfully arranged under a canopy that defies physics. On both sides of the vast bed, pedestals hold mementos and baubles, each one corresponding to a specific memory. Somebody is knocking. I walk out through a labyrinth of rooms and down the monumental stairs and into the inner courtyard. Great statues of creatures and men I have slain alternate with trees of strange essence, most bearing thorns. In the dark celestial vault above, the Watcher moves, more agitated than usual. Down into the garden I go, through hidden passages and illusions. Here and there, more statues appear. They are one of the defenses with the flora, and though no one has tried to attack my mind recently, whoever shall do so now will have a terrible time of it. Then I will kill them. The knocks stop, to be replaced by chimes which is quite novel. I soon reach the edge of the forest surrounding my domain. As before, it is made of thorny roots and trunks densely interwoven, sure to shred any intruder to the bone. With a small push from my will, the curtain parts and a figure glides in with a beatific smile. ¡°Oh, good day! Lovely place you have there!¡± she exclaims in a chipper tone. Sometimes, I think Violet was never meant to wake. She is not unlike those birds who are terribly awkward on land but incomparably graceful while in the air. The curious thing is that her hair is still tousled, but here, in her dreams, it moves and merges into different styles according to her mood. Her clothes flow, sometimes as broad as a medieval gown and sometimes tight and scandalously vaporous. Patterns of color appear and disappear on it according to her mood and sometimes, motes of light like glittering butterflies pop out as she speaks, like now. Violet giggles. ¡°What an incredible house! Please be sure to give me a tour of the garden before I depart!¡± I cannot help but smile as the strange lady jumps into the air and on top of a werewolf statue, the dress immediately turning to petticoat to protect her virtue. For an instant gravity lost its grasp on the woman and the thorny branches around her grew small white flowers. ¡°Ooooh a maze! Amazing! Haha!¡± ¡°Violet,¡± I interrupt with a chuckle, ¡°the messages?¡± ¡°Ah yes. Quite a hassle that was,¡± she adds, still looking around while balanced on the tip of her toes of a single foot. Her visage seemingly radiates from the inside, and her soft beauty is now made manifest through the serenity and joy that animate it. The difference is truly breathtaking. Then the bubbly faerie is gone as she stands straight, still on my statue, and closes her eyes. Her dress morphs into a toga of the purest white, with golden jewelries encircling her wrists and ankles. Her hair tightens itself into an elaborate braid that would require an hour and the efforts of two people to recreate in reality. ¡°I summoned both Sinead and Sephare in the same space, and they talked for three hours. I will not elaborate on the level of detail in which Sinead went, just know that even Sephare was intimidated by the depth and breadth of his questioning,¡± she begins in a steady voice. ¡°I failed to understand the reason for many of them, and Sephare asked me to inform you that Sinead was dangerous,¡± she continues, looking down to me. A part of me is bothered to be the one to look up, but the greater part is just amused at her antics, and glad to see her stretch her wings. A mortal who was bashful and possibly lonely has now bloomed into the incredible talent I knew her to be. I am only too glad to give her recognition for it. ¡°I already knew he was a dangerous man,¡± I reply. At this she blushes. Hmm. Hmm? SERIOUSLY? ¡°Violet?¡± ¡°It was only in a dream, I swear!¡± Oh that¡­ scandalous cad! Giving me inflamed declaration and then robbing my newest plaything of her virtue the following day?! I know that Likaeans have different customs but surely this is slap-worthy? No? ¡°Not to worry, Violet, you are not the first to fall to his ploys,¡± I tell her with gritted teeth. ¡°Oh, I know, only a man with experience could be so incredible!¡± I facepalm. ¡°Err, sorry.¡± Beyond the fact that I would kill him in the heat of passion, this is another reason why it would not work between us. Sinead is part of a culture that does not even consider monogamy and I do not see myself sharing. I especially do not see myself playing second fiddle to Sivaya, or anyone else for that matter. With a last shake of my head, I banish from my thoughts the possibility that¡­ I banish any thoughts, at all. By the Watcher, I miss Torran. If he were around, I would not even look at another man. ¡°Moving on,¡± I continue, ¡°Sinead asked some questions. What then?¡± ¡°He made some arrangements to move towards York then disappeared with around a thousand dollars from your coffers.¡± Ouch. Well, we will see if this leads anywhere. If not, I will take the compensation out of his hide. ¡°What do you have to report besides that?¡± ¡°Lady Sephare gave us the location and timing of the Cadiz supply route. As far as we can tell, they are respecting the limitations the Speaker put upon them. Sinead said you should not worry about them and focus on your own thing.¡± ¡°I see.¡± ¡°The last important piece of news is that you have fifteen men from your ¡®odd squad¡¯ and five mages of the White Cabal on the way. They have orders to stop thirty miles from Detroit and to find a town to hole up in. We are having some difficulties moving around due to the inclement weather so you shouldn¡¯t expect them before a week.¡± A whole week! ¡°That is all.¡± Now is my turn to keep my allies informed. I share my findings, such as they are, with Violet who has instructions to relay them to Merritt and whoever commands the approaching detachment. After this is finished, I oblige and allow Violet to follow me around. We walk the maze, the gardens and the inner court but stop at the edge of the manor proper. ¡°I will not follow you inside, it would not be proper,¡± she says while shaking her head. S~?a??h the n0v?l(?)ire.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. ¡°What do you mean?¡± I ask with surprise. ¡°This is your sanctum. It contains all the memories and emotions you hold dear and will be your last redoubt if anyone tries to break into your mind.¡± ¡°What, you mean with magic?¡± She nods. ¡°Precisely. Not that it would be a good idea for them. Your defenses are formidable. You must have worked on this mind palace for a long time.¡± ¡°Thirty years,¡± I idly observe. ¡°It shows. In any case, it was a pleasure visiting such a wonder. I will leave you to your sleep. I hope the others have prepared coffee! Goodbye Ariane, take care!¡± ¡°And you too,¡± I reply as Violet closes her eyes and fades into the background. I close my eyes and find myself back into the bedroom at the heart of the complex. I jump on one of the pillow stacks and drift to sleep. When Melusine and I climb out of the vault, we find one of Frost¡¯s men waiting for us. He clearly wishes he were somewhere else. ¡°We have found them.¡± ¡°So soon?¡± I ask with surprise. The man winces, and nervously scratches his short blond beard. ¡°That is what Councilor Frost said. I do not have details.¡± We order the man out while we change. We must wait for the sun to set to begin with. I put on my true armor, the one Loth made with the sigil on the chest. It looks just as deadly as the first time I tried it. Melusine gives me the stink eye when I look down on her own uniform, the now battered and hastily patched up dark leather armor she wore when her died. The Lancaster crest has been summarily torn off. I note in passing that she and I share the same body type. We are clearly used to physical effort, but we still have some, ahem, padding. The main difference is that Melusine is really well-endowed. Also, she is shorter, so there is that. And I obviously have the better posterior. she hisses. I retort with calm. I sternly tell her. I continue. The grumbling Lancaster averts her eyes, before finally relenting. I relent, She shows me. I tell her. In a gesture of unusual unity, we help each other bind our hair in tight braids that the wind will not disturb, then wait for nightfall. I leave a message to Mornay out of politeness, and then we ride. The mage goes first and his horse gallops through the dirty snow with commendable speed. I personally believe the poor beast is scared beyond reason, as it should be. Melusine and I may have donned heavy cloaks, but under them, the glint of weaponry is obvious. Our guide sometimes casts back a fearful glance as if the thundering hooves of Metis were not a sure way to tell what hounds his steps. It does not take us long to leave the city¡¯s mostly empty streets behind. Our passage elicits a few yelps of terror from the citizens still outside. I even see a woman cross herself. Luckily for her, we are after another quarry tonight. The ordered rows of houses soon fall behind us, to be replaced by endless farmlands now covered in a layer of snow. Smoke from fires lift up towards the sky from every direction as we move on and where we pass, dogs whimper and hide. We go north then east until we are able to ride along the shore. After a few minutes, the mage slows down and we move alongside him. I did not realize it before but his horse is shorter than even Zana who is rather delicate herself, meaning that both Melusine and I look down upon him. We instinctively box him without the need to communicate. His horse neighs softly. ¡°Why are we slowing down?¡± I ask in a deceptively soft voice. ¡°The... my horse is tired, I can¡¯t push him like you do your, uh, we¡¯re almost there in any case.¡± Ah, the smell of fear. Melusine and I exchange a knowing glance, but take no further action. It would not do to provoke our allies too much. ¡°There is a small ship anchored nearby. The ferryman is waiting for us. Come.¡± We turn right and follow our guide on a downward path through a dense copse of trees. As we reach the edge of the water, branches and exposed roots are no longer covered in snow, but instead encased in sheaths of solid ice that gives them an otherworldly look. They glitter like strange jewels under the diffuse light of the moon. We quickly exit the copse and find ourselves on a small, rickety pier hidden from sight. On it, a riverman wearing several layers of cloth to ward off the biting cold turns with anger, but his complaints die on his frozen lips when he takes in our appearance. Metis and Zana lazily step on the wooden skiff in perfect silence. The man swallows nervously and pushes away from the pier with commendable haste. I watch with interest as several large blocks of ice bump against the hull, but it appears that the placid current will prevent us from turning into a shipwreck. It would certainly kill neither Melusine nor myself, in any case. Once on the other side, our quiet guide resumes his pursuit and we soon leave any sign of civilization behind. The dense woods and pristine snow would make for a fantastic hunt were it not for the grunting mortal and his annoying light spell. Fortunately, I know that we will leave him behind soon and I feel no need to eviscerate him for ruining my fun. Truly, I have mastered my emotions. ¡°They¡¯re here,¡± our guide finally says. For a while, we have been following a set of horse tracks and behind a rock, in a small depression hidden from the wind, we find the rest of Frost¡¯s group huddling around a campfire. I note in passing that the fire is hidden from view by some concealment spells that also blocks off their aura and, more importantly, their smell. Frost himself is sitting comfortably against a trunk, seemingly unbothered by the cold. ¡°Good evening, ladies. I hope you had a pleasant trip?¡± ¡°Where are they, old man?¡± I answer with a grin. I am quite impatient now. ¡°The tracks continue northward from here. They stopped trying to hide them so you should have no difficulties. When you are done scouting, come back here and we will make our way back to the city together.¡± ¡°Very well. The light behind us fades then disappears. The night, in all its glory. I wish Torran were here, so that three of us could gallop and recreate that exciting nightmare ride. Perhaps another time. Trees after trees after trees. The odd rock. Sometimes, an irregularity in the landscape forces us to ride to a side where our quarry climbed. They are close now, I can feel it in my essence. When the sensation turns to a dull warning, I raise a fist and we stop, heeding the warnings of my intuition. Melusine and I dismount without a word and drift through the landscape as silently as shadows. Our feet touch the ground without leaving tracks and no cliff can slow us down for more than a few instants. For a while now, we have approached a small mound and I can finally smell it on the wind. Werewolves. A pungent odor of dog, wet fur and human musk, as heady as it is unpleasant. Beyond the mere unpleasantness of it, their stench wakes in me the desire to find them and purge them, for we occupy the same niche, that of the apex predator. I spot Melusine frown with disapproval. She feels it too. Quietly, I make a circling gesture and we sprint perpendicular to the origin of the smell until we are downwind. An unpleasant necessity as we, too, have a scent. The landscape before us climbs to a ridge behind which our prey surely is. I find a flat rock some distance away that overlooks the field beyond and guide Melusine there. I climb first and use the promontory to survey the scene lying before me. Then I fall back, speechless. I almost bump into my companion who was on her way to join me. she softly hisses. I silently point forward and Melusine lifts her head to get a good look. Indeed. Chapter 91: Horde The werewolves have made camp in a basin nestled between the mound to our north and the ridge we stand on. The small depression hides the camp from sight, if not from smell, and bitter wind disperses the upward clouds of smoke of the campfires before they become visible.What shocks me is not the size of the camp, fully capable of hosting a good two hundred men. No. What shocks me is the incredible level of organization displayed here. This is not a refugee camp or even a caravan bivouac. We are spying on a military installation. Most of the camp is made of large tents, not set in rows but evenly spaced across a good half of the basin. The materials used are heavy furs and tanned hides sewn together, and a sentinel stands before each entrance with their arms crossed. I do not see any cannons or armory, nor any smithy, which does not surprise me much. I have noticed that entities who possess an overwhelming physique often underestimate the usefulness of firearms. Or perhaps, they simply lack the means or training. Small comfort. The missing structures have been replaced by cages. Rows and rows of densely packed prisons filled to the brim with the huddled forms of transformed werewolves. Their listless bodies form an incredible tapestry of colored fur behind a foreground of grey metal, a quiescent organism made of hundreds of temporarily inhibited monsters. When that slavering mass is unleashed, nothing will remain in its wake. Walking at the edge of this massive jail, a man patrols, a great horn of some bony material hanging around his chest. The artefact¡¯s power echoes slowly across the mass of prisoners with some unknown effects. With his heavy mantle made of fur poorly sewn together, he looks like some shaman from the dawn of time. Finally, a command tent sits at the end of the camp opposite the cages, and in front of it stands the tallest werewolf I have ever seen. The creature easily tops nine feet and its muscular body is covered in thick dark hair now slowly drifting in the wind. Melusine whispers as she points at the cages. I reply. Some werewolves lose themselves completely to the curse and never transform back. My companion and I share a moment of unease. Turning rogue will forever be a threat hanging over our heads, and the sight of those lost souls only reminds us of the possibility of our own demise, not to external forces but to the darker part of our nature. We return to the Nightmares, taking extra care not to leave any trace nor to be spotted. The ride back to Frost¡¯s camp is morose, and for good reasons. We cannot stand against those numbers. I am confident that I can take on a dozen werewolf and come out unscathed, but the more enemies there are and the more likely it is that a single mistake will spell my doom. A single jaw firmly clamped on my arm means a dozen more all over my body by the time I can free myself. It means being trapped, overwhelmed, and dismembered. It will take more than five vampires to stand against such strengths, especially considering that two of us are Courtiers. It will take a large force and a careful plan. It will also require a high degree of cooperation between Mornay¡¯s group and ours, a dubious proposal at best. Less than forty-eight hours into this operation and the situation is already desperate. Mornay asks with a sneer as he reclines in his comfortable chair. We stand in an office that would look respectable if it did not still stink of fresh paint. Blake and the unnamed spawn stand at either side of him across the massive baroque desk while I am flanked by Melusine and Melitone. The prick did not even offer us a seat. I retort with more bite than I meant. Allons donc. he asks in a seemingly innocent tone. I flex and unflex my hands, claws hidden from their sight. I know Melusine enough to realize she is livid though she masks it well. By questioning my sanity, he is also insulting her, whose testimony backs my own. If we were not trying to work together, I would demand satisfaction right now. Unfortunately, there is no time for him to recover from the lesson I would impart. Nor do I really need to. This man is dead. I let the silence draw on, none of us moving in the slightest. Instead, I progressively release the hold I keep on my aura. So far, I had let Mornay¡¯s presence dominate the room as a courtesy, even if he was still flirting with the limits of what is politely acceptable. Now, my own power radiates outward with increasing pressure. The change is not fast enough to qualify as an outburst but still quick enough for the atmosphere to change, and the unspoken threat to be stated. I ask after his grin has fallen a bit. he retorts. Can I just KILL HIM. DISRESPECTFUL WEAKLING. Melitone asks coldly. She, too, has a low tolerance for stupidity. Melitone retorts sweetly. He slams his fist on the desk in what I imagine is an attempt at appearing decisive, but in reality, looks more like the tantrum of an unruly child. I suppose I have grown too used to competence in the past few weeks. Mornay merely reminded me of the vicissitudes of this world, where us rational beings must every day contend with the malicious and the dimwitted. I reply, I conclude the meeting there, leaving immediately with my two companions in tow. Mornay¡¯s parting words are interrupted by a slammed door and we promptly leave his estate and its intimidated staff. As soon as we turn on the next street, both of them start at the same time. Melitone begins while shaking her brown locks. Melusine hisses, showing a bit of fang. I raise a hand to stave off their outburst. The trip is considerably faster than normal and I realize that I should have let them vent their frustration. As soon as we arrive, Melitone drags Frost into the conversation with the crafty old man only too eager to listen to everyone¡¯s complaints. ¡°Mornay is a windbag and a moron. His sire should have stabbed himself in the heart on the day he chose that brainless twit to join the ranks of the undying!¡± she spits. ¡°In a way, I am pleased to see that politically motivated incompetence is not the prerogative of my bloodline,¡± Melusine adds. And so on and so forth. After vociferating for a few minutes and letting Frost needle their aggression, they finally realize that I have remained silent. ¡°Are you not irate, Ariane?¡± Melusine asks, ¡°he disrespected you on purpose, and quite cruelly at that.¡± I am indeed calm, because I know for certain that my vengeance is already assured. I turn to the among us. ¡°Melitone, how likely is my victory should the entire den fall?¡± I ask. She winces in return and I have my answer before she can even reply. ¡°Well, if they all die and any of Lozaro¡¯s charges survive¡­¡± ¡°¡­ then we lose,¡± I finish. Melitone only nods dejectedly as Frost decides to contribute. ¡°Not to mention that you will receive some unwanted attention from that clan those idiots belong to. If they perish and you don¡¯t, they will demand an inquiry.¡± ¡°So, we need at least some of them to survive. Do you think we can win?¡± Melusine asks. ¡°Win?¡± I ask with disbelief, ¡°that would depend on your definition of winning.¡± That gets their attention, and so I explain. ¡°We cannot possibly stop that horde if they all attack at once. Which they will.¡± ¡°How about those reinforcements?¡± Melitone asks ¡°There are hundreds of werewolves. I am not even confident we could stop them in Marquette, even if I gave silver bullets to every militiamen and women. Not without devastating casualties.¡± ¡°Then what?¡± I pause at that. Melitone remains an outsider, and I must not forget it. She is on my side in everything but what truly matters: formal allegiance. I cannot reveal the darker parts of my plan in her presence lest she reports it to her sibling, while at the same time I need to show enough that she does not suspect too much of a hidden agenda. ¡°We will use the river¡­¡± I begin. The others join and soon add their expertise and minds to my own until finally, we have a workable plan. I find it remarkable that no matter if by ten miles or a thousand, being away from civilization and its lights always gives the illusion of infinity to the nocturnal landscape. Intellectually, I know that the dark frozen trunks and untouched snow do not go on forever, that a river flows at my back and that beyond it lies tamed land. It matters not. Here and now, we might as well be in the northern reaches of the world, where they say the night lasts for months. Mornay paces nervously in front of our small group. He wears a genuine plate armor of a strange make, a sign that he is at least taking this seriously. From time to time, he furtively takes a glance at my unmoving form. I repaired Melusine¡¯s attire as best as I could with the limited time I had and the tools I brought with me. Thankfully, vampire dexterity and speed can work wonders, especially backed by a bit of Cadiz essence for continued focus. She now looks half-decent as her asymmetrical armor gives her a rebellious look, that of a pirate or highwaywoman. I will admit that it looks good on her. I also made sure she had proper greaves and gauntlets equipped. From experience, I can tell that werewolves will go for extremities on a moving target, so that they can bring it down. The additional protection should grant her a few more moments to break free before freakish jaws close in too deep and seal her fate. All in all, she looks like a fighter, if a scrappy one. I, on the other hand, look like a Master. Loth¡¯s armor shimmers in the fleeting light of the torches held by Mornay¡¯s men, its exquisite details obvious to my peers. I also wear my half-mask and carry with me an assortment of weapons including Sivaya¡¯s spear and my own wolf-slayer. John¡¯s version of the massive arbalest is designed for absurdly strong mortals. Mine is designed for absurdly strong vampires. It has the same draw strength with a major difference: my slayer is a repeater. The bolts are stored in a long magazine stored on top of the central axis. A crank with pulleys allows me to wind back the wire-like string without having to lower the weapon. It looks exactly like what it is, a siege weapon that should be operated by a crew and fired from crenellation at approaching shield walls. On top of that, I have a pair of one-second-fuse powder charges secured at my back, the ultimate way to clear a path. This is the werewolf hunt equivalent of being overdressed. I love it. With our tightly braided hair and matching blades, Melusine and I are the cold professionals to Mornay¡¯s mismatched group of dilettantes. Blake doesn¡¯t even wear proper armor. I hope she does not get caught too early. Eventually, Mornay¡¯s pacings fail to assuage his worry and he turns to one of the four mortals carrying torches who had the misfortune of accompanying us. ¡°What¡¯s taking them so long?¡± he demands. The mortal obviously shrinks before his employer¡¯s attention. What a stupid question to ask. How could the mortal know? A leader should never reveal their fear. Mornay¡¯s master plan was to provoke the wolves into attacking him. We managed to find a roving patrol and he slew both untransformed wolves, one of them a woman, only to have one of his men drop the pair of severed heads at the camp¡¯s entrance with a formal challenge. I almost insulted him here and now for his dismal stupidity. It takes a considerable amount of willpower to remind myself that I should not waste my breath on a dead man. The mortals will be intercepted. The werewolves will smell and notice the severed heads. They will exact vengeance. Then, when they are ready, they will find us. Such an insult cannot remain unanswered. In any case, the messengers are lost and so are the mortals present here. Simply because Mornay did not believe us and felt the need to double down like the arrogant fool he is. As we wait for the inevitable tide, I reflect on his behavior. He does not believe that werewolves can assemble in large numbers because it never happened before. This is the sort of mistake I have also committed. I realize that until recently, I no longer believed that mages could take me down. Then Alexandria happened. Without David King, I would have died that day. We vampires are all guilty of the sin of pride. If mages have failed twenty times to end my life, the twenty-first attempt might be the one to succeed. They have all of eternity to try and they only need to win once. I must walk the edge between death and insanity, taking them seriously while still giving them a chance to survive a proper Hunt. It does not take a genius in arithmetic to realize that no matter how small the odds, with an infinite amount of chances, success is assured. At some point, I will die. ¡­And here I am brooding again. I blink myself awake as a noticeable shift triggers my intuition. While before the world was uncaring, there is now a sense of anticipation on the wind. No, a sense of longing. An eagerness. I calmly load the crossbow, drawing a furious stare from Mornay and resisting the temptation to kill him right now and run while I can. Ariane, queen of mature self-control. I take a step forward. It happens quickly. No time for speeches. One moment, silence reigns. The next, snarls and grunts and pounded snow herald the coming of a pack and the very next instant, the bipedal hybrids of wolf and man storm the clearing. I unleash the first bolt on the leading beast as the tide of fangs and furs rushes us in tight ranks. They are so close and so similar that I feel that I am not facing a group but a single misbegotten entity with more limbs than a centipede. Even their aura is but one wave of feral rage. It crashes against our own with blind obstinacy. Then there is no more time to think. I manage to shoot twice more, taking heads each time and slowing the mass of bodies as the bolts pierce through the following member, then I take my spear and stick it in the first wolf jumping on us, using the momentum to throw its massive body into one of its neighbors. I repeat the gesture again and again with mechanical precision, breaking the tide like a rock at the head of the formation. Behind me, the vampires instinctively gather in a wedge, supporting each other. Melusine¡¯s spells crash into the densely packed bodies in great fiery explosions, to my surprise. I did not know she could call fire. S?a??h the N?v?lFire.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. Both Courtiers are pushed to our back so that we make a defensive circle while the torch carriers are swept away with brief cries of terror and pain. We fight back to back, lunging for devastating strikes before pulling back to the cover provided by our allies. Blake and the Spawn sometimes falter but the trio of masters is more than enough to stem the tide and to compensate for momentary weaknesses. Savagery is answered by stern discipline and recklessness by surgical precision. Each of our blows either kills or maims beyond recovery. Every swipe throws one body into two more to hamper five. No matter how strong they are, we are deadly fighters with centuries of combined battle experience. And still, we bleed. The pack fights as one despite their apparent mindlessness. They blindside, feint, and distract with an ease that can only be born from instinct. They follow each other tightly so that one jumps over the other when the first one commits. They attack from multiple sides when they can and will always try for the weakest link or the overextended fighter. I am fine. I sometimes let glancing blows rake my armor without much effect when I want to use the momentum to strike elsewhere. Melusine manages to avoid most hits though she gets a cut on her temple, and thick dark blood now drips down her cheek. The Courtiers are not doing so well. They are already covered in wounds. Blake¡¯s left arm hangs limply by her side. Both Melusine and Mornay are forced to compensate and in turn, so am I. As I kick a corpse into the side of a roving pair, it happens. Vibration shakes the air, the powdery snow, and my very body. It comes with a low-pitched sound like a horn of impossible size. The intermingled auras of our quarry undergo a drastic change under the sonorous blast: from aggressive and unhinged, they turn dark and patient. The surviving werewolves bound away in every direction as they leave their fallen comrades behind. We are left alone on the field, with corpses spread at our feet. Blood and other bodily fluids turn the pristine meadow into a grisly battlefield. Silence descends upon us. As quickly as it came, the battle is finished, and yet even the bombastic Mornay does not declare victory. A blind man would know that this retreat is temporary. This was a scouting party. They found us, and now the rest will come. My intuition tells me that the situation has not reverted back to normal. If anything, the anticipation in the air is even thicker than before. The horn blasts once more, again seemingly coming from nowhere and anywhere at once. And again, a second time. Beneath our feet the ground trembles like a drum beaten in a low roll. Beyond the densely packed trees, something moves. I lightly jump to a nearby branch and grab it to get a better view. Far in front of us, two small ridges form a natural barrier and in the small gap between them, I see quivering movement. This is the only warning I get before the horde crests over both ridges and punches through the gap at the same time. For an instant I am staring at the dark canvas of space dotted by a galaxy of twinkling stars before the illusion shatters, and the light is revealed to be nothing more than the moon reflected on hundreds of lupine eyes, all made frantic by bloodlust and the thrill of the hunt. A veritable tidal wave of creatures charges us in ranks so dense that their numbers obscure the ground. The drums we heard are their paws trampling the earth and the cacophony of snarls and growls heralds the violence to come. I drop down and turn to Mornay. He is indecisive, paralyzed by inaction. I take one last good look at him and the incredulous fear he displays, then it is too late. The edge of the horde is upon us. I do not hesitate. I pull the first powder charge and throw it forward and to my side as the first wolves weave through the trees, then I pick the wolf slayer and catch a few of the creatures in the mouth, just to topple them and slow the charge. The first wolves reach us on Mornay¡¯s side. He turns around to cover his spawn. The first charge explodes. I step back and grab one of Blake¡¯s arms as Melusine picks another. The Courtier yelps in pain. Mornay realizes his flank is uncovered. He turns on himself and deflects a strike but ten more wait behind. Our eyes meet one last time as his companion falls under the combined weight of a dozen creatures. And then, the massive werewolf I had spotted in the camp surges and clips him in the flank before merging back into the mass of bodies. A wall of claws and teeth overwhelm the vampire¡¯s defenses in moments, his speed unequal to the task of stopping such numbers. He disappears under the melee with one last shriek, cut short as something finds his throat. Melusine and I dash away as I use the last charge to blast the land behind us. The wolves are fast but not as fast as us, or rather, they would not be if we did not have to worry about our charge. Melusine says in a clipped tone. I let her grab the girl in a fireman carry and she picks up speed. Blake does not resist. Her frantic eyes look behind us at the horde on our heels. One misstep and we die. I nod at the redhead. This is it. Now comes the next part of the plan, the difficult one. I will have to admit, I do not recall having this much fun without Torran for a long time. The tension, the price should I fail. Exhilarating. I rotate to the right as Melusine accelerates to the left. I take out my pistols and fire into the coming crowd, aiming for eyes. My first shot kills a creature but the second bounces against the orbit of a massive fighter. This one is so tough and muscular that even a silver bullet fails to achieve more than a light wound. It matters not. I am only doing this for the noise. It works as intended, with most of the horde hot on my heels. Most, but not all. I jump forward, landing on a low branch two dozen yards away from the lead creature. The tip of the pack slows, all eyes fixed on me with a hungry stare. YOU THINK YOURSELF STRONG. YOU HAVE THE NUMBERS. I HAVE EVERYTHING ELSE. INCLUDING PATIENCE. HEAR IT. FEEL IT. KNOW IT. I roar. In my cry, I pour all the fury and disdain I can muster in a challenge that cannot be ignored, and the horde answers. Larger specimens like the one who survived the shot echo with deep howls, lower-pitched and more tremulous than anything a real wolf could produce, then hundreds of monstrous throats pick up the yowl in a deafening warcry. In their excitement, even the farthest creature returns to the fold so that they may hunt down the one who dared provoke them. I cannot help it. I laugh and laugh as I move through the forest with unmatched agility. I have been running through the woods since I stopped being a fledgling two decades ago, just for the unique pleasure it provides. I know forests. We are in my domain now and we shall run indeed. And so, we do. For a minute, then two, then five, I sprint between trees and rocks and branches. I ascend vertical cliffs as if they were flat and cross frozen ponds as if they were grass, while my pursuers scramble and slip in their mad dash. When the horde breaks up, I pick isolated targets and skewer them, licking the blood from my spear as they fall. And always, I laugh. This is a perfect moment. This is why we live, not just for power and influence and all those¡­ human things, but also for this primal instant when instinct and conscience will cease to struggle for control. One mind, undivided in perfection. The wind on my face and the ground beneath my soles. The horde at my back, as unstoppable as winter but always one step behind, always a bit too late because they are flawed and weak. They were not made by a curious god to prey on the world, nor chosen by an ancient monster as a potential heir. They are but cursed men and women thrown at us by a fool who overreached, drunk on his provincial success. They are behind and there they will stay forever because they are not the apex predator. They are not... ME. And so, jaws clamp on empty air, claws flail and slip and muscular bodies fall to the ground in uncoordinated heaps. And they know it. After an indeterminate amount of time, the horn sounds once more and the pack slows down as we reach a clearing. I wait in the middle, fully exposed as the werewolves stop by the edge of the wood. Every bush, every tree conceals muscles like corded steel and yet, they do not move on. The imperious call of the horn proves too much. Time stops. For an instant, a gap in the landscape gives me a clear view of a scene a hundred yards beyond the impassable line of monsters. The black wolf who disabled Mornay stands next to a man clad in thick pelts holding a large horn made of bone, the very same who was guarding the ferals. They stare, and so do I. The man is the only one in human form and yet I know that he is a werewolf. There is something in his stance and in the way his iris reflects the light that leaves no doubt in my mind. Then the moment passes, just as the wolves slowly start to withdraw. The horde disintegrates into shuffling clumps from the previously unified pack, still dangerous but nothing like they were before. I wait until the last straggler disappears in the shadows of the trees. It is done. I take a few moments to center myself and to focus on the quickly fading impressions that course through me. This was great and I need to remember. I need to cherish this moment. I only hope the rest of the plan went without a hitch. It takes me several more minutes to find the river. I even had to find a tall tree to spot the hole in the forest. For once, the Detroit river¡¯s languid flow does me a disservice as its quiet nature leaves little way for me to hear it. Eventually I find the shore and manage to orient myself, quickly running to one of the two hidden piers prepared for the occasion. I take the arranged rowboat and make my way across, cursing against the occasional slab of drifting ice. It takes me another five minutes before I arrive at Frost¡¯s camp. If I did not know it was there, I would have missed it. A large circle of basic runes hides it from aura perception and smell while the location naturally blocks sight and sound. As soon as I enter the perimeter, Frost stands up from his position near a central fire. Blake follows suit, looking dazed. ¡°Good you¡¯re here. Is Melusine not with you?¡± the old man asks. I stop in my tracks. ¡°What do you mean not with me? We split up so that she could evacuate Blake. They were supposed to cross the river together.¡± ¡°A small group of wolves followed us,¡± the Courtier answers in a hesitant voice, ¡°she stayed at the pier to stave them off.¡± ¡°I thought I attracted all of them¡± I hiss, ¡°well, I am going back.¡± I turn around to the small pier under the mages¡¯ incredulous stares. ¡°Careful Ariane, those who came after us were not ferals,¡± Blake warns. It matters not. I sit in the rower seat only for Frost to lower himself in front of me. He removes a strange contraption from his pocket, something between a dreamcatcher and a compass. The artefact tastes like tracking and searching, not in my way, but in a more methodical and rational mindset. A bit like a Rosenthal hunt. ¡°Well, what are we waiting for?¡± Frost asks. I frown, yet also start rowing. ¡°I am surprised by the intensity of your reaction, Ariane. I did not expect Melusine and you to be¡­ close.¡± ¡°You should already know that I do not simply discard an ally in need.¡± ¡°And what about Mornay? And Reynald? They were not allies in need then?¡± ¡°There was nothing I could do,¡± I reply with a shrug. I did not even know that the spawn¡¯s name was Reynald. Frost nods, pretending to be thoughtful. Then, after ten more seconds he continues. ¡°It is fortunate that Blake made it.¡± ¡°When pursuing a line of questioning, you should be wary of what you may find at its end,¡± I interrupt. Frost raises his hands in mock surrender, but I give him no recognition. He is too eager to poke and prod for no discernible gain. I am amazed that he still lives. ¡°Naturally.¡± The following minute is spent in silence as I focus on dodging the ubiquitous pocket icebergs and Frost tinkers with his bauble. I realize that the cold is absolutely biting, yet my companion seems unbothered. If anything, the frigid wind pools around him. I almost crash into the pier because of my speed and lack of attention. I climb down and inspect my surroundings. The forest around us is quiet, though the scent of werewolf blood is still strong. I notice that there are no corpses despite a suspiciously large pool, which means that our foes picked them up before leaving. The pier itself is mostly untouched but here and there, branches and trunks have been marked with the telltale signs of claws and pyrotechnics. The devastation follows the shore downstream. I follow the trail in silence with Frost on my tail. The land is empty of life and there are no auras besides our own. No signs of Melusine, so far. As I walk, I realize that my erstwhile bitter enemy took a significant risk by acting as bait, and I am reminded of the one prophecy I had in my life so far. The one about forgiveness. I am ashamed to admit that I have, in fact, forgiven her. We have both grown quite a bit since New-Orleans and she has been instrumental in the success of tonight¡¯s operation. I really hope she made it. Fifty yards down, the traces of conflict abruptly stop. ¡°Do you think she went into hiding?¡± Frost asks. ¡°No, she would have had to kill the entire group for that and no werewolf died here. There would be tracks of a massive body on the ground.¡± I check around but see no signs of ash, which is a good start ¡°Where is she then?¡± I look at the river. ¡°She probably followed the flow as a backup plan. Werewolves are too heavy. They sink, and they are sensitive to cold. Vampires do not need to breathe, and we do not fear low temperatures.¡± ¡°She jumped in?¡± ¡°I do not think so,¡± I reply as I find a particularly deep set of tracks, ¡°I believe she was thrown. She could be too exhausted or wounded to save herself, even if she survived.¡± I decide to continue heading downstream. I have no idea how far she could have been carried, if she was. I start scrutinizing the waters for any sign of an anomaly. I even sniff the air and pick up a queer scent. ¡°There is a werewolf farther along the path,¡± I inform Frost who is still tuning the artefact. When he hears my warning, he removes his hand from his pocket. Frost¡¯s gauntlet is as white as its namesake. A single ruby is inserted halfway on the back, between his knuckles and his wrists. It glows ominously. We continue carefully but soon realize we need not have bothered. The scent comes from a prone form at the edge of the shore. Smoke wafts from the pale naked body of a young adult, a proof of the werewolf¡¯s impossible metabolism. He is breathing fast and shivering while his aura flickers weakly. ¡°Do we finish him off? He will be too weak to talk, at least for a while.¡± Frost asks. I do not know how he can be so sure, but I trust him. ¡°No. I have another use for him,¡± I say, looking out again. ¡°You want to jump in?¡± ¡°Yes. If Melusine fell in she would be around here if my assumption is correct.¡± ¡°Then take it,¡± he replies as he hands me his compass, ¡°this is the tool I used to track the werewolves. I recalibrated it to find vampires instead.¡± ¡°Will it work underwater?¡± ¡°Yes, and if your ally is unconscious, she will not try to restrain her aura.¡± I nod, and jump. Even if I expected the cold, I am still disoriented by the sensory overload that comes with it. I take a moment to recover and look around. Seaweed. Rocks. Debris. The odd fish. No sarcastic Lancaster. No, focus Ariane, you have a tool, use it. I take out the compass and realize that the thin blue needle is pointing at the nearest vampire. So, me. I curse but realize that Frost cannot be this stupid. Below the needle, I find a single gem that I can press. I do so now and note that the next target is behind me, upstream. I quickly swim and find Melusine¡¯s body near the bottom, huddled against a large rock. A thin trail of black blood emerges from the back of her head where her skull was crushed. So that is why she is here. She must have landed headfirst into a block of ice and sunk, while the werewolf struggled to float and only managed to climb back to the shore a bit farther away. It is a simple matter to drag her back and I soon emerge from the depths a few feet away from a bemused Frost. ¡°An impressive show with that armor of yours,¡± he comments, ¡°too bad about the seaweed in your hair.¡± I sigh and remove the guilty piece of vegetation, but I cannot muster any form of annoyance. I am relieved that Melusine survived. I would have missed her. ¡°How is she?¡± he asks. ¡°As long as she is not ash, she will be back to her posh and caustic self within the next hour.¡± ¡°Convenient.¡± Frost discarded his coat to cover the shivering body of our prisoner. I grab underneath for an arm, and at the moment I succeed, the young man¡¯s eyes flash open. They are a warm brown with flecks of green in it. Rather pretty. He sniffs the air, surprised. ¡°You smell weird¡­¡± he comments, frowning. Then he yelps when I bite his wrist. What is it with people taking such liberties to comment about my hygiene and appearance, huh? Go waddle in the muck and you will smell strange too. Bah! With the wolf¡¯s expression slackening, I bring his bleeding appendage to Melusine¡¯s lips and let the carmine liquid trickle down. The redhead shifts and soon, ravenously latches on the wound. She stops as soon as she regains consciousness. Slowly, she opens her jaws and releases her still breathing captive. ¡°Melusine,¡± I begin as a greeting. she concedes with a bitter chuckle. Melusine does not stand up. A bad sign. We normally dislike being in a position of vulnerability. And although I appreciate the trust she shows, it also indicates that the ordeal has taken a toll on her. Melusine pauses and I witness with some pleasure her face turn from mewling to its usual haughty self. We both snort at the same time and this time, she is smiling. she says. ¡°Ladies, if you don¡¯t mind doing this later?¡± Frost comments. He is right. We are in hostile territory. I almost forgot about that. Melitone asks firmly with just a hint of suspicion. Around us, the mages are packing their belongings in preparation for our retreat back to the city. she continues after a pause, looking at the woman sitting near the fire. I carefully maintain a neutral expression, mirrored by Melusine. Melitone considers my words with clear unease. My testimony is perfectly believable, but the death of Mornay is simply too convenient. Almost as if I had planned from the beginning to let him die with his spawn so that the leadership of the den falls on Blake, who would be much more, shall we say, malleable, than her predecessor. I continue. Technically, I could have tried to convince him to leave or dragged him away and hoped he would follow, thus promoting the interests of the Speaker of the Accords and clan Roland. I did not. Lord Ceron proved beyond the shadow of a doubt that ours is a merciless world where self-interest rules. I am no fanatic in the service of Constantine, nor am I some sort of benevolent savior to risk my life for others of my kind. I am here to protect my own interests and those of my friends, and Mornay resolutely placed himself in the list of disposable assets. He was not my ally and I did not have an agreement with him. Indeed, my agreement was, and still is, with Constantine himself. Also, Mornay was a prick. And so, for convenience and for insulting me, he had to die. Now, with the leadership firmly in my hands, we can finally work on a proper plan. Melitone nods, admitting that my explanations make perfect sense, and here lies one of the most valuable lessons of the night. I swore that I could not help the deceased as the tide overran our position, and I told the truth. That does not mean that I could not have intervened before. Vampires seldom ever break their oaths as the price is too high. Similarly, if I swore I believe something is true then unless I twist in pain on the ground as the words leave my mouth, I did not lie. The abyss between the absence of falsehoods and a faithful rendition of reality is so vast that I understand why we are loath to bind our foes and allies in complex contracts. The more we abuse it, and the more the victim will struggle for a way to wiggle out of their bounds like the proverbial genie. And so, I am left in charge after letting nature follow its course. Melitone asks, looking a bit lost. I announce as I kick the prisoner by our feet, Chapter 92: Call of Blood and Bone His heart, eh? Right.I am interrupted by a knock. Sighing, I mark the page and close my book, then slowly open the sarcophagus. Blessed darkness. And an impatient redhead. I retort. That is why I stayed inside, and absolutely not because only a thick layer of cloth separates me from the vengeful radiance of the sun. I am not terrified that some birdbrain could have left the opening flap unsealed, thus condemning me to a fiery death as soon as I open the sarcophagus. Not at all. Melusine lifts an imperious brow. My indomitable will allows me to hoist myself up without grumbling. Everything is harder during the day, and Torran was right: it does not get better. The only option is to endure and compensate. I take a seat in front of the table and take a comb to brush my hair. I was able to take a quick bath yesterday, fortunately, otherwise, I would still be smelling like rank water and Melusine. The horror. I am getting a bit peckish as well. Frowning, I read the documents in front of me and remind myself that I should value the mages for their, well, mage skills. Not their spelling. It appears that a group of werewolves in human form infiltrated Detroit during the day and attempted to sniff out the vampire dens. Literally. They did break into Mornay¡¯s office, but we had thankfully managed to clear out the place in time and they must have failed to find anything useful. Most of the Roland assets are still safe in various warehouses and caches, while the houses of loyal families were left untouched. The scout responsible for the report left town in the early afternoon, implying that the situation may have evolved. For obvious reasons, none of the mages approached the werewolf encampment. I comment. Melusine replies, We are lucky in the sense that our ability to Charm, especially compounded with our bite, makes keeping information from us an impossibility. Even the sturdiest of mages with special mental training would eventually fall under our ministrations. We do not even have to rely on that barbaric and inefficient method that is torture. Unless the target is one of our own, of course. I discreetly pull on my fingers. Melusine idly notes. I ask in surprise, Melusine takes a stricken expression. I ask with disbelief. she hisses back with annoyance. We wait another hour for the sun to set, our conversation turning to her training during her Lancaster days and my own experience after escaping. This bonding moment surprises me as much as her lack of judgement concerning my performance. She is particularly amused by my tale of Bingle¡¯s shenanigans, but her expression turns morose when I mention Dalton and his tragic end. When the night has fully fallen, we finally leave the tent. The Marquette detachment managed to locate a deserted estate and settle there without trouble from the locals. Unfortunately, the main house and adjacent warehouse are both too damaged to provide adequate shelter for our delicate skins, and so we were reduced to using a heavy tent. The soldiers have no such qualms and between this and pavilions, our base has turned into a respectable military camp. The mood remains pleasant despite the knowledge of what we face. It is true. Humans can get used to anything. I turn back to see the tent we came out of. From the outside, it looks like any other, though a more careful inspection will reveal that the fabric is significantly thicker. We are still vulnerable to foes shooting in, thus opening gaps in the uniform cover for the light of the sun to filter in. This will not do. I have decided that as soon as this whole business is over, I will certainly acquire one of those armored carriages. They are too convenient to pass up. I will also install a swivel gun at the top that can be fired from the inside. Oh! And load it with canister shots. We walk confidently across the encampment while mages and soldiers stop what they were doing to watch us pass through under the glow of the odd torch. ¡°The sun is down, and the pale ones are up,¡± somebody whispers to our side. There is no fear in the man¡¯s voice, but instead a sense of anticipation. Of ownership. I never thought that we could be adopted as if we were pet tigers. Interesting. Shaking my head, I follow Melusine to a tent that was set apart. Three men are surrounding it with muskets loaded and pointing in instead of out. I take a key from one of them, then turn to my companion right before lifting the flap. Melusine answers with a smirk. I expected more resistance from her. Curious. I get in and immediately understand why my ally was so eager to shirk her role. This young man... STINKS. A subtle m¨¦lange of wet dog, filthy human and dried swamp scum. Eye-watering in close quarters. I do not remember Alistair, the only other werewolf I ever got close to without killing, being so dreadfully pungent. Absolute bowfing lad. The¡­ boy is on the ground. Both of his hands and feet are being held in massive silvery manacles that dwarf his skinny limbs. Someone was kind enough to procure a small cloth, but he is otherwise naked and his muscles are incredibly well-defined. Too well-defined, in fact. We used to see some of that in freshly purchased slaves coming from the worst plantations, back when I was human. They were all wiry strands of meat with no fat. As I watch, he tilts his head up and the light coming from outside briefly reflects in his eyes before the flap closes and surrounds us in darkness. He blinks, looking lost, and starts sniffing the air. The gesture is still oddly human. His eyes widen. I am recognized. ¡°You look hungry,¡± I comment in a soft voice. The boy sighs in what I recognize as an attempt to regain self-control. With his body bared, every reaction appears exaggerated from his breath to his shivering. On a whim, I exit the tent again and signal a soldier to bring me food and ¡®a lot of it¡¯. Melusine does not react. Either she approves, or she will not oppose me publicly. It takes less than a minute for the man to return with a bowl of hearty stew and a large slice of dark bread. I bring them in, once more regretting this odious assault on my nose. I place them on the ground in front of my captive and free him from the manacles. He takes the bowl with some hesitation, and when no punishment comes, falls on it voraciously. Quite the spectacle. With his meal savaged, the boy leans back while I sit on a small stool, the only piece of furniture save for a very small table on which I light a candle. The weak light would barely be enough for a mortal to see the outline of my body, and yet the werewolf immediately inspects me from head to toe. I decide to do the same. The boy¡¯s traits are still underdeveloped, and the prominent cheekbones give him the appearance of vulnerability. I recognize despair in those green-flecked brown eyes. I have seen the likeness before in those who hold so much grief that the world only appears in shades of grey. Nothing really matters anymore. This might make things easier, or he will clamp so hard that only a bite and a full-powered Charm will make him talk. In any case, resorting to strength as a means of intimidation makes little sense when the person already expects the worst without much concern. s?a??h th? ??v?l_Fir?.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. ¡°Do you know what I am?¡± I ask. The boy considers answering me, then shakes his head and looks down. ¡°No need to act tough, we are having a conversation. This is your chance to ask questions as well,¡± I continue. The boy scoffs. ¡°As if it matters. You¡¯re gonna kill me,¡± he replies with a young and accented voice. Farm stock, I¡¯d wager. ¡°You do not know what I am after,¡± I reply with a smile. Good. He took the bait. I hope he is curious as the younger ones tend to be. ¡°And what are you after?¡± he asks, still guarded. I smile lightly, and tease his curiosity awake with a bit of Charm. ¡°I freed a werewolf from prison, a man by the name Alistair Locke.¡± No hint of recognition. Perhaps Alistair died, after all. ¡°He told me that your kind had gathered in the north. In packs. He spoke of one called Black Peak.¡± Deep Hatred. This is getting interesting. ¡°I assume they succeeded, and I would like to know how.¡± ¡°Why do you care?¡± he spits, ¡°do you not hunt us like animals?¡± Guilty as charged. ¡°You seem like a bright lad. The situation is a bit more complicated than that, as I am sure you can imagine.¡± He frowns but does not object. He must believe my story. ¡°You said we¡¯re having a conversation, right? So I can ask questions too?¡± ¡°Go ahead,¡± I generously offer. ¡°Why don¡¯t you smell bad?¡± Well, because I take baths, for one. ¡°I assume you find the smell of other vampires¡­ upsetting?¡± ¡°Yeah. Like that redhead. I smelled her and it made me angry.¡± It used to be the case for me as well. ¡°The redhead and I come from different bloodlines. Mine can acquire the ability to alter our smell so that animals no longer fear us. I suppose that it works on your kind as well.¡± ¡°What¡¯s a bloodline? You mean, like horses?¡± You little shit. ¡°Like family. We obtain some of the powers of the one who changed us.¡± ¡°Right. So. Uh. I gotta ask. You¡¯re not gonna kill me then?¡± he asks in a mix of hope and disbelief. ¡°I have no interest in killing you. I do have an interest in stopping the Black Peaks from spreading too much. If I can do it by freeing the clans, all the better.¡± I am serious. If I manage to stop the threat by myself, even if it means staying in enclosed space with werewolves for extended periods, I would gladly do so. I will just have to acquire a perfumed handkerchief prior to the negotiations. ¡°You¡¯re serious?¡± ¡°Yes. I am, in fact, serious. You clearly dislike them yet you still risk your life fighting under their banner.¡± So to speak. They do not have a banner. They do not even have pants! ¡°What tells me that you¡¯re not just trying to split us so that you can take us out one by one.¡± ¡°Let me be perfectly clear. Do you think the five of us who faced you represent our elite, theof our military?¡± ¡°Wha¡¯?¡± Oops. Forgot who I was talking to. ¡°Do you think your ferals faced the very best of us?¡± ¡°We¡­ did not?¡± ¡°Not even close. I will ask you to believe me on this, you have not yet faced our Lords and our knights and it would be wise to solve this before they get involved.¡± ¡°But then they could just hunt us down, even if we escape north?¡± ¡°Would that not mean traipsing for years through the infinite expanses of the north?¡± ¡°Wha¡¯?¡± ¡°Killing you off means spending years in the boonies. We have better things to do,¡± I translate with a bit of annoyance. ¡°You folks are pretty arrogant, you know that?¡± the boy observes, not unfairly. I prefer this glare he gives rather than the utter gloom that preceded it, but he remains my prisoner and we cannot have that. I grab him by the back of the neck and easily lift him above me, like a puppy. He jerks in surprise and his knee bangs uselessly against my chest plate. When he stares down, I show him fangs and he stops struggling. I will admit that I find his ability to understand visual cues refreshing. Some mortals would have kept struggling and spewing nonsense about ¡®releasing them¡¯ and ¡®monster¡¯ and some such drivel. ¡°We have cause to be arrogant, don¡¯t you think?¡± I reply, still smiling. Then, I drop him without waiting for an answer and he falls heavily on the ground. ¡°Are there really more of you?¡± the boy asks as he tiredly climbs back to his feet. ¡°Hundreds, just on this continent.¡± He considers my words for a moment. ¡°I am not sure why, but I believe you. Are you doing something to me?¡± ¡°Not yet,¡± I answer somewhat truthfully. So far, I have only nudged his curiosity so that he does not fall to apathy. ¡°You could?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°And you haven¡¯t?¡± I tsk, annoyed. ¡°I have no need for such artifice when I can have a normal conversation. Now, tell me. How does the Black Peak Clan control the others, including all those ferals.¡± ¡°It¡¯s probably the way you smell.¡± ¡°Can we PLEASE focus on the problem at hand?¡± ¡°But it¡¯s really weird.¡± ¡°I am going to bite you, you know?¡± ¡°Fine, fine¡­¡± The boy looks to the side and focuses on his memories. ¡°I¡¯d been with the Deep Lake Pack for two years after that big wolf bit me. Huh, in case you don¡¯t know, werewolves can turn into a real big wolf instead of the monster thing. Depends on how you¡¯re doing when you change. Anyway, been with the pack for a while then this big lug comes and challenges the bossman.¡± He swallows with difficulty. ¡°Our leader was the strongest man I¡¯d ever seen. They fought long and hard but eventually, the big lug won. He didn¡¯t kill the bossman, just said that we¡¯d have to obey them from then on. Then they broke a few legs, killed two men and brought us back to that huge camp of them out in the middle of nowhere.¡± Is this it? I expected something more dramatic. And I talked too soon. Only now does the boy¡¯s eyes turn clouded. ¡°They split us, except us five because we were so close. Anyone who showed a smidgen of rebellion they would break until he died or turned feral. They took the women too. They made Lilly turn feral. She was only fifteen.¡± The weight of those memories bends the boy¡¯s back. ¡°You probably think we¡¯re weaklings but you don¡¯t get it. You can¡¯t. We follow the strong or we¡¯re isolated and when we get isolated, we can¡¯t control the curse anymore. And there are many of them who just joined with the Black Peaks because it¡¯s better to be on the winning side, right? And every time we started to resist, they would bring one of the skalds.¡± ¡°Skalds?¡± ¡°It¡¯s an old word for bard or something, ¡®xcept this bard just plays a big bone horn that, huh, not sure how to describe it.¡± He stares into the flickering light of the candle, gritting his teeth all the while. ¡°It¡¯s like all your emotions get leveled. You get that anger in your belly, right? Because they starve us and they do horrible things to us, and we want to get out and be free. And then it sort of picks up, yeah? But then the skald comes and plays and the sound, it goes through your body and soul. Not the ear. It gets into you and then you lose the emotions. It¡­ it drains you. Like you¡¯re a bottle and someone smashes the bottom. And all the juice gets out and you¡¯re just¡­ empty for a while. It¡¯s just as horrible as before but you can¡¯t bring yourself to care.¡± Only after finishing does he look up to me and realize that I had been listening. I can imagine his pain. ¡°I know how horrible it can be to have your mind stolen from you,¡± I reply. I choose to omit that I have no qualms inflicting this treatment on other people, of course. ¡°You do? Yeah, maybe you do. Anyway. At some point, there is nothing left but despair. You just¡­ go through the motions or you give up and turn feral. The five of us¡­ we helped each other hold on. Well, we used to¡­¡± His eyes moisten and he passes a dirty hand on them to clear them. ¡°It¡¯s just me, now.¡± ¡°There is another one who survived. A girl.¡± ¡°She did? June lives?¡± he replies with renewed hope, though the emotion is short-lived. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter.¡± ¡°Maybe it does,¡± I reply, ¡°but first tell me about the Black Peak Pack leadership.¡± ¡°Alright. Yeah, fine. There is the big bossman. I¡¯ll have to admit he¡¯s something else. He¡¯s got black hair and beard that he keeps long, and those very pale eyes that stare into your soul. And he¡¯s smart and cunning and whatnot. You can¡¯t but help being impressed, you know? Like he¡¯s around and you don¡¯t mind that he¡¯s a boss for a while. Goes by the name of Fenris but it¡¯s all bull. That¡¯s not his real name.¡± A pretentious man. ¡°I see. Who else?¡± ¡°There¡¯s Maul, the one who beat my previous boss. Dumb as a rock but so strong. He¡¯s big too. Biggest man I ever seen. Maybe twice as tall as me.¡± ¡°Are you serious?¡± ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s uncanny. Anyway, Maul keeps people in line and he follows Fenris blindly. They say that Fenris defeated him in battle but I¡¯ve never seen Fenris fight. I believe it though. Oh, and there¡¯s Rolf. He¡¯s the head skald. Some say he was the first one.¡± ¡°Alright that¡¯s interesting. Tell me more about the skalds.¡± ¡°Alright, so we stay in packs because it sort of made the curse smoother. I think it splits the curse over everyone like maple syrup on a pancake yeah? Soaks it right in so that we can keep it under control.¡± What is it with everyone and maple syrup? ¡°But skalds are different. They can force the same thing to happen, only more and with more folks, and when they ring their horns they can sort of push us in a direction. The ferals too.¡± ¡°How are skalds made?¡± ¡°It¡¯s weird. You sound the horn and you are supposed to push into it or something. I never managed when they tested me. Those few who succeed become skalds. They get a lot of power. And women. They get to choose who, well, you can guess.¡± ¡°You mentioned that before. Are your girls used as bargaining chips?¡± ¡°It¡¯s just that¡­ we have those instincts, right? And, well, the pleasures of the flesh, that¡¯s one of them. But there are not many girls around, only one in four of us, tops. Mostly they do not make it through the first transformation.¡± He looks stricken again. Keeping him focused on his tale is becoming harder, quite possibly due to the sheer amount of traumatic memories. I decide to give him some time to recover as I am starting to see how ¡®Fenris¡¯ managed to unite the packs. The key is the use of bone horns. Those are very likely artefacts of blood and death magic, or something related more directly to the nature of the curse. To learn more, I will need to acquire one. Skalds are probably werewolves who had the potential to become spellcasters before they were transformed and can thus operate a magical item. I wonder if they can still be mages. Then something occurs to me. ¡°Where are the children then?¡± A mistake. The boy¡¯s face expresses outrage and powerless anger in equal measure. ¡°We change every full moon. Some of the girls bleed when they turn back.¡± Ah. ¡°I am sorry.¡± He shrugs, helpless. ¡°It¡¯s a curse, after all.¡± It no longer bothers me to be infertile. I wonder if my vampire nature smothered those desires or if I simply grew used to my situation. I can appreciate that it would be a difficult situation for anyone who hoped to create a family. I decide to leave the matter behind. We are getting sidetracked. ¡°You had one skald with you at the encampment,¡± I note. ¡°Yeah. Kohl. A prick. Some skalds resist Fenris but not him, that¡¯s why he was put in charge here.¡± ¡°There are other groups such as yours?¡± ¡°Only one other. Bigger. They are somewhere east of here, but I don¡¯t know where. I think that¡¯s where Fenris went.¡± York. I hope Lazaro is having fun. ¡°Would your group stay here, or move now that you¡¯ve killed two of us.¡± ¡°We did? Hmm. Pretty sure we¡¯re supposed to kill everyone before moving on. That¡¯s how Fenris did it with the packs. Do they know you survived?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Then they¡¯re probably looking for you during the day and hunkering down at night.¡± I now have the beginning of a plan. ¡°How many people would rebel if, say, Kohl were removed, and the horn disabled?¡± I step back as the boy undergoes an incredible metamorphosis. From broken and sitting, he suddenly stands up and his posture changes radically. His stance widens, and where his eyes were downcast, they now burn with fervor. ¡°You would also need to kill Olaf. That¡¯s the big werewolf with the dark fur. But wait. Hold on. You think you can take Kohl out?¡± He frowns. ¡°But no. He will be at the center of the camp and surrounded by a wall of flesh as soon as the alert is given. And you cannot possibly get through the reinforced security. A whiff of you and the camp will go on high alert.¡± ¡°I already have a way, don¡¯t you worry about that.¡± ¡°To go through the entire camp?!¡± ¡°I say, let me worry about that and answer my previous question.¡± ¡°Hold on,¡± he replies with his hand raised, ¡°do you seriously intend to liberate the others? And oppose Fenris? Get us all out of his pack alive and free?¡± ¡°I intend to kill him. And liberate the others so that they may return north, yes.¡± ¡°Swear it. Swear that you will help us, and I am your man. I¡¯ll do anything you want.¡± Errr. Why not, if it can guarantee his cooperation? This was my plan anyway. ¡°I swear to do my best to free the werewolves in the camp from the clutches of the Black Peak Pack, and should they help me thereafter, to do my best so that they may return to their home, wherever that may be.¡± The boy suddenly stands up like a valorous hero at the prow of a ship, aiming his sword at the horizon. I try to ignore the fact that his underwear slipped to reveal half of his butt. ¡°Then I, Jeffrey of the Deep Lake Pack swear my allegiance to you. What¡¯s your name fair lady?¡± ¡°Hmm. Ariane.¡± ¡°Then Ariane, come on and let¡¯s leave this dump, we have a revolution to plan! Hell yeah!¡± I mutter ¡°language¡± after the man¡¯s escaping posterior and walk to Melusine as Jeffrey shakes hands with a flabbergasted guard, informing them of what a good team they will make. Melusine comments with a sarcastic grin, I reply, feeling that the situation escaped me somewhat. I ask, recalling that she had hired a mercenary to have me killed back when I was her prisoner. Hey, Jeffrey!¡± ¡°Yes Ariane?¡± ¡°Come with me to the command tent! And please grab a pair of pants while you are at it.¡± Melusine and I silently jump from ledge to ledge, digging claws in the occasional crevice to push ourselves up. The treacherous ice would be the end of any casual climber, but for us, even the most slippery of footings is barely more than an inconvenience. We scale the cliff with unmatched speed in only a few minutes until the sheer wall turns to a slope and, finally, to a large slab of stone which we share with a lone scraggly tree. Below us, the werewolf camp lies in its sheltered recess, and I notice that its denizens made a clear attempt at turning the place impregnable. A double ring of lit fires circles the entire perimeter with a warm halo of reddish light, flickering under the wind. No spot of darkness was left untouched, and patrols of unchanged men and women in groups of half a dozen watch intently into the darkness. In the middle of the camp, the massive black werewolf stands in front of his command tent while the skald, Kohl, sits next to the caged ferals with a small retinue of bodyguards. I notice with some satisfaction that the herd has been slightly thinned. It confirms my suspicion and Jeffrey¡¯s words that they use ferals as front liners to soak up casualties since they cannot be used for anything else. There should still be over a hundred and eighty werewolves down there, but the thirty or so we killed yesterday did make a dent. This is somewhat comforting. Amusingly, I realize that werewolves make poor sentinels as the reason why they are clumped in large groups quickly becomes apparent. At any given time, at least half of their numbers will look in any direction but the one which they should. Finally, and more importantly, my observations are confirmed: predators never look up. I do not know whether it stems from overconfidence, carelessness, or simply out of a lack of meaningful tree-dwelling dangers on earth. In any case, our foes clearly expect us to come from any direction but the high mound to their north. my ally mutters as she gingerly lifts the wolf slayer. I repurposed the tool with the help of Frost and his cadre for a very specific task and the trials were conclusive. It just feels strange to watch my precious creation in the hands of that woman. I reply as I open the large case by my side and quickly assemble its content. I sweetly ask. Melusine scowls. Muttering unkind words under her breath, the redhead obeys and proceeds to leap gracefully down the cliff to a ledge jutting over the camp while I finish my task. Two months ago, Loth sent me a gift, and after a long wait, I am finally granted the opportunity to use it in combat. I screw the two halves of an unreasonably long barrel filled with silvery engravings on the breech-loaded mechanism and load what might very well be the first functional long-range musket. I trained with it. I could shave the wings off a fly at several hundred paces. It was, of course, on a range. Melusine reaches her destination as I line down the sight. The musket¡¯s stock rests comfortably against my shoulder. She waits for a particularly loud gust of wind to fire a quarrel at a stack of crates. The steel arrowhead buries itself in the frozen ground. A few nearby sentinels raise their head with curiosity. They sniff the air. They find nothing. Melusine replaces the crossbow at her back and attaches the other end of the thin wire to a piton that she furiously stabs in the ice at her feet. She grabs the wire in her gauntleted hand and jumps out, then lets gravity carry her down as she picks up speed. I turn the rifle¡¯s humongous barrel towards my target. The skald¡¯s face appears in the crosshairs when one of his bodyguards does not block the line of sight. His handsome face shows signs of boredom. I breathe once, out of habit. It settles me and sharpens my focus until I reach a mindset of calm and discipline. Melusine is still picking up speed. The way down the slope is long from the height of the mound. My prey is still hidden. The wind dies down for an instant. He turns his head. There is a furry arm in the way. He looks up. He frowns. The bodyguard turns as well, curious. Kohl¡¯s face is fully revealed. I pull the trigger. A quarter of a second later, my target¡¯s head explodes out in a fountain of blood. The shot rings over the camp, reverberating on the slope of the peak I am on. Its echoes roll over the thunderstruck crowd. Melusine hits the ground at a dead sprint. She casts a nasty spell at the four bodyguards who fall to the ground, writhing in pain. She picks up the horn without slowing and runs like the wind between groups of stupefied guards still unsure of what to do. Slow and stupid. This is what happens when you never trust your subordinates: a complete lack of individual initiative. The Black Peak pack forfeited any chance of cornering Melusine the moment they relied on a clunky gathering of unwilling fighters. We are just getting started. Satisfied that the redhead is well on her way out, I return my attention to the black werewolf as I reload, but quickly give up on shooting him. Loth¡¯s long-range rifle came with bullets designed to pierce through enchantments, not to inflict the kind of catastrophic damage that would pulp that monster¡¯s skull. Rather than attempting it, I grab my gear and escape to the right on a path parallel to Melusine¡¯s. Now comes the first hurdle: making sure the wolfies take the bait. And they do. By the , they do. One of them must have unleashed the ferals because I can hear their constant baying even over the roar of the northern gale. A rational decision I suppose, as they have no more means to effectively direct them. The best they can do is to point them at a quarry one last time, and hope for the best. I accelerate as much as I can, draining precious energy but gaining on my companion whose frigid aura is clearly revealed. We are almost at our destination when I finally catch up. she screams, pointing one claw at my gun while her other arm is firmly holding the horn as if it were an unwieldy flowerpot. I ask with surprise. ¡°Tsk!¡± Prejudice against firearms is as deep-seated as it is inexplicable among my kind. Melusine slows down as we arrive at our improvised camp. Both the odd detachment and the mages have formed a hastily constructed half-circle with a barricade of sharpened spikes dug into the unyielding ice with Frost¡¯s help. I may have misjudged how tired they would be as the men manning the defenses show signs of exhaustion, but at least their heavy clothes and various enchantments have kept them warm and they now show excitement as my ally and I jump over the barrier. They do not need our warnings. Only a deaf man would miss the signs that our plan worked. We walk to the center of the camp, where Frost is waiting inside an intricate circle glowing a soft white. At either side of him, Blake stands resolute with a borrowed blade while Jeffrey watches me approach with a goofy smile as he munches a piece of dried beef. ¡°We are set,¡± I observe laconically, keeping my eyes resolutely forward. ¡°I hope so, dear. After all, you promised me a nice battle and here I have been, relegated to the role of support so far,¡± Frost replies with casual interest. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, you will be elbow deep in fur within the next two minutes,¡± Melusine remarks drily. I quickly disassemble the rifle and close the case under the mesmerized looks of the others, then almost tear the wolf slayer off Melusine¡¯s back before loading it with repeater bolts. ¡°You look miffed. Is something the matter, bosswoman?¡± the young werewolf asks. ¡°WHY ARE YOU NAKED?¡± ¡°Oh, if it¡¯s just that, I guess I can transform now,¡± he replies. The young man drops the bag of jerky on the ground and sighs deeply, somewhere between relief and anticipation. He extends his arms to the side and, without warning, it begins. His skin roils and erupts with fur and muscle, bones snapping as they expand and reattach themselves without method. The change is asymmetrical and messy. I fully expect blood and other fluids to cover the ground, but my expectations are dashed. It still looks unbelievably painful, and yet not a whine escapes the creature¡¯s muzzle. In less than three seconds, a bipedal monster towers before us, dwarfing even the tallest man. Jeffrey flexes his sharp claws and displays a row of serrated fangs. Only his eyes remain unchanged as expressive orbs of brown flecked with green. Conservation of mass just tipped its hat and left the planet. I feel somewhat annoyed. As our first werewolf ally struts confidently forward under the wary gaze of the mortals, I lean closer to Melusine. I whisper. she deadpans. I stare into her innocent face with growing frustration. Right, our plan is simple. Eliminate the manipulative prick, steal his tool and the army¡¯s cohesion will shatter. The second part is by far the most uncertain. The clans under the black werewolf, Olaf, follow him because of the horn and their instincts to obey the strong. We have three ways to remove his control and eliminate the group as a fighting force without a massive bloodbath. The first and most obvious solution is to kill him. A daunting task, but not an impossible one. It will require me to fight through his personal guard and hope that I can manage it without too many casualties on my side. Jeffrey assured me that without the horn¡¯s powerful effects, the werewolves would revert to their normal mindsets. Their leader has not earned the right to lead a group of packs. A horde. He usurped it. Once the momentum of the chase is exhausted, the majority of werewolves should feel no urge to defend one they will instinctively resent. This unique opportunity comes from my smell. I do not have the scent of an enemy like Melusine and Blake do. Therefore, the army should not instinctively unite against me if I go after its leader. That is the theory. They could still decide to close rank on me and then I would be swarmed and killed. I will keep this option as a last resort. The second possibility is that the horde splits immediately once the others realize that they are free. I consider this to be wishful thinking. I personally believe that it will take more than the five minutes we gave them for the flames of liberties to burn in their hearts. I would bet that the instinctive response of a beaten group would be to wait and see, rather than to stand up and risk extermination if they are proven to be the outliers. Nobody wants to be the first target in front of the firing line. I asked if Jeffrey could challenge Olaf. My most recent minion said that yes, of course, he could issue a challenge. And then promptly die, thus reinforcing our foe¡¯s legitimacy. The third and last option is to use the horn ourselves to push the packs over the edge and into open mutiny. The item is, after all, a thing of blood and bone. An artefact of the hunt. And what better wielder of such a creation, than me? There are none here. I cradle the object between my hands, passing a thumb over its smooth surface. The bones come from a predator judging from the size. Bear and wolf, mostly. The ivory material was fused together by means unknown and the smooth planes have been engraved with runes I do not recognize. They shine softly in carmine red, waiting for activation. The aura is mighty. I taste the hunt, of course, but also blood, lust, death, as well as warmth and cold. It was not designed for me, but I can use it. I hold nothing more than a dedicated focus meant to cast a single spell altered by the caster¡¯s intent. Yes. I just need to place the COLD WITHIN. WARMTH IN THE PREY¡¯S BLOOD. And everything will work out just fine. I am reminded of the gauntlet dedicated to casting a single spell I used in the library of Alexandria. The more deliberate and precise the tool, the less training is required to activate it. What the focus lacks in flexibility, it gains in sheer power. The irony of turning their own means of control against the Black Peak Clan is an added bonus. Yes, I think as I caress it, it will do nicely. ¡°I am sure I can operate the horn but it might take a lot of power. I would rather wait until the non-ferals are within range.¡± Melusine nods and turns, heading to the front. I follow her when Blake steps up to me. I ask with surprise. Blake has been helpful so far. She has protected the Roland assets through a careful evacuation and assisted with planning. Our cooperation has reinforced my opinion that she is strangely attractive to men though this in itself is not an issue, as she has done nothing to harm our efforts. Quite the contrary, in fact. In a way, I understand her. She needs a symbolic kill. I reply as I give her my weapon as well as the spare ammunition. Then, I turn to a stump not far away from us and point at it. The upper part of the stump explodes in a shower of splinters. I drily comment to the embarrassed Courtier, She nods and I continue on my way until I stand at the edge of the barricade. The troops are arrayed in three circles covered by shields, with the largest one in the center and occupied by Frost. The packs may be freed, but the ferals could just disperse and become a significant danger for the population and for Blake whose duty it is to cull them. We need to take down as many as we can before they split up. Only a minute has passed since our arrival and already, the horde is coming. In front of us, the aura of a multitude of supernatural creatures blows like a strange wind, bringing with it a jumble of emotions. While still impressive, it lacks the terrifying pressure of yesterday¡¯s assault. The sense of unity is gone. Behind us, another aura grows. Once, I stepped into a cavern while a blizzard was raging outside. The cavern was sheltered from the wind and only the back of my skull was buffeted by a furious gale. This is how I feel now. The spell Frost is building writhes inside of his circle with terrifying power, like a cannon aimed outward. I can see the glow of the fuse, but not the darkness of the muzzle. It is not aimed at me. For once. The forest moves in front of us as massive shapes crash against trees. The fastest ferals sprint ahead of the rest. I remove a pistol, aim, and fire, catching a frontrunner in the eye. All around us, the soldiers fire as soon as they have a shot. There is no point in massed volleys here. We are just trying not to get overwhelmed. Many of the bullets find a target and slow down the onslaught. Spells and the occasional bolt bring down attackers as fast as they appear until a large group bursts out in front of us. Melusine screams, and a small explosion lands in their midst. Around me, soldiers switch from their empty muskets to grenades and lob them in front of us. The multiple explosions catch more ferals, killing some of them. Then the first foe jumps over the barricade into my waiting arms. Finally. I have been so very THIRSTY. GRAB CLAW. GRAB MUZZLE. SUBJUGATE. EXPOSE. BITE. Delicious. I the creature in a second and send its corpse flying back over the barricade. I made a bit of a mess this time, I realize. Hm. That was completely on purpose for the sake of intimidation. a voice asks. FILL? The three shields manifest themselves as the first creatures slam into them, pushed back by silver bullets and bayonets. No one remains outside, except for me. STAB. MAIM. CLAW. They come one after the other just to die, unable to go beyond their bloodlust. I drag one more to it after killing its two neighbors. The transparent energy shields waver. ¡°Ariane!¡± I roll inside a circle as more and more bodies press against the overtaxed defenses. WEREWOLF. Hold on, that one is mine. No killing. STINKS. No. MINE. NO KILLING. To my side, Frost sighs deeply and stretches his arms to his side. All three shields flash a deep blue and the ferals recoil in pain. Incredible power saturates the inner part of the circle I stand in. The raw strength of the ritual electrifies my skin and burns my lungs. Slowly, Frost rises in the air, momentarily free of the bonds of this world. A beatific smile spreads on the old man¡¯s face and his skin lights from within as it loses its wrinkly appearance. His hair and beard turn to silk, radiating the white of the dawn of a winter sun and when he opens his eyes, they shine in the darkness of the night like two faraway stars. He speaks and his voice is a murmur that smothers all other sounds. From the wolves to us to the trees and the very wind, the entirety of creation falls silent. ¡°Cover, cover, the world over, Extinguish now their every light Hear thee my plea, heart of winter And share with them your endless night. Polaris.¡± Light dims. The moon disappears behind some conjured darkness but I care not because Frost is all I can see and he is beautiful. From his extended hands, water streams and expands until it covers the spheres in a veil the color of sapphire. The liquid shudders to reflect its master¡¯s eagerness as droplets stream up to the skies in defiance of the laws of nature. In less than a second, the watery blanket has reached an appreciable thickness. So thick it is, that the outside appears to us as if it had sunk to the depths of the ocean. Frost¡¯s preparations are complete and I feel the pendulum of fate at the end of its swing. The tension has reached its paroxysm and now, the steel ball is on its way back. Frost throws both hands in a clawing gesture. The blue surface explodes outwards in a silent boom and the tinkling sound of shattered crystal. The wave expands, as unstoppable as the tide, until it disappears from my senses. The shields lower and light returns. I shiver with pleasure at the magnificent sight before us. We stand in a garden of statues. Ferals in all poses lay about, frozen for all of eternity, this one chasing, that one lunging, captured in the moment. I feast my eyes on this incredible sight and the beauty of their deep blue prisons. Translucent spikes of crystalline solids jut from their unmoving forms, giving the statues the appearance of some icy creatures trapped in strange amber. The spectacle is so very alien that none dare speak first among our ranks. We just stand there, facing a taste of the world at the end of times. Slowly, we wake up from the trance of this awesome display to realize that a half-circle of wolves peer at us from the cover of the trees, just outside of the range of the spell. They were waiting for the ferals to finish the job. The fact that they still haven¡¯t moved is quite telling. In the middle of the assembly, the black-furred leader stands tall in an amusing attempt to look larger. I turn back to Frost and realize that his smile matches my own. He is so very attractive. And fascinating. This carnage. This¡­ conquest. He is¡­ He is worthy. RAISE. ¡°Join us. ¡± The old man tilts his head. He sighs deeply and lifts a finger to my lips, touching them softly. I let him. His smile of regret tells me of his answer before he even speaks. ¡°No.¡± He made his choice and I respect it. ¡°It is your turn to impress me, Ariane,¡± he continues. I nod and take the horn from my side. I lightly jump on a frozen beam from our now pointless barricade. My audience is arrayed before me, paralyzed by indecision. I, too, would hesitate to strike after such a show of power. Let me spur them into action. I bring the horn to my mouth and take a deep breath. The artefact links with me just like the gauntlet did and I feel a great reservoir available for me to fill. I start pouring power into it and realize that it will not work. The horn is a tool designed to convey orders in a way that the cursed understand. I am not one of them, therefore reaching their minds will require the message to be as simple and unambiguous as possible. What do I want? In theory, I want control. In reality, subjugation is both impractical and dangerous. What I need is to free them. Just as I promised. Freedom. I search my memories for the feeling and find many instances of running through the woods, or riding Metis, where I felt truly free. I push into the horn and stop again. I am an idiot. It is not freedom I should go for, but liberation. Not being free, becoming free. And for that I have the perfect memory. I close my eyes. The horn sounds over the plain in a single note, pure and mighty. The branches shiver and powdery snow fills the air. A tantalizing taste fills their mind. It speaks to them of running through the empty land with the others, the weight of their curse temporarily lifted from their shoulders. It reminds them of a better time when they found acceptance in a new family. One that understood their burden and lessened it through shared experience. It speaks of a future in which it happens again. They merely need to seize it. The first to change is a massive leader with a grey pelt. His transformation is the most impressive of all as cracks and groans lead him to expand his frame until he dwarfs even Olaf. A hundred pairs of malice-filled eyes turn to the Black Peak Pack¡¯s bunched group, their torturers, jailers and rapists. The grey werewolf roars and it carries with it a mountain of torment that demands retribution. The next minute is one more incredible show in a night that was filled with them. The freed packs fall on their enemy with unparalleled hatred. They literally tear them apart in their fury. They leave no survivors. After the massacre is done, the fighters split up, gathering into little groups of naked bodies hugging each other for comfort. Cries of relief cover the plain once more as we watch without a word. The grey leader ignores them. He steps to the barricade with confidence, transforming back mid-stride which is, I assume, a rather impressive performance. The naked man before me stops at the edge of a log. He has short brown hair and expressive chestnut eyes. His squarish jaw and heroic face give him the appearance of a tragic hero. He sniffs the air and turns his attention to me. ¡°Let¡¯s talk.¡± Chapter 93: The Smell of Victory. I regret everything.¡°For the love of all that is precious STOP SNIFFING ME!¡± ¡°But it¡¯s so strange¡­¡± ¡°NO SNIFFING!¡± ¡°Eep!¡± The tiny woman jumps back with a stricken look, but not for long. A man taps her on the shoulder and she turns with a smile. He is naked. Regrets. So many regrets. I agreed to follow the big grey werewolf back to his encampment with the rest of the horde in order to discuss what would follow. I will admit that my unwillingness to negotiate terms with a butt-naked individual in the middle of a statuary of frozen corpses played a big role in my decision. I thought it better to talk while the euphoria of their newfound liberty lifted their hearts. That was a mistake. First, my smell is apparently strange to them. It allows me to walk among their numbers without being perceived as an intruder, an advantage that my allies do not share and the reason why I left them behind. The other side of the medal is that they are rather curious. The most daring specimens challenge my personal space to sample the goods and only my unflappable countenance has allowed me to spare their miserable lives. How dare they! I am not a slab of meat! Gah! And the odd inquisitive wolf is the least of my worries. To be fair there are only a handful of them, they are harmless, and they leave when prompted. The main problem is¡­ Frankly, I should have anticipated it. Sex is a great activity, in general, a true celebration of life and pleasure. Its practice is somewhat limited by a combination of factors, such as babies which werewolves cannot carry to term, diseases which they are immune to, and social constraints which they are devoid of. As a result, a great celebration is occurring in the surrounding tents, with no concern given to propriety or, indeed, keeping one¡¯s voice down. And as if things were not bad enough, they STINK. the situation is deteriorating every time a sweaty, naked, aroused ruffian lifts a tent flap to switch groups! My poor nose! After an interminable walk, we finally reach the command pavilion. Thanks to my indomitable will, I resist the urge to leave this forsaken place, find the highest tree I can and hug it like a Christmas ornament. Enclosed space. A central table with a map surrounded by seats covered in fur. A few chests. A stench like no others, a mix of wet dog, sweaty genitals, and INTRUDER. I should have taken a perfumed handkerchief. ¡°Now that we¡¯re¡ª¡± ¡°First things first, wear some damn pants!¡± I hiss. The man stares at me with his sad brown eyes and I realize the overwhelming gap between us. He has been through a lot in the past few weeks, for sure, while for me fighting for my life while embroiled in cutthroat politics and diplomacy is just another Thursday. Perhaps, for efficiency¡¯s sake, I should cut him some slack. After he covers his nads. With a heavy sigh, the new leader grabs a pair of leather pants and pulls them on. They look dirty. He picked them from the ground! They are not even his size! Stop thinking about it too much, Ariane, that way lies insanity. Pah! Pah pah pah. ¡°Better?¡± the man asks coldly. ¡°Somewhat. You wanted to talk, so talk,¡± I declare. Blake gave me leave to negotiate in her name, provided that her bottom line is respected. In that case, it means all of the wolves leaving her territory posthaste. Besides that, I am free to negotiate the terms I see fit. And now that we are finally settled, of course, he remains silent. I use this opportunity to study this new addition to the list of people I am supposed to pay attention to. The grey werewolf is interesting. He is not what I expected from an improvised leader, especially not one who was the first to throw himself at his captors. His eyes are too soft and his expression too melancholic for a warrior, though with his square jaw and bulging muscles, he might just cut it. Seriously, I could hammer a steel ingot on those abdominals. And yet, he looks more like the doomed prince of a dying duchy, staring at the ocean from the battlements of his crumbling fortress with only an old butler and a few dogs for company. I should probably slow down on reading Jimena¡¯s novels. I fear that they might be affecting my judgement. As I was inspecting him, my interlocutor had been dreamily staring into the distance. His musings are interrupted by someone tossing the tent¡¯s flap aside to get in. I turn around to see a naked woman, flushed with lust and ambition. Our eyes meet and she bares her teeth. I deploy my aura, crushing her under its murderous pressure. ¡°Don¡¯t try me,¡± I state. The intruder lowers her head before skulking back. I return my attention to the pack¡¯s de facto leader with increasing annoyance. ¡°Keep your people under control.¡± ¡°We men do not interfere in power struggles between the fairer sex.¡± ¡°I am not one of yours.¡± ¡°You are not completely out, either,¡± he calmly observes. His manners are mild and his voice mellow and I find myself lowering my guard. ¡°It¡¯s the smell. Your scent is¡­¡± Never mind my previous reflection. ¡°If you tell me I smell weird one more time¡­¡± ¡°My apologies. We obviously started on the wrong footing¡ª¡± Understatement of the century. ¡°¡ªand I propose that we begin anew. My name is Augustus Jennings of the now-defunct Deepwood Pack. Whom do I have the honor of addressing?¡± ¡°Ariane of the Nirari.¡± Augustus waits some more as if expecting me to go off with ¡®high queen of Northumbria, the unwashed, medical doctor¡¯ and so on. When no such thing occurs, he resumes the conversation. ¡°You are a vampire, correct? A master?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Well, what do you know of our kind?¡± ¡°You taste delicious.¡± Ah. Oops? Not very diplomatic, Ariane. ¡°Besides that?¡± the man grumbles. ¡°You headed north and split into groups you call packs. Being in one balances the curse, somehow. All was well until a man calling himself Fenris and leading a band called the Black Peak Pack started to subjugate everyone. Now you are more or less united under him, due to a mix of fear and the power of the skalds. Fenris decided to expand south and here we are.¡± ¡°Brief, if not entirely inaccurate. You are still missing an important part of the puzzle.¡± Augustus looks into the horizon, broody and dreamy. I roll my eyes. Why does he have to be so dramatic? ¡°What we know, we gathered from fragments of journals and ancient parchment yellowed by age over the centuries, a thankless task to find the source of the curse and the cause of our torment.¡± I don¡¯t caaaaaaaaaare. ¡°Our dreadful tale begins during the darkest period of the hundred-year war, in the French region of Auvergne.¡± Someone please shoot me. ¡°A mage of considerable power weaved a dread curse, a thing so horrid and devastating that it twisted the very human form which should have remained sacrosanct. As for its purpose, we shall never know, but some suspect that it was used to punish an entire family¡­¡± the man continues in a pained whisper. Why would he assume that I would be interested? I just want to hammer out an agreement and head out. Aaaaaa if only I could just bite him and be done, but a meek leader of werewolves is of no use. ¡°When the curse was made, our tormentor committed a fatal mistake. In their urge to spread destruction, they forced an instinct on the cursed: we disable our prey then move on to the next one, only to return to finish them off after no one is left standing. This turned against their intention as many wounded recovered enough to hide and thus survive the onslaught, and so our curse has spread throughout the world like a dreadful plague, causing the death of thousands.¡± I must look like an attentive audience. That must be it. ¡°Now, and for the first time in history, we have a chance to turn our lives around, but to do so we must make peace with the curse, with the trapped wolf in our soul, and to do so we must adopt some of the beast¡¯s social habits.¡± ¡°I assume you have a point?¡± I ask, utterly out of patience. ¡°I do,¡± the man replies unamused, ¡°it relates to us and the way we work as a group. Many of the rules we follow are taken from the behavior of wolves. That means that we do not delegate authority as a government would. The army arrayed against York is it.¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°It. All the remaining werewolves in the northern territories. Three hundred of them, give or take. It will take more than a few of your kind to hold back this tide. I am willing to guide the werewolves of this group north if you give us enough provisions and if you promise not to go after us.¡± I widen my eyes in surprise, then I realize I cannot help it. I laugh. I am being vulgar and my fangs are showing but I cannot stop. This man! What a great comedian! ¡°Oh dear, how precious. You are simply too much.¡± ¡°I assure you that¡ª¡± he begins. I move over the table, stopping only a few inches away from him and hit him fully with my Charm. I take the strand of apprehension, the one that is born of the knowledge of what I am, what I did, and feed my aura into it until it turns into a fat worm of terror. My claws dig into the wood below, which creaks torturously. ¡°You are in no position to demand, boy,¡± I hiss. Augustus jumps back with a curse. To his credit, he gets his fear under control faster than I have ever seen. From what I can tell, the curse fights back, somehow. It releases him from my influence with the utmost speed. I lean back and smile, pretending that his newfound courage is simply me releasing my hold on his emotions. His resistance to my power matters little when bluffs and manipulation can achieve so much. ¡°Do not think us defeated, vampire,¡± he retorts as his voice trembles ever so slightly, ¡°we still have¡ª¡± ¡°I have the horn, and I can operate it,¡± I interrupt. That shuts him up. Good. ¡°You are the shambling leader of a defeated and brittle band of disposable soldiers. Yesterday you could field dozens of ferals. Tonight, you have none. Yesterday your army had a skald and a warlord at their head. Tonight, well, there is you.¡± I sneer. Augustus grits his teeth, but he does not reply. ¡°You also wrongly assume that I care what happens to the population of York.¡± ¡°You do not?¡± he replies, half-surprised and half-scandalized. ¡°You may consider them as rivals, of sorts. In fact, the best solution for me now would be to let them suffer so much that our knights must intervene while I wipe you out to the last.¡± ¡°You cannot. We will--¡± Augustus stops abruptly. I have the horn. I can use it. The terrible artifact is the crux of our negotiations. It places me in a position of strength from which I can demand much with little in return. ¡°You can no longer stop me,¡± I observe, ¡°if you fight, I will disable then slaughter the packs. You scatter, and I will pick you off band by band, wolf by wolf, until I have drained every man, woman, and juvenile. We are discussing the terms of your surrender, Augustus. Do not provoke me again.¡± The man leans back in his seat, contemplative. He displays no sign of giving up and I can practically see the gear turning behind his distant eyes. I respect him for it, and for not giving in despite the circumstances. If he were not so much of an insufferably stinky mutt, I could see us cooperate. ¡°You do not smell like a leader. You cannot change or direct the curse like I can either, even with your newest toy, and besides, you do not strike me as another slaver. There must be something we can do for each other that you could not get with just the horn. Why don¡¯t you tell me?¡± ¡°Tut tut,¡± I reply with amusement, ¡°my newest toy is you, Augustus, and as for what I want, why, it is power of course. Let me explain¡­¡± In a few sentences, I describe the context while remaining intentionally vague about the current standing of the participating Houses. ¡°¡­ best solution would be for me to save my kin in York and bring a long-term solution to the werewolf problem. My victory would be assured.¡± The leader crosses his arms, always a bad sign in a conversation. At first, I take it that he is averse to cooperating but soon realize my mistake: he is revolted. ¡°So, that is what this is all about to you. A political game.¡± ¡°Everything is a political game when more than three people are involved, boy. Spare me the theatrics. Now, are you willing to assist me, yes or no?¡± ¡°You seriously want us to take down Fenris, Maul and Rolf?¡± ¡°Of course not, I do not believe you to be capable of such a feat. I expect you to assist me while I take care of it myself. Do so, and I will help you in returning to your homes, wherever they may be.¡± I already made that commitment to Jeffrey. It costs me little to simply repeat it. ¡°Ariane of the Nirari, my people have suffered a terrible ordeal. They are weakened and wounded.¡± Somewhere nearby, a couple screams in the thrall of a particularly intense orgasm. Augustus winces while I show no reaction. Still annoyed, I raise a finger to interrupt him as is about to resume his impassioned plea. ¡°You do not know much about my kind, do you?¡± ¡°Knowledge is sparse, and for good reasons,¡± he replies defensively. I imagine that we do not eagerly share the specifics of our nature. Quite the contrary, in fact. ¡°Then let me enlighten you in a concise manner. We are arrogant, territorial, and deadly apex predators who do not care in the slightest about your freedom or, indeed, your continued survival. What you are doing is useless, because we are only vaguely aware of the mercy you are appealing to. We do not do charity. We do deals. Give me the incentive I need, and I will assist you, otherwise you are wasting both our times. Am I being clear?¡± ¡°Crystal clear,¡± the man grumbles, his eyes shining dangerously. I will let it go so long as he does not provoke me further. ¡°It changes little,¡± he continues, ¡°we cannot stand against Fenris and his groups. They are three times our numbers. Attacking them is suicide.¡± ¡°We do not have to defeat the army in battle, we just need a path to those three,¡± I reply. Augustus shakes his head, then returns his attention to me. ¡°I need to think of a plan, Ariane of the Nirari. Would you consent to reconvening tomorrow evening?¡± And giving him the time to recover or even split up the packs? Not a chance in hell. ¡°If I leave this tent without a formal pact between us, I am coming back with the horn and my silver spear. None of you will see the dawn.¡± Augustus growls. His eyes shine in the light of the tent¡¯s single lantern as his teeth sharpen. I hiss back with fangs displayed. With what appears to be a supreme effort at self-control, he leans back into his throne. Good puppy. ¡°Has anyone ever told you that you are difficult to deal with?¡± ¡°No one who mattered,¡± I sweetly reply. Silence. Augustus twines his fingers and closes his eyes. They flutter against their lids as their owner desperately looks for a way out, while outside, the sounds of revel continue unabated. The werewolves celebrate their newfound freedom with unbridled enthusiasm, unaware of its fragility. Behind the scene, a lone man has shouldered the burden of responsibility. He must complete a deal or the cries of ecstasy will soon turn to screams of horror, and then, silence. In a way I appreciate his self-control and dedication. I could almost respect him if he did not stink so much. And if he wore pants without being prompted. And if he were not so dramatically broody. Ah well. ¡°How well can you use the horn?¡± he suddenly asks. ¡°I can convey emotions through it,¡± I reply with a shrug. The horn is a makeshift blood magic focus, not exactly the most elaborate tool. ¡°What did it feel like, when you heard my call?¡± I ask, suddenly curious. His eyes glaze over as he reminisces. His voice grows distant. ¡°Like I was almost there, almost free. I could feel it. I was so close. I only needed to reach out and kill that last person in the way.¡± He turns his eyes to me, gauging. ¡°Your emotions are more abstract than ours when we are changed. Freedom remains a human concept, after all, and our equivalent would be the ability to move freely. That is not the same thing. The horn still called us, but it did so from above instead of from within, if that makes sense.¡± I understand that even our instincts do not operate on the same level. ¡°If you can truly reproduce this effect then we may have a chance to both complete your main objective and avoid a wholesale slaughter.¡± ¡°Do tell,¡± I answer as I lean over the table. ¡°The horn¡¯s call goes beyond the mere physical. You must have felt it too.¡± ¡°As if reality itself echoed the sound?¡± ¡°Precisely. A call occupies space like sound normally cannot. When a skald uses the horn, there will be a delay before another can impart the world with another meaning. Blowing the horn also exhausts the skalds quickly. I believe that if we time it right, we may be able to use it to our advantage.¡± ¡°What did you have in mind?¡± ¡°If we manage to approach Fenris¡¯ camp undetected and blow the horn first, we will have a few minutes of initiative before they can bring their own skalds and numbers to bear. Within that time, we must break our way through their ranks until we reach Fenris. There, I will issue a formal challenge.¡± ¡°A challenge?¡± ¡°Yes. I will fight him for dominance.¡± ¡°Hold on,¡± I interrupt, ¡°if it were that easy, why did you not do it before?¡± ¡°Were you not paying attention?¡± he snarls, ¡°the skalds stole everything from us, including our drive to be free. I did not challenge him because they robbed me of the will to do so.¡± I frown, keenly aware of the many holes in that plan. ¡°How confident are you that you can take him on?¡± ¡°If I commit to it, I will kill him. Don¡¯t ask me how,¡± he replies with a confidence that I am tempted to call undue. It does seem simple. Carve a path through an unsuspecting foe until we reach their leaders, then let the big wolf sort his differences. I see three loss conditions. If we are detected, the breakthrough will fail, and our troops will break against superior numbers. If we manage to charge but not to pierce, then the same thing will happen. If we succeed but Augustus loses the fight, the plan fails as well. In all three cases, the enemy army takes over the defeated pack and even if I survive, then a loss will deal a fatal blow to my chances at winning the contest. On the other hand, Fenris is in York. If the Cadiz manage to eliminate him, they will have solved the werewolf problem for the time being, and won the contest. I still cannot think of a better plan and time is not on my side. I simply need to make this one workable. Vampires can eliminate the scouts ahead of the army while Frost covers our approach. My allies would be in front while I stay with the werewolves. It could work. For the breakthrough, I would simply need to convey the right feelings and stay at the tip of the formation. As for the duel, I need to know more before I commit. Fortunately, Jeffrey should be an excellent source of information considering that he never shuts up. ¡°Very well,¡± I finally answer, ¡°we will go for your plan and if it succeeds, I will take the survivors under my protection and allow them to return to their lands, even if it puts me at odds with other vampires.¡± I am confident that Constantine would approve of any problem-solving that does not involve a bloodbath. As for what the Cadiz may think of this agreement, I do not give a damn. ¡°Please note that my protection only extends to the packs present here, not those assaulting York,¡± I finish. Augustus considers my words for a long time. Eventually, he licks his lips and turns confrontational once more. ¡°I swear on my honor and the pack that I will abide by your terms, with two more conditions. You will not use my people as cannon fodder.¡± ¡°Some will die during the fight,¡± I observe. ¡°You know what I mean.¡± ¡°I do. And yes, I will not send them to a pointless death.¡± ¡°And second, no sexual abuse.¡± I pause at the enormity of his declaration. ¡°I beg your pardon?¡± I reply, outraged. ¡°You heard me. You will not abuse your authority to gain sexual favors from my people while we work together,¡± he firmly replies. I¡­ What? No, I get where this is coming from but still! Me! And¡­ Seriously? ¡°Let me be perfectly clear. I would rather stab myself in the liver with a rusty iron spike and greet the sun from atop a pile of manure than lie with you, or anyone else on this encampment!¡± I hiss, irate. What do they take me for? I have standards! And my heart is taken. Augustus turns curiously contemplative. ¡°I do not believe I have ever been that forcefully rejected.¡± ¡°And I am delighted to be expanding your horizons.¡± ¡°Is it a race thing?¡± ¡°Yes. You stink.¡± Augustus flexes his biceps and sniffs his armpit. Then, he shrugs. ¡°Aaaand I¡¯m off. We reconvene tomorrow at dusk. Good night, sir! I say, good night!¡± I declaim on my way out. Outside, I take a deep breath and come to the realization that, like most things, stench is relative. In the open ground, the smell of wet dog is barely tolerable. ¡°Hey bosswoman, you¡¯re here. This is June, my packmate. She¡¯s a sweetheart. Say hi, June!¡± With a perfect poker face, I push my exasperation to the back of my mind and greet my future little informer with a genial smile. I phase out his incessant drone and take a moment to inspect his companion. June is slightly taller than him with the honest face of a farm girl. She seems a bit dazed and wears an ill-fitting shirt that looks hastily put on. It reveals one of her shoulders and the lower part of her stomach. Interestingly, female werewolves appear to share similarities with their male counterparts. June is lean and muscular but she is also lithe. Her body reminds me of Nami¡¯s: all vine-like cords hinting at the power underneath, yet still feminine and seductive. She lacks her grace and polish, however. I would still enjoy having her as a model. It is not every day that I get to paint bodies like hers. Come to think of it I should ask Augustus too, as he is rather fetching. I shall just have to make sure it happens somewhere with a strong air current. ¡°Yeah, so are you heading back to the city?¡± Jeffrey finally asks. ¡°Yes, would you care to join me?¡± I have an inkling that werewolves have enhanced senses. It would be easier to interrogate my new minion away from prying ears. We would not want to be interrupted. ¡°Finally! A bed, in a real bedroom! We can have a bed, right?¡± the boy asks, excited. Ahem. A month ago, I had dreams of becoming the queen of North America, the head of an assembly of lords and ladies united in our desire for independence and uninterrupted dinners. Now, I am trading information on some werewolf against a room with a roof on top. How the tables have turned. I gaze up at the and feel more amusement than usual. Have a nice laugh at my expense you big celestial dolt. You are lucky not to be a giant nose. Imagine that. The . Heh. ¡°Bosswoman?¡± ¡°Yes, you can have a bed, Jeffrey. And even share it with your lady friend. Now come on.¡± I declare as I take my leave, ¡°AND STOP SNIFFING ME!¡± The trip back goes smoothly. I easily step over the fresh-fallen snow while they happily walk through it with unexpected grace. I had imagined that werewolves would just break their way through the thick white layer like plow horses, but I was just being unduly dismissive. They know how to move. Jeffrey is not the kind of man I need to crack open. Instead, he is so open I need to slow him down and sort through the drivel for the occasional nugget of wisdom. I need a direct approach. ¡°What can you tell me about Augustus Jennings?¡± ¡°Augustus Jennings? The moody twin? Figures. I told June, I did. I told her; he will step up to do the job if there is no one else. Didn¡¯t I, June?¡± ¡°Ah? Huh,¡± she grumbles. The girl seems a bit out of it. I suspect that something is wrong in her, and she does not look like she was the sharpest knife in the drawer to begin with. ¡°Anyway. Augustus. He¡¯s Thomas¡¯ twin. Did I ever tell you about Thomas Jennings?¡± ¡°You did not.¡± ¡°Alright. When Fenris started to take over, not everyone remained passive. There was this guy, Thomas. He tried to gather packs around him. He was not as quick or efficient as Fenris but he did start to get a following. Instead of coming and beating the crap out of the local leader, he would try to convince people and sometimes do helpful stuff like killing the weird animals himself. You know about those?¡± ¡°Like a giant crocodile who can hide its presence?¡± I answer, recalling the first time I met Loth. We hunted a few abnormal creatures after that, but nothing came close in terms of danger or intensity. Those hunts bring me no reward either. I cannot drink bear blood. ¡°I guess it would be a crocodile down south huh. Never seen one o¡¯ those myself. We have grizzlies, normal wolves and the odd elk. Mostly. Anyway, at some point he disappeared while escorting a caravan to some forts. The pack he was helping got immediately absorbed by the Black Peaks. My bet is that they ambushed him as he was alone and did him in.¡± And so, the na?ve hero falls. I am not even remotely surprised. ¡°If they assassinated Thomas, why not kill Augustus as well?¡± ¡°Huh? But why would they? He was not the leader. Thomas was.¡± I stare into his guileless face for any sign of humor. Alas, I find none. ¡°Are you serious?¡± I still ask, incredulous. ¡°Hm, yeah? That¡¯s the story anyway. They were not from my pack.¡± ¡°Are you telling me that Fenris assassinated Thomas but left his twin alive? Would he take that risk?¡± ¡°Hmm, I¡¯m not sure I follow. Is it a vampire thing?¡± ¡°It¡¯s a commonsense thing! If you behead an organization by slaying its leader, you also kill off his identical sibling! I understand leaving the children alone but come on, a twin?¡± Both werewolves stare at me with equal expressions of bovine bafflement. After scratching his dirty scalp for a few seconds, Jeffrey¡¯s eyes widen as he finally understands. I hope. ¡°Ah, it¡¯s because you think Augustus was a leader too!¡± There is no hope. ¡°I need to explain then, bosswoman. You see, there are three kinds of werewolves¡¯ behaviors and a leader is only one of them. When you¡¯re a leader like me, your transformed body gets bigger and brawnier and you have to show people what to do, where to go, take care of everyone. That sort of thing. Then there are the followers like June here.¡± She nods briefly then returns her gaze to the snow before her feet. ¡°Most of us act as followers. A good follower reduces the burden on the leader and also makes him stronger. June is really good at it.¡± June¡¯s support must contribute to his surprising mass, though I suspect that the curse also plays a role. I find myself more and more curious about them. I would never have imagined that they could develop their own culture and hierarchy. ¡°Then there are the outsiders,¡± Jeffrey continues. ¡°They don¡¯t need to be in a pack to keep the curse under control and having them around is relaxing.¡± ¡°How so?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not sure. It just feels like all the little things that usually piss you off don¡¯t matter that much anymore and you can think more clearly.¡± So, an outsider restores their mind to a semblance of functionality. I need to get myself one of those. And soap. ¡°Come to think of it, I believe Alistair mentioned something of the sort. He was an outsider to be traveling alone.¡± ¡°He was?¡± Jeffrey adds, suddenly more energetic, ¡°then maybe he survived! Outsiders are the rarest of our kind. They are too valuable to kill off. Maybe he¡¯s kept somewhere?¡± ¡°Perhaps¡­¡± I reply noncommittally. Alistair was certainly the least irritating werewolf I ever dealt with. I would certainly prefer to deal with him than the others. Hold on. I was trying to get information on Augustus! Misled again! ¡°Jeffrey, Augustus seems sure that he can provoke Fenris to a duel and win. What do you think?¡± The young werewolf stops behind me, soon imitated by June. I turn back and am forced to look up to him as we are currently walking downhill. From that angle and with his contemplative gaze, I believe that I am catching a glimpse into what kind of adult he will grow up to be. He appears more composed. Calmer, somehow. ¡°There were rumors about Thomas. They said that he was invincible in direct combat. Maybe that¡¯s why Fenris didn¡¯t challenge him like he did everyone else. But that¡¯s the thing, Augustus used to be an outsider, so I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s confidence or wishful thinking.¡± ¡°You can change roles?¡± I ask with surprise. Our own hierarchies are much more static. ¡°We change roles all the time, yeah, though mostly it¡¯s between leader and follower. It can even happen without a challenge!¡± ¡°I see. And you never saw him fight?¡± ¡°Did you not look at him during the brawl, earlier?¡± Jeffrey asks with some surprise. ¡°I was checking our perimeter,¡± I explain. Jeffrey looks askance, as if he had never heard the expression before. ¡°He was strong,¡± June speaks for the first time. Her voice is raspy and a bit slow, yet it is perfectly clear too. ¡°He tore through Olaf without effort. I watched him do so. It was¡­ not pleasant. He was too cold.¡± She shivers, and the pair remains lost in thoughts for a few moments before Jeffrey recovers his usual smile. ¡°He looked almost sad. Not very werewolfy, if you ask me!¡± Nobody did. ¡°You have not answered my question,¡± I observe tiredly. ¡°What question?¡± I sigh. ¡°Do you think Augustus has a chance of winning against Fenris.¡± ¡°A chance? Yeah. After seeing him fight, I think he has a chance against anybody.¡± We spend the rest of the trip in silence, and soon join back with the others. Melusine and Blake both frown to see that I have two mutts in tow now, but they do not comment on it in front of the mortals. A brief discussion is all we need to align on what to do. Blake will stay here and manage the city, including the cleanup of the frozen corpse garden. As she requests, I agree to leave the wolf slayer with her until the current crisis is resolved. I can tell that she really likes it, and plan on offering her a custom version as long as I get the time to forge it. As for the rest of us, we will be going. Frost is satisfied with the slaughter he caused and is quite eager to see if he can add a few more notches to his already massive kill count. He and Melusine will clear our approach while I stay with the horde and make sure that they get the boost they need at the right moment. The mortals will rest for a day, then we move. As we head back to the city, I realize that, for the first time, I will go to a conflict where both sides are my enemies and attempt to rescue all of them. S?a??h the Nov?lF?re .??t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. Truly we live in interesting times. Chapter 94: The Die is Cast I push Metis onward. The mass of wolves in quadrupedal form smells the air, then reluctantly parts before us. Their instincts, pushed by the curse, still see anything with four legs as prey.Fortunately, Metis does not behave like prey. At all. Some of the more adventurous wolves are still healing from having an ear nipped off. What can I say? Metis is a gourmet. It helps that we do not smell like their usual fare either. Finally, we arrive in front of Augustus¡¯ personal guard, an improvised squad resulting from remnants of packs brought together by revenge. They may not be the largest specimens, but they make up for it in aggression. They refuse to give way. Metis lets out a low-pitched neigh, the flesh-eating equine equivalent of ¡°just try me.¡± Before someone gets hooved into the frozen ground, the man of the hour steps forth. I have to admit that he looks better now than he did a few nights ago. His exhaustion left way to dark determination and his previously messy hair is now tied back, showing his square jaw and carved cheeks to his advantage. He wears only leather pants under a jacket left open to reveal the muscular chest underneath. With his grim air and the background of frozen wastes, he looks like some barbarian king in a raunchy novel. The wind blowing at my back prevents the wolf stench from coalescing into a noxious cloud of nauseating horror, allowing me to appreciate the moment. ¡°What is it, Ariane?¡± he finally asks. ¡°We have hit a hurdle and will need to conduct some measure of diplomacy. Your presence would be appreciated,¡± I state. Interestingly, Augustus will never take any orders, especially not in public. Even the most sensible instructions are answered by a silent glare. A well-formulated request will always come across, however. In this regard, he is abnormally rational. It makes communicating with him both easy and difficult. This time again, he can read between the lines. A nod and a raised fist are all it takes for his personal guard to split before him and open us a path back. The horde stops in the valley behind us as we move up the slope to a line of pines tucked along a ridge. Frost, Melusine and Melitone are waiting for us at the edge. Only Melusine and I are mounted right now, on our respective Nightmares. We all wear armor, even Melitone who will definitely not take part in the fight despite her insistence that she can take care of herself. ¡°Are we ready?¡± I ask. ¡°Yeah, let¡¯s do this,¡± the replies with hunger in her eyes. Being sidelined from the conflict is eroding her patience, which I understand only too well. I take the center with Mel and Augustus to my right and Melusine and Frost to my left. The valley¡¯s pale light disappears as the snow-covered branches progressively block off the sky. Frost picks a pair of glasses from his pocket and casually places them on his nose, looking like a distinguished entomologist on a hike, never mind the cold. The stomping of hooves heralds their coming. Five shapes emerge from the gloom, appearing seamlessly from behind trees as if they had been there all along. Lamellar armors, gruesome weapons, and dark expressions to match. Knights. More specifically, the usual squad plus Jimena. Sergei of the Kalinin is the only one mounted on a Nightmare covered in mail. He himself wears a helm and carries with him a long spear. A massive two-handed axe hangs from his back. The rest of his team has not changed much. Alec is still stoic, Alaric still smiling playfully with his hands twirling daggers and Aisha gives no sign of recognizing me, eyes fixed forwards and face covered by her veil. No one knows yet that the Amaretta vampire and I are allied. Sergei begins. ¡°I don¡¯t owe you anything,¡± I immediately retort in English, then stop when Jimena discreetly coughs. Her light protest curbs my anger. She is right, this is no time to be arguing. We are on a schedule. S~?a??h the N?v?l(F)ire.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. ¡°However,¡± I continue, ¡°for the sake of cooperation, I will gladly inform you that we are on the way to Fenris¡¯ horde to kill him.¡± Sergei¡¯s glance stops on Augustus who studiously ignores him, then on the dense formation of transformed wolves down on the plain. They sit patiently on their haunches, looking towards where we disappeared with eerie focus, a sea of eyes twinkling in the moonlight. ¡°You are bringing an army of werewolves next to another army of werewolves and expect them to fight each other,¡± he observes, and I recognize his use of English as a courtesy. ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Is your confidence based on facts?¡± ¡°They have done it before,¡± I reply, not particularly surprised by the knight¡¯s distrust. I notice that while Anatole was immediately dismissive, Sergei is merely dubious. My instincts tell me that he could be convinced. ¡°You there,¡± the haughty knight says as he addresses the werewolf, ¡°will you really fight your own kind?¡± An awkward silence descends on the assembly as Augustus stares Sergei in the eyes. His bravery is commendable, if foolish. I have not tried to dominate Augustus and I have no doubt that his status as leader affords him some degree of protection, but against a Master? I would not bet on it. I intervene before the pissing contest degenerates and we accidentally end up at odds with some of the deadliest fighters on the continent. ¡°My dear Augustus, would you kindly inform sir knight as to what you intend to do to Fenris once we reach his horde, please?¡± ¡°My packs will open the path, then I will face Fenris in single combat and slay him. With the horde under my control, we will return north.¡± ¡°No you won¡¯t,¡± Sergei retorts. ¡°Yes, he will,¡± I pointedly insist. ¡°Are you betraying us, Devourer? These creatures killed several of us!¡± ¡°You are mistaken, Sergei. They killed several Rolands.¡± ¡°If I may, Ariane?¡± Melitone interrupts with a pleasant voice, ¡°as Constantine¡¯s representative in this matter, I believe I can bring this disagreement to a close.¡± She turns to Sergei, whose expression has become more guarded. His caution is soon proven to be warranted. ¡°The Speaker mandated Ariane to protect Detroit and bring the werewolf invasion to a close. I judge that Ariane¡¯s plan to dethrone Fenris and disband his army not only satisfies the Roland request, it does so in a way that significantly reduces the risks of further casualties on our forces. She acts under our orders and with our approval.¡± ¡°The werewolves united once; they can do so again! We should purge as many as we can now, or they will spread again like an infestation!¡±Sergei retorts. ¡°You can do so on your own free time. Our current objective is liberation, not extermination.¡± ¡°The objective changed when the knight squad¡ª¡± the knight spits, before being interrupted by Melitone taking a step forward. Sergei frowns in disapproval before realizing who she speaks for. ¡°Constantine said you might react this way. He also said that under the Accords, which your organization agreed on respecting while you operate on our territories, Speaker-mandated missions take precedence over knight authority. He added, and I quote, ¡®if Sergei has difficulties understanding the standing agreement, I will be compelled to travel north and explain it to him in person.¡¯ I will add that not only will it be an extremely unpleasant experience, he is also currently working on guardian golems for your Carpathian fortress. Who knows what unforeseen delays the project would face if he were to be disturbed?¡± Frost and Augustus look on with interest as the knight squad leader grits his teeth. The number of hostile factions I am supposed to assist just bumped to three. grant me patience, I just want to eat them all and be done. I can tell that Sergei has reached a decision when he slowly relaxes the death grip on his spear. ¡°I suppose it will be up to us to deal with the consequences of your short-sightedness, as usual. In the meanwhile, please do share your strategy so that we may coordinate.¡± Progress. Such as it is. I explain the plan in English. The knights all stare in the distance as they attempt to visualize what we intend to do, except Jimena who looks positively ecstatic. ¡°I must admit that it sounds both simple and actionable,¡± Sergei says after a delay, ¡°I do have a few reservations.¡± ¡°Do tell,¡± I reply, expecting more nonsense. ¡°First, how can you be sure that the horn won¡¯t affect the other wolves? Would it not be counterproductive to make them stronger?¡± ¡°It won¡¯t affect them the same way a firebolt does not explode in your face. Magic is about intent. Besides, it already worked once.¡± Sergei nods and his gaze lingers on the artifact slung over my shoulders. I will have to be careful after the battle if I want to keep my word, which I do. If I can operate the horn, perhaps he can as well. ¡°Very well,¡± Sergei continues, ¡°I was also wondering why you have to charge through the ranks. Can your champion not simply issue a challenge?¡± ¡°I will take that one,¡± Augustus interrupts. To my surprise, Sergei lets him. ¡°Fenris is a snake. He will delay us until he can have his skald blow the horn in turn. The only reliable way to force him to duel is through a violent challenge that he cannot ignore.¡± ¡°I see. One last question: how certain are you that you can defeat him?¡± ¡°Completely so. I have seen him fight before.¡± I did not know. Augustus has remained tight-lipped about his past and I have not pried. I just hope that his confidence is warranted. Our whole plan hinges on it. Well not entirely. If he loses the fight, I will assassinate his head skald then flee through Augustus¡¯ horde before Fenris can turn it on me. This course of events will most likely eliminate me from the contest, and yet I am committed now, and the appearance of the knights only confirms that I made the right choice. With their assistance, Lazaro will succeed then claim that he eliminated the werewolf threat. It will matter little that he had their help. No, I must gamble. I hate this. I prefer to approach a problem patiently and then, when the circumstances are right, I can let go in full confidence. The human part of me plans and the vampire part pounces, as it should be. All this uncertainty is grating on my nerves. ¡°Well, I am convinced. Your rationality and flexibility impress me, Ariane.¡± Oh, wow. What a surprise, I can be rational. Who would have thought? ¡­ I snap. All the tension of the last few days. The backstabbing, including the one I caused. The constant insults. Accommodating all those giant egos and more than that, the constant stink of the horde. And now this? ¡°You are impressed?¡± I sweetly start, ¡°Really? You are impressed? Because I came up with a viable plan? Blimey Sergei, the Devourer had a plan! It is almost as if I was not just a dumb brute! Almost as if, you know, I successfully escaped the Lancasters as a fledgling, then hid without worry for a DECADE! Protected my territory with a Dvergur fucking king and learned painting and engineering! It¡¯s almost as if it took me repelling a FULL-SCALE INVASION, DESTROYING A CULT TO THE LAST MAN AND SLAYING THE HOLDER OF THE KEY OF BERIAH IN SINGLE COMBAT FOR YOUR CLOWNISH TWAT OF A PREDECESSOR TO FINALLY FIND ME!¡± I am slightly raising my voice at this stage, but I do believe that my slight annoyance is warranted. ¡°I governed a town for twenty bloody years and destroyed a mercenary army with my own militia which I trained and equipped from scratch. I liberated a Gabrielite prison. I slew that absolute prick Lambert in a duel and drank his sorry hide dry. I have led raids and successful infiltrations, heists even! I am a demolition expert, a sharpshooter, a smith and a scholar of the magical arts. I am currently at the head of an alliance of people who would normally kill each other on sight, but no that didn¡¯t count for shit you cockless fuckwit! The is an airhead! Oh look, she managed to tie her shoes! FUCK YOU! I AM FED UP OF NOT BEING TAKEN SERIOUSLY. DO YOU TOSSPOTS NOT BELIEVE IN RESULTS? HUH? IF YOU PAID ATTENTION TO ANYTHING I EVER DID YOU WOULD KNOW I SUCCEED MORE OFTEN THAN NOT. NOW SHUT THE FUCK UP AND FOLLOW MY PLAN AND STOP BITCHING, OR I¡¯LL SHOVE YOUR SCRAWNY COLLECTIVE ARSES IN A NAVY GUN AND SPLATTER THEM OVER THE ATLANTIC! FUCK!¡± I only stop when I realize that Jimena is patiently patting my hand. She walked all the way to Metis without me realizing it. All the other vampires are staring at me with horror while Augustus looks strangely pleased. Melitone is smiling proudly and Frost has walked a few steps away, trying not to choke on his laughter. Sergei finally says with some hesitation. Jimena continues with an amused grin. I cannot fathom what happened. I am normally so calm, my mind turned cold by my own nature. This outburst was so very¡­ human. Perhaps I am suffering from some sort of fatigue. I remember when fighting side by side with Loth against Ascendency and their borrowed British forces. The fighting had gone on for days and towards the end, I had turned primal. Not rogue since I was still in control. Primal. All of my instincts were so close to the surface that every problem appeared as if they could be solved with overwhelming violence. I may be facing the opposite problem now. Working with the werewolves, assassinating Mornay and contending with the Cadiz indirectly are political games. I may just need a good slaughter. A battle where I do not have to run. Sergei interrupts my musings. ¡°Ahem, yes. In any case, the plan is sound and we will support it. I will now share more about what we had planned ourselves. I perk up at this revelation as Jimena steps back and returns to her fellow knights without a word. I really love her for that: the little things she does without a word, without need for recognition. It conveys more affection than hours of discourse. ¡°We have been helping the Cadiz for a night now. They are entrenched in a valley west of York, under siege by the army you mentioned since five days ago. Our plan was to have the vampires do a sortie, forcing a reaction from the man you called Fenris. Using that distraction, we would have flanked them and inflicted heavy losses before withdrawing. If possible, we would have killed their leaders too.¡± ¡°Sortie? Are they not heavily outnumbered?¡± Melusine asks. ¡°Quite so, but they have mobility and a fallback position. We also lack options: the Cadiz only numbered five and lost a member on the first night. They have been conservative since then, but time is not on their side.¡± ¡°How did they hold for a week?¡± I ask with eyes narrowed. ¡°The first thing a Cadiz does when investing a new territory is to build a fortress,¡± Sergei patiently answers. Jimena nods to confirm this piece of information before explaining a bit more. ¡°Fortresses start as a sort of oppidum. My clan uses logs and packed earth to create a perimeter then expands underground in a way that a handful of men can hold it for a long time. Vampires assist in the building, considerably shortening the time it would take to complete the work.¡± I bet, considering that the average master can carry a trunk in one hand. If the Cadiz managed to create a proper tower, the werewolves will have lost the numbers advantage. I doubt that they carry any siege equipment either. We should still hurry. ¡°Why is time not on their side?¡± Frost asks in turn. Sergei clearly hesitates. Rank is paramount for us, and Frost¡¯s position is still unclear to him. ¡°Vampires need blood, more so if they are constantly fighting,¡± I explain. ¡°The Cadiz lost half of their mortal followers on the first night. Some are getting dangerously close to¡­ exhausting their patience,¡± Sergei continues. The mortals may not understand the full implication of what such a loss incurs. Without an adequate supply of blood, the vampires may end up destroying the minds of their mortals and some could even turn rogue. ¡°Can they not escape?¡± ¡°The vampires may break through, if they sacrifice all of their followers.¡± We all understand that it will not happen. ¡°Enough questions; we need to move now. I propose that you knights proceed as planned but from another angle. The Cadiz attack first, you flank them and once both diversions are in progress, Augustus and I will charge. Melusine and Frost will cover our approach, as planned. Is this agreeable?¡± I ask. ¡°It is,¡± Sergei replies, ¡°Aisha will signal the Cadiz to attack with a spell. We will wait a minute before engaging ourselves. You will probably face the least resistance if you wait a bit.¡± Both Augustus and I signal our agreement. ¡°We could be forced to disengage. Can you signal us when you attack so that we know we have held their attention for long enough?¡± ¡°Oh, trust me,¡± I reply, ¡°you won¡¯t miss it.¡± For the first time since I met him, Sergei smiles. The little I can see of his mouth lifts upward and his entire demeanor changes. he says. Vanguards are the knights¡¯ combat experts. Did he just try to recruit me? I turn to Jimena who nods emphatically. Well, I could consider it in the far future. For a while. If my territory is secured. After all, they present some of the best opportunities to collect allies or blood samples. I consider the knights as they leave. We successfully coordinated in a peaceful and mostly respectful manner despite my apprehensions. Perhaps Anatole was the exception and the rest of them are not so bad that I cannot work with them. Of course, I will never fully trust them either. They did not oppose him as he was skirting the rules, after all. ¡°Let us depart. We must still find our quarry,¡± I tell my allies. Melusine and Frost assent and leave as Augustus and I return to the horde behind us. I can hardly believe it but with the knights on our side, our chances have significantly improved. I hope nothing comes to ruin our plan. The trip back is anticlimactic. I return at the tip of the formation where Metis is currently munching on yet another ear while Augustus returns to its heart. We move forward at a slow pace to allow the others to sweep for sentinels. Valleys lead to forests, and to ridges in turn. The night is beautiful, but I have difficulties enjoying it because of the smell and the unreliable allies at my back. The horde is incredibly quiet, for its size, yet even subdued their auras are too powerful for me to ignore them. Their constant presence weighs on my mind step after step. Only the reminder of what is to come relieves my overtaxed patience. We are going to attack. That means an all-out charge. Finally, I am done running, scheming and planning. I can let go. Soon. Finally, I hear it. A clamor of flesh and roars erupt to our right. Frost signals us from a line of trees before running to the side with his mages. The path is clear. I spot Melusine dragging a corpse away from a thicket as we enter it. Another clamor sounds, further away. The knights have entered the fray. And then we see it. The untapped wilderness falls before us in a large plain dotted with farms, all of them collapsed husks of charred wood. To our right, a mass of wolves in tight ranks face off against four flickering shades. The group tries to corner them, not committing too much while the vampires are forced to inflict superficial wounds before falling back. They are the largest group. Far away in front of us, the knights have engaged a second group of wolves, close to a hundred. They are much more brutal and effective, and several corpses already litter the ground. From the gestures, It appears that Fenris has sent the ferals to cover his flank. Finally, a bit to our left, a smaller group waits in a loose circle around a fortified encampment. Large tents and cages dot the ground and in its middle stand three men. The first sits on a throne of bone and leather, clad in a garish white pelt like a raider king. His long black hair and black beard offer a sharp contrast with light eyes and pale skin. Next to him stands a bald man with a hawkish nose and a vicious smile carrying a horn much like my own. On the other side, a veritable mountain of muscle with the face of a caveman looms menacingly. PREY. I turn to the line of wolves behind me. They are looking forward to the man on the throne with an intensity I never expected from such animalistic creatures. I feel a burning resentment, a deep-seated rage that dug into their heart and now fuels the coal of their anger. They lick their chops, hackles raised. Behind them, their leader waits. Augustus gives a single nod. They are ready. The world is waiting. The enemy skald has not used his horn in the few minutes that have passed, or he did it far enough away that it doesn¡¯t matter. I stare at the circle below us. This is not how it should be. A leader of the pack should be among his fighters, in the thick of battle. Even I can tell that he is the wrong champion for his kind. I bring the horn to my lips. Augustus said I should be as instinctive as possible. I am no werewolf and some of the effects of the artifact will be lost. I must call to the lowest common denominator between us, and I have just the perfect memory to draw on. I close my eyes and remember. I dive more deeply into the memory, focusing on my emotions and sensations. Back in the present, I pour my aura into the horn. I do not hold back. A veritable torrent of power fills the body and nestles into every bony crevice, ignites every crimson rune. It shines like fresh blood on the snow. And just like that time, my mind is overwhelmed by another memory. Sand. A scorching sun made almost pleasant by the dry heat of the desert. Rocks crushed under the rolling wheels of war chariots as men in bronze armor with glaives and bow charge forward. All three visions meld into one. The present, with the horde of eager wolves behind me, the past with the Choctaw warband and the stolen moment of a distant history. All merge into one emotion, one overwhelming imperative. The need to conquer, to make them pay, and the absolute confidence in my own power. As unbridled energy disappears into the thrumming instrument, I realize a truth I had never contemplated. The werewolves are not the apex predators. They had to bow to Fenris and they had to face us. A part of them must know this. A few nights of freedom do not erase years of servitude. They are not the deadliest creature tonight. But they wish they were. They have come here to reclaim their freedom, and I can make it happen. I will share with them those instincts of mine, the thirst, the fury and the unshakeable belief that I cannot be stopped. I do not need to be too close to them after all. Even a sliver of how I feel now will send them howling down in the valley below. I let the three images superimpose and keep powering up. The horn now shines like a beacon in the night. It begs to be released as hairline fractures appear along its body. THEY ARE PREY. THE TRAP IS CLOSED. THE GAME IS OVER. NOW, I CAN LET GO. I HUNT WE HUNT. COME AND PARTAKE. I blow the horn. The sound takes me by surprise. It starts low and deep, incredibly deep. A horn should not be able to produce this sound even if it were four times the size. The vibration spreads all across the land, smothering every other noise. Then, it grows sharper and reaches a stable pitch at a frequency that shakes me to my very core. Just one note, pure and smooth. The note becomes richer as harmonics develop up and down until it feels like I am not blowing one horn but a thousand, echoing across faraway places, across ages, all calling for the exact same thing. Charge. I have no need to push Metis. We gallop down the slope carried by a tidal wave of snarls and howls. The horn breaks in my hands but the call, the call does not stop. It still carries us forward with the ineluctability of the avalanche. Fenris¡¯ guard gathers in a tight block. Amusing. FUTILE. We are so fast now that the wind pushes my hair back. We are no longer charging. We are falling forward as if, for an instant, gravity pulled us straight instead of down. The enemy werewolves in bipedal form are right in front of us. They already waver. Deep inside they must know that their efforts are pointless. The grin on my face widens. I cannot help it. Breathtaking beauty. Then, impact. I roar. I push forward into the saddle and catch one under the jaw. I lift it off its feet to crash against the next, I stab another. Metis smashes into dense muscle, barely slowing. Behind us, our own horde reaches the enemy lines. Now I understand why Augustus kept them in their four-legged form. Like that, they are packed tight while only offering powerful backs covered with protective hair to their foes. The first ranks do not jump. They stay close to the ground and catch legs, pulling their prey under to be smothered and flayed. I always thought the bipedal version was more dangerous but I am proven wrong. The four-legged version is more stable, and Augustus¡¯ troops take full advantage of it. Then the moment passes, and I stop thinking. There are only jabs and sweeps, Metis¡¯ hooves falling on a skull or sent flying backwards into ribs. I laugh as they try to reach me and fail, just before they are caught. And soon the last creature falls and I am on open ground. The three PREY are before me. I smile because I am happy. Once more, I got to experience something precious and unique. ¡°Now,¡± screams the false king. His horn-toting servant raises an-old fashioned wand and screams something, I care not what. Red chains emerge from it and snake around, trying to encircle me. I raise a hand and let the spell slither over my armored body. I allow the immaterial links to ensnare my form as the giant mountain of muscle turns into its bipedal form and charges me. I permit it, and I laugh. I laugh and laugh at their bumbling efforts and pathetic ambush. They are so slow and blind to their own failings. They do not understand. I raise my eyes to the sky and its quirky denizen. I grin with all the joy I feel and invite it to play. In my mind fortress, the statue of the transformed Herald twists and melts into a new form made of a mass of tendrils in an alien harmony. Its blue aura shifts to the familiar purple. In the realm of reality, my claws flash the same color and I tear the chain apart. The skald falls back, eyes bleeding. The mountain of muscles is already committed. Time for the appetizer! Ducking under its arms, I grab the open muzzle with one clawed hand before dragging forward and down. I use my other on his massive biceps and bite mercilessly into the jugular. The creature is so large that I cannot get in properly. It turns into a game. The big creature tries to escape, and I try to keep it more or less standing by shifting my posture. Its free hand rakes ineffectually against Loth¡¯s unyielding armor. Delicious. I am surrounded by a sea of wolves and they do not intervene because I do not smell like an intruder. I belong here, feeding on one of their strongest warriors in all impunity. A monster among monsters. And I LIKE IT. It is still weakly struggling as I take my time and glare at Fenris. I could have killed him fifty times already, but I did not. I gave my word. All is as it should be. Augustus passes me by with solemn steps. When he stops in front of Fenris, something peculiar happens. In the valley, the din of battle seizes as the collective aura of the packs merge once more, but this time, it also includes our own horde. The merged power is wilder, more organic than what the horn can achieve, yet at the same time, it also feels more stable. A little bit of my call remains in the surrounding mood and the lust for violence runs high. Even the Cadiz and Sergei¡¯s group stop in a strange truce. The night holds its breath as Augustus steps forward and stops before the throne. Fenris stands, pale eyes shining with resentment. ¡°You dare ally with one of them? Traitor!¡± the false king snarls. ¡°Enough games, ¡®Fenris¡¯. I have seen how honorable you were when you killed my brother.¡± Fenris frowns, then his eyes widen in surprise. ¡°You¡­ you were there,¡± he says. ¡°Yes, I was. The call of your horn paralyzed me, but I had all the time in the world watching you slay the greatest of us, you mongrel. You did not even have the courage to face him in battle three against one.¡± ¡°A king must value results above all else! I united the packs! Not that na?ve fool you grieve!¡± ¡°A king must value his people above all else. You do not have a united people, just a patchwork of repressed packs you need a magic trick to control. You would know how little it means if you understood the curse, but your vision is as shallow as your knowledge. You are a fake king with a fake name, and if you had a sliver of intellect, you would know that Fenris was a poor title to claim. You see, the Fenris-wolf was never the king. Odin is king. Fenris is his killer.¡± Augustus lets his heavy coat drop on the floor, soon joined by his leather trousers. ¡°And tonight, I will strip you of this name, as well as everything else. Come.¡± My ally changes to his gigantic two-legged form. To his credit, the false king does the same with no hint of fear. Grey on my side, black on the other. Both creatures are at least twice the height of an adult human. They lunge and lock arms, each trying to force the other into submission. Then, just as quickly, they separate and fight by swiping claws. They do not turn around each other to test their defenses as human fighters would. The combat is immediately intense and without mercy. I admit to being pleasantly surprised. I never had the chance to properly duel a wolf since I am much faster and aim to kill. In truth, both Augustus and his foe are skilled fighters. They move with grace and confidence and stay light on their feet. They feint, dodge and counter with an expertise that can only stem from practice and perfect control over the curse, a human mind and bestial instincts working together in harmony. Augustus feels cleaner and more poised. He has the reach advantage and makes use of it by keeping his distance. Fenris, on the other hand, is wilder but he has a large collection of techniques he draws on to overwhelm his opponent. His style is vicious and reckless. They appear to be evenly matched. Soon, both sport deep furrow on the arms and chest but none of the wounds hamper their skill, or indeed, their spirit. Eventually, I start discerning patterns in their technique and so, apparently, does Fenris. Augustus jabs twice and tries to follow up with a hook-like sweep. His opponent anticipates the third movement and gets in his guard, clawing the biceps and sending Augustus tumbling. Fenris wastes no time capitalizing on his success. He throws himself at his opponent¡¯s turned back. In a surprise move that leaves me appreciative, Augustus throws his leg back in a strange kicking movement I had never seen before. His clawed paw catches the black werewolf under the chin and he, in turn, falls to the ground. What follows is a series of short exchanges relying once more on wrestling before they disengage. I get it now. Werewolves win in a single strike. All those wounds they inflict on each other only serve to prepare that one opening that will give them victory. In this regard, we are strangely similar, though while we focus on the heart, they appear to focus on the neck. Augustus is slowing down. The bleeding cuts on his left arm limit his range of motion and I see pain in his eyes every time he moves it. Fenris is not looking too fresh either, but he has yet to suffer any debilitating injury. Augustus does it again. Jab jab, then hook, and just as last time, Fenris gets into his guard. I smile because I see how this will end. Augustus is a cunning warrior indeed. As the black werewolf goes to strike the biceps again, the grey one¡¯s jaw clamps on his right clavicle. Fenris yelps in pain. Rather than savaging the wound, Augustus twists his head weirdly. There is a loud snap. I force myself not to wince at that sound. There goes the clavicle. Augustus falls back to avoid the return swipe and attacks with renewed fury. I watch him circle his now losing foe and understand why he would make such a good king. When he was wearing his human skin, he used his troops¡¯ four-legged form to its best advantage, showing an understanding of the curse and the wolf. When he was in cursed form, he showed human adaptation in his combat style with deceit and a few unexpected movements. His merging of mind and instincts is truly impressive. It may even rival my own. As the fight drags on and Augustus calmly harries his foe, I keep staring with rapt attention. I am no longer so immersed in the magic as to ignore the fear of failure, but this time, there is no twist of fate. No last-minute cheat to steal my victory. The battle finishes without surprise as my champion methodically picks apart Fenris until the fallen king rolls to expose his throat. When he submits, the collective aura of the wolves ... settles, somehow. Up until now it had been, for lack of a better word, suspended. Like a held breath. Now, the power sighs and attaches itself on the shoulders of the victor. The man standing and the one on his knees slowly shift back to human form. Fenris¡¯ face is a mask of fury as he cradles his mangled arm. ¡°Take it then, take my life¡¯s work and ruin it with your pithy dreams, but let me go.¡± I realize that Augustus can indeed choose to exile the deposed sovereign. It is his choice. But we had an agreement, and he turns to me, a question in his cold eyes. I smile and give him the barest of nods. The new king returns his focus to the killer of his twin. He shows nothing, no joy, no relief, not even a trace of satisfaction. ¡°You may leave and take your horn-toting underling with you,¡± he states in a calm voice. I turn and realize that the skald is still next to me with the blood of the feedback now dried on his lower face. The improvised mage drops the artifact he still holds and runs to his leader. He helps the man to his feet and, together, they limp away. They leave the circle of werewolves under the glare of many. Not a single cursed one steps up to follow them. Once they have left the group, the two transform again and start running. To their left and right, I see vampires keeping their distance. There is no need for words. I do not call for Metis. She steps up next to me, her heavy hooves pounding on the snow the only loud noise. When we go past Augustus, our eyes meet, and I see the first true hint of feelings in his features tonight. For a single instant, his control slips to reveal a mix of dark emotions that belies his calm aura. The first is a deep hatred, buried and fiery like the heart of a volcano. The second is immeasurable sorrow, not at the fleeing figure but at the one who should be there instead. I see it now. Augustus has always been an outsider. It was not he who was meant to carry the mantle of authority. It was his twin brother. He only stepped up because there was no one else. Victory must taste like ash to him. And then the moment is gone, and we ride forth. The sea of creatures seamlessly parts before us. Fenris is banished. That means the other wolves will not touch the pariah. I, however, am not a wolf. Three out of three. Tonight will be such a feast. Metis snorts. ¡°Yes, yes, you can have their ears.¡± She gallops faster, the glutton. Chapter 95: Curtains Eleven vampires stand around two corpses. Melusine silently took her place by my side, while on the left, the knight squad and Jimena arrayed themselves in a V formation. The last face of this uneven triangle is formed by the Cadiz. Lazaro and another master stare at Fenris¡¯ remains with glassy eyes. Next to them, a woman with dark curls and a man with grey eyes under blond hair show various expressions of grief and regret. Their party has suffered the most from this adventure.It occurs to me that we have reached a critical mass. Four hundred werewolves could overwhelm anything short of a battle lord if the vampire were to stand and fight. With nine masters, we have an army. In theory. Lazaro asks with a wary voice. Sergei answers in a tired voice. Lazaro nods, seemingly resigned. His companion does not. he hisses with obvious hatred. Lazaro retorts with a chastising glare, but the other is unfazed. The words were exchanged in a clipped, fast tone. The rest of us do our best not to stare. This is unprecedented for me. Until now, all vampires had stuck to a strict etiquette. This public outburst surprises me greatly. What manner of conflict could have caused two warriors who have fought side by side to despise each other so? Sergei announces with obvious regret. Ahem. Melusine discreetly bumps my arm. she says in turn. The Cadiz then split up. The Masters disappear, each in one direction. The two Courtiers remain, looking quite lost. They exchange a glance then leave together at a much slower pace. The awkwardness remains. Such an embarrassing display, unworthy of us. The only good thing is that there were no mortals to witness our shame. Sergei says with a complicated expression. And soon, only Melusine and I are left. We inspect the mass of werewolves walking back to their camp in a strange mix of elation and grief. Some are in wolf form, some, in human. There is some fighting, some crying and a lot of hugging. Augustus and a few of his lieutenants are at the tail of the formation, helping along the most apathetic members. The ferals have been rounded and corralled, for now. The redhead blinks and returns her focus to me. I add, because I am now certain, she replies with a small smile. She is right. The contest is not over until Constantine passes judgement. I do believe we have an advantage now, but it will also depend on whether the Speaker considers an Augustus-led horde as a greater danger or not. Melitone¡¯s support does not imply her brother¡¯s approval. Melusine runs to the trees and I leave Metis, who had impatiently been waiting behind, to snack on prime wolf cuts. I walk back to Augustus on foot, taking my time. From that distance, the horde is a strange thing held together by some vague herd instinct. The packs, once united, now start to dislocate in units of varying sizes. I am reminded of a drunken crowd at the end of a summer feast, only, with more sorrow and slightly less clothes. They are a sorry lot. When I reach Augustus, even his guards only give him a passing glance before turning their efforts to the most catatonic members of the group. Many of them are women, I notice. It figures. The leader himself is still standing strong to offer a powerful fa?ade to those who look up to him for comfort. His monolithic aura shows no weakness to those with inferior senses. Only my own expertise reveals the turmoil underneath. ¡°Ariane,¡± he soberly greets. ¡°How are you doing?¡± I ask, both out of concern and out of respect. ¡°Now is not the time to be introspective.¡± ¡°I suppose,¡± I reply. It takes a minute before he finally asks his question. ¡°So, what happens now?¡± ¡°You can leave as promised. The other vampires will adhere to the bargain I made.¡± ¡°That is tremendous news,¡± he says with a heavy sigh. He rolls his shoulder under the coat which he has donned once more, and I can tell that the burden on his mind has lightened ever so slightly. ¡°You should probably still leave quickly.¡± ¡°I know. We will walk north as soon as possible. My new pack and I will¡­ dispose of the ferals, in a humane way.¡± I do not speak. What is there to say? How would I feel if I had to kill Jimena after she turned rogue? Words of comfort would not suffice. ¡°I am concerned about food. We are running out of supplies and we have no way to sustain such a large group.¡± ¡°I am sure I could negotiate the purchase a herd or two,¡± I inform him after thinking about it. It would be best if the risk of creating more ferals was reduced, in case starvation pushes some over the edge. ¡°That would be appreciated. I have no way to repay you for now, but I would consider it a favor.¡± ¡°It is done,¡± I declare. I always have a small stash with me when traveling with many mortals. It will be enough to buy a few dozen sheep from nearby villages, even if we must pay a premium. ¡°Good. One last thing before I forget. Your, ah, minion was looking for you.¡± ¡°Jeffrey, you mean?¡± I reply, thinking about the little blabbermouth. ¡°Yes. He¡¯s over there.¡± I follow Augstus¡¯ finger to Jeffrey¡¯s scrawny form. The little goof is waving frenetically with a stupid smile plastered on his face from the back of the formation. June stands next to him looking bored. With a frown, I join them feeling like I am being summoned. ¡°Hey bosswoman! When are we leaving?¡± ¡°What do you mean, we?¡± ¡°Well I said I¡¯d be your man, right? So that means I gotsa follow you to your town, right?¡± ¡°Err¡­¡± ¡°Aw come on, you wouldn¡¯t throw me out like an old sock, would you? Forcing me to go back on my word like a scoundrel? Was I not a good lad?¡± he asks with puppy eyes. June¡¯s eyes roll in their sockets. ¡°Well, I suppose you were useful, true,¡± I admit reluctantly. ¡°It¡¯s settled then! Me and my friends will live on your land and sniff out your foes and piss on their doors and whatnot.¡± ¡°Hold on,¡± I interrupt, ¡°what friends?¡± ¡°Come on bosswoman, I told ya I was a leader, yeah? There are plenty of lasses and lads here who don¡¯t want to return north. Ya know, on account of losing everything, the horrible memories, and abuse. They can come with and we will all do the things. All the things. Great hunts all around. Your own personal horde to call, except on weekends. And during the full moon, yeah?¡± A handful of girls and two boys of uncertain age detach themselves from the stragglers. Their faces show a mix of fear and determination. They did honor their promises. ¡°Well, I suppose it would be acceptable,¡± I concede. Having a handful of werewolves at my beck and call would certainly be an advantage. I would perhaps have the prestige of being the first vampire to command such a group! As for the smell, there are plenty of forests and wild lands around. I can probably buy them a farm out of the way until they are needed. No sooner have I accepted, than ten other wolves detach themselves from the group. Then twenty more. Then another twenty. Eventually, over fifty werewolves stand in a half-circle around the very proud and very naked young man. ¡°That¡¯s settled then, thanks bosswoman! Everyone, follow June to the camp and grab some clothes. We must link up with Frost¡¯s lads before dawn,¡± he yells to the crowd. I smile and pretend that I did not just get played like a fresh daisy by a butt-naked guttersnipe half my age. Well done, Ariane, queen of the smelly mutts. Well done indeed. Now you need to buy a whole bloody village with attending woods. Farewell, my savings I had stashed to build myself a gun factory. Farewell! Thine demise is mine to bear. Out, out brief candle! The group I just took ownership of gathers in a large pack that now walks with a more determined step. Their cohesion separates them from the rest of the horde, and so does their appearance. I notice that many of the members look younger and that almost half are women, a significantly higher proportion than normal. And then a shape emerges from the retreating mass. A man I had not seen for a long time. Alistair¡¯s sandy hair is the same, but his green eyes are now deep-seated in a face made more angular by hunger. ¡°Mr. Locke,¡± I greet him with a smile. The man stops and his posture changes. He stands straighter, and pretends to salute me with an imaginary hat. The move is elegant, and I find myself chuckling. ¡°Ariane. A pleasure as always. I apologize for my state of undress as I remember that nakedness makes you uncomfortable.¡± ¡°Well if you turn to your left, you will see hundreds of butt cheeks quivering on their way to a camp so¡­¡± ¡°You have grown accustomed to it.¡± ¡°I have pushed those sights to the back of my mind and after this crisis is over, I will have to paint ten landscapes to wash away the sight of all those genitals.¡± ¡°Ah yes, a lot of painful memories were made here,¡± the man announces somberly, ¡°at least it is over.¡± ¡°What will you do?¡± I ask to distract him. Alistair shakes his head before focusing on me again. ¡°Did I mention that my father was a doctor? The call to heal remains. A lot of people here will need help to recover and I will provide it. We need a larger pack for a while, and Augustus has the power to bring us together. Besides, he, most of all, needs help.¡± ¡°I wanted to ask; I see no elders among you. Do you also never age?¡± ¡°No, we can age, albeit more slowly. We were just not given the opportunity to do so,¡± he replies with a bitter smile, ¡°ah enough sadness. I came here to tell you that we would take the last horn with us.¡± I almost forgot about that. ¡°Fair enough.¡± s?a??h th? ?ov?l?ir?.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. Gathering tools of control is unwise if the would-be controlled are aware that you are doing it. ¡°And also return this. Here,¡± he says, and gives me a bramble. The root-like appendage is still lively despite the current season. Its many thorns shine ominously, ready to rend the flesh of those foolish enough to approach it. Alistair is holding it by its severed base, which appears to have been cut by a tool of unnatural sharpness. In fact, it looks eerily familiar. Those thorns line the walls of my mind fortress. ¡°Alistair, where did you get that?¡± I ask in a deceptively calm voice. ¡°It grew where you broke the chains, Ariane, and then it fell off. I figured that you would not want others to notice. Not to worry, I doubt that anyone else paid attention during the fight.¡± ¡°I see,¡± I reply. I pick up the strange piece of vegetation between two talons. It flashes purple and disappears into nothing. Hmm. Alright. Consider me disturbed. I raise my eyes to the but I get nothing. It feels more distant now that the main event of the night is completed. ¡°You are a woman of many secrets, Ariane,¡± Alistair continues, his eyes as wide as saucers. ¡°Indeed. I just wish the secrets were not kept from me as well. Please forget what you just saw, yes?¡± ¡°My lips are sealed.¡± ¡°Good.¡± The conversation comes to an awkward close as I stare speechless at my now empty hands. I cannot fathom what just happened. I need to consult with Torran. He will know something, or who I should talk to. In the meanwhile, I have a duel to bear witness to and I am already quite late. We gather in a circle, spaced evenly. There are ten of us in battle regalia, most still covered in drying blood but none hurt. Twelve fighters in total. A force sufficient to depopulate a small city in a single night. Of course, and given the occasion, I would prefer to attack the twelfth man. Constantine¡¯s torturer has an air of meekness that I do not trust and by his side, an executioner axe hangs with its blade well-used. He was not supposed to interfere, but I assume that a clause in his orders permits him to defend himself. Behind us, the stocky form of the Cadiz hold offers a fitting background to this scene from another age. A duel under the stars, for honor and glory. All the mortals keep their distance, including Melitone who is currently standing next to a curious Frost. The two opponents slowly walk from the fort¡¯s interior, now clean and proper. Lazaro gets in first. He wears an old-fashioned ensemble that makes him look like a conquistador or an opera villain, in yellow with trims of gold. In contrast, Reyes has chosen red. The angry color clashes against the background in a statement that is addressed as much to Lazaro as it is to us. I still have no idea what would cause such a rift between the two allies. I was late and could not afford to ask questions. Now the time to do so has passed. The atmosphere is heavy with the promise of a violence and no lust for vengeance or retribution comes to make us forget that one of us will be ash before the hour is done. There will be no winner here tonight. They draw. Sergei sighs dejectedly before letting them loose. They launch themselves at each other with a resentment that only a broken friendship can bring. Rather than anger or fear, they show expressions of outrage mixed with anguish and for the first time in my life, I find myself regretting having to see such a spectacle. Lazaro fights with a sword and dagger while his foe favors a foil. Reyes is more nimble but the Cadiz leader compensates by forcing him back through powerful swings. I note in passing that I could probably kill either of them, though fighting them both would be impossible. Eventually, the challenger finds an opening but it proves to be a ruse. Lazaro masterfully baited him into an attack and manages to parry with his dagger at the last moment. Though the foil draws a dark line across his flank, Lazaro¡¯s counter strike is devastating, carving his opponent¡¯s chest almost in twain. The combat ends shortly afterward with a stab and a sweep. The body falls on the ground with a burst of blue flames. Grey ash against stained snow. Only sobs come to greet the victory. With two red lines marring his cheeks, Lazaro cleans his blades and carefully replaces them in their sheath. Sergei¡¯s voice rings hollow as he announces the obvious result. I look at the ground and contemplate my own mortality. If Jimena had been slightly wrong, this is all that would have remained of me on the arena¡¯s sand all those years ago. The Cadiz Master had been centuries old. How much knowledge had he accrued, how many lives did he touch, to finish here like this? I am not sure that I like this resolution very much. To my surprise, Lazaro turns to me after he is done. All the other vampires have already moved away to leave him to his grief. he declares, then turns away. Melusine walks up to me. She had been waiting nearby. She crosses her arms but says nothing. Melitone joins us as well, her striking and confident face now showing some distress. she starts hesitantly. At first, I keep silent as I feel a small tug in my essence. It reminds me of those calls of fate that have served me well so far, only this time it appears more deliberate. I answer, my rebuke to her remark left unsaid. I turn around and walk to the closest edge of the forest. I slowly cross the packed snow, many prints bearing witness to days of battle and maneuvering. I quickly reach the woods and hide under the canopy. Then, I follow a small path that snakes between several rocks up to a clearing. I stand facing a tall stone raised like a menhir, with a wind-battered pine tree at its top. The tug stops. I smile in defeat. I am after all, reaping the consequences of my actions. And so, like all good audiences played by the actors, I clap. The sounds echo throughout the tiny opening. In the distance, a bird takes flight. And from behind the stone, a man emerges, his hair the color of gold and his eyes like two spheres of amber. He walks with absolute confidence and bows with graceful disdain. ¡°Incredible performance, Sinead. I can but wonder how you did it.¡± ¡°Must you? Or you could just accept my genius for what it is, and not let knowledge pollute the mystique I aim for,¡± the Likaean casually declaims as he approaches me. Do I need to know? I want to know. ¡°There was no way you could have predicted the duel.¡± ¡°Of course, there were ways. Violence was one of the possible outcomes of the conflict between those two. Lazaro could also have called for a trial. But then, a trial would have shown the Cadiz fragmenting to a Speaker who favors harmony above all else. And if Lazaro had lost, why, the Cadiz would have been disqualified by the death of their candidate.¡± Sinead is quite close now and I taste something manic in his aura, something that seeks release but cannot, and I think I know why. This thick reality constrains him, and the height of winter only makes those shackles heavier. The prince is suffering and at the same time, he is pleased by his success. The storm of emotion erodes his normally unflappable character. Sinead rests his finger below my jaw and pushes up until our eyes are level. ¡°You are still a child, poppet. We Likaeans do not play with stochastic events, we use them as a veil of deceit. A word from yours truly, a few falsified letters, and two Servants who should have known better found their way out of the Cadiz defenses. A dangerous tryst at a desperate time. A passing patrol. Tragedy strikes, and here we are. Reyes¡¯ loses his life while Lazaro¡¯s does not, thus creating a rift that cannot be bridged. Sorrow leads to resentment, for who is to blame?¡± I place my hand against his chest to push him away before he gets too close. He is warm under my palm, with an enticing perfume. My jaw aches with the desire to KILL HIM because he touched a and yet¡­ such a WORTHY lover he would be. ¡°I do not need to control every occurrence to guide a plot to its satisfactory conclusion, my dear. Schemes are not strongboxes to shackle but waves to ride,¡± the man continues. He is flirting with danger and I think he likes it. It annoys me because the burden of control is placed solely on me. ¡°Was the show to your satisfaction, poppet?¡± ¡°I am very much impressed,¡± I reply in Likaean, and I am. To control events to such a degree with so little time to prepare involves a large amount of skill and just the tiniest bit of luck. Impressed? I am amazed. ¡°I only wish you had not killed the .¡± ¡°Ah, yes, the old taboo on leaving the pets alone. You are but victims of your nature, poppet.¡± ¡°Why do you try me so?¡± I reply with a frown. ¡°Think nothing of it, my dear. I am merely suffering from intense frustration and shall return to your home base promptly. Why, I believe your dream mage would enjoy my company.¡± ¡°What!? Leave the poor thing alone! And Merritt too!¡± ¡°Oh, the grieving widow. It has been long since I last had guilty sex.¡± ¡°Get out.¡± ¡°I take my leave,¡± the man replies. He steps back behind the rock and his aura disappears. In one moment, only the tracks in the snow confirm that our meeting was not a phantasm. Even his smell is gone, and I cannot hear a heartbeat. I could track him, but I will not. He helped me tremendously tonight and I will allow him to make an exit. Besides, I cannot be sure that I will remain in control if tensions rise. The death of Reyes¡¯ bothers me on a fundamental level. I do not know if Sinead anticipated how deeply upset I would be, and I am starting to think that he would have done it anyway. There was something a bit spiteful in his demeanor tonight, though it did not seem aimed at me. He was still more aggressive than normal. He was still quite obviously trying to dazzle me, and he did succeed. I suspect he was also punishing me for underestimating him, only, he had remained playful so far. Could he¡­. be jealous? No. No it cannot be. Not someone as detached and arrogant as him. Surely the tension is getting to his head. If he were truly jealous, he would not be going after all those other women, would he? Would he? Pah, stop it Ariane, this is all in your head. The walk back to the hold is a lonely one, until a mage sprints from the direction of our camp. ¡°Miss Ariane?¡± the man asks, out of breath. ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°Councilman Frost says¡­ he says that something happened. He was resting his eyes when he got a dream message from Marquette. Mage Merritt was attacked. She is grievously wounded! And the assailants took her kids!¡± ¡°WHAT?¡± Chapter 96: The Cubs Ollie hummed a song under his breath. A second later, a heavy fist crashed against the metal frame of his cage.¡°Shut up, you little shit, or I swear I¡¯ll¡ª¡± ¡°Enough, Garrett, you know the rules!¡± a distant voice interrupted the guard before returning to plotting or some such. The furious man gave Ollie a death glare, and what a glare that was. With one eye. The other wouldn¡¯t open and the skin around it was red and all puffed up, courtesy of Ollie¡¯s fire three days before. That was when those ne¡¯er-do-wells had taken them and stabbed Mom, but now he knew she was fine so the thought did not make him all sorts of upset anymore. The man finally turned and continued walking around in that thing they called doing a patrol. Ollie thought it was just silly. If you wanted to catch something, you needed to hide first. All this walking about and grandstanding? Stupid. The men who caught him were not hidden at all. They were sitting squat in the middle of a forest like a bunch of idiots with huge fires going so that anyone with sight and more smarts than a roach could find them. They thought they were safe on account of having papers and permits and there being a bunch of them. Just stupid. Look at them standing around and worrying like old hags after church. Ollie hated them. Next to him, his sister tsked with a haughty voice. She smoothed the ratty cover they had been given to better warm the little kid with frizzy hair by her side, whom she seemed to have adopted. And never mind that Lynn was barely two years older than the slip of a girl, if that. They were all young, the children in this cage. They were all casters too. Some had even been sold willingly, like Boulder. By his parents. Others had been taken, like the girl Lynn was looking after. Nobody knew her name on account of not a single word going past her lips. Ollie thought she might be a mixed blood. She had pale skin but her hair was like Nami¡¯s. So that means taking her would be easier. Those bastards. The anger kept Ollie warm, mostly. The children used to be cold and hungry but now they were just cold, because yesterday, Urchin had found them and snuck in and given everyone some meat pies. Even the adults in the other cages had not noticed the slippery vampire. Those shackled men and women were black, and he thought they were escaped slaves. Urchin also told them that mom would be fine. There was this White Cabal mage called Sola who had come to train people in healing magic and she had saved Mom. Ollie thought he was going to cry. Mom was going to be alright. But now he was still stuck in that annoying cage, and he had also dropped his shoes on the way here to make it easier for people like Urchin to follow so he felt uncomfortable and his socks were wet to boot. The anger once again made his heart all warm. Wisps of fire kissed the skin of his hand. But he wouldn¡¯t use them. Too many adults anyway and besides, he wanted to see what aunt Ariane would do to them when she arrived, which would be real soon. Honestly, what were these people thinking? You cannot hide a band of pricks and their kidnapped victims out here in the boonies. Not from mages with tracking spells and a bunch of vampires. These men were just dumber than a rock collection. The bunch of fools was still arguing about the attack and whatnot and cussing up with great energy. He could hear it from here. ¡°The prize will make it worth it, the Pyke family has a huge bounty for the two little twats,¡± a man in a pink shirt and dark beard told the others. Ollie thought what a fat lot of good it would do them, and good luck with collecting that thing in the afterlife. ¡°We need to release them, boss, you ain¡¯t seen what I seen. Those people weren¡¯t normal! Even their women started firing at us when we ran away! There was even one who shot Coulter and Bill in the cock!¡± ¡°Bullshit, probably just a lucky hit.¡± ¡°She was laughing the whole time. Mad people I tell ya!¡± ¡°Shut up Francis, no one asked you. We have the kids now and quite a few besides, two more days of travel and we¡¯re going to be rich.¡± ¡°Are you now?¡± a pleasant male voice asked from somewhere on the right. The camp fell silent but Ollie grinned from ear to ear. He exchanged a glance with his sister who was smiling too. From the darkness under the branches, a man emerged. He wore a perfectly tailored blue ensemble under a bowler hat and leather shoes that looked completely out of place in the frozen mud and dirty snow. That would probably be hell to clean it if that man had been human. Sunk right to his heels he would have. But that man wasn¡¯t human, not anymore. As Violet would say, Urchin cleaned up nice. He still looked like some kind of outlaw though. But the kind that robbed rich people with pretty words. Urchin smiled a sinister grin as he twirled a silver dollar on his knuckles. He launched the coin, which disappeared mid-air only to reappear in his other hand to get thrown again. That was some trick! Tink. Tink. The game continued. ¡°Nice trick, asshole, you got another?¡± Someone asked. Urchin kept doing the same thing, but he had replaced the silver dollar with a wicked-looking knife. The others recoiled. ¡°Who in the devil¡¯s name are you?¡± the man in the pink shirt finally asked with a voice that was trying really hard to be angry. In answer, Urchin¡¯s smile widened. Men and women with muskets and mage gauntlets slowly emerged from the undergrowth in silence to form a half-circle around the poor sods. They came from all ages and some looked rich while others, less so. Some wore traveler clothes; others wore a sort of white uniform and some other yet wore winter city clothes lined with frills and fur. The only thing they had in common was how mightily bad-tempered they looked. Ollie jumped in surprise when a cold aura washed over him. Melusine dropped from the top of their cage, gave them a gander to check if they were fine, and returned her attention to the front. The men in the middle were jumping around like headless chicken and squawking at every newcomer. There were a lot of those. Maybe forty to fifty people, more than twice the numbers of their abductors. It was entirely too much but Ollie could not blame his rescuers for being irked on account of being quite irked himself. The idiots now huddled in a circle. Most had left their guns next to their packs and the mages among them probably felt the collection of auras rolling around the clearing, each more incensed than the next one. s?a??h th? ?ov?l?ir?.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. It did not matter much that they could not grab their guns. It would be as useful as a garden sprinkler on a house fire when she showed up. Oh, here she was. Silence descended upon the clearing because something really big was plodding the earth on its way there. The Marquette group now looked on with hungry eyes, like people who came to the circus to see a lion eat its meal or something. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Metis entered the clearing with that proud gait of hers, and to her sides there were two huge wolves! Were those werewolves? By God they were the size of ponies! The wolves sniffed the air and then focused on the pile of men in front of them. They showed their fangs and thick drool dripped down their maws. What a show that was! And still, not a pip could be heard. Ollie could still not believe that Ariane had werewolves as minions! That was almost as intimidating as her full battle armor plus shiny spear. And the silence. That was the thing. The wrath of a vampire was always silent. Oh, they would hiss and roar sometimes at the start but when they got going there would not be a sound. Like when Ariane and Nami were sparring. You could hear the spears swooshing and clashing but that was it. No steps, no grunts, no cries. And that made it even scarier, because they really showed what they were. Finally, Aunt Ariane spoke. ¡°You are bold. Quite bold indeed,¡± the lady of Marquette declared, her voice echoing across the clearing. Normally she would probably say something witty, or at least try, to but Ollie knew why she didn¡¯t. Ariane was livid. Her aura smashed into the kidnappers like a cold front. Even the non-mages recoiled and cussed up a storm. Ollie turned around when his sister closed her eyes and placed a protective hand over those of the little girl. The kid let her do so, too busy munching on a meat pie to object. ¡°You might want to look elsewhere, folks,¡± Ollie warned the others, but it was all for nothing because Melusine had taken a tarp from the ground and was putting it on the cage to block the view. Ollie still managed to hear what came next. ¡°Which one, Urchin?¡± ¡°The man in the red shirt,¡± he answered with a sinister voice. Ollie still thought the shirt was pink. ¡°Very well. This one lives. Dispose of the rest.¡± What followed, Ollie could not see but it was very violent and very short. Also, the wolves howled. The action was to the front of the cage, but its entrance was to the left. Melusine dropped down once more and approached it. ¡°It¡¯s spelled. The man with a missing eye got the key,¡± Ollie explained helpfully. Melusine did not reply. She put her gauntlet against the keyhole and whispered something in their weird tongue. Ollie felt the spell unravel and then Melusine tore the gate open, lock and all. It made her instantly popular with Boulder, he could tell. The others were a bit more scared, so Ollie stood up first and extended his arms so Melusine picked him up and lightly placed him on the ground after a brief inspection. ¡°You are a bit pungent but otherwise unharmed,¡± she observed. Ollie looked right long enough to see an arm fly off and decided that, perhaps, he should look to the other side instead. He was one of the oldest kids and he was well-acquainted with Melusine here so the others should listen to him because he was the wisest and most knowledgeable man nearby. ¡°Right! Come on out people, we don¡¯t have all night. Busy busy!¡± he said while radiating confidence. Lynn had finally managed to coax the girl up and they were all lifted in the air, checked for defects, and then delicately put down. ¡°Hello, I¡¯m Boulder,¡± said Boulder with far too much enthusiasm when his turn came. ¡°Hrm. Hello Boulder. A pleasure,¡± Melusine replied with little apparent interest. Once Boulder touched the ground, he turned his big honest face to Ollie and whispered: ¡°She said it was a pleasure to see me!¡± Ollie was a man of the world and he thought that she did not mean it exactly that way. Sometimes, adults really liked to say things and meant something else and vampires did it as well. For example, when Ariane said: go ahead and try, what she actually meant was: if you do try I will slap your face off. Life was complicated sometimes. Eventually, all the children were down and Violet, who was a nice lady with messy brown hair and a really colorful aura, came and picked them up. The mages and soldiers freed the captured slaves and soon, there was a big convoy ready to leave to make camp¡­ elsewhere. Where there was less blood and other stuff on the ground. As everyone left under the light of torches, Ollie drifted to the back of the line where Ariane was waiting right behind a man and a woman wearing entirely far too little stuff for this weather. Lynn wordlessly followed him with the little girl in tow. He was not sure where she got the meat pies she kept nibbling on. Eventually, he found himself looking up to Aunt Ariane who was on foot at the back of the column. That meant Metis was probably having a meal right now. She gave all three children a passing glance before resuming her vigil, looking right and left, and listening for pursuers. ¡°Is Mom really going to be fine?¡± Lynn asked in a voice that cracked a bit at the end. ¡°She will make a full recovery, but she needs a lot of rest and could not come with us. You can see her as soon as we get back to the White Cabal compound.¡± Ollie nodded, but he was still a bit out of sorts. As a man of the world, Ollie had to plan and account for everything so he could protect Lynn and Mom until he grew up enough to kick ass and take names himself, pardon his French. ¡°Aunt Ari, I don¡¯t understand,¡± he started. Technically Ari was not his aunt. It was just Lynn who started to call her that and though Ari grumbled a bit, she let it go. Now, everyone around thought Ariane was their relative and that meant Lynn could ask pretty much anyone to do her hair. ¡°Aunt Ari, how could these men just come and take us? I thought they were bounty hunters?¡± ¡°They were slave catchers,¡± she said with obvious disgust, ¡°their job was to go north, and arrest escaped slaves to bring them back to their old masters. Being a slave catcher is legal, but it does tend to attract the unsavory types.¡± ¡°You mean they respect the law, but they are bad people?¡± Ariane gave him a measuring glance. Ollie knew she would do that every time she was going to explain something a bit hard. It didn¡¯t mean that he was stupid, just that she didn¡¯t know how much he understood. Adults were like that sometimes. They forgot how different they were at five or nine and how much they understood of the world. ¡°Yes. The people in Congress passed a law a long time ago. It says that any escaped slaves can be recaptured at any time of their lives and if the slave was a woman and she had children, they were the property of the old master too. One thing is that when a black person is caught, their testimony is not recognized during a possible trial.¡± Ollie furrowed his brows as Lynn tilted her head and Ari paused her explanation, recognizing that this last part was a bit too complex. Meanwhile, the little girl gobbled the last of her meat pie then dug another half-chewed pastry from the recess of her grubby dress. ¡°What it means is that what the black person says does not matter to a judge. The slave catchers can just show up and claim that someone is an escaped slave and if the local authorities find their documents convincing enough, they will be taken south and sold. It makes many of the slave catchers opportunist jackals who will kidnap freemen. That kind of mongrel will also take children from the streets of my city if they believe they can get away with it, because what is one more innocent victim?¡± she finished with a low hiss. ¡°So, they could come back?¡± Lynn asks, looking rightfully afraid. Ari stopped inspecting her surroundings and focused her raptor-like attention on the girl at her side. Then she took Ollie¡¯s and Lynn¡¯s hands in hers. The vampire¡¯s fingers were cold outside the armor but Ollie did not mind much. ¡°If those specific curs come back, they can start their own religion. As for the other bounty hunters, they will lose the incentive to come after you once the bounty is lifted.¡± ¡°You think you can convince our dad¡¯s family to do that? There has to be a lot of them,¡± Lynn asked shily. Aunt Ari did that thing again where she didn¡¯t move or breathe. Sometimes, he wondered how she could look so much like a normal person one moment, and so different the next. ¡°Indeed. I made a point last time and I assumed the rest of the family had understood the message. It appears that I will have to use more¡­ pointed arguments. It pleases me that the first instance of an alliance of humans, mages, wolves, and vampires in recorded history was assembled for the purpose of rescuing children. Now, I will make sure that such an opportunity never rises again.¡± Ollie looked at the column on the road in front of him. The carriages were turning into an estate with guards at the front. That was probably their own camp. He did not know yet what would happen to the rest of his father¡¯s family but he assumed that it would be very unpleasant. He thought it strange that he was defended by a monster against the crimes of his own blood. A bit crazy, he judged. That was fine. He was a man of the world and he would make sense of it, eventually. Marquette, three days later. Lynn raised her hand to knock on the door, only for Ari¡¯s voice to tell her to come in. She closed it behind her and made a beeline for the vampire. Aunt Ari was sitting in a comfortable chair, with a proper table by her side on which she had placed a few documents and a cooling cup of coffee. The heavy scent hung pleasantly in the air of the small but cozy study. The thick walls were also blocking the humdrum of the building: maids preparing dinner and clerks joking and laughing as they wrapped up work for the day. The only thing missing were windows, but Ari had a very sensitive skin, apparently. Ari did not raise her eyes from the doodle she was drawing in her notebook. Lynn knew that she would do preparatory work before she started painting and that was part of it. That also meant that the vampire was not working at the moment, and that was the best time for a conversation between proper ladies. So, Lynn went to the opposite couch and sat herself daintily, smoothing her dress in front of her. Aunt Ari raised her eyes and put the notebook down. Lynn frowned a little bit as she caught a glimpse of the drawing just before Ari closed it. There were a lot of naked people in it. That was strange, because she was rather sure that it was not really proper. Ignoring that, Lynn smiled pleasantly and decided to start with small talk. Starting with small talk was a mark of good education. It showed interest in the other party and allowed one to learn about the other and their priorities, or so Violet had said. Also, gossip was fun. ¡°Are you leaving for Boston soon?¡± ¡°Yes, tomorrow in fact. You will be safe while I am gone, I assure you.¡± ¡°My dad¡¯s family¡­¡± ¡°¡­ has made a fatal mistake. The man we captured revealed quite a few unacceptable practices and now both the Cabal and we are moving against them.¡± Lynn thought gossip would be more fun. ¡°What about the werewolves? Mom said a lot of things about werewolves when we were kids. She said they were very dangerous.¡± ¡°They are. Those who moved in are¡­ well, they are different. A group of werewolves together can police themselves and its members do not suffer from the curse as much. I also trust their leader to comply with my orders. He has proven himself worthy if a little too talkative.¡± Lynn did not know what to think about that. Werewolves were dangerous. Many werewolves were even more dangerous. And Aunt Ari was very fast and strong, so they were not as dangerous to her as they were to Lynn. On the other hand, Aunt Ari said they obeyed her and that meant dangerous people on her side, and that was usually good. ¡°Okay?¡± she replied, but Aunt Ari frowned. ¡°Not you too.¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°This ¡®okay¡¯ thing. The acronym of a purposely misspelled ¡®all correct¡¯. I first read it in a Boston journal and now it has spread everywhere, including here,¡± she grumbled. Lynn kept silent. She had heard that from a traveling salesman and thought it sounded nice. ¡°Probably just a fad,¡± Aunt Ari continued, ¡°something this silly cannot possibly become part of our everyday language.¡± Then, seemingly recomforted, the vampire nodded to herself before returning her full attention to Lynn. ¡°Say Lynn, what do you want to be when you grow up?¡± ¡°Rich, beautiful, and with a good husband who loves me, and I love him.¡± ¡°I meant what sort of occupation,¡± Ari continued seriously. ¡°Oh. I want to be a mage that tells people what to do. Like Mom.¡± Aunt Ari tilted her head, doing that thing again where only a small part of her moved and it gave her the appearance of an animated sculpture. She and Melusine were like that. They moved little and moved slowly until they were provoked. Then they moved too fast to see. Urchin was not there yet, Lynn judged, on account of being just a bit of a clod. He was doing his best though, and as Mom said, that was what mattered. ¡°The White Cabal has offered to train you and the other children we rescued when your talents have matured. That will be very soon for Oliver. You should consider their offer as well.¡± Lynn frowned because it sounded a bit like a test, maybe? She remembered that mom had said something about the White Cabal being allies, not friends. That was before they saved her life though. What was it she had said? ¡°Are you not worried that they will, err, poach us?¡± she asked. ¡°They will try, just as I know what the Cabal is like and why some resent its leadership. How should I explain? They make a lot of rules and talk a lot, and some find it annoying while I give a lot of leeway to those who¡­ assist me. A wise man once said, it is better to be first in a village than second in Rome.¡± Lynn wondered what Rome had to do with anything, but the quote sounded very smart, so she just played along. And besides, she thought she understood what Aunt Ari meant. The White Cabal were a bunch of stuffy dunderheads while Ari was proper and well-tempered and did not insist on Lynn going to bed before nine. So obviously Lynn would want to stay with Aunt Ari. That made a lot of sense. ¡°I think I would like to learn from them as long as they do not force me to wear white,¡± she eventually decided. If they were going to teach her how to set things on fire like Ollie could then it was worth an early bedtime for a while. Then she realized that the conversation had gotten serious and now she wanted to go somewhere else. ¡°Alright. I am going to see Metis,¡± she declared. ¡°No feeding her ears or she will grow fat,¡± Aunt Ari warned. Giving Metis ears was really fun, so Lynn decided to negotiate a bit. ¡°Why were you drawing naked people?¡± she asked innocently, ¡°maybe I should ask around if it is proper and if I should do it as well?¡± Lynn waited in silence as Aunt Ari gauged her, and as expected the vampire eventually smiled at her antics. She always liked it when Lynn tried to manipulate her a bit. ¡°One ear,¡± she conceded with obvious amusement. ¡°Yay!¡± Lynn ran out of the room and picked up Wisp, who had not moved from her spot and was currently inspecting a painting with her sad brown eyes. Wisp was not holding a meat pie, which probably meant a resupply run was necessary. ¡°Shall we go to the kitchen?¡± Lynn offered, and Wisp nodded with energy, her dark frizzy hair bobbing along. They climbed down the polished wooden stairs past offices and to the ground floor. The kitchen was at the back and would serve dinner soon. The enticing smell of stew and fresh bread wafted from behind the door, and the clang of pots went hand in hand with the din of conversations. Lynn opened the door and was greeted by the massive form of Irma, casually cleaving a pig leg apart, bones and all. The old woman scowled a bit at the intrusion, only for a large grin to replace it when she recognized the newcomers. ¡°Good evening Irma,¡± Lynn said with a small curtsey. ¡°If it isn¡¯t the young lady Lynn. And Wisp! Are you ready to tell us your real name?¡± the woman asked the diminutive child with a laugh. Wisp twisted left and right and squirmed a bit, which only gave Irma a throaty laugh. The large woman delicately placed her cleaver on the cutting bench and cleaned her hands on her apron before turning to them. ¡°And what do you want? It is still a bit early for dinner.¡± ¡°I would like one caramelized pig ear, for Metis,¡± Lynn solemnly declared. Irma reached for a glass jar and popped the lid open. Lynn soon had a large brownish and slightly sticky ear which she then folded into a bit of cloth. While her back was turned, Irma made a show of sneaking Wisp a pair of small meat pies. The tiny girl rewarded the cook with one of her rare smiles. As soon as they were loaded, Lynn bowed one last time and ran away with Wisp still in tow. They snuck out into the courtyard and past heavy doors to Metis¡¯ enclosure. The shack was part of the normal stable, yet everyone gave it a wide berth. Lynn was not surprised. When she entered, Wisp let go of her hand to climb to her designated crate. From there she would watch Lynn do her thing. Lynn herself was not sure why Wisp liked high places with a good view but that was alright because she sat with grace and poise and her back straight. The room they were in had a low plank wall surrounding the place where Metis stayed when she felt like it. It had hay and a large barrel of cold water, as well as a ball and a pillow placed on a pole to rest her head. The black Nightmare was present and she recognized Lynn immediately. Her massive frame now stomped forward, bumping her head lightly against Lynn¡¯s chest and pushing the girl back with a small ¡®oof¡¯. The horse¡¯s face was large enough to cover Lynn¡¯s whole torso, though that wouldn¡¯t last because she would soon grow as tall as Irma, just you wait. Metis made that big ¡®snuff¡¯ sound, easily picking up the scent of the pig ear. Lynn giggled and held it in her hand. Metis had her ritual. She would slowly eat half of the ear little bit by little bit with great care, then gobble the rest. Lynn let her do that, and then moved to pour water in a smaller barrel. That took a while because she was still not so strong but after a few minutes, she had a decent amount of liquid. She then went to the bison herb crate and removed a handful of the perfumed stalks, which she threw in the prepared water. She then grabbed a tool that looked like a giant spoon made out of wood and slowly stirred the decoction like Aunt Ari had shown her, feeling like a proper witch. As soon as she started, Metis placed her head over Lynn¡¯s shoulder and stared, mesmerized, at the strange tea ceremony. ¡®Nightmare successfully captured,¡¯ Lynn thought to herself with no small amount of satisfaction. When Metis decided that it was enough, she gently pushed Lynn out of the way and sipped on her brew. While she did so, she allowed Lynn to brush her, which the girl did with pleasure. Metis¡¯ coat was strange. It was surprisingly smooth with a sort of glassy quality that other horses did not have. Petting her was fun and pleasant and completely ladylike and Lynn did it until Wisp cleared her throat. The small child pointed outside, and Lynn realized that indeed, night was falling. So, they had to meet with the others. The pair of children rushed out and left the Nightmare to her contemplative mood. Outside, Lynn half-coaxed and half-bullied a guard into doing her hair by casually dropping Aunt Ari¡¯s name which never failed. Then, they ran through the streets of Marquette to their designated hideout which was at the back of one of the many warehouses Ari owned. Ollie was already there, checking a large bucket for leaks. Boulder waited nearby with his large arms crossed before his sturdy chest. Boulder, whose real name was Herbert, was tall and strong for a kid and his own magic made him even stronger for a while. That would be really useful tonight. ¡°You¡¯re late!¡± Ollie exclaimed. ¡°A lady is never late,¡± she retorted while pushing a braid back. Her brother rolled his eyes and passed the bucket to Boulder who held it without difficulty. ¡°Yeah yeah whatever. Are you two ready? It¡¯s almost time.¡± ¡°Let¡¯s go!¡± Lynn shouted, excited at the thought of larceny. Well, technically it was called ¡®pulling a prank¡¯ and was expected of children her age, really. She had heard some of the cooks say that many times. That meant it was ¡®okay¡¯! Also, they did it to Maxwell who harassed girls and liked to punch people so, really, it was more like punishing the wicked. Therefore it was totally ladylike and the right thing to do and there were no ¡®ulterior motives¡¯ at all. The four of them ran down the street as inconspicuously as children carrying a bucket and an eager expression at nightfall could manage, which Lynn admitted was not a lot. Fortunately, the inhabitants of Marquette were happy enough to be heading home and no one bothered them. They soon found themselves in a backstreet, the kind that serviced several workshops. One of the buildings let out a slightly unpleasant smell of burnt sugar and this was where the band¡¯s efforts would be focused. Lynn placed herself facing the back door and Wisp stood by her side while the boys took position behind the opening, so they would not be immediately seen by anyone coming out. They did not have to wait for long. A young man stepped out with a heavy gait. He had a squarish jaw, boorish features and he was rather dirty. As soon as he spotted Lynn, his malicious eyes narrowed. Lynn breathed in and blew air in front of her. It helped her focus. Wisp clasped her hand and did her thing. Lynn felt her power expand under her friend¡¯s influence, covering the entire backstreet like a cloud. It bumped against three presences. Two of them she recognized while the third was a tangled mess of loathing and resentment. Then she drew a deep breath in and swallowed the tangle. The man¡¯s mouth, which was half-open to cuss or threaten, suddenly slackened as his eyes grew hazy. He stumbled a bit before managing to stand like a drunkard about to collapse. Ollie and Boulder wasted no time grabbing the door. Ollie snapped his fingers and a plume of fire lit in there to illuminate the now darkened store. They went in. In the meanwhile, Lynn¡¯s focus was on the little ball of hatred in her mind. She held it still. It was a pretty little mess and she recognized some of the strands. That one was wrath against the other regardless of who they were. This one was self-loathing. And that one was envy! She was tempted to pull on the strings to see what happened. She had felt Aunt Ari do so on occasion. The vampire had made it look easy and quick, but Lynn was not so sure. She thought it could change someone for a long time and she did not know how exactly. It was just that Maxwell was a horrible person and surely¡­ There was this strand pulsing green and sickly. That one was despair. It was buried deep, but it also merged with everything else. If Lynn were just to pull on it a bit more, weaken the red angers and inflate it until it took everything over and drowned them under its thick mantle, perhaps¡­ Eventually, timing made the choice for her. The boys quickly left the store with a now-filled bucket, which even the strong Boulder had trouble pulling. ¡°Let¡¯s go!¡± Ollie whispered. Lynn let the boys disappear at a corner while slowly walking backward without breaking eye contact, Wisp still supporting her. Then she released the link and disappeared in the shadows. She caught a glimpse of Maxwell shaking his head with obvious confusion and then they were gone. They walked to the black side of town without hurry as the ¡®deed was done¡¯ and the urgency had passed. There was still tension in the air as they lifted a plank off a wall and slid under, ending in a cluttered backyard where three black children were waiting for them. There was one plump boy in a blue overall carrying a basket, a girl with shorn hair and a taller boy with a beret and a red bandana. The two groups approached each other until the tall boy spoke first. ¡°You got the goods?¡± ¡°Right here. You?¡± Ollie retorted. The other pointed at the basket they had and leaned forward to inspect the contents of the bucket. It was molasses, thick and syrupy. There was enough sugar in there to produce cakes and pies for an entire street. ¡°Three bags of candies, two of hush puppies, and two tarts.¡± Ollie shook his head. ¡°Four four and two, don¡¯t try me Moses, we both know that¡¯s the only molasse you will get before April.¡± The tall boy shrugged. ¡°Not my call, fireball. We only got three bags of candies and you know the hush puppies will get bad before you can finish them. I can get you another tart after my mom¡¯s done.¡± ¡°Throw in a medium jar of jam and some jerky and you got yourself a deal.¡± Moses considered it. ¡°I guess. Fine. But I don¡¯t have the rest, so you¡¯ll get it tomorrow. Same place, same time?¡± ¡°You bet.¡± The two groups exchanged the bucket for the basket and soon, both were on their way with Wisp already filling her pockets with candy. Lynn hummed under her breath and considered that this stroll had been ¡®most educational¡¯ and ¡®vivifying¡¯, whatever that meant. Aunt Ari and Mom spent a lot of time ¡®liberating¡¯ stuff from bad guys and keeping it for themselves so obviously that was ladylike behavior whatever they said in front of her. Lynn decided that once she was an adult, she would be the most ladylike of them all. She then picked one of the candies and placed it on her tongue. It tasted quite sweet. They stashed their loot and returned home, no one the wiser. Chapter 97: Takeover February 3rd, 1834, BostonConstantine declares with all the enthusiasm of a city clerk delivering a building permit, Said duties and privileges are mostly about ruling properly and answering a call to arms in the event of a war. Constantine scolds. He reflects for a moment, then concedes: Boring. Well, we shall see what the others call themselves. I never considered that before. I ask, clearly showing my disdain of the unassuming word. Constantine still does not understand that the trappings of power need to be solemn and awe-inspiring. Perhaps he will never learn. he continues in what I recognize as his lecturing tone, until he catches himself. The speaker frowns and when he speaks again, his voice is slightly clipped. I know for a fact that he will not. The Erenwald steward is far too busy handling the day-to-day affairs. he finishes before returning his attention to the pile of documents in front of him. I understand that I have been dismissed and stand up from the couch. I make my way out of his elegant office. I cross the antechamber and nod at his two mysterious bodyguards, as well as to Sophie, the Rosenthal renegade, who returns a congratulatory smile. The only surprise comes from the corridor. Lord Ceron is waiting, standing in the middle of the hallway in an elegant old-fashioned suit. His piercing blue eyes turn to me and he shifts his muscular frame to give me a light bow. I did not even know he was in the city. As usual, etiquette is everything. I return a low curtsey as a gesture of respect. We may be political rivals, we may have different allies and assets. None of this matters when two vampires come face to face. I am a newly minted Master and he is a centuries-old Lord who could control his essence before my ancestors even stepped on this continent. Deep inside, I can feel the power he wields, and my instincts urge me to show respect, and so I do. he says in a neutral voice. The Cadiz lord¡¯s countenance betrays no sign of aggression. A mortal passing by could assume we were talking about the weather. I tell him honestly. The lord¡¯s eyes glisten dangerously. It is coming. he casually asks. I feign ignorance at the implicit meaning behind his question. The old monster is fishing, just as Sinead predicted. I answer honestly. My face is completely expressionless because what I said was the absolute, undiluted truth. I just failed to clarify which specific race I was referring to. The Cadiz nods slowly, before stepping to the side and letting me through. We part ways after a last polite exchange, and he enters Constantine¡¯s domain. As soon as I know with certainty that I am alone I allow myself a victorious grin. Nami was right. Gloating is our guilty pleasure. I do not take part in the purge of the rest of the Pyke family. The reality is that there are few of them, barely twenty including their retainers. Slave hunting was a valuable business that gave them a cover to abduct young casters with no formal training and induct them, twisting their minds with sick games to better serve them and cull those who would resist. As unpleasant as they may be, they do not present a challenge, therefore I let Urchin handle this issue at his insistence. I may be annoyed, but I am also busy. The White Cabal gets massively involved as well and our two groups find unity in common hatred. With this concern out of my mind, I return my focus to settling my affairs. Melusine is granted the title of City Master for the future cities of the north and she decides to settle in a tiny place called Chicago, which she assures me has potential. I also organize a party to announce my ascension and invite all of the Accords to attend, knights and recently arrived Lancasters included. Finally, Blake of the Roland sends me an interesting letter offering a trade agreement between her new holdings and mine, which I accept after careful consideration. On the diplomatic side of things, I confer with Lady Sephare, still busy worming her way into every interest group she can find. I can tell that she prods me a bit too much on my mysterious adviser, and I deflect with amusement. Sinead has grown into a master of deceit and disguise. She will have to be left wondering. In fact, she should even suspect that I am receiving help from Nirari himself since he is my most likely source of support. With this lull in activity, with no one actively trying to kill me, rob me, or take over my lands, comes a time of planning and introspection. Painting all those new sources gives me all the time I need to ponder on the recent developments. I am only interrupted once, when I realize that a small version of the I drew over a large group of naked werewolves in human form turned into a nightmarish nose with tentacles coming out of the nostrils. Truly, an abomination that came from the recess of a completely twisted mind. Fortunately, I blink, and the image is gone. I still look outside to the cosmic entity and get a feeling of placid innocence. Sometimes I wonder how close the blasted thing is to full consciousness. Except for this small distraction, I am mostly left alone with a fateful question, one I had so far avoided. Two decades ago, Loth came to me after a particularly playful display of cruelty on my part. He advised me to develop a set of rules to follow when dealing with my foes, an advice I elected to follow. He was, as always, right. The laws I defined that night helped me keep myself grounded. Rather than base all my decisions on instinct and emotions, I set up a semi-permanent set of rules that could guide me through clouded judgement and moments of extreme stress. I have the feeling that I broke that law in the previous contest. More specifically, I broke the law on how to deal with enemies who did not commit acts I deem unforgivable. Reyes was not at fault for Ceron¡¯s decision to encroach on my territory. I did not consider him responsible for the backstabbing, which is the most important factor. Yet, he was tortured by the loss of his Servant, an event which I caused by unleashing Sinead on the Cadiz faction. It would be dishonest of me to say that I am not responsible for the Likaean¡¯s action. You do not put a snake in a crib and complain about venom. I knew he would inflict untold torment on a group who represents everything he resents about my kind. I relished it. It made my essence sing in anticipation. So, in some ways, I broke my own code. It matters little that it was through an agent, I knowingly let it happen. What surprises me is that I would not feel worse. I realize that when I set the code, I allowed myself some flexibility in the future. It acts more as a guideline than a dogma. Now a new situation has come up and I have to decide whether or not I should amend it. Should I accept the devastation caused by my allies or agents in a conflict? I do not believe so. It is a poor tool indeed that escapes its wielder¡¯s control, or rather, a poor wielder who allows their tool to destroy what was meant to remain untouched. In this regard, I erred. I could have set boundaries within which Sinead had to operate. I did not, because I was angry. I do not feel remorse. Vampires are distanced from guilt in a way that only the sickest of mortals are. I do, however, believe that I made a mistake. I will offer no reparation for the damage I caused as it would be suicidal and idiotic to reveal my role in this fiasco. Instead, I will remain vigilant and take responsibility for the behavior of those under my command. Yes, this seems wise. After coming to a decision concerning this issue, I feel better. I accept that perfection will never be within my reach. Decades of hard work and immunity to the ravages of time will not change this fact, yet there is no reason not to keep trying, not to improve. It will take a miracle to stop either my sire or his insane mother. I might as well start by learning self-control in times of intense emotion. Speaking of emotions, there is one invitation letter I need to deliver in person. February 10th, 1834, somewhere in the Appalachians. I stalk my prey with patience and determination. My feet are silent on the wet loam. No twig cracks under my steps and no hanging branch snags my clothes. I am on unknown land but on familiar ground. The forest extends far in every direction and in its midst, a secluded cabin with a vast underground serves as home for my quarry tonight. Soon, a clearing comes in view and in it, three people are standing. I recognize the mysterious bald woman with the tattoos on her bronze-colored scalp. The second one is a man with the lost look of a fledgling. He possesses a sturdy frame with just a bit of paunch and a bushy yellow mustache. As I watch, he closes his eyes and listens to the sounds of the forest. I remember being overwhelmed too on the first night I left the fortress. The last man has his back turned to me. Perfect. I approach and climb up a large pine, taking additional care as to not draw attention. The figures below appear oblivious. I grin at the prospect of capturing my prey. It will be glorious. I place both feet against the trunk at my back and push, arcing delicately in the air. Torran¡¯s back is close, so close. I extend my arms and try to grab his back. ¡°Hah!!¡± I scream as the tall man grabs me by the throat without looking. He flips me like a crepe and slam me into the ground, not as heavily as he could have. ¡°Oof!¡± My lungs are emptied of all air. Torran¡¯s face is just as handsome and slightly intimidating as I remember. His hawkish traits show cold anger, but I recognize the twinkle in his eyes. he says with mock menace. I look up to see the bald woman take the fledgling on his way inside. She is smiling knowingly. Torran declares teasingly as he drags me up and holds me by the collar. I channel a smidgen of Hastings essence and struggle like a mortal, letting my feet dance a little jig. There is a dangerous glint in his gaze now at the show of fear. I object with a choking voice. he whispers in a husky voice. Then he pulls me in so that my back is against his chest. I still cannot touch the ground. His breath tickles my ear. I groan. he adds with obvious amusement. A portent? Is Torran a seer? The man himself turns to face the forest trail leading to the clearing. There, between two leafless trunks, a certain Nightmare observes us with curiosity. I sputter in outrage, but alas, the vile two-timing harridan neighs in a way that sounds suspiciously like a laugh before galloping away. The wench! She ruined my surprise! Feeling cheated by fate, I wiggle my butt against my captor in a pretend attempt to escape. I do not miss his groan. Half an hour later, I am thoroughly interrogated and rather grateful that the log cabin¡¯s curtains happen to be drawn. I am playing with Torran¡¯s hair and pulling it above my lip to pretend I have a mustache when he finally speaks. I exclaim with surprise, blowing the gray strands away. he concedes. I say, genuinely grateful. he replies while avoiding my gaze. My, what a little fusspot. I proudly announce as I pick up my dress and remove a folded paper from a conveniently hidden pocket. Torran opens it carefully before reading its contents. he notes with the beginning of a smile. Once more I am amazed by how quickly he goes from stern and severe to radiant. I find the transformation uncanny. I ask, scandalized. Torran only chuckles at my vehemence. Honestly, I am doing my best to bring them recent masterpieces. I would be profoundly offended if they did not show proper appreciation. Any grumbling will be met with a scathing silent glare. Repeat offenders will be tutted at. I will show no mercy. he replies in a conciliatory tone. February 21st, 1834, Boston. Winter came to the bay for one parting slap, and the air outside is bitingly cold. Standing in the ballroom of Constantine¡¯s fortress, one could not tell. Hundreds of candles line the windows and the back mirrors, their warm glow turning the vast hall cozy. The walls radiate a soft heat thanks to the miracle of good plumbing and those of us who still breathe have discarded shawls and gloves to luxuriate in the pleasant atmosphere. Just like last time, I have stayed at the door to welcome newcomers and I am already noticing some major differences. To begin, everyone is significantly more polite. I would like to think that this was caused by my sterling behavior, my good manners, my irresistible charm, and the previous undeniable displays of competence on my part. That would be nice. S?a??h th? N?velF?re.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. Unfortunately, I will attribute it to the Lord by my side. Torran the soul weaponsmith stands protectively with my arm in his. Lady Hastings and Lord Suarez, who came from Charleston to offer his support, are never far. The Cadiz presence is modest after their setback, so his coming is that much more significant, and I let him know I appreciate it. If he knew the truth, we would be having a different conversation. After half an hour, it is now time to start and the crowd progressively switches to front seats. Wilhelm helped me assign them, for which I am grateful, otherwise I would have just given up and gone for alphabetical sorting. Constantine and the other lords are at the front, naturally. I step up the dais at the back of the room and feel their attention on me. Once more, all the present members have subdued their auras. I take a moment to appreciate the masterwork piano Wilhelm lent me for the occasion. It sits there, slick and black and entirely massive. I am really looking forward to this. That gives me a few nose exhalations, as well as knowing looks from the lords at the front who know that there are, in fact, four of us. The others would assume that I refer to a hypothetical spawn. I start, and stretch my hands in a gesture of offering. Some of the younger members shift in their seats, eager to know how they could replicate my success. No one moves but I see that quite a few people are thoughtful. Others remain unconvinced, which I naturally expected. I finish. I quickly step down the dais to invite the first performer of the night. She had been waiting at the back with a plump old relative acting as guardian. The girl is young, with a severe and rotund face. She steps forth with all the grace she can muster and climbs the few steps under a hundred predatory gazes. She goes through the motions of curtseying with the rigidity of an automaton, then, as she sits before the massive piano forte, her demeanor changes. She turns more graceful and more fluid. In less than ten seconds, she has shed any trace of anxiety and the music rolls free under her delicate hands. Schubert¡¯s sonata is beautiful and energetic, and the girl plays it well. Her interpretation is classic and scholarly but here and there, she teases a different tempo or a daring forte that hints at the character underneath. She is like a blooming flower struggling against the cage of rigid training and the others like it as much as I do. I can feel it in their immobile attention and carefully controlled auras. When she is done, the assembly gives her the applause she deserves. She smiles radiantly before stepping down and joining the now ecstatic plump woman on her way out. I smile and grab Torran¡¯s hands who gives me a supportive squeeze. The next artist enters the room. He is a young black man, barely a day above eighteen, accompanied by an older man with white hair and the tracking eyes of someone who never lets his guard down. Amusingly, it is the elder who shows obvious hints of fear. He can tell that something is off by our expensive clothes and the immobility we affect when we are amongst each other. His weathered face turns grey and his grip on the shoulder of his prot¨¦g¨¦ tightens. A few of the youngest Courtiers shift at the obvious show of weakness. The pianist, however, remains unfazed. His stare has not left the masterwork piano since he entered the room. He frees himself and jumps the few steps up to the object of his fascination, belatedly remembering to bow on the way. He plops himself on the seat and plays a few arpeggios. His thin fingers dance on the black and white keyboard with the speed of knitting needles. Finally, he settles and gives us Chopin. I will admit that as much as I appreciated Schubert, the Polish turned Frenchman has my favor for the night. I am sure a true critique would find the perfect words for the music and compare him to great masters but since I am a neophyte and cannot, I will satisfy myself with the simplest of terms. The music is alive. It represents everything that we have lost and cannot possibly find again. It is clear to me that Chopin is or was a virtuoso, and the Nocturne played before us shows signs of a man improvising and searching as he plays. Some repeated sentences flow into each other in their hunt for illusive perfection and the artist knows it. The young man¡¯s style is flowing and smooth and his movements are never twice the same. I love it. There is so much innovation here, so much life. Never have I so clearly understood the appeal of the Mask faction. To be the shepherds and the hands in the shadows, pushing civilization and fine arts forward. I can certainly understand. Far too soon, the piece is over and the young man blinks as he seems to remember where he is. We applaud him with enthusiasm, and he steps down shily to rejoin his guardian who fearfully pushes him out. Both of the players tonight will be paid and sent on their way safely. There is little need for additional precautions. The last performer makes his way in. He is a Roland Courtier by the name of Yves with close-cropped blonde hair and brown eyes who holds a violin as if it were a treasure, and perhaps it is. The mood of the assembly changes slightly as we now judge the artist with different criteria. Yves bows slightly and starts without ceremony. I admit to being impressed. Paganini¡¯s caprices are the playing field of the technical genius and Yves proves his worth with sober and measured movements. Complex melodies cascade over us at inhuman speed and with exacting precision. Not a single note is out of place and not a single interval is missed. In the middle of this impossible show, the Courtier still manages to instill a few marks of originality and personality. It does not hold a candle to what the mortals offered us earlier, but we still smile appreciatively as we all know how difficult we find it. That last part ends quickly by virtue of Yves¡¯ speed. We applaud him too with benevolent appreciation and respect. Soon after, we stand up as he steps down. The humdrum of conversation is immediate. I pick up words of pleasure and wonder in Akkad as well as in English, to my pride. Torran smiles and he wordlessly takes my hand in his, caressing one finger after another with a light touch. I reply without seriousness as I place a hand on his chest. Torran chuckles warmly. I reply, amazed. he finishes with a grin. His eyes turn dreamy and I find myself smiling too. A few other revelers use the lull in our conversation to come and express their gratitude. I wish the artists themselves could have mingled but alas, they are still young and it is quite late, and I agreed to let them go. It is for the best. They burn bright and the allure might be too much for some of us. Constantine comes to greet me on his way out. The tall man does not enjoy celebrations, it seems. Of course, he would. It was all very polite and consensual, just as he imagines the world should be, and will be tonight. The truth is that no agreement will be reached before dawn comes. Plotters and schemers, sycophants and the mighty will make tentative gestures and contact the more receptive audience at a later date. My party is neutral ground. The Progenitor leaves soon after. I can tell that he makes efforts to mingle but they feel somewhat forced, while smoother conversationalists like Sephare flit from group to group, firing smiles and witty repartees like others fling arrows. The Accords will not survive long under their current structure if our numbers keep increasing. Only his personal might has kept him at the top so far. Our next notable visitor is a man with black hair that reaches the nape of his neck. He has an angular face with a large nose and a pointy chin. With his dark coat and trousers, he looks like a prince¡¯s tutor or a stern college dean. The impression is smoothed by the genuine smile he wears. Something to do with music. I finish, with a hesitation that he does not miss. He is a Roland as well, though seemingly less stubborn than some of his kin. ¡± I remark teasingly. the man castigates without any real bite. We all smile genially. he continues. I ask. Lord Madrigal replies with a hint of condescension, Torran does not rebuke the man, though they exchange a glance I cannot decipher. I think they know each other from before. the sharp man finishes, We all bow and the man departs. I might just be tempted to travel to Europe, if only because Torran will return to his home territory as soon as his fledgling is mature enough to travel. Before it happens, I have something to finish. Jonathan¡¯s pale figure wavers as a lapse in concentration destabilizes the sending. The mage Salim lent me recovers and I continue our conversation. ¡°Are you quite certain?¡± I ask. ¡°Yes, he is your best bet.¡± ¡°You surprise me, Jonathan, I expected you to try and keep this in house.¡± ¡°It would be counterproductive. Your growth will be slow, and I need to maintain your flawless image,¡± he retorts with a smile. Jerk. ¡°Besides, you asked me for the best and he is it. Go and meet him. If he does not measure up to your standards, I have others who could.¡± ¡°And how shall I approach him?¡± ¡°Directly, of course. The more direct the better. Impart upon him the, shall we say, unfortunate consequences of refusing your offer,¡± the Cabal Black Dog replies with a ghastly smile. ¡°He would also not be an opponent you wish to intimidate, would he?¡± I ask with a frown, ¡°He is not. With that said, the White Cabal could certainly impress upon that man and his associates our power and our reach. Think of it as payment for this nugget of information. Good luck Ariane,¡± the infuriating man finishes before cutting the link. I hope he is right. March 13th, 1834, Philadelphia. My secret lair is ready and well-protected. The local Roland coven gave me their approval, and it is now time to finally take the next step in my snail-paced yet inevitable plan to take over the world. I pick a cheap pamphlet from my official dress, the blue one that would look nice in a salon and can also stop a bullet fired at point-blank range into my heart. I unfold the now-wrinkled paper and inspect my notes. The door facing me is as innocuous as the five others in this place of half-abandoned brick factories, save for a specific sigil that looks like the zodiacal sign of the lion. I find all this cloak-and-dagger nonsense too amateurish to be amusing. I grumble, I find a dial conveniently hidden behind a greasy piece of paper (Old Lady Grayson Sausages, five cents apiece!) and turn it. I whisper. Nothing happens. Clank! With the ominous sound of rusty hinges, the massive gate swings open to reveal the impenetrable darkness below. Not absolutely correct of course, it reveals a downward set of stairs in good need of a sweeping. I also notice strands of energy hanging in the air like a spiderweb. Probably an alarm system. I poke one out of politeness and the whole construct folds on itself like a mousetrap. Runes set in the wall a few feet ahead ignite and throw a bolt of lightning which I casually deflect with a charged claw. They still shine purple, I notice. It feels strange to bring the light of the Watcher into the world of the mortals. They¡­ do not deserve to gaze upon its alien glow. Or perhaps I am being snobbish. With a sigh, I lift the heavy bag by my side and descend into the unknown, which end up twenty steps into another corridor blocked by another pane of reinforced planks. I knock politely. A deep and unsettling voice reverberates throughout the damp air. I easily recognize an intentionally garbled sending. ¡°You are not welcome here, dark creature. Return to the night from whence¡ª¡± ¡°Look, we can have this conversation face to face or not at all. There are limits to how much bad taste I can tolerate.¡± ¡°I said, return from whence, gah, foolish woman! Thine path is barred by the stoutest of¡ª¡± I boot ¡®thine path¡¯ where I think the opening mechanism is and the old thing bangs open, smashes against the wall and half-closes again. ¡°My door!¡± I ignore the whines and step into an open space that tries really hard not to look like the vaguely redesigned basement of a derelict cotton mill. I judge the effort passable. Banners wearing eldritch symbols hang from the wall, which would be more impressive if the fabric was not so cheap and if the runes did not spell air, fire, water, and increased body weight. Between those amusing works, bookshelves filled with manuscripts of forbidden lore as well as cookbooks and at least one children songs compendium mark the den of a powerful mage. Said mage stands inside of a small stone building, a building within a building, if you will. I also note a few more doors on the side and far walls as well as a lack of ceiling. The space above us is empty as far as the roof of the factory and its dirty glass skylight. It all looks like a good idea with poor execution. Besides the mage, three more beings occupy the cramped space. Two are clearly apprentices in ratty red robes that look like theater props dug up from a mass grave. The third one is more impressive, and I look forward to some interaction. ¡°Away, foul fiend! Away! You will find no easy prey, for you have entered the chambers of Ezekiel the Red! Away, I tell thee!¡± the man vociferates. He is indeed a redhead, with a sharp and manic face covered by a wild beard, a hawkish nose and rare green eyes. His hair reaches below his shoulders in a good attempt to mask an advanced case of bald spot. He seems tall and gangly, though it is hard to tell for sure behind a robe in marginally better state than that of his wards. ¡°Let me consider the question,¡± I answer, and I tap a claw against my chin. ¡°No?¡± ¡°HELLBLAST!¡± A plume of fire erupts from the mage¡¯s gauntlet. I grit my teeth as my instincts cry out to JUMP and, instead, angle my chest out of the spell¡¯s trajectory. The roaring missile passes me by and crashes against unyielding bricks at my back. I pretend to brush ash away from my shoulder. Truth is, that was quite hot, and my dress might be singed. ¡°BLOODCHAIN!¡± the man yells, undaunted. This time, I dance away from the links even as they pursue me. Lambert of the Lancaster used a similar spell and I know what to expect. It takes a few seconds for the mage¡¯s focus to falter, which is quite a long time given the complex path the bindings followed. It speaks well of the caster¡¯s ability, if not of his wisdom. ¡°Anything else?¡± I ask in a bored voice. ¡°It matters not,¡± Ezekiel the Red spits as his two students grow more and more nervous, ¡°you will never breach my sanctum!¡± I smile at the challenge and approach the single door leading inside of their safe room. The obstacle is made of reinforced steel with an opening sealed by vertical bars at head height and some respectable enchantments. I am not confident that I could destroy the lock, especially not with a caster able to reinforce the defenses as I work. I will, of course, not waste my time on such a stupid method. I grab two bars and place my feet against the walls on each side on the opening, careful that my dress does not ride up my legs and gives the quartet an eyeful. Once in position, I channel the Natalis and werewolf essences and . The metal hinges groan until, with a last tortured crack, the masonry gives way. It only takes a few pulls for the heavy piece to finish in my hands. I set it down on the side with deliberate slowness. Inside of the safe room, the mage and his pair of dunces have crawled against the walls with faces of unmitigated horror. The last occupant is a golem made out of an old knight armor and some nifty bone constructs. It stands ominously, holding a slightly rusted mass in its ivory hands, exactly like Jonathan described. ¡°You¡­ my guardian will make short work of you, night creature! It has no blood to drink, nor mind to corrupt!¡± ¡°Oh no!¡± I retort with a flat voice as I drop the heavy bag I was holding by my side, ¡°I am undone! A golem, my very obvious and totally unexpected weakness! What am I to do?¡± I rummage inside the bag and drag a three-parts handle which I quickly assemble into a stick the length of a quarterstaff. ¡°If only I had planned and brought an appropriate tool!¡± I continue in the same dead voice. I pick a hammer head from the bag and screw it on the handle. The hammerhead is an inelegant work of steel with a single silver pane at the point of impact. The pane itself is engraved with a single rune that spells ¡°shatter¡±. Even my own budding skills are enough to charge such a simple and specific apparatus. It will hurt, too. The mage observes the barbaric tool, aghast. He inspects his creation and the harbinger of destruction in the hands of she who just popped his door from its frames, bricks and all. He calculates his chances. It does not take long. ¡°Can we talk about this?¡± ¡°Certainly. We may even have started with that if you had not attempted to roast me.¡± ¡°Err really? What is it you want, exactly? I mean, state thine will, foul fiend!¡± For a moment I consider roaring and spreading a bit of terror, so he stops with the nonsense. In the end, I consider them soiling themselves to be counterproductive. ¡°Is this little treasure hunt your doing?¡± I ask, holding the pamphlet. The crumpled piece of paper was published in a journal and advertised ¡®the secrets of the universe¡¯ for those who could decipher its code. Ezekiel led me on a merry chase, one that required the ability to perceive magical workings to complete but was otherwise as boring as it was obtuse. And now, here we are. ¡°Certainly. Then¡­¡± ¡°Yes, I am here to learn magic.¡± I could shove a fist in the man¡¯s opened mouth. I refrain from doing so. ¡°And you will teach me,¡± I finish. Chapter 98: Schooled The gauntlet lets out a pathetic little ball of blue light, barely more than moonlight reflected on a soap bubble. The light shimmers lightly then winks out.So, that was a success. And now I get to do it all over again. ¡°Light,¡± the young witch by my side declares. A few seconds later, a shimmering burst erupts from her gauntlet and basks the moldy walls in its reddish glow. She cuts the spell and the shadows creep back in. Our eyes meet before she quickly averts her gaze and returns her attention to the exercise. The corners of her mouth creep up in pride. I allow it. I am a vampire of many talents. I am good at painting, shooting, basic engineering, forging and accounting. I have a reasonable head for finance and diplomacy, and I have good taste in friends. And men. Truly, my skills are many. Magic is not one of them. I am, simply put, below average. This is an unfortunate fact of life and can only be offset by time and no small amount of effort. I knew it would be so. I was warned. That is why I do not begrudge the pallid girl her pride and return my attention to the training gauntlet on my left hand. Magic is made of three components. The first is power. I have that aplenty. More than Ezekiel the Red himself. And yes, Ezekiel is his real name. It turns out that Devouring so many mages and having such a concentrated essence is a boon. I can hypothetically cast more spells, or more powerful ones, than even an experienced mage. The problem comes from the two other elements. The second is symbols. There is a need for a focus of sort, a physical representation of the desired effect to guide the energies. Some research Loth mentioned proved that even symbols made of light and shadows can be used, though they are less effective than something more concrete, which is, in turn, less effective than metals or worked materials. The symbols can come from many different systems. What matters is that they mean something to the caster. Loth had a theory that the more people use a system, the more powerful it becomes. It could explain why Western Standard is so popular. The best systems are the most flexible ones. Western Standard allows for complex sets of instructions for more specific working, a bit like a language. The Likaean system is similar but I decided to stick to Western Standard for now. One, I do not want to reveal too much, and two, the Likaean system is based on its language which is itself magical. It is, therefore, a crutch. I want to learn the hard way. A magic user needs to understand the symbol and the system at a fundamental level to wield it with any degree of mastery. My own study has progressed over the last decades and though it is by no means perfect, I am still far above the average apprentice. No, the difficulty stems from the third part, the will. Mages need to visualize and bring forth the desired effects and it is simply something that I have extreme difficulties with, barring some notable exceptions like the darkness spell. Calling my will forth is a bit like flexing a muscle that I never knew I had. Anger does not help. Thinking hard does not help. The mental effort fails to match anything I have done so far, including aura control. While the two others manage with commendable efficiency, I was not born with it, and need to learn from nothing. Magic is as unfamiliar to me as the sun. I am not just a talentless player learning the violin, I also need to do so while wearing mittens. Despite the frustration, I endure. I lift my gauntlet to look at the rune of light. I easily push power inside of the receptacle and attempt to visualize a ball. I can see the simple image in my mind, but it lacks¡­ substance. Light is not just the light that I can see, it is light that everyone can see from different angles. It has a¡­ trajectory. A ball of light has a depth. I do not rush. I do not force it. I proceed with calm and patience with the belief that, in time, I will gain in speed. Slowly but surely, something takes form in the back of my mind until a sort of trigger clicks, like figuring out the answer to a riddle. ¡°Light,¡± I whisper again, and another ball forms in my palm. I stare at its pale blue surface before dispelling it. Once more. We go on for fifteen minutes, then Ezekiel visits both students, giving insightful pieces of advice. He then stops before me with visible hesitation. ¡°May I?¡± he politely asks. I nod and place my hand in his. He flinches slightly when they touch. Ezekiel¡¯s gangly form stands straighter as he focuses on casting the spell himself. He could do it in an instant but instead he takes the time to clearly visualize his process. Through contact and mind magic, he shares his impression with me so that for an instant, I know how to cast the spell with perfect clarity. ¡°Light.¡± A reddish orb rises from the man¡¯s gauntlet. It shines there like a bright star, serene and immortal, and not like my own flickering thing. Then Ezekiel withdraws his hand and I grasp at the memories of what I just experienced, and it works. Little by little, the man shares his own knowledge so that I do not have to search for understanding, only reach it. I am already making progress. I have the time to cast twice more before the teacher calls the class to a stop. The two others unclasp their gauntlets with visible relief. While I have reserves aplenty, they are still quite young, and I understand that continuous casting has a deleterious effect. It tires the mind and renders the mage unresponsive and dull until they have had time to recover. Ezekiel quite capably alternates theory and practice to prevent his human pupils from burning out. Jonathan was correct, the man knows his craft. The two red-robed youths sit at their desks and I join them. The boy¡¯s name is Terrence. He is a painfully thin stick of a man with a prominent Adam¡¯s apple and an unfortunate face that is made constantly melancholic by two droopy eyes. The girl is shorter, with hair as black as soot and a slightly chubby face under two piercing dark eyes. Her name is Margaret, and she reacts with violence to being called Maggie. They are quite different. As far as I can tell from my eavesdropping, the boy wants to escape a life as a shoemaker and his domineering mother. He is as hard-working as he is unimaginative. The girl has a chip on her shoulder and an insatiable drive for power that I can respect, even if I think it will burn her. Terrence is also hopelessly in love with Margaret, who noticed his toad-like puppy eyes and decided that she wanted nothing to do with it. At least she has standards. As usual, the three humans look at me with a hint of worry, even when I am on my best behavior. ¡°Ahem,¡± Ezekiel begins as he attempts to regain his composure, ¡°tonight¡¯s class will be focused on blood. Indeed, no one understands the vital liquid like us blood mages.¡± Heavy, awkward silence. ¡°No human, in any case,¡± the man finishes sheepishly. He then proceeds to explain an important aspect of magic: the addition of concepts to standard castings. Bolt, for example, is a basic spell made out of three runes: forward, power, and impact. The ubiquitous Firebolt is constructed by adding the concept of fire to the power of the construct, turning the projectile from one of force to one of fire. It makes the casting more difficult, but turns the spell from a heavy blow to setting things on fire. That is particularly useful when your opponent can just shrug off that kind of damage. Now I understand why I have never been submitted to the standard bolt. It would have been absolutely pointless against me. Ezekiel continues his explanation in a measured tone, stressing the important words to make sure we understand. ¡°Blood is a powerful and double-edged concept. It adds an organic dimension to the spell that can transform or enhance it, but always at a cost. A blood bolt will draw liquid from your veins. In return, the impact will be greater and wither your foe and their defenses. Competent blood mages walk that delicate edge to gain the upper hand even in the most desperate of circumstances.¡± Margaret raises a hand. ¡°Yes?¡± Ezekiel asks. ¡°Then why are we not learning any of it?¡± she asks somewhat belligerently. Ezekiel, who is apparently not dealing with his first batch of power-hungry idiots, has the appropriate response lined up. ¡°Because the first step in learning blood magic is to train how to work without it. You need to understand what you can do without its dangerous power. Only when you have found your limits can you safely overcome them.¡± To my surprise, the girl appears convinced. I realize that the students really do look up to Ezekiel and why: he treats them with respect, something that they had apparently been missing. The class continues with theories on glyphs that I only half-listen to. This is all known to me, but being part of the normal class is part of my arrangement with Ezekiel the Red. The canny wizard agreed to teach me in return for a substantial monetary compensation and an obligation on my part not to interfere with his other students. The man has principles, I will grant him that, though he applies them strangely. For example, he has granted his two students a room in his derelict factory turned secret lair at no additional cost. Terrence even considers it his home, as a quick verification showed that I could not enter it uninvited. It still irks me that walls and a door can suddenly become an unbreakable sanctum that no amount of effort allows me to peacefully penetrate. With the power of belief, those are the two things the more rational part of me find difficult to accept. Ezekiel did not just offer them a safe haven. His training is comprehensive and he only asks from them a reasonable amount of money, to be returned in a manageable time frame after they graduate. He has garnered quite a reputation. On the other hand, he is an occasional contract killer. He also serves as muscle and otherworldly security to Philadelphia¡¯s criminal underworld. I keep staring at the man lecturing us in his ridiculous opera prop costume under the yellow light of candles. He who has the blood of many on his hands, many of them possibly innocent, yet still took these youths under his benevolent guidance at a symbolic price. The dichotomy between murderous rake and fatherly figure is so poignant that I am led to wonder if we vampires truly are set apart from mankind, or if the magnificent sods simply delude themselves with ideas of universal values and self-obvious ethics. At midnight, Ezekiel finishes his classes and the exhausted little idiots retire to their quarters. Ezekiel usually teaches at night due to, he claims, some alignment of the spheres. I suspect that it has more to do with the mysticism that the night offers. Also, the shades hide the general rattiness of the setting. I stand up to leave when the gangly educator stops me with a hesitant voice. ¡°One moment of your time, please, Ariane of the Nirari. I have a proposal for you.¡± ¡°Do tell?¡± I answer, curious. This is the first time in a week that we exchange more than trite pleasantries. ¡°There will be no class tomorrow. There is a task I have to complete,¡± he continues. I glare. Our agreement was a bit vague about an exact timetable, and I fully expected him to take some nights off on account of having to assassinate some poor idiots, break into houses and whatnot. I am therefore not shocked that it would occur. I do not have to inform him of this fact, of course. ¡°I assure you that I will respect our agreement to the letter! It does not change anything. We will merely be delayed for a few hours.¡± ¡°I assume you have a point?¡± I drily ask. ¡°Yes! Of course. I am to visit a certain place and retrieve a certain item.¡± ¡°And you want my assistance for this burglary?¡± The man coughs heavily in his sleeve and clears his throat, red with embarrassment. ¡°Nothing of the sort. My destination is a hotel of some repute and I merely ask that you stay in its main hall and cover my retreat.¡± ¡°You are expecting trouble,¡± I state. ¡°Most assuredly. A band of disreputable louts have it in their mind that I somehow offended them. Poppycock! Nevertheless, they shall surely intercept me when I visit that particular location. They have ways to detect my presence, you see?¡± ¡°And you expect me to stop them?¡± ¡°Yes. I do. You may do with them as you wish. And their leader is a man by the name of Salazar. He is a talented warlock, and¡­hmmm¡­ I was led to understand that you are a woman of refined¡­¡± he swallows nervously. ¡°¡­ palate.¡± I am intrigued. And also, a bit annoyed. ¡°Surely you are not implying this is payment for my service.¡± ¡°Of course not!¡± he energetically replies, ¡°I would never dare! No, I will also give you access to all my personal spells.¡± Ah, now we¡¯re talking. ¡°All of them?¡± ¡°Well, I only made a dozen, but I assure you that they have been praised in all the right circles. And they are efficient and of middling difficulty. You should be able to cast them all within a few years with a reasonable amount of practice. I have a custom-made tracking spell that can use even a single piece of hair!¡± That is, in fact, a great deal. Ezekiel is high on the list of able blood mages, and he is very clean in his casting. Anything he creates would be simple and efficient. By comparison, it will be decades before I can master the contents of the human skin tome my sire sent me as a gift. In the end, I negotiate for the spells plus his help in learning one of them. After we are done, he retreats to his personal quarters and I exit the building via the now-repaired door. Southwark greets me in all its dubious glory. Warehouses, docks, and trades bustle with activity during the day as Philadelphia digests coal and enough food for its tens of thousands of citizens. Now, they are mostly silent, especially in this more remote area. To the north, the strip that is the city proper shines in the night, nestled between the two dark arms of the Delaware and Schuylkill rivers. I don my cloak and slowly walk to the affluent part of town, confident that I am not being followed and that Nashoba¡¯s earring still protects me from tracking spells. I cross the last track of open land to the geometrical chessboard that is the city proper. Sober buildings of red bricks line its streets, interspersed here and there by the white stone of churches and official buildings. Even at this late hour, gentlemen in crisp and conservative clothes head home, speaking English and German. There are still a few trees though I understand that they have grown rare, cut down to build houses for the ever-expanding population. Philadelphia might no longer be the political capital, and finance may be moving to New York, but it remains one of the continent¡¯s largest cities. It is also one of the oldest, and the vampire population reflects this. Philadelphia used to be under the purview of Lady Berenice of the Roland, but she left recently to manage her clan¡¯s expansion north. Reigning in her stead is a master by the name of Noel, whose hospitality I purchased at a decent cost. I am his guest, benefitting from his protection and company both. I walk unmolested to Arch street and step inside a multi-storied brick building that looks exactly like every other multi-storied brick building around it. A doorman bows as I go by, and I enter a lavishly decorated lobby. The contrast with the sober exterior remains jarring, even after a week. Vampires can only tolerate so much puritan sobriety before our love of art and decorations fights back. The conflict between personal preferences and the need to conform sometimes lead to such dens as this one. I make my way up a set of stone stairs. I allow my feet to bury in the luscious red carpet beneath, luxuriating in its soft plushiness. Servants and a Courtier salute me as we come across each other, and I soon arrive before a massive door. A knock, and I am invited in. There, the building¡¯s perfume of vanilla and cleanliness turns to coffee and sandalwood. A quiet fire burns in the office¡¯s hearth while behind the large desk, a man greets me with a smile. Noel is a thin man with aristocratic tendencies and a thin moustache. His auburn hair is combed back and he wears close-fitting clothes of the latest fashion. There are few official documents on his workspace. Instead, his workspace is covered in notes, correspondences and fossils enshrined in glass containers. He places one back down with great care as I come in before ringing a bell. I sit down before him with a smile. I politely ask. Noel is a great supporter of paleontology, which is, as I understand, the study of long-dead stuff. Not to be mixed with archeology which happens to be the study of long-dead people. I lost interest when he said there was no physical evidence of dragons ever existing. I do not look down upon this historical science and its practitioners. Rather, I am much more interested in a slew of more practical studies like chemistry. I still allowed Noel to teach me the basics for the sake of conversation. he exclaims. He then frowns. he finally admits. Fascinating. I politely suggest. I wait for the man to feverishly write a message while a human maid comes in to bring me a cup of freshly made arabica. I sample it with pleasure, letting the bitter taste linger on my tongue. the Master finally says, he answers dismissively before returning his attention to a note. I raise an eyebrow at that but refrain from commenting. I am but a guest and he is City Master in interim. How he conducts his affairs is his concern. I sip from my cup in the following silence. Noel makes conversation for a while and I soon leave. I know when someone would prefer to be left alone to play with their new toy. I still have quite a bit of time before dawn. As usual, I start with my correspondence. Marquette works well without me. All communities are in balance with clearly separated territories and rules to handle any dispute. So far, there has been nothing that would require my presence. I hope that this week¡¯s mail will not prove any different. In any case, any urgent business would reach me by sending. I climb down to my official room. I slumber in the basement below, but I conduct my business here. The room is barely enough to contain my few personal effects and a pointlessly large bed. Torran is busy elsewhere. I open the first letter, which comes from Merritt, and peruse its contents. The werewolves ate a patrol of Gabrielites. We don¡¯t know why they came because Jeffrey¡¯s troops apparently consumed everything including the satchel containing their correspondence. There are few means of communication that can survive a trip through a werewolf¡¯s digestive tract. Moving on. Jonathan¡¯s wife Sola returned to their home base and is expected to stay there until she gives birth. Marquette now has three acceptably-trained healers. Good. John has successfully settled in the West with his family. At the thought of my lost ally, I feel a moment of disappointment. A small part of me still clamors that he was too valuable to be let go. It says that the man was mine until death and that I should have bound him to my service. This possessive drive is part of who we are, but listening to it is not always wise. We are incredibly vulnerable during the day and the one thing that can kill us is treachery brought by resentment. Forcing him to stay would have not just been dishonorable. It would have also been unwise. Next. The segregation law of Marquette has been lifted and anyone is now free to circulate anywhere. Excellent. The issue of slavery is still a burning topic everywhere in the nation, with Philadelphia firmly on the side of the abolitionists. I wonder for how long these tensions will last. Finally, the children are settling in. We rescued quite a few and I volunteered to have many orphans settle in my town. With Sinead¡¯s bastards, we now have a new generation of potential mages growing up. It will be a challenge to train them and to keep a significant proportion away from the White Cabal. We might be allies, but we are also in competition for talents. I write a short answer to acknowledge reception and suggest that, next time, the werewolves backtrack the patrol¡¯s path to its origin and finish their meal. I seal the envelope with wax and place it in a basket designed to that effect. The next letter is a financial recounting of my assets. I own or have shares in a respectable amount of Marquette¡¯s businesses as well as factories in the east. Amusingly, the spirit of the frontier is one of independence and autonomy while, in my opinion, they should rely on communities. Few individuals and companies want to borrow or share ownership. They would rather labor for decades before finally opening their long-awaited companies than be indebted for five years and profit for fifteen. It does not make sense from an economic perspective. The world is a strange place. I open a few more letters and make appropriate answers, then comes the time for self-study. I take my training gauntlet and fasten it, then visualize the light spell once more. Time after time, I cast. The work is difficult and repetitive but I do not mind. The spell grows incrementally more familiar after every hour of practice and, every time the sphere appears, I feel a little bit of satisfaction. I am still learning, growing, evolving. Soon, I will add to my arsenal its most versatile element. It is only a matter of time, and I have plenty of it. For now. I sit on one of the Crossing Hotel lobby¡¯s many couches. The red leather monstrosities are placed around a decadent coffee table, and their heavy musk almost overpowers that of tobacco. The monotonous ticking of a clock is the only sound breaking the silence. The receptionist took one glance at Ezekiel and I before deciding he would be better off somewhere else. I idly inspect my surroundings. The plaster and fresh paint do a good job of creating the illusion of understated opulence. I assume that this would be a good resting place for well-to-do traders for a few days. It remains depressingly empty now. The blood mage stepped up one of the twin sets of stairs and left me here to intercept the forces inevitably coming for him. Since I have a few minutes, I rummage in my shoulder bag and take out a few notes. They contain supplementary visualization exercises that Ezekiel made for students who struggle with it. They look entertaining and easier than a real casting. One of them consists of imagining the tracing of a cube. It is a cube spell. Completely useless but for the exercise itself. I flip the pages and realize that one of those small spells would in theory permit me to move objects at a distance. It does appear useful in itself. Unfortunately, it falls under the category of advanced exercises. I am still reading when the double door bangs open and a group of hard men in leather outfits barges in with fury. I count five separate pulses without turning my head. Their auras are that of experienced casters, especially the first one. He is domineering and tastes faintly of ash. ¡°She¡¯s with him. Kill her,¡± the lead man orders with the uncaring voice of the consummate professional. A dark bolt leaves one of his subordinate¡¯s gauntlets and slams against my patiently erected shield. The shield holds and I am almost overcome by giddy pleasure. My first shield! And it worked! To cast it, I did not use my gauntlet. Instead, I drew a circle and a few runes on the ground in silver powder. A worthwhile, if costly, exercise. ¡°Rude,¡± I mumble, somewhat annoyed now that I realize I have been attacked. What happened to courtesy? I finally turn to the attackers and quickly inspect them as another spell is prepared. The leader is in a dark outfit. He has black hair and beard that jut from his face and head at a sharp angle like so many jagged rocks. His face is too sharp to be called handsome and his eyes are dark brown and piercing as he assesses me. The others are a motley crew of younger men, all fit and alert and eager for violence with their flaring nostrils and palpitating hearts. ¡°Witch!¡± the leader alerts, and he and another form shields at the head of the formation while the others focus on unleashing some deadly and complex constructs. I sigh and stand up, closing my book with a resonating snap. Tonight, I do not wear my training implement. The focus clamped on my wrist is bulky and on its back, a single rune drawn in blood shines an ominous red. The twisting script is not Western Standard, oh no. It is much, much older. I raise it and unleash my aura. The wave of cold washes over my opponents in a frigid tide and a few flinch. Their leader¡¯s face whitens. I can feel it now. Even as I weave and call forth the spell, the edges of the room already darken. Shades creep over the floor and along the wall like prowling creatures. Likaean is the language of magic. Before I can even say the word, it already exists within the space we stand on because it is concept made sound. I am only casting it now because having a cover of darkness is an invaluable tactical advantage that I kinda sorta vaguely could use and absolutely not because my slow progress annoys me, and I want to show off. ¡°Nu Sh¡ª¡± ¡°We surrender!¡± a voice shrieks in the mostly empty hall, interrupting me. Ah? Light returns and I am now just standing and holding my gauntlet forward as if it were an unwieldy weapon of dissuasion. The leader is waving his hands in the air, shield discarded. His followers stare at him with a mix of confusion and disbelief. ¡°We surrender! We completely surrender! Please do not kill us,¡± he states with a strained smile, even if I can see the sweat dripping down his brow and taste his fear in the air. His aura flickers in tone with his nervous heartbeat. ¡°You do?¡± I ask as I lower my hand and raise a brow. ¡°Yep. We give up. Won¡¯t get any trouble from us. No ma¡¯am.¡± Half of the group now stands down with the lost feeling of someone suddenly drenched in cold water. Only one remains belligerent, a tall lad with a bristling blond mustache. ¡°How curious. I usually have to kill a few before the others realize the futility of their actions.¡± ¡°My friends here might be new, but I remember when your, ah, previous local ruler made her presence known. We did not know a being of the night would be here and ask for your forgiveness.¡± That is rather new. I do not believe anyone ever surrendered so promptly before. ¡°Wait¡­ is she a vampire?!¡± one of the men exclaims. S?a??h the ??v?lF?re.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. ¡°Sssh! Be polite!¡± another whispers urgently. ¡°You think it will help?¡± a third one answers, dejected. ¡°It will certainly not hurt your chances,¡± I interrupt before they start a discussion, ¡°now tell me why you are after Ezekiel the Red. I am curious.¡± My teacher was tight-lipped and it would not do to press him for information under our arrangement. Forceful interrogation would go against the spirit of the contract, an unthinkable option for me. Obtaining information from other sources does not violate my oath, however. ¡°Wait, we¡¯re all going to lower our pants for that bitch?!¡± the previously impatient man erupts. Everyone takes a step back. Well, don¡¯t mind if I do. I and seize the man by the throat before he can react. I arc him backward and expose his neck. I bite down. Men swear. The leader INTERRUPTS THE SANCTITY OF FEEDING with a whine. ¡°Please¡­ spare him.¡± I lift a clawed finger to order him to COWER on the side. Once I am sated, I lick the wound close and release my moaning victim who quickly stumbles away. I lick my lips. ¡°Where were we? Ah, yes. As part of our negotiations for me not to engage in a cathartic slaughter, you were going to enlighten me as to why you are currently hunting my pet. Now, speak,¡± I calmly state to my now very captive and very docile audience. ¡°We were just going to ask good ol¡¯ Ezekiel a few things, is all.¡± Heavy silence. ¡°¡­aaaaand perhaps break a finger or two for stealing. But hey! It¡¯s not like they don¡¯t heal right? Haha. Really, it was about the questions.¡± ¡°Elaborate.¡± ¡°Yes, well, what do you know of our charming little communities of sorcerers and warlocks?¡± Casters really love calling themselves different things all the time. They are just casters. It is probably cultural. ¡°My host described it as a nest of vipers biting each other¡¯s tails in a large and pointless backstabbing melee.¡± The leader has the grace to look embarrassed and passes a hand in his messy hair. ¡°Accurate if a bit unfair. In any case, we have had a slight problem and wanted to make sure your little friend had nothing to do with it.¡± ¡°Do tell?¡± ¡°Somebody is killing us group by group.¡± I pause. The entire strike team now looks a bit sheepish, like children caught red-handed on their way to some mischief. This might be problematic. I really need Ezekiel to stay alive long enough to fulfill his part of the bargain. I also need to make sure I do not offend Noel by slaughtering the odd killer in his backyard without his license. This outing just became a lot more complicated. I sigh. I am being dishonest with myself. Even if I can guarantee Ezekiel¡¯s safety, there is no way for me to tolerate an independent predator on my loaned territory. It does not matter that the land, in fact, belongs to a Courtier by the name of Clara. It does not matter that she answers to Noel. I will not¡­ I cannot tolerate competition so close to MY DEN. ¡°My name is Ariane of the Nirari,¡± I finally admit. ¡°They call me Salazar. An honor to meet you,¡± the man replies with obvious relief. ¡°Tell me more about this killer of yours,¡± I request as I sit and invite him to join me. I am going to regret this. Chapter 99: The Vampire’s Best Tools. Marc-Antoine states with a knowing smile. His blade lightly taps my chest protector.ARROGANT. I warn, and the man lifts his hands in mock surrender. The local Roland Master-at-Arms adjusts his mask and brushes his intact white chest plate. I assume the guard he showed me and we resume our bout. the man remarks as I attempt, in vain, to smash his guard aside. I am faster and stronger than him, and so I could CRUSH HIM, but that would defeat the purpose of the exercise. With Noel mostly focused on brushing stone, his only other permanent neighbor, Marc-Antoine, was left bereft of a fencing partner and I was only too happy to oblige. Unfortunately, old habits die hard. The old Master realized rather quickly that I had absolutely no proficiency with a blade, at all. Or so he said. I believe I did a good job coasting so far. His comments keep fusing as he effortlessly keeps up with my bumbling. Marc-Antoine is relentless. Every attack I make is easily parried or dodged, while his are flowing strikes that meld into one another, all of them deadly. He also tends to swing into my own attacks on occasion, as well as get into my guard and other annoying maneuvers. Part of me is impressed by his technical expertise which goes beyond just moving well. His battle instincts are superb. Another part of me wants to pick up my spear and skewer him against the wall like a fat butterfly. I could do it by playing on my superior physical abilities. Unfortunately, he is right. Technique is my weak point, despite years of practice. I am not halfway bad, I am just contending with a man who has dedicated himself to the craft for several mortal lifespans with the obsession of the Rolands. Frustrating. Sparring is only part of the practice. Marc-Antoine also makes me work on slow dance-like moves that Nami had also ingrained into me. They allow me to appreciate the realm of possibilities the sword offers in terms of movements. Many of those are either aerial or use walls and other vertical surfaces for quick changes of direction which I believe was designed for vampires. I enjoy this part a lot as I find it relaxing. After one hour of practice, my improvised mentor raises a fist to signal the end of the session. I reply with limited amusement. I jokingly ask. Marc-Antoine¡¯s smile only widens. I mirror his good humor as we clean our blades and gear ourselves at his insistence. The sun is still high above and it will be another hour before I can leave the compound. I ask, a bit curious as to why only we practice. His smile falls off a bit. he admits with regret. I risk. To criticize your own host is always considered a faux pas, especially in our society. Recent developments have forced my hand, however. Marc-Antoine shrugs helplessly. I am forced to blink at this outrageous declaration. Nothing to explore? In a city of tens of thousands? This is not right. We should always seek new challenges. To stagnate is to fall. We are designed for the Hunt. The blademaster hesitates, perhaps aware that with this innocuous remark, he opened Pandora''s box. I ask, plunging into the breach. the other answer with some hesitation, They? I choose not to comment and move to my room to get changed. The Roland disinterest in ruling is not my most dire concern. Tonight, I have an appointment with my newest toy. I look down on the red brick building below. Salazar is on time, alone as requested and dressed with much more care than yesterday. He wears a well-tailored grey suit and his hair is combed back under a clean bowler hat. As I watch, he removes a silver watch from a coat pocket, which he nervously inspects. He turns left and right, his eyes scanning the deserted street. I grab my cloak and tug my dress between my legs before falling by his side to prevent the displaced air from making it flap. I have already been standing there for a second when Salazar turns again. ¡°NGAAAAA! JESUS, woman! Erm. Sorry! I did not see you there.¡± Silence. ¡°I mean, sorry milady, errrr, good evening. Would you like to go now? Aha.¡± ¡°Lead the way,¡± I order in a flat voice, though internally I am having an unexpected amount of fun. Salazar is jumpy. It makes me feel¡­ playful. We start walking south along the still busy streets of uniform brick buildings. Here, gas lights cast their warm glows from inside their glass prisons on pedestrians and passing carriages alike. Traditional clothing in drab colors abound, as befit the city¡¯s Quaker inheritance. The fire is not in the fashion but in the voices of the groups we come across. Philadelphia is host to the Second Bank of the United States, and the President ¡ª that arrogant loon! ¡ª has decided to defund it. The gall. The entire town is aflutter with snide remarks and consternated rebukes. My companion does not share in the general outrage, only casting looks left and right with the vigilance of someone who expects trouble. Slowly, I compress my aura until it almost disappears and walk slightly behind the tall man. We turn left into a deserted street. Salazar¡¯s shoulders tighten when, I assume, he only hears one set of steps. The mage flinches and turns frightfully, only to jump once more when our eyes meet. I stand at the edge of his personal space, slightly to the side, and make no effort to breathe nor blink. ¡°Yes?¡± I ask. ¡°Nothing! It¡¯s nothing. Sorry. We¡¯re not far now. From a stable I mean. The place is a bit farther off. Errr. We¡¯ll get a horse for the evening. You can ride horses, right?¡± ¡°I will find my own, not to worry.¡± ¡°Oh good, good. I know the stable owner. You can rent a horse there. I mean, I will pay for the horse and you can ride it. Would that be acceptable?¡± ¡°I will find my own,¡± I repeat curtly. ¡°Right. Right. It¡¯s not far.¡± We continue and this time, I slowly increase my aura while focusing on the man. As soon as he flinches, I reduce it again, then increase again. I am not being facetious; I am conducting a study on intimidation and destabilization methods on unaffiliated mages. The fact that I am having a tremendous amount of fun is merely a side-effect of my rigorous scientific investigation. It most definitely is. ¡°We¡¯re here,¡± Salazar mumbles as we leave the well-ordered row of buildings to more open grounds, dotted with both fields and warehouses in the distance. A long wood construction takes the side of the road here, and from there comes the familiar smell of equines and their dejections. A few neighs filter from the now-closed door and in front of them, a burly man sweeps the ground under the light of a pair of lanterns. He raises his bearded face as we approach and only relaxes when he recognizes my companion. I stay near the entrance and leave the man to his business. He approaches the stablemaster with a confident stride and the two of them clasp hands like old acquaintances. ¡°Salz, good to see you. Who¡¯s the bird?¡± ¡°Shhh!¡± the other man urges with a suddenly fearful glance. Both of them turn to my silhouette standing alone by the roadside. I keep a neutral face and, once more, make no particular effort to blink. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you later. You got a horse for me?¡± ¡°Straw isn¡¯t too tired and he¡¯s already saddled. Will he do?¡± the other whispers back. ¡°Fine.¡± Salazar follows the other man inside, the pair now equally nervous. He appears to hesitate at the threshold as he expected me to follow inside and I do not, but in the end, he decides to move forward. I do not even have to whistle for Metis to stop by my side. The noble steed comes for only three things: food, extreme violence leading to the acquisition of said food, and showing off. I easily sit side saddle on her back, with my gloved hands on my lap. And I wait. After a few minutes, one of the large doors of the barn open to let out the stablemaster, Salazar, and a dun mount of middling size. The men freeze when they see me, mouths open and everything. The gelding by their side lowers his head and turns it to the side, casting a fearful glance at my Metis in all her glory. My impatient friend stomps a hoof, and the unnaturally heavy noise breaks the men from their fearful reverie. The stablemaster decides that, perhaps, the entrance is sufficiently swept for the night. He pushes Salazar out and barricades himself with the loud thud of a plank resolutely shoved in place. The horse and rider pair is left stuck outside between a vampire and a hard place. ¡°Well?¡± I demand with as much queenly scorn as I can manage. From his face, I believe I am doing well. Metis assists with a low-pitch neigh of impatience that sends the pair on their way, posthaste. The mage hastily grabs a lantern then goes forth at the edge of a gallop, both himself and his mount focusing steadily on the path ahead as the heavy impact of nightmarish hooves leaves no doubt as to what follows. Such unexpected fun. What an amusing bouquet coming from my dear guide! Truly, our brand of humor does require a victim. Salazar rides south, then west towards Schuylkill. The night darkens as human sources of light grow far between. Soon, the lantern becomes a small halo of radiance surrounded on all sides by the encroaching shadows. ¡°Would¡­ would you mind riding by my side?¡± the man bleats pitifully. Don¡¯t mind if I do. I kick Metis forward. In a second, she has closed the distance. Salazar yelps and jumps as we burst from the night, then he struggles for a few seconds to keep his mount under control. ¡°Mother f¡ª Jesus!¡± The scowl dies on his face as our eyes meet. ¡°Ah, I wanted to inform you of a few things. Yes.¡± Silence. A pearl of sweat snails its way down the man¡¯s forehead. ¡°That is to say, there were three sites of attack. We will go to the most recent one which happened four days ago. And then the others afterward. At least, we think they are. We did not suspect a thing at first, you see? The first looked like a tragic accident.¡± ¡°We should start with the most recent one. The other sites are most likely too altered to reveal anything useful.¡± ¡°Sure.¡± Interesting. Once focused on his task, Salazar instantly calms down. Even his posture changes. ¡°Do you suspect anyone?¡± I finally ask. ¡°That is the problem. I suspect everyone and no one. The first deaths were a very tight-knit group of mages following a Christian ethos, while the second victims were a couple belonging to a loose alliance of practitioners from south Germany. The last group were blood mages, or close enough, hence why I wanted to inquire about Ezekiel¡¯s whereabouts the night of the murder.¡± ¡°From observation, he was probably holed in his moldy basement, dressed in opera prop rejects,¡± I deadpan. Salazar laughs, then turns it into a cough with a measuring glance in my direction. Perhaps I should not make light of my teacher in front of his rival. I just¡­ do not feel the kind of kinship I had with many of the other mortals I have worked with. Ezekiel and I are bound in a professional relationship. That is all. Nevertheless, I admit, I have behaved in an uncourteous manner. I will not criticize him publicly any further. ¡°In any case,¡± my companion continues after a pause, ¡°none of those groups were even remotely allied. I expect that the culprit is either an independent agent or a splinter group. They took great pain in erasing all tracks, therefore their purpose is not to sow discord by planting false evidence. My suspicion is that the victims were used in a blood ritual.¡± ¡°On site?¡± I ask with surprise. ¡°It is possible and, in fact, the best option. Criminals and civilians alike severely underestimate the difficulty of carrying bodies across a populated area unchallenged.¡± ¡°I see.¡± As I say that, we finally arrive. In the middle of a fallow field stand the remains of barn-like structures, or at least it appears to be as the building has been devastated by a fire of great intensity. Only a few blackened beams remain pointing skyward in uneven clumps, like the rotten teeth of an evil witch. The roof is entirely collapsed in a solid pile of coal covered in soot-stained snow. The silence is deafening, I step down from Metis and slowly circle the wreck. There is not a single aura to be found here. The ground, trampled by a great many steps, offers nothing of value until I come across an anomaly. On the side and to the left, I find a secondary pile of ashes linked to the main house by a snake of darkened ground. I lean forward until my nose is close enough for the frosted grass to tickle. A whiff is enough. The heavy smell of pine remains over that of charred vegetation. Terebinthine, or turpentine as it is known. Turpentine can be used as an accelerant, a substance that increases the speed of a chemical process. In this case, it would be the fire. Whoever started this arson was meticulous, but also terribly inefficient. It would have been much simpler and safer to cover the walls then ignite multiple locations at once, unless they were so afraid of discovery that they had to leg it at the first spark. This is quite curious. I find nothing else noticeable and return to Salazar who had been blinking owlishly from inside his little safe place in a foolish attempt to locate me. I, of course, approach him from his blind side. ¡°Salazar.¡± ¡°Eep!¡± ¡°Were there any wards in place inside the barn?¡± ¡°Dammit¡­ Yes. Yes, there were but they were purged in the fire just like most of anything. That is why we highly suspect someone from the magical community. A group of mundanes would not have known how to break through without causing an alarm. This place might be remote but the first one was not. It was a school, with houses around. A fight would have attracted attention. Especially a firefight.¡± ¡°Hence why it could not be the order of Gabriel?¡± ¡°I am not discounting them yet, though there have been no signs of them showing up. They have been known to use stealth when convenient. I just find it hard to believe that they could successfully kill a dozen people without alerting everyone around.¡± ¡°Hmm. What about that cottage?¡± I ask, pointing at a solid stone farm a few hundred yards away. ¡°What about it?¡± ¡°Did you interrogate the person there?¡± Salazar has the grace to act embarrassed. ¡°We did not think it necessary. I mean, the building is rather far¡­¡± he replies somewhat defensively. ¡°Well let¡¯s give it a try, at least,¡± I suggest sweetly and the man hurries to nod along. We walk to the isolated house and easily spot the light of candles from what appears to be the living room. The door looks solid, and locked tight. ¡°Make the lantern brighter,¡± I order in a low voice. ¡°You can¡¯t see?¡± ¡°Not for us, for the one who lives inside,¡± I hiss with annoyance. Salazar obeys and I knock on the door. Inside, a breath hitches. One inhabitant. A woman, from the footsteps. I pull Salazar back a bit and raise his arm so that we are well-lit. I then channel the Hastings essence. My posture changes immediately. My back bends a bit, and I cross my arms protectively under my chest. From unmoving, I let my eyes dart left and right in a typical prey fashion. I allow my composure to crumble until what is left is a scared young woman looking for answers, though she should know better. The person inside inspects us for a few seconds through a thick glass window. This is the moment of truth. If she refuses to open the door, there is not much I can do, and yet I remain confident. The hinges groan and we find ourselves face to face with a woman in her forties wielding a fire poker and a mighty scowl. As expected, curiosity has triumphed over common sense. We do not speak. I let her finish her inspection while Salazar is apparently too busy gawping at me and my change of behavior. The Hastings essence guides me into regular breaths, shifts and other quirks that make a living person more relatable. I can even tell that my cheeks have reddened under the influence of the biting cold. ¡°Who are youse, and what the hell do you want?¡± She is messy but clean. Her clothes are unadorned and chosen for comfort rather than for style. She is still the kind of mature beauty that Loth would go after were it not for her open hostility. A widow, I¡¯d wager, or someone who was at the losing end of a social conflict and ended up a pariah. Our eyes meet and I taste her emotions with a light touch. Fear, anger, frustration, curiosity. I need that last one the most. ¡°Sorry to bother you at this late hour ma¡¯am. My name is Ariane and I lost my brother a few nights ago. In there,¡± I finish, pointing at the blackened husk of the barn. Oooh yes, the ambers of curiosity are fanned. I do not even need to push. ¡°People are lying to me about what happened to him. They say it was an accident but it is all nonsense. I know it is late, but would you mind answering a few questions?¡± Without missing a beat, my interlocutor turns to the mage at my side and points the poker at him in a vaguely threatening fashion. S~?a??h the N?v?lFir?.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. ¡°And who is this?¡± she asks, her suspicion surging to the top. Salazar is still looking at my meek figure as if I had grown a pair of horns. ¡°My cousin. I took him with me for safety, you understand. Please do not mind him. He is a bit¡­. touched in the head,¡± I deadpan. The experienced caster¡¯s expression flinches, anger at being called a simpleton warring in his mind with the realization that breaking character would have immediate and unfortunate consequences. ¡°Hellow!¡± he eventually says with a forced smile. ¡°I see,¡± the woman replies before returning her attention to me, ¡°you said you had questions?¡± ¡°Yes. If it¡¯s not too much bother. I would have come tomorrow but time is of the essence, if indeed this was not the accident the authorities claim it is.¡± ¡°Yes, they would, wouldn¡¯t they? Addled-brained gossipers and cowards, the lot of them.¡± Ah, excellent. Hostility successfully redirected. ¡°Well, come on in and hurry, ¡®fore all the heat is gone! Quickly!¡± I step in and allow myself a smile of pride as Salazar closes the door behind us. Our host drags us through a corridor that separates what I guess is the workshop from the living part. From the rolls of fabric stored on planks against the wall, I assume that she is a seamstress. We turn right through a creaking door and into the lit space we saw from afar. The room we now stand on clearly started as a kitchen until she dragged in a bed. One comfortable and well-used couch lies close to a dying fire with a book and a ceramic cup of tea placed on a small table beside. The walls are covered in shelves filled with pots, jars, books, and trinkets. The smell of human and stew saturates the air in a mix that is not entirely unpleasant. It feels cozy. This is the heart of the house. I can feel power as ancient and fundamental as crosses and the itself pulsing softly. One word from our host and I will be flung out, swatted like a fly by the very nature of locale. I never harbored any ill will towards the prickly woman. Even if I did, I would hesitate now under the influence of this¡­ I do not know what to call it. I am a guest and a guest is respectful. Yes, that is the proper way of things. ¡°I did not catch your name,¡± I remark. ¡°You can call me Paulina,¡± the woman grumbles while removing piles of folded covers and clothes from two small stools. She frees the seats and puts them against the table. Salazar attempts to help but is quickly dissuaded by a murderous glance. In the end, he leans against a window. ¡°Care for some tea? It¡¯s not good but it¡¯s hot.¡± ¡°I would love some,¡± I reply, causing another jolt of surprise in my companion. Even if I could not drink, any vampire worth their salt can pretend to sip with consummate grace. Clearly, Salazar has wrong expectations. The woman silently hands me a large chipped mug filled half-way with steaming liquid. I grasp the body of the container with two hands, feeling the warmth travel through the fabric of my gloves. The scent of black tea travels in wafts and I take a quick sip. The piping hot liquid almost scalds my tongue and leaves behind a sweet aftertaste. ¡°Honey?¡± I ask. ¡°My only indulgence,¡± the older woman grunts. I cast a quick glance at the cover of the book she is reading. A collection of romantic poetry, nothing scandalous. ¡°Thank you. Would you be comfortable answering a few questions for me?¡± ¡°Yes, I suppose,¡± she replies with apparent impatience, but I know better. Her posture is attentive and with the bond between us deepening, I can taste more. She is defensive and cautious as the poker still by her side easily reveals. Beneath, however, are the standard traits of the exiled. Loneliness. A need for validation. Paulina¡¯s education is respectable if the rows of books are any indication, and she appears rather distrustful. I therefore judge that showing proper diction and a bit of spine would endear her enough to share what she knows. ¡°I understand that my brother gathered here relatively often?¡± ¡°Yes, twice per week without fail. He and his friends would come with platters of food and spend the evening together doing whatever it is they did. Do you know what this was about?¡± she asks with a challenge. ¡°Not exactly, but I doubt that it was anything illegal. He never lacked for money.¡± ¡°What was his name?¡± ¡°James. James Dalton,¡± I reply immediately. The core of lying is to create another truth rather than improvising your way through the conversation. That way, there are less opportunities for contradictions. James is one of my go-to names for male relatives. As for the name Dalton¡­ I had not used it in a long time. Perhaps I am growing lonely. ¡°James, huh. Sorry for your loss,¡± she says, and I realize that with the help of the Hastings essence, I had revealed enough weakness and grief for her to latch on. ¡°Not your fault. In any case, were you here the night he¡­ the night the barn burnt?¡± ¡°Yes I was, but I feel the need to apologize. I know very little. By the time I woke up, the fire was already raging outside.¡± ¡°You sleep in this room, correct?¡± I say and point at the small cot. ¡°Yes. In wintertime, warming the entire house is wasteful since my Henry died. I just stay down here.¡± ¡°Your windows face the barn. Were you woken up by the light?¡± ¡°No. The windows are not large enough and the bed is low so the glow never shone into my face. It¡¯s the noise that did it. Their roof collapsed.¡± ¡°I see. Did anything coming from the barn ever wake you up before?¡± Paulina considers the question seriously for a few seconds, clearly showing that those meetings have been going on for some time. ¡°Maybe twice last year during celebrations. They were obviously quite drunk, including the women.¡± She frowns with disapproval, but then her expression softens. ¡°It was not much. Just loud conversations and raucous laughs, and it did not last. They were mostly a quiet bunch and I am not one to pry so I left them alone. Why? You¡¯re thinking of something,¡± she adds. I can share that much. ¡°The accident did not have a single survivor and I learned yesterday that they found the bodies throughout the house. I find it unlikely that not a single person could escape. Even if they were all asleep and slowly choked on smoke, the people closest to the ground should have survived long enough to escape.¡± ¡°You suspect foul play.¡± ¡°I do not suspect,¡± I correct her, ¡°I know there was foul play. The fact that nothing woke you up shows that they did not scream. They were all probably dead by the time the fire claimed them.¡± I darken my expression as Paulina gulps her tea to ease the tension. ¡°It could have been someone on the inside.¡± ¡°Or a group of bandits,¡± Paulina adds with some alarm, ¡°do you think¡­¡± ¡°I doubt that they were chosen at random. You are probably safe,¡± I reassure her. ¡°I pray that you are right,¡± the woman finally adds. This is all she knew, and it confirmed that whatever killed them did so through successful infiltration, one way or another. After a few more remarks, I take my leave with a quiet Salazar in tow. We head back to the horses and ride to the next site, as planned. ¡°You are not what I expected,¡± the man finally remarks as I ponder on what we learnt. ¡°What did you expect then?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not sure. More¡­ grandstanding and ordering around. More putting that woman under your spell and dominating her into telling her everything you want to know.¡± ¡°A more vampiric display of might?¡± ¡°Yes. That.¡± I could ignore him, but in the end decide not to. As amusing as it is to tease the mage, I must not forget that he is an ally in our quest to hunt a dangerous foe. I must not let my fun stand in the way of efficiency. Or at least, not too much. ¡°Power is a crutch. Use it too often and you forget how to operate without it,¡± I finally explain. This remark is as valid for me as ever. Such an occurrence would never happen in my territory. I would use my vast network of agents and informants to track every possible culprit, resorting to extreme measures to stop them before they could claim a second victim. I would unleash werewolves in the streets (in human form), and have mage scry every pebble. I would bring all my resources to bear. Here, cut off from most of them, I am forced once again to rely on myself as well as unreliable agents. I welcome the practice. Time honing one¡¯s skill is never wasted. ¡°You were also much less, err, vampiry,¡± Salazar continues, passing a hand in his spiky black hair. I notice that he looks a bit miffed. In answer, I channel Hastings essence once more and, this time, assume the persona of the bashful young country lass, intimidated by the handsome and savvy city man before me. ¡°Would¡­ would this be better, Mr. Salazar?¡± I ask in a sweet voice and I shily glance down. The man recoils. ¡°You know what, that¡¯s even worse!¡± he complains. I stop my impersonation and return to my old glacial self with a knowing smile that I make sure he sees. ¡°You know what I truly am. If I wore a different skin, you would find it disturbing.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t mean that literally, do you? The wearing a skin part?¡± If my eyes roll back any farther up my skull, I shall soon see down my own throat. ¡°Please be patient with me, yes? I am not some century-old aristocrat of the night,¡± the man protests. Hah. I have never heard us be called that, but I suppose it is fitting. Also, he thinks that I am a century old. I am wise and mature beyond my years. Even the mortals can tell. ¡°Enough of this,¡± I reluctantly say to stop his flattery, ¡°we have two more sites to visit. Lead the way!¡± It takes us three more hours to inspect everything. The couple was killed in a shed at the back of their property while the second group was indeed slain in a school. The way the fire started was exactly the same, except the first time where the distance is significantly shorter. ¡°There is not much to see,¡± Salazar declares, mid-yawn. ¡°On the contrary, there is plenty to understand. I do believe it is high time we met the vampire in charge of this location. The murder of the couple happened on the master¡¯s territory. The two others belong to a Courtier named Lydia, unless I am mistaken.¡± ¡°You need her permission to act?¡± ¡°I could bypass her and go directly to Noel, though that would be discourteous. We will visit her soon. First, we will need a little bit of magical and mundane assistance and you are going to help me.¡± Chapter 100: Surprise! Ezekiel clasps his hands and frowns in an attempt to look more respectable.¡°Following a, ahem, rather forceful insistence from one of the members of our little coterie¡­¡± Three pairs of eyes turn to me. ¡°¡­I shall introduce the arcane mysteries of rituals slightly ahead of schedule. Now, Terrence, please remind us how we normally get the symbolic element of casting.¡± ¡°From the prepared circuits in our own gauntlets, or I guess you could slap some on the ground with a bit of chalk.¡± ¡°Yes indeed,¡± Ezekeil answers, bristling at the informal answer, ¡°and what are the limits of such methods, Margaret?¡± ¡°They place the burden of visualization on the will of the caster, forcing her to exert herself tremendously,¡± the dark-haired girl answers with the solemn voice of a bishop at mass. ¡°Correct. You cannot glance at your gauntlet to look at the runes for help, especially not while in the middle of intensive tasks.¡± Such as running away from me. ¡°And so, the gauntlet and its runes are a convenient yet demanding tool. Rituals, by comparison, allow us to cast spells of great powers provided we have¡­ what, Ariane?¡± ¡°Time, material, location, and company,¡± I automatically answer, quoting Loth. ¡°Company?¡± ¡°Some spells demand several practitioners working in concert. Like Skargard artillery spells. You need three people for that if you want more than a few shots.¡± ¡°Yes, yes indeed. Hmm. We will address such spells at a later date. A much later date, as they require a very high degree of training, compatibility, and trust between the casters.¡± We all look at each other without comment. ¡°Anyway,¡± Ezekiel continues with some embarrassment, ¡°you are correct. A ritual requires a proper surface to inscribe the rune. The materials themselves are quite important as well because using chalk will barely give you an edge. Time is, of course, necessary if you want to write down more than three symbols. A ritual is therefore demanding, but they make casting a spell significantly easier. Any spell with more than twelve symbols will require a circle, even for the more experienced mages.¡± I bet Frost could do twenty and look you in the eye with a smirk as he cast it. Not to mention Semiramis. Ezekiel knows a lot of theory but few people. ¡°It is still a bit early, but you have all been diligent and I think a small break is in order. We shall head outside to a proper ritual location.¡± Terrence raises his hand, droopy eyes widened in apprehension. ¡°When you mean outside, you do not mean the city proper, right?¡± ¡°No, Terrence. We will go to an abandoned barn a few hundred yards away. I merely wish to limit the risks of our living quarters catching fire.¡± ¡°Okay¡­¡± I am slightly annoyed by the use of that detestable acronym, and so I decide to tease the lad a bit as we climb up the stairs and out into the empty alley. ¡°What is the matter Terrence, afraid that some horrible fiendish creature will descend upon you?¡± I ask with a bit of fang. ¡°Not at all,¡± he deadpans, ¡°merely that I must call her mother and listen to her whine until the rooster crows.¡± I smile at that. Wit! From that bore! Perhaps I judged him too hastily. ¡°You know, I could rid you of her, for the right price¡­¡± I whisper in a sulky voice. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I must refuse. I would not want to deny the devil his last few years of tranquility.¡± Alright, that was not bad. I allow myself a chuckle. Terrence and I close the procession as we four cross our way through the abandoned district, with Margaret sometimes casting an incredulous glance backward. I realize that I only look slightly older than them, and it was apparently enough for the socially deprived young man to form a bond. We must be quite the show, them in crimson robes and me in my more traditional blue one. I suspect that any pedestrian witnessing the moment and trying to guess which one of us might be the blood-drinking immortal monster might act on false assumptions. In any case, it does not take long for Ezekiel to lead us to a derelict factory. The older man fiddles with the rusty lock protecting the gate into the inner courtyard. He finally manages to coax the thing open and we make our way through piles of rotten crates and broken supplies. The building itself is pockmarked bricks and misery, slouched like an old bar fly under a filthy coat of grayish snow. Only after we have entered its innards does Ezekiel allow himself some light and my companions stop stumbling around. The smell of mildew had, outside, been tolerable. ¡°Jesus, what a dump,¡± Margaret swears, finally breaking her queen of darkness persona. ¡°Yes, well, at least we do not risk collateral damage,¡± Ezekiel replies defensively. ¡°Except on ourselves,¡± I finish. I can survive a falling building, but between the frail mage and a support beam, I would bet on the harder contestant. ¡°I assure you that I have used these facilities before and we are quite safe. Here,¡± our fearless teacher says as he goes around the derelict building, lighting lanterns. They cast dancing shadows on the walls as they come to life one by one. In the center of the empty floor sits a silvery circle dug into the grimy floor. Contrary to my expectations, the interior is clean besides some dust and the terrible smell fades away from the continuous influx of fresh air coming from the still-open door at our back. ¡°The circle you see will serve as a base for the following ritual. You will draw the remaining symbols of the classical mage bolt using the paste you will find in the container by the entrance, then cast the spell at this target.¡± At the end of the factory, Ezekiel has painted a series of large concentric circles with a bull¡¯s eye in the middle. I can tell from the numerous impacts marring the wall that we are not the first to test the old wreck¡¯s structural integrity. ¡°Let us start the exercise. Margaret, you go first. Do you remember the runes?¡± The young woman straightens her back and marches through the dust like a duchess at her own wedding. She picks up a pot of paint and brush and marches right back. The impression is only slightly ruined by her difficulties opening said pot. Eventually, she applies a thick paste inside the circle forming the four necessary runes for a bolt: power, momentum, projectile, and direction. They are all rather basic and it does not take long for her to succeed, then link them together according to the western standard runes of inscription. Power comes first, then she links momentum and direction together as a secondary principle with direction as the catalyst. She delicately places the pot and brush on the side and stands in the middle of her work with a hint of worry. ¡°You are doing well, Margaret. Just cast,¡± Ezekiel encourages her. She turns to us and we all show signs of support. Reinvigorated, the apprentice witch raises a naked hand and bellows: ¡°Bolt!¡± Her croaking voice does not prevent her success. A translucent bolt of force erupts from the edge of the circle, distorting the air in a wide area. A thud sounds as the missile impacts the far wall and more dust rains down from the rafters. The mortals sneeze. Ezekiel trots over to open the door of the far end to create a draft of fresh air before tuberculosis and the knows what else wipes out the newest generation of mages in one fell swoop. I have rarely been so glad not to have to breathe. Ezekiel¡¯s foresight is proven when he steps to the circle and peels off the now solidified paste, removing the symbols cleanly and easily. We will each have the opportunity to work with a pristine setting. Terrence is next. He appears much more worried at first, and yet he calms down and focuses as soon as the tracing begins. He takes no break between drawing and casting. The pot is barely down before he, too, successfully impacts the target. We clap as soon as our arms are no longer covering our heads. Finally, my turns come. S~?a??h the ?ov?l?ir?.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. ¡°Hold, Ariane. I know that casting does not come so naturally to you, and I made some inquiries. I believe that you would perform better if we were to add a blood rune to your construct.¡± ¡°I thought we would work without blood magic?¡± I ask, a bit surprised. ¡°Indeed, and this will be valid in the future. In this case, we will make an exception. It might take too long for you to activate all four runes and the purpose of the exercise is to experience ritual magic anyway. Adding a blood rune will bring the spell closer to¡­ the nature of your condition,¡± the man finishes hesitantly. Ah, I see. I was repeatedly told that vampires take on blood magic more easily than its less sacrificial counterpart. It would be unfortunate to limit myself to learning what I am good at, but for the sake of the exercise¡­ I suppose. ¡°Remember that power is no substitute for technique and effort.¡± ¡°I know,¡± I inform the man somewhat drily. I take the brush and step in the circle. I trace the runes at four times the speed of the mortals, drawing both on my control and my drawing experience. Power. Momentum. Projectile. Direction. I finish and place the pot on the side. The last part will be done without a brush. I pull my sleeve up to reveal a pale forearm, place a talon against an artery and slice deeply. The two young ones hiss in sympathy but I ignore them. The pain is nothing compared to¡­ I push the memory away and smear two fingertips with dark blood. Tracing the last rune is a time-consuming and tedious process, not least because I need to add ¡®paint¡¯ several times. Eventually, the work is done. The blood rune is visually different from the rest. Power is square and undaunted. Momentum is lithe and spiked like a lightning fork, but blood is alive. It twists organically like some nightmarish being. I feel kinship with this one. It was drawn from another script, more ancient and primal than the well-ordered code now used by astronomers and mathematicians. It speaks of dark caves lit by a tentative fire while a storm roars outside, of defeats and victories. Of squelched organs. I expose my still butchered arm and feel the ritual ease the spell into my mind. Power from blood. Momentum and projectile from power. Direction given to the birthed arrow. A trail of dark fluid snakes up from the jagged tear into a needle-thin dart. I feel more pain now, deeper, more intimate as the aura is forcefully dragged from my essence. The arrow is me and from me and it awaits my will. Never since casting that first darkness spell have I felt magic click so easily. I understand blood on a fundamental level that no mage can ever hope to attain, no matter how hard they study. The ancient power is there, for a price. One I have paid many times. ¡°Blood bolt.¡± This time air is not displaced, and the noise is not a blunt sound of impact, but the ghastly crunch of material brought over the edge of its mechanical resistance. There, in the bull¡¯s eye, now stands a minuscule hole. Beyond that is the black of the night. I lower my hand. The power is spent. ¡°And this is the might of well-executed blood magic,¡± Ezekiel ends in a satisfied voice. ¡°This is just plain stupid! How can we hope to stand against her kind with that pathetic little blast you showed us? We should learn blood magic too,¡± the girl whines. ¡°You will learn magic my way and at my speed, Margaret. First, it will take you years of practice to wield blood with such mastery, and second, if you think it will be enough to save you from a vampire, then I¡¯m afraid that you are sorely mistaken. Enough! We are here now, and you will keep casting until I give you leave.¡± ¡°This is just unfair¡­¡± the woman eventually grumbles. ¡°My presence is giving you the wrong sort of expectations, Margaret. You are infinitely more likely to face a bandit or an enemy practitioner than you are to face any one of us. Besides, Ezekiel is correct. You do not want to fight us, even with magic,¡± I explain in a rare attempt to better our relationship. ¡°If you are so bloody strong, why do you even learn magic to begin with?¡± ¡°Given the same choice as me, would you not?¡± I answer with patience. Margaret stops to consider, her black brows furrowed in annoyance until she comes to a realization. Her expression softens then, until the naked ambition fades to reveal the rather young mind under it. ¡°It¡¯d be a shame not to.¡± ¡°Precisely. Magic is a versatile tool. Combat spells are but a small part of it.¡± With this, we return our attention and efforts to ritual casting with one major difference. As each student painstakingly redraw his runes, the other leans towards me like a Florentine conspirator. ¡°Is it true that you can slap a man¡¯s head off without blinking?¡± ¡°Yes, we do not need to blink.¡± ¡°Can vampires get erections?¡± ¡°Get your mind out of the gutter, Margaret. Also, yes.¡± ¡°If you only drink blood, does it mean you only have to pee?¡± ¡°We are magical creatures, Terrence. We do not ¡®digest¡¯ .¡± ¡°If you wake up at twilight, does it mean that you can wake up inside a steep valley then run up the mountain and then it¡¯s day again so you fall asleep?¡± ¡°I have no idea.¡± ¡°Is it true that you can slip under a steel door?¡± ¡°Technically yes, but the steel door will not survive the experience.¡± And so on and so forth. Eventually, the questions tarry as the pair starts stumbling around like drunkards, yawning terribly. Ezekiel wisely decides to call it a night and we escort them back to their quarter where they promptly collapse. ¡°A moment of your time, Ariane. I have prepared what you asked. Are you quite sure you want to proceed that way? I could still come with you.¡± ¡°Do not concern yourself. I have a plan.¡± And now is the time to implement it. Mireille of the Rolands is tall, with wavy black hair and piercing green eyes that remind me of a discount Lady Moor. She could be the old harpy¡¯s plain and less bitchy cousin. She wears a sensible dress the color of pine needles, of thick fabric, padded to ward off the winter air. She is not submissive. I would say that she acts carefully polite as she sits on her throne-like chair in the middle of a cozy boudoir. Mireille is a Courtier and her aura is not fully under control. It sometimes surges and bursts like a bubbling pot. my host asks with a frown. The light of her hearth covers one side of her face like carefully applied powder while the other remains deathly pale. Her concern appears genuine. I already explained the reasons for my involvement. Mireille accepted my explanations without comments and with her undivided attention. I am pleased that she does not share Noel¡¯s apathy. I interrupt her. she answers with obvious surprise. I nod and take a compass-like contraption from a satchel by my side. It is clearly magical in nature and emits a faint aura. Mireille is suddenly more animated. She tilts her head, eyes unblinking. I do not. Torran let me have the lead on a few Hunts and I am not sure how he managed to shelf his pride. She is weak, or at least, weaker. I took the initiative. How DARE she¡­ But no. I must be patient. I grab my cloak and fasten it as Mireille equips herself with a short cutlass. We leave her small mansion, passing a few maids on the way. The atmosphere is relaxed and the mortals barely spare us a glance. Business as usual. Outside, I activate my tracking spell. The construct awakes and the needle spins once in its glass before settling west. Mireille and I walk on foot through fields and forests, leaving no trace behind and requiring no light. We are two ghosts in the night. It takes us an hour before the air grows wet and the smell of frigid water hints at the appearance of the Schuylkill. The forest grows denser now and we are forced to circle around snow-covered thickets until we find a path cut through the vegetation. Barely larger than a deer trail, it carries us deeper until the sky is crisscrossed by layers of naked branches. We soon emerge onto open ground and the river now flows before us, placid in all its murky glory. A single chair made from severed logs and rotten twine thrones in its middle. Empty bottles line its feet in single file like goslings following their mother. A fishing spot. I say in a low voice. We continue with some difficulty. Undergrowth as dense as this one is not easy to navigate, especially now with the biting cold making every twig a rigid claw waiting to shatter. There are no thick trunks we could latch onto and jump either. Fortunately, fate is on our side. The line of trees recedes in favor of waist-high grass growing on uneven ground. We hop from tuft to tuft for a few minutes longer and finally arrive in view of our destination. A few dozen yards away, at the river¡¯s bend, someone built a tiny misshapen lodge hanging over the flowing waters. The main floor is at the top of a small mound, then a covered corridor dips towards the river and a small room that will be washed down at nature¡¯s first tamper tantrum. Not a light in sight, as I expected. I offer. I reply with conviction. We approach from the low ground and I force a shutter open. The snap of flimsy wood causes no reaction. I climb in, Courtier in tow. ¡°Aha!¡± I cannot help but declaim with Binglesque glee. The interior of the room is filled and well-used, belying its decrepit appearance. Turpentine saturates the air in a thick cloud coming from three barrels stashed in a corner. Other supplies are separated in orderly piles on the swept ground. A single desk sits against the wall to the right of the passage leading up. There are no lanterns. I idly comment. Mireille observes, I step forward with confidence and immediately dodge low and to the left as her cutlass misses my head by a finger. I turn and claw her across the throat before the return hit. Black blood spurts from the wound. Black blood no longer spurts from the wound. She healed. I stop the blade with an armguard. It bites into the steel sheet with a resonating clang. Fast. I dodge under a swipe and my return strike eviscerates her. Once more, her wounds close at an alarming speed, as if time itself lost its grip on her body. The next hit slides against my left shoulder, opening a long furrow. Need to focus. Instead of falling back, I push forward. She gives up on the reach advantage and starts using her weapon as an overly large knife. She is relentless and ignores my counterstrikes. No Courtier should heal that fast from a Master¡¯s talon. the woman shrieks. Her aura buckles like a wild thing. Strikes and blows rain upon my defenses as she has little care for defense. I focus on blocking and deflecting, managing to land a few wounds myself though they quickly heal. Eventually, they take their toll on her mind if not on her body, and she pulls back. We glare at each other. she sputters, furious. Mireille steps back, eyes darting to every corner of the room. The fear she shows is proof of an erratic behavior, and yet she does not feel like a rogue. I think I understand now. She freezes as she realizes that she acted on instinct and the price thereof. I smile. Our kind has a visceral reaction to our lairs being breached. I expected her to act as soon as she realized that she was made. What I did not expect was for her to accompany me here. My original plan was to wait for her outside of her mansion, then follow when she would inevitably come to erase the evidence of her actions. She might not be breaking the Accords, but she certainly does not have Noel¡¯s authorization to slay his people on such a large scale. Like most successful plans, mine relied on accounting for many possibilities. Confronting me meant breaking the Accords. Erasing the proofs meant that I would catch her red-handed and report her to Noel. Cutting and running would have solved my problems. Finally, turning the tables by using a scapegoat would have been countered by the many proofs I have collected and the oaths I could take. In every case, I can swear on my honor that I saw her sneak into the killer¡¯s hole and that she had the key. It would have been enough for a thorough interrogation. I continue, ¡° I am done listening. I must admit that playing the polite student for so long has been taxing on my patience. I have a right to unwind a bit on Mireille since she has been quite naughty. Truly, no one could reasonably deny me this moment of cathartic relaxation. Still smiling, I grab the room¡¯s entire desk, claws dug deep, before swinging it around and into the charging Courtier. ¡°Oof!¡± The piece of furniture smacks her across the torso and propels her into the wall like a fancy pin. I grab the improvised disciplinary implement with both hands and swat it down with gusto. She will heal. Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack. The desk breaks apart at the last strike. Mireille crawls away, left leg shattered. Since I am not a complete animal, I seize her right foot to send her crashing into the far wall. Interestingly, Mireille and I should be about the same age. We do not, however, share the same experience. I grab her by the wrist and arc her over my head, ending the pretty display of acrobatic dance in a crate of ceramic containers. They shatter on impact with a satisfying crunch. I feel better already. I allow the poor Courtier to extract herself from the debris. She sits back down, hands raised. I demand. For a moment, Mireille¡¯s face twists with an expression of the hottest rage. I do not punish her for it. She is not truly defying me, she just has difficulties letting go of her treasure. I can tolerate her taking a minute to bury her ambitions. she scoffs, This sentence stops her. Deep in her rational mind, she must be aware of the cost of power. This time, her hesitation provokes me. I grab by the neck and dig two claws in her tender flesh, bringing her face next to mine. I stop mid hiss and force myself to relax. Spirit is one thing. Defiance when you are defeated is another. I drop her unceremoniously. I want to see her prize now. The covered corridor leads to the upper floor you would expect in any hovel: a small bed, a cooking spot, a pantry. I lift the wooden frame to reveal the passage beneath. A few steps dug into the rock lead to a sort of cave lit by a single lantern. At the bottom of the stairs, I find a Likaean boy, a cot, a stained bucket and a single lantern letting out a pathetic glow. The frail youth cradles the source of light like a drowning man a buoy and I cannot help but feel a deep resentment towards Mireille whom I left mostly intact on the floor. This is not our way. We defang our foes by turning them into cattle, or we kill them, or we come to an agreement. Only personal vengeance should justify that horrid treatment. Not greed. Never greed. She should not have drained him like a leech, night after night to grow stronger. We are not leeches. We are hunters. The boy has very dark hair and abyssal eyes, showing just one little star of interest as he spots me. But soon, the realization of what I am turns hope into despair. A single heavy sigh shakes his skeletal frame and his gaze turns back to the glimmer cradled in his filthy hands. I approach slowly and kneel by his side. But I do not speak. Because I now realize my predicament. I want the kid to be free. My friendship with Sinead has changed my outlook on liberty and Nami¡¯s presence has only served to reinforce this impression. I am not some champion of light. I merely believe that mortals and other creatures shine the most when they can be themselves, and it is at their brightest that they are the most delicious. Ethics and gastronomy rolled in one ideal: freedom. Truly, I am a benevolent being. But I cannot save this one. If I bring Mireille to Noel and take the Likaean for myself, she could share his existence with her clan as revenge or in the hope of lessening her punishment. If I kill Mireille, I will likely be found out and at the very least be banished, my captive taken as reparation. The repercussions of this decision could hurt me diplomatically for decades to come. No matter what, I will condemn this child to slavery. I stare at the tiny being. He still ignores my presence. I must kill him. This is the only salvation I can grant. It feels wrong. My inner rules forbid me from killing a child, though would that not be mercy in this case? Sometimes, death is preferable to the alternative. Especially for one as young-looking as this one. He is already broken. Sometimes, I must break rules in order to¡­ Oh. I am a complete idiot, am I not? When we are faced with contradictory rules and promises, we keep those we deem the most important. I step away from the kid and climb back up, then walk down the covered stairs down to the room where I left Mireille. I smile at her pleasantly, and she looks more terrified at my expression than when I had my claws at her throat. I step closer until the symbolism of my standing form above hers leaves no room to interpretation. She looks at me with narrowed eyes. It takes us only ten minutes to reach a compromise. By the time we are done, Mireille has seemingly accepted that the child was lost to her in any case and that it would be better to avoid punishment. I keep an option open to add terms after consulting with Salim, in case she finds a loophole, in exchange for no additional reparations. All in all, I think I covered myself well. When I step down from the ladder, he completely ignores me until I start speaking. The Likaean language comes slowly and haltingly. I have to think hard to get the right inflection and I am limited by my lack of information. Should I use the official vocabulary of declamation? Or a more polite greeting between unknown parties? Or should I assume that my rescue is as young as he looks and try for a more familiar tone to comfort him? In the end, I use the most neutral tone I can because I want to avoid mistakes. ¡°Greetings, young one. My name is Ariane. I associate with the Court of Summer. May I ask for your name?¡± I say in Likaean. As the words cross my lips, their truth is carried in our small basement by the meaning I impart to them. My name really is Ariane. I truly am associated with the Court of Summer and its most disreputable prince. The weight of the sentence falls upon us with finality, and with it, hope returns. Slowly, the desperate mask of the boy melts to reveal the pain underneath. Tears flow from his eyes in great droplets as he grabs my arms with surprising strength and lets out a panicked babble. His voice is young and musical though made raspy by dehydration. I let him talk, too fast for me to understand, until he stops to catch his breath. It gave me the time to prepare an answer. ¡°I apologize, young sir, my words are that of a child. You must speak slowly.¡± Likaean is as infinitely complex as it is versatile. Young sir refers to a noble son of unknown origin. Child indicates that I have issues associating sounds with meaning. Sinead¡¯s book mentions that the most powerful sovereigns can create gardens and charnel pits by declaiming poetry. The child slows down and his eyes aim up, to freedom. I silently hoist him over my shoulder and flinch at the stench of his unwashed body. The trip up is short, and he soon stands outside the main door, looking up the cloud-covered sky. I use dry wood and a bit more terebenthine than is wise to start a fire and haul him back in as soon as he gets the shivers. Snow and an iron basin are enough for an improvised bath. I wash his hair while he shoves syrupy apples down his throat with wild abandon. ¡°What about my captor?¡± the boy asks after he is clean, dressed in clean clothes, and filled with enough sugar to start his own distillery. His voice is slow and measured, and just a bit condescending. Likaean is the same language across their many worlds and those who cannot learn it are not held in high regard. He does not understand yet that our reality is different. ¡°I defeated her. I will bring you to my honored friend, Prince Sinead of the Court of Summer.¡± It grates a bit to use such a highly polite term for such a licentious scoundrel, but apparently it was the right thing to do because he looks at me with renewed wonder. ¡°Oh! Apologies! My name is Makyas of the Court of Wings and Keyholes.¡± Hmm. I must have misunderstood that one. ¡°Wings and Keyholes?¡± I repeat. Those are unusual words. Perhaps I am mistaking them? ¡°Wings,¡± the boy patiently whispers and I hear a fleeting sound of a dove taking flight, ¡°and Keyholes,¡± he continues as I perceive the word not as a passage but as a leaky thing, a flaw from which secrets escape. ¡°The tiny Court!¡± ¡°I am pleased to meet you, Makyas of the, errr, Court of Wings and Keyholes.¡± ¡°No no! I am pleased. In your debt now.¡± I am almost certain that this Likaean is quite young. Younger than most, in any case. I need to contact Sinead because I am disinclined to act as a nursemaid. ¡°Right. I will protect you for now. It will take a few days before help arrives and we can take you to a safer place.¡± ¡°Yay! I am in your care. Can you sing?¡± ¡°This question is taboo.¡± ¡°So, no.¡± Maybe I should just drain him a bit, as payment. Chapter 101: Tempus Fugit Sinead comes in person to recover his newest ally and I realize a few interesting details. First, Makyas of the Court of Wings and Keyholes is slightly more intimidating than I gave him credit for, if Sinead¡¯s reaction is to be believed. Second, Makyas is obviously not a bashful child. He drops the act as soon as he finds himself in the presence of a prince and I get a glimpse of the playful malice beneath.Sinead also uses the opportunity to flirt outrageously. I should have expected it. I also learn that the Likaeans are busy working on a way back and, apparently, the space magic developed by Ricardo in Alexandria is the key. Sivaya is confident that she will finish a valid spell by the end of the century. When I remark that it is a long time, I am informed that creating an entirely new branch of magic in a rigid reality is a time-consuming effort and that I am welcome to try myself. Sinead¡¯s condescending delivery is truly without a match. In any case, I foresee more shenanigans in the future and let them go on their way. Over the next few months, I manage to keep up my magical studies with the mortals through immense effort and the occasional application of blood magic when some spells become too complex. No matter how hard I try, my fire spells remain pallid and pathetic and my light spells are timid things, bright enough to be seen from afar but never seeming to give the mortals any visibility. On the contrary, anything related to blood, shadows and illusions comes to me naturally. I get no more issue from Mireille or any of the local Roland vampires afterward, though I do continue sword practice. I eventually come to enjoy it, relishing the flexibility that swords can offer. On the home front, I have to handle a slew of issues from the care of Sinead¡¯s illegitimate children to the growth of the slave catcher population moving north from Kentucky. My dream mage also marries a cake maker to no one¡¯s surprise. With the rescued children and the White Cabal¡¯s presence, Marquette¡¯s mage population explodes. Strangely, the werewolf population explodes as well even if they cannot bear children. Every time I pass by, there are more of them following me around with their nose in the air, only keeping a respectful distance because of Metis¡¯ fearsome reputation as an ear thief. Any attempt to wiggle the whole truth from Jeffrey ends in a two hours declaration involving his cousins, nephews, friends from the coast, the Illuminati, that fisherwoman from Ottawa with the thick thighs¡­ As far as I understand, their village¡¯s fame has grown as the safest and richest werewolf haven and it attracts a lot of those who would not do so well in traditional pack structures. I understand that many of those prefer to be left alone and that the new town, amusingly named Moonside, affords them the tranquility they crave. Jeffrey assures me that they will fight when called and that is, in the end, all that I care about. I still wish they would stop trying to smell me. I find it extremely vexing. Last but not least, I use the opportunity of a payment for a protection detail to ask for blood from Salim of the Rosenthal, which he secretly accepts. Their essence is certainly one of the most useful I have ever consumed. I can now recall things much more easily if I focus on them, and some tedious tasks like reading reports become significantly more relaxing. I complete them as if in a trance. Making paperwork less tedious is without a doubt one of the mightiest powers in creation. Unfortunately, better memories only make the following ordeal that much more painful. I knew this day would come. I knew it from the beginning, but I always managed to push the thought to the back of my mind. I had so much to do. There were always new foes to fight and problems to solve, things to learn. Now it has come and I am at a loss. I bump my head against Torran¡¯s chest in a rare display of public affection. Others might see but I care little. I breathe in deep and the cold spice of him overwhelms the brine on the air to both soothe me and distress me even more. His hand pats the back of my head. We do not speak. We are beyond words. Everything that was worth saying was said a long time ago. The fact remains that I have my life here and he has his own back in Hungary. There is no bridging that gap, not when it takes months of travel between our territories. A Dvor can only stay so long away from his fief, after all. Torran will bring his fledgeling back with him and that is it. I feel a strong mix of emotions now, not enough to cry but enough that it feels¡­ good. I am alive now because of what we shared and must now leave behind. The bittersweet emotion dulls the throb of undirected anger threatening to overwhelm me. There is simply no one I can gut, stab, set on fire or detonate to keep him around and I find that extremely aggravating. The pier around us is silent, despite sailors loading the last of the goods and supplies they will carry over the Atlantic. No one interrupts us but still, I let him go. I am delaying the inevitable. Torran finally says, his face showing no emotion. I answer, finishing the ritual. It hurts as much as I expected. I can appreciate that we will not see each other for years, possibly decades, and that it would be unfair of me to expect celibacy from him in the off case that I might come back. I still feel robbed. I do not want to share. If I come to visit and find some tart hanging about, I might just do something unfortunate. I warned him it would be the case, therefore the responsibility of any future dismemberments will be placed solely at his feet. S?a??h the ??v?l_Fir?.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. I leave the pier behind and walk round a warehouse. The city is mostly silent at this time of the night. I stop and lean against some stupid door. Fuck. I wait for some time. It doesn¡¯t get better. Someone comes, a familiar aura. Jimena answers with a soft voice. She is dressed in a form-fitting leather armor, not in knight garb, for once. She drops a heavy-looking backpack and takes from it a case, which she gives me. I unpack it to reveal a weapon. A pistol, to be precise. Never have I witnessed its like. It is the work of a mad genius, nay, a revolutionary! I caress the smooth, silvery surface and ask with unmitigated wonder. This time, the emotion is too strong and a single ruby pearl drops down my cheek. The smug woman catches the tear before it can drop and raises it to her lips, licking it after I give her leave. At a corner of an empty road, beyond an overgrown path and the moss-covered room of a hunter rest, a few men have set up camp. They dug a pit and lit a fire there, counting on the remoteness and the wild vegetation to hide the smoke from inquisitive eyes. It was, of course, not enough. The sentinel is the first to notice me strutting forth with my fancy dress, my coat and the undeniably imposing leather tricorn which is totally appropriate and I would dare anyone to object. The man squints at my approaching figure. His beady eyes widen in surprise as I enter the light halo of his dusty lantern. He stinks of alcohol. ¡°What the fuck?¡± ¡°Language, mongrel.¡± ¡°Who the fuck are you?¡± I tut loudly, a gesture of intimidation that is known to make mortals cry, if they know what is good for them. ¡°I am the law around these parts. You and your little friends have been very, very naughty.¡± ¡°You insane bitch. You got some plums coming here at night, I like that. Maybe I can reward you if you make me very happy.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll only be happy when you hang from the neck until dead, rascal.¡± The sentinel takes the affected smile of someone who is convinced his interlocutor suffers from severe delusion and who is ten seconds away from beating some sense into them. He shifts his coat aside to grab and take out a knife. I mirror his gesture with one small difference, one he realizes as soon as he ends up face to maw with the business end of the six-shooter. It will always fascinate me how some objects are clearly weapons. My pistol might be a prototype, but there is no mistaking the keen line and metallic gleam. This is a tool of death. ¡°What the hell?¡± ¡°Hands in the air and you might just live to see the day. I am the hand of the law and my reach is long indeed!¡± Somewhere behind me, a bush swears in Akkad and lets out a muffled laugh. ¡°Shit! Everyone! Help! A madwoman!¡± ¡°You won¡¯t escape your punishment, miscreant!¡± I yell in my loudest human voice as if I were as self-righteous as a Gabrielite. I lightly jog after the fleeing man until we arrive at his camp. ¡°She¡¯s right behind me! Shoot her, shoot her!¡± A man fires a musket and the bullet misses me completely. What is he even aiming at? And now he is just standing here like a moron, gaping at the shadows. I shoot him in the chest. He falls with a dreadful shriek and the rest of his band finally realizes that they are under attack. They pile on behind crates of supplies and fire back. I skip behind a thick trunk and take potshots at those who break cover, making no particular effort to aim. I have plenty of bullets in a bag and this is the time to experiment. ¡°It can¡¯t be just the one, there are too many bullets flying. She must have help!¡± one of the men says in a panicked voice. ¡°Maybe it¡¯s a whole band of she-devils!¡± another replies, ¡°They¡¯re here to cut off our cocks! I told ye not to touch thoses lasses!¡± ¡°Shut your mug!¡± ¡°Your sins are many!¡± I shout with a gravelly voice, ¡°and you should all repent! Repeeeeeent!¡± Hah, I can see why the Gabrielite would risk dismemberment. This is fun! I leave the cover of the trunk and empty all six bullets in my left gun in quick succession. ¡°She¡¯s got this strange gun! Do you think that¡¯s why?¡± ¡°Then it must be empty! Let¡¯s rush her!¡± a brave soul screams and then jumps on top of the crate. I shoot the man down with the right gun like the dog he is. I then open the contraption to reload. Instead of doing it cartridge by cartridge, I just remove the entire barrel and replace it with a fresh one. This is such a revolutionary invention! I am witnessing history in the making! ¡°Noooo she shot Jerry! Jerryyyyyyy!¡± ¡°Let me die, fools. Run. Run for your lives!¡± How very dramatic. It reminds me, I should buy an opera ticket for the Queen of the Night by Mozart. An opera in German! I will go alone, have the waiters bring me a cup of coffee and throw chocolate wrappings on the heads of the rich folks below. It will be grand. Or I could bring Nami and enjoy the outrage. Hmmm. A bullet hits the trunks fairly close to my head, showering me with splinters. Right! I am already in the middle of something fun! and all that. I lean to the side and shoot at the ass of someone attempting to crawl away. He howls and his friends drag him back. There are only three of them now, including one who is no longer so cheeky. Heh. I turn once more and, this time, flick the hammer with one hand while I press the trigger with the other. This allows me to shoot faster but I am still limited by the physics of the gun itself. Otherwise I could shoot even faster! Incredible! Could I make an overly large version of this? Hmmm. ¡°We surrender!¡± ¡°WHAT REALLY? ALREADY?¡± I scream in utter annoyance. My legitimate question is received in stupefied silence. Jimena walks to me with a chuckle as I vociferate and grumble. ¡± I finish sulkily. Jimena remains silent. She reaches up to lightly tap the top of my head. Because it is Jimena, I let her. ¡°Errrr,¡± a male voice says from behind, ¡°can we please lower our hands or?¡± Torran¡¯s departure leaves me irritable and ill-tempered for a few months during which I take a more hands-off attitude to ruling Marquette and my budding business empire. Following Salim¡¯s advice, I also invest in the real estate of my territory, apparently a vampire tradition. I sink my time and undirected anger into magical and physical training with the occasional help of a few war-minded Masters like Nami and Jimena. I also try to involve guns in my combat style but soon realize that the task is extremely arduous and that my training partners object to being shot at mid-practice. I will have to return to that at a later date. The year eighteen thirty-six brings an interesting event in the Natalis territory. Texans conduct a revolution and manage to capture the Mexican general Santa Anna, forcibly bringing him to the negotiation table and leading to the birth of the Republic of Texas. Lord Jarek¡¯s territory is no longer part of Mexico as a result. The new State of Arkansas joins the union, giving us a new, clearly delimited territory, which is granted to the returning Lancaster. Lord Marion is their new leader and he takes the time to come and greet me, bearing offerings and a juicy trade agreement that finally allows me to set up a proper gun factory. Because of this and his overall politeness, I support his claim even though deep inside I am fuming. A few diplomatic agreements and he obtains a state! Pah! Back in my days, you had to wallow knee-deep in werewolf blood to get a tiny piece of land. Those newcomers do not know how good they have it. The entry of Arkansas brings forth a burning issue, that of slavery. The growth of the abolitionist movement leads to massive frictions and each new state that enters the union threatens the fragile equilibrium between the two sides. For now, Illinois is not a slave state but there are slave-catchers operating on the southern border while in the north, abolitionists assist fugitives on their way to Canada. Although I stick to my belief that a happy human is a tasty human and that no man, or woman, can truly be happy as long as they do not have free agency, I limit my actions to keeping the less honest catchers off my area of control through heavy beatings whenever necessary. At least three different clans have a vested interest in the institution, including the Cadiz whose financial interests are closely tied to the South and its plantations. Vampirekind is thus equally split on the subject. The Ekon, Roland and I are firmly in the abolitionist camp with Sephare herself calling it ¡®odious¡¯, while the others argue that treating people as property is as old as history itself and therefore natural, if unfortunate. I do not see this ending well. In the meanwhile, I continue learning from Ezekiel until, in the month of January eighteen thirty-seven, Margaret disappears. The compass definitely points to the factory in front of me, showing me that the girl still lives. The building is decently new and obviously busy during daytime. The paint of the massive double gate is fresh and the many windows clearly show a neat interior. ¡°That is not what I expected,¡± Ezekiel says. Without his ridiculous red robes, he looks more like an actual professor and less like some cheap, farcical villain. His keen eyes fix the brick surface of his target as if they could bore right through it. I know what he means. Margaret has gone missing and she has ways of contacting us. I am going for kidnapping, mundane or otherwise. ¡°Let me infiltrate the place, just in case,¡± I request. To my surprise, Ezekiel does not argue. ¡°Agreed, but be warned that after five minutes I shall break in gauntlet blazing. If you find some crime afoot, this is your window to reach a diplomatic agreement. After that¡­¡± Ezekiel¡¯s vehemence does not surprise me. The man is surprisingly protective of his pupils, a habit I can respect. I leave without a word and crawl up the wall with the grace and expertise of the consummate cat burglar. This is not my first breaking and entering. I find an improperly latched window and open it with minimal noise and damage, then suddenly hear a gasp. We are in the factory district and the place is mostly empty at this time so I expected no company. Cursing my carelessness, I turn around to find a very drunk man holding a half-empty bottle of gin staring at me with bulging eyes. Hmm. I must strike a dashing figure, stuck like a lizard to the sheer wall in my conservative grey dress. Fortunately, the man has given me the very tool to defuse the situation. I wave at him with a manic smile then into the building. I hear a curse, then the brittle noise of shattered glass followed in turn by barely coherent screams about she-devils and absinthe and whatnot. Crisis averted. The clock is still ticking however, and I quickly make my way outside of what appears to be an accounting department and down two sets of stairs. I realize on the ground floor that the door to outside is warded, and that it looks like professional work. Fearing a trap, I slow down and focus on my senses. There, behind a wall covered in posters, is a breathing person and what feels like a strong shield. The air tastes like nervous sweat. Fresh. I sigh and kneel to fix my dress to my leggings so that it does not trail everywhere, then I lightly jump up and crawl across the ceiling like the world¡¯s prettiest bat. People never look up. I pass the corner and find a set of stairs leading down into a well-lit basement. A man stands in the way, gauntlet down but active. The air before him shimmers with a half-deployed ward of respectable power. He is also wearing a White Cabal battledress. My unexpected opponent is very young, although a bushy dark beard would lead people to think otherwise. He is not exactly inattentive either and I salute his discipline. In fact, his appearance reminds me of¡­ No way. ¡°Cedric?¡± I ask in surprise, recognizing one of the students I had enjoyed terrifying, I mean, one of the students I had generously prepared for the vagaries of the life of a combat mage by direct request of his chief instructor. The man jumps in fright and lets out a rather girly scream, then he looks up as his shield activates. His frown turns to an expression of pure delight, then morphs to a mask of aloof confidence. He leans against a railing, twirling his mustache. ¡°Oh, Ariane of the Nirari, fancy seeing you here.¡± ¡°Cedric, is everything alright?¡± a voice comes from below. ¡°We have a guest, people!¡± Cedric declaims proudly as I drop from the ceiling and smooth my dress. We almost look the same age now. I do not believe I will ever get used to this. Before testing this team, Jonathan had warned me that they were perhaps the most talented group Avalon had ever produced and therefore fully expected them to fail spectacularly, which they did. Their arrogance and recklessness caused their loss despite some rather impressive individual displays of skill. I see that this lesson was not lost on them when three people climb up the stairs slowly and in tight formation. I recognize the man in the front as the leader, Reginald. He holds the shield, while behind him, the two ladies of the group cover him. The first is a dark-haired girl with brown eyes and a magnetic charm, Mina. Her gauntlet practically shines with power begging to be unleashed. The second is an aristocratic young woman with blue eyes and blonde hair, holding a silver sword at the ready. They all stop when they see me but to their credit, they do not lower their guard. ¡°Oh. Hello,¡± Reginald says with a slightly shameful expression. Our last interaction was indeed quite the humiliation for the fearless leader. I notice that the last member of the team is missing. ¡°Is Will circling around to attack me from behind?¡± I ask, until I focus on my aura control and realize that the sneakier member of their coterie is, in fact, right around the corner behind his allies. ¡°Ah, no, he is right here. Now, let me ask the fateful question to get it out of the way. Do you happen to have in your custody a young female warlock with dark hair, pale skin and a chip on her shoulder the size of Bunker Hill?¡± ¡°Would she have a tendency to say things such as ¡®behold my dark power!¡¯ and ¡®you cannot comprehend my might¡¯?¡± I sigh. ¡°Unfortunately, yes.¡± ¡°Yeah, we have her, she¡¯s downstairs. Unhurt. Apprentices of the dark arts are always so full of themselves,¡± Cedric explains, pleased. ¡°Yes, Cedric, pompous fools the lot of them. They always need some harrowing experience to remind them of where they stand on the food chain,¡± I remark, pointedly. Cedric has the grace to blush while Reggie and his two flankers close the distance. The shields are still up, I notice. Will steps out into the open with an embarrassed smile. ¡°Would you consider releasing her into my care?¡± I politely ask in a way that merely hints at the fact that this is not a request rather than heavily imply it. ¡°Of course, it¡¯s not like she¡¯s the one we¡¯re looking for, don¡¯t you think so guys?¡± Cedric states as he turns to his friends with a winning smile. They remain unamused. ¡°I think that you talk too much,¡± the blonde woman retorts with a freezing voice that carries just a bit of German. Her name is Carmella if I remember correctly. ¡°Stop trying to flirt with the immortal mage-eater Cedric, she already told you you were too young and that beard changed nothing,¡± Mina adds with genuine concern. ¡°Nonsense,¡± Cedric scoffs as he turns a delicate shade of tulip, ¡°I did not grow it to look more mature and impress her!¡± A very, very awkward silence spreads across the assembly. The shield mage pales as he realizes that his blabbering has become his downfall. ¡°Really? I had found the timing suspicious, of course, but to think¡­¡± Carmella observes. ¡°Gee, Cedric, you wax your mustache for that?¡± Reginald adds with disgust. I clap my hands once to garner their attention and stop, nay, postpone the merciless hazing. ¡°Please focus for one moment. Can I recover the witch?¡± ¡°If you guarantee us protection from her retribution, such as it is, we will gladly give her to you,¡± Reginald quickly answers. ¡°It is done then. Please wait a moment while I inform my associate.¡± Everyone smiles pleasantly as we wind down our spells, including my own blood-magic shield-piercer. Allied, yes. Stupid, no. I return to a fitful Ezekiel and inform him that I reached an agreement with the kidnappers and that they are not, in fact, kidnappers, but merely allies of mine who defended themselves. I can see the doubts in his eyes though he is smart enough not to voice them. To call a vampire a liar is a painfully vain exercise. I return to the White Cabal hideout and their basement to find that stacks of crates filled with metal parts were set aside to leave an open space. In it, the five war mages have created a workshop centered around a massive circle. Margaret is not in it. She was set aside, lying on her belly atop a pile of tarp and liberally tied with ropes, arms behind her and feet held up. She looks one skewer away from a roast pig. Tear trails line her cheeks, the poor arrogant thing. I detach her and she stands up, massaging her wrists to help with the blood flow and trying her best to melt into the wall. Perhaps there is a spell for that? ¡°So, I have a standing argument with one of the lads back in Avalon. He says that vampires and mages are natural enemies while I say that it¡¯s vampires and werewolves. What do you think?¡± Cedric asks me excitedly. ¡°I think you are both mistaken,¡± I reply sweetly, ¡°from our perspective, you are all prey.¡± A distinct chill freezes everyone in the room. William, who stands close, takes an instinctual step back. All but Cedric. ¡°Hmm that makes sense,¡± he comments as if I had shared a great pearl of wisdom. In a way, I have. He just did not get it. Cedric caresses his lush beard, staring at the ceiling with a penetrating gaze as if it held the secrets of the universe in its dusty recess. ¡°Anyway,¡± Will continues with an embarrassed glare, ¡°I now understand why we have been deployed here. The environment is sufficiently challenging while we have an ally who can potentially come to the rescue. The Black Dog thought of everything.¡± ¡°Speaking of allies, would you consider assisting us?¡± Mina asks politely. I notice that both Will and Reginald give her their full attention as she makes her plea. There is a longing in their gaze that I easily recognize. ¡°We are looking for a ring of human traffickers who sometimes manage to intercept refugee mages as they get off the boat. Despicable people! We are here to dismantle their local branch and prevent them from preying on the weak!¡± she boasts with undisguised pride. Hmm. Will steps forward, the first to realize that asking me to act out of the kindness of my heart is a doomed prospect. ¡°We were given special shaped charges by Jonathan. They are designed to direct the blast in one direction only, thus sparing the people and materials engulfed in a normal powder blast¡¯s area of effect. Perhaps you would consent to come with us and operate them yourself?¡± Ooooh, the crafty lad. Does he think I am the kind of woman who would assault an unknown foe for the chance of understanding a prototype explosive? Because he would be absolutely correct, but I cannot have him win so easily. It would set a dangerous precedent. ¡°That sounds fascinating. Good luck with that,¡± I inform a slightly crestfallen William. ¡°We would compensate you for your time, of course,¡± Reginald adds in a respectful voice. ¡°Yeah! I volunteer my blood! Are you thirsty?¡± ¡°Not now, Cedric. Ariane of the Nirari, our foe uses magic to hide themselves that renders the most standard tracking spells useless. We believe that this is extremely potent magic and one of our secondary objectives is to recover it. I believe that I can negotiate for not only access to this spell but also our help in mastering it, should you join us,¡± Reginald continues. I do not need a way to hide thanks to Nashoba¡¯s earrings. It could still be extremely useful to mask allies or even understand how to find somebody. ¡°Deal. Now show me those shaped charges you mentioned.¡± As the night progresses and we work together, I realize that I do not mind keeping an eye on the team. They are pleasantly competent and getting to know them and be known and relied on in return improves the chances that Jonathan¡¯s alliance lasts for more than one generation. We eventually find the kidnappers and even get the help of both Ezekiel and Salazar as well as a few local mages. Peace soon returns to the city and I get a new blueprint for my trouble. I spend the next four years alternating between Philadelphia and my own territory, stopping my studies only long enough to handle the odd crisis that my competent underlings cannot easily handle. Merritt eventually remarries too and hires several associates, which I allow after vetting them and just a little bit of intimidation to make sure they understand that I will not tolerate duplicity. Urchin develops into a fine enforcer to my pleasant surprise. He develops his own fighting style which revolves around pulling objects out of seemingly nowhere and shoving them in someone¡¯s back, or shooting them in the face with one of the many tiny pistols he had specially made. Marquette develops relatively quickly while Chicago expands at a vertiginous speed with a little help from Melusine¡¯s peerless business acumen, allowing the both of us to consolidate our positions. I do not object when she recovers a few Lancaster exiles and even negotiates with Lord Marion to make sure there is no resentment left. Slowly, political blocks form around the Cadiz on one side and the Roland on the other, with a third force made from us weaker clans. The occurrence of issues and decisions that must be taken collectively continues to increase, leading us to today. I look down at Lady Sephare¡¯s intricate golden curls as she climbs down the stairs before me. We proceed by pair, the state leader and their second side by side with Constantine leading the way. I chose Melusine, not that there was much competition. Servants, soldiers and employees stick to the walls of the fortress¡¯ cozy interior and watch us pass with a bit of awe, as is suitable. We have enough political and physical power here to overthrow a small nation. The corridor widens and we soon tread a crimson carpet to a set of double doors guarded on each side by Constantine¡¯s bodyguards, acting as mysterious as ever. Our combined auras, though peaceful, have a curious effect on our surroundings. We are not mingling with mortals this time, we are walking together with a purpose and a queer feeling of harmonization changes the texture of reality ever so slightly. It tastes thinner. I wonder if the others feel it too. The gates open for Constantine and we follow him into a large circular room wide enough to contain a cottage. Sophia, Constantine¡¯s assistant, is already sitting behind a large writing desk at the far end. The floor at the center of the room is made from concentric rings of stone. As we approach, the Speaker lifts a gauntleted hand and seventeen slide up, one by one, with barely a noise. I count one for each pair of representatives and one for him. Finally, stone thrones rise up from the nineteenth ring to accommodate us. We pretend not to be impressed while Constantine feigns indifference at our lack of reaction. Lesser minds may gasp and whisper at such a mighty display, but I know better. In a few hours, the attendants will realize that naked stone makes for a poor cushion. Not everyone benefits from my, ahem, padding. We take our places in silence. The massive central table is split like a pie by minor light magic so that each present state is clearly shown by its flag when applicable, and its name in large, blocky letters. Right now they are all greyed out. Only the Speaker¡¯s pie slice is lit in light red. He stands up to address us. As if we would act like rowdy children. Immediately, the atmosphere grows heavy. Kouakou and Naminata in particular fix Ceron and a few others with barely disguised hostility. They wear their traditional red and yellow boubous with disdainful pride, the bright colors offering a stark contrast with the drabber outfits worn by their rivals. Lord Kouakou replies in a smooth bass. He stabs a talon in the flesh of his thumb, then places the pearl of dark blood on the stone surface. A few runes flare and a map of North America appears on the table. The next hour is spent in controlled arguments. We remain polite at all times and discussions do not heat up because most of the negotiations already happened behind closed doors. This is mostly a show of strength and of eloquence. The Ekon argue that each state leader should decide who to favor on their own territory, leaving them free to act as they see fit. In the case of the Ekon, that means facilitating escapes and freely financing groups such as the Underground Railroad. The Cadiz retort by claiming that slaves can be regarded as House assets, as such their recovery should be allowed across all territories. They add that abetting escapes is technically theft and that any House engaged in such activities should be considered hostile according to the Accords. At this stage, the fanged smiles strain noticeably. The Ekon predictably counter with the observation that, as soon as the fugitives reach a state where slavery is illegal, they have the right of ownership over themselves and could not be reacquired without breaking the laws of said state. Any attempt to recapture slaves would be poaching, still according to the Accords. The arguments go back and forth for almost an hour before Lady Sephare asks to intervene. She makes a reasonable and impassioned speech about the dangers of giving access to one¡¯s territory, and while the practice of slavery was an ancient tradition, the right of every vampire to protect their territory from outside influence should supersede it. An escaped prisoner must be considered lost, and that is that. Her case is backed by every state leader who does not want foreign agents freely roaming their territory, including myself. The slavers among us will have to keep an eye on their merchandise themselves. We win that vote with a comfortable majority. As Constantine announces the result and Sophia writes it down for posterity, I consider that it merely pushes the conflict back to unofficial support and funding of various groups. Nothing is truly solved yet. The second order of business is land control. The Union recently gained the states of Arkansas and Michigan, while the republic of Texas was formed from Santa Anna¡¯s blunder. At the same time, the Roland have expanded into Quebec. The question is whether to intervene into mortal affairs and steer the formation of borders in a certain way. This discussion is much more consensual, and we quickly agree to leave them to their own devices. We would only intervene by mutual agreement and if we consider our interests at risk. Once all agreements are made, Constantine calls an end to the proceedings and we file out in silence. We climb back up to the fortress¡¯ living quarters and split up without comments. As soon as we are all dispersed, Melusine and I do not have the time to reflect before we receive an invitation to visit the Ekon quarters. With this, the diplomatic dance begins anew. Over the next five years I focus on my spellcasting and even start to experiment with complex rituals and my sire¡¯s spells. They are nasty things of power and rage, efficient and refined yet¡­ inelegant. There is a spell that uses blades following randomized movement, one that sets up invisible caltrops of deleterious energy, one that is specialized in flaying its target alive¡­ I still study them all and realize that Nirari truly is talented, even though he relies more on power than subtlety, Ten years have come and gone when suddenly, I find a letter waiting for me on my desk back in Marquette. This one bears the mark of the Rosenthal postal service and I freeze as I recognize a familiar cursive. I delicately pick its creamy surface and slide it closer, my eyes widening in disbelief. I had not seen this specific handwriting in decades. It could not be¡­ I flip the envelope and read the name of the sender with ever increasing surprise. It is. Chapter 102: Home April 1846.My feet tread the familiar ground in silence, and I bounce up the three small stairs to the entrance with the ease of familiarity. They have not changed. Neither have I. The door could use another coat of paint though. I pull on a cord. Light chimes sound from inside and a pair of heavy steps heralds the coming of the house staff. We are late enough that a visit would be considered rude, but not enough that I would be greeted with a musket. I do not recognize the woman who opens the door. She wears a conservative light dress and a scowl as she squints, trying to recognize me. ¡°I am here to see Achille Reynaud,¡± I announce. ¡°And what business do you have with Mr Reynaud?¡± ¡°He called me here.¡± Her inspection is done and she clearly does not like what she sees. Some people have good instincts and I cannot help but smile. I am experiencing something new: nostalgia. I have not been home in so long. ¡°Mr Reynaud is indisposed.¡± ¡°I know.¡± ¡°Then you should also know better than to come so late. Return tomorrow.¡± She goes to close the door and shows quite a bit of surprise when I press a hand against the heavy frame, pushing her aside with ease. Her expression turns scandalized. ¡°Madam, I will ask you to leave. Immediately!¡± I take a deep breath to appreciate the moment, tasting the air. I am still welcome. The old magic has left me untouched. I step forward. ¡°Fortunately, you are not my host. I do not need your agreement.¡± I lightly push her protesting form aside and climb up the stairs, ignoring her pathetic invectives. My brother will rest in the master bedroom and this is where my steps lead me. The house smells of incense, sickness, old furniture, and old people. Girders and support beams creak like the knees of a crone all around and the ticks of an ancient clock thrum like heartbeats. Still, this place lives, more solemn than decrepit. The pitted planks are lacquered while the shelves sag under the weight of well-ordered books and polished trinkets. Some of them even look quite expensive. I finally reach the fateful door. When I was a child, this was my father¡¯s domain. He would tolerate my presence there while he accepted no one else, not since mother had died. I would charge in to wake him up sometimes, jumping on the mattress and bumping my head against his as if I were a ram. He is long gone and so is his scent. I knock lightly on the door and enter. Most of the furniture must have been replaced at some point. Only the bed itself occupies the same space. In it lies the prone form of my brother. The years have not been kind. I suppose that he is old now at sixty-four. Age does not explain the sunken cheek, the stringy beard or the yellow skin stuck to his skeletal body. Sickness does. His breath comes out raspy and difficult. A desiccated hand grabs at his torso and the probable source of his pain even as he fitfully sleeps. The air is heavy with the smell of medicine. I step closer and find a comfortable chair. I am confident that I was quiet, and yet just as I finish sitting, he pops his eyes open and turns them on me with unerring purpose. They are bloodshot and just as keen and blue as I remember them. His gaze turns to the table at his side and I understand the unspoken request. I stand again and light a few candles before returning to his side. We scrutinize each other in silence. His jaw shifts several times as, I assume, he struggles to find words that he perhaps prepared. I know better and did not even attempt the foolish exercise. ¡°You have not changed at all. Are you still¡­ you?¡± he finally asks, his voice grating from an exhausted throat. ¡°I¡¯m afraid that is up for debate, and I wish I could return the compliment.¡± For a moment, the barb throws us back to a time when our conflicted relationship shaped the lives, and ears, of many a nurse. We both smile at those memories and something clicks between us, a fleeting sense of camaraderie. When Achille next speaks, his voice is softer. ¡°Thank you for coming. I wish it had been sooner but I had a few things to work through.¡± ¡°When did you learn that I was still, for lack of a better term, alive?¡± ¡°Father told me before he passed away.¡± Achille¡¯s eyes grow distant. ¡°It took me a long time to accept what he said as more than the delusions of a sick man and even longer to act. I apologize.¡± ¡°No need, Achille.¡± ¡°Yes, need,¡± he retorts. He painfully shifts in his bed and grabs an envelope from his bedside table. The paper is wrinkled and faded by old age and when he hands it to me, I feel a weight inside. His skin is dry and feverish. ¡°Father left this for you. There is a key inside. I did not want to give it to a monster. It took a lot of growing up to realize that it was not my decision to take.¡± ¡°Self-reflection? Who are you and what have you done with my brother?¡± I retort teasingly as I accept the gift. Achille¡¯s answering smile is brittle and bittersweet. ¡°You laugh. I spent entirely too much time growing a business and a family before realizing I had to grow as a person as well. A lot of events happening late in my life have changed my outlook. I had many certitudes. Now, much less so.¡± ¡°Je suis surprise,¡± I admit, temporarily reverting to French. ¡°Do not be, petite soeur, it is never too late to change.¡± Our moment is interrupted by heavy steps trampling the floor on their way to the bedroom. I recognize the decisive struts, quick breath and dancing heartbeat of a terrified human desperately trying to rally their spirits. The door bangs open and a woman crashes in, head high and armed with an iron poker. A strange sensation of uncanny otherness overcomes me and I grip the couch, fangs almost bared in an instinctive response. It takes all of my self-control to shut my mouth and force myself to relax. She is not me. This was just an illusion, a phantom born from decades spent away from my own blood. She is not me. Her hair is darker and her face smoother. There could be other details but I forgot. I have not seen my own face in so long that her arrival confused me for a while. I notice with some amusement that her reaction mirrors my own, and that the threats and imprecations the iron poker was supposed to back up died on her lips the moment she took me in. We could be sisters. ¡°Who are you?¡± she asks with a trembling voice. S?a??h the N?v?l(F)ire.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. ¡°My guest,¡± Achille interrupts before I can reply. I let him. Host privilege. ¡°Grand-pere, the doctor said that you should rest, especially at night.¡± ¡°I know, ma petite. This meeting could not wait.¡± ¡°Grand-pere! Please, you have to take care of yourself. Mademoiselle, can you not come back tomorrow morning?¡± she asks, turning to me. ¡°June, listen to me,¡± Achille speaks in a kind voice that I do not recognize. My brother has changed a lot. The Achille I knew could not tolerate objections or refusals. He had a very firm idea of his place in the world and everyone else¡¯s too. Those who opposed his orders while being his inferior were severely reprimanded and their objections immediately dismissed as the ramblings of an inferior getting out of line and, therefore, unwise. This Achille is reasonable and patient. ¡°June, my dear. You know that some things cannot wait. Please.¡± Tears pearl at the corner of the girl¡¯s eyelids. She furiously tries to chase them away by blinking very fast and scowling mightily before turning away and stomping back into the corridor where she stays to eavesdrop with all the spying acumen of a five-years-old. ¡°You have mellowed in your old age,¡± I remark, not unkindly. ¡°You don¡¯t know the half of it,¡± Achille replies with a strangled chuckle, ¡°that was June by the way.¡± ¡°Your second son¡¯s daughter. I know.¡± He welcomes my revelation like a pleasant surprise. ¡°You kept an eye on us?¡± ¡°Yes. I would have acted if you were facing a true menace, mundane or otherwise.¡± ¡°I see, I see. That is good. To return to my change of heart, a great many events rocked my perception of the world in the past few years. June is one of them. My second son turned out to be a major disappointment while June herself is kind, smart, and responsible. It certainly impacted my opinion on family hierarchy and the merits of male-only inheritance.¡± ¡°You are not considering¡­¡± ¡°I am. When I die, she will inherit the property and quite a few assets besides.¡± ¡°You impress me,¡± I admit with genuine care. ¡°Thank you. I am sorry that I could not reconsider things before disease and circumstances made it an imperative. I called you here for a favor.¡± Supplicant. It has been a while since I last felt the intimate bond created by such a request. The ingrained urge to demand a price for my help fights a short war with an old sense of loyalty and loses. I will not ask for a price from Achille. ¡°Speak.¡± ¡°My youngest son, Richard, enrolled in the US army last year following our increased tensions with Mexico. Are you familiar with the situation?¡± Naturally. The Natalis under Lord Jarek are monitoring the situation with great attention. They favor the American side for a variety of causes ranging from security against the Comanches to the benefits of having a stable government for one full year. ¡°We are on the brink of war. President Polk ordered Taylor¡¯s men south into the Nueces strip and Mexico will react.¡± Achille nods. ¡°Correct. Richard is now a proud dragoon in the second brigade. Full of bluster, that one. ¡®The nation this! Our honor that!¡¯ His blood runs white-hot with the fury of unbridled patriotism!¡± His mocking tone surprises me. I always took him for someone who would support traditional institutions with the firm belief of a man whose position in life depends on them. He must have reconsidered his values at a fundamental level over the past decade. Achille¡¯s breathing grows hard as the memory of his son¡¯s departure agitates him. It takes a few seconds for him to take a deep, relaxing sigh. ¡°Funny things, wars. Victory or defeat, there will always be one foolhardy charge or one vainglorious assault that kills all of its participants. Then, ten years from now, some Washington asshole will paint a nice scene about the whole affair.¡± ¡°You want me to get him out?¡± ¡°I wish, but no. If life has told me one thing, it is that we must learn some lessons ourselves. I do not expect you to shield him from bayonets. I only wish for him not to lose his life in a stupid, preventable way. Can you do that?¡± ¡°I can travel west and keep an eye on him, if you wish. I may not save him, but I will extract him if he is taken prisoner or if he is on the run.¡± ¡°Good enough. Yes, good enough.¡± We keep quiet for a while, Achille lost to his musings and me observing him. ¡°Say, I did not offer payment?¡± he asks as an afterthought. ¡°No need. I think of us as family.¡± He laughs at that. One short exhalation that soon turns into a wince of pain. ¡°I will keep you apprised,¡± I tell him. ¡°No need. I have an understanding with my doctor. When you are gone, he will increase the dosage of some of my medicines and thus shorten my already minute lifespan. All my affairs are in order and I have no intention to dawdle and be a burden on June and the staff.¡± ¡°You will let go of the world?¡± I ask. ¡°You do not age, do you? Then you will be spared the indignities of your own body failing you. Waking every morning, weakened. Dimmer. A slow wreck that nothing can stop.¡± His gaze grows clouded as he contemplates his own mortality. ¡°Death is not a failure. I am eager to shed this body and see what lies beyond, not because I despair, but because I can no longer grow in this crumbling vessel. You will stay here and look after our family, won¡¯t you?¡± ¡°For as long as I live.¡± ¡°Good. Now, I have never been one for long farewells. You must go to the wine cave.¡° I thought it was never finished?¡± ¡°Papa completed it a few years before he died. I think he left you something there. I sealed it after his passing and never entered it but I cleared the entrance every spring. It should still be easily accessible.¡± ¡°I see.¡± ¡°This is goodbye, you who may or may not be my sister. For what it¡¯s worth, I think Papa is right and whatever you have become is still you.¡± ¡°Thank you, Achille.¡± ¡°Yes yes. Now begone with you! And look after everyone.¡± ¡°I will. Hopefully, for a very, very long time. Farewell Achille, it was a pleasure seeing you one last time.¡± My brother chuckles and rests back into his pillow, closing his eyes. I can tell that he is in pain and do not wish to annoy him further. I do feel something, though the cold of my mind significantly dampens the intensity of the emotion. I close the door quietly behind me on my way out. June is gone. For now. I do not return to the entrance. My steps carry me further into the old house until I finally arrive at my old bedroom but I do not walk in. I will not find anything that belongs to me within this place I used to know more than any other. Several occupants have come since then and left their mark. The only prize I will reap would be a sense of violation, of breached den. I feel agitated and fear that bringing too many strong emotions to the surface would be unwise, and so I stop my hand before it can grip the handle and turn around, heading back. If I had not been taken that night decades ago and turned into what I have become, I would have followed a much different path. There would have been no midnight rides, no battles and no heists. No guns. Well, less guns in any case. I would have probably found a suitable husband I could have loved and trusted, who would have supported me and my projects rather than impose his will as some tend to do. I would have built a rum distillery and managed it for years. I would be here now, in this room, caring for my dying brother supported by my children and grandchildren. We would have had massive family reunions with luncheons lasting well into the night. I think that I would have been happy. Just as I am now. There was much to discover and many incredible people to meet. A mortal could not understand the ecstasy of the Hunt, of killing a werewolf and drinking them dry, of dancing in the midst of immortals dressed in fineries from another age. Yes. It was, in many ways, a worthy life I have lived so far. I made it so through my own efforts. Bah, enough! I am on a schedule. I retrace my steps and make for the exit. June is waiting in the main hall. Her expression is complicated. I climb down the stairs, taking care to make some noise and still she does not turn her eyes. Her mind remains fully captured by a painting on the wall I had ignored on my way up. Now, I finally look at it. Half a century ago, our father had sat us to celebrate Achilles¡¯ twenty-first birthday in a way that would immortalize the occasion. Some cheap artist from Baton-Rouge came with his brushes and meek manners and drew a portrait of our family. His work had been awkward. I can now easily spot the flaws in his style and some too hasty strokes that blurred the contours of dad¡¯s face. Despite the shoddy work, there is no mistaking the people present as one of them has not changed at all. June finally turns to me, mouth open in mixed horror and surprise, so I do the most vampire thing I can. I lightly tap her shoulder, smile mysteriously, and take my leave before she can recover. Being darkly secretive is a form of boasting. Outside, the smell of wet earth from recent rain and the sounds of nature renew my sense of nostalgia. The property has changed and has also stayed the same. Like me. The path to the wine cave is overgrown now, Achille being unable to clear it himself. I tread it with ease and end up at the edge of a gate seemingly stuck into a small hill. The surrounding vegetation assaults it from all sides in a furious attempt to close the gap. Green sprouts and other tendrils grasp towards each other like grasping limbs frozen in time. I use the iron key on the lock and push in. The door protests the intrusion with a deafening creak. Papa built himself a nice little haven here, away from prying eyes, and I immediately realize why. Two of the walls are lined with moldy bookshelves filled with cheap editions of magic theory books. A desk by the side collects dust, its surface barren. The entire far side of the room is covered by a large workshop filled with curious tools, including a few optical ones with their lenses shining strangely in the darkness. On it sits a box and a sealed envelope. I neglect the books. Most of them are easily obtainable and I know their content already, having spent a decade learning from one of the greatest arcane smiths who ever lived. A quick inspection of the desk yields nothing of value; the room was thoroughly cleaned before it was vacated. This is it. I open the envelope with trepidation and take my time to unfold the yellowed paper. My father¡¯s smooth cursive greets me in all its comforting familiarity. My hand goes to my neck, to the pendant where his last instruction rests locked forever in a case of steel. Do not die before me. I fulfilled his request and read the text, written in French, to see if there is another one. Silly, silly Papa. Silly. I did get my family, and my distillery too. And now I am crying blood on the silly paper. Bah! I fold the letter religiously, replacing it in the envelope. The container is locked until I try the key in the envelope Achilles gave me. It opens to reveal a velvet-padded interior like a jewelry box, and enshrined within, a mage gauntlet. And what a gauntlet it is. Smooth, elegant lines of the darkest black shine ominously like midnight stars on a glove that redefines threatening grace. If there was ever a vampire empress, she would have worn it. I recognize obsidian as the primary material for the frame, one that is as potent as it is difficult to handle. Chains of silver alloy bind the lithe knuckles to grant the artefact even more power. This is, perhaps, one of the mightiest foci one can make, and it looks good. An exquisite tool and a fashion statement. A small, hand-written note lies near the wrist. ¡°Celestine ¡®Blackhand¡¯ MacDhuibh¡¯s regalia. Certificate of authenticity of the Rosenthal consortium.¡± Wow. I recognize that name. Celestine MacDhuibh was a fifteenth century unconventional Scottish mage known for her brilliance and her short fuse. She invented several interesting spells, including the short-range killing one that afforded her the moniker, but also an explosive diarrhea hex she would use on rivals. Now, her gauntlet belongs to me, thanks to my Papa. I caress the smooth surface lovingly and consider how lucky I am. When I came back to my home after my escape from Lancaster custody, I almost expected him to be gone, or dead. I hesitated and delayed because I knew the most likely outcome of our reunion to be curses and screams. Instead, he welcomed me and sent me on my way with a gun and a promise. He was wrong in a way. Dalton, Loth, and Jimena became my family and I realize that without them my path would have been much darker. It would have been cut short quickly as well. I do not know how I would have behaved if rage and bitterness had guided my actions. The memory of that time remains dark. I had traveled the land harried by time, filth, and the Thirst. A Gabrielite almost killed me. Instead of disappearing like a ghost, I may have slaughtered my way through the countryside in a fit of rage and despair. I would not be the same person without them. I grab the gauntlet and place it in a small bag by my side, replacing the standard focus I had purchased before. I make a note of recovering the books, just in case, and leave the wine cave. On my way out I meet an old man waiting by the road. He smokes a pipe with dignity, dressed in comfortable and clean outdoor clothes, but his eyes are laughing. I raise an eyebrow as, in my mind, mortals do not have the right to be silent and mysterious. I should maintain the exclusivity. ¡°Hello, cousin,¡± the man greets me. I freeze and dig through my memories, the Rosenthal essence proving necessary for this one. Cousin? I have some cousins. I even met one on the night I returned. ¡°Lucien?¡± I blurt out. ¡°Hah! I knew it. All those years and people telling me I had dreamt it, but no! My cousin Ariane is immortal! So, are you some sort of Greek hero or something? Is it a mythic item taken from a dead god?¡± ¡°Something of the sort¡­¡± I mumble, completely out of sorts. I was recognized! Twice! ¡°Alright then. Are you on your way to keep an eye on Richard?¡± ¡°How did you know?¡± Arg! By the, I am supposed to be the one who surprises people! Being emotional interferes with my darkly charismatic femme fatale persona! The man nods wisely. ¡°I thought old Achille would come around, eventually. On your way then! I¡¯ll keep the house safe while you go slaying hydras or something. Good luck!¡± ¡°Um. Fine. Goodbye Lucien, it was good seeing you again. I apologize for, huh, coming back from the dead?¡± ¡°Oh, don¡¯t worry about it. Everything in life is relative, including your relatives. Bye bye!¡± Ugh. Chapter 103: Down she goes. May 1st, 1846.I was not granted the time to return to my home base and muster a force. A hundred disciplined militiamen would have probably been welcomed by Taylor since there was a dire need for more trained troops. Unfortunately, fate forced my hand with news of a skirmish and Mexican forces moving on Fort Texas. I try to ignore the fact that dragoons died during the opening engagement, and that there is a chance that my mission failed before it could even begin. I remember the loss of a potential because I overestimated myself decades ago, and so I decide to head west without delay, even if it means having access to fewer resources. I am confident that I can, shall we say, ¡®convince¡¯ Richard¡¯s superior to be avaricious of the life of his men. I barely stop by a small pond to cast a message spell. Messaging spells are interesting as they require knowing the exact interlocutor and his approximate location before casting. The power required to hold a conversation is also significant, as is the need for focus. Fortunately, I merely must contact Boston to inform them that I would be lightly interfering with the military and request access to Natalis land, which their local representative agrees to immediately. I manage to set a meeting with their one caster capable of message-spells at the edge of their territory. With the diplomatic aspect of the problem solved, I can set out without concern. I make use of a more recent series of safe houses set up by Constantine on my way west. Those are maintained by the different clans in order to facilitate safe transit, a measure that we took from our European cousins. I rely on those for the first three nights on my ride by the coast, then find myself in the wilds on the fourth, at the edge of Texas. I decide to stop in a cove with tall leafy trees and the sea lapping on a stone beach further down as the night ends. I climb down from Metis, who looks at me with the silent, judgmental disappointment of someone who has not had her ear yet. I recover a small bag from her harness and remove the desired snack, which I wave around as I demonstrate. Her captive attention spurs my scholarly enthusiasm. Metis takes a step forward, head tilted in a vain attempt to intimidate me. Silly pony. I am not done! I forfeit the snack to Metis¡¯ decidedly pointy teeth and raise a gauntleted fist. The earth takes me. One day later. An absolute bloody idiot crawls out of the muddy soil like the brain-dead fuckwit she is, spitting twigs. ¡°Pwah! Pwah pwah pwah pwah. Pwah! Urg, ¡± The irredeemable imbecile who shall remain anonymous makes a pathetic attempt at unsticking dried earth from her completely ruined traveling dress. She looks like a mudslide. My moment of melodrama finished, I swallow my pride and go for a short swim in the ocean. The salty water can just finish what the mud started, I care not, I am not going around looking like an ambulating nymph-shaped bog. After coaxing Metis into letting me ride her through bribery, I stop at a ranch to upend a few bucketfuls of crystalline salvation on my unworthy head. A passing farmer approaches but a very frank ¡®I DON¡¯T WANT TO HEAR IT!¡¯ sends him on his way. Thankfully, the delay is short, and the incident only claims my self-esteem as a victim. Soon, I approach Corpus Christi, the town where the army used to be stationed and where I will link up with my contact. The weather is rather warm, but dryer than what I am used to in my native Louisiana. Texas has drier parts further west, but not here. For one irrational moment, and as the ranch-turned-trading-post-turned-garrison-town comes into view, I fear that a place named ¡®body of Christ¡¯ will somehow repel me. I think that a mighty barrier might descend from the heavens to protect the hallowed ground, smiting the inhuman beings in their midst. Then, a vigorous young couple does, from behind a barn, what I will generously call a ¡®Corpus Christi Tussle¡¯. I also quickly come across the Corpus Christi whorehouse and all my worries disappear like wrinkled dollar bills into an overstretched corset. Why should I care that I can no longer blaspheme? The mortals are doing it for me. I cross the bloated body of a watering hole that grew too fast so as to accommodate its many bored guests. It does not take me long to find the army¡¯s previous encampment, now mostly empty. The first problem arises when the mage I contacted, and who was supposed to meet me, fails to materialize. Hmm. I take a moment to ascertain that, yes, I am at the right entrance. I even flare my aura for good measure. Nothing. A small tingle runs along my spine in a feeling I have come to recognize and rely on. My intuition informs me that something is up. Well, that is nice, but I am on a schedule. I manage to isolate a sentry and feed on him, leaving the poor sod woozy. Better not take risks with the Thirst. I also find the local well and fill a borrowed pot. The watery reflection will serve as a focus for the message spell. The mage does not reply. A worrisome development. He is, to my knowledge, the only long-range communication specialist for the Natalis. They are not exactly known for fostering mages. No matter, I am on a mission to locate a lone dragoon. I climb back on Metis and head south after my quarry without too much hassle. Four thousand men marching with their baggage leave a mark on a land that a blind simpleton could not miss. We ride hard and the landscape maintains its green sheen for now. There is something dry in the air that I can taste on the back of my tongue, a sunbaked flavor hinting at the height of summer when light will push down on the land, settling on the shoulders of mortals like a heavy cloak. It will be different from the engulfing wetness of the marshland but no less oppressive, I can tell. I find myself missing winter once more. Cold is more my thing. The land is mostly flat here and we make good time through the wilderness. A small draft carries the smell of the ocean, a constant companion these past few days. I find little comfort in it. The fateful tingle has not stopped, and though I detect no immediate danger, I am still wary. Just as dawn approaches, the road widens and the trees shorten to reveal the estuary of the Rio Grande, a patchwork of green grass, ochre sand and blue water. A fort built on top of a small inlet stands vigil over the idyllic locale. The earthwork was obviously made in a rush but it does look defensible with all that water around it. Torches set at regular intervals protect its approach. Even this early, a flurry of activity shows that soldiers are already awake and active. I hide behind a few trees and change into a clean dark green traveling dress, smooth my hair into a decent do and ride forth. I come across a patrol on foot made of young men who might be able to grow enough facial hair for a pencil mustache through collective efforts. They flinch when Metis trots by, but the presence of the fairer sex motivates them to straighten their backs. I am briefly asked a few questions and subsequently directed to Lieutenant Briggs, who is in charge of keeping track of things. I admit that they look rather fetching in their white and blue uniforms. I am stopped again at the fort gate by a grizzled sergeant with a coldly assessing look. I can taste his apprehension though he masks it well. The silly pony has this effect on everyone and particularly on those who have seen death. Some primal memory from ancient times resurfaces to warn them that she is more than she seems. ¡°Who might you be and what in the name of God are you doing out here at this time, woman?¡± I adopt my tragic heroine persona, one of a girl who rode through dangerous lands for a noble cause. She is stricken by tragedy, yet still defiant. She is also hard to resist when she makes very reasonable requests. ¡°My name is Ariane Reynaud, I bear an urgent message for Richard Reynaud, a dragoon in the second brigade. I would like to find him, please. I was told that Lieutenant Briggs could help me?¡± ¡°I apologize, miss. I cannot grant a civilian access to the camp. We are in a state of war, in case you didn¡¯t know.¡± ¡°I am aware, sir. I do not need to get in. Knowing where he is and giving him the message would suffice. Please, will you at least tell where I can find my brother?¡± A small lie, but one that will serve me well. Even if Richard is here and remembers that none of his sisters is called Ariane, he will merely assume that the old sergeant misheard. The man himself scratches his beard as I grow impatient. Dawn will fall in an hour and I am not eager to repeat the emergency tomb experience, thank you very much. Eventually, the benign nature of my question forces a reluctant grunt. He barks an order at one of his subordinates who takes off at a sprint. A few minutes later, an officer with a spring in his step struts to us, mustache waxed and uniform ironed to flat perfection. Even the flickering light of torches reflects on his shiny buttons. The newcomer is dark of hair and eye and his demeanor wordlessly screams of disdainful annoyance. He turns an angry gaze to my helpful sergeant. His nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath in anticipation for some furious tirade, no doubt. I do not have time for this and so I slip from Metis¡¯ back and take a quick step forward and curtsey. ¡°Thank you so much for taking the time to see me, sir. I apologize for the disturbance,¡± I announce in an aggressively contrite voice. The officer is taken aback and his lambasting dies on his lips as he studies me. He places a pair of spectacles on his aquiline nose and scolds. ¡°And what do you think gives you the right to disturb an officer? We are conducting a war here, miss, the affairs of the nation take precedence over¡­ whatever you think you are doing.¡± ¡°Please forgive me¡±¡ªyou little jackass¡ª¡°sir, I would not dare disturb you so in normal circumstances, but this is hardly the case here. Our father just died, and it was his dying wish that I carry over his last words to my brother as soon as I could. Please, I only need to give it to him.¡± I affect my most pathetic face. Harmless, lips shaking, and eyes filled with sorrow, I plead with all of my being. It does not take long for the officer to crack under the double offensive of peer pressure and basic human empathy. Unfortunately, his reaction is not the one I expected. The emotion I decipher in his embarrassed face and aura is not acceptance, but guilt. He knows. He already knows. ¡°Where is my brother, sir?¡± I ask, this time pushing on his sense of pressure. ¡°You¡­ that is¡­ Richard Reynaud was captured on April 25th by the Rio Grande with most of his squadron. I am sorry.¡± By the , what the¡­ Arg! It takes all of my self-control to mask the rage I feel right now and affect a tragic expression. I force my poor mouth into a ¡®o¡¯ of surprise instead of an ¡®a¡¯ of rage. Did I fail before I could even start? ¡°As far as we know they are being treated with care. We recovered some wounded who named your brother amongst the captives and the Mexicans have so far respected the rules of war.¡± He frowns. ¡°Though you never know with those Catholics¡­¡± The sergeant clears his throat very noisily and the lieutenant immediately tries to correct his blunder. ¡°I am sure they are fine.¡± ¡°I¡­ thank you, lieutenant. I believe I need a moment.¡± ¡°You¡¯re about to keel over, miss. Come in and we¡¯ll look after you,¡± the sergeant says with some concern. I cannot accept. Dawn is on its way and I feel the coming of lethargy on the edge of my mind. I need to find cover. ¡°Thank you kindly, sergeant. I fear that I must refuse,¡± I tell him, not unkindly, and turn Metis around. They do not try to hold me back. My best of ponies tends to attract attention when she starts to move and there are few who would not be happy to see the back of her. I click my tongue to urge her on and we return north, towards the woods we just passed. I close my eyes and let intuition guide my steps. I need an enclosed space. As we move to the road and eventually to a side path, I consider what I just learned. Richard was captured. Now that my moment of outrage is over, I realize that this might, in fact, be a better outcome. Death in battle is less likely when one is covered in chains in some basement. Isolation, stale water, and hard bread are equally conductive to self-reflection on honor and the glories of war. The problem is that the spirit of fairness and gentlemanly conduct tends to be short-lived in any conflict. It seldom survives the first few battles. I should extract him. Assuming he was taken by ¡®permanentes¡¯ and not some militia, he will be held at the base of the Mexican forces in Matamoros. The war has not lasted long enough, nor has there been enough battles for there to be a prisoner camp. I am working on more assumptions than facts here, but assumptions are all I have. I ignore the tingle along my spine and realize that we are now above a small entrance into a rocky hill. A quick inspection reveals some sort of smuggler cache, currently abandoned. It should do for today. Or will it? I wince at the memory of the sun on my skin. A flash of phantom pain surges along my flank. The sun and arrogance are the most common killers of our kind and I just looked down on both of them. Out of the hundreds of thousands of days I could spend being alive, there is bound to be an unlucky one. I cannot take the risk of leaving this realm with oaths unfulfilled simply because I refused to be dirty. Time to bite the bullet. Learning from the previous experience, I undress completely, stash my belongings in my bag and lift my head to see that Metis already trotted away. I do not have the time for any concealment work. I sigh, raise my gauntlet and cast the spell. One day later. I spring from the ground like a devil from his box, in the state of nature and covered in charcoal-colored dust. A quick inspection reveals that none are here to witness my embarrassment, so I simply grab my gear and walk a few hundred feet to the sea for a quick dip. Note to self: find a drying spell. Less than a week after my emergency travel and I am already walking around butt-naked like some savage. Truly, the veneer of civilization is a thin one indeed. Metis reappears after I am acceptably dry and we ride west at full speed and right into the American army. In retrospect, I should have guessed it from the trampled earth, dodged mounted patrols, and numerous animal droppings. Metis and I crest a slope to find the valley before us covered in rows of well-ordered white tents lit by evenly-spaced campfires. Even late, the air is filled with the various noises of camp life as soldiers and aides go about their business. I hear laughter, clamors, and orders as well as the clangs and bangs of material being handled by poorly paid men. Nervousness tempered by discipline gives a spring to the step of patrolling officers, and extra strength in the arm of artillerists polishing their limbered guns. They are making ready for battle. I consider going through and immediately realize the massive hassle it would be to lie and manipulate my way through layers of stressed bureaucrats. I turn Metis around and we make for the hills north and away from the Rio. I follow a goat trail up another tiny hill and as we reach the top, I spot a small copse of dried pine trees. I sample the air. It tastes like sap, leather, soap, cheap aftershave and gunpowder. It also smells like the sea and will do so until I can take a proper bath. Closing my eyes brings into focus the heartbeats of dozen men and as I turn back, I realize why. This spot provides a commanding view of the valley below. Any scout worth their salt could crawl through the underbrush to count men, horses, and guns with reasonable accuracy. Some enterprising Corporal laid an ambush just in case. I could avoid them with significant effort, or I could resort to a little bit of vampiric expediency. I refuse to call it shenanigans. Deception here serves the clear and explicit purpose of saving time, therefore it is a tactically sound, perfectly justified decision and the fact that I will have fun is only a side effect of said plan. I grab my bag and rummage through it to find my grey cloak, the only cold weather piece of cloth I packed. I drape it across my shoulder and raise my obsidian gauntlet. I love casting in Likaean. ¡°Nu Sharran.¡± Let darkness be. The sentence is barely more than a susurrus and still, darkness answers. Even before the words cross my lips, the little light filtering through the cloud cover had dimmed and shadows had stretched like waking cats. The language of magic plays with time and mind like a creature of flesh and blood. The cloak on my back turns into the black of the abyss, like a hole in the world. Filaments quest outward for more fabric to consume and the vestment becomes almost organic in appearance, a broken entity crawling out from some unspeakable dimension. In my branch of magic, darkness is more than a mere absence of light. It hides and tricks. Sometimes, it hungers, like me. The darkness is a comfortable and welcoming cocoon where the sun is nothing but a distant memory and others lose their way, their ancestral brain screaming for the safety of cave and campfire. I am home. And now, I feel something else, not exactly an imbalance and more an opportunity. With darkness present, its twin concept tugs at me and I am only too happy to oblige. I bend to the side and grab a fallen branch from the rocky ground, which I hold in my free hand to serve as a target. I have a plan. The casting is smooth and effortless as it sometimes happens when the world aligns perfectly. ¡°Nu Sarrehin.¡± Let there be light. I remember struggling with the spell at first because I thought of light as something that reveals. A mortal tool that I no longer have a use for. I have since realized my mistake. Ours is not the beacon that guides but the ignis fatuus, the swamp mirage that lures travelers to their death. Like us, our lights shimmer selfishly for their own amusements in an illusive dance that teases and cheats. A dark purple orb rises atop the branch which I prune to leave a scythe-like shape of false gnawed bones. Then another. And another. ¡°Hey, do you see that?¡± a voice whispers from the meadow. Metis perks up as she likes teasing mortals almost as much as teasing me and eating ears. I swear that she makes herself noisy on purpose. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. ¡°Shh! Someone is coming!¡± someone else orders. I pass by, clad in a gown of midnight and carrying the macabre regalia of my office. The purple glint of the three orbs I conjured tremble around it like captive souls. Gasps. Moans. The sound of soiled trousers. The apocalypse pony stops without my prompt. She huffs the air, nostrils flaring, lungs working like two great bellows. Her massive head tilts right and two beady eyes sweep the underbrush like the glare of some hellish lighthouse. Her red, horrifying gaze slows on shapes that start to sob and mutter prayers to whatever deity might get them out of this deathtrap. Not to be outdone, I let the mortals stare at the void-black content of my hood. I wait a few moments before urging Metis forward. She rears and the ground trembles when she lands. Then, we are off. Strangely, the patrol decides not to challenge us. Our travel remains unimpeded as we continue west. I keep the darkness spell active with some effort but drop the light spell to help me hide. The landscape changes as we move away from the road: tall grass spreads out in all directions, only interrupted by the odd trees. There is very little light to be had and I must resort to my superior senses to get past the first Mexican patrol. I lead Metis behind a ridge and peer out with some curiosity at the other side of this conflict. Some of the differences are obvious. First, they all wear thick mustaches that could double as paint brushes. Second, some of them look considerably less well-fed than their American counterparts. I do not notice any difference in terms of discipline. The squad walks with careful attention under the direction of an officer wielding a small saber. They wear dark blue uniforms, so that only their shakos truly differentiate them from their foes. I see how this could be problematic in a pitched battle. Oh, well. I wait until they are gone and keep moving forward. I still feel the weight of destiny driving me forward. Something is going to happen, I am sure of it. I doubt that the disappearance of my contact is a coincidence. The problem is that I have no idea of what I might face, or even if I would be in danger. To my knowledge, there are no foes here who would justify such actions. As I think, we trudge through more tall grass. I see a tiny mound on my right with a lonely oak, tall and wide. I direct Metis there and jump up to have a look at the obstacle arrayed before me. To the west and five hundred paces away, the Mexico¡¯s Army of the North, has made camp. Where the American base was made of well-ordered rows so that you could not distinguish one unit from another, this one is made of tents sprouting together like mushrooms, like a patchwork of heterogeneous groups gathering for a festival. Where the Americans had patrolling officers, this one has roving bands of camp followers. Women gossip merrily around cooking pots. The professionalism I had seen in the patrol is much less prevalent here. Most importantly, they lack something that my instincts recognize as drive. There was a sort of hunger hanging around the other army, a sort of excitement, of eagerness. Here, even the regulars eye the command tent with reluctance. They pull on ill-fitting uniforms and slog from unwilling group to wary squad. I am unimpressed. The only noticeable advantage they have is number. Even then, I can spot so many civilians, including whole families, that I am unable to ascertain exactly how many of those present are combat personnel. They do appear to have some cavalry. As for their guns, they all look antiquated. Most of the muskets are the notoriously obsolete and unreliable Brown Bess they must have purchased in bulk from the United Kingdom. Looking at the camp, I come to a realization that chills me more than the sight of battle ever could. Even accounting for irregulars, the Mexican army should have around four thousand men while the American has two thousand. The battle of Waterloo counted almost twenty times that number. Twenty times. On each side. , any decisive battle fought here would barely count as a skirmish on the old continent. I would not foolishly assume that we are any different, having only a handful of vampires over the whole of Illinois for example. We barely have twenty lords in total. You could pick up more by carrying a bleeding Likaean from Basel to Paris without trying. I really hope the deterrence Constantine offers and the old clans¡¯ arrogance will protect us for a few more decades. Let them dismember India. Let them rend China. Let them not come here¡­ I shake my head. There is nothing I can do right now. I am still a small fry in the grand scheme of things. Worse comes to worst, I have weathered storms before. I am confident that I can find a way to survive this one as well. I assume that the shore will be guarded, or at least populated, and decide to head north again. Metis carries me away from the many lights and into fields of colorful flowers dancing under the light wind. I would find the exercise relaxing if it were not for my ever-increasing sense of¡­ not exactly dread. Anticipation. We leave the army to our back and left, waiting a bit before angling back towards the road. A couple of hours later I come across a branch in the path as well as another ambush. High bushes by both sides of the road hide heartbeats and even one person snoring softly. A mage cast a rudimentary spell dragging across the trampled road. I can taste their unstable aura at the back, the tell-tale signs of a poorly trained practitioner. To my knowledge, there should be no mage group in the vicinity. Curious. I can surmise from their location that they are Mexicans. This is a unique opportunity for me to get some information from an isolated group that I can eliminate without major consequences. I need to know more about Matamoros, where I assume the prisoners should be. I need to know if there are any events that would warrant the foreshadowing I feel now. The only difficulty I see is language. I can barely say without Jimena ribbing me. My only hope is that they have an interpreter to interrogate captives. Otherwise, they will try to bring me back to their camp and I will have to eliminate them. I believe this is worth the risk. ¡°You might as well come out!¡± I announce, as I stop Metis just ahead of the crossing. I smile at the one second of stupefied silence this grants me before the sides of the road bursts with yelling militiamen brandishing rusty weapons and polished facial hair. I am soon surrounded on all parts by pilosity. After much ordering around¡ª¡ªa sneering irregular steps forward to, I assume, grab the reins. I am most amused by his expression of absolute disbelief when he realizes that there is none. Sadly for him, he makes the mistake of keeping his hand in the air. A snap, a yell, and the man now holds the mutilated stump of his little finger. More screams arise on all sides while Metis chews the lost appendage without breaking eye contact. Good pony. The man reaches for a pistol and I believe that negotiations will fail until a clear and distinctively female voice brings order to the screaming mob. ¡°¡± Silence descends upon the quivering assembly and their nine-fingered member.The men part to let through a tall woman who walks with the assured gait of a lioness. They allow her through with obvious respect, to my surprise, and I finally realize my mistake. Some of the women I saw back at the camp were not followers. They were fighters. Clad in a brown travelling robe that has seen much abuse, the woman looks severe. Her dark hair is held in a tight braid and shifts to gray at the temples. Her skin speaks of decades under the sun, so brown and wrinkled it is, and no one would call her beautiful. Yet, she has a sort of magnetism to her. I feel it in her posture and the way she walks, strutting as if she owned the black soil beneath her dusty shoes. She is armed with an antique musket and a long knife hangs by her side. It has seen much use. I admit to being suitably impressed. The unexpected amazon glares at me with naked malevolence, planted here with her gnarly hands on her waist. Her confidence almost cancels my natural height advantage. ¡°What is it , first time seeing a ?¡± ¡°You are a combatant?¡± ¡°No, I keep the knife to skewer pumpkins. Of course, I¡¯m a combatant.¡± I keep my face impassive and dismiss the comment. She is the one who laid the ¡®spell¡¯ and I find her interesting. I notice a small statue of who I expect to be Mary by her side, wrapped in golden thread with stylized bells made of wood. This is a rudimentary focus. The warrior woman is a rare case of an untrained mage who pushed herself until she could reliably cast. She probably believes it to be some sort of miracle. People like her began entire magical traditions when they taught their methods to their gifted children and apprentices. I did not expect to see a , a Mexican witch, so far north. ¡°Your command of the English language is impressive.¡± ¡°Yes. I learned it from Texans when I was running with the Comanches. They taught me so that we could ransom them properly,¡± she explains with a sinister smile. It fades when I do not react with the horrified shock she was expecting. Hmm. I have two options. Option one, I stick with my cover story and pretend to be a foolishly brave woman on a quest. Option two, I reveal¡­ a little more of the world I belong to. Just a smidgen of aura to freeze the woman to her core and make her feel inside exactly where we both stand on the food chain. I think I will go with the second one as it is the most likely to get me answers. I judge that she would dismiss an idiot, brave or otherwise. I am also less inclined to act with subtlety when working with so many unknowns. ¡°Is that so?¡± I casually ask. ¡°What are you doing here, ? You look lost,¡± she demands, all attempt at subtle intimidation abandoned. Her goons feel like something is odd and close rank on both sides though they give Metis¡¯ head a wide berth. ¡°I was on my way to Matamoros to rescue a relative. How about you? Strange place to be lying in wait. Should you not be on the other side of the army?¡± ¡°We are not here to serve the government!¡± she spits before her expression turns dangerous. Before she can escalate, I distract her by slipping from Metis¡¯ back. My decision causes a small scuffle as my ¡®captors¡¯ scramble to surround me threateningly. This is one of the rare cases where my gender is an advantage. The militiamen may have tried to physically subdue a man attempting the same move. Instead, they just stand at a respectful distance to prevent my escape. They do not know how to handle me. The woman does. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you think you are doing, . We are no longer in your daddy¡¯s ranch. You are coming with us nice and slow and I¡¯ll find a general for that fancy stallion of yours.¡± ¡°Mare.¡± ¡°Huh?¡± ¡°Metis is a girl.¡± I bore my essence into her defenseless one with ease. Some mages can resist Charm better than others, given enough training. She is not of them. I taste many things from the luminous aura: confidence, annoyance, wariness. Wariness? ¡°If you are not serving the government then what are you doing here?¡± I ask on a cue. I feel her resistance. The setting is wrong, and she knows that she should be the one asking questions. The discrepancy between our apparent hierarchy and the way the conversation flows grates her. I could brute force it, but I stop myself. What would Sinead do? ¡°I snuck past both armies and I have seen things. Perhaps I can help?¡± I ask, pushing just a little bit. The crowd is silent as they await the soldadera¡¯s decision. She considers me for one moment and I nudge her curiosity just enough to subsume her natural distrust. ¡°We are looking for a beast who preys on the people of the nearby village. He has returned every week for the past month to take someone. He should be back tonight and this time, he is not leaving.¡± Something clicks in my mind with the inevitability of a falling boulder running down a slope. This is it. The last few nights of tingling spine and of anticipation, of searching in vain for some sort of sign have led to this moment. I am expected to act, assigned a role by the hand of fate, one that I would be unwise to shirk away from. Fate is calling. I have not felt so strong a pull since I saved Melusine back in Louisiana. The consequences of my decision will have long-lasting consequences. I consider ignoring it and rushing to Matamoros but dismiss the urge almost immediately. I lost a potential Vassal long ago by being too greedy, not by being careful. I am not so stupid as to ignore such a dire warning, not to mention that the disappearance of the Natalis mage could very well be related. I must know more. ¡°We should head there then,¡± I finally say. Her traits twist with fury, which I expected. I am, after all, challenging her authority by taking the initiative. Before she can manifest her anger, I decide to reveal my hand. I do not blast her with my aura. I push her, pressure her, box her in. The proud woman shivers, frozen to her bones by an otherworldly wind that no cloak can ward off. And then, I am blocked. The idol of the virgin by her sides shines blue in my sight as a warning. No matter, I have already achieved my goal. ¡°Perhaps,¡± I repeat more slowly, ¡°I can help. I have seen such things happening in the past.¡± ¡°Madre de Dios, I just felt as if someone stepped over my tomb. Brrr.¡± She crosses herself and I grit my teeth as the gesture sets me on edge. ¡°It must be a sign of God. Come on pendeja, let¡¯s go back to the village and talk.¡± ¡°No more ambushing?¡± ¡°I need to check on Pedro. He was supposed to report every ten minutes, that lazy good-for-nothing,¡± she complains off-handedly. Ah. ¡°Then we should really hurry,¡± I suggest as I climb back on Metis. The crowd of mortals senses that something is off and they gather protectively around their leader. She takes the branching path at a run. I follow them and consider the important question. What are we facing? It cannot be a rogue; they do not have enough self-control to stop at one victim. It cannot be a feral werewolf either. That still leaves a wide range of possibilities, from a sick human to vampire. By the , I hope it is not a vampire. The dusty road snakes down towards the river until the tall grass gives ground to tended fields of wheat and corn. After a minute, we reach the Rio Grande and the path angles right. The village itself appears made of stone buildings painted white, with low, wide roofs of straw. Nothing seems out of sort until we see the town square. There, at the crossroad of empty streets, lies the body of an irregular. He still grips a loaded pistol in his unmoving hands. A wide straw hat rolled against a merchant stall, now empty. my companion softly swears. The spectacle is so bizarre that I stop Metis in her tracks. The corpse clashes against the otherwise mundane background in a stark contrast that wakes the artist in me. What makes this so captivating, I wonder? The gash in his neck? Oh. No blood. He was exsanguinated. The deathly silence that falls on us as we take in the grisly scene makes the gasp of pain behind me that much more poignant. I turn and come face to face with a man who was not there, who should not be there. He has wavy black hair that falls to his chin, a thin mouth twisted into a rictus of gleeful cruelty. He wears a dark leather coat and bears no obvious weapons and yet I cannot help but recoil. His eyes are grey, bloodshot, and they display the most manic rage, the most desperate hatred I have ever felt in my life. Their raw, bleeding intensity freezes me to my very soul. His left hand is buried deep in the soldadera¡¯s rib cage. She gasps in immense pain as the buried limb keeps her upright. He has no aura. Nothing. On instinct, I send a tendril of essence that hits an invisible wall. Still nothing. He is as void as an empty grave. Slowly, with contemptuous wrath, the man lifts the dying form of my guide, then his arm blurs. I dodge the corpse. Her blood splashes against my dress as I slip from Metis¡¯ back. I order. She can do nothing here. By the time I hit the ground, my foe has killed three more men. I rush him, cursing myself for not having taken any weapons. What an idiot I am, spending ten years safely and then forgetting where I come from. I am not traveling without a full arsenal ever again, even in friendly territory. Then battle is joined and there is no more time for thought. I still have my claws and I still have my skill. I know immediately that it will not be enough. We throw ourselves at each other in a mirror display of fury. Our style is the same aggressive and relentless offense filled with unpredictability. We both walk the edge. One wrong move and the fight is over. A claw to the throat or a finger through the chest. The matter of a single instant. We swipe and dodge and grapple and escape, then I manage to kick him away. He stands there with his condescending sneer while I bend forward covered in wounds. I have deep furrows on my arms and shoulders where he raked or where I dodged a bit too late, dying the dress in a darker shade. This is bad. He was always too precise. The issue is not speed, the man simply moves perfectly. He breaks my rhythm. Counters too well. Even with the help of intuition I could not match his peerless style. But I am not done yet. I grab behind me and take one of the stalls by its side, then channel as much Natalis and werewolf essence as I can to swing it before me. My strength multiplies for a brief moment and I move backward, anticipating his tendency to get in instead of out. The maneuver works. The edge of the stall travels much faster than my arm and the heavy piece of furniture crashes against his guard, shattering in pieces as he strikes it but forcing him to take a step back. ¡°Matehin!¡± Subdue. Three purple snakes of chain link scales whip forth as I charge him. He twists backward and to the right. Into a mortal. The man he chooses had been scrambling for his gun instead of running away like the two other survivors of this brief slaughter. My foe grabs him by the collar and tosses his mewling form in the path of my spell with disdain. One snake impacts but the two others dodge around. The sneering man boots the mortal in the back, pushing him to me. He jumps over the now captured militia and straight at me, leaving both bindings behind. In instead of out. As planned. Perfect. I drop the spell and cast the one I had prepared in the meanwhile. I expected him to find a way to close the distance. ¡°Djarn.¡± Flay. The backlash of merely speaking my sire¡¯s creation sends a ghastly sensation up to my elbow, like being caressed by razor blades that never quite pierce the skin. My foe is not quite so lucky. The spell catches him midair. It shreds his extended arm to the marrow and climbs up to the right side of his face, leaving behind mangled, bloody chunks of flesh clinging to exposed bones. I sneer in turn. The man¡¯s coat disintegrates to reveal a silvery collar that stops the damage from hurting his neck. He lands and charges without pause. His hand strikes my chest. I deflect as best as I can. PAIN. Movement. I crash through a shoddy brick wall back first, through filthy muck and against a pail of hay. It softens the landing, somehow. More pain. I cough blood. That jerk got me in the lung. By the , what the hell? So fucking strong. Need to GET OUT. I cannot win. Still cannot even feel his aura, nor hear him. I am pretty sure he is a vampire from the way he moves and with such perfect control, he has to be¡­ A Lord. I need to ESCAPE. I climb to my feet, hands against the gaping wound in my flank. Claws are crystallized essence and the damage they inflict does not heal quickly. I am a mess and this place stinks. Speaking of which, that smell is familiar¡­ Yes. This could work. Desperate time¡­ Desperate measures! My enemy steps into the small pigsty just as I break the far wall with a tired punch. One of his arms is just meat and I would expect his expression to have changed. It has not. He is the same controlled maniac as he was ten seconds and an eternity ago. Worse, the wounds are knitting shut as I watch. Unbelievable. He steps forward. s?a??h th? N?velF?re.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. He dodges under the lantern I throw at him, arcing an imperious brow as if asking me: really?¡± The lantern impacts against its intended target, covering it in burning oil. For the first time since we started to fight, my foe shows the first sign of hesitation as an ear-piercing, horrendous screech assaults his senses. He turns just in time to be pelted by the flaming wreck of the pen gate. Several hundred pounds of porcine fury charge with the might of a creature with nothing to lose. I¡­ I did it. I channeled chaos! ¡°Hah!¡± I boast as I escape the death trap through the newly made emergency exit. I land in an enclosure and take off as fast as I can. I see the river in the distance. Perhaps I can¡ª Something grabs my neck and flings me against a post. Sharp things dig into my heel before I can even push myself away. Another post. Grabbed again. Left arm snapped. I grunt in pain and fight back with claws and feet. Too strong. He punches me in the face. I see stars. Not giving up yet. Another wall. I push back but he holds my head against the unyielding bricks. Agony. I scream, this time. Too much. He¡­ severed my spine? Cannot move. The sky. I gasp. Cannot angle my gauntlet. The man is there. For the first time, his smile broadens. Fangs. Four. Six. Eight. Eight fangs total. A Devourer. I am so¡ª He kneels by my side with casual grace. A bloody hand exposes my neck despite my weak struggles, then he bites. The eight little stilettos dig into my essence like needly spider legs. The pain they cause is intimate and exquisite. Agony expands to smother my thoughts, my instincts. He has not even drawn it in yet. Toying with me. A voice I have not heard in decades now breaks the silence, warm and soft as desert sand. I cling to it despite knowing better because I teeter on the edge of the abyss and any buoy is better than none. One pull is all Malakim needs to destroy me. I am powerless. I hate being powerless. Everything hurts so much. I flop back to the ground. Less suffering now. I regain enough presence of mind to take in the newcomer. I know who he is. I would recognize the dark hair, the intimidating presence, and the kingly beard from among a million faces. I simply cannot believe it. He should not be here. They should not be here! I am so fucked. Chapter 104: Warrens of the World The ancient king kneels by my prone form. His expression is that of bored majesty, patient towards his lesser, yet unattainable.I feel no aura coming from him. Both he and Malakim have masked their presence so completely that I find myself incapable of even guessing at his state of mind. It does not matter. I know with certainty what the consequences are here, because his blood became mine and so did some of his instincts. I am defeated. I will yield or I will die. There are no other alternatives. I nod to signify assent, and he stands back up. It is done. I am his prisoner. I will no longer fight. Malakim picks me up by the collar and drags me through the mud to a patch of grass beneath a tall apple tree at the edge of the village. I take this opportunity to make an inventory as my feet dig a furrow in the wet loam. I have lacerations all over my arms, some of them still seeping blood. There is a gaping hole in my chest. My spine is broken. So is my arm. Despite having fed only a few days ago, the wounds are slow to heal since they were inflicted by Malakim¡¯s claws. All in all, I hurt like a bitch. My dress is a rag and all my belongings besides the gauntlet are gone, not that I had taken much to begin with. This is a secondary concern. I do not own, nor know of any weapon, armor or tool that could have stopped either of those two. Malakim did not even push himself. He matched my strength and speed then beat me on technique alone. He was just toying with me. I stare at his broad, leather-covered back. The pale skin of his arm finished knitting itself from its previous butchered state. I am not scared. If I repeat it often enough, it might become true. Anything to take my mind off the fact that I am once again at the mercy of a man who ground me to dust, a man whose shadows I have lived under without him even being on the same continent. It took me years to rebuild myself, to forge a new identity from the wreck he left in his wake, and now he has returned and I am, once again, powerless. And the most amusing thing of all is that he does not care. Once I give him my agreement he turns and gracefully walks to the village square. I struggle as wariness smothers my mind, invades every recess with the urgency of my situation. I force myself to focus and rationalize it. Fate pushed me here instead of away. A path to salvation must exist, and I must witness or acquire something important. I refuse to believe that my sire can manipulate the threads of destiny himself, therefore, all is not as desperate as it seems. I just need to stay calm and play this carefully. I cannot afford to give up. Not now and not ever. My sire stops. From where I lie, I see him as he stands in the middle of the village. The view is¡­ odd. He is dressed in a cream-colored ensemble that fits him perfectly. Not a mote of dust nor a speck of mud has managed to stain its understated elegance. He looks like a sovereign in the midst of a royal hunt, more interested in networking with high lords than in running down stags. By comparison, the village represents the far side of poverty with cramped houses sticking haphazardly out of the dusty ground like the teeth of a hag. There is not a single pane of glass to be found nor any dyed material piece of cloth in the ratty curtains. Even the stalls are held together by hand-woven twine instead of nails. People here do not live. They subsist. They will not do so for long. The ancient monster raises a fist and I gasp at the raw, unadulterated power now bursting from his unmoving figure. Reality hiccups and moves until I feel a difference in the texture of the world. Colors flare brighter, bleed into each other as they become more fluid. Even my wounds close with increased speed as willpower gains the edge over matter and rules become more lax. The sensation is slightly euphoric, causing me to smile despite my predicament. If this is how it feels to live in a Likaean world then our planet must feel dreary indeed. My moment of pleasure dies when he casts. The vision I had of his battle on the beach did not give him justice. Nirari whispers a word and, by this act, violates the beauty he had brought here. A rune like a scar appears before his extended arm, as if carved into invisible flesh. It pulses the angry red of a festering wound. FLEE. I gasp and shiver, then gasp again when the pain of movement washes my mind clean. This is a new feeling. No, this is an emotion I lost a long time ago and one I have not missed. Terror. It washes away everything else. FLEE. I cannot. FLEE. I fight against the all-encompassing wave of white noise hounding my mind with all the mental fortitude I can muster. This is fake. This is a trick! I am no longer so weak. I am no longer trapped and alone! No. The villagers crash against their doors in their desperate attempts to escape, only to be cut down like so many sheep to the slaughter by some dreadful spell. Nirari stands in the middle like a director to some hellish orchestra, stabbing, gouging, cleaving with simple gestures and not once does his expression move away from casual ennui. He is just cleaning house. I suppose that he does not wish to leave any witnesses. After only a minute, the massacre runs out of victims. Nirari signals, and Malakim pulls me through fields of uncaring grass like a captured flag. We leave the village behind with only two babies screaming their lungs out among a field of dead. This is not mercy, but expediency. Toddlers cannot speak and so no effort is expended to silence them. That is all. In the following hours, I am dragged north and away from my planned destination. Malakim and Nirari do not hurry, and eventually I manage to fix my spine and upgrade my station from luggage to unwilling follower. I do my best to keep my flickering aura under control and stare at their backs with apprehension. I can see them. I can even smell a whiff of cold perfume among the smells of loam, grass, and flowers. They do not emit sounds nor do they have an aura. Every time I turn my head, they disappear. Their stealth upsets me almost as much as the fact that I am wearing filthy rags. I have always been the one to sneak up on people, so far. I suppose that rules do not apply to them. As the night runs its course, we keep moving north through the wilderness. The land here is choked with life but devoid of human presence. I grit my teeth and focus on closing every last wound, still feeling the sting of Malakim¡¯s claws in my flesh. I am ready to admit being lost in the monotony of the landscape until, finally, I spot smoke in the distance. When we crest the next hillock, I feel my sense of reality drift away once more. Hidden from prying eyes is a camp from another era, a gathering of people I would not have expected from the most vivid imagination. Men and women clad in white linen bands work among a circle of beige tents. Their skin is golden, and their limbs are lean and muscular in the manner of hunters. Tattoos adorn them, and shaven skulls as decorations or, more likely, symbols of rank. They perform various tasks in complete silence, the shuffling of their feet the only noise besides the crackling of their fires. A sentinel notices us and bows as we enter the perimeter. As if linked by a single mind, the others turn and salute with eerie uniformity. Those among them who wield glaives and bows raise them to their foreheads in a strange gesture I had never seen before. None speak. Nirari waves them back to their labor as we approach the object of his attention, a narrow opening in the side of a valley not unlike that of a mausoleum. It must have started as a natural cavern at some point in the past, then someone enlarged it and added decorations on the side walls shining an organic yellow glow in the darkness like so many veins. The assembled strange people apparently spent a significant amount of time clearing debris to free the path in as small piles of broken rocks, sand, and gravels dot the far side of the basin. We walk in. Though the path would not let a carriage through, even the unusually tall Nirari has no need to bend his back to cross the threshold. We end up inside a small cavern showing signs of a massive excavation. The lines of fluorescent paint merge and diverge in intricate patterns with no discernible order. Sometimes, I can almost glimpse hints of shape ¡ª an owl caught mid-flight, a lit candle ¡ª then I move and the construct collapses into amorphous shapes. The mirage is gone. The cavern is not too deep and we angle downward into a passage. Some of the walls are still wet, soil staining the glistening surface. It goes on for a few yards and then the ground dries again. I feel a shift in the air, like opening a door to a musty cellar the further we descend. It takes us a few minutes to reach another cavern. While the previous one had an almost primal feeling to it, this one has been clearly worked on and transformed into a workshop of sorts, now abandoned. Great tables of pale stone pitted with impacts and marred with puddles of molten metal speak of some great works in a distant past. A large brick smelter takes a significant part of the right wall, while the left used to be a storage area now empty save for a few broken remains of stone and ceramics. As deserted as it seems now, this place must have been quite a sight when active. The only intact thing remaining are runes engraved into almost every surface that still shine with remnants of power. They are in an ancient and unfamiliar script that reminds me of Akkad yet more sinuous, and the taste I get from them is that of molding and twisting. This is an artefact production facility. My sire lifts a fist and the ground rumbles. Blocks of stone emerge from the ground in compact formation, then some stop while others keep going up. In one second, he has formed a massive throne out of cyclopean grey slabs upon which he sits. Malakim comes to stand by his side, his eyes boring into me. My sire¡¯s gaze lands on me and I feel an immediate sense of dread. I do not have to think; I know what is required of me. Stepping before him, I perform an ancient warrior salute, head bent and right hand raised before my arm. I believe that the state of my wardrobe and the obvious signs of battle grant me the right to claim a soldier status rather than that of a captured princess. The risk exists that he would take offense. It is one I am willing to take, considering the alternative. Fortunately, it appears that Nirari is in a pleasant mood. His brows rise almost imperceptibly in what I believe to be amusement. S?a??h th? N0??F?re.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. He did not ask a question and so I do not utter a word. The rules here are simple. Show utmost respect, answer fully and truthfully, and only speak when spoken to. To deviate is to die. Nirari spends some time pondering the situation while, outside, the night nears its end. I maintain my poise and will do so until he gives me leaves or until dawn does. he suddenly asks. This one is open to interpretation. He waves the answer away. An acceptable inquiry, considering the situation. Our meeting might be considered as a waste of time, a hurdle for him. Looking for a guilty party to punish later is standard. I do not volunteer the fact that I may not be reached by message spell so long as I carry Nashoba¡¯s earrings. This is problematic. I may have to stop using them in the future. So, he knows where I live. I should have expected it, of course, yet hearing it from his very mouth sends a chill along my newly-repaired spine. I pushed him away from my thought, he and the other old monster, like a child hiding her feet under the cover from the creature under her bed. Bedsheets are no shield, and neither is distance. He allows himself the shadow of a smile. He lifts a finger and a sound like chimes spreads over the cavern. he orders. A few seconds later, I hear hurried footsteps from the corridor and soon, one of the strange humans appears before us. Just like the others, she is dressed in layers of white linen revealing golden skin decorated with intricate tattoos. Now that I am close enough, I notice that they are magical in nature though she herself is no mage. She walks forward without hesitation and kneels before my sire, placing her forehead on the ground. The woman¡¯s eyes widen in surprise. She stares at me with renewed interest, awe, and perhaps even a bit of envy before she nods in understanding. She understands Akkad? This is¡­ The mortals are not meant to learn it! This is our tongue! How can he commit such a blasphemy? Sensing my disapproval, Nirari smirks, this time genuinely. She obeys, revealing a scarred stump. Someone cut the tip of her tongue. Well, I suppose that this would work. It also explains why the assembly was so silent. The woman nods and stands up. She bows and rushes back up the stairs. Nirari finishes. He stands up and leaves through a pair of open stone gates dug in the far wall. Only after he is gone do I allow myself to relax the position I had assumed. I now realize that panic has saved me, because I told the truth when he asked if I knew what he was doing here. I did figure it out as soon as he mentioned the question, however. There is only one reason that could force Nirari to plumb the depths of the world looking at abandoned magical facilities. The ancient one is looking for mother dear. Meeting Semiramis made it rather obvious as to why Niari cannot catch up. Space is significantly more fluid for the witch queen than it is for the rest of us. It should be easy to remain one step ahead when one of hers is ten of ours. The thing is that when he last visited one of her old abodes, he merely punched a wall then left. This is different. He is conducting a full excavation of a base that was obviously abandoned at least a century ago. I do not know what he is looking for, but I would bet a night with Ignace that it relates to finding a countermeasure to his mother¡¯s annoying traveling habits. I just pray that he does not find one. By the , I am not ready to oppose them. I would not even know where to begin. In short order, Violet returns with two more minions. They bow to me with the same respect they gave Nirari and I finally realize that they do not serve him. They worship him. I follow them through the gates and into a large corridor of rough-hewn gray rock that reminds me of a dungeon. The air is inexplicably fresh and enough light is provided by the twisting lines for the mortals to shuffle forward. They choose one of the rooms after a quick exchange of hand signals then cram themselves in like an assault team under bombardment. An instant later, I hear clangs and the rattle of heavy things dragged over rugged stone. I peer in out of curiosity. The three humans are busy gathering debris and goods out of what appears to be a disaffected storage room. A lanky man struggles with ingots of metal colored a dull verdigris while another picks up ossified planks from the dusty ground. Violet looks at me with a guilty stare, ashamed. I leave them to their task of making this habitable and decide to inspect the facility. There are more doors to other rooms, some wider than others. One still has abandoned tools possibly left as they were exceedingly easy to replace: calipers, pliers, and even a remote engraver used to inscribe runes on still-hot material. Two of the gates are closed and I assume that those are Nirari¡¯s quarters and that of his minion. I have no intention of disturbing them. Further, the corridor ends in a junction with three ways. The one directly in front of me is blocked by more debris with signs of some of the rubble having already been cleared. The one to my right leads to another workshop. The one to my left fills me with foreboding. It arches to the right a hundred yards in the distance. A massive spot of dried red liquid covers the ground only a few paces away from me. I smell human blood, less than three days old. I expand my senses and focus on the space before me. I feel no magic at all, but I see a disturbance in the air. A minute current carrying motes of dust that disappears without reason. There is something there. Something hidden and lethal and lying in wait like a moray. The sense of foreboding I feel increases ever so slightly as I take in the length of this passage. A nest of morays. I decide to retreat. The other workshop beckons and dawn is close enough for lethargy to muddy my mind. I have no need to take any more risks. The next room is a copy of the first one, save that the smelter has been replaced by what may be the remnants of a large saw. Pale dust covers the ground and pieces of crumbled rock lie here and there as if fallen from larger constructs. Many of them have one perfect side, polished until flat as a mirror while the rest is raw and irregular. I assume that workers here processed stones but I cannot be sure. One thing is certain, a woman alone would have had no use for such a large place. I expected both Semiramis and Nirari to work alone and I was just disproved. What bothers me is that the tables here are just a bit too low for adult humans now that I stand by their side. I should not dwell on that. My priority should be to find a way to leave. Surrendering does not prevent me from planning an escape. That would have to take place tomorrow, however, now is far too late to be running outside. I also feel that it would be... treacherous to run away on the very night I was captured. I am aware of the lack of logic backing that statement. Much like all the instincts of honor and obligation I inherited from Nirari, this one is more a matter of tradition turned into law than anything else. Frustrating. I spend some time looking around the workshop and find two other sets of gates leading away, though they are currently locked. Afterward, I return to my quarters and notice that the three linen-covered servants have cleared the space, swept it, and created a rudimentary nest made from hard fabric seeded with a few colorful pillows. A pot-pourri exhales a perfume of rose and lavender, while a single lit candle basks the naked stone with a warm glow. They made a real effort turning this jail into a bedroom. I close the door behind me and settle for the night, hugging myself in the ruins of my dress. Tomorrow will be a long day. Chapter ex3: Back and Here Again. Marquette, Undisclosed Date. S~?a??h the ??v?l_Fir?.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality.A familiar tug. I jump up, sending my office chair banging against the wall. No. No no no no no no not that thing again. No! I refuse! None of my efforts bear fruit. I end up muttering insults against fate, the spheres and whatever is causing this horrible phenomenon but to no avail. It will happen. I am being summoned again. Chapter 105: Trapped Tonight, my sire sits on a new throne in the stone workshop as I come in from my bedroom, servant in tow. The unceasing noise of his servants clearing rubble must have bothered him, because he gestures and the sounds¡­ stop.I do not let myself react. Casters have long realized that sound is carried by air, and interfering with said air will silence even the most dire of thunderstorms. I was led to understand that such an undertaking requires fine-tuned control. I knew that he could call on immense power, and it also appears that he knows how to use a scalpel just as well as a hammer. Nirari¡¯s voice is as smooth as caramel. It belongs in a boudoir somewhere, drinking tea and whispering amusing witticisms. I am not surprised that my foolish mortal self would fall for him. I stand back up from my respectful bow while Violet remains prostrate. I was thankfully given a hastily made white linen dress of strange make which leaves my arms and shoulders free while wrapping around my neck. I look like an exotic dancer posing as a Roman Vestal. Ah, I should not be so judgmental. They worked in a hurry and I would rather wear this than the grisly remains of my previous bloodstained dress. I did not realize yesterday that I was one thin thread away from revealing entirely too much breast. A dreadful proposal in the present company. I politely reply. he explains with obvious annoyance, I ask immediately as would be expected from someone who does not know of Semiramis. I am in luck, because my sire is so absorbed in his own speech that the deception is taken as an invitation to continue. He returns his attention to me. He pauses as he mulls over some distant memory. As long as he speaks about himself, he does not ask me too many questions and that suits me just fine. I dare not think of what would happen if he knew that I had already met the one of whom he speaks. I ask. That was a mistake. Master¡­ no, my sire deploys his aura and he crushes me like an insect. I am slammed into the ground as if by a wall of cold and disdain. It does not even feel like aggression. He is just disciplining a wayward child. The world turns blank under the tremendous pressure. My mind slows. My eyes take in a small spot of ground on the distance, every bump, every shift in color of the grey stone, simply because I cannot turn my head. A strange sense of pressure forces my jaws shut. Nothing exists, only this small expanse of rock, Violet¡¯s heartbeats and the biting cold. As soon as it came, the punishment stops. The abyssal pressure disappears, and I wonder in disbelief why the room has not frozen over. I nod because I do not trust my voice at the moment. I know she wants to be a goddess and he wants to eat her before she succeeds, yet the knowledge is trite because it only scratches the surface. Their animosity stems from an irrepressible gap between them, the same that exists between him and I. We are too alike. I do not know how much of my drive is his and how much I inherited from my human self. I believe that I would have been happy making a family, creating successful companies and leading projects until the day I died without having to take on the world. My lack of arrogance was most likely wisdom. I knew the scope of what I could conquer with the limited time I had. Those considerations are gone now along with my mortality. We are not creatures of power, but of conquest. There is always another bigger prey. the ancient king answers, pleased, His gaze grows distant. His expression turns thoughtful and what terrifies me is that the dream he speaks of comes with no animation, no gesture nor smile. He recites the words like an automaton, as if they had lost any meaning to him and he was just going through the motion. This terrifies me more than his aura ever could. I almost spit, caution thrown to the winds. My sire shows no anger despite my challenge. The information clicks in my mind. Conquest without an end. Endless wars. Unending subjugations. Until he tickles something too powerful and our entire civilization is wiped out from an uncaring universe. That is not the worst. The worst is that even if Nashoba and Amaretta¡¯s prophecies prove correct and I manage to stop both him and Semiramis¡­ What will prevent me from doing the same? As he said, we are alike. My silence affords me a minute grin from the seated king. I do not lower my guard. He may be pleasant now, yet the steel below the surface is ever present and I would be a fool to think him in high spirits. I perk up. Thinking that far in the future is a waste of time when I am not even sure I will survive the night. Yet another problem for future Ariane, may luck favor her. he asks. Even in this relatively cold temperature, the stain has started flaking and giving off a heavy, rancid stench. Frustration wells up until I force myself to calm down. I expended a lot of vitality putting myself back together. I should be fine for another day or two. Maybe. I remember that restraining the blood supply is a common, if risky, method of control. Constant Thirst is not conducive to deep thought and planning. Nirari dismisses me with a casual gesture and I leave from the door behind me, Violet in tow. We arrive at the four-way corridor. The stone workshop is at our back, my ¡®bedroom¡¯ and the way out to my left and my destination forward. Tan men and women attack stones with bars and pickaxes, sometimes casting a hesitant glance in my direction as if unsure of the proper protocol. When I do not react, they go back to their labor with renewed energy. The corridor beckons. I stop at the edge of the pool of blood and turn to Violet by my back. I know that she communicates via hand gestures, but I do not know their code. We will have to work the old-fashioned way. The servant fidgets nervously, face suddenly paler. She quickly relents when my expression turns cold. Nod. Nod. Shake. Hesitant nod. I need to be more specific. Nod. Frantic nod. I suspected that it might be the case given the obvious camouflage, but I was not quite certain. I still cannot pierce the veil of illusion marking whatever the corridor truly contains, a sign of professional work as most mirages unravel once their presence is made obvious. Hmm. I suppose that time has finally come for some real-life application of my studies. Nod. Her charcoal eyes gaze at me for a full second before she answers and in them I see something I had not expected: relief. I remember that she was tasked to help me. Perhaps she expected me to use her as live bait? That would be wasteful and slovenly. I consider her a bit more as her retreating back turns into the corridor. She and her companions have very angular traits from a race I do not recognize. They are not cattle. Does this mean that my sire has a domain somewhere from whence he pulled them, or did he ¡®borrow¡¯ a contingent from a Dvor lord? My understanding is that both he and his mother spend a significant amount of energy and resources destroying each other¡¯s fiefs. It might just be that some have started to survive. I fear the implication. I turn back to the empty alley and pick a few pebbles that I throw forward. After five or so, I have thoroughly explored the boundaries of the illusion. The false image of normalcy starts six or seven paces away, just after the limit of the bloodstain. It curves outward slightly due to the enchantments being placed on the wall. This will make my attempt easier. Violet returns in short order with everything I asked, including a half-torn iron plate covered in fuzzy red rust. I tell the woman. She obeys without hesitation. I grit my teeth and apply the carver against the plate. Soon, the abominable shriek of tortured metal covers even the clangs of the excavation. I finish tracing and inspect the results. Loth taught me how to disrupt spells when we worked on his shield breaker spheres. My construct is quite complex and shows the Dvergur runes for disrupt, reveal, and unmake. The reveal sigil takes the central position for an illusion-specific countermeasure. I prick my right wrist and trace the drawing with black blood, muttering in the sharp, gravelly tongue of my old friend. They soon shine blue and eager. I fling the thing until it lands at the point I identified as a nexus. s?a??h th? N?v?lFire.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. At first nothing happens. Then the air shimmers and the color of the stones beneath shift from marble-white to obsidian-black. Rather quickly, a crackling circle of white bolts form in the air. It expands outward like a popping bubble. The spell breaks with a clear chime and the spectacle before us changes entirely. Gone are the naked rock and sterile appearance. Complex glyph patterns now adorn the walls, centered around metal panes set in the very stone. Above, the strange yellow lines that provide illumination radiate with renewed ardor. A few glyphs fizzle where the threshold used to be and reveal behind them a long metal pane with a horizontal slit. Tacky. I conclude. The enticing scent of stark terror soon teases my nostril and I turn when I hear a light thump. The devoted servant is on her knees, forehead stuck to the ground. She springs back up like a puppet on strings, face filled with gratitude. I have no time for this. I need to escape quickly, or they will find ways to control me through pact or coercion. She is an enemy, albeit not a serious one, and I do not want to spend the effort to create bonds. She and her companions are clearly indoctrinated like the most dedicated Eneru subjects. I will treat her decently since I would not benefit from gratuitous cruelty, but I will kill her if she gets in the way. Sensing my disdain, the woman lowers her head and I return my attention to the now unveiled corridor to come to an immediate and definitive conclusion: whoever did this was completely bonkers. Mad as a hare. And dangerous! It must have taken a hundred hours of work for a competent mage to design, create and install this deathtrap. Even Jonathan would be impressed by the depths of paranoia involved in this project. I feel like whistling in appreciation. Unfortunately, I will have to solve this Gordian knot and, who knows, perhaps I can escape that way and leave a few traps active? I immediately start to inspect the defenses and I am once more grateful for the inhuman sight which allows me to decipher the defenses without getting closer. The first trap, the one that already claimed a victim, is a mechanism springing blades horizontally from both walls with a magical trigger based on perceived movement. I think it has a way to rearm itself too. There are also pressure-activated fire spells on the ground in case someone gets cute and decides to crawl across. The disarming mechanism on those is trapped too. And this is just the first layer of defenses. There are two others, plus some contraption where the corridor angles connected to the metal pane of the blade trap. Oh well, at least this is interesting. I turn to see her point to the side with some confusion. I order. This time, she obeys without hesitation. Note to self, my sire does not cultivate the art of ¡®insistent suggestions¡¯ among his followers. ¡°Spiderwalk.¡± I cast the spell in English as I need very little power. Nirari did not react to me using Likaean during the fight. Perhaps he did not recognize the tongue? In any case, I would rather not force my luck. I crawl up the wall. If I were in my armor I could simply walk on the surface. Sadly, doing so in that dress would mean that my eyes would be covered instead of my unmentionables. Once I am above one of the panels, I use the rune engraver to disarm the trap preventing access to the inner mechanism, then repeat the same thing on the other side. After I am done, I drop and take care of the fire spell on the ground. Now for the mechanical one. I see no obvious gap in the pane. Sometimes, when there is no point of ingress, you just have to make one. I lean against the wall and raise my gauntlet. ¡°Stone breaker.¡± This spell is specifically designed to break hard material in a small surface. I added it to my repertoire for out of reach metal locks and other annoying things I want to demolish from afar. It shares the ¡®disrupt¡¯ glyph with the reveal spell which is convenient since there are only so many runes that can fit in a gauntlet frame. The other three are opposition, shatter, and diamond. A narrow purple ray emerges from my hand to hit the distant panel. The contraption rings like a broken bell. A hidden panel in the far wall slides open and a giant quarrel that would belong on a Roman artillery piece emerges from its recess. A ballista trap! How quaint! The tip expands with a dreadful ¡®clang¡¯ mid flight. Instead of a standard head, the projectile has four blades in a cross pattern. Fishing for volume, are we? I grab the thing with ease as it passes by, only moving forward a bit on account of its tremendous weight. Whoever designed the bolt sacrificed power in the hope of achieving surprise. A human with excellent reflexes could dodge this. I twirl the spear-like object and think. Only the mechanical trap is left. Now how would I go about getting rid of that one? I could use the bolt and the metal bar I requested to block the blade after triggering it, thus preventing it from rearming. Or I could go the ¡®Ariane¡¯ way. That sounds like more fun and would let me inspect the thing for future references. I dig my talons at the edge between stone and metal, plant my feet on the wall, channel as much Natalis essence as I can and pull. The groan of forcefully deformed metal reverberates in the corridor and the sounds of excavation stop again. I grunt with the effort of pulling the panel open. It resists for a while, then something gives in and the whole thing comes loose. I place the trap on the ground to inspect it, keeping well clear of the path of the blade. The contraption is quite long. The cutting edge runs its length, kept in a state of tension by a lock triggered by a spell. A system of pulleys with a powerful enchantment reloads the trap after each use. I destroy the locking mechanism and the blade snaps out. Enchanted too! Someone was not taking any chances. I dispose of the second trap the same way and realize that I am, in fact, having fun. Disarming traps is like solving a puzzle with the added stake of something unpleasant happening if you make a mistake. How exciting! The only thing missing is a little snack at the end. I may be more Thirsty than I originally thought. Oh well. I turn to Violet who has been staring at me with some measure of amazement for a while now. She looks tasty. She is also forbidden, so I tear one of the blades off and go to the next trap. This one is designed to let off a massive amount of electricity into its victim, and is coupled with a pit with some spikes at the bottom, including one made out of silver. This one is a one time only, so I trigger the electrical part from afar, then walk closer and jam a metal bar in the opening mechanism of the pit. I think that someone who would only see the mechanical trap could consider crawling under, which would have triggered the flame spell, or rush through with some very powerful armor or a werewolf body and the second trap would have done them in no matter how sturdy they are. Well planned indeed. The third one is interesting as well. I find small openings which could throw darts. I also notice not one, but two decoys meant to have someone come closer with an unknown trigger hidden behind a layer of chipped paint. I try to activate it with movement, by throwing a spell through it and even by dropping my metal bar in the middle of the construct. Nothing. On a hunch, I draw a decoy rune of blood on a stone and toss it. The corridor flashes at the presence of flesh and a strange whistle fills the air. ¡°Hmm?¡± A disgusting, green cloud of acidic liquid is spat from the small holes, leaving behind an acrid stench. The strange liquid eats into the stone. Ah, if someone had managed to pass the first two hurdles through careful analysis, a close inspection of the decoys may have turned them to meaty soup. Charming. Whoever designed this is delightfully twisted. I want to take them by the collar and throw them through their own creation to see what remains at the end. After I had a little bite, of course. Thirsty. Casting takes comparatively little energy. The damage dealt by Malakim¡¯s claws must have been more severe than I first assumed. Oh well. I can feed soon. I hope. After another thorough inspection, I finally manage to reach the end of the corridor where the hidden crossbow remains concealed and look around the corner to find¡­ Another corridor filled with traps with a heavy bronze door at its end. And, as my nose had informed me, a body in the distance. This one has remained here long enough to be ripe; it reeks atrociously. Violet, who had foolishly followed me without waiting for my go-ahead, pinches her nose under the horrible assault. This man apparently triggered the first layer of trap if the metal bar skewering his chest is any indication. He wears a full robe in purple with a golden filigree, which either makes him a cultist or a clownish villain in some traveling circus. It is hard to tell, sometimes. In any case, I am not working under these conditions. I quickly inscribe a few runes of air and flow on yet another stone, add a pinch of blood and voila, an improvised fan. The air progressively clears as I inspect this new intellectual delicacy. Alas, this one will be much easier to deal with. It is designed to trap people in. Our dear departed friend fell prey to it. Come to think of it, his body is past the first layer, therefore he must have been running for his life for inertia to carry his corpse that far. Truly, I find no hidden crossbow facing that side of the corridor and start working, well aware of Violet¡¯s regular breath as she watches me work. Her heartbeat thumps in my ears and her scent soon dispels memories of the earlier fetid smell. I do not have to report immediately. I could explore a bit, and, if I find an exit, drain the little spying waif dry before running away. Nashoba¡¯s earrings still adorn my ears and I have ways to hide my tracks. Tempting. In fact, I believe I shall do just that. With renewed energy, I methodically dismantle the first layer of traps consisting of some overlapping fire spells and reach the corpse. He holds no focus that I can see, but I am not wading through corpse juice to find out more. I engrave a drying spell on the ground next to him to suck in water away. Bodies smell much less when they are mummified. Setting it on fire would be a stupid idea in an enclosed space. Finally I arrive at the last layer, giddy with excitement. I want to eat Violet and leave, but I must wait. I need to be sure. It is only a matter of seconds to trigger the two remaining traps as those do not have a way to rearm themselves, then I am at the heavy brass door. I bend forward to inspect it for one last trap on this side and am sent flying backwards. Ah? My back and head smash against the wall and I struggle against the hand now clamped on my throat. The pressure increases and I stop struggling. My vision clears to reveal the bloodshot eyes of Malakim. His black hair falls over his face and he sneers with hatred. He wears a dark leather armor with an assortment of weapons and phials secured around. His throat is covered by a grey scarf. I lie. Malakim sighs, then turns to Violet. She runs away as fast as her legs can carry her. Once she is gone, Melakim returns his full attention to me. I croak, trying to relax his grip. My struggles are in vain. He is as unyielding as a steel wall. Malakim releases me and I jump on my feet then away from him. He turns to match me with the door at his back. Escape plans cancelled. For now. the man says in a mocking voice, His eyes narrow with suspicion. He¡­ he forgot?! It actually takes a few seconds for his face to show any hint of recollection, whereupon he proceeds to laugh. The sound would be warm if it were not so bitter. He keeps at it as if I had told a good jest. I start defending myself, but he interrupts me by choking me again. I need to get out. he replies and he finally releases my throat. I massage it out of habit as he picks up the trap blade I had liberated and snaps it in half. That stupid strength. Still, I am curious, and the Thirst removes many of my inhibitions and survival mechanisms. Instead of exploding, Malakim merely tilts his head in consideration. I object. No matter how binding the oath, vampires can break it if they are willing to pay the price. I would die rather than do some things and this is an outcome I have already accepted. Why can he not just greet the dawn? In answer, Malakim removes his scarf and I get a better look at his collar. I first got a glimpse of it during our fight but I had, at the time, been focused on more pressing matters. More specifically, killing him. Now, I am left to wonder how distracted I had been. The fabric is of a strange material like the skin of a snake, with pearlescent scales interspersed here and there. The yellow light above does not reflect on it. Instead, it shines from inside with an otherworldly light as delicate as it is precious. I feel a sense of wonder taking it in, as well as one, more subdued, of horror when I see the outlines of several runes. Such potential, such ethereal grace and Nirari turned it into shackles in one sacrilegious decision. I am appalled. Malakim says, this time almost subdued. I cannot hide the disbelief in my voice. I would not be so sure. I peer at the dragon skin. I want to touch it, course my finger over the mesmerizing fabric but I cannot. Malakim notices my gaze for which I am grateful. I would not want him to try and see if I already knew of Semiramis from before. That would lead to unpleasant circumstances. He then takes a few steps back and bows politely, extending a hand to the bronze gate. I hiss. How DARE HE. I NEED IT. The man raises both hands in a disarming gesture. I want to object to the semantics, but I realize that to get justice I would need to return to Nirari. To go further with Malakim means that, perhaps, there will be an opportunity to escape. There will be none if I return. I could DRAIN THE FOE¡¯S PUPPET first and then go with Mala¡ª No! No. He is playing with me. I must take the risk. I must escape as soon as I can. The longer I stay and the easier it will be for them to bind me. So, I fake my best smile and move forward. The bronze gate is not even locked. I still inspect it for anomalies and find a few reinforcement runes as well as a spent alarm rune. With nothing dangerous around, I step into a large square room. The first thing I notice is that the smell is not much better, and the stench this time comes from a bisected mana hound. The massive purple beast was cleaved in two by some metal blade of sorts, both sides and the innards spread over a paved floor. Two doors lead away. The first one is to my left and must have been a way out at some point. A desk stands next to it as well as racks still covered in coats, and a few crates. It has been collapsed, rocks and gravel spilling into the room. The farther door is more promising. Made of heavy bronze like the others, it is still locked. I stare around as I move forward. This room doubled as a warehouse and armory at some point. I spot a rack of rifles, still clean, but no silver bullets. Clearly whoever made this base was a mage with a high sense of security if the traps are any indication. It was not enough and at least one mana hound escaped containment, possibly causing some sort of quarantine measure that sealed the entrance. In any case, if the inhabitants of the base have not left through another way, they should still have a strong presence. There should be at least a few mages and a few soldiers if the traps and weapons are any indication. I cannot exactly use this to my advantage. They will not make a difference against Malakim. I cross the floor, monster in tow, and am again grateful not to have to breathe. The two bodies must have stayed there for at least a week in a damp environment. Small mercy, there are no flies around so no maggots. Malakim is like a sword of Damocles hanging above my neck as I kneel to inspect the next gate. I close my eyes and focus on other senses. There is something on the other side, the familiar taste of warning of an alarm spell. A few years back I would have been unable to unravel it. Now, I place my gauntlet-covered hand against the cold, smooth metal and pluck the spell apart string by string until, with a snap, it collapses on itself with no one the wiser. I try the handle. Locked. A quick spell takes care of the unprotected keyhole and the heavy gate swings open silently, surfing on well-oiled hinges. We are in a dormitory. It is the middle of the night now and a dozen mortals sleep soundly in lined up cots separated by curtains hung on wooden poles. Chests and wardrobes line the wall. The left-side corner has been isolated, and the smell of soap and excrements emanates from it. No one has woken up yet. Malakim overtakes me, bumping against my shoulder and eliciting a hiss that he ignores. He stops above the first cot and looks on with a serene expression. This is the first time since I have met him that he seems at peace. He lifts a finger and inspects the talon with patient interest while, below him, a man slumbers. he whispers in a voice that only a vampire could pick up. He stabs the man between the eyes and just above the nose. There is slight noise of broken bone and a sort of suction. His victim gasps very lightly, but the noise is not enough to cover the sighs and light snores of the others. I look with pain at the wasted blood dripping on the ground, turning it red. So THIRSTY. Maybe I can¡­ Just one¡­ But no, he is waiting for it. He is waiting for me to disobey. Malakim draws the curtain to reveal another victim. The first was bald and severe, lying on his back like a Gisant. This one is young with curly blond hair. He sleeps on his side curled in a fetal position. Malakim places his gore-covered finger against the man¡¯s temple. He inspects me thoughtfully, aware that I am the unwilling witness of this farce. I despise him for this show. He is making a mockery of what we are by toying with a sleeping prey, spreading the scent of blood and wasted vitality while I am here, starving, only maintaining my facade because this might be my only chance to escape. my horrid brother adds. The pain of a needle wakes the man long enough to draw a panicked breath in. Before he can even register the body of his friend, Malakim stabs down. Another gasp, another rattle, another source of vitality spoiled for his sordid amusement. A new curtain is drawn on his next victim. This time, the man is older with a bushy brown beard. His snores are the loudest. He removes a thin stiletto from a sheath on his chest and stabs the bearded one in the neck. The man wakes up with widened eyes made all the more frantic by the abominable pain he must be feeling. Malakim just severed his spine. The maimed man gasps like a beached fish and tries to call for help, but no sounds come out. His lungs are no longer his own. He dies like this, tears staining his cheeks. Curtain. A very young man barely out of childhood with very dark close-cropped hair. So Thirsty. The boy struggles frantically, held up in the air by two hands. His feet kick pointlessly against Malakim¡¯s armor in a stupid little dance. His eyes focus on me. Such a waste. Malakim blocked his mouth and nose with one imperious hand as he lifted him. Not a single whine escapes the youth¡¯s tortured throat as there simply is no air to do so. Clearly, brother dear has experience in such matters. The boy¡¯s skin turns purple and his eyes, bloodshot. Before he dies, he has the time to see me, the corpses of his friends and to understand. Malakim gives him enough time to come to the realization that all those people he lived with were going to die. That is not the worst. The worst is that half of those people are still blissfully asleep and there is nothing he can do to save them. After one last twitch and the sound of emptying bowels, Malakim puts the corpse back on his bed with far more care than he had given when the boy was alive. Beside me, a man with the appearance of a soldier shows signs of waking up. Malakim orders. The CUR. I OBEY THE SIRE, but he has no right to¡ª ¡°Ah!¡± The bastard stabbed me, just a flesh wound on my arm. He cleans the black blood on his armor as a supreme gesture of insult. One day I will kill him. And Nirari, and Semiramis, and Anatole, and Moor. They will all die. But not tonight. Tonight, I must survive and tally the offenses against me to be paid at a later date. This is fine. I have suffered indignations in the past and I will suffer them in the future as well, what matters is to live long enough to see them repaid. With interest. PATIENT HUNTER will triumph here. I take a page from his book and stab the man in the brain with a claw before he can react. I can do no better without a blade and I am, once again, weaponless. Cracking neck bones as I usually do would be too noisy. I do not even know why I care. All this blood. If I cause enough chaos then perhaps¡­ No, he will know. I care not for his sick game. I just want to FEED. This idiot hovers at the edge of turning rogue. He is probably held back by his stupid almighty artefact. Dragon skin. By the I reply with gritted teeth. He takes three knives from their harness and tosses them casually in one gesture. They hit three throats. Nice trick. He takes another five and moves his arms twice, killing the rest. Half a dozen men choke on their blood. We leave the room now filled with the scents of blood, piss, and shit. Only a few gurgles still break the silence as I unlock the next door. Malakim once again pushes me into a room as large as the first one. This one was split in two. On our left, a workshop takes up most of the space. Heavy tables are covered in stone tablets and fragments in the process of being reassembled. A trail of dust leads to a small passage. On the right, two large beds host the remains of an orgy. Five scantily clad women sleep in the arms of a muscular man with a chest like a barrel and an older mage with a scar on his cheek. Malakim idly comments, I wonder. He affects a frown. Malakim struts to the closest bed, grins like a teenager doing a prank and upends it. The tangle of limbs crashes to the ground with swears and shrieks. The muscle man is the first to jump on his feet, fists swinging. Malakim leans into his attack and smacks the man¡¯s head back with an open palm. He barely uses enough strength to push his opponent. The mage notices me as he frantically puts on his glove. His eyes narrow with rage. ¡°Bolt!¡± I dodge the transparent projectile with a hiss. Seriously? Why me? You have a perfectly valid target and you go for the unarmed woman in a skimpy Roman dress? Prick. Malakim chuckles as the burly man steps to the side and grabs a large truncheon. My brother takes hold of the bed, eliciting cries from the women still crawling on the ground, and lifts it. The little group grows silent as he tosses the piece of furniture into the workshop, where it crashes with a loud bang of broken wood. ¡°What the hell?¡± the muscleman mutters. The mage pales. He understands. He looks and smells scrumptious. Alive and afraid. ¡°Dios mio¡­¡± one of the women swears. Another stands up and does her best to readjust her shift so that they cover her heavy breasts. She is a bit older than the others, with a frame that leans on heavy and a long shock of brown hair that reaches her lower back. ¡°I do not know who you are but please listen to me. You are interfering with a divine project that will redesign mankind as we know it. We can bring you hope too! We have a wonderful message to share if you would only listen¡­¡± ¡°My god,¡± the mage interrupts, shivering, ¡°it cannot be¡­¡± Malakim answers before turning to the one who had interrupted him, ¡°let me guess, you need to decipher the secrets in the universe held in those steles behind me, then your glorious leader will lead all of you to paradise?¡± The woman¡¯s careful control slips, showing the worry underneath. ¡°Hmm, yes! Absolutely, paradise on earth and eternal life. An end to hunger and disease! Would that not be wonderful?¡± ¡°Please no¡­¡± the mage whispers on the side. ¡°Ah, a variation on the old classic. Good enough.¡± The stocky woman shows an expression of surprise as her head falls off her shoulders. Malakim mechanically butchers everyone except the mage in only a few swings. Screams die on silenced lips. The familiar smell of death now mingles with that of stale sex. Again, the waste makes me want to kill him. I barely listen to the panicked mumblings of the spellcaster as he speaks of research and insights into the tablet¡¯s language. All things we do not need as Semiramis works in a coded version of Akkad. My brother grabs his victim by the throat and drains him slowly under my glare as a display of power. His two blue eyes peer over the white neck, daring me to attack him in his moment of vulnerability. I cannot afford it. I am already starving and healing from the wounds he would inflict would cost me any chance I have to escape. Bear with it, Ariane, PATIENT HUNTER. I can do it. I can do it. I just need a way out. A door opposite the one leading back creaks open. Shuffling feet and grumbles heralding the arrival of the cult¡¯s¡­ ¡°What is the¡­ Oh!¡± a woman says. Malakim comments lazily like a man at a market inspecting a strangely shaped pumpkin. The newcomer is indeed a surprise. She is a beautiful woman with an entirely shaven head dressed in a heavy blue cloak. She is also a powerful mage and I recognize her aura in the traps we faced. A young man with an angelic face peers curiously from behind her. ¡°You! What have you done?!¡± she screams. To her credit, she reacts immediately. Her hands raise to reveal two bracers covered in runes. Sharp blades emerge from her cloak to fly in the air like an angry swarm of bees. Interesting, she relies on a telekinesis spell. It takes a great amount of concentration and a natural predisposition to make this work. Malakim scoffs and lets the first blade impact his heart, where it stops completely. The woman pales. ¡°I am going to walk to you. I will grab you by the neck and then I will snap your spine like a dry twig,¡± he announces. The mage frowns and focuses a dozen blades in a cloud, hovering before her. Malakim takes a step forward. An enchanted dagger nicks his cheek. Black blood seeps from the wound. I understand now why he did not try to dodge my shred spell, the one that mangled his arm. Malakim does not dodge wounds if it allows him to finish the fight immediately. His method goes against every instinct of self-preservation ingrained deep within our minds. The cult leader throws everything she has at him. Malakim¡¯s face turns into a pincushion but none of the blades pierce the skull. His foe¡¯s anger turns to dismay. The vampire steps to the mage and grabs her by the throat as she scrambles against the wall. He stares her in the eyes as she dies, then backhands the boy attacking him from the side. I ask, my patience at an end. Because I could have learnt if there is another exit besides the obviously caved-in one. I struggle to remain in control. Thirsty. I take a deep breath to push the sensation back, ignore its claws buried deeply into my mind, pushing, craving. It takes monumental effort of self-control but eventually I manage to regain some measure of calm. I am holding, for now. Malakim gives a knowing smile. I know he will drag it out but I have no choice. A quick inspection of the workshop reveals a passage leading to storage rooms filled with preserved food, digging tools and a small well for fresh water. I accidentally find the cesspit they use to get rid of the wastes as well as the bodies of two more hounds. The smell is so shockingly strong that it clears my mind. We find the leader¡¯s quarters in the last room of the complex. They contain a single bed with a large sword by its side, probably what she used to kill the hounds. A large circle dug into the ground shows rudimentary runes, a far cry from the sophisticated construct I saw in Alexandria. They are lucky the portal fizzled before it could destabilize. Amateurs. Children fiddling with magics they cannot understand, and yet, the cultist still managed to achieve something. I wonder if the knowledge of how to create portals is fully disseminated yet. I shake my head to focus on the last large gate left here. It was sealed with redundant layers of protection. Even with the caster dead, the runes covering it still shimmer under the pale light of the lines. This is my last hope. All the other passages have led to dead-ends. If this is one as well, I will have to postpone my plan and risk being bound. Malakim says with a vicious grin. The Thirstier we grow, and the harder it becomes to focus on mental tasks. Fortunately, I am not so far gone yet. I pick a heavy key from a nearby bed table and calmly use it on the lock. I give a disparaging glance to Malakim as the runes fade and the gate clocks open. He returns one of controlled rage. Just because I am weaker does not mean I am stupid. We walk into a cavern wide enough to host a house. While the rest of the installation was dug into solid rocks through unknown means, this is quite clearly a natural formation. Stalactites hang from a tall ceiling criss-crossed with the ubiquitous yellow lines, and in its center lies a dragon. An entire bloody dragon. With a scaly muzzle, two horns, two wings, and a heavy orange stone on its forehead. It rests like a sphinx on its bed of stone. My legs almost give way before I take back control and realize my error. This is a statue of a dragon. By the Watcher, I would have had a heart attack if I still could. Malakim whispers, joining his curse to mine. He whistles in admiration. The sound echoes across the chasm. The dragon statue opens its eyes. Chapter 106: End of the Line I jump under the closest stalagmite while Malakim looks on, uncaring.This is a trap. If there were any doubts, the voice of Semiramis emerging from the construct dispels them. Her voice is bored and formal, a sharp contrast to the massive golem¡¯s threatening presence. Its stone skin is covered in runes under which a metal armature snakes, poking out here and there like broken bones through skin. Rays of dark red emerge from its eyes to sweep the floor. They land on Malakim. I swear and crawl away from my brother¡¯s standing form. He merely snickers as he walks forward to meet the construct head on. A massive bastard sword with a jagged edge appears in his hand, which he moves around with a flourish. he jeers. I search around for a way to protect myself and find one. My eyes land on an opening in the right wall ahead of me and a glimmer of hope grows in my chest, battling the Thirst for supremacy. If only those two could keep each other busy¡­ Malakim struts with absolute confidence. What a fool. I have seen golems before, of course. They are rare magical constructs that require an independent power source, most of the time a core formed from precious material and charged by mages over several days. Even then, they have always been suits of armor. They also have none of the weaknesses of their squishy creators. Golems are slow compared to us, yet what they lose in power, they make up in durability and blind tenacity. This one was designed by Semiramis to eliminate Malakim specifically, therefore it must have countermeasures to account for the man¡¯s resilience and speed. I push my head up and watch from the side as Malakim appears before the golem. His sword digs a furrow in the construct¡¯s torso, as if it were butter. My brother is like Siegfried before the imposing mass of his foe. Perhaps he can win easily after all? The orange gem on the dragon¡¯s forehead shines¡ª Void. Pain. I am on the ground, The left part of my forehead is slightly singed and I shake under the dreadful memory, the terrible reminder of what I once endured. I want to stay down and hidden lest it happens again but curiosity and the need to escape urge me on. The sun. From the dragon¡¯s gem came a single ray of the vengeful orb. It was a mere spark, a shadow of the real thing, yet that was enough. I raise my head to gaze at the dying shimmer of the orange gem, now spent. Impossible. Impossible! Semiramis can store sunlight! She can unleash it from inside a dark cave, and now, Malakim is missing his head. I can hardly believe it. The unstoppable force, the unmovable object who swatted me like a fly and filled me with despair falls on the ground, a finger away from death. The golem¡¯s enormous paw will be enough to crush his heart and finish him off, now that he can no longer resist. Just like that. I am at a loss. The dragon golem pounces as I am paralyzed by indecision. The Thirst throws me off and robs me of my ability to think. Malakim is going to die. Is it good? Is it bad? Should I do something? I cannot think. The dragon¡¯s clawed foot is as large as Malakim¡¯s chest. It descends, and then it stops. Against a shield. A massive half-sphere of purple light has formed over the prone form and cocooned it in its inviolable embrace. The golem¡¯s paw smashes once more against the defense before its red eyes once again glare over the battlefield. I finally manage to recover enough to realize that I should act while I can. I move to the right, towards the second exit until my back is to it, yet I dare not leave my cover. Three silvery talons slide from the paw and on the next bump, the shield starts to crack. Fissures appear in the smooth surface. It does not matter. As I crawl away, I can feel him coming like a stormfront. This pressure grows and grows until the air feels almost liquid and advancing feels like fighting through molasses. He is pulling on the world to move faster. Something clicks in my mind. The weight of fate, which had been silent since last night, tugs on me once more. This is it. This is my chance. I lift my gauntlet. ¡°Nu Sharran!¡± The light of the sun has created an imbalance and the spell flows out as if torn from my chest like an eager child. The deepest darkness gathers around me with its welcoming presence. The first vampire crashes into the cave in a cataclysmic shock. Shrapnel of bronze and stone fall like a hail and with one hand, he blocks the paw. The world holds its breath. Nirari has one hand on Malakim¡¯s chest and one against the paw, his attention fixed on the construct with such immobile intensity that he has become a statue as well. Semiramis¡¯ voice whispers from some enchanted recess. A complex expression takes over my sire¡¯s adamant countenance. This is, perhaps, the most lively he has ever looked without making someone else suffer. Then the scene is broken when both eye-orbs crack and a noise like an angry teapot emerges from the golem. Nirari¡¯s dark glare turns to me as the last tendril of my shadowy cloak forms and my side of the room changes into an inky abyss. He gives me the tiniest nod of respect. And then, I am gone. I move faster than I ever have in my life to the exit I chose. I race down a tunnel dug into the very rock with no care for traps or spells. I kick open a locked door, turn left into a side alley by stepping on the wall and rush forward without pause. The world rocks under a massive explosion. ¡°Ooof!¡± I am thrown forward. Down becomes up. Scathing air flails my back. Ears pop. I wait, hands over my neck. It stops. I stand up on uncertain legs, brush the dust and pebbles covering me. Light above is still diffused by those yellow lines. Behind me, the passage is obstructed by collapsed rocks as large as slabs. The blockade must go on up to the golem cavern and farther in the other direction. Nobody is going through there for a long time. I did it. There is now a physical barrier between me and my captors that cannot be crossed. I am not safe yet, however. I need to exit the complex and find someone to drink. It must happen tonight. So THIRSTY. But no, I must focus and take precautions. Quick, quick, then I go. I make sure my earrings are securely fastened. They are. Now, to take care of the rest. I kneel and force my fleeting attention to my aura. Subdued is not enough; gone is required. I pull my power in. It feels like rolling and wringing my own mind, which I find eminently unpleasant. My control wavers at some point and I start to unravel, yet a last supreme effort brings me as close to aural invisibility as possible. I feel constrained as if I wore far too tight clothes. The discomfort adds to the craving pain in my abdomen and makes me want to claw myself open. I will move after one last thing. I raise my gauntlet and gather every last dredge of focus I can. Sinead uses this to escape detection by vampires. ¡°Nu Mahiken Oe¡­¡± I cough and the spell wavers. Dust. The feedback burns into my veins until I seize firm control of it. I wrestle the construct back under control. The corridor around me turns¡­ smoother. The wall loses its granularity; rock powder falls to the ground. ¡°Nu Mahiken Oessi Nok.¡± Let the imprint be gone. With this, my smell should disappear almost entirely. It will last for as long as I feed it power and keep it at the back of my mind. I need blood. I really do. Time to find it. Wait, no, time to escape. VITALITY. Same thing really. The corridor moves forward and I follow it at a run. No time to waste. The beautiful canvas of the world needs some more red in it. Down with all that dreary grey! Three paths. Left, forward and right, all of them twisted so I do not see where they lead. Unless I missed something, I should FORWARD. Wait, no. From his throne room, I went forward then right then forward then right then right again into the golem chamber. Then I turned left. Right will head me back towards the throne room. Forward or left. FORWARD is fine. Go. I run without a sound. Another passage. Another three-way path. Strange glyphs on the wall looking like Akkad but not quite. Drawings? I hurry hurry hurry. It does not smell like much, just strangely fresh air and old magic. A dead end. I turn around and retrace my steps and pick another way. Left. No, Right! Right is left now. Yes. I go. I find another cross. So many ways! Where does this all lead? Forward forward forward with all haste I just need a way out I just need to find someone this is all that matters now I just need the blood and everything will be fine. Everything will be fine in the world. Another crossroad. Where am I? How many times have I turned? FORWARD. No, I need to keep track. I bend and dig a mark with my talon in the raw stone. The sound and sensation force me to grit my teeth, nothing that a little blood cannot solve. Forward now. A dead end. Back and to the side. Another mark. Another crossroad. Another. This is a maze. A large maze with symbols for keys and I do not remember them and I cannot remember how I got here and it HURTS. I lean against the wall, then on my knees, a hand grasping my chest. Calm down, Ariane, calm down. I am not in a maze per se. I already guessed that Semiramis travels around by messing with space. I recall that her ¡®home¡¯ back when I met her was larger on the inside. I must be within a sort of transit system, and the glyphs are the key. I could just follow the same glyph and probably emerge somewhere. Which one? I do not recall. I stop where I am and inspect the symbols. There is a sort of turtle, a stylized circle, a cloud and a twisted arrow. I rush left. A sort of wolf, a honeycomb, a field, three mountains. No match. Maybe I saw wrong? I return. I double check. Turtle, circle, cloud, arrow. It makes no sense. Another path. No match. I come back to the one I chose as reference. Turtle, Scale, lantern, square. No. No no no no no no. No. No, I must be losing my focus. Keep it together, Ariane, you are just THIRSTY. Unfocused. I just need to¡­ PAIN. I stop and take a few shaky breaths to fight back against the pointless urge I feel now. My instincts have always been things to control and use, just like pain itself. Now, they are merely obstacles. Yes, I know that I am falling apart, thank you very much. No, I do not need to be reminded of it every last fucking second. Dear beastly me, things would go better if you just let me focus for one minute. Fuck! The anger helps me push the pain back into a recess of my mind, yet I know this is merely a short reprieve before its needy talons dig once more into my vulnerable psyche. What to do? I am TRAPPED. Trapped, trapped, trapped. I would use fate to guide my feet, but I cannot manage to focus enough. I never thought I would need magic specifically to escape a labyrinth either¡­ Wait, I know! The air is fresh but I have not detected any runes to that effect. There must be circulation and I can just follow the draft to an exit, hopefully. Even if it comes from a small opening I cannot use, it will surely drive me closer to my goal. I close my eyes, wet my right index finger with a little bit of saliva and wait. It grows cold on one side and this is where I go. I repeat the maneuver at the next crossroad and am pointed in another direction. I hope I can finish this little treasure hunt before I run out of saliva. That would be awkward. At the next crossroad, the wind points me back the way I came, and I am not even surprised. I run back, paying more attention to my perception to see where exactly the spatial fuckery occurs. I cannot tell. Two more crossroads succeed each other and I can feel it now. The air grows cold and windy, not charged with the perfumes of soil and plant life but crisp and clean like a mountain. The last passage I follow does not lead to another choice. This one snakes up and up, through the earth, until the beautiful canvas of the wall shifts from grey to a deep sapphire blue. The temperature drops to lows I had never experienced before in my life, not even during my werewolf hunt in the heart of winter. Ice. My feet lose traction though I do not fall and keep rushing forward. The arch above me is pure cobalt under the midnight lights, and then, dotted black. I am out. An incredible vista rolls before me to the horizon, a blanket of pure white carried to the end of the world and buffeted by howling gales that lift snow in the air like clouds of powdery diamond. The lack of relief makes the sky enormous and filled with an infinite sea of stars, and from them fall strange curtains of purple and green, bleeding up as if into another realm. The wind here plasters my hair to my skull and carries with it a complete absence of smell. No sap, no smoke, not even a hint of grass or fish. The otherworldly beauty robs me of words. I may as well be on another planet, with all the implications. This beauty is sterile. It cannot bear life. Even now my flimsy dress grows rigid under the arctic onslaught. Fuzzy spikes of ice grow on it like crystalline mushrooms. In a few minutes it will be frozen solid. There is no one here. No one. For a world and a half. Some mountains rise up to my left, so far that I may not even reach them in a full night. The biting cold should not hurt me, yet even I feel myself growing languid. This is a dead-end into a barren world as desolate as the surface of the moon. No blood. No blood at all. For the first time, it occurs to me that I may go rogue here and shackle myself in madness instead of in bondage. I could haunt those labyrinthine depths like a wraith until Semiramis finds me on her way and turns me inside out. Trapped trapped trapped. I step back in. There is only death outside. I run and rake my claws over the frigid wall, digging deep furrows. The tinkle of broken ice soothes me for an instant before the Thirst surges back in a tide of blinding need. I force back a moan and stop. Why force back? Why? I keen and growl and run because it does not matter and neither do the squiggly lines by the crossroads, as undecipherable to me as hieroglyphs. Pointless. Useless. Wasted. I run and I HUNT. NEED IT. THE SWEET NECTAR. Passages go by. STRAIGHT IS NOT STRAIGHT BUT BACKWARDS AND INWARDS TOGETHER. I kneel by each access with my nose on the ground sniffing out PREY. Hum a little song to keep the pain at bay. Canvas of grey needs canvass of green to lead to my goal. Outside. I run and I moan a keening sound, something sharp and discordant that no human throat can produce. The world fades at the edge of my vision until something fragments. The shards break apart, unravelling at the seams. They are of no use. They get in the way of blood. Quick quick, faster. I find a useful shard that pulls me in a certain direction. Nice little shard that will give me ink for the canvas, crimson ink vivid and fragrant for little me to keep going. Time slips. After a time, but not too long, I feel another draft. I move faster now and shed more shards. I smell it first. P R E Y Quickly now I rush up and through the twisted path until I¡­ Something¡­ An obstacle? CANNOT MOVE! Earth and trees and the familiar smell of tall grass beyond. Shuffling steps. TRAPPED. I grab a shed fragment. Bring it back. Discarded clarity returns for a moment. The way is barred. A metal grid of silvery fabric, with a¡­ a cross. Cannot get past. Feet approach. PREY. Cannot get past? I grab another fragment, then another, pull myself back together piece by piece even though it will fall apart again. ¡°P¡ªplease! Please¡­¡± I beg. A young man in a leather duster with a scruffy black beard jumps, scared. DELICIOUS. He turns around, and his eyes widen at my sight. ¡°Please¡­¡± ¡°Hold on miss, I¡¯ll get you out in a moment. Jesus, what happened to you?¡± He comes forth. The grid holds in place because of¡­ of¡­ One more fragment. The pain is unbearable but I need to know what, I need to know how. I need to get past. Hinges freshly mortared in. Quite possibly a rush job. The man¡¯s hands slow as they take out a set of keys. His brow furrows. No. No! ¡°What are you doing here, anyway?¡± he suddenly asks, his voice dripping with suspicion. More fragments. I need to Charm¡­ but the cross blocks me, just as unyielding as before. I bend over in pain and collapse against the wall as a wave of unimaginable agony overwhelms me. I scream and cry. Distant voices sound on the other side. ¡°What¡¯s going on, Beckett?¡± ¡°A woman, sir. She looks hurt.¡± ¡°A woman, you say?¡± Another face. Fragments split again, useless. No! This is my chance. My only chance. Just one last little push is all I need. ¡°Please¡­ it hurts¡­¡± ¡°For the love of God, Beckett, step away from the bloody door, did your branch teach you nothing?¡± ¡°I haven¡¯t opened, sir!¡± the bearded man protests. ¡°You there,¡± a newcomer with greying hails, ¡°who are you and what are you doing here?¡± ¡°Please¡­¡± It hurts so much. ¡°I gave you an order, woman!¡± He DARES? ¡°HSSSSSSSSS!¡± ¡°FUCK!¡± ¡°Bloody hell! What is this?¡± the bearded man cries. ¡°I can¡¯t believe it, the reports were true! There is a nest in Texas. This is a blood-starved vampire!¡± No. They won¡¯t open. Why won¡¯t they open? Push against the barrier. Cannot. PUSH. Cannot. Enough! I need to¡­ I¡­ What? Unravelling. Breaking apart. I just¡­ Find a way. So close¡­ ¡°Should we shoot her, sir?¡± ¡°No, that would be a waste even if we hit. If she is truly blood-starved she will stay there until dawn. Either she burns or we open the gate and follow her in, kill her while she is asleep. Jesus am I glad we placed a cross here.¡± More fragments. Come on, one last time. I need a projectile. The wall is sheer with no convenient bricks. This plan will not work. I struggle to regain some lucidity in one last-ditch, supreme effort of will. I have a tool. I raise my gauntleted hand. Tool. It can¡­ open things. From afar. PAIN. Cannot remember. What was I doing? Barrier Yes, I must break it. I have a tool. I can do it. PAIN. Soul-rending suffering. Why am I holding my arm up? No, I must¡­ Someone is coming? Many ink bottles covered in pretty leather, so close yet so far. There were two, now more have come. Behind, ephemeral constructs of things that do not matter. Tents. A fire. They all stare at me but someone is coming. I feel a scent in the air. An aura of a kin. Another vampire. One of the canvases on the left looks to the side but too late. I heard it first, the panicked neigh of a useless thing, a ¡®woosh¡¯ of displaced air. A reinforced cart lands on the assembled group in a cataclysmic crash of steel and bone, wood and flesh. The fracas is deafening and the aftermath is screams and cries. The half-broken wheel of the chassis turns and turns and captivates me, until a new form arrives. A massive vampire in dark iron armor, face entirely covered by a medieval helm strides forward with energy. He stops before me and considers the grid. He approaches, but his hand is blocked. The cross. Our eyes meet. I do not know if he sees the agony there, the melting psyche. I only know that he speaks. he solemnly declares. Then he does the impossible. Massive armored gauntlets grab the bars while flames of burning blue devour the flesh underneath. He bellows with a roar that shakes the trees. With a crack of broken stone, the masonry gives way on one side. Can slip by. Slip by. Find a man on the ground. Bite down. Bliss. A pleasure like no other washes away everything in my mind. It sweeps away the pain, the memories, the will, my senses, the world around me. I only exist in ecstasy, a trance like no others that erases everything. Too soon, it ends but I am in luck! There are other broken things on the ground that still draw breath. More nectar for me. The other vampire comes and kneels by my side as I raise a struggling man and expose his throat. He removes his helmet to reveal¡­ a familiar face? The cleft lip is mostly gone though his smile remains lopsided. His swarthy complexion is paler now though he is still quite ugly. I know him well. He stops me with a hand on my shoulder. I allow it because it is him. He stops me and he is very strong. The blood is here. It will taste so sweet. I want to fight him and rip into him because he is a rival, except, this is not entirely correct. A small part of a fragment whispers something else. I do not wish to fight him, merely to drink. I pull more fragments in and now that the pain is gone, they rejoin the whole more easily. They have stopped disintegrating. I pull more to find a key, a way to make him leave me alone. The hand stays strong and his face, placid. What? He should. The fragments say that he is¡­ loyal. Always here for me. I need the blood so he should give me the blood. Only fair. I taste the word. It feels familiar. Ariane. Ariane. Ariane is me. I am Ariane. I frown. Oaths are important. I have made oaths. I cannot die before father. I am the sister of Jimena. I will respect the Accords. I will aid the White Cabal. I will find my nephew. S?a?ch* Th? N?v?lFir?(.)n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. Little by little, all the little shards I had discarded return to me as they were about to slip into the abyss. I pull them back from the edge even though I could let go and drink and stop hurting. Several times I am tempted to give up but the voice of the man before me centers me, until I am almost whole again. I was here for blood but then I had some and I do have an oath. I just mentioned it. Ah, yes. Eight fangs. Malakim and Nirari. Captivity. The traps. The cult. The golem. Back home, the werewolf¡¯s second village as their population explodes. Chicago expanding as well with Melusine¡¯s subtle influence. Metis. Torran. The last parts of me fuse back and I let out a few shaky breaths. The agony is gone and so is the temptation of oblivion. They recede like a tidal wave, leaving the land behind scraped and raw. I sit heavily on the blood-stained ground, ignoring John as he finishes off the last broken Gabrielites. I almost went rogue. No, I went rogue and John pulled me from the brink before I was too far gone. Freed of the pain, I am still shaken and fragile. I need some time. I nod, not trusting my voice. Oh wait. John. Natalis vampire. I ask. He only blinks in answer. He stops to reorder his thoughts and this time I notice that his mind seems faster, or perhaps his focus has improved? Another pause. He smiles proudly at that, the bright expression odd above his armor-clad frame. Goliath could not have been more intimidating. I admit, I move next to a chest and sit on it heavily. Do I have time? No. I grumble, and stand back up. I move as if through water and the earth grasps at my heels. Flowers and shapes undulate at the edge of my vision, only to feign immobility when I turn around. The world looks strange. John asks. He holds a strange thorn plant, now severed at the end. It clicks with something in my memory. I ask with suspicion. The root ¡ª or is it a branch? ¡ª shines with the luster of polished obsidian. I touch it and it disappears in a flash of blue. This happened before when I faced the werewolves, only larger this time. Curious. Just like that time, I have no real way to investigate what this is, except perhaps mention it to someone like Sephare. Enough of this. John casts a last worried glance backward but he obeys. We leave the camp of the Gabrielites behind us and climb up a small slope to find the same landscape as before: tall grass over fertile black loam and the occasional meadows. I take a few wobbly steps before a familiar stomp makes me turn my head. Metis¡¯ massive head bumps against my chest, almost sending me stumbling. I whisper as I pet her luscious coat. She moves forward and I climb on her back. I see John relax. He opens the way, moving much faster now, and Metis follows him. The smooth motion and rolling muscles of my mount rock me and distract me from the constant fear that this is only the illusion of freedom. I cannot flee in the state I am in, therefore I must place my faith in an unknown mage¡¯s observation. John and Metis¡¯ presences soothe me. And now I have some time to think. John saved me. He turned himself into a Natalis vampire and forfeited his mortal existence out of loyalty to me unless I am mistaken. Now, he obeys another. I am grateful, of course, yet the implications are many. If he truly was released from his obligations, I will ask him to serve me. But he could be used as a spy. Can I truly trust a member of my inner circle when I know that a word of his Master will turn him against me? Lord Jarek and I are allies now, but it will take almost a century for John to gain his independence. Ah, who am I kidding? Urchin is in the same position and I have involved him in many of my ploys. This is John. He will be by my side. Next, the great question. Why did fate lead me here? What did I gain from this harrowing experience? I know I learned something from turning rogue, even if it was only for a minute: an intimate understanding of my limits and the process of losing oneself to instincts. That is only a side-benefit. The true knowledge is different. Nirari can cast spells via Malakim¡¯s dragon skin armor. The shield was his, I am sure of it. I do not know how he managed that incredible feat, but I assume it has something to do with the shackles binding Malakim to his service. Malakim and Nirari know how Semiramis moves around. It is only a matter of time before they back her into a corner. Nashoba was right, their game is coming to a close. Speaking of which, Semiramis can store the Watcher-forsaken sunlight. Huh. That is quite impressive considering that I was told it was virtually impossible. Sunlight can be captured for a variety of things, but once stored it loses whatever makes it anathema to us. From cleansing fire to shy lantern, it fades, but not for her. Beyond the myriad things I have discovered, the most valuable experience I take from my confrontation is that time is running out and accruing power is not enough. It will never be enough. An alliance will not suffice to stop two gods, no matter how many soldiers I bring to the fray. Nirari cannot be overwhelmed. He forged himself against this eventuality. I need a special weapon, or three. I will find trump cards, powers and items he will not expect. Unpredictability will carry the day. I also know how to kill Malakim as well. I am surprised I did not think of it before. Yes. There is much work to be done. We still have some time. Perhaps a century, perhaps less, and I will be ready. I will have to be. Back outside of my mind, we arrive at a very small camp nestled against an overturned tree. A lanky black man with a short beard and a pair of round glasses sits on a folding chair, his spindly fingers held around the water basin on his lap. He wears a deep green suit over white shirt and tie. He and John look like quite the pair indeed. ¡°Good evening, you must be Owens¡± I greet. ¡°And to you too milady. You will forgive me if I do not rise, I need to keep an eye on our departing friends.¡± Ah yes, he uses the water in the basin as focus for a heaven¡¯s eye spell, something that can track people from afar. I remember that it is quite taxing on the mind. My sire most likely detected the scrying and allowed it on account of his agreement with Jerak. If Owens had tried to spy inside the cavern, things might have gone differently. The mage was wise to keep it light. ¡°Nirari?¡± ¡°Lord Nirari and his lost souls, yes. They are on their way east.¡± I can scarcely believe it. He would truly let me go without a fight? He did not seem so eager to pursue me, but I would think that he would make a token effort to get me back if only for the sake of his reputation. Hold on. ¡°And Malakim? His servant?¡± ¡°They are together. His servant appears¡­ indisposed. He was missing part of his head before being shoved into a coffin.¡± ¡°I see.¡± I consider his words in silence. I was¡­ so full of questions and uncertainty but they all flit around my head, escaping my efforts to concentrate. Clarity eludes me. There was something else though, something quite important¡­ Ah, yes. ¡°Do you have any news about my nephew? He was a prisoner of the Mexicans, last I checked.¡± ¡°Ah, then you will be delighted to learn that following the victory of the United States at the battle of Palo Alto, an exchange of captives was agreed and that your nephew will be returned safe and sound.¡± I glare at Owens, whose expression turns instantly worried. Is that it? I came to rescue someone and they just¡­ rescued themselves? And I had to rescue myself too? I feel cheated. I am also relieved that I would not fail my promise, even if through no fault of my own. Very well then, I shall complete my mission then return north. The Rosenthal and I have much to discuss. The future of the world depends on it. Chapter 107: Choosing sides The lieutenant who so generously lent me his tent chose candles to light its interior. The soft yellow glow basks the insides in a cozy brilliance. It gleams on medals, blades, and the shiny buttons of his spare vest.In contrast, my nephew¡¯s expression is dark indeed. Upon learning that a relative had come, he had stormed in with righteous outrage. Now, his inquisitive eyes roam from John¡¯s imposing form to my more familiar one. Eventually, curiosity needles him forward. ¡°Do we know each other?¡± he asks coldly. Ah, yes, the arrogance of youth. I am pleased to learn that incarceration left his spirit undampened. ¡°You can consider me as a¡­ relative of sorts. I came here on your father¡¯s request, Richard.¡± ¡°And how come I have never heard of you before?¡± he demands. ¡°The request,¡± I go on, ¡°was to keep an eye on you and make sure you do not lose your life pointlessly. I came here tonight to offer you a legitimate way out of your current employment, should you want one.¡± Richard scoffs and the gesture reminds me of my brother. His eyes are the same blue, though his hair is brown, and he is leaner than Achille used to be. I notice a rebellious fire in his stance that my sibling always lacked. My brother was always content with the status quo. Richard wears the uniform of the dragoons well. ¡°Look, I don¡¯t know who you are miss, but if you expect me to believe¡ª¡± ¡°Where are we?¡± I calmly interrupt. Anger fills him and I am once more reminded that I look like a young woman, not some grizzled authority figure to be instinctively obeyed. I could solve all my issues with a hint of Charm, but that is not why I came here. ¡°Where are we? We are in Mexico!¡± ¡°No, we are in your commanding officer¡¯s tent, the use of which I was graciously offered to conduct my business. It should tell you more than you need to know about our respective positions. Now, I will repeat again, do you want to leave the service of the army and return to Louisiana without any legal consequences?¡± I can tell from his uncertain glare that Richard has trouble accepting my presence. Thankfully, John comes to the rescue as he used to. Truly, we have lost nothing of our teamwork. He shrugs and readjusts his posture. Massive muscles roll under his well-cut clothes like tectonic plates, attracting the eye as they readjust for maximum comfort. Great swathes of cloth groan and strain under the titanic pressure and buttons stretch to their very limit in a display that never fails to catch the eye. John captures Richard¡¯s attention, forcing it up to a pair of condescending dark eyes. A primal chemistry occurs in my nephew¡¯s mind, one that has guided his species for millennia. It goes like this: The human mountain range before me could probably snap my spine between two fingers. He looks like he lifts boulders for fun. I should respect him. He obeys the woman. Therefore, I should respect her. And there lays the crux of both my joy and my annoyance. My appearance is a lure to lower the guard of the most careful of foes. That same appearance prevents me from being taken seriously by those unfamiliar with the size of my network and bank account. Instead, they will fear John, the colossal paragon of virile masculinity, silently admiring the humongous size of his biceps. Even though I could massacre him in mere moments. Life is strange. In any case, Richard finally takes us seriously. ¡°I know what father thinks of my endeavor, miss. We had words. I must also admit that the one battle I have been in rid me of some of my preconceived notions on war. None of it matters, because I took an oath.¡± My nephew searches my expression. Perhaps he expected a rebuke? He soon resumes his argument. ¡°I took an oath to defend my country and I fully intend to fulfill it.¡± I resist the urge to remind him that he is hardly participating in a defensive war. It would be hypocritical of me to criticize someone fighting for more territory. ¡°And there is something else,¡± he adds after a delay, ¡°I am fighting for my men.¡± His expression changes as he speaks, going from declamatory to thoughtful. He turns his gaze to the flickering light of a candle as he delves into his own mind. ¡°At first I thought we would crush their army in a heroic fight. Charge their lines with sabers and bayonets in one glorious assault, with God on our side. When we got caught and surrounded with Thornton it was a different affair. Messy. Confusing. And the smell! But what mattered is that I gathered my people and tried to get them out and when we failed, I kept us together. Two of the lads from the squadron tried to run for it by themselves and got shot down. Another squad got overwhelmed almost immediately. It was then that I realized how much of a difference I could make. Not for the whole war, mind you. For those around me. I think that was the first time I truly understood what responsibility meant.¡± Richard stops there and I can tell from the steel in his voice that he will not allow himself to leave so easily. I am intrigued, and decide to test his resolve. ¡°Richard, my coming here was your father¡¯s dying wish,¡± I tell him with a soft voice. Surprise then grief animate the soldier, in a controlled display. He is troubled. I can taste it. Richard readjusts himself in his seat as his eyes shine with unshed tears. I give him a moment. ¡°My father is dead?¡± he finally asks. ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°And his dying wish¡­ was that I would come back?¡± Hah! He got me there. Schooling my expression, I reply earnestly: ¡°No, his last wish was that I should protect you from dying pointlessly. He would not rob you of your choice, even if that choice leads to your death.¡± ¡°Then¡­ I believe that I will stay.¡± I allow myself a smile. If he stays, I have to stay. That was my promise. I cannot stop him from dying in battle, but I can protect him from night-time ambushes, politics, and magical attacks. Although the task will be time-consuming, I admit that I would have been disappointed if he had broken his oath. Hopefully, the war will be brought to a swift conclusion. Two nights later. The Accords constrain few freedoms when it comes to the management of one¡¯s territory. Constantine understood from the start that a federation of vampires from very different backgrounds could only be achieved by leaving the grumpy old monsters to their own designs whenever possible. Conversely, the rules defining intervention in each other¡¯s territory, general defense of our kind, and intervention in human conflicts are strictly defined. I keep a copy of the official document with my baggage just so that I can follow protocol to its last exacting detail. In this case, I was given leave to travel by Lord Jarek but not leave to stay, which leads me to the Natalis sovereign¡¯s personal hacienda by the sea. I need to negotiate my status as a long-term guest. I also need to ask him a few questions concerning John. He and Owens are now taking care of his security from a Natalis base by Fort Texas. The front remains calm, for now, and I have no choice anyway. Metis and I follow a path along the beach, passing by shrubs and palm trees. The air smells of the ocean, damp earth, and orange trees. Jarek¡¯s domain begins at a pair of white columns dug into the ground at an angle, as if by a giant. I suspect that it might actually be the case. The hacienda soon comes into view. The Natalis compound is a curious collection of buildings showing vastly different architectures. The main building is a square block of yellow stone under a gently sloping roof made of red tiles. Lanterns decorate the inner courtyard and its vaulted promenade to show tables covered with food. It is also the only concession to local preferences. As I follow the path through a well-maintained lawn, I spot what looks like a medieval castle, a large house with a high roof covered with thatch with its entire fa?ade displaying the wooden beams underneath the plaster. There is even a sort of massive circular hut. Even at the late hour, the land is filled with workers and their many children. The people are definitely on the muscular side of the scale. Even the bookish ones look like they could run miles without trouble. One such person approaches me with the uncertain manner of one who suspects I might be important, but not exactly how important. ¡°I am Ariane of the Nirari,¡± I start. ¡°Oh, of course! Lord Jarek has been expecting you. This way, please.¡± Owen probably warned him of my coming. I climb down from Metis¡¯ back and follow after the subservient man to the side of the hacienda and onto a rectangular field dotted with athletic tools, deserted at this time of the night. In the distance, tilled fields alternate with wildland filled with shrubbery. Towers rise here and there, occupied by men with muskets. My surprise increases the deeper we travel into the property. I pass by a longhouse coming right out of one of Loth¡¯s memories followed by a boxy construction of harsh white stone with deep blue shutters and a flat roof. The carnival of architectures finally calms down when the path snakes to the sea and along the beach. There, the locals have built a jetty that stabs into the sea with a large rock at its end. The stone is a monolith of smooth black rock upon which a man sits. Its shiny surface reflects the light of torches making it look as if fireflies were trapped within obsidian depths. My sense of perspective plays tricks on me as I take in the man meditating at its top. Either the pier is very narrow, or the man and the stone are quite large. Of course, I know which is which. ¡°Did you create a path to that stone? It looks quite lovely,¡± I ask of my guide. ¡°No no,¡± the man replies with a hint of fear, ¡°he liked the stone, so he grabbed it and moved it there.¡± Ah. I look at the size of that massive boulder, standing at the edge of being a geographical feature. Alright then. Lord Jarek opens his hazel eyes to watch us approach with a benevolent smile. He wears loose black trousers, a white shirt, and a red sash around his waist. He looks positively piratey. The merry costume does a good job of hinting at his massive musculature instead of emphasizing it so that a passerby could mistake him for something other than a warrior. I assume that I am meeting him at his most casual, in the heart of his domain. I appreciate the implied show of trust. he greets as we reach the bottom of his rock. His voice is very deep with a gravelly quality that I find rather attractive. His face is handsome too, in a squarish, manly sort of way. I am not surprised that he would be so popular with the gentler sex during his short stay in Boston. ¡°You may leave,¡± he informs my guide who then scurries away. Then, he pats the stone by his side and, with a short jump, I join him on his unusual throne. We watch the hacienda for a while in companionable silence, with the sound of waves providing a rhythmical background. he finally asks. I ask. Jarek¡¯s expression grows wistful. He searches my face for some unknown sign. Although I am not accustomed to such a direct, confrontational gaze, I allow it. I can tell that this is important. he asks. I need to be careful not to reveal too much. he announces. I am quite surprised, and he can tell. I object. he explains while staring in the distance, ¡° He points at the visible buildings. I keep quiet for a while, and wonder who, when presented with such rich variety, would choose to live in that hut I saw. Oh, well. Jarek notes with an amused smile. Jarek ponders my request for a few seconds. I observe. Jarek turns to me and I am caught in the intensity of his stare. I am reminded now that he is ancient and powerful even when his aura remains politely subdued. he insists. I say. he answers with deceptive lightness. Ah, a game. To my surprise, Lord Jarek chuckles. The deep laugh rumbles in his chest like a small avalanche. Jarek lifts his hand to forestall my protests. There it is again. Allies and enemies alike treat me the way they do because of my bloodline, not because of how I act. Jarek states in an amused tone. I immediately school both my face and my aura. I gaze at Jarek in wonder. It is quite unusual for a lord to admit weakness. Lord Jarek cracks a sliver of basaltic rock from the monolith under him between his fingers and flicks it in the ocean. I state, Something he said bothers me. S?a??h th? ??v?lF?re.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. Jarek shakes his head. I remember Torran mentioning it and shake my head, still disbelieving. Why would he use a bow as a soul weapon? The crystallized essence is meant to be used to fight against our own kind as it would be wasted on anything else. And he chose a bow? Unthinkable, from my perspective. I hold guns in high regard, and I still know better than to rely on something that runs out of ammunition so quickly to fight against another vampire. I observe. Again, Jarek does not seem disappointed. I reproach. My arcane training is not common knowledge. There is not even a hint of amusement in the old monster¡¯s eyes. I remark, a bit miffed that they would assume so much. he answers calmly. Annoying. he remarks after a few seconds, My aura? Could it be because I went rogue? For one moment I consider asking about the spikey growth that appeared when I went mad, but I know when I have been dismissed, and so I stand, curtsey, and climb down the rock. A female with pale skin and a lazy smile awaits me at the end of the pier to show me to my quarters. As we walk, I think. I should have expected Jarek and the others to plan for an eventual conflict with the major clans. They are the ones who can actually do something, and also those who have the most to lose. I did not imagine that they would try to nurture me as a sort of deterrent against them and my sire. Sometimes, I find it difficult to assess exactly how important I am to various factions. This time, their hope in my potential saved my sanity. In any case, I must now focus on finding tools and knowledge to use against my kind, and the sooner I get started, the better. As to who can help me, why, the answer is obvious. My friend glares at me with disdain though there is mirth in his brown eyes. I interrupt, rolling my eyes, Salim¡¯s face wavers in the mirror I use to contact him, courtesy of the Natalis. My control is not yet perfect. The mirror¡¯s surface undulates like a sea at low tide from the power I feed it. When he speaks again, his voice is serious. He pauses for a moment, giving me a chance to reconsider. I have no need to do so. I close the connection. The die is cast and all that. In a way, meeting Nirari and Malakim was salutary. It reminded me of the end game. There is another I could contact, who could grant me much power. I focus my attention on the mirror once more and push south, very far to the south. Soon, a connection is formed and I pour a torrent of power in the construct to stabilize the link. The face of a small boy with a beret on top of his fluffy dark hair appears, bobbing up and down with excitement. ¡°Oh hello there!¡± ¡°Greetings Makyas, I would speak with Sinead, if you please. I have a business proposal for him.¡± The childish countenance falls away and what smirks now does so with sharp little teeth. Chapter 108: The Other Sphere When I arrived in camp, dysentery did not rate high in the list of probable causes of death for Richard. That was underestimating mortal stupidity. The army made camp on the banks of the Rio and waited for reinforcements before heading south. Between June and July of 1846, its ranks swelled from two to ten thousand with an influx of volunteer regiments.The newcomers are a rabble of unsanitary louts. The stench of their squalid dens alone can be smelled from a mile away, five if I stand downwind. Between this, the Rio Grande¡¯s waters, and the sweltering heat, the camp at Camargo has become a haven for all sorts of diseases. I end up bringing a medical mage from Marquette just to make sure my relative would not end up as a dehydrated corpse wallowing in his own refuse. Fortunately for me, though unfortunately for them, volunteers are the first victims of their own lack of preparations. Most of the regulars remain untouched. When it becomes clear that Taylor will not campaign at the height of summer, I relax my constant surveillance and agree to my first mission for the Natalis. This land is warm. Even now at night, I can smell the remnants of heat on the yellowed grass, the cracked earth. Shrubs of darkened wood speak of a day without shade or respite. An open-air oven. Metis¡¯ steps cause little puffs of dust to pop in the air. Lord Jarek mentioned a cult of spellcasters hiding near the Rio west and north of Fort Texas, and he sent me to investigate. They did not choose to live near an existing town, so I had to locate them by trailing one of their supply convoys. The only problem I notice as I approach the clearing where they made their camp, is that they appear to have been massacred. The stench of death and the buzz of flies would have warned me if the towering columns of black smoke had not been enough. Frustrating. Someone stole the prey. Well, the more mundane, boring prey. I order John who follows me on foot. My faithful servant angles to the side of the dirt path to find a vantage point, silent as he goes. I follow the narrow path surrounded by dried out trees at a leisurely pace, taking the time to expand my senses. I quickly taste the remnants of a fire spell in the smoke and embers. A lone human heartbeat thumps angrily in defiance to the desolation around. Its owner remains hidden to my left when I pass by the wreck of the first carriage. A body lies near, half of its chest ravaged by buckshot. A flash of recognition at its garb sends a wave of fear in my heart before I realize that I am not in danger. The body wears a purple cloak with gold filigree just like the victims in the complex I visited with Malakim. Thankfully, both he and Nirari left the region. The cult remains, or at least some of it does. All three carriages were left in a line by the side of the open ground while the center is occupied by a cooking fire. Only the last item was ever meant to be ignited. Cultist handymen in simple clothes lie here and there while their four guards still grab their weapons with the stiff grip of rigor mortis. They certainly put up a fight, but they only managed to fell two of their attackers. There were three. On the other side of the clearing, near the first shrubs that cover the hill, I spot the corpse of a man who fell where he fought. He gazes at the stars with his one remaining eye. A lucky shot caught him right in the head. Another was dragged against a desolate tree, exsanguinated. His lifeblood smears his shirt and improvised bandages, shining a delicate shade of crimson against the steady fire. The pool around his prone figure shows that the efforts to save him were in vain. He is young. I lightly nudge Metis and she stops. I stare at the lone survivor¡¯s hiding place until he stands up cautiously, red-coated hands strangling a shotgun. ¡°Well, I¡¯ll be. A woman.¡± Fantastic tools of deduction there. I make no effort to move or breathe. He is a lone human under no particular protection, my staple food these days. ¡°And what¡¯s a pretty thing doing alone, here at this hour?¡± he demands. I inspect him with some interest as he does the same. He is a man of medium size, well built, with light brown eyes and a magnificent dark mustache that splits his head in two like an axe wound. He wears a long duster powdered with red earth, caked blood up to his elbows, as well as a wide-trimmed hat. A revolver hangs by his side and he bears on his breast the star of a marshal. A lawman! How quaint. ¡°Are you an officer or are you a bandit?¡± I retort with innocence. The man is cautious, and I respect him for that. He alternates nervously between Metis, me, and some unidentified threat at our back with his gun brandished as if daring us to act. ¡°Marshal Sheridan, ma¡¯am, Texas Ranger. Now I¡¯ll ask you to kindly tell me what the hell you¡¯re doing out here,¡± he says, and lifts a hand to grab Metis¡¯ bridle. My precious Nightmare lifts her head, suddenly interested by five potential crunchy snacks. ¡°I would not try that if I were you,¡± I suggest, and his hand falls away. I can see the telltales of a man at the end of his rope. His nerves are raw and exposed, visible in the erratic movements of his hands and the bloodshot quality of his eyes. ¡°You and I were after the same quarry, except that I intended to follow them to their base and you¡­ removed that option.¡± ¡°Those men were mad!¡± he suddenly screams, ¡°Mad as hares the lots of them! Lunatics! I¡¯d never¡­ never¡­¡± The shotgun in his hands aims down. A great shiver shakes his tired frame. A dam opens. ¡°They never gave us the time. We were just asking questions¡­ I have been a ranger for four years and I have never seen such a¡­ Logan. James. I am sorry.¡± As quickly as it appeared, the weakness is hidden behind a curtain of steely resolve. Sheridan regains control of his emotion with visible effort. ¡°That ain¡¯t here or now. Lady, you are confusing me. Quarry you say? That doesn¡¯t sound right at all.¡± ¡°And yet,¡± I reply with amusement, ¡°here we are, and I would bet solid gold that an armed woman is far from being the strangest thing you have witnessed tonight hmmm? A bit of wizardry, perhaps?¡± ¡°How did you know?¡± he asks with distrust. ¡°I told you. We are after the same people. What differentiates us is that I knew exactly what I was going to face.¡± I did not exactly lie. I exaggerated. Exaggerating is a form of gloating, and a perfectly acceptable occupation for a respectable young vampire. ¡°Devilry¡­¡± Sheridan mutters. He resumes his inspection, this time more thoughtful than wary. His gaze travels along my travel dress, the lightly armored kind, my rifle, and to the revolvers on my hips. ¡°Do you even know how to use those?¡± he scoffs. I draw and shoot his cap off. ¡°JESUS¡­ FUCK!¡± he screams as he falls on his behind and scrambles away. I do not move, except for patting the gun I used to unhat him. Metis snorts, as is her wont when someone gets humiliated before her august presence. Sheridan climbs to his feet and recovers the mishandled headdress. He shoves a finger in the newly made ventilation hole ¡ª you are welcome Sheridan ¡ª and shakes his head for what must have been the twelfth time. ¡°I must be mad.¡± ¡°I find it amusing that you would face a flame-tossing wizard, yet a girl with a gun aggravates you.¡± ¡°I had heard about flame-tossing wizards before¡­¡± he grumbles, before stepping back. ¡°The world has turned on its head. Or I was indeed shot, and I am lying in some ditch hallucinating the whole scene.¡± ¡°Or perhaps someone came to answer your call in your hour of need.¡± ¡°Do you bring salvation?¡± he asks, hope flaring. ¡°Perhaps¡­¡± ¡°Are you¡­ an angel?¡± he says with uncertainty. I give him my most unmoving, cold smile. I let the dancing lights of the improvised funeral pyre shine on a hint of fang, red and shiny. Just enough to make him flinch. Metis rakes the ashes beneath her with a heavy hoof. ¡°Do I look like an angel?¡± I get a great answer. Sheridan scrambles back, white as a sheet. He signs himself in his terror as his succulent heartbeat drums a merry tune to compliment the crackle of the fire. I missed this. ¡°If you are here for my soul¡­¡± ¡°Nothing so crass, I assure you. As I said, I am here to, shall we say, purify this land of their presence. Us meeting here was merely¡­ divine providence.¡± I taste ash on my tongue as the religious terms cross my lips. The world does not like it when I skirt the rules. It lets me know in no uncertain terms. ¡°You want me to pair up with you? A witch? Never! The lord is with me and I will never align with the forces of evil!¡± ¡°Ah, so you would leave those who murdered your friends unpunished. I understand.¡± ¡°I know that I won¡¯t forfeit my immortal soul!¡± ¡°I already told you. It is not yours that I am here to collect.¡± I am genuinely curious now. Will he take the bait? I have never worked with someone who sees themselves as virtuous and possesses an inkling as to what I am. The possibilities intrigue me. And if things come to a head, well¡­ I can always use a snack. Sheridan considers my offer with more seriousness than I expected. His attention turns to the bodies of his previous allies and only now do I see the glint of a star on their chests. At the sight of their lifeless forms, his body hardens. It gains an iron quality I have seen in humans who will pursue a goal to its bitter end. Vengeance has overtaken justice. ¡°You are not after my soul, you swear?¡± ¡°I am simply not interested in it and I will not go after it. You have my word.¡± What is it with humans and souls? I cannot even eat those. Pah. ¡°Well¡­¡± His gaze hardens. ¡°Dammit all. I have to complete my mission. At any cost.¡± Our eyes meet. ¡°Any cost. I will go after those loony heathens, and hell will come with me.¡± ¡°That it will, Mr. Sheridan, that it will.¡± In the next few minutes, I silently assist Sheridan with the gruesome tasks of preparing the bodies of his friends. He places them on planks of wood he recovered from the wreck and covers them with mostly unburned tarp. I stand at a distance as he mutters a few prayers, then stand where I am as he climbs up the valley to recover his horse. I am lucky to have absorbed Erenwald essence or this partnership would have ended here and there, with a horrified horse. Instead, the poor gelding is merely made nervous by Metis¡¯ scent. ¡°Will you return for the bodies?¡± I finally ask. ¡°We have patrols in the area. They will be found within one or two days with the smoke. I hope. I can do nothing for them anyway.¡± I should not have mentioned it. The weather is very warm. The stench of carrion is sure to attract a multitude of animals eager for an easy meal. ¡°You did not seem too surprised by the presence of a witch among our foes,¡± I idly remark. ¡°There have been rumors lately. We were told to fear more than the curses of the savages. Strange creatures. Abnormal beasts. The world is getting stranger and darker,¡± he complains. Ah. I was expecting that. For a long time, magic had been a misunderstood and mysterious part of the world. Soldiers and peasants in the middle ages accepted magic as a fact of everyday life, making few differences between the potions of an herbalist and the hexes of one burnt at the stake. Even madmen or epileptics were part of the supernatural world on the level of gnomes, elves and korrigans. Enlightenment and the rise of the natural sciences have lifted the veil of mystery over many phenomena. Thunderbolts are electricity. Epilepsy is merely a disease. The potions of herbalists are chemical compounds with salutary effects on the flesh of man, and so on and so forth. The winds of change have stripped away much of the fog of superstition, but what remains now only stands in sharper contrast. Worse, the development of reliable means of communication, the multiplication of newspapers and centralized governments now shed light on magical creatures and their true capabilities. Most communities make a good attempt at remaining hidden, so the mortals in power probably underestimate the size of the supernatural population in their midst. The status quo will not last forever. I believe it is only a matter of time before we are revealed in a world that abhors differences. We must prepare. Creating bonds with mortal agents might be a first step towards protecting ourselves. I will treat my cooperation with Sheridan as a proof of concept and converse with Sephare. She has her fingers in a great many pies, and she understands politics better than most. If anyone knows how to manage the transition when it happens, it will be her. As I ponder, we follow the lone track away from the encampment and towards a series of hills in the distance. The night is as bright as a winter day, with a gibbous moon on a cloudless sky. I find myself bubbling with questions. ¡°So, have you hunted witches before?¡± ¡°Only once,¡± Sheridan intones, ¡°we chased a group of Comanches who had abducted women from an isolated farm. We hung the lot and the oldest of them cast a curse upon us. Lo and behold, five months later George was completely bald. Terrible thing, that.¡± ¡°Uhu,¡± I answer noncommittally. Nevermind. ¡°And there was that time where we had to kill a buffalo that was twice the normal size! And it could destroy a house by charging through it!¡± ¡°Ah yes. I am familiar with the oversized fauna.¡± Truth be told, they are much less amusing to hunt than feral werewolves. They lack the vicious cunning that makes the bipedal prey entertaining, with the notable exception of that alligator that almost ate me. Sheridan¡¯s mood collapses. My distraction only pushed his grief and suspicion away for a moment. I am, once more, inspected from head to toe. ¡°Are you really a witch?¡± ¡°Of a sort.¡± ¡°So¡­ you¡­ and the devil¡­¡± It only takes me an instant to know exactly which myth he is referring to. ¡°What? No! Noooo. That is not how it happens!¡± ¡°Then what happened? What pushed such a nice young thing like you to¡­ do whatever you do?¡± His tone is gruff, yet strangely nonjudgmental. I remain silent for a while, searching his face for signs of disgust and finding none. Whether out of misplaced chivalry or true curiosity, his interest appears genuine. It is, I believe, the first time in my life that someone asks me this question. The men and women I interact with either do not care or know better than to ask. There has not been a single turned consensually since the first one. We were only allowed to die after being broken and humiliated. ¡°It was not by choice,¡± I begin, and falter under this stranger¡¯s full attention. I never considered how to explain it. ¡°It was not by choice,¡± I try again, ¡°I met someone at a social event a long time ago.¡± ¡°The devil?¡± ¡°The closest thing this world has to the devil. He was mature, handsome, and charming. He was also an acceptable prospect for a well-to-do young woman. Champagne and sweet wine made me daring, and my audacity amused him enough to garner his attention.¡± ¡°What happened then?¡± Sheridan asks softly. ¡°He killed me and turned me into something like him.¡± ¡°He turned you into one of his servants.¡± Did he? ¡°Not even that. I was made out of one part convenience and two parts fun.¡± ¡°For fun?¡± he exclaims. ¡°For fun.¡± ¡°That sounds like a tough deal alright. Any chance you can, you know, redeem yourself?¡± ¡°Not even death can redeem us because we already died once.¡± My companion is not the best conversationalist, as I should have realized before. He ruminates on my words. Actually, he is ruminating on a piece of tobacco chew he removed from a breast pocket. I still appreciate the concern. ¡°You were dealt a bad hand, miss.¡± He chews pensively. ¡°¡­ but you seem alright. My father used to say you got yourself and you got the world. If you were turned into some kind of demon lady in waiting or something and you still decided to go after faithless heathens like the fellows we¡¯ll soon meet, well, you¡¯re alright in my book.¡± And just like that I have been vetted. I do not think I will ever grow used to how strangely accepting some people are of my nature. Papa was the first and there were others too, like Cecil Rutherford Bingle. Perhaps they are trying to make sense of the world through acceptance, or perhaps they simply have an open mind. ¡°We should plan,¡± I finish. ¡°Right. What do you know about those lunatics?¡± he asks. ¡°They are part of an unnamed decentralized cult made of several cells that cooperate for supplies and knowledge. My associates and I believe that they trade with Comanche raiders for funds, among other things. From the size of the supply convoy and the regularity of the runs I would say that their base has between fifteen and twenty people, plus the ones you already eliminated, with at least five being women and untrained for war. They will have at least one other spellcaster of unknown strength. I expect the camp to be hidden over there,¡± I say and point to the hills in front of us. ¡°You can see a bit of smoke trailing over the vale right behind that cliff there. We can expect sentinels that we can dispatch if we are careful. As for weaponry, they can have anything from antiquated Brown Bess to Models eighteen forty-one cap locks they filched off some rich victims so you must remain careful.¡± I stop and turn to Sheridan who is no longer chewing. His mouth hangs open. ¡°You sure know your business, huh?¡± he finally says. ¡°I always prepare if it is at all possible. Why? What put you on their trail?¡± ¡°Kidnapping. Lots of settlers around here. Sometimes, some go missing. Bandits, raiders, sometimes they just get lost or die from diseases. We help whenever we can. I suppose we found what other source of financing they use heh?¡± ¡°Ransoms? No. Abduction is a strange choice for them. Relatives may try to locate them to rescue the captives and they already have an efficient way to recruit new minions if they must. Hmm. I hope this is not what I think it is.¡± ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°There are more than a hundred pounds of edible tissue in an average person.¡± ¡°Jesus woman, I hope you¡¯re joking!¡± ¡°So do I.¡± S?a??h the N?v?l(F)ire.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. Cannibals disgust me. Only those who have devolved to less than humanity would stoop so low. They also share a dreadful tendency not to wash themselves, which makes feeding a much less pleasurable experience. Also, lice. My latest remark sours the mood. Sheridan does not object when I lead angle off-track and dismount a short distance away. ¡°We will make our approach on foot under the cover of the shrubbery. If they have even one sentry, they will be watching the road.¡± I pick up my newest rifle from Metis¡¯ harness and place a hand on the girl¡¯s neck before she can take off. I warn her. She shakes her head in an equine ¡®maybe¡¯. I can never be sure exactly how smart Metis is. I highly suspect that she is sharper than she lets on and pretends not to understand when it fits her temperament and her stomach. A bit like a cat if cats shattered rib cages for fun. ¡°You are not tying her up?¡± Sheridan asks. ¡°No need. She will be here if I need it.¡± ¡°So¡­ a magical horse?¡± he asks, and Metis snorts as she trots away. ¡°Yes. She comes with increased stamina and sass.¡± ¡°Huh. Say, I have one more question.¡± ¡°Do tell.¡± ¡°It¡¯s just that I have never seen real magic. I mean, I saw street magicians who could guess cards and the likes but I suppose that it¡¯s all tricks. So, magic. Can you show me some? Because so far all I have is your word for it, and I feel a little bit like a fool. No offense.¡± ¡°None taken. Light.¡± A small orb of purple light emerges from the center of my gauntlet, hidden beneath my sleeve. Sheridan fixes the selfish lantern with his sad brown eyes, then turns his attention to me. He studies my face now basked in the treacherous radiance and I meet his gaze with my own. ¡°You are older than you appear, are you not?¡± ¡°Excellent guess, Sheridan.¡± He now turns a bit sheepish. ¡°So¡­. How old are you exactly?¡± ¡°Ranger!¡± I tsk, ¡°You should never ask a lady¡¯s age!¡± ¡°Sorry! I¡¯m just curious, is all.¡± Oh well. If I am going to be honest to see his reaction, I might as well go all the way. ¡°I am sixty-four.¡± ¡°Wow! Just like my nanna then!¡± he realizes. The exclamation turns his face a delicate shade of tulip. ¡°Just like your nanna,¡± I parrot, amused, but he now stares at the orb once again. ¡°It¡¯s pretty enough, I guess,¡± he whispers. ¡°Not what I expected from, well, devilry.¡± ¡°I get my powers from being what I am. Most other folks have powers because their ancestors frolicked with fairies. No devil involved.¡± ¡°Really? With fairies?¡± ¡°To be fair,¡± I remark while thinking about a specific amber-eyed villain, ¡°they can be rather seductive.¡± ¡°Right. That¡¯s¡­ a lot to take in.¡± I hang my rifle over my shoulder. ¡°Then take it in on the way. We have a busy night and must be done before morning. I have a very sensitive skin. The sun is bad for it.¡± ¡°What, will you burst into flames?¡± he laughs. ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± We move forward in silence. The visibility is good tonight which is a double-edged sword. My companion will be able to see but so will our foes. This is the moment where I hesitate. I agreed to take this Hunt for Lord Jarek and I intend to bring it to a satisfactory conclusion. Sheridan¡¯s presence adds a volatile element to a familiar mix. I am giving myself a disadvantage here. Ah, but I agreed to kill them, not to kill them tonight. Therefore, I can give myself a challenge so long as the task is completed in the end. The Natalis lord would understand, of this I am sure. Should I limit myself to support spells and my firearms? This could be an interesting¡­ ah, who am I kidding, it would be fun. I lovingly caress the engraved surface of my rifle. The revolvers are Jimena¡¯s gift. This is my creation. ¡°Is it a magic gun?¡± my companion wonders. ¡°Glad you asked. This is a modified eighteen forty-one needle gun from Prussia with a custom firing pin and spring for improved reliability, a self-cooling bolt-action mechanism and percussion-cap, glyphed silver bullets. The barrel is perfectly rifled and reinforced at the base. This, Mr. Ranger, is a marvel of military engineering that can shoot a man dead from half a mile away.¡± I raise my eyes from my creation, only to meet Sheridan¡¯s puzzled expression. ¡°Are you normal? For a witch, I mean.¡± The lout. ¡°You will learn, if you live, that there is little normalcy in our world. Now quiet, we must find their lair and decide on what to do,¡± I grumble. We spend half an hour in silence, moving forward at a brisk pace to the base of the hill. The chest-high shrubbery turns to blackened tufts of grass as the land elevates. There will be no cover to be found here, so I take a full minute to thoroughly inspect the crest. It would be wasteful to put limitations on myself only to fail from overconfidence. Satisfied with my inspection, I move up and end up following Sheridan who endeavors to be first. He sometimes casts a glance back as we scale the incline and the ease with which I keep up needles his pride, so that he has turned into a sweaty, hard-breathing mess by the time we near the summit. ¡°Do you have some sort of demonic constitution?¡± he gasps. ¡°Of course.¡± This offends him, somehow. ¡°Look,¡± I whisper, and point in the distance. Over the ridge of the hill and on the flank of the next, about two hundred paces away, the cultists have created a small encampment out of a strange ruin. While we have treaded soil on our way up, the opposing slope is rust-colored stone, sheer and vertiginous. The remnants of a village merge seamlessly with the geography, brick walls of the same dye allowing spaces for houses and other buildings. The settlement huddles around a central well next to which the earth is moist and dark. The cult only made a token effort to fit out the place. Most dwellings lie gutted and empty. Only a few openings have been covered with undyed tarp. As expected of a smaller group. A single trail leads from the path we abandoned earlier into a narrow ravine and up a mountain road. A sentinel covered with a cloak sits restlessly on a stone chair, peering at the moonlit approach. I was right. We would have been spotted immediately. I return my attention to the open ground before the well and its content: two rows of cages. The right one is a makeshift thing with an iron and wooden frame over a collapsed house. Multiple pieces of fabric cover it to ward off the sun during the day. I spot moving skin and clothes through the multiple openings. The kidnapped victims. The left one is a nasty steel trap that could contain a feral for hours. It currently hosts a living, drooling Merghol hound. The quadrupedal version. At the sight of the creature, I hiss, causing Sheridan to look on warily. I had forgotten my instinctive reaction because the beasts I had uncovered with Malakim had been quite dead. This one is healthy and kicking and it SHOULD NOT BE HERE. INTRUDER. ¡°You see something?¡± ¡°One sentry, one magical dog, and your abductees.¡± Sheridan swears. ¡°A dog means we cannot sneak in to¡ª¡± He stops when the scene changes before us. A group of three people exits the largest building. They wield torches so that even my companion manages to spot them with ease. The trio walks down a few steps to the well and the captives. The leader stops and removes a silvery tube covered in shimmering glyphs from the confines of his cloak that screams of powerful magic. Surprisingly, I feel nothing even if I should be able to perceive its aura with no barrier between us. Even focusing my attention on it yields no result. ¡°What are they doing?¡± Sheridan whispers. The two other men are clearly muscle. They walk to the human cage and get in. I strain my ears and get a few panicked screams and the telltale impact of a fist on someone¡¯s flesh in the still night. The goons soon drag a young man away from the cage, punch an older woman in the face when she tries to stop them, then slam the entrance close. They drag their victim towards the hound. A hand clamps on my shoulder, causing me to hiss once more. The issue is not physical contact; the issue is boundaries. ¡°Woman, give me that gun,¡± Sheridan orders. ¡°Remove. Your. Hand.¡± My tone brooks no compromise, and the man knows it. Reflexive Charm brings the point home with more certainty than a pistol to the head. We have reached the breaking point long before I anticipated it. I was entertaining an amusing distraction. He was riding with the flow, my strange presence like a fever dream after the loss of his partners. Something pushed him forward. Something stayed my hand. I feel fate tug on me once again, but this time I will do nothing. This moment belongs to him. The world around me tastes of the moment before the fall, when gravity still has to assert itself. ¡°Can you make the shot?¡± Sheridan asks, his face ghastly. I am showing my fangs now. ¡°Yes. It will reveal our position. Make my task harder.¡± The child is at the cage now. One of the goons climbs on top of it. The hound slams against its prison, in vain. The cage is secured. ¡°Will you not save them?¡± ¡°Remember who you are talking to.¡± A hesitation. ¡°What will it take for you to save them?¡± . Not just . Something more. A man who would accept me for who I am without being a monster himself. ¡°I have been looking for someone like you for a very, very long time. Someone who would keep his values and his codes and still tolerate my nature. Let me be clear. I can save all those bumpkins you never met and yet value so much. I can put a bullet in the head of anyone who approaches their cage, then move closer and do much worse. I can do all of that and you cannot because all you have is a pistol and a crappy shotgun made from pig iron served by your pathetic mortal senses. I can do this for you.¡± The first goon opens a smallish trapdoor. The hound rams its massive, ugly lamprey mouth into it and receives a few smacks of a truncheon for its trouble. ¡°In return, you will come and see my world. One hunt is all I ask. Join me, and find out how far that midsummer night dream carries you.¡± The second goon lifts the terrified wreck of the teenager to the top of the cage. ¡°Yes, dammit yes. I will see. I want to see. Show me the world as it is.¡± Something clicks. Then my firing pin clicks. The deflagration takes the cultists by surprise, especially the one on top of the cage when the bullet hits him in the neck. I was aiming for the head but, well, he jumped. I calmly open the bolt, replace the cartridge with a fresh one and close it in one smooth, practiced motion. The second goon was just about to turn when my next shot catches him in the chest. ¡°Cover me, I¡¯ll go save them!¡± the ranger yells. Then he is off. A few yards to my right, an escarpment juts out above the void below. An athletic adult could easily jump the distance to reach the opposing side without sliding down the ravine, not to mention the grueling climb that would follow. I notice this as my hand locks the third cartridge in its deadly little cradle. The man carrying the unknown artefact would be my next priority since my new objective is to protect the child. Unfortunately, he has more brains than his minions and he hits the ground almost immediately. I can barely spot the tip of his boots as he scrambles behind the well and its successive layers of mortared brick. So much for clearing the place entirely. I still shoot the sentinel as he makes his way back. Sheridan jumps over the chasm and lands on the other side in a puff of reddish dust. At the same time, the huddled form of the artefact holder screams orders to his men still inside. I hear a clang of released metal and a familiar baying. Of course, they would not just have the one hound. I tsk as several of the purple creatures charge into the settlement¡¯s plaza with the grace of rabid bulls. They crash into the abductee¡¯s cage almost immediately, ignoring the cultist as they pass him by. It only takes a moment for the ugliest of them to raise its tentacled snout into the air and breathe like a forge bellow. Sheridan, who had been rushing ahead with the energy of despair, stops in his tracks. The hounds turn in multiple directions. Two of them inspect the cage containing their brethren as well as the lanky youth hiding behind it. The rest focuses on the gesticulating form of the ranger a bit further. ¡°Hey, hey, you big ugly cocksuckers! Come get a piece of this!¡± Foolish man. The head creature rises to the challenge and the pack follows soon after. I move towards them, firing all the while. I have a problem. The bullets I use could puncture a bear from eyeball to sphincter, but they only slow down the hounds unless I hit something vital and I do not dare take too long to aim. Stupid magic resistance. Sheridan is now sprinting back as fast as his legs can carry him. We reach the promontory at the same time. He jumps, half a dozen beasts barely half a second behind. I drop my rifle and draw a revolver. I lodge two bullets in the first hound¡¯s skull, causing it to stumble in its death throes. The next two hit the corpse in a mad tussle that tilts them over the edge and down the chasm. One more hound. Two more bullets. Three. Another falls down with a yelp. Last hound. I switch to my last gun and empty the six chambers in its misshapen maw. The lead creatures smash into the rocks below. Their ululating shrieks cease. Silence returns. I flip the revolvers on my index a few times, then return them to their holsters with uncanny grace. I am not showing off. Alright, I am showing off, but only to impress the mortals. Displays of skills are an essential part of proper gloating. A quick levitation spell and my rifle jumps into my waiting hand. The shock on Sheridan¡¯s face delights me. ¡°Where did you learn how to shoot like that?!¡± ¡°Now is not the time to be impressed,¡± I soberly inform the man I was trying to impress, ¡°the work is not done.¡± ¡°Yes, of course. The child.¡± And off we go, running in the other direction again. I make a note to return later and make sure the dead hounds are actually dead. A quick jump, and we rush up the cliffside road to the pair of cages. ¡°Let¡¯s stay low,¡± Sheridan orders, and well he does. We have barely topped the incline when the first bullet flies over us like a furious wasp. ¡°Hold fire, dammit!¡± a commanding voice hollers in the distance. Ah, the joys of having incompetent underlings. That is why we vampires only recruit carefully instead of raking in anyone with two legs and a pulse. Sheridan sprints forward and fires his shotgun at one of the many maws in the ruins¡¯ pockmarked face. Someone yelps in pain. Not bad. The ranger uses the distraction to slide against the cover of the well. He drops the discharged weapon and grabs his sidearm, a genuine Colt Patterson. ¡°I¡¯ll give you one chance to come out with your hands in the air ¡®fore I turn your collective asses into a sieve you lily-livered fucks!¡± Bullets impact the well, showering us with stone shards. ¡°Very eloquent,¡± I comment. ¡°You know, before tonight I had only been in a shootout twice. In four years of service,¡± Sheridan replies conversationally. The hail of bullets intensifies, which means that we will soon have a few seconds while those idiots all reload at the same time. I take a peek over the edge, only to see the man with the artefact lift it. Now that I get a perfect look at it, it resembles a long, girthy tube of silvery metal. The runes on its flank shine ominously as its maw reddens. That cannot be good. ¡° Get down! ,¡± I yell. The purple half-circle is barely formed before the world explodes around us. A tremendous blast vaporizes half of our cover and smashes into my last line of defense. ¡°Ooof!¡± I am pushed outward and land on Sheridan¡¯s stomach. The ranger fearlessly grabbed me as I was falling. The shield cracks but the strength is enough to deflect the projectile which impacts the other side of the ravine in a great shower of carbonized dust and black grass. My ears ring. I feel like I was punched in the gut with a ship prow. Sheridan lifts me up with a wince and a cough. A cloud of brick powder masks our presence now and the gunfire has abated as our foes wait for the dust to settle. If I were them, I would expect our remains to fit in a snuff box. The feedback from the broken spell courses through my essence and I grit my teeth in pain and anger. Even more so when I take in the desperate state of my combat dress. It was the last one too! Augh! Can¡¯t my foes spend one bloody night without ruining my wardrobes!? The insufferable¡­. Curs! ¡°YOU HAVE BEEN VERY NAUGHTY!¡± I bellow to no one in particular. ¡°You¡¯re alive?¡± the artefact wielder exclaims. This kind of shameless observation only deserves the hardest of rebuke. I lift my gauntlet and consider the full catalog of horrible, bowel-dissolving, skin-peeling hexes I could unleash on my foes when I spot something at the edge of my vision and the very idea comes crashing down. Inside the cage, the one surviving hound gnaws on a steel bar with unmitigated ferocity, giving me a full vision of its collar. The strangeness of the situation surprises me so much that my attention lapses and, if I had been facing vampires, I would have been in danger. Nothing comes to distract me from my observation. Someone fastened a restraint around what passes as a neck of this horrid creature. The apparatus is unlike anything I have ever seen. Segments of dull straight metal alternate with modular, spring-like contraptions that keep the thing close to the beast while allowing a full range of motion. A larger cylinder on the side houses a glassy capsule inside of which sloshes a blue liquid. Its design is not just specifically made for the hound, it also shows a completely alien sense of aesthetics ¡ª or lack thereof ¡ª a sterile mesh of elements as meticulously made as they are bland. It is, without a doubt, new. The abomination it is stuck to has not yet found the time to despoil its smooth surface. The very sight of it fills me with rage. INTRUDER. OUTSIDER. A deep sense of wrongness fans the fires of my anger. Those cultists have done it, the fools. They have done it indeed. A long time ago, Semiramis mentioned that she had learnt the names of the creature by books she had found. I had realized the implication, of course. The dull world we saw had not always been dying, its magic shred from its physical anchor. No. Someone had caused the cataclysm. I had always expected the perpetrators of this monstrosity to have died from the consequences of their actions. Now, seeing the relatively new construct, I realize that I was wrong. Someone still lives beyond the portals. Someone with manufacturing capabilities. And those someones may just have ways to track their belongings. ¡°What have you done?¡± I screech. Any thought of a new potential Vassal, any notion of challenge or the Hunt evaporates. Sapient life beyond the portals. And a plethora of careless idiots opening ways there left and right, leaving the key to piercing the veil at their very feet. Enough of this. I let my aura go, discarding any restraint I placed on myself. It crashes against my hidden foes who swear and curse as even their mundane senses pick up the arctic tide of power. As for the mage, he is stuck in place. I take a deep breath and the taste of magic changes around me. It feels like frenetic sprints and breached hiding places. The tension hangs in the air like a raised belt in a drunken father¡¯s fist. I am done playing games. ¡°Aennestra.¡± Terror. Mewling screams expand like a wave from my extended hand as something screams at the edge of my listening range. The spell travels outward, its power warping the air with its passing. I let the underlings cower and flee and make my way to the leader, barely noticing the thorny root keeping him in place. The cultist cries when he finally understands what he has been facing all this time. I grab him by the throat and smash him against the wall. The cowl falls from his face, revealing a clean-shaven young man with pale green eyes. His aura flared after he dropped the cylinder. ¡°I have questions.¡± ¡°I will answer everything you ask truthfully and completely if you agree to let me go and if neither you nor your servant pursue me,¡± he babbles. Amusing. ¡°I am not her servant, boy,¡± Sheridan says, calm despite my display of power. I aimed the wave of terror forward so he and the other captives remained unscathed. This should be amusing. ¡°You get one night of respite. For one night, neither he nor I nor the prisoners will be allowed to pursue nor strike you. Refuse and I will start interrogating you thoroughly. Do try me. I have much on my mind.¡± ¡°I agree to your terms,¡± the mage hiccups between sobs. ¡°Good. Where is your portal?¡± ¡°Inside! In the main building! It¡¯s inactive now.¡± ¡°Do the other cells know how to open gates as well?¡± ¡°Yes! We are¡­ mapping the new world. We will find paradise, eventually.¡± I stop for a moment and relax my hold on his neck. ¡°I beg your pardon?¡± ¡°Beyond limbo, there is Elysium. We will find it.¡± They think this is the afterlife! save me from those superstitious monkeys. ¡°Why is there a hound with a collar here?¡± ¡°The¡­the hounds of hell suck life and magic alike. We believe someone was controlling this specimen. We poisoned it and found remnants of a corpse in the vicinity, but I do not have it. The cadaver was taken by another cell. It looked like a short man, that¡¯s all I know, I swear!¡± So, the handler was dead. Perhaps we have some time before we are found. Perhaps he was the last of his kind. Bah, who am I kidding? A dying man on a desolate world could not have forged that. I spend a few more minutes asking him about the location of other cells, but it soon becomes clear that my captive sits rather low on the cultist totem pole. Even the people shooting at us from inside the structures were just laborers, not trained soldiers, and they surrendered to my companion without any more effort on my part. ¡°You may go,¡± I finally inform the mage as I toss him on the side. By the time I was finished, Sheridan had already freed the surviving abductees and gathered them in a semblance of order. Many of them were staring at me with the wariness that comes from seeing a young woman lifting a fully grown adult with one arm before discarding him without effort. Despite everything, the ranger still walks up to me. ¡°Guess you fulfilled your end of the bargain. Can¡¯t say that I¡¯m looking forward to mine.¡± ¡°Oh, don¡¯t be dramatic. I will not ask you to do anything too unsavory. We might even save some mortals,¡± I declare with some annoyance as I watch the back of my fleeing would-be dinner. ¡°It does not feel right to let him go,¡± the ranger grumbles. ¡°Indeed not, Sheridan. Fortunately, my kind loves few things more than semantics, and giving our prey false hope.¡± I whistle. It takes half a minute for a familiar voice to emerge from behind me. Chapter 109: Hell’s Gates The following two months see me alternating between keeping an eye on Richard, cursing all the deities I can name and a few I cannot for the prolonged war, and taking Sheridan on Hunts. We find two more cult hideouts before the rest figure out that someone is after them, rescuing a few more mortals from ending up as hound chow. He is only slightly disappointed when it turns out that the second group of rescued captives is made of Comanches.¡°Well, they don¡¯t deserve to be eaten either, I suppose,¡± he gruffly admits. Jarek later requests that we track down an oversized jackal. We end up covered in guts when the creature inexplicably explodes. ¡°I wish I could say this was unusual,¡± I tersely remark as I remove a piece of intestine from my hair, ¡°but that would be lying, Mr. Sheridan.¡± The ranger ponders on an important revelation while cleaning shredded liver from his hat. ¡°You know,¡± he finally replies, ¡°given the circumstances, I think that you may call me Marshal. If you wish.¡± I still call him Sheridan. My candidate ends each Hunt with the same awkward ¡°Let me know when we can do it again!¡± as if he had brought me home after a night at the dance. I am unsure how to express that I am more than ready to consummate our union, in this case by having him serve as my moral compass and ambassador for the rest of his mortal life. I cannot help but draw a parallel with Dalton who had been direct and daring. I should not compare the two. It would be unfair. Late September finally brings a change. The temperatures lower to merely ¡®oppressing¡¯ from ¡®one of the circles of hell¡¯ and the hostilities resume anew. The American army moves south and assaults the Mexican troops in Monterrey. Follow three days of hard-fought combat during which Richard makes a name for himself through decisive actions and a cunning understanding of tactics. His stance also shifts. From mentioning the strategic reasons of the conflict and justifying its existence, he progressively comes to talk more about his squad and leading them. Responsibility and duty catch him by surprise between two bouts of patriotism and it soon becomes clear that my nephew has a bright future in the army. To my dismay. I cannot simply drop a large group of bodyguards to defend him then scurry back north, because it would go against my oath. I promised Achille that I would take care of my nephew until he returned, and I must do so in person or risk my essence fracturing if he dies a preventable death. I am thus forced to handle all my affairs remotely. Fortunately, I have extremely competent allies in the persons of Merritt, Melusine and, surprisingly, Urchin. My presence near the army also means that I conduct a great deal of spying for my faction within the Accords and Constantine himself. There is also diplomacy. Mexico has an active population of mages with several competing traditions, a population that we are eager to establish contacts with. Fortunately for me, most of them are rather fragmented with little sympathy for their own government, making my task easier than it could have been. It also helps that I am polite and peaceful. Most people with any knowledge of my kind as well as two brain cells to rub together prefer to keep it that way. Texas, early October. My rented room inside of the Natalis safe house is cozy and warm. Red banners decorate the ochre stone and the lack of windows only makes the setting more intimate. My sarcophagus lies in the corner, its top open. A silvery mirror occupies one corner of a room. I sit down in front of it and focus on the engraving around the frame. The surface shimmers when I activate it and a man I recognize greets me with a smile. I exclaim. His image wavers due to my distraction. Fortunately, the mirror is a powerful focus, specifically designed for this task. It also cost a pretty penny. Isaac looks good with his intelligent brown eyes and carefully combed dark hair. He appears more predatory now, less a competent civil servant and more a sharp investor. I observe. I politely answer, Oh wow. A drunken muse could not salvage this conversation. he finishes in French I remain silent as Isaac stands there, looking very proud of himself. I ask. Issac explains with the patience normally reserved for slow children, I pause. Then, after a while. s?a??h th? N0v?lFir?.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. Hmm. We need to finish this quickly. My focus is wavering, as shown in Isaac¡¯s increasingly blurry profile. By the . It already happened several times too. What could those be? Well, Richard¡¯s squadron is still encamped for the foreseeable future and it looks like the next offensive will be by way of the sea. I will arrange for a light protection detail and see what this entails. One night later, off the coast of Texas. I lean against the railing of the tiny sloop and watch the shore as it passes me by. Beaches, cliffs and rocks succeed each other in a slow revolving canvas that has not yet grown monotonous. ¡°It¡¯s my first time aboard a ship,¡± Sheridan finally admits, ¡°besides canoes and small river crafts.¡± ¡°Is it? How do you like it so far?¡± ¡°It¡¯s very calm.¡± ¡°Yes, there should be no boarding actions this time,¡± I assure him. Ah, perhaps it would have been better not to mention this at all. ¡°Boarding actions?¡± he immediately replies, horrified, ¡°could it be that you have engaged in piracy?¡± Dread Pirate Queen Ariane the Bloodthirsty, scourge of the Atlantic! ¡°No no, just a little bit of privateering.¡± The ranger submits me to his inquisitive glare, one that led to the confession of many a ruffian. ¡°I had a genuine lettre de marque, I promise,¡± I reply innocently. It might have been slightly illegal and crafted in secret by an assistant after a torrid night with the world¡¯s most rakish Likaean. I could not say. ¡°Right. And you committed state-sanctioned banditry too?¡± ¡°State-sanctioned banditry is merely lawful asset retrieval,¡± I observe. He does not look convinced. His brow furrows and his ample mustache quivers with suspicion. ¡°You have seen how I operate, Sheridan. Do I strike you as a vulgar highwaywoman?¡± I finally say. ¡°No¡­ I suppose not. So, tell me about this auction of yours.¡± ¡°Ah yes, the Hell¡¯s Gates.¡± ¡°I beg your bloody pardon?!¡± he bellows. A few of the sailors watching over the deck decide to keep their distance. Ah, damn. ¡°Ariane, you have insisted that you were not, in fact, made by the actual devil.¡± ¡°Yeeees?¡± ¡°And that you do not lust after the souls of sinners.¡± ¡°Indeed not?¡± ¡°And that your aversion to all church-related symbols was merely a, and I quote, side-effect of not truly being native to this world.¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Because your soul is bound to that big thingamajig in the sky that only you can see.¡± ¡°I did say that, yes.¡± ¡°And your auction is called, the Hell¡¯s Gates.¡± ¡°Errrr yes. I did not choose the name myself.¡± Sheridan masticates his mustache in contemplation. ¡°Sometimes I feel that you are making a fool of me.¡± ¡°Listen, my dear little mortal¡± I reply with fangs bared, ¡°I have been nothing but forthcoming with you. The term merely alludes to the temporary contact between mages, who are mostly humans, and us who are not.¡± ¡°Right¡­ Right. So what happens then? What will we do?¡± I sigh. ¡°The auction will take place in a large building in the old quarter previously used for administrative matters and duels.¡± ¡°Duels?!¡± ¡°Yes, duels are an integral part of vampire politics. I had one duel there, actually.¡± ¡°Did you win?¡± ¡°No, my blood sister stabbed me in the heart so I could feign my own death. Anyway¡­¡± ¡°You survived being stabbed in the heart!?¡± he interrupts with a cry. ¡°I did mention that we were resilient.¡± ¡°Have you already been shot, then?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Stabbed?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Exploded?¡± ¡°That too.¡± ¡°Set on fire?¡± ¡°Yes, that was horrible.¡± ¡°Frozen to death?¡± ¡°I was frozen, but it barely affects us at all. I could still move. Being set ablaze was the worst thing by far.¡± ¡°I find it eerie that you would be vulnerable to fire.¡± ¡°For the last time, Sheridan, we are not demons from hell!¡± I complain for what feels like the millionth time. ¡°Could have fooled me¡­¡± ¡°Sheridan,¡± I interrupt with a serious tone and he stares at me, sheepish in his duster with his Colt and star. ¡°Why are you still here, by my side? If you truly thought we were abominations, you had ample opportunity to leave.¡± ¡°Hrm. I don¡¯t know rightly myself.¡± He avoids my gaze. ¡°Either you think me a monster that needs to be erased, or you consider me a person. You tiptoe around the issue instead of choosing,¡± I scold. ¡°It¡¯s not that easy!¡± he yells. Then, in a softer tone: ¡°It¡¯s not that easy. All my life I thought I knew how the world was. God created it in seven days and he made man in His image. He made all the animals and all the plants for us to use. And now I learn that there are other worlds? And species? Magic? Giant creatures? I never asked for this. I only wanted to live a right and peaceful life upholding justice, not getting in shootouts with madmen calling hellhounds from beyond the veil!¡± I let him finish. When he does, out of breath, I keep quiet for a few seconds to mark my understanding. I can appreciate that his circumstances are delicate. ¡°Then you must decide if you want to return to your peaceful life. If you do, I will not blame you. You are free to go. But you must decide.¡± ¡°What is there to decide? I am already here, ain¡¯t I?¡± ¡°Your heart wavers. Tell me this is not true.¡± He would not meet my eyes. ¡°You will have to make a choice, and soon,¡± I finish. The arena where I fought in is also the siege of vampire politics. I visited the old, square-building only once and the experience was disheartening, so to speak. I remember that it was a building of yellow stone with a strong Spanish influence at the edge of the Vieux Carr¨¦ intentionally left decrepit to avoid undue attention. I drag Sheridan through the streets, still warm and wet from the day. He tries to stay composed and dignified, but I can see his gaze drift from richly dressed ladies to darker-skinned beauties in exotic garbs of reds and yellows. His attention wanders to the gamblers and musicians filling the air like a discordant orchestra of life and sin. We stop at a stall and I buy him a few skewers of chicken dipped in red sauce. The scent of cayenne and paprika fill my heart with nostalgia, even more so than the familiar architecture. We then must stop to get a cold beer because Sheridan has no tolerance for spice. Eventually, the crowd thins, and I must admit to some surprise when our destination comes into view. Gone is the non-assuming edifice, the new center has been repainted and redecorated. Gas lamps shine on every corner and cast a deeper shade of beige on the walls, darker as they climb up to the third story. Guards in the white uniform of the Rosenthal mercenaries patrol in pairs of two, holding lanterns and poorly concealed pistols. They salute me as we pass by. ¡°Welcome, Lady Ariane.¡± I return the greeting. ¡°They know you?¡± Sheridan asks as we make our way to the entrance. ¡°They know of me. I have worked with their company before.¡± ¡°And they are all normal people?¡± ¡°Yes. Professional soldiers trusted for generations, well-trained and well-paid. Such families form the backbone of our entourages.¡± ¡°Do you have families like that?¡± ¡°Not yet.¡± ¡°What about traitors? Can they not strike you when you are the most vulnerable? Bring your enemies to your doorstep? Unless you have a way to control them.¡± ¡°We have multiple redundancies as far as security is concerned. It would take a convergence of factors for an attack to be successful, such as when we travel. Even then, we have ways to escape and fight back. We are also quite good at reading the emotions of those who surround us, including duplicity.¡± ¡°Hrm, hrm, really? Then what am I thinking about right now?¡± ¡°You are scared to learn that I can read you like an open book.¡± ¡°Devilry!¡± ¡°And here we go again¡­¡± ¡°Sorry, sorry. Surprised me is all. Hrm. Ah, we are here.¡± The entrance stands before us, brightly illuminated with lanterns of stained glass. Their armatures of crystal and brass reflect a smooth light so that the monumental entrance appears more inviting, like the manor of a rich relative opened for festivities. Guards in exquisite dress uniforms stand by it and they bow when we enter. The palatial hall greets me again in all its glory. A wide mosaic of black and white depicting a tragedy mask decorates the entire ground. A massive wood lobby lines the left wall with a few attendants idling behind. The large gate to the arena where I first experienced having my heart damaged are currently closed, while the double stairs leading to the second-floor promenade lie empty. The perfume of vanilla and scented candles replaces the squalid stench of humanity. The subdued lighting, the red drapes, the sober clothes all serve to welcome the guests in an intimate setting, and helps them forget the nature of their hosts. It will be our role to subtly remind them of that fact, should they become rowdy. We have barely stopped when Isaac steps out from a side corridor with a sharp older man in a white officer jacket and a morse mustache. The Rosenthal Master wears a black ensemble of exquisite make with a white shirt that seems to radiate from within. Somehow, I reach with my hands and he takes them. The intimate gesture ¡ª and the implicit show of trust ¡ª create an unexpected effect. All eyes land on us and I hear a few gasps of surprise. Isaac and I are united by bonds of friendship and shared suffering. I do not see myself getting involved with him, though now that I am once more celibate, the idea does not shock me as it used to do. he answers as he links his arm with mine, ¡°allow me to introduce Lieutenant Venett, the head of mortal security.¡± ¡°A pleasure, madam,¡± the officer says with a nod. His name is familiar. ¡°I fought alongside a Venett thirty years ago.¡± ¡°Yes ma¡¯am, my grandfather. He spoke highly of you in his correspondence. I am honored to work alongside you.¡± ¡°Likewise,¡± I reply, pleased. And it does seem that my good reputation precedes me. I catch more furtive glances sent my way, all of them respectful. It feels¡­ oddly pleasant to be considered an ally. For once, I am not the unknown quantity, or a valuable investment. ¡°And you must be Sheridan!¡± Isaac continues. The presentations are short, and we quickly leave the lobby. Isaac and I dismiss our respective mortals so that they can compare notes and facial hair, then make our way up the stairs and through the largest door directly in front of us. We end in a lodge, much like an opera one. The circular arena where I fought is the same and private viewing booths line the walls on three sides. The sand has been replaced by a red carpet of massive proportions, as well as a pulpit and a small platform. I refrain myself from showing any reaction at the outrageous sum so as not to appear as a bumpkin. I demand, scandalized. I just glare at him. he replies with a pointed smile. I remark. John took the vampiric name ¡®Doe¡¯ because his patronym is currently used by a Lancaster lord. Calling him after a skittish beast feels like strapping a cute party hat on the head of a lion. The mood turns from pleasant to deadly serious in a mere instant. I school my aura too late. Isaac¡¯s inquisitive eyes pierce into my mind. I reply, still aware of my binding agreement with Semiramis. It would sound promising if the details were not so sketchy I observe without malice. Isaac answers, amused I am stunned. Huh. I say nothing for a while. The claw of a dragon? Due to the highly symbolic nature of magic, such a blade could cut the best armor including the hide of the creature itself. It could also put a stop to Nirari¡¯s undoubtedly massive regeneration. It could kill him. It could work! Isaac lightly chides. I am taken aback by his pessimism. Isaac taps on the railing with two fingers, amused. I consider the question for a moment. Except Jimena. My sister is just too pure for this world. I watch the plain of roofs from my temporary office on the building¡¯s last floor. John looms, arms crossed across his prodigious pectorals. The ever-loyal man has raised looming to an artform, of which he is the master. No one can quite match the careful mix of polite disinterest and understated threat. Being turned has changed him a lot. He is no longer so ugly now that his cleft lip has closed into a scar, and his gaze is too sharp to be considered simple anymore. Our change has made predators of all of us. I finally ask. John remains silent. I do not mind. He will speak when he is ready, he just needs time to order his thoughts. The silence this time lasts long enough for me to hesitate. Did he lose the trail of his thought? Eventually, he makes his point with a slow, soft voice. He speaks with conviction now, not the affected tone of the politician, but the unwavering certitude of the zealot. It almost scares me. I ask with some alarm. Aisha of the Amaretta did mention that I would be instrumental in saving the world if I live long enough. Was John a seer all along? I insist. And there it is. Under the placid tranquility of his mind lies a belief as unfounded as it is strange. John picks a steel candelabra and presses it between his large hands. He maintains eye contact as the decorative metals bends under his power as if it were wax, until only a tiny ball of twisted scrap remains. Chapter 110: The Heart of the Nile A Tale of Thieves¡°It¡¯s the last job Kate, then we can retire. Get that land you dreamed of and never work another day in our lives!¡± Kate crosses her arms and turns her head wistfully. Her instinct had never failed her, and, right now, it told her that it was a ¡®Bad Idea¡¯. ¡°It¡¯s too risky. We can just hit a few more banks and use the cash to disappear.¡± ¡°Not smart, darling. You never know how many rich folks you can piss off before they send the Cabals after you, and without a specific fence we would have to sell the stuff at a discount.¡± ¡°The Hell¡¯s Gates are held by vampires, Chris. Not mages or mundane humans. Vampires. You know what they say.¡± ¡°We¡¯ll just leave them to their games and blood drinking with the other guests. No need to get close. We get in, do the job, then get out. One hour tops. We already have someone in.¡± ¡°Griggs?¡± ¡°He did it, yes. The mark will leave him a uniform.¡± Kate stood abruptly. The simple bed of their rented room creaked under the sudden move and Chris backed off with a yelp. She held an accusing finger under his nose. ¡°You took it! You took the contract!¡± Her brown ringlets shook with fury. ¡°You did it behind my back!¡± Chris brushed his scruffy blond hair back, giving her a disarming smile. The gesture used to make her swoon. Now it only made her mad. ¡°Don¡¯t you try to act cute! You took such an important decision without checking with me first? You know we cannot back down on a contract with one of the covens!¡± ¡°Relax darling, everything¡¯s already planned. You only need to get in and do your magic, as usual. We¡¯ll take care of the rest.¡± Kate seethed in silence. She hated this heist. She also hated that she was dismissed and that Chris had gone ahead without her approval. He had always been the brain of the outfit, but things were supposed to be different now. They were supposed to be a couple and a couple did things together, not behind each other¡¯s back. ¡°This is the last time, Chris.¡± ¡°It is. I promise.¡± Kate wanted to believe him. The cellar under their safe house was Chris¡¯ domain. He was moving with confidence from the table to a map pinned against the wall, then to the supplies spread on the ground near the entrance. Never did he look more alive than when he planned a deed. Under the pressure, he would gain an intensity that Kate loved. His passion was infectious and affected the whole group, pushing them to outdo themselves. It was that fiery passion that had captured her heart. Sometimes, a small voice would tell her that Chris was not meant for the family life she envisioned, that he would wilt without the constant challenges that the criminal life brought him. She would push it away, but it would keep coming back. ¡°Let¡¯s start with the introductions, since we have a new member joining us tonight,¡± her lover started with a dazzling smile as the group gathered around the table. ¡°Our newcomer is Father MacCormick. He will be covering us if things go wrong.¡± Kate eyed the latest addition to their merry band. The father was a man in his fifties with a white beard wearing the black and white collar of catholic priests. Her aura control was decent for someone without formal training, and she could tell he was a mage like herself. There were not a lot of caster priests that she knew of, but, well, it was a big world out there. ¡°The good father will cover our retreat from the vampires if things go south. He assured me that crosses stop them. Isn¡¯t that right, father?¡± ¡°Not stop them so much as slow them down,¡± the man grumbled, ¡°you don¡¯t stop vampires at night. You hold the cross and hope they don¡¯t find a way to flank you before you close the door.¡± ¡°Have you faced one before?¡± Kate asked. The older gentleman stared at her with undisguised annoyance. His next comment dripped with disdain. ¡°Since you lot allow women to interrupt your discussions, I will oblige. Some associates and I faced what they call a Courtier. We managed to wound and repulse him, but not before he managed to gut one of us. And it takes silver bullets to hurt one to begin with,¡± he continued as he opened his vest to reveal a pistol¡¯s handle. ¡°We didn¡¯t even see him move. That¡¯s what we¡¯re dealing with if they find us out.¡± ¡°Father MacCormick will only join us on the last leg of the missions. If it looks like we were made before that, we bail.¡± ¡°Let¡¯s not get carried away. I need the money,¡± their old time partner Griggs added with a radiant smile. Kate made the mistake of meeting his eyes. The green pools captured her in their murky depths, and she felt herself drifting before she regained control. She shook her head. It was not his fault. He could not control it, she told herself. Another part of her whispered that he made no effort to do so, and that she would not trust him around any woman she knew. She silenced that voice as well. Griggs shook his handsome face, long dark hair fluttering artfully. ¡°I guess it¡¯s my turn then, old man. I¡¯m Griggs. I¡¯m the infiltrator. I¡¯ll get us through the first part of the mission.¡± The priest frowned. ¡°You wield power as well,¡± he stated. Griggs¡¯ answer was to flip a card from the deck he always kept, one of the many queer habits that rubbed Kate the wrong way. King of Hearts. ¡°There are many who find me irresistible.¡± Only because he left them little choice. In a perfect world, someone would have gouged his eyes out. Only Chris¡¯ promise that he would never touch her soothed Kate enough to trust him on a heist, if barely. ¡°And I am Moreau, nice to meet you,¡± the only dark-skinned man at the table interrupted with a disapproving glare. Moreau had been the mover of the team for almost two years now. Kate was unsure as to why he kept working with them. She believed it had something to do with money, since he still had the same ratty clothes despite the hauls they had already made. ¡°Moreau will stay with a carriage next to our exit and make sure that we do not dally. As for my dearest Kate, she has a special set of skills that will get us in the basement,¡± Chris continued smoothly. ¡°Does she, now?¡± MacCormick asked with clear doubt. Kate felt anger settle as a tight ball inside her stomach, but she would not say anything. It annoyed her that Chris let a newcomer doubt her skills, just as it annoyed her that he would introduce her instead of letting her do it herself. She settled with crossing her arms and looking as disdainful as she could. It worked, if the stupid priest¡¯s reddening face was any indication. ¡°And now for the plan!¡± Chris exclaimed with an enthusiasm that no friction could shake. ¡°Our dear Griggs made contact with one of the attendants. He convinced her to hire him for the occasion as a waiter. Fortunately, their staff includes several groups working together so an unfamiliar face will be nothing too strange.¡± ¡°I also worked there for three days preparing the stage and nobody noticed anything. There are more than forty members of the staff slaving away to accommodate the guests right now,¡± the infiltrator added, flipping a Jack of Spades from his deck. ¡°They won¡¯t notice a thing.¡± ¡°While your confidence is commendable, my dear Griggs, this only concerns the upper floors of the complex,¡± Chris continued with a disapproving tone. ¡°There are two stories above the main ground, plus a small attic under the roof. The auction will take place there, in a circular room at the heart of the building. The pieces will be brought one by one from the underground vault under escort. We will intercept it on the way.¡± He moved to the wall and started pointing at a map. The pinned papers showed the main floor and an expansive basement. ¡°Griggs will get in first and work normally. When the auction begins, Kate and I will come in as regular guests.¡± Their two seats had cost them three hundred dollars, Kate thought bitterly. ¡°We will join our lodge first, pretend everything is normal. Then Kate will feign sickness and Griggs will escort her to the infirmary situated right next to the main entrance to the lower level. She will do her thing and bypass their security when their alarm deactivates, which is every time they open the doors to let an item through.¡± ¡°How do you know all of this?¡± MacCormick asked with some doubt. ¡°Alva is part of the retinue of the organizer, a vampire named Isaac. She was made aware of their security protocol in case she needs to evacuate,¡± Griggs explained. ¡°And the vampire just told her?¡± ¡°She has served his, errr, clan, for her whole life. Her defenses were solid, and she even had a protective amulet. He must have trusted her quite a bit but as I mentioned, I am irresistible.¡± That meant that he had used his full power. After Griggs finished with Alva, she would be a babbling wreck. The violation bothered Kate on a deep level, but she told herself that the woman deserved it for serving a monster. What person in their right mind would work for an abomination? Alva had made herself an enemy of mankind and she would face the consequences. That was all there was to it, really. The thought comforted Kate somewhat. ¡°She confessed everything. We know most of their security measures, except for the vault. Which is why we won¡¯t go in there,¡± Chris explained. ¡°Kate will follow the main corridor¡­ here,¡± he continued, showing her path on the map, ¡°then turn right into the first room where Griggs will have left a spare uniform and a key under the cupboard.¡± ¡°Why not use the trick that gets her past the guard in the corridor?¡± MacCormick interrupted. ¡°It¡¯s exhausting,¡± she curtly replied before Chris could do it for her. ¡°Right. MacCormick, there will be time for questions afterward. The servant uniform will allow Kate to move relatively unimpeded. They have one patrol and a pair of maids who are supposed to stay there for the whole night. The disguise will serve well in avoiding their attention. Though, make sure that they don¡¯t get a good look at you,¡± he told Kate. ¡°In the meanwhile, Griggs will return to the main room so as to not attract attention. Kate will go there,¡± he added while pointing at a specific spot. The group bent over the table to inspect the small room leading to what appeared to be a tunnel. ¡°The ground here is very wet. The basement was modified to redirect humidity to a reservoir in this room, which they empty regularly through that passage here. It leads outside. The key opens the secured gate between the two. Do not lose it, because the gate is heavily enchanted and you won¡¯t be able to open the door without it.¡± ¡°Understood. But why not open the escape tunnel from the outside?¡± Kate asked. ¡°An alarm will trigger if the key leaves the compound. Now, the tunnel I mentioned doubles as an escape path leading all the way to a canal. I will exit the building and link up with Moreau and MacCormick as soon as Kate is through. We will circle around, and the priest and I will get in through the emergency exit. Once there, we will wait and intercept the people carrying the Heart on their way to the exit. They function by pair, with one pair carrying goods up with the other patrolling the basement. They swap with each new item.¡± His expression grew more serious. ¡°This is obviously the most delicate part of the heist, but we have little choice.¡± ¡°It does sound risky,¡± Griggs mutters while biting his thumb. He mechanically flipped a card. Two of clubs. Kate shivered. ¡°Not that risky,¡± Chris calmly stated, ¡°the basement is sound-proof and only has four guards at any time, two of whom will stay in front of the vault at all times. The basement is large enough that a small scuffle could remain unheard. After we disable the carrying pair, we will have some time to escape via the emergency exit. This is also where the plan branches. If it looks like we are made at any point before that, we escape, but if we manage to grab the Heart, we can escape even if the alarm is rung. You see, the entrance can be blocked by leaving the key half-turned in the lock, from the outside,¡± he finished with a ghastly smile. ¡°That sounds like a big oversight,¡± Kate remarked under her breath. ¡°That¡¯s what Alva said,¡± Griggs answered and the other laughed as if it was funny. They amused themselves for a few seconds, before Kate¡¯s glare pushed Chris to resume the briefing. ¡°Right. We all leave through the exit except Griggs who will just stay long enough not to arouse suspicion before leaving on his own. We reconvene here after the deed. Any questions? ¡°How will you disable the guards?¡± Moreau asked with a frown. He was the most adverse to loss of life after Kate. ¡°MacCormick has a disabling spell and I have my truncheon. The guards will be caught off-guard. They are well-trained but they are not mages and should have no adequate defenses against spells.¡± ¡°How is their security looking? It won¡¯t help if the vampire goes to pick up the Heart in person,¡± MacCormick commented while consulting the map. ¡°They have around two dozen guards, most of whom will be outside or patrolling the upper floors. As for the vampires, Alva said that they would remain around the guests.¡± ¡°Vampires? Plural?¡± the priest answered with obvious concern. ¡°There will be three of them. Isaac is the organizer, and he will present the items himself, therefore, he should not leave their auction room. The second one is called Doe and he acts as the muscle. Big guy. He looks like he wrestles bears for breakfast. The last one is called Ariane, and Alva said she and Isaac knew each other from before. She appears harmless, but she¡¯s still a vampire so we need to be careful. She is the one who will be roaming around so we should keep an eye out for her. No matter what, the guarded, alarmed entrance is the only way to the vault and they probably trust it to keep intruders away. We would have no way through without Kate.¡± ¡°They don¡¯t got last names?¡± Moreau asks. Kate raised her brows in surprise. Moreau usually stayed quiet unless he had specific questions about the plan. She thought that he did not fully approve of what they were doing. ¡°I don¡¯t think so. Apparently one vampire has one name and they don¡¯t share. It works because there are not that many of them.¡± ¡°They are monsters, you can¡¯t expect them to act like proper Christian folks,¡± Griggs commented, and the others laughed again. Kate thought that they would be laughing much less when they met the real deal, even if those monsters could not be as bad as the rumors made them to be. ¡°Still worried?¡± Chris asked after they were alone upstairs. His voice betrayed his seriousness, Kate could tell. It wavered slightly. He cared about her opinion. She shrugged. ¡°Of course I am. Your harebrained schemes will be the end of you, one day.¡± ¡°But you will still go with it?¡± She rolled her eyes. ¡°Yes, yes, you convinced me, oh great genius you.¡± Chris chuckled knowingly and the familiar sound warmed her heart. He had this look, the one where he had something more planned. He walked to their chest and threw it open. From there, he withdrew a package in a linen bag she had never seen before. ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± she asked with trepidation. ¡°We can¡¯t have all those rich bastards looking down on my pretty girl, so I got you a present.¡± Kate opened the package with all the excitement of a little girl to reveal a dress, and what a dress it was. Dark green taffeta with sequins sewn at the shoulders, a tapered waist and a big, flaring hem. It would cover her breast yet leave the shoulders bare. It looked fit for a princess. She threw herself in the arms of her lover. ¡°Oh, Chris! It is wonderful! And my size! How did you manage it.¡± ¡°I have my resources,¡± he gloated with relish, ¡°as for your body, I have a passing knowledge of it,¡± he finished, his hands trailing down to rest on her thighs. ¡°You are incorrigible!¡± Inside, she felt more confident. She had a perfect pendant of nephrite and gold to match the outfit and she would wear her hair high, with two waves of brown ringlets falling on either side. She would look great. She would look the part. Kate did not feel confident at all. The auction hall had appeared at the corner of a street like an ephemeral palace from a fairy tale, as if it would disappear on the twelfth stroke of midnight. It blazed gloriously with gas lights, clad in haughty confidence. The walls were sheer and neatly painted. They defied the city¡¯s squalor with their unexpected perfection. And the guards! They were walking around in pairs, holding lanterns and muskets, all princely in their pressed uniforms and shiny buttons. It was no longer a normal building. It had become, in her mind, the domain of some Austrian prince who had deigned to open it to the commoners for one night. Chris felt her waver. He gave her arm a squeeze and she forced herself to affect the confidence she did not feel. She was a mage, dammit, she belonged here! Or so she tried to tell herself. The ugly truth was that she was in way over her head. They all were. She had one nifty spell and that was it. The rest were trash invocations she had picked up here and there. Only her experience let her keep her composure when they climbed up fancy stairs to wide-open gates. She affected polite disdain when Chris gave their invitations to a serious butler in a suit so well-tailored, it must have cost an arm. Then they were in and she could not help but gasp. Kate had attended receptions before, mingled with the wives of bankers and landowners. This was a whole other level. The ceiling was so high and the room so large, you could fit her whole childhood home in there! The ground was covered in tiles that made some sort of mask and the place smelled exquisite, a delicate fragrance of vanilla, like some of those pricey perfumes one of her marks used to douse herself with. It took all of her willpower not to gawp like a bumpkin. The guests were fine too. Chris and her had joined a queue. She fixed her eyes on the wide shoulder of an old man in front of her. He was wearing a suit of cobalt blue and the aura he emanated was incredible. She felt that she could hold her hand before her and her fingers would freeze and blacken before she could even reach his shoulder. It was that strong. And it was carefully controlled too. She took a deep breath and tried to relax as the line moved on. There were only two groups left when she heard a commotion. The man in front of her took a step back and she angled to the side to have a look at the disturbance. A young woman was standing at the base of a double set of stairs, dressed in a magnificent lavender gown that embraced her forms in a way that was both daring and modest. She was calmly addressing a trio of burly men in matching brown coats. A tall lad with a wide mustache covered her side, his expression alternating between flustered and angry. ¡°As I previously mentioned, you may keep your foci but your firearms must be left at the concierge. You will recover them when you leave.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not disarming myself with you around, vampire.¡± Kate¡¯s eyes widened. This was the vampire? She appeared so normal! Her cheeks showed a light pink flush and she breathed and blinked normally. Not at all how Kate imagined her to be. Perhaps that was part of the disguise? Approach unsuspecting men and bite them when they leaned in for a kiss? ¡°Your safety is guaranteed as a guest for tonight. I will ask you to comply, otherwise we will not grant you access to the facilities.¡± ¡°You think to stop us? I¡¯d like to see you¡ª¡± ¡°NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!¡± the mustached man interrupted with a terrible bellow. The loud voice silenced the whispers of the assembly, such was the desperation it conveyed. ¡°Don¡¯t say it. Don¡¯t finish that sentence. You really, really don¡¯t want to do that,¡± he hastily continued while growing red in the face. The woman had tilted her head and was staring at him curiously. ¡°She¡¯s bound by the rules of hospitality so long as you keep your mouth shut and don¡¯t do anything. I swear I saw a man tell her ¡®you¡¯re welcome to try¡¯ from inside his house because he thought himself safe. It counted as an invitation. He died the next second. Don¡¯t mess with semantics when you¡¯re around her. Just don¡¯t.¡± The man¡¯s concern was so heartfelt that Kate, who had interacted with many grifters throughout the years, found herself convinced of his honesty. Here was a man who had seen much, she thought. Here was a man who had seen enough. At least for tonight. The trio of thugs remained ambivalent. She could see the tension in their backs. The vampire tuted once and something peculiar happened. She started to talk and as she did, she changed. Her skin gained an unearthly pallor and her poise, once demure, turned almost¡­ predatory. ¡°If you wish to keep your pistols to defend yourselves from me, I promise you¡­¡± she said, and she smiled. It was ghastly. Canines, no, fangs, were revealed by the withdrawal of her carmine lips like knives laid bare. Her eyes were half-lidded now, and reminded Kate of a waiting cat. ¡°¡­that they would not help.¡± A cold wave washed over Kate. She and most of the other mages took a reflexive step back. She was reminded of opening the door in winter, at night. There was nothing in front of her but darkness and a biting cold that froze her to the marrow. That did it. The three men moved to the concierge without a word. Her gaze followed them before she turned her attention to the next guest. Her expression reverted to its previous preppy self as if nothing had happened. The old man had not stepped back before the onslaught. He strutted forward and Kate realized that he had a girl by his side, a pretty thing with a curious strand of white hair on her otherwise dark mop. The tensions must have addled her mind. She immediately remarked that the companion was young enough to be his granddaughter! Disgusting. ¡°Ariane! Are you making a habit of bullying the younglings?¡± he exclaimed in a raucous voice. Kate half-expected the vampire to jump on him. Instead, she returned a disarming smile, sans the fangs this time. ¡°Frost! Always a pleasure to see you. Have you reconsidered my offer?¡± ¡°Nope! I will stay as is, thank you very much.¡± ¡°A shame. Ah, do not mind me. It is such a pleasure to see you again. And you brought your granddaughter with you! Welcome Margaret, how are you doing?¡± Oh. It seemed that Kate had judged him too hastily. ¡°Fairly good, Lady Ariane, thank you. Grandpa has been training me with ice magic. It won¡¯t be so easy for you next time!¡± she proudly answered. ¡°I will be looking forward to it,¡± the vampire replied without malice. There was no trace of her earlier hostility. ¡°By the way, Ariane, you still owe me one glorious death in battle!¡± the old man said again. ¡°You will have to forgive me, kind sir, a horde of werewolves failed to deliver so the task is harder than I thought. Rest assured that I will notify you of any heroic last stands I come across.¡± ¡°Damn right, you should.¡± The powerful old man, apparently named Frost of all things, went on soon after and it was Chris and her turn. The experienced burglar handed the vampire their invitation with a flourish and a grin, which the monster returned affably. ¡°Is this your first time attending a Rosenthal event?¡± she asked. ¡°It is.¡± ¡°I would like to remind you of the rules, then. You are allowed to keep your foci, if you have any, and cast defensive spells if you believe that you are in danger. All other weapons must be left to the concierge. Any attack on staff or guests will be met swiftly and decisively. If your behavior interferes with the conduct of the event, you will be made to leave. Your safety and comfort are guaranteed by clan Rosenthal for the duration of your stay. If you have any questions, feel free to consult a member of the staff. Do enjoy your evening.¡± She returned the invitation and they left without a word. Kate allowed herself a sigh of relief. The vampire made her uncomfortable. They made their way up the flight of stairs, then to another further on the side. The second-floor promenade around the central area was draped in dark banners displaying a coat of arms that, she assumed, represented the clan hosting them tonight. They passed by other mages and mundanes in fineries as exotic as they were strange. There were even natives! She supposed vampires had no need to fear savages¡­ Chris opened a small door, and they went into the auction room. Kate¡¯s breath caught up in her chest from the spectacle before her. They were in a tiny lodge with only two seats, one of many dotting the walls around the central pit. The only furniture was a small coffee table currently holding two strange glasses with tall bodies and narrow rims, as well as a bottle of bubbly. The plush red chairs belonged in a boudoir, accommodating rich ladies in extravagant outfits gossiping over barons and viscounts. The paint did not flake. It smelled clean. s?a??h th? n0v?l(?)ire.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. She caressed the velvety surface of the upholstery. After seeing so many gilded travesties of wealth, after being disenchanted so many times by the appearance of affluence without substance, it felt both strange and comforting to experience the real deal. She sat heavily and relaxed for the first time in three days. Her gaze trailed up to the large room¡¯s ceiling where one more surprise awaited her. It was fully decorated with a massive, painted bas-relief that covered it from wall to wall. Once, she had visited a library and found a book on the history of art. It was a treasure trove of illustrations showing the greatest works of the European masters throughout the eras. The first page showed the Sistine chapel. Kate¡¯s first thought had been to question how they could paint something that high, scaffolding she assumed, yet soon her considerations had disappeared. The circular vista mesmerized her with its breathtaking composition. God granting Adam the gift of life gave her vertigo. She could not help but draw a comparison. As her inspections continued, she felt a profound feeling of unease assail her. The men and women displayed were as varied as could be. One showed great strength. Another was a Mediterranean woman with eyes closed, seemingly asleep. Kate''s eyes rested on a black man holding a miniature sun, his traits showing a strange exaltation. They were... eerie. Something disturbed her on a fundamental level, though she could not quite put her finger on what, until she looked towards the heart. Like a small fish in a whirlpool her attention was drawn inward to a figure that sent shivers down her spine. It was a massive eye. There were lashes. At least, she hoped those were lashes. The eye was staring down and ignoring her. She felt a wave of insignificance threatening to overwhelm her. She did not matter. She never would. She was just... Kate shook her head to dispel the strange feeling. ¡°Are you alright?¡± Chris asked. ¡°Yes,¡± she answered, ¡°just a bit overwhelmed, is all.¡± Chris squeezed her hand once again and she felt better. Her nerves were getting to her. It was just her imagination. She would complete the job and get out. Everything would be fine. She just had to keep it together, dammit. Kate ignored the disturbing painting and stared down. The lodges on the lower levels allowed more occupants. She recognized that Frost character with his overly serious granddaughter, who was nervously playing with her white strand of hair when she thought no one was looking. They shared the space with a handful of other mages, most of whom were caught in an animated discussion. She could hear their boisterous laughs. There were other groups, of course: natives in western clothes burdened by pendants and amulets staring at each other in awkward silence. Blacks turtling in their own lodge as if they expected trouble. People dressed like royalty. Others dressed like soldiers. A ship captain. A trapper. A gipsy woman playing with her golden circlets. This was a strange assembly that not even the rowdy fictions she sometimes enjoyed could describe. Here was a to equal the Parisian one, hidden in a palatial arena at the heart of the American capital of sin. She felt lost. But not for long. Down below, a man walked from behind a curtain to a waiting pulpit. She knew he was a vampire with immediate certainty. There was something there that caught the eye. The man swept the room with his gaze and it felt as if he stared directly at her. She could see his chestnut eyes with perfect clarity despite the distance. When he talked, his voice tickled her ear with its intimacy. It was warm. It made her feel comfortable and welcome. She felt herself relax a bit more. ¡°Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the Hell¡¯s Gates auction! My name is Isaac of the Rosenthal clan, and I shall be your host tonight. It is my pleasure and privilege to welcome you and I hope that you are all comfortable and at ease. If you are not, you will find a bottle of Mumm Black Ribbon champagne by your side. I invite you to sample it and try again.¡± A susurrus of soft chuckles and approving words rose through the air. ¡°I am sure that you are all eager to see what we have prepared for you tonight. Without further ado, feast your eyes on our first exhibit!¡± The curtain behind the man flapped open and two guards pushed forth a heavy cart upon which a shape stood hidden behind a tarp. They removed it to reveal what appeared to be a suit of armor of incredible make. ¡°The first item is a Rosenthal specialty, a Sentinel pattern Heritage Battle Golem. The Sentinel is an indefatigable and relentless defender, one that will protect you and your descendants thanks to a blood identification system. Upon the death of the owner, the Sentinel¡¯s loyalty construct will follow either the first child or another one of your choosing. The frame and mechanical mind are Rosenthal specialties while the armor and propulsion systems come straight from the Skaragg armories, hidden deep in the bowels of the Norwegian Scandes. With the Sentinel, you do not just build your assets. You build a legacy. Starting price is ten thousand pounds or equivalent.¡± Kate almost expected the audience to scoff at the ridiculous price. Ten thousand pounds? She could retire twelve times over with that sum! And yet, the group below was animated by discussions. ¡°Is that thing really worth so much?¡± she hissed. ¡°I have no idea,¡± Chris replied with clear amusement. She pouted. ¡°Ten thousand pounds on my left. Ten thousand¡­¡± Against all odds, the auction started to take off until it was won by a fat woman in a teal dress that made her look like a pastry. Kate shook her head again. ¡°You fucking bitch!¡± someone screamed from across the room. The fiery declamation caused a few gasps and outraged whispers. The perpetrator did not appear to care. He was practically hanging over the railing, flailing his fists impotently. His scruffy grey beard made him look like some sort of vagrant, although his fine yellow vest told another story. ¡°You think you can¡ª¡± It happened very fast. One moment, the man leant forward like a hound on a leash. The next, he was gone, and the door slammed behind him. Kate blinked to remember what had happened. There had been a hand. It had enclosed the screaming man¡¯s head like hers would grab an egg. The hand had been attached to a giant. ¡°Oh dear,¡± their host commented genially, ¡°please remember that we will not suffer interruptions. Now, for the next item¡­¡± And everyone acted as if nothing had happened. ¡°I¡¯m going to be sick¡­¡± she told Chris. ¡°Not yet,¡± he replied without looking, ¡°wait a few more items.¡± She wondered what would happen if she strangled him. Probably nothing good. The auction went on without any further disturbance. Some of the auctioned goods required lengthy explanations due to the strangeness. One, for example, was a painting of an eye that would mesmerize anyone staring at it. She was briefly reminded of the ceiling, yet when she looked up again, the feeling was gone. Quite a few groups sent members down to assess the piece of art. The canvas was angled away from the room. The newcomers would invariably take a look, stumble, then just stand there. Even the host¡¯s smooth voice proved unequal to the task of keeping her calm after that one. She just wanted out. She closed her eyes to the wands and crowns and exotic weapons. She ignored the strange bookshelves and decrepit grimoires. The scandalous prices streaked through her brain like falling stars, the amounts absurd and fantastic. Each one was high enough to feed entire villages for years. The ransom of a king. After what felt like an eternity, Chris touched her arm and she knew that the time had come. Both of them stood up and rang the bell that would summon Griggs. The smarmy infiltrator took Kate by the arm. She had no need to feign illness on the way down. They dodged under a curtain and reached some sort of infirmary, bypassing the gate to the basement and its group of vigilant guards. A woman gave her a tonic and she gulped it down before she started to channel. Her power was strange and required some time to set up. Its major advantage was that her aura would only fluctuate strangely during the casting, a pattern consistent with the distress she claimed. She heard the telltale noise of the path down unlocking. ¡°I feel better, thank you. We can go now,¡± she announced. The pair of thieves left through the door and she looked left towards the passage. It was half-open, its enchantments disabled. A pair of guards were dragging a cart through. Her vision doubled. A part of her, more distant now, kept walking forward under the guidance of Griggs. That part was solid but also, false. It was an empty shell. The real part of her turned and walked confidently through the gaping maw leading down. That part was real. It was also invisible and intangible. She descended a few steps. The shell¡¯s gaze fell on a pair of piercing blue eyes. A distant voice rang in her ears. ¡°Is the lady indisposed?¡± ¡°She is fine now,¡± Griggs answered hurriedly, ¡±just bringing her back to her seat, ma¡¯am.¡± ¡°I see.¡± The vampire called Ariane let them pass but the shell caught one more sight. The woman was scenting the air. A great fright shocked Kate. Her concentration wavered and the ghost gained solidity. Fortunately, there was no one to capitalize on her weakness. The shell remained solid and the vampire left. Kate allowed herself a sigh of relief. The way down was made of stones leading to a corridor well-lit by lanterns. The basement was clearly designed to be lived in. Paintings depicting grisly scenes from some heathen mythology adorned the walls. She stumbled. The shell was almost back in their lodge. Every step it took tore something from her chest and replaced it with ice. She leaned against the right door and forced it open. It was blessedly empty. She collapsed on the ground. The shell caught a glimpse of Chris and dissolved into nothing. It was done. She was through, and no one was the wiser. Kate awarded herself ten seconds of reprieve before starting her search. The room she found herself in was half living quarter and half workshop. Piles of clothes waited to be ironed, a few more awaited mending. In a corner of the room, a table displayed a chessboard and a pile of books. She took a minute to catch her breath and dispel the awful feeling that her torso was about to cave in. She had become better at it, but the spell was so harrowing that every cast left her feeling gouged out. She found the key and uniform where Griggs left them, snuck behind a patrol, and made her way to the emergency exit. Her target was more a cistern than anything else. It was bare, save for a massive central pool. The entire far wall was occupied by a grate with a massive, fortified gate set squarely in the middle. It shone with arcane symbols of defense, alarm and solidity. Steel bars blocked a small window, allowing her to see beyond, not unlike a prison door. The key clicked in place. She opened the way in silence, the titanic slab of metal rotating on perfectly oiled hinges. She had almost expected some metallic shriek that would alert the entire building. On the other side, she saw a canal with an overflow to allow the water to leave. It was tragically devoid of catholic priests. Or any other allies for that matter. She stood there and prayed. A minute later, a pair of footsteps emerged from the gloomy darkness and sent her heart aflutter. Her partners emerged a few moments later. ¡°Well done,¡± Chris said, ¡°now we wait for the Heart.¡± Even MacCormick grudgingly greeted her as he checked his many weapons. He was armed to the teeth. Things were looking up. Griggs sighed to prevent himself from whistling. He clenched his fist to avoid snapping his fingers, or taking his deck out to flick cards. Control, control, control. Frustrating. All those rules and norms and whatnot everyone had to follow. They were just games of shadows, pointless and restrictive. He stopped on the threshold to one of the lodges and knocked. The door was opened by a mage in a ridiculous white coat, who blinked when he recognized another practitioner. Fortunately, Griggs had long ago understood that a subdued aura was an inoffensive one and the guest asked another bottle of booze before slamming the door in his face. Griggs smirked, turned around and almost walked into the vampire. It was the woman. Lucky him. ¡°Say, the woman you escorted down has mysteriously disappeared. You would not happen to know anything about that, would you?¡± she asked with a soft smile. Griggs returned it. They should have sent the muscle. He had a way with the fairer sex. He met her gaze and submitted her to the full power of his hypnosis. He saw the surprise in her pallid face, he saw her eyes flutter and felt a strong resistance, then he was through. He heard a noise like moving branches, then he appeared in her mindscape. It was there that he was king. In the real world, the world of flesh, he was one amongst many. Here, the fabric of the mind moved under his fingers like clay under the care of a virtuoso, creating wonders and destroying much too. All that it took was to find whichever item in the woman¡¯s core, most of the time a bedroom, represented her ego. After that, he could tweak and twist to his heart¡¯s content. Griggs inspected his surroundings and his good mood evaporated. What the hell was going on? He should be inside of a house, or a room. Instead, he was at the edge of a bizarre maze of bark and stone. Alleys stopped without reason while strange statues dotted the Boschian landscape representing men, but also strange wolf-like creatures and other chimeras. A fortress rose from the earth at some distance, white of walls, with sharp towers jutting like spines. The light of the moon was¡­ purple? Something told him that it would be a bad idea to look up. That was the mindscape of a vampire? Original. Yet, as always, insufficient. He focused and his form elongated. His hands turned into twin claws ending in long, crimson spikes. It was time to explore this unusual playground, and find something new to play with. Griggs took one step forward and hissed in pain. A thorny root had sneakily fastened around his ankle. He severed the guilty appendage and walked with renewed purpose. There had to be a way to the fortress. The first seemingly empty alley was hiding a passage, a way to the left hidden behind a sort of optical illusion with the wall of vegetation bulging slightly outward. He snickered and turned around. A branch whacked his chest. Griggs swore. His powerful claw savaged the guilty piece of vegetation, as well as the wall behind it. Leaves and twigs rained before his fury. He suddenly felt quite silly. Those were just obstacles, probably some sort of passive defense mechanism against intrusion that only vampires had. Alva¡¯s defenses had been about camouflage and misdirection. This mind was probably trained differently. He realized that he should be grateful the blonde woman offered a challenge. It would not do to grow bored and jaded. Enough self-reflection, it was time to move on. Griggs took a step forward and gasped in pain. Another root had grabbed his foot. He freed himself, but not without damage. The horrid branch had blood and fabric stuck to its awful spines by the time he was done. This was getting tiring. ¡°Have to keep moving,¡± he grumbled to himself. The hidden path led through another maze, under arcs and by pools filled with thick scarlet liquid. He tried to stop to close his wounds but found the scraps reticent to his ability to shift. It was as if the thorns had marked him. He also noticed it now: every time he stopped, roots would quest towards his feet. Finally, he emerged on a circular plaza of white stone. One of the statues occupied the middle, a wolfish thing caught mid-howl. ¡°Finally,¡± he grumbled. Sitting on the marble-like floor, he focused on the cuts spotting his legs with red dots, in vain. The wounds resisted his effort to close them. ¡°Fucking weird spa¡ª¡± Griggs received no warning. The statue¡¯s heavy claws smashed into his flanks and sent him reeling against the bramble. His only saving grace came from his own claws blocking the worst of the damage. The pain still forced a cry out of his lungs. He scrambled out of the way and dodged the roots snaking towards him. The statue stepped back. ¡°You piece of shit!¡± he yelled. Griggs lunged forward and raked the statue¡¯s chest, easily crouching under its counter-attack. He stepped back once again. This had to be some sort of guardian. The statue retreated once more. ¡°You cannot get out of the stone circle, can you?¡± he asked with a dreadful smile. The construct did not answer. Griggs carefully and patiently started to dismantle his foe. He would step in, strike one blow then dance out. He would keep moving to avoid getting trapped. His patient and cold joy turned to frustration. ¡°Why won¡¯t you die?¡± He tracked the groove his first attack had dug in the statue¡¯s torso and realized, to his dismay, that it was closing. For the first time in years, Griggs felt something more than frustration. He could not even leave. The moment he broke the link with the vampire, she would kill him. He had taken MacCormick¡¯s warning to heart. He did not stand a chance. ¡°I must press on,¡± he raged between gritted teeth. He had broken a hundred minds. Experience was on his side. He would crack this nut as he had cracked so many others. Griggs rushed through the circle and nimbly jumped over a swipe. The second one nicked his back, then he was through. He sprinted through another opening. ¡°Dammit!¡± His circumstances were growing more dire by the minute. The questing roots were quicker to find him now. He managed to dodge under traps a few more times, but he could feel the maze closing in around him like the jaw of some impossible creature. And still, he dared not look up. There, light! He crashed into a large clearing, tired and hurt. The fortress doors loomed before him on the other side of a garden of statues. His blood ran cold. A female soldier in stylized medieval plate held a sword in a fencer guard, a fox mask hiding her features. A man in a leather suit, hands resting on the hilts of his two pistols. A titan in black iron armor gripped a massive double-headed axe. An amazon with a spear lounged on her pedestal as if it were a couch. Other unmoving pieces of art stood, kneeled, and sat between pillars of engraved onyx and amphoras bearing strange white flowers. The last guardian dominated the rest, and its alien appearance froze Griggs¡¯ heart. It had a flat face, cruel blue eyes shining an otherworldly blue. Its smooth torso possessed a chitinous quality that the otherwise human traits made even more jarring. Griggs had to get through at any cost. He had to hope that the gates were unlocked. It was his only hope. But wait. There were spots there that did not have stones. Perhaps the range of each statue was extremely limited? He had to chance it. He sprinted forward with the strength of despair, relying on his longer limbs to move with unexpected swiftness. He rolled under the titan¡¯s axe swing, he pushed on his feet and jumped forward. The titan pursued him. The titan stepped outside of its stone circle, signaling his demise. A sword caught him in the shoulder and pinned him to the ground like an insect. He raised his claws to break it, to escape. A gunshot. His left hand exploded in a shower of blood and bones. He screamed his heart out. The pain tore through his psyche and flayed his vessel. His body returned to normal. He awaited a that did not come. The constructs took a step back while thorny branches captured his limbs. The strange vegetation hoisted him up and smashed him against a nearby wall. The ropey root around his throat threatened to crush his neck. Around him, the statues stood in a semicircle, weapons pointed at him. The vampire was sitting daintily on the shoulder of the last guardian in a vaporous dress of midnight blue. Her feet swung in the air. She held one of the white flowers between two nails of polished obsidian. ¡°You know, I have a theory about those who assume a monstrous form in their mind palaces.¡± ¡°What¡­ the fuck¡­ are you?!¡± ¡°My theory is that they are significantly less human on the inside than they appear to be. In any case, we have a busy night ahead of us so I will be brief. Where is the woman?¡± Griggs tried to break the connection, tried to fight, but he realized that he was completely overpowered. It was time to negotiate then. ¡°How about¡ª¡± He screamed when something sharp stabbed the back of his skull. He felt himself unravel. ¡°I forgot to mention, your consent is not required. You are probably familiar with the concept.¡± ¡°This isn¡¯t what you said!¡± Kate hissed. One of the guards lay dead on the ground in an expanding pool of blood. He had managed to block Chris¡¯ cudgel¡¯s hit to the head, but not MacCormick¡¯s follow up. The other one had crumbled insensate on the ground. Her lover looked pale but resolute. ¡°Later, Kate. We need to leave first. We can hide the bodies but not the blood. We have to go.¡± MacCormick seemed to agree as he grabbed the Heart of the Nile in a gloved hand. The jewel was as large as a quail egg and sapphire blue. He tossed it to Chris who deftly caught it. It seemed to Kate as if it had gained a red tint. ¡°You killed him!¡± ¡°They are enemies of mankind, girl, you waste your sympathy. Pah, I knew that it was a mistake to bring a woman,¡± MacCormick spat. ¡°Enough of this, let¡¯s go!¡± Chris urged, but too late. From the entrance to the basement came the noise of stumbling footsteps and a terrible whine. The female vampire, Ariane, Kate remembered, strolled in with a man in tow. She dragged him behind her like one drags a rowdy child. It took her a moment to recognize Griggs. The man she had known and feared was gone. Only a shadow of its former self stood there gibbering like a madman, eyes wide and bloodshot, foamy spit bordering a mouth frozen in a rictus. He was emitting a keening sound, like a boiling pot of tea. She did not know if it stemmed from madness, or the talon stabbed deeply into his clavicle. The vampire stopped a few steps away to examine the scene with polite interest. Her gaze swept the guilty trio, the gem in their possession and the dead man at their feet. The detached, almost amused expression bothered Kate even more than the blood slowly staining her ally¡¯s shirt. ¡°Not a meal then, a buffet,¡± she commented. They finally moved. Kate rushed into the cistern with Chris close behind. A blue light emerged from behind her, where MacCormick stood still. ¡°In nomine patris, et filii¡­" the priest intoned. ¡°Djarn," the vampire answered. Magic devastated the hallway. Kate had tasted power as she stood behind the old man at the entrance. She had not experienced it. The spell roaring behind her spoke of peeled skin and steel knives scraping bone. It stung her gums. It grated the nerves behind her eyes. She lost her balance even as her legs pumped up and down to propel her through the emergency exit faster than she had even run in her entire life. ¡°Shield!" She knew that it would not be enough. MacCormick¡¯s shriek turned into a gurgle as she crashed on the ground. The blue light dimmed. Chris slammed the door and turned the lock. The vampire was suddenly there. The couple jumped back and Kate raised an arm reflexively, expecting a violent end, yet, nothing happened. The lack of any further violence was almost anticlimactic. Chris was the first to stand back up and approach the door. She could not get through, Kate realized. The wards and steel had kept the monster at bay. They were¡­ saved?! But no, she could have alerted others. Soldiers could be coming around to block all egress. They had to hurry, except she recognized something in Chris¡¯ eyes now, something that almost never occurred. He was angry. And anger made him stupid. It made him stubborn and defensive. She could only guess the cause too easily: he had considered Griggs a friend despite his many flaws. Chris lifted the jewel and practically dangled it under the creature¡¯s nose. Even through the steel bars, she could tell that his provocation had not worked. The vampire showed the same polite interest as before, as if the murder of a man and the enslavement of another were but a pleasant diversion from her evening work. ¡°How does it feel to be outsmarted and beaten by a mortal?¡± her lover asked. He sounded bitter and furious. Kate placed a hand on his arm to drag him away. The creature was wasting their time. It was a trap! ¡°Chris¡ª¡± ¡°How does it feel to lose?¡± he demanded again. The monster tilted her head as her smile broadened. When she spoke, her voice was conversational. ¡°Truth be told, I lose rather often¡­¡± Kate pulled on Chris¡¯ shoulder towards the end of the tunnel. She could almost hear the sounds of the night, smell the spice and stench of the city. ¡°¡­ yet, in the end, I always come out on top.¡± Kate¡¯s heart stops in her chest. There was a click. There was the ¡®ting¡¯ of metal touching metal. She turned to see the entire barrel of MacCormick¡¯s looted pistol slide between the metal bars. The vampire shot Chris. The explosion reverberated in the enclosed space in a deafening crack that left her ears ringing, her nose itchy with the pungent odor of spent powder. Her lover stumbled back and fell onto one knee. His hands reached to his chest where bloomed the crimson petals of a strange flower, expanding from a core of tarnished black. ¡°You¡­ you¡­¡± Kate screamed, then cut herself short a second later. She grabbed Chris under the shoulder and hoisted him up before he could finish his collapse. She took one difficult step forward, then another. They were going out. They were leaving this place for good. Chris¡¯ breaths came in gasps and pants. She forced herself to ignore the location of the wound. It could be fine. Such gunshots could be survived, if one was lucky, and Chris had enough luck for ten people. She pushed the dread away. They exited the tunnel into an abandoned garden at the back of some decrepit manor. Moreau¡¯s carriage was right ahead. He saw them and stepped down, helped her get a failing Chris inside. They were moving by the time she had torn the fabric of her beautiful dress to apply pressure to the wound. It was not working. The improvised bandage was already soaking wet with no signs of improvement. ¡°Come on, come on...¡± Just apply pressure and the bleeding would stop. Elementary medicine. Practically everyone knew that. She just had to keep doing it. The carriage bumped and Chris moaned in pain. He grabbed her hand so she held onto it. The skin was slimy with half-coagulated liquid. She felt something as well. ¡°Take¡­¡± he rasped. ¡°Yes, I¡¯m holding it. I¡¯m holding your hand. Just hold on.¡± It went limp. It fell from her grasp. There was something left there, a mineral node that used to be blue but was now covered in scarlet fingerprints. ¡°Chris?¡± He was very pale. Kate went through grief and anger at the absurdity of it all and came out the other way, heart numb, brain frozen in a haze of stupidity. She could barely think. She had a jewel. She had a corpse. She was in a carriage vibrating like an earthquake. The information passed through her mind like through a sieve. She retained nothing. Something bumped on top of her. She heard a brief scream, quickly interrupted. The ceiling above her was ripped off like a page from a book. Each nail gave up one after another in a rhythmic ¡®clack clack clack¡¯. A half-smile. Half-lidded blue eyes. ¡°Why?¡± the thief whispered. ¡°Why what?¡± the stranger answered, ignoring the entire absurd world. Then she was gone. There was a terrible crash, a feeling of weightlessness. Cold waters tore a gasp from her chest and she would have drowned here and there if the carriage frame had not kept the air in. Kate was so far beyond any reasonable thought that her instincts kicked in without conscious effort. She saw herself as if from the outside. The bereaved woman pushed herself from the wreck. She struggled with the weight of her soaked garment, the accursed thing trying to drag her to the depths. She beat a little dance with her feet until the blessed lights came close enough and her head broke through the surface of Lake Pontchartrain¡¯s turbid waters. She gulped its fetid air. She blessed her aunt for teaching her how to swim and stay afloat, despite the weight of her clothes. She fought on. She heard heavy footsteps coming from the side. Someone pulled her up and she realized that the water was no longer so deep. She pushed the brown hair plastered to her forehead until she could see the brown murk around her and the green shore ahead. A man had helped her, was still helping her get out. She had clung to the Heart, somehow. They stopped. They were on a swampy piece of land at the edge of a gathering of shacks. A handful of torches provided illumination for the rickety wooden bridge nearby and the carriage that had smashed through its railing. Of the vampire, there was no sign. The man was familiar to her. She recognized the mustache and the righteous air. He and the vampire had welcomed her at the entrance after he apparently saved three thugs from¡­ whatever had happened to her team. She understood the implication only too easily, and found that she did not care. There was not enough left of Kate inside of Kate to care about Kate. Reality had lost its value, her own life included. ¡°Should have left me under the water,¡± she said, ¡°wouldn¡¯t be worse than what your precious monster has in store for me.¡± ¡°You begrudge me saving you?¡± he answered with a gruff voice. He had this white knight, valorous defender of the meek aura that pissed her off. ¡°Yes, I begrudge. I begrudge mightily. Begrudge, begrudge, begrudge, you pompous ass. Why are you here? Why do you serve this... this beast! Do you not see what she has done? That she is an enemy?¡± Her voice started small but grew crescendo as the bottled ocean of feelings inside of her found a leak in her armor. Anger bubbled in her chest, aimed at everything and everyone. The man was unmoved by her anger, contrary to her expectations. He did not even exhibit a trace of guilt. ¡°I have seen what she has done for much longer than you have.¡± ¡°She¡¯s a monster!¡± ¡°I know, and I think I finally understand. You think that I should help you because you are human, and she is not. Correct?¡± ¡°Yes!¡± Was it not obvious? ¡°Let me get it straight. You, a burglar guilty of breaking and entering, grand theft, and accessory to murder, want me to help you?¡± ¡°It does not matter!¡± she bellowed, ¡°They are not people!¡± ¡°And the serial rapist in your team destroyed Miss Alva¡¯s mind because she deserved it? You are fine with that? This¡­ level of violation? This all alright to you?¡± he continued, his voice gaining in intensity. It was stronger now and burned with a conviction that he had not shown earlier when holding the monster back ¡°You speak of mankind. Hah! What a convenient and fleeting thing it is for you lot. Your allies loot, kill, and rape and that¡¯s fine because they, whoever they are, deserve it. Kidnappings for the greater good. Sacrificing people for the betterment of that vague thing you call mankind. Horseshit!¡± What the hell was he talking about? ¡°I understand now. You only plaster those values on the people you wrong so that it¡¯s fine to treat them like garbage. You think yourself better than the monster you denounce? Hypocrites. She and I have done more for actual people of flesh and blood in the last month than you have in your entire life, you shameless tart. How people act is more important than what people are and you are a self-centered thief with no care for the victims your gang of thugs left in their trail. I am done. You can go back to your imaginary mankind, I want no part of it. I will do good in my own way.¡± It took two seconds for the most important part of the answer to register. ¡°You¡¯re letting me go?¡± ¡°I cannot morally justify holding you.¡± Kate scowled at the tall man with obvious distrust, but she also knew that his type sometimes let women go, so happy they were with their little self-righteous moment. She also knew better than to stay. The pair glared at each other, both entrenched in their ethics as in a fortress. She trotted as fast as her exhausted legs could carry her and disappeared behind the corner of a dilapidated house. Silence, such as it was, descended upon the scene. ¡°You might as well come out,¡± the man finally said after calming down a bit. Shadows dissipated by the road. Ariane stepped forward. ¡°You did not tell her,¡± she said. ¡°No, I did not,¡± the man agreed between his teeth. She waited. ¡°She is merely reaping the consequence of her own action, bringing a fake jewel to a cutthroat cabal. I am done wasting my time on those who are not worth the effort. I have made my choice. I will stay and¡­ stir you in the right direction. God knows you need the guidance.¡± He did not see the vampire roll her eyes. ¡°So, hum, is that fine with you? Do we need some sort of ceremony?¡± he asked with much less bluster. ¡°You need to give me your blood to conclude the pact. All of my kin will know that you are not to be touched. We can do that back at the auction hall.¡± ¡°Just my blood, right, not my soul?¡± ¡°For the last time, no!¡± The tall man grumbled under his moustache as he made his way up the road and to his horse. Ariane stayed. She took one look towards the city, where the thief had fled, then another at the back of her newest minion. ¡°What was that?¡± ¡°Nothing.¡± Chapter 111: Blue I approach most of my problems with the same tried and true methodology. The first step is to identify the cause, the second step is to remove the cause with extreme prejudice.So far, I could not seem to apply it to my current issue, taking Richard out of the Mexican-American war. Indeed, the continuation of hostilities is not due to a sudden revival of Mexico¡¯s scattered armed forces, but the very reason why their armed forces are scattered to begin with: they do not have a unified, functional government to agree on terms of surrender. I am stuck in the south, away from my power base. The first three months of eighteen-forty-seven are spent on several projects. Most of my time is dedicated to spying and keeping an eye on the ever-changing tides of war, and solidifying my alliance with the growing Natalis clan. Many a White Cabal agent finds employment among their magic-deprived ranks, thanks to my work as an intermediary. I also back Melusine¡¯s many financial projects, including the completion of a canal and the first railroad in Chicago. I foresee that Melusine¡¯s seat of power will eclipse Marquette in barely a few years and I do not mind too much. First, I have an interest in many of her endeavors and second, she cannot match the level of control, and thus safety, that I have over my land. The rest of the time is spent getting my behind kicked by Lord Jarek in sparring duels. That man is a monster. Even my most powerful spells barely make him flinch. I have yet to force him to use his Magna Arqa, and I have rebuilt my ribcage more times than I care to count. Besides training sessions, I also bring Sheridan up to speed on vampire customs and diplomacy. It takes an unreasonable amount of time, including exposure to my latest rendition of the Watcher, but he is finally convinced that we are not, in fact, hell spawns. No. Those are clearly the werewolves. Nothing I can say convince him that ¡°unholy crosses between man and beast¡± can be anything but the work of the Devil. All in all, I had fun. Then, in April, I finally get my chance when Richard is wounded at the battle of Cerro Gordo, in the Mexican Heartlands. The medical mage I handily keep around makes sure that his arm does not get infected, but the wound is still quite serious and would require a long convalescence. Richard and I have a bit of a falling out when he realizes how many lives medical mages could save and how I let some of his men die in vain. My answer is that I simply do not care about them. Sheridan¡¯s answer is to remind the young man of the treatment of sorcery in an aggressively protestant army in a combat situation. Sheridan¡¯s answer wins the argument. I convince Richard to come home to rest and then, since the hostilities are petering out like a moist firecracker anyway, to accept the recommendation he received to enter West Point. The war is over for him. We board a Natalis ship from Veracruz back to New-Orleans and then home. Our little group arrives at my family compound a bit after sunset. June welcomes us on the stairs before the entrance. Her tired eyes light up when she sees her uncle, his arm still in a sling, but otherwise safe and sound. ¡°Richard, ,¡± she welcomes him in French. ¡°I am glad to see you, ¡± The pair catches up before June sends him inside for a late dinner. She turns to me with a sheer expression of relief. ¡°Hello Ariane, and gentlemen,¡± she greets. Sheridan and John politely remove their hats and I make the introduction. To her credit, she does not appear intimidated by John¡¯s presence even after I revealed his true nature. I credit John himself for his performance. He developed a way to slouch that makes him appear as a sort of embarrassed, clumsy boulder. The disguise grants him a deceptive gentle giant aura that the fair sex often finds comforting. June and I send the men inside and I take her for a short stroll around the property. ¡°You have such a nice dress,¡± she compliments nervously. I am wearing a new iteration of the classic semi-battle apparel with reinforcements around the chest area, as well as vambraces. This one is violet with blue undertones. ¡°Thanks. It has pockets,¡± I tell her with a little bit of pride. I prove their existence by removing a knife from a recess near my waist. ¡°Wow, how did you manage that?¡± ¡°I threatened the tailor¡¯s family.¡± ¡°No, I mean, nevermind. So huh, thank you for bringing him back.¡± ¡°You are welcome. I merely fulfilled my obligations to my brother.¡± ¡°Right. We had a funeral. It was calm and sober. Serene. He would have liked it, I think.¡± She seeks my approval. No, comfort. Sheridan¡¯s presence has a peculiar effect on my psyche. Beyond his ability to advise me, I feel that I care slightly more about things I had discarded before, such as other people¡¯s feelings. Without realizing it, I had let my nature erode my interest in ¡®useless¡¯ pursuits. Torran¡¯s departure had not helped either. He always knew when to drag me away from the pursuit of power and influence in favor of the art of . With him gone, I have pursued my projects with relentless focus. Nirari¡¯s presence reminded me of the end game but perhaps I should remember to unwind, from time to time. I should paint the drawings I made. And invite Isaac out while he is here. ¡°I am sure he did,¡± I comfort June with a soft smile, ¡°my brother cared deeply about you. You were his pride. He told me so while I was there.¡± She blushes. ¡°He¡­ he did?¡± ¡°Achille mellowed out in his later years. You would not have recognized him if you had met him earlier. Despite his best efforts, he remained someone who was very private with his own emotions. Deep inside he saw himself as a stable rock upon which the family could be built, like our father was for us.¡± ¡°I see. So that¡¯s why¡­¡± she finishes. She tilts her head downward with the absent air of someone lost in their own thoughts. ¡°What troubles you, child?¡± I ask. ¡°Hah. You asking me while looking so young¡­¡± I consider leaving the Hasting essence unused and decide against it. I am not here to impress a mortal. I am here to spend time with my family, my mortal roots. Power games mean nothing and gain me nothing. ¡°Ahem. Yes. My dad sued me.¡± ¡°I beg your pardon?¡± I exclaim, outraged. My anger finds echo in her, and outrage soon replaces shame on her lovely traits. ¡°Our lawyer read grand-pere¡¯s will. My dad wanted the house to clear his gambling debts but Grampa only left him a single letter that literally just said: ¡®you were my life¡¯s greatest disappointment¡¯, so now he claims that I poisoned his mind.¡± That little¡­ Gah! I forgot that every family has their black sheep. ¡°My own father¡­¡± June continues, her eyes brimming with tears. I grab her and pull her into my embrace. She immediately cries and I somewhat awkwardly pat the back of her head. Her hair smells of sunshine. ¡°Do not worry, June. I will take care of this for you.¡± ¡°Oh¡­ I did not mean to¡­¡± ¡°I know, I know, you do not want to bother me. I will not come back often, but I will promise you this: you can keep living your life as you see fit, and I will be the invisible hand that turns aside fate¡¯s worst blows. You are a good person, June. I hereby choose you as my contact for the family. I grant you leave to reach out to me in times of need, though do not forget that I will not protect you from the consequences of your own actions.¡± June nods emphatically, then stops, considering. She has learned not to trust a free meal. ¡°What do you ask in exchange?¡± she asks. ¡°Nothing more than what you already do. Think of me as a¡­ reclusive, rich, powerful, grumpy aunt that still wants to stay in touch with the family.¡± She laughs this time, her joy dispelling her earlier dismay. I find that it¡­ pleases me. ¡°I can do that.¡± April 1847, Savannah. My destination is quite a sight. Made of white stone ¡ª but not marble ¡ª the Rosenthal Consortium Regional Headquarter manages to appear wealthy without standing out too much. Careful engravings attract the eye, while barred windows and a monumental steel gate give off the vague impression that it would be unwise to show up without pressing business. I am rather sure that no spells are involved. The construction was just designed to be intimidating from the ground up. I am quickly let in by very polite attendees and leave John to loom over a pair of clerks. Isaac says as I knock on his door. I do so, and take in the sights. My friend chose well. His office overlooks the Savannah river and its many ships, offering a breathtaking view even at night. The desk offers the same understated elegance and anal-retentive obsession with order and cleanliness I have come to associate with him. Salim, at least, does not use a color code to differentiate three different types of litigations. I will admit that Isaac looks gorgeous, even when slumming it. His dark hair is only a bit scruffy, and his impeccable suit gives him a young scion of a ruling family aura that fits his composure perfectly. The vampire himself sits on a dignified leather chair, head held between his hands. A single gas light illuminates his work plan and the small pile of missives lying there. I ask as I shuffle in. He offers me a seat with a casual gesture before flipping a letter to the side. he complains. I ask with a raised brow. He throws me a copy of the offending material and I inspect the cover. by Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels. ¡°¡± I scoff, and toss it back to him, he deadpans, and I feel a bit stupid. Isaac is a competent manager. Of course, he will be made to solve issues upon his return, and delay will only compound the difficulties. He glares. he finally asks. I am a bit surprised by the non sequitur. The revelation strikes me dumb for a moment. I never expected the fun I could get from seeing the placid vampire squirm. he replies, unamused. I tease. Isaac seems at loss for words. I announce. I grab the wrapped painting by my side and present it to him. Isaac reveals his gift with meticulous patience, cutting every string until he can unfold the paper. I drew a portrait of him as seen from above, taken as he was extolling the properties of his treasures back at the auction. I believe I managed to capture his congenial persona except for the eyes. They glance upward with a certain shine that shows the sharp mind underneath. They seem to search the spectator¡¯s soul to uncover plots and duplicities. This is the mask of a man over the brain of a god. A true Rosenthal vampire. I think he likes it. He does not speak for a full two minutes. His inspection is so very thorough, I think that he would remember every pigment and every stroke. Finally, he returns his attention to me, expression inscrutable. Wow, that was unexpectedly fast. And both Jimena and Nami did mention that vampires frequently engaged in casual sex with those they trusted. And it has been a while. And I am curious. And, perhaps, a little bit lonely. And I trust Isaac on a deep level. He was the first to help me understand our society. And he looks really, really good in that suit. Hmm. I¡­ think I want to try that. I push on before I can overthink the situation. And off we go, with the Master of the place taking the initiative with an enthusiasm I would never have imagined from someone who was hesitating to hunt a prey. It turns out that the Rosenthal Consortium¡¯s second floor contains a secured bedroom. I just go with the flow and admit that Isaac is an experienced partner. We do not love each other, but I manage to ignore the nagging remnants of mortal guilt that would otherwise ruin the experience to just let go and enjoy myself. And so I do, for a good hour. he asks, as we rest under the covers after the act. I retort, amused, but he shakes his head. He nods in understanding. We relax in bed for a while longer and Isaac proves that he can put his memory to good use. He had clearly been paying attention to what I like. We have more fun and I take a pleasant bath afterward to give myself some time to recover, and also because my hair looks like tumbleweed. Alas, all pleasant times must come to an end. We eventually return to his office, where he shows a table containing a map, the official reason for my visit. I know what is watching and it does not care. Bah. he answers, pointing at a small expanse of blue in the heart of the Mediterranean. I recognize Crete to the south, where the minotaur was said to have his labyrinth, and Rhodes with its lost colossus to the east, though, arguably, I had no notion of where that island was before looking at the map. Anticipating my protests, Isaac lifts his hands in a calming gesture. ¡°Let me explain before you object. The place we are looking for is a sacred location. It was used as a rallying point for the fleets to conduct ritual ceremonies before they launched expeditions on whichever shore was unlucky enough to attract their gaze. It was not large. No more than five kilometers of diameter.¡± Isaac answers with a frown. And there it is. My heart freezes in my chest ¡ª even more than usual ¡ª a great feeling of dread assails my mind. Please no. Ah. Ah, indeed. Ah. I calmly place my hands on the table. I calmly grip it until the wood groans, then, I calmly smash it against the wall. The Atlantic, two weeks later. A bang on my large cabin¡¯s door. Go away, Sheridan!¡± The Corbeau¡¯s executive cabin is vast and luxurious even to the exacting standards of vampire nobility. It contains a bedroom, a bathroom, and a receiving room of great size, richly decorated by furniture that can be locked in place in case of bad weather. Polished wood and lush rugs cover the walls in warm colors, giving guests a feeling of cozy intimacy. The armory I brought with me only makes the place more interesting. At least, to me. The best feature is the throne-like chair on which I am currently sitting. I turn to my domain¡¯s temporary occupant. My cabin occupies the back of the back of the ship, and it includes a large rectangular hatch to the outside. My sarcophagus rests on rails aiming into it with an addition stuck around for the duration of the trip. Should the vessel ever be compromised, either I or Sheridan can launch it and I will safely rest under the waves until nightfall when ballasts will lift the heavy piece to the surface of the water. The purpose of the system is to render any attack on the ship for the purpose of killing me pointless. Said hatch also serves as an ingress point for the world¡¯s strangest castaway. The fish-woman replies with a throaty sound, her malevolent yellow eyed fixed on the door. She has scars on her greenish tail, across her pale white chest, on one cheek going backwards and she is missing parts of her fins and two webbed fingers. She looks like she was on the unpleasant end of a canister shot. Her nose is absent, replaced by twin vertical slits but that was from birth, so it does not technically count. Her only notable belonging besides her bag is a strange wristband of pink stone, the material encircling a purple gem as if it had been weaved around it. For all I know, it was. She showed up two days into the trip, flopping on the wooden board after banging on the hatch. I did not have the heart to chase her. I was already languid with ennui. ¡°Ariane, we need to talk!¡± a voice yells from behind the door. I grumble since I can imagine why he wants a discussion. Simply, I have fifteen hours per day of activity. I have been reading, I have been casting, I have been practicing forms of spear and sword. I have written two essays on the inevitability of our appearance to the mundane world, which I will send to Lord Constantine when we make landfall in Gibraltar. I have written three odes and seventeen dirty limericks, with Melusine only starring in three. I have tried knitting and realized I disliked it. I have filled one of my books with various drawings taken from my memories. I even found out a way to enchant the barrel of my next rifle. It has not saved me. So, forbid me, I have started playing pranks on the crew. I could not help it. Ghostly apparitions in the window? Done. Strange noises on the hull as people try to sleep? Done. Items that mysteriously disappear then reappear when no one is looking? Absolutely. Perhaps enchanting a piece of wet cloth to slap the butt of the next person visiting the lavatory was a bit too much. The scream woke up the captain. Rather than facing me directly, as the man was smart enough to know where the disruptions were coming from, our brave skipper asked an equally bored Sheridan to intercede with me and limit my shenanigans. The gall of this man, trying to make me responsible. I am older, therefore, mathematically more mature. ¡°Ariane, this is serious. There are pirates!¡± Do my ears deceive me? ¡°Pirates?¡± ¡°Yes! Pirates!¡± ¡°Oh! Yesssssss! PIRATES!¡± Finally! Finally! Miranda bloody Bingle came through! I thought her aura of undaunted catastrophe would only activate upon our meeting but no! Lo and behold, some action. ¡°We are letting them board us without resistance since it¡¯s almost night. Can we rely on you to solve the problem?¡± ¡°Of course, you can. Do send them my way.¡± Ooooh boarding action! It has been, what, ten years since the last one? How exciting. I wish I could have been on the main deck. I quickly move my throne to face the door. I also grab a coffee table and place it to the side to hold my two revolvers. Finally, I change into full battle regalia: Loth¡¯s armor, the obsidian gauntlet, the knives, the spear which I leave to the side. I apply a small enchantment to the lone lantern to give the light a blue hue, then I settle to wait. Sirryn comes to stand by my side and hides her presence. I find the fish-woman curious. I am still unsure as to why she is sticking to me. It cannot be the food since she barely touched the salted cod I asked for her, preferring to rely on her own supply of multicolored algae and strangely preserved flesh she drags from her scale bag. Our conversations are often one-sided. She barely speaks more than five words per day, and all her sentences start with ¡®Nirari¡¯. The most curious aspect of our unexpected partnership might be my reaction to her presence. She is a predator. I am a predator. So far, I have always felt strongly about those who would intrude upon my territory. Syrrin is still an unknown, and yet her presence does not bother me in the slightest, as if we were complimentary instead of competitive. I dismiss the thought. Heavy footsteps announce the coming of quite a few guests. A discreet bang on the door. ¡°Come in,¡± I offer, and Sheridan walks in first, hands in the air. That immediately ticks me off. The man who follows has a long brown beard and the sort of clothes designed to look like a navy officer¡¯s uniform without being one. He stops when he spots me, and his mouth hangs open to reveal blackened teeth. The lout currently holds Sheridan¡¯s colt, muzzle pointed at my Vassal¡¯s back. That will not do at all. More men follow. They look like unkempt sailors. Many show dubious hygiene and faces turned scarlet by alcohol abuse. The smell of my space downgrades from that of a salon to that of a barrack. I scrunch my nose in displeasure. A good dozen men spread in a half-circle around me, all gaping like a bunch of fools and fouling the air with their fetid breath. My mood plummets. Ah, well. Let us make use of this diversion, at least. ¡°Poras Dei Malkan.¡± With a massive clang, the metal door seals behind my guests. They all jump at the same time and Sheridan uses the opportunity to withdraw to a darker corner of the room. I can feel his fury from here, a rare occurrence. It must chafe his manly pride to allow criminals on board. He is more of a ¡®to the last drop of blood¡¯ kind of lad. I admire that he would place the safety of the sailors above his pride. Tick tick tick. My nails play a little tune on the throne¡¯s lacquered arm. Progressively, the sorry rabble of imbeciles populating my private quarters returns their attention to me. ¡°I was told that you had demands?¡± I ask, amused. A smile reveals a hint of fangs, not enough to be terrifying, just enough to leave them uneasy. ¡°Nah we don¡¯t. We were just on our way,¡± the captain immediately babbles. Half of the crew nods emphatically while the rest still waits for their intellects ¡ª such as it is ¡ª to come back to life. Hmm. I find it both admirable and slightly disappointing that some people would exert common sense ten minutes after committing an act of piracy on a well-patrolled trading lane. ¡°Oh no, be my guests. I insist,¡± I finish in a lower pitch. I Charm all of them at once and force a step forward. I hear a few muttered prayers. A white noise rings in my ear as they do so. ¡°First order of business, you will return his weapon to my friend. Now.¡± The captain mechanically throws the Colt to Sheridan, who grabs it with relief. His anger abates. Good. ¡°Now, I¡¯d like to know whose brilliant idea it was to attack this specific ship.¡± Silence. ¡°No privateer with two bits of sense would risk what you risked boarding us, so I will ask again, who decided it would be a good idea to attack us?¡± ¡°What are you all doing?! Let¡¯s kill the bitch!¡± a voice declares from somewhere. Finally, someone with a spine and no brain on top. The culprit is revealed when his brave companions take a step away from him. He is an angry one, I can tell, skin carmine and eyes bulging. I can feel the violence underneath. He is a man used to it. ¡°Oh? And how would you proceed?¡± I ask him. After taking a few seconds to process the question, he steps forward and takes out a pistol with unnecessary flourish. I get a good view of the badly maintained barrel when he waves it under my nose. I should kill him just for that. ¡°Enough of your bullshit, woman...¡± ¡°Shoot.¡± Silence, once again, descends upon the rabble. ¡°Shoot,¡± I repeat. I am curious. I know that this will not kill me. I do wonder how much it will hurt, however. A tiny part of me thinks this is ridiculous, that I should just kill them and be done. The rest is bored, and knows that boredom is a dangerous thing. I need a little bit of play, a tiny hunt, something to keep me on my toes. Being shot in the face by a pirate might just be the thing. ¡°Shoot, you pu¡ª¡± A click. I watch, mesmerized, the powder ignite when the frizzen hits the rusty pan. White. Something blows into my face. It feels like being slapped, burned, and stung at the same time. Ow. Ow. Ow. Alright, ow. That hurt. I open my eyes, blink a little bit, and blow air out of my nose. Black powder rises, which I fan away with the back of my hand. The sailor and his mates let their jaws hang open, aghast. I realize that the bullet has come to rest against my left lower molars. I push it with my tongue. Hot! And vile. Ugh. I spit the piece of lead on the carpet. Somebody swears. ¡°My turn, I guess,¡± I remark. I snap the shooter¡¯s neck and send his corpse careening against the hull, for intimidation and also because it really hurt. Reminder to self, avoid the cloud of heated powder whenever possible. I grab a handkerchief and wipe my face, trying to digest the latest piece of information. Normal bullets no longer harm me. At all. I have changed so much in the past thirty years. I have gained many advantages. Sheridan¡¯s presence reminds me that I have lost some as well. I should rejoice at the disappearance of one more weakness, and yet I cannot help but wonder what the cost was. I used to be¡­ more human, at first. I think. I find it hard to remember how it felt. I have forgotten. I return my attention to the present. I do not want melancholy to get its apathetic grasp on me. ¡°Where were we? Ah yes, you were going to tell me why you attacked my ship, before I paint the room red.¡± The following interrogation is as inspiring as it is unpleasant, with every minute those idiots spend here increasing the risk of having to delouse and fumigate the entire room. They were ordered to intercept us by a contact in a small port called Casablanca, in order to retrieve ¡®any cargo¡¯ we might be carrying, including the more peculiar ones. I suspect some rogue cabal fishing for artefacts with disposable assets. Isaac is going to have a field day. He loves to pull the string of clues until he reveals a fat, secretive lumps of rich bastards who think themselves smart. ¡°I understand. And you saw no problem with taking the contract,¡± I summarize while tapping a talon on the coffee table. The captain has the decency to look embarrassed. His men huddle behind him smelling of fear and piss. More muttered prayers form an irritating drone at the back of my mind. ¡°This world is vast, and filled with dangers,¡± I continue. ¡°Take it from someone who had survived for a long time, the most important thing you must know when stealing from someone is to know who, exactly, that someone is, and whether or not you can afford to cross them. Some companies will learn of a stolen shipment, write it down in their balance sheets, and contact their insurer. That would be the majority. There are others, like the Rosenthal Consortium, to whom this ship belongs, that need to protect their reputation. It means vengeance. It means that they will hire pirate hunters or¡­¡± I lean forward and this time I show my fangs. ¡°... things like me, to send a clear message. That is why you little newts should have known better.¡± I lean back. ¡°But since I am feeling generous, I may consider letting you go if you play just a few games. Well, most of you, in any case.¡± Hope shines in their yellow, bloodshot eyes. ¡°First order of business, you are going to thin your own ranks,¡± I start with a grisly smile that hints at unspeakable horrors and advanced psychological torture. The captain whips his pistol out and points it at a tub of lard of a man with filthy blond hair, pulls the trigger, then brains him. All over my books. My precious books! Covered with brain matter from a man with the cortex of a dead opossum. My only rampart against boredom. Soiled! ¡° you cockless little AAAARGH! You should have waited for me to state the bloody rules! What is wrong with you lot!?¡± I am already grabbing my spear when a voice interrupts me, a warm baritone with a Texan accent. ¡°That¡¯s enough, Ariane. Let them go.¡± How dare he¡­ My anger surges, then dies like a wave against a rock, broken by instinct and belief. Sheridan is here for me. He is merely playing his role. ¡°I said I may let them go,¡± I hiss. ¡°No more semantics. If you were to kill them, and that was your prerogative, you should have done so from the get go. Do not play cat and mouse with human lives, Ariane. Respect the spirit of your word.¡± He¡­ Hmm. Semantics and tricks are part and parcel of what we are. I also mentioned several games, and I did say ¡®may¡¯. I do not believe that I am breaking the spirit of my word, as he said. I could argue with him. It would be a waste. Sheridan has decided to be my conscience. I do not need to be technically correct with him because he is on my side, and so I decide to let it go. The pleasure of killing them lost its appeal anyway. ¡°Leave my ship,¡± I begrudge, ¡°and remember the rules, because another one of my kin might not be so generous. One gesture, and the heavy door unlocks behind the pirates. The room is blessedly devoid of disease carriers five seconds later. I consider that nothing prevents them from turning their guns on the ship, but I dismiss the concern. It will be night quite soon and the ship is sturdy. I will simply slay them all if they develop a collective case of insanity. ¡°I am worried about you Ariane, you were not like this when we attacked the cult.¡± ¡°We were on a schedule,¡± I reply, ¡°I do not take as many risks playing with my food if there are lives at stake.¡± Sheridan seems to accept my explanation, yet soon a new worry twists his traits into a scowl. ¡°Speaking of which, you have not, you know...¡± ¡°Fed from them?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Well, someone ruined the mood and decided to let them leave.¡± ¡°I... I see.¡± He looks sheepish. I wave his concerns away. ¡°Do not worry yourself. That was no worthy hunt. I will simply drink from one of the volunteers, as always. I am convinced that there will be ample opportunities to hunt before this trip is over.¡± ¡°Very well.¡± ¡°Now please leave me.¡± ¡°Right, good evening to you.¡± ¡°And have someone come clean all that brain!¡± I tell his retreating back. Hmph. Syrrin lowers her camouflage and point at the corpses Her raspy voice sounds strange in the open air. It also annoys me that, after me insisting that there would be no flesh for half of the trip and her looking at me like at a child who claims the dog grabbed the cookie jar, her incredulity turns out to be warranted. S?a??h the N?v?lFir?(.)n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. I never fail to deliver, do I? Syrrin ignores my warning. She opens the latch and a blade of sunset light reflects on the side of the room like a long red gash. I hiss softly. I do not believe that I will ever forget the burn I got in Alexandria. And now I am bored and reminiscing, again. This has to be the most disappointing pirate experience of my life. This debacle also served to underline a few important details. Sheridan is not Dalton. He sees himself as my conscience and as my protector, someone who will steer me towards the light (the non-burning kind). I will never compare them aloud because it would be a pointless and harmful experience. The Texas ranger was never meant to emulate another man. He has his ways, and that is fine. I will merely require a few adjustments in my expectations. I am also changing. Evolution of character is a natural thing, a comforting thing, because it reminds me that I am still learning, and growing. At the same time, my recent tendency to play with my prey worries me. It could simply be the lack of true challenges in the last two months, at least since Lord Jarek stopped bashing my face in during our spars. It could also be an instinctual response. If my nature turns more cruel as time goes by, I fear that when the time comes to fight the two old monsters, I might choose to join forces with one of them instead. No... no, that would not be me. Toying with our preys qualifies us as a... whatever we are. I merely need to question my own actions. As long as I ask myself if my behavior conforms to the rules I set for myself, I will never be truly lost. As for boredom, I just thought of something. A few weeks ago, when I amused myself with that entertaining little band of thieves, I came across a mildly competent mind mage. I allowed him to enter my mind fortress so we could have a bit of fun together. I realize now that I could perhaps develop a more battle-oriented setup. It could be a lot of fun. I close my eyes and meditate. I am now in the palatial bedroom of the imaginary castle of my psyche. The Watcher casts its purple radiance on a chaotic landscape of mazes, statues and gardens. Strange white flowers bloom on the dark roots and thorns that form the fabric of this space. Time for a little bit of experimental landscaping! I spend another week like this, mostly occupied with experimenting with mental warfare. I do not even need a partner to practice on. My instincts can gauge the deadliness of my creations. I cannot wait for another mental confrontation. Then, one night, Sheridan wordlessly drags me to the deck. We watch the green and grey of the shore rise to a sheer cliff gently sloping towards a bay and its many buildings. The Rock of Gibraltar stands guard over the entrance to the and its ancient treasures. At long last. Europe. Chapter 112: Third of her Line We moor in the Gibraltar harbor. The weather is particularly clement in May, and I merely wear a thin cloak in royal blue over a teal hybrid dress. The captain of the , our ship, tries to stop me as I leave with Sheridan in tow. He combs his grey beard with a nervous hand.¡°Milady, the research team will board the ship as soon as our landing is approved. Do you not wish to stay here and welcome them?¡± ¡°We leave in three days, yes?¡± ¡°That is correct, Milady.¡± ¡°Then there will be ample time to greet them before we depart.¡± ¡°But surely¡­¡± ¡°Are you suggesting that I should await their consent?¡± ¡°N¡­ No, of course not.¡± ¡°I have pressing business in the city. Good night, captain.¡± My pressing business would be to finally move and unwind before I start juggling with torn-off limbs. Me, at the disposal of mortals? Especially a Bingle? I am the money. They will see me when I feel like it. A pair of sailors in the white uniforms of the Rosenthal fleet hastily prepare a plank, both of them showing suitable deference. As befit men whose naked buttocks are at the mercy of my wrath! My and I tread the pavement of the harbor with palpable relief. I take a deep breath, and inhale the scent of the sea, but also of flowers and heated rock. The usual warehouses and offices I spot in the distance are made of stone and rather recent, while the town further back shows influence from both British and Spanish architecture. Fortifications cling to the cliff, dating back to the territory¡¯s Moorish days. They are older than my nation. I am going to climb them. Later. It also smells like sweat and gunpowder now, and the source comes trampling down the pier with all the self-importance they can muster. Red uniforms. I let out a low hiss. ¡°Are you expecting trouble, Ariane?¡± Sheridan asks while discreetly placing his hand near his holster. ¡°No. Or at least, not from them. Last time I came across redcoats, they shot at me,¡± I grumble. ¡°Ah, I always forget that you are older than you look. So, they were hostile at the time, huh?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I answer, then, after a while, ¡°to be fair I was trying to eat them.¡± The war is long over. I must remember that most of the men approaching me were not born when Dalton fell. ¡°Madam, you must remain onboard until we have inspected and cleared the ship,¡± the officer starts with a mighty frown. I glare. He is young, with the marks of a lieutenant. Waxed mustache and polished buttons show a great attention to his appearance, the image ruined by a vicious sunburn. Freshly dumped here from his native Sussex, then. Or Wessex. Some dreary land of fog, rain, and tuberculosis. A stickler for rules. ¡°We have a medical emergency,¡± I explain with a bit of Charm, ¡°of the female kind.¡± The man blushes purple and lets me pass with a muttered word. ¡°I do not know of any medical emergency of a female kind that would warrant skipping quarantine and inspections,¡± Sheridan remarks in a low voice. ¡°That would be because you grew up on a farm, while this man grew up in some cottage where people insist on using ¡®expecting¡¯ instead of ¡®pregnant¡¯ because anatomy is improper. He would rather let me through than be further embarrassed.¡± ¡°I see.¡± ¡°Some people let respectability get in the way of common sense. Bah, enough of this, I am being too judgmental. Perhaps he just cared about my well-being.¡± Probably not. ¡°So, what should we do?¡± Sheridan finally asks as we leave the pier behind us. ¡°You are going to the pub, or wherever your steps take you. I am going to climb to the top of that thing, visit that castle over there, and then poke the garrison.¡± ¡°Errrrr.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t worry, the Rock is considered neutral ground. I am not invading anyone¡¯s turf.¡± Before leaving, I obtained American diplomatic identification papers. Traveling vampires also carry small, enchanted notebooks in Akkad to justify their presence. ¡°That¡¯s not what worries me, woman.¡± ¡°Hmm?¡± ¡°You are going to prank the sentries, are you not?¡± ¡°Perhaps a little bit.¡± ¡°Is there anything I can say that might convince you otherwise?¡± ¡°I think not.¡± ¡°I need a whiskey.¡± ¡°Good luck! Oh, and try Scotch if they have it.¡± Sheridan waves, already heading towards a more animated part of town. I hope he will have a grand time with the locals. I spend the night moving around freely. I enjoy the eclectic architecture combining several cultures as well as the old and new. I climb the sheer cliff to The Rock¡¯s summit and feast my eyes upon the Atlantic, the Mediterranean, the Spanish town of La L¨ªnea de la Concepci¨®n to the North and Africa to the South. I find small monkeys sleeping in clusters of fluffy grey fur. I follow an intricate network of caves and explore it for a while, enamored by its beautiful complexity. The largest grottos near the surface are tame and rife with the remains of torches, food, and human blood, but the deeper parts show no signs of activity. I make one sentry pee himself by touching his shoulder, then his hair, then flipping his hat without revealing my presence. I sup on an officer in the middle of his surprise inspection, thus giving a patrol the time to hide their booze. Let it be known that I can show generosity. Finally, one hour before dawn, I retire to my quarters. Not even the discovery that Syrrin used some of my coffee beans to season her people jerky ruins my mood. It felt good to stretch my legs. The next night leads me to the garrison¡¯s barracks and Sheridan¡¯s jail in particular. The tall man sports a bruise on his left eye that already started to turn a spectacular shade of purple, green, and yellow. Like a half-finished portrait. A grim sergeant frees him and leads us outside, past the squat building¡¯s many alcoves and onto the whipping court beyond. A patrol looks at us with curiosity as he hands the Texan his packed belongings. ¡°Our apologies for the disturbance, ma¡¯am,¡± the soldier says in an accent that I can barely follow. For a moment, it seems that he called me ¡®mom¡¯. ¡°Certainly.¡± ¡°I must insist that your man must stop carrying deadly weapons around, authorization or not. This is a military base, not the frontier, aye?¡± ¡°Yeah, yeah,¡± Sheridan grumbles, although he keeps his belt and holster in a small bag instead of wearing it. We leave in the direction of the ship, and I await with one raised brow, before realizing that Sheridan is not looking at me at all. He is admiring the many boats passing the straits, even at night. ¡°Well?¡± I finally exclaim, out of patience. ¡°Well what? Oh, sorry. I went to their watering hole to grab a beer. Bunch of soldiers on leave asking a lot of questions. Nothing bad. Then a man deep in his drinks demanded that I toast Queen Victoria. I said that I¡¯d toast the broad but that she was not my queen. They took exception.¡± I wait. ¡°I¡¯ve always been the brawniest around, least ¡®till I started travelling with you. Recently though, I¡¯ve been, I don¡¯t know, feeling stronger. And faster than I had any right to be. And when I sent them to the ground it felt¡­ good. I was meant to be there, and they were meant to crawl on the ground. It lasted until that military police unit clobbered me in the face.¡± ¡°Ah yes, I was expecting it.¡± The effects of Constantine¡¯s essence. It appears that his power extends to , not just ¡°A side effect of me becoming your spiritual guide? Sorry, I meant, uh, what was it? .¡± ¡°Yeeeees, spiritual guide indeed. I did not think that you would gain some of my instincts.¡± ¡°It scares me that I might not be entirely myself anymore.¡± ¡°You are yourself,¡± I reassure him, ¡°Consider it as a sort of drink that you would take every time you fight that removes your fear.¡± ¡°A coward¡¯s crutch? No. I see what you mean.¡± ¡°You could probably also survive gut wounds with your enhanced constitution. I also suspect increased healing. Your bruise looks like it was made three days ago, not twelve hours.¡± S?a?ch* Th? ?ov?l?ir?.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. He turns pensive. ¡°It does not sound too bad¡­¡± ¡°And before you ask, no, your soul is still your own and quite intact.¡± ¡°¡­ I was not going to.¡± ¡°When you lie, you twirl your mustache on the right side.¡± He drops his hands. ¡°Dammit.¡± We walk in silence. The paved streets are calm, and the harbor comes into view, with its sapphire waters and moored warships. The shows signs of intense activity. Slightly longer than a brig and without armament, its swift shape reveals that it was built for the quick transportation of valuable goods. ¡°You¡¯re not mad? About the brawl?¡± Sheridan asks as we approach the gangplank. ¡°No. I am in no position to criticize your use of violence. Think nothing of it and focus on the future. We should meet the main members of this expedition.¡± Field Journal of Miranda Bingle. The stage is set, only awaiting the actors to come for the introduction scene. I have placed my seat facing the entrance with Sheridan by my side, while my guests will sit in front of me. The coffee table, now thoroughly debrained, hosts a few assortments of sweets as well as cups for everyone. For tonight, I wear an azure gown of exquisite make designed specifically to show wealth and good taste. I made my hair into a conservative braid to keep my cheeks free. A golden pendant of abstract design attracts the eye towards a modest cleavage to add a touch of exotism. Sheridan wears a custom duster that gives him the appearance of a seasoned adventurer, which in a way, he is. He left his colt behind at my insistence. A knock on the door. They are here. I stand up and Sheridan opens the door, inviting the two characters I was eager to meet. The first is a scholarly type with benevolent brown eyes set in a wrinkled face. A well-trimmed beard covers most of his jaw, and a close-fitting tweed suit shows the wiry body of a long-time athlete underneath. He reveals a bit of shock at my sight, although he recovers almost immediately. The second person to cross my threshold wears a sensible dress in dark brown. Its conservative cut still hints at a shapely figure, undoing the woman¡¯s best efforts to appear bland. She wears round glasses to camouflage her lovely face and a pair of velvety brown orbs brimming with intelligence. Her only concession to beauty is her hair, which falls down her back in a shower of dark ringlets. She appears meek while he is confident, and the contrast between the two serves to underline the camaraderie of the pair, with the scholar instinctively shielding the maiden from my imposing ¡°Mr. Fergusson, Miss Bingle, I am delighted to make your acquaintance. Please, join me,¡± I greet them pleasantly. Sheridan moves to the table and prepares the seat for Miranda like a perfect gentleman. The gesture of respect soothes my guests who sit down and eye the victuals with curiosity. ¡°My name is Ariane Delaney. I represent your employer¡¯s interests in this venture.¡± No reaction from Miranda. ¡°And this is Marshall Sheridan, previously of the Texas Rangers. He will contribute to the security of this expedition. Allow me to welcome you aboard and to thank you for your exemplary work so far. The Rosenthal Consortium has high hopes for you and we expect that this will mark the beginning of a fruitful collaboration.¡± ¡°Thank you for these kind words,¡± Ferguson says, eyes darting around the room to take in the books, the maps, and the occult circle that I will use to locate the island poking from under the rug. ¡°My pleasure. May I offer you something to drink? Tea, perhaps? A good friend of mine offered me this interesting blend.¡± ¡°Oh, it would be my pleasure,¡± Ferguson answers while Miranda nods emphatically. I grab the prepared teapot and serve both guests in turn. The delicate scent of Lady Sephare¡¯s creation spreads through the air in a cloud, the blend meticulously measured, then kept fresh in enchanted compartments. Both of their engraved white cups soon fill with piping hot liquid the color of mahogany. The pair lifts them to their lips in eerie silence and with perfect synchronization. They freeze at the same time, staring, askance, at my own. This is where I reveal another pot. Powerful wafts of freshly ground Arabica push the more discreet scent away like East Indian company crates into the Boston Harbor as I serve both Sheridan and myself the dark nectar. We sip in silence. ¡°So, you are American then?¡± Fergusson finally asks, forcing Miranda to cough in her elbow. ¡°Yes. You have questions before we begin?¡± So far, Miranda has remained silent. The older professor still looks to her on occasion with paternal care. They obviously hold each other in high esteem. It shames me that I suspect a forbidden love almost immediately, but no, their relationship is closer to that of mentor and mentee. No signs of arousal. ¡°I was hoping that you could assuage my curiosity. Forgive an old man for taking liberties, haha. I could not help but remark that you are unexpectedly young¡­ and¡­¡± ¡°Female.¡± ¡°Forgive me. Yes.¡± ¡°I appreciate your concerns. Do not be deceived by my youthful appearance, I have worked with the Consortium in the past. Your employer Isaac sometimes trusts me with his more... unusual pursuits.¡± Oops, not to be taken out of context, that one. ¡°Are you, ahem, a scholar of sorts?¡± ¡°Think of me as the point of contact between the investigation team and your investors. My role is to make sure that everything runs smoothly. I can make decisions or request additional means to that effect, so that we bring this project to a satisfactory conclusion.¡± ¡°I understand,¡± answers the man who clearly does not understand. I do not have the heart to tell him that, beyond a necessary help in case of supernatural foes, I am here as an overseer. ¡°The chance to study ruins belonging to the Sea Peoples is a unique opportunity to learn more about this mysterious folk. I do hope that we will be free to share our findings with our esteemed colleagues throughout the world¡­¡± I smile pleasantly. ¡°As stated in our contract, your research is your own. We reserve the right to keep a few key artefacts you might find.¡± ¡°For the purpose of conservation, of course?¡± the old gentleman asks pointedly. Ah, I have to draw the line, it would seem. ¡°For the purpose we see fit and according to guidelines you already agreed on. Unless, of course, you find our terms unacceptable, and would prefer to opt out of the contract? This is your last chance.¡± ¡°No, no¡­ of course not,¡± he replies with a put off expression. ¡°We are grateful for the opportunity. I merely wish for you to consider the invaluable contribution to mankind those discoveries would mean.¡± ¡°Oh, believe me, I do.¡± I use the pause provoked by the slight rebuke to sip on my delicious cup. I cannot believe that Syrrin would steal my beans and use them as spice. I hope that it messes with her metabolism and that she gets pimples all over that stupid flat face. Fergusson mirrors me. Signs of annoyance pierce through his admirable composure, though he hides them well. It must chafe to be chided by someone seemingly thirty years his junior. A woman, no less. His well-earned position grants him the respect and obedience of all those he usually works with and the drastic change of circumstances will undoubtedly create friction. He bears the frustration admirably. I hope it will be true for the other members of the expedition. ¡°Good to hear. I have high hopes for our success. I have dedicated my whole life to the study of the Sea Peoples, you understand, a most frustrating endeavor considering the lack of direct sources. I had to rely on records from Mesopotamia¡­ Are you familiar with the history of Mesopotamia, Miss Delaney?¡± ¡°Passably. I understand that the Sea Peoples are blamed for the collapse of the first community of civilizations in the twelfth century before¡­ the twelfth century BC.¡± That was before the time of Semiramis too. ¡°Indeed. I have sources from there as well as from Egypt. Unfortunately, we are only now barely starting to research the cradle of humanity, so there is little time and energy dedicated to the understanding of this specific group while so many other ruins still await to be recovered and studied. I hope that, by visiting one of their actual settlements, we will finally acquire first-hand materials to bring back to Oxford and comprehend the important ¡ª if destructive ¡ª role that the Sea Peoples played in the history of the ancient men.¡± Ah, what delicious passion. Wait. No, Ariane, no sampling the expedition group. I must have smiled, because Fergusson¡¯s eyes shine with enthusiasm and the pleasure of a shared interest. Miranda also stares dreamily into the distance. ¡°This will be my last expedition, then, I hope to pass on the burden of discovery to the next generation on the person of my dearest assistant, a brilliant mind and a credit to her sex.¡± Wait. Retirement? Passing the baton? Did this man just commit plot-related suicide? Aw, poor soul. I stare with interest when Miranda turns a delicate shade of rose in a fit of bashful modesty. Ah, when will she realize that she is under his protection and that the rest of the academic body does not squish her dreams and ambition because they are indulging an aging genius, not out of respect for her skills? Hopefully, not too soon. ¡°I am sure that we will find something,¡± I assure him with perfect confidence. With a Bingle on board, we are pretty much guaranteed catastrophic success. We make more small talk, with Miranda remaining mostly silent. I learn that Fergusson enjoys running and hunting, and that he used to play Rugby as a flanker, whatever that means. I reveal very little myself, except hinting that I have shares in many flourishing businesses and work closely with the Rosenthal. As they leave, I ask Miranda to stay for ¡®girl talk¡¯ and let Sheridan escort Fergusson back to his cabin. She plants herself back on her chair with a guarded air. I allow her to squirm for a while as repayment for what she is going to put me through. ¡°Is this about my qualifications?¡± she finally asks. ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°Are you displeased with my presence? Is it due to my youth?¡± ¡°Ah. No. Everyone aboard this ship is here by the consent of House Rosenthal.¡± Although, I would have been more stringent in my selection criteria. ¡°I merely had a question regarding your family. Some of them are adventurers, are they not?¡± Her face scrunches in terrible disapproval. Her hackles raise with thunderous outrage. ¡°Do not tell me their¡­ drivel has crossed the Atlantic!¡± Huh? ¡°My brother and father write entertainment for simpletons. All these stories of curses and magic and other ridiculous notions, really! I intend to break away from fables and tall tales to bring our family name back to its erstwhile respectability.¡± ¡°Really? And you never opened one of those books?¡± ¡°I have better ways to spend my time than to fill my head with wild exaggerations,¡± she proudly exclaims. Then realizing my lack of reaction, she asks in turn: ¡°Surely you do not believe in magic and superstitions, Miss Delaney?¡± I should knock on the hull and ask Syrrin in. Ah, no, it would remove the dramatic effect of what she will undoubtedly uncover. ¡°Why would you, someone with an obvious education, believe in supernatural fabrications instead of what scientific evidence tells you?¡± Oi. ¡°I like to keep an open mind. Perhaps some elements that are now considered mystical will, in time, be better understood and fall under the mantle of science,¡± I politely suggest. There, all diplomatic and mysterious. Better than casting ¡®Shred¡¯ on her arm asking her to scientifically analyze it. I am a merciful vampire. Sometimes. With a reasonable amount of select people. ¡°Do you rely on occultism in your investment strategy? Surely not? Unless¡­ you think the artefacts we retrieve will be magical in nature?¡± ¡°Perhaps. I cannot tell yet.¡± ¡°Oh, Miss Delaney, I would like your assurance that you will not deprive mankind of valuable sources of knowledge. You must not¡­¡± ¡°Miss Bingle, please,¡± I interrupt, surprised by the torrent of words I am submitted to, ¡°remember that my beliefs are not your concern. We have a contract, and we will both abide by its rules.¡± ¡°The rigorous pursuit of truth¡­¡± ¡°Enough!¡± I order, this time more sternly. ¡°I do not owe you a justification. If you want to finish this conversation, I propose that we do so on our return trip.¡± ¡°Very well¡­ I, huh, I should go. Sorry.¡± ¡°Good night, Miss Bingle.¡± Field Journal of Miranda Bingle It appears that our brave captain has learned his lesson. From the moment we lift anchor, he makes sure that I am suitably entertained through various social calls and by teaching me how to play poker. I have made progress since Loth and Dalton last flounced me like a plucked chicken, but there is an art to playing and that I had never understood before.. He teaches me psychology, statistics, and bluff. Finally, he teaches me how to cheat. Between this, my usual activities, and hanging with the crew, my days are finally filled enough that I have stopped recharging the hidden glyphs to have doors spontaneously open at random intervals. I acquaint myself with the team as well. We will have around twenty handymen used for various tasks, cooking, and suffering ignominious deaths at the hands of ancient traps as Miranda looks on in horror. We also have a dour man of Germanic origin with a blond beard and delicate skin who does not seem to acclimate and whose life expectancy I count in days. We also have a Frenchman who might be the romantic interest, and a fat little prick from Italy whom I have labelled as ¡®emergency blood supply number one¡¯. With Sheridan, we form a relatively large group. The captain and his crew will remain onboard with the understanding that they are not disposable like the rest of us. I should feel aggravated, but, well, this is my third Bingle. It only takes us a few busy days to bypass Crete from the north, the turn to the south before Kos. Captain Ozenne slows the ship to a crawl to wait for my directions. At nightfall, I change into a thin, functional white slip. I then seal my cabin and have Sheridan remove the rug with Syrrin watching to uncover the construct underneath. Isaac told me it would fit on a stele. Clearly, he was wrong. A circle of dark iron made of curved bars riveted to the hull¡¯s interior forms the exterior of a complex series of glyphs engraved into the wood, three paces across. To begin, I open a can of luminescent paint and patiently retrace every part of the spell with meticulous care. A working of this size takes a great amount of work, yet at the same time it is strangely relaxing. I can stop worrying about the entire expedition and focus instead on the present moment and the brush between my fingers. With slow purpose, I complete the framework until it shines under the lantern¡¯s light. The preparations are complete. I walk to my safe and remove from it a small box containing the mummified hand of the expedition leader, the same who led the doomed attempt on Ramses the Third¡¯s host of charioteers. His remains were to be interred on the secret island and the resonance between those two should be powerful enough to direct the spell. If this fails, I have others, though I do not believe they will be needed. As soon as I touch the lead, my intuition tells me that this will work. I place the focus in the middle of the circle and leave to grab two more items. The first is a compass which will act as a conduit that I will be able to bring topside to help steer the ship. The second is my gauntlet. I feel a rush of sensations as I clasp the precious tool around my hand, the power yet to be shaped waiting in the air and singing in my essence. I walk to my spot by the box and slice a vein open with a sharp talon. Instead of dripping down, the droplets of black blood rise in the air as if caught by an unseen current. They explode in shimmering clouds of pale purple, like a sunset on an alien world, until I can barely see the roof. Slowly at first, then with increased speed, the nebula rotates as I feed power into the spell. Yellow light emerges from the paint, soon gaining in intensity. I pour more and more power as time passes until the very cabin vibrates with contained might, and still, I give more. The strain on my essence grows noticeable and forces me to grit my teeth. Finally, an ivory arrow forms in the air. Syrrin and Sheridan back away from the roaring construct, which by this point whirls with tempestuous vigor. Despite the torrential onslaught, the boundaries hold fast under my practiced will. The arrow solidifies in the air, sharp as a foil. I raise the compass in my right hand. A matching light. ¡°Good. It worked. Now, to get topside.¡± ¡°Get changed first, perhaps?¡± Sheridan mutters as he steals a glance towards my denuded feet. He is right. I would not want people to see my knees and think me a shameless harlot. Not after the effort I made to appear all proper. ¡°Great idea Sheridan.¡± He nods. ¡°Then get out.¡± ¡°Oh, yes, sorry.¡± Five minutes later and properly dressed, the Ranger and I join an expectant Captain Ozenne on the deserted aft castle. The sails are reefed, and a full shift of sailors await our direction on the deck below. ¡°it worked, then?¡± the older man asks. ¡°It did. Follow the arrow.¡± With a mighty voice, he yells directions and the crew scurries left and right. Soon, we slice the waves like a sharp knife. And we wait. The arrow points forward with unerring focus for a solid hour, until something quite peculiar happens. The sky is clear and the moon casts a light so bright that even a mortal should be able to watch, yet the ocean before us blurs and melds with the sky in curious hues of cobalt. I study the phenomenon with curiosity when the captain¡¯s voice interrupts my musing. ¡°This is pointless. We should turn around. This cannot be right,¡± the man protests, eyes strangely glazed. The sailors below echo his grumblings. ¡°Keep course,¡± I counter. ¡°What? Why would¡­ Hold on, something is wrong,¡± Sheridan says. He shakes his head like a man reeling from a punch. ¡°I¡¯m turning around,¡± Ozenne continues. His frown turns to a thunderous scowl when I stop the wheel¡¯s motion. ¡°Let it go, woman.¡± ¡°Look at me,¡± I order, ¡°good.¡± I Charm him and find the most curious of intruders deep within his psyche, a permeating fog that muddles his mind. I find myself unable to remove it. Instead, I simply combat its influence with mine. Ozenne blinks owlishly. ¡°What?¡± ¡°Maintain course, captain.¡± ¡°Oh right.¡± The protests of the sailors intensifies, so I turn to them and grab one of them like one grabs the scruff of a rowdy dog. ¡°Shut up and keep working,¡± I bellow. The mutiny dies before it could start. Good. The next fifteen minutes are a pain. I am forced to assist the captain during bouts of terrorizing the mortals so that they stop protesting. At some point, Professor Ferguson inexplicably joins us to complain that the island location was wrongly calculated. I send him back to his cabin with the instruction to ¡®recalculate it then¡¯. It works. And, finally, just as I was about to start slapping people, the indigo of the night fades like fog under the wind and our destination appears. An island like a tower springs into the air like a raised fist, sheer cliffs surrounding it on all sides with one exception. Slightly to the side, a small bay guards the only path up to a plateau and the thick forest covering the island¡¯s center. The rocky walls are dotted with black marks from whence sea birds take flight. A network of caves. ¡°What was that thing¡¯s name?¡± Ozenne asks me with a dreamy voice. The repulsion effect faded as soon as we were through. ¡°The Hand of the Drowned God.¡± Chapter 113: Fist of the Drowned God Field Journal of Miranda Bingle s?a??h th? Nov?lF?re .??t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. ¡°We already lost someone,¡± Sheridan announces in a gruff voice. He is leaning against a trunk, looking out into the woods with his trigger on the finger of the custom needle gun I have made for him. ¡°Don¡¯t mention it. I had to give Ozenne ten dollars.¡± Sheridan looks positively shocked. ¡°I bet with him that the Prussian would die first,¡± I grumble as a way of explanation. ¡°Ariane, this man was alive just this morning.¡± ¡°And I was so looking forward to remedying the situation personally.¡± Sheridan gives me a slightly disappointed, chiding look. ¡°You know that most of these people are going to die, right? I explained it to you,¡± I tell him. ¡°This history has not been written yet!¡± ¡°It¡¯s already half-way there. If you grab Miranda by the waist like a monkey right now and forcefully drag her to the ship, it will sink.¡± We stare at each other and I do not relent. This expedition is doomed to succeed with terrible casualties. ¡°You can no more stop Godlings than you can stop the tide, Sheridan. Even if you manage to kill her, you will not succeed unless it makes sense from a narrative perspective. That is why I am not fighting the tide, and that is why I am stacking the odds in your favor.¡± Sheridan¡¯s coat, hat, and guns have been magically reinforced by my own hand. He could be shot in the chest at point-blank range and survive. ¡°Is this arsenal necessary? The coat is rather heavy.¡± ¡°I¡­ lost your predecessor to a shot in the chest. I cannot force you to do anything, but I would appreciate it if you still wore it.¡± There must have been some emotions at play, because Sheridan¡¯s expression is one of deep sympathy. ¡°I am sorry. I did not know.¡± ¡°I want you to be safe.¡± ¡°Then, forgive me for asking, but why did you allow me to join?¡± I stare at him, askance. ¡°You asked me.¡± ¡°And you said yes?¡± ¡°Vassal is an inexact term, Sheridan. We do not control you. In fact, we cannot really refuse you. You exist to challenge us and keep us human. Our very instinct will push against controlling or harming you. Even hurting a rival¡¯s Vassal is taboo.¡± I shiver at the memory of what Sinead did to that poor Cadiz vampire. ¡°I believe that you stand a very serious chance to make it out alive.¡± ¡°How so?¡± ¡°I have been a part of the Bingle Epic since Miranda¡¯s father came to our shore. I am reasonably certain that there is a thinking being behind all this nonsense.¡± ¡°How does this relate to my continued survival?¡± ¡°Should you fall, I will track down Miranda and rend her limb from limb. I will also massacre the rest of the expedition and burn down their notes. I clearly said so to Isaac.¡± ¡°Errrr.¡± ¡°There is no story when there is no one left to tell it.¡± ¡°I am not certain that you should threaten a powerful being in that manner. Did you not tell me that killing a Godling was impossible?¡± ¡°Ah, but I am already a character in this story. I will take my chances. I like them better than Miranda¡¯s chances against a grieving vampire master in an enclosed island.¡± ¡°I see. I promise that I will wear my armor at all times for my own benefit then. It¡¯s not even that heavy. By the way, we are looking for the denizens of this island. Have you found them yet? Can you lead us to them?¡± ¡°Oh yes, I have found them alright. Or rather, Syrrin showed me. And as for meeting them, don¡¯t worry,¡± I finish with a toothy smile. ¡°They will find you.¡± Field Journal of Miranda Bingle Chapter 114: The Lost World Miranda Bingle¡¯s Field Journal. S?a??h th? N???lFire.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. Chapter 115: Otto Cliff camp, the night before.After leaving Sheridan, I search around but find no recent traces of the natives. Most of their patrols must have retreated after I killed the first one, and nobody else tries to set up an ambush. I find quite a few watchtowers but no trace of the forest being exploited for wood, or food, not exactly a surprise when nothing larger than a mouse remains. I make my way back to base camp shortly before dawn and find Syrrin waiting for me in my tent, by the sarcophagus. I stare askance at the tall shaman. She bends slightly. I feel a tug, the barest hint of fate urging me on, and it has never failed me yet. Well, there was that time where it sent me on a collision course with my sire and his damned servant, but that was a necessity. Probably. It remains that her request has weight. It must be answered. I cannot afford to ignore my instincts given Sheridan¡¯s involvement. I grab my weapons backpack and follow the fishwoman out. She turns only once to see if I am following, and that is after crawling through an opening into the cliff barely large enough for her muscular frame. We are in a damp cave lit by glowing mushrooms. A rotten pile of supplies lines one of the walls. Syrrin sighs heavily. She is¡­ tense. I can taste her weakness in the air. She turns and leaves. I follow her through a network of small caverns, many of those crudely excavated. She knows the path well. Even when the tortuous tunnels take unexpected turns, her slithers never falter. Syrrin comes from here, I realize now. She is familiar with the place. How far from her home she must have been when she found me? How desperate! I can tell now from the frantic determination of her movement that this is what she had been waiting for. Eventually, we stop in a large circular cavern with a pond at its core. Blue mushrooms emit an appeasing radiance and paint the walls in strange patterns of color. Syrrin rummages behind a pillar and shows me a tight sleeping place cleverly hidden behind a stone. My caution screams at me not to believe the strange fishwoman, but I know in my essence that she will die before betraying me. I hide my supply backpack and my spear behind another column and tuck myself in for the day. It is afternoon now. The cavern possesses a timeless quality that soothes my mind, even if I can feel the cruel orb travelling through the sky from beyond layers of rock. I recover my gear and follow her, until we arrive at a crossing. She goes left, but I stop her and point right. She tilts her strange, flat face. I felt another tug. This one was important, vital even. I inform the fishwoman. She follows. There is no need for me to explain. She understands magic better than any of our own customs. My steps guide me up until I find light blocking my path. Sunlight is a curious thing, when it is so diffuse. The frail radiance here is but a reflection of a reflection, not the purge of direct rays that torched my side back in Alexandria. It still carries with it a hint of blister and the taste of ash. I stop. What now? I feel like I am in the right place. Above, there is the bang of a discharged firearm. ¡°What¡­¡± And then I hear it. Curses and the impact of armor-covered flesh on stone. ¡°Aw! Fuck! Shit! No! Jesus! Fucking.¡± I step forward, blinking owlishly against the pallid glow coming from above. I jump and grab Sheridan before he can land painfully. I end up on the other side of the passage with the Ranger in my arms. He is breathing hard. ¡°Well well well, look just what fell into my lap.¡± ¡°By God. Ariane?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°I think my back is broken.¡± He would be screaming if it were. I put him on his feet and inspect the cause of his worries. I find the characteristic round mark of a shot. It must hurt like hell. That is where his fears come from. ¡°It is not broken,¡± I tell him, as I feel rage filling my heart. ¡°It feels broken?¡± I tsk. ¡°Have you ever had a broken back?¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°Then how can you tell?¡± He turns around, blinking like a mole and I realize that it is too dark for him to see. He lifts one arm and waves it around, then repeats it for his other arm. He moves his shoulders around. ¡°Huh.¡± ¡°Who shot you?¡± I ask. ¡°That little fucking backstabbing rat. I will snuff out his sniveling life with my own two hands, I swear.¡± My anger recedes. It is the prey. ¡°How do we get back up, anyway?¡± he asks. ¡°We do not get back up. Syrrin and I have¡­ unfinished business.¡± ¡°You do?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± I realize what Syrrin is. She bowed. She asked. The strange fishwoman is a . I tell her. The shaman moves up as if nothing had happened. Our path is slower now, since I have to hold Sheridan by the hand so that he does not bump against every wall. My is clearly eager to pursue his vengeance and yet, he does not object even once to being left in the dark. Metaphorically. The caverns start to widen soon enough and to show signs of passage. The light remains minimal and the silence, absolute, until I see our destination. We arrive on a balcony overlooking a breathtaking scene that I would have never anticipated. The mountain is hollowed out! A giant cavern of amazing size hides within its mineral envelope, and with it, the strange dwellers of the island have built their den. I watch with interest as the strange beings cobbled together anything they could find to assemble a fantasmagoric construct of wood, rock, and shells held together by faith and moldy ropes. Shipwrecks tied to ancient statues lean dangerously over edifices smashed together in one pathetic hovel of a city. The spectacle further lowers them in my esteem. If they had spent millenia in isolation, I would have given them the benefit of the doubt, but they had seen the wonders of the outside world and decided to salvage it to make pigsties. Hah. There is not a spark of innovation, of insight, in this entire place. Not one of the precious qualities that we love and admire in humans. They are scavengers and cockroaches, barely better than animals. I shake my head as Syrrin stops by the opening to meditate. I cannot approach anyway. Pure sunlight descends from a crater in the city¡¯s center. This land is forbidden to me. For now. She knows the place for sure. The question then is¡­ The little Shaman is a seer as well! It would appear that they do enjoy dragging me into their games. She is correct, of course. My sire would not let time-consuming requests distract him from his goal. We settle down for a few hours. Sheridan tells me of the events of the day in a low voice as afternoon goes on. ¡°Miranda ran into the woods. Do you think that they will manage to catch her?¡± ¡°Perhaps. I am not entirely sure about how godlings work with death, only that it is a possibility. I will look for her when we are done with our current task.¡± ¡°I hope she makes it. She is arrogant and stuck up, but she has courage and her heart''s in the right place.¡± If Sheridan had died, her heart would be all over the place by now. As would the rest of her internal organs. Syrrin finally requests, and we leave the balcony behind. To yet another side tunnel. The path leads down this time, and soon we hear the roar of the sea. The stench is abominable. I have had worse and merely stop breathing while Sheridan swears softly and covers his mouth and nose with a scarf. I give him credit for his iron stomach. Others would have succumbed to nausea by now. We end up in what has to be this place¡¯s sewers. I am thankful for my boots being so thick. The path broadens until we arrive at the lowest point of the city. As we enter the large cavern, I notice an opening to the sea on our left, and something else that surprises me. There are fishmen and fishwomen swimming in and out of the secret cove¡¯s entrance. They appear¡­ sick. Their scales do not share the lustre common to their brethren, and their postures are down and submissive. The sight immediately fills me with disgust. Fishmen are predators and man eaters. It is an established fact. A known fact. Every interaction I have had with them always ended in bloodshed and slaughter. To see them desperate and submissive fills me with a deep sense of unease and anger. I would not mind slaughtering an entire tribe in battle, because it would be the proper order of things. I would not impose their current fate on them unless I was overcome with rage. Perhaps that is why I have been reluctant to create cattle unless I had to prove a point. I turn back to Syrrin to ask questions, and instead find her physically struggling. She is holding her coral armband in one hand and fights on to keep moving, her eyes glazing over before a good shake allows her to trudge on. I do not know what is wrong with her. Even Sheridan appears affected. He stares at the shaman¡¯s back with worried curiosity, one hand on his revolver. Our ailing companion guides us through the worst part of the shanty town and everywhere we see more of the same. The fish folks are occupied with menial tasks, and otherwise kept in cramped, squalid cages mired in filth by patrolling creatures that we avoid. I see sores and open wounds on their backs and limbs. Some of the older members of this tribe have been amputated. ¡°Jesus,¡± Sheridan whispers, as we see some of the primal humans drag a screaming child to a slaughterhouse. We do not react yet. Both my and I can tell that Syrrin decides the best course of action is to continue, for now. I wonder why they take such terrible treatment without complaint, and if it relates to the strange mood affecting our guide. As we move further into the city, the full extent of the tribe¡¯s sufferings becomes even more obvious, and the heart of this ignominy is the breeding pen. I am forced to avert my gaze as I pass it by, so dreadful the state of the fishwomen is. So humiliating. I have seen atrocities before, of course. What really affects me is the casual cruelty involved in the treatment of the prisoners, the systematic destruction of everything that qualifies them as people. I push away the sights and the small voice at the back of my head telling me that such things exist everywhere, and that I have just closed my eyes to it. Sheridan is to blame. He is turning me more¡­ human. Syrrin slithers between two sentries and goes deeper into the shanty town. As time passes, I start feeling it as well. Something is spreading an impressive aura over the entire town. It is not attuned to me, hence why it took me so long to detect it. I can still taste it in the air. Despair. Void. Apathy. A sort of drunkenness that robs the will and smothers the flame of life. It is a detestable thing. It violates the spirit of the Hunt. Disgust is replaced by anger inside of my heart. The whole city is a sore on the face of the earth. It is lucky, then, that it would be made so poorly. My hands contract into claws as we move on and Sheridan¡¯s heartbeat rises in answer. We fan the flames of each other¡¯s anger the more our exploration goes on. The betrayal. The abuse we see. The extent of the primal humans¡¯ disdain for their prey. They mix and merge in a torrent that cascades from him to me, then back again. It takes all I have not to hiss. We finally arrive before an out of the way cavern. The three of us kneel behind a stone looking over an opening in the sheer wall in front of which wait two primals in wood armor, their faces hidden behind elaborate clay masks. Apathetic fishmen and women lie in dejected piles around it. They stare into nothingness, overwhelmed by the powerful aura radiating from the mouth of the passage. Syrrin is shivering now. She holds her coral armband in a deathly grip. It is, I realize, her focus. She has been casting without reprieve to fight off the deleterious influence of the spell. When she lifts her flat, ugly head to me, her eyes are filled with tears. There is no need to bargain now. There is no need to make a deal. The urgency is too much. I move down. The two sentries turn to me. I slap the first one¡¯s head off and plant my hand into the second one¡¯s chest. His lifeblood spills from his silent lips. The scent of the red nectar permeates the air. The fish people¡¯s nostrils flare, but they cannot fight yet. The chain on their mind is too heavy and the source is right here, behind a grate of rusted iron. I grab the obstacle and bend my knees. I channel the Natalis and werewolf essences and pull with a grunt of annoyance. Metal moans and cracked mortar pops. Behind, there is an old fishman attached to a rock under the malevolent glare of a smoldering red orb. A pendant adorns his skeletal chest and a scepter lays by his side. This is the source of the spell. I can taste it better now, and my outrage only grows. Whoever designed this was an artist, a jeweler of constructs. The weave is subtle and well-made. The delicate work was designed to subdue and calm targets based on a specific pattern of target. Another caster attuned the spell to the old one below, and now it has grown bloated, festered, a perversion of its intended purpose. I feel it then, the pull of fate. Magic is a fickle thing. It can be pulled and controlled, but sometimes it wants things to move and it wants cages to break. I do not believe I have ever felt my aura move so fast, nor the world respond to it quite so easily. The power courses through my gauntlet and I let it take over. I allow the will of the world to act through me and in return, I am rewarded. Power flows like a torrent. The light of the moon through the crater takes on a purple hue. The orb cracks. The orb shatters, and the crimson radiance spreads slowly, kept whole for the inevitable swing of the pendulum. The old man before me awakes, fixing me with milky white eyes. A tongue darts to taste the air. Syrrin joins me, her head held high and her emotions raw. She places a trembling hand on the old man¡¯s jaw. They join their forehead and stay like this for a breath as the world stands on the edge. Then, Syrrin steps back and grabs the heavy scepter from the ground. The man closes his eyes. he says. Syrrin caves his skull in. She approaches the body as it is still wracked with tremors, and grabs the pendant. She puts it on. she tells me, I inform her with a smile. I know I show my fangs and eagerness, and she sees, and she does not care. Sheridan waits outside surrounded by intensely focused fish folks, two of them already bearing the dead sentries¡¯ spears. He is unafraid and so they leave him alone. The red mist of the orb spreads around them and their wounds close, not completely, but enough. There is a glint in their dark eyes when there was nothing before. They flick their tongues and taste blood. Syrrin stands before them and they await, but they do not cower. She opens her bag and rummages through it. I turn to Sheridan and open my own to show the contents. ¡°Wow.¡± I place a box of silver cartridges before him. ¡°Enchanted bullets with an extra shred spell. Help yourself and don¡¯t skimp, because we are going to have a battle on our hands.¡± I stare at him as he empties his two remaining revolvers ¡ª one of them is missing ¡ª and loads the bullets with malicious intent. ¡°Tell me Sheridan, on a scale from one to ten, how angry are you?¡± The solid ranger looks at me with grim determination. ¡°Lady, I¡¯m about pushing an eleven right now.¡± ¡°You want in on the party?¡± ¡°You could not stop me from joining.¡± ¡°Alright,¡± I tell him. I remove the Needle rifle¡¯s two parts from my bag and screw the barrel on, then I hand it to him as well as a belt of cartridges and a set of grenades. ¡°Is it my birthday already?¡± ¡°Sheridan,¡± I tell him, with deadly seriousness, ¡°I need to inform you of an important fact. We vampires never fully reveal ourselves with humans around because it would attract too much attention. We hide our powers and restrain ourselves.¡± He waits for me to continue, not quite yet getting the point. ¡°There are no humans around,¡± I finish. ¡°Oh. You are going all out.¡± ¡°Yes. Yes, I am. You will have to go with it and not let yourself be distracted.¡± ¡°No worries, I got your back. And if you see one of those heathen¡¯s heads spontaneously explode. Don¡¯t be alarmed. It¡¯s me.¡± We nod to each other and he finishes gearing up. I turn to Syrrin as two burly fishmen finish tying pieces of wood together in a strange pattern. It is like a staff with a reversed triangle on top. I wonder what purpose it will serve, until Syrrin removes a roll of fabric from her bag. She sticks it to the prepared support and I realize that it is, in fact, a flag. Made from human skin. Pirate, to be precise. It has my sigils on it, inscribed in an ink so dark it swallows the light. The gesture is so touching and attentive that I raise my hands to my chest in delight. Such a delicate attention! Nobody has ever done that for me yet! Then Syrrin grabs the flag and lifts it on her shoulder. She hands me a massive conch. A horn to blow to start the hunt? Aaaaaaa if she were a man and had a ring now I would be doomed, flat face or not. I examine the nice piece as the fishmen gather around. I see a red radiance in the air where the backlash from the shattered orb suffuses their bodies. They are hounds waiting to be unleashed, though they do not know it yet. The conch is no artefact, merely an ancient work of exquisite craftsmanship. Nothing says that I cannot use it for my own design, however. I raise my gauntlet and call an illusion spell, in the same spirit of those I use to spread darkness or baiting lights, but this time I use it to make my voice louder. I need them to hear and feel. The tongue does not matter. The magic will carry my intent through crags and cages and murky water. I merely need to seize it. The world is still waiting and now, it pays attention too. The diffuse light reflects on dark eyes, like a constellation on the bleak background. I blow the conch. I did not plan for it, but the mournful sound is amplified by the magic as well. It rolls over the shanty, slams against its many walls, only to bounce back louder, stranger, until the echoes mix and a thousand angry hosts answer the call of the Hunt. The other side answers. Gates crash and warcries resonate throughout the unholy capital as masked, fallen men muster their own forces. Their strange cry fights back against the tide. It sounds like ¡®Otto¡¯, which I cannot get used to. I say. We move fast. Already, fish folks overwhelm the few patrols present in the lower levels with savage fury, swarming them in great masses of teeth and claws. I barely slow down to slay those who still stand. Syrrin is by my side, waving the flag proudly and the awakened mass swells at our back in an unstoppable wave. We encounter our first pocket of resistance just as we approach the cages, with primals standing in a line with spears raised. We crash into them and do not slow down. The violence of the slaughter is stupefying. Fish folks are stronger than humans, I find, and the defenders are slain and dismembered in moments. The ground beneath us turns red. The cages lay in front of us, rattled by their irate occupants as the free fishmen fight guards in a chaotic hand-to-hand battle. ¡°Go open the cages, I¡¯ll take care of the reinforcements,¡± I tell Sheridan. ¡°Got it,¡± he replies. He twirls his guns in excitement. He did not do that before. Am I changing him as well? Whatever. The ranger sprints and shoots off the first rudimentary lock. The enchanted bullets demolish the rusted metal with ease. He opens the first door and a sea of folks adds their anger to the conflict. I direct the bulk of our troops to a large avenue leading up, to the upper floors of the blighted mess of tied shipwrecks. Fish folks crash into the buildings to our sides, ramming through the moldy wood as if it were paper. We meet the first real opposition very quickly. Farther into the town, we find a plaza leading to a strange altar of bones at the back, and it is filled with natives as we approach it. There are bowmen on the walls of the nearby edifices. Sheridan angles right without a word and somehow manages to convince a tall fishman warrior to give him a lift by scowling mightily. We are close now, a wall of scaly flesh moving forward and up. The line of spears is just before us, at least five men deep and supported by taller warriors in wood armor and more elaborate masks. Sorcerers agitate them, ancient foci held high. We cannot stop. We must not stop. I need to find something inspiring to say to start the charge, for posterity! Ah, oops. At least, it worked. The mass of fishmen sprints forward and I cast a spell I have never used in a combat situation before. ¡°Shield.¡± Obsidian-tipped arrows slam harmlessly into my erected defences. They would never pierce Loth¡¯s armor, but Syrrin is just behind me and I do not want her to die. The fish folks bleed and die as arrows rain from above and from behind the enemy lines. They scream and hiss, but they do not stop. I crash into the line of spearmen and cut three in half with a single swing. ¡°Flay.¡± A shaman screams when the skin is ripped from his muscles. I grab the mangled form as it falls and devour it as, all around me, the melee is joined. Smaller, more agile fishwomen climb the buildings to dislodge the archers, throwing their screaming forms into the blender below. Every two seconds, a thunderous bang erupts and an officer or an archer falls with their chests skewered and their heads blown off. Our onslaught is unstoppable. I barely have to intervene. To their credit, the primals do not relent. More of their numbers join the fray every second, grabbing spears and rocks from the hands of the fallen and throwing themselves at us with wild abandon. Women jump on fishmen warriors to drag them down while their peers stab them both, and still, they sing their strange cry with unwavering faith. This is a battle of annihilation. I drift across the battlefield, eliminating priority targets and supporting ailing fighters. I laugh and jeer as blood covers my armor in a thick red coat. It is inevitable. And finally, we push them back. Their mass climbs the steps to the altar and spreads left and right until I see it. On a platform of bone, atop a throne of skulls, sits a large form clad in black armor. The statue does not move as its sycophants die in droves. I bellow. Time to end this. I shall destroy that stupid effigy and break their spirits. I move forward and sweep with my spear to cut the head off. And then I am sent flying. ¡°Oof!¡± Ow. I am in the air. Hmm. What just happened? I twist on myself and land feet first on a nearby ship deck. The planks crunch and groan under the impact, but they do not break and I can witness the unbelievable spectacle before me. The statue moved. The statue moved? No, impossible. It must be a golem then. I cannot feel its aura. The imposing black armor walks forth ponderously and the fish folks waver. The primals now fight with an impossible frenzy, screaming ¡®Otto!¡¯ at the top of their lungs. All our fighters retreat in a confused mass. All except for Syrrin. She stands in her place, unmovable even as the fighters surrounding her try to drag her back. She slams her battle standard into the altar and glares up, defiant. I extract myself from the planks and sprint forward as fast as I can manage it. The wind screams in my ear. The golem lifts a heavy fist. No you don¡¯t. ¡°Shatter.¡± I punch the descending limb with my own gloved gauntlet. The spell detonates on impact, sending shards of black metal everywhere. Syrrin still hasn¡¯t moved. I declare with a smile. Finally. A challenge! I roar and kick the armor back, barely displacing it but Syrrin is smart and retreats now that I have returned. The combatants leave a ring for the construct and I to settle our contest. Blood flows on the ground, turning it crimson. I dodge and move around my ponderous foe. I have fought large enemies before and close in on it instead of trying to create a distance, relentlessly attacking the weak points in the thick armor to get at the fragile articulations. Its plates are thick, but Sivaya¡¯s spear tip is unnaturally sharp. I chip at the chinks piece by piece, never stopping, never getting hit. The golem has an impressive range of movements. It does not matter. I am faster, and I have sparred with the likes of Jimena, Nami, Torran. This thing does not even come close. It finally happens. I manage to lock the blade in the weak point under the golem¡¯s arm and push in. I feel a resistance. I feel it hit something. The construct stumbles back on one knee. The fish folks roar in triumph, but the primals do not relent. And then, the golem does something that surprises me. Its two damaged gauntlets reach for the helmet, and remove it. Then, every piece of armor is patiently peeled off. I stare in wonder at the man thus revealed. I¡­ do not understand? How? And then my gaze lowers to my spear and its tip. The deadly blade is covered with thick, black blood. The smell hits me an instant later. The chest piece falls, revealing the lean and muscular form of a very tall man. He has white-blonde hair that falls to his shoulders, a handsome face with a square jaw and two piercing blue eyes that open and blink in confusion. Ah. Fuck. Huh. That¡­ is unexpected. Thoroughly unplanned for. He must have masked his aura, or perhaps he was asleep? The glare zeroes on me. His pale lips in a fanged smile. The man extends a right hand, materializing a soul weapon like a giant billhook. His aura explodes outwards and buffets us all. The primal assault renews with boundless intensity. This is a lord. A bloody lord in the middle of some deserted island. What in the world? Ah dammit, I should have attacked when it was changing. I was too surprised to react and missed the window. Curses. I could no more cut and run than I could face the sun. I must kill him, or at least, I will try. Nothing to it. I grab my spear and charge. Our blades meet and I back out to run to the side. We have a similar reach, but his weapon is definitely heavier and I have no interest in a fencing contest. I use the movements that Nami taught me to smack his blade aside for an opening, trying to get a hit in. He is fast, but not so fast that I cannot follow and his style feels designed to fell heavier foes, with movements meant to crush and disembowel in one strike. I prevent him from catching me in his rhythm with quick attacks that he must block. Black blood still seeps from below his right armpit. Sivaya¡¯s blade has a nasty bite. First blood is mine when the hook slides over my shoulder armor to the man¡¯s surprise. His eyes widen and he dodges, but I still manage to trace a dark line across his chest. The lord shortens his hold on the billhook and now fights more defensively. I know that one too. I move a bit farther and strike in more sweeping gestures, using my now superior range to harry him. I cannot pass his guard, but he cannot strike me either and I have time. One mistake, and he manages to grab the tip in his hook. He slams the weapon down into the altar to crush the pole, snapping it out of my hand. The bones give in, but the metal holds. It is made of an enchanted alloy of steel and silver that I reinforced to the brim. It could support the weight of a house. I did not want my weapon broken again. Lord Otto¡¯s face turns in surprise again and I lodge a throwing knife just below his eye, missing the organ by a hair. He smirks and throws the spear away. The spear returns to my hand as if dragged by a magnet. I retort, and the dance resumes. The Erenwald lord pulls the dagger from his cheek and throws it back, but he clearly does not know how to use it and the strike goes wide. Our fight resumes, neither of us gaining the advantage, until he manages to hook my arm. The blade bites into my armor, drawing blood. I turn on myself and kick the lord in the face before he can use it to his advantage and go in close. He disengages and I free myself in the same movement. During the fight, I let my instinct and my intuition guide me, avoiding tricky attacks and surprising bursts of speed at the last moment. I have to use every trick in the book, but we are evenly matched. Time is on my side. Around us, the primals are dying. Without fear and without hesitation, but they are dying. The fish folks are still pushed forward by the spell and the years of pent-up rage. Sheridan methodically picks off their leaders and spellcasters, one shield-piercer at a time, leaving them disorganized. I can see Otto¡¯s eyes wander. He pushes me back with a mighty swing and turns to Syrrin. I use the Likaean terms. No holding back. The spell hits the soul weapon and disperses, but some of it splashes over the vampire¡¯s pale chest and more wounds come to adorn it. I am pressing him. I am pressuring him, a lord! The cold joy of battle fills my essence and my focus sharpens to an edge, because he still has a trump card and this is far from over. I will not let my guard down. I will harry him and take him down and I will not leave him a chance, because I am a PATIENT HUNTER. The Erenwald changes once more. He attacks with very wide, very powerful swings and some of those kill my warriors. I merely place myself in a position to capitalize on the openings he provides. Syrrin has seen the way she was targeted and once more placed herself deeper into the formation. Those he slays are of no consequence to me and I punish every attack, even if he avoids mortal danger. This lord is weakened. By what, I do not know, but he is no match for some of the fighters I have faced over the years. His wounds add and his mobility is affected. I see victory on the horizon. It will not be long now. His traits twist with rage. His fury warps his aura. I move low as the fateful incantation begins. In the center of the corner, the light flashes purple. His aura spreads out and¡­ solidifies. I do not have a better term for it. The closer to him and the more different the world tastes. I jump out of the area of effect as soon as I can and watch, mesmerized, as the bodies by his feet wither. Inside of the circle, both fish folks and primal writhe in horrific pain. Branches and brambles pierce their skins from the inside and they dry up in moments. Flowers and trees emerge from between the bones, only to perish a few seconds later. An eruption of nature explodes around my foe, life and death in a ceaseless dance fuelled by the blood of the fallen. The wounds on the lord¡¯s body close. All my work, erased in moments. The man sneers and steps forward, and the circle moves with him. I yell, The fishmen do not need to understand my instructions to follow them. They flee from the altar as fast as they can, dragging the wounded with them. The primals care not and they die in droves. he says with a laugh. I rush forth and stop at the edge of the circle. I am unaffected, thankfully. I charge and engage again, trying to keep him off. I thrust and he¡­ does not dodge. He barely redirects the blade low. My spear digs deeply into his chest. To the hilt. Only my instincts and training allow me to block the counter blow. I scream in pain as the billhook hits my flank. Even Loth¡¯s armor cannot stop the edge of the soul weapon and the power behind it. I let inertia carry me off to minimize the damage. I still leave a trail of blood in the air. Ow. Ow. This is going to hurt. I crash into the throne. PAIN. It does hurt. I roll on my feet and channel the Ekon essence to stand up and pull a short blade from a sheath. The enchanted weapon stops the hook an instant before it can take off my head. Otto is not giving me a chance. His smile is obvious, as the ghastly wound he just accepted closes quickly enough for me to see it. he adds, and kicks my intact side. I crash into his followers. I grab one of the few remaining leaders on my way down. I stand back up and discard his freshly Devoured body. My own wounds close ever so slightly. Otto sees me and frowns. S~?a??h the N?v?lF?re.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. I charge and pull the spear to me. My foe does not notice. I let him hook the short blade. I roar and push the blade down, burying it into the stone where I now stand. The hook is stopped for a moment, a fragment of a second, while Otto pulls. I grab the spear and thrust. The lord¡¯s eyes waver. I steal a gaze down. A black, thorny root encircles his foot. This one is not on his side, and I recognize the plant as my own. I do not know how it appeared, but I am not going to complain. he whispers. I snarl in triumph, and yet despite the circumstances, he still manages to lodge the spear higher, missing his heart by a hair. But Sivaya¡¯s blade still has a trick. The tip flashes blue as the fae¡¯s magic takes hold. Otto¡¯s face shows utter shock as the powerful enchantment slices his insides. I grunt, and pull. The blade slices through ribs as if it were butter. I touch his heart. The lord slackens instantly, eyes wide. The last of the flowers dry up and die. I pick him up by the throat and move him closer. He is lost. He sees me. He knows. Around us, the primals fall to their knees and the fish folks lay into them with wild abandon. The air is rich with the smell of blood and death, in a background of screeches and cries. The hunt is over, The quarry is captured. I have won. I can hardly believe it. I have faced a lord in battle and won. I care not about the circumstances or his strange state. He was a lord. He called the Magna Arqa. And now, he is at my mercy. This will taste so sweet. I bite down. Ecstasy. I pull back as the body disintegrates between my hands. The power of a lord courses through my veins and, within my mental palace, the associated essence grows further. My victory makes me feel incredibly powerful. I have slain a lord in single combat! No trickery, no explosives, no unfortunate swine set on fire. Just me and blades. I did not even shoot him! Truly, I have grown beyond my own expectations. I stand up and watch lazily as the last of the primals are thrown to the ground and killed. Even the younger ones perish, something that I do not condone but that I will not stop either. This vengeance is not mine, and my own rules do not apply. I use the time to consider what I learnt. So, Otto of the Erenwald was indeed lost. Not feral, but withdrawn into his zone of comfort like an old, timid man. Encrusted. Frozen in time. How can one let themselves go so? They must have had nothing left to look forward to. I know from my sire¡¯s influence that slumber only lasts a decade at most, and only for ancient beings like himself for whom such an interval means very little. Otto¡¯s felt longer. Deeper. Meaningless. Nirari had settled to plan his return, while he had simply given up on any action. I will avoid this terrible fate. I am not too worried. My failings are many, but inaction and melancholy have never been one of them. Syrrin comes to stand next to me as the orgy of blood finishes and the victorious hunters gorge themselves on the flesh of the vanquished. Sheridan joins us with a clear air of distaste. A tall and powerful fishman warrior turns to confront him. I stop myself from hissing. The proud ranger turns to the massive creature. The barrel of his gun taps against the monster¡¯s chest. ¡°Try me,¡± he states without an ounce of fear. The fishman tastes the air with his tongue. He slithers back with respect but not without fear. ¡°You always show me the weirdest shit,¡± he tells me when we are reunited. ¡°Language.¡± ¡°Oh, fuck off.¡± A liver slides at our feet. Syrrin picks it up and gobbles it in one gulp. ¡°You may have a point there,¡± I concede, ¡°we should move out. I am curious to see what our little godling is up to.¡± ¡°Breathing, I hope. What about Champignac? He¡¯s a dead man walking if I have any say in this.¡± ¡°He was a dead man walking the moment he decided to double-cross us and the Consortium. He is your prey.¡± ¡°What are the chances that he convinces Ozenne that we are all dead, and that he should leave?¡± ¡°Less than zero?¡± Sheridan raises a dubious eyebrow. ¡°Oh you of little faith, who cast the spell to bring us here safely?¡± ¡°Ooooh, we need you to leave as well!¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I drily reply, ¡°I am glad to see that my presence is appreciated. Enough talk. The main storyline awaits.¡± ¡°Excellent, let¡¯s go.¡± ¡°One last thing, Sheridan.¡± ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°Give me back my rifle. Thank you.¡± I will have to build him one soon. Syrrin declines to accompany us. She has much to do to save her tribe, but she gives me a complement of seven muscular old fishmen who understand Akkad well enough to take orders. They guide us to yet another maze of corridors until we go sharply up. ¡°I recognize this place,¡± Sheridan informs me, ¡°we came through here the first time.¡± We pass by a tomb, where I am told that the dragon claw had been. The powerful sword is now in the hands of the villainous Frenchman. I will have to make sure that it is properly retrieved. We reach a promontory overlooking the forest. I raise my gauntlet and start a simple tracking spell, searching for the enchantment on my revolver which Sheridan so generously lended to the poor ingenue. We follow the spell for only ten minutes when we hear a discharge. I press onward, and arrive in a clearing. Miranda is on the ground, her dress stained with mud and her lush hair in disarray. She holds the borrowed revolver in two hands and stares, glassy eyed, at the body at her feet. I recognize one of the disposable¡­ one of the helpers we hired for the expedition. Not only is the rogue villain dishonest, but his dishonesty is also contagious! Scandalous. And at her back, the second helper approaches with fury in his eyes, knife held high. This is it, is it not? The reason why the Bingles always end up gravitating around me for some of their more defining stories. Cecil¡¯s last adventure and his marriage. His son¡¯s loss of innocence. Miranda¡¯s confrontation with the world as it is. Fate, or laughing gods, keep sending them my way and I keep saving them because, each time, I am given a choice. Right now, I get to decide whether she lives or dies. Will her story continue, or will it end here, in the embrace of that cursed island. I keep getting hassled because my answer has always been to save them. I find the Bingles annoying and their endless shenanigans grate my patience, and yet, at the end of the day, stories are what define us as a species: the ability to lie. Nations are lies. Honor is a lie. They are intellectual constructs with no root in the real world, and yet those lies have propelled ships across the ocean deep and sent hundreds of thousands to their death. The lies we tell each other and believe in are just important as the fabric we wear or the food the mortals eat, perhaps more so. The godlings of adventure are that principle pushed to its limit. Stories that touch the world directly, instead of through our hands. And I have always loved a good story. I pull the trigger and the helper collapses, hands on his bleeding leg. Miranda shudders with fright, and yelps when she spots me. ¡°Miss Delaney? Mr. Sheridan! Oh, it is so good to see you! I thought you dead! But how! And what are those creatures around you?¡± ¡°Do not concern yourself with them,¡± I tell the novice adventurer as my cadre drags the screaming helper back for the larder, ¡°they will not hurt you. They obey me.¡± Her eyes fill with tears as the events of the day quickly catch up to her exhausted psyche. ¡°But why¡­¡± ¡°Because they are smart, and you are not, little Bingle.¡± ¡°But¡­ those are monsters!¡± Her eyes trail on my blood-soaked armor. I grab her chin in a light hand. ¡°Oh, my dear. If you had paid attention, you would have found that there were monsters here¡­¡± I show her my fangs. ¡°From the very beginning.¡± I smirk when she screams, and wait as she stares with disbelief. To her credit, she does not faint. Her pretty visage simply turns hollow. ¡°All my life I always thought¡­ But those were real. I feel so stupid now, I do not know what to think anymore. Is science missing the point?¡± That annoys me. ¡°Science is a method, little one, not a religion. Who says you cannot take a rigorous and logical approach to monsters?¡± She blinks. ¡°You are right, of course. Completely right.¡± Sheridan helps her up. She thanks him profusely for the firearm and tries to return it. My turns to me with a question in his eyes. I grab the hilt of the gun and close Miranda¡¯s delicate hand on its cold, smooth surface. ¡°Keep it, my dear. I have a feeling that you will have a need for it in the future. Deck of the , past midnight. I lean against the railing and admire the show. ¡°It is a horrible tragedy, captain, but there was truly nothing I could have done. They fell prey to terrible, bloodthirsty monsters. I had to flee for my own sake to bring you the tale of their demise,¡± Champignac claims as he climbs the gangplank. He has conveniently scruffy hair and a very tiny cut on his face, which lends credence to his tale. His gaze sweeps the deck and narrows with worry before the sailors¡¯ judgemental expressions. He stops in his tracks when he spots us. Miranda crosses her arm in what must be a terrible display of raging emotions for her. Sheridan whistles as he checks the noose he prepared, and tied to the mast. He then steps down from the barrel and lowers his glare at the paling traitor. Ozenne tilts his head in consideration. ¡°You see, Monsieur Champignac, those two have a much different story to tell, and the evidence overwhelmingly favors their version,¡± he finishes calmly. ¡°I demand to be judged before a tribunal, according to international laws,¡± the treacherous lout demands with a trembling voice. ¡°I wish I could accede to your demands, monsieur. Alas, it is a horrible tragedy, sir, but there is truly nothing I can do. You fell prey to a terrible, bloodthirsty monster. I shall have to decline for my own sake, to bring others the tale of your demise. Good day, sir.¡± Sheridan steps forward and socks the man in the jaw, then drags the victim behind himself like a bear bringing an elk home. I let my handle his prey as he sees fit. This vengeance is his. After Champignac is hanged, I am approached by Ozenne as I enjoy the lights now adorning several cavern entrances, far into the distance. ¡°It appears that there was indeed a traitor,¡± the daring captain comments in a deceptively light tone. ¡°As we both expected,¡± I remark ruefully. ¡°And that traitor happened to be the Frenchman,¡± captain Ozenne continues. ¡°So it would seem,¡± I admit between gritted teeth. Silence descends upon the ship. I sigh deeply, and withdraw a small wallet from my backpack. I grab a ten pounds note which I hand to the smiling mortal. ¡°A pleasure doing business with you, milady. Until we bet again.¡± ¡°You do not have to be so smug about it.¡± ¡°On the contrary, milady, I believe I do. For mankind. I bid you goodnight.¡± The preserve me from sassy mortals. Chapter 116: The Tourist. Kingdom of Hungary, a week later.The Corbeau moors in the port of Fiume long enough for Sheridan and myself to disembark. The ranger is more than pleased to find solid ground under his feet after a turbulent trip through the Adriatic, and we take a few hours to enjoy the shore. I recognize Italian architecture in the tall buildings lining the seafront, and the Habsburg Empire also makes its presence known. It takes half an hour for us to be reminded of our status as guests in these parts. We are barely in view of the Cathedral, a squat, circular building, when a tall man in a black uniform accosts us. He has a rotund face that would appear benevolent except for a pair of cold blue eyes. Our auras touch with polite reserve. He is a strong Master. he inquires with a respectful tone. he says, and turns around. We follow. Fiume is part of the Kingdom of Hungary, and Hungary lies deep within Eneru territory. Both Eneru and Masks currently undergo a period of detente as both carefully monitor the revolutions wracking Europe, so transport should not prove too much of an issue for an independent agent like myself. I still need to behave and keep my identification papers with me at all times. We walk through the semi-deserted street, only encountering a pair of drunk men wearing a sheepskin and a bell, for some reason. The train station is a single building with a joined roof to protect travelers from the elements. Its quaint nature is made all the more obvious by the imposing convoy currently parked before it. A massive locomotive lies there, black and shiny like a beetle. Wagons trail behind it in a long procession of grim sheet metal. The windows tower above us. They only reveal embroidered curtains and, here and there, a piece of mahogany ceiling basked in amber light. He means food, although some prefer to feed during lovemaking. I ask. Some of these remarks could be considered as insulting, as stating the basic rules of politeness sometimes is. I want to know where he stands. the man continues with a smart bow. The gesture might be anodyne to a mortal. To us, it shows respect beyond any doubt. A hostile train butler would not show deference. I decide to give trust that he is honest, and nod in acknowledgement. ¡°Before we depart¡­¡± Lazlo continues in English, now slightly bashful,¡°I must regretfully ask you to leave your weapons in our custody for the duration of the trip. Except soul weapons, if applicable, of course. Rest assured that this rule extends to every guest and is there for your own safety. Your protection is guaranteed by clan Dvor while you travel with us. I apologize for the disruption.¡± I take a good look at our guest and he does something rare; he opens his aura by releasing his control over it. I feel embarrassment. If he is faking, his control matches that of Sinead and I somehow doubt it. I reply, and turn to Sheridan. The tall Texan is clearly uncomfortable, but he eventually shrugs when he realizes that I remain unconcerned. ¡°When in Rome¡­¡± he comments stoically. We climb on the first carriage with the parts of our luggage that contain our gear. The interior is cramped and spartan, with many small cabins stuck to each other. Lazlo leads us to a locker secured behind a steel door. The entire train is enchanted, I notice, and the armory more than most. I detect nothing intrusive, just reinforcements and alarms. ¡°If you please,¡± Lazlo offers with a smile, pointing at a nearby table. Sheridan and I exchange a glance. He removes his belt and his personal Colt, still in its holster. I place the knife I always keep on me on the table. Sheridan grabs and deposits his second revolver. I rummage in my bag and place my belt of throwing knives, my short sword, and a secondary dagger. Sheridan drops a massive cutlass that can only be called a knife if a spear can be called a toothpick. I drop two boxes of enchanted ammunition and both halves of my spear. Sheridan reaches in his boot to find one last blade. I place a bandolier of bullets and the needle rifle¡¯s sheath on top of that. Then, two powder charges. I finish with my gauntlet. We wait. Lazlo seems a bit at a loss before the arsenal. ¡°Is¡­ is that all?¡± he asks in heavily accented English. ¡°Yep.¡± ¡°Yes. Are you quite alright, sir?¡± I ask. ¡°Of course, of course. I just did not expect¡­¡± ¡°We had a busy trip,¡± I suggest helpfully. ¡°Pirates!¡± the Ranger entones. ¡°... amongst other things,¡± I finish. The poor Dvor Master finally recovers his phlegm. ¡°You can rest assured that your belongings will be returned safely at your destination. Oh, and please do not start any wars before the train has had the time to depart for its next destination.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t worry pal, we¡¯ve never done anything bigger than a city-wide revolt.¡± ¡°I am immensely relieved to hear that,¡± the train conductor deadpans. With our host thus appeased, we decide to split up for the night. I pass by the restaurant to find a snack. I manage to invite a dark-haired woman to join me in hesitant German. It turns out that, while they do not expect sex, all donors are ready for this eventuality. I send her on her way without taking advantage of her enthusiastic offer. Now set up, I decide to visit the salon. Time to greet the locals. I flash my aura to announce my presence and enter a narrow but long boudoir cluttered with couches, seats, and pillows. Warm yellow lights bathe the red upholstery. The place is gaudy, too much for my taste, and yet there is no denying that it feels welcoming. Two vampires await politely as I step in. I can never get tired of how poised we appear, and how predatory we really are. The two ladies sit daintily at the edge of puffy little seats around a tiny coffee table containing two books and a small bell. Their postures are straight and elegant and their smiles flawless, but their immobility reflects their true nature. I see it in the depths of their mirthless eyes. This is their territory I am intruding on, and we must reach an understanding first and foremost. I am almost certain that I can kill them if it comes to this, but it will not. I am their guest here, for they are Dvor and we are on Dvor territory. I can be polite when I want. And so, I smile pleasantly, and curtsey low enough to convey sincere respect. the older one lies. Viktoriya is a dark-haired beauty. She has the appearance of a very young, voluptuous maid with an honest sort of charm. Meanwhile, Jence appears slightly older, around twenty, and has an ethereal, delicate presence. Her skin is extremely pale, and she averts her blue eyes delicately when I turn to inspect her. I take a seat. If the customs here are the same, Viktoriya will decide the direction of the conversation. The blonde Courtier sputters and lowers her head in embarrassment. Jence interrupts in a shrill voice. Viktoriya advises. Jence interrupts with a respectful voice, I try to remain calm when I see the lady¡¯s inquisitive eyes, but they, of course, narrow with interest. Dammit. I would have blushed if it were possible. ¡°Ahem,¡± I interrupt, a bit put off. Jence observes, her gaze heavy with calculations. I tense, but then I feel it at the edge of my perception. Someone is coming, a master judging by the aura. Viktoriya smiles knowingly when my eyes drift to the side. Now, she knows how far I can detect things, although she cannot do much with this information. It annoys me that she reads me so easily. Fortunately, she does not appear hostile. The man who knocks politely and enters is quite easy on the eye. He has sandy hair and very light blue eyes that give him an angelic aura. The power of a master emanates from him in controlled waves. Jence¡¯s own quivers with excitement and we all politely pretend not to have noticed. she babbles. Sleek bastard. the smarmy man says, turning to me with curiosity. Jence¡¯s aura betrays her annoyance. I hold back a smirk. I cordially allow. the lady tells him with a hint of edge. We spend a pleasant time listening to Karoly¡¯s recounting of his experience in the Ottoman Empire. He is a fine storyteller who wields light sarcasm as well as descriptive prose. Even I, who consider him with distrust, have to admit that he possesses a sharp mind and an unusual outlook, one that he must have developed over years of travel. He apparently struggles to find a place to settle and call his own, a peculiarity for a Dvor. Most are sired already attached to a land. I wonder what happened. After a while,grabs me by my hand and kindly requests that I walk her to the restaurant, which I do. Jence¡¯s aura bubbles behind us. I ask as soon as we are out of hearing. We walk up through the now-moving train. It rides pleasantly and smoothly with a soothing ¡®kacha kacha¡¯ sound as regular as a clock. Outside, the mountainous countryside beckons, with its ancient farmhouses hidden in craggy valleys. The old matriarch dismisses my concern with a wave of her hand. We sit in the restaurant wagon even if Viktoriya is not thirsty to begin with. I use the opportunity to order coffee to the lady¡¯s surprise. The human staff does not react, leading me to deduce that they played host to Hastings vampires before. I ask, since she knows the foe. Most of us American rulers agree that we will be at war with the European factions at some point in the near future. It would be a waste of time to establish a good relationship now. Her smile turns predatory. The dour train conductor turns out to be a fine conversationalist, with a dry humor and pleasant deadpan deliveries. I find myself asking. And so on. At some point, Viktoriya asks me what my first years as a fledgeling were like. Seeing that most of it is public knowledge anyway, I share my experience with them, omitting anything that concerns the Likaean or Loth¡¯s more sensitive topics.Viktoriya immediately picks up on my grief when I mention Dalton. ¡± I grumble, having battled those tendencies. The Dvor lady and I exchange a glance. She allows me to touch a peculiar element of her aura and I recognize something there, a sort of... looseness. As if some chain had been broken. She almost turned feral too. We are marked, for better and for worse. I smile and nod at her, appreciative of her sharing the experience, then realize that Lazlo is still here. He politely inspects my cup of coffee, thus giving us a moment of privacy that I appreciate. I decide to share some of my hunts with Loth and Dalton to lift the mood.The tale of our attack on the Ascendency compound and the flaming pigs disaster that ensued leads them to share their own calamitous outings. Lazlo accidentally rammed the train into a poultry car. The staff could still find the odd feather three weeks after. Viktoriya had to distract a local master as part of an investigation. She ended up as the referee and announcer in a naked battle where contestants had to wrestle in a mud pool. I end up smiling at those tales of shame and depravity. We retire shortly before dawn. I realize that I had spent a pleasant moment, and offer both Lazlo and Viktoriya to contact me if they visit America. I know that we will end up on opposite sides of a war before this happens. It matters little. We have centuries. Hopefully. I make contact with Sheridan after. The man blushes when he sees me and I realize that he also made use of the offered company. Said company made him take a bath, for which I am grateful. ¡°Not staying pure until marriage, I take it.¡± ¡°I, hm, it would have been rude to refuse.¡± ¡°But of course.¡± We left Zagreb behind the night before. It takes little time before the train stops at a sleepy village on the border with Austria, our destination. We step down to a breathtaking mountainous vista of tall pines, snow-capped distant peaks and vampires. The streets are deserted. Houses here are large, with walls painted white and roofs of brown wood still close to the ground. They are squat and must get snowed in during winter, but staying close to the ground means that they will be easier to keep warm. I can spot light through windows, but no one is about. Dogs bark a street away. The vampires are two women, Dvor masters of middling talent. They wear rich dresses and costly jewelry, looking out of place in that remote area. No coats, and no luggage. I reply. one of them says, making it clear that this is not, in fact, a request. That was fast. The pair looks condescending. Smirks adorn their carmine lips. They look like two smug teachers who caught the class clown red-handed. I hate them already, but it would be rude to refuse and I cannot insult another one of Torran¡¯s guests. I answer, and turn to Sheridan who bravely shoulders his luggage. I realize that I will have to carry my own or leave it here. This will not look good. And then, a group of men emerges from the still waiting train. They grab my belongings and make to follow, faces grim. I catch Lazlo through a window. He winks. I smile in return. I turn again to find the two hags slightly put off. No doubt that this was intentional on their part. I find their level of pettiness truly staggering. I ask, feigning impatience. They grit their teeth and walk away. We move in silence. I am studiously ignored and use the opportunity to inspect my surroundings. We head towards the only tall building in this hamlet besides the church. The absence of people can only mean one thing. They know. Otherwise, no self-respecting gossip would ignore two women in lavish clothes escorting one in sensible travel gear through their land. The Dvor form the core of the Eneru faction, I remember, I just did not expect them to extend their reach so far out. The village cannot be home to a permanent vampire due to its small population. Their influence reaches even here. I know that our presence will be revealed to mankind sooner rather than later. I wonder if we could first become an open secret, a presence known to a significant portion of the population, and then make our presence official? It seems to work here. We enter our destination, which turns out to be an inn. No staff comes to greet us, though a fire burns in the hearth and lanterns and candles provide ample light. I direct the trio to deposit my belongings near the entrance and thank them for their assistance. They lift their hats and depart without hurry. Sheridan makes his way to the bar and helps himself to a beer, his scowl a clear indication of what he thinks of our games. I climb the stairs up to the second floor, one ¡®companion¡¯ before and one behind as if they were leading me to the gallows. They even display the proper, solemn countenance. The second floor is right below the rafters. Some doors led to rooms, no doubt. It left most of the space free for a large table next to which three more vampires now sit. Two of them turn out to be masters, bringing the total to four, a show of force for the lady enthroned in their midst. My guides step up quickly to take prepared seats. I am left with the remaining spot, the one with its back to the door. The one opposite the five others. One more petty insult. the lady starts. She is beautiful in a very distant sort of way. She was turned in her thirties, I think. Her heart-shape face is full, and her lips pink and plump. She has this unmistakable charm of the femme fatale, the consumate demoiselle of the court whose velvety eyes hide a thousand secrets. Her aura tastes of scheme and hidden sin. The lady brushes an errant strand of raven hair with a dainty finger. She opens her mouth to speak as I sit. I interrupt, Nina¡¯s eyes rest on the table, which was made with cutlery and plates. I grab a cup and fill it with lukewarm liquid from a nearby pot. The tea is horrible, but only I can drink it. I then slowly remove my cloak and hang it on my chair. my improvised host snaps. I ask without a smile. This was one of Sinead¡¯s lessons in dealing with sly remarks and innuendos. The most basic answer is to request explanations. Experienced pricks will find workarounds, especially if they are in a position of authority, but it will break their rhythm and ruin their game. I use that method now. She summoned nothing, but it would be rude to interrupt and correct her, and she would ask me to stay silent. It would lead to an immediate argument, and I would rather hear what she has to say. I sip on the tea with an eyebrow raised. I remark, and take another sip while I recline in my chair. .¡± does that harlot like the sound of her own voice. I asked in a bored voice. Silence and pointed looks. I wait. I sip more tea. Our auras are calm so far, a tribute to our collective control. I remark. My immediate answer ruffles their feathers. They did not expect a candid answer, maybe? I calmly reply. We do not move now. Our assembly might well be statues. Nina stood in her anger, though I suspect most of it is acting, and stares down at me. Bullshit. Torran hates politics. I interrupt once more. she continues in a low growl, Heh. Somehow, it¡­ Hold on. I close my eyes and push the irritating voice into the background. I end up in the core of my mental palace and rush outside. Rooms and mazes blur as I reach the border of my domain. There, at the wall of thorns, lilac-colored limbs of smoke snake their way through my defenses. Subtle. But not subtle enough. I change the nature of the border, imagine the thorns turning thirsty. From passive and hard, they turn fluid. Questing. The smoke breaks. Some of it retreats. I open my eyes to see the master on the left flinch, one with short blonde hair and a soft face. She withdraws her hand from the table. I growl. Lady Nina screams once more, but this time, I am done. We were done the moment they stepped over the line. Five auras jump on mine to suppress it, and it works. I feel my presence crushed and a weight settle on my shoulder. I still manage to stand up to my full height with effort. Another attack. Rage pulses softly in my chest. It burns brighter with each moment. the blonde woman spits. the blonde retorts, eyes narrowed. I calmly reply. That stops them. the blonde says again. I cannot taste her fear with my aura suppressed, but I know it is there and I smile, fangs out. That gets me a few hisses. Nina is next to speak. she remarks with just a hint of smugness. More stunned silence. Clearly, they did not expect that, and I wonder why? Have the Devourers lost their reputation?¡± I inform her, and my smile widens. The conversation took a strange turn for the worst but it appears that we ended up exactly where I wanted. I drain the glass of tea and place it back on the table. Sephare spoiled me. This tea is a tragedy. I sashay out before she gets the chance to remember that she can set the date of the duel. I barely have to come downstairs when something happens that makes me smile. The ground rumbles. I move out and stare in the street. Torran gallops into the city atop his massive Nightmare, Krowar, with his aura deployed and thunder on his brow. He looks regal in a tailored rider outfit in dark leather and a strange high hat. His long grey hair is held in a tight braid. I smile like an idiot when I see him and, since I am alone, I jump and wave in excitement. The tenderness in his gaze leaves me breathless, but soon his attention returns to the door as Lady Nina and her entourage make their way out. His grey eyes gain the intensity of a hawk, and his demeanor turns positively glacial. he begins in a low voice. I can feel the barely contained rage behind it. His aura fuses with its surroundings in a very peculiar way and I realize what it means. He is on his own land. He feels stronger here, more solid, and since he was already strong and solid, the result is simply awe-inspiring. I want to spar him a bit. Later. S~?a??h the N?v?lFire.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. Nina starts with a reasonable tone, so that Torran appears angry while she is calm and composed, he asks, ignoring the interruption. I have no reason to defend them. Torran¡¯s aura washes over us, smashing over any defenses like a midnight tide. The barking dogs in the neighboring houses whimper and become silent. The wind dies down. Even the fluttering candles diminish. The impact extends to every aspect of reality, including the ground beneath my feet. she retorts, a proud chin lifted in defiance. The stress on the prompt is unmistakable, as is the underlying threat. Torran has reached his limit. Nina huffs, and turns around with the dignity she can muster. But, I have not had my due yet. A challenge started must be finished. Torran asks as the women stop in their tracks. Aaaarrrrggg if he asks like that. He had better compensate me! I sulk a bit, but soon I forget all about it and jump on Torran when the hags are gone. I reveal my aura to him, to let him see how happy I am. I am probably as joyful as a vampire can be. His laugh is deep and full of mirth. I tell him. He appears surprised. He does not appear to be jesting. I hear a nearby gallop. The proud pony herself rounds a corner at full speed, then prances around. She bumps my chest with her head, causing me to laugh. We do so. Krowar, his Nightmare, moves with absolute surety. Torran¡¯s aura seems to smooth the passage wherever we go, through narrow mountain trails and deep pine forests. We ride for an hour until we stop by a crystalline spring in a lonely valley. I cross my arms, quite proud of myself. Ooooh I would blush if I still could. Torran only smiles. I mock reproach. Chapter 117: Weaponized Torran and I finally arrive in a sprawling valley nestled comfortably between three mountains. Tilled fields extend all around a town of good size, its cozy wooden roofs extending far in the distance. I spot a church, but also two warehouses and factory buildings, and a pen that might contain either horses or cows. The tamed land extends to the edge of the mountains and the forests that cover its flanks.Torran says with a smile, Torran points up to the nearest mountain. There, a white form with high towers and vertiginous spires covered in slates clings to the cliff. We travel on. He is impatient, it seems, and sometimes glances back with obvious excitement. He is almost¡­ giddy. I ask as we ride side by side. I have never seen him like this before. I notice with a hint of worry. I reply. I find it surprising that he would be almost more excited than I am. Oh, I expected that it might happen, but I am here for him, not for a blade! I ask him. Torran replies with a radiant smile, but soon it turns bitter. I grumble. I only accepted out of respect for him. I am left speechless. I had always kept the request to myself, although I was tempted to ask him. Dvor lord essence freely given is a high prize indeed. And he is right. I have better things to do than to engage a manipulative lady on her own turf. The compensation is adequate. We follow a well-traveled path through fields of high wheat. The road goes up, following the incline and soon enough it snakes its way around rocky outcrops and forest thickets. Torran¡¯s aura is vibrant and powerful here. It makes one with the land. We arrive at the entrance, and the sight forces yet another smile out of me. A marble bridge spans over a deep chasm, leading to an island of beauty surrounded by sheer cliffs on all sides. Torran¡¯s castle is old, but well-maintained with mossy outer walls and crenelations, but clean gravel and polished stone in the inner courtyard and the keep. The spires I spotted before extend upward, sharp and blue, like knives aimed at the sky. It is breath-takingly beautiful. Have I been transported into a fairy tale? I turn to Torran, who wears a smug expression of triumph, and remember to close my mouth. He laughs, a warm, mellow sound that rolls and sends shivers up my spine. We cross the bridge at a good pace. Torches in sconces line the walls of the courtyard we find ourselves in. Space here is cramped in a good way. The castle feels more personal and intimate than grandiose. An old mortal in coveralls bows and caresses Krowar¡¯s flank as Torran dismounts. Torran laughs again. I grumble a bit at the cavalier behavior. How pushy! And yet¡­ A soul weapon. The holy grail of vampire armament. For free. By a master. On the spot. Many would kill for such a privilege. We enter a sumptuous main hall with stairs leading up to a balcony. Doors on each side are now closed, except for one which we take. It leads down to a spiral staircase. We follow it. First, the walls and steps are made of brick, but then they appear dug into the very stone as we climb down. We pass a few doors without stopping. The air turns wet and cool the deeper we go. Eventually, we reach a landing and a vast natural cavern. I am, once again, shocked at the beauty I just discovered. The cavern¡¯s ceiling is covered in stalactites of various sizes, many of them dropping crystalline droplets into the abyssal lake that covers half of the ground. Its surface is spotless, but for the ripples from the falling water, each impact resonating in the chamber. On the dry side, there are only two things: an incredibly complex and deep circle made of gold, and what appears to be half torture chair and half comfortable divan. I recognize the heavy enchanted manacles from personal experience. ¡°Errr...¡± I say, with some worry. Torran stops then. His manic grin falls down, but it soon turns into a soft smile. He takes me into his arms and I take a deep breath. His scent is familiar and comforting, and so is the strength holding me. The vow settles around us. It does not matter that there are manacles here. Torran said that he is doing this for my own good, and he will. Besides, I am curious as well now that my worry has abated. He turns around to inspect the circle and I find the garment he was referring to on the chair. It is a very thin tunic that reaches my knees, little more than a summer night cloth. I quickly wear it, and inform Torran that I am ready. My lover turns around and his focused expression turns¡­ thoughtful. He walks to me with hesitation in his steps. A light fingers trails along my flank. I enjoy watching him squirm a bit. We spend the next hour ¡®relaxing¡¯. He holds his promise and shows great determination to see me as free of stress as possible. I manage to force out as I lie on the divan. Torran chuckles warmly. I tell him, not caring. Our lovemaking left me in a state of contented restfulness. I do not react as he fastens the restraints over my ankles, wrists, and still waist. We are both still naked, therefore the process is more comically lewd than intimidating. I remember something to that effect. I groan and he laughs once more. I watch as Torran steps into the circle and activates it. A hum starts and grows as power flows into the construct, Golden glyphs appear and disappear in the air with great speed. It lasts for a moment, and then I feel something latching onto my essence. It is, as he mentioned, a deeply unsettling feeling. The sensation would be even worse for its intimacy, if I did not know Torran better. I am more exposed than I have ever been. My soul is undressed. Torran raises a hand and steps closer. He crosses the circle without breaking the connection. He places his hand on my chest, between my breasts. Our essences link, and mine turns liquid. I clench my jaw and stop myself from fighting it. The treatment is not exactly painful. I would call it more¡­ itchy, in the way that a tornado can be called an air current. Deeply unsettling. What I am at the core is now movable, and yet it is still the same, still¡­ whole. And still untouched. The sensation of wrongness threatens to overwhelm me, and only my love for Torran and my trust in him prevent me from letting the restraints do what self-control could not. I want him to know that I believe in him. And then he pulls. I cannot help it, I scream. I buckle and jump. He¡­ he is tearing my essence out of my body! My mind snaps under the alien experience. A part of me that I had never felt of as having a form is now stretched. A new sense awakes, if briefly, only to torment me. I lose my focus. TRAPPED. TRAPPED. TRAPPED. CONFUSION. CONFUSION. Two grey eyes. A hand. Black matter floating in the air. Should not be floating. Should not be visible. S~?a??h the N0v?lFir?.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. The weakened lord. A circle of life and death. My fate on the line. A contest of skill. I do so now, and find it easy. My aggressive, unpredictable style. Fighting at the edge. The equilibrium of primal rage and precise control. My truth. The black stuff in Torran¡¯s hand changes shape. It becomes longer, narrower. Spines appear along its flank. What follows are harrowing moments. I want to tell Torran to stop everything, that I have had enough, yet I endure. I will not let the strangeness of the situation interrupt us. I also believe that Torran can finish with or without my help, and that he will not stop the forging for anything. My vision blurs, so that I can notice no details. I just see a blade-like form, and Torran¡¯s focused grey eyes. Until it stops and something of me is held in his hands. I can feel it like the extension of my own soul. It pulses in rhythm with the rest of me. That was not so bad, I find myself thinking as he walks back to the circle. Very uncomfortable, but compared to the torture, it¡ª PAIN. PAIN. PAINPAINPAINPAIN PAIN. ¡°AAAAAAAAAAAAAARG!¡± Agony without match. The most devastating, traumatic pain I have ever suffered in my entire life. A scourge like no other. The bane of my existence. The memory of it will be seared into my mind for all of eternity. A divine pain, one that transcends the physical to reach realms of consciousness that I did not know I had until they started flaying my soul. ¡°AAAAAhahahaaaaaa¡­¡± The scream trails off and fizzles because I lack the strength to keep going. A tidal wave washes my mind away. I float in the recess of myself, above an ocean of red. I have to keep myself still or the pain will devour me. I am also present on the other side of the red wave. It is me, everything is me, but something bleeds out of that part. All that makes me a person, such as memories and thoughts, leaves it and rejoins the whole. What is left is the¡­ the canvas. The stuff on which I exist. And the part that kills given form. I must have lost consciousness then. I do not know how long I stay like this. I only come to when someone grabs me in a princess carry. I open an eye through disgusting gunk, and attempt to croak something, in vain. I cannot move at all. I lack the strength. Disorientation tangles my senses. For the first time since I last lost my heart, I feel utterly defenseless. There is a change then. It takes me some time to recognize the touch of cool water on my skin. The cocooning sensation soothes the phantom pain wracking my body, while a light touch cleans away¡­ I open my eyes again. This time, I can see blurry shapes, including the form of Torran above me. We are in the pool, and he is slowly cleaning me. My blood is everywhere. I try to speak and can barely manage a low grunt. Liquid fire ignites my tongue. Tonight, I discover my limits. Torran fed me Likaean blood and I simply cannot enjoy the experience. All my senses are saturated beyond reason. I force it down anyway. I push the memories away. The impossible energy coming from their immortal blood surges into the wound in my being, giving my essence some of the energy it needs to rebuild itself. The process remains unpleasant. Calm down, Ariane. You are fine now. Almost. I breathe slowly and finally manage to relax as Torran cleans my face with a wet cloth and a delicate touch. I nod, then start with the simplest question. I meant something else. He discarded such a precious treasure for me. Ah, finally. Torran helps me up and I stand on shaking feet, now clean. I see a black blade before me. I do so instinctively. The weapon disappears from the ground and reappears in my hand. It is¡­ a sword. Of sorts. The handle, pommel, and guard fit my idea of classical elegance in thin, sober lines of twisted material. Beyond that, however, lies a strange segmented blade that looks savage and, well, a little bit impractical? One side is sharp and smooth while the other has what appears to be notches at the back of each part. Something clicks in my mind and the segments fall limply to the ground, held together by some sort of wire. the old lord deadpans, Gah! I mumble. I snap the blade forward and upward. It whips the air, then another click in my mind, and the segments pull back to reform a sword. That was¡­ easy? I grudgingly admit. I grumble a bit more. He is, of course, right. Torran says in a low voice. He lifts me from the water and carries me out, towards the stairs. The blade disappears, yet it remains close. I have but to call it. My protests die on my lips as even the energy from the blood of the fae fails to keep me awake. I wake up in a luxurious bed of smooth fabric, beneath a crimson canopy. The windows are open to the valley beyond, its tilled fields, and the yellow pinpricks of human fires. I have slept past sundown. I remove the cover from my body and inspect my surroundings. This is Torran¡¯s bedroom. It smells like him. A small desk lies to the side covered in documents. A massive chestnut wardrobe stands half-open, with male clothes hanging inside in tight rows. The walls are cr¨¨me and covered in paintings of mountainous landscapes, except for a single painting that I recognize only too well: an undressed Torran by the Boston Harbor. He really does look nice naked. Hmmm. I should look for him and make sure that he is healthy! I stand up and find a dress left on a chair back, as well as small cloth. As expected, they are my size, and I put them on before inspecting myself. The dress is made of cotton, white, with a black bodice. It fits snuggly. How intriguing! I have never once worn something like that. I twirl a bit and let the hem flow. Amusing. Sadly, it shows my legs. Bah. Why should I care? I leave the room to find myself in a dark corridor lit by candles. It angles left and right towards different parts of the castle, with closed wooden doors set at regular intervals. I flash my aura and smile when Torran¡¯s own answers me from the left. My steps lead me around the left corner and through a larger door, which houses a large library cluttered with tall shelves. Torran stands in the middle with a smile and a book. Tonight, he wears an old-fashioned jacket that would look at home in a last century novel, and I admit that he looks good in it. Between this and the dress, we are almost dressed for a themed party! I tell him by way of greeting, and turn around to let him see how fetching I am. he says. I ask with a mischievous smile, Aw, he is a bit embarrassed. I turn around and bend to pick up a book from the ground, letting him feast his eyes to his heart¡¯s content. I sway a bit. Powerful hands grab my waist. I move my hips in mock struggle. It turns out that Torran did, in fact, think of having his way. We spend a very pleasant hour together, then I clean up back in his bedroom and we quickly visit the castle, starting with the third and highest floor. Torran¡¯s domain turns out to be a curious mix of the ancient and the modern, all brought together in a strange and cozy harmony. The roof and its many spires protect a maze of small rooms, some only as large as a cabinet. In those, Torran stored centuries of tokens and mementos. Colorful banners line the walls side by side with romantic paintings and curious astronomy contraptions. The music room conceals his organ (the music instrument) as well as a selection of sheets ranging from Gregorian songs to the latest creations from Paris, Moscow, Florence... Everywhere is art in mismatched amalgams from different eras and styles, but they all show the same love for nature and tranquility. They are all his, and not a speck of dust comes to mar them. My lover has to drag me away from every room with a laugh, especially after I demanded a music demonstration that he said he would properly demonstrate at a later time. We go down through a stair concealed behind a golden tapestry. We barely meet anyone. Torran only has a small staff on hand. Even counting his , there are only a dozen people present, including a cook and a handful of guards. Blood is always obtained outside during one of his trips, and I am immediately invited to the next one. The second floor contains his rooms, the library, and guest rooms including one from which his emerges wearing a night shift and nothing else. Torran asks with a knowing smile. The woman is still as bald as the day I met her, and the henna designs decorating her golden skin are slightly¡­ messy. she answers in a syrupy alto. Everyone is having a grand time, I see. Forget castle Errenstadt. This place should be called castle Gottleid. Torran drags me away before my mind can torture itself with another dreadful pun. The main floor consists of the entrance and a ballroom, which also serves as a banquet room during special occasions. Staff quarters are on this level, as well as the kitchen and other functional rooms. We leave through the grand entrance and onto the courtyard, where Metis is currently trying to nibble on a placid Krowar¡¯s ear. I reprimand her. Hector stands by the side, looking amused. Torran greets him warmly in German while I inspect my surroundings. Worry had prevented me from appreciating it yesterday. Cobblestones cover the ground while the walls of polished white stone, strangely clean, float in my mind images of fairy tales. Only with Prince Charming being the monster and unicorns replaced by flesh-eating warhorses. My kind of fairy tale! I climb on Metis and follow Torran out. He leads me down the trail, the only path out, really, and then onto a nearby plateau where a field has been prepared. A line of wood mannequins stands there, planted into the ground. Torran announces as he climbs down. I imitate him and call upon¡­ I say, and bite my lip in embarrassment. Torran comforts me with a smile, I slice the first mannequin with a bland overhead attack. Rose goes from shoulder through the waist with the ease of scissors going through fabric. I did not even need strength. I remark. Rose¡¯s segmented blade has two sides. One is smooth and sharp, the other shows small spines at the back of each section. I slice with what would be the back of the sword, the movement a bit unnatural. Contrary to the other side, this one shreds through the wood as if it had been mauled. I lunge and push at the same time. Rose¡¯s segments separate and pierce through the mannequin¡¯s chest like a spear. I realize that my reach has not diminished at all! In fact, the flexibility should really help me incorporate techniques from a variety of people. I pull the blade back. On a hunch, I twist my wrist. The blade takes a snaking motion and tears the mannequin asunder. ¡°Erm.¡± I ask teasingly. Torran asks me instead. I consider the question seriously. I feel¡­ tired. Even though I woke up after night fell, I have little wish to move. I extend the blade mid-swipe once more. Unfortunately, the edge gets stuck into the wood this time, and I must forcefully pull it. I immediately realize my mistake and make sure to keep the blade in a state of momentum, snapping and retracting it before it can become immobile. Immobility will kill me. I massacre one target after another, then try a few moves like striking as I retreat. My Rose answers me beautifully, but I am soon faced with a serious issue. I can dance around all I like. Only sparring will shed light on whether a move is merely esthetically pleasant, or if it can be employed in the thick of battle. Unfortunately, I soon feel weary. My limbs grow heavy and awkward. Torran notices in moments. Torran grabs me by my shoulders, and lifts my face to his with a touch under my chin. Chapter 118: Break The next few nights pass in pleasurable relaxation. First, I add the Dvor essence to my collection. I am not quite sure what it does, but I do feel a presence far away to the west. Perhaps the effects will be more obvious when I get back to Illinois.Second, Torran gives me full access to his communication mirror, and a short call to Merritt reassures me. My allies have not yet faced anything that they could not handle. With my obligations safely taken over by someone else, I can let go of my worries. I attend my first private concert, with Torran choosing the next pieces according to my requests. He is as talented as expected. Moreover, he still holds to that spark that animates me when I draw, the small core of emotion that we have lost on other pursuits. The difference is flagrant. Where other vampires remain mechanical and contrived, he allows himself to play. To breathe. He interprets while others perform. I love him all the more for it. One of the rooms is made available for me to draw, and I do so while he works by my side. On the third night, we descend into town. Errenstadt extends around us, its streets calm and clean. Only the inn and its surroundings still resonate with raucous laughter. I follow my lover to the largest building, the only one made entirely of yellow stone, where I am invited to attend Torran¡¯s weekly meeting with his domain¡¯s notables. I greet the burgermeister and priest in ¡®Hochdeutsch¡¯, much to my host¡¯s amusement. I was assured that this version of German could be understood across all states. The cause of his hilarity becomes manifest as we are joined by landowners and factory heads. The town speaks a dialect I have trouble following at all. Thankfully, the meeting concludes quickly and we are soon on our way. I remark that when Torran focuses, his expression grows cold. Silvery hair, grey eyes and his slightly rugged face add up to form a severe expression. His curt questions send the other attendants to check their notes with hasty zeal. Only I have the privilege to see him smile, it seems. It pleases me. I reserve my questions for after we are on our way back. Oooh. Nasty. I stop to consider the implications. I finally ask as we leave the village behind. S?a?ch* Th? N?v?lFir?(.)n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. Wah. On the fourth day, Torran comes to see me as I finish a swim in his underground grotto. As it should be. he finishes with a ghastly smile. I swim to the shore and rest my arms on the smooth stone. He almost looks¡­ giddy. He turns around and races back up the stairs. I take the time to dry and braid my hair, then return to my own quarters. Time to impress. I wear under cloth and Loth¡¯s armor in its shiny dark perfection. The holes made by Otto have repaired themselves, but there are still spots where scales shine a darker hue. My war mask is also dented. Their heavy use only makes them more threatening. They say that some have tried to slay me and failed. I add knives to their sheaths, fasten my spear to my back, and clasp the black gauntlet on my eager hand. I bounce excitedly out and almost walk into Torran who was doing the same. We inspect each other. He wears a black plate armor with a -damn dragon on it, as well as a heavy cape. A polished sword hangs to his side in a silver-engraved scabbard so polished it reflects the lantern light. Even his presence feels heavier, somehow. He takes a step forward and the impact of his metal-clad foot echoes through the air. He actually is heavier! I exclaim in wonder. he jokingly asks. Nu Sarrehin! Let there be light. I realize too late that I spoke in the Likaean language. Thankfully, Torran is too absorbed by the effect of the spell to comment, for my eyes now shine with a cold blue light. The glacial radiance spreads from the mask¡¯s hole like the gaze of a wraith. Torran whispers, ¡° Nu Sharrehin!¡± The magic likes that. A lot. The dancing lights of lies and trickery turns his grey orbs greyer until he, too, appears ready to harvest souls. He stops and tilts his head. I practically jump behind him as we enter the courtyard and scare the life out of the poor groom. Metis and Krowar prance through the portcullis and over the bridge, then into the forest at breakneck speed. The trees close in behind us. Their embrace settles like a cape on my shoulders. We follow a snaking path that I could have sworn was not there the day before, and Torran does his thing again. He feels heavier, more impactful. His aura twists the land. The ruckus of hooves stomping on wet soil joins the other sounds of the forest in a rhythmic and primal melody. Time ceases to matter. I am fairly confident we are still on earth when Torran finally slows down. In front of us, our path joins a well-travelled road leading to a sad village. Three farms surround an inn from whence emerges poorly played music, the lights of their windows pale and wan. Two soldiers in dark blue tunics stand guard next to a vine-covered fence. They look bored out of their mind. Torran whispers. I cackle. Smoke-like plumes expand forward, drawing the small clearing in mist and shadows. The two sentinels frown, feeling that something is not quite right. ¡°Nu Sharran,¡± Let there be darkness. Those are quite a few spells in quick succession and I can already feel the drain on my depleted essence, but the night is ours and the magic is willing. Eager. It wants us to play. Darkness creeps on our unsuspecting victims. Light loses ground quickly before our onslaught. I tell Torran. My lover smirks and walks forward, so that every step Krowar takes resonates like drums on the fabric of the world. The two guards huddle close to each other. ¡°Wer ¡ª wer kommt? Hallo?¡± And death incarnate emerges from the abyss. I can see exactly the moment when they spot the immortal horror bearing down on them. I can see their frowns melt into expressions of sheer, delicious horror. I can taste the tears raining down their pallid cheeks. ¡°Nein¡­ bitte.¡± Torran rides to them. He leans to the side and he is enormous. His shape has grown so much that the soldiers appear as children in comparison, pitiful toys of cloth and bones. His hand, clad in a gauntlet of black iron, fastens around one of the men¡¯s neck and pulls him up as if he weighed nothing. ¡°Wo ist Anton Friedman?¡± One of the poor souls points a shaky hand at the inn. Torran lets him drop and dismounts as his informant crawls away like a worm. By that time, all signs of merriment have disappeared from the nearby building. I hear a voice whisper: ¡°Was ist los?¡± What is happening? Oh, do not worry, you shall soon find out. Torran crashes in, sending the remnants of the door tumbling down, hinges still attached. I follow him in and we find ourselves in a common room. Groups of soldiers huddle around tables, cluttered with cards and beer steins. ¡°ANTON FRIEDMAN!¡± Torran bellows. ¡°AAAAAAAAAAAAAH,¡± the assembled mortals reply. Torran seems to hesitate then, and I point at a heavy-set man trying his best to hide behind a panicking waitress. Other soldiers also looked at him when my lover spoke his name. ¡°Ich habe ihn gefunden, Teufel,¡± I whisper. ¡®I have found him, devil.¡¯ A hint of magic carries my words through the crowd. The culprit mewls piteously. Torran stomps his way through the room and grabs the man by his foot as he tries to escape. ¡°Jetzt kommst du mit uns, S¨¹nder.¡± Now you come with us, sinner. Torran certainly has a proper sense of decorum. I like it. My lover stomps away, dragging our prey behind him. His captive shrieks and scratches the stained ground on his way out. I hiss one last time to terrify our spectators, then we ride away, Herr Friedman hanging upside down from Torran¡¯s grip like a plucked chicken. Panicked screams and howled prayers offer a pleasing background to our exit. Torran mentions as we trot back to the forest. As soon as we are far enough, I thank Torran for the meal and we drain the prey. We head back in comfortable silence until I remember something. I cannot help it, I guffaw, and Torran soon joins me. Our intimidating display, almost undone by a lack of facial hair. For shame. Torran remarks. And I tread through the deep woods of the world, listening to my lover recite his favorite play. Ten days after making my soul weapon, I have finally recovered enough to start practicing in earnest. We head to the training field where Torran predictably gives me a sound beating. ¡°Oof!¡± He is right, of course. I stand where I am trying to perform fanciful moves while my style is mobile and aggressive. What frustrates me is that I can feel the deep variety of unexpected twists and vicious counters lying in my Rose, waiting to be unleashed. I am simply unequal to the task of using them yet. We continue our spar, and I am finally able to include a few small improvements. One of them is the way the blade can curve as it extends, thus reaching flesh that was previously out of its range. The added amplitude forces Torran to adapt and parry earlier, adding to the pressure I can place on him. Soon, other techniques join the first one. By varying the range, I can launch attacks at unexpected moments, closing in then escaping without stopping the flurry of blows. My movements grow more graceful as time goes on. The highlight of the session comes when an overhead strike pushes Torran back and covers him in dust. I tease. Torran merely gives me the most condescending of smiles. I claim with pretend arrogance. I brandish the Rose before me. And he is gone. And right in front of me. His blade smashes into my guard, pushing me back, and the battle resumes. This time, Torran is fighting seriously. His style is still direct and indomitable, a walking disaster advancing slowly but relentlessly. He is considerably stronger than before, stronger than he was in America. This is a Dvor lord on his domain. I am helplessly pushed back. I allow as I dive under a devastating sweep. Torran drops his sword, and another one appears in his outstretched hand, as black as the night. Its blade is large, too large to be practical. It looks terribly heavy. Torran¡¯s next swing sends me crashing against a nearby tree. It is heavy indeed. I croak, ¡° Eh? WHAT? Torran¡¯s eyes flash purple as reality twists and moans around him. He starts growing, and growing, and growing. Obsidian rocks bleed from the ground to encircle his body and form a midnight armor of jagged spikes. The last few form a crown on his brow, close around his face so that only two grey orbs remain. He takes a step forth and the world trembles. I jump to my feet and sprint off in the other direction. The tree branches smack me, my feet slip on the ground. Rocks move to smack me aside as I pass them by, and from behind me comes the booming sound of a titan treading the world. Torran does not answer. Whelp. Time to run. Torran ended up squashing me like a bug against the side of a cliff, following which I sulked for two days. Our next spars are more intense as a result. I progressively include new ranges of motions in my style and, I have to admit, Rose¡¯s unexpected moves make for some amusing and devastating maneuvers. I only had it for a few weeks, and I do not think that I can get back to using only a spear or a sword. Obviously I could. It would not be the same. A soul weapon really makes a world of difference. All together, I manage almost three weeks of uninterrupted holidays. Torran is, of course, a delicious host, and we spend our nights sparring, doing art, and making love. I even get to visit Vienna to attend a rendition of by Mozart. The difference with L¡¯Elisir d¡¯Amore is significant, and yet I end up enjoying myself almost as much. The air of the Queen of Night, in particular, provokes a strong emotion in me. I had no idea that the human voice could be pushed to such extremes, and that the result could be so breathtaking. Jealousy does not even rear its ugly head despite my own shortcomings in this specific field. The end of my respite comes from an unexpected source. As we come back from a hunt, I am informed by a maid that a message had come during my absence. Reading the hand-written note brings back memories, as I recognize this style well. It appears that I am going to Sweden. Chapter 119: V?lkommen till Sverige! Torran is understandably upset by my decision. At the same time, he understands honor and loyalty, therefore he never officially voices his regrets. My lover helps me plan my trip to Sweden and we spend the last three days being thoroughly unproductive. Our farewells are short and tinged with regrets at the station.¡°Until next time, my star. We will meet again. We will always meet again.¡± ¡°We will. And it is now your turn to come and visit!¡± Torran makes a face at that and I bump him on the shoulder. If I have to compare the current state of Marquette and Errendstadt, well, I can hardly blame him for his obvious lack of enthusiasm. One last kiss, and we board. Sheridan looks dejected. I believe that he has enjoyed the local hospitality to its utmost, since his bed was almost never slept in. We spend some time together in the train restaurant, talking about our respective experiences. ¡°She even taught me some Magyar!¡± he claims. Yes, I am sure that he is familiar with her tongue by now. I allow Sheridan to enthusiastically massacre the language, not even reacting at one of the waiters¡¯ painful wince. Poor . He is showing interest in other languages, he who had not even made efforts to understand Spanish. I must show my support. My soon goes to bed and I take out the first book on my list. I used to read a lot, back when I was a human. Under Loth¡¯s tutelage, my studies had focused on technical manuals and essays. Besides Jimena¡¯s raunchy novels, I had neglected this delicious pastime. I intend to remedy the situation, especially since the trip back by boat will take quite some time. I immediately dig into Dumas. His Count of Monte Cristo is a riveting story of long-planned revenge and I find myself sympathizing with the main character, who has the grudge of a vampire and still the squishy, weak heart of a mortal. Adorable. There are other books as well, such as the Three Musketeers from the same author. I also obtained some bizarre work by an author called Mary Shelley, which I reserve for later. Isaac mentioned that it was intriguing, and I am eager to see what all the fuss is about. Hugo, Dickens, and Bronte have joined the ranks of my to-read list. I completed my collection with the Iliad and a few fairy tales, as well as a few more¡­ audacious titles. I should be set for a week or two of idleness, and will complete my collection before boarding the ship back to America. The next two days are rather boring. Except for nightly stops that do not give me enough time to visit anything, there are few distractions. The conductor of this train is a polite but distant Roland obsessed with propriety and timeliness. We are joined by a Hastings for a few hours, but he does not leave his own room. I can finally breathe when we reach Danzig. Under the watchful gaze of an Erenwald master, Sheridan and I walk the streets of the city. The architecture here is ancient and beautiful, with ornamented facades and strange additions of towers that give each building a personality. We walk the ¡°Long Street¡± to our enjoyment. Our host also humors us by explaining what we see. They even have a torture house! I should get something similar in Marquette. Our visit is short, yet pleasant. I do not know if I am accompanied out of politeness or caution. The master herself displays no signs of hostility, only polite distance. The intricacies of European power politics escape me. I have neither the time nor the inclination to explore them, not if Torran is not around to justify it. Oh, I already miss him. I wish I could open a magical portal between his land and mine. Perhaps, one day, I will. A few hours of exploration later, we board a Rosenthal ship to Sweden. A steam ship! I have not boarded one of those since I last descended to New-Orleans a few years ago. This one is considerably larger. The large dame leaves great puffs of smoke in her wake like a cigar aficionado. Sheridan¡¯s mood dampens as the temperature drops and he experiences dried, salted fish. ¡°You don¡¯t know how good you have it, not having to eat.¡± A pointed glare and a remark later, and my insensitive mumbles in apology. He is right, of course. I just want him to remember to be careful with his words. We are in neutral territory, at best. Who knows how easily the Dvergur could take offense? I would not want to damage Loth¡¯s prospects as a new king due to a simple faux-pas. A day later, we arrive in view of the Stockholm archipelago. I expected much from Loth¡¯s home country, and the first approach does not disappoint. Stockholm is not a single landmass, but a series of islands dotting the space between a lake and the Baltic Sea. The few buildings I see from the top of my steam ship are pale and austere, reflecting a classic approach to architecture. The rest, however¡­ The closer we are and the more I spot signs of poverty in the surrounding homes. I smell death and filth in the air, as well as the general air of despair I had perceived from Alexandria. The city is in decline. I dismiss it. Decline is a temporary human concern. Loth¡¯s people will have different circumstances. I must not judge too hastily. I left the Rosenthal to arrange the details of the transport, and so I am mildly surprised when we do not stop at the largest pier. Instead, the ship heads inland for another hour, passing through complex systems of sluice gates, before stopping on the shore of Lake M?laren. The pier there is old and made of stone, well-lit, with a small warehouse at the back. A dense forest of pine trees masks the rest of the view. The land is deep green and cold despite the approaching summer. Compared to the Mediterranean, the weather is positively frigid. I am wearing an armored dress of midnight blue with a nice little cloak for the occasion. I need to impress if he brought people with him. A trio of figures await us. I recognize Loth, of course, tall and majestic in a fashionable dark suit. A tall woman stands by his side, just as nervous as he is. She is dark blonde with brown eyes and a powerful build, made obvious by an elegant emerald dress. Gold shines at her ears and neck. I find her beautiful, if a bit cold. The last man is vigilant, and he is the only one not to stare forward to try and pierce the cover of darkness. His eyes drift with the passive attention of the vigilant sentinel. I recognize him from the scar covering the right part of his handsome, clean-shaven face. He was the man I fought at the top of the inn where Loth was ambushed by his now ex-wife Leikny. I had to drop a barrel of rainwater on my head because he had set me on fire. A cat had peed in it. I forgot his name. I focus on the Rosenthal essence, and I remember the name Skjoll. Handy. Anyway, it matters not. It¡¯s Loth! Aw, it is so good to see him again. I could fly! In fact, I believe I shall do just this. I turn to Sheridan. ¡°I shall see you on the shore.¡± And then, I jump. Power easily carries me over the water and to the edge of the pier, where I land silently. ¡°Loooooth!¡± I say with delight, as I grab the knife the bodyguard had reflexively sent mid-flight and jump again, this time into my friend¡¯s waiting arms. ¡°Loth! Teehee! It is really you!¡± Loth¡¯s roar of delight shakes his massive chest. It rumbles under my grip, warm and solid. He returns my hug. I look up to see that he has mirrored my ecstatic smile. ¡°Ye have no idea how long I¡¯ve been waiting for this. You, here. And so strong! How you have grown.¡± I drop from his chest and take a few steps back. I toss the knife back to a mildly annoyed guard and curtsy. Loth taught me rudimentary Dvergur ages ago, so that I could work his runes. My command of the language is terrible, but I managed to dig through my notes and remember enough to at least offer polite greetings. ¡°Lady, and gentlemen, it is my pleasure to meet you. I am Ariane of the Nirari, master,¡± I greet in their own tongue. Loth claps excitedly and his female companion offers me a wan smile. Some of the tension leaves her shoulders. Loth knew that I was a master, of course. I suppose that my aura must have surprised him. ¡°Ah, Ariane. Allow me to introduce you to Kari, my fianc¨¦e.¡± ¡°Ooh! Congratulations to both of you. I am delighted to hear that! When is the celebration? Is it soon?¡± A Dvergur marriage! ¡°Well, about that. That¡¯s why I asked ye to come, yes? By Tyr, what a mess. Anyway, you remember Skjoll?¡± he continues, pointing at the slightly miffed bodyguard. ¡°Oh, yes, I remember you. You set fire to my dress and I thrashed you, did I not? Such a pleasure to see you again all alive and kicking.¡± Hehe. ¡°Yes. You were a worthy opponent,¡± the taciturn man replies with obvious respect, to my surprise. ¡°It was kind of you to come to us so quickly,¡± Kari continues in a smooth alto. She is still a little wary of me. I cannot know for sure if it is due to my nature, or my past. Only a dimwit would believe that a healthy man would shack up with a beautiful vampire for ten years without some shagging taking place. ¡°Anything for my friend,¡± I answer while trying to look harmless. ¡°So, can you tell me what this is all about? You seem¡­ anxious.¡± ¡°I suppose we can do it now. We have to wait for the ship to unload anyway,¡± Loth answers. He gestures, and the four of us pull to the side, at the edge of the warehouse. ¡°Remember the night I confronted Leikny?¡± Loth ask in a conspiratorial voice. ¡°Hmm, yes? Mostly?¡± ¡°Remember what I told Leinky at the end?¡± ¡°Consider yourself divorced!¡± I declaim in a low voice, my face a mask of affronted pride. Kari smiles at my antics, and so does Loth, though he also looks embarrassed. ¡°That too aye. The main thing was, she asked me why I favored you over her. I answered her and she, ah, relayed my word to the court.¡± ¡°I do not see the problem?¡± I retort, now slightly annoyed that they tiptoe around the problem. ¡°Weeeell. According to Dvergur tradition, I claimed you as my wife. Kind of.¡± I wait for him to laugh and tell me that it was a joke. I wait a bit more. Kari raises a brow. Whelp. ¡°I am sorry, could you confirm that? We¡¯re¡­ married?¡± ¡°Not married, but fiances. Or at least, we are considered such under Dvergur law until you can state that this is not the case.¡± ¡°By the , Loth, does that make me a Dvergur princess? Royal concubine? Do I get a crown? A circlet, at least?¡± I start teasingly, but Loth only turns red as a boiled lobster. I raise my hands to indicate that I am dropping the joke. ¡°My apologies, I had not realized that the matter was so serious. Do you need my testimony that we are not, in fact, bound by the promise of matrimony?¡± ¡°Indeed.¡± ¡°Then you shall have it. My lover would be rather cross if I eloped without his knowledge. I am afraid that he might challenge you to duel!¡± ¡°Hah! Been a long time since I got into a good scrap meself.¡± ¡°Perhaps not against him though. Oh, I so wish he could have come so that you two could meet, but he had other engagements.¡± Loth crosses his muscular arms over his imposing chest. ¡°Looking down upon me already?¡± ¡°With all due respect, my friend, I have seen both of you fight. I would bet on the angry Dvor lord. Forgive me.¡± ¡°It¡¯s favoritism, is what it is.¡± I place a hand on his arm as a gesture of conciliation. ¡°Oh, I so wish I could have introduced him. You two would have been the best of friends, I am sure.¡± Kari clears her throat to attract our attention. ¡°Perhaps we should pursue this discussion in the carriage? It would be safer.¡± Safer? I frown, but do not comment. If safety is a concern then explanations can wait. A few workers emerge from the warehouse to help the ship dock while we walk away. I hear a sound of impact, and see that Sheridan also jumped from the ship. He joins us as we walk away. ¡°Marshall Sheridan, retired ranger and my ,¡± I introduce. Loth shakes his hand with enthusiasm. ¡°A lawman, eh? Nice to meet ye, lad. We¡¯ll catch a drink inside later, I have so much to tell ye about yer dear mistress.¡± ¡°Hey! No collusion!¡± But wait, in the face of slander, one has to go on the offensive. Balance of terror! ¡°Kari¡­¡± I sweetly start, as I turn to the now very attentive bride-to-be. ¡°There is no need for that,¡± Loth interrupts hurriedly. We pass by the warehouse and come into view of a dense forest of deep green pines, as well as ¡®the carriage¡¯. Truly, the term does not do justice to that crossbreed of a royal coach and a bank vault. To the mundane eye, it looks large and expensive, the private means of transportation of a prince with far more money than sense. I, however, can discern the multiple latticed layers of hardened material, as well as an excessive amount of protective enchantments. I could not force that monster open in one night. That thing could bounce back a cannonball without moving an inch! It should shine in the dark. ¡°Are we expecting an attack?¡± I ask in jest. The grim expression of my hosts gives me all the answers I need. ¡°That bad?¡± I ask with surprise, and my good mood falls. I turn my attention to my surroundings and open my senses. Just in time to hear the distinct ¡®click¡¯ of a cocked gun. ¡°Down!¡± I scream. I push Sheridan and Loth to the ground, while Skjoll jumps on Kari. The sound of a discharged firearm echoes through the empty night, and I hear the sound of a bullet scoring a hit. Loth. Sheridan. No armors. I panic. I sniff the air and taste no blood. They are under attack, my friends and my precious ! And they were caught OFF GUARD. NOT READY. CRUSH THE THREAT. KILL. KILL! ¡°ROAAAAAAAAAAR.¡± "Vad fan var det?!¡± comes a voice from the side, hidden behind a dense thicket of ferns. Stupid PREY. Wind in my hair. I appear by their side. Two humans in hunter garb, with powerful rifles. They stand. More gunshots from the front. Need me, need me. No time. I worked so far to use the Rose smartly that I forgot its brute force potential. The mighty weapon appears in my hand. I swing from back to front, blade fully extended. I put all my strength and fury and instinctual response in the blow. ¡®HSSSS!¡± The mighty strike devastates everything in its path. The forest is cleared in a cone before me while splinters and gore are sent tumbling to the ground in a shower of debris. I taste essence. I stare in awe at the Rose for an instant. There, on the blade, blood disappears. The amount of strength I receive is negligible, barely a tenth of what devouring would grant me, but it is still significant. The Rose drinks blood. Literally. It appears that I gained an extra fang, and now is the time to put it to good use. I steal a glance at my allies. They are crouching behind the unbreakable barrier of the carriage, except for Skjoll who snuck low and approaches the enemy firing line from the side. They are humans in the same dark clothes as the ones I dismembered, as far as I can tell. They look local. I examine this as I rush forward and past Skjoll, then to the side of the line. Screams in their strange language echo across the herd, ¡°? helvete¡±, ¡°? j?vlar¡±. I can guess the general meaning. The scent of blood and powder wakes me up in a way only the sweet liquid can. Yes, I am back in the world of intrigue and slaughter. In a way, I have missed it. I sprint forth, killing everything in my path, then stop as the assaillants drop their weapons and run. NO MORE DANGER. Does Loth want prisoners? ¡°You cocksuckers!¡± the man himself bellows. I turn to see my friend wearing a battle mask and a strange cylinder. It thumps loudly, and a small explosion rocks the underbush. Two men fall to the ground holding bleeding wounds. No prisoners then. I run after the few survivors and devour the first one. Then, as I grab the next, I feel something in the distance. I am now inside of the forest. Pine needles cover the ground and there are no more ferns. The visibility is improved and I can see a small rocky elevation in the distance. I felt something coming from there. The barest hint of magic. Interesting! I stalk closer, runners forgotten. I think there are only two terrified survivors anyway, and they do not interest me as much as this. A small thicket tops the large stone. I see nothing. I close my eyes and smell the air. Pine sap, soil, humidity, the distant tang of blood and the caustic bite of spent powder, but there is something underneath. Fresh sweat. Coming from the front. ¡°I can smell you¡­¡± I hum with amusement. A muffled curse comes from the empty space before. ¡°And now I can hear you as well,¡± I note with a smile. I focus the essence in my claw and¡­ the Rose turns blue. My claws are crystallized essence. The blade is crystallized essence. Of course, it can carry the magic-breaking effect as well. I jump to the side of the elevation and stab the air, being careful not to get too close. I guess that concealment magic is at work, but if it were up to me, I would have added an unpleasant effect if someone tried to force entry. My eyes widen in surprise when the charm falls to reveal a Dvergur in the process of standing up. This one has dark brown hair and a bushy beard like Loth, though he looks younger. He holds in his hands a rifle of complex make, the barrel engraved with many runes. It is now swerving towards my head. The man shoots as I duck. He would have caught me between the eyes. Pretty good reflexes for a mortal creature. ¡°I see you, little rat.¡± I punch him in the chest. What I took for a leather armor turns out to have reinforced metal underneath. Enchanted as well. There are so many spells weaved in his gear that I have trouble tasting which is which. His torso may have been protected, his head is not. He falls backward and cracks it against a pine trunk, bark flaking under the strain. I pick up the gun, then I catch him by the foot and drag him down the rock and towards my allies. Time to show them what I caught! I hear the click of a cocked pistol. I turn and grab the firearm aimed at my neck. The Dvergur has dark eyes and they are very close now. He smells of scrumptious terror, and shows signs of shame as well. Tempting, tempting. But no, there will be time later. My little rat presses the trigger with all the strength he has, in vain. My index is on the hammer. ¡°Oh, feisty! It appears that you do not need this hand anymore.¡± The snap of broken bones. I did not break too much. That can lead to internal bleeding that the mortals may not survive. I do not know how hardy this specific morsel is. I resume my walk, with my captive now too busy moaning in pain to offer much resistance. I find them still hiding behind the carriage, whose horses did not move at all during the altercation. Humans mutter on the other side of the warehouse. I approach the coach from the side, Dvergur in tow. ¡°Look what I found!¡± I exclaim with pride. Loth turns from his argument with Skjoll, and he becomes furious at the sight of what I brought back. ¡°Should have known, damn Isvalir.¡± Sheridan looks a bit lost, arms crossed in a typical gesture of annoyance. Kari¡¯s skin is pale and she smells of vomit. ¡°Do you want to question him, then can I eat him after we are done?¡± ¡°Where was he?¡± ¡°Hidden above the other attackers, with this,¡± I tell him, while handing the gun to Skjoll. ¡°Probably to catch one of us in case the assault fails and we come looking for proof. With that caliber, he would have gone through heavy armor.¡± ¡°Would you really have gone to check?¡± I ask, surprised by his recklessness. ¡°No¡­ I would have sent Skjoll.¡± ¡°As you should,¡± the bodyguard replies, eyes fixed on my docile prisoner. ¡°Is¡­ every battle like that?¡± Kari finally asks. She is staring behind me. A quick glance shows that the lights of the warehouse shine on what remains of the first pair of foes I got my hands on. Their remains are¡­ graphic. ¡°That¡¯s more of a vampire thing, darling,¡± Loth replies with a comforting hand on her shoulder, ¡°glad she is on our side, ey?¡± ¡°It would certainly be better than the alternative,¡± she says. There follows a series of curses in Dvergur and Swedish that I do not quite catch. Skjoll takes the prisoner from me to bind him while I go check on Sheridan. ¡°Are you quite alright? I could swear I heard the bullet hitting.¡± ¡°Check your shoulder,¡± the ranger replies with a grin. Indeed, I find a silver lump stuck against my heart protector¡¯s harness. For once, I was lucky. It would have been quite painful. I still grumble and remove the offending thing. The bullet burnt my dress at the point of impact! One more dress lost in the line of duty. When will this ever end? They are not exactly cheap either¡­ ¡°To answer your question, I admit to being terrified. I thought I had lost the fear of death after our Mediterranean adventure. I was wrong.¡± ¡°Good. The moment you lose it entirely, you will place both of us in danger. The armors I provide will not defend you from falling off a cliff, or being poisoned in your sleep. Caution will serve you well.¡± ¡°You do not seem afraid of death, however. Not with the way you run at danger.¡± ¡°I respect the possibility of death. It boils down to the same principle: do not act in a manner that could pointlessly make you lose your life. You did well by taking cover since you were unarmed and undefended, and I did well engaging an inferior foe to cover you.¡± My brave frowns at the reminder of this unexpected piece of entertainment. ¡°Yeah, what¡¯s the matter with that! I thought we were on friendly territory!¡± ¡°I suppose we will find out shortly.¡± ¡°You find out. I¡¯m going to get my guns.¡± I admit to being curious. The trio of Dvergur now stands before the prisoner, who glares at the ground with shame. They talk in their native tongue so that I can only glean fragments of speech. Forbidden and objection are spoken several times. Eventually, Kari throws her hands in the air in frustration. ¡°Have you reached a decision? We should not dally,¡± I tell them. ¡°Skjoll and I believe that the information we could gain from a thorough interrogation justifies the pain of leaving one of our race to your tender care.¡± ¡°I can leave him unbroken. Mostly.¡± ¡°Operatives such as him are trained to resist mind techniques.¡± ¡°No training will ever be enough to stop us,¡± I declare with confidence. The two exchange a glance. ¡°Besides, I have not tasted Dvergur essence since¡ª¡± Kari perks up, and Loth shows the first hints of distress. ¡°¡ªyou saved my life, back in the blood cult base,¡± I casually finish. Loth smiles and Kari settles down. Do not worry, you old dog, I have your back. I must not let Kari think that we are anything more than friends and comrades-in-arms. The slaughter I just committed should also make me appear as more monster than woman. ¡°I still think that we should conduct our inquiry in private.¡± ¡°Aye. I don¡¯t think that anyone else is gonny show up. Kari dear, ye should go back to the carriage and I¡¯ll let ye know what we find oot. Skjoll?¡± ¡°I will make sure that the perimeter is secure, then supervise the loading of Lady Nirari¡¯s luggage.¡± We all agree, and I drag our prisoner with me to an empty storage room selected by Loth. He closes the door behind us, and I drop my charge on the ground. ¡°Right. Time to tell ya what this is all about, I suppose.¡± ¡°That would be nice.¡± ¡°Aye. By the way, impressive display. I had forgotten how it felt to have you by my side. Nice sword too.¡± I smile, because I can tell that guilt overcame him as he suddenly realized that I was attacked upon landing on his land following his invitation, and then proceeded to single-handedly save the day. Or night, in this particular example. ¡°Enough, my friend, we will have time to talk later. For now, we should get into the¡­ meat¡­ of the matter.¡± ¡°Right. So, I am king of the Skoragg clan. My ex-wife is from the smaller Isvalir clan, and they enjoyed playing a bigger role in our politics. I just took a series of measures to get them to fuck off, starting with the divorce, and they¡¯re being prissy twats about it. Problem is, they still got loyalists so they can find oot where I go to do that sort of shit.¡± ¡°Language.¡± ¡°Augh, not this again!¡± ¡°Ahem. My apologies. Is he from the Isvalir clan?¡± ¡°Him? Yes, but he was banished if I remember correctly. Vanr the Cruel, his name is. Right prick. I¡¯d bet my right bollock that they offered him a pardon if he could off me but no way to prove it in court. They will say that we rewrote his memory with vampire magic.¡± ¡°Hmm.¡± ¡°I just want ta know about other traps, and anything he can tell me about his clan¡¯s plans. Oh, and can you spare his life?¡± ¡°Can I still drink his blood?¡± ¡°Aye!¡± ¡°I foresee no difficulty then. I will work on making him more...pliable¡­ and you prepare your questions. Agreed?¡± ¡°Agreed.¡± ¡°Now, Vanr,¡± I tell the panicking man on the ground, ¡°I trust that you will offer more of a challenge than you previously did. You do not want to fail twice in the same night, do you?¡± I ask menacingly. ¡°That was good lass, but I don¡¯t think he understands English.¡± In Vanr¡¯s brown orbs, I only see anxiety and incomprehension. Dammit. Well, nevermind. It would be nice to practice my manipulation skill if I had the patience or spoke the language. Instead, I bite his throat. Dear Vanr is succulent. He tastes of fear and regrets, with a deeper magic made twisted by appetites he took no efforts to control. The power rushes through me, making me stronger once again. I stop too soon for my taste and stare him in the eyes. A barrier protects him, a mental discipline of sorts. It does not matter. I am already inside after biting him. His fall is simply a matter of patience. Patience, and relentless efforts. Slowly, carefully, I erode the wall he erected around his core. My mind seeps in the cracks. It peels off protective layers one by one, and dissects metaphorical locks before tearing them apart. Vanr¡¯s face grows slack as the last of his willpower crumbles to dust. ¡°All yours.¡± ¡°Mind working fer the crown full time? I can pay ye well¡± ¡°I am sorry, old friend. I already have my own kingdom.¡± ¡°Heh. Had to try.¡± Loth grabs the husk I left and asks questions in fast, angry Dvergur. Vanr¡¯s answers are slow and mechanical. He offers no resistance at all. I pick at the hole in my dress out of boredom. ¡°I am done,¡± Loth finally says, ¡°ye want to finish yer meal?¡± I consider the offer. I gave the would-be assassin as an offering to my friend, so that he could partake. In a way. Draining him now would feel strange. Besides, I am sated. ¡°Let¡¯s give him to your bride. Sparing his worthless life will please her peace-inclined mind.¡± ¡°Oh, right. And maybe I can get him publicly executed later. Do you mind if I anesthetize him?¡± Hmm... what? ¡°Be my guest?¡± Loth grabs Vanr by the collar again and throws the most devastating, jaw-shattering hook I have ever seen. The other man twists on the side and crashes against stacked crates. ¡°I think he is asleep, now,¡± I remark drily. ¡°Damn, that felt good. Let¡¯s return to the others.¡± I grumble and grab Vanr from the ground. Loth has returned to his old habit of having me carry heavy things! Chivalry is dead. We come out to see that the luggage has already been secured, and we are ready to go. ¡°Where do you want him?¡± I ask. Kari lifts a finger and speaks in a slow and purposeful tone. Like a politician. ¡°Despite the anger we feel, we must respect the rules of war as stated by¡ª¡± ¡°Just toss him on the roof, I¡¯ll grab the chains,¡± Skjoll interrupts. The pair exchanges a murderous glare as I follow the bodyguard¡¯s recommendation. I understand rules. I also understand brevity. The carriage¡¯s insides amaze me by offering the most comfortable seats ever to grace my posterior outside of a salon. They cradle my butt in their velvety embrace, soothing and welcoming. I find myself repositioning just to make sure that they are real. ¡°Nervous?¡± Sheridan asks, as he comes in. ¡°No, just¡­¡± ¡°Wow, these are some comfortable couches.¡± ¡°I know! Incredible.¡± The red upholstery. The enchanted oil lamp and their soft red glow. Thick curtains. A silent Thirst. All conspires to push me into a state of relaxation, briefly interrupted when we are joined by Loth and Kari. The four of us fit comfortably inside despite the Dvergur¡¯s heavy frames. ¡°Like it?¡± Loth asks with a smile. ¡°Yes, an amazing arrangement.¡± ¡°The inner part is shielded against sunlight as well, a necessity during our travels.¡± ¡°Wait,¡± I ask, suddenly worried, ¡°is our destination far?¡± ¡°Indeed, for we are going to the Scandes, the long mountain range that runs the entirety of the Scandinavian peninsula. And since it is summer now, night will only last for a bit over six hours.¡± ¡°You cannot be serious¡­¡± I say with horror. Alas, he was. The trip to the Skoragg mountain home lasts for four days, four bloody days during which I remain mostly cooped up. At least Sheridan gets to visit the local woods. Only my books and Loth¡¯s company saves me from insanity. ¡°Leikny tried to remarry with my brother, but he cast her oot. He was fed up with her bull¡­ her nonsense too. Anyway, I showed up and got reinstated in less than three months by the old guard. The Isvalir really went too far recently, what with all the factories they tried ta take away from us. We recovered a lot of stuff already. Firebombed a few others. Cousin Okri was sitting on enough explosives ta blow up a mountain just for the occasion.¡± ¡°Did you manage to catch up with everyone and survive the subsequent hangover?¡± ¡°Aye. By spreading it over four years. My liver will never be the same.¡± ¡°Is there an end game with that clan? How are they still trying to mess with you?¡± ¡°Lots of oaths taken, have to disentangle by proving misconduct to the council. It¡¯s just a gaggle of old farts who oversee the application of laws. No real power, but everyone listens to them all the same. We are winning now and when we¡¯re done, I¡¯ll make sure the Isvalir have just enough money left for a one-way trip to Canada.¡± S~?a??h the N?velF?re.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. What did the Canadians do to deserve that? ¡°Anyway, after your testimony, we¡¯ll visit the land. I got some amusing things ta show you as an apology.¡± ¡°I will look forward to it, and do not forget to provide snacks.¡± On the fifth night, I wake up to a comfortable bed covered in bear skin, and a vaulted ceiling of grey stone. A fire burns in a nearby hearth. Tapestries on the walls depict scenes of hunts. Skoragg, home of Loth¡¯s clan. Chapter 120: The Hall of the Mountain King Loth did not give me a room, he gave me a full suite. I enjoy a long bath in a smooth cavity dug into the very rock, then realize that Loth left me something to wear. I pass my hand over a long blue dress and corset of a very thick fabric over a long-sleeved white shirt. It looks practical and feels nice.A part of me remains bothered that Loth knows my exact dimensions up to and including my breast size. It feels strangely intimate, in a way, but this part is silenced when I put on perfectly made boots. They are deliciously snug as they wrap my toes in their loving embrace. Now dressed and ready for battle, I search the room for a message, which I find on a night table by the bed. Finding where I am before leaving is paramount when walking out of the wrong door can turn me into an extra crispy pile of charcoal before I can say ¡®sun¡¯. The message is laconic. ¡°Lass, join me in my office. Get out of your room and turn left, then the first right. It¡¯s at the end of the corridor. Your is fine by the way. He is out hunting elk with my cousin Rollo. The one with the hairy arse.¡± Thank you for keeping me informed, Loth, much appreciated. I follow his directions through dim corridors lit by lanterns. The walls are sheer rock decorated with ancient, massive tapestries. Hand-woven, of course. I knock on a massive reinforced door decorated with steel, and politely wait. ¡°Ah, you¡¯re awake! And so early too.¡± Loth wears a comfortable long jacket over a simple shirt and brown pants. He looks much like he used to when we lived together. The only change is a large amulet encircling a large ruby dangling from his collar. ¡°Would you mind telling me why your door is trapped with explosive runes?¡± I ask. I did not trigger the spell, of course. It would have roasted a good quarter of the alley. ¡°The entire fortress is trapped to the gills. But don¡¯t ye worry yer pretty head, it¡¯s all under the control of old man Erikur.¡± ¡°The one who punched a bear?¡± ¡°And did it again when some cunt said it was bollocks. He was off his tits both times too.¡± ¡°I feel safer already.¡± ¡°Say, why don¡¯t ah show you ¡®round my gaff.¡± ¡°Careful, your Scottish is showing.¡± ¡°Does it, aye?¡± I roll my eyes, but I trail him as he goes by. The Skoragg complex can only be referred to as massive. It is practically an underground city carved from the very rock, both solid and surprisingly cozy. We inspect a massive foundry where hairy, bare-chested men work in sweltering heat, a common room where people are already feasting, and even a hospital! As we move, those we come across salute him and smile at me. ¡°They don¡¯t know that ye¡¯re a bloodsucker. We kept your coming all hush hush, and the clothes help as well. You look local.¡± Not really. There are Swedes, who are mostly blonde and tall but with slightly different features so that I still look like a stranger. The Dvergur are easily recognizable from their heavy-set frames, both men and women. Some Dvergur are more easy to discern than the others, and I wonder if they are mixed bloods. ¡°Wait, why are they always smiling at me then? Do they think I am your, ahem, side business?¡± ¡°What? Nae!¡± Silence. ¡°Well, yes. It¡¯s a common practice here. Lots of kids with mixed ancestry, myself included. Sometimes, the Dvergur blood reemerges in surprising places. Take Ibn Arfin for example. Here he comes. Hey Arfin!¡± ¡°Alaikum Salaam, boss man.¡± We pass by an arabic Dvergur. ¡°Lad had a hard time finding us, I tell ya. But probably not as hard as Li Hua. Anyway, we have a lot of kids with humans so it¡¯s nothing shocking.¡± ¡°You are not going to get married soon? Should you not remain celibate?¡± I ask, scandalized. ¡°Bah! I¡¯ll knock Kari up good in no time, don¡¯t worry about it.¡± ¡°But surely¡­ is this normal?¡± Loth turns to me and, this time, his expression is serious. ¡°Listen lass, there is one absolute rule for, errr, living arrangements for our kind. It¡¯s to mind yer own business.¡± I raise my hands in surrender. I am not here to judge. ¡°¡®Course, it stops at violence and the like. You get my meaning.¡± ¡°How do you raise the kids by the way?¡± ¡°The clan has a reliable support system. Let me show you the nursery,¡± he tells me with a smile. This one is rather close to the surface, so that the children can have easy access to sunlight. He has the roof aperture closed before I get in. Inside, I find a nicely decorated room with rows of cradles hosting an army of toddlers under the watchful gaze of a human nurse whose smile appears to be glued on. I channel the Hastings essence to look like a mortal myself. Some would react poorly to a vampire around their kids. ¡°Oh, it is so nice to meet you. How do you like Sweden?¡± she asks me with a heavily accented voice. ¡°Hmm. Delightful so far. So¡­ you take care of the children?¡± ¡°Until a parent returns, yes. Many have tasks to complete that require utmost concentration! Our facilities are designed to provide a relaxing and stimulating environment favorable to a healthy growth!¡± Behind her, Loth rolls his eyes, but then he soon turns and smiles at the occupant of a cradle. Aw. I cannot wait for him to be a new dad. ¡°You are expecting then?¡± she asks as she happily jumps to conclusions, ¡°Here, this is Mathys, he is my two months-old nephew!¡± Arg, no! I react immediately and hold the toddler properly, one hand protecting the neck and head while the other supports the butt. He smells of Dvergur magic, though it is still nascent. Loth turns and looks at me with horror. Ah, he does not know that my experience as a madame gave me some experience with spawns. This baby looks healthy. Hmmm. For one moment, I consider how pliable they are and how much my kind could achieve with more intervention in education. The little one turns his gaze to me. ¡°Aguu.¡± I singsong. ¡°Oh, you already know how to handle a babe! You do not need my help at all!¡± the nurse states. Is she constantly upbeat? ¡°I helped in raising kids in my previous position, but I never had one of my own. I am sure it will be fine, but you know men. Always worried about things they do not understand,¡± I tell her. Behind the nurse, Loth blinks, flabbergasted. ¡°Oh yes, he¡¯s a worrywart I¡¯ll give you that. Oh, you are visiting, yes? Go and finish your tour then come and see me sometime, we will exchange tips.¡± I nod and bring a little more red to my cheeks. The Hastings essence does not make me more human, it shows me how to act like one and I find the results hilarious. Especially now that Loth drags me out into a stone alley with a mighty frown on his brow. I immediately drop the essence and make myself cold and immobile. ¡°Oh, that¡¯s more like it lass, ye had me worried there for a moment. All bashful and delicate like a normal person.¡± ¡°Hey!¡± ¡°A true vampire would have said that the baby would make a fine sacrifice, haha.¡± I keep my expression neutral. ¡°You¡­ did not think that, right?¡± ¡°He did have a nice, potent essence.¡± ¡°Oi!¡± I smile, he smiles, and we chuckle. ¡°I still abide by my code, Loth. No children.¡± ¡°I know.¡± ¡°So, where is your throne room? Do you have one? Is the throne made out of the skulls of your enemies?¡± ¡°Naw, we are not like that. We have a council table. Though, if you want to see the seat of my power¡­¡± He winks suggestively. I am not fooled. ¡°It is your workshop, is it not?¡± ¡°Got it in one! Come on, let me show you what I have been working on.¡± Compared to before, Loth¡¯s pace is faster and more excited than regal. We retrace our steps to the private quarters where my suite is, and I think I get a general idea of the mountain base¡¯s layout. The heavily defended main entrance leads to barracks and the mess hall, with several wings branching out in every direction. The royal quarters are only one of the many complexes snaking below the skin of the earth, with many openings letting in the sunlight. We avoid those. Loth still informs me that they are made out of a crystalline substance that could block artillery shells. I admit to being impressed. They even have a massive greenhouse. This place could stand a siege almost indefinitely. Finally, Loth leads me to a vault door the size of a carriage. He removes a massive key from the recess of his jacket and inserts it in. A rumbling later, and the steel obstacle rotates on oiled hinges with nary a sound, revealing the treasure within. I admit to being impressed. I admit to being very impressed. ¡°Wow.¡± ¡°Right? Come in, come in.¡± Loth¡¯s workshop occupies a circular room with a high ceiling, and walls of sheer rock. Illumination is provided by a set of enchanted lamps giving off a powerful white light. Rails dug into the very ground lead to a pair of gates on opposite sides of the place, perpendicular to the entrance we took. You could fit a sloop in there. In accordance to its owner''s bubbling mind, the workshop is neatly divided into subsections. Vertically. Even now, slabs and constructs and armors and tables hang suspended into the air at various elevations by heavy chains, each one being a work in progress. I see a magical cannon like the one he made for his home back in Georgia, but twice the size. His black iron armor hangs on one side and another delicate cuirass his size dangles at the opposite end. Racks of axes and swords take an entire wall. The current setting shows that he was working on something that looks like a bathtub, but I suspect might be some sort of metal coating technology. ¡°What is that thing?¡± I ask, eyes filled with wonder. ¡°A self-heating bathtub.¡± Oh. ¡°Let me show you something amazing.¡± Loth lowers one of the many levers covering the walls, this one tucked snugly between sheafs of notes stabbed with a spear tip, and a coffee table with a half-eaten sandwich. The beautiful work of art lowering down like an angel from heaven sends me into a state of pure delight. It has eight long barrels at the end of a rectangular body with a thin bar at the top. It shines with cooling and reinforcement enchantments. ¡°Is that¡­¡± ¡°A work in progress, for now. Repetition is not so much a problem as weight, recoil, overheating and so on. Now, with an efficient framework, we could get something that could fire a hundred bullets a minute¡­ for five minutes.¡± ¡°Amazing.¡± ¡°It would be fixed, of course. Unless¡­ the wielder had unnatural strength.¡± Wink wink. ¡°By the ¡± ¡°Problem is that it¡¯s too heavy for me, and I have to turn it all the time. Mind giving me a hand? Just like old times?¡± I even have issues unsticking my gaze from this breathtaking piece of glorious engineering. ¡°Spare apron?¡± ¡°Behind you. Third shelf.¡± One hour later. ¡°It¡¯s Raz, then Mir, then Ko,¡± Loth explains in the calm voice reserved for those touched in the head. ¡°And how do you expect to close the outer circle then, genius?¡± I hiss. I balance the hundreds of pounds of steel on one hand and point at a circle near the firing mechanism. ¡°That¡¯s not the outer circle. It¡¯s the primer. The outer circle links to it via an Ogham conductor inside the casing.¡± I open my mouth to reply and realize that¡­ yes, it should work perfectly. In fact, he just provided a brilliant solution to the energy efficiency problem I had seen coming. ¡°Fuck it, you¡¯re right. And do try not to look so smug, no need to be an asshole about it.¡± ¡°Language!¡± he squeals in a comically high voice. I point a claw at his chest. ¡°None of that. What I say in the workshop stays in the workshop. Or else.¡± Loth crosses his massive arms over an equally muscular torso. He gives me a slow nod. ¡°Fair enough. Help me turn ¡ª oh, bollocks.¡± I hear it too. The entrance door opens with ponderous slowness. Kari walks in, looking quite fetching in an elegant forest-green dress. Her dark blonde hair is held in an elaborate do that highlights her aristocratic features. Her brown eyes smolder with barely contained fury. She takes the scene in. Me with an apron and protective mitts holding the gun barrels in optimal position; Loth in a similar gear, with a helmet on, right eye covered with a magic detection lens. He holds a brush and a pot of scintillating paint. She crosses her arms and takes a deep, rage-tinged breath. The kind that starts every screaming session. It does not happen, though. She blows it through her nose with the sound of forge bellows as her anger turns cold. She pointedly takes a watch from a pocket at her flank, and shakes it on its chain. Then, she turns around and departs with affronted dignity. Another Dvergur woman pops her head through the opening and frowns at us, before shaking her head in disgust and leaving as well. The vault gate shuts with the clang of a sealed coffin. ¡°Something you forgot?¡± ¡°I, ah, we were supposed to join her in her office after the visit. So she could prepare you for the testimony.¡± ¡°Really. When was that?¡± ¡°Hum, what¡¯s the time, lass?¡± ¡°Nevermind.¡± Loth and I manage to finish the circle we were working on, then race to Kari¡¯s personal chambers in record times. The lady of the house waits for us in a throne-like leather chair with the attendant we saw earlier, a stern woman with greying brown hair. She snaps a fan close as we come in. Loth stands awkwardly with his hands behind his back like the big goof he can be sometimes. I, however, am a mighty vampire who does not need to justify herself so I stand with my arms crossed and looking at the side because I did absolutely nothing wrong and definitely do not deserve a scolding, so there. ¡°Honestly, I am unsure as to how I am supposed to react to the two of you.¡± I frown. I am here to assist at the request of a friend, as a favor. I do not answer to her. Kari must have felt something, because her expression softens. ¡°I apologize, Ariane. You are our guest here, and we have not been equal to the task. If only there was a thousand years old adult with a good knowledge of the situation who could act responsibly¡­¡± ¡°Alright, I get it,¡± Loth grumbles in turn. ¡°Good.¡± Kari¡¯s anger finally leaves her. Her attendant, whose name is Erva, brings chairs and we sit around a low table loaded with dried fruits and snacks. The Dvergur help themselves while I drink my host¡¯s favorite infusion. Her room is much less cluttered than Loth¡¯s space, with modern furniture made of dark wood. I notice that green is ubiquitous in her choice of decoration, clothes, and jewelry. A clan thing, perhaps? ¡°Ariane, the reason why I wanted the pleasure of your company today was to prepare you for the examination that you so kindly agreed to participate in. While we are grateful for your selfless help, I have to regretfully say that the council of clans will make no effort to be accommodating.¡± ¡°What she¡¯s saying is that they¡¯re a bunch of nasty old twats,¡± Loth adds helpfully as he skewers a meatball. ¡°I do not need translation dahling,¡± Kari hisses, finally out of patience. Loth shrugs. ¡°In any case, we have made the formal request to have our marriage certified. Normally, this would not be necessary, but the Isvalir will have no recourse if we have the council¡¯s backing. They will be pushed out for good. This is where you come in. The only serious objection they made was that Loth was betrothed to a vampire.¡± ¡°That sure made the old cunts foam at the mouth, squealing about treason. Pure rage.¡± ¡°It would have been against tradition,¡± Kari continues, ¡°and the council embodies tradition. Your timing could not be more fortuitous. My point is that they will ask questions with little regard to propriety.¡± I take a sip of the warm liquid to give myself the time to think. My instincts are inherited from a man who normally repays insults by pulling the offender¡¯s spine out of their own ribcage while they are still alive. ¡°You do realize that there are limits to how much I can tolerate?¡± I say. ¡°The council itself is no monolithic body. If one of them goes too far to provoke you, they will be censored by the other six. Or five. You only have to clad yourself in contempt while the offender reaps the consequences of their own actions.¡± I have to ask. ¡°What if they do go too far and I eat them?¡± Kari¡¯s expression turns pained. ¡°If they insult you too openly under our roof and you attack, we will side with you. It means bloody war, however, so please keep it in mind?¡± ¡°Oh, and if ye do start killing, leave me that old cockless bugger Ragnar, lass. I want to strangle him myself,¡± Loth adds helpfully between two bites. Kari massages her left temple with two fingers. Next to her, Erva sighs. ¡°I promise to do my best. I am here to solve problems, not create more,¡± I say. That gets me an appreciative nod from both women. ¡°That is all I can ask. Now, what are vampire councils typically like?¡± ¡°In terms of what?¡± ¡°Everything.¡± Why does she ask? Ah, I understand, she wants to manage my expectations. ¡°We gather with our seconds in a secured underground vault, around a modular round table of obsidian. The Speaker animates the reunion and addresses the issues one by one. We vote on decisions that do not reach consensus.¡± ¡°So, well-ordered and mostly silent?¡± ¡°An understatement. We do not move, nor breathe, and we are expected to remain unfailingly polite at all times. That includes a perfect control of one¡¯s aura. Arguments are a rarity, because negotiations occur before the meeting starts.¡± ¡°No one raises their voices?¡± ¡°It has not occurred yet.¡± They look impressed. Loth drops a chicken bone in a nearby trash can and cleans his lips. He is back to serious. ¡°This council is going ta be very different then. The decrepit old baggages will convene in our own council room around a table. Kari and I will sit there and present our case. Observers are allowed in benches on the side. Thing is, we have all known each other for a long time and we all have some faraway cousin who shagged their own faraway cousin and stole their chicken while they were asleep. Ye get the gist.¡± ¡°Is this a trial or a family argument?¡± I ask as a jest. Alas. They do not laugh. ¡°Ye¡¯re spot on. It¡¯s both. And it can heat up fast. I was joking earlier, lass, I would also like it if blood were not shed. And they will insult you. At least some of them will.¡± Dammit. ¡°We are perhaps overstating how offensive they will be. What matters is that you are prepared.¡± ¡°I understand.¡± ¡°Good. Now, Erva?¡± ¡°I suggest we retire to bedroom,¡± the brunette says in thickly accented English, ¡°I take measurement for new dress while you teach customs?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Kari replies, ¡°that would work nicely.¡± Loth is smart enough not to tell them that he already has my measurements. We three leave Loth to gorge himself on snacks, and move to a side room hosting a palatial bed, as well as a small separation behind which I change into a shift. Erva then assaults me with a marked band while taking notes on a small book. Kari handles the Dvergur culture cramming session. The council consists of seven very old Dvergur, the oldest ones alive. I am taught their names and personalities, which can apparently all be placed somewhere on the ill-tempered and short-fused side of the spectrum. One in particular attracts her attention: Ragnar. He is close to the Islavir. He is also the kind of obtuse, rude jerk who has a very strict idea about everyone¡¯s place in the world, especially his own. Anything that goes against his opinion is dismissed as false, or, when evidence is overwhelming, staged by his opponent to ridicule Ragnar¡¯s genius. I hate him already. Our meeting finishes with dinner, where I join my hosts and Sheridan in the main hall as a guest of honor. Someone found half-decent coffee for which I am grateful, and we are entertained with music and beer. Soon, the festivities pick up in the expected fashion: everyone gets roaring drunk. I even consent to play a knife-throwing game, which I win handedly to everyone¡¯s amusement. Sheridan gets his own attention after bagging an elk at three hundred feet in one shot. He soon leaves with one cute Dvergur lass under each arm. He will definitely have much to say about European women upon his return. As the night goes on, I finally isolate myself to practice with my Rose. I would consider myself almost recovered, and my new style slowly takes shape. I am almost at the point where I wield the whip sword better than the spear, though it will take a few more weeks of practice. I simply have too much to play with. For the next two days, I mostly stay indoors. I help Loth around his workshop during the afternoon and roam around after night has fallen. The Skoragg fortress is set deep in the Scandes, surrounded by a dense forest that the clan spent lots of efforts keeping uninhabited. While most of the complex is far below-ground, many facilities keep close to the surface to offer sunlight to dwellers and plants alike. The flower greenhouse offers a perfect moonlight-drenched setting for a good reading session. Sadly, the other ones use manure as fertilizers. On the third night, I leave through a set of massive gates to run for an hour, and climb atop a massive pine to look around, finding not one single light, one column of smoke to indicate the presence of humanity. The howling wind and creaks of evergreens form a melancholic melody to match the scent of sap. I enjoy this small moment of serenity before getting on Metis¡¯ back to hunt something. The big girl is just happy to be running around without constraints. On the fourth day, I wake up inside of my sarcophagus. A curious thing. I trust the Dvergur hospitality without doubt, and so far I have slumbered in the bed they offered. And yet, the mere thought of one of them dropping the dress and seeing me lying there defenseless creates an instinctive response that compelled me to relocate to my trusted haven. They cannot have access to my unconscious form. No. Never. They do not deserve it. I only allow Torran to do so. One more quirk to add to the list. One smooth slide of a massive rail-mounted slab of reinforced steel and I am free to glare around for intruders. There are none. Instead, I am greeted by a new addition to my room: a dummy dressed in an extravagant dress. Oh, it is lovely. Erva must have made it with my nature in mind. The cloth is royal blue, my favorite color, with long sleeves and rather form-fitting. The fabric is thick and decorated with leaf patterns in mesmerizing arrangements. The crafty maker added a black cape with a white hermine fringe, giving a slight viking nobility feel paired with courtly charm. I am impressed. And I try it on immediately, only to discover that the part is not just comfortable, it is also armored around the chest. Perfect. A small envelope has been left for my attention, directing me to ring a bell to call for Erva, which I do. The attendant immediately crashes into my lair as if she had been set against the door for the past hour. She starts fussing with my hair and manages to put it in a small braid which she ties around my head, freeing my neck. I am finally lent jewels for the occasion. I should really get my own; I could hide some nasty enchantments in those. Practical and elegant. Finally, we are done. ¡°You look very good and very fetching. Go impress the old wankers!¡± she says. I should probably tell her not to quote Loth, at least not unless she feels like screaming insults. Ah, well. The walk to the council chamber is short, but crowded. Gaggles of gossiping adults line the walls. They recognize me from the feasts and greet me with polite encouragements. ¡°Don¡¯t let them push ya around!¡± ¡°Tell Ragnar he¡¯s a flea-ridden bitch.¡± Not the most diplomatic people around. Eventually, I run out of stone corridors and find my destination, a heavy double-gate topped by the Skoragg name in Dvergur runes. Skjoll guards it with all the pleasant attention of a prison guard. ¡°They are in session. You can come in whenever you want.¡± ¡°Then let us get this over with.¡± I am let in. The council room is much more solemn than I expected. Tapestries depicting significant historical events line the circular walls in thick formations. Rows of chandeliers provide a clear light for the large round table occupying its center, an ancient wood construct entirely covered in scars, burn marks, and scrawls. A few seats have been placed at the corners for observers. On the left side, of course, I find Loth and Kari holding hands in an adorable fashion. On my right, however, comes a surprise. Leikny provokes us with her presence as Loth¡¯s divorced wife. A man sits by her side in a vision of affronted pride, clearly a relative. All four of them are silent. The humdrum of conversation comes from an assembly of ancient, wizened, bickering folks dressed in rich clothes too busy hurling insults at each other to realize that I have come in. I stand there, not knowing what to do. A glance at Loth reveals that he himself is quite lost, and more than a bit irritated. It takes a good twenty seconds for one of the two women present to raise her eyes to the ceiling after an ancient codger yelled at her in their tongue. When her gaze descends, it lands on me. ¡°All of you, shut up, you are embarrassing me in front of the cold one!¡± One by one, the grunts of conversation die down until I find myself under the collective glare of centuries of stubborn hostility. I feel at home already. Following Kari¡¯s instructions, I curtsey low enough to show respect, but not submission. I greet them in their tongue with the sentence I was taught. I am, unsurprisingly, interrupted halfway. ¡°Yeah yeah, come sit your butt, girl, we don¡¯t have all day!¡± the oldest one complains in a voice broken by age, and probably spirit abuse. I recognize him as Yngvar the Red-handed, the oldest Dvergur alive. He is almost two thousand years old. ¡°You claim to care about tradition, but you interrupt the child as she greets us?¡± the woman who had first noticed me now complains. They bicker. It has to be Minttu, his wife. The others inspect me as I sit down with all the grace I am capable of, which is quite a lot. I present myself as graceful and harmless. To do so, I merely need to move slowly and fluidly while doing a few useless things such as repositioning my hands after I am seated. I have spent enough time around mortals to know how to appear demure. The members of the council lower their guard somewhat, with the exception of a man with red and grey hair, who glares with barely contained outrage. That must be Ragnar. ¡°Enough of this!¡± Yngvar finally erupts in English, ¡°We will proceed as I say. First, the cold one does not speak our language properly, so we will use English.¡± Some grumbling. ¡°None of that! You all know the tongue, even you Sigvald, don¡¯t try to piss me off again. We all know you eloped with that Essex girl!¡± More grumbling, especially from Sigvald who bellows in Dvergur something along the lines of ¡®brief¡¯ and ¡®divorce¡¯. Yngvar ignores them. ¡°We get to ask questions one by one, starting with me. Also, this is an official event so I will ask an oath. Lass, what¡¯s your name?¡± ¡°Ariane of the Nirari.¡± ¡°I shagged an Ariane once, in Greece,¡± one of the men announces, eyes lost in dreamy recollection. ¡°Nobody cares, Rolf, get those tits out of your mind!¡± Rolf seems to consider the request for a moment, then he rests his head on a fist and a beatific smile blooms on his face. ¡°And we lost the old pervert. Fine! Ariane of the Nirari, we are here to determine if those two can get married without breaking some oaths. Waste of my fucking time, but what can you do? Anyway, can you please swear that you will say the truth, the whole truth?¡± I expected it, and prepared an answer. ¡°I will swear to be entirely truthful, but I cannot promise to say everything, as I am bound by previous agreements.¡± The Accords prevent me from revealing too much to rival political entities, and their council is one such group. ¡°Well, fine, that works too. But no empty words!¡± He removes a monocle from a breast pocket and puts it on, inspecting me critically. It has to be magical. ¡°I, Ariane of the Nirari, swear on my essence to be truthful to this assembly for the duration of the council.¡± The oath takes hold in a way that leaves my chest feeling cold and vulnerable. Yngvar nods and places his monocle back in his pocket. ¡°Out of curiosity, what happens if you lie now?¡± Minttu asks. ¡°If I break my word knowingly, my essence will fracture. I would suffer the worst pain in existence for the brief moment that I still live.¡± ¡°Is her oath worth anything?¡± Ragnar insinuates with a soft voice, the snake. Yngvar dismisses the argument with a frown. ¡°The vampires are even more magical than us, you cauliflower-brained dunce. I saw the magic take hold on her with my own eyes. Now shut up. I ask first. Lass, are you betrothed to Loth?¡± ¡°No.¡± That one was easy, and it should suffice to prove that the couple can marry safely. Of course, that unruly pack of codgers will not be satisfied until they have fully explored our relationship. They interrogate me one after the other. ¡°Were you ever betrothed?¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°Have you two fucked a lot while you were in America?¡± ¡°I have never engaged in sex with Loth,¡± I say between gritted teeth. So¡­ rude! Agh. I must remember that their culture is much more loose with physical intimacy than we are. ¡°Really? Why? Is he not good at it?¡± S~?a??h the N0v?lFir?.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. Pah, are we really doing this? I stop and look around, thinking that the person asking (Rolf the pervert, of course) would get the righteous talk down he deserves. Alas, it does not happen. They all await my assessment of Loth¡¯s sexual prowesses with detached attention. Is it that serious? ¡°Come on lass, don¡¯t leave us hanging! Not good enough for you?¡± I sigh, and speak in a low, deliberate voice. ¡°Numerous widows of the town we lived in mentioned that he was, and I quote, a god. I believe that they were honest with their own assessment, and they, ahem, smelled and sounded like they meant it.¡± By the get me out please. The council aligns for the first time, in proud approval. ¡°Alright then. Next question!¡± That one comes from Ragnar. He smirks, very pleased with himself. ¡°Would you mind explaining what you were doing on Loth¡¯s territory to start with?¡± Oh, implying that I hunted him down for my own benefit. He could prove that Loth is unfit, perhaps, or polluted somehow. ¡°No, I would not mind.¡± They wait. I wait. We all wait and I find myself smiling. ¡°Next question, please?¡± I sweetly suggest. A few of the members guffaw when they figure out what I did while others complain. Ragnar erects himself from his seat, red with anger. ¡°You dare disrespect¡ª¡± ¡°Sit the fuck down Ragny boy, afore I give you a proper walloping. She got you good. It¡¯s your fault for trying to sound like a posh asshole. ¡®Would you miiiiiiind¡¯. Who the fuck are you, the Prince of Wales? Piss off, you¡¯ll get your turn again. Next!¡± ¡°How long did you live together?¡± ¡°Around ten years, I could not tell you the exact time without some calculations.¡± ¡°Were you threatened into coming here?¡± Yngvar asks, since it is his turn again. ¡°Here, to Sweden? No.¡± ¡°Will you receive compensation for appearing here?¡± I consider my answer for a while. Compensation is such a vague concept. I had better be thorough. ¡°I was not paid or promised services, or even a favor. I did receive hospitality, and I expect that I will be offered nourishment some time soon as well.¡± ¡°Do you have shares in businesses owned by the Skoragg clan?¡± ¡°Not to my knowledge. Some of my investments are through funds that I do not manage, so it remains a distant possibility.¡± I am seeing a trend here. They are not satisfied, and will not be satisfied until they understand us. ¡°Why were you on Loth¡¯s land when you met him? Why did you seek the King of Skoragg hall?¡± Rganar asks again as his turn comes. Those are two questions! ¡°Answer them lass, so that we¡¯re done,¡± Yngvar asks, out of patience. Fine. ¡°We did not meet on his land. We met by accident during a hunt. And he was not the king of Skoragg hall at the time! Your understanding of our circumstances appears tenuous at best,¡± I coldly state. ¡°Perhaps, then, you should enlighten us,¡± the next member asks before Ragnar explodes. This one is the only other woman. She smiles kindly. A request, not an order. I do not make a secret of my situation at that time. I guess I could share a bit, at least so that they do not hound us anymore with their ceaseless quest to find out the origin of our friendship. I look behind me at Loth, sitting on the side. He is serene, and gives me a subtle nod. He supports my decision, no matter what. I turn back and inspect the council. They are curious now, so curious, in fact, that they are silent. ¡°Oh, very well then.¡± I take a deep breath. Sheridan is out there, making me more human, otherwise I would never agree to share my own feelings for the sake of a friend, no matter how precious he is. Even now, frustration at the perceived audacity of the council still whispers in my ears that they know enough to make a decision, and that I would be well within my rights to inform them that our friendship is none of their business. Alas, Dvergur are passionate and emotional creatures, and if I truly want to help Loth, I must address them in a language that they can understand. So I swallow my pride and the distance I create with strangers because, in the end, I am here to assist someone I hold dear. Friendships are not always meant to be easy and free. It is quite telling that I would rather open someone¡¯s ricage than open my own heart. They are waiting. Enough procrastination, I take a deep breath and try to forget my surroundings. I go back to those days decades ago when I was not free, mighty, and tightly woven in a dense network of allies and friends. I bring myself to remember those few hours of consciousness I had every night, that I had to spend finding blood and walking some distance before torpor inevitably made me defenseless. I can see her vividly, the younger Ariane. The one who endured only because of her unwavering belief that things would get better, if she only lasted for another night. I call upon her now. ¡°When I met Loth, I was dirty and wet. It was the end of summer in Louisiana. I had come to a swamp to hunt an alligator as part of a deal to get enough blood to last me the night. I had recently escaped from abuse and torture by feigning my own death. My torment had lasted for six months and I was six months old. Twenty, if you counted my mortal years.¡± The silence helps me focus. I close my eyes and I can see him, clad in his iron armor. He looked like a giant bug, and his sudden appearance gave me quite the fright. ¡°Loth was there too for the same prey. From the moment I met him, I expected him to betray me and I prepared myself to fight or kill him. I was so distrustful that when the alligator did attack, it caught me completely off guard. Loth, of course, killed it in an instant with a bolt through the eye. After that, he¡­ made a casual advance.¡± Chuckles around the table. I do not look. I am almost there. ¡°I reacted badly. My captivity had been¡­ a harrowing experience. Loth saw that. He did not ridicule me, or threaten me. He did not run away. He saw that I needed help and he offered it. He saved me, I think. Perhaps not my life, but certainly the heart of what I am.¡± Silence has returned. ¡°In the following months, Loth was there for me. He was my first friend. The very first one. Even Jimena, the woman who helped me escape, became closer after a lengthy correspondence. Loth did not not just host me, he helped me grow. He taught me how to have a personal code, and how to handle mortals. He created a system to allow me to feed as a fledgeling without hurting the townsfolk. I owe much to his mentorship, including my love for design and smithing, especially if it relates to explosive ordinance or ways to deliver said explosive ordinance to faraway people I dislike. He taught me runes and forging and taking life with a grain of humor. There are only a handful of individuals on this planet that I regard with the same admiration and¡­ love, as I regard him. All the questions you have asked me only showed one concern. Who is this cold one, and what is her game here? I play no game tonight. I am here, because Loth asked me to come here. He could have asked for an assassination or a bombing run or plain old piracy and I would have obliged, but he just wanted me to talk to you. So, I do. Loth is a friend in a world of politics and ancient horrors. It is enough for me.¡± I do not believe that the council members have remained silent for so many consecutive seconds for at least a decade. Of course, it ends quickly. ¡°Say, girl,¡± Yngvar asks, ¡°what runes would you use on the base of an artillery gun barrel?¡± ¡°Circled Tir Ko Og for reinforcement, unless you are going for single use and feel a bit adventurous, then you can go for an imposition glyph.¡± ¡°Sacrilege! Who would do this to a gun?¡± a man by his side asks. ¡°Shut up! I use those on Turkish bronze bombards so I did not have to wreck them when we left!¡± Yngvar retorts, spit flying over the pitted table. ¡°And how do you make proper black powder, hmmm?¡± Rolf asks, his mind finally away from whatever erotic recollection it had dwelled on. ¡°Three parts salpeter, then for the rest three-fifths softwood charcoal, either willow or buckthorn, and two-fifths sulfur. Mix and grind to fine dust, and add liquid so that it can form granules. I prefer pure alcohol and water, but I drop a pinch of my blood for special bullets. You can add graphite afterward to prevent it from getting too wet.¡± ¡°What about adding runed bones from magical beasts?¡± another asks. I roll my eyes. Loth bored me enough with this ancient controversy. ¡°It was proved not to work in a conclave of the clans two centuries ago. After lengthy experiments, I might add.¡± ¡°Hah! Even the vampires know about it, you decrepit fool!¡± another exclaims triumphantly. ¡°No respect for tradition!¡± I let them bicker, but I clearly gathered their attention. ¡°Special bullets? How do you mean?¡± Yngvar asks with excitement. ¡°Silver and steel alloy for the body. I personally engrave each and every casing as well.¡± ¡°What do you use them for?¡± his wife asks with naked curiosity. ¡°Shield piercing and big game hunting. Either werewolves or my kin.¡± ¡°What runes do you use for piercing?¡± Yngvar asks in turn. ¡°You must be dreaming if you think I will share my recipe for free,¡± I retort, but with good humor. ¡°Hah! Hahaha, indeed! Alright. Enough questions. Sigvald, Aarne, enough with that conclave spat, it is time to decide!¡± His gaze turns cold and cunning as he turns it to Ragnar, who was fuming in silence, then to Leikny and her relative. ¡°I cannot believe that I let you sponge-brained milksops talk my ears off with this purity and influence bullshit. You morons got it upside down! It¡¯s not Loth who got vampired, it¡¯s Ariane of the whatever who got Dvergured!¡± The council is shocked by this strange revelation. As I am. I remember to close my mouth with a click. ¡°What do you call someone with honor, strength, and a propensity to apply scientific knowledge to blowing things up?¡± ¡°A friend!¡± Rolf roars. ¡°That¡¯s right. Case fucking closed. Let¡¯s get it over with so I can get myself a beer. All in favor of letting those two younglings bind themselves together through sacred matrimony?¡± ¡°Aye!¡± five of them answer, though Ragnar now turns red. ¡°Are you all mad?¡± he screams, but in vain. ¡°Then your union is approved by the council, may you regret it every day of your life like I do!¡± Minttu socks him in the jaw and the poor fool falls backward and out of sight. Rolf leans to the side to remove pewter mugs from the knows where while another stands up to bang on a nearby service door asking for booze. I¡­ supposed the council is over then? Or not, because a shrill female voice soon pierces through the party preparations. ¡°I demand my last recourse!¡± Leikny screams, and to my surprise, the entire assembly grinds to a pause. No more screams or signs of merriment. They even stop moving as they look on with the mix of horror and fascination normally reserved for gruesome accidents. ¡°What?¡± Minttu asks, aghast. ¡°I am serious. I demand trial by combat! Ariane of the Nirari, I defy you!¡± What? Chapter 121: Folly I hesitate as to how to react. Yngvar does not.¡°Absolutely out of the question! Have you lost your mind? Erikur, you better talk some sense into your daughter!¡± He then proceeds to swear in Dvergur. Erikur and he get into a screaming match, with the rest of the council complaining in their language as well. I inspect the rebuked ex-wife. She will not meet my eyes, and wears powerful mental protections under her fancy coat, whose blurring effect I can feel at the edge of my perception. I can still taste her emotions from her rapid breath, and the sweat pearling on her temples. Frantic heartbeats and nervous movement do not betray fear, but eagerness. She wants it. She wants it very much. ¡°Well?¡± she finally asks, shivering with nervous energy. ¡°You are a schemer and a scoundrel, Leikny. I have no reasons to believe that you would not choose dawn as a duelling time to kill me while I sleep.¡± ¡°You call me a schemer, but here you are, a stranger in our clans,¡± she declaims in a louder voice, one designed for an audience. ¡°You can stop that nonsense right now, child, we have been buttered by much more eloquent politicians than you throughout the years. Your theatrics bore us,¡± Minttu spits. The rest of the council backs her with hostile glares and angry mutters. They have seen it all. The stern rebuke takes the wind out of Leikny¡¯s sails, but Minttu is not done. ¡°You have no standing. The rite of combat was designed when an objective decision based on evidence could not be achieved. It is a last resort, a way to place the ultimate decision in the hands of fate when we admit our failure to discern what is good and what is right. I watched two parents kill each other for the guardianship of their child. You¡­ defiling this sacred and horrific tradition disgusts me. The council¡¯s decision was based on an oath-verified statement. Even your unlikely victory would not change that.¡± ¡°Our position has always been that Loth was not a suitable king for the illustrious Skoragg clan,¡± Leikny¡¯s father interrupts, ¡°my daughter wishes to prove that his decision to cast her out was ruinous and self-destructive. She is worthy to be a queen, and she will prove it by taking down the creature in our midst, one who does not deserve to be here.¡± ¡°A waste of time then, Ariane of the something something has no obligation to answer your puerile challenge,¡± Rolf notes while pouring schnapps from a pitcher. I want to kill her. But she is a sneaky little thing and she clearly expects to trap me. I turn to the father. The council is over, I have no need to keep the gloves on, nor do I have to show respect to the likes of those sniveling, cowardly rats. I release my aura, making sure that its cold depth conveys my annoyance and patiently reorient my seat to face them, in complete silence. I owe Loth my friendship and the council, my patience. I owe nothing to those two. They are fair game. Finally, the time has come to make things clear. ¡°The play is over. You have lost,¡± I start, ¡±completely so. The marriage will take place. You will lose your influence over the Skoragg clan, and the enmities your greed created will hound you for the next century. Now you have come here at the eleventh hour with a flimsy excuse for a duel, one that follows rules that you will undoubtedly twist to their very limit because, in the end, you are just dishonorable pricks looking for a way out. I refuse.¡± Silence and surprise fill the room, especially coming from the two Isvalir clan members. Perhaps they expected me to be hotheaded? In fact, I should be. I am surprised by my own reaction. I expected my instincts to push me to answer with arrogance, but they remain silent. The cause, I think, is the fact that the Isvalir are insignificant gnats in the grand scheme of things. Loth is successful, as was my wish. This challenge is merely the desperate yap of those who do not know when they are defeated. They are too far beneath me to cause anger. Of course, I cannot let this offense remain unpunished, but I have many other tools in my arsenal to retaliate. I am not some mindless, prideful idiot to jump head first into the first ambush. Or at least I try not to be. Leikny made the mistake of standing and requesting, while I sit and refuse. I am in a position of power. My aura fills the air. It smothers hers in its frigid embrace. ¡°You refuse to face me? Are you scared?¡± she tries again. I chuckle, and she shivers once more. ¡°Your taunts are worthless. What does a queen care that a beggar curses her name in an alley? If you want to play again, you have to put something on the table. Entertain me, little thing. Make it worth my time.¡± Only after I am done do I register that Leikny is centuries older than I am. I have grown used to being the eldest among those who walk under the sun. Only the Dvergur can escape that rule. Oh, and the most aggravating people on the planet, but they do not count since they are technically from another world. Leikny turns to her father and they talk for a little while. Minttu and Yngvar also formed a huddle with another few elders, possibly discussing a common resolution. I seem to remember that they can veto the duel if they reach a consensus. I look at Ragnar, sitting with an air of utter arrogance, and know that they will fail. He will make sure of it. Leikny¡¯s proposal comes a few moments later. Her voice drips with fear behind a haughty facade. ¡°We will meet in glorious combat within the dome of the Ancestors¡¯ Stellar Dome, at six in the evening, which I believe will be late enough for you to catch your beauty sleep? Any weapons and magical devices are allowed save for heavy explosives.¡± Aha! All magical devices¡­ ¡°Should you win, the Isvalir will transfer ownership of the Ice Palace to the Skoragg clan.¡¯ Collective gasp. ¡°I believe this is proof enough of our commitment.¡± ¡°Indeed. I shall first reconvene with my friends as this concerns them,¡± I reply without missing a beat. I stand up and walk to Loth and Kari, who are still recovering from Leikny¡¯s outrageous offer, and drag them to an isolated corner of the large room. I learnt quite a bit. ¡°Why are they so desperate?¡± I ask. ¡°You can tell?¡± Loth answers, ¡°the Ice Palace is the seat of their power. Their ancestral home! They must be absolutely confident that they can take you down.¡± ¡°No,¡± I answer, ¡°there is more to it.¡± ¡°Indeed,¡± Kari continues, ¡°they did not hesitate, which means that they consider this a minor issue. Even the most rigged duel has several fail conditions, especially when both sides are intent on winning.¡± ¡°But¡­ you are implying that¡­¡± ¡°Yes. The Isvalir already forfeited the palace,¡± she finishes. Loth shakes his head in amazement. He steals a glance out, still struck with disbelief. ¡°I find it hard to believe...¡± ¡°Perhaps they made a deal that did not account for your return.¡± ¡°Perhaps¡­ listen lass, those are all good ideas but we have no way to confirm them. They could be arrogant and absolutely certain of their victory.¡± ¡°Not that old snake Erikur. He has ice in his veins,¡± Kari interrupts ¡°Fine! We should still refuse. No matter the cause, ye do not want to fight a rat backed into a corner if ye can avoid it.¡± ¡°Oh, but I do want to fight her.¡± ¡°What?¡± Both of my friends look on, nonplussed. ¡°I want to find out why they want to kill me. And I know how they intend to do it.¡± ¡°How then?¡± Kari asks. ¡°I can shield against fire and I am not the only master capable of that. My use of magic is no secret. Therefore, there is only one surefire way to kill me, and that would be¡­¡± ¡°Sunlight. Of course. But to recreate sunlight is an impossible feat...¡± Kari says ¡°I saw it done once, through a golem.¡± ¡°It can be done,¡± Loth confirms, ¡°although it is both incredibly difficult and prohibitively expensive. You need an amberstone for that, which will be destroyed in the process. Do you believe that this is the case?¡± ¡°Most likely. What matters is that they really want me dead, and I would like to find out why. The main question would be, is there gear that can stop sunlight? I am asking you, Loth, as one of the world¡¯s greatest smiths. If you do not know, then I will decline.¡± ¡°Do they have any way to kill you besides sunlight?¡± ¡°One on one, on open ground and where I have access to all my equipment? It would take another vampire. Or an incredible archmage, which Leikny is not.¡± I would feel it in her aura. ¡°There is something, aye,¡± Loth immediately replies, ¡°something I have considered for a long time. A mirror armor.¡± ¡°A mirror?¡± I ask with some doubt. ¡°Yes. You see, vampires have been defeated before by using mirrors to redirect sunlight deep into their lairs. Ergo, mirrors deflect sunlight. I believe that a shield made out of a mirror will efficiently deflect an attack ray. Just have to make sure it¡¯s not too big.¡± ¡°How likely is it to work?¡± ¡°It will work. We just have to make sure that the thing is thick enough to count as, well, being hidden. Your sensitivity to the light is a capricious thing. This rule works in a strange fashion.¡± ¡°How valuable is the Ice Palace anyway?¡± ¡°Very, very, very valuable,¡± Loth grumbles, eyes filled with visions of gold. ¡°Extremely valuable,¡± Kari adds. ¡°It sits at the top of precious deposits of magically charged materials, and the glacier around it has taken on interesting properties over the centuries. Even if we displace the Isvalir clan as part of a war, the council could decide to step in to have its treasures shared communally by our race. Through this challenge, the Skoragg clan would become its sole owner peacefully and irrevocably. It would¡­ by Tyr.¡± ¡°It would make us the richest clan in the world.¡± ¡°Wait, what?¡± I interrupt, ¡°that easily?¡± ¡°You do not understand the ramifications of adding such a treasure trove to our already existing wealth,¡± Kari states with excitement. It comforts me that she considers herself a member of the Skoragg clan. ¡°We would be able to develop that much faster. Ariane, I know you are taking a risk, and so I will tell you now. Loth has been floating ideas concerning our future plans for the clan and our race in general. If you get us that prize, I will wholeheartedly support his idea.¡± I turn to Loth, who blushes. I shall never grow tired of the centuries-old bearded muscle-bound colossus acting all bashful. ¡°Aye, see, we want to leverage our expertise to build a manufacturing empire. We cannot innovate like the mortals do, but we are good at improving on pre-existing concepts. We want to open a Dvergur-led factory in the new world, to get access to more patents and rare talents.¡± ¡°If you give us this boon, we will give you an exclusivity contract. We will settle in your lands and pay tribute, against protection. Your land only. For a hundred years,¡± Kari babbles. She has entered my personal space, and though I do not mind too much, I have a few reserves. The first is that we have not won the duel yet. In fact, I have not accepted it. And second, what am I, a supernatural collector? I got pet mages, pet werewolves, a pet vampire in the sense that Melusine is a sort of cat, and now pet Dvergur? I should have picked a land by the ocean so I could get better access to my pet fishmen. I would have built a small city with a sign that says: Ariane¡¯s collection of wondrous creatures, where the food is you! No, seriously. ¡°Seven point five percent of our income after tax,¡± Kari says. By the , count me in. ¡°Eight, I abhor decimals.¡± ¡°Fine!¡± Kari looks away and smiles, eyes lost in balance sheets and cash flows. I turn and take a peek at the Isvalir. They smile ever so slightly, studiously ignoring us. They got us and they know it. To lure me, they dangled a prize that could not be ignored, even by one who knows that there is a trap. ¡°Very well, I will accept their conditions, but we need to check the duelling grounds beforehand for surprises. We also need to dig into why they are so set on killing me.¡± Kari crosses her arm as she considers the situation. ¡°I would not be too worried about the Stellar Dome. They would not dare tamper with it too outrageously, as it is a sacred site to our people. A long time ago, the clans cooperated to create an observatory to map the stars. It has not been used in a long while since the project completed successfully, at least not in its original design. Nowadays, the central circular space serves as a theater or as an arena, depending on the situation.¡± ¡°We will still have a look, in case they try anything sneaky. Don¡¯t ye worry lass, if they booby-trapped the building, Yngvar will have their livers for breakfast.¡± ¡°So, I agree?¡± ¡°Yes, but ask for three weeks so that I have more than enough time to create an armor.¡± ¡°Fair enough.¡± I return to the council and calmly address them. The Isvalir smile and leave first, with us departing soon afterward. Their trick certainly ruined our mood. The council, however, does not let that affect them too much as beer is brought in casks. As for us, there is much to plan and scheme. A week later. I regret everything. ¡°It will be fine, lass, I promise.¡± ¡°You do not know that. Your confidence is born from nothing but STEP AWAY FROM THAT LEVER!¡± Loth lifts his arm in surrender, and returns to the center of his workshop. I clonk away in the heavy plate armor specifically designed for me. Now, I had considered sunlight to be my bane, one that no amount of finagling could ever hope to contravene. We are creatures of the night. We remain hidden. We cannot enter houses without invitation. In a way, all those limitations prevent us from ever truly taking over the world by strength. No matter how unstoppable the lord, there will be a time, every day, where he is as helpless as a babe. No matter how defenseless a mortal is, huddling in their house and praying will deflect all but the most determined of assaults. I always accepted the status quo as set in stone. My sire¡¯s ancient mind has molded his spawn into respecting the ancient laws, and now, I am toeing the line of the most undeniable one there is. I am to step into sunlight. Well, to be honest, I am to pass an armored gauntlet through the hole of an isolation booth and into a very meager ray of twilight sun. It does not matter. It is¡­ THE SUN . I am to stay away away away AWAY¡­ ¡°Ariane.¡± ¡°WHAT!¡± ¡°If you want to give up¡­¡± ¡°No! No, it¡¯s... fine. I am doing it.¡± I carefully place my left hand into the booth. The armor remains unwieldy despite its marvelous engineering. In normal armors, the articulations are thinner in order to conserve mobility, so that even knights could dance or climb ladder with the strength of their arms if they were fit enough. Here, we cannot afford the risk. Loth is confident that a one-centimeter-thick plate will do, and so the gauntlet is the first we test. If it passes muster, all other components will. ¡°Ready or not, here we go, lass!¡± Clonk. I breathe hard and fast despite not needing the air. I am just¡­ panicking. Something happens. I¡­ cannot feel my hand! By the , I cannot move it at all. I need to¡­ It will hurt any moment now, an excruciating pain that will rob me of my senses because of THE SUN. Clonk. I drag my hand back with mighty strength and find¡­ the gauntlet intact. Sensations return to my hand. It worked. I am not feeling much better. The armor is so polished that its unblemished surface reflects its surroundings in a warped portrait, making me frown, because¡­ the armor does not reflect me when I am wearing it. It shows an inverted image of the room, and only the room. I feel deep unease, not just because the armor itself looks like someone with a twisted mind messed up an illusion, but because it skirts the rules in a way that bothers me on a fundamental level. And yet, I am committed now. I wish to succeed. I wish to cheat fate as I know the Isvalir will attempt the same. I just¡­ wish I had not taken this decision. It goes against every instinct I have. In fact, I have not fought my instincts this much since I almost turned rogue. I find the entire situation disconcerting. ¡°I can always shoot the woman from afar, you know?¡± comes a voice from the side. Sheridan looks on with worry, one side of his moustache twisted by the repetitive application of nervous fingers. ¡°No! The fight will happen,¡± I reply. Nobody answers. I suppose that they want to leave me an exit door. As if I could cut and run now, after publicly accepting the challenge. I can only twist my own nature so far without it snapping back with indomitable revenge. Teasing the limits of my body is a thing. Running with my tail between my legs after a confrontation is another one entirely. ¡°Alright lass, I will finish adjusting the armor and we can conduct a few more tests, just in case. They cannot use amberstone rays for more than a few seconds in any case, so your suffering will be short.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I reply bitterly, ¡°one way or another¡­¡± ¡°Stop whining.¡± I am about to reply that he should go and stand under the radiance of the purifying orb, but he does it all the time and only gets a light tan. Unfair! Scandalously unfair. ¡°Alright, we will test the entire armor at once. Give me an hour or so to check if everything works, then we get it over with. Please do tell me if you experience any burning sensation.¡± ¡°I am not one of your lady friends!¡± I spit with bad humor. Sheridan coughs in his elbow, but Loth remains unfazed. ¡°You can be a bitch when you are stressed.¡± ¡°Hsss!¡± In the end, I experience no discomfort besides the oppressive promise of my fiery doom ravaging my psyche until I am a paralyzed wreck, my mind flooded by a numbing fear of THE SUN, THE SUN! I consider this a win. Given the circumstances. I promise to myself here and there that I shall never, ever, ever repeat this process after the duel. I can survive sunlight if protected by armor. Good. I cannot move if the rays touch it. The experiment is conclusive. Now let me ouuuut! With the armor ready in a week, I now have free time to pursue another project: learning why the Isvalir are so hell-bent on taking me. I turn to Kari for this, as she is the one in the ruling couple in charge of the spy network. ¡°The rats are abandoning ship,¡± she finally informs me as we take a late afternoon tea together. ¡°Meaning?¡± ¡°The Isvalir are leaving their Nordic strongholds. Some are taking ships owned by an interest group that we cannot identify. And no, before you ask, those are not Rosenthal ships. They belong to a third party. I hired human investigators to dig deeper. Unfortunately, they were disposed of while checking ship records back in Stockholm.¡± ¡°Gone without a trace?¡± ¡°Yes, and nobody remembers a thing.¡± ¡°That¡­ sounds like vampire work.¡± ¡°It certainly does¡­¡± Kari grumbles above her cup with a glance that says ¡®you would know¡¯. Well, yes, I would. I personally send a ¡®cease and desist¡¯ letter to the perpetrator¡¯s personal address as a final message, usually. I know that some of my kin prefer to remain mysterious all the way. ¡°So, the clan has made agreements with shadowy partners and my life is the price?¡± ¡°I suspect that the cost might be higher. The Ice Palace is being emptied as we speak, its ancestral treasures transferred to unknown destinations. They never planned on staying, and rightly so. The Skoragg clan as a whole is coming to terms with how much they abused our trust. Our retaliation would have crushed them. In any case, your demise was very likely commandeered by whoever now helps them in their exile. I have no way of learning the identity of your mysterious enemy in the short time we have available, not without sacrificing a number of irreplaceable assets. If you insist¡­¡± ¡°No need. I know exactly how I will find out.¡± My confidence surprises the Dvergur princess. ¡°How can you be so sure?¡± ¡°I will extract it from Leikny¡¯s addled mind as I eat her.¡± My ghastly smile forces her to shiver. ¡°Sometimes, you act so human that I forget what you are¡­ and then your words remind me of the truth.¡± Yes, that would be our entire identity. ¡°I have an inkling as to whom it might be. I suppose that we will find out soon enough. Better to make sure that we have covered all our angles,¡± I continue. I return to Loth for some minor adjustments, and we soon realize a major problem as I try combat maneuvers. I cannot use my focus. Of course, the black gauntlet would cause my hand to roast at the first sign of sunlight. In the end, Loth manages to engrave a few symbols on the inner side of the gauntlet so that I can at least cast shield. This oversight worries me, and I decide to forgo holsters entirely, which only leaves me with a mirror sword that Loth creates at the last minute, just in case. It should not matter too much as the ray may only last for a few seconds. Now with all tests completed, I can confidently say that I am ready. The armor is reinforced so that even a few light shocks will not damage it. The sword is sharp and deadly. I can stop fire. I can stop sunlight. I can, in theory, block explosives, although I doubt that a squishy mortal would resort to that. I am well-trained and significantly stronger than Leikny. All the angles are covered. And so, with time running out, we leave the Skoragg compound. The Stellar Dome of the ancestors lies deeper into the vast mountain range of the Scandes. We depart in a caravan to climb our way to the sacred site. With summer in full swing, nature is out to play. Fields of lush grass and seeding plants alternate with patches of forest, with the white and blue peaks covered in eternal snow always in the background. They form a wall that stretches to the horizon. On the second day of travel, we come across a nomad village. I exit my sarcophagus to rows of knit tents, as well as men and women wearing blue cylindric hats and fur coats. They part to let me through without a word as I move to find Loth. His aura guides me to the top of the hill where the village is situated, near a small gathering. I find my friend in deep conversation with a bearded man wearing a vest with strange metallic ornaments around the collar and down his chest. How quaint! ¡°Evening lass, meet mister Luobbal. He is the head of this S¨¢mi gathering. He knows the best path to the Stellar Dome.¡± ¡°Should you not know the best path to the Stellar Dome?¡± I retort. ¡°Don¡¯t embarrass me in front of him, aye? I don¡¯t know every square inch of Dvergur land. The S¨¢mi live in the area and they know all the right paths. They will guide us there.¡± ¡°Fine. Hold on, I should be polite.¡± I turn to the old man, whose expression has remained glacial during our exchanges, as well as the rest of the group. I asked Kari to teach me a little bit of Swedish. It is now time to put it to good use! ¡°Ahem, god kv?ll mina damer och herrar. Mitt namn ?r Ariane Nirari, vad trevligt att tr?ffas.¡± There, I am properly introduced. I stated my name and told them that I was delighted to meet them. Ariane, queen of diplomacy! The answer, unfortunately, is not to my satisfaction. The old man turns to his friends and scratches his head, before turning back to me. ¡°Jeg er ikke s? god i norsk. Kan du si det en gang til, saktere?¡± Loth laughs. I cannot recognize a single word of what the old man just said. ¡°Sorry lass, they only speak Nowegian on top of their own tongue¡­¡± All of this for nothing. Pah! In the end, I do not mix with them as they do not seem all that interested in foreigners. I instead spend some time walking around the surrounding forests in an attempt to dispel my worries. I fed on a volunteer just before we left, and I will remain sated for a few days. We are ready. My intuition does not scream of doom, and yet, I cannot manage to rid myself of the nagging worry. I am being greedy and overconfident by walking into a trap. I always promised myself that I would not succumb to overconfidence. I believe that my preparations show that I am not so arrogant as to think myself invincible, and yet I am once again skirting the limits of what I believe in. This entire endeavor puts me in a state of unease. It was a mistake. I will not agree to such terms again, unless I have no choice. If I live. No amount of running allows me to relax, and I retreat before dawn to read. The trip to the Stellar Dome lasts another day, and I exit my sarcophagus in the early afternoon of the duel to a decrepit room held together by crumbling mortar. Sheridan waits by the door, which looks more recent and was reinforced with basic spells. I am already wearing the gambeson I will use under my armor. ¡°Ah, you¡¯re up. Loth told me to get you to the council room where the old geezers are doing their pow-wow. There will be a ceremony, then we fight. I mean, you fight. I watch.¡± I stand up and take a few moments to comb my hair. My luggage was placed in the room, but the armor was not. I follow Sheridan outside and through a dusty alley of aged bricks with no windows. The Stellar Dome compound has not been used in a long time, it seems. Sheridan wordlessly opens a final door guarded by a pair of armored sentries, and we enter the Dome proper. My worries fade for a while as I take in the impressive vista before me. The room centers on a circular arena, around which rows of seats have been placed to create an amphitheater. The ceiling is quite high and it is, I realize, natural. Stalactites hang over us like so many swords of Damocles, while a cupola tops the arena proper. Even from here, I can spot intricate star carvings that the passage of time has not ruined yet. A small assembly has gathered in the middle of the room, in an open space, between rows of seats. They stand in a circle around two carpets covered in gear. I recognize my armor on the right, even now reflecting the viewers on its immaculate surface. On the left is Leikny¡¯s gear, and I admit to being impressed. Of course, I expected the daughter of the clan head to come clad in layers of ancestral treasures. My anticipation did not do her regalia justice. I can feel the power radiating from here, over the auras of the assembled Dvergur. I see a conical helmet with a protective visor that will fit her eyes to perfection, a thick breastplate of shimmering metal engraved with countless runes over glittering mail. Light cuisses, greaves, and sabatons complete the custom set. She bears a round shield with a sun symbol on it, one I highly suspect of harboring the foreseen amberstone, and a thin, rapier-like sword shining a dull red in the semi-darkness. Yngvar inspects every piece of gear one by one to make sure that no forbidden explosives have been hidden in their recess. When he is done to his satisfaction, he turns to us. ¡°Can¡¯t say I approve of this, but you younglings are free to kill each other if it doesn¡¯t condemn the future of the clans. So get to it, I have better things to do.¡± The rest of the council grumbles their assent. Loth pulls my gear in my direction and we put it on piece by piece as, on the other side of the room, Leikny does the same. ¡°We checked the building and the arena. Had the council run some tests. There¡¯s nothing we can see. No traps or anything.¡± ¡°Hmmm.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll be staying outside, just in case,¡± Sheridan adds. ¡°Why, do you anticipate something?¡± I ask the experienced lawman. ¡°Nothing specific. Most charlatans and cheats I have handled had something in common though, an accomplice. Better safe than sorry.¡± ¡°Fair enough. Just be careful.¡± ¡°I am wearing my armor and I¡¯ll take Skjoll to watch my back, if he¡¯s willing.¡± ¡°He will be,¡± Kari says. It only takes us a few minutes to get prepared, then Leikny and I both walk down to the arena proper. This one is different from the one I fought in, back in New Orleans. There is no sand on the ground to absorb the blood, for starters. Instead, the ground is naked stone marked by hundreds of years of usage and combat. It is quite dusty, and smells empty and abandoned. This place has not been used in a long time, years at least. My intuition flares to indicate imminent danger, enough to put me on guard. I am as ready as I am going to be. Yngvar steps on a podium overlooking the arena. He intones a few angry words in Dvergur, then says something that even I recognize. ¡°Fight!¡± Leikny is already slamming her shield on the ground and I immediately dodge right and away from the spectators. I run perpendicular to her. Anytime now. Leikny¡¯s shield shines in radiant orange. I feel my faceplate growing denser as light intensifies. It will be fully opaque when the light becomes strong enough, temporarily blinding me. A semi-circular shield dome covers her kneeling form. I expected¡­ more? My intuition still screams of danger. Leikny smirks, and I hear a dreadful clank. From above me. I dodge back and raise my eyes to see a thin blade of light. Fragments of shattered ice rain from the roof. Oh. Oh! No way. I back up again as the red gash of late afternoon sun slices the arena in two, mostly in front of me. I am separated from the spectators. It slowly widens into a blinding crescent. They never planned on bringing amberstone, they planned on subjecting me to the real thing. The Stellar Dome cupola was originally a functional observatory. It can open. Fully. Behind Leikny¡¯s smirking figure, the council is in full blown arguments. Ragnar clearly supports this ¡®brilliant interpretation of the rules¡¯, while the rest are screaming their heads out. I see Loth running outside, probably to put an end to those shenanigans while Kari added her voice to the quarrel. They will be too late. The shield is probably quite strong. I have to try to break it. A part of me pushes me to action while the other is the reason for my indecision. The sun. The fucking sun. THE SUN THE SUN THE SUN No! No, calm down. Try to attack. I can do it. I move forward at mortal speed, not quite able to control myself properly. My sword smashes into the shield with little effect. Put strength into it, but I cannot. Because of THE SUN! Leikny is still smiling as the crescent turns into an oval that lights the spectators. Every passing moment makes the room clearer, as more debris fall into the arena. I ignore the argument and the woman in front of me and the sun closing in the sun CLOSING IN. Hit it, just hit it. Bang bang bang. Break the shield. Break the woman. I can live. I can still live. Years of practice help me dodge reflexively back as an overheated blade almost shaves off parts of the mirror. Leikny is standing now, she walks back into the light. I cannot go there. She is in the light of THE SUN THE SUN THE SUN THE SUN. No! No, I just need to¡­ perhaps Loth will help. I cannot do anything if I die, and I will die if the mirror is damaged. Sword in front. Light hand on the grip. Light on my feet. Calm. More light as a full half of the arena is now basked directly. Leikny is here. She moves forward with the wave. It hurts my mind to look at it. I can no longer see clearly. The point of her sword shines red and something is sent. I drop to the ground and roll on my side to avoid a superheated missile. Magic. I stand back up. Roll and dodge in the other direction. I cannot see. I cannot see the light. Everything is dark now with my visor fully blocking the view. There is just me, and my panicked breath because I breathe when I am scared, and one thumb of flimsy material between me and fiery death. Close eyes. They are useless. Magic in front, flaring. I roll to the side again. Footsteps getting closer. No real sun on me yet. Indirect ray only. Ignore it. Ignore what is outside. There is only me, and her. Sword up. I hear a whistling sound and swipe a broad arc. I miss. I swipe again and deflect something that hisses and sputters. My sword made an unpleasant sound. I back up slowly, stumble a bit. The armor is getting warmer. Ignore it. I deflect another attack. I can taste the magic in the woman¡¯s gear right in front of me. I can barely use it to deflect the hits, but now it changes. She attacks my mirror sword. She strikes it again and again, but every time I manage to place it back in guard position so that it does not cut through the armor to expose my flesh to it, the thing coming closer with every moment. It carries death. It is here. It is the sun! THE SUN THE SUN THE SUN THE SUN. Sword breaks. I clamber back. I hit the wall. I am trapped. Almost here, the SUN THE SUN THE SUN THE SUN. THE SUN Bang! I hear¡­ something? A discharged firearm. A noise of snapping metal. The roof above me shakes and groans. The two half-spheres close like eyelids over us. Darker. Darker. Darker. A deafening sound. D A R K YESSSSSSS. I swat Leikny¡¯s blade aside with a hand. My intuition sends me a quick vision, overloaded by my urgency. I drop my molten, shattered blade to lean into Leikny¡¯s next attack, one of Nami¡¯s favorite tricks. I punch her in the chest. The mirror¡¯s surface of my gauntlet cracks under the power I use. She is sent flying, then crashing down on the ground a bit farther. The council is mute. Slowly, I remove my helmet as Leikny crawls back to her feet. She is no vampire to recover instantly from the most grievous of wounds. She is a warm, fleshy thing, full of spite and secrets. I am going to crack her open. I growl. I have given a rather poor account of myself. Reeling. Flailing. A mess, really. I need to imprint upon the locals that I am not TO BE TRIFLED WITH. ¡°Hssss.¡± The Rose appears in my hand just as Leikny manages to get upright. She casts the shield again. I let her. It shines a bit less now. I strike and let the teeth on the back of the blade dig into the transparent wall. I could channel the Herald essence. There is no need to use it on such a weakened construct. I pull, and the teeth shred the spell in a bright flash. The enchantment on top of the round shield flickers. Lekny casts it aside and bellows. The voice is low and powerful as she seems to inflate and occupy more space. Her aura blasts out in furious anger and she charges in. Pointless. I dodge and strike, dodge and strike. Her blade and fist come nowhere near hitting me while the articulation of her armors are hit again and again. The first piece of equipment to give up is her right elbow. A thin trail of blood drips on the ground and I can taste the woman¡¯s essence. Just a sip. An appetizer. Next to break is her right leg at the back of the knee. She stumbles and falls, her rage spent in pointless movements. I accelerate then. The Rose peels her protections off glyph by glyph. S~?a??h the N?v?lF?re.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. She stumbles and falls. I approach, and she launches a last, desperate charge. I grab her raised fist and crush it. I hear a sob. A second later, her helmet is torn off. I bite down. I pull back. I do not care about her story. What I need is too subtle to appear in visions. ¡°You were compensated for killing me.¡± ¡°A promise,¡± she answers in a broken voice, ¡°your death in exchange for better conditions. We would have kept more in our exile.¡± ¡°Where are you going?¡± ¡°South Africa.¡± They are going nowhere close to my lair, therefore, I stop caring. ¡°Who asked for my death.¡± ¡°We do not know for sure.¡± I increase the pressure on her weakened essence. ¡°But I suspect. From the names of the ship come to evacuate us.¡± ¡°Tell me.¡± Something breaks my trance. Her answer is not what I expected. I expected¡­ who? Ah, yes, a certain Dvor lady. Instead, I get Mask. Someone in Mask wants to kill me. Hmm. Later, this is a thing for the calm and refined me to consider. Now, to finish this on a high note. I ignore the cries and the requests. I believe someone is begging me to spare his daughter? It does not matter. The game was strange and unpleasant, but the conclusion is all the more worthwhile. Leikny tastes of mountain, ice, and betrayal. She has the sweet accent of despair as she dies. Delicious. Loth always did have good taste in women. I stand up and discard the body, then walk out of the amphitheater with a confident step. Sheridan is here. He is armed to the teeth. ¡°I know that you saved me. Thank you.¡± ¡°Any time, Ari, any time.¡± The fear of the sun and my predatory response to Leikny finally fade from my mind, and I have only one thought. I am going to get a Dvergur weapon factory on my land. This is going to be great. Chapter 122: Disheartening moments I thought that we could bring this incident to a close and use that opportunity to rush to the Ice Palace to take ownership of it. I was dead wrong.The observatory was never meant to open fully. In fact, the mechanism had been disabled and laid covered in ice until the day of the duel, or so Yngvar and Loth had thought. The extent of the Ysvalir tampering gives the council a collective apoplexy, especially from the rigid Ragnar who had supported their clan until now. Such a violation is apparently unthinkable. So, we have some excuses for having approached the entire problem with such a high degree of incompetence, apparently. The old coots¡¯ collective ire falls on a grieving Erikur who is still reeling from the loss of his daughter. He was the most vocal in trying to get me to offer mercy. He could have brought me the moon on a silver platter, and it would not have mattered. I have brought this hunt to a satisfactory conclusion. I would have it no other way. Erikur kills himself in his cell a day later. With this, the council¡¯s wrath peters out and cold tensions arise. I care not, although I can tell that this entire fiasco weighs on the mind of my Dvergur friends and affects their mood. One would think that the death of their enemies and the acquisition of a massive prize would soothe their feelings, but alas, the whole disaster leaves a bitter taste on their tongue. I do not understand why they would feel depressed, nor do I have to. It is enough for me to know that they are and respect their pain. We eventually make our way back to the Skoragg compound. Loth insisted on leaving for the Ice Palace as soon as possible. His initiative is firmly denied by both Kari and Skjoll. The dedicated bodyguard reminds Loth that his new acquisition could be trapped, and that he has a responsibility to preserve his life as the sovereign. Skoragg scouts later find the stronghold abandoned, though not sabotaged. I use this opportunity to pursue a few more projects with Loth. First, I am offered the mirror armor, which I accepted. I do need the reminder of how reckless I was to accept a duel during daytime in a place I could not personally check. My greed got the better of me. I will remember this lesson for the rest of my life. Second, the pair of us forge a new gun using the technology I brought from the United States, with a twist. ¡°Ye think of firearms as a mortal weapon that¡¯s just for flexibility, not something ye would use in real combat.¡± ¡°I would use it on a vampire.¡± ¡°But ye don¡¯t believe it would take one down. Ye need ta think bigger. You are not restrained by the limits of mortal bodies.¡± And so we end up making an absolute beast of a revolver, with a rotating cylinder and a massive barrel with an enchantment-laden counterweight. It fires a custom caliber bullet the size of my thumb. With that enormity, I would have no trouble killing werewolves at any range. I could blow a hole through a fortress gate. The acquisition of such a marvel of engineering leads to the next obvious consequence. I ask for another gun. I express my concern for secretive work, and we end up with an opposite firearm: a tiny one with a pearl handle that could fit in a handbag. I collect both with giddy anticipation. Finally, we go to our next project, the most promising yet. Metis has always been by my side in the thickest battles, and while she is resistant to mundane harm, bullets can still hurt her as the battle with the Order of Gabriel had demonstrated. We now must work on giving the old girl an armor worthy of her talent. The issue is two-fold. First, we need to create a piece that can reliably stop bullets. Two, she must be willing to wear it. And here lies the crux of the matter. While the haughty Nightmare tolerates a light harness with relative grace, carrying hundreds of pounds of enchanted metal is simply out of the question, at least on a regular basis. I have no need for her rejection to understand that. Restraints of any sorts simply go against her nature. If we want a practical set, we must juggle between functionality, and designing a piece of art that she will tolerate in battle. In order to guarantee success, her input is required. I have negotiated with soldiers, merchants, mayors, and whores. I have made deals with mages, half-naked werewolves, fully-naked werewolves, and grumpy Dvergurs. I have held meetings with vampires to decide the fate of hundreds of souls. And now, finally, at the zenith of my diplomatic career, I must contend with my greatest challenge yet. I must negotiate with my horse. I might be interpreting her neigh a bit here. We now stand in the Skoragg fortress gardens as I submit one design after another to the grumpy flesh-eater. Even the materials are problematic. Simply put, they need to match her nature as an otherworldly creature of the forest. In the end, Loth just gives her every piece of exotic material in the Skoragg vaults to sniff one at a time. Just as we are about to give up, Metis¡¯ ears perk up at the sight of a very peculiar piece of black leather. I take the dark fabric from Loth¡¯s hands and run my fingers over it. Smooth and scaly. My friend smiles. ¡°I should have guessed that she would love that one.¡± ¡°What is it?¡± ¡°The skin of the alligator we slew for the Choctaw. Out first hunt together.¡± ¡°What? I thought it had been destroyed with your house?¡± ¡°No, I decided to keep it when we evacuated, and I was right. This will offer good protection and camouflage with a few correct enchantments. Besides, it holds significance for you as your first successful takedown of a magical beast.¡± Successful takedown? The alligator caught me off guard and almost tore my arm off. Loth killed the beast before it could eat me. I was merely bait. ¡°Your contribution was important, even if you did not land the killing blow.¡± ¡°I am over it, Loth, do not concern yourself with my feelings.¡± ¡°Or your self-esteem.¡± ¡°Or my self-esteem. Everything is fine. I am fine.¡± ¡°Huh huh.¡± ¡°Moving on! Leather. Can it really stop bullets?¡± ¡°When I am done with it, it will. You will also find that your illusion spells extend over Metis more easily. Now, to find a proper design. Try to gauge how she would feel about adding a spike on her forehead. She could look like a unicorn!¡± Metis¡¯ answer is swift and unambiguous. ¡°Thankfully,¡± I remark, ¡°we are already in the garden so it is just more fertilizer.¡± Loth and I finish the armor in a week before focusing on his repeater gun. We take much more time for that one, and I believe that Loth considers it more as a project of love to distract him from his many duties rather than something practical he really wants to finish. We spend another few weeks together, but soon September comes and, with it, Kari¡¯s ultimatum. Loth is late on many of his other projects and needs to up his game. I, too, have postponed my duties for too long. My inquiries about Mask have not led to anything, especially from the Rosenthal who warned me against engaging in dangerous activities so far outside of my support structures. I agree with their sentiment. My decision made, I pack my belongings, including the tiny revolver, which I have named the Accessory, and the huge one, which I have dubbed the Big Iron after a suggestion from Sheridan. Time to head home. We soon ride back to Stockholm, then from there take a ship to Copenhagen where the vampire train network is active. I find passage aboard a transport leaving from Le Havre a few days later, and we resume our travels. I meet a few Erenwald and Roland vampires during my trip through the German states. Unfortunately, I learn very little as they gang up on me to ask questions about the New World and its many opportunities. While they always remain polite, I can feel a certain distance between us that indicates that my traveling companions have little interest in getting to know me better, or even for longer. I do not know whether it is caused by my image as a provincial frontierswoman, my sire, or the inevitability of conflict. The train puffs its way through sleepy hamlets and larger ones, but never stops long enough for me to visit. It appears that it is merely a means of transportation, while I would prefer a more leisurely pace. I also realize that I would be annoyed if I took the train back home, only to stop for twelve hours here and there for tourism. Unfortunately, staying in any place for longer than necessary would generate curiosity in people whose attention I would rather avoid. The first real setback of my European trip (if I do not count the unexpected battle with a lord) occurs in the Lille train station, in northern France, where we stop for an hour. Delighted by the building and its august skylight supported by a complex structure of wrought iron, I make the mistake of ordering a cafe. In French. ¡°Pfffft, c¡¯est quoi cet accent?¡± the plump waitress scoffs with amusement. ¡°Un probleme, Marceline?¡± her employer asks from behind a polished counter. I lean back into the dainty wicker chair and listen to her hasty apology, but the deed is done. I have an amusing accent. My¡­ mother tongue¡¯s pronunciation is that of a bumpkin of unknown provenance! Ugh! I have never felt so mortified! The realization that I have sounded like a clod to worldly French speakers every time I have opened my mouth sinks my mood to new depths of shame and despair. I should eat the waitress to wipe the memory from her mind. No, no¡­ No! I shall only speak English or German from now on, at least until I can absorb the local intonations. But not here, in Paris, where we will have a short stay. Sheridan feels my dismay as we climb back up. ¡°Something the matter?¡± he inquires. ¡°Have you ever had the daunting realization that you have spoken a language all your life, and then you travel, and realize that everybody thinks that your way of pronunciation is that of a hopeless redneck?¡± I ask the Texan who grew up in a hacienda in the middle of nowhere. ¡°Huh?¡± ¡°Nevermind.¡± Our journey continues, through the dense fields of the French countryside, now quiescent and bare after the recent harvest. The air is dry and pleasant, for now, though I can already smell fall in the air. We are crossing through a colorful little town with dark blue tiled roofs when the train slows down for an unexpected stop. I frown as I look down through the tinted glass of the restaurant wagon, where I had settled with a book and a cup. My eyes confirm what my aura detected: we are being hailed by a group of vampires. Six, if I count correctly. At least two of them are masters. ¡°Stay here,¡± I order Sheridan. I stand up, before realizing that all my weapons are in the usual secured locker. In fact, with the addition of two revolvers, just Sheridan and I occupy more than two thirds of the total available space. It matters little, as I still have my most powerful asset. No one will ever be able to strip it from me. I stop in the next carriage as the train leader, a tiny Roland woman with short auburn hair, runs to me. Although she betrays no signs of nervousness, I can feel the tremor in her aura. And a fat lot of good it will do the both of us. Well, nothing to it. I rush to my bedroom to retrieve my official documentation, then walk down on a deserted platform. The six unknown vampires gather around me in a half-circle that is decidedly hostile. I tilt my head in wonder, and adopt a defensive stance. Those are Roland fighters. The four courtiers are non-entities if this turns into a fight, but the two masters are unknown. They wear black coats over dark suits, with white shirts, and red ties. There are only minor variations between each. Their bowler hats, however, are all identical. I feel like I am being robbed by a mob of pretentious ragamuffins. the head lout asks with a valiant attempt at conceited arrogance, though I can taste the apprehension underneath. He wears a brown moustache and a scowl. I do not demand when I know that my requests will be ignored. Let them make the first mistake. Let them dig their own graves. My transit has been approved by both Mask and Eneru representatives long before I set foot on the continent. To aggress me now is to create a serious diplomatic incident. I do not react to their daring, ARROGANT demands. They are legally allowed to do what they are doing, for now, even though the most naive of fledgelings could see where this is going. I must be patient. I must let them commit the first mistake. And so, I calmly hand them my passport, now heavy with stamps and notes. The leader makes a token effort to consult the hallowed document. A vampire passport is a magical object, making tempering not just incredibly difficult, but also incredibly illegal, and therefore, dangerous. I helpfully suggest. I move and, with an explosive gesture, grab back what is mine. I open it at the right page as they grab weapons from pockets and sheaths. I am now faced with three shortswords, a gauntlet and dagger combo, and two maces. How quaint. I interrupt with calm, The leader picks back the document with deliberate slowness. I do not answer. He rips it out. Big mistake. he tells me with a smirk. I think not. he says, quite pleased with himself. FOOLISH CUR. I let the aura of my anger explode outward as I materialize Rose. They think they have me? They think THEY ARE SMART? If they were smart, they would have brought more goons. They would not have forgotten what I am, and what I can do. My first strike severs their leader from shoulder to heart. I do not finish him off, however, and punch the nearby courtier in the chest with a single finger. His face spasms and he starts to collapse. I have already moved on. I lunge to the other master and the Rose¡¯s blade extends, penetrating his heart through his hastily erected guard. The next two fledgelings fall in moments. For them, I make sure not to damage their hearts too much. A mere puncture is all it takes for essence-rich, dark blood to spill on the ground. Only the mage is left, and I duck behind the falling form of his comrades to avoid the building spell. Alas, at the moment of the cast, I realize my mistake. A red flare takes off the platform and explodes hundreds of yards into the air, basking us in its scarlet radiance. The magical call that emerges from it dwarfs even the most powerful of beacon spells. Only Semiramis¡¯ summoning came close in terms of sheer power. Ah¡­ the pathetic courtier informs me with triumph in his gaze. AMUSING. I grab him by his throat and bring him close to my face, so that only a few fingers separate us. Bones creak under my unyielding grasp. Tsk! I wish I could kill all of them, but that would be going too far. The moment I slaughter an entire group, I pass the point of no return on a land filled with short-fused battle lords and ladies, and so, I must content myself with the tiny prize that the Rose fetched for me. A broken spine later and recovered passport, I am moving back up to the train. The conductor stares at me with obvious horror. We run back to the front when I come across Sheridan. ¡°Here, take this,¡± I inform him as I hand over my passport and the ripped off page, ¡°keep it safe, as I may need it depending on how things go.¡± ¡°You need covering fire?¡± ¡°Not this time, my friend. Stay with the train, and make sure that the luggage reaches the ship. And keep the passport closely. It will clear me of wrongdoing if I do get caught. I shall meet you on the embankments.¡± ¡°Understood. Don¡¯t you die on me.¡± ¡°I do not plan to. I must go.¡± ¡°Hey, give them hell.¡± I nod, but I sincerely hope that it does not come to that. I do not wish to start a war. As soon as the locker is unlocked, I ditch my dress to reveal the small cloth underneath, to the obvious appreciation of the conductor. I decide to take everything but the rifle, as it is too unwieldy. I end up with my armor, mask, throwing knives, spare dagger, the Big Iron, and a spare revolver, all loaded with silver bullets. And my gauntlet, of course. I tell the petite woman. I jump out on the platform after a last farewell, then onto a nearby roof. After that, I sprint out of the village and into nearby woods. So. That happened. I suppose that my unknown enemies in Mask have made their move. It just feels so incredibly brazen. Not only are they creating a diplomatic incident, but it will certainly split their own ranks. Mask and Eneru are more groups of interests than a firm alliance united in purpose. Except for wars or exceptional ¡®cas de force majeure¡¯, their members have no obligation to act on behalf of each other. Such is not the case now. I am not important enough that Mask would reach a consensus to dispose of me, at least not yet. The only explanation I can think of is that someone committed a blunder, as there was little incentive to act in such a heavy-handed fashion. Now, for my options. I could try to run to Le Havre, but I sincerely doubt that I can manage it. That flare they sent means that they prepared something in the eventuality of their failure. I will face heavy opposition. More than I can handle, certainly. No, the best I can do is to be taken into custody by someone who is not part of the ploy to arrest me in the first place, and they are bound to come and see what is happening if I resist long enough. I think that this is the most likely outcome. I will have to strike a delicate balance between defense and mercy. Ugh, to play with stupid rules. I hate politics, but I hate dying even more. Twenty minutes later, I emerge from the forest at full speed only to feel a spell ping against my aura. I am even now wearing Nashoba¡¯s earrings, however, the enemy construct is not a proper tracker, but something different. It expands in a wave and returns the presence of anything with an aura. Truly, they are well-prepared. My time is short, and I realize my predicament. I have spent so much time developing spells and techniques to find someone that I have neglected countermeasures against being found. I know what I shall focus on next. That is fine. I did not expect to escape without fighting anyway. I run across an empty field and past an ancient stone house with a baying dog. The next forest is thick and old, with roots popping out of the packed earth like ancient bones out of a ruined grave. I weave my way between bulbous trunks and gnarly branches, barely slowing down. Something is coming. ¡°Nu Sharran.¡± A thin layer of darkness spreads from the gauntlet to cover the entire area, more fog than impenetrable wall this time. I am improvising. It seems to be working. a voice whispers to my front and right. Other tracking spells fuse from behind me, and far to the left. Multiple search parties? So soon? Time to learn more. I rush to my assailants. The other groups will soon converge on the cloud anyway, so I might as well attempt some defeat in detail. the same voice asks. I jump up a trunk and then from one tree to another like the planet¡¯s most elegant chimpanzee. Predators always forget to look up. I stare down. Three masters stand back to back, covering each other. This time, they are clearly decked for war in light armor and powerful heart protectors. They carry an assortment of weapons and, surprisingly, nets. One of them holds a shiny golden globe with a single ruby jumping on its surface. It looks like a powerful tracking device. I kind of want it. ¡°Nu Sarrehin,¡± I barely whisper, and a suspicious radiance pulses away from me, near the ground. All three of the foes react by instinct, brandishing weapons at the distraction. The fastest one immediately realizes that it is a trap, and already turns around with a sweeping motion. Unfortunately for him, I come from above. I stab the slowest fighter in the clavicle, through the thinner armor covering the shoulder, and all the way to his heart. Hahaha, YES! I dodge above a counter strike by bouncing off the falling body and launch a knife, which my opponent deflects by twisting to the side. They are already attacking as I touch the ground. The left one drops his device and takes a sword and dagger, looking like a musketeer with his curly brown hair and sharp face, while the other brandishes a short spear. That one is weirdly plump, with a frizzy dark beard. I lunge, but do not manage to extend it as the swordmaster smartly locks it with his two weapons. The bearded man takes a step to the side and attempts to stab me. I disengage by using a lot of strength and pulling with the shredding part of my soul weapon. The ghastly grinding sound surprises the first one who stumbles forward. I punch him in the face as he is now very close and his companion drives me back with a flurry of blows before I can capitalize on it. They resume their attack. I angle myself to place the swordsman in front of the spear-wielder, and am surprised when the first simply goes low to allow the second to strike above him. They really fight together well. the fat man remarks as he reels from one of my strikes. the first one retorts. I smile as I back up against a trunk. I can tell the moment where their eyes widen with the typical ¡®gotcha¡¯ expression that I myself convey. Unfortunately for them, it was planned. I press two feet against the solid base and barrel forward with an extended overhead strike. The Rose cracks as the tip of the blade whips forward and down. The swordsman collapses with half of his head split in two while the fat man falls to his knees, yelling in pain. Their essence is rich and the fight makes it all the more tasty. It is unfortunate that I cannot devour them. Perhaps they would tolerate A DEATH OR TWO. No! No. I shall stick to the plan. I inform him pleasantly. he replies, eyes fixed on his companion. He returns his gaze to me after realizing that I will not kill him. I ask. I hiss. I am not just letting someone put me in chains AGAIN. NEVER AGAIN. NOT THIS. I resist the temptation to dishearten the bearded man. I must stick to the plan and KILL THEM ALL. No! Just¡­ disable and force them to¡­ I do not know. Negotiate? Yes, negotiate. I am not GETTING BOUND, FINGERS CUT. NEVER AGAIN. RUN. RUN! S?a??h the ??v?l_Fir?.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. I leave and run, now feeling a distinct pull on my presence. They know where I am. I have to keep moving or I will be corralled. My instincts are rising to the surface with frightening speed at the thought of captivity, and yet, they feel more fluid than usual. They lack their previous indomitability. As if the experience of briefly going rogue shielded me from succumbing again. More forest to hide me. I avoid the empty fields. I see a small elevation in the distance with the gutted remnant of a stone fort, but do not go there. Visible. Useless. More fields, which I cannot avoid now. Pine trees. Danger. Intuition makes me dodge left as a dark arrow digs in, then through, a nearby trunk in a hail of splinters. A woman with a bow, in metal armor. Five other masters with a variety of weapons. Keep running. I dodge again as another arrow drills through every obstacle before smashing into the ground in a shower of dust. The woman swears behind, and I slow down to allow the fastest pursuers to catch up. And then I turn around, dodge under a thrown net which shimmers with enchantments as I avoid it by a hair, and stab forward. The lithe fighter was not expecting that. He parries with a foil but my strength cannot be denied and I mash him against a nearby tree, which cracks under the strain. An elbow to the face and my spare knife in his chest, pushed in with Natalis essence. One down, many to go. A halberd smacks me in the shoulder. I roll with the blow and allow the armor to absorb the impact of the heavy enchanted weapon. I kick a heavyset man with an axe as he appears from behind a ravine. A spear and halberd strike together. WORTHY PREY. The spell strikes a tall woman in the arm at point blank range. She screams and drops her spear as the skin of her arm peels off, leaving behind grey, dessicated flesh. She tastes nice. I repulse the halberd wielder with a sweep, then catch him by surprise with a return strike. The Rose curves nicely around his guard to dig into his extended leg. A twist of the toothy side, and the limb is lopped off. Black blood on the ground. I reverse course and rush back. The archer is here with two companions. ¡°Nu Sharran.¡± Darkness spreads over the forest once more. A projectile zips over my head. Good try. My turn. I take out the Big Iron from its holster on my back and level it at the archer. an older-looking gentleman whispers. The illusion dissipates. My PREY sees the gun and crosses her arm over head and chest. I shoot her in the gut. The poor girl screams when half of her abdomen flies out of her back. Gonna need a bigger armor, dearie. UNPREPARED. ARROGANT. I should punish them for daring to go against me. The need to kill has faded somewhat. I am no longer here to destroy, but to teach them a painful lesson. The next bullet pierces a quickly erected shield, but the mage manages to deflect the shot so that it barely grazes his torso. The last man has a shield, and he uses it to stop the next two shots. Powerful enchantments on that one. Heavy too. I bend forward to avoid a sweeping blow from the axe wielder coming from behind, and slice his foot off. The Rose bounces back. Heavily armored. Still leave a bleeding furrow. the man swears. He tries to stop my parting blow. The tooth part grinds back as I dodge a hastily thrown spell. The axe falls from the man¡¯s arms. ¡°Ya!¡± I dig both feet into the ground and sweep the Rose at maximum extension. It whistles through the air and pushes all three combatants to the ground, even digging into the shield. Time to try something fun! I jump and pull on the Rose, flying towards the tip instead of pulling it back. I stab one of my throwing daggers in the axeman¡¯s eyes as I go over him. I land with both feet on the unbalanced shield wielder. The mage grips his exploding gauntlet. I dodge back to avoid a sword thrust. My counter blow places the Rose¡¯s edge into the attacker¡¯s head. He falls to the ground, and his shield crashes on a stone with a deafening clang. I strike the mage through the heart. Intuition screams. I barely block the axeman as he tries, once again, to cut my head off. The attack still pierces through Loth¡¯s armor and I feel pain for the first time tonight. STRONG OPPONENT. GOOD ESSENCE. The knife did not go deep enough. I also do not know of many foes who would get stabbed in the eye, pull it out and then get back into the fight without pause. To my surprise, my foe takes a few steps back and the cause becomes immediately obvious. The third group of pursuers is upon us. the axeman yells, his remaining eye firmly fixed on me. one of the newcomers asks. I ask, though I already suspect the answer. a brunette of small stature affirms. She carries a massive two-handed sword on her back. I retort. Though she does not reply, a blond man covered with knives does so in her stead. Our deadly dance resumes. I rush back and disable a charging spearman with a shot to the face. A loss of cohesion, ey? THE SCENT OF BLOOD, THE VISION OF DEFEAT. THEY KNOW. One down, six to go. My last two bullets are blocked by a man in heavy armor, and the small woman who literally cuts the projectile in the air. She smirks. I holster the Big Iron and¡­ take out my spare gun. I sprint back and shoot out the vampires at the edge of the formation. The knife one manages to get away with superficial wounds, but a man in light armor and a pike is hit repeatedly. He stumbles, his wounds not healing. I aim my last bullet at the frontrunner. He has picked up the shield and charges me with the intent to slam it against my form. He ducks under cover and¡­ I flip the revolver to aim the gauntlet instead. ¡°Shred.¡± Enchantments groan under my attack, and finally snap with a dose of Rose fangs. I still have to disengage when the two-handed swordswoman almost cleaves me in two. Her fast attack catches me off-guard to bite deep into my chest plate. ¡°Hsss.¡± That hurt. And her blade is enchanted, so healing will be slow. She deflects my counter strike with a powerful sweep and returns to formation. I am at risk of being overwhelmed. I keep retreating until we reach another patch of woods. This one is too young to offer much cover so I merely keep moving until they grow dense enough to play with. They work well together. I have difficulties capitalizing on my superior power as they do their damnedest to cover each other. That is fine. I can just chip at them until enough break. They are powerful fighters, all of them, and this combat is exciting. YES. A worthy challenge! ¡°Nu Sharran.¡± I throw blood-magic reinforced spells at weak points using the cover of the darkness spell. Even those who manage to dodge only reveal their comrades¡¯ exposed backs. I have already used more power than two average battle mages, and I still feel far from exhausted. I would have been even more dangerous if I let myself feed as well. It feels¡­ amazing. I take out the swordswoman by stabbing her in the gut through a trunk, then severing both with a furious snap. This is AMUSING. Yes, little things, come and entertain me, so that I may teach you. We exit another patch to yet another open ground, this one filled with ripening apple trees. The perfume of fruit and blood mix pleasantly in the early night. The five fighters still standing stop at the edge of the forest in a loose circle, wary of me. I swipe the Rose so that the extremity cracks in the air. The axeman flinches. a smooth voice says from the side. Both the enemies and myself turn with more than a bit of surprise, as two men emerge from the shadows of the orchard. I have not felt them come at all. They are twins, I notice. Roland. I can taste their age and power from their movements alone. Even then, they stay at a respectable distance. The two have very dark curly hair, pencil moustaches and thin, pointy beards. Their expressions are filled with melancholy, as if the spectacle before them caused them pain on a fundamental level. They wear vastly different outfits, however, with one of them looking like a shepherd in a simple shirt and white trouser. The other wears a princely blue vest with shiny brass buttons. I see no weapons. the first one answers with a forced smile. the richer-looking one adds in an identical voice, The other group turns to the axe-wielder who shakes his head. ¡± the shepherd states. Silence now reigns over the fertile land. A nightly wind caresses my skin and cools the tingly sensation of my knitting flesh, where my defenses faltered. The grass undulates around us. The momentum of the night grinds to a stop as I feel their twinned aura rise from its slumber to anchor us all. the rich one orders. The oath takes hold, and all present wait with eager expectation. Fate leaves me unscathed. Of course, there are ways to circumvent even the most direct of promises. It still holds weight, especially when the situation is messy enough that a complex scheme appears unlikely. the shepherd finishes. I sputter. I hiss in answer. The twins make black foils appear from their hands, the rich one having a longer and more elaborate one while the shepherd¡¯s is thicker and heavier. ¡°Magna Arqa!¡± they declare at the same time. Their eyes flash purple. Arg! All my focus ends on the shepherd who charges at vertiginous speed. I lunge, but the strike is deflected with minimal movement. I pull back and let intuition take over. Left. Right. I move, and, with desperate speed, block a sweep that would have gutted me like a fish. I suddenly feel a great pain. The rich twin has reappeared. He was completely gone from my perception, and my attention had been entirely swallowed by the other one! Is this their Magna Arqa? His blade is lodged in my chest. Oh, this is bullsh¡ª Chapter 123: The Undercity I wake up expecting the worst only to be pleasantly surprised. I lie in a comfortable bed, head resting on a plump pillow and one hand placed on my belly. I feel the caress of a silk slip on my skin. Nothing restrains me, chains or otherwise.Somewhere to my front and left, the susurrus of paper being turned breaks the silence. Without moving, I slightly open my eyes to take in my surroundings. Somebody brought me to an extravagant bedroom of good size. The light of candelabras gives it a cozy feeling, and shows an interesting choice of decorations. All the paintings reveal a virginal woman in a white dress resting near a lake. Melancholy seeps into every rendition, even though each work was made by a different artist. Whoever decorated this room placed an emphasis on interpretation rather than on the subject itself. I notice this in an instant, then turn to the person currently sitting at the edge of my bed. He places a page marker in a small leather-covered book before hiding it in an inner pocket of his dark coat. His gloved hand retrieves a golden pocket watch, which he checks, before turning to me. I take a moment to taste his aura. I have no doubt that he is powerful, yet his presence eludes me. The essence is extremely diffuse, with a vaporous quality that teases and disappears just as I grasp it. He wears an impeccable black suit under a dark coat with a brown vest and red tie. With his black hair and beard, he might have been threatening, and yet his smile as he talks to me would disarm even the most skittish of maidens. He is more like a handsome, sharp doctor than a dangerous predator. Even the amused glint in his dark brown eyes lacks bite. I observe. He chuckles in answer. The oath settles without issue. I frown. Of course, there always is. Seeing my incomprehension, the man elaborates. I wait until the door closes before jumping to my feet. I am fine, completely healed, in fact. And clean. Someone even took the time to brush and dry my hair before delicately positioning me in bed, in a very artistic posture. I confirm what my instincts told me. Nothing binds me. Unfortunately, I cannot refuse the hospitality of my host for two reasons. First, the only free exit is protected by thick shutters, on the other side of which is the sun. Second, I know of Jean-Baptiste. He is a renowned warlord of Mask, not just the Roland, but the actual alliance. His Magna Arqa fills his foes with abject terror. He is also the only known scythe-wielder among our kind. Naminata informed me that he was nicknamed The Reaper, though never to his face, and that he was entirely monogamous. If The Reaper wants me to attend a party, I will attend the party. I do not stand a chance against one such as he. He stands at the apex of power and martial prowess in the world. Amusingly, he does not feel that way. I would call him debonair and suave despite the underlying threat, as if we were both merely victims of unfortunate circumstances and he had decided to make the best of it. With a sigh, I move around and find an open chest at the base of the bed, which contains a white dress that I put on. The dress itself is rather complicated, and it takes me ten minutes to finish setting up everything by myself. Several layers of fabric contribute to a typically Victorian ensemble with a modest cleavage being the only concession to modernity. Every layer is made of different cloth, all of them bone-white, in a curious monochromatic harmony that relies on relief to create contrast. I like it. It is also almost my size. At the bottom of the chest, I find two masks and a note. The first accessory would not look out of place on a cheap stall for Mardis-gras celebrations. The second is my war mask. Chipped. Damaged. Heavily enchanted. An instrument of combat whose owner survived many battles. I will not attend a masquerade wearing a debutante ball prop, thank you very much. Now set, I exit into a gaudy corridor. Jean-Baptiste waits on a nearby seat with his book. Corentin turns out to be a young man with angelic features, complete with golden curls, and a terrible case of the nerves. I soothe his mind and feed lightly, as it appears that he is rather inexperienced. I leave the satisfied youth asleep in his bed. The corridor leads to a massive entrance, also shuttered, as well as a most peculiar candelabra. Someone is affixed to it in a very uncomfortable position, though probably not as uncomfortable as having his body skewered by multiple barbed steel spikes. Black blood seeps from his many wounds and, as I pass, I hear a weak moan. Jean-Baptiste lightly asks. I inspect the furniture and human hybrid more closely and realize that the fantastic moustache is familiar. Indeed, he and I met briefly when he tore up my passport. I ask with a frown. a raspy voice beseeches from the strange decoration. Jean-Baptiste does not slow down. We climb down marble stairs in the dim glow of gas lights to a locked entrance. My host leads me down a hidden path through a wine cellar, then through a secret passage hidden behind a fake wine barrel of monumental proportions. I frown at the non sequitur but remember that he cannot see my expression behind the mask. Jean-Baptiste turns to me then, his eyes searching my own. he says with a wink. I know what he means. We usually save the incomprehensible situations and theatrics for the mortals. And speaking of theatrics, the passage we follow descends into the darkness through stairs cut into the very rock. We soon approach a dead-end, the end wall emitting a powerful aura. Another secret passage. Jean-Baptiste bows with a flourish, then, without breaking eye contact, presses a secret panel that depresses to show the symbol of Mask. Corny does not do the mechanism justice. I struggle to find an appropriate euphemism. The lord graces me with a smile, and it feels strangely genuine. We walk through the revealed passage into a new area, this one significantly older. The air here smells damp and slightly rotten, the cause immediately apparent. We stand in a corridor harboring a multitude of alcoves, into which skeletons lie in neat, ordered rows. Stacks of skulls, bundles of tibia, mountains of ribs, and plains of knuckles alternate with each other to form a grim landscape of ancient, yellowed remains. I stop to inspect the show with curiosity. The remains are so ancient, and so anonymous, that they become a morbid background rather than dead people. I had no idea that such a place existed. ¡°We are in the catacombs, below the Rive Gauche, the southern part of the city. We did not create it, mind you. It was used to store the mountain of old human remains buried across the city around sixty years ago. Dominique found the setting simply too tempting. We have co-opted it as a result.¡± Jean-Baptiste leads me deeper into the warren of stone and bones. The passages quickly expand until every room becomes cavernous. The air gains an unnaturally cold quality as we move on, and I find myself enjoying it tremendously. Such an original setting! I wish I could take the time to make a few drawings. Perhaps later. Our journey continues through winding tunnels until my guide stops before an innocuous pile of grinning skulls that nothing differentiates from the others. He retrieves from behind it the head of a wolf, as dark as the night. I only realize its nature when he puts it on. The threatening maw is particularly convincing, and his eyes gain a wolfish quality. I roll my eyes at the antics, and am graced with a rumbling laugh. I finally notice how he orients himself when I realize that unknown symbols have been engraved on every arc. I would be lost without hope of rescue, were it not for my nature. The honeycomb of chambers and passages hides many secret entrances, easily discernible for those who can perceive magic. As we go on, I find the first irregularity since we started our little trek: a large arrow painted on the packed earth of the ground in luminescent paint. I ask, surprised by the graceless display. Our feet have finally led us to a monumental entrance. Wrought iron twisted in intricate patterns contrasts with the crimson rosewood essence to create a red and black scenery. A doomed man beseeches a beautiful and terrible goddess, who ignores his advances as her gaze travels up. A pair of perfect sapphires were inserted where her eyes would. They shine, azure, under the glow of nearby torches. I am not familiar with metalworking for the sake of art. I can even spot a few places where flaws have escaped the artists¡¯ attention, and yet, the sheer emotion captured by this work grabs at my mind with the frantic grasp of the desperate. It embodies everything we have lost and still admire in mankind, the drive, the originality, the unfettered genius. Emotions, raw and pure, radiate from it in waves that force my attention to dart from one detail to another, from one loving twist to another obsessed hammering. I stand in the presence of greatness. Jean-Baptiste tugs on my sleeve, and I blink. We approach and I notice a single wardrobe sat on the side against the wall. It is partially open and contains a single male white suit. Jean-Baptiste comments. He is having fun. I let him open the gate and walk in. If I still had a breath, it would have caught on my chest now. To call the place I find myself in grandiose would be a massive understatement. It is¡­ incredible. Under a ceiling that could fit a cathedral, a chamber of pharaonic proportion stretches far into the distance, leading to an elevated platform of white marble. The ground expands in a myriad of tiles of various sizes that still manage to fit perfectly. Columns as large as redwoods expand up, while stalactites climb down like so many swords of Damocles. Every inch of walls is engraved with chthonian scenes and alien landscapes, all unpainted grey, all bearing the touch of madness. At regular intervals, wood panels lit by candles show intriguing and unique portraits or sculptures in a succession of masterpieces that no mortal museum could match. A set of stairs lead to a balcony on the left side that allows its occupants to dominate the crowd. And what a crowd it is. In pairs or groups, vampires in white uniforms mingle with silent grace. Masks as varied as can be, hide their features in a clash of styles and tastes. Comedy masks, tragedy masks, veils and visors. Beasts and kings and gods and monsters. Assyria meets Rome while Guinea courts Russia in a dizzy dance of colors. It is, also, perfectly silent. All the guests sign with their hands at blinding speeds that only we can follow. Spread fans hide meaning from questing eyes, and the drone of moving fabric is the only noise, for no one here is a mortal. There are more than three hundred vampires present, at least fifty lords and ladies. Not a single courtier. The combined power present here simply defies description. Even with their auras so tightly controlled, I feel something in the air that¡­ alters it, as if a purple haze covered every nook and cranny of the room. The world around me feels more plastic, more fluid. I could gaze up and feel the presence of the through layers upon layers of stone. Jean-Baptiste breaks my line of sight just as I am about to lose myself in a deliciously insane interpretation of the Last Supper. He extends a hand which I automatically take, and we move onward. To the right and on the opposite side of the balcony, someone created an otherworldly pond filled with transparent water. Luminescent mushrooms and algae dance a chimeric rondo in step with the beat of a fountain, pulsing like a giant heart as it bleeds water. Vampires move and part before us in an organic fashion, and I realize why. My guide still wears black, save for the single scarlet dash of his tie. It gives the wolf mask an edge. I am led to the base of the stairs and let through by a pair of powerful lords wearing identical masks in the likeness of sphinxes. We climb up, and the hum of conversation pops out of nowhere as soon as we are on the steps. It appears that the privileged section of the assembly prefers speech, though they do not share it. Lady Dominique is throwing me a bone by inviting me among the hallowed ranks of vampire nobility, if only for a night. We top the landing, and I finally lay my eyes on the cream of the crop. Contrary to the uniform white below, the assembly here shows more color, though they maintain the monochromatic spirit of the evening. A burly man in red turns to look at me with a scowl barely disguised behind a kingly mask, also red except for stylized black curls in the hair and beard. A lithe lady in a blue gown and a very thin mask of a siren gives me an imperceptible nod before the pair returns to their previous conversation. As I pass, I feel the echo of Lancaster essence coming from her. A few other guests in white mingle around them, as well as another trio of dignitaries that we quickly join. I see a tall, muscular man in green with a mask seemingly grown from roots to give him a monstrous appearance complete with a haunting smile. I taste a hint of Erenwald forest on him. His deep blue eyes glance over me without reaction. Next is a curious man with the thin build of a fencer and the tiniest hint of a potbelly. His costume is purple and atrociously extravagant, a mix between gaudy prince and jester, with a grinning full mask and a clown hat with two jutting, pointy black ends. He is jumping excitedly from foot to foot in a decidedly unvampiric way. The center of the group, unmoving and aloof, is a vampire that can only be Lord Dominique. And I finally understand why I was told multiple times that deciding on her? His? Their sex, was up for discussion. Dominique wears yellow and gold, with a top hat and the most androgynous face I have ever seen ¡®hidden¡¯ behind a thin domino mask. I believe I will go with ¡®he¡¯. He has a delicate face with a slightly squarish chin and prominent cheekbones, as well as hooded brown eyes. He twirls in his hand a silver and ebony cane showing a tiny spider. Blond hair falls to his shoulders in a delicate mess, slightly wavy, and looking deliciously soft. A loose jacket hides what could be small breasts or undeveloped ones. It tapers to a thin waist and dancers¡¯ legs. Dominique is by far the most androgynous being I have ever seen. He smiles as he sees us. Dominique¡¯s voice is a husky alto as smooth as syrup, a voice to fall asleep to, or to sin with. Maximilen replies with renewed excitement. He is the flamboyant man in purple. I stop at a few feet and curtsy in the court-approved way. Thankfully, we have adopted the standard customs of our European cousins, and protocol comes to me naturally. Dominique lies, I bow to the master of ceremony, who returns the greeting with ostentation. s?a??h th? ?ov?l?ir?.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. he rumbles, I reply after a hesitation. I cannot decipher the Ambassador¡¯s expression behind the forest spirit mask. Thankfully, Maximilen guffaws. I expect the Erenwald to lash out, yet he simply nods in understanding, his goal achieved. I do not know the first thing about him, while he knows the name of my Nightmare, which I do not share overmuch. The imbalance of information caught me off guard and set the pecking order. He managed it in one sentence. Dominique continues, This is common knowledge. I am not revealing anything that would endanger him. Maximilien adds. I do not react at the cheap jab. the outrageous man continues, he finishes. The peculiar man takes a step back and lightly jumps on the bannister ¡ª without looking ¡ª and levitates to the stage. I have no idea what kind of magic does that, but I admit to being impressed. And slightly put off by such a blatant violation of the laws of nature. Maximilien bows to the assembled vampires and saunters away. Dominique steps to the edge of the balcony and settles to wait. I join his right side while Luther takes the left. The edge of a powerful aura brushes my back and I do my best not to react to the feeling of imminent danger I feel from the light contact. The man in red silently steps to my own right, regal mask aimed frontwards. He tastes of Roland, and so old that his polar aura seeps through the skin to my very bones. If I were mortal, I would be shivering. The door opens to reveal a surprise. A human walks in. I observe the curious scene with interest as it unfolds before my eyes. The mortal wears the disguise that was left by the entrance as he hesitantly makes his way through the silent crowd. His brown eyes dart nervously from one guest to another as they sign and snap their fans close. Nobody shows any clue that they noticed what he is, and he moves on, oblivious to the fact that his thundering heartbeat resonates in the ears and minds of hundreds of apex predators. A chick in a wolf den. As he moves on, some of the vampires in his trail pause, their finger dances faltering. Soon, I realize why as his unique scent makes its way to me. I have never tasted such despair before. The raw, intense anguish he suffers from would have sent a lesser man screaming. The thrum of the blood pumping under his skin beats a staccato that forces me to clench my jaw shut, for his essence would be a prize like no other. He is probably living the single most intense moment of his life. I fear that he may die from the nerves before the next five minutes have passed. A small wave spreads through the crowd, imperceptible from the mass, yet obvious from my vantage point. They know. They wait for the climax. And it comes. From behind the elevated pedestal to my left, a curtain lifts and Maximilien struts in with two guards in sphinx masks. They pull a young woman between them. She is dressed in a beautiful rose gown, and her curly brown hair is raised in a chignon that reveals her tender neck. She is pretty, but quite lost as she gazes left and right with widened eyes. The man gasps as she is brought forward. Emotional distress like no other saturates the air. ¡°Mesdemoiselles et messieurs,¡± Maximilien says in French, ¡°I have the pleasure of introducing the first attraction of the night! A game of skill for the most precious of prizes: Mireille Desmoulins, the beloved daughter!¡± His use of the local vernacular can only be for the benefit of our breathing little intruder. Indeed, the reveal soon follows. ¡°And for our participant, I give you the retired soldier, the washed-out sharpshooter, the bereaved father, Alexandre Desmoulins!¡± As one man, the assembled vampires stomp their right feet on the ground, and turn towards the man with absolute uniformity. Those who are the closest also adjust their distance, so that the crying man falls in a geometrically exact circle of doom six feet across. ¡°Nom de dieu!¡± The imprecation reverberates through the unmoving crowd, a veritable garden of white statues as pitiless and remorseless as winter itself. Not even a strand of hair flutters to betray that the spectacle before him is not an impossibly realistic image. My hands grip the stone beneath, for the terrible sense of doom the man emits has now reached an intoxicating intensity. Fear and love battle in his harried mind. The wafts of terror tug at my instincts, and I thank Jean-Baptiste in my mind for allowing me to feed before coming. ¡°Alexandre mon coeur, it was perhaps unwise of you to default on your debts, yes? But since we are a generous sort, and so much enjoy a good story, you will be granted an opportunity to redeem yourself. Why, we do not ask for much, only that you participate in a little¡­ contest.¡± The two guards drag Mireille to the side. One of them lifts a finger and a stone column emerges from the very ground of the platform rising up until it tops the tallest of men. They attach the addled woman to it, including the neck to keep her head stable. Meanwhile, Maximilien takes out a round, scarlet apple from the recess of his vest. Where he hid it, I have no idea. He tosses it in the air as he continues his speech. ¡°Tell me, you must be familiar with the story of Guillaume Tell, yes?¡± Aha, I get it now. ¡°No, mercy¡­¡± And so does Alexandre. I know Guillaume Tell, or rather William Tell¡¯s story from an opera by Rossini. He was a Swiss folk hero who, forced by a cruel Austrian reeve, proved his incredible marksmanship¡­ by shooting an apple off the head of his son. ¡°Tut tut tut tres cher. Surely a proof of skill would not be too much to ask of you, who claimed he had shot through every hole of a horseshoe at eight meters.¡± Another guard brings an elaborate wooden box with silver engravings. Maximilien opens it, and picks up a master-crafted pistol, which he brandishes above his head. ¡°Come and accept my challenge, or refuse, and you both die.¡± The momentum of the event relies on Alexandre being decisive, and he is. The retired soldier gulps noisily, Adam¡¯s apple bobbing up and down. He drags his stress-wracked form across the room but collapses as soon as he steps on the pedestal. The focused gazes of so many lands on his back, to see if their prey will stand up and offer some fun, or if the hunt has drawn to a close. And in a way, it is a proper hunt. Despite the artifices and cruelty, the prey stands a chance, technically, in a contest of wit and skill. He failed the contest of wit in a spectacular fashion, and the contest of skill is off to a very poor start. Nevertheless, I find no fault in Maximilien¡¯s trap. Alexandre picks a pistol and turns to his captive daughter, now sporting a new fruity hat. His arm waivers before he even aims. A few heads tilt, but no one sees the need to gather undue attention. the man in red interrupts. I freeze. The spell that had withheld the sound of conversation from the balcony lifted as soon as he spoke. His smooth baritone rings clearly, and I find hundreds of masks now facing us. A hundred gazes fall on Luther and glide away like water off oil. No one would dare play with an ambassador during a peace celebration, and so, they move left to the other stranger in their midst. For one moment, I wonder how they know who I am behind the mask, but the mystery is soon resolved when I peek right and meet the implacable glare of the man in red. Interesting. I have an inkling that I may have found my enemy among the Roland. As to why he antagonizes me, I have no idea. I seem to remember from one of Nami¡¯s lessons that Bertrand is a faction leader among the ranks of Mask, but I fail to see how it relates to me. As to the challenge itself, I fully intend to answer it. I already proved that I could fight. Let no man think that brawn is my only strength. Maximilien screams with obvious amusement before the man in red reacts. I know he meant a specific secret, and I purposely misunderstood. Now, it is too late to object thanks to Maximilien¡¯s prompt assistance. Serves him right. Not that I intend to lose. I take a step back and move alongside the balcony to my left, then I use power to jump off the rails and directly on the platform, legs bent during the flight so as not to expose more than a stockings-covered ankle. I land in a crouch and turn it into a curtsey as I unfold. Applauses welcome my daring entrance, as well as the stupidity of calling the powerful man¡¯s gamble, I suppose. They can be appreciative. It costs them nothing. Alexandre quivers at my inhuman display, but I soon approach him and address him in his own language. I take the time to articulate every word with care. ¡°Forgive my accent, for I come from far away. I will assist you in your task,¡± I calmly state. At the same time, I let my Charm radiate out and catch him slowly. Revulsion wars with hope in the father¡¯s cracking mind. Eventually, he realizes that any port is good in a storm. He accepts me, and in turn, my influence grows. The Lancaster essence was the first one I collected, one that I have used with diligence over the past few decades. I have seldom resorted to the brute power it afforded me. Instead, I have built upon the patience and understanding I possessed even as a mortal. I have never let myself grow complacent. Under the inspired guidance of a true master, I have honed this skill to a deadly edge, never settling for mediocrity when style could be achieved. With my natural speed, Charm is, I believe, the ability that I had the most natural talent for. After all, power is a crutch. I pull a handkerchief from the man¡¯s breast pocket, conveniently added for the disguise. I grab one hand and clean it slowly. Alexandre takes a deep breath as I give each finger its attention, pulling on them lightly as I am done. ¡°Is it true? The horseshoe story?¡± I ask, as I carefully maneuver so that his back is to the silent assembly. From up close, the stench of nervous sweat almost overwhelms me. He truly was on the verge of a heart attack. ¡°Yes¡­ Yes, though, it was an old one with only three holes. But yes, I did it. And at eight meters.¡± ¡°Is that so? Tell me about it.¡± I let the man recollect the experience as I slowly, slowly seep deeper into his mind. The trick is to eat at the present while leaving the past alone. For that, I need him to focus on a specific memory that I know I must not touch. ¡°I was on my cousin¡¯s farm near Aix-en-Provence. It was summer. The air smelled of lavender and dust. I had my old pistol that I won at the Saint-Germain fair.¡± Deeper still. His breath slows down, his back straightens. The tremors in his limbs, which had previously wracked his body in their unyielding grasp, disappear progressively. I conjure in his mind the peculiar smell of the flower and he shivers. I pause then. If he relaxes too quickly, he may collapse. ¡°Were you trying for a record?¡± ¡°Yes, a bet with a local girl whom I had taken a fancy to. I failed the first time and she left when she saw that I would not stop, could not stop, until I had placed those three damn bullets in those three damn holes. I knew I could do it. I was so close. So I repeated it, again, and again. Load the gun. Shoot the gun. Clean the gun. I attained a sort of¡­ spiritual state of perfection.¡± ¡°Describe it to me.¡± ¡°It was¡­ everything felt more alive, but also more distant? I was not just my body, I was something else. My gestures became part of a ritual.¡± I slowly place the gun in his hand, feeling the calloused skin as I do so. They are not as precise or stable as they used to be, but the skill and memories are still there, buried under the constraints of his imperfect flesh. We just need to call them to the surface. He will never return to that moment, yet the memory of it will carry us through this ordeal. ¡°I think I saw God that day.¡± ¡°Everything felt so smooth, yes? As if it had to happen. It was fate.¡± ¡°Yes. Fate.¡± ¡°And compared to that, shooting an apple would be so easy.¡± ¡°At the same distance? Hah! Child¡¯s play.¡± Time for power. He must not see his daughter for longer than an instant or his focus may waver. I place both hands on each side of his big, honest face, and turn him forward to the target. He can only see my mask. ¡°You remind me of Marthe. She was my wife.¡± Ah, oops? A bit too deep. I withdraw from his psyche and focus on the memory of the gun. It is almost too late, but not quite. I will grant him a few moments of absolute focus. ¡°Show me perfection, Alexandre. The red apple.¡± He nods and I step to the side. From a broken, mature man, he turns into a lethal fighter in an instant. One step forward and his posture relaxes. The gun lowers in his extended arm. In half a second, the barrel has aligned with its target. Alexandre pulls the trigger with casual ease and the fruit explodes into juicy fragments. Mireille yelps. The spell breaks. ¡°Mireille, ma ch¨¦rie!" The expensive gun clatters on the ground as the mortal sprints forward, towards family. As for me, I face the crowd and bow. Maximilien exults, Mask welcomes my performance with thunderous applause. Not a word is spoken, and yet I can feel grudging respect sneak through the restrained auras and controlled posture. Something pulls at me. I look left and into the incredulous gaze of Alexandre. His daughter is crying against his chest. I nod, and read the answer on his lips. ¡°Thank you.¡± You are welcome, my big, blundering oaf. You just earned me a ship! Maximilen continues, I drop down from the pedestal and walk back to the stairs. Groups graciously meld and part before me, closing behind like glue in a practiced dance that only centuries of habit can create. It is as he said. We are just getting started. Chapter 124: Hearts and Masks. When I rejoin the upper floor, the man in red has returned to an animated discussion with Jean-Baptiste and the lady in blue. The air around them warps strangely so that I cannot discern their words, an intriguing effect created by a proximity enchantment set on his mask. A useful tool.The few guests in white have gathered in clumps, taken in their own intrigue, while Luther has wandered to the main floor on some errand. I am hailed by Dominique. I am, in fact, taking notes. One does not every day get pointers from a centuries-old master of intrigue. Dominique and I make small talk, and by small talk, I mean that he questions me about the New World. Our discussion remains light-hearted, and I never come close to revealing what I believe to be confidential information. His main focus seems to be the opinion we have of our European cousins. When I imply that we expect interference sooner or later, my host surprises me by confirming my doubts, as expected, in a roundabout way. I finally understand. Bertrand heads a faction dedicated to uniting all of us under one flag, by force if necessary. That includes taking over the New World as we are comparatively weaker, and that means that if he has the opportunity to deprive us of one of our assets, he will. Such assets include a stable, sane Devourer with a proven record of acceptable combat prowess. Bertrand wants me dead. He was the one who tried to dispose of me, and Dominique just informed me in the most direct way possible. For a Mask, that is. Maximilien steps on the stage again while a string quatuor sits behind him to provide background music. A pair of burly men in sphinx masks come, carrying a rectangular black box covered in shimmering runes and reinforced with silvery bands, which they unlock to reveal a circular opening at the top. The thing looks massive and incredibly heavy. I ask with disbelief. Dominique merely chuckles. I think for a second and¡­ of course. Maximilien is done ranting about the illustrious tradition he created merely a few years ago. He plunges a hand in the box and moves it around while the four players accompany him with dramatic tension. S?a??h the N?v?lFir?(.)n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. Everyone applauds immediately, and I do not detect a hint of distress from those who played and lost. A fair lady in a bee-themed mask points a finger at herself, apparently surprised. Instead of climbing to the stage to claim her prize, she turns to a man by her side and curtsies deeply. Dominique leans towards me to whisper in my ear. I try to imagine someone in a bank vault, juggling magical implements and a screwdriver to achieve his goals. It must have been quite the task. And indeed, Maximilien enthrones Meredith in a farcical remake of a royal coronation. No sooner is the lady crowned, that she calls upon the crafty thief to join her side. The couple then walks through the crowd on their way to the balcony, receiving silent accolades and excited signs from everyone around. Meanwhile, Maximilien flutters from group to group. Dominique leaves me behind, and Luther uses this opportunity to take my side. Chairs of stone emerge from the stage¡¯s ground, white and sober, as the quartet leaves and a column of mortals joins the party. They wear expressionless white masks and carry their instruments with them in an awkward shuffle, clearly unused to the ponderous red garments they had been given for the occasion. At their head stands a tall, fat man with long white hair. He huffs and puffs as he carries a pulpit with him, on which he fastened music sheets. I observe. Luther replies, ¡°Ahem.¡± Luther leans towards me. From so close, the scent of old power and the sensation of being in the forest almost overwhelms me. Luther¡¯s amusement is palpable. Bravo, Ariane, very subtle. Any witty retort I may have found dies on my lips as we watch the orchestra, now settled, welcome the arrival of a diva in a pink gown with a domino mask, and a male singer in a grey tuxedo. Also, did I seduce the train operator? It was by accident. I swear. Luther says as he nods to himself. The musicians tune quickly. The lights dim while strange lamps criss-cross the stage until the performers are illuminated and we bask in darkness. What follows is a reproduction of my very first night at the opera with Torran. The orchestra and singers play airs from Verdi¡¯s masterpiece with talent backed by experience and hard work. The performance is flawless. The stage comes alive with the distressed arias of the disgraced nobleman Ernani and his promised, the beautiful and fierce Elvira. By themselves, then in pairs, they proclaim their love. I have to stop myself from leaning too much over the balustrade on two occasions, especially when Elvira begs Ernani to save her from marriage with a decrepit old codger. Poor thing. I have Luther to thank for offering context, as I do not speak a word of Italian. The performance ends too soon, and Maximilien now steps on the platform. ¡°Une extraordinaire performance, toutes mes felicitations,¡± he says to the orchestra, then he turns to us. Luther whispers in my ear, The chef d¡¯orchestre lifts a wand. Wood and brass answers. The music starts softly, with strings offering melancholic phrases, then the vast cavern booms with the call of fate, mirroring the cruel destiny of Nabucco¡¯s Hebrews as they lament the loss of their city. Finally, the introduction ends with hints of hopes. The vampires come into play. With a single voice, they sing, as umoving as the cavern around them. The chorus should express a powerful longing, but in the polar voices of the assembly, its tune becomes hollow and threatening. The assembly¡¯s inability to convey emotions they no longer experience turns the hymn into a dirge, the auric wings tarnished, yet no less imposing for it. Mask voices are as exact as they are flat, and their mechanical precision echoes an increasingly distressed orchestra. They can feel it. Haunted eyes rise from music sheets and away from the frantic director. They steal glances at what they finally recognize as predators. Rekindle the memories in our heart, and speak of times gone by! Too late. It is far too late for us. No golden harps or prophet¡¯s voices will help us recover what we left behind. The only warmth we feel is the one we plunder. After touching the hidden sky and the depths of the world, the chorus finally dies down with pianissimo voices and lightly plucked strings. The harmony lingers in the air for a few more seconds which are still, to me, parts of the song¡­ then the conductor lowers his hands and the performance is over. We all applaud the mortals and each other, and I do so with gusto. Truly, that was a show like no others. I only listen with half an ear to Maximilien¡¯s compliments. Afterward, the orchestra shuffles away in silence, heads bent and eyes lost like drunken revelers heading home. Light progressively returns to the cave and the flickers of conversing hands heralds the return to normalcy. I lean back from the balcony. Dominique pleasantly says as he returns to my side. Yes, well, no. Me and everyone with functional ears in a fifty yards radius. I ask. I always like a good duel as long as I am not on the receiving end. I was not aware that the game of kings was such a dreadful pastime. I am personally terrible at it, but I still have a good time watching experts play. As expected, Maximilien returns to the platform. Hmm, what? he continues. From the door behind the stage, a portly man with a frizzy black beard in a dark ensemble comes out. He is a mortal, calm and composed. Dominique explains in a deceptively light tone. I have a terrible feeling about this. The crowd twitches and signs as a young woman appears, eliciting a raised brow from the chess master. She has sad, large brown eyes, and an elegant dress that both fits and does not. It is too majestic for the girl¡¯s nervous hands and bent back. The stones of the platform shift again. Squares disappear below ground and emerge back later, now a shiny onyx. Soon, a traditional board, eight by eight, occupies a significant portion of the space. Then the pieces appear. Wearing swords and square shields, men in black and white uniforms emerge in two lines from the back. Cattle. They take the places of pawns as I watch with horrified fascination. Then¡­ No. No no no no no. No! I turn to Dominique to confirm that this is a joke, a jest to terrify me, but no, are now stepping up to the playing ground. ! No, this is not what I think it is. I refuse to believe it. Maximilien flips a coin. The , garbed in a variety of costumes designed to mimic armor, split in two groups. Sabine¡¯s team lines up behind the white cattle-pawns. ¡°Pawn to D4,¡± the girl declares in French. A man with glassy eyes takes a few steps forward. ¡°Knight to C6,¡± D¡¯Alembert retorts with barely hidden contempt. And so they go on, until the fateful moment. ¡°Pawn to E5,¡± Sabine announces. One of the cattle steps forward and to the diagonal. He brandishes his sword and sweeps at the opposing pawn¡¯s neck. The sharpened blade hews through sinew and cartilage with a ghastly crunch. A tremendous geyser of blood splatters the killer, the ground, and a few nearby pieces as the fallen piece collapses on the ground with a last gurgle. By the Surely, surely they would not. Surely. Two guards in sphinx masks come to retrieve the body, leaving promptly to free the space for D¡¯Alembert¡¯s next move. The victorious pawn¡¯s rule ends when D¡¯Alembert has yet another cattle strike him down. Sabine, however, was expecting it. ¡°Queen to D8.¡± Gasps echo through the spectators, and I understand why. D¡¯Alembert¡¯s move deprived his queen of cover, and Sabine decided to trade pieces in what I recognize to be a suicidal move. Her queen will take his and be in turn taken by the king. But¡­ no. They would not. A tall woman with a lost look steps forward with a heavy mace. On the other side, a smaller woman with very dark hair turns rigid. With slow purpose, the white queen moves forth. Her mace rises. This is WRONG. WRONG. THIS IS ALL WRONG. I hiss, realizing that the entire private floor can hear me and not caring one bit. How¡­ This makes no sense, no sense at all! The black queen lets out a muffled scream, a sharp thing that escapes through gritted teeth. I step forward and stop when I feel a hand on my shoulder. I swipe it away, feeling something impact. Claws grab my neck. No no no NO NO NO, FIGHT IT. Broken skull, one eye falling down, a mess of brain and matted hair. A second squishy hit. I am dragged away, through a door, only to hear Sabine¡¯s calm voice. ¡°We forfeit.¡± A corridor and Dominique slams me against an engraved wall. He shows no emotion but regret. I hiss and sputter, knowing that I offend and not caring a bit. They are insane. They are monstrous. Such a travesty should never have been allowed to occur. BLASPHEMY. SUBSUME AND PREVENT. Heavy silence descends upon the empty corridor. I want to kill him. I want to kill them all. They desecrate everything that we should stand for. They taint the most fundamental rules that keep us in check. are treasures. I will never, ever tolerate anything else but that. Claws grab my neck once more. I swipe once more with as much speed as I can gather and Dominique takes a step back. All the art and the songs, they no longer matter to me. The evening is entirely ruined by¡­ I cannot think about it without feeling a bone-deep anguish. I should have¡­ but no, I tried and was restrained. They are fools. Imbeciles. Dominique takes my measure. I cross my arms to signify that we are fully done. We walk up a set of stairs and through soberly decorated alleys. Contrary to the catacombs, this place is warmer, and smells of fresher air. Eventually, Dominique opens a door and we enter a richly decorated workroom. Time to see what this is all about, why I had to fight my way through battle masters, got stabbed in the chest, then had to witness the murder of a . Time to see why the head of Masks demands my presence. I hope that it will not bind me to this place for another fortnight, because I am more than fed up. Dominique gestures. On a dark wood table, in the middle of the space, a single book has been left with a fountain pen by its side. This is a collector¡¯s tome with a richly decorated cover and the crisp, white pages I associate with brand new editions. Indeed, I approach and realize that the bindings still smell of fresh leather. I pick up the pen without quite understanding my role until I look closer. A good half of the cover shows an excellent rendition of a red-haired man fighting off goons in brown outfits. He holds a sword in one hand, and a voluptuous dark-haired beauty in the other. In the background, a fetching blonde woman with a torch and a muscular man with dark hair and a beard fend off more assailants. The title jumps to my eyes in all its golden-lettered glory. Dominique¡¯s voice wakes me up from my consternation. ¡° ¡®Ariane Delaney¡¯.¡± Motherfucker. Chapter 125: Tempus Iterum Fugit ad-D¨¡r al-Bay?¨¡?, three days after the Parisian night.The inn had seen better days. The man in a hat poured himself another goblet of rum. He nursed it, savoring the burn as it went down his gullet. Even the stench of piss and vomit disappeared under the heady savor of processed sugarcane. It brought the man back to decades ago, when his world was simpler, and the sun of the Caribbean shone on endless opportunities. He allowed himself a sigh of contentment before returning his focus to the sleaze in front of him. While the man was a creature of the sea, the sleaze was a dweller in the muck. He had the pallid face and rotund gut that came with too little activity, too many shepherd¡¯s pies. Or whatever fatty stuff they served here. The man felt an intense dislike for the sleaze, yet he said nothing, for the sleaze brought money. Usually. ¡°So, what do you say?¡± the sleaze asked. ¡°You know, there are rumors,¡± the man replied. The sleaze frowned. ¡°Rumors,¡± the man continued with a pointed look, ¡°and gossip. The crew of the took a similar offer a few weeks ago. They told stories of a deed gone to shit.¡± ¡°Poppycock,¡± the sleaze said, with a dismissive wave of his gloved hand. ¡°They said that they met a she-devil below deck. That she swallowed a bullet and spat it out. They say that she killed two men by breaking their necks with two fingers. They say that she let them go because she had her fill.¡± ¡°Surely captain, you do not believe those¡­ those inventions. Stories, all of those.¡± The man served himself another goblet. It would be the last one. He was no longer sixteen. Hadn¡¯t been for a while. ¡°I say that she let them go as bait.¡± Eyes met eyes over the decrepit table. ¡°And a week ago, men came. They had questions. I don¡¯t like questions.¡± The sleaze did not reply. He, too, knew about the men. He had disappeared the devil knew where the moment their strange white uniforms started to dot the streets. ¡°And now you come here asking me to seek a pale lady on a small ship.¡± ¡°The money¡ª¡± ¡°I have not lasted this long in my profession by being an imbecile. All the gold in the royal bank won¡¯t do you any good if it¡¯s Davy Jones footing the bill. I say no. And if others say yes, they are fools.¡± With that said, the man downed the rum and sighed in appreciation. He walked out, shutting the door behind him. The noise of children playing in the sunny street came and dimmed again. The sleaze did not follow. A fancy cottage in Essex, five days after the Parisian night. A vampire and a godling sat on either side of a coffee table, each nursing a cup of fragrant black tea. A small fire was dying in the hearth. Sometimes, shiny embers danced over the blackened log, and the wood cracked merrily. There were no lights. The godling was old, ancient even, and yet powerful muscles still clung stubbornly to his aging frame. He lounged without fear, eyes closed. A persistent smile lifted the corners of his lips, hidden behind a scar and a prodigious white moustache. Between them, a series of books lied piled high. They were fresh from the printer, and still smelled vaguely of new leather. ¡°You haven¡¯t changed,¡± the godling finally said. His voice only carried one emotion, and it was wonder. ¡°You haven¡¯t found a cure to your curse then?¡± he asks immediately after with obvious concern. ¡°Hah, only death will lift this one. I am content. Rather, I will always be grateful for your understanding at that time. It¡­ helped me a lot. I was young then.¡± ¡°We both were! And I do believe that you have started to repay me¡­¡± the godling answered with a twinkle in his eyes. ¡°Are you referring to your children?¡± ¡°Indeed! I was endlessly amused when Nathan sent me the draft for his second book. Ariane Delaney! I could scarcely believe my eyes. You saved him, did you not?¡± ¡°Not his life, but I believe that he would have had his heart broken if we had failed.¡± ¡°And a heart is needed to differentiate an adventurer from a looter. Ah, it pleases me endlessly to know that the younger generation has taken the torch to carry the name ¡®Bingle¡¯ into the annals of history, even if the more respectable circles would dismiss it as nothing but bluster.¡± ¡°Perhaps not for long. The world is changing.¡± ¡°But it might be too late for my youngest. A good head on her shoulders, that one. Perhaps too good sometimes.¡± ¡°Miranda? She and I had a little encounter that, I believe, changed her mind.¡± The godling chuckled, and it soon turned into a full belly laugh. ¡°Ah, I am so pleased to see that the spirit of adventure lives on in my dear children. I am so glad that I got to share what I saw with them.¡± ¡°Is it also why you wrote your memoirs?¡± ¡°That, and two other reasons.¡± ¡°Do tell.¡± ¡°The second, we do not all have the benefit of dodging old age, Miss Delaney. A man may live for decades, but leave a good book behind and he will keep touching hearts for centuries. We all have our paths to immortality, in a way.¡± ¡°A noble goal. And the third?¡± ¡°Money. Hah! I used the mountain of pounds and shillings I made to purchase the lovely domain you see, as well as help for Rose and I in our old age. Our children got the best education money could provide through pages upon pages of naked blades and stiff upper lips. Huzzah!¡± ¡°And thus, a new generation of Bingles was unleashed upon the world, to find adventure wherever it may be.¡± ¡°You know, Ariane, sometimes I believe that adventures find us.¡± The vampire smiled mysteriously. ¡°Who knows?¡± They sipped tea in companionable silence. ¡°You know,¡± the godling said, ¡°even without the rest, I would still have been pleased with the one expedition we completed together. Even after finding the diamond of Manipura and the golden crown of the Prince of the Serengeti, saving those fifty people from a cult remains my greatest achievement. This, more than jewels, fills me with pride.¡± ¡°You have a good heart, Cecil. I could tell the moment that we met and the only thing you expressed was sympathy.¡± ¡°You were more guarded, then. I am glad to see that you have grown into your own, if only inside of your heart. I hope that you will find it in you to extend your benevolence to my grandchildren!¡± ¡°You have my word that I will help those I can, given the occasion. The world would be drabber without them around to open forbidden vaults and uncover cursed temples. I just hope that neither they nor I will bite off more than we can chew.¡± ¡°But, my dear Ariane, being an adventurer is all about that!¡± December 1849, Boston, two years after the Parisian night. The street urchin hid his hands under his armpits. The mittens were not enough to keep the cold at bay. The old man by his side pointed to the right, where late pedestrians passed by the lit windows of tailor shops. Even at this late hour, the streets bustled with late shoppers and clerks heading home from work. ¡°How about that one. What do you say?¡± The woman he chose was young, with blonde hair held up in two buns over her ears. A fashionable hat matched a dark blue cloak and gown ensemble that looked slightly too cold for the weather. Despite that, she showed no signs of suffering from the biting wind that froze the urchin to his core. The street rat stared and counted. He judged that her outfit must cost upward to twenty dollars despite the lack of much jewelry. At least! She also walked all slow and proper, and she had a handbag that could have some good money in it. And she was young and without a chaperone. Really, a perfect mark. And yet¡­ There was something there that pushed the urchin¡¯s intuition to scream. It had never failed him, this intuition. Right now, it said not to approach the woman. It said to stay away, on the other side of the bay preferably. ¡°No,¡± he told the old man. ¡°Hah, you¡¯re still so green. Look¡ª¡± ¡°No. She¡¯s bad news.¡± ¡°Have you lost your damn mind?¡± The urchin shook his head with vehemence. The old man had never seen him so animated, so assertive. ¡°Remember when I told you the cops were coming, and they were?¡± the urchin said. The woman passed them by. Suddenly, it felt even colder. The arctic gale sent the urchin¡¯s teeth chattering. ¡°Fair enough¡­¡± the old man whispered with a frightful glance, ¡°fair enough. Come on.¡± They left. The urchin looked back one last time as they turned the corner. His gaze met a pair of sapphires as cold as the winter solstice. There, he saw only two things. Death, and amusement. The sapphires followed him as he started to run. Thankfully, she did not follow. July 1851, Moonside, Illinois, four years after the Parisian night. The vampire and the mage rode into the village. It was a strange village. It lacked a few things. First, and sadly, it lacked children. And the old folks to look after them. Second, it lacked clothes. Or at least, that is how it appeared as many trod its street in the state of nature. The blonde mage took a deep breath. She was an interesting mix of deadly implements and noble beauty. Wheat-colored ringlets fell to her armor-clad shoulders, mixing with the white of her uniform. A sword adorned her lovely waist. She was the perfect synthesis of the war mage and the Austrian princess. She also smelled nervous, and the peculiar inhabitants of this peculiar village tasted it in the air. The vampire turned to the side and a tiny brunette pointed at a nearby field. ¡°Just finished,¡± she added, though what she was referring to was not expanded on. The vampire and the cabbalite rode through the street. A man stopped to sniff the air, but his companion slapped him across the back of the head, muttering something about ¡®not mentioning the smell¡¯ and ¡®having to regrow your damn ears¡¯. The pair made their way to a vast field unimpeded. There, they met a tall man cleaning his blood-soaked hands in a basin held by a bored-looking, muscular young woman. The man had the powerful build of a fighter at the top of his form. His body was covered in wiry muscles as taut as strings. He also moved with unnerving grace as he greeted the visitors with a happy smile. His square jaw and messy brown hair lent him a roguish charm that had some effect on the mage. ¡°Heeeeyyy bosswoman, how are you doing? I told June, ya know? I told her. Damn, it¡¯s been a while since we last saw the bosswoman, and there was this here matter that I had to solve and I knew, I just knew that the bosswoman would check on her good pal Jef. Didn¡¯t I? Anyway, so good to see you.¡± ¡°Is this the¡­ matter you are referring to?¡± the vampire asked. In the field, there were many people milling about and discussing matters as if they were at a tavern. The center of the field hosted a circle drawn in chalk, and at the edge, there were the remains of a monster of good size. It would have been scary, with a wolf head filled with sharp, curved fangs, were it not for the sorry state it was in. Someone had done an impressive number on the thing. Its blood soaked the ground. One of the arms was detached. ¡°Yes! Every three months or so, someone from the north comes and sees that Moonside is a pretty sweet haven, ya know? Milk and honey and whatnot. They see this and they think, ¡®Damn there¡¯s a lot of girls here, and food. And the weather is nice, I guess?¡¯ We have amazing weather, that''s for sure. Helps with the crops, and the hunts. Good situation. Anyway, they see this and do they think that it¡¯s all hard work and being buddies with the immortal night horror who ate Fenris¡¯ enforcer in front of him because she was feeling peckish? Nooooo they are all, yeah, free stuff. And I¡¯m all, nah fellas, you want something, you have to go through me first. And they are all, hah you are a tenderfoot who doesn¡¯t know about the hardships of the north! I have eaten my own shoes boiled with salt and my belt as a side dish, all while pushing the coals around with my massive, throbbing, oh there are ladies here nevermind. But you get the idea! Funny thing is, they keep me on my toes. Can¡¯t get rusty with those around. Hey! You might think that they might learn, but they don¡¯t. It¡¯s like werewolves are not the most shining intellects around. Crazy, huh?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± the vampire deadpanned, ¡°unbelievable.¡± ¡°Thanks bosswoman. So, who¡¯s the new girl? Hello!¡± ¡°Ahem, yes, and a good evening to you Mr. Jeffrey.¡± ¡°Hah! Mr Jeffrey! You hear that, June? Now that¡¯s real class. Mr. Jeffrey. Got a pep to it, don¡¯t ya think? Why just the other day I told old man Gregor, I told him, I said¡ª¡± ¡°Jeffrey, as commendable as I find your enthusiasm, I need to finish this conversation before dawn,¡± the vampire interrupts. She smiled gently to take the edge off her comment. They were, after all, on his territory. ¡°Jeffrey, I would like you to meet Carmela von Leeb, of the White Cabal. She and her family have suffered at the hands of other werewolves, and she requested to meet with you in order to overcome her fear.¡± The tall man unleashed a devastating lopsided grin on the hapless woman. He wore trousers and nothing else, highlighting an impressive physique. ¡°Why, yes, fair lady, I will be your huckleberry¡ªEY!¡± The muscular woman by his side had so far listened to their conversation in sullen silence punctuated by the occasional eye roll. As Jeffrey tried to flirt, however, she had apparently decided that it was time to intervene and emptied the water basin on her leader¡¯s head. Then, using the distraction, she decked him. The pair fell into a snarling pile of play-fighting. It was clear that Jeffrey would win with ease, when suddenly a grown man with lost eyes bowled into the victorious werewolf, resetting the struggle. Then, a wisp of a girl with a pixie haircut joined the fray, followed by a dangly fellow with a long beard. A massive fat man grabbed half of the pile and smashed it into the other. ¡°Gus, get your fat fucking ass off my face!¡± someone bellowed. In the clearing, the visitors looked on. The vampire was checking the time on her watch while her horse sniffed disdainfully. ¡°Is it always like that?¡± the mage asked. ¡°You get used to it.¡± The mage was still a bit scared, but the werewolves had certainly lost some of their mystique already. And that was before the naked people charged in. 1854, A secured compound on the coast of Florida, seven years after the Parisian night. The war mage checked his circle one last time. This one was not some hastily drawn defense. It was engraved in the stone beneath him at great cost, with molten silver and great patience. The main gate had always been designed with reverence and defensibility in mind. It was paying off now. S?a??h th? N?velF?re.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. ¡°Alright, remember, don¡¯t wait until they come in. Fire immediately,¡± he said to the men and women by his side. There were a dozen of them. He prayed that it would be enough. His attention returned to the double doors in front of him, made of solid wood reinforced with enchanted nails and steel bars. The fighters by his side wore clothes of an assortment of colors. His foes wore white and, more worryingly, red. The Red Cabal. He had heard of them. It was said that they served a dangerous master. There was a rumble and he brought his focus front and center. The wall on his left exploded inward, and a horror walked through the opening. No, the horror walked, and it made an opening. Mortar and bricks yielded under his tremendous bulk. Debris large enough to crush a skull bounced off his armor like gravel. He was humanoid, and he wore on himself a steel armor colored black and engraved with reinforcement runes shining a terrifying red in the shadows. The plates that made his protection were thick enough to stop a cannonball, and he wore them as if they weighed nothing. The floor groaned with every step. The man stomped down and cracks snaked out from the impact. He grunted, and swept before him with a maul of ridiculous proportions. The inelegant implement smashed through their entire flank with disheartening ease. Where the giant struck, only mangled bodies were left with bleeding eyes and ears from the shock of their crumpled shields. But the man was not a war mage for nothing. ¡°Inferno!¡± ¡°Mistral,¡± a calm voice retorted. The wave of pure heat met a cold front as solid as a wall. Tempestuous winds ravaged the main entrance. The man looked up from behind the protection of his raised arm to see the colossus walk by. Their eyes met. The man felt himself dragged in the placid brown gaze. There were no emotions there, just a relentless drive to accomplish the task he was given. The sheer will inside of the titan¡¯s mind was crushingly overwhelming. Here was a creature who would destroy a mountain piece by fucking piece over the eons if ordered. All obstacles would be swept not by smarts, but my single-minded obstinacy. He¡ª The amulet around the war mage¡¯s pinged and the link between the two broke. The mage was not so much protected as kicked back into himself, reeling from the frayed contact. The colossus was now obliterating his way through his other flank. There were two gunshots and the men he had placed on the balcony fell to the ground with gaping holes where their chest used to be. It was already over, and there had been no battles. All those efforts and preparations swept away like a sand castle. He knew why. Even without the show of speed and inhuman power, even without the deleterious gaze that gnawed at his willpower, there were the auras. Cold. Powerful. Uncaring. Two of them. The war mage reinforced his shield as a woman stepped down from the wreck of the wall. Fighters in red and white were pouring in from the breach, not mixing with one another. They moved further into the complex in a way that showed that they were following clear orders, and knew where to go. It was humbling. It occurred to the war mage that he was the last alive from his group. Men and women he had trained and dined with now lay dead, their lives extinguished in mere moments. So many talents from so many places snuffed out at the same time, and with no result. The war mage was too experienced to feel much guilt. They were fucked no matter, that much was obvious. Which begged the question, why was he still alive? The male vampire held his humongous weapon close enough for the war mage to spot runes of breach and destruction. It was a tool specifically designed to crush shields. A mage-killer. The female one stopped to stand in front of him. He avoided her glare. ¡°Why?¡± he asked. They were just smugglers who traded in exotic goods. Certainly not anything that justified such a thorough extermination. ¡°Do you know who your main investor is?¡± the woman asked in a smooth voice. She had the barest southern accent. ¡°My investor?¡± the man repeated with incredulity. ¡°So, you do not know. Tell me, you are the head of security here, yes?¡± ¡°I was. Until you killed everyone. How does this relate with my fucking investor? I got no investor, only a boss.¡± ¡°Your company has an interesting benefactor, one who has used your supply routes to smuggle equipment in and information out. We are in a period of preparation, you understand. Everyone is setting their pieces on the board, and it so happens that you are helping the other side.¡± ¡°And so you came and slaughtered us? Just like that?¡± ¡°Yes. Just like that.¡± She was barely paying attention. ¡°Is that why you kept me alive? You wanted to make an example out of me?¡± He could see mild surprise through the pitted war mask as the vampire returned her attention to him. ¡°Example? No, my dear. You are neither an example nor a rescue.¡± ¡°Then¡­¡± She was suddenly very close. The shield wavered around him. Her voice grew husky. ¡°You are dessert.¡± September 1857, Louisiana, ten years after the Parisian night. The vampire held a small babe in her arms. Her poise and light touch showed a certain experience with children, although she kept her a bit farther than necessary, as if afraid to break her. There was still a distance there. A certain unease. ¡°What do you think?¡± the mother said by her side. She had the frazzled hair of someone with too little sleep, but her eyes gleamed with excitement and a smile to match. ¡°Healthy and beautiful, I can ask no more from my namesake.¡± ¡°I hope that she grows to be smart and careful, just like her mom.¡± They spent some time playing with the child until she fell asleep. ¡°How are things otherwise?¡± ¡°The western plantation was destroyed in a flood two weeks ago. Fortunately, everyone got out before so we have no casualties. The harvest was insured. My only worry is that the broker might make some difficulties.¡± ¡°If it happens, do let me know. I can convince them to honor their bargain.¡± ¡°Yes. You know, since that incident with the bank five years ago, everyone has been polite and respectful with me.¡± ¡°Unsurprising. I made an example out of them, after all.¡± ¡°What did you do?¡± ¡°It would be best if you did not know.¡± December 1858, Boston, eleven years after the Parisian night. the tall vampire said. He placed his aristocratic hands on his desk, fingers intertwined. His attention was devoted to the strange item before him. It was a dark root covered in thorns. The base had been severed in a particularly clean way. he asked the blonde woman facing him. The blonde vampire placed a finger on the root. It disappeared in a flash of purple light, leaving nothing behind. It was as if it had never existed at all. ¡°Hmm.¡± The blonde vampire blinked, perhaps surprised at the compliment. March 1859, Boston, twelve years after the Parisian night. The Warden of Illinois and her second climbed down the rock stairs leading to the heart of the mountain, the seat of the shadowy power ruling the North American vampires. Runes shining a dull red cast a worrying glare on black stones that no mortal had seen in over a decade. There, below, decisions were taken that would reach many groups. With a single vote, a hundred souls could be consigned to oblivion. It had happened before. the red-haired one hissed. the blonde one retorted. Her annoyed tone suggested that the current discussion was merely the rehash of past grievances. the blonde vampire warned with an edge to her voice. The other raised her hands in surrender. The pair arrived at a landing and doors opened to let them in. The circular room was already occupied by powerful denizens of the night sitting in uneasy silence around an imposing round table made of raised stone. The mood was tense. The two representatives of Illinois sat at their designated spot. The blonde one exchanged a quick nod with the second of Louisiana, a sinuous black woman with a perpetual thin smile. A few more joined them, then a tall man in a red robe entered, and the vault was sealed shut behind him. Silence and immobility now reigned in the room. Those who sensed such things could have felt perfectly contained auras, one for each attendant. Another with a sharp control might have detected the edge they had. the tall man began without preamble. The tall man sat down and a twin in a beige ensemble stood up, his sibling remaining in his chair. They both had eyes and hair of very light brown, almost copper. The blonde vampire allowed herself the tiniest predatory smile. Lord Adam resumed his speech. The Lord sits down, and the Speaker takes his place. the blonde vampire said as she stood up, Lord Adam asks with obvious distrust. Silence returned to the assembly. Lord Adam stewed in his own ire. The two black representatives from Louisiana checked their nails with mock inconspicuousness. the woman immediately retorted. the speaker says before the bickering could start, The Speaker pauses, then turns back to the blonde vampire. The blonde vampire¡¯s aura bubbled ever so slightly. Something crawled at the edge of reality, driven by her anger. When she realized it, she brought herself under control. The few who noticed did not comment. the Speaker yelled above the hisses. He knew that House Nirari was extremely territorial. Lord Adam must have expected it and tried to rile her up. Unfortunately for him, her arguments made sense. The Speaker waited a second for calm to return before addressing the crowd. The Speaker¡¯s aura leaks as he gets more absorbed in his demonstration. Lord Adam winced, but he helplessly shrugged in a show of grudging acceptance. The issue was settled, for now, but the bitter taste of conflict lingered between two sides separated by an unbridgeable rift. April 1861, Marquette, Ariane¡¯s administrative building. The blonde vampire dropped the newspaper heavily on a table near Alexandria Merritt. The fire archmage figured that, since Lynn had married off to one of Boston¡¯s richest men, and Ollie had ascended as the first leader of the Red Cabal, she qualified as important and deserved some explanations. ¡°What¡¯s the matter, too many ¡®okays¡¯?¡± ¡°I wish. Do you remember what I said about those dwarven-engineered guns we made for the army?¡± ¡°That you cannot wait to see who will be the sorry idiots our country next declares war on?¡± ¡°Yes, that. Unfortunately, the joke is on me. We are the sorry idiots.¡± The archmage leaned forward. The paper had the illustration of a smoking structure on a tiny island by a port. The header said, in big bold letters: Fort Sumter Attacked! And below, in even bigger, bolder letters. CIVIL WAR! ¡°Ah, fuck.¡± Chapter 126: Shadow Diplomacy Boston, October 1861.¡°I don¡¯t like this at all, Ariane. We have seen war before, you and I, down in Mexico. This will be nothing like it.¡± Sheridan grumbles as we pass the door leading into the Boston vampire compound. The three-winged edifice was expanded with cliffside structures overlooking the river to accommodate the rising number of night denizens. ¡°How do you figure?¡± I reply with curiosity. Although he seldom voices his opinion, Sheridan has proven adept at getting a feel of things, especially when it relates to humanity¡¯s darker emotions. ¡°You remember the caning of senator Sumner?¡± I frown, staring in his honest brown eyes. Thankfully, being a Vassal seems to have slowed the aging of the brave Texan, and only the barest of grey can be seen in his moustache. ¡°Yes, I do. It occurred some time ago, no? Five years, or so?¡± ¡°Yes. A representative beat a senator with a cane. A cane! During a session. Because he had dared to ridicule the institution of slavery. I knew, then, that it could only end in blood. When violence is left free to roam without criticism from the party of the offender, then you know that both sides have stopped seeing the other as people worthy of the protection of the law. There are two sides divided by a burning hatred, and it will only end when one of the fighters lies bloody on the ground.¡± I sigh. I honestly believed that it would not come to war, and that slavery would die out eventually. I even fully supported the Ekon clan in helping as many of their followers as possible to escape north by opening my lands to the Underground Railroad. Now, it appears that ideology has ignited passions to the point of no return. I know of civil wars from my father. Among all the deleterious events that can affect a country, war is the worst, and out of all the wars, civil war is the worst. Civil wars turn brother against brother, friend against friend. They sap the strength of nations and fragment families. Neighbors no longer trust each other. Communities fracture and die. After such a long prelude, the bloodbath will be cataclysmic. It would take, to calm things down, an ability to compromise that does not exist in the hearts of men. ¡°Will you do something?¡± Sheridan asks. His expression remains carefully guarded. I know what he means. He wonders if we, as a community, will intervene. We do not have enough weight to stop the conflict, that would be impossible. We do, however, have the possibility to support one side and tip the scales in their favor. ¡°Only if we can reach a consensus. The only worse thing that could happen now is a vampire civil war on top of the rest.¡± knows that we will have our hands full in the immediate future. We move into the main building. Wilhelm the butler welcomes us from behind his desk, and I look left to see the main lobby filled with tables hosting a plethora of mortals, Vassals and Servants all of them. ¡°I¡¯ll be at the bar,¡± Sheridan says with a subdued tone. He walks to Melitone who smiles when she sees him. I walk the corridor to the secured access to the council chamber. The walk down is more solemn than before this time, and everyone arrives before the official starting time, including a harried-looking Melusine. Thirty-one wardens and their seconds standing behind them sit in a circle, with territories ranging from Mexico to Quebec, and from the Atlantic to the Pacific. Only twenty-two are lords and ladies. Some of the wardens, like me, are still Masters. Constantine is last to arrive, though he is, as always, strictly on time. He strides to his stone chair and addresses us without preamble. Whispers spread through the room. I do not react, as Sephare is the source, and she sent me word before the meeting. The whispers disappear and the implications are made clear. Death for the transgressors. A suitable punishment for abusing Constantine¡¯s generosity. S~?a??h the N?v?lF?re.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. With his message unambiguously stated, Constantine straightens his spine. Constantine¡¯s demeanor turns unusually cold. I understand his purpose. He wishes to remind everybody that he is still a Progenitor, one of the most powerful vampires in existence, and certainly one of world¡¯s topmost archmages. We do not speak. Constantine has proven himself unusually eloquent. I suspect the delicate touch of Sephare and Melitone. he says. Constantine sits down, and Sephare stands up. She waves her hand. The smooth fabric of the titanic stone table between us grows liquid and a three-dimensional map of North America appears, with the United States split in three different entities. I admit to being much impressed. This is an incredible feat of magical engineering, and I had no idea that we were equipped with such an excellent tool. Like the others, I stare at the display before us. The territories going from Texas to the south-west, to Virginia in the east, are contained in a single entity named ¡®Confederate States of America¡¯. The other side, much larger, is qualified as ¡®the Union¡¯, while four states are labelled as ¡®Border States¡¯. They form an horizontal line separating the two antagonists. Sephare¡¯s demeanor changes from intimate to that of the university lecturer. Her voice fills the cave with clear diction. Sephare waves again and the border states turn grey. The Union states turn grey. Now, the southern states are lit. We consider this possibility in silence. If this were to happen, the tension between the two entities would surely lead to another conflict down the road, if only because the north would actively support escaping slaves with no rules in place to stop them anymore. Sephare sits down and Constantine replaces her. The map of the land still lies before us in liquid obsidian, the border new and unsettling. There are also precedents for such an intervention to trigger a vampire war, one we cannot afford right now. Constantine continues, Constantine sets himself up for a political deadlock. At the same time, a two-thirds majority means that even detractors will hesitate to oppose it, should it be approved. My only fear is that the resolutions and their support will draw across clan lines. If this happens, the Accords will have failed as a community. We will merely be the same old bloodlines using the assembly as a political tool to trade influence. Only if a consensus is reached will the American vampires exist as a distinct entity. Constantine may have caused me to suffer horribly before we met, but now I find myself more and more tied with him as a supporter. I will depose him in the end, of course, but for now we must work together so that a crown is left to usurp. Constantine dissolves the assembly soon after. We file out and gather in clumps across the massive complex to discuss and scheme. Soon, Vassals and employees race through the corridors, bearing missives and invitations. I quickly make contact with my closest allies. Nami says as we gather in her salon. Our group consists of the Roland members who have made their seats in the North east and Canada, the Ekon, the Natalis, Sephare¡¯s Hastings, and the one Vanheim Master here. And me, of course. The Cadiz who usually sit on the fence are notoriously absent, as are the new generation of Lancasters. Some of our more lukewarm supporters have also made themselves scarce, an unwise move. To leave now without plotting shows that they will take Constantine¡¯s offer to leave the Accords. Staying for an hour would at least raise some doubts and give them more options. Ah well, perhaps I am missing something. the Vanheim Master asks. His name is Vadim, and he is strangely effeminate with a narrow face and a thin frame. I tell them. The information circulates in the room, everybody understanding the implicit message. Constantine supports us who might very well call ourselves the Union faction. The backing of the Speaker gives us an edge. one of Sephare¡¯s seconds notes. We agree and add ideas and conditions to a list, with the optics of bringing the neutrals to our side. Sephare eventually joins us and informs me that Constantine wishes to talk. I agree, and tell her one last thing. Sephare shows some surprise at the mention of a man who sued me in the past. Sephare offers me one of her rare genuine smiles. I leave the impromptu reunion, passing several couriers on my way down. Sheridan has left and I do not know where he went, but that is fine. I ask a maid from Wilhelm to carry my request for a meeting to Lord Adam, and in the meanwhile, walk to Constantine¡¯s office. His two bodyguards and renegade Rosenthal secretary let me through the very same moment. The Speaker awaits at his desk, fingers intertwined as usual. More documents litter his desk than I can remember, while the bookshelves lining the wall show more disorder than usual. Our leader has been busy. I rejoice in my heart. Could it be? After all those years? Six of them, to be precise. Five more than necessary. Only the stoutest warships can withstand several volleys of Dvergur-engineered incendiary projectiles. I am struck with memories of a previous boarding. And I am partly to be blamed for that. I do not ask payment for a task that serves our cause. Lord Adam¡¯s borrowed study comes in shades of blue. Like all other private quarters here, the room is both tastefully decorated and sterile. The Roland Lord and his sibling welcome me in casual shirts, and with a pot of coffee. A positive sign. Adam starts. I reply as I take a sip of coffee. A bit too cold. Oh, well. The delay affords me what I wanted. The pair sits down to face me across a coffee table painted in shades of gold, a sign that I have gained their attention. For now, only politeness affords me their time. If I want more, I will have to be convincing. I pause to assess their reactions. If my estimates are too far off, they will display signs of impatience. the second twin says. And I am partly responsible. They remain silent, which I take as a ¡®maybe¡¯. Lord Adam scoffs. Freedom is pointless if it leads to immediate starvation, and the south will remain inhospitable to freedmen for a long time. the other twin asks with curiosity. My confidence comes from the current circumstances. I am one of the country¡¯s foremost weapons manufacturers, with access to Dvergur engineers, and the improved results they provide. Simply put, the team Loth sent brought with them an inexpensive method of steel-making they call the improved Bessemer process. Better raw materials and standardized production practices allow me to produce the best cannons this side of the Atlantic, at an affordable price. Even if my goods were not inherently superior, I could still sell them to the army thanks to a valuable ally. Sephare has absolute control over the Ordnance Department. As such, the Illinois Armament Manufactory already received massive orders of guns and cavalry rifles, enough for me to afford the massive bribe I am planning. My only surprise came from infantry rifle purchases. I expected my improved needle guns to flood the market. Instead, most states purchased a cheaper model from Massachusetts with less than half the firing rate to equip the troops they were training. Pah! Worse, the soldiers already deployed on the frontline use antiquated smoothbore muskets, as if we were still fighting the British! Disgrace. The world must be laughing at us. Adam continues. I am glad that we see eye to eye. the other twin says, I force myself to take another sip of coffee to mask my surprise. I did not know that they had an interest in this sector as well, despite my inquiries. This is problematic. The two lords exchange a glance. Eventually, the twin nods to Adam, who in turn addresses me. What to do? I have no solution. Slave-fuelled agriculture can transition into standard agriculture, but slave trading itself cannot be replaced since it will be entirely illegal. I need to find something else. Can the circumstances help me? How else can I compensate them? Oh. Of course. I tell them, certain of my guess, I know that they sell cotton, sugar, and tobacco abroad. No matter what, their trade lines will be disrupted for a long time, condemning their export-focused business to failure. the second twin, Adrien, asks. I do not miss it. Their perfect immobility and contained auras do not reveal anything of their inner thoughts, which means that I have hit the nail on the head. Lady Sephare taught me this little trick, that old ones who lack practice increase their control over themselves when they want to hide something. They have taken the bait. Adam corrects. That is fine. Once again, the twins exchange a silent glance. Of course. No Lords and Ladies agree to anything important without pondering the question for at least a day. A tentative agreement is all I can hope for now. I say as I stand up. I expect silence and even ridicule. Instead, Adam laughs and Adrien smiles lighty. the Warden says. his sibling continues. After a few more polite exchanges, I return to Sephare to share what was decided. She agrees to take over the negotiations since I will be out, though she mentions that not all of the southern lords will be willing to budge. Some, after all, come from feudal societies. Some Rolands will refuse out of sheer stubbornness. They cannot envision an end to a peasant-centric society. After I am done, I return to the lobby and find Sheridan snoring softly on a leather couch. I come closer and catch a whiff of him. My, what a busy¡­ Wait a minute. ¡°Sheridan, wake up!¡± I say as I shake him and grab the hand already grabbing for his gun. ¡°Wh ¡ª Ariane? What¡¯s the matter with you?¡± ¡°Did I not leave you in deep conversation with Melitone?¡± The scent of fear, removed of its spice since the ranger is no prey. Eyes to search for an exit. ¡°Perhaps?¡± ¡°Are you banging the Speaker¡¯s sister?¡± I hiss, outraged, ¡°Do you have any idea¡­¡± Sheridan gently removes my hand from his shoulder and gives me one of his frank, no-nonsense gazes. ¡°Ariane dear, we might be partners in our quest to rid the world of evil¡­¡± So he keeps believing. ¡°...but that doesn¡¯t mean that you get a say in whichever romantic partner I choose, lady. Besides, we¡¯ll soon be as busy as a one-legged man at an ass-kicking contest, so cut me some slack, will you?¡± He¡­ argh! And I can say nothing because he is a Vassal. ¡°Language¡­¡± I weakly retort. ¡°What are we gonna do anyway? Where is the old man sending us this time?¡± ¡°I am not his lap dog!¡± ¡°Right. So, what are we supposed to do? Anything illegal?¡± ¡°Grmbll.¡± ¡°Speak up, Ariane.¡± ¡°Piracy!¡± ¡°So, does that bad language ban last for the entire operation, or?¡± ¡°No need to be a smart-... no need to be so snide, Sheridan. Let us away!¡± Two weeks later, off the coast of Nova Scotia. The Cormoran bobs up and down as the powerful entities on its deck look at me with a mix of wonder and bafflement. I place the enchanted loudspeaker before my lips and greet them in a proper, appropriate fashion. Yes, what is it Olaf? It is? Excellent. Ahem. Silence spreads over the calm seas as the powerful warriors exchange befuddled words. Are you done already? I can¡¯t¡ª Ah, excellent. BOOM! A cataclysmic deflagration drowns all other noises, and a ten-paces long plume of fire emerges from the side of our ship. Far behind and to the side of the enemy ship, a shard of granite rising from a small islet explodes in a cascade of flaming debris. A dark plume rises from the crater, all that remains of the exposed stone. Smoldering fragments rain down on the ocean¡¯s waves. ¡°Nice shot, Olaf, by that rock never saw it coming. Shut up, Sheridan, I handle the threats. What do you even know of proper pirating? You are not even wearing a tricorn and you expect me to take you seriously? Ahem. ¡± I see some activity on the deck, including two vampires arguing with each other with one waving at the column of smoke rising nearby. Eventually, the reasonable one seems to win the argument as his second throws his hands in anger. The head vampire lowers a skiff and rows to us. On their ship, nothing stirs. I decide to wait by returning to my throne, which I placed underneath the mizzen mast (the one just after the biggest mast). I place my revolver on a nearby barrel and invite a pair of young sailors to resume their strange, leggy dance for my own entertainment. ¡°Is this necessary?¡± Sheridan grumbles. ¡°I could sing,¡± I reply. The grumpy ranger does not call my bluff. Eventually, the Mask vampire gets close enough for the negotiations to begin. he explains in a pleading voice. Blimey. Eventually, I am forced to agree to let them land under the condition that they all depart soon after. They do not have the blood and food supply for a safe trip back. I allow them to do so in their secret port, and the meeting with their renegade Accords host is somewhat awkward. Two days later, they are gone with the express condition that they may not engage in hostile activities with us for the next five years. I would call that a complete success. ¡°Ariane, reality is not like your saucy books. Tricorns are not necessary to engage in high-sea banditry.¡± ¡°Sheridan, I recall you saying, if it¡¯s stupid but it works, it ain¡¯t stupid. Therefore, wear the damn hat.¡± Chapter 127: A House Divided Boston, early November 1861The Warden of Missouri sits down, and Lord Kouakou stands up to provide an answer. Constantine says with a certain impatience. Lord Kouakou sits back down and I allow myself a minute smile. Each Warden has two opportunities to speak tonight in order to limit the risk of delay. With his answer, Kouakou both preserved his vote, and offered a scathing retort. A tall Lord with a hawkish nose and thinning hair stands up. His height almost equals that of Constantine¡¯s himself. He smiles benevolently and speaks in a calm, reasonable voice. Yann allows himself a condescending smile. Constantine says as he stands up again, I raise my hand to the surprise of my own party. The fact is that I can provide an adequate answer to such a trite argument without much effort while the times of Kouakou and Sephare remain precious. The Union faction nods, and I am now in charge of providing an answer. The tiny jab is well-received. Constantine and the others appreciate brevity. Deep inside, none of us will be swayed by words, as we are all creatures of conviction. What we are doing is, in fact, facing off for the sake of those among us still on the fence. If one party appears as too irrelevant or unconvincing, they will be seen as weak, and we abhor weakness. If the Union faction is to bring more people to its cause, we need to be perceived as competent and well-prepared. Such is the purpose of my argument, and that is why I must remain concise so as to not waste everyone¡¯s time. This is not a lecture. This is aimed at the people around Yann. The Confederacy has its capital in Richmond, where the Roland lord also made his seat. He has the most to gain from their continued existence. The others, however, do not. With this sentence, I cast a doubt on Yann¡¯s true motivations by reminding everyone that he has his own selfish interest in the matter. I sit back down. Constantine lets another Warden speak up. This one is a Roland from Quebec and a secret ally of Sephare. One thing that Sinead taught me is that the mind is an imperfect tool. For example, if one proposal is immediately dismissed as ridiculous, then the next one will appear as more attractive by comparison. Such biases also affect us vampires. We are, after all, made from human molds. Sephare and Yann know this, that is why Yann offered his proposal after the Warden of Missouri¡¯s weak statement, and the Warden of Quebec will be used as a sacrificial tool to introduce Sephare¡¯s own resolution. After a short speech on the possibility of neutrality, his opinion is quickly deemed as pointless by both larger factions. Sephare does not speak last. Kouakou does. It surprises me a bit. The tall Ekon lord usually contents himself with letting the smooth Hasting handle diplomacy. I know, for participating, that they focus most of their efforts on their home fief of Louisiana, as well as the numerous requests for freedom they receive from their Supplicants. A daring approach, and one that serves Kouakou well. Despite some posturing, our dealings are mostly cold and methodical, and yet tonight Kouakou speaks with a fire that I did not expect from one of us outside of battle. I resist the urge to turn to Sephare and gauge her reaction. This feels off-script. It would not help anyway, the wily Hasting would never betray her reaction. Stupefied silence descends upon us. I never expected him to be so vehement! And¡­ I like it. Finally, some politics I can get behind! Meaning that only the southern lords who vote with us will be compensated. S?a??h the n0v?l(?)ire.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. In the end, we are left with four proposals. Constantine calls the session in recess until we have had time to study them in detail. We all retreat back to our respective aisles of the manor, and pretend that it does not show the clear faction split. We take some time to read the printed documents until Sephare interrupts us as she struts into the room we have chosen as our gathering spot. I barely had the time to get off my ship in time for the vote, so I have little idea what the man has in store for me. I stand up and leave Melusine to pore over Yann¡¯s proposal. She did not need Sephare¡¯s advice to understand that the two other texts were inconsequential. I climb down the manor¡¯s busy stairs to the steward¡¯s office. The entire building is a hive of activity, with security present at every step. Vassals and guards alike step aside to let me through, and my travel time is short. Wilhelm¡¯s office is still earthy and cozy, with woods and earthy tones, but the mood is less welcoming now. An armor stand occupies the corner. Sheathed blades hang from several pegs on the wall. The man himself reviews a map on his desk, and casually invites me over to join him. he informs me. Wilhelm has dirty blond hair in a tail and his beard looks wilder than usual. He is much more woodsman than butler. Wilhelm sighs, his muscular frame making the gesture more visceral. I leave the office and make my way back to our shared office, only for Melusine to stop me by the entrance. I am still wearing a formal dress, but she is not. I recognize the armored suit I had made for her and enchanted myself, with an elaborate heart protector and an integrated focus in case she loses her usual gauntlet. I designed it from the top down to serve my faithful second. I even wrote ¡®hussy¡¯ on the inner plate of the heart protector before sealing it shut. Truly, it suits her. I ask. I was not aware that I could refuse. Melusine is a City Master, and our agreement is clear. Times are grave. We did not even bicker. The vote goes exactly as predicted. Every round, the proposal with the least votes is eliminated. Stalling is dismissed first, then the neutrality proposal goes next. Surprisingly, it received support from a few more people than I expected. Not enough to make a difference. Only twenty-seven Wardens remain after last session¡¯s warning. Seventeen vote for support of the Union, while ten vote for support of the Confederacy. Thanks to my and Sephare¡¯s actions, a number of southern lords have joined our cause, including the twins. The opposite side is led by Yann, unsurprisingly, and a few Roland and Cadiz including that backstabbing prick, Lord Ceron. Suarez voted in favor of the Union, even though he has much to lose financially. His support split the Cadiz faction in two. Another vote, and the stalemate remains. To triumph, the Union faction needs a majority of two-thirds plus one, so nineteen votes. We are two short. Constantine ends the session with the next planned in three days to allow both sides to conduct backroom negotiations. I fill the necessary paper to delegate the voting rights of Illinois to Sephare while I am absent. Melusine could have done it, but she is coming with me. Sephare tells me, I ask with some surprise. What? Sephare finishes. I return to my own quarters and change into my full battle gear. I no longer travel without access to it, and I even have a compact chest that I can fasten to my back in case of emergency. Although it might be unwieldy, I would rather appear ridiculous than be again caught without all my tools of destruction. And besides, who would make fun of someone capable of holding a huge chest on her back? No one with any lick of sense. After writing a list of instructions to Sheridan, who once again disappeared with Melitone somewhere in the bowels of the complex, I grab Melusine and we make our way down. We find Vadim already waiting for us by the stables. The Vanheim Master sits atop a Nightmare bred for speed. Zana, Melusine¡¯s mare, embodies the pictural ideal of a lithe romantic horse. Pathetic. By contrast, Metis is a solid warhorse who can plow through a battle line without tragically collapsing for a nearby painter to capture. In fact, she even plowed through a werewolf army and emerged on the other side with bloody hooves and a tasty treat of werewolf ears. I can ask for no better pony. Almost as if she was designed for me. I frown suddenly, and try to remember if Metis had been that way when I first got her, and find out that I cannot quite recall. Not with any measure of certainty. Nightmares are truly mysterious, and so is Vadim¡¯s power. He addresses us as we climb on our mounts. With one last nod, Vadim rides down the path to the house-filled valley, where the attending mortals dwell. We accelerate out and, contrary to the usual, leave the main road leading to Boston. The Nightmares ride through the underbrush with haste, their hooves trampling the ground. We ride faster still. Trees to either side rush by in our maddened cavalcade. I can still spot the shining lights of civilization in the distance. Vadim mutters. I think I can see the road in the distance. And suddenly, I cannot. The lights, so numerous a few moments ago, disappear one by one until their very existence becomes like a memory. Darkness, not the peppered black of the night sky, true darkness, spreads around us. I can no longer see the heavens above us through the suddenly dense canopy. The distant sounds of the city fade in moments, replaced by the silence of the deep forest. The young trees of a young forest give way to ancient, ossified trunks covered in scarred bark, twisted and gnarled with grasping roots worming their way through the damp loam. Any other creatures would have had to slow down to avoid the many pitfalls there, or risk snapping their legs like twigs. Instead, the Nightmares rush with renewed vigor, and for good reasons. We are, after all, in their world now. I resist the urge to call upon a light spell, unused to the impenetrable veil that blocks my sight. Anything that attracts attention here would be¡­ unwise, as there are things that call this alien world their home. Sometimes, whatever small radiance makes its way down from above glints on a spider web, on small glittering eyes hiding amongst the heavy boughs. We stop for nothing. Whoever falls there will be condemned to amble through the infinite forest until the Thirst claims their minds. Time soon loses its meaning in the typical fashion of the space between spheres. I have no need to direct Metis as she knows exactly where to go. I do not let the fear of the unknown grasp the cold part of my mind. Instead, I call my instincts to the surface and ride on the euphoric wave of the exhilarating journey. We no longer need to appear human. We can cast aside our worries about the war, both the mortal one and ours, because we have no way of impacting it for now. There is just us and the dark world of nightmares, the prey we will find at the end of the trail. I turn to Melusine and give her my best smile. She spares me a glance. A deep understanding passes between us, one that needs no words, and her serious air melts under the euphoria she allows herself to feel. We hiss together and the Nightmares answer with amused snorts. Vadim¡¯s back relaxes. He joins us. And then something moves in front of us, something massive. I hear a growl. I spot matted dark fur. We have no time for you. Get. Out. Of. THE. WAY. ¡°ROOOAAAR!¡± The warcry is echoed by two others and the angry neighs of our flesh-eating partners. The thing growls more and shuffles away, more annoyed than scared. I laugh at this amazing scene and we continue, never stopping. It takes us a small eternity to see our destination. I can tell that we approach when the fabric of the forest fails, and we catch whiffs of pine and iodine. Vadim mutters in an exhausted voice. One last effort, and we burst out of the forest¡¯s edge and onto a sandy beach, the sea crashing underneath the hooves of our mounts. They slow down. I can feel the heat radiating from a tired Metis and the shortness of her breath expanding her powerful flanks. Her glossy hide is wet with sweat. Vadims is barely better. The Vanheim Master slumps on the back of his ride. He is spent. I tell them. I recognize the coastline for having traveled it several times in the past. We are several miles north of the Natalis village. The frigid wet of Boston is far away. The weather here is clement enough that a small shawl over a dress would suffice. We have crossed two thousand miles of land in only a few hours. No creatures on earth can match that speed. I pat the lanky man on the shoulder and send Metis into a trot. We cross over dunes covered with tall grass and in between palm trees. I understand that Vadim fell short by about twenty miles, but I can hardly complain in the face of his extraordinary performance. It will take days for the Spirit of Dalton to travel so far south. We arrive with plenty of time to spare before dawn. The Natalis village is as organic and eclectic as I remember. While most of the newer buildings show a definitive hispanic influence, the vampire dwellings range in style from wooden huts to Alpine chalets. Anyone watching it for the first time would believe that they have stumbled upon an impossibly-sized carnival, blue shutters on white walls offering a counterpoint to high-peaked dachas that would not look out of place on the shores of the black sea. The entire city squirms with moving mortals loading and unloading skiffs carrying cargo to transport ships. They work with singular discipline that armies would envy. A powerfully-built master oversees the process, surrounded by an entourage of administrators. We maneuver through the moving files and dismount to address him out of politeness, but he moves forward and hails us as soon as we come into view. I reply. I introduced them by order of seniority. I know of the place. Jarek had several strongholds placed across the arable lands his clan owns. This one is the most defensible one. It covers the entrance to his domain. We depart immediately. The wheat fields are empty of both men and stalks this late in the year. Fallow expanses of earth give the place a desolate air only made more desperate by the late evacuees rushing to the piers. I find Lord Jarek on a large stone overlooking a maze of rocky outcrops and brush marking the end of his land. I recognize the stone. He brought it here himself. Most of the time, the Natalis paragon wears custom-made clothes in a variety of styles, all having in common a singular feature: they looked like disguises on their owner¡¯s titanic frame. Now, wearing armor, he looks more natural than ever. While Loth¡¯s protection is a streamlined suit of interlocking scales designed for speed and efficiency, Jarek¡¯s plates look like someone once decided to wear his own portable bank vault and went to work with a forge, persistence, and no sense of design. I know the impression to be deceptive, of course. It still reinforces the warlord¡¯s image as a force of nature, an avatar of power with no finesse and no particular need for it. Plates and spikes and enough jutting parts to catch someone off-guard. I would know. I have been at their receiving ends more than a few times as we sparred. he tells me without opening his eyes. Lord Jarek remains silent long enough that I almost think that he is ignoring me. When he speaks, his deep, gravelly voice rolls over us. Another moment of silence until he asks me a question. I could not even contemplate Jarek leaving while his people are not safe. I finally ask, afraid of the answer. I am reminded that I have never, ever landed a wound on Jarek during our spars, at least not when he was wearing his armor. He seldom even materialized his gauntlets. It? Jarek turns to me. His gaze is black as coal and just as burning. Chapter 128: First Blood The heavy axe slides against Rose at the perfect angle. Most of the strength bleeds away along the edge and I strike the man facing me with the pommel. A series of quick jabs pushes him away. A hint from my intuition, and I dodge under a back attack while sweeping. Rose deploys, hitting both the target close to me to the front, and the one farther at the back in one perfect strike. They reel.I will not use Likaean here, especially not when those around are on my side. Melusine yells from behind. A powerful spell crashes against the two men in heavy armor. They do not see it coming as my magic hides and confuses, and they fall to the ground to smother the flames. Since I am in a generous mood, I conjure some ice to help them. A second later, Lord Islaev crashes against a nearby rock. He stands back up immediately, no worse for the wear. he says, his long cossack mustache quivering with outrage. I was mistaken. His pride took a serious wound. Jarek lands next to us a moment later, symbolically helping his ally to his feet. The prideful Islaev grunts, then slaps Jarek on the shoulder with a bitter smile. It sounds like someone brought a sledgehammer to an ironclad¡¯s hull. Both teams dust themselves and enjoy a tense moment of handshaking. We have trained relentlessly for two nights already, one team against another, and enjoyed great progress. I always thought that the curse of vampirism was our lack of inspirational spark. It appears that this flaw does not extend to combat. Indeed, Jarek¡¯s team, that is us, has made incredible progress. Jarek is the vanguard of the formation as the strongest fighter. I was informed that the vanguard¡¯s role varies from team to team depending on its composition. As far as Jarek is concerned, his role is to get into the thick of it and distribute punishment, a task he excels at. My role is to keep his back clear, which involves fighting multiple opponents. I am, in return, covered by Melusine and Vadim. Vadim fights with knives in a style that reminds me a lot of Urchin, while Melusine is one of the handful of vampire mages capable of using fire. Hers is a smoky, smoldering thing that chokes and consumes, a great tool against other creatures of the night. I use my own style to give them the openings they need to bring their might to bear. I am myself surprised at how well we work together, especially Melusine and I. I am instinctive and aggressive while she is patient and decisive. She has an excellent sense of timing, and I create a lot of opportunities with the confidence that she will exploit them. Vadim is more of a lone wolf fighter who functions best when fighting at the edges of the formation, and Jarek can let go when he knows that he will not be outflanked. Our high degree of coordination is serendipitous, although we are barely scratching the surface. My understanding is also that Jarek¡¯s style tends to grow destructive when he triggers his Magna Arqa, and he needs one powerful rear guard, one who can survive it, to truly let go. Our training finished for now, we check our gear and head back to the Maw. The woods surrounding the gate fortress mostly consists of shrubs and small trees. It offers more than enough cover for a small force, which is what we will be facing anyway. I follow Jarek as he climbs on the guard tower, and stares wistfully at the eastern horizon. I do not object. We still need to evacuate a handful of fledglings and recent Masters who lack the training and mentality to be of much help. The overloaded ships are heading towards New Orleans, the next safe city. It will take at least another two days for them to return under ideal circumstances. We do not know yet how close the vanguard of the Expansion Faction is, or at least I assumed so. There are footsteps behind us. We both turn to see the Natalis¡¯ one rented mage climbing up the stairs. He catches his breath and makes his report. ¡°My Lord, we have contact.¡± ¡°Where?¡± ¡°The de la Vega hacienda. One full team. There are also rumors that gringos have gathered to the south, but I cannot say for sure.¡± ¡°I see. Thank you. Can you and Warden Nirari stay in contact?¡± The mage winces. ¡°She will have to be the one to contact me, on account of¡­¡± He trails off. I have not publicized the existence of the earrings, so most people do not know how I avoid magical detection, and I would prefer to keep it that way. ¡°It will do,¡± Jarek calmly says, ¡°please return to the docks. We have work to do.¡± Curiosity and worry bloom on the mage¡¯s face. He has been in their employ for a long while and the Natalis remain one of the more light-handed clans around. His show of loyalty does him credit. Nevertheless, the mortal knows that we will not explain our action, and he obeys. I wait for Jarek to decide. he finally says. I understand. Fortifications are of no use against vampires. As the outnumbered party, we must go on the offensive, and attempt to defeat them in detail before they can gather. Such an action presents risks without proper information, however. Well, that was decisive. I follow the Natalis lord downstairs and we gather once more in our respective teams. I cannot help but feel a bit upset at a course of action I perceive as rash. Most of the time, my attacks are planned. Quite a few eyes settle on me. What? I do not devour everyone I fight! They should know this by now! I say between gritted teeth. Jarek notices and smiles. And we are off. We exit the Maw at full speed and approach the road, then quickly angle north and west through dense forest. We are mostly silent despite our speed, and the auras of Vadim and Horacio quickly disappear from my perception. I cannot help but feel a rush of excitement, despite the danger. This will be the first battle of the war. We sprint through the difficult terrain like shadows. Lesser vampires would fear the energy expenditure of moving for hours, but we are not them. A mortal on our path would perhaps see something on the corner of his field of vision. We would be long gone before he would turn his gaze towards the unknown. It feels great to run with peers in perfect silence. It feels great to hunt with others who are WORTHY. More than that, it feels great to chase after the greatest of prey: ourselves. Jarek knows the path. The land around us grows more rugged until we arrive at the edge of a valley. A large compound with red tiles surrounded by whitewashed walls takes the side, with tilled fields and dependent houses taking the rest. There are no signs of our foes. Jarek waits, and our scouts soon return. Vadim and the master from Islaev¡¯s team return. They use call signs to give information with inhuman speed. Vadim detected a foe by the wall gates, and Horacio another by the dependence. Jarek turns to us and signs orders. Islaev¡¯s team sprints to the side and we wait for a minute to let them get in position. We rush to the main building, forfeiting stealth. A cry shows that we have been spotted, but it comes too late. We cross the gate to the hacienda¡¯s inner courtyard and find three foes, two masters on either side of a lord in full metal armor covered in runes. He drops a book he was holding. Jarek charges and smashes against the lord who barely manages to survive a left hook to the chest, crashing against the house for his trouble. I wait for it to happen and extend my gauntlet towards the closest fighter who had been sent stumbling. She is a fencer, with a sharp foil and a dark scale armor. I cannot see her traits to her combat mask but I can perceive from her aura that she is a strong Lancaster. I use one of Constantine¡¯s signature spells. Red chains erupt from my gauntlet and latch on the unbalanced master¡¯s frame. I deploy only two when the Speaker can manifest five times that amount, but they are difficult to cast, if cheap. she replies. I expected it. All Lancaster Masters are trained warmages. Instead of hitting the translucent barrier, the chains snake around and over it, encasing the foe in a crimson coffin. I immediately turn and block the other master¡¯s strike with Rose¡¯s guard. The next sequence happens simultaneously. Melusine¡¯s shieldbreaker spell crashes against the Lancaster master, sending her reeling. I lower my center of gravity and extend Rose in the second master¡¯s plate armor, flipping him and making him miss a dagger thrust to my heart. Jarek ducks under a horizontal counter-swipe with an agility that belies his massive size and grabs the lord¡¯s leg. That one does not know it yet, but he is done for. The book hits the ground. Jarek pulls and swings the enemy lord into the ground, armor and all. the downed fighter screams, and three copies of him appear and strike Jarek simultaneously. I also pull my captive towards me. She falls. Two fire spells hit her armored flank. Her hair catches on fire. The other Master and I exchange fast blows and it becomes clear that he is trying to disengage. Jarek uses his gauntlets to block the strikes to his heart and neck, letting a third plunge into his abdomen. He counter-attacks by moving forward, pushing two images back and letting the other dig deeper into his body. He hammers down on his prone target with both gauntlets. Dust rises from the impact and gravel is sent flying. The torched master is screaming now, and her companion turns to run. Vadim stabs him in the neck and armpit as he does so. The fallen book flops on its side. Jarek lunges back with the lord¡¯s abused frame in front of him to shield him from further blows. The Magna Arqa imitations flicker. Melusine quenches the flames on the fallen Master, still held in chains, and stabs her in the neck in the same motion. The wounded Master falls in Vadim¡¯s arms. He will not stand again tonight. Jerak¡¯s humongous mitt grabs the other lord¡¯s like a bloodhound bites on a rabbit. There are creaks of abused metal. I look on and see a curious pistol in the victim¡¯s grip. How modern! Jarek frowns. I explain. Jarek pries the gun away from the other man¡¯s grip, snapping a few fingers. The enemy lord¡¯s face cannot be seen under his helmet, and he does not make a sound despite the rough treatment. The Natalis lord considers the implement with some curiosity, raises it, and fires. I watch the red plume climb to the heavens where it explodes with a light pop. Islaev arrives as we watch the peculiar show. He finds the gun in Jarek¡¯s hand. Islaev turns around and one of his men brings a burly woman in leather armor with, of all things, a bow. She was stabbed in the heart. Islaev comments drily. His bald head still shows a few spots of dark blood. Jarek asks the vanquished lord, still held straight in front of him. the prisoner answers in a breathy voice, possibly because of the broken ribs. His armor is in a poor state. he continues. Bertrand did not grace us with a declaration of war. He considers us as too beneath him. We are merely rebels he will bring back into the fray. Yet, the state of the hacienda shows that his soldiers have not engaged in wholesale slaughter yet. It could change, however, depending on Bertrand¡¯s mindset and our own actions. Jarek grasps the man¡¯s helmet between his gauntlet and crushes it. There is a sharp cry, the moan of tortured metal and snapped bones, then silence. Jarek asks as an afterthought. How very thoughtful of him! Still, I shake my head. Islaev¡¯s team helps Vadim load the bodies on his Nightmare while I pick up the defeated mage. Melusine kneels by my side. she asks with a hint of worry. I hiss back. The gall! My prey tastes of old magic and the sea. As expected, she is quite strong. We were fortunate to catch them off guard, outnumbered, and separated, or the battle would have been more challenging. We would still have won, of course. We let Vadim go back to the Natalis hold loaded with bodies, and Jarek immediately leaves the inner courtyard. We rush again. Jarek knows the land well and we cut through rough shrubbery to a well-traveled road snaking to the north. If a team comes from there, they will probably follow this landmark. Jarek pushes his home advantage to its maximum. A gesture, and we slow down and hide our presence on either side of the dusty road. We do not have to wait for long. I end up almost nose to nose with a fast-moving Master after only a minute or two. Auras flare all across the battlefield. The other team finds itself, once more, outnumbered. Jarek goes for their lord who is a bald man with a hooked nose and a severe face only wearing form-fitting clothes. He fights with strange daggers that include knuckle-guards and reacts immediately, flowing smoothly under and around Jarek¡¯s assault. Their dance is deadly and patient, two masters with similar styles and centuries of battle experience. It goes poorly for the rest of the team. Within moments, Islaev is mangling a tall, spear-wielding fighter, while the rest of us overwhelms the rest of them. They start a fighting retreat and, eventually, run away, but not before someone uses another flare. We give chase shortly, with the lord using a Magna Arqa that makes his body liquid and impervious to most blows. Only my intuition saves me from a painful wound. I twist on myself and a heavily enchanted javelin slides along the scales of my armor. We are attacked in the back? They must have been closeby. In moments, the dynamic of the fight changes. I rush to Melusine¡¯s help as she fends off an aggressive man wielding a sword and dagger. I cast a quick bind spell and distract him for long enough for Melusine to stab him with her foil, but the wound is not enough to take him down. It is enough for her to disengage. I attack. Three Masters rush me, but soon Islaev is by my side and so is a lady in heavy armor with two axes. She and Islaev trade blows, him with a titanic saber and her with her brutal instruments. Their quick movements disrupt the flowing battle line. I am in my element. Chaos is perfect for me. It fits my style, and it allows me to make full use of my intuition. Feint low, and the blade dodged strikes another. Spells countered and avoided reach other targets, adding to the razor edge maneuvering of high-speed combat. The battle is an infinitely complex ballet as fast as lightning and as strategic as chess, an inhuman display where every moment is a painting begging to be immortalized, every motion honed by thousands, tens of thousands of hours of practice. The game of the immortals. I love it. Three battle masters is still too much for me and I am forced to use every trick I know to delay them. I throw knives and use blood bolts as a delaying movement. Rose extends and retracts and twirls and slices from my hand. It lives in the blood we spill together. IN THE HEART OF WAR, AS IT SHOULD BE. I block a spear thrust and pull a foe towards me to use his body as a shield, then boot him away with a shot to the chest. He manages to sidestep at the last moment and I miss his heart, then duck under a spell before I can exploit the opening. One wrong move and it is all over. I do not make wrong moves, but others do. Little by little, the fighters¡¯ focus wavers and mistakes lead to glancing blows, to severed fingers, then the atrocious pain of enchanted blades and soul weapons adds to the strain of constantly having to be perfect. Unexpected techniques such as the combination of my darkness spell and Melusine¡¯s ranged attacks add to the mix until I get my chance. I allow a swordsman to land a blow on me, the blade going through my left armguard. The counterattack almost decapitates him. Rose feeds me figments of essence from the blood I shed, a small reward for a VANQUISHED PREY. I feel something coming from behind and dodge to the side. The master attacking me is sent careening away. Jarek says. He hands me something that squishes under my grip. I recognize the insensate form of the unarmored lord. His right side has been pulped. Ew. I turn around and immediately obey, following Islaev¡¯s team¡¯s scout. Behind us, our two lords lay into the enemy to delay them. We disengage and run for it. Horacio does something and our auras flicker, then we are heading east towards the ocean and our base. Both Jarek and Islaev soon join us, sporting new wounds. It takes us only ten minutes or so to reach the Maw. We enter the fortress, not that it will make much of a difference if the Expansion faction¡¯s main force comes to repay us. Jarek walks up to me as I enter the wooden fort¡¯s barracks and lifts the lord¡¯s body from my shoulder. I ask, wary of splitting our already meager forces. he answers. I glare at Jarek. Many of his actions tonight seem reckless to me, and it sets me on edge. We are at the beginning of the game, and if we are already taking desperate risks, it will not take long before we are punished for it. Intuition can only carry me so far in the face of the ineluctable. Jarek says to my surprise. I will have to be honest. Jarek smiles lightly, still covered in his damaged armor. A single chuckle shakes his mighty frame. To my surprise, he leans forward and whispers in my ear at a volume so low that not even vampires could eavesdrop. I do not like it. I do not like it at all, and yet I owe the Natalis lord that much. Between his support, his training, and the help he provides John, I am in his debt. I watch him leave. Jarek is tense, and he shows a fatalistic streak that I do not trust. I sincerely hope that I am mistaken. I return to Melusine as we wait for Jarek¡¯s return. The Natalis compound has several secret underground dwelling places to hide vampires in times of crisis. We were shown one yesterday, and we were informed that we would be led to another tonight as well. Melusine admits as we wait by a log wall, alone. I ask. This twit. No barbs? She must be concerned. I ask with some curiosity. She considers my question in silence for a moment. The fort is so quiet around us, and the others have split up after a lookout was designed. This time, she does not hesitate. She hesitates, then continues. I scoff, We remain in silence for a while, until a revelation finally dawns on my tired brain. Melusine asks me all of the sudden. I cannot help but observe that she ignored my question. I ask. I glare. Jarek returns, his eyes distant. Melusine steps away from the wall and struts confidently to the Natalis warrior. she calmly declares. That would be her chest. Definitely her chest. It appears that I will spend the day alone. I wake up in a secured steel sarcophagus hidden behind a false wall hidden behind a shelf hidden under a trapdoor hidden in the middle of the fields. I make my way through rows of supplies left here as a distraction, and grab some water from a barrel for a bit of cleaning. I then proceed to scream when another false wall rolls down. Those are purely mechanical, so I did not detect it through my magical sense. Jarek says as he pokes his head out of a narrow tunnel. Five minutes later and now properly armored, I invite him in and we sit across a simple table in the center of the refuge. I frown and cross my arms, sitting back into the simple chair which groans against the weight of my armor. I have? I ask, somewhat annoyed that no one told me. ¡°Uhu.¡± Jarek raises a hand to interrupt me. I am a bit chastised. Jarek never loses his patience with me. I stop at that. Does he mean that he will¡­ no, I cannot accept this. I glare, because I finally realized something. I breathe and lean back into the rickety chair. I knew that we needed some time to merge our different bands into a functional military. Apparently, we also need to root out traitors. Fair enough. It is Jarek¡¯s turn to glare. I raise an eyebrow. Jarek is not amused. I grumble something, but I know when I have been defeated. I nod, and he leaves. This all feels like a gambit I had no idea I would play. I should have expected my allies to use me as a tool, and I cannot blame them. Of course, Sephare would not share with me information that I do not need. Of course, Jarek would do the same. The stakes are too high for us to use half-measures. It still pains me to realize that despite my efforts, I amount to little more than a pawn in this age-old game. A large pawn, I suppose, a bishop or a knight perhaps, but still a piece on the board. I could get angry and ask for more but I do not have the heart. I want to win more than I want to understand. It will still be time to grow afterward. I spend the rest of the afternoon preparing my weapons. Jarek asks. We can feel it. The sun is setting. The last rays of crimson light drift away from the land. Our time is almost here. It is night. We burst out of the cache. We merely need to last long enough for the trap to work. We now stand near a large boulder surrounded by fallow fields, with the port and welcome shape of the Dalton¡¯s Spirit to the right. Just as I rush out, I freeze in my tracks in surprise and so does Melusine. Only Jarek seems unaffected. I have seen vampires being grandiose, being determined, and being brilliant. I had never before witnessed vampires being systematic. Every five hundred yards in every direction, a sarcophagus has been planted into the ground. As we watch, perhaps thirty fighters emerge from them all across the Natalis hold. We are vastly, vastly outnumbered. I turn to the ship, and realize that it does not rest at the pier, but easily two hundred yards out with deployed guns. We just stepped onto a battlefield. And a massive crimson veil the size of a village, falls down to trap us in. We follow Jarek at break-neck speed to the obvious core of the ritual trapping us in. Ten mages stand in a circle with battle Masters quickly assembling between us and them. They operate under the direction of a tiny woman with very dark hair. They are themselves hidden behind another shield. I recognize the mages as being mortals, but the woman leading them emits a powerful Lancaster aura that speaks of great power. Jarek asks. We have not been intercepted yet. Instead, the masters run to each other to form hunting packs. My first answer is to say: absolutely not. We are two mages against eleven entrenched ones, led by a clear archmage lady who is even now looking at us come to her with clear amusement. And then, I realize that I am too hasty. There is one thing I still have. Melusine screams by my side, I assure her, The masters arrayed before us form a single line bristling with soul weapons and spells and enchanted pieces of gear. Jarek accelerates beyond anything I thought possible and crashes into them, sending them reeling through sheer inertia. Many of the Masters bump harmlessly against the shield before sliding down. It did not even waver. As Jarek and Melusine fend off attackers, I approach and take out a flare gun from one of my smaller holsters, firing it against the shield. The burst of blue light rises high as the skies, past the red barrier holding us in. As expected, the obstacle only affects vampires, not magic or things. The Lancaster lady smiles broadly, baring her fangs. Her condescending gaze turns to Melusine who is now bleeding heavily from her right arm after an unfavorable exchange. I say, interrupting her, The possibility of defeat never enters her mind, and so she bends a bit forward and asks me with the tone of the teacher humoring the class idiot. Behind us, three very loud, very recognizable detonations make the air tremble. I absolutely love the way her arrogant expression melts into outrage and fear as the incendiary projectile devastates her shield, opening it, and sending all ten mages to the ground with bleeding eyes and ears. she screams as she tries to protect them from the spreading flames. The dome fragments and disintegrates. Jarek screams, He gives me a strange circular object that looks like a canister with spaces left to write. Only one of the five spaces has letters on it, red as blood. The identity of the traitor. I grab it and place it in my powder charge stachel, but we are too late. We are surrounded. The master packs have gathered around and lords have joined the fray, the auras around us burn with anger and aggression. someone says. I keep quiet as Jarek steps forward, alone. He slowly unbuckles his shoulder plate and lets it fall to the ground with a loud thud. Dust rises from the sleeping earth. The second pauldron and his chest plate join the growing pile at his feet. Pressure. Crushing, overwhelming pressure. I gasp, hiccup, fall to my knees. Melusine collapses. The Masters struggle and lurch. Only Jarek remains standing. The very air turns blurry. I want to speak, to tell him to stop. I cannot. How is this possible? How can this power compare to that of others? How can there be such a gap between lords? Jarek is a bloody monster. It takes all my effort to climb back to my feet and help Melusine to hers. We lumber to the line of fighters before us. Jarek contemptuously sweeps his hand to the side, and the shadow of a giant¡¯s limb swats them, sending them flying like so many pins. We go through. I turn around one last time to see Jarek step calmly to someone in the distance. I see a warrior in a crimson plate armor with a battle mask that looks like a theater prop, complete with a beard of wrought silver steel. None other can stand before the two of them. The man in red materializes a massive, two-handed war axe as dark as the void. Strings, strange veins cover his body until even the plate he wears gains an organic quality that dead materials should not have. The two titans smash into each other, sending shockwaves across the battlefields. Masters are pushed away, lords walk back. Jarek and the man I recognize as Bertrand are forces of nature. We cannot make a difference in that struggle. Melusine and I finally exit the area of effect of their combined powers. We sprint away without a word. One team managed to circumvent the colossal fight. They are after us. We take the northern exit to the hold with them after us. Melusine asks. I immediately say. A cloud of blindness and silence spreads around us. A line of crimson extends behind us, slightly longer on one side than the other. Flames rise up as high as three men as we make our escape, or try to. I feel it. The most powerful aura behind us is the first to cross the hurdle, soon followed by others. The multiple foes disappear from my perception as they accelerate towards us. Scouts. They have been selected for speed and discretion, and Melusine is wounded, slower. We keep going and I wait for the inevitable. I do not have to wait long. Pushing my intuition to its maximum, I twist on myself and cast. The Master sneaking on us shows no trace of surprise as they slow down, bodies covered by a nebulous cloak that hides their features. The first chain forces a dodge, the second strikes right where I knew they would dodge. They still avoid it by collapsing on themselves in a strange motion. Rose hits them clear in the chest, doing catastrophic damage. The downside of speed is lousy armor, and it shows. My lucky hit takes them out of the fight. I say immediately, and my trap works. Another attacker is goaded into rushing forward, unaware that Melusine and I have reversed course. We time our spells and strikes to overwhelm her quickly. On a heavily armored opponent, such light attacks would not distract them enough to justify the wasted motion. On the leather-armored woman after us, however, the result is immediate. Her gear is not up to the task and she is soon covered in painful wounds. We disable her just as the last Master and the lady emerge from the woods. The Master wears a mask and dark cloth armor, with a sinuous build and twin maces in his hands. The lady¡¯s garb is different, with plenty of pockets and harnesses. Her light build and average beauty gives her a forgettable look that I am certain she uses for spying. She opens by flourishing a strange curved blade as my darkness spell dissipates. I dodge to the side and a thrown knife still bites deep against the edge of the battle mask. I block the next two with an armguard, preventing them from drawing blood. I soon have to forfeit defending Melusine in favor of saving myself. Thankfully, she has healed enough to use her foil again. The lady is a Hastings, and the only saving grace here as our speeds are almost evenly matched. The issue is that she clearly knows how to fight fast opponents and I am immediately hard-pressed. Distractions, tricks, and misdirection are her main weapons. Without my intuition, I would have fallen in ten exchanges. As it is, I am barely hanging there by the skin of my teeth by using her own daggers against her and every spell in my repertoire. I cast a bind, then a flay and force her back, only for her to throw enchanted bolas that I have to fend off with my claws. Her ability to distract does not even anger me. In fact, I am quite impressed. WORTHY PREY. SMART HUNTER. I will take her down yet. I keep changing tactics to prevent her from adapting too much. I keep at a distance and pepper her with bolts, but she wears enchanted mail under her dark coveralls, and the attack fails to pierce. I charge her and we exchange fast blows. I am outmatched. Close quarter is clearly her domain of expertise. I receive a deep slash on my right thigh for my trouble. A point-blank range flay spell forces her back and I use Rose at medium range to pressure her. It works. My training with Nami is paying off intensely as she has taught me how to keep someone back, being an expert at it herself. I strike where she will be instead of where she is, and use Rose¡¯s ability to expand to its full potential. She is pushed back and is running out of tricks. I even force a magical explosion on her flank when one of my bolts hits something she had gone to grab, her pockets working against her now. SHOW ME MORE, LITTLE PREY. She appears to disengage and throws her last dagger at me. Her tactic works against her when I grab one from the air and send it against the back of the enemy Master, helping a struggling Melusine. She disappears. Hours upon hours of ingrained practice let me react before I can even think. I retract Rose and place her before me, close my eyes, and focus on my intuition. The strain is immense, yet I succeed once more. Right and behind. One step to the back, a sweeping downward blow. The lady stumbles back with her chest cleaved diagonally. Surprise finally shows on her face and she falls on her back, her heart still intact, but her innards spilling on the black earth. The damage is gruesome. I WIN. I hiss in triumph. I did it. I disabled a lady! And a real¡ª My aura flares. The sensation defies description, like a volcano or a pot boiling over. It escapes my control. My own aura escapes my control. The absolute impossibility of this fact stuns me and forces me to my knees as all my strength flees in the air. What¡­ Is that an attack? But no¡­ Dark roots and spiked tendrils erupt from the earth, from rocks, they surround me and twist as they search for prey. They find blood but¡­ I did not call them. I do not want them. I do not need them! They stole all my strength! I gasp, prone against the ground. It hurts. It hurts as much as when Dalton died and no amount of breathing and feeding could fend off the horrible hollow he left behind. I have been forcefully drained of every ounce of vitality I possessed. I am an empty shell, and I cannot even follow the end of the fight! There are blurry moves and a male cry, I taste just a bit of essence and then, Melusine leans by my side. She has dragged two bodies with her. There is blood on her flank, her cheek. And it does not matter. As fast as the phenomenon came, it disappears and the roots flash into nothingness. I am left lying on the ground, lacking the strength to even stand up. I can only gulp air to alleviate the pain. I could not do it to save my life. There is nothing to draw on. Melusine rummages through the lord¡¯s effects and takes out a vial from around her neck. Likaean essence. I am saved. Slowly, carefully, I push myself to a sitting position. That was¡­ I have been betrayed by my own soul? CONFUSION. Hide not thy poison with such sugared words, myself? What gives? Melusine says curtly as she lets the tiniest amount of blood on her tongue. She helps me up. the lady says. She has one more wound on her leg where a root grabbed her. Melusine shrugs. I nod. ¡°Alright.¡± We help her and leave immediately. Fortunately, no other team follows us and we race northward along the shore. I finally find a suitable spot and Melusine and I create a spell circle to hide ourselves from basic tracking. I use a two-way beacon to try and reach a mage on the . ¡°Hmm?¡± ¡°Felix, is that you? We need you to come get us.¡± The man yawns, obviously exhausted. ¡°Okay,¡± he says, then breaks the spell. Only a few minutes later, my ship sails before us. A rowing boat is pulled down and sailors drive it close to the shore. A standing figure with a nice moustache and twin revolvers on his hips tips his hat as we approach. ¡°You ladies need a ride?¡± S~?a??h the Nov?lF?re .??t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. Chapter 129: Vampire war Boston, December 2nd, 1861the Speaker says. I find it hard to gauge the mood of an assembly of people whose survival depends on self-control, and yet I can taste concern in the air. One of us has had less need to manage their own emotion on account of being powerful from the start. I do not believe that I had ever seen Constantine angry before. She smiles, like the cat who caught the bird that had been flitting around him. She makes no secret of her satisfaction. I did not think that immobile people could grow even more immobile. The absence of motion in this room now defies the very laws of physics. Sephare goes on to explain her ploy, how she sent different cache locations to different lords to see which ones would be breached. A few of the lords tilt their head, and I know that those are more curious than worried now. I have come to bear witness to Sephare¡¯s moment of triumph. For three weeks now, the tall, hawkish man and the petite blonde have engaged in a complex diplomatic dance with the prize being the conduct of the war. Yann leads the minority group preventing the majority of vampires from supporting the Union. Some of the recalcitrants have firm ideas about racial hierarchy. Others see no way for their holdings to survive the end of slavery in decent shapes. The last few, however, are mercenaries who consider the crisis as an opportunity to sell their votes. If the deadlock continues, our faction will be forced to pay them an astronomical prize for their allegiance. If it breaks, they will have gained nothing but our resentment. Theirs is a dangerous gamble. They do not seem to care. Yann leads them. As Sephare expected, the man believes himself as too smart for his own good, typical of those whose intellect only shines in the company of their lessers. He has looked down upon our community, and now the community has come to give back, in the person of a miffed Progenitor. Constantine¡¯s voice barely rises, and yet every other sound is silenced. Constantine¡¯s fist smacks against the liquid stone table. Its surface turns into a forest of glistening spikes, though none come to pierce his skin. Yann stops talking. The Speaker¡¯s unyielding manners remove the bluster from Yann, but not the pride. Constantine interrupts yet again, I know of this facility very well. One my my fingers twitches. Behind me, Melusine¡¯s hand presses against my back, out of sight of the others. I almost want Yann to keep denying. The little prick deserves it. Eventually, he realizes that his bluff is called. Ten, twenty, thirty bloody chains of cruel magic erupt from Constantine and the walls. They cover the rebellious lord with blinding speed and through overwhelming numbers. To me, they feel¡­ alive. They move organically like so many snakes. If Medusa was real, her hair would be like that. And Yann is caught in it. The numerous slithering restraints tighten around the man as he mutters something. In a way, Constantine showed generosity. If he were innocent or misled, he could have used the opportunity to defend himself efficiently. Yann was neither innocent, nor misled. He was greedy. The chains contract, then dismember him. A purple light. Ash. The death of a lord. Just like that. Silence rules while we all feign indifference with varying degrees of success. Eventually, all eyes now fall on the most awkward member of our congregation: Yann¡¯s second. He is the only younger Master among us. His voice breaks the silence. Sephare declares, probably saving his life. The nest of angry chains rattles in the air, their heavy links ignoring gravity altogether. I realize that more chains stand from the Speaker¡¯s back, those black and void. I see a blade and a weight on either end. Chains? What a curious soul weapon. With Yann¡¯s second reversing his position, we go one more round, and I almost expect his block to remain entrenched. It appears, however, that the opportunists in the Secession camp have felt the winds of change, and they vote with us. It could have been the remains of their leader still staining the table. In any case, the majority of two thirds has been reached. Constantine allows the Warden of Carolina to make a small declaration, and he announces that, in short, he will be heading out to new lands where proper racial order is still the norm. Constantine allows him to leave while his second immediately becomes the de facto leader. The deadlock has been resolved. As before, we trickle out of the council chamber and retreat to our individual wings to discuss and scheme. To my surprise, Melusine requests that we speak together first, and we walk to my private chambers for a little discussion. she tells me as soon as we are settled I frown. I pout, but she is not done. I fail to see how that matters. she continues with some impatience, This¡­ makes a surprising amount of sense. The main argument I was offered against repeater rifles was that soldiers would waste bullets. I found that stupid, but if someone is poorly trained and they fire their daily reserves of bullets in the first fifteen minutes of a day-long battle, I can see how this could lead to disaster. Especially if they tend to miss a lot. she concludes. Melusine has a keen sense of opportunities. I will trust her on that. Melusine finishes as she pushes the door open, I nod, and she stands up to leave while I am left thinking. In our society, appearance is everything. I must strike a delicate balance between contributing to the war efforts, and being perceived as more than Sephare¡¯s stooge. Ah well. A knock on the door, and I am once more summoned to meet with our leaders. To my surprise, I am not invited to Sephare¡¯s personal quarters like last time, but to a floor deep within the fortress where I was quite sure there used to be a training room. It was converted into a strategic headquarter some time while I was gone. I enter through a secured door to find the heart of the war effort. Constantine stands in front of a board with a complex assortment of documents linked together by strings, and complex runes in some alien construct that only he could interpret. Sephare and two of the Cadiz lords, Ceron and Suarez, inspect the massive map set on a central table. The walls of naked stone and blue magical lights lend the room a strange air, as on the map, the mundane and the secret mix. Two conflicts, four sides, and extremely high stakes. For the first time in forever, my intuition activates outside of combat. I see the tiny dots showing troop concentrations superimposed with stylized chess pieces representing major vampire squads. They mix and merge in a strange dance, parallel yet separate at first, then things change. Then blue dots merge around the black ones, and some of the grey come as well. White, red, and black dots join the insane dance to form a defensive vortex, for something has come upon the map. A grey mass of viscous fluid spreads across the land like a vile mold. It starts in villages, in faraway places and on forgotten battlefields, of which there will be many. It feeds upon the dead and dying. It harvests the forgotten, those who have been cut off. It spreads silently through remote valleys until all elements gather into an unstoppable tide, one of teeth and gnawing bones. It is too late then, too late. Yes. This is right. I blink. Everyone is staring at me. Constantine mumbles as he grabs a loose paper. I just outed myself. Sephare asks with widened eyes. Ceron and Suarez nod thoughtfully. I notice, surprised at their reactions. Suarez explains as Ceron takes notes, I am a bit at a loss. Between this and the thorn roots issue, there is much I need to explore, but there is no time now. Before I can further react, Sephare finishes what she was doing and drags me next to the table. She points at the center of the East Coast. Melusine did warn me. the petite lady says as she grabs my sleeves. Her blue eyes meet with mine. Her vehemence comes, once again, as a surprise. She nods and returns her attention to her notes. I have been dismissed. Constantine accompanies me back to the entrance, robes swishing as he walks. He closes the door behind us. One last nod, and he returns to the secured room. *** We travel by carriage. Gregory was neither surprised nor pleased by my imposed presence. He took my excuse of ¡®safety¡¯ as what it was: a thinly veiled insult against his loyalty. He knows that he deserves nothing more, and so we remain courteous as we move quickly south in the bitter cold of November. Even now, the influence of war is plain to see in the troops we come across, and the checkpoints we pass. The blue uniforms of Union soldiers abound. We even have to bypass Washington and its imposing fortifications. From then on, only our precious traveling documents guarantee that we can go on unimpeded. Sephare facilitated our trip by providing us with diplomatic documents, so that both sides believe us to be part of negotiation efforts. Gregory proves himself to be an effective, if unimaginative organizer. His short brown hair and intelligent grey eyes give him the appearance of a junior negotiator, the kind that can be sent on a dangerous journey with little hope of success. As the days go by and I grow increasingly impatient, we are finally stopped for a longer time near the border, in the southern part of Maryland. I can hear arguments through the armored doors, though their thickness muffles even my senses. Eventually, there is a knock on the door from the driver¡¯s side, one that signifies that the papers have been refused and that we are encountering difficulties. Our carriage has an escort kindly provided by my host. For a moment, I had considered calling for a red cabal group and some of my own security, then decided against it. If we run into a trap, I fear that I might not see my own men as expendable. If I am to run, I need to leave no one behind or I might hesitate. As for my safety during the day, I have prepared precautions, one of which being my old sarcophagus made by Loth and further reinforced by Constantine himself, at my request. The man at the head of our escort now fulfills his role of delaying the carriage inspection. He has several tools at his disposal, such as asking to telegraph Washington to confirm our identity. Most people would consider this proof enough, yet twilight comes and we are still stopped. As the sun sets below the horizon, Gregory walks to unlock the secure compartment we are in. It would take a lot to destroy it, but we are still relatively vulnerable during transport. No sooner is the door unlocked that a clamor sounds from outside, and a man is allowed to clamber in. I take in a youthful appearance, a moustache, stubble, and the typical uniform of the Union cavalry corps. Our little intruder has two crossed swords on his kepi as well as the emblematic saber of mounted troops, complete with a heavy cloak to protect him from the frigid temperatures. He keeps his blade sheathed, for now. Gregory and I sit at a table, looking on as the little mortal struts in. ¡°Some diplomatic mission this is, they have a pretty lady in here!¡± The young one smells of anger and pride. Gregory tsks, the intrusion on his territory made more frustrating by our guest¡¯s poor manners. He has to react. ¡°My men must have produced the proper documentation. Do you have cause to delay us?¡± ¡°A group of negotiators between the rebels and us? At this time of the year? I don¡¯t think so!¡± ¡°And that is why,¡± Gregory deadpans, ¡°you are a cavalryman, and not a diplomat.¡± The brash young one takes a step forward as Gregory rises to meet him. The Roland Master¡¯s graceful movement takes some wind off the young one¡¯s sails, and his arrogance further deflates when he notices the knife, currently in its holster. Gregory¡¯s sheer confidence and a hint of Charm are enough to force a step back. ¡°You should know when you are in over your head, boy.¡± The point is hammered home. ¡°Enough of this, get out of there Peter¡± another voice says from outside. Now, someone else climbs to join us as the soldier steps down. I notice the broad-brim hat of a cavalry officer. His countenance is calmer, and colder, than that of his subordinate. A pair of blue eyes settle on both of us in turn. Frost clings to his sideburns. I find myself curious as to why he would make trouble for himself. A moment later and I know why. He wears a crucifix which even now emits a powerful deterrent. He does not approach us. Interesting. Gabrielites have withdrawn from the public after several years of intensive hunts on our parts. Churches in Europe are united and mighty. There are entire compounds and monasteries dedicated to fighting the likes of us for centuries, and they offer the kind of safe haven that we could not take without a full-blown war, one we do not wish to start lest it brings embarrassing questions. In America, the land has not belonged to christianity for very long. There are still old magics to fight off, and the only refuges the Gabrielites can find are small and reclusive. We are winning. We have been winning for quite some time, and I had a part to play in it. Instead, our foes have gone to ground and they still recruit in secret, but their ability to conduct large-scale operations like the ones that almost killed me as a fledgeling has faded over the years. We are still, apparently, not entirely free of them. I can see it in the man¡¯s eyes. He knows of what we are. He must have been partially trained. I interrupt Gregory with a hand on his shoulder as he starts to speak. He has not realized yet what we face, and I am in no mood to explain. I taste fear in the air, as well as its counterpart: courage. The officer blocks the entrance like David facing Goliath below the walls of Jericho. I doubt that the outcome will favor him this time. I take one moment to make sure that the outside is silent, and that no one is attaching explosives under our wheels. That would be mildly unpleasant. ¡°I have found you,¡± the officer declares with an unwavering voice. He takes a step forward and hesitates. I bet he never expected to come this far. We vampires remain few and far between. There are less than four hundred of us on the new continent, spread out between its many regions. This Gabrielite was more likely to catch an accidental bullet than one of us. So I smile as I discreetly fasten my gauntlet, and use it to slam the door closed behind him. The carriage is plunged in darkness. Our guest¡¯s back crashes against the side of the carriage in a defensive retreat as he scrambles to grab his revolver and take out his crucifix. Instead of fighting, I use a match to light a lantern. The yellow light spreads throughout the interior, highlighting the two of us, still sitting. ¡°Nervous?¡± I ask. The man does not reply. He has no need to. His heartbeat speaks for itself. ¡°You know, I consider us to be¡­ long-term planners, a necessity if you intend to live forever. Longevity tends to change our outlook on things. You know what I am referring to, do you not?¡± I continue. ¡°You are devil spawns. Leeches. Deceitful creatures, but I can see through your lies. You will not carry out your dark plans tonight.¡± ¡°And you could tell what we were from our carriage, yes? You know how we travel.¡± I like how my behavior goes against his expectations. ¡°The light of the sun purifies you. You hide like cockroaches before the might of the lord.¡± ¡°And so you decided to use your mortal authority to stop us. And you have. Here we are, stopped,¡± I continue, my chin resting on a hand. ¡°Now, the good question is, what was your plan from here on? How did you intend to apprehend us? Slay us?¡± The man freezes. Perhaps he was waiting for reinforcements, perhaps he merely wanted to confront us. It matters not. Night has fallen, and this world is ours. I stand up and walk to the back of the carriages where my gear is held. I take Sivaya¡¯s spear and deploy it on one sharp gesture. The straight weapon extends far and I slowly place the tip of the blade on the officer¡¯s chest, far enough that even a powerful halo could not stop it. ¡°Your faith is a weapon, not a perfect shield. It does not give you victory. It gives you a fighting chance. And yet here you are, with no plan and no tool, hoping for a miracle?¡± Before he can start babbling his religion again, I press the blade deep enough for blood to pearl at its tip. I can feel the mighty aura of the local deity pushing back. It whispers warnings of ash and a final end, but I do not listen. It has rules to follow, just like we do. This time, I win. ¡°You can get back out and fight the mortal war. Under your leadership, perhaps a few more men will survive the incoming onslaught. But if we fight now, there will be no heroic last stand for you. I will stab you from where I am and open this door, then I will kill every last one of your men, one by one. I have been playing the eternal game for far longer than you, human. Recognize when you are outclassed, or die. You have ten seconds.¡± I settle to wait. I am, of course, not bluffing. I do not need aura or Charm to conduct a proper negotiation. ¡°What tells me that you won¡¯t kill us if we back down now?¡± the man asks before three seconds have passed. ¡°You are insignificant and I have no time for you,¡± I reply candidly. The officer looks hesitantly at Gregory, who smiles and shrugs. ¡°Not to add insult to injury but¡­ she is right. We are not in the habit of going around mindlessly killing people.¡± The Gabrielite takes a step back. ¡°Fine. I¡¯m leaving. But one day your time will come.¡± ¡°On this we agree,¡± Gregory replies, ¡°but it will not tonight, and certainly not by you. Farewell.¡± The door closes. Two minutes later, the carriage leaves and the Roland vampire and I resume ignoring each other. *** The trip through Confederate patrols goes without a hitch, and we arrive very soon at the departed Yann¡¯s center of power. This late in the year, most of the roads are snow and mud, but even I can tell that the dead Roland Lord made a genuine effort to make his little corner of the world pleasant. We turn into an alley of poplar trees near dawn, with fields extending on each side to forest hills in the distance. Yann¡¯s compound is a massive, three-stories house painted white and blue, which does not surprise me. What does, is that he made a village for his slaves. Rows of cookie-cutter houses in neat lines take a large space, with paths leading to warehouses and the fields. I can tell that slaves live here on account of the four guard towers surrounding it and the cloudy breaths of sentinels facing inward. A golden prison, as it were. The news of Yann¡¯s demise spreads fast among the few staff members still awake. From their reaction, I can tell that he was well-loved. Curious how a backstabbing schemer can be so cruel around the table and so generous with the help, at least compared to others of his kind. We share this dichotomy with the mortals. It would make it hard for me to dislike the departed if he had not planned to help a man who intends to have me made into an example. My occupation of their previous master¡¯s quarters generates a reaction so intense that I fear I may have to impose upon them that they have no choice on the matter. Eventually, Gregory manages to calm them enough that I am allowed to move in, but I refrain from ordering hot water, lest I find saliva in it and be forced to execute someone on the first night. It takes me half an hour to identify all the defenses I can activate before falling into slumber. Yann kept an entire half of the first floor to himself, with powerful shutters designed to withstand an artillery shelling. I activate everything I can find, from alarms to traps, and finally lay the last surprise in his opulent, personal bedroom. I open the passage leading to his escape tunnel and place my sarcophagus by the side, closed. I will not be using it. Early afternoon. I expected it, and am still disappointed. A vampire bypassed all the defenses without triggering them. I can tell from his aura and the lack of noise even as I rest beneath the ground. Yes, I will not sleep in a sarcophagus if I can hide myself in the earth¡¯s embrace instead. I can tolerate mud stuck to my hair if it means a successful ambush. I wait a little more and heavy footsteps sound throughout the bedroom. A man, I think. Heavy. Not Gregory. The little aura I perceive speaks of excellent control, and I do not want to risk probing it, or I will alert the intruder to my presence. He is up early, almost as early as me. It means a Master. I doubt that a foreign lord would risk themselves. A Master, alone. I will apprehend them and interrogate them. At the very least, I want to know what they are doing here if it is merely a local fighter come to meet me. A spell and I explode from below the floor, fully armored. I manage to materialize Rose and aim it at the trespasser¡¯s back as I emerge. S?a??h the N?velF?re.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. A red armor. The side of a golden mask turning towards me. Contemptuous eyes. A backhanded blow. I am sent flying through the nearest wall with only one question burning on my lips. What, in the name of the Watcher, is Bertrand doing here? Chapter 130: Plans within plans I land on the floor, rolling on myself and coming to my feet in a well-practiced move, only to exchange spells with another figure in Yann¡¯s boudoir. Our spells devastate the precious furniture, sending shards and upholstery up in the air.I slash with Rose and a claw to keep the chains at bay. They do not break. I merely manage to fend them off as I spring back. My foe¡¯s voice is calm and almost bored. I recognize her from the previous battle. She was the Lancaster archmage who tried to trap us, a short lady with black hair and eyes. She shares some of Melusine¡¯s traits, including her voluptuous form. Bertrand waits by the hole in the wall. They are toying with me. ARROGANT. And correct. Unfortunately. The sun is still out and will be out for hours. The house is sealed, its only escape route blocked by the lord¡¯s armored form. To be prosaic, I am truly and utterly fucked. How did it come to this? How could they already be here? Bertrand says. I back up against the wall as the powerful warrior steps forward unhurriedly. The petite Lancaster lady stays where she is and brushes a wood splinter off her dark armored robe. She does not spare me a glance. What to do, what to do? Can I get past him? I do not believe that I can. Even if I could, the escape tunnel leads outside at some point, where the sun still rules. I cannot stall for reinforcements because it will be days before they arrive. I am completely done for. Damn, I thought I would be killed by mortals in a clever trap, or by my sire. Not by them. How very frustrating. Bertrand still waits by the wall, managing a casual poise in his heavy carmine armor. the Lancaster lady says. I frown. My quirk? Not this again. I do not reply. I find him annoying, though I admit to some hypocrisy. After all, I too enjoy toying with my prey. My eyes widen. Does he mean¡­ I expected Martha to protest his decision on account of the risk, but she merely rolls her eyes in an uncharacteristic display of impatience. Her confidence says a lot. She does not think I stand a chance. I must still try it. IT IS ON. Lunge. Parry. Quick swipes. Bertrand deflects Rose with minimal movements of his massive battleaxe. His counter-strikes are simply devastating. I block the first and am sent through yet another wall into a receiving room with its French windows mercifully boarded. I deflect the second and it still bites painfully into my gauntleted forearm. I yelp in pain. Bertrand let the first spell harmlessly splash against the axe¡¯s wide blade, ducks under the second and brings the axe back, cutting into the tip of my extended right foot. That hurts too. I try to keep Bertrand at a distance, making full use of Rose¡¯s versatility to remain dangerous, but he always strikes where I will be, or close enough that his Herculean strength alters the trajectory. I feel like fighting someone who is in my head, though I am certain that he is not interfering. Bertrand¡¯s battle experience is simply so massive that he must know what range of motions are available to me at all times. Even denying obvious baits and fake openings is not enough to remain one step ahead. It happens again. I mess up and an axe blow catches me in the flank. I groan and jump back to my feet. I just thought of something. It is nasty, but I will attempt it anyway. It is FOLLY. No. I must try folly or I will fall. I remove a smaller revolver from a back pocket, praying that the mud I am still covered in did not damage the mechanism. I aim at Bertrand. Then to the side. And I pull the trigger. The magically-enhanced projectile damages the wall and the thinnest, tiniest ray of sunlight pierces the gloom between the Lord and me. Bertrand jumps back with a hiss. I am already gone backward and to the side. THE SUN THE SUN THE SUN. Shut up, me, I know. I made it happen. The far wall separating the receiving room from the bedroom. It stands in my way. The spell blasts away the reinforced partition and I jump through. The bedroom. I rush to the central place. A trapdoor, still open. There is a crash behind me and my back turns into a sea of fire. It hurts. IT HURTS. I scream. Blinding pain. CANNOT MOVE. I do not feel my legs anymore. Just pain. I try to move an arm, and stop with a gasp. It hurts so much. Footsteps behind my back. I wish I could lose consciousness, but I cannot. This mercy is denied to me. The man stops. I can only see the edge of the bed. Every movement is agony. I hear a sound and my body buckles, then I hear a terrible crunching noise of flesh and bone as he tears off something from me, and my mind is lost. PAIN ¡°Ahaaaaa.¡± The blade of an axe, glistening with dark blood. That bit deep. Fucker threw his weapon and took my spine. I think. The axe dematerializes and something drags me back. I can only see the walls and some cabinets now, then I am held upright. We are back in the receiving room. I did not realize it, but we trashed that place completely. Bertrand holds me by the neck and left arm. I can feel his hand on my neck, but the left arm flops uselessly. He brings it closer to¡­ Oh no. Not this again. Not this again. The armored arm gets ever closer to that thin ray of deadly radiance. Close so close now. And then it stops. Martha, the Lancaster lady, asks from the other room. Please please please I only feel pain. Just get me away from that. Dragged back again, thank the . Just please get this horrible radiance away from me. Still held upright. Still hurts. Back into the bedroom now, I can only focus on keeping my mind together. It takes all my Ekon essence and my experience fending off the insanity of the Thirst to keep paying attention to my surroundings. I perceive a¡­ pulse. It comes from my sarcophagus? It does. But¡­ why? My old protection. My haven against the day. Loth designed it long ago, and Constantine reinforced it with intricate carvings and protective enchantments. Red light shines ominously along its silvery flanks. Martha grabs the lid and pulls, in vain. So very strange, I do not recall a beacon being placed here and I carefully inspected the workings to make sure that Constantine had not left any surprise. And then I realize it. There are no beacons, this is just Constantine¡¯s essence powering the spells directly. How is this possible? As I muse the conundrum, Bertrand places my unresponsive hand against the handle and the lid slides open. A defensive spell triggers anyway. Powerful red light crashes against my two foes. I recognize an area-of-effect pain construct. Bertrand bellows, and drops me. A chain emerges from inside the lids and fastens around my wrist. I am pulled in just as the lord roars in anger. Another set of chains emerges from other defensive constructs to attack my assailant. The lid snaps close while they are distracted. I hear powerful magic crashing against the shield spells. They should fail. They do not. A mighty blow sends the entire sarcophagus flying through the air. My head bonks against the surface. ¡°Ow!¡± I cough some blood. It appears that Bertrand grazed a lung. That would explain the horrible pain. The wound is only now starting to close with excruciating slowness. An indicator flashes blue above my head. Sunlight exposure. Hold on. That moron catapulted me outside! I am safe! Even if he sends mortals, they will be pulverized by the traps. It would take a cannon to breach it. I really hope that they do not find one. This is Virginia, after all. There are tens of thousands of soldiers around. In any case, there is little I can do against that eventuality. I should focus on closing the gaping hole in my back, because I am bleeding on the velvet upholstery. *** Nightfall. I sigh when I feel the baleful orb dip below the horizon. I have managed to heal myself, though I am now Thirsty as a result. It took more courage than I would like to admit to pass a hand against my back after I was done closing it. I felt normal, if cold flesh, sticky with congealed blood. This section of my armor is now ravaged. Bertrand split me like a log. I find his manhandling aggravating. This is no way to treat a lady! He should have properly struck my heart instead. I open the lid and jump out just as a crash heralds another dent in the manor¡¯s wall. This side of the mansion is close enough to trees that I could perhaps attempt something, if I can run across a snow-covered lawn. I prepare to run and stop, surprised. I have never felt such a domineering convergence of essence, even when we fled the field back in the Natalis compound. Power saturates the very air. The fabric of reality is so thin that spells should be empowered if cast here. For a moment, my senses are so overwhelmed that I cannot manage them, and I stumble to my knees. I feel more than hear the snap of a spell at my back. Someone steps by my side and deflects the incoming blast with a thin foil, her other hand holding a black curved dagger. I see a yellow-dyed banded armor embracing a lithe form, and a curiously antique helmet with a Greek influence. Blonde hair cascade down my protector¡¯s back. She turns to me and I recognize Sephare¡¯s icy gaze. I, being the rational and smart vampire that I am, formulate a witty answer. By the , Ariane, well done. Very smooth. Before I can get an answer, Bertrand stops a dozen paces away from us, with Martha on his right, and another lord wielding a halberd by his left. For the very first time since we met, I can spot wariness in the way he holds his axe. I do not have to wonder why for very long. a voice says from behind. Constantine walks out of the tree edge, wearing a full plate and robe armor made vibrant with enchantments. His dark glare is the only part of his face I can see from behind a barbaric-looking helmet. His hands wield black chains and a massive obsidian staff that no human could carry. We mostly use gauntlets nowadays, but Constantine has always been a traditionalist, and he is not afraid of being recognized as what he is. Simply the second most powerful mage on the planet. And he did not come alone. Ceron in a conquistador garb, then Suarez in an old-fashioned chainmail ensemble emerge from the treeline behind him, then the Roland twins, Adrien and Adam in matching plate armors. Constantine¡¯s two mysterious bodyguards are the last to arrive, standing on either side of the visibly-fuming Progenitor. I drily whisper to Sephare. Across the clearing, Bertrand¡¯s golden mask glitters under the moonlight. The night is clear despite the season, and I have the best seat to witness the prelude to the apocalyptic conflict to come. Constantine replies with deceptive calm. Not much for preliminaries then. I take a step back, as discreetly as I can. I run. Once, we found a prairie dog stunned in the middle of a field we were using to conduct artillery tests. I know how the unfortunate creature felt then. Behind me, reality cracks left and right as indestructible weapons collide, backed by cataclysmic strength. Shockwaves send mounds of soil flying. Pieces of masonry glide through the air as an entire section of the manor is vaporized. I steal a glance back. I cannot resist. The battle lords exchange blows faster than I can perceive, Bertrand holding his ground against their superior numbers, but the real show comes from Martha and Constantine. I knew, intellectually, that the lady had not even made an effort to fend me off. I can now realize how much I was outmatched. Shields and projectiles, disruptor fields and subtle curses, the spells she chains blot the air in a blinding display of color. She could fight off a full army of mages. I cannot help but be impressed by the skill and dedication it must have taken to reach that level of mastery. S?a??h th? N?v?l(F)ire.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. And she still cannot hold a candle to the Progenitor. While Martha is a well-honed tactician, Constantine is an artist. His spells skewer the air with a living quality that turns him into an avatar of magic, half-humanoid, and half liquid essence flaying the world around him. Red chains bind, yellow chains explode, blue chains disrupt and scatter, then red chains scatter as well and other merge and combine effects, before coalescing into a massive, comet-like missile. The spells he weaves change with every moment, all the usual techniques and tricks pointless before the adaptive speed he now demonstrates. I spend only one second watching him work, and realize that I have no idea what he is doing. I would be completely unable to counter his magic, not knowing what tool to use on which spell. I might as well fight him blind for all the good it would do me. He is harnessing chaos. I slow down and turn on myself, still moving away but unable to detach my sight from the awesome spectacle before me. Those are world-class monsters fighting it out now, immortal beasts centuries-old, at the top of their art. Every moment is a fugacious scene begging to be painted, but I simply cannot capture it. They move too fast! And the light¡­ The light, it lives with them. The fabric is so thin. I would need a canvas that shifts and changes. I behold¡­ PERFECTION. One day. One day, I will join and dance with them. And when they are no longer my match, when the illusion falters and I see them for the flawed beings they are, I will go after But for now, time to run! Amazing how Suarez and Bertrand are almost evenly matched. The old Roland is sporting deep gashes in his living armor where Suarez¡¯ Magna Arqa pierced his strange flesh. The golden mask swivels my way. Hold on. Why is it swiveling my way? An arm flies off, but the lord rushes me and I cannot do anything but go ALL IN. Wait, what? Bubbling essence. Rupturing vitality. Ah, no, not again! A forest of thorny roots erupts from the ground as I spot the axe descending upon my¡ª PAIN. Pain on my forehead. I taste mortal vitality on my tongue. ¡°Oooooooow.¡± I crack an eye open through dried flakes of dark blood. A maid retreats, binding the wound on her wrist. She averts her gaze. I return to see Sephare and Constantine kneeling by my side. the blonde woman asks. I reply. I have to focus for a moment. I realize that my entire head is covered in blood. Mine, from the smell. I lick my lips and focus. Constantine notes, The tall vampire stands up and leaves, crimson armored robe swishing majestically as he walks. Very manly. I approve. I turn to a very pleased, very smug Sephare. She makes no secret as to her satisfaction. My glare fails to dampen her mood. I tell her reproachfully. She has the grace to show some embarrassment, though it is all a farce for my benefit. I roll my eyes. I ask, She gestures at a few thorny roots, still intact. I bellow, furious. The Hastings lady turns around and leaves me sputtering on the ground. The indignity! Unfortunately, she is right, and so I calm down after a few moments. I know what that effect means, though the others pretend to ignore me. The thorns are the first manifestation of a lord¡¯s power, I believe. My next priority, after the war is over, is to become a lady. And I think I know of someone who could help, the only faction I have not contacted yet, and whose training capabilities are renowned across our world. The Knights. Chapter 131: A New Way Our return to Boston is triumphant, and Sephare throws me a bone by publicly announcing that my contribution to Bertrand¡¯s capture was decisive. Since she alone was the artisan of our victory, the exaggeration becomes public truth. Constantine, the only person apparently in the know, supports her version. I am nominated as coordinator for the Union war effort for both my service and the high contribution I already make by supplying most of the Union¡¯s artillery guns. Although the vampires¡¯ main concern now is the immortal war, I am given a contingent of Courtiers to work with and access to a treasure trove of information, including Sephare¡¯s own network.I am left with an ambivalent feeling about the whole affair. On the one hand, I survived Bertrand. On the other hand, I did not win against him, and so I did not claim his essence. It felt wrong. On one hand, I was once again used by Sephare, as Melusine had warned me. On the other hand, I had to commit to that last plan and I am satisfied with the result. It serves no purpose to rebel against my own side when my survival is at stake. On the one hand, I have been hurt, on the other hand, I have been rewarded. The results are quite grey. January 1862 brings a few major events. First, the Union wins its first major victory at the battle of Logan¡¯s Cross Roads, in Kentucky, halting a Confederate offensive. Although the battle is minor in the grand scheme of things, the success of General Thomas over a superior rebel force is vastly advertised in the newspapers, with a little bit of help from us. I remember young George Thomas from the Mexican war back when I was protecting my nephew. He had been instrumental in making the American artillery effective, and the artillery had been instrumental in several major victories, including Fort Brown and Resaca de la Palma. He is a good lad! I hope he can do well now too. The knows that the other side has its fair share of competent officers. I am myself not idle. I spend a lot of time and effort securing, organizing, then latching our information system to the Union¡¯s spy network, feeding them the right information and purging their ranks of a few double agents. In the meanwhile, Melusine proves her expertise as a Lancaster by proving a deep understanding of humanity. My various weapons manufacturers are merged and rebranded as Illinois¡¯ Guns of Liberty with my approval. Melusine selects an eagle bearing down with its talons extended as the company¡¯s image, with the logo ¡®arms of victory¡¯ under in nice letters. I work with the Dvergurs to design a water-proof, standardized and easily recognizable crate to contain the paper and metal cartridges we will provide to the fighters. Then, she works her magic. Newspapers, announcers, and even artists sway the public in vast propaganda campaigns aimed at identifying our product with the patriotic love of the Union. Ferries and caravan masters everywhere find room for crates in their many containers, while trains soon come laden with wagons filled to the brim with ammunition at a nominal price. The effort of the whole populace of Illinois comes to bear as unseen-before amounts of powder are channeled south to the troops that need them, turning their winter quarters into training camps over which tangy clouds of spent powder hang like vultures. War fervor spreads everywhere the avian claws of IGL can reach, much to Melusine¡¯s amusement as she no longer has to sustain the fires of mankind¡¯s wrath. They manage that themselves. January also sees the launch of the first Ironclads! So far they are ugly things, slow and ponderous, but I anticipate the time when new designs will launch ships made entirely out of metal to ride the waves, carrying enormous guns with them. What fun it will be. On the diplomatic side of things, I manage to bring the White Cabal on board. They live in the north, hire dark-skinned mages as easily as the others, and dislike slavery in general. As a result, it only takes one polite speech before their council to obtain their support. Although they do not intervene directly, I successfully convince them to bring some medical support to the back lines to prevent additional losses of life and amputations. Rescued personnel can return to war, bringing their experience with them. By February, the resupply operation is in full swing. It will take some time before the abundance of bullets translates into real effects, but we are in luck. Still on the western front, a general called Ulysses S. Grant takes two Confederate strongholds on the strategically significant Tennessee river. He even captures fourteen thousand men in his efforts, a resounding triumph. Although I have little to do with it, the success casts a favorable light on my leadership, a needed boost to our morale. Indeed, a few nights later, Consantine leads our army to recapture Charleston, and fails. There are only a few casualties, mostly unfortunate Masters who died from grievous wounds, but it was all due to Constantine and our battle lords¡¯ contribution. The plan was simple and the European forces were attacked by surprise, but they were rallied by one of Bertrand¡¯s lieutenants, a patient and deliberate Lord by the name of Orpheus. There, the gap in experience was made manifest when their squad rallied and stabilized in mere moments while ours struggled to coordinate. Only a fighting retreat preserved the bulk of our forces. The conflict highlighted how inadequate our fighting force was compared to the European one, but also helped us obtain much-needed experience. In the wake of the defeat, the Accords leadership dissolves subpar squads and forms new ones, while the more successful groups now take part in large-scale exercises. Time is on our side now, and underhanded tactics delay the European movements by denying them the support and intelligence they need to progress safely. I also keep an eye on the Union leadership. Sola makes a discreet visit to the president¡¯s house to save his son Willis from a fever. It would not do, to have the mortal head of state distracted by the death of a child. Towards the end of the month, I receive word of a Confederate victory in the New Mexico territory, as well as skirmishes everywhere. The entire country is at war and frictions happen all across the new border. However, victory will be obtained in the east, and so it is there that I focus my efforts. Under the advice of the infamous Black Dog, head of the White Cabal security, we improve the Union¡¯s communication line with the clever addition of a few mages capable of long-term communication, especially between telegraph posts and large mobile forces. Early March brings a surprise. As I am back in my domain of Marquette, I feel Ollie coming with an interesting, eclectic group. The Dvor essence brings me a slight boost in abilities as long as I am within my territory, with the most interesting one being intuition. I find myself capable of guessing things with greater ease, something I use to hold my own at cards when I play with Urchin. Ollie knocks and I allow him in. He files in with one of his seconds, but also a mundane officer in a cavalry uniform, and more interestingly, a werewolf. One of Jeffrey¡¯s more stable minions. ¡°Welcome. Please, sit down,¡± I offer, and they take seats from my large working room to form a half-circle in front of my desk. ¡°We have come,¡± Ollie says in an unusually formal voice, ¡°to announce the creation of the Red Cabal as a formal entity, with a statement of purpose as follows.¡± He cleared his throat. ¡°We, the people of this world, in order to keep darkness at bay, and establish a sustainable alliance to that effect, do agree to the formation of the Red Cabal. We recognize that peace, progress, and safety, are at risk from a variety of enemies regardless of species. We recognize that the safeguard of the world forms the core of belief of many individuals regardless of species. Finally, we recognize that intent more than nature determines one¡¯s actions. As such, we formally declare an alliance between such like-minded individuals so long as they obey our most basic tenets, so that we may all together work for a better tomorrow. From many origins, one purpose, and may the blood we share together protect our posterity.¡± Huh. Not bad. ¡°As the local representative of the vampire faction, I would like to formally offer my support.¡± ¡°That¡¯s good because we¡¯re broke,¡± the werewolf adds helpfully. They tend to simply eat their production surplus. In the end, we spend a few hours working on logistics and preparation. The idea is to have teams of mundane humans, mages, and werewolves working together to rid the world of threats by employing each species to their strength. We vampires would intervene when they need heavy support. I admit to loving this idea. My little minions, keeping my territory clean of their own accords. In the end, we end with a toast and a group picture. The picture returns a night later. My form is blurred and unrecognizable. That¡­ might become a problem if photography becomes more popular. Unfortunately, there is little I can do at that stage. I must focus on the war. The positive side is that I have, I think, achieved one of the hallmarks of good leadership. Competent underlings. *** The Ranger¡¯s Tale Illinois, vicinity of Springfield. It was cold. The shy sun of early March cast its rays on the land, providing light but little heat. Nature quietly slept away the cold season, and ice coated the branches like glassy ornaments. The cabin was exactly ten miles away from the main road. Only a path, barely more than a trail, linked the two, just the way the Gages liked it. If they wanted people to come on their lands, they would bring them themselves. Just now, Harry Gage, the eldest brother, had walked out to relieve himself. His glare went over the familiar landscape. There were leafless skeletons that would sprout leaves soon enough, rusted pines in the distance, and a large pond to his right that produced the occasional fish. He passed a hand through his dark, scraggly beard. Something was wrong. Just then, he heard it. A horse was making its way down the path to them at a leisurely gait. Harry could see signs of movement through the white and brown of the surrounding vegetation. He felt¡­ violated. No one came here without their approval. No one. Not if they had a lick of sense. Harry turned and banged the door. ¡°Come on out, we have a visitor!¡± Curses flew through the thick partition. Only a few seconds later, it smashed against the far wall, and his three brothers spread around the railing surrounding their house. The cabin was built high and away from the wet ground. Gus, the fattest of them all, handed him his musket. It was fortunately loaded. Gus himself had an axe while Jeb frantically loaded an antique pistol. Lucius, the youngest, stepped to the side and disappeared in a shadowy corner with his ¡°liberated¡± repeater. Not a moment too soon. The intruder cleared the edge of the forest and moved forward on a very tall brown stallion. Handsome beast, that. Could sell for quite a lot. The man himself wore a very neat jacket, waistcoat and even a tie in shades of white and blue. He was all clean and proper and slightly intimidating in a rich folk kind of way, but the most curious thing was the hat. It was a wide-brim affair that cast a shadow, masking his features. Harry found the sight mildly upsetting, and just like every time something upset him, he turned it to anger instead. ¡°This is a private property, stranger. You have no business here,¡± he declared with confidence. A white-gloved hand reached through the cloak to grab something in the man¡¯s inner pockets. He used a match to light a thin cigar. For a moment, the flaring flame showed them a trimmed moustache and judgemental brown eyes, then the fugacious image was gone, and only a red, smoldering ember remained. ¡°Y¡¯all took two crates of IGL ammo from Chicago with a promise to deliver them to Louisville, Kentucky, against payment. The crates never arrived. I¡¯m here to retrieve them.¡± Harry froze. A complex mix of emotions twisted his face but in the end, anger won. ¡°Yeah? I say we didn¡¯t.¡± ¡°Y¡¯all are the Gage brothers and you did. Signed for it too. Everyone knows you took the crates, boys, stop wasting my time.¡± Fists tightened over weapons. The brothers had rushed out from a toasty inside and they did not wear enough. Their breath formed white cloud in the frigid air. Tension rose. ¡°I¡¯m getting those crates back, one way or another,¡± the man added with terrible finality. S~?a??h the n0v?l(?)ire.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. Harry spoke between his teeth. ¡°As I said, this is a private property old man, and you can¡¯t come and tell us what to do.¡± In answer, the man pulled on the left side of his jacket to reveal a shiny silver star. It caught the afternoon light with a strange red hue. ¡°Badge here says I can.¡± ¡°Fuck your badge. On this here land, I¡¯m the law, and I got my brothers to back me up. It¡¯s four of us against you, asshole.¡± The rider¡¯s eyes shifted to the corner where Lucius was hiding. Poorly. His breath had revealed him immediately. Slowly, he pulled the other side of his jacket. The thick fabric withdrew like a curtain to reveal a revolver in its holster. It was, they could see, a nice gun. It looked like a Colt 1860 in the same way that a timber wolf looked like a cocker spaniel. The big iron was customized to the gills. Its grip was engraved bone that showed much use, and its barrel was long and heavy, the muzzle pointing out of its sheath. Minuscule decorations bent the light in a disturbing way. Harry, who was positioned to see it fully, noticed that the gun¡¯s maw had a different color, as if it had been fired a great many times, and the paint had been twisted by countless clouds of overheated salpeter. ¡°Got enough for two more right here,¡± the man said uncaringly. Then, he fell silent. He had said all he had to say. The ember of his cigar shone rhythmically with his breath as he waited. Harry¡¯s breath turned fast and deep. Blood flushed his body. He was practically fuming. A glacial wind blew over the plain. It brought with it the crisp scent of pure air. None of the statuesque trees moved, frozen as they were, and their immobility gave the scene a feeling of suspense as if the world held its breath. Harry sighed. ¡°Of course, let me just¡ª¡± Things happened very fast. With a cruel rictus, Harry twisted and aimed his musket. Caught by surprise, his three brothers still raised their weapons with commendable speed. A massive boom shook the very earth and Harry¡¯s chest bloomed in a crimson flower. The rider leaned right on his saddle. He moved his gun in a smooth arc that went from brother to brother. Lucius was next. Another boom, and a hole appeared in the barrel that he had used as a hiding place. The rider¡¯s horse twisted to the side. He was almost parallel to the ground now, and the shift of his mount gave him a clear view of his last target. The top of Jeb¡¯s head disappeared and a shot went off. The bullet dug harmlessly into the ground. Time ran again. Harry fell back. Lucius collapsed against the barrel, gurgling his lifeblood away. Jeb¡¯s beheaded body crashed down like a puppet with its strings cut. Gus bellowed, hands still grasping the axe. He had barely had the time to move. The rider calmly sat back in his saddle. He still held the instrument of death. It smoked like the mouth of hell. ¡°Noooooooo! You killed them! You killed them all! What am I gonna tell Ma?!¡± The rider stepped down unhurriedly while his stallion snorted, unamused by the sudden noise. He walked with no rush and no remorse, cigar still clinging to his lips. ¡°The crates,¡± he said with no emotion. ¡°Fuck! Why did you have to go and kill them¡­¡± For the first time, the rider showed a modicum of emotion. It was rage. He threw a mighty hook into the fat man¡¯s belly, bending him over in one blow. Gus fell to his knees and gasped, then shrieked when the rider placed the still-smoking muzzle of his pistol against his ear. It burned. The rider removed the gun and hissed. ¡°You listen well, boy. You see them dead and think it¡¯s tragic. I say they¡¯re lucky. I¡¯ve seen things you wouldn¡¯t believe. I¡¯ve gazed at what lurks in the valley of death. We are at war with more than you know and we, the humans, we ain¡¯t winning. I need my side to work smoothly and that means those crates going to where they need to go, even if I have to wipe out every last degenerate in-bred on the way, one family at the time. Now, boy, you got two knees and I got three bullets. Where. Are. The. Crates?¡± ¡°At the back, Jesus!¡± The rider pistol-whipped Gus, and he fell to the ground insensate. Silence returned to the clearing, until a young woman stood up from a nearby ditch. She wore brown forrester clothes and a metal gauntlet on her left hand. In the other, she held a fancy short rifle. The woman pushed back her hood to reveal light brown eyes and hair. They had a strange radiance, as if they were on fire. ¡°Aw man, now we have to carry the crates ourselves!¡± ¡°You stay right there, Daisy, I got it. Bring the carriage forward.¡± She whistled as the rider walked into the empty house. *** The Gambler¡¯s Tale. April 8th, 1862, Shiloh, Tennessee. The night had fallen on a battlefield that had seen the death of five thousand men. In some places, a soldier could walk from one end of a field to another without stepping foot on the ground, so thick the dead lay. On the south of Pittsburg landing, some enterprising soul had set up a temporary bar for officers to drown their sorrows. Most of them had given a good account of themselves on the previous day, but there were memories that only the blurry haze of liquor could dull. Such was not the case for the man in a bottle-green coat. He was a reporter, and had not stepped a foot near the frontline. He was, in addition, quite satisfied with himself. He and some of his colleagues had managed quite the coup. They had reported that the surprise attack on Union line had nearly succeeded, because their commanding officer, Hiram Ulysses Grant, had been drunk. Drunkenness was a common character flaw in the leadership of the war, and that rumor was like a wine stain, easy to inflict and impossible to remove. That would show the young upstart. His successes at Fort Henry and Donelson had made him too big for his shoes, the man thought. There were rumors that parts of the line had dug in because some mysterious, last-minute informers had betrayed the Confederate approach. He gave no credit to those. Transfer of information was notoriously hard in those wooded, untamed lands. It would take a level of organization that neither side had. Just then, a man opened the door and walked in, and the reporter turned to take his measure. It did not take a genius to see that the newcomer was not an army man. He wore an impeccable suit in tones of charcoal under a heavy black coat of excellent make. The temperatures were still frigid, but his face was not flush. The reporter saw peculiar features under a suspiciously clean bowler hat. This curious man could certainly not be called handsome by any stretch of language, but he had about him a sort of rakish charm, a vulgar magnetism that caught the eye. He immediately noticed the reporter¡¯s attention and tipped his headdress, sending water to drip on the wooden boards below. ¡°Some night, heh?¡± Once more, the man¡¯s accent was difficult to place. It was some sort of northern slang that evoked ships and docks and crates loaded in the dead of night. The reporter watched, bemused, as the man took the stool by his side. He ordered a whisky, double. A silver dollar appeared from out of nowhere and flicked from knuckle to knuckle in a mesmerizing dance. More curiously, the reporter could not see the dollar pass from one hand to another. That was some trick, alright, and no mistake. ¡°We all need a little pick me up,¡± the man continued, ¡°a night like this can drain all the warmth from a red-blooded American. Say, stranger, how about a wager to make it memorable? I bet ten dollars against an answer that you can¡¯t figure out my little mystery.¡± Ten dollars? Ten dollars?! Was the man so loaded? The reporter frowned and passed a hand over his Van Dyke brown beard. His instincts warned him of a scam, for the slick stranger certainly had this sort of air. However, the reporter was not too worried. As long as he himself did not bet money, he would be fine. Besides, it was getting tedious. All the officers around were deep in their drinks in the dark recess of the makeshift tavern. They would not talk to him. ¡°Alright, you got me. Lay it on.¡± The stranger gave a lopsided smile, and poked the hastily nailed wooden plank on which his glass was resting. The light of a lantern cast interesting shadows on the irregular surface as the stranger¡¯s fingers started a little jig. ¡°A friend of mine mentioned an interesting theory. A correlation, if you will, between human traits in a subject, and empathy towards said subject. Now imagine this. On a vertical axis, we have empathy, and on the horizontal axis, we have a degree of resemblance to a human. At the lowest point stands, let¡¯s say, a worm. Who feels sympathy for a worm when they attach it to a hook?¡± The reporter hesitated. ¡°Err, no one?¡± ¡°Exactly!¡± the man of the bowler hat said, pleased, ¡°only the most bleeding hearts would feel sorry for a worm. How about a fish then? A little bit closer to us because it has two eyes and one mouth. Still low eh?¡± ¡°I suppose?¡± ¡°But if you see a fish flopping on the ground, opening its mouth because it is quite literally choking to death, you would consider it, at least, while nobody cares about a worm.¡± The reporter frowned. Perhaps it was also because a fish was bigger? It was difficult to tell. ¡°But anyway, still low, still low¡­ but what about a cow then? You can grow attached to a cow if you raise it for a long time, even if it¡¯s technically food. It has two eyes, four limbs, it can understand you. It can recognize you.¡± ¡°I would still not hesitate to kill one for a burger,¡± the reporter added. He was invested now, though he was not sure why. It had turned into a debate. ¡°Indeed. Still low, still low. But a dog is a bit higher. A dog shows loyalty, understands obedience, and those are traits that we like in others, do we not? And those cute little eyes when they beg¡­¡± The reporter frowned. He was still not entirely convinced about the theory, though it certainly had merits. ¡°I will grant you this point.¡± ¡°Much obliged,¡± the stranger answered pleasantly. ¡°Now, we are pretty high in the list. It might be even more primates like monkeys, though I am not sure myself. But plush bears, puppets, drawings of humans, they are very close to us, and we can identify with them. We recognize cute puppets as representations of people, and we can feel emotions watching a good, well-planned puppet show, can we not?¡± ¡°We certainly can! Why, I remember when I was young¡­¡± ¡°I am delighted that you would see my point,¡± the stranger interrupted with a light smile. The reporter blinked. Yes, it made sense. The representations of humans, even if they were approximative, could garner empathy from any viewer. ¡°So we are here on the chart, yes? High resemblance, high empathy. But what happens when something is almost human, but not quite?¡± The reporter blinked again. He had liked the theory so far. It was something light and harmless you could share in good society, that would provide insight, and give the speaker an aura of brilliance. There was still more? ¡°Let¡¯s say, someone who looks human, but with erratic movements. Like a man suffering from convulsions. There is something intrinsically disturbing about such sights. Or a human with a missing jaw! As long as something is at the very edge of humanity without quite fitting, suddenly, their view horrifies most witnesses. Have you ever noticed?¡± The reporter frowned. At the edge but not quite? For some reason, he was reminded of one of the memories of his youth. There had been a book, he remembered. On the cover, a tiny gnome was depicted sitting on a mushroom. One fateful night, a thunderbolt had struck nearby and the brief illumination had played tricks on the child¡¯s mind, turning the fairy¡¯s smile into a forest of jagged edge angled inwards, those mad eyes looking at , ready to jump from¡ª ¡°You have noticed, then.¡± The remark woke the reporter from his daydreaming. ¡°Yes. Some¡­ some dolls are like that.¡± The stranger was closer now, and the reporter felt pulled by those amber eyes. The room closed around him, and the others ceased to matter, to exist even. There was just the stranger and the theory. ¡°Exactly. Here, just at the edge of humanity itself, the curve dips precipitously. And completely. It even goes into the negative! Interesting, is it not? Here is the kicker though. All human instincts have a cause, yes? Bad smells prevent the ingestion of rotten foods. You turn when something moves at the edge of your vision to protect you from attacks. Why then, does that instinct exist? Why does the sight of otherness in the familiar lead to such a visceral, horrifying response?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know?¡± the reporter breathed. The stranger smiled, eyes half-lidded. ¡°Tut tut my dear, this is the subject of our wager. Give it a try.¡± But the man could not. Would not. He wanted to know. ¡°Just tell me why, man, I grant you your question.¡± The stranger chuckled then. ¡°Not everything is as it seems. Too much was hidden that should have been remembered, and too much dismissed that used to be common wisdom. In a darker age, the ability to see the stranger knocking at your door for what he was could have saved your life, for the world was, and still is, vast, and filled with cruel things.¡± It started slow. The reporter¡¯s captured gaze traveled down, and down, from the stranger¡¯s liquid eyes to the deathly pale skin of his cheeks, then to those teeth now revealed and the fangs that were there. The reporter tried to scream then, but he found that he could not. Only a wheezy moan escaped his lips, but inside, his heart beat a maddening waltz. In vain. He was already taken. Tears of terror rolled down his face in warm trails. No one saw a thing. The susurrus of conversations had blanketed the room, hiding the monster within. ¡°My question then,¡± the stranger said, ¡°would you like to live?¡± The reporter clawed at that lifeline with frantic hope. The stranger leaned forward and whispered in his ear. His breath was cold, and smelled faintly of blood. ¡°The strands of fate have been disturbed by shameless fabrications, and we are most upset. Your article has been lost somewhere along the telegraph line. Tomorrow, you will send another and it will be truthful, or I shall return and silence the voices of discord. Forever. Do we understand each other?¡± ¡°Y¡ªyes¡­¡± ¡°Good.¡± The reporter let out a heart-wrenching sob and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the lantern had dimmed. Most officers had left. Of the stranger, there was no trace. The reporter felt something in his right hand. He opened it and the silver dollar fell down from it. It was still cold. Chapter 132: Snapped shut June 1st 1862, Boston. Accords Headquarters.Constantine moves lazily and counters each attack one by one, slipping a bolt between two deflects. I expected it this time, and I manage to shield it. I finally say, as I feel a painful drain on my essence. The Speaker nods and vanishes his soul weapon. I admit as I check for damage on my dueling gear. There are a few marks where the fabric was singed, but Constantine refrained from using too much power. Once more, my pride is the only casualty here. I admit. I could hide this piece of information from Constantine, but I see no reason to do so. I must improve quickly, and he is the best magic teacher around now that I have mastered the basics. Constantine continues, he asks. I consider the question in silence. I have more experience than him when it comes to scraps. Magic requires a lot of attention, one of the reasons why a lot of mages deploy shields to shelter them while they cast. To fight and cast at the same time is an art that only vampires can truly master, as others lack the time to do so. I unlatch my breastplate and give it to an attendant. The fortress¡¯ sparring room is unusually large, and quite empty at the moment. All squads have gathered in preparation for an offensive that I am not privy to, due to safety concerns. I would be annoyed if I had not such a great control over the way we influence the civil war, with the trusting support of the rest of the Accords, and with minimal oversight. Constantine asks as we move up the fortress. I frown as I consider my answer. Constantine judges, Constantine raises an eyebrow. S~?a??h the ?0velF?re.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. Constantine asks with amusement. I scoff. As if I could let some louts slander and rabble-rouse to their heart¡¯s content! Many of those journalists are more interested in provoking a response than in informing the public in a responsible, truthful manner. Upstart, social-climbing little careerists, the lot of them. Ugh. We finally arrived at Constantine¡¯s office. His aide Sophia stands and we both greet her. I turn to the Speaker one last time before I go to attend to my own matters. Especially McClellan. I hope he delivers. We exchange a few farewells, and I return to the ¡®mortal intelligence room¡¯, a large open space in the basement with a map at its center showing the current border and troop concentrations. Access is restricted to approved vampires and mundane mortals with a knack for organization and data analysis. A pale man wearing a monocle charges me, brandishing a sheaf of papers. He slows down as he approaches but blabbers with the air of a scholar with too many thoughts bouncing around his head. The save me from bleeding hearts. I use my superior discipline to prevent my eyes from inspecting the back of my skull. Though, come to think of it, medical mages capable of long-range communication from behind enemy lines would be a boon. We go over several things and I make a few decisions that cannot wait, as well as a few others that my advisors and I worked on before. I do not believe that I am particularly smart myself, but I do have access to a broad range of talents to help me. Sometimes, I make mistakes. Such a thing is inevitable in the chaotic environment we find ourselves in. I do not allow it to sway me. It is better to be decisive and sometimes err than be late and allow opportunities to pass me by. Besides, those are unknown mortals dying, and I cannot find it in me to care overmuch. I retire to my quarters as dawn approaches. I already petitioned to travel south, to the human frontline, in order to better understand and coordinate our resources, but Constantine refused me for safety reasons. I would complain, but I would rather not wake up to a hostile lord again, and so I have remained in the relative safety of our fortress. I have to make do with cold reports for now. I know little about the vampire side of the war, save that our side has won several skirmishes through clever use of the home advantage. The civil war has helped us a lot by having locals more wary of sudden influxes of foreigners, and we have used it to our advantage. It also appears that the enemy¡¯s supply of Fae blood, which had given them an edge in early battle, is running out with no opportunity for a quick replacement. I have high hopes that the foe¡¯s position will soon become untenable. I just have to be patient. June 2nd, middle of the afternoon. Every day is the same. I wake up, find more reports waiting for me, and soak up all those changes. For the first time in my life, the Rosenthal essence has become the most useful one. The late afternoon is usually reserved for sparring and this time, it will be with Wilhelm of the Erenwald under whose authority the fortress functions. I am therefore surprised when he knocks on my door as I finish getting dressed. I freeze. And freeze some more. I comb my memories for any related report, and find none. I spit. Wilhelm stares at me for one second, then grabs a medallion from around his neck. He presses its metal surface, and a siren sounds throughout the complex. The windows behind me, already shuttered, vibrate as heavy steel plates descend to seal them shut. The same is happening everywhere throughout the complex. On the ground floor, I hear the mustering yells of the garrison. It suddenly occurs to me that I may have been hasty in my judgement. It could have been an unscheduled¡­ I run back into my bedroom to grab the case containing my gear and rush down to the Speaker¡¯s quarters. His door lies open, and a stairway, previously covered, descends into a cave that I did not know existed. Melitone, Constantine¡¯s servant and twin sister, urges me on. Marshal, huh? I always call Sheridan Sheridan. The two of them are getting awfully comfortable with each other. Focus, Ariane. Battle first, possibly catastrophic consequences of Constantine¡¯s and my human being a thing later. I step down into a large rectangular room of surprisingly large dimensions, leading me to believe that the rock beneath the manor has the structure of Swiss cheese and more chambers than a beehive. All sass dies in my mind as I take in Constantine¡¯s seat, not of political power, but of magical might. We are in his sanctum. There, he holds the bindings to most of the land¡¯s defenses. The tall Progenitor faces a far wall entirely filled with rows upon rows of reflective surface rendering a kaleidoscope of sceneries, so many that my mind suffers an unusual feeling of vertigo. I see trees, rooms, corridors, fixed defenses. I narrow my focus on the few that Constantine currently focuses on. The silvery, deformed shapes of impostors in Union uniforms sprint across a small clearing. Two sentries lie on the ground, quite dead. Constantine raises his heavily decorated staff and two golems burst out from the trunks of dead trees. They are thin, insectile shapes made of blades and hard edges. They mangle the attackers with a level of savagery that even I would not match. In mere moments, the squad of a dozen attackers is meat across the ground. I remark laconically, Constantine answers with a deep, throaty voice. He turns around and I see for the first time in thirty years a new emotion on the Speaker¡¯s face. Rage. The next few minutes are the very embodiment of something I fear: bloodshed without the pleasure of the Hunt. Murder on an industrial scale. As soon as the last elderly attendants passed the gate, Constantine turned the forest, lower village, and path to the manor into a death trap of unprecedented proportions. I watch, mesmerized, as soldiers spread out only to be taken out by those thin, mantis-like golems, then they regroup around mages who can disable their simple frames with spells. I inform Constantine at his request. The circle around the standing Progenitor ignites in furious crimson and a large ¡®boom¡¯ shakes the manor to its foundations. Through layers upon layers of rock and enchanted steel, I hear a sound like a dozen tea kettles about to boil over. Three seconds later, the mirror goes blind. I brush some dust from the top of my dress. I say. I look around, but our foes are in full retreat. Out of the three or four hundred impostors converging on the manor, more than a hundred have perished in the span of twenty minutes. There are pit traps lined with serrated spikes that opened on major paths now with corpses clogging their surface, the dozens of spikes running red with lifeblood. A steel cable snaps out of nowhere and plucks one of the retreating men from his line before sliding back like a snake with its prey. Some trees have exploded to reveal golems while others, a more immediate payload. Magical wires, previously inactive, triggered as a careless foot came by to catch them in sharpened bear traps. Parts of the forest are on fire. Others are glassed over. Plumes of smoke obscure several mirrors. We climb back up, then down through the main stairway with Constantine¡¯s bodyguards in tow. The manor¡¯s surface is deserted. According to protocol, all non-combatant personnel should have reached the secured vaults at the bottom of the hill. The vault has several escape tunnels that can only be opened from the inside, and not without Constantine¡¯s knowledge to limit the risk of a traitor letting enemies in. This is only one of the many measures in place to assure the safety of the fortress¡¯ denizens. For once, Constantine¡¯s meticulous efforts are bearing fruits. I ask as we calmly walk down. I sputter. Constantine presses a segment of rock that looks like just any other surface around. It depresses, and a concealed passage opens. I must have passed this specific place a thousand times. I never noticed it. Inside, I find a square room with a tall ceiling, as well as the two largest golems I have ever seen encased in complex scaffoldings. I have assisted the Speaker in building constructs before, and they had always struck me as objects of exquisite precision. His mortal past as a watchmaker was more vocation than employment, and it shows in his work. These golem are different. Only passion and inspiration could produce such seamless union of art and deadly efficiency. And they are huge. Easily as tall as three men, the behemoths shine under the golden light of enchanted lanterns, their surface as smooth as that of placid lakes. The air whistles around magically-sharpened blades, unmoving, for now. Helmets suitable for emperors hide their most delicate systems. I manage to hide my awe through great effort. I reply neutrally. Dammit. Constantine smirks and approaches a small pulpit. I join him, only to see a single, massive red knob the size of an orange popping out of its center, with inscribed in fat runes underneath. Constantine blinks and turns to me. His fist smashes the thing and, with a strange sound like something winding up, the golems detach from their protective frames. They step forward. The ground trembles! Two openings in the far wall slide up, then down after their passage. Constantine says, proud with his foresight. I follow his instructions and find a chair hidden within the depths of the scaffolding, hidden under several tons of enchanted steel and other exotic elements. I sit gingerly, and swallow a yelp when the mirror before me comes to life and displays the manor¡¯s exterior, close to the ramp leading up the hill. The two golems are walking down the path to the mortal village beneath. Everything feels so¡­ tiny. Constantine mutters as he fiddles with an array of instruments like an organist at a concert. The mortals are fighting with shotguns and basic rifles. Meanwhile, we use war golems the size of Egyptian statues that we control remotely. Unbelievable. And yet the armies to our south are more than a hundred thousand strong. Each. Such a strange world this is. The golems reach flat ground and accelerate, treading the land with disorienting speed. Each of their strides covers so much ground that the difference between what I see and what my body feels sends me reeling for a moment. The mind boggles. If I were still mortal, the sight would make me nauseous. Wilhelm, the fortress¡¯ steward, enters the room, distracting me from the eerie sensation. He wears a full chain and leather armor in brown tones, a helmet that covers everything but his brown eyes, and his long blond beard falls on his chest in a small, rather cute braid. Constantine answers with a hungry smile. Wilhelm nods, but he does not share the Speaker¡¯s enthusiasm. Wilhelm¡¯s stoic air morphs into one of cruel glee. He watches one of the mirrors as the two war machines charge up the road. I do not think I will ever forget the facial expressions of the sentries shortly before the head golem pulps them. A mix of horror, shock, and disbelief. The war machines enter the encampment unchallenged. Cattle are not the most responsive beings. There is no battle. A mage ¡ª one of Martha of the Lancaster¡¯s peoples ¡ª is the first to order something and the line of carriages moves. They split up and down the road immediately at great speed, heading south towards Quincy and north to Boston proper. I watch uselessly as my own golem uses its massive blade for a bloody harvest. This is pointless. Those cattle were meant to die in droves, though perhaps not as meaninglessly as they have done so far. They are of no importance. Killing the mages would help, but they were the first to scatter. I cannot destroy the carriages either. If any vampire slumbers unprotected, I would be condemning them to a fiery death that would make future conflicts more pitiless, something that my side wishes to avoid. I can only capture one. I inspect the screen and find the gaudiest, most gold-plated coach. I point at it and yell Constantine remarks with a hint of condescension. Gah! Wilhelm says, I ask. Wilhelm answers as he turns around. Wait. Hold on. His what now? His PROTEGE? As in, the one trained to replace him? Me? I did not even consider the remote possibility of a peaceful transition of power! I was ready to laugh over his defeated form and say ¡®hah, this is for having me tortured all those decades ago¡¯. What will happen if he just abdicates in my favor? Is it a better revenge or a worse one? And Constantine did not even deny it. As I am left stewing in my own surprise, Wilhelm and the two mysterious bodyguards come back, then I am sent upstairs to pick up my battle gear which I had forgotten in the Speaker¡¯s sanctum. I quickly get changed and run back wearing Loth¡¯s repaired armor and a lot of weaponry. The return of the golems is announced by the tortured scream of abused metal. I note. The mortals never see how much we are forced to improvise and make do. Thankfully. Or our supernatural aura of omniscience would fade with the sound of complaints about who should push, who should pull, and who should just get out of the way. Eventually, our grumbling gaggle of undying horrors capable of bending reality itself gathers around the main lock while I stay behind and let the lords take the initiative. I do not trust myself in a life or death situation. Last time, I lost control over my essence. It bubbled over and burnt itself out. I cannot afford a repeat. It takes Constantine fifteen minutes to crack the lock of the carriage. They decided to start with the gaudy one, the one I picked, and the most secure. The door finally creaks on abused hinges to reveal¡­ crates upon crates of beans and desiccated vegetables. Uh. Constantine gracefully says, covering for my mistake, Wilhelm comments. With the benefit of the previous experience, the second coach delivers its content with more ease. A lord in full plate armor casually takes down the steps, holding a heavy mace in one hand and a gauntlet in the other. Only a pair of deep green eyes are revealed by the form-fitting protection. He inspects us, then the gaudy carriage. he asks with no hint of apprehension in a smooth voice that belies his war-like accoutrement. His eyes travel to a crate poking out of the door. Constantine asks drily. The siege we find ourselves under is fraying his patience. He bows smartly. Constantine replies. Two vampires, a man and a woman, peek out from behind the shape of their protector, who then steps down. he asks with a bored voice. I know he is feigning calm, but I also find his countenance commendable. The newest prisoners are led to jail, and we reconvene in the lobby. Besides me, there are no battle masters here. All trained warriors have gathered in a single army that is now¡­ I do not know where, but far. Too far to arrive before nightfall. The only vampires here are support staff like Sophia and visitors here to seek asylum ¡ª despite the ongoing conflict ¡ª who shall remain neutral by oath. Wilhelm begins. the Speaker replies. We all ponder this for a moment. Constantine finally says. I steal a glance in his direction. I had no idea that he felt so confident about taking on seven lords and their squads with only four. The progenitor is strong, but is he that strong? The others apparently share my doubt. Wilhelm says lightly, with the voice of someone trying to goad a small child. The bodyguards shrug, faces hidden behind black helmets. I cannot read their auras. Nightfall. The invaders have successfully regrouped. They know that with enough time to call upon our resources, we will unmask their ¡®Union¡¯ troops for the impostors they are and they will be without escort in enemy territory. They must strike hard, and they must strike fast. Instead of spreading out, the squads deploy in formation at the edge of the property. They deploy vampire mages on the side. Shields shimmer everywhere. They move. As they approach the edge of the human village, the traps, so far hidden, all spring at the same time. Pits open and hidden whips lash out. Spells explode. The surface of the hill leading to the manor opens and cannons vomit canister shots at the densely packed formation, but those are not mindless cattle making their way to the fortress. Lashes are dodged, then torn out. Shields soak up shrapnel and blast waves alike. The troop does not relent. They move in with confidence through explosions and an unknown, particularly vicious cloud of blood magic. Then the cloud¡¯s full effect is made manifest. Masters and Lords scream as the fog, which they had ignored, eats at their flesh. Red mist melts undying flesh with voracious hunger. The army is forced to push through despite their pain, for to falter is to fail. The first squad steps foot on the path leading up, and the side of the mountain spits a cloud of steam at them. It burns. The hiss of gaseous water cooking its surroundings is soon answered by yelps of pain. Speed is of little use when the obstacle is omnipresent. A thick barrier now separates the attackers from their target. But these are not backwater mercenaries now assaulting the fortress. Without being told, a few spellcasters dig up wind spells from the depths of their memories. Gauntlets are modified on the fly to assist with the casting, and the steam is warded off. The attackers do not follow the path up. Instead, they start climbing the sheer rocks of the cliff, thus activating a new layer of defenses. Hidden mechanisms throw spears through layers of dirt and vegetation, skewering the climbers at their most vulnerable time before retracting. Worse, the traps emit no aura, making detection all but impossible before they are sprung. Spells howl down with enervating precision. The attackers¡¯ numbers play against them as they are forced to dodge into others or risk being destroyed, and still, they climb. The first of the nimble figures jumps over the edge of the garden, on the northern side of the manor proper, where I am waiting. a petite Master in a fuming dress gasps as she stumbles through a bed of roses. I scream. I shoot her in the head. And the next person after that, though he successfully blocks with an enchanted bracelet. I spring back to the manor, hissing and sputtering on my way. Blonde bitch?! When did I get demoted from Devourer to blonde bitch? Absolutely scandalous. I wish the enemy had followed piecemeal, but they regroup into squads in moments. Some of our foes are still down there, busy with being turned lobster-red. I dive into the complex through one of the few open doors, followed by a Lady in light armor using a whip. Her squad fans out behind her. I dodge to the side as her soul weapon extends and rakes through several yards of wall. Under the destroyed upholstery, I can spot the silvery shine of the fortress¡¯ bones. This is Constantine¡¯s playground. I come across stairs and climb up. The lady jumps¡­ and crashes against a shield, which just appeared. she hisses. I say nothing, it would be covered by the loud rumble now shaking the corridor. Steel barriers descend from the ceiling to separate us. The predators are being herded. Everywhere across the complex, squads are split and directed like sheep to the slaughter. I climb to the second floor and come across the chained bodies of half a squad, caught like flies in a spider web. They look annoyed and ignore me. It appears that the enterprising lot tried to get in from the balcony, and the manor obliged, only to cut off their escape routes as soon as they were in. A wall shifts to my side, and a mirror appears. Constantine¡¯s slightly strained voice sounds muffled through this means, though perhaps I am simply distracted by the explosions in the background. Oh. Yes. Three miles off the Boston Harbor. Two men stood tense on the deck of a frigate. They had the documentation needed not to fall prey to blockading ships. They were heavily armed, just as they knew that none of that would matter. Only a specific signal would steer them from their current, circular course. They scrutated the horizon with anxiety, just like the crow''s nest was doing the same. And quite a few pairs of eyes besides. ¡°Still no signal,¡± one of them said, adjusting his marine officer uniform. It did not quite fit his broad shoulders. ¡°I can see that,¡± the other retorted. He had taken the garb of a Union captain, and wore it with ease. ¡°Ramming speed, Mr. Rolf!¡± a female voice bellowed behind them. Or was it a trick of the wind, come to torture them through the haze of stress? ¡°Did you hear that?¡± the captain asked. There was a sound now, like mumbled protests. The female voice returned. It was closer. There was no mistaking it for an auditory hallucination now. ¡°The time for stealth is passed, I say,¡± it yelled, ¡°brace for impact!¡± A veil was lifted, a steamship hybrid appeared starboard, as if vomited by the depths of the ocean. The men could only see the prow clad in steel aiming right for their deck, and on it, a lithe figure wearing a ridiculous tricorn. ¡°YOU HAVE RAN AFOUL OF THE DREAD PIRATE ARIA¡ª¡± Impact. The two men were sent rolling on hardwood like pinwheels. The captain winced and tried to climb back to his feet despite his disorientation. They were under attack! He had to do something! Someone landed besides him with barely a whisper of fabric. ¡°I have to work on the timing for that delivery,¡± she said. ¡°Anyway. You are my prisoners now! Are you ready to surrender all your booties?¡± the female voice said from above. The captain¡¯s eyes traveled up. He considered correcting the woman¡¯s mistake ¡ª at least he hoped that was a mistake ¡ª but then his gaze reached her smile, and he reconsidered. Chapter 133: The Hive The room chosen for the negotiations is an office on the second floor. It has been cleared save for a long table with three seats on each side. Couches adorn the corner for a handful of spectators.To my surprise, I have been asked to attend by Sephare as an observer. Our side is represented by Constantine, Sephare herself, and Islaev. The Natalis lord acts as Jarek¡¯s second and his representative since the old monster is still captive. By pushing for this, Sephare effectively made a show of solidarity for a minor faction while disabling a third, possibly discordant voice. The major lords will attend as observers. Although she had to align with them on bottom line and objectives, the control of the negotiation is essentially hers. The expansion faction is represented by Martha of the Lancaster, the pint-sized archmage, Bertrand, the grudge-bearing monumental twit, and Orpheus, the yet-to-be-insulted. I stare at the last man for a very simple reason. He is very, very handsome. Orpheus is the model I would use to paint an angel. Come to think of it, I may just do that. He would be falling, wings afire, impotent rage and grief plain on his delicate features. Hmm. And he would be naked, of course. I return my attention to the matter at hand. The Expansion faction wears luxurious but slightly ill-fitting clothes on account of being caught in armor. If the deal breaks down, they will be allowed to reequip and return to the jail where they will be given a chance to fight their way out. It is a doomed prospect. They know it. During the battle, Constantine realized that he could not stop Orpheus from freeing Bertrand. The angelic lord had imbibed a significant amount of fae essence, allowing him to brute force his way through any barrier. Constantine simply allowed him to waste essence on a vain attack and locked down the entire prison afterward. The Expansion faction leaders realized that the risk of being caught on our territory at dawn was too much, and proposed a truce. Now, it is up to Sephare to turn this truce into a favorable treaty, and quickly, because the omen has come to pass. We have lost contact with remote villages. My warning proved useful and our agents have been instructed to keep an eye out for rumors of mass disappearance. Similarly, the lords take the situation extremely seriously. The problem is that we are stretched extremely thin for now. Between the mortal war paralyzing a great many assets, and the vampire war mobilizing our fighters, we can barely spare a squad or two. The knights have already started to move, but we have received no news from them. Nor can we rely on them to solve everything by themselves. When the ¡®talks¡¯ begin, I am left extremely disappointed. There is no grandstanding, no eloquent declamations. In fact, the six barely talk at all. One side proposes and the other demands something in return. If they disagree, they search for acceptable alternatives, otherwise they move on for now. I can tell that Sephare is being very aggressive while Bertrand is, for once, measured and accommodating. Not that he has much of a choice. The discussion lasts long into the night despite the total lack of emotion displayed. There are long periods of silence during which no one moves, no one speaks, and not one aura flickers. Both sides communicate by gestures they hide from their counterparts. I find the whole thing extremely tedious. Islaev only intervenes when it comes to the Natalis land. They are to be returned in their entirety in exchange for safe passage. Bertrand categorically refuses to leave the American Continent. The two sides finally agree on a line ranging east west from Monterrey all the way to La Paz in the Pacific Ocean as a border. It helps that the French force, under Mask impulse, still has to conquer most of the country including Mexico city. Back and forth the arguments go, using money and other treasures to grease the gears of diplomacy. I regret joining long before the discussion is over. I hate it, every aspect of it. We have won, and still we must make concessions to guarantee a long-lasting peace. I wish we could just all CRUSH THEM. But I am too weak, and only have myself to blame for my lack of power. Even my presence is already a favor rather than a necessity. Dawn approaches when the final document is signed. The Expansion Faction is allowed to spread its influence in Mexico, while we retain control of the rest. If we had created permanent holds there before the war, we could have leveraged their existence. Once more, our main problem is only made more manifest by this treaty. There are too few of us. We do not even have the numbers to satisfactorily control the Mexican capital. We cannot spread indefinitely either since a lone vampire remains vulnerable to a determined assault. Sephare informs me as we move to our personal quarters, The agreement leaves a bitter taste on my tongue. We placed the entire Expansion Faction in checkmate. We should be sending them home by boat with a spike up the nether regions and they should thank us for letting them live. Instead, we have to tolerate their despicable presence on our southern doorstep out of fear that the war might escalate and we start going after each other¡¯s mortals. The moment I become a lady, I am gathering an army and leading it to throw every last one of those pricks into the Atlantic, with their heads in separate garbage bins. I really hope that the vampire knights can help me with that. Jimena said that she would make some inquiries. I merely have to wait. June 18th 1862. Two weeks later. Four riders thunder down the path south as the moon rises over Virginia¡¯s valleys and hills. Through forest and field we trot. Yes, trot. The thunder comes from Jarek¡¯s humongous nightmare. I stare at the imposing back of our fearless leader. A custom-made Union uniform, that of first lieutenant of the cavalry, strains over his massive shoulders. I notice that they are quite tense. Behind us, two mortals ride at a respectable distance also in Union uniforms. I wear a pale blue light traveling dress with a soft cotton cloak plus hood, so that I can hide my features. And gloves. And guns, but I always have a gun somewhere. ¡°The forward base is just ahead,¡± Sheridan whispers, ¡°I sincerely hope that our documents will be enough.¡± I cannot comprehend how he could spend so much time with me and still approach such situations with anxiety. I could wave the music sheet of a raunchy song under the nose of a group of sentries and convince them that it is a presidential decree. And that I am, in fact, the Princess of Wales. Here to visit my lover. I believe that some stubborn remnant of obedience prevents him from ever being at ease during a deception. By the , how is he such a straight arrow? We have engaged in piracy. Goodness me. Some people never grow up. The last member of our expedition is Cedric Birmingham, shield mage extraordinaire and representative of the White Cabal in this endeavor. His presence does not help with Jarek¡¯s mood. We slow down as sentries hail us down, and wait as Jarek convinces the thin mustachioed man in an open vest and kepi to let us through. The poor sergeant takes one look at Jarek¡¯s face and decides to look elsewhere, mostly at the folded paper he was sullenly given. A helpful private comes bearing a lantern. The shy light allows them to take in the full appearance of their visitor. Once more, they decide it preferable to avert their eyes. They find me. ¡°A woman?¡± the sergeant asks. ¡°Private.¡± Jarek¡¯s voice is low, rumbling, and usually warm, but now it holds an undercurrent of threat that they cannot miss. Silence ensues. ¡°You can read, yes?¡± the living earthquake continues. A nod. ¡°What is the word at the very top of the sheet I just gave you?¡± ¡°Err. ¡®Confidential¡¯, sir. Ahem. Right. No more questions. You may pass.¡± We move on. The sentries guard a road between two forested hills, and we continue through to an open plain entirely covered by a camp as massive as a proper city. I have to stop for a moment to imprint that image in my mind. Rows upon rows of white tents lined up in tight ranks. Most of the cooking is done for the night, but the smell of stew remains strong in the air, as well as that of sweat and human refuse. The camp is well-ordered and the soldiers serene, as if the bloodshed to come could not affect them. Many are young, I notice, and have this green air that I associate with recruits. To think that ten years ago, the army had fifteen thousand men. Now, hundreds of thousands serve under their respective flags, an entire generation rushed to the slaughter under officers as clueless as themselves. They watch us pass with curiosity. The camp lives. I hear violins in the distance, and on an open field, soldiers play a strange game with bats and bases and a thrown ball. I think that my fellow Illinois soldiers might be somewhere around here. It takes us several minutes to reach the other end of the massive encampment, during which we are observed but not hailed. The uniform of an officer certainly helps, but not as much as Jarek¡¯s annoyed sneer. Then we are across, and through the risky land separating the Union force from Lee¡¯s army of Northern Virginia. Nothing has changed in the landscape, but the tension is now palpable. We tread contested land. ¡°Ariane, could you not also wear a uniform to avoid questions?¡± Cedric asks innocently enough. ¡°I could not be prevailed upon to don male garments,¡± I lie haughtily. My retort shuts him up. ¡°She is too¡­ shapely¡­ to pass for a man,¡± Sheridan whispers to his neighbor a little bit later. ¡°Sheridaaaaaaan, I will cut off your cigar supply!¡± I threaten without turning. In the distance, an owl kills something small and furry. ¡°Should we not change into confederate garb?¡± Cedric finally asks as we do not slow down. ¡°No need,¡± Jarek growls, ¡°we will use stealth. Observe.¡± A few miles off, I taste the waiting auras of a few mortals and smell their nervousness on the air. Jarek must have done so as well. We slow down, but do not stop. A single old man in a confederate officer uniform stands proudly across our path on a bay mount. He tips his chin back as we approach, lush white beard on display. I love watching reactions to Jarek when he does not soften the blow of his presence with Charm. The gaze of the moon gives even mortals a good visibility, and the one facing us bears a torch as well. There will be no hiding it this time. It starts with a glare, because we wear hostile uniforms, then a frown as his mind registers that his depth perception might be playing tricks on him, then to a stunned look when Jarek comes close enough and he realizes the sheer absurdity of the Natalis lord¡¯s measurements. Above his nightmare, he towers over his lessers by at least half again their size. A colossus. A monster. Then Jarek stops by his side and the physicality of his presence awakens the most primitive, ancestral part of the person¡¯s brain. Jarek has no use for hidden threats or sheathed fangs. He is not a creature of the ballroom, like most of us. His nature is plain to see, and the officer realizes it now. Jarek looms. He is quite proficient at looming. As the distance between the two men shortens, the human leans back and the vampire simply exists around and above his counterpart, seemingly covering the dry stature of the underfed fighter in a massive, muscular embrace. Jarek¡¯s voice resounds once more, as ineluctable and gravelly as a landslide. ¡°You and your fifteen friends hidden on the side of the road have two choices. You can choose to have seen us. Or you can choose to let us go. I swear to you that we are not here to harm your interests. I also swear that, should you fight, I will kill every last one of you and wear your innards as garlands across my chest. So. What will it be?¡± I will give the officer credit. He manages to remain upright. It takes him a few seconds to formulate a response but when he does, his voice is almost clear. A respectable attempt. ¡°Well, that is a rather unchivalrous offer,¡± he says. In answer, Jarek pulls back and grabs for the weapon hanging from his thin saddle: a giant battle axe. He waves the titanic implement before his interlocutor¡¯s sweaty brow. ¡°I don¡¯t know about chivalrous, but I can do medieval.¡± Oh please. ¡°I think we can let him go sir, I think he¡¯s telling the truth. Oh, and they have a lady with them,¡± a voice bleats from the side as the officer attempts to keep control of his mount, who caught a whiff of something predatory. The pale man grabs on that excuse like a drowning man to a buoy. ¡°Well. If they are escorting a lady. Clearly. I can let them through. Yes. You are clear to go. Let it not be known that the rigors of war would find our gentlemanly honor wanting.¡± We ride forth unimpeded. ¡°So. Vampire stealth. Huh,¡± Cedric comments. When Jarek was freed, he returned to his land and found it methodically looted, up to the grain he needed to seed his fields. Most of it was recovered as part of the peace settlement, but the sting on his pride has not let out. It shows in the way he handles the current affairs. His people have requested him to leave so that they could focus on repairs while he brooded his annoyance away. I do not mind Jarek¡¯s presence, or his short temper. The ancient Natalis has not crossed the line yet between curtness and indiscriminate violence, at least not with our allies. He was the most vocal in support of the continuation of war. The invasion of his home still blazes in his heart with righteous fury, but he has remained faithful to our organization. For this, I will tolerate his small hissy fit. He is a sweetheart. At least according to vampire standards. Also, we fought side by side in battle and he sacrificed himself to allow me to escape, so I would unleash all the guns in Illinois if he only asked. No need to tell him, or he might be tempted. The mood is more subdued as the night goes on and we follow a complex set of directions to our target. On one occasion, we stop to ask our way to a pair of southern soldiers leaning lazily under a lantern. They very politely inform us that, yes, we are on the right track. They even wish us a prompt journey. I hiss. Jarek retorts. We arrive on the outskirts of Dodgetown a little bit after midnight. Dodgetown was unimaginatively named after its founder, like many other hamlets across the country. It barely qualifies as a town to begin with. We decided to come after a report was intercepted that the town had been evacuated. This information was recovered by one of our agents and immediately dismissed as minor by the local authorities. I find the lack of seriousness of the scouts frankly unacceptable. Indeed, the truth becomes manifest as soon as we arrive. The forested path opens into a humble valley nestled between several low hills, with a small river snaking its way between patches of statuesque stalks loaded with berries. Flowers in rainbow shades adorn squares of ripening wheat, the golden treasure a boon to the surrounding soldiers. Or at least they would be, if there was anyone left to harvest them. The serenity here is a lie. It wields the color of nature like a torn skin to pass for tranquility, when in truth, it is the silence of the grave. The stench of death and old blood saturates the air, as well as another one, bitter and defiled, that sets my teeth on edge. Then to the mortals. ¡°If I tell you to run, you gallop away. Is that clear?¡± The two know better than to object. We ride on and it soon becomes obvious that whoever reported on an ¡®evacuation¡¯ was either blind or a complete idiot. We pass a one-story farmstead with its door kept open. Farming implements and a stove can be seen from the road, as well as the remnants of smashed ceramics. No one in their right mind would have left their houses unlocked and messy, not unless they left in a second. I do not believe that they managed it. We dismount and walk in. I cross the threshold without difficulty, confirming my hypothesis. Its previous occupants have died to the last child. ¡°Claw marks. Here,¡± Sheridan says. I turn and see rips in the door frame. ¡°Too small to be a werewolf, too strong to be a human,¡± Cedric notes. He is right. A transformed werewolf would have ripped off the entire beam. The remnants of aura are wrong as well. Werewolves are cursed, but they do not feel as¡­ tainted as that. Jarek stands silent before a spot of blood. There is surprisingly little of it on the ground considering how heavy the smell hangs in the air. The precious liquid is pinkish and¡­ wrong. Deeply wrong. It STINKS. I follow him outside without understanding. The two mortals come along as well although they are subdued before his darkening spirits. We mount and circle around the ghost town, inspect its empty arterial roads and gutted houses. We find nothing. Or rather, we find too much. Too many scrambled tracks. ¡°They could be anywhere, whatever they are. We need to make a bigger circle,¡± Cedric says. ¡°No, wait,¡± I reply. Something tugs at my soul once more. It calls to me like back in Boston when the tide of death overran the map. ¡°That way.¡± Cedric frowns. ¡°Are you¡ª¡± ¡°We go. ¡± Jarek roars. The urgency has spread to all of us now, and we trot at a good pace through what amounts to little more than a forest track. The land is dark, our allies blind, but we do not stop and neither do they. We soon burst into a deserted clearing around a lone stone. Nothing seems out of place save for the diseased appearance of some of the vegetation, yet I can feel a deep unease, a discordance of sorts. ¡°The fabric is so thin here. Something has disturbed this world,¡± Cedric comments, now fully aware of the wrongness. Even Sheridan frowns. ¡°We must press on,¡± Jarek says. And we do. I smell it first. More blood in the air. ¡°We must hurry,¡± I mutter. ¡°No!¡± Jarek interrupts, ¡°No, we cannot risk the mortals laming their horses. Not now. They will have to run hard soon. Let them keep their strength, we are too late anyway.¡± And we are. We arrive at the edge of the next hamlet to find devastation. In the previous village, the slaughter was cold. Here, it is fresh and leaking. A single house has caught on fire, possibly due to a fallen lantern. The blaze rises high into the sky and hides the heaven under a cloak of soot and embers. Only the red light remains, and it shines over savaged bodies drowning in their own blood. Men. Women. Children. They lie where they have fallen in torn heaps, still clutching gaping wounds with rigid fingers. A cattle of some sort must have been caught in the open, or so I assume. Only a single bell and frayed pieces of hide bear witness to the feast that occured. The air is thick with terror. Jarek stops Cedric as he dismounts. ¡°No. Stay on your horse, ready your weapons, and whatever you do, do not get hit. I know what we will find, but I need to swear seeing it with my own eyes when the Council of Wardens asks me. Stay close.¡± I hiss. I grumble. All those ominous declarations tire me. We are the APEX. and those¡­ whatever they are, their stench upsets me. We cross an orchard and reach the main road, well-lit by the flames. ¡°We leave that way on my command,¡± Jarek orders. The street is thick with bodies. Twenty paces before us, a woman gasps her last breaths, bloody hands clutching the ruin of her abdomen. She sees us and gurgles a few inintelligible words through the haze of pain. ¡°I¡¯m going,¡± Cedric says. ¡°You are not. You will sit on your saddle and watch,¡± Jarek says. ¡°But¡­¡± ¡°And when you are done, you will report what you saw to your precious White Cabal.¡± The shield mage returns his gaze to the dying villager. It does not take a doctor to realize that she is beyond help. She convulses a few more times, then her back arches despite her wounds, and she falls back. And keeps moving. It starts as a tremor, then her muscles cramp and creak with such shattering intensity that her bones break. Her spilled blood inexplicably runs back to her vein. Ridges appear on her skull as hair falls in clumps, and ivory shards erupt from her bleeding fingertips. All around her, other bodies join in the macabre transformation. The corpses are turning to monsters at a speed that I would never have believed possible if I had not been here in person. Everything I know about magic and transformation, all that I have studied, even my own experience and Dalton¡¯s murderer¡¯s fate at the hand of the Key of Beriah, all agree that what I see is an impossibility. Such speed cannot be achieved in our native realm. And yet, with one last sickening crack, the thing that used to be a woman stands up on spindly, spiked limbs. Two dark orbs land squarely on us. There are no iris, no pupils. On the inky void of what this creature represents. I understand it now. The all-devouring hunger. We are shepherds of this world, in a way. We live and die around humans. The wise among us invest and build, but not that thing. They ¡ª no ¡ª it, too, is a stranger, but one that lacks ego. It exists to consume and move on. It is vile and defiled and it does NOT BELONG. The thing shrieks. It calls with a high-pitched trill that finds answers around us. All around us. ¡°About face. Cedric, take point. Don¡¯t stop for anything! Go. Go!¡± The mortal¡¯s horses do not need to be asked twice. They neigh and gallop as fast as they can. The shrill calls spur on a mad dash. Pale, shambling shapes surge from the nearby bushes. Some are the size of buffalos! ¡°What the fuck?¡± Sheridan says. I share in his opinion. The jaws of the ambush close around us, but we are not some harmless farmers. ¡°Shield!¡± Cedric forms a transparent wedge that throws aside the first opponents as they rush him. Meanwhile, Sheridan and I unload into the creatures assaulting our flanks. I watch, mesmerized, as one of the creatures still crawls forward in a demented gait with half of its chest missing. ¡°Ari, he¡ª¡± Rose slashes above and across a creature¡¯s chest on Sheridan¡¯s side, sending two mangled pieces careening on the ground. I can barely absorb the essence I gain. All I taste is the shadow of a fading entity that thrashes and bites in its death throes, the remnant of something great. The creature I killed is but a tiny part of a distant whole. s?a??h th? ???el F?re.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. ¡°Take it,¡± I tell Sheridan, handing him my revolver. I shall wield spells and blades from now on. Behind us, Jarek covers our retreat. Some of the larger specimens can catch up to the humans¡¯ tired horses, and he keeps them off our backs. ¡°Flay.¡± More creatures die. Some, we leave behind as they trail vestigial organs from mortal wounds in their eagerness to kill us. I successfully manage to cover Sheridan while he reloads. As for Cedric, he holds the shield stably for the few minutes it takes us to plow through the entrapment. The forest slows our pursuers down. Eventually, they give up. We only slow down after we have returned to the first empty hamlet. The extent of the devastation and lost life becomes more obvious as I start counting houses and assess how many lives were lost, then turned. ¡°I think that now is a good time for explanation,¡± I inform Jarek. Politely. We wait in silence for the Natalis lord to speak. He looks worried for the first time since I have met him. Even the inevitability of his capture did not provoke such a strong reaction. Eventually, his gaze lowers to the three of us in turn. ¡°Children, all of you. Ah, but it matters not. I was a child as well. Where should I start? Ah yes. Half a millennium ago, a third of the world¡¯s human population died in the span of five years.¡± I stand, flabbergasted. ¡°What?¡± But Jarek only scoffs. ¡°Children indeed. This event was well-recorded. We call it the Black Death, the mother of all plagues. It was not caused by the vilebloods, but it lured them in. The suffering and agony of a hundred million humans brought the hive to our realm.¡± ¡°They are one among many. Shadows,¡± I whisper. Jarek nods. ¡°Indeed. We fought the hive for over thirty years. Thirty long years of attrition and carnage. Thirty years cowering by day with our mortals in impregnable fortresses of stones, watching them die of disease. Thirty years of red nights and ceaseless slaughter. Poland was our battlefield, and we only found out about the hive because we lost the Dvor lords dwelling there. You see, the problem is not just their savagery, or the way they reproduce. The problem is their intellect.¡± What? ¡°Intellect? But those things¡ª¡± ¡°¡ªwere cunning enough to ambush us, to wait until we were close enough before rushing in from all sides. A lone vileblood presents little danger to a vampire, but a hundred lays traps, a thousand plan battles, and ten times that number plan a war. To this day, I am not quite sure why they tried to extinguish us instead of moving on to the tender heart of Europe. Perhaps it was aggression, or perhaps it was part of some eldritch scheme that we cannot comprehend. The few of us who tasted their essence figured out their true nature. As Ariane put it, they are shadows. Imprints of something alien and unfathomable. The more vessels there are, the more the mind can bleed into the torrent of flesh that heralds its coming.¡± ¡°So, we need to prevent them from reaching a tipping point,¡± Sheridan observes. ¡°And there lies the problem. They will be cunning enough to avoid armies and large towns until they are ready. By that time, it will be too late. The chaos of war only helps them in this task. No one will bat an eye at losing communication with the frontier, especially along the border. I will warn the council. You, Ariane, will go to Washington.¡± ¡°You want me to warn Sephare?¡± I ask with a raised brow. I can contact her from here just fine. ¡°No. Not her. The humans.¡± We all recoil in shock at this¡­ preposterous proposal. Talk with the human authorities? What madness is this? ¡°We have no choice. I will ask for the council¡¯s approval, but you must go there.¡± I close my eyes in annoyance, smoothe my long skirt and reclaim my revolver from a confused Sheridan. ¡°What are you doing?¡± Jarek asks, surprised. ¡°If I don¡¯t want to Charm the entire Congress, I shall need solid proof. I will be right back.¡± Ten minutes later. Do not kill that thing, Ariane, do not kill that thing, Ariane, do not kill that thing or you will have to fetch another one. Jarek watches me as I drag a smaller drone behind me. It stopped screeching after I damaged its throat a bit. I hold it by the neck so that it fails to attack me. Apparently, the creature¡¯s suicidal tendencies do not extend to snapping its own joints. Good to know. ¡°Ariane. What, , are you doing?¡± ¡°Yes, err, far from me to criticize or anything¡­¡± Cedric adds. ¡°I already told you louts,¡± I reply with undisguised annoyance, ¡°if I want to convince anyone that a wave of horrible magical locusts is descending upon us without being thrown in the loony bin, I will need irrefutable proof. Even a dead thing could arguably be the work of a gifted taxidermist. This claim becomes more difficult to sustain when said thing is desperately trying to claw your face off. Jarek, would you kindly, kindly help me bind it? Much obliged.¡± We easily find ropes in a nearby warehouse. The main problem is that we will not be able to carry the drone around on a leash. ¡°I need to build a cage. A container of sorts¡­¡± I say. We look around and find no such a thing. Unsurprisingly, since the average Virginian mudhole rarely keeps bears around for entertainment purposes. I do find nails and solid planks. I decide to put my advanced engineering skills to build a crate. There is a joke in here somewhere. Cedric stares at me as I dry-fit planks together to form a solid base. We are going to need something sturdy. ¡°Should you not be standing guard?¡± I finally snap at the man looking over my shoulder. ¡°Sorry, it¡¯s just¡­ It¡¯s not everyday that I see a vampire Master doing manual labor.¡± ¡°If you could waggle a hammer as easily as that tongue of yours, we could have avoided that situation entirely!¡± ¡°Jeeesus, woman. Alright, I¡¯m going!¡± The alliance against the end of the world is off to a great start. Chapter 134: Revelation Upon our return, Jarek¡¯s plan to boot the door to the presidential office open and dump the hive drone on Lincoln¡¯s desk is short-lived. Sephare imposes her veto and Jarek¡¯s complaints fall on deaf ears.And so we ship ourselves north to Boston for an emergency session. Boston, June 17th 1862 The Council chambers are nowhere close to full, as many domains are still reorganizing following the departure of the Expansion Faction. Time was simply too short. We still count at least one representative per seat of power and I can tell the tension from the postures of the vampires present. It takes an experienced eye to notice concern in a creature with no pulse, no facial expression, and aura control developed as a survival tool. As always, the devil is in the details. Gazes that collectively follow the movements of the newcomers. An artful poise just a bit too relaxed. The signs are many, and I have had plenty of experience in the past few years. Constantine enters last and just on time. We go through the opening protocol with some impatience until, finally, Jarek takes the floor. I see shock in the minute widening of eyes. Hands rise up in the air. one of the Wardens of Maryland asks. The next to speak is a statuesque Roland Master from the Mississippi domain. Jarek sighs, a low, rumbling sound like wind through a canyon. He sits heavily in his stone chair and leans forward, hands linked together. Nobody protests at the breach of protocol. Jarek¡¯s eyes grow clouded. We all sense the gravity of the situation, of what led a lord as powerful and unyielding as Jarek to bend under the weight of memories. I am dragged into his aura, the naked sorrow and, yes, terror in it. As Jarek speaks, I can hear it in the background. The sobs of disbelief of the survivors who did not understand why they still drew breath, the roars of hordes of drones climbing castle walls day-in day-out to slaughter every last creature of flesh still moving. The starving humans as no field could be safely tilled. Vampires dying in combat as they were overwhelmed one by one and, behind our foes, that ominous presence that bled in more with each creature adding its mind to the collective. The end of the tale is received in silence. This all feels surreal to me, as if the gnomes and farfadets of old stories appeared to clean our attics and steal our slippers. Now, I know how mortals feel when they meet us. One of Suarez¡¯ lieutenants is the first to react. Jarek frowns. I contemplate the possibility. A true rogue would rely too much on instinct to come up with anything more elaborate than ¡®go there, kill¡¯. Someone who lost their bonded humans would fit the bill. Constantine says, ¡° A few uncharacteristic mutterings spread through the assembly, but the Speaker is quick to remind them of the sword of Damocles hanging over our collective necks. Constantine yells, then he settles back down as his order is obeyed. We all stand and move out with more alacrity than ever. I quickly join Sephare as she hails me. the lithe Hastings lady comments in hushed tones, I ask, a bit surprised. Sephare asks, expectant. I nod. Sephare considers, then assents. Finally I am showing some initiative. Now, I only need to make sure to bring this project to a satisfactory conclusion, because Sephare will be watching. I say, Sephare chuckles, a teetering sound that I always found vaguely threatening. Washington, four days later. The antechamber to Sephare¡¯s offices has been recently refurbished to give off a gentle, old-world charm. I can still smell the acrid stench of drying paint under the more prevalent one of coffee and tobacco. The colors are black, chestnut, and gold, with more attention given to decoration than our puritan society would normally allow. I have dressed for the occasion, in an embroidered black dress with golden filigree. The daring cut leaves most of my shoulders bare without, thankfully, revealing any cleavage. Apparently it is quite popular with gentlemen. Sephare lent me her personal maid to push my hair up in a stylish do, clearing my neck and leading the eye to a beautiful necklace with an engraved ruby. The jewel hosts a powerful shield charm because I will never sacrifice safety in the name of elegance when sufficient preparation will account for both. A knock on the door, and a new visitor enters the room. His brown gaze travels over the many seats, the low tables and the room¡¯s two occupants. Night fell recently, and Urchin stands near a bookshelf on the side opposite me, leafing through a book. Or rather, books. Every time a page turns, he swaps for another one. The transition is seamless enough that only the most perceptive mortals discern the subterfuge. The others only retain a vague feeling of unease, just as Urchin intended. He is, after all, the stick to my carrot. Or the thorn to my¡­ gah, this is barely better. In any case. The newcomer inspects us all. He wears a Union uniform with quite a few stars, a brown beard and thick dark hair. He possesses a keen gaze that lingers on Urchin¡¯s books, and immediately follows my form as I put down my notes and rise to greet him. I curtsey in a traditional manner, keeping my gaze slightly down. ¡°Welcome, sir. Please, sit and make yourself comfortable. Lady Sephare will be with you in a moment.¡± The soldier slowly takes a cigar from his waist pocket and lights it. The reddening embers shine furiously in the diffuse radiance of gas lamps. I find him quite rude. Most would have asked before stinking up the place. Oh, a test. He is gauging our reactions. I still stand demurely with a light smile. ¡°How did you know what I was here for?¡± ¡°You were let in,¡± I answer honestly. We have wards in place for the occasion. A puff of smoke floats forward. The powerful aroma is still fresh, and thus, not entirely unpleasant. ¡°You are one of them, then?¡± One of the ¡®mystical Americans¡¯ as Sephare sold it. She has presented herself as an expert in spirituality. That is, so far, how the handful of key officials see us. She hinted that we can cast spells, but the humans think curses and other inefficient castings. They do not know about the vampires and werewolves, and will not do so until much later. ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Huh.¡± ¡°Are you perhaps disappointed? Were you expecting a few warts and a broad hat?¡± Another puff of cigar. The soldier¡¯s eyes narrow. ¡°What am I waiting for anyway?¡± ¡°The creature is in the cellar. We have caged it behind steel and glass for safety, but there is a limited amount of space as a result. Only seven people are allowed at any time. This measure also serves as a precaution. As you may have heard, the drones reproduce by creating and infecting human corpses. We would not want an outbreak in the center of the capital now, would we?¡± ¡°Is it truly under control?¡± ¡°It will not get out of its containment without outside assistance.¡± The soldier contemplates my words for a moment. ¡°You know, I have considered taking a hundred men and coming here to arrest everyone, then find out if this whole thing was a bizarre farce designed to waste the army¡¯s time.¡± Urchin¡¯s claws pierce through the leather-covered tome he holds. I frown. Those are expensive. ¡°You did not,¡± I finally reply, ¡°because you will see the truth for yourself without having to create an uproar.¡± The man takes a few steps forward, blue clouds following him like a veil. ¡°If you are truly witches¡­¡± ¡°We would prefer the more pleasant term: mystic.¡± ¡°If you truly are witches, then you could confuse my mind.¡± Tick tick tick goes a claw on my coffee cup. This is our TERRITORY. ¡°You are a guest here,¡± I remind the visitor with a tight smile, ¡°we will exert every courtesy, and we expect the same in return.¡± My interlocutor sits heavily in front of me, and I also regain my chair. ¡°Very well. Mystique. Answer my question, please.¡± ¡°You are a man used to the rigor of battle. You will examine your thoughts and find them clear, even as horror stares you in the eyes. You are also welcome to return here and inspect the creature again at a later date, when you have taken appropriate precautions, I suppose. In fact, we expect this location to see a lot of traffic in the coming days.¡± ¡°What precautions would those be?¡± he scoffs, ¡°I do not know how to avoid bullets, how could I ward off curses.¡± Oh? ¡°You were shot at? I thought that generals were not subject to that treatment.¡± ¡°The distant rear of an army engaged in battle is not the best place from which to judge correctly what is going on in the front. I have been shot at, but am pleased to report that I was missed.¡± He considers his next words and reluctantly continues. ¡°Though I admit that it got pretty close in Shiloh. One of my aides even lost his hat!¡± Shiloh? ¡°You¡­ you are Hiram Ulysses Grant!¡± I click my mouth shut. I saw his attention drift to the hint of fangs, which I had carelessly revealed. It would not do to spook one of the few military leaders I respect! ¡°I was not aware that you people, no offense, were so interested in mundane affairs.¡± ¡°Surely you jest? I have been doing my best to support the Union since the very beginning. Do you not enjoy the abundant supply of ammunition I provide?¡± ¡°Wait. The eagle?¡± ¡°Yes! Illinois Guns of Liberty! That is me! I mean, us. I have tried so hard to make sure that our side was decently provisioned. I must say, you are one of my two favorite generals.¡± ¡°And who, pray tell, might be the other?¡± the soldier asks with some measure of bemusement. I have not gained his trust yet. ¡°George Henry Thomas.¡± ¡°Was he not originally from the south?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I reply ¡°as am I. Now, why not tell me how I could help you fill MacClellan¡¯s shoes?¡± Ten minutes later. ¡°Most officers and theorists alike severely overestimate the range during major engagements,¡± I explain excitedly. ¡°Yes, hitting reliably at four hundred yards is all well and good but how many people do you think can make that shot anyway? None of the Irish refugees or city dwellers your recruiters grab off the streets, that is for sure. That is why we are considering switching entirely to metal cartridges and a repeater structure.¡± ¡°I understand that we are to attack relentlessly and aggressively to achieve victory, woman. Even with your best efforts, our supply trains would not allow us to operate in the south where our supply train struggles to follow. And replacing our entire arsenal would simply be too cost-prohibitive. I do see the appeal of equipping cavalry with repeaters, however.¡± Grant frowns and considers his cigar, which has run its course. ¡°I never expected to discuss matters of war with a woman. This has been a disconcerting evening, all in all.¡± ¡°Please look at me as one of your chief weapons suppliers.¡± ¡°You do not dress like one.¡± He got me there. ¡°I did not come here to discuss theory,¡± the soldier continues, ¡°but those reports I saw. Tell me, is it true what they say? A horde of monsters? Really?¡± ¡°We would never have come to you in the open if the fate of the nation, no, of mankind itself on this land was not at stake.¡± S?a??h the N?v?lFir?(.)n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. ¡°There are no signs of those drones you mentioned in the west.¡± ¡°By the time they reach the west, it will be too late. We must stop them before they reach a critical mass, otherwise they will be free to reap the continent and throw armies after armies of creatures at the survivors. It already happened once, and the population density was nowhere close to what it is now.¡± ¡°What period of history are we talking about?¡± ¡°The fourteenth century.¡± Grant mushes the butt of his cigar in a conveniently-placed ashtray. ¡°Men had swords and shields then, we have muskets now.¡± ¡°And muskets can punch through a knight¡¯s armor but they do not inflict the kind of catastrophic damage that we need to disable those things. At least not quickly. A mortally-wounded drone can keep fighting for thirty seconds. That is a long time in battle.¡± ¡°Are you quite sure?¡± ¡°I saw it happen. On my blood I so swear.¡± This causes a raised eyebrow. ¡°A strange idiom. Nevertheless, I am still not convinced that this is not some form of elaborate prank. Magic and monsters¡­ what world are we living in?¡± ¡°Since you asked¡­¡± I reply, and reveal my fangs this time. ¡°You are living in ours now.¡± Sephare returns before Grant can detach his eyes from my smile. She is followed by several old men in dark suits. One of them holds a handkerchief to his mouth and looks slightly ill. The smell of terror, sweat, and vomit soon eclipses that of tobacco. John is downstairs to provide a much needed confidence boost to the witnesses. The sight of an otherworldly horror still impacts them greatly, and I can understand why. No amount of bars, chains, or panes, can lessen the chilling fear of realization that there are many more of those out there. I am genuinely concerned as I see those men stumble away from the receiving room and out into the cobbled streets outside. They may fear the hive more than they fear us for now, but even if we should succeed, there will be a lot of blame going around. The magical population is a ready culprit. I must make our media campaign work. ¡°And you must be General Grant. Please, follow me sir. The drone is this way,¡± Sephare says. The two disappear into the depths of the domain. Urchin lets out a chuckle. ¡°You are being quite the enthusiast, mistress. I never expected you to look up to a mortal so much.¡± ¡°I do not look up, but think about it. He can order tens of thousands of men into battle! Explosions everywhere!¡± ¡°Definitely an enthusiast.¡± ¡°I see that you are still using your tricks on the book. Would you like to see mine? I bet that I can make your tongue disappear.¡± Urchin lifts his hands in mock surrender. I know that I have not heard the end of this. Avalon, White cabal main stronghold west of New York, June 27th 1862. ¡°This is unacceptable! Who do you think you are to take this sort of decision in your hands? The White Cabal will not tolerate the vampire¡¯s tyranny!¡± archmage Pruitt bellows. The council of the White Cabal is a majestic amphitheater with the first row composed of seven wood thrones in a half-circle opposite a pulpit from whence a tired ¡®President¡¯ moderates the debate. My detractor¡¯s protests do not elicit the kind of annoyance I expected in my allies. Even the usually caustic Frost appears subdued. ¡°This time, the bloodsuckers have gone too far and revealed their true colors. They care not for our alliance except as cannon fodder and this latest action proves it beyond the shadow of a doubt. I propose a vote that we immediately cease all cooperation with those monsters and finally¡ª¡± ¡°Oh shut up, you do not have the right to call a vote,¡± Hopkins answers. The Black Dog is older now, with grey hair and a slightly stooped back, but his brown eyes still shine with the rapier-sharp intellect that drove all his decisions and turned the motley refugee group that the White Cabal used to be into a force to be reckoned with. Human spellcasters tend to age more slowly the stronger they are, but Hopkins is completely human. His time is coming. At the very least, his legacy is secured in the person of William Hope, a brilliant tactician. The young lad has really come into his own. He is also married with three children to a fellow archmage, Mina Kincaid, so I suppose that I should stop thinking of him as a young lad. Hopkins¡¯ interruption would have gone more poorly if ¡®voting for an immediate end to our alliance for the sake of mankind yadda yadda¡¯ had not been Cornelius Pruitt¡¯s default answer to my presence for the past twenty years. He fails to understand that proposing something a hundred times and being rebuffed on every occasion makes him look weak. Werewolves do not have a monopoly over pack mentality. ¡°You are all fools!¡± ¡°Yes, yes, I have heard it all before. Now, Ariane, Cornelius raises a good point. The decision to come out in the open should not rely on vampires only.¡± He knows exactly what I will answer. This is simply one diplomat passing the baton to the other. ¡°You misunderstand, that decision was taken out of our hands the moment the drones appeared in a nation with a relatively high population, reporters, and printing presses. Our own council had to face the same decision as you do now, and we have reached the conclusion that the existence of real magic, not as a superstition, but as a scientifically demonstrable fact, will necessarily reach the public within the next three months. Pandora¡¯s Box has been opened, ladies and gentlemen. We can no more contain it than we can stop the tide. Our only hope to avoid persecution now lies in presenting a united, positive front to the general public.¡± ¡°And I suppose that vampires will handle that?¡¯ Cornelius sneers. ¡°As a matter of fact, I have come to offer the White Cabal the opportunity to take your rightful place at the forefront of this revolution. We vampires have means, but we prefer to remain in the background for obvious reasons. As the people closest to mundane humans, it is my belief that mages will present the most positive image to the people.¡± ¡°And take the brunt of the attack should the mundane turn on us!¡± Cornelius erupts. ¡°This would happen no matter what,¡± I calmly reply. ¡°Tsk!¡± ¡°What did you have in mind?¡± Frost asks in a slightly broken voice. ¡°We have access to many newspapers, and we can use them to present us ¡®mystical Americans¡¯ as fighters on the forefront of this new war. What would help the most would be a fresh face, someone charismatic who would represent us in the population¡¯s mind. Someone whose honor and righteousness cannot be denied.¡± ¡°And I assume that you had someone in mind?¡± ¡°Yes. I believe that archmage Reginald Lewis would be the ideal candidate.¡± Befuddled mutters soon fill the amphitheater. I take a risk by naming a candidate myself, since he will be looked upon with distrust by my most fervent opponents. I decide that the risk is worth it, first because Reginald is the perfect figurehead and anyone else would come short, and second because he is definitely on the edge about working with me. Perhaps I should not have eaten all those enemy casters in front of him during our little outings together. Ah well. In any case, the die is cast. ¡°Is there any specific reason why you would choose young Lewis?¡± an old lady with a monocle asks me with some suspicion. She is speaking out of bond, but a quick look at the President tells me that he will let it go. ¡°He is handsome and a straight arrow,¡± I reply. Silence spreads across the room. ¡°That¡¯s it? That¡¯s the reason? No lies, Ariane of the Nirari, we know that you vampires have layers upon layers of schemes,¡± she says. ¡°I hardly need layers of schemes when handling the . Have you talked with the average person in the street recently? A good-looking square-jawed muscular male anglo straight-shooter has the best chance of garnering a positive reaction. That is all we need. But we need a lot of it.¡± The assembled mages glare at me with distrust. I know that I got them. Old mages are naturally arrogant and look down upon the normal population. In this regard, we have much in common. A common ground has been found. ¡°When you put it like that¡­¡± And now we are having a conversation instead of a carefully managed political negotiation. I sense the change in the mood and pounce on it. Sinead always mentioned that part of Charm is perception rather than influence. The ability to seize the right moment. ¡°Look, we will need the mages to represent us and you need our access to money and the press. I was the one who sold the idea of cooperation to the Speaker and his lieutenants. The diffusion of magic will lead to a lot of misery for our peoples, even if we manage it properly. This is our one and only chance to seize the initiative and present a united front to shield ourselves against the normal humans¡¯ wrath. We will strive together or we will suffer alone. I am not asking you to sacrifice anything, I am offering you the opportunity to be one of those who steer the ship. We both stand to win more and lose less by working side by side.¡± It takes a moment for everyone to mull over my words. Archmages, especially the old and crusty ones, regard everything with distrust. I do not expect them to agree on the spot. ¡°We would have conditions,¡± the old woman says. ¡°Then list them,¡± I offer. ¡°You are not seriously considering¡ª¡± ¡°Oh shove it Cornelius, the moment you start contributing, instead of whining, I will listen to you. We need to discuss this alone, Ariane of the Nirari. Please leave us for the time being.¡± I consent, and am led outside. We have acted quickly and decisively. Now we just have to hope that it will be enough. Chapter 135: Out in the open September 18th 1862, three months after the Accord Council¡¯s vote.Madrigal¡¯s expression is more solemn than usual. I cannot help but draw a parallel between him and Luther, the Erenwald ambassador I had met during my short stay in the Parisian catacombs. While Luther was haughty and distant, Madrigal adopted a more debonnaire persona. Different styles, I suppose. The Mask envoy still wears his usual long black jacket over white shirt. His dark hair falls around his hawkish face to his jaw. We stand in one of the manor¡¯s upper rooms, repurposed from personal quarters to an official reception room to accommodate our increasing administrative needs. Constantine sits on a throne-like chair while a handful of Wardens form a small assembly around a long table. A gesture from the Speaker, and we all sit down at the same time. our guest answers with a mellifluous voice, We consider his words in silence. Madrigal used the turn of phrase ¡®give my word¡¯, which qualifies as an oath. He has engaged his own essence. Unless a Mask leader duped him, which I consider unlikely, he is reporting the truth. More importantly, he has made a candid show of things. Simply put, if Mask had been directly involved, he would have played a blame game, deflected, and resorted to the many other tools in the arsenal of the consummate diplomat. There is also the matter that only a madman would have done such a thing. Madrigal must have perceived the mood, because he resumes his argument. By that he means that she is too busy worming her way into the dizzying mess that is current Mexican politics. Constantine answers a bit testily. If Madrigal is offended by Constantine¡¯s words, he does not show it. As we all expected, he has shown the carrot and now takes out the stick. I am not surprised that Madrigal would have gleaned enough information to come to that conclusion. We have made no secret of it within our community. Or to translate it in common terms, ¡®Who the fuck do you think you are? How do you scaredy little upstarts dare take decisions on your own?¡¯ or something of the sort. The subtlety has not escaped Constantine. We all know that Madrigal¡¯s role is also to smooth relations between vampires whose egos could not fit in the Versailles on a good day. The Speaker leans forward on his chair and glares at Madrigal. Or, in less polite terms, they are a bunch of old farts who have no idea what they are talking about. Thinly veiled insults and to-the-point arguments. This is diplomacy, just the way I like it. Madrigal begins, but the Speaker is not done. The ambassador falls silent, his pleasant facade still in place. Constantine concedes, A little later, I sit across Constantine¡¯s desk in his office, now turned into a retreat of sorts. He had to delegate a great number of tasks out of necessity. Now, only the most vital of memos find their way to the sanctum while the rest awaits his perusal in the intelligence center. We are building a whole new antenna to the complex down in the valley below where fields used to be. There are even talks of purchasing more land. I funded a lot of those projects. My military investments are bearing so much fruit that I do not know where to push all of that money. Following Melusine and Isaac¡¯s advice, I have started to save for after the war, when I will need to diversify, and the destruction brought about by the conflict will require a period of reconstruction. Constantine brings my attention back to the present by tapping lightly on the polished wood. I spit. Constantine answers tiredly. I grumble about timid generals in a war where indecision leads to six thousand dead in a single day. I reply. Constantine¡¯s expression is intense now. He usually remains aloof, but it has not been the case recently. I add with a smirk. Be in his shoes, I mean. September 25th, 1862, Washington. ¡°For two years, our great nation has been engaged in a civil war of unprecedented ferocity, a struggle to determine if the vision that all men are created equal, that all men deserve a fair chance at happiness holds true, or if the purity of this truth must be stained by terms and conditions. And yet, in this dark hour, God has seen fit to test our mettle with a greater challenge yet. Indeed, what you heard is true. We are beset by strange creatures the likes of which we had never seen before.¡± The crowd before the District of Columbia City Hall sways and rumbles like an angry sea. The human horde covers every step, every inch of free space in front of the classical building. Only a thin line of guards separate them from the Doric columns of beige stone and, possibly, an avenue of retreat for the speaker. The faces are grim. Some people pray while others mutter angrily. But the orator is not done. ¡°When the conflict flared, the people of the Union rose to the challenge. Brave men flocked to the banners to defend the nation against those who sought to destroy it. So it was then, and so it is now. Ladies and gentlemen, my fellow Americans, it is my pleasure to introduce Reginald Chester Lewis.¡± I watch from a rooftop, away from the populace. My dark armor adds an additional safety against being found out, not that it is much needed. Humans are apex predators in their own way. They never look up. Reggie steps forward confidently. He wears a full suit tailored to remind the attendants of an officer uniform, up to the deep blue color. The gas lights catch his handsome profile and the virile beauty that many painters would love to draw on Apollo or Theseus. This is it. This is history happening right now. I am a witness to the undoing of a century and a half of , of enlightenment, of rationality. Magic has run out of places to hide. The spheres have aligned. And now, we are stepping onto unknown grounds. ¡°Be not afraid, people of America. Be not afraid, for where you see a new darkness, so shall you see a new light. For centuries, my family and others have struggled in the shadows to fight the horrors of this world. For centuries, we have shed blood, for centuries, we have fought with faith and steel and unyielding will, and for centuries, we have kept you safe. And we will keep doing so until our Lord returns to install the Kingdom of Heaven. This, I swear to you.¡± You could hear a pin drop. ¡°For what you face is not an unstoppable force, but creatures of flesh and blood that prey upon the weak and the isolated. Scavengers that we will bring to light and smite to ashes. In this time of division, in this time of strife, we have been summoned by the government of this Great Nation to bring our war to the light, and with God willing, we will finish it. ¡°I henceforth declare the creation of the Department of Supernatural Affairs, an entity dedicated to the handling of any creatures of phenomena that science alone cannot explain. Those of us who secretly worked to protect the land until now will be able to do so in the open, with the power and might of our institutions and industries at our back, and, I pray, your support as well. The task before us is a daunting one, but we as a nation have proven time and time again our ability to stand up to any threats, both internal and external, and to push them back from whence they came. Today is no different. We, the people, will pick up our swords once more and return to this land the peace it craves, no matter the cost, for the ideals of freedom and safety that we have built our nation on stems from the natural inclination of the hearts of good people. It cannot be quelled by terror or by complacency or by the forces of darkness. From many, we are now one. It has always been my dearest wish, and I will fight to the death for our future, on my honor. ¡°And now, I would ask you, my fellow citizen, and regardless of your creed, to join me in prayer.¡± Drums roll and trumpets ring clear in the evening light, coming from behind the small platform where officials stand. Voices rise from the crowd, few at first, then more and more as the song picks up and the timid song turns into the tempestuous, unstoppable hymn it was created to be. ¡°Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored; He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword: His truth is marching on.¡± I set it up. I made it happen, and now I find myself buffeted by the powerful winds of divine censure. My essence frays under the roaring faith now spreading throughout the crowd. This deep belief that they belong here when others do not, and that at the end of days, only they will remain. I crawl back with a hiss under the torrent and cling to the core of who I am, one who has endured much and still lives. For one moment, I am terrified by the warning I feel in that tide. The humans outnumber us by hundreds of thousands to one. We are few, so very few. A dedicated search would end us in a matter of days. And yet¡­ As I retreat into the darkness, the voices become dimmer and the shadows spread. And I am at peace. All those humans praying with Reginald Lewis are here because I willed it. This unity they showed will only last until the danger is passed. And then, greed and ambition will return, as they always do. Through the cracks in the pavements and from the top of spires of metal and glass, we will watch and direct, because we are from them yet not them and THE NIGHT IS OURS. Up on the dais, Reginald answers questions from the press. I move back, then away. There is still much to do. October 10th 1862, Virginian Wilderness. It occurs to me that there is a certain hypocrisy in presenting the Scourge Hive as the most dangerous threat to mankind while simultaneously killing some of those who oppose it. But I am a vampire. Calculated, bloody measures are sort of our thing. And so I line the rifle and shoot the head off that Confederate politician. He falls dramatically. The officer by his side mechanically wipes the blood off his shoulders and contemplates a piece of brain stuck to his white glove for an amusing half a second, then the entire bivouac explodes in motion. ¡°To arms!¡± Men jump from around campfires, grasping for sabers and pistols, widened eyes searching the forest¡¯s edge. When no more gunshots ring the officer whistles and rushes for his horse. I see his greying mutton chops quivering with shame and anger. The small cavalry squadron gathers around him. ¡°You may engage,¡± I tell John. My faithful minion directs his new Nightmare, Gorm, with barely a move. The proud beast snorts and stomps out of the darkness, one step at a time. I believe that, besides Jarek¡¯s mount, Gorm has to be the largest and most monstrous Nightmare I have ever seen. The different temperament truly matches John¡¯s own, and I have come to believe that we are not so much assigned Nightmares and they are assigned vampires. While Metis is a mix of the playful and aggressive, Gorm is half silent presence, and half unstoppable force. And this is what he demonstrates now. Gorm is the only Nightmare I know of that not just tolerates, but enjoys being covered in armor. Only his crimson eyes and a hint of black hair can be seen under the enchanted steel barding. The men pale at the sight of the duo, a black knight from some grim fairy tale, the kind that ends with sliced toes. John wears full plate with helm, a shield, and a cavalry lance. ¡°Shit. It¡¯s one of them,¡± a sergeant whispers. I love this moment when mundane mortals realize that they have stepped out of their domain and into our own. To their credit, they close ranks around their leader. ¡°Gentlemen, blades drawn! Charge! For Virginia!¡± They roar, a defiant sound that reverberates across the clearing. The sound trembles under their hooves. John salutes and rides to meet them. His voice is almost devoid of emotion. Just as when he was human, his reality remains simple. I ordered it, and so it must be done. The two forces race to each other, one yelling, the other silent, an excellent metaphor of our situation. If things were fair, there would be hundreds of soldiers to face him. They would shoot relentlessly to take him down. They would sacrifice their own to chip at the Courtier¡¯s armor, then at his prodigious endurance. Little by little, they would harry him until, eventually, the lion would fall to the pack of hounds. They would win through numbers and this peculiar altruistic behavior that allows humans to die fighting in the name of a cause. If things were fair. But we do not do fair. S~?a??h the N0??F?re.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. The two sides collide. The shock is tremendous, and men and mounts collapse in great heaps of struggling limbs. John is through no worse for it. Two bodies dangle from his spear. He turns Gorm around and, slowly, almost respectfully, allows the dead to slide to the ground. ¡°Let¡¯s go greet them,¡± I tell Urchin. He nods in his light leather and mail and we ride out to meet our victims. I wear my armor sans facemask. Urchin rides his own new Nightmare, Shale, a lithe and agile creature. I designed Urchin¡¯s armor to be form-fitting and host the many knives and daggers he uses in combat. A cowl masks his angular traits, but there is no mistaking our identity. The officer survived the impact, and he and the others are helping their comrades extricate themselves from the heap. A few horses and men have broken legs. The men may recover. They gather in a small circle, weapons drawn and aiming outward. Normally, I would have to use Charm or a few tricks to make them feel fear. Not those men. They know of what we are. I do not believe that I will ever get used to it. The officer takes a step forward and lifts his chin. I think that it takes a certain amount of bravado to serve in the cavalry, for I have never seen a meek officer. A bit of foolishness as well. ¡°No games, foul monster. Face us in battle, and you will not find us wanting!¡± he exclaims, addressing, of course, Urchin. I mean, I have the prettiest armor by far. But can they envision warriors led by a woman? Nooooo. And Urchin as a military leader? Come on. The light must be too poor despite the lanterns and fire. ¡°I fear that you are mistaken, sir,¡± Urchin politely allows. ¡°You are dealing with me,¡± I say, and move Metis a few steps forward. ¡°We will not surrender our souls, demon. You will have to take us to the last,¡± he says, but I can feel the hesitation hidden behind the veil of temerity. It does not take Sinead to know what scares him. Like a lot of people at the front, he genuinely cares about the lives of the people around him. To die is one thing, a pointless last stand is another. ¡°You could do that¡­ or you could take your men and carry a message back to your superiors.¡± Surprise. Hope. Distrust. ¡°We were warned about your kind.¡± ¡°And what kind would that be?¡± The man hesitates. ¡°Vampires.¡± ¡°Indeed. Let me guess,¡± I add in a mocking voice, ¡°we steal souls for lunch and bathe in the blood of puppies and whatnot? What else?¡± The men exchange glances, brains frozen by the surreal situation, perhaps. ¡°Hmmm. You summon new members in massive orgies?¡± ¡°We do?!¡± I exclaim, ¡°Urchin, how come I was never invited to such fascinating events?¡± ¡°I do not know, mistress. Perhaps you should kidnap more babies?¡± ¡°Indeed. As for you, officer, the situation is a tiny bit more complex than what you were led to believe. We will not hold it against you. You may leave and carry the message I mentioned.¡± ¡°What about the dead?¡± ¡°What about them?¡± I ask, frowning. ¡°May we take them with us?¡± ¡°Yes, yes,¡± I wave dismissively, ¡°I told you that we have no interest in souls. You can pack up and leave. We have more business to attend to.¡± The men step down. It looks like many of them would die fighting if the order was given, but the possibility of a retreat still calls to the deeper part of their survival instincts. ¡°And that message?¡± the officer asks. ¡°The message is simple. We know what you know. We see what you do. Work with our foes and be considered one of them. We will be in touch.¡± ¡°Is¡­ that all?¡± ¡°I believe in clarity. You may leave now.¡± Urchin and John lead their mounts by my side. Our little victims scurry back to their encampment to pack it up. Two maimed horses are shot out of mercy. The bodies of the fallen are recovered while the wounded are placed on stretchers. It takes fifteen minutes for them to disappear. Only the campfires remain. Now, we wait for our visitors. A group of men on foot cross the woods, somewhere west of our position. They move through the undergrowth with the light steps of accomplished forresters. An old man, completely bald with a long, flowing white beard, is the first to appear. He and the few men behind him wear a leather uniform in brown hues, with a visible crucifix and a plethora of weapons hanging here and there in so many holsters. Some of those look positively ancient. He raises a fist and the men by his side kneel. ¡°It¡¯s useless, Gabrielite. I can hear your heartbeat from here,¡± I lazily say. The man stands up. I taste the delicate touch of terror and grief, the harbingers of the Hunt. By my side, John rolls his massive shoulders and the plates click and shift to accommodate the gesture. ¡°Double file. Check your weapons,¡± the man orders in a low voice. Two dozen Gabrielites form a battle line with commendable speed. Hands find ancient pistols and rusty revolvers awkwardly inscribed with crosses. There was a time when I would not have attacked them for all the gold in the Rosenthal coffers. This time has long past. The force arrayed against me are relics of a bygone era. Sixty years ago, hundreds of soldiers of god had assailed the vampire fortress where I changed. Now, only fragments of squads remain. We are responsible. We went after the money. In Europe, vampire hunters depend on ancient orders and the Vatican. My European kin cannot face those odds. Here, the religious communities are fragmented and split by a profusion of creeds and the occasional schism. We have uprooted every major source of funding, destroyed every training center we could get our hands on. We struck their ability to recruit and rearm, and it has worked. Those arrayed against us now are old men and a few of their grown-up children. They wear ratty armors and wield obsolete or poorly made weapons. I see a lot of grey hair. Scars adorn their faces. There is even a man missing an entire arm, though he still wields a blunderbuss as if it did not matter. As for me, I have two warriors with me and I am well equipped with spells and guns. The power of faith does not block bullets. Neither do their armors. There will be no battles here. The old man speaks loudly in the line with a roaring voice that only breaks on occasion. ¡°Gentlemen. It has been an honor. It might be that we face our ¡ª¡± I use a spell to make my voice louder. ¡°Why do you Gabrielites have to be so dramatic?¡± ¡°Face, errr, our death, but ¡ª¡± ¡°I have seen less pretentious Thespians after the premiere of Lucia Di Lammermoor.¡± ¡°But we will face it as soldiers of Ggod¡ª¡± ¡°By the way, a thespian is an actor or actress, in case you were wondering.¡± ¡°Who go to our end without fear and without¡ª¡± ¡°Lucia Di Lammermoor is an opera by Donizetti.¡± ¡°Will you shut up, woman? I¡¯m trying to speak here!¡± The man finally bellows, out of patience. Urchin snickers. ¡°You could make your stupid last stand, or you could enter into a truce to hunt the Scourge Hive. A more urgent priority, don¡¯t you think?¡± The man stops. A few of the soldiers mutter about not listening to me. ¡°You were going to enter an agreement with the Confederate government, seeing that our side was already working with the Union. We cannot allow this to happen. But if you wish to die heroically against drones, we can send you in the right direction. I can even provide you with the rations to go there.¡± ¡°You mean, the ghouls?¡± someone asks. ¡°We call them drones, but if you are referring to horrid pale creatures that reproduce from human corpses then we are talking about the same foe.¡± ¡°What do you devils care about that anyway?¡± Aanother bellows. ¡°They taste bad,¡± I reply. No need to sound reasonable with those folks. They would not believe me. I hear dissent in the ranks now. Gabrielites do not discuss with vampires, and vampires do not discuss with Gabrielites. Except for fringe elements, the two sides usually kill each other on contact. ¡°We have no reason to believe you. We will not work with monsters, ever.¡± ¡°Not even for those you left behind?¡± Half of the Gabrielites freeze where they are. Those who left their relatives behind, I suppose. ¡°I know that you brought everyone together for that last attempt at relevance, including your families. They are currently going away, but they are quite slow and the night is still young.¡± ¡°Dammit, I should have known that it was a shit idea to meet at night. We should never have agreed to this!¡± a man with a long dark beard laments. ¡°A bit late for regrets,¡± I reply, ¡°but my offer still stands. A truce, while the drones threaten mankind. After that, we can go back to ruling from the shadows and you can return to fucking each other¡¯s cousins in a desperate attempt to increase your numbers. How about it?¡± Angry mutters fuse between the men. A few of the older ones spread hatred and bile, while others, especially the youths, cast glances back and wonder what their lives could be if they lasted the night. ¡°What truce? We cannot trust demons!¡± ¡°No compromise, George, you swore the oath like we did.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t want to die for nuthin¡¯¡± And so on. Eventually, the leader raises his voice again. ¡°Are you serious?¡± ¡°I never joke about deals, Geooorge,¡± I answer amicably, ¡°the life of your men and family, locations of hordes sent by telegram to your contact Luther Mason in Richmond, in exchange for a truce until the danger is passed. I am even willing to share food and ammunition. No guns though. You louts do not deserve to wield my beauties.¡± ¡°Situation must be worse than we thought,¡± the black-bearded man mumbles. ¡°No, George. Do not do this,¡± another begs. I simply wait. ¡°Go then, coward. Go, oathbreaker. See how real men live and die,¡± another old man utters through gritted teeth. It was the signal that they were waiting for. The group splits. Half of the men, the old guard, walks forward. The other stays back. A young man tries to join the fighter but one of his relatives socks him, pushing him to his knees. The men walk in the clearing to face us. No matter how much Charm I am willing to use, or how many blackmail levers I have, there will always be men like these. They cannot be threatened. They cannot be bought. They cannot be persuaded or negotiated with. They are the unyielding rock upon which entire factions build themselves. The important thing, when dealing with them, is to recognize them for what they are. And kill them. ¡°Do your wor¡ª¡± We I use spells and guns. Urchin displays the strange dance that we have been working on, all deception and knives thrown from unexpected angles. All the blades that find their marks soon reappear back into the hands of their owner. As for John, he throws his spear through the leader. There was no fight. Thirteen men are dead. I do not drink from them. This was a more¡­ elegant sort of Hunt. ¡°And a goodnight to you, gentlemen,¡± I finish. We climb back on the saddles we had left to attack, turn around, and leave in a cloud of darkness. Chapter 136: Against the tide Boston, October 12th, 1862.I lean back into my chair and sigh with relief. Paperwork. The bane of civilization. Although I have delegated most of the tasks related to the day-to-day handling of my manufacturing empire to competent subordinates, and while Loth¡¯s kin, the werewolves, and pretty much everyone else manage themselves, there are still decisions to be made. Conflicts to be settled. I simply cannot distance myself too much. Normally, it would be dangerous to leave my humans unattended for too long. Some would forget the price of duplicity. The wars, both overt and secret, have kept them on the straight and narrow, for now. I expect that it will last for a bit longer, just as I expect some culling after all of this is done. And so, I keep in touch with my various managers via spell, telegraph, or surprise visits in the dead of night when they think they are safe. It depends on what is best for the cause. And also a little bit on my mood. There is but one telegram left, labelled ¡®for your amusement¡¯ in Sophie¡¯s elegant style. Constantine¡¯s assistant has been taking on more and more duties as time goes on. I open it and learn that the Confederate slave owners with more than twenty slaves exempted themselves from conscription, by vote. Just yesterday. ¡°Why not just allow them to pay someone to go in their stead?¡± I ask myself. Someone knocks on the door. Without waiting for a reply, Melusine barges in with great haste. She throws me a condescending glance. ¡°Talking to yourself in your old age?¡± ¡°And a good late evening to you too, my faithful minion. Now who are you running from?¡± I ask, picking up agitation in her aura. ¡°Martha,¡± the redhead soberly replies. She smoothes the sides of her skirt in a very human gesture of nervosity. Her eyes take the vacant stare we sometimes have when focusing on other senses. I ask. But then I hear it. Soft feet paddling over lush carpets outside in the corridor. One person. They stop by my door, just as I stand in front of it. I take a step back. ¡°This is the room, mistress. Should I announce your presence?¡± one of the maids says. I recognize her voice, she is a recent hire. ¡°There is no need, dearie. You have been a great help. Off you go then. And take good care of yourself,¡± a more mature and confident voice replies. ¡°Thank you, mistress. Bye!¡± The footsteps pad away until silence returns. Only then do three heavy knocks sound on my door. my companion roars, head buried into one of my pillows. I did not see her move. ¡°Urrrrrrg.¡± I wait a while as Melusine huffs and grumbles into my pillow, which will now be tainted with Lancaster saliva. Finally, she bumps back and stands back up. She takes a moment to make sure that her green dress is well-adjusted and nods at me. Which means that I have been demoted to doorwoman. Fine. I lower the handle and Martha rushes in, trying to PUSH ME ASIDE. MY TERRITORY. MINE. ¡°HSSSSSS!¡± A step back. Raised hands. Silence. I warn, I warn. Then I let her in. Martha rolls her eyes dramatically. She can roll however she wants as long as she does not overreach. Melusine is up by the time the haughty lady makes her way to the tea table. Both Lancasters are short, beautiful, and quite shapely. They even share the same heart-shaped hairline, though Martha¡¯s locks are black. It occurs to me that when Martha speaks of descendents, she is being literal. my friend asks. Melusine gives me a very small, very arrogant look and I bare my teeth. Those two idiots are wrong. Metis is the best pony. Theirs could never charge into a battleline as the Watcher intended, so they are necessarily inferior. the Lancaster lady finishes with a predatory smile. It does not matter that the local humans were loyal to us and not her. They are accustomed to serving vampires. It was child¡¯s play for Martha to turn it into her advantage. she adds, casting a glance my way. I note. I retort with a fake smile, Melusine adds, From our tones, a passing mortal could think that we were discussing the weather. A passing vampire would direct us to the nearest duelling grounds. We are not being subtle. Melusine growls, all pretense at diplomacy now abandoned. I add helpfully. Monstrous pressure erupts from the old twit as anger gets the better of her. She is not wearing a gauntlet, but someone of her power can cast without one. Our auras flare. Far below, something answers. Something powerful. Martha closes her eyes and leans back into her seat. Her brows rise a bit in an expression of surprise. A second later, she returns to her normal, composed self, as if nothing had happened. She considers the question for a moment. Melusine states without hesitation, Martha notes, I watch the two go at it. It feels curious seeing people who so closely resemble each other being so at odds. As if I were watching two sisters argue over men, or something. Martha finally allows. I have the impression that she is not used to having to negotiate with her inferiors. Which we still are. Melusine answers guardedly. Both of us stare at that, though the two Lancaster¡¯s attentions are now focused on each other. S?a??h the ??v?l_Fir?.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. Melusine does not look surprised. Both Lancasters raise their right hands at the same time, palms up. Twin flames flare up. Melusine finally remembers my existence and gives me a nod before departing. I go to grab a bag of fresh coffee and turn to see Martha gauging me. Ah. Finally. It only took escaping Bertrand three times and cutting my way through two Mask squads back in Paris to finally be recognized. Or perhaps she is referring to my commercial success? I straighten a bit under the praise. Fredericksburg, November 25th 1862, from the perspective of George Cavill of the White Cabal It was dark and cold. Winter was in full swing. The weather was overcast and the clouds low, their presence weighing on the man¡¯s shoulders though he could not see them in the black skies above. The frigid wind carried in the air the rank smell of the river, and behind it that of spent powder. And behind that, in turn, that of blood and spoiled flesh. George was a soldier of the White Cabal. It was his second mission. His best friend had died during the first. George¡¯s little sister had shown some strange ability when she was young. She could close wounds. When George was thirteen, he escaped the very religious village they lived in with her and traveled the land in search for a place to settle. It had been George¡¯s most difficult time of his life, even considering the recent events. At least dying in battle was fast. It was not the long agony of starvation. But some people had found them and made them move to a city called Avalon. They had found a home, and now it was time to defend it. George was rather small and stocky, with a slightly too large face that made him look more like a fat teen aping a soldier than a real one, but he could shoot with the best of them. He was also cool under pressure. ¡°I will need people with nerves of steel, my lad,¡± Archmage Cedric Birmingham had told him, ¡°as brave as they come to do what must be done.¡± So George had said yes. And he would do it again. Their small column made their way through the muddy path at the back of the Union lines. The army, under a general with epic facial hair called Burnside, had managed to cross the Rappahannock near the city before it could be fortified. Now, the combat had degenerated into a siege as the more experienced Lee had drawn him into a protracted battle. Things were taking a turn for the worse for the besiegers as the defenders were now dug in, but it would not matter to them tonight. What mattered was the dead. There were plenty of those across the fields and outskirts of the city, fat grapes of them rotting in ditches and fallow fields. Grey and blue. And red. And the white of the exsanguinated. Yes, it was rather chilly tonight. George ran his hand along the barrel of his repeater and took solace in the familiar gesture. Their group consisted of twenty mundane infantrymen in borrowed Union uniforms, two strong lads in chainmail under their heavy cloaks, and archmage Cedric, quite fetching with his majestic dark beard and his confident step. God, George hoped tonight would go better than last time. They had pretty much been overrun by the drones. He would never forget the look on his Jeb¡¯s face as he was disemboweled, and the dying plea to make sure his body would be burnt immediately. ¡°Think we¡¯ll see her?¡± his neighbor whispered excitedly. ¡°We¡¯ll definitely see her. She¡¯s heading the expedition,¡± he muttered back, focusing on his surroundings. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen a vampire before.¡± ¡°Yeah, well, remember that they can hear everything. So don¡¯t say nothing you wouldn¡¯t want her to hear.¡± ¡°Is it true that they drink blood?¡± George turned to the man. His name was Peter, and he was a dumbass. ¡°Maybe you should ask her in person. See where that gets ya.¡± He left Peter to ponder the question. Everyone said that she stuck to her agreements. At least, there was that. They followed a curve in the road snaking its way between bramble thickets and the odd field. A large rock hid the city from sight, and they could now see a lantern lighting the side of a decrepit barn. The mangy door was open, and a few men were standing in animated discussion by the side. ¡°This is all quite irregular,¡± a wiry man in a clean lieutenant uniform protested. ¡°You saw the written order,¡± another calmly replied. That one was a tall man with brown hair greying at the temples, and a waxed moustache under a peculiar hat. He had an accent that George could not quite place. ¡°Well, I will be verifying their legitimacy, mark my words!¡± ¡°You do that.¡± The officer huffed and turned around. The hatted man then nodded at the archmage and banged on the side of the barn. ¡°George, Eli, come with me please. The rest, keep a lookout.¡± George and another infantryman detached themselves from the column as it split. They moved into the building, which proved to be just as cold as outside, and found a soldier sitting in front of a curious crate containing equipment that he did not recognize. A woman was next to him. He could see an elegant dark travel dress and blonde hair held in a conservative tail. She was facing away from him. He made a conscious effort to avert his eyes and keep a lookout for anything unusual. The far end of the barn contained one large crate sitting on some sort of trailer. There was also a table by George¡¯s side, upon which he saw a few papers lit by yet another lantern. One of them had ¡®confidential orders¡¯ printed on it. It was half-open. Inside, words flowed in an elegant, refined calligraphy. It read like this: ¡®Stop annoying me, I can do whatever I want.¡¯ And below: ''You twits.¡¯ The vampire leaned a bit more and poked the construct with a taloned finger. It was easier to notice what was different if you expected it. What he could see of her face was quite pale and possessed the glacial beauty and alabaster immobility of a statue, like those he had admired in the Avalon Council Hall. Her nails were quite sharp and dark as the night. A human woman would have turned around to see who was coming. This one had no need. The operator of whatever machine that was looked up at her and blinked. ¡°Do you need to see the order again?¡± she asked softly. The man frowned and shook his head, before returning to his task, eyes vacant. He was, George realized from the rhythmic clicking, telegraphing something. George did his best to stay alert, and saw Eli by his side do the same. The two of them were the smartest of the bunch. Not like that moron Peter who would have spent his time ogling. He thought that vampires did not like it, but who knew? There were so few of the buggers. And that was for the best. Sorcery was one thing. It could not come from the devil because his sister had it and used it to heal people. Those aristocrats of the night were another thing altogether. They said that a single one of them could slaughter a whole company. They said that cities under their grasp could not be visited at night without their leave. They said that striking deals with them could propel someone to the top of their world, but that they extracted a heavy price. They said many things, but it had remained a faraway thing to George who had never been present on the rare occasions when that one visited. Now, he could see her with his own eyes, so close. The red maiden. His heart beat powerfully under his ribs and sweat pearled under his khepi despite the chilly air. ¡°How are things?¡± Cedric asked, debonnaire. ¡°When corporal Miller here is done sending my message, we will proceed. The cage is at the back. You will need two people to drag it,¡± she answered without moving. Her voice was smooth and cultured with a rather neutral accent. It was the sort of voice you would expect to hear in a salon, speaking little nothings in the ears of blushing suitors. ¡°A cage?¡± said corporal asked from his prone position. ¡°Do your job,¡± the vampire retorted. George and Eli left the chastised soldier to his task. They pulled the trailer out with no difficulty. A moment later, the vampire strode out with Birmingham by their side. They continued down the path now with the crate and up to a massive carriage sitting by the side of the road. The vampire climbed in without a word. What came out was how the evil queen in Cinderella would look like if she led evil armies as a side gig. Usually, the White Cabal tried to keep a low profile even when they were on a mission. What the vampire woman wore did not follow the same logic. It made a statement. The outfit was dark scaled armor with a heavy breastplate and covered in weapons. The armor itself had seen much use, obvious from the parts of it where repairs had discolored it. It was happening again. George had felt it when the ¡®Scourge Hive drones¡¯, as they were called, had attacked. It was a peculiar feel of falling backward as if swallowed by the earth while still standing. George had raised his repeater rifle and shot bullet after bullet into the creature¡¯s wire-thin frame, a primal part of him taking over from the depths of his psyche. All the while, his conscious mind had remained paralyzed by the horror and realization that things walked the earth that God had not placed there. He was looking at one now, he realized. The only difference was that this one struck deals and honored oaths. She also looked exactly like a person, if you didn¡¯t know. He did not know if it wasn¡¯t worse. The vampire casually stepped down and clapped her hands together. Once. A woman in a thick travelling cloak popped out from behind a ridge, smirking at archmage Cedric who just rolled his eyes. The newcomer was short, but when she jumped down, he could see that she was quite muscular. The shorter woman¡¯s posture had a strange quality to it. Almost feral. She went to the side of the man with the strange hat. They moved out once more towards the city, George still pulling the cage with Eli. They left the road behind and crossed through water-soaked fields towards the city proper. They came across a picket line of Union sentries but the vampire did her thing and soldiers were sent back with various expressions ranging from curiosity to annoyance. None protested their passage. When they came in view of buildings and ditches, things changed. ¡°Alright. Blind the lanterns, lads. We don¡¯t want to be catching bullets.¡± He wondered how they would see until he heard it. ¡°Nu Sarrehin.¡± The vampire¡¯s voice was both soft and incredibly deep. The words possessed a weight that anchored their existence deep in George¡¯s mind, present and yet somehow incomprehensible. They fell over his shoulders like a heavy mantle. Darkness was pushed back. No, it would be more accurate to say that light was stolen. The column was now caught into a bubble of purple light shining selfishly from the vampire¡¯s palm. A few feet to George¡¯s left. the timid sphere of visibility cut abruptly, and beyond it there was nothing. The muscular woman let out a throaty laugh. ¡°Up to me then?¡± she asked in a raspy voice. ¡°If you please,¡± the vampire answered politely. The muscular woman snarled and George finally realized what she was. One more monster to add to the pile. Despite her aggression, she sniffed the air and shook her head. ¡°We are probably too close to the troops. We will follow along the lines of fortifications and stop every three hundred paces. Follow.¡± They did. George huffed and drew the crate behind himself with the occasional help of other soldiers when the terrain grew too unforgiving. There was a peculiar charm to walk in the wake of creatures of legends on a hunt for something truly evil, a sort of spice that made the world more interesting. In his feverish mind, the attraction of being witness to such an event warred against his instinctual fear of the unknown. It was winning too. Truth had an addictive quality to it. Once tasted, it could not be abandoned. Not for him. Peter by his side was showing another reaction. He was softly praying and denying the world. Bloodshot eyes dug into the back of the fighter in front of him. Perhaps, for some, it was too much. They stopped again. And again. In the shallow, purplish bubble, time lost its meaning and distances extended no further than a few steps forward. It was on the fifth ¡ª or perhaps it was the sixth stop ¡ª that a change finally occurred. ¡°I smell them. To the west. Close,¡± the werewolf woman said. ¡°Good. You may return, June,¡± the vampire said. ¡°I can fight.¡± ¡°I know, but...¡± The vampire¡¯s voice trailed off and she turned to the rest of the column, her gaze passing over the men. George saw no trace of contempt here. In fact, the complete detachment made the experience that much more surreal. ¡°Prey,¡± the werewolf snarled, ¡°perhaps I should return. I will see you later.¡± The werewolf raced out and disappeared out of the bubble. The vampire looked ahead and slightly to the side. She addressed archmage Cedric. ¡°I see where they must be. We can bypass the pack¡¯s frontline by walking along the wall. I will drop our concealment when we are on top of our target and leave the capture to you. Would that be agreeable?¡± ¡°Indeed. Let me talk with my men first.¡± The vampire nodded. ¡°Alright everyone, gather around. That¡¯s it. Now, I can finally share the details of the operation with you. You may be wondering why the secrecy. Let¡¯s just say that even allied forces might want a piece of what we get tonight. Indeed, we are here to capture a node drone.¡± Silence. ¡°A node drone is one that strongly feels the presence of whatever horrid entity animates them. Under its nefarious influence, the other drones move with more haste and coordination. For that reason it always stays at the back, and for that same reason, it will flee if the battle is lost, to bring knowledge of its foes to the next pack. We are going to capture one.¡± ¡°But¡­ will the others not¡­ object?¡± one of the older fighters remarked. ¡°Yes of course, that is why we have Lady Ariane with us. Now, here is how we will proceed. I will restrain the creature¡¯s movement, then Kant and Philipps bind it with chains,¡± he said, looking at the two strong people dressed in chainmail. ¡°The rest of you must cover us. Four groups, five riflemen per group, one volley per drone. Stay close to each other and make every shot count. If you are overrun, aim for the head and remember that I won¡¯t be able to assist until after the node drone is secured. The capture takes priority. Do you understand?¡± ¡°Yes!¡± ¡°Then go, and may God be with all of us. Ariane, we are ready.¡± ¡°Take each other¡¯s hands or grab the trailer,¡± the vampire said, ¡°do not let go. Nu Sharran.¡± Darkness spread over the group. The absence of light was so total, so absolutely final that George found himself blinking and searching for a hint of shape, anything to prove that he was not suddenly blind. Even the sounds were muffled. The only reliable sense he had left was touch, and he grabbed the trailer like a drowning man to a buoy. And then they started moving. The march through shadow lasted a small eternity. George held to the trailer¡¯s handle under his fingers until he could recognize every nook, every shard, every curve of it. His own labored breath was incredibly loud in his ears. He clung to the sound with all his might because it was proof that he was still alive. They slowed down to a near halt. Every step was the matter of seconds. They stopped. The veil fell. The world reappeared under his eyes as the lantern-bearers simultaneously lit their own. Trees, lights, blessed lights of humanity far into the distance. More worryingly, a horrible head with flattened nose, and a large mouth filled with serrated teeth right in front of him. Eyes of pure ink focused on him as the creature prepared to scream. George grabbed his repeater. There was a flash and the head silently fell from its shoulder. In a maneuver ingrained into him through countless hours of drilling, George fell back to back with his squad. The White Cabal detachment was surrounded on one side by searching drones who grabbed corpses to a pile where a few of them defiled them. They were in a small clearing. ¡°Left one!¡± his corporal bellowed. George let his gun slide, pressing the trigger as the barrel passed over his target. Guns roared all around. The drone his NCO had picked reared back with half its head missing and three holes in its chest. Something alerted George. He looked quickly to the side. Eli was missing. Had he let go? ¡°Next target! Center!¡± The world came sharply into focus. On the right, Cedric had trapped a strange horned drone inside his shields and the two chainmailed men were using chains to bind it. As to why the vampire was not doing it herself, the answer was clear. While the soldiers eliminated stragglers coming to them, the brunt of the fighting happened through the forest by his side. George could only catch glimpses of it, but whatever he saw filled him with awe and terror. The drones were after the vampire. Almost all of them. They pursued her in a thick, organic group that moved with eerie coordination, trying to corner and killed her. It was not working very well. The vampire was always one step ahead. She always pierced through gaps before they could close, and behind, she left mangled corpses. ¡°Next Target! Left!¡± George shot again and a drone collapsed forward, claws raking the ground. The monstrous battle beyond was paradoxically much more silent than their own powder-heavy struggle. ¡°Hey,¡± Peter said, ¡°I think we riled the city up!¡± He turned away from the battle and pointed at lights flaring in the distance. The fallen drone let out a piercing shriek and jumped once. Its left limb tore through the idiot¡¯s torso. George didn¡¯t have a shot. Peter¡¯s gurgling body was in the way. He dove backward and avoided a furious slash. The drone fell immediately afterward. It was already dead. ¡°Shit.¡± More drones smelled the blood in the water. They were coming from God knew where, always more of them. The vale beyond the nearest line of three was a mass of pallid flash sometimes sliced by a black bolt. George aimed and shot at a charging beast. The first blow took half of its jaw out. The second caught it under the left eye. The next drone used the first one¡¯s corpse as a shield. There was pain. An agony so immediate and so shocking that it stole his mind. George fell backward with a gasp. There was no air. He was drowning. He coughed something. An horrible face leaned before him, jaw wide. It blew up. George saw what happened next from a strange angle. He was on the ground. The man with a strange hat was blasting away with an engraved revolver, helping men to their feet. George had one hand free. The other was trapped under the heavy corpse. He tried to pick up his discarded rifle with fingers made sticky by blood. A distant part of George knew that he was dead, but it was muffled under his need to kill the things. They were wrong. ¡°We got it, go go go!¡± Cedric yelled in the distance. The vampire landed by his side a moment later. For the first and last time, their eyes met. Time slowed down. She gave him the tiniest nod. Her armored hand grabbed something from her back and passed it to him. He took it and looked. It was a squarish object, one that it did not take a genius to recognize. The others left. Drones scrambled around him. One stopped and sniffed the air. It saw him. George smiled. He showed the creature his middle finger, brought the object to his mouth, and pulled the pin with his teeth. Chapter 137: Para Bellum Newspapers cover my desk. I skim through them and verify that my directives have been followed.I believe that, in order to control public opinion, one has to select a specific topic and give up on the rest. Reporters and columnists argue in favor and against the continuation of the war, in favor and against the status of black citizens and freemen, in favor and against conscription. They hurl insults and trigger hot debates on a plethora of subjects, their tones fiery and passionate. The fracas of discordant opinions provides a nice, smooth layer to the one message I wish to be conveyed. White Cabal good. That is all. ¡®Local heroes fend off monstrous assault.¡¯ ¡®Spiritualists successfully capture live specimen in daring attack.¡¯ ¡®Minister Lewis to address the Senate.¡¯ Like a chaste woman baring herself on her wedding night, the magical world only reluctantly sheds its shadowy garments. We drown every new revelation in the chaos of war news and scandalized opinions on the price of tobacco, and all of those are further sweetened by the handsome face of Reggie himself. His dazzling smile adorns many pictures, including a few where he stands triumphant over the mangled remains of a drone like a hunter over an elk. He has already become a darling of the media. And despite the honeymoon, the first waves of persecution lap at our feet. Witch trials and public execution are in vogue again both south and north of the border. Even as far as my Illinois, twenty hot-blooded young men rode into the village of Moonside for the express purpose of investigating reports of ¡®unholy activities¡¯. I had to order the murder of two magistrates and three notables before the families of the bereaved got the message that their dead would not be avenged. I even had a small riot on my hands back in Marquette. And this is just the beginning. For now, most people see mages as normal people who have researched the occult and understood it. This has already caused so much hatred, fear, and friction, that I think the country would have simply blown up in an orgy of violence if it were not already in the middle of one. I dare not think what will happen when the humans find out about the more problematic members of our community, especially us and our vulnerability to sunlight. We will have to forfeit all of our public identities on that day. Ah well, it matters little for now. I have my plate full with a much more meaningful question. What do you do when your foe amounts to cunning packs of predatory monsters? Well, so far, we have adopted and adapted the strategies used by our predecessors back in the fourteenth century. Fortify what you can to deny resources, and form roaming squads of hunters to track down and exterminate the foe. By this method, we can theoretically both reduce the Scourge Hive¡¯s ability to replenish its numbers while also actively reducing it. There are, of course, a few problems. Today¡¯s United States is not fourteenth century Poland. First, there are no castles for the smallfolk to gather in. Second, the population density is higher, which means more resources for the enemy. Third, people have lost their healthy respect for the dwellers of the night. We are to blame for that last part, really, us and enlightenment, but it remains that when you warn people about incoming demons, fourteenth century Polish peasants were more receptive than your average modern sceptic. And fourth, the entirety of vampirekind is not currently mobilized to face the foe. The White Cabal, knights, and other allies we have gathered do not equal five hundred irate apex predators who believe the apocalypse has come, and intend to face it with a sword in hand. In short, we are losing. Every sortie, every skirmish comes with casualties that we cannot replace while the enemy grows by the day, feasting on remote villages. I could pretend that we are only improving our readiness and giving the mortals time to act, but that would be a lie. By the time that the Hive has reached the tipping point, even the army of the Potomac will not be able to face them. Drones do not have morale. They are not deterred by relatively inaccurate mass volley fire. Finally, it only takes a few minutes for the dead to join them, so a lost engagement means that they will actually increase their numbers while ours dwindle. We need a solution, and Constantine believes that he has found one. *** Boston, Accord Fortress, February 22th, 1863. I ask as I inspect the unwieldy, ugly piece of cylindrical metal. It looks like someone touched in the head placed a massive bomb in an ironclad ship, then fused together debris with molten metal and engraved every square inch of it with insane gibberish. The Speaker and my occasional mentor sighs dramatically. He takes a few steps away and straightens his gangly form until he stands far above me. The Progenitor indulges me, which means that he must be more exhausted than I thought. He passes a hand over his thin black hair. he scoffs. ¡°Uhu.¡± I reply acidly. Constantine remarks, I raise a haughty brow. Does he think that I have spent my years of study in idleness? The arrogance. I state. I sigh, and turn to leave. Constantine asks. Well, we need an army. I will get us a bloody army. Later that night. Jimena says, voice distorted by the mirror. Sergei of the Kalinin, knight squad leader, points out from behind her, Boston harbor, even later that night. ¡°The ship will sail, madam. Will you be joining us?¡± ¡°I thank you for your consideration, but I need to gather a few friends before I head south. You will find your destination in the enclosed map. It is an abandoned village behind the Confederate lines. According to our calculations, the locale is both within the optimal range of the construct and heavily defensible.¡± ¡°What should we expect?¡± ¡°There will be derelict houses with a pier, then a road heading west. South of the pier is a large promontory with a ruined fort at the top. The promontory is the most defensible position, with only a narrow strip of land allowing passage up. It is also large enough for our purpose. You will arrive first, so clear anything that lives here, and start making the fort habitable. The different groups will join you progressively over the following month.¡± ¡°You¡­ have already been there?¡± ¡°Yes. The name of the village is Black Harbor, and it is there that the man this ship was named after died.¡± *** Moonside, March the 8th, 1863. Something heavy hangs in the air. I can feel it in the wind. The fields, normally always filled with quarreling young betas fighting for supremacy, lie empty. The only illumination comes from the village¡¯s main hall. Even a beginner mage would feel the concentrated, potent auras radiating from it. I dismount Metis at the edge of a wide crowd of werewolves holding torches. A veritable wall of shape-shifting monsters in human form stands facing me from wall to wall, yet when I stride in confidently, they part to let me through. The taste of the moon and the ferocious hunt hangs heavy in the air. I walk through the path they formed into the main square and the dais they raised there. Jeffrey stands proudly with a few of his lieutenants. He towers over them both physically and magically, the largest beast in the collection of packs. His open shirt shows corded muscles. I stop at a respectful distance. I will not bow, but I will show the respect he deserves. This is his land. We are allies. ¡°Welcome, Ariane of the Nirari. We have all felt the change in the earth. What tidings do you bring?¡± I had no idea that Jeffrey could be concise. I will play the game, and give this moment the gravity it deserves. ¡°The time to face the Hive has come. I call upon our old alliance, an agreement to fight side by side in times of danger. We have set a trap for them. Come with me, and we will lure the foes with the shadow of their own. We will gather them all in one point. We will kill them to the last. Now, I ask you, are you with me?¡± Jeffrey smiles, not his usual smirk but the satisfied grin of the man who just got his wish. He walks to my side and passes me. His steps carry him to the edge of the platform and the hundreds of werewolves amassed at his feet. ¡°Wolves of the north, my brothers and sisters, how far we have traveled. Thirty years ago, we were slaves in lost forests of this world. We freed ourselves with tooth and claw. We came here to heal and to grow, and we did. We licked our wounds. We built our hearths. We left our marks on the forests and the fields. We made this place our home. But now, decades later, all of it is at risk. You know of what we face. I will not let overgrown locusts take my territory, because after all those efforts, we are strong, and we are ready. I call upon all the families. I call upon all the packs. I call for a war host! And let the Great Hunt¡­ begin.¡± Jeffrey howls. The answering cry from the crowd shakes the very air as the light of the crescent moon reflects in four hundred glinting eyes. *** Marquette, IGL foundry, March 9th 1863 The stern Dvergur opens the warehouse gates, sliding the titanic slab of nailed wood on oiled railings as if it were a kitchen door. The suffused gas light falls on twenty forms covered in tarps. ¡°Here they are,¡± he says with a Swedish accent. Loth is pretty much in the minority when it comes to brogue. ¡°A dozen twenty-four pounders, seven standard mortars, and one Skaragg arcane artillery piece.¡± ¡°Good. Pack it up and give me a list of what we have in terms of powder and projectiles. I will need our stored small arms as well.¡± I expected an assent, but the old bearded fellow stands proudly before me. He is rather short for his kind, but he makes it up with absurdly large shoulders. ¡°Helping you in battle was never part of our agreement.¡± I hold his gaze and his stubborn defiance stops. ¡°I never asked for it,¡± I remark pointedly, ¡°you do not have to remind me of my oaths, mortal.¡± ¡°Aye, lady, no need to act like that. I am older than you.¡± ¡°Then you should know better. I merely ask that you prepare the guns for transport.¡± The older man¡¯s eyes shift inward. ¡°Which ones?¡± ¡°Every last one of them.¡± He holds my gaze again, and this time he does not relent. ¡°Even the Skaragg piece?¡± ¡°Yes, Elgir, even my Skaragg piece. Which I claimed as a spoil of battle.¡± ¡°And you will have humans handle it.¡± ¡°Indeed I will.¡± We keep quiet for a moment. I am about to be offered a boon, and so I wait lest the grumpy old baggage decides to withdraw it out of pride. ¡°Can¡¯t have those bumbling idiots manipulate such a fine exemplar of Dvergur engineering. We¡¯ll come with you. But don¡¯t think you can order me around or anything.¡± I allow myself the smallest smile. ¡°It is my privilege to have you by our side,¡± I allow, ¡°can you manage the logistical aspect of things?¡± ¡°Woman, stop your provocations.¡± *** Marquette, Red Cabal headquarters, later that night. ¡°So the time has come?¡± the young leader asks me, fiery aura deployed. Merritt¡¯s son has truly come into his own. ¡°Yes, Oliver. I know that the Red Cabal is young and that you are still finding your marks, but I would appreciate it if you¡ª¡± ¡°No need to ask me twice, Ariane. I know that you already called the wolves. This alliance, this coordination between all races, is what we have been created for. Where, and when?¡± ¡°I knew I could count on you.¡± ¡°Yes, now where and when? I need to pull everyone back.¡± *** Avalon, White Cabal stronghold, New York State, March 14th, 1863. The Council Room falls silent as I finish my proposal. ¡°Who else is going to that battle? Who would stand by our side?¡± ¡°Everyone I can find to hold the line until dark, then every battle-ready vampire on the continent.¡± The calm declaration is received with stupefied expressions. Even the ever-irritating Cornelius has fallen silent. But not for long. ¡°What guarantee can you give us that you will not leave us to die and only come to mop up?¡± he asks, but without malice. Even someone as stubborn as him knows what we are up against. I understand that he has also fought on the frontline with great courage. ¡°Our mortals will be there. I do not have to tell you how strong a commitment this represents.¡± The acid comeback dies on his lips. He takes a deep, calming breath. ¡°So, you finally found a battle that could kill me?¡± Frost asks with annoyance from his seat. The rest of the council shows various signs of impatience at the outburst. ¡°Well, old man, if a horde of world-ending cannibalistic creatures from some horror tale cannot end you, I do not know what to say,¡± I reply genially. The levity of the comment gets me the reaction I was looking for. The Council relaxes. I hear a few chuckles. ¡°Well, it could work, I guess. Where will it be?¡± ¡°A place called Black Harbor. I will arrange transportation by ship from New York. My contact will be in touch.¡± ¡°How much time do we have?¡± Councillor Hopkins asks. The Black Dog sneers lightly and I see eagerness in his wrinkled face. The old trap master gave me some trouble back in the day with nothing but a shovel, wires, and quite a bit of powder. He will have considerably more resources at his disposal this time. ¡°We have a month or two before our position becomes untenable.¡± ¡°Excellent. I will be sure to prepare a warm welcome. I already have a few ideas.¡± *** City Point, Virginia, Army of the Potomac headquarters, March 17th, 1863 General Grant takes a puff of cigar and lets the blueish smoke expand through the dark room¡¯s air. Even with the fading winter delaying the coming of longer days, our visit remains unusual in its lateness. I have taken the time to make sure that Sheridan was wearing a borrowed uniform so that it would look to an outsider like a courtesy visit by a subordinate. Even then, his guards¡¯ suspicion has not abated. ¡°I cannot acquiesce to your request,¡± he finally says, but he raises a finger before we can object. ¡°I understand the urgency of the situation, believe me. Unfortunately, my position as lieutenant general is not secured. The President went over a lot of heads to promote me despite my junior rank. I understand that Burnsides encouraged it, but General Hooker is livid and General Meade is not much better. I am not a man who enjoys court games while the soldiers bleed and die, but I also understand the necessities of politics. Many eyes are on my back right now, eager to see me fall. However¡­¡± he continues, then trails off. ¡°However?¡± I ask. By my side, Naminata gives the man an encouraging smile. She looks gorgeous in a more conservative outfit than that which she usually wears, though the mischief on her gaze can never be truly dulled. She has chosen another human in officer garb to accompany her. She was the only one available to accompany me in this important task. I was slightly worried that she would let her playfulness get the better of her, but I was underestimating her. The same woman who hunts Merghol mana hounds with a smile is perfectly capable of acting demure as well. It just feels a bit weird to me. ¡°It would be better if I showed you,¡± Grant finishes and stands up. We follow him down the small cottage¡¯s stairs and out into the winter quarters of the army of the Potomac. We leave a busy wharf clogged with ships on our left and turn inland, passing by white-tarped carriages being unloaded even at this late hour. The General leads us through rows of identical structures at the halfway-point between brick and tent, and a few longer wooden buildings. The uniformity and lack of adornments speaks of structures raised for the express purpose of housing awesome numbers in hygienic conditions. I dare not think about the miles of latrines dug around the city. It certainly smells that way, in any case. We walk for a good ten minutes in silence until we arrive at a clear demarcation in the camp. Where we come from, the tents were uniformly clean. In front of us, they are much less intact. Many of them show old stains, or were hastily repaired with mismatched swathes of cloth from other colors, giving the camp a slight air of carnival. The pickets salute us in silence, in the same clean blue uniform despite their camp¡¯s poorer equipment. They are quite noticeably black. ¡°At ease, boys,¡± the officer allows before turning to us. ¡°We have a lot of colored folks, not just negros, enrolling everywhere right now. Training is well under way for a lot of regiments. I can get you¡­ up to five full regiments of the most experienced ones, mostly people who volunteered earlier and who can already shoot. Plus two brigades of heavy artillery. How many of them do you need?¡± Six thousand men? Six thousand men, plus cannons? For meeeeeee? ¡°We will take your entire stock,¡± I declare, before being knocked on the head lightly by Naminata. ¡°Hsss. What was that for?¡± I grumble. Such a display before the General! City Point, Virginia, Army of the Potomac headquarters, March 23rd, 1863 Moise took a look at the repeater rifle in his hands. It was a nice gun, heavy and powerful yet short enough to remain easy to handle. It was practically still shining under the pale February sun. There were pouches of cartridges on the table, and his fellow United States Colored Troops infantrymen were grabbing those and walking to their assigned positions. The firing range before them lay empty, save for lined targets. He approached Sergeant Freeman. Sergeant Freeman was a very tall, very strong fellow with a greying beard that reached his belly button and eyes that just looked like they¡¯d seen everything. ¡°Say, sarge, that¡¯s a really nice gun there.¡± ¡°Yup.¡± ¡°And we got lots of bullets to try them out.¡± ¡°Yup.¡± ¡°It¡¯s for us? For real?¡± ¡°Yup.¡± ¡°Those shiny shooters?¡± ¡°Yup.¡± ¡°And those white folks won¡¯t ¡®requisition¡¯ them from us when they see them?¡± ¡°Ain¡¯t no white army folks where we¡¯re going.¡± The private contemplated those facts in silence for exactly two seconds. ¡°We¡¯re goddamn done for,¡± he finally said. ¡°Yup.¡± *** Black Harbor, Georgia, March 28th, 1863. The pale light of March had not yet dispersed a stubborn morning fog when some old white man in a black suit rolled into the regiment¡¯s camp on some big carriage with the back covered in white tarp. The meadow was entirely covered in white tents and uniformed folks warming their hands over cooking fires. ¡°Gather around, people, gather around,¡± he bellowed. ¡°Form ranks, on the double!¡± Freeman bellowed. He was the oldest NCO there and everyone listened to what he said. So Moise did. He and his fellow soldiers shuffled into lines with sullen airs. The white man waited without fuss, though Moise could see his keen brown eyes assessing them. When everyone was ready, he addressed them in a booming voice. ¡°Now, we are going to be reinforcing this position over the next week,¡± he said. Of course, Moise thought to himself, the white man brought them here to dig stuff. He should have expected it. ¡°And I will be counting on your efforts. Now, I know that digging can be a thankless task so let me offer you a small incentive. In two weeks time, we will be receiving very special guests.¡± The man stood and pulled on some rope. The tarp fell away to reveal a creature of nightmare. Moise jumped in fright, as did half of the line. ¡°Jesus Christ¡­¡± ¡°My god!¡± ¡°Devil!¡± The monster shrieked and clawed at unyielding steel bars. Its black talons glistened ominously as it tried to cover abyssal eyes. The flesh was pale with bony ridges. It was¡­ a demon. Had to be. No natural event could result in such a horrible humanoid abomination. ¡°This, gentlemen, is a Scourge Hive Drone. The smallest specimen there is.¡± Moise¡¯s blood froze in his veins. That thing was small? That thing was the ? ¡°Ten thousand of the buggers are going to fall upon us before this is all over, and all that will stand between them and you will be the defenses you build under my careful direction. Now, I see that some of you are already getting ideas¡­¡± he continued in the same, even voice as his glare fell on a shifty man on the side of the line, ¡°so let me remind you that you are surrounded by confederates and the drones. So unless you are very, very confident in swimming your way back to the north, I would urge you to take this seriously. If it¡¯s any comfort, me and my men will be by your side when the foe comes.¡± ¡°Behind us, you mean,¡± someone grumbled. ¡°No,¡± the man insisted, ¡°by your side. The back is for the artillery.¡± Moise sighed and went for his shovel. He hated being right, sometimes. *** Virginian wilderness, March 28th, 1863. ¡°I must admit that I did not expect you to last so long,¡± I tell the man before me. ¡°Save your insults, demon. Remember that we may fail, but God is eternal and his justice¡ª¡± ¡°Yes yes, please spare me the theatrics. I came here to tell you that the final battle is upon us.¡± The Gabrielite¡¯s eyes widen comically. ¡°Not the end of the world, you lobotomized toad. The battle against the Scourge Hive. We are gathering south of here and you are invited to join us as part of the truce. I even brought you rations to help you go,¡± I say. The man is clearly starving, and so are the other fighters behind him. I know that their hidden families barely fare better. ¡°There is no catch. You come and fight and you will be allowed to walk away freely afterward. Those of you who make it anyway.¡± ¡°You expect me to believe that you would let us go?¡± ¡°Yes, but you will understand when you see our camp.¡± I see disbelief in his eyes, so I explain. ¡°You will see exactly how insignificant you are, you self-righteous gnats. Does it make sense now?¡± The man¡¯s eyes lower to the trailer behind me. He swallows his saliva. ¡°How much food are we talking about?¡± Ah, the path to the heart of the man is truly through his stomach. Though I prefer a puncture between the ribs myself. *** Black Harbor, Georgia, March 29th, 1863. The sea at night carries a strange charm. The ebb and flow appears magnified under the light of the moon, and the smell of iodine and seaweed mix with the other attributes of the ocean to form a whole. The dark place of the hidden depths and sound of the waves eating at rocks bit by bit merge into that one singular entity, a portal to a hostile world that a careless footstep will activate. I have seen the depths, and what lurks below. If only in dream. I kneel on dark rock and slice a vein with a talon. The black blood carrying my essence falls in white foam and greenish algae like grasping limbs, off to carry my message. I settle to wait. It only takes an hour for an aura to brush against the edge of my perception. Much faster than I expected. Soon, a massive form emerges sinuously from the water. The sea woman is tall and muscular, her fishtail scarred and powerful. Yellow eyes focus on me, while a lipless mouth of serrated teeth lifts into a grin. ¡°Nirari,¡± she greets with a raspy, sibilant voice. I say without preamble, and throw the arm of a drone. The shaman grabs it and sniffs it with two slits. She wears many strange decorations of coral and dull gold. The smell pushes her to recoil with a hiss. I am not sure if she can understand complex sentences. As it turns out, I am underestimating her far too much. Her smile turns greedy. The shaman slithers away, and smoothly dives under a coming wave. *** Later that night. I ride Metis into the vampire camp. Armored carriages alternate with the many tents of household guards, mercenaries and private troops. The clash of so many auras in the same place gives me a feeling of weightlessness, as if reality here were more permeable. Masters and Courtiers check their weapons or spar here and there. They all raise their eyes to me as I pass by and follow me as I make my way to the command tent. Twenty-one lords and ladies wait in contemplative silence. The pressure of their aura would be crushing if they did not control themselves so thoroughly. They gather in a half circle around Constantine and Jarek. the Progenitor asks with obvious disapproval. I chuckle, Two hours later, Constantine¡¯s eyes rest on the absolute death trap that Black Harbor has become. A mile of flat terrain, grass and stumps, then half that again in a dense network of moats, abattis, trenches and traps topped by an artillery park a modern army would not scoff at. And behind that, the masts of warships in bombardment range. As we watch, a convoy reaches the top of the slope, loaded with crates of ammunition. Hundreds of torches shed light on a forest of bayonets. ¡°What in the name of the Eye¡­¡± ¡°No gawking. And follow the road because there are burrowed mines and pitfalls on the way.¡± I show serenity despite my smugness. No one can dismiss me anymore, or think me a servant of Sephare. I just demonstrated to my peers, for better and for worse, who has the most powerful military among all of us. Me. *** Black Harbor, Georgia, Alliance command room, March 30th, 1863. ¡°So, this is it,¡± Jarek says in his deep rumble. ¡°We are all in agreement. You start the ritual tomorrow at noon and last until night. Then, we, Jeffrey, and the mermen attack. We will let the mortals coordinate themselves. Does anyone wish to add something?¡± S?a??h the N0??F?re.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. No one says a word. ¡°Then let the battle of Black Harbor begin.¡± Chapter 138: Apex Moise woke up early and tired, just like everyone else. Today was the day.The regiments stood and gathered in morning prayer, then they had breakfast. It was the best breakfast he ever had with juicy bacon, boiled eggs, and bread that was not yet too stale. They even had some decent coffee. It was a shame that he had so much trouble keeping it down. Today was the day. And it started slow. All the men made ready at their own pace. He had a pouch, pockets bursting at the seams with cartridges, and a canteen. It was sunny and a little bit cloudy with a nice breeze coming from the Atlantic that brought with it a fresh smell. Flocks of gulls quarreled somewhere behind him. His regiment went to the front and center, descending in single file through ditches and passages defended with raised earth and sharpened wood branches. The going was slow. They had several lines, with quick, easily covered access to allow entire lines of combatants to retreat deeper into the fortifications. An army could not take them. Hell, with those ships behind them, rebels would break their teeth on their fortifications by the hundreds. But they were not facing rebels. Moise finally went through the last passage and arrived in front of the moat. It was a nice moat, filled with sharpened stakes. He had cut the ones in front of him with his own fingers until they bled with splinters. It was his spot. Iwan took the one to his left. Moise was the rightmost defender of his squad. White folks took the spot to his right. They were a grumpy bunch with antiquated pistols and brand new rifles someone had thrown them out of pity. A tall man with a long, wispy white beard threw him a disparaging look and shook his head. Well, the devil take you too, old codger. They settled to wait. That was, he thought, the worst part. Men sat where they were, their uniforms a bit dusty despite efforts to clean them. Smoke rose from the bastards who had filched tobacco somewhere along the way. Sergeant Freeman took a large pipe from one of his inner pockets and puffed on it contemplatively. Some soldiers prayed while others talked in hushed voices. Moise decided to pray. It could not hurt. But after half an hour he had gone through every hymn he knew three times and still hadn¡¯t found salvation. He looked up the trench. There was not a damn thing to see, just mangled grass and stumps for half a mile. They waited. Moise eventually surrendered to boredom and joined a game of dice. They bet cartridges since there was nothing else around. Moise won three, then lost seven in a row. Above him, the lazy orb of the sun finally reached its zenith. Cooks walked down the line with water barrels and stew. They were also handed a piece of bread. Moise could barely taste it. Behind them, something happened. He could feel it along his spine. It started as a hum, then gradually grew in intensity until he felt it like a vast noise at the edge of his hearing, a ghost of some ear-splitting shriek he could not quite ignore. There was some devilry at work here. He had heard of it from some of the folks before they were scolded. Evil worshippers. But the monsters were real, or so the newspapers said, or at least that was what Jupe, who could read, had claimed. Moise scowled and looked forward. The demons he would face were very real. Better to think about that first. They sure were taking their time though. Early afternoon came. The sun was high and the temperature had gone to pleasant. It was so calm here, with the wind in his face and the sun warming his khepi, that he started to doze off. The tension of the past few days was getting to him. It was then that the entire line shifted. Moise felt it in the posture of the men around him. Suddenly, all rifles were pointing forward. There were creatures galloping far in the distance. White ones. They were just tiny dots at the edge of the field right now. Moise¡¯s stomach suddenly filled with ice and dropped into his shoes. Cold sweat erupted over his brow and his lungs suddenly cried for air. Monsters were coming, and they were taking their goddamn sweet time. ¡°Remember your orders,¡± Freeman bellowed, ¡°shoot when you have a shot. Not before, not after. Don¡¯t miss or I¡¯ll throw you sorry halfwits over the parapet!¡± ¡°Sarge, what¡¯s a parapet?¡± ¡°That¡¯s where your ass is going if you don¡¯t aim!¡± Time passed with agonizing slowness. The distant shapes resolved themselves into eight creatures, seven small ones like he had seen and another that moved with a hunch. It was so large that it kept with the others through sheer size. ¡°Damn¡­¡± Several imprecations echoed throughout the lines before the NCOs screamed at the idiots. Moise relaxed his shoulder and placed the barrel of his repeater on top of the earthworks. He breathed slowly. They were still a bit far. Someone shot to his left. Freeman yelled and smacked him. Moise could only hear the sound of flesh hitting flesh, babbling excuses, and a few snickers from the assholes to his right. The things were coming. He picked one at random and lined up the sights. He could see nothing but the smooth expanse of steel of the barrel and the blurred form of the abomination barreling down on him. Time slowed down, until he could feel every powerful thump of his heart resonating through his body. Someone else pulled the trigger, then the entire line erupted in an acrid blue mist. Moise may have hit his target, or he may have narrowly missed it. It did not matter. It would not have mattered. The almost solid cloud of lead shredded the attacking force like buckshot through a mouse. There was a red, pinkish cloud and flying bits, then it was over. ¡°Hurrah!¡± someone yelled. The cry picked up across the entire camp. Hurrah, hurrah! The defiant roar surged down the hill and spread through the surrounding meadows. It spoke of the courage of man. It was a torch in the darkness of a cave. It was fire, unity, strength of arms to reveal the nightmare for what it was, the shadow of a much smaller, much more lonesome beast. They could do this. ¡°Alright, alright folks, settle down. Settle down I said! Save that nice enthusiasm y¡¯all got for the rest of¡¯em.¡± Moise moved his arms a bit to work the kinks in them. He pushed an extra cartridge in the chamber to replace the one he had lost and caressed the ¡®IGL¡¯ image with his finger. Three letters with an eagle on top. They could really do this. Just had to stay calm. Twenty minutes later, another group popped from the bushes and ended up much like the first. Moise did not even shoot. There was no need. Then fifteen minutes later, another came. Then another. At two, there were continuous shots all across the line. It was three when the first man died, a freak friendly fire apparently. Moise saw the covered form being carried up on a stretcher on a passage to the left of him. Blood dripped from the back of the head. ¡°Moise if you got time to gawk you got time to clean your gun,¡± Freeman told him in a low voice. He looked at the field in front of him. Most of the pits had been revealed by now, having successfully slowed down the horde. The drones were forced to jump above or around them which slowed them down ever so slightly. He remembered that they had explosives around somewhere, which was why their artillery was supposedly still silent. Prayers rang in the air coming from his right again. A wave rushed from the edge of the forest. It was the biggest one yet, easily a hundred individuals spread in a sort of herd. ¡°Hold fire until you get a shot!¡± Freeman yelled. There were small and large drones, some with strange bone plates on their chests and faces. They were tougher, but they did not stop bullets. Damn it all, but Moise was getting used to it. He lined his shot at a smaller drone almost to the front of him, and almost dropped his rifle when the creature started jumping to the sides. ¡°Bloody hell!¡± The smaller drones were running haphazardly in strange patterns. Moise focused and pulled the trigger as his target landed. It hit the chest. Someone else¡¯s bullet caught it in the leg and made the creature stumble, then a few more shots took it out entirely. The larger one fell as well with a burst head. One drone with a missing arm reached the line to his left. It jumped and landed in the ditch, twitching from a ruined chest. Freeman stepped up and drew his brand new revolver. He shot the head once and the creature¡¯s erratic moves stopped. ¡°Remember that those bastards like to play dead. What are y¡¯all looking at? Eyes front, damn you!¡± Moise obeyed and saw something he had never seen before. The drones were retreating. ¡°Bloody hell that ain¡¯t good,¡± the white man to his right said. Moise turned to him with some curiosity. Wasn¡¯t it a good thing when your enemy flees? ¡°Wachu looking at, nigger?¡± Moise returned his attention to the field and wondered if he could get away with shooting the bastard and passing it as an accident. Probably not. Silence descended upon the field, and, for the first time in hours, calm returned. The cloud of spent powder lifted ever so slightly. The smell of the sea returned timidly beneath that of fire. He could almost see the sky. Then there was a sound like nails on a piece of wood. It erupted all across the yet untouched meadows. Moise¡¯s mind froze for the second time today when a thin white line appeared between the green of the trees and the brown of upturned earth. He leaned forward despite his best efforts. The line expanded and thickened. It turned into a squirming tide of pale flesh. The ground vibrated under their feet. ¡°Hold fire!¡± Fear returned. Moise placed his rifle against the earthworks and tried to forget that the creatures could shake off grievous wounds for a few seconds. He had never felt so alone in his entire goddamn life. A heavy hand landed on his shoulder, forcing a jump. ¡°Steady now, and watch those ears of yours because we are going loud!¡± Freeman yelled. There were a few whoops in the line but that was it. The things were closer now. Closer. There were so many of the damn buggers, and they had bigger ones that moved sinuously on four limbs. It was bad. Real bad. They came in range, and the world turned upside down. Moise stumbled back, hands on his whistling ears. There were little dark dots in the air, far above him, which he realized were pieces of soil. The air kept shaking with loud explosions left and right. One of them got really close and sent him stumbling again. A piece of drone arm landed next to him. The dead limb gathered into a fist slowly enough for him to see every muscle fiber contracting. The claws pierced skin and let out pinkish fluid. Moise stood back up. There was a lot of smoke. It took some time for the wind to disperse enough of the thick white stuff to see what was left. From the edge of the earthworks to the forest, the ground was craters and debris. There was nothing left of the horde but a scattering of corpses, few of them in one piece. Some people said things, but Moise did not hear them clearly. His focus was on one of the smaller drones back, far away from him. The creature had been the furthest of all mines and it climbed to its feet slowly, painfully. Despite the distance, despite the impossibility of it, Moise and the creature¡¯s orbs met for a second. The distant buzz of the beacon at the back of his head became loud enough to drown every other sound in existence. it was an imperious order to come forward, and Moise took an involuntary step back. The call was so strong... Then the moment was broken, and he was back to being just a Massachusetts boy away from home and in far above his head. The survivors of the assault on the monster side crawled back to the trees. There was a lull. ¡°Reload, reload and drink a bit of water if you can,¡± Freeman bellowed, ¡°steady y¡¯all, this ain¡¯t over yet.¡± Moise blinked sweat away from his eyes. Some of the trees in the distance were moving as if a storm raged among them. Moise had built confidence over the past week. The stone promontory had turned into a nigh impregnable fortress. Hundreds of drones had died without slaying a single one of them. This faith evaporated in an instant. The land came alive with frenzied flesh. Thick, bone-plated monsters came first in a line three-creatures thick that covered the entire plain. The ground shook again. Behind him, cannons roared. The guns vomited steel at a range that made missing impossible. Canister shots dug bloody furrows in an ever-moving mass. The fallen disappeared under the galloping claws of those that came behind. As soon as they got near, fast-moving drones overtook the larger ones. They made use of the now-ruined terrain, jumping and turning as they went. Despite the acrobatics, none of them ever got in the way of another. Moise waited, then shot the ones in front of him. Good thing is, he could not miss. There was just no free space for the bullet to escape to. His first target crashed with a pierced shoulder. Another fell as well though he was not sure if it was his bullet or someone else¡¯s. The din of detonations deafened him, just as smoke made his eyes burn. You could not hear a thing under the incredible racket of so many barrels roaring their fury, the wrath of mankind wielded in censure of whatever thing had spawned the foe. Moise spent one second considering how done-for he would have been without the repeater. The wave crashed into their fortifications. A first creature rammed itself into the sharpened stake and grabbed at him. Moise shot it in the head and slammed his back against the earthen wall behind him, frantically pushing more cartridges into his burning-hot gun. Another creature jumped over the first one but fell with its torso mangled. The soldiers on the tier above were covering him. The creature twitched. Freeman appeared from the side and shot it with his revolver, then moved further along the line. They were not stopping. There was a spurt of blood as someone got unlucky. Another soldier was thrown over the barricade and down into the gibbering horde below. His scream was cut short. Another drone climbed on top of the first. Moise chambered his first of four rounds knowing that he would be too late. There was a fire projectile, and the creature¡¯s head exploded. Pieces of bone and humor ran down his uniform¡¯s trousers. He turned around and saw a woman dressed in white standing behind and above. Fire flared from her fingers and found heads, each projectile aimed with deadly accuracy. He did not stop to wonder what she was using, or why there were men with shields covering her. Using the lull, he started to shoot to the side to lessen the burden on his allies. A drone smashed through the now-demolished stakes to his right and almost skewered the bearded man, but Moise shot it down. He never hesitated. It was man versus monster now. And the pressure lessened. They were killing drones faster than the monsters could come. Folks in white and red uniforms wielded strange weapons. Boneplate cracked, flesh bubbled under the onslaught. The larger specimens had all fallen. The tide of flesh turned to a trickle, then stopped as the creatures withdrew. He watched, mesmerized, as distant drones started to drag their dead back into the forest. ¡°What the fuck are they doing?¡± he grumbled to no one in particular. ¡°Reusing the flesh of the dead,¡± the bearded white man said as he, too, reloaded and checked his gun. His companions muttered prayers. ¡°Those devilish abominations use flesh to strengthen some of their numbers. And they got a lot of it alright. There was no need to have single strong creatures before, but now there is, and so they will come. It learns, that devil. It learns and it adapts.¡± Moise moved aside as men ran with stretchers to the back line. The nurses knew how to stop the poison that turned folks into monsters, so long as they were not dead, or so he was told. It would not help some of the poor bastards he saw being carried, that was for sure, what with all the blood. There was another short lull. Moise reloaded and drank from his canteen to try and wash the smoke and horrid stench of drone blood from his throat, in vain. There were a few sparse shots here and there that made him wince. Supposedly, the drones could not turn a headless body. Folks were making sure. The man to his left, Iwan, silently gave him a repeater. ¡°What¡¯s that for?¡± ¡°It was Jupe¡¯s, but he¡¯s wounded so it¡¯s yours now. You don¡¯t have to reload so often.¡± ¡°Alright then.¡± They waited, and waited some more until late afternoon. The drones tried the same thing, but the assault was repelled with so many losses that the ground before him could only be seen when an artillery shell revealed it before corpses covered it again. Moise missed his first round. It went wide, a bit too high, probably hit something anyway. As the creatures pulled back once more, he could not help but think that the cannons were slowing done, and so were the men and, amazingly, women in black or red. He thought he knew why as he gingerly touched the barrel of his gun. It was burning to the touch. The heat was starting to get to him and he emptied his cantine, then took a discreet piss against the earthworks. Then it was time again. ¡°How many of the fuckers can there be?¡± he complained. They waited once more. More wounded were brought up. In some places, drone corpses were piled so high that they obstructed the view, but no one moved out to push them away. He did not blame them. There was a rumble. Things started to emerge from the treeline, things that did not belong on this world. They were so large that he could see them clearly, as far as they were. He had seen engravings of elephants. They did not hold a candle to the behemoths now charging towards them. The cannons roared, the strange weapons lashed, but still the creatures kept going until, somewhere behind him, a signal was given. The ship guns opened. In front of Moise, a crimson flower of death bloomed on top of the beasts. The screaming inferno devoured ranks upon ranks of drones and left behind only charred husks. The devastation they wreaked defied description. Moise¡¯s repeater felt like a toy. The behemoths fell one by one until more than thirty of their carcasses dotted the field, then the rest smashed through the first two layers of fortifications without stopping. Moise fell to his right under a shower of splinters. Pinkish fluid pooled by his feet until his very ankles soaked. Drones were everywhere, climbing over the wall. That was when Iwan fell against him with a strange black spike through the neck. ¡°What the¡­¡± Above, the woman screamed and fell back between the two shield-bearers. She removed a spike from her arm and resumed firing down. Moise grabbed his second rifle and shot a drone as it fell on sergeant Freeman. They were cut off from the rest of the regiment. ¡°First two barricades, fall back, fall back now!¡± someone yelled from behind. Moise helped Freeman up. The older man was bleeding heavily, even had one of those spikes in his flank. They stumbled to the path up. Freeman still blew the brains out of the drones coming to them. They passed under the barricade and to the next level. The white-bearded man had been waiting and shot a pursuer. The last defenders were making their way up. The battle was already raging there, and a flow of soldiers were climbing up and up under the cover of thrown blasting charges. There were bodies everywhere. ¡°Keep going!¡± a man in a fancy coat said as he blasted the foes with two engraved revolvers, each shot putting something down. Moise kept going. Up and up they went. Freeman was getting heavier, or he was growing more tired. They passed ranks of firing infantrymen and a few cannons with barrels so hot they had started to glow. An officer was arguing with a nurse in white as he passed by. ¡°You need to save some water for the wounded!¡± ¡°If we don¡¯t cool those guns down, there won¡¯t be any wounded to save!¡± At the back, there were rows of hurt men covered in bandages around three large white tents. The air was thick with the cloying scent of blood. He noticed lines of covered bodies to the side. A woman with white hair and red eyes grabbed him by the shoulder. ¡°Over here, help him down on that stretcher,¡± she ordered. Moise did as instructed. Freeman winced as he lay. ¡°Got to remove the black stinger. Probably poisoned,¡± Moise said because he felt so goddamn useless. The woman did not reply. She was busy applying a paste to Freeman¡¯s shoulder where three puncture wounds leaked blood. ¡°No need. I know the score, boy,¡± the old sergeant said pointing at his flank, ¡°ain¡¯t no coming back from that one.¡± Moise felt his eyes water even more now, probably all that powder in the air. Dammit. Were they all going to die on that mount? ¡°None of that. You don¡¯t give up, you hear? You don¡¯t have the right to give up. I forbid it.¡± ¡°Yes, sarge, sorry sarge.¡± ¡°Mam, can you make sure that I don¡¯t¡­¡± The strange woman gave him something to hold, a cross of sorts. ¡°You won¡¯t turn. You have my word. Hold tight to this.¡± ¡°Thank you. Now, boy, you go. Take this.¡± Freeman pulled his buckle open and roared, removing the whole belt. Moise was left with the piece. Freeman shoved his revolver in Moise¡¯s palm. ¡°Now you go. Give them hell for me.¡± ¡°Yes sarge. Farewell.¡± ¡°Go with God, boy.¡± Moise about-faced without a word. He realized that he had dropped his repeater somewhere along the way and picked up a piece some other idiot had discarded on the ground. He had one pouch of ammo left. He climbed back down the hill into a hellscape of smoke and fury, dyed red under the setting sun. Chaos had spread over the lower tiers, and that was where he stopped. Regiments had mixed. He found the white-bearded man near the port-side cliff and joined his side because why the hell not. There was a man with a shield and pistol by his side, and soldiers from other companies. He picked his targets and shot again, and again, and again, without stopping. Sometimes, the man with the shield would point at strange drones with an overly large right arm and black spikes on their back. Those were the assholes that had killed his friends. He picked them off one by one. The drones retreated again. The din of battle gave way to a soft layer of moans and prayers. The sun was setting and its last scarlet rays kissed a scene of carnage the likes of which the world had never seen. Blood and corpses and mangled limbs for half a mile expanding in a cone towards a meadow on which a white blob was growing. Men and women progressively stopped doing whatever it was they were busying themselves with. Artillery servants froze with water buckets in their hands. Cartridges stopped at the edge of chambers. Canteens remained in the air, their precious contents forgotten. Silence covered the camp like a thick layer until even the wounded kept their peace. Night fell. An enormous weight crashed upon Moise¡¯s shoulder as the background scream that had lasted for so long that he had forgotten about it sputtered and died. The white blob on the horizon walked to them, a titan of unholy flesh, an aggregate of defiled bodies. It was massive as a temple. Each of its three-pronged limbs shook the earth as they descended to carry it forward. A myriad of black eyes covered most of its face, growing between and around bone plates like so many cancerous growths, but that was nothing compared to its sheer presence. The dominating, heavy aura pushed on Moise until all he could do was to whimper. The thing came, and no one shot. Not one cannon spat. Not one gun discharged. The camp remained unmoving. Moise prayed for the strength to meet death on his feet. Behind the creature, drones of all sizes swarmed until they covered the plain. The leviathan of flesh arrived. Moise had never felt so alone, so isolated in his whole life. It took all of his strength not to fall. ¡°Took your sweet damn time, you big ugly lug,¡± a voice said. It belonged to an old man in a fancy white robe walking down the slope holding what looked like a miniature moon. It was a normal, human voice like you could hear at the market gently chiding a wayward child. It wavered slightly with old age. It was not even loud at all. And yet, it carried across the camp as its owner persisted, and wherever he went, fighters stood and grabbed their weapons. The thing extended its clawed limb, but the old man would not have it. ¡°Polaris.¡± A refreshing cold spread over Moise¡¯s skin and he shivered, cool for the first time in hours. The giant¡¯s arm froze solid and fell, spintering on the ground like a mighty tree. It was the size of a locomotive. The old man raised his fist and another, smaller moon materialized. ¡°And here I thought I would die in my bed.¡± The creature stopped, and for the first time, looked. So far, Moise realized, they had not existed in the drone¡¯s perception except as targets and resources. But now, it saw him, and them. It saw Moise too. Moise lifted his revolver and cocked it. All around him, others were doing the same. The bearded asshole by his side chuckled. ¡°Never thought I¡¯d fall fighting side by side with a nigger.¡± ¡°Go and fuck yourself.¡± The old man chuckled harder. The ranks of mankind fell in. Cannons were realigned and a forest of steel barrels rose, defiant, against the tide. They did not get to fire. Something was coming. The skies lost their dark red hue and gained an eerie, otherworldly dye of purple. Far away to the north, a guttural man¡¯s voice said something that he did not understand. The following roar fought against the Hive¡¯s presence and pushed it back. It was not a nice or reassuring sound, no, it was¡­ eager. Somewhere else, wolves howled while below them, near the port, the waters churned. With agonizing slowness, the behemoth waved its horrid head towards the source. It shifted away. ¡°What was that?¡± Moise whispered. ¡°That,¡± the man with the shield said, ¡°was our monsters.¡± And he shot the closest drone in the head. *** Earlier that afternoon. I come to and focus on the tiny connection in my mind. Sheridan is still alive. It always surprises me how little control we have over our Vassals. Perhaps their very independence is the source of what makes them so valuable to us. It does not help with my serenity. I want to go out and find him, but I cannot. The sun is still there. The sarcophagus lid slides to reveal grey stalactites. We have decided to hide ourselves in a natural network of caves a few miles north of Black Harbor proper, all while leaving armored carriage in a decoy camp. Other secured resting places lie around me, some open, some not, as some Masters still slumber. I gear up in silence as my senses sharpen and I can finally hear it, in the distance, muffled through thick layers of rocks. The retort of cannons. The battle is raging. Despite my best efforts, I feel the overwhelming need to go out and help them, help him, but I cannot. The mere sight of sunlight would deaden that urge, assuming that I would be foolish enough to go through the artificial wall Martha of the Lancaster has raised. Avoiding the sun is such an integral part of me that I had forgotten how frustrating the weakness could be. With nothing better to do, I walk to the deeper cavern in search of my kin. At least, we can suffer together. I soon realize that something is wrong. The auras below are tense. Guarded. Much more so than they should be. Fearing that something may have created a rift in our fighting force before the battle could even begin, I hurry down the slippery slope. The heart of the complex soon comes into view, a circular room centered around a pool of salt water shining softly with fluorescent algae. At first, I can only see armored backs, each piece of equipment showing masterful work and the journey of its wearer. They are all turned towards the center of the room. Unity against a single threat then. I do not hide my aura out of courtesy, and approach the group at a brisk pace. The group parts to let me through without a look. I feel eyes on the back of my neck. The reason is soon clear. A half-circle of the continent¡¯s most powerful entities glare ahead at the single figure sitting, facing Constantine on an onyx chair seemingly risen from the depths. The cavern has turned into an amphitheater with a play that could kill us all. he says. Fuck. Malakim stands by his side with his arms crossed. Our eyes meet and he smirks, tapping the pommel of one of his knives. I remember the night I spent under his orders and the statement he made. He would always hate me, and he would enjoy killing me. Nothing would ever change that. Constantine tells him in a glacial tone. He, too, sits on a throne of obsidian rising from the basalt floor in a geological impossiblitly. Where our Speaker shows no fear, Nirari shows no concern at all. He lounges like a well-fed cat. No one whispers, no one moves. Powerful auras only let out the barest of flickers, but even such minor variations are a sure sign of the avalanche of resentment now coursing through the small crowd. Nirari settles his back against the throne and waits, a hint of sardonic smile on his lips. The smile fades. It returns. What? The weight of the collective attention crushes me like a boulder. It is all I can do to look forward and hide my discomfort. I hate Nirari, and one day I will try to kill him. For now, this ideal remains a distant prospect. What matters is the task before us tonight, and for me, accepting his offer is an obvious thing. So obvious, in fact, that I struggle to make a point. I am back almost a century ago when I was under the scrutiny of my tutor, trying to express what I remembered of the story I had just read. I know what I know, I merely struggle to convey it. I start explaining then, and the words flow more easily. Now, I have their attention. My outrageous statement is received in silence. The others show no signs of acknowledgement, of course. Nirari¡¯s aura lashes out. Like a tidal wave, it washes over us in violation of politeness and respect. In an instant, the forty apex predators hiss and bare fangs and weapons. Spells whistle as they charge up, but the tide ebbs as quickly as it came. Nirari stands up and opens his hands before us. The first of all of us sits down comfortably on his throne like an emperor in his palace. No one speaks for a while. Finally, Constantine breaks the silence. Constantine contemplates the offer for a while. My sire sneers and chuckles, but to his credit, he leaves. I think his ability to negotiate and compromise scares me almost as much as his ability to destroy. The deliberations begin immediately. the Speaker starts. Sephare adds from the side. one of the Roland twins adds, Jarek¡¯s second adds. In the end, the decision is taken extremely quickly. The only people who grumble are those whose kin were murdered by Nirari at some point, and even they rally to the main opinion quickly. We all have too much stake in the success of this endeavor. We invite Nirari back to let him know that we agree. Everyone pretends that it was a well-considered decision. He departs through the actual walls using the spell I learned from his book. The mood turns to worry after that. It takes a lot for us to show emotion, but right now even a dense mortal could feel the tension in the air. Many of us have Vassals on that hill, though they are mostly in the back line. I know that Sheridan still lives. It could change at any time. There are few conversations to be had. We have such excellent hearing that anything spoken here might as well be spoken before the assembly. With so many heavily enchanted arms and armors around, we look like metal-clad generals pulled from so many paintings ranging from the Middle-Ages to the late Renaissance lounging across the cavern like a pack of wolves between hunts. The seconds pass with agonizing slowness. The roars of cannons do not abate. Every ten minutes or so, a new armor-clad Master climbs down the stairs to take their place at our side. Our numbers swell until every nook and cranny hides a warrior eager to go. Melusine joins me at some point and sits by my side without a word. We feel it. Soon. Soon. Now. The sun dips below the horizon and the cavern sighs in relief. The world cools and expands around us. Jarek says. We rush up the stairs with such speed that we leave the place empty within the span of a breath. We jump in a rush over the seaside cliff and onto rock. All faces turn south. Smoke, thick and dark, forms a heavy black curtain from the fortress we left behind up to the skies. The first layers are empty and ravaged, burning with low embers. The guns have fallen silent. They have stopped fighting. Something is walking to them. It is large, larger than anything here has a right to be, a moving building of apocalyptic proportions. I do not know if I could take it down if it stopped moving and let me try. And behind it, a sea, an ocean of flesh. Drones so thick and numerous as to blot the land like maggots on a corpse. A seething, squirming tide without an end. Nirari watches the show in silence. He wears an obsidian-colored plate armor that looks thick enough to stop a cannonball. On his head, he places a crowned helmet with bone protrusions and I believe that I am looking at a dragon¡¯s smaller teeth. He raises a fist and a large Nightmare emerges from behind. The signal is given. The woods around us darken until the light of the stars themselves dim as silence descends upon us. A wave like a pebble thrown in a placid pool expands towards the nearest drones. Nightmares emerge from behind, more of them than I have ever seen in the same place. Dozens of them gallop out and stop before their riders. I climb on Metis and see John running to his stupidly big charger while Melusine is already waiting for us. Those without a mount will form a roaming group on foot. There are almost a hundred riders. The Nightmares snort and form a wedge, with the most powerful of us at the tip. Nirari, then Constantine and Jarek, then the strongest lords and ladies. The First Vampire spares an amused glance to our right, inland, where the howls of wolves let us know that our allies are in play. Under and around the fortress, the waters boil with the arrival of the rulers of the depths. We are ready. Nirari deploys his full aura. He is soon joined by all the others, including me. At this precise moment, we are no longer competitors. At this moment, we are one. The edges of reality bleed in as creation itself turns more liquid, more malleable. Our concentrated power sends ripples into the hordes before us and, one by one, the despicable things turn their abyssal eyes on us. The heavens turn a deeper shade of purple. The Eye is wide open. Nirari¡¯s voice echoes throughout the valley, both calm and incredibly loud. Purple light shines on the drones¡¯ pale flesh. We are doing it. We are bringing into the world. Its light shines on everything. Nirari calls upon his soul glaive and the pressure increases yet again. Heartseeker, which he only wields when fighting seriously, rises above our heads. I call upon Rose as blades and spikes as black as onyx join the call. Malakim blows into a mighty horn and the entire Hive, from the smallest drone to that abomination in the distance, focuses on us. We start at a normal horse¡¯s gallop and keep accelerating. At the same time, we move away from each other to leave each fighter room to spare. We are going faster still. Martha casts a massive spell and our speed increases once more, the air practically dragging us forward. The tide has seen us. They are coming our way, all of them, including the faraway Behemoth. Nirari roars in challenge and we add our fury to his. We are so close now. There are so many of them, some as large as elephants. S?a??h the ?0velF?re.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. A hundred spells and powers erupt around me. Melusine¡¯s signature fire bolts roar along my blood magic ones. There is no impact. We advance and the first hundred yards of drones simply ceases to exist. We do not even slow down. I see arms, faces, and a lot of eyes but it does not matter. Rose shreds through them like paper, and I have my allies by my side doing the same. John sends shattered parts flying in the air. A great HUNT. I roar in pleasure as we carve a path through the ever-coming horde. We advance and slaughter them by the hundred, but then, someone¡¯s Nightmare screams on the side and I see it, spines flying through the air. We contract our formation. I use Rose to knock projectiles off the air for John and Melusine. There. RANGED PREY, PROTECT METIS AND KIN. The return fire is immediate and devastating. Spells explode all around us, targeting those strange spine-throwing drones. Packs of them turn to ash. Constantine screams and massive chains as long as ships whip through the drones, sending great numbers of them to the ground, broken. On our right, the werewolves are fully engaged in a massed formation. They advance more slowly, but they do not stop. YES, JOIN OUR REVELS. The purple light of the Watcher still shines across the battlefield to push our foe to a frenzy. We are surrounded on all sides. It does not matter. They cannot stop us. The charge continues. The wedge¡¯s flanks have contracted to form a circle with the younger members protecting our back. I find myself on the left side of the formation, towards the edge. My task is to fend off the spikes and slay the closest foes. I know this in my essence. It is the proper way. We move south in a slaughter without end. They come. I kill them. I knock spines off the air. More come and I kill them too. Rose¡¯s thorns and edge devastate those that dare approach. John smashes the larger specimen with methodical rage. Powerful spells from our casters clean entire columns. They do not stop coming, and we do not stop slaying. Sometimes, there is a scream of pain from one of us and our numbers diminish. Finally, there is a small lull on my flank as we approach the fortified promontory. An army of fish folks has diverted part of their number, slaughtering the drones that had attempted to climb and flank the humans. Their hisses and tridents keep the drones at bay, though they stay close to the sea. I hear a loud thump. Our three most powerful fighters jump forward from their mounts. Martha, now the senior fighter, leads us to the right as the trio faces the Behemoth. It has grown once more as smaller drones climb on it and fuse with it. The cavalry group maneuvers around the titanic struggle. The behemoth opens with an aura whistle that flattens the ground before it. Nirari pushes it off with its own aura, the clash between the two turning straight lines curved and tortured. Constantine bombards it with spells that leave bleeding, fuming craters behind. It answers by opening strange rifts and growing very thick plates. The rifts swallow the spells as if they had never existed while the thick plates resist the sharp attacks. Constantine retaliates by manifesting translucent chains that disperse the rifts like a fan blowing smoke away. The bone plates thicken more. I finally spot Jarek as he returns, having run back and forth to gain momentum. He jumps. The cyclopean gauntlets crash into the thing¡¯s chest. Seismic waves send nearby drones sprawling on the ground while the creature¡¯s entire torso shatters, great slabs of flesh falling on the ground. They close as more of the drones fuse their flesh with the construct. I feel it, somehow, a hollow will to live backed by nothing but cold automatism, like a decapitated beast walking a few steps more. Then there is no more time and I return my attention to the fight ahead. Our charge sweeps everything in front of us until the detonation of cannons stop. We are at the edge of the fortifications. The ground is covered in drone bodies so thick that I cannot spot the earth beneath. A veritable mount of bodies blocks access to the humans beyond, though a few drones still climb them. They are shot down as soon as they reach the top. We obey and our Nightmares form a herd behind us, before riding south and leaving us to our task. They crash through the few drones there and disappear in a thicket. The nearby forests grow darker and stay darker. The fabric is thin here, thinner than usual. I call upon a bolt, and it forms effortlessly. We follow Martha¡¯s voice and stand our ground. The drones are endless and we kill them endlessly, stepping on the corpses of their brethren as the mountain of the dead grows ever higher. I lose myself in the rhythm. Slash, cast, deflect. Cover Melusine when she casts a more complex spell, and John when he advances to crush a larger beast. They, in turn, help and cover their neighbors. It is a dance as old as time, one where a single mistake can cost dearly. Sometimes, someone fails but the rest picks up the slack. I will not fall here. ONCE MORE. Cut. ONCE MORE. Cast. Every new enemy slain by Rose adds to my essence until I feel it BUBBLING WITH¡­ Oh no. Thorny roots explode out from under piles of corpses to grab and lacerate drones. I feel my essence deplete like a pierced balloon. And then a pair of claws grabs my neck and the essence simmers down. Martha says with a little condescension. Then she bellows another order. The command falls to Adam, one of the Rolan twins who contracts the line again as a dozen masters and a lord detach from the group. We rush over the fortifications, ending nose to nose with a thick line of surprised defenders. By the , they are grimy. ¡°We are friendlies,¡± Martha assures. The men and women¡¯s eyes land on our blood-soaked gear and intimidating weapons. ¡°We really are. Let us through.¡± She pushes with a bit of Charm and their tired psyches accept her gentle touch. They part and we climb through ditches, trenches, and passages. It looks like more of the defenders made it through than I had feared. I even spot a few Gabrielites mingling with soldiers from other groups. Our path leads us up, where many wounded are attended by tireless White Cabal healers under the direction of Sola, the albino mage. We find most of the archmages in a half-circle around a lone tree. I notice that they are all wounded. Carmela, the blonde fencer who is no longer scared of werewolves, even holds the stump of her right hand. I move away from my group to see what this is about. Frost sits against the trunk with a slightly annoyed expression. His eyes are closed and his hands grasp a bottle of expensive brandy. He is also quite dead. I address William, the shadowy heir apparent to Hopkins. ¡°Does it count?¡± I ask. ¡°Who knows with the old bastard?¡± he replies with a chuckle. Martha calls me and I leave. We follow a small path along the cliff on the side of the abandoned village. I look down to see a dense formation of fish folk fighting with oversized tridents, spearing drones before they can reach them. As I watch, a large wave covers the front ranks of the creatures and drags them towards the sea where unaffected mermen butcher them. The second group of vampires and the werewolves are still cutting their path towards us in the distance. their progress has slowed to a crawl. I follow Martha and the other mages to a cliffside grotto, this one man-made. We find Constantine¡¯s device inside. The mages in charge of its activation lie around with congealed blood marring their eyes and ears. One of them is dead. ¡°You can rest, we shall take over,¡± Martha says. One of the mortals nods and helps the weakest member of their team up. I know what to do, Martha and I link hands, as do the others. We take our spots around the construct to chant. The beacon clunks back to life. Our essence pushes in and we open our mouths. A low drone rings at the edge of my hearing. We stay like this for hours, sharing the burden between each other. The beacon pulses against the Scourge Hive¡¯s nefarious influence, disrupting it, preventing it from adapting efficiently. We hold against it until the waves of power lose strength, until it turns from a torrent to a trickle. Finally, as dawn approaches, they fall silent. We deactivate the construct and return to the surface. The land around us is devoid of combat. Only the moans of the wounded remain. The war is over. We have won. Chapter 139: End of an era Boston, vampire fortress, seven days after the battle at Black Harbor.¡°... recommend that those so-called werewolves be either kept in reserves where their tendencies would not lead to bodily harm, or that they be culled entirely out of mercy. Only the Lord may bring an end to their suffering, but only we can ascertain that they do not contaminate us. ¡°The last segment of this report concerns creatures called ¡®vampires¡¯. For reasons that will soon turn apparent, reliable information of vampires has proven extremely difficult to acquire. In fact, the committee would have relegated them to the domain of speculation, were it not for the compelling similarities in the testimonies we collected on the elusive creatures. Witnesses, mage and mundane alike, all agree on several elements. ¡°First, vampires look and sound like humans, and most agree that they possess an uncanny charisma that allows them to infiltrate every strata of society. They spread their influence over their domain until every other supernatural group either leaves or falls under their spheres of influence. Mages, in particular, have mentioned ¡®night-held towns¡¯ as hostile cities where uninvited visitors disappear after dark. ¡°This leads us to the notion of night. It is a universally accepted fact that vampires dislike the rays of the sun, and that they may not even survive them. Vampires cannot enter a home without being invited ¡ª please note that it does not extend to public works ¡ª cannot be present on sacred ground, and fear fire with a passion. ¡°Those weaknesses do little to offset their incredible strengths. Depending on whom you ask, vampires move faster than the eye can see and easily display impossible feats of strength. One retired mercenary in particular, while deep in his drinks, admitted that he had seen a male specimen slaughter a whole squad of soldiers in the time it had taken him to raise his rifle. Others spoke of bodies savaged as if by grizzlies. Although fear and exaggeration may have inflated their reputation, vampires seem capable of amazing feats of physical prowess. ¡°Despite their blatant weaknesses and arguably low numbers, we recommend that vampires become the main focus of our group. Indeed, the lack of reliable information would indicate that they are the most dangerous, cohesive group. They may have already infiltrated the highest levels of the government. If we wish to safeguard the sanctity of our nation, it is imperative to uproot the most insidious supernatural elements before we can address the larger problems of mages, whose removal from society will require effort on a much larger scale¡­¡± I place the report on my desk and look across the room at Sephare. The petite vampire daintily puts her cup down, taking her time in an affected fashion that sets my teeth on edge. she observes. ¡°HSSSSS!¡± Sephare opens her hand in a gesture of appeasement. I half expected that. By helping to gather such a large army, I have become a problematic element within the Accords. The contrast between my official position as a minor actor and the influence I wield fills others with distrust. It does not matter that it was a one off, with most factions agreeing to follow me out of necessity and as reward for past favors. Our kind likes clearly marked hierarchies, at least until the next major power play. Sephare is subtly suggesting that I allowed myself to be ¡®put down¡¯. Roll on my back and offer my throats to pacify the rest. Clearly, she does not understand how Devourers think. I only bend if I have already lost. She sighs. We stand up and leave Sephare¡¯s busy office. Mortals rush past us as we cross the velvety corridors of the fortress¡¯ brand new wing, used exclusively for matters of governance. We walk out into the summer night and across a garden of roses, gathering a lot of attention as we go. The number of mortal attendants has increased dramatically in the past few years. I greet Wilhelm the butler as we enter the main building and we are let out into Constantine¡¯s office by his silent bodyguards without issue. The Speaker invites us to sit with a gesture as he hurries to finish a message. When he is done, he takes the time to clear the space before him. I recognize this ritual as the premise of a long speech. It means that he will dedicate his entire mind to the exchange. I thought we already had one? Taxes! Arggggg. I think about it for a good minute. Constantine asks with a frown. I hiss softly in answer, though it is a faux-pas. The past ten days have been harrowing in many ways. Constantine turns contemplative. Of course, it did not occur to him. He merely inspected a list of tasks to be done and matched a job description to each, not even considering how those could be abused and twisted. He is still enamored with systems, and dismissive of the people seeking to exploit them. he tells me curtly. I reply, calling his bluff. I would rather have someone else place their hands in that absolute bear trap of a job. Sephare smiles with indulgence. This must be the first time that I see true surprise on Constantine¡¯s hawkish face. Even his aura flickers. Accords Council room, fifteen minutes later. I fully expected my peers being about on edge over the whole affair, and I was warned beforehand anyway. I have no issue confronting them. I wave a hand to invite someone relatively neutral, the Warden of Maryland, to speak. The Warden nods to show assent and backs out. The next to speak is Vadim of the Vanheim, who alone can ride a Nightmare through their native dimension. How would I know? Do they expect me to ride out every day and discuss their business over tea and crumpets? Vadim raises an amused brow, but does not press the matter. He and I are of a mind on my subjects, simply by being outsiders with very little link to our clans. The next person is the replacement for Yann, Warden of Virginia, the same whom Constantine slew in this very room. He is a recent lord by the name of Benoit, who clearly opposes the faction I belong to. His strict demeanor has irked a few of us, but there is no denying his administrative skills. He is as good as the Speaker and considerably smoother. He bears the manners of a private, dark-eyed tutor elevated to raise a prince and who has been insufferable ever since. I wait in silence, until Benoit loses patience. he asks slowly as if talking to a child, I see no point in engaging in a pointless exchange of barbs with one who may be more proficient at this art than I am. By being curt, I show dismissal more than weakness. All those present know that the way I handle my ¡®constituents¡¯ does not concern them. If they want to intervene, they will have to force a motion through the council and break the tradition of letting Wardens handle their own affairs. It will not happen any time soon. Naminata unexpectedly comes to my help with a question on the state of the wounded soldiers taken to the White Cabal city of Avalon. Since they fought by my side, I made sure that they were treated fairly and healed by my allies. I even let them keep their expensive weapons. It always feels surreal when she acts so seriously. In the end, Benoit suggests that I be removed from managing the relationship with the White Cabal on account of ¡®gross negligence¡¯, but the proposal finds little traction, even among my rivals. For once, Benoit made a mistake. The arrangement with the White Cabal is with me personally, not with the current Warden of Illinois. As such, it is considered a private matter and is none of their business. The session soon turns to the future and its difficulties. Adam of the Roland says. He is a more moderate member of the southern faction. he continues. I mask my reaction. I thought that too. We look on, surprised. Adam usually advocates for less involvement with mortal affairs. Constantine asks, unexpectedly breaking his own rule by talking out of turn. Adam does not mind. In fact, the canny lord is positively giddy. It makes a surprising amount of sense. We are already relatively protected from witch hunts by virtue of inborn paranoia. As long as we can keep to the shadows, we should be able to weather the coming troubles. It is the mages who will suffer the most, for they are fragmented and alone. The moment the disguise falls, so will we. But we have no choice. It is too late to hide in remote caves and faraway villages Adam allows. s?a??h th? ???el F?re.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. *** Over the next few days, I finish compiling the reports from my allies on the battle at Black Harbor. We had casualties of over one thousand five hundred. A third of those are fatalities. The werewolves lost a dozen members and were almost all wounded. Eight vampires were destroyed in the entire battle, including three masters. The fighters on foot had more casualties, even with the help of the Knight Squad. The White Cabal did not communicate their losses. Despite our success, the cost in life will create a precedent. I have also used political capital accumulated over decades to gather such a force, and now we are even. It will take some time before I can gather such a force again. At the same time, the different groups have come to see me as a rallying figure, and it can only help my prospects. Newspapers have milked our ¡®great victory¡¯ for all its worth. The extermination of the Hive is presented as a much-needed triumph, and convinced many who were on the fence about supernaturals in general. It will do little to sway the rest. If we want a bit more tranquility, we will have to be more direct. *** Washington, a week later. Perspective of John Fueller. Mr. Fueller had held many jobs in the past, but the one he was most famous for was bounty hunting. He had started with horse thieves and found out that he was really good at it. After that, he had gone after more dangerous targets, like highwaymen. Then came the exotic. Mr Fueller was not a liar. He had told things as they had happened, nothing less, nothing more. Some people had always believed that he was exaggerating. After the monsters came out, they had reflected and realized that he was uniquely qualified for a certain task. Just like that, Mr. Fueller had gone to Washington. Now Mr. Fueller was Agent Fueller, and he was the first of his kind. The door to the newly made secret office opened after the third key turn into its lock. Fueller crossed the tiled floor of the lobby and greeted the guard, a dour man sitting all night long behind steel bars, loaded shotgun in hand. It was a small measure considering what they faced, but better some protection than none at all. His steps led him up a flight of wooden stairs. The office was a grim and impersonal affair, as befit a task without glory and without end, for Fueller harbored no illusions. Even if one day, mankind got rid of its enemies, he would not be there to see it. And then it would probably turn on itself. The agent came across a half-open door leading to their administrative office. Perlman was here, still, despite the hour. ¡°Sir?¡± the young man asked with a hint of German accent. ¡°It is quite late. You should head home.¡± The young secretary blinked, then seemed to remember something. ¡°Ah, yes, before I forget, your new recruits have gathered for a meeting.¡± ¡°Here?¡± Fueller asked with surprise, ¡°now?¡± The man frowned. ¡°Yes, it surprised me as well.¡± Fueller grumbled and went a floor up, to the dining room converted into an improvised meeting space. His agents were competent men drawn from the ranks of the military, lone wolves who worked better by themselves most of the time, but knew the importance of teamwork when taking down dangerous foes. Loners to find their mark, team players to take it down. Soldiers, to do what must be done. Fueller stopped outside to listen in, and worried. There was only silence. He opened the door slowly, carefully, and saw agent Russel staring vacantly at the ceiling. The man¡¯s warm brown eyes met his, and Fueller went in, hand on his service weapon. At the head of the table, where he would normally sit, was a woman drinking coffee. Wafts of an excellent blend traveled to him. She put her cup down with a click. ¡°What is the meaning of this?¡± he asked. ¡°Please, join us,¡± she replied with a light voice, the one of a socialite politely inviting someone in. Fueller did not hesitate. He took out his revolver and froze when a monstrous weight settled on his right shoulder. His revolver fell with a clatter, drifting across the varnished floor. It was the only noise to be heard. ¡°I insist¡­¡± the woman finished. Fueller¡¯s gaze traveled up, from the massive mitt clamped on him to the mountain of a man to whom it belonged. The giant considered him with a complete lack of care and gave him a gentle push forward. Fueller was forcefully awakened to a moment of great lucidity. Suddenly, his heart thundered in his chest and his lungs inflated like sails. This was it, a defining moment. He calculated his chance if he were to flee, or to struggle. He was a confident man and did not usually deceive himself. His chances were not good. With as much calm as he could muster, Fueller walked to the other end of the table, opposite the woman. The man behind her still stood at the entrance. He had this strongman, reliable right-hand feel. The woman was different. She looked quite young and pretty in a provincial heiress sort of way, but there was something mature about her demeanor that bothered him. It took only a few moments to realize what it was. She was not moving. Like a statue, her poise and immobility were both perfect. Perfectly cold. Inhuman. ¡°Oh, no¡­¡± ¡°Do you know why we are talking, Mr. Fueller? Why your agents still live, unharmed?¡± The woman asked, inspecting black nails. ¡°You call that unharmed?¡± He spat. ¡°I do. They will return to normal as if nothing had happened once I release them,¡± the woman asserted. ¡°I¡­ You want something from us. To threaten us.¡± ¡°In a way.¡± Her alabaster finger circled the edge of the cup. There was a dull sound, like the aftermath of a bell ringing. ¡°I believe that you are inevitable. Mankind has discovered the darkest recesses of the world, and you long to expunge its inhabitants. I do not begrudge you this desire. It is in our nature as well.¡± ¡°You are a vampire.¡± She did not reply. ¡°You are the first of many. Even if I kill every last one of you tonight and hang your defiled bodies before the smoking remains of your lair, another two groups like yours will pop up in secret. They will have less competent members, but will take more precautions. It is a game of escalation that we are unwilling to play.¡± Fueller felt it then, a glimmer of hope. ¡°You are scared of us.¡± ¡°No, Mr. Fueller, we are not scared of you. There are simply more dangerous things than us hiding in the folds of history, and they require all our efforts.¡± ¡°What sort of things?¡± he asked. She met his gaze for the first time. ¡°Pray that you never find out. Now, for my proposal. The world is filled with enough parasites and nefarious idiots for you to have your hands full until the turn of the century and beyond. We will assist you in this endeavor by providing you with leads to genuine targets. In return, you will keep your attention away from us.¡± ¡°And if we do not?¡± She smirked. ¡°You will receive a warning. Then, you will be shown that the darkness is an ancient battleground, and that you are very new and inexperienced players. I do believe that I already provided an¡­ adequate demonstration. If not, my friend here will gladly provide another.¡± The giant man placed his hand over the head of the closest agent. The view made Fueller think of an egg in the hand of a cook. He swallowed with some difficulty. ¡°No need. You have made your point. I understand.¡± ¡°Do you? Well, I will be sure to send you some valuable reports then, and perhaps visit on occasion. Goodbye.¡± The woman finished her cup and stood up. She disappeared. The man disappeared as well. The other agents were staring at him, awake and alert. ¡°Everything fine there, boss? Are you ready to start the meeting?¡± ¡°Yes, yes. Of course,¡± he babbled. The agent forced a smile, but it never reached his eyes. Sheer, animalistic terror seized his heart. But Fueller had survived worse. He schooled his expression and made a short summary of recent happenings. The others could feel that something had spooked him, he knew, but he needed time. They all needed time. And a solution. He had one. After they were done, Fueller retreated back to his office and picked up a discarded file, one that he had dismissed as too troublesome. The letters were hastily written as if by someone in a hurry. ¡®On Gabrielites¡¯ it said. *** I spend the next month working tirelessly to stabilize my territory. All our efforts have only delayed the inevitable. Already, legislations are voted in states to handle the supernatural population. The most popular is the Hawk law, proposed by a representative from Tennessee. Mages are to be corralled and placed in special areas ¡®for the good of all¡¯. The measure is advertised as a wartime necessity. We are forced to relax our control over newspapers or risk delegitimizing them in the eye of the public. Across the country, lynching and trials abound. Burning at the stake comes back in fashion. The trend hits our allies the hardest. All of the werewolves who can have moved north or to my territory, so that only the insane and the dangerous are left behind. For the mages, however, the situation is infinitely more complex. Most of them just try to live a normal life. Worse, many who have the ability to cast are not formed and their abilities come out as quirks. As such, some unlucky people with uncanny skills are soon singled out, even if those skills are the result of mundane talents. The country is tearing itself apart. Chaos also spreads across the Old World. In the wake of our revelation, the belief in magic has traveled across Europe, leading to significant internal conflicts. Different cultures take different approaches to the resurgence of the supernatural, but the most common remains to create ghettos of casters, at best. We bear witness to a planet-wide witch hunt. By comparison, we are much less hit due to our hermetic nature. All established vampires possess a buffer of mortals between the world and us, and we have experience working from the shadows. On my land, the noisiest troublemakers find themselves victims of accidents and kidnappings. All is not bleak. Mage groups ally with each other to weather the coming storm, causing an explosion in the numbers of Red and White Cabal recruits. Lobbies form to oppose local laws, backed by powerful financial interests. Ours, obviously. ¡®Illinois Guns of Liberty¡¯ exploits the mayhem to expand drastically. And then, in July, things change. High in spirit but poor in supplies, Lee decides to take the war north, hoping to achieve a decisive victory and turn the Confederate states into an independent nation. He leads his men across the Shenandoah valley and meets Grant¡¯s army at Gettysburg in a cataclysmic, three-day battle. Lee¡¯s attack is relentless while Grant plays on the defensive, biding his time. On the third day, Lee makes a fatal mistake. He orders fifteen thousand men to charge the Union¡¯s center. They are slaughtered. As he scrambles to shore up his defenses, Grant smells blood in the water. Eighty thousand federals now face fifty thousand exhausted rebels. Grant¡¯s counter attack is immediate and merciless. Backed by the most powerful artillery battery ever gathered in the conflict, his troops charge west, cutting the army of northern Virginia in two. A daring cavalry assault under a certain general Sheridan (no relation) routs the northern half of the army. Lee decides to withdraw his battered forces but recent rains have swollen the Potomac river and he is trapped, beset on all sides by furious attacks. On July the fourth, after a four hours artillery bombardment, Lee surrenders to Grant. His army is shattered and only debris of divisions manage to escape. On the same day, the strategic town of Vicksburg falls into Union hands. In a day, the Confederacy received two death blows. The surge of patriotism that follows those much-advertised victories bolster northern morale while the defeat consternates the south. Lee, the genius of Chancellorsville, offered his enemy the road to Richmond on a silver platter. A few weeks later, the Confederate army of Tennessee is also defeated. Despite those efforts, the war does not end and Grant orders an all-out assault with all Union armies pushing deep into the south. One of his generals, Sherman, cuts a scorching path to Savannah in only a few weeks. In November, the war is over. In the wake of the end of the conflict, the Accords vampires change their focus. The fever of victory has lessened the burden on magical communities for a moment, giving everyone time to consolidate. The next battlefield will be political. In the meanwhile, we scramble to seize southern assets and I enter an extremely profitable business relationship with Adam of the Roland, a necessary measure. Indeed, with the war over, the demand for guns drops spectacularly, and so does my income. By helping southern lords to take and rebuild their industry, I somewhat offset the lost revenue. Things are as calm as they will get, and I contact Jimena immediately. She will escort me through Europe and to the knights¡¯ stronghold. It is time for me to attend their training. Chapter 140: First class warfare I let the wafts of freshly brewed coffee caress my nostrils with its deep, bitter aroma. The ritual usually settles and distracts me, but not tonight. There is a knock on my door.Jimena steps into my temporary quarters in one of our secure New York¡¯s compound. With the White Cabal so close, this one has been designed for discretion more than for safety. It still has all the comforts one might expect in a modern city. My bedroom is vast enough to host a small tea party. She then takes in my frown and shows some distress, bless her. I roll my eyes as far as they can go to illustrate my points. Jimena, that heartless traitor, takes it in stride with a light smile of her own. I¡­ had forgotten it. Jimena remarks to herself. ¡°Oi!¡± An unusual worry seizes my heart. It is not every night that I am caught off-guard. The setting Sheridan chose is a nice cafe in the better part of the city. We are alone in the room he picked, and the sound of late diners provides a surprisingly mundane background to our conversation. One that I was not prepared for. In that defining moment, all the small details I had relegated to the back of my mind come in sharp contrast. The crows¡¯ feet around his keen eyes. The grey in his proud moustache. Even the first wrinkles in his always tanned skin. He is still a dominating presence, but it is the presence of the experienced mentor, the battle-hardened veteran who compensates his failing body with wisdom and experience. ¡°I am not coming with you.¡± I can see the pain in his eye, the guilt. The distress. His decision is already made and I feel a knot untying in my essence. I suffered terribly when Dalton died, but now Sheridan leaves me and his departure is soft and consensual. The cold in my mind spreads slowly like winter air from an open window. I do not resent him. I physically cannot resent him, and yet I am angry. ¡°It¡¯s not that you have done something wrong. On the contrary, you have proven that your word was true. We have done good together for the past two decades, but that¡¯s the thing. It has been two decades. I am¡­ tired.¡± It seems to be an important moment for him, and so I let him speak. My anger dissipated as quickly as it came. Even a Nirari¡¯s natural grudge cannot stand before a vulnerable Vassal. My nature will not allow it. ¡°I am not as young as I used to be. The nights we spend awake take me longer and longer to recover from, despite your efforts. Spending an hour in a cold ditch to line up the perfect shot used to mean nothing. Now, my back hurts and my knees creak like a rusty carriage. I must stop now. And there is something else.¡± I wave a hand to indicate that he should continue. ¡°Melitone is pregnant.¡± I almost spit my coffee. ¡°You knocked up the Speaker¡¯s twin?!¡± ¡°Hold your horses, she¡¯s not ¡®the Speaker¡¯s twin¡¯, she¡¯s Melitone. A fully fledged agent of the Accords. We have been together for over a decade now. In any case, we¡­ have been¡­ together for a while. We were careless. I asked her to marry me. She said yes.¡± ¡°Wow. Congratulations!¡± ¡°I asked her two days ago. You are the first person to know. She thought it wiser to inform her brother after you had departed.¡± I imagine the face of Constantine as he learns of everything and immediately feel better. ¡°Yes. I understand,¡± I finally admit. And I do. The truth is that Sheridan was never going to become my Servant. We make a good team, but we do not have the dynamic and mindset I would expect from someone I would keep by my side until the end. He is a conscience and a right hand, one who bridges the gap between mortals and us. I need someone different, more an accomplice than a lawman. ¡°You understand? I expected you to be mad,¡± Sheridan admits, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. ¡°I would lie if I said that your decision does not affect me, but I do understand where it comes from. My perspective of time made me forget that things remain different for mortals who are always on a limited time frame. Ah, look at me babble. We had a good run, you and me.¡± ¡°That we did.¡± ¡°So, what now? Will you stay in Boston?¡± ¡°Yes. Mel says that Constantine will be insufferable unless she is well-protected, and the fortress is almost impregnable. I¡¯ll say, it sets my mind at ease knowing that there are walls and horrors between the world and her when she will be at her most vulnerable. Do you know that a pregnant woman was lynched in the streets in Georgia? Because the mob thought she had turned a child into a goat? The world is mad, I tell you. Mad!¡± He exclaims, aghast. I smile and let him rant. A Vassal is lost to me, but he remains a person I hold in my esteem and I should keep ties alive with mortals. The cold settles in my mind as the cuts the waves across the Atlantic. I distract myself from the passage of time by drawing and painting for hours every night. This year, the Parisian scene came to laugh at the ¡°Salon des refus¨¦s¡±, a collection of the works refused by the French Academy of Arts. The Academy prefers realistic, precise brushwork and classical scenes. They called the thick strokes and flamboyant colors of the rebels ¡®unfinished¡¯ and ¡®impressionist¡¯, their modern settings vulgar. Uninspired. However, the audacious paintings attracted the attention of Mask and mine as well. Rather than presenting a clear and classical image to evoke emotions, the newcomers use composition and colors to grab the viewer directly by the soul. They provide the perfect answer to the spread of photography by focusing on sensuality and sensation as expressed by the painter. I ordered two paintings I had shipped to me at great cost, even though the artists themselves are relatively unknown. The purpose was to study their style and brush stroke with a real work, not some rendition. Manet and Cezanne. I do not recognize those names, but I will hold onto the paintings just in case. Slowly, I experiment with new techniques over a few sketches and finally decide on my first renegade painting: the view of the distant north as I emerged from Semiramis¡¯ labyrinth all those years ago. In a few days, the painting takes shape. I do not show the entrance of the cavern, which was at my back. Instead, I draw the polished glass of the permafrost and the fresh snow swept by endless winds. I make the mountains impossibly remote, and larger than they truly were. Above, I draw auroras animating the heavens with curtains of shimmering emerald. They provide the only light color in a landscape of dreary darkness. Even then, they are ephemeral and trickery, robbing the attention without pointing a way. Jimena had tried to distract me from my works by presenting the captain and mates, but they do not interest me and her efforts grow more subdued when she sees the fruit of my labor. The first result pleases me intensely, and I soon find another composition. When we visited the Fist of the Drowned God with the latest Bingle iteration, I spent a few hours crawling my way through deep passages. Once, we came across a single ray of early afternoon light piercing by luck through the layers of the earth. They would be soon blocked but for a moment the deep caverns knew the touch of the sun. I try to evoke that feeling and make the sun searing and alien. I also conceal on one side the dark shape of the deep folk¡¯s shaman who led me through it. The light reflects on the two nacreous dots of her eyes, when one looks carefully. I shrug and let the days pass by. We feed only a few times, and spread them between willing crew who know what to expect and will be compensated for their sacrifice. Their essence is pleasant enough, though I admit that without our regular spars, I would have been restless. As expected, her style is still direct and to the point. While Nami is graceful and unpredictable, Jimena shows her drive and directness by employing very few feints, instead overwhelming her foe through chains of precise strikes. I delight in ruining her rhythm through aggressive and sometimes illogical movements, and she is quick to show me that she can adapt. What shocks me the most, perhaps, is how evenly matched we are. In fact, I believe that I could overtake her if I relied more on my raw speed and intuition. I refrain from doing so since it would simply defeat the purpose of the exercise, but it shows how much I progressed over the past few decades. I remember a time when she could effortlessly stab me in the heart. Now, I could beat her four times out of five if I used everything including magic. Between painting, gossiping, and practice, Jimena also finds the time to tell me what to expect from the training to come. I remark. Jimena continues without missing a beat, My surprise must be obvious, because Jimena reacts immediately. Jimena¡¯s gaze burns with the fire of the true believer. The trip passes quickly between all those distractions. The Cormoran is faster than the previous ship I traveled on, and I cannot help but wonder if, one day, we will be able to cross the Atlantic in mere days! That would be incredible. It would also make visiting my dear Torran so much easier¡­ Ah well, one may dream. S?a?ch* Th? N?v?lFir?(.)n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. By the end of August, we moor in the port of Brest where a night train will take us to Paris and more private travelling arrangements. ¡°Vous voyagez seules?¡± a man with spectacles asks us as we sit down. I was taking out my notebook to review a few variations on my pain spell and his interruption is not welcome. ¡°We do not travel alone,¡± I reply curtly, ¡°since we have each other.¡± Jimena and I wear travel garbs, unique creations from our favorite Boston modist that follow the ¡®Artistic dress¡¯ trend. While many women here favor Victorian style, I simply would not be caught dead in all those hoops, petticoats and bustles. I have only so many hours in a single night. I will not sacrifice two of them to be swaddled in so many strings like a freshly caught boar. Artistic dresses are easy to move in, with a medieval influence that remains proper without doubling as a tablecloth. My recent obscene wealth still permits me to get the very best fabric, the most vibrant dyes and the hands of a master. Jimena¡¯s dress is light brown with a light forrester effect given by the discreet use of leather, while mine is dark blue and flowing. ¡°And your husbands or fathers approve of this?¡± the man asks with a mighty frown of disapproval. Ah, yes, I forgot about that. I spent the last few months exclusively interacting with people who knew who, or what I was. In the rare other occurrences when I had to leave a good first impression, I had either Sheridan or John act as an intermediary. Now, however, I am merely a lone woman traveling alone. Most mortals will take exception to that. I have little care for social censure when it comes to random strangers, like this irritating gentleman, but I must remember that I will be dismissed most of the time. In a way, I am pleased. This little escapade will ground me after all that alliance business went to my head. I shall enjoy it as a refreshing entertainment. Now, to ruin this idiot¡¯s night. ¡°I suppose that you will have to ask them.¡± ¡°I am not sure that I like your tone, miss.¡± ¡°How dreadful,¡± I reply in my most bored voice, ¡°your disapproval is duly noted.¡± And ignored. The interloper has been castigated. Justice has been rendered, and I return to my art as he grumbles. ¡°Drawing is such a frivolous activity!¡± he finally exclaims. ¡°Jimena dear, this man is talking to himself. We share our carriage with a lunatic,¡± I remark, still in French. ¡°I knew it as soon as I laid my eyes on him, dear friend. What are we to do?¡± Jimena deadpans as she inspects a nail. That is too much chastening for the nosy prick. He yelps in outrage and leaves the first class carriage, grumbling under his breath. Jimena asks. I wince at the memory of my previous stay, but I also realize that Jimena is trying to cheer me up and that I should indulge her. After we arrive at the Gare Du Nord, she drags me through the streets of Montmartre where we feed on a couple of drunk artists, leaving them even dizzier than before. We are quickly intercepted by a group of vampire fighters, and I recognize them as a squad I defeated before being captured. There is a thin mustachioed man with the air of Musketeer, and a plump lad with a frizzy dark beard and the demeanor of a bear. They all wear impeccable black suits. ¡°You are....¡± the plump one exclaims. Jimena slaps my shoulder. I politely reply. Ingalles says, as Baltasar nods with approval. I ask with some disbelief. Cedric adds. Ingalles continues, Ingalles finishes, I interrupt, The ensuing visit amuses me a lot. Unfortunately, the trio knows little about painting, preferring music themselves, so they are unable to answer my questions. I still enjoy the experience tremendously and when we are done, they politely escort us to the more exclusive train that will take us east. Jimena notes in passing. We settle down for the day in the same bedroom, near the last carriage, and spend some time getting to know our train driver. He is the same dour Roland Master I met years ago, still carrying his duty with stoic countenance. My surprise is therefore great when the man thaws in the presence of Jimena. The man winces. We spend the remainder of the night gossiping with Crispin and catching up with the latest European news. I followed the situation from afar thanks to Rosenthal dispatches, but I was not so interested until now. Apparently, the nations are in turmoil with the rising urban workers opposing the more traditional, religious side of the population. Countries struggle to define an identity, some looking to the past and others to the future. We only retire with the coming of dawn in our plush quarters. We wake up in the early afternoon and get dressed, making our way to the exclusive lounge where we find ourselves alone, no other vampire traveling at the moment. I have barely started to serve myself some tea when a massive explosion rocks the entire train. By the Watcher. Furniture crashes to the ground and the light flips as my sister and I cling to the floor with our claws. With an agonizing sound of twisted metal, the heavy car leans to the side and collapses. I hear a ghastly groan as we slowly slide to a stop. Only then do I remove my talons from the ravaged wood next to me. Jimena notices calmly. I say, The light would kill us in an instant. With no alternative, we stay put and listen, with some surprise, to the sound of firearms outside. The protocol in case of attack is clear. Whoever survives the initial assault is to hide and hold, and wait for the night. There are people fighting outside and they are not ours. The crack of gunpowder sounds for quite some time, and I even feel the aura of magic through our protective enchantments. The battle rages for a few minutes, then calms down. Eventually, we hear movement inside of the train and someone knocks on the door. We recognize Crispin¡¯s aura and let him in. I see the beginning of anger in his sad brown eyes. He has our gear with him. Jimena asks. Fury flares in our guest, and I see his fangs for the first time. He stops for a while to readjust his crooked tie. I say. I can understand vengeance quite well. We take our armors and I watch, bemused, as the man removes an old chainmail and a dark iron spiked mace from a bag. I ask. I had no idea. This is rather interesting. Without waiting, Jimena starts unbuttoning her dress, forcing Cripsin to gulp. We get changed quickly and I check all my weapons, especially the Big Iron which saw little use against the Hive, but remains an effective weapon against mortals. We reconvene in our room and huddle until nightfall. As soon as the sun sets, we exit from a secret trapdoor under the wheels. I open it first and inspect my surroundings. We are in a deep pine forest, and the smell of sap, blood, and gunpowder assail my senses. The train rests on its right side along a flat band of grass now little more than furrowed mud. A body in a familiar leather trench coat lies prostrate a few feet away from me. To the right, on top of a small mound, a barricade has been set, and I see the metal glints of bayonets. The three of us exit with no specific efforts made to hide our presence. We are immediately hailed by the fortified folks. To my immense surprise, the voice is distinctly female. ¡°Hey, hey comrades! Over here!¡± she says in French. I shrug and let Crispin decide what to do. He sighs heavily and walks up to the defenses, where we meet the most bizarre and heteroclyte assortment of fighters I have seen in a long while. There are men and a few women in factory worker garbs huddling around. They are led by a young couple who look like they are twenty if they are a day. A small red flag flaps in the light wind. The man squints but the woman¡¯s eyes shimmer in the darkness, and I see a simple focus hanging from her rustic dress. ¡°Thankfully, you are alright. We came to save you just in time, comrades! Any enemy of the bourgeoisie is our ally in this glorious struggle! Together, we will defeat the capital and its odious servants, and return the means of production to the people!¡± We what now? Chapter 141: First Impressions are Key I sit on a stump and let my borrowed cloak fall around me. The folds mask my armor so as to not alarm the mortals too much. Below, about thirty men mill around under the supervision of a tall lad with dirty blond hair and his female counterpart. There are also a few other women in worker dresses, mostly in support roles. I count one nurse, two cooks and a pair of mages with primitive foci. They look so very young. The oldest lad must be in his mid twenties and he is the most nervous of them all.Jimena and Crispin, the train conductor, discuss with the Marxist leaders around a map. I have elected not to join them. I will help Jimena without reserve and she knows it, but I care little about the fate of the train and its occupants. They are not my people. This entire farce is a diversion. We should just summon our Nightmares and ride to the next stop instead of wasting our time playing discount rebels, but Jimena will not leave Crispin alone and so I stay as well. They must have reached some sort of agreement, because the camp soon comes alive with feverish preparations. A few revolutionaries rush to the train to help some wounded while the others pack their belongings. The female leader squints towards me, then walks up the slope in almost total darkness. I watch her progress with some measure of amusement. The brave little rebel stumbles up the dark path in a metaphor of her struggle. I watch in disbelief as she struts more confidently as she reaches a plateau. As expected, she slips on an exposed root with a yelp, then yelps again when I brace her before she can fall on me. ¡°Ah, errr, hmm, sorry. Ariane?¡± ¡°Yes. What do you want?¡± Her eyes search the gloom. She is truly untrained. A more experienced mage would detect me from aura alone. If I let them. ¡°Nu Sarrehin.¡± The Likaean incantation calls forth a purple dancing light, a selfish and tricksy radiance that illuminates only us. Those below cannot see. ¡°Oh, thank you. Ah. Nice to meet you, my name is Louise Lafranchie. Your friend, the Spaniard, she said that you can do magic? Well obviously you can. What I meant was, can you teach me?¡± Oh? I feel a veil lifting from my heart and for the first time I see her, not as one of many but as an individual with drives and desires that could align with mine. The young woman has auburn hair, dark eyes and a rather plain face, but she has an animation about her that manages to compel the attention of the others. She offers an interesting contrast to the male leader, who is all much more detail-oriented from the little I have seen. ¡°Uh?¡± ¡°What you ask, I cannot provide. Learning magic is the work of a lifetime. I must attend to my own affairs, and I am not looking for an apprentice at the moment.¡± ¡°Apprentice? No, I meant¡­ a few tricks. Just a direction. We have been trying to learn but all we have to work with are old diaries and hearsay.¡± ¡°Who are ¡®we¡¯?¡± ¡°My coven! There are just four of us now, but we will grow and make a difference in the world soon enough. We will be like the witches of the middle-age, defiant in the face of oppression!¡± ¡°Perhaps you should not base your movement on people who were hunted down and burnt at the stake.¡± S?a??h the ?0velF?re.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. She puffs her cheeks comically. ¡°Their spirit lives on!¡± I refrain from commenting as we have entered the domain of the metaphysical and I am already quite bored. ¡°So, you seek a¡­ primer? Something to get you started?¡± ¡°Yes! A primer would be great. We need a source of elementary knowledge.¡± I could easily copy fifty pages of observations and basic runes from my notes to set them on the right path. It would certainly occupy neophytes for a few months and lay a solid foundation for them to pursue the Western Standard tradition of magic. ¡°What do you offer in exchange?¡± I ask. Her expression falls a bit, and I push down the anger threatening to overcome me. I clench my hands ¡ª once ¡ª before remembering that she does not know better. PRESUMPTUOUS. I can hardly blame the INSOLENT one when I have not shared my own nature. ¡°I know I ask much, but think about it. Our enemies are many and they have all the resources they plundered from the hands of the workers, and still plunder to this day. We are fighting centuries of tradition and indoctrination of the masses. Our only hope if we want to prevail would be to pull our resources together, help each other throw off our shackles. Otherwise, we will just be one more group squabbling for scraps.¡± ¡°An interesting proposal. However, you imply that we are in this together. We are not. Every revolution needs to work with various elements in order to succeed. If you wish for my assistance, you will have to provide suitable compensation.¡± ¡°Jimena said that you came from a very old line of mages. Are you¡­ nobility? I thought Americans had no counts or kings.¡± ¡°Not all dynasties carry a title.¡± Though mine does, but Devourer is not a term I care to share with strangers. ¡°So you really are an aristo. I suppose that poor folks don¡¯t have these kinds of travel arrangements.¡± The poor lady is a bit crestfallen, but like her kind is wont to do, she bounces back immediately. ¡°I should have guessed that from your behavior as well. Hmm. No offense.¡± ¡°None taken. I am still awaiting your offer with some curiosity. What can one who opposes the accumulation of wealth offer?¡± ¡°Service.¡± ¡°Oh,¡± I chuckle, ¡°I do not think that you want to serve me.¡± ¡°No no no not me as a servant. A service for a service. Knowledge for knowledge? Would that work?¡± I sigh in disappointment. She is no supplicant, not really. This is just a farce like this revolution of hers and our stay here. I am wasting my time instead of training. I would grant her knowledge as a boon if she provided me for some entertainment. I suppose that I will have to wait and see. ¡°That means no?¡± she asks with some frustration. ¡°You are searching for something to exchange. Let me know when you have found it, I am disinclined to hear your internal musings.¡± I turn when Jimena¡¯s aura pulses. The lithe vampire waves at me and I stand up to make my way back. ¡°Come, the others are waiting.¡± We head down without her crashing into obstacles this time, and gather around a small map. Jimena brings me up to speed. I look around. The pine forest expands as far as I can see. I remember the body of the man in a leather coat. I shrug. Crispin adds as he comes to us, his hand firmly holding his black iron mace. he continues pointing at the map. Someone placed a pin on our current position and I see that the base is only ten miles away or so. It will be easy to reach it in a night, even with mortals in tow. In the worst case scenario, I can submerge the three of us in the earth¡¯s embrace to survive the day. I ask with disbelief. I am so used to segmented plans and the need to mobilize large forces that I have forgotten that it is, in fact, possible to just go somewhere and kill people. Crispin says a bit sheepishly while Jimena grins. Aha! I say reproachfully, but I return to the train to grab my rifle from the armory. I come across the train personnel on the way. They appear to be shaken by their losses and wounds. I gather that trains are most of the time left alone, and that deaths are exceedingly rare. Complacency always has an enticing perfume. I pick up my rifle. It is the latest iteration in a long series of improvements on a custom design: a reinforced barrel and a firing mechanism fed by an ejectable revolver cylinder. Just like the Big Iron, this weapon is not meant for mortal hands. They would struggle with its tremendous weight. Such constraints are of no concern to me. I place a bandolier of spare cylinders across my shoulder and walk out, the monstrous piece resting on my shoulder. The revolutionaries and rebels watch me come with various degrees of disbelief. ¡°Do you even know how to aim, woman?¡± one of them asks. Ah, to be doubted again in public is not an experience I have missed. ¡°Keep talking and find out,¡± I warn. ¡°Let it be,¡± the dirty blond-haired leader says, ¡°we have to move now if we wish to make a difference. The reactionary forces of the great capital have pulled back because we caught them off guard, but if we wish to win, we must find out where they come from and kick them out. Are you with me?¡± ¡°Yea!¡± ¡°We scout and we find them, and if there are too many we will pull back and ask the comrades to join us. Stick with each other and stay quiet. They won¡¯t expect us to dare and follow, but no need to alert them, guys. And girls. All in agreement?¡± Everyone nods or grunts to affirm their support. The camp is made and the Marxists pack up with satisfactory speed considering that no one seems to be quite in charge. In only a few minutes, the column moves up. ¡°We will scout ahead, Vonany. Be sure to keep only two lights,¡± Crispin says in accented French. Interestingly, his seems to be merely a local, older accent while mine is that of a foreigner. We move out. The pine forest swallows us until the skies are blotted and the heavy scent of sap covers every other. The woods creak lightly under a dense canopy, and everywhere beasts hunt and scavenge. Far in the distance, an owl ululates. Something small and furry dies in its grip. The mortals trudge through the undergrowth with the light steps of those who know that they trespass on hostile territory. For a while, we follow the tracks left by the retreating Gabrielites. I am surprised by how few of them there seem to be, merely a dozen. No wonder that they left when under fire. A wise commander would have brought four times the number and enough powder to topple a mountain, though I am beginning to suspect that our foes are as confused by the turn of events as we are. Political fringe element siding with supernatural entities? The world has gone mad. I keep my musings to myself as we split up and busy ourselves leading the mortals. One of us stays on track and marks the path while the two others roam and search for anomalies. There is very little to be found, but I find myself enjoying the distraction. I used to run the primal woods around Loth¡¯s domain every night, but I have had little time to indulge that hobby in the last few months. I find that I have missed it, and that these deep pine forests lend themselves well to the exercise. The silence of ancient woods is only broken by scurrying things of which we are but one among many. Little by little, I shed the annoyance that had ruined my temper up until now and come to an obvious realization. The departure of Sheridan has affected me on a deeper level than I had imagined. The other humans must now work a great deal harder to garner more than a passing glance from me, like that witch did. I do not believe that I had a single conversation with a crew member during my crossing of the Atlantic. Truly, we need them to stay¡­ anchored in the mundane world. Perhaps we need them even more as we grow older and our ties to our past living selves fade. I should write to June, my grand niece. As I keep my mind relaxed, a powerful stench suddenly wakes me up from my reverie. Now, not all of the forest¡¯s perfumes are pleasant. Carrion and droppings are part of the tapestry of scents I expect. This is different. I smell old rot and burnt flesh. Smoke. Maggots. I flare my aura and wait for fifteen seconds. Jimena joins me with Crispin close behind. The two others taste the air and wince one after the other. Jimena says with obvious displeasure. We move quickly through a clearer patch of the forest. The trees are quite tall here, and their trunks are bare. Spiders and other things have made their lairs in the permanent darkness. We come across a path, a deep groove dug through the thick layer of dry pines, wide enough to show wheel tracks. A small handcart. We follow it to a clearing as the stench of death grows from cloying to overwhelming. The scene we come across silences even us. The English term ¡®mass grave¡¯ does not give it justice. A grave can be a solemn thing after all. I much prefer the French term ¡®charnier¡¯, which evokes the amorphous gathering of spoilt flesh and jutting bones before us more viscerally. There are raised crosses with their arms blackened by fires planted at the front, like the dessicated remains of giants. Perhaps the magic of the world is growing thicker because I can still taste it in the background, a deep, festering aura of horror and despair. Those who were brought here saw what they were to become. They begged and yelled, then they screamed in agony when the hungry flames blackened their toes. They coughed and retched when incandescent fumes torched their lungs. Finally, their remains were cut down and flung aside to leave the place to others. There was no dignity in death, not for them. Crispin leans by a specific corpse. Jimena and I follow and see a young boy, this one still fresh. His rough-spun shirt shows the first hint of flames but someone shot him in the heart, sparing him some of the indignities he would have been subjected to. Despite the mercy kill, I still feel a deep unease at the sight of the dead. I have rules, a code I picked for myself under Loth¡¯s advice. This code grounds me and gives me boundaries I can follow to keep bloodlust and playfulness at a reasonable level, and despite its laxness and flexibility, I would still break its most basic tenets by doing what those people did. Who would kill the little ones? It is wasteful. Pointless. Cruel to an impossible degree. Crispin says, finally breaking the silence, The old bishop looks up to us and in his eyes I see a flare that was not there before. I say, Crispin asks. I answer. Jimena says, Crispin replies. The two of us split up and I follow the tracks while the man roams around. As we enter another vale through a gap between two mounds, I hear signs of battle to my left. I rush there but find the skirmish over before it even began. There are three Gabrielites dead on the ground and Crispin is currently wiping his mace with a nice handkerchief. I inspect their hiding place and admit that it would have been difficult to notice them on sight alone. Vegetation covers it so that it melds into its surroundings, all while giving its occupants a perfect point from whence to see everything . That was before Crispin found it. Now, the structure lies gutted, much like its previous owners. I turn around and notice that the path we followed is not the only point of interest. The narrow vale we just entered must have been a hamlet not so long ago. Now, only skeletons of buildings remain huddled around a small lake large enough to justify a few canoes. Their husks line the beach. I frown as I feel a tug, my intuition at work again. How perceptive of him. I shall never let my guard down against them. Arrogance is how they get us. If I close my eyes, I can still remember the oppressive feeling of fire all around me, and the cries of the White Cabal dying to silver bullets. We wait for quite some time before the others join us. I remember from the briefing that this lake is the center of the contested region. The Marxists soon arrive in various states of shock. They are beaten and horrified. Some have cried, but to their credit they are all still there under the command of the grim Vonany. ¡°This is the perfect place for an encampment,¡± Jimena whispers in French when we all gather, ¡°with fresh water, food to scavenge, and ready buildings. And yet it lies empty.¡± ¡°Perhaps a trap?¡± Vonany says, his eyes nervously searching the landscape. ¡°We should get closer. There is a small house on the other side of the lake. We can get there first, then consider our next step,¡± I say. The others accept my proposition for lack of an alternative, and we set out, this time in much closer formation. The canopy recedes over us until we have to bend, and we silently line up along the shore. The silent houses stand to our left, close enough for even the mortals to see clearly in the moonlight. The scenery is devoid of both sound and movement. Like a painting. Something bobs along the placid waters and I smirk, pointing it out to my companions. A cigar stub. Not far, an apple core floats, nibbled on by tiny fishes. Under the mortals¡¯ curious gaze, I kneel near an untouched expanse of mud and start drawing. Two concentric circles crossed by an eye like the slit pupil of a cat appear, soon covered with glyphs. I am not too familiar with this spell since I have little use for it, but I learned it anyway. I simply never expected to have to use it against Gabrielites of all people. I whisper. A circle like a lense with the diameter of two arms opens in the air, and sounds and lights emerge from the other side. The group gathers around and watches, mesmerized, as a window into a different world opens. Around us, the village lies abandoned. Through the aperture, it is a hive of activity. I quickly study the new scene. The side opposite us, which includes a small pier, hosts quite a few military tents in orderly rows. Soldiers in blue vests and red trousers mill about, with dark scowls aimed at the other part of the camp, where the now-intact houses lie. There, Gabrielites in uniform maintain a vigil over both the edge of the forest, the nearby paths, and, interestingly, the army. The rift between the two forces could only be more obvious if they started fortifying against each other. One last location causes a few words of consternation from our allies, though they are quickly quelled. Cages line a wall of the tallest building, and in them sit two dozen prisoners. I see men, women and children in those, including a few with red armbands. ¡°Prisoners, there! Those are our people,¡± one of the rebels says. ¡°I think I recognize Michelet. And is that not Marie Vaucoeur? I thought she and her family had simply fled the region!¡± ¡°Yes, yes,¡± Jimena interrupts, ¡°not so loud. Ariane, how come that we cannot perceive them with our own eyes?¡± I silently point at the front of the buildings where most of the Gabrielite sentries have gathered. They are fewer than the soldiers by a large margin, I notice. The source of the spell becomes obvious to everyone present. A man kneels on a set of planks, his body and arms held to a cross and his beatific face turned upward in prayer. Only a simple tunic covers his body, showing corded limbs criss-crossed by the marks of whip. Dirty brown hair covers his skull in oily clumps. As we watch, a sentry approaches with a sponge and helps him drink. After he is done, he resumes his supplications. ¡°Impossible. They are using mages as well?¡± Jimena asks ¡°He has the bearing of a martyr. Perhaps they have made an exception,¡± I suggest. ¡°I thought all those witches and whatnot were on our side?¡± a young revolutionary complains. ¡°Well, this one was brainwashed by our foes to turn on his own kin. Look how he suffers!¡± Vonany exclaims with a discreet glance at his own mage. The young Louise appears conflicted. ¡°The poor thing,¡± she finally mutters, but her expression hardens soon after. ¡°His sufferings will come to an end, whether he wants it or not. Freedom or death!¡± A slew of approval echoes her declamation and we are once again forced to curb their enthusiasm. They are so young. I tell Crispin, ¡°I see three objectives and two constraints,¡± he says in French after a moment of reflection. ¡°Our first constraint is the presence of prisoners. They must be freed before we engage. Our second constraint is the soldiers, and they should not be engaged at all.¡± ¡°Why not?¡± someone grumbles, ¡°they are the arm of the capital!¡± ¡°Because,¡± the vampire replies patiently, ¡°I count a hundred of them and you folks have two dozen fighters, to begin, and second, it is unwise to antagonize the army until you have a strategy to face the entirety of it.¡± ¡°But¡­¡± ¡°Look at it this way. If we keep the conflict between the Gabrielites and us, the soldiers may simply let us go or make some token effort to stop us. If we start killing them, they will fight back with their full strength. Does your ideology make you bulletproof? No? I thought not.¡± ¡°Antoine is right,¡± Vonany says with a look at the revolutionary who had objected, ¡°they are clearly allied. Why would they not fight side by side?¡± Jimena answers this time. ¡°If you look at the camp, you will see that their alliance is fraying at the edge. They have two camps and the hostility between them is clear. Gabrielites are a paranoid sort. They do not work well with other mortals, nor do they hide their holier-than-thou attitudes. As for soldiers, those are undoubtedly reluctant to slaughter their own civilians. We are in luck.¡± ¡°Alright, the revolution is not ready in any case,¡± Vonany admits, ¡°but what about the three objectives?¡± ¡°The first objective is the first constraint. We need to free the prisoners at the start. The second objective is to send a message to the army that the Gabrielites are not the unstoppable experts they must have claimed to be. The last objective is to kill every last of them.¡± ¡°But not the soldiers?¡± ¡°But not the soldiers.¡± ¡°Your confidence is inspiring, comrade Crispin. How do we do that?¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± the man from earlier says, ¡°easier said than done.¡± The vampire bristles slightly at the interruption and the other man backs down, chastised. ¡°We obviously need a diversion, a compelling performance that cannot be ignored. If it brings terror to the soldiers, all the better.¡± Jimena turns to me, then Crispin does so as well. The Marxists soon join them through, I guess, mimetism. ¡°Yes, I can do a diversion,¡± I admit, slightly miffed that I have been designated as the prime diversion provider. ¡°Excellent. You attract the Gabrielites¡¯ attention while the rest of us free the prisoners. After we are done, I shall join you while Jimena of the Cadiz covers our exit. If that is agreeable?¡± Nods all around. I find the mortals strangely settled. Although they are grim, I see a determination in their eyes that the situation does not justify. We have not even used Charm on them and they are still ready to attack a superior force. We only just met. Perhaps our confidence is enough to convince them? ¡°Then we shall move along the edge of the clearing. Ariane of the Nirari, please give us ten minutes to get in position, then you can¡­ let go.¡± ¡°One last question¡­¡± I say as an afterthought, ¡°are there any pigs held here that you know of?¡± All but Jimena show signs of deep consternation. As for my sister, she is busy chuckling. ¡°Please excuse my dear sister. She has a bad experience with pigs and diversions. I can neither smell nor hear any, but if I do, I shall imitate a bird cry,¡± she says. ¡°Yes, yes, on your way then.¡± I watch the group fade back into the woods, then hear them progress with cautious steps. Now, for a diversion. I already have an idea as I see an interesting figure walking along the small pier. I put on my scarred battle mask, make sure the cloak is well-adjusted and sneak my way along the lake from the far side. I do not have much time so I go faster than usual. A vigilant sentry catches movement at the edge of his field of view and frowns, so I use a touch of suggestion to make him dismiss his concern. I arrive at the pier without issue and cast a small darkness spell to make it disappear from view. There are a lot of tents nearby, but its occupants are currently sleeping. The officer finishes his cigar and tosses the stub dismissively into the cold water. His dress uniform is freshly pressed, and I see only evening stubble on his cheeks, but the underlying smell of old sweat and drooping shoulders shows the dent in his spirit. I expected that much. ¡°What bothers you so?¡± I ask in French, and the man jumps up with a yelp to face me, ¡°the death of a child or the torture of civilians?¡± He clenches his jaw and places a hand on his side, only to realize that he left his sidearm somewhere else. The darkness spell masks the encampment, so that the path behind me leads only to impenetrable gloom. I stretch the spell to encase us just as he searches around. A risky move, as the unnatural shadow could be noticed. Thankfully, the pier was dark to start with and the attention of most guards is aimed outward. ¡°You are one of them,¡± he says, swallowing his saliva with difficulty. I have to give him credit for his self-control, though I smell his terror. Delicious, but he is off-limits. ¡°Yes, and you are in way over your head. But do not take my word for it. I shall visit our religious friends now, and you have but to witness our conflict. Stay out of it.¡± ¡°Honor compels me to¡ª¡± ¡°Kill children?¡± I interrupt. His composure cracks. ¡°He was going to suffer more¡­¡± Oh! So it was him who shot the child in the heart to spare him the indignity of death at the stake. ¡°There will be more of them, an endless tide of innocents whose sole sin was to be born with power. How many times can you see the light fade in their little eyes before you lose yourself?¡± I ask. In his heart, I fan his burning anger and the simmering pain of intense guilt. It took nothing more than the smallest nudge to get him over the edge. ¡°I will be punished and my career will be over but¡­ dammit. I cannot take this anymore. I signed up to defend the motherland, not to assist a bunch of lunatics. I may be making a mistake, but if you stay away from our camp, I will not interfere while you, while you¡­¡± His voice wavers, and he takes a great sigh, then his shoulders straighten and I am looking at a new man. ¡°While you dispense justice.¡± We understand each other. The paper pusher who sent this man to supervise the Gabrielites was a fool. The officer is young and naive, an idealist. A jaded monster returning from the colonies would have served the cause better. Their loss, my win. I nod and let the darkness fade progressively, so as not to alert anyone. I move out and decide to reposition. I need to approach the village from the front where the Gabrielites have focused their attention. It only takes me a minute or so to be in position. The only difficulty I face is the powerful illusion still protecting the perimeter. I am forced to cast the piercing spell again to find their sentries and make sure that my approach will not be detected, then I slowly crawl through the edge of the magical construct, feeling it brush over me like a strong wind. Truly, one must work hard to make things look effortless. Finally, I am ready. The night is well on its way by now, and the sentries are growing tired. The fires are little more than embers crackling peacefully in the clean mountain air. The only person still active is the martyr mumbling to the sky, needled as he is by faith and self-hatred. I notice a guarded shed to the side and deduce that it might be the armory. If not there, then inside one of those buildings. That goes first. Then what? I need to attract attention, and for that I must resort to theatrics. I can do theatrics. They are a form of gloating. Sadly I will not be able to use the repeater. Another time, perhaps. Sinead always writes about the different roles he plays on his quest across the world, and what insight he gained every time. There is one skin I can wear, one persona I can adopt that would be perfectly suitable. In fact, I already have an advantage. After all, I have been in his mind and seen his memories. Quickly, I sneak to the shed and find that, indeed, it smells of gunpowder. I come at the sentries from the back and do not kill them as their absence might alert the foe. Instead, I pick the lock open and cast a spell on the hinges so that they move silently. Inside, I find a few barrels. I take my one small powder charge and cast another silence spell to mask the hiss of the fuse. I close the door quietly, and return to my starting position. Thirty more seconds. I am Nirari. I am Nirari, I am Nirari, I am Nirari. I take a deep breath and relax my shoulders. I crouch and place both hands on the green grass. Fertile land, ripe for the taking. All mine soon. Those before me are PREY. They are pathetic and weak, the same fanatics I have faced a thousand times before. This is just a distraction, something to fend off boredom as I pursue her. Yes. I allow my concern for tactics and coordination to disappear from my mind. My allies will do what they want, I care not. I am not here for some grand plan. I am here to punish. I am arrogant. I am detached. I am supremely self-confident. And I am cruel beyond compare. The shed explodes. The two guards¡¯ mangled bodies fall on the turf, broken. I rush forward and take out Rose, slashing at the closest man. A flash of blue and the blade is repelled. Well, I should have expected¡­ No! No. I am Nirari. I am toying with them. I smile at the closest guard and throw a knife at his throat, pick his blade and spear it through his neighbor. The radiance of the human god will not stop a native blade. He falls as well. A few guards aim and shoot. I move conservatively and avoid their scattered attacks by stepping aside at the last moment. Another guard falls to a knife. I crush a fourth with the body of his comrade for the sake of variety. The others run back to the largest building from whence a group emerges. They left the martyr behind. He looks up to me with liquid brown eyes. ¡°I forgive you, for you cannot help what you are,¡± he tells me. ¡°Quite so,¡± I reply. Around him, the bubbling power of faith burns against my skin with such fervor that I cannot approach, so I pick up a bayoneted musket and pierce his flank. Blood spills on the packed earth. Around us, the fire has spread to a nearby building. Heat and light bask us in an infernal glow, providing a perfect background to the scene that will follow. I stand tall and let the fearful mortals gaze at the metal glint of my mask. The Gabrielites gather fearfully around a tall, relatively young fighter with a bushy beard. He and his kin huddle behind a wall of tower shields bearing the cross of their god while, behind, the soldiers have gathered but do not move. They hold their breath and I feel the pleasant weight of their gaze upon me. I am not bothered because I provoked it. All the world is a stage and the main actor just stepped in, and now they will perform for my amusement. ¡°Foul creature! We shall purge your kind from the face of the earth!¡± the Gabrielite leader bellows, trying to overcome his panic. I allow him to bleat a few more threats before I flick a finger and make myself as loud as an orchestra. ¡°Your banter bores me, Gabrielite. I have heard the same threats a hundred times. Always yapping, never biting. Will you dogs of the church finally provide me with some entertainment before I leave your bloodless corpses to the crows?¡± Ohohoho this is FUN. Before me, a few fighters take a step back when they finally realize that, yes, I am no simple caster. Their leader tries in vain to regain the initiative. ¡°I know what you are, vampire!¡± he screams. ¡°Then you will die a wise man.¡± And with that cheesy delivery, I grab my cloak and let it fall to the ground, revealing the obsidian armor below. I do not have to look to know that the embers reflect on its smooth scales. ¡°You will not get away with this! A new age is upon us! Your kind will be left behind!¡± I have heard that one before. ¡°Are you quite sure?¡± I ask. Then I take the Big Iron and shoot him in the face. Heh. He falls dead while his followers look on, completely dumbstruck. I just could not resist. Screw Nirari, I will play the immortal horror my own way. ¡°Hahahaha! Die, mongrels!¡± Rose is repelled, some of my spells hit their silver-covered shields and are somehow absorbed and I cannot get close but it does not matter. They have no real way to stop me, they can only delay, and I am not taking any real risk either. A man falls with a bullet between the eyes, another killed by a knife. I manage to find a rope, form a lasso like Sheridan taught me, and drag one of them screaming into a dark recess where I drain him by the ankle. Through the sock, unfortunately. The others don¡¯t know it and I make sure to throw the severed head at their feet, as well as providing commentary. Normally I would limit the talk but this is not a Hunt. I am exterminating vermin for a friend. ¡°None of you will live to see the dawn!¡± I helpfully inform them in the most ominous voice. ¡°Don¡¯t listen to her! Salvation comes from heaven!¡± a leader says as he gathers his bloody troops near the entrance of their base. ¡°No, it will not.¡± Crispin joins the fray. He jumps down from the building¡¯s roof and onto the enemy formation. All their crosses are aimed out and the attack takes them by surprise. The reserved vampire turns into a whirlwind of steel and destruction, his mace sending bodies crashing into walls with mighty roars. His savagery is such that I am a bit hesitant to join him while he is obviously having such a great time. Eventually, we take down the last stragglers and the fire appears contained enough that the village will probably not be turned to cinders. We clean our weapons with all the haughty arrogance we can muster, and walk away into the darkness, casting one last glance at the terrified soldiers sticking to each other in tight ranks. With the illusion lifted, we easily find Jimena and a convoy of civilians, many of them showing signs of abuse. I approach a smiling sister and speak in a low voice. Jimena points behind at the burning village and piles of corpses, then at the terrified ranks of soldiers still holding position, then back at our own mortals, also terrified and holding position. Chapter 142: Kept in check. ¡°This is bad news,¡± Vonany whispers.¡°No, this is good news,¡± I retort. The return trip to the downed locomotive has been long and tedious. I even used Rose to cut branches for improvised stretchers like some sort of armored woodswoman. Disgrace. Crispin insisted on helping the marxists and prisoners for political reasons and I agreed with him, though I had to escort the slow-moving wounded as a result. Now, we have returned to find the locomotive sealed and a group of Gabrielites laying siege, lit lanterns creating a perimeter around the fallen behemoth. An enterprising pair busies themselves trying to pry a door with a crowbar. I wish them all the luck, because I am not sure I could do it myself. The crowbar would bend. Vampire trains are designed to resist the heaviest of punishments. It is just a shame that the same cannot be said about the rails they travel on. ¡°How is this good news?¡± Vonany spits, but Jimena simply taps him on the shoulder as I finally, finally take my custom rifle from my shoulder and check the sights. ¡°Delayed gratification,¡± she explains. ¡°Uh?¡± I finish making sure that the beast is ready and line the first shot. The barrel is so heavy that it would take two strong men to keep it steady. I take a deep breath out of habit and let it out slowly, letting the sight fall on the would-be burglars. The detonation is so loud that yelps of alarm spread across the column behind us. My targets fall, skewered like roast pigs. I calmly pull a pin and the cylinder rotates, chambering a new cartridge. The next man falls in a deafening crack, then the next. The rest are running. I pick them off as they find cover. I shoot one as he enters the forest, then another as he hides behind a pine trunk. The trunk dies too. One pull and the cylinder pops out, quickly replaced by another. A Gabrielite jumps behind a metal barrel left there by the train crew. I do not know what it contained but it was apparently not solid enough. I finally stop aiming and stand up, letting the smoking, glowing barrel rest on my shoulder once more. s?a??h th? N?v?l(F)ire.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. ¡°So. Yes. You do know how to use that,¡± the revolutionary allows with wide eyes. Ugh. I tell him. he says, then grabs his black iron mace and walks forward. I ask Jimena in a low voice. If it had been me, none of the soldiers would have gone home. Jimena goes to join him and I step aside for a while, letting the column of refugees spill out on the small clearing in crying clumps. Those of the train crew who were not too hurt get out to share supplies. Despite the general anguish, I cannot help but smirk at the sight of marxist revolutionaries eating caviar on blinis, passing along bottles of expensive champagne. And I did all the work. It takes a few minutes, but eventually the witch gathers enough courage to walk up to my retreat. This time, she shows more wisdom and brings a small lantern. She falters as soon as our eyes meet. I wait patiently as she searches for words, until eventually she blurts out what was on her mind all along. ¡°Are you really a human?¡± Hah. ¡°No, our kind are called vampires. You can consider us as¡­ previously human. Cursed.¡± ¡°I am not so sure that I want lessons from you any longer.¡± ¡°Suit yourself.¡± ¡°But are you really on our side?¡± she asks. I give her my kindest smile. The one without teeth. ¡°We are on no one¡¯s side but our own. With that said, we make reliable allies and truly unfortunate enemies.¡± ¡°Unfortunate?¡± ¡°For you.¡± ¡°Ah, uh, but what about class struggle? Can vampires not see that the wealth of nations is currently in the hands of the few? Do you see our fight as worthy?¡± An amusing question. I believe that the others are like me. We understand group dynamics and power on a fundamental level, one that goes beyond the system in which they exist. As long as mankind is mankind, there will be power structures and hierarchies. They can be flatter or narrower, but there will always be a top and a bottom. I could explain that, and the importance of understanding one¡¯s own nature, but I have a better idea. ¡°Here, let me demonstrate our world view with the help of a simple illustration.¡± I grab a pen and a paper from one of my armor pouches. A cut stump ends up as an improvised desk. To start with, I draw a triangle and write ¡®vampires¡¯ inside. ¡°This is us.¡± ¡°I see?¡± I draw a small circle to the side, this one named ¡®our humans¡¯. The two figures are separate and do not intersect. ¡°This is the collection of humans we currently have an interest in.¡± To finish, I draw a large pyramid under the vampire triangle, so that the triangle ends as the figure¡¯s tip. In it, I write ¡®food¡¯. ¡°And this is the rest of creation.¡± No reaction. ¡°Any questions?¡± ¡°No¡­¡± ¡°If it is any comfort, we do not appreciate the misery that the fires of industry have brought upon many people. Indeed, trapped in it, people no longer live. They survive. Back-breaking labor smothers their passion, creativity, and deep thought. It takes away their humanity by preventing its expression. Entire generations are sacrificed in the name of immediate profit.¡± ¡°Yes! Yes!¡± I stop myself before telling her that it ruins the taste. Ah, mortals, so easy to appease. It would not do to scare her too much, or she might learn of our weakness to the sun and try something during the day. Then I would have to kill her. Fortunately, it seems to be enough to placate her enough that she can breathe, but not enough that she pesters me about teaching her anymore. The result is that she heads back to her ¡®comrades¡¯ to help the wounded. I return to my isolation until another train arrives from the opposite direction. We leave the wreck behind us and transfer to the new one while a crew moves out to start the repairs. The sun emerges as we cross the border to Hannover. By that time Jimena and I have retired to our quarters. Prague, two nights later. History in every stone. In the space of a minute, I have come across fine examples of Roman, renaissance, and Baroque architecture. Every tower, every house proudly bears its heritage under colorful tiles in red or blue, with rectangular windows dotting their facades by the dozens. Contrary to the cities back home where wood is used as a cheap and convenient material, rock is king here. The pavements and walls are made of it, and the older ones already bear the wrinkles of age with dignity. And so I take my time enjoying the experience, walking across busy streets and rowdy crowds. My steps lead me to the town square and its gothic church illuminated by gas lights. Tall spires pierce the skies while long glass windows will, tomorrow, let in the sunlight to bask the worshippers. Tonight, it merely keeps me at bay. As I stop moving, roving bands of men in felt hats or berets give me a wide berth. I have grown too used to the cosmopolitan nature of our cities. Here, my traits and garments clearly mark me as a foreigner. A passing gentleman still deigns to inform me, in German, that the object of my interest is called the Church of Our Lady before Tyn, and that it has been standing for over four hundred years. So old! Europeans sure love to put things into perspective, though they rarely mean to. Except for the Master of Prague of course, who is a pretentious twit I wish to strangle and the reason why I have been so eager to take a stroll. Jimena led me here so that we may change trains, but we are stuck in transit for a few nights after missing our correspondence and it was our duty to meet the Master of the place. Said Master happens to be a Dvor lord who thoroughly backs Nina of the Dvor, the very same who objected to my relationship with Torran. I sincerely did not expect this to come back and bite me in the rear. The situation grew tense fast after our introduction. he had informed me with a pointed look, shortly after a discussion on impalements. I reminded the man who had won his seat by submitting a poem. Things went downhill after that. I continue to move around, not in any hurry and not too worried about my safety. In fact, I am even surprised to have been let out without supervision. Midnight approaches and the pedestrians grow more rare, their footsteps echoing across the streets. The temperature dips a bit. Soon, I am alone and free to move a bit faster, a bit more silently than a mortal could. My steps lead me to a massive bridge over the Moldau and I spot a few towers peering from above a long white wall. I consider resorting to shenanigans before going back, but then I am caught off-guard by something I had not expected here. The tug of fate. I am¡­ needed. Somewhere behind me. Giving up all pretense, I find a dark corner and climb up to the roofs, clinging to their sharp slopes. I run and jump, the artistic dress I wear allowing some freedom of movement. One day, I will give up the habit of keeping the skirt down when I jump so as not to reveal too much ankle, but it is not today. I follow the tug through dark rows and forgotten corners, skirting the more proper part of the city without ever falling into slums. Indeed, the streets grow more crooked and ancient until, finally, I end up in a one-way alley barely large enough to deserve the name, and I wait, but not for long. A man bursts out from behind a pair of barrels and I jump, barely managing to control a yelp. I had not seen him. In fact, I had not perceived him at all. ¡°No time, no time, you are late! Did you bring your tools? Of course not, you silly little thing. Bah, no matter.¡± The man himself is an absolute anomaly. He wears tweed in a perfectly cut suit that shows the body of a strong man gone to fat, still powerful behind a bit of belly. He is a bit taller than me with a long white beard that covers his torso in a wide spread, and two manic eyes of different colors, one brown and one blue, now shifty and unfocused. He speaks English with an accent I cannot place but sounds exotic. Before I can react to his scathing comment, he turns around and rushes to a side door cleverly hidden behind a climbing vine. The slab of wood looks strong and unyielding. ¡°Quick, lend me a hand!¡± I approach, only for him to shove a leather pouch into my hand. I feel straight twigs of metal between my fingers. ¡°You can have mine, I was never good at that sort of thing.¡± I open the container to find picks. ¡°Hold on, how did you even¡­¡± ¡° I am your supplicant, if you will allow. This is how it works with the first, yes?¡± I freeze and relax immediately after, allowing the mismatched eyes to bore into me. ¡°If you know this¡­¡± ¡°I will offer you a tribute of blood if you complete your tasks. One night of service, well, what¡¯s left of it you tardy bumblebee. Nothing to break your oaths yadda yadda.¡± I frown. The man takes a deep breath and exhales quite loudly. And rudely. ¡°Listen, you were led here, no? You know that you will not regret it. If you do a good job.¡± All my instincts tell me that I should accept the strange offer, despite how risky this all seems. It is my turn now to take a deep breath. ¡°Well, this is rather cavalier.¡± ¡°Yes, the terminally myopic woman stumbled upon a railing. ¡®Tis the railing¡¯s fault.¡± He rolls his eyes. ¡°Enough dallying. Open it, quick. Busy busy!¡± I grab two picks and lean forward, casting one last glare at the man who peers excitedly through a barred window. The night is mostly silent at this stage. I hear nothing from the inside. The lock yields under my patient efforts, and I am surprised by its relative complexity. I am about to open it when something stops me. There, under my finger, the lightest touch of magic. I grumble and prick my finger. ¡°This would not happen if you carried a focus around,¡± my annoying companion whispers. ¡°I was not expecting to go out at all?¡± I hiss back, causing yet another eyeroll. ¡°Some seer you are.¡± ¡°I was never good at it alright? Now let me work!¡± A simple rune and I blow on the door, revealing a spider web of silvery script. ¡°Alarm?¡± the man asks. ¡°Some burglar you are,¡± I retort, ¡°yes, alarm and fire. Let me disarm it.¡± ¡°Oh no, no fire! It would not do at all!¡± ¡°Shhh!¡± I carefully engrave a circle with a nail and link it with the alarm¡¯s trigger rune, then deactivate the rest of the construct on the other side of the door. Whoever designed this system was thorough but terribly unimaginative. They never expected more than a direct approach. A click, and the door rotates on oiled hinges with satisfactory silence. No alarm, no fire. It smells of dog and old books. The old man brushes past me in a rush to cross the antechamber we find ourselves in. A lifted curtain, and I enter a packed library. Rows upon rows of dense shelves filled to the brim cover every wall in perfect darkness. They reach the very ceiling to form a labyrinth of overloaded containers, each crammed with crumbling tomes and leather-bound books, loose sheets escaping left and right. The unknown man dives straight in between a collection of treaties on Themistocles and early renditions of Don Giovanni, waving a small lantern he borrowed from the entrance. He is light enough on his steps that he does not trigger an avalanche of the Descartes mountain, which had started to sag. Eventually, he reaches a tiny desk tucked on the side and barely visible under all that fire hazard. I see his back bend as he leans forward, and he turns to me, waving a small, wrinkled pamphlet. ¡°Here it is. I knew it. I just knew it! Those ignoramuses. And they dare call themselves bibliophiles. Hah!¡± I read the document after it is shoved under my nose by frantic hands. It is, of course, in Czech. Ah nevermind, I turn it and see the same in German. ¡°Herr Matthias Bilek, pious man of the true faith. Disperses curses, banishes demons. Satisfaction and discretion guaranteed.¡± Below, an address was written though I would be hard-pressed to find it without some local help. ¡°What is this all about anyway?¡± I ask. ¡°The book! The star book of twisted things. They want to destroy it, the horrid lot. Too many weak psyches lost to its hallowed pages. But I digress. We must away at once. I only hope that we are not too late. Tardy one!¡± ¡°Alright alright, lead the way!¡± We rush out into the streets of the deserted city with alacrity and I start to suspect that the man may be one of us. I still fail to perceive him with anything but ear and sight, but there is a litheness behind his step that a man of his age and physique should not have, even if they have a past career in ballet. Besides, he cannot have a past career in ballet. His leg muscles are wrong. The man ignores my inspection as we trot across the cobbled streets like ghosts. At this late hour, the ancient walls loom and alcoves help reinforce the impression of progressing through a maze. It must be such a pleasant hunting ground that I cannot help but sniff the air in the search for some lost mortal to snack on. There are none to be found, however, and we soon end up in a small plazza around a tiny well, its rim chipped by centuries of human hands. There is a gas lamp now extinguished. The only source of illumination is a single candle shimmering behind a window like a trembling beacon, barely strong enough to survive the encroaching darkness. ¡°There it is. Can you work your magic again? Quickly, or they will finish what they started.¡± I first check for alarms and find a pitiful one, barely deserving of the name. My work with lockpicks is similarly short. Only when I grab the handle do I stop in my tracks. ¡°What?¡± the man asks. ¡°This place is a home. I cannot get in.¡± ¡°Curses! I cannot progress without you. Oh no, we cannot delay. They could be trying as we speak!¡± I let the grown man grumble. There is still one recourse, a tool that I am usually loath to use. I need to be invited in. While some other bloodlines thrive on ambiguity, breaking the spirit of the laws of hospitality upsets me on a fundamental level. Alas. Fate, this cruel mistress, is still needling me forward and I am willing to take the risk, and so I mess up my dress a bit and call upon the Hastings essence. Most of the time, the essence allows me to flush my face and imitate the many innocuous gestures of those whose blood runs warm. This time, I manipulate the essence for another purpose. Instead of the hale flush of the living, I turn my own pallor sickly and worrisome. My lips are blue from some unknown affliction, and dark circles appear around my eyes. I can feel the change and the borrowed essence guides me further. I stoop and roll my shoulders, gripping my own elbow protectively. To complete the image, my instinct guides my eyes to the sides, looking for a danger I know is not there. The old man smiles lightly and steps back in the shadows in order to let me work. I bang on the door, again and again. Somewhere to the left, a man swears through his shuttered windows. There is always a risk operating in a densely populated city. This time, the attention of the neighbour is a good thing. An older gentleman in a dusty robe and with a long, thin beard barges out from the home in a hurry, clearly dismayed. His gaze lands on me and he immediately shows deep consternation. He speaks a few hurried words in Czech, but I quickly interrupt him. "K?nnen Sie denn wirklich etwas tun... gegen einen Fluch?" I ask in my best German. Can you really do something about a curse? He blinks, slowly, once then twice. The upstairs neighbor pops out from his window and starts hurling insults. ¡°Ja, ja, schnell!¡± my target exclaims, leading me in. Success. I wipe the predatory smirk off my mouth. A piteous performance, Sinead would say, and yet it served its purpose. Sometimes the setting matters more than the depth of the deception. ¡°Sind Sie Matthias Bilek?¡± I ask as we go in. "Nat¨¹rlich." My host¡¯s tone is curt and brooks no interruption. We pass through a dark reception room lit only by the candle I saw earlier, with cards and vials and other mystical implements strewn about with some attempt at order. For all the mess, the place is clean and smells faintly of soap. I also notice quite a few crosses and other indications of syncretism between faith and magic. We unsurprisingly head to a set of stairs going down. Herr Bilek mumbles in Czech once again. When it becomes obvious that I have no mastery of the language, his instructions grow shorter. ¡°Ruhe.¡± Be silent. Well, I did bother him in the middle of the night. Our steps are quiet on the ancient stones. The scent of cleanliness soon gives way to an interesting mix of wax, chemicals, and humidity. Herr Bilek has a cave, and a good-sized one it is. It reveals itself to me on the lower landing. Diagrams and models cover the far wall on one side, crates and curious contraptions line another, while to my left, a circle has been drawn patiently on a smooth expanse of basalt. Candelabras burn here and there to provide light for mortal eyes. Bilek points to a lone chair, asking me to sit there in a rather cavalier fashion. He did not even offer me tea. With that said, I understand his brisk manner as the other visible occupant of the room jumps to his feet. He is a mousy man in expensive but dirty clothes and bloodshot blue eyes, cradling an ancient leather-bound book as if it were a treasure. He immediately starts a tirade, ripping into my graceful host. I cannot follow the conversation as I do not understand the language, but I can easily surmise its content. ¡°Look what you done did, Billy, you brought a person of the female persuasion here! We were in the middle of something of a private nature!¡± ¡°So help me god Cooter you dumbass, I couldn¡¯t just up and leave her screaming outside what with all the nosy neighbors. I swear to the lord you¡¯re such a pisser.¡± Or something of the sort. I wait politely for them to finish, wondering if the distraction I am expecting will make itself known. The book is the one I am to save anyway. So long as it remains intact, I can take my time to guess what this whole situation is about. However, the distraction occurs sooner than I expected. From a crate sat against the wall next to the drawn circle, someone sneezes. A boy, if the breath and heartbeat are any indication, anywhere from three to four years old depending on how malnourished he is. I react as a mortal would, showing surprise, then horror, then returning my terrified gaze to the other guest just as he grabs in his jacket for a gun. His next words are ominous. Probably. They are still in Czech. At least, Herr Bilek shakes and protests the treatment, but the other remains intractable as he waves an antiquated pistol around. The guest walks to the center of the circle where a small altar has been placed, and lays the book in a prepared hollow. Herr Bilek is clearly not very athletic and he did not make use of the opportunity. He only yelps in shock when the guest walks to the crate and opens it with a metal bar, revealing its content: a filthy street orphan lying on a pail of straw. The poor youngling shares the bleary expression of one who has been submitted to narcotics. An immediate and heated discussion ensues, and once more I can only extrapolate its content. ¡°Oh woe, woe is me, for what nefarious end hast thou brought a bairn in my abode? Forsooth, how I regret welcoming you here, thy gormless snake!¡± ¡°Curse be with thine hopeless naivete! The cost of success had always been high, nay, exorbitant. Thou were only too candid to admit it! See as I activate this pathetic, inefficient magical circle and sacrifice someone else¡¯s life to erase a book from existence!¡± Or something of the sort. To be fair, I can think of five books from the top of my head that I would not mind killing someone to unmake. Like Wuthering Heights. Ugh. The guest now drags the groggy kid to the altar under heavy protest, but he will not be deterred and his hand is steady. I see a manic glint in his bloodshot eyes and recognize his drive. It is the passion of a man who has tasted madness and must first embrace it or he will be devoured by it. Well, time to do something. I have been threatened, and though I would be well within my right to kill the guest where he stands, I cannot do it. It would be abominably boring. Instead, I stand from my chair and smile at the pistol-holder whose expression turns to confusion. At the same time, I fan the flames of outrage in Mr. Bilek¡¯s heart. And then I smile with all my teeth out. Bilek has his back to me and he does not notice anything. The guest, however, is suitably impressed. He screams and aims his gun, but my needled host has already launched his ponderous frame at his ex-ally, and the latter one is too late to react. The guest brings the barrel back, only for it to be blocked with a firm grip. He makes the mistake of holding the child as if scared to lose him and Bilek capitalizes on it by delivering a passable hook. The smaller guest is propelled backward while his pistol clatters upon the rock, quickly picked up by the host¡¯s trembling hand. The child falls where he is. The guest recovers and finds, in his jacket, a nasty blade of sharp obsidian. He speaks, begs. My host''s voice shakes yet his mind is made. I see pure, delicious desperation in the smaller man as he licks his spittle-covered lips, searching for an opening that his body cannot exploit. Bilek readjusts his grip. The guest charges with a frightful cry. He is shot. He falls, gurgles and spits his life blood. Bilek, too, collapses. His knees smack into the rock with a bony finality and the spent pistol is abandoned where it falls. I gave it a one in three chance of exploding, taking the shooter¡¯s hand with it. I guess luck is on his side, for now. ¡°What have I done?¡± he probably says. That or ¡°I cannot hear at all¡± since this is the usual result of unloading a firearm in a confined space. With a trembling hand, Bilek reaches for the book, then he sees the dagger in the dead man¡¯s grip a few feet away and steels his expression. I can practically see the cogs turning in his overtaxed brain, despair pushing him on the path to sacrifice. One step, two steps, my presence is forgotten. ¡°Not so fast,¡± I whisper in his ear. And now comes the subtle part. As a guest, I am beholden to certain laws, but I can also show a measure of initiative without resorting to violence. Some doors are best left closed for the mortal mind is not equipped to bear them, but is the wisdom they impart not worth a little bit of insanity? I shall let him decide. ¡°You are a man of knowledge,¡± I purr, forcing his gaze away from the knife and towards the diagrams and books filling his workplace. They form a tapestry of letters over a background of naked stones. Old words, old scripts, an old place. ¡°And the most precious of all, the most unique, is here.¡± ¡°But¡­ the man¡­ his mind gone.¡± ¡°He was weak and feeble, a foolish collector of works he never understood, and never tried to. You, however, you are a man of talent, a light in the darkness. Is it not so?¡± ¡°Ja¡­ Genau¡­¡± ¡°If you destroy this treasure without even tasting it, doubt and regret will dog you until the day you die. What thought-provoking ideas might be lost because of fear and obscurantism? Just a peek¡­ If the contents proves to be too much, can you not burn it later?¡± ¡°Just a peek. Just a tiny one.¡± Shaky fingers on dry leather and the contents are revealed. Just as I expected, the book is potent. Pages flip like butterfly wings in a chromatic dance with no respect for propriety or, indeed, physics. They land on a poem and my host recites in a suddenly smooth baritone. Oh, most peculiar. The runes and text is in Akkad and they carry the meaning directly to the reader¡¯s spirit, transcending language. I can taste the auras of fish folks in their terrible multitudes as they crowd the living streets of their sanctum, its sprawl reaching to a dark horizon. I believe that my sire must have visited the place before he emerged from the ocean after his nap. How quaint! I savor the piece of trivia, but the same cannot be said for my host. His eyes turn red and tears of blood trail down his pale cheeks. He mumbles a few words, lifts a page and, once more, the book shifts to another fragment. The hand-written letters belong to someone else now, someone with a wild and enthusiastic calligraphy. It is still in Akkad. Aaaah AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH¡± I shiver at the recollection. Ouch. Even second-hand, having one¡¯s essence annihilated will never be pleasant. It has gone worse for my poor host who even now runs to the prone form of his victim, clawing his face as he goes. He grabs the discarded knife and plants it firmly in his jugular. Arterial blood falls in a cascade. Ah well. I step forth and latch on the wound, taking great care not to sully my dress. Hmm. Provoked insanity. The best kind. I relish the tortured essence for as long as I can, enjoying every drop of twisted psyche. When I step back from the body, the old man awaits. He holds the book and caresses its cover with great affection. he tells me with a smile. he replies with a fanged smile, he scoffs, I ask, enthralled. The man¡¯s face shifts. He is a young dandy, a grizzled soldier, a fat banker. Every face is a mask more convincing than any disguise I ever made. The only constant remains the mismatched pair of eyes, always manic. They draw me in like whirlpools. The voice is younger now and comes from a princely man with the demeanor of a spoiled noble. It lasts for only an instant before I see a fresh-faced plant worker in sooty coveralls. I say. a wizened rabbi reprimands, I am handed colorful sticks by a young Parisian artist in a ratty suit. Of course, I know what to do. I find a seat and get to work, carefully selecting the right shades of black and grey for the suitable background. The Nightmares are as dark as I can make them, and their riders blur with speed and the thinning fabric of the world. The tide of flesh facing them writhes like so many maggots but their disgusting presence is smothered, eclipsed by the great entity behind us. The Scourge has covered the land, but has come and its many heralds now unleash its gaze. Purple saturates the scene in its many hues. In a cave of Prague, on a piece of paper that only exists in this moment, I draw the vampire charge at Back Harbor and, in it, I pour the excitement, the rage, and the ecstasy of riding down a challenging PREY along the deadliest warriors of this world. Yes. This is¡­ PERFECT. It has taken me two hours, but I successfully imprinted my memory upon the ethereal paper. Now, whoever observes it will be nicely dragged into it and know what it feels to stand at the top. I wish them all the best! Vanheim declares, admiring the work, ¡° He blurs and I taste a powerful essence on my tongue. This time, I see no recollection, but a haze of sensations and competing thoughts that carry me like a tornado, sending my consciousness to crash through concepts like flimsy walls. As soon as a new provoking idea emerges, it fades like a dream to be replaced by another. I am left stunned by the cacophony of power and fall, dazed for the first time in decades. ¡°Wow.¡± He leans and suddenly I am looking at a woman. She is exactly my size, wears my robe and¡­ Deep, slightly amused blue eyes. A pretty face with a sneer too jaded to belong to one so young. Her carmine lips part to reveal eight fangs. My voice, my face. Before I can protest the robbery, my alter ego¡¯s hair turns as dark as jay and I am looking at a slightly different person. And he¡­ she? Whatever. Vanheim is gone. I find myself mostly alone in the darkening cave, in my damaged dress, holding a book. What an unexpected turn of event. The drugged child tumbles towards me, lifts his glazed eyes to my face and asks. ¡°Co se d¨§je?¡± I am going to assume that he is asking what just happened. Well, he is tiny. I can at least take him outside. With his hand in mine, we climb the stairs and exit the building in silence. I find Jimena waiting for me in the small plaza. She is staring at me with her mouth wide open, a decidedly unvampiric expression. I start, as way of explanation. Oh. Chapter 143: Induction The unpleasant sensation that reminds me of a failed sneeze forces me to wince. I can handle pain, but this level of discomfort is something else.So, that shapeshifting ability is much less impressive than I thought. I can alter my hair color, eye color, and traits to some extent, but not my body shape except, perhaps, my height. By an inch. It is still an incredibly useful ability in some very specific situations. With proper aura control, I could pass for an entirely different vampire. There are issues of course, not least the fact that if the knowledge of this ability becomes public, its efficacy will decrease. The second is that it takes time and effort to set up a different face and then more effort to maintain it, so it cannot be done on a whim. I am still pleased with this development. I even turned my hair copper as a test, thus pushing Melusine down one rank on the fetching redhead list. Jimena¡¯s thin lips pucker in disapproval. She has ever been adverse to deception and disguise remains one of its many tools. My sister knows that it is merely a means to an end, and that intent matters more than method in many endeavors. She hides her aversion out of sympathy and I decide to stop my experiments for now. I will soon join the ranks of the Knights. There will be no need for such powers in their distant, insular fortresses. I look out and despair. For a while, our train trailed along familiar lines, sometimes stopping at hamlets that were Dvor holds in disguise. I enjoyed the company of quite a few local rulers more interested in the novelty of my presence than in my past attachments. Many of them were old and stuck back in time, served by the same families of mortals for generations. They lived in parochial domains withdrawn from the affairs of the world and out of the grasp of most mundane authorities. Our pauses remained brief enough to prevent being embroiled in local politics. Although repetitive, I have now come to miss those distractions as we have spent close to a week without coming across anything larger than a way station. The heart of the Knight Order sits at the edge of the Ural, an old and vast mountain range deep in the belly of the Russian Empire. For seven days, we have seen nothing but an endless ocean of green sometimes broken by rocky reefs covered in scraggly growths. Our last fellow traveler of the undying persuasion left us long before that. Boredom is only broken by the occasional runs through pristine forests that, perhaps, never knew the hand of mankind. Jimena and I also bash each other¡¯s heads in on top of the different cars on occasion as well. I have won more than I have lost. Jimena is always her same disciplined, technically perfect self. Her ability to adapt and counter my own unpredictable style is quite impressive. What I admire the most in her is her perfect focus on our duel, even for a Cadiz. She never loses patience, and she never lets herself be distracted. I find that admirable. Finally, the train slows as it now has slopes to battle, and the path turns sinuous. Grey expanses of gravel and old stones replace the forested vastness. The weather turns inclement and dark clouds gather above. The peaks in the distance drown in murky grey. We are forced to cancel our next spar or accept being drenched. The very same night, as rain pounds on the metal roof above our head, we stop unexpectedly at the edge of a small building barely larger than a cabin. I see dark shapes enter the carriage ahead one by one and recognize the lamellar armors of the Knights. They wear hoods to fend off the assault of the elements and control their auras, so I cannot tell much about their nature until Jimena and I leave the lounge to wait in the corridor in order to greet them. If we had remained seated, it would have conveyed a belief in our own superiority. I compose myself and watch, curious, as the dripping Knights enter the last carriages. I notice that the first comer¡¯s armor is more elaborate than that of his followers. Any other thought vanishes when I immediately recognize the one at the front. The leader has the face of a saint, the blue-eyed, blond, square-jawed appearance of the perfect fairy tale prince. His charming exterior is backed by a distant gaze that others would think dreamy, but I know to convey disdain for the world at large. I hate him with every fiber of my being and his appearance is an ill omen. Anatole. He tried to have me killed twice as a Rogue, and I have him to thank for the torture I endured in the bowels of Constantine¡¯s fortress. I force myself to relax my fingers at his sight. They are all here. I need not check. Our eyes meet, and for one moment, we stand suspended in time. More than thirty years have passed since our last encounter but I will never, ever forgive him his transgression. The Knight dips his head in polite greetings and passes us by as we move to the side. The others behind him are an assortment of Masters from several clans, men and women who only have in common the poor state of their gear, and the mental exhaustion behind their clouded eyes. The doors of the many cabins close until we are alone. Jimena pulls me back into our own. Jimena states, I stare for a while at her solemn face. She swears so rarely. I say. She leans forward. I have my hands full, for now. If he returns to the New World though¡­ well, anything could happen. Jimena closes her eyes and sighs. When she opens them again, she has settled her mind. I nod. Time to sacrifice ten years of my life in the pursuit of power. By the time the next night falls, we have reached the secluded plateau the Knights call their home. One moment, the train plods through ancient pine thickets and the next, we are out in the open. A monumental gate set between two columns of white stone lies open, its width large enough for three more trains to cross it. Sculptures and reliefs adorn its facade carefully, and I can feel powerful enchantments even through the train¡¯s walls. We slow down to a crawl as a Lord in heavy armor waves us through, a large sword resting on the ground by his side. His dark gaze follows us as we move in. Now that I see the Knight stronghold for the first time, I admit to being suitably impressed. Jimena says with a hint of pride. The Order went for a minimalist, sober architecture that remains the same throughout the compound. The militaristic structures and clean, regular alleys evoke an army camp that had been abruptly fossilized. The only parallel I can think of are the drawings of the ruins of Pompei I saw in a review. It does not help that the material is exclusively white stone taken from some unknown quarry. There are quite a few mortals in uniform moving around, but I see very few Knights. All present bear an air of discipline that matches their dwellings¡¯ sober countenance. None of the buildings reach higher than a few storeys either, so that the base remains flat and hard to spot from afar. I consider the location and how poorly equipped it would be against a modern army. Flat stone walls are worth nothing against cannon fire, after all, yet I quickly realize that no modern army will ever get here without trudging through hundreds of miles of poor roads. And angry Knights. The train comes to a stop at the end of the rails. The terminus consists of two benches as well as a massive stone warehouse even now showing signs of activity. Light is provided by lanterns shining the blue of enchanted spells. We let the Knights go first and climb down, leaving our luggage behind. I taste the fresh and crisp air as soon as I step out, cold even at that time of the year. The scent of sap and greenery provides a pleasant undercurrent that reminds me of my own domain far across the ocean. a man greets us as we exit. He is built powerfully, possibly a warrior while he was alive. Brown eyes and sandy hair that reach below his cheek give him a scruffy appearance, while the impeccable lamellar armor he wears looks like an aristocratic garb on him. His smile appears genuine too. We move deeper into the complex until we reach the edge of the mountain and I realize that the Knights have dug into it over the centuries. Troglodyte structures, alcoves and covered promenades alternate with natural rock formations sometimes lit by torches. Lone trees and plants of essences that should not survive here flourish, their perfumes enticing. Emanuele walks through an arched passage into a tunnel, then to a massive atrium with a small pond in the middle. Once more, white stone is the norm while a fountain gurgles happily. Rather than majestic, the atmosphere is subdued and intimate. The only person waiting is a lean man with a majestic grey beard in armor. Now that I have seen so many of them, I realize that the American team may have been given basic gear, because those worn by the members here are nothing if not impressive. I believe that they even equal Loth¡¯s work, or rather, what Loth managed while in a rush. Said man nods at us with a light smile. He has many scars from his days as a mortal, most of them from blades. He looks like a benevolent master-at-arms, but I am weary. No one will reach prominence in an order dedicated to hunting our own without some measure of success. I realize that, despite my desire to join them, I truly do not see myself as a Knight. Perhaps if they had not been such rotten bastards¡­ Bah, I should keep an open mind. Emanuele says, and I am starting to recognize Roman influence in my hosts, Marlan steps aside and I see a pedestal surrounded by water. Light from the moon falls from it like liquid silver. For all of its majesty, it bears no decoration and I feel no enchantment coming from it. It is just a stone. Marlan notes with a thin smile, I explain as I step forward. Jimena already informed me that those questions would happen. They are merely designed to make sure that the applicant¡¯s intentions are true. The Knights do not even ask if the person intends to collect information on the Order as we all understand that it is a given. The last question leaves a slightly awkward taste in the air. I mean that I would protect them like a spawn I would make. Or John, who might as well be of my blood. The Knights must feel it, but the shadow of my sire will always follow me until one of us dies. I say. The oath settles around me. The ceremony was short and direct, which I approve of. Marlan turns around without further ado and bids me follow him. Emanuele says as he leaves us. Jimena and I follow the grizzled Praetor deeper into the mountain, and I see that the larger part of the base is indeed underground. Many of the installations keep windows to the outside, but I can feel powerful enchantments from the openings, a sign that the structure is not as open as it appears at first glance. We now enter a circular room with, again, an open canopy. A rotunda centered around a colossal weeping willow occupies much of the space. Another Knight kneels in its shadow. A pillow has been left in front of him. Sylvain nods and invites me to sit with a gesture, which I do. He is a thin man with flaxen hair so fair they are almost white and pale grey eyes. Puckered lips indicate that he is less than pleased with the task. Oh, so that is how it is. he asks with barely veiled disbelief. Confident, are we? I close my eyes and appear in the bedroom of my mental fortress, the heart of my power. Mementos and paintings line the wall while I rest on a comfortable bed. I stand up and appear at the titanic gates of the castle where my defenses are the most concentrated. In the real world, I push myself to nod. Immediately, something rakes against my outer defenses, the wall of brambles surrounding my mind. I remember a mortal mage attempting it. This is on an entirely different level. The assault persists and soon I feel pain. The foe has concentrated his power to form a lance of sorts, a piercing implement that digs into the wall. My defenses are spread out while his attack is focused. On a whim, I focus and the wall of thorns starts moving, its many roots and branches shifting against each other in a din of cracks and groans. The assault is dispersed. The mage tries again and I realize that I could keep going for a while, blocking him out entirely. But where would be the fun in that? With the slightest effort of will, I allow the defenses to part and a form crashes through the brambles. It is, for a word, monstrous. The vampire mind mage¡¯s appearance is that of a savage beast, lithe and powerful with four limbs surging from a muscular back like featherless wings. He has pale skin over powerful muscles. His appearance reflects his expertise in the field of mind magic. Brambles and thorns from walls lash as he passes by, much more reactive than they were during the last incursion into my mind. I smirk as he stops and lifts a hand to his face when he realizes that the scratch I inflicted is not healing. In his moment of hesitation, countless ropes have surged and taken him in their lethal embrace. The intruder forces his way out, the passive defenses unable to stop him, and yet, for every step forward, they harvest their pound of flesh. The mage loses patience, I can feel it in his demeanor. He moves forward and, instead of following the torturous path, smashes his way through a wall of greeneries. For a moment, I think that he has gone mad as the half-collapsed vegetation smothers him completely, but he melts forward and reappears a few paces away, some of his wounds closed. He does it a certain number of times and hits a wall. The sanctum of my mind only has one entrance. He lashes at the unyielding stone but this is no true barrier, just a visualization of the limits of my mind. there is no going through here. To his credit, he realizes it immediately and runs off before the vegetation can crash on him, making his way to the central plaza where most of my defenses await. At first, he crashes through another wall but realizes that it is inefficient as the boughs and branches lash at his flesh. Even the strange healing he uses when he shifts cannot offset the gruesome, patient damage he is subjected to. Eventually, he just speeds through corridors before the thorns can react and finds the first statue, which he mangles in record time. It does not take long for him to find the main square. He warps past the statue of Jimena, but I am directing my defenses personally now and he appears forward only for Loth¡¯s axe to bite painfully into his flank. In his anger, he turns and destroys it but Dalton shoots him in the leg. By the time he has turned, Loth has reformed enough to punch him in the nose. We are not, strictly speaking, fighting with flesh, yet the unexpected strike still catches him off guard and he yowls in anger. He spots my form casually reclining on the top of a fountain and claws at it with unbridled fury. The claws pass through it as if through air. I tell his rabid maw, amused. The distraction costs him and the largest statue, the one of the Herald, charges him with its horn. I taste more of his essence. He is a Roland Master, quite powerful. It explains his willingness to persevere instead of backing off and admitting that my defenses are solid. The intruder keeps fighting but he cannot destroy the statues faster than I can regenerate them, and each of them scores marks in his flesh that he cannot heal easily. Even his peculiar jumps through my defenses are thwarted as I can just feel where he will appear, and direct the defenses to counter it. Soon, he despairs and rams against the door, ignoring the catastrophic gashes being dug by the defenders. Once, twice. On the third try, I allow the doors to burst open. The mage¡¯s triumph turns to horror when a large fist encloses his face with unexpected speed, then a great rapier burning a fiery purple pierces his breast to the hilt. Sinead, flanked by Sivaya, sneers before closing the door again. Their essence made me a master. They are, without a doubt, the most powerful beings to grant me their backing, even if this world stifles them. By comparison, even Constantine is a young upstart. It is too much for the intruder. He warps back several times in quick succession, but the effort is too much and he half-collapses on his way to the outer boundary. His crawls stop when thick thorny limbs grab him. I whisper in his ear. Five minutes later. Marlan asks, clearly annoyed. I remark. Said examiner is quite busy lying on the ground with blood pouring from every cavity. Or at least every cavity on his head, I have not checked the others. He will recover. I let him go promptly and without inflicting too much damage. Vampire minds always bounce back quickly, I should know. Jimena shakes her head in disgust, but her gaze is thankfully aimed at the prone form of Sylvain. she asks. Charm does not affect other vampires but mind magic, just like Sylvain uses on me, does. I simply have no reason to train for it as I would never reach the level required to use it effectively in battle. My time is better spent developing my strength. I almost freeze in my steps. Even Jimena raises a brow in surprise. she says. Marlan tells me, The Order has three founders, two of whom are still active. Lorica is a visionary and primarily a diplomat. Octave is the muscle. He is also quite possibly the second deadliest duelist on the planet. Even Malakim may lose to him, I think. In order to meet him, we walk a few more minutes and arrive in a wide sand arena large enough to host a hundred fighters. Tiers of seats allow spectators to watch the proceedings. A man with dark close-cropped hair and an impressive muscle structure awaits, wearing nothing but an open shirt and short trousers. He holds in his hand a simple blade with only a few enchantments as he checks it for defects. He lifts his gaze as we arrive and smiles. So yes, Torran robbed my heart, but this man would have had a chance as well. He is quite manly in a good, solid way. The short hair, honest smile, and stubble give him a soldier¡¯s charm. Jimena answers without malice. It appears that the two know each other. I ask. Octave answers genially. The arena has doors, one of which leads to changing rooms. I find my entire gear stacked up neatly on one table and equip all of it, including the rifle. I can use it as an opening move. I return to the others to find that we have gained a few spectators, including a few of the Knight trainees who joined us last night. I get a mix of reactions ranging from outrage to disbelief when they see what weapons I have brought. They dare mock my wonderful piece of modern engineering? I will show them. Octave casually walks to the other end of the open ground while Jimena and Marlan leave. he declares, still smiling. I lift the rifle and fire it in the same movement with a small flip of my hand. I watch as Octave is casually standing one moment, and in a lunge, blade extended the next. He cut the bullet in two. One of the fragments still smashed against his chest and pierced his skin, forcing some blood out. That man went and forgot about inertia. I chamber the next bullet with all the speed I can muster and fire another shot. This time, he stops it with the flat of his blade as he rushes forward. An impenetrable cloud covers the area as I rush to the side and lash out with Rose, dropping my gun on the sand. He somehow dodges low and angles himself towards me. Our blades meet. I try my very best to keep him at bay, in vain. He does not even make any effort to see me through the spell. He must guess where I am from the direction of my blade. On a hunch, I curve it and his attack is slightly to the right. I use the opening and lean backward, using my gauntleted hand to grab the big iron. In another smooth movement. I draw the Big Iron and pull the trigger as the barrel clears the holster. Impossibly, Octave twitches at the last moment and the bullet merely hits his flank. Unfortunately for him, those are not normal bullets and a deep, bleeding gash opens, staining his shirt black. Octave smiles. He accelerates. His movements are now less casual and playful and I have to work in earnest to stop him. Suddenly, he attacks one more and I am pushed back, forced to focus on defense to avoid being skewered. He lightly steps to the side to avoid the spell and I realize that we have left the cloud. I attack in earnest. He somehow blocks or dodges everything I have, no matter how unpredictable I try to be. Sometimes, he moves faster than I can but most of the time he moves slower as his superior technique allows him this freedom. I try every tip and technique I learned from Torran and Nami to force him back, mixing different styles in an attempt to force a reaction. As I try to disarm him with one of Jimena¡¯s methods, he chuckles. Damn. Out of ideas, I attempt new things. I grab for the Big Iron and, as he surges forward to stop me, cast a spell instead. The tracking chains erupt from my gauntlet as I charge towards him. He reverses course and blocks it with his forearm. Then, he pulls. We both strike at the same time and our blades block each other¡¯s. We are very close. He headbutts me. I kick him. At this distance he cannot dodge, or rather he could but decides to block with his sword instead. Just as I expected. The simple enchanted sword blocked two high-caliber enchanted bullets at close range, Rose¡¯s strikes and now a spell designed to destroy inanimate material. It is too much for the simple tool. It breaks, and I see surprise for the first time in Octave¡¯s gaze. S?a??h the ?ov?l?ir?.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. Or was it pleasure? He leans under my ¡®surprise¡¯ attack and grabs my bracer, pulling me in. We are now too close to use anything but knives. He and I claw at each other with merciless fury. His attacks dig grooves in Loth¡¯s armor while I only manage to open tear cuts in his already shredded shirt despite using power that could rend stone to powder. Our deadly dance is frenzy without an end, and he never lets me open the distance. He is toying with me. I should feel more anger, but the fact that he treats me seriously dulls the edge of being so thoroughly outclassed. After a few minutes and just as Loth¡¯s armor starts to fall apart, he moves back and raises one hand. A few applauses echo throughout the tiers. I ask with some surprise. Octave chuckles again. I glare a bit, but he merely shrugs. Marlan says as he enters the arena again. I nod at Octave and follow the Praetor out after getting quickly changed. Jimena decides to stay. she explains. I am led to a small office with a pile of paper on a secondary table, with a pen and ink pot by the side. I sit down and grab the first sheet, now realizing that sixty years after leaving the school bench for good, I am back to answering test questions. How the tables have turned. The first speciality questions are quite basic, merely true or false answers used to determine if the applicant has basic knowledge about their field. I am then asked to answer a few deeper questions, but again, nothing that cannot be answered in a few seconds. The last elements are practical problems that take me half an hour each. The blood magic and smithing questions are extremely basic, but the business problem deals with real estate in several European countries and ¡ª though I did my best ¡ª I am not convinced that I have been successful. After that, I answer spoken questions from Marlan on bloodline, vampire law, and etiquette. The answers are basic at first, then increase in complexity until I am thoroughly lost. We move once more, deeper into the heart of the mountain. I notice a lot of unused space in long corridors and empty reception rooms. It is not so much that the fortress is understaffed as it was designed to be labyrinthine to begin with. When prompted, my guide elaborates. Quite impressive. It is as Loth said. He and I design weapons while architects design targets. I wisely decide to keep my remark to myself and it does not take long before we enter a square room lit by blue lanterns with a massive table in its center. Three tall, comfortable chairs line the opposite side, two of them occupied by Octave and a severe-looking woman with brown hair in a ponytail. She has sharp features and the jaded air of veteran teachers. They fall silent as we enter. Marlan sits down immediately and the unknown woman speaks first, her gaze cold and measuring. Oh, I did not expect that they would let me choose. she continues. Octave suggests helpfully. she finishes I say. No one speaks and the other examiners all studiously look at anything but Laestra¡¯s skeptical expression. she says. Uh oh. Uh oh. I am starting to see a pattern here. I reply, she asks. Marlan says. Octave adds. No promises. Chapter 144: Knight Training After the interview is done, Marlan leads me farther into the complex and up the mountain. Just as before, many of the installations remain close to the surface so that gardens and promenades abound.I remark, All the flaws too. I reply in a bored voice, Marlan observes. I allow him to sense my annoyance and he indulges me. ¡± My last remark kills the mood a bit, and it is in silence that we arrive at a secluded area at the end of a corridor covered in frescos. We enter a square room acting as both a meeting space and storage with an unlit hearth on the side. Large stairs lead up to a set of double doors, all in the same sober white stone. We climb and I see another square cavern with no roof, the light of the moon shining down on a lone willow tree. Grass grows a vivid green under its boughs, and a covered promenade encircles it, leading to six different doors. Marlan walks forward and rings a bell hanging against the wall. The delicate chime fills the clearing. Vampires in simple uniforms emerge from three of the rooms, one from each, with slow but purposeful steps. They try hard, but I have frequented ancient lords and I can tell when someone is pretending not to hurry. They were waiting for this. I study the three newcomers as they line up in perfect order. In the army, they would have been chewed out for taking their time. Here, though, the Knights contend with Masters and if we have a humble person amongst our ranks, I have not met them yet. This is merely a dance to show that, although they serve, they are not subservient. Appearances are important when instincts are involved. This is the proper way. They have decent aura control but I can still detect a hint of excitement behind their stony composure. This time, their control fails. They stare at me with undisguised surprise. Eyes bulge and brows furrow. Auras explode, and a tall blond man with a trimmed beard and light blue eyes expresses his surprise. the older vampire agrees, a man with a dark moustache and a reserved air says in a tone that would fit in a lawyer''s office. The last person does not speak. She is a petite woman with dark hair held in a white shawl. Her skin is tanned and her eyes drift to corners in the manner of those who are always on guard. She is a Vanheim, I can tell. The lawyer man is a Lancaster, while the blond one is an Erenwald. His words do not surprise me. A normal squad consists of four to six members, with some redundancies but always the four roles represented. If they were to compete without a Vanguard, they would surely be at a clear disadvantage against other squads. Marlan bows graciously and leaves without a sound. We stand unmoving until he has left this section of the compound, which I understand is our squad¡¯s private barracks. I turn to my new teammates before the situation becomes awkward and bow slightly. the moustached man asks. He waits, placid, as immobile as a statue. That is all he is going to say? I say, with a little hesitation. I expected someone¡­ smoother. the other man continues. the man answers with the energy and passion of a dead dog. Lars elaborates. the other man continues drily, That is too much. There is a small table near the willow with six seats. We take positions around it, the other woman still looking at everything but us. I say in agreement. What? I watch him turn to the shawled woman, confused. ¡°Ahem. L¨¹tfen, kendinizi tan?t?n.¡± The language is strange, and one I do not recognize. The woman glares at Phineas, or perhaps this is simply her normal expression. For the first time, she inspects me. Phineas corrects. she repeats, rolling her eyes. I address as calmly as I can, I would have a headache if I were still mortal. Lars grunts, proving my point. I cannot believe the only conclusion I can draw from all those elements. Phineas nods wisely. Dammit. Phineas asks without much hope. I stand up and Lars leaves for his apartment, returning with a steel sword and shield combo. Phineas inquires politely. I answer, and materialize Rose in my hand. Seeing Lars¡¯ expression turns sour, I feel the need to comfort him. He nods. An instant later, Rose shreds the upper top of his shield to reveal his shocked face. An instant later, said shocked face is bodily grabbed and planted in the loam beneath the willow. Silence returns to the secluded garden. They only frown. It appears that though Marlan warned them of my arrival, he left me to introduce myself properly. Aha, my reputation precedes me. I reluctantly admit, Ugh. Lars grunts in acknowledgement. As for Esmeray, she¡­ grows wolf ears? I watch in amazement as a pair of long, upward, fluffy parts pop comically out of her shawl. They twitch as she directs them to the door. I point at them, speechless. The two men wince. Then Esmeray squeals as I try to inspect the objects of my fascination, struggling against my overwhelming strength. someone implores, but I do not care. Wolf ears! I have to try her essence. In the end, the rest of the team strongly objects to a sampling, despite my assurances that it would not be fatal, on account of ¡®propriety¡¯ and ¡®she cannot give consent¡¯ and other such details that, though important, should be considered as secondary to wolf ears. Alas. I soon leave the common area to settle down in my own personal apartments. They are Spartan, according to vampire standards, but compared to what any military provides, they are positively princely. We have a bathing area with hot running water, a study room, a bed large enough to host the full team and a walk-in closet. The quarters are sober yet cozy and intimate, with a single major difference compared to what I am used to: we are in charge of our own cleanliness. I do not think that I have cleaned my own bedroom in decades. Rather than complaining about it, I simply remember the methods I was taught as a human. The Knights are still an armed force and, like all good armed forces, they require discipline. I expect fixed training hours and strict commands. Once more, the powers-that-be dance a delicate jig between control and freedom. I believe that only our willingness to be here and the oaths we took permit them to order us around. Otherwise, we would be too prickly. I quickly unpack everything including my armor which I will not use, and change into one of the provided uniforms. They are almost my size, only a little tight around the lower back. I will have to ask for adjustment or risk them cracking at an inopportune time. A request to Phineas and a mortal seamstress comes to pick them up. Next, Lars guides me through the common areas. This section of the underground complex is dedicated to training. Besides the lodgings for three other teams ¡ª which are off limits to us unless specifically invited ¡ª we have a sparring hall, a library, and a workshop with some of the most advanced equipment I have ever seen, Dvergur facilities included. The library also contains a spellbook section that I promise to myself that I will visit later, if I can make it past its stone-faced custodian. It takes the rest of the night to see everything and I return before dawn to realize the extent of the protection in place. Vast slabs of stone descend shortly before daylight to isolate every exit against anything but the deadliest of explosives. Even then, all dwellings are deep underground under several redundant layers of magical and mundane protection. They are also isolated from each other, so that anyone trying to take advantage of it would have to progress one chamber at a time. I inspect the enchantments themselves and realize that they are all isolated and self-contained. No one could force the gates to open from the outside because there is no lock to fiddle with. The path will remain closed come hell or high water. Training resumes the next day. For the first week, I am given more comprehensive tests by the individual instructors in charge of various disciplines. There are only twenty squires currently training here, which is apparently quite a bit above average, and around ten specialized instructors. It means that we have ample opportunities for individual lessons. Truly, Knight training is some of the best one can hope for on this planet. As for the number of recruits being so high, I blame it on the current political climate. It appears that many Europeans have felt the need to ¡®withdraw from the world and its vicissitudes¡¯ recently. It certainly beats being tortured. At the end of the first week, my team and I are set to face another in a small competition. We travel a few kilometers to a maze-like arena sitting incongruously in the middle of acres of rocks. There, we are set against team Oak. I ask Phineas as we put on the mandated armors above our uniforms. Lars adds. I grumble, ignoring Esmeray¡¯s hiss. The poor thing still has not forgiven me from manhandling her. I stopped before doing anything too daring anyway, but I understand her fear. She should be afraid. Wolf ears. In any case, the instructors have not seen fit to forbid me the use of my own weapons, and so the four of us walk out into a dusty, gravelly square surrounded by several entrances. I bet that some amusing games could be played here. Five Master vampires exit from the opposite path. A tall instructor in charge of squad tactics awaits us in the middle, clad in his pride and a more elaborate suit of armor. he says, I meet the glares of our opponents. They clearly had no intention of holding back to begin with. I reply with a conciliatory smile. Everyone watches as I unbuckle the belt holding the Big Iron. The massive, custom-made revolver is left on a nearby stone with an audible ¡®plonk¡¯. Let them feast their eyes on this marvel of aesthetics and technology, its silvery engraving shimmering under the light of the stars. I even have a matching purse, but sadly no opportunity to wear them together. We bow to our vis-a-vis. We do, of course, have a strategy. The strategy is that, since my team and I have not trained together yet, they would support each other and let me go to town. I sprint forward and extend Rose, sliding her under the nearest opponent''s kite shield to bite into his foot. Five chains erupt from my left hand. They latch on a surprised spear-user who yelps. Her confusion increases when I use my Natalis essence to smash her into her wounded partner. The two fall into a pile, which I jump over to get at their panicking Vestal. I allow the spell to bounce on my defenses and dive under a small sword¡¯s stab. A punch throws the mage against the wall. Immediately, I duck under an axe blow from one of the foes who came to aid his flailing allies, and sweep a foot under his¡­ oh, hers. I had not realized that the axe user was a powerfully-built woman. She manages to keep her balance by dancing back and throws a counter attack which I easily deflect. I also take a step back and quickly overwhelm her with a flurry of strikes. the instructor bellows. The fallen ones pick themselves up. Again, I do not begrudge his attempt to limit me. In fact, I relish the challenge. The poor oak team has done nothing to provoke me, yet I fear that tonight I must make an example out of them. After all, I cannot force myself to lose. I listen as the instructor offers feedback to both teams, crediting the axe woman for heading back but castigating the spear-wielder for not watching her sides. My own allies are told to stay closer to me to provide support and maximize the threat. His tone is calm and respectful to soften the blow of public criticism. He eventually gives us a short lecture on the challenges of facing a stronger opponent, then round two starts. This time, the stout axe-woman, limber spear-user, and the shield-bearer all rush me, with the Vestal and a man wielding a dagger providing support. The obfuscating cloud swallows them, and I enjoy the surprise on their face when they realize that they are blind as bats. Even Octave had issues perceiving me by sight, though he immediately compensated for it. Those recruits do not stand a chance. The second fight is even shorter than the first. The instructor¡¯s voice feels more tired this time. We go over the effects of large-area spells, deception and diminished perception. I remove my gauntlet and place it next to my gun. The other squad appears more annoyed and ill-at-ease than before, but if any harbor true hostility, they hide it well. I would be a bit miffed at being beaten repeatedly. Come to think of it, this is what my spars with Jarek or Torran look like. The third round begins much the same as the second. I sent three throwing knives at the shield-bearer in quick succession, with one drawing a painful dark line across his calf. He stumbles with a curse. I step backward to avoid an axe strike and kick my assailant in the chest. Lars rams the spear-user with a javelin as she tries to stab me. I twist and grab her weapon while she falls. Phineas and Esmeray take my sides. I twirl the spear in my hand in the hypnotic, distracting dance that Nami created. I am far from being her equal, yet the hum of the blurry weapon robs the last traces of hope from team Oak. I smack the axe-woman¡¯s face with the butt of the spear, then stab from behind her at the shield man. He does not see me well, though he still manages to scramble away from the strike. I let the Watcher essence fill my nails and slap the spell away. The Vestal¡¯s face shows considerable dismay and I use the distraction to plant a throwing knife in his gauntlet. Their flanker tries to stab me and I manage to block the attack at the last minute, although his other attack bites into my shoulder. Because the weapons are made of steel, the wound heals almost instantly. Esmeray uses the opening to take him down. Phineas exclaims, quite pleased with himself. A decent magical projectile emerges from his own gauntlet, only to be dispersed by the enemy Vestal¡¯s shield. It does not seem to affect his good mood. With this, all our opponents but the Vestal are disabled and the instructor calls an end to the third round. We receive advice on positioning and moving as a squad, though the instructor informs us that we will be trained thoroughly on squad tactics further down the road. Even then, it is clear that he is running out of steam. You can only pretend so much before it becomes clear that our side wins simply because I outclass every other combatant by a significant margin. Some of our foes clearly received instructions in the art of battle. It simply does not compare to being tutored by Naminata the singing spear, Torran the soul smith, and Jarek the whatever-he calls-himself, possibly ¡®the earthquake¡¯ or something equally ostentatious. Oh, and stealing essence over sixty years of bloody battle. I drop my throwing knives and replace them with steel training gear, something I should have done before. On the fourth set, I plant them in the axe woman¡¯s eyes, steal the shield-bearer¡¯s shield and bash her with it. she complains. I assure her as I smack the knife-thrower into a nearby pillar. The shield I just threw crashes in the wall over the Vestal¡¯s kneeling form, showering him with dust. He looks up as the steel pane falls on his nose. His reflexes save him. the knife-wielder says as he removes a blade from his shoulder, S~?a??h the Nov?lF?re .??t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. We do so. Both teams train to move through the maze while maintaining a flexible formation that protects their Vestal. We are supposed to keep an eye on the other formation without engaging. The dance feels forced and contrived. We even have an accident when Esmeray, who did not perfectly understand the nature of the exercise, throws a stone at a complaining Oak team member. I remember the smooth cooperation of the American Knights and only now realize how much effort went into reaching their level of performance. I suspect that working with vampires from different bloodlines does not come naturally. The training ends an hour later, and we move back to attend our respective classes. Phineas boasts that he managed to cast a spell in a combat situation. He deems it ¡®encouraging progress¡¯. I discover that he was an untrained mage before he died, but his sire did not see it fit to give him a formation, which I find unbelievable. Lars is to study eloquence, and Esmeray, Akkad. I can only assume that it is a recent development since the results have yet to show. At all. As for me, I find myself facing Octave in a secluded grove. As before, he wears a casual white cotton shirt and wields a training sword, this one made of steel. Steel means that he will not be afraid to cut me to ribbons. he asks. I reply. He lifts a hand to silence me, and I comply. Seeing that I do not object, Octave continues. He snaps his fingers. I say. Octave replies with a smile. He swings and the sword blurs in his hand. This might sting a bit. Chapter 145: Surface Tension I slap Octave¡¯s blade aside before it can bury itself in my breast, counter-attacking immediately. Our swords clink against each other, whistling through the air. We step back and forth and to the side in a lethal dance. I am fully absorbed in the fight with the help of the Cadiz essence and manage to reach a state of perfect calm and focus where my arms move faster than I can think. Instinct, experience, intuition, all guide me through a fight I cannot truly win. Right now, it does not matter. Octave leaves me an opening and I take it. A flick of my wrist, and Rose extends enough to slam against his massive chest protector.I grumble. Torran, Jarek, even Malakim, they all favor close quarter combat. The only way to win against them is to deny it. I frown. That makes no sense? he says. I charge him before the second syllable is out and get a smile as an answer. The dance resumes. Octave is purposefully lowering his skills in a way that only a true master could. He gives me openings and makes mistakes that only someone a little less competent than him would do. I have to work very hard to corner him, overwhelm him with a series of movements that leave him with no choice but to take a hit. Feints and changing attacks are key. Using more strength in specific strikes thanks to the Natalis essence helps as well. After two hours, we are done and the time comes for the last leg of the exercise. The full experience. With the exception of my armor, which I am to discard in favor of the traditional lamellar gambeson, I am using all of my gear and facing off against Octave for his own amusement. He delights in facing off against my guns specifically, and I have worked hard to integrate them in a style designed to take him down as a result. I had to reinforce the trigger mechanism to fire faster, train to shoot twice almost instantly while drawing, and empty the whole barrel in an instant. He faces me only with his shirt and heart protector while insisting that I use my own bullets. I have run out of bullets. I had to make more bullets. The workshop master only calls me the ¡®boom girl¡¯ now, when the apprentices are not here. I dodge a strike by leaping back. S?a??h th? ???el F?re.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. The spell surges and even alters course to strike at Octave, but he moves with impossible grace, in strange sequences that would make me blink if it was the first time. His footwork is out of this world. I draw and fire but he merely continues moving in those strange patterns without stopping, having once more anticipated my strategy. Our dance continues. Sometimes, I manage to nick him by shooting randomly in small clusters but it does not happen every session. I think he will grow bored of it after a while. With this, our session ends and we bow to each other. I clean up quickly while Octave welcomes another student, this one a full Knight. I hurry to the library feeling very much like a young student hurrying to class. The stone-faced librarian welcomes me. He is an old Dvor Master who had chosen the library as his domain, an extremely strange decision that I did not dare investigate too closely. His name is Drakla and he is almost bald, with a white face and deep-set eyes that never blink. With a gesture, he invites me to a secluded alcove that contains a series of books piled carefully. I sit down and notice thin markers at specific spots. He speaks slowly and meticulously as if words were precious. Drakla grabs a dusty old tome and opens it, showing me a strangely organic glyph, at the very limit of what a traditional gauntlet could achieve. The work on it is heterodox while remaining anchored in the ¡®western standard¡¯ magic system. Between this, my unpredictability and Nami¡¯s hypnotic movement techniques, I will be able to throw off even the most battle-hardened veterans! I whisper. I stare at the librarian, who was once banished from Athens for killing too many young adults, and thank him. The session continues and I start collecting spells. My training in the magical arts will continue in an arena, but I will be sure to return to the library on occasion. The next class is one on law, taught by Marlan himself. I find that a lot of common rules used throughout covens have been co-opted by Constantine when he created the Accords. After all, why discard something that had worked for centuries? This is where the issues start, however. Mask laws put the emphasis on secrecy and the respect of nation-wide directives, while Eneru unsurprisingly place the city-masters at the heart of their system. The influence a city-master wields in their domain is simply unequalled, and only legal travelers are protected from their reach. It makes the legislation between Eneru and Mask faction members in time of peace impossibly complex. Marlan tells me. ¡± Marlan says, and I wince. he adds. The lesson finishes a bit later and I rejoin my group for a small get-together. The discussion is mostly between Phineas and I, with Lars occasionally commenting. As for Esmeray, she spends this free time in full wolf form. It also explains how she can be such a good shade. Her wolf form is not the same as a werewolf¡¯s one. Her shape is that of a normal animal, only darker, and she has a remarkable ability to hide her aura and presence in that shape. This time allows us to compare notes and to get acquainted. I spend a lot of time talking about some of my past experiences, and getting recognition for those. Phineas also has some interesting stories about people who disrespected him and how, as the accountant and paymaster of his coven, he made their lives miserable without failing his duties. Then comes the last branch of the evening. I have agreed to a special lesson involving Anatole¡¯s team, the more experienced Knights. It is a test. A test to see exactly where he stands, but also how much I can achieve with no equipment. I enter the arena set for the challenge, an empty place of sand devoid of obstacles. it will make the opposing team¡¯s task easier. At first. The squad trainer awaits with my opponents. My nemesis is by his side. the trainer says without malice. Only a vampire could spot the minute sneer on the face of the other team¡¯s shield-bearer. The other members are mostly guarded, their stoic bodies at attention. There are five of them, a Roland shield-bearer with little interest for subtlety, a Cadiz fencer straight out of a pirate story, an Amaretta mage with her face veiled, a young-looking Dvor covered in knives and another Cadiz with a maul. I rush forward, without waiting for anything. This is a rogue fight. A rogue has no rules. The first to react is the Amaretta. She steps back and whispers something and I almost stumble. Only years of experience keep me going. My intuition is gone. I feel like I had one limb removed from me and must now fight amputated. The feeling of loss claws at me, demanding satisfaction, but not now. A rogue is cunning, not smart, but cunning. I rush to the side of the shield-bearer, aiming at the maul-wielder. He is only now starting to move. I pretend to expose my flank. The shield-bearer strikes with a sword. I roll under his blow. The steel sword still rakes against my back. I could not adjust that well without intuition fine-tuning me, but it will suffice. I grab on his leg and bite behind his knee. I taste the barest hint of essence but I do not draw it. A sword skewers me, missing my heart by a finger. HURTS. the trainer says, and we all freeze. I stand up and grab the sword from the shield-bearer¡¯s semi-resisting fingers. A rogue often dislikes weapons, but a rogue is cunning. I back away and dodge a maul strike, then twist to avoid three knives. A fourth finds my shoulder. I brandish the sword like a javelin and find the Amaretta vampire, still hanging back. She crouches and I realize that I will not get her. She will see. GET TO THE TENDER ONE. I roar and use all of my raw strength. The sword flies through the air at the knife wielder who fails to deflect it. His gasp of pain distracts the swordsman as I grab the knife from my shoulder and throw it at him. A rogue is cunning. I do not need intuition. Power is a crutch. Take my weapons and I can still fight. I CAN ALWAYS HUNT. The swordsman dodges at the last moment, though he pays for his inattention with a gash to the cheek. I jump over the descending maul and bite its wielder. I sprint. The knife wielder is still removing the sword from his chest. It is planted in his sternum, a very painful wound. He has to drag the blade out handspan by handspan. I change my target at the last moment and jump on the pirate swordsman rushing to help his companion. PAIN. His sword through my hand. I close the distance and slap him. A claw wound would take too long to regenerate. This is not the purpose of the exercise. He goes down anyway. The knife-thrower offers little resistance. To her credit, the Amaretta spellcaster extends a folding quarterstaff and faces me head on. I end the fight by slamming her against the wall, but keeping her face intact as a favor. I stand up and return to my side of the arena. The Knights regain theirs with obvious displeasure, except for the Amaretta woman who just brushes sand off her uniform. How bold of the trainer. Most of the time, criticism comes through understatements or in private. Public chastisement is a good way to antagonize us. Case in point, Mannfred hisses, showing a bit of fang. The instructor¡¯s tone is cold and humorless, his point clear. Mannfred does not react, though the anger in him radiates outward. This victory brings me no joy either. They were not taking this, and me, seriously. It was a disappointing Hunt. I lick my lips to chase away Mannfred¡¯s essence. To bite without drawing frustrates me to no end. If it were with friends, I would not mind as much, but those people are¡­ not truly mine. The Knights are structured like mortal orders, with some concessions made to our nature. They have not formed a coven. Its members are not mortals. We are creatures of instinct. I am Thirsty. CULL THE WEAK. No. This is not my decision to make. I listen impassively as the instructor lectures his pupils. he adds gravely, to his pupils¡¯ horror. Malakim. I nod in understanding and wait for them to raise their weapons. I charge forward¡­ and back out immediately. Now, they are a Knight squad. The three front-liners work in harmony, their support keeping me pinned and disabled. The swordsman and shield-bearer keep their pressure on with light strikes while the mauler occasionally throws a devastating, powerful blow, when he knows that his allies cover him. I am still faster than any single fighter but it is not enough, not when I am practically fighting a creature with five bodies and ten hands. They manage to back me up against the wall but I use it to run and jump higher, our fight turning into a pursuit. I slap the swordsman on his greaves as he overextends and pull out almost immediately to avoid a particularly vicious hammer strike. I am¡­ tiring. The night nears its end. I have studied and fought to the most of my abilities. I must now contend with the Amaretta sealing my intuition, and my own instincts pushing me to KILL. A near miss leaves me sliding across the sand. I jump to avoid two thrown knives, too harried to even pick one up. I am not a rogue. I must act like a rogue. I must listen to my instincts. KILL THEM. DRAIN THEM DRY. I must ignore my instincts. My aura bubbles. The hammer hits the sand, sending a wave of grit in the air. Need... to stop or I will HUNT instead. The face of the hammer wielder, my hands around his ears. He is quite handsome, with skin damaged by the sea and blue eyes like a Turner painting, ethereal and beautiful. A sword slices into my flesh, another. The pain is muted. I breathe and center myself. The essence is me. The bubbles are like emotions for a mortal. They exist, but they have no impact. They do not have to spread and explode. They can simply exist. Bubble, bubble toil and trouble sunlight burns and slit throats gurgle¡­ I come to. The mauler and I are still locked, close to one another, unmoving. His eyes dive into mine with rare serenity, and I slowly, slowly relax my fingers from his head. The claws have drawn a little blood but the man does not show signs of pain. Only then do I realize the silence. Only then do I remember to close my mouth with an impossibly loud click. I finally allow, realizing that I am surrounded by the squad and that they are, essentially, ready to kill me. a smooth voice declares. To my surprise, it is Anatole. I stand up. I was not about to Devour that man, I simply didn¡¯t want the sand to erupt with thorny growths. I cannot express it, however. It would be admitting weakness. I cannot do that. Let them think what they will. I leave Anatole¡¯s team to train and look for the ¡®hotel¡¯. We have a variety of mortals sent here for short periods. Many of them come from Russia and I have some trouble talking to them, but they all know what I need. I pick up a powerfully-built forester who smells a bit of tea and jam. He slakes my thirst, to an extent. Training here is arduous. My vitality expenditure reaches heights I had not experienced since before I became a Master. Perhaps Anatole was indeed correct and I am pushing myself too far without the occasional release of a Hunt brought to its proper conclusion. I may want to look into it before my mood plummets, along with my patience. The night ends with some relaxation. We are encouraged to pick up a hobby, and I have decided on a new one besides drawing which I feel reluctant to do here. I have decided that I will play the piano. ¡°You are picking up the technical aspect very fast, as you are wont to do. Unfortunately, the emotions do not convey,¡± a mortal with short brown air informs me, speaking French with a strong Russian accent. She blinks and averts her eyes. ¡°I know. I still wish to learn. Who knows, it could prove useful down the line,¡± I reply. ¡°Have you considered another instrument? Like the flute? We also offer singing classes.¡± ¡°Oh, trust me, you do not want that.¡± The next night, we practice moving as a team again. It appears that we have been assessed and considered wanting on every aspect of our craft, from fighting to diplomacy. As such, Team Willow will practice the basics. We move in formation through a variety of difficult terrain at increasingly higher speeds. On occasion, our formation instructor will create an event by throwing a stone in our direction or by starting a light. When that happens, we are to smoothly change direction to investigate the cause of the disturbance. We have a few false starts, and it takes a few minutes to explain to Esmeray that ¡®investigate¡¯ does not mean ¡®turn furry and disappear off somewhere¡¯. It takes hours, but eventually we manage to cooperate better. I find the whole exercise frustrating. I am used to running at full speed, this whole¡­ tame maneuvering bores me. I must pay attention to alternate paths so that Lars and Esmeray can remain at my side. If there are none, I must signal and the formation closes in a single line behind me. Am I hunting, or am I herding ducklings? Not to mention, there is nothing to find. I can feel and taste our instructor on the wind. He makes no effort to hide. We run in circles again and again without any outlet, teased by someone that only rules protect. I am going mad. On the next night, Octave meets me outside of his training room. I feel his aura brush against mine and hiss at the disrespectful way he gauges me. Very cavalier of him! Chapter 146: The Crimean Vacation Journal of Peter SeminovLast night, I dreamed of rope. I felt the harsh caress of woven hemp around my neck and every wood grain of the barrel under my naked feet with unnatural intensity. The recollection was so vivid that I woke up in a jolt, drenched in my own sweat at some ungodly hour. Only when dawn came did I realize the cause of my anguish. It has been five years since my peculiar proclivities have seen me banished from Guildford in shame, reputation ruined and social credit exhausted. It has been three years since I fastened the fateful instrument around my throat with the desire to follow Micah¡¯s path. So willing I was to see him again that I had not cared where my decisions would lead me, only that we should be together again. To this day, I do not know what held me back. I suspect that my service to the dark ones simply brought into sharp relief the existence of a more sombre world, one where the bible ¡ª that accursed book ¡ª was more than the tradition it represented. I considered the works of Hieronymus Bosch that morning as I took my tea on the porch overlooking the bay of Sevastopol, the foamy waves of the Black Sea disappearing to the horizon. Was the mad Dutchman merely an individualistic visionary? Or was there something else pushing him to draw all those hellish vistas, filled with demons and lost souls? Perhaps he was granted a glimpse of the afterlife. Perhaps it was his own. I felt my sanity waver then. I grew up in an enlightened era only to see all my beliefs crashing down as I was already an adult. Fortunately, Saide saved me from my ruminations. The old Tatar woman tsked mightily as she dropped a fried ¡®chebureki¡¯ on my plate with all the grace of a bear. Her grounded nature pulled me back from those morbid thoughts, and I prepared to face the day. Only when I read my mail did my heart skip a beat. The dark ones were coming, two of them to be precise. They required my services. I had another day before their ship moored, bringing along my latest supply of precious teas. Although the news chilled me, I had to carry on with my day. I walked down to the city as the sun shone on fort Constantine in the distance, enjoying the cool breeze coming up the shore and carrying with it the fresh scent of iodine. Even years after the siege, the city bore the scars of the long siege it had been submitted to by European forces. The local soldiers and people did not hold my Surrey blood against me. They saw me as an exile, and the presence of a Ukrainian grandmother gave me the aura of a lost son returned to roost. The local officers even invited me to card games where they would spend hours teaching me their specific Russian linguo, one idiom at a time. They called me Pyotr Seminovich after my ancestor. I let them. My own modest shop was but a brick house barely more elaborate than its surrounding dwellings, but it hid such treasures. I had coffee from Zanzibar, sturgeon eggs from the Caspian Sea, tea from Ceylon, and tobacco from Virginia. All the luxuries that lonely sea captains and passing travelers may desire to stave off boredom could be found in my den. Porcelains and antiques to please the lady or to show off at a marriage lined my shelves in orderly rows. In fact, my business would have never prospered were it not for the seemingly limitless supply the dark ones had afforded me, and the reasonable sums they demanded in return for their exotic goods. Oh, I harbored no doubt that the reports I wrote justified in their eyes the expense, and that some of the crates I had been instructed to leave alone hid more than mere curios. The unexpected generosity of my strange benefactors still allowed me to live a comfortable life, one that I did not deserve. I retired early after selling an assortment of chinas to be used as dowries, and spent the evening smoking and reading. My nerves, which I had believed to be jaded by the rigours of life, failed me then, for I could not sleep until late into the evening. The following day passed as a blur, and so distracted I was by the task ahead, that I nearly missed an opportunity for a social call. A Captain Solzhenitsyn ¡ª whom I had met on occasion as he spent his shore leave at the nearby casern ¡ª came to invite me for an afternoon tea, and I almost refused him, much to my dismay at that time. Finally, we regrouped on the top floor of a merchant¡¯s datcha with a pleasant infusion, blackberry jam and barley biscuits, and the tanned officer shared with me a most alarming report. ¡°Beasts! Wild things!¡± he exclaimed, fingers gripping his ample brown beard, ¡°we are beset by foul animals. Entire hamlets devastated. The Tatars say that Ashina, their mother she-wolf, is angry. Too many Russians, Germans, even Bulgarians settling in and changing the land. Jews too. The commander wants to send a squadron of Cossacks to hunt the beasts.¡± Solzhenitsyn leaned forward then. His vast girth bumped against the tiny table and threatened our cups, yet his manic, bulging eyes glared into my soul. ¡°They will fail. We are not facing mere animals, Pyotr Seminovich, but something older. Veles is on the prowl. The grumpy old god may avoid the Western plains, but this place is ancient and he is passing through to ruin somebody¡¯s day. Pah! You don¡¯t believe me. You have spent too much time on your island, and now you have forgotten your blood. Oh, but you will see. You will see!¡± No reassurance that I would keep an open mind placated the boisterous man, and he spent almost an hour extolling the deeds of ancient deities who hid from the Chirstian cults in the more remote recesses of the world. I gave his speech little attention, for I was still distracted by the impending arrival of my guests, and yet some of his words latched onto my heart. Indeed, hidden things existed, this I knew for certain. Perhaps there were more creatures haunting the edges of civilization, and I had found why I would be receiving visitors. As to who would be haunting whom, I knew not, and dared not consider. I bid adieu to my graceful host with the promise to return the favor and headed to the pier, where I waited, restless, for the ship to arrive. It landed on time as the sun was setting and drew the attention of the crew. It was a modern sail and steam ship, painted a dark green so deep it was practically black, and it attracted the attention of the various crews around. The Black Sea fleet might not have been the most dangerous navy in the world, but it was the mightiest here and its members knew that here was a ship that could outrun their fastest frigates. Though it bore no obvious armament, its sinister nature prevented the local sailors from lowering their guards. After the necessary paperwork was completed, their old and dignified captain disembarked and two dark ones walked down the gangplank with the unworldly grace that defined their kind. I recognized the man on the spot. His name was Octave, and I had met him the day I chose exile. He had not changed in the slightest. Despite the wind, even now sending my hair aflutter, he was only dressed in a cotton shirt and tight leather pants that would have given him the appearance of a cavalryman were it not for his lack of moustache. He had spotted me long before I noticed him, and I met his eyes as he climbed down. Behind him walked a blonde woman with clear eyes and an impassible face that, I suppose, others would have found gorgeous, but I merely found distant. She gave me the barest inspection before returning her attention to her surroundings. ¡°Ah, Peter, so good to see you,¡± the dark one greeted with a hint of Italian accent. We shook hands and I tried not to shiver at how cold his palms were, nor at the hidden strength held in those artist¡¯s digits. The powerful man placed a hand over my shoulder and led me back, robbing me of any illusion of agency. ¡°Will you be staying the night?¡± I asked with a weak voice. ¡°We have made our own arrangements. You are welcome to join me, by the way. I am sure that you miss speaking the tongue of Oscar Wilde.¡± The double-entendre was thick enough as to earn a condemning glare from the woman. She deliberately chastised the man in a breath-taking display of audacity, caring not one bit for social propriety. I immediately wondered if the source of her bold assurance was her nationality, as she had an American accent. ¡°Octave, you are being uncouth, and flustering the poor boy.¡± She wore a sarafan of good make, a traditional Russian attire in the form of a jumper dress. Hers was dyed a deep blue, and white on the chest and arms. From afar, she could pass for the daughter of an affluent merchant, but the masquerade would fall upclose. Her traits were too sharp and exotic. She was also too confident. Her hair was not braided properly, instead falling freely to her shoulders. The implausible boldness stunned me so thoroughly that I could not help my reaction. I knew with certitude that Octave played a major role amongst the dark ones, yet she did not defer to him in the slightest. Undeterred, we walked through the muddy streets, gathering the attention of sailors and soldiers alike, until the woman turned to inspect the cliffs in the distance and I leaned into the ear of Octave. ¡°Your friend fears no one, it seems. Is she perhaps an important member of your organization?¡± I asked. ¡°One with her lineage will show respect, but never deference. ¡± With that cryptic remark, I gave up on the conversation to search for the origin of a curious hiss I had heard, but my inquiry remained fruitless. Octave stopped us as we were nearing my home. ¡°We should each go our own way,¡± he said. ¡°I have preparations to make, and I was told by my dear Ariane that she had an interest in the local landmarks. Would you kindly guide her, and we shall reconvene here later tonight?¡± I must have babbled some excuse then, for I soon found myself moving with the woman to the outskirts of Sevastopol proper and to the ancient Greek site of Chersonesus on a less-traveled road, our arms linked in the semblance of kinship, and my other hand grasping a lantern. We came across a detachment of hussars whose members gave me a knowing smile. I made no attempt to return them, fully aware that any expression would have betrayed the deep unease I felt at the cold skin against mine. ¡°There are only ruins there. The crown has already excavated the place thoroughly.¡± I noted, unwilling to provide false hope and risk the consequences of disappointment. I need not have bothered. ¡°Ruins themselves have always been an important source of inspiration, especially neoclassicism. Surely, a man of the world such as yourself should know this?¡± she asked in a courteous yet curt tone. Her voice carried despite the wind, and I found myself shivering in the rapidly cooling air, against which my meagre jacket offered little protection. If the temperature bothered her, she displayed no signs of it. It took us a good hour to walk to our destination, most of it spent in silence. As luminosity declined, I feared that we might lose our way, and I was only spared floundering by my companion¡¯s sure steps and unyielding grip. At last, we found the site, where walls of white stone still stood amidst dry grass, and the moon peeking from behind the cloud bathed the scene in an otherworldly light. There she stood, the strange dark one, in the middle of an extensive, once-flourishing city like some ill portent. Broken fragments of civilization jutted from the ground like the ruined bones of some great beast eons-dead, and yet she sang an off-tune, strange warble with a pleasant face as she strolled through the remains with obvious interest. As for me, the memories of Solzhenitsyn''s tale proscribed any warm thoughts, and the frigid wind froze me to my core. I mistook every moving bramble for the steps of beasts. The few stars visible through the cloud covers shone briefly like blinking wolves through the underbrush. ¡°Bloodshed has tainted the land,¡± I tell the wraith-like woman, ¡°some evil is afoot!¡± ¡°I am aware,¡± she calmly replied. ¡°Are you not concerned? We are far from the city now,¡± I tell her with impatience, some anger at her casual dismissal, yet she simply turned and there was now something sharp in her blue eyes, which shone brightly despite the encroaching darkness. ¡°I am not, and you should guess why.¡± She kept moving without care and for the first time tonight, I disdained my surroundings to study her, and it finally occurred to me that her steps were perfectly confident even when she left the lantern¡¯s protective halo. It occurred to me that her gait had a predatory air that we mundane folks could not easily match, and finally, it occurred to me that I was the fool for agreeing to such a visit. Feverish thoughts of blood on corroded stone froze my heart in my chest and, to my dismay, the woman stopped and sniffed the air. Terror gripped me then, but the woman merely chuckled. ¡°You belong to Octave, Peter.¡± The way she said my name showed disdain, a distance and carelessness that her next words belied. ¡°So long as I am around, you are one of the safest mortals out tonight, I assure you.¡± My mind screamed not to believe her words, animated by some ancient instinct, and yet I remembered then that the dark ones always kept their word. I clung to this reassurance like a shipwrecked sailor to flotsam as we made our way back and I realized that the woman was not breathing. I dared not look at her anymore, instead forcing one step after another, and it took an eternity for us to find again the lights of my domain in exile. We did not go in. Instead, I followed my silent guide to a nondescript and isolated stone house at the edge of the city. She walked without hesitation through its steel gate, as though guided by some mysterious means. When I inquired about her ability, and to fill the silence which weighed so heavily upon my heart, her cryptic answer raised more questions than it solved. ¡°Oh, we can always find one another if we wish. Octave¡¯s presence is more¡­ flamboyant than most.¡± She did not wait for my reaction and we quickly found ourselves on the modest ground floor of the unknown building, its only noticeable feature being banality itself. A fire crackled merrily in the hearth and I could finally recover from my ordeal. My companion sat by its side after grabbing a notebook from a nearby table. She busied herself drawing and ignored my presence entirely. I clung to the appearance of normalcy with all my might and silenced the persistent voice that told me to run. ¡°Octave is upstairs, if you wish to see him,¡± the blonde woman finally said. She had still not raised her eyes from the paper before her. She had merely offered a suggestion, yet something pushed me to obey, to seek the stairs. It was the call of the void gripping me in its inexorable embrace, for I knew that if I headed home now, sleep would elude me for another night. The second floor consisted of a single large bedroom merged with a study. As soon as I closed the door behind me, the sounds of the world faded, until only the fire and Octave¡¯s pen scribbling on a sheet of paper broke the eerie silence. The dark one signaled me to take a seat without turning his head, and I obeyed, noticing what occupied most of the central table. It was a map of the surrounding area. ¡°I take it that everything went well?¡± he asked as he placed his letter in an envelope. ¡°Yes,¡± I replied with hesitation, ¡°your companion has curious interests.¡± ¡°One of the few among us who has developed a passion for the visual arts. I hope that you did not make any requests of her.¡± ¡°No. We barely spoke.¡± His brown eyes captured mine as he stood up. Octave¡¯s height and impressive physique were easily overlooked until he stood by one¡¯s side, then it became impossible to focus on anything else. ¡°I should have mentioned it before. Ariane comes from a¡­ background that gives a lot of importance to those who make requests, and expects a word given to be fulfilled. Be careful, and do not provoke her,¡± he warned me off-handedly. ¡°Is she also a warrior?¡± I asked, curious despite the circumstances. ¡°Yes, and she is one of the few with the potential to match me, one day. Come, let me show you what we will be doing.¡± Surprised by the non sequitur, I follow the tall man to the central table depicting a map of the south of the Crimean peninsula, with pins set at regular intervals. Each one is adorned with a flag with dates meticulously inscribed in a neat handwriting. As I express my incomprehension, Octave elucidates the small mystery. ¡°Surely, you have heard of local attacks by wild beasts?¡± he said. ¡°Indeed, and they have carved a bloody path through steppes and plains alike!¡± I answered. ¡°You will be pleased to learn that we have been tracking their progress and believe that we know where they will strike next. To an extent. We shall solve this problem promptly.¡± ¡°How?¡± I exclaimed, ¡°how can I, a humble salesman, face those creatures whose sharp claws have savaged so much flesh? I am no hunter!¡± ¡°We have no need for another hunter, dear Peter, we merely require someone with a good knowledge of the local dialects.¡± ¡°And you will protect us from the beasts?¡± I asked with natural concern. ¡°Us?¡± he scoffed. ¡°You misunderstand. Ariane needs no protection. She came in search of an outlet.¡± Despite my best efforts, I failed to school myself to hide disbelief of the highest order. Perhaps as a jest, Octave decided to further confuse me. He mistakes my confusion for fear. ¡°You have nothing to worry about. I will keep her in line. Enough of these boorish topics, dear Peter, why not tell me of your life in exile?¡± Despite the appearance of polite interest, I recognized the predatory nature of his gaze, and yet I did not feel fear but a deep sense of loneliness. In truth, I longed to share with him the pain I felt at being pushed away from my ancestral home, and the grief that hounded me even years after the tragedy that led me here. Dark ones might be peculiar, yet they still held an interest for mortal matters that perhaps binded them more tightly to their human appearance, and so I spoke of my dreams. It was as if a great dam had failed under the tremendous pressure of a deep lake. I could no longer hold back my emotions and I spilled them like a gutted deer spills its blood, until tears ran down my cheeks and the fire had become embers. Then, Octave kissed me. He was cold and tasted of anise and fresh mint. We spent the night together. I am still unsure what I expected from our intercourse, but it was not the tender care he showed. I knew that any attachment I developed was bound to lead only to suffering, not just because he would not stay. Dark ones only wear the mask of civility. I have seen them kill and the memory of this event still haunts my nightmares. Despite my misgivings, I abandoned myself to our embrace and woke up the next day alone but warm. He had consumed some blood at one point or the other as a strange sensation in my neck reminded me. Somehow, the ordeal had left me feeling lighter as if a great burden had been lifted from my shoulders and I faced the day in a better mood. When I came back home as the sun was setting, I saw that a letter had been delivered through means unknown. The contents, written by a talented calligrapher, asked me to be ready for an evening out. I thus donned warm traveling clothes under the disapproving glare of my Tatar helper, Saide. The wizened crone grumbled about bad omens and as I waited with some trepidation for the dark ones to arrive, her remarks contributed to my frayed nerves. Although I expected it, the knock on my door jolted me like thunder. I opened it and met the pleasant face of Octave. ¡°Would you like to come in?¡± I offered. ¡°I appreciate the offer but we are on a schedule. Come on out.¡± I closed the door behind me and regretted it immediately, as both my companion and the mysterious woman had brought horses with them, although I was not convinced that the term would do these fearsome beasts justice. They were black as the night itself, tall as the mightiest charger, and they had an imperceptible aura of dread that forbade any approach. ¡°I did not think¡­ Should I fetch my horse?¡± I asked with a tremulous voice. ¡°No, you shall ride with me. We cannot afford to bring a prey animal,¡± he answered. ¡°A second one, in any case,¡± the woman added with dark mirth, and Octave frowned but refrained from chastising her. He jumped atop the creature with impossible grace and dragged me up as if I had the weight of a child. Soon, I was sitting in front of him. I would have rued the humiliating display, were it not for two vital elements. First, Octave was riding without a saddle as if it were the most natural thing. Second, his mount gave me a crimson glare and I caught lantern light reflected on sharp ivory. Those were not mortal mounts, but the man-eating mares of Diomedes themselves that we were riding into the darkness beyond the city. To my side and in front, the woman too rode, and likewise her mare had no saddle, but wore a strange light armor with a front spine like a sinister image of a unicorn. The horror I felt then was only compounded when the last of the lantern lights left us and the dark ones¡­ let go. I knew not how fast we went, only that the meagre rays of the moon blinking through holes in the cloud cover blurred with the speed we reached, and that the wind whipped at my face until tears filled my eyes. They dried before they could fall. We went faster still. For one instant, we passed a sleepy hamlet of peasant hovels lit by torches, and a group of late guards jumped out of our way with cries of great fright. In that instant, I saw the dark one better. She wore a riding dress that flared behind her and she was pale, so pale. I felt hunted then, dragged forward like a wounded elk by a wild hunt of otherworldly riders. Panic rose in my chest and I only wanted to escape, to stay behind with the earthy, honest people we almost ran down. I wanted it to stop. The woman felt it, I could have sworn that she did. She turned her fair head to the side and smelt the air like a bloodhound, then the dying light caught in the sapphire of her gaze and we went out, swallowed by the all-encompassing void. I closed my eyes then, and did not open them until we were stopped. Octave grabbed me by the back of my coat and lifted me once more, depositing my shivering form on the muddy ground. We were in a forest, though I could see very little. The only source of vision came from a trio of candles shining through the gaps of a derelict house¡¯s shutters. I could not see the dark ones in the utter darkness. but I could still feel Octave¡¯s powerful grip on my neck, as threatening as it was protective. The dark ones spoke in a sibilant language I could not recognize. Their voices were carried by the wind as a soft whisper to an extent that I could not tell when a sentence started and the other ended. I only learned that they had come to a decision when Octave leaned into me, and his cold breath caressed my ear, carrying with it the scent of mint and anise. ¡°We caught the trail of our quarry, or so I believe. There are only two of them, you see? We expected more. My companion believes that they are not the ones we seek, yet may hold the answer to our questions. I believe that when a rabid pack attacks a herd of sheep, one should not care about the sake of any of its members. I hold precedence, yet I find myself harried by curiosity. You will accompany her and act as a translator.¡± I nearly jumped out of my skin at such a preposterous proposal, but Octave¡¯s grip was like iron. No matter, I would express my reserves and make him see reason. ¡°You would have me stand in a small room with those butchers?¡± I hissed, yet he merely chuckled. ¡°The woman will protect you, have no fear.¡± ¡°I have fear!¡± His breath was close again and I felt something sharp dig through my scarf, drawing two pears of blood. ¡°You would refuse me?¡± I remembered then. A blur. A man dead on the pavement, head twisted at an unnatural angle. Casual disinterest. ¡°No, I would not dare.¡± ¡°Good. I quite like you, Peter dear. Remind yourself that we do not huddle in hovels, nor do we feel the need to cast off the darkness, hmm? Off you go then, amici.¡± The woman hissed something and gripped my arm with irresistible strength. She pulled me forward. I would have fallen a hundred times if she had not kept me upright until we reached the door, upon which she banged once. Vile curses came from inside. ¡°Not a home then.¡± She banged a second time. It proved too much for the rickety plank. It fell forward with a groan, spreading rotten splinters on a filthy ground of moldy straw. There were two men inside, dressed in scraps of fur and little else. They were as cavemen, hairy and muscular. The stench of their unwashed bodies permeated the air while the light of the candles reflected in their bloodshot eyes. They had placed their hands on rusted knives when we entered, though the improbable sight of a young blonde woman had frozen them in their tracks. The woman sniffed the air once more and her placid expression turned into a moue of disgust. ¡°An suqqam hayatu. Bah. You there, Peter. Translate for me. Ask them who they are waiting for.¡± The surreal nature of the situation finally weakened my brain. I could only utter the most ridiculous of platitudes. ¡°Should we not introduce ourselves first?¡± ¡°Oh no, they will handle that part for us. Wolves are such simple creatures.¡± Anger took over our hosts at being ignored. The woman became the center of their attention as they, too, sniffed the air with great noise. How they could perceive anything over their ungodly stench, I shall never know. One of the men was taller and larger with rugged traits and long dark hair. The other appeared young and less assertive. It only took me a moment to realize, from the similarity of their features, that they were siblings. Silence and our intrusion had pushed the older one to his limit and he marched to the dark one with fury on his brow. He spouted a few words, which I hastily relayed. ¡°He asks what you are and if you are mad. He is being quite rude.¡± ¡°Tell him that I ask the questions here.¡± I gaped, helpless. ¡°Tell him.¡± I did not have the time to finish. The man swiped at the dark one with frightening speed. I heard the ghastly crack of shattered bone and he howled, clutching the crushed remains of his right hand. An instant later, he was on his back with the woman¡¯s leather boot on his chest. She leaned forward with the amused, yet intimidating smile of a teacher who caught a student lying. ¡°I ask the questions, and I asked them who they were expecting.¡± I realized that the second man had moved when her foot painfully dug into the downed brother¡¯s chest, eliciting a squeal of pain. Her eyes were now fixed on the offender. I knew with certainty that I did not want to be on the receiving end of such a brutal treatment, and endeavoured to translate her words with all haste. The older sibling proved his foolishness once more when he barked an obvious question. ¡°That does not sound like an answer,¡± the dark one commented. I could only babble a few syllables. I finally screamed shortly after. The woman extended her hand with exquisite slowness. One moment, there was nothing. The next, she held in her arm a jagged horror of a sword that merged the grace of the masterpiece and the painful horror of the razor in one terrifying amalgam. Its tip bit into the throat of her victim, just below the Adam¡¯s apple. A single droplet pearled on his filthy skin. The woman licked her lips and I saw it then. Fangs descended from her crimson lips in delicate ivory stilettos. The others saw it too, or perhaps the reality of their situation had finally pierced through their primitive skulls. ¡°Once more. I ask the questions. Who are they expecting?¡± I relayed the terms again, and it was the youngest who answered, as the older dared not even swallow his saliva. Their accents were thick and their Russian approximative, and I gave the dark one my best opinion. ¡°They say that they are expecting the white shore¡­ group? They were part of it but left.¡± S~?a??h the n0v?l(?)ire.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. ¡°Ask them how long they have been in this pigsty.¡± ¡°Only one night, miss. He says that they are on the run.¡± ¡°Ask them why they are on the run.¡± ¡°He says that his companions turned¡­ sour? Acid? I apologize miss¡­¡± ¡°No need, I understand quite well.¡± ¡°Ah, miss, the young one asks if you could let them go, as the others are hot on their trails and they were about to leave. They are afraid that their foes might catch up to them.¡± ¡°Out of the question. It would truly be in their best interest if the others came.¡± I had no difficulty imagining that whatever the dark one had in store for the siblings would be unpleasant, and neither did they show much surprise when I relayed her refusal. The dark one walked to a corner and opened a shutter wide. It appeared that her interest in my companions¡¯ misfortune did not extend beyond the most basic information gathering. Left alone, and eager to break the heavy silence weighing on us, I asked the strange, primitive men their stories. To my surprise, they answered without reservation. Their horrible Russian proved only to be a minor effort in front of my determination, and I soon had a full story. The two men were called Fedor and Kolya. The elder, Fedor, declined to share the rest of their names. I would have complained at the breach of etiquette if the rest of his tale had not captured my attention. They were part of a tribe, though the term he used was ¡®pack¡¯, that worshipped the wolf goddess Ashina. They somehow ¡®claimed her form¡¯ which I assumed meant sharing the hygiene, scent, and living accommodations of wolves and explained quite a bit. Their tribesmates had gone too far as they took in the darker aspects of the savage beast. They had started to make a sport of travelers and their excesses had only grown as the seasons passed. Fedor and Kolya had disapproved of such practice. They had managed to flee before the leader decided that their protests had to be silenced and moved west and south. Unfortunately for them, the pack was filled with vicious and vengeful members who could not tolerate any perceived slight no matter how trivial. The enraged ex-companions had pursued the pair with dogged determination. I understood then that the ravaged communities had been attacked to gather both information and supply, as well as allowing those merciless killers to indulge in their basest instinct. It led me to wonder what the dark ones¡¯ interest was. So far, I had always considered their motives as too hermetic and mercurial for me to waste efforts on, but now that I was involved, curiosity needled me. It was then that Fedor made the decision to attract the dark one¡¯s attention, to my befuddlement. ¡°Miss, that man, whose name is Fedor, thinks he knows what you are.¡± ¡°Fascinating,¡± was the reply I received, but I decided to persist if only out of belief that it was the tribesman pestering her, and that I was merely an intermediary. ¡°He thinks that you are what they call a Kalinin.¡± She reacted then, if air pushed out of one¡¯s nose can be called such. ¡°Kalinin is the name of a bloodline, dear Peter. I am not one of theirs.¡± ¡°But they are dark ones like you?¡± ¡°Dark ones?¡± she asked, finally turning. I realized my blunder then. I called them dark ones in my mind, but only by default. Indeed, those of their kind I had met had never taken the time to explain their nature. ¡°Dark ones will do, I suppose. The Kalinins are not too different from me, though their fascination with the divine is something I will never understand. They do maintain order around here, however, and that is how those mutts heard of them.¡± ¡°So that is why you came? To enforce order?¡± I asked. ¡°No, Peter. I am here for sport. Speaking of which, our guests have arrived. Have the two idiots follow me out.¡± I translated her orders and, to my surprise, they obeyed. I was about to leave the hovel as well when a hand placed on my chest stopped me. ¡°You should stay inside,¡± the dark one said. ¡°But¡­¡± ¡°Not to worry, I promise you a good show.¡± With those words, she stepped outside with the two brothers slightly behind her. Octave and the horses had disappeared somewhere in the gloomy woods, and it was enough for the pair of tribesmen to look at each other and consider fleeing. No sooner had they taken a step back that the woman hissed. I believe that I had witnessed inhumanity when she had shown her unnatural strength, yet it was that dreadful sound that truly reminded me that we were mice before a viper. There was a difference there that even the two rugged strongmen would never bridge, not even if they practiced pugilism rigorously. A new development enfolded before they could consider their next move. I heard noises like howls made by human throats, and torches soon appeared in a half-circle before me. They surrounded the hovel on all sides, trapping us before we could even notice. The dark one showed not a trace of concern at the seemingly desperate situation. Indeed, if I had a gun, I would have considered using it on myself to escape the dreadful treatment those poor villagers had suffered, instead of as a means of defense. As it was, my fate rested in the cold hands of my benefactors. It was not long before the torchbearers closed the distance, forcing the two siblings to huddle closer to the hovel. If I earlier believed that they were uncivilized, the dreadful appearance of the newcomers made them positively gentlemanly by comparison. Their beastial traits, mangy furs and blood-coated faces revolted me on a fundamental level. No human should ever devolve to such a dreadful state. I concluded that they must have lost their souls, if they had any. My horror only mounted after that. The leader of the butchers, a tall man rippling with cord-like muscles, addressed the siblings in a guttural growl that only passed as language by the laxest of definitions. His manic eyes landed on the woman and he approached her with the rest of the tribe close on his heels. He smelt the air without shame and spat a few words. His attempt to grab her was thwarted when she simply slapped his hand away. He roared, and was pushed back. The woman spoke in that strange language of hers as if making quiet observations around a dissection table. The contrast between her graceful pose and clean clothes on one hand, and the tribesmen''s feral appearance on the other, gave the scene an improbable air of mankind against nature, of inner city sophistication against the inbred degeneration of parochial hamlets. This false air, this outrageous deception lasted for a few more moments as to my inexpressible shock, the men¡¯s bodies cracked and groaned. They were transforming! Their flesh bubbled and expanded in a grotesque display of sorcery that left me utterly speechless. Soon, the horrendous group had taken the appearance of bastardized hybrids, chimerae of man and wolf with sharp talons and fangs that glittered in the dying light of their torches, now discarded on the ground. They launched themselves at the woman, still as immobile as a statue. The deception ended then when the dark one revealed her true nature. Horror at the monster¡¯s appearance gave way to monstrous acts committed with the appearance of a human. Of the struggle that followed, I saw little as it took all of my courage not to whimper and go prone. Only flashes of memories remain of this dreadful spectacle. I saw the woman tear out a throat with her fingers and dance gracefully under a geyser of arterial blood, painting the packed snow red while her dress stayed pristine. I saw her shatter legs and jump on the back of one of the collapsing abominations. I saw her latch on its neck. At some point of the struggle, the two brothers crashed into the hovel and hid by my side. I understood perfectly. After what felt like an eternity, but could not have been much more than half a minute, one of the hybrids with its arm missing tried to enter our haven. It was bodily dragged out. Its last whimper was silenced as my eyes were still fixed on the furrows its claws had left on the ground. The bout of unspeakable violence finished as abruptly as it had begun. Wafts of blood and offal turned my stomach. I threw up then, quietly and on the side. When I was done spitting, I turned to see the dark one standing above me. I was too terrified to move. She was unharmed. She was not even dirty. Only a fringe of blood remained over her mouth like poorly applied rouge. ¡°Octave will pursue the survivor and I shall let him have his fun. Come on then, translate for me. I have an offer for those two lost souls.¡± ¡°An offer?¡± I stammered. ¡°Indeed. We could use them for¡­ training purposes. They will not be harmed permanently, and they will be fed and clothed. And washed. They should feel lucky. Few of us would tolerate their stench long enough to consider sparing their worthless existence. Now, talk.¡± I did. Words came at a snail pace first, then faster as I felt an irrepressible need to let them know. The offers of the dark ones were not as they seemed. They would bind you until death in ever-tighter chains. I tried to express this truth, even though I suspected that they, like their deceased fellows outside, were probably cursed. It was somehow important to be candid. My small speech was interrupted by two talons around my neck. ¡°You are suddenly quite talkative, Peter. Are you taking some liberties with your role, perhaps?¡± I expected anger, but it appeared that no transgression could draw from her anything more than a chuckle. It occured to me that I did not have the means to be more than a mild nuisance. That was why she had not punished me. ¡°Miss¡­ I¡­¡± ¡°Warning them, perhaps?¡± I closed my mouth with a painful click. Once again, my reaction elicited nothing more than slight amusement. ¡°Oh, Peter, you are so deliciously naive. I see now why Octave finds your presence so delightful. For one as world-weary as you are, you have kept a core of innocence that only children should have. Ask them for their answer.¡± I did, and was surprised at how eager they were at forfeiting their freedom. It was as if my warnings had not been understood, but simply ignored. I did not have to wait to understand the cause of their prompt decision. ¡°They agree.¡± ¡°Do you know why?¡± she immediately replied, and I found myself hesitating. ¡°You have considered the dangers of the offer. Now consider the alternative.¡± Death. Of course. The two had immediately understood the nature of their world while I still held in my thoughts the Habeas Corpus and Universal rights. I was a fool. It was no longer my world. ¡°Two words of advice, dear Peter, then we will leave this pigsty. First, do not provoke Octave the way you provoked me. Your lover used the metaphor of the sheep and wolf earlier, did he not?¡± ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°You should remember that the shepherd cares little more for the sheep than for the wolf. Both end up skinned. As for the other advice, tell me, do you feel pity for those poor sods? Is that why you wanted to warn them against eternal servitude?¡± I had no answers for that question. Perhaps I still wanted to accomplish something of note during this confusing night. Perhaps... I merely wanted to believe that I mattered. ¡°Before you go pitying them, ask yourself why so many villages were destroyed.¡± She must have seen my confusion then, and did not wait for my answer to elaborate. ¡°They led the beasts there. They left clear scent trails for the others to follow.¡± ¡°What? Why?¡± I replied, scandalized. ¡°The ensuing slaughter would delay the ferals for hours. It gave the two of them the time they needed to stay ahead since a pack is naturally faster than individuals. It would have happened again until they gained enough ground or got trapped, but do not let those considerations get to your head, dear one. Even at night, there are only shades of grey.¡± Chapter 147: Fraternal Russian winter has descended upon the Ural. The cold, crisp air carries no hint of human presence. No soot, no smoke, no persistent stench of sweat and refuse. Only the vague taste of slumbering sap floats under the snow-covered boughs. At night, nothing moves, nothing but diamond powder caressed by the wind. The landscape is one of death and eternal silence, and it is on that perfect canvas that we battle.Team Willow runs through the valley, fast and silent. Little wafts of pure darkness mask our movements from faraway observers and our speed does the rest. Phineas is to my left and Lars to my right. They move smoothly, letting me take point while covering my back. A few larger rocks and the bare trunks of Siberian firs pierce the frozen ground. Ridges abound, perfect for ambushes. Lars says. His predictive ability is commendable, but I would have felt the poorly veiled auras of our rival squad without help. The apprentices emerge from a bend in the path we follow and array themselves against us. All five members of the novice team Oak are present, with the addition of the Shield-bearer of the experienced team Aspen, Mannfred. The solid Roland Master wastes no time raising his sword at me. I salute out of respect for this man¡¯s dedication. Out of all of them, he has made the most progress. Our blades cross and I start the long, harrowing process of backing him against a corner. I aim for his head, uncovered hand, and feet as soon as they are exposed, forcing him to shift his defenses which he does with practiced efficacy. Meanwhile, his allies circle me and look for openings. They remain close to him so he can cover them, a lesson I taught them repeatedly. It helps that Mannfred has been ¡®volunteering¡¯ to face me in as many exercises as he could, going so far as to forgo other classes. I start mixing mirages into my fighting style, sending false images to provide diversion and feints as the battle is joined. On top of Mannfred, I have the rest of team Oak to contend with. Fortunately, I am supported by Lars¡¯ precise javelin strikes and Phineas¡¯ spells. The two work with me in harmony. They make use of their range advantage. The melee draws out until seconds turn into a full minute. Slowly, I use my training sword and spells to chip at the other team¡¯s focus, inflicting wounds here and there. Mannfred must finally fall back when one of his teammates overextends and I skewer him near the heart. the wounded knight announces in a tired voice. The fight continues and Mannfred¡¯s allies fall one by one. They do not work with him as well as he does with his own squad, while Phineas and Lars show no mercy. The Lancaster accountant, in particular, has managed the feat of saying the wrong spell, a practice that amuses him greatly. he yells, and the vanguard facing him blocks, expecting a bolt. Chains grab the axe and pull the fighter forward, providing enough of an opening that I manage to stab him as well. I try my best to make as perfect a mirage as I can in a battle situation. I have tried them with Octave, to his delight, but it did not work because the illusory attack always ¡®felt wrong¡¯. It is not enough to cast the spell, one must visualize the movement perfectly, and one needs to visualize a movement that would be threatening enough while still being realistic. I think that without my intuition, I would never have been able to integrate it into my fighting style. I will still need a lot of time to perfect it against my most experienced foes. In the end, Mannfred is not Octave¡¯s equal and I manage to slip my sword between his ribs. The two members of team Oak still standing step back and sheathe their blades. Mannfred frowns mightily. Like that, he looks like a broody hero of legend with a stiff upper lip and inability to ever retreat. With his thin moustache and goatee, I expect him to go after Aztec gold or to stab the nearest windmill at any time. Rather than annoying, I find his desire to overtake me endearing. I can appreciate a persistent fighter, especially one who treats me with respect every time, and so I salute. I note. The sturdy shield-bearer smiles ruefully. His face lights up with obvious delight. he states, though his smile is all the confirmation I need. Mannfred disapproves of cheap tactics when used against allies. He believes that in order to train for real situations, one must face difficulties in training. I would argue that even cheap tricks need to be rehearsed, but the proud master would dismiss it. He is a Roland, after all. I would have better chances trying to convince a rock. I observe. His defensive style is quite infuriating and counters me quite well. It is, after all, why he has developed it to begin with. he continues with a smile, which I return. I nod one last time at the defeated team and leave. I can still see some resentment in the face of my foes but I have started to see them as allies and have thus gone out of my way to make my victories as painless as possible for their self-esteem. It has served me well. I hardly get any hostility. There is, after all, only one thing we value more than superficial pride, and that is victory as the current exercise demonstrates. Our instructors have placed all four squire teams in a valley with a stone fortress on one side and a flag on the other. The first team to take the flag back wins and the three others lose. Such conditions would normally lead to a messy free for all, but one of the teams has a powerhouse that skews the odds. Team Willow cast off immediately before the others could shut us down and we found the flag undefended. Now, the other two teams are firmly entrenched near our destination¡¯s only entrance. We would have to force our way through to win, a difficult challenge while protecting a flag. Of course, it would be the case if I had not thought of a plan during the briefing. It must be near completion now. Phineas suggests. I reply, We run over the thick snow without leaving a trace. The fortress looms before us, a simple edifice of old stone with no real interior, barely more than a husk designed for training. Its wind-swept rooms beckon, but as we crest a ridge, defences appear. Two squads await us in two concentric circles around the narrow entrance. The first circle consists of fighters in tight formation while the second has vestals and anyone with ranged capabilities. I spot a basic circle dug in the ice, enough to enhance spellcasting and provide a shield that several people could feed. I make no secret of my presence and all eyes quickly turn to me. A hundred paces separate us. Lars and Phineas take their places by my side. The squads are in no rush to take us out. They wait, unmoving, under the moon shadows of the walls. They know. I was not entirely honest with Lars. I suspect that he let it go out of politeness because the reason for my action is not entirely rational. I simply cannot accept a draw. In that sense, I am entirely too predictable. My own essence prevents me from tolerating anything else than full conquest if it is at all achievable, and the other teams count on it to force my hand. Or so they hope. Phineas comments in his off-hand manner. I draw a circle on the ice and use a knife to carve a few glyphs with a quick hand. I would normally never be caught dead resorting to such inferior means. I shall consider this an exercise, a limit test, so to speak. The other teams object. The fighters stay where they are but the mages open fire on us, long-range spells with as much hope of hitting a moving vampire as a wet sponge has of downing an eagle. I watch the crimson bolts curve over the land. Without looking, I continue engraving the circle as my teammate blocks the attacks and Lars throws a few javelins at the mages to annoy them. The stalemate lasts until I return to the center of the circle. Time to apply the Librarian¡¯s spell in a combat situation. I call upon the glyphs and feel their power thrumming. This is blood magic at its core, a powerful yet double-edged instrument. It dives deep and takes what it needs. On most mortals, it collects a steep tithe, yet it calls to us because we understand life on a level that few others do. I let the spell draw power from me and feel it crystallize in front of my chest. Comets as small as toys and as carmine as rubies. They wait. I call for more until I have a ball the size of a large skull. It begs to be released. The blunt, unsubtle thing explodes forward in a heavy arc, roaring like a freight train on its catastrophic descent. I am left gasping but I also smile to see the look of disbelief and horror on the others¡¯ faces. Some of the salvo¡¯s bolts go off in corkscrew trajectories, some go up and down. Some violently and unexpectedly swerve. Chaos rules and none can guess where the deadly things will end up, least of all me. I am not facing some two-bits mages, however. The two vestals rally and reinforce the shield. The fighters nimbly step out of the way, easily dodging the few errant projectiles. The spell crashes into the circle and cracks it like an egg. Vestals are sent to the ground, shaken but unhurt as they make sure to avoid the brunt of the attacks. A boom echoes throughout the valley while powdery ice is sent up in the air. The earth heaves under the assault. I do not make use of the chaos. My attack will not suffice to gain a decisive advantage and, besides, the fighters have already recovered. I just stand and enjoy the sight while a dull ache reminds me that even we cannot cast such spells freely. Finally, the last of the unamused squires dust themselves off just as Marlan steps out of the gates. The examiner frowns and crosses his arm with displeasure. Ah, yes. The inevitability of victory when one side envisions a path and the others just wait passively. Sometimes, I feel pity for my brethren. Many of them see sanctums as inviolable, perhaps as a cultural bias or perhaps as a consequence of our inability to enter homes. I do not have that issue. I have spent too much effort breaking barriers, both physical and metaphorical. I walk past my flabbergasted colleagues to the instructor as he does his best to mask his aura. Once more, Torran¡¯s advice shows its true value. When a true master makes theirs perfectly flat, they are surely livid. The fortress¡¯ insides are hollow and not designed to protect anyone. We walk through an empty corridor to the ¡®throne room¡¯, an isolated rectangular chamber at the back of the construct with no openings. To be precise, it did not have any opening until tonight. ¡°Yip!¡± Esmeray greets. Her wolf form¡¯s fur is small and dark. I also suspect some eldritch shenanigans that help her mask her presence to an unnatural degree. She holds the flag in her jaw. It flaps weakly in the wind provided by a circular hole that leads to the snowy expanse outside. Marlan stops and takes a deep breath. I wait. I affirm. He glares. I admit after a few seconds. I lie. Marlan¡¯s grumpy face shows that he remains unconvinced. I ask with some surprise. They isolate us from the world so that we may integrate more easily. I am familiar with the concept. Extremists use this method to acquire pliable subjects and to sever them from their friends and family. We recruits are aware of it, but we would not have joined if we were unwilling to play the game. I have not studied the Polish system yet. Classes have focused on Western Europe where I am more likely to be deployed. And with that, he leaves. I turn to the wolf-shaped Vanheim as the wind howls through the gap of the fake fortress. ¡°Yip.¡± It has been over half a year since team Willow gained its vanguard. I have made full use of their facility to improve, as have the others. One of the defining elements of my education is the lack of structure. I have studied the basics with Melusine, although she was my worst teacher by any measure, then engineering and forging with Loth. Naminata taught me the spear. Sinead showed me the intriguing potential of Charm and politics. Aisha, the American team¡¯s Vestal, introduced intuition to me. Many others helped me learn their craft, all of them masters in their field but all of them dispersed across the world. I am attending structured learning for the first time since my mortal childhood. Never have I felt more keenly the immense value of a university. As a result of our efforts, I can now decently understand the rules that govern our kind. I can also cast quite a few more spells, including a specific mage counter designed by my sire and left in his human-skin tome. My swordwork also improved. The most telling progress is squad-based, however. Now, we move like a team instead of as a vague gathering of inhuman socialites on an outing. And their suspiciously large dog. We can fight as a unit, though I pull most of the weight in actual combat. As for our cooperation in real situations, we have not had the opportunity to test it yet. It seems that we soon will. Marlan explains as he lays a map upon our table. Lars asks, uncharacteristically talkative. I have always taken a different approach on my own territory. On the other hand, I have a measure of control over most of Illinois¡¯ armed forces, so I can afford to be more direct. Whoo a visitor! I am exchanging enough letters with Torran to know that he is somewhere around. Could it be that he came to visit? I need to tidy up my room. A quick jump and all the dubious literature with ripped bodice and ravishment disappears in my wardrobe under my spare knives. I make my way out of the fortress and into the surrounding town where a ¡®visitor center¡¯ has been installed. Now that I think about it, I am not even sure that I can bring an outsider inside of the fortress, but as I approach the squat white building reminiscent of Roman architecture, I realize my mistake. Only one aura comes from the building. It does not belong to Torran. I have only once before experienced a similar situation. I have never met this person before, yet he feels intimate. Only one person fits the profile. While Malakim¡¯s was hot and insane, this one exudes serenity to an extent that I wonder if he feels the Thirst at all. While Malakim¡¯s dripped with barely contained ravenous hatred, this one is a placid pool as smooth as a mirror. I enter the bare lobby and find a tall man wearing a richly ornate yellow gambeson that falls to his knees, a fur cap, and the longest moustache that never graced a morse¡¯s face. Dirty blond hair falls wildly around two light blue eyes. He smiles when he sees me and bows lightly, without calculation, without expectation. He is, by far, the most peaceful of us. I can barely believe that we belong to the same community, let alone bloodline. I say, returning his bow. I reply with honesty, Ah, the trappings of good society. I must admit, with so few Hastings joining the Knights, I have been missing the simple ritual. Svyatoslav invites me to a private room in the local inn, the only concession to comfort being a pair of pillows on the stone benches. The center of the room is dedicated to a square table, upon which Svyatoslav places a strange contraption. It looks like a large bronze vase with a chimney on top. I am stunned by the incredible details worked on its surface, and I can tell from the small deformations that this object has known the touch of fire quite a few times. Svyatoslav explains soberly. I can tell when someone is absorbed in a task and do not wish to interrupt him for a question he may soon answer. And indeed, he does. The Devourer opens the top of the vase and pours water from a nearby jug into the main body. I note with interest that the chimney is in fact the top of a column set vertically in the middle of the samovar. With religious attention, Svyatoslav then fills this column with pieces of wood he chips with his talons, then finishes by dropping a few burning coals he squeezes down with a branch. I watch his large scarred hands work with slow care. I know for a fact that he could be faster, more precise, but there is no point. Rituals settle us, anchor our humanity. They do not help as much as a Vassal does but they matter just as well. I personally prefer drip coffee and gun maintenance. Finally, the loading up is done and wood smoke leaves, dragged up and outside by an air current before it can sting our eyes. The peculiar scent, so prone to permeate clothes, reminds me of my youth baking potatoes by a campfire with my papa. Heat spreads across the frigid room. In the companionable silence, we take the time to get used to each other¡¯s presence. I hear the water dancing against the edge of the metal and Svyatoslav caps the chimney. He removes a teapot from under the table and opens it. I can smell the powerful fragrance of dark tea. Water sings as it goes. It does not take long for a heady fragrance to spread across the room, fighting the light smoke for supremacy. Svyatoslav soon hands me a cup of liquid the color of caramel. We sip in silence. It is quite strong. he finally says. I nod. There is no need for formalities between the two of us. Especially the trial, the memories of which still push me to touch my fingers on occasion. Svyatoslav stops there. For the entire speech, he displayed no signs of anger but a deep sorrow. It is an emotion that we do not experience very often, if only because there are few losses that can cause it. S?a?ch* Th? N0v?lFir?.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. I oblige him but do not allow the conversation to center on me. After I finish telling him of the events that led to my escape from the Lancaster and my reunion with my father, I ask him to tell how his own change went. As expected. I was extraordinarily lucky with my father. Most of those who were turned against their will return to their families at some point. Tragedy and bloodshed remains the norm. How should I express it? A drive that I shared with my mortal self. An instinct beyond the instinctual. My reaction must have been clear because Svyatoslav laughs. His tone turns melancholic and though I would like to argue, I restrain myself. I chuckle at that. Chapter 148: Intruders Krakow is burning.I wish I could have seen the city before the mob and before the persecution. Even now, the Saint Mary¡¯s Basilica rises from the ashes around it, clad in its late Gothic glory. Ochre stone offers a counterpoint to the blood-stained snow and its many tiny windows seem to glare at the two pyres beneath. The stench of fear, offal and roasted meat saturates the air of the main market square. A few stalls lay crushed to the side. Behind us, the convoy moves. The feet of mortals splash through the disgusting sludge. They are scared. They have a right to be scared. As the city master told us, a difficult time is upon them. I keep an eye out for danger and remember our short interview with Tadeusz, Krakow¡¯s resident Lord. He had given brief instructions to Anatole and then gone off to handle yet another crisis. I was not spared a single glance. It is, I believe, the first time that I remain anonymous in a gathering of vampires. I find the experience curious and refreshing. In America, I was always the local Devourer or Sephare¡¯s pawn or Constantine¡¯s apprentice. Here, I am but a faceless agent in a group charged with handling a crisis. I do not bring my reputation, network, or enemies with me. The uniform I wear replaces all those considerations. I am expected to follow orders and fulfill the mission, nothing more. The Knights handle those who pursue hidden agendas with extreme prejudice, not that I would have one considering that I have never been involved in Eneru politics beyond ravishing Torran. I am but a cog in the great machine. Another cloaked figure, armored in leather and covered in weapons. In fact, the only person with whom I have past grievances currently leads our mission. Though technically he may not give me direct orders, Anatole is still above me in the hierarchy. Lars leads the squad. I assume that the powers that be decided to see if we could let go of our enmity for the sake of the mission, a test of professionalism perhaps. After all, he merely tried to murder me twice for the crime of not being dead and got exiled from America as a result while I am guilty of brazenly walking around not being dead. A gray area, to be sure. I consciously unclench my jaw and gesture to the side, not that it is needed. A mortal could hear the trampling ruckus of a band of looters approaching us. They come from the south, where the strange Wawel castle stands, alongside the old royal road. Perhaps someone saw us pass by and alerted them. Greed is a powerful motivator when faith condemns the current owners. We are currently escorting three carriages filled to the brim with crates and other valuable goods. Tadeusz has decided to relocate for the sake of his followers but he will not abandon his precious belongings unless he has to. At least a dozen mages and assorted help stumble from within our protective cordon. The mages are useless. You would think that someone who can bend the world to their will would be able to take care of themselves, but when said power relates to dreams or making plants grow fast, survivability suffers. I can hardly complain. I find dream-witches particularly tasty. Lars says. I reply. We keep heading north, out of the square and through the old streets now dotted with the occasional frozen bodies. The cart¡¯s wheels clatter on the frozen pavement. For a moment, I think that the looters will give up the chase but even mortals can hear us from five streets away and it does not take long before their ¡®outriders¡¯ notice us. Men in dirty urban clothes, most of them young, hurry after us. I see the glint in their eyes, that manic anticipation of the hunt. I do not sympathize with it. My anger does not stem from the imbalance of power between marauding bands and fleeing refugees. It is the hypocrisy that infuriates me. At least, debased highwaymen know why they kill. Those younglings lie to themselves, committing acts of utmost savagery under the dizzying influence of fanaticism. They do not truly understand what they are doing. They will wake up in a week thinking themselves virtuous for ridding the world of devil-worshippers. Or at least, some of them will. There is an art to breaking mobs. The first thing to remember is that not all mobs can be broken, not without overwhelming force. Like a great beast, some will riot and bite when subjected to pain. Such is not the case here. Only a people beset by hunger or some deep-seated, enduring injustice will rouse itself to revolutionary heights. The marauders facing us are what happens when nine-tenths of a population realizes that it can feed on the remaining one with impunity. The second thing to remember is that, although mobs do not have a true leader, they have people who steer. We quickly find him. He is a blond-haired man wearing a leather apron with a cross sewn on it. He brandishes a blood-stained cleaver and yells imprecations, agitating the men behind him. My first knife finds his forehead which explodes like a melon. Blood and brain-bits rain over the rest in a crimson cloud. The third thing to remember is that being in a crowd is like being drunk, and that nothing wakes them up quite like pain and death. Lars wisely allows two seconds to pass and for the headsman, minus the head, to fall down before throwing his first javelin. It skewers a student and a baker. They squeal abominably. I walk forward. The group dissolves. They run back in disarray. A few of the folks at the back only trot, still unclear as to what exactly happened. The sight of death has not quite yet hit home. I glare at one of them and our eyes meet. He is wearing a cross and the taste of ash and sunlight caresses my lips, an eternal warning. No matter. Power is a crutch. I do not need Charm to intimidate. As the man watches, I grab the mewling student by the neck and lift him enough for the stragglers to see Rose¡¯s blade go through his sternum. They run. I quickly return to formation. Our path continues north. We only come across a smaller group of looters and they run away after one look at our numbers. Soon, the tower above the Florian gate appears. We are close. Lars informs us. I memorized the map too, but not to Lars¡¯ extent. Someone placed a few crates on the way. It only takes Lars and Phineas a minute to move everything without reducing it to kindling. We cannot afford the noise. Phineas remarks bitterly. I am personally standing at the top of one of the carts, keeping vigil. I calmly reply. The enticing smell of terror emanates from our charges, distracting me. My blood consumption has increased lately, and every potential meal is all the more tempting. Sometimes, I wonder how I ever managed to get anything done as a fledgeling. Phineas hisses playfully and the mortals squirm. Delectable. Bah, I must concentrate. I pat on the caravan master¡¯s shoulder and we go on. A few minutes later, we reach the rendezvous point. Other carts are arrayed in a column under the watchful gaze of Team Aspen. There are corpses on the ground, signs that some enterprising pillagers tried their luck for the last time in their lives. Anatole has very little patience for transgression, real or imagined. the blond twit asks in a low voice. Lars replies. Anatole shows clear distaste as he looks at Esmeray¡¯s sulking form, her arms crossed and gaze averted. ¡°Or at least I assume that this is what she meant, given her failure to master our language. In any case, you will make contact with them and investigate the Barbican. Esmeray mentions a¡­ foul smell. I think. Investigate while we bring the caravan to safety, but do not engage unless the matter is urgent.¡± Lars salutes. For one moment, I am left to wonder why the experienced team is on guard while the novice team is sent scouting but it is the exact doctrine. Escorting the coven is the priority. Getting rid of our target is a secondary objective, hence why we were sent on the task. The squad plus Esmeray returns to the city. Somewhere to the northeast of the square, the red glow of distant fire illuminates the sooty sky. Dark ash falls around us in a slow-dance hail. ¡°Kazimierz, the Jewish quarter,¡± Lars comments laconically. ¡°Any chance that the fire reaches here?¡± ¡°Unlikely. The wind blows in the other direction and it will snow soon.¡± Esmeray turns into a wolf and takes the lead. She prefers her wolf form, unless specifically asked not to turn. Her lithe, dark shape guides us around blockades and through small passages. At times, we take to the roofs. Standard practice is to avoid doing so too much, as those who expect vampires will keep guards above ground. I maintain that most folks never look up but what do I know? We spot the Barbican very quickly, a squat, circular fortress situated close to the Vistula river. It is¡­ smaller than I expected. Many small windows adorn its light brown walls and several tiny towers with pointy roofs pop from above the thick walls like exquisite, tiny decorations on a boring cake. Esmeray does not stop. She leads us to a thicket of trees nestled between two tall houses. The only access has been blocked by debris, except for a tiny opening which we do not take. I can smell blood and sweat in the air even through the ever-present, acrid stench of smoke. We take to the roofs and lean in, even Esmeray who apparently can scale vertical surfaces with her paws. Below, we find a small patch of earth, a back garden of sorts. Half a dozen mages look around, gloved hands clenched on sabers and war scythes. I count around four guns. Another five gather around a pair of people quite busy bleeding to death. Their piteous cries are muffled. They are prey. I am quite fascinated by the color of the blood on their weapons. I say. Phineas asks, utterly lost. I assumed that this was common knowledge. I give them a short lecture on spheres and the new alignment, as well as portals and the only world mankind has discovered so far. ¡°It sounds like a shithole, pardon my French,¡± Phineas says, in English. Like a single man, the squad lands on the pavement in silence. The sentries yell and fall back. One of them takes out an antiquated pistol and waves it around. The group of mages is quite diverse now that I see them. I would wager that a few of them are foreigners, and my suspicions are confirmed when one of them points an accusatory finger at me and bellows in German with a proper Hannovrian accent. ¡°Mein Gott! You! Have you not done enough already? Have you finally come to finish what you started? Is my life so abhorrent to you?¡± My fellow squad members do not stare, though I know they want to. We have to look deadly, and we do. The mages huddle in a pathetic herd. I study the man who submitted me to such a venomous address. A bushy blond beard, plastered by sweat and grime. Manic brown eyes. A scar on his cheek. I have no idea who he might be. No idea at all. ¡°Are we acquainted?¡± I finally ask, in German as well. ¡°Kennen wir uns? Kennen wir uns? Are you mocking me, vampire?¡± he screams, finishing in English again. ¡°...No.¡± This is terribly awkward. ¡°Are you telling me that you are here so far away from your lands, in the city where I fled to, and that you come in my hour of darkness not to feed off my misery but by happenstance?¡± This time they cannot resist. Even Lars raises a brow. Phineas suggests with barely veiled mirth. Augh. Such an uncomfortable situation. ¡°Yes, or rather, we are meeting by happenstance. I have no memory of you.¡± And that is truly strange, as my captured Rosenthal essence should at the very least give me a hint. ¡°You destroyed my life! Killed my friends!¡± he spits, as if it made everything obvious. ¡°You will have to be more specific as I have destroyed many lives and killed a lot of friends,¡± I suggest. ¡°You wiped out most of my crew!¡± ¡°Again, not specific enough.¡± ¡°How can you vampires be so arrogant? Do our lives mean nothing to you?¡± I cast a furtive glance towards Phineas. Why do mortals ask such rhetorical questions when the answer is both unpleasant and obvious? ¡°We masters have had many foes throughout the years. They are dead and we are not,¡± I try to explain diplomatically. His face scrunches. Perhaps I was not clear enough? ¡°For you, the night you lost your friends was certainly harrowing, but for me, it was business as usual. I do not even remember you.¡± ¡°AAAAAAAARG!¡± What is wrong with him? Phineas remarks. Lars suggests. ¡°Alright, enough. Get a hold of yourself. We have questions.¡± ¡°Questions?¡± the man screams. ¡°Why would I ever help you?¡± Lars asks. Phineas encourages. Esmeray merely growls. ¡°Ahem,¡± our fearless leader says as he takes a step forward. So far, the other mages have watched out the exchange with absolute confusion, so much that they have not yet noticed that one of the wounded has passed. ¡°Good people of the Raclawice Brotherhood and associated mercenaries, we are here to deal with reports of an otherworldly threat manifesting as, and I will have to quote, ¡®hounds the size of bulls with their heads split open¡¯. You may report all relevant information to me. Should you be reluctant to do so, you will share all relevant information to her.¡± This is my cue. I manifest Rose and, with the flick of the wrist, crack her like a whip. The delicate links coil like a deadly obsidian snake while the blade whistles. Our little hosts take a collective step backwards. A few courageous souls vociferate in Polish, but their betters speak in hushed tones and soon they cross themselves. Muttered prayers hiss in my ears like nails on a chalkboard. To my surprise, they rally around a squat, old man who fills them with the fire of faith in an old bleating voice. They all wear crosses. Charm is of no use. The man I apparently offended tries in vain to reason with them. With one last amen, spells fuse. We engage them. The following melee is short and disappointing. While Gabrielites know to hide behind their crosses and physical shields, peppering us with bullets and prayers, those men charge bravely. They die bravely as well as we close around them like the jaws of some great predator. Knives and javelins skewer them. Our blades tear them apart. They die with dignity, with furor, but still, they die. It does not take long before I grab the last combatant by the neck and feed off him. One part of my mind rejoices at a rich bounty while the other tries to follow the ongoing conversation. Indeed, three of the fighters have decided not to join their brethren in their collective suicide. The offended man is one of them. ¡°Please, we do not wish to fight,¡± another pleads in German. ¡°That is most wise,¡± Lars says while cleaning his blade on a fallen scarf. ¡°Now tell us about the hound things.¡± ¡°Oh, this is worse than that. Much worse.¡± ¡°How so?¡± ¡°It¡¯s not just the hound things, sir, it¡¯s the beings that lead them.¡± Ah. This might be highly problematic. ¡°They came from the portal and¡­ they had those gems¡­¡± ¡°Hold on, man, start from the beginning,¡± Phineas says as well. Esmeray tilts her head. She doesn¡¯t speak German. ¡°Right, the beginning. Of course. It all started when I was hired by the Raclawice Brotherhood a month ago. They paid us, that is the two other people here as well as a few others, to help them in their endeavor. They paid¡­ very little but the market for mercenary work is chaotic right now, what with all the governments cracking down on us.¡± ¡°Focus please.¡± ¡°Yes. The Raclawice Brotherhood had a plan, one they did not trust us with and for good reason. You see, they kept talking about the price to pay for betrayal. We thought that they were going after a rival organization, but apparently, they wanted to go after Poland itself.¡± ¡°For turning on the mage population?¡± ¡°Yes. The Brotherhood was always made out of disgruntled fanatics. They opened a portal using a pilfered book and planned to bait the denizens of the world beyond ¡ª the hounds you mentioned. I¡­ thought those were demons for a while.¡± ¡°I wager that you found more than hounds?¡± ¡°Monsters in human skins! Or at least, some mongrel line of white man and Mahometan and Persian perhaps! The gate had been opened for a few hours and the Brotherhood was patiently capturing one specimen after another, through the clever use of nets, when disaster struck! I, wanting nothing to do with this treachery, was on guard duty. I saw everything! One moment, the other side had nothing but dreary lands. The other, those strange men were filing out! They were all bald and wearing white cloth and strange metal armors. Some of them had gloves that shone green and red, like nothing I had ever seen. Like a star came down from heaven. But those were demonic tools because no sooner had they arrived then they started mesmerizing or manipulating or I cannot know for sure, but the mages could not move and they placed collars on them and dragged them away! I hid in the promenade inside the walls and watched. They dragged their prisoners through the portals! They were treating people like animals!¡± ¡°And you did not act?¡± Lars asks with a hint of disapproval. The man merely shook his head. ¡°There was nothing to do, dark one. Any man they approached stopped moving completely. They could not resist¡­¡± He is telling the truth, I am sure of it. Phineas says. I reply. Lars says. Phineas hisses with anger. Esmeray yips in agreement. I do agree. Knights should be informed, though to be fair, I did not think to share this knowledge with the others. It simply did not occur to me. Lars finishes debriefing the mage while I find a secluded spot and cast a communication spell. Snow melts and gathers into the watery figure of Team Aspen¡¯s Vestal. ¡°Yes?¡± I succinctly relay the information we gathered. Anatole¡¯s face soon replaces that of my interlocutor. Lars orders the mages to stay where they are and we make for the roofs again. The Barbican remains strangely silent and, just as Anatole expected, a scouting party finally leaves its monumental gate. The group of intruders is made of three middle-sized hounds with collars held by three men holding gun-like weapons. They are indeed all bald, of a strange ethnic group and their attire is curious. They wear metal armors of excellent make, but under that I can see frayed white threads of poor quality. They are led by a man wearing even more elaborate armor. He does hold above his gauntlet a sphere of the most vivid, iridescent green I have ever seen. It looks so breathtaking that I commit the sight to memory for a future painting. The spell shines like a beacon with the dreary background of the smoldering city. We observe the intruder¡¯s progress. What impresses me the most is the confident arrogance they display. Anyone with a hint of sense would realize that they are in a habitation center, and not grow overconfident. Even we tend to hide, but not them. They stroll down the street with the giddy ferocity of victors in a defeated city. I see the greed in their eyes as they slowly walk the district. Sometimes, one of them comments on something in a guttural tongue and the others snicker. We do not act. I am part of a hierarchy now, and the decision to engage is not mine to make. I also understand why Knights are never deployed near their home territories. Were this scene to happen in Marquette, blood would have been shed already. Anatole finds us quickly. He knew where we were thanks to Esmeray¡¯s report. After a quick assessment, he decides on a plan of action. Mannfred says, Mannfred wears the heaviest armor among us. I have enchanted leather but he has plates and chainmail, also reinforced, and a heart protector that could stop one of my bullets. With his shield, he is the most likely to survive being immobilized. He is also extremely stubborn, which will help with any mental effect if applicable. Most importantly, Anatole is too valuable. I highly suspect that Anatole knew that the straightforward Mannfred would take his place. our fearless leader replies, Our two teams easily surround the scouting party as it walks down one more deserted street. A signal and Mannfred falls out of view. He walks from behind a wall with his sword clearly shown. He truly looks like a Spanish knight from the days of yore, up to the ¡®honorable to a fault¡¯ approach. The invader with the sphere scoffs and makes a snide remark, leading to hilarity among his subordinates. They approach Mannfred like bullies. The Vanguard stays put. The invader lifts his gauntlet and his shiny armor reflects the iridescent hue. Mannfred freezes in his tracks. He stumbles. One of the men takes out a collar from his belt, but the mage barks a warning and he steps back. Mannfred takes a step forward. Something is very wrong. I feel it in the air, a domineering draw. The mage pulls on the energy around him. At his feet, the colors grey out. Mannfred lets out a terrible roar. The three guards release their hounds which race forward. We all drop. For an instant, I think that Mannfred will be bitten, but then he charges forward with all the speed he can muster. We are still in the air when his enchanted sword goes through the sphere. It explodes in a blinding kaleidoscope of colors. Vitality washes over me. I have never tasted something so pure. This is the true nature of what we draw from blood. I shiver under its heady taste, but it soon fades. Mannfred is not impacted. His sword takes out the mage¡¯s head next. As soon as I hit the ground and move forward, I know why. The liberated vitality has settled over the area, healing it to an extent, but it feels wrong. The fabric wrinkles like peeled skin pushed back over a wound. There will be a scar. A step forward and the terrible feeling of violation intensifies. Those¡­ those curs! They are stealing our world, its very life! DEFILERS. How dare they do such a thing?! It is monstrous. Unnatural! Is it because their world has so little life that they have been forced to harness it? Unbelievable. I stand by a panting Mannfred while the rest of both teams make short work of the hounds. They capture the three guards as well, breaking their limbs through their armor. The would-be invaders scream and show some delicious terror. Phineas says as he inspects their equipment, ¡°Mffflgrn!¡± the owner protests. the Vestal says. She tears off her victim¡¯s helmet. Anatole asks. Soon, the answer becomes obvious. The captives spasm. Blood runs from their eyes and ears. We step aside, but it appears that whatever killed them will not affect us. Lars kneels by a body and uses a knife to unclench his jaw. The maxilla breaks with a ghastly crunch. How very pedestrian of them. And here I thought that their arrogance would translate. Ah well, it rarely does. Anatole finally says as his vanguard has apparently recovered. Mannfred looks sheepish, as expected from someone who destroyed an important source of information. We stop at that declaration. We are hunters. Cattle are a necessity, but only an ersatz of the real thing. Those who rely too much on cattle are frowned upon and they taste bland. The very idea of harvesting a crowd for their vitality¡­ to adopt a systematic approach to what should be an exciting event¡­ I can only consider it with the most visceral disgust. Only empty shells would be left of the sacrifices. I remark. Anatole looks at me strangely. What? It is true. He must have felt it as well. the Amaretta Vestal continues. She, too, shows obvious anger. she finishes. Anatole reminds her, and she acquiesces. I grumble. Oh, I will. The restrictions on accepted doctrines is simply appalling. I was more effective when I was alone, and I did not have to wear this highly flammable, flimsy leather cuirass either. Bah, this is what I chose and their traditional training is without a match. Focus on the prize, Ariane, focus on the prize. The two squads move carefully. We progress in the shadows of the bridge near the Barbican¡¯s entrance and then in the angle between the rectangular entrance and the circular main body. We spot several sentries but they do not notice us while we are so close. Most of them stare away, towards the fires. We scale the sheer wall and end up on the roof. The main structure of the Barbican is circular, open-roofed and hollow. The central court is quite small. Less than fifty people could fit in it, standing, much less now that it is cluttered with crates and foes. A handful of soldiers in metal armor mill about around a dozen lounging hounds. Soldiers come from and disappear into nearby alcoves lit by lanterns, but the main attraction is down center: a portal several yards across, and before it, two casters. And before them, a skeleton. I can barely believe my eyes. While all the soldiers are close enough to human to pass as one, the creature crawled out is some sort of nightmarish depiction of a mummified titan from the dawn of time. It is dead. It has to be dead. Its skin sticks to its bones and it has empty eye sockets that shine blue in the darkness. I have no idea what we are contending with. The thing moves. It tilts its head up. Anatole hisses. The eyes look up. I shoot it. A monstrous shield, a latticed half-dome, rises from the ground. It cuts a man in two as it closes around the skeletal form. I shoot one of the casters. The bullet hits him in the eye through the helmet and he topples backwards. Lars¡¯ first javelin smashes against the skeleton¡¯s protection with no effect but the next one kills the second caster. Those are heavy javelins, each one a heavy piece of steel and silver designed to go through shields and flesh alike. Despite his armor, the target is skewered through the sternum. The weapon ends up planted in the ground like a gore-covered pennant. We have serious problems though. I grab Lars by the scruff of his neck as the warning in my head turns into a screeching crescendo. We dive. Behind us, the roof of the Barbican explodes. All of it. Over a distance of fifteen yards. It just¡­ disappears into a shower of rock and splinters. The skeleton had¡­ moved its hand. It hit me then, the nauseous feel of the world flayed to its very fabric to fuel this creature¡¯s spell. This will not stand. KILL IT NOW. I run down the wall and hit the ground in a dead sprint. No spells, it would be useless. Rose erupts like a coiled cobra and strikes the shield. It barely shimmers. The cover and its occupant are eating the world alive. Team Aspen slaughters the helpers and hounds while Lars and I engage the targets. Phineas and Esmeray attempt to flank it. I feel its attention settling on me like a heavy yoke. Its mere gaze has weight, the sort of pressure the truly old ones have. I do not bend. The world dies around us. That is the best way I can find to describe it. The world dies and the last surviving servants of the creature fall dead. We stand inside of a gouge in the world¡¯s fabric, a necrotic wound on a healthy body. The lack of life chokes me in a way that only the loss of Dalton had done before, though it had been more painful by an order of magnitude. The shield still holds against our relentless assault, but it weakens. The monster lifts a boney finger and one of the two spheres the casters discarded pops out. Power and life erupt from the broken tool. It grasps it and raises its hand. The temperature drops just as I use Rose¡¯s teeth against the surface of the shield. Magic is weakened here, I can feel it. Any spells I throw may be captured. What it cannot take is essence. It certainly tries, but just like with the Herald, our nature is too alien for drain spells to work on us. I pour as much power as I can from the Watcher¡¯s gift in my blade and run around it. The shield groans and wavers. Team Aspen joins the fray. The creature sighs something in its strange tongue and the temperature drops precipitously. Blood freezes and flesh cracks. Flakes form on my brows. It does not affect us. We do not mind the cold. The shield wavers. For the first time since the battle started, the creature moves faster. Its fingers form a mesmerizing pattern as it grasps for the second sphere, only to find that it is gone. I saw it happen. Esmeray picked it up in her maw and fled. Smart girl. The shield groans once more. The creature turns to the portal and makes to leave, but not before gesturing. While my instincts did not warn me against the cold spell I felt coming, they urge me now. I grab Lars and dive to the side, imitated by most of team Aspen. Fire brushes over us, an explosion so powerful that my ears pop and my eyes bleed. I try to jump back to my feet and stumble. There is a blue flash from somewhere behind. Screams. The creature is trying to go through the portal. Oh, I think not. NOT SO FAST. A roar and my aura explodes. Bad. I grab the power as it leaves me and pull on Rose. Her thorns wreck through the shield. Anatole is here, smashing into the protection with his twin soul blades. The shield breaks apart with a crystalline shatter. Dark roots rise from the floor and whip at the fleeing foe¡¯s legs. It stumbles. That is enough. Just as power leaves me and a deep fatigue fills my limbs, the rest of the Knights fall on the fallen creature with utter savagery. I can no longer follow their movements. The portal closes. Beyond it, I spot a few invaders and one shackled Polish mage amid a small camp. They look on with absolute disbelief at the spectacle of the creature being torn asunder. For one moment, I consider trying to kill them before giving up. There are too many of them and I do not have enough bullets. And I am not about to go through that collapsing gate. It closes. Team Aspen steps away from the body just as the last roots disappear in a flash of light. They are missing a member. I turn around to see a discarded war hammer near a pile of ash. Damn. The survivors have not escaped unscathed either. Mannfred apparently covered their Vestal as his shield-bearing arm bears the marks of the attack. Silence returns to the Barbican. Nothing remains alive save for us. Team Willow leaves knowing the reason why Anatole asked for privacy. I am forced to leave through the gate since I can barely walk, and I settle to wait near the bridge. As I leave, the cold that had permeated the air fades and so does the deep feeling of wrongness that came from the wound in the world. Interestingly, that feeling fades as life surges to replace the lost fabric. It will heal, in time. I suspect that it will take a while. Team Willow returns. Aisha goes to sniff around while the other two sit by my side, knowing me to be vulnerable. Their presence is familiar and it comforts me almost as much as having my loaded gun in my hand. Phineas remarks. S?a?ch* Th? ???el F?re.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. We keep quiet as we mull over the encounter. I cannot even fathom the consequences of this meeting. The invaders clearly had the mentality of raiders and their magic is powerful, so powerful that local mages can do nothing against them. Mundane humans should also be enslaved by the mesmerizing sphere. If the invaders find a way to open a portal from their end¡­ I dare not imagine the consequences. Even if we find a way to contain them, their presence will be taken by the mortals as a sign of the end of times or some such nonsense. Or as something that the magical population called upon them. We need countermeasures. We need a slurry of countermeasures. And we need explosives. I must contact Loth and Constantine. Team Aspen leaving the area interrupts my thoughts and we are sent to pile up the hound¡¯s bodies to burn them. The corpses of the intruders are collected while we wait for Knight reinforcements. This is a major crisis after all. I find myself being the useless one for the rest of the night. Over the course of the next two days, we grab every proof we can to be transported by train. The unrest wracking through the cities makes our task much harder, but we finally manage to board the train back. Our only saving grace is that low temperatures prevent the bodies from rotting. The nightmare begins when we return. Knights, as it turns out, have an overabundance of protocols and this is especially true when we have had a loss. I had not expected that hurdle. We are debriefed and cross-examined by the hierarchy, though not in an aggressive way. We have to write reports on the events. Even after all is said and done, I find myself struggling to find an interlocutor. Marlan tells me I grumble in assent. I expected it. As someone who has played an active role in the Accords these past few decades, I have grown used to my own position. Now, I have returned to being nothing more than a cog in the great machine that is the Order. I regret the loss of agency and the lack of access to a shared information network. The decision to contact Constantine and my other allies is an easy one, but the execution is made delicate by the complete lack of infrastructure. The Knights have magical means of communication. Unfortunately, they are reserved for internal messaging, and without dedicated tools I would be hard-pressed to even reach Loth. I am forced to send my letters by train and hope that they will cross half of the world to their final destination like some sort of Neanderthal. Could they not install a telegraph at the very least? Ugh. I shall suggest this later. On the second week of January, I receive an unexpected visit from Mannfred. He sits in front of me at the table of Team Willow¡¯s base and makes a rather shocking proposal. Oh yes, I have not annoyed Marlan enough with all my questions, let me rock the boat a little more. I should refuse. Chapter 149: The Age of Powder and Magic A frigid wind blows on the dead mountain, raising powdery white ice into the air.Cadiz essence for focus, Natalis and werewolf for strength. I draw on them in my relentless assault against Svyatoslav as he parries and dodges backward. He flows around in a liquid manner that frustrates me to no end, avoiding strikes by a hair. There are so many things to focus on. Roland essence to keep going. I use and release as needed. My attention falters and Svyatoslav pounces. His blade rakes my arm. It takes a lot of effort not to drop Rose. I draw on the Ekon essence to mitigate the pain and the Roland essence again to fight through it. My return strike pushes Svyatoslav back. ¡°AAaaaugh!¡± I reply eloquently. Fighting Svyatoslav, or Slava for short, irritates me to the highest degree. He has a very defensive style of fighting that uses a curved saber, and a range of movement that only Naminata could match. More than once I thought I had him, only for the nimble fighter to pull off some truly insane acrobatics. Once, he even stepped on Rose. The gall of this man! It cost him his shoe though. I mock protest to work out my annoyance. Slava replies with a pompous air, hand brushing his long mustache. I pick up a branch and throw it at him. I huff. The truth is that I am temporarily weaker. Integrating a new tool in my arsenal means retraining me to make use of it, as I had done after gaining my intuition. As I had also done after obtaining Rose. One must keep a flexible mindset in order to reach the top, it seems. Nevertheless, I am slower and more deliberate while I practice. While I am fully decked out, I need to be mindful of an ever-growing list of parameters. There is Rose and her range, my opponent, my footsteps, the flow of battle, my armor and the way it affects me or even allows me to deflect a strike instead of dodging it, my magic, my firearms, my intuition and so on. The list is long and it would have been impossible to think of everything were it not for the Rosenthal essence and the improved memory it brings. More importantly, I am physically weakening. I drink more, slumber longer. I find my aura harder to manage. I have shared my worries with Octave and Slava, both of whom I trust for different reasons. They showed no signs of concern and so I expect that it relates to my progress, although I still show no signs of becoming a lady. I cannot wait for all those investments to pay off. Slava remarks. I reply truthfully. Svyatoslav shrugs and smiles, and we talk a bit more about his life. The ancient warlord is an endless source of anecdotes and amusing tales, some of which I highly suspected to be ¡®embellished¡¯. He carefully avoids the topic of his relationship with the Kalinine. Politics is something he understands but does not enjoy, and he often complains loudly about time wasted offering guarantees or being tactful instead of being effective. I realize why he owns few assets despite his age. He is simply uninterested in any involvement beyond what it takes to maintain the status quo. A few of the older stories also concern his family with whom he has long since lost contact. It had been too many generations. They are gone, spread out throughout the endless expanse of Russia. It makes him suffer. It has become obvious to me that Svyatoslav holds family in high regard. Whether it is born from a cultural bias or out of personal preference, I do not know. Suffice to say that he has desperately been trying to find someone who could relate and now spends as much time as he can training and socializing with me. I appreciate his company. I consider Team Willow as work acquaintances, not friends. We respect each other but we do not click in the intimate and comfortable way that I did with Jimena or Nami. As for the rest of the Knights, my many requests and questions somewhat sour the mood. In particular, Marlan has had it with my constant nagging. Sometimes, I wonder if they realize that many of us Knights might be new to the organization but old hands at dealing with otherworldly threats. I am so used to them that I find the most threatening of them all quite fetching, if infuriating. I wonder what he and Sivaya are up to right now. After we are done, I walk back to the compound across a small trail, leaving the snow undisturbed. No one stops me as I cross the gates and walk into the main underground complex. My feet lead me deep underground to a place I had not visited before. A powerful pair of guards let me through a small gate into the conclave room proper. Several squads have been called back from the smoky pigsty fire that is Europe right now, as each kingdom and republic decides how to handle their own mages. The Knights have split along the different tiers of the room. Down on the ground, high wood seats around a table of polished black stone will host the officers, most of whom are fashionably late. The second tier, a bit above, hosts the bulk of the true Knights while the last tier sits on a mezzanine borne by massive Ionic columns. I find my fellow Squires leaning over the balustrade and take the stairs up. Contrary to their habit, the Knights have eschewed white austerity in order to give their center of debate more gravitas. Pale and black frescoes cover the walls, showing heroic fighters triumphing against all odds. The ground is polished to a shine while enchanted lanterns provide a calming blue glow. I even spot a few golden leaves on a few of the characters, the only one I recognize being Octave. It must be quite nice to become old enough to have a temple dedicated to oneself. I could imagine some ancient lady visiting a museum of statues and seeing her own breasts immortalized for the ages, nipples fully on display. Yes, I should stick to painting others. That would be best. We settle down and I realize that Mannfred is nervous. He holds in his taloned hands a sheaf of papers covered in annotations. His speech, counter-arguments and examples are all organized by color code. I would be amazed by his dedication but I finally understood the man. Mannfred is obsessed with improving his combat capabilities. Nothing will stop him on his quest to become deadlier. I actually asked him once, if it saddened him that no amount of effort will ever allow him to match the antediluvian horrors of this world. He answered that he did not care a bit about the wrinkled old farts, he only pursued self-improvement. It was a brilliant night if he was deadlier than before when the sun rose. It was not a bad approach, not with how flexible he was with the rest. He has found his path. Despite the ever-increasing number of vampires, the room is perfectly silent. All preparations were completed long in advance, and anything said here will be heard by dozens of ears. It would also be an admission of weakness since anyone with a bit of sense should be ready by now. Without a noise, not even the susurrus of fabric, the room fills nearly to capacity. The third tier remains the least populated by virtue of the comparatively large space we occupy with our small numbers. The Knights never have that many recruits at the same time, and those who stay with them do so for centuries. Down in the inner circle, Octave has joined. A severe beauty in form-fitting armor and sensible brown hair tied modestly sits by his side. I also see Marlan, the Shade trainer, and another few, less important figures like the librarian. I assume that the newcomer is Lorica, Octave¡¯s peer and one of the three co-founders of the Order. The ceremony begins with a few oaths reminding everyone present what the Knights stand for: peace, justice, honor. They are merely repetitions of what I already agreed with and so I bow to tradition. Many of the auras flare to show sincerity. I find the experience¡­ uncomfortable. Like bearing one¡¯s calves to a stranger. Finally, everyone sits and the first order of the day is discussed: the current chaos engulfing most of the civilized world. The countries where Mask¡¯s presence is the most prevalent, mostly England and France, have decided to identify and regulate their magical population despite the objections of the Church. Spain and the Italian states have taken a more drastic route with anyone suspected of sorcery forcefully shipped off to the New World, possibly due to the power of the catholic faith there. As for Prussia, her history of ruinous religious conflicts led them to adopt a more lax approach with every major population center deciding for themselves. This has led to a few key cities like Frankfurt becoming centers for refugees. Reactions in Eastern Europe are both more diverse and more extreme. In Polish and Hungarian cities, pyres still burn, belching plumes of smoke day and night. The reports are short and to the point, the votes, fast. Everyone already came with their own conclusions based on freely-circulating information. We squires do not have a voting right, therefore we are reduced to watching the proceedings. The Knights decide to petition Mask and convince their leadership to share the mage lists they will have inevitably acquired. Measures are taken to protect affiliated mages from persecution, and to ¡®convince¡¯ select groups and individuals to come under our benevolent rule for their own good and that of their families. I really should be in Marquette to take care of my territory. We live in an age of turmoil and those who adapt the best will come up on top. I simply cannot afford the risk, however. One of my saving graces is my dangerous battle potential. If my rivals know me to be unstable, they will pounce. I hope Melusine is fine. I almost miss her jabs. My worries and the little interest I have in the minutiae of the proceedings almost make me miss the time. Mannfred¡¯s petition relates to training, a minor element in the grand scheme of things. As a result, he is one of the last speakers to address the crowd. Marlan says. The local administrator has made his opinion clear. The official proposal was ¡®improvement¡¯ of the training program, and by forcing Mannfred to walk down instead of speaking from his seat as the others had done, he forces a ten-seconds travel down to the center of the room. Every tick of the clock stresses Mannfred¡¯s status as an outsider. However, the Roland master is as stubborn as expected and he approaches his speech with a refreshing giddiness that the rest of us have lost. He takes out his notes and starts quoting a few incidents in the past where the results of squads were less than optimal. All of those are instances where the Knights had to contend with new situations brought about by modernity: stopping a train, taking over a powder reserve. They are handpicked to illustrate his point. I helped him with that and nod as he demonstrates how long-ranged guns would have been useful in assassinations or how powder charges could have been thrown through the portal last month. He explains that guns would offer more options against Gabrielites and essentially all faith-wielding fighters by nullifying the effects of their crosses. The presentation is not too long but it is thorough and extremely concise, and he finishes long before boredom can set in. We do not applaud. It is not tradition. A few people nod to acknowledge his good points. Then comes the time for objections and Marlan unfortunately takes the helm. Some people chuckle. Too many people. Marlan continues his objection. I can summarize his argument easily: the time investment does not make it worth the effort. We would need expanded facilities. We should focus our efforts on political pursuit. All of those are valid excuses that he exposes to undermine our point but I know the truth, he finds us annoying. Rigid minds like him search for reasons to say no instead of factual truth. Mannfred gets a chance to answer and he does, but by that time the cause is lost, as I expected. I can see annoyance and impatience in the minute changes in some of the Knights¡¯ postures. That was Mannfred¡¯s secondary plan in case Marlan opposes us as firmly as he has. Throw us a bone, he says, you know that we are correct and you are a bunch of arrogant, stubborn old farts. Or something of the sort. I might be projecting a little bit. His words drip with disdain. He will not have to ask me twice. I love shooting people, and I was planning on doing just that. Mannfred tells me as we leave the room. Phineas rolls his eyes. S?a??h th? N?v?lFir?(.)n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. I reply. Later that night, I sit across from Marlan in his tidy office. He is not amused. he starts. I reply, ignoring the small jab. We did not convince them. He made sure of it. We merely received a consolation prize, and Marlan will make sure to dispense it like a miser. As an answer, I grab a file by my side and remove my project plan, complete with possible training hours and a detailed list of supplies I will need. It amuses me that he would think me unprepared. The next night. The compound arena is the only place designed for range training, and even then only the most basic one. The few vampires who use ranged weapons come to the Knights at expert level, and have no need for targets unless they stand a mile down range. My two students stand before me, ready for instruction. Mannfred frowns mightily and brushes his villainous mustache while Phineas tilts his head. the Roland master asks. Mannfred scoffs. The two accept my explanations. I have already proven myself, after all. Octave often leaves our training sessions with his shirt burned and stained. I only have my own revolver and there are two students so I pick Mannfred to start because he started the whole affair. I take my time to show Mannfred how to hold the gun properly, and a proper stance. Balance is just as important as strength when wielding my Big Iron. Thankfully, we do not have to worry about breath control. At first, I thought he would aim for the head but he reconsiders and aims for center mass, thus achieving an accidental headshot. Mannfred is nothing if not disciplined. He is calm and talented enough to turn the dummy¡¯s chest into a shredded mess. His eyes glint in the semi-darkness. the man replies, excitement clear on his face. Phineas asks. Mannfred adds. Hssss. More work. May 1864, three months later. Spring has returned to the Ural, and nature has erupted from molten snow, green and vibrant. The air smells of sap and blooms. We stand at the edge of the forest not far from the compound, one of the endless training spots Knights can use. I did not pick this spot at random. The difficult terrain will prove useful. Before me, my students are arrayed. They stand with guarded expressions as they sometimes cast furtive glances at my bullet belts. It might not be the most fashionable item, of course, but few people will ever inform someone with a bullet belt that they look drab. It would be unhealthy. Team Aspen looks chagrined for some reason, except for Mannfred who carries a shield and the Amaretta girl who can see the future. It shows that they know very little and will sorely regret their overconfidence. Anatole asks with disbelief. I almost shoot him there and then. I have not forgotten. Team Aspen runs to the woods and disappears in an instant. They may not all see the interest of the exercise, but they are disciplined. I note that the Amaretta Knight hid behind a dark pine. Her slender figure disappeared behind the thin trunk. I could not do that. Because my armor is too padded at the back. For added protection. I suddenly find the Amaretta witch vaguely annoying. Her cover will also illustrate my point nicely. I aim and shoot as fast as I can, and, although I see her start moving before I pull the trigger, I adjust my aim to compensate for her own intuition. The bullet shreds the edge of the tree and lodges itself in her thigh. The exercise continues and with every advice, the Knights grow less contemptuous. Active avoidance is not something that mortals can reliably achieve. This part of the training remains brief since most of the Knights have been shot at before and understand the concept. Anatole weaves right and left. I aim and wait for him to pass in front of the barrel again, then I shoot him. He looks particularly aggravated. I am enjoying every second of this. Most mortals would not be able to do so, but Gabrielites train exclusively to shoot at where we are going to be. We should not make this task easy for them. This one is easy. By staying close to the ground, we offer smaller targets. I also advise the use of face masks, though I know that many of us cannot stand them. Head protections affect our senses. I just believe that one can adapt to them and the added protection makes it worth the inconvenience. They remain unconvinced. I do not mind. Classes continue for a while and we finish the course in a little less than twenty lessons. The squad develops several techniques such as hiding when being the focus of sustained fire and letting other squad members close in. They also enjoy attacking at an angle so that enemies have to stop shooting or risk hitting an ally. The exercises turn into games where I, the unmoving shooter, need to be overwhelmed. It calls to their predatory instincts. The module is a success and Marlan grudgingly accepts its addition to the standard curriculum. Another victory for us comes when Marlan is forced to ban the use of guns in standard exercises. While we are not making any concrete headway, vampires can always smell weakness. They know that Marlan would not ban something unless it were dangerous and a few more recruits join my private lessons. Even Esmeray gives it a try until she realizes that she cannot absorb a gun into her wolf form. I am more impressed by the fact that she can absorb her armor. Training continues over the next six months. During that time, I make remarkable progress. Between Octave¡¯s and Svyatoslav¡¯s lessons, I grow deadlier by the day even though I feel a bit weak. Through determined practice, I merge all my abilities into a fluid, aggressive style until the results finally speak for themselves. One fateful night, as I am sparring with Octave, a series of exchanges turn into a hotly disputed exchange. I feel it then, I feel a path to victory and absolutely outdo myself. For one fugacious instant, the world is perfect. I know everything that will happen. I know exactly where to strike, how to press, how to force a step back, a dodge, a deflect, a series of maneuvers that will grant me that one tiniest of openings in Octave¡¯s adamantine defence. I land a blow. It is merely a glancing blow, but I did not use a gun this time and the slice appears clearly on Octave¡¯s pristine shirt. The spar stops. In the deserted arena, Octave inspects his damaged piece of cloth. His gaze travels up and he gives me a respectful nod. We try again and fail without surprise, but I do remember this feeling of floating, of being perfectly in control. I cherish it and commit it to memory because I know that I will find it again, one day, and that it will take at least that much to face the ultimate foe. Around the same time, I receive a message from Constantine in the form of a letter. I glance through the spell¡¯s prerequisites. As expected of Constantine, he has managed to turn an impossibly complex problem into a series of logical steps that even a donkey could follow. The spell would make it extremely difficult for one of the skeleton things to tear our planet to shreds. The short range is not really an issue. We would go in as soon as the spell takes hold. Casting magic while inside the circle should be almost impossible, reducing the struggle to one of physical capabilities alone. I am certain that we can manage. I am certain that Constantine would love Sivaya, perhaps a bit too much. A better welcome than the first one I received, I hope. I have not forgotten what he has done. I do wish I could at least kill Anatole. It is not fitting that my kill list should contain more than five names at any time. Finally, two years after our arrival, Marlan summons Team Willow to his office. I am not the one starting it if they attack first. Chapter 150: Examination Phineas summarizes as we step down from the train. I reply, The rest of the squad takes a moment to catch my meaning before looking at me with a mix of horror and fury. Phineas complains. I roll my eyes. The Vestal shakes his head. I push the anger down. What indeed? How can they not be concerned? I answer with anger. I hiss back. Our voices are raised. Conflict is never good in a squad. Not resolving it and letting it fester is even worse. I retort. Lars interrupts. He is our official leader and we both fall silent. Phineas says, I counter. Phineas shrugs. Our difference of opinion cannot be reconciled. I do not care. We are exactly where I want us to be. Although I prefer winter myself, Poland looks quite nice at the height of summer. Perhaps the lack of acrid smoke carrying the stench of burnt human hair plays a part in my general impression. Nevertheless, we have been dropped in one of many isolated stations, with the only signs of civilization being log-house villages surrounded by ripe golden fields. We are not too far from Krakow, which reinforces my suspicions. According to Sivaya, our world and its neighbor are dimensionally single-point contiguous, meaning that portals have fixed destinations. She implied that places in the same vicinity on earth would lead to similarly close locations on the other side. In other words, and assuming that the invaders live in some sort of settlement, then this area of Poland is close to said settlement. Once again, the Poles have drawn the short straw, it seems. The train conductor gives us directions and we shoulder our bags and walk out along the edge of a light forest. Great patches of fields lie around us, with piles of straw showing that the harvest is underway. We move on for an hour under Lars¡¯ vigilant guidance. Our destination is easy to spot from the column of smoke. We go through one last thicket to see a small camp set in the middle of a village. A smattering of tents has gathered around a much larger one, a blue structure that only a travelling festival would possess. I would not call it gaudy. The word did cross my mind, however. The mortals of the camp look up nervously when we announce ourselves. Their attempt to show a relaxed front falls short, and they keep jumping at shadows. Most of them wear the sort of clothes one could see in the streets of Vienna, most of them are male, too, and quite fetching at that. ¡°The lady was expecting you, she waits inside,¡± one of them informs us in German, dreamy amber eyes betraying his worries. a female voice explodes from the inside. The tent¡¯s flaps bounce aside to reveal the strutting figure of a young woman, even younger than my own appearance. She has black hair and velvety dark eyes that glance at Phineas and Lars with naked interest before landing on me. I tell her. The tiny lady is the very same I met on the train as I was going to Torran¡¯s castle, sans her prot¨¦g¨¦e, this time. Lars asks, apparently flustered by Viktoriya¡¯s direct manners. The short lady strides to my teammate. She is shorter than him by a large margin and still manages to look down upon him. It is unremarkable apart from the fact that the doors are open and there is not a single soul to be found. our fearless leader replies. She turns to Esmeray. Our team mate growls softly. I remember that she mentioned killing one with a pitchfork while she was still mortal. HENKEL! STEINER! KOMMT IHR HERAUS!¡± s?a??h th? N?v?lFir?.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. She can certainly bellow for one so diminutive. Her voice has this stable, high-pitched quality that I associate with trained sopranos. As we watch, two men sheepishly exit the tent while shoving shirts into their loose pants. I remark, I cannot prevent myself from groaning. We follow Viktoriya inside to find a positively princely arrangement: a large bed with a scarlet canopy, a low table surrounded by plush pillows and a massive writing desk in warm colors. Lamps provide enough illumination that mortals could comfortably read. I wonder how she transported all of that to this remote region. It also smells a bit ripe and I scrunch my nose in displeasure. our host says without shame. She invites us to sit down and I eye my purple ottoman with no small amount of suspicion. It appears to be clean. The sight of all of us armored warriors on fancy colorful pillows amuses me. I allow myself a smile and commit the image to memory so that I can paint it later. Lars does not care about the scenery or anything else. His mind has a single track and he picks a map from his backpack, which he unfolds on the table. It shows the surrounding area with a degree of precision that local noblemen would envy. It was made by the previous master of Krakow, who has temporarily left. he says, placing little pins on our current area. There are nine of them, covering the map in a haphazard fashion. He then starts applying little blue flags on top of the pins. He then places little red flags on the remaining pins, revealing a clear pattern. Viktoriya sneers, eyes fixed on the fancy colors. Lars continues, We have a patch of destroyed villages and then three others in opposite directions, like someone scouting around. Viktoriya says with a frown. How kind of him to take credit for my vigilance. I explain. I succinctly explain the ritual. Although it requires four people at the very least in order to be stable over a large area, only one person is responsible for the casting, therefore the role of supporter should be easy enough for an experienced mage. Phineas already knows his part and I take a few minutes to explain it to our newest companion. Viktoriya says. We do not all share the same drive. Our team leaves their personal effects in her tent. We only keep with us our weapons and a few select tools. Viktoriya does not wear armor, but she does change into something like a forester¡¯s dress. We move at a brisk pace with the two mortals on horseback following us at a good distance. They are quite slow. It takes us a couple of hours just to reach the first abandoned village. It stands intact yet empty, just like the one we left. Doors and shutters turn with the light wind. A disturbance echoes throughout its silent buildings. I say. Even weeks after the fact, the weave of the world still feels off. Uneasy. Viktoriya agrees. Everyone remains calm, yet I cannot help but secretly fear for the future. The implication of our discovery has been mentioned. The other side has opened a portal themselves. They are not friendly. Between the Scourge Hive earlier and those raiders now, I wonder if the number of incidents involving foreign incursion will grow with time. If it occurs, it will only be a matter of time before our side sends their own war parties. Perhaps. The world has grown quite strange in the past few decades. Lars says. We separate, and I roam through the nearby forest like a ghost. Strolls such as this one used to be a great source of enjoyment and relaxation, but this time someone disturbed the life and tranquility of this heavily wooded area. The night is too silent. Most of what could move did so already. In another few months, the trees will start to die from whatever they hide from us. My feeling of unease only grows as we tread deeper with great vigilance. I see no traps, perceive no magical constructs. It does not mean that there are none. The invaders¡¯ grasp of magic is simply too different, and we might be walking into a trap. It does not matter. Someone has to go. I crest a small incline in the forest and watch the next valley unfolding in front of me. The vibrant green of early summer greets me in all its glory, with many leafy trees struggling to gather the sunlight they need by day. Nothing out of the ordinary can be seen, yet I close my eyes and taste the weave, and my unease only grows. This is wrong, all wrong. What those creatures are doing is the burnt earth, take everything sort of conquest that even the Huns did not do systematically. Our enemies have more in common with the locusts that they have with us despite their clearly humanoid appearance. I wish I could unleash my sire upon their world and then close the portal behind, forever. A bird call interrupts me. I react immediately and leave my hiding spot to rush forward. There are very few birds here, and I easily recognize Esmeray¡¯s call sign. I am first to arrive by the woman¡¯s side. She kneels by the only path through the thick underbrush, the same that Viktoriya and her mages are currently following behind us. The Turkish girl does not move, she has no need to. Her finding is obvious. Someone put up an alarm between two trees. I feel thoroughly insulted. When setting up an alarm, discretion must be considered. Any enterprising thief will find a way to bypass a trigger if it is too obvious. Whoever designed this one did not take discretion into consideration at all. They performed the magical equivalent of dragging a rope across the path and fastening a pair of bells to it. I will admit that the enchantment is sound. I just feel ridiculed, looked down upon. The glyph is even plainly marked against the surface of a withering tree! Its alien composition shows a lot of triangles and twisted angles, a sharp and aggressive design that gets in resilience what it loses in subtlety. Phineas asks. Lars orders. The hunt goes on. At first, we follow the uneasy feeling but soon it proves unnecessary. There are campfires in the distance. The smoke rises in the air in diffuse plumes into the cloudless sky. We reconvene once more with Viktoriya. she tells us. We sprint to a small elevation to the side and make our way to the top. There are no sentries and no traps. If there were advanced traps, we would have seen them already. the Dvor lady observes. Phineas agrees. I say. We all crawl through high grass and inspect what we are up against. The camp is as large as a small town already, arranged in a triangle. Cages of baying hounds form one side, individual tents in purple leather and racks of weapons another. As for the center, it hosts a massive gate that leads to¡­ a city. An actual city. From where we stand, I can only spot pavement and dirty walls. The stench permeating the place reminds me that those are waterless soldiers at the height of summer, and that their latrines must be full. As we watch, a new convoy crosses the veil, bringing with it fifty soldiers in metal armor and another undead mage. Just like its predecessor, they are incredibly tall, but this one wears grey robes inlaid with colorful gems and a strange sort of crown. It confers with one of the servants who kneels before its presence. Another undead mage exits from one of the tents. So. Yes. We are going to need reinforcements. We stay put for a few more moments then leave like mice. As we run, I cannot help but consider the unexplainable circumstances we find ourselves in. First, they have had this portal open for a while now, which begs the question: where are the rest of them? I counted only about five hundred fighters. There should be many times that number now unless they are being overly cautious, and if they are being cautious, then why not build fortifications? At the very least a wall? Warfare in their land must be quite different from ours, or there is more at play than we can guess. I shiver and give up on understanding their alien motives. We ignore too much. Any hypothesis I could conjure would be an idea floating in the air. No, if we want to learn the truth, we are going to need prisoners. I know just the way. So do the others as we run back to the alarm with no one the wiser. We come across other similar constructs and even tracks that suggest common patrols, but no other signs of activity. Phineas spits with annoyance. I, too, feel miffed. They are poor hunters, too brazen and arrogant. And it will cost them. You do not let your guard down even when taking out a weak prey. Those who do not learn, die. Lars says, Phineas replies. I am in no way the architect of the spell. It was made by Constantine, the greatest blood mage since Semiramis herself, based on notes by Sivaya, genius of the Court of Blue. Lars says. We are gone in a moment and I settle to wait. We stay unmoving for half an hour, then I see our quarry through a gap in the trees. Two men with hounds trot along the path in relative silence. They have no light with them, instead, they wear helmets with visors decorated with two tinted glass circles. It likely allows them to see in the dark. The two men pass by and we decide not to trigger the spell. We wait for another minute and hear the ululating cry of an owl, the signal for a meeting. I find four bodies near the alarm. Both hounds and their guardians are dead. Lars says laconically as he holds a warrior with white foam still dripping from his chin. I ask. Instead of answering, Lars peels back the man¡¯s gorget to reveal a glyph tattooed under his throat. The symbol is dark and smoky, still smouldering after its activation. It shares the angular nature of the alphabet used for the alarm spell. I cannot read it. Vikoriya says with a frown, I ask. I am not alone in wondering how she reached this conclusion. I grumble. The rest of the team does not react. We are back to my lack of trust in our hierarchy. This time, I believe that our leadership made my point for me. Viktoriya says, Her concern is genuine. With summer well on its way, the nights are shorter and so is our window of opportunity. It has become clear that we will not get a prisoner. We should still attempt the spell. Esmeray leaves once more to observe us from afar and we wait in ambush again. One hour later, a larger patrol arrives. Seven men plus tamed hounds, more cautious than their predecessors. It seems that, although they may be arrogant, we are not facing complete idiots. Unfortunately for us. Unfortunately for them, their vigilance does not save them against a Knight squad and a powerful lady. Time drags on and we now expect a more serious war party. It takes another hour for them to arrive, and only two hours remain before sunrise. This time, the twenty-men group is led by an undead mage from what I can hear of heartbeats and feel of its oily aura. I lay low as they move on because I fear detection. The undead mage searches for threats, I can tell, but it does not seem to find us before it walks into the perimeter. I feel its nauseating passage in the deepest part of my being. The creature is an abomination, a reaver of life. I now believe with certainty that this creature is partly responsible for its native world¡¯s demise. A signal, the call of a bird of prey. I cast as the sound of combat erupts from the patrol. I have little time. I use special runes I inserted in my gauntlet and call upon the spell by slicing my palm open. Thick black blood levitates and coalesces into a form, both simple and so very evocative. An anvil. The world is heavy. Oh, yes, so heavy. It refuses to be moved. It fights and resists like a grumpy old bear, only allowing the lightest and trickiest of schemes to alter its shaggy fur. What the world hates the most, however, is strangers encroaching on its territory. The trap shuts close like a fortress gate. I gasp. So powerful. Gravity and inertia and every other little thing we like to disregard slam on me like a yoke and stay there. For one precious moment, I fear that I may have killed my teammates, then I move and everything is¡­ not right, but in working order. I may be just a tad slower but not by much. Every step is close to my usual speed, even though I feel the world holding me back more acutely than ever before. It feels like a stern guardian allowing me to cheat for the greater good. It knows what I am. I am only permitted to exist, for now, until the sun rises over the lost valley. And a massive, building spell collapses. I arrive at the path to find that the melee is in full swing and that Phineas is missing an arm. He still dances between attackers and skewers a hound as I watch. Viktoriya carries the fight. I do not believe I had seen anyone fight with a trident before. Her foe hides behind a powerful shield, sometimes casting rays of fire that she gracefully dodges. Her strikes chip at it with repeated pings. She remains static and strikes perhaps dozens of times every second over a large area, testing for weakness, then she is gone. As for her adversary, it still casts. This undead is shorter than the previous one we faced and wears on its head a stylized helmet showing horns and long hair in the same dull metal his compatriots use for armor. A long black robe covers its desiccated body. It shimmers beautifully in rainbow hues from the cascade of jewels woven in its form. As I attack the first foe on my path, a few of them lose their spark and a massive bolt hits Viktoriya, sending her tumbling on the ground. ¡°Sie sind Tiere,¡± the creature screeches in a horrid voice like tearing metal. ¡°Tiere.¡± We are animals. I dispose of a fighter who was trying, in vain, to use one of their orbs to mesmerize Lars. I grab his focus and throw it back towards our exit. No need to offer additional resources to the monster. Rose is out in an instant and her thorny back lands on the shield. I infuse it with the essence the Watcher granted me for defeating the Herald and shred. It distracts the creature for long enough to allow Viktoriya a quick escape from the next fire spear. Her limbs still twitch. I start running and drag the shredding part of Rose against the shield. This place is still filled with life, stubborn, angry life that refuses to move, and the creature uses its robe as fuel instead. Not only that, but it can still cast. I cannot. DANGEROUS PREY. What manner of adamantine does it take to pierce through this level of magical inertia? By the Watcher! Finally, an interesting challenge. I hiss and duck under a blue arrow, never remaining static. The shield is weakening and second after second, more gems dim. All the soldiers are dead now and Lars¡¯ javelins plink against the protection. The monster stretches its hands. The temperature drops to arctic lows. I even hear trunks snap from the frozen sap. We remain unaffected. ¡°Schnelle kleine Tiere.¡± Fast and small animals. Perhaps some of the captured mages were German mercenaries and that is why it now has approximate knowledge of the language. No, Ariane, focus. Keep attacking. We must kill it fast, or else¡­ I feel its will when it turns its glare on me and I feel something connect to my flank as I momentarily stop to reverse course. I check and see nothing there but a potential, a tension. The creature raises a skeletal hand. I see thunder. DIVE. Need metal, quick. I drop on the floor and stab my spare knife on the ground, then Rose too for good measure. I am kicked by a mule ¡°Gah!¡± Cannot move. Hurts. Cold pain that courses through my body and burns everything away. Then it is gone. Actinic bolts still dance between my weapons, the ground, and I. The shield is fading. The creature snaps its fingers and disappears, landing a hundred feet away. Impossible. Teleportation? For one instant I feel its gaze on me as I pick myself up. The others are going after it. It raises a finger and I am lifted, feet dangling. I struggle against the spell and feel it break. My right hand is free. I twist in the air and avoid a fiery bolt aimed at my heart. With the other hand, I draw the Big Iron and perform the most seamless, beautiful shot of my entire life. The creature¡¯s head snaps back and its helmet cracks with the sound of broken chimes. It falls like a bag. The others land on it and Viktoriya tears its head off. I stumble once again. HURT. My left arm hurts horribly and I can see why. There is a burnt hole where most of my elbow used to be. My arm hangs by a miracle. PAIN. FIRE. Esmeray says. She helps me to my feet, eyes fixed forward. She is holding the sphere I threw away. In front of us, the others are dismantling the body and splitting its parts. Lars grabs the mummified legs and arms. Something is electrifying the air. We must leave, now, I know it. I croak. The others sprint. We are away. From the camp comes a flare. A yellow projectile climbs to the heavens and bathes the Polish forest in sunny radiance for a handful of seconds. Somewhere to the side, a lone surviving bird lets out a startled chirp, then the thing descends upon where we fought. I yelp as I am thrown to the floor by the cataclysmic shockwave. We are all sent tumbling like puppets. Heat and something else washes over us. I cannot breathe. I cannot hear. I can feel my arm painfully knitting itself back together. I know the Thirst again. Then the world snaps back into focus and there is nothing left behind us but an incandescent crater where the forest used to be. It spews spent life force like the fumes of burnt petrol, and I know that nothing will grow there again for a very long time. My ears pop. Viktoriya says. Excellent advice that we all follow. We pick up the two mages who were huddling in the distance like they were ordered to and race back to the tent. Viktoriya¡¯s servants display shock when they see us arrive only an hour before dawn. We collapse around her table without a word. This will be a short discussion. Viktoriya admits as she brushes ash from her dress, Phineas says, his arm now half-regrown. I remark. It is Lars¡¯ turn to speak. He proves uncharacteristically talkative. Viktoriya says. I say, An artillery force? Oh, they will do nicely. Chapter 151: The Word Reavers I readjust the peasant¡¯s garb and swear under my breath for what must be the sixteenth time tonight. The dress is nice enough, I suppose, with a white shirt and a small red skirt over a larger blue one that reaches my ankles. Unfortunately, it barely fits. The shirt is so large that I could fit two Arianes in there. The second skirt is just a little too short and my heavy boots peek from under the azure fabric. Were it not for them, I would be showing my ankles and thus die of embarrassment.I look like a jester. Phineas innocently declares. The twit. He is aware of my feelings on the matter. While I packed cartridges, that dilettante brought a fancy hunter outfit he now wears. I cannot even complain since it was my idea. A patrol of cavalrymen bearing lanterns emerges from a nearby forest. They immediately spot us since we stand in the open, in the middle of harvested fields. The sleepy village slumbers by our side though a few older folks inspect us with mixed feelings of distrust and concern for our well-being. ¡°Hallo!¡± I greet. I count ten of them in the white uniforms and black helmets of the Austrian dragoners. The leader frowns when he sees us and his gaze sweeps the plain, looking for anomalies. He is an old man, grizzled and scarred. I can detect in his caution the prudence of a veteran expecting an ambush. He knows that the region is in turmoil. Nevertheless, nothing happens and the wrinkled soldier pushes his ride forward. ¡°Was ist los?¡± he asks in a rather cavalier fashion, which I do not excuse even if he sits on a horse. He looks at Phineas inquiringly. The man should speak. ¡°Greetings officer, my name is Louisa and this is my employer, Lord Phineas Ainsworth, hailing from Great Britain. I act as his interpreter,¡± I tell him. The soldier lifts his helmet. ¡°A pleasure.¡± ¡°I apologize for disturbing you, however my employer and I have fallen victim to horrible circumstances. We have been beset by bandits! They stole almost everything we had and sent us off on the road. They even forced me to swap my good dress against these ill-fitting clothes,¡± I add as the officer eyes me dubiously. ¡°I am outraged on your behalf, madam. I hope that they did not mistreat you further!¡± the man answers with some emotion. ¡°Fortunately, they stopped at robbery, or I might just have died.¡± I need to be taken seriously and those who have been assaulted rarely are. ¡°And where did you say those men were?¡± ¡°Perhaps twenty miles away down the road, near an abandoned village.¡± The rider considers me in silence while his men mutter among themselves. I hear words of ¡®country going to the dogs¡¯ and ¡®Prussian low-lives, no doubt¡¯ as well as other complaints. As for their leader, he has had the time to think about the situation and realize the gaping holes in my story. ¡°And what is Mr Phi¡­ mr¡­¡± ¡°Phineas Ainsworth, sir.¡± ¡°What is that gentleman doing here, if I may ask?¡± ¡°Mr Phineas was visiting distant relatives with the intention to offer them passage to his land, a favor in these troubled times. Alas, we have not found them yet.¡± Phineas asks. If Lars had come instead, I could have briefed him and he would do the talking. Instead, I find myself saddled with a man utterly devoid of acting skills and common sense. I rein my temper and address my companion. ¡°What does he want?¡± the officer asks. ¡°Mr. Ainworth worries about the bandits and our safety, as they were quite numerous.¡± ¡°How numerous were they exactly?¡± the man asks with a frown. I turn to Phineas again. I reply coldly, before turning to the officer again. ¡°My employer says that he counted no less than sixty fighters in the ambush, most of them on foot and wearing strange metal plastrons not unlike those of cuirassiers.¡± ¡°Sixty? Is he quite sure? Perhaps the darkness played a trick on his mind?¡± ¡°My employer says that sixty is his lowest estimate, and that he fought enough sepoys in India to count enemy soldiers at a glance.¡± The rider inspects Phineas once more. I do not need to look at him to feel his aura deploy and his countenance to grow more predatory. The outward show of aggression grates on my frayed nerves. It proves sufficient to the task of convincing him, however. ¡°I see. This is grave news. I must report this piece of information to my superior officer. He will know what to do.¡± ¡°One more thing, officer,¡± I add in a pleading voice. I lick my lips and keep my eyes down. A hint of Hastings essence grants me a light blush under the lanterns¡¯ glare. ¡°I may have dreamed it, perhaps, for I was afraid, but there were strange lights in some of the bandits¡¯ hands. I may be wrong, yet I suspect¡­¡± I lean forward and our eyes meet. ¡°... dark sorcery.¡± I show fear and let the thread between us inflate that emotion. The man turns pale and takes a deep breath, managing to hide most of his distress. ¡°I understand. Thank you for telling us, miss, your suspicions might not be as outlandish as you seem to believe. Would you mind joining us? I believe that my superior officer might want to hear your story as well.¡± ¡°Of course not, sir.¡± ¡°By the way, what¡­ language did you two speak?¡± ¡°Welsh, sir.¡± ¡°I¡­ I see.¡± The officer steps aside to give a few orders just as Phineas leans in with an accusatory air. I hiss back, The ride to the camp takes only an hour, the longest hour in my forsaken existence since I was last dying of Thirst. Keeping ten horses calm despite the scent of a monster titillating their nostrils has to be the dumbest and most exhausting use of Charm I have ever done in my second life. Never again. I cannot believe that I overlooked that simple fact. Ugh. And to think that Lars would not have triggered a reaction since he is an Erenwald. Truly, our lack of experience is making itself known. The Austrian force here is the size of a battalion, about eight hundred soldiers, I would say. It would be quite the prize to add it to our offensive. They do seem to have an artillery park, which I find rather curious since those are ill-fitted for maintaining order, however the men we pass by speak in Polish, Hungarian and even Italian and I suspect that their presence here is politically motivated. I suspect that the Austrian crown would perceive German speakers as more loyal to the throne in troubled times, though I may be wrong. In any case, they display the sort of discipline that we will need and we have to pass quite a few guards before we are allowed to wait by the command tent. After I hear the detachment officer being efficiently debriefed, we are called in to find a man in a decorated uniform and shiny black and gold helmet sitting in a field chair with a map in front of him. He is quite short, which is not uncommon in cavalrymen. I watch him twirl his moustache absent-mindedly as we approach. His keen eyes follow us, taking in every detail, while with a simple gesture, he tells two aides to stand at attention. ¡°And you must be Mr. Ainsworth,¡± he tells Phineas in English, ¡°welcome to my humble and temporary abode.¡± I feel the barest hint of surprise in my companion¡¯s aura and resist the urge to flare my own in a vampiric equivalent of ¡®I told you so¡¯. His casual approach to our little plot annoys me deeply. Even if our target does not know what we are, even if he does not oppose us with faith, our attempt can still fail. He underestimates the mortals, a mistake that has killed quite a few of us. ¡°And a greetings to you too, sir. How may I address you?¡± ¡°I am Colonel Maximilian Reissig. You may call me Colonel Reissig, Colonel, or simply Herr Reissig, if it pleases you.¡± ¡°Well, Herr Reissig, I am both delighted and surprised to meet someone with such a mastery of my tongue so far from our shores.¡± ¡°Yes indeed, you are lucky,¡± the colonel replies. His tone is pleasant enough but his eyes remain full of distrust. ¡°I had to study it to talk to my dogs. Beagles, you see? From Yorkshire. I purchased a pack to hunt hares.¡± ¡°Is... is that so?¡± ¡°Are you a hunting man, Mr. Ainsworth?¡± ¡°No, I prefer the city myself, at least since I returned from India.¡± ¡°A curious thing, Mr. Ainsworth. You see, you have the demeanor of a hunter. Even now, I can feel it in the confident poise you display even as you stand in the middle of a foreign army. I have tried to instill that spirit in my men, but far too many slouch and lounge like fat cats, showing some of the cunning but none of the finesse, which makes me wonder about you, Mr. Ainsworth. I would expect someone who just fell victim to ambush, lost his possession and now stands before me to show more emotion than you do. It makes me wonder where that stiff¡­¡± He frowns in disapproval. ¡°...hairless upper lip stems from.¡± Although he was caught off-guard, Phineas is still one of us and he recovers instantly. ¡°Perhaps we have misunderstood each other, Herr Reissig. I have never hunted animals that stand on four legs. As for my lost possessions, I would never travel outside of my own country with belongings I could not replace. I will not suffer much from the loss, I assure you, even if you and your gallant forces fail to recover them. In the end, my most dire concern, and the reason for my dedication to this cause, is the safety and tranquility of my relatives, some of whom may still live around. And one more thing.¡± He leans in and whispers. ¡°My dear interpreter was deprived of her dress, a family heirloom if I understand. Although I am not personally affected, I share a part of the guilt for bringing her here and failing to guarantee her safety. It would lift a tremendous weight off my chest if that dress could be retrieved. The dear girl shows a brave face, as befits her good breeding, yet I know that she has a delicate heart and that the ordeal terrified her.¡± The officer¡¯s eyes flicker to my face while I pretend not to have eavesdropped. ¡°They stole her dress?¡± he hisses. He sounds absolutely scandalized. ¡°They mercifully allowed her to change in a deserted house, thus preserving her virtue. Still, the mere thought of being so compelled...¡± ¡°This is a disgrace! We shall reclaim her honor and her dress in the name of the empire. Hmmm.¡± The outburst is short-lived as the colonel remembers that he is not supposed to trust us so easily. ¡°You claim that those bandits numbered in the¡­ how many was it?¡± ¡°Sixty, though I think that they had more fighters nearby. I heard dogs bay, as well. A large breed, and no mistake.¡± ¡°Tell me more.¡± Phineas repeats the story we agreed upon, taking great care not to deviate too much from our line even if he enjoys embellishing details. If circumstances had not pushed him towards accounting, he might have made a decent socialite. There is still time, of course. We always have time. Five minutes later, we are seated across the command table and the map, the colonel now more interested in distances and numbers. The story we brought was one of a twilight attack, leading to a release at dawn. Phineas explains in great care how the foe was careless during the night, seemingly confident that their position could not be discovered. It appears to be a trap, yet Phineas is smooth, and I look suitably exhausted, a hint of Hastings essence darkening my lids. Despite his apparent acceptance, the colonel still attempts to trap Phineas a few times. The experienced Lancaster adroitly dodges both pitfalls and the annoyance such repetitive questions entail. He finally understands the interest in playing this well. We are hunters, but we do not all share the same tastes. The Rosenthal seek knowledge, Dvor and Hastings women seek successful schemes. Phineas now understands better how proper manipulations become their own rewards. The eternal game never stops, and as I remind myself often, power is a crutch. To do without is to reach true mastery of the arts. It will always surprise me how someone who spent so much time in this world could miss so many important experiences. Phineas certainly knows how to interact with mortals. It just happens that he has little experience getting them to perform tasks for him beyond, I assume, feeding. ¡°Vielen dank, mein Freund. Much obliged. And now, I would like you to accompany Lieutenant Skorezy here. He will show you pieces of gear the rebels might be using. I would like you to help him assess the provenance of their equipment.¡± He smiles. We smile, even though a child could see the ploy. Phineas pretends concern on my behalf. ¡°Do not be alarmed, dear Louisa, I shan¡¯t be far.¡± I curtsey shily and wait for the colonel to focus his attention on me. He is a true gentleman, and he invites me to sit with a cup of chocolate which I sip gratefully. He added a bit of sugar and a little cinnamon. The drink is rich and decadent. ¡°What an amazing concoction!¡± I freely admit. ¡°Thank you, Fraulein. Sprechen sie Deutsch?¡± The good Colonel steers the conversation towards me and my background, in German this time. I explain that I was born in England and learned German from an aunt. He asks me to describe my house. I pick the Bingle family domain as my reference, smiling at the slight irony. I even throw a few village names with the suitable amount of ¡®shire¡¯ around to assuage his worries. Truly, Herr Reissig is one of the most paranoid soldiers I have ever met. Finally, the time comes for him to dig at our tale. ¡°Is what Mr. Ainsworth said accurate? Is there something you would like to add?¡± ¡°It was accurate,¡± I assure him, ¡°although¡­¡± ¡°Yes?¡± the man asks, curiosity piqued. ¡°No, no, I must be mistaken. Forgive me, for my emotions got the better of me, and I must have let fear twist my memories.¡± ¡°I assure you, madam, that although the fairer sex might be impressionable at times, every detail you remember might save lives at a later time, even if they are inexact.¡± ¡°Ah, well. Please forgive me for uttering such words, but I fear that I may have been witness to¡­ to some devilry. Magic!¡± I spit. ¡°Mein Gott. Hexerei? It would explain much and I seem to remember that my subordinate hinted at it¡­ but how come Mr. Ainsworth did not share those findings?¡± ¡°Oh, you believe me? I thought I would be laughed at and dismissed¡­¡± I interrupt with a grateful air. I meet his eyes and cannot resist tweaking his mind a little bit. I fan his protective instincts a smidgen. ¡°Please, madam. We live in strange times. The thought of magic is no longer quite as preposterous as it used to be.¡± ¡°I feared that I was mistaken when Mr Ainsworth himself omitted to mention the strange occurrences we noticed during our brief time as captives. Perhaps he feared being ridiculed? In truth, several dreadful details terrified me even more than those ruthless louts who held us at gunpoint. Were it not for their apparent lack of interest in us, I fear that they may have used us in some terrible ritual or some such pagan deeds!¡± ¡°Himmel, this is too terrible to behold. And what happenings, madam, what events led you to believe that you were in the presence of witchcraft?¡± ¡°Those breeds of dog, sir, I am no man to know my bloodhounds, yet they were too large and terrifying to be natural. Why, if I had met them in the sun-baked savannas of Africa, I would have thought them to be a strange species of lion heretofore undiscovered by science! They smelled terribly, sir, and those men who held their leashes wore thick armor as if to protect themselves from their fearsome bites! And they held orbs, sir, like crystal balls those gypsies claim can see the future, and from their depth shone a light most unnatural! They were green like a summer meadow or blue like a sapphire sea, and beautiful, but in a way a cruel woman is beautiful. I could feel the malevolence in their cursed depths, sir. Those were evil tools, I would wager my eternal soul on it!¡± Haha. A costless promise. The good Colonel is mine now, drowned in the feelings of my recollection. I did not mean to enchant him but I became overwhelmed by the strange mix of beauty and horror the invaders bring with them, and I shared some of it with him. As soon as the spell fades, I channel the Hastings and don my weakest, meekest persona. Shoulders stooped and trembling lips to inspire trust, wet eyes to garner sympathy. Colonel Reissig¡¯s cautiousness dips and falls into the abyss of outrage. ¡°Sir?¡± a soldier says as he enters, ¡°the reports are confirmed by all surrounding villages. Three hamlets are deserted, their inhabitants gone. There are reports of strange beasts running through the fields!¡± ¡°Mein Gott, heathens and demons on my Vaterland? This shall not stand!¡± ¡°Please, sir, be careful!¡± I beg. ¡°Of course, madame. We will depart at¡­ but wait, you said that the rebels let their guard down at night?¡± he asks, my suggestion worming its way into his psyche. ¡°Yes sir, they drink and make merry.¡± ¡°Then we shall teach them that this is not their land! To arms! The men are rested enough. We will catch those mongrels by surprise. To arms!¡± He then struts out of the tent. His screams send the whole camp into a flurry of activity as orders burst out left and right. Hmm. I may have gone a bit too far. I thought that we would have more time, but a night attack is the only solution I came up with to reliably deal with the enemy. Should the army attack without us, there is a large chance that the undead mages might wipe them out before they even make contact. Those who have not trained to face magic react poorly to having spells tossed at them. In short order, the entire detachment has been fed and they leave under the light of torches towards the invaders¡¯ base. It will probably be a good three hours before they can make contact, assuming that they hurry. ¡°You will be safe at the base, Louisa. Wait for our return!¡± the Colonel tells me before riding off on a massive black horse. As for Phineas, he is drafted into leading the column to their foes. I watch the slightly annoyed Lancaster summon his Nightmare and Charm the nearby soldiers into believing that the lithe mount was part of their stables all along. He departs and, as soon as the guard is down, so do I. Viktoriya growls. Her eyes sweep our encampment while she considers our options. Lars is back and Esmeray lounges on the grass in wolf form. Her pet mages are here too, though the promised reinforcements are not. I admit. Oi. Lars replies. I see no fault in her plan either. I change back into the now frivolous-feeling lamellar armor and stock up on weapons. I so wish I had Loth¡¯s incredible work and not this lackluster piece of inferior craftsmanship. Alas. We leave quickly. Lars splits us at the edge of the invaders-controlled territory. Esmeray scouted entry points while I was gone and found another one. ¡± It appears that yesterday¡¯s battle has not left our enemies unphased. Not only do we find a glyph close to the nearest deserted village, but this one has been camouflaged, though it remains a simple construct at best. Whoever made it dug the symbol into the very tree and took little care to leave it intact. A basic distraction element prevents the mundane from noticing the trigger until it is too late, but the effort is ruined by the poor state of its support. The tree has already started to die, its leaves brown and cracked. The glyph also lost some efficiency because whoever carved it dug deep into the trunk. They shed splintered bark on the ground in their¡­ anger? Hurry? I would not know. In any case, it makes the study smoother. I merely need to follow the angriest strokes to guess in which order they were made. I reproach, It really is not, but I would like some appreciation for the decades I spent studying arcanistry, thank you very much. I use my glove to alter the glyph by the tiniest amount and watch the rope flicker with satisfaction. With this, only a large amount of magic should trigger the spell and the soldiers possess none. Lars replies, S~?a??h the N?v?l(F)ire.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. ¡°Yip!¡± Lars leaves and my task continues. I have never asked Esmeray if she could perform magic ¡ª I assume not ¡ª however she can apparently ¡®sniff¡¯ it for lack of a better term. Besides the alarms, she finds pits and a few other string-based traps that use magically-enhanced tools but are not spells themselves. Contrary to the alarm, those have been made by ¡®human¡¯ hands and show a level of care and dedication that I can appreciate. I look closely at one specific trigger mechanism and see an oily fingerprint marring its pristine surface. Not made by an undead then. I am starting to think that the difference between living fighters and undead mages is one of caste, or even of species. They do not share the same mentality at all. I only stop when I am close enough to the undead camp that I can see the light of their fires. During that time, I have avoided two patrols and taken great care to mask my smell by staying downwind. The hounds do not detect magic unless it is active and I have made sure not to use it anywhere close to them. As to how their collars can control them, I suspect that the defiling magic of the undead is to be credited. I am certainly unwilling to conduct experiments. Those creatures disgust me. Locusts. I fall back and run around the camp at a safe distance, soon joined by Esmeray. There, the woods are pristine and undisturbed. Even the beast trails have been covered with new brambles. The silence is complete. It is the silence of the grave, unnatural in this place of green things. It is our fate, should we fail to hold back those creatures. I realize that something happened as we complete our half-circle. I hear sounds of battle. It is too early. Esmeray and I sprint through the foliage with little subtlety. The sounds of conflict grow closer and we burst into a clearing to find Lars deeply engaged with a patrol. Hounds lie bleeding on the ground while those orb-wielding men try to keep him at bay with jets of pure energy, unfocused yet mesmerizing. I attack from the back, annoyed beyond words. How did it come to this? It is too soon! I shred the backs of both wielders in the same strike and disperse the rest while Esmeray mauls foes left and right. The fight is over in only a few moments, but the damage is done. Lars explains, anticipating my question. He anticipates erroneously. I only care about one thing right now. We sprint away. I do not wish to be on the receiving end of the kind of spells that leveled an entire field¡¯s worth of vegetation. Unfortunately, my instincts scream in alarm thirty seconds into our flight. We are too late. I warn Lars. Esmeray wisely splits from us and disappears in a cloud of canine darkness. I feel pressure behind us, overhead. I turn expecting a massive spell and instead meet a pair of pale blue orbs. This skeleton is flying after us. My eyes widen with surprise. Flight! It is considered too energy-intensive to be viable! But of course, with the price being paid by life itself and the casters being short-sighted insects, limits no longer matter. Just like its kin, the creature is mummified flesh and sinews covered in elaborate and highly decorated robes. It carries no obvious ornaments because it has no need for them. Its bony claw holds a twisted branch of some unknown wood, expanding strangely in a double helix. In each hollow, a colorful orb shimmers with vibrant light. This mage came prepared. I feel a disgusting pull on the life around us. Something shimmers in the air before us and I instinctively slash with Rose. The deadly blade meets an unyielding barrier. We jump to the side and I rake the barrier as I pass. A circle. We are trapped. As the reality of our situation settles in, I cannot help but feel anger at my teammate. Why would he risk it? It was such a stupid decision. He should have waited for me. This was not even a vital avenue of approach! A trained Knight should know better! We have been taught so many times not to overextend, to forget our pride and ask for help¡­ Lars just called for reinforcements, for the Watcher¡¯s sake. Why? This was no time to make such a mistake. ¡°Little parasites,¡± the skeleton says in German. Contrary to the previous one we faced, it has a smooth, extremely deep voice, like a condescending god. Its German is slurred and clipped, yet the power behind every syllable evokes a lack of interest in mortal tongues rather than a failure to learn. ¡°The Eight was correct, there are parasites among the cattle. You miserable creatures, you have committed the unforgivable. Your filthy hands have touched what is sacred.¡± ¡°If you are talking about the other mummies, we are going to commit many more such things.¡± The creature laughs then, a deep, gravelly sound that shocks me to my core. Rogues do not laugh. Automatons do not laugh. Those things are capable of complex thought, and they still decided to practice their vile magic. Unbelievable. ¡°You are weak and this world is rich. We will add more worthy candidates to our rank until your planet is but a husk.¡± ¡°Like your own?¡± Lars is stalling for time. He might be right to do so as no more skeletons appear. They are not needed. With his power unsealed, this one is more than enough to handle the two of us. ¡°There are many more worlds to reap and you have shown us how. Yours will feed our expansion. Only those who follow the true path are worthy. You will remain parasites until we kill you, beasts. Now, I shall test another of the Eighth¡¯s hypotheses.¡± I could swear the skeleton grins then, though its face does not move. Flames appear on its closed fist. Lars warns, The skeleton hurls its fire and I dodge to the side, my instincts and eyes showing me clearly where the projectile will fall. The skeleton pays no heed to its failure as it summons another ball and I know why. The first fire still roars, turning the loam under our feet to ashes and feeding off the surrounding life. The world grows grey and dim around us. FIRE. Shut up, me, I know. We dodge once more, with more difficulty this time. The skeleton descends and makes the projectile smaller, faster. I could not reach it if I jumped and I see the faint sheen of a shield around its dessicated body. All of this, fuelled by the world. I hate it. Another attack. The temper ature increases and I frantically attack our prison, in vain. The creature¡¯s reserves are simply too vast. Lars says as the skeleton descends a bit more. It is fully confident that we cannot reach it. The skeleton casts a fire spell directly at Lars, who jumps up. His arm whirls and I hear a terrible crack. In one beautiful moment, one of Lars¡¯ javelins smashes through the spell and into the monster¡¯s hand, destroying the closest orb in its utter violence. It was a beautiful throw, a perfect hit. Before our foe can so much as hiss, I lodge a bullet in its skull. It doesn¡¯t kill it. I am limited by the material I work with. The Big Iron is an impressive tool, but the hammer can only fall so fast while the shield reforms. The second bullet, I lodge into its chest and see dust fan out from its back. The third and fourth follow. I place the next one in its waist and blow its right knee off with the last. It stumbles and tries to flee. There is no response. Silence. I cannot feel his aura. Around us, no, around me, the fires dim. Wait, it cannot be. The spell. He went through it, through the blazing fire. He is¡­ dead? I see only ash. Some fragments of armor. Oh. He¡¯s dead, the absolute idiot. I¡­ never liked him, not really, and yet, I feel grief. Lars died. He died to save me? The imbecile. We just needed to stall! I have no need for people dying for me! By the . Far away, the creature tries to stay afloat. Just as I rush forward, a black trident flies through the ether and lands on the thing¡¯s back. It pins it against the ground. Viktoriya is here. Too late for Lars. I smash a weak shield. Hard to digest an inch of enchanted silver with no stomach, huh? I grab its helmet. No more jaw. No more face. No more head. Viktoriya says as she pulls me away. She is late. She is right. This is a nightmare. If the mages are free to devour the magic around us, I might as well have fed them the army tied up on silver platters. I must hurry. There will be time for recriminations and reflection later. What does it have to do with anything? Pah! I grab a squealing caster in a Princess carry and drop him inside of the thicket with ticks and his regrets for sole company. ¡°Be ready,¡± I warn. ¡°Ich weiss!¡± the man grumbles back. I move up in a circle and realize our predicament. I hear musket fire, full volleys of them. A red halo speaks of many men carrying torches. I stop when I believe that I am in position. There are no real landmarks here, I just tried to remain at a constant distance away from the light of the invaders¡¯ camp I could see. It will have to do. I draw a circle with Rose, fall and gasp. A mighty draw is swallowing every piece of vitality in the surrounding world. This place is about to become a desert. No. No, they will not win. Their cruel and callous magic has the appearance of power, but it is the bloody grasp of the usurper, a rule steeped in terror and death. Unsustainable. The world might be at their mercy, but I am not, and if there is one thing I learned about magic by myself throughout the years, it is that only one thing attracts it more than creative thinking. Balance. The other mages are not quite in a circle. I am not the best caster, far from it, in fact. I use a circle of dirt and ferns instead of proper glyph inscriptions. None of it matters. When the spell winds up, all the energies drawn in by the undead pull back with merciless strength. I become the focus in a tug of war between greedy ants and a full world bent on survival. I have not felt that much power since I drank the blood of the fae royal couple. This time, however, I am a tool. It matters not. I would do it a hundred times more. Sweet, untainted life rushes through me, escaping the grasp of the invaders. I am a crux, an anchor. The very trees sway under the absolute power rushing out of the area. Around me, the brambles and vines could not be a more exquisite emerald color. I breathe in freshness untouched by the hand of man. Somewhere in the distance, a bird tweets a greeting to a sun that only dawned in its mind. And then, the hammer falls. With the weight of millennia of grumpy inertia, reality settles down to stay. Again, I feel heavier and more shackled than before, but this time, I also feel more grounded. More resilient. The exception granted to my kind extends as protection. This is just the beginning, however, and I rush to the main road where rifles crack like fireworks. I stop as I near the edge of the burnt out clearing left by yesterday¡¯s massive spell. The ashy plain is the scene of a furious battle. Austrians and Hungarians in white uniforms stand in triple ranks, shooting down waves of hounds and armor-clad invaders. I start picking off isolated targets while I observe the battle. A single skeleton stands at a distance, drawing from its reserves to throw dark javelins at infantrymen who die on contact, but most of its attention is turned to its defense and I quickly understand why when a hail of steel balls crash against its radiant shield. The guns are in play. Meanwhile, the foot soldiers attempt to advance from behind large shields close to Roman scutum. It appears that the mesmerizing range is limited. What a pity. Between picking down wounds, soldiers carefully aim shots at advancing formations. Most of the bullets ping against the surprisingly durable shields, but others find arms, feet, or inquisitive eyes and a warrior falls. As I watch, an orb wielder loses his cover and falls down on the spot. A blueish cloud of smoke rises from a nearby tree. Our soldiers have brought jaegers, it seems. I can sense Phineas¡¯ aura farther out, on the other side of the clearing. I decide to join him, but not before giving our side an edge. I disappear back in the underbrush and reload the Big Iron with my most potent bullets. I weave between sentries until I am at the skeleton¡¯s flanks and inspect it. Why are they all so tall? The shield only protects its front, as expected. My instincts scream danger. I shoot it in the head. I dive to the side and rush out as a massive tongue of fire roasts everything in a cone, including the sentries. The lamellar armor protects me from most of the heat. I may have judged it too quickly. The skeleton wavers and flies up, then away. A second bullet pings against another shield. Nevermind, I have already overstayed my welcome. I keep weaving and slaying the invaders I come across on my way to Phineas. On the edge of the forest, Esmeray jumps out from the darkness to steal an orb-wielder¡¯s treasure. And also his head. We run side by side. I do not speak. ¡°Yip?¡± she yelps around the orb. Esmeray says nothing but her ears droop. We find Phineas wiping his blade on a stained jacket. He stands among a sea of corpses, some of them Austrian riders. I recognize the officer who led us to the camp. It is the first time I see the Englishman truly lose his composure. Phineas hisses softly, then our eyes meet. I do not finish. We all feel it. A domineering aura like no other. Silence falls upon the battlefield. Even the guns, much farther removed, fall silent. Unmatched power unleashed with casual ease captivates everyone by its very presence. We three run back to the quiet battlefield. I find it quite unfair that after all those efforts, we would be defeated by a mere presence. This undead skeleton does not fly, it hovers. Its chest is covered in embroidered robes while a massive headpiece the likes of which a pharaoh would envy adorn its front. Silvery orbs observe the assembled forces with glacial contempt. The undead would be quite impressive, even if from the torso down, its bones were not that of a colossal serpent. The creature must be at least forty feet long from head to, well, tip. Its tail undulates in the air with lazy grace. We stand dumbstruck. Is this still Poland? Have I been transported to some fantastic land of horrors? It grumbles a few things in a clicking tongue. With a single finger, it points at the closest line of soldiers which had started to push on. They die. They fall one by one without a word. A trident as black as the void flies through the air and impacts a barrier with a clear sound like a delicate chime. The spell is broken, and behind the lines, Colonel Reissig comes back to his senses. ¡°R¨¹ckzug! Zieht euch zur¨¹ck!¡± The cry to retreat wakes his men from their stupor. By ones and twos, then all together, they run. I can hardly blame them. I would do the same, but the Dvor lady lands in front of us. The serpent undead sees her and lifts a single finger. Viktoriya is lifted from the air. She struggles but her form is still slowly brought forward. It is casting this through the heavy mantle. Its control must be divine. ¡°PARASITE. IT HAS BEEN EONS SINCE I LAST CRACKED OPEN A NEW SPECIMEN.¡± It did not speak German like the others. It thought, and I understood. Against all odds, the spell breaks and Viktoriya lands on her feet. The area around her shakes and breathes and I realize that she has claimed it. She is a Dvor Lady on her home ground. I now understand why she would be the one they deploy. With this, she can fight at full power wherever she goes¡­ No, she cannot. The stopgap merely allows her to match a powerful battle lord and what we face is even deadlier. A shield encloses her, preventing her from escaping. The trident reappears in her hand but even as we run, I know that it will not suffice. We flee. There is nothing I can do. This creature is too much. Only old monsters would be a match, only those who have survived for centuries could face its ancient malice and live. Unless. Soldiers and lesser undead mages ¡ª I cannot believe that I would ever have to use the terms ¡ª take positions around the clearing behind us, bearing their strange orbs. Viktoriya is trapped. She does her best to dodge and deflect spells but this is only a matter of time. I find the nearest abandoned gun and grab a solid shot from one of the fallen servants. He was killed by a long range spell. The cannon is primed, the powder in place. I only need to add a projectile. Black talon against dark iron. I inscribe, and wish, and pray, and beg. I write the Likaean symbol for scorn on its smooth surface. A pearl of blood and I bring the ball to my mouth. I feel my aura deplete as the enchantment takes hold. It is a rough thing, a spur of the moment born from desperation and defiance. The old magic sinks into the modern implement in an unholy marriage of technological excellence and primal savagery. The old and new arts merge as they always have in the pursuit of carnage. We have ruled over Earth since time immemorial. Every human civilization has carved its place in blood just like I have, back home. We are not animals, but we do bite. ¡°Nu Rask Enthreis.¡± Let my hatred go forth. With one last thanks sent at Sinead for his lessons. I push the projectile into the waiting maw where it disappears with whispers of doom. The barrel shakes when the payload comes to a rest. The floating thing is just there, chuckling to itself. I move the gun and align it, just like Loth taught me. A blind man could not miss at this range. I grab the rope and press my body against the frame. I have to keep it stable or the recoil will send the projectile off-course. A pair of hands grip the wheel to my left. Dark eyes, dark hair. A silent nod. I turn when another does the same on the other side. Phineas hisses. I pull the rope, and the world goes white. The ensuing roar deafens and blinds me. It sounds like five cannons shooting simultaneously if the cannonballs were made of damned souls. I feel more than hear glass breaking, then the most mind-rending shriek I have ever heard. The sound makes me scream and grab my head. Someone pulls me. I find myself running next to Phineas and Esmeray. Viktoriya is there looking worse for the wear. she bellows. Behind us, the forest burns. We flee without looking. Chapter ex5: ??? - The Wish IV Pah, one of those strange fever dreams again. The man Edmund pokes at everything for treasure, Elaine eats mangoes with frantic despair, the kin yet not kin waves her axe around, and the cat-eared woman with the interesting weapons talks to her imaginary companion. Meanwhile, fruits rain on us, rotting shortly after they hit the ground while seasons and moons dance a mad waltz. Sadly, all of this falls within my expectations.I have already decided that I would never face such an occurrence sober, and the girl Elaine has delivered nicely. She tastes of wings, stars, and mangoes. ¡°Your wish?¡± the horror disguised as an affable man offers. He would do well to hide his essence a bit more. If I cared for this world, I would call him for what he is, and probably eat him as well. If I could. Pah, no matter. If I am to be stuck in this nonsensical dimension, the least I can get in return is a good hunt. ¡°I wish for a hunt for the perfect blood that I would have a decent chance of succeeding at within an hour.¡± I thought my wish carefully worded enough to avoid imminent disaster, but obviously I was wrong. The creature smiles and delightfully smirks. ¡°Granted!¡± he beams. A portal opens, and out of it, a dragon emerges. Well, emerges would be generous. It is ejected without ceremony, squawking as it hits the ground. ¡°Finally, a challenge!¡± I roar. ¡°NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!¡± Elaine screams. She should not worry too much. I specifically asked for one I could win. We are also clearly out of the normal timeline of this planet. All will be fine. I jump on the creature as it flaps its wing in a pitiful attempt to run for its life. ¡°Hahahahaha! PREY!¡± ¡°I¡¯ll help if I can get the bones,¡± the kin-yet-not-kin Maud says. ¡°Loot!¡± the boy announces, twirling his spear. Cat mumbles something about point value, but it is Elaine who expresses the clearest emotion. Her dismay is so awful that she has dropped her mango. I do not understand, and I care little. Dragon blood, here I come! The creature tries to fly away, but it is slow, surprisingly slow despite its modest size. I grab its red, scaled flank and bring it down by stabbing its wing mid-launch. The soul blade in my hand drinks up a smidgen of essence and vitality, a fragment of a fragment, but I can already taste it on the tip of my tongue. Magic in its purest form. MUST HAVE IT. It attempts to shake me off with a slow bite, then fire roasts the spot I promptly left. Powerful, but sluggish. It will be an easy ¡ª The world shakes. ¡°It¡¯s not a dragon, you madwoman, it¡¯s a whelp! A baby!¡± Elaine screams with despair. A baby dragon is still a dragon, unless I misunderstand taxonomy. Bah, this is all distracting me from the hunt. The others have already started beating the beast while I was looking away, poking it with a variety of weapons while the kin-yet-not-kin blocks its flame breath with an ice spell. I cannot let them claim the trophy! The world shakes again, and this time I almost fall. Shortly, the mad dance of seasons around us stops until we are mostly back in tempo with the world, but not with the moon. They continue to move around, except this time, they crack under the tremendous pressure that comes with their speed. The eyes on them blink out. And are transported to a pair of malevolent real eyes in the distance. They seem to be attached to¡­ Ah. Now that. That is a dragon. The world cracks and realigns at the same time. I land on the whelp, only too aware of the mother¡¯s malevolent gaze. Suddenly, it occurs me that if I die here, I might die in truth. On the other hand, dragon blood. ¡°HSSSSS!¡± The mother reappears in front of us in an instant. A loud bang pops my ear and I see a hint of fang, but suddenly a terrible radiance fills the space in front of me and the mother is gone, the image revealed to be an illusion. A cataclysmic battle starts between the mother and strange, giant animals coming out of nowhere, the shockwave of their struggle sending all of us tumbling down into the fallen remains of the nearby forest. The whelp tries to escape, but it gets knocked down by a particularly vicious hail of mangoes. As the battle rages, the whelp¡¯s attempts to flee grow more frantic. We believe we have cornered it until a loud explosion sends us all careening to the ground. ¡°I GROW TIRED OF THOSE DISTRACTIONS!¡± I scream, until I realize the issue. The world is on fire. Pieces of the moons are raining down upon us. They leave smoking trails as they ignite in the atmosphere, striking the earth with great fury. Maud whispers to counter a scorching plume from the whelp. Cat stays at range, peppering the creature¡¯s wing with her weapons and preventing it from taking off. Meanwhile, Edmund has found a strange rod in a chest inexplicably placed under a mound, and uses it to turn the destroyed trees into javelins, which he hurls at his target to great effect. I rejoin the fray, eager to claim my due and block a sweep of its tail. We are cornering our target nicely. The enticient perfume from its many wounds titillates my nose, but I fear the fire. I must subdue it before I can drink it dry. ¡°Promethean!¡± The heavy links fasten around the creature¡¯s neck, robbing it of its balance. This is the end! I jump on its back, just as Elaine¡¯s ray hit it on the head for the kill¡­ wait. She healed it? She healed it! ¡°What are you doing?¡± I scream. ¡°You are insane! Lun¡¯Kat is destroying Remus! I live here, okay?¡± ¡°Why do we care about a loon cat, we have a mostly sane cat on our side,¡± I retort, pointing at the dark haired girl now trying to saw a wing off with a blade made of void. ¡°Not a cat, the mother! The mother dragon!¡± ¡°The weird animals can take care of it while we defeat its child. Come on. Think of¡­ whatever it is that makes you stronger in this place.¡± ¡°It¡¯s going to make me dead instead.¡± ¡°She is right,¡± a mysterious man says as he appears by her side. He has white hair, red eyes and¡­ fangs? A kin? Here? I salute in Akkad. He is not from any bloodline I recognize. ¡°We do not have time for pleasantries, or indeed for anything else while Remus is at risk of total annihilation because of your reckless behavior. By provoking the mother, you have unwittingly¡ª¡± Blah blah blah. I tune him out. Milksop. Who cares about some continent, it¡¯s a dragon hunt! ¡°Have at you!¡± I declare, and charge back into the fray with renewed vigor. The creature¡¯s wings are already back to their previous, tattered state courtesy of Cat. Edmund somehow managed to wrap a large rope around its maw while Maud clobbers its fingers with every swipe attempt. We have it. I once again drop onto its neck and twist it, forcing the beast to the ground. If I can just bite through the thin shells around its jugular, I should be able to finish this fight once and for all. With all my might, I tilt the head back and stare with wonder at this wonderful sight. An exposed, scaly throat with the stars and flaming debris forming a scintillating background. Wait. Why are those moons so big? S?a??h the N?v?lFir?.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. Chapter 152: Life Itself We run and we keep running until we reach the camp. Our retreat is made in silence as we spend all our attention searching the earth and sky for danger. No cloud of death descends upon us, nor do the stones beneath our feet rise up, but after seeing what we stand against, I can no longer dismiss the possibility as too outlandish.We did not truly stop at the camp so much as take it with us. It only takes ten minutes for the twitchy mortals to pack up their wagons with our help, and we only halt several miles away just as the sun warns us of its coming. The four of us huddle together in Viktoriya¡¯s armored cart which contains, to my surprise, several sealed sarcophagi concealed below thick, armored walls. she tells me when I express my surprise, The absence of it obviously leaves her chagrined. The only comfort comes from several cushioned seats, a fluffy carpet, a myriad of plush pillows and a couch large enough to accomodate Jarek. The air is dry and smells faintly of rose. Absolutely Spartan. We three nod to indicate our gratitude. Viktoriya is clearly not done, however. She rolls over their protests. We are, after all, Knights performing our duties. The two obey and I take the seat opposite the diminutive black-haired lady. She seems uncertain, which given her youthful air gives her a more convincing mortality than some Hastings I have met. Only the dark of her eyes still carry the weight of centuries of strife. A pause. Another pause. Viktoriya sighs deeply, and I smell the cold spice of her breath. Her eyes close. What is she¡­ Oh¡­ I do not speak as the possibilities swarm my mind. I frown. She is exaggerating a bit. I awaken in an unknown sarcophagus. The air inside is stale with the stench of ash and old blood. I carefully open the lid to find that the others have not risen yet, except for Viktoriya. A terse message leads me outside. Our carriage, like many others, has been parked inside of a large, underground warehouse. The ceiling is high and arched, each section resting on four thick pillars, so numerous as to form a forest. Lamps shine everywhere and I hear the footsteps of mortals, as well as smell their sweat. Men huddle in groups and speak in hushed tones. I see a group of them in the non-descript, dull clothes of private guards. They fall silent when I allow them to spot me. The eldest bows and points me in a general direction in a Balkan language I do not recognize. I make my way between crates of supply until I find a wall. Sentries let me in through a reinforced gate, and into what appears to be the vampire quarters. The warrior nods, his eyes hooded. He is surrounded by men I do not recognize and the Shade trainer. They stand in a circle, inspecting sheafs of paper in the antechamber I found myself in. We are still underground as the naked rock walls attest. Other auras come from beyond other doors. the man finally says before dismissing me. I search for the jail across a maze of corridors and small rooms. The entire place is dank and filthy. It is also crawling with vampires, most of them Dvor Masters and Courtiers. None give me more than a passing glance. Eventually, I find myself in a large, empty room guarded by Anatole¡¯s squad. We exchange greetings, then the leader himself addresses me. Anatole morosely bangs on a barred door behind him. A female vampire in a beautiful blue dress emerges from it. She looks incongruous in this dank, rancid basement. Her deep perfume overwhelms my senses. She is also sporting some cleavage. Before I even have to mask my surprise, I see a large Natalis follow her. He has all the trappings of a mercenary up to the elaborate but bare armor. His face shows burn scars on the left side. The reason for their presence becomes obvious when I see the one who follows: a pulse, a bald head and relatively short stature. Hints of a burn wound under his chin. The man turns and sees me. His face shows a beatific smile. I had never seen such unadulterated joy in an adult before. ¡°You! You killed god!¡± he exclaims in broken German. I am confident that I did not. I do, however, understand what he means. He is one of the invaders, more precisely, one of the armored grunts the mages sacrifice by the dozens. It lets me wonder how he can still be alive. I must be staring at his chin, because the woman in a blue dress soon talks. His name sounds like someone choked on a piece of vegetable, coughed, then swore. I hope that they do not let him try maple syrup or his heart will stop. I tell her. She smiles in a way that does not reach her eyes, a polite rebuke. I feel a stillness in her aura that reminds me of another, but who? Ah, yes. Ignace. Constantine¡¯s torturer. She is the Dvor interrogator. That alien showed wisdom in its enthusiasm. the woman replies laconically. She glares. ¡°Killed the gods,¡± the man whispers in wonderment. I digest this piece of information for a little while. Anatole¡¯s team forms a concerned circle around us. Her late smile shows exactly what she thinks about our support. She makes to leave, only to stop when the de facto prisoner moves towards me. He seems eager to speak. ¡°Great one! Will you kill more gods?¡± ¡°Yes, I will.¡± Come to think of it, I have more questions for our amusing rescue, starting with those orbs they use. And the hounds. Ah, I finally get more of a reaction than condescending disdain. she retorts. Anatole cracks the mercenary¡¯s grip open with the clever use of leverage and the relative fragility of wrists. Anatole says, surprisingly coming to my help. the torturer replies with the same fixed rictus as before. I would bet a gold bar against a bag of chestnuts that she wears the same expression when showing prisoners their own pancreas. We move out and I follow Anatole throughout the chaotic depths while the ever-smiling Kurthus fixes me with puppy eyes. ¡°I have questions.¡± ¡°Of course, great one! Your world¡­ amazing! Many trees! Apples! You like apples?¡± The man grabs in the pocket of the simple shift he wears and offers me a brownish apple core with the seeds exposed. ¡°Thank you, but I already had dinner,¡± I lie. The strange man nods in understanding before shoving the entire thing, twig included, into his mouth and chewing pensively. ¡°Sweet.¡± He sighs deeply. ¡°May I ask you a few questions?¡± I say. ¡°What?¡± ¡°I ask questions.¡± ¡°Of course, Great One. Nat¨¹rlich! Ask away.¡± ¡°How do the collars work?¡± ¡°Collars?¡± I gesture at my throat and then mimic the opening maw of a Merghol hound. I catch sight of Mannfred from the corner of my eye, the man looks so shocked that his opera villain moustache bristles. ¡°Oh yes! Collar? They are made with the true path. Feed the¡­¡± He mimics. ¡°Hounds, but slowly, and with trick! It makes the hound sated, but is lie!¡± He gestures strangely with his hands, as if his face were melting. ¡°Deception! The hounds is still hungry. It just doesn¡¯t know. Other part makes like very, very big hound.¡± I remember the horror we faced with Nami all those years ago. It appears that the undead and their servants favor the medium specimen. I wonder why? Perhaps they are the most efficient. I also assume that the largest creatures being the size of small wagons, collaring them might be a more daunting process, especially if the mages consider the activity beneath them. ¡°Why capture hounds?¡± ¡°They hunt, hmm, bad servants. Very good and very cheap. There are always hounds outside. Take the collar again and find another hound when they die.¡± ¡°So there are people who go against the gods?¡± I ask with some hope, but those are shattered immediately when the man crosses his arm and makes a pained expression. ¡°Not fight. Flee duty.¡± ¡°Where do the hounds come from anyway?¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°Who made the hounds?¡± The man looks fearfully around, but seems quickly comforted by the sight of moldy bricks glimmering ominously under the twilight glare of oily lanterns, and armor-clad vampires. ¡°Bad servants say that it was made for war between gods, by those who follow the true path. To kill the rest. The gods say they came with the great thing that killed the world.¡± Anatole¡¯s Vestal says. Anatole retorts, Kurshu observes my companions a bit fearfully during their exchange. ¡°Kurshu,¡± I continue, ¡°what of the orbs?¡± ¡°Orbs?¡± I try to for a ball but he apparently cannot quite catch my meaning. After a minute of fruitless inquiries, by which time we have emerged back into the underground warehouse, I give up and summon a light illusion of the real thing. Kurshu¡¯s eyes widen in amazement. ¡°You are like a god.¡± Perhaps we could liberate more of those invaders. They might be bad for the planet but they are good for my self-esteem. ¡°Please answer me. Those are orbs. What are they?¡± ¡°Many servants die, make one. Very useful. Even servants can use the true path when they have an orb, if they have, hmmm. If they are very good. The gods give their orbs to their best servants. It is a great honor.¡± ¡°How do servants use the true path?¡± ¡°It depends on the thing below the orbs. There are¡­¡± He pretends to write with a stylus. ¡°Glyphs.¡± ¡°Glyphs say what the orb can do, then the servant says the orb should do it now. Not easy.¡± ¡°I understand.¡± I consider experimenting with the orbs we should still have, but then give up on the attempt. I refuse to resort to this tainted power. I would rather break the tool and free its imprisoned life force. Our steps lead us to a great gathering of vampires around a central table. I have some experience being among so many powerful auras, but this is the first time that I see such a divided assembly outside of peace talks. One side of the large, lantern-lit underground belongs to the Knights. On top of my team, I also see three others whose members are unknown to me, but whose armors are significantly more elaborate than my own. I curse once again the need to wear a uniform. Loth¡¯s armor would have made a difference here. Even the armor Octave currently wears as our representative pales in comparison to that masterpiece, in my own unbiased opinion. The Knight Champion sits on one end of the command table with the Shade trainer and Marlan by his side. I force myself not to smile when I recognize someone I know well standing behind him. Kurshu is returned to Andrea and I make my way to my team, as is proper. She does not care and moves around the assembly and bumps against me. I smell the cold spice of her perfume covering that of mildew. I whisper. Jimena only winks. Ah, but it is a comfort to see someone I can truly, fully rely on. A pressure is lifted from my shoulders. More relaxed, I study our counterparts. The Dvor form a much more eclectic mix of fighters, most of them male and armored in antiquated, though well-crafted and enchanted armors. They remind me of engravings of soldiers throughout the ages in some expensive historical recounting. Despite what their diverse appearances might suggest, the warriors stand in close formations behind a handful of battle lords like retinues. Viktoriya sits on their side of the table but she does not lead. Instead, authority was seized by a greying, bearded lord wearing a genuine lion skin over his shoulder. He has strange traits, drawn and sharp, possibly of an ethnic group that no longer exists. While I do not doubt that Octave can defeat him in a duel, it will have to be through skill alone because the aura radiating from the seated figure speaks of the strength to crush boulders. A few Natalis mercenaries add their not-inconsiderable weight to their side. A few weaker fighters join us, quickly emerging from their dwelling places to join us in silence. The only person still moving is Kurshu, who tries to amble around every minute like a guttersnipe on a sugar rush. Eventually, all who matter are gathered and the old Dvor lord addresses us in a rumbling basso. he sighs, Another smile from the strange woman, with one death glare thrown my way for good measure. Well, am I truly to blame? Nobody said that she had to stay. the old lord grumbles. Ah, one of those. Torran warned me that his kind¡¯s views transcended time and space. A forest of gazes settles on me and I take a step forward in silence. I know better than to speak. Any discussion I could have with this gentleman would be counterproductive and, besides, I do not value his opinion. I feel the brush of aura against my own. It stops short of being rude and so I do not have to enter a contest of control against an ancient monster. Vikotriya hisses softly, then deliberately points at a note on the table by the man¡¯s side. The pair glares at each other with the sort of animosity bred by centuries of conflict, but he eventually relents and reads the report. It annoys me, yet once again I made an oath to serve the Knights and I will abide by it. Octave informs the old Dvor, We enter the more tedious part of the briefing. It is decided to cast the spell twice, once to address the invader vanguard, and a second time around their base. I hope that they have not developed a countermeasure yet, though to be fair, the interdiction field seems to be more of a nuisance than anything else. After a few discussions, the two clans align to start the battle by casting my spell around the current battlefield, then by attacking all together. The Dvor command the Dvor and the Knights command the Knights, each taking a wing. A special detachment of a Dvor and a Knight squad are charged with protecting the mages during the process before they rejoin the battle. Then, we are to repeat the same plan around the base and move in to destroy all opposition. Both groups have stockpiled projectiles and weapons enchanted to destroy shields, the skeletons having proved themselves rather flimsy. Those are distributed, then Marlan goes into great detail about the enemy capabilities up to and including their telekinesis and deadly fire spells. Word is sent to get specially enchanted shields from the nearby armory. I am amazed at the quality of the materials soon distributed around the room, and I realize another difference between New and Old World means. Our difference does not just stem from our lack of Fae blood. They have also been stockpiling master-crafted arms for centuries. S~?a??h the N0??F?re.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. With a few last orders to the respective team leaders, the meeting is about to finish when I raise my hand. Viktoriya asks before both Marlan and Commenus shut me down. The susurrus of conversation dies out as all eyes return to the speakers, me included. Commenus asks, annoyed. Oh, so kind of him to hand me the stick. Commenus says. Marlan says, but I have time for one last jab. Perhaps that was a bit too much as the man stands and growls. Ah, I simply cannot help myself, it seems, even when I know better. Viktoriya interrupts, though she does not look pleased by my antics, Jimena says, nodding wisely. The Knights and Dvor combatants focus on me. I admit, I hiss. Commenus says with a ghastly smile. I retort with outrage, The table groans under two different sets of claws, only one whose owner can give me orders. Marlan says between gritted teeth. I consider the question. We have receptacles capable of withstanding powerful spells already, but I do not see us achieving the sort of damage we need with just powder. I sigh. ¡± Phineas asks by my side. Esmeray asks. I ask with some surprise, but Esmeray merely bounces away and returns, giving me a bag. Even before opening, I know what it contains from the powerful energy it emits. Orbs in every shade of the rainbow lie there like pilfered eggs. I remember that she captured as many as she could to deny them to our foes. I caress the surface of one of the mighty artefacts. Roiling power pushes back tamely against my fingers like a purring tiger, containing more magical might than I have ever held. And there are eight of them. Phineas massages his temple as I keep listing supplies. No backsies. Chapter 153: The hammer falls The sun has set for an hour and I am giving the finishing touches to what will be the most devastating explosive device this world has ever seen. I used the sarcophagus as a base, its isolating protective spells enough to protect it against all but the most determined assaults. Unfortunately, the lid needs to be opened to start the countdown but I deem it a necessary precaution.For a primer, I have a simple yet sturdy contraption based around a clock and a generous amount of mercury fulminate, linked to enough white phosphorus to melt down a factory. The heat of the primary explosion will be concentrated through a double circle and used to break the orb¡¯s containments. All of them. Simultaneously. Kurshu helped with understanding how the orbs work. There are glyphs inscribed in their base that stabilize them because, as it turns out, life energy compressed to the size of a fist can be quite volatile. How truly surprising. It was a simple matter of manipulation to weaken their containment. Once it is done, the explosive release will create a significant amount of damage if the frozen, panicked smile on the prisoner¡¯ face is any indication. He must have asked eleven times if I was quite sure. I place the last orb in its improvised casing and smile. This will be glorious, nay, historical. I only regret that I will not be able to see it explode, one way or another. No one can trigger the device and run far enough to escape its blast. Phineas barges into the secure room I liberated as I perform one last check. He holds in his hands a dark satin undergarment with little while frills on the thighs. I blink very slowly and my mind leaves the labyrinthine depths of military engineering to recall our past conversation. Phineas¡¯ face crumbles, aghast. I sniff the air, a new aroma now overcoming that of tightly packed phosphorus. It takes only a moment for me to calm Phineas down as he can see how contrite I am about the whole fiasco. We pack up and make to leave until I realize that we will need some sort of cart, if only for the sake of balancing the bomb. Fortunately, it appears that Marlan has taken my proposal seriously for once. Jimena is here, as well as Anatole and his team. the blond fake prince intones in a cold voice. I understand his reticence. While he is saddled with the role of guardian, the other teams are fighting on the frontlines. His being the least experienced true Knight team, the leadership must have considered him as non-essential. I would be more worried about a bomb that would scatter us over the whole of Lesser Poland if it sets off while we are around, but he has always had a terrible sense of priorities. I tell him with just a bit of condescension, just to needle him a bit. Jimena rolls her eyes for a second then we are off. My sister kindly organized a cart and a lower Nightmare to drive it. I decide not to call on Metis out of respect for Phineas who would remain on foot. The only mounted person will be Kurshu who follows us at a safe distance on a horse he rides with the grace of a sack of potatoes. We leave at a brisk pace through wide-opened double-doors. The pungent smell of fermented hops hits me as soon as I see the sky. Jimena explains in a low voice. Anatole leads the way without hesitation out of the compound, then out through tilled fields and the golden stalks still to be harvested. The warm summer air still carries the scent of cut wheat and dust, and a few lamps and torches shine on top of locked doors. No one looks through their windows even as wheels growl on packed earth. We hurry. Thirty minutes through tamed land and we hear distant guns. I express my surprise. Mannfred replies, clearly impressed. We continue and find our first bodies soon enough, mostly soldiers fleeing the frontlines who died from their wounds. An aura flares in the distance, a clear beacon to those with any sort of sense. We move forward when I hear a commotion ahead, as well as a mighty roar, one I recognize. Anatole orders and half of the group charges forward. We hear sounds of battle, intense and bloody, and finally a great yowl as we arrive upon a field through a curtain of trees. The great, horrendous shape of a broodmother still twitches on the ground, its (not her, I refuse) form bleeds from many small wounds and a few devastating gouges that would have cleaved a cow in twain. I recognize my kin¡¯s unsubtle touch. There are also mortals in the clearing. They are cavalrymen in stained uniforms who look exhausted. Two dead horses lie on the ground, with their riders still holding blood-stained sabres in their shaky hands. The vampires discuss their fates in low voices. I say, His pale blue gaze travels disparagingly over the gathering of terrified humans. It stops at the short shape of the moustached colonel Reissig, now much less polished and bleeding from a gash in his shoulder. He is the only one who hasn¡¯t taken a step back yet. I tell him, feeling a natural respect for a man who leads an artillery battalion. I nod and make my way forward, Phineas and Esmeray covering my back. Colonel Reissig sees us approach with obvious distrust, and yet he does not move. I do not know how I would react if I saw unknown combatants with the sort of abilities that Anatole¡¯s team just displayed. I allow myself a smile. The good Colonel stares at me with growing suspicion, his memory hazy after such an exhausting battle. His eyebrows finally rise when I stop a few paces away from his anxious mount. ¡°You¡­ the peasant girl!¡± ¡°Guten abendt. I see that you have found our foes.¡± ¡°You deceived me! Do you know how many¡ª¡± I interrupt his sputtering with a raised hand, Charming him into silence. ¡°Have you missed the part where we saved your men? We share the same enemies, you were just unaware of the fact.¡± ¡°You are witches! Witches and sorcerers!¡± ¡°And mages and whatever you wish to call us. It matters not. We are being attacked by devils and their worshippers. I merely showed you the truth before they could collect too many innocents.¡± ¡°I do not trust you. I will never believe you or your kind!¡± He is livid. Any supernatural attempt at calming him down now would lead to suspicion. ¡°Do as you wish. We have no need of your approval to carry out our mission, the elimination of those monsters and the closing of the gate from whence they came.¡± ¡°A portal to hell?¡± ¡°They certainly did not pop out of a fairy circle,¡± I lightly comment. The Colonel still glares with his furious eyes, moustache unkempt after a day of fighting. Now that I am close, the cloying smell of horse and human sweat almost overwhelms that of blood and offal. ¡°I do not trust you, and still I must ask. Where do these things come from?¡± I frown. ¡°You engaged them yesterday. You were within walking distance of their gate.¡± ¡°You saw us?¡± ¡°We fought by your side, from the shadows, as always. You should have saved your artillery guns.¡± ¡°I know! Dammit.¡± He takes a deep breath and I use the opportunity to exploit the chip in his self-righteous armor. ¡°Those creatures are news to you but we have been fighting their kind for decades. You were just blind to it.¡± My declaration is welcomed with various reactions from the onlookers, which is much better than overwhelming censure. ¡°Are the end times upon us then?¡± the colonel finally asks to himself. ¡°Not if we can help it. Speaking of which, you should return to your men. We have demons to slay, no?¡± ¡°Perhaps they come here because of you, the evil worshippers!¡± he declares, but his heart is not in it and I merely chuckle. ¡°If you think we are the only sinners, you have not been paying attention. Auf wiedersehen, herr Reissig. If we both make it through the night. You should be on your way now.¡± The man grinds his teeth. Only his sense of duty prevents him from asking more questions, I think. He was already paranoid when we met. How his natural curiosity must war with his distrust now. ¡°The beast is dead, gentlemen, let us head back. Raus!¡± And they are gone. Phineas asks with a frown. I shrug. Anatole interrupts with obvious impatience. We are nearly at the beacon. We leave the road and follow a beast trail through a well-traveled forest. The ground is quite trampled and we do not have to wait long until we find a clearing where a dozen mortal mages finish setting up a circle. They work under the supervision of a dark-skinned lord with close-cropped hair and a long beard, wearing robes of exotic make. He turns to us as we arrive. Anatole starts. Phineas, the Vestal and I detach from our rank. The archmage points at several circles slaved to the main construct. Compared to what I used to cast, his work is that of a true master, and it took him less than an hour. He also successfully modified the base spell to allow for additional mages to bolster it. Impressive the man asks as we take our positions. He speaks with the rhythmical intonation of one who repeats a ritual sentence, and so I refrain from pointing out that he was the one to ask. I take my place and sigh in delight. This circle is a masterwork. I can feel the connection of over thirty mages in a circle so wide that it could encompass a small city. Their power thrums through the inscriptions, smooth and pleasant instead of overwhelming, thanks to Ismael¡¯s careful management. The proper runes have all been inscribed in smooth rock covered with silver powder. Everything is ready, and not a second too soon. The world bends and pulls inward, its life force draining. The circle reacts instantly as every mage present resists it on the fumes of a previous casting. I grumble as I reform my link. Ismael reproaches. He must see the incomprehension on my face because he sighs and elaborates. He is correct. I center myself, take a deep breath. Power rushes through me, the might of dozens of war mages. Normally, I could not manage this much power but Ismael is here to guide it, weave it into the mighty construct. I activate each rune in turn and voice the incantation. Because of me, the spell is cast with full effect and because of Ismael, the power of our aides is fully employed. Our might breaks the stalemate and tranquility descends like a shroud upon the land. Life essence shivers then settles down. The enemy efforts have been rendered meaningless. We hear a distant, terrible moan. No human throat could produce this. Phineas whispers. I hear a horse panic behind us and Kurshu walks into the clearing under the disapproving glare of Ismael. One of the gods grieves he whispers. the old lord grumbles. He lifts a hand and launches a spell that arches into the air before glowing like a flare. Somewhere in front of us, a great roar echoes throughout the empty night. Soon, the din of battle reaches us through the thick brambles. Ismael asks. I answer guardedly, but he merely smiles. He sprints away and I follow with the rearguard, including the mortal mages. We come across the scene of a ruined village surrounded by blackened, fallow land. Only burnt wrecks remain of the buildings. To our left, the fields are covered in corpses of hounds and armored servants, while a few lines of white and dun uniforms show where the Austrian and Polish assaults came to a halt. In front of us, the vampire force is shredding through battered and beleaguered enemies, exhausted after a day of fighting. I come in time to see a trio of skeletons fly up unchallenged into the darkness of the night. Only one has remained and it even now emits a terrible keening sound. It is not the Eighth but another one, imposing and clad in golden armor. As I watch, it raises a hand and launches powerful fire lances at the fleet figure of Commenus. The ancient lord dodges them with blinding speed while, beyond, vampires scatter to allow the two ancient horrors free reign. I am surprised to see that the undead mage is on the offensive, destroying everything its staff touches with great explosions. Commenus, however, fights much more defensively. Like Anatole, his soul weapon is a twin set. He wields a Roman Scutum and gladius, which would make him very, very old indeed. His defensive style allows him to dodge most strikes and block what he cannot avoid. As I watch, the undead sends a great wave of fire his way. When the spell fizzles, the ancient lord stands from behind his shield, unharmed. It would seem that Rose is not the only soul weapon with special properties, because Commenus should have been torched until only ashes remain. A shield does not stop heat coming from the sides. The lord charges in turn and pushes the creature back with fast, precise strikes. The skeleton howls again and brings his staff down. The world burns around it, but Commenus is already gone. He stands facing his foe as it rises from the resulting crater. Even though he must be far from his land, the power of the lords answers. I hear the words and experience that peculiar feeling of the Watcher seeping through the cracks of reality. Commenus turns into a dark-winged, demonic figure and points his blade forward. At the same time, Ismael unleashes his spell. A mighty ray of dark light links both the archmage and the skeleton across a hundred paces. The skeleton freezes and so does the mage, locked as they are in a mental contest of will. I can feel the might of the mind magic from here. As for the result of the war, we shall never find out, because Commenus charges. The angelic and demonic figure lands on the skeleton and smashes it to pieces. Ismael reels back from the shock. By that point, the field is ours. The surviving servants run away, leaving their hounds to be slaughtered. The rearguard moves down into the remains of the village. To the right, I see an altar surrounded by alien sigils. ¡°¡± Phineas asks. I study the strange structure. A massive stone slab occupies the backyard of some large edifice, now an unrecognizable ruin. I noticed no such a thing the last time we inspected the village so this must be a recent addition. The closer we get and the more detail I discern. The richer life energy in the air shows that we are approaching the epicenter of what the invaders attempted. Even the grass seems more vibrant. The rune work soon appears not just on the ground but in the air as well, where they float with fading light like dying embers. The small vortex of energies disperses from the slab in a gentle, immaterial breeze as refreshing as light rain after a summer drought. On the slab, we find a woman. She is old and wizened, just as bald as Kurshu but clearly feminine. In death, her naked form lacks the puppet quality that some corpses have. A black dagger is lodged in her chest. A complex attire is folded at her feet. She died recently. Phineas asks, surprised. His knowledge of spellcraft is still lacking but in this situation, it would not have helped. We are facing an entire new brand of magic. Although, I can infer the purpose of the ritual. The elegant man raises a dubious brow. I finish. I shrug. Who knows what goes in the craniums of those strange beings. ¡°The old man killed the fifteenth,¡± Kurshu says in a subdued voice as Commenus picks up the mage¡¯s skull. Some of us are collectors and this is an unusual quarry. ¡°It was the fifteenth?¡± I repeat. He was significantly weaker than the serpent mage despite being less than ten ranks apart. ¡°Fifteenth very strong. Eighth to first¡­ different. Best gods. But, fifteenth and eighth are not in the same faction.¡± ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°So far, only the Eighth¡¯s cohorts have been here. I was one of his servants. Now, the third¡¯s cohort is here with their Merghol beasts. The eighth must have entered an agreement.¡± Phineas mutters, and Esmeray shakes her head. a rugged voice says behind us. I felt his aura, of course, and did not turn. I inform Commenus as I face him. He and Ismael are soon joined by Octave and other senior knights while a slightly intimidated Kurshu relays what he observed. Marlan remarks. Commenus grumbles. The ancient monster walks forward without waiting for further input, soon joined by the entirety of the Dvor contingent. There is little to do but to follow. We soon reach the woods surrounding the enemy base for the third time in as many nights. Just as before, I stay in the rear to guard our precious cargo. The vampires fan out before us to cover our approach. Soon, Ismael stops in the middle of the forest path. I ask, taking a few steps. Then I feel it. The interdiction area we cast yesterday still holds. The land is quiet and reticent. the dark-skinned man chuckles. He gestures and the mages fall back. Commenus does not wait. We soon arrived at the scene of yesterday¡¯s battle. An entire section of the forest has been turned into a glass plain of scorched earth. Farther up, we find the battlefield where Reissig¡¯s men stopped and fought. It has been picked clean. Only a great mountain of hound carcasses remains, a stinking tower of purple flesh, rancid and vile. Not even the flies have picked at it. I tell myself. We move a bit more, then the ground erupts in a great gout of flame, instantly killing a Dvor master. Ismael growls, Our progress slows to a crawl. I cannot feel the constructs, though I stand rather far. The heavy cover of the interdiction area allows our presence and little else. We may not cast. I suspect that even Magna Arqas might be subdued here, and yet our foes still manage to work their unholy arts to inflict more death. Ismael takes no risk. As soon as he spots a trap, he throws a few unidentified stones he removed from a recess of his robe. They trigger and spew their deadly payload into the air. Our advance is marked as clearly as if we carried beacons with us. I wonder. Anatole says by my side, He does not look at me. Instead, his blue eyes sweep our flanks, looking for anomalies. I always assumed that he would not give me the time of the day, much less explain things. Perhaps he did make some progress. His insight soon proves warranted when Ismael gestures and we stop. He throws a stone and it flashes against an invisible wall, sending ripples across its smooth, flat surface. A shield, of a scale never seen before. The base lies nestled in its dying valley beyond sight and we will have to break it to move forward. Without magic, the task is nearly impossible. Members of the vanguard with soul weapons bang them helplessly against the colossal defense. It will take hours, hours that we do not have. Just as I consider my options, the impacts cease and the crowd falls silent. From the skies, the form of a skeleton mage holding an orb descends, majestic. Its robes move in the light wind like pennants and its great ivory snake tail twirls lazily. Six others flank it, three on each side. Octave declares, and I hear the concern in his voice. He will not have to repeat himself. We run. Even the Nightmare we use senses the urgency of the situation. I turn around as we flee to take in the Eighth as it lifts a gnarled hand. Its voice is warm and velvety. It does not fit its abominable image. As for the words, they are clipped and guttural and I do not understand their meaning. What I do understand is that it is casting a spell from within the safety of the shield and that of the air, and we can do nothing to stop it. A white ball gathers between its claws. With one last word, he lets it fly. The spell explodes in a whitish, powdery veil that expands in a sphere. It covers the lords, even Commenus. It covers our frontlines. It reaches me. I feel something poke my essence, then a cloak-like feeling as the spell settles on my aura like ink on paper. I look down to see whitish stars shining on my armor like a mirror of the Milky Way, not harmful but present. And always visible. I say. Phineas said as he inspects a glove. Esmeray shivers and scratches herself, clearly ill at ease. Looking forward, it has become clear that the entire vanguard is marked as well. The only ones exempt are the mortal mages. The Eighth has figured out that we were different, which we should have expected when they started to resort exclusively to fire. Now, he is targeting us, and he is right. Without us, Krakow and its defenders will fall, then they will have free reign to defile the planet to fuel their disgusting rituals. I look up with no small amount of fear, convinced that the serpent mage will now release some seeking fire spell of great power against us. I wonder if I can run fast enough or if Rose will help, and yet it does not happen. The creature contemplates us like insects under its hollow gaze and¡­ flies away. The other creatures follow it in a cursed flock. We are alone. Phineas asks, but no one replies. Some of us try to remove the whitish powder from our beings, in vain. I try as well and realize that it clings to us like an oily layer, and is just as impossible to remove. We have to restrain Esmeray who had started to claw at her skin. Anatole says, Kurshu walks to us and sighs. ¡°Ah, bad. It is the Amkur. Bad servants have this if they open the wrong gate. Take food.¡± ¡°How long?¡± I ask, ¡°How long does it last?¡± ¡°I do not know. Bad servants always die first.¡± Well, this is problematic. We quickly go and relay Kurshu¡¯s finding to Octave and Commenus. The two leaders exchange a glace. s?a??h th? ??v?lF?re.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. Ismael says as he joins, hands holding a massive brass watch. Octave asks, looking behind him. The main group still bangs helplessly on a dome as wide as a town. Ismael agrees, The others consider the question. I would remark that the shield might consume more energy than a spell designed to track and destroy us, but the truth is that I have no idea how this branch of magic functions. the Vestal of Anatole¡¯s team says. Oh, of course. Hmm. Can we? I turn to Kurshu, clearly ill at ease in the middle of so many of us. He is starting to stink a bit as well. ¡°Is there a way to go though? Key?¡± ¡°This¡­¡± He mimics a barrier. ¡°Shield.¡± ¡°Understood. This shield¡­ very strong. The gods use it to protect their houses.¡± ¡°We need to get to the gate.¡± ¡°Can you not open one?¡± he asks. I wince, I do not know the ritual. Opening the gate is a complex, grueling process that leads to desert and hounds. Until now, I had no particular reason to learn it. ¡°I do not know the runes,¡± I admit. ¡°Runes?¡± I kneel and draw the dwarven symbols for ¡®looming disaster¡¯ on the ground. ¡°Runes. I understand. If you want a gate with runes, can you use the first?¡± ¡°The first?¡± Kurshu nods. ¡°Before the gods come here, they make a gate to go back, not too far, so if there is a bad thing, they can get back to the Last City. The runes are there. On the ground.¡± All the vampires present stare at the man, with the notable exception of my teammates who do not speak German. Commenus asks. Ismael replies. the old man speaks between clenched teeth, My intuition wakes and coils. For the shortest moment, visions of flame and a sound like tinnitus break through the heavy yoke of the interdiction spell. I tell him. Octave replies, but the gruff monster ignores him. Octave tilts his head and inspects the wall, still imperiously ignoring the weapons banging on its surface. Anatole says. Octave considers him in silence. And like this, we are dismissed. Jimena squeezes my hand before she joins the assault. Anatole signals and his team starts off behind an eager Kurshu. The free invader struts excitedly, reminding me of a labrador on a stroll. The rest of us are more subdued. We share a general unease that proves warranted when Esmeray changes into a wolf and starts pawing at her face. Her claws dig bloody furrows on her muzzle. Phineas says. An understatement. We are left with no choice but to restrain her or risk her skinning herself alive. Mannfred and the other fighter carry her limp form back to camp while the rest of us keep going. We cannot spare a caster and Phineas understands it, though he is unhappy about leaving the tiny Vanheim behind. We are off to an inauspicious start. A little bit later, we are forced to leave the cart behind as the forest grows too dense to navigate. I end up carrying the crate with Anatole while the human mages follow us in a loose column. Kurshu gets lost once. ¡°So much green!¡± he explains to our unamused group. Phineas remarks. It takes us almost half an hour to reach the second site between the detour and the time it takes the mages to climb the slope to our destination. We end up on top of a flat hillock populated by scrawny pines. Three of the four sides lead to sheer cliff, with only the path we took being somewhat practicable. The undead mages chose well. More importantly, we are outside of the interdiction circle. Kurshu excitedly points at the center of the elevation, though only a blind man could have missed the giant circle covering most of the free space. Runes have been engraved in the rock, and the air still smells of pine sap where trees were ripped apart and thrown away. Needles crack under the feet of the trudging mortals as they spread around the circle. I kneel to study the construct. I realize as I trace the western standard rune for location. Anatole says. I check the different segments of the spell. I have seen it many times and mostly dismissed it as too complicated to bother, but now necessity needles me and I cannot help but discern the different components. Built on a base as old and solid as history itself, the spell then expands outward to reach more exotic and subtle parts, acquiring its true function. One segment speaks to me of a shard, a stinger, a needle that would jab and leave behind cleanly sliced flesh where blood would pearl. Another speaks of a diapason oscillating between two frequencies. Subtle elegance has joined surgical brutality in a marriage that led to disaster and the death of hundreds, and we are going to activate it. Only a few key elements could bear modification in that delicate framework. I will have to attempt it. Anatole asks with suspicion. I tell him as I clear growth with my own hands, Anatole does not comment and directs the mortal mages to work instead. They are Dvor servants, distrustful yet disciplined. They clear the vegetation as fast as I can carve new elements with Rose. I feel my intuition pushing me forward now and I know why. My death is imminent. Perhaps the Dvor have access to defensible facilities but I will not. I will be one of the easiest fighters to pick off with the other low-ranking Knights. That, or the world guides me once again. With a sure hand, I inscribed the last circle to allow mortals to slave their power to me. We will need all the help we can get in this great endeavor. Failure is not an option. The bomb must go off. I am absorbed in my task until the spell takes on an organic, living quality. The components appear in sharp relief like superimposed figures instead of grooves in the rock beneath us. The circle lives and grows with me, stroke after stroke, until finally the last piece clicks and the spell hums. It is ready. I am ready. The time is now. A few steps and I am in position, near the center. The mortals take their places without prompting, with Phineas and the Vestal by my side. We raise our hands, and I begin. I speak of our world, of its music and its taste. Of the sun and the moon and the ground under my feet. The spell anchors itself with a low thrum which only grows in intensity as we go on, a heartbeat of a thing without blood, and yet, alive. The leitmotif comforts me, although it is not truly mine. No, mine is deeper. I spare a glance to the eternal presence of the Watcher. I had forgotten its beauty those past few nights. It gazes on, more subdued than usual. It does not wish to disturb. I shiver when a strange cheer bolsters my concentration. The first part is done, now for the second. Slowly at first, the diapason twists the world around us and the thrum changes to a different melody. This one speaks of great trees, a golden age, then gouging pain and, finally, death. That song is a dirge and those who first cast the spell should have known that they were fools. One hour passes. Another. At some point, someone comes but I ignore him. We must go on. To change the music and fix it is an exhausting attrition battle against our surroundings. Several times, I fear that I might be too fast until a rush of power sets us back on course. Three of the mages fall unconscious and are carried away. Thankfully, the construct takes this possibility into account. Another hour passes. We are done. The second part of the casting is finished and three more mages stumble out of the formation. The third and final part begins now. We have our destination. Now we must breach the veil. The diapason quiets and the shard awakens under our push. This is the last stretch. Do or die. I push power and speak more words, I speak of piercing a fabric that none can sense. The abstract and unfamiliar meaning almost makes me falter, but intuition guides me through the most delicate steps. The fabric of reality might be thick and syrupy here, unwilling to be seized and much less manipulated, yet the spell has clamped on a minuscule expanse of it, and we will pierce it. The shard looms, a dark sword, or a shark. Something bleak and edged. It hovers near the vulnerable spot like a guillotine blade, but I do not let it fall. It needs to be keener and heavier before we can even make a dent. More mages fall one by one, and with every person leaving us with bloodshot eyes, the burden increases for the rest. Stamina and strength are no longer enough. Now, only willpower can save us. Half an hour passes. Only thirteen remain. Another fifteen minutes. We are five now. The pain is excruciating. Phineas chokes and collapses to the side. Dark blood drips from his mouth as he crawls away. Another fifteen minutes. The last mortals fall in turn. The Vestal leaves. Only I remain in a sea of power and agony. Whispers drill into my ears. Thunderous magic cracks at my fingertips. I close my eyes. The blood covers them anyway. It hurts. Almost as badly as going rogue. Need just a bit more. The needle hangs over the chasm. Almost ready. And then, it happens. The first hint of the coming dawn caresses my mind. I am out of power. The last dribble of energy leaves me. So THIRSTY. Losing control. No, no! I will not fall here. I roar, and pull. In the urgency, something explodes within me. Weak black roots surge from the earth with the last of my reserves. Another loss of control, but this one proved useful after all. The clearing is empty. Almost everyone has evacuated. The final surge pours into the spell and something clicks. The spell is a needle going through meat if the needle were the size of a ship of the line. I open my eyes and clear away the blood as the last of my aura leaves me. Before us, a luminous circle expands in the darkness that comes before the aurora, an aperture into a world of empty, cold daylight that fails to burn. Mesmerized, I walk forward and look through. We stand on a stone platform hanging over a void, and around us, our goal expands as far as I can see. The Last City. A maze-like, impossible structure that dives into the abyss below and climbs to a sky of perpetual ash. Hive-like, bulbous blocks of sickly yellow extend in colossal fingers, their surface covered in windows like necrotic sores. The stench of unwashed humanity permeates the air despite a chill wind while the landscape weeps artificial misery and generational despair. The platform we stand on is empty and bare. A corner reeks of urine. Somewhere far above us, a child screams in agony. ¡°Last City servants'' houses up there,¡± Kurshu says in a subdued voice. Only he and Anatole have stayed until the end. The vampire is dragging our bomb to the empty space. ¡°House of the Eighth is to the right,¡± he adds. We three go through. It is day on the dead planet. Kurshu currently points at the man-made mountain adjacent to the platform. While the others remind me of sick, bloated trees infested to their cores, this one stabs up in a dizzying display of obsidian designs and chthonic architecture. There are no windows here, only smooth, glassy surfaces punctuated by sharp angles. Anatole whispers. I can barely hear him. I am so weak. I lurch to the sarcophagus and slide the lid with some difficulty. Kurshu helps while Anatole keeps vigil. I push a button and hear the ping of the active mechanism. It rings like a death knell in the unnatural silence. We move back and through the aperture with haste. Anatole asks, and I realize that I cannot do it. I am too exhausted. And we are running out of time. Tick tick tick. Kurshu steps away from the circle with terror in his eyes. The aperture closes. Slowly. Too slowly. I wheeze. We move around. From the back, the portal just looks like distorted air. The bomb detonates. I assume that the bomb detonates. For the barest of instants, impossible heat touches my skin with the promise of oblivion. My vision goes white, and, when I open my eyes again, the portal is closed. Far in the distance, we hear a rumble and see a great fire. The night comes alive with the tweets of distant birds. In front of us, something has seared a cone into the landscape. It starts thin, but then expands until I see burning vegetation on a faraway hill. Within the cone, all is dark and smoldering. Anatole says. ¡°So strong,¡± Kurshu whispers. His dark eyes are full of worship. We have no time to rejoice. We have no time for anything except hiding. he replies. A shove. I am flying through the air, then awkwardly down the cliff. By some ancient instinct, I curl into a ball and protect my head. A crack. Pain. My pelvis is shattered. I gasp. But¡­ how? He... threw me? Impossible? Impossible! Would that not break the oath? Is he using a loophole? Kurshu lands next to me, spine broken. His honest face twists in pain and disbelief. He is dying. The sun is almost up. With a muffled cry, I roll on myself and crawl. I am too weakened. I cannot heal. I have one chance, only one chance. ¡°I am sorry,¡± I tell him, and bite down. His essence is rich with the power of fate. I kill his pain as soon as I regain a smidgen of power. ¡°I am sorry,¡± I say again. He smiles and breathes one last time. I taste the sweet savor of apple on my tongue. Dawn is almost here. I must hide now, but tomorrow, Anatole dies. The earth takes me. Chapter 154: Athena For the first time in my second life, I wake up in absolute panic. I cannot move, I cannot see. The presence of the sun weighs on my mind like a yoke. A deafening silence assails me and deprives me of even a limpet of information. I believe that my time has come. I shall be stuck in limbo for all of eternity, finally punished for the murders and the greed and pursuing naughty activities with Torran.It takes me far too much time to realize that it is, in fact, a normal and predictable state of affairs. I am underground. Terror soon gives way to fear. I acted in desperation last night, and crawled underground as soon as I could. In truth, I should have waited until the last moment. That cur Anatole could have felt me cast a spell and come to investigate, thus putting me at his mercy. I may yet be a victim of the skeleton mages as they scour the land in fury. Any time now, a bony knuckle will pierce the soil and grab me like a doll before drawing me up to a fiery demise. It does not happen. A cursory inspection of my aura reveals that the glow is gone, dispelled, as it were. I am free of any mark. I am still wearing Nashoba¡¯s earrings, of course, I just would not bet on them over the power of the Eighth. My worries dissipate under the smoldering embers of rage. That mongrel. That despicable, back-stabbing, oath-breaking son of a flaccid baboon. That lily-livered roach-brained overgrown scullion. That fucking asshole. I will skin him, dress him, then spit-roast him on a red-hot poker. Ugh! How did he even do this? I distinctly remember taking the oath! It said: Anatole cannot possibly have skipped this step. I consider the question for a solid twenty minutes and find only two possible explanations. Anatole does not see me as a fellow Knight, or that is how he treats his own blood anyway. This is the kind of risk and loophole one has to work with when forcing oaths upon vampires. It would still mean that he went against the rules by knowingly putting me in danger at the very least. He should be hurting right now. He will hurt much more when I get my talons on his sorry, flea-ridden hide. Poor Jimena must be worried that I have gone missing. I must be sure to find her soon. Speaking of which, what should I do? How do I take revenge? Betrayal or not, I am still a Squire of the Order and I have a duty to let my hierarchy handle it. It means joining my team and reporting the crime. Fortunately, more detailed oaths and interrogation can lure out the truth. I also believe that attempted murder on a fellow Knight should be punishable by death. While I would prefer to drain him myself, I cannot deny that there is a certain beauty in having the Order he swore to defend do the deed in my stead. Bah, what am I even considering? I swore ten years of my life to those glorified thugs. I have to follow the law. To skew a mission to serve my own purpose is one thing. Breaking the laws for the sake of vengeance is another, a clear violation if there are any. Once more, I am struck by the limits of oaths on vampires whose vision of the world differs from¡­ Oh who am I kidding? The limits of oaths on morally ambiguous, backstabbing little pricks like Anatole. Truly, Constantine accomplished a miracle by creating laws both restrictive and specific, so that the manacles remain small yet inflexible. My mind is wandering. I find it hard to focus on any single topic, between my unpleasant circumstances, the anger in my heart and the sun above me. What if Anatole obtained the blessing of his hierarchy to ¡®let an accident happen, should fate choose this path¡¯ or some other trite nonsense? What if this is a purge? No, I must focus. I am not some timid fledgling. These doubts serve no purpose. I will wait and I will find my way back, carefully. After that I will present my case. Yes, this is an acceptable plan. Now to ignore the moist soil pressing all over me. Since I do not suffocate, the sensation does not lead to panic and a reflexive intake of breath. I just worry that some slimy worm might crawl into my nose by accident. That would be dramatic. No, everything will be fine. I just have to wait. And wait. Slowly, late afternoon gives way to early evening, and then, night. I feel its coming and burst with impatience, yet once the last rays of the radiant bane disappear, I do not explode out of the earth like a rabid mole. I allow the spell to carry me to the surface and open my eyes as I lay on the ground. No aura. No strange smell. No suspicious light burning on the horizon. Only the normal scents of the forest grace my nose, though the stench of carrion is prevalent on account of poor Kurshu¡¯s remains left to rot under the summer sun. After a few moments, and satisfied that nothing is actively tracking me, I emerge from the crumbling soil and sigh. I am, of course, filthy. With a heavy heart, I grab the body by my side and walk to find a path up. If Anatole made up some lie about the prisoner, it could work as proof. I would also like to bury him. He really tried his best in the pursuit of freedom, and it is a struggle I can sympathize with and deserves my respect. I can easily find my way back to the base under the brewery. I merely need to watch my step. Kurshu¡¯s blood still sings in my core. He was¡­ very close to human. It makes me wonder how we can be so similar. I walk to the top of the incline, keeping my guard up, and stop to take in the new landscape before me. Entire parts of the forest have been torched. Some are still smouldering quietly under the nightly breeze while columns of men bearing torches patrol the valley. An elevation blocks my line of sight so that I cannot see the exact state of the invader camp, yet the sentries wear native, mundane clothes. It appears that our foes were successfully pushed back. I always knew that explosives were the solution. We just had to use a lot of it. I shake my head and accelerate. If the humans can so freely tread the plains, then it means that I only have the coming ordeal to fear. I retrace my steps back to the place where the shield stood and see signs of damage in the earth. It appears that our ¡®superiors¡¯ ¡ª and I am employing the term reluctantly ¡ª brought tools to help with their attempt. Come to think of it, I remember that someone came to interrupt us, just before the last of the mages and my companions left. What did they say? I search my memory for the fugacious moment. What was it? Oh yes, something about evacuating and spreading out to limit the casualties. AFRAID. WEAK. I was right to ignore them. Now, to find them. I keep going. I reach the outskirts of the abandoned village to see that it is occupied by the mortal army. I have nothing to tell them and so weave between groups to go on my way. They appear to have buried and burned the dead. I keep my guard up just in case something happens. After the ceaseless crisis of the past three days, I can hardly believe that I walked a few miles without anything actively trying to kill me. The first excitement of the evening occurs just as I leave the camp and feel a familiar yet troubled aura rush towards me. I have never felt her so panicked. I flare my own in answer, and she swerves violently. A few moments later, Jimena is in sight. Then she slams into me, and picks me up under my armpits. Kurshu¡¯s body falls to the side. Jimena is a picture of grief and terror. Her normally stoic face is twisted and barely recognizable. she whispers. I am pulled into a very, very tight embrace. Since Jimena is on the short side, I end up with my head above and behind her shoulders while she buries hers in my armored bosom. I pat her awkwardly, and she sniffs in a way that makes me feel sorry for being so dusty. When she finally puts me down, I understand. Two red trails drip down her cheeks. She smiles despite her tears and grabs my hand. She guides one of my fingers to her cheek and I pick up a single sanguine droplet. In my half a century of existence, I do not think that I had ever tasted vampire tears. The droplet lands on my tongue and fades away immediately. It only leaves behind a vague, salty taste. My heart gives a powerful thump and I lurch forward under the sudden onslaught of sensations. Worry clamps on my chest like glacial claws, soon followed by guilt. I left the one who trusted me alone. Then I grieved because I killed her, I caused her death. The emotions explode in me in a way that I have not felt since Nirari killed me. They are full-bodied emotions that touch my chest, throat, mind, and soul. I gasp as they take and carry me away. Joy and relief replace the negative feelings with a torrent of warmth and pleasure. I fall on a knee. Jimena sobs, It takes me a moment to understand her words, so moved and flustered I am. The foreign emotions linger and I feel flushed and alive. My heart is beating, and I have to breathe to feel whole. A distant part of me acknowledges that this is an illusion, a phantasm of a world lost forever. The rest of me cares not. I once gave her my tears back in the vampire fortress an eternity ago. The circle is now complete. It takes a little while for Jimena to finally release me. She sits heavily on a nearby stone and speaks in a low voice. She is still affected. She looks up. Jimena¡¯s mouth opens in utter surprise, then she stands up and rushes me yet again. I relay the events to her, including the detonation of the bomb and Kurshu¡¯s death. Jimena¡¯s answer is immediate and thunderous. S~?a??h the N???lFire.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. I nod in understanding and pick up Kurshu¡¯s body again. We move fast now, needled by her mounting anger. I do not think that I have seen Jimena truly furious before, but I do now. Her aura flares dangerously. We reach the secret base in record time, and find a group of Knights gathered before an armored carriage. They are loading supplies. Both Anatole and my team are there, as well as Marlan who supervises recruitment and training back at Cloud Haven, the fortress. We have come upon the junior group. I spare a glance at Jimena to ask her how we should proceed. I need not have bothered. She struts down the main path with the fury of all the women ever scorned. I stand by her side in all my grimy glory. Phineas and Esmeray smile while team Aspen stands shocked, their gaze going from Jimena¡¯s angry shape to a silent Anatole and back. Marlan turns to Anatole, voice cold and a look full of distrust. Technically the truth since he left me to die. I hate people like him. I could never say such a thing, because I would be betraying the spirit of the truth. The vampires have gathered around us now, their expressions cold but their auras uncertain. We form a circle with Jimena, Marlan and Anatole at the center. Curiously, I have been swallowed by the circle with Phineas and Esmeray standing by my side and definitely defensive. The other team shows circumspection, however. Their support is not as unquestioning as I would have assumed. In fact, the Vestal even shows signs of hostility. It occurs to me that Anatole might be a cunt, generally speaking. Not just with me. Marlan takes his time to reply. When he does, his tone is slow and careful. I would be outraged if I were not so surprised and afraid. Jimena¡¯s aura is flaring spectacularly and what I see of her face looks consternated. the other man says as his eyes narrow. Some Dvor Courtiers timidly emerge from the nearby building to see what the fuss is about. As for me, I do not dare speak. Fate stirs. Marlan spits back. Jimena takes a deep breath. She feels ready to explode. They are barely spitting in each other¡¯s face. My sister takes a few steps back. Her expression is a glacial mask of distress and barely restrained anger. Marlan takes a step forward, then another back. Jimena has materialized her soul sword, Justice. It now hangs in her hand, blade aimed low. We all take a step back and I consider drawing my blade, but we still stand on the edge and there is still a chance. Which Marlan immediately throws to the wolves. Oh, the fool. The fool! Jimena swore already. It is done. Over. My sister still has not moved, however, and Marlan does not dare act first. How did it come to this? Jimena¡¯s aura explodes. Its cataclysmic flare increases in power in mere instants. It doubles, triples. It keeps growing. We are all forced back under the incredible onslaught of unleashed power. The arrogant lord is pushed back and draws his own soul sword to face the world¡¯s newest battle lady. Jimena¡¯s eyes blaze purple. She points her sword at Marlan and speaks with a voice like an angry chorus. A link forms between the two just as Jimena¡¯s blade twists, taking a serpentine shape. One moment they are away, the next, Jimena¡¯s blade is embedded deep inside Marlan¡¯s shoulder. Transparent wings spread from her shoulders. he gasps. His body disappears and reappears a few feet away, wound not so much closed as denied. Jimena does not care. She lays into him and smashes him against a nearby wall, scoring another wound. We are left behind. We are now spread across the factory¡¯s front yard. The Dvor Courtiers have decided to make themselves scarce. Anatole is taking a few steps back. No one else has reacted yet. I feel shame at hesitating. Of course, I know what I must do. It is the most natural thing in the world. I draw Rose and take a step forward. I will fight by my sister¡¯s side against an army if I have to. I almost expect pain, yet the oath dissolves in my mind. I am no longer a Knight. They have failed me for the last damn time, I will never allow someone else that much power over me as long as I live. Phineas winces in pain, yet he takes a resolute step forward. He pulls his thin sword from his sheath, waiting to see who will take sides. Esmeray also speaks. Anatole manifests his sword and dagger and faces me. There is no ovation. ¡± his Vestal says. She leaves uninterrupted. The axe-wielder and the swordsman whose name I never bothered to learn take his side, but Mannfred does not. The progress-obsessed fighter picks his shield from his back and addresses his fallen leader. Anatole freezes, eyes calculating. Mannfred merely draws his own blade. Anatole hisses. Mannfred roars back, now all pretense at politeness forgotten. The pendulum of destiny swings silently and we throw ourselves at each other. Mannfred faces the axe warrior in a careful dance that shows how familiar they are with each other. I rush Anatole. Fifty years ago, I was a small young thing and watched him and Suarez perform the dance of death. They had amazed me with their deadly precision. Since then, I have learned its steps too. Twenty years ago I may have struggled. I wound him on the third exchange, easily reading through his feint and catching him in the stomach. I point my gauntlet without looking and unleash a binding spell at the sword wielder¡¯s back. I hear a snarl and a scream, abruptly cut. I parry his next attack, smash the dagger aside and rip part of his throat open in the same backswing. He glares. I smile. I drive him back, scoring wounds on his legs by using my superior range. Anatole and I have never sparred, but I have faced many swordsmen before. He has never faced someone like me. I sever a foot and shove Rose in his shoulder. He still fights when I pin him down on the ground, when I push his arms away. He only stops when my fangs latch on his ruined throat. Anatole tastes like mediocrity and a long-overdue debt. He falls to ash. Nashoba is avenged. The architect of my suffering is dead. I feel strange. I would have expected revenge to taste sweeter, yet this time Jimena unexpectedly stole the spotlight. She is still laying into a massively outclassed Marlan, who has only lasted so long because he periodically blinks away with one less wound. The fight on our side is over with the two masters disabled. We gather and watch Jimena finish the job. At some point, Marlan tries to escape. The light binding them shortens then, and Jimena delivers the coup de grace. Her sword skewers the man¡¯s heart and the follow up sends his head flying. Soon, only ash remains. So. Yes. As the sounds of combat die down and Jimena¡¯s power dwindles, I am assailed by the realization that we just killed two members of one of the most dangerous organizations in the world in cold blood. This might be¡­ suboptimal. Mannfred asks, nonplussed. To be fair, it did not even occur to me to leave Anatole alive. Mannfred nods grudgingly while Jimena stumbles back to me. She looks exhausted, much more so than any other lords I have seen deploying their Magna Arqa. I suspect that the first trigger might be special. That would explain why she merrily trounced an experienced warrior. she finally declares as the reality of our action settles in her mind. Why yes, we could have followed the proper chain of command and simply complained to Octave, however we ran the risk of being discredited, have more attempts on our life or Anatole simply fleeing, which would have perhaps hurt his essence but not killed him. There are Dvor Courtiers gaping at us. I do not doubt that a messenger is already on its way. ¡± Esmeray says. I tell her with no resentment. She was here when it mattered. Her fate is her own. Esmeray nods and turns into a wolf. She is gone in moments while we rush in and recover whatever we can. I have one powder charge remaining. It might prove useful. My Dvergur armor is lost to me now. I will never recover it from the Cloud Haven Fortress. We reconvene at the entrance and I ask the others to follow me. And we are off. Jimena clearly suffers from some mental exhaustion, yet she is still the fastest on account of her newly found power. I wish we could celebrate her ascension. We leave the city behind and ride into the wilderness at full speed. Once we are far enough away, I call Metis and Jimena calls her Nightmare. The proud creatures allow us another rider although I can tell Metis does not like it one bit. Fallow fields soon give way to more fields, then to lost villages and forested areas. We never slow down. I take a few moments of introspection to accept in my heart that we are most likely done for. We are days away from the nearest port. Soon, we will be pariahs in every court of the continent. The situation is disastrous. Jimena says, eyes clouded, I reply truthfully. Mannfred says. Phineas adds. Jimena takes a moment to digest our words, then she gives us one deep nod. After that, we no longer speak. The Nightmares are fast but the additional weight seems to tire them despite their immense strength. Mannfred finally decides to drop from Jimena¡¯s saddle and run by her side. Phineas soon mirrors him and we pick up speed again. This will exhaust their essence and make them thirsty, yet I do not object. We must create as much distance between the rest of the Knights and us as we can. The race continues for an hour or two. At first, I think that we have succeeded but I realize that I am mistaken when my instincts scream. I flash Rose and deflect a thrown knife coming right at Metis. A shape flickers in a nearby thicket. Phineas asks. Jimena groans, Ah yes, the trainer. They are already on our trail. Jimena takes out her blade and artfully deflects another knife. I say. I know that Laestra has access to a lot of interesting tools. We are lucky that she had to come at us unprepared. I still almost scream when the light wind produces the slightest whistle in front of us and I cut a wire before Metis can hit it. I deflect another knife immediately after and destroy it. Laestra runs and hides at the edge of our field of vision. She is taunting us. Sometimes, I catch a dark, furious glint in her brown eyes. It comes with a sneer when I hear the first sounds of pursuit, a low drum of hooves on packed earth. We are hunted. Jimena says. Phineas moans. He is still running at full speed. I reply, remembering the charge at Black Harbor. We will not lose them. I feel the tug of fate. My intuition is pushed to overdrive since death hounds our steps, and I know we have a way to create distance. It is simple really, and has the added benefit of teasing Jimena. I keep my nose to the wind and lead us onto a road as soon as we come across one. Jimena hisses. She grunts in assent, then her expression turns to worry, then naked terror when she catches the scent I have been searching for. We rush into a sleepy village, finding large wooden barns near the main road. I dismount and grab a pair of lanterns from the local tavern¡¯s front door. Phineas asks with terror. Jimena is the first to run away. I turn and see a great mass of Knights entering the road behind me. I do not hesitate and throw the lanterns at the feet of several of the barns, setting them ablaze. I launch my powder charge as well. Yes. This will be¡­ glorious! The group of Knights slows down. I see Octave, who looks unusually cold, Laestra, and the full squads. He brought everyone. They stop as I raise my hands to the sky. Everything happens at once. The powder charge explodes, sending burning planks and embers flinging through the air. Humans scream in terror, while behind me, a hundred terrified squeals of agony turn the village into a particularly heinous circle of hell. Incendiary swines crash through doors, walls, and people while the vampires try and fail to keep their mounts in control. A master is impacted by an inexplicably airborne specimen and is sent careening into his companions. Chaos spreads unfettered. I laugh maniacally and disappear into the darkness. Chapter 155: Breaking through I wake up in the dirt once again. Panic seizes my heart, then fatalism freezes it.The exhilaration of unleashing porcine devastation upon our pursuers has now faded. It has been replaced by a terrible sense of impending doom. The Knights are too good and too well motivated for us to escape, and they were on our heels up until an hour before dawn. I managed to hide myself and the others underground, but I know that it is only a temporary solution. With carriages at their disposal, the Knight can simply spread themselves out during the day and wait for us to come out at night, then they can overwhelm us. I shift once and feel the vast yet fragile weight of earth above me. The most tragic, the most ironic aspect of this morbid farce is that I could escape alone. I could change my appearance and use the earrings¡¯ effect, my spells, and Metis¡¯ alacrity to lose myself in some nearby town. It would take some luck to reach a port without valid travel documents, but it would be a possibility. I would die rather than leave my companions behind. Survival at any cost is not what I stand for when my allies must perish for it. I need to win despite all odds. Victory will not come through diplomacy, however. Octave may have been willing to talk but it would have been to take me into custody and I know where it would have led. Executing a fellow Knight for any reason is punishable by death. I also renounced the Order publically, and those are aggravating factors. No, I will not put myself at their tender mercy. I will not surrender myself to anyone ever again. And that is why I am doomed by my principles, just as Jimena doomed herself with hers. A sad end to my tale. As I am considering my fate, the earth vibrates above, resonating with a spell meant to unearth. So, this is it. I allow the spell to pick me up and place a hand above my heart. The other grasps a knife at my back, for all the good it will do me. I expect the bite of silvery steel in my flesh. Somehow, it does not come. Instead, the spell weakens and my head is pulled up. I am very close to the surface now, and I can feel something that could bode well or terribly. The absence of sunlight. I sit up and let packed soil crumble from my form. A few moments and my face is free of anything but grime. I expected restraints or some form of attack, and so I am immensely relieved when I only feel one mage aura and a few mundane mortals around me. Nobody in their right mind would send those to capture a vampire. I am inside of a tent, a thick one designed to protect our kind. I see a few worried faces on surrounding men wearing the white, embroidered shirts that I saw in the Dvor base. Most of them stand as far away from me as they can. One of them, the mage, whispers a few words before pointing at a corner of the tent. Most of the men leave except a scared mortal and the mage. The isolated corner contains an open barrel of fresh water and a simple desk with a white towel and a letter. I understand the message and clean myself summarily. The towel is brown and dirty when I am done with it. I frown at my own slovenliness before I can stop myself. Now is not the time. The letter it is. S~?a??h the N?v?lFir?(.)n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. The missive goes off in a puff of blood magic. I turn to the mage and mortal just as the others return with an empty sarcophagus. ¡°You are the last one,¡± he says in German. ¡°How did you find me?¡± ¡°Disturbed earth, like a tomb. Same as the others.¡± By the Watcher this could prove problematic in the future. I must refine the spell. I accept the offer of blood given by the mortal. Afterward, I lie in the sarcophagus. I feel myself transported outside for a minute, perhaps, during which the unfamiliar weight of the sun on my last bastion fills me with unease, but nothing happens. I am hoisted, stored, and carried away by vigorous horses. We stop a few hours later, in the late afternoon, and I feel more movement. Someone knocks politely on the lid as soon as we are put down. I open my senses again and hear the whistle of a locomotive. Only one vampire aura shines by my side besides that of my companions. I recognize it. Carefully, I slide the lid open and see a wide back covered in black fabric. The man is currently knocking on Jimena¡¯s sarcophagus. We are inside a train car. I ask, recognizing the master with whom we traveled through the Vosges and who bashed Gabrielites with his mace. The dour conductor turns and gives me an uncharacteristic smile. He waggles his brows suggestively. he asks. The conductor smiles, obviously excited by the heavy-handed cloak and dagger. I let him strut away while Jimena emerges with difficulty from her protective case. Her fingers make the steel groan and she bares her teeth, checking the corners. She blinks. I ask. Phineas and Mannfred come out as well, but they quickly read the mood and decide to retire to the male quarters to clean themselves up. We are left alone in the storage carriage, between crates and other pieces of equipment. she says, staring into my soul, I raise a hand to forestall her objections. Jimena looks up and licks her lips with a nervousness that I had never seen before. I grab the fragile vampire and drag her to the nearest faucet. Words are cheap, and yet spelling out my decision lightened my worries. If they catch up, well, they catch up. Many of them have not yet seen what I can do with a gun, a sword, and a really bad temper. My influx of courage only lasts until we are cleaned and then settled down in the restaurant carriage. The train is empty, so empty in fact that I find no reason to justify its travel exactly at the desired moment exactly in the direction we are heading to unless someone made it happen. Someone with quite a bit of influence. I am starting to think that our new Dvor friends are more appreciative than I thought. Nevertheless, my nervousness is amplified by one stupid element, one that I had not anticipated. Hope. I verified with Crispin and we are set to arrive in Vienna two hours after midnight. We could stop before and cut across the fields to our destination. In any case, we will have more than enough time before dawn and it means that we could reach relative safety tonight. We could succeed. I expect that the presence of an unplanned train will be known to the Knights promptly, seeing as they have squads all over the place, yet it would mean that they are unable to deploy their full potential. Phineas said to the empty table. I assure him. My thoughts go to Jarek, who is struck with ennui if he spends three days without a fight. The others nod, and we return to silence. We know what happens if we get separated. Those who are left must run and try their best to survive. We also know how to fight, although we have three Vanguards and a middling Vestal. Furthermore, we have a lady. Not every squad can boast this sort of battle potential. I whisper to Jimena. For a moment, I hesitate to mention it before Mannfred and Phineas before realizing how unfair of me this consideration is. Those two renounced the Knights in the name of justice like we did. They deserve to know our full capabilities, even if I am taking a risk. The only thing I will withhold is our destination, and only because reaching it would be pointless without my presence. She takes a sheepish expression. I would laugh if it were not so tragic. Mannfred comments, It appears that our champion of justice tolerates no compromise. I should have guessed it. With nothing else to discuss, I start meditating and the others soon join me. An hour passes with the mundane sounds of the carriage soothing my nerves. Another. Clocks tick without incident as we leave behind elite squads of the Knights, hopefully for good. Vampires can outpace a train, but only for so long before burning their entire reserves of vitality. As time goes by, I allow myself to relax ever so slightly. For a while, nothing happens. Unfortunately, our respite comes to an end when Crispin enters the carriage and bows to us. Crispin is too giddy. He does not appreciate the gravity of the situation. I do not let it ruin my esteem of the brave man, however, since maintaining himself woefully ignorant of the situation will later allow him to claim ignorance when confronted. He is helping us in his own way, and I can hardly begrudge him his moment. We watch the man depart and prepare in silence. There is not much to do. We left with practically nothing and the train does not have any sort of military supplies. Finally, it stops and we exit cautiously. No one awaits us on the barebones platform. Only a sleepy hamlet lies in the distance and around us, rolling hills spread in every direction. We immediately disappear into a nearby thicket, then call upon our Nightmares. While Metis is displeased with the presence of another rider, she must have sensed my anxiety and merely whinnies in protestation. We are slower as a result of the unorthodox arrangement. We head east this time, and I must resort to a basic spell not to get lost. We still make good time and my hope increases until I feel it. It starts as a susurrus, barely more than wind through leaves, then it increases with every passing minute. Something whispers under the boughs, snakes along the roots. Something is spying on us. It may have lost us in the carriage, but now it has found us again. Phineas tells us. Clearly, his perception has improved. I consider several spells but whatever it is must have persisted through the night and I fear that its power is beyond me. I remain a second-rate caster, and whatever the Knights are using, I suspect that it may be a powerful artefact. Despite our best efforts, the whispers grow louder. Soon, I hear distinct words of excitement, eagerly speaking to¡­ someone else. They report the prey, us, and where we flee. They urge pursuers onward with promises of violence. Of blood. It maddens me because my best efforts could not slay it anymore than I could slay a musical note. We are pursued by echoes. Phineas asks from behind me. He is correct. We jump from our tired mounts and run instead, gaining speed at the cost of stamina. Our feet allow us to scale ridges and cut through the difficult terrain. We soon reach a slightly higher elevation, barely more than a hill, and I feel a gaze on the nape of my neck. I turn and I see them. The Knights have come. Octave is here, as well as Laestra and another lady I do not know. The last one holds a battle standard adorned with bloodhounds in russet colors. She is a tall, sharp woman with curly dark hair flowing freely to her shoulders. Our eyes meet and she smiles, baring fangs. A squad of masters follow them at a short distance. They all ride Nightmares. Octave blows a mighty horn and they are off and after us. Nightmares are slower than running vampires. I know this for a fact. Somehow, I turn again at another summit and they are closer. The wind¡¯s whispers grow frantic, eager. My gaze catches on the hound flag. It writhes in the darkness. And then, as the lady brandishes it, it topples. Something pulverized the entire midsection. I did not see what. The unexpected attack throws the Knights in disarray. I am not sure what or who interrupted them, and I am not eager to ask. Our flight continues. So do the whispers. We rush over empty valleys and light forests, never stopping, never slowing down. I have never felt more liberated and scared at the same time. When we crest another incline, I look behind to see that we have made some distance between us and our pursuers. I meet Octave¡¯s gaze just as he dismounts. Ah, so this will soon be the end of the line. We are really close now. So close that I can see the low mountains in the distance. Even the smell of sap and fresh water are just right, but I fear that our window of opportunity just vanished. As we pass by a small brook, I take out Rose to intercept a thrown knife. Phineas says, I reply, We sprint, every smidgen of energy dedicated to keeping us moving. I am not sure why Laestra is the first to engage. I suspect that the two other lords are simply not in a hurry. Glints of silvery steel and angry glares flicker from behind thickets, the only hints I receive before three inches of enchanted blade follow. By some miracle I manage to deflect all of them. I hear her say lightly from the shadows. The pressure of powerful auras increases on us. I feel the gaze of the lords on my back when we cross a field, but then there is another explosion and I hear the unknown woman swear. Mannfred asks. He shakes his head. Someone is helping us. A pleasant surprise. We are over fallow fields now, in open terrain. A village appears in the distance. Just a little bit more. I scream at Phineas as he falters. He grits his teeth and accelerates one last time. He will not last much longer. We pass some sort of boundary. I feel the invisible barrier, but I do not believe that anyone else has noticed. The sensation is too subtle. They do not have the proper essence. I tell the others. We stop and turn. Behind us, the three hostile lords slow down. Octave remains in the middle, with his close-cropped hair and heroically handsome face. He appears¡­ weary. Laestra the Shade looks furious while the last one, the unknown woman, merely shows eagerness. She smiles and bares fangs when I inspect her. Their auras smother ours despite my best efforts to flare my own. Those are three old and powerful fighters, while we have three Masters and a newborn lady. The odds are not against us. They do not exist. Victory is impossible. But just as Loth and Dalton taught me a long time ago, if all pieces are against you, flip the table. We just need to buy some time. Octave says. Jimena mutters. Jimena had arched her back, but that last jab woke something in her and she stands with dignity. He turns to me. I retort. I reply. Masters appear from behind him, the same who were pursuing us. A full squad. Possibly from Vienna. They stop at a respectable distance. the unknown lady says. Phineas bows elegantly, tipping an imaginary hat with a flourish. The valorous fool. I warn, but he shakes his head. Silence descends upon the flat land. We have been flaring auras for a minute or two now. I do not think that it will suffice. The Masters step back and form a half-circle behind the three old ones. I face Octave. Phineas joins Jimena against the third lady, Hilde, after a last nod at Mannfred who is now alone against Laestra. We draw. We salute. Octave lifts his fist and a long shape forms within. His soul weapon is a simple, unadorned sword with no markings, the most basic blade I have seen. It lets off an incredible pressure and I feel cold metal against my throat just looking at it. He points it at me. Everyone but Octave and I fade away. I find myself in a ghostly colosseum with shimmering blue walls. I can still see the others through the phantomatic apparition, though they look transparent and sounds reach me as if through water. Hilde and Jimena cross the surface like two wraiths. Octave says, arms extended, I remark, he admits with a bitter smile. I breathe deeply and let go of my worries. I shift my right foot in the illusory sand. I forget about my plans and my hopes and the others. I shed all of my concerns. I abandon my future. There is only the present. Only the killer facing me and the edge of his blade. We jump at each other. I slap his sword aside, or try to. The weapon is deceptively heavy and quite sharp too. A quick exchange, and we lock blades. I aim a few blood bolts at his leg. I disengage. I do not draw the Big Iron yet. I only have five bullets left from our previous battles. He charges again. I counter with a thrust, a series of lashes which he parries but then I feel more than see his stance shift and hit with all my strength. I push him back for an instant and create some distance again. Another assault results in a series of quick exchanges, following which I sidestep a thrust and back off. Octave says. He takes a step forward and holds his sword in a strange horizontal stance I have not seen before. He blinks once and breathes. My instincts scream at me. I throw myself back, vambraces aimed front and still feel an invisible slash dig through the armor into the flesh of my arms. I twist on myself to avoid the following bull rush, yet he still manages to punt me against the colosseum wall. The shimmering surface stops me. I somehow turn mid-air and kick it, meeting the follow-up head-on. Four chains erupt from my left arm. He steps back and cuts them down as they approach. I shoot him as his blade aims for the last one. Octave offers his side and blocks the first bullet with his armguard. The last chain latches on his arm. I pull and destabilize him just enough for the next bullet to lodge itself in his flank. There is very little blood. Octave¡¯s armor could slow down a soul blade. I should be flattered that he bleeds at all. I attack. I use the ¡®mirage¡¯ spell, the one that deceives with a false strike, to drive him back. Strike strike strike, and strike again. I try every trick I know to break his rhythm, to overwhelm his defenses. He takes a few steps back and fights conservatively. His movements are economical, measured. He never wastes a single motion. I hate it. I hate that my efforts make no difference in this fight. He simply waits me out. Octave weaves back and finally catches my blade as I attempt to rake his flank. I half-jump and half stumble to the side, hand on the cross of my gun knowing that it will not be enough, yet he does not strike me. He takes no risk. He has no need to. Blade to the side, he only has to use this opening to do that strange strike projection technique. I listen to my instincts. Left. Right. Right. I throw myself down and feel a few blonde hairs being cut off. I crash heavily, try to right myself and stumble. I gasp in pain. My gauntlet and gun are on the ground, to the side. Bastard took off my left arm at the elbow. HURTS. I stand anyway. I close the distance. He takes his time to dismantle my defenses. I am caught in the right thigh. I can barely move. No they are not, you asshole. And you still have both. I wait for death, but the unexpected happens. Hilde¡¯s ethereal form is thrown through the arena with something lodged in her gut. I recognize it. It is a massive arrow. Octave¡¯s Magna Arqa fades and he turns to face a new threat. I use the opportunity to take a look around. Mannfred is wounded but he still faces a frustrated Laestra. Broken knives lay at his feet. She holds a curiously curved shortsword in her hand. On the other side, Jimena and Phineas have fought Hilde to a standstill, with the Lancaster only showing superficial wounds. As expected, Svyatoslav emerges from the forest at our side. He holds a bow as tall as himself as well as a curious, silvery glove. A barrel is strapped to his back. Octave greets, The pair disappears just as my only sane brother flicks his wrist and three short arrows are suddenly nocked in his bow. They are wraiths to me, but the incoming squad is not. I clench my jaws to fight off the pain. Three of them engage me while the other two split up on the two other ¡®duels¡¯. I try to join Maffred to fight back to back but they manage to box me in before I can recover enough. I let a powerful axe blow slide against Rose and dive under a spear thrust. The bleeding flesh of my arm hits the ground and I hiss in agony. Not healing fast enough. No time to stop. I parry a sword attack and strike back. The axe wielder focuses on defense. I cannot overwhelm him. I am too tired. For almost a minute, we fight a losing battle and I only manage to escape death by the skin of my teeth. I cannot even use spells anymore. My combat turns into a two on one fight where I must constantly maneuver to prevent the third warrior from reaching me. I am left with no opportunity to disable an opponent. Mannfred breaks first. Laestra plants her blade in his shield arm and pulls. Black blood rains on the ground. It falls to his side, useless. In one smooth motion, she forces him to drop his sword. The three Knights pull back and leave me a moment to see my friend¡¯s death. Laestra seizes him by the throat and places her blade against his heart. she asks clearly in the moment of calm. I can do nothing but watch. he replies. Mannfred flicks his right wrist. A tiny revolver pops out from the sleeve. The one I made for him. He blows Laestra¡¯s brains out. The Shade trainer falls like a log. The Master helping Laestra jumps in shock, then moves to protect her body. He needn''t have bothered. Suddenly, Svyatoslav¡¯s unmoving form reappears at a distance, covered in wounds. Suddenly, Octave¡¯s blade is lodged in Mannfred¡¯s chest. The valiant warrior spares a glance at the soul weapon of earth¡¯s foremost duellist and smiles. The blade goes up, through his heart. Octave pulls and slices, decapitating him. Mannfred is ash before he can hit the ground. Octave salutes the body, and turns to me. And freezes. I can hear and feel it. The hooves of a massive Nightmare. An aura like no other. I turn as he approaches. I must look terrible, with the blood and the missing arm. I know that I brought death to his door. I know that his status as a soul smith may not protect him this time. I know that he loves me. I whisper. Torran does not reply. He raises a hand and I feel its weight settle on top of me. He is¡­ patting my head? Pat pat pat. Three times. I am speechless. The grey-haired and grey-eyed lord looks at me tenderly, then his gaze travels up to the intruders. His expression morphs to one of pure rage. He roars. A massive titan of steel and stone takes one step forward and his colossal sword catches the three masters harassing me at the same time. Their broken bodies are sent tumbling on the field. One of them dies on the spot. The earth rises. Roots crawl up only to turn ethereal. Now he and Octave are locked in battle. an amused voice whispers. I turn and block an attack from a vicious, barbed polearm. Hilde has left her second to finish off a flagging Jimena. She is defending the body of Phineas. He lost his heart. Jimena did not manage to trigger her power, it seems. She is struggling. The strength of the attack sends me careening through the air. I crash through the wall of a warehouse, now much closer than at the beginning of the fight. We have been pushed back to the edge of the village. I sit up and spit straw. It smells of beast and ripe wheat in here. Hilde follows me in. The whispers that pursued us grow louder. They speak of my gruesome, imminent death. The raw bloodthirst I feel all around me leaves me tracked, trapped. Surrounded. Suddenly, it stops. Hilde says. By shutting up to start with. She is still smiling. Her eyes are very dark and her wild curly hair flutters in an invisible wind. I reply as I try to regain some strength. I feel myself giving ground. So tired. she asks, amused. Hilde stabs half-heartedly with her halberd. It takes all my remaining strength to block most of those attacks, and the last jab still hits my shoulder. she mocks. Another backhand blow slams me against the far wall. I use it to stay upright. I dive under an arching strike and roll over a row of crates just before she reduces them to splinters. My vision turns purple. Roots as large as trees explode from all corners of the building, shredding everything like paper. The warehouse tilts into an abyss that was not there an instant before. And the world collapses. Chapter 156: Daughter of Thorn and Hunger In the interstitial gap between a moment and the other, in the cracks between two atoms, enough substance exists for the transcendental to crawl through. That is, provided that someone foolish showed it the way.What is space, what is time to one that exists before it? For some reason, the entity has chosen the image of a young man in a tan suit. He sits on¡­ nothing really, just a crenelation in the infinite vastness of a dot. His features remind me of my brother and father, like a long-lost sibling even though I have never met him. Except the eyes of course. Those are the eyes I know, slitted and purple. ¡°Why am I here?¡± No voice graces my illusory ears. The entity has no time to waste on converting concepts into sounds. ¡°You mean ladyship? Is that what awake is?¡± I understand what it means on a fundamental level. The last step on the path to ladyship requires me to interpret what my bloodline means to me. Now that I know with unwavering certainty, I am no longer limited to the constraints of my body. Essence is malleable, after all. Nevertheless, it does not explain why I am here, wherever here is. I think that a part of me was left behind. I feel no particular emotion now, while I do¡­ outside. ¡°Was there something you wanted to ask?¡± ¡°So it really is you. The Watcher.¡± ¡°I thought that much. I always wondered how an entity so large could care about something so small as us.¡± ¡°Is the Watcher not a nascent universe, and therefore impossibly vast?¡± ¡°I fail to understand how it can be of importance.¡± ¡°My mind is too addled to follow your reasoning, huh?¡± Suddenly, my consciousness¡­ melts. I find myself carried away across fields of alien logic that I cannot word, along streams of concepts I cannot grasp. I am limited to an infinitely small window into the workings of the Watcher, as if peering through a needle¡¯s eye, and yet what I see defies understanding at a level that I would be frankly unable to explain. I do not have a suitable vocabulary in the same way that a savage who has lived all their life on a deserted tropical island cannot comprehend an aurora borealis. The vision fades away after a few non-seconds. What I saw disappears from my mind as if it were a sieve, for my own sanity I suppose. The only thing left is a vague awareness of something greater. The strange apparition smiles. ¡°What happens to me when I die?¡± ¡°Will I lose myself? Will I stop being me?¡± It annoys me how it can read my emotions directly. Oh well. ¡°What is really a Magna Arqa then? Are you, or the Watcher in its entirety coming through or something?¡± ¡°I see. One last question then I will head back. I have people to save and people to kill. Are you aware that the first vampire you made may lead to the destruction of our kind?¡± I get a feeling of general distance. The is interested in us but not interested in acting. No matter the outcome, it will have gained something. I open my eyes and pure, incandescent power roars through my veins. The world is essence and it is perfect. Every sliver of worm-eaten wood, every rusty nail, every corroded tool sits exactly where it was intended. The whole of creation exists in a sublime state around my expanding perception, in this glorious moment where I finally, finally understand my soul. I allow it to naturally form a sphere around me where the rules of physics are mere suggestions, and I luxuriate in an incredible feeling of liberation. I have spent months, years, being hampered and limited, my aura buckling like an unruly colt while still forming the core of my being. I understand now that it was merely trying to bloom, to become what I am deep inside. All that energy I lost sleeping earlier and drinking more was only stored and saved for this exact moment when I had to break the shell. For now. And it has. And it is glorious beyond compare. A yoke has been removed from my shoulder. The shackles are broken. I am free. I. Am. The sphere is mine, it belongs to me. The thorny roots of my mental palace manifest here as easily as they do in my psyche as the frontier blurs and the delicious light of the Watcher¡¯s gaze shine upon my world. The warehouse falls in the abyss, for what is height in my realm? It crashes against thickets of massive brambles, its debris spreading over volcanic sand. The roots coil and lash at my command because they are a part of me, and they are me, and I am, right now, without limit. Only one little thing holds me back, and it left droplets of blood when it landed. I can taste the barest hint of Erenwald. I will devour her. A suitable first snack. There she is. Scurrying like a rodent. I direct my defenses at her and she barely manages to outpace them. The tendrils are so fast because they are barely slower than the speed of my mind. Even she struggles when they lash at her, corner her, box her in. We are in my playground. I know where everything is to the last atom. There will be no running away. The same wind, the same killing intent, but this time I can smell it in the air, this insidious little cloud of wraiths. This time, I have the tools. There is nothing in this world the roots cannot shred given time. Wind splits between the black spines with a wintery shriek. The whispers grow panicked. They hurt. She hurts. She screams. The little pitter-patter of foreign feet, so nice and rhythmical. The Roots rise like a tide to crash down and form a dome. She fights back with her polearm. She destroys a root. I reform it immediately. My energy is infinite for now. Rose passes through a barrage unimpeded. I taste essence. More screams. The roots part like a curtain in a small arena. We are in a tube that goes from obsidian sand to the infinite height of the Watcher. I can do arenas too. Mine stings more. Rose smashes into her guard once, twice, I move around and under her strike and kick her, sending her stumbling. Cannot claw. Still missing an arm. That will not do. Essence flows and calls flesh because flesh follows it. I have an arm again. The claws find the woman¡¯s face and draw three deep furrows on her sneer. She pushes me away and I stab her in the arm as we disengage. Roots slither around her ankles and she is forced to slam her halberd down. I rake her leg using the opening. She is hampered by the size of her weapon. No. I am faster than her. ¡°HSSSS!¡± We lock blades and I ram her into a nearby wall, which twists as I designed. She screams when the thorns shred her back through her armor. The spines are so very destructive. Her enchanted armor disintegrates under the onslaught. She tries to claw me. I grab her wrist and shatter it, then I slam her into the ground. Oh, she struggles pleasantly, yet all her efforts are in vain. I outclass her in every respect. This was not a duel. It was not even a test of my limits, no. This was merely a punishment. I do not commit her mistake and indulge in silly games. The lover is in peril. I have no time to lose. Hilde tastes of cruel hunts and shallow pleasures. Her essence bolsters mine, although I can barely feel a difference. I leave the ash behind and walk through parting layers of thorns and to the limit of my domain, except, that is not quite correct. The domain moves around me. Branches form a tunnel to the clearing where we held our desperate battle. I vaguely remember that we fell a hundred feet down. It seems that my Magna Arqa considers this a pointless detail. I rush forward and feel an exhausted Jimena at the edge of my perception, still covering Phineas¡¯ prostrate form and now Svyatoslav¡¯s too, though my brother is recovering. The enemy masters have left and apparently taken Laestra with them. Only Octave remains of our foes. Manffred¡¯s ashes lay where he fell with his precious gun discarded in the dust. Sand replaces grass where I walk. I refrain from growing trees to allow me a better sight of the arena where Torran and Octave still duel. I search with a fearful heart for their phantomatic shapes and find them without difficulty. Torran is now the size of three men. Octave runs on one of his immaterial walls to avoid a strike, in vain. The soul blade extends at the last moment and still catches him in an armored greave. The Knight successfully bounces down on the ground and back up before awakened stones can pelt him to mush. Right into Torran¡¯s stone covered fist. The avatar roars and the Knight¡¯s domain trembles. I am so strong now, so whole. I will help the lover. He is worth it. Domain against domain, old one. Let us see if yours is as resilient as you believe. I trot to the middle of the arena and ignore the wraiths caught in their deadly dance. I can taste a presence in the air. Octave¡¯s essence removes him from the world to live his passion as a duelist. He exists completely elsewhere while I exist in between. We overlap. I smile and allow the roots to tear through the earth. They latch onto the phantasmagoric walls languishly. They take their time. Soon, an entire half of the ghost colosseum is covered in a cocoon of spindly death. They latch on. They bleed through. The colosseum becomes solid under our unwavering will. Octave¡¯s ghost gasps and wavers. Our eyes meet, a gaze separated by a different space. I cannot help it. I smile and snap my fingers. The thorns shift on themselves like cobras. They rip the construct to ethereal shreds. Octave and Torran¡¯s colossus appear before me. Octave is absolutely shocked. I LOVE it. Torran strikes downward, I strike laterally. Octave is forced to block both and loses his balance but he manages to push himself off the debris before we capitalize on it. Slippery slippery. Torran and I coordinate without a word. Octave is now fully on the defensive and we harry him back. I manage to score a few strikes on his formidable armor, denting it. Three domains now compete with each other and I can barely form a few walls of thorn, but then there is a lull in the battle. Torran¡¯s avatar form walks by my side and places an oversized hand on my shoulder. There is a rumble and an invitation felt rather than heard. He is opening himself to me and I, in return, open myself to him. There is no hesitation. There never was any doubt. The sand and stones shift from my control to his while the trees and roots are fully mine. Our combined domains subsume the last spectral walls. We are so unthinkably powerful that we could give even my sire pause. Octave realizes it immediately. He picks a vial from a chest harness and downs it. His flagging aura rekindles. We face each other across the fields. The colosseum reforms behind him and prevents my roots from piercing the earth, but it breaks halfway under the power of our combined strength. he remarks. I retort, and then with a lick of my lips, Octave hisses in fury, showing anger for the first time. He charges us and we charge back. Gone is his restraint and his patient combat style. He is now a tornado of perfect, vicious strikes. And so are we. Thorns cling to every step he takes while rocks smash in his chin, disturbing his perfect balance. It will take more than that to pierce through his amazing armor, and this is where we come in. Torran takes the lead, an unyielding, unstoppable titan of war. He has shed half of his armor to increase his speed. His style is as straightforward as I remember. Torran advances and overwhelms, only stopping to strike harder on the next step. As for me, I let my lover take the brunt of the assault and slide in and around, sending vicious thrusts and wild, sweeping strikes at the beleaguered Knight. Our dance is, without a doubt, the deadliest on earth tonight. Purple light shines down upon us while our concepts battle for supremacy. A part of me revels in this fight to the death where two mistakes in a row spell death, a waltz on the edge of the razor. Thousands of hours of battle experience together with skill and grueling training all led to this very moment. I slice twice with Rose, both attacks blocked, then lean back to avoid a counter and rake his armor at the knee because I knew that a stone would slightly displace it from his position on a level I cannot quite explain. Torran makes full use of the opening to attack the chest and forces Octave to block awkwardly. He is now on the backfoot. Another part of me marvels at my new physical abilities. Octave¡¯s Magna Arqa enhances him when he is outmatched and I still manage to keep up. I rush through the air. I deflect blows that would have sent me reeling. Is this how it feels to be at the top? The sensory ecstasy of fighting a monster to a standstill? Of winning? The rarefied heights of the world hold such intoxicating scents and I dive into this fight with the pure, unadulterated joy of being alive despite someone¡¯s best efforts. We breach through Octave¡¯s armor in the next exchange. Torran¡¯s massive blade cleaves into his chest on the right side and I use the opening to stab him under the left shoulder. He tastes like frail perfection. The roots smell the blood in the air and grow ever faster to box Octave in. I direct the closest one, but others act without prompt or perhaps I direct them subconsciously. Octave blurs. In a series of blinding movements, he pushes me off and lunges at Torran, somehow weaving between several strikes. His sword pierces through the stone-covered chest at heart level. Torran backhands him and sends the hostile lord tumbling. I almost stop there. HILARIOUS. Of course, Torran¡¯s real body would not perfectly align, was it not obvious? The Knight falls back and tries to attack me instead, but we know each other so well by this stage. I can get into his rhythm and delay, escape, deflect. Meanwhile, it is unwise to neglect Torran. The furious Dvor takes a few step backs, then charges forward like an avalanche, complete with flowing rocks. Octave is forced to jump to the side. Meanwhile, I have found something of interest on the ground. My discarded gauntlet. I pick it up and fasten it in mere moments. It appears undamaged, somehow, and the glyphs light up in my mind. Octave sees me and I spare him yet another smile. He jumps away, outside of the limit of Torran¡¯s land. He surveys the devastation. he whispers in a broken voice. Suddenly, a third vampire joins Torran and I. Jimena answers with bone-deep weariness. She lifts her sword. Octave hisses. Bloody trails drip down his smooth cheeks. He touches a glyph on his mighty armor and his form blurs. It disappears, as does his aura. Jimena waves her sword around. ¡°ROAAAAR!¡± Torran sheds his armor and screams in triumph. I join him with a gleeful hiss. We have done it! We have won against the Knights! They will remember this day to the end of times! The ecstasy of battle fades as it becomes clear that Octave has left for good. My essence retracts somewhat, although it still bubbles eagerly. We are alone. Phineas still lies prone. Svyatolsav has already rebuilt his damaged heart and moves to join us. Mannfred is dead. He fell against an overwhelming enemy after disabling a lady, a fitting end for one so dedicated to martial prowess. He fought by our side to the very end. I will mourn his passing. Somehow, having the Knights remember me forever does not seem like such a glorious prospect anymore. The thorn roots burrow under the earth, which settles down. My Magna Arqa fades now that its purpose was fulfilled. I can still awaken it, should I see fit to do so. I do not. I feel a bit empty with the last of my passion leaving me. Jimena asks half-heartedly. Torran replies calmly. Svyatoslav answers with a shake of his head. Torran says. He departs without a word and we decide to do the same. We are only delayed because I ask for a container for Mannfred¡¯s ashes. I did not get to recover Lars¡¯ remains myself and Kurshu was left unburied in our flight. I will not leave this man behind. I also pick up his armor, but Phineas asks for his gun. One day I will be shot by a vampire and I shall be extremely sore about it. We call on our Nightmares. Metis tramples the ground in excitement at my new power, but she grows more subdued when she feels my mood. I wonder if my despondency stems from fatigue or if it is a backlash of using Magna Arqa for the first time. In any case, we follow Torran in silence through deserted streets and empty fields, then up the mountain to his idyllic retreat. The castle is just as vertiginous and story-like as I remember. ¡°Lift the drawbridge,¡± Torran orders when we stop in the inner courtyard, ¡°we may have company.¡± ¡°Understood, milord.¡± I would love to be able to get home and order a minion to lift the drawbridge and arm the cannons. I now have a new life goal. My lover¡¯s gipsy Servant emerges from his private quarters. They exchange a few words. Jimena leaves with Phineas to their personal quarters. My sister gives me one last worried glance before leaving. Yes. Well. I look up to Torran¡¯s impassible face. Torran grabs me and places me over his shoulder not too gently. I am now looking at his back while my legs wiggle uselessly against his chest. He starts walking. We are in his bedroom. a low, rumbling voice says. Torran dumps me on the bed, then he rips his shirt open. I am not used to the caveman version of Torran but I do believe that I shall grow fond of it. I open my eyes the next night to a terrible, terrible feeling. Vampires do not normally wake so much as reach full consciousness in an instant. Tonight is different. I remember when I was fifteen and I wanted to try one of papa¡¯s cigars on a bet. It had been the vilest thing I had ever tasted, and I was so desperate to remove the stench from my tongue that I had downed a glass of liquor the way I had seen adults do. It was apple liquor. The sight of apples made me nauseous for the next three months. This is worse. Suffice to say, I would throw up if I physically could. ¡°Urrrrrrggg.¡± S?a?ch* Th? n0v?l(?)ire.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. URRRRRG. ¡°...¡± ¡°...¡± Torran chuckles. Then he does something with his cold hands on my neck and I feel much better. I let him work in silence for a while and cannot help but wonder. I would be mad that Torran did not ask for my input, were I not mature enough to realize that his decision was the right one. I must evacuate with my allies as soon as possible. Torran merely chuckles a bit. The top of the world does not feel like much in the following days. Perhaps altitude-wise we are somewhat high? It certainly does not translate into anything concrete. I am kept aware of the evolution of our situation by a very open Torran, who informs me that the Knights have preferred to retreat rather than push their case. It appears that even they know that the Dvor will not relinquish Torran and that Torran will not relinquish me. His reputation as an intractable fighter is well-established. During our stay, Phineas dedicates himself to learning how to shoot with unexpected fervor and I am more than happy to assist in my free time. Jimena remains a fidgety little fusspot until her and lover Aintza joins us, following which she is much more relaxed. We try to train our respective Magna Arqa, however it soon turns out that she is physically unable to trigger hers on me, even after I stole her favorite pair of socks. She must truly believe the offender guilty in order to fight. I do not have such compunction, and I experiment on mine with Torran¡¯s help after recovering for a few days. As I observed, my Magna Arqa creates a sphere almost a hundred yards across. Within its confines, I can feel other people¡¯s presence even when they hide through magical means. Meanwhile obstacles like walls and boulders only remain if I allow them. Elevation and direction do not appear to matter much either and I can climb to sets of stairs by walking on a flat surface. Paradoxically, the sphere moves with me if I will it or if I leave its limits. I do not understand how this works. The last interesting element is that objects like furniture or even trees can disappear when the sphere expands, but reappear afterward. As for the roots, I can summon them at will. They are very similar to my mental palace defenses in the way they move and act. Other roots always appear and act without my prompt, especially at the edge of the sphere, although I can take control of them directly if I focus. As for my control, it will take some time before I regain the instinctive feeling I had on the first night. Torran assures me that this is perfectly normal and that Magna Arqa grow in power with their wielders. I ask him about ¡®domains¡¯, as mentioned by Hilde. Torran goes on to explain that there are several ¡®types¡¯ of Magna Arqa. Strike powers allow the user to launch a specific attack or effect. Jimena can select a target and gain advantage against them, including the ability to track them through their bonds. Suarez can cut anything in front of him at a distance. Those are considered to be ¡®strike¡¯ Magna Arqa. The next type is ¡®avatar¡¯ Magna Arqa which allows the user to take on another form. One of the masters we fought could turn liquid, and Jarek increases in size. They both belong to that category. There are ¡®exotic¡¯ Magna Arqa such as those that relate to the control of humans. Finally, the last category are the domains. Mine falls squarely in that category. Torran has a hybrid domain and avatar Magna Arqa. He mentions that they are arguably the most useful in an all-out battle. They also tend to be very powerful. After spending twenty minutes explaining those differences, he reminds me that using categories is a pointless exercise, a remnant of our human tendency to organize things into neat boxes. We do not speak of it, but we both know that what matters is the strength of the concept behind the power. And indeed, even with Jimena, I feel no need to mention the curious encounter with the Watcher¡¯s shadow of a shadow. Merely thinking about it fills me with unease and a deep sense of reverence. I would never consider sharing the details willingly. The following three weeks pass without incident. I make sure to enjoy Torran¡¯s attentions and I show him, and only him, my ability to make adjustments to my body. He is quite pleased. Eventually, all good things must come to an end. Viktoriya joins us and we depart the castle using an unexpected cover. I now realize what Torran had meant when he mentioned being ¡®discreet¡¯ when I spot a convoy of carts covered in beautiful, handmade decorations handled by people dressed in garish color. It is a gipsy caravan. I ask. I give a few other demonstrations on our way south, then we split up from the amused mortals to board the Vienna-Trieste Austrian Southern Railway. We arrive at the Italian port city the very same night. Trieste has to be one of the most pleasant places I have ever visited. The city extends, majestic, along the Adriatic Sea. The blockish buildings with a myriad of windows show both Viennese and Venetian influence. I regret bitterly that we cannot take more time to explore, alas, I am informed that the City Master is displeased at our cavalier arrival and we must away while Torran appeases him with a diplomatic gesture. I leave my lover on the and resist the enticing smell of coffee permeating the place even at this late hour. Torran immediately shows that it was a lie by kissing me passionately in public and drawing a few appreciative comments from Viktoriya and a nearby group of students. I call him an uncouth vandal to his back and leave for the waterfront. We find our ship with great ease. No sooner do we approach the powerful ironclad steamship with its predatory, sharp design that we are spotted by a sentinel. He signals inside and a man walks down the gangplank, a man with a scar and a deep air of paranoia. Loth¡¯s bodyguard. He is practically shoved aside by my friend¡¯s massive shape. ¡°Ariane, ye terror!¡± I forget all proprieties and jump into his arm. He twirls me around like a child before planting me back on the pavement. ¡°It is so good to see you, Loth! But how? I never thought you would be the one to come!¡± ¡°What are ye blabberin¡¯ about? I¡¯m here on official business! On a diplomatic mission to allied vampire bigwigs of the, wait which one was it?¡± ¡°The Eneru faction,¡± his bodyguard grumbles. ¡°Thaaaat¡¯s the one. Hey, Skjoll, get that stick out of yer ass. Who would attack us here aye? With three battle ladies present?¡± ¡°I would rather not find out, my liege.¡± ¡°Pffft. Anyway, I¡¯ll be the one to pick you up and drag ye back to whence ye came. I must have words with Constantine, aye? I hope the old chap has made some exciting progress with his war golems!¡± ¡°What his majesty means is that he will address the issue of the long-term safety of the local Dvergur population as well as commercial points of interests.¡± Loth rolls his eyes. ¡°Yadda yadda we¡¯ll handle that shite in an afternoon and then talk about sending weapons to kill people by themselves. Right! So I hear ye were in a bit of a tussle? Hah, count on the American vampire to start a revolution!¡± ¡°I assure you,¡± I reply, somewhat miffed, ¡°this was purely accidental.¡± Loth stares with open disbelief. ¡°Ya mean to say that ye have no problems with authority whatsoever?¡± How unfair! I am perfectly capable of following orders, especially if I agree with them! ¡°Ya mean to say,¡± Loth continues without waiting, ¡°that Constantine did not send me that long and rambling letter asking me how to handle you.¡± I gape while Jimena displays a suspicious lack of reaction. ¡°He did no such thing,¡± I affirm. ¡°He very much did. I wonder if he took my advice? I told the lad to get off yer case and distract you with explodey stuff. It worked for me!¡± I huff. Constantine merely sought my cooperation on various projects including offensive spells and war golems, not uhhhh. Wait a minute. Waaaait a minute. ¡°So he did listen. Smart lad.¡± ¡°Oi! I am not so predictable. Right, Jimena?¡± ¡°Of course not, dear sister.¡± ¡°See! See!¡± ¡°Only when it comes to music, painting, project management, engineering, and large scale warfare. Oh, and raunchy novels.¡± ¡°Arg! Traitor!¡± ¡°So ye¡¯re unpredictable aye? A shame, and here I was sure that my gift would make ye happy.¡± All negative emotions melt like snow under the sun. ¡°Oooh a gift? What gift? Is it a weapon?¡± I am not bouncing. A group of four burly Dvergur bring a massive metal crate and deposit it on the ground with visible effort. An intricate pattern of runes cover its flank, most of them isolation runes, and despite this, I can still feel a comfortable cold seeping from the cracks. ¡°Quite the contrary, lass. The Ice Palace you got us in that stupid wager had the mother lode of interesting materials. Now ye¡¯ll see what the King of Skoragg clan can accomplish with top tier tools and materials. Ariane, get a gander at yer new armor. I named it ¡®the Aurora¡¯. Ye¡¯re gonna like it.¡± Chapter 157: While the cat’s away. The crate containing my armor now lies on Trieste¡¯s deserted docks, hidden from view by rows of barrels and other supplies. It only takes me a moment to realize that the box is unnaturally cold and also that the metal exterior is, in fact, a containment field. I mention it to Loth who nods with pride.¡°Oh aye, it is as ye say. Below the mountain, we found a place that used ta be a magma chamber. Once, it had been connected to the surface by a chimney, but that one had closed eons ago. When we first excavated the place the miners had to use special equipment against the cold. It got so bad that we considered giving up and containing it instead, but we persevered and found ice.¡± ¡°Ice?¡± ¡°Black ice as cold as the void and as hard as diamond. Even explosives could nae put a dent in it. I had to use a special heated wire to cut through a single block. We also realized that it was too heavy and freezing to be used in anything we could think of except¡­¡± And he smiles. ¡°The armor of a vampire lady. And here ye be, all fresh from the mold or whatever ye cold ones use. It took me six months ta cut all the pieces and engrave them. I have inlaid them with obsidian glyphs ground to shape over weeks of effort. The links and nails are enchanted electrum left to bask in the moonlight at the heart of the Skandes. It weighs over two hundred and fifty kilograms, would kill any human on touch, would stop a cannonball without cracking, and contains enough enchantments to make a battle golem. It is¡­ the perfect armor.¡± ¡°Loth, did you truly make such a thing?¡± ¡°Aye, lass, ah did. Maybe you will fall in battle one day, but it won¡¯t be because of the armor that¡¯s for sure. Enough preliminaries aye? Open it.¡± I plant myself in front of the box and pull on the chained ring I see. All four sides disengage with a clang. They unfold like a midnight rose to reveal the undeniable proof that Loth is a mad artist, and that he is also the greatest armorer the world has ever seen. Both Phineas and I cannot help but widen our eyes before the wonder in front of us, just as the mortals take an instinctive step back at the sudden chill in the air. While the protection I lost was a dress of exquisite make, this one is a deadly plate of polar death as elegant as it is intimidating. This is an armor fit for an immortal on the warpath. If the devil crawled out of hell to lead his unending horde, he would be wearing its male counterpart. My previous battle dress could pass as real cloth from afar. No one with a functional eye and a bit of sense could gaze upon this lethal perfection and think that it is anything else but a tool of slaughter. Plates of black ice interlock gracefully in a narrow skirt over greaves. The chest is made from a single slab while delicate scale-like fragments cover the stomach and articulations. The right gauntlet is a sophisticated masterpiece barely larger than a glove while the left one shows an integrated spellcasting system and knuckles designed to knock down a castle wall. There are pauldrons as well, barbaric things covered in destructive enchantments so that blocking with them would destroy even a solid steel weapon. The helmet is specifically designed to cover most of my head while still giving me full range of movement. A mask in the likeness of my face in silvery metal leaves the eyes and mouth free so that I may bite down mid-battle. The rest, up to my chin, is protected by a heavily enchanted mesh of interlocking small mail over a respectable gorget. It will take a colossal force to behead me. The gorget is even designed to stop blades neatly instead of pushing a potential blade up and into my face. It was designed with me in mind from the ground up. Every plate, every part of the armor shows intricate engravings of black on black where obsidian comes to enchant the eternal heart of winter and the chill I feel in my vein takes on a magical quality. I place my hand against the familiar sigil adorning its chest, now smaller to give room to a dense lattice of fire and shock-repelling enchantments. The cold caresses me and my essence. I remember that moment of breath-taking beauty when I got lost in Semiramis¡¯ maze years ago and ended up near a pole. They share the same lethal and untouchable beauty. ¡°Loth¡­¡± ¡°Lass, I present to you the Aurora. The crown jewel of my collection and the hardiest armor ever to come out of Dvergur hands. I must also apologize. I wish you could give it a try here.¡± It pains me to admit it but he is correct. We do not have the time for me to change and find not just a suitable partner, but a proper battlefield as well. I shall have to ¡®christen¡¯ the armor at a later date, and what a shame it is. I know exactly what Loth was thinking when he created this masterpiece. This is the armor to end all armors. If I wear this and face my sire, I will be able to deflect a few hits. In fact, the Aurora must be one of the only armors on the planet that could give him pause. Loth knows this. That is why he gifts it to me now. He is preparing for the end long before it can happen, just as I would expect from someone who was alive when the vikings started their first raids. ¡°Loth, thank you. There are no words.¡± ¡°You can try a few superlatives and see how they feel, aye?¡± I do not roll my eyes this time. Instead, I give him a proper bow. ¡°It is cold perfection given form.¡± ¡°Not bad. Now, ya know who I had in mind when I made it, besides ya.¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°But disnae forget to give it a whirl beforehand aye?¡± ¡°Oh, Loth. With the way my life is going, I will be wearing it three weeks into getting home.¡± We board soon after and leave before dawn. Loth¡¯s ship sails smoothly across the Adriatic and I busy myself getting up to speed with the fallout from our little rebellion, as Loth affectionately calls it. It appears that the image of the Knights has taken a serious blow and several agreements are being renegotiated, but there are no significant changes in terms of allowing Knights access. Vampires are pragmatic and Knights are too useful to be simply discarded. Indeed, their continued existence proves that they fill a necessary role. Nevertheless, the Knights organize a massive conclave, the results of which I do not know. Perhaps they will implement new rules to make sure that corruption and self-interest no longer taints their organization? I wish them the best of luck, but it will not erase this offense and it will certainly not bring Mannfred back. I wash my hands of their entire organization. If they come after me in America, I will kill them with pleasure. Crossing the Altantlic with Loth proves more interesting than my usual fare. The Skoragg sovereign naturally brought enough tools to pass the time, and we work on design improvements for an interesting innovation called the Gatling gun. In particular, we consider ways to make it portable and practical but fail to achieve a definitive result in the time it takes to reach Boston. Phineas grows melancholic despite my best efforts, until Loth finds an unexpected source of amusement for the Lancaster: financial records. It appears that my newest ally hunts mistakes and anomalies with more fervor than rogues and undead mages, not that I blame him. Jimena worries until she is assured that her lover is secured and on her way to the New World as well. Interestingly, she is less affected than I feared. Her absolute confidence that she made the right choice to leave means that she is not harassed by regrets, not that our kind much suffers from this unfortunate tendency. I also expect some sort of attack, but apparently even the most foolish of privateers would think twice before attacking a warship. We moor in Boston¡¯s harbor three weeks later, having made good time. We are welcomed with a ceremony by Constantine and Sephare since Loth is technically a foreign head of state. The fortress¡¯ security has been improved once more and the dense woods surrounding the lone castle now host a few new hamlets, all inhabited by retainers loyal to the cause. Sephare takes me aside while Phineas goes through the induction process. The delicate blonde lady sits me down in her opulent room for some tea. I now realize how much I changed in those past two years through the telling mirror of her reaction. Viktoriya and Torran took my side the moment we came across each other, because the bounds that tie us go beyond that of mere allies. As such, my ascension to the rank of lady received their unconditional approval. Sephare and I have always been allies of circumstances, however. Now that my essence rivals her own in power and my control has reached new heights, I can see that she is a bit at a loss. It will take an aura master to read mine now, thanks to Svyatolsav¡¯s tireless teachings. Perhaps one day I will manage to mask my presence as completely as Malakim does. she starts with a fake smile. An empty remark designed to probe my intentions. I could play subtle games with her if I could spare the patience. I know that some newly ascended lords and ladies tend to settle grudges and remove yokes. What she fails to understand is that I joined her faction fully knowing that she was a snake whose interests aligned with my own by sheer luck. Nobody compelled me. I realize that she is judging me according to her own standards. No matter how much time we spend together, she cannot fully believe that I could work towards common good out of my own volition, even after I demonstrated it, because she is a mercenary at heart. Nothing has changed, I am still on your side. Now empty your bag, you duplicitous flaxen-haired knot of vipers. I scoff. she retorts. Wait. Wait. Hold on. This sounds awfully familiar. I check the name. Simon Nead. Sinead. Of course. Oh. Jimena chooses to stay behind as she decides to wait for Aintza, which I encourage her to do despite her worries. She must decide what to do next. Phineas¡¯ induction into the Accords is done by the end of the night thanks to my benevolent influence. By vouching for him, and because Constantine is aware of his circumstances, he is cleared to join. It really helps to be friends with the boss on occasion. It also helps that I fulminate so much that Constantine mentions the carpet catching fire. We are going to Illinois immediately. I will not tolerate little ROACHES ON MY TERRITORY. When the cat is away, the mice come, is it? I will find them and I will make an example out of them. Theirs will be a cautionary tale. Whoever they are, they made a big mistake. Vadim, who possesses the unusual ability to transport us through the realm of the Nightmares, refuses to help me get to my territory faster citing that it is only for emergencies and some such nonsense. The gall! Would he not consider it urgent if he had ants in his sarcophagus? How is this any different! Ug! I am forced to take a mortal train that travels by day, thus being carried around like a vulgar piece of luggage. We stop before Chicago and I rush through the wilderness on Metis while leaving Phineas with the gear. I cross the boundary to my territory and feel more¡­ alive. My perception extends and I feel my intuition grow keener, as does a deep sensation of wrongness. I am under attack. There are assailants on my territory. I must DEFEND THE DEN. Alright, enough Ari. I must first understand what is happening. Metis carries me through fields I know, some of which now host houses instead. Parts of the plains are now fields, and the forest has receded. Progress has not stopped while I was away, it would seem. I keep going at a slower pace now and hide my features under a cloak. I wear a spare armored dress I had left in Boston. My compound looks intact, it seems. Nothing much has changed. Two guards salute me nervously when I enter the administrative building and make my way to Merritt¡¯s office. I stop at the door and took a deep breath. There are two auras inside. One belongs to Merritt and the other is strangely familiar, although I do not recognize it. My second-in-command shows clear signs of fear and anxiety. That will not do. I must not judge her for failing her mission before I understand exactly what happened. They have held the fort while I was away, arguably on a personal quest. I must exert restraint. I politely knock and one of my oldest allies invites me in. Merritt is seventy-three. It had not occurred to me until now because she is quite a powerful witch and age only has a limited grasp on her body, but her hair is mostly grey now and there are crow feet besides her keen eyes. She wears a conservative dress in green that compliments her sprite body. She currently sits with a straight spine as if preparing for an onslaught. The second person lounges against a nearby cupboard with affected nonchalance. I would be more impressed if her aura did not flicker and if the room did not smell of nervous sweat. I recognize Lynn, Merritt¡¯s daughter. I am quite surprised since she was last married to some rich gentleman in the east. I had not quite realized how powerful I have become since ascending, and not just in terms of pure physical abilities. I can sense others effortlessly. Even my control has improved since my essence is now more malleable. I have not yet tried to cast spells, but I suspect that they may be more potent now. More importantly, others can feel it too. I may no longer let go of my aura under any circumstances. S?a??h th? ?ov?l?ir?.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. ¡°Good evening, Merritt. It is good to see you again.¡± ¡°My God, Ariane, is that really you? You are so cold. I felt you since you were outside of the building.¡± ¡°I have resolved my aura problem.¡± ¡°You have?¡± ¡°Yes, I am a lady now.¡± ¡°Hmmm. Congratulations?¡± She is afraid. Her reaction does not hurt me, however it reminds me that I must behave. ¡°Alexandria Merritt, it is me, Ariane.¡± She flushes and frowns, ready to scold me for using her first name, which she dislikes. I give her a small smirk to let her know that I got her and anger dissolves into tired amusement. My antics earn me a vague snort. She lowers her guard. I have accomplished my goal. Terror was making her a bit tempting and I promised myself that I would not feed on my allies. ¡°Yes, sorry. Your appearance is the same, and so is your terrible sense of humor it would seem.¡± ¡°I assure you, I am fully myself and in control. Now, I have heard alarming reports and I would like a situation report, if that is fine with you.¡± ¡°Yes. Yes, of course. I have it here.¡± She picks up a bundle of paper from her desk. ¡°But before we begin, I would like to inform you that I am¡­ in the process of stepping down as the manager of your interests in Marquette.¡± Her heartbeat increases and she stutters a bit. ¡°Not that I was mistreated or offered a better alternative. I am just¡­ tired. I have been at this for thirty years, Ariane. Thirty years. I need a change of scenery.¡± ¡°I understand.¡± She blinks and turns to Lynn briefly as if to verify that she had not dreamed my words. ¡°You¡­ you do?¡± For a moment, I consider dismissing the entire conversation to focus on the intruders. My instincts roar at me to go out and kill but I smother them, for now. Merritt is important. I accepted it years ago when she went out of her way to help me defeat the Herald. She is¡­ the sort of character I want to see by my side. Honorable. hard-working. Effective. She is her own person with her own take on things and I need individuals like her to reach the top because the Watcher knows that I am not perfect. My sort of conquest requires generals by my side. She is, well, was, one of them. I owe her an explanation, I think. ¡°Believe it or not¡­ you are the third mage I will lose.¡± She seems stupefied. I imagine that she expected another type of reaction. ¡°The first was Nashoba. I lost him to a wasting disease. He was a shaman of a proud nation called the Choctaw and he could see the future. He taught me much about choosing one¡¯s battles, about working on what one could change. He was also someone who knew when the cost of something was too high. ¡°The second was Frost. He died after using all his power to push back the Scourge Hive and save the lives of countless men. He was the first and so far only person I offered to change. He refused, of course. They died but some others, like Sheridan, left because they had turned a page and were ready to see what else life had to offer to them. ¡°I understand that I do not age. I understand that you do and that you will not always be by my side. I need mortals to remind me of what I have lost. Losing them in turn is a necessity I must accept, even if it pains me. So yes, Merritt. I understand. We have worked hard together to turn Marquette into the city it has become. You can pursue your next project with the knowledge that what we accomplished here will build the path to a prosperous future. And besides, you are not the kind of person who simply quits. I imagine that the presence of your daughter relates to your retirement.¡± ¡°Yes, indeed. Thank you Ariane. Your words¡­ they mean a lot coming from you. And yes, I will leave you in good hands. Lynn here has been managing more and more of my duties over the past few months. She is also better at manipulating those rich twats, I mean, the good society of our fair city.¡± ¡°Mother tends to forget that much can be achieved by simply¡­ asking politely.¡± Bands of aura unwind from her person like ribbons. Ah, I see. We call her kind enchantresses. They focus on mind magic. Most of them die within one year of starting their social career, either at the hand of a scorned lover or because they stole someone they should not have touched. Lynn is smarter than most. She knows that I perceived her power and pulls it back. ¡°And when did you return?¡± I ask. She understands the unspoken questions. ¡°Three months ago with my son, after our enemies started harrying us. I give you my word that I have nothing to do with them. I swear on my power that I am firmly on your side. As to why I returned, it all comes down to the unfortunate death of my husband.¡± She leans to the side and shows her willowy figure. While Merritt dresses in a more conservative, provincial fashion, Lynn is more daring. She boldly exhibits her new position as an affluent widow whose east coast accent remains mild enough to impress without growing condescending. She also wears perfume. I would be interested in watching her work a room. Perhaps I can learn a few tricks from her later. ¡°My dear Edward always doted on me to the disapproval of his family. With his unexpected passing, he could no longer shield me from their retribution and I prefered to liquidate our assets and return to the frontier rather than fight a protracted battle in the courtroom.¡± ¡°Merritt,¡± I ask, ¡°is this a reinterpretation of the Pyke family affair? Should I prowl abandoned farmstead for irate relatives to snack on?¡± ¡°Worse, Ariane. Instead of mercenaries, they will send lawyers.¡± ¡°That is fine. They share a delicious flavor of greed and moral flexibility.¡± Lynn interrupts us and thus ends my hypocrisy. Isaac and Salim are lawyers and they would not be amused by our banter. ¡°Ahem. While dear brother busies himself with the Red Cabal, I have put my skills to use against our foes. I have always had a way with business dealings and my husband made full use of them. As a result, I have already managed to stabilize our more vulnerable ventures within the state. It helps that no one asks if I have my husband¡¯s permission when I drop your name.¡± ¡°Yes, very good, but we are now talking about recent events. Sephare only mentioned an attack in passing and my intuition speaks of enemies on my land. Please start from the beginning.¡± Merritt nods. She checks her notes and breathes in. Her back curves under the weight of the recollection and she places both of her hands on the table, palm open against the grainy wood. ¡°Right. Half a year ago, we started getting hit in a way that I immediately recognized as deliberate. Some key shipments of steel or textile went missing at crucial moments, messing with our supply chains and forcing us to fail deliveries. Mysterious agents underbid us in key contracts proposing prices that could in no way turn a profit. Our image took a hit. We lost quite a few guards to those ambushes as well, which meant that we had to pay a premium on the next. We were facing a domino effect. You know how it is. I managed to track down suspicious movement by newcomers in the city and sent spies after them. They were all slain in one night.¡± I force myself into immobility and grab my aura tightly. I know where this is going. ¡°We did not retreat. I called the militia upon the suspected locations for a raid at dawn and we did find suspicious men. Mercenaries. They all fought to the death.¡± ¡°Disposable agents?¡± She nods. ¡°We believe it is so. The bodies we recovered showed marks of fangs and we found a secret passage to an underground secured room. Unfortunately, it was empty when we breached it. Its occupant had already left. We managed to plug a few leaks by checking for signs of thralldom but we are fighting an uphill battle without a vampire on our side. Our people are scared of leaving the city at night.¡± ¡°We have vampires on our side. Where is Melusine?¡± ¡°Besieged with your followers in Chicago. Fighting a losing battle, or so the reports indicate,¡± Lynn states in a smooth voice. She stands up and removes a map of Illinois from a nearby table. Pins cover its surface, many of them around the cities of Marquette and Chicago farther north. Most of the isolated dots remain close to the border to Kentucky and generally in the south where the terrain is more rugged and troops are more mobile. ¡°Our enemies are extremely well-funded. We are being overwhelmed and dismantled piece by piece. The Red Cabal is forced to neutrality since most of the threats do not appear to be supernatural in nature. Meanwhile, the werewolves are being hunted by people who know who they are. They have closed the gates and secluded themselves.¡± ¡°We are facing vampires and they are trying to depose me,¡± I calmly state. Both mages look surprised. ¡°Depose? Like a queen?¡± ¡°We vampires are rather old-fashioned when it comes to territory. If one is unable to defend theirs, they are unworthy of holding it. The support of my allies in the Accords can only go so far. If I had not returned, they would have had ample time to destroy my reputation and that of Melusine until defending us became untenable.¡± ¡°Could those allies not help us?¡± ¡°Of course, but only if we bring undeniable proof of foreign involvement and you have been prevented from doing so. No matter. I am here now. Their little games will end.¡± ¡°I admire your confidence, however¡­¡± ¡°You do not have the tools to comprehend what it means to have a Devourer lady on your side.¡± I release my grasp on my essence and allow it to spread across the room. Thorny roots crawl through the cracks of the world until tortured mortar and straining planks protest at the edge of our hearing. The shadows lengthen and the gas lights flicker and dim. The temperature drops. ¡°Please, no more.¡± I stop the demonstration and notice that both women have grown noticeably paler. ¡°It so happens that someone thought me weak,¡± I tell them. ¡°I will¡­ correct that misconception. Out of all the vampires my sire spawned throughout the millennia, only three ever reached the rank of lord. The time has come to remind those intruders of why we survived. A new ally by the name of Phineas will arrive tomorrow. You will grant him access to all relevant documents, including anything you found in the mercenary¡¯s homes. I want to know how they paid for everything and where the money came from. I want to know who owns the companies that underbid us. In the meanwhile, I shall visit my good friend Jeffrey and solve his trespasser problem, then while he roams the land looking for rats, I shall head north and pay a certain redhead a visit.¡± ¡°Do you expect our enemies to have a lord as well?¡± ¡°No, dear Lynn, I do not expect it. I am counting on it.¡± Chapter 158: Cry havoc I decide against leaving immediately and spend the rest of the night patrolling Marquette. I pay particular attention to auras and smells. Unfortunately, if there are any vampires around, they are being cautious. I do meet with some success while inspecting my personnel one by one and finding one under the thrall of an enemy. The influence appears as a light hue in the man¡¯s aura. A summary inspection of his neck reveals two discreet bite marks.I manage to control myself before I kill him on the spot. He is a victim of circumstances, not a traitor. Once the influence is removed he confesses with great fear that he was ordered to send all manners of financial and trade information to an address in Chicago. Truly, if Melusine has not betrayed me, those people have some gall. I let him go and complete my purge the next afternoon just as Phineas arrives. The Lancaster warrior dives into charts and legal documents with a Rosenthal-like delectation, peeling the truth wherever it may be. With him on our side, it will not be long before hostile fundings are tracked to their sources. Already, a few ¡®persons of interest¡¯ in Marquette are set to receive some pointed questions in the near future. I leave Phineas to his intellectual hunt and grab my armor. Oh yes, I see no point in holding back now. Besides, the werewolves appreciate true strength. I wait for nightfall and slip out of the compound to an empty warehouse at the very edge of the city, near the road to Moonside. I call Metis and the old girl gallops excitedly by my side. She, too, can smell a good bloodshed coming. This is a valid point. Metis is a powerful, fast warhorse, not a Percheron. I wonder if she can accomodate me. No sooner have I asked that she neighs and flips her head with great agitation. As I stand there like an idiot, she turns on herself and lightly kicks me. I block and complain. She is gone. I stand there dejected for five minutes, until I hear hooves and she returns wearing her barding. I will never understand how she puts it on. This is the barding Loth made years ago from light metal and alligator hide, sShe looks absolutely regal in it. I smile at her confidence and place a hand on her flank. She bolts away. A proud neigh. She snorts and turns her head away. I lie, Considering that it would freeze a mortal solid on contact, my worries are genuine. Well, they would be if I were being truthful. Metis casts a dubious, red glance at me and shows some teeth. I apologize respectfully, call her the queen of destriers and the best pony on earth and elsewhere until she finally deigns to let me climb on her back, then we are off at breakneck speed. I think she wants to make a point so I go with the flow and let her race through the plains of Illinois. It occurs to me that if we hit someone right now, they might as well be standing on a train track with a meat grinder hanging in front of their face. No such accidents happen. We arrive at Moonside shortly after. I ask Metis to slow down, reign in my aura, and remove my helmet. No need to appear too hostile in those trying times. It makes little difference to the two sentries hiding in the bush by the village¡¯s entrance. I hear soft curses when I arrive like a nightmare (haha) and stop next to their hiding spot. Branches wilt overhead while a puddle whitens with spiderweb lines of frost. I breathe in the scent of wolves, of their fear, of harvested fields. A tension hangs in the air, not just because of my presence, but because of a general feeling of unease. Werewolves are meant to be predators, just like us but less competently. It grates me to see them so vigilant because it implies weakness. I cannot abide that in one of my faithful minions. ¡°You lot. Tell Jeffrey that Ariane has returned,¡± I tell the bush and the men behind. Nothing stops except their breath. A bit late for that, gentlemen. Besides, you two reek of sweat. ¡°Metis can always use more ears. Do not make me repeat myself.¡± That does it. Whether the familiar name or the familiar threat jostles them into action, it matters not. They race to the center of the village to fetch their leader. I dismount and walk to the wood board on which the village proudly announces itself. I always found ¡®Moonside¡¯ to be quite tacky, yet I believe I understand it now. Jeffrey always wanted a haven where his folk could be wholly and publically themselves. And since the place is out there in the boonies, they normally can. Something must have changed recently because as I look at the many thatched roofs and fields, I find something missing. Namely, a lot of naked people. Werewolves will not clothe themselves unless compelled. I only have to wait a minute before a group comes running. Jeffrey jogs down the road, followed by two columns of fighters. I raise a brow when I notice that they wear leather dusters but no shirts. The women in their midst wear horizontal bands to cover their breasts, but leave their stomachs and cleavage shamelessly exposed. Ah, werewolves and dressing codes. I should not complain. At least they covered their genitals. Jeffrey slows down at a respectful distance and gives me a devious smile that does not reach his eyes. He is quite dashing with his rugged good look and corded muscles. It helps that he approaches Jarek in height, if not in size. Although his roguish facade has not changed, I can see calculation running behind his keen brown eyes. Recent events must have tried his patience. ¡°Good evening to you, Jeffrey,¡± I greet pleasantly, ¡°I heard that you have a pest problem.¡± ¡°Aaaah, bosswoman! You have returned to us in our hour of upset, just as I said you might. Didn¡¯t I June?¡± He elbows the lithe blonde woman by his side. She rolls her eyes dramatically. ¡°I said to her, I said, that¡¯s a bosswoman problem for sure. No way the usual bounty hunters would bother with smart stuff when they think silver is enough, no! Not like that Hendricks fellow who just rode into town asking about large beasts in spring, remember? That guy was dafter than a headless goose, he was.¡± ¡°Jeffrey¡­¡± ¡°Right! We do have a pest problem, and those pests are quite pesky if you catch my meaning. Because they¡¯re a pain in my backside. See, they know exactly who we are. All of us.¡± I think I know what he means. Very few people are aware of a werewolf community thanks to my efforts. Of course, there are rumors of large creatures in the woods of the region but so far all those who visited Moonside wrongly assumed that werewolves were hiding within the populace. By the time they realized that their quarry was neither hiding nor ¡®in¡¯ the populace, it was too late. ¡°Do they use specific methods?¡± ¡°Yes. It all started two months ago.¡± As Jeffrey speaks, his demeanor changes. The affable persona he usually dons like a cloak fades away to reveal the cunning leader underneath. It pains me to admit that I was one of the first to be fooled, when I unwittingly allowed him to bring a whole pack to my lands. ¡°First we lost a patrol, but said patrol was composed of two very aggressive young men and they are the most likely to leave. Unfortunately, we found a body in a far field a few days later. He had been killed by silver bullets at a long range. Tracking them to their source was made impossible because the culprits used vast amounts of mint oil to saturate the place. Everyone got a headache, including yours truly. It happened two more times.¡± ¡°Culprits? Plural?¡± ¡°Yes. The bodies we found showed signs of multiple bullet wounds. We suspect that the attackers shoot a volley to prevent their victim from escaping and potentially recovering once the bullets are removed. I personally led a tracking party to all the surrounding camps and valleys around the place but we never found more than traces of their passage. And that damn stench.¡± He sniffs. ¡°God I can smell it in my nightmares. Do you know that I used to enjoy mint tea? Jesus. In any case, we have had trouble tracking them because the entire west part of the village stinks to high heaven.¡± ¡°I see.¡± I consider the situation for a while. I have several tools that do not rely too much on smell and a powerful scent is not as debilitating to me as it is to the wolves. ¡°When was the latest attack?¡± I ask. ¡°Two days ago, by the edge of Zeller¡¯s field. They tried to shoot at a patrol but failed, then legged it with horses after dispersing a full vial of their horrible oil.¡± ¡°Can you lead me there?¡¯ ¡°Of course, right this way.¡± I leave Metis behind to follow Jeffrey on foot. The squad closes in behind us, showing a surprising amount of discipline for their kind. They match my walking speed. I do not jog in full plate. I either stomp or I sprint, none of that infantry routine thank you very much. ¡°I put rules and protocols in place to avoid further deaths,¡± he tells me. ¡°There are large patrols moving around the surroundings in irregular patterns, a curfew, and we have set traps in some places. We even killed two of their horses that way. But it can¡¯t last.¡± I feel Jeffrey¡¯s gaze on me and turn to meet it. He flinches. ¡°Damn it¡¯s cold tonight. Anyway, we cannot stay cloistered for long. We are already pushing ourselves to live a normal life.¡± ¡°I understand, Jeffrey. Do not worry. You are one of mine.¡± ¡°I appreciate the help. I¡­¡± He snarls. Ghastly, giant fangs grow in his mouth, eerily disturbing on his still-human face. ¡°I only wishhhh to find a throat to rip mysshhelf.¡± I deploy my essence around in a way that only he can feel. The polar wave forces his jaw to go slack. I have no time for this. ¡°The night is young,¡± I tell him, not unkindly. ¡°Yes. And full of surprises.¡± Zeller¡¯s field sits at the edge of the village, nestled between two stretches of forest. Only a few tracks of blood and the lingering scent of peppermint reveal that the locale is more than just a boring field. I place my helmet back on my head and take down the mask. It has a function that blocks noxious gas and I use it now. Even without breathing, the aggressive aroma would still be distracting. ¡°Stay here.¡± The werewolves do not protest. Some of them even pinch their noses in distress. I walk to the epicenter of the herbal explosion to search for traces of an intruder. I find it easily: someone smashed a bottle of oil against a tree. With their bare hands. The darkened piece of glass showing a dark set of fingerprints speaks for itself. Whoever used it was careless and in a hurry. They are making it almost too easy. I use the glyphs embedded in the armor¡¯s powerful gauntlet to cast a tracking spell. Unfortunately, it returns no result. The enemies are too far, and the construct is too amateurish. I am not giving up yet. There are only two possibilities. Either the attackers ride from a distant base every time, or they have a base nearby that the wolves have been unable to find. Both options have their own risks but I would lean towards a local base since one of the attacks occurred a few days after the other. As for the base escaping detection, well, Illinois is vast and recently quite minty. My inspection done, I grab the shard and leave the forest, finding the group alert and away. They collectively take a step back when I arrive, until I force the shard into a piece of tissue and down my glove. ¡°They are too far for my spell to pick up but I suggest that we ride a mile out and try to catch their trail.¡± ¡°It has been two days, it would be faded by now.¡± ¡°Not necessarily. One of them hurt his hand on the bottle he threw. Which means that some of the scent may linger.¡± ¡°Maybe. Let¡¯s try it.¡± I call Metis who arrives from the forest to our left, this time. Her space shenanigans send the werewolves in a tizzy, or so I think until I catch a whispered sentence. ¡°It¡¯s her! The ear-snatcher.¡± Metis is now Moonside¡¯s boogeyman. Or boogeyhorse? Bah, it matters not so long as she gets her well-deserved infamy. We ride out through a thick ring of trees and out onto more empty fields. Once we are far enough, I have them fan out and we ride in a curve that follows the edge of the village. Eventually, I pick a powerful perfume on the wind. ¡°That way,¡± June says. Jeffrey¡¯s blonde beta points to a lone tree standing proudly on the side of a dirt road. We find our first hint discarded on the floor: a leather glove of average quality with two fingers torn and dark specks of blood. A good half of the fabric is saturated with blood. Discarded bandages litter the sparse grass. ¡°They must have made a halt there to stop the bleeding,¡± Jeffrey comments with his sleeve held over his nose. I do not comment. It would have been easy to find the tracks left by our foes. A simple organized search would have revealed those clues within an hour, yet Jeffrey could not manage that because¡­ in the end, he is limited by his nature. The werewolf curse was of human making while ours is divine. They failed to sniff down their quarry and thus¡­ gave up. Whoever sent those men must be familiar with the nature of my allies, their flaws and their struggles. They accounted for those, but they did not account for me. I do not need the werewolves to be perfect. I merely ask for their loyalty. They have proven it before when I brought them to bear against the Scourge Hive. I have not forgotten, and I have the skills they lack. The glove proves a much more powerful focus than the shard was. I believe that some items, especially those charged with meaning, possess more inherent trace than other more mundane ones, another quirk of magic. A damaged garment soiled with the blood of an escaping criminal gives off much power, and the spell catched on it. ¡°That way.¡± We ride out, this time much faster. The pack behind me growls and snarls as they run, still wearing their human forms. We make good time and I once again marvel at my companions¡¯ seemingly unending stamina. Their auras merge into a large cohesive whole that smells of hunt, but also of heat and flesh, which I cannot quite grasp. I still enjoy the presence of this great roiling mass that the pack has become. Each individual helps the other calm the curse, direct it, become part of a greater whole. Even their smell and nudity fade in my mind while I enjoy the experience. It certainly helps that I am upwind and do not have to see them. The plains of Illinois move past us, flat expanses of grass decorated with small copses of trees. The hills roll up and down under an immense sky. There are no trails here, and no farmsteads. For a while, we just move with determination. All hunts must come to an end, however, and I slow down on the edge of an empty field. A heavy log marks its boundaries. Someone carved the initials ¡®JP¡¯ on its surface with a sharp knife. ¡°This is the Patterson estate. We have an understanding with Joseph, the patriarch,¡± Jeffrey says. ¡°We stay off his land and he doesn¡¯t bother us.¡± S?a?ch* Th? ?0velF?re.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. ¡°Not tonight. The trail leads on.¡± He looks uncomfortable. ¡°The owner of this glove is close,¡± I continue, ¡°very close.¡± Jeffrey frowns. Just like me, he cannot easily go back on agreements. ¡°We are demanding explanations, not trespassing to steal his milk and bark at his cow, Jeffrey.¡± ¡°Lead on.¡± Whoever lives here believed in being self-sufficient, though it must have changed recently. I dismount and we walk through the field and over a small incline to a compound surrounded by a relatively sturdy palissade, with a fresh coat of paint. Jeffrey¡¯s bubbling aura betrays his suspicion. This must be a recent addition to the farmstead. A locked double gate bars our way. I place my hand against it and push. Wood groans and cracks. A chain snaps. We walk in. This is it. Three buildings now stand in our path. A slightly sagging one that shows signs of age, a well-built barn, and a larger, newer house with an attic. A man peeks from an upper floor shutter and ducks back with a soft swear. I can hear eight heartbeats from the newer house and seven from the older one. I can smell horses in the barn. A light smell of gun oil mixes with that of grain, beast, dust, and peppermint. More than that, the Dvor instincts in me scream their outrage. Someone harbored the enemy. Someone who had no cause to go after me. The aura of the werewolves shifts too. Someone whispers about Joseph Patterson never having horses before. More mutter about the horrendous smell. Furious outrage flares among the pack. ¡°Not yet, Jeffrey. I need answers first. Then you can have them.¡± ¡°Please¡­ Hurry.¡± The pack tenses. They instinctively spread out behind. This is the ambush part of the attack. Now for the theatrics. ¡°Mistral.¡± A frigid wind carries the armor¡¯s glacial aura forward. A lantern flickers. Frost crawls on the glass of a single window while, behind, the horses whinny softly. They caught my scent. ¡°Come out.¡± A scramble in the house. Someone moves the nearest shutter with a laughable attempt at stealth. I turn my gaze upon the mortal, and my helmet swivels ominously. ¡°Do not make me repeat myself.¡± ¡°We don¡¯t want anything to do with you! Go away, this is private property!¡± the person bleats. A man, rather old. Joseph Patterson, I¡¯d wager. The attackers in the second house slip weapon barrels through the windows. Cute. Ultimately useless. ¡°I will not leave without answers, and you will not like me asking questions. Neither will your family.¡± A sigh. Footsteps, interrupted by frantic whispers. They stop when a revolver clicks and a grown man utters a threat. Interesting. It appears that one of the hunters does not trust his host. A part of me decides that the objective here is to retrieve the leader and any documents they may have. Another enjoys the prelude of threats and banter that comes before the inevitable violence. The last part revels at my newfound power. I know where everyone is. I know what they can do, which is very little. I smell the acrid perfume of their fear. I stand there while the patriarch glances fearfully outside with the full knowledge that I am exactly where I am meant to be and there is no force inside of my territory that can challenge that. I let my arrogance radiate. The door opens. A fearful man peers at me from behind the futile barrier of nailed planks. He hesitates before standing on the threshold. The cross on full display on his chest shines a nice blue. I recognize the old promise of ash and retribution, much more potent than it used to be. It feels so nice to be recognized for one¡¯s own achievements. ¡°I know what you are, vampire.¡± ¡°I keep hearing this as if it made any difference. I shall cut to the chase. ¡± I raise a finger and block the sound of our conversation from those still inside. Another spell and I see the interior clearly through the wall. I count a scared woman with a ruddy face, four children, and a nervous man with a beard holding the muzzle of his colt against the youngest kid. ¡°You will invite me in and I will spare your family, or I will tear you apart and let the one you pray to sort them out.¡± ¡°You cannot go in.¡± ¡°They can,¡± I add with a smile. The old man looks behind me and blanches. ¡°It is finished, Patterson. Make your choice. You have until your guest loses his nerves to make your decision.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t¡­ They have us¡­¡± ¡°Oh, I can hear him breathe harder. Will he shoot your eldest first, or will it be your wife?¡± ¡°Damn you. Damn you! Come in...¡± ¡°Bolt.¡± A ray of pure blood magic pierces the wall and lands squarely between the eyes of the hostage-taker, killing him on the spot. It drills through the back, until I hear a horse panic. A bit heavy-handed on this one. Ah, well. ¡°Much obliged.¡± I turn and take a step towards the new house. ¡°Fire!¡± someone yells. Bullets clang uselessly against the armor. I let them, because this is fun. Some miss and hit the ground instead despite my proximity. Those idiots waste much silver! Do they not know the price of an ounce? Bloody wastrels. ¡°Shred.¡± The front of the house explodes in a hail of shards. Eight men scream. One, who was hit in the eye, is quite vocal. I take a small jump towards the attic and smash through the few planks still attached. The floor groans under my weight. This is what I had been looking for. I calmly make my way through a writing desk where some correspondence awaits. My slow pace surprises the three men present so much that they forget to shoot. The oldest finally recovers his spirits just as I place those documents in a ratty leather bag. ¡°Monster! Die!¡± He empties a revolver on my back. The bullets ping pointlessly against Loth¡¯s impenetrable aegis. ¡°Warriors should face their own deaths with dignity, do you not agree?¡± I ask. Click. Click. Click. His eyes meet mine. He does not wear a cross. I slap his meager defenses aside and seize his mind in an iron vice. Lots of guilt here, tempered by alcohol and rage. We will have time to be more intimately acquainted later. ¡°Sleep.¡± With a prisoner and his papers under an arm, I jump down just as the door to the attic bursts open. A man clamors after me while I leave. ¡°This isn¡¯t over.¡± ¡°Indeed not.¡± The werewolves have waited far too long for this moment. ¡°Ladies and gentlemen, they are all yours. Do enjoy yourselves,¡± I tell them. Growls and snarls answer. Hybrid forms surge after defenders who apparently forgot to reload and the bloodshed begins. Jeffrey stayed back. His interest is still on Patterson. ¡°Why? We always left you alone.¡± ¡°You¡­ ain¡¯t natural.¡± I am surprised at the hurt in Jeffrey¡¯s eyes. Oh, his policy towards human neighbors might change in the near future. ¡°Ah, but it is not just faith that motivated you, is it?¡± I grab for my prisoner and realize that he is frozen solid. Ah, oops? I may have forgotten about the armor¡¯s effect. I drop the corpse, which unfortunately breaks, and pick up a note instead. ¡°A receipt for payment of seven dollars per week of rent to a Mr. Joseph Patterson.¡± ¡°You fucking sellout¡­¡± ¡°Quite a princely sum for such a hovel. Now, as promised, your family gets to live. You have fifteen minutes to pile on whatever you owe on the nearest cart. I will even consent to you keeping one of the horses.¡± The old man pales even more, something that I thought impossible. ¡°But¡­ you can¡¯t¡± I do not speak. Sharp claws dug into a support beam somewhere behind me. The man lets out a short yelp while I hear a snarl. ¡°Or you could keep wasting time¡­¡± I suggest. They rush, a pathetic scramble to carry your entire life in a few minutes. Patterson turns to us when their cart is filled. Behind, the rest of his family waits in a terrified huddle. ¡°They can go now.¡± He blinks. ¡°They? Agh!¡± The claws of my right hand dig in his shoulders. I bring him to his knees. ¡°I said that your family may leave. You may not.¡± ¡°Nooo!¡± the tallest boy screams, but the others hold him back. Ah, yes, I can see the anger in his eyes. The fury. I could act on it, since he is almost old enough. Instead, I lean forward and smile. ¡°You can try to get me when you are old enough. Just remember not to miss your first shot, because I never do. On your way now, or I will consider that you declined my more than generous offer.¡± They leave. I drink Patterson dry. By the time he dies, the werewolves have cleaned themselves. ¡°Someone please set the horses free,¡± I request. While Jeffrey sends a minion, I grab the flickering lantern and smash it against the dry roof. I repeat the maneuver three times, one for each building until the entire farm is ablaze. I use the provided light to take another document from the list, this one a map. The hunters were truly careless. Perhaps they underestimated the werewolves¡¯ intellect, or perhaps they expected to have the time to destroy incriminating documents if they were spotted. It matters little. I give it to Jeffrey, who dutifully inspects it. His eyes still shine with a deep resentment and his usual demeanor is gone, at least for now. ¡°What is this?¡± ¡°A list of safe houses and supply caches. I must deal with the main threat. You handle the raiders. Find the bases. Kill everyone. Burn everything.¡± Ah, it is good to be home. Phineas finds me the next afternoon, back in Marquette, with the pride of a man who just resolved a particularly complex problem. Chapter 159: Autumn Cleaning We leave Marquette the next night in complete secrecy. Phineas has received a gift from Constantine while I was away, a low-born Nightmare. This is, in reality, a thinly disguised show of support for our operation. I suspect that by now most Wardens know that Illinois is being contested anyway. I make sure to bring my armor and have personal effects sent by carriage. As for us, we will ride through the countryside in travel clothes. I did not have the time to find anything better than a chest protector for him and his Knight armor should not be worn.Phineas asks, Phineas gives me a glare from the side as we rush past a small pond, grown smaller by a lack of rain. I finish with a smile. Truly, it should be common sense. I would have killed the family too but it would have gone against my code. Phineas asks, this time more seriously. I realize that Phineas stopped me on a question of etiquette and amend my remark. Phineas and I engage in a brief staring contest. the Lancaster man retorts, Touch¨¦. I lament. We both smile and keep riding into the night. It takes us a few hours to reach the outskirts of Chicago despite our speed, and I am amazed to find that the city has continued its explosive growth. Tatty wooden houses and shops sprawl explosively from the beating heart of the city, pulsing in time with the stock exchange and the innumerable train lines. It even smells a bit cleaner with the recent addition of an excellent sewer system. I just find it slightly disappointing that the sewage would spill in the city¡¯s freshwater source but what can I say? I am no civil engineer. We ride through deserted alleys on our way to Melusine¡¯s compound. I have to admit that the poverty and squalor are not as dreadful as I had feared. Melusine always said that many of her more influential citizens promoted clean living and that she would support their impetus. We even come across a natural park, a surprisingly fancy addition to an otherwise poor district. I have Phineas dismount shortly before we approach Melusine¡¯s compound in case there are hostile sentries and we take to the roofs, or at least I try to before I realize a bit of a conundrum. There are no wooden roofs in all of Chicago that can support a vampire carrying five hundred pounds of eternal ice battle armor on her back. I am reminded of that fact and hope that the cost of repair will not prove too taxing for that innocent family. I also discover that accidentally and forcefully entering someone¡¯s home uninvited feels terrible and disturbing. I was essentially shoved out. A click of the tongue to mark his acknowledgment and we are on our way. Melusine has set her base next to meat-packing factories, and while the smell is not the most pleasant, the lack of late night entertainment allows us to easily spot groups of individuals with questionable motives. We avoid them and find our destination guarded and fortified, an immense relief. I dreaded the unlikely possibility that Chicago had been entirely taken over. If we have a base, then we have a chance. I signal Phineas. We move through the shadows, then circle the main entrance. A tall, protective stone wall encircles the brick buildings my ally made her seat of power. I glance up to see a subtle line of enchantments surrounding the entire perimeter. The hint of fire in the methodical work reminds me of Melusine herself. She must have spent some time setting it up. I suggest. I jump and allow the alarm to trigger. Phineas lands by my side shortly after. We have arrived in a small courtyard. The windows leading to the two-storyies building in front of us are all boarded cleanly. It takes less than thirty seconds for three familiar auras to arrive. Melusine lands first, traits tense under an armored dress I made for her. To my dismay, it looks damaged. John and Urchin follow in similarly patched-up gear. My joy at seeing them again withers at the pain I notice, and the palpable relief when they recognize me. All of them show clear, distinct physical signs of mental exhaustion, a shocking display for us. It makes me angry. This unprovoked attack will be punished. I will make sure of it. Phineas smoothly greets.¡± Melusine asks with a hint of her old abrasive self. Urchin greets as he spins his silver dollar. John merely nods, then our eyes meet and he lowers his in shame. It makes me distinctly uncomfortable. I say. Melusine declares. What is that supposed to mean? Pah. We move between densely-woven defensive enchantments and sturdy bricks then to a fortified door. Guards on the outside are few and grouped, a sign that Melusine expects a vampire attack. Isolated sentries are of no use against vampires. Worse, being picked off tends to affect morale adversely. Those few we come across share the fatigue and stress I detected in my allies. This is a siege and it has lasted for far too long. Finally, we climb sets of stairs to an elegantly decorated boudoir. The understated luxury belies the base¡¯s rough exterior. I wait for Melusine¡¯s invitation to sit on the nearest couch, a courtesy that she acknowledges with a minute smile. she says, Phineas makes a choking sound. Melusine exclaimes. I show a bit of fang. I keep calm. I expected such an outcome, of course, but to hear it from Melusine herself confirms my belief that we are facing a coalition. Between the financial means and the presence of a lord, whoever is attacking us has invested a stupefying amount of resources for the sake of taking me down. I almost feel flattered. She sighs, and her shoulders slump. Melusine almost never loses her composure. She stops then and passes a hand through her thick red hair. She searches my face, perhaps waiting for judgement, perhaps comfort. I signal her to continue. I cannot rest until I know. I say. Another nod. She winces. John says. Urchin says. His silver dollar disappears somewhere and a knife replaces it. Melusine huffs at the memory. Melusine glares though I can feel hope bubbling in her carefully-controlled aura. Oi. I generously allow. Phineas says with a smile. He picks a folded paper from his breast pocket, then places it on the coffee table between the five of us. It contains a summary map of the warehouse quarter along the shore of lake Michigan. Phineas briefly explains how he followed the paper trail to what seems to be the logistics heart of the opposition. Melusine muses. I exclaim with some surprise. I would think that she underestimates how resourceful a group of supported, trained mages can be. She should not. We sided with one when we escaped the Gabrielite trap all those years ago. She has forfeited safety for profit. Perhaps this is why our enemies wormed themselves in her city while only sniffing around mine. Nevertheless, she has brought us great wealth and will again, given the chance. It is only fair that I should protect our interests. She stops. she asks with some surprise. John says with finality. Melusine¡¯s aura reflects her true nature. She is pouting. Urchin remarks. Something shifts in the auras of those I call my friends. I realize that, until now, they had held little hope that the situation might be resolved. A siege of several months has a way to sap even the most stalwart defenders. I do not envy them. Melusine admits. She continues after a moment of hesitation. I slap my hand against the coffee table just hard enough to receive a satisfactory reaction from the harried vampires. We do not like sudden movements and unexpected noises. This jolts them awake like a cold shower. For the first time tonight, Melusine gifts me with a genuine smile. Three knives appear in Urchin¡¯s hands while John rolls his shoulders. They are ready. Melusine and Urchin stand to leave, and so does Phineas when he realizes that John has stayed. The tall man has regained some of his countenance, and yet I detect an underlying frailty so unlike him that I do not know what to think. he says. Ah, so this is what it is. I nod to myself, but really this is just a show. He frowns mightily after hearing such an outrageous claim. Good. He tilts his massive head, considering. S?a??h the ??v?lF?re.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. With some privacy, I quickly change into my armor and we reconvene outside. They all inspect it in silence. Urchin even raises a hand, marveling at the coat of frost decorating his sleeve like a frilly ornament. I tell him before turning around. We rush silently through the streets, dodging sentries until we arrive at the shore. It is a matter of moments to find an embarkation large enough to accomodate all of us, but when I alone am left on the dock, Melusine tsks. I reply, and step down. The placid water freezes solid under my feet. I stand on the quickly spreading ice while an entire blanket forms around me. It is time for a nice, polar stroll. Under the protective aegis of the spell, we progress quickly to the warehouse where our foes gather. The fae spell hides aura as well as magic and vision. We move unimpeded in the relative darkness of the cloudy night like wraiths on the surface of the unmoving, fetid waters. The city might be working to clean itself but my friends row through its dirty bath water on our way to an equally dirty deed. In a way, tonight links back to my early years as a courtier. Cloaks and daggers have led to more cloaks and daggers, but this time, I hold the blade. Melusine¡¯s whispers only reach me because the darkness spell likes me. It remains the first one I cast perfectly, and I feel a deep understanding of its nature. It will hide me until the time has come to forfeit stealth. The warehouse complex stands on a more desolate part of the shore. It does not even have a proper pier, merely a few planks jutting forward so that midnight travelers can pass their cargo from hand to hand without wetting their feet. Crates and boxes pile up against a rickety wall but I can pierce through the illusion. Those are creaky things that will betray any attempt to climb them. The wall is high and sturdy. The only door has been reinforced with metal. There are no enchantments I can detect, however. We all gather next to it. Urchin whispers. I saw him. He is remarkably vigilant for a stooge, but he is looking in the wrong direction. A quick spell and the door opens without a sound. Behind, we find a large courtyard with more crates and jars. There are three large buildings inside of the compound that I can see with one being little more than a barn used to store goods. I dismiss the second immediately because there are no lights there. The third is the right one. Melusine whispers. The spell opens a smooth window into the interior, showing a slightly distorted image of a serious man in black pants and shirt inspecting notes with a frown. I recognize a vampire from his immobility, though his aura is hard to perceive at this range. He, too, makes some effort to keep it under control. Melusine says. I nod and inspect the rest of the structure, not too worried about the being found out. This spell was specifically designed to go around wards. A careful inspection shows many mortals hard at work around an improvised office, I count another Master cleaning a sword as well as three Courtiers on the second floor currently busy getting ready for some unknown task. We caught them all, it seems. The lord sits near the entrance to my right, brooding. Melusine says. Melusine says. Phineas says, I glare reproachfully. Urchin adds, I decide to explain a point I deem important. No he does not, but he will. I watch the four warriors walk stealthily to the left entrance. John lifts the maul. Time seems to slow down, heavier. Inside of the house, the lord blinks. Good instincts, but it will not suffice. I sprint forward. Despite my grace, the moving armor still produces a whisper of a noise. The lord jumps to his feet as the others look on with confusion. It does not matter. They are too late, because I. AM. HERE. I hit bricks with my left pauldron and fully unleash my aura. The wall explodes inward in a shower of chunks and debris under my weight. Masonry flies and men scream. Dust fills the air just as my left gauntlet closes around the head of the nearest Master. I clench and pulp it like a ripe melon. The door behind me shatters as well with the roar of a frustrated and rather pissed off Natalis. The lord materializes a dueling sword. I let Rose grow from my hand. Ah. Yes. I can feel everything. My four allies crash through the demolished remains of the back entrance, dogpiling the remaining master. Thorny roots shred beams and tiles. They turn bricks to powder as if they were sand. I only manage to stop myself from destroying the desks as the first one sags from a missing leg. This time, the area is considerably smaller and I can only control a handful of roots directly and yet there is no ruining the exhilarating sensation of utter liberation and power now filling me. I am exactly as I was meant to be, complete and free and fully myself. I can grow in strength later. Now is the time to enjoy the moment and this man LOOKS DELICIOUS. He runs away. Roland lord. Adrien. Adam¡¯s twin and the more quiet of the pair ruling Kentucky. We had an agreement made at the beginning of the civil war. KILL HIM. CLAIM HIS ESSENCE. He only wears a beige ensemble that would not look out of place in a salon. They always wear beige with their stupid beige hair and light brown eyes. Like looking at a backstabbing monochrome. Pathetic. Adrien jumps through a lone window in a shower of glass shards. I demolish the entire side of the house on my way out and cleave the legs of an unfortunate Courtier who had the misfortune of running down the nearby stairs when I pass him by. A hint of Roland power feeds me. Just an appetizer. Adrien melds into the shadows of the courtyard, his form insubstantial now. No matter. I rush forth and flay the ground with searching roots. I can still sense his presence within the sphere as roots track him even now. A hint of movement leads me to the door we left half-opened. I race after the fleeing lord and turn right out. A root catches his leg when he emerges from behind a crate that would be too small to hide a dog. Reality shenanigans! Two can play that game. More roots burst through the ground and out of walls to join the others, tightening the hold over my surroundings. Adrien frees himself and only leaves a piece of fabric and a drop of blood in his mad dash to get away from me. I sprint after him. The armor slows me but I care not because who would stop me anyway? I turn the corner to a panicked sentry and regrettable lack of fleeing Roland. I swat the man¡¯s mind like a fly. ¡°WHERE IS HE?¡± Panicked eyes flick to a side alley. I stomp the ground like an unstoppable juggernaut and smile when I feel a presence in the corner, behind a discarded cart with a missing wheel. We are in my sphere. I have to struggle not to let my roots rip him to shreds. I walk by and lean to the side. Adrien¡¯s soul blade grinds on my shoulder and bounces back. I angled it perfectly. I grab his wrist before he can retreat and snap it effortlessly. His handsome face is so close to mine that I can feel the small exhale of controlled agony drifting over my eyelashes. I pull him in and retract Rose but he melts again before I can bite down. I tell the fleeing form while I race after it. He turns towards the shore. He comes to a stop in front of a small fishing cabin. I do not. I rotate and cast a fast mirage to duplicate the following horizontal strike. Adrien gifts me with delectable consternation before vanishing again. Arg. So frustrating! I hiss. The cabin explodes in a torrent of shards. Adrien slips through the rain to a barrel and then, to my immense surprise, jumps into the water. I watch him disappear under the dark waves. Calm returns to the surface a moment later. That feckless ruffian. I cannot follow. I will not follow. I would only turn into a livid ice cube, propelled by rage. The water is filthy. I roar once and let the Magna Arqa fade away. He escaped, the slippery bastard. No matter. I can testify of his presence and we should have enough prisoners to put his wardenship to an end. Amusingly, Melusine was entirely correct. There could have been two lords here, with his twin included. I turn and realize that this is almost a recreation of that scene in Savannah I survived back in eighteen twelve. I had to run from a furious lord Suarez after a small incident of bank robbery, only to dive head first in Savannah¡¯s tepid and filthy waters. How the tables have turned. I scrunch my nose under the face mask and thank the Watcher that I avoided an impromptu bath this time. Let another smell of pee! The curse has been lifted. In a significantly better mood, I return to the abandoned base to find that we did indeed get all of our foes prisoner. Unfortunately, their base has collapsed. Only half of it still stands. I ask no one in particular. Melusine spits with obvious frustration. We bicker with pleasure while packing up. All in all, tonight was an auspicious haul. I was right to act fast. I decide to head back to Marquette where I can securely hold prisoners while I summon Constantine or one of his enforcers. The next day, Melusine presents me with a newspaper cut framed in elegant rosewood. she tells me. I frown and read in silence. ¡°The Chicago Tribune. ¡®Panic by the shore!¡¯ An unidentified lunatic terrorized the coast yesterday evening. At two in the morning, Chicagoans living near Menomee and Wisconsin streets were forced awake by the screams of a deranged individual of the female persuasion. Although many citizens opened their shutters to investigate the disturbance, the guilty harridan could not be found, leaving the inhabitants baffled and irritated. ¡®Twas like a mountain lion in rut,¡¯ Mrs. Culpepper reports to the Tribune. ¡®If I wasn¡¯t living in the city I would have sent my old Paul with a rifle and a prayer, I would!¡¯ Since the harpy bellowing those horrendous screams could not be found¡ª¡± I carefully lower the frame. Melusine adds more seriously. I turn to Phineas who considers the offer with greedy eyes. the man agrees a bit quickly. I bet a cotton bale against a twig that they plan on investigating each other¡¯s nether regions. Ah well. I remind them. Urchin, John, and I ride out of the city at nightfall while doing our best to avoid attraction. I unexpectedly feel an aura tugging at us while we move through small streets surrounded by wooden houses of poor making. A fire hazard is what it is. I keep moving at a slow pace until we find Adrien waiting for us. He wears a new, clean suit which annoys me a bit. I stop Metis, who snorts derisively at the vampire in front of her. Chapter 160: The World does not wait The fall wind blows with the promise of rain over the deserted road. Adrien stands over the trampled dirt of the flat road in his impeccable beige suit, an exquisite transplant in an otherwise drab garden. His essence and mine meet in the middle where they touch but do not mix, setting a frontier that we both respect, for now. I am still not used to this new sensation of existing outside of my body.Urchin and John take a few steps back. In a contest of lords, all other combatants are merely different magnitudes of flies. The Roland lord sighs minutely. I have him. He means it. His words carry a weight of conviction that I can taste on his essence, but only because he allows it. For a moment, I entertain the thought of going back to a clearing we passed by on the way, but I quickly crush those parasitic remains of a time when I was much weaker. He will not get a single concession from me. The balance of power is firmly in my favor. Adrien leans slightly forward in a predatory gesture that speaks of a deluge of claws. I let him. Metis turns her head to consider him in that peculiar judgemental manner she has. I am stronger than him even without the armor. His shadows mean nothing because the thorns will find him no matter where, in whatever form he has chosen, and they will rip him to shreds. I tell him. Adrien hisses softly. It speaks of defeat. I remember him. He commands the opposition to Sephare¡¯s faction. An ambitious man with the demeanor of a brilliant scholar. This makes little sense, and yet Adrien is open and his truthfulness is beyond doubt. He grits his teeth and his gaze focuses on me. The beast is close to the surface. It must take a colossal effort for him to retain his will. Metis moves slightly, sensing my agitation. I rein in my imagination. It will be of no use right now. Adrien¡¯s expression darkens further at the reminder of what his brother has gone though, but I can sense the determination under that. I have lit the flames of hope in his heart, which means that he is ripe for the taking. I lift a hand to stop his protests. It is too much, and Adrien realizes the trap too late. The beginning of a smile freezes on his lips. he hisses. I do not reply. Instead, I step down from Metis and come to face him. Rose materializes in my hand. I care not. He already revealed enough. I can place a name and a face on my mysterious foe and Adrien¡¯s help is no longer needed. I scoff. This man is not Malakim. He does not know true hatred. One of Melusine¡¯s Courtiers leads me into her mirror room. His name might be Donald or Duncan or something similar. To be perfectly honest, I had forgotten that Melusine had followers. She recruited them young and they are still undergoing training, therefore they were useless and hidden during the conflict. Typical of the redhead. I close the door behind me and sit in front of the communication spell¡¯s focus. It does not show my reflection, of course. Without touching it, I fill it with power and reach for the blonde vampire¡¯s location. A pulse crosses the space between us and the mirror¡¯s surface shimmers and undulates like wind blowing on the surface of a pond. It takes some time for the pulse to find an echo, which does not surprise me. Few individuals can claim to have Sephare¡¯s ear at their convenience. The ripples merge and gain color, resolving into the petite and seemingly demure Hastings lady. She wears an intricate teal dress that leaves her shoulders bare. I quickly expose the recent developments and my findings, summarizing the liberation of Illinois in three sentences while expanding on Adrien¡¯s revelations and my own conclusions. I call upon the Roland and maintain the spell while Sephare questions him with meticulous attention. She asks him how many mercenaries and agents he has employed, how much they are being paid and how much the supplies would cost. Adrien was recently cut off from his possessions, but he was the one to handle the shadier aspect of the twins¡¯ business and his knowledge of his own logistics does him credit. I ask. I did not follow up on internal Accords politics while I was with the Knights. I did, however, get acquainted with European power dynamics. The expansion faction has successfully united their wayward covens across Europe¡¯s colonies. Only we remain, and only because we have both a unified government and the military power to back it up. I turn to my neighbor. There are times where immediate and overwhelming violence is not an answer, or so I have been told. I argue that there are two types of diplomacy. The first exists between people searching for common ground. In this case, diplomacy allows both sides to benefit as part of a positive sum game where each participant has a chance to increase their own well-being. The second exists when one side¡¯s purpose is completely unacceptable to the other. For example, the newly formed Integrity party considers the existence of supernatural creatures as unacceptable while we would very much prefer to stay alive. In those instances, diplomacy is merely the continuation of overwhelming force by other means. The White Cabal advocates moral superiority and taking the high road. I wish them good luck in their endeavors as I pull the trigger. The rifle roars between my hands, propelling a little cone of lead at amazing speed through representative-hopeful Holst as he exits a house of ill repute. The projectile bores through his chest and splatters his lung on the wall of this fine establishment. An employee screams. Her dress is ruined. Tragic. I pick up the rifle and drop out of sight. For all their talks of faith, most integrists look down on those who lend the other cheek. They are filled with the burning passion of righteous outrage. If they win, it is not that the other side respected the law. It simply means that God is on their side. Thus, my intervention shall act as a reminder that they are not invincible and that their champion was not as pure as he claimed, depriving them of a martyr. Every little bit helps. I jump across roofs back to the office Sephare lent me while I reside in her city. We have much to arrange and Marquette is quite safe right now. I let myself in through the window and remove the black cloak I wore for the occasion. Under, I wear one of the normal blue dresses I use for business. The design is simple and includes a heart protector. The fabric shows enough care to indicate wealth while keeping a conservative appearance to lure others into a false sense of normalcy. It will suffice. I sit down in front of an empty table in my office to clean and disassemble the rifle I used. The mundane task soothes me. The world has moved on while I was away, it is a fact of life that I had not anticipated and that I now apprehend. I had previously lived through many changes in government, of course, but this is different. The mundane humans know of magic. Some countries already outlawed it completely. My eyes travel to the newspaper placed on my desk. ¡°Louisa Pasteur executed this morning by firing squad.¡± She is the first person to be officially slain for the crime of sorcery in a long time. Louisa was an untrained witch with a small quirk. Her power went out of control during an argument with her husband, causing his accidental death. It could have been manslaughter were it not for the means used to push the poor man against that fateful chimney frame at the worst possible angle. Unfortunately, using magic to harm people is now punishable by death, no matter the circumstances, and no matter the result. The accidental nature of the death only gave the integrists the ammunition they needed to show how dangerous magic could be. Never had a man¡¯s broken neck caused such a pain in my own backside. I know where this is going. I am not surprised when a knock on my door comes an hour later. One of Sephare¡¯s men announces the coming of a visitor. He wears a tuxedo with white gloves and a cane like the rest of them, a uniform that Sephare picked for them. Some of the goons look like circus bears in this outfit, which I find amusing. ¡°Come in.¡± A man in a navy suit enters the room. He grasps a bowler hat between nervous hands. I smell fresh sweat and terror in the air, fear in his shifting blue eyes. Those who know of me without knowing me always react in the same manner. ¡°Is it wise?¡± he finally asks. I maintain eye contact while I keep cleaning the gun, which is an old model I know well. It only unnerves him more. ¡°Mr. Holst was killed on the doors of a famous brothel. Sadly, a note will be found in his breast pocket concerning a debt he contracted three years ago and remains outstanding. A regrettable affair, but one should not give lessons when they are sinners themselves. Let him cast the stone, and so on.¡± ¡°Was he that dissolute?¡± ¡°He did receive some money from a relative three years ago to purchase a property here. It is such a shame that this relative died and the source of this gift shall remain dubious.¡± ¡°That is quite a low blow.¡± ¡°No, sir, I shot him in the heart.¡± ¡°That is not¡­ I meant¡­¡± ¡°I know what you meant. Newspapers will smear his name by dawn and now the integrists have lost quite a charismatic leader. You think that I am being too harsh?¡± ¡°We are not murderers!¡± I glare and he has enough backbone to take a deep breath and to stand his ground. ¡°You are not, and this is to your credit, I suppose. Now I assume that you have your license?¡± ¡°Hmm, yes?¡± ¡°May I see it?¡± He hesitates then removes a mundane piece of paper from his breast pocket. It shows his name and description in clinical details. The term ¡®wizard¡¯ appears in bright red letters below the stamp of the ministry of supernatural affairs, its seal showing a reverse blade hanging over the name like a sword of Damocles. A fitting image. ¡°If a sovereign puts your name on a list, you are either a nuisance or about to be taxed. You cling to notions of respectability and I commend you for it, but you are also a rich little man living in a mansion in Washington. You are a useful activist whose role during the civil war clads you in an aura of respectability living in a lawful and policed city. Others will not share your good fortune. So wash your hands and your conscience of my deeds, if you must. Veil your eyes with the belief that your exemplary behavior will move the masses to new heights of morality, since you believe in mankind¡¯s goodness. I know the truth and I will resort to the same tools as our foes, because this is the only thing they will understand and respect.¡± ¡°An eye for an eye will leave all of us all blind, vampire.¡± ¡°Only those removed from disaster can allow themselves this sort of sophistry, but since you served me an expression, sir, allow me to reciprocate. Vae Victis.¡± ¡°We are not at war.¡± I stand up and pick the newspapers, which I throw at his feet. ¡°And yet blood has been shed by both sides.¡± We remain silent for a minute or so, during which I finish cleaning and placing the gun back in its case. ¡°The Lady Sephare warned me that you had a more¡­ hands-on approach to problem-solving. I just hope that it does not cost us too much good will. I will condemn this action and express my condolences at daybreak. I hope that your logic does not throw us in the precipice of war we are trying so hard to avoid.¡± ¡°Best of luck to you.¡± He leaves and I return to the desk to check my correspondence for that night. The main point of interest is a letter in a cream envelope addressed to me in person. I am cordially invited to join the extraordinary conclave of the White Cabal in response to the creation of the first supernatural task force. This is not the sort of event that I can afford to miss. I write a formal reply and ring a small bell. A moment later, the doorman answers my summons. ¡°Please have this letter sent, then bring me the memo on the supernatural task force, thank you.¡± ¡°Understood ma¡¯am.¡± I have my document a minute later, brought by a mousy intelligence expert. Let us see. The government is hiring mages to deal with mages under the supervision of selected officials. Hmm, I wonder if they can be at all infiltrated. The book of disinformation Sinead wrote has already become a bestseller, but the higher level of the government must have access to more precise briefings, including on how to protect themselves against us. We shall see how Constantine and Sephare want to play it out. My focus must remain on the supernatural alliance. This is more my area of expertise. One cannot be good at everything. Like singing. Curse singing. I sigh and prepare to pack. Two days later, near Avalon. When the White Cabal first made their lair in the wilderness west of New York, they may not have anticipated their drastic growth. As one of the only two organizations to enjoy an alliance with me and a relative truce with the rest of us, the Cabal has found itself a durable species lacking natural predators, with the expected result. They have been fruitful and multiplied to cover all of the earth, or at least all of it between New Brunswick and Princeton. What started as a refuge has now grown into a tentacular network of connected towns kept safe by a comprehensive system of wards, patrols, and good old-fashioned distrust of strangers. My carriage would have been interrupted a dozen times were it not for uniformed guards riding along. I cannot blame them for their caution. Hamlets succeed to forests, small subsistence farms, and active factories. The Cabal is almost entirely self-sufficient and they export high-quality consumer goods to afford what they cannot create themselves. Shoemakers and textile mills stand next to small foundries. The strategy is a bit backwards, although affluence has never been their primary purpose. Safety is. They do not enjoy the sort of anonymity our small numbers afford us. I am still musing when we drive into a ravine dotted with tall sycamores and the head horses neigh in distress. The convoy stops. The head soldier draws a pistol and scrutinizes whatever his lantern reveals. ¡°Who goes there?¡± he demands with the courage of those who defend their home. I sigh and open the door. Their attention turns to me. By the time they follow my gaze, Adrien stands squarely in the middle of the path in a long beige duster. He wears a fox mask, which I will admit is quite a nice touch. The head guard is less impressed. ¡°By God. Is this¡­¡± ¡°You may want to back down, my good man. This is not an opponent you can face,¡± I tell him. Leaves crunch under their footsteps as they dismount and fall back. The scent of fresh sap and rotting vegetation caresses my nose with a small burst of wind. A hint of vampire spice comes with it. The scent reminds me of Torran. Adrien¡¯s aura spreads and touches my own. Although he does not move, a sort of pull attracts my attention to a massive boulder on my left. I appreciate the delicate attention but there was no need. All my instincts scream and I use a lazy mirage spell to create a decoy and take a step back. A spear shrieks through the air where my heart used to be. It clangs noisily against a nearby rock in a deluge of shards. I casually say. My attacker rises from behind his hiding place like an opera highwayman. He wears proper mail armor, which I can respect. The enchantments show that he cares for it, while a few scars on its black surface show use. A black mask hides his features, though I recognize Loic from the aura alone. My remark stops him in his tracks, but only for a moment. I block a quickly manifested black spear and dodge under Adrien¡¯s blade. I cast mirage then dodge against a roaring sweeping attack. I fight my way out of the ravine by using trees as obstacles and rocks as platforms. Loic fights with casual grace while Adrien supports him with limited commitment. Loic is annoyed. I see it in the impatience of his follow-up strikes, though he will never admit to it. Our contest of strength continues and leaves behind shorn trunks and upturned stumps. I manage to rake his flank but Adrien deflects the blade with an attack of his own. I stop at the edge of a small pond. s?a??h th? N???lFire.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. The shadows spread over the land as Loic laughs and laughs, amazed at my stupidity. Adrien is in his element now. the twin whispers. The Roland lord disappears in the spell just as Loic¡¯s hilarity redoubles. Then he chokes. And screams. I do not let the spell drop. Loic¡¯s spear gains an ethereal quality and so does he. My first attack passes him by as he jerks away at the last moment. He tries to run out of the cloud. Adrien says, I force another moment of ethereal shift with a lunge at his leg and cast immediately. The chain spell, Constantine¡¯s specialty, latches on the man¡¯s arm despite his shift. Loic strikes down and manages to pin one of the seven links I manifested to the ground, breaking it. Adrien¡¯s next attack digs a furrow along his flank through the armor. Loic drags me closer through the magical construct. He is stronger than me. he spits. I retort. a deep voice says. More than thirty golden chains are vomited by a fantomatic silhouette at my back. They curve around my right and gather around an already immobilized Loic, pinning him down under an extraordinary weight. The surprise is too much for Loic, who gasps. I can also say from experience that the exercise can be painful when the caster wants it, and this one definitely does. I let the darkness spell fade to reveal Constantine¡¯s dark eyes glaring from above his hooked nose, the Speaker majestic for once in a red battle robe brimming with enchantments. Loic¡¯s surprise is complete. It immediately turns into outrage. Before he can throw a single slur, Constantine raises a hand, causing a few golden links to tighten around the captive lord and stealing his breath. The chains relax slightly and Loic vociferates as if he was not trussed like a deer. Loic opens his mouth to curse but seems to reconsider. A slow smile spreads across his keen features. Constantine remains unfazed. A man I wish I never saw again emerges from behind us. He is wan and gaunt with an angular face and pale eyes the color of watery hydrangea. He also tortured me until my mind broke. Even decades later, I have to resist the urge to pull on my fingers. The effect on Loic is much more dire. Adrien takes a deep breath and we turn to him, surprised at the flare in his aura. We remain silent. I highly suspect that Constantine has no idea what the offended Roland is talking about, that is, until the man jumps on Loic and pummels his face with great enthusiasm. I watch the spectacle, mesmerized, and wonder if we will have to wait for the head to regrow, but it appears that our ally removed his gloves before the cathartic event. This goes on for half a minute, then Adrien stands up. Constantine replies, acerbic. The blood archmage moves his gauntlet and the captured lord is dragged back to Ignace, who takes down his backpack to reveal its grisly content. A memory comes to my mind, unbidden. I stop a shiver before it begins. Ignace¡¯s eyes are on me. I bare my teeth. he nods, The other two are studiously ignoring our exchange, busy as they are attaching Loic to a nearby horizontal stone. It appears that Ignace is confident that he will only need a few hours. Or is this merely the preliminary work? I have not replied and so Ignace continues. Chapter 161: White Cabal ¡°Is it her? She doesn¡¯t look like much.¡±¡°What did you expect? A tail? Bat wings?¡± The young guard crossed his arms defensively. Hazel was against ribbing but this time, the little twat had it coming. ¡°Shut up you two. Vampires have excellent hearing,¡± she said in a low voice. Joel sulked in silence while the older man, Willis, gave her an irate glare. She widened her eyes in the universal ¡®are you going to say something¡¯ message and he relented. It chaffed Willis to be under her because he, too, had fought at Black Harbor. That made him a veteran of the scourge war. It just didn¡¯t make him a good leader. He still hadn¡¯t got it. Hazel held her gaze for another second. Willis was getting to be a pain in her arse but so long as he remained professional, she wouldn¡¯t act. Rules were in her favor. Politics was not. Fucking politics. ¡°Roth, stop scratching your ass, Jesus.¡± The hairy soldier jumped and straightened. His uniform stretched over a small potbelly that had never disappeared even during the lean months of the war. Poor sod was not the brightest but he was trying. The last member of the fireteam, Moise, stood straight as a rod in perfect silence, every brass button shining on his impeccable vest. He was holding a repeater polished to a shine and looked straight ahead instead of gawping at the newcomer. Like her, he didn¡¯t have politics on his side, and so he made sure that he had everything else. The vampire slowly made her way to Avalon¡¯s ¡®Spider¡¯ gate, looking incongruous with her exquisite lavender dress against the background of ancient forest. The evening wear was the sort of custom work that cost an arm and leg. Hazel had to admit that she was a little bit envious before reminding herself that this was a monster. She would not envy monsters, or associate any sort of normal emotions with them. That¡¯s how they got you. ¡°Welcome to Avalon, ma¡¯am. Name¡¯s Hazel Zellik. My fireteam and I are charged with your safety. Our first task is to escort you through the compound and to the council room, where the archmages are waiting. Are you ready to depart?¡± There, all prime and proper. The vampire nodded once. Her hair was held high in a complicated hairdo. It was slightly asymmetrical as if readjusted in a hurry. There was a gash on the carriage, she realized. Hazel frowned. ¡°Something happened, ma¡¯am?¡± ¡°Nothing to concern yourself over, corporal. Please lead on.¡± Hazel removed the concern from her face. She had a mission and she would get it done. Let the brass worry about the rest. ¡°This way,¡± she said. Her four squad mates closed around her and the vampire, as if she needed any sort of protection. Hazel took out her key from her uniform vest and inserted it in the metal gate¡¯s lock. Something shone briefly. She knew that they were wards and alarms though how it worked was beyond her. Some magical thingamabobs. The key turned once more with the clank of released mechanisms before the imposing steel slab rotated on well-oiled hinges with nary a sound. They moved on. Hazel took a last look behind at the carriage they had left. A single lantern shone at the edge of the Spiderwood like a candle at the edge of a nightmare. She had to remind herself that the woods were just old and gnarled and that the true monster stood by her side, looking all proper and smelling vaguely of jasmine. ¡°Oh, I forgot. Do you have any luggage?¡± Hazel asked as an afterthought. Damn, did she already fuck up? ¡°I have what I need with me. The rest will be delivered through the front door.¡± The vampire daintily reached into a recess in her skirt and pulled out a black caster glove with nasty obsidian knuckles, because of course that thing would have pockets. She put it on in one smooth move, without looking, and fastened the clasps with slow and precise movements. There was nothing too predatory yet. She was slow and graceful. The only weird thing was how she was not looking around and yet still managed to evade the occasional puddle of mud. Hazel felt like she didn¡¯t depend on sight that much and that was just a tad off putting. Little things, really. The path from the Spider gate first led them through a thicket of oaks, a remnant from when that place was just untamed wilderness. They emerged on the other side through peripheral barracks meant for scouts returning past midnight. The academy was further away. That late, no one was out except the odd patrol. Hazel shivered in the fall air, even if it wasn¡¯t that cold yet. A gust of wind rustled the leaves until she finally found the silence abhorrent. Empty. The vampire was just by her side and suddenly it didn¡¯t feel like such a good idea to imagine what she, or it, could do. The memory of Black Harbor returnedcame back, unbidden. Steel-clad forms cleaving through huge drones with practiced ease. A shower of bone and ichor with every strike. She had tried to reload but her old rifle was so hot that it had burned her fingertips. It had not mattered. None of the drones had made it through. Hazel¡¯s gaze landed on the woman¡¯s pale fingers and caught a hint of onyx claw. Her breath hitched in her throat and perspiration made her back wet. She shivered again. The vampire sniffed the air. ¡°So, will you be staying at the inn?¡± Hazel asked. Her voice had only wavered a little bit. ¡°No. That place is not secured. I have made¡­ other arrangements.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure that the Black Dog could accommodate.¡± ¡°I have an understanding with his predecessor. Mr. Hopkins.¡± No one said a word though she harbored no doubt that they were all as curious as she was. There were rurmors. Fuck it, she wanted to know. ¡°Is it true that you two faced each other in combat?¡± ¡°Traps, mostly. Hopkins is far too cunning to attack one of us directly. He almost gave me a fright.¡± There was amusement in the vampire¡¯s voice and Hazel felt a smile on her lips. She killed it immediately. ¡°Ah, thank you for indulging me,¡± she continued. That was probably the polite thing to say. ¡°Not to worry. Since we started talking, you smell less of fear, which is desirable. And so does our escort.¡± Hazel almost froze in her tracks. An escort? But then someone swore from behind a trunk thirty paces to her right and she lifted her rifle. Her barrel was stopped by the unyielding grip of the vampire. ¡°None of that now. They are also White Cabal.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t know¡­¡± For some reason, that pissed her off. Didn¡¯t they trust her? Why didn¡¯t they tell her anything if they were going to send nannies to watch every last step? She grit her teeth but she kept going. There was nothing to do. ¡°Not like you need any more protection,¡± she said out loud this time. ¡°You are not protecting me,¡± the vampire stated. ¡°Then what are we protecting?¡± ¡°The peace.¡± More cryptic bullshit, just what Hazel needed. There was not much to do except moving on. Her squad soon arrived at the expanse of kept grass surrounding the White Cabal¡¯s political heart. The more Hazel looked at the circular building. and the weirder it got. The columns and fancy exterior reminded her of the government buildings back in Washington she had seen once towards the end of the Civil War. It was like a government outside of the government and that was all sorts of strange. It was also built with white stone to the contrary of most everything else around here. Hazel thought that it stuck out like a sore thumb but what did she know? Rich folks probably had their reasons. ¡°Hmmm so we have arrived. We¡¯ll escort you in, unless you have orders or something?¡± ¡°No, I do not have orders,¡± the vampire replies off-handedly. Hazel blushed when she realized her blunder, but the vampire didn¡¯t seem to mind. ¡°What I expect is for you to lead me up the steps and announce my presence, then your council will make me wait for a few minutes because they are a pack of grumpy old trouts and they can get away with it. A few hours of speech and grandstanding will follow. After that, we will retire to a place I shall inform you of at the time of departure to spend the rest of the night.¡± ¡°Oh. Okay.¡± There was a soft hiss, then the vampire forced a smile. ¡°Proceed.¡± Hazel moved on with her squad dutifully keeping formation. Their mysterious escort stayed in the woods, though she caught a hint of mage armor and assumed that they were there as insurance. Typical. She climbed the marble steps to the council¡¯s antechamber and realized that she¡¯d never been there before. It was¡­ better than she expected. A large, circular corridor extended left and right. It was filled with paintings. Her eyes traveled despite herself. Many depicted landscapes. Meadows, cities seen from afar and even an enchanting sea both blue and grey that almost melted into the cloudy sky above. Those were relaxing and absorbing, but the paintings that bordered the entrance to the central chamber were different. She mechanically announced the vampire¡¯s presence to some posh asshole dressed like a butler, but her attention was on the work behind his head. It depicted a line of soldiers in dark uniforms executing a group of civilians. The light centered on a man in white, arms stretched in supplication or to cover those behind. She couldn¡¯t tell. There were bodies on the ground. Blood too. ¡°El tres de mayo by Francisco Goya. The soldiers on the right are Napoleon¡¯s occupation force in Madrid. The people on the left rebelled the day prior.¡± ¡°It¡¯s¡­ different from the others.¡± ¡°It remains a revolutionary work in every sense of the term, though I suspect that your council placed it here as a reminder.¡± ¡°A reminder of what? That people die?¡± she spat. The work of art was so poignant. It grabbed her by the chest and didn¡¯t let go. It annoyed her that someone would use this as a deliberate tool. It was meant to be free. ¡°Yes, that, and the dangers of tyranny I supposed, but the warning is also for the councilors themselves. You see, Francisco Goya supported the revolution before it soured into an aggressive empire. Many forces start as protectors of freedom and justice. Few manage to keep to those ideals.¡± ¡°That must have stung. For the artist I mean.¡± ¡°Ah yes, poor painter. I managed to acquire one of his works. Such a talented individual.¡± ¡°You did?¡± ¡°Saturn Devouring His Son. Ah, the circus begins.¡± The butler guy invited the vampire in. For some reason they didn¡¯t close the door and Hazel could see the court inside. They had a central open space then big chairs hosting old coots in fineries, then lesser geezers in lesser fineries above that, all in concentric circles of wealth and age. A large man with a small hammer ¡ª a gavel maybe? ¡ª had an entire side to himself. He looked quite tired. ¡°Ladies and gentlemen, please reveal and verify your protective amulets, thank you. Everyone has done so? Good. The council welcomes the Ambassador of the Accords, Ariane of the Nirari. You have the floor.¡± ¡°Thank you. I will be brief. You should have all received the report we compiled on the Supernatural Task Force by now, including the agenda for implementation. Their avowed function is to monitor and police America¡¯s magical population. We, however, believe that they will be used as a tool of control to list and monitor us, as a first step. Once the Congress and the White House have a firm idea on the current magical landscape, they will use it to shape their policies, up to and including extermination. The Accords propose the creation of a committee to coordinate actions on and against units of the task force that endanger us in one way or another through infiltration and coercion. It must happen now while the hierarchy is still being selected. That is all.¡± She stopped speaking and Hazel waited for the rest. That¡­ was all? Most politicians really liked speaking. Maybe they were like that in private and saved the big words for public events. Those always made her drowsy. She wondered why the vampire wasn¡¯t trying to be smoother. They were supposed to be good at it. ¡°Thank you, ambassador. Now for the questions. Anyone? Everyone. Alright, we will do this by seniority. The Chief Librarian has the floor.¡± ¡°Who¡¯s in charge of that idea and why haven¡¯t you killed him yet?¡± an old woman asked. Hazel couldn¡¯t see her from here yet the voice carried a great deal of annoyance. ¡°Senator Williams from Massachusetts, and we believe that the task force remains the better option because¡ª¡± ¡°How is that a better option?! Will they be putting all our names on a list to grab us at dawn and drag us to the pyres?¡± There was a moment of silence and Hazel leaned forward under the disapproving glare of the butler. The vampire was sitting in a comfortable chair, reclining as if it were a throne. Her talon beat a little staccato on the polished arm. Tic tic tic. It resonated terribly in the following silence. ¡°And we believe that the task force remains the better option,¡± the blonde woman ¡ª no, vampire ¡ª continued, ¡°because this solution involves mages every step of the way and because all of the alternatives are worse. We do not go against the grain. The integrists will take southern states by a landslide in the next election.¡± ¡°They are a bunch of inbred morons. They couldn¡¯t take their own asses with both arms.¡± Once again, the vampire stopped talking and the atmosphere grew heavier. Really. And perhaps a little cold. Some of the attendants shifted in their seats. Hazel was familiar with the concept of aura but she also knew that it was rude to use it on someone. It felt like you were being pushed by an unseen hand, but this was different. The room was deeper. Larger, perhaps. And darker. And then the vampire audibly sighed and everything returned to normal. The butler blinked and readjusted his tie. Moise rolled his shoulders. ¡°I would advise you not to underestimate the power of a mob. The integrists will ride on a tide of resentment. If a legal, legitimate organization is not in place by the time they reach congress, they will push for more drastic measures. We cannot undo centuries of fear and resentment through assassinations.¡± She leans forward. ¡°Or we would have done it, of course. Next question?¡± ¡°Right. Next is finance minister and opposition leader, Hoffenstadt.¡± ¡°Thank you, president. Now, please tell us what is preventing me from walking to archmage Lewis who still heads the ministry in Washington and telling him to hunt all of you monsters. You, the werewolves, and those fey creatures? Hm?¡± The inflammatory comment was received with a roar of disapproval from the majority, but quite a few people cheered as well. Insults streamed across the amphitheater. ¡°Order! Order! Councilor Hoffenstadt, you are out of line!¡± ¡°I will answer,¡± the vampire said. Calm progressively returned. The vampire still lounged on the throne, no, in her seat, Hazel corrected. ¡°Mundane people fear us. I am including the caster population in that statement. They fear all of us, even that washerwoman whose only quirk is to make clothes smell like flowers. And rightly so. If someone can access a power and you cannot, and they have hidden it until now, how can you trust them? What if they can influence your thoughts? Where are the limits? Right now, the world is awakening to a new dimension with unknown limits and they are afraid. Entire regions of Europe have outlawed any and all magic. It will happen here as well unless we whitewash our image. ¡°Now is the time to present an affable face as Lewis has managed to do so far. You will be rich, and clean. Handsome and pale. Your powers shall be obvious and useful. Government mages will wear easily recognizable marks and work under the direction of respectable and pious men, and still, you will be scorned. It will still take decades before you can appear to the general public without the stench of sulfur marring your public personae. No, indeed, now is not the time to give the opposite side more resources, because that mud will stain us all and the mundane population will not be able to tell the difference.¡± The vampire shifted a bit and Hazel followed the languid gesture. it was a lie, of course, all a lie. The vampire had no need to move. It was just a mask. ¡°I assure you, acting against us right now¡­ isn¡¯t in your best interest.¡± Hazel knew a threat when she heard one. She didn¡¯t think that it would work against Hoffenstadt but it didn¡¯t matter, he was just trying to get a rise. Waste of time. More questions came after that. There were a few about the Accords¡¯ opinions on several matters which the vampire succinctly explained. Inquiries on the Accords capabilities and military were politely yet firmly shut down. By this stage, Hazel wondered how important the Accords were exactly. Anyone who held a weapon in Avalon was taught of their existence and not to engage, yet for all those efforts she couldn¡¯t think of anyone who had met one of their agents. That was weird. Very few people talked about meeting vampires since the end of the war as well. Were they hiding? It would not be difficult. There were so few of them. Barely a few hundreds, spread across a large land. Perhaps that was for the best. ¡°Thank you for your time everyone. It is now two in the morning. Two in the mor ¡ª Interrupting me will not change my decision, councilor Heynes. We shall retire for the night. Thank you for your time, ambassador.¡± A collective hum rose Hazel from her torpor. Those old bags were finally done. After listening to them for hours, she wasn¡¯t sure what to think. Yes they knew a lot but did they have to bicker all the time? It all felt very childish. The vampire was the first to leave. She strode out without hesitation sparing not a glance to others. Hazel and her squad scrambled after her with middling dignity. ¡°Should we proceed to the place where you¡¯ll be resting?¡± she asked. ¡°Yes. Follow me, Hopkins showed me the way before.¡± Silence returned and Hazel felt no need to fill it. It was dark. She was tired. Had to keep her eyes open. They went past Dunley¡¯s which served a sweet wine she liked and Barnaby¡¯s with its affordable pulp books. Places she knew. The darkness made them menacing and unfamiliar now, and the worst thing was that she didn¡¯t know if it was the vampire doing something, or just her nerves. It was Avalon, god dammit, her home. Not some integrist den of drooling assholes. The vampire walked confidently. Hazel could hardly see under what little light the group¡¯s sole lantern provided. They stopped in front of what could only be described as a gardening shack at the edge of a pumpkin field. She felt stupid but didn¡¯t dare ask questions. The vampire picked a key from behind a log and opened the door for them. She signaled the others and went in first. A part of her brain screamed that she was getting into an enclosed place, alone, with a monster. The more rational one told her that if the monster wanted her dead, there was fuckall she could do. ¡°Huh,¡± Joel said as he went in. His youth was showing but Hazel agreed that this was strange. Avalon¡¯s inner perimeter, inside of the walls, was quite large. There was the city, but also production and military facilities. Some fields too. The walls were more here to slow down invaders and provide increased security against spies than anything else. She had never known that places like this also existed. The cabin was a secured location with a small forward square, the visible part, and a much larger back one cleverly hidden under a thick copse of trees and probably a few illusions as well. She spotted four beds on the right and a table on the left with chairs, barrels of water, and packed rations. There was even a small open door leading to a privy. She made a note to use it before Roth did. Sometimes it felt like the man only ate dead skunks. The implication was staggering. ¡°Right, everyone settle down. Ma¡¯am, could I have a moment of your time?¡± ¡°Certainly, corporal.¡± They moved outside. Hazel pestered under her breath because she hadn¡¯t thought of taking the lantern with her. The night was dark and moonless. ¡°Nu Sarrehin.¡± A purple light revealed clawed fingers entrapped in a black gauntlet and the vampire¡¯s cold, perfect beauty. She was close. Her skin didn¡¯t have the pores and blemishes that everybody else had, a bit like a statue. Hazel wondered if men got trapped by that honey pot or if they realized on time that it was too free of defects to be true. ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± Hazel asked without preamble. No need to play coy. The vampire knew what she meant. She had to. ¡°There will be a coup tomorrow.¡± Hazel gasped. The vampire kept talking without care. ¡°A group will attempt to capture and execute a number of councilors during tomorrow¡¯s afternoon session. They will attempt to capture and kill me.¡± ¡°How do you know?¡± ¡°Hopkins, of course. The old fox forfeited the post of Black Dog to better focus on internal security.¡± ¡°A secret police?¡± ¡°Of a sort, yes. He shared this detail with me and asked me not to intervene.¡± Hazel looked for signs of deceit, but of course she might as well have stared at a log. The vampire did not move. At all. ¡°You are wondering if you can trust me. In truth, your confidence is not required. You merely have to follow orders.¡± Hazel frowned. ¡°To guarantee your safety?¡± ¡°Precisely. You will watch over me just as you were tasked to. Nothing more, nothing less. I warned you so that you would not be caught off-guard.¡± Hazel pondered that for a moment. ¡°Why us? Is it because we are¡­ who we are?¡± For the first time, the vampire smiled. It was thin and skin-deep but it did disarm a little bit of the tension that had been building in Hazel¡¯s mind. ¡°The mundane soldiers¡¯ only female NCO, promoted on merit, leading a squad of undesirables. Yes. Let us say that the members of the cabal who will conduct their uprising wish for a more¡­ traditional ruling body for their organization. You would have no part in it. A curious thing, really. In Europe, the revolutionaries I met were progressive but here they are conservative. In any case, Hopkins trusts you. That is why you were selected to cover me.¡± Hansel¡¯s mind reeled. Hopkins trusted her? She didn¡¯t even think that he was aware of her existence, except in reports. The hound himself! She felt a blush coming to her cheeks while pride swelled in her chest. ¡°You should go back in and rest. You will have a long day tomorrow.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll set up a guard¡­¡± ¡°No need. I will retire at dawn. You are safe until then.¡± ¡°We are in charge of your safety.¡± Something rustled behind Hazel and she jumped, turning around to find that the vampire was there. The light still came from her back. Hazel swivelled to find the light hanging in the darkness. The vampire walked by her. ¡°Trust me, corporal Hazel Zellick. I could slaughter my way from here to New York and nothing could stop me. I will survive for a few hours without your monitoring. More seriously, I will need all of you awake and ready tomorrow at dawn, so please do as I say.¡± Dawn came and the squad settled to wait. The vampire had retreated underground where a large storage room led to a secure place for her. Nothing was happening. For one terribly long hour, she thought that the vampire had manipulated them into doing something strange and unthinkable, until Willis found a note in the supplies they had. ¡°Do not abuse it,¡± it said with Hopkins¡¯ hand. She could recognize it anywhere. The note came with a deck of cards. Hazel had one sentry look outside the windows at all times. She would be the second one. Discretion was their sole advantage here, so they should not show themselves. It made their quarters cramped and malodorous. Her uniform was wrinkled. She felt a bit grimy even though she had washed her hands and face with the barrel water. A coup huh? She supposed that it had to happen at some point. The White Cabal had been through a lot of changes over the past few years. There was resentment going around. Still¡­ at a time like this? It bothered her deeply. It also bothered her that the vampire had been told before they had. The hours passed. Dawn became morning. The sun crept over a cloudy sky. Outside, nothing much was going on. A few pedestrians walked by on morning strolls and she made sure to stay hidden, not that anyone was paying attention. The first shots rang at around ten. The squad members at rest froze in the middle of a game of poker. ¡°Corporal?¡± Willis asked. ¡°We have our orders. We stay put and do our duty.¡± ¡°Corporal,¡± he insisted, ¡°I can¡¯t be on the wrong side. Are we sure?¡± Hazel almost lashed out then. Her grandmother had told her never to give an inch or it would be all over, and the old woman had been right. She did not. Willis was not challenging her. He was terrified. His hands shook with panic and sweat covered his wrinkled face. No. She had to be calm right now. Show she could be the leader they needed. ¡°Willis, this isn¡¯t like your old group, I swear. We¡¯re the good guys. Besides, protecting the vampire is important.¡± The more she talked and the more she joined the dots. ¡°If the vampire is assassinated under our custody, the Accords will probably go to war. I don¡¯t have to explain to you why that¡¯s bad. The best thing we can do for the loyalists is to keep that thing alive. And we will.¡± Joel stood up and loaded his gun. He made sure that the path down was open and ready. ¡°Maybe they won¡¯t find us,¡± he said. No one said a word and the game of cards stopped there. Moise made sure everyone had enough bullets and went to polish his repeater. It was already shiny enough to use as a mirror. ¡°People coming,¡± Roth mumbled from the window. ¡°Down,¡± Hazel ordered. She had a look. The cabin had no fire and no light to avoid visibility. A large group of combatants walked past them with guns at the ready. They wore no uniforms. Many of them were mages with gauntlets and grim expressions. They went by without noticing them. ¡°They¡¯re going to Hopkins¡¯ house. It¡¯s not far,¡± Willis said. ¡°They won¡¯t find him there,¡± she said. No way the hound would be caught in the open. He will have brought his family to safety. The others all nodded. ¡°Then we wait.¡± They didn¡¯t have to do it for long. Those they had seen soon returned and spread out. They were clearly looking for something. The sounds of distant detonations still rang across the town. Hazel was afraid, but she had to trust others to do their job like she was doing hers. Sometimes she wondered what her life would have been like if she had just married Simeon the clerk like her father had ordered. If she would be happier being his wife than here, surrounded by enemies. She gripped her rifle tighter and felt the smooth wood of the stock. Moise placed a cartridge in the chamber of his with a click. It rang like thunder in the silent room. Hell nah. Roth waved his hand to get her attention. He signed for one, rifle, walking here. She nodded and crawled through the door to unlock it. She then pointed at Willis and Joel to hide on the sides. The rest stayed near the door. The walls of the cabin were deceptively thick. Her squad would be hard to spot. The sound of footsteps came from outside. She didn¡¯t move. Someone was by the windows. She held her closed fist to signal the others to wait. Silence. The door handle rattled. She looked at Moise by the door. His brown eyes were on her. She made the ¡®cut throat¡¯ gesture to tell him to neutralize the threat. He nodded once. The door opened in her face, blocking her view. She jumped up, heard the smack of wood against flesh. A man fell. She was on him in an instant. He was clearly dazed. He wore civilian clothes with a white band tied over his right arm. She didn¡¯t recognize him. Moise and her dragged him in while Roth closed the door again as silently as he could. They found rope and gagged the man. Willis and Joel brought him to the basement. ¡°Alright, one down,¡± she said. ¡°Fifty to go,¡± Roth said. They chuckled, but not for long. ¡°Hey, Jimbo, you there?¡± someone yelled outside. Hazel gestured frantically and everyone moved up. There were two voices now. More came. ¡°He was supposed to be around here,¡± the first voice said. ¡°Maybe he¡¯s a bit farther. Still think we¡¯re wasting our time. ¡°They saw the bitch and the misfits walk in that direction, man, and they never reached the gate. Can¡¯t be too far.¡± ¡°They could have just left, over the wall or something.¡± ¡°Why would they do that? The council is still debating.¡± ¡°Fair. Let¡¯s check that cabin over there. Hey, Chuck, cover me will you?¡± ¡°Yeah yeah.¡± Hazel risked a glance. There were three of them. One was a mage with a gauntlet moving carefully towards them. Another was a soldier with a rifle held lazily in his hands while the last had a revolver. He was checking the woods. Hazel signaled Moise. The black man was their best shot. He took his repeater and aimed. She drew her regulation revolver. The door opened. She shot the closest soldier in the chest three times. Time slowed down. Her target lifted a bloody hand and looked at it with disbelief. He was already dead. The rifleman fell with a bullet in the heart. Willis and Joel¡¯s bullets pinged on the mage¡¯s shield. They didn¡¯t have silver. Oversight. The man retreated with a cry but it was useless. The entire town must have heard shots by now. Distant figures already rushed at them from behind a bend in the road. ¡°Alright everyone give it to them!¡± she bellowed. The men smashed the windows and started taking potshots at the enemy troops who jumped to cover and returned fire. The walls of the cabin held fast. They were thick enough that only a cannon could go through. A spell sent wood shrapnel flying by her though. She removed a splinter from her bleeding cheek. ¡°That fucker,¡± she mumbled. For the next ten minutes, her squad slowed down and only took sure shots. They had to hold. Time was on their side, that was for sure. Moise got a guy crawling forward in the neck. Roth managed an impressive feat when he got a rifleman in the head through a thin birch tree. ¡°Nice one Roth,¡± she said. ¡°I was aiming for the chest!¡± the pump man bellowed as he reloaded. He was nervous. They all were. Okay, doing well so far. Just had to last. Slow them down. Maybe they would think that it¡¯s not worth it. She was trying to convince herself. It wasn¡¯t working. Hazel lost her notion of time. Some people tried to flank them but the cabin only had openings at the front and the brambles were so thick that it would take hours to cut through. She shot someone trying to take a peek. They were trapped. It was only a matter of time before everything went to shit. What were the others doing? She checked her watch. It was half past eleven. They had only been at it for an hour but it had felt like eternity. She was already drained, numb from being on edge for so long. She sponged the sweat from her face and took a swig of water. At least no one was seriously hurt yet. ¡°What¡¯s going on there?¡± an authoritative voice demanded. It was an older mage with a robe covered in talisman. It cut through the haze of the battle. For one naive moment, Hazel thought the man might rescue them but it didn¡¯t happen. A man ran to report to the approaching figure. Moise took a shot. It pinged against a massive shield. The man didn¡¯t even turn his eyes to them. ¡°No you imbecile. The vampire will be underground. Do you want to wait until the fire dies out?¡± Hazel blinked when she realized that she had been very close to being roasted. Or not. Actually, setting the house on fire might be a good idea but it was too late to set it up. ¡°Alright, you lot in there,¡± the powerful mage said, ¡°you have one minute to get out with your weapons down and your arms in the air. Do so and you will be allowed to leave Avalon safely. You have my word.¡± ¡°The negro dies though,¡± the rifleman added. ¡°No, he does not,¡± the mage added pointedly. The foes waited. ¡°Right,¡± Hazel said. ¡°Right, make sure the way to the basement is clear. Lock the door. Let¡¯s put the table against it. The windows are too small for an adult so it might save us some time.¡± The team scrambled to shove everything they had against the opening. Willis broke the nervous silence. ¡°If anyone thinks to say yes to those assholes, I¡¯ll shoot him myself,¡± he grumbled. ¡°Not if I get him first,¡± Joel added with scowl. ¡°Alright we¡¯re all very loyal in here,¡± Hazel said. ¡°Now move those hips and grab me that chair. ¡°Time is up!¡± the mage declared. The squad fired but they knew it was useless. All they had was mundane lead. A wall of shields covered the approaching troop. Their only saving grace was that the enemies could not shoot through that shield either. ¡°Fuck. Prepare to¡ª¡± Hazel¡¯s order was interrupted by a cataclysmic blast. The door¡¯s upper half was shattered and pieces of broken furniture rained in. Hazel¡¯s gaze froze on the gaping hole left behind, uncomprehending. ¡°This place is warded!¡± the mage declared. ¡°No matter, the windows are not. Fire at will, men!¡± A torrent of bullets buzzed through the openings. The far wall and most of the furniture turned into a pitted wreck. Hazel had enough. ¡°Alright, back, back. Into the basement.¡± She shot blindly to give them a few seconds. Her squad ran. They jumped down. She ran as well. The gunshots stopped. She heard something fall down. The mage was here, well, his head was. He was young with a well-trimmed beard. Quite handsome. He looked serious and uncaring. His gauntlet extended almost lazily. She was going to die. Then a chair smacked into it. The spell went off and demolished a cupboard. Roth was running towards her. ¡°Go, go!¡± he yelled. She did. Rifles roared. She jumped down onto packed earth lit by a yellow lantern. Roth pretty much smashed by her side and rolled over, eyes vacant. Blood spread on the ground. ¡°Roth¡­ Roth!¡± The greasy man¡¯s gaze turned to her. ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Are¡­ you alright?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± She inspected him. He had a wound in the fat of his left arm. It had gone through cleanly. Otherwise he looked fine. ¡°You got shot in the arm.¡± ¡°Maybe that¡¯s why it hurts.¡± ¡°Any other place hurts?¡± He took a few seconds to answer. ¡°No?¡± ¡°Then stand up!¡± He did so heavily and Hazel bandaged the wound. It didn¡¯t look too serious. She just had to get him to a healer before it soured. Moise jumped down, having secured the hatch. ¡°That will get us a few more minutes,¡± the black man said drily. Willis was aiming up to cover them. Joel was reloading. They were in an antechamber of sorts with a ladder going up and a door leading farther in. It was locked. ¡°That¡¯s the vampire quarters. Should we¡­¡± The door opened by itself. ¡°Come on in,¡± a familiar voice said. They did and Hazel found the vampire sitting elegantly in a comfortable chair on a background of thick beams and naked walls. She was putting the finishing touches to a sketch she had been drawing. Hazel noticed the sunken eyes and sickly skin. So they did have limits. But¡­ ¡°Don¡¯t you sleep during the day?¡± ¡°A common misconception, one we have no intention of clarifying. I take it that our guests found us?¡± ¡°Yeah. They¡¯re going to go through the hatch really soon.¡± ¡°I see. That is quite alright. If things become difficult for you there is an escape tunnel behind that wardrobe.¡± ¡°No,¡± Hazel replied. ¡°We¡¯ll stay.¡± The vampire returned to her drawings while Hazel pushed herself against the wall, and waited. She had never tried fighting in a room before. It felt like it would be messy. She was afraid. It smelled of gunpowder and perspiration, down here. And blood. Roth was breathing hard enough that the sound went through the ringing in her ears. She forced herself to slow down, let her thundering heart calm. Yes. Calm. Calmer. Everything was going to be fine. Everything was going to be just alright. Just relax. Breathe. She just had to open her mind to ¡ª oh shit. s?a??h th? N???lFire.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. The door burst open but Hazel could do nothing. The voice in her head was no longer her own and, no matter how hard she tried to push it out, it was too late. Her thoughts grew muddled until she didn¡¯t know which one were hers and which one were the intruder¡¯s. Should she fight back? The people in this room¡­ had to shoot them. Or was it the ones outside? Hazel collapsed against the wall. Her body stayed mostly upright but her mind kept going down, and down, and down, into the darkness. Hazel was in a room. It was hers, but not hers. It was a bit larger. Here was her bed with the knit cover she had received from gran gran, and there was her official contract, signed by Hopkins himself, that announced to the world that she was a corporal and no one could say it wasn¡¯t so. A candle shone, bathing the open space in a dim light. Something was wrong though. ¡°You can¡¯t be there,¡± she told the man rummaging through her meager possessions. That wasn¡¯t right! It was her. It was hers! But her voice was small and childish and the man ignored her. She tried to move, and almost collapsed forward. The world was thick and syrupy and her hands were so tiny, with that scar she got while trying to fish so many years ago. ¡°Come on, come on, where is it?¡± the man grumbled. He was rude. So rude. But he was inside and she didn¡¯t have the strength. Finally, he tossed the picture of her first love on the ground and turned to her. He was tall and terrible and she suddenly felt so afraid. ¡°Well, nothing to it. I will just kill you instead.¡± Hazel almost choked with the anguish of knowing that there was nothing she could do. She waited for death to come. It did not. The man stood up and looked around instead. There was a crash. It should have hurt when that giant thorn trunk ripped through the door, embedding itself into the man¡¯s torso before retreating with his twitching corpse attached like a grotesque puppet. And yet, the door was already open to some extent and so it was sort of fine. Hazel stood up and went to follow without really meaning to. This place was strange. It was playing with her mind. Outside, she found a weird sort of plazza. It was night, she thought. The walls were made of thick walls of vegetation covered in thorns, leaves, and tiny white flowers. A massive statue occupied most of the center. It stood upright inside a white circle and depicted a werewolf of impossible proportions. She was aware that she was small here and it did not matter. The statue had to be as tall as a building. There were no traces of the man. She looked around and took another few steps forward. The statue seemed to follow her with its eyes until she passed between its muscular legs. They were so big! And the light was strange here. The wrong color. Slowly, her eyes trailed up. Past the edge of the maze they went, to a dark sky and¡ª Someone¡¯s hand grabbed her shoulder and she yelped. She was turned around with ease. She saw a pair of amused blue eyes belonging to a blonde woman. The woman loomed above Hazel with an indulgent smile. She seemed familiar. ¡°Time to wake up,¡± the woman said. She placed her hand against Hazel¡¯s forehead and . Hazel fell with a yelp against the packed earth floor of the basement. ¡°FUCK!¡± Hyperventilating. Her mind? No, later. First check on the squad. They were still there including Roth who was still alive. They were terrified. Her nostrils flared and brought back the stench of shit. The vampire stood above a mound of corpses. She held a mage¡¯s neck in one hand, his arm in the other. At first, Hazel thought that the vampire was nuzzling him but of course that was not the case. She was drinking his blood. The vampire tossed the cadaver aside when she was done. Hazel had not dared interrupt. The issue was, however, that they were stuck in a rank basement with bodies and a vampire. ¡°What now?¡± she asked no one in particular. ¡°Well I suspect that they know I am awake,¡± the vampire said, ¡°so we will stay put until nightfall.¡± ¡°That works for me, miss vampire.¡± ¡°Not to worry, I look after my allies. And please, call me Ariane.¡± Hazel watched Ariane gently throw the bodies outside of the door ¡®to help with the smell¡¯ and decided that the world was quite peculiar and that she was quite happy to still be alive to appreciate it, but now she really, really needed a glass of whiskey. Chapter 162: Here we go again. Something stirs in the threads of fate.I wish I could remove this pompous, overdone sentence from my mind, and yet nothing else can accurately describe the weight on my mind since I returned to my domain. My intuition functions more sharply as long as I remain in my lands and it hints at something important, something that is not even related to my current worries. The trip to the White Cabal was a pleasant and filling diversion, but the main urgent issue remains. Lord Benoit, Warden of Virginia, attacked me on my domain. Therefore I shall mount his head on a spike. His support was cut with the loss of Loic and the turning of Adrien. Now, it is just a matter of finding him. And there lies the problem. Benoit has disappeared west, past the frontier, with most of his retinue. ¡°The prevalence of native populations makes the circulation of information difficult,¡± Lynn says as she hands me a report. ¡°Tensions have been high those past years with colonists expanding relentlessly and the encroached nations sending raiders and war parties. There have been thousands of casualties within the last five years, at least. There are also reports that the natives have been using sorcery to increasingly great effect.¡± ¡°That would support Constantine¡¯s opinion that magic is growing stronger,¡± I idly comment. Lynn nods and reclines on her comfortable couch. We have taken to sitting in front of the hearth in a more casual setting than usual. It is late, after all. ¡°We have little to no communication with them. Benoit could be carousing around, putting entire Sioux villages to the sword and we would not know it.¡± ¡°So there are no military reports about a lost band of settlers?¡± I ask, perusing the document. ¡°None that would match him and his followers. He has disappeared.¡± ¡°The question remains then. What is he seeking?¡± ¡°Could it be gold? There have been gold rushes before.¡± I dismiss the possibility almost immediately. ¡°I doubt it. All the wardens are currently seizing and developing cheap assets at a record speed. We have never been so rich and influential than now. Benoit has seized much sea-side land that should be bringing him dividends. Bah, none of this truly matters. Vampires do not go to war over money. We always have ways to obtain more. No, he must be looking for something different.¡± ¡°People? Magic?¡± ¡°Perhaps¡­ Unfortunately, there are many different nations over an extremely vast territory. Dakota, Cheyenne, Comanche to name a few, and the frontier is ripe with skirmishes and rumors. We might as well look for a needle in a haystack.¡± I shake my head. There is no helping it. Information gathering is best left to existing networks. ¡°Sephare¡¯s agents are on the move. We will continue to monitor nearby territories but prioritize our new arrangements with Adam in the meanwhile. We have already lost too much momentum in the post-war asset grab.¡± ¡°Understood.¡± Lynn departs the room, leaving me alone with a mass of documents to verify and sign. The advantage of being on hand is that my associates tend to be more rigorous and our profits mysteriously increase. The downside is, of course, paperwork. I was made to ride through dark forests spear in hand, hissing and hunting to my heart¡¯s content! Year-to-year production of pig meat was never supposed to be part of the deal. Something must have gone terribly wrong at some point. And why do pigs eat so much? I thought they fed on trash. By the Watcher, someone distract me from the boredom. Just then, I hear knocks on the door and I watch the dark oak pane with some amount of trepidation. Surely, I did not tempt fate with that last remark. I never voiced it. It remained in my head, therefore, it does not count. ¡°Come in,¡± I say with calm and confidence. Urchin comes in looking thoroughly amused. ¡°We have a visitor, Mistress. He tried to reach you earlier during the day but was¡­ turned down. Given his insistence I found him at nightfall and, after careful consideration, decided that it would be best to grant him his request.¡± He looks far too pleased with himself and my suspicion grows. I frown but only receive the most innocent expression that someone who fleeces card sharks for fun can achieve. ¡°Can I show him in?¡± he asks, giddy. ¡°Very well then.¡± I feel no powerful aura around, no danger, only a mortal in the corridor with a nervous heartbeat. ¡°Certainly. Come on in, lad!¡± He says. Urchin moves to the side to reveal a remarkable young man showing clear signs of fear under a layer of courage. He has traits that manage to be familiar and strange at the same time, with a proud, clean-shaven chin and well-styled blond hair. His handsome face and solid build give him the countenance of a young cavalry commander, both dashing and reliable. He wears a mighty scowl that contrasts severely with Urchin¡¯s smug expression. To my utter bafflement, the youth grabs an object from a recess of his ironed black suit and tosses it on my desk. I pick it up between two claws, sensing nothing amiss. Is that¡­ a garlic bulb? I think my mouth hangs open when he retrieves a bible and what can only be a very sharp stake. He takes a step forward and raises both implements as his powerful baritone fills my office. ¡°Beware, foul creature, sly demoness, Ariane Delaney! For your curse is at an end. No longer will you drag my family into dangerous ventures. No longer will we bend our backs to fulfill your nefarious purposes! Our secret indenture ends tonight, for I will slay you, or my name is not Alexander Bingle.¡± Ah. Ah. Ah! I see. Me, Ariane. Dragging THEM. Aha. HOW FUCKING DARE HE. Bang. THE TWIT. Bang. THE INSUFFERABLE, AMBULATORY DISASTER. Bang. The avatar of collateral damage, the herald of horror. The godling of getting-stabbed-and-shot. The ass in aspiration. How dare he ¡ª Bang. ¡ª call ME¡­ I come to and realize that I have been smashing my expensive silver candelabra against the hearth¡¯s brick lintel, chipping and cracking it. I drop the mangled piece of metal and return to my seat. Urchin stands to my right, and some youth, to my left, paralyzed with fear. He holds a bible which I find endearing. ¡°Right. Right.¡± I massage the bridge of my nose. ¡°Where were we?¡± ¡°Please give her a minute Alexander, she is not quite as young as she looks,¡± Urchin says. Yes. The unfair accusations. ¡°So let me summarize. You believe that I have been keeping your family in thrall for three generations, is that it?¡± ¡°Ehm.¡± ¡°And in order to prove it and save yourself, you have crossed the Atlantic Ocean and then several states, finally ending up in a small town in Illinois after at least a month of travel for the express purpose of lifting that tight leash I supposedly have over you. Is that correct?¡± ¡°Well¡­¡± ¡°And in order to threaten me, you have armed yourself with a bible, a piece of sharp wood, and¡­ please tell me that I am not dreaming and that I indeed have a half-peeled garlic bulb on my mahogany desk, Urchin?¡± ¡°I believe that this is correct, Mistress.¡± ¡°...¡± ¡°The weakness of vampires to garlics was plainly stated in the Guide to Supernatural Creatures by the famous Simon Nead, Mistress,¡± Urchin adds. ¡°And he mentioned garlic? Preposterous. How could he ever come up with this kooky notion?¡± ¡°I cannot possibly imagine, Mistress. Apparently, we are also unable to cross flowing water.¡± ¡°You!¡± Alexander spits accusingly at his guide, ¡°so you are one of them!¡± ¡°And,¡± I continue, ¡°your strategy was to just walk into my office and shake those things under my nose and I would be undone.¡± He has the grace to look a bit sheepish under all the bluster. ¡°Urchin, is it me or do they breed them duller with every generation? Will his children manage to walk and breathe at the same time, do you think?¡± The latest Bingle sputters in outrage but Urchin ¡ª the traitor ¡ª comes to his timely rescue. ¡°I believe that this is Mr. Bingle¡¯s first outing. The blame could partially be placed on the shoulders of inexperience.¡± ¡°Well she has a solid back, that inexperience, to carry such a burden, aye? Lack of experience indeed. Your first pick was vampire slaying! With a sharpened stake! Why not attack me with a toothpick while you are at it ya worm-brained, donkey-arsed wee bampot!¡± ¡°Careful Mistress, Loth¡¯s influence is showing.¡± ¡°I will not suffer such abuse!¡± the insulted greenhorn declares. ¡°My first adventure will also be the last when I pierce your black heart and free us from the curse!¡± My mind goes cold. Anger replaces exasperation. ¡°Oh? It takes quite a bit of effort to shove wood through ribs, I will have you know. I speak from experience. How many hearts have you skewered yet?¡± ¡°None, and God willing, yours will be the only one. He is with me. I know that you cannot approach so long as I hold the holy symbol and my faith is strong!¡± ¡°No, indeed not. So let us put your plan to the test. You will be trying to stab me with a rustic tent peg and I will be using this.¡± I open the first drawer on my right and grab a tiny revolver with a pearl handle and a silver body, which I place in front of me. It would look more appropriate in a salon than on a battlefield. ¡°This,¡± I explain, ¡°is a customized Smith & Wesson model one. It can fire seven twenty-two caliber bullets before reload and is more than capable of taking down an adult man if its wielder knows how to aim, and I assure you, I know how to aim. Now please tell me exactly how you intend to take me down. You may even assume that I will not stand from this seat as I see absolutely no need to do so. Do elaborate. I am most curious.¡± The latest iteration of the accursed bloodline stares at the gun in front of me with a refreshingly pleasant mix of horror and betrayal. ¡°But¡­¡± ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°If you are fast and strong, why do you need a gun?¡± ¡°So I can shoot other fast and strong people as well as the mortals that annoy me. I swear on everything that I hold dear that without my esteem of Cecil Rutherford Bingle, your heroic and kind grandfather, you would be a bleeding mess on the ground right now. I am just figuring out if I should laugh at your dismal intelligence and thorough lack of preparation, or be offended that you would underestimate me so much. You are without a doubt the most inane vampire hunter in the history of the planet by any measure.¡± The young man suffers my lashing in silence, skin crimson but eyes fixed on the gun in front of him. So annoying. But wait. What if¡­ What if it were my turn? After all those years? I freely let a toothy grin expose my fang and recline in my seat, enjoying the sudden shudder wracking the worst Bingle¡¯s body. A plan starts to form. I spread my arms in a gesture of magnanimity. ¡°You know what? I believe that I may grant you your request. I shall solemnly promise never to contact your family to drag them in dangerous and far-fetched quests if¡­¡± The beginning of hope fades in his eyes as I intone in my most dramatic voice. ¡°If you prove your valor by completing four tasks.¡± ¡°Why would I trust your word, monster?¡± ¡°The alternative is that I shoot you in the knee for bothering me and then dunk you in the Mackinaw river with a sack on your head and your hands tied behind your back.¡± ¡°I assent.¡± ¡°Good. Excellent. To lift the dread curse of Ariane, you will complete a feat of wit, a feat of courage, a feat of intellect, and a final feat of intuition!¡± He narrows his eyes with suspicion. ¡°You are being truthful? You will really do so?¡± ¡°We vampires cannot renege on our promise without breaking our souls. This is even more valid for a lady.¡± ¡°A lady? You are landed nobility?¡± ¡°I will send for you tomorrow at sunset to complete your tasks,¡± I finish with a tired voice. Then, I watch with disbelief as he hesitates. ¡°Why not start now?¡± The disformed candelabra lodges itself in the wall by his head, showering him with a rain of splinters. ¡°OUT! GET OUT! HSSSSSS!¡± As soon as the door closes, I put my head down and moan. ¡°He is quite young, mistress. Eighteen at most,¡± Urchin says. ¡°I do not remember ever being this stupid.¡± ¡°It was a long time ago for you, Mistress.¡± I glare. ¡°Sassing me after subjecting me to this treatment, Urchin?¡± ¡°Forgive me, Mistress. I live to please.¡± ¡°Then you¡¯re in charge of the contest of wit.¡± ¡°... any requirement?¡± ¡°Of course! The ordeal must not be dangerous. Instead, we shall achieve the optimal level of annoyance and humiliation. Oh, I have an idea. Do you fancy a bit of poker?¡± ¡°Always.¡± ¡°Then this is how we will proceed.¡± *** I open the nicely-dressed, nervous Bingle into the high-stake room of Marquette¡¯s premiere gambling den, property of me, myself, and I. Oh, I remember the time where a new town councilor attempted to close all such establishments and would not get the hint, but he unfortunately died from three stabbing wounds in the chest before the decree could be signed. Self-inflicted. A real tragedy. In any case, the high-stake room has been reserved for tonight¡¯s event. Only a dealer, a waitress carrying a glass of liquor on a fancy silver platter and Urchin remain. Velvet and walnut offer a dark, intimate setting while the permeating scent of cigar reminds the visitor of past fortunes lost and found. Gas lights shine through warm yellow glass. I bring the newcomer to the small table where his fate will be decided and leave without a word. Alexander Bingle sits awkwardly. His chair rumbles thunderously against the floor when he adjusts it. The waitress serves him and departs immediately, leaving Alexander nose to nose with the wicked smirk of my associate. He has left his bowler hat behind and his hair is impeccably combed back to reveal an intelligent forehead over the face of a lout and the eyes of a schemer. The vampire speaks first. ¡°Good evening, and welcome to the first contest: the contest of wit! We will be playing cards. Are you familiar with poker hands and their ranking?¡± ¡°I am more partial to bridge myself.¡± ¡°Fascinating. Are you familiar or not?¡± ¡°...Yes. Someone introduced the game to me when we crossed the Atlantic.¡± ¡°Good. In this instance, we will be playing an interesting variation I discovered during my travels around Corpus Christi. I simply call it Texas poker.¡± Urchin introduces the rules. Rather than having each player draw five cards, his system has two cards given privately to each player, called hole cards, and five cards in common, which are revealed across several rounds of betting. The player who achieves the best hands by any combination of their own private cards and the public ones wins the ¡®pot¡¯, or the sum of all the money bet during the round. I find the fact that everyone can see the common cards smart and inventive, allowing for a wide variety of bluffs made by raising the amount of money one has in the pot and forcing their opponent to either match that amount or give up the round. Luck matters less than statistics and reading the opponents over the course of several rounds. It puts Alexander at a clear disadvantage. ¡°We will be starting each game with ten tokens. The first person to take the other player¡¯s tokens wins. In order to complete the task, you must win once.¡± Alexander frowns. ¡°I do not have that much money.¡± Urchin shows a pity he has never felt in his entire life and comforts the little twit. ¡°There is no buy in. You get back your tokens at the end of every game. Each round, one of us will bet one token which is called the small blind while the other bets two, the big blind. We will take turns. Of course, there must be a price to failure.¡± Urchin lifts the apparatus I decided to dub the ¡®swatter¡¯, essentially a tiny shovel used to move ash around a hearth with a leather glove glued at the end. ¡°Whoever wins gets to slap the loser. I will obviously not use my true strength or any other vampire ability to win the contest.¡± ¡°Wait. Do you mean that I can try as many times as I wish?¡± ¡°Yes¡­¡± Urchin replies with clear enjoyment, ¡°Of course! Shall we?¡± Alexander nods and the dealer gives them two cards each. Urchin checks his with fluid efficiency while Alexander fumbles, glares at an uncaring Urchin, checks his cards, then checks them again. The first round is fast. Urchin bets aggressively, raising several times until Alexander folds on the fourth round. The second round, Urchin raises the stakes and Alexander follows with confidence. Urchin folds immediately. The third round is also the first to end at the card reveal. ¡°Mr. Urchin wins with three of a kind,¡± the dealer says laconically. Alexander growls and mumbles with his two pairs, but his confidence has taken a hit and when Urchin next raises, he is flustered and barely responsive. The next two rounds seal the end of the first game. ¡°You win,¡± Alexander admits with his head held high. Said head swivels to the left under the force of the blow. Ksh. ¡°Ow!¡± the man protests, massaging his reddening cheek. The swatter is not exactly light. ¡°It hurts less than losing twenty bucks. Another?¡± S~?a??h the ??v?lF?re.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. The second game takes longer with Alexander no longer rising to the bait. He takes his time and deliberates before folding or calling the raise. The game lasts eleven rounds before Alexander drops his cards and his last token. ¡°I conce ¡ª¡± Ksh Alexander¡¯s other cheek turns rosy while his temper flares. ¡°Do not be cross. He who correctly anticipates pain suffers twice,¡± Urchin generously offers. The deflating youth takes a sip of liquor to bolster his spirits and almost spits it out. ¡°Moonshine,¡± Urchin explains pleasantly. ¡°Strong stuff. Another?¡± Alexander eyes the swatter with fear but he will not be deterred. This time, he tries to bluff. He loses even faster. Urchin is a master at his craft. I was taught by Dalton and Loth and he can still give me a run for my money despite the ease with which I can read his aura. Of course, vampires playing poker are as unmoving as marble statues so the hints must come from somewhere else. No matter what, Alexander¡¯s attempt at bluff is a doomed folly. Urchin metaphorically eats him alive. The fourth more balanced approach ends in painful failure. By now, Alexander looks like he cursed an entire ball of the debutantes. And their mothers. Twice. ¡°Why is it a wit test? The only thing being tried is my patience.¡± ¡°Then perhaps you are not using the proper resource?¡± Urchin casually remarks. The man¡¯s eyes widen. It took him four slaps before realizing that success would not be achieved through traditional methods. Truly, the younger generations are lost and this entire country is going to the dogs. For his fifth attempt, Alexander bets aggressively every time and still loses. For the sixth time, he massages his now-purple jaw and smirks, thinking he has finally found the solution. He does not touch his cards. Every round, the decision is made by coin flips. Urchin smiles in return and trounces him once more. Ksh! ¡°Why?¡± Alexander roars. ¡°You randomized as many parameters as you could, but you will never be capable of preventing me from calculating the odds with the cards I have. So, what is left then?¡± ¡°To get lucky¡­¡± Alexander grumbles. It takes two more rounds for Alexander to finally get his breakthrough, but they last an hour each. I think that Urchin relented a little bit at the end. By that time, it is almost three in the morning and we both have better things to do. Alexander stands up and grabs the swatter. Urchin leans back with another calm smile. The youth swings as if he held a zweihander. The swatter disappears as it was about to smash my associate in the face, to his unending dismay. The implement now hangs lazily from Urchin¡¯s resting hand. He didn¡¯t move. ¡°You¡­ you cheated!¡± ¡°False. I rigorously adhered to the rules. I did not move and I did not use this power to win the game. Consider this another valuable lesson. And with your eventual victory, you have completed the contest of wit. Congratulations.¡± ¡°You only adhered to the letter of the law!¡± ¡°And so will most people you interact with in your life. Remember, there will always be fine print and there will always be a hidden cost.¡± The young man grunts then retreats sullenly. I approach the table where Urchin uses his power to reorder the deck without looking. The dealer has gone as well. The next night finds me, Alexander and John walking through the semi-deserted muddy streets of Marquette¡¯s riverside. Despite the decree confining them to this part of town being discreetly overturned years ago, most of the city¡¯s black and dark-skinned population still prefers to stick together and their district is mostly shunned by more affluent white folks, with a lower cost of living overall. I get giddy with anticipation the farther we go because I recognize the destination. Alexander has come loaded for bear to face the ¡®test of courage¡¯ and I can already tell that his brand new revolver will be of no use. John stops in front of a low, long building with lit windows. We knock on a side door and wait. John turns to face Alexander who squirms under the merciless gaze of the impassible giant. I feel a hint of disapproval from my most faithful follower in the way his nostrils flare, a remnant from his human days. John seldom bothers to judge people at all so his assessment comes as a surprise. A solid twenty seconds later, a harried, disheveled woman with deep pockets under her eyes opens the door. She winces immediately when a baby shrieks from behind her. The noise is deafening. The air smells of soap and excrement. ¡°Sorry. Come on in.¡± We follow her in a small room lit by a single lantern. Another thick door leads deeper inside, though the noise is mostly muffled as if the two parts were separate. I would know, I designed and installed the discrete sound enchantments. There are two fascinating facts about orphans I learned rather early in my town management experiment. The first is that, given proper care, they make some of the fiercest, most loyal followers one could hope for. Case in point, John. It must be noted that proper care goes beyond simply food and roof. The second interesting fact is that raising them properly is significantly cheaper in the long run than just letting them fend for themselves with the implied level of crime and violence. I therefore own the three Marquette orphanages with this one being dedicated to the youngest children. Eight cribs adorn a room with a bare floor while storage closets and wardrobes occupy an entire wall. A comfortable chair remains the only concession to comfort and, given the state of the nurse, it has seen little use in the past three hours. The ¡®special room¡¯ only hosts three guests besides their caretaker tonight, but they certainly make up in volume what they lack in numbers. The first to screech is joined by two others as the bedraggled nurse rushes from crib to crib, checking on her charges. The scream concerto makes conversation difficult. ¡°We will take care of them tonight,¡± John tells the woman. ¡°What?¡± In her bloodshot eyes I see disbelief, and then, hope. ¡°We will take care of them until tomorrow morning. You go have a rest.¡± ¡°You will?¡± ¡°Yes, you have my word.¡± To her credit, the nurse inspects the three of us with a bit of doubt before accepting. Her gaze lingers on Alexander¡¯s fluster face with obvious doubt but when she recognizes me, her eyes widen. I am almost an open secret here. She nods once and stumbles to the door, missing the handle the first time. The second attempt is more successful. Soon, we are alone with the three deafening tiny mortals. ¡°You will not need your gun here, nor your hat or vest. You will remove them and place them by the door. Those are Christie, Thomas and Jane. They are two, three, and four months old respectively. They all have colic of the infant. Your task is to look after them and make them comfortable until sunrise. Do so, and you will have completed the test of courage.¡± ¡°Is this a jest?¡± John¡¯s gaze could have frozen a smelter. ¡°No.¡± ¡°You want me to look after babies? I am no woman!¡± John leans forwards until his and Alexander¡¯s gaze are aligned. Alexander is not a small man. It still takes a surprisingly long amount of time. ¡°Do you give up?¡± ¡°What? Never,¡± the godling huffs. ¡°If you think that this is a test of courage, suit yourself!¡± ¡°I see. I will guide you through the steps at first. To begin with, Christie needs to be changed and Jane must be fed.¡± ¡°Why does she need to be changed? Jesus Christ, she smells like¡­ Oh.¡± ¡°Time to get to work.¡± I sit down with reports and cast a quick silence spell to protect myself from the worst of the yelling. Technically, this is a test of perseverance and stamina. Some of the tasks will require the courage to handle a screaming ball of fragile humanity and remove the icky excretions so I suppose that it counts. Those are all details. What matters is that I will see a godling hand-wash a soiled cloth and that is worth more than gold. Alexander carefully picks up baby Jane according to John¡¯s instructions, following which she promptly throws up on his shirt. *** Alexander returns home shortly before sunrise dog-tired and a little foul-smelling. While his firearm stayed shiny, the rest of his outfit shows an interesting mix of body fluids. I have always been surprised by how male toddlers can spray urine in arcs at incredible range. So was Alexander. I find him the next evening in casual wear and looking significantly more sheepish than before. ¡°Are you ready for the feat of intellect?¡± ¡°I wish I could say yes with confidence,¡± he grumbles, shoulders slumped, but he is also a Bingle and the fire of poor decision-making revives in his heart. ¡°Though I will most certainly try!¡± ¡°Good attitude. Let us see where it gets you.¡± I lead him through the streets of Marquette to a small school. Like the nursery, I own it and provide cheap access to the children of allied families. Minions are considerably more useful when they can read instructions, after all. We walk through a corridor decorated with painted animals to a well-lit classroom. I have Alexander sit at one of the desks, only slightly too small to be comfortable. Papers and pens have been provided. Alexander takes one look at the writings on the blackboard and shakes his head with disbelief. ¡°Solve for x?¡± ¡°Is something the matter?¡± ¡°I¡­ you are monsters, I saw your teeth and¡­ here I am, doing algebra. What next, will you ask me to memorize a speech by Cicero in latin?¡± I tap my chin in mock consideration, causing him to pale. ¡°Sorry I do not mean to object. I just expected something more¡­ exciting!¡± ¡°Hehehehe.¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°Nothing. Since you find harvest yields and compound interests boring, I assume that this will be an easy task for you.¡± He pales even more. ¡°Compound what?¡± ¡°You should probably get started.¡± I install myself at the teacher¡¯s desk. I have never done that before! How exciting that I shall still find and enjoy new experiences at my age! An age which is not advanced at all, especially for a vampire. I busy myself with the last of the reports on werewolf activity and the full withdrawal of Roland forces from my land. We are free and well on our way to recovery. Given the circumstances, Constantine has decided to seize Benoit¡¯s assets and guaranteed the lion¡¯s share to me. Truly, power and being friends with the ruler have their benefits. I take a look at Alexander¡¯s sweaty form. He has barely started. ¡°Hmm, my apologies,¡± he says, ¡°for orders of operations, is it multiplication first or parentheses first?¡± My own pen snaps between my fingers. ¡°Parentheses! Definitely parentheses. Just a momentary lapse, haha.¡± ¡°The proper order should be parentheses, exponents, multiplication and division, addition and subtraction, you ant-brained village dullard. If the acronym PEMDAS is too difficult to remember, consider the phrase ¡®please excuse my dear aunt sally¡¯ while I try to excuse the cobwebs between your ears.¡± ¡°There is no need for such abuse, vampire. I can work equations. I was merely unprepared.¡± ¡°So I have gathered,¡± I reply drily. He walked right into that one and he knows it. Alexander blushes once more and returns to his paper. After four hours of effort, I collect the page and inspect it. His hand calculation of the interests are clear and rigorous. Some people forget to account for additional food for the mules when calculating how many mules a convoy needs but he didn¡¯t. All in all, he was rigorous and systematic. I correct one error he made towards the end which I shall attribute to mental exhaustion and reluctantly decide to give him a passing grade. ¡°Well you would have noticed your mistake if you had waited a day and gone over the calculations once more. It was a fairly minor problem to start with so I shall accept that you successfully completed a feat of intellect.¡± ¡°Thank you. Only the last feat is left then?¡± ¡°Indeed, we shall complete it tomorrow.¡± He sighs heavily before tidying up his desk. There is little left of the foolish youth who threatened me with a piece of wood. ¡°You are not quite what I expected,¡± he finally says. ¡°Lucky you.¡± ¡°I know you have been teaching me a lesson and I am grateful.¡± Hmmm no, I just wanted to have him slapped, peed on, and then subjected to paperwork? ¡°My father, the esteemed Colonel Bingle, taught me notions of valor and courage by sharing tales of his adventures as a soldier of Her Majesty Queen Victoria in India.¡± Ah so this is why I have never met him. He was on the other side of the planet! Good riddance. ¡°I apologize for my earlier reaction. By placing deeds of valor at the top of my priorities, I have forgotten all the work and support behind every victory, the steel behind every sword and the engineer behind every weapon. Indeed, even the tireless mothers and nurses who raise the next generation of heroes deserve not just our consideration, but our undying support as well.¡± He nods to himself while I stop my growing horror from affecting my poise. ¡°The hand that tills, that counts, the one that holds a babe to a breast are just as worthy of support as the one that holds a gun, nay, worthier indeed! For it must be protected. And I shall. You have opened my eyes to my own short-comings, Miss Delaney. Despite your curse, you carry with you the wisdom of the ages.¡± ¡°Hmm. Yes, of course. How intriguing that you would figure it out so soon.¡± ¡°I have come to a decision concerning my future, but first, I shall complete your last task.¡± This is definitely not going to return to bite me in the posterior. *** For the last night, I have decided to conduct a simple experiment. I have given Alexander an artifact keyed to vampire essence and dumped him in the middle of the Illinois wilderness with the instruction to cut a path to one of the three vampires present here. John and Urchin do not seem to mind the little outing and so we split apart a couple of miles away from our bright-eyed young aspirant hunter. The concept of vampire-tracking devices is nothing new. Mask squads used them to hunt me down back in France, using the absence of essence to find my location despite Nashoba¡¯s earrings. Constantine is capable of making some but he has been reluctant to distribute them outside of specific missions, citing blatant favoritism and ¡®sending the wrong message¡¯ as reasons to refuse me access. The artifact Alexander now wields is a prototype of my own design. I am rather confident that it should not work properly. I want to see what happens when shoddy workmanship confronts the godling¡¯s luck. What will come out on top? Will he stumble upon one of us or upon some sort of treasure instead? I am confident that he will not simply err over the plains for hours, smashing his big toe against errant roots. Some part of me remembers the warning that cruel fates await those who attempt to experiment on godlings. I simply assume that those would be ¡®brand runes on their chest with a hot iron¡¯ sorts of experiments, not the ¡®three parts practical joke¡¯ experiments. Besides, my intuition is telling me to proceed with some strange insistence and I have yet to be disappointed. I have chosen a spot I sometimes visit, a bend in a nearby water reservoir with a lone rock covered with moss. When the wind blows, the entire pond ripples and the reflection of the trees above grows twisted and menacing. I close my eyes and meditate for the first time in a month. Fifteen minutes later, I jump to my feet and whistle to call Metis. Something is wrong. My intuition screams at something in the direction where Urchin left. I ride out immediately. A moment later, a red flare climbs through the fall air, warning the plains of an imminent danger. Metis gallops like the wind and it takes barely a minute for us to arrive. I immediately hear the sounds of battle. In a valley below, Urchin and an unknown man fight while a wounded Alexander finishes climbing the clearing¡¯s lone tree. A few blood stains and handprints decorate the bark. The scent is quite enticing, as Urchin¡¯s opponent has realized. As I jump from Metis unhurriedly, I note prominent, wide cheekbones, long braided brown hair and a wide tunic that has clearly seen better days. He still has a simple knife attached to his belt, though he either forgot he had it or decided that his claws would serve him best. I suspect the former. The curious fighter smells of young Courtier with the acidic aftertaste of a rogue. More importantly, his aura is quite peculiar. Urchin asks without removing his eyes from his foe. They circle each other with the rogue casting eager glances at Alexander. The rogue has seen me but since I do not move, he decides to attack Urchin instead. However, the wily Vanheim had merely been delaying and now shows the full extent of his capabilities. With every throw, knives bloom over the rogue¡¯s arms as he protects his vitals. Urchin dances around him, exploiting his superior range to cut sinews and sever bones. In desperation, the rogue turns to Alexander and charges, only to receive a knife in the back. It misses the heart by a finger. Sensing danger, the foe twists on himself and jumps. With a high-pitched cry, he kicks Urchin with both legs, sending the Courtier back with a grunt. I think I heard a rib crack. Despite the apparent setback, Urchin smirks. His opponent falls gracefully on his feet, then immediately stumbles. Urchin hamstrung him. On both knees. The Vanheim rises and strikes at the same time. His heaviest knife buries itself in the rogue¡¯s heart. I give the victor a single nod. I seize the prone rogue by the throat and prepare to drink. His essence is so peculiar that for a moment, I believe that he is another Vanheim. I bite deep. I pull back and lick my lips, enjoying the pleasant sourness of rogue essence. I know why Benoit rode west with such abandon. I know why he would risk it all. And I know why we have no choice but to follow. I notice that John arrived and that Alexander has since climbed down from his tree. Chapter 163: Devourer ¡°I have decided on a course of action!¡± Alexander clamors back in my office in Marquette. ¡°Your trials have shown me the truth. The west is wild and untamed, filled with dangers and savages. Outlaws terrorize the widows and orphans!¡±¡°Errr, it might not be all that bad,¡± I observe with diminishing patience. Time is short. ¡°But where good men do what must be done, evil cannot triumph. The law and justice have no frontiers, and I shall be its sword. Starting today, I will endeavor to become¡­ a bounty hunter!¡± He unholsters his new revolver to my mounting horror, feverish with enthusiasm. The gun slips from his tired hands to clatter on the ground by my feet. I almost expected to have a new hole in my favorite pair of walking boots. Thankfully, fate is generous tonight. ¡°You will complete the Red Cabal agent training in its entirety to the full satisfaction of your mentors, or I swear to the that I will bind you in chains and ship your sorry posterior back to Sussex on the first ship I can find.¡± ¡°That would probably be best. I understand that no amount of enthusiasm can make up for training and preparation. Justice shall not suffer a dull blade! I will not forgive myself if I fail because of carelessness. You will find me a devoted student.¡± ¡°You will find Oliver a devoted mentor, not me. I have urgent matters to attend to, and besides, I cannot oversee your day training with my delicate skin.¡± ¡°Oh yes, the curse. Not to worry! You can depart with your mind at ease.¡± As if I could ever do so within walking distance of a Bingle. I leave him to the training chapter of his life since I have much to do on my end. A ringed bell summons John and Urchin. ¡°I need you to prepare for a long trip. We are going west. You must expect a fight against vampires, so take the battle armor and all the weapons you think you might need.¡± They nod and leave without comment. The next task is both easy and painfully annoying. I must report this development to Sephare and request our faction¡¯s support in this endeavor. I may be trying to swallow more than I can chew. It would not do to pursue Benoit only to find him surrounded by a retinue of battle-hardened Mask lords. I highly suspect that the little weasel is operating on his own so he can claim full credit for the capture or conversion of the newest Progenitor. I simply cannot take the risk, and so I call Sephare on my mirror and relay the encounter to her. Her reaction is unusually strong. I raise a dubious brow. Ah, as if. I reproach. I naturally expect her to consider her own interest first, but being so vocal about her own duplicity bothers me. It feels out of character. I glance with suspicion at the petite vampire¡¯s wavering silhouette, vaporous in the silver mirror I use as a focus. She smiles. *** Our convoy rides west under heavy escort. We are walking into unknown territory, and I have hired a Rosenthal escort at great expense in order to proceed smoothly. The reasoning is simple. I do not know how deep Benoit¡¯s influence has spread, but I have no doubt that he has recruited agents to monitor Accords movement since he has been away for quite some time. I must make sure not to be noticed until the very last moment or he could trap and even kill me. Unfortunately, not everyone is capable of stealth. Red cabal members form hunting squads and my own security forces have neglected acting and impersonation classes in favor of shooting and shoving sharp implements into other people¡¯s fleshier bits. As a result, I lack the qualified personnel capable of passing as settlers and had to hire external help. I do not mind it since my new guards rode tirelessly to reach us and found a mature woman in conservative clothes waiting for them. As far as they know, they are escorting a widow searching for a niece captured by the Comanches. It is, incidentally, the first time that I use my Vanheim transformation power to alter my appearance. Except those times with Torran but they do not count. I find the exercise interesting and vaguely upsetting, especially when I have to maintain my disguise for a very long time. At least I can go out freely, unlike my unfortunate subordinates. S?a??h th? N?v?lFire.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. Obviously my travel arrangements have told those in the know of my nature, and their suspicion must be confirmed when, on the fourth night, we are intercepted by a cavalry detachment. I have never been to the Great Plains before despite their proximity and I admit that the place has its charms. A seemingly endless expanse of colored grass extends to the horizon under a layer of blue clouds laden with rain. I am struck by an impression of immensity. A gust of wind scours the sea of grass. The air is heavy with the promise of thunder. I inhale and enjoy the heavy scent of horses and woodsmoke. ¡°Milady?¡± the mercenary sergeant asks. He is a serious lad wearing a long beard and a perpetual scowl. ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°We have been joined by a detachment of the Seventh Cavalry. They claim that the Comanches and Kiowa have been on the warpath recently, and object to our passing. They wish to escort us back to a nearby fort.¡± I inspect the camp and notice military tents in proper order. Discipline is maintained, and yet I notice that much of the gear is threadbare. ¡°I do not know why they would impose upon us like that, milady. This is highly unusual.¡± ¡°They wish to requisition our supplies, Sergeant. The Seventh belongs to the Army¡¯s Department of the Missouri and they are notoriously low on everything. Allow me to talk to their commander. I am sure that I can convince him to see the light.¡± The sergeant inspects me. His gaze lingers on my lips, perhaps trying to discern the fangs underneath. This one knows what he is dealing with. ¡°If it is you, then yes.¡± I walk to the command tent where a young officer with a drooping moustache and long dark hair stands, smoking a pipe. He readjusts his crumpled hat when he sees me. I perceive no anomaly in his aura, which means that he is not under the thrall of any of my kin. As usual, I do not use Charm. Instead, I invade his personal space and force him to take a step back when he realizes that he is a head shorter than me. ¡°Well well well young sir, what do I hear? You want to divert our expedition? Well, that will not do, that will not do at all.¡± ¡°Ma¡¯am, for matter of national sec ¡ª ¡° ¡°You do not have the authority to stop us. You do not have that right unless you suspect criminal activity. Do you suspect me of being a criminal, my boy?¡± ¡°Well, no¡­¡± ¡°So here is what will happen. We will leave you three crates of fresh vegetables and seasoned jerky, not as a gift you understand, against a formal letter from you that you acknowledge the reception of said supplies. I will even throw¡­¡± I lean forward conspiratorially. ¡°A small bag of arabica beans, prime quality. Then, tomorrow morning, my men and I will ride out into the unknown with your blessing. If you attempt to stop us we will not comply and you will have to arrest all of us and imprison us in your fort.¡± ¡°I am certain that ¡ª ¡° ¡°If this happens I assure you that you will be dishonorably discharged within a fortnight and that you will never again hold a commission in any of the armed forces of the continent. I hope I am making myself clear, dearie.¡± ¡°Well, this is most irregular! Madam, with all due respect to you as a member of the fairer sex¡­¡± ¡°Shhhhhh,¡± I interrupt, placing my finger over his lips to his flustered, blushing confusion. ¡°Sh sh sh. Hush,¡± I tell him with a genial smile, ¡°nothing good ever came after those words. Hush now, there¡¯s a good lad. Think of the coffee, sit your pretty bottom on the nearest chair and just¡­ let go. Hush now. There, there.¡± I pat him on the shoulder and leave. ¡°Remember what I said dearie, and have a pleasant night. Ta ta!¡± The convoy departs the next morning without incident. On a related note, I need more coffee. The grim sergeant¡¯s retelling of our encounter amuses the soldiers for another two days as we cross the empty plains. Unfortunately, their mood plummets when we reach the destination I saw in the rogue¡¯s memory. The mercenary sergeant enters my safe carriage a little past midday carrying dire news. ¡°Milady, we have reconnoitered the area and found the remains of a village. It was treated¡­ cruelly.¡± I ask him a few more questions but decide to wait until night to see the battlefield with my own eyes. ¡°Stay put, sergeant. We will inspect the camp ourselves.¡± ¡°By yourselves you mean you and your¡­ hidden associates?¡± the man asks. I smile and let him see a hint of fang. ¡°That is correct. You have fulfilled your part of the mission.¡± ¡°Will you require blood, perhaps?¡± he asks. I feel no fear in his heart. ¡°No, thank you. We found a raiding party yesterday.¡± ¡°I see. Well then, take care.¡± Any doubt about our nature is dispersed when we exit the carriage in heavy armor. The sergeant frowns at my hair, suddenly more blonde than before, but my face is thankfully hidden behind a mask and so my ability should remain hidden this time. A Rosenthal mercenary will not betray the trust of their employer anyway, therefore I have no need to eliminate the potential witnesses. We leave at a fast pace. The plain is so vast and empty today that one only has to open their eyes to see the remains of a sprawling village on the edge of a small lake. All of the remaining tents have been destroyed but the most striking feature of the carnage is the field of pony corpses littering an entire side of the abandoned locale. As we approach, more elements become clear. The village was attacked by a group wielding firearms as the rotting bodies of warriors we come upon attest. This close, the stench of decay is so thick and cloying that it eclipses everything else. Swarms of flies and the caws of buzzards hide the music of the night and I find myself shocked not at the dead Comanches we are seeing, but at the methodical fashion in which everything was mowed down. Even the potteries and sacks were not spared the brutal punishment. Despite the dreadful attack, it appears that a significant portion of the population managed to escape as we find plenty of horse and human tracks leading north. The most recent ones show several thick carriage wheels, which means that the assailants were probably white people. The three of us circle the camp again. I point at a pile of goods. I see a makeup kit, needles, and velvety fabric next to a mirror that now lies broken. Other civilized goods pop out here and there. Some of the discarded clothes and furniture are quite valuable which tells me that the pursuers did not come for plunder. It could be revenge, or it could be that Benoit finally found his quarry. Urchin asks. I shrug. We can figure it out later. We circle the camp, seeing that some of the dead horses also carry saddles and horseshoes of American make. I soon find what I was expecting. A trail of warrior¡¯s bodies ends at a line of heavy tracks still flattening parts of the tall grasses. I find rectangular, discarded casings on the ground. Our pursuit takes the better part of the night. We start finding graves at the edge of abandoned camps as well as more dead Comanches and their horses. Those are warriors, not civilians like before and I suspect a running battle took place. Shallow graves with crosses on top confirms that the pursuers are from my side of the frontier. I know with certitude that the pursuer is a vampire and most likely Benoit. A party of this size could not have repulsed a Progenitor at night, even one weakened by youth and fledgelings. Our only saving grace is that the battle was long and time-consuming. It is slightly past midnight when I see the first fires on the horizon. They dot the plains, forming two light islets on that everlasting green sea of undulating grass. The first is small and disciplined. The second is wider, larger, but also dimmer. It does not take a strategist to guess that the pursuers are winning. The Comanches left their first encampments in a hurry. They must be starving by now. I hide my aura while Urchin and John suppress theirs with some effort. I use the darkness spell to cover our entrance even more. Fortunately, our approach remains undetected until we are quite close and I see why. Those are Benoit¡¯s men. The Roland lord himself stands at the front of an encampment, inside a ring of torches with three masters by his side. Four courtiers stand guard at regular intervals, including one who faces us but whose empty gaze reveals a deep mental fatigue. For now, Benoit seems focused on the scene ahead and has not detected us. John whispers. I could try to negotiate with Ako, though the loot in his camp shows how much he values my race. Young vampires tend to keep attachments to their blood and groups. It takes some time before the attachment fades. He would have no reason to believe that Benoit and I are not on the same side. Yes, it would be tricky. That is why I shall not do so. Benoit has kept the Progenitor and his remaining fledgelings, if there are any, at bay, and I can taste his essence. I can taste all of their essences. The path to follow is as obvious as it is seductive. I keep moving, alone this time, and stop at the edge of the circle. The sentry finally senses that something is wrong and frowns lightly. The poor prey gives me a delectable expression of unmitigated horror when I drop the spell and appear only four paces in front of him, in full regalia. I believe I shall cherish this memory for years to come and, to express my gratitude, I salute him with a nod as I pass him by. Cries of dismay greet me on my slow walk throughout the camp, not the least because of the absolutely glacial aura that sends the mortals reeling. I see the gatling guns protected and arrayed to my right. A group of mages in a protective circle stand to my left, whispering with confusion. Benoit feels me and turns immediately. His surprise is replaced by fear and then by arrogance when he recognizes me. I stop in front of the lord at the end of my casual stroll. He does look respectable in full plate, his handsome face hidden behind a helm. A bloodied greatsword hangs behind his back, a sign that battle has already been joined tonight. His aura covers and protects the three masters by his side. I see a woman in a wizard¡¯s embroidered robe covered in runes, a warrior with a massive flail, and a last man in darker armor wielding a rapier and dagger. They take a step back. The courtiers group around the gatling guns. Meanwhile, the armed mortals all take their distance, an amusing yet ultimately vain exercise. If they had a bit of common sense they would be running as fast as their legs can carry them, but the herd instinct has prevailed. I smile and do not answer. he continues. Oh, he does love the sound of his own voice, but I can wait no longer. The frustration of the past months is finally catching up to me at a most auspicious moment. Benoit is taken aback, I think? Not that it matters. I let go of my aura. I unleash it and let it flow around and through the others. I allow it to seep through the cracks of reality and at the edge of all that vitality and power. Benoit¡¯s eyes widen behind the medieval helmet because he knows and understands the implication, but it is too late. Too late! I am already in the middle of the camp where he thought he had me cornered. No one corners a Devourer. We thrive in the thick of carnage. This is where we belong and this is where we are at our most unstoppable. My world is a sphere. Thorns rip the earth asunder. They rise to the sky, sending men and weapons flying, shredding, mangling. What was a plain is now a deep and treacherous forest writhing under an alien sky and the purple, curious gaze of the . They experience this apotheosis just as they die to feed it, my captive little things, my prey. Essence flows and vitality drips from so many obsidian nails and there cannot be enough, there can never be enough. I need more. MORE. Every drop of power feeds the Magna Arqa. Its area of effect is still much smaller than it was when I faced Octave, and yet I can feel it growing yet again. I am not done growing. I just need more PREY. Benoit attacks the roots. Futile. The Master with a flail rolls under a lashing root so I can pin him like an insect and grab his head. Reveal the throat. Consume until all is ASH. A blue flash and I spot the Master in her robe running. So soon? The Devourer signature spell sends dark arrows hissing through the air. They catch her in the back, in the leg. They turn her flesh dry and desiccated. She falls. My allies come. John and Urchin have engaged the Courtiers guarding the Gatling guns. I let them. USEFUL WARRIORS. Something could emerge if I willed it, to help them, and I do so. I dive deep into the maze of twisting roots and spot a hint of white marble statue, of an insectile humanoid hybrid wielding long claws. It swipes a shrieking mortal. Oh, the Herald, one of the prizes of my collection. More essence. More life. I feel the mages huddling under their protective circle and spitting fire as if their pathetic flame could ignite the primeval nightmare. I sprint to them, roots parting to let me through, embracing me. They are mine. I punch the protection with my gauntlet and let the spell and the Watcher¡¯s deleterious energies spread through the construct. It falls to pieces almost immediately and leaves the mages defenseless. They are caught by the tide and by me. I drink an old man dry. I walk to the next. Loth¡¯s armor makes every step a statement. Benoit finally understands that attacking the roots is pointless. Whatever he destroys will just regrow in time and it is barely worth the effort. He jumps and squeezes between the appendages, seeking me. Perfect timing. I give him the illusion that I do not know where everything is in my domain. He cleaves down with his sword. I let the edge slide against Rose with amused ease. Our eyes meet. Benoit screams and strikes in a deluge of attacks that I deflect and dodge, moving back and creating a thorn funnel around him. He realizes. Too late. He disengages, the pathetic weakling. The chains Constantine invented surge from my gauntlets in starving snakes of reddish blood essence. Benoit finds himself trapped and strikes them down with a great overhead strike. It leaves him exposed for a lunge. Rose bites deeply into his chest, slightly below the heart. Benoit is forced to push the weapon down lest I finish him off here and now. The blade bites deep. The roots close around him. Benoit takes slow, careful steps forward but where the roots used to give him pause, they now slide helplessly against his pitted armor. I strike him and find Rose deflected by ever-more powerful strikes. Interesting! This is not an avatar type but an effect that will stop, I suppose, at the end of his stroll. The gait accelerates and I abuse my reach to keep lashing at him. He manages to block most strikes and I feel his speed increasing, yet I am still faster and slightly out of reach. I entertain myself by testing him and keeping an eye on the last master who thinks himself hidden. Nothing is hidden from me in my forest. The speed keeps increasing. All Roland lords have an absurd willpower, a perseverance that extends the duration of their Magna Arqas past what any other bloodline can achieve. Except, of course, for mine. I consumed so many of them. Nevertheless, I do not underestimate him and increase my focus. The roots at the edge of the thorn forest grow indolent and unresponsive, not that it matters since their prizes are drained and lifeless. Benoit accelerates further as he pushes me back and the forest moves with me out of the camp. I move around him, forcing him to perform abrupt turnarounds but it does not seem to negatively impact his speed. It does, however, impact his patience. I retort. I stand my ground more and more, pushing his devastating strikes away with a flurry of blows, deflecting and dodging while lashing out. Most of my attacks do little more than chip the armor, and yet he takes them as a personal affront. We approach a climax. For a moment, I let him believe that I can be overwhelmed. A final lunge pushes me back, seemingly destabilized. The enemy master emerges from behind a root and strikes. I smirk and cast the combat¡¯s first mirage spell. The illusion catches the two fighters off guard while a root props me back up and on the offensive. The spell and a strike from Rose disable the master and I dive under a root as the forest rises to prevent Benoit¡¯s passage. The lord rages against the obstacles, in vain. They close around him like a prison. He smashes his weapon repeatedly. Every blow cuts a root and costs me energy but I can see his Magna Arqa unravel. I idly comment. Benoit strikes at what he thinks is me. His sword shatters the shield and arm of a new statue I extracted from my domain. Loth¡¯s face plate turns to him in all its marble-like glory and the lord stops in his tracks. This allows me to lop his right arm off in one blow. I ignore his cries of pain and supplication while I peel off the helmet to reveal the tender skin underneath. He blabbers about threats and deals but we are past those, we are so far past those that I do not stop for a single second. After all, I have a prize to claim. Benoit tastes of ambition and scheme. He was powerful and cunning but he was also arrogant. That is why I did not underestimate him and that is why I notified Sephare of my actions. One cannot stand alone in this world. My Magna Arqa fades. We stand in the plain with the wrecked remains of the camp in the distance. I walk back to John and Urchin waiting patiently by the bound and insensate bodies of the fallen fledgelings. John stands like a hero with his titanic warhammer hanging over a shoulder while Urchin lazily spins knives between his fingers, switching and moving them with his power in a hypnotizing display. They are quite pleased with themselves and they deserve to be. They took four foes with no apparent wounds. An impressive performance. I keep walking calmly to the Comanche camp in the distance. I hear the heartbeats of human scouts in the distance, foolishly away from their camp. Many fall back when they spot me. I do not hide my approach. In fact, I should advertise it more. Ghostly purple orbs appear above my pauldrons, bathing me, and only me, in their radiance. I take my time as I approach my destination and spot horses and mortals in various stages of despair. Those people are thin, exhausted. They teetter at the edge of surrender. They merely need a little nudge. Truly, Benoit paved the way for me. And truly, I owe the Bingles yet another breakthrough. Is this a symbiotic relationship? It does not take long for Ako to show himself. He is a tall, handsome man with high cheekbones and a dark glare. I feel a smidgen of sympathy for his overly long hair, which he will have to braid for as long as he lives. He is almost naked. Only scraps of fabric still cling to his muscular frame over long stains of congealed black blood. The fledgelings behind him are in marginally better physical shape but their faces show a deep suffering. They must have figured out that not all experiences were good to share, and that enough agony members can lead to a devastated community. Ako grumbles a few words in his native language. I ignore him. More agitated words I¡¯d wager are insults and threats. His voice is gravelly, tired. He refuses to communicate. Ah, well. The thorns catch all of the fledgelings while I advance to engage the weakened warrior. He grabs a throwing axe from behind his back and hurls it at me with great energy. Of course, the movement lacks the fluidity immortals are capable of and I easily catch it in my gauntleted hand. Feathers and charms adorn the shaft. Oh, a local production. How quaint. The full-powered disruptive spell cracks the axe which falls to pieces between my armored fingers. I keep moving forward and cut the shaft of a spear. A native warrior shoots a glowing arrow at me from afar. I let it plink uselessly against my chest and retaliate with a blood bolt that destroys his knee. Ako charges me. He jumps in the air and kicks me in the chest with both feet. I let him. We almost never jump, except to dodge. A vampire in the air cannot change trajectory, and a predictable fighter is a dead one. His naked feet impact my braced form with no discernible result except pushing him away. I slice both of his calves before he can land again and watch him crawl away from me. He was losing against Benoit. He does not stand a chance against me. Worse, he is fighting like a mortal. Weak. Clumsy. Bound by limitations that he should have shed, not that I can blame him since no one could show him the way. He is still defiant. I take control of all the thorns around his fledgelings and squeeze. The pain wracks him so I squeeze them more. He rolls on the ground in agony. Ah, yes. I remember a time when pain terrified me, long before the sight of the Accords¡¯ fortress basement made me want to pull on my fingers and count them. I kneel by his side and grab him by the neck, twisting one of his arms behind him. Ako stops struggling against my hold. I can feel the power in his limbs. They do not matter. He is trapped. He does not hesitate and I can see the true despair crawling under the surface of his thoughts. It has been a few years since I last tasted a Progenitor. I bend down and bite. Chapter 164: Liberation, opus one In the Accords chamber below Boston¡¯s fortress, Constantine¡¯s arcane display moves more than all the participants put together. The Wardens stand like statues, each influential and powerful enough to devastate an army ¡ª or buy it ¡ª each holding back by tradition and the knowledge that there are other monsters around. Despite our restraints, we still play our games, starting with our appearance.Every lock of hair, every understated jewel and custom-made ribbon of fabric speaks of wealth beyond wealth, a display of taste that only those who never consider the price can fully appreciate. Even Ako is no exception despite his recent induction. The Comanche chief still wears leather, forrester clothes, but now the fabric is calfskin and linen. Unfortunately for him, his distaste of our assembly is plain as day. The rest of us have had decades to learn how to hide behind a smile. Jarek says with his deep, gravelly voice. His sober introduction sets the tone for the rest of the meeting. I almost expected the Progenitor to be shunned, yet it appears that his nature grants him some manner of leeway. My peers and I ignore his hostile glares and outward shows of boredom while Sephare explains his special status. I was a poor contender for the formation of dear young Ako. As a young woman from another tribe, I bear the resemblance of a victim, which suits me fine when hunting but does not translate to respect during training. As much as it would have amused me to destroy Ako¡¯s expectations, Jarek has much more experience making young upstarts fall in line. It also helps that he is possibly the third highest elevation in Texas and that he can outpunch a freight train traveling at full speed. I have first hand experience in the matter, so to speak. In any case, his tutoring has borne fruit. Ako has taken to combat training like a fish to water and he also agreed to stop making fledgelings for now. I believe that the blood strain on his tribe has already shown him the errors of his way. A nation of cattle is a dead one. Unfortunately, Ako does not trust us at all. Fresh supply, including food, has helped us, but he finds himself in a peculiar situation. All of the emergent bloodlines either found themselves in a power vacuum, or in contact with older clans that shared cultural elements with them. Ako is unique in the way that he has to integrate with a community representing cultural groups with whom he was previously at war. It takes time for us to grow old enough to identify ourselves with other vampires, not the population that gave birth to our mortal self. Ako does not just find himself having to work with strangers, but he has to do so at a time when his original kin find themselves on the business end of progress. I feel a bit of sympathy for him, not in truth, of course, but on an intellectual level. I believe that a mild appreciation for Progenitors is part of our instincts. After all, I have considered deposing Constantine and even torturing him a little bit, but I never seriously planned on killing him. The same goes for Ako. He will be protected, but that should not stop a smidgen of friendly ribbing so when his eyes meet mine, I smile and show him all of my fangs, which makes him flinch. The delicious youngling. His essence is peculiar and when I focus on it, I merely feel a sense of great distance, which indicates that all my kin currently walk another continent. Or at least, I hope so. Soon enough, the introduction stops and Constantine has a new seat added to the ever-expanding table. Ako looks impressed, for once. The flowing stone of the thrones and central table are certainly one of Constantine¡¯s best works. After the remote-controlled battle golem, I should say. I rise and feel the full attention of the others on me. Lady Nirari was used before, as a courtesy. Now, it is owed. I wave my gauntlet and the table between us shifts like sand under a strong wind. A map of North America emerges, with numbers written next to several major cities of the United States. A warden lifts a hand in a sign that he wishes to ask a question. He is a Canadian Roland, one who is mostly unaligned but often votes alongside my faction. Canada appears to be following a much harder line right now, so he may be looking into ways to improve the situation for his followers. I nod. The lord nods. Others ask more questions, mostly legal details and local specificities. I expect a lot of letters and correspondence in the near future. It is fortunate that I was granted a staff to handle most of the information exchange, or the workload would have been simply too much. The same goes for finance. The burden on covens has increased exponentially, to the point that the Accords have become pretty much a shadow government. Now I need to sacrifice a portion of my income just for taxes! Ugh. Thank the Watcher for Rosenthal ¡®creative¡¯ accounting. Because of them, I have added ¡®tax evasion¡¯ to my long litany of misdeeds. Our aggressive grab on all sorts of frontier and post-war assets really came as a windfall. After me, Lord Ceron of the Cadiz advocates more funding for the various safe havens we are building in the wilderness for our followers and us, should the worst come to pass. I reluctantly vote in favor and soon the council ends. We line out, coming to the surface shortly after. The air of early summer night greets me in all its complexity. Our fortress hugs the Charles river to the north and its muddy smell mingles with that of flowers Steward Wilhelm affectionately cultivates. Beyond that comes the vast swell of humanity and more distant, the Atlantic ocean. It almost tastes like home now after all those years despite my painful first memories. I walk out onto the inner courtyard with John joining me. Our Masters and Courtiers lounge on benches and balustrades with the grace and affectation of a well-rehearsed choreography. Everyone pretends, although we are all aware of it, for to stop is to remove oneself from the only true community left to us. I smile at calculated curtseys, nod at measured greetings. This waltz is much preferable to the alternative when so many touchy predators gather in the same spot. I convince myself of this while exchanging names with a young fledgeling. By the Watcher, was I so bleary-eyed at her age? She looks like someone woke her up with a bucket of cold water to the face. I finally make my way to the main path in the hope of visiting Wilhelm¡¯s flower garden of rare and mysterious essences, when I feel Jarek¡¯s domineering aura approaching me. Courtiers part before the human-shaped icebreaker while I turn with a polite smile. Jarek¡¯s aura projection was a courteous request to stop and, for him, I shall always oblige. The Natalis greets me with a rumble and a grin. His grin only widens. As if summoned, Wilhelm of the Erenwald practically runs to us with all the gravitas he can summon, which is not much with the way he worries his blond beard. I shrug and move while Jarek assures our host that, no, we will not use his beloved trees as blunt instruments and that is a promise. The news of our spar bounces from group to group. We soon acquire a tail. The dueling grounds themselves result from a truce between Jarek and Wilhelm. The Natalis powerhouse has an unfortunate tendency to destroy trees during practice fights and there is no telling which specific one Wilhelm considers as his. As a result, a thicket was cut down on the south-west side of the manor to accommodate an arena of sorts with the understanding that combat would be confined to its limits. Casual combat, that is. We conduct ritual duels in an enchanted underground arena. I warn the tall man as I fasten my gauntlet. I am not going toe to toe with that mountain without some sort of edge. Conquered essence can only carry me so far. Jarek says, uncaring. Wilhelm complains from behind a line of spectators. S?a??h th? ??v?lF?re.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. I barely have time to assent that Jarek rushes forward, fists materializing on his massive hands. He is nothing if not consistent. Since I fully expected it, I take a step back and to the side while whipping Rose out. The unexpected movement sends the tip exactly where the massive lord¡¯s throat is. He tilts his head and the blade merely slices his cheek. Another sidestep takes me away from his downward followup jab and the dance is on. I attack mercilessly to prevent myself from being overwhelmed. Jarek¡¯s style is heavy and powerful ¡ª not as precise as Octave but designed to work with his Magn Arqa. He merely needs a glancing blow. A small opening is enough. As long as Jared connects, the next hook will connect harder, then the next, until his opponent is paste on the ground. I move by half-steps to keep ahead when I realize that he is more defensive than usual, much more, and I realize why. He does not wear armor. Neither do I. We would probably both prefer to keep our clothes intact. So I aim exclusively for his head. He mimics me and it turns into a game. Even his fists are not enough to protect all of it while I have no shield. We exchange long sequences during which we try to outmaneuver or overwhelm each other. It does not help that we are very familiar with each other¡¯s style. Jarek accelerates. I expected it. I already saw him move at his full speed, after all, and find that I can match it. He is strong, so strong, but at the moment he thinks he has me, I cast my first mirage. The fugacious spell leaves an illusory version of me going to the left while I dive right. To his credit, Jarek does not hesitate. He attempts to strike both at once and I use his weaker position to launch a counter, which he blocks at the very last moment. He is now on the backfoot, dodging high and low a series of powerful strikes. I soon corner him on a side of the arena and we exchange flurries of blows with neither combatant crushing the other. Beautiful and exciting. I lose myself in the deadliest dance, no longer trying to kill him but just trying to win our little contest without breaking the rules. It does not work. Jarek is much more nimble than I ever realized simply because he never had to display much agility before. There was no need. The spar turns frantic and I realize that I will not win the normal way, so I do not try. A last vicious exchange reaches its paroxysm and I am at my limit. At the last possible moment, I turn aside and lunge under a jab, scoring a second gash on his face. He adjusts his punch, of course, and my head whips back under the power of the blow. I recover just in time to see a devastating uppercut coming. Twisting, I grab Rose with two hands and cleave down. The impact of the two soul weapons sends a shockwave rippling through the dust we raised. I find my own smile mirrored in the old monster¡¯s grin. He does love a good match and there are few who can push him like I can, now that I have ascended. I cannot wait to face him at full strength. We pull back by common agreement and wipe our faces of the blood we shed. Polite applause welcomes our impromptu performance. Some of the mortals are particularly enthusiastic, even though the fight cannot have lasted more than two minutes and they probably missed most of the action. Constantine comments. He had joined the assembly, carefully masking his aura not to distract us. Ako is here as well, looking pensive and, perhaps, a little bit envious. Jarek¡¯s desire to test me again stems from his unending battle lust, but his decision to do so publicly is a gesture of help. By allowing me to display my prowess, he cemented my position as a force to be reckoned with. Martial might remains important to us despite our outward courteous dealings. Now, everyone knows that the Accords have gained another heavy hitter. The Natalis lord and I salute before he clasps his heavy bear mitt on my shoulder which I allow despite the cavalier nature of the gesture. He means well. I assure him, then we turn to accept congratulations. I expected to spend another tedious fifteen minutes playing the princess, but Wilhelm unexpectedly pulls me aside and invites me into his office, where a hot cup of coffee awaits me. I thank him and take a sip while he explains the reason for his summon. Wilhelm is an interesting Steward of the Fortress. As suave as he can be with guests, he becomes inexplicably flustered when he needs to ask a favor. Sometimes, I believe that he would rather fend off an irate lady than ask another coven¡¯s Courtier for a one night mission. Suspicion immediately fills my heart, but Wilhelm must have anticipated it because he opens a palm in a gesture of appeasement. I nod and shrug. I find myself in a lull between crises right now and needed to get to town to order new dresses anyway. The plush toy shop is still open by some miracle, or rather it is not, but a light burns behind the drawn curtains. The toys themselves show an expert hand with puppy-eyed designs and exquisitely made articulations, and yet some details bother me. I detect a hint of alienness in them. A pointy ear, a fluffy piece of white fabric cut into a slightly too sharp fang. The effect only appears under certain angles and to those who pay attention. A daring artistic choice, and perhaps nothing more. Nevertheless, my mood goes from relaxed to alert. I knock on the door and receive a hesitant ¡®come in¡¯. Behind the curtain, the modest shop extends under the yellow radiance of a gas lamp. Shelves line half of the room before a door that leads deeper inside. An ancient clock ticks the seconds away, in tune with the soft whisper of fabric. I look and see an old man with a shock of white hair hard at work behind the counter. He appears to be sewing together a knight in shining red armor, his heart beating peacefully away. The mortal looks up and shows two tired brown eyes, widened by apprehension when he recognizes me. He is clean-shaven, which is an unusual choice around here, and his clothes and apron are well-ironed. I approach and sniff the air. What curious aromas! I have to control myself so I do not show any reaction. The man puts the toy down with long, delicate fingers and the care of a father. He sighs his nervousness away and finally faces me. As he is about to talk, a door farther in opens with a creak. I heard a tiny heartbeat and so I am not surprised when a young boy shuffles in timidly under the disapproving glare of the old man. ¡°Michael, I told you to go to sleep.¡± ¡°But grandpa, I want to know as well.¡± The old man¡¯s expression softens. He hesitates and casts a glance in my direction. I would indulge them but my time is rather short and, besides, I would rather get to the point. I slowly clap. And I speak in Likaean. ¡°Yes yes, a very touching performance, you scandalous scoundrel. I am awed as always.¡± The old man pales. ¡°Miss?¡± ¡°You always did smell like a field under the July sun, but even then, how could I believe the family charade when you have a corpse in the wardrobe? I can taste the rot and preservatives from here.¡± The old man¡¯s expression turns into a scowl. ¡°I told you to seal it,¡± he accuses his ¡®grandson¡¯ in Likaean as well. ¡°Ah, oops?¡± the ¡®boy¡¯ says, revealing needle-like teeth. The childish demeanor and size stay but his eyes turn the black of a bottomless pit. He saunters to the wardrobe and opens it, revealing an exact copy of the old man in front of me, only clearly dead for a while and¡­ stuffed? The cadaver¡¯s eyeballs have been replaced by crimson rose blooms. ¡°Charming,¡± I announce. ¡°I thought you might like it!¡± Makyas of the Court of Keyholes exults. ¡°Tacky,¡± the ¡®old man¡¯ complains. He exhales and his hair turns a golden blond while his eyes take the hue of amber. The older traits melt into a devastating, angular face with the smile of an angel hiding the mind of a demon. ¡°Hello there, poppet. It has been far too long.¡± ¡°Yes yes, Sinead, I am sure that you are positively delighted. Is it you who summoned me here or the dearly departed?¡± ¡°Why me, naturally. Old Man Smith has been dead for, what, a month?¡± ¡°And you stuffed and mounted him as a prank?¡± ¡°I blame Makyas and his strange hobbies.¡± ¡°Old Man Smith was really affectionate,¡± the fake boy explains with the candor of a child sharing his day. ¡°A bit too affectionate with other children, you see? So I lured him into an alley and shoved my thumbs into his sockets. Gross! But fun.¡± ¡°Ugh. Why would you ever do that? Best way to get vitreous all over your face.¡± ¡°I have a lot of experience! And vitreous is really tasty.¡± ¡°His court regularly asks payment in eyeballs,¡± Sinead adds helpfully. ¡°They¡¯re squishy and delicious!¡± ¡°To each their own I suppose,¡± I grumble. Icky. ¡°Now, why did you two troublemakers come to my little corner of the world?¡± I ask with a voice that drips with disgust. ¡°Look at her,¡± Sinead complains, ¡°too young to have lived through ten fae seasons and already jaded. Ah, the debutantes these days.¡± ¡°You complain a lot for someone who is practically cradle-robbing,¡± Makyas objects. ¡°I certainly hope that this comment did not refer to me¡­¡± ¡°It did!¡± ¡°... and I would like to know the reason for your presence here, if you do not mind.¡± Sinead struts from behind the counter with the grace of a ballet dancer. He stops in front of me and curtseys like a European court animal. An old one. When they still had more kings with their heads intact. ¡°I need a little assistance,¡± the rogue admits. ¡°Of course you do,¡± I scoff, ¡°you only ever show up when you need my help. What is it this time? Piracy? Arson? Are we killing the president?¡± ¡°None of that, just a little bit of larceny in preparation for the real deal.¡± ¡°The real deal, is it? And you expect me to help you out of the kindness of my black heart?¡± ¡°I thought you might because you find me irresistible.¡± I huff and cross my arms, thoroughly unimpressed. ¡°I will have you know that someone else already stole my affection.¡± ¡°And I am very good at stealing things back. And besides, poppet, have you forgotten? We Likaeans are¡­¡± His eyes blaze dangerously and, under the weakened shell, I see a glimpse of the fire giant with the hair of gold I once beheld in dreams. The scion of the Court of Summer is still there, buried, chained, and waiting. ¡°...very seldom possessive.¡± ¡°Ooooh bedroom eyes. Is this how you plan on seducing me?¡± He considers me with amused pity. ¡°Oh poppet, you know I seduced you a long time ago.¡± I throw a plush at him, which he deftly dodges. ¡°I am merely waiting for you to grow plump and juicy,¡± I inform him. ¡°Then I will enjoy your essence with a cup of arabica.¡± ¡°Are you two going to fuck?¡± Makyas asks innocently. ¡°Language!¡± ¡°Come on, poppet. Ask me what I plan to do. You know you cannot resist.¡± Well, I should figure it out, if only to protect myself. I sigh. ¡°I knew you would see reason,¡± the insufferable man declares. ¡°We will have to proceed carefully for some time. Thirty years at most, a blink of an eye really. And then¡­ we shall commit the greatest, most ambitious heist in the history of this planet. The bards shall sing our praises for eons! All the courts will know our names. Why, we could even be depicted in living statues while we pass into eternity as the greatest liberators who ever lived.¡± I lean forward, intrigued despite myself. Sinead spreads his arms like a charlatan at the end of his sales pitch. ¡°We are going to steal¡­ the fae.¡± ¡°You are going to steal the fae,¡± I numbly repeat. ¡°Which ones?¡± ¡°Why, all of them at once, of course!¡± *** It takes me a full minute to recover from that outrageous claim, during which Sinead parades around the shop selling his ¡®master plan¡¯. ¡°It would be absolutely impossible to free the captive fae by force on a planet where vampires are so powerful, therefore we had two choices. Either we returned alone and notified one of the forces of the fae planes, leading to an unfortunate invasion of your world and the subsequent extermination of hundreds of thousands of mortals¡­ Worse! We would not be able to take credit. Or we could find an unconventional way to free our people and, thanks to Sivaya, we did! She is not called a genius of the Blue Court for nothing, poppet. She found a way. I cannot go into too much detail as of now, but we will require several items of extreme rarity.¡± ¡°So you do not want me for just one thing, you want to retain my help for the next three decades, is that it?¡± ¡°Precisely. Ah, it hurts my poor heart to see you less enthused at the prospect than I hoped!¡± He performs an annoyingly convincing display of sadness. ¡°But of course, I would be a fool to demand altruism from someone as influential and busy as you are, poppet. You have grown so much! It is only fair that I would provide a service. Nay, two services!¡± ¡°It better be as valuable as you claim.¡± ¡°Of course! The first service we shall provide relates to your autonomy. Do you know that¡­ Mask was it? The canny clowns have the New World in their sights?¡± ¡°Is Bertrand really this stubborn?¡± I hiss, but of course he is. He is a Roland. ¡°Bertrand? Poppet, how many powerful and influential men have you met since we last saw each other?¡± ¡°Are you trying to be my lover or my dad?¡± ¡°Ouch,¡± Makyas whispers from the door. ¡°I beg you, Ariane, never use that comparison again,¡± Sinead asks more seriously. He shivers. ¡°I am no Prince of Winter.¡± ¡°Wait, they favor incest?¡± ¡°Could we kindly return to the matter at hand please? I know that you have a daddy complex¡­¡± ¡°HEY!¡± ¡°... so I will let it go. To crime! Yes. In order to help you and buy you time, we shall perform a good service. We will trigger a large-scale war between Mask and Eneru.¡± I gasp audibly, which shows just how much the preposterous claim shocks me. He has to be lying. ¡°You cannot be serious.¡± ¡°I have absolute confidence that we will succeed. As for the second service, it relates to the liberation itself. The specific method we shall use will rob vampires of their blood canisters, which means that the Europeans will no longer have an edge. In fact, no one will.¡± Again, I spot a flash of anger under his calm demeanor. It fades just as quickly. ¡°Swear to me that this is the truth.¡± The Likaean does not hesitate. He places a hand on his heart and stares me right in the eye. ¡°I, Sinead, prince of Summer, swear on my honor and everything I hold dear that this deal will benefit you in all the ways I mentioned and others I have not. I will add that your safety and happiness are a great concern to me, and that I will never sacrifice you for my goals. In the end, you will not regret this.¡± ¡°And in the middle?¡± ¡°There might be some mildly unpleasant moments. Nothing that you cannot handle, I am sure. In case this was not clear, I will be closely involved in the whole process. If we fall, we fall together, so you can trust that I will make sure that the odds are stacked in our favor, because I could get captured and I would rather die than go through what my kin are enduring.¡± The serious tone tells me that Sinead will go to any length to prevent that from happening. The truth is that I like him. I could claim that accepting the agreement would favor me and that is why I do it, but I would be lying to myself. I am doing it because Sinead asked me to. I do not understand why I appreciate this obvious manipulator, though he certainly taught me much. Ah well. ¡°Fine. Tell me more about that larceny¡­¡± Sinead¡¯s grin radiates pure joy. I hope I will not regret my decision too much. Chapter 165: Larceny May 16, 1867I was more than ready to go out for an evening to accomplish that bit of larceny Sinead mentioned, only to find out that the insufferable cad had taken one month just to prank me, and that the event would take place later that year in Philadelphia. I should honestly not be surprised, because I have always known Sinead is a dilettante and that his perception of time is somewhat skewed. And so I find myself at the top floor of a comfortable inn overlooking the Delaware river, entrenched in a salon with my coffee and my resentment. The cozy salon and excellent blend do little to distract me from my current circumstances. ¡°Why, poppet, I thought you might be excited! This is the birthplace of your nation, after all. I promise that we can break into Carpenter¡¯s Hall later tonight,¡± Sinead offers, regal in a beige suit and waistcoat. I wonder where he gets money for all his fancy attire seeing as I have never seen him work a day in his life. Swindler. Charlatan! Oh, he was working. And he wrote that fanciful book on magical species we are using to muddy the waters about our existence. I suppose that the Prince of Summer can indeed commit to a task as long as someone suffers from it, or is made a fool. Or loses her virtue! Charlatan! ¡°First, you have presented yourself as my husband for the very last time or I swear I will consummate our union and by that I mean that I will eat you.¡± ¡°But poppet, it is the perfect cover!¡± ¡°Second, if you ever allude that we are indeed in some sort of relationship, I will thank you not to flirt with every member of the fairer sex in a two miles radius!¡± ¡°Ah, but my dear, consider this, I have not done anything but talk. Now, all those pretty birds swoon for the unattainable, the forbidden fruit that is yours truly while they assume that I ravish you every night. How they must see you with envy!¡± ¡°Has this excuse ever worked on anyone?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°And that is why mankind should not be allowed to govern themselves. Enough of this. The plan?¡± ¡°To business then!¡± Sinead struts to an overly decorated desk to retrieve a map, then unrolls it over the gaudy coffee table. The inexplicably rich cad probably picked one of the only inns in the city that chose late baroque as a decorative style. I think that rococo is what happens when someone has too much time and gold paint on their hands. I glance at the map and sigh heavily. I remember that the Likaean and I paired up before when planning to rescue his fianc¨¦e, and that he was fully capable of pointing a destination on a map. Wait, I am remembering this wrong. He pointed at a general area. ¡°This is not a plan. You have made a drawing. A very convincing drawing of¡­ is that me in that blue dress?¡± Despite my annoyance, I cannot help but stare fixedly at my representation. It is me, as I remember it from so many years ago but¡­ different. The same nose, the same chin. He even managed to catch the shade of blue eyes I saw staring at me so many times in my small mirror, or blurred in the garden¡¯s pond. The Ariane dancing with an unknown man is different. She is supremely confident, with an enchanting smile and a bit of calculation, but that is not all. Her neat clothes and poise evoke a certain purity and innocence I believe I lost on the night I died, yet here I find them, expressed with a tenderness and attention to detail that would have stolen my breath if I still had one. And it is not the only one. Instead of a blueprint of a house, Sinead¡¯s plan is a sequence of events drawn across a childish rendition of what a manor looks like to one who has no sense of perspective. Each bubble of planned reality pops on top of another. I receive a ring from an old man with whom I share a smile of deep trust. I walk elegantly to a parked car. Each take shows always the same face but I look so¡­ alive, as alive as Hastings essence and perfect acting could make me. ¡°Do you like it?¡± Sinead says, suddenly very close. Too close. He smells like fields under a summer sun. ¡°Back off. Would it be too difficult to give a proper map of the place?¡± ¡°This is a map, poppet. Your reality might be boring and inflexible but I will not allow it to dictate my planning. I am a prince, not an engineer.¡± ¡°Well¡­ Fine! Then please do explain the, hmm, steps.¡± ¡°Steps! Steps? I am not building stairs, I am telling you a story. Act one! The old professor and his protege visit the Stow household, invited to the party as exotic visitors come from faraway Savannah.¡± ¡°There is absolutely nothing exotic in Savannah besides the contents of its river.¡± ¡°Psh! Quiet, you blathering mooncalf! How dare you interrupt me after demanding an explanation?¡± ¡°Alright! Ugh. Go on then oh storyteller.¡± ¡°And you shall be the choir and you shall be quiet until called upon. As I was saying, behold, two strangers bringing gifts and carrying many secrets, but the darkest secrets our hosts shall never learn, for we will away into the night before they can unveil even the first layer. See, this woman, Mary Stow. She carries with her a prize most unwise, a gold ring carrying the armories of the Myrddin clan. It can unlock many more doors than she believes, and so does not belong on her dainty finger. But look! Our charming pair mixes with the guests, turning a great many heads. The professor greets Mary and the ring is gone. He passes it along to his accomplice so that, should he be searched, the treasure might not be found.¡± ¡°Can you not just glamour it?¡± ¡°Foolish child, do you know how difficult it would be to glamour a stolen magical object in the house of its owner?!¡± ¡°Sorry.¡± ¡°I could do it, naturally, but trust me when I say that we must take few risks so early in the operation. We will have enough unknowns by the time this is all over. In any case, we shall depart the event in a reasonable time frame so as not to arouse suspicion then retire here for the evening. The Stows serve decent champagne and it would be a shame for me not to partake.¡± ¡°And I? Is there anything I should partake of?¡± ¡°I sincerely pray that it does not come to this. By the way, I know that vampires do not enjoy make-up or wigs but I was hoping we could come to some¡­ oh.¡± I now have wavy dark hair, large chestnut eyes and a soft face. ¡°A perfect glamour! Physical as well¡­ Impressive for someone your age. It must be innate.¡± ¡°Yes, I acquired it in unusual circumstances.¡± ¡°A woman of many talents! Why, only a gifted niece could match the genius of one such as I.¡± A change of tone warns me and I turn to find myself looking in the bespectacled, wrinkled face of a wide-haired old man, his fantastic beard expanding in silvery bristles. ¡°Oh. And whose skin might you be wearing?¡± ¡°Nothing so crass, Madchen. You have the honor of addressing Herr Professor Friedrich von Pappen. At your service!¡± ¡°Kannst du wirklich Deutsch sprechen?¡± "Nat¨¹rlich! I can speak any language that strikes your fancy, ma mignonne. Or did you think that your primitive grunts were beyond me?¡± ¡°Ugh. Fine. By the way, could you do this before?¡± ¡°Not without a focus. It appears that the alignment of the spheres has led your rigid reality to become a bit more limber, like a widow hiring a young, rustic gardener. Where was I? Oh, yes. Crime! We depart tomorrow.¡± *** The Stow residence lies on the outskirts of Philly, to the west. I am told that they used to keep another south but the area was overwhelmed by German and Irish immigrants, especially after their famine. It would not do to share space with poor people, I suppose, and so they share it with cows. And goats. I can smell them from the muddy road. ¡°Are you sure you wish to present yourself as a musician?¡± ¡°It would certainly be more believable than as a student of¡­ what is it you study?¡± ¡°Phrenology.¡± I glare at the scandalous man, currently ensconced in glamour and a dark coat. ¡°You study skulls? Can I really go fetch one and you shall analyze it?¡± ¡°Of course! I can already deduce that the person is dead.¡± ¡°Brilliant. Utterly mind-boggling¡± ¡°But my question remains. What if they ask you to sing?¡± ¡°I can eat you here and now, Sinead, and save us all this cruel fate. I am too young to be a governess and an actress would be too scandalous, hence, a musician.¡± ¡°Is it not socially acceptable for women to be painters?¡± ¡°Not successful ones. And besides, I do not paint for mortals if anyone asks for a demonstration.¡± S?a?ch* Th? ?0velF?re.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. ¡°You could draw.¡± ¡°I will draw a blade before I draw a pen for my prey.¡± ¡°You should paint me.¡± ¡°I have.¡± ¡°Can I see?¡± ¡°No.¡± *** The Stows knew they could not match the wealthiest families of the land and so they did not make the attempt, for which I must credit them. It takes much to impress me after Constantine¡¯s fortress and its mirrored ballroom. Most attempts at majesty fall short in comparison. The Stow estate has no such pretension, and they receive their guests in a series of rooms separated by open double doors. Candles and gas provide enough light to see the varnished floor and sturdy furniture covered in brown quilts. Both the guests and the house itself favor earthy colors in shades of brown, black, and green. The women here prefer high-necked gowns and I now see the reason why Sinead insisted on a dark blue conservative outfit instead of the lilac ones I have been favoring lately. I would have stood out like a rose on a bed of begonias. And besides, my hair is black for now. I allow ¡®Herr Professor¡¯ to lead me in, bypassing the flock of young ones by the entrance and garnering quite a bit of hostility, which happens sometimes. Some communities have an inflated image of themselves, and all newcomers must submit to the ruling pair before being allowed to socialize. The blond man and short, severe dark-haired ones are especially hostile so I assume they fear a newcomer in their den. A part of me smiles and greets people whose names I will have forgotten in three days. I remain demure and shy to fit the obviously Puritan gathering. Another part is amused by the circumstances. I obtained permission to stay here for ¡®personal business¡¯ from Warden Patrick of the Lancaster, a member of Sephare¡¯s faction. As a lady and someone with weight, I could simply demand the ring and obtain it within a week, wrapped in tulle with a polite note. I could also ask Urchin to acquire it and he would oblige without difficulty. I would not even attract that much attention with how busy everyone is these days. I am, technically, slumming it. No self-respecting vampire of my rank would lower themselves to this charade, and yet I believe they should. A little masquerade is always a good practice and, besides, it can be fun. ¡°Liebchen, I appreciate you taking care of your old uncle but you will never find a good party if I do not let you mingle. Go now and make some friends!¡± ¡°Oh, uncle!¡± I reproach him with a fake blush. Nevertheless, I leave his side with pretend excitement, eager to throw myself in the maw of hazing. I make my way to the nearby ruling couple who watch me approach like a pack of wolves finding an errant sheep. ¡°Good evening, everyone, my name is ¡ª ¡° ¡°Is it true that you are from Germany? Where in Germany?¡± The blond man says. Ah, the old interruption game. ¡°My name is Adele von Pappen. My uncle is from Germany, I was born and raised in Savannah.¡± ¡°Pfff, why would someone move to Savannah from Germany?¡± ¡°It is a coastal city,¡± I explain with patience. ¡°I know that!¡± ¡°Then I fear that I do not understand your question.¡± I smile disarmingly, in a way that just hints that I am provoking them instead of stating it clearly. I could play it more smoothly but I will not because I am arrogant and prideful, and also unapologetic. ¡°So you are a musician then?¡± the short, severe girl asks in turn. ¡°A student of music. I would not claim this title just yet.¡± ¡°Father Williams says that it counts as a frivolous pursuit for a woman.¡± ¡°Really? You never sing when you worship?¡± ¡°It is not the same! Those are hymns for the glory of God!¡± ¡°Ah, yes. Music conveys emotions with such incredible passion. It speaks to the soul and lifts us in a way that words seldom do, would you not agree?¡± ¡°Well¡­¡± ¡°All voices joined in unison until they form a whole greater than themselves, until the harmony exists more vividly than the individual notes. Deep male voices and dancing female ones singing praises with joy, carrying more emotion than an hour-long sermon. You must have felt it, no? The touch of grace.¡± The woman blinks as I focus on her. It would not do to try and affect the man while I present myself as an outsider. The woman would see it as a challenge. ¡°Ah, women can be so frivolous,¡± the man declares with a pompous air of moral superiority. ¡°Cease, Andrew, or do you find me leading the choir and singing God¡¯s praises to be a frivolous endeavor as well?¡± ¡°Laura, I did not mean it that way,¡± he retorts with more anger than would seem warranted. In truth, he is probably disappointed at being publicly scolded in front of an unknown. Well, he should not have started then. ¡°Adele, you are probably one of those artsy types, are you not? Do not listen to Elias, he is all happy to hear our voices every Sunday but rehearsal and practice are ¡®frivolous¡¯! Typical.¡± Aha! I got them to bicker. ¡°Oh, that is quite alright. There are so many who appreciate art yet look down on those who toil to provide it. So, you are a singer then?¡± We discuss for a while, with the stern Laura proving deeply knowledgeable about sacred music while her companion Andrew fumes at being sidelined. Ah, yes, vampires. Sowing discord since the dawn of history. Our short conversation is soon interrupted by the return of Sinead, who slips the ring in my sleeve with the grace of the expert pickpocket. ¡°Ah, Liebchen, I see that you have made friends! And who might those people be?¡± ¡°Those are Laura and Andrew. They kindly welcomed me and it turns out that Laura is quite the expert on hymns and requiems.¡± ¡°Wunderbar. You enjoy yourself with people your age while I go examine the skull of Frau Peters. It is a remarkable example of deep sensibility.¡± I stop myself from glaring at the shapely woman standing awkwardly behind him. She is flushed and smells of arousal. I find myself deeply annoyed by a little bout of jealousy, though it would be hypocritical of me to comment since we vampires are hardly monogamous. Sinead really got under my skin, somehow, and it appears that age is not helping me grow wise. ¡°Oh, uncle, when will you stop your pursuit of science! Off you go then.¡± No sooner have the pair disappeared to beds unknown that a dire scream shatters the mood of the evening. Sinead avoided the attention just in time. ¡°My ring! My ring! I have lost it!¡± The circus begins with the guests making a token attempt at finding the lost jewelry, in vain. I help with the search, staying close to Laura and her flock now that we have become acquainted. I cannot help but feel a wave of excitement when the victim of the theft walks by me and I feel the aura of several enchantments. She may not be a caster herself but she keeps one in her employ. Perhaps she has even warded her private quarters. The loss of the ring sours the mood since the probability of theft is considered. I have been quite visible throughout the evening and I feel the weight of suspicion in the gaze of the people around me. I could change that with charm, of course. It would be too easy, however, and defeat the purpose of the exercise. ¡°Do you perhaps have something you would like to confess?¡± Andrew says in a low voice by my side, and by low voice, I mean that he is perfectly audible for half of the room. ¡°I must admit that the mood has plummeted¡­ Oh! You could not possibly suggest¡­¡± I gasp in outrage and flush my cheeks to simulate anger. ¡°Sir, I certainly hope that you are not implying what I think you are!¡± ¡°A woman we have never seen joins the ball and, less than an hour later, a piece of jewelry goes missing? I find it curious.¡± ¡°What? You! I never! I have nothing to do with the loss of the ring. In fact, I have never seen the ring we are all searching for. Those accusations are baseless and cruel and I have never been treated so disrespectfully in any event I have ever attended.¡± Technically, I was shot at and set on fire before but it happened after the event so, really, it does not count. My outrage makes Andrew flustered and the guests are split between supporting a local and risking to be seen as immoral. The key is not to get too angry because mortals somehow perceive this as a sign of guilt, while remaining suitably offended. Laura herself appears to be uncomfortable. ¡°Come on, Andrew. She was not even in the other room.¡± The man frowns while I huff and cross my arms. It would not do to leave now because the crowd might close around me. I need to cast doubt upon my accuser first. ¡°We do not know her. She could be lying.¡± ¡°You question my credentials as a musician?¡± He frowns, slightly confused. For the first time tonight, I use Charm for the sake of a spectacle. As an operation, the robbery has gone wrong. I should never have attracted attention to myself, but just like any operation set up by Sinead, flair is half of the fun. Andrew decides to throw the gauntlet. ¡°You know, that is a good point. If you truly are who you say then surely a demonstration would lift doubts? Unless, of course, you are a thief in disguise.¡± ¡°I will! There is a piano in the boudoir, and I shall play it.¡± ¡°Oh, I thought you would sing,¡± Laura says, ¡°but this is even better.¡± Indeed, it is. I make my solemn way out, surrounded by a proper escort. Mrs. Stow even follows us to enjoy the show, all thoughts of her ring temporarily forgotten. I adjust the seat and place my hands on the ivory keys. They are solid and smooth under my fingers. I feel a hint of nostalgia. Despite its dreadful end, I have made some good memories during my stay with the Knights. Mannfred¡¯s ashes rest in my secret collection in Marquette next to my favorite painting of the Watcher as a reminder of lost friendships. One of my regrets is that I could not spend more time with Nastasia, the advanced teacher for piano. Vampires can pick up techniques fairly quickly. Our natural dexterity and coordination gives us an undeniable edge when it comes to playing. For all of our advantages, we find it impossible to convey the emotions we no longer feel clearly. Some rare kin still create art like I do, but to my great regret, my skill with the brush does not extend to the keys arrayed before me. I can play a piano, but I cannot play music. I can, however, imitate it. Nastasia was an intriguing woman, so severe and cold with her graying hair held up in an impeccable bun. She had a strong jaw that she jutted out in defiance to every new student who joined her classes, and I was no exception. For all her rigidity, she was different as soon as she sat down. Then, the diminutive Russian woman came¡­ alive. It was a breathtaking metamorphosis that I could never grow tired of. Suddenly, the stern walls of the base rang with music as it was meant to be, fugacious and vibrant. She moved with grace and energy as easily as she breathed. She taught me the Marche Hongroise of Berlioz not as a solemn piece but a bouncing succession of phrases, almost naughty in their careless joy. The one piece I asked her to repeat a dozen times until I could ape her was L¡¯idee Fixe by Liszt, the one I shall reproduce now. I breathe deeply as I remember the curve of her back while she played the first arpeggio. The notes would flow in a waterfall of harmony, then before they could settle she would pull back and start another. Her hands never truly landed on the keyboard. They hovered there like dandelion seeds caught in the wi ¡ª ¡°You clearly know how to play, I suppose that you are not some lowlife who stole a dress.¡± I turn to Andrew as he stands from a nearby chair and I gasp in outrage! What! To doubt me is part of the game, but to interrupt me! HE DARES. ¡°I suppose we can end ¡ª¡± ¡°YOU SIT YOUR POSTERIOR BACK DOWN MISTER OR SO HELP ME I WILL TAN YOUR HIDE UNTIL IT SHINES LIKE A FRESHLY PLUCKED HIBISCUS YOU BOORISH, VULGAR CHURL!¡± Andrew freezes in terror. He collapses back down while the rest of the assembly gasps in surprise. Absolute degenerates. Interrupting Liszt. I should just Magna Arqa the entire place into the afterlife and be done with it. Where was I? Oh yes. I ignore the mutters to concentrate again. ¡°She¡¯s from Savannah, I heard, hence the southern accent.¡± ¡°Hot blooded folks, aren¡¯t they?¡± Arms like a swan aloft on an ocean gale. Yes. The tempo is an irregular one, especially at first. It languishes on some specific notes, only to fly off again. Ah, what I would not do to have a virtuoso play an entire piano concerto in front of me until I can replicate it. I let the memories carry me through the entire piece, loving every second of it. The false silence of beating heartbeats offers a perfect background, and when I stop, no one dares speak. I stand up and gather all of my non-negligible pride as I strut away. ¡°I hope you enjoyed it because I shan¡¯t return!¡± I proclaim at the front door. Misdeed accomplished. I disappear into the darkness, only to mysteriously reemerge a few steps away inside of our carriage. Soon, we are underway. I give him the ring and inspect his now natural appearance. Something is off. The smell. ¡°I had assumed that you would seduce ¡®Frau Peters¡¯. Were you interrupted?¡± ¡°We merely had a conversation during which I assured her that she was sound of mind and incredibly lucid. She believed me, and I predict that her lying donkey of a suitor will soon receive his due. Why do you ask?¡± ¡°It just feels strange not to see you gallivanting.¡± ¡°I used a pleasant way to escape the attention while you gathered it.¡± ¡°It was stupid of us to do so. They could have found the ring if I had let them.¡± ¡°But then, there would be no stakes at all. We always leave a chance to the mortals, poppet, unless the matter is too serious to leave to chance.¡± ¡°You are deflecting.¡± Sinead leans towards me, amber eyes shining ever so slightly in the complete darkness. ¡°Is it not vampire etiquette? You may separate depending on circumstances but while you are together, you are together.¡± ¡°It is indeed proper etiquette for us.¡± ¡°Then I will flirt and charm the hapless mortals but none of them shall have me while we¡­ work together, yes?¡± I narrow my eyes with suspicion. I find it quite unlike him to exert tact. Sinead shows me an expression of perfect innocence and so I know with certainty that he is up to something. ¡°You are wondering about my motives, poppet. I assure you, it is nothing sinister. I merely wish to maintain a pleasant environment. And now, let us away. The path to the exchange place is far and I really want to get rid of this tasteless bauble.¡± ¡°Wait, you did not explain that part. Are we selling it?¡± ¡°Bartering, to be precise, in exchange for a specific tool we will need. Sivaya will join us. Only she can make sure that we have what we have come for.¡± May 21st, 1867 The exchange spot was picked by our esteemed partners, somewhere in the wilderness south of Baltimore. I complained that the choice of a remote location screamed ¡®ambush¡¯, but was curtly informed that the reason for my presence was specifically to prevent this sort of mischief. My disappointment turned to elation when I found out that the deal would (hypothetically) take place in a forest, a deep and untamed one. At nightfall, we ride out and turn away from a muddy road past a forlorn mill, stopping at a brook bubbling merrily under low branches. The setting is quite intimate in this dense forest. It makes me want to go for a run. Sivaya appears from a beast path wearing a beautifully embroidered azure dress. Her dark auburn hair, sharp face and large blue eyes reinforce the faerie-like appearance the grasping branches and poking roots already evoke. She salutes me in a Likaean gesture of respect, which I return with pleasure. ¡°Your¡­ armor. In the cabin.¡± ¡°Get changed, poppet. We would not want you to be recognized.¡± I find the place easily enough as well as a simply incredible set that I put on. I immediately come out once I am done and stop close to the pair, interrupting their discussion and causing a great deal of surprise. ¡°My¡­ it certainly brings back memories.¡± The armor resembles nothing that I have ever seen even in the Skoragg clan arsenal. Most of my body is covered by thin, silvery plates covered in a fine network of runes. They breathe power. The front molds my chest rather snuggly, which I find a bit embarrassing. Tiny mail covers the articulations and are strangely silent, especially considering that they are so shiny I expect them to clink merrily like a wedding cake decoration every time I attempt to move a limb, and this is without considering the cloth. I wonder if Sivaya expects me to attend a royal coronation wearing this blinding apparel. I even have two flowing ribbons in teal popping from my shoulder blades like a pair of budding wings, and it is not even the most shameful part. ¡°Why am I wearing a tutu?¡± I ask. ¡°It is a skirt,¡± Sinead replies, distracted. He is not done inspecting me. ¡°A skirt used in classical dance which can also be called a tutu.¡± ¡°A tutu would flare while this skirt falls down.¡± ¡°It is maintained in position by clasps,¡± Sivaya adds helpfully. ¡°A controlled tutu is still a tutu!¡± I look down to the gossamer, spidery fabric covering my thighs and my virtue, or what is left of it in any case. It shares the same teal dye as the rest. ¡°I confess to being impressed,¡± I grudgingly admit, ¡°I can feel the power emanating from the armor, and yet I could perceive nothing until I touched it.¡± ¡°We must protect your anonymity. Speaking of which, we had prepared a mask for you, but a change of appearance would work just as well. The armor on you...¡° Sinead stops and confers with Sivaya in high Likaean. I cannot follow the exquisitely complex and subtle language. Instead, I perform a few moves with Rose and find that the armor does not restrict me in the slightest. Even Loth¡¯s old armor had not granted me such a degree of freedom. ¡°Could you turn your hair to silver and your eyes to pink?¡± Sinead asks. I frown but I obey. The pair asks for adjustments, including a sharper face. When they step back, my hair falls straight to the small of my back and I have taken on a cold beauty. ¡°Uncanny. You resemble a Seeker of Stolen Memories, one of the many factions of the fae worlds.¡± ¡°Stolen Memories?¡± I ask, my voice having taken a slightly lower pitch. To my surprise, Sivaya replies. She walks around me until I feel her light fingers braiding my hair. ¡°Not so long ago by our standards, the Courts had adopted various methods to mold partners and rivals into minds that were, shall we say, more suitable to their purposes. A gathering of errant warriors united to bring an end to the charade. They saw the theft of one¡¯s self-determination as the vilest treatment one could inflict upon another sentient being and forged a pact with an ancient creature we refer to as the diamond mind.¡± ¡°Every freed slave joined the Seekers as payment,¡± Sinead says. ¡°Until entire duchies were consumed by the flames of vengeance. Then, the diamond mind went too far and tried to reclaim Winter¡¯s prey.¡± ¡°The Coldest Court ever loves their games.¡± ¡°An agreement was reached by all to curtail the practice, but not before the plane of winter gave birth to another twisted landscape. Seekers are rare nowadays.¡± ¡°They are also unerringly polite. They always inform you of their intentions, preferably while you hunt afield with only a small retinue.¡± ¡°You bear a strange resemblance to one.¡± ¡°I assumed that it would be preferable to show discretion,¡± I object. ¡°You can be memorable so long as you can shed that notoriety like a mask. It will help us, I assure you,¡± Sinead answers. ¡°The mages will focus on your unique appearance, one that only exists when it serves our purpose.¡± ¡°If you say so.¡± ¡°I enjoy the company of seekers, back home,¡± Sivaya whispers. ¡°They talk little.¡± I nod in understanding. I had never considered the question but, naturally, the Likaeans miss their homeland. The familiar sight must soothe them. I will never get used to them behaving like people instead of actors in that great farce that is my life. I shall have to consent to the tutu then. To be perfectly honest, I love that garment. I merely want to kill anyone who sees me wearing it. ¡°And the finishing touch. I thought of a weapon that could fit your style,¡± Sivaya tells me. She walks behind the tallest tree around, returning with an axe. An enormous, two-handed axe with a crescent blade. It shines with enchantments as well. ¡°I use a whip blade. How is an axe close to that?¡± ¡°You fight aggressively.¡± ¡°Consider it like a cathartic experience, poppet. Try swinging it around a little bit.¡± I had some basic lessons in axe-fighting from Jarek if only because I must know how to face one. This weapon is perfectly balanced. Not only that, but it is surprisingly heavy considering the lightweight nature of the armor. Between its weight and my strength, any strike will be devastating. We should not need it tonight but it will certainly help. With nothing much to do, we wait until midnight, discussing other aspects of Likaean culture. I lose myself in the myriad stories they have. Likaean society has existed for an extremely long period of time. As for how long, the princely pair cannot give me a firm answer because time flows at different paces in different worlds, and the relative speeds between said worlds varies across, well, time. Sinead even alludes that the Court of Blue possesses a device capable of slowing down an entire plane, though Sivaya refuses to elaborate. It must be quite the experience to live in a world where the laws of nature are merely suggestions. I interrupt a recollection of a three-days long dance because our guests have arrived, on foot of all things. I signal the fae and climb to a low branch, ready to intervene should a danger come. A discrete darkness spell suffices to hide me. A trio comes into view. They wear boring brown and black garbs, not forester wear. Their heavy boots trample the wet soil as well as the errant twigs, except for the third man, who inspects my charges with obvious greed in his dark eyes. I almost expect him to twirl his pointy beard. He is a Courtier, a rather old one. Decent strength. Interestingly, I recognize Cadiz essence which implies that he has traveled far for this meeting. The man in the center carries a locked box while the third bears a musket and a gauntlet, a sign that he is the muscle tonight. They approach with a great amount of caution for people who set up an ambush. Once they are close enough, Sinead lights a blue lantern and welcomes them in a fancy grey ensemble. The scene is set. The beginning of the negotiation goes well, with both parties presenting the goods. I see that the Courtier attempts to smell or perceive the fae¡¯s auras, but he struggles to come to a conclusion. My allies are no castaways crashing down on this plane and stunned from the fall. They have learned to hide. The Courtier must be wondering if it is worth offending an unknown party just to realize that he only captured eccentric mages. Nevertheless, he takes a step forward, and that I cannot accept. I let the darkness spell lift. The blue lantern shines on me too now, playing strange tricks with the silvery metal of my armor. ¡°That is close enough,¡± I tell them. All three newcomers jump. The muscle man aims the musket in my direction but he does not pull the trigger, possibly held back by my lack of motion. I slowly lean forward on the branch. ¡°You do not need to come closer, especially you, nightwalker.¡± ¡°If you know what I am, then you know better than to try and stop me,¡± the Courtier retorts, though he stays where he is. His companions look embarrassed rather than scared. They already know what he is. I sneer and my disdain provokes a reaction from the other vampire. He cannot feel my constrained aura, and so he attempts to charm me. ¡°Why don¡¯t you come down so I can have a better look?¡± His arrogance melts like dew under the sun when the attempt fails spectacularly. My grin widens minutely. ¡°You do not want me to climb down, nightwalker. In fact, I will even tell you what you want because I can see your destiny.¡± I swing my legs a bit and twirl the massive battleaxe in front of me with as much ease as if it were a toy. The whisper of displaced air tells the little one all he needs to know. I enjoy watching his confidence decrease further. ¡°In the first future, either you or the mounted group by the mill attacks us. In the second future, you get to leave this clearing alive.¡± ¡°Do not bark your desert tongue at me, nightwalker. Make a deal or attack, I care not either way, but you will stop wasting my time.¡± The Courtier glares and hesitates, but at the end we vampires know better than anyone else that the world is dangerous and filled with unknowns, and some of the unknowns can rip your head off your torso with the spine still attached. ¡°Carry on,¡± he tells his associates. They glance fearfully from him to me, then back, but eventually the leader relents. He presents Sivaya with an intriguing item. I see that it is a scepter of sorts made of a curious wood that shines deeply, as if lit from the inside. ¡°Dear?¡± Sinead asks. ¡°No need to examine it. The imprint has stayed strong. It will do.¡± Sinead nods and tosses the ring to the leader, who examines it covetously. ¡°The seal of the Myrddin clan. And the mana signature as well. It really is true.¡± The man frowns. ¡°You didn¡¯t empty all their vaults before coming here, did you?¡± ¡°I am flattered that you would think me capable of such an achievement, but no.¡± The negotiator shakes his head with disbelief before turning away, soon followed by the other two. ¡°You are mad to give away such a prize in exchange for that weird focus. Bah, no matter. I hope we work together again. Farewell.¡± The trio leaves. I signal the fae and clad myself in darkness once more to follow them. As they approach the mill and their armed escort, the vampire stops and turns, considering. I lift the veil of shadow and tsk in a low voice. Our eyes meet. He stares at the axe, shimmering under the moonlight. He turns away. I join the fae a bit later as they pack and get changed. ¡°You can keep the armor. It will still be useful after we are done here,¡± Sivaya mutters, head turned away. ¡°Hm. Thank you for this wonderful gift,¡± I tell her with all honesty. Just the enchantments alone could occupy a team of Dvergurs for a decade. ¡°By the way,¡± I ask, ¡°could you tell me what that focus is for?¡± ¡°It is not a focus, but a branch cut from an old tree. Here, take it. Then you will know.¡± I grab the item and inspect it. It does not appear to have been worked on. In fact, the radiance appears to be natural. ¡°You hold an offshoot of the World Tree. Wherever it is, it still holds a connection to the primordial forest it came from. And now, we have our gate focus. We will use it to drill a portal home. You will get to see our forest soon, but for now, we have work to do. Chapter 166: Asset collection. I sit at my desk and sign the construction order for a shipyard; an entire shipyard for standardized river steam ships. I used to sign orders for table cloth.It has been a long century. In the wake of the civil war and hive scourge, the north of the United States expands its influence with feverish energy and we have made full use of it. Real Estate and abandoned farmlands. Factories. Infrastructures. Schools and ports. Private security. There is no sector our tentacular influence will not grasp. Train lines cleave through the frontier on their way west to link the coastal regions, while outposts and small towns bloom across the land like flowers in the desert. Or like cancerous growths, according to Ako. We fund many of those new havens. Vampires may not have the drive to invent but we certainly can back those who do. It matters not if five out of ten ventures fail. A single successful one pays for all the losses. And so, we increase our influence as fast as the mortals do. The wave of corruption and illegal grabbing that comes with it only provides more fuel for us, more emotions to exploit and more pawns to play with. Already, I had to send Urchin and John away on their own errands because I could not handle the tide of supplicants waiting for a generous monster to help them. The mortals burn with greed and passion as they swallow native tribes and forsaken land in their unmatched appetite. I thought that the furor of money could distract them from a more insidious agenda. I was wrong. Fueled by anger at their loss, which they attribute to the devil, the black arts, and pretty much everyone but themselves, a group calling themselves the integrists has risen from the surviving grassroots to cleanse the land of its impurities, especially the people. Their ire spreads generously across several races, creeds, and professions, but what they hate the most is casters. Surprisingly, they are not even the largest pain in my posterior. This achievement goes to the Supernatural Task Force, or STF as they make themselves known. Speaking of which, I hear my guests for tonight. Three sets of footsteps. ¡°Come in,¡± I say, before the secretary knocks. This always has its little effect. The well-dressed woman shuffles in two visitors wearing badges pinned on their chests. Their clothes are crumpled yet clean, a sign that they have taken the train from Springfield where they are based. I will never forgive myself for my silliness, when back in eighteen thirty-seven I missed the opportunity to make Marquette the State Capital. It was a stupid oversight that I am still paying now by having uppity morons build up the courage to bother me while I could have had them within slapping distance all along. Truly, eternal life means eternal mistakes sometimes. At least I did not die with a large mole on my nose. I tap a finger on the expensive wood in annoyance. The sun outside still clings to the skies, and it will continue to do so for many more hours. It tends to make me more irritable. Well, better to get it over with. ¡°Take a seat,¡± I order. ¡°I¡¯ll stand, thanks,¡± says the man on the left. He has dark brown, messy hair under a hat he has failed to remove. The one one the right is stouter and older, with a well-trimmed beard and greying temples. He appears resigned, which I can respect. ¡°You are here at my sufferance and you will sit or I will have you escorted outside. You have ten seconds,¡± I inform him without using charm. ¡°You can¡¯t do that. We¡¯re officers.¡± ¡°I can and I will. Sit.¡± The older man takes a seat, then stares insistently at his companion who licks his lips in consideration, split between anger and reason. Eventually, he concedes and joins us. ¡°Good,¡± I continue. ¡°You two are officer Trell and officer Tobin of the STF, Illinois branch, here to ask me to save your flailing investigation into the recent murder of a certain Mary Potts, whose sole achievement in life was to be humorously named after my favorite brand of kitchen implements. You wish to know if she was murdered by magic. You found me by insistently asking about the owner behind a certain grocery store where said woman often went. Did I miss any relevant points?¡± The young man shows signs of being impressed, the older one stares defiantly. He should know better. I Charm and spark the terror in his heart until he does. ¡°If you know why we¡¯re here then you can tell us what you know, sweetheart. Then we¡¯ll be on our way.¡± Oh dear. ¡°Of course I shall tell you what I know,¡± I reply with a light smile. ¡°I know that you are overstepping yourself and I also know that I could not care less about how Potts died, by whom, and why. She is not one of mine. I have no interest or stake in her fate and it will remain so until someone makes it worth my time, which you two have not.¡± ¡°Hey come on lady, we¡¯re just playing nice. There is no need for hostility from someone as delightful as you, right? We¡¯re all friends here, aren¡¯t we, Tobin?¡± ¡°For now,¡± the man says, gathering his courage again, ¡°but that might change.¡± ¡°I see that my point is falling on deaf ears, so I shall have to give a clearer demonstration. Look around you. What do you see?¡± The guileless pair inspects their surroundings and fails to see the forest for the tree, as I expected. They do not even have the wealth required to understand wealth. I lean forward. ¡°You stand at the heart of a compound hosting a staff of over a hundred and sixty people. You have never heard of me, or this place, until we let you. The resale value of the most humble piece of furniture here would suffice to cover both of your wages for the next five years. You, gentlemen, see power and wealth so vast you have not even started to imagine it. That is why we will not mention the murder again, and you will desist in your pursuits, because your threats are laughable and you are wasting my time. Now, you will come to the natural question you should have asked the moment you came in.¡± If they fail even that I will kill them. I have only so much tolerance for stupidity. Perhaps sensing his demise, or perhaps graced with a last mental spasm of his bacon-greased, chew-fuelled brain matter, Tobin sees reason. ¡°What do you want?¡± I can tell that I am having an effect on Trell, the younger man. Why, I believe that he finally deduced I was not just an eye candy before he could call me sugar and lose his jaw. Astounding work. ¡°What I want is for you to understand two things. First, I only tolerate your witless bumblings across the land because I have a vested interest in the success of your agency and no, before you ask again, it does not mean that I shall do your job for you. Second, do you think that your hierarchical superior is on your side?¡± They blink with eerie synchronization. ¡°Do you?¡± ¡°I¡¯m afraid I don¡¯t follow.¡± ¡°I believe I have been clear. Do you believe that, right now, the organization you belong to aims to serve the people? That it will protect you? You report religiously to your superiors and you even kept the commissioner apprised of today¡¯s journey¡­¡± ¡°How do you kno¡ª¡± ¡°Silence. You are children, children who were given a toy gun and think that it equates legitimacy. You are not defenders of justice. Hell, you are not even true law enforcement. You exist for one reason and one reason only, to pacify both sides of the current conflict. You are dogs on a leash for people who need you to control your own kind. You will earn the hatred of casters but you will never earn the respect of the mundane population. You will never be seen as anything but tame, a credit to your kind, the exception that confirms the rule. You will be tolerated so long as you remember your place but you will never, ever be trusted. This is the truth you should remember when investigating and reporting. You do not serve justice. You serve peace. Therefore, you shall cease your pathetic grasping at straws and exert judgement when attracting the authority¡¯s attention on your fellow casters, if not out of ethical concern, then at least out of survival instinct. Remember that you only exist because the alternative is even more undesirable, and when the integrists come knocking, your precious bosses will not shield you. I may. Now, Trell, you may leave first. I need a word with your partner. Privately.¡± This time, I need to leave an impression so I let the full power of my Charm ride on his caution and surprise. He departs groggily, following which I discreetly lift a finger and the door slams shut with a resounding bang. Tobin jumps and twists at the noise. When he turns to me again, I stand a foot away from him. ¡°Shi¡ª¡± ¡°Shhhh.¡± Slowly, I release the hold on my aura until it fills the entire study. The sun might cover the earth outside in a field of purifying fire. Its sheer presence might hang over my shoulders like a lead mantle. I am still a powerful lady. No five pence mage will ever come close to stopping me as Tobin is realizing now. ¡°You know what I am.¡± He whimpers as the pressure reaches its paroxysm. S?a??h the ??v?lF?re.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. ¡°Or at least you suspect. A bit of advice. If you enter a den expecting a vampire, be it night or day...¡± I move behind him and grab his shoulders between my fingers, hard enough to bruise his muscles but without drawing blood. He moans in pain but the magic keeps him stuck in place. My cold breath tickles his ear. His breath comes out in amusing little puffs in the freezing air. ¡°...you ought to pray to that light god of yours... that you are mistaken.¡± June 16th, 1868. Sinead must have caught something on my face ¡ª when did he even look up? ¡ª because his next remark finds its mark. ¡°What bothers you so much, poppet?¡± ¡°Nothing.¡± ¡°There is no need to lie to preserve my feelings, I assure you. You can complain to your heart¡¯s content.¡± His eyes remain on the skylight he is patiently unscrewing open. Sinead looks dashing in a dark, form-fitting outfit and his panoply of strange tools reinforces the image of dastardly rogue I am getting now. As I watch, another paint-covered nut joins the mounting pile by his feet while behind, the night lights of New York offer both little and far too much light. ¡°Very well. I find this task¡­ unnerving. I am breaking the law,¡± I whisper. ¡°Are you, now? I thought that your very existence broke the law.¡± ¡°Not the mortal one, you goose.¡± ¡°Ah, so when you hid from the Accords for twenty years it must have been quite uncomfortable.¡± ¡°This is different!¡± ¡°Because you were not yet one of them and your survival was at stake, yet when it came down to the Accords, you did not hesitate to subjugate your new brood daddy before seeking Constantine¡¯s approval.¡± ¡°Please use the proper term for Progenitors and you will live longer. Are we committing theft or having an argument?¡± ¡°You know that we Likaeans never fulfill one purpose if we can fulfill three.¡± ¡°So I noticed.¡± Another nut joins the pile. The heavy glass pane is only kept in place by a strange suction cup on the roof of the fortified warehouse. It annoys me that he can complete so many tasks efficiently. ¡°So then why is it? Some sort of internal system of value?¡± ¡°I am stealing from an ally. Technically. There, I said it. We are illegally acquiring Hastings assets.¡± Despite my best efforts, my intense distress radiates outward clearly, drawing Sinead¡¯s eye. ¡°I have become a criminal. Aw, if my papa could see me now, he would be so disappointed.¡± ¡°What about the murders?¡± ¡°What about them?¡± Sinead sighs heavily. ¡°Ariane, my dearest eldritch duckling¡­¡± ¡°Oi!¡± ¡°You do not expect for a single instant that this entire operation will end without the Accords opposing us, do you? You will have to choose between your allegiance and my cause, sooner or later. I doubt they will do more than slap you on the wrist, but you will burn bridges before we head back home, and although our departure favors your side, there are some who will be blinded by greed. You must accept this.¡± ¡°Hmph.¡± Is he right? We are all given leeways in the manner we conduct our affairs. If my goal benefits the Accords, would they truly resent me? A part of me wants to believe that they would give me a grumbling recognition, the other realizes that I am expected to transfer ownership of the blood slave to my own kin. Will they fear me for my resourcefulness, or blame me for being naive? ¡°You are not fully convinced,¡± Sinead observes. ¡°Do not presume.¡± ¡°If you were convinced, you would be annoyed that I was right from the start and then you would threaten to eat me.¡± ¡°...¡± ¡°Aaaaah there it is. Well, are you?¡± ¡°None of it matters because I already committed to the freedom of the Likaeans in my heart. So long as we do not mess up, I will not have to choose, and Sinead¡­¡± I glare. ¡°It really is in your best interest¡­ that I am never forced to choose.¡± I think I hurt him a little bit. ¡°Ah, you truly do not see me as your equal, though I can hardly blame you. I am but a husk of my true self now, and young poppets must protect themselves first. You have had it hard and you still decided to help against your own short-sighted interests. I shall take heart in this. I shall accept that I remain a liability. For now¡± Sinead pushes down and the glass panel pops from its hinges with worrisome ease. He shifts his grasp and grabs the heavy piece of glass back in almost as smoothly as I would have done it. I realize that this is the first time I have seen him do labor work and he is significantly stronger than I expected, probably more so than a human. I do find the contracting muscles of his forearm slightly distracting, although I will never voice it out loud. ¡°Like what you see?¡± He whispers, and I frown. ¡°No time for that. We have to get in.¡± Sinead places the glass panel down on the roof tiles. He quickly dons strange clawed gloves and dives through the opening first, which means that I get a good look at his butt. Some expeditions pay for themselves. I follow him and we soon cling to a horizontal support beam far above the open ground under us. The storage space extends below us over a large surface, organized in long shelves packed with non-descript crates bearing letters and numbers. I sniff the air and notice a strange resin smell. Below, the ground shimmers in my aura perception. ¡°Enchanted dust,¡± Sinead whispers. ¡°We can¡¯t touch the ground.¡± I am familiar with this anti-burglar measure. I would use the same in my private collection but I abhor the smell and dusty appearance it gives to a place. I much prefer to rely on strategically-placed defensive arrays and some choice paintings of the Watcher. Somewhere to the front of us, a lone lantern swings with the slow gait of a late-night guard. We follow his progress in perfect silence for long minutes until he passes right below us. He is an old mage with liver spots and a lurch. He wears an old gauntlet and yawns, but his feet land in the footprints of previous patrols with unerring precision. He stops at the edge of the row we find ourselves in, lifts his face and scowls. I see two white orbs and realize that he is blind. ¡°A draft?¡± The old man considers the question, but tonight, the weather is particularly clement. There is little wind. He ends up shrugging and resuming his patrol until a door opens and slams closed. ¡°We must hurry,¡± Sinead says. ¡°He will not call for help. His heartbeat remained steady and he didn¡¯t smell like fear.¡± ¡°Is it good or bad that I cannot hide my arousal? I agree with your assessment. Guards are almost as worried of triggering a false alarm than they are of missing a real one. We have ten minutes to make sure that another draft does not push him to reconsider.¡± We crawl along the beam, Sinead moving with cat-like grace in front of me. I do the same but I use my own claws instead. ¡°Why did we have to wear black again? There is no one here,¡± I notice. ¡°Just in case, and do not pretend like you are not ecstatic to be wearing trousers.¡± ¡°Hush.¡± I would never be caught dead wearing this strange suit. Fortunately, Sivaya gave mine a small, rigid skirt that reaches to my knees. I am only mildly scandalous in my own eyes, which is all that matters in the end. Sinead inspects the letters and numbers on the row before angling to the side on a perpendicular beam. It takes little time for us to be above our destination. We attach ropes to the wood above us then secure them in our harness. The two of us rapel downward until we are but a few handspans above the shelf. ¡°Second row from the bottom. The small one. Could you get it? Too heavy for me,¡± he whispers, the voice imperceptible for anyone but a vampire. I hiss softly and lower myself a bit more. As I go lower, I feel him lean toward my descending figure to take a good whiff. Ugh. Is he a dog? I pinch his butt on my way back. ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± I warn with a growl. ¡°Oooh, I kind of like that. Very daring poppet. Does the danger get the essence pumping?¡± ¡°Your face is red and puffy and you look like a bat.¡± ¡°You¡¯re lovely too.¡± ¡°Open the damn box, princeling.¡± ¡°But of course.¡± I grumble and maintain the container in a stable position while Sinead lowers himself to my position to work on the opening. He easily pops a few nails out with full focus. He is quite close and smells divine. If only his presence was not so distracting. Sinead removed the lid to reveal a black case with a golden lock. He whispers a few words in the high tongue of the fae, which is still beyond me. A light shines on his chest and the receptacle pops open. ¡°A gift from Makyas. No keyhole can resist him on this earth. Ah, here we are.¡± A diamond, a shiny cut diamond the size of a pigeon egg with a mesmerizing yellow core in the shape of a swirl of sand. It must be worth tens of thousands of dollars, perhaps more. Enough to buy several city blocks. No, a small town and all its businesses. Sinead pockets it. The box is shut, then returned to its crate. I lower myself again. ¡°Nice calves. Were you a dancer?¡± ¡°I will kill you.¡± I place the crate back exactly where it was, then push the nail back in. The groan of wood echoes strangely to my vampire senses but no alarm triggers. We are apparently in the clear. We promptly pull up and make our way back outside. As soon as we are through, Sinead replaces the pane and starts screwing every bolt back in. ¡°With this, the theft might remain undiscovered for years,¡± I observe with a bit of hope. ¡°Indeed. Ah, nothing like a flawless little heist to put me in high spirits!¡± ¡°Why do I always end up in the company of eccentrics?¡± I lament. ¡°I could tell you, but you would threaten me again.¡± I hate July the most. Although the longest day occurs on June the twenty-first, it seems that the days drag on the following month with prideful indolence. I hate it because I was born in July. I hate it because I died in July. Mostly, I hate it because I miss the smell of the sun on wheat, its caress on my shaded arms. I miss the taste of sugar cane. And the light seems to burn forever. I find myself to be irritable when the secure carriage crams itself in the Byron family hangar and a group of Rosenthal mercenaries struggle to take the massive sarcophagus out. I believe that I am almost dropped twice. It can be so hard to find good help these days. Whispers of consternation follow my progress to the inner part of the manor. I have the authorization of the local warden to attend the auction, but the Byron clan did not expect that ¡®Ariane Delaney¡¯ might be a fake name. I am finally placed in a lone room and leave as soon as I can confirm that no sunlight remains. Not a single drop passes through the shutters and heavy drapes. The room is secure. I will always find it interesting that it takes walls of some sort to protect us from the sunlight. Drapes and shutters would not protect me in a carriage, but this is a house and, therefore, it is safer. Magic works in strange ways. Or is it science that does? I can no longer tell. Soon, a knock on my door distracts me from my thoughts. ¡°Come in.¡± An aging gentleman enters, wearing a fake smile and an even faker confidence. I appreciate the black hair pulled back and made smooth, the villainous moustache and the greying temple. Why, he would fit the cover of a bodice ripper aimed for widows. He searches the darkness for me, and so I snap my fingers and use a cheap trick to light the house¡¯s gas lamp. As expected, his improved visibility does not settle his nerves. ¡°My name is Ariane. Thank you for accommodating me this afternoon.¡± ¡°Ah, and I¡¯m Andrew Byron. It is my honor to welcome a guest such as yourself in my humble abode. You¡­ received an invitation?¡± Ah, he knows quite a bit. ¡°I did. Right there,¡± I tell him, showing a cream envelope. ¡°Yes. Yes, indeed.¡± His eyes narrow, go to the shutters. He assesses his chances, just in case. I take no umbrage. I would have done the same. ¡°Before you calculate the risks, consider two things,¡± I tell him. ¡°First, one cannot uninvite a vampire during the day unless they misbehaved. After all, what manner of host condemns his guest to a fiery death? Second, we are not inside of your home.¡± ¡°I promise you that this is my manor.¡± ¡°The public wing, reserved for auctions and events. This is nobody¡¯s home but profit¡¯s. Although, if you doubt me then by all means, try to banish me.¡± I taste fear and the quickening of his heart. ¡°There is no need for this. If you want an item, I can deliver it to you and you can be on your way.¡± I tsk at the cold reception. ¡°As tempting as it might sound, you are in good standing with the warden and so I shall attend your auction like any guest. You will make arrangements so that I am not disturbed in the lodge¡¯s antechamber, of course.¡± His eyes narrow with suspicion. When he next speaks, his cultured voice may be controlled, but I hear the slight tension underneath. ¡°Warden? My contact among your¡­ kind¡­ is named Samael.¡± ¡°Oh, that youngling? How amusing. No, we wardens do not handle the day-to-day business. And I assure you, if we take an interest in your affairs, you will most certainly notice.¡± I release the hold on my aura until frost crawls on the mirror and darkness creeps at the edge of the room. ¡°I am quite convinced, milady. I will make the necessary arrangements. Let it not be said that the Byrons would fail to receive esteemed guests, no matter who they might be.¡± ¡°Excellent. One more thing... I requested to be placed on the last floor.¡± ¡°Just so, milady.¡± ¡°The path from here to the lodge will be protected from sunlight and closed to other guests. They have no reason to be on this floor to begin with. My employees¡­¡± ¡°The ones with the guns?¡± ¡°And gauntlets, yes, will make sure that access remains clear at all times. It would be unwise to interfere with their work.¡± ¡°I understand. We will make the necessary arrangements. If I may ask, was there any specific item you wished to acquire?¡± The answer is obvious. Mr. Byron is merely fishing for answers, which I will allow as a gesture of goodwill. ¡°The serpent stone.¡± ¡°My God, so it can be enchanted¡­¡± Byron¡¯s gaze turns distant. I can practically see the cogs and wheels turning in the greedy mortal¡¯s mind. ¡°I know that the starting price is two thousand three hundred dollars. It would be a shame if it were to increase just before the auction.¡± His avaricious drive wars with fear, but in the end, I am here as a guest and we are both bound by rules, including me. ¡°I am free to change the numbers as I see fit. This is still my auction.¡± ¡°Of course,¡± I tell him with a smile. He nods and departs. There is no need for me to threaten him, and it would be a breach of etiquette anyway. He is too crafty to push me far. As soon as the door closes, I massage the bridge of my nose. I should have just stolen the damn thing. I am concerned about attracting too much attention, should many of those stones disappear in a short timespan. Golem cores might be exceedingly rare, but the ability to craft a suitable one is even rarer and only the richest mage families build one in the hope that it will benefit their dynasty. A wave of acquisition would seem suspicious, especially because there are no other known uses for them, except, of course, massive rituals. And this is the sort of warning that the Accords will look for. A short wait later, the head of the mercenaries informs me that I may attend the event and I leave the room behind me. This would be a good place to try and assassinate me, so the secrecy and escort are important. I walk across an empty floor with the stairs down retracted thanks to an ingenious mechanism. All the windows are shuttered and covered, while a bobbing light awaits me in front of a double door. I notice an embarrassed mercenary officer and a pair of young adults barring my way. The man smiles, and I immediately notice the familiarity with Byron senior. The girl is beautiful in a more reserved, distant way. She shares his dark hair but her eyes are pale blue. ¡°Yes?¡± I ask a bit curtly. ¡°Oh, nothing, we merely wished to meet the one whose shadow darkens our hall. And who might you be?¡± ¡°A guest of your father.¡± ¡°Oh yes, I have not introduced myself yet. My name is Jacob and this is my sister, Lara.¡± ¡°I am Ariane. Charmed. If you do not mind, however, I am already quite late as it is.¡± ¡°Why the rush? I do not believe that you would be here for the cheapest item.¡± ¡°You believe wrong. Excuse me.¡± I bypass him and walk into the antechamber, which is completely dark and cut off from the main auction room. I have no time or patience for children''s games. A mercenary left a pile of documents for me to skim through while the sales go on. By the Watcher, those are reports on grocery stores. Some of those owners cannot spell to save their lives. Uggggh. ¡°The first item is a Biancchi stiletto, enchanted to remain sharp at all times. Ice bolts can be channeled through the tip for additional precision. The starting price is two hundred and fifty. Do I have two hundred and fifty?¡± The auction goes on behind the curtain and I take a quick look at the list. Most of those are magical tools enchanted with some specific effects, their most appealing feature being a mundane appearance. It does not do to advertise one¡¯s talents nowadays. I tune out the proceedings. I have a mercenary standing in for me. Apparently, I lost quite a bit because of a robber baron. Truly, the west can be lawless at times. I shall have to visit him and make a nice, large example. Why, I might even invite Ako. He so enjoys murdering enemy raiders. ¡°Milady?¡± ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°Byron brought an unexpected item, a last minute addition. Meteorite steel, or so he claims. Should I make an offer?¡± ¡°No need, thank you.¡± Ah, the canny lad, assuming that I intend to build my own construct. Good business sense is no replacement for proper research. None of what he owns could rival what I can purchase from the Skoragg clan, at cost. On the other side of the curtain, the more expensive prizes are finally brought out just as the afternoon nears its end. I never expected that there would be so many prizes, but a lot of those are rather mundane. Below us, I hear people come and go. The Byron auction seems to be quite an event, though I had no idea. I only ever attend the Rosenthal Hell¡¯s Gates, and mostly to socialize anyway. Outside, night falls. I breathe a sigh of relief as my essence once again expands. Magna Arqa cannot be deployed during the day, except deep underground. The relief of freedom lifts my mood in time for the main bidding. ¡°I present to you, the serpent stone, a rare diamond extracted from a newly discovered mine in Kimberley. This jewel is believed to be one of the few in existence capable of storing magical essence indefinitely! Such a rare¡­¡± Yes, yes, all who would be interested in building a golem already know this. ¡°The starting prince is two thousand five hundred.¡± Whispers of consternation. A man could buy a farm for this amount. Animals included. ¡°Do I have two thousand five hundred? Yes! Three thousand here for the gentleman.¡± ¡°Five thousand,¡± I order the bidder. ¡°Five thousand! I have five thousand from upstairs. Five thousand! Five thousand five hundred for the Zimmer representative. Six thousand for the coven! Six!¡± ¡°Ten thousand.¡± ¡°Ten thousand!¡± Silence. ¡°Ten thousand from the lodge. Anyone else? ¡°Twelve thousand!¡± A familiar voice echoes. Oh? Someone is picking up a fight? Ten thousand is already generous for a small diamond. Well, small by core standards. It fits in a palm. ¡°Jacob,¡± my host growls, ¡°What are you doing?¡± ¡°It is my right to bid for this, father. Is it not?¡± Oooh, naughty. Naughty naughty naughty. I open the curtain and take a deep breath of fresh air. It smells like soap, perfume, and old furniture with an undercurrent of sweat. The auction room resembles an opera house, with the scene replaced by a pulpit and several chests. Fifty breaths provide an interesting background to the current drama, one that I will end before it ever begins. I will make a point, and I shall do so without breaking the rules. I will not even deploy my aura. Doing so would frighten the audience. I lean on the balustrade, the mercenary captain moving aside with all haste. Below, a hundred eyes peer at me in my pleasant lilac dress. Mostly, they see the hint of purple in my iris, the Watcher revealing its ancient presence. A deathly quiet spreads across the assembly and Jacob¡¯s smirk turns into a grimace of horror. ¡°Thirteen thousand.¡± This time, I remain unchallenged. Byron senior invites me to collect my prize and I send a mercenary to do so, carrying a bank note with the proper amount. A pair of panicked security guards drag the son out under the fascinated gazes of the attendees, and my own. He orders one of his men to present the last item and climbs the stairs to deliver the stone to me. I take ownership of it without a word. I watch, amused, as he turns around to welcome a bag, possibly a gesture of apology, but by the time he faces me again, I am already gone. If Jacob thinks that he can outrun me at night, he has a nice surprise coming. The little twerp should have gone home instead. The next day. ¡°I almost drowned and you want to make peace? She crashed into my carriage, father! We must retaliate, or at least protest, or we will never be taken seriously again.¡± Andrew Byron glared at his foolish son. The boy was shaken, obviously. He was hiding his fear under a layer of bravado, a good strategy but not one that will serve him right now. ¡°She did not crash into your carriage. She pushed it.¡± ¡°What?¡± A pair of servants walked in. They carried between themselves a pane of steel taken from the door. Impossibly, they showed the indent of two elegant hands. ¡°As I said, she pushed your carriage into the river. I was informed that vampires prefer to wield power from the shadows, yet it seems that some take a more ¡®hands-on¡¯ approach, if you will pardon me, when they perceive a slight.¡± Andrew signaled the servant to pick the letter he had finished closing, ignoring his fulminating child. ¡°Mr Slocum, you will give this bank order of three thousand dollars to Samael, with a request to send it to the one known as Ariane, please. As for you, Jacob, you will keep this warning in your room from now on and until I deem the lesson learned.¡± ¡°That was a warning?¡± ¡°Yes, my son. It was, or the impact would have been in your ribs instead.¡± Chapter 167: Maturity September 1869, near the vampire fortress in Boston.A blur. I use a thorn root to try and hamper him but the man reacts immediately. ¡°Magna Arqa.¡± His soul weapon splits into two identical axes. Their edges glow an ominous crimson. A wolf-like cloak covers his head, only leaving a braided blond beard visible. He bellows. The axes bite and shred through the roots I send after him. It hurts. I lunge and push him back with a carefully aimed, miraged attack. We exchange a series of strikes, him, the furious whirlwind of destruction and I, the elusive flayer. I manage to land a few hits, but the wolf skin inflates and covers the wound. I am running out of time. He is pushing me towards the other. The lithe woman jumps on a root before I can move it and dives. I dodge left of her rapier¡¯s blade and under a swirling axe. She is not as fast as us but her positioning is so intelligent that it does not matter. Even without striking, she remains dangerous. I have to fight to keep her at bay, anticipate the openings she provides. The roots are too slow to really hamper the two. They get cut down. It hurts me more. I hiss and increase my pace, sometimes throwing spells and wide attacks at the woman, but her armor and reflexes block all of them until the fateful moment happens, the one that I anticipated. I am backed into a corner. ¡°Magna Arqa!¡± Sephare extends her arms and pushes reality away until only she remains, bathed in a purple corona. I am sent flying directly at Wilhelm, the fortress¡¯ stewart and first line of vampiric defense. His blade descends on me. This is how they got me last time. No. I REFUSE. ¡°Darkness.¡± I disappear from his perception and in that single instant of hesitation, manage to block the first axe and grab the second¡¯s haft. I throw myself over him and strike downward. Our eyes meet, his widening in disbelief. Then Sephare¡¯s blade goes clean through my torso. ¡°Hah¡­¡± I gasp and collapse, lung pierced by the merciless soul blade. Chest wounds always have a way to spread through everything including my mind. This would have been a killing blow if Sephare had hit a little higher, and thus the spar is over. She could easily have struck a second time. I still make the effort of landing on my feet, ready to go on despite the pain. Complacency leads to death. I stand up to salute. The thorns disappear, giving way to the wild forest around the fortress. The distant sounds of the river return while the light pales, losing its purple sheen. Nature breathes again. ¡°Thank you for this spar, Lady Sephare, Steward.¡± Sephare politely states. Wilhelm adds, I would thank them effusively if my pride did not sting me so much. Objectively, I am aware that they are two experienced lords and I am new at this. Subjectively, I want to wipe the floor with them. I believe that Malakim and my sire changed my perspective. Anything else but complete domination will be unequal to the task of taking them down. I must be patient, but time marches on and I have yet to find a real way to defeat them in combat. The weapon we have found in the Mediterranean is just a blade, it will not guarantee victory. With the amount of magical tools at the disposal of both Nirari and Semiramis, I doubt that we will be able to outsmart them and catch them off guard. A fight will be involved. I hope I will have the time to catch up. Sephare says. Wilhelm explains. I reply with a frown. Sephare replies with a twinkle of amusement in her sky blue eyes. And I probably never will be. I bid them goodbye and return to the fortress with Sephare¡¯s remark heavy in my mind. We can still change. In fact, we have no choice. I have changed. Ladyship brings a challenge I had never anticipated. The lack of challengers. Yes, I can play games where I give the mortals a chance and yes, I can still find worthy blood, but the strength of their essence is a droplet in a lake when my sire is a sea. I face the greed and corruption I have faced before. Anger is an old, familiar song. They taste like different takes on a classic recipe, good but not daring, not unique. I am well fed but starved for novelty with little prospects. The immense power I drew from Ako allowed me to expand my Magna Arqa to over eighty yards, almost twice what I could do when I ascended, while practice has refined the control over it and the tendrils. It will not matter. My sire killed a lord by shoving his hand into the man¡¯s ribcage, without giving him a chance. I am still infinitely far from his level. Sometimes, it feels like running a race my opponent finished before I could cross the starting line. I have changed. My place in the world has changed. More importantly, the world itself has moved on at breakneck speed, not waiting for anyone or anything. I tried to head back to my family home back in Louisiana. I lost my way. Where once was only soaked wilderness, now slums and even nicer houses sprawled in a tentacular, decades-long explosion to mold the land to the will of civilization. Creole, French, and Spanish influences endured and married in a subtle, spicy mix. The Choctaw ¡®bayuk¡¯ turned into a bayou which turned into a grave for my memories and for my friends. Constanza just died. She was my last friend alive. She perished in her sleep, and will be mourned by the extended family she created with her doctor husband. Lucien had died during the war fending off a group of looters I mercilessly identified and executed. With her death, the last string linking me to my human life has been cut. None of those who knew me as a mortal still draw breath. It is finished. Human Ariane is dead. Only I remain. The last one standing. I am eighty-two years old. There are rare older humans. Many archmages have lived much longer. I am aware of that, yet seeing all those new inventions, and the quickly expanding cities, it can feel like I have lived for centuries. Even ideas progress at such a fast rate. Music, art, philosophy. Politics. Old ideas resurface from the abyss of history with new cloaks and new success. Socialism. Nationalism. Concepts unite people who have never met in hatred of others they¡¯ve never seen. I can only ride the wave of progress and hope to step onto the next before it collapses, taking me under with it. So do the other vampires in power. Once, I considered leading a coup against Constantine, but the canny bastard pulled out the most perfect defense: he distributed his power to those willing and able to take it. Sephare handles spying, propaganda, and counter-intelligence. Frankly, I do not envy her. I handle diplomacy and economic cooperation while Jarek develops our security forces and private armies. Constantine remains in charge of law and internal affairs if only because he cannot trust anyone for it. As such, we have a reached a balance and I find myself losing the urge to take revenge for the torture. It does not help that his door is always open to discuss his war golems and how we could put repeater guns on them. Curses. In any case, the Accords¡¯ tendrils have wrapped me in their comfortable embrace and I find little reason to upset the status quo right now. This new and rigid status brings with it a realization that only my true end goal should be a concern right now, the death of my sire. My only hope, currently, is to help the Likaeans. There will be another war with Mask before the end of the century, and plenty of opportunities to make some progress, but in the meanwhile the escape attempt is my only path to potent essence. I will not say that I miss the time when survival forced me to gain power quickly. I still wish I did not have to plan for years for another great gain. And time is not on my side. I have much catching up to do, and I have also realized that I do not gain power as I age, contrary to, for example, Melusine. If I want to grow, I must fight for it. Of course, none can match a Devourer¡¯s progress, but few realize that we must strive for it. *** ¡°Of course, we will help you,¡± Sinead says pleasantly, ¡°although you should have asked for it during our negotiations instead of agreeing so readily.¡± His eyes flash in the darkness while a wind ruffles his golden hair, coming from the ocean. ¡°Yes my good heart and generosity will be the loss of me,¡± I grumble. ¡°You harbor feelings towards me, which I understand perfectly. I am, after all, quite the catch, poppet. It would be hypocritical of me to criticize you for falling for my roguish charm.¡± ¡°Be careful or I shall make something else fall indeed.¡± ¡°But never my interest in you, that is why I shall find a way to help you with your maniacal egotistic ascendent madman problem as soon as I am back in the spheres, I promise. You help me, I help you, poppet. We are past deals. And speaking of deals, this will be our final battlefield. I can feel it.¡± I look around us. Sinead dragged me all the way south from Boston, specifically at Black Harbor where we killed the Scourge Hive. I have many memories here, not all of them good. ¡°Are you quite sure?¡± I take in the surroundings. We stand at the top of the ruined fort looking north, past the ruins of the village below us and at the promontory that hides the caves where we took refuge before the fateful charge. The wind grows and whips blonde strands past my nose. It carries the heavy scent of the ocean with it. The latest iteration of the Dalton¡¯s Spirit bobs down below. More importantly, there is something left of all this bloodshed, a presence. A sort of weight that hangs over me and blocks sensation in a way that leaves me feeling naked. ¡°Your future sight is gone. That is why you feel vulnerable,¡± Sinead explains. ¡°How do you know that?¡± ¡°You frown and check your corners when you feel threatened.¡± ¡°Not that! The future sight!¡± ¡°I can taste it as well as you do, poppet. I might be shackled but I am not blind, yes? I am certain that you will develop your senses more when you grow up a bit. You just have to¡­ relax.¡± ¡°How can I relax here when I am cut off from one of my most useful resources?¡± ¡°It blocks scrying as well. We will obtain a masking item, of course, but this will help protect us from inquiries.¡± ¡°It will not. We are in Roland territory. We will never be allowed to operate here, or build a base.¡± ¡°Oh, we will. Remember what you mentioned? The southern faction is focusing on acquiring land and developing a network of safe houses.¡± ¡°You¡­ want me to fund that one?¡± ¡°Precisely!¡± ¡°Ugh, do you have any idea how much this will cost me? Just building the thing will cost upwards to ten thousand dollars. I have already spent that much on the stone! This is easily four months of profit for me. Do you have any idea how much I could achieve with four months of this kind of cash flow?¡± ¡°If you are in trouble, you could stop paying for the creation of the Chicago Grand Opera House you pushed for, you know? I bet it cost just as much.¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°Did you not invite musicians from Vienna and architects from Florence? I bet it cost you a pretty penny.¡± ¡°Leave the Opera House out of this.¡± ¡°It surprises me that you would splurge like that. Sometimes, you are such a miser that I swear you would take the morning¡¯s coffee grounds for an evening brew, stretch it a bit.¡± I gasp in absolute outrage. ¡°YOU TAKE THAT BACK MISTER OR SO HELP ME...¡± ¡°Hahaha, I so enjoy it when you let your emotions surface, poppet. One more benefit of my company, yes? Your alien essence sometimes makes you morose.¡± ¡°You are very lucky, Sinead, that I find you endearing.¡± S~?a??h the ??v?l_Fir?.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. ¡°Of course I am lucky, I was born Prince of Summer. Where were we? Oh, yes. The plan. We have a spot, we have a time, we have three out of four secondary power supplies. We still need the main gem, an anti-scrying device that I have identified, and a containment field. You worry about building us that fortress and I shall identify who we should borrow from. Do you happen to know someone belonging to the Rosenthal consortium?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I tell him, glad to return the favor, ¡°their leader on the continent and I sometimes share a night.¡± Will this hurt him? ¡°Well. Now I am having second thoughts.¡± Haha! *** The most unfortunate realization that comes with maturity is, tragically, that not everything can be solved with murders. Or rather, I have to handle situations where murder would only create more problems. Fortunately, we have many other tools, some of them only symbolically violent. It certainly helps that the mortals do most of our work for us. If tonight I was transported to a world of isolated, religious parishes where no one goes out after dark, I give it three days before a mayor invites me in to take out the town priest. We could not exist in a world without sin, but neither would the humans. The temptation is everywhere, in everyone. Even the meekest man hides in his bosom the flames of desire. We do not even need to fan it. ¡°You will not find it here¡­¡± ¡°Shit!¡± ¡°¡­ Mr. Norman,¡± I finish. The man jumps, terror gripping his chest. I hear the thundering beat of his heart pumping desperately, as it has been for some time. The dark office offers many nooks and crannies between towering file cabinets and monumental desks. It is no wonder that the cornered accountant would miss my presence in the middle of his frantic searches. Now, his growing panic has reached the end of a minute-long crescendo, and the nervous sweat in the air smells of fear, of delicious guilt. I light a match and briefly study the fleeting flame, alien and unwelcoming despite its short life. How Melusine can harness this power, I will never know. It can be pretty I suppose. My lantern soon shines on me and my prey tonight. Mr Norman is portly and balding. A neat mustache and good tweed suit would have given him airs of stolen respectability, were it not for his current disheveled state. Although, I suppose that the bribery might have skewed my perception. I watch Mr. Norman calculate his chances with some interest. His breath slows down, anxiety soon replaced by a colder despair. I have backed him into a corner and we both know it. Right now, I have borrowed the appearance of life from my Hasting essence. The yellow radiance of the lantern shows a pale woman, lithe and vulnerable. A man of his corpulence would have no trouble overpowering me. He only needs to wrap his fat fingers around my delicate neck and squeeze. Will he try? He will not. Norman sighs one last time. Some will resort to murder when faced with ruin and the accountant does apprently not count among their number. His exhalation expulses the last of his hope and I watch his posture collapse under the weight of the situation. He drags a chair, that of his colleague, and collapses into it. A sweep of his handkerchief wipes out perspiration. ¡°How did you find me?¡± he asks in a low, broken voice. ¡°That is not the right question. You may try again.¡± ¡°There is no need for games! I assume that you are one of those who left that¡­ that horrendous letter at my place of residence. Threatening me! Making demands¡­ What do you people want with me!¡± ¡°Now that is the correct question. We want Johan Kingsley.¡± I watch the confusion bloom on his flushed face. He licks his parched lips while his eyes flutter, trying to place the name. He frowns when he does. ¡°John Kingsley? The senator hopeful? What do you mean? I just¡­¡± ¡°You protected his assets, which had been seized at the end of the war for his vocal support of the confederacy. You have provided this service to a few other people against compensation. As I mentioned in that document I sent, I have taken the liberty of seizing some incriminating documents which will find their way to the authorities if you do not comply with my demands. And I do not mean your superior, Mr Norman. I know that he is in on it.¡± ¡°Then you should make demands of him!¡± ¡°Oh I may, but you are much more interesting since you are genuinely competent at deception. I assume that the paperwork was your doing?¡± ¡°... yes.¡± ¡°Then you will have no difficulty giving me the proof I need to expose his regrettable attempt at bribery. You will also provide every valuable piece of information you have on this person.¡± ¡°We worked through an intermediary!¡± ¡°Then I want them as well. You will give me everything you have.¡± I cannot kill all the Integrists. Well, I am more than willing to try but those old reasonable boring old allies of mine have objected. I can, however, tarnish their reputation in the eyes of the public, and I will. Such methods will never uproot them given how capable they are at blocking information within their area of influence, one press-burning mob at a time. ¡°I do this for you, and then we are done,¡± the accountant spits. I cannot help myself and chuckle to his face. Done? Oh, he is quite precious. ¡°My dear sir, you wish to let bygones be bygone? How quaint. You do not purchase absolution with this action. You purchase a reprieve. If you wish to be done, as you say, feel free to denounce yourself to the Revenue Collector, or better yet throw the whole ring at the feet of the Secretary of the Treasury. Then you will be done. And so will your house, your reputation, and all the other little things like a private tutor for your two children that you sold your honor to purchase. Then, you will have washed away your sin. We will no longer have power over you. In the meanwhile, you are corrupt and stained Mr Norman. So long as you continue to enjoy your fortune, you will remain ours to use as we see fit, just like so many of your fellow tax officials. Bend or sacrifice, there is no half measure. Curiously, a flash of realization crosses Mr. Norman¡¯s feverish gaze. ¡°Wait¡­ I heard rumors. About mysterious folks who look younger than they really are. That¡¯s you isn¡¯t it? Who are you people?¡± ¡°That is not the right question, Norman. The right question was¡­ what are we?¡± I jump on him and feed. Stupid theatrics always wake up the Thirst and now he just smells too tempting. I erase the last memory and leave, only to find an annoying person lounging languidly against my carriage. ¡°I thought you had much to plan?¡± I ask. ¡°I can plan and accompany you! A journey west, to the lawless wild lands of the frontier. Guns! Moonshine! A bloodbath! Would you make me a revolver?¡± ¡°Why would you ever put yourself in harm¡¯s way?¡± ¡°I intend to put others in harm¡¯s way.¡± ¡°Only if you can shoot to my satisfaction.¡± His eyebrows wriggle. ¡°Oh, grow up.¡± Chapter 169: Guns and Glory! Pearls are Forever The establishment known as the Pearl greeted me with a massive room vibrating with the din of conversations even so early in the day. A few steps up led to a central square covered in tables, couches, and chairs where men and their hosts socialized without reserve. A long counter extended to my left with a collection of bottles and glasses sitting in well-ordered rows on a shelf that covered the entire wall. Stairs and doors surrounded this pulsing heart of sin, passages to ¡ª I assumed ¡ª private rooms where one may consummate. A well-kept piano occupied the back of the room on a small pedestal where a man of indeterminate pedigree was busy playing the violin with surprising skill. None of this truly mattered to me at that time, for my mind no longer belonged to me, but to her.My breath caught in my chest. My heart skipped a beat. A lead mantle settled on my wit, robbing me of my countenance at the sight of this apparition. She was a diamond at the center of a tin tiara, a rose in a bed of dandelions. A hive of ¡ª forgive me, dear reader ¡ª painted harlots buzzed around her, wearing gaudy garments and enough make-up to renovate the Westminster Cathedral with some left over for a couple of Whitehall pubs. By contrast, she only needed a plain dress in the deep green of winter pines to cover her lithe form. Her cleavage was just on the edge of daring, while a slit in her dress showed just a little too much calf. Ah, dear reader, you must feel me weak of heart and of conviction, but think! Think of the first time you lay your eyes on the one who robbed you of your heart with a casual tilt of the head. Then you would understand my predicament, for indeed, she had captured my attention while my cold mind refused to let go of the only thing that stopped me from throwing myself at her feet. She lounged gracefully in a brothel¡¯s main room. It did not take the mind of Isaac Newton to guess what her occupation might be. The scarlet of her hair was like a winter twilight, brazen and beautiful, yet cold. The smoldering of her brown eyes held a distance that I feared no man could ever bridge. For all her modesty, she was a kiln of desire, and for all of that passion, she was cold as ice. None of the activity around her touched the windows of her soul as they followed me across the room. As much as I tried to escape the burning frost of her fingers on my heart, I knew that I would charge a fort for a true smile to bloom on her angelic face. It took all of my willpower to swim away from the whirlpool of her pupils and to make my way to the bar. If it had not been my original plan, I believe that I would have failed to think of one. My arrival and the lady¡¯s gaze was noticed by a quartet of rough men nursing hard liquor. Their leader was a thug with a dirty, messy beard, two porcine eyes, and a gut covered by a shirt that might have been red under the stains at some point in the distant past. They smirked, but I decided to pay them no heed. I was a marshal now, and a marshal should not provoke people for the sake of his ego. Challenges would come soon enough. The barman was a barwoman, a solid lass with a square jaw like you would see socking their husband by the Thames for coming home stinking of gin. What she lacked in conventional beauty, she made up for in confidence, giving her a powerful presence. The mistress of liquors inspected me with a quirked brow but a pleasant enough smile, and I knew that I was not considered for shoe-slapping quite yet. ¡°What is the second most refreshing thing you have?¡± I asked, still in the thrall of my heavenly vision. And indeed my heart beat a thunderous drum at the thought that she was here, behind me, so tantalizingly close. ¡°Oho, good one. For you, pretty boy, I got some lemonade just the way my ma used to do before the pox got her. Fancy a glass?¡± ¡°That would be terrific, miss,¡± I assured her. I was eager to sample the local specialities after swallowing dust for seven days. The lady smiled and served me in a beer mug. I sipped on tangy bliss and sighed with contentment. It was then that I heard the heavy thud of footsteps tramping behind me. Ah, what a conundrum, dear readers. I could turn and face the sun of her beauty, or show my back to what was possibly imminent danger. Come on, Alexander, I told myself, trust in yourself. I gathered my phlegm just in time to face the tall man in the red shirt, and recognized in his lopsided grin the base, animalistic pleasure of the simple bully at the sight of a fresh target. I was immediately on my guard and he didn¡¯t disappoint! Stopping a few paces aways, he placed his meaty fists on equally meaty sides and roared his provocation. ¡°What¡¯s a lilly-livered coward doing in this here fine establishment?¡± I delicately placed the mug on the counter by my side and straightened my posture for the inevitable showdown. ¡°I was wondering the same thing, friend. What are you doing here?¡± It took the brute a remarkable amount of time to decipher my insult. By that time, I had come to a decision. As a representative of the law, I was to avoid brawls and show exemplary behavior to steer the frontier masses on the path of righteousness. Unfortunately, one could not garner respect without showing a bit of spine first. I had to be realistic about my chances of convincing anyone if I hid behind my badge at the first sign of trouble. The law-abiding lad in me wanted nothing less than to bring this troublemaker to the authorities, but the adult saw that this was a different place from my proper Surrey, and when in Rome, give an idiot a sound thrashing. ¡°Don¡¯t think too hard, you¡¯ll strain something,¡± I added helpfully. By that time, I was already on the balls of my feet and ready to give the lout what for. Indeed, his bovine face exhibited confusion, then consideration, then finally crimson anger as my defiance finally crawled its way through the underused paths of his mind. He took a step forward. He stopped immediately. Even I felt my smile slip a little when the barrel of a long hunting rifle bypassed my left ear to aim squarely at the bully¡¯s chest. ¡°None of that, boys, you take your ¡®disagreement¡¯ outside or I¡¯ll splatter your guts over the floor. That means you, Walker.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t point that thing at me, Sally. You wouldn¡¯t want to see me angry.¡± ¡°The only reason I¡¯m not seeing you inside out right now is that I¡¯m the one who¡¯ll have to mop your lard off the parquet if I pull the damn trigger. You mess with me, you mess with the Pearl, Walker.¡± The thug snarled, an animalistic move that surprised me, as I would never have expected such a crude expression from a white man. ¡°Come on out, stranger. Let¡¯s see if you can put your fists when your mouth is. You and me. I¡¯ll be waiting outside.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll put my fist where your mouth is,¡± I grumbled to myself. Not only was I dragged into an embarrassing affair in front of a fallen angel, but now I was even denied my lemonade. For shame. ¡°Be careful,¡± the bartender said. Her previous confidence had faded like snow under the sun. Now she looked strained and worried. ¡°I seen them drink from a vial around their neck. Makes them as strong as a bear and just as stupid. Drugs of some sort.¡± ¡°Can they stoop any lower?¡± I exclaimed, scandalized. ¡°I ain¡¯t eager to find out, Your Lordship.¡± ¡°Thank you for your help, Sally. I will be careful. And my name is Alexander. No Lordship for me.¡± ¡°He will hit hard and he won¡¯t feel pain. Perhaps it¡¯s better if¡­¡± ¡°Do not suggest it, Miss Sally. I could not entertain the thought.¡± I left and thought I heard a whispered sentence about entertaining her instead. Duty called. The sun greeted me far too soon. Four brutes waited downstairs, spread evenly to prevent my escape, I suppose. I placed my felt hat on a wooden balustrade and stepped down to meet them. I noticed that the men all had revolvers on their hips, and so I didn¡¯t remove mine. ¡°We can start whenever you wish,¡± I informed my would-be opponent. A crowd was already forming to watch us rumble. ¡°Now then, you little shit. I¡¯m going to show you why they call me the hammer,¡± Walker grumbled. He spit in his fist, which was to me as abhorrent as it was incomprehensible, and picked around his soiled shirt to reveal a tiny flask. He drank from it what must have been just a drop, but his ugly mug immediately exhibited into an expression of pure, unadulterated felicity, a happiness defiled by the beastly instincts it fed on. The brute roared and came at me swinging. Dear readers, I never mentioned it before since it was scarcely relevant to the story, but do note that I took quite a few licks from William ¡®Bendigo¡¯ Thompson at the bequest of my father, who had rescued that awesome man from his drunken morass. One does not survive apprenticeship under England¡¯s former heavyweight champion without learning a few tricks, a notion my opponent discovered immediately when I dove under his haymaker and delivered a powerful jab on his liver. To my surprise, the man barely grunted under the onslaught, and the backhand blow would have caught me off-guard without Sally¡¯s warning. As it was, it was all I could do to dodge the onslaught. Walker would rush at me and hit with everything he had. I would move to the side, deflect and block what I could before he would charge again. The few painful counters I landed would have incapacitated most men, but he was no longer himself. It was when he landed a solid blow on my shoulder and I reciprocated by breaking his nose that I realized the only avenue of salvation left to me. The blow got me the first solid reaction since the beginning of the fight. Walker shook his head and pulled back. His blood ran a fresh coat of color on his blemished shirt. I had to aim for the face. Instead of waiting for the man to recover, I charged into the breach with determination. A proper pummel would see me take the day! And pummel him I did, until my knuckles bled. I gave the lout the correction he deserved without giving him the chance to recover, even taking a small hit to the temple so I could keep fighting. It was when my adversary barely stood that an imperious voice woke me from the focus of battle. ¡°Behind you!¡± I turned just in time to block a hook aimed at my neck. The gall! What manner of miscreant interrupts a fisticuff, I ask? Only the vilest, most honorless fiends. Anger seized my heart, and I gave the surprised foe an uppercut that sent him careening on the ground. When I turned, Walker had not moved yet for he was stunned, but one of his cronies had his hand suspiciously close to a grubby handle. That was when, dear reader, I decided to put a stop to this farce. Insults and knuckle fights might toe the line of legality, but assault with a gun crosses it. I casually opened my vest, revealing the star beneath and saw my assailant pale. ¡°You will remove your filthy paw from that disgrace of a gun or, with god as my witness, you won¡¯t live long enough to regret it,¡± I told the man It was with some trepidation that I observed the terror on the man¡¯s traits. Unfortunately, he had frozen in place and, heeding Mr. Delaney¡¯s advice, I took a step back and to the side in order to put my back against the wall and keep all the mooks in sight. This maneuver let me look at the man still on the ground, nursing his jaw and glaring. S?a?ch* Th? ??v?lF?re.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. ¡°You¡¯re messing with the Crew,¡± the gunman grumbled into his (possibly lice-infested) beard. ¡°Nobody messes with the Crew.¡± ¡°The law messes with everyone, villain. Remove that hand now.¡± ¡°Let¡¯s all calm down now,¡± another one said. ¡°We will all take a deep breath and go our separate ways.¡± ¡°Surely you do not expect to threaten an officer and refuse to comply and just walk away? I have questions for you lot,¡± I said, outraged that they would suggest just leaving. You must understand, dear readers, that I was quite young at the time. The very idea of letting those ruffians go even temporarily filled my heart with righteous fury. Did they honestly believe that they could almost kill a man, then walk away after their attempt failed? The hammer of justice would smite those louts here and now, for the scale-bearing goddess could suffer no compromise. ¡°That¡¯s a bad idea, friend,¡± the man continued, his hand sliding to his holster. I could feel where the situation was going, and placed myself in the proper posture to draw. Around us, the crowd raced away to take their distance. They knew too. I breathed in and breathed out. All thoughts of anger left me. There was only me and the three targets. Two on my right, one on the ground, on my left. Walker was still standing drunkenly, a line of drool dripping down his bruised lips. Three. They would move. I knew they would try. The right man would do it. The man in the middle was hesitating, and the one on the left was waiting. Breathe in. A rictus of rage. A hand grabbing down. Motion. I was ready. I drew and shot once, twice, thrice. I caught the first two in the heart and the last one under his chin. They fell. Breathe out. They were dead. I would have liked to claim, dear readers, that I felt vindicated since I had stopped an attempt on my person. A sense of duty fulfilled and of safer streets would have been welcome, I assure you. However, the only thing filling my chest were horror and a deep sense of emptiness. I had killed. I had broken the first commandment. The circumstances did not matter to me at that time, and neither did the legality or morality of my actions. The visceral reaction to ending one¡¯s life cared not for such abstract notions. I had killed a person. I had killed three people, and my life would never be the same again. Curiously, what drew me away from the abyss was not the muttering mob, but the memory of my mentor¡¯s advice. I knew, as a marshal, that I would have to deliver death. My father Ronald and his father Cecil had taken lives all around the globe. Miss Delaney had been quite insistent that I should realize this, and not to hesitate when the time came. I was alive because of my conviction. It had been their choice to draw on an officer of the law and it had been my choice to pursue this career. I was where I had meant to go. Now, I had to own it. Out of habit, I checked my corners and replaced the three spent cartridges in the cylinder, just in time to see Walker collapse on his side with the ponderous speed of a toppling tree. A few of the women in the crowd screamed at the sight of three cadavers. I did not feel like doing much right now, so I hailed an old caravan driver with a massive white beard. ¡°Is the sheriff on his way?¡± ¡°He sure is, my boy. You¡¯re a little young to be a marshal, but there is nothing wrong with your aim. Hot damn.¡± ¡°Then when the gentleman arrives, please be sure to direct them inside. I need a drink.¡± ¡°Sure thing Your Lordship.¡± ¡°Just Marshal Bingle is fine.¡± I went through the doors again. I had a lemonade waiting for me. Of course, as soon as I crossed the threshold, all thoughts of liquid were forgotten in favour of something infinitely more invigorating, the sight of my fallen angel and her smile. Oh, that smile. I will never forget it. In this false palace of stucco and golden paint, from within that den of sin, surrounded by colored glass and frilly apparels, it was the only genuine thing I could spot. Oh, and Sally¡¯s lemonade too, I suppose. It was quite fine. ¡°You had us worried there,¡± she told me. Her voice was low and husky, as smooth and indulgent as dark chocolate. I could have listened to her read an address book and never grown bored. ¡°I might have been concerned as well,¡± I freely admitted, ¡°though concern cannot stop me.¡± She chuckled. Waves of bliss radiated from my stricken heart with every ¡®ha¡¯ of merriment. I could do nothing. I was undone before the battle even started. ¡°I prefer courage over temerity, sir. How may I call our savior?¡± ¡°Alexander Bingle, milady, at your service! I cannot claim this title since those ruffians were after me, not after you.¡± ¡°Oh, they were after all of us. The Crew regularly comes to ¡®unwind¡¯ in town between two dastardly deeds. They are rowdy, rude, and they do not pay.¡± ¡°Dreadful. Then I am glad that I have done my duty!¡± This boastful comment awarded me with another chuckle. Then, my fallen angel removed a shawl from ¡ª forgive me, dear readers ¡ª her cleavage. She used it to sponge the smidgen of blood on my temple despite my protests. I was loath to soil such a precious piece of fabric, but the lady would not have it. When she was done, she tied the colorful item around my arm. ¡°You defended us, Mr. Bingle. It is only fair that my knight in shining armor would wear my colors.¡± I was blushing mightily during the whole process as you can imagine. It did not help that the shawl still carried her perfume, and its delicate scent titillated my nose during the entire delightful ordeal. I prayed to be delivered from inappropriate thoughts but my faith failed me, or to be precise, it could not compete. ¡°How may I call you, my fiery angel?¡± ¡°Aw, that¡¯s a new one. Call me Annie.¡± Annie. Annie. Annie. I had a name for her now. Quick, Alexander, get a hold of yourself! ¡°Then, Annie¡­ why is the sheriff not acting?¡± ¡°He is a reasonable man. The sheriff has five deputies to deal with scuffles between colonists. He doesn¡¯t have the numbers to stop the Crew. They have a hundred men, all veterans from the war. On both sides! Disciplinary battalion dogs, the lot of them.¡± ¡°They do nothing to stop this ignominy?¡± I exclaimed. Scandalous. ¡°Alas, no. My thanks again, Mr Bingle. I have to talk to the other girls. If you¡¯ll excuse us.¡± ¡°Certainly!¡± I made my resolute way to the bar out of fear that I would stare at her back and not stop until she had disappeared from my view. Sally was still at her post, polishing a glass with nervous gestures. Her smile was more bitter and sad than I remembered. ¡°You got them. Well, better than the alternative, I suppose. It couldn¡¯t go on anyway. Here,¡± she said, giving me a piece of cloth drenched in cold water, which I applied to the bruise on my head with effusive gratitude. ¡°Think nothing of it,¡± she replied. ¡°You just, ah nevermind, a wild weed can¡¯t match a rose heh? Just be careful when you go out. The Crew will want to take revenge. You should get out of town soon. Hole up somewhere.¡± ¡°Never! But I understand your concern and will not go charging at a hundred men. I am courageous, not stupid.¡± A doubt crossed my mind at some of my past actions. I firmly believed that a dumb man can never learn, which made me exempt. In my own eyes. ¡°You take care now, Mr Bingle. Can I call you Alexander?¡± ¡°Of course Sally, tis only fair!¡± ¡°Oh, the sheriff is here. Can see his hat from the window. You¡­ ought to go talk to him. Don¡¯t let your guard down, you hear? Never let your guard down.¡± ¡°Thank you Sally. And I will see you later!¡± ¡°Yeah. You do that.¡± I stepped outside, ready to face the music. The sheriff was an old man with a neatly trimmed grey beard and a white felt hat, making him visible from afar. He was accompanied by a few fellows of various ages and they all had one thing in common besides their badge of office: a deep fear that they never bothered to hide. ¡°You done did it, boy. You done did it. The lord save me from hotheads, Jesus. They¡¯re dead.¡± ¡°I was merely defending myself, sir. They drew first.¡± ¡°Yes yes, I¡¯m sure. Not that it matters. You just started a war, boy, and it¡¯s us that got to pick the pieces, if we ain¡¯t pieces ourselves. Jesus lord have mercy.¡± ¡°Instead of complaining, should you not call for reinforcements?¡± I asked, annoyed. ¡°I understand caution but it looks like you gave up.¡± Alas, my comment turned the man¡¯s face red with unbridled rage. ¡°You think I ain¡¯t done it? That I¡¯m sitting on my ass all day long? The Crew¡¯s a fist, boy, and the arm behind it is longer than mine, is all it is. I did ask, and I was ignored. The second time the Crew officer visited me at my home, got it?¡± ¡°I see. Then¡­ it is a conspiracy!¡± I exclaimed. What an unexpected development! Who could have guessed that a chance to apply justice would present itself so soon? The sheriff just shrugged sadly. I begrudged him his defeatism. The man needed a stiff upper lip and a proper moustache to adorn it, I say! His responsibility for the town was too important to give up after two attempts, and I did not think that the grasp of the Crew extended to the marshall office, or to the anti-corruption commission. Unless... ¡°Is there some dark magic at work?¡± I regretted my words as soon as they crossed my lips and the men present crossed themselves in a cascade of muttered prayers. ¡°No witches here, boy. This is a Christian town. They¡¯re not allowed inside¡­ and if we catch one, she¡¯ll burn.¡± I closed my mouth with a click, because their reaction spread a fear that almost reached a boiling point. I had to return to my convoy and take stock. ¡°Well, are you going to at least arrest Walker? We cannot leave him lying in the street like a swine.¡± ¡°Yes, yes. We¡¯ll get him inside, look after his wound. You should go, boy. Leave town if you know what¡¯s good for you.¡± I decided that discretion would be the best part of valor, for now. I needed to learn more about the situation before deciding on a course of action. I did not face a small band of cattle thieves, but a large group with a powerful backer. Almost a private army. Rushing in headlong would only lead to a lone grave on the prairie. I left on my horse, wary of my surroundings. The town was barricading itself already, and I spared a thought for the safety of Annie. The locals were rushing back while the visitors fled to the safety of their own camps. I made good time and found Miss Delaney¡¯s convoy without much difficulty, as they had found a prime location on a small hill. I was let into her secured carriage and locked its massive door behind me. I had no idea how oxens managed to pull forward what amounted to a portable fortress. Inside of the carriage, a pallid Ariane awaited me. The vivacious woman lost her lustre during the day. Her traits were drawn and her eyes had sunk, yet they still shone with a cold intelligence in the shimmering blue light of a strange lantern. A series of documents were laid on a large desk that occupied much of the surface. A steaming cup of her excellent coffee awaited my presence. I sat down and tasted it gratefully. Then, the floodgates opened and I dumped the tale of the recent events onto her patient lap. The mysterious lady listened without interrupting me until I was fully done. Her first reaction was to quirk a brow with an expression I seldom ever saw on her delicate features: surprise. She picked an elegant silver watch from an unseen pocket and checked the time. ¡°Barely one in the afternoon and we already have a brawl, a gunfight, and a love interest¡­¡± she grumbled. ¡°You certainly worked fast. I credit you for your success, although you could have avoided the risky duel. That was an unnecessary risk.¡± ¡°Why would I do such a thing! The Law must have the last word!¡± ¡°Humiliated thugs must retaliate or lose their main source of power: fear. They will come for you no matter what. I would advise you to be more flexible in your pursuit of justice, young Bingle. You can always make an arrest while in a position of strength. The side of good should never look down on guile and delayed punishment, as some of your fellow mor¡­ people, have demonstrated. In any case, you are uninjured, so I suppose it does not matter. Did you keep the vial of potion with you? The effects you describe sound familiar.¡± ¡°Alas, no. I did not think of it,¡± I grudgingly admitted. ¡°No matter, I will be sure to visit the morgue tonight. I am quickly learning more of the situation as the day goes on. It appears that your private militia and my railroad project issues are related.¡± ¡°Could it be that the mysterious backer behind them is the SAME PERSON?¡± I exclaimed, happy for the quick and gratuitous development. ¡°Yes. How fortunate,¡± Miss Delaney said, though she betrayed no emotion. ¡°I need some more time to finish reading those reports. Stay as long as you like. Don¡¯t waste coffee.¡± I pondered today¡¯s events in a silence only broken by the susurrus of turning pages. I had found a terrible injustice, but more importantly, I had desperately fallen in love at first sight with someone no mother would approve of. I had to save her. I had to find out which circumstances had led her to sell her dignity and make an honest woman out of her, I could accept no other outcome. After finishing my cup, I escaped and tried to absorb myself in the many tasks before me. The repetitive nature of cleaning, washing, and darning the holes in all I had provided no distraction. My thoughts wandered back to the woman, Annie, her smile, her delicate perfume. I dared not touch the shawl tied to my arm. What did it mean? Had I truly earned her favor, or was this a ploy from a cunning woman? Did I even care? Forgive me those ramblings, dear reader. I was a moth caught by the prettiest fire this side of the Atlantic. The fallen angel had me hook, line, and sinker. I was a doomed man. My only solace came a couple of hours later after everything was done and the shock of love and death merged with the fatigue of the trip. I collapsed on my cot and only opened my eyes after the sun had set. I realized that I was ravenous and left my tent to a surreal vision. The camp was on a sparsely wooded hill around a grass-covered meadow. Its center was now occupied by the most curious of scenes. Miss Delaney stood to the side next to a table carrying scientific equipment, inspecting a test tube filled with dark liquid. Meanwhile, Mr Nead sat at a table covered with a genuine white cloth. Candelabras provided a warm glow that seemed to ward off the evening¡¯s chill while tall glasses filled with golden wine spoke of summer afternoons by the lake. Mr Nead himself was resplendent in a beige ensemble, princely and lavish, yet sharp. An ethereal woman I had never seen before played the harp with impressive mastery, reinforcing the feeling of otherworldliness. I felt as if I had stumbled across a banquet in a dream, and that Puck might lead Oberon and Titania to join us shortly. And yet, the glass felt solid under my fingers when I joined them, and the wine tasted of honey. ¡°So good to see you, young Bingle,¡± Mr Nead said as he shoved a cracker in my hand. It was covered with cucumber sliced so thin it was perfectly transparent. I took a bite and sighed in contentment. At the back of my head, memories of fairy tales warred with my rationality, hinting at journeys with no return and century-long stays. ¡°Eat plenty, because the night is young and filled with secrets,¡± the man whispered. I turned to ask about the elfin woman, but felt rebuked even thinking about her. ¡°I have found more about the liquid your opponent consumed,¡± Miss Delaney said as I did my best to eat with moderation, instead of gorging myself like one of Circe¡¯s guests. ¡°Mr Nead kindly obtained a sample from the town¡¯s, for lack of a better term, surgeon. The solution is magical in nature, and quite dangerous at that. It ignites the consumer¡¯s essence, pushing the body to its limits and providing relief from pain and discomfort, but it does nothing to protect the body itself. Whoever drinks it will be a dangerous, implacable warrior for the effect¡¯s duration at the cost of, I suspect, longevity. Additionally, the substance is a potent mood-enhancer and disinhibitor which contributes to making it highly addictive. If the Crew members do use it regularly, then they are fiercely loyal. I also suspect that higher brain functions might be impaired, from what I have gathered. ¡°I see, and how does it relate to your train line issue.¡± Miss Delaney put down her tube and nodded at me. ¡°Well spotted, Mr Bingle. An unknown interest is buying strategically placed land from local farmers at cutthroat prices, then reselling it to my venture at rates that make expansion unsustainable. Usually, such individuals or organizations transfer funds east to reputed banks to safeguard their interest, but it seems that we are dealing with a local, paranoid organization. Their refusal to deal with everyone is a weakness in the sense that they lack backing, but a strength because they leave no trail. We will have to inquire more.¡± ¡°The sheriff mentioned that he had contacted his superior twice, but that it only resulted in threats to his family,¡± I remarked. ¡°Yes, an excellent starting point for our investigation. I fear that I must rely on you for the¡­ day-to-day operations, so to speak. May I suggest ¡ª¡± Miss Delaney stopped mid-sentence, and when I looked up, she was facing the city with a deeply intense expression. A moment later, I heard the roar of a gun. I was on my feet before the noise died down. Chapter 170: Guns and Glory! The West is not Enough Just as I reached the end of the circle of light, Ariane¡¯s voice interrupted my mad dash.¡°Alexander! Your guns.¡± Her glacial voice cooled down my urgency. She was right, of course. I was running blind and unarmed into the maw of danger, and as my father always said, the line between courage and temerity lies in self-control. I quickly passed by my cot and grabbed my weapons, tying my belt as I moved. I ran the first yards blind as an owl anyway, relying on the path¡¯s regularity not to fall. My eyes progressively grew more accustomed to the darkness and I found I could see reasonably well thanks to the radiance of the moon over my head, and the town¡¯s lights in the distance. It was enough to see shapes hurrying towards the safety of the buildings. I ran after them until I stumbled upon a scene that made my heart skip a beat. There were two bodies on the ground. The first, I dismissed with a huff of anger. He was a man wearing filthy rags, his face still contracted in a rictus of vicious ecstasy even as the last of his blood soaked the ground in a slowly expanding dark pool. He had caught a coach gun shot to the chest at point blank range. The weapon lay discarded on the ground next to its owner. I am still unsure what led me to recognize her. Perhaps it was the cut of dark hair, or a certain pride that still pushed her to hold on in her last moments that caught my attention as I kneeled by her side. Her single eye found me. The other one was lost under bruised flesh and blood. ¡°Sally?¡± She coughed. Her body shook under shock and what must have been a tremendous amount of pain. The parts of her left untouched still shone with vibrant life. Details seared themselves in my memory. The muscle strands under the skin of her forearm, used to hard work. The clean fingertips. A bare calf revealed by accident. They contrasted with the pulped mess left by ham-like fists, the marks of a beast-like savagery. My mind could not comprehend how humans could have been so mindlessly brutal, but my heart pushed me to grasp those searching fingers so she would know that she was not alone. ¡°Wished¡ª ¡° She coughed, her voice broken by agony. ¡°Wished you had looked at me like that before.¡± ¡°Sally, help is on the way.¡± ¡°Help. Yeah. The Pearl. Coming for everyone.¡± ¡°The Crew, you mean?¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± She coughed, and this time blood erupted from her pale lips in an omen of death. I panicked because it was too soon for her to go, too senseless. She still lived right now, intensely so. She was so courageous to have come here alone. It was her coach gun I recognized lying on the ground. The Crew members must have seen her, they must have recognized her. She shot one before or after they ran her down, it mattered not. They had pummeled her into the ground then left without a care for their victim or even their fallen accomplice. Those men were beasts, no, worse than beasts. Wolves mourned their own. ¡°Ariane? Ariane!¡± ¡°I am here,¡± the blonde woman said at my back. I had not seen her arrive, of course. ¡°Can you help?¡± I turned. She was wearing a darker dress with what appeared to be chest armor, and she wielded a rifle. She nodded once, but there was something in her gaze I did not like: pity. ¡°I can make her comfortable.¡± ¡°No! We must have doctors¡­ someone!¡± ¡°She is bleeding too much, including from the inside.¡± Sally started to choke. Her breaths were growing more labored by the second. ¡°Others¡­¡± she said again. She released her hold on my hand. ¡°You must go now,¡± Ariane said in a low voice. She kneeled by the woman¡¯s side and brushed her hair back from her sweat-soaked forehead. ¡°Will you¡­¡± I asked, aware of the price of her curse. ¡°No. She is not prey.¡± ¡°Right.¡± It was all the time I could spare. I sprinted away, hoping to outrun my guilt, my fear, and the welling grief in my heart. If I had not¡­ but no, I had to concentrate on the task before me, not on the lives those insane fiends left broken in their paths. I do not believe, dear readers, that I ever ran so swiftly as I did then. Every step propelled me forward as if by wings, but they were brittle, made of wax and feathers, and my sun would come soon enough. And it did, when I arrived upon Grove¡¯s main street and saw a Boschian vista open before me. From the grocery by my side to the dirt road, it was a normal small town in Kansas. After that came hell and its demons. A horde of roaring, whistling, hollering riders galloped along the streets in a senseless cavalcade. The noise was deafening. They were carrying torches giving everything around them a fiery glow so that their flushed faces and filthy hats made them devils and demons come here for a single night. The anger and fear in my heart turned to despair at the sight of so many men ¡ª they were at least a hundred! ¡ª and then to impotent guilt when I spotted Walker among them. The horrendous man was laughing where he was, and on his horse¡¯s greasy bridles I saw his heavy mitts, and on them I saw much blood. And I knew. I knew he had brought his petty vengeance and I knew that, right now, I could kill him. And I would not, for it would kill me. It was not self-preservation that drove me, but cowardice. I didn¡¯t want to die, not senselessly. Not like this. I did not regret that choice later, but know this. I was not motivated by wisdom but by fear, and to this day, it was that fear that saved me. I do not regret it. I never got the chance to regret it. After I gathered my spirits, I slipped in the shadows before anyone could see me. Gunshots erupted from the street, first one, then a thundering ruckus that wouldn¡¯t stop. I made my way along the back of the street, through gardens and flower patches until I could see the centre of the men¡¯s ire: the Pearl in all its decadent glory. Fortunately for me, the bordello¡¯s management had more sense than me. The establishment was barricaded, every window boarded and the main door was locked tight. A swarm of riders was shooting at shutters and walls with more mirth than determination. I raced a bit farther and crossed the street to circle back. A few burly men threw themselves at the entrance as I did so, but it seemed to be holding for now. The back of the Pearl was larger than I thought, with a low wall, several sheds, and a lot of room to hang laundry. I climbed over the wood separation and found light at a second-floor window. I hailed them, and soon Annie¡¯s face peered through the opening. The light framed her breath-taking beauty even as worry marred her traits. I finally understood what Romeo would have felt under the balcony of the Capulet¡¯s princess, if he had existed. Nothing could diminish her charms. ¡°Mr Bingle? Is that you?¡± ¡°Yes, my night angel, it is I, Alexander.¡± ¡°What about Sally?¡± ¡°I¡­¡± Anguish stole my breath, but I tore the words out of my unwilling throat. She had to know. ¡°The Crew got to her first. I am so sorry¡­¡± I could not see her so clearly from below, but I believe that her lips trembled and a tear traced a wet path down her perfect cheek. ¡°Ne¡­ nevermind. Get in, quickly! I¡¯ll open the door.¡± I was let through and faced an eclectic crew. Old men, a few brawny lads and the prostitutes themselves. Without the feathers and glass trinkets, they were just scared women. Many of them were as young as I was. ¡°Should we evacuate?¡± I asked. ¡°What we?¡± an older woman spat. ¡°You just came here.¡± ¡°Enough chatting, Hortense,¡± Annie said as she clambered down from upstairs. ¡°Unless you got a cavalry regiment under your skirt, we need all the help we can get.¡± ¡°That you do,¡± a glacial voice said from behind. I turned to see Ariane and Mr Nead by the entrance behind me. The Pearl¡¯s staff took a collective step back. Although Miss Delaney had the appearance of a girl my age, she possessed a poise and demeanor that spoke of supreme confidence, an effect only reinforced by the urgency of the situation and the impressive rifle she carried over her shoulder. As for Mr Nead, he was also armed with silvery guns that shone in the light of the only lantern present as if haunted by some inner fire. ¡°There are men waiting in the woods behind us for you to leave. The Crew is trying to flush you out.¡± ¡°We have a secret passage out of town,¡± Annie explained, and Hortense made to protest but she was silenced with a glare. That surprised me considering that Hortense appeared to be the madame of this establishment, with richer garments and an attempt at dignity. I was under the impression that they were in charge, yet Annie had the upper hand now. ¡°It will carry us to those rocks over yonder.¡± ¡°Far enough that you might avoid detection,¡± Ariane conceded. ¡°You should do so now.¡± ¡°What about the kids?¡± a prostitute with blonde hair and a pointy nose asked. ¡°We have children with us. It will take some time to evacuate them as well,¡± a dark-skinned woman added somberly. ¡°Then you need some more time. The riders have gone through the grocery and found oil. They might decide to smoke you out instead,¡± Ariane added. ¡°I can go upstairs and lay covering fire,¡± I suggested. ¡°That could slow them down.¡± It would not do much and I might get shot, but the fear from earlier remained strong in my mind and I needed an opportunity to exorcize it. ¡°The third floor dungeon room has thicker walls. It overlooks the street so it should do,¡± Annie says. ¡°I will go,¡± I stated. A few others volunteered to join, including three of the rough men. The blonde woman with a pointy nose joined despite my brief protests. I noticed that none of the others objected to her decision. We had the beginning of a plan. ¡°Mr Nead and myself will provide covering fire from the bank¡¯s roof,¡± Ariane informed me, ¡°although I cannot reveal my presence so early. Do you understand?¡± ¡°I do. I hope the sounds of fighting will attract the men lying in ambush.¡± ¡°That is likely. Unfortunately, you might be swarmed while you attempt to escape.¡± ¡°If only we had a stick of dynamite!¡± I exclaimed, ¡°Then I could drop it on the ground and clear the entrance while providing a distraction to flee. Two birds with one stone. Alas¡­¡± Miss Delaney flinched, an expression I had never seen her express before. Mr Nead leaned towards her. His amber eyes shone with amusement. ¡°Are you perhaps contagious, poppet?¡± ¡°Silence. Ahem. As for you, Alexander, I do have a powder charge with a timed detonator you might use.¡± She retrieved a small packet from a pouch at her back. A string emerged from its well-wrapped shape. ¡°Simply pull on this and throw it.¡± ¡°Then run like hell!¡± Mr. Nead added with a dazzling smile. ¡°Jolly good!¡± I exclaimed, spirits rekindled! Sometimes, dear readers, it felt like I had a guardian devil watching over me with jealous zeal, favoring intelligent violence rather than virtue. ¡°It is decided then,¡± Annie said, ¡°everyone do their best and see you on the other side of the passage. And you?¡± She finished with some hesitation. ¡°We will find you, don¡¯t worry,¡± Miss Delaney finished. Everyone nodded, allies of circumstances brought together by adversity and a purpose: to survive the night. I made sure I had my weapons with me and climbed the small stairs at the double behind the form of another fighter. Finally, the time had come to dispense some well-deserved justice! *** Back outside, two shapes moved through the night with preternatural grace. Their speed and quiet would hide them from the vigilance of all but the most determined sentries, and there were none tonight. The pair climbed the walls of the bank, now gutted and emptied of its contents. They settled to wait for the hostilities to begin farther across the street. ¡°Sinead, I want some explanations,¡± the female form hissed in a tongue that few people knew on this plane. ¡°What about, poppet?¡± ¡°None of this! This Annie woman is related to you. I can taste it in her aura.¡± ¡°Of course! She is my granddaughter.¡± The blonde vampire turned a murderous eye to her partner in crime who merely shrugged. ¡°Elaborate,¡± she demanded. ¡°When two people enjoy each other very much, the man pushes his hot seed in the ¡ª ¡° ¡±I will flip you over the edge like a witty pancake.¡± ¡°Do you remember when we met in Marquette for the first time?¡± The vampire frowned. She remembered a fancy hotel. An open window across the street. The shadow of a naked leg. ¡°You had spent the night with Louisa Watson. An Suqqam Hayatu Sinead YOU DIDN¡¯T!¡± ¡°I told you I had left her a souvenir, and that Louisa Watson would be promptly married. She was. Her first-born son grew up to be an immensely charming lad who attracted the attention of Lynn Merritt in forty-eight while they were both bored, horny teenagers. Nature followed its course and here we are!¡± S?a??h th? N?velF?re.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. ¡°Lynn never told me of her first child!¡± ¡°I believe that Annie was left at an orphanage so Lynn could marry her east coast sweetheart. A tale as old as time itself.¡± ¡°But that means¡­ No¡­¡± ¡°Oh yes. You will never, ever get rid of me. Welcome to generational messes, dearest poppet. It is the true delight of the long-lived folks. Do you know that I once bedded someone who was my great-great-grandmother by alliance? It was the talk of the court for an entire day.¡± ¡°I regret everything.¡± ¡°I am sure you will be pleased with the final product.¡± *** When Annie mentioned the ¡®dungeon room¡¯, dear readers, I admit that I expected some sort of cell where the most intoxicated patrons were sent to cool down. I was apparently quite wrong. Suffice to say, the depths of depravation to which mankind would delve in search of earthly pleasure appalled me to an extent that I cannot put quite into words, and I still pray for the soul of the carpenter who designed and built that specific chair. May the lord have mercy on his deviant soul. Ignoring the dreadful contents of the room, as well as the crude remarks of the men around, I took my position at the front, near a barred metal window. The blonde prostitute settled opposite me. Once more, I refrained from commenting on her presence. ¡°Ready?¡± Everyone assented, just in time for me to spot two men walking down the street, carrying a satchel between them. ¡°Fire at will!¡± I lined up the man on the left and shot him in the chest. The second man fell at the exact same moment. ¡°You¡¯re not just talk, then,¡± the blonde woman approved in a calm voice. I seethed at being judged passable by an armed strumpet! My short outburst of outrage died down soon, however, when I realized that I had a competent ally. I lined up a horseman come to investigate why his companions were dying on the ground, and hit him in the chest as well, but this one merely jumped in surprise and pointed at the Pearl. ¡°Turkeys! Upstairs! Little turkeys!¡± He rasped, yet somehow his voice carried over the noise of men crashing against the barred entrance. ¡°Shoot the turkeys!¡± I fired faster. A second bullet in my target¡¯s torso barely got more of a reaction. He rode away, firing a hastily drawn revolver at the bordello¡¯s facade. At first, I thought I may have missed it until the torches of a nearby group showed the dripping red on his horse¡¯s flank and I finally realized that he was drugged to the point of numbness. All of them were. ¡°Damn serum!¡± the blonde woman pestered. ¡°Those fucking swine juicers.¡± ¡°Is the person who taught you how to shoot the same who taught you how to swear?¡± I asked as I reloaded. ¡°Yeah, my dad.¡± ¡°Should have done a better job at the swearing part,¡± I told her with some vindication. Obviously I objected to the fair sex spewing curses, dear readers, but I had to repay her for her earlier comment. ¡°Fuck you!¡± Soon, there was no more time for banter as the numbers of riders increased and what they didn¡¯t achieve through accuracy, they would soon get through numbers. Bullets whistled past us like furious wasps. The dull thud of lead impacting the dungeon¡¯s wooden walls reminded me that our haven was simply the least flimsy walls we had, and that there was a limit to its endurance. Worse, we were forced to shoot faster lest a lucky bullet caught one of us. Our only saving graces were the festive mood outside and our precision. Several times, the woman and I managed to shoot dismounted crewmen while they busied themselves picking up oil. Our bullets would catch them in the head, or in a part of the torso that disabled them immediately. Our task was only possible because of the perfect vantage we had, and also because of the one watching over us. ¡°That cold bitch of yours is a beast!¡± my companion of misfortune exclaimed while yet another rider¡¯s head snapped back. It appeared that Ariane had decided to forego the heart in favor of an organ the ruffians did not seem keen on using. The results spoke for themselves. Many of the men stopping to take proper aim ended up dead. My world narrowed until there was only the window, and the targets beyond it. The crewmen knew where we were by then, and so their focus improved. At one point, a bullet pinged on a metal bar and traced a small, bloody furrow on my right forearm. The wound seeped blood but I could not stop because more and more riders were coming and we needed to buy some more time. Look, find, aim, shoot, reload if needed. Only my focus remained, and my will to survive. I was beyond emotions, even fear. I just had to line up the sight on one more moving chest, and pull the trigger. One of our men was hit in the hand, losing a finger but not his determination. His cries and angry mutters dragged me back from the strange mindset I had adopted to see that the blonde woman was terrified. Below, I heard the sound of wood shattering. We were breached. The crewmen had abandoned the smoking out plan, and they would be swarming us very soon. ¡°It¡¯s time to go!¡± I screamed. Everyone else pulled back with speed and I wondered if they had stayed because I had. They were looking at me now, as I retrieved the powder charge. ¡°Hope this thing works,¡± I mumbled as I pulled the rope and tossed the package through the chipped window bars. ¡°What now?¡± the wounded man asked. ¡°Run like hell!¡± I replied, remembering the precise directions. And we did. I spared a look down towards the open space that formed the core of the Pearl, and I met the gaze of a tall man with a long black beard as dark as a raven¡¯s coat. He was huge and mad, with bulging muscles, yet his was a controlled rage. He glanced up and smirked. I smirked as well. Then, the bomb exploded. When Mr Nead had advised me to run, I expected a blast powerful enough to tear down a wall. I should have remembered that Ariane Delaney was of the school of thought that, if one elects to shoot the same target a second time, it ought to be for entertainment purposes only. The detonation sent us to the ground as the entire building shook to its unstable foundation. My ears rang and my head swam with dizziness. Dust fell from the rafter above us in a veritable shower. The smell of smoke and burned wood permeated the air. Below, the dark-haired man screamed as half his face had caught on fire, or so it seemed to me. I did not wait. I dragged the closest person to their feet and rushed forward. We raced down the back stairs as if we had the devil himself chasing after us. I followed the directions of the blonde woman. Our steps carried us down to the back entrance landing. Just as we reached it, the door to the garden banged open. I drew faster than I ever had before and lodged a bullet in the charging man¡¯s head before he even saw me. He collapsed at my feet, but the next man tackled me and sent my revolver clattering on the ground. I barely got the time to place my feet against his chest. His expression of beastial delight was short-lived. I sent him face first against the closest pillar. Unfortunately, I looked up to see another lout aiming at me. But I was not alone. The others opened fire and the man fell, pierced by a thousand wounds. No more attackers followed, and I was helped to my feet by a shaken cook. ¡°We should leave.¡± Discretion being the better part of valor, I picked up my fallen weapon and we collectively crashed into the kitchen just as yells and the sound of thrashed furniture erupted from the open space. Sweat covered my body despite the evening chill and my heart beat like a drum. We found an open trapdoor, just as planned. It led into an underground passage dug through the earth. We hurried through this claustrophobic corridor in complete darkness. The sounds of the others breathing saved me from fear but not from introspection. I had killed again. I had been shot at. All within one day of choosing a cause to stand for. Truly, this land was in dire need of peace and justice. Tomorrow. I believed that I had seen enough blood for the day. We quickly left the absolute darkness of the tunnel for the relative darkness of a clearing nestled between rocks and trees, giving us a view of the main street in the distance. A dense forest of oaks and ashes hid the scared band of women and children huddling together on the side. I moved to the side, finding Annie surveying the land. ¡°We cannot stay,¡± I tell her. ¡°The Crew will find the tunnel soon enough.¡± ¡°I know. We were just waiting for you to leave.¡± She sighed deeply, and I wanted nothing more than to hold her in my arms. ¡°I am not sure where we can go. If the Crew catches us on open ground¡­¡± ¡°I will assist,¡± Ariane¡¯s cold voice said from the darkness. Once again, people jumped at the noise, then at the appearance of my guardian demoness riding into the camp atop a mare as dark as the abyss. I swear, dear readers, that Kelpies had nothing on this creature. The tall horse stopped and snorted in a way that felt derisive. Mr Nead sat behind her without shame despite the incongruity of the situation. He dismounted, and the mount bumped her head against him, which didn¡¯t make her any less threatening. ¡°I can have them protected them while we attend to some more¡­ important business.¡± ¡°Ariane, thank God the two of you came out in one piece,¡± I exclaimed with some relief. I would never doubt her ability, but lucky bullets tend to hit the idiot and the wise with the same exacting strength. ¡°Yes. What a blessing.¡± She frowned, and I asked her more questions while the small crowd erupted in confused mutters. ¡°Did everything go well? Are we being followed?¡± ¡°The woods are clear.¡± ¡°Then¡­ is something the matter?¡± ¡°The elixir makes the locals tasteless.¡± ¡°I know!¡± I reply with much outrage, ¡°such brutes! A scandalous display. I cannot wait to get my hands on the one behind this.¡± ¡°What a coincidence. But, in any case, we need to reach the convoy. I gave them orders to hide in a more secure spot. We should be protected for the night while the Crew crashes down.¡± ¡°Then let us ¡ª¡± ¡°Why are we even waiting for you? This is all your fault!¡± A voice said from behind, silencing all whispers. I turned to the expected and unpleasant face of Hortense, the Madame. Behind us, flames licked the edge of the Pearl, spelling the doom of her venture. ¡°If you hadn¡¯t come, none of this would have happened. ¡°This isn¡¯t my fault,¡± I calmly replied. She gasped in outrage. ¡°Oh, really? So the Crew came to avenge tepid whiskey then?¡± ¡°It was my doing. I triggered those events. But they¡¯re not my fault,¡± I reply with absolute conviction. Some of my certainty must have affected Hortense then, because she stared at me uncomprehendingly. I had to explain. It was important. ¡°Was it bad that I stopped my face from being caved in? Was it bad that I drew on those who were about to kill me? Did I commit a crime? Was it a horrible thing to do, not to lie down and let Walker break me in two? Was it so unforgivable?¡± ¡°You say that but Sally¡¯s dead.¡± ¡°Yes, she is, because of events I started. I probably shouldn¡¯t have revealed that I was a lawman, that backed them into a corner. But perhaps they would have come anyway after the thrashing I gave Walker. Or maybe I could have lost the fight and then they would have come a few days later anyway, for something unrelated. Maybe, maybe, maybe. We can spin our yarns until the Day of Judgement but it wouldn¡¯t matter because it¡¯s not my fault.¡± I stand square in front of the old woman and cannot help but feel a bit of disdain at her sight. She is frightened and weak, sheep willing to bend before the first thug and let them run amok among those she¡¯s supposed to protect, because that¡¯s what a leader should do. In retrospect, dear readers, I realize that my anger was aimed at myself, at my earlier cowardice, even if it proved salutary. Hortense was merely the mirror to my failings. That was why the sight of her irked me so much. Nevertheless, I vented all I had on my heart. She would pay for myself, and all the others. ¡°My father always used to say, don¡¯t blame yourself for the actions of monsters and idiots, or you will be crying all day. I am responsible but I am not guilty. I was not the one who punched Sally to death, I was not the one who rode through the city shooting at everyone, oh no. If we are to distribute blame, I was not the one in charge of the town¡¯s security who hid God-knows-where. I was not the one who let Sally leave by herself to search for help.¡± Hortense flinched, then, but I was not done. ¡°You got the short end of the stick and you look for fault in everyone but the guilty, and that includes you. The Crew has been terrorizing this part of Kanses for years and you did nothing, said nothing, or did you think the money they spent here was legally earned? Hah! The ruined farms, the castoff families, you were more than happy to forget about them so long as you had your tranquility. It only started to matter when it affected you. Guilt implies wrongdoing. I have done no such thing.¡± I took a deep breath and settled down. Miss Delaney was following me from the corner of her eye with great intensity, while Mr Nead looked like a man at the theatre. In some ways, they were my guardian devils, but in other ways they felt like spectators of an opera, observing tragedy from the lodges and savoring the catharsis it brought them. No. I was overthinking. I needed to recentre on the problem at hand. Distractions could not be tolerated in this moment. ¡°But I am responsible.¡± Consternated groans answered my claim. They were confused. ¡°I am Marshal Bingle, an Officer of the Law. It is my sworn duty to bring criminals to justice or to the grave and by God, I will not shirk it, no matter the odds. A single determined man can make all the difference in the world, so long as he has brains and courage in equal measure. No, I did not cause the Crew to appear or to do what they do, but yes, I will end them, here or later, alone or with help, I will end them. And I will find those behind this band of ruffians and they will rue the day they thought themselves out of reach. Now, those of you who wish to leave to safety, you ought to do so soon. The fight back starts tomorrow.¡± And by start, I meant that we must plan for success. It might take a while, since I didn¡¯t even know where to start. ¡°Wooh, that was hot,¡± the blonde woman with a pointy nose said, fanning her cleavage in a decidedly provocative way. I looked at her first, but my eyes were soon drawn to Annie, who now stared at me from under hooded lids in a way that endangered my very soul. ¡°I want to see what you can do, pretty boy. I will help you however I can,¡± the fallen angel declared. ¡°But¡­ the dangers.¡± ¡°You will need to gather information, yes? I am very good at extracting information.¡± ¡°I am coming as well,¡± the blonde girl said, ¡°enough being pushed around.¡± Little by little, men and women detached themselves from the group of refugees. Those who didn¡¯t have children, the zealous and the believers. The mad ones. Those who would take the first step so one day, others wouldn¡¯t have to. I was facing some of the rougher sorts the West had to offer and yet, in this moment, it was I who was humbled, because they were not sworn to this war, but they would wage it anyway. How could I refuse such a crowd? *** ¡°The Godling has gathered a ragtag band of prostitutes and caravan hands, Sinead.¡± ¡°I know. Victory is assured!¡± ¡°The fact that you are right bothers me on a fundamental level.¡± ¡°No, it does not. You love it. You are just being jealous.¡± ¡°Would you stop being so perceptive, please?¡± ¡°You will get your ragtag band as well, poppet. Yours just takes a little time to prepare, but you know what they say. The longer the wait, the more intense the pleasure.¡± ¡°I hate you.¡± Chapter 171: Guns and Glory! Steelborough never dies. ¡°You could solve this entire situation in a week,¡± I remarked.The blonde woman reclined in her seat, hands together and fingers twined in a demure pose that would fool many a man. She studied me with eyes as blue as a summer sky but infinitely colder. ¡°I have worked for decades to be able to solve a situation in days.¡± ¡°I suppose that it is up to me?¡± ¡°If you abandon your project and return to New York to board the first ship, then I will take over.¡± A pause. ¡°Will you?¡± She continued. ¡°Never!¡± I erupted, ¡°What sort of man boasts about a dream then gives up at the first difficulty? I will stop the Crew or I will die trying.¡± ¡°See that you do not.¡± ¡°I am just unsure as to how¡­¡± ¡°You can always ask me questions.¡± ¡°Yes¡­ Yes of course. Have you ever been in a similar situation?¡± ¡°Where I had to defeat an enemy I had no hope of stopping in a regular battle?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Indeed. Several times.¡± ¡°What did you do then?¡± She turned away and her expression grew distant. ¡°I borrowed an army. But here you do not have the luxury of time, I believe. Not with so many people you need to protect. There were cases where I lured mindless foes into a trap to take them down.¡± ¡°A trap¡­ It could work. What did you use?¡± ¡°A positively ungodly amount of explosives.¡± I sputtered at the thought of such a classical beauty in a neat dress manipulating such dreadful forces, and yet could I blame her? Was it not gunpowder and gumption that brought civilization to the farthest reaches of the world? ¡°Yes, we could lure the Crew into a place and blow it up. They seem unconcerned with their own lives. We need to find a good place and explosives, however. Perhaps someone knows something?¡± Ariane removed a map from a drawer under her desk and unfolded it before my eyes. It showed the local territory. Pins pierced specific areas in a color code I did not understand. ¡°This is Steeleborough, an abandoned mining town at the edge of the trail. It was to be a mining town, but due to high transportation costs the activity never picked up. The Crew came to expropriate the inhabitants when they heard that a railroad would be built in the vicinity. It was the final straw. Now, the settlement is a ruin.¡± ¡°My, we could even use some of the steel if some remains.¡± ¡°Steeleborough was named after its founder, Mr Steele. With an e at the end.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± ¡°They mined zinc.¡± ¡°Nevertheless, they could have dynamite.¡± ¡°Indeed. While you were moving to safety, I took the opportunity to¡­ have a talk with the mayor while he was inspecting the city for damage. He had much to say about the family who sends the demands that the Crew backs, but the most important thing is what one can read between the lines. The elixir those ruffians quaff comes from a mysterious ¡®Mr Winters¡¯. Until his arrival, the family was but one more frontier clan, albeit a cruel one.¡± ¡°You think that they are patsies and that we must identify this Winters.¡± ¡°Absolutely, and we must do it without him learning of my presence or he might go to ground, only to resurface later with a similar scheme.¡± ¡°He would know of you?¡± ¡°People with his knowledge of blood magic almost always do.¡± ¡°Fantastic, you have found much, Ariane. Between my brawn and your brains, we will get to the bottom of it yet!¡± My elation was ruined by the distant voice of Mr. Nead. ¡°We¡¯re all doomed!¡± He said with amusement. Ariane did not share his mirth. *** ¡°I built a business empire starting with guns and expanding to alcohol and entertainment, but do people call me Ariane the Entrepreneur? No.¡± ¡°I regret teasing you, poppet, I did not realize it was such a sore spot.¡± ¡°And I created the alliance that stopped the Scourge Hive, bringing more species and factions together than the Lancaster renegades gathered to take down their insane progenitor, but do they call me Ariane the Negotiator? Oh no, not at all!¡± ¡°Aw.¡± ¡°I have engineering skills, I can play the piano, paint, and I am a master of enchanting and blood magic, the equal of archmages, but do they call me Ariane the Polymath? Ariane the Scholar? Nope!¡± ¡°I call you poppet!¡± ¡°But call a naval artillery strike on ONE war lady, and I¡¯m Powder Ariane. Or the Boom Girl! Why? Why, I ask! Scandalous.¡± ¡°Take it that way, Ariane. The ranks of the Midnight Aristocracy count a great many schemers, scholars, and entrepreneurs¡­ but only one Boom Girl. You have successfully given yourself a personal brand.¡± ¡°...¡± ¡°Take it that way, my dear. Whoever thinks you are only resorting to explosives underestimates you, and that can only lead to their ruin. And even if they expect explosives, well, they never expect how much you are willing to use.¡± The vampire frowned, then relaxed. ¡°You do have a sweet mouth.¡± s?a??h th? ?ov?l?ir?.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. The Prince of Summer smiled suggestively. ¡°No.¡± *** ¡°What do I look like?¡± Annie asked with a tense voice. ¡°Dust cannot hide the sun, rags cannot mask Venus in marble. You are my ardent dream, my fallen angel, and no artifice can make you less.¡± ¡°No, I, aw, you are so sweet. I suppose I should not ask you,¡± the muse replied, placing her hand against my chest. I felt the warmth of her palm through my shirt while her flowery perfume lured me in like a promise of spring. I was well and truly lost, dear readers. ¡°You should make ready, if you insist on accompanying Honore.¡± I nodded and moved out of her way. We had made camp in a secluded clearing nestled between two hills, very close to the town of Steeleborough. Too close, I would have said, but we would occupy it or be found out long before crew members would find us. I quickly found Honore at the edge and looking up. ¡°Are you sure, marshal?¡± ¡°It has to be done.¡± ¡°We will not be able to arrest them.¡± ¡°Although I loath to be judge, jury, and executioner, I fear that I may not have a choice here. We are simply too outnumbered.¡± ¡°Right. Anyway, walk where I walk, imitate me and we should be fine. It¡¯s an Injun that taught me.¡± ¡°I¡¯m always eager to acquire more skill, good Honore. Lead on!¡± I exclaimed. ¡°Shhhhh.¡± I wilted a little under the quiet reprimand. What we were going to do was underhanded and ¡ª dare I say ¡ª dishonorable. The lows to which I must stoop to protect the innocent terrified me, and yet the hammer of justice suffered no weak handling. I had to go all in. Annie¡¯s safety also depended on it, which was a powerful motivator in itself. Honore was as dark-skinned as they came. He wore a deep green coat over a white shirt and moved with the predatory grace of a panther. We walked up the slopes and I could not help but wonder where his strange knowledge came from. ¡°Say, Honore, were you perhaps part of the, what was it, colored regiment?¡± ¡°Non monsieur, I come from Haiti and I traveled here seeking my fortune. My ancestor was Dessalines himself.¡± This all sounded suspiciously French. ¡°He overthrew the colonial government and killed tens of thousands of Napoleon¡¯s soldiers.¡± Good man. ¡°I am honored to fight alongside the descendent of such a noble character!¡± ¡°I thought you might, monsieur. Now hush. We must not give away the game.¡± We progressed slowly and kept our eyes up. I had my guns but they were a last resort, or so I hoped. It took us almost ten minutes to crest the incline as we were quite careful not to be seen. Our caution turned out to be wholly unnecessary. Steelebrough was equally nestled between two ridges and barely deserved the name of town. Rather, it was a village huddled around a mining pit now abandoned, with a single street and a well down near the exit. Most of the buildings looked deserted but there were a few outliers centered on a two-stories edifice that might have been a saloon. Even from high up, I could spot three sentries, two on a roof and one in the streets. They were looking down, however. ¡°Annie will be here in ten minutes, we have to get to work or the diversion will be wasted, monsieur.¡± ¡°The two sentries on the roof first?¡± ¡°Absolument.¡± We stayed low on our journey down, although when I got close enough to see the face of our foe, I knew that they would not see us. I watched sentries at work before, having visited my father while he was back from India. They all handled boredom in different manners. However, they all exuded that feeling that they would rather be doing something else, especially resting. I did not get this impression from those men. Now I know, dear readers, that I compared those ruffians to cattle before, but believe me when I say that I expected more energy, more vivacious attention from grazing cows than I saw in those men. They lounged impassively, without talking, without any sort of drive. Their faces were frozen in a mask of bovine disinterest. Never did they even glance in any direction except forward. It was as if someone had removed from them what made them humans. Until, that is, they spotted a familiar figure making her way up the slope. Then, animation filled the men. Their impassive traits turned to grins of predatory glee, dripping savage, cruel joy. They chuckled horribly while we scaled the opposite side. ¡°See what I see? Do you see?¡± ¡°I see, I see.¡± They were debased. Defiled. Devolved to their most degenerate tendencies. Honore and I struck at the same time. He slid his knife in his sentries¡¯ more tender part with an efficiency that reminded me of a butcher and worried me slightly. As for me, I simply struck my target¡¯s head with a stone and a considerable amount of force. The pair went down like logs and without a sound. Below us, the third man had spotted Annie making a convincing impression of a survivor seeking help. He took a few steps forward, and I felt anger well in my chest. He would get close to her, with his grubby hands, his filthy clothes. He had lost that right the moment he fell in with a band of murderers and drank that vile mixture. ¡°We could take him down as well.¡± ¡°She will lure some of the others outside. It would be best to wait. Divide and conquer, monsieur.¡± ¡°If you say so.¡± I watched Annie be dragged by the lout with trepidation. She was mewling and gibbering in a way that sent the man smirking, but she turned at the door and our eyes met, and hers were calm, calmer than mine in any case, dear readers! For the drums of the light brigade would not beat any faster. Thankfully for my nerves, we did not have to wait long. The sentry himself was tossed bodily across the saloon gates, body tumbling on the ground. He jumped back to his feet with a bestial snarl. His courage did not last long. A man walked out, soon followed by two other cowed bandits. He was the red-hair man I had seen at the brothel¡¯s first floor and he towered over the rest like a keep above a hamlet. A crimson gash decorated his left cheek. It bled a pinkish fluid as I watched. The man had been burnt and the wound was left unattended. It wept humors too unsettling to consider. The pain must have been excruciating. The sentry¡¯s rebellious fit lasted only long enough for him to stand back up. He and two others left in sullen silence. The red-headed man returned inside without a backward glance, a terrible oversight. ¡°We can act now,¡± I suggested, terrified at the thought of leaving Annie alone with these ruffians. ¡°Very well, monsieur. Please take the one on the left.¡± We climbed down from the roof of what must have been a dormitory, taking great care not to be seen from the saloon¡¯s windows. We trotted silently after the party seeking what Annie described as ¡®a caravan in distress¡¯ with terrified women, but would only turn out to be their doom. I picked a stone and gave the man on the left a terrible smack. David would not have brained Goliath any harder, for my spirits were inflamed by fear and outrage in equal measure. The man fell. Meanwhile, Honore jumped from one man to another, silencing them with the largest knife I had ever seen. Blood spilled on the grassy path, over grey rock. It looked paler than it should be. I averted my eyes, not used to such violence yet. My father had mentioned it. Paintings and stories have always failed to express the horror of death, quite likely on purpose. Blood and innards on a recently living man could strip away the fervour of battle like nothing else. Only my sense of duty and Annie¡¯s fate kept the horrifying realisation at bay. I had seen what these men could do. I would not stop. Honore and I snuck back to the saloon just as the rest of our ragtag band came from the road, armed with whatever they had grabbed during the escape. We found the door unguarded and crawled in. Another pair of men stood in the middle of a dirty room cluttered with crates and barrels. They were trying to look into an inner door from whence Annie was screaming and calling for help. I did not wait for the Haitian and smacked the first person I found on the way, bursting in a moment later. Sounds of struggle came from behind but I had no choice but to try and save she who had so graciously acted as bait. I saw her push herself back up from a table, lips bloody. I ducked at the same moment, trusting my instincts and providence and finding them warranted. A fist swung over me, missing my temples by a hair. A powerful hand grabbed my collar before I could react. The red-hair man had found me. He cocked his arm in a move as predictable as it was powerful. Unfortunately for me, I was unable to dodge. I blocked the incoming blow on my forearm and felt pain. Numbness spread. We struggled for a moment and it was not to my advantage. Nevertheless, my unexpected resistance irked the man immensely. ¡°I will crush you like an insect!¡± He roared. I watched more lymph seep from the raw meat of his cheek and knew that I had no choice. I punched it. It was a harrowing experience for me, but an even worse one for him. My foe dropped me with a terrible bellow, taking a few steps back and allowing me to breathe properly again. He bumped against a piece of furniture and his already bloodshot eyes took on a dire intensity. He rummaged in his shirt for the vial I knew to be here, but I found myself unable to capitalise on his gesture as I was still recovering from my ordeal. ¡°You are meat, boy. I will enjoy putting you in your place.¡± He brought the vial to his lips and smirked, but his expression turned to dismay as a terrible clang echoed through the room. He touched the back of his head and saw blood, then slowly toppled forward. He slammed onto the dusty ground like an old oak. I beheld Annie with a frying pan standing like an Erynie over her fallen victim. She was dishevelled and her clothes were in disarray, but she was whole and so very beautiful. ¡°My valkyrie, my fallen angel.¡± ¡°Wake up, champion. Honore needs help.¡± ¡°Oh yes!¡± Ashamed of discounting my comrade in arms, I rushed back into the main room to find my companion doing the same. We practically ran into each other, a dangerous prospect considering that he was still wielding his blood-soaked blade. ¡°Honore, you are unharmed! Well, except for that gash on your forehead.¡± ¡°And you as well, monsieur, besides that spectacular bruise on your cheek.¡± ¡°Praise the lord.¡± ¡°Hurray!¡± My apologies followed our mutual congratulations, for I had left the man high and dry dealing with his own foe. ¡°I concur, monsieur. If you had helped me we could have faced their leader together. However, perhaps mademoiselle Annie would have been used as a hostage or worse and so I cannot begrudge you this decision. We just have to perform better next time.¡± ¡°Indeed, my good Honore! Although,¡± I add after a frown, ¡°I hope we do not make a habit of stabbing miscreants in ghost towns?¡± ¡°Certainly monsieur, we can do it in the forest as well.¡± ¡°Haha! Good man. And now, let us see what those ruffians left us!¡± I actually let Honore handle that part out of concern for Annie who had not resurfaced yet. I returned to find her still holding that frying pan, glaring at the prone form of her attacker. ¡°When do you think he will wake up?¡± She asked. I watched the expanding pool of blood under the man¡¯s head, knowing immediately that such an event would not occur before Judgement Day. ¡°Not any time soon, milady. How are you feeling? You were very courageous, but I cannot imagine how terrifying this must have been.¡± To my surprise and guilty delight, she threw herself against my chest. I put my arms protectively around her before I could think and stayed still, too afraid to move, too afraid to even breathe. She was soft and warm and so very alive. Her back arched slightly with every sob. Fine hair tickled my chin. They smelled like sunshine and like her as well. Slowly, she hugged me in return. My mind broke apart through the sheer, unexpected felicity. I did not want that moment to stop. For a while, we just stood there, but Honore eventually brought us back to reality by knocking politely on the open door. ¡°Excuse me, but we have news of an urgent sort.¡± Annie and I left each other with embarrassment. She dried her cheeks while I enquired about this new development. ¡°A man escaped. He was returning from a hunt, as far as we could tell monsieur. One glance at us and he ran away like a rabbit!¡± ¡°Did he have a horse?¡± ¡°Non monsieur, they are all still here.¡± ¡°Then hopefully he will need time before he can notify his fellow henchmen. No matter! We were planning to lure them in anyway. Call the others and we shall fortify this place. Now let us see what the Crew left us.¡± I opened the nearest crate to reveal rows of rifles of different makes, most of them from the previous American conflict. They were old but in good repair, and more importantly, clean. Other crates delivered clothes and revolvers aplenty, as well as enough cartridges to withstand a siege, which would be necessary. The real treasure came from a set of reinforced barrels, familiar brown sticks in bundles. ¡°Are those¡­¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I replied. ¡°The key to all our problems. Now then, gentlemen with me, we must barricade and reinforce the saloon. As for the ladies, please clean and load the guns.¡± ¡°Which ones?¡± The blonde prostitute asked. ¡°Why, dear Felicia¡­ all of them of course!¡± The strange huntress graced me with a smile that would have sent most respectable gentlemen running, and more is the pity, for her markswomanship would come in handy! In the following hours, we did our very best to turn the derelict into a fort worthy of a siege, and I had never seen before such a motivated team of hard-working folks. Men shovelled slag from a nearby pile into crates, bags, and barrels which were then lines around the shooting spot we had selected. Most of us would be on the upper floor to give us a vantage point, and all of the windows were either barred to anything short of a battering ram, or reinforced by planks and the aforementioned crates until it would take a cannonball to breach through. As for the first floor, it was left free for now but we had furniture we could collapse to turn the access to the stairs into a merciless slog. We kept an escape route at the back to allow us to flee to the mines in case all was lost, but I hoped it would not come to that. The determined women volunteered to stay to reload the guns while we fought. Soon, night came. We all had a nice meal in the common room and separated after deciding on a guard rotation. I was granted one of the small rooms upstairs but when I entered it, my heart lost a beat. Annie was there. ¡°Annie¡­ I..¡± ¡°Shhh. I am tired of being scared, champion. Please, do not refuse me.¡± Ah, dear readers, I could write a book of poetry on what happened but a gentleman does not kiss and tell. A gentleman does not do what I did either. Judge me, dear reader, judge me and condemn me for the folly of youth, for the fear of death and for love consummated in that most holy and unholy of unions. Judge me but do not think that I left my guilt behind. Just know that my heart was hers and that I would have braved all the circle of hells for a kiss of hers. I would have charged the devil himself with a rusty spoon. I was taken like Ulysses but the sirens, but unlike him, there was no rope to hold me back. I never trained myself to control my love for I had been taught it was the most precious of emotions, and so when love found me, it found no resistance. I fell asleep in her arms. *** ¡°We are pregnant!¡± ¡°Sinead, I really preferred it when you played the court animal.¡± ¡°Such an exciting moment for us, poppet. Will we attend the birth? Should I bring gifts? I heard that the mortals like foreign kings bringing precious offerings.¡± ¡°I think you have already spread your offerings far and wide, Sinead. No need to contribute more or you will have more offspring than Genghis Khan.¡± ¡°Is that a challenge?¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°It appears that this little escapade of yours is coming to an end. When we return, we will have to proceed with the plan. You know why.¡± ¡°I know. Mask confirmed your claims.¡± ¡°Did they now?¡± ¡°Yes. Ambassador Madrigal offered generous terms for us to join his organization.¡± ¡°And what was Constantine¡¯s answer?¡± ¡°He offered him and Bertrand generous terms to join the Accords.¡± ¡°Daring! I like it, but you know what that means, yes?¡± ¡°I know.¡± ¡°We are going back to Europe! More murders! More intrigue! And this time¡­ you will know how it feels to hide from the most dangerous predators of the land. I cannot wait.¡± *** The ruffians arrived on the second day, much sooner than I anticipated considering the distance involved. I assume that they were searching for us, or that our mysterious enemy Mr Winters expected some shenanigans. In any case, the Crew arrayed themselves against us at the bottom of the slope on their horses like some barbaric horde from ancient times. To my surprise, they were followed by a few carriages that must have contained supplies and showed a level of preparedness I had not anticipated from such degenerates. More surprising was the presence of a single stubby barrel between two wheels, which a group of cleaner men deployed at the bottom of the slope. Honore, who was by my side, leaned and muttered in a worried voice. ¡°Do you recognize that thing, monsieur?¡± ¡°Oh yes, Ariane Delaney mentioned it several times. I believe this is called a Gatling gun.¡± Chapter 172: Guns and Glory! Winterfall. The Crew clumped around the Gatling gun like ants around jam fallen from a scone. We could hear vulgar laughs from here, though the general noise remained low. They didn¡¯t seem to be in a hurry.¡°I bet I could pick off the Gatling servants from up here,¡± Felicia whispered from the side. The two of us had taken the balcony directly facing the horde as the defenders¡¯ best marksmen. I considered her offer but declined quickly. ¡°We want them to commit first. This gun is powerful, but it will not pierce half a meter of sandbag.¡± ¡°What¡¯s a meter?¡± ¡°A slightly larger yard.¡± ¡°You Europeans have the weirdest quirks.¡± I refrained from defending myself before this grave accusation and focused on the enemies I would actually have to shoot. They were deploying at the edge of the village, well within range of even the most antiquated rifle. I considered using this opportunity to open fire and realized that I had no objective reason not to shoot now. ¡°They¡¯re disrespecting us, let¡¯s give them a welcome,¡± I announced, and lined up a man who seemed to be giving orders. The detonation made a few of the men jump. The officer slumped in his saddle. A few of the riders did not resist the call of violence. Despite the objection of a few men in charge, a few split from the group and charged us with screeching war cries. Just as Felicia shot another, I pushed her head down and warned everyone. ¡°Stay in cover!¡± The Gatling gun opened on us. We hunkered down before the incoming storm of lead. Except¡­ it didn¡¯t exactly arrive. Bullets dug into wood and the piled furniture behind, starting with our balcony and then to the barricaded windows around. Although it was quite impressive, it represented only three to four bullets per second mostly centered around the same target. The deluge of fire we had faced at the brothel had been far scarier if only because of its unpredictability. Meanwhile, the furious attackers I expected to see mowed down reached the base of the store and opened fire on us as well. It was a frustrating development. ¡°Nevermind. Felicia my dear, give those amateur artillerists what for!¡± I did not have to ask her twice. A single shot took care of the servant moving a lever. His companion dove under cover and we had free reign to engage. ¡°Fire at will, lads!¡± I roared. ¡°And lasses,¡± Felicia corrected to my dismay. This is not what my father¡¯s tales prepared me to expect. Nevertheless, I peeked over the barrier and gave the riders a taste of my revolver. Just as before, the thugs were not affected by deadly wounds. They kept shooting and growling with no regard for their leaking lifeblood, to the extent that I started ignoring the dying foes in favor of the livelier ones. It was fortunate that the very elixir that gave them bravery beyond death also diminished their intellect. Many stabbed their guns forward when they shot despite the absurdity of such a movement, ruining their aim. Others even swiped at the air as if fighting invisible enemies. Eventually, my companions¡¯ concentrated fire diminished their numbers just in time for reinforcements to arrive. The Crew was trickling into town without organization, driven forward in a herd by the most determined specimens. I made good use of a provided rifle, taking them down with great alacrity and passing the empty weapons to Annie. The woman passed me fresh weapons before scurrying back into the room where she and other determined women reloaded them as fast as they could. Our sustained fire finally made a dent in the enemy¡¯s determination. The most sober of them all dismounted and scrambled into houses, seeking cover. The return fire increased. At least the Gatling gun had fallen silent. The minute I spent shooting left and right felt like an eternity, dear reader. The dull thuds of bullets impacting our defenses echoed the buzz of those flying over our heads. More than once, dust and debris flew into my face, but I was well-protected thanks to our preparation. Others were not so lucky. I heard a cry from one of the windows. I had no time to offer help, however, as we were at risk of being overrun. Already I could hear the bangs of men trying to break in. The tail of the formation had not yet entered the village. I needed a few more seconds. By my side, Felicia busied herself taking out the most dangerous of foes, those who actually took the time to aim. Her sense of priorities impressed me from a civilian and a woman. It allowed me to stay focused on the easier targets, downing one man after the other. Whenever possible, I even aimed for the head! Such an unwise course would be the very height of stupidity in any other circumstances, yet the urgent situation and abundance of ammunition forced my hand. It appeared that most of the crew had entered the trap when my hand was forced by fate in the form of a great crash coming from downstairs. ¡°It¡¯s time!¡± I screamed, and rushed through the window and our stunned reloading assistant on a mad dash downstairs. As I moved down, I took in the alarming sight in front of me in a flash. Walker was here, standing over a dead guard. The very man I beat to a pulp had a gun and a red face still covered in bruises. His malevolent eyes lit up as soon as he saw me, and he turned himself to take me down. I had my revolver in my holster and would not draw in time, so I did the next best thing: I jumped, feet forward. ¡°Have at ya!¡± My boots impacted with the lout¡¯s surprised mug and I rolled before he could react, soon jumping onto the detonator. No time! I could hear other foes breaking their way in. The lever depressed under my weight. I turned on myself and blocked my ears. Walker stood back up, blood dripping from a cut lip. He snarled as he aimed his revolver at me. I could see the rust on the side of the barrel, dear reader. I could count the hairs on his knuckles. Before he could pull the trigger, the world went upside down. I was ever so grateful for protecting my ears because even with both indexes firmly rammed in the outer canals, I almost went deaf from the terrible fracas. The series of explosions rocked the very earth, making my chest vibrate and clench painfully. How fragile we all were in front of the wrath of chemistry itself! Fortunately, this mighty force had been harnessed by our side, and the dust settled over a silent ghost town. Walker stumbled to his feet. I drew my weapon and pulled the trigger, only for the hammer to click on an empty cartridge. Damnation! I had forgotten to reload! Cursing my foolishness, I assessed the situation in an instant and dove through the nearest door and into the room where we had stored all our supplies. A bullet smashed into the far wall, shot by my pursuer. I hid behind a crate just as he bull rushed in after me. ¡°Come on out, you lily-livered coward!¡± He bellowed. I ignored the slight on my honor. I would not forfeit my life for the sake of bravado. Too much hung in the balance. I crawled around the room, between barrels and bags. As for Walker, he moved about the room with nervous energy, screaming as he went. ¡°Come out and face me!¡± I realized that he could probably hear very little, yet sneaking on him was risky because he turned on himself quite often. He seemed both drunk and innervated at the same time, which I understood. There was no need to hurry. Time was on my side in this confrontation. I patiently reloaded while following the man¡¯s progress through the room. When he stumbled, I stood up. ¡°Haha! Got¡­ got¡­¡± S?a??h the N?v?lF?re.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. Walker¡¯s step back turned into an awkward tumble when his foot slipped on the expanding pool of blood under his feet. He wobbled and fell against the wall. His weapon fell in a clatter. ¡°You¡­¡± ¡°Pain is not useless,¡° I said, though I doubted he could hear me. ¡°Pain is the body¡¯s way of telling us that it has reached its limits. You are not transformed into gods when you quaff the vile mixture, you merely forget that you are still humans.¡± He finally found the glass shard deeply embedded in his flank, the very same that he displaced with every step. The very same that was killing him now. Walker collapsed just as Honore walked in. ¡°Flawless victory, monsieur?¡± ¡°Not quite, old fellow, I believe I made a hole in my trousers.¡± ¡°I am confident we can mend the situation, monsieur. In the meanwhile, Felicia reports that the enemy captain is attempting to crawl away.¡± ¡°Then let us give him a hand.¡± Of the devastation outside, I can in truth say very little. A more lyrical soul than my own could have filled pages of notebooks with flowery descriptions and sobering metaphors. Unfortunately, I must admit that words mostly failed me when I came out and the result of my plan appeared through a cloud of dust and soot, lit by the pale morning sun of autumn. I will spare you the more gruesome details, dear readers, but know that in this moment I realized that mankind had bridged the gap between act of god and act of war, and that if this was the result of today¡¯s technology, I feared what fruit we would harvest even half a century from now. Those of our foes left whole stared unblinking at the heavens, bloody tears trailing down their cheeks. It was a strange possession that walked through the remains of the cataclysmic event, and it was in silence that we found our fallen enemy. He reacted on the spot. ¡°You have no idea who you are messing with, you imbeciles! Do you know who I am?¡± The man on the ground roared and spat, but even a child could see the terror in his eyes. His mewling threats are the last defiance of a man with more anger than dignity. ¡°I know you are a member of the family behind the Crew. I care little about you, I want to meet Mr. Winters.¡± ¡°Mr Winters? How do you know¡­¡± ¡°I know a great many things. My knowledge is extensive, sir, quite unlike my patience. You will provide me with his location now or I shall have to extract it out of you!¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know where he lives really! We meet him at the bottom of the mountain and trade the elixir for¡­¡± The man paled, and suspicion filled my heart. ¡°For what, sir? Answer me I say!¡± ¡°Food. Silver. Captives, sometimes.¡± ¡°You despicable monster!¡± Felicia screamed. ¡°How could you?¡± Annie whispered, and her horror needled me more than I could ever say. Honore was also affected, for the man took out his monstrous knife from its sheath and waved it around, ready to bleed the villain like a stuck pig! Taking it upon myself to be the voice of reason, I halted his gesture before he could give our prisoner problem the Gordian treatment. ¡°Hold on, dear Honore. You must not! We will not just stab him in the streets like savages, or worse, socialists! We must not allow our anger to rule us or we will have become like those we fight. Justice, not blind vengeance, must guide our actions!¡± ¡°Very well said, monsieur! But then¡­ what should we do?¡± I picked up another slice of roast and sat down on a nearby rock, watching our foe¡¯s body swing in the wind. Hanging certainly brought a certain cachet to public execution, I always said. The man had forfeited the path to Mr Winters'' lair, eventually, before accusing me of lying. Apparently, caring little about him would imply that I would forget his crimes. What a peculiar conclusion. I merely meant to say that his demise would not cause me to lose even a wink of sleep! Speaking of sleep, I resolved to talk to my fallen angel before we left. I found her in quiet thought, leaning against a wall in her dusty but nonetheless gorgeous dress. ¡°My condolences for the guards we lost today.¡± ¡°What? Oh, truth be told, I barely knew many of them. I was passing through. I tend to travel a lot.¡± ¡°Oh, I see. I assume that you were griev¡ª¡± I interrupted myself before I could ruin the mood. My angel appeared wistful and it broke my heart. It was my fault that I had not yet made the world into a place where she could be happy. ¡°Nevermind that. Then, it is good that you are ready to depart. I am glad that you are used to the rigor of the road.¡± ¡°Travelling has its perks. New scenery, new people.¡± I was so happy, for I feared that it would be some time before we could settle down anywhere, not least because I could not see my angel engaged in back-breaking labour on a farm. As much as I respect the occupation and Annie herself, I believed that she was not cut for it. ¡°Your words fill me with joy. Then there is just the matter of Mr Winters and we can leave.¡± ¡°Oh, already? And where do you intend to go, Alexander?¡± Imagine, dear reader, a pit filled with frozen water. You are heading back home after a hard day¡¯s work, body tired yet soul filled with contentment. Suddenly, icy liquid splashed where the sun caressed. Suddenly, you are drowning. I was not quite drowning yet, dear reader. I was in the air as the gate opened, subjected to no force but gravity, going nowhere but down. I was slipping from the cliff and the ledge still seemed in range of my grasping hand, but it was all a lie, an illusion. I had no hope. ¡°Me? But. Wait. We? No? You do not intend to stay?¡± ¡°I already told you I¡­ oh. Oh no¡­¡± ¡°What do you mean oh no. Annie, please. Annie. You are jesting.¡± ¡°I am so sorry Alexander. I forgot that¡­ Oh, I did not mean to play a cruel trick on you. Forgive me if I set the wrong expectation.¡± ¡°Wrong expectation? But surely¡­ But why would you leave? I thought we were together? I want to make an honest woman out of you.¡± She looked suddenly afraid but I didn¡¯t want her to be afraid. I wanted her to be happy. ¡°I am sorry, Alexander. I do not wish to be a honest woman.¡± ¡°Annie, Annie if I failed you in any way¡­¡± ¡°You did not. You were a perfect gentleman and I have no cause for complaints.¡± ¡°I must have, or you would not leave me, surely? Give me a chance to understand? What have I done?¡± ¡°It is not about you, Alexander. What I want in life is what I have now. Freedom, adventure, something new. I am living how I wish to live and I will not allow myself to be bound, even by you. I am sorry.¡± ¡°I do not understand¡­¡± My mind refused to accept the evidence. Annie did not wish to be with me. Annie did not love me. For my parents and before, an act of intimacy was the ultimate form of trust, and though I did not begrudge my fallen angel the brevity of our courting, I had assumed that my feelings were reciprocated. It was not the case. She did not wish to be my wife, my other half. Prompting her more about what I had to do scared her and confused me even more, to the point that I slumped against the nearest wall, utterly defeated. Gutted. Drowning. Swallowed by the dark sea of my unrequited affection. She left me no flaw to fix or proof to deliver. Her heart did not need a key, it simply had no door, or at least not for me. I was crushed. I would have prefered it if she had killed this love before it had bloomed its strangling thorns, before it had turned to poison in my heart. I was lost. I left her in a daze. I spent the rest of the evening in a daze. In the morning, I saddled my horse and left with a blank mind, too stunned to even protest Felicia¡¯s company. She and Honore trailed me without a word while we followed the path north, where the Crew had come from. We walked in single file over mud trampled by a hundred horses, all carrion now. I thought I might have munched on something for lunch but I could not for the life of me recall what. The land was flat here. It was empty and depressing. There were just plains after plains after plains, until we saw it in the late afternoon. ¡°Is this what the leader described?¡± I finally asked. We had stopped our horses, so great was our surprise. ¡°When he described a mountain, I assumed he was exaggerating monsieur. I expected a small hill. ¡°Everyone knows the land around here is flat¡­¡± Felicia said without much conviction, and for a good reason. In front of us stood an impossibility. Like an obsidian shard lodged in flesh, a jagged piece of rock emerged from the vast expanse of Kansas almost vertically. The lone mountain pierced the landscape by its presence, and the evening sun dyed the snow at its top a bloody red, nevermind that it had not snowed yet. It must have been perhaps three hundred meters high, which would not have been much in a mountainous region. Here, the elevation made it properly sorcerous. ¡°I must be dreaming,¡± Felicia whispered. ¡°Monsieur, I suspect that we face some devilry.¡± ¡°You are quite correct, Honore. Nevertheless, I knew I would be facing evil the moment I witnessed the effects of that elixir. This changes nothing. We must press on.¡± We approached the edge of the strange rock in silence. We walked the edge for a while before realising that there was no clear path up, or at least none that would be practical for our horses. We dismounted with some trepidation then followed a treacherous path that seemed to be carved from the very rock. The stone here was dark and glassy like the corpse of a long-dead volcano. The weather worsened immediately. The cloud above us, so far only threatening, opened to disgorge their cottonous content. The wind picked up. ¡°We are not equipped to face bad weather, monsieur.¡± ¡°The summit cannot be too far, Honore. We saw it from the bottom.¡± ¡°I pray you are right, monsieur, but I do not trust my eyes, and I do not trust this place either.¡± The brave Haitian¡¯s concerns were warranted, because our ascent was marred by slippery stone and treacherous fog. More than once, I almost put my foot down only to discover that an entire side of the wall was missing, and that the setting sun reflected on the crystal ice had my sense of perspective fooled. It became so hard that I used the rope I had brought to tie us all together. Alas, it was not enough, for the cold itself became unbearable. My fingers and toes hurt despite the gloves I had. Eventually, a cry from Felicia stopped my progress. ¡°Felicia?¡± ¡°I¡­ am sorry. I can¡¯t I can¡¯t!¡± Her teeth chattered from the cold. her lips were blue, her face flushed. Honore was barely better. I stopped then, and came to a realisation. As soon as the chase had started, I had stopped thinking about my lost love. All of my life, all of my focus had been dedicated to climbing that damn rock and seeing our crusade against evil to its fateful end. I had forgotten everything in that pursuit. But I would not forget my friends. ¡°You two must go back.¡± ¡°Monsieur, this is suicide¡­ This weather, it is like nothing I have ever felt before. It must be some powerful voodoo. ¡° ¡°I know.¡± ¡°You believe me?¡± ¡°Magic has been proven to exist by the scientific community and the both of us¡­ sorry, the three of us know damn well that this mountain ought not be here, and yet, despite the adversity, I must forge onward. I shall do so alone.¡± ¡°Monsieur¡­¡± ¡°No matter the odds, no matter the costs, a Bingle will not back down in the face of such evil. The time for ruses and stratagems is over. I am facing the unknown with no choice but to carry on, for the enemy is weakened and he might decide to run and start over elsewhere. No, this adversity calls to me. I will continue. I can do it.¡± ¡°You appear to be doing fine, sir. Perhaps you have a better constitution. Nevertheless¡­¡± ¡°Trust me, Honore. I was born for this.¡± The courageous Haitian appeared worried, his concern made even more heart-warming because we had known each other for a short time and, despite the tumultuous events, developed a deep respect for each other. His unwavering support turned my resolve to steel. I would not allow myself to fail, not with such people as he behind me. This led me to Felicia. ¡°You two take care of each other and await my return. I will be there shortly.¡± ¡°Do you want my rifle?¡± Felicia asked. ¡°I prefer to have my own, and besides, it is only so accurate because your hands wield it.¡± She blushed delicately, which should help with keeping warm. As for Honore, he pulled his massive knife from its sheath and presented it to me handle first. ¡°This is my family¡¯s heirloom, monsieur. The handle is gold taken from the flanks of Pik Lasel while its iron blade was used to shave the island¡¯s seven most cruel slave holders. I will lend it to you¡­ but I expect you to return it!¡± ¡°Shave, you say?¡± I asked with some confusion. ¡°He means castrate,¡± Felicia explained in a darkly amused voice. ¡°Can I have it later?¡± Honore and I shared a long glance, a mutual promise that such a terrible tool of justice should never be found in the hand of a woman. Promptly, I detached myself from the rope binding us and moved on while the two trotted back the way we came. The wind seemed to redouble when I kept going, forcing me to shove my gloved hand in my pocket. Strangely, Honore¡¯s knife felt warm and the hand holding it less frigid. With my spirits momentarily high, I rushed onward with determination. I knew in my heart that I was running away from my wounded feelings, but I also acknowledged that stopping Mr. Winters was a valid cause. Suddenly, as the wind against me felt like a physical presence, I crossed a threshold. One last step and I was out of the cloud of snow. All around me were black rocks surrounded by a sea of dark clouds. The last rays of the day showed me a strange spectacle the likes of which I had never seen before, and I knew for certain that some terrible magic was at work here. In front of me stood a castle of ancient make, all tall spires and needle-like crenelations. Spiked corbels extended from flanged, small towers and from them hang icicles as sharp as daggers. It was all sharp angles and black stone. it was not a keep, it was a maw. And yet, for all its aggressive appearance, the manor lacked any sort of sensible defenses. Castles back home were honest constructs of solid stones with clear purpose. The edifice in front of me wore its thorns without practicality, like scale mail as a salon dress. The strange impression only accentuated what I perceived as evidence. Just like the mountain, this edifice should never have existed. The architectural style itself was like nothing that could be found on earth, not to mention that it would take a determined team years to build. I was on my guard from the moment I saw it. I moved forward with determination, however, and reached the door in short order. It was an incongruous set of two gates with a heavy knocker. It took me a measure of self-control not to knock to be polite. I let myself in as quietly as I could, and gasped in surprise when I arrived in the lushest, most welcoming entrance I had ever seen. The room itself stretched in a long rectangle, generously lit by candles. A bright fire crackled merrily in the hearth and brought a sudden warmth to the previously frigid temperatures. A table laid in the middle charged with victuals, gold and ruby wine in crystal decanters, and silvery spoons glittering under the lights. Athletic statues lounged or stood on seats here and there. They lend the place a classical atmosphere that I did not trust for a single second. Only a liar and a cheat would use classical statues in a baroque room in a fake gothic castle. I did not trust the heat from the fire I felt on my skin, nor the food, nor, even, the statue. When the urge to sit down and relax filled me, I slapped myself awake. When hunger and thirst harried me, I bit my tongue. Finally, I felt somnolence assail me as I made my way to the far doors and stopped. This was not real. This was not me. Anger, yes. Sadness also, but never somnolence. I had been careless in the den of a monster once, and she had taken me under her wing. There was not enough luck in the world for a man to survive twice from this same mistake. I brought Honore¡¯s knife to my chin and sliced. The only reason I did not bring it to my gloved hand was the warmth I felt. It was wrong, feverish. Illusory. Immediately, the full room came into sharp focus. A strange light glowed from every brightly lit object. The more I looked, and the brighter they became, yet at the same time the edge of my vision turned dark and foreboding. The tables were ice blocks, and the food was frozen bones. The fire was white and blue. I jumped and waved the blade around, still red with my blood. An illusion! A trick of the mind, dear reader. Afraid, I put the tip of the knife against one of the statues, and behold! It chipped, a fragment falling on the ground. Beneath were frozen muscle fibers. I was beset by frozen corpses. Alarmed, I rushed to the next door, only to be pushed away. The heavy oak panels ¡ª or were they? ¡ª almost ended up catching me in the cheek when a man barged in with the most vicious expression I had seen. He was a pale and wan, tall fellow with a stoop and a handsome if angular face, but his eyes were the crystalline blue of the frozen lake. He wore an elaborate doublet in shades of black and blue while a fur cap hid his hair. Indeed, it appeared that my host had picked a theme for his appearance. ¡°Mr Winters, I presume?¡± I asked, hands creeping to my holster. ¡°You come in, you do not partake, and now you damage my collection? How rude you mortals can be. Very rude. Although¡­ you are different.¡± He whispered a few words in a strange tongue that tickled my ear with the edge of understanding, as if the words were just slightly beyond me, and yet they carried a powerful meaning. I heard his interest before a peculiarity, but it was a cold and merciless approach. He was not the caretaker of a rare flower but one who pins butterflies to a board. I had enough. ¡°Are you Mr Winters?¡± ¡°Yes, yes, I am known by that name.¡± Confirmation made, I shot him in the face. Now I know, dear reader, that you might find this a bit unsportsmanlike, but do please keep in mind that I stood alone in a gallery of cadavers facing a man who made mountains appear out of thin air. It was better to err on the side of caution. Unfortunately, my quick attempt was thwarted when his image seemed to fracture before me, then immediately reform. A statue shattered in the hall. Sorcery! Winters¡¯ pupils stayed blue but the white turned black. He smiled. His teeth were a forest of dark needles tipped with brownish flakes of dried blood. He removed a dagger from his still-impeccable doublet and dove under my next shot. He moved right with inhuman dexterity, dodging another shot under the table. I moved back. ¡°You are other but you smell local. How curious.¡± He asked another question, again in that unnerving language. I heard a question and the notion of origin but I cared not. ¡°If you are going to hide then I will go after your precious prizes,¡± I claimed, and shot the nearest statue. It cracked and broke down and I aimed at the next one but my time ran out. Winters snarled and launched himself at me. I got him between the eyes but another statue was destroyed in his stead. A second shot brought the same result, except that it was at point blank range and, somehow, the cloud of smoke blinded him. He dove back under the table. ¡°You will run out of bullets soon enough, curious thing. I know how that contraption works¡­¡± ¡°Then you should also know that I have two of them.¡± I emptied my last bullet at another grisly trophy before taking my rifle out. I calculated that I had seven bullets and there were only four targets left plus winter himself. Somehow, I doubted that I would be given the time to reload, especially if I had to do it with gloves. I had to make them count. ¡°Let¡¯s see you shooting a cube of ice,¡± a sinister voice uttered from the shadows. Quickly, I pulled the trigger of my quickly cooling weapon and another bullet came out. Then another. ¡°Did you hope for something, abomination?¡± ¡°Damn you!¡± He rushed me again, and against all odds, I missed. Or rather, the bullet clanged uselessly against the silver blade of the man¡¯s knife. Out of despair, I dropped my rifle and raised the knife I had been holding with two fingers. The monster gave another ghastly smile. I could see every sharpened fang in clear detail when he lurched. Somehow, I managed to dive to the side, but I felt a sharp pain in my flank. The beast had cut me! ¡°I will enjoy bleeding you dry, strange little thing. I think I will find your flesh delectable.¡± Another charge. I had to get a hold of myself! Out of options, I yelled in return and charged him back. ¡°Have at you!¡± We crossed blades, and for one moment I was pushed back by an incredible strength. It was like standing before a moving ship and trying to stop it with one¡¯s bare hand. I did not stand a chance. And then the feeling shattered. The dagger stopped against my knife and his face turned to disbelief. ¡°You dare bring iron? In MY HOME?¡± He grabbed me by the collar before I could react and threw me aside. I expected the cold impact of stone, and yet I went through the castle boundaries with a crash, rotten wood splintering under my weight. I crashed out into the howling storm of winter¡¯s heart. The winds instantly froze me to my core. I could barely see a couple of metres in front of me. I was also disarmed. The monster stepped out from the wall, backlit by a blue radiance. His mouth extended all the way to his ears now. He was tall and still stooped. Fingers extended like claws to unnatural length from his malformed hand so that any resemblance to a human was obscured by the horrifying shape he had finally revealed. ¡°You were an amusing diversion, little thing. It was smart of you to weaken my hold by slaying my pawns, but it will not suffice. I will move on. I will find other pawns to feed my blood to. They will bring me all the power I need. Despair now, tasty treat, because this is the end of your story.¡± ¡°Yes it is,¡± I replied with a grim smile, ¡°because night has fallen. And you are outside.¡± She fell on him. *** My claws pierce the fae¡¯s shoulders and an interesting bit of magic happens. An elaborate fae magic construct transfers meaning between the one before me and a reserve behind, somewhere inside of the house. He shifts out and reassembles a few feet away, no worse for wear. Complex and resource-intensive, however. I believe the range might be short as well. ¡°Who are you?¡± he asks in English. ¡°Can you not tell?¡± I reply in child Likaean. ¡°Or what, indeed. Truly, this world is more filled with tasty things than I first assumed. The weave is not quite as rigid as I thought. Although, you are claimed. I can smell the stench of summer on you. Keyholes as well. An intriguing mix.¡± ¡°The desire for freedom makes the strangest alliances don¡¯t you think?¡± ¡°Those are the tools of weaklings. True power tolerates no partage.¡± ¡°Oh, you do not wish to escape?¡± The fae gives me an impressive smile. I am almost inclined to harvest a tooth just to inspect it later. Fascinating. ¡°Why escape when I can bring winter here instead? So many mortals sacrifice their independence for the truth I offer. The blood on the snow, the hunt, hunger that needs to be quenched. They speak to the local things on a level they understand. I will just have to find more to replace the ones you broke. When enough of them believe it, then winter will come as it always does.¡± ¡°Amusing, but there is room for only one cold-loving apex predator in this world.¡± ¡°Agreed.¡± He jumps on me. Slow. He is barely more free than Sinead and with his men dead, his house breached, and his plans in shambles, this is merely the end of a rather short hunt. I slap his pathetic attempt aside. ¡°I believe this was your last statue.¡± I love the loss of confidence and the sudden fear. I love the smell of his panic, but they are cut too short when a blue shield surrounds him. It fills with ice. He still speaks through the quickly forming frost coffin as if it were not here. ¡°Your thing mentioned night, so I will see you during the day. Soon.¡± ¡°Naive.¡± I take out the thorn with the absolute certainty that I will grind down his defenses in only a minute. I need not have bothered. A sound like breaking glass pierces through the gale. We both look down to see the fae¡¯s own silvery blade digging deep into his shield. I hear Bingle cry in triumph. He threw the weapon. The fae¡¯s protection cracks under the weight of his own magic turned against him. My prey¡¯s expression of disbelief is quite delicious. His protection falls to pieces and I bite down before he summons any more cheap tricks. *** Cold. Ice. Night. A polar winter in shades of blue, black, and green. Scattered bones, remnants from a feast long since reduced to gnawed shards and frozen tufts of hair. Aurorae shimmer in the distance. There is no wind here, only the immobility of a polar midnight. To breathe is to invite death in one¡¯s own lungs. It is to surrender the warmth in one¡¯s breast to the eternal, unending expanse of the end. There will never be a spring here. In some places, summer will return and the cycle will continue, but one day, the light will dim. One day, winter will remain. It will bury everything under its frozen embrace until the world reverts to one vast dead rock, until everything stops one piece at a time. It is inevitable. Cold is not spellcraft or feelings. It is the absence of movement. One day, all of creation will return to it. Forever. *** I surface and pull the cold inside of me. The concept crystallizes in my veins and my psyche, chasing away the intense pleasure that comes with fae blood. A crack appears on my forearm, but it disappears soon enough when I digest the idea further. Behind us, the illusory castle collapses in a pile of planks. The fog disperses. We are at ground level with grass under our feet. The blonde prostitute and the black man stare with amazement. I suppose they are his acolytes now. Bingles seem to have a propensity to meet the most curious personalities. Not me, of course. Loth. I pick up the dagger from the dead fae, all his teeth now returned to normal. I present the captured weapon to the winner of the fight. ¡°Ah, thank you. I will be keeping that and returning his knife to brave Honore. It has saved my life. Will you stay with us?¡± ¡°No. The mystery is resolved. You can rest for a while before resuming your adventures, young Bingle. As for me, I have my own path to follow.¡± Chapter 173: The setup October 1870¡°The Council welcomes Ariane of the Nirari. Please check your talismans, thank you.¡± The White Cabal council has changed a lot since my first visit. Frost has been replaced by his granddaughter Margaret who has dark hair except for a single white strand near the front. Cornelius, who did not appreciate me much, died during his attempted coup. I almost expected the White Cabal to exile the insurrectionists in a bleeding heart moment, thus creating a hostile faction bent on their destruction. It would have been stupid, of course. The Black Dog was anything but stupid. They were all executed. Cedric succeeded him as a member of the ¡®golden generation¡¯, the one I helped examine. He has grown into a stout bearded man as reliable as his barriers. William is the Black Dog now, and he is present. The head librarian is still a withered old lady while the president is the same fat man waving his gavel around I saw struggle all those years ago. The White Cabal leadership shows a much broader range of ages than before. I still do not begrudge them their protective measures. They will pretend that they take every precaution against me, and I will pretend that I cannot bypass them. A satisfactory arrangement. ¡°Ariane of the Nirari, you have the floor.¡± ¡°Thank you. Esteemed allies, I have come to share the information we obtained on the ghost killer.¡± ¡°Why did you restrain our access to the crime scenes?¡± Someone interrupts. I sigh heavily. Those people grant themselves quite a few liberties with respect that I would not tolerate under any other circumstances. Unfortunately, they are useful allies. I am forced to resort to diplomacy. ¡°Every warden is free to accept or refuse supernatural presence on their territory.¡± ¡°So you do not control your own people?¡± ¡°Every warden is given a measure of independence. The same autonomy that allowed me to forge an agreement with you¡­¡± I reply, letting the implication sink in. Some lesser mage alliances have been wiped out when they became a nuisance. The White Cabal is a true, genuine danger. They would have been dealt with if it were not for me. ¡°As I was saying, we have investigated every scene and determined that the same caster was responsible for all of them. It is also the Speaker¡¯s personal conclusion that the culprit was never present, or indeed, near the scene. The murders were committed by a creature.¡± ¡°A summon?¡± William asks, considering. ¡°So it would seem. The entity carries part of the aura of the caster. We also believe that it is immaterial and invisible.¡± ¡°How do you figure?¡± Cedric asked. ¡°Witness accounts and the lack of any signs of entry. Some of the trace aura went through walls as well. I have compiled every piece of information we have on this case in a file that will be provided to you as a courtesy.¡± ¡°What do you mean, courtesy? You have already resolved the case?¡± ¡°No, however we have assessed that the entity steals the caster¡¯s vitality with every casting. The murderer will be killed next summon or the one after that.¡± ¡°So¡­ you expect the case to resolve itself?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°That is quite irresponsible. What if others use the same means? Have you considered that?¡± ¡°We have taken enough measurements to create a locating beacon. However, it would take much effort to build and the Speaker¡¯s time is precious. If other cases arise, we will intervene.¡± ¡°Are you not at least a little bit curious?¡± I consider my answer for a few seconds. It must convey my meaning clearly. ¡°With the return of magic and the dramatic increase of mages aware of their own abilities, we expect freak accidents and strange quirks to continue increasing over time. We simply do not have the time or inclination to investigate every unusual matter. We prefer to leave this task to you and your sister organizations.¡± And by this I mean the Red Cabal. The Accords¡¯ interests lie in politics and law, not in the miscellaneous and circus shows. ¡°We simply do not have the manpower to handle every strange occurrence,¡± I finish. ¡°Every strange occurrence could lead to world-ending threats.¡± ¡°Then feel free to escalate to us. In the meanwhile, you have our report on the situation.¡± In truth, we do intend to watch instead of intervening, but Sephare did identify the woman behind the murders by correctly guessing that it was a tale of premeditated vengeance. I would have been surprised that a member of the fairer sex could be responsible for such a wanton massacre when I was a mortal. Now, few things surprise me. One cannot doubt the depth a depravity a woman can sink to after spending five minutes in the company of Melusine. After our little summoner dies, we will recover her research. ¡°What of the creature? Is it¡­ a demon?¡± Whispers spread around the assembly. Some people watch me in fear. ¡°I am afraid I cannot comment on matters of religion.¡± I shrug helplessly, gathering a few chuckles. Eventually, I am forced to interrupt the muttering. ¡°There was another issue I wanted to address. I will be leaving my position on an¡­ errand.¡± ¡°What sort of errand?¡± Cedric asks without malice. ¡°A private matter. It should not take much time. Two, three years at most. I will be replaced by one of my subordinates, Urchin.¡± I am quite pleased to see immediate apprehension in most of the people present. ¡°Much can happen in three years, and with the current rise in integrist sentiments¡­¡± ¡°There will always be a crisis,¡± I interrupt. ¡°No year passes without a new rising threat. The matter that concerns me cannot be delayed.¡± I dismiss several accusations that I am not taking my position seriously, or that the Accords do not value the White Cabal. Urchin can be smooth when he bothers, and he is better at insidious remarks than I am. All will be well. I wait for the council to end outside of the rotunda, reviewing more reports. Sephare¡¯s intelligence is unambiguous. Bertrand, head of the expansion faction of Mask, has taken over the leadership by allying with the Hastings progenitor. They now control India through local covens and proxies. Weapons and funds are sent to Mexico, which is currently under Mask control. They are ready to return. Although we are much stronger than we used to be, Mask will bring many more elites to the fray this time. That is quite fine since I will take the fae blood away from them. Then we will see how they fare without their liquid courage. Over an hour later, the councillors finally leave and I stand up to intercept one of them. ¡°Margaret?¡± ¡°Hm yes? Is something the matter?¡± ¡°There was a private matter I was hoping to discuss with you. It does not concern the Cabal. Rather, it is a spellcaster concern.¡± ¡°Oh?¡± The woman is wary. We have known each other for quite some time but Margaret is as cautious as her grandfather was daring. She is the only young archmage who is not part of the golden generation group, prefering to keep to her own for reasons I am not quite clear on. Nevertheless, she accepts my request and we soon find ourselves in her personal quarters. Her favorite color is pale blue. And white. Perhaps the intense study of a specific branch of magic comes with a measure of distortion, although it might be difficult to measure. Constantine enjoys chains and binding and he is stuck up. I am decent at blood magic and I like blood. Something to explore later, I suppose. I follow Margaret in her personal office and watch her realize too late that it is covered with confidential reports. ¡°Should we retire to the salon instead?¡± ¡°Hm, yes.¡± I follow her yet again to a boudoir, in which I find a coffee table covered in confidential reports, as well as a folded cardigan and an empty cup. ¡°I take it you do not receive much?¡± I ask, teasingly. Margaret glares and blushes at the same time. I give her some time to clean up and sit, making myself comfortable. A distinctively flustered woman sits across from me. I lean forward and suddenly she remembers what I am. I will never tire of it. The White Cabal knows what I am and what I can do, or rather, they do not but it makes no difference from their perspective. At night, like now, none of them stand a chance. Because of my appearance, they often forget and treat me like any other caster, challenging me on the floor for more precise answers. They lower their defenses. I am a person. Then we are alone and they remember. I do not completely hide my aura as it would be quite rude, and there is a coldness in there that chills them to their bones if they pay attention. Even Margaret is not immune. For all of her mastery, she is still warm flesh and blood while I am not. I smile lightly. There is no need to intimidate her. ¡°I have come bearing a proposal. I wish to perform a trade.¡± ¡°A trade?¡± ¡°I wish to learn Polaris.¡± Margaret scoffs, first dismissive yet soon suspicious. Polaris was Frost¡¯s signature spell, one so powerful it froze the entire arm of the Scourge Hive¡¯s main host. Even Constantine acknowledged the incredible power it took to wield this sorcery without killing everyone around him, a testament to the old codger¡¯s incredible control. I want it. ¡°I thought you had little affinity for ice.¡± ¡°Things have changed.¡± Margaret licks her lips, careful in her response. When she speaks, her tone is slow and deliberate. ¡°Polaris is my grandfather¡¯s legacy and lifework. It is not just extremely complex, it also represents everything he stands for. I do not even allow the White Cabal to access it, though I shared the rest of his spellbook. You cannot possibly think that¡­ my God. What is that?¡± While she refused me, I removed a small chest from a bag and placed it on the table, opening it to reveal a frozen ruby shaped like an icicle. Immediately, the temperature drops. Margaret extends a greedy hand but I seize her wrist before she can touch the object. ¡°Careful, it will freeze your finger off.¡± She blinks, suddenly remembering where we are. ¡°Where did you find that thing?¡± ¡°In the heart of a frozen corpse, one who bore the gift of winter. You will not find a better focus on Earth.¡± ¡°Incredible.¡± ¡°I will throw in a few shards of eternal ice so you can make yourself a nice gauntlet.¡± She stares at me, calculating. ¡°Can you not make a gauntlet with it?¡± She asks. ¡°I already have gauntlets and they suit me well.¡± ¡°I mean for me.¡± I tut loudly, closing the treasure¡¯s lid. ¡°Would you like me to help you dress and pomade your posterior as well while you are at it? Contact the Dvergur. They will build it for you.¡± Margaret whines and grumbles, but we both know she is interested. ¡°If I were to show you how to cast it, you cannot teach it to anyone else.¡± ¡°I assure you, my intentions are purely selfish.¡± ¡°Good, wait, no, ugh. You didn¡¯t consent!¡± ¡°I consent. I will not teach anyone else, nor will I help anyone else develop it through tips or advice.¡± ¡°Fine. Just Polaris, not the rest of his library?¡± ¡°Just Polaris.¡± The truth is that the fae blood did not turn me into a gifted caster. It will take years of effort for me to learn the spell. I am still going through what Sinead and my sire gave me. I have no need to add more situational hexes to my repertory. ¡°Ugh, the rest of the Cabal will be livid when they learn about it.¡± ¡°There is no need for that. It can be our little secret,¡± I tell her as I lean forward with a gentle smile. For some reason, it does not comfort her. *** Ah, the Atlantic ocean, with the fresh wind upon my face and a healthy reserve of good novels, coffee, and some more private reading. I smile and enjoy the speed of the as it cleaves the waters. I even get the immense pleasure of seeing Sinead miffed. Glorious night! ¡°Must I?¡± he grumbles, readjusting his hat. ¡°What is the first rule of the sea?¡± I bellow, making the Likaean jump and eliciting an immediate, well-rehearsed response from the cabin boy. ¡°Tricorns are mandatory, except for the chef, ma¡¯am!¡± ¡°Indeed.¡± ¡°Did you actually make it into a rule? Wait, did you make more rules?¡± Sinead asks, suddenly suspicious. I am so glad he asked. ¡°Boy, what is the third rule of the sea?¡± ¡°There are only two types of ships, targets, and targets of opportunity, ma¡¯am!¡± ¡°Seventh rule! If it is bearing down on us, what is it?¡± ¡°An enemy warship, ma¡¯am!¡± ¡°What if it is too small?¡± ¡°A boarding craft, ma¡¯am!¡± ¡°Smaller?¡± ¡°A torpedo, ma¡¯am!¡± ¡°Good lad.¡± ¡°How many rules have you made?¡± Sinead asks, somewhat amazed. ¡°You can join the crew of the Dread Pirate Ariane, Queen of the Sea and find out.¡± ¡°Do I also get my cute cabin boy?¡± he asks with a teasing smile. ¡°No,¡± I reply with a toothier one, ¡°you get to be the cabin boy.¡± ¡°Touch¨¦. Now, are you sure about¡­ your guest?¡± ¡°Yes. He defended me against the Order of the Knights. I am certain that he will not begrudge me this little escapade, even though our objective is in Eneru hands. I selected it specifically among the list you provided.¡± ¡°Any reason?¡± ¡°It belongs to Nina of the Dvor.¡± ¡°I have not yet had the privilege of being acquainted.¡± ¡°She is a bitch.¡± ¡°I see.¡± ¡°She tried to bully me and stealing her belongings will bring me great amounts of satisfaction.¡± ¡°Understandable.¡± ¡°In the meanwhile, you and your merry band of outcasts are going to do something for me.¡± Sinead is on guard. In fact, I have not seen him so careful in a long while. Even being shot at by ruffians did not generate this amount of stress. Delightful. ¡°My Sinead, are the waves not to your liking? Does the Prince of Summer favor small ponds?¡± ¡°I have many ways to escape while on land. Here, I am trapped. Are you not concerned?¡± ¡°No, I am trapped by the sunlight every dawn. This is a Dvergur-made warship. Whatever it cannot outrun, it can sink. In fact, it can both sink and outrun all but the sturdier ships of the line.¡± ¡°Are you done gushing?¡± ¡°All of my ship voyages have gone well, while taking the train has led me from disaster to catastrophe.¡± I stop, frowning. I have been intercepted twice and derailed once while riding the train. Is it a cursed method of transportation? Perhaps Metis punished me for cheating by calling bad luck upon my unworthy head. Hmmm. ¡°I would like to know what, exactly, you intend us to do.¡± ¡°Simple.¡± I explain in great detail the plan I have in mind, including some of the details I managed to obtain from a French immigrant. The details remain sketchy due to distance but it does not seem to deter Sinead. He laughs, and laughs, and laughs. *** It starts as a rumor, then spreads all over the newspaper of Europe in a wave of outrage and awe. Gossips and officers babble and exclaim, baffled by this most peculiar of heists. The mind boggles. Who would commit such a bizarre crime? Who would steal such a curious object? Why, only the best paramour in the world of course. *** The (mark three) moors in the port of Trieste on November 12th, 1870, under a Maltese flag. This time, I enjoy the city¡¯s neo-classical and baroque architecture as I stroll through the Austrian quarter. I take a midnight walk on the and enjoy this extraordinary sea-front square. I draw the Dolomite Mountains from the Piazza Venezia as they disappear under low clouds charged with snow. I sup on a drunken sailor. Ah, to tour the world free of concerns. That would be the life. Perhaps one day when the list of people who want me dead has considerably shortened, I shall indulge. Alas, the holiday must soon end. The three Likaeans who will be my accomplices and I travel north under disguise. I have to grant it to Sinead: he is an extraordinary guide. Where I before enjoyed the administrative and logistical power of the vampire alliances, here my comfort comes from the man¡¯s incredible charisma. There is no paperwork he cannot obtain, no frontier guard he cannot coddle or bribe. I do not even have to resort to charm once during the entire trip. In fact, there is little for me to do except keeping a disguise and enjoying my evenings. We frequently invite ourselves to parties and events. Sinead even wins a poetry contest with a raunchy sonnet about a Russian maid and a train driver in some border town. Although I expected cloaks and daggers, it turns out that I spend most of the trip with brush and canvas. A pleasant development. We arrive at Torran¡¯s castle one fine autumn night, finding it empty. The forests around Errenstadt have put on their fiery fall dresses. His manor juts over the sea of reds and browns in all its pale glory. I do find his Servant Nadia present, and she welcomes me with guarded respect. When I expose my idea, her pleasure and amusement reflect mine, and we soon free a rarely used reception room on the first floor for our little project. The prize of the theft is brought and reassembled there to everyone¡¯s merriment, despite the engineering challenge it poses. Besides Sinead, Makyas of the court of Keyhole is also present, as well as a Likaean I had never met from the Court of Shadows. He is a strange man with a hooked nose, very tall and painfully thin, who answers to ¡®Mr. Elusive¡¯. I forget about his existence if he has not manifested himself in a while. The worst thing is that it is not an attack on my mind. He merely fails to make an impression. I find it aggravating. Nevertheless, the trio of fae has retreated to the village and its inn while I remain sole guest at the castle. As for Sivaya, she will not take part in the heist. She remains a researcher with little taste for the violent and the noisy. Her loss. On the night Torran returns, I wait for him in the room and hail as soon as his thunderous aura returns. I find the annoyance in his powerful presence titillating, especially when it turns to eagerness and curiosity when he identifies my own. His steps lead him to the room I occupy, then to my gift. His eyes find me, then find the prize and his face turns into a beautiful ¡®o¡¯ of surprise. It is not every day one floors a lord. Torran grips the wall with a hand, stumbling. He shakes a finger at my loot. He has not quite recovered. I am filled with an immense amount of pride. Torran lurches to the seat and almost collapses on it. He runs his long fingers over the keys with amorous jealousy. He slowly places his hand in the proper place and pushes down softly. The organ sings. With religious attention, my lover places his feet on the pedal while he delicately pulls and pushes knobs on the side, apparently designed to produce various effects. When he is done, the first bars of Bach¡¯s Tocatta and Fugue in D minor fill the valley. I smile gently. He can be so old-fashioned, sometimes. I watch in silence as he plays, fingers closed, swaying with the rhythm. He is so alive right now. In fact, two bloody tears fall down his cheek. I oblige and lean forward. It tastes a little salty and a little bloody and it transports what passes for my soul until my black heart beats again and my lungs gulp the air. Blood rushes to my cheeks. I vibrate with every note, feeling the echo of his pleasure down my spine. He is happy. Genuinely, truly, unambiguously happy. His fingers now dance over the ivory keys like the steps of ballerinas, then they press down imperiously, then they jump and stab down like dueling swords as the music requires. Seconds turn to minutes then to hours as he explores his gift. I place my head over his shoulder and I let him. Hours later, we walk in silence to the balcony and watch the night die, then retire to his room for a tender tryst. Worth it. Alas, all good things must come to an end. After a night of fun comes the inevitable questions? What am I doing here, and why have I returned to Europe secretly and very, very illegally? Indeed, the existence of traveling papers only protects me insofar as I notify the concerned faction in advance that I will visit their land. Unfortunately, it would be foolish of me to do so seeing as I intend to rob them of their strategic assets and ¡ª if Sinead delivers ¡ª start a war. Torran is understandably unamused when I inform him that I am here for covert reasons. I do not share the details with him so he can maintain plausible deniability, which means that from his perspective I am being most unwise. I hesitate, but Torran leans towards me. I have grown used to the fact that vampires see relationships as fleeting things. I meet Torran once every blue moon and do not expect him to stay celibate. Vampire couples do not move together, do not create families together, and we have no legal stake in the whole process. One can hardly be blamed for not promising themselves to each other ¡®until death do us part¡¯ when it could happen in three centuries. Even the crustiest immortal can change quite a bit in that time frame. We are also fundamentally selfish creatures driven by instinct. Regardless, there are still customs one should observe as a sign of respect. We do not bring a lover on our paramour¡¯s territory. It is simply not done. Torran appears surprised and perhaps a little offended. I have no obligation to let Torran know, and yet could I truly distrust someone who went against the knights to save my life? Never, I owe him too much. And he swore. *** The introduction between Torran and the fae is glacial. More specifically, Torran ignores Makyas and Mr. Elusive to focus on Sinead with raptor-like intensity. Similarly, the Prince of Summer stands with the poise of a duellist, right foot slightly forward. The pair glare at each other for a few seconds in the deserted inn¡¯s room. Mr Elusive scurries away. Makyas winks. His lips form the words ¡®drama queen¡¯. A complete fabrication. ¡°My, what delicious guests.¡± ¡°Torran. Play nice please,¡± I whisper, but he pays no heed. ¡°Charming little hamlet you have here. Very pastoral,¡± Sinead replies. The two men glare holes into each other. ¡°Are you two done? What is going on? Alright, you have met each other, now let¡¯s go, Torran.¡± I drag my lover outside, feeling quite awkward about the whole affair. I assure the old lord. Torran stops me. Ah, he still cares. S?a?ch* Th? ?0velF?re.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. *** The time for planning has come. ¡°Our target is one of three blood fortresses the Eneru possess in Europe. The holding facilities are located in the Hohenwald basin in the Austrian Alps, a small depression surrounded by mountains on all sides but one. All of the surrounding hamlets are fully under Eneru control, and all travelers will be reported to local enforcers as soon as they are spotted. As such, we will need to make our approach in secrecy. As for the fortress itself, we have limited information.¡± I watch Sinead place his fists on the table in an unusual display of vulnerability. ¡°I have observed the place myself during an extremely risky trek three years ago. There is a single approach to the fortress on an exposed path filled with runes, guards, and defensive constructs. By observing the comings and goings of convoys, I have determined that access to the fortress is scheduled well in advance, with plenty of seals and permissions. I believe we will not be able to pass as reinforcements. Their security is top-notch for such a lowly realm. Our best chance is to scale the mountain from the back, which will pose problems of their own. There are defensive measures there of a nature I do not know, then the scaling itself on an ice-encrusted wall. After we manage to get in, our objective is three-fold.¡± Sinead unfolds a parchment. A spell emerges from its depth, deploying over the table in a shower of lights. A miniature, ghostly fortress now stands before us in ethereal blue lights. I study the construct with interest. The body of the fortress was built on rock hanging over a forest of pine trees. The only path leads to a barbican, then over a chasm into a narrow inner court. The main keep is a rectangle, blockish and ominous edifice of large stones. A small flower garden on the balcony overlooking the court provides the only concession to life I can see. Even the windows are designed not to let anyone larger than a child pass. As for the roof, it appears to be well-patrolled and locked tight. ¡°How did you get a view of the roof?¡± I ask. ¡°I climbed the mountain and used binoculars,¡± Sinead replies. I must admit to some surprise, as I had never seen Sinead so serious even once in my life. Even his usual quips have disappeared. The man before me is focused and determined. The only Likaean influence remaining comes from the magic he uses to let us see our target. ¡°As I said, the objective is three-fold. First, we must recover the Soul of the Storm from the keep¡¯s guardian golem. We need this, for it is one of the only stones in the world that can contain the energies of the ritual. The others are just as protected as this one, and if the vampires discover that we are after them, our task will only become more difficult.¡± A stone appears in front of us. It is black and carved into a teardrop with white lines crossing it like thunderbolts on a midnight sky. Pretty, I suppose, and quite powerful. ¡°I have prepared this approximation based on the memories of one of the guards who saw it. We will first work on obtaining it from the golem bay, near the entrance.¡± A red dot appears at the base of the main structure. ¡°Our second objective is to recover the documents showing the current distribution and locations of the captive fae. It will allow us to start the war.¡± ¡°How?¡± I ask, surprised. ¡°Eneru has broken the treaty that ended the last war. I am going to provide Mask with an opportunity they cannot ignore.¡± ¡°Are you certain?¡± ¡°Trust me, poppet, I was pitting powerful idiots against each other long before you were born. It will work. As for the third objective, it is optional: the rescue of the imprisoned Likaeans. As much as I dislike leaving them in the hands of their torturers, saving our kin is not a priority. We already have enough resources to complete the ritual. I would go so far as to say that we should not free them unless we are already noticed, and need a distraction. As for how they are guarded, the sentry I interrogated did not know. We only have limited information about the inside, which gives us far too many points of failure. Nevertheless, the attack remains our best option. There are some things I was about to learn and it relates to the staff and alarms.¡± ¡°Can we expect vampires?¡± ¡°Yes, in fact there will be at least one, a master with a strong tendency for corporal punishment. The sentry hinted that he thought the man was insane. Besides that, there could be visiting Eneru, come to replace their blood vials. Unfortunately, we have no way to find out in advance.¡± ¡°What about regular troops?¡± ¡°About twenty soldiers, twelve staff members, and five mages including one whose only role is to call for help if the alarm rings.¡± ¡°We should eliminate the messenger if we get the chance,¡± I say. ¡°Yes. In fact, if the alarm triggers and he calls for reinforcement, we must abandon the plan and flee as fast as we can because all of Eneru will come for us.¡± ¡°Security features?¡± ¡°Many, many wards. Fortunately, the staff often changes so everyone carries keys tuned to the defenses, allowing free passage between the different rooms. We will have to¡­ liberate them. As for the golem, they are an unknown.¡± ¡°I will handle it,¡± I say with confidence. ¡°As much as possible, we should complete the first objective before being spotted or all is lost.¡± ¡°The lack of intelligence on the inside presents many unknowns,¡± I comment, concerned. ¡°Any chance for a diversion?¡± ¡°It will be worse. You are not facing mortals, Ariane. The fortress will go on high alert at the first irregularity. You can also expect the soldiers not to take any chances. If they spot something unusual, they will trigger the alert first and investigate later. There will be no room for mistakes. For now, I would like everyone to discuss possible plans and options. Ariane, you had something for us?¡± With a nod, I reach under that table for one of my special chests. The interior reveals quite a few goodies I have made and acquired over the years. I have built most of them myself. ¡°Very well gentlemen. Shall we?¡± Chapter 174: Grand Theft Faerie My feet land on snow without a sound and I take a deep breath. It smells of cold and of pine sap. The air is crisp with only the lightest wind.Tonight is a good night. Fluffy clouds cover the sky, not yet heavy with snow yet thick enough to protect our progress from the view of mortals. The forest here is dense and wild. The trees count their age in centuries. We are but trespassers. Truly, we are trespassers not just in the forest but in the entire valley. A village far to our right is populated with loyalists willing to die for the local Dvor. Even birds could be spies. As such, we move in silence which spares me Sinead¡¯s constant grumblings. The poor lad does not enjoy this ¡®season of savages¡¯ very much. As for me, I wear the fae armor I was gifted. The teal-colored ribbons still flow freely from my shoulder blades, the skirt is still ethereal and blue as before, and the silvery plates still stick snugly to my form in a shimmering waterfall of enchanted metal. The entire effect is somewhat ruined by the heavy bag I carry on my back. I simply could not be caught dead unequipped on such a difficult operation. A part of me wishes I had the solid slab of eternal ice between my heart and enemy blades, not this skimpy thing. Alas, it would be best if I remained anonymous, clad in a foreign garment that emits no aura. Anonymous, or at least, plausibly deniable. Similarly, I have altered my traits to appear more elfin and gave myself preposterous silver hair and pink eyes. The effect on my companions, at least, was noticeable. My new appearance intimidates them. Behind me, the two, ah no wait, three fae move with various degrees of grace. Makyas seemingly floats above the pristine surface while Sinead struggles a bit. There was someone else? Ah yes, Mr Elusive. Curse that sinister beanstalk and his strange magic. I hope it works on the enemies as well as it does on me. As I move on, a hole in the wall of frozen pines gives me a glimpse of our destination. The fortress is just as ominous and monolithic as Sinead¡¯s image led me to believe. I signal the others and we quickly convene. ¡°From here on, not a word,¡± I tell them in child Likaean. ¡°We use sign language only. If you absolutely need to say something complex, inform me at once.¡± They all nod before I am done talking. Sometimes, I feel like they are indulging me though at least they certainly treat the situation seriously. I can never know what they think. Our procession continues. We are entering the woods the Erewald vampires set up to protect their otherworldly blood sources. The bloodline consists of druids and gardeners. The place is undoubtedly trapped. The question is how? Scouting would only increase the likelihood of discovery, so we will go in blind and be vigilant. As we move on, the shadows grow and the woods go deeper. Trunks expand in size until some of the coniferous around us reach a prodigious size. Ancient spider webs extend in crystal shawls across the low boughs, their makers long since frozen. Nothing, absolutely nothing, comes to mar the pristine surface of the snow, no bird tracks, no paw prints. We are the first to walk there since the last snowfall. I look up and down, searching for traps or spies and finding none. I fail to detect even the tiniest heartbeat beyond that, muted, of my partners-in-crime. At a loss, I take out a measurement tool and point it down. It has the appearance of a sphere and its function is to reveal traps, pitfalls, and enchantments. There are no holes I can find. Thorough inspections show no signs of gargoyles or golems or permanent constructs designed to spot intruders. I feel myself growing paranoid. Why is nothing happening? And then I feel it. At first, just a susurrus at the edge of my essence, it grows and appears like a distant choir whose voices I mistook for the wind. It slithers in the still air until I recognize the dark bark for what it is, cursing myself because it might be too late. This is the Nightmare forest. I stop because for one instant, the night has grown too deep for this world, but then the moment passes and I can see the clouds again. This is bad. I hold a fist and the others gather around me, all two, wait, no, three of them. A small circle later and all sound is trapped inside, causing our voices to echo strangely. ¡°We are near the Nightmare forest. I do not know how but I can feel it. We could get lost.¡± ¡°Place between places, leading to a plane between planes,¡± Mr Elusive confirms. It might have been the first time he spoke. I am not entirely sure myself. His voice carries a raspy note, and it feels distant as well. As if it had been born by the wind from over the next valley. ¡°This is the trap, but I do not know how to bypass it with certainty. We are beyond the scope of what I expected for alarms.¡± ¡°This plane is bound to you,¡± Mr Elusive says again. ¡°You can guide us out.¡± ¡°How would I do that?¡± ¡°Seek out. And guide us there,¡± the strange being replies still in awkward Child Likaean. I understand that he is struggling to convey a complex meaning in a language that was not designed for it. The Likaeans have an entire branch of language dedicated to magic, one that human speech lacks completely. He is simply struggling to help me understand something for which I have no point of reference. ¡°The, ah, wavelength of this world and the liminal forest plane are different, poppet. As someone bound to both, you are our best hope to, hmm, disentangle them. Find us a way through. Find the fortress.¡± He waits patiently until I finally nod. ¡°This task is not complex but it is unfamiliar,¡± he continues. ¡°We have many such pathfinders among our ranks. Being certain is more important than being fast, here. I want you to take your time. We will not be lost until we start moving.¡± ¡°The place is stable,¡± Mr Elusive adds. I am not so sure. Or rather, something shakes at the edge of my perception. There are more dangers here than simply being lost. Nevertheless, I close my eyes and try to get a better sense of my surroundings. The fortress is out there, it really is. I have seen its murder holes, perceived the dull lights of its selfish lanterns. I just have to find it. It exists for sure. S?a?ch* Th? N0v?lFir?.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. Slowly, I get accustomed to the taste of the world. My native one is stable and almost mineral in its antediluvian existence, an old, rigid relative who only moves when compelled to. By comparison, the other fleets and touches. It barely has more substance than a light air current. One that carries the scents of the night. The two lie intertwined here, but some trees live more in one realm than in the other. I glance around and find two that belong to earth close, their branches crossing over us. ¡°Every arch is a gate,¡± Sinead whispers. His voice bears a slight tremor. Something is wrong. The wind has stopped. We might be closer than I expected. I confess that those Erenwald crafters certainly wove an exquisite trap. I must take every precaution to prevent us from being lost. What can I do to increase our chances? Symbols. I need symbols. I sigh. ¡°Sinead, please take my right hand.¡± To his credit, he obeys without sass. He must be feeling the severity of the situation. Makyas then Mr. Elusive add themselves to the chain while I call a ball of light. ¡°Nu Sarrehin.¡± The purple radiance shines the way, and I move forward with confident steps despite my fear. An arch, a door. We have to be getting closer. I find another such arch going in the right direction and lead us there. I cannot see the fortress right now but I remember where it was compared to us. It will have to be enough. We make progress, but now the silence has grown oppressive and I am concerned about why. The purple radiance of my light spell bobs with every step as I move forward, bringing us close to the exit, of that I am sure. I can finally spot some clouds in the canopy¡¯s breaks. My concern is no longer getting out, it is getting out on time. After all, a light in a forest is sure to attract attention. We almost make it. Almost, but not quite. Just as I catch a glimpse of frost-covered walls, heavy stomps break the silence. My first reaction is relief, as I recognize hooves and I even go so far as to curse myself for my absent-mindedness. I was so focused on secrecy that I forgot to ask Metis for help! My elation lasts for the blink of an eye. Metis is quiet unless she wants to make an impression, but even at her most intimidating, she never comes close to that level. Those are the impacts I expect from one of Constantine¡¯s golems. I spot mirages and shadows first, an image broken as if seen through a shattered mirror, but finally our pursuer appears between us and our exit. It is not quite a horse. If Sinead described a Nightmare to a demented fae who had never seen the animal, then asked them to recreate the beast with shadows, roots, and shards of obsidian, this is what it would look like. In fact, it would be a miniature of the entity now barring our way, for I could walk between its powerful limbs without bending. More concerning, I cannot assess its power. At all. Two silvery orbs like moonlight reflected on tar bore into me. I cannot detect any essence, not even a smidgen of magic. It has no scent either. Is something wrong with me? I turn back to the three fae, now as unmoving as statues and obviously worried. Prey. Prey. Prey, but cute. Everything is in order. I turn back to the shard, elephant-sized Nightmare. Nothing. Troublesome. It tilts its head. I cannot tell what it wants. I cannot read it. No, wait, I can. Slowly, I call upon the little Erenwald essence I have, undoubtedly one of my least used abilities. I still cannot tell much, but I can tell that it is¡­ inspecting us. Perhaps expecting something. Before I can reflect more, a second step of hooves crunch on the snow. This one is more familiar, and a moment later, Metis trots by my side. She shakes her head and snorts. The thing does not move, and neither do we. I think¡­ I can tell. I say. The creature''s attention lands on me. Before, it was looking. Now, it is paying attention. Metis takes a step forward and her small saddlebag, the only one she tolerates, bumps against my shoulder. The massive creature takes one heavy step forward and waits. Taking it as a sign of agreement, I move forward and grab the blade of my axe. It is not a good tool, but the handful of throwing knives I have discharge their effects on impact, and that would be quite unpleasant. The cut gives me more pain than I expected, but soon dark blood pools in my palm. I present it to the creature. Rather than licking it, it breathes in, and the black pool disappears. Next is the offering of flesh. I grab in the saddlebag and find a caramelized pig ear. The creature¡¯s head moves down, a horror of black stones and sharp angles. An ethereal fog bubbles behind some of the plates, and I detect no flesh at all. I take a step back, my end fulfilled. The creature head¡¯s slowly, slowly turns to Sinead. I say. The deal was safe passage. It knows. NO PLAYING WITH WORDS. It takes a step forward, and the tip of Rose comes to rest under where the throat would be. Metis¡¯ hooves stomp the ground. I say again, I flare my aura. ¡°DO NOT TRY ME. DO NOT PLAY COY WITH A DEVOURER.¡± The creature¡¯s focus returns to me. I bare my fangs. No games. And it turns into a Nightmare. The shift is seamless. One moment, I face a spiky abomination born by the opiated dreams of a suicidal wretch, and the next I follow a large horse, a humongous horse, but a horse nonetheless, outside of the forest. The titanic beast stops at the bottom of the cliff upon which our destination rests and turns around, disappearing into a dense copse. I turn to Metis with love and curiosity. I ask with some trepidation. In lieu of answers, the best pony lowers her head and bumps my posterior. I pull two ears from the bag and offer them one after the other because she is the best dread pony and that weird large one was slightly dishonest, so it gets less and that is final. She bumps against me one last time and leaves, again in silence. Good Metis. In the meanwhile, the Likaeans have remained quiet and focused. I nod and receive nods in return. They are ready to proceed. We should not speak. I take out spikes and Sinead grabs a rope so thin it might as well be a string. We fasten it to our belts and I climb first, planting the pitons, as those spikes are called, deep into the ice. My natural strength is enough for the task and those are enchanted for maximum adherence. The Likaeans have gloves that help them scale the smooth surface but I end up carrying most of their weight, which is fine. Stamina is not an issue for me while their night is still young. After a slow but uneventful climb, we reach the first true stone. I stop, but Sinead bids me go higher. I only feel a tug on the rope as we reach the first window, or rather the first murder hole so thin I could not pass my arm through it. Glass covers it, but behind I see the flickering orange of an open flame. The detection tool reveals no particular enchantments and for good reason. Enchantments can be set up but it still takes a mage to recharge them. Each one increases the burden on those in charge of the upkeep. Even the most paranoid defenders would not place powerful wards on every stone wall, so finding no defenses here does not surprise me considering the trap outside. I do expect security measures once we are inside, however. I silently cast an enchantment and a small hole opens, revealing the interior. We have found the laundry room. Makyas salutes us mockingly. I hear the flutter of wings and, suddenly, he is inside. I had nothing to do with it. Truly, the power of the Likaeans is increasing lately, even if they are still limited to parlor tricks. With our first infiltration done, I keep climbing. Makyas is our poisoner, or so he claims. His task is to find the kitchen which, even at that time, has warm drinks for the men and women on patrol. Sinead assures me that he will not be noticed, and I have no reason to doubt. He has been dodging my kin for decades. It should be fine. My ascent continues and we reach the next level. This time, the windows are dark and I peer into an administrative area. Time to let Mr. Elusive in. I focus and call upon a rather complex spell, one that I learnt from the Knights of all people. The stone flows and expands. The magic would be more taxing if I did not have immense reserves, and I manage to keep the spell under control as well as discrete. Mr Elusive ¡ª I frown. I glare at Sinead. What were we doing here? He points up. Oh yes, there we go. I make sure to leave the pitons dug as deep as they can go, even if they bite into the stone. The rope is almost invisible from above and will be used as an emergency exit should the worst come to pass. The next level is only one below the roof. The fortress only has three floors with windows for added security, and this will be our point of ingress. A summary inspection reveals access to an armory. I am about to get in when Sinead places his gloved hand on mine and shakes his head. He signs ¡®alarm¡¯ and ¡®door¡¯. Oh yes, the armory will be locked from the outside and this one will have magical protection without a doubt. I am also unwilling to cast the wall-piercing spell closer to mages and without several yards of granite between us. It would be best to find another entrance. Without a noise, I move left to the nearest entrance and lodge the last piton on the battlement jutting out, just above me. I hear a nearby heartbeat. There are sentries there, unaware of the daring intruders under their feet. Let us keep it that way. We have found the dormitories. The next window leads into a small room with two beds and wardrobes. Forms sleep in their bed. Sinead nods. This is it. I focus and cast again for what I hope is the last time. The rift widens, and widens. One of the shapes shifts in their bed. Sinead smoothly dives through and I follow a moment later. He unsheathes a dagger and stabs the man on the left in the temple. I see his dagger get in and the wound close behind with utter disbelief, yet there is no doubt that the person is quite dead. His cell companion soon shares the same fate. The blade leaves no visible wound behind and even the smell of loose bowels fails to occur. The only sign that our foes have met their demise is the absence of breath. I am as impressed by his tool as by his ruthlessness. We used the euphemism ¡®disable¡¯ or ¡®neutralize¡¯ during the planning phase. It appears that my friend wishes to leave no survivors. It is¡­ acceptable. The two men do not look like locals. One of them was clearly of Slavic descent, though this is the best estimate I can make from the man¡¯s features. I find uniforms among their belongings, in light green. They wield pistols loaded with silver bullets and enchanted short swords. I noticed rifles in the armory, so their upstairs colleagues might have additional equipment. We also find rectangle metal cards I use to deactivate their door¡¯s seal. Sinead follows me out into a corridor decorated with tapestries and lined with more doors, all of them locked for now. Most show two names and must be personal quarters. We follow the corridor right to an atrium decorated with large open windows leading to the balcony garden, or so I assume. The windows are currently closed and locked behind metal shutters. I can feel no less than three layers of wards here, unsurprising considering that it presents a major security risk. The atrium was designed as an entertainment area. I see a bar of sorts, couches, and a well-stocked library with books in various states. The curiosity comes from the scent in the air. I recognize tobacco and Cologne, but there is a lingering stench of potent dry blood. Its source soon becomes apparent. To the side, a cage has been placed around a single chair. ¡®Prisoners?¡¯ I sign to Sinead. He nods. We explore a bit more, but it soon turns out that the entire third floor only consists of those rooms and a few other amenities such as bathrooms. I propose to unlock the gates leading up and down using the dead guards'' chit, but Sinead stops me once again. He shows a list of people and hours stuck to a sheet of paper to the side. I frown. Does he really think that they would set the alarm to trigger if the wrong person opened the door? I examine the construct and find no such workings, but still decide to give him the benefit of the doubt when he signals me to wait. We stand there for over ten minutes in silence until a pair of guards open the door. They appear bored out of their mind. We kill them both. I do not attempt to bite them for information because I wish to keep to the Seeker of Lost Memories persona I have for as long as I can, even if it means giving up information. If the guards do not have some sort of protection in place. I would not know. As far as vampire records are concerned, the last fae-holding fortress takeover occured in fifteen ninety-eight. With the patrol disposed of, we end up in possession of various sets of key cards. I am about to take the stairs down when Sinead interrupts me yet again, still signaling to the timetable. I read some scribbles in German and realize what the canny rogue meant. Next to the name of Herr Muller, I find the orders for golem maintenance. We move back to the bedrooms with our newly acquired universal access card, find the one belonging to the poor technician and dispose of him and his neighbor. In his personal effects, we find two cards: one for golem access, and the other for golem emergency access. This immediately alerts me. Did they design the castle layout for quick golem access? I show the card to Sinead and he points back towards the garden access. We lock the door on our way out. All this skulking around feels extremely unseemly, and yet I must ignore the nagging feeling that we are improvising because we are, in fact, improvising. And we have no choice. Getting more information proved unfeasible. We must gather it now. Sinead points at something I should have noticed. I would have, if I had not been in charge of magical detection. Behind the bar lies the only carpet in the entire public area. I lift it to reveal an unadorned trapdoor. It opens with the keycard, revealing a dark shaft and some serious anti-detection enchantments. I shiver at the thought of how many burglaries my companion has committed. Impressive. Before leaving, I remove a package from my bag and place it upon the floor, following which I remove a silver needle from its flank. A light click informs me that the mechanism is armed. Sinead frowns. He tried to veto the explosives idea, but I would not have it. They have always been the great equalizer in my more lopsided fights. Some of our foes might guess it was me from the simple fact they were used, but the good thing is that they will not be able to prove it because explosives tend to erase evidence. All they will have will be suspicion. I will take this as an acceptable price for the added option. After one last glare, Sinead follows me down. I believe he might be afraid of explosives and make a note to tease him about it later. The shaft itself is dark and unlit, with only metal bars lodged in the stone facilitating the access. I stop at regular intervals to check for enchantments and find nothing beyond secret doors probably hidden on every level. We keep going down and soon reach the basement level where the shaft ends. The golem access card opens the way into a lit hangar of impressive proportions. While the rest of the castle had a distinct medieval feel, this exudes modernity. Steel beams line the ceiling, and from them hang harnesses and pulleys. Storage cabinets line the walls in tight metal ranks. I spot a workshop on one side next to a small door while monumental steps lead up to what should be the inner courtyard. The access is blocked by a trapdoor large enough to let the golem through. As for the war machine itself, it stands alone in the middle of the room. It is now that I appreciate the genius of Constantine, both in his craftsmanship but also in his ability to remember that a golem¡¯s structure is not limited by biology. The golem in front of me looks like a giant in steel armor. I estimate that it would be slow and ponderous, though powerful. Constantine prefers reversed leg articulations, a more thin and streamlined appearance, and more adaptative armament than a giant iron mace. Honestly, what a waste. My attention returns to the situation when I hear a voice coming from the last corner of the room. There, I find a house within a house, a cubicle of reinforced stone with thick glass and a heavy door. As I watch, a man in uniform exits the safe room and frowns in my direction. ¡°Muller? Was ist los?¡± I move. He dies from a fractured spine on my way to the door, which while open, is protected by a shield. I crash against it. My eyes meet those of a terrified mage. He reaches for a bulging red button. I remove three steel balls from a pocket of my bag and throw them. The shield moans under their deleterious effect, then cracks under the strain. I power through. I grab the man¡¯s hand ¡®in extremis¡¯ and break his neck as well. I had to resist the urge to bite him, which surprises me. Nevertheless, the crisis is averted. ¡°That was close,¡± I whisper to Sinead as he joins my side. ¡°And that is why you are here.¡± Ah yes, I am indeed a vampire lady. It does help. ¡°This booth appears to be the center of the fortress¡¯ defense,¡± Sinead declares. His amber eyes inspect every piece of equipment in the tiny room. There is the large red button, but also mirrors that show the outside of the fortress: the courtyard, the garden, the gate, and the top of the barbican. ¡°We are fortunate that there are so few of them,¡± I observe. ¡°Although it makes sense since their main enemies are vampires and surveillance devices do not catch us.¡± ¡°They do not?¡± Sinead asks, surprised. ¡°No, but it would not have mattered here since you were with me. We were wise not to attempt the garden entrance given what I have seen. Oh, the sentries on the barbican are still awake.¡± ¡°There should be around ten guards awake at this time of the night. We have eliminated four. Two patrol the barbican and two others should patrol the roof. It leaves one patrol, possibly on the first floor or outside. Makyas might have been successful in putting them to sleep.¡± ¡°Then only the master is left. But first, I will deactivate the alarms,¡± I say, examining the desks around me. ¡°I will retrieve the soul of the storm, then.¡± Sinead removes pliers and other items from his own bag and walks to the golem. As for me, I am left severing the nerve cord linking this antenna of the Eneru alliance from the rest. They will quickly notice that the fortress is non-responsive, but we will hopefully be long gone by the time they send reinforcement. The long-range communication mirror hangs from the back wall, surrounded by enchantments. I consider just destroying it, then reconsider. Since I have a few minutes, I can sabotage instead. The unfortunate sod who will next attempt to activate it will receive a mouthful of crystal shards for their trouble. It might also look like a malfunction from the other side. With vicious glee, I cut a few lines and extend another to create a power loop, which will destabilize and quickly destroy the mirror. My misdeed completed, I recenter my attention on Sinead. The rogue deftly plucks our prize from the golem¡¯s exposed mechanism as I watch. He places the pearl carefully in a small box. Our main objective is complete. And nothing went wrong! What an auspicious start. We could even leave now if we wanted, but I know Sinead. He will want to attempt to free the Likaeans if possible. Despite his apparent detachment, I remember the anger he showed at the thought of his kin being treated like cattle. The small door should lead to them. I point at it and the Prince of Summer nods with determination. The golem access keycard opens the path. We next enter a storage space for important pieces, including repair equipment and magical supplies. This is a mage armory, of sorts. The next exit leads down a flight of helical stairs. As we descend, I feel it. Misery has a way of sticking to the walls with the echoes of unending hopelessness. The air tastes of salt and regret, of lost time. Of death. We are entering a place of deep and enduring suffering, an agony so intense it has marked the place. Blood magic will work well here. It even smells like blood when we reach the landing, and the cause is easy to find. Beyond a glass pane, we find the bleeding room. The window is reinforced yet also perfectly transparent. It gives us a perfect view of the manacles, the tables, and the alchemical supplies required to draw then conserve that most potent of essence. Although the premises have been cleaned to a maniacal degree, a powerful perfume of anguish wafts through the reinforced door that bars our path. Unfortunately, none of the keys we have grant us access. ¡°I can break through, but it will trigger an alarm,¡± I inform Sinead with a whisper. He leans towards me and I catch his much more pleasant scent. It distracts me until I almost miss his next words. ¡°We should be fine for the alarm itself, but what about sound?¡± I inspect the enchantment and realize that the alarm is, in fact, silent. All the better to catch a careless intruder off guard. A strand goes deeper into the facility, however. ¡°No, but I suspect the vampire will be alerted. This is it.¡± Sinead barely stops. ¡°Do it.¡± The time for stealth has passed. I hope Makyas will be fine, though there should be very few threats left in the fortress. I open my bag to remove a dedicated piece of equipment, an enchanted tool designed to fragilize both the magical and the mundane at the place of effect, all while allowing me to make use of my great strength. Some uncharitable luddite might call it a runed crowbar but they would only show their ignorance and complete lack of decorum. It is, in fact, an advanced piece of arcane engineering. Or de-engineering. In any case, I place the flat end against the lock and dig. With a terrible shriek of twisted metal, it gives in. Sinead and I wait for a few seconds within the bleeding chamber, but no one comes to stop us. ¡°Farther in,¡± Sinead whispers. I take the lead. The next gate is by far the most imposing in the entire fortress. Several layers of steel and silver block our path, yet before we can inspect it or rummage the room for credentials, it opens. The coppery taste of spent essence assails me, then come the sounds of frantic hearts beating too fast to bring thin blood where it is needed, a constant effort that will never seize for spent blood barely regenerates before it is harvested again. No moans break the calm before the storm, no complaints. The people inside are beyond despair. Even when I was under the thumb of Lady Moor and we kept cattle in cages like animals, we still did not treat them like those fae are treated. Rows of cages with just a thin bed and a pot. No curtains, no intimacy of any kind. There are no personal effects in any of them, just different scratches on the walls, different marks on the unyielding bars. Light is dim and red, provided by a magical lamp drilled in the high ceiling. Their inhabitants all share the same elfin traits and peculiar traits as the Likaeans I have met so far, but they are all sickly. Broken. Lying where they are in thin shifts. The most shocking detail is the cleanliness. It must take a lot of effort to keep such a corrupted place spotless, and yet there are no marks beyond the wear and tear. A colossal amount of attention and efforts are dedicated to making this atrocity as clinical as possible. I am disgusted and impressed in equal measure. And the architect behind this grand horror stands in the midst of it, next to a pillory and a strange board. He wears a full plate armor revealing his face and the dark blood staining his pale cheeks. Short blond hair covers his scalp, and his jaw is locked in an expression of barely controlled rage. His blue eyes stare into mine, and in there I find a raging hatred that only death can end. It only takes me an instant to realize what has happened. Killed. We killed. We have killed a Vassal. At least. I suppress the deep-seated feeling of horror gouging my chest. We have CAUSED THE UNFORGIVABLE. No, it was not my design. It was¡­ my side. What have I done? No, I would have felt it. Then¡­ Makyas? Anger and horror war in my chest, a feeling I keep suppressed. He must not know. Or is secrecy even necessary? I intend to kill him after all. No. The other Likaeans are watching. They could be captured again. I need to maintain the facade. I need to get it together, this was not my fault. MY FAULT. I could have anticipated this¡­ Too late. Too late, in any case. They are all watching now. ¡°A Seeker of Lost Memories¡­¡± a tall prisoner with thick black hair whispers with disbelief. the Master says as he steps forward. Only now do I notice two more details. First, he wears a cross on his chestplate, something I find abhorrent. This will prove problematic. The second is the dangling corpse of a young man with a shocking flock of green hair hanging from his right hand, and that will prove even more problematic because I have seen what a vial of essence can do and this is considerably more potent. Sinead remains at the threshold but I take a step forward then make sure that my knives are fastened. ¡°Be careful, he is drunk on power,¡± I tell Sinead, still in child Likaean. ¡°I noticed. You fight him while I free our brethren. There is no choice but to kill him. You realize that, do you not?¡± ¡°I do. I have killed a vampire for you before.¡± The fae prisoners gasp in amazement, and I realize that I should not say too much. ¡°Do you even understand the tongue? Probably not, you failed invaders. Bah, I will have to hear you begging in that incomprehensible babble. Enough of this.¡± It begins. The master charges with a roar of pain and rage. I bring my axe out and intercept him. The blow lands fairly on the axe that he himself just deployed. A soul weapon, of course. He is so angry that he has not realized that I match him yet. I have a short window, perhaps. GUILTY. No, I¡­ I miss an opportunity to slam my weapon behind his knee when his next charge misses. Enough of this. Focus, Ariane, focus. We quickly move across the room. There is no cover here, only flat ground and steel bars. And victims. Worse than cattle. A desecration of blood and THE HUNT. PATHETIC. Yes, pathetic. He does not deserve to rule over this macabre farce of a feeding ground. SHOW THE DOMINANCE OF MY WAY. A lunge of his proves to be a feint, one I do not take. He overextends and I slam my blade into his flank. He crashes against the nearest bars, armor cracked. Dark blood decorates my blade. Alas, he screams in rage and ignores the wound. It closes in front of my very eyes. Even Sivaya¡¯s baleful enchantments can do little against the regenerative power of fae blood. It will take a decisive blow or a significant amount of attrition to take him down. Our combat continues. I give ground and counter as soon as I get an opening, keeping my head cool and my aura suppressed. He is a better axe wielder than I am, but I am a much better duelist overall. His positioning is reckless and his poise leaves many, many openings. I am faster and do not need to move much anyway. It is enough to push him into blunder after blunder. I finally manage to hamstring him, causing him to fall briefly. Unfortunately, he jumps back on his intact foot before I can capitalize on it. If I were to use my full power, it would be over in two moves. That is fine. A good huntress leaves her enemy a chance to prove themselves. So far, I am not impressed. I ignore his prattle and attack in turn. His armor is now more malformed metal than true protection, with half a dozen body blows denting it beyond salvation. I just need to be PATIENT. Eventually, I smash him against a cage with a devastation counter. He hisses and grabs his key card, which was hanging from his neck. Oh no, you will not. I take a step back to avoid a wild swing, then throw a knife at his flank. He rotates to let it slide along the armor while he opens the cage, eager to consume its occupant. The dagger explodes in a cloud of silvery magic. The master screams in pain and outrage. He lurches to the side. AN OPENING. I jump in and smash the axe against his neck. It digs in¡­ but not deep enough. A blue light. I resist hissing as the taste of ash fills my mouth and I slam on the ground, dazed. Ah. I have not been punished by that one for a long, long time. I cannot say that I missed it. Picking myself up from the ground, I stand back up with no hurry. The master has not moved. Meanwhile, Sinead still frees more Likaeans. He shows every sign of shock, and I find myself appalled by his stupidity. If I were a Progenitor, he would fit in a tray right now. By the Watcher does that man love the sound of his voice! But wait¡­ yes, of course. He is drunk. I should have noticed it before, but I had never faced a drunken foe yet. He is riding the ectasy of a shameful murder. I must use this. With a grim expression, I attack him and let him bat aside my counter. I slow down. It takes some effort to dodge just by a hair, to force my strikes to fall short by the most embarrassing margin. The master helps me with his complete lack of attention. I am managing a hurricane of confused strikes and all out attacks. At a point, I am forced to capitalize on an error and crush his left arm or he would have noticed my game. This is it. He accelerates and ignores his own defense. I step back. I retreat again. We pass Sinead, busy freeing one more panicked kin. The cad does not look, but I notice his smile. The master screams one last time. I am pushed back once again, but barely. He was too far. He charges uncaring, ready to deliver the coup de grace. At the last moment, I arc my back. The soul weapon shrieks against the scales on my chest, but Sivaya¡¯s incredible craftsmanship shows its worth. The blade slides and jumps, diverted. At the same time, I throw my second knife where I knew his knee would be, the same knee I damaged earlier in the battle. My dagger finds a chink in his armor, blowing up the entire articulation. From the corner of my eye, I see the surprise when his leg fails him. The pain when he realizes why. I finish my arc and smash my axe into his wounded flank. He gasps. I jump on him and we fly across the room. Risky, but¡­ I CANNOT RESIST. A bite, as short as can be. Power. I pull back from the vision and lick my lips in delight. It was short, but by the Watcher it was good. Kalinin essence. The ability to wield the tools of religion so long as one¡¯s cause is just. I wonder what I will retain. We crash at the far end of the room. The foe is dust. Good riddance. ¡°There is no time, poppet. We must leave!¡± ¡°Yes, yes. The return to the surface is not as fast as I had hoped, even by ignoring the vampire¡¯s possessions. I still left another bomb in that accursed prison, despite the lack of urgency. That one is just for my own satisfaction. We find stairs up and end up in the inner courtyard where two bodies await, both dead. Makyas kneels by the nearest victim. He does not look relieved to see our slow procession. ¡°Do you have everything?¡± Sinead asks. The false child assents, but his expression does not relax. ¡°Is something the matter?¡± ¡°A convoy has come tonight. For new blood.¡± A chill runs down my spine. This is bad luck, and a night convoy means more vampires. At least one. ¡°When will they arrive?¡± I ask. ¡°They are already here.¡± Behind me, the massive aura of a Warlord flares. Chapter 175: The Great Escape ¡°You need to evacuate while I hold them off,¡± I tell Sinead.¡°We¡¯ll rappel down the cliff, walk along the wall. Meet at evacuation site one?¡± ¡°You got it.¡± ¡°And be careful, poppet. The plan will work without them,¡± he whispers, ¡°but not without you. You must return.¡± ¡°I will. Now go.¡± With one last nod, the Prince of Summer races out in his warm coat, herding the weakened Likaeans towards the main keep. I am left alone in the deserted, icy courtyard. Quickly, I remind myself of the basic engagement rules I set for vampire combat. First, I must absolutely keep my identity secret. Using blood magic might out me as a vampire because of the inherent potency of my spells, though I might be able to mask my aura for a few simple spells. Using Rose or my Magna Arqa will lead to an easy identification and must be saved as a last resort. Finally, being hurt will lead me to be recognized. The Vanheim essence can change my smell a little, but it will do little for spilt blood. To summarize, I need to survive a fight with a warlord without using my soul weapon, my Magna Arqa, heavy magic, and without being hurt. A completely achievable and reasonable goal. I sigh. This smooth-talking summer snack will be the end of me. Speaking of snacks, what is the warlord doing? He flared his aura and then¡­ stopped? I wait, and then wait a few more seconds with my axe held in front of me. It takes a little longer before the heavy barbican gates open with ponderous slowness. The warlord is still there, I can taste his aura. It feels strangely familiar. Male, old, powerful and¡­ Ah, a Dvor! Outside of his domain. Those lands belong to Nina of the Dvor and those territorial old monsters never cohabit. Whoever faces me now will do so outside of their domain, weakening them considerably and blocking access to their Magna Arqa. It will not save me, but it will help. The gates are open. They lead to an underpassage and the fortress¡¯ exit on the other side, so tantalizingly close. The distant mountains on the other side of the valley call to me, but there is an obstacle in the way. He walks carefully from a side door, sword and shield on display. I realize that I know him. Before me stands Commenus, the man who led the assembled Dvor and Knight forces against the skeleton-mages of the Last City only a few years ago. Although, to me, it certainly feels like an eternity. The old general is still his wizened, gray-bearded self. His sharp traits remind me of ancient sculptures more than of any current ethnicity I have ever come across. Dark blue eyes peer at me from the barely lit entrance with wariness. What a thoroughly unexpected outcome. Commenus fears me. Or rather, he fears what I represent: Likaeans capable of fighting back. My presence with an axe and my obvious lack of emotions can only mean that the master of the place fell to me. Commenus does not know how I proceeded. He is ancient and cautious, rather than brash like some masters who believe themselves invincible. Also significant is his leadership at the helm of a force that battled enemies our kind had never faced before. He, more than the others, must keenly feel that the world grows wider and more mysterious every year. I must capitalize on that, but how? Acting is required. Unfortunately, I am forced to improvise while Commenus has centuries of experience dealing with machinations. Unless¡­ I do not have to be smarter? I could just be more¡­ upsetting. After all, even I find Makyas strange and he is on my side. I merely need to don the proper mask. I am Likaean. I find eyeballs tasty. No, I really cannot. It is not in my nature. Even the guise of Seekers of Lost Memories I wear will not do since I have never met one, and thus cannot impersonate them. I need a character close enough to my natural disposition so I do not fail, but strange enough to dissuade Commenus from engaging. I need teeth. Power. I need to be different, far from the smug superiority of summer and distant haughtiness of the blue. Give me teeth. Give me hunger. Cold. I am winter. I have devoured every bloodline on this planet, and I have more to taste on the planes. I know the polar winter, and I have seen the northern end of the world where ice reigns to the horizon and beyond, and the green lights of auroras reflect on permafrost. I have walked into battle clad in cold. I have tasted it, used it. I have broken houses and left nothing behind but BLACKENED BEAMS JUTTING UP LIKE BROKEN TEETH. Tufts of hair, gobbets of meat. Oh yes, I understand winter. It is a trap, a degenerescence as numbing and painless as hypothermia. In a way, that is what being a rogue entails. They forget themselves and abandon their minds to the plenitude of pure instinct. I will never walk that path, but I will happily wear its trappings for an evening. Oh yes, this will be fun to PLAY A LITTLE. I hunch forward a little and let my arm fall forward. A beast of winter has no need for posture, for nobility. I am power unleashed and ravenous. The Vanheim essence extends to its very limits to change my face, answering my need for a more feral persona. Oh yes, this will be fun. I am not just my blade and magic. I am the dedicated student of countless masters and the survivors of many close battles. I will show him. he declares with false bravado. I know enough about old Dvor fighters to see that he is looking for the trap. I do not react, just follow him with my eyes. He glares with annoyance and takes a step forward onto the courtyard and out of the cover of the barbican. Perhaps he is expecting fire or sunlight? NO TRICKS, COME CLOSER. ¡°Wo ist Samuel?¡± I slowly, slowly tilt my head, and still I do not speak. You can try every language under this sun and the others, dear Commenus, I shall not answer. As for Samuel¡¯s fate, he must have guessed it. Commenus suddenly kneels and picks up a stone, which he throws at me at a speed no mortal could follow. I move the axe¡¯s handle by a hair, deflecting the projectile. I still wait. ¡°Well. Nothing to it.¡± Commenus charges, shield high. I smile. I feel my cheek split to my ears, revealing a forest of needles. By the Watcher, this feels eerie. The effect on Commenus is even more dire, and he unexpectedly flinches, which means that he reacts just a little slowly when I hook the axe¡¯s head into the side of his shield and send him careening. He manages to roll mid air and land on his feet. I am immediately on him. I know how to face a shield user. Mannfred, you who sacrificed your life to hold Octave at bay, your lessons will not be in vain. Strikes to the side, to the head, low then high, high then low, I unleash a whirlwind of mighty blows on Commenus, forcing him into the defensive. Any lesser weapon would have shattered in impact before the sharpened art of Sivaya. Even a magical shield would be a mangled piece of scrap by now, but this is a soul weapon I face and its user is old and patient. Commenus disengages and shifts to prevent me from peeling him open. He angles it with minimum effort, deflecting my attacks with thunderous sounds. Nevertheless, the power I put in every swing forces him back again and again until he finds an opening. He dodges under a beheading attempt and charges forward, which is exactly what I wanted. A firm kick in the shield forces him to stumble, a risky maneuver but one I started in his blind spot. The return strike is so strong that I smash him against the nearby stable wall. Tiles fall from the roof onto his head even as I almost decapitate him. Commenus¡¯ style changes to one of unstoppable offense. He charges shield-first right into me until I am in stabbing range of his gladius. I do not change mine, I attack as well. We just smash into each other with the power of two warlords, and I progressively see the fear of the unknown disappear in the eyes of my enemy, soon replaced by the joy of battle. I knew I liked the old codger. HE UNDERSTANDS. Our fight spills over the entire courtyard in a whirlwind of unbridled destruction. We demolish the barn, collapse the well, turn every crate to kindling. At one point, he throws an anvil at my face and the return shot sends the lump of steel through the keep¡¯s unlocked gate, breaking the unwarded lock. Whenever he manages to close the distance, I attack with my claws and force him to move back. Otherwise, I bash him to my heart¡¯s content. At no point did my ghastly smile fade but now it is matched by his, sharp and bloody from a lucky punch. ¡°Not bad, lass, not bad. I cannot wait to taste you.¡± YOU CAN TRY. Commenus adapts to my wild style with small, sharper gestures. In return I adapt to his with more overhead, massive strikes followed by low horizontal cleaves that force him to block with all he has. Once he tries to jump over it and I adjust my course, tossing him back into the barbican¡¯s passage. A few humans from the convoy have come to watch the fight and recoil when the lord lands in front of them. They look positively terrified. I have to give it to Commenus, he grows sharper and closer to hitting me as the fight progresses, but at the same time I have more openings. I manage to hit his arm once then the blade of the axe bites in the back of his leg, causing him to fall. None of those are debilitating injuries yet the sight of his blood on my weapon throws him into a frenzy. Eventually, it happens. A lucky counter lets him force my axe to slip on his shield and his blade rushes to my heart. I twist on myself at the very last moment. A soul blade can rip through stone. A soul blade wielded by a lord can tear through steel. The scales of my armor sing when the edge of his gladius slides on them. I hear chimes. I see Commenus¡¯ eyes widen with complete bafflement. I kick him in the jaw and send him flying through the air for what feels like the seventh time tonight. Right, I have overstayed my welcome by a large margin. We have been fighting for minutes, an impossibly long time for vampire contests. The fae must be long gone by now, even if they were weakened. I have tempted fate one time too many. While he recovers, I jump on the keep¡¯s walls and scale their sheer surface, claws digging into the rime-covered granite. ¡°Not so fast!¡± A gentleman should know when to abandon his pursuit. I reach the balcony garden and jump over its edge, possibly triggering half a dozen alarms as I go. I reach the top and find two dead sentries. Commenus is right behind me, shield strapped to his back. He had to dematerialize his blade. Our eyes meet and I smile indulgently. Then, I press the remote control of the bomb I placed in the recreational area. With an ear-shattering blast, the entire floor explodes. Commenus lifts his shield just in time to avoid a warded shutter to the face. Smoke and debris fill the air and slowly, almost lazily, the top of the keep slides into the empty air, masonry and all. Ah. I might have overestimated the resilience of their wards. I jump to avoid the avalanche of stones and wood. Below me, the Erenwald forest extends to the snow-clad peak above. I turn to see if Commenus recovered. He did. He is watching me. His face goes through a series of emotions with blinding speed. Shock gives way intense thought, then to disbelief. His mouth forms a ¡®o¡¯ of complete surprise. He smiles and dips an invisible hat. I detonate the second bomb in the basement. He flees into the Barbican, leaving the collapsing courtyard behind. I might have been found out. While our infiltration was slow and subtle, our flight is a ceaseless race across the wilderness. Sinead once more demonstrates that he is more than just an actor by leading us without fault from camouflaged cave to hideout, all of those prepared long in advance. At no point did he inform me of their locations for ¡®operational security¡¯ which I can accept since our meeting point is the ship and I am more than capable of looking after myself. We encounter our first difficulty during the first day when one of the prisoners attempts to kill Mr. Elusive. I did not expect that, to be quite honest, yet Sinead did and I find enough nourishment to be sated for a good week that very night. It reminds me that the Likaeans are a vast and diverse people arrayed across multiple planes of existence. In fact, we are the isolated, parochial planet in their eyes. It so happens that Mr. Elusive¡¯s court has a sinister reputation. It also happens that the Seekers of Lost Memories keep a close eye on its members and have decimated them in the past. My identity as a vampire revealed, the Likaeans regard me with confusion rather than the hatred I expected. For many of them, my apparent altruism is more alien than the predatory policy of using them as blood fonts. It speaks poorly of the general climate of ethics and courtesy across the spheres, and reinforces my concerns that earth will face many dangers in the near future. The supplies and artifacts the Prince of Summer prepared allows us to reach the port of Fiume unimpeded, where the cunning man finally delivers on his promise. ¡°This is what Mr Elusive delivered,¡± he tells me, showing me maps and coordinates. ¡°What are those?¡± ¡°Let me tell you a story, poppet. A short time ago, Eneru and Mask were at war.¡± ¡°You will have to be more specific.¡± ¡°And during that war, a Mask convoy escorting a few of my compatriots was lost. Tragedy! When those two esteemed, honest, and reasonable factions agreed on a ceasefire, the Eneru negotiators swore that they had no knowledge of their fate, and they told the truth!¡± ¡°Let me guess. Those who had taken the Likaean failed to inform them that they had conducted the raid.¡± ¡°What a devious little thing you are. There is hope for you yet! Yes indeed, and withholding such information could be construed as a violation of the terms of the agreement if Mask were to be made aware. Now, of course, Mask could very well demand compensation in a mature and patient way, estimating that the Dvor would do the honorable thing and not hide their prize in a different location while denying everything.¡± ¡°Please, my sides.¡± ¡°Or they could come across the exact location of their lost possession as well as the timetable of the expected visitors and security code. They might then decide to resort to some dubious means rather than solve their problem through diplomacy. Unfortunately, said document will fail to notify them of the trackers.¡± My heart would freeze in my chest if it could. ¡°Trackers?¡± ¡°Of course I disabled them immediately upon freeing my kin. You have nothing to fear.¡± ¡°I have much to fear from you. How do you even know all of this?¡± ¡°The vampires have servants, and those servants know a great deal. You night walkers never touch each other¡¯s precious pets. I have no such qualms, though I know better than to break your emotional support humans.¡± ¡°Makyas killed one. It¡­¡± ¡°It was an accident, we did not expect one to be present. I am sorry for causing you undue distress.¡± The unspoken hangs between us like a cloud. Commenus suspects me, and his knowledge will spread to his most high-ranking allies in the aftermath of the flaring war that will come, for I have no doubt that Mask will enjoy collecting on their debt as much as they will stabbing at a surprised rival. Similarly, Sephare will take less than a month to link my disappearance with some well-timed European shenanigans. Although no one will have proof and no one will dare pursue the matter, the powers that be will come to associate my operation with the loss of a Vassal, then with a new war between old enemies. My already sulfurous reputation will inflate to the very heights of infamy. Do I regret it? No, because like in many things, it comes down to the bottom line. I cannot allow Bertrand, leader of the expansion faction, to take over the New World. It is simply unthinkable. There is a century left before the final, cataclysmic finale to the millennial conflict between my sire and his mother dearest. I have no time to rebuild a power base, and therefore cannot allow myself to be exiled or worse. The Accords will survive. They must. If I am to keep its foes at bay through trickery and infamy, then so be it. I never sought to make allies of the Europeans to begin with. Those mighty factions certainly share the appetizing presence of a fruit basket, with might and opportunities aplenty. All the better to hide the cobra of Byzantine politics and infighting. This is not a battlefield I can win on. And so I will have to make do with a daunting reputation. That is also fine. It is better to be renown for ruthlessness than for incompetence. I suppose I could have pursued other avenues than an alliance with the Likaeans but I have no regrets here either. Their fate pains me. The possibility of antagonizing every faction of an ancient and powerful species remains a strong incentive as well. Sinead being charming remains the most powerful of all, but I would rather not dwell upon that thought. ¡°Worry not, poppet. Remember, I am on your side,¡± the man himself whispers with certainty as we arrive on the pier. The thought comforts me a little because he is himself a force to be reckoned with, but my attention is soon lost when I feel an aura flare in surprise far to my left. When I turn to watch, I catch the edge of a coat made horizontal through sheer speed. Someone has spotted us, someone with inhuman reflexes. It appears that the game is up. If the Eneru doubted my involvement before, now they have absolute proof. ¡°Of course, they would be watching the ports,¡± I grumble. ¡°Is the ship compromised?¡± Sinead suddenly asks. I shrug, uncertain. The sleek hull of the Spirit of Dalton exhibits no signs of tampering, and those who lower the gangway are the usual suspects including the Dvergur captain. ¡°Lothar, any anomalies?¡± ¡°People sniffing around the place,¡± the bearded man grumbles, ¡°might be suspecting us.¡± ¡°Prepare to depart immediately. A lookout found us.¡± ¡°Aye, Ma¡¯am.¡± I allow the liberated Likaeans to move below deck while I inspect the outside of the ship, finding nothing. The protective wards and crew appear free of outside influence, though my inspection leaves many shaken by the sudden charm to check for foreign influence. Soon, we are underway and I find my place topside with my throne and my tricorn. Finally, I can figuratively breathe a little. ¡°Do we expect problems, Ma¡¯am?¡± Lothar asks as we proceed south along the coast at cruising speed. ¡°If they knew you were our way out, the Spirit would be already sunk. Fortunately, there are many ports in Europe and we manage to hide our trail. Now that we were spotted, I expect other ships to be sent after us so keep your eyes peeled and do not stop for anything.¡± ¡°What if we are hailed by warships?¡± ¡°What sort of Dread Pirate answers the navy¡¯s summons?¡± ¡°Aye Ma¡¯am, orders understood.¡± Our crossing of the Adriatic Sea happens without hassle, due I suspect to the time it takes for the interception order to reach the right hands. Lothar keeps us on course but avoids the most common lanes even if it makes the journey longer. The Mare Nostrum is vast and mostly empty outside of those well-traveled areas, and we make good progress. Unfortunately, I know what it means. ¡°They will be waiting for us at Gibraltar,¡± I say one evening. That is unfortunate. On a more encouraging note, the Likaeans have obeyed the first rule of the seas which is that everyone must wear tricorns, so not all is lost. We can face the odds in high spirits. S?a?ch* Th? N0v?lFir?.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. Lothar is no dilettante. We approach the straits under the cover of stormy clouds, taking full advantage of the approaching winter solstice and its inclement weather. Heavy rain batters the reinforced hull as we make our approach under the cover of silence and the complete absence of lights. I remain on the deck and inspect the Rock and its vicinity from afar. There, I find three squadrons of warships awaiting us including one ironclad. Her black-painted hull and red border give her the appearance of some snake waiting to bite. Discretion will be the better part of valor here, at least at first. ¡°Ma¡¯am?¡± ¡°All hands ready. Half speed. Lower the rig and engage stealth protocols. Have everyone ready to implement the ghost stratagem.¡± Now the Spirit of Dalton has been called a vanity project and other unflattering names by both Melusine and Sephare, which shows once again that I am the most visionary female vampire of the New World bar none. I will not challenge Constantine since he is developing a battle golem that can be piloted by a sealed sarcophagus and I cannot top that. Nevertheless, the Spirit has retractable masts made of relatively light, magically reinforced steel. Their hollow nature allows them to be folded and then withdrawn into the hull, giving us a much smaller profile. With the rig hidden, the ship is propelled by a corkscrew turbine situated at the back of the ship while the steam itself is recovered and recondensed to prevent trails. It is a marvel of engineering and I will eat whoever calls me an uncultured wannabe sailor. I even added a few surprises. ¡°Aye Ma¡¯am.¡± Like a prowling sea dragon, the Spirit cleaves the black waves on its course west. Unfortunately, alarms ring on the leftmost squadron. Flares soon bring a blue light over the seas, but they are launched too early and the eyes of mortal sailors fail to find us. As for me, I find the culprit behind our early detection in the presence of a vampire pointing impotently in our direction while a British officer watches on, politely incredulous. I doubt that Mask had the time to learn of my little adventure and I am certain that Eneru would not ask them for help, so an Eneru agent must have taken control of British warships. Oh, the Hastings will not like that, not at all. War is all but certain now, which will help us little if we are blown to smithereens. Lothar steps next to me, a tad nervous, but I choose to wait. I signal to maintain course which places us on an intercept path with the vampire-occupied trio. If we are to face them anyway, better to face them alone rather than provide targets for the other groups as well. The vampire watches us approach with disbelief tinged with concern. It is not every day that a civilian ship charges the Royal Navy in the age of the Pax Britannica. Finally, the next flare reveals our presence and shouts echo across the three ships. They slowly swerve to present their broadside and the many maws of their cannons. The vampire looks even more concerned when we show no signs of slowing down. I signal to Lothar. He whistles, the signal strangely distorted. Spectral green fire suddenly erupts from our sides thanks to well-positioned barium nitrate burners, while I cast an illusion to give the sailors¡¯ flesh an ethereal quality. Unexpectedly, Sinead pops out from a trapdoor with his Likaeans in tow, now undressed (except for the tricorns or I would have complained) and covered with white, pearly paint. They start dancing madly. Sinead winks. Music plays while our masts extend again, basked in phantomatic radiance. Hidden vents belch steam in our wake. On the warships, the silence is deafening. Every last mortal watches us sail with open mouths and eyes as wide as saucers. The vampire recovers first and vociferates, but in vain. We have gone through. I signal again and all the fires peter out at the same time. The music is silenced and the rig disappears once more into the hull. Our steam engine is pushed to the limit to leave the blockade behind. So yes, that was quite nice. ¡°I did not know you could perform such amazing bluffs, Ariane,¡± Sinead declares in Likaean. ¡°The tricorns, the dancers, all conspire to give your ship the guise of the flying Dutchman! I admire your dedication.¡± Yes this is absolutely why I insist on all of those things, totally. ¡°You taught me that pleasure and results could go hand in hand when it comes to deception,¡± I generously allow. ¡°Indeed,¡± Sinead replies, suddenly suspicious. I give him my best smile. ¡°Ma¡¯am, one of the ships is giving chase!¡± I react at the warning and confirm that yes, indeed, the vampire¡¯s chosen flagship has turned and now follows us at great speed. I believe we could outrun them given time, however, that would simply not be fun. ¡°Very well, deploy the gun.¡± ¡°Ay Ma¡¯am, deploying!¡± Now, having plenty of cannons can considerably slow a ship down, not to mention the tall hull required to hide them all. That is why I have a single turret and that turret harbors a single gun, which slowly extends from its hiding place. It would be incorrect to say that I designed the ship around the gun, but it would not be completely false either. Loth helped. It is my pride and joy. ¡°What, in the name of the spheres, is that?¡± Sinead exclaims at the glorious sight. ¡°It is not even yet fully erect yet, just you wait,¡± I reply with joy. ¡°Did you really need such a monstrosity?¡± ¡°Captain Lothar, what is the third rule of the sea?¡± ¡°Firing on the same target a second time should only be done for entertainment purposes.¡± ¡°There you have it.¡± ¡®The Gun¡¯ as it is commonly known finishes its deployment and the turret slowly rotates towards a quickly panicking vampire. ¡°Maintain course, angle one ninety-three, elevation minus three point five.¡± ¡°Aye Ma¡¯am, one ninety-three, minus three point five.¡± By the Watcher this is so fun. ¡°Solid shot,¡± I concede. I could use an explosive one to get a kill but I would rather not poke the hornet¡¯s nest any more than I already have. ¡°Are you sure you want to fire at a British warship?¡± Sinead asks with a little concern. ¡°My dear, half of the fun of being a Dread Pirate is firing at the Royal Navy. BRACE!¡± ¡°What¡¯s the other half¡­¡± the fae mumbles as I move forward to get a better view. ¡°Ramming, sir,¡± Lothar says. ¡°Oh.¡± ¡°FIRE!¡± I had to design new hydraulic shock absorbers to prevent the Gun from tearing the Spirit in half. It shows. The cataclysmic boom generates a shockwave that extends over the waves, flattening them. Over here, ice-magic based cooling mechanisms hiss. Over there, a dreadful clang sings the dirge of the ironclad¡¯s lower hull, as well as that of the pursuit. ¡°She¡¯s sinking, Ma¡¯am,¡± Lothar comments laconically. ¡°HAHAHA YES! Ahem. I meant to say that they could keep her afloat with some effort,¡± I reply. They merely have to condemn a few sections. I think? That vampire seems a tad angry. Ah, but this was delightful. ¡°Come to think of it, I have not yet lost an engagement at sea,¡± I observe. Sinead shakes his head and withdraws. I am left pondering on my throne while a cabin boy dances a merry gig, as it should be. We have everything we need for the ritual. Before we proceed, I will have the enviable task of convincing the Accords that I triggered an international incident for their sake, all while preventing the creation of a blood-draining facility on our territory. Once this is done, I will handle the penultimate step of the ritual. We need to set up a fortress on the other plane, where only skeletons and mana hounds dwell. It might be a bit challenging. Chapter 176: Ariane, master schemer I sit back and relax, letting Sephare vent. I shall have to endure Constantine¡¯s ire later and would rather preserve my strength.I smile at the recollection, despite my best efforts. Unfortunately, my light smile freezes on my face ever so slightly, and the cunning socialite that is the Hastings lady picks up on it. She leans above her desk with fury on her brow just as I regain my composure. Her pale blue eyes bore into my soul, or they would if I still had one. She cracks the wood under her dainty claws just from anger. I had never seen such a loss of control from the smooth court animal. I am more than famous, I am infamous! For fun and because I cherish Torran¡¯s happiness. she asks, aghast. She places both hands over her face, then a second later, glares at me from between her fingers. I lift both hands to show my lack of resistance. I believe I may have broken her. Sephare screams, a shrill sound that pierces through the Boston fortress to herald danger. The small lady then grabs a bust from a pedestal near her window and smashes the glass to pieces. Then, she jumps through it. How very dramatic. I inspect my fingers until a knock on the door heralds the coming of more questions. Always more questions. Constantine¡¯s stewart and Boston Fortress¡¯ master enters the room. Wilhelm wears a black suit but leaves his beard and long blond hair flowing free, offering an interesting contrast. I stand and turn to face the Erenwald lord who has expressed a more straightforward opinion than most of his peers would. It was heartfelt and I feel compelled to answer his favor in kind. Wilhelm considers me in silence for a moment. I cannot read his expression. I ponder his request for an instant. He is a brave and honest man and deserves that much. I really, really do. The council room has always struck me as a place of potential. An unfamiliar spectator might equate our ancient garbs with obsolescence or associate the stone seats with stagnation, but it would be a mistake. As in many aspects that concern the aristocracy of the night, the truth lies beneath a thin mask. The unmoving monsters are not statues but powerful beings ready to pounce at the first sign of aggression. The controlled auras betray odd variations, signs that their owners hate cramped space and the proximity of their kin. Councils are not unlike the final moment of a pendulum¡¯s swing. The ball has slowed down to near-immobility, only to come hurling back. I must grab the attention before the rest of the wardens fall on me like several brick houses that someone would have set on fire. To come forth for explanation would normally be unwise. It acknowledges the authorities of others. It weakens my position, implying that the approval of my fellow wardens matters to me, an unthinkable proposition. Wardens are only held accountable when tried. I, however, have gone too far. The Accords are willing to tolerate the odd bout of piracy or government destabilization. I bet even the occasional town could be razed to the ground. Clearly, crossing the Atlantic to trigger a war between vampiredom¡¯s two mightiest factions crossed a limit. Rather than waiting for the inevitable trial, I have decided to go on the offensive, so to speak. Sephare and Constantine approved the plan. I ran it by Sinead to be certain it was the best choice on the off chance that the pair had decided to sacrifice me to my rivals. He agreed. Constantine climbs down the stairs and gives me a cold look. He has not quite digested my little escapade, not that I blame him. Soon, the session begins with the usual greetings. The few more urgent issues are solved expeditiously. Barring a few exceptions, all of the wardens are present. Everyone wants to get to the meat of the subject, so to speak. I stand up as Constantine sits. Technically true since Sinead is their leader. When it comes to vampire negotiations, technically true remains the best choice. Semantics matter to us almost as much as to the Likaeans. Normally, I would despise half-truths terribly, but we are playing a game with other rulers. I am not truly collaborating with them, I am deceiving them to protect Sinead who was my ally from the start. Curse him and his handsome face. The clear oath takes and holds. I do believe that depriving hostile factions of Likaean blood will significantly even the playing field. The truth is that the Accords do not have access to any blood-harvesting facility and that, by law, any resource found locally belongs to the territory¡¯s warden. By extension, captured fae are the property of the captors and no one else. Those of us who managed to find those rare and elusive creatures have kept it to themselves, me included. A Roland lord raises a hand. I allow the interruption. The wardens blink and turn their head, the vampire equivalent of a strong reaction. someone asks out of turn. Lord Ceron says in a smooth voice, Sephare confirms, another asks. I reply. Although we have not addressed the situation yet, all of the wardens know Mask will attempt another conquest sometimes soon. Sephare admits, then she reveals a precious nugget with her usual flare. Jarek asks. I met the man in Paris when I visited the undercity. He is one of Mask¡¯s deadliest combatants, perhaps on par with Jarek himself. The same who pierced my heart. What a small world. Ceron observes. Sephare continues, Sephare warned me of course. The truth is that even with fae blood, they would still be at a small disadvantage according to our estimates. Of course, theirs could be different and they might believe they hold the advantage. They might even be correct. someone finally asks. The old ones eye me suspiciously. I left much unsaid and there are loopholes, yet to lose sight of captive fae implies that I either gave up on them or trust the unknown party blindly. I shake my head. I reply. Jarek interrupts, and the small susurrus of conversations dies down. Jarek was none too happy about my trip as well. If I had to judge, he does not begrudge me the initiative but dislikes risky politics with a passion. The situation must have left him irritated. Ah, direct and to the point as always. a rival lord declares. Constantine turns his gaze to the man, but I decide to disarm the conflict before it can occur. Jarek does not react, yet a few pointed looks show that no one believes in a gesture of altruism on my part. Wardens are seldom witless, after all. S?a??h th? N?v?lFir?(.)n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. Recognition shows on many faces. Our enmity might have been a quirk or a footnote during the last conflict, but now I am a lady and the stakes are just as high. Sephare added. Cries of consternation ring throughout the room. I finish. Those who join will be forced to silence, and free to leave the scheme if they do not like it, though they will be compelled not to oppose it in any way. The protests die down, though frowns show that they find the proposal less than enchanting. Suarez offers. I shake my head lightly. I reply, thus letting those on the fringe suspect him, Semiramis, and who knows how many ancient monsters capable of such grand schemes. The prepared oaths might be comprehensive but I would rather limit our numbers to true believers who will not spend every hour of every night trying to work around their binding words just so that they snack on a certain shameless rogue. If anyone gets their fangs into him, it shall be me. Constantine continues seriously. The Speaker truly has my back despite his reticence. If he wanted to sabotage me, he would have asked for a recess and let those old schemers cook up some legal way to force my hand or at least delay me to let me know of their displeasure. If we get to the trial vote now, the wardens should be too concerned about my next scheme to try to stop the past one. We do enjoy novelty. Their curiosity will protect me from legal retribution more surely than any convincing proof could. As expected, no one makes an argument, though I receive one last question. I scoff, A few more grumbles and I am a free woman. A small yet hallowed committee sits in my fortress room, so busy that I had to borrow chairs from a neighboring Cadiz master. Lord Suarez stands for the Cadiz while Lord Adrien represents the Roland and, to some extent, the traditionalist faction which I oppose. Jimena is here, of course, and so is Naminata. Jarek showed up without a word. To my surprise, Sephare joined us. She raises an annoyed brow when I look at her. Those men and women reflect my journey to the Accords and to power. Lord Suarez raced after me in Savannah, a pursuit that ended with me swimming through its pier¡¯s soiled waters. In my mind, he represents the Cadiz, the first faction to ally with me purely for their own benefits. Jimena and Nimanata are my first friends and the ones who helped me with no benefit to themselves. I helped Sephare obtain her territory, then integrated her group as she helped me in return. The canny blonde was my first formal, political faction leader. As for Adrien, we worked together during the human civil war then he attacked my land during my little Knight adventure because of the capture of his twin brother. He owes me a debt yet still nominally belongs to the traditional faction. In a way, Adrien is the opposition party in a government at war, opposed on minor issues but united during times of strife. Although their numbers are few, those lords and ladies represent the entirety of the Accords¡¯ political spectrum and will no doubt report to their respective sides once they know my little secret. The oath will prevent them from giving out any details so they will be limited to saying yes or no. I do not mind. Although their support would be welcome, I do not particularly need them anywhere except off my back. Adrien sits somewhat uncomfortably, the last person to join. I stand up and close, then ward the door. I also double check that Constantine is not eavesdropping through the fortress¡¯ defenses as I am sure he can, but find no signs of tampering. Satisfied, I return behind my desk and pass out the forms detailing the oath. All of the persons present swear with no signs of hesitation. It feels strange to be the heart of a conspiracy. Strange, yet exotic. My guests receive this declaration in consternated silence. I let them simmer for a second, then give them their second serving. Sephare asks. Jakek asks. Sephare asks, stupefied. Oh. Oh! Oh this is going to be so good. Horror, awe, and stupefaction war across the old ones present to my immense satisfaction. Is this how it feels to bring a machination to a perfect close? I understand Sinead so much now, I would even laugh maniacally if I were not a mature and poised lady. I shall have to do so later in private. The only persons not to gasp are Naminata and Jimena who knew to some extent. They put on satisfied smiles while the others display powerful emotions. The most shocked of them all is Sephare. She grabs her forehead between her hands then, to my surprise, she laughs. Once her mirth calms down a bit, she meets my eyes with pleasure clear on her delicate features. I reply, suddenly a little put off by such a queer display. Jarek asks. Sephare whispers. I reply with a nod. Adrien remarks. Sephare asks, disbelief clear in her voice. Sephare laments. No one volunteers. I expect the ancient ones to consider their options before withdrawing their support, but sometimes, some of us react strongly to what we perceive as foolishness. It does not appear to be the case here. No one erupts in furious vociferations. I continue. I place my hands on my lap and close my eyes. I need to¡­ oh, to hell with it. I will just speak my mind. Sephare replies with an amazed smile, Adrien says. Jarek adds, Suarez speaks with conviction. Nami adds. Jimena says. I say. Before I can stand up, Sephare picks the service bell and rings it. A knock on the door replies. Constantine steps into the room and stares at me, but it is at Sephare that his question is aimed. A long time ago, Semiramis came to the Illinois wilderness to complete a ritual. At the time, I wondered why she would pick such a desolate and random locale to conduct one of the greatest feats of magic this world has ever known. Only now do we realize that the weave of the world is particularly porous here, and that the cause for this thin barrier stems from the dead world. I hope it was not caused by some horrifying rift into reality or some similar concerns. I turn to the quickly growing fortress being built by hired workers under the vigilant gaze of my most faithful followers. Likaeans and vampires walk the ground, looking at each other with suspicion for the former, and longing for the latter. Our otherworldly guests still wear human shapes but the exoticism they exude makes them unmistakably alien to those of us in the know. I stop when I discover Sinead casually leaning against an oak as Sephare leans forward with naked curiosity. ¡°You were Simon Nead all along?¡± ¡°One of my more amusing achievements, yes. Ah, poppet, you have come. The first portal is ready for activation.¡± ¡°I will need a few minutes to put on my armor. Anything of note?¡± ¡°Sivaya will come with you for the initial measurements. Do return if you are assaulted by a whale-sized burrowing worm or anything similar. We can always consider another site.¡± ¡°If we do find something of the sort, Naminata will do her very best to kill it.¡± ¡°Then I wish you a good hunt. Remember, this is a scouting mission, nothing more.¡± ¡°Yes yes.¡± I roll my eyes. I soon find myself near a ritual spot, one that is eerily similar to the one I opened during the skeleton invasion, though Sivaya naturally improved it. Melusine, the Blue Court Princess and I pierce the veil easily. A wound in the world reveals the same drab desert I am used to, as well as forms like giant, jagged dark spikes jutting from the ground in the distance. Time to explore. Chapter 177: The Undead World The exploratory group walks into the dead world with care but without worry. All of us working together would be enough to topple a small nation, so I am not overly concerned, but it is the truth that our destination hosts strange creatures and that we had fatalities fighting off only a portion of the Last City¡¯s skeleton mages. We need to keep our eyes open.The landscape before us is both familiar and strange. The same bland, colorless desert of dust extends to equally bland mountains on the horizon. The air smells of little except brine, the explanation of which can be seen in shallow pools far to our right. The main point of interest stands around us, however. We have landed in a small depression surrounded on all sides by black monoliths jutting up for dozens of yards before retracting inward, their ends tapering into cracked spikes like the ribs of a fallen titan. A quick look reveals the faded remains of unknown glyphs. We have barely started to fan out when Jimena calls out. The Cadiz lady points at the back of the portal. At the edge of the circle, we find a skull. Or rather, the top of one, its sockets quarter-filled with sands. The two most striking details are its surface as it seems to be plated with gold or some similar metal, and its size. I hazard. Constantine replies pompously, I ask. Jarek interrupts. He goes for the skull and we follow. I would rather find out if it represents a danger sooner rather than later, especially because mana hounds will not fail to perceive our intrusion if there are any around. On cue, Adrien strides to the edge of the clearing for a better look while Sephare takes position behind us and next to Nami, the only master present. The seven of us eventually form a half circle around our findings when it becomes clear that we are not in immediate danger. The skull is just that, a skull. I feel no aura from it. The surface intrigues me, however, as the metal plating shows fine lines engraved with what must have been painstaking patience. Sephare says. Constantine replies reproachfully. I understand him. What do we care about a pile of gold when we are already wealthy? This new finding could revolutionize our understanding of magic, and possibly not in a way that would destroy the world! Truly, we might have found ourselves an unexpected treasure. Adrien asks. Jimena says, unsure. Jarek declares. He takes a step forward. His armored gauntlet soul weapons materialize on his fists. ¡°Jarek?¡± I scream. Constantine protests vehemently as well, undoubtedly out of fear the markings might get damaged. Nevertheless, Jarek punches down. The skull shakes under the jab. Cracks expand over its surface, but not very far, merely the size of a large plate perhaps. I have seen Jarek pulverize rocks with that amount of power. I hiss. I open my mouth to argue that there is a difference between proactive thinking and recklessness, but I am interrupted by an earthquake. A very small, very localized earthquake. I shift to the side when ribs, actual ones plated in metal, breach the dusty earth. We all scatter except for Jarek who hammers them with limited results. A patella pierces next, followed by the whole leg. I say. We all attack at once. Just as we expected, the creature proves incredibly resilient. Even repeated hits do little but open tiny crevices in its reflective surface. Jarek¡¯s deafening blows prove the most effective at damaging it. I decide not to waste anymore time. No matter the circumstances, letting go will always feel amazing. The roots explode from the earth normally, wrapping around the skeleton¡¯s leg and making it stumble. Constantine¡¯s chains grab the other leg while another of Jarek¡¯s fast series of strikes pushes it back, on its, well, pelvis. Despite this, the creature rises again until it towers above us. Constantine remarks. I ask no one in particular. I already scratched it pretty well. The massive skeleton does something and the world is drawn in¡­. but nothing happens to us. The same cannot be said about our equipment, however. I feel Aurora¡¯s cold radiance diminish. The skeleton bends forward and reaches for Sephare, who dodges with a curse. It is quite fast for a construct yet still pales in comparison to us. Despite that, our inability to hurt it means a stalemate. Uncaring for the growing network of rifts marring its surface, the giant swipes at Sephare, this time much, much faster. She still jumps over the blow. Then, the creature¡¯s fingertips grow transparent as if clad in ghostly talons. It reaches down for a lost piece of metal on the ground. I recognize one of Sephare¡¯s side weapons, a dagger of exquisite make. It disintegrates. I warn everyone. Constantine already guessed it and forfeited his spells in favor of blows from his chain-like soul weapon. As for Sephare, the destruction of her blade sends her in a fury. She screams incoherently and attacks with utter savagery. I find it a little adorable, but cannot let myself be distracted too much. There are too many powerful fighters in a crowded space. We cannot use all of our strength. I decide to focus my effort on the same side Jarek and Constantine are attacking with my roots and Rose¡¯s shredding edge. Despite the improvised nature of our team and the lack of room, we work together rather well. Adrien drags Sephare out of the way of the thing¡¯s attacks by jumping at her from her own shadow. The creature appears to be at full speed now, and I assess that its claws destroy magic on contact. I would complain if I were not cheating in a similar fashion. Finally, with our combined attacks focusing on its right leg, the wobbly tibia fractures to show actual bone and the fossilized marrow underneath. We jump on the weakness like wolves on a wounded stag. The creature kicks, which we avoid with ease. It opens wide its toothy maw. The world shakes. Sand at my feet dance in strange patterns while my ears burn with a searing pain. I lose my sense of balance. My vision turns red. Pure instinct makes me raise more thorns to block a wide sweep from the skeleton. It tears off at least five of the trunk-sized offshoots. That thing is impossibly strong! Around me, the others pick themselves up. They are all bleeding from their ears. A pop and an itchy sensation let me know that I am already healed. I ask, attacking the leg again. Sephare answers. Constantine replies soberly. The Aurora picks this moment to flicker. Jarek replies, Power fills him as he launches himself at the beast. He lands squarely on its ribcage and sends it crashing on the ground. s?a??h th? N?v?lFir?(.)n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. He is right. One glancing blow from those talons and the armor will simply be gone, as well as whatever part of us it touches. It serves no purpose. I race away with the others except Jarek and Nami. The shameless woman simply tears off her light armor and sends it flying far in the distance. She now fights in the state of nature, smiling all the way. Ah well. I exclaim. Adrien retorts reproachfully. Ah, right. I insisted on it too. he grumbles. The sourpuss. We run at full speed for a few seconds until the depression is far behind us and the Aurora¡¯s power picks back up. A signal, and we all drop our belongings where they are, leaving only the under armor and our soul weapons. I end up in a gambeson with ¡ª and may my papa forgive me ¡ª trousers. Jimena suddenly asks. Jimena accelerates and points her sinuous sword at the large skeleton. Vast wings of purple light grow from her shoulders and she positively flies at the creature¡¯s head. Her power shifts the balance of the local place. I can feel it. In the thin fabric of this world where reality was pierced before, our combined essence calls it. It draws itself forward across unimaginable distance. On the horizon, the eye of the Watcher opens. Its black slitted pupil narrows and lands on us. The time has come to leave a good impression. Our assault redoubles and one last hook from Jarek cracks the bone. The skeleton tilts to the side and falls once more. This time, it will not rise again. The foot is severed. It opens its mouth and screams again. I do not even bother to block my ears, fully expecting the blaring sound to send me to the ground, bleeding, except it does not. A pure, clear note impossibly blocks it in. Nami laughs, and laughs. Confused, the maddened creature screams again and again, Nami twirls her spear then sings. The world takes a purple shade. She starts to dance. A ghostly music covers the monster¡¯s impotent noise with drums and flutes. Nami sings still, then she pauses and looks at me. But Nami does not care. She keeps dancing with the beat and I cannot stop myself from joining her as her eyes turn purple and feline as well. The fight becomes a dance. We strike with the tune and dodge with graceful steps. Our attacks beat a staccato on the beleaguered monster. I sway my hips suggestively. I complain. It takes a long time for us to detach the skull from its neck, but with its yells silenced and its patterns known, the skeleton no longer stand a chance. Nami¡¯s strange power forces me to be more predictable, yet at the same it enhances our coordination. Our range means that I can cover Jarek while Constantine covers Adrien. Nami forms a deadly trio with Sephare and Jimena, their attacks concentrated on a single vertebra. Going with the flow proves extremely easy while even thinking of resisting it hampers my movement. A vexing yet interesting development. Finally, the titan collapses into true death this time, and we are left waiting to see if it will explode or some equally distasteful last gesture of spite. Fortunately, no such thing happens. We find ourselves in the possession of the largest pile of metal-plated bones in history. I jump on Nami. All of us greet the latest vampire to join our hallowed ranks, though she merely hums and smiles, then, without warning she grabs Jarek and Sephare before aiming for the slowly reopening portal. Constantine remarks. I glare at him. A bit crass. Constantine replies with a look of supreme boredom. I freeze at that and look at the Speaker, confused. Constantine finally notices the approaching horde of mana hounds backed by their monstrous broodmothers and swarms of flying drones. The land is not quite purple, but it certainly is more colorful than it used to be. We quickly put on our armor and recover our weapons. Thankfully, whatever damage the creature did does not appear to be permanent. the Speaker complains. Constantine blinks and turns to Adrien, as if seeking confirmation that this was normal. The Roland lord misunderstands his meaning. he explains. Jimena says in turn I exclaim to lift the decidedly awkward direction this conversation has followed. Said reinforcement are the Illinois vampires, Urchin, John, Melusine, and Phineas. The fire mage seems protective of the fallen knight, which I can understand since he was still far from deadly when we escaped Europe together. I ask the prickly redhead. John fetches it. At first, it looks like a sealed sarcophagus and quite heavy to boot, but as soon as I read the message attached to it, I know I was mistaken. Curious. The envelope contains another letter, this one in Loth¡¯s familiar script. Ooooh yes. The hound cleanup takes all of two hours but is otherwise uneventful. Regular castings lure the attention of the beasts away from the portal. Constantine also successfully altered his chains so they would not snap immediately under the anti-magic effect of the disgusting creatures. I believe his inability to act against the skeleton must have frustrated him, because the ensuing rampage is quite spectacular. Loth¡¯s weapon turns out to be a portable machine gun with a shortened muzzle and a higher rate of fire. It takes me a bit of effort to get used to the weight, and also to realize that I need a small moment to dig my feet in so I can compensate for its tremendous recoil. I wonder if I could use a hydraulic shock absorber in a portable weapon but it will have to be a consideration for later. After a quick test, I am forced to switch to Rose because of the lack of ammunition. It was fun while it lasted. With the land under our control, we spend some time clearing the corpses, gathering them in a mound a distance later which I propose to set on fire. Unfortunately, my proposal is refused on account of the inevitable plume of smoke it would create in this otherwise cloudless land. ¡°We are half a planet away from the last city,¡± Sivaya explains. ¡°The gate spells link loci that are only related to true distances, not bound.¡± ¡°What she means to say is that the distance between two portals on earth and the same two portals here would be different but not so much that it would make portal-based movement very attractive,¡± Sinead explains. ¡°So we should have no interference from the Last City,¡± I reply. ¡°There is no evidence that they are, in fact, the Last City. That was my actual point,¡± Sivaya continues. ¡°The present skeleton proves that this world is rife with old dangers and ancient traps. We must remain cautious.¡± ¡°Very well.¡± A large number of mages come through the gate including Ricardo, the man I saved in Alexandria and had forgotten since then. It feels strange to see so many old faces, and I am reminded that our current task is the result of years of efforts and resource-gathering from everyone involved. When I told my allies I had been part of the conspiracy for seventy years, it was an approximation. I was more a willing and constant ally ready to provide support whenever needed but otherwise busy pursuing my own interests. Only now do I realize the extent of efforts invested in the liberation when dozens of fae join our encampment as it transforms into a starfort. They immediately get to work casting, enchanting, and reinforcing our defenses under the watchful yet respectful gaze of the Accords and our human guards. Our numbers swell to hundreds, forcing me to increase the delivery of food and other necessities. Although I am concerned about operational security, there is little I can do beyond increasing patrols and traps. Fortunately, the fae rise to the occasion once more and I successfully intercept a Mask spy before she can find out more about our project. ¡°This is not especially alarming,¡± Constantine says as we are gathered inside of the starfort one evening. ¡°Few factions would fail to identify that we are working on a major project, but so far they must not know what or they would have tried to intervene. Your warning about the Amaretta seer is concerning, however. Although we are moving at great speed, I am concerned that we may be found out too soon.¡± Sivaya lifts a dainty hand to speak. Her elfin features show more confidence since Constantine has taken a serious interest in her and her research. Honestly, I would be concerned if I were Sinead, intimacy or not, but the Likaeans are much less exclusive than we are. ¡°The manipulation of fate is more the domain of my father, however, if I would hazard a guess, I would say that the trigger will be the start of the ritual which will take three days to complete. My understanding is that our foes could reach us before we are done.¡± ¡°It would cost them many resources and probably leave them with no avenue of retreat, but perhaps, yes,¡± Sephare confirms. ¡°If that is the case we can delay the trigger until our defenses are complete.¡± ¡°Will you call upon your allies?¡± Adrien asks. I shake my head. ¡°If we face any serious opposition, it will be vampires and for one night only. I see no other way for them to react. Any mage or werewolf deployed to face a host of lords and ladies at night will only be wasted.¡± The others agree with me, and our work continues. Over the month of March 1871, we finish the starfort around the permanent portal. The loyal workers are returned to Marquette and the other surrounding villages they came from with the expectation that informers will get at them. Fortunately, none of the mortals present saw the portal open or, indeed, recognize the Likaeans for what they were since their existence has always been kept a secret. We begin working on the necessary elements of the rituals, firstly by deploying a magic-blocking seal. Sivaya explains its purpose while we use basic spells to flatten the ground around the ribcage-like structure. ¡°The dead world drinks magic like starving land drinks rain. I suspect it might live again but not easily, and especially not with the power we possess here. Our first order of business is to keep the spent energy inside. It will serve a double purpose by also protecting us from detection and questing hounds.¡± ¡°Will the ribcage not affect us?¡± I ask as I work. ¡°I examined the mark and believe that it was used to create one of those skeleton mages you speak of, and that we call liches.¡± ¡°Wait. You have seen this process before?¡± Sivaya nods. ¡°It is an inefficient technique that mortal species can resort to if they wish to fend off the end of their natural lifespan. The spells I know require objects of great vitality, but the people here used the essence of their own planets. Such shortsightedness can unfortunately be found regularly among the more ambitious species. In any case, the ritual dug a deep wound in the fabric of reality which will serve our purpose well. The ribcages are inert now, their purpose fulfilled. I suppose it could be used as a focus in certain rituals, but it would be used for what it represents and not as an active ingredient. We are safe.¡± Well, she is the expert. Once the ground is flattened, Sivaya and a few others harden it until it has the resistance and consistency of stone, then trace an intricate network of glyphs in a large circular band around what I suspect will be the heart of the ritual. They use strange tools that emit a blue flame to dig. Physically imposing Likaeans then fill the grooves with an alloy molten in an engraved furnace that I suspect might be electrum. I dare not think how many rich widows Sinead seduced out of their savings to achieve this level of financial liquidity. Curious, I ask him when we take a break. We have installed a massive tent at the edge of the working place with sentries all around. Guarding the unmoving dust desert has to be one of the most boring tasks in existence. One might as well watch wallpaper dry. ¡°So, how many banks have you robbed to afford that much electrum?¡± ¡°Many, but not the way you think. I took some loans.¡± ¡°You intend to dodge repaying those by escaping to a new dimension?¡± I gasp. ¡°You have to admire the elegance of the solution. Do not be afraid, I mostly scammed banks tightly linked to the Rosenthal and other vampire organizations.¡± ¡°You have defrauded vampires.¡± ¡°¡®Tis only fair,¡± he replies with a shrug. ¡°Our liquidity for their liquidity, thank you.¡± I hear an edge under the joke but do not remark on it. Sinead is nervous. I can feel it in the most minute variations of his colorful aura, in the way he has stopped lounging. The Prince of Summer is afraid. Too much hangs in the balance. Uncharacteristically, I grab his shoulder and massage it a little bit in what must be a brazen display. I have not been tactile, not since I was changed. Vampires hate being touched. Any unsolicited stimulus tends to trigger extreme responses while we rely much more on our sense of smell. Sinead feels how much it cost for me to bare myself emotionally, somehow. His smile softens until it feels genuine to my less sophisticated social perception. His hand squeezes mine once, softly. He is quite warm and smells of the sun on fresh linen. Gah, I wish I fancied him less. Sinead sighs deeply. Tension leaves his dancer¡¯s frame. When he looks at me, the intensity of his gaze reveals that this will be one of his few serious moments. ¡°You have helped me so much Ariane. This liberation, this return home, it means more than you could possibly imagine. We had no hope, no hope at all, but you gave us some. You freed me. You freed Sivaya. You found us Ricardo and saved us years of research. We are building a fragile edifice made of a hundred machinations and much of it rested on your shoulders, and you have never failed us. You cannot possibly imagine the impact your actions will have. And do not pretend that you did it out of self-interest. We both know that the debt I incurred cannot be repaid with all the gold of your world. Freedom, Ariane, is priceless. If we achieve success, I promise to make sure that your altruism is rewarded, the spheres know you will need some help. And I will never forget what you did.¡± ¡°Well,¡± I retort, suddenly embarrassed, ¡°I think freedom is priceless too.¡± Well done, Ariane, very smooth. Eighty years alive and that is all you come up with. Truly, what is left unspoken weighs heavily on my mind. Sinead and I have made no real secret of our mutual attraction, merely skirting the issue since we could not even kiss without me feeling an overwhelming urge to kill him. I would not accept to be bound just to enjoy intimacy either, never again, not even with someone I trust. We are at an impasse. And he is leaving, possibly forever. Perhaps there will be a time when our worlds finally align, but I know that we will have met our end before that one way or another. There is a non-negligible chance that the earth he finds will be under the thumb of Nirari, meaning that I will be dead. It all feels so far away. There could be centuries, millennia before we could meet again. We do not grow old but we grow¡­ tired. I know some have fallen into slumber. It could happen to me too. Despite all of this, we have not broached the subject and I dare not address it lest we are distracted from the more immediate matter. This is the endgame for the fae. Soon, the vampire world will realize that they do not just face serious opposition from the species, they also gathered allies and are capable of freeing their kin. We only get one opportunity to succeed before many doors close to us. I cannot lose sight of the goal, no matter how meaningful his absence would be. With the first circle finished, work continues unabated. Many of the vampires including myself spend daylight hours in the dead world rather than the confines of the starfort with no negative side-effects beyond the vague impression that those are poor hunting grounds. The lack of background life would render us insane in short order if we were isolated, but it is, for now, compensated by the strange impression of being out under the sun. The local pale light shyly piercing through the eternal cloud cover does not trigger any of our fears in a curious phenomenon none of us can quite explain. Regardless, I would not want to live here. As the hour draws closer, I spend more and more time imagining the world beyond the portal. In retrospect, this should have raised an obvious question but it is John who asks it. I will be able to live free of Nirari until I die or until he annoys a Likaean king and loses his life in the process. John replies, John nods and, for him, this concludes the discussion. His trust and certitude ground me. The middle of March brings us more news. A sudden war triggered between France and Prussia ended in the quick and total destruction of the French army and the creation of the German empire. Much to the general surprise, we learn that vampires from the middle faction, the Brotherhood, have been granted titles of nobility while mages are hired in legal positions. As for France, a grassroot movement installs a socialist regime in Paris while the republican government in Versailles is attempting to negotiate, the cause of their sudden tolerance being their lack of trust in the army. Many free spellcasters have joined the ranks of those they call the communards. For the first time in history, magic has made an open impact on the side of the leaders. The second surprise comes from Mask¡¯s own defeat. Despite striking the first blow, a sudden and temporary alliance between Eneru and the Brotherhood, as well as the absence of some of their best fighters, have left Bertrand and his tactician Orpheus completely overwhelmed. We fail to learn much on the exact course of the conflict, only that Mask is currently in disarray. I fear their reversal of fortune might lead them to desperate measures concerning the incoming war. The stakes are now even greater. The fae finish the construct on the seventeenth, right on schedule. We all stand witness to a spellwork as large as three tennis courts engraved on petrified earth with molten electrum. It is a sublime work of arcane knowledge and craftsmanship. Even Constantine is impressed by the displayed precision and dedication. The secondary stones are charged. The main stone is at full power. The only thing left is to place the focus and start, but the Likaeans request a break to recover, one I grant and that we spend exploring and hunting. Two days later, Sinead gathers all of us. Ranks of loyal mages of the Red Cabal and fae of all origins stand shoulder to shoulder with us. On top of the previous lords, we are also joined by Lord Suarez of the Cadiz for the defense, Adrien¡¯s twin Adam, and Islaev, Jarek¡¯s second. The number of warlords and ladies present eclipses all but the most determined war parties. Despite our presence, the Prince of Summer shows no trace of fear when he faces us, the men and women who will bring his people home. ¡°Welcome, everyone, to the second most important magical event of this century,¡± he starts in English. A few of us smile. Everyone who matters knows that Semiramis¡¯ work set the foundation for what we will soon attempt. ¡°This tent behind me doesn¡¯t look like much, yet now it is the headquarters of the most culturally and ethnically diverse group of beings your planet has ever known. We have mundane humans, mages, and vampires. We have fae from the diminutive eye hunters of the Court of Wings and Keyholes to the giants of the Court of Stones. A hundred courts from dozens of worlds have lost themselves here and have or will join our numbers. Why, we are only missing the werewolves.¡± ¡°I could always use a snack,¡± Islaev grumbles, causing a few nervous laughs. ¡°And yet, we are still working together towards a singular purpose, but we have a flaw, a fatal flaw that could cause our demise in our hour of need.¡± Sinead leans forward, stealing our attention with a conspiratorial wink. ¡°We are here for different reasons. We have not aligned.¡± He stands back up and paces before us. ¡°Now I know that oaths bind all of us, not just you my fellow Likaeans but also those who could have been our jailors! But oaths can only force us to comply. It is not obligation that will push us to our limits, that will burn away the debris of our indecision until we fight, reborn in our finest hour, oh no! We will need more than this to triumph, because at the end of the day we are not evacuating, we are not depriving enemies of their magical juice. We are doing nothing short but achieving the most daring, the most audacious breakout in the history of this world and beyond! We are stealing an entire species. What bards will not envy us this moment? What seeker of adventure will look us in the eye and claim they would not have wished to be here?¡± I think Naminata would spontaneously burst if she could. Sinead turns and spreads his hand like an entertainer ¡°Panache, ladies and gentlemen. Panache will bind us in that noble endeavor. There are no stories like the one we write now, no achievements like the one we shall claim, and it is you, all of you, who are the actors and architects of this masterful play. So stand straight and laugh, channel the powers of the arcane with mirth in your breasts, face your enemies with a smile on your lips, because when this is done, no matter what, we will be legends. The ritual starts tomorrow and will culminate on the night of the spring equinox, following which we will be free or dead. May the fates smile upon us all. Dismissed.¡± Chapter 178: Heist of the Millennium Power feeds into the construct from four cardinal points. Sinead and Sivaya stand in the innermost circle where they will stay for three days until the ritual is complete, hands linked in symbolic union. Other fae and powerful mages like Ollie line the middle circle. We will be able to come and go thanks to the ritual¡¯s extraordinary flexibility, so long as enough people remain to assist at any point. From behind Sinead, the first stone burns the yellow gold of August noon. Crimson red bleeds from the second one, clockwise, while the stone behind Sivaya radiates a polar blue. The last one pulses green and verdant like a dewy May lawn. Between the encircled arms of the royal couple, the last and largest shines a terrible white so intense it casts shadows behind the outpost¡¯s tent. The last parts of the construct are the chalice at the edge behind the autumn stone, and an arched gate behind the spring one, currently empty. To goodbyes and new beginnings, I suppose.I will take part in the ritual as the mage closest to the winter gate due to my new affinity. The fae to my left and right taste of darkness and cold, but not yet the ravenous claws of winter itself. I pride myself in my raw power if not in my control, yet the energies deployed here surpass all but Semiramis¡¯ ritual, and we are just getting started. Slowly, the outer circle¡¯s electrum turns an intense silver, then the power slowly fills the delicate engravings going inward. When it reaches me, I feel a pull and allow my aura to feed into the ritual, contributing to it yet also directing the energies to grant them meaning. One by one, the others join me until the last inner circle ignites in turn and we are set, or that is what I believe. Instead, the power keeps increasing. If the spell were to destabilize now, the resulting explosion could be seen from the horizon, but it will not. Sivaya¡¯s weave is a thing of beauty, an exquisite system built with failsafes and redundancy to satisfy the most paranoid of mages. It gorges on our combined power and the energy stored in the stones until the combined auras give me a sense of vertigo. Only after the inner circle glows incandescent does the royal couple speak in Likaean. Even though it is the language of adults, the meaning is so clear that I have no difficulty following it. ¡°We call upon you,¡± they say, ¡°we summon you here. Wanderers, return to us and find your path. Warriors, return to challenge us if you dare. Prisoners, return to find your freedom. We call upon you. Return to us, return to us.¡± Even I feel a tug, the power of which would steal my breath if I had one. The call they make is so compelling and so strong that even I, an outsider, feel its pull to the bottom of my essence. Sinead and Sivaya draw on the bonds of kinship and shared legacy, but also their shared suffering and their longing for acceptance as who they are. The sky above the inner circle changes, images manifesting almost too fast to see. Golden halls filled with lifelike statues alternate with vertiginous spires over a frigid lake, then gloomy caves lit by strange mushrooms where dwellers sleep forever. A forest of nets and webs where small winged beings flutter gives way to fiery cliffs dripping molten rocks, thick and bubbling. A still forest. A lush jungle made of dancing, singing plants. A monumental tree. A palace bathed by moonlight. The colors swirl in an ethereal mirage until it merges into an ocean of possibilities and landscapes of the mind, the true soul of the fae spheres. ¡°Return to us. NOW.¡± A woman appears in the air with a loud pop and falls with a yelp. She is dressed in a strict brown dress, but her matronly traits shift as I watch. Her nose grows very long and pointy and her chin expands, square and stubborn. Her entire eyes shift to a warm brown. She stands up with a huff and walks out with dignity towards the outer circle where she stands, aligned with the spring stone. Another pop. A child-like Likaean falls on his butt with a complaint, but he soon walks behind the autumn gem. A tall, powerfully-built woman appears and almost collapses, but she grits her teeth and goes to stand behind summer. A shadowy fellow in a shift bites back a sob then crawls behind me. Blood drips from thin air into the chalice. I feel giddy. By the Watcher, this was the first prisoner. We are doing it. We are stealing the Likaeans! More and more join us, in all shapes and forms. Most of them appear to be in proper shape with few exceptions, and I assume that those are the most geographically close and thus not the result of centuries of systematic hunting. They appear with regularity, maybe one every three minutes or so, yet the ritual never falters despite its expenditure. Instead, it grows in power with every new addition. The summoned fae flock around the circle in an eclectic mix of features and clothes, of moods as well. I recognize a winter fellow, his teeth still stained with fresh blood and he waves a bone club at Sinead with the promise of violence. Nevertheless, he, too, joins the circle. We are a court, I realize. This is the first and hopefully last gathering of the Earth Court. The Court of Exiles. As soon as the thought crosses my mind, the winter fae by my side smiles and gives me a crazed glare of agreement. ¡°Yes. The Court of Exiles. It will do, for now.¡± The power increases yet again until it grows absolutely overwhelming. The Likaeans will answer. Nothing, no chain or enchantments will hold them back. The summoning may be slow, but it is the slowness of the changing of season: no less inevitable for its tectonic pace. At some point, some of the mages and fae switch position between circles to rest and recover in the adjoining tent. I also give way to the winter fae as dawn approaches, and when I walk out, the dizzying switch that comes with leaving the spell¡¯s embrace makes me lose my footing. Suddenly, the delicious scent of potent essence replaces my serenity with a dull ache. I stand in the richest hunting environment I have ever been in. The number of fae present is close to two hundred, and many more will join us before this is over. I also realize that many of the Likaeans were never prisoners of the vampires. Of course, we control only a fraction of mankind¡¯s domain and it makes sense that the lost fae would appear in random places when they first fall through. I wonder if we lost some to the seas, or to the unforgiving temperatures of the poles. Bah, the dawn is robbing me of my focus even on this side of the gate. I decide to return to our earth¡¯s starfort and fall to slumber in my sarcophagus. I wake up in the early afternoon, excited and worried. A quick check with sentries confirms what my instincts and the Dvor essence tells me: nothing untowards happened on my land while I slept. I wash and dress in the gambeson I wear under my armor anyway. I quickly walk into the dead world to find that the ritual is still on course, but that the main tent has been joined by a smattering of smaller ones. Likaeans are resting and in some cases engaging in coitus within their confines. Smoke and the smell of food come in wafts from a central pavilion. Constantine hails me from a corner where he holds council with Likaeans I have never seen. ¡°Ah, Ariane, you are here,¡± he says in English. ¡°Those are Tourneas and Secluded-Black-Sand-Beach.¡± The Speaker waves at a man who shares Sivaya¡¯s elfin traits, and a woman with thin scales seemingly drawn on her skin. ¡°They will manage the encampment while the ritual is in progress.You can rely on them if there are any issues,¡± he explains in English. ¡°There were issues?¡± I ask. ¡°Court of Shadows and Court of Stones have old feuds,¡± the woman whispers with a singsong tone in Child Likaean. ¡°Old enmities should be on hold,¡± the man answers in chiding English, ¡°but one can never be too careful. I have experience as a Master of Ceremonies. I am aware of conflicts both current and past.¡± He sighs. ¡°Relatively current, in any case. I am also aware of debts,¡± he finishes, meeting my gaze. ¡°You have our thanks. Will you join the circle again?¡± ¡°I prefer to wait until nightfall, unless my presence is required.¡± ¡°We have enough representatives for all sides now. Perhaps you should save your strength.¡± ¡°I agree,¡± Constantine continues, ¡°Melusine used a beacon to confirm what I thought. The signature of the spell can be felt by mages, even those who are not fully trained.¡± ¡°How far?¡± I ask, though I doubt he knows. ¡°Everywhere, Ariane. The entire planet knows that we are doing¡­ something. The Amaretta seers know exactly what we have been up to for at least a day now.¡± ¡°Here is to hope they will not have the time to react.¡± ¡°Regarding that, I forgot to mention it but Mask declared war on us. Ambassador Madrigal delivered the scroll yesterday to the Boston fortress. Wilhelm just notified me by spell.¡± ¡°Good, we will not have to parlay if they deign to visit.¡± ¡°Are you going to make a quip about southern hospitality?¡± ¡°Oh, hush,¡± I tell the Speaker. We fall silent and pretend very hard that the ritual does not occupy our mind. Vampires come and go under the wary gaze of the gathered Likaeans. The freshly released captives in particular appear leery of us. Our gathering soon turns into a unique mix of nervous excitement and impatient wait, reminding me of Christmas Eve as a child. I find myself inspecting my nails while, a few paces away, history writes itself. Soon enough, night falls. All the vampires breathe deeply at the same time. Urchin smoothly transitions from juggling coins to juggling knives under the amused gaze of some of our guests. Meanwhile, the tent gathering has grown to a festival. Music and dances fill the air for the first time in what must be forever in the dead world. Wine flows, and the cooks work overtime to sate those who catch a rest between casting sessions. In the innermost circle, Sivaya and Sinead have almost disappeared from view under the torrentuous flow of combined auras. I only catch flickers of their intertwined arms and the central stone overhead. Their indomitable will still calls more of their kin, and still more heed their call. Unfortunately, my excitement gives way to concern, then to dread. The Likaeans still work towards their freedom and the spell shows no signs of being destabilized. No, the cause of my worries must be something else, but what? I close my eyes and realize that the Dvor essence in me warns me of something. It should not be possible, and yet¡­ No, my instincts have never failed me. I rush to Constantine and signal. he calmly asks. A quick surge of my aura and the vampires join us. It takes a few more seconds to wait for those who were standing vigil earthside, but eventually we all form a circle around the chalice. Even now, the enticing fragrance of fae blood lures us. The fae keep a respectful distance. Constantine offers. John distributes tiny golden goblets. In turn, each of us approaches the chalice to harvest a tiny amount of mixed essence. I can taste the tension as everyone wants to drink it dry, and damn the others. John stoically retrieves his own after I confirm he is allowed. Urchin falters and stumbles, but with a supreme effort of will, he manages to return to his position without indulging. I nod in open appreciation, congratulating him before the lords for his restraint. Soon enough, we are all gathered. Melusine is the only Master while Urchin and John, the only Courtiers. The two of them will remain behind while Melusine¡¯s powerful magic can still make her useful. I raise my glass and declare with more confidence than I feel. I bring the lid to my mouth and drink deep. CONFUSED. I stumble, drowned by the recollection of so many different essences mixed together. The torrent of vitality floods my mind but destabilizes it, at first. Then, slowly, they coalesce at the most basic level to speak of only one concept, the only common ground shared by the diverse people that contributed. Home. I flare, I explode. There is so much of it that I cannot control it all. I tilt my head back and enjoy the tidal wave of energy. For one moment, I float in a sea of plenitude because the Thirst is gone, silent for the rest of the night. Ah, yessssss. So much life, so much spirit. Such a powerful, delicious, delectable drive. What a rush. What an ecstasy! MORE. No, no more. That is more than enough to regrow a hundred limbs. I am so very alive I could make my heart beat until dawn just for the sake of it. I could let a light blush linger on my cheeks, and breathe a thousand times. So that is what it feels to feed on the gratitude of so many supplicants at a crucial point of their life? I luxuriate in the feeling even as I know I will never experience it again. I open my eyes to find that the others, too, are transfixed by the experience. Urchin is crying, while John has a knee on the ground and moves his lips in silent declamation. The lords and ladies stand like frozen statues, enjoying the experience. I am, curiously, the second to snap out of contemplation after Nami, who is frantically taking notes on a journal. We silently wait until the last of us recovers, then Constantine clears his throat. We rush to our own personal quarters. I put on the Aurora and pick my newest gun as well. I wish I could bring a utility belt for shield breakers and other toys, but alas, I have not managed to design one that would not bring its share of complications. It should not matter with how many lords and ladies backed by a progenitor we have. In short order, we fan out of the starfort¡¯s entrance. The access will be blocked by heavy gates, while the defenses remain unmanned. At night, any mortal taking a defensive position among the fortifications will just be that much more collateral damage. Only we matter. Jarek says, It means a defensive formation where I take point, the best one under the circumstances. Once we are ready, I do not move. I explain. Islaev grumbles before squatting, one hand going over his bald skull. I am tempted to start a Hunt despite my lack of Thirst, but whatever advantage we would gain cannot offset our doom if it turns out we are outnumbered. Here, we still have the luxury of withdrawing within the fort and forcing a chokehold battle through the gate. Out there, anything goes. I would also not want to leave the fort itself undefended. And so, we wait. The sensation of violation increases, one that annoys more than it hurts. Someone has entered my land without my leave. They intend to stop me. That will not do at all, oh no, and with the strength flowing through my veins, it will take quite a lot to stop us. My main concern would be the timing. Anyone who was aware of our project would have attacked on the first night to guarantee many captures. They would have waited until we were committed, then struck. Those that were warned by the spell¡¯s aura and ferreted out its location with the help of the Amaretta or some other information dealer would need time to mobilize. Only the Mask vampires in Mexico could have reacted that fast, and even then it would take them at least two nights to find us if the stars aligned, given the distance and their complete lack of preparations. Even then, only their powerhouses with access to entomb spells could possibly survive the trip. What happened? I shall have an answer soon. The intrusion gnaws at the back of my mind like a hound gnawing on a bone, but I have not come this far to succumb to my instincts, even as they scream at me to come out and track my foes. A patient huntress knows when to wait. And so we do, in perfect silence. And they come to us. The first one to emerge from the thick forest surrounding the camp on all sides provides both an answer and a daunting warning. I should have expected it. I really should have. Of course, there are warrens that allow one to move quickly from one corner of the world to the other. I knew it. I even walked them. And of course, my sire found them. My only saving grace is that it is his servant who guides our enemies to my doorstep. Naturally, Nirari himself is no one¡¯s errand boy, but it seems he is not above renting out his minion¡¯s services. I only wish I had been wiser. Semiramis picked this spot for her ritual, and she has linked many of her bases to her network of space-bending passages. It stands to reason that an entrance would be nearby. I hope this oversight does not cost me dearly. Malakim smiles uncaringly when he sees me. He wears no visible armor, though I know he is entrapped in one close to his skin. The ones who follow him do, however, but they do not share his mirth. The first to appear is Martha, without her human mages this time. The powerful Lancaster mage steps forward with a confidence she might not be feeling, followed by a flock of masters. Andre and Vincent, the twins who stabbed me in France, are with her, as well as Jean-Baptiste, the scythe user who guided me through the Parisian catacombs. Truly, this exemplifies the nature of our conflict. Yesterday, we had courteous discussions. Today, we meet in the field of battle and tomorrow, if everything goes well, we will party together again. Malakim begins. I reply in a flat tone. Martha interrupts. She inspects us while we stand. I have no issues taking my time. There are more and more masters deploying around her in a half-circle, clad in elaborate armors and grasping a plethora of weapons. They also happen to be in range. Martha continues. Malakim asks with mock disbelief, and Martha bares her fangs. He certainly has a gift for getting under everyone¡¯s skin. I ignore him as he departs without a word. It seems that there will be no confrontation tonight, yet his tone indicates that we will face each other, perhaps before the ritual is done. Did Mask retain the services of Malakim as a warrior? They must be mad. Martha and I glare at each other. It flatters me that the one who so casually threw me around during the last conflict now considers me with wariness. It also flatters me that she would naturally regard me as the ringleader, instead of discarding me to address Constantine. Yes, it was all me. I reply amicably. Oh no she didn¡¯t. I spit. I give her a fanged, Devourer smile. The canny lady lifts her gauntlet and immediately casts an inferno spell. I have been expecting it, of course. Her essence spoke of embers while we talked, a sure sign that she was preparing her opening move. I am ready. The Polaris spell I obtained did not work for me. It carries the cold affinity of its creator, a human archmage named Frost. His understanding of the cold is different from mine. He saw it as crisp and refreshing, icicles hanging from branches in the morning light like so many decorations, crystalline sculptures shimmering blue. His air is pure. Mine is unbreathable. To me, the cold is the infinite vista of the far north expanding to unfathomable distances where nothing survives. It is dark, the wind howls, and the only vibrant movements come from the aurora borealis dancing above my head, as alien as the star and just as unreachable. The Winter Court showed me the end and now I will share its strange allure with her too. Just like our spells, the opposing forces crash into each other. Constantine¡¯s chains break the masters as they align around us at optimal distance. The two sides collapse against each other with a blinding display of magic and battle prowess. As for me, I pour the limitless power running through me into the winter construct. Martha may be the better mage but I have power aplenty, and quantityit has a quality of its own. Our spells meet and my murky ball of greenish darkness pushes back her flames. With a hiss and a flick of her fingers, her flames concentrate until my spell explodes. A wave of cold expands towards her, then over her despite her flames. She pulls the spell around herself and her followers to protect them from the impending doom, as even vampires would struggle against the cold I unleashed. Chaos ensues, just the way I like it. Thorn roots explode among the masters, wounding those who could not dodge on time. Martha casts something that disintegrates the appendages around her but I care not. Tonight, I have an endless supply of them. The shadowy garden blooms around us, adding to the confusion for their side. Before Martha can do more, golden chains smash against her shield and damage it. More masters fall, disabled, though not dead yet. We still follow the rules. I disengage from the battle of magic to help a beleaguered Suarez fend off attacks from the twins. The powerful warlord reminds of Torran in his style, although he feels more scholarly. He smashes aside coordinated strikes with some difficulty while his opponents try to corner him with a level of teamwork I will never achieve with anyone. A sudden attack pushes them away, then it is our rhythm against theirs. We dance an unpredictable and deadly waltz, my devious whip with Suarez¡¯ devastating swings against the twins¡¯ needlework. An opening is all they need, and a trio of ambitious masters provides it when they dodge enough roots to distract Suarez. The conspicuous twin salutes and engages. I remember that I must defend myself, though I forgot why. I pour essence into my chestplate¡¯s enchantment and surround myself with unyielding roots. My instincts tell me to defend myself. He hits a mirage, the first illusion I cast tonight. Surprise grips him, but I fail to capitalize on it when another blade pierces my roots and buries itself in my torso. Fortunately, it was deflected enough that the tip bounces against my ribcage. I grab a delicate hand in my armored fist and pull in the subdued twin. I cut his arm off, then pull the soul blade from my wound. The Aurora freezes again, sealing the hole. The little aura I get from him tastes delicious. I must have more. Suarez¡¯ counter wounds the other twin, but before we disable them, I feel danger and block while casting another mirage. Something massive and quite sharp destroys the illusion and smashes into my guard, pushing me back despite my own strength. I turn and face death incarnate, or so the image of the grim reaper would have me believe. Jean-Baptiste growls. Adorable, but I must give him credit for the effort. I reply, then I engage. It is my first time facing a weapon I am completely unfamiliar with, and I do admire him for making it work. Jean-Baptiste strikes with wide, circular motions that sweep aside all opposition, including my poor roots. Mirages barely slow him down because he simply slices through them as part of his normal pattern. To fight him, I start by attempting to block his strikes, only to hiss in pain when a phantomatic echo sends wracking pain tearing through my arms. A transparent image of the scythe finishes the arc I interrupted, to my dismay. Fortunately, the longer our dance continues and the more I grow used to his patterns. Scythes are unwieldy and there is only so much he can do to compensate with techniques. I jump over a low swing, dive under the next and lunge, expanding Rose as I do. Once more, my instincts scream and I feint at the last moment. A spear crashes in the ground where I stood an instant before, sending rocks and gravel flying through the air. Jean-Baptiste blocks my next counter with¡­ a spear? The grim reaper grins with skeletal amusement, and the spear becomes a scythe once more. It appears I am not the only one with an articulated weapon. Ah, but it seems he is quite proud of himself. So I pull the repeater gun from my back and shoot him. The roar of the weapon covers that of everything else and Jean-Baptiste attempts to block and dodge the hail of bullets. They gnaw at his dark halo. The skeleton cracks. I expect him to understand and close the distance, yet he does not. In fact, he runs away. I feel all the masters and enemy lords disengage at full speed through my domain, going so far as to leave their disabled allies caught in my thorns. The decision surprises me, until I feel tremendous energy being pulled by Martha. As I watch, a desperate squad of masters sacrifice themselves to hold Constantine back. I raise a wall of thorns before the Lancaster archmage, but in vain. she whispers, and we all fall to the ground, including her. Such¡­ oppressive weight. Everything is so heavy! Somewhere to the side, Adrien melts into darkness and reappears outside of the spell¡¯s reach, but his attempt to strike Martha fails because the troublesome woman included herself. I fully expect the Mask warriors to take advantage, but they are pulling back in droves. With a supreme effort of will, I kneel, then stand. It feels like being crushed by a wall. I hear bones snapping from my victims and release them from the thorns. They will not manage to stand anyway. Step by step, I grow closer to a prone Martha who even now keeps feeding her construct. She glares at me from the ground, powerless against my slow progress. I wish the gun were not so heavy. It would have been the cherry on the cake. Suddenly, I hear a bang, and something clangs uselessly against my chest plate. I look down in disbelief but no, there is indeed a tiny impact on its otherwise pristine surface. A clump of heated metal shines at my feet. No, this cannot be! I look up to see a single master who remained behind, a ferocious bearded man in light armor. He holds a rifle in his hand, which he reloads with quick, practiced movements. Another bullet hits my helmet and falls, forcing me to face the truth I had denied so vehemently in my heart. he grumbles. I demand, scandalized. I shoot vampires! And I make fun of them! How could this man even contemplate imitating me? Shooting vampires is my trademark! Aaaarrrrg! Jarek bypasses me and kneels by Martha¡¯s sputtering form. He places a gauntlet on her cheek with an almost tender gesture. Jarek asks as the spell lifts. I exclaim, pointing at the guilty party who has widely decided to refrain. Constantine politely asks. I realize that my allies are busy watching the exchange with expressions ranging from vague annoyance to haughty amusement. Martha glares furiously from her kneeling position. When our eyes meet, she growls. I sigh. I glare at Martha on the ground. The most minute flinch in the caster¡¯s expression tells me I was correct. she politely requests. The master who shot me takes a few steps forward and gulps, but I merely shrug. We are still playing by the rules. I have no interest in killing her here. she hisses. I remind her with a slight warning. Constantine handles the oath part, as I trust him to voice it properly. The rest of us retrieve the wounded masters and bring them in so they can heal safely. Those who are still conscious swear as well, and I can tell that most of them are more curious about our project than angry at their defeat. Mask vampires enjoy schemes and grand projects, it seems, even when they are at the receiving ends of them. We even end up allowing them into the Dead World since their oath would prevent them from helping our foes even if they were to be freed. Martha walks to me while I prepare to join the ritual again. she grudgingly allows. She licks her lips. Her heart-shaped face scrunches in a curious expression of longing. I wonder. Melusine comments as she joins us. Martha scowls at her distant offspring, but Melusine shrugs and crosses her arms. I reply on a hunch. The archmage flinches while I politely wait. Melusine inspects her fingers. she announces offhandedly. Horror fills my heart. I slap my forehead in despair. Melusine demands. The vindictive redhead smirks as if I¡¯d just offered her the moon. She clears her throat and takes an affected tone while Martha fumes quietly. I let the sassy Lancaster take her revenge on her equally pompous ancestor and rejoin the ritual for a while, feeling its amazing intensity with the same wonder as the first time I beheld it. Sinead and Sivaya still stand silently in their circle, arms linked in symbolic union. A naked man appears and falls with a scream of infinite misery while I link arms with others. It takes him a full minute before he recovers enough to join his kin, whose assembly has grown to the population of a respectable village. A song starts from the tent circle and drifts to us. It speaks of lost childhood. Some of the Likaeans stand straighter. We are still doing it. An army could not stop us. Another one will come tomorrow, but for now, the sense of violation that comes with intruders has retreated to the back of my mind and I know we have caught a little reprieve. The winter fae steps to my side and offers a bloody smile, then we close our eyes and pour our focus into the ritual. The setting sun marks the beginning of the third night of the ritual. As I watch, the last of the fae, the ones from the farthest reach of the world, come forth wearing strange guises and exotic traits. Some are clearly of Asian descent while others are dark and unfamiliar. With their coming, the spell sighs and shudders. Sinead and Sivaya separate. I have never seen the prince so tired, but his eyes burn with resolution and when he sees me, he smiles. His gaze hardens soon after. This is the last stretch, yet also the most difficult. The royal couple turns to the closed portal and calls as one. ¡°Part of the whole, key to the gate, shore by the sea.¡± The wand we recovered the first time I wore that ridiculous armored tutu rises from the ground. It dissipates into strange motes that swirl in the portal¡¯s location. The essence I taste on the still air of the dead world speaks of green life and growing things. I can almost smell sap and loam with strange spices mixed in. I have run quite a few times through a great many forests, but I have never experienced such a rich scent. If it does belong to a Likaean world, then I fear John¡¯s suggestion of leaving might tempt me after all. The entirety of the Likaean population on earth clutters on the outside ring to bring their support and the ritual¡¯s intensity grows deeper and sharper. The summoning part is finished. They are all here, and they are free. Now, they will find their way home. Power flickers in the arch. A shard the size of a needle materializes from thin air at a small distance. It grows at a snail pace. Hundreds of Likaeans pour their heart, auras, and beliefs in the tiny spike with the hope that it will achieve the impossible and find them a way back. Their voices rise in unison, singing strange hymns that make the air quake around them as the corpse of this old world shakes in its death throes. Even the vampires pay attention, because the tongue of the Likaean speaks to all even if they cannot quite grasp it. I see them as well, the elusive wisps of memories I have no words for. We are so close, so close that when the feeling of intrusion returns, I am angry. I signal the others and like one man, we gather around the chalice to drink the last fae essence of our world. As before, power courses through us as we leave without a word, only this time, there are more of us. The chalice is empty now. We file out of the starfort at a leisure pace, armors glittering under the moonlight while our blades absorb it. I signal, and we jump on the ramparts to form a battleline, then wait. I feel the enemy come and when they encircle us like wolves, I raise my gauntlet. ¡°Nu Sarrehin.¡± Let there be light. I have no concerns using Likaean to cast now, and why should I? The secret is no longer required. Tonight, I have no need to pretend. I whisper, Bertrand emerges from the edge of the forest, clad in his red armor and gold mask and followed by a smirking Malakim. With him come the elite of Mask. Orphee the tactician takes his place in silence, angel face grim under the purple light. Jean-Baptiste and the twins join his side, then a darkly charismatic man with a saber and gauntlet who must be Gabriel, the Lancaster¡®s deadliest duelist. A diminutive woman with light brown hair and a calm beauty walks on in golden, form-fitting armor. I recognize Hastings from her description. The only person absent is Dominique. Besides her, we are facing the entirety of Mask¡¯s military. This will be a true test for the Accords, and they are here to the last Warden. It does not even surprise me that they would all happen to be around, ¡®visiting a friend¡¯, as it were, when Constantine called upon them to fulfill their obligations. Everyone is here. Haughty Roland and crafty Lancasters have gathered in a golden pack around Sephare. Jarek has gathered the Natalis and muscular Suarez around himself. As for me, I stand at the front with the Ekon and the Vanheim. Ako and Constantine occupy the center with the Speaker¡¯s bodyguards and his Erenwald stewardt. We are more diverse than our foes, but no less united in our desire to kick their collective arses back across the ocean. The collected essence is so dense that the Watcher opens his eyes in the real world, and its feline pupil narrows on us. The wind dies. Bertrand and I match gaze. We understand each other. There is no need for talks. It is time TO HUNT. S~?a??h the ???el F?re.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. The world explodes around us. Trees are shredded. Rocks shatter. The ground erupts in so many geysers of mud, gravel, and crushed stones. Spells clash in a cataclysm of colors and sounds, sending out shockwaves so dense they impact each other with sonorous blasts. In the chaos of battle, I rush Bertrand. CUT THE HEAD. No, I cannot triumph against him. Already, his size has increased while his blood red armor glows crimson. His Magna Arqa has triggered. I throw a heart seeker spell as an opener which he blocks with the flat of his axe. For a handful of seconds I have him on the back foot as we exchange very quick series of blows. The roots I can manifest hobble him while mirages disappear under useless strikes, but as I manage to hit his chest, a backswing sends me flying. More roots catch me and we stand apart, the eye of the storm in this fantastic battle. Bertrand smiles while the break in his armor seals over with dark blood. I mirror his smirk when the Aurora repairs itself. His eyes widen in surprise and he charges back in. We fight in a duel, the others leaving us alone, and exhilaration fills my heart. I am fighting one of the deadliest warriors in the world and I am not losing. Or at least, not fast. Our dance shows he is taking me seriously, and so I use every trick I know to push him back, never leaving him time to perform full swings. Bertrand does not hesitate to take glancing blows to land a decisive one, but I am his equal in this regard and the Aurora truly shows its incredible craftsmanship, allowing me to match a Magna Arqa manifestation blow for blow. I laugh with delight for a while, but eventually our difference of experience is made manifest and I am pushed back. That is, until a freight train by the name of Jarek smashes into Betrand¡¯s flank, carrying him across half of the battlefield. I can accept it. Bertrand may be MY PREY, but my priority here is victory and helping my allies. A quick glance around shows that Mask outnumber us with their masters, but that they are unable to bring those numbers to bear due to our tight formation. Normally, this would put us at risk of magical bombardments. Unfortunately for our foes, Martha is not with them while Constantine is free to unleash his full potential. Only Gabriel on their side stops him from having free reign and even then, it is an unequal fight. I use my Magna Arqa to help where I can, covering those of us who are wounded while harassing our foes. The speed of the battle prevents me from coordinating well with my companions so I limit my actions to sure bets ¡ª truly, we should train together more ¡ª yet even those tilt the scales in our favor. I have the satisfaction of interrupting the fight between Jean-Baptiste and our shadow-wielding twins, and landing a very satisfactory punch in his skeletal nose before an unknown lord forces me back. I race across the battlefield, destroying formations and maiming entire squads of masters. My instincts guide me in this whirlwind of violence, enhanced by the Dvor essence singing in my veins, whispering advice so I can defend my land. I attack Hastings as she is on the verge of defeating Sephare, our waltz one of guile and feints against unpredictable savagery, then Naminata triggers her Magna Arqa and the dance becomes real. We step up with the beat while our foes are left confused and disheartened. Hastings disengages, but not before I shred an entire side of her golden armor. By the Watcher this is GOOD. As it should be, with Rose singing and the roar of spells shaking the very air. The vitality of the fae means that I have no need to care for energy expenses. Suddenly, I feel a pull and make my way to the entrance just in time to see Islaev¡¯s muscular arm flying through the air. Jarek¡¯s kin falls to his knees with a triumphant Malakim preparing a killing blow. I extend my hand and cast our sire¡¯s signature spell. For one faithful moment, delicious terror twists his vicious grin into an ugly grimace. But it is soon replaced by deep rage. I charge him. Malakim salutes. My roots disappear, as if swallowed and I feel a block on my domain. My perception narrows to my human form. Malakim lands his jagged longsword against Rose, locking guard and pushing me back by exactly one step. I trigger the whip and a long, dark gash opens across my brother¡¯s rictus. He flinches. I mock. Malakim attacks with a savagery that equals my own, and our duel is merciless. I find myself using my gloved claws as often as Rose herself in this snarling brawl. I claw his face once, but otherwise his blade finds flaws in my defenses and only my current vitality saves me from defeat. My only edges come from the mirage spells and Octave¡¯s training. Otherwise, the monster surpasses me in every aspect. Sometimes, Naminata passes us by and her hypnotic dance grants me a few seconds of respite. I am, once again, losing my duel, when Islaev reappears whole and angry. He roars and a horse materializes under him. The resulting charge sends Malakim crashing back with both arms snapped. The proud warrior complains. I ask, pointing at his naked chest. Malakim comes roaring back, but he stumbles, and we all stop. The world shivers and for one brief instant, our battle lines show the ghostly echo of a circle of dancing Likaeans. An inky blade the size of a menhir hangs ominously over the two assemblies, solid enough to be seen in both worlds. The ritual is reaching its paroxysm. Golden chains encircle Malakim before he can react and Constantine smashes the irate Devourer into the ground, again and again, bypassing the beast¡¯s armor. Constantine yells. I run, entering the star fort and leaving the battle behind me. Everyone seems to be holding well thanks to the fae blood they partook of. The same battle of attrition that almost defeated us in the first war is now carrying us through the second, but that is secondary for now. I sprint through the portal and behold the shard spinning in its axis. The chant of the fae assembly inflates with a terrible crescendo. Sinead lifts his exhausted arms in supplication. The shard plunges into the flesh of space. Reality screams, then it gives way. Emerald light floods the dead world, casting the shadows away and with it comes the enticing perfume of other world flowers. Lilac and lavender flowers peek while from a window into a vibrant world. The cries of strange birds caress my ears like an invitation, or a lullaby. The Liakeans cry and scream, struck with disbelief, but their leader has not lost sight. ¡°Through! Everyone, go NOW!¡± The assembled fae form a snake pouring through the portal¡¯s aperture. As soon as they step on the other side, they shed their human form and transform into a kaleidoscope of creatures as strange as they are beautiful. I spot Makyas turn into a tiny sprite with fluttering dragonfly wings. He gives me a playful wink then disappears out of sight or simply shifts to some other locale. As for the others, they race in with abandon. It takes only a minute for the assembly to melt into a small gathering of the most determined ones, those unafraid to act as rear guard. I recognize Tourneas and Secluded-Black-Sand-Beach as they make sure no one was left behind. The winter fae walks by me with one last needle-filled grin. ¡°Perhaps we will meet again, sister.¡± ¡°I am not your kin, I merely ate him.¡± ¡°Then you know our way and you are kin. I will be seeing you,¡± he replies with a laugh, then he is through, a gaunt wight that freezes the loam with every step. To my surprise, Naminata comes back through with bloody tears trailing freely down her cheeks. Of course, the Ekon would send an explorer. Ugh. They could have asked. I hesitate at the edge of the green as the last leaders walk through. Sivaya is the penultimate traveler. Her elfin face grows even more alien with liquid blue eyes and an ethereal quality that makes me feel like she could walk through a wall. Then it is simply Sinead and I. He takes my hand. I do not resist when he walks me through the passage. The intoxicating perfume of the Likaean world almost overwhelms me. We stand in a small clearing under a green sky. A tree the size of the tallest mountain rules over an infinite forest of strange vegetation. Lianas fall like garlands from the heavy boughs. A rainbow-colored insect flies lazily through the clearing. I am in the arms of dream Sinead, the true one. He is so tall now, and I lose myself in the molten gold of his eyes. Amber hair undulates in an unseen wind like the quiet flames of a campfire. His arms are so strong, now, strong enough to encircle me and make me feel safe. From a dilettante noble, he has turned into a royal heir. He gently grabs the back of my neck and I gasp under his controlled power. Even the Aurora¡¯s cold aura cannot smother the heat that now emanates from him in great waves. Sinead is himself, truly himself, for the first time I have met him, free of fear and the suffering of his people. A true Prince of Summer. ¡°Ariane, I love you. I have loved you since we met. I have loved you until it hurt. I could not stop loving you.¡± His kiss is fire and honey and a foreign sun, all things that should terrify me and yet do not because he is Sinead and¡­ I love him as well. I drown in the passion I feel here, helpless yet unafraid. The urge to bite is drowned by his feelings and the power with which he embraces me. ¡°And I am sorry,¡± he finishes. Huh? ¡°Do it,¡± he tells Sivaya. I barely manage to struggle, so surprised I am. I can only watch, lost, as the princess of the blue claps her hands and the portal winks out. Sivaya teleports away just as the last motes of energy of the spell fade to nothingness. My way back just disappeared into thin air! I am trapped? I am trapped! ¡°Sinead, what have you DONE?¡± Chapter 179: Spirited Away ¡°You trapped me! You LIED! How could you?¡± I scream.I shove Sinead, torn as I am by anger and betrayal. After¡­ after everything! Everything we have done for each other, he traps me? Too late do I realize that my strength should have caved his chest in, but Sinead merely turns aside to soften the blow and backs up a few steps. He closes his eyes, in shame or resignation I do not know. So I shove him again. I wish I had the strength to kill him here and now but I am more heartbroken than outraged. Perhaps rage will come later, when I do not feel as empty as a gored carcass, and twice as ridiculous. All of this for that? ¡°I did not state a falsehood,¡± he dares claim. ¡°No? NO? You said this would benefit me! You trap me here, away from my friends? You cut off the bridge back, and this is supposed to benefit me? Please tell me the gate is still active somehow, TELL ME MY FRIENDS ARE NOT DYING AS WE SPEAK.¡± ¡°The path is closed.¡± ¡°Fuck you Sinead, I trusted you, I loved you. You¡­. Why? WHY?¡± I shake him and see his face twist in guilt, but there is something beneath that rises and I feel monstrous heat under my fingers. Suddenly, he grabs my shoulder with more strength than I would expect from a lord, perhaps as much strength as Jarek, and the gold of his hair turns incandescent. Tears run down his cheeks. Really? Really? I should be the one crying right now! ¡°Because¡­ you are going to die!¡± he screams with more pain than I ever heard from him. The naked emotions do not erase his actions, but they do grant him a moment of respite before I disembowel him where he stands. ¡°You¡¯d better have a damn good explanation and a good plan to get me home or I swear I¡¯ll¡ª¡± ¡°I have both,¡± he interrupts with a grumble ¡ªthe shameless twat¡ª ¡°Of course I had both before I dragged you here. I wouldn¡¯t have done it otherwise. I¡­ you are so very young, sometimes. Too stubborn and hopeful to see the plain truth. Semiramis may ascend or not, but even if she succeeds, she will not kill her son.¡± ¡°How can you be so sure?¡± ¡°Because I talked to her.¡± ¡°You¡­. what?¡± ¡°She had need of knowledge and Sivaya knows more than most. The selfish bitch could attempt to assassinate her spawn but she has not and she will not. You know this to be true.¡± I make to protest, but a memory surges in my mind, that of the stone golem. It called Malakim the primary target but called Nirari ¡®my son¡¯. She still has no intention of ending his life. ¡°Once the Babylonian perishes or succeeds, Nirari will have free reign of this realm. You will ride to war with your allies, your tricks and your artifacts and you will die. You will use fire and metal and all those spells, your fencing techniques and still, you will die. No dragon tooth, no sun magic will save you from him. Nirari is so above you that you cannot comprehend the gap in power. He will sacrifice you on the altar of his ascension, you and all those he cannot turn to his cause in one glorious slaughter to the glory of his reign. You have no chance unless you can obtain what can only be found here, what he has denied all of his kin.¡± ¡°Dragon blood,¡± I whisper. ¡°You want me to get dragon blood. You think this will give me a chance.¡± I ponder his words in silence. All of this for¡­ and yet it makes sense, in a way. The resources of the Likaean world are fabulous as well as beyond his reach, for now. Here, I can become more powerful than he ever expected, perhaps powerful enough to stand against him in single combat. It all depends on whether or not Sinead can deliver on his tall promise. ¡°You really think we can kill one?¡± I ask. The question surprises Sinead, who smiles bitterly and a little condescendingly as well. ¡°You cannot kill a fae world dragon even if you prepare for a thousand years, my dear Ariane. I am not exaggerating. Perhaps ten thousand years would be enough, but you do not have that long. There is, however, another path, a ritualistic hunt that will allow us to request the precious liquid as a prize. It will cost a significant portion of the goodwill we obtained, however. The plan is long, if simple. Let me start from the beginning.¡± Sinead paces, radiating heat with every step. It feels extremely strange to see him like this. He is still the same Sinead, still scheming and planning, but where an average-sized man stood before, now he towers over me like a giant. More, he is now strong enough to block me where the humanized Sinead would struggle against the strongest humans. The contrast is jarring enough to distract me from my anger. ¡°Sivaya left for the Blue Court to align this sphere with yours and push the time dilation to its maximum.¡± I frown. ¡°What do you mean?¡± I ask. ¡°I shall not bore you with the complexity of it all as I have myself only a vague understanding of time weave magic, however the speed of time is relative in the Likaean spheres, and especially so between one sphere and another. Time only ever moves forward but not always at the same speed.¡± ¡°So a day somewhere could be two elsewhere?¡± ¡°Or a week, or more, and there comes the power of the Court of Blue. They have a measure of control over the¡­ speed of time, shall we say, and the less connected a world is and the more dilated time can be. Your earth is only weakly connected to the World Tree sphere, and thus we are confident we can slow down time on earth relative to here. Sivaya estimated that we could achieve a ratio of ten thousand to one. It will, however, cost us our greatest asset: the liberation and return of one of the three greatest geniuses the Court of Blue has ever seen.¡± ¡°Ten thousand for one is¡­¡± ¡°One second on earth is three hours here. Sivaya should be implementing it right now. Her favorite uncle is in charge of the Chronal Solarium, and she has all the calculations.¡± ¡°You are stretching my belief in you, Sinead.¡± ¡°I did not break my promises, or you would know. We will challenge my brother Revas for his position in the succession line and use our challenger status to participate in this year¡¯s dragon hunt. Then, you will be ready to return home, which Sivaya can arrange.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sensing quite a few gaps in that plan.¡± ¡°I will get into details later, but know I have a way to win the hunt. As for challenging the prince, it can be done easily and we do not even have to win. We are flush with favors, Ariane, hundreds of them across dozens of courts. I need only a fraction to move forward. We will get you the tools you need to survive.¡± ¡°You seem confident that I will just follow you, Sinead. It annoys me quite a bit.¡± His gaze drills into mine. His confidence is absolute. ¡°I am your best chance at going home. You know this and you care about those you left behind. You also know that dragon blood is your one chance of winning against your sire. I know you, Ariane. You are an idealist in your goals but a pragmatist in their realization. You will work with me, even if you hate me. I can live with this hatred, but I cannot live with your death. I am willing to pay that price.¡± ¡°If you are so sure I will do all of this and if you believe in the strength of your arguments, why the deception?¡± I demand with all the venom of my anger. ¡°Would you have followed with all your allies locked in combat, fighting for their lives?¡± ¡°I could have planned for it.¡± ¡°You could have also decided that my plan was based on assumptions, which it is, and opted to stay rather than risk your life in the spheres. You could have moved back at the last moment out of fear for the life of a friend. There were many ways you could have prepared yourself against this trip and the only hope I had to definitely catch you was to take you unaware as you were still flush with the ecstasy of battle. Let me be clear: there is not a single person left on earth whose welfare matters to me more than one of your smiles. I will sacrifice every last one of them if it means that, in the end, you triumph.¡± ¡°So you are claiming that you did it for me.¡± ¡°I did it for us, yes. I believe it.¡± ¡°There is no us, Sinead. There was never an us because you have never seen me as a partner. A partner does not look down upon their partner to the extent that they deny them the choice of a decision. If there are mistakes to be made, they are mine to make and you have no say in my final decision, no legitimacy in forcing me to choose between the immediate life of my friends or a potential victory at the end. From the beginning, you saw me as a person to be guided, not respected. Either you love me and treat me as an equal, or we are just allies of circumstances because I will never let anyone decide for me again if I can help it. I will follow that damn plan of yours and get back home but we are done. You betrayed me. It does not matter that you thought you knew better. You betrayed me and I do not grant my trust lightly. I do not have the words to express how gutted that leaves me.¡± ¡°I said it before, I can live with your hatred but not with your death. I really believe my actions will benefit you in the end,¡± he replies with finality. ¡°Really?¡± I retort while the numbing grasp of despair finishes wrapping around my heart. ¡°Really? That kiss was for my benefit?¡± Sinead freezes and looks like a rabbit caught in the glare of a gas lamp. His eyes swivel, looking for a metaphorical exit. ¡°I find the situation upsetting,¡± he slowly enunciates, ¡°so upsetting that my wits seem to have deserted me.¡± ¡°Try honesty for once.¡± ¡°I¡­ I knew you wouldn¡¯t let me after what I did.¡± My punch caves his nose in and sends him crashing into a tree. *** The fae world is powerfully alive, I have no better ways to express it. Its fabric is both dense and malleable, a perfect playground for those with the right key. I do not have it. A few steps into the world and the frost imprints I leave behind are pushed back into the armor with what feels like a huff. My aura of cold is still there, it is just not allowed to affect the world. I inspect my surroundings, more wary than amazed now that my status has fallen from visitor to exile. The emerald sky is alien, the dense forest hermetic and hostile. The gigantic tree in the background seems all the more imposing now that I had a second look. It is an old and gnarly thing so massive it should have collapsed under its own weight a million times, yet looking at it fills me with a sense of eternity, as if it predated mankind itself. It most likely does, at that. The line blurs and suddenly the tree is impossibly large, so large that it would dwarf earth. It is the single most massive object in existence and the sky is but its breath, the light its blessing. We are only gnats on its antediluvian surface, there and gone like a flicker of light as it travels through eternity. I remember what the Watcher showed me in that brief instant when he opened my mind. Concepts so complex and absurd that everything I know is detrimental to their understanding. There is simply. So. Much. Head hurts. Ugh. I look again to see that it has returned to being just a mountain-sized tree. For now. The scent of Sinead¡¯s blood travels to me and my teeth ache. I must kill him and make an example, let others know they cannot break my heart. What others, the squirrels? It is a matter of principle. It is a matter of feeling better. It is vindication. It is pointless. I need him to escape. I do not need him. I need him, but the very sight of him tears my heart apart. I feel so empty right now. My false soul is a sieve. No emotion will sway me for more than a second, before being replaced by an equally ephemeral pulse. I cannot even muster the energy to cry. Bursts of anger and bursts of sadness fight each other over the pit. I am experiencing powerful emotions that do not relate with the hunt with an intensity most immortals would envy and they are so bad I would wish them upon Melusine. I must be the butt of some grand cosmic joke. I look up and seek the Watcher¡¯s gaze but it is not here, or at least not yet. What have I ever done to¡­ No Ariane, better not explore this question. I sit on the ground to wait while the second greatest twit in history picks himself up. He grabs his nose and, with a dreadful snap, sets a cartilage I had believed to be powder now. Truly, his resilience has increased to impressive levels. Perhaps I should kick him in the unmentionables. Discarding ideas of further violence, I wait in my little circle of frosty grass while he ambles back. ¡°We must move quickly,¡± he tells me with a nasal voice. ¡°The news of our deeds will be the talk of the spheres within the next two minutes, and five minutes later, my brother will send assassins.¡± Ah yes, an important detail I forgot. I am no longer a deadly existence here. ¡°I need to know more about fighting Likaeans here,¡± I inform the scummy weasel in the most neutral way I can manage. ¡°While we move, yes.¡± I follow after him, leaving the tree to our right and ducking under a low branch. The forest of the fae world swallows us in silence. It shines with all the colors of the rainbow from dusky crimson to shining blues as we run by. Flowers follow Sinead as if they were the sun while they shirk away from me. A strange scaled beast glares at us with yellow eyes before disappearing behind a trunk. On earth, there is a certain harsh messiness to unmanaged forests, a struggle for life reflected in every tiny sprout fighting to survive on a craggy slope. This merciless environment makes the fugacious beauty of life that much more valuable, for it is elusive and ephemeral. It must be seized and appreciated while it lasts, but here I am walking as if through a carefully curated garden. Every angle is enchanting and wonderful, or they would be if I were in the proper mindset. The trees are old and covered in moss, their barks showing strange patterns. The plants are varied and thriving, all of them, which should be impossible. There is a design pervading the very air, and yet it does not feel conscious so much as instinctive. The world feels fluid and heavy at the same time. We use roots and ancient, fallen branches to move across the crowded ground on our silent trip under the canopy. The leaves are thick over our head and yet light still manages to get through, somehow, while bugs and petals radiate with inward light to keep the darkness at bay. Meanwhile, Sinead speaks in a voice that betrays little emotion. ¡°There are dozens of common, sapient races in the spheres, a hundred billion individuals living and warring across their surfaces. While you vampires gain power by removing yourselves from the laws of a place, we harness it. The result is ostensibly the same, combat-wise. Those of us who can do so the most obtain ranks of nobility if they were not already born into it, through as many methods as there are courts. Let me be honest, I believe that only high nobility or princes can hope to prevail against you, but this is an oversimplification you cannot rely on. A Blue Court baron might succeed in trapping you into a time bubble, and then you would have been disabled as surely as if a Blood Court knight had pierced your heart. Combat is but one of many tools in the arsenals of those who seek power around here, so do not take anything for granted. Some of the methods we use for war might also surprise you. One of the assassins might try to sing you into submission.¡± I could just sing back. ¡°And people will find out about your vulnerability to light or fire. The pecking order is much more fluid here than it would be back on earth. Circumstances will crush you or allow you to defeat enemies far beyond your normal reach if you know how to harness them. Half of the game in Likaean politics is managing the circumstances.¡± ¡°And the other half?¡± ¡°Equal parts sex and warfare.¡± I resist to urge to tell him I had the warfare part down pat and would let him handle the sex. I want to rise above snarky remarks and witty jabs, partly because I would like to get over my pain, and partly because Sinead would not react. He has already shown no interest in defending himself, physically or otherwise. It would be punching someone willing and that makes it a kink, not a punishment. Or maybe a sacrifice. Ugh. I hate everything right now. ¡°We will recover some fruits and a branch first, it will allow us to get passage to a port city where I can get some work done,¡± Sinead continues. ¡°Why get them, I thought we were flush with favors?¡± ¡°And I would rather not waste one on something unnecessary. We can collect free assets and face the assassins outside of Assidina ¡ª the capital of this world ¡ª rather than meet them in the settlement and make the situation complicated. Two birds with one stone, to use an earth idiom. Ah, here we are.¡± We move out into a meadow, again under the strange ever-present emerald light. A single massive tree reigns over the surrounding grass. Without hesitation, the Prince of Summer walks to its monumental trunk to climb. He is quite agile. A real little chimpanzee. ¡°My mother showed me waypoint trees when I was a child,¡± the prince explains. ¡°The Wandering Court loves and makes use of them. Ah, those seem quite ripe.¡± He climbs down with a pair of fat, yellow-green balls. I can smell sweet, tender flesh from here, but the scavenger is not done yet. He knocks on the tree as if it were a door. We wait in silence. Nothing happens. Sinead grumbles, fiery hair fluttering in an unseen wind. He still wears expensive human clothes, I notice. They somehow expanded to fit his size and look much less rumpled than a garment that has been worn for four days should be. The Prince of Summer knocks again, this time with more insistence. ¡°Come on!¡± He finally bellows. The trunk opens and spits a stick, which the fae grabs before it can painfully smack into his chiseled jaw. The Prince glares at the deceptively normal bark, mumbling something under his breath. He wisely decides not to complain out loud when he sees my glare, then proceeds to place his blood-soaked hand against the surface, leaving a red print that quickly fades. ¡°Good, now to get to the city. It will take us an hour.¡± ¡°It will?¡± I ask with disbelief. ¡°Yes. Every point of this plane is ever an hour away from the tree, if we run. We will stop shortly before the outskirts of Assidina.¡± ¡°Why did we not do like the others and flee immediately?¡± I ask with suspicion. ¡°Because¡­ we had to have this conversation. And it took some time for me to pick myself up from that tree. I am still a little weak.¡± ¡°How concerned should I be? We have assassins on the way.¡± ¡°With you by my side, we will be fine. My siblings have always underestimated me. They think me a dancer only.¡± ¡°We can just dispose of them, yes?¡± ¡°Oh indeed. Although, as a general rule, I would advise you not to kill unless you are certain you are not triggering a chain reaction that ends with a king¡¯s favorite consort whispering words in their lover¡¯s ear. In this situation, it would be best to send a strong message. Please, kill them all.¡± ¡°Can I drain them dry then?¡± ¡°I see no reason to waste perfectly valuable essence.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll kill them thinking about you,¡± I deadpan despite my earlier resolve. ¡°I fear that the taste may not match your expectations,¡± he replies without missing a beat. ¡°A bit like expecting a Saint-Emilion and tasting a Gris de Toul,¡± he continues. I give him a cold glare to make him know that his attempts at humor do not amuse me, and I see genuine hurt on his delicate traits before he can pull it back inside. I find it¡­ satisfying, but it is a hollow pleasure. Like taking someone else when falling to one¡¯s death. ¡°When you are done being a wine snob, perhaps you can help me prepare for the incoming battle?¡± I coldly ask. ¡°You are as ready as can be with your armor and magic,¡± Sinead replies off-handedly. ¡°Just be aware that winter magic will be weaker here, though not the weakest. Do not worry overmuch, Ariane.¡± Not worrying overmuch is how vampires die to humans. The rest of the short race is spent in silence. I attempt to enjoy our little outing, in vain. My heart really is not in it. That unconscionable rake ruined my first foray into the World Tree sphere even though I usually love forests, one more notch to add to my growing list of grudges. Finally, after jumping through a copse of trees whose roots and branches could not be told apart, we reach another clearing. This one is considerably larger than any we¡¯ve been in before. It could host a festival, but not any time soon because its current occupants may ruin the mood. ¡°Corpses?¡± I ask, aghast. Before us, the remnants of a battle spread across the green grass undulating under a strong wind. Pennants and cloaks wave in a symphony of color that is reflected on the ground by the bodies of combatants. Armors come in hues of gray, brown, and green. Some weapons still shine with some unknown enchantments, and this variety is reinforced by the curious anatomies of some warriors. By our side, a man with four arms leans against a stump, his quatuor of swords stained with blood and his chest pierced by arrows. The blood itself glitters crimson and shiny. I can smell it, and I can guess that it would be potent, except, it is not there. Not really. I get an impression like a painting reminding its spectators of past deeds. We are not treading the site of a recent massacre. ¡°This is a memorial,¡± I realize. ¡°The succession battle. Trebilen fell here. He must have been favored by the World Tree because the field has been conserved as is for the past millennia. We will wait and fight. Pay tribute with the blood we shed today.¡± I walk a bit to inspect the site, curious despite my reservations. I find a slice through the ground with melted glass on its surface. The temperature must have been hellish, and yet the grass around it is barely scorched. Come to think of it, Sinead¡¯s bulk should have broken the tree I sent him against. Perhaps this place is harder to damage. I do not mind, because the people are not. Fallen warriors litter the ground, still clutching their weapons, expressions frozen in displays of rage, regret. Terror. There are quite a few women, I notice. They were offered no more quarter than their male counterparts. I even spot a girl with snake hair clutching a dreadful gash in her chest, her hands still frozen around bandages and a poultice. The Likaeans are not merciful races. I must remember that. Finally, Sinead stands from the spot he had picked and I join his side. We do not move. A trio emerges from the tree. The lead woman holds an orb with a single drop of blood in its midst. She has golden, reddish hair that reminds me of Sinead¡¯s but her traits are thinner and she wears a hard, cruel expression. Her smile widens to reveal pointy teeth and she grabs the handle of a thin sword by her side. The second is a man covered in armor seemingly made of bark and transparent stone. His skin has the color of the earth and he looks at me with large, colorful eyes with no white and no iris, just an amber sphere around a dark dot. His expression feels strangely vacant. The last person is also a woman in a dress holding a wreath of all things. She is taller than the others and wears blonde hair the same color as mine. Her black eyes survey the area with concern. She is the only one to display signs of concern. S?a?ch* Th? N0??F?re.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. ¡°The prodigal son has returned!¡± the leading woman exclaims. ¡°Welcome back, Prince Sinead of the Court of Summer. Welcome back.¡± She gives us a mocking bow. She speaks adult Likaean, but the gap between the two languages is extremely small in everyday conversations. I would be lost if it were a philosophical discourse. Insults and threats? I can follow. ¡°We were so disappointed after missing you last time, but here you have returned whole and hale. My friends and I could not be more pleased,¡± the woman gloats. She certainly likes the sound of her own voice. I have difficulties assessing her strength. Her aura inexplicably tastes of torn skin and porcelain while the pungent odor of sun-baked blood comes from the man, and the tall woman bears the scent of a hand gripping a family portrait. Humans feel so drab by comparison. ¡°Oteissa, a pleasure as always,¡± Sinead replies in the uncaring voice of a bored socialite. ¡°Out of curiosity, how much will you be compensated to look after my well-being? I find myself curious.¡± ¡°The wandering prince is curious! How unexpected,¡± the woman mocks, and the bark man chuckles in a voice that sounds hollow. Only the tall woman glares at us with increasing panic. ¡°One protection favor and a hundred bright tokens,¡± the woman says with a shrug. ¡°Pretty disappointing considering you are technically royalty. Why, I would almost be inclined to negotiate since it appears¡­ you have something to bargain for?¡± She stares at me and discomfort crawls up my spine. It does not take much study of Likaean society to guess that they would have their slavers as well. I turn instinctively to Sinead, but not because I do not trust him not to betray me. It is because his aura is flaring spectacularly. It starts like an amber, then explodes outward like an alcohol-fed fire in a great, incandescent plume. His hair sticks to his scalp under the pressure of an unseen hurricane. Heat radiates from him in great waves, so intense that I take a step back. So intense that the unchanging grass under his feet wilts. I am certain that he is still weakened, and yet the power on display is absolutely monstrous. Sinead is angry. And for the first time in a century, he has the physical means of his ambition. He grips the branch between reddening knuckles. ¡°It appears you and my brother need a reminder. No matter who my mother is, I am still Prince of Summer and summer, my dear, is the season of war.¡± Sinead hurls himself at the assassin with lord-like speed. He uses the branch as a sword, casually slapping her hand away from the sheath of her rapier. His next strike pierces her thigh, drawing blood despite the lack of sharpness. With a dreadful snap, the woman is sent tumbling away. She screams in agony. The rest of us are too awe-struck to react. I would have reacted to anyone else but¡­ this is Sinead? How did the smarmy dilettante turn into a ferocious warrior? Have I missed something? ¡°Do you need an invitation?¡± Sinead asks me. Oh, right. The assassins. I rush at the bark man, who was already casting something. The yellow stone in his armor gain in radiance and I panic for an instant before realizing that it is not sunli¡ª BLIND. ¡°HSSSS!¡± Instincts and practice take over. Octave trained me well. When blinded, attack. Swing where the enemy will be. Strike wide and disrupt, rather than retreat. Rose materializes and bites deep into¡­ Oh my. Oh my! DELICIOUS. I can taste, I can smell. His aura is just there. Blood flows, so much of it. A waste. Quick! I jump and bite down, drinking the vitality before the blood-soaked meadow can drink more of my prize. He is lazy violence and overlong hunts, the blood of the victim congealed by the time he delivers the coup-de-grace. Perfect. Someone interrupts the feeding. Thorny brambles snared my feet and climb up my chest, but the Aurora¡¯s power cannot be denied and they freeze, the concept of cold shattering them even in the pleasant heat of spring. This is pathetic. Risible. ¡°YOU CALL THESE THORNS?¡± My consciousness expands in a sphere. One is fire, not prey, punishing an idiotic huntress. Annoying, but not a foe. The other thinks she can hold me down with little twigs. A tendril grabs her around the waist, pulls her to me. She is slow. ¡°No, please! I only¡ª¡± ¡°YOUR WORLD IS SO RICH.¡± She tastes of a ship dragged by a sudden tide, with a zesty note. I love it here. The fire bloom throws a twitching body in my direction. She smells scrumptious. I am not even thirsty at all. In fact, I feel fantastic. ¡°WHAT DO YOU WISH FOR, SUPPLICANT?¡± I ask. As is proper. ¡°Forgiveness?¡± the fire bloom replies. Forgiveness? Oh. I pull the roots in, letting my essence return to its human limits. The thorns burrow. They leave the grass undisturbed. It appears that my Magna Arqa can be counted on here. I look up but do not perceive the familiar presence of the Watcher. Hmm. ¡°I refuse.¡± ¡°Take her anyway? No need to let her essence go to waste,¡± Sinead offers. ¡°Wait! Wait!¡± the bloodied woman retorts. She looks like her world is crumbling around her. ¡°I know things! I can help!¡± Sinead grips her neck with more strength than purely necessary. His jaw is set in a rare expression of hatred. ¡°I know you can be useful, but there are plenty of useful people out there and only a few I genuinely hate. Goodbye, Oteissa.¡± I drink her dry. I take my time now that the fight is over. She tastes of a powerful drive coupled with a terrible lack of foresight. Once I am done, I feel as if I were floating. I have consumed so much powerful essence that I feel full, even a little tipsy despite the purity of Likaean vitality. My inebriation dulls the pain of the betrayal I still feel, pushing it into the background. I gaze at the world around me with renewed interest. The turf we damaged with our fire and ice already recovered its lustrous green, like water flowing back into a puddle. The earth has swallowed the blood we spilled. Sinead sits a distance away, eating glazed mushrooms and meat skewers he recovered from the dead. The rest of their interesting belongings wait in a pile by his side. I notice he took the time to lay a cover on the ground to protect his butt before plopping down to eat, turning the slaughter into an impromptu picnic. As I approach, he swallows and hails me. ¡°I told you we didn¡¯t need to worry too much.¡± ¡°Why did you flee them before? You could have handled all three,¡± I remark. ¡°Two reasons. First, I was not that strong. Liberating all those fae has increased my pull on the spheres. Second, if you get rid of a group of assassins but not their client, your reward is a more expensive group of assassins.¡± ¡°I see.¡± ¡°Here, take this.¡± He throws two pouches at me. In them I find cubes and crystals of different colors. I pull one that looks like a miniature pillow made of amber. it is slightly warm to the touch. ¡°Court tokens. You can swallow them for power or sustenance, or to fuel a spell. They are useful for bargaining, but keep in mind that nothing truly worthwhile can be bought with money around here.¡± ¡°Hence why we need the fruits?¡± ¡°Correct. If there are any dark blue, cold tokens, they can help you to cast winter spells.¡± I do not find any. Our would-be killers were not flush, apparently. ¡°If you are ready, we can depart. I will keep the rapier if you do not mind. The rest is up for grabs. Assidina awaits.¡± There is little we can recover. The wreath of the woman hosts some enchantments, but just grabbing it would destroy it. The man¡¯s spear is trash designed to inflict suffering rather than killing. In the end, I only keep the pouches. We leave the battlefield behind and walk on directly towards the World Tree. The woods around us grow less dense until we meet our first orchards. Strange houses that feel more grown than built pepper the ground, their walls dark wood shaped to be flat, or at least flattish. The roofs are made of bark instead of tiles, and the chimneys look like hollowed out trunks. All of them lean as if tired and, as I watch, an eye opens next to a window sill. It inspects me lazily before closing again. A cat watches us pass with twelves slitted pupils arranged in a cluster. It still meows. Eventually, we come across a stone road leading towards the base of the giant, and I spot complex wood structures in the distance. The houses grow more common and we come across our first inhabitants entertaining themselves under the shade of a willow. More specifically, I spot firm buttocks grabbed by two feminine hands. Another man pops out from behind the first one¡¯s back, thrusting into hips unseen. The trio has hair and skin in earthy tones, or what I can see anyway as the sole woman appears to have her hands full, so to speak. The only man facing us smiles. He is quite handsome, with elfin traits and a squarish jaw. ¡°Welcome to Assidina, travelers! Enjoy the embrace of the Eldest!¡± Sinead thanks him while I avert my eyes. I do not consider myself too conservative, but surely¡­ ¡°Is this normal?¡± I finally ask the prince. ¡°Oh, I forgot to warn you. The Spring Court is the most promiscuous one. Today might also be the Day of Seeds, which occurs every fifth one.¡± ¡°The Day of Seeds?¡± I ask, afraid of the answer. Sinead merely points forward to a square we are approaching. ¡°Oh dear.¡± Chapter 180: The Two Cities It takes us the better part of a day to cross the outskirts of Assidina. Although Sinead said the tree was only an hour away, he was referring to the outer shade of its nearest canopy, of which there are countless, and under whose protective shade the Fae of the Court of Spring conduct their business. As far as I can see, it mostly involves fucking.The Day of Seeds spills like a drunk post-luncheon stroll upon the uneven streets. Fae nobles in human form and other, more exotic creatures with the appearance of dog-men, or grotesque puppets and even, in one instance, a walking plant, mingle with glasses held in various appendages. Sinead weaves smoothly between groups busying themselves reciting poetry or doing each other. We walk along the garland-covered walls and dodge bottles and naked, brown limbs grabbing at us. The scent of alcohol and sex is overwhelming, the vitality so powerful I would have fallen upon them if I were not so full. The Prince of Summer guides us to a throne nestled under a monumental trunk. From there, a very pregnant fae rules over her subjects with a shy, benevolent gaze. She blushes delicately when Sinead pays his respects, and her answer is buried under two hands held in embarrassment. We are directed onward by her laughing handmaidens as another recovers her fir-leaf crown, which had fallen during the encounter. ¡°The queen of the Day of Seeds is elected by the will of Assidina¡¯s people,¡± Sinead explains. ¡°This one must have been quite surprised.¡± ¡°What language do they speak?¡± I ask, pointing at dog-people bartering for pine cones with a doe-eared Likaean. ¡°The main dialect of this sphere. There will be many languages spoken around here but you only really need ours, even if it is the child version. The words carry their own meanings. You also look like one of us at first glance. Nobles almost always share humanoid traits, so speaking with our tongue will promote your social standing.¡± ¡°Should I learn adult Likaean then?¡± ¡°Of course. As soon as you have conquered your home plane and joined it to our merry band, I will be delighted to teach you. I think fifty years will be enough for a passing mastery.¡± ¡°A simple no would have sufficed,¡± I grumble. As we move on, the living houses give way to what I can only define as apartment buildings: troglodyte dwellings carved from the titanic roots emerging from the rich earth. I approach one to get a closer look and spook a bird which proceeds to fly through the nearest wall in a flash of smoke. There are no traces of tools on the sill. Instead, the wood has been convinced to grow around a circular hole where some local placed a window. ¡°Tree singers built this. They are the best crafters around here,¡± Sinead explains without prompt. ¡°Although, this specific work is lacking.¡± Huh. ¡°Functional, at best. You should see what they can come up with when sufficiently motivated. It is just such a shame that they tend to tie up their partners when they find one. Last time I had to use a fire knife to free myself.¡± ¡°Where did you hide it?¡± I ask. ¡°In a dream. Why? What did you have in mind?¡± the shameless cur asks with a perfectly straight face. I should not engage with him. It makes me remember our complicity, then the memory peels off the scab of my betrayal. ¡°We should move on,¡± I reply, when suddenly something catches my eye. We are following a path up, currently devoid of people. Roots extend up on either side of us, showing brown bark except for a single flower sitting incongruously between two doors. Indigo petals as long as my arm extend from a pistil the color of gold, and from its spherical body radiates a soothing light that captivates my attention. A flutter, and the petals unfold. A delicate perfume comes to titillate my nose. It smells like blood and, inexplicably, coffee. I tilt my head. ¡°What a curious thing. What might it be?¡± ¡°Bait. A piece of advice, my young and impressionable friend. If you happen upon an isolated stretch of land and find there an abandoned treasure of great interest, seemingly made for you, then¡­¡± ¡°It is a trap,¡± I finish, dejected. I give one last glare to the offending piece of vegetation. It fails to wilt. Sinead and I move on soon after. The closer we get to the trunk and the more vertical the city becomes. Haughty lords with their spear-wielding retinue ignore us, clad in bark plate and leaf scale on their way to parts unknown. Their scent remains after their passage and makes me close my fists, glad that I could feed before coming. The emerald skies progressively dim as we circle the monumental trunk, following a path that climbs offshoots and crosses chasms between two twigs. Sometimes, we come across marketplaces selling wares, favors, sometimes even people. No one pays us more attention than they do to other nobles, although I sometimes smell a delicious hint of fear from their guards. Night is falling when my guide stops before a mushroom as tall as a train station¡¯s main hall. He knocks on a large gate that opens with a noise of shifting roots. Acrid, blueish smoke assaults my eyes. We walk into an antechamber midway between a reception desk and a museum of morbid curiosities. Shelves cover the white walls, occupying every inch of free space. They bear items as varied as can be. I turn and inspect the closest one. Each alcove bears a different treasure. I see a red ball made from an unknown material. A slab of steel covered in golden filigree. A long, green crystal that resembles the horn of the Herald I removed from its body. An ancient book, cracked with age. A small, dry head with bulging eyes opens its mouth in silent agony. A flower. An ingot made of unknown metal bearing the mark of its maker. As the outside light briefly touches it, the surface bubbles like boiling pitch. A person huffs from behind the counter. His traits are a perfect blend of man and goat down to the pointy white beard and horizontal pupils. An impeccably ironed shirt covers his hairy chest. He breathes into spectacles and places the pair on his nose. ¡°She is expecting you,¡± the man bleats softly. Sinead walks forward with resolute steps while I sustain the unerring gaze of the receptionist. My Charm finds no purchase here and I do not try to force it. The Prince of Summer lifts a curtain and leads us deeper into the mushroom, past scented candles and cluttered corridors. Finally, a ray of light from a side door announces our destination. We walk into an intimate boudoir, with low walls made of the bark of the tree itself. A brazier gives the place a warm and comfortable mood. My armor-covered feet sink into the lush carpet, the cold aura momentarily subdued. From atop a pouf, a curious woman inspects us with amusement. Long black hair falls freely from her head, melding with a multicolored robe she wears loosely upon one shoulder. The other is naked and her cleavage reveals much of a small breast. She does not appear to care. Shockingly yellow snake eyes peer at us from under heavy bangs, full of mirth. Her sensual lips blow smoke from a long, heavily decorated pipe. It turns into a cloudy dragon and flies away. The scent of cinnamon and clove remains. ¡°Amaryll¡¯s child. Welcome. We thought you lost,¡± she says in adult Likaean. Her voice is low and purring. ¡°I was.¡± ¡°And you brought back many fallen children and¡­ one not quite lost as well. Welcome, morsel.¡± ¡°Thank you,¡± I reply curtly. ¡°And she speaks like one of us too. We are glad. What do you wish for, child of Amaryll? We do not know where your mother is right now.¡± ¡°I am not looking for her. I want passage to Voidmoore.¡± The declaration must have come as quite the surprise, because our host blinks exactly once, then after a few seconds, her lips part into the tiniest smile. ¡°Ambitious. Or foolish? The line blurs, sometimes.¡± Another puff turns into a small fish, then another into a shark that eats it. ¡°We expect payment.¡± Sinead removes his plundered backpack and reveals the juicy fruits he picked earlier. The woman smiles again. ¡°Oh little one, you know us too well. Call us by the name we like, and you will have yourself a deal.¡± S?a?ch* Th? ??v?l_Fir?.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. ¡°Yes, Aunt Carnaciel.¡± ¡°This pleases us. Will you consider staying for dinner?¡± ¡°I apologize, my aunt. Time is of the essence right now.¡± ¡°So it is. Sit down then.¡± We do so. A pillow seemingly rises from the sea of fabric to accommodate the eternal ice of my tasses. ¡°It is your first passage, yes? Morsel?¡± the woman enunciates in Child Likaean. Her eyes almost draw me in and for an instant, I fight off her influence. ¡°Auntie,¡± Sinead curtly interrupts. ¡°My apologies. Force of habit.¡± ¡°It is indeed my first passage,¡± I agree to get this strange interaction over with. ¡°Then relax and let yourself be carried across the weave. It is unusual but we know what needs doing and will send you on your way.¡± ¡°What¡­ now?¡± I cannot help but ask. Sinead coughs lightly, then explains. ¡°The, ahem, portals of this plane are within the tree, making them excessively difficult to reach outside of special times. This is the fastest and safest way to travel.¡± ¡°We will hallucinate our way out of this sphere!¡± the woman calmly explains. ¡°We what?¡± I ask. She smiles and reaches for a fold, removing a tiny, dry plant she places into her lit and quite hot pipe. A strange scent emerges from it. ¡°I am not sure it will work,¡± I inform them. In answer, the woman blows smoke in my face. The smell grows more powerful, and I believe I can see strange, tiny butterflies floating at the edge of my vision. ¡°Intoxicants have no effect oooooooooooowowowowowo¡± I am floating! I am floating under the massive eye of Carnaciel, her form growing to massive proportions. Her robe is now a billowing gown trailing after her, its end vaporous as it merges with the night sky. We fly. We leave the house behind. We leave Assidina behind. The people are like ants crawling over the face of a giant, their long lives still blinks for an existence beyond time. Wars and reigns matter little, though fugacious moments inexplicably do. Farther, familiar flowers lure a young dogman in. The simple creature smells its tantalizing nectar, it bends forward. The petals snap around their neck. A creature swims from behind a fold of reality, pulling the flower back from the end of its stem. It grabs its prey with long, transparent fangs. A massive eye turns over an angler body. We are seen. Farther, church-sized dandelion seeds glide over unseen currents while tendrils from its disks lazily grab passing sprites. Their luminous bodies blink out and the other sprites disperse. Farther, the tree is one and it is all, moving close to a small white star. The star is incredibly hot but the tree is well prepared. It does not need a sphere of mud like its lesser cousins for it moves inward as well as horizontally, and vertically, and in depth, and across time, and across thoughts as well. Farther, the tree is eternal. Farther, the tree is not eternal, it is still a living thing in a fragment of a fragment of the universe, only eternal relative to small organisms and not other, also eternal things. There are degrees of eternity. The tree knows one of them. The void, too. Farther, I wake up to cold, wet stone under my head. Which hurts. ¡°HELLOW!¡± a¡­ turtle man dressed in rags greets. ¡°Ow. Not so loud.¡± ¡°Sorry. HELLOW!¡± I look around. I lay on a paved square surrounded by gray, water-stained walls topped by high-peaked roofs. Low clouds hang overhead. A statue stands in the middle of it. It shows a grotesquely obese man kneeling mid-declaration, a flower held between two sausage fingers. The artist perfectly captured the extreme agony, the desperate struggle of his lower buttons. A few cheap stalls complete the impression of a bad London district I got from some of the books I favor. One sells clocks and the other, some leek-like vegetables. ¡°Would you like a sneeze?¡± the turtle man whispers. Sinead brushes himself off and I stand, imitating him. We appear to be both intact. He still has his bag, rapier, and waypoint tree branch. I would have expected us to be robbed by now but the small, insulated pocket near my armored back still holds my money purse. ¡°Pardon?¡± I ask the sales, errr, person. ¡°Would you like a sneeze?¡± he asks, brandishing an ethereal feather. ¡°Freshly harvested from the dust cleaner guild. Only one summer token for five. Really cheap!¡± ¡°I haven¡¯t sneezed in almost eighty years,¡± I idly remark. ¡°Then treat yourself!¡± ¡°I would prefer if we settle down first before going shopping. For safety¡¯s sake,¡± Sinead interrupts. ¡°Besides, your unique constitution may prevent his goods from working.¡± ¡°I have extra strength ones! Mustard flavor! One token for two, three because the lady is cute.¡± ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± Sinead interrupts. He seems worried. ¡°Perhaps another time,¡± I tell the turtleman with a placating smile. ¡°Have a nice day!¡± he calls after us. We leave the square from a narrow street. Sinead appears to know where we are going, and I follow him without a word. Poorly dressed fae pass us by, scurrying in the gutters and casting worried glances our way. They seem much more diverse than the Spring Court species, with many sharing animal features or strange, exaggerated traits like bulbous noses or long teeth. Everyone gives us a large berth. ¡°I should show you the edge, at least. We are very close.¡± Very close apparently implies a half an hour fast walk through winding paths. We come across a theater room advertising creative public executions, three marketplaces, a large square where two bands of street thugs are battling it out with merciless fury ¡ª they split and let us through when they see us ¡ª and a large greenhouse. Finally, the houses grow taller and fancier. Guards with pitbull faces or geometrically square jaws start to line street corners, hands contracted over large truncheons. They, too, let us pass with fear clear in their hunched shoulders. I find their terror appealing, but refrain from indulging for now. Finally, we end up on a broad road lined on one side by fancy houses with small gardens. The other side has a single barrier of what appears to be wrought copper. On the other side of it is the void. I approach, unable to resist the pull of curiosity. I lean over the banister. I see stone beneath us, some passages. A tunnel spills waste water into the air. It dissolves into rainbow colors. Above us, there are clouds. In front of us is the void. Pure, black nothing as deep as the abyss. I stare at it for a while because I have never seen anything so dark since I was turned. It quite simply fascinates me. Wind blows. Where does the light even come from? ¡°I¡­ admit that this is quite the sight,¡± I tell Sinead. My anger is almost gone by this point, although I shall never forgive him for this treachery, even if he brings me the most amazing sights. The cur smiles sadly again and points upward. I follow the direction and see a ship hanging in mid air. An oblong balloon holds a ship body aloft as it flies through the ether, propelled by horizontal sails and what seems to be some sort of crystal. The crew moves with energy around its sturdy body. A four-armed crewman busies himself cleaning the hull. ¡°Welcome to Voidmoore,¡± Sinead says. ¡°What happens to those who fall?¡± I ask as we make our way inland. ¡°They line the skylark guild¡¯s pockets. Unless they are considered to be especially obnoxious, then they feed the void. We are not quite sure what happens to them but Voidmoore keeps growing so who knows? The city is built on an inverted pyramid of rock. It somehow grows much faster than its population despite the tendency of lost ones to end up swallowed in its labyrinthine streets.¡± He tilts his head, considering. ¡°Sometimes literally. In any case, we shall find refuge in a certain pension, then I will start the challenge process. Thankfully, the Court of Summer has an embassy here. I will enjoy access to quite a few nobles without the inconvenience of Revas breathing down my neck. You will be safe while I organize everything.¡± ¡°Kindly elaborate. What does the challenge entail?¡± Sinead looks with interest as a dozen thugs come out of nearby alleys, smirks adorning their ugly mugs. They take a single look at us and flee. Truly, the Likaean survival instinct vastly outperforms the human one. ¡°The King of Summer has ruled since time immemorial. Few expect him to relinquish his throne within the next couple of centuries, at the very least. Nevertheless, intrigue must occur or the people grow weak, or worse, bored. His majesty has many children. The most devious, powerful, successful, and wise gather in the council of eighty-one. Its members have some say in the conduct of the kingdom and its wars. They are given land and soldiers, so there are real benefits to it that no one would scoff at. Revas is number fifty-six and one of its, shall we say, order keepers. I am going to replace him through a ritual challenge.¡± ¡°I assume those are not easy?¡± ¡°No. Sadly, we are missing one key element of every successful venture: competent allies within the court. The favor we have accrued should offset this, but it will not be easy. The challenge will consist of three different ordeals. He who wins two will be victorious. Due to time constraints, the dragon hunt will be the second one.¡± ¡°I see.¡± ¡°The first one will occur here if I can manage it. It should give us time to prepare. I will travel to the embassy first thing in the, well, morning, or what passes for it in Voidmoore while you familiarize yourself with the surroundings.¡± He looks at me, then licks his lips in hesitation. His fiery hair flutters in a wilder fashion. ¡°I understand that after what I have done, you would see my words with doubt, and I do know that you are a resourceful and careful woman, but I would kindly request that you exert extreme caution while visiting Voidmoore. Contracts and such often carry traps, as do promises though you are familiar with the concept. What others will mostly fail to obtain by force, they will attempt to steal through guile. Do not underestimate them, Ariane dear. They have been at this game for far longer than you and I. Voidmoore is, well, this place has a propensity to make people disappear, sometimes. I beg you. Be careful.¡± ¡°I have no death wish,¡± I remind him. ¡°Quite so, poppet. Ah, we are here.¡± He turns before I can finish my bristling to tell him he can shove his nicknames where the Watcher cannot see, but my retort dies in my throat. We stand in front of an orchard, a forested vale somehow nestled in the heart of the city. Yellow crystal atop metal posts provides a warm, soft light that sets my teeth on edge. Ruby fruits hang heavy from the nearest branches. As we get closer, I see more trees loaded with a bountiful harvest. Large dogs patrol the ground and, as I look, one samples the air with the flick of a forked tongue. Sinead resolutely takes the winding path heading deeper. So long as we remain on the stones, the hounds leave us alone, though a particularly large specimen growls when our eyes meet. ¡°Please do not kill the creature, Ariane dearest, or our would-be host will refuse us his roof.¡± I shrug. I do not necessarily kill aggressive wildlife. He should see all those werewolves prospering on my land. I even consider some of them as good, well, talkative pets. Unaware of my grumblings, Sinead moves on until we find an isolated cottage at the heart of the orchard. Candles and lanterns hang from every sill, bathing it in a warm glow. While many of the houses outside look damaged because they are derelicts, this one looks well-lived in, with squat walls plopped comfortably on the loam and leaning a bit like an old bottom-heavy chef reading a book of recipes. We knock on the door and hear a lupine growl. The door opens. A powerful cloud of canine scent aggresses me, forcing me to hiss. I meet a pair of moon-touched eyes, but force myself to stop before I can show further signs of aggression. I still take a step back to protect my nose. We face a gentleman with graying hair in a tweed and velvet ensemble, a comfortable bonnet sitting on his face. He also has a wolf head but not a real one, more like what illustrators would have come up with trying to draw the Little Red Riding Hood. It explains the smell. ¡°Yes? Oh, a Prince of Summer. Wait, you are¡­ Amaryll¡¯s child. Sinead, was it?¡± ¡°Correct,¡± my companion replies. He bows graciously, though he does not quite lower his gaze. ¡°Greetings to you, Old Marrow. We wish to ask for your hospitality for two times seven day cycles.¡± ¡°You will be doing politics,¡± the wolfman grumbles with surprisingly clean enunciation. ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°I do not like politics.¡± ¡°I have brought something that might compensate you for the displeasure,¡± Sinead coldly replies, though I see a slight bend in the way his lips move that tells me he expects success. The prince casually shows the branch he obtained from the Waypoint Tree back in the previous sphere. Old Marrow inspects the stick with obvious doubt for a few seconds, but then his eyes widen comically. He grasps for it with very, very hairy hands. They pick the innocuous piece of wood with the reverence normally reserved for chalices and other sacred things. A callous finger caresses the thin bark. ¡°A sapling¡­ you brought me a sapling. It wants earth, can you hear it? Such an energetic little thing¡­¡± Old Marrow blinks, suddenly remembering that we are here. His gaze lingers on me for a bit longer than I am comfortable with, but in the end he shrugs. ¡°Yes, yes indeed. Lodgings. That is quite fine. Will you be going to the embassy?¡± ¡°Quite often.¡± ¡°I have a nephew there, if you wish to employ a messenger. Yes. Such a beautiful young thing. She will love it, when it has grown. Amaryll. Come child, let me give you access.¡± Old Marrow huddles back into his cottage and returns with two intricate keys. He points to the side, where the winding path continues towards a small, isolated square with large houses. ¡°Take the center one. There is food in the pantry and you will be safe. You can stay for a while, young Sinead. It was thoughtful of you to grant me this boon. Now where shall I place you, you little hellion¡­¡± We leave the wolf man rummaging through a wheelbarrow and reach the square in short order. The keys let us in, and I feel powerful enchantments settle around us as we move in. We enter a corridor with blue walls and dark wood furniture. It smells like embers and old books here. I follow Sinead through a receiving room in which a fire crackles merrily. There is tea on the table. We explore, finding a kitchen and a pair of bedrooms on the upper floor. I pick the larger one because I want to annoy Sinnead. For the first time in a while, I can finally get out of my armor. I leave it in a storage room before it can freeze off the carpet, but I hit a snag. I do not have a change of clothes. Fortunately, I was not wounded and so the gambeson and pants I wear under the plante remain white and pristine. I use the attending bathroom to wash myself before returning to the receiving room for a little tea. It tastes minty and delicious. This place is idly comfortable. I shall rest my eyes just a little bit. I slept, or slumbered, I am not quite sure. The light outside the narrow windows is brighter than before. Birds tweet in the distance, their cries strange and exotic. A glance shows that the cloud cover has retreated up and the light they offer is whiter than before, though it cannot be called bright, or can it? Did I really sleep, or was it a normal slumber? And why did I wake up in what appears to be the morning? It makes no sense. This place upsets all the rules by which we function on earth. I am not the most dangerous species here. I do not fall at dawn, and the light of the day does not burn me. I could ignore it during our foray into the Dead World because the portal to earth was constantly open, but here I cannot. I am trapped with new rules and a culture I have little understanding of. Suddenly annoyed, I stand up to see someone placed a cover on me. It has to be Sinead. The cur saw me sleep and I did not even react! Ugh. He left me a letter on the coffee table. I open it and read. ¡°My dear Ariane, I must away to the embassy. As you know, time is of the essence, and I must move things forward for our sakes. I must apologize again for being a poor host on top of the rest of my many offenses, as I will be unable to show you the wonders of our worlds. I had planned on explaining the opportunities and dangers of this place yesterday, but sadly you were asleep. I beg you to spend the day here and wait for my return, perhaps get accustomed to our lodgings and the gardens outside. Voidmoore is dangerous, more so than you would believe at first sight. Please be careful, and no matter what you do, do not travel underground. Yours sincerely, Sinead.¡± Blah blah blah, verbose, dishonest, faithless, manipulative handsome devil. ¡®Wait for me home, hen, I¡¯ll take good care of you!¡¯ As if. I grumble and forage the pantry for something to drink. The teapot contains steaming water as if freshly boiled, and I use it to make an infusion, then notice the pillows are all spread haphazardly so I fix that, and reorganize our belongings, move some of the furniture back where they OBVIOUSLY had to be, frankly, did nobody notice they were in the way? And then I find a small library and read about the early colonization of Voidmoore and how it had a village but no habitants. One of the images turns into a floating painting with a little essence, and I realize it used to be much smaller. Curious. Apparently, Voidmoore has a portal to quite a few spheres and an actual port as well, where floating ships come to roost. I have to see it. I want to see it. Alright, I am going. But first, I need a dress. I cannot possibly move around in form-fitting gambeson, or I will be made fun of and will have to kill people. Ugh. Maybe I can find a spare ja¡ª ¡°Aaaaa!¡± ¡°Bonjour bonjour!¡± a fluttering form says as it flies before me. The use of French stops me from shredding it mid-flight and I watch, mesmerized, as the form is soon joined by similar creatures. They are humanoid, as large as a forearm, and quite naked, but strange dragonfly wings emerge from their shoulderblades and long filaments from their head and spine. Both wings and hair seem made from the same white thread with a multitude of feather-like extremities. Those filaments are as long as they are and float behind them as if they were immersed in liquid. The French speaking one floats gently in front of my face until I recognize familiar traits around the dark pits of his eyes. ¡°Makyas? This place was supposed to be locked! How¡­ oh, of course.¡± ¡°Court of wings and keyholes, darling eyyyyy.¡± ¡°Darling darling!¡± ¡°Yes yes, listen to us!¡± At least two dozen of the creatures stop flying around and join up in a fluffy cloud. Their wings and hair puff out around them in spheres, shaking and bobbing. ¡°We have a proposal,¡± Makyas announces. ¡°Tis a good one too!¡± a tiny woman adds excitedly. ¡°A bloody good one, hehehehehe!¡± a third on exclaims. They all snicker. The drone grates my ears. ¡°Alright, alright! Let me hear it!¡± ¡°Feed us eyes!¡± ¡°Yes yes yes!¡± ¡°Soft and squishy.¡± ¡°NOOOOOOO!¡± Makyas interrupts, and his vitreous humorthirsty companions shut up. ¡°Everything in order. First, we will guide you to the arena! Many fights! They will never expect you. We bet on you. We win big. You find us the right opponent and kill him. We eat his eyes, you get all the money minus our buy in.¡± ¡°We will like you even more!¡± the girl says. ¡°We will help for sure. You are funny, and not completely there. So strange.¡± ¡°Are you a new court?¡± a younger one asks. ¡°Hush. What do you think?¡± Makyas asks. ¡°It sounds like a plan that will get me killed.¡± ¡°You are very strong, Devourer. Not the strongest by any stretch, but this is the arena. Royals don¡¯t come to duel it out here.¡± ¡°Tis a place for mangy prospects.¡± ¡°With squishy eyes! Fat and juicy.¡± ¡°Besides, we help from the shadows, make sure the fights are fair. For you, we mean.¡± ¡°It is never fair to face one of you predators,¡± Makyas concludes with a vicious sneer. ¡°You will give us the eyes and we will make you rich, richer than you could ever hope to become alone. Tokens can buy favors or at least grease a few palms, and would you not prefer to purchase a few souvenirs? What is tourism without bragging trinkets?¡± ¡°And that will not kill me?¡± I ask with suspicion. In answer, Makyas places two fingers upon his heart and takes a solemn countenance. ¡°Upon my life I swear that we want you healthy, happy, free, and rich. We just want you to kill someone specific for us. You will get blood and money for it.¡± ¡°And we get the eyes!¡± ¡°Well, I don¡¯t know, maybe? I need to buy a dress first,¡± I half-heartedly object. ¡°Oh! Oh! Oh! We have disguises for you! And good ones too! You can buy a thousand dresses with the rewards. Or a single very good one.¡± ¡°Hmmm.¡± ¡°Oh and it will really annoy Sinead. He will be sick with worries.¡± ¡°Alright, I will help.¡± Chapter 181: Isekaied Callipygean Pirate Captain Party ¡°...under certain conditions,¡± I amend almost immediately.The temptation to visit this sphere, gaining allies and funds along the way grips me, however I have just been scalded by one betrayal and would rather wait until my next disappointment. Is this how my sire operates? Dealing with others knowing he will be played and will have to get his point across with a hand through the chest? Ugh. ¡°Name them!¡± Makyas yells with enthusiasm. If anything, he seems even more eager. To begin with, I mercilessly interrogate him about every aspect of his plan. Although I would not imply malice from the tiny eye-eating monster ¡ª no, I do imply malice, but not aimed towards me ¡ª the point of failure of many plans is not enemy action but incompetence. He might just consider an escape plan that I could not use because he can go through keyholes and I may not. I am capable of going through protected doors but most of the time, the lock will not survive the experience. Makyas should not have a perfect understanding of my abilities, nor of my limits. I need to know the plan from the beginning to the end. To my surprise, he does seem to have one, and it is quite intricate at that. What Makyas also has is numbers. His minions or associates are numerous, and each come with their skills in being where they shouldn¡¯t be. As such, not only does he have extensive information on where we are going, we will also be able to adapt our plans on the fly. I will also be wearing disguises. I cannot help but feel excitement growing. Blood and masquerade? What more could I ask for to mark my grand entrance in the faerie games. They can keep to their strange customs while I collect eyeballs and favors. ¡°Yes,¡± I finally agree after detailing everything. By that time, we are approaching the end of the night and day cycle. ¡°Yes, this will do nicely.¡± Voidmoore is an anomaly, even by Faerie standards. It was discovered eons ago by the Court of Blue and quickly populated by virtue of having readily available houses. Who built those? Even Makyas doesn¡¯t know. What he does know is that Voidmoore used to be a fraction of its current size. ¡°This house was not there last time I came,¡± he says, pointing at a spindly building nestled between two fat warehouses. I inspect the decrepit walls. The roof tiles look like they are a light breeze away from splitting the head of the next passerby. By comparison, its two neighbors display clean walls while warm lights radiate from the windows like cozy invitations in the gloomy later afternoon. I blink and grab the latch of the newcomer, curious. ¡°Careful, some houses here actually move,¡± Makyas notes. ¡°Yes yes, on many foots!¡± one of his kin adds, bobbing excitedly. ¡°They eat people!¡± another gasps. ¡°Rude!¡± ¡°Any way to tell?¡± I ask. ¡°Check the entrance and you can see the teeth!¡± the tiniest trumpets in a piccolo voice. I look around and find only bricks. With a shrug, I enter the place without resistance. It means it is abandoned, as I felt something when visiting Aunt Carnaciel¡¯s demesne. This one looks clean enough if impoverished. The pantry contains a half-filled bag of millet and a peach-like fruit in syrup, held in a sealed glass jar. It has plumbing. The proportions are not quite right. Yet. ¡°They grow like mushrooms!¡± Makyas laughs. ¡°Or like flowers.¡± ¡°With the food in?¡± I ask. ¡°You still have to buy your own.¡± ¡°Or steal it.¡± ¡°Or scavenge it!¡± ¡°Or eat your enemies!¡± the flying chorus replies. ¡°Hmmm.¡± ¡°Let¡¯s not tarry, Ariane the Devourer,¡± Makyas buzzes by my ear, ¡°We have to resize your disguise before the fighting begins.¡± ¡°Oh yes, let us away.¡± Above us, a flying frigate leaves a trail of smoke. It fades into the clouds a moment later. I discover that Voidmoore is a shell upon which live roving bands of lost fae, I discover. Many of the houses we pass by stand empty, though for each strange, empty domain, there is one lived in by fae of all shapes and sizes. Ratmen and boys with hare whiskers run in the street after each other under the benevolent gaze of a parent. Merchants haggle for all sorts of wares in the shadows of leaning apartments. Some warehouses host glass blowers or dye makers or all sorts of industries while others are empty, gutted of their occupants like old crypts. The uniformity of the architecture lends the place a maze-like feeling only reinforced by its immensity, and some of the alleys give me an impression of terrible foreboding rather than the melancholy I expected. If the streets were Voidmoore¡¯s shell, then the pit is its stomach. Makyas leads me to its edge, while I hide under a cowled cape so as not to attract undue attention. The entrance lies in the heart of the most populous district, this one under guard by armored fae in pristine uniforms. There lie the embassies and trading house branches. There, also, lie the piers. Like the twisted roots of a dead tree, they extend over the abyss in a haphazard mess of splitting extensions, some solid, some so rickety I wouldn¡¯t trust them with Makyas¡¯ weight. Ships themselves come in a staggering variety of specimens. One in particular shines blue and dangerous, its prow mounted with a swordfish blade that crackles under the darkening clouds. Others are merely more than boxes strapped to patched up, stubby balloons. All of them show those strange crystals that keep them afloat and that I will absolutely, definitely, in no uncertain terms acquire before all of this is done. Illinois Guns of Liberty expanding into flying warships? Yes please. With one last look of regret at a damaged sloop leaning on its side like wounded prey begging to be slain, I return my attention to the Pit¡¯s entrance. It is, quite simply, a dark maw in the middle of the plaza. Even the uneven pavement appears to swirl into its depth, stone as frozen liquid stuck for all eternity at the edge of a vortex. Tough thugs line stairs going down, eyeing the pedestrians with suspicion. ¡°They look for banned folks,¡± Makyas whispers from my cowl, ¡°but you are new so we are fine for now. You¡¯ll definitely be banned after tonight though!¡± ¡°Can they even stop me? Where are the heavy hitters?¡± ¡°You¡¯ll be eating them tonight!¡± ¡°Most excellent.¡± A basic ramp snakes around the chasm¡¯s walls, without any railings of course. The temperature increases as we go down. Interestingly, all of the fae we come across bow and take a step towards the abyss when they see me. A matter of etiquette towards someone who might be a noble, I presume. My presence is known by now, but it should not leave our prospective foes a chance to do anything but speculate. After a steep descent, the maw opens to an immense cavern well-lit by crystals embedded everywhere. I study the walls and find them peculiar, smooth like volcanic glass. Before me, half of the cavern is filled with stalls and rickety shops hawking food, weapons and armors, gambling dens, and a variety of projectiles to toss at performers. The other half hosts the circular, walled confines of the arena, with a blockish square at the back to hide the cells and the morgue. It is quite simply massive. So massive, it should not fit in a cavern without its ceiling collapsing. So massive that it could host thousands of people at once, perhaps tens of thousands. Here hides Voidmoore¡¯s devouring mouth of sin, eating contestants and spitting entrails and profit. And here I shall make a killing. Hopefully. ¡°The back entrance is over there,¡± Makyas whispers. He forcefully turns my cowl in the right direction and I walk, feeling a bit like his horse. Once again, I am either ignored or avoided entirely, and the strange feeling reminds me of the foreign nature of the spheres with as much certainty as the flying ships. Back on earth, most social differences are constructs. I can look like an affluent daughter of a Boston family in the afternoon, then wear the guise of a scullery maid by nightfall as I weave between groups of people, my back bent and my eyes modest. At midnight I can be an exotic European beauty and no one except my kin would be the wiser. Here, my humanoid traits place me squarely in the ranks of the nobles. This difference of status stems from inborn magical might, a gap between species that no amount of artifices will ever truly bridge. I could be powerful. They are not. There is no need to delve deeper. We reach a small gate hidden between two beige stone pillars just as I finish my musing. A titanic man in chainmail with tusks and quills for hair glares at me with suspicion, though he seems less fearful than his brethren. I can feel power from his aura. He could give a Courtier a run for their money, maybe even stall a Master. Makyas flickers and whispers in his ear, then we are through to a long corridor dimly lit by blue stones. The stench of death is cloying here, and it is old. It has soaked in the very stone. My magic will be powerful in this place. Hmmm. At the end of the passage, we find an incongruously decorated reception ¡®manned¡¯ by a bespectacled mole in a fancy outfit. The strange creature taps thin fingers together when it sees us. Makyas dives forward to greet it, as we planned. It is best for me to appear meek and demure until the blood starts to flow. ¡°Another skull to the pile, winged one?¡± the creature huffs. Male, from the voice. He speaks in Child Likaean as well, though his feels clipped and difficult. It lacks the associated meaning, even to my inexperienced ears. ¡°This one is good!¡± Makyas assures him. ¡°You know the rules. We cannot have grudges.¡± ¡°This one is not a member of any court. This I swear.¡± The mole man glares at me. I remain unfazed. I am mostly sure Sinead will turn this place to ash should I die here, but he asked a question and we gave an answer. Besides, I do not intend to die. ¡°She looks like a noble. Smells powerful too.¡± His tongue flicks out. ¡°Very powerful. But it will not be enough. You know this, winged one.¡± Makyas smiles and our host sighs. ¡°You, listen. This place isn¡¯t what you think it is. The arena will swallow you whole, as it has many others. It is not a question of skill but of odds. The one in control likes to play them. No matter how strong you are, he will find the perfect counter and then you will wake up in the afterlife or with a collar around your neck to compensate the Thousand Leaves for ¡®medical costs¡¯. Do not throw your life away.¡± Makyas turns to me, a sign that answering is safe. ¡°I understand the risks,¡± I assure the man. I appreciate that he would go against his employers in the name of fairness. Obviously, he does not believe me. ¡°You foolish young nobles, always too confident. You have won three duels and think you know danger. I wish you luck. Your candidacy is accepted. You will join the third melee. Do you understand me, winged one?¡± he finishes with a scowl. Makyas mimes beating someone with a mace until the mole man takes a swipe at him. On a prompt, I drop a purse of Makyas¡¯ tokens on the table. ¡°Private room?¡± the creature asks after inspecting its contents. ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Number thirteen. I will let the guards know.¡± We delve deeper into the base, finally stopping in front of a room that is half a cell and half a make-up room for ballet dancers. There is even a mirror which does not reflect me. I find an old, cracked painting stuck in a corner. It shows an embracing couple moving to hug and separate in a loop. A helpful message is drawn in the corner. ¡®I shall win and return to take this back.¡¯ Someone else drew a face laughing itself silly over the doomed oath. Ominous. The rest of the support crew arrives as I inspect other discarded memorabilia. They fly through the keyhole though I left the door ajar ¡ª a matter of principle, I suppose. ¡°We¡¯re in!¡± ¡°Yeeeee!¡± ¡°When eyeballs?¡± ¡°Do we have the list yet?¡± ¡°It smells like dog in here.¡± ¡°HUSH!¡± Makyas interrupts. ¡°Check the room for tricks and traps and pits and rats. Leave no tile unturned!¡± The swarm of flutterlings spreads across the room, pushing and pulling and looking all around. A group almost breaks a small vase and bickers. The other pulls a strange glass from the ceiling. I feel a spell being cast. As before, the world moves around to accommodate the will of the fae with plastic grace, while casting on earth is like pushing mud around. So unfair. ¡°Looking eye isn¡¯t looking!¡± the tiniest flutterling reports with an exaggerated military salute. ¡°Excellent. There isn¡¯t much to do beyond wait for the third melee. It will mean¡­¡± ¡°That I face Tog the Cudgel, yes. I remember.¡± ¡°And then a slew of other small timers before the arena really tries to take you down. We will make sure you are protected from ambush outside of the arena, where they will send you between bouts after you have bloodied their nose. They cannot be too obvious about being rotten, cheating scum.¡± By they, he means the Thousand Leaves alliance, one of the dominant gangs in this land. I should be out before they have the time to retaliate, if they even dare. Makyas¡¯ target is one of their most dangerous combatants and I intend to make a show out of him. The wait is made less tedious by two things. The first, and expected, is that I change into my first costume. It is a simple, white gambeson with buckles and a skirt over fitting leggings. Astute eyes will recognize this as an under armor and draw the necessary conclusion as the show goes on. The flutterlings even grant me the intimacy I desire with a curtain they brought themselves, though I am not quite sure how. The second and more pleasantly surprising is that they braid my hair, forming a harmonious, humming chorus to do so. I find the feeling of dozens of tiny hands on my scalp relaxing, just as their songs soothe me. Soon enough, the time has come to join the melee. A heavily armored sentry leads me to a large waiting room where other gladiators await in sullen silence. Crude weapons line a wall, shoved haphazardly against a rack for those who came unprepared. The closest halberd still sports a lone, severed finger curled around its handle. ¡°You¡¯re up,¡± a fae finally says. He is a tall, hunched man with chitinous fingers, his face hidden behind disheveled hair. Only yellow eyes can be seen peering from behind his matted bangs. He glares at each other in turn before addressing us in Child Likaean. ¡°Rules are simple. Anything goes after the game master says you can fight, and not a moment before. Fights are to the death or incapacitation. You can surrender, I guess.¡± I see a hint of fangs when he smiles. ¡°...but the others don¡¯t have to stop. Hehe. The last one standing gets to face a named gladiator. Now form a line and remember, no fighting before we say so or you die first. Got it? You, near the door, you¡¯re the first out. The others get behind.¡± We obey. Most of those I see are lesser fae clutching poorly made weapons in sweaty grips, but there are a few outliers I deem capable, including a tall masked fellow with twin axes and a strange, insectile being with a skull like a horseshoe crab. The strange being and I share a look. Its eyes are pure dark. The dozen or so fodder line up. I have brought no weapon, nor will I use one at first. We obediently step out. A roar hits me like a wall. Powerful, hot light weighs upon my shoulders. The sand is red and reeks of old blood. Stained steel hooks angled down prevent people from climbing out, arrayed like so many inward teeth. The space is enormous. In front of us, a high dais hosts the more important people of the place: a smattering of influential people and the current owner of the pit, the Queen of a Thousand Leaves, the infamous Malera. She lounges in a high seat, looking bored. Her visible eye shines crimson while the other hides behind a green band. Blue hair hangs on her jacket like a sash. Her interest in us wanes, and she turns to an advisor to whisper a few words. The public gives us only a mild roar. The arena is far from full, and those present negotciate or purchase snacks from vendors more than they watch us. It is as Makyas said. We are but cannon fodder. Above them, vast enchantmented walls show images of us from up close like photographs, but unlike photographs, they move. What a brilliant innovation, if it can indeed follow the contestants. Meanwhile, we stop in front of the dais in a loose formation. The game master is recognizable from his loose purple toga and antlers rising from his brow. I expected much from Likaean entertainment and this is¡­ unsatisfactory, though to be fair it would be like judging humanity from a back alley rooster fight. The only interesting point so far is the delicious smell of fear that comes from some of my fellow rivals. If the game master shares my feeling, he does not betray signs of it as he spreads his arms wide as if welcoming a trusted friend. ¡°Ladies of gentlemen, my fellow connoisseurs of the fine things in life,¡± he announces, and I am struck by surprise. Not only does he speak true Likaean, but his meaning is conveyed with such clarity that an earthling might understand the notions he conveys. ¡°We gather tonight to welcome more hopefuls to our warm embrace,¡± he mocks. ¡°Those fierce warriors will bleed for your enjoyment and a chance to fight a real gladiator. So, have we found steel or will they fold like paper? Let¡¯s find out. Kill!¡± Abrupt. But not unexpected. I backhand a spear wielder to my right and dodge a sword strike to the back of my head by leaning forward. I am using human speed and barely more strength right now. For Makyas¡¯ plan to work, I need to look beatable. Only when our enemies place their head through the noose will we pull on the rope. I have never fought like a human before, but I have enough battle experience to make up for it. I block the next horizontal strike from the swordsman by moving forward and blocking his wrist with my right hand, then I punch his throat with my extended left hand. My claws dig into soft flesh. I smell delicious blood, but do not succumb. Instead, I use his shoulder as a springboard to flip over his head while the spear strike aimed at my back buries itself in his chest. I kick a knife wielder who had used shadow magic to hide himself and grab him by the throat. A headlock, a twist, and his spine snaps like a twig. I lean forward and under the second spear strike and step to the side to dodge the third. I grab the shaft and kick its owner back, then shove the weapon in the mouth of a spell caster. The orb of purple energy she had conjured flickers and dies. I kick high, deflecting an overhead axe strike. I steal a knife from its wielder and stab him in the throat before he can recover. I lick my fingers. So much delicious essence there, but I must be patient and savor the moment. Only take from the strong. Yes. My fangs ache but I resist. I must not indulge quite yet. The fight has lasted thirty seconds but already there are only five contestants left standing. Most of those on the ground are dead. I am left facing the tall masked fellow with twin axes I spotted earlier and a person with goat legs and a staff. We circle each other, unwilling to strike first and offer our backs to the other. The crowd grumbles. We have gathered their attention with a good display. Now, they want more. The horseshoe crab head fighter solves the situation by disposing of its enemy with blades growing out of its forearms. Twin axes roars and attacks him while I am left facing the quarterstaff fighter. He controls the pace well at first, but I soon grow used to his rhythm and grab his staff at the end of a swing. To my surprise, the weapon glides from my fingers, so slippery I could not hold it at full strength. It is not enough to catch me off guard and I use my foe¡¯s overconfidence against him by dodging under the next attack, blocking the one after and punching his fingers as they hold the shaft. The pain makes him lose his grip and I am on him soon enough. He never gives up, never stops even as I open wound after wound. I end up licking my fingers pensively as he agonizes on the sand. Not much essence, just enough to tease the appetite. The insectile being won the other match. It has waited patiently for me to finish, and I give it a short nod to express my appreciation. It tilts its head and raises its blades. When my guard is up, it attacks. I start by moving backward while it strikes in short jabs. It is very, very fast for a bipedal crustacean, reminding me of a mantis. It also immediately backs away when I counter and I soon realize why when it mistakes a feint for a strike and attacks the air. The interesting foe moves faster than it can think. It cannot adapt mid-movement. I have confirmation when I dive under an assault and kick its leg, causing it to stumble. It recovers quickly, however. From then on, its attack sequences shorten and it mixes with counters. I believe it is trying to slice my arms. A decent strategy. I try to counter or grab its wrists on several occasions, only avoiding sliced fingers because of my ability to predict where the blade will fall. I am now faced with an interesting aspect of fae life. If I limit my speed and refuse to use a blade, I am completely outmatched. The creature is simply a better technician than I am. Only the speed of my mind protects me from defeat. Although the melee is supposed to involve only fodder, I have already found an opponent who could defeat most human blademasters without breaking a sweat. If it sweats. Nevertheless, I am still me. As we fight by the body of the goat-legged fae, it twitches. The insectile being is distracted. I strike. Three clawed fingers dig into its armored chest, between two plates. Green ichor covers my fingers. It smells acidic and a little exotic. I step back and lick my fingers while the creature launches a defensive flurry. Tasty. In fact, surprisingly full of flavor. There is quite a spark in that one. And it is male. I can almost see a vision at the edge of my mind but not quite yet. The foe still stands. I have not yet defeated it. The creature moves with small steps now. He shivers in pain, carrying an acrid yet tantalizing smell to my nose. I understand something I had not. He is not wearing armor. He is wearing an exoskeleton. Which means¡­ I adapt my fighting style by moving to the sides, forcing him to turn using his feet. I knew it. His chest cannot move like ours do. He is slower in lateral movement. I use it to my advantage and press him. It soon proves obvious that he trained for just this occasion and manages to fend me off with blind swings, but it is not enough. A last feint and I kick his feet from under him, then I am behind, one hand on his shoulder and the other on his wrist. He bows his skull in defeat, though he does not speak. ¡°Do you yield?¡± I ask, not eager to kill an honorable opponent. ¡°He¡¯s a hive lad from the Marsh Court,¡± someone screams in the closest section of the arena. ¡°They communicate by smell only! Hahaha.¡± I had not been paying much attention to my surroundings and now realize that our fight has gathered more interest than they perhaps expected. The arena had fallen mostly silent. Now, many roar for me to kill the creature. Instead, I tilt its head back and push Charm into its dark eyes. ¡°Submit,¡± I order. I receive a strange smell in response, but the feeling that carries through our link is one of a bared throat and that one is universal. I lightly bite his arm, taking only a sip of essence. I push the arm away and help the interesting creature to its feet. The game master sneers at the display, but the crowd seems to approve. Our demonstration of skill has awoken their interest, it seems. The creature limps away while teams of guards come to carry the dead and dying out. The antlered fae does not show any concern, though the same cannot be said for Malera. She whispers orders to a painfully thin servant. Perhaps she saw through my deception? It should not matter. I have not revealed enough to warrant too much attention. More importantly, they have never met a vampire before. ¡°And we have a winner. Let¡¯s see if our newest bleeding heart has what it takes to defeat the next opponent! You know him you love him, the headcracker, the master of mace, the thumping, thundering, grumpy thug, the teeth fairie, Tog the Cudgel!¡± The roar appears more genuine this time. Many of the fae throw flashy magic in the air to welcome the new contestant. One of the large gates in the arena¡¯s walls opens to let through a giant. An actual giant. I barely reach his midriff. His mud-colored skin shines with whorls of tattoos, but most of them have been marred by deep scars. He only wears a tiny kilt. Hair covers most of his face except for a pair of bloodshot eyes. He waves what is basically a steel-tipped trunk and charges me with a roar, and the reason for Malera¡¯s concern soon becomes obvious when the ¡®cudgel¡¯ smashes harmlessly against the ground, then again when I lean under the follow-up swing. I even stand for a second while my enemy attempts to locate me, not realizing I am still at his feet. He is much weaker than the insectile fighter. His only notable feature is his strength. I frown. I should not lower my guard. Perhaps he has hidden abilities. In order to deny him his reach, I step close to him which seems to anger him greatly. I circle him and slice at his knees, then at his wrist when he goes for a grab. He is not exactly clumsy, but compared to the other fighters, the challenge is lacking. I suppose not everyone has experience dodging massive blows so as not to become intimate with the nearest cliff wall. I should buy Jarek a present when I get back. Maybe a dictionary. I decide to play a little bit, half out of boredom and half because being popular with the crowd will afford me a measure of protection when the stakes increase. On the next downward swing, I casually jump on the trunk and find myself face to face with a dumbstruck giant when he pulls it back. I kick him in the teeth and drop down to avoid the grab. I rely only on my feet for the next three exchanges. It soon becomes clear to everyone that I am toying with my prey. Laughs and jeers echo around the bleachers. I am still being careful, though it appears Tog really had only strength going for him. In desperation, Tog races away, leaving me behind and rather surprised, but it is only to better turn around and charge me. Let it not be said that I would refuse a good challenge. We run at each other at his speed. At the last moment, I kneel and flatten myself, letting inertia and sand carry me under his mighty swing. I take his heels as payment for the smell. Thankfully, I did not look up at the critical moment. Tog crashes on the ground. I jump on his back and walk on his spine while he mewls in pain. A puncture near his heart and I latch on his back, drinking a gulp of delicious vitality. Just one, just a little bit. I can only do this because fae vitality already sustains me. The frustrating deprivation will only make the last feeding that much more exhilarating. It will also make this hunt meaningful: an escalation of increasingly stronger prey to ¡ª hopefully ¡ª a worthy finale. After taking my due, I kill him by crushing his neck. The audience hoots their pleasure at the gory finish. I suspect Tog was not the most popular fighter, but more importantly, they are too canny not to realize that Malera was grooming him for her roster. An offense has been made. The bait is set. ¡°What an upset, ladies and gentlemen, what a fascinating development! Our rookie has disposed of Tog with vicious ruthlessness. The cudgel is broken, crumpled and trampled by the hand of our mysterious challenger. And now, we are short a named gladiator for our next bout! I suppose you will do, newcomer. Let us see how far those skills of yours carry you. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome¡­ Syma the Red!¡± Ah, it appears Malera intends to use me to dispose of problematic elements. Makys informed me that Syma was one of those who refused Malera¡¯s ¡®generous¡¯ offers of employment. I do not mind being a tool, for now. The Mistress of the Thousand Leaves does not yet realize it, but I intend to take all her assets from her, both good and bad. Syma sashays from another door under a mixed reception while I pick the cudgel¡¯s handle to make myself one. I end up with a rough mace, a blunt tool barely more than a cut piece of wood. I turn around and study my new opponent while she stops a few steps away. Syma wears a red, form-fitting armor made of some sort of leather. It does not look very sturdy. Black hair caught in a braid hangs down her back and two crimson eyes glare at me viciously. She also has four arms, rather interestingly, yet she holds only two sabers. That strikes me as awfully inefficient. ¡°From the Court of Fire, Syma has shown she earned her name both from her style and brazen personality. Let us see if she can give our newcomer some new colors.¡± Court of Fire? Oh dear. The woman rushes forward and takes a deep breath, which is the moment I pick to throw my improvised cudgel at her nose. She does dodge at the last moment, but the effect is done: the gout of fire she spits roasts sand to the side. Ugh, a Melusine equivalent. The Watcher preserve me from those harridans. To prevent a repeat, I charge and pick my cudgel from the ground. Syma fights me off in a flurry of saber slices. She fights like a dervish, always moving, always rotating. I find myself thrusting much more to try and stop her dance. She is pushed back and it does not take long for me to realize that she is used to wielding four blades. Her style is too telling. Why bring only two? The blades are not even in good condition. Our fight is fast and decisive. Using the cudgel like a rapier, I manage to land fast jabs between her defenses. The blunt end might not be particularly sharp, but I can tell from her hisses that I might have cracked a few bones. Her dance grows increasingly desperate as we move around the arena. I quickly gain complete control of the fight and keep landing strikes. In desperation, she adopts a more offensive style and loses even harder. The public jeers at the poor woman. They hurl mocking insults, belittling her struggles. Distasteful. Out of her wits, the woman decides one last, daring strike. She catches the cudgel between her two sabers and, with a roar of triumph, cuts it in two. That little maneuver leaves her completely exposed, so I kick her in the sternum. Her body smashes on the sand, all air stolen from her lungs. I am on her before she can recover. Her four arms give me some problems while the public¡¯s appreciative whistles test my patience, however, I finally backhand her and use the moment of reprieve to disarm her. ¡°Do it then, kill me,¡± she spits, but it is bravado. She is quite a bit younger than she pretends. I can taste her terror, hear the rolling drum of her heartbeat. ¡°Do you yield?¡± I offer. ¡°What good would that be? Malera will make me a slave.¡± The prey should RESPECT THE HUNT. ¡°It is to me that you submit,¡± I hiss. Silly goose. What does another have to do with anything? Wait, no Makyas told me¡ª ¡°Then I yield, but to you,¡± she says with some hope. I grab a wrist and drink one gulp. More essence teases me, still not enough. And I have gained a favor from the little fire spitter. I will be sure to collect it later. For now, I pick a saber and wait for her to leave, which she does, stumbling weakly on the way. More cheers come, and I see with some vain pride that not only do the crowds enjoy my display, but more and more are pouring to watch the show. Malera seems pleased and I see a mocking expression on the game master¡¯s face, but that is fine. Again, they believe they are using me. I do not mind. Their confidence will make the finale that much sweeter. I test my newly acquired saber and decide that it is a piece of scrap that should never have seen the outside of a forge. My letter opener is a deadlier implement. As I examine the blade, my next foe makes an appearance. S~?a??h the N?velF?re.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. ¡°From the recess of the Swamp Court, the flying menace and another promising beginner, I give you Nol the Fleet!¡± My opponent has wings! How peculiar. Oh, and the head of a fly, except for his mouth which appears quite human. Thin limbs grasp a thinner sword. No armor, only clothes. He will be fast but not very strong. Another undesirable thrown at me, perhaps to test my limits? ¡°You have done well so far,¡± the creature declares, ¡°but you have not faced the likes of me!¡± Only because he is one of the weirdest things I have ever seen. Without further ado, the fly man charges me, the drone of its gossamer wings overpowering even the crowd. He intends to skewer me in a single charge! I approve until I realize he is aiming for my hip instead of center mass. I side-step him easily and clip his leg, but not too deep. Not yet. This one¡¯s blood is red as I show the mob the trace of my victory. Nol sees that his own blade remains unbloodied and curses, though he appears undeterred. I find him interesting but silly. He should be using a spear with a curved head at the end, not a sword! I wish for a BETTER HUNT. It will be fine. The night is still young. ¡°Lucky hit. Let¡¯s see you do it again!¡± he bellows. Courage in the face of defeat, a respectable trait. He charges again. This time, I am hit by sound. My ears ring painfully. I charge him. Nol flies back and out of reach though he cancels his strange attack. I wonder why he would not fly up, though I suspect the arena might have measures against that. He pretends to charge then swerves abruptly at the last moment. I shrug and spread my arms in silent question. The crowd¡¯s jeers needle him on. He charges several times and tries to clip me, but I simply step aside. He really does need a longer reach. WEAK. I am starting to believe that I am pitted against children. The next charge, I step into his path and brace. A saber slice deflects the sword before it can pierce my tender flesh. The fly man crashes against my chest. I twist to absorb the shock and send him careening into the sand. As expected, he is very light. I definitely won that exchange. Not that I am heavy of course, it is the armor. I notice with some annoyance that my saber did not survive the battle. I toss the handle to the side and walk to Nol. He is slow to recover, having landed head-first. I grab him by the throat and pull him up. ¡°Do you yield?¡± I ask. The crowd boos, execution denied, but once more I am assailed by the feeling that those I face have not been given the chance to fight to the best of their potential and killing them now irks me. Besides, they are problematic subjects of my current adversaries. I see no reason to remove this thorn from their flank. ¡°You¡­ will not kill me? Do I not disgust you?¡± Nol asks. I cannot read the expression of his strange face. I suppose some might find the contrast between his almost human mouth and compound eyes disturbing but honestly, I care little. ¡°The only thing that disgusts me is that sword of yours. Do you yield?¡± ¡°Yes, though if our host provides me with their ¡®medical care¡¯ and the associated cost, be sure to kill me after you have collected your earnings¡­¡± he answers, dejected. ¡°Then offer your blood, ,¡± I reply. I understand the real request. Do not leave him here as slave. He brings his wrist up and I bite, taking one gulp and no more. It tastes of mud and freedom. Intriguing. I recover his sword and send him on his way. The game master mumbles something about giving me a chance to rest and I leave the din of the arena behind me. The shadows push my instincts further until the guards take a step back. Makyas flies to me with his flutterlings to guide me back to my room. ¡°They have taken the bait,¡± he declares excitedly. ¡°They are summoning their more hardened fighters. And we have already broken the bank with our earnings. Look!¡± he declares. A cloud of his kin carry a bag loaded with a kaleidoscope of tokens. The riot of light makes me hiss. No more light. Hunts should be done in dim places. ¡°Do you want to get some now, or?¡± ¡°Bet everything on me, HSSSSS. I hope the next opponents deliver.¡± ¡°They will be named, all of them. They will counter you, too.¡± ¡°They better.¡± I hear steps in the alley, someone large and weak and slow and so, so full of life. The gate guard opens the door silently and scowls when he sees me facing him. Stupid degenerate, I am backed by the Court of Wings and Keyholes. How did you expect to catch me off guard, exactly? ¡°The Thousand Leaves¡­ requests your continued presence. You are not to leave the building. Don¡¯t try to escape,¡± he grunts. ¡°Escape?¡± I repeat, then I laugh. I should not since the head has not quite cleared the noose yet, and Malera could still pull out. She must believe I am as limited as I appear. I simply cannot help it. Me, escape? Hah. WE SHALL SEE WHO RUNS. ¡°I would not dream of it,¡± I conclude. ¡°What she said, dull one,¡± Makyas adds, ¡°Now off you go. We are busy gazing at our navels.¡± ¡°You should clean yours!¡± the tiniest flutterling adds. ¡°Ewwwwwwwwww,¡± they all echo. The guard takes one step forward, a mistake. The swarm of winged terror assembles in a cloud above me, their tendrils stretched out and linked. In my mind palace, the thorn walls shiver. I blink. A strange hum spreads throughout the room and I must actively fight off the urge to sing along. The gate guard wisely decides to take a step back and leave. I admit to being impressed. Their focus was not even on me. ¡°That was impressive,¡± I admit. ¡°Most courts have ways to deal with us,¡± Makyas admits, ¡°but they are not always ready, and this one was not.¡± I nod and kneel, focusing on breathing. I must stay in control for now, despite the mounting Thirst and instincts that scream for an end to the Hunt. Patient. I must be patient. It will be an excellent opportunity for me to practice fighting in adverse conditions. Meanwhile, Makyas and his kin add pieces of colorful armor to my gambeson. Part of the next disguise. It takes far too long for the gate guard to summon me. I pick up Nol¡¯s blade and make my way out. The arena has filled up. Eager Lesser fae occupy every bleacher now. The food merchants must be making a killing. An excited buzz gives the bloodstained aura of the place a bubbly quality I both appreciate and detest. The potency of any blood magic spell here will be multiplied, but the precious vitality spilled here was often wasted in unfair hunts. Those lead to dark paths. I breathe in. So much vitality here, and I have teased the Thirst into a craving. I hope our foes deliver a proper challenge. ¡°Ladies and gentlemen¡­¡± I ignore the announcer, let his meaning bounce against my indifference despite how loud it is. Malera appears slightly upset, but in the way of a teacher whose student misbehaved. My status has risen from side note to inconvenience, then to chore. The winter color of the light mail I wear can only increase her discomfort. I will be promoted quite a few times before the night is over. ¡°... The metal man, the slippery spiked sparrow, Hanadro!¡± A tall man enters the arena from another door. The moving paintings above show every detail of his massive body, including strange ram horns curving around his bare skull. He wears a cape and nothing else. His manhood hangs freely. No one seems to care, and so I show no sign of being bothered. ¡°Fight!¡± The man spreads his arm, welcoming a first strike. I could kill him in so many ways, but I must resist and be a patient huntress, and so I charge him, sword first. He doesn¡¯t react. At the last moment, I swerve away just as liquid steel emerges from under the cape to cover him in thick armor. A massive slab rises over his chest while a helmet merges seamlessly with his horns. Steel even covers his sneer, turning his face into a mask much like Bertrand¡¯s. Even his eyes shine with silvery light. Hmmm. This might be problematic. The fae twists on himself and swings. I run to the side to avoid whatever comes. Sand explodes at my feet when an overly long whip cracks like thunder in his hand. Seeing he has missed me, Hanadro walks forth with ponderous inevitability. Contrary to the previous contestants, this one seems well-equipped, and his strangely extending weapon gives him the range he needs to offset the weakness that comes with such cumbersome armor. He is quite adept too. Nevertheless, a whip needs time to wind up and so I charge forward between two attacks. Hanadro smiles and strikes once more. I wait until the last moment and jump, curling into a ball midair. The whip carves a scar in the sand beneath me. Perhaps he expected me to repeat the same stunt as with the giant. They still underestimate me. It will make the reversal of fortune that much sweeter. I get within reach of Hanadro before he can strike again. To my immense annoyance, he pulls the whip back and turns it into a sword through what seems to be a simple effort of will. I should sue for intellectual property theft. With legal outrage at my back, I attack first. I am not a dimwit and I avoid his truly armored parts, yet I also know that some measure of flexibility must remain or an armor set is merely a statue. I jump to the side and twist the blade in my hand, hitting backwards and down. My sword¡¯s tip breaks against the back of his knee. Hmmm. I avoid and hook and take a step back. ¡°How are you going to fight now, little girl?¡± Hanadro asks. ¡°Claws? That butter knife?¡± I lunge forward and up, dodging a grabbing hand to smash what is left of Nol¡¯s weapon into my foe¡¯s eye. Even with the steel cover, it has to hurt. And it does. The fae swears and grabs for his head, so I grab for his feet and lift, using my feet to push him off balance. He falls face first, incapable of keeping his balance. I climb on his back and grab a foot and his neck. I pull. He fights me but the weight and flexibility now work against him. ¡°You will¡­ tire soon enough!¡± he roars against the sand. I cannot strangle him, true, and I cannot break his limbs with steel protecting his articulations. I can, however, smother him. Readjusting my grip, I use my knee to shove his head against the sand. The metal still changes. Spikes emerge from his chestplate to dig into my shin but I am now wearing armor as well and they lack the power and sharpness to pierce through. Choking on the blood-soaked ground, he next tries to use a steel spike to prop himself up, but the sand once again betrays him by letting the spikes in. His struggles turn more erratic. As for me, so long as I prevent him from buckling, he will not be able to push me away. Eventually, his struggles cease. He extends his hands in a strange sign I do not recognize, though the meaning is easy to guess. I stop pushing and move back. ¡°Do you yield?¡± I ask. ¡°Yes, damn you! Yes. You have won,¡± he bemoans as he makes to stand. I place my index finger against his cheek and he freezes. The sharp nail digs effortlessly through his skin, drawing fresh red blood. I lick my finger and no more. I have my due and he understands. I could have gone through his protection. I merely elected not to. ¡°What an amazing victory, and the mysterious cold one keeps triumphing! Is there a champion to stop her rampage?¡± the game master asks. I look up to see the crowd go wild, while Malera¡¯s face has soured like an old grape. Her one eye glares down balefully, but when she notices my attention, she smiles. I understand her confidence. She operates a gambling operation. From her perspective, all she has to do is to stack the odds in her favor and eventually, the house always wins. From my perspective, I am cheating excessively. ¡°...The Mistress of Mayhem, the untouchable mind reaver, Tarana the Elder!¡± the game master finishes. Most of the crowd boos, then the moans only increase when crystals set in the walls belch out clouds of smoke. It smells like swamp humidity, their pungent odor diluting that of blood. The lights dim. A fae who could pass as Makyas¡¯ mother rises from the fog. While her kin flies naked, this one sports a shimmering cocktail dress, the light forming a rainbow prism on her form. She has a mature beauty to her, though it is marred this instant by one of the most arrogant smirks I have ever been subjected to. My defenders scream from the bleachers. ¡°Booo! Traitor! Vile hag!¡± the flutterlings hiss. ¡°Hush, children. You have all been quite naughty, disturbing aunt Tarana from her nap. Why, I believe I will break your toy first, and then we shall see about a few nightmares hmmm?¡± Her voice is warm and sultry even with its chilling message. She is also talking in adult Likaean with perfect ease, though the taste of hers differs from Sinead¡¯s, somehow. Her aura is diffuse. ¡°Let the fight begin!¡± She disappears. Something drills through my mental defenses, fast yet agile. Extremely powerful. The outer walls are breached. It¡¯s in my mind. A simple effort of will places my consciousness back outside the castle¡¯s entrance, where most of the statues are concentrated. An intruder seeks to breach the way in. I can feel her presence, moving around before the thorns have the time to grab her. Some of the outer statues take swings, but miss. She is too fast. I need to get in and close the gates behind me. Get in. Get inside¡­ Get inside? I scowl, why would I get inside? I am already inside. The inside is me. ¡°You are merely delaying the inevitable, child,¡± a voice whispers. I open my eyes and crouch. I am no match for her. She is old and made for this, and though my defenses are formidable, she will eventually destroy them. Of this, I have no doubt. I focus and trace two circles in the blood-soaked sands. Glyphs soon adorn them, all of them in Akkad. The fog blocks sight which explains why the spectators are displeased. Mental duels must not be all too exciting to watch to begin with. I am done in only a couple of seconds. I knew I had grown in power since the last battle against Mask, but I had not quite realized how much. The spell is far from perfect in my hands ¡ª I shall never be a great mage ¡ª but it is very, very powerful. The fog splits apart in a funnel in front of me to reveal¡­ nothing. ¡°Magic! The cold one can do blood magic! What a surprise!¡± the game master erupts. I did not expect to succeed on my first try. That is quite alright. On the fourth try, I catch the glimpse of fleeing tendrils. My fifth attempt reveals Tarana¡¯s scowling form. The assault on my mental defenses begins in earnest. It appears she was merely playing before. I grit my teeth and endure. This time I have her well in my sight. I trigger the second circle. Constantine¡¯s signature chains lash out in the dozens. I am so surprised that I almost lose my focus, but of course, this is a place of blood and captivity. There are probably few better places in all the spheres to cast it. A torrent of blood-red links hunt after Tarana¡¯s fleeing form. She is faster, but we are in a closed space and there are just so many. Eventually, she tries to fly up but crashes against a shield. The chains envelop her. Her next spell dies, smothered by the powerful restrictions. I drag her to me. ¡°Kill her!¡± Makyas bellows. ¡°You miserable cur! I¡¯ll shred your soul like wet paper!¡± my captive promises. The crowd goes wild, demanding her blood. I win. They get a show. That is perfectly acceptable. I bite Tarana¡¯s head off and use her body like a bottle, drinking one gulp before discarding it like an empty gin flagon. The crowd falls into a horrified silence. And then, they go absolutely wild. The deafening roar shakes the walls of the arena. I stretch my arms and bask in their adoration. Yes, prey, love me, fear me, worship me. I am not even done. I turn my head to the dais and, for the first time, smile smugly. The head is through the noose now. They sent their best at me and I turned it into a show. They have to make me kneel, or they will lose face forever. Although the game master keeps talking, Everyone present knows that the entertainment part of the evening is done for and we are in open conflict. Malera cannot break the rules but she can certainly skirt them. The fog disperses and runes glow on the wall. The light returns with a vengeance. I feel my magic being smothered in an effect amusingly reminiscent of the becalming spell I used against the skeleton mages. Pillars of heated stone emerge from the ground. ¡°... I give you¡­. Fizzledill the Wasp!¡± The contestant who enters the area might be short, and lithe as well. I find it hard to tell. He shines like fireworks until I am forced to avert my eyes. Heat radiates from his shimmering body. Magic answers my call sluggishly, too sluggishly to be of use. ¡°Fight!¡± I dodge back, then under flaming rays of incandescent magic. Not a spell. Short range projectile? I can barely see. All I can do is to run and use the heated pillars as shields. It does not work very well. Fizzledill cuts me off. He opens his helmet to reveal a pair of ruby eyes. ¡°You ¡ª ¡° I Charm him. Or rather, I use the mental equivalent of a sledgehammer to capture his attention. He does not have any protection I can perceive. In fact, he is even more vulnerable than the average mortal, something I have noticed with those who enjoy opium. I grab his mind and do not let go. Fizzledill crashes on the ground. He is a strange one, with tiny transparent scales that cover much of his body. I squeeze his mind like a vice and grab him by the collar. Fiery blades clatter against a rock. He is quite light. I take one sip and no more. He tastes of ash, both from his power and from what he has done to his dreams. I snap his neck. This one is too broken to be of use. The crowd goes mad. They laugh and point fingers. The air shakes when I toss the corpse to the side. The dais occupants blister with unspoken rage even as they maintain an appearance of aloofness, but I can see the flared nostrils and contracted eyes, the fingers gripping decorated chairs. They know our next play will be the last. The noose has closed, now. The gates open to let me out. Makyas waits for me by the nearest alley. The usual guard is nowhere to be found. ¡°They tried to trap the room! Twice!¡± ¡°Did you manage?¡± ¡°Yes. There are many more of us now that you have done so much fun stuff. The guards had wards but they were cheap, so now they are dead and I have more eyeballs. Follow!¡± We return to our room and the flutterlings bring the last elements of the ¡®disguise¡¯, true plate armor. This time, they will bring Makyas¡¯ true target. The next opponent will be the last. I can stop hiding. While the first gambeson was a neutral white and the mail a deceptive blue, this is black plate. A statement. I am entirely dressed when Malera comes calling, only my head remains without a helmet. She stays by the door. Her lone eye finds the dead guard by the wall. ¡°A social caller,¡± I comment. ¡°I don¡¯t know who sent you and I am eager to find out. Not now though, not even if you change your mind. You will tell me everything I wish to know after Gorgath is done with you.¡± A hiss reveals a forest of pointy teeth. ¡°I have seen your kind before, girl. Young and strong and so very naive. You lived in a backwater and cannot possibly comprehend that this is the real world, and you are one of many. I will be seeing you soon. Do try to make the fight interesting.¡± I chuckle. She is right. It is quite a large universe. I stand to leave. Makyas sends a few flutterlings with me but they are not really needed. The gloves are off, the gauntlets are on. No more hiding. In no time, I stand before the gates. Half of the crowd calls for the cold one, the other, for my opponent. The area is back to full sand, and the dais has returned to cold haughtiness. ¡°Ladies and gentlemen, she has taken the arena by storm and made short work of every opponent so far! She is as adept with her fists as she is with magic! The winged ones favor her, I give you the mysterious Cold One!¡± The arena shakes and I spread my arms, demanding a better ovation. They scream my nickname, as they should. ¡°And to stop her, the reigning champion of the arena, with seventeen fights and seventeen victories! They say his father was of the Court of Blood. They say he killed his first man when he was six with his bare fists, the cranium cracker, the blood spiller, I give you, Gorgath the Crusher!¡± The creature that comes from the largest gate is closer to the traditional Christian rendition of a demon than I would think possible, a stark contrast to his golden, angelic armor. He even has the horns and the utter ugliness of the most revolting of gargoyles. He towers above me and holds in his hands a maul that positively shines with enchantments. ¡°I hate being bothered without notice, little girl,¡± he says with a gravelly voice. ¡°You¡¯re lucky the boss wants you in a state where you can just speak.¡± I smile at him and quickly cast a voice-enhancing spell, struggling a little to cast under the effect of the arena¡¯s anti-magic runes. It is time to make myself known at least to an extent. ¡°I am going to kill you without moving a finger,¡± I state. Gorgath huffs with disdain, and I notice the source of his confidence shining ominously on his armor: a very, very powerful protection against mind magic. Unfortunately for him, I was not referring to Charm. When I first triggered my Magna Arqa, using the roots was as easy as breathing. I have struggled to reproduce this effectiveness ever since then, and my mastery showed its limits when I fought Bertrand and his followers. In theory, my Magna Arqa would not simply let me fight, it would allow me to control the terrain for both me and my allies until it becomes as deadly to intruders as the garden of my mind palace. In effect, keeping so many factors in mind when facing foes just as fast or even faster than me remains a daunting challenge. Now that I have grown from the fae offering, I should have a smoother control. All that is left is to practice. It cannot be my ultimate weapon if I only use it for my most difficult battles. Practice makes perfect. And it will feel good to let go. Any time now. ¡°Fight!¡± Ah. YESSSSSSSSSS. I tilt my head back and release my hold. Essence spreads and my aura flares. The tiniest amount of resistance holds me back, more a matter of finding a path than a real obstruction. Rocks above my head block the purple light but I know, I just know, that Voidmoore¡¯s starless expanse just gained its first astral object. It is here. It has come. It is, as always, WATCHING. A pulse of wonder, like the coo of a soul. Yes, feast your eye on this new world. As for me, I shall feast as well. The time has come to bring this masquerade to its inevitable conclusion. ¡°¡± Thorn roots crack the bloody sand, thick and strong. I pull one back with an effort of will just as Gorgath charges. When he is in the right spot, I release it. The root whips back and smashes against the chestplate with a resounding clang. The massive fae bounces back, but it will take more to stop him. He bellows. I sit down, letting an arched root carry me. Gorgath struggles to advance against the shredding, whipping spikes. His armor resists for now. He grunts with effort and, when he is close enough, takes a deep breath. I raise a wall to block the acid breath that emerges from his throat. Fluid hisses on the red sand, but the roots hold, just as durable here as they were on earth. The supposedly unstoppable champion is dragged, pushed, carried stumbling through the sands, tossed and caught and smashed down. It doesn¡¯t hurt him yet but the tone is given. I look up to the dais to see Malera standing, arguing with an advisor. The magic-dampening runes are still active. They simply do not affect my power. She knows now, she understands. I see fear. I can almost taste it. With one last look, the Mistress of the Arena turns around and abandons the place, leaving me the ground. Oh, such a meaningful decision. Gorgath roars. He swings his maul vertically and a massive arc of fire emerges, making a beeline for me. I have the root under me carry me out of the way. Hmmm, I should use them to reorient myself more, maybe even change direction midair. Such potential. Seeing his attack has failed, Gorgath redoubles his efforts. The struggle never ends for him, because the roots never end. They flay him without respite. Even without infusing them with essence, damage has already appeared on the previously lustrous surface of his armor. Pits and scratches accumulate with every smack, every shredding pass. My foe shows he is mad with anger and it makes no difference whatsoever. I stand on a throne of thorns, unmoving despite his best efforts. A new charge ends in a prison I raise all around him. He fails to escape it once more. He bangs on the surface again and again with no result. I think it is time to hammer the point home. Loth¡¯s statue strikes his flank. Gorgath turns and roars. His addled mind launches him at the nearest foe even though the dimmest fighter would realize this is a construct. False stone flies, then so does blood. Dalton¡¯s gun roars. The werewolf jumps on his back. Gorgath fights. He bleeds. He resists. He kneels and stumbles. Sivaya¡¯s statue stabs a spear in his back, finding a chink in the ravaged armor. He screams and falls for good. I use roots to bring him to me. Our eyes meet. With his remaining strength, he throws a pathetic punch. I allow it to slide on my armor. He tried hard, though not very smartly. I bite down. The accumulated essence of all the previous gladiators coalesce into his own as I drink him dry. He is a fae on his own territory, a champion at the end of a line of warriors. And I made an example out of him. I won. He tastes amazing, like life and triumph and struggle on those blood-soaked grounds. I take my due under the ovation of the crowd even as they know they have witnessed history. It feels amazing. Now, time to collect more! ¡°Teeheeeheeeeee!¡± I go through the door. Its guardian has left, run off somewhere. That was so good! Makyas comes from somewhere to hover around my head. ¡°Wonderful, Ariane! Such tasty eyeballs! We have your winnings! Follow me!¡± ¡°QUIET, WINGED ONE!¡± I exclaim. ¡°We are not done yet! I have to collect my other dues!¡± Makyas turns back, intrigued. ¡°Other dues?¡± How can he not know? He was there! Everyone was there! ¡°The gladiators, silly!¡± I explain to the slowpoke. ¡°I spared them so they owe me their lives, and I also promised I wouldn¡¯t leave Syma in their grip. So of course I will, ah, liberate them. Yeeeesh. I liberate Likaeans is what I do. You should know!¡± I thought I had seen Makyas ecstatic before, but now he looks like a child on Christmas eve. He will assist! ¡°No more words! Lead on, faithful guide! For freedom and the pursuit of a great hunt! I am bringing liberty to these forsaken lands, one broken door at a time! Onward, I say! I did not free you all to stop on the earth side! To gates and collars! Teeheehee!¡± With the cloud of flutterlings opening the way, I rush deeper into the maw of the arena, meeting only a handful of terrified guards. A thought occurs to me, however. I had a fantastic hunt and a great feeding while I was not even Thirsty. Could it be that the massive influx of power has made me drunk? Am I placing myself needlessly in harm¡¯s way? Could my judgment be impaired? Naaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah. ¡°Open up, door, you know you swing that way! Teeheehee!¡± Cells! Spartan ones, too. The insectile hive thing with the blades on his arms sits against the wall with a collar. Unacceptable! He¡¯s a good lad! I tear it off and pull him to his feet. I know he doesn¡¯t quite get sound communication so I will have to be especially eloquent. ¡°You are Dancer. Got it? That¡¯s your sound name. Dancer. Daaaaaaaancer. NOD YOUR HEAD BECAUSE THAT MEANS YES.¡± Slowly, the Likaean meaning behind the words filters through his chitinous skull. He does nod. ¡°Excellent! More freedom! Yay!¡± Syma is next, then Hadrano. Others too because they are on the way and I don¡¯t really mind. Nol caresses his newly manacle-free wrists. ¡°Are you a royal?¡± he asks. ¡°Nope!¡± ¡°Well¡­ you should be.¡± ¡°You can call me Princess of the Blood. I shall allow it. Because I am in a good mood.¡± ¡°This is all well and good,¡± Hadrano interrupts, ¡°but we won¡¯t stay free for long unless we strike at the Thousand Leaves. They have more captives in the abandoned High Markets. They can just replace us ¡ª¡± ¡°More captives, you shay?¡± I interrupt. Walls are weird here, very naked. Oh yes, a cell. ¡°We can show you!¡± the flutterlings agree. So helpful! Very kind of them. ¡°I shall not have prishoners on thish nice daaayyyyyyyyyyeaaaaa forward my dragonfly things!¡± We leave the arena in a mob, ooooh, but that is all nice. I find the turtleman that sold sneezes by the entrance and grab him by the collar. ¡°I¡¯ll take your entire stock!¡± I announce. Makyas pays from the massive bag that contains my money. No, treasure. No, booty! Some guards attack us so I eat them, let the gladiators have some so they can take their weapons. We move out and I eat another guard. To the plazza! But then the path is blocked by a big weird house that smells alive. ¡°It wasn¡¯t here yesterday. It¡¯s a moving one, a mimic. We should...¡± ¡°A HOUSE THAT MOVESH?¡± I inquire reasonably. ¡°DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT THAT IMPSJ What that ipmish, WHAT THAT MEANS FOR THE REAL ESTATE MARKET? Revolutionary. How do I find one?¡± ¡°They¡­ they have teeth above the door. You can see if you look.¡± ¡°Oh yes I KNEW THAT ALREADY HAHA.¡± I approach and open wide. It smells a bit and it¡¯s warm but there are couches. I glance up. No bricks, but retracted fangs. A droplet of drool falls on my armored shoulder. I frown. ¡°Magna Arqa.¡± Roots embrace the house completely. Something screams in a high-pitched voice. Tentacles and spike-tipped legs struggle in vain. The roots pull the incredible habitat innovation forward. Large, saucer-sized yellow eyes open where the windows are. An integrated intruder alarm system! Don¡¯t even need a dog. There is a strange intellect inside, half beast and half abstract thoughts on magic and furniture. Need to update the catalog later. ¡°I am going to get in,¡± I inform my newest hostile takeover, ¡°and I am going to sit in that chair. And then I will wait. When I open the door again, we¡¯d better be in a prime spot with easy access to amenities, a good view of the High Markets, and a quiet neighborhood OR ELSHE.¡± ¡°Eeeeeeeee.¡± it replies. Good. ¡°Get in everyone, I have acquired a faithful steed!¡± We have a merry time. I ask the fireplace to be moved three times to see if the design could be improved upon and I have to say, it would make a wonderful mansion if you don¡¯t mind the occasional bit of drool. Can probably fix that by feeding the beast. I¡¯ll try soon. We smash into the High Markets, which turn out to be a very, very large warehouse filled with goods and collared workers. There is some sort of battle, I think? People protest our completely reasonable demands to fuck off. Some weird large creature that looks like a furry dog with a spear fighter on top tries to stop me but I just toss them around a bit. Everyone seems to be having a jolly time! Things calm down after I drink the rider dry. What an interesting clutter of goods they have here. I try to purchase some curios, but the sales person says something about everything being free and me being their savior, which I find quite nice. Good sense of hospitality around those parts. ¡°The alliance is in disarray!¡± someone says while I recline in a pilfered throne. ¡°Egg shell ant!¡± I reply. They wince. Wrong meaning? Pah, I do not care. ¡°But Malera has retreated to her flagship, the It¡¯s a massive floating spell platform. How can we even prevail against that?¡± a silly person asks. ¡°Flying sip, you shay?¡± I ask. ¡°We only need to commandeer our own!¡± I toss a corpse at Pookie, my house. She¡¯s nice. She is also a bit larger. Yay for fast and free renovations! Makyas tries to garner my attention so I listen because he¡¯s a good sort despite the absurd eyeball fixation. ¡°There is the Leaf on the Wind, but it¡¯s a derelict now. The hull is shredded. And besides, the spell lances will tear us to pieces before we can approach.¡± ¡°You there!¡± I yell, pointing at Had¡­ something. The metal man. Ugh, what was his name again? Whatever. ¡°You¡¯re first mate Jenkins!¡± I declare. ¡°But my name is Hadrano¡­¡± ¡°That ish perfectly fine, First Mate Jenkins is a title.¡± And it is because I just said so. ¡°Aye aye, ma¡¯am,¡± Hadrano, the First Mate Jenkins answers. He looks mildly put upon. ¡°You can manipulate steel, right?¡± I ask. ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°And we can take the balloon and the lifting crystals from the Leaf on the Wind, right?¡± ¡°Yes!¡± a chorus of voices answers. I realize there are over a hundred battle-hardened free gladiators around me. A very large swarm of flutterlings also gravitates around us. What a funny band! Good. Focus Ariane, the night is not done yet! ¡°Then I have a plan! A brilliant one too!¡± I remove a ghostly feather from my pouch and shake it under my nose. Ah, that feels so weird and ticklish. ¡°Aaaah ahhh ahhh¡­ AH PSHAAAA! Nice. Listen here, me lads and lasses, because the first and most important thing we are going to need is hats! Yarrrr.¡± *** The susurrus of conversations snakes through the lit corridors of the Summer embassy. Crystals shed golden light on the most illustrious visitors of Voidmoore, a radiance harvested from the Summer Palace itself. Warm tones of wood and understated wealth welcome them in the hallowed company of its sophisticated staff, while the armed guards in citrine armor remind everyone of the fist under the velvet glove. In the ambassador¡¯s office, two people lean casually against the balcony¡¯s railing. The sharp tower of the embassy provides an unmatched vista, from the cloud to the piers, from the pit to the void itself, all can be seen with ease. Sinead¡¯s mind races. At his level, negotiations are a high-stake game where every word is a clue, and most are revealed on purpose. He needs the ambassador¡¯s support. Scenarios are considered and discarded. A part of his mind observes the woman from the corner of his eye for any gesture she could make. They would be decoys, of course, but missing them would show incompetence and ruin his plans. Annoyingly, a greater part of his mind worries about Ariane. Old Marrow has confirmed that she has not returned home in five days, five long days of agonizing wait. Only the tracking spell he weaved upon her purse prevents him from leaving the building at a dead run. He knows she is unharmed and free. That is all he allowed himself to perceive after breaking her trust so fully. The pain of his action grips his heart, but he pushes it back down. Even if it takes ten thousand years for Ari to forgive him, he will wait. All that matters is that she has those ten thousand years. ¡°Will you not ask about our little diversion?¡± the ambassador asks. Sinead produces a witty answer about never rushing a beautiful host, and she replies with the expected, polite laugh. She speaks, and Sinead listens. He judges that she genuinely desired a break. He calculates that she expects him to make it more pleasant. The possibility of sex hangs around them. ¡°... quite a surprise. We expected the Thousand Leaves Alliance to fall when they attempt to take over the docks, not before, yet they have been maimed from the inside by a deliberate, planned effort carried by their freed pit fighters. The Court of Wings and Keyholes appears to be involved in the elaborate plan. I admit to being impressed by their foresight and flawless execution, though I wonder how they expect to dispose of the ¡± Sinead¡¯s gaze travels to the squat spell barge hovering over the city like a fat renter. The crime syndicate sacrificed maneuverability and autonomy because they had no need for it. Their flagship serves a single purpose: to ponderously move where resistance is, then destroy it with the hex spears covering its flanks. ¡°All those who have tried to take it down have failed. I wonder what our new challengers have planned.¡± *** Aboard the , a lone figure in a tricorn climbs on the prow. The clouds part to reveal over a hundred woad-painted, determined fae from over a dozen worlds. They bristle with rage and sharp weapons. And hats. The figure places her hands on her hips. Her first attempt at talking is interrupted by a hiccup but no one seems to mind. Finally, the figure is ready. ¡°Lasses and lads, this is it, the moment we have been waiting for. AAAAH PSHA! Tonight, we take down the Thousand Leaves!¡± ¡°Yarrrrrrrrr!¡± the mob answers. ¡°Remember the abuse you suffered at their hands and show them no mercy. Let the skies run red!¡± ¡°YARRRRRRRRR!¡± ¡°This story will be our story. This city will be our city! AND WE WILL CRUSH ANYONE ON OUR WAY!¡± ¡°YARRRRRR!¡± ¡°Mr Dancer, full speed ahead. Raise the black flag. ALL. HANDS. ON. DECK. FORWAAAAAARD!¡± *** Sinead¡¯s chest freezes when a familiar shape descends from the cloud cover with predatory grace. It looks disturbingly like an earth warship hull design, its sleek figure made to slice through water, or it would if it were not for the eyes and teeth. The newcomer is a small shark to the ¡¯ fat turtle. It moves forward at great speed just as its opponent turns to offer an armed side. Sinead pushes panic down. One of the greatest faults of planners everywhere is confirmation bias. He is scared for Ariane, therefore he sees her in danger everywhere. The thought that she would be responsible for this is absurd. ¡°Rascals are not even changing course. Oh, they strapped a mimic house to a balloon! That is... why, I am not quite sure what to say except, perhaps, daring? And what is that strange contraption?¡± the ambassador asks. The Prince of Summer silently accepts the offered looking glass. It reveals a stubby metal tube decorated with runes firmly attached to the attacker¡¯s prow. Sinead feels as if he had been plunged in a Winter Court lake. Surely, surely the fuck not. No, he tells himself, this is probably a coinci ¡ª BOOM With a deafening blast, the gun vomits its payload. White smoke coming from the ship shows that the tube did not survive its first volley, but the effect on its target is larger still. The is skewered from end to end. It tilts dangerously to the side. Black smoke belches out from the gaping wound, hemorrhaging men and debris down the city below. The ensuing shockwave pushes the clouds aside. ¡°Oh my!¡± the ambassador whispers. The last dredges of Sinead¡¯s denial perish when the new ship rams its opponent at full speed, and the roar of its boarding crews spreads above the city. He calmly places both hands on the railing and leans forward, the weight of the world placed upon his shoulders. ¡°Your Highness?¡± the ambassador asks. ¡°Hmmm,¡± Sinead chokes. ¡°I guess I deserved that.¡± Chapter 182: The First Trial I do not recognize the new Sinead, and yet he is the same person. His aura tastes of ripe fields under the summer sun, with a dangerous note. Even his perfume has not changed, and yet I can barely reconcile the shameless dilettante of before with the tense nobleman now walking by my side.Perhaps the fault is mine as well. The persona Sinead picked on earth was a means to an end, the best tool a man without support could use to achieve the impossible. Now, that person is gone, replaced by a prince fighting a dynastic war for survival. He walks with confidence and fights like a lion. He does not quip. He does not provoke. He is an aloof dancer and expert negotiator, obtaining what he needs with a few terse words. S?a?ch* Th? ??v?l_Fir?.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. It annoys me. I am, in truth, no longer furious. A week-long, cathartic drunken bender dulled the edge of my anger. I have not forgiven him and will no longer grant him a trust that extends to friendship, but that is no reason to stop being entertaining! Ugh. ¡°This way, please,¡± our guide finally says in a smooth tenor, his smile tailored to express the most non-committal amount of polite benevolence. We walk through mahogany doors into a reception room, long windows letting Voidmoore¡¯s light in. The floats in the distance. Its predatory shape appears that much more ominous under the purple radiance of the Watcher, present even during the day cycle. Not that the fae would notice. I blink. Was it a coincidence, or does Sinead hold the ambassador¡¯s favor to display my ship so? It feels too much like an intimidation tactic. ¡°The ambassador will be with you shortly,¡± our guide says, then he leaves, closing the doors behind him. Sinead silently points at one of the five seats currently occupying the middle of the room, around a low table currently empty of amenities, including drinks. All business then. I sink in my designated chair and inspect my surroundings. The Summer Court¡¯s embassy favors warm tones and lighter woods. Some of the furniture shines a varnished gold, and the actual light comes from golden globes hanging around the place like ripe apples from the garden of the Hesperides, which Hercules burglarized. Despite the warm interior, I have never felt a stronger mask from any location I have been to. The silent guardians and carefully camouflaged defensive spells make it clear that we are here at the court¡¯s sufferance, and that a rescinded hospitality would come with a hefty price. Sinead does not speak and neither do I. My attendance is merely a show, a symbol that I shall act as his second in the coming conflict. Neither I nor Revas¡¯ bodyguard need to speak. A minute later, the ambassador comes in, her presence announced by a careful flash of aura. The door opens. The fact that Likaean nobles do not age and their flawless aura control conspire to hide their true nature. The ambassador has donned the appearance of a pleasant middle-aged woman, demure and polite in every respect, respectable yet non-threatening. Even her dress lacks the flamboyance some of her staff members have adopted. By comparison, the next person to enter the room does not hide. If Sinead is a dancer, Revas is a knight. When Sinead is elegant, clean-shaven, and aloof, Revas adopted the bearing of a young king up to the trimmed beard. He wears golden mail under a tabard that could double as a court apparel, and perhaps it has. I have to admit that he is extraordinarily handsome. Revas walks with confidence to his own chair and sits without waiting with the poise of a king. I notice that we did not stand up to welcome him, a small slight, and that he did not wait for us to do so. Revas¡¯ second is also a woman. Her hair and skin are scarlet and when our eyes meet, she smiles a forest of needles at me. She wears armor of black scales, the links clicking with every step, prowling like a panther with the confidence of one who has killed much and knows she will kill again. Revas walked into this talk with a naked blade. By comparison, I am at least wearing a tunic. The woman smirks. We will kill each other soon. This is what her smile conveys, and so I return it, because I can taste her essence and know she is strong. ¡°Welcome, welcome!¡± the ambassador says with more levity than this gathering demands. ¡°Ah, it is such a pleasure for me to receive two of the royal princes in my humble abode, this twig of the everlasting Palace of Summer. For the first time, Voidmoore shall see the first step of a succession challenge. The entire staff is honored by your presence. My name is Erilis. I shall be your host and, with your agreement, the arbiter of this most noble, exciting, and sacred of contests. Before we begin, would you like to say a few words to each other? I know you haven¡¯t met in quite a while.¡± ¡°I would love to!¡± Revas declares with an affable smile. His voice is a deep rumble, a baritone as warm as a July evening by the sea, with cool sweet wine and a light breeze chasing away the warmth of daylight. It rings with majesty, control, supreme belief in the self. It is the voice of a not-yet-king, but one who could be so. This man could walk into any seat of earth¡¯s governments at dawn and lead the country by noon. He truly is a prince of the spheres. ¡°My dear brother, let me be the first of our siblings to congratulate you on your liberation. What an incredible tale! The spheres shake with news of your accomplishments from the deep caverns of stone to the Court of Blue¡¯s aerie peaks. What an incredible feat of resourcefulness that was. You honor us with your deeds.¡± He leans forward, a smile on his handsome face. ¡°And so when I was informed you wanted to ascend, I canceled all my plans to grant you this opportunity as soon as it was feasible. Let it be known that the greatest liberator in our history will not be left waiting. Ah, and another thing. I would like to offer you, here and now, access to one of my fleet messengers. One word, and I will make sure your mother comes to visit you between the first and second tasks. No questions asked, no string attached, no conditions. It is my gift to you, as a token of appreciation.¡± ¡°That would be much appreciated,¡± Sinead pleasantly replies. ¡°Then it is done!¡± Revas declares. I almost expect him to call for wine right now, but he does not. ¡°Our time is precious, brother, so I have nothing to add. Your turn!¡± ¡°I have little to add, Revas, except that it is good to be back. Ambassador, if you will?¡± The woman closes her eyes and breathes. When she opens them again, there is steel and solemnity in her demeanor. Although the entire exchange is spoken in adult Likaean, the meaning courses through my essence with perfect clarity. ¡°The words I say are known to you both. They are meaningless, for you know the rules, and you know the truth behind them, yet they must be said all the same. For tradition. For the memory. So that we may never forget. The purpose of the challenge is to bring fresh blood to the hierarchy of the heirs. The hierarchy¡¯s purpose is not to split the burden of the kingdom, though it serves this end as well. Iit is not to winnow the weak, though it serves its purpose also. It is to guarantee that the next sovereign shall be the best of the best, as the current one is. We are Summer. We crush those who would threaten the spheres. We radiate out like the solstice sun. And we can never fall, for we are Summer.¡± ¡°... and Summer is the season of war,¡± the two princes quote with finality. With those last words, I catch glimpses of battles past, memories, perhaps, or echoes. Golden spears kill a great beast covered in fur, its breath the very essence of cold. Blood spells and hellish blades stop on metal shields. Staves push away the darkness. More significant, it happens in faraway spheres. Sinead¡¯s court might not be the strongest everywhere, but it can go everywhere, and it will certainly, certainly make an impact. ¡°Now, to the trials. The first will occur here on Voidmoore tomorrow. Due to some¡­ recent changes in the sphere¡¯s social and political landscape¡­¡± Everyone deliberately ignores me. ¡°... I had to change the parameters. All will be explained here before we start so as to prevent participants from engaging in too much preparatory work. The second trial will happen ninety cycles from now, on Autumn¡¯s lands at the occasion of the great annual dragon hunt. Victory will belong to he who wins or, failing that, the one who lasts the longest. If there is a final round, it will occur on our own sphere with a melee, barring any decision from the King himself. You are allowed all and every personal resource you can gather, but none from the court itself, willing or not. You are not allowed to engage in any way outside of the trial.¡± ¡°We understand.¡± ¡°Then we reconvene at dawn.¡± We spend the walk back in silence. We are still living in the house he first showed me the first day we came to this strange land. Despite my hold on the High Markets and its recently freed staff, Sinead considers the location as unsafe. ¡°You cannot contemplate the breadth of means Revas can employ to turn your ambitious minions against you. Only Old Marrow is almost incorruptible. That is why I picked him,¡± he had said. I trust him to know better in these circumstances. I also expected him to comment on my unexpected and, to be honest, reckless conquest of the Thousand Leaves¡¯ assets. He has not said anything. His silence disturbs me on a deep level. Who has taken my loquacious, smooth, and scandalous rake? Who has replaced him with this brooding courtier? I understand why he would betray me, now that I have had the time to consider his options. To a fae, rebuilding trust for three thousand circles would not be so daunting a prospect when the alternative is to lose someone forever. What I do not understand and did not expect is the effect it seems to have on him. Even as I slow down on the paved path to give a hand signal to one of our escorts, he matches speed with me. He knows where I am and what I am doing. He simply elects not to comment. ¡°Should we talk now or within safe walls?¡± I ask. Sinead tilts his head. I watch his reaction, which is always the same. The hint of a pleasant smile, the first signs of a roguish retort will bloom on his deliciously attractive face, then die. He will snuff the flame of his amusement before it can take flight. All that is left is melancholy. It annoys me to no end. I should be the betrayed, moody, melancholic one lamenting my cruel fate from the walls of some wind-swept fortress. Sad Sinead ambles around clad in duty and sacrifice like some doomed Roman general. I cannot even insult him without feeling like I hit a puppy. Ugh. ¡°If you have questions, you may ask them. We should wait to start planning, however. Just in case.¡± ¡°What did you get from the meeting? I must have missed much.¡± ¡°I have made a mistake,¡± Sinead says. ¡°How do you mean?¡± ¡°I have made a mistake back on earth and he will use it against me. That is what his first comment implied. The fact that he did not protest the location means he will use it against us in this first trial. As for the offer to contact my mother, it is genuine.¡± ¡°It is?¡± I ask with some curiosity. ¡°Yes. And that means he intends to kill me. Consider his offer a mark of respect from him to me, and a chance to leave my affairs in order. He genuinely respects me for what I have done, hence his offer. Revas sees himself as a mostly benevolent person. He will still kill me, should he win the contest, possibly because my continued survival could be perceived as a failure on his part. And the last important detail is that the ambassador is angry at him.¡± ¡°By giving us a view of my ship?¡± Sinead turns and nods. ¡°You picked up on it, good, but that is not all. The way she belittled herself as if in jest means he forced her to do something and she had no choice but to agree. This is her way of letting us know.¡± ¡°Any idea what?¡± ¡°None.¡± He leans back in his chair. ¡°None. I am sorry, Ariane. We may face complications, but bear in mind that we will attend the hunt unless we die. So, do not die.¡± ¡°I will keep your advice under consideration.¡± For the first time, it rains. The white cloud ball hovering atop Voidmoore opens up, and water floods the grimy streets, washing blood away until the next revels. Weather from a county-sized planet floating through the ether remains just as inexplicable as light or, indeed, gravity, though it all seems within what I would expect of the spheres. We walk to the embassy at a steady space, gladiators arrayed behind us. Sinead wears a green and gold armor I did not see him acquire. I have to admit it suits him very well. He also has a large bag bursting at the seams with magic. A fencer sword adorns his sides. As for me, I wear the Aurora, expecting trouble. Both of our ships hover above with their hex lances and newly made bombards bristling out. Makyas is here as well, with a small flock of flutterlings. The mood is dark. ¡°Can¡¯t believe we¡¯re going against a prince,¡± Nol the fly-headed one grumbles. ¡°We got our own,¡± Syma retorts, though I can taste her fear. They are correct in being concerned. Even the rain feels heavy, and the purple radiance above cares not for our success, only that we try. Upon our arrival, we are not directed inside. Instead, the ambassador walks out, flanked by four silent guards in shimmering armor. We are led far away from my ¡®usual haunts¡¯, though the term might be generous for a place I only just discovered. Twisting alleys and streets succeed another until the bustle of life disappears completely. There are houses here as well, endless streets of them, but they have a more rustic feel. Then, they become strange. Some of the houses lack an entire wall, another is just a single bathroom covered in tiles with random furniture visible through overly large windows. Other houses seem to have shrunk on themselves. We come across a deserted marketplace through an entrance dug into a wall, only to realize the square is not just empty, there are no streets leading into it. It had been designed to be walled off. Eventually, we reach another pit entrance. The familiar walls form a steep chasm, this time without light at the bottom. The ambassador stops to address us, her expression slightly regretful. Or it could be my imagination. ¡°The first trial is simple. The first person to reach the heart of Voidmoore and touch the pedestal paced before it wins.¡± ¡°The what now?¡± Syma asks. ¡°You may enter through here or any other path of your choosing. You will wait until the turn of this hourglass to engage the other party on the surface. That is all. Remember that this is but the first trial of three and do not let the light of summer fade. ¡° With this, the ambassador removes from a pocket the hourglass she mentioned and places it on the ground by our feet. She leaves without a last glance, guards in tow. We remain behind, facing the pit. ¡°I know nothing of a heart. I know little of the underground, Sinead, save that you recommended against exploring it.¡± ¡°And the Court of Summer deemed it wise to do so anyway,¡± the prince whispers. ¡°All I know is that the warrens beneath the ground are a labyrinth and many die trying to explore it. I also know that nobody who returned ever found anything of value. No crystals, no ore, no artifacts or forgotten lore. Just warm stone and dark dreams. Screams, sometimes.¡± ¡°Right. Right¡­ Exploration time. We have four far-speakers recovered from the alliance. We¡¯ll use them to keep in touch. Would they work underground?¡± ¡°They should. For a while,¡± Sinead replies. ¡°And the warrens branch, I suppose?¡± ¡°Quite a bit,¡± Sinead adds. ¡°Does the stone heal or change?¡± ¡°Not to my knowledge, or at least not fast,¡± Hadrano adds. ¡°I¡¯ve mined some of the stuff to repair the arena before I signed in as a pit fighter.¡± ¡°What is the likelihood we face Revas in battle.¡± ¡°It should not come to this if we hurry,¡± Sinead says. ¡°The first trial is never designed for direct combat, since the two opponents would probably duel to the death.¡± ¡°Fine, proposal then: we split into three exploration groups. We mark the tunnels we cross with the following code¡­¡± I carve some of the Red Cabal field marks designed to help them navigate hostile places on the pavements using rose. Safe spot for exit, no loot for dead end, and direction for where the group decided to go. It is by no means perfect, but it should help us map the place. ¡°It is safe to assume that something called a heart could be near the center, so we try to go deeper when we split.¡± Nods all around. Sinead is strangely passive. ¡°The should go and check the other pit. Fire on whatever setup they have on the ground. Don¡¯t get close.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll stay with them,¡± Nol says, ¡°I don¡¯t perform well in enclosed spaces.¡± ¡°We should mark the passages we come across with numbers,¡± Makyas suggests. In the end, we split into three groups as I planned but not the way I thought. Sinead insists on staying with me, as will Makyas. The rest of our forces distribute evenly. I send the Fury to hunt down Revas¡¯ people on the ground if there are any. I give them clear instructions not to get close. ¡°There are several entrances,¡± Nol explains, ¡°we will start with the one we know and then search for the more remote one. Don¡¯t expect much.¡± ¡°That is fine.¡± A few more minutes to distribute additional equipment, and we are set. We move down into the pit in a single file. The cavern below rivals the arena¡¯s grotto in terms of sheer size. None of the lights my minions brought can even reach the stalactites-covered ceiling. Their footsteps echo strangely in the darkness. No one comments. We walk the monumental surface to find four different tunnels leading down. I simply pick one at random and with a few wishes of good luck, we separate. Not two minutes inside our path, and Sinead stops. He takes down his bag and removes from it a lamp clad in swirling patterns of cobalt. The aura explodes out, tasting of rarefied air and magic. I consider the item and realize it is undoubtedly more complex than anything I have seen on earth with the exception of Semiramis¡¯ ritual. ¡°What?¡± I ask. ¡°Although I appreciate your efforts, my dear Ariane, you can imagine that I have prepared for a certain amount of possibilities during the couple of weeks of our stay here. This Blue Court pathfinder will lock on the greatest source of magic here and show us the fastest path down. I did tell you we had several favors to call upon. This is one of them.¡± ¡°You could have mentioned it before¡­¡± I grumble, ¡°then my followers¡­¡± ¡°Are not as reliable as you wish they were. You are in the Fae spheres here, Ariane. Vampires are not the unstoppable creatures of the night they are back home, and the temptations here defy your imagination. Revas knew you had acquired fresh recruits, unbound by oath, from a variety of courts. They are walking security risks despite your best intentions. It was better to share as little information as possible with them.¡± ¡°I wasted our time.¡± ¡°No, they offered a good distraction,¡± Sinead explains. ¡°And they will be useful later. We are running a Marathon, not a sprint. Now, enough delay, we have to keep going.¡± We move faster. The lamp lights our way with a ghostly radiance, darkening where the magic is thickest. The passage narrows and dips. I cast occasional glances at the stone and find it round and smooth, as if polished by eons of water in a place that I know for a fact rain has not touched in recent memory. Sinead¡¯s steps are quiet. The only noise comes from his heartbeat, breath, and the frantic flapping of faerie wings. They provide a low drone that prevents me from listening carefully. The same can be said of my sense of smell. Sinead¡¯s enticing perfume saturates the air. Ugh, that is why I prefer to hunt alone. I am running blind. We barely ever slow down. When a side tunnel opens, I take an instant to mark our way. Sinead does not stop. He runs with determination. The stone changes. The color turns more pinkish, like quartz. The temperature increases. ¡°Captain!¡± a voice says, breaking the silence. It comes from the far caster. I bring it to my ears immediately. ¡°Nol?¡± ¡°Oh, thank the spheres. You have incoming!¡± His voice cuts and goes, scrambled by interference. I still manage to catch most of his meaning thanks to the properties of Likaean. ¡°Big¡­ Hostile. Pookie was hurt, we had to¡­ Too dangerous!¡± The communication ends. I ask for clarification several times and receive none. The stone surrounding us must interfere with the spell, somehow. Frustrating, though it confirms we are being pursued from our own entrance. I doubt the Fury had the time to reach another one. ¡°Wait,¡± Sinead warns. We slow down at the edge of another pit. The prince opens his bag again and finds gloves. He jumps down, using the tiniest irregularities of the wall to place a toe, then using that fragment of a foothold as a springboard to jump lower. Sometimes, he uses his hands instead and the gloves inexplicably stick to them like frog fingers. I use my claws to the same effect and try not to feel too inadequate at the grace he displays. I should add climbing to the list of skills I should work on. Nevertheless, we make good progress. At the bottom of the chasm, we find our first corpse. ¡°What is that?¡± I cannot help but ask. A fae cadaver emerges from a side wall, head bowed down and cold arms hanging limply. A male one, quite handsome with a deep gash where the heart should be. His hair has turned pallid at the root while a crystalline growth covers most of his body. He does not stink of rot, not even a little. Instead, a pungent organic smell permeates the still air. ¡°We have no time,¡± Sinead insists. I know he is right. We follow the lamp¡¯s lead towards another tunnel, this one so narrow the prince has to bend a little. Makyas and his flock land on my armor. I do not blame them. I blame them even less when we find more bodies in various stages of either being swallowed or being pushed out. I am not sure which is worse. ¡°Captain, there are too many of them, you¡ª¡± A sentence, brief and cut too short. Syma¡¯s voice. ¡°Last group, can you hear me?¡± I ask. ¡°Yes, boss,¡± Hadrano whispers. ¡°Abort and return to the surface.¡± A delay, then¡­ ¡°Understood. We leave.¡± I grit my teeth in anger. When I find those who attacked us. ¡°Do not think of revenge,¡± Sinead interrupts. ¡°Think that they caught up with the other groups in here. They could catch us still. We must hurry.¡± As frustrating as it is to run, I agree with him. Voidmoore¡¯s innards feel dangerous enough as it is. Around us, the air grows ever wetter, warmer. The walls turn more red. I am drawing rather unfortunate conclusions. Despite my misgivings, we do not stop. We cannot stop. I hear it first despite the interference. A deep, booming thump. ¡°It is not sound,¡± Makyas tells me. ¡°What do you mean, can you not hear it as well?¡± ¡°We can hear it, but it is not sound,¡± the winged one replies. ¡°It beats in your head.¡± I shake my head. Sinead keeps going at a steady pace, driven by a single purpose. The darkness would be absolute without the lamp. We climb down another pit. We must be so deep now. Water drops over our heads. A few puddles are nestled between two ridges on the ground. I look up by sheer instinct and see two pink iris glaring down, or perhaps I imagined it. I stop drawing my path on the ceiling. It feels wrong, it feels dangerous. We are tracked. We are also trespassing. The warrens turn labyrinthine. Every passage looks the exact same as the previous one. Even Sinead¡¯s scent becomes elusive in the swampy air. After an hour at breakneck speed, we are almost there. The heartbeats are so loud my teeth would vibrate if it were indeed sound, but it is not. Suddenly, the tunnels widen. We slow down at the edge of the most colossal cave I have ever seen. It is a hollowed out sphere in the center of Voidmoore, its surface criss-crossed with bone-colored stone bridges, and at its center is the heart. It looks like an unholy marriage of stone and flesh centered around a single eye. A pedestal stands proudly at the bottom of the bubble, right below the crystalline organ. Our destination. Revas is nowhere in sight. The way ahead closes. One moment, we gaze into the strange rift, the next, a night forest extends before us with a lake in the distance. Black branches extend from withered trunks, bare like the fingers of crones and just as gnarly. Something has come behind us, and it is deafeningly, blindingly, stunningly powerful. We turn to face the newcomers. Behind us, Voidmoore¡¯s artery has widened to form a chamber around a stone throne. I felt the shift. I knew the spheres to be more malleable than my home dimension, but this is something else. The leader of our foe has changed reality by sheer force of will. Even now, I feel the weave of space smoothe out after its momentary violation, ripples expanding out. I gaze in the face of she who has trapped us and realize what Sinead¡¯s sin was. In retrospect, I should have expected it. Our opponent is twice as tall as Sinead, and clad in an armor shining silver and diamond. A crescent moon blade rests in one of her hands, a round shield in the other, half white half black. Her mouth extends almost to her ears and shows fangs where the incisors should be. Ears like those of a hare extend up while curved antlers jut out from her temples. Her eyes are the same pink as that of albino rabbit, but this is no prey, no, not at all. Warriors of both genders stand by her side from wall to wall, clutching diamond and silver weapons. For an instant, the moon behind us shines upon them until the sheen of their blades reaches a cruel intensity, then the moment fades, though the threat does not. I recognize their appearance since I borrowed it when freeing captives in Austria. Those are Seekers of Stolen Memories. They seem displeased. I check again, our way is blocked by what has to be another plane. It does not feel like an illusion. In a hunch, I take a step back and feel grass under my feet. Not an illusion. ¡°You are being used,¡± Sinead states in a voice that does not hint of fear. WE ARE. I wince. The words shake my mind, rumbling through my mind palace like an earthquake. I am a toddler defending a toy fort. I realize that Sinead speaks true Likaean, but he does not understand it. Not yet. Not like this one does. Her word is fact. IT MATTERS NOT. THE SEEKERS MUST REMAIN INVIOLATE. IT MUST BE SO. REVAS WILL PAY LATER. YOU WILL PAY NOW. Sinead licks his lips. He smells nervous now. I am nervous as well. ¡°At least let her go. It was my mistake, not hers.¡± SHE HAS DONNED OUR GARMENTS. SHE HAS CLAIMED OUR NAME. I gasp and take a step back. The accusations hit me like a wall. I am guilty guiltyguiltyguilty. IGNORANCE DOES NOT EXCUSE THIS SIN. YOU WILL COME WITH US. ¡°The trial¡ª¡± IS LOST. Must push back. Not lost yet. Not until Revas finds his way down. Not lost yet! Lost. Lost. Lost. ¡°I will not¡­¡± I grit between teeth. ¡°I will not submit to another one¡¯s mercy ever again. Never. Never.¡± YOU WILL COME WITH US. ¡°¡± I spit in Akkad. The language settles me, somehow. It removes me from this world and its rules. We are of the Watcher, outsiders ourselves. I bow to no one. I tell her so. ¡°Ariane,¡± Sinead whispers. ¡°No. Never again,¡± I reply. He nods. ¡°I understand.¡± YOUR COURAGE AND DEFIANCE ARE NOTED. For the first time, my essence barely expands past my form and¡­ stops? I try to grow roots and fail, but I can move. At least, I am not collared. Makyas and Sinead are trapped though I feel their own magic struggling against the overwhelming pressure the woman releases. I push and push and take steps forward. The woman waves her hand. The corridor disappears. We are in a clearing under a crimson moon, forest extending everywhere else. A bird ululates in the distance. I can move freely. The roots finally answer my call. For a small moment, fate hangs in the midst of its swing. Makyas and Sinead come by my side, free. The woman tilts her head. I will not submit. I attack with everything I have and meet a wall of shields. They are fast, so fast here. Almost as fast as me but not quite. They do, however, know how to work together. Offensive roots are pushed, stabbed. The pain hurts me deeply, somehow. Rose hurts a warrior, slithering under her guard. She tastes like patience and murder. I dive under lines of spears, slide on roots to reposition. I am everywhere. I am surrounded. They push me back with discipline and cold purpose. A blade is deflected. Sinead has joined the fray. He is fire to my ice, grace to my savagery. We deflect and strike, causing wounds but never a killing blow. An opening. Shields block most tendrils, but others find their mark. I am stronger. They falter. The werewolf statue crawls out of the free space, grabbing a hand. A spear stabs it. The pain is excruciating. I gasp, despite my high tolerance. Vision turns red. I allow the statue to crumple. Makyas falls, grabbed by a soldier. He is bleeding. Sinead bleeds as well but he still covers my back. Strange curved blades bounce on the Aurora. They fail to find purchase, for now. The warriors step back, many hurt but none dead yet. The woman has not moved. She gestures, and my fae crew leaves the nearest thicket, shackled in moonlight. Lesser warriors hold them captive. Makyas¡¯ insensate body joins them. ¡°Even if you have them, I cannot accept. I can never, ever be at another¡¯s mercy ever again,¡± I coldly state. I am hurt. A quick glance inward shows that my mind palace is cracked and wounded, the statues breaking. The hedge maze has died in some segments, creating weaknesses in my defenses. When did that happen? I was not attacked mentally. ¡°Release us from your domain, or kill me,¡± I finish. CHILD. YOU ARE NO LONGER IN OUR DOMAIN. I freeze, sensing the truth in her words. ¡°The Seekers of Stolen Memories started as the Court of the Blood Moon,¡± Sinead pants by my side. ¡°We are in their world now. We have left Voidmoore. This is a different sphere.¡± ¡°What? But¡­¡± My protests die upon my lips. I know it cannot be easy to change worlds. Only one kind of Likaean could possibly have such power. So, that is why the ambassador was displeased. She was made to permit this. I AM A SOVEREIGN. A wave crashes into me and I kneel or risk keeling over. Sinead does not fare better. My entire essence is compressed back into my body, then more, then more, until my skin cracks and my muscles groan, deprived of what makes my existence possible. My fingertips turn to ash. It hurts. It hurts so much. Then the pressure vanishes as the voice fades and the message it carried eases itself in the past. I was not attacked. The Queen of the Blood Moon merely mentioned a fact, and that nearly killed me. By the , I do not want to hear her scream. ¡°You helped me fight her anyway, knowing what she was?¡± I ask Sinead. His eyes are bleeding a bit as well. ¡°So long as we are here, you will never fight alone. Makyas agreed even though he knew that the Seekers of Stolen Memories are the bane of mental fighters, you included.¡± He sighs. ¡°We have lost the first trial because of my mistake. Not all is lost, however. Ariane, do you trust me?¡± The court waits for my answer. I see the plea in Sinead¡¯s pained gaze. Ugh, it is so much like him to put my back against the wall. ¡°Damn you, I do. But I have not forgiven you,¡± I finally hiss. He nods, and stands. The queen allows him. ¡°A bargain to decide our punishment.¡± YOU HAVE FOUGHT TO LIBERATE, AS WE HAVE SINCE EONS PAST. YOU MAY SPEAK. ¡°Let us retrieve stolen memories. Let us fight your fight to wash away the crime of borrowing your appearance. We will make you proud or die trying.¡± YOU WOULD MATCH THE ESSENCE WITH THE FORM? ¡°When is a lie not a lie?¡± Pressure. I gasp. Sinead does not. He stands, bloody yet unbroken. YOU DANCE DANGEROUSLY, CHILD OF AMARYLL. ¡°You will let our allies go and return us so we may compete in the second ordeal.¡± IF YOU PROVE YOURSELF, I SHALL. I HAVE SPOKEN. IT IS DONE. Chapter 183: The Seekers of Stolen Memories The sovereign smiles and then, she is gone. The air shakes with the trace of her passage. I notice that my gladiators have gone with her, and so has Makyas.One by one, the warriors facing us pick themselves up and split, heading deeper into the forest in clumps. Only one stays behind, a man I have faced and failed to kill. His silvery armor shows signs of damage where Sinead¡¯s rapier hit, while his shield looks flayed, gnawed by Rose¡¯s thorns during a heated exchange. Nevertheless, he remains unruffled. We wait in silence until the last of the warriors has left. When the silence returns to the moonlit meadow, the man bows lightly, keeping his eyes on us as if to challenge us to run. We do not. ¡°I am Khadras, Seeker of Stolen Memories. Welcome to our Court,¡± he greets. His voice is cold and cultured, his traits handsome and somewhat melancholic, from the unsmiling jaw to the thin line of his lips. The pale hair and pink eyes reinforce the appearance of alien aloofness, though the most striking feature is the pair of hare ears jutting up from his skull. They are white and covered in fine hair. They must feel quite fluffy, but I will not attempt to pet them because I am a mature person in control of her own impulses. Alright, it appears I find him rather charming, now that we are no longer trying to skewer each other. ¡°I am Ariane of the Nirari,¡± I greet in return, then I remember those folk tales about not giving an elf one¡¯s true name. Ah, well, I suppose Sinead would have warned me. I hope. ¡°Sinead, Prince of Summer,¡± my guide replies. ¡°Your task has been chosen,¡± Khadras explains. ¡°Please follow me. I will assist with its completion.¡± Without waiting for our approval, he turns and walks between two dark trees, the shadowy branches forming an arch over his armored figure. Over us, the blood moon lingers, perhaps disappointed that little blood was shed. All those nobles speak adult Likaean. Fortunately, I am able to follow and provide basic answers but I can feel some of the subtext escaping me. Ah, no matter. I have no choice. We move deeper into the silent forest. ¡°Any idea what we should expect?¡± I ask Sinead. ¡°The Seekers only ever do one thing: retrieve stolen memories. They never act for any other reason, and they always act when this reason is given.¡± ¡°We sometimes act for other reasons,¡± Khadras says from the front. ¡°Though few are foolish enough to give them.¡± His voice sounds both sad and mocking. ¡°The mission of the Seekers is sacrosanct. No one should interfere in any way, including by taking a similar appearance in a cut-off world, apparently,¡± Sinead says with scorn. ¡°The girl was taken for one of us and you did not see it fit to correct this misunderstanding,¡± Khadras retorts. ¡°Should I take responsibility for the mistakes of others?¡± ¡°When you mislead them, you should, Prince of Summer. If you find those terms unacceptable, I can call your mother back.¡± ¡°We shall keep our word, thank you,¡± I interrupt before something unfortunate happens to my essence. His answer leads to another question. ¡°If you are the child of a sovereign, does that not make you a prince?¡± I ask. ¡°Yet you did not present yourself as one.¡± ¡°The Seekers have chosen a different path,¡± Sinead says. ¡°If you will let me enlighten the outsider child about my own family, child of summer?¡± Khadras suggests, his voice dripping with sarcasm. ¡°Oh, now you are voluble and prone to explanations?¡± Sinead replies. ¡°Enough!¡± I tell them. Ugh, they are supposed to be this ancient and mysterious species. Why do I feel like I am dealing with two grumpy teenagers? ¡°Please tell me of the mission and of the Seekers,¡± I ask. Khadras considers my words in silence, then he sighs. ¡°It will be easier to explain who we are so you understand what we do. We are the Seekers. We have forfeited our royalty, our legacy, so no one could steal what once was ever again. I never was a prince. Mother gave me life long after she took on the crystal.¡± ¡°Sinead mentioned a deal before.¡± ¡°So he knew you looked like one of us, and did nothing. We must remain inviolate or our sacred mission will be compromised.¡± ¡°You have said that before. What is so sacred about stolen memories? Many things get stolen all the time.¡± ¡°Memories are different. Memories are the past,¡± Khadras grumbles. ¡°A long time ago, there was a prince of the Court of Shadows. The prince was weak in body, frail and sickly. He skulked as his kind were wont to do, trying to be forgotten by all so they would not hurt him. One day, he wished a foe had forgotten him. He wished the memory of him left the mind of the foe, just like his presence escaped the attention of others.¡± I remember one of their kind, I realize. Mr. Elusive, who helped us free the fae from the Eneru fortress. He could make me forget about him. What a terrifying ability. ¡°He wished for the memory to disappear with great desire,¡± Khadras continues, ¡°and the darkness was with him, and the darkness loved him. It suffused his being with every prayer until, one day, he succeeded. The dark one plucked the memory from his foe¡¯s head and it was no more. And he liked it.¡± Khadras turns his head, pink eyes searching for the moon with a peculiar form of longing. ¡°The dark one found more memories he did not like, and he erased them from the head of their owners. When they were erased from enough minds, from enough meaningful, powerful minds¡­¡± ¡°Then the related events¡­¡± I whisper, realizing the implications. ¡°Were gone, of course. Those who insisted things had happened because the memories remained were scorned and mocked, and the proofs they pursued had disappeared as well. Suddenly, heirs found themselves deposed. Children were never born. All the while, the dark one¡¯s influence grew. With a shadowy hand, he could stop a dynasty without them even being the wiser. A princess might have been beautiful and strong of arms. He might have been unable to face her, but what if she were never born?¡± By the Watcher, what a nightmare. All the achievements of someone could be annihilated because someone made it so. ¡°The past was getting mangled. Cracks opened in reality. But there were some who noticed.¡± He stops and turns, his hand grasping at the figure of the moon above the skeletal canopy. Fingers only grasped air. He would never reach it. ¡°We were hunters then, or so I was told. Our rides lit the skies of every sphere, but the queen saw the spheres unravel and knew something had to be done. She took it upon herself to act. She hunted for a solution and found the Crystal Mind. For a price, it would turn her spirit to perfection. She accepted. She found the traces of the dark one and tracked them back to its source for one last hunt. She found him, weak and mewling under her glare. He died, and the world healed in time. We will never hunt across the skies again. We will never hear the call of the blood moon. Our minds are as crystal, eternal and unbreakable, but cold.¡± It is not every day I feel pity. Khadras is not weak. He is strong for a purpose he did not choose, yet must be fulfilled. ¡°Some of us are old enough to remember the before. I do not know if it is a blessing or a curse.¡± There is silence while we walk, then I hear it, barely a whisper. ¡°I wish I could be angry about it.¡± ¡°You are immune whether you want it or not?¡± I ask. ¡°Of course. What is immunity, if one can opt out of it? There are so many ways to sway even the most stubborn of fools.¡± ¡°Really?¡± I ask with disbelief. ¡°When space is vast and time no longer matters, much of what you believe set in stone can be eroded,¡± Sinead notes in a sober voice. ¡°And so I cannot be made to feel much.¡± ¡°There is no way to avoid the deal at all, I suppose?¡± I ask. Khadras faces me, a light sneer in his face, but it disappears when he sees I meant nothing by it. ¡°Outsider child. I can be a Seeker or I can be nothing at all. The Court of the Blood Moon is gone. So, I am a Seeker. We scour the worlds for those who would rob them of their past. And when we find them¡­¡± The pink of his left eye fades, and I realize it is merely an illusion. His eyeball was torn off and replaced by a sphere of shining diamond. I peer into its depth and recoil, struck by an atrocious pain. It is so vivid that I moan despite the Ekon essence. A crack reopens in my mind palace. ¡°Ugh, by the . Makyas must have suffered so much.¡± ¡°Mother was merciful. It was very brave of him to face us for you.¡± I threw the winged one into the lion¡¯s jaw without realizing it. Between the gladiators and the flutterlings, it appears I have spent the last day charging off a cliff, allies in tow. The spheres are too strange. I must exert greater caution here, before I am truly punished. By the , I feel like an ignorant fledgeling again. ¡°Mother intended for you to live. If she wanted you to die, she would not have brought my siblings and I.¡± ¡°Are you all hers?¡± I ask, surprised. ¡°The Queen of the Blood Moon has lost much of her powers, but her children are many and strong,¡± Sinead remarks. ¡°Yes. We share roots with many courts. On a related note, please note that mother is not with child at the moment, Prince of Summer. Should you wish to¡­ leave a mark,¡± he mocks. Sinead does not look comfortable with the idea. On one hand, I do not care what this backstabbing, arrogant twit does with his nethers. On the other hand¡­ I do. A cold and calculating part of me realizes that he has betrayed me for my sake at great risk for himself. He has also had my back ever since. Another part of me realizes that I am rationalizing and accepting a terrible breach of trust, one borne from a lack of respect for my own judgment. He has been unapologetic about that breach, and has not tried to justify himself, which can only mean one thing. He expects that I will forgive him within the next couple of centuries, should I survive. It annoys me to no end that he could be right. I frown. Our eyes meet, and he does not avert his gaze. ¡°We are here,¡± Khadras announces. The forest opens on a crater of incredible size. The dark loam disappears, fused into volcanic glass at the edge of the prodigious impact. A city stands at its center far below. The sight fills me with a sense of melancholy. Great roads traveled by people and caravans emerge from the surrounding forests and plains, the other side so far away that even my sight cannot catch them. They converge at the bottom of the crater, at the heart of the sacrificed court and the base of the Seekers of Lost Memories. No, their capital. It is mind-bogglingly large, so large, in fact, that I have trouble apprehending it. How can a city grow to such proportions? The immensity of the sprawling metropolis drowns me with a myriad of sights, people, and places I can see from up here. It exhibits a dazzling collection of styles and trends, with many visible spires and statues clearly looted from somewhere else. The mad labyrinth of captured architecture grows denser closer to the heart, but then, it stops abruptly. The remaining towers are clear crystal, symmetrical and perfect yet also still. Unchanging. Like a prosthesis at the end of a graceful limb. There must be millions of fae living in there, their essence truncated forever. It takes us a good hour to reach even the outskirts of the urban landscape at a good pace. We stop by stables and are offered massive elks with muscular bodies to carry us inward. They move as swiftly as the wind across clogged streets, its inhabitants wearing cloaks and robes in earthy colors. They part before us like a sea. Khadras never slows down. Eventually, we leave the more lively districts behind and find a massive complex of blockish design, with crystal pillars supporting its massive roof. We cross its cyclopean rooms unimpeded by the halberd-wielding guards. Eventually, we reach a warehouse that could fit an entire fleet at drydock. Circular archways dot its surface, while armories and supply rooms line the sides. Khadras wordlessly guides us to one such arch as it hums, power coursing through its mineral innards. ¡°Could you tell us about the mission?¡± I finally blurt out. I hate to break the silence to ask my questions, however the past few days have shown beyond the shadow of a doubt that I am out of my depth. I would rather ask and look stupid than act and confirm it. ¡°Simple enough. We will visit a prince¡¯s court and find who among them has removed memories, and why. Once this is done, we will punish the guilty then leave. So it has been done before, and so shall it be.¡± ¡°Will we have time enough before the next trial?¡± I ask with some concerns. ¡°We will,¡± Sinead answers with more certainty than I deem necessary. ¡°You seem quite certain,¡± Khadras notes idly. ¡°I am. She would not give us a task we could not accomplish in time. Remember what she said. We get punished now, but Revas gets punished later. What would be the best lesson to one who uses the Seekers to win a game?¡± To cause him to lose the game, in the end, thus proving that there are no benefits. Nevertheless, there is a chasm between plan and execution, as I have learned for too many times. It would be enough to make Revas suffer losses as a warning. It will be up to us to turn this warning for him into a warning for the world at large. Or worlds, as it were. Khadras looks on mournfully at the gate as it finishes stabilizing. A shimmering blue surface covers the aperture. ¡°Ladies first,¡± he offers. I grumble and walk through the thin membrane. Cold hits me abruptly, and even more abruptly because I can feel it, really, for the first time in an eternity. The chill seeps into my bones, strongly enough that it seems to freeze parts of my mind as well. The idea of warmth dulls until I can no longer even summon it. In front of me, a snow-covered plain leads to a vast frozen lake, with mountains farther in the distance. They rise under a gloomy sky, their surface cobalt and sapphire. The only warm color comes from the crimson berries adorning the nearby bushes, thick and alluring like freshly spilled blood. The Aurora starts to shine. By the Watcher, I know where we are. ¡°Welcome to Winter,¡± Khadras comments offhandedly. Sinead glares around, clearly displeased. Strangely, the gold of his armor still shines in the dim light. He sighs, and a puff of foggy breath escapes his nostrils. ¡°Will¡­ this be a problem?¡± I ask, suddenly unsure. ¡°If you are asking about my powers, they will not be severely hampered. Winter and summer do not oppose each other as concepts here, not like they do in your world. The winter fae are not my enemies because of their origin,¡± he replies. ¡°But because they are criminally insane,¡± Khadras finishes. ¡°And the culprit, if I may use the term, is a winter fae?¡± ¡°Most assuredly, and a powerful one too. A noble at the very least. Mastering the shadows of oblivion requires some measure of power and skill, thankfully. Come, the city is that way.¡± We walk closer to the shore and I find myself uncomfortable in the Aurora as it glows, drinking in the surrounding magic. Its aura of cold increases, though my companions do not seem to mind. As we approach, I stumble to a stop. The clear reflection of a castle extends on the limpid surface of the lake, a perfect gothic construct of spires and gargoyles. I try to discern the illusion that hides the castle, or creates it, but cannot manage. It would be too embarrassing for a dangerous lady like myself to question, point, or otherwise conduct experiments while we could be under observation, and so I will refrain. My curiosity will be soon assuaged in any case. As we move on, I realize the reflection is growing larger. A sense of vertigo takes hold of me, and I falter on the smooth surface of the lake. A school of translucent fishes swims under my feet before darting away when a larger one catches their scent. They disappear behind a reverted guardhouse. The castle is inversed. It digs into the lake, ice maintained through unknown means. Soon, we reach the start of a chasm. Frosted stairs descend into depths laced blue and white, doors leading to different parts of the castle. The upside down structure does not seem to bother its inhabitants. Clad in furs and skins, humanoids with gray skin and pointy features barter and growl in the depression. They are messy, clawed, aggressive mix of lean races showing more teeth than needed. A savage crowd. As I watch, a bear-like man seizes a shorter one, punching him with hairy mitts. Scarlet blood spills on the permafrost, which drinks it greedily. One of the small creature¡¯s siblings jumps on the man¡¯s shoulders and bites his cheek, deep. He roars. Battle is joined. We move on. The deeper we go, and the cleaner the furs are. Windows of transparent ice show the watery abyss beyond and the strange fauna living there. I catch hints of silvery scales and distended maws. And half-eaten corpses quickly snapped between hooked fangs. The nobles of the court of winter have eyes like the abyss or like fire, if fire were blue and froze men to death. There is a stark beauty to them, one that makes no effort to hide the needle fangs. Those who walk those corridors have brought their nature under control, but they have certainly not forgotten it. I feel at home already. Soon, we arrive at the gates of what should be the tallest keep, but ends up being the deepest point, the timid sun barely reaches it anymore. Guards in armor of ice and fur open them without a word. Their blue eyes follow us like wolves follow a wounded elk. Nevertheless, we are let in without issue. Some of the guards even watch the Aurora with undisguised greed. They will get four feet of crystallized essence down the gullet before I let them even touch it. Grumbling to myself, I almost gasp when we enter the throne room. The ground is made entirely of glass. The bottom of the lake has risen into a mountain to meet the massive castle in the middle. Underwater, fluorescent life gives us all the illumination we need to meet the court, its nobles in rich cloaks garnered with precious gems. The hilts of blades peek out from under heavy fur like medals on an officer¡¯s chest, all part of the dress. We progress three abreast to the throne room where, thankfully, it is not the king of winter who sits. The aura he reveals is nevertheless extremely powerful, more powerful than Sinead¡¯s by a significant margin. If I were to face him here, I would undoubtedly lose. My eyes lower and, once again, I fail to reconcile what I see for a short moment. A woman in a luscious dress kneels in front of him, her hands on his lap, and her head bobbing up and down over his nether. The man on the throne lounges backward on the high chair with a hand on his sword and the other grasping through the woman¡¯s pale locks. I can guess what is happening. UGH. UGH. I knew Sinead called those people degenerates, but this is a little too much! Unfortunately, no one else shares my absolute outrage and terrible discomfort before this deviance. I am compelled by the circumstances to remain mum and endure. If we were on my lands, I would kick the girl in the backside with much strength, solving both problems at once. Unfortunately, I have enough time to inspect the man¡¯s dark iron armor and delicate, fiendish traits while the show continues. At some point, his smile turns into a grimace of bliss. He grabs the woman¡¯s head with both hands, shoving her forward. I wish I could drive my claws into my ears and save myself the agony of listening to those gagging sounds, but alas, it is not because they are being improper that I will lower myself to their level. I still wish I could just gut them where they are. ¡°Thank you, daughter. You may withdraw.¡± Oh hell no. Ew. Honestly, I have not appreciated the unflappable stomach that comes with my nature enough. I would have retched otherwise. Ew ew ew. These incestuous inbred degenerates. The woman turns, smiles at us, then she sashays to his side with no hint of shame, although to show it here in this den of wolves would be foolish indeed. She appears rather young compared to her father, which makes it even worse. Poor thing. I hope this was a figure of speech, and that they are not truly related, at least. Pah, who do I hope to deceive? They share the same cruel features. The lord of the place sighs with contentment, then grabs to the edge of his seat for an ash-colored circlet gathered around a shimmering azure gemstone, which he places upon his amused brow. He leans forward to inspect us with interest. I notice that he has made no effort to hide his flaccid manhood. Pig. ¡°What do the bunnies want with me?¡± he asks with a bored voice. ¡°Is there a violator in my court?¡± ¡°Yes, Duke Gnash. There is.¡± ¡°Hmmm.¡± The men and women around us tense. They do not move and their aura barely ripples, but I can tell the mood has shifted, somehow. The noble closest to me takes a deep breath and he starts to smell like fear. He is not the only one. It appears the Seekers do have a reputation. ¡°I wonder which little mouse told you, instead of bringing this to my attention. No matter. How will you seek the perpetrator?¡± ¡°Is there any strange occurrence nearby? I am concerned by mysterious events or discordant perception.¡± ¡°There is one thing¡­¡± the duke considers, tapping a finger against his chiseled jaw. ¡°The Beast of Gildring. Some say it is a man, others that it is a feline creature as long as a war machine and quite destructive. Strangely, I am not quite sure what to make of it.¡± ¡°That sounds promising, Your Grace. Where may we track this Beast of Gildring?¡± ¡°You may try,¡± he says. ¡°And if you were to succeed, do bring me the head.¡± ¡°Very well,¡± Khadras readily agrees. ¡°Sern will show you the way.¡± One of the fae nobles gracefully bows. He is one that smells the most of terror here, making me wonder if the duke has some way of telling. What am I saying? He must have a way to perceive fear. This is winter, after all. Without a word, we move back out of the throne room. The gates clang shut behind us. Many glare at us, though none bar our path. We walk out of the inverted castle immediately to my disappointment, as I would have loved to explore it a bit more. I shall have to accept that I am on a schedule. The year I have to find dragon blood feels far too short now that I caught a glimpse of the scope of what several worlds imply. Our guide walks sullenly in front of us to the edge of the forest where we appeared. It looks quite dense from here, with snow-clad forests extending far. ¡°So, a duke?¡± I ask as we walk. ¡°Does summer have dukes as well?¡± ¡°We use different titles to reflect a different situation,¡± Sinead explains in a careful voice, his attention on the world around us and the hunched back of the noble facing us. ¡°Winter is fragmented, compared to the other courts.¡± ¡°The children of winter follow the herds and the berries. Our land is harsh,¡± Sern says in a raspy voice. He still smells afraid, though he tries to put on a brave face. SCAREDY PREY. Wait, no feeding on the locals, Ariane. Diplomacy comes first. I am not even really Thirsty after that terrible indulgence over Voidmoore a week ago. ¡°Yes,¡± Sinead comments, caressing the hilt of his rapier. ¡°Ariane dear, we will need some bloodless privacy, if you may?¡± Sern squeals when my talon clamp on his neck. His face is thin, elfin, with the needle teeth of his kin. His eyes are two pits but he sees me and I see him and he is mine. ¡°¡± Terror. The man is a bit of a coward. A survivor too. He tastes like a rabbit fighting an owl, only one kick away from salvation. ¡°You are scared, are you not? Do not worry. We are strong, and we will spare you. You get to live another day. Are you relieved, Sern?¡± ¡°Yeeessssss.¡± ¡°You are quite relieved. You live under our shadow. It is safe there. Walk by our side and relax.¡± ¡°Yes. As you say, milady.¡± ¡°Good.¡± I return my attention to the prince and the seeker. Sinead nods in appreciation. ¡°Quite elegant for a rush job, poppet,¡± he starts, but then catches himself. We are no longer at the ¡®poppet¡¯ level of a relationship. Khadras has averted his gaze, and I realize why soon. I catch a hint of pink and my hold over Sern falters. His diamond mind truly suffers no artifice, not on him and not even around him. ¡°So you wanted some quiet?¡± ¡°Duke Gnash is guilty,¡± Khadras declares without preamble. ¡°He is the one who stole memories.¡± ¡°Wow, that was, uh, fast?¡± I observe. ¡°Mother sent us to complete a simple mission. You would be unable to help me complete a more complex one before the next trial is set to happen. I am surprised he would allow us in his court, but perhaps he expected his circlet to hide the traces of his sin. It locks his spirit and protects his mind from me. Although, he cannot influence others while he wears it. Quite the irony, for a crown.¡± ¡°And he expected it to work?¡± I ask. ¡°The exact method I use to see his violation is unknown to most, even though they try to hide the evidence. Fortunately, the research on us is sparse.¡± ¡°They do not leave survivors,¡± Sinead explains. ¡°To steal a memory is a death sentence.¡± ¡°I see. Regardless, I assume knowing is one thing, and slaying him another?¡± ¡°He is a deadly warrior and, more importantly, we are on his land. His might will be multiplied here. Duke Gnash is old. His power rivals that of princes. We must exert caution.¡± ¡°He will come to kill us,¡± Sinead says. Even Khadras seems surprised. ¡°Are you certain?¡± ¡°I have faced winter many times when I first joined the court. If they risk being overwhelmed, they will retreat in the cold reaches to avoid destruction, only to return after their foes have lost patience ¡ª or if they unwisely perished in the cold. But he needs time. He will follow us, then strike us while we are weakened ¡ª both to delay reinforcement and to make a point. He will be long gone by the time your kin comes to avenge us.¡± ¡°Sern¡¯s reactions indicate the beast is real,¡± I say. ¡°He expects us to be slain by it, perhaps?¡± ¡°It might be involved in all of this. We will see. You seem to be capable combatants. If Duke Gnash attacks, he might also be alone.¡± ¡°Will he not bring trusted retainers?¡± I ask, surprised. ¡°There is no such a thing in winter,¡± Khadras replies. ¡°Must we contend with both the duke and the beast?¡± ¡°Perhaps not. We can lay in ambush around its prowling grounds, perhaps even force a three way fight.¡± ¡°None of this matters until we learn what we are up against and where we will fight. Or does it? This place is strange to me.¡± ¡°Preparation will carry us a long way,¡± Khadras agrees. ¡°But first we must learn more. There are things in the realm of winter that even a sovereign would avoid, although we have not gone too deep yet. If we are forced into a fight now, I will provide support while you two fight as you have before.¡± ¡°Understood.¡± Cajoling my newest pet Sern yields little result, save for the confirmation that Duke Gnash did steal memories that relate to the beast itself. ¡°Yes, extremely dangerous. Terrifying, even.¡± ¡°How do you know this?¡± ¡°Hm.¡± He frowns, then hisses in a strangely familiar way. ¡°You are right, lady. Something is amiss.¡± Indeed. ¡°What can you tell me of the Beast of Gildring then? What can you remember?¡± "Terror. Shame. Grief.¡± ¡°Grief?¡± Sern nods. Charm has not completely robbed him of his survival instincts. ¡°You must proceed with caution, mistress. Gildring is a marshy old graveyard. The land is treacherous and filled with old, angry things. Many dangers hide in its confusing fog. Some of them ought to be dead. No one in their right mind would track a man there. It is no surprise the beast would pick it as its hiding place.¡± Despite my expectations that the trip would take longer, it only takes a couple of hours for us to find Gildring. The sun is setting by now, or at least I think so since its presence is hidden behind a deep gray cover of clouds. Mortals would have struggled between the temperature and the snow, not to mention the pervading chill. By contrast, my companions move with a grace and alacrity that Masters would envy, their steps weaving between roots and ice. Sern shows that he has not survived for no reason as he guides us deeper into the land, until finally we find a marsh. The trees split before us on a series of ponds filled with brackish water. Rotting trunks and bulrush conspire with a pervading fog to block the sight. Boulders rise from the blurry distance like idle giants. Some creatures swim in those surprisingly unfrozen waters. I watch a curious thick branch half-submerged under the dark liquid and realize it is a corroded spear. Another stone reveals its nature as a corroded piece of helmet. I wonder if the skull is still inside. ¡°The king defeated red-skinned invaders here, eons ago when the sphere had thawed. Some of the heat still lingers.¡± ¡°The spheres change seasons as well. Their power waxes and wanes,¡± Sinead whispers in English for me only. I jump up, rising dozens of feet into the air. Marshes as far as the eye can see. Some of the boulders look like gutted war machines. Perhaps they were. ¡°How do we find this beast, or traces of it?¡± ¡°It will find us,¡± Sern explains. ¡°Predators hunt. It is the way.¡± ¡°So it is,¡± I agree. We advance with caution now, blades drawn and in formation. Sinead and I take the lead while Sern follows, a short blade in hand. Khadras takes the rear, vigilant. We move in silence. Water burbles ominously around us. Sometimes, an unseen creature disturbs the water in the distance. ¡°We have been spotted,¡± Khadras eventually informs us. ¡°Where?¡± Sinead asks. The Seeker does not answer. Instead, he points ahead, where a larger expanse of dry ground disappears under a thick cover of noxious smog. The form of a hairy beast emerges from it, or at least that is how it looks at first, but then it resolves itself in the shape of a man. He wears a surprisingly pristine white shirt of modest make under a much grimier cloak of knitted furs. The cloak gives him a large profile, but in truth his chest and arms are lean and sickly, covered in starving, corded muscles. His pale skin clings to angular, delicate features over a stubborn chin. Silky black hair contrasts with keen blue eyes the color of the ocean under a storm. A small part of me insists that this trip in the land of faerie has been quite scenic when it comes to attractive lads. It drowns when the first hints of his scent reach my nose, and I focus on his essence. I gasp and come to a stop, the surprise too much to bear. No. It cannot be. That¡­. is impossible? And yet, Semiramis did mention it. I just could not imagine I would meet the legend in person, the man who disappeared through a unique portal centuries ago in search of a new challenge. Before he can slaughter us to the last, I take a step forward and give a polite bow. ¡°Buenas tardes, se?or Cadiz.¡± He freezes as well. The liquid pool of his eyes rise to the cloudy skies. ¡°Es tarde? No puedo decir.¡± His gaze lands on me. A cataclysmic aura smashes into mine. So. POWERFUL. No! No. I bend the knee to no one. Never again. I REFUSE. ¡°HSSSSS.¡± he asks with deceptive calm. Under his calm appearance, the essence I feel bubbles and crashes with the power of a centuries-long despair. I must help him. My sphere expands over him and roots covered in frosted thorns tear the muddy ground. They form a wall and rise to the sky around us, blotting it. S?a??h the ?ov?l?ir?.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. The opens his eye, pupil contracting over us. Cadiz falls to his knees and weeps. Chapter 184: Duke Gnash Cadiz cries in silence, a virginal marble statue in the midst of old death. The lines of dark blood trailing his cheeks like stigmata give the wan fencer an image of sanctity, one that his underlying power only enhances. Cadiz does not move and neither do we, because our mutual status is yet to be determined, and if we fight Cadiz, we will be crushed. Of this, I have no doubt.It starts to snow. When Cadiz finally comes to, I politely request to drink his tears as the lure is simply too strong. Unfortunately, he flatly refuses. I do not react to the cheap jab, mostly because he is right, but partly because I am forced to jump on Sern, our guide, as he tries to scamper away. The Winter fae has shown his ability to survive against all odds, and only an idiot would fail to see that we sympathized with his obvious enemy. ¡°Just so we are clear, I am not attacking my kin. I have no reason to, and it would be suicide,¡± I inform my allies. Cadiz says. While we talk, Khadras kneels and takes a curious pen out of a slot in his armor. The seeker focuses on the ground and begins tracing strange signs on the marsh¡¯s wet loam. His explanation only comes when he realizes we are all staring. ¡°If we do not have to be concerned about the Beast of Ingmir, we can prepare for the inevitable battle. I will provide support and stop him from erasing us from each other¡¯s memory while you two fight him off. Can we count on your brethren¡¯s help, Ariane?¡± ¡°Can we?¡± I ask the interested man. I sigh and sit by his side. It will take a while. I highly suspect that Cadiz is not on Nirari¡¯s side, given his choice of words. I also suspect that he might be less friendly than he appears for now. After determining that he left the planet a century before my human birth, I give him a brief recounting of recent historical development. The cruel fate of the Spanish empire upsets him greatly, though my reports on the success of his clan seems to ease his mind. He takes my compliments on Jimena¡¯s character with jaded indifference. I flinch at the mention, causing him to smirk knowingly. Claws grab me by the collar, dragging me forward until we are quite close. They would be on my neck if I were not clad in the protective embrace of the Aurora. Nevertheless, the message is clear. Or it would be, but a naked blade comes to rest under Cadiz¡¯ neck. ¡°Keep your distance,¡± Sinead states calmly. ¡°You do not want to face me,¡± Cadiz replies. The Progenitor¡¯s understanding of child fae is less than my own. I expect he never received a formal education. I also expect he has little interest in mastering it, or he would have. Cadiz can focus on a goal with more intensity than anyone else, thus making them adept at learning new disciplines. I lower the tip of Sinead¡¯s blade and push Cadiz away, gently. He allows it. Cadiz glares. I do not relent. Eventually, his expression softens. I am flabbergasted by the immediate answer. I ask. I look down at his tattered appearance. I must exert some self-control at the realization. Did Gnash remove his son from the memory of everyone else, including his daughter? What a dreadful proposition. Unaware of my horror, Cadiz continues his tale. The pale man tilts his artist¡¯s head, hooded eyes dreamy from the reminiscence. He leans forward. I relay Cadiz¡¯ words to Kharas, who nods. ¡°This explains much. I do not believe Duke Gnash ever suffered such a meaningful humiliation. To be defeated and lose one¡¯s heir on their own land is a terrible blow to his power, and thus, his person as well. Perhaps it would be enough to lead to a coup. He would not be the first to succumb to the temptation, and call the dark court to his help.¡± I argue. His refusal frustrates me, not because I fear Gnash, but because I feel like I am being used. Cadiz asks me. He waves my words away, annoyed. I glare. He does not seem impressed, but he indulges me anyway. Should I tell him? No one ever asked, but I do not think I mind him knowing. Not considering his aversion for my sire. I do not reply, but Cadiz still draws the conclusion. I glare. He speaks too much. he says. Cadiz smirks and extends his arms. I lean forward, unable to maske the excitement blooming in my chest. I would argue that he already wasted more than that flooding my ears with his verbal incontinence, but judge it might be counterproductive to point it out. I grumble. S?a??h the N?v?l(F)ire.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. My surprise must be obvious. And with this, Cadiz disappears, the only traces of his passage footprints upon the water. I have no idea how he managed that. ¡°Charming. Is he one of your kin?¡± Khadras asked as he finishes drawing. ¡°He says he won¡¯t help. And that Gnash is coming with two different kinds of servants.¡± ¡°It would not surprise me if Darkness Court renegades had come with him. They would not waste an opportunity to slaughter an isolated seeker. I can handle them.¡± ¡°So the Shadow Court disapproves of the practice?¡± I ask, suddenly curious. ¡°Those that survived the purge have forsworn it. Now is not the time to explore their lore, however,¡± Khadras gently chastises. ¡°They are coming.¡± The two princes draw their blades while I take point. The fog covering the marshes writhes, caught between the modest heat of decay and the cold of the Winter Sphere. The temperature drops slightly. The snow gains in intensity, the thick, cottony flakes dancing in hypnotic patterns. Silence descends upon the glade, as even the most clueless beasts must have sensed the bloodshed to come. I decide to release my Magna Arqa, aware of my previous decision to use it more so I can improve my control ¡ª and not because Cadiz must be watching. My improvement is my own duty. The sphere expands. Immediately, the weather loses its meaning, now just one more aspect of my domain. I sense the presence of Khadras behind me as an unyielding crystal pillar that only death can shake. He is restraining himself not to hurt me. Gnash is coming. The world speaks to me of his passage. It recognizes him as its master ¡ª for now ¡ª and us as intruders. It stills. A massive shadow emerges from the fog wall, then the vaporous curtain parts before the fur-clad, armored form of Duke Gnash of the Winter Court. His dark iron armor shines ominously under the dim light of the setting sun, while he holds in his slender hands a vicious axe carved with a wolf head. His retinue follows. Hollow-eyed retainers advance, their step certain yet lacking the predatory grace of their court. Their silvery scale armors look tarnished even from this far away. I feel slight disturbances in my sphere, but it is Khadras who reveals our hidden foes with a flick of his hand. I suddenly perceive them, not in a way that they were invisible and now revealed. I had forgotten them while Khadras had not. Their ability reminds me of Mr. Elusive, the sharp-eared and pointy-nosed whose assistance had been useful during the Dvor fortress heist. While he had been meek, hunched, and spindly, those are muscular and predatory beings, clad in tanned skins. They only want to be forgotten so they can better stab me. Their grins reveal yellow fangs and an eagerness to inflict pain I have seen in the most damned of rogues. They are not my targets, however. Mine swings the axe casually on his back. The circlet bearing a stone on his head reminds everyone who rules on these lands. ¡°So you knew. I suppose it saves me the pain of tracking you down.¡± ¡°You should have known better. How the memory thieves always manage to fool more people is a mystery I shall never understand,¡± Khadras spits in an uncharacteristic display of emotion. ¡°I would have expected a duke to be less short-sighted. Look at your men! They are husks. Is this what you wish to rule over?¡± His face twists into a rictus of disgust. Duke Gnash merely shrugs. ¡°You are strangers here, so I shall explain for my own entertainment. Rules. Domains. Reputation. Those are all shiny layers of civilization we put on to play with this other sphere. There is only one truth to winter.¡± His mouth widens impossibly, the jaw opening to his ears to reveal grasping fangs while his eyes shine a cold, sapphire light. ¡°I HUNGER. I EAT. I DESIRE. I TAKE. I ANGER. I KILL.¡± And he attacks. I rush to meet him, Rose brandished against his monstrous axe. I angle it to deflect the downward blow and am pushed back, sliding over the muddy grown. Roots rise from the earth to stabilize me against the second blow, which comes immediately after. My counter hits the aft, the next the blade. I strike fast to overwhelm him and prevent him from using the much heavier weapon. At this close range, I actually have the advantage by denying him the opportunity to strike. Even then, it is difficult. He is fast. Perhaps even slightly faster than me. While I finally pushing him back, a blue light shines from the blade. ¡°Shred.¡± ¡°AWAKEN.¡± My spell hits the head of the axe as it roars and teeth appear on the blade. An arc of cold energy arches out, freezing everything in its way. Gnash takes a step back, out of balance, and stumbles on a root. Others lash at his back, grinding against the armor with a shriek of tortured metal, but Gnash shines and the appendages freeze solid. Ugh, why do all strong combatants have a way to dispose of my precious roots. Frustrating. Incensed, I charge, only to leap back when his axe slams into the ground. The blade turns the earth into shining permafrost. I cast Promethean and Constantine¡¯s chains wrap around the handle, pulling Gnash off balance. More roots lash at him. While he struggles, I lunge, Rose slicing against his thick chest plate and damaging it. Gnash roars and I disperse the spell before he can pull me in, then raise a wall of thorns to block an expanding ball of chilling energy. He strikes through the frozen roots and my turn comes to be pushed back, until more roots grab me, then help me slide against the follow-up. I carve a deep groove in his knee¡¯s armor as I pass him by, but he has already turned when I attempt to press my advantage. Our exchange continues for a while and I let myself sink in the pleasure of battle. Gnash is such a strong fighter, cunning and aggressive, just like me. Our dance is a breathless tango on a rope above the abyss, each strike vicious and decisive, each parry performed to allow for a faster counter. Finally, I manage to wound him by striking his shoulder where the armor had been weakened by a previous strike, but the return sweep sends me rolling on the ground. His attack pierced right through the Aurora, to my mounting horror. He hit my flank. The blood has already frozen, and I can feel a numbing chill seeping into my essence. I must combat it. More importantly, I cannot be hit by that thing again. ¡°Cold take you,¡± Gnash hisses with his distended jaw. In answer, I lick the blood on Rose and smile. His essence is so very concentrated, and so¡­ relatable. The cold in my vein fades away, stepping back to let the two of us contend for supremacy. Such is the way of the winter sphere. Gnash smiles and charges again. He is in his element. And even faster? No, I am slower. The more time passes and the colder this place grows. Frost appears on my roots and even they become sluggish. A quick look at my mind palace shows frost-kissed white flowers and icicle-covered statues. I intended to keep them as a hidden ace, seeing how fast and destructive Gnash is, but it appears they will be too slow to even be that. ¡°You found out,¡± Gnash whispers. The words carry through the din of battle, even as the two princes contend against their foes. The mist rises and becomes a powdery diamond, thick and freezing. They chill my essence as the sphere around me contracts in pain. ¡°You are strangers here, and your kind always falls. You come to winter expecting a battle, but you find a freezing hunt, and an empty, hungry world. You understand cold, but you do not understand winter. I smell your craving for life from here, little moth seeking the light. You still have bonds and friends and other useless things to drag you down. You have come with others but you will die alone. You are strangers here, and your kind always falls. Your flesh will nourish us for one season.¡± ¡°You talk too much,¡± I retort, but only an empty chuckle is left behind like the ghost of a traitor''s kiss. Winter gathers around Gnash. He is right. He is right, and I cannot face him the way I would face a lord back home. The world is with him unless I can reverse the narrative. The sphere of my Magna Arqa retracts again, punished on all sides by the howling blizzard. Gnash stalks me, waiting for the perfect opportunity. He will strike as I am the weakest, but just before the princes come to help. The sound of battle has gone. I realize it for the first time. Silence has replaced the clash of blades and the roars of magic. Only the howling wind breaks the hush now. Another trick of the world. That is fine. I know how to face him. As strange as it is, his words in Likaean carried power and the world became what he envisioned because he spoke them. I am different. I am not a Likaean. My power comes from another source, and yet, Winter will not care. Whatever works for him will work for me, if I can formulate it properly. I do not need grand declamation since, again, Winter will not care. The shorter the better. The clearer the better. Gnash claimed the title of wolf. I will claim the title of hunter. After all, it is what I am. I whistle, and the distant woods shake with the thunder of familiar hooves. The world¡¯s most noble charger canters by my side. She neighs, and I mount her smoothly. ¡°Nu Sarrehin.¡± Ghostly light spreads around to illuminate the diamond powder, but only to my eyes. No one else needs to see. ¡°You hide, because you are prey. You run, because you are prey. You talk, because you are prey. I will ride after you under the Watcher¡¯s gaze. I will find you. I will eat you. I have no need for Likaean tricks. I am what I am, and what I am is a huntress. I. Am. Coming.¡± It works. Yesssssss. The roots break the frozen earth and crawl after the tracks we see, the scent he left behind. We move in a wave as unyielding as the turn of the seasons. My hungry lights flicker after the running beast. I wish I had Sivaya¡¯s spear. What am I talking about? Of course, I have Sivaya¡¯s spear. Am I not a huntress? And here it is, silver blade lit by purple radiance. The fog parts when the roots tear it apart, searching, tearing. Winter is in balance. There is a hunter, and there is a deadly prey. The roles may switch at any moment but it matters not. Gnash no longer controls the story. And we find him. Metis gallops after him. She is considerably faster and more powerful here. I think she may have even grown a bit. We charge him and stab down, the fast spear catches Gnash in the smallest gap between blade and aft. I smirk. The power of the spear activates, sliding through his armor like butter and digging into his flesh. I smell rich blood in the air. Before he can free himself, I lift him above my head. Droplets of blood fall on my face. He smells so delicious. He winces in agony while Metis rears, the hunt concluded. Or at least, that is what I hoped for. Instead, clawed, hairy hands grab for the shaft and break it, despite the enchantments. Gnash collapses on the ground behind us and coughs blood. His maw has grown even more monstrous. ¡°That is Winter,¡± he growls, ¡°victory at any cost.¡± I charge again, this time with Rose. His armor cracks and pops and Sivaya¡¯s spear tip is pushed out by newly grown, wiry muscle. His shoulder expands ever so slightly, and I realize what I thought was a cloak of fur was, in fact, his skin. What is it with insane foes and abandoning the human form? Ugh. I hope I can still EAT HIM. We begin another type of dance, one where his flexibility and ferocity oppose our teamwork. Metis and I are used to each other. We understand each other. He figures it out the first time he attacks from behind and gets a faceful of hooves. I hear the crunch of shattered bones, but when I look, the duke now has a deformed maw instead of a normal face, so there is little improvement for us. The duke grows larger the more wounds I inflict, which makes him more cumbersome, more awkward, as his mind struggles with its new form. Some of the movements are too jerky to be natural, and he soon loses the ability to wield his axe. The problem is that he grows immensely stronger to the point where the roots struggle to keep him in place, even as the cold makes them more brittle. I am struggling against an enemy that grows stronger the more I hurt him, and shows no signs of exhaustion. It forges after me through a maze of shredding roots and grasping limbs, tearing itself on it. I flit like a ghost through covered alleys and harry him but am I grinding him down or forging him into something stronger? Even the essence I take from him seems infinite. He is closer to a standing werewolf than a human now. I wish I could jump on his back and bite him, but his thick coat and fast reflexes make this a daunting prospect. My magic is useless as well, except to deceive him. ¡°It is useless. He draws from the land,¡± a voice says from behind. Khadras emerges from the darkness with his halberd bloodied. He inspects the torn battlefield with calm. ¡°Our only hope is to keep him here and let him exhaust the local essence. Then, we can wear him down.¡± ¡°This feels like a poor plan,¡± I complain. ¡°Feel free to share a better one.¡± Gnash heard our voices. He shakes himself or roots and charges, tearing through the defenses I have set. His sapphire glare meets my eyes and I find an opportunity. ¡°Khadras, can he still erase us from memories?¡± ¡°Not in this state.¡± ¡°Then let me use mental magic, please.¡± ¡°As you wish.¡± I slam the duke hard enough to lobotomize a Gabrielite. He reels, and we jump on the occasion. I slam Rose into his chest but fail to penetrate to the heart. The werewolf and Loth statues materialize, tearing into him with little result. Khadras stabs him in the nose and dances away from a ferocious swipe, ducking under a quickly forming wall. Gnash roars and a blue bubble forms around him, and then summer comes. A flash of golden light falls upon the forming attack, dissipating him. Sinead lunges and carves a bloody groove across the duke¡¯s leg, hamstringing him. We pile on and retreat immediately while he heals and explodes in a whirlwind of fang and claw. A curious exchange happens, with me taking more of a support role and protecting the two princes as they demonstrate their martial prowess. Our efforts are not in vain. Wounds accumulate on his body, the regeneration slowing down. Suddenly, he stops and makes a run for it. I try everything. I fight with all I have. Sinead and Khadras pierce him with a thousand blows. It is of no use. His maddened form crashes through everything we have like a boulder through a toolshed. His paws freeze the waters of the marsh on his way to the nearby edge of the trees and we cannot stop him. Finally, he turns around. ¡°I am as infinite¡­ as the cold.¡± He roars and¡­ nothing happens. His wounds barely close. While the expression of fury turns into a growl of frustration, I charge. A shimmer on the ground attracts my attention and I lean to the side and grab Sivaya¡¯s spear tip, its blade still stained with blood. Khadras throws his halberd and Sinead his blade in a desperate gambit. I jump at the height of Metis¡¯ sprint and land on Gnash¡¯s monstrous chest, stabbing him deeply. The sphere of my Magna Arqa expands, fuelled by my determination and the story as it slips from the duke¡¯s grasp. Tendrils emerge from everywhere, the air itself. They lift his massive carcass in the air and deprive him of the contact he needs. He is mine now, he is outside of Winter and inside my domain. His struggles are the death throes of the vanquished. I grab his deformed neck and bite down. He tastes of frantic battle, of¡­ Of a mouthful of hair? What? I hiss when I realize I am holding a wolf¡¯s pelt. A naked Gnash crawls away and jumps when he realizes I have seen him. Seriously? ¡°HOW MANY TRICKS DO YOU HAVE, PREY?¡± I complain, spitting hair. Ugh, I have some stuck to my tongue. The horror. The Likaeanity. He is a dead fae. Gnash grabs his axe between naked hands while I charge, the princes busy recovering their discarded weapons. Gnash stands to fight. He is back in human form, which I find extremely unfair though mentioning it aloud would be too hypocritical for me to contemplate. He raises the weapon and gasps. A blueish spear tip emerges from between his muscular ribs, then withdraws. Red blood gushes out. He falls. A woman in full armor stands behind him, an expression of utter vindication on her thin traits. I recognize the princess who had been, ahem, entertaining Gnash while he received us. His daughter. It appears we can add patricide to the long list of Winter¡¯s sins, though to be fair, I understand her. After all, I am trying to do the same. ¡°Claim complete, pig,¡± she spits. Still, the arrogance. ¡°That was my prey! HOW DARE YOU!¡± I trample the ground on my way to skin that little minx raw, but she stops me by bowing her head, exposing her neck to me. My steps falter. ¡°Grace, milady,¡± Sern says as he kneels by her side. Our guide seems to have made it, somehow. Khadras and Sinead stop by my side. The hare prince cleans his halberd disinterestedly. ¡°My task in this world is over. I wash my hands of this.¡± ¡°You are the offended party, Ariane¡± Sinead assures me. ¡°Make sure to get your due. Winter does not know mercy.¡± ¡°What do you wish, ?¡± I ask. ¡°For you to leave the duchy and me for ten years.¡± I grab her by the neck until our eyes are level. I see the ruthlessness in her cruel traits, the same her father exhibited. Anger fills my heart. ¡°A speaks plainly, or they are no longer a . This is your last chance.¡± ¡°I ask for forgiveness for my transgression.¡± ¡°You interrupted a hunt. You robbed me of my kill through deception.¡± ¡°I helped you!¡± she claims. Seeing my doubt, she explains with more calm than I thought her capable of. ¡°I knew he was hiding something. We had one room too many in the keep, and I found missing gaps in my paintings, in my notes. I found¡­ gifts. From a man. My brother. I am sure of it.¡± I see pain in her unshaking glare. ¡°His memories were stolen. I will never know if we fought or if we loved. I will never find out why I am the way I am, because my most defining memories have faded. How can I understand what I have become? That filthy swine took my dignity in more ways than I ever thought possible. So I challenged him during the fight by claiming the castle, and you¡­ completed the task. It is acceptable to Winter.¡± ¡°But not to me.¡± ¡°What do you wish in return for your forgiveness?¡± ¡°Blood was taken, so blood must be provided. Willingly.¡± Sern lifts his head. ¡°Would mine suffice?¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°Will I survive the experience?¡± ¡°You may.¡± ¡°Blood offered willingly against your departures, and¡­¡± Her eyes swivel to the pelt, so I break two of her fingers. ¡°I will compensate you for it, of course,¡± she replies with calm. Sweat pearls on her brow, the only sign of discomfort despite the fragmented knuckles I hold between thumb and index, the claw poised to snap. ¡°How?¡± ¡°If I may?¡± I let her go. She searches the marshes for a few moments, but soon finds the discarded circlet that protected Gnash from Khadras¡¯ assault. She picks the gem and approaches me, then places it against the Aurora¡¯s chestplate. The gem disappears through the obsidian surface. I see it sink into depth I know for sure do not exist. Before I can protest, the armor comes to life. It contracts with a ghastly creak. All the imperfect and slightly barbaric details melt away to reveal only the sharpest, most perfectly designed scales of blue. The Aurora is now the cobalt blue of a night sky with flashes of distant green fire deep under the polished surface. It is much closer to me and denser at the same time. I can move perfectly freely. More importantly, the aura of cold that hurt my allies falls dormant until I need to call it. Its power has increased as well. ¡°Now your armor is that of a Likaean princess. Do you find this satisfactory?¡± She dares to give me a mocking smile, knowing I will be forced to admit this is a royal gift. So I give her a fanged smile. ¡°We have a deal.¡± I reveal her neck and bite down. I pull back, surprised. I will have time to explore what progress I have made, but that can wait. We can depart now. Hmmm. I feel as if I had forgotten something important? Metis bumps against me, her large form strong enough to push me to the side, as it used to so many years ago. She neighs softly. Her red eyes widen at the gall, the sheer audacity I displayed when I called her to battle without providing a well-deserved snack afterward. She ignores my hands raised in supplication and monches on the hair near my neck, dragging me by the roots. ¡°Ow ow ow, Metis, stop this instant! You are embarrassing me in front of the cute guys.¡± Alas, my pleas fall on uncaring ears. She ruins my hair then disappears in a huff. Ugh, this is going to cost me one month of profit in bison herb and caramelized pig ears when I return to earth. ¡°You have acquitted yourself of this task quite well,¡± Khadras admits after a moment of confused silence.. Sinead remains inexplicably silent, while I expected him to exchange more barbs with the prince. He seems resigned for some reason. ¡°We have worked well together and fulfilled our purposes.¡± ¡°Are you really congratulating us?¡± I ask. His unfeeling pink eyes inspect me with unusual intensity. I find his focus unsettling. ¡°Is it working? I am told the more emotional courts enjoy flattery.¡± ¡°You get points for trying.¡± ¡°I detect sarcasm. I will assume you are ecstatic and move on to the next step. We simply have to make our way back to the portal.¡± We easily find our way out of the marshes. At the edge, we find a rock and on this rock, sitting with his elbows on his knees and his head resting on balled fists, we find Cadiz. His eyes are closed. he says. Chapter ex6: A Journey of Black and Red 185. Wanderers Bickering in front of the princes would be a shame. Refusing advice from an undisputed master would be foolish. I must show unity with my kin since we are surrounded by strangers. If I repeat all those arguments often enough, it will distract me from Cadiz¡¯ endless litany of observations.A master must praise publicly, but chide in private. The rule is even more important when dealing with competitive apex predators born with a tendency for remorseless violence. Truly, the old Progenitor lacks bedside manners, and yet his insight is particularly brilliant. Perhaps this is why I tolerate his incessant babbling. I hiss under my breath. Cadiz¡¯ face appears in front of me, the man sometimes capable of moving without me noticing. We glare at each other. Or rather, I glare while he stares fixedly into a point that could be my eyes or nothing at all. It sounds like a supplication. I stop, the two princes imitating me with eerie coordination. Their good manners allow us this moment. Cadiz is the very image of the doomed artist, complete with hooded eyes and sickly body. Resignation haunts his gaunt features. Perhaps he speaks the truth, and he genuinely cannot play the delicate dance we keep between our instincts and the veneer of civilization. Perhaps his singular drive protected him from the savagery that comes with a lack of attachment. ¡± I agree. The terms are large enough that I can wriggle out of them should he go too far. I breathe out. he asks, aghast. Cadiz does not comment. We start moving again. Cadiz freezes midstep. His expression is one of unmitigated horror. I accept. My essence expands into the usual sphere, now larger than ever before. I immediately grow a root under Cadiz in an attempt to trip him, but he effortlessly side-steps it. What an infuriating man. I am starting to believe someone tossed him through that portal, after all. While the old twit grumbles under his breath, I concentrate back on our current predicament. Revas outmaneuvered us in the first trial to succeed him, and I have no reason to believe the second will be different. I hate so much to be so out of my depth that even the most basic task cannot be completed with any degree of surety. When we freed the fae from the fortress, it was Sinead¡¯s project, but the details of the execution were clarified under my responsibility. The lack of control frustrates me. Perhaps some training would at least distract me from the deadly game. I walk up to Sinead, finding him despondent. It irks me. ¡°I am starting to think you were happier on earth, Sinead.¡± The prince blinks, as if he had never considered the question. ¡°I was perhaps more light-hearted. You are right. My worries are getting to me.¡± ¡°What concerns you? The second task?¡± Sinead casts an annoyed glance at Khadras but the hare fae ignores us, his attention devoted to our surroundings. It is true that we are still in winter¡¯s domain, and yet the weather is more clement, somehow. The red fruits hanging from nearby frosted bushes are the crimson of ripeness, not blood. I can smell a hearth¡¯s smoke on the wind. Besides, my Magna Arqa shows no threats anywhere close. ¡°I am concerned about the second task, true,¡± Sinead says in English. The message feels more diluted now that there is no objective meaning behind the words. ¡°And something the queen said,¡± he continues. ¡°But there is more. I do not know if I should burden you with this. ¡°Better than burdening me with this dark mood of yours. The least you could do to redeem yourself is to entertain me, not present me with this gloomy air of doomed hero. Soon you shall write about ravens and casks and stare outward the battlement of some wind-swept fortress, cursing your cruel fate.¡± ¡°I cannot wait for you to become fluent in Likaean¡± ¡°So that I may nag you in your native language.¡± ¡°Oh, poppet, I would rather be nagged by your beautiful voice for a hundred years than serenaded an hour by Voidmoore¡¯s greatest beauty.¡± ¡°Finally, some Sinead. Wait¡­¡± I add with suspicion, ¡°given the local proclivities, it would not happen to be some sort of tentacled, eight-breasted creature? Because Nol has the head of a fly above a human mouth and I have to admit, I have seen better.¡± ¡°I have no idea! And yes, I am surprised you would tolerate him.¡± ¡°Strange appearances are tolerable, it is smell I cannot abide. Have I ever mentioned werewolf gatherings? I hate werewolf gatherings. I can always assess how many of them have engaged in coitus right before they attend.¡± ¡°It reminds me of my younger years.¡± ¡°As much as I want to learn more about your mysterious past, I believe details are not needed right now.¡± ¡°As you say.¡± Suddenly, Cadiz throws a snowball at me, and I lean forward to dodge. I felt him in my sphere. Cadiz relents, but I dread the coming weeks before the dragon hunt. We arrive at the portal while night falls. From this angle, it appears as a circle of frozen ice, like a wave caught as it hits a rock. A pair of winter fae let us through without interruption. I cast one last glance at the frozen lake and the castle hidden beneath. Despite the sphere¡¯s apparent hostility, there is a certain beauty to it I regret leaving behind. There is so much to explore here, but I have so little time for now. I also know that the spheres are so vast and numerous one could spend a millenium traveling through them without growing tired. Immortality can be so frustrating at times. The passage of time will not kill me, but it can certainly stop me from living. Ah, well¡­ Oh. Rather than the warehouse I expected on the other side, we are drawn into a cathedral-like structure of stone and crystal. Immediately, the bone-deep chill of winter fades, replaced by the crimson presence of the moon above. I lose control of my Magna Arqa, my essence contracting under the pressure of the one who is receiving us. A guard of princesses and princes in silver garb wait in cold silence, occupying the space between massive diamond columns. Facing us is a throne of red glass in the semblance of a flock of ravens taking off, their red wings frozen forever mid-motion. The sovereign sits on it with impeccable poise. It feels wrong. She should be lounging. Khadras does not stop so we follow him to the steps leading up. I spot my free gladiators and the flutterlings to the side, the latter held in a cage, which I find aggravating. The prince kneels with respect, hare ears still jutting up. The queen tilts her head ever so slightly. TELL US. ¡°Our task is finished. The world is preserved. They acquitted themselves of the task to my satisfaction.¡± WE ARE PLEASED. THE DEBT IS ALMOST REPAID. Sinead glares, and I recoil in horror. What does she mean, almost? The sovereign stands slowly, and I resist the urge to fall. The pressure coming from her is oppressive. Her hand opens to reveal a strange device made of crystal, a handle ending with hooks around a small sphere. Oh no. ESSENCE WILL JOIN FORM. ¡°This is not what we agreed upon. I said we would retrieve memories.¡± YOU DID NOT DENY US WHEN WE OFFERED THIS CHANGE OF THE TERMS. WHEN IS A LIE NOT A LIE? ¡°Her maker will not allow it,¡± Sinead says. The full attention of the sovereign falls on me. I suddenly exist much more, and cannot move, and intensely wish I were somewhere else. ¡°Our watcher is a jealous one,¡± Cadiz says. BE QUIET. The world itself falls silent. If I were to scream right now, the sound would decline its own existence. WE HAVE NO TRANSACTION WITH YOU. Cadiz handled, the sovereign inspects me. The experience is both intimate and rather upsetting. Eventually, she relents. YOU HAVE A JEALOUS PATRON. YOUR PRINCE DOES NOT. HE WILL BECOME PART OF US. A missing eye? Dulled emotions? ¡°This is not what we agreed,¡± I state. ¡°We would help you return memories once, not be drafted into your court.¡± YOU WILL ANNUL THE AGREEMENT? The pressure almost crushes me but this time, I do not relent. I know she is not using her true potential, but I do not care. She would betray the essence of the accord? With me? A Devourer? I think not. I push back and unexpectedly feel my essence expand by a tiny bit. ¡°PERHAPS I SHALL.¡± s?a??h th? ??v?lF?re.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. ¡°Ariane? It¡¯s inevitable.¡± WE WILL HELP YOU FACE THE OTHER PRINCE. The sovereign leans forward. And turns her head to my right. We hear it first, and I suppose the sovereign must have felt it. It starts with a horn, but soon pipes join it, then merry drums. They rise in the blood moon sphere with a great clamor both defiant and happy, a clear statement as shameless as it is friendly, for it cannot be coming with her approval. The queen walks towards the disturbance and I follow, grabbing the cage of flutterlings on my way since they cannot move themselves and make their desire to know very loud. We approach a titanic opening into the crystal and face the dark sky of the sphere from the height of its capital palace. The balcony overlooks the metropolis thriving inside of the crater, and in the distance, a portal has opened. It would be large enough to let an old ship of the line through, with its masts and sail. Beyond, a blue sky can be seen. A multitude of fae cross the passage, singing and dancing and throwing petals around. Their music carries impossibly far and for a fragment of instant, it smells of the sea and of a meadow in spring. The Likaeans themselves are a strange lot, many humanoids and other satyrs or beauties made of bark. Beasts of burden carry pavillions and, in the case of a whale with feet, an entire gazebo on their back. Madmen juggle swords on fire, spells, or each other. A tall woman recites poetry while flowers bloom under her feet with each step she takes. Despite how far they are, I merely have to give one my attention to hear and see them as if they were right next to me. The lot is presided by a grotesquely obese man lying on a chair moved by hundreds of laughing revelers who switch and change roles so fast it is a miracle he manages to stay aloft. He holds in his hand a golden goblet dripping wine with every step, but he is not the star of the show. That honor goes to a woman launching herself from the ground with a single step. She arches her back, extends her arms while her light brown hair forms a cape behind her, lithe limbs gliding through the air. She is genuinely floating. The entire orchestra of wandering fae, hundreds of them, take a deep breath. They play. The young one is born under the boughs of black trees. It is spring. Silvery flowers bloom under the moonlight. She is awkward and innocent, her feet unassured in a way only a master dancer can simulate. She stumbles against trunks and rocks with an agonizingly beautiful enthusiasm. Her steps grow more assured. She leaps, she struts, she leans by a lake and watches her reflection for the first time. The young one wears a close-fitting dress of red leaves over her pale skin. Her arms are lean yet strong. She saunters. Summer comes. The young one feasts from heavy fruits and stalks the underbrush, scaring grey birds away she titters, the sound like rain falling on chimes. She is so silly, but she is getting better, and we can already see the predator in the grace of her gestures. Summer is at its zenith. The young one is a deadly huntress, her feet leaving no trace. We follow her, prowling the woods for prey. She rushes. She pounces. None can stand against her. The first of her prey falls ¡ª some beast hiding in a grove ¡ª and she drinks its heartblood under the light of the moon. The fresh offering drips down her carmine lips, dying them with the color of victory. I take a step back at this moment because I can feel a foreign influence in my mind, but also because I have never wanted to draw more than I do now. If I could immortalize those moments on paper, even just a sketch, oh, I could create masterpieces to damn a soul to despair. The Seekers share my rapture and I think I see why. Below the incredible dancer weaving her tale in the air, the other Likaeans keep playing with a degree of mastery that would ruin opera forever to me if I cared more about perfection in art. There is something in the air, however, in the smirk of some of the players. It sends a shiver down my spine. Above us, the woman keeps creating vistas and dances. Ghostly echoes make her moves more ethereal. Her dance is both animalistic and impossibly graceful. I cannot resist. I am drawn in. Autumn comes. The young one hunts beasts with unmatched mastery. The other creatures fear her, though they do not know what they fear, for she is a shadow, a sting that leaves no witnesses. Only one contests her realm, an old, scarred bear. He has survived a thousand challenges and readies himself to survive one more. Under the moonlit sky, they fight for dominion. The old bear has seen much and lived through it. The huntress is strong but naive. He plays her, outmaneuvers her and conserves his strength. The huntress loses patience and snarls, but then a leaf withers and falls before her. Autumn has come and winter will follow. Patience is a necessary tool. The huntress takes her time. She studies her opponent. The bear is old and experienced, but he is also scarred. She tests him. She circles him to find his limits. She prods him, expecting a trap and finding it. She learns when he is faking a weakness and when he is not. The two opponents battle much more evenly. The bear is forced to go on the offensive or risk being cornered. He is no longer used to it. He makes mistakes. She makes him pay. He bleeds and she smirks. He roars and she giggles. Finally the old bear knows his end is near. He charges her in a last-ditch attempt to fend off his demise. She meets him midway, easily jumping over his swipe. She passes over him, and at the apex of her ascent, a hunter¡¯s arrow pierces her heart. She falls, broken. Dead. The dream breaks. I recoil as if I had been smacked, but all my woes pale to the one of the sovereign. I assumed she could not feel, I was wrong. Whoever aimed that dance at her aimed to bite deep and bit deeply indeed. It tasted like the remnants of a forgotten past, brought back again to be murdered a second time. The balcony in front of her explodes out. Chunks of stone and crystal fly through the air, crashing into the buildings far below. The dust left behind covers the deathly silent assembly. The pressure from the sovereign makes me collapse against the balustrade. Even my Magna Arqa cannot save me from her, suppressed as it is by her presence. I dare not look at the sovereign. It is the dancer¡¯s face that attracts all attention. She lifts herself from her corpse-like position like a blooming flower and salutes us. She pauses in the middle, the cascade of her hair falling strand by strand over a naked shoulder. She tilts her head. She is absolutely breathtaking. Her smile is rather vicious, however. ¡°Another, milady?¡± the woman asks. Her voice is to die for. Poor Jimena would be undone. Her words also carry a promise, one to bring a different sort of closure, but there is a condition. There is always a condition. The world holds its breath while the sovereign decides. Eventually, her terrifying gaze falls on us and I feel smothered, for she exerts little restraint. LEAVE. We are practically pushed out of the balcony and towards the exit. The flutterlings complain in their cage which does not surprise me as they seem devoid of the instinct of self-preservation. As an afterthought, she sends Khadras after us. He appears consternated in an unusual display of emotion. We all move down the main crystal stairs and straight corridor of the keep with haste until we find more stone than crystal. Still, we do not slow. Only after we have reached the ground level and left through a monumental gate into a large, currently empty plaza do we finally stop. One of the chunks from the keep¡¯s upper strata fell here, squishing a building and its occupants. Likaeans busy themselves clearing the debris with spells and sorrow. Some of the gladiators sit down where they are, complaining loudly. Makyas flies and lands on my shoulder, happy that my armor finally feels comfortable. In the ensuing chaos, I almost miss Khadras¡¯ whisper. ¡°That was quite cruel.¡± The short trip has not given him the time to recover. I realize we should not stay there and order the gladiators to form rank. Unfortunately, they are hungry, thirsty, and tired. I will have to find a place for them to rest before we can return to Voidmoore, where I assume the next trial will be announced. I share my thoughts with Sinead, but he is distracted. ¡°You know we were freed, poppet.¡± ¡°I assume this is the wandering court.¡± ¡°It is,¡± he says, looking into the distance without expression. I follow his gaze. A woman approaches with two figures in tow, all wearing heavy robes. I recognize her as the dancer just from the supernatural way she sashays, every step an invitation to duet. She stops in front of my friend and places her hands on his broad shoulders. Her smile, which had been a sneer before, turns genuine, or at least as genuine as it can get for this strange race. Now that my attention is no longer taken by her story, the family resemblance is quite striking. ¡°My son,¡± she sings, ¡°you have returned to us.¡± Emotions spread from her like a perfume. She is delighted, relieved, but also concerned for the future. I had never seen such happiness on Sinead¡¯s jaded traits. They stay unmoving while we sheepishly wait, or rather I do. Khadras and Cadiz do not appear to care much. Eventually, the emotions grow more subdued. Curiosity and amusement replace them as the woman inspects me, her deep amber eyes scintillating softly. ¡°And you must be Ariane. I have heard quite a bit about you. Sinead my dear, why don¡¯t you introduce us?¡± ¡°Ariane, it is my pleasure to introduce the High Dancer Amaryll of the Wandering Court, my mother. You know Sivaya, of course,¡± he tells me as the elfin lady removes her hood. The last person is a man of noble stature, tall, with gray hair though not through old age. His dark eyes watch us with impassibility. His resemblance to Sinead¡¯s mother would indicate that they are related. ¡°And this is Fanel,¡± Sinead concludes. ¡°My son. Hello, Fanel.¡± ¡°Father.¡± Hmmmmmmmmmm. HMMMMMMM. He looks older than me. This is extremely, extremely awkward. I curtsey to mask my embarrassment. I am entirely uncomfortable with the current development. ¡°It is a pleasure to meet you, Ariane of the Nirari,¡± Fanel says with a warm voice. ¡°Sivaya mentioned your exploits, but she failed to mention your charms.¡± Oh no please do not court me please please please someone let me jump into a lake of piping hot lava argargargargargargarg. He looks like Sinead¡¯s older brother WHY IS EVERYTHING SO AWFUL? ¡°I see you take after your father,¡± I inanely blabber. I wish there was a sun here so I could roast myself to sweet oblivion. The Likaeans chuckle. Amaryll exudes mirth ¡ª at my expense, no doubt. ¡°Right, this is wonderful but could we move to another setting? My warriors need to recover,¡± I say to make it end. Amaryll approves and her mood shifts again to anticipation. ¡°Of course. You must all be exhausted! Come, join our encampment while we prepare the revels.¡± I let Sinead have his moment with his mother, walking behind but at the head of the procession. The streets of the crater city hum with nervous energy, every person discussing the coming celebrations with excitation. Apparently, it has been eons since a troupe of the Wandering Court graced the Seekers with their presence. Makyas enlightens me by whispering into my ear, the experience only mildly disturbing. ¡°There are six large troupes in the Wandering Court. Lady Amaryll¡¯s is one of the most famous. It is said she can dance a sovereign to tears!¡± Well, she just did. I think. I could not watch. The Wandering Court¡¯s carnival comes in sight soon enough, and their members drag my warriors to tents in order to rest, eat, and pursue some other activities if my ears are not mistaken. I am given an individual tent while Cadiz leaves with Khadras. To my surprise, I fall into slumber almost immediately. I wake up to music and laughter. Although my life is no longer governed by the sun, it appears my mind still requires some measure of rest. When I get out, the party is in full swing. Bands and performers delight the crowds with strange displays, forming clearings in a forest of pavilions. Strange games take place within the covered recesses. Moans of pleasure mix with the music and words in many tongues to form a peculiar cacophony, one that I do not mind much. Cadiz says with cold certainty. I do so, and the purple eye opens on the sky above us. I feel someone¡¯s attention descending upon me. On a small throne in the distance, the obese man inspects me with attention while tearing into some honey-glazed haunch. I ignore him, for now. I asked, surprised. I correct. Cadiz shrugs, uncaring. I groan, but soon we are on our way through yet another portal and back to the gloomy streets of Voidmoore with a rested complement of warriors. The first thing I find is Pookie, the house/ship moored nearby. She squeals when she sees us. I stare under and realize she has apparently given birth to a toolshed. The spheres are quite a wild place. Chapter 185: Wanderers Bickering in front of the princes would be a shame. Refusing advice from an undisputed master would be foolish. I must show unity with my kin since we are surrounded by strangers. If I repeat all those arguments often enough, it will distract me from Cadiz¡¯ endless litany of observations.A master must praise publicly, but chide in private. The rule is even more important when dealing with competitive apex predators born with a tendency for remorseless violence. Truly, the old Progenitor lacks bedside manners, and yet his insight is particularly brilliant. Perhaps this is why I tolerate his incessant babbling. I hiss under my breath. Cadiz¡¯ face appears in front of me, the man sometimes capable of moving without me noticing. We glare at each other. Or rather, I glare while he stares fixedly into a point that could be my eyes or nothing at all. s?a??h th? N???lFire.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. It sounds like a supplication. I stop, the two princes imitating me with eerie coordination. Their good manners allow us this moment. Cadiz is the very image of the doomed artist, complete with hooded eyes and sickly body. Resignation haunts his gaunt features. Perhaps he speaks the truth, and he genuinely cannot play the delicate dance we keep between our instincts and the veneer of civilization. Perhaps his singular drive protected him from the savagery that comes with a lack of attachment. ¡± I agree. The terms are large enough that I can wriggle out of them should he go too far. I breathe out. he asks, aghast. Cadiz does not comment. We start moving again. Cadiz freezes midstep. His expression is one of unmitigated horror. I accept. My essence expands into the usual sphere, now larger than ever before. I immediately grow a root under Cadiz in an attempt to trip him, but he effortlessly side-steps it. What an infuriating man. I am starting to believe someone tossed him through that portal, after all. While the old twit grumbles under his breath, I concentrate back on our current predicament. Revas outmaneuvered us in the first trial to succeed him, and I have no reason to believe the second will be different. I hate so much to be so out of my depth that even the most basic task cannot be completed with any degree of surety. When we freed the fae from the fortress, it was Sinead¡¯s project, but the details of the execution were clarified under my responsibility. The lack of control frustrates me. Perhaps some training would at least distract me from the deadly game. I walk up to Sinead, finding him despondent. It irks me. ¡°I am starting to think you were happier on earth, Sinead.¡± The prince blinks, as if he had never considered the question. ¡°I was perhaps more light-hearted. You are right. My worries are getting to me.¡± ¡°What concerns you? The second task?¡± Sinead casts an annoyed glance at Khadras but the hare fae ignores us, his attention devoted to our surroundings. It is true that we are still in winter¡¯s domain, and yet the weather is more clement, somehow. The red fruits hanging from nearby frosted bushes are the crimson of ripeness, not blood. I can smell a hearth¡¯s smoke on the wind. Besides, my Magna Arqa shows no threats anywhere close. ¡°I am concerned about the second task, true,¡± Sinead says in English. The message feels more diluted now that there is no objective meaning behind the words. ¡°And something the queen said,¡± he continues. ¡°But there is more. I do not know if I should burden you with this. ¡°Better than burdening me with this dark mood of yours. The least you could do to redeem yourself is to entertain me, not present me with this gloomy air of doomed hero. Soon you shall write about ravens and casks and stare outward the battlement of some wind-swept fortress, cursing your cruel fate.¡± ¡°I cannot wait for you to become fluent in Likaean¡± ¡°So that I may nag you in your native language.¡± ¡°Oh, poppet, I would rather be nagged by your beautiful voice for a hundred years than serenaded an hour by Voidmoore¡¯s greatest beauty.¡± ¡°Finally, some Sinead. Wait¡­¡± I add with suspicion, ¡°given the local proclivities, it would not happen to be some sort of tentacled, eight-breasted creature? Because Nol has the head of a fly above a human mouth and I have to admit, I have seen better.¡± ¡°I have no idea! And yes, I am surprised you would tolerate him.¡± ¡°Strange appearances are tolerable, it is smell I cannot abide. Have I ever mentioned werewolf gatherings? I hate werewolf gatherings. I can always assess how many of them have engaged in coitus right before they attend.¡± ¡°It reminds me of my younger years.¡± ¡°As much as I want to learn more about your mysterious past, I believe details are not needed right now.¡± ¡°As you say.¡± Suddenly, Cadiz throws a snowball at me, and I lean forward to dodge. I felt him in my sphere. Cadiz relents, but I dread the coming weeks before the dragon hunt. We arrive at the portal while night falls. From this angle, it appears as a circle of frozen ice, like a wave caught as it hits a rock. A pair of winter fae let us through without interruption. I cast one last glance at the frozen lake and the castle hidden beneath. Despite the sphere¡¯s apparent hostility, there is a certain beauty to it I regret leaving behind. There is so much to explore here, but I have so little time for now. I also know that the spheres are so vast and numerous one could spend a millenium traveling through them without growing tired. Immortality can be so frustrating at times. The passage of time will not kill me, but it can certainly stop me from living. Ah, well¡­ Oh. Rather than the warehouse I expected on the other side, we are drawn into a cathedral-like structure of stone and crystal. Immediately, the bone-deep chill of winter fades, replaced by the crimson presence of the moon above. I lose control of my Magna Arqa, my essence contracting under the pressure of the one who is receiving us. A guard of princesses and princes in silver garb wait in cold silence, occupying the space between massive diamond columns. Facing us is a throne of red glass in the semblance of a flock of ravens taking off, their red wings frozen forever mid-motion. The sovereign sits on it with impeccable poise. It feels wrong. She should be lounging. Khadras does not stop so we follow him to the steps leading up. I spot my free gladiators and the flutterlings to the side, the latter held in a cage, which I find aggravating. The prince kneels with respect, hare ears still jutting up. The queen tilts her head ever so slightly. TELL US. ¡°Our task is finished. The world is preserved. They acquitted themselves of the task to my satisfaction.¡± WE ARE PLEASED. THE DEBT IS ALMOST REPAID. Sinead glares, and I recoil in horror. What does she mean, almost? The sovereign stands slowly, and I resist the urge to fall. The pressure coming from her is oppressive. Her hand opens to reveal a strange device made of crystal, a handle ending with hooks around a small sphere. Oh no. ESSENCE WILL JOIN FORM. ¡°This is not what we agreed upon. I said we would retrieve memories.¡± YOU DID NOT DENY US WHEN WE OFFERED THIS CHANGE OF THE TERMS. WHEN IS A LIE NOT A LIE? ¡°Her maker will not allow it,¡± Sinead says. The full attention of the sovereign falls on me. I suddenly exist much more, and cannot move, and intensely wish I were somewhere else. ¡°Our watcher is a jealous one,¡± Cadiz says. BE QUIET. The world itself falls silent. If I were to scream right now, the sound would decline its own existence. WE HAVE NO TRANSACTION WITH YOU. Cadiz handled, the sovereign inspects me. The experience is both intimate and rather upsetting. Eventually, she relents. YOU HAVE A JEALOUS PATRON. YOUR PRINCE DOES NOT. HE WILL BECOME PART OF US. A missing eye? Dulled emotions? ¡°This is not what we agreed,¡± I state. ¡°We would help you return memories once, not be drafted into your court.¡± YOU WILL ANNUL THE AGREEMENT? The pressure almost crushes me but this time, I do not relent. I know she is not using her true potential, but I do not care. She would betray the essence of the accord? With me? A Devourer? I think not. I push back and unexpectedly feel my essence expand by a tiny bit. ¡°PERHAPS I SHALL.¡± ¡°Ariane? It¡¯s inevitable.¡± WE WILL HELP YOU FACE THE OTHER PRINCE. The sovereign leans forward. And turns her head to my right. We hear it first, and I suppose the sovereign must have felt it. It starts with a horn, but soon pipes join it, then merry drums. They rise in the blood moon sphere with a great clamor both defiant and happy, a clear statement as shameless as it is friendly, for it cannot be coming with her approval. The queen walks towards the disturbance and I follow, grabbing the cage of flutterlings on my way since they cannot move themselves and make their desire to know very loud. We approach a titanic opening into the crystal and face the dark sky of the sphere from the height of its capital palace. The balcony overlooks the metropolis thriving inside of the crater, and in the distance, a portal has opened. It would be large enough to let an old ship of the line through, with its masts and sail. Beyond, a blue sky can be seen. A multitude of fae cross the passage, singing and dancing and throwing petals around. Their music carries impossibly far and for a fragment of instant, it smells of the sea and of a meadow in spring. The Likaeans themselves are a strange lot, many humanoids and other satyrs or beauties made of bark. Beasts of burden carry pavillions and, in the case of a whale with feet, an entire gazebo on their back. Madmen juggle swords on fire, spells, or each other. A tall woman recites poetry while flowers bloom under her feet with each step she takes. Despite how far they are, I merely have to give one my attention to hear and see them as if they were right next to me. The lot is presided by a grotesquely obese man lying on a chair moved by hundreds of laughing revelers who switch and change roles so fast it is a miracle he manages to stay aloft. He holds in his hand a golden goblet dripping wine with every step, but he is not the star of the show. That honor goes to a woman launching herself from the ground with a single step. She arches her back, extends her arms while her light brown hair forms a cape behind her, lithe limbs gliding through the air. She is genuinely floating. The entire orchestra of wandering fae, hundreds of them, take a deep breath. They play. The young one is born under the boughs of black trees. It is spring. Silvery flowers bloom under the moonlight. She is awkward and innocent, her feet unassured in a way only a master dancer can simulate. She stumbles against trunks and rocks with an agonizingly beautiful enthusiasm. Her steps grow more assured. She leaps, she struts, she leans by a lake and watches her reflection for the first time. The young one wears a close-fitting dress of red leaves over her pale skin. Her arms are lean yet strong. She saunters. Summer comes. The young one feasts from heavy fruits and stalks the underbrush, scaring grey birds away she titters, the sound like rain falling on chimes. She is so silly, but she is getting better, and we can already see the predator in the grace of her gestures. Summer is at its zenith. The young one is a deadly huntress, her feet leaving no trace. We follow her, prowling the woods for prey. She rushes. She pounces. None can stand against her. The first of her prey falls ¡ª some beast hiding in a grove ¡ª and she drinks its heartblood under the light of the moon. The fresh offering drips down her carmine lips, dying them with the color of victory. I take a step back at this moment because I can feel a foreign influence in my mind, but also because I have never wanted to draw more than I do now. If I could immortalize those moments on paper, even just a sketch, oh, I could create masterpieces to damn a soul to despair. The Seekers share my rapture and I think I see why. Below the incredible dancer weaving her tale in the air, the other Likaeans keep playing with a degree of mastery that would ruin opera forever to me if I cared more about perfection in art. There is something in the air, however, in the smirk of some of the players. It sends a shiver down my spine. Above us, the woman keeps creating vistas and dances. Ghostly echoes make her moves more ethereal. Her dance is both animalistic and impossibly graceful. I cannot resist. I am drawn in. Autumn comes. The young one hunts beasts with unmatched mastery. The other creatures fear her, though they do not know what they fear, for she is a shadow, a sting that leaves no witnesses. Only one contests her realm, an old, scarred bear. He has survived a thousand challenges and readies himself to survive one more. Under the moonlit sky, they fight for dominion. The old bear has seen much and lived through it. The huntress is strong but naive. He plays her, outmaneuvers her and conserves his strength. The huntress loses patience and snarls, but then a leaf withers and falls before her. Autumn has come and winter will follow. Patience is a necessary tool. The huntress takes her time. She studies her opponent. The bear is old and experienced, but he is also scarred. She tests him. She circles him to find his limits. She prods him, expecting a trap and finding it. She learns when he is faking a weakness and when he is not. The two opponents battle much more evenly. The bear is forced to go on the offensive or risk being cornered. He is no longer used to it. He makes mistakes. She makes him pay. He bleeds and she smirks. He roars and she giggles. Finally the old bear knows his end is near. He charges her in a last-ditch attempt to fend off his demise. She meets him midway, easily jumping over his swipe. She passes over him, and at the apex of her ascent, a hunter¡¯s arrow pierces her heart. She falls, broken. Dead. The dream breaks. I recoil as if I had been smacked, but all my woes pale to the one of the sovereign. I assumed she could not feel, I was wrong. Whoever aimed that dance at her aimed to bite deep and bit deeply indeed. It tasted like the remnants of a forgotten past, brought back again to be murdered a second time. The balcony in front of her explodes out. Chunks of stone and crystal fly through the air, crashing into the buildings far below. The dust left behind covers the deathly silent assembly. The pressure from the sovereign makes me collapse against the balustrade. Even my Magna Arqa cannot save me from her, suppressed as it is by her presence. I dare not look at the sovereign. It is the dancer¡¯s face that attracts all attention. She lifts herself from her corpse-like position like a blooming flower and salutes us. She pauses in the middle, the cascade of her hair falling strand by strand over a naked shoulder. She tilts her head. She is absolutely breathtaking. Her smile is rather vicious, however. ¡°Another, milady?¡± the woman asks. Her voice is to die for. Poor Jimena would be undone. Her words also carry a promise, one to bring a different sort of closure, but there is a condition. There is always a condition. The world holds its breath while the sovereign decides. Eventually, her terrifying gaze falls on us and I feel smothered, for she exerts little restraint. LEAVE. We are practically pushed out of the balcony and towards the exit. The flutterlings complain in their cage which does not surprise me as they seem devoid of the instinct of self-preservation. As an afterthought, she sends Khadras after us. He appears consternated in an unusual display of emotion. We all move down the main crystal stairs and straight corridor of the keep with haste until we find more stone than crystal. Still, we do not slow. Only after we have reached the ground level and left through a monumental gate into a large, currently empty plaza do we finally stop. One of the chunks from the keep¡¯s upper strata fell here, squishing a building and its occupants. Likaeans busy themselves clearing the debris with spells and sorrow. Some of the gladiators sit down where they are, complaining loudly. Makyas flies and lands on my shoulder, happy that my armor finally feels comfortable. In the ensuing chaos, I almost miss Khadras¡¯ whisper. ¡°That was quite cruel.¡± The short trip has not given him the time to recover. I realize we should not stay there and order the gladiators to form rank. Unfortunately, they are hungry, thirsty, and tired. I will have to find a place for them to rest before we can return to Voidmoore, where I assume the next trial will be announced. I share my thoughts with Sinead, but he is distracted. ¡°You know we were freed, poppet.¡± ¡°I assume this is the wandering court.¡± ¡°It is,¡± he says, looking into the distance without expression. I follow his gaze. A woman approaches with two figures in tow, all wearing heavy robes. I recognize her as the dancer just from the supernatural way she sashays, every step an invitation to duet. She stops in front of my friend and places her hands on his broad shoulders. Her smile, which had been a sneer before, turns genuine, or at least as genuine as it can get for this strange race. Now that my attention is no longer taken by her story, the family resemblance is quite striking. ¡°My son,¡± she sings, ¡°you have returned to us.¡± Emotions spread from her like a perfume. She is delighted, relieved, but also concerned for the future. I had never seen such happiness on Sinead¡¯s jaded traits. They stay unmoving while we sheepishly wait, or rather I do. Khadras and Cadiz do not appear to care much. Eventually, the emotions grow more subdued. Curiosity and amusement replace them as the woman inspects me, her deep amber eyes scintillating softly. ¡°And you must be Ariane. I have heard quite a bit about you. Sinead my dear, why don¡¯t you introduce us?¡± ¡°Ariane, it is my pleasure to introduce the High Dancer Amaryll of the Wandering Court, my mother. You know Sivaya, of course,¡± he tells me as the elfin lady removes her hood. The last person is a man of noble stature, tall, with gray hair though not through old age. His dark eyes watch us with impassibility. His resemblance to Sinead¡¯s mother would indicate that they are related. ¡°And this is Fanel,¡± Sinead concludes. ¡°My son. Hello, Fanel.¡± ¡°Father.¡± Hmmmmmmmmmm. HMMMMMMM. He looks older than me. This is extremely, extremely awkward. I curtsey to mask my embarrassment. I am entirely uncomfortable with the current development. ¡°It is a pleasure to meet you, Ariane of the Nirari,¡± Fanel says with a warm voice. ¡°Sivaya mentioned your exploits, but she failed to mention your charms.¡± Oh no please do not court me please please please someone let me jump into a lake of piping hot lava argargargargargargarg. He looks like Sinead¡¯s older brother WHY IS EVERYTHING SO AWFUL? ¡°I see you take after your father,¡± I inanely blabber. I wish there was a sun here so I could roast myself to sweet oblivion. The Likaeans chuckle. Amaryll exudes mirth ¡ª at my expense, no doubt. ¡°Right, this is wonderful but could we move to another setting? My warriors need to recover,¡± I say to make it end. Amaryll approves and her mood shifts again to anticipation. ¡°Of course. You must all be exhausted! Come, join our encampment while we prepare the revels.¡± I let Sinead have his moment with his mother, walking behind but at the head of the procession. The streets of the crater city hum with nervous energy, every person discussing the coming celebrations with excitation. Apparently, it has been eons since a troupe of the Wandering Court graced the Seekers with their presence. Makyas enlightens me by whispering into my ear, the experience only mildly disturbing. ¡°There are six large troupes in the Wandering Court. Lady Amaryll¡¯s is one of the most famous. It is said she can dance a sovereign to tears!¡± Well, she just did. I think. I could not watch. The Wandering Court¡¯s carnival comes in sight soon enough, and their members drag my warriors to tents in order to rest, eat, and pursue some other activities if my ears are not mistaken. I am given an individual tent while Cadiz leaves with Khadras. To my surprise, I fall into slumber almost immediately. I wake up to music and laughter. Although my life is no longer governed by the sun, it appears my mind still requires some measure of rest. When I get out, the party is in full swing. Bands and performers delight the crowds with strange displays, forming clearings in a forest of pavilions. Strange games take place within the covered recesses. Moans of pleasure mix with the music and words in many tongues to form a peculiar cacophony, one that I do not mind much. Cadiz says with cold certainty. I do so, and the purple eye opens on the sky above us. I feel someone¡¯s attention descending upon me. On a small throne in the distance, the obese man inspects me with attention while tearing into some honey-glazed haunch. I ignore him, for now. I asked, surprised. I correct. Cadiz shrugs, uncaring. I groan, but soon we are on our way through yet another portal and back to the gloomy streets of Voidmoore with a rested complement of warriors. The first thing I find is Pookie, the house/ship moored nearby. She squeals when she sees us. I stare under and realize she has apparently given birth to a toolshed. The spheres are quite a wild place. Chapter 186: Training Montage Titanic pillars of blue stone rise up into a strange fog, one I cannot pierce through with my senses. The ambient magic is so strong it saturates the air with its heady presence, overcoming the scent of crisp mountain air. We come across a group of fae knights in shimmering armor the color of sapphire, their eclectic assortments of weapons dark and wicked. They look so insufferably smug, though it could simply be the pride that comes with completing training. Or simply a Blue Court quirk. I would not know.¡°How does that work, anyway?¡± I ask Sivaya. The elfin princess blinks once, then her large orbs focus on me with a peculiar intensity. ¡°The aura memory wave locator?¡± ¡°No. I do not know what that is. I meant the time dilation.¡± ¡°Oh! Yes, an important piece of technology and the power upon which our safety is built. I could get into the details as they are quite fascinating, but unfortunately you would need to complete around twenty earth years worth of advanced physics education first, and then the Blue Court special forces would have to cull you.¡± ¡°That might be counterproductive.¡± ¡°We are of one mind. Oh! But I can tell you that it relates to mass.¡± ¡°Mass?¡± I ask, flabbergasted. ¡°This place is much heavier on the outside.¡± Our discussion is interrupted by the man guiding us clearing his throat rather tactlessly. I suppose it is not his first time dealing with the princess¡¯ foibles. Sinead frowns. ¡°Please, Ariane, curiosity has killed enough cats.¡± ¡°Alright,¡± I concede, grumbling. The Blue Court mastery of the passage of time fascinates me, despite the nature of my current situation. When I have more time, I would be interested in learning how this all works. In any case, they have certainly put it to good use. An open door to the side shows a room filled with training equipment, most of it showing signs of intense use. Servants carry the most damaged parts out, including an animated training golem so pockmarked it looks carved by a patient crafter. The Blue Court forces might be few in number, but their training is as perfect as they can make it thanks to their peculiar training facilities, when one might spend a decade practicing under the guidance of a master while only a year passes outside. The time difference between here and earth must be truly staggering. Cadiz adds. Of course he would. I grumble. He frowns. I sigh, as I realize he misunderstands the source of my reticence. S?a?ch* Th? ?ov?l?ir?.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. ¡°Here we are,¡± the majordomo guiding us says. I cannot tell the difference between this room and any other, but it will suit our purposes. The training center has separate spaces for each team, and common areas where one may engage in friendly competitions and social activities between two sessions. ¡°His Highness Prince Sinead has requested a master of tactics, who will arrive shortly. Is there anything the lady would like as well? We were not informed of her preference. Would you like to try a training golem?¡± I detect a hint of condescension in the man¡¯s voice, the sort of fatherly concern one has for a lost child who seems out of their depth. Cadiz misses the cue, of course. ¡°It would provide for a wider variety of styles to measure herself against.¡± ¡°Well, how strong is the lady? We have several models.¡± ¡°I saw her fight toe to toe with a Duke of Winter.¡± Shock filters through the unctuous expression. ¡°... on his own land,¡±Cadiz finishes, unperturbed. The majordomo gives the appearance of consideration, but I already know the answer. ¡°I fear we have nothing quite fitting. A pity. Some of our blademasters might be interested, however.¡± Cadiz gives him a predatory smile, and I suddenly feel empathy for the first poor sods who will answer the call. ¡°We would love visitors, yes. Polearms wielders are especially welcome.¡± The majordomo leaves us. Sivaya and her fiance walk to the side to discuss the dragon hunt with a dour Khadras, but I will not be joining them. Cadiz drags me directly to the arena. *** All of the dragon hunters commit to the training with their full attention. The cycle of night and day is represented by a dimming of the light, and I understand why teams leave the space every month or so. The absence of sky will prove taxing, eventually. For now, I am too busy to contemplate a break. A tall warrior who possesses the timeless air I associate with old fae briefly examines Sinead¡¯s strategy so far and qualifies it as ¡®decent in an amateurish sort of way¡¯, then Cadiz and I fully isolate ourselves so we can focus on bringing my abilities up to speed. To my surprise, Cadiz does not simply drown me under obscure and preposterous exercises. Instead, we go over each and every tool in my repertoire from my illusion spells including the combat-oriented mirage, to the few offensive ones I have. Cadiz tests their limits, their range, their use¡­ nothing escapes his patient scrutiny. He deducts that I have been using them wrong, of course. he replies, ignoring me. I ask, surprised. And so on, and so forth. The court provides a wand in lieu of my firearms. It lacks the kick, but will suffice for training. The more time-consuming test comes with the Magna Arqa. The room is far from large enough to test its limits, even though it is larger than most of the Boston fortress. We still learn that my control works equally well anywhere throughout the sphere when I am not actually fighting. When I am, my focus narrows to the space I occupy. In other words, I am not smart enough to use my own power to its full potential. Cadiz assures me. I freeze in my tracks. It does not take long for me to grow more enthusiastic, especially when the time comes to let the statues out. Just like Cadiz had surmised, they can function independently if I do not focus on them too hard, instead letting the legacy of their makers move them as needed. I force back a sob when Dalton¡¯s statue gives Cadiz the old double tap, shooting him once, then another time with a concealed pistol just when the old monster thought himself safe. Of course, Cadiz is far too fast and canny to get caught so easily, but the old tactic reminds me of my lost vassal. The second aspect of the first, exploratory part of our training concerns range and positioning. Cadiz takes great care to test each of my weapons at different distances, including the wand. We also do some light spars, during which I am only allowed to use Rose. After long sessions of practice and an entire day spent only making notes, Cadiz finally comes with a schedule. We also find out the definitive date of the dragon hunt. It will be six months from now, relatively speaking, and will take place on an isolated sphere considered neutral territory. It is when Cadiz shares his plan with me that I realize the implication of a strong time dilation. He stops to consider. He pauses for a moment. With the tests finished, we begin in earnest. Half of the time is spent working on technique and technique alone, first with Rose and then by progressively adding back more of my tools. He shows prodigious amounts of insight. During our early spars, Cadiz slows down and intentionally makes mistakes to help me improve, and I do believe it works. His style reminds me of Octave¡¯s, the Knight blademaster. None of his movements are wasted and it mostly feels like he can read my mind and anticipate my actions before I do them. The reality is different. Cadiz¡¯ brilliance does not simply reside in his own skill, he is also able to identify my flaws and provide inspired advice. His advice is good and pushes me to cut useless flurries. He also insists on faster casting of my spells, focusing on only a few I would reach full mastery of rather than a wide selection. Night by night, I grow sharper and more relentless. If I have to fall back, I do so while casting Promethean from unpredictable directions, the chains¡¯ trajectory more difficult to read. I shoot from the wand as part of an attack rather than between two exchanges. A short conversation with a Blue Court duelist leads to an interesting description of my style. ¡°Frustrating and relentless. You gave me no opportunity to develop my own technique. I did not get to fight properly.¡± ¡°This is exactly as it should be,¡± Cadiz notes with a pleased expression. And I hope so, because for all my efforts, I have yet to land a single blow on him when he fights properly. Even on the rare occasion Sinead joins me against him for his own development, it feels like fighting against two rather than one, so competent Cadiz is at taking advantage of our lack of coordination. he tells me. The second half of our time is entirely dedicated to Magna Arqa training. His first action leads me to believe that we will have a more relaxed time when he sits down and places a hastily carved chess set between the two of us. I admit. he finishes. My confusion lasts until a contingent of Blue Court archers walk into the large arena, smirking in anticipation. They nock arrows and wait. Cadiz glares at me. He pulls a stick with a comical wooden hand carved at the end. I thought the first game would be easy when I create a thorn cocoon around the two of us. Unfortunately, Cadiz puts an immediate stop to it. I sputter, but he merely crosses his arms, and I know I will have to relent. I am training, not engaging in a contest of wit that benefits no one. We play and I lose the first round to an arrow taking out my king, cleaving the piece in half. Cadiz says, Then he slaps me with the hand. I even tried to dodge. The issue is, of course, that I cannot detect the arrows once they are in flight. Those are Blue Court warrior archers and even lords would have trouble intercepting the projectiles without warning. I am forced to follow the squad. It soon becomes clear that I am incapable of stopping them, but in order to keep the game going, they perform aggravating tricks like clipping my fingers or cutting holes in my training tunic without making me bleed. I somehow offset this by attacking them in return, preventing them from shooting me too easily. Snapping branches or roots grown under their feet yield some results, but never enough to finish a game in peace. Cadix asks once. I admit he is right and get better results by harassing my foes, and then even more by letting the statues run amok. Unfortunately, it is still far from being enough. Either I focus on the game and get shot in the nails, or I do not, and I get slapped for moving a pawn in diagonal. I do make some progress in terms of flexibility, but we are still extremely far from turning my Magna Arqa into the hell of thorns that will stop Nirari. So far, it can only dispatch weaker opponents en masse, and I have no need for that. Worse, I can either control the roots or the statues to great effect, but not both at once. On this specific aspect, we find ourselves at an impasse. In order to keep my spirits up, Cadiz recruits the help of one master Yura, spear instructor. He is one tough nut to crack, but I manage to defeat him in most of our engagements, relying on my superior abilities and what I can get from my Magna Arqa. ¡°You two are pathetic board game players, but you sure know how to fight,¡± he remarks. ¡°You should play while being shot at.¡± ¡°Not only could I do that, but I could beat both of you at once and within twenty movements.¡± I grumble and admit he might be correct. Unfortunately, my attempts at revenge fall short when I am tasked with defeating him without the Magna Arqa. For some reason, he can read through my mirage even though he has no ability to pierce through the illusion. ¡°Instincts. I have fought and survived through a hundred battles, young wanderer. When you get to be as old as me, death and danger become old companions. I can tell when they are coming.¡± Ugh, why is it always old monsters all the time. At least, downtime provides some amusing distractions, including games of luck and agility with the other trainees. After what felt like three months of this, we move out for the first time. Cadiz assures. We leave the training world through a series of secluded corridors, the walls humming with unknown power, or at least unknown to me as the Court of Blue keeps its secret well-guarded. The passage leads out onto a square overlooking the wind-swept glades of the sphere, far below us, while the rarefied air of the aerie buffets our faces for the first time in what feels like an eternity. After so long, the crisp wind wakes me up, while the pure light feels strangely neutral rather than daunting. Nevertheless, I would have preferred the night. The Blue Court has chosen a tall, narrow mountain as its home base, and most of its members live there, in troglodyte dwellings carved into the very rock. A chandelier above us has fully merged with a large stalactite, lending the decoration a natural appearance. I hope magic was involved in its creation, because I dare not contemplate the time it would have taken to complete this project otherwise. Cadiz says, then he leaves with Yura. Sinead takes his leave to find Sivaya as well while Khadras departs without a word. We have both been extremely focused, with little chances to communicate beyond training-related matters. I thought we might have gotten closer at the end of the winter expedition, yet there remains a barrier I have set and am unwilling and unable to take down. Sinead has so far respected my desire for distance, and a treacherous part of me wishes he hadn¡¯t. I still miss the boisterous, scandalous rake. I also realize that he will not feel free to flirt and be his witty self so long as I harbor a deep distrust of him. The ambivalence of those feelings upsets me even more because they are unusual in my kind. My emotional world tends to be simple and well-defined, none of that half lover half person I wish to eat sort of confusion. What a dreadful sort of affair. ¡°Are your thoughts clouded?¡± I caught the scent of Amaryll before she arrived, meaning she allowed me to do so. The dangerously attractive Likaean stops by my side, her gaze following the contours of distant peaks. I feel her emotions clearly: anticipation, joy, and a sort of amusement that comes with young and refreshing things. She was clearly looking for me. ¡°Would you mind a little company?¡± ¡°No,¡± I reply, realizing that nothing will be gained by dwelling on ¡®Prince Sunny¡¯. Perhaps sensing my turmoil, she links with me and guides me, arm in arm, to a nearby balcony. This section of the mountain holds many parks and restaurants, the mood enhanced by musicians and works of arts. The blue ones seem to prefer sober, streamlined works with a strong abstract bend. I realize that it is carefully designed to induce relaxation. Amaryll¡¯s amusement bubbles to the surface, betraying a curious amount of giddiness. I look askance, and she explains. ¡°Locking arms is such a strange custom. I like it!¡± ¡°Oh, I had not realized it was so unusual.¡± ¡°Oh, there are a few courts that favor it. I am merely enjoying the experience. Say, my son mentioned you had difficulties with an aspect of your power. Perhaps you would allow me to help?¡± I frown and feel anger at Sinead, though I admit it is not entirely rational. Ugh, why am I being so emotional? Is Likaean blood increasing my sensitivity? ¡°Forgive me if I am being intrusive,¡± she continues, transmitting concern, then her concern gets deeper to the point of anguish. It happens very suddenly, and I am left recoiling in shock. She sighs. ¡°My son should not have challenged Revas so soon. His rationale, that it would take the older prince by surprise, is foolish. Revas always expects aggression. All of the council members develop paranoia as a survival trait. He should have waited for his allies. For us. For me. Now, I see him risk his life so soon after he has returned to me. I am afraid of losing him again, just as my heart has not healed from my previous grief. Do you understand?¡± ¡°I think I do.¡± ¡°I think you do not. He knew it. He took the risk for you.¡± She breathes deeply, shedding the frustration and anger I felt building within her heart. ¡°You have saved him once, and I do not simply mean his life. You have seen what our kin have endured under yours. The burden of duty has a way to change a person, but you have provided what he needed the most: hope. Someone to trust.¡± ¡°And he returned it well,¡± I hiss. ¡°He fell into the usual trap. Old ones think they know better and try to keep flowers in glasshouses. He has wronged you, and I am not here to convince you to forgive him. It is between the two of you. I refuse to intervene in this matter.¡± ¡°You do?¡± ¡°You are both old enough to handle your differences, one way or another. No, what I want is for you to survive the coming ordeal. And yes, both of you. I will do whatever I can to ensure your success. Right now, it means helping you harness the expression of your alien soul.¡± ¡°You want to help me with my Magna Arqa? You? A Likaean?¡± ¡°You forget. This strange power of yours relates to concepts, and us old nobility understand concepts like no others can. Tell me of yours, and we will see if we cannot build a story out of it.¡± ¡°The concept behind my Magna Arqa?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± I stare into her brown eyes, feeling her emitting patient understanding. I do not know how she can live exposing her emotions so freely. It feels incredibly constraining. Do I trust her? More importantly, can I afford not to take her help? My natural distrust, only reinforced by the spheres¡¯ treacherous environment, begrudgingly deserts me. Exposing my weaknesses here to allies of fortune does not matter compared to the daunting task that is Nirari. He is the priority. I cannot afford to hold anything back. ¡°Each of our bloodlines was born with an idea. Mine is conquest.¡± ¡°Most of us fae are content with our spheres, preferring them to others, so it is not a notion I am familiar with. How do you see conquest?¡± ¡°I defined it when I ascended to what I am now. It is to build something together with the people I appreciate, against all odds. To create my kingdom where we can be ourselves through violence if we must, safe and free to pursue our various goals. I will use the power granted by the Watcher to build it myself, not wait for someone else to deliver it.¡± I feel surprise and pleasure radiate from the strange woman. ¡°How pure and hopeful. I would have never imagined it, considering your taste for blood, but yes, I can see it. I can feel it. You want that little haven very much and you have worked hard to do so. It would be a mistake not to take you for a driven individual. You do want to build and develop and have done so well, but now you must protect those who make up your dream. Since you have a well-defined purpose, how is your Magna Arqa reflecting that?¡± ¡°What do you mean?¡± I ask. ¡°An expression of pure essence reflects one¡¯s vision. You can no more escape your nature than we can, despite your strange, alien origin. Understanding how your power reflects your vision will lead you to the improvement you need if you are to succeed, and I am sorry to say, if you wish to survive the dragon hunt.¡± She made sense in a peculiar sort of way. ¡°We have time, still, thanks to our host. Come. Walk with me. Tell me your story.¡± ¡°Are you sure? I am not some hero from your tales.¡± ¡°My son tolerates many flaws in his partners, but tediousness is not one of them. Do share!¡± And so I do, talking about my story so far, though only in broad strokes. She does not need to know about my personal experiences. She does, however, have me expand upon two things: my allies, and pitched battles. As we walk through vertical gardens loaded with azure flowers, I sometimes feel as if Dalton¡¯s intonations or Jimena¡¯s determined tone just finished ringing in my ears. Sometimes, I can smell the smoke of fires or the acrid scent of spent powder. I can taste blood on my tongue, my own and some of others. I hear echoes of joy and despair, and the longer I go on, the more real my reminiscence grows. I remember facing the herald whose horn I stole, I remember fighting through the streets of Marquette. The story comes alive through Amaryll¡¯s presence, and patterns start to emerge. I gather allies, people from different origins and with different agendas who share common values. Together, we face those who would kill or suppress us. Our differences matter, but not as much as a common goal to live our lives how we see fit. I have indeed been practicing my ethos long before the rise to ladyship crystallized it into words. But then, how is my power related? I think I may know. I have been acting incorrectly. I now believe the statues and roots are not fully mine, or rather, they are, but they are animated by instincts and memories conquered from or granted by those I came across and whose essence I took. The conclusion is surprising, yet it makes sense in a strange way, though it goes against everything I have experienced about vampire powers. I do not need better control. All those successes I have achieved, I could never have achieved them alone. I need to let go, and trust those memories I have collected. Amaryll nods when she sees I have come to a realization. ¡°I hope your epiphany will lead to success, as sometimes, stories are just stories. If it turns out to be the case, I will help you again.¡± Amaryll does not abandon me in the middle of the city. Instead, she guides me towards the handful of gladiators I have elected to keep around and not send back to Voidmoore to take care of Pookie. Oh, and the cartel thing. They are undergoing training as well, but for them it has only been a few weeks instead of our three months, as they have been relegated to lesser training facilities. Makyas is here as well, being his usual facetious self. I spend some time with them playing strange games of luck, then I return to training with renewed passion. My first attempt at changing the Magna Arqa ends catastrophically when one of the roots upends the chessboard. Rather than growing angry, Cadiz encourages me instead. As expected, my control over the Magna Arqa collapses completely when I am not trying to direct it. After a few attempts, I do realize that, indeed, if I do not focus on them, the statues move much more naturally, as naturally as they do inside of my mind palace. Progressively, I try to find the sweet spot between order and autonomy. The roots and statues must follow directions, but I cannot be controlling them directly. The task is made excessively hard by the level of ruthless aggression they display when I make no effort. Even the archer squad decides to withdraw at the beginning. Yet despite all those difficulties, I know I am on the right path. Nights blur into weeks, then into months. Under Cadiz¡¯ guidance, I keep progressing at an exhilarating pace. He is truly a great mentor despite his poor social graces. Finally, after one year of effort, I am ready for the next step. ¡­. what? Chapter 187: I am ready Cadiz¡¯ Magna Arqa is a strike type. It allows him to conduct a series of fast, powerful, and particularly vicious strikes over a period of several seconds. I find its use redundant since I can barely follow him when he is not trying. It does not stop him from abusing it during our spars.Those are disheartening, both physically and metaphorically. I fail to see the point since even blocking the blade ends up shattering either my wrist or shoulder, something few have ever managed to do. If I block, I am eventually tossed aside like a ragdoll and skewered before I can recover. If I try to counter, he avoids me with ease and defeats me on his next strike. Dodging is impossible at this stage. I still try my best and sometimes, I believe it is my mind he is training more than my technique. Cadiz expects Nirari to overwhelm me, not least because he is my sire and there will always be remnants of fear in my heart. He prepares me for it as best as he can. I ask him one day as I am regrowing fingers. To my surprise, he appears more affected by this than by the colorful language I sometimes aim at him in occasional moments of frustration. French remains a favorite. I ask with a laugh. He sulks, or rather, I offended him more than I expected. In fact, he appears genuinely hurt. S~?a??h the ?0velF?re.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. It never stops. Due to the potency of fae blood, I only have to feed once every two weeks despite the dramatic energy expenditure. I remember the constant thirst when I was first remade. It drove me insane with its unceasing urgency. When I grew away from fledgeling, I could go a day, then two without feeding. Masters only need to drink once a week if the hunt is good enough. I wonder how long I could last without the constant training and occasional unmangling of my innards. Between the lack of sun and the time between donations from curious warriors, the spheres themselves have acquired an atemporal quality that I am not sure I enjoy. Even the cycle of seasons is canceled in the training world since only weeks have passed outside. To avoid the burden that comes with repetition, we leave the compound to attend various events. In the entertainment area of the Blue Palace, the party never stops. At any point of time, there are several teams coming out after weeks of intense and relentless training, high on aggression and the euphoria that comes with their own progress. The Blue Court are a strange lot and Sivaya is stranger still, set apart from their numbers by her love of magical theory. Blue nobles as a rule share alien, elfin traits, and cruel tendencies in their games and, if I understand the gladiator¡¯s comments, their lovemaking. Their arrogance stems from a deep sense of superiority. They boast a strange grace and devious combat arts backed by magic as all of their warriors cast spells. I have not yet faced one of their squads in battle but Sinead has as part of his own training, and he returned annoyed if victorious. I am not the only one making progress. Indeed, Amaryll has taken her son under her wing and has encouraged him to rely on his dancer¡¯s heritage to develop himself. The flame of his aura has changed, more subtle and biting now, to match his more elegant movements. I beat him in the few spars we share but I can see he has grown even more evasive and he favors devastating, decisive counters. After two years of training, I have merged my style into a harmonious whole, though there is still room for improvement. Interestingly, I have a new spell I can use in combat situations. The old ones find their use, especially the feint spell which shows an illusionary double of me. Promethean becomes a staple due to its significant potential against strong targets. Even Cadiz must be cautious of its many chains. Heartseeker is harder to manage, though it will help me against multiple opponents. Some other spells are more situational. Flay is stopped by armor, so it will be mostly useless against Nirari, but shatter and shred will be of use against the more delicate and magical items he may have. Polar midnight is virtually useless against another vampire, though fae fear it, and humans will as well. My new spell is a variation on the blood bolt. I call it the salvo. The salvo has many flaws. It takes time to cast, requires so much concentration I cannot use feint, and even the most inept caster will feel the magical buildup. Nevertheless, the result is beautiful enough to justify its ridiculous requirement. Salvo launches a powerful scattered barrage of bolts that will demolish all but the most durable of shields, and the projectiles travel fast enough to be difficult to avoid for even limber foes. The first time I use it on Cadiz, he is forced to use his Magna Arqa, or lose. He no longer lets me cast it if there is any risk he will be in the blast radius, and I take this as the compliment and show of respect it is meant to be. During the second year, I perfect my technique and train with various masters invited for the occasion. Once news of our prowess travels, Blue Courts blademasters and even a prince come to see if we do deserve the fuss. I lose against the prince after he uses a tool that cancels magic to take me off guard, following which Cadiz gives him a sound thrashing. The haughty noble and myself are left glaring at each other at the end, drinking mulled wine from cups and throwing snide comments at each other¡¯s reliance on toys and brute force, respectively. I am not quite sure why, but old ones tend to criticize me for using my raw abilities as if centuries of experience were not an unfair advantage as well. Preposterous. In the third year, we start practicing group fighting to see if I can use my Magna Arqa with my allies around. Despite some scraped armor and bruised ego, it works wonderfully. We discover that my allies can somehow direct the thorns, or at least they part to let them through. We also discover that my subconscious enjoys grabbing Sinead¡¯s heel while he jumps, mistakenly smashing a branch in his belly mid lunge and other facetious little things. Silly unconscious mind. Nevertheless, I have made significant progress towards operating with a team. Makyas returns on occasion to practice, usually spending a day inside and a day out, so he only participates on occasion. I cannot blame him. Training of this nature goes against his own trickster instincts, but we do make sure I cannot harm him and he knows what I am capable of. Khadras remains the odd one out. The Seeker commits to the training with as much energy as us, but while Sinead learns tactics and I focus on combat, Khadras does his best to control his crystal powers better, to the point that he can selectively exclude me from its deleterious aura. The level of commitment he is capable of is simply staggering, even to me. ¡°How can you keep working alone, night in, night out?¡± I ask him as he recovers from his latest attempt, disheveled and almost feverish. Khadras does not speak for a while, but I know he is considering rather than ignoring me from the way his torso faces me, and his eyes wander. John does the same, sometimes. We have time in abundance so I do not press him. ¡°I will be joining you until my mother sees it fit to recall me, most likely after the challenge is brought to its conclusion, and provided I survive. I cannot let my weakness dishonor her, so I will do my best to improve.¡± He looks up, pink eyes hollow and cold. ¡°You can call upon your nature to gain power. So can your strange kin and the Prince of Summer. I will fight with the abilities I was given.¡± A brief pause, then he took a step forward. ¡°I have never operated outside of Seeker squads. Make no mistake, we have been designed to complete our assessment, but that is the issue with a specialized tool. They lack flexibility. I had never realized how constraining this was until I lived by your side.¡± He sighs, and turns away. ¡°This was a mistake. Leave me. I must return to my training.¡± I depart to my side of the training hall without a word. He is clearly suffering, yet at the same time I am not sure how to proceed without endangering the team¡¯s coordination. I would rather leave the emotional aspect to people more patient and subtle than me, such as Amaryll. I would only be interested in Khadras¡¯ state of mind if I intended to eat him. For the taste. I also manage to take down Cadiz for the first time, before he triggers his Magna Arqa. Following a complex sequence of movements culminating into a really good blind feint, I abort a spell he would have dodged and claw his face off instead. The bleeding Progenitor almost cries tears of joy, and his excitement reaches new heights. Unfortunately, so does the difficulty. During the fourth year, we slow down, and I realize that we will not use the time to its maximum. Even the frequent breaks and the entertainment we see no longer suffices to dispel the deep unease that comes with being cloistered for so long. We must escape the confines of this place. I expected Sinead to discuss our options, but he agrees wholeheartedly. ¡°We need training in the appropriate environment anyway, poppet, something even the Court of Blue cannot provide. We will move to another sphere and prepare for the hunt. We know more now. Yura will brief us on the proceedings.¡± ¡°Is Yura our main source for intelligence now?¡± ¡°I believe you have Cadiz to thank for that, as they have grown quite close over the, ah, years. Time is such a strange concept here. No wonder the Blue Court folks tend to waste mine when we are outside.¡± I find Cadiz¡¯ kinship with Yura interesting considering the old man has never mentioned, or even given any hint he was interested in intimacy. I am pleased that he would find someone to spend time with, however. Soon, we do leave, still having over a week left before the hunt gathers. The first priority is a celebration of our progress. The gladiators who have stayed come as well, their eyes bright with pride. Or at least I assume so, given that two of them possess the compound variety and I have never learnt to read those. We move to a secluded villa in the entertainment district prepared by Sivaya, and gather around a central table in an open garden under the light of the local stars. Lanterns cast light over dishes and drinks, all strange and designed to accommodate a variety of tastes and, I assume, digestive systems. It was wise of Sinead to organize this celebration. I come to this conclusion naturally when I inspect the guests. We have met several times during training, however the gladiators have not enjoyed the benefits of time dilation and a chasm has formed between us. We always were a diverse group. Now, we need some measure of unity. I realize I should have done it, then dismiss my regrets immediately. Sinead has taken the lead on this plan, and I rightly prioritized combat prowess. One cannot achieve everything at once. Let Prince Sunny carry the weight of leadership; for once it does not involve drinking, seducing, and a heist. At least, I think so. ¡°Ladies, gentlemen, other beings of indeterminate gender¡­¡± ¡°I¡¯m a man,¡± Nol protests, his fly head bobbing over thin shoulders. Dancer signs he is male as well. I notice he has armor over the black chitin of his skin. It gives him a more statuesque and less horrifying appearance. Unlike Nol, who wears a doublet, and looks like the tarot card of a baron of hell. ¡°Very well then. Let me all congratulate you on the successful end of your training. Now, we know that perfection cannot be attained, and especially not in such a short amount of time, yet I am still proud of each and everyone of us, for we are much closer to this unattainable goal than when we began. I want to thank each and everyone of you here for helping me survive and perhaps even reach the hallowed heights of the Summer Council. It could have started better,¡± he concedes with a smile, and we chuckle. ¡°But we made allies along the way, and nothing is done until the last trial is concluded. Now, you have come here with different expectations and for different reasons. I acknowledge that, and I say, this is fine. My brother demands full obedience from a contingent of loyal court retainers. This is not my path. It cannot be my path. My mother wanders the spheres dancing stories alive. I have myself walked many spheres, made friends and enemies among them. This is the vision of summer I wish to embrace, the same you are seeing around you. Friends gathered in banquet in the cool evening air, travelers from far away gathered for a celebration. The taste of sweet wine on our tongue. To me, summer does not need to be pavilions and horns and the arrogance of superiority. We all carry a piece of summer within us, even those who prefer the cold, for do they not also seek warmth? Hah, I have spoken enough. Rejoice. Be merry! Take pride in each other¡¯s company and your own efforts. Tomorrow is another day, but tonight, we celebrate the moment. Cheers!¡± ¡°Cheers,¡± we reply. Feeling in a good mood, I find color sticks and enough papers to draw the likeness of all guests while Syma the red takes out a flute, playing a happy aria. Her four hands dance on the wood. I manage to make Nol more alien than repellant, and he clutches the drawing to his chest with emotion. Even Khadras folds the paper with reverence after I am done. ¡°You are certainly proficient at causing emotions where there should be none, Ariane of the Nirari,¡± he begrudgingly admits. ¡°I am not sure I like it.¡± ¡°Do you regret feeling more?¡± I ask, curious. ¡°No,¡± he confesses after a pause. ¡°I just wonder why it had to be longing.¡± ¡°I am sorry for you, Khadras. I hope you find a way to experience other emotions as we do. If it is any comfort, you have the eternity to do so.¡± ¡°Not if my mother summons me back.¡± ¡°Perhaps she will not,¡± I retort, though my idea is not founded on any evidence. ¡°Perhaps you have a chance to forge your own way.¡± ¡°What we sacrificed can never be ours again.¡± ¡°I lost my human life and all that it entailed, but I built myself another one and have come to love it even more. I do not know what your future entails, I only know it should be yours if you manage to seize it.¡± ¡°Perhaps you are right,¡± he agrees after a pause. ¡°Perhaps you are full of wind and images like the others. I suppose it is up to me to find out.¡± ¡°For what it¡¯s worth, good luck.¡± I return to drawing and manage a good impression of Amaryll¡¯s smile, though I discover she is too complex to draw in her entirety. She loves the illustration and thanks me warmly. ¡°You might go far. Here, have my pen,¡± she says, and hands me a gold and ash-colored one. I use it to draw, finding that it gives off the color I want without prompt. Those Likaeans have all the best gear. After some time, the party expands when the Blue Court archers and a few trainers join us. We play more games of address, with Makyas winning a majority of them. I find that I enjoy my time with others despite our differences. We spend another week training in forests then the time comes for the hunt proper. In a cycle the length of which only scholars can predict with any degree of accuracy, the time comes for the oldest of dragons, simply called the Old One, to return to roost. During that time, he will be ritually hunted and slain, only to be reborn later and resume his migration over the skies of many worlds. The hunt itself is a deeply traditional exercise with no specific gains beyond bragging rights, though they have their importance around here. Nevertheless, the dragon does not really die at the end, merely going into slumber, and the winners return to their occupation, if there are any. Indeed, it appears the last few cycles have had no success. ¡°The Old One expects brilliance from prospective hunters. It is not enough to reach him. You must impress him as well,¡± Amaryll explains. ¡°But first, you must beat others to his lair. Since the latest hunts have failed, he has not moved location. We can use our knowledge of past attempts to plan for this one. Your training in the past week serves this purpose.¡± I listen with rapt attention, and we get to planning. The portal opens on a vast field crowded with tents and pavillions, some as tall as buildings. Music fills the air while the scent of food and perfume saturate my nostrils. Colorful pennants, flags, and clothes provide a clashing foreground to the sober green of the forest and the gray of distant mountains. Our group is one of the last to arrive, and we move to the edge of the encampment. From there, I can see the edge of the nearby forest. Those are old trees with ancient, gnarled trunks. The shadows feel deeper under their boughs. I can see the distant glint of fangs and webs hanging from a branch, moving in the wind like an ethereal shroud. The forest denizens are none too happy about the fae¡¯s return. I am happy about the fae¡¯s return. We can EAT THEM. No, bad Ari. Remember the plan. No eating my allies, even though they smell so very delectable. We set up quickly, using enchanted gear that mostly deploys itself and that I would drown a convent to keep with me back on earth. No sooner have we gathered that a fanfare trumpets towards us, even as some of our own tents are yet to rise. The Likaeans near us clear the way before a large procession of warriors led by a familiar figure in golden armor, his fieryfirey beard glittering under the sun. He has elected to keep his sun-gorged mail, but adopted a green tabard over it, quite likely for aesthetic reasons rather than for any desire for stealth. His second is here as well, wearing black scale like last time. Her infernal red hair and red skin clash with the pastoral background in an interesting way. I know from her smile that she anticipates killing me with relish. I look forward to her attempt, though I do not look forward to wasting the sweet nectar of her essence as it leaves her broken, lifeless corpse because I must stick to the plan. Ugh. ¡°My brother,¡± Revas greets with a glorious smile, arms spread in a gesture of all-encompassing affection. ¡°It delights me to see you today. I hope you had a pleasant time preparing. Did you find your mother without delay?¡± ¡°I did, brother. Thank you for finding her.¡± ¡°Of course, of course, think nothing of it,¡± Revas generously allows. ¡°I expect you at your best. No matter what, our respective performances will reflect on the glory of our court, because we hunt for summer¡­¡± ¡°And summer is the season of war,¡± they finish at the same time. The two princes exchange pleasantries and compliments with the utmost certitude that one will kill the other before the year is done ¡ª for a certain definition of year. Meanwhile, their followers stand around with solemn attention. Including me. Although I merely pretend to pay attention to their exchange, blah blah blah, platitudes. Worthless chatter. We should HUNT ALREADY. Revas¡¯ followers are all summer court nobles dressed in hunting leathers with enough similarities to pass as uniforms. Meanwhile, we are the motley crew. I complain in my heart that I always tend to end up on the side of the underdog, only to remember that I have been working for the vampire government for the past forty years. Perhaps it is just a matter of who, rather than what. Sinead certainly feels less pompous and false than his blood relation. In any case, the difference could not be clearer, an impression reinforced by the fact Revas intentionally came while our camp was still in disarray, yet late enough that the interrupted setup could be mistaken for slovenliness. The absolute cur. In a way, I admire the Likaeans for their elaborate pettiness. Even Revas¡¯ apparent generosity serves to reinforce his aura while distracting Sinead with apparent kindness. Every gesture they make serves several purposes in an elaborate dance. Revas¡¯ kindness does not just destabilize, it promotes a certain personality among his peers, and being memorable improves his standing in the order of succession. Similarly, the training collaboration with Sivaya shows Sinead¡¯s powerful yet diverse backing. So many games with unspoken rules. I would feel right at home if I were not missing so much context. Finally, the scrumptious ones separate and the more obnoxious of two princes returns to whatever fancy quarters he picked for himself, perhaps a pyramid to fit his ego. We are left with little to do, so I join Cadiz in practicing breathing exercises. Our meditation is short-lived, however. At midday, a deep thrum shakes the air around us. ¡°It has started.¡± The entire camp holds still as the sky seems to split open, night and stars popping through the aperture of some impossibly wide portal. A wave of magic washes over us until it feels I could summon winter with a word, and Sinead could do the same. I take a deep breath and gather inexplicable scents I do not know how to qualify, then night falls. Or rather, there is an eclipse. A vast silhouette covers the sun from us, casting a deep shadow over the entire glade. For a moment, my mind struggles to reconcile what I see with the limits of what I believe possible. A triangular head appears first, titanic horns like old oaks jutting out from its side over a jaw that could smash a fortress gate open, then a sinuous body covered in bronze scales, four limbs with talons like spires. Heat radiates from the colossal form. He turns the air around into a kaleidoscope of twisting volutes where other shapes come to dance like fading dreams. Its armored body melts into the heavens until I cannot tell where the sphere ends and He begins. Then, after I have given up on comprehending the dragon, he spreads his wings, and night truly falls. He is impossibly massive. He has no right to be flying. Watcher save me, he has no right to be moving at all. I have taken strolls on smaller hillocks. The dragon flaps his wings and the pennants and flag shudder from the tempestuous blast, expanding outward from the camp¡¯s circle. Dust fills my nostrils. The dragon roars, and I can hear nothing else, and do not believe I will experience another sound ever again. And then it flies away. It takes me a long, long moment to come back to my senses, and an even longer moment before the majesty of the beast disappears enough, and I realize he made me completely forget I was even Thirsty. It is a feat that nothing had managed until now. ¡°We¡­ are supposed to hunt this?¡± I ask, aghast. ¡°Now you understand why the hunt is ritualized,¡± Sinead comments with an amused grin. ¡°Shall we get ourt mounts?¡± I look again at the titanic being even now circling among the clouds. It is the most majestic creature I have even laid my eyes on. I am going to bite it. Chapter 188: Ritualized slaughter ¡°It appears we put up our tents for nothing,¡± I remark to Sinead.¡°Of course not, we need them for our victorious return,¡± he replies amicably. ¡°Shall we get the horses?¡± The dragon flies far above our head, a distant shadow on the background of white fluffy cloud. He is impossible to ignore. The weight of his aura weighs upon my shoulders even when I do not look. He will complete a full circle before picking one of the distant, lone mountains as a lair. The HUNT will start at the moment he completes his revolution. I hope he does so before the Thirst overtakes me. We will need mounts to keep up. Fortunately, I already have one. Our group leaves the tents for a large stable by the portal. We do not need to worry yet. The rules of the hunt prohibit any sort of sabotage before the horns blow, so my companions take their time to get acquainted with their mounts. Those are Wandering Court stallions and mares, with vaporous gray coats that sometimes puff up like smoke. They work together well, and depend on each other more than they depend on riders, which will work well, because Khadras and the gladiators have little riding experience. As for me, I do not need anyone to carry me but her, and so I make my way to the dark edges of the wood and whistle. The compound eyes glaring at us from below the boughs skitter away while the undergrowth turns dark and gnarly. Light fades a little. Tendrils of fog snake out from between centennial bark coated with lichen. I tease, shaking my bag. Metis prances out, shaking her mane and snorting with good humor. By the, she is massive around here. And her armor has grown with her. I pat her flank, but a nose bump soon reminds me that the glutton expects her due offerings, and so I fish in my bag for a caramelized ear. This time, it is the ear of a giant bat. They almost look like pig ears. I have no idea where Amaryll found the bats, and I do not wish to ask. Apparently, they do not taste exactly the same from Metis¡¯ confused expression. Nevertheless, the hellion accepts her boon, and I can tell from her searching manners that she is curious as to why I am here, Thirsty as a devil, surrounded with delicate, juicy prey. I point up. She spots the dragon. She inspects me with wide eyes and lets out a low neigh. I feel immensely judged. A snort. I still feel judged. I ask innocently. Metis neighs furiously, outraged that I could ever doubt her. I am lifted on her saddle with insistent bumps until I sit atop her. I am so far from the ground¡­ It has subjectively been four years and I had forgotten how tall she had become. It almost makes me forget the Thirst. Unaware of my broodings, the proud Nightmare saunters towards the front of the camp where the riders gather. I find Sinead and look around, drinking in the sights. There are several parties and quite a few outriders gathered at the edge of a vast plain, their pennants, flags, and banners flapping in the light wind in a riot of colors and sigils. Armors glint under the sun in every color of the rainbow. I count as many sharp spears as there are puffy vests and outrageous hats. Singers and dancers compete for attention in this tense environment. I watch with interest as a four-armed fae juggles knives and forks while standing on top of a beast, itself standing on the back of another one. Those are the travelers here for entertainment rather than for the hunt itself. They will ride then return after possibly some hunting and most definitely a few trysts on isolated meadows. The true hunters will compete to the end, or they will try to at least. I count five serious parties among the hundreds of riders, as well as a few lone contestants such as this lad riding a giant wolf with a bow as tall as he is. Besides our own rather eclectic party, I see a Spring Court company riding elks, gathered around a couple drinking amorously from the same cup. A gathering of small folks riding dogs follow in a squabbling mass. Another is made of muscular men riding a mechanical contraption not unlike a locomotive. Lastly, Revas¡¯ party gathers in the most harmonious and military whole. His retinue of grim-faced summer warriors ride stallions of identical dun horses while he awaits at the front of the formation, his gauntleted hand clasped around the haft of a massive banner depicting a golden palace with his personal symbol. Just like our own, his banner evokes not just his name but him as well. The sun reflects on Revas¡¯ perfect, fatherly figure. He gazes in the distance towards the series of peaks we will race to. The foreign sun seems caught in his aura, gathered in a gentle and protective glow. A feeling seeps into my essence, flowing through the cracks because it is not an attack. Looking at him, I feel at peace. He would be kind, and thoughtful, because this is the aura he picked and because Fae become their personae to an extent. Revas has chosen the guise of the father, the same solid dependability I felt in mine. Papa was always there for me, even after I¡­ died. He saw what I had become and did not cast me away. He offered me my first rifle. I frown and glare, just as Revas turns and our eyes meet. The red-skinned devil woman who acts as his second smiles needles at me from the side, now revealed through a step forward. Everything is a game with him. The rules that stop him from acting against Sinead on pain of death until the event starts do not apply to giving me a pleasant feeling, and so he did. I resent the gift for what it truly is. A ploy. It also reveals an important aspect of the contest. While Revas is established to the point of embodying a concept, Sinead is not. He is a liberator and a dancer, but he is not freedom and dance. Amaryll was correct. He rushed into it for my sake. It makes me hate him less, despite the needling thirst. While I brood, Hadramo the muscular metal-shaper finishes his inspection of everyone¡¯s weapons and armor. He has taken to leading the group, with Dancer as a silent second. The mantis-like fighter remains quiet, but he has taken to communicating via gestures since, despite his best efforts to teach us, we have yet to decipher his pheromone messages. Syma the red massages a pair of hands with another pair of hands while Makyas flits about, window-shopping for eyeballs. As for Nol, the fly-faced man sits uncomfortably atop his mount. I believe he will soon ask me if he can fly instead, which I will vehemently deny. Honestly, the gladiators are too weak to make a difference, but they are followers and they matter. Their presence matters. They send a message, and this will, in turn, impact the world. Truly, the fae spheres never cease to confuse. Eventually, the time comes. A powerful roar resonates above our head, low and rumbling like an earthquake. A flap of titanic wings sends dust over the plain and pushes clouds away. I find myself ecstatic that the hunt is ritualized or I would be halfway through the next sphere, thirst or not. Slowly, the flying behemoth tilts towards the mountains where it will pick a lair. We wait with baited breath ¡ª at least some do ¡ª for the signal. The riders slowly move forward to the starting line. The unaligned riders wisely decide to let us go first. There has not been a single hunt without casualties, and this year will be no different. In the tense silence that follows, we all admire the sinuous yet heavy shape of the dragon move away, leathery wings catching the high winds with lazy mastery. Light shines on scales as large as shields, reflected in phantomatic rainbow patterns by the creature¡¯s monstrous aura. Slowly, it edges away like a distant ship of the line. And then, suddenly, the wings ignite. A line of fire expands across their length, red and furious like life and blood. It calls to us like a taunt, and like a chasm under one¡¯s feet. I instinctively lean forward because I cannot stop myself. This message is for us. This message is for me. A taunt. A call to prove myself. All the parties blow their horns at the same time. Through the cacophony and kaleidoscope of banners, we launch ourselves forward. Land disappears under us, with Sinead by my side holding his banner. I have not felt this glad of a ride since the Scourge Hive crisis. The rush of hundreds of beating hearts around me pulsing with life only brings it into sharper focus. Hooves pound the earth beneath like the roll of a drum while we ride, ride after the elusive form of the dragon, this omen of a great hunt. Over hills and down valleys we go at breakneck speed, never stopping lest we lose our quarry. Seconds turn into minutes, and minutes into hours while we pursue. When I finally come to from the exquisite rush, I realize that many of the followers have abandoned the attempt, glad for the experience, I suppose. The rest of us have shed them like a comet sheds its tail, only keeping those who intend to see it to its fateful end. Around us, the plain narrows into a series of forests and hillocks. Still, we persist. All is lost if the dragon disappears from our sight. We find the end of the valley soon enough and must pick a path among the many routes moving forward. As planned, Makyas lands on my shoulder. ¡°The truce ends here. Yay! Looking forward to the spiders.¡± ¡°I am not,¡± I reply. ¡°But they have eight eyes! Each!¡± I give up on this old argument to focus on keeping course. Speed is of the essence. Soon, mountains will mask the dragon from sight for those who are behind, and to lose him from sight is to lose him forever thanks to this world¡¯s strange magic. Sinead leads us down one of the two central paths. We are the first, though Revas is a close second. He picks another path. We race forth, a wall of old trees on either side. I hear a tremendous crash and turn to see the locomotive smash a path through the forest, belching teal and pink smoke. The strong fighter at its top leaves a bloody handprint on his flag and roars. ¡°For vengeance!¡± The oath resonates powerfully with the world and they soon pick up speed. The front of the locomotive catches on fire which, from the flame, is a design decision. ¡°Are they not riding in the direction of Eldraneth the Ever Brood, second most dangerous creature on this sphere?¡± I ask. ¡°They are. And good luck to them,¡± the prince hisses between grit teeth. A curious yet courageous way to face the inevitable. Eldraneth is a permanent resident of this sphere, a reclusive spider whose size is rumored to be greater than that of a whale. The fae sometimes lack judgment. A few independent hunters also choose to leave the path, though I suspect they have tools other than sight to track our quarry. We have to have been out of the plain for five minutes before the baying of hounds comes from our right. The dogs party returns, but this time the eyes of the men shine red under the canopies while their hounds display maws not unlike those of deepwater fishes. ¡°Abarri cannibals,¡± Makyas spits from my shoulder. ¡°I recognize their pathetic mewlings. They compete with us for eyes! Kill them all, Ariane!¡± ¡°Have you considered eating normal food?¡± ¡°What¡¯s a normal food?¡± I sigh and watch the hounds circle us then approach. The leader cackles madly from under a filthy cowl stained with gobbets of fresh meat. They stopped for a snack before finding us. I feel insulted. As the first of his riders launch themselves on our flanks, an arrow takes a hound in the throat. The cannibal leader bleats in alarm, but too late. Other arrows come from behind us, skewering his men with unerring accuracy. The smell of hound blood mixes with that, sweeter, of the little man eaters. I taste jealous rage and mindless ferocity in their alien fragrance. I could just TAKE A SNACK AS WELL. No, Ariane, poise and control. I am better than this. The Spring Court riders on their elks join us while the cannibals disperse. Revas paid the hound riders while we bought the Spring Court¡¯s help long before the event started. In fae politics, such maneuvering counts as preliminaries to the real contest. With the danger dispersed, the Spring Court veers away to take potshots at Revas or at least, his lackeys. We have to maintain a constant speed or risk exhausting our horses even more than we will. Any brusque acceleration will tire them considerably. We cannot afford to fight on horseback. Even Metis will be tired before this is all over. Makyas urges us on as he never lets his gaze wander away from the dragon. We pass by the first lone peak on the way without slowing down, then another when night falls. Two moons rise here, and still the trail of fire left in the wake of the dragon lights the path. Makyas acts as our anchor, making sure that no disruption will make us lose our way. Sometimes, his tiny hands grip a lock of my hair when he wavers. I suspect there might be some unknown difficulties involved. It must be well past midnight when the dragon dips. By then, the ecstasy of the ride has long since given way to a feeling of persistent exhaustion in most of my companions. I am untouched so far thanks to my unusual constitution, but I understand now what Khadras said when he claimed this was a test of endurance. We watch him select a destination with agonizing slowness. Until the last moment, he seems to hesitate between two different peaks, but eventually settles for a craggy, steep rock cracked with age. From here, I can see ancient bridges criss-crossing its withered body. With a clear destination, we leave the road and dive into the forest, and into an immediate ambush, which I call with a whistle. Spiders as large as dogs, sometimes even more, jump from moss-covered trunks or up shallow burrows with furious clicks. Metis grunts and pulps the first under a massive hoof. The gladiators form a circle around us and the battle is joined. Syma devastates the assailants with quick, precise jabs of her four sabers while Dancer repulses them with palm strikes that leave his victims bleeding ichor from their mouths. Hadranno uses a heavy hammer to catch jumping foes in the air. Khadras is everywhere, placing critical halberd strikes in the gaps when help is needed. Sinead opens a path with deadly accuracy. As for me, I merely block flying nets with a smidgen of ice magic. I am so Thirsty now, and we are still far. Any energy expenditure would be¡­ unwise. We quickly get out of the trap before reinforcements can come. Those woods belong to the spiders. We have no time to get stuck in. Fortunately, with our destination well in sight, we no longer need a constant vigil and Makyas finally lifts off from my pauldron to grab a passing arachnid head, which I do him the favor of detaching from its previous owner. ¡°I have to recover my strength!¡± I do not argue. I merely avert my gaze. Sinead slows down now that the risk of attack is higher, and I soon hear a commotion to our right. The call of a horn confirms that a pitched battle is taking place a few hundred paces away. We recognize the Spring Court instruments. I leave it to Sinead to intervene or not. To my mild surprise, he decides to offer assistance. We make for them through difficult terrain. ¡°We should let the horses go,¡± Khadras suggests in his usual cold voice. ¡°They will soon become a hindrance.¡± Most of the gladiators agree since they are not riders to start with. I also dismount, though Metis could handle the treacherous path and web traps. We are a group, for now. I do give her another ear for her excellent service before chasing her off. All the horses disappear back from whence we came. ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± Sinead declares. We run between ancient bark crusted with mushrooms and webs in the direction of the fracas of battle. Arrows whistle and soon we see the flash of green of moving warriors lost in a sea of chitinous rage. Our group lays into the back of the spider tide with gusto, Nol and Dancer especially vicious. I suppose a fly and a mantis would harbor little love for spiders. Once again, I mostly protect the others from the occasional wave. I dispose of a few larger spiders spitting acid at the fleeting forms of our allies before they can turn too much ground into hungry green puddles. We dive into the fray in a wedge, leaving broken bodies in our wake. There are a few clicks, then a massive tarantula with an exposed brain lets out a high-pitched whine. Immediately, the whine grows in intensity. Then its brain explodes. Khadras lets out a dark chuckle while the spiders retreat in disarray. It matters little. There are tens of thousands of the buggers throughout those forests. Only a fast pace will protect us from being overwhelmed. The Spring Court warriors rally around the towering, antlered figure of their leader. The women with whom he shared a drink of wine places herself into his protective embrace. He appears to have lost one fighter and half of his elks. ¡°My love,¡± she whispers in true Likaean. ¡°You saved me.¡± He smiles gently at her and, for a moment, an emerald light filters from the boughs, casting them in a gentle glow. She raises her hand to his rugged cheek. He catches it with lightning speed, turning the fingers over. She is wearing a ring and, with a flick of his finger, a transparent needle dripping with liquid unsheathes itself from it. ¡°Is this how you killed my brother?¡± he amorously asks his horrified companion. Her blabbering answer gets cut by a vicious dagger plunged in her chest. He stabs her with hateful spite until she chokes on her blood, her pleadings dying on blood-stained lips. Oh, she smells amazing. What a show. Wait, no, Ariane, you are supposed to be judgemental and we are wasting time. Eventually, a panting noble of Spring turns to Sinead with grateful, if empty eyes. ¡°It was as you said, Your Highness. The debt is repaid. No, my debt is still running.¡± The touching scene is cut short when Syma coughs, her breath labored. I am immediately by her side and removing an antidote from the pouch at my back. By the Watcher, it is so good to be able to wear accessories without them turning instantly into frozen icicles. ¡°Are you hurt? Where were you hit?¡± I ask as her face turns purple. Spider poison, no doubt. ¡°No¡­ I¡­¡± I force the concoction between her darkened lips and wait for it to take effect. It does not. S?a?ch* Th? N?v?l(F)ire.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. ¡°What¡­¡± I place her gently on the ground but she is choking, and fast. I consider stabbing the base of her trachea to bypass her constricted throat, and rip apart her chest armor. The exposed skin is mottled with black spots. Syma grabs my hand between two of hers and guides it to her neck, where I feel something transparent under my fingers. I remove a practically invisible dart from her skin, the blood-covered tip barely visible to my improved senses. ¡°Better¡­ here¡­ than¡­¡± She stops, and her arms grow lax. She is dead. Someone just assassinated one of my gladiators. I find myself¡­ rather annoyed. They are duelists, not schemers. The use of poisoned weapon in an assassination is¡­ so very low. Disrespectful of their efforts. I just got her the nice saber too. She liked them. ¡°A Blood Court assassin¡¯s tool,¡± Khadras explains. ¡°The red woman?¡± I ask, thinking of Revas¡¯ second. ¡°Yes. She is one of the few to escape the control of her senseless court. There are no others near this sphere right now.¡± ¡°I see.¡± I track in my head where Syma was and realize she moved too much. ¡°I can find her,¡± Makyas announces. I look at the tiny flying man. He looks tired yet determined. ¡°I would love to have your help.¡± ¡°We cannot afford to have her pick us off, but we cannot stop. We will move towards the mountain. Makyas can guide you to us.¡± ¡°Agreed,¡± I declare. ¡°Hadrano, can you take her body? I don¡¯t want to leave it here.¡± ¡°Of course.¡± ¡°Then let us go.¡± ¡°We will accompany you to the base of the mountain,¡± the spring noble says. ¡°It is the least I can do.¡± We split, Makyas guiding me. First, he erratically flows around the site of the battle and I sometimes fear he will disappear behind a trunk and be gone forever, but this is not the Nightmare World and he eventually glides back to my shoulder. ¡°Found her. Over here.¡± I have no idea how he managed it, since even I can see no hints she has been around. I decide to release my Magna Arqa and curse the wasted vitality. I cannot afford not to see her coming. ¡°I can feel them,¡± I whisper to him, and he tugs on a lock in response. We arrive in a short clearing, not so much a true opening than a less crowded spot where the lights of the stars can be seen. A large spider lies dead, curled on itself like a contracted hand. One of the lone hunters sits against a stump with a pallid face. He sweats abundantly, and when he looks up, his anger turns to despair. As far as bait goes, this one is rather pathetic. At this stage, I believe I will go mad if I taste even the slightest amount of vitality. So, even though I heartily wish to shred all those ambushers into minced meat with my thorns, I will have to deprive myself of the satisfaction. That is fine. I approach the resigned form of the lone hunters and pretend to believe this is the man who poisoned Syma. I lean forward and grab the short spear on his back, then I give him another antidote. As I suspected, the red woman poisoned him with borrowed spider venom instead of whatever horror she used on my gladiator. He immediately regains some color. ¡°You might as well come out,¡± I announce. The Summer Court fighters shoot me with arrows. I collapse on myself and let them fly over my head, then I am up and running towards the red woman. All those who can attempt to intercept me, but I easily slide under their blows or around their lunges. Those men are competent, but they are nothing compared to what I have faced before. Even their archery pales in comparison to the vicious imagination of Blue Court¡¯s sharpshooters. I move through them without stopping. They are slow and unused to the terrain. They struggle with so many obstacles, I can tell. I make short work of them, stabbing the borrowed spear in the chinks of their armor and through solid chain mail. They scream and they bleed and they are simply too delicious. I need to¡­ no, I must not. The red demoness does something and I block another invisible dart with the haft of the spear. She emerges from the darkness near a lone rock, a black tube held in her armored hands. She raises both hands towards me. A red ball rises between her palms like a twilight sun. We cast our spells at the same time. ¡°Hellish chaser.¡± ¡°Polar Midnight.¡± Our words spoken in Likaean resonate, each in their different way. Mine is winter, hers is a land steeped in fire and endless conflict. They smack into each other. Her spell is more focused, but mine is unyielding. The orb of fire dives into the maw of winter and pierces through, only to find itself slowly digested. It peters out in the endless cold. I smack her head aside with the tip of the spear, digging a furrow through a horned helmet. Five years ago, we might have been a match. No longer. I even dismiss my Magna Arqa to spare my strength since she is so powerless to face me. Her style is perhaps the most similar to my own out of all the foes I ever faced, but while mine has grown sharp and effective, hers still reeks of wasted motions, of sloppy steps. I punish her every step of the way. ¡°Is that it?¡± I ask, somewhat disappointed. She snarls and dives under a spear jab, full of openings just as she thinks me disarmed. Instead of repositioning the spear, I drop it and punch my claws into her abdomen. They dig into her armor, though the process itself is rather painful on my knuckles. I inspect my talons while she is tossed aside, reeling from the blow. There is blood there, carmine and so very vibrant. Just a little bit of it. Just a smidgen. I casually stab a soldier trying to attack me from behind because I simply cannot take my eyes away from this perfect treasure, this new, unknown scent unlike any court I have sampled yet. Oh, yes, so small and precious, a ruby on the black needle of my claw, shivering in the wind. Its warmth will soon disperse. If I could have it, just a little lick. ¡°HSSSSSSS!¡± ¡°Shit, we¡¯re leaving!¡± the woman claims. Alas, the morsel takes a bell from her pocket and rings it. Fog emerges from the earth with remarkable speed until I am lost in a cloud of fluffy white, the only clear point a single, armored hand holding a bell. So I strike with the spear and all my might. The broad tip slams into the wrist, shattering it. The severed hand falls on the ground, fingers clenched over the ghost of the bell until it, too disappears. I grumble. I turn around to see the archer on his feet, two arrows notched at the same time. He is a tall man with a beard and some spectacular sideburns. I remember he rode a wolf here, though there are no signs of his mount. He seems a bit worried. I realize I reactivated my Magna Arqa during the demoness¡¯ escape. My eyes should be purple and slitted to his perception. Also, I might be drooling a little. From the frustration. It is fine. ¡°You are safe,¡± I assure him, and he amazingly takes my word for it. ¡°It appears I owe you a debt of gratitude, and then a debt of blood.¡± He scowls mightily and takes a deep breath. ¡°The woman killed Juron, my companion.¡± ¡°My condolences.¡± ¡°That is fine, he will be reborn soon.¡± Convenient. ¡°How may I repay my debt?¡± I remember all those stories about humans lost in faerie land, losing their names and youth and whatnot. Honestly, they merely need to follow three simple principles. Do not be greedy. Do not try to extort them. Most importantly, be capable of hacking them to mince meat. Simple. ¡°You may help us win the hunt,¡± I quickly reply. ¡°That would suffice.¡± ¡°Then let us be away.¡± ¡°Yes, let us be away,¡± Makyas announces as he flies back from the knows where, mouth bloody and tummy bloated. The three of us race forward to the forest¡¯s end, only chasing off a few skittering denizens on the way. The mountain rises abruptly with a sheer cliff, but there are stairs in the distance. Out of patience, I grab the archer and claw my way on the sheer wall, ignoring the mild panic singing through his veins. I can hear voices above. Soon, we join the stairs again and I find Sinead leading our companions in a desperate climb. ¡°You took yet another stray?¡± the sunny prince gasps. ¡°You were the first stray I picked up,¡± I remind him. ¡°Nevermind that. Revas is above. Can you delay him?¡± ¡°I will,¡± I say, and race ahead. The wind blows harsher now that we are much higher. The large body we are climbing will soon end, but it appears linked to the steeper, larger side of a larger peak by a narrow bridge of prodigious length. Revas is currently running across it as we arrive. I do not know if the spheres play a role, or magic does, but sometimes, life has a way of lining up perfectly. Four arrows pierce the far pillars, severing the ropes hanging the bridge. The far end drops immediately. To his credit, Revas turns and races back, displaying unnatural grace in the way he uses the falling wood as support. Our eyes meet as he approaches the halfway. I cut the support on our end. It brings me great joy to watch him plummet to the ground, golden armor shining like a falling star. Sinead finally reaches us, catching a last glimpse of Revas before he disappears in the forest far below. I have no doubt that he survived, alas, but the archer was correct in his choice. I doubt he could have pierced that armor. ¡°Shall we go on?¡± I ask. ¡°Hush,¡± the prince replies, eyes closed. ¡°Let me mark the memory of this moment in my heart forever. We hear the distant noise of broken branches and of metal smashing on stone. ¡°Beautiful.¡± ¡°We have not won yet. We need to cross and get this over with,¡± I protest, especially because we either find the dragon in the next couple of hours, or someone is getting eaten. ¡°This is my time to shine!¡± Nol declares. I do not say I could just grow roots across the chasm. Instead, I allow him to fly a rope to the other side, which we cross in turn. Most gladiators just walk on it like performers, which I find pleasing to watch and might paint later. The archer also joins our merry band to see his debt cleared. We keep climbing. Sometimes, I look behind at the trail of various warriors who have joined us on this strange quest. Far below, the rest of the mountain dives into the ground like a blade through flesh. I had not realized it in our mad rush upward, but Likaeans can cross distances in a way few other mortals could. Only a pack of werewolves could have moved faster. Returning home will require some¡­ readjustments. I shake my head and continue up, feeling nervous energy swell in my black heart. This will soon be over. All the major parties are accounted for, and they are always the fastest without exception. Our climb continues in silence. The height of the mountain catches me by surprise. It is so high that the temperature plummets and the howling winds eventually force Makyas to hide in my bag. Around me, those who can breathe suffer despite the occasional stop. We reach a plateau at dawn. Here, dawn is not synonymous with an agonizing and fiery end. Instead, the sky turns pink in the distance and the light of the stars fades. A few of the gladiators sigh with contentment. I understand something is wrong when the deep fog covering the plateau fails to disperse, covering the land in cottonous layers far into the distance and almost to the distant peak. We expected this, however. It is the reason why I have not fed in a while. ¡°The shroud of oblivion, a classic,¡± Khadras replies. ¡°Unfortunately, it would take my mother to disperse something of that magnitude. We will have to do our best.¡± ¡°Is everyone ready?¡± Sinead asks. Everyone takes a few last swigs of whatever liquid they fancy. We are facing the last hurdle before the dragon proper, if everything goes well. The shroud of oblivion will cast away all those who lack the drive to reach him. Only the most determined heroes get a chance to face magic incarnate. Many hunts end without success. ¡°Good luck, and see you back at the encampment,¡± Sinead tells everyone. We all step in. Holding hands or using any sort of device would be of no use here. The shroud is the dragon¡¯s doing, and he does not tolerate cheaters. I am swallowed by a vaporous tide on my way forward. The hard, creviced stone under my feet turns into something smoother and colder, reminding me of the marble of an ancient castle. My senses are soon dulled, but I do not fight it. Even my Magna Arqa would be of little help since we are in his domain. The first of the whispers come soon. ¡°You are no one. Unimportant.¡± I ignore it. Unfortunately, I cannot rely on Sinead¡¯s inflated ego and unerring sense of self-importance. From the beginning, I was thrown into a merciless world where I was at the bottom of the pyramid. I have spent a lot of time there, finding my own happiness, working on my own rules and developing skills. Even now, Nirari¡¯s power weighs upon my mind. I could not convince myself I am truly important even if I tried, because I do not believe I am. I do, however, achieve important things with people who are important to me. This is what matters. Not glory everlasting or those pompous concepts. ¡°You are not the first, not the last. Not even someone exceptional. You live in the middle, scrabbling in the mud with the rest. You are no one. Unimportant.¡± ¡°I am enough,¡± I reply. The fog takes away my outrage and gnaws at my ambition. It weakens the ties I have with others. ¡°When you die, no one will remember you, no one will carve your name. You will be a footnote in history..¡± ¡°I made a kingdom for the living, and it is them I care about. Not my own majesty.¡± ¡°In three hundred years, no one will know you even existed.¡± ¡°What do I care about people three centuries after I die? I never met them. They might be twits.¡± ¡°Your sire will kill you.¡± My steps falter and I almost fall on my face. What? What did it just say to me? It felt¡­ important somehow. I struggle to remember. ¡°You will be a stepping stone, the last one. He lets you grow now so he can take you down at the end. You will be a statement. A cautionary tale.¡± I remember that¡­ it matters? I believe it matters. ¡°You could submit to him. Let go. He would treat you well.¡± ¡°Would he? I think you are wrong.¡± ¡°He would, now. You merely have to bend.¡± Something is wrong, however. How can one bend and BITE? How can prey drink blood? And I will drink blood. I must have it. I must have that hunt to its conclusion. ¡°You were never meant to rule his empire.¡± ¡°There is no empire. He rules over ash and bones. I will not let him turn what I have into a tool of senseless conquest.¡± ¡°There will be, when he is done. Submit.¡± Something rebels inside of me, backed by my essence. I have bent in the past because it was necessary, because death would have followed refusal, but this time is over. We are on the cusp of the last great act, and I will no longer surrender. I will face him, I will kill him, and I will DRINK HIM DRY. ¡°I am enough, I know what I want, and I will hunt everything in my path. I will slake my Thirst on your sorry, dessicated ¡ª¡± My words die on my lips when the fog evaporates, and I gaze into the depth of an amber orb the size of a coffee table. It slowly blinks. Chapter 189: Dragon Hunt Slowly, my consciousness returns and I realize the eye is, of course, attached to a massive head taller than I am, triangular with a squarish chin area. Armored scales thicker than any plate cover the creature, shining softly in the red light. I also realize that this head is attached to a body so massive and so long I could line eight Pookies to reach the tail and still have room for another Pookie. The retracted wings, when expanded, could blot the sun from half of Marquette. The dragon rests supine in a cavern of epic proportion, its existence an affront to every law of structural integrity. Impressively, space acts in an erratic manner, sometimes blurring the edges of the cavern until I am not sure if it is there, or I am merely looking at the reflection of some distant land. There is no source for the light, of course. The cave¡¯s host has no need for such mundane contraptions.The most striking features are the absolute calm spread by its presence. Merely looking at the dragon from the ground gave me vertigo, as if my senses could not quite grasp him in its entirety despite my experience with the Watcher. Nevertheless, I can gaze upon its tower shield-sized scales and feel nothing except a mild dread, even though being in close proximity should blind me. The Thirst has quieted as well, my instincts silent. Why did I ever think I could hunt this creature? I am fifty thousand years too early. As I recover from the shock, I realize that I am not alone. Two others stand by my sides. Behind us, a long tunnel snakes back outside. I do not remember treading it. I expected Sinead, of course, considering his involvement in the hunt¡¯s result. Khadras is a surprise, however. I assumed the crystal part of his body and mind would not tolerate such meddling, yet here he is, a mighty scowl on his cold traits. We stay here for a moment, quiet as mice while our host inspects us. When he finally speaks, his Likaean is the clearest, most articulated I¡¯ve ever heard. It bears the clarity of a sovereign but none of the barely veiled power. A mellow voice like that of a perfect gentleman emerges from the air. It evokes a quiet spot in a private library, coffee, and a pleasant time. He is so unthreatening that it represents a threat itself. His control is simply baffling. ¡°Well, here we are again. At least someone reached me this time.¡± He snorts and the searing air pushes my hair back, forcing me to blink. A human would have been sent careening into the nearest wall. ¡°Little Carnaciel tells me I should not judge the current generation to the measure of the best but, honestly¡­¡± I feel terribly belittled. ¡°Very well, I am sleepy. Let us get this ¡®slaying¡¯ done. You may challenge me and the victor will earn a prize. You may pick whichever game you believe you have a chance with, or violence I suppose. That would make this meeting mercifully short. There. Who goes first?¡± ¡°I challenge you, Great One,¡± Sinead announces, taking a resolute step forward. The dragon sniffs him, the prince¡¯s golden hair fluttering forward from the short intake. ¡°Are you related to Arathon?¡± ¡°My grandfather, the founder of the Court of Summer.¡± ¡°Hmph. You are¡­ not his equal. Though I suppose you are still quite young. Speak your challenge then.¡± ¡°I challenge you to a dance.¡± The dragon stays quiet for a brief moment, then Sinead is suddenly standing in the middle of a circle lit by bobbing golden lights far in front of us. The cave has spontaneously grown by fifty yards. ¡°You may begin.¡± The prince closes his eyes and breathes deep. He seems to pull on himself, then his back arches out, his arms spread. He launches himself, and the dance begins. A golden robin flies between branches, barely dodging raptor claws. An eagle screeches out of sight. The robin weaves a complex path that drives him, deeper and deeper, until the sky darkens and the branches turn to gnarly fingers grasping for him. It is silent now, but still the robin flies. It has been fleeing for so long against such a relentless foe that to stop would be madness. The eagle will never stop. The robin is lost. He lands on a mossy root. It is a dark, merciless world, and so the robin plunges in the dust. Dark patches cover his radiant plumage. He is tainted now, dull, but only in appearance. The summer sun has never ceased to burn within his breast. The robin evolves in this world without light, without fire. He outwits predators and gathers allies, including those who could have harmed him. He finds others broken and lost, and he puts him back together until the dark world teems with the fires of emotion, hidden, damaged, but never extinguished. The tarnished gather into a great flock and reveal their true colors. The dark world shimmers with their revealed lights, dizzying in their beauty. The monsters try to extinguish the light but they cannot touch the robin as it flies in a rainbow of color, opening the thick canopy above. In a breathtaking apotheosis, the robin sheds its dark feathers and ascends to be a phoenix. He and the others escape through the opening into an azure sky. Sinead reaches the apex of his ¡®Jet¨¦¡¯ and lands with a bow. I take a deep breath, amazed by his performance. I knew he had been practicing with Amaryll and other trainers while Cadiz used my chest for a pincushion but I had no idea he could be so inspiring! I want to draw him, so handsome and so free. What a performance! I almost want to grab him back with me so I can open a ballet. Even now, the remnants of emotion make the world blur with riotous colors. Amazing. Well, I do believe he was amazing, but the dragon does not seem impressed. The old one sighs. The circle disappears. We are back at the entrance of the cave. The dragon stretches and stands. It now dwarfs even the largest buildings I have ever seen in New York and Boston by far. His wings spread and the flap, once. I am still standing on a horizontal piece of rock. I have to convince myself of that, because the cave pulled open like an opera curtain to reveal a night sky filled with foreign stars, pink nebulas, and two large moons like antediluvian eyes. The dragon flies through the cold air with increasingly greater speed. His wings ignite. The dragon dances through the air and his motions ignore inertia, gravity, and anything that could possibly constrain the purity of his message. Scales, wings, and claws merge into a mirage of movement. Suddenly, I am no longer watching the dance so much as having an epiphany. A tide of¡­ I am not quite sure what to call it, the closest concept would be ideas or revelations, touch my essence, sharing deep truth about the nature of the soul and the worlds and the relationships therein. I understand that earth will be bound to other spheres, first briefly then for extended periods of time over the eons. I understand that the Watcher sees the world around and through us, and what is unknown to us stays unknown to it, or the fabric of reality might be damaged. I understand that space and time are one. I understand that time itself is a river, no, it is a circle revolving, no, a spiral, no, I am but an ant perceiving an apple slice by slice because I cannot experience it in its entirety. I¡­ I¡­ I am crying. The dance has stopped. The dragon lies before us, and I have fallen to my knees. It was¡­ life-changing. I must focus, try to remember nuggets of the truth revealed to me, but the concepts seep through the sieve of my limited mind. I lack so much background to bind this new knowledge to. I am lost. Eventually, I am left with strands of the tapestries I clutch between jealous fingers, longing for the moment I have lost and will never live again. I have witnessed a gift beyond anything and I am too stupid and limited to appreciate more than a fraction of it. Disgrace. Also, we have lost. Incidentally. The three of us shuffle awkwardly, quite aware that Sinead¡¯s performance does not hold a candle to what we were just offered. Normally, the dragon will recognize great attempts and grant the petitioner a symbolic victory but it appears it will not be the case this time. There are rumors he sometimes kills those who reach him. For the first time since Revas fell, doubts assail me. Our lives depend on the whims of one we cannot possibly influence. ¡°Your next attempt, please,¡± the dragon grumbles. ¡°I challenge you, Great One, to do what I do,¡± Khadras says softly. He looks a bit lost, yet resolute. ¡°Hmph, I know of your fate, child. A mother has no right to sell the soul of her children. Go ahead then.¡± Khadras takes out a dagger and resolutely stabs himself in the eye, the crystal one. He grits his teeth in pain, even though the sharp tip fails to penetrate. Another moment passes, then an unseen force wrenches the dagger from his grip. The enchanted weapon plunges in the dragon eyes with a dreadful squelch, right in the middle of the pupil. Power dense enough to make me reel pushes the dagger out, disintegrating it, enchantment and all. The wound is unmade before it can shed a droplet of blood. Of the weapon, only dust remains. Khadras gulps. ¡°Will then,¡± the prince says. Both Sinead and I turn in horror, but too late. I wince in pain and force the barrier around my mind palace to thicken. The world loses a little bit of color while I take a step back, hurt by the onslaught coming from the prince. He is not even targeting me. His power surprises me, and I assume the moment grants him strength. It is entirely pointless. His might washes over an invisible wall yards away from the dragon¡¯s body like a wave upon a rock. When I was twelve, I challenged my uncle to arm wrestling. He allowed me to struggle for two minutes and even use both hands, then my entire body to try and defeat him. After allowing me to expend myself, he casually put his arm down. I believe this memory to be the only valid comparison to what happens next, the main difference being that Khadras is sent screaming to the ground, a fist over his bleeding quartz orb. Sinead and I approach the fallen to render assistance, but we are pushed away. ¡°Do not interfere,¡± the dragon states, and we pull back. We will not interfere. It must simply be so. I shake my head to push back the dragon¡¯s control but it is already gone, having fulfilled its purpose. At least, Khadras will survive. I am reasonably sure of it. The dragon sighs, a miniature storm we must withstand once more. His gaze turns to me. The world fades away until there is just me and the eye. ¡°And what might you be? A new sphere? Hmmm, not quite yet. Interesting soul. Well, do you wish to try your luck?¡± he asks. I feel an undercurrent of threat mixed with boredom. I am entirely certain that he will kill us if we fail to convince him we were serious enough. By the Watcher, this is complicated. ¡°We can choose the contest, and try several disciplines, is it not so?¡± I ask, unsure. ¡°Yes. I will lose patience after the first few hundreds, however, so pick wisely.¡± ¡°Then I choose¡­ a drinking contest!¡± The two princes watch in horror, especially Khadras who barely recovered from his mishap. I failed to understand how a giant lizard with no facial expression to speak of can convey how unimpressed he is, but the spheres are a strange place anyway. ¡°And I assume I need to provide the drink seeing as you have not a single container on your person, child. Very well, here you go.¡± A volcanic bottle appears out of nowhere on a pedestal that did not exist a moment before. Its cork pops open and pours content in a tiny sifter. A waft of powerful alcohol almost makes me flinch. We vampires with the Hasting essence can consume liquids without ill effect, so I should be entirely fine. I hope. I approach the glass, now filled with fuming, crimson liquid. My eyes water which should not be happening. I grip it with determination and bring its cusp to my lips. The very scent scalds my nostrils. I feel as if someone had scrubbed my lungs with hundred proof alcohol inexplicably holding a touch of flower. By the Watcher. I take a sip. I think, sometimes, that the world throws multiple hints in my direction to inform me an idea of mine is particularly stupid. Unfortunately, it only serves to make me suffer twice since I absolutely cannot back out of the contest. The liquid fire ravages my innards. I must have swallowed lava. I stumble forward and completely lose my balance. ¡°Oooooooawawawa.¡± Oh this is quite nice, in fact. I should not be so worried and oh. Oh no. I collapse and retch bile, then grab my suddenly painful head between two clammy hands. Impossible. Impossible! The dragon upends the bottle in his maw using nothing but the power of his mind since moving one¡¯s limb is apparently too pedestrian. The titanic head splits to reveal fangs as large as support beams. It closes immediately afterwards. ¡°A pleasant surprise, I should demand a few more crates, though it could have been aged a few more millenia. Well, it was a pleasant starter. Next, we raise the stakes with a nice Gordian firebelly rum from the first Blood Court invasion. Unless, of course, you give up.¡± ¡°I apologize but I believe I must withdraw before the next drink sets me on fire.¡± ¡°What a shame.¡± A new bottle appears in the air, this one actually on fire. A rainbow liquid emerges from it and levitates into the creature¡¯s monstrous mouth. The dragon inhales, exhales, and the mere smell of alcohol forces a hand to my mouth. ¡°Too sweet. Well, what is your next attempt, I wonder?¡± ¡°Hmm. Err. Riddles?¡± The dragon snorts yet another storm. ¡°You are missing far too much context to appreciate my riddles, but do ask yours and if I fail ¡ª and it is not some ¡®what is in my pocket¡¯ nonsense ¡ª I shall declare you the victor.¡± ¡°Oh, uh, hmmm. I am worse than the devil, better than¡­ a god, rich folks need me, poor folks have me, and if you eat me, you die. What am I?¡± The dragon literally plucks the knowledge of god and the devil from my mind and without my consent, with such delicate ease that I feel him doing it and it does not hurt. ¡°Your cosmogony lacks sex, in my opinion. And the answer is nothing.¡± ¡°Aw. I liked that one. Alright. I come from nothing. I have no taste, no smell, no consistency, yet I am more painful than the sharpest dagger, and I have destroyed empires and laid waste to armies. What am I?¡± ¡°Hmph, even your riddles are born from a void. You are hunger. It fits you, little predator.¡± ¡°Damn. Hmmm, a king has five miners who produce the same amount of gold coins every day, but one of the miners shaves an ounce from each of his coins. The king has a magical scale of devilish precision with a large capacity but only one use. How can he know in one go which of his miners is stealing from him?¡± ¡°Interesting. I faced a similar situation some time ago. My method was more¡­ definitive. You merely measure one coin of miner one, two coins from miner two, all the way to five against fifteen normal coins. If you are one ounce short, it is miner one, two short, miner two, and so on. An amusing childish guess. It reminds me of different times, when will was not enough to alter the world. Anything else?¡± I do not think I can beat this ancient wit. I challenged him because I was out of ideas, and also because it felt story-like enough. Unfortunately, it will not be enough. I still decide to give it my best try. ¡°A princess is as old as the prince will be when the princess is twice the age that the prince was when the princess''s age was half the sum of their present ages.¡± That gives the dragon a second of pause, but only a second. ¡°An interesting concept, to muddle a matrix with a deliberately obtuse formulation. It unfortunately limits those tricks to base tongues, but it does give me an idea using the Song of Beginnings and its three versions. Hmmm, yes, I believe I can provide my peers with quite a conundrum. Oh, and your princess is four thirds of the age of your prince, and the prince three fourths of the age of the princess.¡± That is it. I give up. I have nothing more twisted. If only Isaac was here with some Rosenthal puzzle. Alas. ¡°Do you have more?¡± the dragon asks. ¡°Nothing that would pose a challenge.¡± ¡°What a shame. Well, this meeting was not a complete waste of my time at least. I am still far from being defeated, however.¡± ¡°How about¡­ a painting challenge?¡± I offer. ¡°And I have to provide the supplies again. Hmph. Fair enough, I suppose. We shall draw each other.¡± ¡°I have a pen,¡± I answer defensively, and so I do. The dragon gives me a canvas and lets me work. I decide to pick the view of his shape far up, just under the clouds, his wings ablaze. I take good care to blur the air around his shape to express just how breathtaking he appeared. While I draw the rest of the sky and the distant mountains with as much realism as possible, the shapes and lines of perspective bends around his form. More than anything, I try to convey how unattainable he seemed, how I felt like a wolf jumping after the moon¡¯s reflection on the surface of a placid lake, thinking they would reach the real thing. I tried to convey the vain hope I felt when I told Metis I would bite him. It is perhaps the smallest subject I have ever drawn since most of the emotion will come from its surroundings. When I pull away from my last adjustments, an unknown period of time has passed, yet the Thirst is still kept at bay. The dragon inspects my work. I can tell from the slight sheen emanating from the colorful bits that I have succeeded, and that the painting would produce an effect on the mind of men, should it be brought back to earth. He keeps silent for quite some time before harrumphing. ¡°Very well. Here is my piece.¡± As before, a canvas appears from the empty air. The dragon then exhales loudly. Bubbles of color escape his maw in a display that would be humorous if he were not so terrifying. They coalesce around the canvas, merging together until the painting is little more than a swirl. Suddenly, the scene appears. *** S?a??h the N0??F?re.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. *** Aaaaand I am crying again. I stop my hand from reaching to Achille¡¯s smile, father¡¯s muscular back, and the healthy hale on our sun-kissed skins. They have left this world while only I remain, but on the canvas and in my heart, they still live. ¡°So beautiful.¡± I drink in the moment and they let me. Eventually, I turn my attention to the old one. ¡°I do not have words in Akkad or Likaean that could do this justice. May I keep it?¡± The dragon frowns and for a moment, I fear the worst, but he relents. ¡°I agree to a swap. I shall keep this rendition of mine, although it is¡­ hmph. You are quite young. I judge it passable.¡± ¡°I appreciate that.¡± ¡°You lose, by the way.¡± ¡°Yes, I did, did I not? Or rather, you won.¡± I grab the painting, which the dragon rolled into a protective case through an effort of will. The process gives me a few seconds to think. Unless the princes have come up with another idea, and from their dejected faces, they have not, the arrogant twerps unused to defeat, then we are at an impasse. I wish we had someone to blame besides us, but we do not. We were so focused on beating the competition to the dragon that we underestimated how difficult it would be to take that last step. In a way, we were right to account for Revas and his tremendous means, we just had the misfortune of meeting the dragon while he was in a bad mood. Now, the fact remains that I have no skill the dragon the dragon is not better at. We simply cannot outperform this old monster. I might as well just¡­ Wait. Hold on. Hmmmm. ¡°Do you have something else or can I go to sleep?¡± the dragon rumbles. ¡°Yes, I do, in fact, have something else,¡± I reply with the most innocent smile I can muster. This immediately makes them all suspicious, and for good reasons! But I shall take comfort in the fact that, even if it does not work, at least the dragon will pay for what we have been through to reach him. ¡°We are going to sing!¡± I exclaim. ¡°By all the spheres, no¡­¡± Sinead breathes, too late. ¡°You want to challenge me to a singing contest?¡± the dragon asks with naked contempt. ¡°Yes. Opera arias to begin with. We shall operate according to the same rules as the riddle. I shall sing until I give up, or until you find a song you deem worthy! Ready?¡± The dragon inspects me with suspicion, yet he is just as bound by the rules as we are. ¡°You may begin.¡± ¡°Excellent.¡± As a starter, I sing my favorite aria: Prendi, per me sei libero from L¡¯elisir d¡¯amore by Donizetti. Once I am done, I see that Sinead has stuffed his ear with fabric he tore from his under armor while Khadras slowly blinks, shocked to his core. As for the dragon, he gives no reaction except for an extremely dilated pupil. ¡°No comments? I shall go on then.¡± Thus begins my campaign of death and destruction on classical composition. I slaughter Lucia di Lammermoor, maim La Traviata, defile Rigoletto, and mangle Aida which only just came out. After I am done insulting the Italians, it is Mozart I choose to vandalize. I massacre the Zauberflote, especially the air of the Queen of the Night which I handle particularly atrociously, then it is the turn of Don Giovanni to be violated. Figaro regrets ever getting wedded after I am done with him. I take a small detour by Paris to ravage Berlioz¡¯ ¡®Les Troyens¡¯, then off to Russia I am to tickle Tchaikovsky. After what must be hours enjoying the increasingly horrified faces of my spectators, I pause to give them a chance to intervene before I go from mild insult to actual torture, and also before I return to Italy to give Rossini what he did not deserve. ¡°I¡­¡± the dragon starts. He stops for a moment, apparently at a loss for words. ¡°How can this be? I can tell you love music and you are genuinely trying, and I can tell you have practiced. It is almost good, then a wrong note or slight waver ruins the song, and then you improve until I gather hope which you promptly dash again. How, in the name of the spheres, can you be so bad?¡± ¡°Perhaps I just need more practice,¡± I reply with a smile. ¡°I still have much to sing, and then we can start on the male arias, and then the choirs!¡± The dragon inhales, no doubt contemplating weeks of uninterrupted musical damnation. ¡°Extraordinary,¡± he finally says after a minute of silence. ¡°I must say I have not been this surprised since Erikel the mad tried to graft dove wings on my nostrils.¡± The dragon sighs a storm again. We all hold our metaphorical breaths, knowing that our fate hangs in the balance. This is it. ¡°Hmph, it is as little Carnaciel says. One can train for a millenium to obtain proficiency, but an eternity is not enough to grow a sense of humor. I may have been¡­ difficult with you lot. You all seem quite young. Oh very well, I applaud your efforts and your creativity. You have impressed me enough that I grant you this victory. Hmph!¡± I try my best not to exult too visibly, although I have no doubt the dragon can see it well enough. ¡°You may ask for a boon, starting with the strange girl. What is it you desire?¡± ¡°Dragon blood! I want dragon blood! Some of your blood! Please!¡± ¡°And you shall have it.¡± The majestic being places a siege-weapon-sized claw against his chest, above the heart, and pulls. Although his scale remains intact, a single droplet of precious liquid levitates above the razor-thin tip. It approaches me. ¡°Open wide.¡± I do so, if only to voice my protest at this casual treatment of the most precious of gifts. Immediately, the droplet lands on my tongue and I ¡ª Ah. *** Sinead walked the steps leading to the deep undergrowth where Blue Court warriors faced beasts and each other in vicious battles. His sure steps found footing among the treacherous roots, carrying him forward up the winding path. All the while, his mind churned with plans and machinations, for the third and final trial would soon be upon him. He found Cadiz sitting on the stone a distance away. Night birds flew around him as he rested, a hand placed on his essence blade. Cadiz illustrated the blind spots inherent to obsessed blade masters, Sinead thought. They, most of all, had trouble accepting that others would live by different values, or would not pursue excellence in a discipline with maniacal focus. At least the old vampire acknowledged his weakness while others did not. ¡°How is she?¡± Sinead asked. Cadiz replied with a clipped accent, his Liakean cracking at the seams to reveal the translated Akkad underneath. Not everyone possessed the inherent skill to learn the perfect tongue. ¡°Articulate. She asked for my blood.¡± ¡°Please tell me you did not give it to her!¡± Sinead hissed. Cadiz shrugged. ¡°It will make no difference at this stage. Besides, she asked me. I cannot refuse one who can beat me so soundly. I have to trigger my Magna Arqa just for a chance to resist her onslaught and she is not even trying seriously. If she asks me for an admission of her superiority, I have to grant it. A Devourer would not tolerate a refusal.¡± ¡°I hope you are right.¡± ¡°You should talk to her. I believe she has mostly returned to sobriety.¡± Sinead nodded and moved on. At the end of a path, he found a secluded glade. The girl sat on a root incongruously grown in its midst. The starlight hit her in a way that broke his concentration. Suddenly, all his planning and calculations ceased, because she was here, just as precious and beautiful as the first day he beheld her, though they had both grown in the meanwhile. Her feet were bare since she had started to refuse shoes. A simple linen dress covered her from the shoulders down to her knees. She delicately held a moonchaser hare by the ears. Those were reputedly impossible to catch on account of their ability to phase through solid matter, a boon that had not sufficed to stop his clueless poppet. The hare itself had stopped struggling while she inspected it, poking its fluffy legs on occasion. She turned to him with obvious excitement. ¡°Rabbit,¡± she announced. ¡°Technically, it is a hare, a different species.¡± ¡°RABBIT!¡± She suddenly seemed moved to tears, beholding her caught prey with all the wonder of a child discovering chocolate. ¡°Rabbiiiiiiiiiiiit,¡± she sobbed. ¡°Yes, I find their fur amazing too, poppet.¡± ¡°Sinead! It is you! Yay! We should make love!¡± ¡°Not until you are yourself again, my dear.¡± ¡°Aw.¡± ¡°You need to pull yourself together so you can return home, poppet. The others are waiting. You have a world to save.¡± The earth dipped under his feet and it was all he could do to remain standing. Suddenly, Ariane was very close, though she was still sitting on her root, and still holding the hare. He looked up to the summer sky of her eyes. They were frowning mightily. ¡°You are trying to get rid of meeeeee. I can tell. Have you killed Revas yet?¡± ¡°No. I still have to compete in the last trial, but would you not prefer to return to your land? I do not need you to participate.¡± ¡°Nah, you need me to win! No unfinished business. I hate unfinished business! If I leave and you die I shall be upset forever! It is so.¡± She nodded to herself. ¡°So¡­ you wish to help me triumph?¡± he asked. ¡°Yus! Triumph! And sex!¡± ¡°A better program I have never heard.¡± Chapter 190: Solstice The brightest sun of the spheres nourished the rolling hills, where the royal capital spread amidst quiet glades and ripening fields. Countless statues of white marble and gold filigree recounted the exploits of generations of warriors, scholars, millennia of victories. Banners from every court captured in battle hung from the walls of barracks, loaded with the weight of a glorious tradition. A new statue of a raging minotaurs dying on his knees now adorns the main thoroughfare. It had been cast in the bronze of ten thousand captured blades from the latest war against the court of blood and its endless aggression. There would be more. There were always more. Slowly, summer was expanding, ever victorious, ever confident, ever arrogant. The light never dimmed on the most radiant of spheres.After more than two centuries, Sinead was home. The court¡¯s power waxed ever so slightly as winter¡¯s grasp ended. Sinead could feel it in the wind, the sun beating on polished stone. He could taste it in the warming air. He could hear it in the cheers of the crowd and the songs of distant birds. He knew it in his heart, wanderer that he was. The king¡¯s blood had never truly left him. He sighed and leaned forward, taking in the sights from his high perch above the pit. The Court of Summer had used claw fiends as a test of might for generations. Hopeful princes and princesses, eager to display their might, had challenged those fearsome foes on the crimson sands of the Zenith Arena to prove they were capable fighters in their own right. To demonstrate to everyone they were worthy of commanding a golden legion in glorious combat. Claw fiends shared the resilience of winter and the ferocity of the Court of Blood. They stood on four razor-sharp legs, using two forearms to grab and two claws to mangle. Quite a few candidates earned wounds from the reveal of a hidden, retractable stinger camouflaged in one of the appendices. Their location changed from specimen to specimen. Between their thick armor, range of motion, and terrifying bouts of speed, a claw fiend allowed a gladiator to demonstrate the full range of their talent. A claw fiend fight attracted spectators without fail if only because of the casualty rate. One in ten hopeful royals lost their lives in the arena. Many more were maimed before being rescued. Such was the fate of those too weak to fight, for they were trying to join summer, and summer was the season of war. It made the current situation all the more farcical, Sinead thought. ¡°COME BACK HERE MISTER LOBSTER MAN!¡± Ariane bellowed with obvious annoyance. Her bare feet danced on the powdery ground, lifting puffs of dust with every flourish. Oh, Sinead had tried to make her wear shoes, but her answer had been as definitive as it had been clear. ¡°Nah. I don¡¯t want to.¡± It was unfortunate that no one short of an assembly of princes could force her to wear anything. Even Cadiz had excused himself from that battle. The genius swordsman had claimed he would not taste the bitterness of defeat for such a worthless cause. And so the vampire wove across the field in a short linen dress, hair free, wielding a giant chef knife as a weapon. Said chef sat in the bleachers, occupying eight seats with his girthy bottom. ¡°You have to expose ze entire muscle, or ze sauce will not be spread evenly,¡± the titanic man helpfully suggested. Ariane ducked under the stinger, used the creature¡¯s blind spot to race along razor-sharp legs, then jumped over a claw backswing. She landed pommel-first on the exposed appendage, cracking the shell and exposing the quivering, pink flesh underneath. Another chitinous plate joined its brethren on the floor. The claw fiend whined piteously. The vampire raced back to the large bottle of dark sauce discarded against the wall and picked it up. She ran back to find that the fiend had once again moved from the position she had left it in, much to her surprise. Ariane¡¯s addled mind had not yet processed that her victim would run rather than having acidic sauce poured over a gaping wound. ¡°Arg! Where are you going?¡± she demanded, before swearing in the vampire tongue. A joust followed, with the foe trying desperately to shatter the container and the vampire doing her best to pour the precious liquid to finish preparing the beast for consumption. It did not help that, for this attempt, she had forgotten to remove the stopper. Finally, she lost her patience and returned to grab the knife for another peeling session. It had been going on for quite some time. ¡°No need to panic, fiends stay fresh for half a day,¡± the giant helpfully added. The spectators were now betting on how many cycles it would take to finish the bullied monster. The crowd cheered after the pommel descended on its blue shell, eliciting another ghastly crack. In Sinead¡¯s mind palace, the giant chef finally registered as an entity worthy of his time. The mountain-like man clad in pristine white fabric was a herald of the feast. The dishes he fashioned graced the palates of the king. With a sigh, the prince stood from his seat and took his leave. For now. ¡°Please excuse me, I must greet an old friend,¡± he told the master of ceremony. His richly dressed host showed no reaction, then his keen eyes noticed the prince¡¯s body language. He finally granted him a delayed smile. ¡°But of course. Your time here is precious,¡± the man casually replied. Sinead turned around and walked out of the lodge of honor under a bright sun. Once again, a part of his consciousness registered the message hidden behind honeyed words. The master of ceremony believed Sinead¡¯s point had been made, and that his agent should expedite the combat. Talking with the herald of the feast could satisfy this request as well, if Sinead played it well. He recalled the little he knew. A passion for cuisine, obviously. Trained in the Court of Stone. The prince had been away from the palace for too long, and it was too late anyway. The chef turned a beady eye towards him in a way that showed he expected the visit. Sinead expected it. No amount of skill sufficed here, at the edge of the royal domain. One had to understand politics to survive. Sinead hurried his pace. The arena was growing to accommodate newcomers, the summer citizens here to watch this strange display. New levels rose from the ground to expand the sitting areas. He only slowed down to bow gently. Although a prince technically outranked a chef, there were many princes and princesses, but only one true master of the culinary arts. In any case, Sinead had learned to show respect unless he had a reason to do otherwise. ¡°A good day to you, Herald of the Feast. I hope my friend will not damage your knife through prolonged, poor handling. She is not quite herself,¡± Sinead said amicably. ¡°Oh, Amaryll¡¯s child! Sinead, was it?¡± said the giant. ¡°Do not be alarmed, this is merely a training knife. You know, I have always entertained the thought of cooking as a spectator sport. I simply did not expect it could be a comedy as well!¡± ¡°She is full of surprises,¡± Sinead admitted with a grin, then cursed himself immediately as the giant¡¯s massive eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. ¡°I found her display refreshing,¡± the chef replied, then he proved he had not missed the meaning hidden behind Sinead¡¯s use of ¡®prolonged¡¯. ¡°But I believe I will relish her duel more.¡± He turned his massive chest towards the center and bellowed in a voice like an earthquake. ¡°Can you be a dear and cut the head cleanly? I can use it for a soup.¡± Ariane twisted on herself to give an obvious, unnecessary nod of assent. The fiend did not miss the opportunity presented by an exposed back, and Sinead¡¯s breath caught in his throat. For one fugacious instant, all of his plans, all of his schemes collapsed. The partitions in his mind crashed down, undone by the intensity of his concern. She would be fine. She had to be fine. He went for his blade. A root launched her above the thrust of a poisoned stinger. Gravity stuck her dress to her body, the thin cloth kissing the curve of a thigh, the flat expanse of her stomach up to the twin vales of her breasts. Blonde hair trailed her lovely face like a halo. At the apex of her jump, she was a dancer and a slayer, seamlessly joining both arts. Dainty toes caught another root. She fell with the finality of a guillotine¡¯s blade. The chef knife cleaved through the beast¡¯s neck at a perfectly perpendicular angle. Its blade stuck in the sand. She landed on the pommel with preternatural grace while the fiend¡¯s decapitated body contracted like a clenched fist. Sinead released the death grip on his sword finger by finger. He buried the terrible longing under layer upon layer of masks, drowning the pain born from her rejection. He deserved it, he reminded himself. He deserved it for not trusting her, for betraying that pure affection. He had lost her as surely as if she had died. If he repeated that sentence often enough, perhaps he would eventually believe it. Hope could be so cruel, sometimes. Momentarily stunned by the abrupt end, the crowd nonetheless cheered. They believed Ariane had been fast and decisive to finish the show. Sinead knew she was still merely playing around. He returned to his seat after taking his leave. ¡°I am convinced,¡± the Master of Ceremony said drily. ¡°You can indeed bring her as your third in the duels.¡± ¡°Second,¡± Sinead corrected. The two men glared at each other in silence, each bristling from the other¡¯s understated rebuke. Nevertheless, Sinead could not back down due to their respective roles, and the master knew he had let his impatience get the better of him. It was, after all, a very minor event in the grand scheme of things. Only the first eight heirs shuffling would matter to the court at large. It mattered to Sinead. In fact, it mattered a lot, because he had offered her to leave and she had decided to stay, even as the rush blurred her mind. She still cared for him, deep inside. No, she did not, he had to forget that soon they would be parted for an eternity. He would win this contest no matter what, or his eternity would end today. He would not waste this chance. ¡°Very well. I was told her kind only ruled because of the rigidity of their own sphere, yet it seems they can still perform in a real domain. I believe Prince Revas is ready. Now that the preliminary match is over, I shall start the main event. If you will excuse me, I have a few small matters to attend to before we begin. I am sure you do as well.¡± Sinead nodded. The Master of Ceremony had unsubtly revealed Revas had suggested the contest, possibly in an attempt to distract or handicap them with wounds. His last words suggested there was another trap. Although Sinead appreciated the warning, he knew Revas had already tried to have Khadras recalled at the last minute. Truly, his elder brother did not balk at the lowest of tricks despite his valorous persona. It was a shame for him that the Seeker Sovereign had taken the scheme personally. The prince stood and walked to the gladiators sitting tightly in the rafters in tight ranks around his mother, wife, and son. ¡°It is time,¡± he told them. While his family ritually embraced him to wish him luck, Ariane¡¯s free gladiators kept an eye out. They were an eclectic sort, even decked in a blue and gold uniform to signify their allegiance. They truly represented what it had taken for Sinead to reach this moment where a lost lamb could challenge an established power. The other liberated fae were here as well to offer their tacit blessing, so that the arena showed an extraordinary number of strangers. Revas would try to argue Sinead was an outsider backed by more outsiders. Sinead was expecting it. Sinead was counting on it. He breathed deeply to push his fears away. He had done all he could to prepare. The prince turned on himself just to see Ariane chew on a strand of fiend claw flesh, its extremity quivering under the effect of the sauce. Sinead believed she could not truly eat it. It was not for lack of trying, however. A hand sign on his part gathered her attention. She replied to his signal with an exaggerated wink, then she waved the piece of meat, collected both knife and sauce, then left the arena through the victory gate. It was going to be a long day. Six contestants stood across the sandy expanse of the fighting pit. They carried their helms in their hands while their blades were sheathed as protocol dictated. The Master of Ceremony waited at a distance in the early afternoon¡¯s stifling light. Sinead himself wore gold and blue scales, an armor designed by Sivaya herself. His sword radiated heat despite the hand he kept on its bone handle. By his left, Khadras bore the silver armor and crystalline halberd he favored. Revas would not fail to notice the seeker¡¯s disheveled appearance, but would not know what to make of it. Ariane had taken this step seriously. Sinead suspected the vampire was no longer quite as drunk as before, possibly through an effort of will. The Aurora armor clad her body while she kept Rose hidden, having instead taken a saber which hung from a sheath on her back. She appeared relaxed compared to the rest of them. Her only concession to comfort was the parasol she insisted on keeping above her head when she was not fighting. Revas had once again chosen the garb of a warrior heir in golden plate armor. A broadsword and shield pair hung from his back. They glowed with barely contained power. The red woman who served as his second bristled with rage. Her attention would not leave the uncaring countenance of the vampire. Her left hand had been replaced by a prosthesis covered in amber stone, the fingers ending in claws. The skin was red and puffy around the edge, and black veins expanded from the stump like swirling tattoos. The last member of Revas¡¯ retinue was a member of a rare and elusive race called the Mon. Stone covered most of its features and it held a mace in its craggy fingers. Sinead knew the Mon were considered immune to mind magic of any form. He stopped himself from smiling at Revas bringing foreign assets for his last battle. It reeked of desperation, to replace known allies by agents taylored to counter opponents. Adaptability was not part of Revas¡¯ persona. The man had always favored tradition. The mask he had chosen was starting to crack at the seams. As for Sinead, he had rarely been himself more. After all, he had brought two royals to a royal contest. The amusing thought soothed his frayed nerves. In games like these, only when the last card was down would the game be decided. The chaotic contest he had chosen introduced too many variables. Just as Sinead thought he might relax, a whisper breathed through the arena. A hiss of warm air quieted the diverse crowd. For a single instant, the light shone so much it seemed Ariane would wither. Her parasol cast a shade the size of a ball on the blazing sand, so small it seemed barely more than a pinprick of darkness, then the moment was gone. To his side, the Master of Ceremony blinked once. Revas¡¯ nostrils flared. He knew. They all knew. Ariane grumbled under her breath and soon, a wave of cold air spread out. A few droplets of water fell from the eternal ice of her armor. The king was in attendance. As one man, every citizen of summer turned and bowed, leaving their many guests sitting awkwardly, willing to honor their host but unsure how to proceed. A benevolent wave of hand that was more felt than seen freed them from protocol. The sovereign was not here in his official capacity. His aura retracted until it was almost imperceptible. Only a remnant of it remained, a mere trick of the light, a ghost at the edge of the vision. It would¡­ complicate matters for Ariane, but she was more than a match for their foes, he thought. The Master of Ceremony retrieved a ceremonial coin from his pocket and flipped it. It fell on the edge, as was normal. The side facing Sinead showed the emblem of a moon. ¡°Prince Sinead will come second. Prince Revas selects the order.¡± Sinead held back a smile, as the order favored him this time. A good omen. ¡°The seconds shall face each other, then the third, and then us if necessary,¡± Revas declared. s?a??h th? Nov?lF?re .??t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. ¡°Gor is my third, Lady Mareath is my second.¡± It was Sinead¡¯s turn to announce. It would let him swap his second and third, thus canceling the prince¡¯s favorable matchups. The Court of Blood madwoman foamed at the mouth at the thought of being deprived of a rematch. The Master of Ceremony stared, waiting for his decision. This time, Sinead did smile. ¡°Ariane of the Nirari is my second. Seeker Khadras is my third.¡± Sinead knew he had declared his absolute confidence in his success, and that fortune did pay attention to the daring. Sometimes, she took them down, but Sinead¡¯s confidence did not come from sheer cockiness. He had seen Ariane fight now. Or rather, he had not seen. As for Khadras, the stone creature was in for a nasty surprise. ¡°Very well. The contestants except the seconds will return to their quarters until summoned. May you fight with all your might, for you fight under the gaze of summer¡­¡± ¡°And summer is the season of war,¡± they finished. Sinead walked back to his gate with Khadras in tow. It took a solid minute to reach it, because the area had grown yet again to accommodate the influx of spectators. Such was the sovereign¡¯s influence that thousands would flood the rafters over the next minute, eager to see what caught his eye. It would make the world more willing to bend, which suited him just fine. The prince and the seeker stopped near a wall, where a mirror showed the upcoming fight. The red woman clanged her scale armor with her fist. Her move signaled the beginning of the time-honored tradition of pre-duel banter. The arena crowd loved it, yet beyond that it would also set the stage for their whole confrontation. The spheres loved a good show, especially when it ended in death. ¡°My name is Mareath, the unbound. I have broken free of the frenzy of my sphere and cast its perpetual rage from my heart. I have left the red lands and crossed the battlefield towards the side of good. Now, I serve summer through my allegiance to Prince Revas whose exploits I have no need to repeat. You are a creature of the cold dark, vampire. I know your kind. Your ¡®rescues¡¯ spoke to us of their treatment at the hands of your kin. But that is not all we learned. You fear the light because they reveal what you are, beasts without substance. Fakes who steal a body to plague your world, hiding in the dark corners with your schemes and your games. You fear fire for it will purge your existence and return you to ash. You are in summer now, creature, the seat of fire and light. Your arrogance led you here, to me. This is the end of your tricks.¡± The red woman ceremoniously placed a circlet on her scarlet brow. Sinead recognized a ward against mind magic. Ariane visibly rolled her eyes. She was still holding her parasol, which meant it would technically be counted as her chosen weapon in the official records. Her foe was not done yet, however. ¡°I will cleanse this place from your presence as the first act of justice against your entire race of jailors and parasites, and then I will rebuild myself a hand with your frigid entrails,¡± the red woman concluded. Sinead¡¯s dear poppet inspected her frozen gauntlet, before replying with a bored voice. ¡°Good luck with that. My name is Ariane of the Nirari and I do not trade barbs with my appetizers.¡± The crowd conceded appreciative ¡®oohs¡¯ because they loved supreme confidence the most. No matter what, one person would be humiliated before this was over. Sinead smiled in his heart, knowing for a fact Ariane did, in fact, exchange banter with her appetizers on several occasions. The intensity of her provocations were proportional to her foe¡¯s susceptibility to them. He could hardly blame her for the hypocrisy considering he did the same. The Master of Ceremony left the sandy expanse and reappeared shortly at the lodge of honor. He held a marble in his hand. ¡°This duel has no rules, save for that of interference. You may begin at the ring of the bell.¡± Ariane and Mareath stood apart. Silence reigned in the bleachers, where thousands of people had gathered with still more taking their seats. A light wind blew over the arena. The honor lodge¡¯s deep bell chimed. Ariane unfurled her parasol immediately and waited. As for the red woman, her time had come to take her revenge or die trying. The amber stone in her gauntlet shone with ever-increasing intensity. Soon, even the mirror was blinded by its intensity. Only a dark spot remained in the sea of light some distance away. Sinead spotted the shape of an extended hand at the epicenter of the miniature sun, then fire joined the blinding radiance. Crimson tongues licked the sand, melting it. The purifying torrent went on for a while. Its intense heat forced the closest spectators to recoil before the onslaught. It culminated with a cry of pure rage and desire to live. Slowly, the light returned to the softer glow of a summer afternoon, revealing snakes of molten glass expanding from the now kneeling Mareath. Her gauntlet hissed, red and angry. The amber stones had dimmed considerably after the onslaught. Mareath searched the ground for a trace of her foe. Sinead knew she lived, for his eyes had never left the spot of darkness. The ruins of the torched parasol fall to reveal a ball of entwined roots. A large circle of frozen ground remains. The ground there is the blue of permafrost. Hot and cold air form a powerful current that lifts scorched fabric towards the sky. The sphere of roots exploded outward in a flurry of limbs that the tiny ball could not possibly have contained. A thin branch grabbed Mareath by the ankle and sent her against the nearby wall with a dreadful splat. It was so fast that Sinead could barely follow it. Sinead smiled. He knew his poppet would not resist. ¡°Oh no, light and fire, my true weaknesses. Oh no no no how could have I foreseen this development? I am undone,¡± a bored voice said. ¡°If only I could have prepared a countermeasure.¡± And there it was. The banter. Ariane stepped out from the protective embrace of her Magna Arqa, which expanded to cover the entirety of the arena. Above her, in the jealous sky of one of the oldest spheres, the entity she calls ¡®Hayatu¡¯, the Watcher, opened a slit pupil. Sinead recentered his attention to the ongoing conflict before the horror¡¯s gaze could capture his mind. Some of the spectators were not so lucky. The prince had felt its influence only a few times but he knew it was as powerful as it was distant. The sovereign allowed the foreign influence to affect his subjects and guests for a moment, then he grabbed their attention back with a wave of his domain, thus freeing the unwitting moths from that alien light. The eye remained however, and so did its champion. Ariane did not move from her spot. She did not draw either. Mareath coughed and fell to her knee. A wave of her hand incinerated the branch. She stood through a sheer effort of will and gasped. ¡°This is not over! Hellish Pursuer!¡± A ball of roaring inferno arched over the arena. Once it reached the halfway point, it met a cold front. The projectile petered and died a few paces away from Ariane¡¯s impassible face. ¡°Hm? Oh, yes. Polar midnight.¡± Voiceless casting always remained a mark of power. This was not a battle, Sinead thought, but a humiliation. He always found Ariane amusing when she was dominating her opponent, a bit like a cat playing with her food. She also avoided the old pitfall of underestimating her opponent too much. Even now, her domain expanded far to keep the situation under control. Mareath knew it. Her expectations had been dashed, but she was far from giving up. Sinead fully expected it. Someone who escaped the Court of Blood could not give up, even in the face of desperate odds. It was touching, how she charged forward into the hell of thorns with nothing but her courage. It was not enough, however. It would never be enough. The spheres did not do happy endings. A curtain of thorns opened to her side. A massive arm punched out from its confines, hitting her side with a shriek of tortured metal. She rolled to the side and came up, gauntlet raised to fend off the titanic wolf man emerging behind her. She was so focused that she failed to notice the next rift open. A battleaxe of monstrous size descended on her extended hand and severed it, slightly above the stump. The red woman¡¯s gauntlet was sent flying. She gave a shrill scream. It ended when armored knuckles compressed her windpipe. Ariane exposed her neck and bit¡­ and then pulled back. ¡°This saber belonged to Syma the Red,¡± Ariane commented as she pulled the saber from her back. ¡°I got it for her. She was an ally. I have left a great many of those in my wake to come to this point. Dalton. Nashoba. Mannfred. Names that mean nothing to you. Syma was an arena fighter like us until you shamelessly poisoned her with a dart. See, I may have lost people but I do not forget, and in the end, I always, always¡­ get¡­ even.¡± Ariane skewered the other woman through the armor and let the body fall, then she withdrew her Magna Arqa and walked back to him. It amused Sinead that she was supposed to leave through the gate of the victors. She must have been distracted and returned to him instead. Her mind was perhaps still not yet recovered. The accidental attention pleased him nonetheless. He smiled broadly when she sat by his side. ¡°Congratulations are in order, poppet. Are you back to your normal self?¡± The woman glanced at Khadras who appeared to be meditating with mixed results. She shrugged. ¡°Not quite yet. I had a¡­ premonition, of sorts. It was a rather unnerving and unexpected occurrence, so now my fun is gone and I am trying my best to focus. I still feel a little out of sorts, that is why I did not approach Mareath before disarming her, just in case she had a way to detonate her stones. Now that I had this vision, I know this battle will decide much. I also know what to ask as a prize.¡± ¡°Please do not request the blood of my father. He will not take the request kindly.¡± She waved his concerns aside. ¡°I am not so bold, Sinead. I need something else. I absolutely must have it before I return.¡± ¡°And what is that precious prize?¡± ¡°You will see.¡± The voice of the Master of Ceremony interrupted their discussion, announcing the coming of the next fight. Khadras grabbed his halberd between two silver-clad hands. He was sweating. A nervous tension shook his stooped shoulders while his ears shivered above his head. There was pain in the pink of his eyes. Pain, and anticipation. To everyone outside, he looked like a man on the verge of collapse, but Sinead knew better. Khadras was on the verge of a difficult choice. His handsome face scrunched in anticipation. The Master of Ceremony stepped up from the honor lodge the king occupied. ¡°You may begin,¡± he merely said. The two contestants burst into motion. Khadras lunged gracefully. The tip of his polearm slid over a hastily raised mace, scoring a small gash in Gor¡¯s stone skin¡­ and little else. The heavy warrior immediately slapped the haft aside with a swing of his heavy mace, then counter-attacked. It soon became apparent that Khadras could not compete in terms of strength with the large golem-like warrior, and so he did not try. He would dodge backward or duck under heavy mace swings with practiced movements. His landed accurately and any other foe would be bleeding from a dozen wounds by now, but Gor simply twisted on himself, angling his body to absorb the shock and only leave behind the barest of scratches. All of his efforts were for nothing. After a particularly heated exchange, the seeker spoke a few words and the air blurred around his foe. It was clear he expected little. Even the mind-numbing magic felt brittle to those who were familiar with seekers, and Gor shrugged it off completely. It was obvious that Khadras was slowly being pushed back while his enemy conserved his strength, patiently backing him in a corner. Sinead waited for the fateful moment when Khadras would face the abyss and take a bold step forward. It happened later than he thought, but not too late to condemn him. After a particularly vicious exchange where the seeker carved a furrow in the stone man¡¯s face, an enraged backswing smashed into the crystal blade and shattered it. Pieces of diamond rained on the ground, pearlescent shards as lethal as any blade. The crowd held their breath as they knew it was impossible. No seeker weapon should have been destroyed so easily. Even Gor seemed taken aback by this unexpected development. Khadras gasped and kneeled, grabbing the largest piece with firm resolve. Crimson blood stained the sharp edge. ¡°I didn¡¯t know if I could find the strength, yet now I have no choice but to do so.¡± He then resolutely planted the improvised weapon in his eye. Khadras screamed a horrible, soul-rending shriek. A cry of such exquisite agony that shivers spread across the spectators like a ripple across a calm pond. The cry did not stop for several seconds while he used the fragment as a lever. An orb of crystal still attached to fleshy tissue popped out of the socket with a torrent of blood, each strand breaking one by one. Khadras was no longer driven by choice, but by insanity born from the bleakest torment. The ghastly spectacle froze even Gor in his tracks. After what felt like an eternity, the hare-eared warrior held a pinkish globe in his trembling fingers. Gor knew he had let an opportunity pass and, with a roar, he charged forward. Khadras casually tossed the remnant at his foe. The jewel exploded in a shower of mineral shrapnel and the stone man roared, grasping at his savaged face. In turn, the lost seeker did not attack. He grasped feverishly for an item from his pouch and brandished it towards the sky. The mirror focused on it, revealing a tiny scale imprinted with an ancient rune of the red moon. ¡°Grandmother. Please. I beg you. Please.¡± A breath caressed the arena. The sovereign deigned to withdraw his influence, and the afternoon sun turned momentarily to twilight. All eyes glanced up to a new celestial body, a visitor in those proud skies. A temporary guest. The moon hung there, full and dripping. Shadows extended from every shade. They melded together in seas of dark. The seeker cried tears of blood, enraptured by whispers at the edge of Sinead¡¯s hearing. Khadras could hear, understand. He offered his reply. ¡°Yes. Yes of course. We do not ask. We take. I will be worthy of you, grandmother.¡± The dragon scale pulsed and flattened. Khadras smashed it against the gaping wound of his orbit. It stuck, forming a runed eyepatch. ¡°Yeessssssss.¡± Antlers grew from Khadras¡¯ brow. The end of his halberd turned from shattered to jagged. He leaned forward, all placid countenance lost to a deep fury. He gave the recovering Gor a pink-tinged sneer filled with the promise of violence. And then he charged. At first, the hurt Gor and changed Khadras were evenly matched, but the experienced stone man soon recovered. Khadras was not used to this new aggressive style. He was more cub than lynx, and while the changed spear bit deep, it did not bite deep enough. Gor finally scored a glancing blow and sent Khadras careening to the ground. The fallen seeker winced as he stood back with difficulty. It soon turned to a wide grin. ¡°I have never felt so alive.¡± By Sinead¡¯s side, a voice spoke. ¡°A TRUE HUNTER UNDERSTANDS PATIENCE.¡± Sinead froze in fear before remembering that screaming advice at fighters was legal. Khadras hummed and returned to the fight. He was less messy now, hints of his earlier control seeping in the way he moved. He did not take long for his spear to catch Gor in the elbow, digging almost to the hilt. The fallen seeker withdrew a blade stained white. ¡°So you do bleed,¡± he hissed. Gor bellowed in pain and anger. He went on a rampage, swinging the heavy implement with furious abandon. The series ended with a powerful downward swing that missed Khadras by a hair. The fallen seeker planted the spear in Gor¡¯s revealed wrist, skewering it. The stone man lost his grip. Khadras grabbed the mace with both hands, laughing all the while. He took it and smashed it against the stone man¡¯s body. The rest of the combat was more of an execution. Gor never surrendered. Or perhaps he was not given the opportunity. The red of the blood moon lingered until Khadras left the arena, trailing his gore-drenched trophy behind him. The one-eyed Prince of the Court of the Blood Moon greeted Ariane with a nod, from one hunter to another. Then he collapsed, thoroughly exhausted. Sinead and Ariane caught him as he fell. The vampire looked up to him, still calm and composed. ¡°Hm, unless I am mistaken, welcome to the council, Prince Sinead,¡± she said. ¡°You may kneel,¡± he deadpanned. ¡°You wish.¡± A healer moved towards them and the pair left Khadras in her care. It was time to collect. Sinead felt very strange. He who had lived for a thousand years had experienced so many events. Great food and great wine could be appreciated, but not as much as the first time. He had long believed the only raw emotion that could still move him was a deep love, but it appeared relief and triumph could move him to tears as well. After decades of surviving Revas¡¯ petty persecution, after nearly a century of suffering on the human world where he was but a shadow of his true self, after the subjective years of trying and preparation, he had done it. He could feel in his breast the fire of summer rise like a new dawn, acknowledging his victory. A heady pleasure rushed through his body born of pride and the knowledge that he could finally turn his back to a door and reasonably expect that there could be no assassins. Oh, it would not last, but nothing in life did, and he had long since learned to appreciate the moment. There was just one thing left to do. Leaving through the gate with Ariane by his side, Sinead walked out over the warm sand under the cheers of ten thousand throats. The master of ceremony waited for him, as did a stoic Revas and a tall figure in a yellow doublet, his noble brow bearing a crown of molten gold radiating heat. He stopped at a short distance and kneeled while Ariane gave a deep bow, as befit a foreign dignitary. ¡°Father,¡± he greeted. MY SONS. The sovereign held himself back out of concern for Ariane, which Sinead appreciated. Though the laws of hospitality protected her, he could have decided to ¡®accidentally¡¯ make her uncomfortable. Once more, a peculiar sense of unreality shocked the prince to his core. The times he had met his father could be counted on the fingers of two hands, and now he was so close, so real. A family member rather than a distant king. Sinead looked in those eyes as intense as the sun and felt familiarity, a sort of resonance. He was truly of summer, not just an exile among wandering performers. It was all he had hoped for and more. The sovereign inspected the still bowing Ariane and frowned. Looking up, he waved his hand at the distant form of the Watcher. Although the spectators would miss it, Sinead felt the roll of an immense power, a world-changing might that could open volcanoes under enemy cities. Such contained power defied understanding. Sadly, nothing happened. The Watcher kept watching. The king¡¯s mouth formed an appreciative ¡®oh¡¯ of surprise. Sinead pretended very hard that nothing had happened. YOU BRING ME AN INTERESTING GUEST, PRINCE SINEAD. AS BEFIT THE NEWEST MEMBER OF THE COUNCIL. He breathed out, and suddenly all the arena was within his domain. SUMMER IS ETERNAL, YET WE ARE NOT. ONLY THOSE WHO CHANGE REMAIN ON TOP, ONLY THOSE WHO NEVER STOP NEVER TRULY FALL. FOR EONS, THE COURT OF SUMMER HAS SHONE OVER THE LIKAEAN SPHERES, KEEPING ITS FOES AT BAY THROUGH MARTIAL MIGHT, INTEGRITY, AND TRADITION. WE HAVE DONE SO THROUGH CEASELESS EFFORT AND WE SHALL KEEP DOING SO UNTIL THE LAST STAR WINKS OUT. TODAY, A PRINCE FALLS AND A PRINCE RISES. SUCH IS OUR WAY, FOR ONLY THE BEST SHOULD RULE. MAY THE RISEN NEVER GROW COMPLACENT, AND MAY THE FALLEN RISE AGAIN ONE DAY. ALL HAIL PRINCE SINEAD, FIFTY-SIXTH OF THE COUNCIL OF NINE TIMES NINE. MAY HE MEET WITH SUCCESS. The crowd cheered once more, even the foreign guests roaring their approval of his victory. Sinead found his mother and fiancee cheering for him, along with some of his children. It was an amazing moment. WHAT WILL YOUR FIRST ACTION BE? The king¡¯s smile was resigned. He must already know, of course. ¡°Ladies and gentlemen, spectators, appreciators of the fine arts, greetings!¡± Sinead bellowed with his arms apart. The crowd loved it, of course. Sinead felt the electrifying pleasure of his own nascent domain expand as his rightful rank helped him grow in power. He knew what he was. He knew who he had always been. He was an entertainer, a dancer, a duelist and a scoundrel. It felt great to be truly oneself, sometimes. ¡°Far from me to begin my tenure by robbing you of a good fight! I know you were expecting three duels¡­ You were, you blood-loving rascals! You expected one of us to lose!¡± The crowd returned good-natured jeers. Sinead waved them off. ¡°I do not truly blame you, and so my first generous act as your fifty-sixth prince will be to return what I was only too happy to rob: your last duel¡­ provided my brother agrees, of course.¡± For one moment, Sinead truly believed Revas might refuse. It would be an acceptable move, and one he could graciously execute by suggesting a better candidate. In a few hundred years, no one would remember and he could return¡­ but Revas was too greedy. Sinead could see the fire of ambition burning in his eyes. If Revas were to slay him now, he could claim final victory in the contest and declare Sinead lost to his own sense of flair. It was a lifeline to the preservation of his status. Revas always believed he was the hero of his own tale while Sinead knew better. Fate did not favor the hero or the villain. As Ariane would say, fate favored superior firepower. And Sinead had not brought his dragon boon for nothing. ¡°Of course, I would not want to disappoint, brother,¡± Revas stated. The sound carried over the sand and the spectators went wild, all except Sinead¡¯s family and the king himself. He knew he would watch one of his children die today. Sinead would have more sympathy if he had not been at risk of dying for a very, very long time. THEN YOU HAVE MY BLESSING. BE STRONG, MY SONS, FOR YOU ARE SUMMER¡­ ¡°And summer is the season of war,¡± they both finished. The king left while the two siblings faced each other, light armor and long blade against heavy plate with sword and shield. Sinead had prepared for this moment for a very long time. After they had won the dragon hunt, he had returned to the time chamber for one more year and a half. The Blue Court had provided masters and training partners specialized in close forms of fencing. Sinead was as ready as he was going to be. Revas drew first. The sun reflected on polished, summer-made metal shimmering with enchantments. It was a noble blade. He must have paid a pretty sum for it. Sinead drew as well. The white, mineral blade ignited with a deep blue fire. Whispers spread across the bleachers. Many recognized the appearance of the blade. After all, his father had a similar one. He felt his domain expand and settle a little more with every piece of legitimacy he acquired. By comparison, Revas¡¯ domain waned but only a little. He had been on the council for a very, very long time, and nothing could dull his achievements. Revas knew in which direction the momentum was going. Time was not on his side. He struck first, and Sinead danced. He was free. For the first time since he first escaped his brother¡¯s goons, he was free, himself, unmasked, and unbound. He wanted the world to know it. He also didn¡¯t want to become a cautionary tale, so he parried Revas¡¯ blade without flourish. Time was on his side. He would dance carefully. And he did. Revas was a moving rock, trained to be an anchor at the heart of a summer formation. He attacked with relentless fury for short periods of time then returned to defense, where he would occasionally throw a spear of flames or another spell. Sinead waltzed around his figure, poking and prodding. When Revas attacked, he twirled away and respected his foe to get used to his unique style. There was no need to hurry. Revas remained extremely dangerous as the veteran of a hundred battles. His shield was not just protection, it was also a bashing weapon in its own right. The two attacked each other relentlessly until seconds turned to minutes, a breathless exchange that never truly stopped. The crowd stayed at the edge of their seat, waiting for one of the combatants to falter, but they never did. Both were princes of a war-like nation, though they differed in many ways. Both were formidable in their own rights. Sinead was having the time of his life. Despite the risk of death, his heart beat a maddened rhythm. Revas would let blows slide over shield and pauldrons. He was the immovable object to Sinead¡¯s unstoppable force. The tall warrior¡¯s fierce offenses sent chills down Sinead¡¯s pine with their precise violence. Their domains clashed, almost matched now that Sinead had formed his own¡­ but Revas had made a mistake. He had hired an outsider to beat Khadras. Revas embodied tradition, and instead of calling upon an ally, he had selected a warrior likely to counter a seeker. Worse, his scheme had failed. It created a chink in the man¡¯s persona while Sinead was and had always been his own self. Little by little, white pinpricks accumulated on the shield and armor where Sinead had struck them. By the time Revas realized, it was already too late. His right pauldron was ablaze. Fire magic was a summer speciality. Revas managed to keep the flare under control through an effort of will, but he could not completely smother it. His attacks grew more frantic. Sinead still waited for an opening. It would come, he knew. Victory was within his grasp. Suddenly, the shield was much larger in his field of vision. Suddenly, the shield slammed into him, thrown away by his foe. Revas¡¯ blade pierced through the fragilized membrane and right into Sinead¡¯s heart. Or where the heart would have been if he had not twisted at the last instant. The damaged summer blade slid over the powerful defenses of Sivaya¡¯s armor. His own blade hit higher. He was rewarded with a choking sound. The shield fell in fragments, revealing a very surprised Revas with charcoal where most of his neck used to be. ¡°Just like you to throw your precious things away. Goodbye, brother,¡± Sinead mocked. The victor spread his arms and basked in the adoration of the crowd. Chapter 191: Coronation I stand in the shadow cast by my little parasol, a new iteration in a line of objects doomed to fail here in the court of fire and light, in the sphere of righteous war, under the gaze of its sovereign. It provides the little dot of penumbra I need to anchor my power, so that the cold and dark can lurk at the edge as they always do. Without this, I could not face him and stand. A vampire of lesser power would be leaking ash from disintegrating fingers by now, so powerful he is. I can only thank the Watcher that he elected to make only our native sun a bane, rather than every star, or my little foray into the spheres would have been more difficult.Regardless, the heat beats upon my shoulders like a hammer. Scalding air scorches my back even as the Aurora attempts to keep it at bay. The sovereign holds himself back, I can feel. He has withdrawn from me the same aura that Sinead now basks in, and I owe my continued survival to his restraint, a restraint that much more commendable since he has failed to cast away the Watcher. I hope he does not ask me to make him leave because I would have a better chance tickling Nirari to death with an ostrich feather. Thankfully, the king and the crowd¡¯s attention are fully dedicated to the smiling, rakish prince. It is his day after all. VICTORY IS YOURS, YOUR ASCENDENCY IS COMPLETE. Behind the powerful feeling of recognition, I feel a relatively hidden note of grief in the sovereign¡¯s words. His Likaean is the truest form of language, and its meaning cannot be faked. Although he promotes a cut-throat approach to social climbing, the king obviously regrets the deaths it brings. I come to wonder if he would have felt such pain at the death of Sinead back when he was alone and isolated. Perhaps he only cares about the more notable ones. It would not surprise me. His congratulations feel genuine, however, and after a few more platitudes comes the heart of the matter. YOU MAY ASK A BOON OF US. ¡°I wish to inherit Revas¡¯ estate,¡± Sinead declares without hesitation. IT SHALL BE SO, MINUS WHAT IS OWED TO HIS WIVES AND OFFSPRING, ACCORDING TO OUR RULES. ¡°Thank you, father.¡± The sovereign turns to me and I almost fall to my knees. He keeps the fire and light at bay and despite that, the mere weight of his presence pressures my mind. Suddenly, I feel my hand held in his. The king¡¯s skin is warm, his fingers calloused. They are delicate and covered in small scars that cannot be seen from afar. His presence now steadies me instead of pushing me aside. YOU ARE WELCOME HERE AS OUR GUEST. ASK YOUR BOON, CHILD FROM A DISTANT SKY. I look up to a suddenly close face. He smells of the sun over clean linen and also faintly of ashes. His smile is for the crowd. In his eyes, I find a warning meant only for me. He must know I would ask for blood. Or I would have without the prophecy. When Sinead challenged the Old One to a dance-off, the dragon¡¯s response had been a life-changing spectacle that revealed the secrets of the universes, one that my feeble mind had failed to retain. Except for a few fragments. When I was still drunk and looking for what I remember to be a particularly fluffy rabbit ¡ª an episode I will never admit happened ¡ª I mistakenly tried to force a prophecy, opening my intuition to greater heights. It is not an exercise I usually do because Nashoba and the seer Aisha both insisted I should not depend on it. And so, I have not. It seemed like a good idea at the time. The event conspired and it was as if I had opened the flood gates. A powerful vision came to me, one where I recognized the Choctaw¡¯s words of ash and thin air. I remember little of it but what I do know is that there is an item I absolutely need before I return. ¡°I need the seed of a world tree,¡± I tell the sovereign. Silence spreads over the arena. The quiet expands directly from the king, as if it were not so much an absence of noise as a denial of all sounds. If I have to be perfectly honest, I do not know how rare those are. I just know that a world tree can fare well almost anywhere. For an instant, I fear I may have offended him, but he soon nods in approval. SUMMER EVER APPROVES OF THOSE WORKING TOWARDS A BRIGHTER FUTURE WE SHALL GRANT YOU THIS BOON. Oh good, I did not accidentally offend him. That would have been a relatively awkward and brief experience. I relax a little as Khadras names his boon. ¡°I wish for the spear of Orifan the One-Eyed, whom you defeated upon the field of Kresh, and slew, then taking his weapons as trophy.¡± YOU WISH TO RECLAIME THE LEGACY OF YOUR ANCESTOR. WE APPROVE OF YOUR CHOICE, YOUNG ONE. MAY YOU ACQUIRE HIS FURY YET KEEP YOUR OWN JUDGEMENT. ¡°I shall, king.¡± THUS IS THE CHALLENGE CONCLUDED. I HAVE SPOKEN. The sovereign about-faces, walking out while we all bow to his passage. Only when the afternoon light loses some of its radiance do I finally take a breath as the environment shifts from unbearable to merely stifling. The Master of Ceremony chases us away gently since we need to give the ground to a group of dancers. I suspect he wishes to reset the mood. Some of the spectators leave, sated. We leave through the victors¡¯ gate. Sinead races through a maze of clean corridors to a large room at the edge of the arena¡¯s titanic structure. The sun drifts through large windows and a balcony at its back, from where we see the red-tiled roofs of the summer capital. Amaryll stands from her seat near the end of a long table, her eyes wet with emotion. She is joined by Sivaya and then Sinead¡¯s children, who I cannot quite get used to considering some of them look older than me. The newly minted prince of the council embraces them with a profuse display of affection which I find touching since the fae nobility is not prone to betraying genuine emotions. It makes me miss my human family. I lean against a column, hiding from the light. I wish I could wait but I am a guest of honor, and they will not let me. Khadras and I sit at the left and right of Sinead as tradition dictates. Amaryll and Sivaya come after which they do not seem to mind. I am toasted and celebrated like Khadras then they allow me to fade a little while Sinead attracts most of the attention. This suits me. The celebration attracts quite a few visitors who come to congratulate the newly ascended prince. The gladiators are invited, of course, as is Cadiz who takes ten minutes to comment on my performance. All of the guests party with much mirth. Soon, the king delivers the requested spear to Khadras with his blessing. A demonstration follows, with our new Blood Moon royal demonstrating how the imposing weapon shines when held by a worthy hand. The gladiators gather around me while the sun begins to set. ¡°It was nice that you killed her with Syma¡¯s sabers, captain. It was a nice touch,¡± Nol the fly-man says. He sips on a cup of fruity alcohol. I could have done without the visual. ¡°What now captain? Will you be returning to Voidmoore? Or to your native sphere? Will you take us with you?¡± the muscular Hanadro asks. ¡°I will return after dealing with a few last errands. I have tools I can acquire here that will be very useful in the long run, but I cannot delay for much longer. The Court of Blue can only reliably maintain the time dilation for so long and I am needed home before the battle I left is over. As for taking you with me, I refuse. You would suffer the same fate as Sinead as you are deprived of your abilities and preyed upon by my kin. It will take centuries before earth finishes its alignment and magic flows free. You will not live to see it.¡± My declaration seems to sadden them, so I decide to give them a measure of hope. This is a celebration after all. ¡°However, I believe Makyas had plans.¡± ¡°Indeed I do!¡± the winged one exclaims as he joins us. ¡°How would you like to be my enforcers as we take over Voidmoore and its smuggling ring? My little minions have already refurbished the ¡®Edged Bets¡¯ so we can fly it around as well!¡± ¡°Do we get paid in eyeballs?¡± Dancer signs with suspicion. Or perhaps it is eagerness. I find the chitinous plate where his face should be hard to read. ¡°No eyeballs for you! I shall compensate you with coin and meat, the very best! The eyeballs stay with me.¡± I leave my minions to discuss the terms of their service. I trust Makyas will make a proper offer if only out of respect for me, but I also suspect some like Dancer might not take it. It does not matter. Their fate is their own, and they are free to continue on their own journey. I can offer little more. Despite the knowledge I will leave very soon, at least according to fae standards, I mingle with the rest. Amaryll congratulates me on a magnificent display and claims she wants to turn it into a dance. Sivaya thanks me for helping her fiance and wishes us a pleasant time while I remain. In truth, I still find fae openness strange, though I admit the arrangement I have with Torran would shock most mortals. As night settles and the capital lights up with multicolored flying lanterns, the party spreads over neighboring rooms. Some dancing occurs and much drinking as well. Couples and groups detach themselves from the rest for privacy. I move to a secluded balcony, letting the cooling air soothe the fear of the day. The seed I requested has not been delivered yet. I have no idea if it will take another hour or a month to obtain it, but until I do, I cannot return. My thoughts wander to earth where less than an hour has passed, I think. Sivaya warned there might be small variations. My friends and allies might still be fighting it off, or they could be in the middle of negotiations now that the casus belli has crossed the portal en masse. It could be that Bertrand has forced the issue to avoid the second disaster in a row and the political blow that comes with it. I hope they are fine and that the battle has not taken a gruesome turn. While I enjoy this moment of respite, I feel Sinead¡¯s presence hovering at the edge of my small haven. I pulse my aura once and he approaches. The sunny prince takes a spot by my side and we watch his homeland settle for the night in companionable silence. He is quite close and smells nice as well. I love sunshine on the skin of others, just not mine. It finally dawns on me that we have reached the inevitable end to our foray. There are only details left, a few things to acquire but otherwise I will not engage in any major quests. ¡°Once this is done, we will say goodbye for good,¡± I admit. ¡°No!¡± Sinead said, ¡°no. You are an immortal as well. Time is what we have, provided you win. Provided you endure. No matter how long it takes, we will meet.¡± ¡°How long will it take for a path to open from earth to any of the spheres?¡± ¡°Technically we could open one through great effort. You could do so as well, perhaps. You have enough brilliant minds to at least study the question¡± ¡°How long, Sinead?¡± ¡°TIme is relative, Ariane.¡± ¡°How long on earth? Do not lie; I know you asked.¡± A moment passes. The prince leans against a nearby railing, his knuckles clutching the stone as if it would fly away and leave him. ¡°Three and a half thousand years.¡± It is my turn to be robbed of words. I expected a long time of course, possibly centuries¡­ but thirty-five of them? Really? Babylon still ruled over part of Mesopotamia around that time. By the Watcher, thirty-five centuries? It might as well be forever. I have lived for one and I already barely tolerate some of those strange new fads like ¡®okay¡¯ or the prevalence of morse code. It might as well be forever. This only reinforces my decision. ¡°So when I leave, it will be goodbye for good. I feel that I must clear the air first, so to speak. Solve the tension between us.¡± ¡°Can it be solved?¡± ¡°It can at least be stated. You already apologized, Sinead. I already admitted that although I understood your decision, the trust between us was gone. It will take a long time to rebuild, a time we do not have because the dilation the Blue Court agreed to maintain will soon come to an end. The spheres will decouple from earth and the path will eventually be lost. I must leave soon.¡± ¡°But not right now!¡± I nod, touched by the slight despair I hear in Sinead¡¯s voice. He seems so vulnerable now despite his victory, despite the armor that still clads his handsome form. His eyes of gold settle on me with longing. ¡°You are not leaving tonight.¡± I hesitantly take his hand. As expected, it is warm and both soft and calloused under my fingers. ¡°Not tonight. As I was saying, you might be an insufferable rogue who thinks he always knows better, but I am still fond of you, you damnable rascal.¡± ¡°And thus you are still my poppet.¡± ¡°Now I did say I would not leave unfinished business.¡± ¡°Ariane?¡± I grab and kiss him. He lets out a muffled squawk, which I find endearing, but then the surprise melts, replaced by a fiery passion of an intensity that surprises me, almost scares me. Sinead kisses like a madman. He is so very warm, and he tastes sweet. The dragon blood has sated me for a while and I do not feel the overwhelming need to bite as he gathers me in his arms. He caresses my cheek with a sense of pure wonder. I feel desired and I like it. Yes, despite my misgivings, I believe I would have regretted not seizing the moment if I had not decided to let go of my hurt. At least for a while. We do not need to speak for what follows. *** It has been a month since Sinead¡¯s ascension, more than a year since the Court of Blue aligned earth with itself. It has been over five in subjective time. It felt like an eternity. The portal room of the Blue Court will leave a last sterile image of spheres yet so filled with life. Everything is ready. I turn one last time to the people Cadiz and I will leave behind. I have said my farewells and we all maintain a brave face, but even the frigid cloud smothering my emotions cannot fully shield me from the realization that, by the hypothetical time I return, all of the gladiators will have perished. Makyas has not confirmed it but I was led to understand that his species rarely tolerated eternity, preferring to lose themselves in the depths of their spheres. Sivaya is the last to leave the deck of the . ¡°Our window will be short, even shorter than we believed. Be sure to stabilize the ship and land as soon as possible. Our measurements indicate the ambient magic will not suffice to keep it airborne.¡± ¡°We expected that much.¡± ¡°Your house mimic will go dormant quickly. Just make sure to keep her well-fed and she should adapt, eventually. All of the goods including the seed are secured in the cargo hold but place them in a safe spot as soon as feasible. This is truly farewell now, Ariane of the Nirari. May the blue ever favor your aim.¡± ¡°You all take care of each other.¡± The princess turns and leaves. We are set. Khadras signals the Blue Court magicians waiting by the crystal aperture. They move and the circle hums with power. My hair stands on ends when azure thunderbolts course over the intricate construct, leaving iridescent scars in the air. Power spikes, a tremendous amount of it, more than we exerted against the Scourge Hive. The Blue Court¡¯s wheel treads a needle through time and space, binding our worlds together. A window opens on a cloudy dark sky. The familiar smell of rain and behind it, maple and pine crosses over the sterile room. I have pushed the power lever forward before the portal is even fully open. The Dalton¡¯s Fury, or rather Pookie in ship form, slides on metal rails to a deep dive. We pass through the opening as it reaches the maximum size. The skies of Illinois spread all around us, fresh and familiar. Colors dull. The very air gathers around me, making magic sluggish as the local realm refuses to bend to a foreign will. I lose a sense of wonder and freedom I had come to take for granted. The distant presence of the sun reminds me that strolls under the light of morning will no longer be a possibility, and yet despite all of this, I cannot stop a measure of excitement. I am home. Behind us, the way back to the fae spheres closes for good. It is finished. I have no time to mourn the end of a fascinating part of my life because the gravity crystals dim and we quickly lose altitude. Cadiz yells as he points down and left. I turn the wheel but the commands are barely responsive. I will have to adapt. Cadiz remarks. I reply. I do not voice my concern. Instead, I take a quick look below and recognize Constantine¡¯s red chain. They battle a wave of fire. Thankfully, I anticipated battle and I am already wearing my armor. I inform Cadiz. the Progenitor spits back and I do realize that I will have to show deference in public despite our familiarity. There is however, one person who does not deserve it. I jump overboard as we fly over the site of the battle. I fall and use a whisper of magic to adjust my course, taking in the sights as I grow closer. Torches still surround the earth bastion we used to host the fae ritual. Two crescents of warriors stand across each other over a cleared field, the Mask army still at the edge of the nearby forest. Constantine is dueling Gabriel and winning. I check our line for my friends and spot a slightly singed Jimena. There is also Melusine, who lost her arm but not her tongue, always a pity. Ako, Jarek and Adrien. Sephare. I count them and find them hurt but alive. Melusine¡¯s arm is even slowly regrowing, unlike her dignity. They are fine. I am not too late. I could land discreetly behind ¡ª Pah, who am I kidding? I throw Rose on the torched ground between the two casters. The impact showers them with smashed gravel, separating them. A moment later, I slam down with both feet and send a plume of dust to cover both sides. The cold, familiar aura of vampires and the scent of our skin fills my nostrils. It is just as I remember, really just as I remember, up to the damaged gear. We really are the same night I left them all those years ago. It feels so strange, because I am not. The spheres truly are a strange place. My side gasps in surprise and confusion while the Mask alliance protests and growls. Hisses surge at my interruption. The Accords must have learned I was gone, at least its leaders. Bertrand, however, does not. He said it. I release all the power I have accumulated across hunts and challenges culminating in the dragon hunt, the tributes I received from Sinead, Cadiz, Khadras and even Makyas. I release it all and raise a hollow mountain of thorns around the entire valley, shutting us from the outside. I only leave the Watcher and the moon bare in a window high above us. Thick, shredding thorns bloom on the rampart¡¯s surface. The Mask vampires recoil visibly when they experience the essence that defeated a dragon and they finally, finally realize what I have become. Or rather, they assume so. They do not ¡ª cannot understand yet. I inform a dazed Bertrand. And then I acknowledge my anger towards them. I rush towards the man who cleaved my back with his axe, split my skull open and invaded my land, then smash his face into the ground. I throw him bodily against a sprouting root that snaps back and sends him to the side and into the statue of Loth¡¯s axe. I call Rose and shred his flank, piercing through the strange crimson armor that his Magna Arqa forms and revealing the flesh beneath. Bertrand yowls in pain. Jean-Baptiste throws himself at me with his massive scythe. I grab him by the neck and look deep into his terrified eyes under the death mask of his avatar. I order. A tendril grabs Bertrand by the heel as he is standing up and sends him on a careening journey ending in the middle of the clearing. The mask masters and lords have taken a few steps back. They have not reached that age by being foolish. I let Dalton¡¯s statue shoot him in the back of the knee as a matter of principle, though it will not penetrate deep enough. I am merely making a point. I tell him. Roots and Rose shred him, peeling off his armor layer by layer. The statues emerge from root curtains to deliver underhanded blows. I do not let him stand. I say. I have roots toss him from one side of the battlefield to the other, never letting him regain his footing. Oh, he does twist and turn, but so do the roots. Those do not have articulations. I withdraw all the tendrils around him. He does not even waste a moment to charge me with his axe, swinging it towards my chest. I step aside and strike at the last moment. His arm goes flying. I stab his undamaged knee as he passes me by, carried by inertia, then his spine. Each strike of Rose leads to a dreadful crunching sound. I find the experience unchallenging yet cathartic. I punctuate every word with a kick against his fallen form. The Mask faction does not react. They know that only one other vampire on this planet could possibly hope to stop me, and he is on no one¡¯s side but his own. I lift him and stare in the eye revealed by the cracked golden mask. a voice interrupts from behind. Constantine¡¯s voice shows the usual patient politeness, as calm on the battlefield as he is in a court of law. I hiss, my face only inches away from the Mask leader. He does not beg and his gaze remains steady, though clouded by pain. I could always punch him more. the man chokes. And yes, I suppose it could be done and why am I ever considering LETTING HIM GO HE VIOLATED MY LAIR, TRIED TO TAKE WHAT WAS MINE. ¡± I roar. The walls around us shake. The thorns grow sharper and more numerous. He is on my land for the second time and this makes me so very angry. I cannot control this burning rage. He should not speak. He should not negotiate. He should grovel like the two-legged PATHETIC INTRUDER HE IS. THIEF. Constantine agrees calmly. I agree. ¡°Hmmm.¡± I realize that my anger has gotten the best of me, and a curious one it is. Where could it be coming from? I have not lost control in a long time. Perhaps my brutal return set off something. Even now, the Dvor essence in me recognizes those are intruders on my land who must be punished for their transgression. Bertrand says. I grab his remaining arm and bite. Some of his lords take a step forward but freeze when Jean-Baptiste holds them back. Bertrand does not struggle and his sweet essence nourishes me. Calms me down. I say, and release him before I can do something too¡­ definitive. S?a?ch* Th? N0v?lFir?.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. Even with the certainty that this is the right decision, I still struggle against the urge to turn around and finish him off. Only a single thought occupies my mind now. There is one among my enemies that I will not let go. I walk forward, the Mask vampires splitting like the Red Sea before Moses, revealing the bare-armed, blood-soaked form of Malakim. I draw. He grins horribly. His rictus is half provocation and half fury. I need to kill him now. The outer wall of thorn explodes. My intuition warned me and I dodge back. Some of the less fortunate masters are sent crashing down by broken roots. Another aura rises to match my own, overtaking it a little. The Mask vampires run aside. Where they used to stand, only Malakim is left. Malakim¡­ and his sire. For a long moment, Nirari and I glare at each other, taking each other¡¯s measure. His strength is incalculable. I might stand a chance now, I think. The rage that came earlier is replaced by an indomitable sense of purpose. He is my equal and I will face him, and I will kill him or die trying. There is no fear in my heart, no sense of powerlessness. We are not evenly matched but we belong to the same kind. We are devourers. We are dragon slayers. On this planet, we are without match. Nirari wears black plate and he holds in his hand the glaive with which he led the charge back at Black Harbor. Powerful magic hums in his aura, ready to be unleashed. We take each other¡¯s measure. And then, another aura comes, not as powerful but still prodigious. Constantine takes his place by my side, then Ako, Jarek, Naminata, Adrien and the lords and ladies that make up the Accords. The Mask battle lords may stand to the side but they watch keenly. Cadiz returns from landing our ship. My roots let him through. He moves up to us under the whispered awe of all the masters. Nirari takes in the scene. His cold, inhuman countenance betraying nothing. And then, he laughs. And laughs, and laughs. The curious sound breaks the oppressive silence and surprises even me. It sounds so genuine. ¡°Yes¡­¡± he exults. ¡°Yes, of course. It had to be done. It had to be you. And here I worried, thinking it would end in a disappointing slog after a drawn-out hunt, but no. You have achieved the impossible and now I shall finally, finally have a proper ascension. Truly, fate has set you on my path. I shall leave you now. Do not disappoint.¡± The monster grabs an enraged Malakim by the shoulder and leaves the valley through the gaping hole he left in my defenses. I do not object. Many of us sigh in relief at his departure, but I do not. What he said shows he now considers me as a threat. He should, but I would have preferred to have more time. Constantine asks me. I wave him away, not eager to experience this bout of rage again. I absolutely cannot allow myself to lose control like this. It appears some adjustment will have to be done. In any case, I turn to my friend and greet them. Jimena asks. I hug her publically, to her surprise. Naminata asks for a hug as well and the taller girl picks me up. Melusine asks with shock. I wisely tell her since she is only a strong master and therefore a child compared to my greatness. she explodes, livid. My reputation is in tatters. Chapter 192: Fame After silencing Melusine with the promise of unbridled violence, I have the notable displeasure of facing a large group of irate vampires demanding answers. From their perspective, I was gone for half an hour while they were fighting for their freedom and the only witness to my disappearance was Martha. My friends would know that duplicity is not in my blood, quite literally, although deception is. The temporary allies I gained for this project are significantly harder to convince, and I do not blame them. Indeed, I have acquired invaluable strength while they held the line. The major issue here is that they are my allies and partners and therefore I cannot simply bash them over the head with a heavy root for questioning my honor.Although, the drive is strong. There is something different with me. I assumed some of my behaviors would fade with sobriety, but it appears some of the changes are permanent. The urge to remove shoes indoors will be manageable. My sudden bouts of irrational anger might prove more problematic now that the incentive to stop is considerably lower. Why would I care for consequences when I am the consequence? I must force myself to be mature, composed, and patient, the wiser person so to speak, especially when faced with an insistent Sephare buzzing with concern. We move through the portal with our ¡®prisoners¡¯, although they keep their weapons and armor. They spread across the tents while we gather on the ritual site with the most precious of commodities and the reason why I moved us all here in this starved, desperate place. Coffee. I would have stabbed Constantine if he had insisted on talking outside when I have my own fresh supply of ground beans waiting for me in a prepared pot. It has been close to five bloody years without a nice cup of java. To deprive me would be a crime. For the next two hours, I give them an abridged and simplified version of my discoveries, omitting the adventure and insisting on the spheres themselves ¡ª their compositions, populations and so on. Cadiz supports me whenever my word comes into doubt, not that they believe I would lie but they consider that my mind could have been influenced. The existence of the Sovereign of Summer spreads confusion and dismay among my kin. At some point, one of the Mask vampires thinks himself smart by ¡®retiring¡¯ to a nearby tent for the express purpose of eavesdropping. Although not completely a breach of contract, the practice annoys me enough to shove him back to his own men with a forceful application of roots to the groin. Let it be known that I shall answer low blows with lower blows. The questions come soon, and most of them relate to what I can do now since I have kept the existence of Pookie and the Dalton¡¯s Fury secret so far. I answer politely. I answer patiently. Even the insinuations that I knew, should have expected, or planned my departure. The only accusations I struggle with are those of delaying my return. Unfortunately, they are correct. My arguments that the opportunity to gain advantages was simply too important fail to gain traction. I can tell they are not satisfied and I know why. I have made incredible progress with this trip, progress that I have not shared yet. They most likely feel neglected. No amount of explanations will make up for that, and that is fine. I will reveal my gifts and acquisitions after they are properly secured. I suspect what upsets them the most is the sudden upheaval of the balance of power. Constantine himself seems unsure on how to handle me, though my calm and lack of grandiloquent evil speech on world domination must assuage his fears. Eventually, there is not much to do but to remind them of the reason for their coming. To my surprise, Constantine diplomatically addresses me. My outrage must have been obvious because the Speaker winces, aware of his heavy-handed approach. Have I not been his supporter all along despite what he did to me? Do the years spent working on golems together not matter at all? Sephare rushes to correct, ¡° Of course I damn will. Most vampires turn to Jimena, who had been so far standing awkwardly and with puppy eyes next to her equally uncertain progenitor. Suddenly, the public attention switches to Cadiz and I see something that I never anticipated from my kin. Relief. Oh, they mask it so well I had mistaken it for concern but what they feel is fear, really. I can taste it in their aura, though they try to mask it. They are¡­ smaller than I remember. The Accords vampires are afraid of me. Not all of them, of course, but enough to be telling. Despite what my dear Jimena said to defend me, the others will not trust me. Our kin cares about their immediate network to some extent, everyone else is rival, ally of circumstance, or prey. There is no in-between. She will not convince them. In the next ten minutes, my ally and I perform an improvised social gig to soothe everyone. Sephare and a Constantine walk up to welcome Cadiz and fail to walk back, staying by my side instead. The Cadiz form a line behind the Progenitor who stays around while discussing his plans to stay for a while and observe. The Roland rally around Adrian who smoothly recenters the discussion around what demands we should make of our Mask captives. Ten minutes after the talk has started, I have graciously receded in the background of a newly formed circle, only intervening when the others involve me. I am part of the group again. The fear recedes, turned into the respect afforded to the strong as more and more people ask me questions about the fae spheres and the hypothetical danger they represent. I do not begrudge them their curiosity and answer truthfully, even though I know I will have to repeat myself in front of the council. The meeting winds down when Constantine walks to a waiting Bertrand, standing with Hastings herself. I hear the unassuming woman jest to Sephare about the large number of Progenitors present. We do have four, an extraordinary occurrence. The fact I brought them together brings me great pride. As expected of Mask, they smoothly turn the occasion into a socializing event and vampires who were skewering each other a couple of hours before now exchange jokes and taunts. A few sanctioned duels occur when opponents find themselves curious to see who would have prevailed. The abundance of willing mortals helps sake the thirst of those who were seriously wounded. I am fine with this outcome so long as they leave me alone, because I have not forgiven them. I only tolerate them because of our code. We are still on my land. My mild annoyance melts when Urchin and Doe approach me. Doe says. He clasps my hands in his giant mitts in an unusual display of physicality. I allow it because it is Doe. he finishes. They obey, disappearing behind the arguing pair of Martha and Melusine. They look so similar besides hair color. I find the resemblance eerie. Shaking my head, I turn to Jimena as she discusses excitedly with her Progenitor. Jimena says. Cadiz says guardedly. Suarez adds. Cadiz keeps silent for a few seconds, then slowly, a genuine smile blooms on his pallid face. Before we leave, Constantine together with Cadiz, Ako, and a few other warlords ask to spar with me. It soon becomes obvious that despite their considerable powers, I still win. The thorn forest may not seem as impressive as Jarek¡¯s seismic fists, but it is uniquely suited to making me control groups and their numbers do not help them when I can grow roots between each member of the squad and focus on one while keeping the others busy. Constantine¡¯s barrage of powerful chains exhausts itself chasing ghosts while statues overwhelm him despite his decent close quarter skills. Cadiz cannot match my speed and I show no mercy in my style, fully aware that any sloppiness on my part will be paid later when I face my sire. I outpunch Jarek ¡ª which brings him great satisfaction ¡ª thus canceling his main strength. Ako and Wilhelm are not strong enough to oppose me although they use axes to great effect. The chaos of battle inevitably ends in my victory although I do have to make efforts. Between magic, fencing, my Magna Arqa, and guns, I have the tools to overcome any opposition. I use the opportunity to remind Jarek that he would personally sponsor me for the seat Queen of America if I were to defeat Bertrand in single combat. My remark is taken quite seriously and leads to a round of negotiations behind closed doors in the Boston fortress. In the end, I accept not to claim that title for two reasons. First, there should be no queens in America. The last time someone tried it did not end so well. Second, I find our community to be a den of ruthless, manipulative, devious, stubborn old curmudgeonly predators and I refuse to spend a second more than I have to on unruffling feathers. I would very much leave that task to Sephare since she not only excels at it, but she enjoys it too. Truly career socialites are strange creatures. The same applies to Constantine and his Watcher-cursed paperwork. I am pleased to let him handle taxes, fees, trade dispute arbitration and the general application of the law and by that I mean that I would rather stab myself in the knee with a sharpened cross than be more involved. I have enough to handle as it is. Sephare offers as we sit in comfortable chair in the Speaker¡¯s private quarters. I assure them. *** The streets of Moonside have not changed much. A population of werewolves tends to remain stable at most times, due in part to their amazing physical resilience, and the lack of children. Jeffrey greets me with his usual congenial smile. ¡°It¡¯s good to see you bosswoman. How did that little thing go? I told June it would be fine, that you knew what you were doing after all this time but she wouldn¡¯t stop.¡± ¡°I am sure the thought of losing me was too much to bear,¡± I sarcastically reply. The werewolf leader gives me a mischievous wink under the worried gaze of his guards. So long as I live, the werewolves are well-protected from many dangers. ¡°I happened to travel to the other side for a little while and I bear a gift. Or rather, I thought it was when I found it, but it might be double-edged.¡± ¡°The other side? The dead world you mentioned?¡± ¡°No. The world of the fae.¡± ¡°You¡­ went there.¡± ¡°Briefly. And I brought something back.¡± I remove a statuette from my pouch. It features the frame of a woman, little more than a miniature mannequin. ¡°Hmm. Very nice?¡± ¡°Touch it Jeffrey, and you will understand.¡± He does and his fingers freeze as soon as they touch the delicate artifact, or delicate in appearance at least. His eyes search mine. ¡°It is calling but¡­ I cannot answer. So calming.¡± ¡°Only women may bind this. If she touches it during the full moon¡­¡± ¡°It will cut her from the curse.¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°But then¡­¡± ¡°Yes.¡± Jeffrey breathes hard. He licks his lips with nervousness and a powerful longing.¡± ¡°Will the child¡­¡± ¡°I do not know. I only know that it will be possible. The artisan was quite certain it would function.¡± Jeffrey guffaws. It is not a nice laugh. ¡°Poisoned indeed, bosswoman. The sweetest poison you could ever find. Ah, and to think we went five years without murder. Only one person at a time can bind this item, is it not so?¡± I nod. ¡°It was difficult to acquire, or rather, I had to find one who could do it.¡± ¡°Yes. How wonderful and damnable. You know, bosswoman, sometimes hope is a curse. I read somewhere that all gifts of the fae were traps. You are no exception.¡± ¡°You could return it.¡± ¡°No, I really could not. Name your price.¡± ¡°I want you and your clan by my side when I face my sire. I will not send them to fight my kin but I will need all the help I can get during daylight.¡± ¡°When will it be?¡± ¡°Not any time soon. This is a pact between myself and your clan. Your clan must adhere to it and they will collectively hold the promise.¡± ¡°The clan answer to me. Yes, you have a deal. All of my warriors and myself for that last campaign.¡± He stays quiet for a moment, though I can tell he has something left to say. ¡° You smell¡­different. What else did you find?¡± ¡°Power. I found power.¡± *** The White Cabal complex at Avalon may not have changed over the past years, but my accomodations have. Rather than being made to wait outside at the councilmen¡¯s convenience, I now wait in a guest office inside of the expanded government building with a cup of black tea. I do not really enjoy black tea. I hinted at it several times but the only reaction I get from the assistant who delivers my drinks is terror. The last time, she almost tipped the cup into my lap, and so I sip the bitter liquid with mild annoyance. Finally the woman returns to whisper that I am expected. She smells of cheap terror. I can go weeks without feeding now and the mild temptation is easy to keep under control. The council room is circular, with seats arranged in an amphitheater and each chair placed behind the more decorated one belonging to the main counselors. The fat president still gives and takes the right to speak with bangs of his mallet ¡ª I never bothered to learn his name. The Head Librarian is the same positively ancient woman covered in trinkets. There are some new faces however, especially since a few were removed from their shoulders after the attempted coup a while ago. ¡°What is that she¡¯s holding?¡± a new councilwoman asks. The president turns to me this time. I have in my hands a long staff wrapped in a snug wood casing. Its shape is quite obvious, especially for mages whose use of the gauntlet is only a recent change. ¡°Would you like to tell us now? I assume this is relevant to the conversation.¡± ¡°I come bearing answers and a proposal. The staff is part of my proposal.¡± ¡°How do we know it¡¯s not a trap?¡± the councilwoman insists, breaking protocol. She is quite young and beautiful in a pouty sort of way, with raven hair and thick lips tastefully underlined with minimal makeup. I approve of her efforts but not of her interruptions. Ugh, every time I deal with mages, a good third of the time is wasted on grandstanding. They are like us but without manners. ¡°Then I propose you start with it since there are bound to be many questions¡± ¡°Certainly. I will be brief. There will be a battle in the future that will decide the fate of our planet, and I want you by my side when it happens.¡± ¡°We have already agreed to a defensive alliance. Will this be any different?¡± ¡°The man we will be facing will not attack us, he will attack another immortal. If he wins, he will gain enough power to take over the world single-handedly, and there will be very little we can do to stop him.¡± ¡°One of your kin?¡± s?a??h th? N?v?lFire.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. ¡°The one who made me. The first of our kind.¡± They mull over the news in collective silence for a moment. I sometimes forget that the mortals know very little about us as we like to keep our affairs private and deny the curious with extreme prejudice. I consider the current notion to be relevant to the negotiations and ultimately harmless, unlike, for example, the number of top level civil servants we hold sway over. Which is most of them. ¡°How old is he, exactly?¡± the Black Dog asks. ¡°Approximately two thousand six hundred years.¡± This time the mages are dumbstruck. They know very well the older a vampire grows and the more powerful they become. It does not take a genius to realize the implication. ¡°Can a man like this even be stopped?¡± another counselor asks. ¡°Due to special circumstances, I have gained the strength to face him at least. Victory is not assured, however.¡± ¡°Can you give us an idea of what he can do?¡± In answer, I deploy my aura. I always keep myself under control these days since it is only polite, but now I am here to impress upon them the necessity of unity. This time, I let go. It feels like removing an overly tight piece of garment if said garment encircled one¡¯s soul. I refrain from sighing in contentment. A few of the people at the back gasp, but the archmages and veteran politicians facing me merely flinch, doing their best to keep their composure. The lights flicker, which is new. Slowly, the warm glow of the lamps turn blueish and the temperature drops. The fading warmth of the mortals¡¯ breath produces amusing puffs of mist. ¡°You have made your point,¡± the president says. I regretfully pull my power back in. The cold lingers for a while, even after someone opens a window to let warmer air in. It gives the mages a moment to consider. Eventually, they recover enough to pretend they were merely considering my words. ¡°And what do you expect us to do?¡± ¡°I do not expect you to face him in direct combat. The strength of mages has always relied on preparations, planning, and superior tactics. This is what I would like you to contribute. In return, I will offer you this staff,¡± I say, and I open the package. ¡°What does this do?¡± a younger member asks with interest. ¡°It gives you a fighting chance.¡± I reveal a silver implement of sublime make, a work of art covered in thin, interlocking layers of runes. No human hand could craft such an elaborate masterpiece, and even a mundane human could feel the power it exudes. ¡°This is a Blue Court war rod, a proprietary design of their fighting forces. No human mages can live long enough to hope to harness its potential, although Frost would have been able to use the entire ice magic system. The man or woman who wields this shall become a champion among mortal casters. They will outshine entire cabals through sheer might.¡± ¡°And the price for that¡­¡± ¡°I already paid it. Only one person may bind the staff, but so long as you hold your part of the agreement by supporting me with your full military for one battle, it will be yours now and forever.¡± We understand each other. Mages may not lie or break oaths easily. If they deny me, they might not lose their lives but the staff will at the very least become cursed, not least because it was made by a Likaean. I am asking for a very serious commitment. ¡°Where did you find such a thing?¡± ¡°You know the fae are gone,¡± I start. There is a little back and forth when they deny and deflect, as if the beat of their hearts and the smell of their stress were not all the answers I need. It takes half an hour of pointless deliberations before the leadership admits they knew of this phenomenon, which leads to another fifteen minutes of subtle recriminations from those who were unaware of the fact. It has only been two weeks. The news is still fresh. Casters in general only kept a handful of fae captive due to the amazing reward one could receive by giving them to our kin, and also the risk of being slaughtered if found sheltering them. It does not surprise me to learn that their fate would be hidden under a mantle of secrecy. I admit I was also wrong, many of them did not know. Sinead has the truth of it. One of the most common mistakes is losing sight of what people know. I will miss the smug bastard. ¡°The path to the fae worlds has closed and shall remain so for the next few millenia ¡ª barring the odd and unreliable phenomenon ¡ª so this is effectively a unique artifact of unmatched power. Please consider this a mark of my esteem, of my respect for your abilities, and of the hope that we will face that devil together.¡± Over the next couple of hours, I am asked much about the Likaean spheres and I keep my answers secret and mysterious for a single overarching reason: I am having fun. Besides, being insufferably mysterious is so deeply rooted in our personalities that to act with too much honestly would raise even more suspicions. They finally work their way backward to the conclusion. ¡°Wait¡­ you freed the fae? You?¡± ¡°And sent them to their home plane, yes.¡± ¡°How do we know she just didn¡¯t slaughter them all,¡± the aggravating girl replies. I learned that her name is Daphne and she is the new face of the human supremacy faction. Although I respect her for her attempts, her continuous insinuations are working against her at the moment. The proper way to do so is to save all those insinuations for her followers and only confront her foes with accusations that are too difficult to deny, otherwise the conclusion is what happens now. ¡°And how would she have collected the staff then? You can feel its power as well as I can. There is no denying it. It was made in another world,¡± the librarian scoffs. I let the argument wind down a little, until I am asked to leave so they can deliberate. I wisely leave the staff in plain sight with a small charge just so they can feel its power calling to them while they talk. Eventually, the temptation is simply too great and I get a carefully worded contract signed. I have the core of a group. Now that it is done, I need to keep searching for new allies. I have time, but so does he. *** ¡°Ariane? Lass, is that really ye? I thought you were still in the new world doing your thing.¡± ¡°I have not left yet and I also completed the project successfully. It is done.¡± That¡¯s great ta hear, aye. How can ye reach here from America? No mirrir should be this stable.¡± ¡°I have enough power to fuel a spell at this range. I am also using the Aurora¡¯s chestplate. It has changed a little.¡± ¡°What did ye do to my masterpiece?¡± ¡°The fae ice world helped it along to¡­ completion, shall we say. You will see when you get here.¡± ¡°And why would I get¡­ what is that thing? Those runes, but no, it cannot be. I do not¡­ Is that one gravity? Wait. Wait wait wait wait wai Ariane WHAT DID YE FIND?¡± ¡°Flying ships.¡± ¡°Please tell me ye didn¡¯t let any of those young numpties catch a gander at this they¡¯ll demolish the bloody thing. By Tyr tell me ye kept the diagrams. Drawings. Anything!¡± ¡°I brought back the ship.¡± ¡°You¡­¡± ¡°Yes. It is currently moored on my land, but we have a problem. The ambient mana is too weak to keep it afloat for extended periods of time. We need a way to adapt the design to our sphere. You are the best arcane engineer on the planet. Think you can help?¡± ¡°Dinnae move it, dinnae screw with it, and keep the humans¡¯ mitts of that thing, ye hear? I¡¯m coming.¡± *** Over the next few months, I find that the recent crisis has subsided but that its waves only grow with every passing day. The news of Mask¡¯s second defeat and their retreat over the ocean is noted by most information networks including the more mundane ones. The reason for their defeat and the disappearance of an entire species all trace back to me. As a relatively public figure I have no need or advantage denying the truth, especially since many rumors claim I murdered the fae to the last one. The unintended consequence of my success, the sheer scope of the operation, and Bertrand¡¯s crushing defeat in a one-on-one duel propels me to fame. I receive much attention from almost every faction that knows of us. Isaac even hints that the information package on my person has been purchased so many times it became the information broker¡¯s most sold commodity this year. Not all of this attention is good obviously, and I am compelled to hire additional help to protect the secrecy of my latest project, as well as my life. The sun has not lost its hold on me and as unstoppable as I am at night, the cruel orb still stops me. I suspect summer essence has increased my resilience. It just means I will simmer instead of roasting. Progress. Eventually, Constantine and Sephare put my request forward and the vote is called. I can tell from the eyes of my assembled kin that they expect some sort of compensation as the council assembles in the courtyard outside of the Boston fortress. I point up to the night sky, surprising many with my seemingly absurd display. Above us, there are only low clouds. First they hear the flap of propellers and the woosh of hot hair leaving a balloon, then the hull appears, soon followed by sails. Curses and exclamations of surprise emerge from a notoriously quiet crowd, pleasing me greatly. Chapter 193: A Night in the Life of a Devourer June 1872Of all the major industries that graced the humble city of Marquette, none were more emblematic than the designing and making of weapons of war. IGL, Illinois Guns of Liberty, had claimed the position of crown jewel of the American military engineering business. It had kept this title through a combination of reliability, excellent supply lines, and an ability to streamline any design they came across. The Illinois Guns of Liberty could be found in the hands of infantrymen as it had during the war, but also equipped private security companies, Pinkerton detectives, and all manners of discerning individuals. Contrary to most of its competitors, IGL had thrived in the post-war crunch. Its founders had used their profit to diversify their activities. IGL had contracted with grace to match the rarer orders, only to bounce back with more vigor like a gunpowder phoenix rising from the ashes of peace. Now, the forges belched out black smoke in turn with falling hammers. Deadly contraptions emerged from its maw, contained in crates stamped with the eagle of its crest. IGL was Marquette¡¯s largest employer and its roaring fires never cooled. Despite IGL¡¯s respectability, there were some questions as to the nature of its engineering department, as well as the strange materials they seemed to work with. Certain rumors of witchcraft and curious pursuits titillated the curiosity of the town¡¯s gossips. It was said that they were working on ships, even though the closest body of water lay far to the north. Those rumors were left to run amok for a good reason. As in most cases, they were a lure, a smoke screen to divert the attention of the hoi polloi from the true enigma. Situated behind the factory wall on a small hillock, the Reynaud family estate occupied a modest stretch of ground and would, to the uninitiated, appear as nothing more than a Gothic Revival estate designed for a large family. Its facade showed arched windows painted white, pink brick walls hidden coquettishly behind rigorously maintained hedges. Flowers were rare, and so were the guards, though an imposing wrought iron gate blocked the main entrance. A more astute observer would have noticed that the house came to life at night while most of the company¡¯s activities were winding down. Maybelle worked there as a receptionist. Now, there were quite a few anomalies in this house, not least the death of its famed founder some thirty years before the company¡¯s official incorporation. A massive painting of Hercule Reynaud greeted visitors with a fatherly, warm smile. It was quite recent, yet felt almost lifelike. No, indeed, discretion was the better part of valor for most employees. Maybelle had never hoped for such good employment as a single, unwed mother despite her training, and she never would find one again if she lost it. Similarly, Hortensia Staunton from accounting was on the run from a jealous and violently separated husband, while Glenn Jefferson was wanted for murder in Virginia. She knew it because Mr. September had left his memo open on his desk while she was bringing him an order to sign. Everyone working at the estate had reason to stay here. Quietly. This led to the most polite and soft-spoken environment Maybelle had ever worked in, which suited her just fine. The employees kept quiet about ¡®the¡¯ woman, her strange comings and goings, her mysterious guests and other, stranger details. In return, they thrived under her black wing, left to enjoy their second chance at life in a world that would see them crushed. The woman, whom her colossal bodyguard called ¡®Miz Ari¡¯ but everyone else called Miss Reynaud, showed unerring respect, and her requests were always reasonable. Maybelle was more than willing to excuse her peculiarities for those reasons, and also because she was terrifying. Maybelle was reasonably certain others had noticed. When Miss Reynaud walked around, sometimes, the walls would rustle. Her comings were heralded by a strange chill crawling up the spine of her attendants. She was unreasonably strong as well, sometimes picking up samples or interesting metal pieces with inhuman ease, while at other times she would pretend to struggle. Like the others, however, Maybelle would not lift the mask to see what hid under. She knew witchcraft was involved. She also knew that looking deeper might cost one more than their lives. No, the Reynaud estate would stay polite and peaceful. At least from internal disruptions. A chime rang from Maybelle¡¯s desk, rousing her from her distraction. The sun had set, letting the August night dispel the day¡¯s stifling heat. She grabbed the copper horn hanging near the wall and spoke into it. ¡°This is reception speaking.¡± ¡°Mrs. Starr, hello, whose child is currently asleep in the south wing guest room?¡± ¡°Wallace¡¯s, miss. The new hire.¡± ¡°And where is she right now?¡± ¡°Undergoing training with Mr. Jefferson.¡± ¡°Inform them the child needs changing. There is no need to alter their schedule further, however. And do we have an update on the Lynn contract?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll bring it to you immediately, miss.¡± Maybelle picked the prepared file and walked the stone stairs to the second floor, where the strange woman¡¯s palatial office was located. Her brand new leather loafers sank in the lush carpet with every silent step. Mr. Doe stood at the top, his attention focused on what appeared to be a primer on the Finnish language. He nodded at her in passing, as he always did. As usual, she held her breath when entering the last corridor until she was certain no one could hear her, and as usual, Miss Reynaud spoke as Maybelle¡¯s hand approached the polished wood of the door, but before she could knock. ¡°Come in.¡± The strange woman¡¯s desk occupied almost all of the space from wall to wall, cutting the large room in half like the world''s fanciest barricade. Sober carvings decorated its surface, while gas lamps cast a warm glow over the rare wood essences. Shelves occupied the far wall, some holding books, others files of recent projects. They were only half-full as their contents were regularly archived to avoid cluttering. Miss Reynaud did not like cluttering, as her desk¡¯s surface confirmed. The woman herself sat in her chair, holding a small telegram. One of her brows arched imperiously in a gesture that did not quite fit her youthful features. With her poise, she possessed an ageless quality that made receiving orders from her less grating to the more traditionally-minded employees. Maybelle wordlessly placed her folder in the receiving rack and stood, waiting to be dismissed. The strange woman balled the message and tossed it in her bin. Her expression had returned to polite neutrality. ¡°I am informed that we should expect guests belonging to law enforcement soon. Please direct them to my office as soon as they arrive. Thank you.¡± ¡°Understood, miss.¡± Maybelle returned to the reception. She spent the next hour scheduling appointments and checking inventories. The expected visitors showed up a little later. The first was a handsome young man with hard features. He entered with vigilant eyes and a hand on his holster, from which a metal handle emerged. A cross hung from his neat tie. Maybelle surveyed the newcomer with distant interest, noting the double-barreled coach gun strapped to his back. Two older fellows in dusters followed soon after with guarded airs, weapons on display. They approached her as if expecting her to bite. She expected bank robbers to show less nervous energy. ¡°We¡¯re here for Reynaud,¡± the lead man threatened. ¡°Of course. Take the stairs to your right to the second floor, then it¡¯s the large room at the end of the corridor.¡± The man blinked. Maybelle blinked with as much exaggeration as she thought she could get away with. ¡°Was there anything else?¡± she asked coyly, but the man was already gone with his two partners in tow. Maybelle resumed her work. The vampire felt the men arrive when spheres of denial appeared in her Magna Arqa, bubbles of existence that refused her own, protected by their faith in something greater than themselves, and her. Her bodyguard had pulled back for now, leaving the men to trail dust on the expensive carpet. They filed in fearfully, weapons drawn, crosses revealed. The vampire placed her elbows on the desk and rested her head on her balled fist, looking at the intruders with detached interest. ¡°You are Ariane, the Red Maiden?¡± the handsome young lad asked. He smelled of delicious terror mixed with courage, a true hero facing impossible odds. And those were impossible odds. ¡°I have been called that, yes,¡± the vampire replied with a half smile to three gun muzzles. ¡°You¡¯ll be coming with us.¡± The vampire lifted a finger. A small ball of steel smacked into the man¡¯s revolver, tearing it off his hand. He yelped in pain when his knuckle cracked as well. The same fate befell the other two men as well with such speed that the swear words covered each other. The attack had been sudden and devastating, and the would-be hunters were left holding their broken digits. The scent of fear increased. The vampire stood up, and the door slammed shut behind the three men. She walked around her desk with slow purpose, coming to stand in front of her guests. Her voice never abandoned its polite, descriptive tone. ¡°Hypothetically, if I were to stand in an empty room made of enchanted steel with a single exit you could block, three men could indeed neutralize me. I would be backed into a corner, so to speak, but this situation will never arise.¡± The vampire extended a hand, and the man¡¯s revolver jumped into it. She twirled it for effect. ¡°The purpose of the cross is not to make you invincible but to offer a safe haven, that is why it makes for a poor offensive tool. So long as you stay home and pray, we shall never visit you, but the moment you step into the night with a weapon in your hand is the moment you forfeit the protection neutrality afforded you. Why did you not attack during the day?¡± The men kept silent, glaring at the ground and at each other with the embarrassment that comes with a swift defeat. ¡°Answer me!¡± the woman hissed. The crosses flashed blue and the man signed themselves. One of them retreated to the door, only to find that it would not open. The vampire grinned. She cocked her borrowed gun. One of the men gave in. ¡°We know you cannot be found during the day. No one can see you. And there are too many guards.¡± The vampire frowned at the thought of a leak, then reconsidered. She was a well-known ¡ª if mysterious ¡ª quantity in Marquette. The nosiest gossips had already drawn a parallel with Miss Delaney who had led the Dream in its heydays. And reached an unfortunate conclusion. Such was the price of hands-on management. ¡°There are three reasons why you still live,¡± she said. ¡°First, killing law enforcement is infinitely more problematic than killing a nobody. Second, I do not want blood and brain matter on my brand new shaggy rug. Third, you were so hilariously incompetent I am more amused than vexed. You have two choices. You can leave by this door and never bother me again, or¡­¡± Darkness crept in the corners of the room. An unnatural chill spread through the air, freezing the men¡¯s breath in their throat. Their visions narrowed to a corridor and at the end of that tunnel was a cold presence, purple iris slitted with cat-like, baleful pupils. ¡°I will shred your souls and drain your life force like a fine wine and then, I will kill you.¡± The men had not signed for eternal damnation. They took a collective step back. ¡°I thought not,¡± the woman said. The door banged open and they ran away. The vampire sighed in relief. ¡°An Suqqam Hayatu, the tall one almost soiled himself.¡± She grumbled and inspected the threshold, her toes sinking in the fluffy fabric. Satisfied that no irreparable damage had been inflicted and it was not too dusty, she returned to her paperwork, signing spending bills and inspecting diagrams of what appeared to be a large ship. Or perhaps a hot air balloon. An hour later, she contacted the reception once more. ¡°Maybelle, I do not see the report on the Indian territories trade route. Where is it?¡± ¡°Ah, sorry ma¡¯am, analyst Briggs said he needed one more day because some of the reports were late. He has provided an outline of the situation. It¡¯s in the sector report folder.¡± ¡°Hmm. Thank you.¡± ¡°Oh! Your order has arrived, ma¡¯am. From France. The Berthe Morisot?¡± ¡°The painting? I will be right down!¡± The vampire hummed a horribly off-tune little jig and put on some moccasins. She made her way down to the reception where the cylinder encasing her prize in a protective embrace awaited. She unsealed and opened it with dextrous excitement. Maybelle leaned in and caught a glance. The painting appeared to depict a port with a couple at the forefront. Masted ships waited, moored in the distance. She squinted and realized the lines were a little blurred, the colors strange and fleeting. It was a far cry from the realistic landscapes lining the wall. Concern filled her heart but the strange woman smiled fondly, revealing, for an instant, teeth that were perhaps a little too sharp. Maybelle noted the strange Miss Reynaud seldom displayed emotions, yet now covetous greed gave her cold beauty a strange animation. After a while, she deftly rolled the painting back and replaced it in its sheath. ¡°Have it framed and brought to the exhibition hall. I do not need to remind you of the rule?¡± ¡°No one enters without your express consent. We will leave it in the lockbox, as usual. Ma¡¯am.¡± ¡°Good. Well, back to it I suppose. Ta ta.¡± Maybelle nodded politely and watched the young woman¡¯s blue dress swish as she walked. Shaking her head, she focused on her next task. *** The vampire returned to her desk, still humming with contentment. Paperwork disappeared with commendable speed. Sometimes, she would call down to request a specific document from the archive or send orders that could not be delayed. Her outbox collected notes filled with carefully written cursive. Suddenly, she froze. Then she blinked very slowly. Ten seconds later, the chime near her copper horn rang softly. ¡°Ma¡¯am, we have an intruder near the east wall. Your¡­ security thing made a sound. It appears to be a young man with a backpack.¡± ¡°I see. If he makes a move towards the entrance, apprehend him. Otherwise, just keep an eye on him. I want to know what he plans to do.¡± The vampire sat back and waited. Sometimes, her eyes would travel down as if she could see through the thick walls. Eventually, she stood and huffed a little laugh. ¡°Well, you are quite the little monkey.¡± She went to the nearest window. Suddenly, branches of pure darkness dotted with white flowers appeared out of nowhere. They parted to let the statue of a man in armor out. It rolled the precious carpet out of the way and disappeared just as it had come. In the silent room, there was a loud thud. The strange noise was quickly followed by a muffled curse, then another lesser thud. Wards shone softly around the reinforced frame. The vampire sprang in motion. She opened the window, pushing aside the man who had tried to break in. She grabbed his wrist before he could fall back down and pulled him in bodily. Her visitor swore as he crashed on the varnished hardwood. The man was young, muscular and tan. His clothes were worker garb, dark to fit in, and covered in sewn pockets. Surprise marred his handsome, honest traits. The vampire noted the acrid stench of garlic. He scrambled to his feet and opened his backpack with movements panic made feverish. The vampire politely waited with a hand supporting her elbow, the other tapping a clawed finger on her chin. The intruder finally revealed his target: a rolled bundle of dynamite. The vampire¡¯s brows rose. ¡°You can¡¯t get away with it!¡± he blurted. Grasping in his pocket, he found a matchstick. This did not seem to bother the vampire. ¡°I am afraid you might have to be more specific,¡± she said ¡°... what?¡± ¡°There are many things I intend to or have already gotten away with. You need to name which specific occurrence of me getting away with things you are referring to.¡± ¡°You stole our land! You poisoned the well and killed the cattle, only to buy it for a joke of a price! You think you can just take our home? I¡¯ll take yours too.¡± With a terrible rictus of unbidden rage, the intruder brushed the red tip against his boot and¡­ nothing happened. With a puff of cold air, whatever fragile ember had started to form died a lonesome, pathetic death. The intruder appeared a bit aghast, but another match soon joined the first on its path to incandescence with the exact same result. Panic replaced fury in his expression. The vampire had not moved. After the fourth attempt, cold sweat covered his face. The vampire, however, reached a conclusion. She headed back to her office and sat, writing a quick note. ¡°Name and address, please.¡± ¡°What?¡± A breath later, the temperature plummeted. The intruder heard a sigh and watched the monster in the skin of a young woman massage the bridge of her nose, a human gesture performed with a clawed hand. ¡°Are you hard of hearing or just dense? Your name and address, boy, what are they? If one of my employees has been overzealous, I want to know about it.¡± ¡°Why do you care? You¡¯re a monster!¡± ¡°Because,¡± the woman patiently explained, ¡°I have no need to create grudges and deep resentment over business when the long term cost is that young men attempt to break into my place of work at eleven in the evening, carrying dynamite instead of flowers.¡± There was a lull in the conversation, but then the man frowned. He fiddled with the cross hanging from his neck, surprised that it had not stopped her from grabbing his wrist. His suspicion grew. ¡°You just want to go after my family.¡± ¡°I swear that this was not my intention. However, you are free to decline. I suppose we should resume our previous business and address your invasion of my private property and your threats against me?¡± she asked, picking up an elegant revolver with a pearl handle from a side drawer. The man considered his options. ¡°Hmm. The Lord protects me.¡± ¡°Has your faith made you bulletproof? Let us put it to the test.¡± ¡°Wait!¡± To his surprise, she did. ¡°Wait. Are you.. are you really the monster behind IGL? Is that you?¡± ¡°Yes. Do you need my signature to prove it? The company¡¯s seal?¡± ¡°No, no, this is¡­ quite sudden and unexpected. You are playing tricks with me, foul monster.¡± His heart was not into it. The vampire tutted. ¡°Language please. I believe I am already being quite understanding, no need to test my patience further. Now, please state the address of the house that was stolen from you. At least.¡± ¡°My family farm. Near Rushville. We don¡¯t live in a city, it¡¯s just the old Adams estate. I¡¯m Roger Adams. Folks around us know about it. They know we were done dirty by some city fellers.¡± The woman tapped her finger on the wood of her desk, the tick tick tick playing with his nerves. ¡°Schuyler county, was it? I will verify your claims. If you are correct, your property will be returned. I understand the concept of home more than most people, I assure you.¡± ¡°Is this real? Not some lies to get rid of me?¡± ¡°Mr Adams, do you sincerely believe I need to expend any effort to get rid of you?¡± She tapped on the revolver to make a point, but the man suspected there was more to it. She had not been afraid even before she got a hold of the gun. He remembered the way his matches failed. The truth was that he had no weapons left, except a stake hidden in his back pocket and a knife. He had counted on the threat of explosives to be enough and¡­ perhaps he should have planned this with more care. So focused on getting in, he had neglected to prepare what to do once he had achieved that goal. It felt stupid in retrospect but¡­ he had been so angry. ¡°No. Uh, are you speaking the truth about getting our house back?¡± ¡°If you have told the truth, then yes. The perpetrator will also be¡­ disciplined. I provide incentives for the acquisitions of key properties across the state. Financial incentives. I also impose rules and guidelines. If someone broke my directives out of greed, there will be consequences.¡± The intruder thought the woman used a lot of what his sister called euphemisms. She said it was when you say something soft that means something hard. He thought ¡®consequences¡¯ here didn¡¯t mean what most folks meant. The woman finished her note, then placed it on the table where it sat there waiting with the tantalizing promise of justice accomplished. She entwined her fingers in front of her and asked him a question. ¡°Do you know what I am?¡± The intruder hesitated, thinking he could still die. Eventually, his honest nature pushed him away from the easy lie. ¡°I think you are a vampire.¡± ¡°Is that so? And why do you believe that?¡± ¡°My family, they said only a monster could do that to us. When I learned those fellers that harassed us were from over here, I asked about you and also my sister has that book about fantastic creatures of the world. Says a lot about pretty folks who come out at night.¡± ¡°Is that why you stink of garlic?¡± ¡°Hmmm, that¡¯s right. The book said¡­ it would help. It does not, does it?¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°Damn that liar. This Simon, errr¡­¡± ¡°Sinead.¡± The name was barely whispered, and yet it carried with it impressions, feelings. For a moment, the wan light of a nearby lamp gained a golden quality and the air smelled sweeter. The intruder got an inexplicable vision of eyes like amber, a devastating smile, the taste of wine on his lips. And also, a vision of a very erect penis. It was an extremely disturbing experience. ¡°Err. Yeah. Simon Nead. That man.¡± He gulped. ¡°Can I go now?¡± ¡°Hm? Oh yes, let me help.¡± The vampire stood and moved to the window once again. She opened it, giving the intruder a vision of a nearby fountain near the main entrance. ¡°That should be fine.¡± She placed a hand on his shoulder and gripped. His cross shone blue and she lifted an index in warning. He raised his hands in surrender. He did not know how but this affected the object, which lost its radiance. ¡°Well, Roger Adams, I cannot say that it has been a pleasure. Next time you have a complaint, use the damn door. Now kindly show yourself out.¡± Next, he was flying through the air. Gravity and panic gripped him. He flailed his arms in vain before landing face first in the shallow pool. He managed to twist himself, hitting hard stone with his shoulder. The shock made him gasp. The cold water jolted his mind. He surfaced, breathing quickly, his heart beating against his chest. He wiped the liquid from his face. He was in the fountain. Alive. The window slammed shut behind him. A click to the side attracted his attention. A man wearing a crimson uniform under a Stetson sniggered, his hand resting on an engraved rifle. He had just unlocked and opened the main gate. Their presence told him all he needed to know. She had seen him coming and allowed him to do so. He scrambled out of the fountain and advanced, dripping, through the exit. As he ran, he noticed a short blonde woman with a muscular build under a similar crimson uniform. He had not noticed her until now. She growled softly when he ran by. Terror and relief fueled his flight. He ran until he found his room in a nearby hotel and spent the night awake with the lights on. *** Maybelle did her best to focus on the expense sheet in front of her. Sadly, she was too curious about the intruder. She could not help but wonder what they were here for. Was this a burglary? Spying? A scorned lover? She burned to know. Then, it started with a light tremor in the house¡¯s foundation, a vibration of sorts. Maybelle braced and covered her ears. The voice of Miss Reynaud was soft, yet it carried through the walls with unnatural clarity. It started with a string of expletives in some language she did not know, then French curses peppered the unholy mix. Eventually, it was in English that the eruption took place. ¡°I HAVE BEEN EXCEEDINGLY PATIENT AND I HAVE NOT SHED THE BLOOD OF THOSE BRAINLESS TWITS AND SO I DESERVE SOME COMFORT.¡± Maybelle grabbed the copper horn. A moment later, the chime rang. ¡°This is the reception.¡± ¡°Mrs Starr. Can I have a coffee please? Blend number five with some cream and a, no, make that two sugars. Have Mr Jefferson prepare it please. Thank you.¡± ¡°A long one, miss?¡± ¡°Yes. And get the office of the architect to get me a proposal for a tower. Seven floors at least, with a large basement. And the office on the top floor. Gargoyles. The works.¡± ¡°Understood.¡± Maybelle hung up and raced to the majordomo. Seven minutes later, he walked by her at a brisk pace with a silver platter in his hands, trailing the enticing smell of a perfect roast behind him. *** Ariane aspired to some respite after being intruded in her sanctum not once but twice in the span of a few hours. Restraining specific instincts had become incredibly hard since the dragon hunt, especially those that related to territory. If anyone had dared enter her private, special collection of paintings and art, she would have just dismembered them where they stood. As it was, it had taken all of her self-control not to bite the idiots. She raised the cup to her lips. Cream altered the taste greatly, especially to her enhanced senses, and yet there was a smooth quality to the sweetened coffee that brought balm to her irritated mind. A few sips later, she felt better. That was when the screams started. The vampire stayed perfectly unmoving as cries and chants grew in volume until the words were clear to all but the most hard of hearing. ¡°No more gin, drink water, close the pubs and stay sober!¡± The sentence was repeated at nauseam by distinctly female throats coming from the gate. Ariane placed the half-empty cup in its decorated saucer. Outside of her property, a group of women had gathered in conservative dresses waving around signs and banners. There must have been two dozen of them and they seem agitated. Ariane came to a quick conclusion. ¡°Tonight is Thursday. The temperance league holds its weekly meeting,¡± the vampire idly commented. It was well-known that IGL owned and regulated the town¡¯s brewery to contain the endemic spread of alcoholism which now affected most of the United States. The temperance league were merely complaining directly to the owner. Ariane placed her hands on the window¡¯s stool, resting her head against the cold glass. The human Lord was testing her. The problem was that she had been forsaken by said lord long ago and really, that was a little too much. In the middle of her coffee. Sacrilegious, even. She returned to her cup but the relaxation that came with the ritual had been broken. ¡°You know what? Fine. Fine!¡± A chime later, she had Maybelle Starr on the horn. S?a??h th? ?0velF?re.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. ¡°Reception here.¡± ¡°We have manure, right? From the stables?¡± Consternated silence met her question, though the girl recovered quickly. ¡°Yes. We do.¡± ¡°Excellent. Have a boy race and fetch me a large bucket.¡± ¡°... to your office miss?¡± ¡°Over my carpets? Have you lost your senses? No, have them meet me by the fountain. I will be right down. And tell them to hurry, my patience is wearing thin.¡± Grumbling, Ariane put on her moccasins, again, and walked down, again. It was dark in the inner court so the protesters did not spot her. She could see them and realized in a calmer part of her mind that they would pay for everyone else¡¯s behavior. She also knew she did not really care. A sleepy stable lad rushed by her side, the required bucket held in a strong grip. The container looked heavy, and its payload let out an acrid stench. ¡°Good. Place it here.¡± ¡°On the ground, ma¡¯am?¡± ¡°Yes, and step back.¡± The lad did so. In an instant, a root erupted from the ground and seized the bucket. It snapped forward like the arm of an ancient siege weapon, catapulting its nasty content across the courtyard. Some of it splattered on the metal frame. More found the dresses, exposed skin and singing mouths of the protesters. Atrocious screams and terrible wails replaced the slogans. Their misery drowned the street with a terrible din. The abused troop retreated in poor order, leaving behind discarded hats and abandoned umbrellas soiled with excrement. The root disappeared as if it had never existed. Only the discarded bucket remained, a mute witness to the terrible crime that had occurred. Near the gates, the female sentry gagged. Her male counterpart sighed and left to fetch a shovel. ¡°Kill one warn a hundred,¡± the vampire soberly commented. Nodding to herself, she left for the tranquility of her art collection, knowing that if anyone came to bother her, Pookie would get an extra meal. Chapter 194: The nerve of war I idly remark.Melusine¡¯s face twists with rage. ¡± Financially as in life, I am confident with my bottom line. I would never invest most of my assets with a fire mage anyway. I comment. I point out. I reply without concealing my smile. I let Melusine scream incoherently for thirty seconds before cutting the communication. Pleasure is all well and good but I have work to do! The demonstration is about to begin. I must monitor the situation although the sun is out, and I am a prisoner in my own quarters. Another spell and I get a blurry vision of an open field not too far from the Boston fortress where I currently reside. A helpful assistant has the dubious honor of carrying a silver plate in front of him for the entire day, despite the sweltering heat of summer. Curse summer. Curse the summer solstice most of all. I cannot stop myself from sticking my nose to the metal surface of my scryer, even though the quality of the image does not depend on my own senses. Loth stands in the distance, looking regal in a beautifully made beige suit. He smiles genially at the sweating patent officer and assembled army officers. Their medals and decorations shine in the sun almost as much as their brows. I know for a fact Loth keeps a cooling steel plate stuck to his hairy back to handle the unbearable heat, the sly old dog. I sit back and wait for the show to begin. S~?a??h the N?v?lFir?.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. The dragon vision was clear to me. I still have several decades before Nirari finally backs Semiramis into a corner. I would not say that time is on my side since her loss remains inevitable and I will have to intervene, however I have no reason to rush the final confrontation. There are still ways for me to grow more powerful and to add new tools to my arsenal while Nirari has already reached the peak of his power. My options are diplomatic, technological, and the last is a special project I started before freeing the fae. As much as it annoys me, the world is also filled with threats against me and my allies. The major players will not show the basic decency to wait until I rid them of a world-conquering tyrant before shoving a spike in my heart, therefore measures are required. I need to build up my forces. Fortunately, I enjoy doing that immensely. Loth smiles in harmony with my own pleasure. He widens his arms in benevolent welcome, a show considering his size. ¡°Welcome, gentlemen, welcome to the first demonstration of the unthinkable. For the first time in the history of mankind we touch upon the true dream. Not a controlled fall, not floating at the mercy of the wind. I am talking about the holy Grail of modern engineering: man-powered flight.¡± I wanted to put ¡®woman-powered flight¡¯ on the patent but the old Dvergur refused using my own weakness against me: the rules of language. He said that if I would not tolerate the utterance of the despicable term of ¡®okay¡¯ anywhere on my compound, I would certainly not allow my own patent to break the laws of grammar. Curse him and curse semantics. ¡°We have not come here for snakeoil speeches, Mr¡­ Skoragg was it?¡± The man who spoke is a reed-thin gentleman with a ruddy face despite his bookworm physique. Scaled glasses rest on a thin nose, while he keeps in his hand a worn leather case. Except for him, everyone wears the blue of the army ¡°Yes,¡± the old warrior replies with a slight Nordic accent. He decided to shelve the Scottish brogue for the occasion and for ¡®respectability¡¯, though it still surfaces when he swears. His new position demands it. ¡°My name is Loth Skoragg, head of Skoragg Heavy Industries. Our prototype is named the Prometheus and it was designed at the behest of Illinois Guns of Liberties, in collaboration with their engineering department. The patent includes both of us.¡± ¡°I have not come here for a history lesson, Mr ¡ª¡± ¡°If you will excuse us,¡± a colonel with a long brown beard and pale eyes interrupts. The patent officer sighs but complies. ¡°Please, continue.¡± ¡°Although the Prometheus is a Swedish-American partnership, the plans and factories are all hosted on American soil. I have no need to explain how momentous this is.¡± ¡°You explain much, but I have yet to see any sign of a flying device.¡± Loth grins and points up. On cue, the roar of an engine comes to life and rotors turn to move the air. A shadow falls upon the assembly. A hull with a flat bottom descends like a bird from heaven, side sails taunt in the wind. Its shade covers the waiting group. The witnesses¡¯ flabbergasted expression is positively precious. Hiding a ship in a cloudless sky can be difficult, if one forgets that the sun exists and that no one stares at it willingly. The Prometheus is not a proof of concept as most new designs are, it is a fully functional ship capable of flying at a height of a thousand feet and an autonomy of eight hundred miles at the moment. It can host a crew of twenty five and bears four light cannons aiming down. As a navy ship, it would do a decent job patrolling the coasts for smugglers. As a skyship, it bears a distinct advantage. No armies of the world can reliably take down a moving, plated target a thousand feet above their heads. It, however, can hit them just fine. The plate bearer turns the mirror to show the Prometheus land in all its glory. Two of the officers fall on their posteriors and clamber back, their eyes wide as saucers. The ship comes to rest with a light thud while red-clad sailors lower the gangplank. The Prometheus is flat-bottomed so it can rest on both land and seas, but not properly sail on anything too agitated. The decision came out of a joint accord. It pains me not to have a flying and sea-worthy ship now that Pookie guards my precious hoard, I mean, my art collection, however the result is worth it. I can be patient. Really. The world has not seen the end of the dread pirate. While I entertain the thought of a flying ship of the line, the officer and patent office agent have recovered enough to gather the shreds of dignity they still have. Loth walks them patiently around the ship, unveiling its attributes while a hired photographer captures the moment with his annoying contraption. Soon, they board the Prometheus with various levels of courage, and the ship takes off. The plate-holder has come aboard despite the limited space. The ship will not go very high, nor will it travel very far. Only to a pier where it will settle under the amazed eyes of the populace. I hum a little tune under my breath as the inspectors stick to the railing with hilariously fake nonchalance. Loth spoon feeds them anecdotes, knowing well they will barely remember their conversation. After a flight of half an hour at a decent speed, the ship flies low over the streets of Boston. A gasping crowd trails our prototype with excitement until it lands in the harbor. ¡°Mass production can begin immediately. We have several models to choose from and we hope the army will consider our creation¡¯s remarkable potential. A ship like the Prometheus can strike anywhere unimpeded, travel as fast as a running horse, and shoot without being shot at. It is as much a revolution as modern logistics was. The Prometheus will revolutionize the way we wage wars, gentlemen. You can count on it. And now if you will excuse me, I have to greet your compatriots.¡± Loth steps on the railing with a sound amplifier of his own design. His rumbling voice rolls over the calm waves like an avalanche, as unstoppable as the march of progress. ¡°Ladies and gentlemen, this is the year of our lord eighteen seventy-two. Welcome¡­. to the future!¡± *** While Loth and the more business-oriented members of the Accords manage the development of the airship project, I focus on one of the greatest challenges we will have to solve if we want to keep living under the glowing light of gas lamps, that of photography. Indeed, with every major event attracting the presence of picture takers, we will soon be forced to shun major public events or have people wonder why all their cameras only catch a blur. Unfortunately, the very idea of stabilizing our image poses a challenge. We do not lack a reflection so much as we lack presence. We remain the fleshy avatars of a curious and slightly strange god, and the Watcher has not seen fit to help us fit in too much. As usual, the solution lies in deceit and misdirection. We need a mask. After a little work, I believe I have found a way to cheat cameras reliably. Those accursed tools merely capture light through a lens, so I must give them light to process. The good news is that the energy required to produce the image of a single vampire is extremely limited. Sadly, there are obstacles. First, the vampire must be aware they are being photographed to ¡®aim¡¯ the light properly. Second, the projected image may not match the vampire because, again, there is no true self to project for some strange reason. I circumvent the first issue by adding an extremely complex reactive component to the masking spell, one based on the flash a camera needs to produce a good image at night. A strong variance in the lighting will cause a reaction. The second issue is more complex, and the best way I find to handle this difficulty is to ¡®save¡¯ a standard realistic portrait the vampire must identify with. In the first attempts, the results are still blurry and I have to make adjustments in material and complexity. Eventually, I pick electrum as a base component due to the vanity associated with both silver and gold. The resulting enchantments allow me to project not one but four different images depending on the vampire¡¯s body positioning compared to the camera. It feels a little unnatural and forces the vampire to wear similar clothes or create suspicion, much to Sephare¡¯s dismay. Fortunately, the canny Hastings finds an easy solution. She orders twelve different pendants and rings bearing the enchantment. She can afford them too. The creation of said enchantments for the hundreds of Accords vampires occupies much of eighteen seventy-two. While time-consuming, the task also puts me in the good graces of Mask and Eneru vampires after I sell the design to the Rosenthal. It also requires me to meet every vampire I create tools for seeing as they need a firm image of what they currently look like and many have forgotten. I have to paint them first. I meet a lot of people over the next months. Some I even find tolerable. With enough money and goodwill collected for a while and with the first small flying skiffs shipped out to city masters across North America, the time comes for me to create one such item for myself. The issue is obvious and immediate. I cannot paint myself. Fortunately, I have no need to do so. During the dragon hunt, I challenged the Old One to a painting competition which he beat me handily at. I was allowed to keep his creation ¡ª which he casually sneezed on a canvas ¡ª and use it as a baseline. It leads my kin to say that I appear ¡®sunnier¡¯ and ¡®of an easier disposition and temperament¡¯ on film than in reality. I refrain from gouging eyes but I do gouge them on my prices for this affront. While I work on preparing us for the future, I keep an eye on the larger events. Nirari has disappeared again into the maze of history, pursuing his mother and his ambitions. Mask has decided to bind us diplomatically rather than militarily to Sephare¡¯s delight and my personal annoyance. I believe we should make them pay for their audacity but my kin are ever pragmatic and I cannot begrudge them the wealth that comes with having valuable trading partners. I also manage to purchase many paintings as a result, so not all is lost. I favor impressionist paintings but I do find myself acquiring naturalist paintings, some neo-classical works so long as it does not depict temples and so long as the denuded butts remain anatomically correct. Romantic and pre-raphaelite masterpieces come to bring some spice to an ever-growing collection. I find myself less interested by older trends, preferring to capture the zeitgeist of eras I have lived through. This leads to some consternation among my friends. Jimena remarks at some point. I grumble some excuses about pedantic commenters and children with grubby fingers and no manners, but I know that she is correct. I believe I will eventually open my collection but only when I have adequate safety measures and such is not the case now. And by adequate I mean that both visitors and paintings are safe, the paintings themselves remain quite safe right now. *** I tell Melusine at the inauguration of her new stone apartments. I roll my eyes at the cheap jab. Melusine¡¯s suspicion does not ease. We stand in a small, newly opened park surrounded by storied buildings in a renovated part of Chicago. The city is gaining her letter of nobility now that the most defining architectural feature is no longer ¡®slum¡¯, and we have gathered to celebrate. I reach in my satchel and remove a single dark gem, glowing from an inner fire like an ember under a cloud of ash. The fire specialist¡¯s eyes widen with surprise and greed. I feel her aura resonate with the slow pulse of the incandescent piece of jewelry. We stare at each other in silence for a minute. She knows I am a very capable crafter myself with access to Skoragg expertise. She can do no better on this continent. We bicker for a while but I can tell she is most pleased. *** It does not cost that much money to build a skyship. It does, however, require uniquely skilled workers, hard-to-source materials, and a patented technique. I have achieved monopoly over the world¡¯s most coveted arcane technological innovation. For a year, IGL and Skoragg Heavy Industries achieve world-wide fame. Journalists besiege the city. Scientists beg to join our hallowed ranks, bringing with them knowledge and talents. I can dine on a spy every night and never drain from the same neck. More importantly, I become fabulously rich. Even accounting for Accords ships, taxes, and contributions to several projects for the Accords, a hundred and fifty thousand dollars for a ship will net unprecedented profit when the production cost is barely a tenth of that. And people will pay. Affluent investors, governments and military rushed orders to be the first to possess our work. I have no doubt that most of our sales to Europe were eventually dismantled and cracked like nuts for analysis but Loth and I made a significant effort to use fae and Dvergur runes, and there are very few experts capable of deciphering our work, not to mention understanding it. For now, life is perfect. And so, of course, it was not meant to last. *** I wait patiently by my office, a hand placed against the nearest illusory window. Those are actually mirrors that reflect the exterior to let in a simulacrum of the sun¡¯s light. Any casual visitor will simply see me in my office by day, working normally. Keen observers might notice the blurred nature of the image, and perhaps the slightly wrong angle of the third window from the entrance which I still have not fixed, though they could blame faulty glass. Anyone asking to open a window will be flatly refused. Nevertheless, the false sunlight is of such a color that I can never truly relax in its presence. A part of me sees the pale radiance and expects to burst into flame, and nevermind reason or evidence. As such, I tend to keep the mirrors off while alone. Unfortunately, my next visitors must be given no reason to suspect that I abhor the sun. Unfortunately, our existence has reached the level of urban myth, though we have yet to deplore any loss from it. I should not give them an excuse in any case. Four men in uniform walk through my front gate at a brisk pace. Their steps carry them through the main entrance with a decisive gait. My quietly competent receptionist Mrs. Starr directs them up and warns me afterward, which is good because my Magna Arqa cannot be cast during the day. They bang more than knock on my door then step in without an invitation. I could do something drastic to them and get away with it, but the truth is that the office is still not technically the heart of my domain and I have suffered fools here before. I shall suffer these as well. The four officers stride in and stop with various expressions of disapproval. ¡°So it was true. A woman. I cannot believe the War Office would leave the arming of our nation¡¯s military to a mere girl.¡± ¡°Not that there is much to equip, Colonel Andrews. Our army¡¯s manpower is not even a tenth of France¡¯s,¡± I casually observe. ¡°But we are getting sidetracked. You have an injunction to deliver, yes?¡± ¡°Before we begin, I would like to give you one last chance to do what is right. I do not know whether this is some sort of trickery or you inherited this position and no heir came to contest it, you must listen to reason. The sky ship is no less important to the development of our nation and the industrial revolution we find ourselves in than the cotton gin, the steam engine, the railroad and many other innovations have been over the past century. Manufactories now occupy a lot of our workforce because we have wisely protected it from the predation of the old world with reasonable tariffs and other adapted measures. The sky ship gives us a chance to compete on the global scale against those who have occupied the arena since its inception. I beg you to reconsider the export of this strategic resource to countries that have done little to deserve such boons. Countries that, I may add, are even now peeling off the hulls IGL designed to get at the secret marrow. Do not squander such a treasure.¡± I was going to let my guest handle it, but I believe a small precision is in order. ¡°Correction. What I have is first and foremost MINE .¡± I sit back down in my comfortable chair, doing my best not to claw my desk¡¯s surface off as it is quite expensive. Before the officers can react to my outburst, I ring a little bell I have ready. I would have normally done without but my guest insisted that it was no sign of disrespect. A moment later, a dark-haired, handsome man in an exquisitely tailored suit and a winning smile crosses the threshold. While the soldiers¡¯ uniforms are a little crumpled, the newcomer is so neat his appearance is almost surreal. From his pomaded hair to the flawlessly polished shoes, even a maniac would be hard-pressed to find a single flaw. ¡°Gentlemen, hello,¡± he says. ¡°I am Isaac Rosenthal of the Rosenthal Consortium, Banks, and Legal services. It has come to my attention that you were to produce a ¡®requisition order¡¯ hmm? Let us see it? If you please?¡± He snatches the wrinkled envelope from off of the officers¡¯ stunned hands and opens it with ceremony. His brow wrinkles while he reads the official document. Soon, he tuts under his breath. The officers do not speak and for good reason. The asset grab they were sent to perform was decided at the highest level and by people I never suspected of treachery. Grant, you devil, I trusted you. I even got you promoted. I soothe the anguish in my heart by watching sweat pearl on the officers¡¯ skin. They came in expecting resistance, I am sure. Threats. Grandstanding. I bypassed all that by calling upon the last option. I brought in a lawyer. They should not have messed with my property! ¡°As expected, I see several issues with this ¡®requisition¡¯ order and I regret to tell you that they are as I expected. First, we are not a belligerent state¡­¡± Thus begins a litany of complaints that lasts for a good ten minutes, a remarkable achievement considering the order itself is merely two pages long. Isaac finishes with a nice touch. ¡°... and last but not least, a requisition order may not cover patents, plans, and contracts as you seem to believe. I admit to knowing in advance the broad lines of this order, though I hoped you might have reconsidered this foolish endeavor, and would like to present you this executive order signed by Governor Spencer himself rescinding your permit to seize my client¡¯s property.¡± If I understand properly, all of those are meaningless documents disputing everyone¡¯s legitimacy and mandate in general. Pah, I care not, so long as we block their attempt. Unfortunately, it also means that we will have to trigger a certain operation early. *** *** The world is changing fast. Technology carries it, but the rest follows. Population leaves the countryside to glut the outskirts of town, feeding their flesh and labor to the fires of industry. Alcoholism runs rampant, and with it tax evasion and corruption become the norm. The victors devour the vanquished. The vanquished blame devil worshippers for their defeat, rewriting history to fit the agenda of the Intergrist party. The persecution of anyone suspected of magic becomes routine in the south while authorities either turn a blind eye or stand complicit. As a result, White and Red cabal recruitment are at an all time high. Perhaps my time in the faerie world has given me a sense of perspective or perhaps history is accelerating. In any case, recent developments challenge the way we act and evolve in society. Sephare, Isaac, and Constantine take to it like fishes to water. One wields the law, the second wields finance and the third influence to achieve what armies could not. We are now in eighteen seventy three and I have not had to wield my Magna Arqa to solve issues in two years. I still used it, I just did not have to. It is a strange new world we are leading to in this end of a century. Magic has returned to the forefront after being trimmed and unveiled by the purging blaze of enlightenment, and yet rather than wonder or fear, it is dogmatic hatred and bleak resignation that celebrate its rise. It has all become so very normal. Standard. Taxed and regulated according to well-defined laws. There are even chartered trinket shops for the discerning customers now, and alchemy shops pop out selling pimple removers and birth control elixirs of women wearing shawls so as not to be recognized. All those challenges require new solutions and it is Isaac I meet to keep control of my ships. the banker says as we watch out the window of his New York office. Isaac¡¯s smile could not be more savage, an unsettling sign on a face of one usually so composed. *** A tidal wave sweeps across the financial landscape, a terrible event that sinks many rickety ships, their decks too weak from years of prosperity. The portents were there: railroad constructions had boomed after the war with much money tied up in risky, illiquid ventures. The fires in Chicago and Boston put a strain on national reserves. To slow down the rampant inflation, the government raises interest rates and thus the cost of debt, punishing the typically indebted farmers. And then it happens. Jay Cooke and Company, a major actor of the banking establishment, finds itself unable to market several million dollars worth of Northern Pacific Railways bonds. There is much to finance but the money to do so is too scarce. In September seventy-three, the company¡¯s unfortunate financial situation is revealed via a series of reports. The same month, the company declares bankruptcy. The fall of the giant creates ripples, a cascading effect that culminates in the closure of the New York Stock Exchange for several weeks. Most of the railroad companies go bust. The construction of new railroads stops due to a lack of financing. Unemployment explodes while the demand for lumber collapses. And then, the cash which the industry was starving for flows again from mysterious actors, the very same who had held back at the height of speculation and saved their profits. Several mysterious consortiums and obscure interest groups gobble up their competitors for a fraction of what they cost a year before. The behemoth, the leviathan raking the most profit, becomes famous for the Gothic R that starts its name. The polite yet merciless lawyers they send to conduct their affairs become known to most as last resort saviors. Many protests are broken peacefully through harsh yet human negotiations, for no one knows better than us that humans should never be backed into a corner. Because of the economic downturn, IGL successfully asks for a right to export its goods, considering the weak local demand and the need for additional profits. The secretary of war replaces its negotiators with smoother agents. Lumber prices stop tumbling down as Marquette grows to match the demand. Three years later, the country has stabilized and we are immeasurably more powerful than when we started. Four years later, there is a transatlantic flying ship line, sky navies, and I have more money to my name than I could possibly ever hope to spend. Chapter 195: Fool’s Gold ****** It starts with an itch at the back of my head, as if being observed by someone. Someone who would not be the usual massive purple eldritch being. It crawls in my everyday life when I hunt some large alligator and watch behind my shoulder for an invisible threat. Ako, who trains with me when he can to create his Magna Arqa, notes that I am more distracted than usual. Even the safety of Pookie and my art collection fail to distract me from the impending doom. It is inevitable and there is nothing I can reasonably do to stop it. It is as inevitable and regular as the tide. On a fine night of February, the news comes as I sign on the purchase of some land to the west. Winter still grips Illinois in its icy claws and I have started a fire in my office¡¯s hearth just so the ink would not freeze. The nostalgic smell of wood smoke mixes with that of fresh coffee in a rather pleasant perfume that fails to distract me. Mrs Starr¡¯s bell chimes with the solemnity of a death knell. ¡°Yes?¡± I grumble into the horn. ¡°A gentleman here to see you, he says¡­¡± ¡°Send him up.¡± ¡°Right away, ma¡¯am.¡± Uggggggggggggggggggggg. I brace my hands on the desk, waiting for fate. He knocks on the door soon enough. ¡°Come in, Mr Bingle.¡± ¡°Miss Reynaud? Or would you prefer Delaney? You can call me Alexander, if you prefer!¡± The latest spawn to grace my shores has grown a lot in the past years. Gone is the fresh-faced English lad. Now a powerfully built frontier man in well-fitting if worn clothes stands with confidence, poise, and a glorious mustache the likes of which I had not seen since his glorious ancestor Cecil Rutherford Bingle graced us with his presence. ¡°Miss Delaney or simply Ariane will do. I prefer consistency when it comes to pseudonyms. How are you, Alexander?¡± ¡°Fine! Or rather, as well as can be expected in my endless struggle against the injustices of this world. The frontier is a cruel place where laws and customs only apply so long as someone believes they might be caught. Why, just last month¡­¡± I settle to listen to his passionate retelling of how he uncovered a ring of unscrupulous cattle farmers who paid bandits to rob rivals only to absorb their stolen herds into their own. I have followed his adventures from afar, of course. I may have inflated some of the bounties he collected in the past with some ¡®concerned citizen¡¯ bonus when times were lean, as a sad Bingle is a risky thing indeed. I may have also provided medical help in the form of a traveling healer mage once or twice. Alexander stops when Mrs. Starr comes to deliver a cup of coffee and some floral tea for him. ¡°But I digress. Oh, Jasmine! My favorite. How did you know?¡± ¡°It is part of my nature to know things,¡± I mysteriously reply. I just pay talented investigators to keep an eye on him. He does not need to know that. ¡°Impressive as always, Miss Delaney! But then, perhaps you can guess as to why I am here?¡± I can guess he is here to ruin the opera season, which is supposed to open in three days in Melusine¡¯s domain with ¡®The Pirates of Penzance¡¯. I had saved the best seats. Now I will have to miss the premiere. The knave. ¡°No, Mr Bingle, I cannot see your thoughts, I am sure we both find that knowledge very comforting.¡± ¡°Haha, indeed, though that would be most impressive! No, then please lend your ears to a terrible tale of corruption and death. Do you know of the Black Hills?¡± ¡°Oh yes, what a fiasco that almost was,¡± I reply, thinking about that dreary place and the battles that took place there. ¡°We had to silence the discovery of a certain precious metal to stop settlers from moving in too fast.¡± ¡°We? Who is¡­ You call the battle of Little Big Horn ¡®almost¡¯ a fiasco?¡± ¡°I never liked Custer,¡± I reply with a frown. ¡°Glory hound. Not like George Henry Thomas, my favorite by far! The one you worship rest his soul. We are getting sidetracked, young Bingle. The Black Hills are an Indian reservation in the Dakota territories due west of here under the control of the Lakota, Dakota, Sioux or whatever you fancy calling them. They have a relatively unified social structure and military. Local resources are timber and gold.¡± ¡°Gold?¡± Alexander replied, alarmed. ¡°Yes, gold. Keep it to yourself. Due to the, ah, presence of accursed among recent Lakota allies¡­ it would be best if large-scale conflicts were not to happen. We have managed to acquire and monopolize a lot of the land directly around them to create a buffer and this shall hold for now, but publicize the presence of underground resources and all bets are off.¡± I lean over the desk and stare right in his eyes. ¡°You will not do that, will you?¡± I ask. ¡°Of course not! I will be no party to treaty breaking. Of this you can be sure!¡± ¡°Focus young Bingle, and tell me of death and corruption.¡± ¡°Yes. It all started in the fall of seventy-nine while I was traveling north to claim the bounty for an escaped fugitive. On a fine morning by a river, I came upon Johnny the Butcher bearing a sheriff¡¯s star. Now, you may not have heard of this dark and twisted individual, but know he has slain seven women across the frontier in his murderous spree, and that I believed him hanged. Thus you may imagine my surprise when I not only found him alive, but also representing a cause I had dedicated my life to. Him. A scoundrel whose dark soul would not find redemption in a thousand years!¡± Alexander scowls and closes his hand into a fist. Few things seem to genuinely anger the Bingles, yet those that do send them into a spiraling rage even I would fear. ¡°Dear Johnny thought his new position and the posse at his back would give him the right to taunt me. He dared believe I would fear touching him. Fool. I could not stand that a symbol of justice would adorn a chest hiding such a shriveled heart. I would have died rather than let such a desecration go unpunished!¡± ¡°Yes, yes. I understand.¡± ¡°My apologies. You are not at fault and yet I lose my temper in front of you. In any case, I opened fire on those mongrels and slew them to the last man. Trying to interrogate Johnny as he breathed his dying breath led to more taunts, and I learned the identity of the man who had allowed him to turn a new leaf. It was none other than a judge by the name of Zakarias Ramsey based in Ortonville at the edge of Big Stone Lake. A judge! I had to go and investigate, and so I went there with Honor¨¦ under the guise of an escaped outlaw from Texas.¡± For a moment, his light English accent turns into a surprisingly convincing Texan drawl. ¡°Heard some good things about y¡¯all fine fellers.¡± ¡°Impressive. And then?¡± ¡°We were recruited and discovered the truth! Judge Ramsey recruits outlaws as enforcers and lawbringers, then sends them in ¡®patrols¡¯ into the Black Hills where they pillage camps left and right. When the Lakota braves inevitably fight back, he moves in with his full force and clears stretches of land which he then sells to illegal logging operations.¡± I realize that this is a serious issue. It will only take one fortunate prospector trying his luck in a nearby river for gold deposits to be discovered, and then we might be too late to catch the rumor on time. I have to warn Ako that it might be better to let one mining consortium on some lands and let them police settlers than a tide of illegal miners. Hmm. In any case, Judge Ramsey certainly found himself a sweet, cost-free arrangement. His only loss would be disposable ruffians. ¡°Unfortunately we were found out before I could find undeniable proof of wrongdoing bearing the judge¡¯s stamp. The snake is canny, I¡¯ll give him that much. We were found out when we resisted an order to slaughter women and old folks in a deserted camp. We managed to flee the ensuing firefight, and I have since then petitioned the marshal office and even the army! It was in vain, however. My complaints have never reached a sympathetic ear despite my best efforts. I suspect the corruption runs deep.¡± Well of course it does. We are relying on it. ¡°The hearts of mortals are ever filled with greed. We know this,¡± I agree. ¡°Hmm, yes, the mortals. Hmm. Indeed. In any case, I shall not rest until we clear this infamy! Given the extremely challenging circumstances, I can think of only one solution.¡± I personally can think of several. I could contact a few people and have the judge removed in two weeks. I could also have him murdered in one, or three days if I do it myself. ¡°We need to strike hard and shine the light of the law over this den of corruption, whether the local authorities want it or not. The gaze of the entire nation shall fall upon them. In order to attract such an intense glare, we are left but with one choice!¡± ¡°We are?¡± ¡°The government has moved some of its gold reserves to secure locations inland in case the Eastern Seaboard is attacked, including a secluded fort in Minnesota right next to Ortonville. We are going to steal gold from the Western United States Bullion Depository. A few metric tons should do.¡± It takes me a few seconds to remember to close my jaws. If Alexander notices the fangs, he makes no mention of it. ¡°I beg your pardon?¡± ¡°I have a plan but I could use your expertise, because none of us know how to use explosives. We will return the gold afterward, of course. ¡± ¡°Why yes, obviously, dynamiting a gold reserve? Such an incredibly daring endeavor, young Bingle!¡± ¡°Unless you have a better idea, of course.¡± ¡°No no. Nope. Truly, we have no choice.¡± ¡°Then will you help?¡± ¡°How could I deny you my help in such a grand challenge? You were right to come to me. Together, we will grab all that gold and make away like thieves.¡± ¡°And return it eventually,¡± Alexander tells me with a warning tone. ¡°Yes, the pursuit of higher purposes is its own reward.¡± ¡°Hear hear! How brilliant, how inspiring of you Miss Delaney. We truly are kindred spirits. Blessed was the day when my esteemed grandfather met you. Nothing moves me like justice itself.¡± Well for me it would be high-yield explosives but I do not wish to dampen his spirits. ¡°Will you come with me then or do you need to prepare first?¡± ¡°Just a few hours should do. Give me a rendezvous at and I shall join you with supplies and¡­ I believe two of my allies. You can count on me.¡± *** The image in the mirror does not move. I know the spell is working because of the way the silvery picture shivers like wind sending ripples over the lake, and so I wait for the inevitable reply. Sephare sighs, an unusual sign of annoyance. I frown, suddenly considering a new thought. What a subtle way to tell me that they wash their hands off the problem and leave me to handle those shenanigans. Also I do not have a flaming pig problem. Those were all just coincidences. Sephare continues. I attempt to contact my sharp friend, but I find that he is currently in the middle of a meeting which is fine. It gives me time to think about what to do. I do not have any pressing matters to attend at the moment and it has been some time since I last worked with John and Urchin. We shall have a coven moment all together with our Nightmares. It will be fun. I also need boots. And a felt hat. For a moment, I entertain the possibility of pants. Do I dare? No, not while there are some who will recognize me. John would be fine but not the rest. No, I shall not cross that last line. I am a respectable member of the community now, not some savage hellion Jimena dragged around for her assassination projects. Aw. I shall compensate this loss with a generous acquisition of guns. And explosives. There is always a need for explosives. We will also need two secured carriages. I take notes with a quick hand to have everything prepared by dawn until Isaac has his mage open the channel again. he asks with the barest crinkle of amusement around his eyes. Isaac sighs deeply, the burden of a stable US dollar exchange rate heavy upon his shoulders. I consider the options. Bingle is fundamentally a champion of justice and a good egg. Of course, the fortune will eventually find its way back into the hands of the law, as it should be. The story would suffer no other conclusion. If it were ill-gotten gains there is a chance they could end up at the bottom of some unplumbed chasm, but government property is usually returned. We make some small talk and promise to catch up on this development later. Truly, a welcome distraction. My preparations are done long before the sun returns and, soon after, we are on our way. *** Urchin asks. The thought clearly displeases him. John asks in turn. *** The edge of the Black Hills is so dense with forest I am tempted to explore the region by myself later. Rocks and lone elevations jut out from the woods like old teeth cracked by eons of wind and rain, their rocky flesh in turn smooth and brittle. The moon is beautiful tonight. Bingle¡¯s team spreads over the clearing we have reached, leaning against trunks and sitting on stumps in a picturesque fashion. A low log cabin propped against a cliff awaits us a few steps away from a merry campfire. Temperatures are glacial. The mortals bleed out their heat with every puff of frozen breath that escapes their chapped lips, and yet they still stand with casual grace as if the deep cold did not bother them. Alexander has expanded the ranks of his gathering of misfits since the last time we talked ¡ª not that I am in any position to criticize. I recognize Honor¨¦, his Haitian second-in-command and expert knife wielder. There is also Felicia, the pointy-nosed sharpshooter who even now cleans her rifle with confident moves. I am utterly jealous that she has the confidence to wear pants while I do not, but no, I have made my decision. Maybe I shall buy a pair and try them in private. Yes, that sounds delightful. Next to the pants wearer stands a hulking brute with scar-covered hands named Bill Hannigan. He plays the role of the bruiser and he plays it with both efficacy and gusto. His blue Irish eyes follow us as we ride in and settle on John, recognizing competition when he sees it. The last member of this eclectic group is Whistles-at-Dawn, a grim Lakota shaman of some power whose family was killed by trespassing poachers. He is the group¡¯s most mysterious member and possibly the only one to recognize us for what we are, if his spiking heartbeat is any indication. Both Bill and Whistle joined the group after the Steeleborough firefight. We meet in the flesh for the first time. ¡°Ladies and gentlemen, please allow me to introduce an old family friend, Ariane Delaney! Some of us met her before. She will be providing precious help for our next endeavor.¡± S?a??h th? ??v?lF?re.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. ¡°He was not joking! You have not changed at all!¡± Felicia gasps as she stands. She takes a few steps forward to confirm what the light of the fire hints at, but stops at a respectful distance, suddenly afraid. ¡°Bondye sove nou, that is the truth,¡± Honor¨¦ agrees. The others tense and I smile amicably. ¡°Gentlemen, and lady. I assure you that the curse is not contagious.¡± Urchin whispers and I use a small liana to throw a pebble at the back of his knee. ¡°I am here as a friend and ally. You have nothing to fear from me while we are on the same side.¡± ¡°And when we ain¡¯t?¡± Bill grumbles. ¡°Surely, Mr Hannigan, you are not considering defection, hmm?¡± I ask. The poor man¡¯s expression turns into a rictus of fear. Yes, you big oaf, I know who you are. ¡°My friends! My friends. My family has known Miss Delaney since eighteen oh five. I trust her with my life.¡± The Lakota mumbles something in a tongue I do not recognize. John answers in the same tongue to everyone¡¯s surprise including mine. He patiently exchanges a few sentences with the shaman until the native slowly nods and sits back down, pushing tobacco in his pipe with shaky hands. ¡°Hmm, John?¡± I whisper. ¡°I speak Ojibwe. I told him we were honor-bound to assist. He believed me.¡± ¡°I see. Well done.¡± ¡°Hmm, well, yes,¡± Alexander continues. ¡°Right, introductions!¡± The three of us listen to Alexander briefly introduce his minions, all of whom I have detailed files on. We politely nod and smile, then our time comes. I allow Urchin to go first. ¡°Urchin, knife-wielder and poker player extraordinaire. At your service,¡± he greets with a bow. ¡°I¡¯m John Doe,¡± John greets with a rumbling voice. He does not elaborate. A small shrug shakes the main sail that passes as a shirt over his mighty frame. Massive muscles slide under buttons, making them bob up and down like buoys over high tide. I allow the deafening silence that follows to last for a few seconds before continuing. ¡°And my name is Ariane. Mr Bingle perhaps mentioned that I am cursed and was well acquainted with his grandfather, the illustrious Cecil Rutherford. My friends and I do not like the day very much, but the night likes us. A word of advice, do not play card games with Urchin, and do not arm wrestle John.¡± ¡°And what should we not do with you?¡± the girl asks. Ah, a perfect introduction. I grab the Big Iron at my side and flip the heavy revolver around a finger, then two, using tricks Sheridan and a few others taught me. The mortals watch the deadly implement twist and jump and dance and twirl in my expert hands. To finish, I turn in my saddle and let the gun land back in its holster. ¡°So, dueling. Got it,¡± the girl finishes in a cool voice. ¡°Why admit you lots are cursed? Feels suspicious to me,¡± Bill Harrigan growls. He is right to be wary. I believe he represents the human norm. The Bingles and their immediate allies tend to be a little naive, I find. ¡°I do not lie to Alexander or his close friends,¡± I reply with a shrug. ¡°The others have no need to know.¡± ¡°You say you knew his grandpa? Ain¡¯t you a little too fresh around the ears for that?¡± ¡°I am considerably older than I look.¡± ¡°God won¡¯t like that, I bet.¡± ¡°I would not know. We are not on speaking terms.¡± ¡°As fascinating as this all is,¡± Alexander interrupts, ¡°we are on a schedule, so I will remind everyone of what matters here. I have called upon you fine folks because I trust you, or in the case of Miss Delaney¡¯s guests, I trust the one who brought them. We have all proven ourselves countless times against the cruelties and injustices of this world and now the time has come to do so once more. Cast aside your doubts and remember that we are all servants of good regardless of our past and nature. United in this most noble of purpose, we cannot fail. Close ranks, stand shoulder to shoulder, and we will achieve the impossible as we have before. The corrupted judge will fall. We will make sure of it. Now let¡¯s head inside so I can tell you more.¡± The godling of adventure turns without a doubt in his pretty head that we would follow and, naturally, we do. Our Nightmares ride back to the forest as we move in. I end up walking side by side with a nervous Felicia. She smells of anguish and old sweat, the poor dear. Red welts mar her pretty cheeks. I make a note to get her a scarf of some sort to mitigate the damage, and also to have a talk with her. Reassure her that I am not after Alexander and she can return to her unrequited love while Bill himself burns with passion for her. Ah, the group dynamics of mortals. Always amusing to see from an outsider¡¯s perspective. An ambitious player could set Bill against Alexander with a few words and test that old friendship of theirs. Love and jealousy could achieve what battles have failed to do. Not me, though, I have better things to do. The log cabin turns out to be warm and dry, which makes me wonder what the group could possibly have been doing outside. Perhaps they were feeling cramped? In any case, we gather around a central table and the map pinned upon it. Two separate structures occupy it. The first is a sprawling complex surrounded by a wood palisade labeled ¡®Fort Dearborn¡¯ while the second is an isolated square surrounded by empty space and, beyond that, another palissade. The word ¡®depository¡¯ was added with a blue pen. Alexander points at it once we are all settled. ¡°Right, this is our target, the Gold Bullion Depository. Two floors and a relatively small surface but what interests us is the vault underneath. A single set of stairs leads to a corridor and then the vault gates proper. Two safe combinations are required to open the secured door, but unfortunately we cannot obtain one of them because the holder is in another state under constant guard. Hence the need for dynamite.¡± I frown. This all sounds terribly wrong. I decide to speak up. ¡°Hold on. Even assuming we can use explosives to open the gate, the resulting explosion will be noticed. You cannot move metric tons of gold away if you are under fire from an entire garrison!¡± ¡°That would normally be true, but the vault is built deep into the earth. It was carefully dug out. With the military base far enough away, they should not notice.¡± ¡°This means you have a plan to subdue the local guards.¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°A non-lethal one.¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Given by your inside man,¡± I add. Alexander blushes while the others shift their postures, looking askance at the ¡®brain¡¯ of the operation. Seldom has the term fitted less than now. ¡°I was going to introduce everyone tomorrow but I suppose I can mention him now, since there is no cause for theatrics anymore. We do have a man in, yes, the very same who shared his knowledge with me. His name is Willy Adler, and he will get us through the guard.¡± Aha! With a name like that, he has to be an antagonist. Wily adder indeed. It appears we will be backstabbed and left behind. Oh, the humanity! Was the man called William or Willy Adler before and got drawn into our tale, or did the force behind godlings create him from nothing? Was he born and raised for the sole purpose of becoming a secondary character? Sometimes, the unthinkable power behind the godlings scares me. ¡°How will he do that?¡± Honor¨¦ asks with suspicion. ¡°He is a guard himself. In fact, he is a high-ranking member of the mint. And before you ask, yes I questioned his motives. Mr Adler wants to demonstrate a flaw in the current safety measures used by the depository, the very flaw will be using ourselves. You see, the defenders on site number few, barely a dozen, because they rely on alarms to rouse Fort Dearborn¡¯s garrison. Take out the alarms and the depository is defenseless. Relatively defenseless. ¡°The alarms number two: the first is a hand-cranked siren on the second floor, and the second is a buried telegraph cable linking the depository to the fort¡¯s headquarters. We must disable both before reaching the gold.¡± ¡°The defenders could shoot at us. That would be heard,¡± I say. ¡°Hmm, good point. We will have to be fast then. Whistle says he has a concoction that can disable grown men in only a few seconds. We merely have to sting them before they can pull the trigger. They will wake up without consequences. We employed this devious yet effective method before.¡± ¡°How do we get in?¡± ¡°Let¡¯s go over the plan step by step,¡± Alexander says. ¡°At six thirty in the evening, our team will arrive by train at the stop facing the depository. We will take the spot of a weekly, regularly scheduled delivery that Mr Adler canceled on his side. The sun will have long set by then so people of Miss Delaney¡¯s proclivities should not be affected.¡± ¡°Thank you kindly,¡± I say. ¡°We will be disguised as guards. Mr Adler will be present as well as a few of his fellow guards, who will assist us in moving crates inside.¡± But of course. I have read enough tasteful fiction to recognize we are being made into patsies. Ariane of the Nirari, a trope. Disgrace. ¡°While we move in, Whisper and Honor¨¦ will dig out and disable the telegraph cable. I wish you could come with us gentlemen, but the local mint does not allow the employment of members of the Sioux and Negro race. I am sorry.¡± ¡°Not your fault, monsieur.¡± ¡°The same goes for you; Felicia dear. I fear no disguise would allow you to pass for a man.¡± While I can manage through a careful binding of my chest, I fear our sharpshooter''s bust may not be so easily hidden. In a real situation, a mortal with my body would struggle to pass as well. I walk differently, not to mention other wardrobe issues my dress currently masks and that I would rather not utter here. Once again, Alexander proves his inexperience with duplicity. Ah, truly he is still young and so are his associates. No matter. A simple illusion will allow me to blend in. ¡°Once we have gained access to the first floor by presenting falsified documents, Bill, John, Urchin, myself, and Adler¡¯s best fighters will move from room to room and disable the guards without raising the alarm. Shouts might not be heard belowground, but gunfire and the siren will be so we must move with diligence and precision. Remember not to kill any of the guards, or wound more than their self-esteem whenever possible. The crates will contain ropes which we will use to secure them. After this is done, we will gain access to the vault through the same means. We have to go through a series of gates to reach the vault door and we will use our numbers to hide the pacification of the guards we come across. Mr Harrigan will make sure they may not call for help without harming them,¡± Alexander continues with a pointed look at his hulking follower. ¡°Yeah don¡¯t worry. I will be gentle,¡± the man replies with conviction. ¡°After all of the guards are secured and both of the alarms are gone, we will move them to the top floor where the explosion will not harm them, then Miss Delaney can work her magic with the dynamite we will have brought in the crates. We will rush in once the vault is cracked and carry as many ingots as we can, though no more than two stacks. We will carry them to the train and escape from there. After we have put some distance between us and the fort, we will unload the gold at a safe house and, from there, Mr Adler will share its location with the relevant authorities. I have prepared an envelope with my plan and sent it to General Hall in Illinois as an extra measure of safety in case we are found out so we can prove our intent was good.¡± And thus the law will have his name when the prize inevitably disappears and the note is taken seriously, not to mention that a crime made in the name of good is still a crime. Ah, the sweet naive child. He has not yet been backstabbed enough. Oh well. ¡°There is just one last minor hurdle. We must acquire the dynamite from the Pattersons who have yet to deliver it,¡± Alexander finishes with a frown. ¡°Oh, let us do it!¡± I offer without mentioning I have brought my own explosives. ¡°We are retrieval experts,¡± Urchin adds. ¡°And I can use this opportunity to ascertain the quality of the goods. It would be a shame if they failed,¡± I continue. Especially since I have no intentions of using them. Only an absolute donkey would believe dynamite sticks can achieve anything except collapsing the building on our heads. The vault doors have to weigh literal tons. It would take Loth¡¯s expertise to pierce through them without specialized equipment. No, I will be using my safecracking skills and spells, since Isaac mentioned mages and there are bound to be wards in place. As for the explosives, I wonder what they will eventually be used for. Oh, I cannot wait! Chapter 196: The Most Elusive The powerful man sat at his desk. To his right, the snow-covered meadow led to a frozen fence from where small icicles hung like diamond ornaments. Guards in blue uniforms and cloaks fought the chilly wind with courage, struggling not to shiver while puffs of smoke rose from distant chimneys in the city proper. Inside, however, the room was toasty. A merry fire crackled in the hearth, and the powerful man waited for his cup of tea to cool down to a more consumable temperature. He felt safe and secure enough, ready enough, and so he summoned the expert.The chime of a bell. The door to his office swung on oiled hinges, then closed swiftly. The expert was a cool and collected man, a dependable man. No one could doubt his commitment, especially not those who had access to his military profile. The powerful man wondered if the expert kept this pleasant, mildly serious expression when he killed. Could be, could be. ¡°Please, take a seat Mr. Zahn. Should I send for drinks?¡± he asked. ¡°No need Mr. Secretary. Thank you,¡± the expert replied. ¡°Very well. I will cut to the chase. I have read the available reports on¡­ supernatural folks. God, I still cannot believe this is real. I would like to know why information about the last three is so¡­ sparse.¡± The powerful man lifted four files from the desk. One of them was thick and clearly annotated with markers, eared pages and loose sheets of notes. By comparison, the remaining three would barely suffice to write a single speech. ¡°Sir, the notes are presented in such a way that a reader would understand the facts and hypotheses related to each race at a glance. As for the availability of said knowledge, a bit of context might make the reason clear, if you¡¯ll allow me to explain.¡± ¡°That¡¯s why you¡¯re here, Zahn. What¡¯s going on?¡± The expert smiled gently in a way that didn¡¯t reach his eyes. He leaned forward on his chair and placed his elbows on the varnished wood of the powerful man¡¯s desk. ¡°After mages, the next most understood race is that of werewolves. Please note that werewolves are not a separate race per se, but rather a curse that changes those who bear it at a fundamental level. You have read their abilities and weaknesses?¡± ¡°Indeed. Silver! What a peculiar, nonsensical thing. One day we will have to slay demons by injecting them with mercury!¡± The expert knocked on wood, and the powerful man paled, anger smothered by a fresh wave of fear. ¡°Let us hope you are not a prophet. As for werewolves, you may recall there are two kinds, feral and controlled. Please note that we did not pick the words ¡®tame¡¯ or ¡®civilized¡¯ on purpose. Controlled is the correct word for what they are.¡± ¡°Controlled by whom?¡± ¡°Each other, to an extent. Most of our information comes from remnants of the Order of Gabriel, American branch, as well as first-hand witness accounts of the action at Black Harbor. Controlled werewolves appear human until they turn into their beast form. Except for a few quirks, they would pass enough to merge into society as isolated farmers and hunters. Until they gather, at least.¡± ¡°My God, and we cannot tell at all?¡± ¡°Order knowledge says they will show signs of heightened aggression. They will turn during a full moon, whether they want to or not. Nevertheless, an isolated community might go undetected for decades.¡± The powerful man sat back against the backrest, reeling from the revelation. It was his duty to imagine the worst case scenario in the hope of preventing it, and now his mind churned with possibilities. ¡°What stops them from racing across the country, turning everyone they come across? A tide of beasts no one can stop. Zahn, I hate judging people according to what they might do and I understand most of those folks didn¡¯t ask for such a treatment but surely, it would be better to just¡­ end them, don¡¯t you think?¡± The proposal hung between the men, carrying with it the bothersome mental stench of gray morality. ¡°I understand we almost had such a situation, sir. The ferals ran rampant half a century ago. Many disappearances and beast attacks of the time can be attributed to them. There was no beast tide because they were hunted to extinction. And not by the Order of Gabriel.¡± ¡°Someone took them out?¡± ¡°Yes sir. Only a few incidents remain here and there and they are quickly handled by a mercenary group calling itself the Red Cabal.¡± ¡°Witches again?¡± ¡°Yes sir. With guns.¡± ¡°God help us all. Zahn, you dodged the question. Tell me why we can¡¯t just gather four cavalry regiments and send them after the werewolves.¡± ¡°First, we would have to locate them and it has proven suspiciously difficult. The scouts tend to go missing. Documents are lost, or waylaid. People forget to share their orders. Priority missions take precedence. Finally, we have yet to secure a budget for ten thousands silver cartridges.¡± ¡°Are you saying¡­ someone is protecting them?¡± ¡°Covering for them at the very least, but I will return to that later. Next come the fae. We have no first hand accounts of their presence but they appear to be genuine visitors from another world.¡± ¡°Faery tales are true?¡± ¡°Some of them appear rooted in truth, yes. The Order of Gabriel¡¯s knowledge on the matter was surprisingly complete because they managed to capture a few of their weakened numbers and interrogated them thoroughly before termination. The fabric of our world weakens them until they become thoroughly harmless.¡± ¡°Another world, eh? Do you realize what it means? The bible does not mention it. If God created the universe, why does Genesis not mention¡­¡± ¡°I am not here to discuss cosmogony, sir. Perhaps the other worlds, yes, there are several, perhaps they are mentioned in some texts that the church has hidden. I would not know. It no longer matters because the fae are gone.¡± The sentence hangs in the air with all the finality of an extinct species. That was more than morally ambiguous. Someone had exterminated a race? ¡°What do you mean, gone? Dead?¡± ¡°No sir, we have confirmation from a private intelligence network and two mage groups that the fae disappeared on the same night almost ten years ago. They are just¡­ gone.¡± ¡°Do we know what happened?¡± ¡°We suspect. There are rumors that members of the third race left our territory shortly after. Magic was most likely involved.¡± ¡°The third race, yes. The vampires. Your report mentioned they are currently public figures in the German Empire?¡± ¡°I would not go so far, but their presence is known. The official title is ¡®Ritter Der Nacht¡¯, ¡®Knight of the Night¡¯.¡± ¡°We live in strange times when monsters can walk out of children¡¯s stories and wear the guise of aristocrats.¡± Both men fell silent. ¡°Your report contained a lot of maybes,¡± the powerful man eventually said. ¡°Once again, context is important. Knowledge on vampires is sparse because those who seek it tend to disappear. Even the Order¡¯s prodigious resources only scratched the surface of what can be learned, and they did it at great cost. We know there are less than a thousand on the American continent, probably even less than five hundred. We know they feed on blood, fear the light of the sun, are repelled by crosses and can be taken down by destroying their hearts and heads. What we also know is that they are incredibly dangerous.¡± ¡°Are the reports accurate? Faster than a galloping horse?¡± The expert winced, hesitant to go on. ¡°Sir, I believe the situation is much worse. Vampires do not age. The old ones are so strong they can destroy buildings with their bare hands. Witness accounts of Black Harbor speak of figures moving faster than the eye can see. Sir, I need you to understand. In eighteen twelve, a lone vampire defeated a mercenary troop three-hundred strong and killed them to the last man, as well as most of an island¡¯s population in a single night. This was considered as fact by the Order. The reason why we cannot determine their full capabilities is because no one has ever managed to test them. I would advise considering them completely unstoppable at night.¡± ¡°Jesus. Unstoppable you say?¡± ¡°Yes sir. Even by the army.¡± The powerful man took a gulp of tea and winced when the hot liquid scalded his tongue. The expert politely ignored the incident. ¡°I hesitate to ask but can those monsters be defeated?¡± the powerful man finally asked. ¡°Yes sir, I believe they can,¡± the expert said with conviction tinged with sadness. ¡°In theory. In practice, no one would be ready to pay the price. Vampires were at the origin of the initiative that stopped the scourge hive during the civil war. They handled the werewolf threat. They erased the fae, or enslaved them, or exiled them perhaps. We have credible reports that they were at the forefront of the Austrian offensive against the living dead incursion near Warsaw. More importantly, we have never been able to find signs they would act, and they have proven their ability to mobilize large resources in short order, including governmental ones. The truth is that they see us yet we do not see them. Fighting them would be fighting blind against a foe that already has the key to our homes.¡± At the mention of infiltration, the powerful man felt fear grip his heart. The expert had been shown a respect for the vampire threat that bordered on admiration. What if¡­ ¡°I am not theirs,¡± the expert said, cutting into the silence with a decisive gesture. He grabbed for his collar and displayed a cross. ¡°My devotion is to the nation. I am merely being realistic. Even if we successfully unleashed the general populace on them ¡ª and that is no guarantee it would even succeed ¡ª the two of us will not live to see the fruit of our labor. We will be cut down before the purge starts.¡± ¡°You think our citizens would not fight against inhuman creatures from the dark?¡± s?a??h th? N?v?lFir?.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. ¡°Our citizens drink to forget the civil war and dream of a better future out west, sir. Few would be willing to throw their lives aside to fight ghosts. At least, I believe so as a veteran.¡± ¡°I am not comfortable leaving our nation at the mercy of an unknown party, especially not one of¡­ what are they, cursed humans?¡± ¡°Yes, sir. The Order claims that vampires turn humans into other vampires. The process is apparently very slow.¡± ¡°If humans can join them, then¡­¡± ¡°We have to consider that some may go to their side to be granted power and immortality, sir. A tempting offer for some individuals of great influence and a deep awareness of their own mortality.¡± The powerful man considered the difficulty of fighting an enemy both hidden and well-connected. ¡°Between this and their¡­ mind-altering abilities, what is preventing them from taking over?¡± ¡°I am not sure, sir, but I surmise they are too few in number to control the world. They probably prefer staying hidden and influencing events from the shadows.¡± ¡°How do you explain their actions over the years? Stopping the hive and controlling the werewolves, if this is what happened.¡± The expert hesitated. ¡°Sir, I would like to point out that my previous answer was a conjecture and this one will be one as well. I believe the vampires were at the origin of the Red Cabal group of mercenaries given the suspicious way their funding moves. As you may know, they are the largest bounty claimers for rogue mages and animals of unusual size. It might just be that they consider our planet and its inhabitants as¡­ their backyard.¡± The powerful man blinked, unwilling to accept the conclusion. ¡°So what, man, are we their pet?¡± ¡°No sir, their prey.¡± Once again, the room fell silent. The wind howled outside under heavy dark clouds. It was going to snow. ¡°If we cannot eliminate them, we might need to open¡­ a channel of conversation.¡± ¡°The Supernatural Task Force might not like that sir. Some of its elements have displayed great vehemence in their desire to cleanse us of all magical beings ¡ª ¡° ¡°And I do not see them purging the United States of a hundred thousand of its constituents. The last time I checked, I was nominated to represent the people, not them. The mages will not be exterminated. Now, enough of those madmen. How would we proceed and what precaution should we take to contact the vampires?¡± The expert did not have to think for very long. ¡°Carry a cross with you and pray when you meet them and your mind will stay yours. Of this we are sure. As for making contact, a simple inquiry sent to the STF will do. The vampires will learn of your wish, sir.¡± ¡°The STF is infiltrated?¡± ¡°Undoubtedly.¡± ¡°Hmph. Very well, I shall do just that. Please make sure you stay around Washington. I may need your assistance in the immediate future, Mr Zahn.¡± ¡°Of course, Mr Secretary.¡± The expert knew a dismissal when he heard one. He stood quickly to leave the powerful man to his writings. It only took a couple of minutes to finish a simple note, then the powerful man sent it out after only the briefest of hesitations. He returned to his other duties, distracted. Sometimes, his gaze would leave the pages and travel to the world outside, with its bored sentries and frozen world. The fire in the hearth felt much weaker than before while the world outside was large, cold, and the gale did not let up. The powerful man sighed and joined his colleague for their daily meeting, but his heart was not in it. He found his mind drifting to reports and rumors, to the few illustrations the confidential files contained. An aberration of man and wolf standing upright, claws extended like so many blades. A beautiful woman with red hair over a heart-shaped face fighting scourge drones with a sword, her body covered in an antiquated black armor. She had a blazing fire in one hand. That one had been drawn by a Colored Troops corporal after the battle, and could not be unreliable. And yet, it had been so breath-takingly vivid¡­ ¡°Are you alright sir?¡± The powerful man looked up to his assistant, a serious young man with sharp eyes. ¡°Not feeling myself this evening, Lucas. I believe I shall head home early and take the Sioux dossier with me.¡± ¡°As you wish, sir. I will have the carriage ready for you.¡± The powerful man sighed and returned to his office, now cold. He put on his coat, hat, scarf, and gloves with careful attention, not least to avoid being scolded by his Annie for risking sickness. Outside, night was falling quickly. He greeted the guards by their names and climbed into the prepared carriage. When he was settled, he knocked on the front panel. ¡°We can leave, George.¡± Silence. "George?" The door of the carriage opened and a young woman rushed in. The carriage left immediately after she closed the way shut and before the wind could push flakes in. ¡°Oh, goodness me, what a weather! Windy windy!¡± The powerful man could only stare at the strangest of intruders. She was short and dainty, the heavy green dress and cloak barely hiding her small stature. Pale blonde locks escaped from her fashionable hat to artfully frame her beautiful face. A light pink blush spoke of the frigid temperature, and her blue eyes sparkled with excitement. The powerful man noted her high-pitched, slightly accented voice. English, perhaps? What was the young thing doing here? She felt so young and innocent. Or maybe not. For an instant, he saw something old and calculating behind the frilly demeanor, then it was gone just as quickly. ¡°Errr, you may have the wrong carriage here, madam.¡± ¡°Oh no, no no no no Mr Secretary, I believe I am exactly where I am meant to be. After all¡­¡± Her voice grew low and cold, so very cold. ¡°You called for us.¡± The powerful man did not scream. He did, however, press himself against the far panel while a hand searched for the door handle. The vampire sat back on her side and smoothed her dress, chasing away the errant slow flakes. She granted him a politely interested smile. ¡°But¡­. it¡¯s still day!¡± He protested. She did not reply. She just waited. ¡°Are you perhaps not one of them, then, but a servant of sorts?¡± The woman slowly extended a delicate, glove-clad hand. The powerful man noticed that the extremities were quite sharp, as if they were hiding claws and not nails. The cross on his chest ¡ª a gift from his late father ¡ª warmed up. The man reached for it through his scarf and when the piece of silver was revealed, it was shining a deep blue. The vampire pulled back her hand and massaged the middle finger. The carriage smelled like ash for a little while. The vampire shrugged in a deceptively human manner. He found the gesture disturbing because it just felt so natural. ¡°We would not insult you by sending an underling, sir. My name is Sephare. I represent the Accords.¡± ¡°And you¡­ command your kind?¡± ¡°I am one of three. Relationship with human authorities falls within my purview. If you wish, you may also meet our lawmaker. I believe you two may see eye to eye on many issues!¡± ¡°And the third?¡± the powerful man asked without thinking, so peculiar this whole situation was. ¡°Oh, our herald of war, the Hand. She is terribly busy at the moment, so perhaps later?¡± The powerful man shivered while his imagination conjured visions of unspeakable deeds. *** Urchin asks with cautious annoyance. I tut loudly to express my deep disapproval. His understanding of bingleries has proven terribly lacking. I hum under my breath as we move on. The path we follow leads us through dense thickets of pine trees, their branches heavy with snow. The scent of sap and needles pierces through the crisp note of ice. Sometimes, we catch sight of the moon through an opening in the canopy while the branches bend under the weight of crusted ice. The earth is old here, its bones bare and weathered by time. The Pattersons have made their den under a raised geological formation I hesitate to call a hill since it looks like a bundle of femurs frosted together after some ungodly feast. It looms over the makeshift plank edifice, a grisly trophy caught in a millennia-long fall. The den itself lets out sickly yellow light through uneven windows dug haphazardly through the front wall. From a certain angle they bear the semblance of baleful eyes from an alien predator. It makes me miss the spheres. We cross an outer palisade as I commit the view to memory for later painting. Crates and rusted remains of cages and other ravaged implements dot an inner courtyard I will only name as such because pigsty does not quite fit. A dog barks from inside when it catches our scent, carried by a frigid wind. Whispers of conversation die down and the curtain moves on the nearest window. I am honestly impressed they managed to get glass here without breaking it. I know, however, how they afforded it. The entire place smells like alcohol, the bad kind. They make rotgut or moonshine or whatever they call the abominable swill they distill out of two apples and a bucketful of sawdust. Urchin says. I reply. he continues. Indeed, the Patterson estate is a home. We will not enter without a proper invitation. Inside, several male voices hush each other as if the clamor of their hounds would let anyone ignore our presence. I let Metis take a few steps back while Urchin and John move on with practiced ease. The tall man¡¯s massive fist slams on the solid door like a ram, threatening to pop the hinges. ¡°Mr Patterson, we are here for the dynamite, if you would kindly give it to us,¡± Urchin says in a loud yet perfectly polite voice. He has picked on a slight upper crust accent, a good wager. Some ruffians answer better to harder and nastier people than themselves but others fear the unknown city behemoths. With Urchin¡¯s current garb, the thuggish approach would not hold water. ¡°Don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about,¡± a voice sounds from within, testing us. ¡°This is the Patterson house and you have dynamite for Mr Adler who already paid for your services. We are here to collect.¡± ¡°Is that right? I don¡¯t recall being paid. You got money?¡± This would be the proper time to leave or prepare for a fight. I quietly dismount and walk to our left, from where I hear the shriek of groaning hinges. The locals are not exactly being subtle. John turns to me and I nod, confirming that under the current rule to act as competent mortals, one might reasonably expect to be ambushed by a band of isolated aggressive lawbreakers clearly asking us if we are worth robbing. And hear the growls of the dog the approaching party keeps on leash. Honestly, they are not even trying. I remove the pearl-handled revolver from its holster and hide behind a rusty cage while John creeps along the wall with a dexterity that belies his size. We find a party of three plus a dog, two with knives and one with a coach gun. They are men of various sizes with beards and stained, ratty clothes. All together, they might have one intact denture but I would not bet any money on that. I feel insulted. I also feel grateful not to be downwind. The lead man carefully leans along the side wall to peer at the entrance and finds John¡¯s grasping hand, then the giant smashes his victim against the wall hard enough to dazzle him. I shoot the dog who falls with a yelp and the coach gun handler in the arm. At this range and with the light of the windows to guide me, I have no qualms hitting my targets. I would start missing on purpose at a range greater than nine yards away, but not before. John punches the remaining knife wielder and we have ourselves three prisoners. ¡°Get up,¡± John says in a bold voice while I tut at the wounded lad as he goes for his revolver. ¡°Do that and I¡¯ll shoot you again.¡± ¡°A kid? No, a WOMAN?¡± ¡°Get up slowly and show me your hands.¡± ¡°You fucking bitch, you killed Nero!¡± I cock my gun, the distinct click enough to convince my newest captive to hurry. The three stooges line up with hands in the air except the idiot applying pressure to his wounded arm. ¡°You cocksuckers! Henry? Henry, are you alright?¡± a female voice screams from within. ¡°I¡¯m alive,¡± the lead idiot mumbles, chastened. ¡°They ain¡¯t much, just th ¡ª¡± Before Henry can share confidential information, John backhands him into silence to screams of protest inside. ¡°Leave him alone!¡± Urchin gestures. I roll my eyes and pick a watch with a timer from a hidden waist pocket, starting it. ¡°Looks to me like you have what we want and we have what you want,¡± he calmly declares. ¡°You fuckers, you¡¯re dead! Dead!¡± ¡°You inbred degenerates always think you can pull a fast one on your betters. Get the dynamite out with no tricks or I¡¯ll start cutting toes.¡± ¡°Henry you stay put! You fuckers better get off my land ¡®fore I shoot y¡¯all full o¡¯ holes.¡± ¡°Yeah, you tell her, Mama,¡± another voice says. This one has much less confidence. I notice that one of our captives is reaching for a pocket and I step on his hand. The cry of pain riles up the besieged family. ¡°You stop that right now!¡± ¡°List here, you dumb twat,¡± Urchin replies, ¡°I¡¯m going to come in and punch the teeth of you and your crotch monkeys if you don¡¯t get us our fucking due.¡± ¡°I¡¯d like to see you try, fucker!¡± Aaaaand I stop the counter. I inform Urchin. John steps forward and kicks the door. He does not kick it down, he kicks it forward with a decisive boot perfectly placed near the handle. Both the lock and hinges give up at the same time, the heavy piece of wood finishing in someone¡¯s nose. The deafening din of cracked bones and demolished furniture soon follow in a symphony of violence. A heavy body smashes through a window with a yelp and lands on the ground. Urchin tells me while I contemplate the prone form of Mrs Patterson with strands of gray hair escaping her filthy bonnet. A shot goes off but no one screams, at least not immediately. John emerges with two more people held under his prodigious arms. One of them nurses his broken fingers and the other, a shiner that will turn out quite spectacular if he lives long enough. ¡°Right, I think we have wasted enough time with the likes of you. Where are the explosives, and don¡¯t tell me a nice thumper or I¡¯ll start collecting body parts,¡± Urchin says. ¡°Don¡¯t tell him nothing, Henry,¡± says the woman as she picks herself up. Urchin sighs, grabs her by the scruff of her neck and shoots her ear off. A deafening screech follows the detonation, with the matriarch¡¯s hearing now indefinitely impaired. At least the Pattersons show more sense now. They whimper and plead. Sometimes, I do not quite understand the pride and stubbornness of some mortals. One should know when they are desperately outclassed and work with the flow instead of against it. Ah well, if they were smart, they would not have found refuge here to begin with. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you, please don¡¯t hurt Ma,¡± Mr Shiner says. I follow him inside to a trapdoor barely hidden under a tattered carpet. The crates are sealed, a note dating the manufacture of its contents to only three months ago. There are no obvious traces of humidity damage, and the nitroglycerin has yet to weep from their cardboard container. All good. ¡°Everything seems to be in order,¡± I tell Urchin as I step out, a crate held with two hands. We line up the Pattersons away from their home. They shiver in the glacial temperatures but that is fine, I intend to remedy the situation very soon. ¡°Of course, and since you tried to double-cross us, I believe a small quality check is in order¡­¡± I say, rummaging in the crate to pick one stick, only to realize¡­ there are no detonators. ¡°Where are the blasting caps?¡± I ask. ¡°The what?¡± Henry asks, terrified. ¡°The blasting caps? The primers? Tiny mercury fulminate or black powder charges at the end of a fuse?¡± The man¡¯s utterly bovine lack of understanding gives me the answer I need. ¡°This cretin sends us to grab ordinance from minging wallopers,¡± I honestly and objectively remark as I grab a spare cap from another pocket ¡ª it pays to always have extra caps. ¡°And the daft twat forgets to order primers. I swear I¡¯m surrounded by utter bampots, amateurs the lot o¡¯ em, might as well ram the vault door with their thick heids.¡± ¡°Boss, you are having a Loth moment.¡± ¡°What? Oh. Yes. Where was I? Ah yes. Quality check.¡± I finish making sure everything is done and light the fuse of the selected stick, tossing it inside the family house. ¡°What are you? Wait. NO!¡± The stick detonates beautifully, sending the mortals tumbling on the ground. Pieces of wood shrapnel rain on us and for a moment, I realize I broke my rules by not taking adequate precautions. A mortal would have been more careful about flying debris. Ah, well. I signal John and Urchin that they may feed in the confusion and we soon leave the Pattersons with their partly demolished estate, dazzled, hurt, but alive. Urchin remarks as we ride away on our nightmares. Urchin asks. Urchin asks. Chapter 197: The Hoard Someone has sliced through the ancient earth with unstoppable will. Diggers have carved up old rocks and blasted through antediluvian formations. Centennial trees were felled and processed to produce the train tracks in front of us. The steel of its beams glints under the light, cold as the ancient stone that surrounds it but more dead than wizened. Cross half the country and I could find their exact copies, but I would be hard pressed to find ancient mountains eroding quietly like the Black Hills do. I find it all quite interesting. Truly, progress reaches out to everyone, ready or not.On said tracks waits an armored moving fortress that I shall call a train for the sake of simplicity. I am feeling lyrical at the moment, and will indulge by comparing it to some invasive species of armored beetle belching smoke like a dragon belches fire. Men will soon shovel coal into its sooty entrails, but for now the beast squats quiescent in the clearing, waiting. Waiting for us to be ready. Urchin, John and I have changed into our uniforms with record speed. I have hidden my hair into a slightly larger cap and dressed myself in a baggy uniform with the vest reaching to my thighs for additional discretion. A delicate use of the Vanheim essence has softened my expression until I look more like a young boy at the edge of puberty than an adult woman, an image I shall reinforce with proper posture and gait. With Urchin and the very noticeable John by my side, I expect that I will merely be overlooked as a new recruit among a cadre of veterans. If necessary, I shall use a bit of suggestion to reinforce that effect. John turns instinctively when we are approached. The assembled troops of Mr Adler and Mr Bingle scramble to prepare their weapons under the disapproving glare of Adler himself, a man with intelligent features and horn-rimmed spectacles, but also an unfortunate short stature that several of Mr. Bingle¡¯s mastermind antagonists and backstabbers have shared over the volumes. I am not quite certain where this prejudice comes from, but I suspect it might be an emotional scar associated with Napoleon, who was said to be short himself. In any case, the man walks to me with clear anger in his steps and two goons by his side. It always amuses me when people realize that my own small size is merely a trick of perspective, that I am in fact rather tall for a woman, and that yes, John is that large. Truly. The thugs¡¯ eyes widen when it becomes clear they are in the presence of a superior specimen, an alpha goon as it were, though to underestimate John¡¯s patient intellect would be a mistake. The man is unimaginative but he can be quite thorough. Adler does not stop. To him, every goon is too large to matter anyway, I suppose. ¡°So, you are a woman,¡± he accuses. ¡°Yes,¡± I amicably reply. I want to smile and allow myself to do so. Ah, but our perspectives must be so different. He believes he plays a high-stake game for his own future and that the next hours will decide his fate. Fortune or infamy will be his until death depending on our performance, he thinks. Only we three know that Mr Adler is playing with loaded dice and that, although Alexander may die in the process, evil will not be allowed to succeed no matter what. He will necessarily be caught and punished. My condescending smile sends him into a fit of barely contained rage. ¡°And you are supposed to be our demolition expert? Do you have any idea ¡ª ¡° ¡°Hush,¡± I reply. ¡°Shhhh. There, there,¡± I reply, and place a finger before his mouth. Adler is too stunned to react. One of the goons is more sensible and realizes I have insulted his employer, but a simple shake of John¡¯s head suffices to convince him he is not paid enough to jump to the defense of the obnoxious man¡¯s honor. I use this opportunity to clear the air. ¡°You were about to tell me how much you have worked and sacrificed for this plan to come to fruition, and then lament that your partner is showing a terrible lack of professionalism by bringing in a woman to handle the explosives. I appreciate that I may not look like what you expected, but let me instead remark upon certain facts regarding your own preparations.¡± By now, Adler has recovered. Instead of showing anger, his expression has turned cold and calculating. His pale blue eyes search my face for hints of something ¡ª I do not know what exactly. ¡°Firstly, you did not order nearly enough dynamite to force an arm-thick vault open. I have brought my own just in case. Secondly, you did not order percussion caps so the explosives you bought could not have been detonated. Thirdly, the structure of the vault means that I will have to shape the charge or risk a full collapse, a process that only a few people on the planet know is even possible. And fourthly, I am also an expert safe-cracker.¡± I tap on the small chest in Urchin¡¯s hand. ¡°This is plan A, and¡­¡± I point at the conical shaped charge in John¡¯s large mitts. ¡°This is plan B.¡± I look into his eyes, leaning forward until we are level. ¡°I will get us through that door and into the safe, Mr Adler. Count on it. You should make sure your part of the plan goes off without a hitch instead of worrying about me. After all, there are so many complex steps to follow,¡± I assure him with a smile. I enjoy the burst of anxiety that spices the man¡¯s essence at the thought that, perhaps, we are onto him. That we know he will betray us. The sweet hint of terror and faster heartbeat makes the two Courtiers at my side react. One of Urchin¡¯s talons digs into the wood box with a creaking sound. Fortunately, they both fed yesterday and we should be fine for a while. Adler chases away the suspicion out of a deep-seated belief in his own superiority. I can practically see the cogs turning in his head. He is the smartest person present, and therefore cannot possibly have been outsmarted. Thus comforted, he finally frowns when it occurs to him that I have taken control of the conversation. A man like him needs to have the last word. I allow it. ¡°Make sure we do get in the vault. It¡¯s all our heads on the line if we don¡¯t,¡± he says. With one last glare to imply that this is a threat on my head and my life specifically, he departs. I watch him stomp away with cold delight. ¡°Should we get on, Miz Ari?¡± John asks. ¡°As soon as our team is ready, yes.¡± Night just fell and the temperatures are already freezing. The mortals hurry with great haste to close the armored doors behind themselves. We move on in a middle carriage with the rest of the Godling¡¯s agents. They outnumber us six to one, I¡¯d say. It seems like an large number for a gold convoy escort but I admit not being familiar with the mint¡¯s security protocols. In short order, the heavy train leaves the wilderness, pushing on through copses of old pines. There are windows in our carriage though they look more like murder holes than anything else. I keep an eye out while many of the men check their weapons one last time, probably hoping they will not have to use them. If a gunshot rings outside then things will have gone tragically off course. It takes an hour for the ground to be more level and for the path in front of us to open on a small wooded valley. The ¡®ka-chunk¡¯ of the wheels slow down until we slowly, slowly stop. I bid John open the gate and we move out on a small concrete platform. A simple stone path leads up towards a tiny hill with forests and snow-covered earth all around. A few lights to our left hints at the edge of the military base. To the right, the tracks extend east back to our origin and, if everything goes well, our destination. A few heavily dressed sentries with lanterns are making their way down to the first car which Adler is in the process of exiting. They do not seem alarmed. I feel Whispers and Honor¨¦ leave from the other side. Their task will be to cut the telegraph line and I wish them good luck in this weather. Felicia will stay with the train and cover us with her rifle if the worst comes to pass. The rest moves on, carrying heavy crates filled with stones and guns instead of the expected gold. We form a column two-men wide and walk briskly. The weather means that we wear scarves on top of our hats which will conveniently hide the nervousness of the thugs. All thirty of us move on with commendable discipline, the guards merely waving us on. I hear them talking to Adler. ¡°No carts, sir?¡± ¡°In this weather? Through the snow?¡± the man replies with acerbic condescension. The guards are chastised. We climb a short incline up the hill, taking great care not to slip. Gas lamps cast a timid glow on the squarish concrete and stone building. Our destination, the Gold Bullion Depository. The brutal cube emerges from the frozen earth like a peering hunter, its barred windows inspecting us as we approach the gates. Two pairs of guards open it with some difficulty and we accelerate so most of the heat stays in. In passing, I admire the thick steel panes and solid walls. This place could withstand artillery bombardment. We are fortunate to have a way in. ¡°Mr Adler sir, good to see you,¡± A keen man with sharp dark eyes and a thin mustache greets. He wears the mark of a captain on his shoulders. The local guards watch us pile into a sparsely furnished entrance with limited interest. I see a desk, murder holes hiding the snub nose of a gatling gun, and a door leading further inward. ¡°Mr MacTavish is not with you?¡± the officer asks. ¡°He is at the back,¡± Adler curtly replies. Ah, I can see doubt bloom in our guest¡¯s mind. He was not picked at random. I believe MacTavish might be the man holding the second part of the vault¡¯s combination, the one Adler was unable to get. He is an important person and should be at the head of the formation as well since his presence is required to open the vault. I wonder if the captain will act on his suspicions. To my surprise, he does. While Adler approaches the far door in his urge to press on, the captain casually approaches us as we stand at the middle of the formation. He did not truly pick us at random. Urchin possesses the same magnetic charm most old Courtiers share, though his takes on a more roguish edge. The captain is perceptive enough to pick up on it. ¡°Damn weather eh? Did you travel long?¡± ¡°All the way from New York, sir,¡± Urchin replies in a convincing eastern accent, not too posh, not too low. ¡°I don¡¯t recognize you. You¡¯re from the mint over there?¡± ¡°That¡¯s right.¡± ¡°Well, give my greetings to commissioner Trent when you return.¡± Urchin frowns convincingly. He blinks and his expression suddenly turns confused. ¡°Who¡¯s that, sir?¡± ¡°Nevermind,¡± the captain replies with a chuckle. ¡°I made a mistake. Trent works in Pittsburgh.¡± ¡°If you say so, sir.¡± The officer turns to leave. Urchin and I share a look of amusement while John remains impassive. The brave officer tried to bluff a vampire with the oldest trick in the book, trying to catch us in a lie. Mortals are so cute, sometimes. Meanwhile, the heist group delves further into the complex while the outside door is closed behind us. Quietly, thugs jump on the four guards still with us and disable them with Whisper¡¯s poison darts. The sleeping men are tied with ropes and muffled. There are so many of us in the way that the captain does not realize something is wrong. The main room leading down proves to be quite large, with a central space open to the second floor where balconies allow guards above to shoot down. None of them stand vigil for now. Our group disables the guards present including a very angry captain and a sleepy Gatling crew. After that, we walk into a side room where we take care of a few clerks still working. Most of the guards on this floor are currently eating their meal, however, and they are grouped. ¡°There are many of them together,¡± Adler observes. ¡°We could clear the upper floor first, then call half of them out. The less people we face at a time and the less chances that one of them warns the others,¡± Bingle replies. Adler agrees. For all his confidence, the man has little experience with heists. Bingle officially holds the title of most accomplished planner and so we use keys to unlock the way up. As for me, I suspect his luck will hold until the last moment, so I am fine with anything he decides. Nevertheless, a nod on my part sends Urchin and John up. As a woman and an essential part of the group, I am left behind. I can still follow their progress through my Magna Arqa. Bingle splits his troops into two groups. One goes from dorm room to storage space, taking out anyone in their way without hesitation while the other lingers in the main corridor. Urchin prevents a wandering guard from asking questions by hitting him in the nose with the flat of a thrown knife. Soon, they have tied and muzzled most guards including the telegraph office members. Only the alarm room remains. They try the door, finding it locked. The guards react to the noise of a turned handle with panic. One of them opens the slit only to find the ugly mug of Bill Hannigan inches away from his nose. ¡°Who the fuck are you?¡± he asks. ¡°Private Hannigan, sir. Bringing you sandwiches from downstairs. Your pals are too busy moving the gold in so they sent poor me up instead.¡± For a small instant, I consider that the infiltration should fail here and now. Guards like this one should have clear instructions not to open the door if anything feels amiss. Fortunately for us, he is hungry, tired, and the mint does not deploy its most astute grunts in the ass end of Minnesota. ¡°What sort of sandwich is that?¡± the guard asks as he opens the door, none of his five acolytes awake or aware enough to stop him. ¡°KNUCKLE SANDWICH!¡± Bill roars. The melee is short and one-sided, owing to John and Bill¡¯s presence. Meanwhile, it takes more self-control to stop myself from groaning than it did sparing the last person who jumped through my office window. I am positively horrified. The last guards above the surface are still eating when our men return, and we must move on or risk alerting the vault level that something is amiss. ¡°Fear not, friends of justice, for I have a plan,¡± Bingle whispers with utter conviction. ¡°I shall lead them out where we can surprise them. Be ready!¡± A moment later, the fearless godling barges into the eating room where he half screams, half whispers: ¡°Quick, we¡¯ve been followed. There might be robbers. Quick, quick, hurry!¡± The guards are used to following orders. They race out in under three seconds, slowing down when they find themselves in the main room surrounded by strangers. ¡°So¡­ about those robbers?¡± the lead sergeant asks. ¡°That¡¯s us,¡± Bingle answers from behind. The rake. Once again the guards are caught off guard and vastly outnumbered and, once again, they are subdued before they can so much as scream. With the surface secure, we immediately head down the stairs to the vault level proper. I also pull in my Magna Arqa to avoid triggering sensitive wards. It feels unlikely but I would not want to take unnecessary risks. As we descend into the heavily fortified bowels of the installation, I cannot help but feel excited at the thought of all that gold waiting for us deeper in. Life has taught me on many occasions that there is more power in a single document or a useful contact than in solid metal, and yet gold is still gold. It has a certain weight to it. A glint, too. A nervous energy fills our mortal companions with every step down the narrow passage. It ends quite deeply, deeper than I expected. I judge there are at least three to four levels worth of unused rock above us when the barely lit way ends on a small landing. An unadorned corridor leads deeper in still with several barred partitions separating us from our goal. Guards wait by each one, including the first. ¡°Evening Mr Adler. Terrible weather to travel in,¡± he greets. ¡°Indeed,¡± the man coldly replies. ¡°Is Captain Blucher not with you?¡± ¡°He went to see the train crew. Why?¡± ¡°It¡¯s just¡­ according to protocol, I can¡¯t let anyone in without¡­¡± I can practically hear the grinding of teeth within Adler¡¯s mouth, but to his credit the man merely replies in a tone that could freeze warm toffee. ¡°But of course, I can wait for his return if protocol is so important.¡± It only takes two seconds of annoyed shuffling and pretentious glaring for the doorman to relent. Adler is a known quantity. I understand the poor guard. Better to entertain an important superior than to stick to a protocol no one will commend him for obeying. In theory. In practice, John smoothly subdues him as soon as the column has moved on enough. We reach the vault¡¯s entrance within another minute, leaving a string of strung up sentries in our wake. The takedowns are so fast and silent that the next sentry cannot detect them beyond the mass of crate-carrying men. The vault¡¯s antechamber is large enough to host fifty men, with no furniture beyond a few chairs. Another gatling gun waits by the tunnel entrance. Interestingly, someone linked four steel panes around the muzzle to protect the crew while they fire. An intriguing innovation, perhaps a necessity considering the number of steel bars on the way to the entrance and the dangers of ricochets. Half a dozen men wait here by the massive door, with a little surprise to the left. There, in a fortified vestibule, stand two guards. Mages. Oh, they wear the normal uniform, but their auras are unmistakable, and while I have almost perfect control over my own, the same cannot be said about my two Courtiers. The mages grow aware of our presence. The tremulous call of their panic immediately garners my minions¡¯ attention, but I take the initiative by shocking them with my own aura before they can trigger the vault¡¯s magical alarm, which Bingle was not aware of. The directed pulse I aim at them attracts their gaze to me, where I capture their attention. Rather than crush them, I send feelings of patience and biding one¡¯s time. They assent with ease, surprising me until one of them discreetly takes out a pristine handkerchief embroidered with the symbol of the White Cabal. In answer, I lift my cap a little to let them see my bound hair. We do not know each other but we know of each other. An understanding is reached. There will be no need for violence. I smirk to myself. There has to be at least five different interest groups represented here, all wearing the same uniform, all pretending to be on the same side. There has to be a joke there. A vampire, a mage, a godling, and a traitor enter a gold vault¡­ ¡°Good evening Mr Adler. Is Mr MacTavish not with you?¡± a guard asks. ¡°He is right¡­ bah, why do I bother? You are the last ones.¡± ¡°We¡­ pardon?¡± The robbers jump on the remaining guards. Urchin and I make a big show of waving our revolvers under the mages¡¯ nose through the bars of their little box, which they exit with their hands up. We bind them comfortably and in a way that would let them escape easily as reward for their help. It is done. With little fanfare, we have taken over the Gold Bullion Depository in under fifteen minutes without casualties and with only a minimum of violence. We could not have done it without an inside man but it will not matter to the journalists. Oh, what beautiful waves that will make. Perhaps I should have kept the operation a secret. Sephare¡¯s furious tantrums always amuse me. Ah well, I am almost a hundred years old ¡ª an adult now. I must act responsibly. ¡°I believe my turn has come to shine,¡± I announce to the room. Suddenly, quite a few pairs of eyes land on me. ¡°Yes!¡± Bingle declares from the side. ¡°Get us through that door, miss. What do you need us to do?¡± Aaaand Bingle has monopolized the attention. Probably for the best. ¡°I need Adler to input his own combination, my tools, and some calm. Urchin, John, and you may stay. And those two guards, I might have questions. The rest must leave.¡± ¡°What do you mean, leave?¡± Adler interrupts. He leans forward in an amusing attempt to be intimidating, though I have to admit that the numbers at his back make a decent case. ¡°You would not be trying to pull a fast one, would you?¡± he pointedly asks. ¡°Are you afraid that I would drop several metric tons of gold down my waist pocket and make a run for it? Just back up in the corridor and leave the doors open, I do not mind. I just want you not to breathe down my neck,¡± I reply. Adler huffs and puffs and threatens a bit but he knows he needs me. It takes him a good minute to unlock one side of the vault door and another for he and his goons to amble out, prisoners in tow. When our numbers have decreased, I turn to the last obstacle. The vault door is massive, there are no other fitting terms for such an imposing disc of reinforced metal. It stands ominously under the yellow gaslight, its form alien, an unmoving defender hiding complex guts and bones, and beyond that, gold. More gold than any man could spend in a lifetime. A fortune like no other hiding in the shadows. For a moment I let myself forget about my power and how little that pile of metal means in the grand scheme of things. Instead, I immerse myself in the story and consider this last silent guardian in our quest for glory eternal. Only the hermetic surface matters, as unyielding as a mountain. Ah, yes. With reverent attention, I take out my old magical glove. The form fits snuggly over my fingers and reminds me of my father who gifted it to me long ago. A flick of my index is enough to block the sound going out, and to create a small illusion for our ¡®friends¡¯ outside. ¡°You may speak freely,¡± I begin. ¡°You lots are not wearing masks,¡± one of the White Cabal mage says, ¡°Do you intend to kill us?¡± ¡°Never!¡± Bingle says. ¡°We will return the stolen wealth in two days at most, once higher authorities have gathered here to seek their lost funds, I assure you.¡± ¡°As long as it does not end in bloodshed¡­¡± another says. I do not need to look to know he is looking at me, but I do not reply. I have already been generous in allowing them to speak. I do not have to give explanations to my allies. I am only bound to guarantee their safety, nothing more. I soon realize that the wards themselves are relatively simple and also a late addition. Rather than enchanting the door, the mages have cast a spell they must constantly refresh, though I can appreciate its complexity. My first task is to disconnect the ward from the magical alarm in the security booth where the mages were posted. To do so, I sever the link and reattach it to a simple, stable construct so it does not snap and alert whoever is listening for the breach. Once it is done, I seize the ward¡¯s heart and twist it, unraveling the entire spell. ¡°I told you we should have placed the anchor on the other side, but you said it was too complicated,¡± one of the mages complains to the other. ¡°It was too complicated. We would have needed to be physically present in the vault at least once every two days!¡± I ignore them. Now that the magical defenses are unmade, it is time to address the mundane ones. Safecracking is an art I have seldom practiced, but Loth did teach me, and I have always been a dedicated student. Given the size of the safe and my lack of heavy tools, the best path for us would be safe manipulation, the discovery of a safe¡¯s combination through careful manipulation of the wheel. Once the right number has been reached, most safes will let out a tiny sound, or there can be an infinitesimal increase in the resistance of the wheel. To open a safe that way takes time and an intimate knowledge of the mechanism one is working with. Fortunately, I can cheat. A few whispered words and a spell opens an illusory aperture into the bowel of the vault, revealing the inner workings of the lock. I can now watch the effects of the wheel¡¯s turn as I manipulate it. Meanwhile, the mages bicker. ¡°I told you we should have protected that in priority,¡± ¡°Hush you, it would have made no difference. ¡° Click Click Click Clang goes the pin. I mess up once and have to restart but it does not matter. Sound and light guide me through the little dance. Eight to the right, forty-five to the left. Seventeen then, and thirty-six. I am patient and silent and really, really focused. Thirty-eight. Twenty-seven. Forty-two. Six. Twenty-one. Nine. Forty-two. One. A clang, loud and clear. John walks to the wheel and turns it, muscles bulging from the pretend effort. The massive door rotates on oiled hinges. Slowly, ponderously, it reveals its contents. For a moment, I think I have opened the way into a maze, a labyrinth of brick walls leading farther in to the real treasure. My mind churns with possibilities. Is there a final layer of defenses? I expected chest-high stacks of bullions on wood planks to keep them off the ground, but soon I realize my error. Those bricks glint in the light with an unmistakable glow. Those are entire walls of gold, filling space to the ceiling. Oh, what a sight. What an incredible hoard. The amazing view steals my voice for a moment. Only when Adler speaks by my side do I detach myself from this breathtaking sight. ¡°Well, you did it. And concerningly fast too. I may have misjudged you after all. Crates, gentlemen. We do not have all night.¡± The goons rush into the vault¡¯s sacrosanct interior. I refrain from slaying them here and there for ruining the moment. Ah, mortals, rushing everything. Would it have killed them to wait for ten seconds? Barbarians. ¡°Let¡¯s have a look,¡± Bingle whispers reverently. S?a?ch* Th? N?v?lFir?(.)n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. I leave John and Urchin to gather ingots and follow the godling into the vault¡¯s shimmering innards. We find lanterns and light them as we delve deeper into this most unique of dungeons. The walls reach to the ceiling around us, reflecting what little light we have. To my surprise, Alexander finds a room near the back. He enters it first, his large frame blocking the way. I spot pedestals lining its walls as well as a few barrels. ¡°I can see an old document in a glass casing. By jove, this is¡­ the Declaration of Independence!¡± ¡°Please do not steal the Declaration of Independence,¡± I remind him with a tired voice. ¡°We will receive enough attention as it is.¡± ¡°And there is this strange armor. Looks old.¡± I approach and peer through the opening while he moves in, but I can already feel the sharp grasp of apprehension around my black heart. There is magic in this room. I can almost taste it. I identify the nature of said ¡®strange armor¡¯ in an instant. ¡°Wait, don¡¯t touch¡ª¡± Too late. Alexander walks to its engraved breastplate and taps the surface under my mesmerized gaze. The golem activates immediately. Steel spears descend to block the doorway. I need to decide. Do I go in to help or not? At a loss, I call upon my intuition, relying on it as if on a coin flip. The decision is immediate. This is not my doing. This is not my adventure. The bars slam down in front of my nose. Alexander turns at the dreadful clang, but his attention is misplaced. I point through the opening and scream. ¡°Behind you!¡± The godling jumps back and survives a vicious swipe more out of luck than out of skill. The golem takes one ponderous step upon the stone. Its armored sabaton lands with a sound that speaks of great weight. Its next attack brushes Alexander¡¯s shoulder and takes some of his shirt away as payment. Blood pearls on the Englishman¡¯s pale skin. He takes out his revolver. ¡°No! Find the core!¡± I advise him. I see now that the room is a small square, its walls lined with precious items on pedestals and the odd crates and barrels. A central one bears a large paper document which I suspect might be older than I am. Fortunately for our protagonist, the golem has received clear instructions not to destroy its charge. A game of cat and mouse begins. The golem turns around, sometimes changing direction. It is deceptively fast. More importantly, it will not tire. Alexander cannot last long. The abrupt changes of direction are already taking a toll. He is sweating under the warm winter clothes. ¡°The core must be in the chest, hidden behind that breastplate,¡± I tell him. ¡°I don¡¯t have anything that can get through that!¡± the man bellows. Neither do I, except¡­ Rose. I materialize my soul blade and wince at the thought of letting a mortal touch it. Must I really? Alexander stumbles and falls, then rolls under a downward punch. His back smashes against a nearby barrel and spills its contents. My decision is made, I must¡­ This¡­ is impossible? Impossible! It should not be here! It should not, and yet there is no denying it. I grab the bars with both hands. I know my mouth is open and I do not care. It is here, here! But how? And Alexander finds it, because of course he does. His fingers snap around the handle, missing the blade by some divine guidance. He surges to his feet with a valorous prestance and strikes. The blade sings, a perfect upward slice that leaves behind a silvery arc and an enduring chime like the persistent gong of an old church bell. The golem¡¯s extended hand falls, severed cleanly. I could not have made a better cut. Cadiz could not have made a better cut. Alexander Bingle takes a fencer¡¯s poise, light on his feet, one arm back, the other firmly in control of the dragon¡¯s claw. The same artifact I ¡®liberated¡¯ from the Fist of the Drowned God with Alexander¡¯s own aunt, Miranda. The only thing reputed capable of piercing a dragon¡¯s leathery hide. The godling waves the legendary blade and surges forward. He uses it like a saber with grace and the evidence of a dedicated training. The golem is outmatched. Its most potent advantage has always been durability and persistence. None of this matters in front of a weapon that could slice the beard off of God. In less than a minute and after a heroic struggle, the godling leaves the vault¡¯s guardian as a dismembered pile of quivering spare parts on the ground. I have not moved, nor have I said anything. Alexander breathes heavily and stares at the blade, a strange longing upon his handsome face. John whispers from the side. I had not even noticed him. Chapter 198: Let’s just get everyone A dazzled Bingle uses the dragon claw¡¯s edge to cut the bars of his prison. He appears to be in a state of shock, to the extent that I must hold the severed metal rods before they fall on his face. A sense of wonder gives his face a more youthful air, reminding me of the first time we met. He gingerly returns the ¡®liberated¡¯ blade to its sheath, then holds it in front of him, looking lost.I have John disperse the few robbers attracted by the commotion. We move back to the main entrance just in case Adler gets the brilliant idea to forget his plan and seal us in out of fear we triggered some sort of alarm. Well, we did, or rather Alexander did, but he disposed of the response force. An operation is perfectly silent if there is no one left to listen, I always say. ¡°Should I¡­ should I return it?¡± the godling asks with hesitation. To my surprise, greed does not motivate him. Instead, I feel a sort of longing in his mind or perhaps a connection of sorts. Most peculiar. ¡°You should hang on to it,¡± I tell him. ¡°It is theft¡­¡± ¡°You can return it with the rest of the ingots, after we are done.¡± ¡°Ah? Oh, yes of course. In for a penny, as they say. Still.¡± ¡°Alexander, look at me,¡± I interrupt. The man blinks and returns his attention to me. I do not resort to Charm this time. Power is a crutch, even more so because he is a man of conviction. S?a?ch* Th? N0v?lFir?.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. ¡°The sword chooses the owner, sometimes.¡± Amazement fills his traits even more. He looks so very young. ¡°Are you sure?¡± he breathes. ¡°My instincts say yes. Hold on to it, for now. I know who it belonged to before. I am sure they would not mind.¡± ¡°Wait. You do? Miss Delaney!¡± ¡°No time!¡± I reply as I move us forward. ¡°We have a heist to finish, remember?¡± ¡°Oh, yes. Of course.¡± Our steps carry us back to the earlier walls of gold. By the Watcher, we have filled entire crates and barely made a dent. I could melt it all for a twenty-feet tall statue of myself and still have enough to gold-plate my entire arsenal. Hmm, there is an idea. Wait, no, focus Ariane. I would never be that tastelessly gaudy. With haste and no small amount of excitement, we all return to the locomotive and even make a second trip. I judge that we have acquired at least one ton¡¯s worth by the time the hulking form of the locomotive puffs back towards the wilderness, away from the violated fort and its oblivious guarding base. The first stage of the operation is complete. Not too bad. And no shot fired yet! Oh, the finale will be to die for. I can already see the glint of avarice in the eyes of the goons, the way their gazes linger on the sealed crates, the gears turning in their primitive minds. How much is their share? How much more would it be split twenty ways instead of forty? Split ten ways? Five? Who to trust? Decisions, decisions. Ah, I love this moment so much. Greed, passion, buried resentments fill the air with an enticing perfume of duplicity. Never have so many daggers been aimed at so many backs. In the middle of it, Adler moves from group to group, reminding them of their situation in a low voice filled with threats. The entirety of America will hound us within the next half a day, long before they can cross the border south as they likely plan to do. Only strict discipline will carry them to safety. I have to give it to the man. He can certainly anticipate trouble. Mortal trouble, that is. He will find Alexander a much tougher nut to crack. In any case, the train moves with as much speed as it can muster along the train line first east then south. We change paths several times in the hours before dawn. We are cutting it short by the time the black plated locomotive finally slows down into an abandoned maintenance track. We do not take part in the unloading. Instead, all three of us bid Bingle and his followers goodbye while we move towards the forest. It appears they will find a safe harbor among a pair of old warehouses while they wait for the night. A whistle, and our nightmares emerge from the treeline with a proud Metis prancing at the front. She is¡­ just a little larger than before the fae worlds, but nowhere close to the Herculean size she had taken there. Perhaps the aura of our world is still too thin. We are off without delay, riding towards a nearby elevation. I cast a message spell on a mirror I have without much hope and surprisingly find the amused face of Ollie, the leader of the Red Cabal. ¡°You found us?¡± I exclaim with surprise, ¡°I thought we would have gone too far.¡± ¡°Isaac found the deed for the property on which the train waits, bought by Mr Adler only a few months ago. The proof has been temporarily hidden for your convenience, Ariane.¡± ¡°Very kind of him.¡± ¡°Yes, it certainly pays to have such a competent fling,¡± the red-head replies, wiggling his eyebrows with far too much attitude for someone who used to barely reach my waist. ¡°Do not bring my personal life into a binglery, boy.¡± ¡°Yes, Ariane. We are a little west of your position by a small pond hidden behind a tall rock. Follow the forest trail and you will find us without difficulty. What do you intend to do next?¡± I speak while we urge our nightmares on, the coming of the dawn pressing on our minds. ¡°It will depend on how Adler and Alexander¡¯s interactions develop,¡± I tell the mage through the mirror, ¡°Adler will try to move the gold one way or another, then head south to escape scrutiny. Or perhaps west. Perhaps he will hide the gold under crates of turnips in a caravan, who knows? Bingle will obviously object and I am not sure how the interaction shall play out.¡± ¡°Would it not be easier for our evil mastermind to simply kill Bingle and be done with it?¡± ¡°You would think that,¡± I reply, ¡°especially because Alexander might inform the authorities about the thieves¡¯, but I am not sure. Mortals consider the step-up between theft and murder as rather steep.¡± ¡°It most certainly is,¡± Ollie pointedly replies. I wave his words away, belatedly remembering that he can only hear me. This mirror does not work on vampires. ¡°Adler may try to liquidate them, or he might try to take a hostage to enforce compliance and leave them tied to a tree. There could be a battle from which he disengages. I am unsure what will happen.¡± ¡°Do you want us to move closer and support them if the worst comes to pass?¡± I consider his offer for a little while, but eventually decide to follow my instincts. ¡°No, that would be a Deus Ex Machina. Trust in the narrative. Bingle will get a chance.¡± ¡°Very well.¡± Just as Ollie said, we reach the armored carriages with some time to spare and hunker down for the day. I wake up around noon feeling restless. Ollie informs me that nothing out of the ordinary has happened yet. A scout reports that the train is mostly hidden, a large pile of snow hiding it from view. The mortals spent part of the morning hiding the tracks and now rest, exhausted. Not much happens until the middle of the afternoon. Suddenly, a firefight of immense intensity breaks the silence for a solid ten minutes. When the scouts return, they find a new train parked in front of the hidden one, empty. The place is deserted. Everyone has left. *** The moment the sun sets and the Courtiers wake, we rush out. The pair of warehouses where the mortals rested stands empty, discarded cartridges littering the floor. We find a body dressed in stolen uniform and another wearing a leather duster ¡ª a new addition to the cast. I surmise he may have come with the train. Many of the doors are open with some crates dropped on the snow-covered ground, their golden content spilled. It appears everyone left in a hurry. I walk around to inspect the many footsteps heading out in many directions and stop, frowning. I taste the air. It feels wrong. Drained. Empty. ¡°Boss?¡± Urchin says in English, ¡°something ain¡¯t right.¡± John says. I take a deep breath, months of scheduling and projects disappearing down the drain in an instant. I can already picture the chest-high stacks of letters and documents I will have to send in the next few months. Ah, Bingle, you pointed me to Ako and now you point me to this. Why could you not direct me to a brand new strain of coffee beans next time for a change? By the Watcher. This is a disaster. I move as fast as I can, back to the armored carriages like the wind to grab some gear and then back again. Urchin¡¯s knives, John¡¯s axe and our guns soon find their sheathes and we leave, this time at vampire speed. In the distance, the fight resumes. I hear the cracks of gunfire, much weaker than expected. I hope we are not too late. I resist the urge to just grab the Courtiers and move faster. Soon, we arrive at the edge of a large clearing. A massive boulder occupies the center with a log cabin lodged at its top, next to a lone, scrawny tree. The cabin itself looks abandoned, perhaps a summer refuge for a hunter. For now, it is occupied by Felicia whose back we see from down here. Bill, Whisper, and Honore have taken cover around her perch and lay fire on the far side of the open area where I see a glint of metal. I would recognize those armors anywhere. Their wearers pop their bald heads out and return to cover on occasion. Mana hounds lie dead on the field with the last one hacked to death at Honore¡¯s feet while in the middle of the clearing, Alexander battles a flying skeletal mage under the red glow of blazing pines. It appears the dead world has invaded the new one. We are breached. As I watch, the skeleton casts a thin tongue of flame. Alexander takes a strange posture. The bands of arcane fire wrap around the dragon claw he holds in his hand before ending up absorbed. For a moment, the artifact appears almost¡­ alive, then the light fades and it returns to being a sword. A shot echoes through the clearing, the bullet pinging against a powerful shield. The mage lets out a low hiss that sounds suspiciously like a snicker before weaving a new spell, this one crackling red. The bastard is experimenting. After what we did to them near Warsaw, I would have expected our foes to grow more cautious yet it seems arrogance is ingrained in them. Unless the Last City is not quite the last. That would be a terrifying prospect. Nevertheless, I believe some help might be acceptable. More importantly, I do not want the mage to escape. I will need its corpse. John asks. Urchin replies. I rush and stop by Felicia¡¯s side. She screams in fright. ¡°Calm down,¡± I interrupt. ¡°I bring proper ammo.¡± ¡°There is a skeleton! And it flies! It flies! And I shoot it but it does nothing!¡± ¡°It has a shield, yes. What caliber do you use?¡± ¡°And those horrible beasts!¡± Ugh, mortals. I smack her face between two gloved hands and use a smidgen of Charm to help her focus. Hm. She really does have a surprisingly long nose. ¡°Felicia, listen to me.¡± ¡°Yush.¡± ¡°What caliber do you use? For your rifle.¡± ¡°Fifty-eight.¡± Dammit, one I do not have, of course. I regretfully, hesitantly, and with much trepidation, place the mortal-friendly rifle I picked in her waiting hands ¡ª against my better judgment. ¡°Use this and for the love of all you hold dear take care of it or you will wish the skeleton had gotten you, yes?¡± ¡°Thank you Miss Delaney! It looks amazing!¡± ¡°Use it and those bullets.¡± ¡°Can it kill this monster?¡± ¡°Maybe not but it will certainly feel it. Good luck!¡± I drop back and move around the clearing, drawing a circle with Rose as I run. I could use my magna Arqa to trace it faster and quite likely win the battle instantly but that would make the story less exciting, and so I refrain. I tread the thin line between the best scenario and the most awful one, should some characters die horribly. I must exert caution, and so I keep an eye on the battle as it enfolds. The skeleton¡¯s mortal troops have not left their cover yet, so the action focuses on my Courtiers, Alexander, and the creature. The skeleton itself wears a rather simple robe over a metal armor designed to protect its gaunt frame. Golden filigree lines its arms and legs, forming hypnotic patterns while a circlet adorns its skull. Reddish light shines from the eye socket, following Urchin and John as they approach. He holds one of those life-capturing orbs in one hand and a hooked staff in the other, which he uses as a spell aide of sorts. It tries to pull vitality from the area and succeeds, but only to a limited extent. It appears the claw acts as an anchor, holding the life of the planet steady. The skeleton flies back when it turns out that John and Urchin have resisted the pull as well. Mortals would have simply died where they stood. The orb would have swallowed their life force. Rather than charging in, John and Urchin simply walk to Alexander¡¯s side, letting the tired godling catch his breath. It has been the second night of activity in a row for the poor dear. Moving in the snow is exhausting work. His shoulders heave as he gulps the cold air. The two Courtiers take place by his side, three men facing a flying monster. A hero, An enforcer, a rake. They look mighty fine like this. The wind blows, and the light of the moon pierces through the fluffy snow clouds, adding a silvery sheen to the ice around the red-bathed arena the clearing has become. ¡°Gentlemen, a pleasure as always,¡± Alexander greets with a calm voice. ¡°You always bring us the best fights,¡± Urchin adds. ¡°It dies here,¡± John concludes. ¡°FREAAAAKSSSSSS,¡± the creature hisses. While I rushed to complete the circle, the skeleton has descended, bony feet resting on the ice. Its voice sounds mechanical and alien, yet it speaks English with barely an accent. I understand the implication. The mages have been here long enough to learn from captives. It is not that they have not just arrived, we have just found them. Unaware of my worries, the four opponents face each other for the time-honored tradition of pre-battle insult hurling. ¡°FREAKS. WE TAKE YOU. WE LEARN. YOU FEED THE FORGES OF OUR NEW ASCENDERS.¡± ¡°The only thing I¡¯ll feed you is three inches of steel,¡± Alexander retorts. ¡°And the only thing you¡¯ll take is my daggers down your eye sockets,¡± Urchin adds. John remains silent but that is enough. The skeleton is angry, and the battle is joined. I do not intervene. This is not my moment. I can feel the change in the air, the momentum of fate in the making. Equally importantly, Urchin¡¯s aura has started pulsing. I have no other terms for that strange rhythm. He appears uncharacteristically angry as well. The skeleton throws spells at the three fighters, who do their best to keep away from each other to make his task harder. Alexander moves with care, making sure to keep enough distance between himself and the foe to parry and absorb its spells ¡ª I did not even know it could be done. John dodges with a grace that belies his size. Sometimes, he uses the axe to throw chunks of ice at the mage, blocking fire spells and putting pressure on its shield, but it is Urchin who does the most. His knives clang against the shield without respite, testing it, pushing it blade after blade. He is untouchable. Bolts of electricity land on his longest knife which he plants in the ground before teleporting it back to his hand after the energy is absorbed. He dances around spears and flames, blocks red tongues of energy with crescent daggers. The skeleton mage understands that he is the main danger and focuses its attention on him. A mistake. In a single dash, John closes the distance and smashes the heavy blade against the transparent sphere, pushing the creature back into the waiting embrace of Alexander. The godling slices beautifully. The blade ignores the shield and severs the bottom end of the monster''s staff in a single strike. Energy destabilizes around its surface. With a shriek of rage, it lifts up the air, screaming more when bullets land on its renewed protections. The sphere dims a little. The mage is using vast amounts of energy, something I know the skeletons are loath to do. It will lose patience soon. ¡°FREAKS. WHY STRUGGLE? THE SUPREME ART IS BEYOND YOU.¡± ¡°Freak? That¡¯s rich, coming from a talking circus curio,¡± Urchin replies. The skeleton hisses and throws a wave of fireballs towards Felicia out of spite. I consider intervening but John surprises me by grabbing Alexander under the armpits and carrying him back, thus allowing the godling to absorb the attack before it roasts his companions. ¡°YOU CANNOT TOUCH THE WORLD SOUL AND IT DOES NOT TOUCH YOU. FREAKS.¡± A new wave of spells rushes out, aiming for the Vanheim rake who waltzes between them with vicious elegance. ¡°Calling us names because you can¡¯t just snuff us out like a dime candle. You are angry because we are not part of a system you dominate. It pisses you off when people don¡¯t play by your rules.¡± ¡°SPEAK, FREAK. YOU WILL TELL ME ALL I WANT TO KNOW.¡± Urchin¡¯s bubbling aura keeps pulsing. He is no longer listening, even as he fights and even as more bullets keep coming after the skeleton. Even John has taken his rifle. Only Urchin remains to stand against the creature. ¡°I was abandoned and could not speak the tongue but I still found folks to trust, still found myself. It don¡¯t matter to me that folks like you get pissed off. If I can¡¯t win by your rules, why¡­¡± Urchin¡¯s aura shakes and contracts. Invisible bounds linking it back to its maker pull back in towards his heart. The aura reforms, stable. Independent. It belongs only to him now. ¡°I think I¡¯m gonna cheat.¡± Urchin jumps, an action I have taught him not to do. I believe I could see a smirk on the undead¡¯s grim expression if it still had flesh. it creates a large ball of pure fire to release. ¡°No deal, chief.¡± Urchin reaches and¡­ the staff reappears in his hand. The mage screeches in absolute dark rage at the violation. It roars a word of power and the staff hurls back towards its waiting hand with great strength. Such is the creature¡¯s haste that it did not realize Urchin had left a small gift tied to its already damaged surface. The powder charges explode. Inside the shield. I see an army fly off. Ah, it pleases me to see the Vanheim grow like that. How devious! The mage screeches more as a wave of power pushes it back, flattening the snow and smothering a few fires. Urchin charges. The creature falls. It has had enough. A massive pull emerges from its gaunt body. All of its soldiers die in an instant, their bound lifeforms feeding the orb. Felicia gasps. She grabs for her chest. Oh yes, it is my turn. ¡° My will spreads across the frozen earth, waking it up from its torpor. I feel a diffuse yet monumental sense of disapproval at the sight of the wound, only an imperceptible scratch to something as large as a planet but something that cannot be tolerated anyway. The world yawns and stirs, then stills again, silent, but awake. My aura is smothered. The Magna Arqa is allowed to expand as a courtesy, a temporary agreement that can be rescinded at any time. It feels fragile, unstable, like a man clinging to a cliff¡¯s edge by his fingertips. Both John and Urchin stumble. The effect on our foe is much greater. A stupefied curse emerges from Urchin¡¯s quarry when the deadly pull abruptly stops. The beast still tries to attack, expanding the orb¡¯s remaining stored power. ¡°Mine now,¡± Urchin says, and the skeleton has no more tools. Vanheim¡¯s newest master lands on his opponent blades first. He sinks them in the creature¡¯s eye sockets with cold glee, destroying part of the skull with its rage. Another hit cleaves through the gold-plated spine. More slashes follow. As tempting as it is, I cannot let him demolish our prize. ¡°That is quite enough,¡± I say in English. Urchin stops and turns. I see something new in his eyes, a challenge. I understand it. I was drunk with power the first night I became a master as well, and so out of concern for him I temper my remark with a smile as I approach. ¡°It is already dead, Urchin. Before everything else, allow me to be the first to congratulate you on your ascension. We will have to celebrate properly when we return. This is one of the most important milestones for our kin, and not everyone can reach it. Well done. Truly, well done.¡± It occurs to him that I have spoken the mortal tongue, a reflection of his earlier statement. He nods in appreciation. Later, we will revert back to Akkad as is proper, but for now it is his moment. I will let him enjoy it. I refrain from patting his back and calling him a worthy minion for now. ¡°Thanks, boss. What now though?¡± ¡°SPLENDID!¡± a voice interrupts. I whisper. ¡°Fantastic job, Mr Urchin. What a display! Masterful. We sure showed this horrible necromancer bastard did we not? Capital performance.¡± ¡°That we did, Mr Bingle, that we did. With the three of us and the support of the others, it did not stand a chance,¡± Urchin allows. Everyone gathers around the golden corpse of the mage. A few cast a furtive glances at Urchin¡¯s pilfered orb which he still holds. ¡°What horrible thing is this? Where did it come from?¡± Alexander asks, subdued by the sight of the remains. ¡°Our world is linked to another,¡± I explain, ¡°portals can lead from and to it but it is a dead place populated by those creatures you saw, their slaves, and their beasts.¡± ¡°It almost killed me,¡± Felicia whispers. ¡°I felt myself die.¡± ¡°They can drain the very life of everything around them, including the planet itself. I surmise they killed their world in their quest for power and immortality.¡± Urchin whispers too low to be heard by the mortal. I use a root to slap the back of his knee. ¡°Ow.¡± ¡°What are we going to do? We must inform the authorities!¡± Bingle exclaims, to the agreement of his companions. ¡°I will make sure it happens, in the meanwhile, you have other things to worry about, or have you forgotten?¡± ¡°Hmm?¡± ¡°The gold? Where is Adler? Where are his men? Must I remind you that you are wanted until we return it to its rightful owners? You will find defending mankind from within the walls of a penitentiary to be a challenging task.¡± ¡°OH! Right. We must head back!¡± ¡°Yes. You do that. I need to, ah, call this in. Urchin, leave the orb, thank you.¡± While the group makes their way across the snow, Honore supporting a shocked Felicia, I turn and activate the mirror again. Ollie answers in record time and I leave him clear and detailed instructions on what to do and who to contact. The team must recover the bodies, preferably before they freeze. The orb must be kept at all cost, as must the remains of the mage. The Accords will be notified immediately. I fully expect Constantine himself to ride here through the nightmare world. We have found Pandora¡¯s box opened and its content already spread across the floor, and now the world must be informed. Ugh. By the Watcher, there will be so much to do. With that issue addressed for now, the time has come to return to our current binglery. I race back after the mortals as they trudge through the snow. Bill has lit a lantern he must have found somewhere. As I approach, Alexander starts recounting the events of the day. ¡°We awoke when a new train moved in. I knew something was wrong when the person who left it was no other than Judge Zakarias Ramsey, of Ortonville! The very same I was trying to stop! Adley and him were working hand in hand from the very beginning!¡± ¡°How dreadful¡­¡± I say. All three of us vampires exchange a knowing look. ¡°Miss Delaney! Thank you for saving Felicia earlier. Urchin informed me we had you to thank. You will never believe what shocking development just occurred! We were betrayed by Adler of all people!¡± ¡°Truly, who can we trust in these dark times?¡± ¡°Very few people¡­ but I can trust you to help me render justice as a champion of good. Or at least I hope so, because I confess to being awfully unprepared. As I was saying, I recognized this sinister character as soon as he stepped down the train. We barricaded the door to our separate space and shot a man before they could assault us. Thankfully, those ruffians lacked in courage what they had in number. None of them dared to challenge Felicia¡¯s marksmanship.¡± ¡°Markswomanship,¡± the interested party mutters from the side. ¡°... and so it seemed we had reached an impasse. Rather than siege us, the feckless cowards attempted to unload the more conspicuous armored train to transfer their ill-gotten gains to a more generic carriage,¡± said the man who had committed the ill-getting to begin with. ¡°When suddenly, a dark apparition came with the twilight, a flying skeleton! A nightmarish creature that¡­¡± He suddenly calms down. ¡°That you saw and therefore do not need further descriptions on. But by jove, what glorious moment it shall be when I write it in my memoirs.¡± ¡°Alexander, please. What happened then?¡± ¡°Oh yes. Some men ran, some prayed, some shot at it. We ran away from its presence when it killed a goon with a single wave of its accursed hand! The creature followed, and I realized it was corralling us, leading us into a trap. Fortunately, I felt a call from the sword ¡ª and I shall never forget your advice to take it with us or we would have all died or worse. Drawing the blade, I was able to keep the creature at bay while my heroic companions fought off its damned servants. As for Adler, Judge Ramsey, and their men, they ran! The lily-livered poxy cowards!¡± A thought finally occurs to him. ¡°I hope they did not double back and leave with the gold. That would be a disaster.¡± I stop myself from swearing. Now that he has said the word, it is as good as done. When we arrive at the warehouses, the smaller train is gone. Of course. Bill goes into a long tirade of insults while Honore and Whispers curse the vile enemies. Sadly, without magic to make them tangible. ¡°We could use the larger train, perhaps?¡± Alexander says. ¡°Unfortunately, I see two problems. First, we will be relentlessly shot at and probably stopped on sight by every law enforcement agency this side of Lake Ontario. Second, they have sabotaged the coal container.¡± ¡°What?¡± I point at the small car following right after the massive locomotive. Before departing, someone has unlocked a side panel and now the heat-producing dark entrails have spilled over the ground and tracks, frozen like a day-old kill. ¡°Curse them! Are we without recourse?¡± our hero bemoans. I rake my mind for a believable solution. Technically, I could summon the most recent iteration of the Dalton¡¯s Fury and have it here in two hours since I requested it be on standby, but that would be an overkill and godlings tend to dislike those. Or I could ¡ª ¡°Did you hear a horse?¡± Honore suddenly says. I feel her come through the edge of the woods. I turn, aghast, and here she is wearing her chain barding. Metis. John¡¯s monstrous steed comes to a stop by her side, clad in full plate while Urchin¡¯s agile mount saunters to the side. More nightmares join them. Younger ones, I feel, not yet fully comfortable with their new forms. Their crimson eyes go back and forth to inspect the strange structures and mechanical contraptions of this world. I count five new flesh-eating steeds. I hiss at the dread beast. Metis tilts her head, the very picture of equine innocence. I whisper. Ah, what a mistake. No sooner have those words crossed my lips that she points her greedy snout at the pouch by my side, where I keep some emergency supplies. A neigh. ¡°Are those the famed horses of the cursed hunters?¡± Alexander roars in a voice that the entire valley might hear, ¡°I learned about them from the mouth of uncle Nathan himself! What a privilege to see them in the flesh. Can we count on those noble mounts to pursue the evildoers?¡± Metis points more insistently and I realize I have to tolerate this¡­ this moonlight robbery! Why is it always me bankrolling those silly expeditions? Eight ears cost at the very least a full dollar! Ugh! I should keep a gold ingot to cover my fees. I mutter curses at the cutthroat negotiators and pray to the Watcher no one important will see me get outmaneuvered by a damn overgrown pony. Eight ears it is. The nightmares take their due, then each one walks to a rider. Felicia touches her mare with a sense of childish wonder while Bill and Alexander gush over theirs, admiring their impressive shapes. Honore whispers words in kreole I cannot understand but it is Whispers¡¯ reaction that surprises me the most. He pats the head of his chosen companion almost tenderly. After five minutes of bonding, we climb on their backs one by one. I feel a small amount of vindication when the mortals appear a little confused, and I decide to take full advantage of it. ¡°First, I would like to insist that this is an unprecedented honor you are given, so be sure to appreciate every second of it. Second, ladies and gentlemen¡­ welcome to the hunt. ¡± ¡°Wait¡­ they have no saddles? Are we really¡ª¡± And we are off. Chapter 199: Fated We did not, in fact, leave immediately. I stopped to grab the explosives. Now the nightmares cut through the snow-encrusted boughs and frosty glades alongside the tracks, which we spot sometimes when the path takes us closer.At first, the mortals were terrified, but soon the peculiar gait of those tireless mounts got to them. I used to ride a lot when I was a mortal, and so I can tell the difference between even the stoutest destrier and Metis. Nightmares are smoother despite preferring forests, as if roots and branches propelled rather than hindered them. With nearly endless stamina and a sure step, the humans have grown more exhilarated. It is then that the third major difference makes itself manifest. Horses are prey animals. They ride in herds. Nightmares are predators. They ride in packs. We hunt. Sometimes, Metis leads us through a shortcut when the line would bend around a particularly dense stretch of wood. Sometimes, we all jump over small chasms and frozen brooks. On rarer occasions, we rejoin a human road and race through sleepy hamlets, sending screaming humans back into their watering holes. The nightmares know where the quarry is, somehow, and we are as fast as we are relentless. The pack thins into a line when it rides through a gully, expands as a wing when we cross a plain. I honestly expected us to need several hours to catch up with the train by sheer virtue of its consistent speed, but I was mistaken. We are already here. In front of us, the tracks cross a flat field and the metal beast puffs away, laden with our gold. It is not quite as defended as the previous one, yet I still count two armored cars, one behind the locomotive and one at the back. A man stands near the last door and frowns, looking out. Vampires are quiet but nightmares are not. They were never meant to be. Stomping hooves alert him of the pursuit. ¡°Incoming! We have pursuers!¡± he bellows. An alarm rings inside, soon followed by shouts. A window at the top of the back carriage opens in a strange cylinder I see there. I notice the glint of a muzzle. So does Bingle. ¡°They have a machine gun! What do we do!¡± ¡°What else?¡± I hiss. ¡°We close in. Chaaaarge!¡± Whoops and roars spur the nightmares on. We close the distance with the last carriage. I take out my rifle and line a shot, intentionally missing the sentry by a hair and forcing him to get back in with a yelp. Felicia lines a shot with the machine gun¡¯s turret, pulling the trigger at the last moment. A cry of pain grants us an extra few seconds. The machine gun opens just as the train enters a forest. Our nightmares weave effortlessly between the frozen trunks while it spits bullet after bullet to shatter bark and branches. Nevertheless, it will make the approach difficult. Or so I believe until I see Whistles-At-Dawn tie a stick of dynamite to one of his arrows. He lights it and nocks his bow, drawing it in a smooth motion, his upper body incredibly stable despite the hard terrain. I know enough about archery to be certain this will never land. Any additional weight will make shots extremely inaccurate and this is quite heavy, yet the man seems very confident. So confident he closes his eyes. ¡°Waokiye Sungmanito.¡± The words hang in the air for a fraction of a moment, the time it takes for them to take effect. The rush of the hunt seizes my heart until I can almost taste the sweet blood behind the cold metal of the man-made beetle shell. A howl echoes in the distance. Whistles releases his arrow. It impossibly flies between two oaks, right into the tiny opening where the gun is. I distinctly hear a very loud, very short and very, very incredulous curse before the entire turret explodes. ¡°Wow,¡± I ruefully say. I worked so hard to become a sharpshooter and I could not manage that with a bow. Cursed cheating shamans and their godling-powered violations of physics. Urchin asks from my side. ¡°Hush you.¡± ¡°Excellent shot, Whistles! Gentlemen! And ladies! Forwaaaaard!¡± S?a?ch* Th? ??v?lF?re.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. With a collective yell, the hunt reaches its paroxysm, the nightmares flying like the wind. We leave the forest into a larger plain. The clouds part to reveal the form of the moon. We move so quickly that the wind sends my hair flying. So close now. I lift my legs to kneel on Metis¡¯ back, then when I am ready, I jump, smoothly landing on the tiny platform at the back of the armored car. A door leads within but I ignore it for now. Urchin and John are quick to follow. The sentry returns just as they land. I turn and smile at him. He swears and slams the door behind him then frantically attempts to lock it. This is when John places a boot against the handle and slams the frame into his jaw. ¡°Urchin, cover us. John, help me get the mortals on board. One by one, the mortals either jump or grab the guard railing and let themselves fall off their nightmares. John is everywhere, picking them up before gravity can win the wrestling match. Only Felicia remains. ¡°I can¡¯t do it! I¡¯ll just stay behind!¡± she screams despite our encouragement. ¡°Come on Felicia, you can do it!¡± Bingle roars. ¡°I can¡¯t!¡± she sobs back ¡°It¡¯s too fa ¡ª¡± I can tell the exact moment her Nightmare loses patience from the equine snigger. It jumps and bucks at the same time. Felicia is too surprised to react. She is also late to realize that she rode without saddles and therefore without stirrups. Her mouth twists into a beautiful ¡®o¡¯ of surprise while we prepare to receive her before she can plant herself face first into the platform. We only need five seconds to stop her screaming, mostly because I decide to slap her. ¡°I¡¯m fine! I¡¯m fine! I¡¯m fine!¡± ¡°You really are,¡± I observe. ¡°I will stand up now.¡± ¡°That would be best.¡± ¡°Boss!¡± Urchin interrupts. ¡°We have guards coming in!¡± ¡°TO ARMS!¡± Alexander roars. The godling team leads the way into the entrails of the fortified car. I realize it was not meant to be defended once breached because the interior is designed for ease of use, crates of supply and racks lining its lengths. Our mortals dive behind cover with practice ease while the coming guards do the same and a fierce firefight ensues. Honore and Whistles form the background around the pivot of Alexander Bingle¡¯s devilish marksmanship with potshots and the occasional repositioning. Bill provides bursts of coach gun fire while Felicia covers the far door, her accurate shots felling and discouraging anyone who dares enter. Us three vampires find ourselves redundant in front of this well-oiled machine. I admit to being impressed. Slowly, the guards are taken down until the last of them retreats through the door. A few surrender when they realize they are cut off, quickly bound with ropes fortuitously found around the place. The squad moves up to the front of the carriage where Alexander takes a quick peek through the door. Sustained fire pings against the steel wall. ¡°We have to push through!¡± he exclaims. ¡°That seems unwise, monsieur,¡± Honore placidly replies as more bullets impact the car. ¡°An armored car is built to defend itself against all directions,¡± I lie. ¡°Look for murder holes.¡± It does not defend upwards but mortals almost never look upwards. Downwards as well, but I dislike digging. ¡°She¡¯s right! Here,¡± Bill says. He pushes a lever, muscles bulging under the effort. Thin slits open towards the exterior. The return fire from the squad is immediate and violent. I peer through the opening as well to find that the next car is merely a platform upon which strapped containers await, covered in tarps. It offers precious little cover and, just as importantly, the biting wind makes protracted battles untenable. The guards immediately retreat to the next car, a few of them disabled as they run. One theatrically grabs for his heart before falling to the abyss, which I would score as a passable performance if he were pretending. Truly, the Bingle aura affects the strangest things. ¡°Forward! We must not give them time to regroup!¡± We race ahead, jumping boldly over obstacles. Honore slips at some point but Bingle grabs him as he falls, setting him back on his feet. ¡°Merci, monsieur. When this is over, let us please head south, hmm?¡± The next carriage soon comes into view. This one is a standard passenger car with seats, two on each side of an alley, except for the middle where they have been torn off to form a barricade. Heavy fire rains at us and we are forced to duck as some find their way through the wood planks. ¡°I don¡¯t suppose this one has levers?¡± Bill asks with little hope. ¡°I¡¯m afraid not, old chap,¡± Bingle replies, his native accent slipping in more heavily. ¡°That leaves us only one direction.¡± ¡°Up,¡± Bill sighs. ¡°I am coming as well,¡± John states. No one objects as the two climb up. I take a quick glance inside. Someone fires. Honore unloads his revolver in their general direction with little result. ¡°We should get their attention on ourselves or we put Bill and John at risk,¡± I say. ¡°Yes, but how?¡± ¡°I will get in using a diversion.¡± I use a knife to gut a dynamite stick, letting the nitroglycerin-soaked dust blow in the wind, then I light the fuse and toss it in. The result is immediate. ¡°BOMB! A BOMB!¡± I use the confusion to slip in and hide behind a seat. There should be enough backrests in the way to block incoming gunfire but I remain concerned, doubly so when Alexander joins me. ¡°Hah, it fouled,¡± someone observes. Which is when we shoot them, or rather, at them. A firefight ensues during which I grit my teeth in annoyance at the fact I have to miss. I find it especially jarring that one of them just stands there, most of his torso uncovered while he calmly fires shot after shot in my general direction, and I have to stay in cover or it would be strange and the bloody humans keep missing him. He is such an obvious target! And he is shooting at me! Why can they not just take him out? Ugh! I cannot take this anymore and stand up as well. Our eyes meet. He smirks, and shoots. And misses. ¡°How can you fail that shot? I am barely six yards away!¡± I exclaim with disbelief, ¡°I am not even moving!¡± I shoot him in the shoulder, eliciting a string of insults. ¡°Now that is entirely uncalled for!¡± ¡°Twat!¡± ¡°You are being quite rude,¡± I reproach. Honestly, I have exercised great restraint in giving them a fighting chance rather than shredding them into conveniently-sized pieces, and this is how they repay my generosity? They could even survive the operation to be hanged instead of mangled. Scandalous. Back in my days¡­ no Ariane, embrace the binglery. All is well. We exchange more shots until a twin roar interrupts the proceeding. Bill and John ram the defenders from behind with the fury of a cavalry charge. The goons find themselves thoroughly outnumbered since they face not one but two unstoppable forces of nature. Molars fly left and right. Surrender follows quickly. Once more, we find ourselves flushed with ropes, apparently the second most important supply aboard a train after goons of middling intellect. Tying the prisoners down barely stops our elan. There are only two more cars before the locomotive, and I presume most of the gold would be in the front car. We carefully cross the gap leading to the next wagon and find a hybrid storage and passenger space where a significant number of men awaits us, almost two dozen spread behind barricades in columns, their heads poking above the red upholstery under the light of a few lanterns. Alexander gets a heroic scratch across the cheek just for looking. We boost Felicia over just for her to lose her hat to a shot. ¡°I think they won¡¯t fall for the same trick twice!¡± Bingle says. The wagon is silent, but ahead, we can hear voices rising above the howling winds. ¡°They are uncoupling the wagons,¡± I say. ¡°What?¡± Bingle says and the squad¡¯s attention falls on me. ¡°I can hear them from here. They are busy uncoupling the wagons but the mechanism is frozen. If they manage to break it open, the locomotive will move on ahead and it will be quite light. I am not sure if we will manage to catch it again.¡± ¡°Curses. What should we do? Move to the sides?¡± ¡°This would be suicide,¡± Bill says, and I would agree for a mortal. Not without pitons and certainly not in an environment when one can easily catch a mouthful of tree. ¡°I believe the time has come for the three of us to make a difference,¡± I tell the squad. ¡°How?¡± Honore asks with suspicion. ¡°Thanks to our curse, we can see in the dark.¡± Bingle frowns, then ¡ª ¡°Ooooh. Go ahead then. I trust you, Ariane.¡± As well he should. I take a furtive glance at my first target and fire. Naturally, I do not shoot at the glass casing of the lantern because our purpose is to cross the wagon, and that would be extremely difficult if said wagon were on fire. I use my rifle to snap the supporting handle and watch the lantern fall behind a crate, the light now suffuse and intimate. A peppering of shots answers while I wait behind cover, until the man in charge roars at them to stop. I pick that moment to disable the second and third lanterns in quick succession. Urchin, John and I crawl through the open door under the cover of the ensuing chaos. A few shots come off but we are close to the ground and have no need to dodge. The herd of mortals stinks of fear, of confusion, of distrust, a rare cocktail that the Courtiers will have to resist for now. We are close. We slip among them. ¡°Enough of this!¡± a man with more control than the rest screams. He lights a match, his face an island of light in an ocean of darkness. ¡°Focus! You, go find that lantern that just fell. And the rest of you lot, look forward, even if you can¡¯t see much! With the yabbering of those they could already¡­¡± The man finally notices the main sail posturing as a coat to his side. The hand carrying the match travels up, and up and up, towards the ceiling, until it meets John¡¯s impassive mug. My minion has raised quiet intimidation to an artform. He slowly bends forward with the ponderousness of a toppling, centennial tree. His cheeks puff up. He blows on the match. The flickering flame dies. All hell breaks loose. We move through the crowd with ease, delivering punches and throwing people against the walls, barrels, and each other. On a whim, I quietly signal that they may feed while I finish disabling the louts. A quick check on the squad shows them near the door, staring in owlishly to what must be indistinct shapes wiggling in the shadows to their mortal eyes. I finish the mop up with a bit more speed before crossing the threshold to the space between the first and second car, where a bunch of semi-competent men try to pry open the coupling mechanism. They attempt to pull up a pair of pins from their links by using a bar, but the car is moving fast and the half-frozen mechanism resists their efforts. They work under the supervision of Mr Adler who stands in complete horror when I appear into view. I use this opportunity to kneel by the closest team and release my Magna Arqa. As expected, the next wagon contains the gold. I make no particular efforts to veil my eyes with illusions, so when the guards look up, they find two dark, slitted pupils surrounded by purple light. ¡°Boo.¡± They scream and jump out, which I admit is not just expedient but represents their best chance at life. The second pair stands up just for John¡¯s trunk-like arms to grab them and pull them back into the darkness where their cries are quickly silenced. In reality he walked back five steps and muzzled them because we are playing nice, but Addler does not know better. ¡°You! You! The safecracker! It is all your fault!¡± he screams, finger pointed in accusation. I shrug. ¡°Truly unfair accusations.¡± ¡°Only some devilish happenings could have led to this! I did not dream the flying skeletons! There is evil at bay and I know you have something to do with it. A young woman as a safecracker who pierced through the vault in record time? Horseshit. I do not know how you did it, but I know you are a devil-worshiper! A witch! Something of the sort. I should have known that Bingle man was a degenerate when I realized he surrounded himself with negroes, savages, catholics, and women!¡± ¡°A dreadful list,¡± I comment while inspecting my fingers. ¡°I am sure you find the situation very unfair.¡± ¡°How dare you¡­¡± ¡°And yet I cannot help but notice you were ready to abuse a kind soul¡¯s naivete for profit. Your scheme to make away rich as Midas failed and now you search for a culprit. Even your religious outrage reeks of hypocrisy. Did you perhaps forget the commandments? Which ones have you violated recently?¡± ¡°I have not come here to exchange barbs with a woman.¡± I shrug again. ¡°You may save them for Mr Bingle. I am sure he will be curious. After all, it is not my story.¡± ¡°Indeed not,¡± Adler hisses. He removes a revolver from a thick pocket and opens fire. The first three shots go wild because the train turns at that moment. The fourth as well when the light of the moon falters for an instant, masked by a thick cloud. I notice the fifth will land and so I take a step to the side, dodging it, then step back. Adler overcompensates and that sixth one misses as well. He should have aimed for the center mass instead of for my head. Amateur. I drink in the expression of sheer panic on his face as he turns and runs, the door soon slamming behind him. The last bastion. I assume the judge and his most loyal followers will be there. The rest of the squad is quick to join me on the small platform. They eye the fortified door and its current lack of defenses with suspicion. A wise defender would have opened the murderholes and laid down suppressive fire, I suppose, but the car remains silent. Meanwhile, I hear a strange noise above, a low hum under the flap of fabric. It sounds strangely familiar. Too familiar. Wait¡­ oh. I should have seen that one coming. ¡°Only this last obstacle and we can reclaim our honor!¡± Bingle roars. Ah, to invite misfortune upon one¡¯s head with such wanton abandon. If I had not heard said misfortune approaching, I would have been tempted to slap him now. Suddenly, top-of-the-line floodlights powered by an onboard electric generator of revolutionary make bathe the area in a pale, unforgiving radiance. So intense is the glare that the humans raise their hands in reflex, their night vision ruined. The hum is so loud now that it can be heard over the chug of the nearby locomotive. An expert helmsman keeps the light centered on us despite the train¡¯s speed. We do not have to wait for long for the newcomer to present himself. ¡°This is Captain Gilder of the USAN Independence. You are hereby ordered to stop the train immediately and submit yourselves to inspection or we will resort to immediate and lethal force. Any survivors will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. You have ten seconds to comply. Ten!¡± ¡°Oh my,¡± Urchin loudly says for all to hear as we rush back into the carriage. ¡°If it is not the flagship of the United States¡¯ brand new air navy, the Independence, a flying vessel designed for war from the ground up!¡± We take cover among the piled crates while the mortals wait for the inevitable onslaught. ¡°Designed and built by Illinois Guns of Liberties in collaboration with Skoragg Heavy Industries, a warship the size of a large brig with two armored bottom towers carrying state-of-the-art machine guns under an experimental bulletproof glass, a top speed of sixty-five miles per hour and an autonomy of eight hundred miles. Two main guns on the top deck lets the crew of sixty-four rival a warship in terms of destructive firepower, bringing the thunder wherever it is needed then climbing up before retaliation can hit. The most versatile force in the arsenal of our glorious nation.¡± ¡°Will you stop that? The irony has not failed to escape me, yes.¡± ¡°What irony?¡± Felicia asks. Before I can reply, the countdown reaches its end. ¡°Zero. Open fire!¡± Bullets sweep over the train, breaking the windows of our current place of hiding. Shards of glass and wood rain down on us. The din is infernal. Thankfully, most of the attention remains on the lead carriage. The sound of metal hitting metal at muzzle velocity precludes any discussion and for a while, we can only hunker down and wait for that storm to pass. Eventually, it does. The ship takes some elevation and accelerates away from us to the right. I admire its predatory hull with the retractable turrets as it flies away on stretched sails, enchanted rods singing with aura. A good sight. ¡°Curse that ship. Can we take it down? With dynamite, perhaps?¡± Bill yells. ¡°Certainly not!¡± I scoff. ¡°Ariane is right, Bill, those are the army. Good guys. If we do destroy the ship, how many of them would die? Do not lose sight of our goal,¡± Alexander says reproachfully. ¡°Oh. Right.¡± ¡°We must get to Adler before it returns! Quickly, forward!¡± the godling continues. All of us have miraculously made it through the ordeal by virtue of the gunner aiming too high. We rush ahead to the fortified door to find it locked. ¡°How do we open this?¡± Bill asks. ¡°Dynamite?¡± I want to complain that dynamite is not the answer to everything. I would know because I tried. Just then, the train leaves a patch of forest. The ground falls to our right, revealing a large plain with the lights of a small city in the distance and, beyond that, wilderness as far as the eye can see. It also lets us watch the path the rails will follow before heading back to the left, including a bridge over a small chasm. This happens just in time to reveal the Independence lining with said bridge. A powerful detonation shakes the very air, a plume of smoke wafting from its floating form. Next to it, the bridge turns to shrapnel. We enter another patch of wood. ¡°We are on a schedule, monsieur!¡± Honore says. ¡°We cannot force the door!¡± Bingle replies. ¡°Use the sword,¡± I hiss in his ears. He hesitantly reaches for the handle on his side. ¡°Now, or we all perish!¡± I lie. In one smooth motion, Alexander draws and slices the lock and part of the frame. We immediately pile on to see a crowded interior much like the back carriage, this time much less crowded. Four guards stand awkwardly with their hands on rifles they seem unwilling to use. The judge Bingle meant to stop stands to the side with a defeated air, mustache dropping and eyes filled with tears. He is a portly man with the affable appearance of an old, meek gentleman. We find Adler hiding behind a slab of steel, only parts of his face visible. ¡°It is over, Adler. Surrender!¡± Bingle yells with righteous anger. ¡°Never!¡± ¡°He is right, old boy, the game is up,¡± the judge adds. Adler turns and shoots him in the heart with his revolver. The judge falls, a red-tinged hand clutched to the chest. ¡°I know this! I KNOW THIS! And you shall all come with me, you demon spawns! We will all laugh with the devil together!¡± ¡°You are mad.¡± ¡°And you are dead! This is about vengeance now!¡± Adler huddles behind his steel slab and waves his gun at us. Sadly, there are no easy covers in range but I need not worry. As the traitor lifts his weapons, so does Bingle. The insufferable Godling switches guard and wields the dragon claw like a harpoon. ¡°It is not, and you are missing the point.¡± He throws as the first shot misses him by a hair. The sword beautifully arcs through the car¡¯s interior, landing square in the middle of the slab. It goes through the reinforced steel like a hot knife through butter. A dreadful gurgle spells the end of our foe. ¡°But I won¡¯t ¡ª ¡° ¡°No time for this!¡± I yell to spare us yet another abominable pun, ¡°the brakes!¡± We race to the locomotive, finding it empty. Bill pulls the lever and the train lurches. In front of us and slightly to our right, the demolished bridge and its guardian airship await our compliance or our fall. We slow down. I run a quick calculation, realizing we cannot possibly stop in time. A brief examination of the chasm shows that there will be no secret cave of conveniently placed garden-sized pillows and I take the immediate decision to apply a corrective course to the plot before it ends the arc with my head planted in the landscape. I whisper, We all watch the cliff approach with trepidation. Despite a curiously unexpected speed drop, it becomes clear we will still fall. I also realize that the bridge being fragilized, we might destroy what is left of it with our presence. At the last moment, I call upon my Magna Arqa and grab the rear compartment with roots, staying close to the ground to avoid detection. The mortals almost fall when the increased pull destabilizes the locomotive, yet the result speaks for itself. The locomotive stops at the edge of the bridge, the front wheel already hanging over the void. The bridge takes this moment to dramatically collapse. It causes us to fall by a foot reaching a balance. The bridge¡¯s heavy structure disappears into the gorge below in a great cascade. Truly, that Captain Gilder is so reckless! Does he not know how expensive a bridge is? Not to mention we almost died! I harbor the thought for a fragment of an instant before realizing the extent of my hypocrisy. I cannot exactly criticize anyone for airborne recklessness. Or ship-based destruction for that matter. We all wait above the abyss, silent but for the sounds of panicked breaths. ¡°Well, ladies and gentlemen, the day is saved! Hurray!¡± Alexander says. ¡°Come out with your hands in the air slowly or we will open fire again!¡± Captain Gilder yells from his megaphone. ¡°I think the night is not quite over yet,¡± I suggest. ¡°Not to worry, Ariane! As soon as I show them my marshal badge of office and explain the situation, I am certain all will be clear!¡± I do not know if I should be relieved or frustrated by the fact he is most likely right. *** ¡°How fast did you say they were going?¡± Captain Gilder watched the investigator pass a gloved hand over the thick white beard that escaped from below his scarf. The man had knelt by two strange furrows by the track in the dim light of this winter¡¯s morning. At their bottom, the white of crusted ice gave way to leaves, then the black of a healthy soil. If he didn¡¯t know better, he¡¯d say they looked like someone had dug their feet in and let themselves be carried over a distance. Of course, that was impossible. The person would have to be harder than steel. ¡°Fifty miles per hour, sir, maybe more?¡± he replied. ¡°And they started slowing down here?¡± ¡°Around those parts, sir. Yes. I think I recognize that rock over there, even though¡­¡± ¡°It was night and you didn¡¯t have a good look.¡± ¡°Yes sir, sorry sir.¡± ¡°That was for the best.¡± ¡°Sir?¡± The investigator stood up slowly, knees creaking in the unforgiving cold. Captain Gilder thought he might be a bit too long in the tooth to be trudging around in the snow like that, but his intellect was keen, that was for sure. ¡°Captain, the distance between this point and the broken bridge is less than eight hundred yards and I estimate a train of that size with two armored cars would have needed at least a mile and a half of track before coming to a full stop. At the very least.¡± ¡°That¡¯s¡­ impossible.¡± ¡°So it is,¡± the man said, ¡°so it is, just like nothing we know of could have deformed and partly shredded the rear armored wagon. And yet, here we are.¡± He smiled a little bitterly. ¡°You did not happen to see a peculiar man or woman among the passengers? Someone aloof and confident despite their age, perhaps? Someone who never showed much concern.¡± The captain searched his memories. It did not take long. ¡°Hmm, yes. Three of them, in fact.¡± ¡°Three you say? Oh dear. Well, all is well that ends well. We have recovered the gold. The criminals have been captured. The last word remains with the law.¡± ¡°You do not want to know what happened?¡± Captain Gilder asked, somewhat scandalized that an investigator would not seek the truth. ¡°I know enough. As for you, young man, let me give you a piece of advice. If someone can, on a whim, stop a train in eight hundred yards instead of a mile and a half without anyone on board noticing, the last thing you want is their undivided attention. Now let¡¯s go back to the ship. It¡¯s cold as an old grave out here.¡± *** ¡°I¡¯ll be brief, Mr Bingle. We want you to keep the sword.¡± The man behind the desk crossed his hands over the desk, a pleasant expression on his elegant face. Not a hair, not a strand of fabric was out of place. ¡°Are you sure? It seems precious. Such a blade¡­¡± ¡°Could accomplish great deeds in the right hands and horrible crimes in the wrong ones, yes. I believe it would benefit¡­ all of mankind more if you used it rather than us letting it languish in storage. After all, a good tool is to be used, would you not agree?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know, sir. Don¡¯t get me wrong, I¡¯d love to have it. But what if I lose it?¡± ¡°Oh, we are confident it will find its way back into your hands, somehow. Call it intuition.¡± ¡°If you say so, sir. Then I accept.¡± ¡°Excellent. We dared not hope you would join our initiative to make the world a better place. Welcome to the true war, Mr Bingle. Fate has guided all of us this day.¡± Chapter 200: Concerning humans ¡°Convincing the mortal military of the seriousness of the situation is paramount, Ariane. Please do not take umbrage when I say this but¡­ in this instance, your appearance might do you a disservice. The same harmless countenance that makes warriors lower their guard will prevent them from taking you seriously,¡± Sephare said, an expression of fake, polite concern plastered on her delicate traits.A lie, of course. The cold, calculating Hastings does not plead. She moves chess pieces and when those prove to be unwilling, she merely adapts her strategy. She will have to do so now as I have absolutely no intention of agreeing. ¡°Power must be used, else it is lost,¡± I reply. ¡°I am not sure ¡ª ¡° ¡°You want someone like Jarek or Wilhelm to take my spot and convince our mortal partners that a true soldier is at the helm. A tall man, muscular and bearded like the knights of old. It would work, of course, but I refuse to step down. First, if I am the Hand of the Accords, I must be so in any circumstances. A true leader will not use a shoe in. Second and most importantly, Sephare, I think you forgot an important detail. I have never, ever had a need to change my appearance to terrify people. You can send them my way. I promise I shall be convincing.¡± *** It had been a long ride. The carriage had taken twists and turns across the pavements until the men were thoroughly lost. Curtains covered the windows as agreed, hiding the streets except for the blurry orbs of gas lamps. The men themselves did not talk. They were all experienced soldiers, veterans of the Civil War who had stood in the midst of their men even as lead harvested limbs and lives around. A tacit agreement prevented them from speaking, from revealing anything to the night folks, including their own nervousness. Eyes stayed on the roof, or the ceiling, or the occasional glint of light reflected on the metal of their bared crosses. Soon, the noise from the wheel changed and they came to a stop. A polite knock heralded the arrival of their host. The door opened, revealing the smiling ¡ª if pale ¡ª face of a large man with an impressive, braided long beard. ¡°Welcome, to the Fortress, gentlemen. I am Wilhelm, the steward. Please, come in.¡± They climbed down one after the other. Their ride waited in a grotto of sorts, or a basement. A tall metal gate waited behind them, shut. A corridor led in and up. The walls were stone, unadorned except for racks of equipment. There was no one else. As the last officer stepped down, they realized the blond man was tall and imposing. Although he wore a perfectly cut suit, the finely tailored tissue only served to underscore the lean forester constitution hidden within. With his beard and long hair, he belonged more in the primeval forests than here in this man-made catacomb in the heart of Boston ¡ª or so they thought it was. ¡°This way please,¡± the man said. ¡°The Hand will be receiving you.¡± ¡°Are you.., a vampire as well?¡± the lead man said. He was the smoothest of them all, clean-shaven except for a well-oiled mustache. ¡°Yes, Mr. Zahn. I am.¡± ¡°I hope you have brought sufficient proof of your claims. We will be reporting our findings with honesty.¡± ¡°Oh, yes, solid proof since I suppose you would not trust testimonies from our partner.¡± ¡°Yes, the werewolves and mages. We live in strange times.¡± ¡°That we do,¡± the vampire agreed, his voice still even and polite. The group walked through the corridor, finding witch lights guiding their ways. Many doors and side alleys branched out, locked or deserted, revealing nothing except for how expansive the complex was. That such a deep structure could exist under the republic¡¯s very feet filled the officers with concern, but only one did not miss the unfortunate metaphor it drew with the power of the vampires themselves. Their base had snaked its way deep, so deep he was not sure they could ever be rooted out. ¡°Your partners are the werewolves and mages?¡± Zahn asked after a pause. ¡°Yes. We have an understanding with them, especially when it comes to external threats.¡± The underlying message was clear. ¡°We have the Hand to thank for this alliance. I am confident you will fit at her table just fine.¡± ¡°I thought your ¡®Hand¡¯ was in charge of military affairs?¡± ¡°A hand extended in welcome, or closed as a fist, is still a hand. Ah, we are here.¡± The narrow stone alley widened ever so slightly. At the end, an armored door as thick as a hand silently rotated on its hinges. A wave of cold emerged from the threshold. ¡°Go on in, I will return when it is time to go,¡± the blond man said with a last smile, and it revealed a hint of fangs. Zahn did not hesitate. Following him, the rest of the officers filed into what appeared to be a large command room. Maps lined the wall overlooking desks and tables filled with pieces of armor and antiquated weapons. A massive central table covered in dark gray sand occupied its center. Inside, there was a man in a strange crimson uniform, fiery hair escaping over a white mask that would fit an old world masquerade. Another leaned against the table in an unseasonal light outfit, one that should make him shiver, yet the cold did not seem to hold any sway. He wore a crooked, cocky grin on his handsome face. The third was a woman. The cold emanated from her, or rather, her armor. It was a hypnotic work of strange lights on a midnight sky, ephemeral and always changing, yet eternal all the same. The polar winter had somehow left the sky and twisted itself in the shape of a full plate armor engraved with strange, mesmerizing letters of no alphabets they had ever seen, shimmering like dancing lights. The woman¡¯s fair face, pale as death, emerged from it. Her blonde hair half cascaded, half held above it. A pair of blue eyes left the table to land on them. It was the only trace of movement they could perceive. As they woke up from their stupor, the officers realized their crosses were shining a light blue, a strange aura trailing back like snow pushed by a strong wind. It did not feel hostile yet. More of a light wind that never stopped. ¡°Welcome. I am Lady Ariane of the Nirari, the Hand of the Accords. Take a spot around the table, please.¡± The men shuffled because there was nothing much else to do than to comply. A rift was forming, one that had not been obvious until now. Those who wanted to protect the peace turned their eyes to the tables and their strange contents. Those who wanted to cleanse the land looked at the woman and considered, more than ever, the necessity to rid the world of such a powerful evil. They also realized the difficulty of such a task. The woman met their glare and smirked. She extended a nightmarish gauntlet ending in dark claws over the table and the sand shifted, merged, split to finally form a comprehensive map of the North American continent. Lines drew over the easily recognizable landmasses to form borders. The officers stared at this breathtaking rendition. Three spots radiated out like beacons, the map almost¡­ alive with the shifting grains. ¡°In the past two weeks, we have detected no less than three incursions by forces foreign to our world and intercepted one. In two cases, entire villages have disappeared from the map while the fabric of the world has been damaged. We have also discovered evidence of portals in all three locations. Those are the marks of the same strange skeleton creatures that attacked Warsaw twenty years ago.¡± ¡°Hold on,¡± an officer asked, ¡°How can you be so sure? I¡¯m not calling you a liar, I just want to know.¡± The woman spared a glance at him. ¡°I was there when we fought them off.¡± ¡°You were in Europe?¡± ¡°Yes. If you are here, you must know about the dead world and the possibility of portals leading there. The skeletons and their lackeys crossed such a portal. Their foot soldiers mostly fought with swords and strange metal, but they also had a unique weapon of dire effect, an orb that captured the attention of any humans who came close to it. The skeletons fought with an extremely powerful brand of magic fueled by life itself, which they were able to retrieve from the environment. The third incursion and its participants perfectly matched those characteristics.¡± ¡°Do you have solid evidence we could present to our superiors?¡± The woman pointed at the tables lining the wall. ¡°Those are pieces of armor and gear the invaders had with them. The alloy that forms their armor is light and made using a process we do not understand. You will be given several such pieces of gear so your researchers may examine them in detail. You will also receive the frozen remains of a few foot soldiers along with this. We will not, however, give you an orb as they are too unpredictable and might kill everyone around them if activated.¡± The woman silently stepped to a side wall, the officers following her after a delay. A skeleton waited on it, displaying clear signs of damage. It was incredibly tall. It was also engraved, metal-encrusted, and covered in armor that was not designed to protect flesh. The empty eye sockets seemed to follow the men as they moved around it. One of the officers touched a tibia and lifted it with some difficulty. ¡°Heavy. Must be all that metal. What is it?¡± ¡°Electrum and platinum. Not all skeletons are built the same and there are major differences of power between one specimen and another. That one was on the weaker end of the scale.¡± ¡°Why do you think that may be?¡± ¡°We believe the skeletons are made from willing humans and a significant amount of the planet¡¯s¡­ life force. We surmise that the process varies from one person to another to match them, and that the most powerful individuals were already mages while they were still alive. We also believe they are trying to make more of themselves.¡± ¡°What are they here for? What do they want from us?¡± ¡°They are locusts, eating then moving on.¡± The woman hissed softly. The room grew more oppressive, shadows creeping around the corners. The crosses burned more brightly for a while. Eventually, the light returned. It took its time to do so. ¡°The skeletons are fully sapient. They speak. That one could communicate in English, and we believe they already harvested captives to teach them. Given enough time, they will increase their numbers and eat our world alive. We will not let them of course.¡± ¡°This dead world, can we visit it?¡± Zahn asked. The woman turned her attention to him, then moved back to the table. ¡°We will arrange it. But not tonight and most definitely not around here. A portal is never safe. One should never be opened around a large population center.¡± She pointed at the three spots on the map. ¡°Those separate marks are distant, and we believe they might be far away from each other in the dead world as well although we have been unable to confirm it yet. We suspect the skeletons are¡­ mapping the place.¡± ¡°Like one finds the best mushroom spots¡­¡± one of the officers whispered. ¡°When they are ready, they might bring more forces to bear to commence harvesting the local populations, depending on the availability of resources. Skeletons are jealous of the energy they use and it takes quite a bit to open a portal, so they will favor spots with much to get, lightly defended cities.¡± ¡°Humans are the richest source of life energy?¡± ¡°I personally believe that it is not the case, but that they have the most experience draining intelligent creatures.¡± ¡°Do they have a base of some sort, one we could siege and destroy?¡± another asked. ¡°Good question. I do believe they have a secondary base somewhere around, however destroying it would be a temporary measure. It is likely the common base is the Last City, or so the prisoner we had called it. The city itself harbors a hundred of those beings including some of remarkable power. The number of servants also seems to be in the hundreds of thousands.¡± The men mulled the news in silence for a little while. ¡°More importantly, the skeletons use their power sparingly while on the offensive, and we have proof that they do not trust each other much. If we were to attack, however¡­¡± ¡°They would unite against a foreign invader. I¡¯ve seen it out west with the Comanche. You think you¡¯re against a tribe, then three thousand warriors attack your vanguard,¡± another said. ¡°Precisely. The Last City has stood alone for a very long time. Who knows what defensive tools it has accumulated over the eons? We need to learn more or any expeditionary corps faces annihilation. In order to proceed, I propose the following measures. First, we need to protect our people and deny the skeletons any resources as much as we can. Two, we must capture a slave of theirs and interrogate them.¡± ¡°Can we capture a skeleton?¡± Zahn asked. ¡°We have no idea how one would go about disabling one. We consider the task too dangerous for now.¡± ¡°Are those slave humans?¡± ¡°They appear to be human, but shorter, slightly stooped and bald, with strange traits. Dissections have shown different organ sizes and a missing gallbladder. A great portion of them have small tails and they have nictitating membranes over the eyes. We are not sure if they are human at this stage, though the resemblance is¡­ remarkable.¡± ¡°Incredible. Could they have been kidnapped after the fall from Eden? Or are they demons?¡± ¡°I shall leave the theological questions to you,¡± the vampire interrupted drily, ¡°I believe we were discussing measures. Now, one thing we have tried so far was to patrol the dead world to intercept or find them, but we have run into an issue. Ground forces will be constantly attacked and eventually overwhelmed by Merghols, a local species that feeds off magical energy. An airship cannot function for very long because the current models rely on our planet¡¯s ambient energy, something the dead world is devoid of. For now we have no recourse.¡± ¡°How about a true expedition? A cavalry detachment would wipe those creatures from the field!¡± ¡°Of this I have no doubt, but then there would be another field, and another after that. The Merghols are without number.¡± ¡°Nasty things they are,¡± the smirking man said. The officers turned to him, suspicious. There was something off about the man, about the way the blue, unnatural lights reflected in his eyes. His posture spoke of aloof confidence. ¡°I intended to introduce my partners later, but I suppose now is fine too,¡± the woman said. ¡°This is Jeffrey. He represents this nation¡¯s werewolves while Oliver here stands for the mages.¡± ¡°Kind of you to throw me a bone,¡± Jeffrey said. One of the officers frowned, clearly unamused. ¡°If you think that ¡ª¡± He made to take a step forward. Before his foot even touched the ground, a deep growl escaped from Jeffrey, freezing the man in his tracks. It was not the animalistic noise that stopped the man but its depth and power, one that could only come from a chest several times the size of the person facing them. It was a growl that spoke of volume before it even spoke of violence, and it inspired with both aplenty. ¡°Please do not do that,¡± the werewolf said in a clipped voice. The temperature lowered and cross radiance started to overtake the light of magical lamps. ¡°Please show my other guests the same respect I extended to you,¡± the vampire said. ¡°Let us return to the main question, that of countermeasures. You were mentioning patrols,¡± Zahn interrupted. Once more, the light returned to normal levels. ¡°I have mentioned the limits of such attempts, although we are looking into solutions.¡± ¡°How do the skeleton mages cross the planet then?¡± ¡°Their orbs and powers allow them to control the beasts. It has been confirmed on multiple occasions. We suspect they might have means of transportation as well. In order to prevent them from having free reign, we will have to intercept raiding parties on our side. For that, we must rely on mundane reports of attacks or villages that last contact with the wider world. A fast response team should be formed to investigate the reports as quickly as possible or we risk losing too many people. We are also working on a sort of¡­ sensor. A detector to find breaches as they occur.¡± ¡°Those are temporary measures. You mentioned capturing a slave?¡± ¡°Yes. This is a task made complicated by the existence of a killing curse they carry in battle. It binds them to their skeletal overlords. We have witnessed one malfunction back in the Austrian empire, however we are also looking into an interdiction field that would prevent the hex from triggering.¡± ¡°And if you do capture a soldier, will we have access to him as well?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± the vampire assured, ¡°just like we will leave the equipment here with you, we will share what we learned for the future of us all.¡± ¡°We know you can wipe information from their minds,¡± an officer said. ¡°Then I suggest that you take a captive by yourself,¡± the vampire suggested in a sweet voice. ¡°Right, capture and combat. How do we fight those things?¡± another asked. ¡°Haven¡¯t met a thing that an elephant gun couldn¡¯t stop,¡± one of the oldest officers said, his sideburns bristling at the thought. The vampire smirked. ¡°Standard armament deals with their soldiers well enough, provided one does not get too close to their orbs. The skeletons are more of a problem. Excessive damage will overwhelm their shield, but it needs to be concentrated. They have spells that can destroy fixed positions with extreme accuracy, making the use of artillery and machine guns hazardous. Even airships will be at risk because the skeletons use fire.¡± ¡°Then what?¡± ¡°My men can use a ritual to cut the skeletons from the world¡¯s life force for a while,¡± Oliver said from behind his mask. ¡°The area of effect is large. The spell lasts for half a day, more than enough to triumph or perish.¡± ¡°My kind has few tools to kill them but we can certainly keep one or two occupied,¡± Jeffrey added. ¡°Though you might want to get some specialized gear, for good hunting. Like the IGL stuff.¡± A wide grin spread over the strange man¡¯s face. The vampire rolled her eyes behind the mortals¡¯ back. ¡°Illinois Guns of Liberty? I hear that name all the time, do vampires have a stake in them?¡± an officer grumbled. The woman merely smiled. ¡°I have another question,¡± the oldest officer said with a scowl. ¡°Why do you monsters care?¡± The men held their breath, waiting to see if the woman would reply to the insult. She mulled her answer for some time. ¡°Remember that we were first in line to face the Scourge Hive. We see ourselves as the custodians of this world. There has always been much hiding in the shadows, and we have always protected mankind from it. If you are too cynical to believe this explanation then the other is that¡­¡± The lights disappeared from her armor until there was nothing left than glacial darkness. A purple light flashed through her eyes. The men took an instinctive step back when their crosses shone so bright they threatened to melt. ¡°We do not like to share.¡± She walked to the table and dispersed the map with a wave of her hand. The gray sand returned to its shapeless form. ¡°Right, gentlemen. Regardless, I believe we have heard enough,¡± Zahn said. ¡°The secretary will want to know of this. In the meanwhile, we agree¡­ in principle. Such a threat cannot be left unchecked. We will be seeing each other more.¡± ¡°Happy hunting,¡± the vampire replied. *** July 17th, 1884 My paintings line the wall of the Accords fortress ballroom, each one depicting a fantastic view either from the Watcher, the dead world, or faerie itself. A massive skeleton head half buried in a dreary plain sides with our dearest eldritch maker overlooking the battle of Black Harbor, then a desolate winter plain next to Sinead¡¯s aunt, Carnaciel, rising above the world tree in her ethereal form. We have already had to install a round of guards to wake up human guests from their stupor. I had to refuse seven separate offers to buy my work at astronomical prices, although I take it as a compliment despite their persistence. A brilliant pianist invited for the occasion plays works of my beloved Camille Saint-Saens while waiters and waitresses walk among the crowd, offering refreshments and, sometimes, a taste of their own life force to the revelers. I sit enthroned at the end of the room with other hosts by my side, sometimes Constantine, sometimes Sephare, sometimes no vampires at all. I smile at my latest guest and clasp her wrinkled hand into my own. ¡°Thank you so much for coming. Are you sure you are feeling fine? Would you like a glass of water?¡± ¡°For the last time, stop fussing ¡®Aunt Ariane¡¯,¡± June retorts in a curt voice. Her tolerance for nonsense has decreased over the decade while her wit remains intact. I still worry about her. She is over sixty now. ¡°I told you I would be fine coming tonight so long as you return the favor.¡± ¡°I will endeavor to do so,¡± I assure her. ¡°See that you do. Pah! Why do you have to look like a freshly grown daisy? My head reminds me you are my aunt, but my heart wants to tell you to keep your fussing to yourself, young lady!¡± ¡°Oh very well, I shall not worry then. In any case, the time has come for the traditional speech.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t make it too long or boring!¡± ¡°That is my goal as well.¡± I stand up as the music ends, then wait for silence to spread across the room. There is no need for a sound enchantment here. The room¡¯s acoustics are great. Speeches. s?a??h th? ???el F?re.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. No one really wants them yet a party would not be complete without one. Such a strange paradox. With a sigh, I start speaking. ¡°Age is seldom a matter of perspective. Everyone is born on a certain day, at a certain time. However, we denizens of the night can be said to have been born twice, the second time by far the more illustrious occasion. I firmly disagree. ¡°I only survived my first month because of the support and loyalty of my father. My human father, Hercule Reynaud. He accepted me for who I had become and gifted me the rifle with which I slew the servants of Gabriel sent after me. It was his support that carried me through a difficult battle, and it is his memory I elect to honor tonight on the hundredth year of my existence. As of two this afternoon, I am a century old. ¡°I have much to boast about and we children of the Watcher are not exactly known to be humble, but rather than submit you to an unwelcome litany of my deeds, let me talk about those who led me here. Often, mortals are the ones who tie us to this world. They give color and music to our darkness and bring a veneer to the Hunt. Without them, we would forget. This, you know. Let me speak of them, those who left us and those who remain. It seems fitting. ¡°My father was the first. After he saw me off, he would visit me on occasion while I was in hiding. He once asked to see my fangs which he promptly grabbed with his fingers in order to test their sharpness. His loss while I had exiled myself to Illinois was¡­ difficult, but he did leave me with my first focus which he acquired after years of trading. A last gift. ¡°Loth of Skoragg helped me, but I would not count him as a human. The next would be my first Vassal, Dalton. Dalton loved to threaten people with his pistol then shoot a second, hidden one before they could recover. It was an intimidation strategy I always loved.¡± Little by little, I reveal tidbits about those who help carry me this far. After Dalton I mention Nashoba and his habit to remind me he can see the future, members of Isaac¡¯s human forces who died to the Herald, members of the Dream back in Marquette ages ago, the mayor who stood proud against the Lancaster assault despite his fear, Hopkins the mad bomber to whom I temporarily lost half of my hair, the courageous women of the Home Guard including Sybil who would only aim for the crotch. The list is long. For each, I only mention an amusing achievement rather than detail their qualities. I want them to be remembered here as well. John before he became a vampire joins the list, Crow the warrior, King who sacrificed his life to save me in Alexandria as I burned from the assault of the sun, the space mage I saved in the library and whose studies paved the way for the fae portal. Sheridan, who is still alive and well with his unaging wife ¡ª Constantine does not appreciate the reminder. The ship captain whom I lost a bet to during my adventure with Miranda Bingle. The list continues, and I can eventually see in the eyes of my kin that they too wish to share a few words about their own mortals. I quickly end with the female guard who became a White Cabal squad leader then let the conversation spread, everyone eager to talk about the missing or the departed. I feel it is an important moment. Gifts come next, as is tradition. Constantine offers me a lightweight casting glove with an exterior made of tissue, a remarkably thin affair I could wear with a dress. Wilhelm offers me a carnivorous potted plant to keep in my Illinois office. Jimena somehow found a rare Nippon-made ¡®Tanegashima¡¯ flintlock rifle, recently made with ancient techniques. Loth has an upgraded war mask sent to complete the Aurora. Many offer paintings from unusual or little known artists, many of whom I discover with pleasure. The Rolands gift me an entire artistically made piano. Jarek made me an enchanted flag. Eventually, the line dwindles and Melusine arrives with a massive, covered painting. She removes the veil to display a rather convincing rendition of me, running away from a tide of swine set on fire, their porcine eyes mad with pain. I can still hear those abominable squeals. Chapter 201: The Invisible Hand Esme¡¯s bones creaked when she bent over the counter to wipe the far side. The rag left a stream of droplets in its wake, so many globules catching motes of ember light in their tiny prisons. Soon they¡¯d be gone, but now they formed a hypnotic pattern to the old woman¡¯s eyes. They whispered something in her ears she could not understand. Sometimes, the murmurs were almost clear as hymns, sometimes she missed them entirely. They were growing stronger as she aged, though whether it was some witchcraft or just her brain turning to mush, she couldn¡¯t say.Tonight, the motes were especially vivid,smoldering there before the heat of the hearth could disperse them. Something was happening, or would happen, here or near. Nothing good, no doubt. Not with her luck. Esme stretched, her back cracking pleasantly. Her tired eyes swept the Shoreside Inn. The clock ticked away the seconds but it was only a little after ten, not yet the witching hours. The weirdlings hour. The time of those that were lost or on their way to be. A smattering of night owls sprawled over the comfortable chairs and old, sagging couches of Shoreside. Esme felt she should leave this schedule to someone younger, perhaps her daughter or that young immigrant from Ireland, but she liked it. Those were her lost sheep, in her quiet time. Let the young ones live in the day and find love. She preferred to tend to the lost souls now. The first was old Mr Stibbs, by the door, nursing his third whiskey. A good day then. Stibbs and his wife hated each other with a passion. He would wait until he was sure she was too tired to argue. Esme gave it less than two years before Stibbs offed his other half, himself, or both. She had a good instinct for such things. There were a group of two, a boy and a girl in their early twenties, studying a book of natural science. They wanted to attend the College of Pharmacy nearby as a pharmacist and nurse, respectively. They would study hard until a little past midnight then go rob a warehouse. Esme had no proof, of course, but there would always be an article in the Globe the day after. The girl could also do a bit of magic. Esme felt it in her marrow. Arnold Clarke was here as well, which meant that the widow Smith would spend a pleasant evening. The entire street knew they were lovers and that he would sneak through her open window, carrying ugly flowers and a bottle of wine. He also forgot to lock behind him and the sound of their lovemaking traveled far, making their married neighbors smile knowingly at each other. Only they thought they were being subtle. The last bird was a little different. A lost one for sure. She was gaunt and far too young to be out. She had paid for a night with a clean bill and when she had passed by, Esme had caught a whiff of sweat and male cologne. There was a slight bump in her abdomen, already visible under her dress. Esme judged she was four or five months along. She¡¯d have to find a place to hole up within two, before her belly would make work too complicated. That was not the main thing with the waif, however, no. What made Esme blink was the power that emanated from her thin form, much more than from the would-be nurse. Strong and alluring, yet brittle. It tasted hungry for chemical dreams and made up paradises. The sweet release that would, at dawn, leave her craving for more. The girl¡¯s eyes met her own. Defiance and hatred filled them. She expected to be judged. Esme did judge, of course. It was one of the fine pleasures of life that old age had not robbed her off yet. She did keep it to herself, however. Yes, the old woman thought, if anything happens, it will be with her. The waif attracted the strands of¡­ No, no, what was she thinking? That was for those spiritualists and whatnot to say such things. Esme was just a loony old bat, and that was it, thank you very much. All she was saying was trouble would come from or for that girl,one way or the other. Esme considered throwing her out but immediately tossed the idea aside. It was too late and, besides, the Shoreside never retracted an invitation without good reason. And she also had a coach gun under the cash register. It would be fine. She wished her Greg were still around. He would have stayed by the fire, puffing on a pipe for so long as she was nervous. He would have been in charge of the gun as well. Slowly, night settled in, one flipped page at time. People asked for refills and she gave Stibbs a cup of tea which left him blinking terribly. It was past eleven when the woman came. That was the start of the troubles, for sure. Most of her patrons did not walk so much as amble in. The inn was a refuge in the dark at this time, not a destination. No one entered it on purpose. No one had business here. The warm glow of her windows lured them in like fish, hooking them when their hands touched the handle. Before they were aware, Esme had sat them with a soft word and a hot drink to waste away the minutes they needed to get a grip. Not this one. She had not picked the place at random. Esme let her feelings guide her. Was she a little on the strange side as well? The feelings said no. She didn¡¯t taste different. In fact, she didn¡¯t taste like anything. Her experience said yes. It was her appearance. Her dress was a colorful blue and her coat hung open despite the unseasonal cold tonight. A normal person would have closed it. A normal person would have shivered from the change of temperature. She also moved too little with no wasted motions. And she was beautiful with azure eyes and golden hair like a field in summer yet too glacial and foreign like a princess in a hovel. The last thing that warned Esme was the woman¡¯s supreme confidence. No lady in their right mind would feel safe in the streets at this hour, especially when it was so obviously clear she was worth robbing. The newcomer gave the inn a cursory glance, her attention lingering on the pregnant girl for half a second, then she resolutely walked to Esme. She stopped by the counter like a ghost. The rush of frigid air from outside pushed forward a cold spice, like anise and something else. It felt cool and a little relaxing which set all sorts of panic bells ringing inside Esme¡¯s head. Flowers and ladies of the night smelled nice as well, to attract prey. ¡°Good evening. May I have a cup of coffee?¡± the woman asked ¡°Oh? Hmm.¡± Emse blinked and focused, blaming herself for her lack of attention. Old age, surely. This was just a customer and the Shoreside had standards of hospitality she was breaking right now. ¡°I have warm stuff if you are in a hurry. Otherwise, I can brew you a new pot. Will cost extra though.¡± ¡°That will be quite fine. A fresh pot, please.¡± Esme busied herself at the back. She had hot water in the kettle, not boiling, never boiling. They had filters and freshly ground beans. Not the best stuff, but decent, and she knew how to make a pot. Selecting beans had been more Greg¡¯s thing. Yes. The woman was here, standing still. Yes, the coffee. It was ready. She poured it in her largest cup. Ceramic, large. People at this hour wanted large drinks that kept warm for a long time. ¡°Cream? Sugar?¡± she bleated. ¡°Cream, please. A dollop.¡± She did as asked and returned to the counter. Her hands were shaking. She didn¡¯t trust herself with the cup so she placed it over the clean, varnished wood and pushed. The woman stopped it with a finger. Esme looked up into a pair of permafrost rings. ¡°Are¡­ we in danger?¡± she whispered. The woman would not hear, of course. Esme was too far. It was just silly. But she did hear. The woman tilted her head slowly, in a strange, serpentine motion. She looked at Esme for the first time, not as a passing person, but as a genuine individual. ¡°Hmm.¡± She seemed to hesitate before giving her a reassuring smile. ¡°You will be in a dangerous situation, but I shall protect you as my host since you granted me your hospitality in good faith. And made surprisingly decent coffee.¡± ¡°You have not tried it yet,¡± Esme reproached before her brain could catch up to her mouth. The woman tapped her nose. Her nails were quite sharp. ¡°The scent does not lie.¡± ¡°What sort of danger?¡± The woman¡¯s smile widened. ¡°I do not know.¡± Esme sputtered, though she caught herself quickly. Stibbs was casting curious glances towards them, recognizing a strange situation through the haze of alcohol. If Esme herself didn¡¯t know what was coming, she could hardly blame the newcomer for being in the same situation. Somehow, her promise of protection felt genuine. The words had been ritualistic. Maybe Esme was mad as a hatter but she believed them. The woman drank her coffee in small sips and the inn, temporarily disturbed, returned to its cozy apathy. Esme sighed deeply and allowed herself to relax. That is, until the woman perked up. ¡°May I have another cup, please?¡± she politely asked. Esme picked her half-empty cup with more confidence than before then headed to the back, which is why she was a bit further away when the door banged open and a couple came in. Now those, those were trouble. Their clothes were dirty with obvious stains she could see even from here, despite the failing light. Their eyes were wide and searching, hungry, vicious. They shared the smooth motions of the sitting woman but while hers were quiescent, theirs felt coiled and threatening. They turned and grinned at each other like two puppets animated by a demented artist, showing teeth that were a little too sharp. There was a young man with noble features twisted with cruelty. His companion had dark hair matted to her skull by neglect. She licked her lips as Esme watched. They were both attractive with the smooth skin of those who didn¡¯t work outside, but slightly wrong. The same wrongness she saw in opiate addicts, sometimes, on the piers when the poor souls lurched by. That was not what gave her the absolute confidence that those were the ones her feelings had warned her about. It was their stench. Although Esme¡¯s nose remained mercifully focused on fresh coffee, her marrow inhaled the acid, rotting chill that those two emanated like sewer grates. The cloying aroma stayed even as they walked out of sight. Esme mechanically walked back with the warm pot clutched in her hands despite her best instincts because it was her inn, her place, and she was damned if she gave them free reign of her domain. Under the counter, the handle of the coach gun called to her with the tantalizing promise of an equalizer. Esme put the pot down but the sitting woman raised a hand. She had promised. Esme let the confidence of her guest calm her down. The blonde woman was waiting, for what she wasn¡¯t sure, but she had things under control. Esme knew it with certainty, even as Stibbs¡¯ fingers gripped his spoon and the girl burglar swore under her breath. Clarke reached for his chest pocket and found nothing. Everyone knew, yet no one moved as the insane couple stopped by the waif¡¯s table, tittering like magpies. ¡°Well well. How delicious. And what might you be?¡± ¡°Won¡¯t you join us, dearie? We are feeling peckish, morsel. A game, a game. Nothing lost, no.¡± ¡°Little morsel you are, carrying life alone. We are sinners too, you know?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know you,¡± the girl retorted as if it mattered. ¡°I don¡¯t want anything right now. I¡¯m fine. Begone.¡± The two chuckled with disturbing synchronism. The man grabbed his lady friend¡¯s hand. Esme saw her nails were sharp and grimy. Like the talons of a carrion bird. Then the man leaned forward and spoke in a honeyed voice that made Esme step forward despite herself. ¡°Stand up, morsel. Come closer.¡± Tink tink tink. The room stopped and blinked. The moment was broken by the blonde woman tapping her spoon against her cup. Esme noticed she had given herself a refill. She felt detached from her own body, as if the experience happened to someone else. The couple flinched and sneered, but the distraction only stopped them for a moment. ¡°Come now, morsel, on your feet, up up.¡± ¡°I, uh¡­¡± The waif was clearly struggling. She looked so lost. Esme wanted to tell her to stop but she could not. Her muscles were not her own. ¡°Now.¡± ¡°Fresh off the boat, are we?¡± the blonde woman asked. Silence fell over the room. You could have heard a pin drop on the upper floor. The couple moved near the blonde woman with some wariness. They stood, heads forward, like skulking wolves. She turned to face them. Esme was struck by vertigo. She could almost see herself standing unmoving by the pot, reflected in the eyes of the others. Distorted words came to her as if through water but she could hear them and understand them though she did not, should not know the tongue. the girl said with a smile that didn¡¯t reach her eyes. the man slurred. the woman spat with sudden fury. ¡± the blonde woman replied. She sniffed disdainfully. the man spat. the woman replied with terrible finality. Esme felt the world hold its breath. Her other, normal guests were frozen, completely frozen, perhaps like her. No one moved. They stared fixedly ahead. Never had she felt so small and so powerless. The couple blurred. The blonde woman¡¯s right arm blurred as well. There was a crack. The man stood there with his head looking back and up, neck twisted at an impossible angle. The dirty woman hissed inhumanely. The blonde woman put down her cup. Esme was hit in the head by winter. It slapped her with a shovel and left her shivering in the freezing cold of a polar night. A small gasp escaped her chest. There was another crack and the dirty woman joined her companion on the floor. The blonde woman was standing. Winter left. It had never been here. The air was warm with the hearty, comfortable heat of the fire, yet the ghastly chill would not leave Esme¡¯s chest. A massive man knocked and entered. Esme thought she had never met someone so large, and yet he moved in a way that felt restrained and controlled. he asked. A moment passed. Esme blinked. The others blinked. It was warm. Logs crackled merrily in the hearth. Outside, the wind made her chimes ring a merry tune. The blonde woman sipped on her coffee. There was nothing wrong. Nothing at all. Just a normal evening with a strange chill in the wind, nothing more. No need to panic. ¡°May I have another cup, please?¡± her guest asked. Esme mechanically grabbed the handle. The others did not seem to have noticed, but she had. She leaned over and faced the strange one. ¡°Hmm, errr. ¡± she whispered She frowned. The tongue had felt¡­ strange. Very foreign. It just occurred to her that letting the woman know she understood might have been a colossal mistake. Instead of getting angry, however, the strange being merely seemed curious. ¡°Situational hyper awareness. Interesting. Do keep the words to yourself, dear. Some knowledge should not be shared so freely,¡± she replied, and Esme found she could breathe again. Just in time to huff. Dearie? This summer duckling sure had¡­ bah, it didn¡¯t matter. She could do as she pleased. The blonde woman stepped away from the counter and walked to the waif. Esme realized the small girl remembered too. Her expression was too terrified not to. Her gaze lifted to meet that of the blonde woman and stopped there. ¡°What?¡± the waif spat. ¡°I thought you might be the one, but it appears I was mistaken.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t look so disappointed,¡± the girl retorted in a way that felt almost too defensive to be detached. The woman sipped her coffee. Esme didn¡¯t need to see her face to feel the weight of disapproval. ¡°Oh, another holier-than-thou stranger here to spit at me. Go ahead then, do your worst. Can¡¯t even get five minutes alone without someone judging me.¡± ¡°I judge you because you are a homewrecker and an addict.¡± The remark had been delivered without anger. It bit all the more for it. ¡°He said he loved me! He promised he¡¯d dump the bitch and marry me!¡± ¡°I felt the touch of your magic on his mind, Nathalie. You almost broke him.¡± ¡°Accusations of witchcraft!¡± the girl scoffed. ¡°Of course.¡± ¡°Sympathetic magic, to be precise. Inherited from your mother.¡± The girl¡¯s face lost all composure in an instant. Esme thought her daft. Only an ape would still believe the blonde woman was here at random. They obviously knew each other, or at least one of them knew the other. And intimately enough to know such secrets, it seemed. The waif recognized the danger she was in and remained quiet. ¡°So yes, I am disappointed, though I know when to recoup a loss. I will provide you with food and shelter until delivery, then you will give me your child and I will¡­ compensate you.¡± The girl licked her lips, eyes alight with greed. ¡°How much?¡± ¡°Five hundred dollars.¡± The girl huffed. ¡°What sort of mother do you take me for?¡± ¡°The kind that sells her child. Right now, we are merely negotiating the amount.¡± The girl winced, though it didn¡¯t last very long. ¡°Three thousand. Take it or leave it.¡± ¡°Deal. Now come with me.¡± The blonde woman walked with the unresisting waif in tow. She stopped by the counter and dropped a pile of silver coins. Esme usually made that much in a month. ¡°For the coffee, and the trouble.¡± ¡°Thank you for¡­ everything. Have a good evening. Come back soon! Alone this time please.¡± The blonde woman smiled but did not reply. She never returned. *** s?a??h th? ??v?lF?re.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. 1885 The man read the piece of paper one last time and signed it with his name. It was daring. Provoking. At least two thirds of the readers would laugh at him, but like the tiniest mustard seed, a grain of truth would be planted. The post would not do for such a delicate material. He had to give it himself to the print and hope his boss would not be around to stop him. He had been warned times and times again. The risk was high. And he knew he was right. The vampire had admitted so herself. He would not listen. The people had a right to know. The man stepped out of his home and slunk in the shadow, taking a familiar path to the printing shop. He had walked this path so many times before that every step was as confident in the night as it would have been at noon, which is why he did not notice when a form detached itself from a nearby wall. The form stabbed him, once, twice, thrice, then it made away with the file and his wallet for good measure. The man lay dying in a pool of his own blood, too pained to let out more than a gasp of agony. Regardless, he still smiled a sad smile. He had always said he was ready to die for the truth. He had not expected that fate would take him at his word. It did not take long for him to bleed out. A few streets away, two shapes waited on a rooftop. One of them stood straight. The other¡¯s feet dangled freely from the edge. They left. Chapter 202: The Twentieth Century The strings of fate tease me once more, sneaking upon me one fine summer night. I am more sensitive to them so long as I am in my domain, or the lesser version of a Dvor domain in any case. I can feel her when she crosses the boundary, making her way to IGL¡¯s front door without hiding. It has to be a decoy.In a way, it was inevitable that we would meet again. I feel a flicker in her form once she enters the range of my Magna Arqa. I remotely open the door to what has to be a simulacrum and enjoy the hesitation in her step. She stops and speaks in a low voice. ¡°I request your hospitality for the night, and all rights it implies in spirit.¡± In answer, I use a small root to write in the wet mud near the entrance. Only if you face me in person. The simulacrum chuckles and suddenly, the real person jumps down from a nearby roof. She moves between guards to the front door, then makes her way to the room after I call reception to let her through. I can hear her steps. I can smell the barest hint of perfume, floral, with a hint of amber. I cannot, however, feel her aura. It is closed to me, even through the sphere of perception I have gained. Very impressive. She comes in and closes the door behind her. I look. She has not changed at all, still gorgeous and deadly with wavy black hair, brown, soft eyes and a body poets would write about. I would bet some did. I greet. The ancient queen of Babylon and Nirari¡¯s mommy dearest smiles in a perfunctory way, her eyes sweeping over the room and stopping at every hidden defense. I graciously offer. A touch of annoyance seeps through the cracks of her facade. It takes only an instant, yet I see it clearly before she restores her composure. she freely admits, Ah. That is unexpected. I thought I would have to contact her myself. I lean forward. Once again, annoyance pierces through the veil of polite detachment. Semiramis has interacted with our kind throughout the years, though mostly with Rosenthal and her brood. Isaac mentioned the woman only valued power and the arcane arts. I have gathered my power fast, and my knowledge of arcane is merely functional as its more subtle aspects escape me. I have kept the approach of an engineer while she is an artist. In fact, she is the artist. she says. She stands and paces, her voice growing more animated. I interrupt. I say. Semiramis dismisses my concerns with a wave. And I have. I have guessed why. All the pieces were here for me to see. She mentioned finding knowledge in a book coming from another world. She found knowledge on how to ascend, which is what the skeleton mages have technically done. I also remember visiting her abandoned workshop during that very brief period in captivity, down south during the American-Mexican war. The tools and tables had been slightly too low, the measurements slightly off. Semiramis was using dead world citizens. She has been in contact with them since before she even aligned the spheres, bringing our worlds closer. I tell her. she spits with more venom than I expected. ¡°I have no equal here. Do you know how boring and frustrating it is to live in a place without peers? I know there are other practitioners of the arcane arts out there whose skill and experience surpass my own. I will find them. You are free to keep this inflexible old crusted world to yourself. I wish you all the best with it.¡± I ask. I ask, because I require confirmation. It is indeed tempting. She sighs. I resist the urge to call her a queen of nothing, but I control myself. I did offer her hospitality. I finally ask. *** The Dalton¡¯s Revenge approaches its final destination, the sun-colored tip of the Eiffel tower, even now covered in the glittering lights of thousands of electric bulbs. Below us, Paris sprawls with the illuminated and fantastic buildings of the ¡®Exposition Universelle¡¯. The year is nineteen hundred. I stand on the ship¡¯s deck during the last maneuver under the vigilant gaze of the Baboeuf, France¡¯s Minotaure class heavy cruiser. This vessel can pack a punch. I would know. I worked on the plans. My ship moors without difficulty. Tonight, we are tame and innocent, weapons tucked, guns hidden. I even forfeited the tricorns for more traditional hats and helmets. Slowly, carefully, men in the blue and red of the French army attach a bridge to our lower hatch. I am the first to lower myself in the protected tunnel, though the wind still batters at my dress. My steps carry me into the glass-covered observatory of the third floor, the thick panes covered with a criss-crossing field of gold-painted steel. The entire structure forfeited stone and wood to flaunt modernity. With the warship domineering the sky, it represents one more boast that the national pavilions below will surely match to the best of their ability. The Exposition Universelle is the vitrine of the world and the major powers will stop at nothing to impress upon their visitors that, though they tread on French soil, there are mighty industries and flourishing arts beyond the alps, the channel, or the Atlantic. I cannot wait to see this all. I smile atthe welcoming party, but mostly I smile at Torran. He looks handsome in a modern gray suit that marries his muscular form, his gray hair pulled back to show a handsome face. His steely gaze softens when it meets mine. For a moment, only he exists, but reality is quick to reassert itself. An unusual group has gathered around us. Besides a majordomo of sorts, I count an officer and a few soldiers armed with swords and sheathed revolvers including a severe lad with a cross on full display, his hands stained with paint. An artist! And a mage, according to his aura. I also notice a photographer with his cumbersome contraption already deployed on a voluminous tripod, and a few gruff handymen with the bearing of infantrymen. The soldiers do look fine in their navy and red uniforms under kepis decorated with gold threads. I appreciate the visuals. Unfortunately, I predict that they will come with some degree of frustration. ¡°Bonsoir, mademoiselle,¡± the officer greets. ¡°You are Ariane Nirari, I presume?¡± He is quite young, handsome as well, which does not surprise me. As first impressions go, one may impress or one may seduce. Apparently, the person in charge selected option two. I look at his pencil-thin brown mustache and consider that he would look better with a beard as well. I also smile at the deliberate jab. The French have grown defiant of nobility and titles since their more radical members have taken power, following the Commune. They have settled down without rolled heads this time, but there remains a resentment of particles they cannot quite let go of. ¡°Ariane of the Nirari, as my traveling documents state,¡± I reply in French. This time, I am much more confident that my accent does not sound like I was raised in a barn by a particularly rustic cow. The Watcher knows I have spent enough time working on my pronunciation. I hand him a perfectly valid and legal identification paper which he carefully inspects before handing it back to me. ¡°Bienvenue ¨¤ Paris. If you will follow us down?¡± ¡°A moment, please,¡± the photographer interrupts. ¡°My name is Henry Duplessis with Le Parisien newspaper. I must take a photograph of all the guests, if that is fine with you? This way, please.¡± Ah, so that is how it is. If that gentleman is a journalist, I am willing to drink tepid, boiled coffee made with used grounds. His ramrod straight back and calloused hands betrays his military origins. The French must know of vampires, particularly because their neighbor across the Rhine employ them semi-officially. Mysterious, rich, and young-looking individuals will be suspected now. The photographer''s purpose will be to identify me as a denizen of the night because of the blurry image he will eventually develop, then the dour soldier wearing a cross will paint me so that my likeness is kept in the archive for later recognition. Very daring of them, to create a file on us, especially considering that the Mask vampires certainly have access to it. Perhaps they consider it a spare depository, or a free and freely accessible archive. A little rude, I would say. Nevertheless, I nod and step in front of the tripod holding a state of the art camera and focus on the ring on my finger. We have long since perfected the art of the masquerade ring. At first, our attempts led to unnatural pictures with wrong angles and dubious lighting, but we have refined the process since then to include many variables. Essentially, the ring will add a layer of light slightly below skin level so that a picture of us will fail to hold onto our real form, but will latch on the illusion and process it. There are limits, of course. The complexity of the adjustments means that only a single, stored facial expression can be used. It also requires the vampire to focus the ring on the camera¡¯s aperture. A click, a flash, the unpleasant smell of smoke. The crew unloads my and their personal effects near the lift while we wait. I use the barest hint of Magna Arqa to shred the picture inside of the camera itself. A matter of principle. They will see the ravaged remains with hints of unblurred images and wonder. ¡°Torran dear,¡± I greet in Hochdeutsch. ¡°Such a pleasure to see you again.¡± The soldiers frown and glare as I close the distance between us. Whatever goodwill I gained by speaking French has melted like snow under the sun when I demonstrated an equal mastery of Goethe¡¯s tongue. The two nations are in a constant state of tension over Alsace, and only ever a spark away from war, I believe. With a sweep of my hand, coasting under that deep-seated resentment, I grab their minds and muddle my appearance in their recollection with the lightest of touch, so that they will struggle to remember more than a vague impression of me. I do not, of course, touch the man wearing a cross. It would not do to bring an ominous blue light to our current golden arrangement. No, for him, I use another method. I use Vanheim essence to change my appearance, hooking my nose and changing a few other details. My eyes tilt, giving me a less conventionally attractive appearance yet also a more striking one. I see the man inspect me with intense care from the corner of my eyes as I greet my lover. ¡°Torran, dear. It is so good to see you.¡± ¡°My star. I owe you for your gift, the armor performed wonderfully. Truly, fae craftsmanship is impressive.¡± While it is the first time since the prison break that I visit Europe, Torran has made use of flying ship to visit me on occasion, and I have already gifted him his fae equipment, a stone armor that merges with his Magna Arqa and can even imitate its effects to a degree when he fights outside of his domain. It appears the addition to his arsenal has made him even more formidable. ¡°Oh yes. I heard you were involved in a little kerfuffle?¡± ¡°Just a small incident to decide the future of the Austrian Empire, nothing too dramatic. I won, of course. Me, and a few others.¡± ¡°You know what I love about you? You are so humble.¡± ¡°I thought it was how I played the organ?¡± ¡°Torran!¡± I reproach without meaning it. Ah, he must be as pleased as I am. I kiss him chastely and use this brief window to turn my traits into a more Scandinavian version of myself. Torran has noticed my little game, if his smirk is any indication. As for our would-be illustrator, his shock is so great that I could shove an entire egg down his throat without touching teeth. Or perhaps it is outrage. That is quite fine. The true issue is not with intelligence officers having access to my likeness, though it chafes. Father used to say that a woman¡¯s beauty is not just her own, when I would grow tired of the gazes of my suitors. Especially when they were staring at my backside. No, the issue is not the ownership of my image. The issue is that this likeness would be captured under false pretense. Mortals need to be taught that playing a game of deceit with a vampire is a losing proposition. Either they are honest, and they are part of the game, a game that has run for a long time and known many competitors, most of whom are dead. With any attempt at identifying me compromised and my baggage inside of the iron cage that will carry us down, the time has come to depart. An orderly shuts down the metal bar, then we are off and aiming down. I watch Paris get closer, hand held in Torran¡¯s own. They are quite large and touching them makes me feel relaxed. We do not speak for now because there are too many people observing us, which irritates me. ¡°We have no record of a previous visit,¡± the officer tells me suddenly, his head leaned forward to look at me from beyond the vast expanse of Torran¡¯s chest. ¡°Is this your first time here?¡¯ he asks with an inquisitive smile. I feel Torran tense, so I squeeze his fingers to let him know I am fine. He gnashes his teeth yet relents. ¡°I have come before, by train. To visit a museum,¡± I reply. ¡°Is that so? Which one?¡± ¡°Oh, a private collection of impressionist artists.¡± ¡°When was it?¡± ¡°A few years ago. I even purchased a few.¡± The man leans even more. ¡°Would you have anything to declare?¡± This time I do not hold Torran back when he replies. ¡°The Fraulein is a little weary from her travel,¡± he replies in passable French tinged with a powerful Prussian accent. ¡°Perhaps all those questions can wait for tomorrow.¡± ¡°Certainly. Around breakfast?¡± Torran smiles. The man smiles. Torran draws the soldier¡¯s saber from its sheath and twists it like a pretzel, showing an incredible amount of control since the steel does not, in fact, break. In the confines of the elevator, the shriek of metal is positively atrocious. ¡°I would love to have you for breakfast,¡± Torran pleasantly agrees. I can feel his rage bubble under the surface, which I find so very endearing. On the other hand, they ruined our reunion with negative emotions and teased us without¡­ knowing their place. Yes. This is the proper term. Most humans are not prey, but when they are, they should not act so rashly. We can tolerate games but not blatant disrespect. It appears I need to drive the point home. ¡°Je vous trouve tr¨¨s grossiers,¡± I say, informing the soldiers I find them rude. We are approaching the first floor. I already feel the engine linked to the left and decide to act. Using a root, I push the shut down lever and the cage in which we are slows down. Below us, the operators watch the tendril lock the mechanism tight. In the awkward silence above, the majordomo frowns and looks at the buttons. I make several tendrils appear in an effort of will and drag the cabin to the first floor¡¯s landing link by link, inch by inch. The soldiers gasp when thorny branches push the doors open. Nevertheless, they do not move. A wise choice. A few civilians turn to watch us. The first floor is bathed in the glow of electric lamps. Families watch maps showing the Parisian landmarks visible from here with an accent placed on the Exposition¡¯s main attraction all the way to the Seine and the bridge Alexandre III. I take a few steps forward and clap, once. The susurrus of conversations dies down. I have grabbed the mind of every mortal present, around fifty, in a single second. Children hang from their mothers¡¯ arms while gentlemen remove their hats, slack-jawed. Hundreds of glassy eyes focus on me. ¡°Mesdames et messieurs,¡± I greet in French, ¡°if you would give us five minutes, please?¡± Without a word, they file out until we are left alone in the well-lit room. I drop all pretense and twist at maximum speed, then slowly form a ¡®come hither¡¯ gesture with my fingers. I am wearing my birthday gift gauntlet which looks like a normal glove. The soldiers are picked by the scruff by an invisible hand one by one and carried in a line amidst curses and imprecations. The cross-wearing man¡¯s flabbergasted expression when his prayer fails to break the spell is simply delicious. Torran walks by my side and manifests his humongous zwei-hander, letting the massive blade casually rest on his shoulder. The temperature falls until their breaths leave little puffs of mist in front of them, despite the mild summer night. I let roots crawl on the edge of the room, thorns scraping grooves into the polished marble. Some try to swivel their heads to spot the unseen terror but I do not let them. They smell like terror. ¡°There is a drive among mortals that I do not quite understand. The very same that pushes you to investigate that strange noise in your backyard, or that glint in the tunnel. You walk up to your ceiling bearing a lantern and asking: ¡®is someone there¡¯? You feel the overwhelming need to follow the giant tracks to find what is at the end and I always, always wonder¡­¡± I step next to the officer and lower him until our eyes are level. At the same time, I remove the illusion I always maintain over my eyes. His own brown orbs stare in the depth of the Watcher¡¯s gaze, all purple sclera, iris, and yellow slanted pupil. ¡°When you do find what you seek, what will you do? Well, mortal. Your suspicions are confirmed. Now, what?¡± ¡°I will¡­ tell the Babeuf¡­ to fire on you.¡± Ah, a nice bluff, but it is a bluff. And like all bluff, it must be called. I smirk and grab one of my trunks from the elevator and approach the mage painter soldier believer, as the cross glows with some strength. I take out a communication mirror and offer it. He takes it. I release him, sending him to the ground with one more curse. He stands back up with all haste. ¡°Go ahead. Call it,¡± I say. The painter observes the officer and the officer, the painter, wondering which one will ask a warship to open fire on a civilian-filled landmark in the middle of Paris with the risk of sending hundreds of tons of screaming metal on the top of the champs-de-mars revelers. ¡°So, which one of you wants to annihilate his career for no gain whatsoever? Hmm?¡± An awkward silence follows. Outside, the civilians watch the city through conveniently placed telescopes while complaining about the need to leave. ¡°I thought not. Well, I believe a little lasting reminder would help drive the lesson home. Now, what shall I do with you.¡± Some of the men whimper in fear while others feel more resigned. Only the officer boils with impotent rage. ¡°You are about to commit a grave mistake. To threaten us is one thing, but to hurt a soldier¡­¡± ¡°Who said anything about hurting?¡± I ask. When the lift resumes its journey, it does so with a laughing Torran at my side, as well as a dozen torn uniforms. I shall keep the French officer¡¯s one and knit it back together for Jimena, whose collection of male uniforms only ever expands. We leave the Eiffel tower without issue but we do find another reception committee waiting downstairs. I recognize the thin man with the air of a musketeer as well as his bear-like, bearded friend, coarse hair visible through his then shirt. ¡°Cedric, Baltazar, gentlemen, it is good to see you.¡± ¡°And a pleasure as well for us,¡± Cedric replies, ¡°since we once again meet without bloodshed.¡± ¡°The first time we came across each other, a terrible misunderstanding led to my arrest. I did give them hell before I was taken, however.¡± ¡°She smashed my head in,¡± Cedric helpfully says. ¡°She left me alone so I could help him and our other friend Ingalles, who is regrettably tied up on the Nile smoothing things out, as it were. We were sent to escort you and open whatever doors need opened without having to.. ah..¡± His gaze travels up. ¡°Knock.¡± ¡°We would love to start with the Exposition, actually,¡± Torran says, anticipating my desires. ¡°Wonderful. Most of the buildings are staff and faker than a Montmartre prostitute, but the national pavilions are fantastic!¡± ¡°And the magical and technological innovations. You have an interest in technology, yes?¡± S~?a??h the ?0velF?re.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. We move on at a sedate pace. ¡°The Nile, you say? Could it be related to the Fashoda incident?¡± I ask. I am referring to a war scare between France and the United Kingdom over who would add Sudan to their long lists of colonial conquests. The English won the diplomatic standoff, having brought considerably more troops. ¡°Yes. It would not do to have the two most powerful armies in our collection face each other off. We would very much prefer for them both to aim their efforts at the German empire, since the Brotherhood and Eneru have resolved their differences.¡± ¡°At the tip of a sword, but yes,¡± Torran helpfully agrees. ¡°We predict that the next war will be a large one, comparatively, although we expected it to have already happened,¡± Cedric says. ¡°Yes, thirty years and my compatriots have yet to reclaim Alsace! They must not be feeling very confident. An entire generation has grown fed on vengeance and¡­ nothing yet? Most peculiar.¡± ¡°Do not be too hasty,¡± I warn. ¡°Oh, I know. Your civil war was bloody and that was even before modern weapons and magic came into play. Yet the war will happen sooner or later. We must prepare for it.¡± ¡°Since vampires fight for the Kaizer, Dominique will no doubt have us face them. It means we will take to the field, like back in the days. Oh, the tales those lords and ladies recount. Cavalry charges! Sieges!¡± ¡°It is said Bertrand destroyed a fortress gate by himself, once. Chopped it down with his axe!¡± ¡°Much less chances of that with star forts,¡± Torran observes. ¡°Spoilsport!¡± We chuckle and I try to remember that when we face each other again, at the end, I will not have to kill them. Bertrand offered his service to Nirari for a single battle and there is only one my sire will fight at full strength. Ah, well. ¡°Ah, one more thing. By agreement, you are protected from Knight interference, but that is only valid for the official duration of your stay and within the walls of Paris, I¡¯m afraid.¡± ¡°Do you mean they could attack the Dalton¡¯s Revenge?¡± I asked, a bit outraged that Mask would not extend its protection until I am at least over the ocean. ¡°Yes, although you know how they are, old fashioned and everything. Unless Octave has learnt how to fly¡­¡± ¡°They could commandeer a warship¡­¡± I grumble. ¡°And you would absolutely love it, my star,¡± Torran teases. Ah, he knows me so well. My ship will be fine for now, but that might change in the future. Many engineering teams are working on a new kind of flying contraption that does not rely on magic: fixed wing, flimsy things. Like those steerable road locomotives I am investing in. Ah, well, we shall see. The visit is as pleasant as it is uneventful. The colonial pavilions are interesting in themselves, but the Moroccan and Chinese pavilions display architectures so unfamiliar and strange that I feel a powerful drive to go there and explore. I walk on an electric carpet that carries me forward and see a massive telescope. We have a delightful time scaring people half to death in the palace of mirrors, then ride the great wheel which grants Torran and I a moment of romantic intimacy. By the time we are done, dawn is not too far away, and I have fulfilled my primary purpose which was, essentially, to take a vacation, yet a certain sense of worry lingers. In six months, I will start living through my third century. Change is all around us, a change that grows ever faster. I am not so much concerned about getting left behind as I am about it going the wrong direction. My homeland may enjoy its isolationist privileges, but here in Europe, they think only of the next war. With the size of the concerned empire and the network of alliances forming around us, I fear that this war and the next may reach levels of destruction the world has never seen before. I have to make sure it never happens. Chapter 203: Red then Black It was hot inside of the small cottage, hotter than it should reasonably be. Everard unconsciously patted down his red armored robe for specks of dust, conscious of the lush persian carpet lying near the clean hearth. From outside, the house had all the appearance of a cozy home for a bachelor, but inside the signs of wealth were much more obvious. So were the wards. Silvery engraved glyphs lined the windows.His host cleared her throat and made him feel self-conscious. A question escaped his lips before his brain could catch up. ¡°Are you related to the Order Master?¡± Everard asked. The older woman sat back in her chair, a cup of tea steaming gently in the late September light. Everard was young and rather inexperienced, but he had seen pyromancers at work before, heating their tea without a word. The woman¡¯s control was impressive. That led credence to his idea. ¡°The Order Master, Oliver Merritt,¡± he insisted. ¡°Ah, yes. What makes you think that?¡± Everard studied the woman. She had graying red hair and a sharp face that evoked mischief. Her posture was impeccable and relaxed at the same time. More importantly, he could hear something in her diction, a mix of accents he had heard from the Order Master himself on regular occasions. especially when he swore. The resemblance was uncanny. They were also both pyromancers of great talent. ¡°Oh, do not bother telling me. Yes, I am his mother. Alexandria Merritt.¡± ¡°Oh, so that¡¯s why we were ordered to be stationed here. Had me wondering.¡± ¡°I am left with many questions as well. This village is a place of calm and retreat, not to be involved in conflict.¡± ¡°Well¡­ what do you know about the skeleton mages and their minions? We call them liches now, or at least that¡¯s the official definition.¡± The woman took a sip of what should have clearly scalded her tongue. ¡°I know they raid. I know stopping them has been a topic of hot debate between the Republican and Integrist candidates in the last presidential elections. I know they are still out there and dangerous.¡± ¡°That¡¯s correct. We are at war with them. The Speaker has come up with a¡­ grid to detect them. We have an idea when a portal will form but they figured out we knew and they¡¯re adapting as fast as we are.¡± Merritt raised an eyebrow. ¡°It¡¯s like this,¡± Everard continued. ¡°They start rituals and suddenly stop them in spots where they have scouts to see how we react. Sometimes, they open decoy portals that spill out Merghol hounds and other horrors while the true raid takes place somewhere else. We know it costs them energy but if they can grab a whole village, it¡¯s apparently worth it. They steal everything that¡¯s not nailed down as well. They¡¯re gone by nightfall, because, you know¡­¡± ¡°At night, the vampires come out to play, yes. So they will come around here?¡± ¡°Maybe. The liches are more careful now that they have lost some of their numbers. They still have a seemingly unlimited supply of goons and magic-eating wildlife.¡± Everard shivered. He had faced them before. Against the hounds, his spells were useless. Only his trusty pistol could make a difference. They just felt so wrong to him, like maws eating at the world. ¡°We can win. The Speaker is refining the process every day while our alliance is hard at work setting bases in sensitive spots. Soon, no settlement will be out of reach of a fast response group.¡± ¡°Tell me about the Red Cabal. I had no hand in its inception. That was between Ollie and Ariane.¡± It felt strange to Everard, having the order master and the Hand referred to so casually. He assumed she had earned the right to do so. ¡°We are a mercenary and security group dedicated to eliminating the supernatural threat before they can become a danger to society,¡± Everard loudly claimed. ¡°Though we haven¡¯t managed to do that too well,¡± he finished, a bit sheepish. ¡°I¡¯m not sure anyone can blame you for the skeleton things.¡± ¡°The integrists sure can. They say before spell shops, flying ships and combat mages, there were no skeletons. Many believe them.¡± ¡°People will always look for knowledge that conforms to what they already believe, then dismiss the rest as enemy lies. But enough of my ramblings. Give me some news.¡± ¡°Well as I was saying, we have mundanes, mages like me, and werewolves. Sometimes, a vampire will join us for the most dangerous mission but it¡¯s a rare occurrence.¡± ¡°Are the werewolves fitting in fine? It was always a concern for us.¡± ¡°There are accidents¡­ but not a great many and we prefer to have the furballs on our side.¡± Merritt huffed a tiny laugh. ¡°Furballs¡­ I wouldn¡¯t call them that.¡± ¡°They don¡¯t like it much but we got to have fun the way we can. There¡¯s been more of them recently. They¡¯re all over Illinois now. There¡¯s some coming from the north. Others have joined¡­ more organically.¡± ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°Well¡­¡± Everard hesitated, but that knowledge was common enough. ¡°It¡¯s no secret being turned cures people of diseases. Lots of determined dying folks hear about it from a friend of a friend. They ask around and often the wish is granted. I hear survival is not that common though. And there is¡­ Well, I heard from Amaruq ¡ª that¡¯s our wolf ¡ª that hmmm.¡± He leaned forward, speaking in a conspiratorial tone. ¡°The Hand gifted them with a unique thingamajig that lets them have kids. Trouble is, there¡¯s only one so they have to take turns. They have a waiting list. Those who perform services for the pack¡­¡± ¡°I assumed the most aggressive leaders would have priority?¡± Everard shook his head, suddenly very proud of his knowledge. ¡°The hierarchy is much more dynamic than what one would think and strength isn¡¯t all that important. Even when they gather.¡± He blushed. ¡°Or that¡¯s what Amaruq said.¡± ¡°You seem to care about her a lot.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not like that. She¡¯s married. Her husband and her come from the far north. They want to start a family. It¡¯s a noble goal! They work very hard, both of them.¡± Everard felt protective of every member of his squad. The White Cabal had its fair share of purists but the red one wasn¡¯t like that. It was all about what people did, not what they were. They even had a proper charter like the Knights of the Round Table. Or the Garter. Some fancy old world group. ¡°I see. And you have come to Freshspring because you expect an incursion?¡± ¡°There could be. The energies are all over the place so a portal could open nearby, or, as I said, it could not, or it could open and just send us hounds. Nasty critters are dangerous enough though.¡± ¡°I am familiar with them and the difficulty mages have in fighting them.¡± ¡°That¡¯s why I got that pistol, mam. Good rounds!¡± Everard patted the holster by his thigh. The handgun only contained five bullets, but those were designed to punch through thick hide or those strange armors the liches¡¯ servants wore. ¡°As long as I land a good body shot or even better, hit the brain, the creature goes down. Did you know its brain was near the spine, on its back? The thing doesn¡¯t even have eyes! If this isn¡¯t a sign that they were not made by our good god, I don¡¯t know what is. Too weird to be wholesome, those are.¡± ¡°I can only assume you have never encountered a platypus. But I digress. Should we not evacuate?¡± ¡°Thing is, Mam, we don¡¯t know where exactly the portal will open, so we don¡¯t know where we should evacuate you to. But don¡¯t worry! There are four squads here, twenty-four of us. Wakowski is in charge of the explosives and he¡¯s an expert. We have set up shop near the bridge, the mill, a sniper on the church belfry¡­¡± ¡°Should you be telling me that?¡± the woman asked. ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°You should not share your entire disposition with a civilian who has no need to learn it,¡± the woman gently chided. ¡°I just thought¡­ with you being the mother¡­¡± ¡°Security comes when only those who need to know, know. It is not just about trust, young Everard. It is about making sure only the minimum amount of information can be retrieved from any single person.¡± ¡°Right, sorry.¡± Everard passed a hand through his short hair. His armored robes felt cumbersome, suddenly, too hot to be indoor. S?a??h the N???lFire.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. ¡°Wait,¡± he said, frowning, ¡°why did you ask me about the Red Cabal then?¡± ¡°I only asked about what should be common knowledge. If everyone in the Red Cabal knows then it cannot really count as a secret.¡± ¡°Hmmm.¡± ¡°Though you are right. I suppose even learning about the statue that lets wolf bear children could show a deep vulnerability. In any case, should we stay put then?¡± ¡°We are moving everyone into the church, not that those stopped the invaders before, but this one is made of stone for some reason and we expect, well, at least it won¡¯t burn quick.¡± ¡°Very well. Give me a few minutes to prepare.¡± Everard left the cottage behind. The weather was rather nice and the afternoon sun shone on several other comfortable houses with, he suspected, more wealth inside than there should be. He was starting to believe the place hid many secrets. In front of him, Gaelle was pushing a wheelchair upon which a wizened old man sat, clutching a fancy repeater between shaky fingers. ¡°You can¡¯t even wield it, grampa,¡± the mage sighed, her pointy chin set in a stubborn scowl. ¡°Y¡¯all better not try me, you little pissants. I was shooting hounds before you were a glint in your mama¡¯s eyes!¡± ¡°Yes, Mr Sheridan, let¡¯s get you to the church, alright?¡± More people left, herded back by Red Cabal members mostly out of their depths. The village had no mayor. Instead, it was a collection of maimed or old folks and their attendants. There was a doctor as well, a tight-lipped yet well trained mage. Yep, definitely a weird place. Almost like a hidden refuge. That would explain why their squads had been deployed so quickly. ¡°Come on people, we don¡¯t have all day!¡± their leader Lafayette said. Lafayette was one of the shortest and also widest men Everard had ever met. He was also very, very loud. ¡°Alright folks, maybe tonight we sleep like little babies, or maybe a lich will come to tickle us. We don¡¯t know yet. There isn¡¯t enough able-bodied folks to fill sandbags like usual so I¡¯m open for ideas.¡± ¡°Can¡¯t the servants help?¡± someone asked. ¡°There are few of them and they are mostly medical personnel, not laborers. I asked them to fortify the gates of the church but that won¡¯t stop a determined attack.¡± ¡°The river on the west side of the town only got a narrow bridge and the water¡¯s deep.¡± ¡°How deep are we talking?¡± ¡°Deep enough to fish.¡± ¡°Would that be enough?¡± ¡°Merghols can¡¯t swim,¡± Everard explained. All eyes centered on him, which made him a little nervous. ¡°They¡¯re too dense,¡± he continued. ¡°If we make sure all the boats are on our side¡­¡± ¡°Good call. Squad one will do that upstream and downstream for a mile as soon as the briefing is over. Split in two groups. Alright. So the bridge is a defensible point.¡± ¡°Yes and it covers the place well. We don¡¯t have the time to build real fortifications unless we use spells,¡± ¡°I¡¯d rather save my mana,¡± Gaelle interrupted. ¡°You don¡¯t have to remind me of protocol,¡± Lafayette retorted. ¡°As I was about to say, the cottages all have stone walls around them. Squad two, find a place to deploy your machine gun crew, then switch to other sites. Alright, it¡¯s very unlikely that the foe will come from the north according to intel, but if they do, we¡¯ll face them at the church. The north side has plenty of murder holes and the view is clear for half a mile. South side?¡± ¡°The mill,¡± someone said. ¡°Good call, let¡¯s go there, have a look.¡± Everard sighed and followed. It was going to be a long afternoon. *** The Red Cabal team worked hard to prepare as best as they could, creating spikes to slow down the hounds though they did not know yet where the creatures would be coming from. Hiding spots were selected around the village including fallback positions. The town doctor and two nurses volunteered to bring the wounded to safety, which was a relief. Squad one returned and confirmed that the lich folks wouldn¡¯t get through the river except by swimming. Everyone had finally settled down for a quick meal when the news came. A squad two mage raced to Lafayette, pale. ¡°Sir. Multiple incursions across the board.¡± The Red Cabal combatants gathered in a loose circle around the messenger. ¡°Spit it out then,¡± Lafayette ordered. ¡°At least six gates, multiple liches including a single numbered specimen. Everyone is mobilizing but¡­ we have low priority. Scouts report our opponents are few. There could still be a lich with them. ¡°How many is few?¡± ¡°Thirty plus the beasts.¡± Everard could tell Lafayette wanted to swear, but the man kept in control of his emotions by some miracle. The same could not be said about the rest of the team. ¡°Goddamn.¡± ¡°Simmer down, folks. Which side?¡± ¡°West, sir.¡± ¡°Well. At least it¡¯s the more defensible one. Squad one mages, go to the edge of town and prepare a becalming ritual, gotta stop that lich from sucking us dry like a soda bottle. The rest of squad one will support the machine gun crew. Squad three will take point with Amaruq near the bridge. Wakowski?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll set the explosives, sir. I have time to prepare some mines on the other side, catch a few without destroying the bridge. Two phases.¡± ¡°Do it then. Everyone finish eating first. This might be a long night.¡± *** The minutes ticked away with the annoying slowness that came with nerves, as if time was stretching now, only to accelerate when the action would come. That way, Everard had all the time in the world to marinate in the juice of his fear so he would be well drenched by the time the lich came to roast him. Fantastic. Hurry up and wait was the name of the game. He sighed and checked his powder charge for the thirty-seventh time. It was still within arm¡¯s reach. It was still safe and secure. It would be his first time using explosives in battle now that he¡¯d passed the accreditation. Amaruq turned and growled. Her eyes reflected the late afternoon night. ¡°Cease.¡± ¡°Sorry, nervous.¡± ¡°I could not smell an army over the stink of your anxiety.¡± ¡°Sorry,¡± he replied with more bite than usual, ¡°nervous.¡± Amaruq huffed, her exotic traits hard to read for Everard. She¡¯d mention her people were called Inuit that didn¡¯t mean jack to him. He just wished she¡¯d have a less sensitive nose. ¡°Good,¡± the she-wolf said, ¡°afraid you¡¯d lose your spine.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll show you my spine.¡± ¡°Please don¡¯t. It serves well where it is.¡± A few men on the line smiled. Everard took solace in the fact that, at least, he had not failed to amuse. Squad three, of which he was part, waited by the edge of the bridge. It was long and made of stone, another curious choice in a country that heavily favored wood. The river flowed lazily under its two arches. In front of them, the path led to a deep thicket of oaks and other deciduous trees, some of their leaves starting to turn yellow. No one would see squat until the enemy were almost upon them, nullifying some of the advantage their weapons provided. The machine gun waited in its nest a little back and up to Everard¡¯s right along as well as a strong fire team of mages and riflemen. Squad two stretched to his left along a stone wall. A cottage and a shed anchored the formation on either side. They had been shut tight to avoid flanking but Everard could not stop but thinking those were all flimsy barriers against an old and malevolent enemy. More importantly, he wondered about the escalation. Five liches at once? That was unprecedented. The White Cabal scholars said that there used to be over seventy of the things during the first incursion, but that number had dropped after they took losses. Since then, the life forces of the captives might have been used to create more. And the dead ones were on the weaker end of the spectrum as well. And even the weak ones were terrifying. If one of them was here¡­ He shivered. By his side, Amaruq sniffed the air. Everard half expected a jab but it never came. The wolf stood. ¡°I smell something.¡± A mage from squad one removed an enchanted stick from his pocket. Everyone watched the small enchanted contraption in silence. The man held it between two delicate fingers. It snapped. ¡°Ward breach.¡± ¡°Lock and load. Stay put until the beasts charge,¡± Lafayette ordered. Everard chambered the first round in his pistol. Damn. He didn¡¯t feel ready. Would have to, though. ¡°Changing,¡± Amaruq warned. The men averted her eyes as she quickly disrobed. There were grunts of pain and cracks, but soon a hybrid monster crawled by their side, ready. Silence fell over the forest. They waited. And waited. Everard¡¯s breath steadied. Any second now. Any second. Now. A wave of purple flesh raced across the path, trampling the overgrowth. Tentacle maws of solid bodies covered the grass. The machine gun opened immediately, punching holes in the thick wall of muscle as it approached. Mass fire was useless against the hounds. They had no morale, only hunger. Everard lined up a creature and shot, probably missing but it didn¡¯t matter. There was not enough space to miss. ¡°Arm!¡± Lafayette screamed over the din of gunfire. ¡°Detonate!¡± Wakowski did¡­ something, and the far side of the shore exploded. Everard barely ducked, then he was firing again. He could not care because the hounds didn¡¯t. One by one, the surviving beasts were falling to the hail of bullets. No one was dumb enough to use spells on them. Eventually, people had to reload and the first wounded hound impaled itself on a nearby spike. Everard shot its brain out, but it was replaced by another. Amaruq jumped into the fray. She was a whirlwind of claws, shredding and tossing the beasts like toys. Evererard lined up and shot more. His job now was to protect her flank. A werewolf could move faster than he could react, so squad members were trained to shoot where she would reasonably not be. Like that, Amaruq broke the tide and left them unscathed, but now they had more problems. A stone landed near Everard¡¯s hand with a dull thud. ¡°Invaders!¡± The metal clad servants of the liches had used the confusion to approach them from the other shore, forming a line parallel to their own. They had learnt as well that range was king now, and so the skeletons had granted their servants slings. Bastards were pretty good with them. The only saving grace was that none of them had dared to put some of their strange magic on the stones. Everard wasn¡¯t sure if they were simply too unimaginative or if the liches disliked the idea of mass producing explosives for their slaves. Using the cover of a shield wall, the more daring servants were trying to cross the bridge. ¡°Switching to armor-piercing!¡± someone on the machine gun crew yelled. The weapon fell silent for a few seconds, eliciting a cheer from their foe, but it did not last. The return fire was terrible and mowed down the attackers. At the same time, the mages, who had been quiet so far, unleashed their own spells. Everard held back. He had one job. The servants were starting to fall. Someone cried in pain on his side, then another got hit on the helmet and lost consciousness, but most of the squad was still intact. ¡°It¡¯s just a broken arm, I can still fight!¡± a woman yelled from his side. ¡°Why do you all have to be such hard cases,¡± the doctor replied. Everard didn¡¯t care. He was still waiting for one thing. Ah, there it was. A servant officer took out one of the transparent orbs and approached, again under the cover of shields. Some of his men died but the gunners soon stopped, shaking their heads. Even far away, the orb¡¯s fascinating aura was strong. The Red Cabal fighters averted their gazes. Amaruq turned and hid. She growled. ¡°Yes yes,¡± Everard said. ¡°Just a little closer.¡± He felt the orb come closer, its draw gaining in intensity. The return fire from the Red Cabal was only a shadow of what it was a minute earlier. They came in range. Everard never really had a knack for fire and all the showy stuff. It was fancy lights, powerful to be sure, just not his taste. He preferred his magic to be a little more¡­ tactile. ¡°Pull.¡± The servant officer lurched forward and fell, his armored hands slipping on the orb. The precious artifacts flew through the air under the consternated gaze of the opposition. Tough luck for them. It was Everard¡¯s now. The orb almost reached his side, then it abruptly stopped. ¡°Everard?¡± Lafayette asked. ¡°I¡¯m trying! Something¡¯s wrong!¡± A voice erupted from the forest, a hissing tirade that set the Cabal fighters¡¯ teeth on edge. Everard felt his face freeze into a scowl of despair and there was nothing he could do to push away the dread, nothing at all. The screeches, the cowering servants, all of this could only mean one thing. A lich was here. They were all dead. The Red Cabal had confronted liches before. So had the White Cabal and the army. If no vampires were present, the result was always the same. People died, a lot of them. Sometimes, there were no survivors. Entire villages depopulated, entire squads gone, prisoners or sacrificed, their lives harvested. Even flying ships were at risk. They were that deadly. This one was almost naked except for a thick mass of bands covering its waist. Some of the liches were mummified and still kept a modicum of flesh, but not this one. Horns of some long dead beast surged from its temples while its knuckles gripped a staff like a shepherd hook. From his boney ribs hung a necklace with three small orbs brimming with life force. It pointed at Wakowski and ignited the explosives the man was carrying. Everard was thrown to the ground. A piece of ear landed on the earth in front of him. He wanted to retch. A sensation of oppression added to his dismay. The first squad had becalmed reality. Casting spells would be harder now, but at least the lich could not simply absorb their lifeforce with a wave of its will. It wouldn¡¯t save them though. The lich forcefully levitated Amaruq, slowly bringing her to the end of its staff which started to glow an ominous green. Everard tried to fight it. He didn¡¯t know what else to do. He was losing, but the lich still turned to him, bullets and spells pinging off a magical shell. Gaelle stood in front of Everard and cast a powerful shield. ¡°Just keep doing what you¡¯re doing. It doesn¡¯t like ¡ª¡± Gaelle stopped mid sentence to clutch her gut. She moaned, then collapsed. The lich had skewered her with a spell. It flicked a finger. Fire balls erupted on the house, the shed, the machine gun nest. The two crewmen went up like torches. Everard¡¯s lungs burnt from the smoke. A ball aimed for him. This time, there were no shields. The ball winked out. Amaruq fell, changing back to her vulnerable human form. Everard rushed forward to bring her to cover. Someone was pushing the lich back. Spells landed on its shield, large ones, heavy ones that seemed to warp the word. It was Merritt, decked in an old battle robe and wielding an old-fashioned staff. She was fighting through the magic-inhibiting effect and holding back the skeleton. ¡°Evacuate the wounded,¡± she ordered. ¡°Leave the village. We¡¯ll hold them back as long as we can. Everard helped the doctor and the survivors of squad two put the wounded on stretchers. Amaruq would probably make it. Gaelle would too, if the doctor could get time. Others had never stood a chance - like Kowalski. Lafayette coordinated their efforts while behind them, the retired archmage was fighting an impossible battle. She did last for a while, with quick exchange of powerful spells and a generous use of disruptions. Merritt was an amazing pyromancer. It was just¡­ not enough. It would never have been enough. The lich cast without pause, finding chinks in her defenses. It was only a matter of time before a spell sent her reeling on the ground. Merritt moved painfully to her knees, then climbed back up with dignity, defeated yet unconquered. ¡°You wield powerful and cruel weapons, but I will still face you without fear, because I am not alone,¡± she claimed loudly, and her voice cut through Everard¡¯s stupor. ¡°ALL OF YOU ARE ALONE.¡± ¡°...And also because night has fallen.¡± The skeleton oriented its face west, towards where the setting sun had disappeared behind the hills. Enough light came from the burning village that even Everards had not seen it happen. It had, however, and now a ponderous step echoed through the mostly silent street, both sides silent on their respective shore. A titan in black strode from a bend in the road with heavy steps. He wielded a tower shield covered in runes and a hammer of such massive proportions it could have come from the hand of Vulcan himself. A helmet covered his face, but there was no need for Everard to see him to recognize him. Only one of their regular allies fit that description. John Doe. They had a vampire on their side. ¡°THE FREAK WILL NOT SAVE YOU!¡± the skeleton screeched. For the first time, Everard thought he saw hesitation in the boney rictus. The lich sent a plume of flame after the vampire. Doe dodged with easy elegance, disproving the legend that vampires feared fire most of all. Another spell followed, much faster this time. Homing red arrows tracked the titan as he stepped aside. Cold blue inscriptions ignited on the shield and the incendiary spell died on its dark surface. The skeleton conjured lightning in its hand. It hit the shield and dispersed on the ground, where the protection had been set. The enemy mage suddenly veered away, moving back a good few yards in a terrible noise like a gong. Cracks appeared on its transparent shield. The vampire lifted his hand to recall his hammer, the thrown weapon landing a moment later. A deadly dance started. The vampire dodged or countered most spells thrown at it. Waves of power were blocked and resisted square on. He tiptoed around earth changes, ignoring spikes and crushing others under steel boots. Lightning and fire dispersed on the surface of the shield with little effect. Strange black energy and ice were completely ignored. Meanwhile, the titan kept pummeling his opponent with careful throws of his hammer. Annoyed, the skeleton screamed orders at its minions. Stones started to fall on the improvised fortifications again. The human defenders had been content to take a break until now, especially because they had not stayed idle. They had reloaded. ¡°Alright fellers, give those beasts hell!¡± Lafayette shouted. With a roar, the earth defenders fought back with prejudice. The thunder of gunfire soon covered the deadly exchange occurring above and behind them, but Everard could not ignore the fight. He was having an epiphany. Doe was moving before the skeleton could cast. His movements were too identical, too perfectly efficient. He was clearly anticipating the spells¡¯ effects and adapting accordingly. Unfortunately, the lich came to the same conclusion. ¡°YOU ARE LIKE AN AUTOMATON, FREAK.¡± Hr grabbed an orb hanging around his neck. Power filled its gaunt frame. A torrent of hexes flew towards Doe, many of which bore strange colors. Doe reacted immediately, dodging at great speed. Everard found it impressive that the man had prepared himself to act when caught off guard. Some spells turned to liquid and hissed as they burned through stone and grass alike. Another petrified a tree. A third rotted a shutter, causing it to fall in black, moldy fragments. Doe intercepted a fast, black bolt on the shield and gasped in pain. He fell to the ground. The skeleton hissed in triumph. A red bolt followed, but Doe was already back up and he stopped that one without issue. ¡°SURRENDER YOUR SECRETS, FREAK¡± the lich said. It waved its staff around and Doe¡¯s shield was seemingly caught, the heavy piece of equipment dragged across the ground, Doe, too, was pulled, though he left deep furrows in the mud. Everard expected him to let go of the possession. Instead, Doe seemed to fall on himself, crouching on the ground. Everard heard a small cry, a ¡®Ho!¡± of effort. Suddenly, Doe was much farther away, standing again. The skeleton¡¯s staff went flying through the air and away from its grip. ¡°Enough!¡± The lich removed a second orb. It stretched its hand over its head and called a giant orb of scarlet energy. The orb sent spear after spear at the vampire. ¡°YOU HAVE FAILED, FREAK. I WILL KILL YOUR SLAVES WHILE YOU WATCH.¡± ¡°They are my charges, not slaves, and you will do no such things.¡± Everard felt a chill down his spine, partly at how calm Doe was, partly because a cruel fighter would have used this opportunity to kill a few of the Red Cabal squad to make a point. Fortunately, the skeleton¡¯s full attention was on the vampire. Perhaps the red orb was too difficult to control. It was certainly efficient. A cry of alarm forced his attention forward. A mana hound was closing in. Everard helped shoot it dead and reloaded, but then his attention returned to the duel that would decide all their fates. It was not going well, and it did not take long to see why. The tower shield¡¯s defenses were running out of energy, winking out one by one. Cruel spears of energy clanged against the armor, some of them drawing black blood. The titan was bleeding, and the bloody sun of the lich¡¯s spell showed no signs of weakening. Everard wondered if he should try to distract the lich, knowing fully well that it would cost him his life. ¡°No,¡± a voice came from his side, and he realized Alexandria Merritt was sitting by his side. ¡°Observe.¡± ¡°YOU BLEED, FREAK. I WILL BE REWARDED FOR SUCH A GOOD HARVEST.¡± ¡°You will not. I will stop you, because she ordered it.¡± ¡°YOUR WISHFUL THINKING DELIGHTS ME, FREAK¡± Despite his many wounds, the titan kept dodging with calm. None of them were critical, Everard realized, and the more time passed and the more efficiently he dodged. He was learning. No, more than that. He was going faster. A strange hum like a distant whisper rang at the edge of Everard¡¯s perception. It was merely a whisper and yet there was something accumulating here, a crescendo in the song of battle. Everard felt it come just as his strength returned. He realized he had one good spell left in him. And he had an idea. He just needed one good opening. The vampire would provide it. Somehow, he believed. ¡°There is no wishful thinking. She willed it, therefore it will be done. I will make it happen.¡± ¡°YOU WILL DIE.¡± ¡°No one can stop me. Not you, not the lords, not her sire. Not even the sun. I will make it happen. It will be done.¡± The vampire dug in the earth with its gauntlet and threw a rock that intercepted a bolt mid-flight. Both exploded in a shower of incandescent stone. ¡°No matter what, it will be done. I am John Doe. ¡± The dance reached its paroxysm. The vampire¡¯s eyes flashed violet and all the latent power accumulating around him from¡­ somewhere, coalesced in its titanic frame. The energy filled him and cut him from outside at the same time. He stood, and he was whole. The lich shrieked. Doe smashed his blood-covered gauntlet on the tower shield, which flashed to life with blazing intensity. The runes shone the deep blue of primordial ice. It pushed the projectiles away with ease. Doe roared and sprinted forward, unstoppable. ¡°Get ready,¡± Merritt said. She had guessed Everard¡¯s intention. The skeleton moved backward, the red orb spitting energy as fast as it could. Doe was barrelling towards it like a locomotive at full speed. A dreadful crack echoed through the valley when the overcharged pavise smashed into the lich¡¯s defense. They both exploded. Doe was thrown aside, though he recovered instantly. As for the mage, he reached for the last of three colorful spheres. Everard knew this was his moment, the defining chapter of his life. Magic flowed through his veins and his mind when he extended his fingers, grasping at it. The orb slipped from the lich¡¯s grasping claw with casual ease. Never had Everard felt so focused, so certain of his success. It was like watching a recording of him accomplishing the task. The creature let out an ear-splitting screech. Its defenses were stripped. ¡°Oh it¡¯s my turn,¡± Merritt said. ¡°Infernal gaze.¡± Everard¡¯s world went very, very hot. He saw two bands of black crossed by a thinner band of red. It took a moment for his brain to register what was happening. Merritt was wielding a beam of the densest fire mana Everard had ever seen, and it stuck to the lich even as it tried to escape. The focused spell lasted only for a couple of seconds, but each one felt as long as a small eternity. When the spell faded, there was nothing left of the lich but ashes and scorched bone fragments. ¡°And I believe this makes me the first archmage to kill a lich. Kindly wake me up for the ceremony,¡± Merritt calmly concluded. Then she collapsed face first into the nearest barricade. *** Amaruq grabbed the next corpse and fought the urge to growl. Stinky. Wrong. Hopefully the pyre would cleanse¡­ She scowled when she realized that this one did not show the massive throat damage the others shared. Lich servants all bore a death mark that would nearly decapitate them if their master fell. And yet this one¡­ Amaruq placed her finger against the invader¡¯s throat and felt the pulse her ears had detected. She poked the body. The male winced, then he moaned. That was¡­ good? Probably? It was most likely good. The cold ones would make him sing like a southern bird. ¡°Fellows? We got a live one.¡± Chapter 204: Servant Hunting Sinead mentioned that fae nobility cultivates bloodlines. I suspect their version is to mine as fine horticulture is to shoveling pig shit on a cabbage field.Eighteen years ago, I picked up Nathalie, daughter of Annie and Alexander Bingle from an inn. I saved her from a rogue attack, then offered her my protection and three thousand dollars for her child. I thought the matter settled but I was wrong. Nathalie¡¯s caretakers gave up on controlling their charge shortly before birth and informed me of it. I did not blame them. They were to help the girl with the pregnancy, not control a drug fiend. It would have taken restraints to stop Nathalie Bingle from the ephemeral pleasures of artificial paradises. Her daughter Constance was born premature and addicted to opiates. I considered killing Nathalie after the birth, but I realized with some pain that staying clean had never been part of our deal. Basic self-respect was never a term of our agreement. So I did pay her three thousand dollars, then sent her on her way, knowing exactly how she would spend the money, knowing that she would be turning tricks again as soon as her body recovered enough, and the money ran out. I remember carrying that bundle of cloth back to Marquette on Metis¡¯ back. I still do not know why her mother named Constance after that particular quality. Was it because she had perverted it to its utmost, showing no signs of remorse in her pursuit of easy gratification? Was it a cruel joke? Or did she still harbor some hope that her child would do better? Sometimes, I think Nathalie could have gotten rid of her pregnancy if she had really wanted to. It would have been easy for someone of her mental talents to find help. A controlled healer mage could have done so safely. I find it hard to identify motives with lost souls like her. Their minds are fleeting. Their essence tastes wan and never fully sate, the last drop feeling more dreamt than truly consumed. They have a tendency to flee ever forward as well. I kept an agent on Nathalie after that and focused my attention on Constance. I think Nathalie noticed, but she did not care. I am now sure Constance is the one. Fate has been playing tricks with all of us. Sinead ravished Louisa Watson and they had a son, a mage. Alexandria Merritt had a child, Lynn, an enchantress. Those two had Annie together before separating. Annie left home and met Alexander Bingle. The two made Nathalie together. Nathalie Charmed and raped Arthur Reynaud, one of my grand-nephews visiting Marquette to greet me. There must be some cosmic joke at play. A fae prince, a vampire, a godling, and an archmage walk into a bar¡­ Constance carries the memory of many of those important people who crossed my path. She does not know it yet. In a way, this is not fair to her. In another way, I have kept my intervention to a minimum. I did not even take part in her education. The time when I could help with Ollie and Lynn is long gone now that my travels carry me all over North America. Leave for a measly two years and when you return, the children you knew are entirely different persons. It can make for a frustrating experience. As such, I have left Constance¡¯s education to the city¡¯s well-funded orphanage. I made concessions so that it would be the best institution possible with mindful and kind caretakers. Specifically, I opened the positions to nuns and other religious figures despite my misgivings. Satisfied, I let her grow at her own pace. It is now 1903. Constance is eighteen. The time has come for her to travel as part of a Red Cabal team of mages for a practical exam. This leads me to today, sitting in my office with a note on my desk informing me that Constance and three of her classmates will visit the city of Indianapolis for their training mission. A cold shadow grasps my heart. Oh, misery, oh why? Here, at the heart of my power, my Dvor essence multiplies the acuity of my intuition, and I know with absolute certainty that I must go there and chaperone the group, so that my desire be done. Oh, tragedy, for I dislike Indianapolis. It is a dreary place with nothing that interests me. It is a logistical center for transportation from not-Indianapolis to not-Indianapolis, with both endpoints bound to be infinitely more attractive than Indianapolis. Oh, who am I kidding? I dread it because it is the world¡¯s third largest pork packing city. Incidentally, Melusine directed enough funds and made full use of Chicago¡¯s prime location to turn the city into the world¡¯s pork packing capital. That degenerate. That swine-herding fiend. That absolute hag, the hog-born daughter of Circe. I should have spiked her when I had the chance. But at least, with no Bingle-blooded child in her domain, I can fully enjoy the opera season with no fear of porcine pyrotechnics. Indianapolis will be different. Oh woe is me, and that terrible curse. Why can I not get the gift of prophecy without being believed like a normal cursed lady? Why must it be pigs? Desperate, I ring my bell. ¡°I will need a two weeks traveling arrangement to Indianapolis, please. It is a neutral territory. I will also need the Accords and Rosenthal information package on the city and its surroundings, supernatural population, risk assessment, and politics.¡± ¡°I will have it prepared,¡± Maybelle says. ¡°Will you need an escort?¡± ¡°One elite squad, full gear. They will take the wagon to the city¡¯s outskirts as soon as they are ready. I will be traveling by train and taking residence at the city¡¯s best hotel. Find whichever it is and make a reservation.¡± ¡°I will telephone them immediately.¡± ¡°And the automobile. Have the automobile go with the wagon,¡± I say. ¡°I will use it to move around town.¡± ¡°Very well, I shall notify your chauffeur.¡± I grumble in my heart but let it go. A decade ago, after a few¡­ mishaps¡­ I faced my first ever mutiny, and had to concede to my humans that I would not drive myself barring extenuating circumstances, such as being shot at. It is a thoroughly unfair situation. Sadly, I only have myself to blame. With the logistics arranged, the time has come to delegate most of my duties. I suspect this little escapade will tie me up for a couple of weeks. *** I take my quarters in the better part of the city, next to Monument Circle with its tall pillar upon which a goddess of victory stands, celebrating the nation¡¯s soldiers and sailors. The Grand Hotel is nice enough, I suppose, with cream colored stone under dark gray tiles that remind me of Paris¡¯ Hausmannian houses. Unfortunately, many of the surrounding buildings share our country¡¯s ubiquitous disdain for decoration. Those are functional, plain brick constructs that only accept adornments if those serve the pursuit of profit. The closest one advertises a popular brand of soap. Arguably, the local population certainly needs more cleaning and quite likely less drinking. The epidemic of alcoholism that struck the general population ¡ª and that I have managed to keep mostly at bay in Marquette ¡ª is in full swing here. I prepare Constance¡¯s arrival by reading the files delivered to me. It so happens that Indianapolis has a more diverse population than I expected. It appears that its relative isolation relative to the supernatural power structure has turned it into a haven of sorts. First, we have the Silversmiths, a powerful local family with an interest in trade and shadow-based magic. An interesting bunch. Local power, not too expansionist, moderate illegal activities. I do not expect much trouble from them as the Rosenthal report qualifies them as pragmatic and the cost to benefit ratio of annoying the Hand is well known across the continent. The second major group consists of members of the local black population. There are many mages forming a loose community, the result of years of underground railroad activity. Mages always had a higher chance of escaping, even untrained ones. By contrast, the white population has few mages and they all live hidden, like the Silversmiths. Such a distinction by ethnicity is not uncommon. There are no vampires present here, not even transients. At least in theory. We have no need to keep the Accords apprised of our movements. In fact, vampires are notoriously hard to control when it comes to travel, making any such attempt doomed from the start. The only exception remains moving on another vampire¡¯s territory, because we dislike intruders even more than we dislike shackles. In any case, Indianapolis is indeed neutral territory, for now. The last group is composed of werewolves. I put down my coffee to read this passage again, then compare it to the similar entry in the Red Cabal information package, confirming what I, at first, found hard to believe. There are isolated werewolves here, living in a sort of commune and working in the meatpacking industry. They seem to be mostly outsiders, capable of handling their curses by themselves. The reports speak of a man named Quill who helps shelter his brethren. As for why they would not prefer the safety of Jeffrey¡¯s pack, I have no idea. It could be that they do not trust large groups, or perhaps they prefer to be alone. Werewolf communities tend to be¡­ overwhelming at times. What with the public nudity. And the smell. By the Watcher, the smell. Ahem. My inspection is done and after taking a few notes, I send my escort team led by Lafayette to reconnoiter the surroundings, asking them to keep to their civilian clothes. There is no need to alert the locals about my arrival quite so soon, though they will undoubtedly learn of it in time. I have my automobile drive me along the central canal and visit the city market before returning to my room to fortify it. This is a public place, the perfect location to have me assassinated. I therefore ward the room to the utmost before using a spell to open a hole in the brick wall where I encase my sarcophagus. The room itself will act as a decoy. With my defenses now at an acceptable level, I prepare to slumber for the day. *** ¡°Target has entered the building,¡± Lafayette says. I recline back in my seat at the Grand Hotel and resist the urge to order a coffee, which will be as terrible as the previous two. The large silvery mirror in front of me lacks color, but the details are quite realistic. It is the only way by which I can follow the progress of my would-be protege, given the human proclivity to work during the day. Oh, well. The short squad leader angles the mirror to show me the entrance to an innocuous brick building at the periphery of town. This is a useless shot that shows me exactly nothing, but mortals who relay images with my small, magical camera always feel the need to point it at the most inane things. I tap the control panel to switch to the other camera¡¯s point of view, this one held by the woman in charge of overseeing Constance¡¯s squad¡¯s mission. She is a teacher by the name of Schindler, reliable but otherwise unremarkable. Her camera is held in a breast pocket, and comes with a much worse quality. The silvery image pans on the four sitting figures of my protege and her classmates. They stand at a steel table placed on the open space at the center of the building. I match every person to their file. The first is Constance herself. Constance Snow, named after another name for orphans of unknown origin. She has dark hair and Sinead¡¯s strangely amber eyes. The file speaks of an extraordinary ability in ice and mental magic, but a stubborn personality and a lack of respect for authority. She has suffered from isolation in her early years on account of a powerful yet unchecked ability, though her isolation stopped with the help of her best friend, a member of her squad. As I watch, Constance turns her head. She looks nothing like Sinead or my brother, though that would have been a shocking development. I do recognize some fae traits on her elfin, delicate face, though any sign of softness or vulnerability has hidden behind a slightly pointy chin and a gaze full of youthful confidence. Constance is rather tall for a woman, though she would not stand out in a crowd. By comparison, her companion is rather short. Cute and dainty, Mille Willis would reach my shoulder with a proper posture and some good heels. She has little offensive potential to speak of, but managed to pass the defense test by virtue of a wild ability to detect the presence of others at a range. She escaped the instructors without having to repel them in combat, thus passing the test. The file notes that she is Constance''s only friend, having been protected by her from bullies. She is the carrot to Constance¡¯s stick and the charm to Constance¡¯s blunt approach to honesty. The two work together well, or so they claim. She looks like a waif, one rude word away from bursting into tears, and her baby face destroys any credibility the group may have at this table. But I digress. The third member of this group is a young man wearing thick glasses, clammy, and so thin he might have tuberculosis. The file calls him Jacob Van Graff. He is described as an able kinetic mage equally competent at throwing wards and people. The file also says he barely passed the physical aspect of the test on a second try and with the stellar grade of D-. Truly, a paragon of martial prowess. I would give him the raw physical might of the wet sponge with which he shares his complexion. Between the scars and the pimples, I would be too scared of slapping him and risk having to peel off the pus. I would also add that he has the charisma of a dead skunk and the confidence of a freshly castrated squirrel. But none of this matters, compared to the last member of the team, the one on whom most gazes have fallen, the dominant male figure of this gathering. Aramis Boone. Named after one of Dumas¡¯ musketeers, the handsome young lad stands with a straight back and all the propriety his young age can command. Wavy black hair falls over a handsome, virile face full of brooding confidence. Top marks everywhere. A fire mage, according to his file. He and Constance should in theory struggle to match each other¡¯s style and yet they work together like a house on fire which would quickly get frozen. As the screen in front of me pans to the left to show the local mages standing behind their representatives, a fleeting concern crosses my mind. Those look like the main character with her sidekick, the love interest, and his sidekick. As soon as I think that I chastise myself for this irrational fear. Constance is no Bingle. She does not even share her last name. But what if¡­ Alexander came to recognize her and she adopted their name? No. No no no. I must cast away those fears. I am not being rational. All will be well. I shake my head and return my attention to the squad¡¯s vis-a-vis. Interestingly, both the instructor on the Red Cabal side and an old man on the local mages side have taken opposite seats at the heads of the table, while the squad and local negotiators face each other four for four. Only two of them seem confident, however: a mature, handsome man with ritual scarring under his eyes and a bald, younger woman with a high forehead, her scalp covered in colorful tattoos. They are richly dressed in traditional clothes of unknown origin, though I can tell from the eclectic styles and vastly different traits that each of them belongs to a different ethnic group. The instructor and the old man start the discussion by introducing each other and their charges, and I come to suspect that the Red Cabal is not the only group training members for new duties. The local firmly expresses his desire for deeper cooperation between the two entities while the instructor mentions the necessity to adhere to a common code of conduct and the proper exchange of information. The Red Cabal heavily relies on informants to identify its targets, after all. She finishes by saying the Red Cabal brought knowledge on wards, freely given as a gesture of goodwill. I find it interesting that the instructor and the old man would present this as a negotiation. I know that, traditionally, an envoy would leave the package with the local authorities then wait for them to deliberate. By presenting the situation as a confrontation, they create tension that has no need to exist. Even using a round table or an informal setting rather than an exposed spot with allied mages sitting around to witness the process. I surmise they both agreed to turn this into a training event, since even a disagreement here could easily be remedied. ¡°Why did the Red Cabal send a child to talk to us?¡± the bald woman asks, her voice betraying her displeasure. ¡°I assure you,¡± Aramis says, ¡°that everyone present is fully qualified. We have all been trained to the Cabal¡¯s exacting standards.¡± Ah, they picked the handsome stud to be the speaker. Good call, good call. Some would object to a woman leading the conversation while Jacob Van Graff possesses the charisma and presence of a drowned rat. The woman waits for a second in silence, her eyes quickly drifting. Oh, what an interesting development. ¡°How long was that?¡± she further asks after the tiny delay. ¡°The Red Cabal asked us to represent it during those talks. I merely ask that you extend the same trust to us,¡± the handsome young man replies with a pleasant smile that does not quite reach his eyes. ¡°Hmph.¡± The discussion resumes, with the Red Cabal trying to get the other side to accept more rules, most of them being of the nature of ¡®please do not desecrate the dead by rising temporary rotten corpse golems to send after your rivals¡¯ and other benign requirements, while the locals attempt to get more concessions in terms of knowledge and training. I watch to see if Constance will catch up to the others¡¯ little game. She stares like a hawk but she misses the hand signals. The gentleman will wait until the talks reach an impasse, then signal his ally who will act as an attack dog, then he will reign her in and obtain a few more concessions. Rather than opposite sides of a faction, they are in fact in cahoots. Aramis is doing well but they are working from the wrong assumption, that the woman represents a reluctant faction they need to convince of their good intentions while, in fact, she is just here to milk them for more. I shall have to train her. Hmmm. ¡°This book is good and all, but you use western standard and nobody here has formal training in western technique. It¡¯s practically useless!¡± the local woman erupts. ¡°Who made the wards near the entrance?¡± Constance asks, talking for the first time. The question takes the two locals off guard. ¡°I did,¡± a man at the table says. He had been silent until now. ¡°Then you can help with passing on the knowledge, since you are more than qualified with western standard,¡± Constance finishes. She rests back into her seat, her eyes defiant. I admit that it was a good ¡®gotcha¡¯ moment and serves to destabilize the opposition. After that, Aramis is much more unwilling to agree to anything. The other side perceives the change and stops. To my endless surprise, the negotiation concludes with both sides pleased with their results. The local mage immediately turns the occasion into a party with songs in several different languages. One of the guests makes a significant effort to get everyone drunk on ti¡¯punch, which he calls ¡®tea ponsh¡¯, a mix of rhum, cane syrup, and lime. So, everything has gone well? It cannot be; my instincts never lie. I keep an eye on the party as it enfolds. The instructor who carries my camera in her pocket shows no signs of being drunk, instead dutifully moving around to give me a good view. I spot no anomalies, no murderous outliers offended by the agreement, nothing. A quick talk with Lafayette confirms that there are no dark forces preparing to raid the celebration, only revelers coming and going in a pleasant stupor. After an hour of partying, the event winds down just as my anxiety peaks, until finally I hear words of a new development. ¡°Mistress,¡± Lafayette says, ¡°someone is running in. He seems afraid.¡± Soon, the instructor¡¯s camera shows a harried lad rushing towards the corner where the negotiators have retreated. He stops, breathless. ¡°There¡­ there¡¯s been a murder!¡± Intense relief floods my soul. A murder! How quaint. How¡­ not immediately threatening. Perfect. I stand up from my seat, and walk, considering my options. The first thing I will need is knowledge. The night will set soon, then, I will make my moves. *** Instructor Schindler checks with me before delving into the problem. As the Cabal¡¯s main financial backer, I have a lot of pull on the organization provided I do not go against its core beliefs. I immediately agree to her request. What must happen, shall happen. I am merely here to limit the damage while allowing the young ones to grow. Let them solve this mystery. Perhaps it will be the crucible that forms them into a respected squad. Perhaps I shall end this little trip with a Servant candidate. Perhaps they will break. I do not know. In any case, the Red Cabal contacts the mayor to offer their services. Technically, the Red Cabal is a respected mercenary company that deals with supernatural threats, mostly lich incursions, giant beasts, and rogue mages or werewolves. The Supernatural Task Force enforces order in the civilian population, solving crimes committed with unnatural means. They would be better suited to solving this issue, were it not for politics. Right now, two inhabitants of Indianapolis in five are not members of the white race. As American ethnic relations reach a nadir, a powerful reaction against all that is other has shaken many cities including this one. The establishment of an STF bureau was thoroughly refused and the mayor¡¯s office took the decision not to host ¡®those people¡¯ firmly, a decision confirmed by vote and enshrined by directives. As such, the murder of Ichabod Silversmith caught mundane law enforcement off guard, mostly because poor Ichabod was found savagely dismembered. Lafayette reports that the body was recovered in several small bags. I have my escort keep a close look on the squad and manage to eavesdrop on the meeting that follows. The mayor, a tall, rotund man with a vicious gaze, allows Miss Schindler to investigate, though I can see the condescension and disbelief clear through the mirror. He considers her an expandable resource, a scapegoat to feed the papers if she fails. The chief of police who attends the meeting offers his most strenuous objection, to stay polite. He is overruled. I catch a few comments after Schindler leaves, mostly disparaging ones. Now let us see how the young ones solve a murder. *** Before his mangled demise, Ichabod SIlversmith used to live in a small cottage at the edge of town surrounded by rows of similar houses separated by high walls. Trees, clad in their fall garment, provide a fiery curtain to protect each¡¯s dweller intimacy. Or at least, I would like to imagine the leaves are yellow. The silver of the mirror gets dull at times. I shall have to find a way to get colors to work. The squad of younglings approaches, Schindler wisely decides to let Aramis take the lead. Despite his youth, he has countenance to be taken seriously while an older woman may not. Her role is more to oversee and protect, in any case. The squad first heads to the crime scene, which happens to be a shed belonging to the victim. Although the silvery image I see lacks color, I notice quite a few spots on the leaf-strewn lawn at the back of the victim¡¯s house. Their origin is quickly elucidated. ¡°Wah, it looks like someone here has been violently and repeatedly sick,¡± Jacob says, once more demonstrating his suave charm. The officer guarding the shed frowns mightily. ¡°You¡¯d be sick too if you¡¯d seen what was left, boy,¡± he grumbles. ¡°And what are you clowns doing here anyway? Magickers ain¡¯t welcome in this town.¡± ¡°We have an authorization to conduct an investigation signed by the mayor himself,¡± Aramis says with a deep voice. ¡°We would like your assistance in bringing the murderer to justice.¡± The police officer spits on the ground ¡ª which taints the scene for werewolf hunters, but I digress ¡ª before grabbing the signed sheet none too gently. ¡°Hmph. Looks genuine, I guess. Knock yourselves out.¡± s?a??h th? Nov?lF?re .??t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. Schindler conducts an impromptu exercise by letting her wards inspect the scene, then hearing their report. Unfortunately, the lack of colors and relative darkness inside the shed play hell with the camera¡¯s controls, so I have to rely on their testimonies to understand the scene. ¡°The lock was closed, but it was forced by something supernatural,¡± Millie says. ¡°How can you tell?¡± Schindler asks. ¡°The metal is broken and twisted, and it was done with great strength. There were wards traced here and there but the power broke them. A crowbar would not have sufficed.¡± ¡°Anything else?¡± ¡°The damage was done with claws,¡± Jacob says, ¡°though we will need to see the cadaver to be certain.¡± ¡°Given the amount of blood and¡­ remaining viscerae, it appears to be the work of a werewolf,¡± Aramis adds. ¡°In the city?¡± Schindler challenges without bite. ¡°Indianapolis has a population of city-dwelling outsiders. They certainly have the means and level of control required to take out someone like that, even if the target is a mage,¡± Aramis whispers so the officer outside does not hear him. ¡°We should¡­ talk to them. Or their leader, at least.¡± ¡°We will do that after we have more concrete evidence,¡± Schindler says. ¡°You know werewolves.¡± ¡°They can be quick to anger, yes.¡± On a secondary mirror, I hear Lafayette¡¯s werewolf growl. Case in point. ¡°Was there something else?¡± the instructor asks. The camera pans on Constance as she taps the ground with a wand, focused. She bites her lower lip. ¡°Ichabod Silversmith knew the killer was coming. The attacker may have let him know to toy with him. It was either personal or to send a message because nothing was taken. You can see it from the blood pattern.¡± ¡°It could have been taken before he was killed?¡± Millie objects, but Constance shakes her head. ¡°No. Look at this track here, near the lock. The victim started to bleed immediately when the ward was breached. The pattern is uninterrupted, here and there.¡± ¡°How do you know he saw his end come?¡± Schindler asked, suddenly more serious. ¡°Because no one locks themselves in their tool shed.¡± Ah, good catch. There could be other reasons, of course, but they are less likely. The others nod. After that, the squad decides to ask the attending officer if neighbors heard anything and get told to fuck off. Constance manages to sway him by speaking of duty and the importance of getting this menace taken down. And also a generous dose of mind influence, I suspect. Nevertheless, the neighbors heard nothing and the attack happened at night. It does not mean much. The squad leaves to see the body in the local morgue. I can tell from Millie and Jacob¡¯s violent retches that the corpse is in as bad a situation as expected, and when the camera focuses on the pile of meat resting on a gurney, I cannot quite make head nor tail of what I am watching. Mostly because I cannot find said head. I will have to visit in person. ¡°Multiple¡­¡± Schindler says before taking a few shallow breaths, ¡°Multiple lacerations. Oh God.¡± ¡°Here, let me cool the air,¡± Constance says. I wait until the group¡¯s breath eases. ¡°Much better. Now it does not smell quite so strongly,¡± she comments. ¡°Now, where to begin?¡± Aramis puts on gloves, then lifts a mangled arm for all to see. ¡°Definitely no tools were used to cut that, not even a rusty blade. Our victim was killed with natural weapons, making the theory of a murderous werewolf likely.¡± Not to be outdone, Constance grabs a rib pointing out of Ichabod¡¯s eviscerated chest. ¡°Absolutely, the strength needed to pull out a rib like that without a tool is monstrous. Even with appropriate tools, it would have taken a determined human too much time to inflict that sort of damage.¡± There follows a strange game where the two companions attempt to outgross each other, pushing me to check their files again. Hmmm. They were in different classes until last year. Aramis was given the express direction to protect the girl after he arrived here from Europe with his family. He has no relationship with the Bingles. I read his family tree just to be sure. The protect us if there are two of those in the same place. It looks like they care about each other¡¯s opinion. I do not know what to think of it. Teenage love? Pah, it matters not for now. Soon enough, the inspection is done. They did manipulate the head and found no trace of vampire bites near the neck, or what was left of it. I applaud their vigilance and watch them take their leave. ¡°Still, I cannot get over the complete lack of bite marks. Werewolves always bite,¡± Jacob observes. ¡°Could it be that the werewolf did not want to leave teeth marks? I read that each is unique,¡± Millie answers. ¡°Can a werewolf even reach this level of control?¡± Aramis muses. ¡°We can ask them in person,¡± their instructor says. ¡°For now, we will retire to our hotel to eat dinner and refresh ourselves. Tonight, we will impose upon the hospitality of the Silversmiths to ask them a few questions. This attack could be deliberate. Let us learn what we can.¡± The squad nods. I let the spell fade. Immediately, I feel better. ¡°,¡± I say to myself. Night is falling. As soon as the sun dips behind the horizon, I take a deep breath of intense relief. It is time to do some legwork. A quick call summons Lafayette and my escort back to the Grand Hotel to rest, except Amaruq, their Inuit werewolf, who will keep an eye on their wards for a little longer. ¡°Have my automobile wait near the Silversmith residence, with my trunk¡± I tell my chauffeur. Now, finally, I am free to play. I race to the crime scene via rooftop, dressed in light armor. I do find the place where the attacker waited by correctly identifying claw marks. My, what an impatient little hunter they are. The crime scene stinks too much to get anything worthwhile, but the remains of Ichabod Silversmith reveal what I need to know. I find the attacker¡¯s scent all over the corpse, then I spend half an hour criss-crossing the city until I find a matching trail. Soon, I track it down to the killer. What an intriguing culprit. And the implication of their existence is delicious. Nevertheless, I shall let my proteges prove themselves if they can by finding a solution of their own. In the meanwhile, I have an appointment with the Silversmiths to eavesdrop on. Chapter 205: Procedural The Silversmith estate stood near the center of the town. From the outside, it did not look like much, merely a brick building surrounded by high hedges. The waxing days of winter had revealed holes in that protective embrace, beyond which waited a naked, rain-stained wall.The season did Indianapolis no favors. A prudent observer would note the lush, thick curtains behind tinted windows. The entire ground floors had been reinforced with bars and the door was solid oak, newly painted. Despite its barren state, the garden showed signs of care in the empty flower patches waiting for spring and the hand of a loving gardener. A marble table sat at a corner with three ornate chairs delicately decorated with whirls of colored glass. Wealth was here, although it was hidden. Beyond the mundane, I could see no obvious flaw behind their protections. A double circle of alarms encircled the outer perimeter, one at chest height and the other above the hedges. The first floor was thoroughly reinforced around the fortified door while the upper levels were more modestly covered. All in all, rather adequate for a bunch of provincials. I watch my proteges ring the bell. A moment later, the outer gate opens to let them into the garden. They hesitate before taking the stairs up. They knock. A nifty piece of enchantment, remote activation. It always has its effects. I can feel and hear people waiting near the entrance. They detected the Red Cabal apprentices before they even approached. Now, they will make them wait. The power games have already begun. It takes a good thirty seconds for the door to finally open. They get in. My Magna Arqa cannot penetrate this place. Stronghold it might be, but this is the stronghold of a clan, and they consider it their home. I will not be able to enter without an invitation. That does not leave me without tools, however. A simple remote casting targeting their unprotected walls allows me to see inside the house with minimal interference. I find the interior of the house fascinating. It has four floors plus an attic, but only the upper one follows conventional architecture. The first to third all center around a large, central open chamber with each floor linked to every other by thin stairs. Warm electric light shines on shameless opulence. A grim majordomo leads the squad up the stairs under the condescending gaze of various clan members dressed in finery. Crystal carvings in many hues hang from balustrades or from small brass statues set on the railings. Most of them are enchanted with deadly spells. The entire place is a death trap, though not a very smart one. Aramis notices he is being watched and turns around, meeting the gaze of a beautiful brunette in a red dress showing a scandalous amount of cleavage. Those young mages grow more daring with every generation. Back in my days... No, I need to stop saying back in my days. I am far too young to fall into this trap. Besides, one day, I may wear trousers. That would be nice. A pair of young men wearing smirks and tuxedos wait near the third floor landing. They have cast a small spell force at knee level to make their guests stumble. Ah, so we have fallen off the thuggish intimidation ladder and crashed face-first into kindergarten bullying. Soon, they will start calling Constance names. Professor Schindler casually walks over the trap without a word, making the sneers fade ever so slightly. Constance does the same with an expression of confused contempt that sparks the flame of anger in the would-be hobblers. Minnie walks over with her nose up while Jacob takes careful steps, looking particularly annoyed. Aramis smashes into the trap and breaks it on impact. ¡°Grow up,¡± he casually drops as a parting gift. A decent show, I suppose. After that little incident, the squad follows a stuffy corridor lined with gaudy paintings of ancestors sitting besides glass-making implements, a really pretentious display considering the whole glass theme was started by their grandfather and the family was made of sailors and cheesemongers before that, according to the files. What a bunch of pretentious, gilded twits. The first true hurdle comes when the squad enters a heavily warded room, possibly a sanctum of some sort. I simply cannot pierce it from outside. I suppose I am already doing well, seeing through walls and eavesdropping on private conversation. The world should be grateful that I do not use my forbidden knowledge to spy on rugby players as they bathe! Fortunately, enough sound escapes through the unlocked door to let me follow the conversation. ¡°Welcome to the house of the Silversmiths, Cabalites. I am Loretta and this is Douglas.¡± Female voice, on the older side. Quite possibly the matriarch. ¡°And to what do we owe the honor?¡± a male voice says with dripping sarcasm. There is an edge to that voice, one that does not come from grief. I do not hear the sound of chairs, which means the squad has not been invited to sit. A quick exchange begins under the careful arbitration of Professor Schindler, with her pupils realizing that no, they are not seen as defenders of justice and protectors but meddlesome strangers, no, people do not share their dogged pursuit for the culprit and that no, the family will not help them. ¡°Surely you care about safety as much as everyone at least? So long as this thing is out, none of you are safe!¡± Minnie argues. ¡°Our safety is our business and, as we mentioned, we do not recognize the authority of the Red Cabal or your right to come here and interrogate us,¡± the man replies. ¡°We are not mandated by the Red Cabal. We represent the mayor¡¯s office in this regard. I am sure they will appreciate your assistance in this matter. Before the creature makes another victim.¡± ¡°You have no reason to believe it will make another victim.¡± ¡°So you believe this is personal? ¡° Aramis asks. ¡°Old Ichabod? Pfft,¡± the man scoffs. Silence fills the room for a moment. The next time the woman speaks, her tone is chilly. ¡°Thank you, Douglas. We have no reason to believe that Ichabod was targeted in particular. It could be that the animal you are pursuing already moved on, or it could be that it is still here, around, and you are wasting your time doing police work rather than laying traps.¡± ¡°You know this is no normal beast,¡± Aramis says. ¡°No such creature could kill in the middle of the city with no one the wiser. It has to possess some measure of intellect.¡± ¡°Then you should ask the werewolves,¡± the woman insists. ¡°They do not care about Ichabod. They do not know why he was killed,¡± Constance states decisively. Hmmm. A bit abrupt. Let us see where she is going with this. ¡°He lived isolated on the other side of town, as far away as possible without completely leaving your sphere of influence. He lived alone. None of you went to check the crime scene or the officer or chief of police would have remarked upon it. Some families would avenge the murders of a member no matter what, but not you. He must have done something truly horrific.¡± ¡°You have no right to judge us,¡± the man hisses. ¡°Some of the activated defenses cannot be sustained for very long,¡± Jacob observes. ¡°You are preparing to hunker down, weather the storm and see what¡¯s left at the end. More than half of your family watched us climb those stairs. You are bringing everyone home. Everyone who matters, in any case,¡± Constance says. She sounds bitter to me. Her voice is harsh and her tone icy. ¡°You¡¯ve already left him behind.¡± ¡°I think you have enjoyed our hospitality for long enough,¡± the woman replies with equal disdain. ¡°We have all the information we need,¡± Schindler says, ¡°thank you for your time.¡± The squad leaves in a line of offended, dignified heroes. So precious, so adorable. They walk out without comment until they reach the end of the nearest street, then start complaining all at once in a gesture of unity and camaraderie. Before I can terminate the spell, I hear the Silversmith side of the dispute. ¡°We can¡¯t just let them go like that! What will the negroes and mongrels think if we don¡¯t fight back? That they can just come here and waltz around our city?¡± Douglas erupts. ¡°They are useful idiots so long as they are just visitors. Those voodoo heathens will use them then toss them away like yesterday¡¯s toothpicks. In fact, it would be best if the two groups do not get closer. Perhaps a casualty in the line of duty for our crimson friends wouldn¡¯t be amiss. Nothing like some blood spilled for the ungrateful to sour relation. Have Walter do it. One of the girls for best effect.¡± ¡°Yes, grandma.¡± Ah, no. Ah, no no no no. That will not do. That will not do at all. This is not some farcical Binglery I am attending right now. I cannot rely on just fate and Schindler¡¯s vigilance to protect them from an assassin, not when they are expecting a beast instead. I cut the connection to call Lafayette instead. ¡°Lady Ariane?¡± ¡°I just found out our dear locals wish to assassinate one of the pupils. I think they need a courtesy visit.¡± ¡°That would be best. My visit would be less courteous.¡± ¡°We will resort to that if they refuse to comply. Their fortress is a home. I cannot get in without leave.¡± ¡°I will come up with a plan in the meanwhile.¡± I cut the communication and race down the tiled roof where I was waiting. My automobile is waiting nearby. The chauffeur does not even look when I get it, lower a screen between his side and mine and then get quickly changed into a more official outfit. Soon, I am dressed to impress in a blue and red dress of exotic make based on a Summer court design. I have to say, the back of an automobile is not the best place to change clothes. My embarrassment will fortunately remain private since the windows are one way. Now ready, I return to the estate, knocking on the door after jumping the wards. Someone swears inside. ¡°Hey, Francis, were we waiting for someone else?¡± the farther man asks. I use a small spell to carry the sound forward. A minor feat of magic, but one that produces the desired effect. ¡°I know you can hear me ¡®Francis¡¯. Open the door this instant or I will peel the wards off and remove it from its hinges.¡± The closest man jumps. I hear a spike in fear from his heartbeat. A moment later, I see a shift in a carefully camouflaged peephole. I turn towards it and lean forward a little, meeting Francis eye to eye. ¡°Hello there,¡± I greet. ¡°The Silversmiths are not receiving anyone at the moment,¡± the man replies somewhat carefully. I smile more, revealing fangs. I let a hint of purple shine in my eyes. The eye in the peephole disappears. ¡°Is this your final decision?¡± I ask ¡°Shit,¡± Francis whispers to his companion, terrified. ¡°What?¡± ¡°I think it¡¯s a vampire.¡± The other man rushes away. I hear him confer in a low voice, presumably through an enchantment of sorts, though I cannot tell without a line of view and with this much interference. A moment later, the door opens to reveal a panicked majordomo. Sweat pearls on his wizened brow, but he still stands tall. ¡°The matriarch will see you now,¡± he says. This counts as an invitation. The gates open again, revealing the same man who had tried to hobble my proteges with a cheap trick and the majordomo, the man by the name of Francis. I follow the sweet-smelling older man up the stairs and notice that the mages are still there, though I can tell from their concerned gazes that I was not a planned visit. Now that my Magna Arqa can deploy, I notice they have a deep basement filled with booze, a still, and a hidden exit in a nearby warehouse. Ah, illegal alcohol distillation. Such a standard post-war occupation for those who wish for quick money. A little pedestrian, but I cannot exactly comment since my first major operation was a brothel. It feels amusing and strange to walk the same corridor I have seen several times through my spell, to feel the lush carpet under my bottines and smell the faint touch of cigar and mold. I find the two same people waiting for me in the sanctum. I have to say that I have seen gaudy, rococo horrors in my long, God-forsaken life, but that place takes the cake. It takes all the cakes under the sun, the moon or the Watcher. I cannot find a single free spot from the bookcases overwhelmed by old tomes to the desk covered in jewel-encrusted baubles. Most of them are enchanted, of course. I am getting a headache. By contrast, the two people waiting for me show the most restraint out of all their relatives. I see a young man with a square jaw and a vicious glare, with the solid shoulders of someone who does not shirk physical activity. A stubble covers his handsome cheeks. The woman is older. A human would consider her to be mid-forty, but her aura indicates she is significantly older. Jowls and a carmine complexion hint at the abuse of the very same thing they peddle. In fact, I can spot a freshly uncorked bottle of brandy on the shelf behind her. Under her outward appearance of calm, her heart thunders. I sit without waiting for an invitation. ¡°I could not help but hear the end of your little discussion. I ¡®request¡¯ that you desist. Those young ones are under my protection.¡± The matriarch¡¯s fear spikes at the same time as her associate¡¯s anger. The violation of their privacy hits a nerve in the young man. Only his partner understands the implication. I suspect she may be more familiar with my kin. I lean forward, deciding to give them a little respect rather than just demanding. Let it be known that I do not always jump to the big stick part of the negotiation. ¡°You have played games with them, which I do not blame you for. Defending one¡¯s territory is a perfectly reasonable reaction to what you perceive as an intrusion,¡± I say, giving the young man a passing glance. ¡°However, their purpose remains to solve a murder. Even if you intend to catch and punish the perpetrator yourself, surely cooperation would be preferable to sabotage. You can certainly appreciate that now is not a good time to rock the boat, particularly not with an organization with the¡­ reach¡­ the Red Cabal can display. If you let go of your anger, you will see I speak the truth,¡± I tell the matriarch. Our eyes meet, though not for long. Fury does not turn her lungs into bellows, or her heart into a drum. Fear does. We both know I am merely being polite. ¡°What tells us you are not the murderer?¡± the man coldly asks. I wave his comment aside. ¡°Nothing does and I am not interested in proving myself. The only question here is: will you let your perceived offense go?¡± ¡°Of course,¡± the man smoothly lies. He is a mortal and so the outright lie does little more than to sting him. If he were to swear first, it would hurt him more, but not as much as an oath break might hurt me. That is the punishment magic would inflict. The punishment I would inflict, though? That would be an entire other question. ¡°Douglas,¡± the woman hisses in warning. I place my clawed hands on the desk and lean forward and to the side, towards the young man. ¡°We vampires have many rules. If you lie to me, you remove yourself from the protection of those rules. We do not take kindly to oathbreakers.¡± ¡°Douglas, enough,¡± Matriarch Loretta interrupts before the man can reply. He does not seem too impressed Sometimes, my comparatively small frame, my gender, and the appearance of youth serve me well. This is not such a case. ¡°No grandma, I don¡¯t think we should listen to another word coming out of this monster¡¯s mouth. Your invitation is rescinded.¡± I am taken as if by an invisible force, pushed out and I leave as fast as I can until the wind of my passage makes the majordomo, Francis, yelp in surprise. I turn to see the insides of the house, now barred to me. Well! I tried. I could have Charmed them, I suppose, but that would not have been the behavior of a good guest. I suppose it will have to be the stick then. The younger, arrogant man by the majordomo¡¯s side laughs with vicious glee. ¡°Hah! Thrown out on your posterior, were you? Begone, dark one, and if you dare return, we will show you the full might of the Silversmiths!¡± he yells at me from the entrance. Ah. Ah! And here I was going to bother charming him into letting me in, but this is the time for a more¡­ direct negotiation. This will serve just as well. It is true what they say. The devil is in the details. What an unfortunate phrasing. Like my sire, I keep to my word without treachery. Disrespectful boasts are an entirely other matter. One that we usually answer with a hand through the ribcage. ¡°I accept your challenge in the spirit in which it was given,¡± I reply amicably. ¡°Wha¡ª¡± I rip out his jaw before he can finish his sentence. His tongue lols from the gap while a massive geyser of blood stains the curtains. Ah well. It is not against the rules I set myself! Francis screams horribly. Above us, the mages swear. Offensive spells are primed all around. I wave my gauntleted hand, casting a quick sound enchantment. ¡°I am going to go back up and you shall show me the might of the Silversmiths! OR ELSE.¡± I form a shield around myself and walk. I have to give myself some challenges, or I might go rusty. ¡°She¡¯s a vampire!¡± the girl in a dress screams. ¡°Use fire!¡± ¡°Get the bitch!¡± another girl screams. ¡°No need for name calling,¡± I reply. ¡°Shatter!¡± The basic spell hits the railing against which my verbal attacker was leaning, disintegrating it. She falls down a floor below. ¡°Aaaarg my knee!¡± Good, she can watch that and her tongue. Bolts of incandescent mana land on my defenses, peppering them without much result. ¡°Oh no!¡± I mock. ¡°Fire magic. If only I had predicted that turn of events! I could have based my shield on ice!¡± The barrage stops, soon replaced by a large glass javelin. Interesting! I have never encountered such magic before, at least not on earth. I let the projectile pass by me. ¡°The shield doesn¡¯t stop glass! Shoot!¡± the female mage roars in triumph. Shards land on me, most of which are, in fact, blocked by the shield. She cries in dismay. ¡°I did not fail to block the first spell. I merely ignored an attack that would have missed me anyway,¡± I chastise. I have now reached the first landing, and without hurrying at that. Two of the locals flee me, casting panicked glances behind them. I do not bother. They would probably taste as bland as their personalities anyway. ¡°I am still waiting!¡± I say. The next attempt also comes from the mage. She sends a dagger that would have missed me, except this one contains an explosive core that would have exploded close to my face if I had not detected the trap and blocked it. It is a good attempt that relies on my overconfident behavior. ¡°I commend you for your efforts,¡± I tell her. ¡°Fuck you!¡± ¡°Well that is quite rude,¡± I grumble. Ah, we have reached the first of the brass statues, and I realize the crystal ornaments they bear are also complex, small objects designed to explode when triggered remotely with the use of glass magic. It is an ingenious design with an unstable nature that I would not personally use as a decoration on my house. I stop and cast an illusion of myself walking forward, dimming my true body. The panicked casters take the bait without much problem. The ornaments explode and fill the air with shrapnel. The few that reach me are stopped by the shield. I merely resume my walk after most of the damage is done. ¡°Gah! Just keep attacking!¡± the mage exhorts. I have reached the second landing and walk on the stairs to the third when a series of stomping sounds emerge from above. A towering golem of metal and crystal lumbers in plain view. I find the design elegant and refined. The transparent crystal hints at the cogs buried underneath. Serrated, transparent blades emerge from its fingers. ¡°Oh no!¡± I loudly lament. ¡°A bloodless, magic-resistant creature! My weakness. What am I to do? Shatter.¡± The furniture-breaking spell fires. As it lands, the mage screams in triumph. ¡°Hah! Golems resist spells, don¡¯t you know?¡± There is a terrible crack, then my original target crumbles and falls. I was aiming at the floor under the golem¡¯s feet. Masonry and beams collapse into the void below, carrying the construct with them. It lands on the ground floor with a terrible shriek of broken glass and twisted metal. ¡°At least my weakness isn¡¯t stairs,¡± I observe. I only get incoherent screaming in answer. And to think some of the mages call us blood-starved beasts and other epithets deriding our lack of control when we fight. Typical. ¡°You know,¡± I tell her as she switches to proper insults, ¡°people who live in glass houses shouldn¡¯t throw stones, or turn them into death traps while they are still inside.¡± The shrapnel-spewing glass constructs follow a simple yet effective method. A cavity contains a charge of essence which has to be rearmed every few days. The Silversmiths can use their glass magic to remotely release a seal on the cavity, causing it to violently explode. The weakness of such a system is that the seal itself is fragile, and a sufficient impact will break it. ¡°Shatter.¡± I activate the traps on either side of my adversary. One of the shards catches her in the cheek and she falls screaming. Below me, the golem has stood back up and climbs after me, but it will be too late. A short hop, and I am past the hole in the stairs and on my way to the office I had so curtly left. At this moment, Loretta and Andrew appear in full battle robes, possibly to check what was wrong. Loretta¡¯s face twists into an expression of horror but Douglas lets his anger go free. He casts a powerful spell that tastes of crystal and edges. I lift my hand and use a basic telekinesis spell to grab a fallen brass statue, which I send into his rib with much less speed than I could. The invitation¡¯s purpose was to show me ¡®the full might of the Silversmiths¡¯ which I am in my rights to put to the test, but my honor prevents me from killing any one of them as I am still their guest. Nothing says I cannot make it painful. The young man slams to the ground, first winded by the blow, then retching from the feedback of his interrupted casting. That leaves the matriarch now ensconced in a flimsy shield. This one tastes of crystal as well and I expect subtlety in the same way a subtlety in a house will protect it from a rockfall. She knows it. She takes a deep breath in. ¡°Please stop, dear guest.¡± Ah, a test. I do stop, slightly below her which is annoying, but I believe I am still the winner in our little disagreement.. ¡°I suspect someone said something that could be perceived as an invitation. Who was it?¡± ¡°The one with the loose tongue.¡± Loretta steps forward and finds Francis kneeling on the ground, vainly attempting to stop the bleeding of the unjawed prick. ¡°I should have guessed. James, you have been nothing but a disappointment. Step aside, Francis!¡± A glass spear pierces the fallen man¡¯s chest, ending his agony. It also digs a hole in the damaged parquet. Am I the only one who tries not to destroy my own furniture in every single confrontation? In any case, the terrified lady puts on an air of courage before facing me once more. ¡°What are your terms then?¡± ¡°The same as before,¡± I reply, generously spreading my arms, ¡°leave my proteges alone and I shall return the favor.¡± I would be in my right to ask more. In fact, I would bet a finger that Loretta expects it and even then considers various concessions. This is how her kind functions. They grab every advantage they can take, and this is how they have come ahead in their own city, local barons without competition. I need to make it very clear that we are not playing on the same chessboard. They are simply not important enough, nor their resources valuable enough, to justify much of my time. ¡°Very well,¡± Loretta finally agrees with a slow nod, ¡°we will not act against your subordinates in any way for the duration of their stay. You have my word. Now, begone!¡± I am violently pushed back for the second time that night. Landing on my feet, I keep moving until I stop in front of my automobile and lean in, scaring my chauffeur. ¡°Young miss? I mean, Lady Ariane?¡± ¡°Where are the message canisters?¡± ¡°In the back.¡± I hurry and find said canister along with a pen and paper. A quick message follows. The Silversmiths might not be worth my time, but getting the last word is. I use a spy spell to find Loretta¡¯s personal bedroom, smashing the canister through her window before leaving like a hooligan and feeling absolutely shameless about it. I believe I am finally at peace with my own vengeful pettiness. At least until someone else remarks upon it. Then I will be forced to vehemently deny everything. I also enjoyed this little challenge, stopping an army of mages while moving at a slow pace without using my physical strength. Games like these will keep me sharp, that and my occasional spars with Cadiz and his apprentices. Satisfied, I return to watch over the squad, then once they have gone to sleep and the place is secure, I do a little scouting. It turns out that Indianapolis hides more than I expected. Oh, this might turn out to be an interesting diversion after all. *** The next day, I am back at the hotel with a tired mind and a pot of coffee I made myself. I have missed quite a bit during my slumber, the squad having been active since six thirty, before the dawn even disabled me. Ugh, I hate early birds! What sort of civilization is this when the day starts before the actual day even starts? Now I have to read a report by Lafayette before I can even start spying. There has been another murder, this time of a local werewolf. She was killed early during the night in a deserted meat warehouse where she was employed. The modus operandi is the same. The victim was mauled to pieces while she was alone, caught off guard before she even had the time to transform according to the wound they found. There were little traces of struggle except for a lone, spilled crate of pork meat cans. The entrance was forced open like before with a single, powerful blow that ripped the lock apart. This leaves everyone absolutely certain that the killer was the same, but unclear as to its motives. The werewolf was a young woman while Ichabod was an old mage, Lucy was destitute and recently arrived while Ichabod was doing fine and here since birth. She was timid and social while he was an old grump. The two could not have been more apart. With that determined, the squad leaves to meet Quill, the local werewolf leader. I asked Lafayette to pull back for this operation. Amarruq, our furry-oriented squad member, has smelled sentries all around and they have no doubts done the same. Werewolf are usually better at defending their territories than mages are, because mages use passive countermeasures while werewolves will use their senses to actively track any perceived intruders. They tend to roam and patrol a lot as well, making them unpredictable. The other issue is the location. Meat packing plants are busy places where foremen keep a constant watch. Outside, police officers check on passerbys for any hint of socialist activity. I run too much risk of losing an agent to questioning. As such, my only source of information is the faint trail coming from Schindler¡¯s own mirror. It appears I have already missed part of the show. Quill does not look very threatening. Perhaps this is the reason why he has attracted so many outsiders to his banner. On the other side, the few followers he does have, and who are present for the meeting, will not empower him much. He is rather young with a narrow build and sad eyes of a color I cannot determine from what I see. ¡°It is not one of us, and yes, I am sure. Links between outsiders and the pack might be tenuous, but we can tell when someone has gone rogue, if only by smell. It could be a newcomer though. Recently, we have picked up the trail of a newcomer. The murders started the next day.¡± ¡°Have you located him?¡± Aramis asks. ¡°Her, it¡¯s a she. We can tell from her scent.¡± I did not know that; I did not wish to know that. ¡°That person is not a rogue but that doesn¡¯t mean much. Sometimes, humans are monsters even before the conflicting instincts. She might just be a killer, or know the killer. Quill shrugs. ¡°Who knows?¡± ¡°Could a woman be the culprit then?¡±Jacob asks to be certain. Most of the rogues the Red Cabal hunts are always men. Female rogue werewolves are exceedingly rare, though I am not sure as to why. They do, however, exist. Not that it matters. The local pack merely picked up on Amarruq. ¡°Yeah. We love our ladies with a little bite,¡± a voice I do not recognize says. The camera pans to the side where a handsome young man with a wild shock of hair leans against the wall. He winks. I notice that he has left his shirt open to reveal some impressive muscles, a daring choice considering the already cold temperature of this early November. The male werewolf winks towards the side. Where Constance is sitting. Ah! ¡°You don¡¯t even know if the murderer is one of us. Lucy was weak and newly made, but she would have heard the attacker come. Tried to flee. Screamed. Something! You forgot? All the attacks happened at night.¡± ¡°You¡¯re thinking it¡¯s a vampire,¡± Schindler says. ¡°Maybe. I know there was still a lot of¡­ her blood left on the scene,¡± Quill finishes with a heavy voice. He adjusts his posture on the seat. ¡°But maybe it was a decoy.¡± ¡°It¡¯s a misconception that vampires drain a victim of all its blood. They consume the essence more than the liquid. The target dies of that. Not exsanguination,¡± Jacob says. ¡°So you know if a target was drained?¡± Quill asks. ¡°No. A vampire would know. Or we could with some advanced alchemical equipment we do not have here.¡± ¡°There is another way,¡± the handsome rake adds. Quill sighs, not looking directly at him. I recognize a werewolf calming method. No matter what, do not meet the eyes. ¡°I could come with you, sniff the corpse and know if it was slain by one of us or not. Then, by process of elimination¡­¡± ¡°We will know if it is a vampire,¡± Schindler says. ¡°I have but one condition. I want you to ward my sister¡¯s room. She¡¯s like me but the curse¡­¡± He frowns, suddenly less aloof. ¡°She did not take it well. She is scared to leave if I am not with her. Won¡¯t you do it to protect her while I am gone?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll help,¡± Jacob says. ¡°Not you,¡± the young man says. ¡°She¡¯s afraid of men. Her,¡± he says, nodding at Constance. There is a moment of tension. Schindler returns her attention to Quill. ¡°He is his own man. I do not control the pack, merely provide a safe space for those of us who do not take well to a more traditional structure. Mathias will be on his¡­ best behavior.¡± There is a hint of threat underlying the last words, the meaning carried clearly when he turns to the roguish young buck. Said young man offers his open hands in return. ¡°I¡¯ll be good.¡± ¡°Glad to see you¡¯re not¡­ all bark,¡± Constance finally says. ¡°And I¡¯ll help. And you will keep your paws off.¡± ¡°I promise not to get in your hair,¡± he replies with a dangerous glint in his eyes. The two leave while alarm bells ring in my heart. Letting those two go¡­ without a chaperone? What are they thinking? But no, Ariane. Different times, different mores. And different species, technically. I am sure the young Mathias will not try anything that will end with his pelt decorating my chimney. Yes, yes. It will be fine. Just as the squad leaves the office to wait for Constance, I catch Millie¡¯s voice. ¡°It seems those two get along really well. Maybe we can have her ask Mathias to join us for a longer time. I¡¯m sure he can fight,¡± Millie says in a sweet voice. I hear Aramis grunt back. Wait a moment, did she just throw her best friend under the train, or is she trying to make him jealous? Damn those hormones. Unless¡­ Could Millie have designs on Aramis herself and see an opening? Oh, teenage drama. How refreshing. Hmmm. As I think on it, the late morning leads to noon. A return to the morgue confirms that the two victims were not killed by a werewolf as no smell lingers on the wound. Interestingly and somewhat predictably, Mathias asks to stick around. Schindler agrees since there are procedures for working with local authorities and we tend to encourage cooperation. The group comes to the conclusion that a vampire is a culprit after a short discussion. This is now beyond the squad¡¯s paygrade. Schindler says she has to report this possibility to her hierarchy, meaning me. I inform her that a vampire will come tomorrow evening to take over. The news obviously leaves the young squad angry. This is their first hunt. They do not wish to just up and leave. With a short message, I tell her that they are free to search for the beast¡¯s lair before I arrive. After consulting with the local mages, the squad decides to visit some of the more remote and dubious meat-packing plants during the afternoon. That is fine. As they proceed, Mathias shamelessly flirts with a cold Constance and butts heads with Aramis while Millie drops a few hints that the two are together to the incensed young mage. I frown and sit back, thinking. We have two heroes, two sidekicks, a stranger, and a mentor. The handsome lead is called Aramis Boone. No one is called Aramis Boone, ¡®tis a silly, romantic name based on Alexandre Dumas¡¯ Four Musketeers and some one syllable last name. Ridiculous. The heroine¡¯s childhood friend is quite certainly jealous of her, leading to tensions. Two love triangles have formed. All on the background of a bog-standard monster hunt with a surprise twist at the end that I instinctively feel I should not interfere with. s?a??h th? ??v?lF?re.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. Is¡­ is Constance actually a godling? But no, it does not feel quite right. And yet¡­ something is off. Terribly off. On a hunch, I call Isaac. The. What? No. No no no no no no. Noooooooooooo! ¡° Chapter 206: Disenchanted ¡°I need to impress. I will be the first vampire they ever meet. I cannot use my usual polite and harmless persona or they will hunt with flawed ideas,¡± I remark aloud.Lafayette, whose input I value, stares at me. The short and sturdy man only gives me an impassive glance, though his heart thunders in his chest. ¡°Harmless persona? Ma¡¯am?¡± I tut, though I do not begrudge him this rare trait of humor. ¡°They shall still see me as a young woman, no matter how thoroughly they were drilled on the danger my kin represents. No, I believe I need a¡­ grandiose introduction.¡± ¡°We can set up the hotel¡¯s last floor, if you wish.¡± ¡°No¡­ No. This is still civilization. Masked power. I will meet them at the edge of the city, in a forest. The closest one. Instructor Schindler will guide them there tonight when the time has come. I will use some ice magic and, yes, I shall unseal the Aurora.¡± ¡°Your armor, ma¡¯am? Does it need unsealing?¡± I consider this option. I see no downside to bringing an early winter. November is already upon the mortals anyway. They will not realize anything. ¡°It needs unsealing, yes. The Aurora is so powerful that its mere presence alters the weather patterns. I realized it too late to save the first harvest around Marquette. A rather costly mistake. In any case, I believe it is for the best. I shall set the scene. Then, you will bring me the actors.¡± ¡°As you say, ma¡¯am.¡± I only wish they do not get in trouble where I have to rescue them, or the impression might be ruined. *** Constance¡¯s Tale Another day being Constance in a world where constance is expected and garners no reward. We were just here for a simple negotiation at first, then it turned into a murder investigation, and now it is more. A hunt, perhaps. I could not help but feel we were being shepherded into doing something beyond our ability. It did not take a werewolf nose to smell a fish here. I looked around to see my team and friends, the fragile group I hoped would survive this, if only because I could use some friends. I just could not help it. Jacob van Graff, competent yet so oblivious he was unpopular. Millie, like a sister to me and like all siblings, we were undergoing a bit of a temporary argument. And then there was Aramis of the strange, exotic name and the brooding manners. I believe I fancied him a little. We had never been close before, being in different classes and groups. He had always kept a barrier between us, but now that had come tumbling down as soon as we started working together. The loner had become a partner. It helped that he was as fetching as some dark prince. I would have to be careful. The cad had weapons I was ill-equipped to face. He paid attention to me, for once. Even now as we made our way through the meat packing plants, he made sure to stick to me. No one stuck to me like this before, and I was not sure what to think. ¡°Aramis, could I ask that you take the flank? I do not feel safe,¡± Millie said in a whiny voice. Aramis grunted but assented, which placed him to Millie¡¯s right and Millie to mine. Jacob stood at our back with Schindler, who once again acted as a supervisor more than a guide. I didn¡¯t like that one bit. I liked that it left Mathias to my left even less. Our werewolf addition gave us a firm advantage, that of having two brawny fellows instead of one, but I found him to be too sticky. Too close. It did not help that he was very warm and I could feel it on my skin even as I turned my head. It also didn¡¯t help that he was assertive and forceful. It was funny how I longed for someone to just hold me and tell me we would get out of this strange circus alive, yet when someone kept reaching for me, I found myself weirded out by his insistence. Not like this, I supposed? Something was wrong with my heart, to be sure. My strange feelings notwithstanding, our visit to the meat packing plants turned out to be even more gross than the morgue had been, which I would not have believed possible. Under a morose, gray sky shedding snow as a miser sheds money, we went from factory to factory under the guise of inspectors to check for hints of abnormal activity. Our official cover was to make sure no child under fourteen were employed, as was the law. It was turning out to be a disaster. Not a single factory respected those rules. We were not supposed to actually succeed too well. ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m fifteen,¡± said a girl who could not be a day over ten. We were finding a lot of things we were not meant to, and that was costing us time. Schindler took a list of names and addresses, ignoring the threats and supplication from harried foremen with commendable composure. As for me, I spent more time trying not to walk into too much shit that it could not be peeled off my boots as soon as we left. The factories were pits of filth unsuited to the making of food. Over layers of crusted offal, meat, and congealed blood, workers without any protection operated machines with speed, the knives and presses falling over dead meat, most of the time. The state of the workers¡¯ hands spoke another tale, and I promised myself here and there that I would never eat potted meat again for fear of eating human flesh. I would have been comfortable with rats, and there were already enough of those to feed all the cats of Egypt. I wanted to retch. The squad weaved between hanging carcasses in various stages of processing to return to the exit of our current target. Yet another bust. It was true what they said, everything would be harvested but the squeals. As I turned, I caught a few glares devoid of hope and anger. The workers here were raw, used to the bone. Chemicals had eaten into their skin and their only concern was that activity might be stopped ahead of the seasonal firings, so that they would return home to feed on regret and watery gruel. This place was ripe for diseases, recruitment into crime gangs. Or socialism, I supposed. What a crap hole. I was lucky to be born a mage, or I might be working here in that line with one child and eight fingers. Many schools simply didn¡¯t teach women. I took a breath of fresh air as soon as we were out. Carcasses were cooked over pits, so the temperatures inside went from cold as hell to hot as hell within a few steps through a stinky purgatory of human design. ¡°No unusual smell so far,¡± Mathias said. He sniffed. ¡°Although I will be getting a headache.¡± ¡°How can you smell anything above this awful stench of scum and chemicals?¡± I asked with disbelief.¡± ¡°My nose is¡­ more sensitive yet less easily disgusted. I think humans have stronger reactions because you can die from indigestion. Our wolf selves do not discriminate as much. We eat raw liver with relish, you see?¡± ¡°I do. Perhaps an evolutionary bias.¡± ¡°Oh, a disciple of Darwin. Well, do I gross you out?¡± the rake asked, looming dangerously. ¡°Not quite,¡± I admitted. ¡°Ahem,¡± Aramis said from the other side. ¡°We have more factories to see. Kellogg¡¯s, near the river. It¡¯s supposed to be nicer and cleaner, so I saved it for last. We should hurry, however. Night is about to fall.¡± ¡°You¡¯re a dear,¡± Millie replies. ¡°My nostrils need a break.¡± ¡°I can use a ward to protect us from the smell?¡± Jacob suggests. ¡°No outward signs of magic when you are posing as inspectors,¡± Professor Schindler interrupted in a bored voice. The temperature continued to drop as we moved on through the poorest part of the city, with tenement buildings as rickety as they were full. Screaming children were shepherded back in by panicked mothers caught off guard by the unseasonal cold. As for us, we found Kelloggs¡¯ factory easily enough. It stood a little way, past a fallow field and a couple of empty log houses. My first observation was that the place looked cleaner than the rest. Not exactly an amazing achievement. A foreman with pale blue eyes and a large mustache welcomed us warmly, in contrast with, well, absolutely everyone else so far. He walked us past rows of cooking carcasses and assembly lines casually, explaining as he went. ¡°The beasts get processed step by step, you see? Our employees are well-trained and well compensated to ensure Kelloggs¡¯ potted meat becomes a symbol of quality everywhere.¡± This here was possibly a model factory. If I were the mayor and I were to invite some committee or person of power to show the workers didn¡¯t need to be protected by law, I would bring them here. The floor was clean. Detritus was carried through sluices to the nearby river. There was even ventilation for Christ¡¯s sake. The workers wore gloves and showed none of the scars of missing pieces of flesh I had come to associate with the operation of knives. Everything was as spotless as could be, and yet, while the foreman led us deeper into the complex, I could not shake a deep sense of unease. It was the way the workers were following us with empty eyes, hungry eyes. They were all lean and muscular, but not in the full way werewolves tend to grow. Leaner. Almost skeletal around the belly, which their overalls cinched tightly. ¡°Something smells wrong here,¡± Mathias said by my side. ¡°Dilated pupils, inhuman constitution on all of them. Not werewolves though,¡± Jacob whispered. ¡°Could they be cattle?¡± Aramis asked. The foreman opened a door, leading to a refrigerated space used to store the dead animals. ¡°No, they are not guarding the vampire,¡± I replied. The foreman¡¯s ear twitched and he turned slightly. There was another door, leading to a second frozen chamber. I spotted a hint of pink skin from the glass porthole. ¡°Because they are wendigos. Ghouls. GHOULS!¡± I screamed. The foreman turned. His face split in two under the mustache, revealing a maw filled with jagged, yellow fangs. Behind us, the workers were rushing in. ¡°Astra,¡± Schindler whispered. The foreman was grabbed and sent smashing against the far wall head first. He landed with a horrid crack. ¡°Close the door!¡± Aramis roared. He slammed the heavy pane of steel with Mathias¡¯ help, and not a second too soon. Mutated laborers were rushing at us, slavering from their distended maws. Jacob took a moment to ward the gate to hold them but¡­ we were trapped? ¡°The other door chamber,¡± Schindler said. We rushed forward, only to find a mirror of the previous room. This one was filled with human carcasses. Adults, children, mostly young and thin. They hung from the ceiling by butcher¡¯s hooks. The ground felt unsteady under my feet. I heard Millie retch. I tasted bile at the back of my tongue. The air was cool yet tainted, morbid and yet so stupidly clean. I hated it. I was scared. I did not want to end up hanging like a piece of flesh. Workers stared at us, unsure what to do. Stupid. The gig was up. They ought to know. Anger and fear overcame uncertainty. We had to get out. I wouldn¡¯t die like that. Millie blinded one of the monsters while the rest of us sent offensive spells at them. Mathias grabbed the flailing one and broke her neck. One of the ghouls charged us, trailing his innards behind him with a horrific screech. ¡°You got to aim for the head, otherwise they won¡¯t die quickly,¡± Schindler said between gritted teeth. We raced again, finding a warehouse at the back. Jacob immediately cast a distant ward on the way to the workshop, hoping to belay the reinforcements but I could already hear rumbling steps on top of us where offices ought to be. There were transformed ghouls barring our way. They charged. I heard a growl. A half wolf monstrosity exploded from behind us, taking the first two ghouls down in a whirlwind of claws and fury. A howl and a gesture bid us to run. I was scared. Would we leave him behind? ¡°Where can we hold them?¡± Aramis asked as we sent spell after spell against their ranks. ¡°We don¡¯t! There are more than thirty of them,¡± Schindler hissed. ¡°Run!¡± We made to break through the still standing guards. They were falling, but not fast enough. Clawed fingers reaching for us. I had to stop them. ¡°Move,¡± I screamed. The fear spell managed to push away a few of the weaker ghouls. Millie and Jacob disabled the rest while Aramis led the charge. The heat from the nearby ovens would weaken my ice magic here. We had to leave. I heard a crash of glass as Mathis jumped. The door was so close. The few remaining ghouls barring our way fell, mangled by our efforts. Aramis sent a fireball at a wagon filled with dead pigs. They instantly burst into flame to my surprise. The fire quickly spread. A few ghouls were caught. The diversion was perfect, and I heard broken glass where Mathias was, perhaps windows? We were almost out. We were out, slamming the door behind us. We raced out of the death trap and onto a deserted street. The cold weather slapped me in the face after the intolerable heat of the fire. I gasped from the shock, but there was no time. The street extended in front of us. What should we do, regroup here? As soon as I thought that, another ghoul landed on the brick roof of the opposite side of the muddy street, atop a deserted house. There was a nest of them. Left seemed to lead out of the city. Probably good. Right? Right had an automobile roaring towards us. The mastodon screeched when the driver hit the brakes, then its massive steel frame rammed the landing ghoul and sent it tumbling to the side, a broken wreck. The back door opened. ¡°Get in,¡± a commanding voice told us. ¡°Go go go!¡± Schindler roared. She set the factory exit on fire as the first ghoul broke a hinge. Aramis had managed to lock it by slamming a bar against the handle but it wouldn¡¯t hold for long. We jumped more than got into the car, which was moving while Aramis¡¯ legs were still out. The closest ghoul missed him by a hair, then the others were after us like a pack of demented beasts. We were all here, well, all except¡­ I felt my throat close but pushed back my worries. Mathias was missing. This was the real world now. I had to fight first, wonder later. I looked around us. Millie was crammed against me in the relatively small, enclosed space. Come to think of it, the backseat was huge if it could hold four people. Wait, forget about us. Who were our rescuers? There were two persons in front of us. One was an old man with a grim face and pale traits. Dark brown eyes under bushy brows met the stare of the second passenger, the one who had urged us in. To my surprise, a young, pretty face with cold blue eyes and golden hair peeked from under a fancy fur hat occupied the passenger seat. She was eyeing the wheel with longing. ¡°No one is shooting at us,¡± the old man politely stated. ¡°I know. Turn right here, then stop at the end of the road.¡± A screech pulled my gaze back. We were pursued! Two dozen ghouls, at least. Mad with hunger. I flared my aura, ready to bombard them from the safety of the seat. The monsters were out now. They would slaughter their way through a few apartments then leave, spreading to a nearby city. Unless we stopped them here. Which was when, again, my gaze swiveled to the front when a familiar click attracted my attention. Now, the weapon teams of the Red Cabal mundane members trained with machine guns made by IGL, so I was familiar with most modern armaments, but the beast of a gun the woman was calmly assembling trumped anything I had ever seen be used by a human. Was she going to hunt elephants with that thing? With a last click, she chambered a bullet from the ammunition belt. ¡°Now would be good,¡± she said. The driver veered right sharply. I was thrown against Millie. Her elbow dug into my ribs. The woman immediately stepped out while we were still an awkward pile of limbs. She shoved her head back in a quarter of a second later. ¡°What are you waiting for, an invitation?¡± We were out before she had finished her sentence. We positioned ourselves in a half-circle, gauntlets forward. There were too many of them. I knew this, but we had little choice. The street was a chokepoint. It would have to do. The first of the ghouls turned the angle as I was almost finished casting. A few spells from Millie and Schindler wounded the first runners, slowing the rest down. It was my time now. Outside, there were no more vats. The sudden onset of winter bolstered me, funneling power in my construct. ¡°Grasp of the winter beast.¡± A wave of pure cold covered the charging ghouls in a white mist. Aramis¡¯ attack landed a moment later. ¡°Oppressor.¡± A powerful heatwave turned the mist into steam and the ghouls into white-fleshed, cooked beings. A few screamed as they died and others were sent to the ground, crawling after the loss of their legs. Oh, they were still attached, but I knew the score. They were meat still attached to barely living tissue. The damage on the wave was devastating. And yet, I knew it wouldn¡¯t be enough. This was our most powerful attacks and the back ranks had escaped it entirely. Even now, they jumped over the corpses of their fallen brethren, rushing us with exposed yellow fangs dripping drool. I prepared myself to make them pay for ¡ª. BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM I was forced to the side, holding my ears in pain. Loud! Goddamn, this was so loud. What was going on? So much smoke. In front of us, the slowed ghouls turned into paste and red mist, taken apart by a hail of bullets. Each impact shredded a body part, leaving naught behind but mangled meat held together by bloody strings. Such was the intensity of the slaughter that even the ghouls stopped where they were, stunned by such a display of violence. The dreadful carnage lasted for only three seconds, but it felt like an eternity, and when it finished, there was nothing left but discarded limbs on pulped innards. ¡°Holy shit,¡± Millie swore, unexpectedly rude. It looked like some demented painting. Or crumpled pink wallpaper, street-sized. From far enough away. Jesus. ¡°Well that¡¯s that then. Congratulations, I am off,¡± the blonde woman declared. She jumped back into the car, which took off at speed, leaving us all stranded between a rock and a disgusting place. ¡°We should move,¡± Schindler said. And we did. We trotted away from the horrible slaughter. I believed my friends and I all shared the same observation as we latched on anything that would erase the memory of all that human flesh. It didn¡¯t take a genius to realize who it was that had saved us. ¡°A weapon of that size and power wielded so casually¡­¡± I began. ¡°I never met her in person, but she matches the description,¡± Jacob added. ¡°It can only be her. The Red Cabal¡¯s vampire founder. The Hand of the Accords,¡± Aramis said. Millie says what we all figured out. ¡°It was the legendary Boom Girl, Ariane of the Nirari. What is she doing here?¡± The mystery was only growing more confusing. *** The retreat to our hotel was swift and decisive. It was dark now, and we could not afford to be caught in the open by the killer at all. At least, the hotel room was warded. I was immensely relieved when we found Mathias waiting for us in the lobby, looking a little worse for wear. Our hotel was an old one, and the receptionist was glaring at the disheveled man with clear disapproval but she was clearly hesitant to go out and confront him. He was clean now, and wore warm clothes. Our eyes met. He felt brittle to me, fragile, now that the layer of bravado had been peeled. It made him eminently human. And infinitely more sympathetic. ¡°You¡¯re alive. I was fearing the worst,¡± I told him. ¡°We are glad to see you well,¡± Aramis added immediately after, then Jacob, too, expressed his relief. ¡°My man, that was some awesome display. You really helped us out here.¡± The three men exchanged virile nods. ¡°Very moving, children. Let us continue upstairs, hmm?¡± We had booked the upper floor suite, which had enough room for all of us provided we slept two abed, something that had not been an issue until now since Millie and I were used to it. I felt the world crashing down on my shoulders as soon as the door was locked tight. Never had a nondescript lounge felt so homey before, so comforting. So normal. It¡­ had been a day. I killed a creature in combat for the first time in my life in that factory and I felt, well, empty. I looked at the others as we listlessly crashed on the faded couches. Only Instructor Schindler retained the wherewithal to check the wards, a silent figure looking over us yet letting us make mistakes. Millie and Aramis soon leave to get changed, their clothes stained with blood. I was luckier and avoided most of the gore, so I warmed up some tea instead. Mathias was still here. He gingerly approached me while I gathered enough cups for everyone. ¡°I am sorry. The beast in me, it¡­ What I am trying to say is that I could not help it. I had to leave, to protect you all.¡± A surge of fear and disgust at the bloodthirsty form surged through my heart, yet I pushed it aside. What a strange feeling to have. I knew about werewolves, having trained with some before. I knew the curse was incredibly difficult to manage. Besides, he had helped us escape mostly unscathed. Shaking my head, I focused on his vulnerable gaze as he waited for a word from me. I felt strange having so much hold over someone I only just met. ¡°No, do not apologize. Your timely help allowed us to escape. You¡­ you did well.¡± He blinked, the picture of a flabbergasted child. ¡°You think so? Really?¡± Once more I felt a curious drive to push him away and resisted it. Were my emotions so out of control tonight that I would wound our savior with unkind words? Well, at the very least our ally? Something was wrong with me. ¡°We are told about your struggles at school,¡± I try, slowly. For a moment, I felt resistance, but then it broke. ¡°I do not begrudge you your nature. Thanks for your help.¡± ¡°Ah, I am touched. I do not know what to say. Our leader, Quill, says that outsiders will never understand us. I really thought you¡­Well, nevermind.¡± ¡°You know, the Red Cabal offers a safe place for people like you. And your sister. I mean, you seem happy enough here¡­¡± I hazarded. Suddenly, Mathias is very close, so close I feel the warmth of his presence. ¡°Is it Constance the recruiter, or Constance the friend speaking?¡± ¡°The friend,¡± I reply, then because I feel like I put a foot in quicksand, ¡°but just the friend. We are not that well accustomed, as I am sure you have realized.¡± ¡°I have realized enough. Watch how someone acts in a crisis and you get their measure, our mother would have said. You acted like everything I was hoping for.¡± I pushed him away, firmly, because the pain in his eyes might make me falter. I did not know Mathias, not meaningfully. I would not succumb to my basic need for company, not if I was going to be hurt again. Especially not with Millie growing distant and catty. ¡°You are going too fast and I am not convinced. I am sorry.¡± Mathias took a step back, defeated. ¡°I should go. I will run back to our compound through public streets, not to worry.¡± He was out before I could utter a word. I saw Instructor Schindler walk by, inspecting our windows and wondered if she had heard. If she had, she did not say a word. I felt guilty. I had given him hope and hurt him afterward. Maybe it would have been a mercy to tell him werewolves scared me. Then he could have blamed me, not himself. Or perhaps I could stop trying to care about how others felt when I hurt so much myself. No, I had to be strong. Not let the others see my loneliness. I could accept indifference but not pity. Never pity. Out of ideas, I returned back to our room to the side. Millie should have been done by now. To my surprise, I heard Aramis¡¯ voice coming from my room. ¡°What is it you wanted to say?¡± he asked in a tired voice. I stumbled, then stumbled again when Millie spoke next. ¡°She doesn¡¯t love you. She wants the werewolf. Forget her, because I do love you more than anything.¡± ¡°What?¡± I entered the room, only to see the pair kissing. Well, it was more Millie dragging Aramis down by the collar and reaching up. He even let out a little gasp of surprise. Nevertheless, he did not move. Millie and I exchanged a glare. Hers was triumphant, tinted with fear and hatred. I had never seen such an expression on her face. It hurt. It hurt even more coming from her, and it hurt now, while we were vulnerable. I wanted to hide and cry and just forget about everything, but I could not. We had to leave and visit the Red Cabal¡¯s vampire contact the very same night, despite the risk. I could not face going out again and yet we had little choice. I did not know what to do. s?a??h th? N0v?lFir?.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. I really didn¡¯t think Millie could be so foolish. ¡°Why?¡± I ask her as she runs by. ¡°Because¡­¡± For a moment, her expression breaks and I see the little crybaby I used to protect from bully boys. ¡°Because I want to be happy as well!¡± she sobbed, fleeing. I do not know what to say. ¡°This isn¡¯t what it looks like,¡± Aramis begged. He looked mortified. Again, I felt a foreign pull telling me to be angry, to lash at him for courting both my friend and I. Again, I pushed it away. What a ridiculous notion. Millie set this up, and as to why, it did not take a genius to figure out. The heart had its reasons that reason could not grasp, as they say. ¡°Really? It looks to me that Millie finally snapped. I apologize on her behalf. She is not herself. Although, she will have to apologize to me first, the little minx. Ugh. What is wrong with everybody tonight?¡± ¡°You¡­ you believe me?¡± Aramis blinked owlishly, the pull breaking. ¡°Well yes. I have never seen anyone so reluctant to kiss before in my whole life. You looked like a drenched cat.¡± ¡°Constance I¡­ I wish you hadn¡¯t seen me like this, no matter what. I should have pushed her away, I should¡­¡± ¡°Don¡¯t take responsibility for idiots or you¡¯ll be apologizing all day. I got it. The blood, it¡¯s making all of us stressed out. I think¡­ we were not ready for the hunt, for tonight. The dead¡­ Well, I¡¯m sure Schindler will call it in. All those bodies¡­¡± ¡°Yes, it was horrible. And yet we have to go,¡± he said. ¡°And yet we will go,¡± I agreed. ¡°And solve this emotional mess later. I don¡¯t want to open now or I¡¯ll crack. I¡­ I hope you can understand.¡± ¡°I¡¯m more than happy to¡­ spend more time together, after we are done here,¡± Aramis agreed. He reached for my hand, gave me a squeeze that sent shivers down my spine. His fingers were calloused yet his grasp was tender. I think I liked it. I moved my hand to my heart before I realized it. ¡°Yes. When we head back. For now, focus, or we might die yet,¡± I told him. ¡°Good.¡± Aramis nodded. I waited for a few seconds before needling him on. ¡°Aramis.¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°You¡¯re in my room. Get out, I need to get changed.¡± ¡°Oh! Sorry.¡± *** The carriage dropped us at the edge of town, in a marshy area on the shore of the River White. The sudden winter that gripped the earth had taken everyone by surprise, and those who could headed home early. I did not share that I saw an emaciated woman leaning against a wall in the distance, the snow sticking to her alabaster skin. She had been too unprepared. There were few fates left in store when the fires of progress left someone behind. Death was not even the most cruel one. The others shivered despite their warm clothes, though I did not. The air here felt good, pure after the horrid stench of the meat plant. Almost otherworldly. The layer of grime that turned the city¡¯s ice gray and pokemarked after only a few hours failed to take hold here. A merciless wind caressed my hair. It refreshed my mind after the ordeal of the past few days. We followed a path through the naked trees. Soon, whatever electric light could still be seen faded in the distance. A series of strange, magical lanterns cast a purple glare on the path. A light wind caressed the glittery branch and made them clink like chimes. I felt smothered yet protected here, in this land of pure winter. I did not wait for the others. I followed the path where it would lead, pulled forward by some strange call. I knew they were following from the sound. Above us, there were no stars. I could not even spot the clouds. There was just an endless abyss. The wind died. I was the first to see light dancing furtively between the dark trees, then we saw more. Enchanted lights in bulbs and glass containers radiated in cold hues around a frozen clearing. Purples, blues, and whites mirrored by hanging icicles shone like candelabras over a lone court lost to the world. No sound penetrated this place. The silence, besides us, was absolute. We approached and took notice of this open-sky room¡¯s only occupant. Sitting atop a throne of ice, the woman wore an armor of deep cobalt that felt grown more than forged out of a shining star inserted in the chest plate. Delicate patterns on vortices and sharp angles decorated its surface, the deeper parts hypnotizing yet still like the surface of a lake. Strands of smooth blonde hair rested on it, falling free from under an impressive helm. Eyes like blue fire looked at us as we entered softly, reverently. This impression lasted for a few seconds, but then it broke like a flimsy mirror. This was Ariane of the Nirari, one of our sponsors. The woman we¡¯d seen in the car earlier, just presented differently. A part of me resisted the pull of some force that would twist my perception. A quick glance backward revealed that the others were not so fortunate. Their gazes were filled with fear and stars. I did not understand. ¡°You have come,¡± the woman said in a soft voice that nevertheless carried. ¡°Speak your request.¡± Seeing that the others were silent for now, I decided to take the initiative. I still was not sure if I should be transfixed like them and the problem lay with me, or if their fascination was misplaced and the problem lay with them. It was puzzling. And frustrating. ¡°We would like your assistance in slaying the vampire who has been killing in Indianapolis,¡± I said. ¡°And what have you learned so far?¡± she asked. ¡°That they are a rogue, a young one.¡± A nod urges me on. This is a test as well, and I am ready. I must defend our ability, show that we were able to glean much despite the unusual circumstances. ¡°They are a rogue because they failed to hide their traces after a violent feeding. If they meant to send a message, they would not have ripped the throat of every victim to hide the fang mark. If they meant to frame a faction, they would not have attacked the werewolves as well. Or at least, not so soon. A sane vampire would have already moved on after being so blatant, I think. As for their age, rogues typically go on a rampage when they start, but this one did not. In fact, they picked isolated targets that were safer to kill. A feeding might have sufficed to make them sleepy. Hence why I think it is a young one. There are other signs, like believing ripping the throat would be enough to confuse a determined detective. Finally¡­¡± ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°Finally, you would not let us go after a master.¡± She smiled under the helmet. ¡°Good. Your educated guesses are correct. Now, what do you wish?¡± ¡°Please help us kill it?¡± I asked, thinking it was obvious. ¡°You will finish the hunt you started.¡± ¡°Then at least help us find it?¡± Another smile. She leaned forward on her throne. A strange glass contraption appeared in her hand. It floated through the air to me. I picked it up. It is cold but not unreasonably so. I saw a captive compass within the sphere with a single drop of black blood held in magical stasis to prevent it from degrading to ash. It was a very expensive yet temporary construct that required the essence of its victim. That could only mean one thing. ¡°You found the vampire? You found and touched it? And you left?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± she simply replied. My voice died in my throat with a simple gesture, smothering my anger before it could even begin. ¡°I care not about the local powers. I would sacrifice them all if it meant gaining a competent team to deploy against the true threats of this world. We do not operate on the same scale, you and I, and lastly, remember this. We vampires defend the world as we see fit. You can give us lessons when you no longer need us.¡± Oh, so annoying, playing all high and mighty. Is the purpose of all those lessons not to teach us how to stop monsters? Would the hunt be different if Lucy or Ichabod were still breathing? It all sounded like excuses to me. Excuses by someone who simply didn¡¯t care. And yet, I gritted my teeth, not because she sat on that fancy throne but because the point she¡¯d made was unfortunately correct. The weak and isolated may not speak up or they would be pushed down while the mighty did as they pleased. It had always been the way my world worked, from child disputes to arguments. This was no different. ¡°Good, then you may go on your way. I will be watching your progress with interest.¡± I almost turned here and then, pushed by the others quietly retreating, but I decided to stand my ground. There was still something I wanted to know, and since it concerned me directly, I would at least ask, even if I may receive no answers. *** Ariane¡¯s Tale. It has all gone terribly. I can feel it. ¡°There is something you are not telling us,¡± Constance says. ¡°And you too, Miss Schindler. Something¡¯s wrong.¡± Although the others are too terrified or at least polite to stop, Constance stares defiantly. ¡°The Hand of the Accords and Red Cabal¡¯s main financial backer doesn¡¯t just show up to shadow a squad. I won¡¯t believe it. And I don¡¯t buy that talk about training us. No sane leader would send a squad of untested green blood, which is what we are, I¡¯m not ashamed to say, against a vampire. Rogue and isolated or not. Especially if you have veterans on hand and don¡¯t tell me you¡¯re here alone. Established vampires never travel alone. We¡¯ve been taught to remember that time and time again. You are hiding something from us, something major. I think it¡¯s fair for us to know since our lives are at stake. No? Does that not make sense?¡± Constance stops to catch her breath. Then, she turns on her instructor. ¡°And you, you knew from the start that there was more to this hunt than this.¡± ¡°Of course, I did, but I¡¯m not the one being evaluated. You are.¡± ¡°For what? No squad faces those odds. It¡¯s plain ridiculous.¡± ¡°May we have a word alone, the girl and I?¡± I ask softly. The rest of the squad is more than eager to grant us privacy. They retreat to a far side of the clearing where Aramis immediately starts a fire from wet wood and a considerable amount of power. The group huddles around it like moths to, well, a flame. Only Constance appears unbothered by the glacial temperature. Well, I suppose I should be honest. It would not do to lie to my potential servant. I can feel our connection, the thread of fate, yet she is different from any Vassal I ever had before. No snark, no righteous instincts. Just a keen intellect backed by blunt honesty. She feels sharpened to an edge and¡­ not what I expected. ¡°The truth is that I am training you for a specific purpose.¡± ¡°Question,¡± she retorts, ¡°did you know where the vampire was since you arrived here?¡± ¡°...yes?¡± ¡°And you didn¡¯t see it fit to stop them from killing? Chase them off?¡± ¡°As I said, I won¡¯t be here to save and protect you every time. You are responsible for the hunt.¡± ¡°But you did save us when we were at risk of being overwhelmed.¡± ¡°I consider the Red Cabal part of my alliance, so yes, I¡¯d take an extra step to save them.¡± ¡°Save them¡­ you¡­¡± A flash of realization stills her face. ¡°You meant to train me? Not the squad, me?¡± ¡°Yes. You specifically.¡± ¡°Why?¡± And here we go. ¡°I believe you are meant to be my Servant, my bonded pair. The mortal side of the coin.¡± Constance glares at that. I was hoping for more. I wished I had time for a better delivery. The situation is slipping from my fingers and I do not know why, or how. I can see her emotions and yet a strange barrier prevents me from understanding them. Perhaps it has been too long since I last had a vassal? She is pushing me away. The strands of fate are being undone before my very eyes. ¡°Me? You don¡¯t know me. I¡¯m just a nobody.¡± ¡°You are not a nobody. I have been watching over you since your birth.¡± ¡°No fucking way.¡± ¡°Language! And yes, very much way.¡± ¡°You have been watching over me since my birth? My birth? Almost two decades ago?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± Pained rage twists her traits. She balls her fists and takes a few angry steps forward. ¡°And you didn¡¯t see it fit to tell me at any point?¡± she demands. ¡°During that entire time?¡± ¡°I¡­ human children are¡­¡± ¡°Eighteen years?¡± she screams. ¡°I¡­¡± ¡°And you didn¡¯t talk to me once? One fucking time?¡± I watch her pace in silence. Blue streaks lash out from her aura, turning the snow to crystal and the soil to permafrost. This is getting worse and worse. I am swallowed in the hurricane of her fury. ¡°Do you have any idea, do you have any notion what it would have meant to me if you¡¯d just told me someone, anyone, just one person cared that I was here? Do you know how much it would have meant to know I was wanted, even by a single person? Looked after by someone? Do you know, what it means, to matter? Even a little? Just one fucking word. One word. Just one single sentence. That would have been enough to make a difference. Human children? Do you think human children are complicated or what, you mighty vampire? Huh?¡± ¡°I¡­ find it difficult. To relate.¡± ¡°I find it difficult to grow as an orphan only to discover I spent eighteen years thinking I was unwanted and someone just stood there and said nothing. I would have been even ok with you missing my fucking birthdays, you understand? I just wanted to know! Why even keep silent? How much effort would it have taken to spend a few minutes with me while we all know you are based in the same damn city!¡± She stomps away, clad in roaring winds. Branches crack overhead from exploding sap. She whirls around. ¡°My birth. Since my birth. So you know who my parents are.¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Are they even alive?¡± The truth. The truth must be told. She is not a Vassal yet, but the truth must be told. My essence will not tolerate hypocrisy at this junction. ¡°... yes, both of them.¡± ¡°I¡­ I just¡­¡± She throws her hands in the air, then sprints away, into the forest. Well. Shit. It has all gone bad. This is a bit of a humbling experience, I should think. None of the planning and theatrics matter because, in the end, I have been sowing the seeds of my failures since the girl¡¯s birth. What she said was right. I was sloppy. I have been so focused on gaining power to face Nirari that I forgot a Servant is a human first and a tool second. Oh, I have no doubt the lack of Vassals had a role to play in my carelessness, but I am not stupid. I should have known better. I was just so busy, busy with every small operation, with details. I lost sight of what mattered. The Hand forgot the heart. I suppose the time has come to fix my mistakes. If she will let me. Chapter 207: Family Humans are stupid.I wish I could blame most of the nonsensical behaviors to either fate or an addled, fringe elements. Unfortunately, the case remains that even those who should know better do worse. It is with disappointment but no great surprise that I watch Millie enter the building just before dawn, interrupting the rogue vampire¡¯s departure preparation. ¡°Where are you? Come out here?¡± she half-sobs, half-screams. ¡°I won¡¯t let you hurt anyone else!¡± Her small mage light wobbles in the frigid air. From the rafters, I wonder exactly how she intends to achieve this. The answer is soon provided when the young adult exposes her throat willingly and quite dramatically. If we were at the opera, I would have judged her performance dramatic and over-the-top. Fiction is often no match for reality, it seems. A hiss answers her from deeper in the warehouse. The rogue releases her pack to investigate the cause of the disturbance on her domain. If Millie had used a quarter of her brain, she would have realized the rogue would have stayed the day and departed at twilight. Who leaves only shortly before the outside world turns into a deathly oven, I ask? Foolishness of all foolishnesses. You have to understand the prey when you hunt, or you are playing a game of chance. ¡°What¡­ are you doing here?¡± the rogue asks in a cracked, low voice. She has still retained her ability to think to an extent, though it matters little. Conversations with a rogue only ever end one way. ¡°I won¡¯t be a burden on my friends anymore. I have betrayed them¡­ betrayed the person I used to see as my sister, and for what? He doesn¡¯t love me! It is better to make myself useful in the only way I can still think of!¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°You heard me, beast! I am here to die.¡± ¡°That¡­ is good then.¡± Ah, the heroic sacrifice trope on the road to redemption. I am familiar with the concept and still find it overused to this day. Many times, such as now, the life of the guilty could have been spared for later use if only they had not chosen the easy way out. But I digress. Perhaps it is godling magic or simply youthful hormones driven to despair. The question remains. Do I save Millie? I believe I have to. Constance has already derailed the tragedy with her multiple use of that incredible power: basic common sense. If I were to let Millie die, it would not make the story much more convincing. Worse, I would lose any chance I have of attracting Constance to my cause. No, I believe I am compelled to save the horrid little airhead. Curses. May Darwin forgive me for what I am about to do. ¡°Now¡­ stay still. Morsel¡­ Youngest princess.¡± I dramatically drop from the ceiling in front of the slavering rogue, then grab her by the shoulder and smash her against a nearby wall. She falls, temporarily stunned. ¡°You are being silly,¡± I tell the flabbergasted young mage. ¡°And if it is death you wish for, I shall contact your instructor back in Marquette. There are some drills that will make you wish you were.¡± ¡°I just wanted to stop her!¡± ¡°And you picked the most costly and inefficient manner to do so. Your friends will mourn your loss more than you could ever know, so sit down to the side, shut up, and let me work.¡± ¡°They hate me!¡± ¡°There is a terrible gap between being annoyed at someone and seeing their lifeless body sprawled on the ground, believe me. This is my last polite request. Do as I say.¡± Millie trots to the side, chastised and denied her moment. Silly humans. I return my attention to the rogue vampire. She has picked an abandoned factory with all its equipment taken, leaving naked walls and rusty doors. The lingering scent of old blood and the general air of abandonment suit her. The biting cold of the pre-dawn has frozen the fresh blood on her throat into a shiny ruby coat. Her acid smell mixes with that of the pungent setting. As soon as she sees me, her mouth opens with disbelief, revealing eight stained fangs. The woman has straight black hair, cut short around her neck, and hooded dark eyes. The tattered dress reveals a thin build with the corded muscles of a dancer. She is hunched and feels frail, brittle, an impression only reinforced by the caked blood on her talons. She sways dangerously. she wails. She clutches her forearm with her filthy fingers while her face shows rage and despair in equal measure. I say, and find that I mean it. she whispers. S?a??h the Nov?lF?re .??t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. Millie remains frozen in fear. It matters not. The rogue is far gone, too far gone. Her rictus of rage mark a Devourer and the claws show she is far beyond salvation. Thrown away too young, broken too fast. She never stood a chance. Our instincts are so difficult to manage if we are left alone. And she was left alone. It happens very fast. Nirari did not force feed that specific spawn, not like the others. She is terribly weak. I grab her mid air, then drink her dry as softly as I can. I discard her memories. There is nothing to find here that I do not already know. She fades away, though I manage to grant her a few seconds of peace before she leaves for the Watcher¡¯s embrace, free of the Thirst for some precious moments. She did not deserve it. None of us did. A wave of exhaustion washes over me. The sun will rise very soon. I leave Millie with her friends who came rushing to her rescue as soon as they realized she was gone. They would have found her lifeless body and the sleepy vampire, which would have been at their mercy. I believe I prefer my version better. With little else left to do, I leave them to their reunion. *** Reynaud laughs when his grandchildren hit his legs at full speed. They squeal ¡®Papy!¡¯ and demand sweets. Their mother scolds them shortly after while her husband smiles. We watch from the carriage like thieves. After a short discussion, the young couple leaves in their finest clothes for some spring event while Constance¡¯s father walks back in with his grandchildren. There is no denying the air of familiarity between all of them, though the old mans¡¯ traits are smoother where Constance is all sharp angles and exotic grace. Constance keeps quiet for a while. I wait. ¡°So¡­ he really doesn¡¯t know I exist?¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°Explain. I know how babies are made, Ariane. Surely he would know that if he sowed his seed, there was a chance it would take? No?¡± ¡°He was not himself.¡± I sigh. There is no good way to say that. ¡°Your mother damaged his mind when she forced herself upon him. She was not trained in mind magic. She still is not trained in mind magic,¡± I amend. ¡°We let the memories fade because it would let him recover quickly.¡± ¡°So he doesn¡¯t know. And he is mundane. And he would not believe me. And his family¡­ this is a Puritan region.¡± ¡°It is still your right, and he is still your father,¡± I tell her. ¡°You were right to tell me I had no authority to deny you this birthright. I could arrange a meeting in private. Keep it secret.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t want to be a dirty secret!¡± she roars back. ¡°I want to be accepted! I don¡¯t want some cloak and dagger meeting, alright? I want the real deal.¡± I do not speak. We both know it will not happen. My negligence made sure of it. So did her mother, and so did puritanic society. Mundane humans do not really understand mind magic. If I had explained right away he was spelled, it would have been a terrible indiscretion that endangered his marriage and I could have smoothed things over. Now, though, so much time has passed that the wound has scarred over. Constance¡¯s appearance would never go smoothly. Not even with a generous dose of charm, which I am wary of using. ¡°I¡­ need to think. I don¡¯t want to meet him like that. I want to see my mother first. I need to understand¡­ what or why she was doing. What she was trying to accomplish.¡± I nod to the chauffeur and we are out. *** The Allister House of Retreat stands on the shore of the Patapsco river, just before it pours into the Chesapeake Bay. It also belongs to the sphere of influence of Madrigal, Mask ambassador to the Accords and a man known for his neutrality. Few in the entourage of vampires fall into substance abuse with the exception of alcohol. The presence of a powerful supernatural creature tends to captivate the mind, I have found, and all but the most alienated artists prefer the mysteries of reality to the mist-filled dreams of opiates. Mages even more so. Perhaps it is their fae ancestry, or perhaps changing the world with one¡¯s mind provides a deep sense of satisfaction that leads to violence before it leads to listlessness. There are, of course, exceptions. The Allister house welcomes all those who cannot face the day and their own cravings in its calming embrace. A thousand acres of park and forest surrounded by tall fences protects its inhabitants¡¯ privacy, but the orderlies that patrol it also protect them from themselves. I have no need to hide here. My existence is well known, and so we park near the entrance in a designated spot. ¡°Well, this is it,¡± Constance says without break. ¡°Three days of travel for this. Eighteen years for this, actually.¡± She looks at me, searching for words. ¡°Am I making a mistake?¡± she asks. ¡°I do not think so. You need the truth now, even if it turns out to be disappointing. What you are feeling is nervousness.¡± ¡°Are you reading my mind?¡± she asks with suspicion. ¡°I do not need magical powers to understand the motivations of young adults, fortunately.¡± ¡°True, you just don¡¯t care. Most of the time.¡± ¡°There happens to be a lot of you around,¡± I reply without much bite. ¡°Hmph! Well, I¡¯m off. Don¡¯t leave the engine running.¡± She is off like a storm. Chauffeur leans to the side and we exchange a glance. His dark eyes under the bushy brows express only one emotion: doubt. ¡°Ma¡¯am?¡± ¡°Leave the engine running. I will spy on them.¡± His wordless disapproval radiates out when I leave the car. Constance is still in the lobby, signing some admission papers. I cleared her in advance and, instead of following, climb the outside wall to Natalie¡¯s room where I settle in to wait. It only takes a minute for Constance to reach the locked chamber. ¡°You got a visitor,¡± a female orderly soberly announces. ¡°Yeah?¡± a voice replied. I use the eye spell to observe the following scene through the wall. Natalie looks good in a conservative dress, despite the circumstances. She is clean and healthy with dark hair that reaches her shoulders, full cheeks, a rosy skin, and the general poise and strength of a mage in her prime. Her dark eyes follow Constance¡¯s own gray when she arrives, then she blinks. Between the two, the air of family is more than evident. Constance really takes after her mother, though her chin is more forward and her beauty more unconventional. Natalie is not stupid. She immediately understands who she faces, and grips Constance¡¯s shoulder with great strength. ¡°It¡­ it cannot be. It¡¯s you? You? Constance? My¡­ my daughter?¡± Tears well in her eyes, an emotion mirrored by her daughter. The two stay there, standing in front of each other in disbelief that they finally meet. ¡°Look at you, so big already. So, tell me how you are? I was told you''ve graduated?¡± ¡°Yes! You know? I mean, you know about me?¡± ¡°Of course, I¡¯ve been following your progress for a long time. It¡¯s unfair that we¡¯ve been separated like that, but now that we¡¯re here we can all make it better. Stay together, be a family! Listen, I am sorry I wasn¡¯t there before. The years I had you it¡­ was really hard. Luck really tossed me around you see? But now, it will all be right.¡± ¡°Yeah, yeah but I got questions. Stuff I need to know.¡± ¡°Oh, of course, sweetie, anything you want, I¡¯ll tell you. Your mother won¡¯t hide from you.¡± Constance blinks slowly. ¡°I mean¡­ yes, fine. Yes, the truth. I heard, well, I heard you and my father, it didn¡¯t go well.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not fair of you to say so. They have lied to you,¡± Natalie replies with a frown. ¡°Sorry.¡± ¡°Oh, it¡¯s nothing sweetie, not your fault at all either! Anyway, he was looking at me with all this desire ¡ª men are beasts, you know ¡ª then we grew close¡­ very close, over a period of a few weeks. He was away from an unhappy marriage to a harridan down south, arranged by his parents. Some woman he¡¯d barely ever met before.¡± ¡°But then, why use mind magic?¡± Natalie¡¯s smile freezes on her face, though she battles on. ¡°Oh sweetie, it ain¡¯t that simple. I had no choice, see? I just wanted him to see me as I was, not the daughter of someone or a member of a family but me, your mother. A person undefined by her circumstances. I was untrained, so it ain¡¯t my fault. No one ever told me that my wishes could hurt people! But that¡¯s water under the bridge. We don¡¯t need him. Just you and me, we¡¯re going to have such a grand time together. Think about it!¡± ¡°But errr, you¡¯re trained right now?¡± ¡°Yes, yes, I¡¯ve done some of those horribly tedious exercises. Images and whatnot. Not that it would matter since I am shackled like an animal. Look!¡± Natalie pulled on her collar, revealing a silver filigree torque of good make. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ a restraining collar. Used on rogue mages. But¡­ mother, those visualization exercises are the base of mage training. Have you not achieved materialization yet? Or do they prevent you from manipulating your essence?¡± ¡°Oh, I can¡¯t possibly practice when no one lets me do anything and I constantly have someone looking over my shoulder like I am a child. But you are here now! We can do it together! It will be a great bonding moment.¡± ¡°Right. Right, that sounds good, I think. Yes. We should spend more time together. That practice sounds good. I¡¯ll make sure that¡­ yeah, that I am here.¡± ¡°Oh, honey, we are not leaving? I thought we could go together.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know¡­ you are not in control of your abilities if you are still at this early stage of¡­ how can it be, you must be at least¡­ but no. No.¡± I watch Constance lose her sheen of hopeful happiness with morbid fascination. In my breast, I feel an unusual, cold feeling of dread. I realize what it is with painful slowness. Sympathy. For what is happening. For what I can count on Natalie to reliably do next. ¡°It¡¯s alright, sweety, it¡¯s alright. We can take our time. I¡¯m sure those reasonable ladies and gentlemen downstairs will let me go after you make a demand. You¡¯re important now, right? I can wait a bit longer. It¡¯s an important moment for us.¡± ¡°Right.¡± Natalie licks her lips, considering. And here we go. ¡°Just wondering, could you give me a little something? Five dollars would do. It¡¯s so boring here, I need something to take off the edge.¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°Just to tide me over until we leave. I¡¯ll arrange something with the guards.¡± Constance opens and closes her mouth like a fish out of water. ¡°You¡­what? Mother, you are sick.¡± ¡°No! Don¡¯t listen to what they say, I¡¯m perfectly fine.¡± ¡°You¡­ you¡­ but we said together, we¡­¡± ¡°Of course, dearie, of course, together! Your mother just wants to live a while, is all. Don¡¯t hold it against me, yeah? It¡¯s nothing. I¡¯m in control.¡± Natalie¡¯s smile grew strained. ¡°I¡­ gotta go. I got to go now,¡± Constance says. I watch her storm out, her back bent under the weight of pain. ¡°I love you,¡± Natalie sweetly says while the door slams shut. With a simple spell, I open the window. Natalie¡¯s head swivels towards me. ¡°You are such a fuckup,¡± I say. ¡°You bitch, you turned her against me!¡± I watch her rage-filled face for a few moments. ¡°You¡¯ve always been my greatest disappointment. Well, I¡¯m off to pick the pieces. Farewell.¡± ¡°Curse you!¡± I let myself fall down while taking great care not to let my dress flare. This is a civilian outfit. It does not come with my many improvements. I am inside of the car by the time Constance strides through the lobby. ¡°Miss, you need to sign¡­¡± ¡°FUCK OFF.¡± I can hear the staff girl talk to an orderly. ¡°Wow, rude.¡± ¡°She¡¯s Natalie¡¯s daughter, met her for the first time.¡± ¡°Ah. The poor thing. I forgive her then.¡± Constance gets in the car, slamming the door behind her with such strength that the glass shakes. She places her head against the driver¡¯s seat and sighs heavily. A few hiccups follow. Hmmm. She smells of extreme distress. This will not do. ¡°You know,¡± I hesitantly start, ¡°one of your ancestors on your father¡¯s side was my brother Hercule. I miss him dearly.¡± She looks up, eyes red and filled with tears. ¡°Which makes me your great great aunt, I believe. And thus family.¡± She sniffs, possibly a bit lost. ¡°So. Hug?¡± ¡°Yeah, I could use a hug right now.¡± ¡°Then hug.¡± We hug. I believe I have not hugged anyone in forever. Embraced a lover, yes, but not¡­ hugged. It feels quite strange. Since it is her, I do not mind. I signal the chauffeur and we are off while Constance bawls her heart and snot out over my shoulder. It takes quite a bit of time for her to go through all that pain, so I merely stay there. ¡°You smell comforting,¡± she says as we finally split apart. ¡°Why do you smell comforting?¡± ¡°Perhaps because we are family.¡± That is a lie. We smell comforting because it lures the mortal, yet I have no wish to hurt her or prey on her. For once, my scent becomes just that. ¡°Oh. Pfft. Wait, do I have more living relatives? Besides those two, I mean.¡± ¡°Yes, your maternal grandfather will be quite cross with me when he finds out I hid your existence from him.¡± ¡°I am still quite cross with you as well, Ariane. Do not think that a hug and a sorry will erase eighteen years of absence.¡± ¡°Naturally. And you have more mages on your mother¡¯s side. Lynn, for example. She is your great grandmother.¡± ¡°Lynn Merritt? She was always kind to me. Do you think she knew?¡± ¡°I did not tell her, but perhaps she felt something. Enchanters like her tend to be more sensitive.¡± ¡°Right. I want to talk to her and my grampa. What¡¯s his name?¡± ¡°Alexander Bingle. He is a marshall. Still not retired, though I understand he is busy writing his memoirs right now, having accumulated a good amount of wealth throughout his late career.¡± ¡°Bounties.¡± ¡°No, ah, grateful widows, if I understand.¡± ¡°Ah. And I want to know more about you. I have questions. And I want to ask your staff what they think of you. I don¡¯t want to just take your word for it. Like the chauffeur. Chauffeur, you will tell me what you think, right?¡± The chauffeur stops the car. He turns and gives Constance a look of condescending incredulity, then stare pointedly at me, present next to Constance and technically his employer, then back to Constance with the most speechless befuddlement I have ever seen in a mortal, then back to the road. ¡°Generally you should not ask what people think of their bosses in front of their bosses if you want an honest opinion,¡± I kindly inform her. ¡°Right, I knew that¡­¡± she grumbles. The rest of the trip is spent answering questions about my past. She attempts to count the total number of people I have killed and I must admit that I do not like where this is going. *** Constance prowled the Nirari vault for documents. The Nirari vault could also be called the archive room, complete with dust and a sour staff member. Constance preferred her term. The answer she sought was here, hidden in some volumes. A janitor and Ariane¡¯s butler had strongly hinted that the answer to her question slept in those drawers. After almost half an hour of search, she found it. An article clipped at the edge of a motion aimed at a certain A. Reynaud, preventing her from accessing IGL¡¯s official automobile for her personal use. That was it. Constance checked the date. The document dated back to 1891. So. Constance made a quick calculation. Cars were only just getting started on mass production now, which meant that automobiles were far and few at that time. The implication was clear. Ariane was not just the first person to have a car accident. She was the first to commit vehicular manslaughter. All in a window of a single day. Ariane was the world¡¯s first automobile road rager. That was why she was banned from driving. ¡°God help us all if she gets her hands on a wheel,¡± Constance muttered. ¡°Amen,¡± the archivist replied. Chapter 208: Sixth Despite her best effort, Constance didn¡¯t find anything too horrible about Ariane. The strangest element of it all was that she allowed Constance free reign over the domain. She felt like a child being allowed to play spy in a normal house, except she was an adult and the house was cannibalistic.The existence of ¡®Pookie¡¯ certainly came as a surprise. Despite that, the strangeness of a shape-shifting building mimic came second to Ariane¡¯s art collection. Some of the pieces there were mind-boggling in the truest sense of the word, leaving the spectator lost in a state of fugue. Ariane did have to drag her out but only because she¡¯d been trying to watch them all and the vampire argued it was no excuse to skip dinner. Constance had to relent. It was difficult to see someone who insisted on the benefits of a balanced diet and inquired about her taste for grilled spinach as a lethal threat. Constance would have been more suspicious if Ariane had been squeaky clean, but the Hand of the Accords (or the Boom Girl depending on whom you asked) made no secret about ¡®the murders¡¯ as she said, even directing Constance in the direction of her secret archives. Every accusation was either met by simple questions that undermined Constance¡¯s entire argument, or were met by a thoughtful ¡®hmmmm¡¯. ¡°You could have left the factory to his son. It wasn¡¯t fair for you to buy it at such a low price.¡± ¡°Even if it would have been repossessed two weeks later by the Bank of Missouri?¡± ¡°Well, errr, that is, no of course not! Not like that.¡± ¡°Hmmmm.¡± Or that time she had learned about a wholesale massacre. ¡°You could have just let them go! They were no longer a threat to you. To kill them all to the last was cruel, and an unnecessary loss of life.¡± ¡°Then you were fine with the execution of June¡¯s family? Since they knew she was a werewolf.¡± ¡°No! Wait, you could have just brainwashed them!¡± ¡°Brainwash five years of dogged pursuit ¡ª excuse the pun ¡ª and leave them as lobotomized simpletons. I thought it was more cruel.¡± ¡°How about¡­ paying them off?¡± Ariane didn¡¯t immediately comment about the astuteness of bribing bounty hunters who would sell their own mothers for three pennies and a beer, expecting them to respect their own promise. ¡°Hmmm,¡± she finally said. ¡°Augh!¡± The most annoying aspect was that Ariane never argued, and that the underlying message could not be clearer to Constance. If she were there, she could influence the vampire¡¯s decisions. It had been made obvious not just by the vampire but also by the quiet titan John who never told a lie, and even by that Isaac fellow whom she had officially hired to answer her questions. Those were the minor operations, most of them related to maintaining the peace, thwarting Integrist encroachement near her territory, or just taking revenge on people who mostly deserved it. The main attraction remained the constant war against dead world raids, a merciless conflict that spanned the entire continent and that Ariane spent most of her time managing, either directly or through her many allies. A quick skim of the reports revealed that the raids had been gaining in intensity though reducing in scope after several devastating losses. It seemed the foe had picked up on the vampires¡¯ ability to detect portals as they opened. Nevertheless, the losses the invaders were willing to withstand stunned her. Ariane, however, had a plan, one she remained particularly tight-lipped about. It was the only exception to her rule. ¡°I do not discuss ongoing operations with someone who might not be involved,¡± she had said from the recess of a comfortable couch in her office. ¡°Not even Constantine will be spared from this rule. No exceptions.¡± The vampire felt more raw in the late hours of the afternoon. More tired. There were pockets under her eyes while her skin tone felt more sickly than the usual delicate alabaster. The sun, it seemed, never truly released its hold. She moved less as well. ¡°I thought you would keep no secrets from me?¡± ¡°I keep no secret when it comes to my past deeds,¡± Ariane said, leaning forward with a stern expression. ¡°The secrets of others that could endanger them if known, and personal issues are off limits. Those play no role in your¡­ project to unearth every detail of my life for unethical behavior. Please respect those boundaries.¡± Constance felt a little chastened when she realized she had pushed Ariane to the limit. The vampire was strangely tolerant of mortals in many ways, especially if she saw them as belonging to her. The automobile revolution provided ample proof of that. It stopped at some point and past that, she was without mercy. A staff member had been caught trying to sell secrets to government agents a few years back. He had been summarily executed. No second chances. This at least, Constance could understand. Mages would be persecuted without mercy if they were not willing to go to certain lengths to defend themselves. ¡°What if I were to join you?¡± she asked. Ariane gave it some thought. ¡°You are trained well enough, I suppose.¡± ¡°I meant as your Vassal.¡± Constance found herself the center of attention of a creature whose attention was potentially deadly, yet she did not feel threatened. The old vampire just waited, quiet and quiescent in the dying hours of the day. She could have been a statue. ¡°I mean it. I have seen what you are trying to do, I suppose, and even if you were hiding things from me, it wouldn¡¯t matter much. I am still not exactly sure how Vassals help, though Master Isaac tried his best to explain. I don¡¯t see the value of being more human. I mean, do you really need it? Wait, don¡¯t answer that. I have seen what you are trying to do. I believe I understand. And if by joining you as a partner, I can protect earth from its most dangerous adversaries, I will do so gladly. It has been months. I believe that I still do not know who you really are, but your actions speak for you and in your favor. I will assist you.¡± Ariane nodded, slowly. ¡°Very well. Then there is the matter of sealing the pact. You need to drink my blood to forge this alliance.¡± ¡°Oh¡­ does it hurt?¡± ¡°No.¡± Ariane calmly slid a claw over her wrist, splitting her pale skin. Black blood slowly welled on its surface. Constance approached and kneeled, pressing her lips to the already closing gash. The blood was cold and thick like syrup. It seeped down her throat like liquid ice. ¡°Why is it¡­ spicy?¡± The vampire blinked. ¡°What?¡± ¡°It tastes spicy.¡± Constance licked her lips. ¡°Not bad at all, in fact. Very unusual. Will it turn to ash in my stomach?¡± ¡°Constance, as much as I appreciate your trust in this matter, this is not a tasting session.¡± ¡°Oh, sorry.¡± ¡°I wish your generation had a little bit more decorum, but I digress.¡± ¡°And also you¡¯re not the best person to talk about decorum, pirate queen.¡± ¡°It¡¯s Dread Pirate Queen to you, and how are tricorns not a proof of proper... Urg, it has already started.¡± ¡°What could you possibly mean?¡± ¡°The sass.¡± *** The dead world spread all around, a vast expanse of gray and ochre under a cloudy sky. The wind here was cold and persistent, though never violent. The mana here was dead and its lack, oppressive. The air smelled of perpetual ash. In contrast to the morose, unchanging nature of the place, the Accords base camp swarmed with activity. Men and women loaded the carriage train, orders fusing left and right. The uniforms spoke of the presence of many factions and they formed an eclectic bunch, but unerring discipline turned them into a careful dance instead of a mess. Constance looked front to her commanding officer, then to Ariane by her side. Several vampires stood at attention by the side, and they were more diverse than she would have expected. There was John in his titanic dark iron armor but also Urchin with his ever-changing blade, then a black woman in close-fitting mail wielding a spear. A large hispanic warrior in full plate wearing a massive sword stood next to a short fencer with a square jaw and a strangely wavy sword. In total, there were almost two dozen war-trained vampires in attendance. As for the humans, they numbered in the thousands. The officer, a burly man with gray hair in an actual army uniform, spoke first. His words carried over the general hum of activity. As soon as he started speaking, the rest of the army fell silent. ¡°Gentlemen! And ladies, I suppose. I¡¯m sure you¡¯re all wondering why the secrecy, so I¡¯ll tell you now. As of a month ago, the e spotted the liches¡¯ main base in North America.¡± A wave of susurrus surged from the ranks, with many turning to their friends. ¡°Silence,¡± a woman¡¯s voice said, quieting everyone instantly. ¡°This is no time for gossip,¡± the officer continued. ¡°You know the deal. Those monsters are using that place as a staging ground to unleash their slave raiding parties on our land, kidnapping left and right. They¡¯ve eluded us for years with their clever use of this world¡¯s terrain but we spotted them in a caldera not far from here, and now, we got them.¡± A low rumble rose from a thousand angry throats. This time, the vampire didn¡¯t interrupt. ¡°We¡¯re going to march there, liberate the captives, raze it to the ground, and kill every last fucker who thought they could ravage our earth.¡± This time the roars were louder but the general quieted them with a gesture. ¡°The plan is simple. You will march with your company at the edge of the caldera then walk along it until you are in position. Your approach will be covered by our irregulars¡­¡± His eyes flickered to Ariane who was even now decked in her otherworldly armor. ¡°Under no circumstances should you shoot your gun. We must not let the enemy know they are found out until the very last moment. If you are found by hounds, fix bayonets and take them down. You will not fire unless expressly ordered to do so, am I clear?¡± ¡°Sir yes sir!¡± ¡°Good. Once you are in position, a signal will be given and you will walk over the edge then down on the base according to your CO¡¯s orders. Those of you who¡¯ve never fought with the cold ones, remember to seek cover in the thorns.¡± Part of the army looked on in confusion while the rest chuckled. Someone next to Constance brushed off a rookie¡¯s question. ¡°You¡¯ll see. Can¡¯t miss it.¡± No one spoke in Constance¡¯s squad. They were all scarred veterans, and the speech had not affected them. Instead, they searched the horizon for signs of hostility. Constance thought some of them might be searching their own ranks, too. She was no idiot. The squad had accepted her as their mage with no questions, no comments, not even a remark that she was a young woman. She could tell they were bodyguards almost at a glance. Their presence comforted her, but not as much as Ariane¡¯s next words. A sound enchantment carried her voice to Constance¡¯s ears. ¡°I have ordered John to look after you. He will protect your life as if it were my own.¡± ¡°It will be done,¡± the colossus rumbled with unshakeable conviction. ¡°I must leave you now. You will be in good hands but you will also be in a battle. Keep your eyes open and ready.¡± With this, Ariane moved to the back of the formation where her flying warship was waiting. The rest of the army moved out immediately, their progress made easier by the lack of need for a road. There were no forests to block the path here. They could spread out as much as they wanted. Or they would if it were not the wildlife. The most boring yet stressful part of any battle started there. The soldiers walked in columns under a cloud of dust from the forward elements. Warned, Constance had brought a shawl to wrap around her nose. The grit still stung her eyes when the wind picked up. ¡°Why are we wearing winterized stuff? It¡¯s so hot in here,¡± someone said to her right. ¡°Trust me you¡¯ll regret it if you don¡¯t,¡± a veteran replied. Constance assumed it was for those who would end up fighting next to Ariane, though perhaps having the entire army wear hot garments was a waste. There were probably considerations she didn¡¯t know. Or perhaps it was not related to Ariane at all, and she was blowing her new partner¡¯s importance out of proportion. Her thoughts grew muddled and she focused on putting one foot in front of the other. Minutes blurred into hours. Squads stopped only once to drink and attend to natural needs. She could see John moving by her left flank, sometimes. The right flank was covered by more soldiers she could shake a stick at. Mundane ones. Close to noon, the ground started to rise. They came across crevices and broken earth that forced the columns to split. Strange, spine-like formation of white rock sprang from the earth like rotten bone from a cadaver. The barren soil turned a deeper shade of red until her boots and the entire landscape appeared rusty and pitted. They came across gutted hounds including a broodmother sometime later. By early afternoon, the slope was clear. She could spot a large, circular elevation in front of them through gaps in the cracked terrain. They were almost there. Groups stopped to eat cold rations before the last stretch. Constance was so nervous she could barely taste anything. Then it was time to climb. Hers was not the first group to reach the top, but it was still early. She and others crawled on their bellies as they approached the hidden base after a couple of powerful mages gave her to go ahead. Apparently, the liches had alarms but the forces of Earth were ready for them. She watched on while the rest of the army deployed along the edge of a massive crater. The liches were canny, she had to give it to them. The base was formed from low buildings topped by gray roofs indistinguishable from the surrounding ash. Kennels and barracks formed a side while a training field and prisoner cages formed the other, the entire complex ending with a couple of large buildings that might be armories or administrative centers. A large portal occupied the center of the compound, though it was deactivated at the time. She could not see much more from where she was, a quarter of a mile away. What surprised her the most was the lack of sentries. Or perhaps the liches relied on the hounds to warn them and the vampires had eliminated that resource before they could realize it. It took a few long, agonizingly slow minutes for everyone to get in position. Constance felt so tense her teeth ached. She couldn¡¯t wait for everything to start. And then, it did. ¡°Starfall, forty seconds,¡± someone screamed. Immediately, whistles trilled along the edge of the caldera. Trumpets echoed it, soon answered by a thousand throats heralding the imminent violence. Constance¡¯s ear rang from the clamor. Behind her, the thump of distant mortars provided a low drum. The barracks in front of her were hit. Plumes of smoke started to rise. Constance stood and ran with the other, the acrid air burning her throat as it didn¡¯t seem she could gulp enough of it. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t we stay in cover?¡± she asked no one in particular. ¡°Cover doesn¡¯t work against liches,¡± the officer replied. She kept running. Far to her right, a detachment of transformed werewolves took over their formation to engage a flow of hounds gathering towards them. The army ate up the distance, never slowing, far too close for an optimal engagement range, Constance thought. ¡°Twenty seconds to starfall!¡± a communication mage said. And then she had trouble thinking. It started with silence. Constance gasped when the voice was taken from her throat and the thunder of hundred of feet were replaced by an oppressive, quiet. Her steps faltered. Looking around, most people had it worse. They all struggled to take a step with some falling to their knees. Others persevered with grim expressions, eyes forward. Constance faced the base and saw why. Almost lazily, an inhumanly large skeleton rose from the base with sinuous grace. The top was humanoid and garbed in fineries, but the lower part was a titanic, skeletal snake tail of biblical proportions. That lich was not just massive, it had a presence, a pull on its surroundings that arrested an entire army. Constance felt its baleful weight on her psyche. She fought the urge to scream when it spoke in her head. ¡°THE CATTLE CAME.¡± Constance growled just so she could hear the muted sound in her ear. Had to fight it. Parlor trick, nothing more. She was better than this. Her gaze traveled to the blue flame in those empty cavities. They were looking at everything and nothing. Constance refused to let herself be controlled, not by it, and not by anyone. It was just a pile of bones. Not a god. ¡°SHEEP DELIVER THEMSELVES TO US. MARVELOUS.¡± There was only one explanation. That lich was¡­ a single number. The most powerful of their kind. She recognized it from reports of survivors from the Austrian army. The Devil of Warsaw. Number Six. It was here. To take revenge? It didn¡¯t matter. Had to break free. And she knew how. S~?a??h the N?v?lFire.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. It was a lie, all of it. ¡°Lions¡­ have no need to hide,¡± she hissed between clenched teeth. She didn¡¯t know how, yet the simple statement of fact broke the hold Six had on her. Humans were not cattle, liches were not lions, because humans were attacking and liches were hiding. It was just as simple as that. A ripple shook the human army, centered on her. The wave of disbelief spread out like a droplet falling on a placid lake, freeing them of the monster¡¯s control. Constance felt an ephemeral sense of triumph when her comrades in arms stood up and walked. More shells fell on the base. She could hear the distant roars of werewolves again. The spell was broken. ¡°Five, four,¡± a voice counted from the side. Her relief was short-lived. Six pointed a finger at her. ¡°YOU DIE FIRST.¡± A figure landed in front of her, interposing a shield covered in runes that could probably withstand a battleship round, yet Constance knew it wouldn¡¯t be enough. ¡°Two.¡± Red lightning gathered in Six¡¯ bony palm. The air above it shattered on complex curves and angles that hurt her eyes. ¡°One.¡± The lich grinned at her, or at least it felt that way. More liches flew up from the wounded compound wielding orbs and staves fueled with stolen lifeforce. There were a few of them. ¡°Zero.¡± A meteor clipped Six¡¯s shield. The base exploded. Or at least, that¡¯s how it felt. Constance fell to her knees from the impact, and she wasn¡¯t the only one. She looked up expecting heat and thunder but found a burst of cold air and an expanding wall of thorns. Starting at the epicenter, the redwood-sized growths climbed to the sky as fast as waves crashing on a shore, covering the crumbling walls below layer by layer. The center was already taller than most buildings and it just kept spreading. Constance suddenly understood what the veterans meant. As strange as it felt¡­ this was safety. She rushed forward with the others as fast as her legs would carry her. Beyond, there was already a battle. The forest swallowed her and her squad. It was cold as winter here and the air carried the crisp, clean scent of a December night. Spider fingers of ice writhed on the crevices of the dead world though it did not quite feel like that anymore, and Constance soon realized why. The mana was back. She could freely breathe again. She could also cast again. The forest had freed her. Constance ran through the corridor of twisted roots. Small, white flowers provided enough light to see from. She heard gunshots to the side. The tunnel turned unexpectedly and they found their first cages. Constance did not need to think. She rushed to the nearest lock and started casting. ¡°Reveal. Ah, here we go.¡± A few expert casts cut the lines of the defensive ward. The threads were sloppy yet strong, an amateur working with the amazing power of lifeforce. It still made her glad humans had not found how to use it. ¡°I can¡¯t get this thing open!¡± a member of her squad said. The people in the cages egged them on in a mix of languages. They were filthy and looked malnourished. ¡°Try this one,¡± she said to the man who held a crowbar. ¡°I popped the defenses. Work on the ones I¡¯ve weakened.¡± ¡°Understood.¡± The squad worked fast under the cover of the forest. Civilians were soon free. ¡°Mi hijo!¡± a rail-thin woman screamed as she gripped her wrist with desperat strength, ¡°Ellos tienen a mi hijo!¡± ¡°No time!¡± a man said, taking her away. ¡°Go for the guns. Get out of here!¡± Constance screamed. They¡¯d just be fuel otherwise. Constance realized they¡¯d just rescued their first victims. It felt right. ¡°Let¡¯s keep going!¡± A new tunnel opened, carrying them where they were needed. The sounds of battle raged all around them. The curtain of roots once more fell away to reveal another squad being overwhelmed by hounds. Constance saw soldiers at the edge of the forest firing on a veritable tide of flesh supported by enemy slingers. There were uniformed bodies on the ground. Blood. Someone was about to get killed. Ariane¡¯s Magna Arqa had carried them here just in time. Constance wondered how much of it was conscious as she lined up her brand new revolver, Ariane¡¯s gift of course. Somehow, it felt light and she felt more in control, faster. She could perceive everything that was happening. It was almost easy. Constance pulled the trigger and managed the recoil with more ease than expected. Her target opened like a blood flower, petals of stripped flesh peeling off near her allies. ¡°Hoooly shit,¡± a burly man said, then he kept reloading. Constance felt the squad leader jump on her to cover her and went with the flow, recovering on a thornless root. She lined up another shot and killed another hound. The squad jumped to cover along with her. ¡°Right, right, stretch the line!¡± an officer said. Other squads were emerging from the maze of thorns and opening fire immediately. A line of smoke and fury formed at the forest¡¯s edge, mowing down the approaching hounds under a hail of lead. Machine gun teams set up as quickly as they could. The Earth army was stabilizing until an explosion took half a squad. Other humans were falling from stones slung by the enemy footmen. ¡°We need cover. I¡¯ll do it,¡± her squad leader said. The grizzled man licked his lips, sweat covering his brow, He grabbed a hanging branch and pressed his thumb on a jutting spine. Blood pearled on the needle-thin end. ¡°Cover, cover, cover, I need cover.¡± Thorns awkwardly moved to form a hedge of sorts. It was imperfect but it was better than nothing. Soldiers repositioned. ¡°We¡¯ll take care of the beasts, can you fend off their infantry?¡± the squad leader said. Constance nodded. It was cold here and filled with exactly what she was good at: ice with a bit of dream, or mental magic as they called it. She was in her element. Magic answered her like never before. It was not just the ambient mana. Something in her had settled and now she felt abnormally strong, much stronger than she should be at this stage of her life. Power answered more readily, bent more easily. It was less a change in her and more a change in how the world reacted to her. The result was the same. ¡°Grasp of the ice wolf.¡± A blizzard rose and fell, smothering the enemy troops. The wind howled and spat flecks of sharpened ice on the ranks of slingers. Attacks ceased but Constance did not let up. ¡°I can only keep this up for a little while,¡± she said. ¡°That¡¯s fine!¡± Now free of the covering fire harassing them, the human soldiers were free to line their shots. The effects grew more devastating as more and more squads joined the fray. Some of the hounds diverted to her ice storm and would emerge energized, faster and deadlier, but not bulletproof. ¡°It¡¯s fine!¡± the squad leader reassured her. ¡°I can¡¯t hold it,¡± Constance stated. Despite her increased power, there was a limit to what she could achieve. The blizzard died down and Constance prepared to warn that return fire would soon resume. She quickly realized she was wrong. ¡°Wow¡­ I think I killed them.¡± Normally, her spell merely slowed and disabled, then Boone would turn it into a hell of mist. Here though, the temperature had dropped enough to leave behind nothing but frozen bodies half buried under a crystalline layer. Constance felt her stomach lurch but fought it off. Now was not the time. She felt pressure increasing and an itch between her shoulder blades. ¡°Incoming!¡± she said, and dived. Only those nearby heeded her call but it saved them. Obsidian shards fell on the human ranks, eliciting cries of pain. The roots proved resilient enough to block them or the toll would have been much easier. A lich flew into view. Thankfully, it was a lesser one, for a certain definition of lesser. The bones were whiter, newer than the others. Whatever preserving method the monsters used to keep themselves intact over the eons had not quite taken in. Constance knew what it meant. The Last City was making more liches, sucking earth dry to do so. Bunch of locusts. Just as the obsidian lich landed in front of them, a form in black armor smashed into its shield. Constance could only see a flurry of hammer blows pushing the foe out of view, sending it crashing in nearby buildings. ¡°The hell was that?¡± the squad leader asked while the humans resumed firing. ¡°John. We¡¯re¡­ damn, there is another.¡± A skeletal figure in golden armor descended over the battlefield in front of it, clinging to appearance despite the circumstances. Constance wasn¡¯t sure, but she thought the two dozens battle-ready masters and lords descending upon them might count as ¡®an emergency¡¯, yet that idiot was still trying to impress. And it would work because they had nothing to oppose it. She needed help. Or at least, a shield. Without hesitation, she planted a finger on a nearby thorn. The reaction told her it might have been a mistake. While the thorns had sluggishly reacted to her squad leader, they pulsed and writhed as soon as her blood touched the cold bark. A shockwave spread through the nearby vegetation, contracting it until a single tendril as tall as a church erupted from the dusty stone, slamming the lich down like a flyswatter. Constance fell on her ass and cowered because it was not over yet. A terrible, terrifying roar of anger shook the air, calling on the part of Constance¡¯s brain that remembered when mankind was not the animal kingdom¡¯s deadliest species quite yet. It seized her chest in its icy grip. She had to look around. Find the threat. Run. Her throat was dry. Her heart struggled to escape against her ribs. ¡°Fuck.¡± A dragon landed on the recovering lich. There was nothing more accurate to describe the monstrous statue of pale stone bowling against the caster with unabated fury. A hurricane of claws met a deluge of obsidian, each regenerating as fast as the other, then an armored statue with a battleaxe attacked the lich from behind. The creature, perhaps feeling it was overwhelmed, rose in the air while a pulse of lifeforce magic pushed the constructs away. It lifted both hands to form a gash in reality above its head, then a third statue shot it in the head. The projectile pierced the weakened shield while the lich was distracted, causing the gash to destabilize and eat one of the lich¡¯s hands. Despite damage to its skull, the monster was very much alive and screaming. It screeched more when the statue shot it a second time. It was a man in leather coverall wearing a tricorn. The statue engaged the lich but for a brief instant, the man in coverall flipped his old-fashioned pistol as it turned to her. Perfectly sculpted eyes found Constance. Inexplicably, the statue winked. And then, it shot the lich again. *** It feels good to let go. No more politics, no more family drama, no more dealing with disappointing actors of the dark world¡¯s stage whose interests need to be handled with diplomacy. No careful dance while disaster lurks in the shadows. No more bridles. No more taxes, no more paperwork, no more laws, no more waiting. Just me, and that bony prey over there. Number Six. I stand up from the crater and laugh, feeling the Magna Arqa expanding unrestrained. I recognize that lich. Last time we met, he was playing with Viktoriya until I shoved a homemade artillery shell into his aura. I seem to remember having turned his palace into finely baked powder with a lifeforce-based explosive. He seems to remember me as well. ¡°YOU!!!¡± ¡°I have had a long month so¡­ please attempt to make this interesting.¡± ¡°ARROGANCE!¡± A crimson thunderbolt pierces the mirage I left behind but I am already moving and encircling the creature¡¯s powerful shield with Rose, shredding it as I go. We have found no way to pierce those constructs before weakening them first and I suspect we never may. It matters not. My soul blade sings a dirge as it rips the construct apart layer by layer. More fast attacks come from the serpent lich, hitting mirages, the growing thorns, the places where he thinks I might go. He is just far too slow and the shield overheats around an ellipse. ¡°BURN!¡± A wave of pure heat explodes from the creature. The nearest roots are vaporized in an instant. ¡°Polar midnight.¡± My Likaean spell calls on the surroundings and the tiny star of the lich¡¯s wrath rages over an infinite field of uncaring cold. There is always more dark, more empty, more entropy for my foe to consume themselves over. There will always be more thorns for them to hack at until they realize the vines are without numbers. I dive under the cover of spikes and let the lich rage on, feeling my minions spreading over the camp in a pitch battle to the death. Both Nami and Suarez have already dispatched their first foe in moments. ¡°STOP HIDING!¡± Number Six suddenly blurs and becomes much faster. It manages to locate me somehow and I find myself running as fast as I can to avoid the onslaught of scarlet rays. He falls for more mirage, but one of the spell hits the Aurora near my leg and damages it. ¡°Darkness.¡± The lich speaks but I cannot understand his words, garbled as they are. He somehow managed to accelerate time around himself, it seems. That cannot be cheap. A cruel red light disperses my spell and the hunt is on again, but when he finds me, I have prepared a countermeasure. Thankfully, I prepared something for fast adversaries that I might as well try with this one. Let us just say that Loth does good work. I pull the trigger of the aptly named Nemesis to unload a deluge of enchanted silver into the quickly moving lich. Amusingly, it does not seem used to fighting this sort of battle. I do not truly need to be faster. I merely have to keep the barrel mostly aligned. The magic of muzzle velocity rings the shield like a bell, then the hastening spell ends before my supply of bullets does and I drop the Nemesis to the waiting roots below. As satisfying as it is to see technology prevail over long dead skeletons, those bullets are quite expensive. And the temperature keeps dropping. ¡°ANNOYING!¡± Number Six sings as I attack. His voice is guttural, primal, calling to a long dead land. His staff shines with vital energy. It will call back this great corpse between our feet to life where it lands to unleash its rage once more. The staff launches downward and lands with a thunderous blast, and then the spell¡­ peters out. ¡°Do you not understand yet?¡± I ask with some surprise. ¡°There is no earth below.¡± ¡°PRIMITIVE TRICKS.¡± Not primitive. Primal. We stand in my domain. There is no dead world around us. This is all me. The lich slows down more as it calls another massive spell. I test a few shield breakers made by Dvergur but without much success. Rose seems to do the best job at grinding down the shield. Rose, and the cold. Blue, striated cracks worm their way through the shield. Perhaps its life-fuelled nature attracts the embrace of winter more than pure aura would. I keep moving and fighting, sending the occasional spell as well, though few really matter. I let my statues support my allies as well. At one point, I taste Constance¡¯s blood but she does not feel in danger and I let her fight her battle, confident in my allies. I am relentless. The lich climbs, the thorns climb with him. He burns them, they regrow. He chases me and I run around, still shredding him, still taking apart that stolen life piece by piece, victim by victim. I peel him off like an onion. Power bleeds with every tooth raking against the smooth shield, gnawing on it like a fresh bone. The marrow is within reach, I can feel it. A strange starfall of white light is one of the monster¡¯s last, desperate attempts. The projectiles fall downward and seem to breach through everything so I do not fight them, instead making sure I have no allies on their path. The shield starts to crack. Finally, it happens. A small crack. This is the signal I had been waiting for. As one, the largest roots I have snap into the sphere all at once. It cracks like an egg and I am on the lich before it can move. My claws grab cloth. I can see the small inscriptions on its ancient skull¡­ but then it disappears. With one last pull, the lich reappears a hundred yards above my head. It immediately takes off, flying at great speed. I watch it look back with naked hatred, but it sees I am not following and keeps going. That is why it misses the shape of the diving from the cloud cover. The Dvergur skipper calmly aligns the sight on the main gun before firing, showing remarkable patience and restraint. Number Six disappears in a cloud of incandescent light. It is done. *** It takes quite a bit of time for us to process all we have found. The recently freed mortals inform us that the portal at the center of the base leads to the Last City, though it remains blissfully shut while we disable some of the key components. Following that, we recover no less than three hundred captives. Constance takes an active role in helping them adjust thanks to a benevolent application of her mind magic to calm them down. We also avoid deaths thanks to a few White Cabal healers, who inform us that eating solids will kill some of the weakest survivors. I did not know that. We find archives that show how many thousands of victims escaped us, taken to the Last City for processing. They are definitely dead. I find Constance a little later as we prepare to leave. ¡°Did you make me stronger?¡± ¡°Yes, as a side effect of one of my captured bloodlines and, I assume, your own nature as well.¡± ¡°Sweet. As for your offer¡­ so long as you stand for what you have stood for today, you got yourself a deal. And if you stray, well, I will be here to remind you.¡± ¡°That is acceptable.¡± Chapter 209: The Queen’s Hoard March 1907, the night of the lich camp raid.The thief was good at his job. He had retired once already, and would have stayed retired if he had not been found. Few managed such a feat in his line of work. Fewer managed it without visiting prison, yet he had succeeded. The thief knew the keys to success. Dedication, preparation, cold rationality. He had canceled jobs before because he smelled a fish. He had refused others because they were too ambitious, going after targets whose insurance policy included dismemberment. This was a dark world. His quirk was not enough to fend off the worst nightmares the night had to offer. If he had a choice, he would have refused that job too. He would have slammed the door in the client¡¯s face and left for Timbuktu. But he didn¡¯t, and so he had waited, and prepared, and now was the time to strike. The previous thieves who had attempted the heist had all disappeared without a trace. From their failures, he had learned a few vital details. First, no entrance could be done from the front as that was instant death. Second, no entrance could be done while she was around. Third, no local could be trusted. The thief had hidden nearby and then he had waited. His contact told him when she would leave on a special operation that would carry her far away. How far? Far enough, he¡¯d said. A world away. The thief prayed that it would be enough. The thief breathed in the evening air, then clutched the medallion on his chest. He checked his gear and the dark cloth he wore one last time before rushing forward, out of the bushes and towards the high fence surrounding his target. Had to hurry. Sometimes, werewolves patrolled the region. The man held his pole in the proper position. He sprinted faster, then lodged it in a small pit he¡¯d prepared just for this occasion. The pole bent and he vaulted. His breath caught when he took off, sending him far over the fence and the spearheads that decorated its top. The proximity enchantment extended far over their boundary, eager to catch those who thought themselves safe having scaled the metal barrier. At the apex of his course, he jumped and pushed. The pole swung back towards the ground outside while he grabbed for the branch of a nearby oak, and missed. The thief did not swear. However, he did gasp when the next branch caught him in the ribs. He still grabbed it like a buoy and hung on like his life depended on it. ¡°Not twenty anymore,¡± he growled to himself in the safety of his head. Could not make a sound here. The collection waited ahead, garbed in magical protections like a beacon of colors shining in the night, a kaleidoscope of defensive arrays. There would be no piercing it safely because, as the thief had noticed, the one who had designed them worked from an unfair advantage: she was simply better than him. Therefore, he wouldn¡¯t try. The thief raced across the lawn, avoiding a few well-placed mines, then scaled the wall to the second floor with claws affixed to his forearm. What mattered was the mundane security outside. So long as he didn¡¯t alert them, he would have some time. Deftly avoiding a few outside triggers, the man soon found the only open shutter on this floor. The light of the moon gave a perfect view of the inside, which seemed to be a botanical garden of sorts. The thief could spot lianas and leaves. Interestingly, more light cast the tiles in silver radiance than should be possible. He used a diamond blade to cut through the enchanted glass. It took him a few minutes to finally manage an opening, but then he was in. A simple thread manipulation changed the window¡¯s alarm sensitivity so it could stretch without breaking. Nevertheless, the thief knew he was leaving tracks. Something was clinging to him, a pervading feeling of cold like sticky, half-melted ice. Ghostly thorns raked against his skin, not yet finding blood. He was intruding. The house knew he was intruding. It was slowly waking up, looking for him. He was living on borrowed time. The thief carefully placed his arm through the hole to reach for the window latch and found a lock instead, fully closed. He did not panic. Instead, he removed a small mirror at the end of a retractable metal stalk from a side pocket and inspected this new obstacle. A normal lock, with a key. He recovered the mirror then used another tool. This one looked like a key with no indentations. He placed it inside the lock then focused on its magic. The metal bubbled as if alive, pushing against every pin until they were stuck in place. He was about to turn it when he hesitated. Time was of the essence, but the mistress of the house was devious. Better be extra careful. He tried to feel up instead of down and, sure enough, there were pins on top too. Probably an alarm as well, though he could not be sure from this side. All in all, it took him over five minutes to get it, but it was done in silence. Guards walked the perimeter outside. They remained unaware that he was attempting the unthinkable. His black leather suit stuck to skin now, soaked with sweat despite the cold evening air. Nevertheless, the alarm string did not break. Slowly, the man eased himself into the house. A ghostly thorn pricked his cheek and he winced. He lifted a finger to the painful spot and realized it had drawn blood. She knew now. Hopefully, he would be gone by the time she returned. He shut the window behind himself slowly and took in his new surroundings. This was, indeed, an inner garden of sorts. The light came not just from the window but from the ceiling¡¯s skylight, a skylight that had not existed on the outside. Or it was so well-camouflaged that he could not have told. Water gurgled from copper pipes on a terrarium that surrounded the entire center of the room where a couple of storage shelves waited, loaded with fertilizers and tools. Vines and strange glowing flowers grew in the soil around a crystal bulb the size of a ball. In its midst floated a seed, frozen in time. The thief knew instantly and without a doubt that this single seed was more valuable than anything he¡¯d ever stolen, more valuable than what he had been sent to retrieve. He also knew without a doubt that to touch it was death. It was not just the enchantments protecting the crystal. He realized, looking more closely, that the garden was, in fact, a single entity linked by branches and lianas, bloated with magic. Tendrils swirled delicately around the seed as if to provide a bed or to benefit from the potent aura seeping through the crystal container. There were also curious, fava-like growths that looked suspiciously like unripe fruits nestled across the vegetation. Some of them were as large as violins. The thief took a step forward, and the plant shivered. The thief froze and looked around. What he had taken as fruits were now rising from the bed of earth, splitting along their lengths to reveal purple gums and thorn-like, serrated teeth dripping with nectar. Some of the more vivacious lianas had slithered to the ground with disturbingly serpentine motions. The thief did not quite panic yet, but he did bar this room as an exit option. Despite his lack of motion, the planet didn¡¯t stop moving. In an instant, he rushed to the door while using his signature spell. His quirk. His own, self-made luck. ¡°I am not here.¡± The lianas and carnivorous growths stopped, confused for an instant. The door was mercilessly unlocked and he blasted through, slamming it behind him. A series of thuds informed him he had been a second away from disaster. ¡°Goddamn.¡± Giant, man-eating plants? Not even really surprising. No matter. He had to hurry. Now, where was he? A corridor extended towards the front and back of the manor. A dull light provided enough illumination for him to see that it was empty of anything save basic furniture to allow the exhibited works to take precedence. Most of them are portraits. He knows he is meant to steal a painting, and that this painting is stored on the ground floor, but his eyes wander anyway. Some of them depict simple scenes like a slave family by a plantation. Others feel very basic, as if the painter had only begun to come into their own. A mature man, solid, with a large beard and muscles straining a shirt stood side by side with a man with sharp traits, a malicious smile, and a pair of pistols in side holsters. The thief quickly realized those were all made by the same painter across the ages. It was decidedly her, and he was watching her progress. And he had been told vampires did not change. Horseshit. They changed at their own speed. They learned, too. Shaking his head, he walked towards the front of the house, opened the door, then stopped. In front of him lay a large entrance with the gate beneath and in front of him. Candelabras loaded with witch lights provided enough radiance to see the tastefully decorated interior. Mostly neoclassical with a touch of color. Not gaudy as he expected. More paintings and other precious items waited in corners or on pedestals for a visitor that would never come. The thief expected this to be the fastest way to the first floor and his target, but he also knew that none who had tried that way had survived. There was something peculiar going on here. To his back, the manor was whispering with magic but it was still a building. In front of him, though, the place felt different. A light air flow pushed heat and a strange, animalistic smell towards him that he didn¡¯t like one bit. Some of the walls felt strange as well, not quite straight one moment, rigorously so the next. The light felt off. He was not quite sure why but there was something going on. Maybe a chained beast in a camouflaged partition waited for intruders to step in before jumping on them? A movement caught his attention. On a Dorian pillar to his left, an eye opened. It blearily looked around and found him before closing again. The thief gulped. The thief looked up to an array of knife-sized teeth growing in an interstice above the gate. The thief realized that the chained beast was the entirety of the manor¡¯s front. He closed the door, but not too hard, just in case. The thief took a few steps back. ¡°Jesus. Okay, okay. New plan.¡± The thief walked back through the corridor, passing the indoor garden on the way. There were more portraits here. Some of them showed humans smiling gently. There was an older maid with Scandinavian traits, an adventurer with a winning smile, and an outlaw chief with a crow on his shoulder. A native man smirked, sitting atop the back of a giant tortoise. Others were here too, and he knew without a doubt that they were vampires. There was something off, an atemporal impression about the way they looked, something predatory about the way they posed. No fangs were shown, though they did have claws if one looked closely. He spotted a man in an impeccable suit standing confidently near a desk, black hair slicked back with pomade. A black woman reclined sensually on a couch, honing a spear head with a glowing whetstone. The most impressive one was a tall man with gray hair and a steely gaze standing proudly on a ship, the bay of some city in the background. There was something else standing at attention and the thief averted his gaze, impressed despite himself. He didn¡¯t expect erotic paintings from the old monster. The most surprising paintings waited at the end and they distracted him from the earlier spectacle. There were two of them. One showed an old man with a short beard and golden hair standing in a sugar cane plantation with his shirt open, a careless smile on his lips. There was so much love here that it hurt him, reminded him of his daughter waiting outside. He wished he could express himself like that. He wished he could show her he loved her with such naked abandon, as if the world would not crush them for this audacity. The man in the painting looked so confident it made the thief jealous. The second picture showed the vampire as a girl. It was her, there was no denying it. He had been shown a rather poor rendition of her made by a mortal artist, and the traits were the same, but the girl in the painting felt fresh, hopeful, and innocent to a degree that scared him. She felt so happy and certain. No doubt the world had seen it fit to take her down. He wondered if it had worked. Looking at the art collection, he was not sure. None of those paintings were the one he was tasked with recovering. The thief walked left at the end of the corridor. There were windows, shuttered, of course. What worried him slightly was the length of the corridor. He was rather sure the building was slightly larger on the inside. He could not wait to be out. Turning left, he walked past landscapes then came across another door, this one unlocked as well. Inside of the place was an armory. Racks lined the walls while other weapons hung from plates hung at eye level. Quality had been prefered over quantity, but some of those were positively ancient. Most of the weapons had seen little action and shone with the polish of newly minted pieces, but a few bore the wear and tear of extensive use with pride and the mark of loving attention. The thief watched an ancient musket of good quality, the muzzle forever blackened by countless shots. The word ¡®Talleyrand¡¯ was inscribed in the scuffed barrel and the trigger was polished to a shine. It was one of the least enchanted pieces of the lot. There were others like it: daggers, throwing knives, some broken, a shattered short sword with molten edges, even an old Prussian needle rifle. He also noticed more modern weapons, including an ungodly, portable Gatling gun that would take a team of humans to operate, much less carry. There were a couple of feminine pieces of armor as well. One of them was a perfect mirror polished to a glimmering perfection. Shaking his head, the thief found what he had been looking for: the stairs down. Those were secondary ones, and the portraits in there all shared a certain familiarity with the vampire woman, all blood relatives it seemed. Living or dead, the thief didn¡¯t know, but they came to life in those colors. He ended up in a shrine. There were no signs of a cross, as expected, or any altar he could see. There was still no mistaking the general air of sanctity that surrounded the pedestals lining the walls. Many of them stood empty, and there was something sad about the way she expected more losses. One of the pedestals showed the portrait of her father he had seen upstairs, and it bore a pendant and a few faded letters. Another bore a tricorn and a pair of old pistols which he, again, recognized from their portrait. Another painting showed a bald vampire in lamellar armor standing proudly, holding an old-fashioned shield and a pistol. Said shield rested against the pedestal next to a black axe made of steel, this one mundane. Possibly a reproduction. There were other memorials around, holding personal belongings of the deceased. The thief felt a pang of envy for he would not be remembered, and a pang of guilt at his own transgression. That was why he avoided houses when he could. It felt too personal. Without so much as a whisper, the thief moved on. Another corridor, shorter, led to the main exposition hall, its door hidden behind a drawn curtain. That room was large and well-lit with a polished parquet floor that reflected the sculpted ceiling. He remembered his strict instructions. Under no circumstances should he look up. To do so would make him lose focus until the vampire came to pick him up. He had a capsule of cyanide ready for that eventuality but little hope to use it on time. He would not look up. The safety of his daughter depended on it. He walked past a massive canvas with his head resolutely down, and still, despite knowing of the dangers, despite his own self-control, it called to him. Whispered of sights the likes of which he¡¯d never seen. This one spoke of a tide of wolves descending upon their captors. It spoke of snow, blood, and a hunt like no other. The moon. The moon was calling him, she who had witnessed so many of his misdeeds. Drool pooled on his tongue. No more hiding. No more shackles. Tear it all and KILL¡ª ¡°No,¡± the thief whispered in the silence. No, that wasn¡¯t him. He was the hand in the dark but he didn¡¯t draw blood. He just wanted peace for himself and his daughter. No knives in the night. Step by step, just like that. The next painting involved three armies fighting by the sea, moved by hidden hands. Its draw was less because the thief had never been a military man, nor a man prone to groups. He was a loner through and through. Deeper, he walked. The sky opened and witnessed a charge the likes of which the world had never seen. The seas rose to devour the intruder. Wolves hunted to take down rivals. Humans, always the rock, resisted the intruders from a fortress built by their own hands. The apex predators of the world faced a beast the size of a hill and a tide without number but there was no fear in their hearts, because they were WITHOUT MATCH. He had nothing to fear, because he was at the top of the food chain and the NIGHT WAS ¡ª The thief bit his tongue, not too hard. The pain was enough to center him once more. The paintings¡¯ effects felt so strong. Escaping one just meant entering another one¡¯s orbit. A painting spoke of wings, the void, and a dance so alien it barely nudged his spirit. It felt like walking on a bridge of a glass over an endless abyss, knowing a heavier person would break it and fall. It was his own insignificance that saved him. The last one was the one he was looking for. He didn¡¯t have to look. It could not be any other. The night sky called to him, and the alien object here was the reason his client had wanted the painting to begin with. It was also much smaller than the others. The man looked up, barely stopping his eyes at a gorgeous night sky and the signature ¡®Ariane¡¯ discreetly tucked in a corner. That had to be it. He picked that one and placed it on the ground, cutting the canvas away from the frame with dexterity before rolling it. It had lasted less than three seconds and he was placing the tube on his back when a heavy clanking sound came from the predatory house. The thief didn¡¯t think. He sprinted. The main door to the exposition hall opened behind him just as he left from a side door. ¡°Lock.¡± The door wasn¡¯t spelled, thank god. It closed shut and not a moment too soon. Thud. Thud. Thud. THUD. THUD. No sooner had he turned to race again that a mechanical limb holding a scythe smashed through it, sending wooden shrapnel against his back. It was a golem, a freaking female-looking golem with a smile showing a vicious, overly large smile and lithe limbs of silvery metal. It was lightweight for a golem and quite fast. ¡°Fuck.¡± The thief sprinted with all he had while his pursuer methodically thrashed the obstacle. He took the corner at full speed, almost crashing against a strange banner made of skin. Had to get to the back door. Only way. He hoped it could be unlocked from the inside. It was just there. There was a key on the side. He grabbed it. At the same time, the golem reached the corridor with a loud thud. That sculpted smile froze the blood in his veins. In a moment of desperate inspiration, the man grabbed a shawl from a nearby pedestal and tossed it, expecting the golem to prioritize the asset. It did. It took a dive and grabbed the rolled shawl before it could fall, unaware that the shawl itself was not at risk. The thief rushed through the open door, slamming it behind him. He raced to the fence and the golem did not pursue. An alarm blared in the distance. He was really on borrowed time now. With one last effort, he scaled the fence and dropped on the other side, using a bit of peppermint oil to mask his smell tracks. He was gone before the few guards discovered the intrusion. As the thief moved away, he summarized the plan in his head. A successful heist was not enough. One had to avoid pursuit as well, and who knew what a cold-blooded, patient predator could achieve? *** When I find them, I will peel their skin off to use as lampshade. I will roast them on a large grill and baste them in their own grease. How dare they dare they dare they dare they ¡°Are you alright, Ariane?¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°Look, I can bend metal!¡± I look at Constance who still marvels about the incredible abilities my stolen Constantine bloodline and the power I grant her let her achieve. Yes, yes, you are very strong. Heh. It is true that we select Servants to help us maintain our humanity. She is just too precious. Like an immortal toddler. It is almost enough to make me forget I will find every last one of those cockroaches and make them pay. How dare they? And at a time I was out to defend our planet from depredation. They have no shame, no shame at all. Scandalous. The entire country is going to the dogs. ¡°Why are you grumbling?¡± ¡°I am not! And someone stole my stuff.¡± ¡°Oh. Don¡¯t worry, I will help you.¡± I feel better already. I wait for my ship to return to earth, then order it on a direct course for Marquette. This injustice shall not stand. It is still night when I arrive a few hours later. I jump down to see the pale face of my current head of guards, a mortal man who shivers in his boots. ¡°I already know someone broke in. Was it a burglary?¡± I ask, precluding any apologies. ¡°We don¡¯t know because we didn¡¯t get in¡­ as per your orders,¡± he replies, terrified. ¡°What can you tell me about the intruders and what about pursuits?¡± ¡°One intruder. We can tell he entered from the north-west side by pole vaulting over the perimeter fence. He left in a sprint after triggering the alarms, but it took time to find his tracks in the dark and by that time he was gone. He used some sort of scent bomb to disorient dogs and werewolves, perhaps. One of Jeffrey¡¯s patrols picked up that scent at the edge of town heading east towards Fairfield. They¡¯re in pursuit.¡± ¡°Hmm.¡± Fortunately, the culprit did not head north or south, preferring to stick to small roads. It would be impossible to find him in Chicago, not with so many smells and so many train lines. Perhaps he does not know the limits of our capabilities? ¡°I¡¯ll check the house. In the meanwhile, find me the latest about their location. And have a mage charge those anti gravitic crystals!¡± ¡°What about me?¡± Constance asks. ¡°What about you? Go to sleep.¡± ¡°Like hell I will.¡± Pah, I have no time for unruly mortals. As expected, the thief entered through the window to the world seed garden. At least they didn¡¯t damage it. Hmm, perhaps I should enchant the inner doors to be locked when the main entrance is to avoid the entire collection being compromised. I follow the tracks of foreign magic to the main hall where Pookie greets me with hungry guilt. ¡°OoooOOoooOOOoooOOOoo.¡± ¡°Not to worry,¡± I tell her in Likaean, ¡°I will get you something soon. It was not your fault.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± The intruder mage is male, a mage, mature and cautious. His lingering essence tastes of control and precision in a way that reminds me of Hopkins, the previous White Cabal Black Dog and the only mortal who almost blew me up. I retrace his steps with boiling rage to the armory which he left intact, then downstairs to the graves which he also left untouched, and then to the main hall. He stole a painting of the Watcher. Not my best one either. Hmmm. The anger I felt simmers down until I feel more impressed than really furious. I need to find him and send a message, of course, but to be honest, I am more amazed than furious now. What an amazing display of skill. And he clearly did not know about Pookie since he lingered on the threshold. My, what an asset. I simply must meet him. I tsk when I realize my golem broke a door which I will have to replace. That is fine. I should probably replace them all anyway. Outside, Constance is waiting with a communication mage. ¡°He had a horse ready. The wolves lost his track when he crossed the border towards Indiana. We think he switched to a ship on the Wabash river.¡± ¡°Going north?¡± ¡°It seems likely. I asked Jeffrey if he could help. He said he¡¯d go himself, check every ship for pungent peppermint if he had to.¡± Using a scent bomb might be useful in the short run, and it is a tactics mages use on occasion. They often forget that unless they manage to hide in a large city, there is a critical period of time before the scent fades when they are vulnerable to tracking. It takes a single droplet. In the meanwhile, I mobilize everything I have to find him. Urchin and John leave on their nightmares while teams of red cabal members scour the plains. I want this man found. We have a direction. Now, it is only a matter of matching my means with his. My ship finds the river soon enough, and my communication mage directs me to a small pack under Jeffrey. Unfortunately, they found the thief¡¯s discarded suit, most of it burnt to a crisp. The man got changed, which was smart of him. I try to detect traces of my painting but find none. I suspect he might be using a sealed container that blocks the essence. It can be frustrating to deal with competent adversaries, but that is fine. I can be patient. With dawn soon approaching, I order my men to find the boat that took him, assuming the person to be a local. There are not that many ships on this branch of the Wabash, and even less capable of mooring in such shallow waters. I suspect we are dealing with a local. Now, it is only a matter of asking the right questions. I decide to give a bounty of fifty dollars for anyone with useful tips, then go to slumber. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ll keep looking while you get your beauty sleep. I won¡¯t let that man rob us,¡± Constance assures me. Her power grants her improved stamina, but I still ask her to rest whenever possible. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ll have breakfast before getting to work. I¡¯ll sleep as soon as you can take over! You can count on me.¡± I nod in appreciation, then retire for the day. *** Constance enters my sealed compartment with a map and an attitude. She moves aside two sheets of paper and a fancy pen with grandiose ceremony before slamming down a map of Indiana like some adventurer in a bodice-ripper. She seems quite pleased with herself despite the deepening pockets under her eyes. ¡°I think we got him! So, we found an old gossip called Mrs. Williamson living with her husband on the shore and she noticed her neighbor¡¯s boat ¡®coming and going at unchristian hours¡¯,¡± she says, mocking an old woman¡¯s grumpy voice. ¡°And it was him. He was paid ten dollars to deliver our man upstream to Vincennes. Oh, we paid Mrs. Williamson for the information. She was pleased as a peach because her husband always told her keeping an eye on everyone was a waste of time. Thank god for busybodies!¡± ¡°And here I was hoping to solve this without committing atrocities¡­¡± ¡°Anyway, we tracked him to Vincennes. That¡¯s a city north east of here.¡± ¡°I am familiar with the surrounding geography,¡± I tell her as I finish brewing my coffee. ¡°What then?¡± ¡°He took a coach towards Indianapolis. We¡¯re hanging over it.¡± I almost slam the pot on the table. ¡°You found him?¡± ¡°Yep! It turns out that things are much easier with unlimited manpower, money, and a flying ship.¡± ¡°How very unexpected. Nevertheless, well done. I did not expect us to succeed so fast. In fact, I thought he might have escaped us.¡± S~?a??h the N?v?lFir?(.)n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. ¡°But that¡¯s the thing. Why not go north to Springfield or better, Chicago?¡± ¡°We can ask him when we interrogate him. Have you confirmed his presence aboard?¡± ¡°A man matching his description was spotted exiting the carriage during a break. He climbed back on immediately afterward. I directed a patrol there just in case. They found no tracks leading out, so he didn¡¯t swap with someone else.¡± ¡°I see you have grown as paranoid as we are.¡± ¡°And I can assuage my concerns without stepping foot on the ground! Isn¡¯t that grand?¡± ¡°It most certainly is. Now, to anticipate his next move. Hmm. Did he have a container with him?¡± ¡°A sort of tube made of leather he kept over his shoulder.¡± ¡°So he has not dropped it off. Hmmm. I honestly do not know what he intends to do. I suppose we shall see when night falls.¡± *** The thief kept to small roads to leave the immediate vicinity of Marquette, then to fast horses, one nearby, and another on the road near a small farm. He switched to a boat around midnight, praying that the old man he¡¯d bribed would still be there. He had, baited by money no doubt. The thief burnt his clothes despite their price and tossed his tools in the river. If everything worked well, it would be his last stunt anyway. The boat trudged along the river slowly, frustratingly slow. The thief inspected the shore for pursuers but found none. Nevertheless, his mind played tricks on him. The forest was dark and menacing from here, hostile. Strange and alien, and none of the arguments that it was just childish fear worked to keep the terror at bay, because there were monsters. The thief had seen them. He left the ship at dawn. Daphne was waiting for him in the boarding house he¡¯d left her in. She smacked against his chest in her eagerness to hug him. They stayed there for a moment, but not too long. The hostess already cast suspicious glances their way owing to their ¡®complexion¡¯, no doubt. He was already lucky they accepted him in the post to Indianapolis, though some passengers turned their noses up when he climbed in. The trip was as stressful as it was uneventful. No pursuers could be seen, no howls shook the leaves after them and for the first time, the thief allowed himself to breathe. Perhaps he had done it, outrunning the net his target was no doubt dragging around her fief. Perhaps he could lose himself in the populous cities of the east coast before she could make him lose his life. Now he only had to worry about the client. He passed a hand over the bag by his side. If that man tried to get back on his word¡­ well, he would see if an old dog couldn¡¯t learn new tricks. His agent had made it clear the thief had no choice, but he had also offered a substantial reward. ¡°We know how to reward¡­ uniquely qualified individuals¡­ Mr. Adams.¡± The thief would see if that was true. Eventually, the coach stopped for the evening at a small town where the thief knew of a hotel that wasn¡¯t too stringent with its guests. He paid for a room in advance and climbed the stairs. Night had fallen by now and he¡¯d gone without much rest for almost two stressful days. It was time to catch a breather. *** I drop from low altitude rather than engaging in the time-consuming activity of landing. I do not accost the burglar in the streets, especially because he has a girl with him. Clearly a relative. Instead, I wait for them to make their way to a nearby hotel then wait on the roof while they pick a room. I read the room number through my Magna Arqa, then locate it and crawl through the window as they climbed the narrow stairs up to the second floor. Then, it is just a matter of casting a simple shadow spell to mask my presence. I pick a rickety chair, sit down, and fluff my nice, blue travel dress. Sometimes, less is more. And there are few pieces of furniture capable of holding any of my suits of armor anyway. The mortals seldom realize how much we work to appear to act effortlessly. The thief checks the room. He would have detected me if I did not use some form of camouflage, which I find admirable but that his daughter apparently finds annoying. ¡°Dad, come on, don¡¯t make it weird!¡± Despite her supplications, the thief takes his time to enter. He is a black man of muscular proportions with graying temples, sad eyes, and the slight hunch of a man on his guard. No crosses. This might still be difficult, so I place both my hands on my lap before dropping the darkness spell. ¡°Ahem,¡± I say. ¡°FUCK!¡± the girl swears. The burglar¡¯s reaction is more contained yet more terrified at the same time. I could swear his heart skipped a beat. ¡°Oh sorry,¡± she tells her father. I love it when the young ones stick to a proper language. ¡°Dad, are you okay?¡± Nevermind. ¡°Please, can she go?¡± the man whispers. I think he is on the verge of collapse. ¡°That will not be necessary, especially since the following conversation will concern her as well. To begin with, you will tell me who ordered the hit and where you were meant to deliver it.¡± ¡°If I tell you everything, you let her go.¡± ¡°Dad? What¡¯s happening?¡± ¡°You are in no position to make demands of me, THIEF.¡± The Likaean term escapes me. Outside, the town grows silent. I contain myself and realize the daughter is watching in horror. ¡°You¡­ you stole from her? You told me you were doing a service to a friend! You said you¡¯d stop stealing!¡± ¡°It¡¯s complicated.¡± ¡°The hell it is!¡± Oh, she is angry alright. I sit back and allow her to lay into her increasingly flabbergasted father, shrugging when he looks at me with confusion. I will not kill the pair. They are simply too precious. Why, I want to paint them, add them to my collection after a fashion. It is only fair. After that, why, I want to know where my painting was meant to be exposed. I believe I might visit. *** The old man stood with difficulty, a hand grasping his cane in a dead grip. Outwardly, he was a strong, venerable businessman whose acumen had not declined with time. Inside, every joint in his failing body tortured him, grinding against each other with every motion like so many gears grinding the cartilage to a pulp. ¡°Gentlemen, my dear friends. We all share various beliefs on the nature of art, is it not so?¡± The dozen well-dressed men agreed in hushed tones. They held glasses they were more than eager to sample. The amber liquid had been poured from a cask of Macallan, aged eighteen years. The old man could barely taste it. ¡°Our more utilitarianist fellows would argue that art must serve the masses, or a cause, or some grand purposelike education or patriotism. Herr Konrad here mentioned that art should inspire the viewer to be a better man through the search for perfection. Proportions, forms, all must elevate the mind and call to the intellect. Our photographer friend Mr Hayes here would, I am sure, appreciate art as a form of chronicle. His silver captures the zeitgeist of an era for the edification of future generations. Indeed! I believe that what we can all agree on, is that we disagree on what art should be. And yet, we all agree that even the most scandalous painting is art. Bad art, to be sure. A waste of canvas, though rarely a waste of talent. It occurs to me that our difficulty comes from the transcendental nature of the artistic expression. You see, we do not appreciate art with our minds. We appreciate it with our souls.¡± He could feel he was losing them. The old man held back a sigh. He did not have very long, and they didn¡¯t see, couldn¡¯t understand the implications of his words. Where he saw will triumphing over matter, they saw differently qualified workforce. Where he saw the possibilities of new worlds beyond the dead one, they saw untapped land ripe for mineral extraction ¡ª should the Merghol menace be contained. He did not blame them, oh no. That very spirit had led them to success and wealth. In this society, he who grabbed fortune deserved receiving it, for God had meant it for them. The old man wasn¡¯t so sure. It didn¡¯t matter. They would see soon enough. ¡°Gentlemen, minds like ours deserve more than words. They deserve proof. I present to you¡­ the ineffable.¡± The old man painfully pulled the rope, and the curtain was undone. It revealed a large painting that elicited a gasp in the assembly. The men were all shocked. But not as shocked as the old man. The eye was missing. The image depicted a strange apparatus on an altar, a horn of some sorts, its edges blurry, its lines melting into each other until he was sure they could not exist in an Euclidean environment. Glyphs went on and off along his edge, yet he could not land his eyes on one as they seemed to fade while he searched for them. A good quarter of the painting was gone. Or rather, it was painted a black so thick, so abysmal, that it felt like a hole in the world itself. There were whispers here, but none he could decipher. The painting showed a key¡­ but that key was beyond his grasp. No, that was not quite correct. The painting was a lock. He was confined outside. Clearly, the cold ones had a sense of humor. The old man chuckled though it was brief. A vague sense of dread filled his heart just as he turned his head to the assistant who had unwittingly betrayed him. The younger lad stood by the door with the expected vacant expression. By his side, a tall man with smooth features and carefully combed black hair lifted his top hat in greeting. Pale, aristocratic features were complimented by a suit where not a single button was out of place. The old man walked to him, though every step was a torture. He would not allow himself to falter. The cold one¡¯s grasp was cold, firm, yet soft enough to spare his delicate knuckles. ¡°Good evening, Mr Marshall,¡± the cold one greeted. ¡°My name is Isaac of the Rosenthal. If you would grant me a moment of your time, I have a proposal that might be of interest to you.¡± ¡°What sort of proposal?¡± The cold one smiled. ¡°Ingress.¡± Chapter 210: The Great One Rows of smelters lay cold and quiet. The giant machines forging the guns of tomorrow no longer beat with heavy hammers, pounding steel into the perfect shape. The Dvergur engineers who manage the enchantments that make IGL the best supplier on the planet are nowhere in sight. I walk among the assembly line with a calm step, then a more cautious one.The smell is slightly wrong. Overheated metal has a specific aroma that I find lacking here. I look down and see I am missing my usual clothes, replaced by a horribly unfashionable dress. A century out-of-fashion to be precise. Someone is playing me. How did I even get here? A growl makes me turn, though I move at human speed. A humanoid shape emerges from behind a cold press with soft steps. Blood drips from a vicious, massive cleaver made of a glassy stone that cannot exist on this plane. Humans might call it a devil from the red skin and corded muscles, but they would be wrong. The face is cruel yet handsome, under quills and not horns. Those are crystal and serve an interesting array of functions, the most basic of which is to infuse its wearer with a bloodlust that will only be extinguished when he is. I have seen the creature¡¯s likeness before, though I have never faced it in combat. Too weak. I did kill a commander in the arena, however. Its presence on earth is surprising but not impossible, though a single detail allows me to take a step back and expand my consciousness. It is too early. The warrior roars and charges. I allow its ghostly blade to trail across my chest. At the same time, a dream Aurora manifests over my shoulder and I grab with my recovered power. The warrior disappears and a woman avoids my grip at the last moment. My fingers close around wisps of hair that fade like spider silk in the wind. Nevertheless, the cogs of the nearest machines grow thorns as they close around us. I find myself face to face with the intruder, unmoving. I wager she is a Berber from the traits and the deep blue eyes. She wears a scarf, though black strands of lush hair escape from it in a deceptively graceful manner. The dark dress she wears expands to cover her shoes, but a simple belt gathers around her lithe waist. This is the garment of a woman who displays modesty but invites attraction. A contradiction. I start. Then, because the jab is simply too tempting. I see a sudden flash of anger, soon repressed. Amaretta, Progenitor of the seer bloodline hisses, her composure cracking ever so slightly. Her features start to fade, but I catch her essence fleeing downward. The factory roof parts to show a night sky and the Watcher¡¯s domineering gaze. Hedges rise everywhere, while a sheer wall grows in the distance. Roots lash out, bearing fragrant white flowers. Most miss but I spot a single droplet of black blood staining a lonely petal. At the same time, I taste the barest hint of her essence. I warn the fleeting form. The midnight wind carries an offended hiss. Serves her right. A step carries me inside of the palace, where I find a discarded copy of the Chicago Gazette waiting on a desk. The Headline shines under the strange light, reading its fateful message. Europe¡¯s suicide has begun. Thiaumont, near Verdun, June 1916. Hell on Earth. It was night. Perhaps, three years before, this could have been a place. Perhaps grass covered the slopes under the shadows of old trees. Perhaps young lovers came here for a kiss, or perhaps it used to be a field. It could have been an orchard for all he knew. There was nothing left of it now. Nothing but scorched earth raked again and again by the same artillery batteries, the landscape remade every night. Not even the hardiest grass had survived the constant fury of an unhinged mankind as they fought for the same length of dead field again, and again, and again. Holes as deep as mine entrances led to the false promise of security. There was none to be had here. None at all. If you huddled against the powdery earth you could spot pieces of shoes, broken metal, or the scorched remains of viscerae of those who had tried before. Once, Maurice had seen a glassy eye staring at him from the abyss, then a shell had hit and cast the ghastly piece in a hellish radiance. It was just skin glued to a broken helmet by the terrible heat. This place was hell, and it was made by men. The only thing that survived here was lice. They jumped from the corpses to the living with frenetic vigor, biting to extract blood before a bullet stole it. Maurice ignored the itch in his beard. It wouldn¡¯t help. A terrible explosion turned the world red beyond the nearby ridge. The sound carried through the tissue Maurice had stuffed in his ears, making his teeth shake. The earth shook. It shook again a little later. It shook nearby. Shrapnel beheaded a man from C company. Maurice kneeled though his officer wouldn¡¯t have it. It didn¡¯t matter. The screaming political officer couldn¡¯t be everywhere at once. He kept screaming something about the republic. Maurice looked up to the striated rays of light far above where the sky battle took place. He hoped the Minotaur-class cruisers held again before the onslaught of the Luftmarine. If not, they would be picked off from the sky by well-placed bombs, slowly and without a chance to fight back. The order to hold spread across the lines. He could spot figures moving in the distance. ¡°Les schleus! A droite! Feu, feu!¡± Enemies. Maurice lined a shot and pulled the trigger. He didn¡¯t know if he hit and he didn¡¯t care. More explosions rocked the ground around the trench. Maurice shot again. Someone said ¡®les schleus¡¯, the Germans, were running as if it mattered. The order to countercharge came from some Saint-Cyr ¡®connard¡¯ back in his bunker. Maurice was numb. There was no escaping this time. Still, he fixed his bayonet to look in front of him, towards the lava-tinged darkness of the battlefield. ¡°Chaaaaa ¡ª¡± The world went white and upside down. A warcry died in Maurice¡¯s throat just as it was filled with soil. It was dark. He was lost. He could not breathe. He could not scream. He was so, so very scared. He was in so much pain. Maurice died an ignominious death, too much in agony to even curse. *** It was wrong to think that if a tree fell in the woods with no one to see it, it did not make a sound. The world remembered if someone had sung or remained silent. The world remembered if a person died on the spot or after twelve agonizing hours. The world remembered even if no one sang or wrote what had happened. The world was remembering five million dead over a period of two years. It remembered all those lives cut short and the atrocious suffering and anguish that came with it. The song of agony resonated through it, unheard by humans but so, so very loud. It called to them across the void and they searched for the source, for the cause of so much delectable pain. A pain on an industrial scale. Even they couldn¡¯t have done better. They were not meant to resist that call. They didn¡¯t even want to. The radiance of the moon caught the line of buried bayonets and the dying men beneath just as they perished. Two years of unceasing horror rang across eternity like the most horrific of beacons. Above, people died as well. Around, people died as well. It never stopped, the fracas and the blood and the pieces of human bodies squished under boots. The first thing a human saw was a facepressing against the air like a baby¡¯s head against a placenta. The German officer thought he had gone mad and lowered his head in prayer, and why would he not? The traits of the face were male, cruel and beautiful. It showed orgasmic pleasure as well as unspeakable suffering and it did not stop. With a sound like ripping sails, the creature crossed into earth. S?a?ch* Th? N0v?lFir?.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. Instantly, the fires grew more dire. Bones and molten steel turned to grasping limbs begging to be severed and wielded. The earth grew unyielding under foot so that even a pick could not scratch it. The creature that came out was three times the size of a man and rode atop a creature half horse half tiger, and in its wake, the numberless hordes of the Court of Blood raced out to reap their bloody harvest. The wave that reached Citadelle Verdun was mistaken for Germans and bombarded without mercy, but those that reached the empire¡¯s lines found them ready to attack and unprepared before the onslaught. On the first night, the Prince collected over ten thousand skulls. He killed five masters and one lord, turning them to ash as they tried to stop the onslaught. The frontline collapsed. *** Night had fallen over Berlin. Far over the Kaiser''s head, the last rays of the sun hit high, cottony clouds. A light wind chased the heat of the day. They rustled linden leaves all along the street, providing a relaxing background to the stressful moment. The kaiser wondered if the perfect weather showed that God had not abandoned his empire. No matter how dire fate seemed, His grace would never leave them. Or perhaps their sins had grown to be too much, and they had been forsaken. And God no longer cared. The skies should rain with blood. It would only be fair. A tall man walked by his side, his aide, always helpful to wake him up from his melancholy. ¡°I still do not trust the Nachtsritter. You should not be in an enclosed space with him, your highness.¡± ¡°They have paid a heavy price trying to keep our foe at bay. And besides, we have crosses.¡± ¡°I still don¡¯t trust him.¡± ¡°That is why I keep you around, Jodl.¡± His carriage was there. Mages of the ¡®Garde du Corps¡¯ stood on each corner of the heavily armored and enchanted frame. More were inside. It was a large carriage. The interior was dark and foreboding. Konrad sat in the corner with a relaxed, predatory posture. His armor reminded the man of pieces found in private collections, but this was genuine apparel. It was told they could stop bullets. Gardes du corps glared at the Nachtsritter contact from the other side of the carriage. As usual, it left him completely unfazed. The vampire sat properly, then greeted his kaiser with deference. ¡°Mein Herr.¡± ¡°I am told your guest has arrived?¡± ¡°We have learnt that she made her way to K?nigliche Oper. She booked it for the afternoon.¡± ¡°Since when do we allow foreigners to dispose of our orchestras as they please?¡± Jodl asked. Konrad delicately coughed in his sleeve. ¡°Ah, I understand that she made a significant monetary contribution for a single afternoon of performance. She requested works director Blech favored and was familiar with. He found her knowledge intriguing.¡± ¡°Hmph!¡± The carriage made its way across the deserted streets. Many of the citizens of Berlin either huddled in churches or bars now, made despondent by the news. Calls for repentance echoed calls for peace with concerning regularity, but the Kaiser knew there could be no peace with whatever had come for them all. ¡°Why do we need a stranger? Is there no warrior among your secretive kind who could take on this beast you mentioned?¡± ¡°The beast commands fire with a mastery this world has never seen. We are powerless before its might.¡± ¡°But this woman is not?¡± ¡°No¡­¡± Konrad leaned back and blinked, a rare display of emotion. When he spoke, it was with polite hesitation. ¡°Masters like me could defeat a regiment. You know this to be true. I would stand almost no chance against a lord, a lord would stand no chance against a trained warlord, and several trained warlords would stand no chance against that woman.¡± He sighed. ¡°She was born an American. They are a chaotic, irreverential lot, often unaware of their status and the status of their interlocutors. I would not put it past her to provoke you. She is well known as a firebrand among our kind. She has even engaged in acts of piracy.¡± ¡°Scandalous!¡± Jodl interjected. ¡°None of it matters for two reasons. First, we need her to kill the devil, or whatever that thing is. Second, and I cannot overstate it enough¡­¡± Konrad turned unusually serious. ¡°If she wishes to cut a bloody path from here to Brest or Copenhagen to catch a ship back to her home, there isn¡¯t a single force in the empire capable of stopping her. Even among our kind, she is monstrously powerful. Do not see her as a woman. See her as a pagan goddess, Athena, or perhaps Nemesis. You cannot threaten her. Do you understand?¡± ¡°If we cannot threaten her,¡± Jodl said, ¡°then perhaps she can be swayed by the fate of her airships¡¯ crew? Mein Herr, give the order and I shall have them arrested.¡± ¡°If you decide to do so, please give me time to leave the city first so I am not caught by the consequences of your actions,¡± Konrad calmly retorted. ¡°Enough,¡± the kaiser said. ¡°I have been aggressive in the past, and it has cost the empire dearly. As much as I dislike the English and their many offsprings, we must forfeit all propriety if we ever hope to stop the apocalypse.¡± ¡°What if¡­ what if it was God¡¯s will?¡± Jodl whispered, his facade cracking. ¡°Then we will fail.¡± *** They stopped below the opera house¡¯s portico on Unter den Linden boulevard. Bodyguards lined the steps and the greco-roman colonnade, but they were not alone. Around fifty men waited nearby at attention, their advanced weapons shining with runes in the light of gas lamps. They wore armor that could belong in some fantasist gazette on the future of warfare, each one costing enough to outfit several squads. Anger sparked in the kaiser¡¯s breast. IGL, the armament juggernaut, flexing its muscles on his very doorstep! How much more abuse would he need to face, he wondered. It was dark inside. Gardes du corps stood face to face with IGL private soldiers. Masks covered the foreigners¡¯ faces and, quite shockingly, he thought some of them might be women. The kaiser silenced an impulse to forfeit all his responsibilities to find shelter in the nearest church and repent for his crimes, like some of his generals had done. He had a responsibility to his people, however, and he would not give up until he faced the pearly gates. Music played in the deserted venue. A violin danced with its orchestra in a tight and breathless air, a far cry from the solemn hymns he favored. ¡°What is that?¡± ¡°Introduction and Rondo Capriccioso in la mineur, by Camille Saint Saens,¡± Konrad whispered. ¡°We are here a little early.¡± The kaiser removed his watch from his breast pocket. They were, by a few minutes. The song reached a crescendo as they climbed to the second floor and the private lounges there. The kaiser had to admit that music was universal and that the violin¡¯s unceasing rush brought a measure of beauty to an otherwise grim situation. It occurred to him that the situation was terribly incongruous. Him, listening to degenerate socialist music on his way to meet a woman. The group stopped in front of the lodge because its approach was guarded by a titan in black armor of a make he had never seen before. The colossus waited with his arms crossed over a prodigious chest, while an axe as dark as the night rested on his shoulders. No human could possibly wield such a weapon. He raised a hand as they approached. Despite heading an empire of almost 70 million people, the kaiser felt compelled to stop. So did Konrad. The vampire facing them emitted an aura of calm determination that dulled the outrage the kaiser should have felt. The gesture was not a personal insult or the result of petty games. This man would have asked God himself to wait and thought nothing of it. It took thirty more seconds for the music to finish, during which the man didn¡¯t move, merely listened. After the last note faded, he waited two more seconds before opening the door. Instead of going in, it was the vampire who came out. Were it not for her attire, she would have been the least vampire-like creature the kaiser had ever met, not that he had met many. Her flush skin spoke of a healthy constitution, though she was a little pale. Her smile betrayed a confidence a woman her age should not display in front of her betters. Her blue eyes vivaciously inspected them in turn. Hers was the beauty of a Junker¡¯s daughter used to walks and horse-riding, not the wan composure of capital waifs. ¡°Thank you for your patience, gentlemen,¡± she greeted. Her German had a distinct Saarland touch, but old. It revealed her true age. Then, the vampire curtsied lightly. The kaiser took this for the voluntary mark of respect this was and returned a small nod. Those were strange times but appearance, as ever, were important. The curtsey also gave him a good view of the lady¡¯s apparel. While she wore the mask of mortality, her dress was a thing of living ice straight out of some of the Brother Grimms¡¯ fairy tales. Blue and whites cascaded from her shoulder in icicles. Hypnotic diamond patterns covered her flanks while the hem disappeared in a mirage of vapor. Clearly it was a masterpiece of tailoring and sorcery. It also told the kaiser exactly how the foreigner intended to stop the devil¡¯s inferno. She would extinguish it. ¡°I had a room prepared for our discussion, if you will follow me. Your guards are welcome as well.¡± ¡°Of course they will come,¡± Jodl grunted. He was ignored. Everyone knew that if half of what Konrad said was correct, they would not make any difference. He hoped that this was not all a morbid farce played on him in his hour of despair¡­ but no. The Nachtsritter would not dare. They were not a group prone to jests. The vampire led them to a receiving room on the second floor ¡ª he had almost expected to be led to a secret crypt. It was well-lit. A table with refreshment awaited the humans in a corner. Her giant bodyguard stayed outside, but the rest of the group moved in towards a central table. The kaiser forbade his guards from searching the room with a gesture, which the foreigner did not comment on. Her attention was on a table holding a map and a pulpit showing a trio of ghastly faces. She waited until everyone moved around to speak. ¡°For the past two days, you have been invaded by a scourge called the Court of Blood. I will go back to them later. For now, I would like you to pay attention to this map. This marks the epicenter of the invasion, with elements advancing as far as the Rhine. There are infiltrated elements farther in.¡± ¡°Infiltrated elements?¡± Jodl asked. ¡°The Court of Blood is as insidious as it is destructive. Brute force is not their only weapon. I digress. Most of you must be familiar with the current developments, I was merely setting the stage to my demonstration. Now, let me tell you what you are facing. The Court of Blood is technically part of a group of worlds quite different from ours called the fae spheres. It is one of the larger, yet is fully separate due to its denizen¡¯s absolute inability to engage in any form of diplomacy.¡± ¡°Fae? As in¡­ elves?¡± Jodl asks. ¡°The fae are humanoids from other worlds who get lost in ours,¡± Konrad explains. ¡°Or at least they were. Ariane of the Nirari sent them home around forty years ago.¡± The kaiser does not miss Konrad¡¯s frozen traits, or the woman¡¯s smug expression. ¡°And you know of this¡­ Court of Blood through your association with the fae?¡± he asked. ¡°I know about them because I traveled to faerie and faced their deadlier warriors in single combat. For sport. My friend there warned me of the Court as there was a chance they would be the first to make contact when we align with them, in¡­ three thousand years at the very least.¡± Stunned silence welcomed this statement. ¡°I have a very real chance of being there to see it,¡± the woman gently reminded them. ¡°But then,¡± the kaiser asked, ¡°how are they here now?¡± ¡°Over six millions dead soldiers in two years over a relatively short span of land. Everything has power, and death most of all. Such a slaughter could not escape their attention. Fortunately for us, this world is yet hostile to their presence. They cannot deploy the full extent of their powers, and they will be slow to turn the land.¡± A chill crossed the room. ¡°What do you mean, turn the land?¡± ¡°The Court of Blood transforms the land they dwell on into more Court of Blood. They had devoured an estimated four other spheres before being found and contained.¡± ¡°Four spheres? As in four planets?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± The revelation was welcomed in sullen silence. ¡°For all we know, you could be lying through your teeth! Faeries? Planets? Nonsense!¡± ¡°You can call them demons for all I care,¡± the woman replied with a shrug. ¡°I am merely providing background information for the main point: wherever they go turns into their domain and if we wait for too long, that change becomes irreversible. This world is young and vulnerable, as far as magic goes. It will not resist for very long. We will have to destroy the portal before we reach the point of no return. Without their connection to their domains, the warriors already here will eventually fade, if they are not killed before.¡± ¡°Are you telling me that our world is connected to theirs, and theirs to the other¡­ spheres you mentioned? Would they be willing to help us?¡± The vampire considered the question for a few seconds. ¡°How can I explain? The allied courts and we stand at either side of a narrow path. A path filled with traps and enemies. Their world is so vast that even I may not cross it without being overwhelmed. You see, the Blood Court has no industry, no fields, not even vegetation. What passes for cities are merely transitory structures used by current warlords to muster their troops against the spheres or each other. Blood warriors are born from the soil. They rip their weapons from geological formations growing through the hard red ground. They only gather when a more powerful warrior demands it, otherwise they fight each other to gain strength. It is an accursed place.¡± ¡°And it cannot be purified?¡± ¡°Even the Court of Blue hasn¡¯t found a reliable and reasonable way. The alliance prefers to lance the boil periodically, allowing their armies to meet on the Fields of Eternity every so often. It builds characters for the young nobles. But I digress. All that matters is that we stand alone facing this.¡± The woman moved to the pulpit to reveal a familiar quilled visage. They recognized him from the reports. ¡°The Prince, unnamed as of now. We know little about his powers save that he wields fire, a whip, and rides atop a colossal blood beast that appears to be invulnerable to conventional weaponry. He leads the attack. He has two lieutenants we can tell, a duke and a duchess.¡± ¡°They have nobility?¡± ¡°The spheres do, and they used the same method to classify their foes. This one seems to be the most problematic.¡± The woman pointed at a rendition of a tall and extremely lean figure that resembled a mantis. Its chest and waist ratio lent it a disturbing, vaguely feminine air. It wielded thorny spears in each of its four hands. The shape of a man had been drawn by its side. That creature was massive. ¡°Fortunately, I have an ally interested in crossing blades with her. The other feels more straightforward, but my subordinates might not be up to the task of stopping him. Sir Konrad¡¯s friend might want their pound of flesh, however?¡± ¡°We would like this very much, yes.¡± The Nachtsritter eyed the lumbering figure of a toad-like humanoid with a promise of violence rarely seen on his cool traits. ¡°Those are nobles, creatures that have distinguished themselves through bloodshed to rise to individuality. Those are the reports I could obtain on my way here.¡± ¡°May we know who gave you those reports?¡± Jodl demanded. ¡°You may not,¡± she deadpanned. ¡°There may be others we do not know about because they left no survivors. Below them are troops that can be regrouped in several categories: infantry, cavalry, war beasts, living siege rams, living transports, flying monsters, and finally, the lemure. This one will be the most problematic.¡± ¡°How so?¡± ¡°They steal the appearance of dead soldiers, revealing themselves at an inconvenient moment.¡± Most of the table gasped in horror. ¡°Should we¡­¡± ¡°They cannot be here yet, and besides they do not steal the memories of the deceased. Vampires and werewolves can detect them from their smell. Mages can use an aura reader. I can provide the schematics.¡± ¡°One more question: how do we close the portals?¡± ¡°I have a spell that will work. It is the same that is used to seal the deadland portals.¡± ¡°Will it suffice?¡± ¡°It will if I cast it. I was the first one to wield it against the liches. The world remembers.¡± The Kaiser turned to Konrad for confirmation. The vampire nodded. Between closing portals, hunting elves, and piracy, that woman had been quite busy. ¡°Then we know our enemy and we know our objective. I shall order the troops¡­¡± ¡°Not so fast. There are three important details to solve first.¡± The kaiser frowned. The woman was smiling now, showing her fangs without pretense. His cross remained cold, yet a chill crawled up his spine. ¡°The first is that a land force will be too slow. We will need your skyfleet.¡± The kaiser and Jodl exchanged a glance. They knew the state of the Luftmarine. Right now, biplanes were the best tools they had to keep the combined French and English fleets at bay and even that cost hundreds of lives every month. ¡°The prince and his lackeys are too mobile. We need to tie them up where they cannot afford to retreat. We need to tie them up at the portal. For that, we will need airships and airborne troops to hold the ground, or they will not follow.¡± ¡°If the goal is to close the portal, can you not do it yourself?¡± ¡°As a matter of fact, I can.¡± The casual comment stunned everyone around. ¡°What? But then¡­¡± ¡°And I will, whether you want to or not. However, that will not solve your prince problem.¡± She shrugged, the movement sending her dress to shimmer under the light of the gaslamp. ¡°What do you want?¡± the kaiser asked, a rising sense of dread filling his chest. ¡°Two point three million marks.¡± ¡°You¡­ you madwoman!¡± the kaiser sputtered. ¡°Ah, this is just for me. The operation will require many more ships than what you have left. We need the fleets of all of Europe for the operation to wipe out most invaders at once. And there is only one way for the Allies to agree to help.¡± ¡°Oh! You want us to capitulate!¡± he bellowed. ¡°Face it, you have already lost. The allies merely have to wait then pick up the pieces.¡± ¡°Never, you hear me? Never!¡± ¡°And thus our negotiations end tonight.¡± She smiled. It was quite sharp. ¡°See you tomorrow.¡± Chapter 211: Hellfleet The base extends below us for miles, a haphazard assembly of tents that lacks the usual discipline. Poor weather sends the tarp aflutter and there is little I can do to mitigate that effect. The Aurora has a mind of her own.I tell my newest minions. an Erenwald courtier says. Daft lad. A blond. Feels compelled to repeat everything I say like the world¡¯s blandest parrot. The Brotherhood vampires gather around me in a court of ducklings. For some reason, I expected the ¡®Nacht Ritter¡¯ to gather their strongest warriors in a show of force, but instead they sent me disposable courtiers and young masters. What, do they expect me to kill them? Contrary to¡­ other things, I have an excellent record with trainees. Ugh. I tap my nose. We walk down the slope, passing by an ambulance that stinks of old blood. A woman rests her head against the wheel, exhausted. A couple of soldiers hide behind it in an effort to smoke in peace. One of them finds me. In his gaze, there is no more soul than in that of a cattle. This man has been chewed and spat out by whatever he faced farther west. He does not even react to the Aurora. ¡°Where is the command tent?¡± The man waves a hand towards the center of the improvised encampment. I follow his direction through milling soldiers and screaming officers. We are not stopped. Those who have the authority to do so recognize my follower¡¯s uniforms. As for me, a look is enough to classify me in the ¡®above your paygrade¡¯ category. We find the commanders unimpeded. Even the sentries do not block our path. Sloppy, but I can hardly blame them. Inside, the command tent is the very image of wanton disarray. Oh, the maps are in the right position and the officers suitably grim, but they converse in small groups while two high-ranking men argue rather loudly about the next steps somewhere in the center. Pure chaos for Germans. If it were France, a fisticuff would have already erupted. Someone could be peeing on the maps. ¡°Congratulations!¡± I yell, silencing everyone at once. ¡°Your camp has been selected as the meeting point for the combined fleets of Europe, which will start arriving within the next few hours. You will get the camp in order and establish defensive positions. Fortifications must be built to the west, by order of the emperor himself.¡± I wave my decree like a little flag. Oh, glorious moment where I wield the ultimate power but have to use it to dig ditches. Alas, alas for maturity. At least I can watch that fat bearded dude get an apoplexy. ¡°You dare?¡± he erupts. ¡°Do you know who I am?¡± ¡°Hush.¡± A deadly silence spreads through the tent, quieting even the clamor of the voices outside. The man speaks but no sounds come out. ¡°That is better. Now, I have never killed a general before¡­¡± I stop and reconsider my words. ¡°Well, not one so high-ranked at least, but I will do so without hesitation if you oppose me. The decree gives me full authority to turn this sorry cesspit into a functioning forward base. If you oppose my work, I will retire you. Permanently.¡± The general turns an interesting shade of tulip, but one of his aides picks up the paper and pales when he recognizes the seal. I lift the sound interdiction. ¡°Sir¡­ this is genuine.¡± Sadly, this turns the man purple. He needs a moment and a glass of schnapps. I am left dealing with underlings. ¡°You will clear the field in the direction of¡­ what is the nearest town?¡± ¡°Baden-Baden.¡± ¡°Yes. That one. And set a perimeter around it to prepare for landing crafts.¡± ¡°Madam¡­ there are no fields large enough. This is the Black Forest.¡± I sigh. I have used my Magna Arqa to clear land before. It just feels like such a vulgar use of an amazing power. Removing forest runs against its very principle. Pah, whatever. ¡°You will lead me to a suitably flat spot then. In the meanwhile¡­ there is the matter of the lemures.¡± I grab one of the sentries who had been watching with empty eyes. The man struggles while his comrades watch in shock, unsure how to proceed. Then my captive twists into a thin, ghastly creature, all taut skin over countless bony extensions, a mix between a man and a gecko. Teeth snap at me. The vampires stand there. ¡°Well, this is the perfect opportunity to get used to their essence.¡± ¡°Errr.¡± ¡°COME CLOSER.¡± I shake the beast as it snaps at me. Annoying. And slightly malodorous, though the essence is rich. Ugh. I know exactly what to do. I open the tent flap and cause a small panic among the soldiers. ¡°Milady?¡± repeats the man with some doubt. ¡°I have a task for you. Go catch it!¡± I toss the lemure bodily into the nearest post. It falls, dazed, then attempts to flee. This is all that is needed for the vampires¡¯ instincts to kick in. ¡°And bring me back the corpse of the others! There are at least seven!¡± I scream after the hissing pack. The head elements have fallen on the shapeshifter to eat it, leaving the slower folks to spread out to earn their meal. At least this will get them out of my hair. ¡°Where were we? Oh yes, deforestation.¡± s?a??h th? Nov?lF?re .??t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. *** ¡°And to think this is the military that kept ours in check for over two years,¡± the man who just entered says. The infuriating individual who so casually forgot the contribution of the French and the might of the Germans can only be Sky Marshal Jacobi, the head of the Triple Entente fleet. He is an older gentleman with impressive sideburns and a perfectly groomed mustache. His aide rushes by his side, embarrassed for some reason. They spot me. ¡°And you must be the vampire.¡± ¡°Sir?¡± ¡°What gave it away?¡± I ask, showing a hint of fang. ¡°No respect for your elders, which sometimes means that I am not, in fact, your elder.¡± ¡°Indeed not.¡± ¡°What a troublesome era. At least, you should have been a man.¡± ¡°I fear I cannot take responsibility for my condition.¡± The admiral huffs. Another man, this one in a blue uniform, moves in. ¡°Ah. Mademoiselle, you must be the Hand of the Accords zen?¡± ¡°In person.¡± ¡°Is it true they call you the Red Maiden as well?¡± ¡°You sank my uncle¡¯s ship near Gibraltar,¡± Admiral Jacobi says reproachfully. ¡°Oh yes, that was quite fun,¡± I observe. I remember well. Sinead was with me. ¡°He said you had naked men dancing on your bridge!¡± ¡°Quite a lot of fun.¡± ¡°Scandalous.¡± ¡°Any person who sank a British ship and is not German has my immediate respect, madam. My name is Admiral Gireaud. I represent the French fleet. You are American, yes? We have brought your minotaurs. Please keep them in good shape as we have yet to pay them fully.¡± ¡°I am sure you have a good contract,¡± I reply genially. ¡°A capitalist misconception.¡± ¡°If you would focus on the issue at hand¡­¡± Jacobi chides. We gather around the table where maps await. I have received constant updates from the Rosenthal over the past hours. Their intelligence network is working overtime to follow the invasion from up close. ¡°Here is what I have,¡± I begin. ¡°The German fleet was unfortunately mauled over Colmar. Only the Scharnhorst is still fully operational, but they have brought their entire complement of biplanes from every front and we can count on them to protect our approach. The Italians sent fast frigates, twelve of them, and they are already here. What about you?¡± ¡°The Entente sends twenty-one cruisers and five frigates. The admiralty refuses to commit more to the defense of an enemy power, even one that has capitulated. We must defend our land.¡± He gives me a pointed look. ¡°We also refuse to give you command over our contingent. We formally request that you give me overall command since we bring the most numerous and powerful detachment.¡± ¡°That is fine,¡± I reply with a shrug. Jacobi blinks, quite likely expecting protests. ¡°I have no experience commanding a fleet,¡± I explain, ¡°Not to mention that my presence will be required on the ground at the end of the run. I am more than willing to let a competent leader direct the fleet, so long as all our objectives are complete.¡± ¡°Is that so? And you will commit your personal ship?¡± ¡°Of course. It will be carrying me into battle, after all. Please make sure it stays covered since, you know, there isn¡¯t anyone else capable of taking down the prince.¡± ¡°Then you have no objection to us sending an observer to the ship?¡± I could refuse, of course, but that would not be fun. ¡°You can send someone, so long as they respect our rules, starting with the most important one.¡± ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°They must wear the hat.¡± *** The late afternoon sun shines over the newly made field between Baden-Baden and the natural barrier of the Rhine. Thousands of troops in various levels of preparation board their designated ships for the first, and likely not last union of mankind against a foreign invader. Reinforced balloons shine with glyphs and protective plates while sailors load the last of the available ammunition. Baden-Baden was never meant to be a major supply hub. From the safety of my sarcophagus, I observe the wear and tear on many of the ships¡¯ hulls and sails. Those all bear the wounds of an extended conflict. Even the newest ship shows signs of extensive repair. The war has raged mercilessly and the flying vessels have borne the brunt of every large battle due to their ability to fly where they are needed, both a blessing and a curse. By comparison, the looks brand new and quite different. A mundane observer could think the airship is designed for racing, and they would not be wrong. She is designed for speed and maneuverability. The massive gun lodged in the airframe and the spell spears may be hidden. The hull is thinner and offers less resistance to air than that of a more cumbersome cruiser at the cost of armor. It is custom made to my specifications. And now, it flies in formation with ships that, a few days earlier, would have shot at each other without mercy. I wonder where this is all going. The world is changing so fast, now with the invasion of our second group of pests. Thankfully, this one comes from far away, and they should not have the ability to stay once we sever the portal. I spare a thought for the fae spheres on the other side of thousands of kilometers of hell. I will never reach them but sometimes, I wish I could. I wish I could summon some help to deal with Nirari instead of having to stop him myself. I wish it did not just depend on me. There is so much to explore and so many things to do, but now much rests on my shoulders and¡­ I do not like it. A part of me wants to cross that boundary and fight the blood court for a century, until they break me or I break their world. Just for the adventure it represents. My sire¡¯s presence looms like a sword of Damocles, as it has since I stood a chance to stop him. This is but one more diversion, but this time I see an opportunity to further even the odds: the blood of a prince. I cannot let him escape. Outside, a horn sounds. One by one, the ships take off into the sky. The is no exception. ¡°Why do I have to wear the tricorn?¡± the ¡®spy¡¯ officer asks, a bit aghast. ¡°It¡¯s the rule,¡± the skipper replies without emotion, though I can taste his amusement. ¡°Is it true your boss is called the boom girl?¡± ¡°You can always ask her.¡± ¡°What¡¯s that big tube over there?¡± ¡°The main gun.¡± ¡°Your main gun is larger than a coastal battery!¡± ¡°What else would you expect from the boom girl?¡± ¡°I thought this was a jest!¡± ¡°I assure you sir, here, we do not joke about explosions. It ties into rule nineteen.¡± ¡°Is it the same list of rules that covers the tricorns?¡± ¡°Yes, and rule nineteen states that nothing is a laughing matter until after the enemy has been blown up.¡± ¡°I want to get back to the Zephyr.¡± ¡°Wait! You have not seen our anti-personnel spell arrays yet.¡± I close the communication, letting my skipper amuse himself. He is one of Loth¡¯s men. He will die before he betrays my trust. In the meanwhile, I watch the combined fleet lift toward the skies. It is quite a sight. I have lived for some time now, and I am glad for the spectacle. It does not beat the Court of Blue but¡­ it will do. Each ship ponderously gets in formation, the cruisers in the centers and the escort ships around. We are considered to be an escort ship. The Fury is only thirty meters long with a crew of seventy in wartime, such as now. Contrary to others, it is not powered by a mix of modified engines and mana. The might of the Fury comes from the Aurora itself. So long as I am aboard, its power surpasses that of even a flagship. I am eager to see what the Court of Blood intends to throw at us. As the fleet gains altitude, we pass through a cloud and the rest of them disappear from view for a while. I adjust the mirrors around me and enjoy just resting in fluffy clouds, imagining that stepping outside will not turn me into a screaming Ariane-sized torch. We pierce the cover and the gray turns to pinks and reds. For two hours, nothing of import happens. We are too high to be intercepted, a superiority of human technology. I relax and check on the other night denizens aboard my ship. The poor dears do not have access to the external recorders and appear to be bored. It will change soon enough. Towards dusk, we dive. The cloud cover thins to reveal what is left of the battlefield around Verdun. It starts with red light, like a field of fireflies seen from above. Soon, however, the little dots resolve themselves into so many fires, burning without much fuel on a seemingly endless plain of blood-soaked, scorched earth. Red and brown to the horizon where Verdun still holds, the land has perished. I find the culprit without much difficulty. The portal to the Court of Blood hovers in the middle of a crater, its surface like a bullet gash in reality complete with frayed edges that bleed mana onto earth. The soil beyond is more crimson than our own, but not by much. The process has already started. ¡°Ma¡¯am, the Zephyr has ordered us on a course to the plain in front of the portal. They want to land the marines there,¡± my skipper tells me. ¡°Follow for now,¡± I reply. The prince should have taken the bait, but he might be further afield. I suspect my human allies might be able to unload some of their troops before they are swarmed. And then, we are inevitably spotted. A cloud of human-sized combatants lifts off from the many recesses of this strange earth. The rays of the waning sun shine on dragonfly wings, leather wings, strange, segmented body parts stuck to much, much larger specimens. ¡°By jove, is that a dragon?¡± the spy asks. It most certainly is not. It has a good size, however. ¡°The Zephyr is signaling to prepare for an engagement. We will not change course,¡± the skipper observes. He turns to his communicator and his voice appears more clearly in my sarcophagus. ¡°Ma¡¯am, any instructions?¡± ¡°Do as you will, Skipper. Just get us through this in one piece.¡± ¡°Aye ma¡¯am, and even afloat if I can manage it.¡± ¡°DEFENDERS OF MANKIND,¡± a voice bellows with a terrible intensity. I listen with rapt attention, considering two things. One, those defenders of mankind are here because I, a vampire, brought them here. Second, only a fraction of those defenders of mankind actually speak English. Admiral Jacobi does not mind. ¡°I know you are confused. I know you look left and right and see the foes of yesterday, against whom you fought and to whom you lost friends. I know this and I ask you to look beyond that to the hellish landscape in front of you. This is our world¡¯s future.¡± Ah, the sweet taste of terror spreads across the fleet, though I know Jacobi is only preparing for a delivery. ¡°We are facing invaders from another world. Those invaders will turn our planet into this unless we stop them here and now. So look left and right. All those you see are our world¡¯s only chance. And I am not afraid. ¡°I have seen your mettle, gentlemen, over the past two years. Friends or foe, you are all proud sailors of the fleets of mankind. Tonight, you will give me your best for tomorrow the skies will be blue and they will be ours. Everyone, battlestations. The time has come to reclaim our earth. Kill every last one of those ugly bastards, and let their gods sort them out.¡± In front of us, the swarm approaches. The Zephyr is the first to open fire, then the rest of the cruisers join in. The largest creatures are immediately turned to paste, torn asunder by shells designed to kill a ship through its plating. As the large, dragon-like enemies fall, their smaller brethren still approach. They look like horrible winged humanoids with blades instead of arms. I watch the Zephyr signal for beehive shells designed to fill fighters with shrapnels. Soon, the swarm is close enough for machine guns to open on them. I notice larger specimens now that the combatants are closer. They have officers of sorts, and one of them concerns me more than most. He looks like the duke my allies identified, only with wings. If they have one of their two dukes, we might be in trouble. A minute later, the swarm is upon us. A veritable hail of bullets meets them, downing many. Blood and body parts fall like rain on the desolate earth below. The barrage of constant gunfire is deafening and, outside, I see the barrels of machine-guns overheating from unceasing activity. The sky turns into a confusing painting of black shapes and the white rays of tracer rounds. The Blood Court warriors die in droves but there are many of them, more than I thought possible. Perhaps they crossed the border in priority. Soon, the first manage to land on escort frigates¡¯ hulls and jump on the bridges where they are welcomed by marines with short guns. Just as the heart of the formation approaches, a buzz covers even the din of the cannons. An entire armada¡¯s worth of biplanes dives on the enemy. Their weapons are not the best to pick off small targets but there are so many of them and the warriors are packed so dense that it does not matter. Like sharks hunting a school of fishes, human fighter planes carve bloody paths through the formation, climbing back before they can get in range of their many foes. Chaos spreads through the enemy ranks while their nobles try their best to keep the warriors focused on the easier and more dangerous forms of the warships, but many fail. Long trails of flying warriors go after the biplanes in a futile attempt to catch up. Sadly, a few of the fighters are too slow to get altitude and fall under the tide of flesh. Their sacrifice gives us enough time to inflict devastating casualties on the swarm. ¡°The Zephyr orders us to tighten the formation,¡± the skipper tells me. ¡°I will take control of the frontal arrays,¡± I reply. ¡°Get all hands on the deck.¡± ¡°Already done.¡± Inside the sarcophagus, a handle pops out from under the mirror, courtesy of Constantine¡¯s technology. I use it to aim at the nearest officer. A hiss, a roar, and the spell spear screams, sending a flashing blue ray of energy at the winged creature. It explodes rather pleasantly. Sadly, one of the Italian frigates in front of us falls down in flames, soon joined by a French cruiser. Heavy smoke follows the wounded titans as they fall to their death. With the ships tighter, the fire intensifies. A good half of the ships are boarded now, but they never stop firing. I watch the duke lead the solid core of his dying troops toward the Zephyr. Going after the largest ship makes sense, I suppose. ¡°Get us closer to the Zephyr,¡± I order. ¡°That will get us within range of the swarm.¡± ¡°Can you hold the bridge?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Then go.¡± The Fury accelerates and aims up and right, going in support of the beleaguered flagship. We are not the only ones to do so. Lighter cruisers and frigates close rank, risking boarding to fend off the attackers. More biplanes have turned around for another dive. The fire that pours into the duke¡¯s group is staggering. ¡°We¡¯re tearing them apart,¡± the spy exults. I am not so sure. The duke has landed on the Zephyr¡¯s bridge. I can spot its tail from here. It speaks in a low voice, calling the Court of Blood¡¯s primal magic. Royal marines fight his men off with their courage and their bayonets, but I can tell this will not be enough. A corona of fire expands from the winged form and the entire front of the massive warship is caught in a raging inferno. The leading sails fail and the ship immediately dips forward. Carnage resumes on the damaged bridge. The Fury approaches and the warriors now flock over to us, a light target daring to close the distance. My soldiers cover the bridge and kill them as fast as they can approach with their excellent equipment, a disciplined wall against a raging tide. I can hear them banter as they kill. Good people. I fire in the crowds as fast as I can while other gunners use the lateral arrays. Despite this, damage accumulates on the sails. Something is gnawing on the ropes. A shadow falls over us and a thundering volley takes down all the incoming foe. I turn to see the Italian Sirio frigate rushing forward to buy us a precious few seconds. We clear the Zephyr¡¯s bridge, giving me full view of the duke. I line up a series of shots and lay into him as he summons fire again. The shot pierces through him, to his surprise. He roars. Now I can see he was still unharmed until now. Molten iron rests at his feet in small puddles. An issue of bullets, as always with highly magical creatures. It seems he has identified us as a major threat. ¡°We have incoming!¡± I warn the skipper. ¡°I see it.¡± The duke rises, torso ravaged by our strike. He flies straight at us under a deluge of bullets. Some of them manage to hurt his wings, but fire carries him to us. ¡°Turn to port, now. Accelerate on my mark,¡± the skipper says. I watch the massive creature bear down on us with a cry of wounded fury. I hit it two more times, but it can no longer be stopped. ¡°Boosters, now!¡± Magic and gasoline pour into the engine and the Fury swerves like no other ship, dodging the duke. I rake it as it misses us, front then side then back. It falls and¡­ does not die. A red biplane goes after it in a senseless dive. Well, I wish them good hunting. With the duke out, most of his swarm disperses or dives. As for us, we follow the flaming form of the Zephyr as it plunges towards the portal. It will crash-land right next to it. The low clouds part before us and I realize that¡­ we are not the first on the scene. Strange yet brilliant contraptions that look like armored cars with guns lead a formation of infantry towards the portal and, as I watch, vampires engage. It appears that Mask has joined the fight on the other side. Chapter 212: Prince of Blood I am King.Bertrand took a knee, then stood back again. The heat assailed him, pushing against his instincts to flee the burning hell around him. The flaming wreck of a Renault tank smoldered to his right while human soldiers shot and died against the fae¡¯s onslaught. But fight they did and so Bertrand would stand. I am King. Reality clashed against the lord¡¯s vision. This was a world of volcanic rock and bloody dust. Cracked stones and spontaneous fires dotted the infernal landscape. This was no more his kingdom than the depth of the ocean was. ¡°Yes, it is.¡± Once again, Betrand¡¯s conviction crashed against the truth around him and once again, his adamantine will prevailed. Bertrand was a scion of Roland. He could not be tamed. This was France, despite the fire and fury and the bones of the invaders. France was under his dominion. It would be so until he died and he. Was. Still. Alive. Red armor regrew while his golden mask reformed, the death mask of Agamemnon. I am King. Bertrand was not defeated yet. He dodged to the side. A moment later, another tank smashed on the ground where he used to be. The fae lord spoke and the air shook, forcing Bertrand to take a step back. Even though he could not understand the words, they made sense, sending images in his psyche despite his best efforts to ignore them. No one could deny the tongue of the fae, it seemed. Shell. Thick. Annoying. Trick of metal. Still. Weak. He turned around on his monstrous mount to smash another flank of the Triple Entente¡¯s advance. Maybe the Brits. Bertrand charged ahead before more tanks perished to fae warriors. More vampires fought around him, ¡®delousing¡¯ the heavy war machines so they could act as anchors for their formation. The air was heavy with the sound of cannons. The fae lord was stalling. He knew that with every second, new warriors crossed the threshold to join the melee while he was weakening with every loss. It thought it was winning. Bertrand knew better. I am King. The Roland lord moved forward and bisected one of their leaders. He charged and broke the tide with every swing of his mighty axe. Carnage followed. The humans rallied and reformed with the strength of those who are ready to fight to the death. Bertrand knew he was setting himself as a target but that was fine. It was his duty. I am King. Blood dripped on his crimson armor as he kept going, and going. Quilled heads rolled before the onslaught. Giant, boar like beasts died to well-placed tank shells. Humanity took another step forward. They followed in his wake, as it should be. Then the inevitable happened. A horn announced the return of the fae lord. Fires intensified, choking men and sending a wave of terror down the spine of the stoutest vampires. Bertrand stood, for he was king. The fae lord crested a nearby ridge. He was as tall as three men, covered in scales that could be armor or could be natural, Bertrand could not be sure. Quills covered his massive head and fell down his back like a waterfall of hair, delicate if it did not adorm such a monstrous being. Beautifully cruel traits sneered at Bertrand under scarlet eyes that burnt with an inner fire. He wielded a fiery whip, and flickering embers rose all around him like a cape. The body of a titan and legs like oak trunks completed the picture, though the fae lord was not walking now. Instead, he moved from atop a beast like a komodo dragon if those were the size of a large sloop. The beast itself was so resilient that even cannon shots failed to pierce its thick hide. Bertrand stood to face it though he knew he could not win. VIctory was not the point. The point was standing. Once more, the fae lord hissed at him. Cold ones. Slow. Amusing. Satisfactory. Distraction. It charged, and so Bertrand charged as well. Bertrand fought through the terror washing over him through sheer grit. Fire licked at his form long before the fae lord reached him. Incandescent motes gnawed at his armor, his mask, the flesh underneath. He persisted through all of that with all his speed and towards the forest of fangs and the fire whip of the fae lord and the death that could take him at any moment. But he would not falter. I am a King. The whip carved the land as Bertrand dodged to the side, as before. Even with his roll he could not escape the searing heat and the pain that came with it. Smoke ravaged his lungs, made his nose bleed pink foam but he held on. His armor further melted despite his efforts but this time he intercepted the tip of the whip on the flat of his axe blade. The impact made his bones creak. He was airborne. A roll, and his foot found a stone just in time to dodge again, just in time not to die. Bertrand roared and threw his axe. The fae lord deftly dodged, beast and rider moving as one. He dematerialized it and made it reappear in his hand. More precious life force wasted, more essence drained. He could not keep going, but he had to try. You, Persistent. Insignificant. Try. Harder. The fae¡¯s voice drilled in Bertrand¡¯s mind. He used the rage and impotence to fuel his regeneration, to rebuild his armor and mask again for what felt like the thousandth time that night. Behind, in the clouds, a new trail of fire appeared next to the sooty clouds. A form raced across the sky like a falling star. He recognized it. It was the HMS Zephyr, and it would crash land at the foot of the breach. The fae lord turned to watch and Bertrand didn¡¯t attack. It would be useless. Instead, he finished healing. The hellish mount still glared with its beady eyes. Even. Mightiest. Machines. Faillible. Vulnerable. We. Endless. Tide. He turned back to Bertrand, his attention now focused on the battle lord. The air seemed to shift, turning more oppressive. World. Joins. Natural. Order. Lost. Reborn. Glorious. Inevitable. Bark. Strange. Tongue. Wind. Pointless. s?a??h th? N0??F?re.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. The two combatants charged at each other again, and this time the lord¡¯s whip dug a painful groove through the armor and into Bertrand¡¯s chest. Too hot. Too much pressure. Just had to hold on a little longer. A tail coming at his face. Bertrand flew through the air, but the pain never came. he croaked. The ghastly form of Jean-Baptiste smiled grimly. In his Magna Arqa, the expert duelist looked like death as seen by artists, complete with cowl, a scythe, and a skeletal mask. The fae lord turned on himself to stop a blow from Dominique¡¯s oversized cleaver. The androgynous leader of Mask in France exchanged a few quick blow with their foes using their peerless speed but they had to retreat before the heat. ¡°Quelle chaleur,¡± they commented drily. Finally. Fun. Contest. The three vampires stood apart from each other. They were foes on the political chessboard but here, those considerations melted like snow under the sun. There was only one earth to play with. ¡°Gentlemen,¡± Dominique said. They charged first. Jean-Baptiste and Bertrand followed, letting them take point. Bertrand tolerated this because he was wounded. Like that, the three and the two danced on the dead expanse of land with the humans at their back and the portal in front, backlit by the flaming trail of the Zephyr. Mask vampires had waged war for centuries and they knew each other well, but this one a type of foe they had never meant to face. Quickly, their coordination collapsed. Dominique was meant to deliver the finishing blows but they could not get close enough, so this time it fell to the other two. Bertrand was already slowing down. Jean-Baptise was a peerless duelist, but this time he was facing a pair. He was the first to fall. The fae lord moved gracefully across the battlefield atop his accursed beasts and kept a perfect engagement distance. It took a single mistake. A wrong angle on a crater and Betrand¡¯s wounds prevented him from covering his favorite rival in time. The fire whip tore through the image of death and dispelled it, a nightmare replacing another. Bertrand smothered the guilt and rage he felt at the loss of such a rival by his own failure. He could not stop now. He would probably join him soon anyway. Dominique collapsed without legs soon after, then it was just Bertrand. The fae watched him charge with a frustrating sneer. The two warriors charged each other for the final blow, and only one had a chance of being a winner. Bertrand roared and threw his axe. It missed, but not because the fae dodged. THONK. The terrible noise came with an impact and a plume of dust the likes of which only artillery could produce. The fae lord jumped and rolled a few times, landing nimbly on his feet with the first hint of concern Bertrand had ever seen on his face. When the dust cleared, his mount was left on the ground. It was very, very dead. A projectile had gone through its head clean. It resembled a massive quarrel if quarrels were launched by ballistae the size of a coastal battery gun. Enchantments covered the entire surface in thin, delicately engraved scriptures that simmered a pleasant blue in the choking darkness, A inscription could be read on the metal fletching. To add insult to injury, it was written in English. ¡®Extra large game hunter, mark IV. Property of IGL. Do not touch.¡¯ And below, in Akkad. Bertrand¡¯s first thought was that if the shot had been made only a few minutes before, if the fae lord had been delayed by another attack, if the Verdun High Command had waited a little more to launch their assault as he had requested, Jean-Baptiste would still be alive. His second thought was surprise that the thing had not exploded yet. NO! The fae lord rushed to the side of its deceased companion with a cry of rage and despair. Bertrand was left standing by himself, alive. In the distance, the Zephyr finally touched ground. If he had not seen the puff of dust a little farther, he would have been quite surprised to see a bed of roots and white flowers bloom with incredible speed, embracing the full length of the massive warship. Branches grabbed then let go, replaced by others as the wreck slowed down. It came to rest on its flanks without a sound. One by one, in the distance, the fires died out. Darkness expanded in a sphere and the screaming warriors were abruptly silenced. A cold wind blew from the east, chasing away the acrid smoke and the stench of old blood that saturated the air. The mortals¡¯ breath in the distance puffed as the temperature dropped precipitously and in the distance, more impacts announced the arrival of reinforcements. A curtain of green light parted the clouds to show the combined fleet take position around the Zephyr, the frigates being first to land. Complements of elite marines landed and joined the fray. You DARE. Bertrand winced but he didn¡¯t bend and he didn¡¯t flee when the fae¡¯s whip flared. He thought he was dead but another voice came, this one a woman¡¯s. It was cold and just like the fae lord¡¯s, he could understand the words. The ¡®prince¡¯ roared incoherently. The voice was cold and uncaring. In the distance, radiant blue lines shone, expanding from a blue sapphire to form the shape of a woman in heavy armor. This, more than Jean Baptiste¡¯s loss, chilled Bertrand¡¯s heart. For centuries, he had kept the most fae as resources among all Mask lords. He had traded their blood for favor and power. This had been the proper way of things and this¡­ this upstart had used the fae to carve a path to their world and reaped untold benefits. She had taken what could have been his by seeing what he had not and it hurt. It hurt¡­ to be left behind. It hurt to be made irrelevant. He was a King, but he no longer had a hope of being¡­ King. The armored shape disappeared, reappearing next to Bertrand almost instantly, arm stretched. An extended soul blade dug into the prince¡¯s armor, shearing parts of the metal shell but failing to draw blood. This time. The whip retracted immediately. A counter was easily dodged. She nodded. Bertrand left. *** In the distance, a mantis-like creature skewered one of the cold ones but retreated before it could eat it. Frustrating. They covered each other but she was patient. Nibble here, nibble there, and then feast. So it had been and so it would be. She found an isolated cold one and moved through the shadows. It did not turn. Of course, it did not turn. She was a duchess and they were so very slow. The duchess bit down on nothing. The duchess moved back, a blade cutting into one of her pincers. The cold one stood there, blade drawn. ¡°Greetings,¡± it said in Likaean. Hated language! Hated foes! How did the cold one speak it? It was weak and cut off! It should not know the tongue. ¡°My name is Cadiz. I wanted to test the prince but¡­ I guess¡­ You¡¯ll do.¡± The duchess streaked through the shadows and struck at an angle. Her scythes cut through air. A voice whispered by her ear. *** I should have let Bertrand die. He is not just a prick, but he also swore to join Nirari in his next battle. That means we will be on opposite ends of the final conflict. I should have let him fall, yet after I helplessly saw Jean-Baptiste return to the Watcher, the instinctual part of me felt revolted at the thought of losing an elder to a glorified raider. Blood Court twats have no right to take what remains ours, the curs, and so I saved him despite my misgivings. Sometimes, I hate those instincts. Maybe I could kill him in a duel later? I am sure it would be acceptable. ¡°You will pay for this!¡± the prince roars in his guttural dialect. Scions of the Court of Blood do not speak true Likaean but a twisted version of it that does not allow for concepts such as peace and tranquility. In fact, those words do not exist for them. They cannot conceptualize them. The broad gamut of Likaean words associated with truce and harmony all translate to apathy and weakness, a most curious fact that bridges nature and language. Pah, whatever. I am no linguistics scholar to consider those details. ¡°Die!¡± I dodge under the prince¡¯s whip attack and follow with a riposte. It is the first time I fight a proficient whip user who could give me a challenge. A good opportunity to practice a little. I pour more power into the Aurora to combat the prince¡¯s fire and close the distance so we are both fighting with our whips. What follows is slightly disappointing. The deadly part of the whip is the tail end which can move at speeds even I cannot follow, but knowing where the end will be is just a matter of seeing how the whip moves. The fight devolves into a dodging game of not being where the whip lands. At some point, our whips meet and the fight turns into a brief contest of strength, but the heat on Rose hurts me and the prince disengages before I can drag him. His whip is also too hard to be destroyed. In fact, it consists of strangely flexible, meshed metal scales that move in a snake-like motion. Quite frustrating. Eventually, I get bored and start peeling off the prince¡¯s impressive armor chip by chip. Or perhaps it is his hide? In any case, he gets angry at the treatment. ¡°You puny thing, burn to cinders!¡± In an overly dramatic fashion, the prince lifts his whip above his head where it thickens and lengthens. Soon, a massive fire snake slithers towards me, fangs bared. It is larger than me. I dodge it as the body appears to be quite hot, but the head turns quickly and gives chase. I start racing across the scorched battlefield. The technique¡¯s weakness is apparent. I assume the snake has a limited length and it appears the prince has to remain stationary. I could escape for a moment but I refuse to do so unless compelled, so instead I charge him and stab him in the leg for a change. Another blow to his head rips off his quills. It appears he can move it after all. I veer left just as the snake bites down and dodges. The massive body of the snake goes through the prince who does not seem to be any worse for the wear. ¡°Fool, did you think I would be hurt by my own tools?¡± Well, yes. It would have amused me. But since I cannot have it and he does not seem inclined to move, I take out my newest gun from a back holster and point it at him. The first enchanted bullet digs through the already damaged chestplate. Blood like lava drips from the wound, falling to the ground with a terrible hiss. It smelled scrumptious. The best blood since I left the fae spheres. I feel my fangs grow. But no, he needs to simmer down a bit first. The second bullet cuts a dozen quills and the third catches him in the biceps, taking flesh with it. Perhaps some bone as well? In any case, the prince is not happy. He lifts both hands. A moment later, his aura explodes. Waves of fires roar out from his form and roll over the ravaged landscape in a tide of fire. ¡°Winter shield.¡± I pour a lot of energy into the Aurora until a bubble of icy cold appears around me. It parts the flaming wave in two. The prince persists but his attack is inherently indiscriminate while my shield is small and compact. Time and stamina are on my side. Rather than giving up, the prince spreads his arms and the whip turns into two whips. Convenient, I guess? Should he not have done that from the start? ¡°Burn!¡± He turns like a dervish and a storm forms around him, then a twister that swallows flying corpses and scorched debris. Annoying. ¡°Enough of this,¡± I tell him in Likaean. ¡°Polar midnight.¡± The hurricane is snuffed before it can fully form and I watch with some delight the prince¡¯s expression turn flabbergasted. For the first time, real fire twists his cruel traits. A thorny root whips him in the back, making him stumble. I use the window to plant Rose in his exposed shoulder. He screams in pain and retreats. Meanwhile, I admit to being stunned for a moment here. ¡° ¡± ¡°Foul thing! Get away from me with your coarse tongue!¡± Oh, he runs. A chase! How exciting. I call Metis with a whistle and wait. And wait a few more seconds. A vague sense of annoyance reaches me through the ether. Oops. I form a small forest of thorny trees and white flowers. The world¡¯s best pony gallops out a moment later. Metis snorts in a way that conveys condescending disbelief. I grumble as I mount her and we gallop after the fleeing form of the prince. Once again, I resist the urge to ask her if the Aurora bothers her ¡ª it does not. Instead. I focus on our quarry and its flight towards the portal. The prince blows a horn. I dare not contemplate where he was keeping it. A wave of warriors moves away from the fight to attack me. Unfortunately for them, they now form a nice, compact group of combatants well clear from the human soldiers. Distant cannon fire sounds and soon, the earth explodes under them. The distant forms of the flying ships provide covering fire to our side. The prince hisses and runs. We are losing ground. I call more forest around us and suddenly, we are gaining ground instead. Nightmares really work in a peculiar way. Ah well. Metis snorts, sniffing the air. The scent of fae blood is intoxicating. A neigh. Another neigh. An annoyed neigh, but she gallops faster. The portal is almost in view. The lead tanks have stopped in front of it and keep unloading round after round into the aperture. Ranks of infantrymen and marines have joined and keep a rolling fire in to kill reinforcements as they pour through. They will be out of ammunition very soon, I can tell. ¡°Ou sont nos mages?¡± a sergeant complains. Why, excuse me. I was busy whipping a demigod. The gall of those people. The prince sprints back to his world. Oh no, that will not do at all. ¡°Wounded land and clenching jaws Bloody ash and closing jaws Heal the gash that carnage wrought. Ban the scourge that slaughter brought.¡± A titanic wave of power courses through my wave coming from deep under my feet. Such a rush is not mine alone. I feel like a conduit to something greater as the nascent soul of the planet revolts against the intrusion. The land is becalmed. Spells fail. Even enchantments dull, suppressed for now. All the warriors of the Blood Court collapse and howl, affording the humans some breathing room and prone targets. The prince is no exception. More importantly, however, the wound in the world snaps shut with a resounding thunderclap. I step up next to the kneeling prince. His burning aura has reduced to a reddish shadow of its former self. ¡°It looks like you are almost done,¡± I tell him. He jumps, he runs, as I hoped. Metis neighs in outrage. She bites me. *** The pursuit is unfortunately short, with the prince fading quickly between the fallen portal and his own defeat. I jump on him and fight him, the cold of the Aurora smothering the last embers of his aura. I have to peel off the skin armor with my bare claws while he resists which I admit I find a little arousing. His blood is warm and thick like hot honey. It speaks of blood and the endless conflict, singing a discordant song as the essence merges with mine. I receive a shock of confusing images, of carnage under a scarlet, sunless sky. Blood emerges from the land and returns to it in an endless cycle of senseless violence without end. It is less hunt and more frenzy. It also lacks succor. Calm or contemplation do not exist. Theirs is a race forward that only ends in death. A pity for them, but I know where to go in a couple thousand years if I need a restful holiday away from political considerations. Provided I live, of course. I do give Metis her heart and since I am feeling generous, the tongue as well. As to why she asked for that specifically, I do not know. Perhaps she just finds the taste interesting. I hunt a little more and find a noble trying to rally his warriors on a distant hill. ¡°You!¡± he roars when he spots me. ¡°Grant a warrior¡¯s death.¡± ¡°Very well, supplicant. Heartseeker.¡± My blood sings, denser somehow. More aggressive. The spell tears through ranks and leaves behind desiccated husks clinging to cracked weapons. Essence rushes through me, feeding me as the last of them dies. Ah, as expected. I believe that I am getting closer to matching Nirari toe to toe. We shall see. *** I asked Bertrand as he rests against the wreck of a Renault tank. Other vampires give us some privacy as they revel with the human soldiers. Entente and Alliance soldiers do not mingle but they have decided on a truce, and two teams even play a football match on the site of the portal. He looks at me with deep-set eyes. Once upon a time, I hated him. No, once upon a time, I feared him. Now, he is no longer a real danger to me or my allies. He is merely someone who will be against me at a turning point, then who will serve the winner as a powerful lieutenant. I should really consider having him assassinated, and yet¡­ it would be dishonorable, for we are in the middle of a truce. *** In the aftermath of the battle, victory of what newspapers and scholars have come to call the Great War belongs to the Entente, yet this victory is not complete. The German Empire did not unconditionally surrender and so the victor¡¯s conditions are not all applied. Their attempts to dismantle the Habsburg Empire are flatly refused, but they console themselves by some respectable territory gains. The French regain control of Alsace and Lorraine thus erasing the painful humiliation of 1871 while Italy gains control of pieces of the Tyrol, Dalmatia, and the city of Fiume. Both alliances return more or less to their starting positions with war reparations and map colors balanced towards the ¡®Triple Entente¡¯, with one notable exception. Under the stupefied eyes of the whole of Europe, a terrifying ideology rises from the flames of the war. A red flag flies over Saint Petersburg. I should have known that Karl Marx would be problematic. This is of little concern, however. Soon, deadland activities spark again over Europe. I know what my next target is. And this one will be more than problematic. I fear we need a larger bomb. Chapter 213: Shanghaied Marquette, April 1927I ask the redhead sitting in front of my desk. Melusine has free access to me as one of my oldest and most annoying allies. My door is always open to her, though our rivalry precludes long and friendly visits, thus she has never felt the need to make appointments as she has done now. It must be serious. Especially since she usually enjoys catching me at the most inopportune moment. I lean back in my seat. Hmm. Lady Moor. It certainly brings back memories and not of the tender kind. Curiously, I held more animosity towards Melusine than I did towards Moor because Moor was an abject fallen politician whose cruelty felt distant and, shall I say, utilitarian. I was merely a tool in her arsenal and since she cared not for her tools at all, she did not care for me either. Even her ¡®lesson¡¯ when she asked me to lop off my arm stopped the moment I asked her to do so. I did not pursue the family of Mrs Boucher who was my governess when I was five and she was a rotten bitch. Meanwhile Melusine was a moving stain. And I have not killed her yet. I can tell I have left Moor behind in the list of people who do not matter enough for me to expand any efforts on. Obviously, Melusine will think differently. I muse. Melusine replies, showing a bit of fang. I conclude. Her fury dies out. I consider her request. One cannot rush research and so I am left waiting and strengthening my position as I prepare for the next great offensive. I could use a holiday, and I could stand to visit more of the planet I am meant to defend. I would also love to see Moor suffer while making sure Melusine survives this ordeal. She has proven a great if insufferable ally over the decades. I tell her. That is great news as I always need more silver for the enchantments. The precious metal is no longer used for legal tender here, yet the demand remains too high. Melusine gasps and glares like a very offended, freshly caught fish. I precise. *** I watch the waters of the Pacific far, far below us. I must admit that after so many trips, the sea of clouds over a sea of water has lost some of its exotic charm, but when the light of the moon hits the cottony layer just so, I still enjoy drawing it. Tonight would have been such a night were it not for my official rival leaning against the railing by my side. Is she still a rival? Or should I consider her a friend? S?a??h th? N?v?lF?re.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. No, absolutely not. She rolls her eyes. She sighs, a very human gesture that betrays her agitation. I insist, I take out a new page of my notebook and hastily throw lines to show the glimpse I had of the Last City, back when I left them with a nice bomb. The result is a chthonic landscape of towering buildings as high as mountains, their many windows like hive openings or the sores on some giant, decaying organ. I glare a little. I curtly interrupt. I explain with some impatience. *** Our arrival at the port of Shanghai might have been a sensation. In fact, I am absolutely certain that Moor will be aware of the presence of foreign agents no matter what, so I make no attempt at secrecy. Perhaps she does not know that the Fury belongs to me. After all, there are no Rosenthal branches here. At least, not the information gathering kind. Nevertheless, we are welcomed by a committee of heavily armed local soldiers in khaki uniforms, bearing an insignia like a white sunburst on a blue background. They are accompanied by a pair of American soldiers and a couple of men in uniform. The mood is tense. The presence of three women and the subdued, cold aura of Andrew, Melusine¡¯s vassal, certainly does little to calm them down. Those in power dislike engaging with those who threaten the status quo. Well, nothing to it. ¡°Hello,¡± I greet. ¡°Are you the welcoming party?¡± The one who answers is a bespectacled old man with impressive jowls and large round glasses. He wears a full suit complete with a top hat, a curious choice in the warm and wet weather. His voice carries a thick English accent. ¡°I am certainly not that, madam. My name is Henry Douglas. I represent the Shanghai Municipal Council and I would like to inquire as to what you are doing here, at this time?¡± Ah yes, the municipal council. The British control most of the industry of Shanghai, and the foreigners have enclaves here. Shanghai is Asia¡¯s largest port and so the foreign population is quite significant, though I did not expect such a cold reception. ¡°We are here,¡± I reply, ¡°to see relatives.¡± A Chinese man in a well-tailored suit leans close to a Chinese officer with the countenance and warmth of a bulldog. He glares mightily under bushy brows. The insignias on his shoulders fit the German style, interestingly, and they mark him as a colonel. There are quite a few soldiers waiting by the pier. Two hundred or so, I would say. Both Mr Douglas and the colonel inspect my obvious warship filled with obvious marines obviously armed to the teeth with obviously top-of-the-line gear obviously enchanted to the gills. They assess the likelihood that I have come for tourism. I can see the cogs grind in their heads for a quarter of a second. They come to the conclusion that the likelihood is low. Then, their eyes come to rest on my entourage. Melusine wears a gown, a conservative one that would become stifling in the day and clearly marks her as an outsider. Constance is the only sensibly dressed person in a sleeveless dress with a nice hat sporting a fluffy feather (a fad, I am sure). The problem is the obvious holster around her narrow waist. As for me, I am regretting the choice to wear pants. No, I am not, but I am regretting the choice to do it now instead of later. I have a long vest that splits in the middle to form a sort of skirt so technically, technically, I could be wearing a skirt and leggings. A scandalously short skirt. That exposes the crotch area. AUGH. I even placed a nice sunflower in my hair for the irony. ¡°My partner Colonel Zheng and myself question your choice to come here, now, at such an uncertain time. We are concerned that your presence would destroy the proper conduct of large-scale police operations.¡± I shrug and the gesture marks me as the leader of this little expedition, to the men¡¯s obvious displeasure. Those two do not feel like the progressive kind. ¡°As I said, we are here to see a relative. Your operations do not concern me.¡± ¡°They do! The city is plagued by communists. Those wretched curs provoke the masses. They have pushed our students into a frenzy! You would be wise to avoid the city for a while, miss, if you know what¡¯s good for you.¡± ¡°As I said,¡± I patiently reply and this time I push the notion of threat through my aura, ¡°We are here to see relatives. Your political purges are of no import to us.¡± The air cools around us until the nearest sentry¡¯s breath puffs in the deepening darkness of the night. ¡°You all seem to be quite busy, gentlemen. Surely you would not want to waste time and resources of poor little us while we search for our dear relative.¡± The men stiffen because the supernatural is part of our world now, and I have firmly placed myself in that category. More precisely, at its top. ¡°It would be wise of you to let us proceed while you pursue your own agenda. Yes?¡± On cue, the Fury deploys spell arrays which deactivate so the younger members of the crew can climb them for maintenance. Rays from the moon catch the blue engravings of the main gun just right. Soldiers here have rifles. Their ships have cannons. I have a ship killer. It is, I believe the Poles who have the say: not my monkeys, not my circus. My hosts must easily realize that they have many monkeys to wrangle and that their circus looks eminently flammable. Brittle. Just like my patience. Douglas turns to Colonel Zheng and they speak in a quiet voice that I can understand well enough. There are enough ¡®it would be wiser¡¯ and ¡®time best used¡¯ and ¡®probably not linked with our foes¡¯. It takes ten more minutes and a considerable amount of threats, but the pair leaves with their goons in tow. Just as Douglas turns, I replace my pleasant face for one of rabid fanged fury, promising punishment for the audacity he has displayed. He stumbles and when he looks up, I am my usual pleasant self. ¡°Are you sure I cannot convince you to join the communist purge?¡± Melusine asks sullenly in English. ¡°For the last time, pay your employees a decent wage and the communists will have no hold on them.¡± ¡°You still see my business empire as some sort of self-contained little empire, huh? I do not have a monopoly on Dvergur tech like you do! There is such a thing as competition!¡± ¡°What is the break-even point of a can of ham, you harpy? Your profit margins¡ª ¡° ¡°Not that I have not heard this argument in one form or another a thousand times over the past five years, but could we please get on with tonight? Some of us will have to wake up at dawn to investigate matters, yes?¡± Andrew interrupts. ¡°You know old folks love their arguments,¡± Constance tells him. Melusine and I hiss at her, then at each other. ¡°Don¡¯t hiss at my Servant,¡± I warn. ¡°And you¡ª ¡° ¡°You mentioned a contact?¡± Constance says with a frozen smile. Melusine frowns. She knows we are being distracted, though she relents. ¡°Yes. A local vampire, of which there are very, very few apparently. She was the first to inform one of my agents. We will meet her first to get the lay of the land, so to speak. I have a map here to a meeting point.¡± Melusine removes a folded paper from her handbag. She unfolds it again and again under our collective glare until we are now seeing a massive, extremely detailed map of the city down to the last building drawn as tiny squares. A large red cross marks our rendezvous point. A suggested route starts from the pier, having anticipated our landing zone with concerning accuracy. I order my men to stay on alert as Shanghai appears to be on the verge of a major conflagration, then we are off. *** We make our way through the chaotic streets through clouds of sweat, cigarette smoke, and a peppery scent mixed with frying oil. The architecture is quite unique here, and rather fascinating. Locals turn and gasp as we pass, which is not surprising considering our rather eclectic and exotic appearance. Men in thin sleeveless vests and without shirts watch us pass or work, carrying bags or dragging carts. Their thin bodies are taut with dry, long muscles and without a speck of fat. I take a note to draw them later, and they do the same with me, watching without shame. Others show the same curiosity though with more grace. Women in tight, colorful dresses smile with short black hair made wavy by a process that must be time-consuming, but it is the men who show the most variety in their clothes, and that is without foreigners who must be confined in their districts right now. On top of the poorest members of society, there are some who wear traditional robes the likes of which I had only seen in illustrations before. Others wear long, dark clothes under wide-brimmed hats. Finally, some have completely absorbed western culture and you could see their attire on every street of Paris or Chicago. Truly, this mix and match of eras and fashions speaks of a land between epochs where ideas clash, as they do tonight. The deeper we go,the fancier the people become, although most of them seem to be in a hurry to be somewhere. Examples of foreign architecture creep in here and there until at some point we come across a checkpoint manned by nervous French policemen. On the other side I see a bistro, now closed, and a neat avenue bordered by ¡®platane¡¯ trees like a vision of Paris. It fades as quickly as it came. At some point though, the wealth disappears again. Screaming gang louts wearing green turbans replace the angry students. Soldiers of the white sunburst also become more frequent. There are corpses as well, heads smashed in. Here and there, I feel the aura of mages though they never show themselves and I taste something diffuse in their power. Interesting. I suppose I will find out soon enough. The place of our meeting is, quite frankly, terrible. Whoever owns that filthy dump has made some token effort to make it appear as a palace of sorts, the least of which being the location. Anything looks good compared to offal-smelling slums and yet a dump will always be a dump. The lantern¡¯s paper is damp and discolored, the walls moldy, paper stained by constant smoke and the Watcher knows what else. Hostesses in scant clothes use the dim light to hide their sores and the cheap make of their garish clothes. The paint on their face clings to pimples. Their teeth are strangely black. We step up rickety stairs and make our way through a pungent cloud of burnt, floral scent. Opium. This is an opium den. A man tries to stop us while his bouncer looks on in sullen silence since I am, in fact, taller than him. Melusine says. I tell her reproachfully.¡± Our small banter makes our progress unopposed as everyone here is either at a loss on what to do or lacks the required brain matter to act. Those people lounging here have so little vitality, I could drain the lot and get less energy than in a single healthy adult. And they stink! A rancid, diseased stench that crawls under the flowery touch like a corpse hidden under a bouquet. Revolting. At last, we find the backrooms and a more comfortable, cleaner space. Lights shine on a richly dressed woman waiting in its midst. We have found our destination. ¡°Hello hello!¡± The person who welcomes us, sitting with crossed legs on an elaborate silk pillow, is definitely a vampire. The use of English does not surprise me as her essence screams ¡®Vanheim¡¯ and the old monster has never seen it fit to make its descendants fluent and, for that matter, normal. Melusine grumbles. I reply. Then I turn to the woman. She is clearly of mixed descent as I have seen before, but this one shows clear signs of European and Asian ancestry in equal measure. Her eyes are dark, shaped like almonds yet less so than some of the other locals. Straight hair falls to her shoulder freely, black yet shiny even under the dim light. Her face is sharp and perhaps on the thin side, with skin a shade darker than my own. Her smile is wide over ruby lips and there is something in her iris, something ephemeral yet incredibly colorful. I also notice she wears a qipao, a local, close-fitting dress. A pipe rests in her hand, though it lacks the small receptacle used for opium. It looks like a custom creation with a thin, graceful body like the neck of a swan. The design is quite unique and reminds me of¡­ hmmm. Just as I frown, she puffs and a delicate, otherworldly floral scent caresses my nostril, bringing back memories of lush carpets and walls of living wood. Vivid colors swirl in her iris. And I see a hint of denuded shoulder, of very long black hair. Shadows of a dangerous smile. Memories flood back from my short stay in the Court of Spring. ¡°You can call me Cassilda. Carnaciel said hello again, little one,¡± she tells me in perfect Likaean. Melusine steps back, shocked. I am amazed that Vanheim would pick up someone with the gift of gab as a spawn and still manage not to transfer the mastery of Akkad, but my humor fades quickly. Cassilda is linked to someone even Sinead was terrified of. The Dreamer of Old Spring. The spheres¡¯ first warlord, now retired and a heavy smoker. Even the Old One acknowledged her. ¡°Please extend my greetings to Lady Carnaciel, and I long to dream with her again. Some day.¡± Cassilda took a puff, her smile extending to show fangs in a malicious rather than intimidating way. ¡°She said you would be formal and to call her auntie. She also said she would like it if you married Sinsin, put some fervor in his head. He is too smarmy. Thinks about plots and politics too much. Remind Summer of the old days, back when Spring had¡­ a lot of fun.¡± ¡°Auntie?¡± ¡°She is so old, you know? She said you will grow tired of conquest like she did if you play the game long enough, once your tree is big and sated. Maybe you will, maybe you will not. I am not so sure, but what do I know?¡± ¡°What you know is what we are here for.¡± ¡°Ah yes, business. A blood feud.¡± Cassilda taps the pipe against an ash cup, sending embers to fall. The fire attracts my eyes because I fear it, and Cassilda¡¯s smile widens. A glare sends her hands up in surrender though she never stops smiling. ¡°You,¡± she says in English, ¡°are a tarantula. Powerful. Kills even birds. The fire one is like an orb weaver. She will wait at the center of her net. But the one who seeks, why, she is a huntsman. You will not see her until she has bitten.¡± ¡°We expected Moor to hide.¡± ¡°She is hidden, yes,¡± Cassilda admits. ¡°And she will know you are here before you find her. Too many eyes, too many strands. Even your mere steps shake the weave.¡± ¡°Will she run?¡± Melusine hisses. ¡°She may. She may try to kill you first, red one. She may think you are too much of a bother while the tarantula prefers her birds. Too busy for revenge. She has slain Enrico, my lover. He was too involved. Too visible.¡± ¡°Is that why you told me she was here?¡± Melusine asks. ¡°Yes. If I am too weak, I can find someone strong, the enemy of my enemy. You are that, yes?¡± ¡°We are,¡± I confirm. ¡°Then we can look for her. But first, we must corner her a little. Search for her with strength and determination. Force her to move from her trunk. Rattle the cage a little.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± Melusine says as she points at me. ¡°Chaos is practically her middle name.¡± ¡°Oi!¡± My middle name is Lucille. Chapter 214: Kung Fu diplomacy and other diversions After weeks of travel, I would have hoped to stay in a nice hotel upon my arrival. Unfortunately, Shanghai is hostile territory, and the city lives through difficult times. A message on my desk informs me that martial law has been declared throughout the city. Constance is in there. I am rather cross.Towards the end of the afternoon, the skipper comes to see me. All my skippers are Dvergur-blooded men with grim countenances, possibly due to my unique need for both engineering knowledge and tricorn tolerance. They switch because captaining the Fury is a taxing endeavor, but I always call them skipper. I suspect they might all be brothers. ¡°A Colonel Something-or-other came today. He had a letter from a certain Mr Douglas demanding our ship¡¯s assistance in pacifying the communists, which I understand they intend to exterminate.¡± ¡°Could you politely tell them to get bent?¡± ¡°I have already written an answer to that effect, claiming neutrality.¡± ¡°And to keep their filthy paws off my ship.¡± ¡°I reminded them that we are flying an American flag and thus exempt from requisition.¡± ¡°And if they try anything I¡¯ll crater the lot of them and send the city through a winter without end.¡± ¡°I finished by pointing out the undesirability of a diplomatic incident.¡± ¡°Thank you, skipper, you are a dear. I do not have the patience to deal with them right now. And it¡¯s Colonel Zheng.¡± ¡°I shall keep it in mind for the next seventeen seconds.¡± I look at him questioningly. ¡°His expression when I slaughter his name is simply too priceless.¡± ¡°I understand.¡± A report comes. The ship has finished loading supplies and is ready for departure, should we need it. The men bemoan the lack of shore leave but the presence of an entire company of those white sunburst soldiers outside reminds them that necessity makes law. I am told they are part of the ¡®KuoMinTang¡¯ which is the, well, not communist faction. Towards the end of the afternoon, Constance returns with a man I have never met before, as well as a gash in her dress. Her ear is covered in dried blood. Hers. ¡°HSSSS!¡± ¡°I am fine, Ariane.¡± ¡°Who? Where? Is it the men outside?¡± She attempts to pat my head and I slap her hand away, though not too hard. ¡°No no, it happened earlier.¡± ¡°And who is this?¡± I ask, turning my attention to the man who came with her. He is clearly a native of sorts, with pale skin and delicate traits. A gray, western style suit with hat and assorted gloves covers his solid frame. I can see a fencer¡¯s build from the muscles under his white shirt. The suit looks more than expensive, tailored in fact. He completes his look with a pair of round glasses over calculating brown eyes. An aura like a storm comes with him, fresh yet threatening. He bows when he feels my attention on him until I see the hint of a tattoo peeking from his right sleeve. Interesting. ¡°This is Wang Yunlong. He is from the north. Ah, it would be better if I start from the beginning. Following the advice of Melusine¡¯s Vassal, we decided to follow the money, as it were. We made our way to the Bund this morning. That¡¯s the riverside. The financial trail Melusine¡¯s men found led back to a local branch of the Hong Kong and Shanghai Banking Corporation. Unfortunately, it had been evacuated by the time we arrived.¡± ¡°Because martial law was declared.¡± ¡°Yes. What are you doing?¡± I remove a first aid kit from a cupboard. I call this piece of furniture ¡°the pointless storage place¡± since it contains that item, along with glasses and a few bottles of alcohol, all of which I have no use for. ¡°I will clean your ear and disinfect it.¡± ¡°You know I¡¯m regenerating, right? It¡¯s almost closed.¡± ¡°Good then it will sting less. Sit down.¡± Constance grumbles but she obeys. The wound is small and clean, new tissue already closing the gash. It will be closed and unscarred by tomorrow but that is no excuse to be like a street lout and move around with blood on one¡¯s face not to mention leaving scab on the carpets and pillows, thank you very much. ¡°I managed to open the way in thanks to your invaluable lessons. No broken windows this time. We found records of the transaction in their office with the help of a guard.¡± ¡°That you manipulated?¡± ¡°And bribed and threatened. Ow!¡± ¡°Quit fussing!¡± ¡°Moor covered her tracks very well. HSBC looked into the donors. They are all phony facades made just for the transfer, with no real origin we can track, but he had an idea. In the meanwhile, I decided to pursue another lead. You see, we were not the first to ask about those transfers. Someone else had been making inquiries, though with the same success. A local ¡®private detective¡¯ company. I decided to pay them a visit. Believe it or not, they were quite rude.¡± With her ear clean, I replace the first aid kit in its compartment. ¡°Martial law and the inevitable chaos has made us¡­ distrustful. Especially of outsiders,¡± Mr. Wang adds in a mellifluous voice. ¡°I failed to convince their secretary to talk to me as she did not speak English. And also because I had forced their lock. It was enchanted. I met Mr. Wang in the agency¡¯s inner courtyard. We fought. ARIANE, NO!¡± ¡° ¡°Ariane, let him go. He wasn¡¯t the one who hit me anyway.¡± Mr Wang looks quite shocked, pushed against the wall with my claws on his jugulars. ¡°You¡­ Xixuegui. Vampire!¡± He raises his hand in surrender, all while taking great care not to struggle. A hand rests on my shoulder. ¡°Let him go, Ariane. Please.¡± I delicately place him back on his feet and step away. He readjusts his tie. ¡°Cold one. I thought you were a myth.¡± ¡°Can I finish my story?¡± Constance asks testily. ¡°Yes, yes. I have not killed him, have I?¡± Accursed dragon and blood prince essences. I have difficulties handling bouts of aggression, especially if they concern Constance or my domain. I suspect they will be subsumed in time, but vampire timelines approach the fae ones in scale. It could be decades and it would still be a short delay in the grand scheme of things. Ugh. ¡°Right. Mr. Wang took the intrusion seriously, especially because we are both mages. We fought in the garden. It was quite nice!¡± ¡°Miss Constance is powerful in the way of ying. She froze my cherry tree.¡± ¡°I already apologized.¡± ¡°That will not make the tree regrow. You must seek balance.¡± ¡°Your spellcasting and mine are not similar. When I fight, winter comes with me,¡± Constance says, and her blue eyes take an icy color. ¡°Can you finish your story?¡± I interrupt with no small amount of Schadenfreude. ¡°Right, sorry. Mr. Wang and myself took each other¡¯s measure. He uses a lot of internal mana to move faster, hit harder. It is quite fascinating.¡± ¡°It requires many hours of practice, discipline...¡± ¡°And tattoos,¡± I finish. ¡°Those are merely finishing touches on a masterpiece.¡± ¡°Their external spells are weaker,¡± Constance says smugly. ¡°Anyway, after we were done, we had a talk and realized we had the same purpose when it comes to Moor. She has apparently been aggressive to her neighbors and they are quite eager to find her to even the score.¡± ¡°How surprising.¡± ¡°Is it not? Mr. Wang represents a faction of the local mages based in Beijing, to the north. He proposed a solution¡­ but it¡¯s a little complicated so I will let him explain.¡± ¡°Please sit,¡± I offer with a smile. ¡°Would you like something to drink?¡± ¡°Not at the moment, thank you,¡± the man replies with an ever-polite smile. ¡°You are a vampire, yes?¡± ¡°Correct.¡± ¡°We have heard of your kind but thought they were stories meant to scare children. It appears the world is vast and full of surprises.¡± ¡°You have no idea. You were going to explain how we can¡­ help each other?¡± I ask, the alternative to cooperation clearly implied. ¡°Yes, well. As you may have presumed, China hosts a vast number of magical groups. They very much prefer to backstab and fight each other rather than work for the good of society.¡± ¡°Then we are not so different after all,¡± I grumble, making coffee for myself. ¡°This vast¡­ community of groups is called Jianghu. The lake and rivers. We have existed for a long time in the margins of history and¡­ separate from the central power. Thus it has been for centuries, but the world has changed. Invaders have come to China, not to form a new dynasty but to steal its wealth and drag it far away. My faction purports that we have been separate for too long, and that it is time for the individual mage to reenter and serve society again so that we may throw aside the weight of unfair treaties. Only through unity can salvation be found. My faction¡­ is not very popular.¡± ¡°By that he means to say that we were attacked by assassins on the way back and nearly killed. I nailed one with my pistol, by the way. He looked really mad about it.¡± ¡°My favorite part,¡± I admit. ¡°The one you call Moor, that spider, she has preyed on us for a long time. She has weaved her nets and killed many promising students. This I know. It is time for our group, long divided, to unite against her. You could help.¡± ¡°I will go out on a limb and wager that your Jianghu friends do not like foreigners very much,¡± I tell him. ¡°Yes, but they respect strength even more. The one you call Moor was but a ghost until now, a shadow, but if you know her, you can give a face to our enemy. A good slap and redirected anger can achieve what a month of backroom deals will fail to do.¡± ¡°And once we have gathered your merry band of boxers, then what? Bang on every door until we find the bitch?¡± ¡°Twenty spies might fail where a five working together will succeed. Her money must come from somewhere. Find enough business irregularities over the past few years and you will find a trail of people who know things.¡± ¡°Thralls,¡± I say. ¡°Moor trusts no one. She has always been very hands on. She will use an agent to guarantee oversight. There is only one person she will trust.¡± ¡°Baudouin, her servant,¡± Constance says. ¡°Find him and we will find Moor. DO NOT hurt him,¡± I warn. ¡°If you do, our deal is off.¡± ¡°Why?¡± Wang asks with surprise. ¡°Because,¡± I reply, ¡°I asked politely.¡± *** In order to leave the ship, I have a dinghy lowered on the other side of the hull, opposite the shore. Melusine has joined us. I prepare to row but Wang offers to do it and I consent, seeing as he attempts to get in my good graces. ¡°Nu Sarrehin.¡± I no longer need a gauntlet to cast simple spells, provided I do not need to channel too much power. I use a simple glove instead. It suffices to drown our small boat in illusory darkness. Not one soldier sees us move along the shore. We move through warehouse districts, the streets empty except for roving bands of men armed with swords, axes, and cudgels, mostly. Large groups huddle in some of them, discussing in low voices in a tongue I do not understand. It appears I was mistaken. Shanghai is not going through hard times, exactly. It is a powder keg with its fuse already lit. ¡°What happens if the city devolves into a civil war while we still look for Moor. Will she use the opportunity to flee?¡± ¡°The balance of power is heavily skewed in favor of the KMT, and they will not dare to touch the foreigners. I suspect Moor will not depart so long as there are English pockets to empty. As for your plan to use local resources, I would advise looking into opium dens, illegal gambling rings...¡± ¡°You might as well search for a ¡ª what was it again? ¡ª a needle in a haystack, yes. Shanghai is the world capital of vice and debauchery.¡± ¡°And here you are missing all the fun,¡± I tell Melusine. ¡°I am after your kind of fun, for once. I will be fine.¡± Then to Wang. ¡°We need such establishments that cater to foreigners, as she would not risk Baudouin standing out even more.¡± ¡°Hmmm.¡± ¡°First, we need to rally the troops,¡± I remind them. ¡°Do we have a plan? I assume they will not just come running if summoned.¡± ¡°They might, but they might also take their time. The only way to get them quickly is to bait them. I believe the provocation that your presence represents, as well as a personal interview with the leading grandmaster, will be enough to attract their attention.¡± ¡°And why would the ¡®leading grandmaster¡¯ receive us? For that matter, why would they admit us in what I assume is their meeting point?¡± ¡°Yes. Master Shu¡¯s home. I¡­ will think of something.¡± ¡°Items that reinforce the¡­ external expression of magic.¡± ¡°Qi emissions?¡± ¡°Whatever you choose to call it. We have them and know how to manufacture them.¡± ¡°Ariane? You will sell our western know-how to¡­ to barbarians who still fight with swords?¡± ¡°Oh, you own the patent for the western standard magic system? A system widely known over every continent where the English have spread their empire?¡± ¡°It is not the same thing as teachings from a master.¡± I lean in front of her so we are practically nose to nose. ¡°So you agree I am a master of magic. Will you also agree I am better than you, despite being born mundane?¡± She sputters. ¡°I am not so sure we should be arguing¡­¡± Wang interjects. ¡°No no wait, I have never heard that argument before!¡± Constance adds. ¡°You wield it like a warhammer! Your power does not make you a good mage, merely a strong one,¡± Melusine blurts. ¡°And yet you are concerned with a poor mage teaching the locals how to make a focus?¡± ¡°That is not the same thing.¡± ¡°You have no right to tell me who I teach and why, especially after dragging me to the world capital of vice at the height of political oppression, which is, by the way, the most Melusine thing you could do.¡± ¡°Fine! Not that I expect much anyway. Do as you wish. I am merely tagging along because I do not want to stay confined a minute more.¡± ¡°Does this mean that you will not talk? As if!¡± ¡°Aaaand we are back on familiar grounds,¡± Constance says. I let myself settle into the familiar bickering while Wang looks on, apparently a little surprised that the legendary ¡®xixuegui¡¯ would devolve into squabbles. Hah, he has seen nothing yet. *** The house of Master Shu is a manor, and by manor, I mean one of those strange complexes made of courtyards and rooms the local rich folks seem to appreciate. The roving gangs we have seen avoid this place like the plague. Guards patrol the low wall in groups of two wearing strange garb and wielding strange weapons. ¡°Why pick a short halberd? Too small for horses, too large for unarmored infantry.¡± ¡°Those are called guan dao and they are a respected and honorable tradition,¡± Wang says testily. ¡°They are not even in formation.¡± ¡°What do formations have to do with them?¡± ¡°Polearms are best used in formations where wielders might cover each other.¡± ¡°I see. I was considering another form of formation. A repartition of qi users to empower an effect.¡± ¡°A spell array? Alright. Lead the way Mr Wang, let us see if they take the bait.¡± I hide my aura out of habit but Melusine and Constance do not. We approach in full view and are let through the dense network of guards and quite a few subtle arrays without being molested. I like their subtle spells. I might look into them to add one more layer of defense to my hoard. I mean, my art collection. A hoard? I am no dragon. We witness a small conflict between the doormen and Mr Wang. To say that the relationship is tense would be an understatement. Without him to translate, we are left in the dark about the details but I can pick up the gist of it. The doorman harbors animosity towards our guide, but our guide has a right to be here. Eventually, the surly sentry gives up and we are let into a gorgeous inner garden made of gravel and curiously-shaped stones. Ah, this is the source of the subtle array, a curious arrangement of plants and minerals that form an extremely primitive spell. The gardener would be forewarned about intruders without them noticing, unless they have practiced to the level of archmage. Melusine studies the construct with equal interest while Constance focuses on the archers she has spotted on the roofs. That was fast. I will commend her later. People do not pay enough attention to the skies. A lack of airborne predators will do that. I cannot be everywhere. We find more soldiers inside, obviously belonging to the same faction. Most of them are mages. If I were to trigger my Magna Arqa here, I would reap quite the harvest. They cast looks of disbelief our way and hatred towards Mr Wang. I notice that he is the only one who wears western garb. ¡°You do not seem to be very popular,¡± I observe. ¡°We embrace western ideas, believing that it will make us wiser. Many in the Jianghu find this dishonorable. They think we betray our ideals in the name of power while we argue that ideas should clash so that the truth may emerge. I am also from the north while they are from the south. Finally, we advocate for a return to society while they argue the opposite. We have little common ground.¡± ¡°Let us hope Mr. Shu will be more accommodating.¡± ¡°Grandmaster, please. He has earned that title.¡± I do pay attention to our surroundings as we are led to another courtyard, then to a waiting room with varnished wood tables and high seats. Their mages count both men and women in their ranks. Many of them appear related, with younger wards in the care of older masters. I see mostly traditional clothes, not even the qipaos and simple robes of Shanghai¡¯s affluent society but old sets one would see on ancient travel journals. Everyone is armed. The situation appears tense through no fault of our own. We are not offered tea, which sends most of us into a sullen silence. After a while, an old man in a long, flowing white robe and a pristine white beard appears flanked by two youngsters with mighty auras. Like others in the compound, they keep hair long, which I find cute on Torran and pleasant enough on them. All three are powerful mages and carry blades. Wang and the grandmaster immediately engage in a tense discussion. This one appears much more subtle than the one with the gatekeeper, and I find myself unable to follow. Wang grits his teeth, but eventually returns to us as the grandmaster waits. ¡°Grandmaster Shu will accept a petition, unfortunately, I am unable to summon the other grandmasters to hear your proposal immediately because I am not, myself, a grandmaster, and only they who bear this title may summon their peers.¡± ¡°How does one become acknowledged as a grandmaster?¡± I ask, sensing an opportunity. ¡°You have to challenge them to duels and beat five among the assembly. The grandmasters may decide to challenge as well, three times.¡± ¡°And you cannot participate?¡± ¡°Impossible. To even ask this opportunity would dishonor my master, for it means rejecting his teachings and deciding I am ready. I might as well spit in his face!¡± ¡°That sounds, errr, unpleasant. Not to worry, I shall give them a good walloping.¡± ¡°I apologize, this is not an English word I am familiar with.¡± ¡°The battle maniac will get us the summon,¡± Melusine interjects. ¡°She means she¡¯ll thrash them,¡± Constance helpfully added. ¡°Ah. Yes. I might be able to argue this case. Is there a protocol westerners use to announce this short of challenges?¡± ¡°Slapping his face with a glove.¡± ¡°It would be best if I conveyed your offer¡­ verbally.¡± ¡°Whatever you prefer.¡± Wang returned to argue his case. As soon as I feel three pairs of eyes on my back, I turn, aura still masked. They stare at me, so I smile. I feel a probe and block it. Wang addresses me. ¡°Grandmaster Shu would like to tell you that the challenges will test your control and body, not just your destructive power.¡± ¡°How else can you tell if someone is more than just a battery?¡± I ask. Wang conveys my words. The old man agrees. They turn to leave but the strongest young lad¡¯s gaze lingers. He has a cute blue robe with white, weird horned horses. His aura tastes like a storm. He nods imperceptibly. I smile back. Ah, duels. I love duels. ¡°Grandmaster Shu bids us return tomorrow. He adds that the grandmasters will be present. If your challenge is successful, you may propose your deal immediately afterward. If your performance is good enough yet you still lose, the grandmasters may still consent to hear you so he wishes you good luck. I will add that the grandmaster¡¯s reputation hinges on you holding your ground against the others.¡± He frowns. Ah, mortals, so prompt to forget. ¡°How is your throat?¡± I ask him. Wang reaches for it, his fingers immediately finding the jugulars where my claws rested but a scant hours before. I give him my toothiest smile. ¡°I had forgotten. How peculiar.¡± ¡°We tend to have that effect, but do not worry, we will remind you.¡± *** The next night, the patrols are so dense that we are forced to travel by rooftop for part of the way. Fortunately, Mr Wang appears to be as nimble as his local counterparts and we manage to reach the Jianghu compound in time. While yesterday it was mostly empty except for patrols, today lanterns light the white circumference of the wall, casting a festive mood on the complex. Well, the sort of festival where people fight to the death in any case. My sort of festivals. More groups patrol the walls which only improves security slightly as they seem more eager to glare at each other than two look out. They wear garbs and antiquated armor of different makes and styles, some clinched at the waist with a silk rope, others tight with shoulder pads. Some are decorated, others sober. Some, finally, emit the same sort of ashen promise war priests do. It would be more ominous if they did not wear bright orange. The most interesting part is the abundance of women in their ranks, not mixed but gathered in sisterhoods of different creeds. Some of the men are slightly deformed, as well. That or their order only hires horrendously ugly people. It remains a distinct possibility. We walk through the gate under the collective gaze of hundreds of people. Perhaps this is how convicts feel when they enter the courtyard of their penitentiary for the first time while the residents wonder if they are meat or killers? I will never know for sure. What I do know is that the practitioners inside are stronger than their guards. The air is thick with auras. I have never seen so many mages gathered in the same place since the Great War, and even then they were not quite so close together. Western mages also share a certain uniformity because they mostly follow the same tradition. Differentiation starts at a later level. The casters here are different, as varied as can be, so that their auras form a tapestry of colors and tastes, an experience that my normal senses cannot quite catch. Ah, perhaps this is a cause for an impressionist painting? I could superimpose colors over the men and women. Hmm, yes, I can see it now. I come to my senses because our way is blocked by a tall man sporting an impressive black beard and equally long eyebrows. How peculiar! He wields one of those short halberds and smells of fire and a mountain. He sneers at our guide whom he towers over with naked contempt. They quickly exchange a few sentences while the crowd looks on in sullen silence. Like before, Mr Wang remains calm under the onslaught of what I assume to be profanities. I can taste the hint of smothered fury under his perfect composure and I can tell he wants to even the score, though his face does not betray a hint of emotion. Not even gritted teeth. After a while, the man lets us pass with one last threat or insult. ¡°Is he a grandmaster?¡± I ask Wang. ¡°Yes,¡± he quietly replies. ¡°It appears I have found my first opponent.¡± I move closer to him, annoying Melusine as I push her aside. ¡°You want to face him, do you not?¡± ¡°I will face him, vampire. After your challenge, if you leave him alive. It must be done, for he insulted my master and myself.¡± S?a?ch* Th? N?v?l(F)ire.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. ¡°Oh do not worry, I would not slay those we want as helpers. It would be most counterproductive. You will have your chance at revenge.¡± Wang nods and leans in to whisper. ¡°I shall translate what is said to Lady Constance. I trust you will pick up on it?¡± ¡°Oh yes. Let me know of the insults so I may repay them.¡± In short order, we arrive where the crowd is densest, a large open space surrounded by walkways turned into impromptu bleachers. A structure has been raised, composed of vertical beams planted in soft soil around a sort of gymnast set: four posters holding four horizontal beams with two more beams crossing at the farthest angles. All the beams are quite thin, barely as large as a foot. They are also above the reach of even the tallest man around. There are no obvious ways to climb. A rack filled with a wide assortment of weapons rakes an entire side of the arena. A semi circle of men and women sits at the far end of the arena, with Grandmaster Shu at their head. They are all powerful mages in fineries with a few notable exceptions, like an orange monk and someone who looks and, unfortunately, smells like a beggar. A conscious choice, I presume. There is no accounting for taste. Grandmaster Shi stands. The humdrum of conversations dies in under a second. ¡°Tonight, we gather to see the merits of western magecraft,¡± Wang translates for us. ¡°But more importantly, we talk with those who have crossed the ocean and stand before us with an open hand. For too long our nations have been at each other¡¯s throats in a world where allies are only too rare. I hold the sincere hope and belief that we may become a whole greater than its parts. Perhaps I am an old man who has seen too much and I will be proven wrong, but it will not be by the hands of those I have called under my roof. The following challenge will be held according to all rules and without fouls. Prove that you are knights even in this day and age.¡± The meaning is clear. If there is treachery, it will come from the white outsiders, not them, or so Grandmaster Shu hopes. A few of the other masters sneer at these words but that is fine. Someone who plans to cheat would not show it. ¡°As for the rules, they are simple but I will explain to our guests. Lei Gong, if you please?¡± To my surprise, one of Shu¡¯s two prot¨¦g¨¦s stands up to face me. He is the one with the word horse on his clothes and the storm aura. ¡°Greetings. The challenge is one of control and ability, not one of might. You must make your opponent fall or forfeit without killing them. That is all. You must defeat five. Three may call to you. Do you accept?¡± His English is clipped and laborious, but no less clear for it. ¡°I do,¡± I say, and a roar of confusion emerges from the crowd. ¡°Her?¡± Wang translates, ¡°she is not even awoken! They are making fools out of us!¡± ¡°Let the first challenge begin. Any volunteers?¡± A guan dao as tall as me smashes into the ground. The mountain grandmaster roars a few words, then he jumps on a nearby beam, gracious despite his size and boisterous character. He also wears cute little boots with pointy, upward ends and I want a pair. I shall have to ask Wang. Perhaps we can burglarize a place on the way back. My first opponent starts a diatribe that lasts for a good five minutes. At first, Wang makes a token effort to translate the many figures of style and subtleties the man uses, but he soon gives up after a last ¡®spill words in eight directions. It means talking nonsense and, oh, I have lost the thread¡¯. I do not need a translator to figure out he is quite hostile. Just as his anger winds down, I go and grab a guan dao myself from a nearby rack. I hold it by my side while the mountain main chokes with fury, then with an easy step, I join him. The rules will be simple. I cannot simply do away with my heightened perceptions so I will be using reflexes and strength at the limit of what a human might achieve and nothing else. It will be good practice. The mountain man spits a few more words that Wang translates as ¡®errrr. You dare.¡¯ Good enough for me. I swing the guan dao a few times to get used to the unusual balance, then the unexpected happens. The mountain master swallows his rage to salute. Placing his open palm over his fist, he nods. ¡°Qing.¡± I salute with my borrowed weapon in return: immediately after, Grandmaster Shu says a word and the fight is on. Fire erupts around him in great gouts, and he charges forward. FIRE. Yes, instincts of mine, I know. We have faced it before. FIRE. Yes yes. Enough. I dodge under a first swing, feeling the heat as a wave of fire travels where my head would have been, then over another. I strike back at the limit of my own range but the mountain man darts away to his side of the beam. He is cautious. Another cry and he starts in a series of swings I easily dodge. After all, a guan dao is quite close to a glaive, my sire¡¯s soul weapon. Of course I would train extensively with and against it. We fall into an easy dance. My foe screams then charges, then I dodge and counter. I am not sure a blow could easily pierce the armor he wears, yet he will not risk it and the fight extends in length. Since he cannot bring his strength to bear, he switches to more jabs but I answer by deflecting rather than dodging now that angle and pivot can make an impact. Attentive silence has replaced the earlier mutters. Still, he is slightly faster and much stronger than any human mage I have ever faced. Only technique and anticipation have kept him at bay. I can tell he is building up quite a sweat, however, and I expect an opening quickly. Because of the way the pillars are planted, there is no real way to back someone into a corner. They can merely jump on the outer ring and bounce about. This appears to incense my new friend. Eventually, he roars and plants his guan Dao in a beam, then punches the air. A fist-shaped burst travels on, a rather impressive if wasteful spell. The man soon follows, ready to grab me wherever I may dodge if his expanded arms are any indication. It is with some surprise he sees me fall to the side, the distraction is enough that he misses the haft of the glaive I have left in his path. His back foot moves forth, propelling me to a nearby pillar. He stumbles while I am already moving towards him. I kick him as hard as I can. Despite this, he still manages to flip on himself. A foot lands on the outer beam and his fingertips reach a central one. I slam the glaive¡¯s haft down. I distinctly hear his knuckle break, but to my surprise, he does not budge. I look up in wonder to see a red face. Furious, bloodshot eyes bore into mine. He growls while I smile despite myself. How manly! I like it. ¡°Grandmaster Shan. That is enough,¡± our host says. ¡°I am not done yet!¡± ¡°But I am. Please give the next contestant a chance.¡± I step aside as a gesture of politeness and because I will uphold the rules of the challenge. Shan growls again and, with a flex of his impressive arms, pushes himself back to a standing position from a plank, using nothing but arrogance and his broken fingers. Marvelous! Truly, this has already been an interesting evening. I step aside to let him retrieve his formidable weapon and, though I can tell he is still furious, there is a grudging respect buried there. Behind us, the crowd is agitated. Shu appears displeased, if his scowl is any indication. Perhaps he expected a display of prowess with the glove rather than the mysterious beat down I am delivering. I can display later but an opportunity for a proper duel should not be discarded so easily. ¡°The warriors believe she is a, ah, seer fighter. Rare and fragile but beautiful to behold.¡± Well, they are not wrong. ¡°Grandmaster Lin wishes to go next,¡± Shu says. I find myself facing a reedy man with short, graying hair and a short beard so carefully cut it cannot have been done more than an hour ago. He wears trousers and wields a whip, so I politely replace the glaive and pick a whip myself. This one is a crude tool. It does not even have a link at the tip! I could have robbed an ox driver and found better for myself. Travesty. Nevertheless, whip users are rare, and I might learn a thing or two. As before, he salutes with a ¡®qing¡¯ which apparently means ¡®please¡¯ while I return with a more western weapon salute. ¡°Careful, Lin,¡± Shan says from his seat. ¡°The beams are very narrow today.¡± Haha, what a nice way of warning his friend. Oh well. Our duel is shorter and not all that interesting. For all that a whip is rare and exotic, the use is frankly straightforward until vampire speed gets involved. The tail of the whip will break the sound barrier and leave a rather unpleasant gash on someone¡¯s flesh. Be somewhere else, and the windup will result in nothing but a sharp noise. Grandmaster Lin complements it with graceful movements and quite a few tricks using electricity and illusions, but I see through his games easily enough. At some point, he even sends three lashing tongues for thunder bolts with his main weapon but I stay where I am and they all miss. A slower opponent would have struggled enormously. These are all things I know and understand well. Frustration builds up while I score painful hits on his flanks. Eventually, he overcommits into a strike and I manage to lash his leg with my own whip. He lands on a crossing beam and grabs it. At the same time, electricity bursts out. I have, of course, already dropped my own and soon land feet first onto his head. This ends the fight. We salute again and I replace the now seared whip in its compartment. What a crappy weapon. In fact, a good half of this arsenal looks made with pig iron by some cross-eyes wanker in two hours tops. Some armory this is, aye. They could just offer the good stuff and turn the rest into shovels for all the good it does. Pah! Just as I frown at some trident thing - is this seriously rust I see? - a woman complains loudly among the grandmasters that they are ¡®too tender¡¯ and ¡®weaklings unwilling to tarnish the beauty of their foes¡¯ and other less savory epithets. I turn to face my new opponent. She is an older, matronly woman carrying a sort of wooden box. Now, far from me to detract those who nature has not blessed. It is indeed unfair that the creator has not seen it for to evenly distribute beauty in the fairer sex. Nevertheless, I will be a little cruel and say she is dog-faced and, as my father would say, a complete tuna. I would also add that if my opponents feared to damage my picturesque profile, they could have taken cudgels to hers and I would have been none the wiser. She gives me another similar box with a smirk that indicates she does not believe it will do me any good, then she jumps on the beam. This one does not salute. I see a flick of a finger and martial instincts more than sight warn me to move. My intuition remains silent since poison will not hurt me. A black needle flies by my face, practically invisible in the shadow of the night sky. Or it would be for a human. I grab another between two fingers while I use a hand to open my own box. More needles. I have no idea how to use these. I am also uninclined to learn. The woman looks quite surprised when I throw the entire box at her face but an extended palm ends my dream of an easy win. I still rush her and we duel at close range in a flurry of open-handed strikes. She would be extremely hard to face as an unarmored fighter. All her attacks come bearing a needle and most of those are hidden behind flexed fingers until the time has come to strike. She must be lethal in a wild fight. A simple wound and she could fade away, leaving her foe to die to toxins while she cackles or whatever else it is extremely ugly people do for fun. I would not know myself. I resort to picking the needles as I see them, ripping them off her grip as they appear. Her mobility is not bad but she is on the back foot as I pursue relentlessly. Since she focuses on shivving me with her trick weapons, I manage to land quite a few hits until, finally, a kick to the chest sends her flying against a nearby pillar. She lands and dramatically spits some blood on the ground. I could swear it hisses like acid. Even more spectacular is the fact I never hit her jaw or her lungs so I have no idea where this is coming from. ¡°You may have won, but thanks to my crimson toad drool poison, your beauty will wither before morning! Be thankful killing you was against the rules!¡± In answer, I open my hands. Two dozen needles fall on the beams with a clatter. She blanches. I am sure I got them all. ¡°I would have inflicted this poison upon you but who could tell the difference?¡± I reply. Mr. Tempest helpfully translates. This insult triggers a few laughs across the crowd, quickly silenced when the woman flares with fury. She leaves with a huff. I am under the impression that she may not be very popular here. I am ready to continue but the people are not. It appears that dozens of sharp poisoned needles peppered around the arena would be considered as a hazard. As safety is extremely important to me in the lab, being personally flammable, I understand. The group is waiting for me as I return. Melusine starts complaining immediately, as expected. She contemplates my words in silence. It takes only a minute of bickering and seven sighs from Constance for the way to be cleared. My fourth opponent will be the young storm lad, Shu¡¯s protege. I am surprised that our guest would risk his obvious heir apparent for such a purpose. If he loses, this will certainly show weakness. Ah, come to think of it, not facing me might also imply weakness. The young heir does not seem worried, however. If anything, excitement shines in his dark eyes as he approaches me with two boxes. He opens them to display their content under the silent gaze of the mystified crowd. ¡°Although the weapons available on the rack would be decent, I would like to offer you the opportunity to wield a true creation of the Shu clan, if it pleases you. Pick one and I shall use the other.¡± Two swords rest in lacquered chests. They are straight, short, and double edged which does not suit me much, but the enchantments on them leaves me appreciative. Though more subtle and perhaps not as violent as what I can manage, they speak of patience and fine control to a degree that only a master of the craft could achieve. The storm boy does me a great honor to lend me one of those, and I nod to show that I understand. One of them speaks of lightning while the other speaks of cold. A test, perhaps. I pick the one meant for me and let him have his blade. He smiles and jumps. I move to follow him. ¡°You may begin.¡± We fight. Hmm, the young man does not use external magic. It is his blade against mine and our duel is fought at close quarters, without artifice. His style favors beheading swings and high strikes, with great lunges on occasion. It seems better fitted to a battlefield or to duel another eastern mage. As for me, I use it as a short rapier, resorting to quick jabs. For a moment, the economy of motions favors me since it takes so much less effort to stab someone rather than cutting their head off, but my foe soon adapts to my style. He already wastes very little movement. Even my heightened perception does not let me gain the advantage. It feels like we are both playing chess, and I am losing. I lunge and he stops at the edge of my range, the swings for my wrist. I parry instead and he rushes forward with another blow, forcing me back. I move low and he stops to dodge another thrust. He moves at the same time as I do, but it does not feel like intuition. Or rather, it feels like a more natural one born from skill and experience. Curious, I move much more to increase the variables and he follows, though we are evenly matched for some time again. It takes me another minute to resolve myself to a terrible admission just as I move from pillar to pillar, still exchanging blows. I am losing. Within the parameters I have set, I cannot win this fight. The foe is simply better at fencing than I am using human speed, despite my fast perception. At some point, it happens. A flurry of blows leaves me with the tip of my sword near his armpit, under the cover of his ample robes. When I try to pull it back to push his blade away, I find it stuck. The fabric moves aside to reveal two fingers holding the metal, near the edge. I am caught. I allow his blade to come to rest against my neck, trusting that he will respect his own rules. We stop in position and the crowd goes wild. I can feel Melusine¡¯s rage and Constance¡¯s annoyance on my behalf but I am myself at peace. It serves me to be reminded that I am not the best at everything and that a margin for progress always exists. If one does not fail a challenge now and then, it only means they were never truly challenged. The storm boy and I salute each other. ¡°Thank you,¡± he says. ¡°What will you do now that you have lost?¡± He seems to care. How precious. ¡°You must have forgotten the terms of the contest. I can lose four more times and only need to win twice,¡± I reply. ¡°And I may no longer be challenged. Why, I do believe I am at the advantage now.¡± Around us, the mood has turned more festive. Wang translates words of praise for the boy, whose name is apparently Lei, but also for the duel which was appreciated by everyone. ¡°I know you held back something. Will you fight me again with your full power?¡± The boy asks? ¡°No,¡± I scoff, ¡°not with everything¡­ but I can show you some magic.¡± He grins and steps back up. Whispers of confusion spread across the arena but Grandmaster Shu forces everyone to calm down. ¡°Nothing prevents the contestant from challenging someone who already challenged them. You may begin.¡± A halo of small bolts surrounds the boy¡¯s form, but his pleasure disappears almost immediately. ¡°Bolt.¡± I cast a series of fast attacks as I move forward. He parries the first but this is a spell perfected over a decade and empowered by my own blood. His arm shakes with the effort. A third casting rips his dress and draws blood. The crowd¡¯s mood turns from eager to impressed, I believe. My glove shines from the strain of power so that all may see that yes, I am using my focus and yes, it is quite powerful. And this is just a cloth version. A bolt erupts from the boy¡¯s sword, which I divert with a wave of power. It crashes on the ground and leaves behind a cup-sized glassy surface. Not too bad. I watch him charge with some level of amusement and raise a shield as his sword comes down, making sure it is grounded. Bolts travel its surface then touch the ground while I retaliate with my own sword, activating its enchantments. Moonlight surges from the tip. Nice enough. I slice a small wound on the boy¡¯s neck. We part. He dramatically reaches for the bleeding gash and finds red liquid on his fingertip. The crowd whispers in appreciation. To my annoyance, he does not take it as a sign that I could have killed him. The wound makes him giddy and the storm around him gains in intensity. He soon hovers above the beams like some beacon that says ¡®shoot me, shoot me!¡¯. I oblige in spirit. ¡°Promethean.¡± Constantine¡¯s signature spell latches on him. He contemptuously cuts at the links, only to realize that they have been designed to contain warlords and will not cut so easily. His aura explodes and undoes one of the chains but it is too little, too late. I have piled more on in until, with one last flick, I force him to the ground. Gently. As soon as he lands, I let the chains dissipate. Wang translates that this was a good demonstration of ¡®qi emanations¡¯. This should calm Melusine down. The young Lei bows to me and returns to his leader¡¯s side, clearly a little sore about the prompt defeat. I would have played a little longer but I must show that our focuses are worth their time. And I cannot let the younglings get some ideas. They need humility. ¡°This marks your fourth victory. You may pick your last opponent,¡± Grandmaster Shu says. The chief of the monks in orange robes stands up, surprising everyone. A hushed discussion between the bald man and my host is cut short when I accept the man¡¯s unspoken challenge, despite the fact nothing forces me to do so. I expect he knows I am not human, and he will reveal it no matter what. We climb back up for what should be my last duel. I have read reports that other faiths besides the monotheistic ones have managed to repel us. I want to see for myself. ¡°You may begin.¡± The monk wields a staff which he smashes against the beam. The chime of metal resonates through the arena with supernatural focus: I grit my teeth and take a step back, fending off the taste of ash on my tongue. ¡°Polar midnight.¡± A veritable storm gathers around the monk and it takes all my focus to restrain it both in power and shape. My opponent feels the bite, I can tell, but a golden bubble around his form fends off the worst of the damage and what goes through seems to affect him very little. He bends like an old man braving the elements, not defiant but patient. Enduring. He rings his staff again and I am forced back. I land on the farthest beam while the storm still rages. Once more, he endures. Our eyes meet and in his gaze there is no anger. He lifts his staff for a third time, then stops. Grandmaster Shu has placed a hand on his shoulder. I watch him blink and realize he stands on the ground, the beams now nothing but shattered wood fallen to the ground under the onslaught of my cold. Victory is mine once again, but Grandmaster Shu seems displeased. He speaks in a clear voice, once again translated by his protege. ¡°You must serve a dark sect to be repelled by my friend. He claims you are not of this world.¡± ¡°And if I am?¡± I retort, ¡°will you go back on our arrangement?¡± ¡°You will get your meeting but first we will decide how to protect ourselves. Is our common quarry of the same nature as you are?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°You have respected your side of the challenge according to our rules. We will take this into consideration. Please excuse us while we deliberate.¡± Mutters and whispers move to the crowd like lit powder. More than a few give our group a wide berth. Melusine appears calmer, somehow. ¡°Good, now that you have finished your little games we can return to what really matters in this expedition? You know, hunting down Moor?¡± ¡°Oh yes, that. For me it was always about the trousers.¡± I dodge a claw swipe and smile. Tonight provided some fine entertainment. *** Chapter 215: Lancaster There were corpses in the streets. Not many, not yet. Just enough for that familiar stench of the battlefield before carrion got to work. It turned the streets of Shanghai into familiar grounds for Constance. Just another warzone filled with corpses. The architecture and tools became secondary before the universal nature of human suffering, and human cruelty. The cloying heat didn¡¯t help. Sweat stuck Constance¡¯s gloves to her skin. It made her armored dress damp, clinging to her lower back. She would still not trade them for anything.She clenched her teeth. A flick of her finger and cool air would surround her in its familiar embrace. It would also make her trail aura all over the place, laying a track every mage in Shanghai would follow. Her signature was too¡­ exotic. ¡°Are you alright?¡± Wang asked. Constance did not slow her gait, nor did she focus entirely on the conversation. The streets were not safe. Patrols walked them, moving carefully between checkpoints. The pair had resorted to rooftop traveling on occasion despite the risks. Some of those were positively rickety. ¡°One would think that I would have grown used to carnage, yet after all those years, I still cannot take it.¡± ¡°You must have seen quite a few horrors with¡­ the vampire.¡± ¡°You would suspect that, yet the deaths she inflicts are never so gratuitous. See that one?¡± Constance pointed at a couple killed behind an abandoned food cart. The man lay face first on the ground while the girl still sat against a wall, her short hair matted with blood. A torn suitcase lay gutted on the wet ground beside them. There were clothes lying stained in the mud. ¡°Fleeing couple. They got caught by a patrol. They jumped and killed the man before interrogating the girl.¡± ¡°How can you tell?¡± ¡°Hematoma near her wrist.¡± Wang stopped. So did Constance with some annoyance. They had no reason to linger because she could continue her explanation on the road. She was still in danger, even when no one hunted her. ¡°You have the eyes of an eagle, to see from that far.¡± ¡°Perhaps.¡± Constance ignored the unspoken question. They started moving soon after. ¡°I apologize for the interruption. Please go on.¡± ¡°They didn¡¯t ask for long given the lack of other wounds and just opted to execute her, a bullet to the head. They looted their belongings before moving on. Scared, perhaps. That was gratuitous. Unnecessary. The liches fight like that sometimes. Some just capture everyone in a village. Others kill the defenders, even when they don¡¯t have to. Once, we found a church. Men had tried to fortify it and they¡¯d gathered the children in the basement. The lich had¡­ made an example. That was the hardest thing I¡¯ve seen.¡± ¡°I believe I understand. Your monster does not believe that life should be too cheap. It is a¡­ commendable belief.¡± ¡°That you do not share?¡± ¡°It is belief, not fact. The facts are all around you.¡± ¡°Careful, patrol, to the left. We can take that corner here.¡± ¡°And ears like a fox too.¡± Eastern practices reinforced the body, but not the senses. At least, not to the same degree. Those were Constance¡¯s observations. Wang was testing her subtly as well as through small confrontations. He knew she could do more than she should. The reason for her power though, was being Ariane¡¯s Servant. She had compared notes with Constantine¡¯s sister and she knew her might came partly from Ariane¡¯s monstrous might. It paid to draw strength from a practical demigod. Mostly, it came with the dawn. It also woke her up every time. As one slumbered, the other rose. That power in her limbs had grown in time and now it was mature. It would protect her until nightfall and then fade a little. But then, she didn¡¯t have to fight during the night. She had her own fury-propelled war lady. For now, everything was sharp. The stench of voided bowels warned her of dead bodies in a nearby house, the smashed door confirming what had happened a moment later. Sounds were also amplified. There were heartbeats in those houses around her. Scared heartbeats pulsing in so many chests. Terrified. They pumped blood and the vitality it carried through their frail bodies. She just had to get in. Nothing could stop her. She would take her knife and plunge it in their tender flesh, part it, let the crimson essence flow and¡ª Ariane¡¯s essence. Distracting, sometimes. Had to wonder how she got anything done. Constance licked her lips and the nubs of her too-small canines. Wang caught something. He flinched and turned to her, so she returned him a pleasant smile. A moment later, the patrol she¡¯d warned about moved through the city in silence. Those were mobsters, faces ravaged by opium abuse. Thin limbs. She could break them like twigs if she wanted, punish them for what they¡¯d done. What she could smell on their stained rags. She wouldn¡¯t. There was just one Constance and so many injustices to solve. Picking her battles had been the hardest lesson to learn. ¡°We¡¯re almost there,¡± Wang finally said. ¡°Hold on. Someone¡¯s on the roof.¡± They were at the edge of the international settlement, basically a merge between the English and American enclaves. A barrier stood a street over. This one was manned by anglo soldiers with machine-guns. Not a trifle, though nothing insurmountable. It was just the aura that protected them, the knowledge that messing with those people would attract the ire of the world¡¯s most powerful nations. They still didn¡¯t take any chances. Constance heard the thundering heartbeats of several squads. She smelled cigarettes and coffee in the air. Above her, another heartbeat answered to the staccato of the farther orchestra. She climbed lightly, but stopped midway to glare at Wang. The man blushed, caught peering at her exposed calves. Ariane would have bitten his head off but Constance merely gave him a knowing smile. He blushed even more. Her uncovered hand scraped painfully against the stone. Her gear was too heavy, especially the haversack that contained her tools and weapons. On the flat roof, she found a small sniper nest with a single shooter next to a small radio. No spotter. Sloppy. The man turned when he heard Wang¡¯s feet fall on clattering tiles. Constance grabbed his mind as he spotted her and gave him a dazzling smile. He was young and tan with light brown curls. The beginning of a beard struggled on his sweaty face, but he remained remarkably calm when he inspected her. S~?a??h the ???el F?re.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. She was a white woman wearing good clothes, clean, with a hat, ergo not a threat. ¡°Hello hello! Don¡¯t worry I have the right to be here,¡± she told him in a cheerful southern drawl. ¡°Oh of course,¡± the soldier replied with a British accent. ¡°Ma¡¯am. Didn¡¯t mean to stare.¡± ¡°No worries at all. We will go over to that house over there, get out of your hair.¡± ¡°It¡¯s no trouble at all. Please be careful and return as soon as possible.¡± ¡°You¡¯re very kind.¡± The sentry returned to his vigil. Wang and Constance crossed the street soon after. Constance could taste the concern in the Chinese man¡¯s sweat. It always amused her when they were afraid of her. ¡°May I ask a question?¡± ¡°And even two.¡± ¡°Much obliged. Are you doing something to me? Like you did to that boy?¡± ¡°Why would I?¡± Constance asked with pretend indignity. ¡°You are already doing everything I want!¡± This answer didn¡¯t please Mr. Wang too much. Constance chuckled and they finally reached their destination. It was a colonial house hidden behind high edges. Thick brick walls and alcoved windows complemented white lime wall and exposed wooden beams. It was as if a Frenchman from Alsace had taken his home apart piece by piece, carried it over the seas and then rebuilt everything here. The expansive place belonged to one Mr. Colmar, a fake name of course. Constance was rather sure they had found Baudouin. Now, Melusine¡¯s vassal believed the money came from a series of opium dens, especially those that may have changed hands in the recent years. The sects had found them and quite a few gave their profits to Mr. Colmar himself, an intimidating man with a nasty smile, piercing eyes, and a scary business acumen. Constance was going to visit the house and learn more. There was little doubt in her mind that Moor would not be here, but she was also confident there would be a trace they might follow. The pair landed in the empty, small garden after scaling the outer walls. Besides spikes, there had been no defenses to speak of. The house itself was another matter entirely. Solid protections surrounded it from ground to roof. ¡°What now?¡± Wang asked. ¡°Now we engage in the age-old tradition of breaking and entering.¡± ¡°Ah?¡± There were three major things Constance could do that Ariane could not. The first was going out during the day. The second was lying shamelessly as she had done to the sentry, a thing Ariane could no longer do, though she didn¡¯t realize it. The third and by far most entertaining one was home burglary. Constance retrieved her pouch and opened it, revealing quite a few tools. ¡°I confess, I am not used to such activities. My faction is righteous. We do not act like xiaotou. Thieves.¡± ¡°Really? What do you do when you need to get into a house?¡± ¡°We¡­ knock.¡± Constance stopped to stare. ¡°Sometimes forcefully,¡± Wang added. ¡°How is that working out for you?¡± She approached a nearby first floor window, currently shuttered. An enchantment covered the opening so she applied a powerful arcane acid from a small vial, then watched the carved wood bubble. After a short delay, she removed the shutter¡¯s interior with a wet squelch. The glass behind was cut and moved with a spell, leaving the entire shutter frame intact, the alarm untriggered, and the house vulnerable. ¡°I can appreciate that a more balanced approach might be preferable.¡± They climbed through the opening and looked, or at least Constance did until Wang fumbled for a light. ¡°Nu Sarrehin,¡± she whispered. The fae tongue rolled off hers with an aftertaste of nostalgia, hers and that of her teacher. Hers was born from missing that famous trip, only living it vicariously through paintings and tales. Ariane¡¯s, well, she kept quiet about it. Perhaps she would live long enough to walk the spheres. ¡°I appreciate it. Where do we start?¡± ¡°Baudouin¡¯s office. It will be upstairs.¡± ¡°This is an office as well.¡± ¡°His will have an additional layer of defenses. Here is too exposed.¡± She leaned on a table, finding an invoice for furniture. Baudouin wouldn¡¯t care about miscellaneous spendings. ¡°Secretary¡¯s office. Baudouin focused on the income back in America.¡± ¡°We must move in silence, for there could be guards.¡± ¡°No, this place is deserted.¡± Constance thought for a moment. ¡°There could be a golem.¡± ¡°A what?¡± *** Baudouin¡¯s domain was not too hard to find. He had picked the master bedroom and reconverted it, changing the door to a rococo horror with enough gold paint to cover a car. A plate read ¡®bossman¡¯ in upper cases, also in gold, in gothic letters. A lush red carpet led to it. And yet, they found a strictly organized office behind. Ariane had warned her. Baudouin only affected the appearance of vulgarity, cultivating it with care so he would be underestimated, but Moor¡¯s mortal servant was a shrewd businessman with a gift for using the right people. It would be interesting to get his measure. There was also the possibility they might kill each other. It was considered acceptable in a confrontation to the death between powerful vampires such as was the case now. No matter what, a servant died with their master. She was fully committed. But first, they had to find Moor before she decided to leave the city with her ill-gotten gains to start elsewhere. ¡°Is any of this useful?¡± Wang asked as he watched Constance search through the documents. He held a piece of paper covered in densely packed scribbles, face lost in dismay. It was not hard to guess why. ¡°It¡¯s all coded,¡± Constance admitted laconically. It would have been nice if Baudouin had left a nice note saying ¡®we live over there, cheers,¡¯ but reality was seldom this accommodating. ¡°Can you¡­ break it?¡± ¡°Not really. Baudouin does not so much use a cypher as his own thief cant. Look here, he mentions ¡®trois deniers pour mou¨¦¡¯. Mou¨¦ is the phonetical spelling of what ¡®moi¡¯ used to sound in French. Still does in the countryside. Deniers is an obsolete form of currency. Those are accounts, yet we would be hard-pressed to find what means what exactly. I doubt he shared the meaning either. What matters to him is that he understands himself.¡± ¡°Then we cannot find him.¡± ¡°There is a way, but it will be dangerous.¡± ¡°Do tell?¡± ¡°We will trigger the alarm. And he will come.¡± Wang considered their options in silence. He had fought off assassins with grim determination the day before, but now it was different. She was asking him to seek danger. ¡°You are certain? He might send servants instead.¡± ¡°Not for the breach of his sanctum. He will want to know if anything was lost, and¡­¡± She hesitated. She still didn¡¯t trust the Chinese man. Oh, he was polite, competent, easy on the eyes. It didn¡¯t mean he would not favor his own agenda. Nevertheless, this was not a significant piece of information. ¡°He will also come because¡­ that is what I would do. Being a Servant comes with an interesting set of new instincts and drives. A man like him will fight for his territory.¡± ¡°I see. Then success is assured¡­ provided we can take out his escort.¡± ¡°Which he will have, yes. Do not worry. I have a plan. In the meanwhile, we must damage the wards.¡± Wang took a few steps to the side, pivoted on himself then lashed out. His right foot gained a silvery gleam when it met the gaudy door. The door lost. It was sent careening in the hallway. ¡°That will do nicely,¡± Constance said. ¡°I aim to please.¡± ¡°Then go pick up your door. We will need the way clear in case we need to run.¡± *** The plan was to shoot Baudouin. If hurting a Servant was not so abhorrent to a vampire, Ariane would have been proud. As it was, Constance chambered a marker bullet in her enchanted revolver, ¡®memento mori¡¯. It would be an easy shot if Baudouin stood still. She hoped he would. ¡°There is some sort of commotion near the checkpoint,¡± Wang noticed. The house stood close to the border of the settlement so the military checkpoint was only a few blocks away. Expert eastern mages could scale the walls at a moment¡¯s notice, avoiding the sentries if they tried. Baudouin was not such a man. They watched a small group detach themselves from the mass of soldiers, stopping at the corner of the deserted street near tramway tracks. Too far even for her enchanted weapon. A few moments later, they were joined by eastern mages who dropped nimbly from nearby roofs. Those wore loose clothes of drab colors. Constance hoped those were not muscles she saw moving under their trousers or a kick would send her into orbit. ¡°Toad style experts. Traitors! The council will not like that.¡± ¡°If we can prove anything.¡± ¡°I can always bring a hand.¡± Constance turned from the window with a curious look on her face. ¡°A hand, used in a ritual to¡­ this is not important. What? This is not savagery! Do not pretend that you have not committed dire acts as well.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not the one collecting body parts as trophies.¡± ¡°Please do not give my face too many colors to see. Oh, they are coming.¡± Constance waited, hidden behind a curtain. Baudouin looked up and frowned. He probably remembered that every shutter had been in place when he had left. The group hastened. Unfortunately, Baudouin kept his men between the house and himself. Besides the eastern mages, he had a pair of white goons in slightly outsized suits. Probably imported. No way they had the brain cells to take a boat to a place they could not spell. As Constance despaired for a clean shot, Baudouin gestured to the side, two of the practitioners detached themselves from the group on their way the side entrance. For an instant, the messy group¡¯s formation was undone. It was all Constance needed. Her breath calmed down as she pointed her gun in front of her, feet apart. Time seemed to slow as she focused. There was only her and that tiny gap towards Baudouin¡¯s left leg. She pulled the trigger. Memento mori roared and the glass of the window formed a perfect, half-burnt circle. Her ears rang. Her bones hurt. Enchanted bullets were a bitch on the wrist. Blood was spilled in the heated street, one that had escaped the slaughter until now. Baudouin¡¯s face formed an ¡®o¡¯ of surprise, then he grasped for his wounded limb. Constance saw the red liquid pooling under his hairy hands, not too much though, thankfully. It would have been counterproductive to hit an artery. Or perhaps she should have and let a bereaved Moor come to them. But no, vampires became unpredictable when they mourned. Baudouin decided for her. He turned and made a run for it, or a limp rather. Meanwhile, his goons charged the house with a level of anger Constance had not expected from hired louts. ¡°Watch our flank, some will be coming from the side entrance.¡± ¡°Understood.¡± Before Constance could move, she saw a shadow approach the damaged window. The first toad style fighter smashed through the opening without difficulty, his trousers breaking under the flex of the largest quadriceps she had ever seen on a human. Honestly, he could give buffalos a run for their money. So Constance shot him. The other five bullets were lethal. The man¡¯s revoltingly ugly face twisted into a rictus of outrage when his ribcage exploded. She emptied most of the revolver in it, center mass. He wouldn¡¯t fall. She expected him to jump but he never did. A terrible scream escaped his blood-stained lips. He fell to his knees. Constance collapsed on herself by reflex. A shape blurred above her, then smashed into a far wall in a shower of plaster. Wang was here like a blur to stop another. They fought in a flurry of deadly strikes, fists covered in metallic light against gnarly flesh. She rolled behind Baoudouin¡¯s desk an instant before a foot came where she had been, showering her in splinters. It smelled like old wood and, strangely, vinegar. Wang engaged him as well, managing both warriors at once. She stood and noticed a third toad warrior on the window. ¡°Winter¡¯s tooth,¡± she said in Likaean The quickly cast spell left a blue sheen on the man¡¯s chest. Hallucinations attacked his mind. He was being devoured. He was eaten from the inside. Jagged teeth gnawed his bones. He roared in pain, which she amplified a moment later with a mind assault. Her own attack met a powerful compulsion already embedded in his mind in a terrible clash. The hesitation let the man recover. His legs brimmed with power. ¡°Lake of Erinoth,¡± she said in Likaean. His heavy body hit the shield, which bent forward. An expression of triumph twisted her foe¡¯s face. He was very close, so close. She felt his mind struggling against the drive to dive forward for that one special prize, to lose some more heat for a prize beyond his dreams. Again, a foreign influence opposed her but she was here and the other one was not. The shield fragmented like ice over the coldest waters. The man stopped, his smile a terrible rictus of frozen greed. Constance twisted towards the room¡¯s entrance. ¡°Kiss of winter.¡± Pure cold expanded in a cone in front of her, leaving the wood brittle and blue. The corridor¡¯s entrance slammed open to reveal the flankers. Wang punched his remaining foe with both hands in a strange gesture that catapulted him on the path of her expanding orb. The flankers dodged to the side, but Wang¡¯s victim was caught in the trajectory. He froze solid, falling with the noise of broken stone. The two survivors rushed back in with war cries and their enthusiasm intact. Wang dodged under a jumping kick and punched up into his enemy¡¯s nethers. Even Constance winced when something crunched with a ghastly sound. She reflexively fanned the cold flame of terror in the survivor¡¯s mind, but once again hit a wall. Her last opponent dodged under Wang¡¯s kick. Constance barely saw him squat in a strange position towards her before her training kicked in. She jumped to the side. Pain shot up her wrist when she hit the ground but it did not interrupt her casting. A heavy weight crashed against the wall with a heavy thud where she had been an instant before. ¡°Last embrace,¡± she said in Likaean. Constance allowed the alien magic to take over. The room took a blue hue and she suddenly felt sympathy for that poor little man, all alone, all scared under that nasty control spell. The fae magic made her stretch her hand to the flabbergasted man with all the love in the world. His control spell blew away like fresh snow in a blizzard. She would free him. Forever. Because she loved all of creation, and it would accept the gentle repose she offered in time. Her finger reached the skin while her gaze bored into his, sharing her undying felicity. Yes, little morsel. You are free forever. The spell faded, its task done. Little was left but the crisp smell of winter and that warmth that came at the end. Colors returned to her. The last foe stood where he was, crystallized to his very marrow. Tears of felicity, bliss like sapphires on his cobalt face. A shot broke the silence. Constance rushed to peek through the shutters. Outside, the international settlement militia sprinted towards a fleeing goon who had dropped a gun where he was. Not the smartest bulbs, those lads. Constance would have cried and begged them for help, but Baudouin had no need for intellect among his hired muscle. Nevertheless, she had what she wanted. ¡°Let¡¯s go. Next time I¡¯m setting up a circle, risks of being found out or not. I have never had so many men jump on me.¡± ¡°China is a great place for new experiences.¡± Constance watched Wang¡¯s back as they ran. She could swear he was blushing. *** It took a while for Constance and Wang to avoid pursuit. By then, it took a moment for Constance to create a tracking spell. They followed it from the edge of the British cordon. It was fresh. It appears even the smooth Baudouin had issues convincing a full patrol to let him wander with a bullet wound. There were no spots of blood so she assumed he¡¯d wisely decided to use some method of transport. The trail was still fresh. It still took them a while to track it down past the traveling patrols, deeper into the slums. Constance was tiring despite her improved constitution. Battles had a way to drain her and she had been in two in so many days. The spell led to a local manor no different from any others at the edge of the Yellow River. The smell of mud was overpowering while Constance inspected the compound. The doors were thoroughly locked. It was quiet here, but she could still spot patrolling guards from her vantage point off the road. Subtle magic protection hung in the air, some western and others local. More importantly, many of the windows were shuttered tight. Someone inside had a sunlight sensitivity. Only other manors occupied this place. She was not sure, but there could be a pier on the property. ¡°So, this is it?¡± ¡°The marker says the bullet was removed. It was done so here, so even if this is not Moor¡¯s abode, it is still her main base due to the size, people, and existence of medical facilities.¡± ¡°Oh. Will we do any more thief activities?¡± ¡°No. Not unless you wish to die? I may be spared and captured as a Servant, but you would be fair game and I do not believe the two of us could assault such a large place, not to mention the risks of getting indoors.¡± ¡°A fair point. I saw what your mistress could do.¡± ¡°You have seen nothing at all. When the skies darken and you find yourself in a thorn forest without end hunted by ancient guardians, then you know she has developed an interest.¡± Wang swung between concern and disbelief. ¡°You seem to hold her in high regard.¡± ¡°I have been her partner for a long time now. She is still a monster but¡­ she grows on you.¡± ¡°Peculiar. I would not expect a¡­ servant to use such familiar expressions.¡± ¡°Servants for vampires mean something different. We are their daylight counterparts. Some are complementary, others similar. We all share something, however.¡± ¡°What is it?¡± ¡°We are not scared of monsters.¡± ¡°I suppose this is a requirement.¡± ¡°Speaking of, I fear that we may have an issue. A serious one. Those men we fought were subjugated by a subtle charm effect. I fear those may not be spells so much as essence, a natural ability.¡± ¡°I do not follow.¡± ¡°They were perhaps traitors but they were controlled. Moor or one of her minions infiltrated your council of the grandmasters, possibly for years. She has her claws in your Jianghu warriors.¡± Wang turned and showed the strongest emotion since they¡¯d met. It was fear and strangely, grief. ¡°Are you sure? Are you absolutely certain?¡± ¡°I could swear that the marks were left by a vampire, though it was both subtle and strong. Unsurprising, coming from the bloodline with the best ability to manipulate. Are you alright?¡± ¡°No! No, I am not alright! Do you not understand? My people wanted to bridge the chasm between our two worlds, but if the first mage contact ended in manipulation and deceit, why, it would prove everything our enemies are trying to demonstrate! If your quarry has turned our people against themselves then it will be the most significant act since the opium war, our own humiliation. We will lose all hope of ever reaching an understanding with your side. And just because of one woman. Wo de tian. Zhen de shi buke siyi.¡± ¡°Only you and I know,¡± Constance reminded him. ¡°What?¡± ¡°Only we know. The others will believe the toad style fighters were lured by power, cultivation gifts to improve their power at a dark price. It would not be the first time, right?¡± ¡°... no, it would not.¡± ¡°And besides, even a Lancaster cannot grow a seed in a barren garden. They must have been ripe for corruption before she began. Vampires will go for the weak link every time. They are quite expert at it.¡± ¡°You may speak the truth. Still, the realization that we were betrayed before even meeting one of your kind¡­¡± ¡°We are here to kill her,¡± Constance reminded him. Wang glared, but then his expression softened. A disillusioned smile carved through his handsome face. ¡°You are not here on our behalf. You could hardly care less about our well being.¡± ¡°I do,¡± Constance said without thinking. ¡°I care. We came for ourselves but we have reached an agreement. It was our first and natural reaction. We respected your customs.¡± Wang sighed, a weight leaving his wide shoulders. ¡°You are right. I cannot expect strangers to immediately care about our plight. You have dealt with us fairly, and most of us have done the same. I only hope that the future will not change that.¡± They fell into a companionable silence after that. Constance sent a quick message to Ariane, notifying her they had probably found the main base. After that, it was just a question of waiting. The city behind them was getting more and more agitated, with patrols clashing and ambushes triggered everywhere. There was a limit to what a lone mage could achieve. Constance could die from a stone to the head just as easily as from a bullet, therefore the risk of interception was not worth crossing the city again. As for taking the long way around, it would take far too much time. Also, she wanted to visit the lavatories. Constance convinced Wang to get in one of the nearby, deserted manors. It was clear the occupants had left recently and in reasonably good order. It only took a couple of spells to open the gates. Constance used the opportunity to clean up as much as she could. A little fire magic let her dry her battle dress to an acceptable level. Still, she could not wait for this little escapade to be over. They even found tea, which they took in the manor¡¯s courtyard. ¡°I feel terribly ambivalent about drinking tea in someone else¡¯s home.¡± Wang confessed. ¡°So¡­. You do not want any?¡± ¡°That is not what I said.¡± ¡°Then¡­ wait, I feel something.¡± Constance moved from her chair in the house¡¯s deserted room. The basic wards she had set around their temporary refuge had been damaged in every direction. ¡°Shit, incoming.¡± ¡°We should run.¡± The sounds of fast heartbeats rang from all around, rushing towards her. They moved very fast. ¡°Too late.¡± Constance raised a shield from the makeshift circle she had prepared, expecting the worst. Fortunately, the first person to appear was not the one she feared the most. ¡°Grandmaster Shu?¡± Not just the old bearded man but his prot¨¦g¨¦ Lei, then other grandmasters and practitioners jumped the surrounding walls. They all wore their weapons and in some cases, armor. Ranks of eastern mages lined the walls all around Constance in every direction. She was utterly trapped. They had surrounded her, then moved in. For a moment, silence reigned over the manor. Constance was only too happy to let it be. The sun was setting. ¡°What is the meaning of this?¡± Wang asked, to her annoyance. ¡°Grandmaster Shan was assassinated last night¡­ by a foreign woman with yellow hair!¡± Lei said, eyes suspicious. Constance decided to redirect the conversation before it could go somewhere she wouldn¡¯t enjoy very much. ¡°And I suppose she was seen by many witnesses but they couldn¡¯t get a clear view of her face? I also assume the assassin used a dagger, yes?¡± Lei translated immediately, leading Constance to suspect that his outrage was faked, and he did not believe such a vulgar plot either. ¡°And we are supposed to believe them? Foreigners have no honor!¡± Lei translated. The accusation had come from the toad style master. Wang immediately went on the offensive. Constance could not be sure what was said since her two translators were busy, but she could get the gist of it. The toad grandmaster scoffed until the orange-clad monk spoke a few words. ¡°He told them I was truthful,¡± Wang said excitedly, ¡°that the toad master¡¯s experts were without enemies.¡± Mutters erupted in the rank and file of what Wang called ¡®experts¡¯ while the grandmasters themselves remained stoic. Subtly, the united line shifted to turn into groups as old alliances and enmities cracked the veneer of a united front. ¡°That was a mistake,¡± Constance replied. ¡°What?¡± ¡°Can¡¯t you feel it?¡± Left and right, charm markers went off, though only someone who had studied vampire charm could tell. Friend turned on friend, rivals revived old grudges. Everyone was arguing and more than a few auras flared with danger. Constance considered talking but she did not know their tongue and translating here would be too weak. And it would get their attention on her. Discreetly, she stepped back and out of the circle as the assembly turned into a mob. A feeling of anger gripped her chest but she pushed it away. It was an outside influence. Constance shuddered as her power weakened ever so slightly. Night had fallen. ¡°We can¡¯t stay here,¡± she told Wang. ¡°At least you can¡¯t. She will-¡± ¡°Take her revenge as she always does, eventually,¡± a smooth, cultured English voice said from behind. Constance slowly turned. A woman stood at the entrance of her refuge, her outline clear on the background of the river. She wore a traditional dress in black. Raven hair fell freely on her shoulders, framing a beautiful, aristocratic face. Emerald eyes filled with condescension inspected her. Constance felt judged and found wanting. She held the stumbling form of Baudouin under his shoulder. The man was sweating from the pain, though his leg was bandaged and clean. ¡°Do it, mistress. Show them a real charivari.¡± ¡°Of course, dear. You see, perhaps we Lancasters cannot match idiots like your mistress in a contest of brute strength, but we have no need to do so when the mortals will oblige. Allow me to demonstrate. Magna Arqa.¡± Her eyes turned purple and slitted. Among the eastern mages, someone threw a punch. The mob devolved into a brawl in a single instant. Spells and kicks sent fighters flying while a riot of color and aura shattered the fragile truce. Blood was spilled almost immediately. Savagery spread out like a wildfire, but it did not stop in the manor. A few seconds later, the first gunshots rang through the night. Cannons and the rattle of machine gun fire joined quickly. Two minutes later, a red halo informed Constance that Shanghai was burning. The city had been a powder keg since day one. With two words, Moor had lit the fuse. Thousands of people would die tonight because a Lancaster had let go. ¡°Now I suppose your friends will be busy for some time. As for you, you know quite well I will not allow a servant to be hurt. However, you did shoot my Baudouin.¡± ¡°You whore!¡± ¡°Yes yes, my dear. Do calm down. You shot my Baudouin, so I believe a little¡­ compensation is in order.¡± Constance powered her shield before Moor was done talking. Before she could see the lady move, claws raked her defenses in front of Wang¡¯s face. Chapter 216: Bitch Queens of the Universe Another claw raked the shield. It sounded like nails on glass. Another. Constance held a wince at the unsettling sound and the pressure on her mind. She just had to hold a little longer.¡°Constance,¡± Wang said by her side. ¡°Shut up.¡± Quick movements let her recenter the shield; make it smaller. She traced a ring with practiced ease using the tip of her foot while another claw traced its circumference almost sensually. Moor was circling them like a shark while in the background, the eastern mages and Shanghai bled and burned. Another rake weakened the shield so Constance switched symbols. For an instant, the protection flickered but Constance timed it well and her defenses recovered before Moor could react. The lady was watching the enfolding chaos. In the distance, a warehouse went up in a fiery conflagration. More explosions lit up the night. "Mistress." ¡°You are right. We have no time to waste.¡± Constance changed her shield frequency to face blades, and not a moment too soon. Something stabbed towards her. The blade stopped an inch from Wang¡¯s face. Ice covered the dark dagger to the hilt, then the delicate hand holding it. Moor considered the encroaching ice with disdain. A flex of her fingers and it all fell to the ground in fading shards. ¡°Ice? Cute.¡± She stabbed harder. Constance winced this time, and she could see a strain in Moor¡¯s posture. Moor would kill Wang and, perhaps, take her hostage despite her clear discomfort, yet the attack of a Servant went against her very essence. The foe was struggling as much as she was, so Constance drew her own knife. ¡°Constance, this is acceptable,¡± Wang said by her side. ¡°No.¡± The mage slit her hand and placed the bloody print against the surface of her protection. Moor hissed. Constance could see the cold woman¡¯s dainty nostrils flare from the blasphemous aroma. Moor recoiled and grabbed her forehead. She almost stumbled. Constance felt a moment of triumph, but it was short-lived. ¡°Right. Right. Canny girl. I suppose I am¡­ merely extending your suffering.¡± ¡°Ah, shit.¡± ¡°By delaying the¡ª¡± A crash and Constance fell with a yelp. No matter how fast, no matter how strong, she was still a mortal. And Moor was a lady. The feedback of her broken spell seared her brain with a blinding pain. She smelled blood, her own. There was something wet on her upper lip. Wang¡¯s body smashed against the manor¡¯s gate, limbs clad in silvery radiance to bleed off the impact. He was still alive for now, and Constance could guess why. An iron grip grabbed her neck, angling her towards the prone form of the eastern mage. ¡°Don¡¯t miss it,¡± Moor¡¯s mocking voice said. Her cold breath brushed against Constance¡¯s ears. She smelled of anise and the iron tinge of her latest meal. ¡°Vampiresneverlookup!¡± Constance screamed. Moor froze. Constance spotted a raised hand with the lady¡¯s black dagger in it about to launch at the wounded mage. The hesitation led to a relative silence, the perfect scene for the enfolding drama. a deceptively calm voice said, Ariane was calmly sitting by the edge of the manor¡¯s main building, boot-clad feet dangling casually over the edge. She still wore her elegant rider outfit with a modest attempt at trousers. The vampire looked rather calm but Constance could feel the unhinged fury bubbling under the surface like lava inside a volcano. Only her agreement with Melusine kept her from attacking, and even then it was a close thing. A low growl escaped from a frame too small to form it before Ariane brought herself back under control. Moor let Constance leave. She slipped from the lady¡¯s grasp without resistance. Shame and anger warred on her captor¡¯s face. Baudouin was a mask of impotent rage. Interestingly, Ariane¡¯s aura had remained perfectly under control so that not a whiff of power could be felt in the chaos of battle. Moor spat. The meaning of the Akkad words appeared clear to Constance, as usual. Wang looked lost, however. He was standing back with some difficulty while his gaze swiveled from his savior to his would-be executioner. Constance hoped he would stay smart and avoid moving too much. Ariane pointed up where, in the distance, the shape of the stood like the north star on the background of the soot-stained heavens. Searching floodlights cast blue layers on nearby smoke clouds. Constance spotted the shard-like edges of spell arrays, fully deployed. Just in case. Aiane smiled then, baring her fangs. What followed was too fast for Constance to follow. There was a blur, a small spurt of dark blood. Dust puffed where the vampires had fought like blurry after-images. When shapes stopped long enough to be seen, Constance was looking at Moor and Melusine in a face-off. The lady was wounded, though the shallow cut along her left flank had already scabbed. As for Melusine, she was leaning forward, rapier denuded and bloodied. While the lady stood with nobility, Melusine leaned forward like the monster she was. Fury twisted her heart-shaped face. She wore full battle regalia. Moor scoffed at Ariane. Ariane mockingly added. A new exchange, as fast as before but this time there was a wound along Melusine¡¯s cheek. A gash damaged the glyphs of her pauldron. Constance could only follow the fight as a blur of motion at the edge of her vision, the combatants gone before her eyes could flicker. It did not look like it was going very well. Moor was no war lady but she was still a lady, and the gap between the two could not be closed so easily. Even social animals like the old Lancaster viper trained for their survival. Melusine would be fighting an upward battle. Moor mocked. Melusine snarled. Another quick exchange followed but this time, an orange glare marked a new phase of the duel. Flames erupted from quick spells. A blast pinged against a nearby wall, eating the plaster. This fight ended with a transparent bolt pinging against Moor¡¯s dagger, which she had placed before her chest. It had been longer too. The lady¡¯s confident facade finally cracked, shattered by the new wounds harrying her. The sleeve of her gown trailed in scorched filaments. Ugly, weeping sores stained her alabaster skin all along the length of her arm in a constellation of pain. It had to be torture, yet the lady remained disturbingly quiet for a while. Melusine did not look confident. Her fingers twitched. Moor hissed and revealed her fangs for the first time. Another attack, another flurry of strikes Constance could not follow. The conflict extended over space. It forced her to move to the gate where Wang and Baudouin waited in an uneasy truce. A circle of fire that just kept going soon bloomed, then trails of crimson light slashed the night in front of her faster than she could see. Vampire magic, designed to take down their only true opponents: themselves. Melusine crashed against a nearby pillar, shattering it, but Moor screamed as she rolled on the ground. Eventually, she launched herself at the courtyard fountain. The proud lady was a ruin of her former self. A deep gash ran along the edge of her jaw, exposing a few molars, yet the green eyes were as unyielding as before. Melusine stood up with a wince. A deep gash oozed black blood from her sternum. It showed no sign of closing, and the master moved cautiously. ¡± Melusine retorted with a smirk. Ariane replied with a smile and a shrug. Constance could see some of Moor¡¯s wounds closing. Melusine could heal as well, but certainly not that fast. Masters did not win against lords or ladies. At least not without some sort of miracle. It was a fact that Ariane had explained times and times again. Nevertheless, Ariane made no move to assist her ally in her fight to the death. She just watched it with patient interest. Constance could feel the calm undercurrent of the vampire¡¯s thoughts and there was a lack of anger there she found curious. She wondered what had really happened between the three women and what sort of offense killing a vassal was that Melusine could not let go almost a hundred years later. Yet Ariane who had been tortured could let go. As for Moor herself, she was an enigma, a tale from Ariane¡¯s distant past back when she was not quite so formidable. Melusine said, pointing at Moor¡¯s ravaged face. A smirk and Constance feels something heavier in the air, something of a call. Ariane leaned forward with interest. The locus of chaos moves towards Constance. She could feel it come in the same way she felt the pull of fate around Boone, her old friend and almost lover. The way the world bent to awaken their interest. An instant later, the eastern mage battle spilled over the arena and she watched Grandmaster Shu push all opposition aside with a wave of his hand. Blood soiled his erstwhile pristine robes. Half of the eastern mages now lie wounded on the ground. A few looked dead. The old master spat a few words and rushed the wounded Melusine. More followed, their aggression somehow centered on the red-hair vampire but not her foe. Ariane said with disapproval. A wave of thorny roots bursts from the ground, hiding the eastern practitioners from sight. Moor mutters. Moor and Melusine launched themselves at each other, but this time Moor did not stop speaking. Spells clashed against wooden pillars and stone walls, shattering them. Melusine snarled. Constance watched the chaos of battle around her though it never quite reached the two servants. Even though she could not track it, something felt different in the same way an orchestra played differently to those who could not discern individual instruments. The field seemed wider. The clash of blades were fewer. Spells were now more careful, with a few persistent circles of fire placed at strategic places for purposes unknown. The duel slowed down into a battle of attrition. Moor may be no war lady but Melusine should be commended for her persistence, Constance thought. Most masters would have been flattened by now. Nevertheless, as the fight continued, she believed she sees more damage on the redhead''s armor, more blood staining her dark outfit. Constance watched the fight devolve with clear worry. Melusine was making mistakes. Spells grew fewer while clashes of blades left a persistent din in her ears. Melusine had the advantage at range, but she was forfeiting it out of anger. She had never seen the cold and poised master so emotive and so lost. It was strange, like watching a parent cry. She wanted to help but knew she could not. Above, Ariane still did not move. Constance tugged on their connection but Ariane shook her head minutely. She would not intervene. Down on the ground and within the arena of thorns, Melusine was losing. Her aura pulsed in disarray while Moor was still standing, and the most dire wounds on her healed fast to leave only alabaster skin behind. Despite that, she never let up. Melusine wheezed, ¡°.¡± Melusine said in a dangerously low voice. Her gear was a mess. Her hair was a mess. Her aura flared uncontrollably. Blood dripped down her temple where a glancing blow had sheared her skin. The battle reached its paroxysm with a quick and unceasing exchange of blows. After-images piled on each other until Constance¡¯s brain strained under the onslaught of information. Spells crashed in a fiery onslaught. The exposed parts of the manor were barely more than ruins. Two forms crystallized in the middle of the devastation, struggling for supremacy. Moor held Melusine from the back, her dagger aimed down at an armored chest. Each held the arm of the other in a contest that Moor was easily winning, but no matter how many nicks the soul weapon added, none of them came close to a real wound. Moor whispered in Melusine¡¯s ear. Her voice was so clear over the terrible rumble of battle, yet so intimate. Melusine screamed incoherently¡­ then she exploded. Her aura detonated in a torrent of fire, pushing Moor back. The lady bit a scream for the first time then used her dagger to sever her own left arm which was on fire. Meanwhile, Melusine fell to the ground as a screaming torch. Constance just watched the flames devour Melusine¡¯s form as the woman screeched with boundless fury. Embers licked her very fingers. Moor casually walked to Ariane, a diva in the middle of her opera finale despite the sorry state she was in. Nothing seemed to mar her confidence. she claimed on a background of screams. Ariane smiled, calm as ever. This one showed all eight fangs. Constance understood now what the issue was. Melusine had not stopped screaming. Vampires burnt quickly but she had not, and she was still¡­ whole, somehow. The exploding aura¡­ that could only mean one thing. The living torch stood back up, scorched armor clinging to limbs of orange fury. Hair like a great blaze formed a corona around a pair of slit, purple eyes. She moved up, spitting embers as she came. Melusine¡¯s aura expanded, covering not just her but a sphere around her presence. Pulses of heated fury brushed against Constance¡¯s perception, an anathema to her own ice and somehow it was both vampiric and fiery, an impossible combination, and yet, and yet. Melusine harnessed it. The avatar of flame jumped on Lady Moor and grabbed her in a deathly embrace. They both screamed, one dying, the other taking revenge. Melusine pushed the crumbling lady down with overwhelming power. It was only when her victim was but an indistinct pile of ash that Melusine stopped, triumphant. Her aura flared once more. Her fiery form tilted backward and laughed like a madwoman while fire torched the villa in a deathly conflagration. S?a??h the N0v?lFire(.)n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. Ariane blew air. A freezing gust slowed the inferno. All of the free fires in a cone disappeared before the arctic onslaught. Melusine flickered, her corona settling. Soon, the fire was out. Ariane asked cordially. Melusine said dreamily. She stumbled a little and then Ariane was there, keeping her upright. Her rival ¡ª or was it friend?¡ª huffed with a hint of annoyance. If glares could kill, Ariane would be a pile of ash right now. Melusine gave her a last venomous, annoyed hiss before closing her eyes. Her body went limp. ¡°Will she be alright?¡± Constance asked with some concern. ¡°Yes, do not be distraught. Killing rivals can be exhausting work. She will return to her normal bitchy self tomorrow. Ah, but vengeful people are so verbose. Hmm.. Was I that talkative? I cannot remember.¡± ¡°Yes, you always are,¡± Constance grumbled. ¡°Huh. Well. Let us go then.¡± The roots disappeared. Now, Constance could finally take in her surroundings. Wang stood by her side, unharmed yet silent. A vampire she had never seen before waited behind them though he did not seem hostile. He was a bearded man with gray temples and a commanding air, the impression reinforced by an impeccable gray suit. Ariane did not move so it did not feel important at the moment. The last person was a corpse. Baudouin, his face frozen in a mask of anguish. Beyond the devastated half of the courtyard and burning ruin of the nearby manor section, the eastern mages were backing up from each other with the faces of men and women waking up with a hangover. Most were wounded but it was the dead who got most of the attention. A mix of horror and disbelief painted their face in the flickering light of fires. Far behind, the battle for Shanghai raged unimpeded. That one merely needed a spark to get on, and it was by now self-sustaining. ¡°I need to go to them. Talk to them. Tell them the foe is dead,¡± Wang said softly. ¡°Yes. Most likely." ¡°They will be glad that the foe is dead¡­ although I fear that it will still be a bitter medicine. I¡­ I believe that I may make a difference.¡± ¡°You mean that you are staying. And we should go.¡± ¡°Yes. That is my duty. For the future of all we stand for.¡± Constance nodded. She understood. Wang had dedicated his life to this cause and she would not expect him to change course now. The way he said it, however, now that hinted at something. Something she¡¯d suspected for a while. ¡°If¡­ if we ever open an embassy in your land, would you consider¡­ meeting again?¡± Constance pulled Wang by the collar and kissed him. He was unyielding under the western suit with muscles like steel wires. He was quite warm. And tasted nice too. She pushed him back as his hands reached for her waist. Her friends back home would have much to say about cavorting with men of another race, but they were not here and she did not really care anyway. Ariane had politely averted her eyes. ¡°You can take this as a maybe,¡± Constance allowed. ¡°Not a definitive yes, we have not known each other for very long after all.¡± ¡°What? But¡­ Then¡­¡± Wang caressed his lips with a scarred hand. He smiled in a rather lost way. ¡°Ah, you western women are quite strange. I will endeavor to travel then. Please do write!¡± ¡°I find your proposal agreeable. Now go, save your community. Oh, you can keep the ash!¡± ¡°That is not for you to decide!¡± Ariane exclaimed from behind where she was talking with the newly come vampire. ¡°Please,¡± Constance said. ¡°Oh, very well.¡± The eastern mage walked back to his brethren as they looked on, eyes filled with suspicion and grief. He had his work cut out for him. Constance used this opportunity to come closer to Ariane and the male vampire. She thought he might be a newly ascended master from his aura. ¡°Constance, meet Irvine of the Lancaster. He was the one Moor kidnapped and turned, thus causing the White Cabal to come for revenge. I was bringing him up to speed with the history of his lost faction.¡± ¡°Reliable news was hard to come by here,¡± Irvine explained with a gravelly voice. ¡°And being Lady Moor¡¯s spawn has¡­ complicated matters.¡± Constance was not sure she understood. Ariane must have guessed she was lost because she provided an explanation. ¡°Courtiers fall under the influence of their sires when it comes to sympathies and allegiance. Irvine here was the previous black dog, the military leader of the cabal.¡± ¡°Oh!¡± Poor Irvine may have felt ambivalent about his previous friends while under the yoke of their enemy. Constance seemed to remember that Melusine was the same. Ariane had let out fragments of knowledge across conversations hinting she had been turned from a family that actively fought vampires. It did not seem like an enviable position. Constance thought about being forced to kill her friends and shivered. ¡°Enough talks,¡± Ariane said. ¡°We need to retrieve Melusine¡¯s vassal and evacuate the city. I believe we have overstayed our welcome.¡± ¡°Let¡¯s get the Fury on the river then. We can board and¡ª¡± ¡°That would take too much time and make it vulnerable. The Fury will land near the Bund, where the Vassal is anyway. We will be taking a car there for the sake of speed.¡± Without waiting for an answer, Ariane strode forward with Irvine in tow, Melusine carried over a shoulder. Constance frowned. That didn¡¯t sound logical. Not with so many likely barricades over the city. Surely, the skies were safer? Even with Ariane herself around? Heedless of her concern, the shape of the Fury turned around to follow the river and they found a car on the road. It had been delivered on a palette with a large parachute that, by any laws of nature, should not have had the time to open. Nevertheless, here it was, black and shiny like a giant beetle. It looked more like an armored vehicle than a taxi. There was even a turret at the top. A triangular steel plate at the front would clear most of the obstacles a mob could throw at them. Not that it was needed with the Hand of the Accords inside. Constance quickly climbed in after a fast Ariane. Melusine and Irvine were securely strapped while her bottom still had not landed on the front seat. Constance sat down and frowned. Something wasn¡¯t right. She turned to her left to see Ariane in her trousers smiling an ominous smile, clawed hands clamped on the wheel. On the wheel. Ariane was the pilot. Her neurons fired an alarm but it was too late. The trap had closed around her with steel jaws a team of hunters could not pry open. ¡°No,¡± she still said, ¡°nonononono.¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Ariane, please, no.¡± ¡°Ariane definitely yes. Fasten your harness please! We are about to depart.¡± Constance knew when the battle was lost. She strapped herself in with feverish hands. A moment later, the armored car was off with a roar of its powerful engines. She wondered if it was a good time to convert to religion. ¡°Did you just come here so you could drive while wearing trousers?¡± ¡°No!¡± Ariane replied far too quickly. ¡°Not at all.¡± Constance¡¯s next words were lost inside of her seat where the sudden acceleration sent her. Ariane whistled, driving the armored car down the narrow road at breakneck speed. No human would have driven so recklessly, though no humans had a full range of perception and the reflexes of a vampire to back them up. Constance still gripped her leather seat with all her strength as mud and fields turned to squalid slums then two the edge of town. A barricade blocked access to Shanghai proper, manned by opiate addicts wielding cleavers and other implements. ¡°You call THIS a barricade you wankers?¡± Ariane screamed. Constance realized there was a horn of sort relayed to a sound enchantment so everyone, and really everyone for the sound was enhanced, could hear her ¡®master¡¯ scream vulgarities at the top of her unliving lungs. It was a little embarrassing, even more so when the tank rammed the improvised roadblock in a terrifying din of broken crates and mangled bodies. Ariane didn¡¯t slow down. In fact, with the streets flatter, she increased the speed. ¡°Is this normal?¡± Irvine muttered to himself. Sadly, it was. Constance grit her teeth through sandbag blocks, screaming soldiers, mobsters, rioters, arsonists, and a chicken once. Ariane was a terror and the more the destruction spread unchecked and the more ¡®heated up¡¯ the woman was growing. ¡°Really? I was hoping for a challenge. My departed grandmother¡¯s faster than you, you CUNT!¡± Irvine muttered. ¡°Ariane please.¡± ¡°Look at that idiot, Where did you get your license huh? Bingo night? Kiss my ass! Constance did you see that rust bucket? And they thought they could catch up, haha!¡± ¡°That was a kuomintang armored car.¡± ¡°More like kuomin . Yoohoo! FASTER.¡± ¡°Ariane please,¡± ¡°Oh don¡¯t be such a cold pisser, we¡¯re almost there.¡± ¡°Mmglrf,¡± Melusine said from the backseat. ¡°What¡­ what is happening?¡± ¡°Ariane is driving!¡± Constance bemoaned. ¡°Hahahaha look at them run. Anybody wants to get the roof machine gun? Fifty caliber. Shoots like a breeze.¡± ¡°How does one wield that contraption?¡± Irvine said, suddenly interested. ¡°Aim the barrel towards the foe and press the trigger. Release the trigger once the foe is gone.¡± ¡°I will attempt.¡± ¡°I am going back to sleep,¡± Melusine declared, and apparently did so by sheer force of will. Constance felt terribly betrayed and left alone. Suddenly, an explosion rocked the compartment. ¡°Hah, you missed! I knew you would!¡± Ariane roared. Constance looked through the slit of the passenger side. Straight ahead, the shape of the Bund¡¯s western buildings could be seen jutting over the nearby architecture, but in the front there was a fully fortified checkpoint and at the center of that checkpoint, there was a tank. Not an armored ad-hoc vehicle. An actual tank. ¡°Ariane could you just use ¡ª ¡° ¡°Look at that piece of junk that they think can stop me! I am deeply insulted. Forwaaaaaard!¡± Constance was yanked backward yet again, then she bumped against the armored door when a convenient root helped the car roll on one wheel. Above, Irvine was letting out a torrent of bullets on the hapless, fleeing defenders. The armored card slithered between two concrete blocks while the tank¡¯s turret turned at a snail pace, too slow to zero on the fast-moving vehicle. As soon as they were through, Ariane screamed at her newest recruit. ¡°Irvine! Shoot the damn back where the gas is.¡± Constance had no idea how Irvine knew where to aim but the magically enhanced bullets slammed into the enemy vehicle which burst into a flameball. As for their car, it was already accelerating away. ¡°I thought you said no diplomatic incidents?¡± Constance screamed. ¡°There are no incidents if there are no witnesses!¡± The Accords¡¯ foreign politics had bright nights ahead of it. Chapter 217: Setting the pieces Sweden, November 1938.Snow crunches under Loth¡¯s mechanized armor. Each of his feet stomps the earth with as much might as an elephant. I can barely hear myself think in the cold winter night. ¡°You could just stay, you know?¡± ¡°Lass¡­¡± ¡°Not that you¡¯ll make a difference in that hulking thing.¡± ¡°Lass, do not try to neuter me please. Those are my lands.¡± ¡°And I¡¯m a good friend. I could just run there and be back by the time you get off that thing.¡± ¡°Let us just say I¡¯m breaking that thing in. Doing a field test, aye?¡± ¡°You could field test your slippers instead. And spend more time with your kid.¡± ¡°Looks like you won¡¯t be touching the Mark VII Siegfried Cannon.¡± ¡°Carry on, good sir.¡± ¡°That¡¯s what I thought. And besides, we are almost there.¡± Our steps, oh so slow steps, lead us through the pristine snow and ice-covered pines. A light wind sends plumes of fresh snow, forming a crystalline cloud on our path. I am not wearing the Aurora tonight. The weather is cold enough as it is, and I am not alone this time. Loth¡¯s armored foot sinks deeper into some sort of depression, unbalancing the entire bipedal frame around him. Pistons creak dangerously. ¡°Damn you and your¡­ lack of weight. How do you even do it? You gotta weigh at least¡ª¡± ¡°Tut tut tut you do not want to tread that ground, dear Loth.¡± ¡°I bet your power even told you there was a frozen brook here. But you didn¡¯t warn me. But fine, I can tell I should stop.¡± ¡°Wise.¡± ¡°A posteriori." ¡°Loooooth! Wait. No more jokes. Body ahead.¡± ¡°A scientist?¡± ¡°Too far to tell. Hurry.¡± Throwing caution and discretion to the northern winds, we race ahead. ¡°I can feel that the body is small. Unarmed.¡± ¡°It could be a scientist then. We only lost contact a few days ago.¡± ¡°I thought you expected an attack?¡± ¡°The research conducted there was extremely important so secrecy was of the essence. Their last message sounded like an attack but¡­ it was so messy. They mentioned blood. We will see.¡± I grumble a bit. I could take care of everything by myself in short order, but Loth has a strange sense of duty and responsibility. I suspect he is also fed up with king duties and wishes to be on the field once more. Our precious research facility might be already lost and we dally because of his principles. I hate it. I hate it even more when we find the body. It is a woman wearing a white laboratory gown over a thick sweater. It is thoroughly unsuitable for those arctic temperatures. I spot bloody tears and spit under her frozen black hair. There are no visible wounds. ¡°Damn. That¡¯s Erika. Recruited her myself.¡± ¡°I am sorry, Loth.¡± ¡°She has a son. What happened here?¡± ¡°Something must have terrified her to run like that into certain death. And I smell little blood but her essence is¡­ blurred. Disturbed. What little is left of it.¡± Silence returns to the forest. ¡°Poison?¡± ¡°Airborne, possibly. I have not encountered any death quite like this one. It does not feel magical.¡± ¡°Dangerous.¡± ¡°You should not come, Loth. You have a mirror in that thing. We can keep in touch.¡± ¡°This armor is perfectly insulated and plated like a tank.¡± ¡°And cannot even get through the main door without wrecking it.¡± ¡°Tyr dammit. Fine!¡± It takes a moment to connect our mirrors, then I am on my way and much faster. The research facility appears a moment later. No one would have noticed it from the air. It consists of a series of interconnected bunkers dotted with actual trees and only a few easily locked, circular entrances. Its main defense is discretion. Its second main defense is how it is fully buried and always connected to the Skoragg fortress by radio signal. It should never have fallen, and yet it has. Light spills from an opening. One of the only two sentries lies dead a few feet away from it, sitting against a tree trunk. Blood seeps from each of his orifices. The spectacle is quite ghastly. The strange blur has intensified until I feel a sort of disturbance. I stretch my shoulders and frown. I am being hurt by something. The damage is far too weak to be of consequence, however a mortal would have suffered greatly from it. Especially if, just as Loth, they could not detect it. I walk inside and find a white tiled corridor. The second guard lies in the bed in the same state as the other. ¡°Found two guards. Dead. Same method. Some sort of aura is present in this place but I cannot tell what it is.¡± ¡°Responsible for the deaths?¡± ¡°I believe so. It hurts me as well, though nothing too bad yet.¡± I follow more corridors to barracks, living quarters, a meeting room. All of them lit by the yellow glares of electric light, all of them devoid of signs of combat. Just dead scientists and their congealed blood. I track the source of the aura to a deep lab at the core of the facility. A hand-made poster on the door reads ¡®demonstration day¡¯. ¡°I found it,¡± I tell Loth. Inside of the open case waits a large circular disc of metal as dull as steel. It vibrates in my eye until my vision swims. I detect no magic, still. Strangely, I taste ash on my tongue. ¡°And what might you be¡­¡± I whisper. "Describe it?¡± ¡°Metal disc. Unremarkable.¡± I shut the case and feel the vibration diminish but not fade away. Damage done, I assume. I look around to learn more. A blackboard occupies the entire far wall. Most of it is covered by a few equations of¡­ it appears to be atoms. I am not quite familiar with this sort of research since it remains in the experimental domain, yet there is something truly mesmerizing about the expanding half-circle of dots under it. I look closer. ¡°Uranium two three five plus one neutron is¡­ barium, krypton, three more neutrons, and¡­ no. No, that cannot be right. Over two hundred mega electron volts per reaction? This has to be a mistake. That would mean that one mole of this stuff has¡­¡± The answer waits at the bottom of the blackboard, underlined three times. ¡°Just under twenty terajoules for two hundred and thirty grams. Just two hundred grams. Such might. This is¡­ the power of the sun.¡± My mind swims with possibilities. ¡°Lass?¡± ¡°This might kill us all or grant us salvation. This¡­ is what we needed.¡± ¡°For what?¡± ¡°To kill the gods of the dead world.¡± *** Back at the fortress, Loth and I read the combined research notes I have recovered from the doomed research facility. It has everything we need. Even the process required to ¡®enrich¡¯ the substance they prefer with a certain ¡®isotope¡¯. I did not even know that some atoms existed in two versions! Perhaps I should catch up to the more theoretical aspects of physics. I have been lacking in my efforts. Too many other priorities. Oh, who am I kidding. Just reading the abstracts of those papers makes me feel like a moron. I need a private tutor. Uggh. At least there is some good news. ¡°We have the tool we need to destroy the Last City.¡± ¡°Aye lass, but it won¡¯t be easy.¡± ¡°Not anywhere close to easy. The prisoners we have brought are unanimous. The defenses of the last city are many, powerful, and can be turned on invaders just as easily as against other liches. Those old monsters have had centuries to accumulate power. Who knows what horror they have conceived? We cannot even raid the place. There are so many detectors and checkpoints. Even lords would be caught before they reach the center where the ziggurats are.¡± ¡°We would need several bombs. Just to be sure.¡± ¡°Yeah. And we would only need to trigger one.¡± ¡°Surely a single bomb cannot destroy something of that size?¡± ¡°If I am reading this right, it would. And the subsequent fallout would poison the air for a small eternity.¡± ¡°The liches will not care.¡± ¡°The liches need sustenance as much as we do. With all their servants dead, even the stragglers will perish. More importantly, we will destroy their power base. All those artifacts and dangerous spells shall be burnt to ash by the might of fission. This is what we need. Still, the matter of getting them there remains.¡± I stop, aware of the immense list of difficulties. All the fights against the liches have so far been brief, more a succession of raids and skirmishes than a real field battle. Any invasion would inevitably lead to a change of paradigm. Where the liches were scattered, they would gather. Where they fought each other as much as us they would unite. Finally, while they have always sought to gather resources and energy, they would spend it all to survive. We simply lack information. And lack of information kills us as surely as overconfidence. Worse, there is no realistic way to acquire it. I suspect the liches themselves do not know what they are capable of. There have been no large-scale wars in the Last City. Even those amoral, world-reaping twats know better than to blow up the last boat. ¡°We are going to need chaos on an unprecedented scale to sneak a bomb into their land. I am talking about full-scale invasion, slave revolt, the works.¡± ¡°Slave revolt?¡± ¡°I have been working towards a little side project. It turns out that the deadworlders are not all fans of their undying overlords.¡± ¡°You want to let some escape to our world? Can it even be done?¡± ¡°It has been done before.¡± Loth and I exchange a glance. Only two beings have used bald servants of short size on an industrial scale. ¡°We will need all the alliances working together as well. I will talk to Sephare.¡± ¡°Can some of the liches be turned?¡± ¡°Constantine has worked on it, believe it or not. He has analyzed their social structure from whatever testimony we can get and he believes they cannot conceptualize cooperation. The best we can do is hope they backstab each other enough to make a difference. We cannot count on it, however.¡± ¡°And for the invasion?¡± ¡°We need the army. And we cannot use skyships. Only mundane fighters and bombers will do.¡± ¡°Which of the Great Powers will you use?¡± ¡°Why, all of them at once, of course. And there is one last ally we will absolutely need.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not a great idea, lass. Not a great idea at all.¡± ¡°Let us slay one dragon at a time, yes?¡± *** The room is dark. Sconces no longer provide more than dregs of radiance, their dying embers smoldering quietly in the late night air. Openings to the outside smell of brine, so we may be close to the sea. I hear no waves, however. I have also pulled in my Magna Arqa. It will serve no purpose here. I walk past a few columns towards the back of the long corridor. There are pillars here, quite a few of them. It must have taken hundreds of hours of work to make it as large as it is for no other purpose than to serve the sense of grandeur of its denizen. It is a cold palace with no people, that serves no nation. The only concession to culture holds an eternal vigil by the door. A lion, or perhaps a dog. It has clearly been crafted with more passion than skill by a mortal hand. I sigh and step forward, then back when a sword flashes out, attempting to take out my head. A shadow rushes from behind a pillar. I block his sword with my own and step back again. He attacks as expected. My counter takes him in the chest but his armor holds. As expected, I suppose. I still hear ribs crack. The armor remains too soft. I ignore the insult. A quick exchange of strikes makes me realize my foe¡¯s reputation is not underserved. I am still stronger, much faster¡­ and I have been trained by Cadiz himself. I dodge under a decapitating strike and punch him in the face before locking guard. A twist and I sever his hand at the wrist. He still tries to claw my face off. His blade reappears in the off hand. I deftly parry a series of blows, landing a few counters on his armored chest. There appears to be a limit to how much damage I can inflict via the true and tested blunt force trauma approach. My foe smiles with the barest hint of a smirk. Barely a quiver of the lip, yet it is an ugly thing. He knows little more than cruelty. Our sire has stripped the rest as superfluous. In answer, I duck under a powerful lunge that lodges itself into a pillar. My counter cleaves through his arm lengthwise. Black blood lands on my cheek. I disengage and lick it. I admit. The furious devourer lashes out with unbridled rage. We grow so jaded when we are older, and we carry with us decades of self-control. Seeing such pure emotion on one so old shocks me. Malakim is so raw after all those centuries. Magnificent. How can he not be completely insane? My affected sympathy only angers him further. I should not push him so far. he says with a sinister smile I feel myself tilting my head with a calm expression though inside, I am shocked. I cannot tell if Malakim perceived it or not. It matters little. He will attack no matter what. This is all he understands. I reply with calm. S?a??h th? N0??F?re.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. Claws whip at my hair. I lean back and kick at the same time. My armored boot catches his chin, then the followup up smashes him against the nearest pillar. I pin his leg with Rose before he can react, then I step aside. I stare in those eyes filled with hatred. The lust for death rises in the wake of our little banter. He is just there, arms mangled. Pinned. Helpless. I should kill him. I would be well within my right to kill him. Unfortunately, my instincts scream danger. Something is wrong. I know I can attack him but I will not be able to kill him. I remember that Nirari knew exactly when Malakim¡¯s life was in danger, that he was there in an instant. But he looks so weak here. I could decapitate him then shove my sword down the throat and to the heart. No. This is a distraction. Malakim is inconsequential compared to the liches, or Nirari himself. I cannot risk the entire game to take a bishop, if that. a voice says from everywhere and nowhere at once. Aki¡¯s bloodline gives me a general direction for where my sire might be. It is a diffuse feeling I have to really focus on to succeed, but combined with a fast airship, it has allowed me to find a man whose mobility only relies on his mother¡¯s warren of space-violating corridors. We are currently deep within the mountain range of Haiti. I cross the last gate and find a cavern of biblical proportion. In a natural cave, bald men and women work tirelessly in a series of workshops under the glare of oil lamps. The stench of unwashed bodies, sweat, and trash almost overwhelms me. While I have always promoted a strict organization in all my endeavors, Nirari does not care, and his minions have expanded their domain by sticking the next project at the end of the previous one. This has led to an organically grown network of workshops strung across the stalagmites like a cancer. I hear the clang of hammers and the whistle of bellows. Weapons are stored on racks, rifles of poor qualities and swords. This means he has access to steel. Nirari has found a way to build an army, if not an empire. Either he no longer fears his mother¡¯s interference, or perhaps she is too busy with the final preparations for her ascension. She has better things to do, I suppose. As for my sire, finding him will not be difficult. A throne of black stone sits in the middle of that vast domain. All passages and carved stairs lead to it so all may bow their heads to the one sitting above, on his pedestal, the weight of chthonian architecture weighing over them in all its alien glory. It is perhaps the only part of the cavern designed with form and function in mind. It really is just like him. No care for his underlings, no care for such pedestrian things as a proper industry. Or organization. The only thing he has ever cared for is domination. Dark eyes follow me as I make my way down. Those servants I come across bow and scrape the floor with their foreheads. More of them leave their work to see what is happening. By the time I reach the pedestal, the cave has grown silent but for thundering heartbeats pushing boring, submissive blood around. I lightly jump on the platform, and notice that its mirror surface hides another step. Even placed above the squirming mass of mortals, I am still below Nirari, even as he sits. Very symbolic of him. Bravo. Nirari wears his black plate armor. I remember him materializing one from thin air in a dream once, but this one feels permanent. I hold back a smirk when I realize that for all his ancient knowledge, the protection it offers feels second rate, especially compared to the Aurora. No, I should not let my guard down. I do not believe I have even seen him bleed yet. My outrageous proposal seems to awaken his interest. A powerful wave of aura physically pushes me back a step. So concentrated. So focused and so deep. He is¡­ even with the dragon, I cannot compete. Nirari tastes ancient. Inky black energy comes to life at his back as if the weight of his presence clawed at the fabric of our world. I force between clenched teeth. Nirari¡¯s expression is politely curious. I tread on thin ice. We are in a state of truce so long as I act as an envoy, but giving him the excuse of an insult is the only thing he would need to kill me now without breaking his code of honor. The problem is that there is nothing I can reasonably offer that will pay for the services of an arrogant demigod during an entire campaign. Just the use of pathways cost Mask the free employ of their top fighters for the duration of a battle. I cannot possibly compete, especially since money and influence hold no interest to him. This will be difficult. I tell him. I shrug. My words bear no insults. The implication, however, is aggressive. Now to see if he takes the bait. The last words echo through the cave with all the meaning it carries. Nirari has lived for three thousand years. I am a mayfly to him. I calmly say, And not here hidden in this cave. He smiles, and I know I have been told to leave. As I retrace my steps outside, I cannot help but believe his words sounded awfully familiar. More importantly, he agreed too easily. As if he expected me to come, perhaps. Strange. *** A trill from my mirror makes me turn abruptly. I inspect the magical communication device, surprise gripping my chest. It should be impossible. The mirror trills again. I approach it, suddenly wary of a construct I designed and built myself. I do not recognize the sigil over the frame, although only those I personally entered may contact me. We are currently flying over the Atlantic and not even Constantine should be in range. Regardless, the mirror rings a third time. A blurry image refines itself into the form of a gorgeous woman with wavy black hair dressed in a form-fitting toga that leaves little to the imagination. Lush lips curl into a vicious grin. Chapter 218: Gathering the Storm The Amaretta stronghold lies at the heart of the Atlas mountain outside of the grasp of colonial France. There, seers have built a secluded temple in shades of ochre, sober and hidden like an ancient ruin. Patches of green could be taken as errant copses of thorny growths from the sky. Only by getting close would the casual observer see the care and attention given to desert roses and cedars. I can tell it irks them to no end that I would find the place so easily when summoned.In order to avoid attention, I have left the Fury on standby over the Mediterranean. It has been a matter of an hour to run there. Normally, vampires would avoid such wasteful expenditure but I am far beyond such concerns. I still asked Metis to carry me over the last few kilometers. She does enjoy treading new ground. I am let through ranks of veiled sentinels wielding a variety of polearms. They do not seem surprised to see me, which is expected of a bloodline that can see the future. A silent attendant leads me deeper into the complex. A few mortals glance at me from arched doorways, fearful about my arrival. My dress clearly marks me as an outsider. I see they have no men here. A terrible loss. Some of them are quite fun to be around but I suppose a little fun might distract them from all that navel gazing. In short order, we arrive at the heart of the complex. A circular gate leads into a room built as an amphitheater, and in the recession rests one of the last living Progenitors I have not supped on yet. Resting on a bed of white, translucent flower as the only spot of ethereal glory in this drab fortress, Amaretta is one of the few female vampires turned as a mature woman. Strands of gray and crow eyes give an appearance of wisdom and dignity to her severe face, an image reinforced by the pristine dress clinging to her thin body. She could be from anywhere around the Mediterranean. Masters and a couple of ladies in similar, pale garb sit around in the stone rafters according to their seniority. The more powerful members have the privilege to meditate closer to that unwithered corpse. How can she even exist like this? As I watch, the strongest lady stands and approaches, face veiled and eyes shut. Ah yes, showing off Nashoba¡¯s little name for me. Cute. I reply with a smile. Ah, the game of the old ones. All fanged smiles and hidden hatred. But I must play. It would not do to antagonize one of my most pivotal supporters. The lady grabs Amaretta¡¯s wrist with the reverence reserved for relics. She opens her eyes suddenly and they have taken a milky white appearance. I assume it works to impress the weak-willed. I, however, felt the spell used to grant her orbs their strange hue. Parlor tricks. This visit is starting to get on my nerves. The guards and attendants freeze like statues. Few people ever provoke me anymore. I may have acquired a bit of a¡­ reputation. Fortunately, I made the opening move so I feel no need to react. I ask with overt disbelief. In truth, we are merely playing our part. She has decided to acknowledge my power play by confronting it. The puppet waves and the guards leave. Interestingly, I can feel the briefest hint of fear betrayed in the aura of the Progenitor. The puppeted lady picks up on it as well and I notice the barest twitch of her eye, her surprise contained quickly enough. It would fool most of us but I saw it and I must stop myself from flexing my claws. Showing weakness without subservience is such an invitation to be tested. Alas, I cannot afford more enemies right now. The puppet glares, then shivers. she replies testily. It is my turn to be silent, not because of what she said but what it implies. Not when, if. Not capture, but ingress. Someone who sees the future should know of a myriad way to escape his grip forever. The world is so large, and now, there are several of them. Surely she could stay one step ahead or at least believe she could. Unless¡­ Isaac of the Rosenthal always surmised that the Amaretta had limits on their abilities, a blind spot, so to speak. I believe Amaretta just betrayed her own blind spot. Herself. Interesting. That is why she felt fear. She could not be sure I would not jump on her once her guard had left. I find it amusing she could believe that her guard might stop me to begin with. I remember learning the rudiments of future sight, back with the American knight squad. My teacher at the time was named Aisha and she repeated many times that intuition and prophecies should never be relied on. Yet, her own progenitor has shut herself completely to the normal world. Does she know better? I doubt it. She is lost in the strands of her own power, thinking more of it will solve all her problems when she should get out and obtain more tools rather than straining the ones she has beyond what they can reasonably achieve. Ah, no matter. The puppet scowls under the influence of its master, but the free hand forms a fist, the host losing composure. Perhaps fearing for her life. A curious development. She should know I have not come here to fight. I blink. What? And it will involve an ungodly amount of strong arming. I see at least two ministers that will have to be disposed of or the deal will never be made. What a headache. I will definitely delegate this to Sephare. Aha! ¡°¡± I finish. The puppet flinches yet again. Poor control. I can see the shock in her tense shoulders. I easily promise. With a last shiver, the lady steps out. Her glare follows me while I lean and grab the wrist she just recently released. The skin possesses a dry and cold texture that I have never felt before. I wonder if Amaretta is in deep slumber yet still active at the same time. Will I ever slumber? I wonder how it would feel. I also wonder if I will get the same sense of wonder as before with Progenitor blood. After all, they all pale compared to a dragon¡¯s. Can I still enjoy such a rare treat? I would certainly hope so. With a sense of trepidation, I bite down. *** The woman is named Ismat. She is the only wife of a noble from Medina. Under her care, her children and their lands have prospered. Caravans loaded with her goods travel from Anatolia to the lands of the Berbers. Her endeavors often meet success because Ismat can see the future. It comes to her in dreams, in flashes, on the fall of the bones over her prayer mat. They whisper of what could be and what should not be. It is a gift she has kept secret. Not even her children can know of it. ¡°You must not go to Tiberias,¡± she tells her husband. ¡°The crusader will go there. You will be killed.¡± ¡°Your visions are never that clear, woman.¡± The woman sees resignation and anger in the glare of him. He places a saber at his side. The setting sun shines on the metal helm he has placed over his head. He looks so strong now. She could almost ignore the screams she heard, the smell of blood and offal in her nose as she woke up at midnight, shivering and drenched in sweat. ¡°You will not return to me.¡± ¡°Then I will have died a man! I will have died doing my duty and with god willing, you will do yours as well.¡± The husband never returns from Tiberias. The city falls to the cross bearers. So does Jaffa and Haifa and Acre and Beirut. Soon her sons perish as well. Her caravans wither, pillaged by crusaders and bandits alike. It is a dark time. She has lost much. No matter how many glimpses she is offered, it is never enough. Knowing a blow will fall is not enough to ward it off. She is desperate. One night, a stranger stops at her door. Ismat felt her come and so she welcomes her into her abode. She gifts the stranger perfume and dresses, the last of her wealth. They eat sherbet in dainty crystal cups. The stranger offers her a deal. They have no need for words. They both know she will take it. With her power now reaching a new level, the woman turns her daughters and leaves her remaining son in charge of her crumbling trade kingdom. For centuries, she shapes the fortune of her family then her own from the shadows. The crusader kingdoms wither and die. The Turks come. She leaves her mortal past behind. Why lead a consortium when one can tilt the world on its axis with a single sentence? *** Wind buffets me when I leave the temple behind. Metis is more than eager to gallop away over the rocky expanse of the Atlas as I leave the seers behind, locked as they are in the past. The experience reminds me that no matter how old and powerful one can grow, flaws do not get polished out unless a conscious effort is made. It has been centuries and Amaretta, since she has chosen this name, cannot let go of control, Nirari is still a domineering maniac, and Cadiz is still a battle-obsessed blade head. I must be sure not to fall into the same rut. I suppose I have no choice. No matter how uncomfortable it shall be, I must constrain myself to accepting the unpleasant or I risk becoming a creature of habit ensconced in layers of obsessions, quirks, and predictable defects. It must be done. *** ¡°And here on your right is an interpretation of the blood moon forest before the Seekers of Lost Memories left them.¡± I proudly wave at a large painting at the corner of the main exhibition room. If I focus, I can almost smell that strange scent of pine and the immensity of a sky locked in an eternal night above me. The bloody hue of the moon speaks of the expectancy of the hunt. Most of the pieces here have their own identity, so to speak, and this is one of the most peculiar. A study upstairs holds the painting of the dragon mid-flight and the Watcher¡¯s eye opening over the Winter sphere. Those tend to affect my visitors a little too much so I have refrained from showing them. Unfortunately, rendering guests insane goes against the laws of hospitality. I expected a positive reaction from my werewolf allies. Allies, since I would not go so far as calling a man who never wears pants a friend. A lady must have standards. I admit to some disappointment when they inspect my work warily. Something bothers them on a fundamental level. Perhaps it is the curse. I turn once again to check the painting. It really is just as I remember it, so why? As soon as my back is to them, it begins again. Blake, leader of the werewolves in Canada and Jeffrey, leader of the local ones do their best not to sniff the air when I am in their direction, but their instincts push them to inhale as soon as my back is turned. I could hear their sniffs over a locomotive, I swear. ¡°Look, for once, I shall be understanding. Get that sniffing out of your system before I lose my sanity!¡± They have the decency to look ashamed. Werewolves leaders can be a delight to the eyes, especially those two with their powerful builds and confidence. Sadly they usually smell. And they maintain a natural aversion for underwear. I am really trying my best to accommodate them! ¡°Sorry bosswoman. It¡¯s changed again. There is something, I dunno, reptilian? And hot,¡± Jeffrey says. ¡°Yes, most peculiar,¡± Blake adds. ¡°Not unpleasant. Quite unique.¡± ¡°I am not a glass of wine.¡± ¡°I did not mean it like that. A memorable mark like your own will give you influence around our kind. It helps with being accepted.¡± ¡°How delightful,¡± I deadpan. ¡°No need for arrogance, Ariane. You understand what I mean. Which leads me to the question that has hounded me since we have arrived. I do appreciate the visit and all those paintings clearly mean the world to you. I really enjoyed the fancy landscapes from that French man.¡± ¡°Monet,¡± I grumble. ¡°Yes. With that said¡­ what are you playing at?¡± ¡°Excuse me?¡± Blake fixes his gaze on mine, a daring move but one that also speaks of honesty among his kind, and only between equals. I tolerate it. ¡°We usually meet on the fields of Moonside. Why the change of venue?¡± ¡°It has occurred to me that I have been¡­ hoarding art since my return. I considered that it would do everyone good if I shared what I have with others. Temporarily. Opened myself up a little bit and stopped being so protective of my collection.¡± ¡°Is that why this place is more defended than Fort Knox?¡± ¡°Merely a side effect of being at the heart of my power.¡± ¡°The standing army?¡± ¡°Private security personnel,¡± I correct. "Warships?" ¡°Demonstration products meant to be sold to the military.¡± ¡°The enchantments designed to turn intruders inside out? I recognized the blood magic runes.¡± ¡°If people do not wish to see their own pancreas, they merely must refrain from trespassing.¡± ¡°And why, I must ask, do your doors possess teeth.¡± ¡°It is Pookie.¡± The two men exchanged glances. I do not like those glances. They feel quite rude. ¡°What the hell is a Pookie?¡± ¡°Pookie is the house.¡± As summoned, the walls shiver and a massive eye opens on the ceiling. Yellow and slanted, it centers on the two guests before a myriad of smaller eyes open around it. S?a??h th? n0v?l(?)ire.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. ¡°Ah,¡± Jeffrey says. He¡¯s usually more eloquent than this. ¡°What fresh horror. I mean, whatever bosswoman. A stowaway from the fae land?¡± ¡°She was the ship, actually.¡± ¡°It¡¯s a she?¡± ¡°Yes. I mean, I assume so. She can give birth.¡± ¡°The tool shed?¡± ¡°Aye.¡± The two men ponder this new development in silence. ¡°I thought it was moving as well but I assumed it was an illusion. We are safe, I suppose?¡± Blake asks. ¡°You are my guests. You are the safest people on earth right now.¡± ¡°Excellent. It soothes my heart,¡± Blake lies. His heartbeat has not changed at all. ¡°Nevertheless, I would like to know why you called us here first. It worries me.¡± ¡°Sorry Bosswoman. This doesn¡¯t look like just a social call so we¡¯re both waiting for the other shoe to drop. What¡¯s going on?¡± ¡°You must be joking. I come to see you even when everything is going well.¡± ¡°Yeah but it¡¯s always on schedule. Not out of the blue. And you¡¯ve never invited me indoors before.¡± Arg. This is exactly what I was afraid of. Getting predictable! ¡°She looks like she swallowed a lemon.¡± ¡°I am still here. Alright, yes, very well, I admit, I have called you here because I need your help. We are going after the liches.¡± They exchange another glance, charged with meaning. It annoys me. ¡°You are always at each other¡¯s throat whenever you meet. Why are you two suddenly so buddy-buddy?¡± ¡°Even rivals band together when facing a bear, bosswoman. Not that you are a bear. Or afraid of a bear. It¡¯s just a figure of speech.¡± ¡°I am familiar with the concept.¡± ¡°What we mean to say,¡± Blake adds diplomatically, ¡°is that we have been going after the liches for decades. Is there a new base in America?¡± ¡°No.¡± Both sigh, understanding the implication. ¡°No,¡± Blake says. ¡°Bosswoman, you¡¯ve told me many times that the liches would be unbeatable on their home ground.¡± ¡°I did say that.¡± ¡°You said that attacking the Last City was not just suicide. You also said that it would cause the liches to unite for a retaliatory strike.¡± ¡°And I pray to the Watcher that I was wrong.¡± Again, a moment of silence interrupts our conversation. The two shift on their feet at the exact same time which causes a spark of rivalry. Their body language changes before relaxing once again. They cannot help being rivals. ¡°You are serious about this, are you not? What makes you believe that you stand a chance against beings that can rip the very lifeforce from a subject?¡± Blake asks after a delay. ¡°That is on a need to know basis.¡± ¡°If I ¡ª¡± ¡°And besides, you are not to come with us.¡± The pair tilt their heads with remarkable synchronism. ¡°I need a detachment to protect my ships on the earth side of things. My mortal soldiers will be here as well as the White and Red Cabals if I can convince them.¡± ¡°Do you expect trouble?¡± I tap an index on my chin in pretend consideration. ¡°What would I do if I were a mortal concerned with vampire interference, and most of the powerful ones were to gather in one place, possibly returning wounded from an expedition?¡± ¡°Are there even weapons powerful enough to take you all out in one fell swoop?¡± ¡°There is now,¡± I inform them, and the cold in my voice lets them know that I am serious. ¡°So that¡¯s why you¡¯re attacking, bosswoman. Just one thing though, if they have stuff that can take you out, then me and my folks won¡¯t make much of a difference, you know?¡± ¡°I do not expect you to stop a general attack. I have other contingency plans in place should this event come to pass. What I need is for you to make sure the mortal militaries do not have full control over the gates on the earth side. Your mere presence should deter large-scale plans.¡± ¡°And if we are attacked? We would only be a hundred at most because only powerful leaders and outsiders could stay in control so far and for so long. Modern militaries have hundreds of thousands of troops. We would be swarmed in moments.¡± ¡°This will be a delicate time for everyone involved. The armies will be more concerned with each other than with you. If the worst comes to pass, you will be evacuated.¡± ¡°How will you know if anything goes wrong?¡± ¡°We will open several gates, including secret ones. Indirect communication will be guaranteed between our agents on either side. You will be here as observers and¡­ an insurance. During daylight only.¡± The werewolves ponder my words for a moment. ¡°I must discuss this with my aides. However¡­ I am not opposed in principle. The liches are a blight upon our planet. My kind will not stand idle while they threaten us and all we stand for.¡± ¡°Same, bosswoman. Our alliance is for defense, yeah? But we¡¯re already at war. Will be nice to go tickle them where it hurts, for a change. I¡¯ll talk with June and pick a team, yeah? Just make sure we¡¯re as safe as can be.¡± ¡°I am more concerned about keeping the others safe from you,¡± I inform him. ¡°Oh I mean from the cold folk. If any of those mortals want to act up. Well¡­¡± His eyes turn yellow and suddenly, he seems to occupy more space in the room. Much more space. The taste of the hunt titillates my tongue in a ghostly caress. ¡°That is all I ask. And now, would you care to see my weapons collection?¡± ¡°Now we¡¯re talking.¡± It pains me to have to lie to them but it is for the best. *** Marquette is a hive of activity. Two men watch a warship load soldiers and ammunition before departing into the night sky, its tails shining with signal lights. ¡°Modern design that one. Better against them fighter planes,¡± the first says. ¡°Like you know anything about planes, Rogers. You¡¯re a janitor.¡± ¡°We got fighter planes as well. I didn¡¯t know we had trained pilots.¡± ¡°They¡¯re not your planes, big boy. And how do you even know that?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t want to stay a janitor my whole life.¡± The second man huffs into the night air. His cup of tea steams in his gloved hands. ¡°Huh.¡± ¡°I want to be head janitor. Work in the main hangar where the magic happens.¡± ¡°Damn you Rogers. You ambitious prick. What¡¯s even the pay?¡± ¡°Not that there¡¯s a lot to clean. It¡¯s like an entire army just left. They¡¯re heading east to the sea. Makes you think.¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± the other added. ¡°Hope they come back.¡± They stayed silent for a while until the first man broke their contemplation. ¡°Seven dollars a week plus benefits.¡± ¡°Goddamn.¡± *** Constantine states. I reply. The Speaker crosses his long fingers over his desk. It is studiously clean as always. *** I watch the man lean forward in his seat with a condescending smile. The guards by his side stand with their arms crossed over muscular torsos, an unsubtle display of power. We are currently sitting in his warehouse at night under the glare of electric lights. It means a lot that he would not welcome me in his office. The gates open to the outside, letting much needed cold air get in after the stifling heat of this Louisianan summer. ¡°Listen, little lady. I¡¯m sure you mean well. Hell, it must have taken a lot of courage to come here alone to make this request of me. I respect you for it. Really, I do. It¡¯s just that I got a family to feed as well, see? God in his greatness has seen it fit to make our world a harsh one. The Reynaud have been blessed for a long time, right? Well, all good things must come to an end. It¡¯s the invisible hand of business and all that there is supply and demand, and you can¡¯t meet the demand and we got the supply. It¡¯s just the way things are.¡± He gives me an indulgent smile, then goes to pat my knee but reconsiders when I pull back a little. His smile does not fade. ¡°I can¡¯t just stop doing business simply because you asked nicely, you see? That¡¯s common sense. Now if you had something to offer¡­¡± His eyes roam over my body, despite the rather conservative outfit I picked for this little outing. My, I have not been ogled so shamelessly in years! It certainly brings me back to the days before my reputation or bodyguards preceded me. I feel thirsty and full of spite again. Hmmm. Let us keep the act up for a little longer. ¡°Oh, mister Tibbs, this isn¡¯t the laws of the market I¡¯m worried about, It¡¯s just that a few nights ago, my cousin got robbed. His wagons were looted and the thieves absconded into the night. Even killed a caravan hand!¡± Now his smile fades. The harsh lines of his face turn grim and the thug peeks out from under the ironed suit. Mr Tibbs wears his reproachful persona with the grace of an inmate pretending to be a guard. Unconvincing acting. Two out of ten. ¡°Now now, little lady, that sounds very much like you¡¯re implying old Tibbs, and we don¡¯t much like implications over here. It¡¯s a serious offense to insult a man like this in this here barn on my property. My god-given property, certificate and all! Why, I oughta ask for some compensation for this libel. Slander. This terrible slight on my honor.¡± ¡°Oh no sir, I am not accusing anyone. Well, anyone except him.¡± I point at one of his guards who had made the mistake of wearing a small bandana when his forehead showed a very distinctive scar. ¡°Witnesses recognized the scar, see? He should have worn a hat, perhaps?¡± My hosts tense. Tibbs glares daggers at the shamed henchman who wilts under the attention. The thug chief licks his lips in consideration and I can almost see the gears grinding under that lice-infested scalp. Ah, I do so enjoy those amusing distractions. Flaring my aura, I start the next arc. There is a whack and a body falls behind me. John steps out from the shadows dressed in a leather duster. A few of the guards are armed but none of them have their guns out. John does. He also wields a latest generation trench gun, slightly oversized to accommodate his bear-like mitts. He does that thing I love where he moves slowly and it¡¯s only when he¡¯s close that our interlocutors realize that yes, he¡¯s really that big. A few of them pale. They pale more when Urchin comes from the other side juggling his knives. Then a few of my scruffiest men join, forming a line at my back. I allow my posture to change from meek to regal. I lower my pitch to sound more professional now that the cute act is over. I may have intimidated idiots for decades and yet I never seem to tire of it. Perhaps I have a thing for poetic justice. Or maybe I just like the hunt. ¡°Every generation or so, some idiot decides to go after my family using less than legal means. Oh, I do not mind the Reynaud¡¯s influence waxing and waning as talents bloom and fade. I am not here to baby them to greatness. I did, however, promise them protection against more illicit attempts on their fortune. You see, I will be going away for a while and you provide the perfect opportunity for a¡­ reminder. A reminder that there are layers of darkness beneath true society and you lots are merely the muck hiding the true dangers.¡± ¡°Woman, you¡ª¡± ¡°Shhhhhh.¡± For the first time tonight, I use Charm. Tibbs¡¯ eyes narrow on the claw tipping my finger and a sense of recognition sends his heart into a delightful staccato. We are still considered legends and conspiracies among the citizens of the United States, yet it appears I have found a believer tonight. The enticing perfume of terror titillates my senses. I have not fed in so long. Perhaps I should indulge a little. ¡°Now,¡± I ask, ¡°which one of you shot a member of our staff, hmmm?¡± Silence. Several of the henchmen shift their attention to a dubious man with a messy blond beard, his teeth set in a rictus of fearful rage. They have not spoken however. I point my finger at the scarred man. ¡°Doe.¡± The thug¡¯s head explodes in a geyser of blood and brain matter, away from me thankfully. The mortals¡¯ ears still ring when the unmistakable click clack of another shell being chambered reminds them that their predicament is far from over. The bearded man does not wait. He runs for it. ¡°We¡¯re taking him with us, Urchin.¡± Our little escapee stumbles and falls with a yelp. Muffled screams ring through the otherwise quiet barn while Urchin drags our little prize away. Since we are finished, and I believe the message has been received, I stand to depart. One needs survivors to carry a tale. My sire would only leave one but I believe a group is both faster and more reliable. ¡°Just so we are clear, there will not be a repeat of this warning. Find your way somewhere else before the week is over. A good evening to you, gentlemen.¡± We file out. Once we are a safe distance away, I turn to Tibbs¡¯ compound. He bought a home and attendant buildings from a family fallen on hard times. The De la Fontaine clan. An old one. I always thought their attempt at Victorian architecture was a terrible eyesore. ¡°Have you finished your inspection?¡± I ask. ¡°Yes, miss Ari. All clear. No pigs.¡± ¡°Burn it to the ground.¡± *** Avalon has grown tremendously since the turn of the century. Now, it practically counts as a borough of New York. While the general public is aware that supernatural types tend to congregate there, few know that mages have formed a second government complete with armed forces, civil service, and education. And taxes. The double tap remains a bone of discord to this day. I wait by the entrance of the council room as usual. Those old codgers need to remind me and their constituents that mages do not serve others, so they always let me stew on a bench for five minutes before letting me in. Not one minute more, not one minute less, It has become something of a game. I perceive them classifying notes through the sphere of my Magna Arqa since they believe the wards on their room are enough to shield them. Ah, games of power. I will never grow to enjoy them. I am let in when the time comes. Guests are granted a chair facing the half-circle of councilmen and their lesser peers behind that. The president uses his gavel to call for attention though it is not needed. We are dancing an old dance. I am a proven entity here, and while outside novices look at me with awe when my back is turned, here we are old allies who have fought on dozens of battlefields side by side. They still make me wait though. ¡°The council welcomes Ariane of the Nirari, Hand of the Accords. Please check your protective amulets.¡± The council complies with mechanical gestures. I have never attempted any sort of charm here so I would not know if the amulets would warn them or not. I am betting I could bypass their defenses thanks to Sinead¡¯s exhaustive training. There is no reason for me to try, however. No rewards would be worth the risk of a broken trust. ¡°Ariane of the Nirari, you have the floor.¡± ¡°Thank you, president. I come here to ask your support in our next grand endeavor. Six months from now, the assembled might of the Entente, the Alliance, and the Soviets will enter the Dead World around Warsaw to besiege, and hopefully destroy the Last City.¡± Half of the council erupts in concerned mutters. The other looks on impassively since they are my closest allies and I have, of course, already secured their support. Most decisions are taken behind closed doors long before they are even publicly debated. Reginald leads the White Cabale, or at least its civil service branch which is de facto the most important one. He used to be the minister of ¡®supernatural affairs¡¯ ages ago when the position first opened, back before the government took a dimmer view of magic for electoral purposes. The opposition has the important portfolio that is defense and it is them I must convince of the importance of our mission. Kaltstein leads them. He is a large fellow with a powerful build and a no-nonsense attitude I have come to respect. ¡°Our alliance is purely a defensive one. You have no cause to ask us to intervene not only in an offensive operation, but also in one that will take place across the world. You may be able to escape unscathed from every operation but we cannot. Our people bleed and die to defend our land and they will continue to do so for such is our duty, but do not expect us to fight this on this adventure. Our duty is to protect our constituents.¡± ¡°We are already at war. Attacking the enemy¡¯s base in a defensive war is a valid decision. No, it is a necessity to stop the conflict once and for all,¡± I retort. ¡°And this is not an adventure. We are conducting the most ambitious military operation in the history of mankind. Mortal soldiers will form the majority of our power but the decisive blow will be delivered by us.¡± ¡°When you say us, do you mean your immediate entourage or the Accords themselves?¡± Reginald asks. Perfectly timed for me to deliver the most important message. ¡°The first of us will lead our elites into battle. Every vampire alliance will send its best warriors to kill the liches to the last one. Every European mage group will participate as well. This shall be the defining battle of our age. If you wish to stand aside, then by all means do so, but I will consider you to be in violation of our agreement in spirit. If you do wish to attend, then I shall place your agents under my aegis. I will protect them as my own.¡± ¡°It is not for you to decide if we have broken our word!¡± Katlstein says. ¡°You are mistaken sir, it very much is. I will go to battle to defend our planet against those who have taken the lives of your alliance. If you decline to help, you forfeit this alliance at its most vital moment. This is a common enemy that has repeatedly attacked us. You cannot possibly justify opting out of an attempt to end them once and for all. Not when you are stronger than you have ever been.¡± ¡°Mages do not perform well in the dead world,¡± a councilor reminds me. ¡°They will remain on the mortal side for security and to recharge key enchanted items we will need to protect the mundanes. They will only fight if something moves through. ¡°Humph. Perhaps, but it will be volunteers only,¡± Kaltstein says. ¡°I am sure there will be plenty of those.¡± *** Of course we will be there,¡± Ollie says. ¡°Do you know how many people we have lost to the liches?¡± I do, in fact, know how many people we have lost to the liches. ¡°So who are you bringing?¡± ¡°Everyone.¡± Chapter 219: Masovian Sonata I would love to fight with the wind in my hair at the prow of the Fury. Sady, the dead world lacks both wind and the magic to keep us afloat. I still enjoy the view as we fly over the Polish countryside.The last time I was here, I was running for my life pursued by the deadliest law enforcer of the planet. Much has happened since then and the land below us bears the stigma of half a century of planar siege. Plains bear the round scars of mortar fire. Train tracks and warehouses dot mark the land like old wounds still covered in steel stitches, for the nerve of war is logistics and no place on this planet has more roads and tracks than this one. The Germans and Austrians fully expect soviet encroachment when the lich tide recedes, a concern that does not speak of paranoia so much as it speaks of experience. There are enough lights here to guide even a blind man to whatever concentration of forces he would wish to find. We fly over barracks. We fly over airfields. We fly over concentric rings of trenches, bunkers and pillboxes filled with men. Artillery emplacements are more common than farm houses here despite the endless fields of ripening wheat. There certainly will be a harvest. This land is crowded and the air is no exception. Even now at night we come across fighter squadrons and quite a few modern, barded airships bristling with machine guns. I watch this concentration of force with amazement. Even during the height of the Civil War, encampments were just the size of small towns. Here the mortal military spreads out to the horizon in bright patches of fighters and those who make them ready. There are millions of humans wielding years of industrial production engineered and designed for the express purpose of ending life. I would be scared if I had not brought them here myself. I had help, of course, but what is a queen without her minions? My pleasure would have been complete if I had been the face of the conflict. But I will not be and this is acceptable. Pride has ever preceded the fall for us, and I will not let my own get in the way of victory. We approach our final destination around 9PM local time or so my watch tells me. For a moment, I believe we have flown too far east, so dense the network of lights is but I soon realize my mistake. No city could ever be this ordered even by design. No architecture could be so painfully utilitarian, and no human population wears only uniforms. The united base of mankind covers the area of a city around a massive open square and around it, ordered in neat rows, wait the tip of the spear of our operation. Armored vehicles. Thousands of them. ¡°We are being hailed, ma¡¯am.¡± ¡°Take us down, Skipper.¡± Dozens of warships wait parked by the side of the base, crates of supplies being loaded even this late at night. The latest Fury and her sister ships follow the signals of a control tower into prepared mooring spots. I know that we have been cleared, yet an officer in Austrian uniform still waits for us with a considerable escort. The gesture is mostly symbolic. Their small arms would be of little use against warships and we would be blown to smithereens by the armada around us. This is just posturing. Fortunately, vampires are really good at posturing. It is time. I retreat into my cabin using my full speed. The Aurora¡¯s sealed case opens with a press of my fingers to reveal the sleek cobalt lines of the cold armor. Although it takes me only a few seconds to put it on, the air outside is already colder when I step out. The Skipper addresses me with a subdued voice. ¡°Should we lower the gangplank?¡± a cold voice says from behind. The Dvergur does not move, does not flinch, yet I can taste the terror pumping blood through his veins. The heavy clank of armored boots rings on the deck, my deck, and I grit my teeth to keep a leash on my instincts. Nirari wears a heavy plate of pure black material that looks more like stone than metal. It weighs so much that armored steel planks groan under the pressure, and black symbols glitter on its surface like glass in an asphalte bath. He also looks larger than before. I know that lords can change their appearance to a certain degree but I always thought major changes would be foolish as balance needs to be relearned. My sire has no such qualms, and he is now as tall as Jarek. I reply, goading him before my mind can catch up to my anger. He merely chuckles while Malakim arrives by his side, giving me a murderous glare. ¡°Come out and state your business,¡± a voice says in German. Nirari drops over the railing like a comet. He lands with a heavy thud, interrupting the annoyed officer. I watch anger lead to surprise which leads to terror on his face. Technically, he could have rung the alarm here and there and the night would have ended poorly. Instead, he freezes. Nirari¡¯s immense aura blankets the airfield and beyond until every man, every creature down to the basest insect freezes. Those who find their crosses burning an incandescent blue still kneel in desperate prayer because the weight of his presence surpasses the strength of even the staunchest faith. Those that pray do not beg their god to keep a monster away. They pray to stop another god, an old terror from the dawn of history when religions enjoyed blood quite a bit more. They pray for an immaterial deity to defend them against a striding one, each of his steps ringing over the silent plain like the dirge of a funeral bell. Even the most distant of sentries prostrates in fear. The radios fall silent. Approaching airships slow down until they are static. The world holds its breath. Cadiz jumps down from the Voice of Nashoba, then Constantine and Aki. Their own auras echo the monstrous power of the first of our kind. I jump followed by John and Urchin. Jarek, Ceron, Suarez, Adrian, Wilhelm, Melusine, one by one, all of the lords and ladies of the Accords land followed by retinues of battle masters. The clouds above us part to let in a purple light that shines over the hoarfrost freezing every last blade of grass caught slumbering in the spring¡¯s air. The vampires are here. Armed and armored shapes walk past the terrified soldiers in perfect silence behind the eldest of our race. I am given a place of honor behind the progenitors. Our march through the base is unchallenged. Nirari¡¯s domineering aura sees to that. He lowers it to a more manageable level when we approach the central square. A tent has been erected at its edge to host the commanders of the eclectic force assembled to defeat earth¡¯s invaders once and for all. They will retreat to their respective command posts tomorrow but for now, they are all in one place. I judge the tent to be adequately protected with sentries from elite regiments and subtly woven wards. They all amount to nothing when Nirari marches in like the walking natural disaster he is. A last line of defense composed of German ¡®Nacht ritters¡¯ stands in front of the entrance flaps but it is clear to all they do not stand a chance. The leader bows, though he does not step aside. Nirari stops and smirks. We arrange ourselves around him in order of importance. Nirari still does not move. the German knight begins, but Nirari interrupts him immediately. Our host bows a second time. It does not take long to see why. A wave of approaching cold auras rounds another avenue and the forces of Mask come into view. Under Bertrand¡¯s leadership, his elites join us, more numerous than we are but we were first and we have the first with us. Numbers mean nothing. Hastings steps forward with a frown, her form clad in golden armor covered in pockets. Nirari considers her for a few moments. His answer elicits no hisses. Hastings stands but she does not protest. Her bluff was called. No one insults Nirari unpunished, not even her. Another wave saves her from further humiliation. More vampires arrive in more piecemeal order but still unchallenged by the mages I feel assembling on the edges of the field. Many lords of the Dvor walk with arrogance wearing ancient liveries. I recognize old Commenus and Viktoriya with her strange trident. Torran gives me a wink through the lid of the armor I gifted him from the fae lands. Then come more troublesome allies including Octave the leader of the Knights, who glares at me with hooded eyes. The last group to arrive wear chain armor under the leadership of Svyatoslav. All four living Devourers are here. The new arrivals are wiser. None of them dare defy the one standing in our midst with absolute confidence despite the army of apex predators surrounding him and for good reasons. He is the deadliest of us all. Under the radiant light of the Watcher, he addresses us as the first and possibly last united assembly of vampires. Nirari enters the tent unopposed, followed by Cadiz and the rest of us one by one. My sire has created a situation where to defy him is to stay outside. Similarly, to challenge his order means entering a tent where he is present. No one dares to oppose him. Hmmm. Perhaps I am the one obsessed with defiance. I assume a majority of people here will worry about tomorrow¡¯s assault since Nirari¡¯s existence is a tyranny they can never hope to overthrow. As for me, his death is not a possibility but an obligation, and I am the only one on earth who can stand toe to toe with him. The interior of the tent is now crowded, despite sentries and aides being evacuated. I count quite a few high-ranking officers as well as a group of five powerful archmages standing proudly behind an invisible shield. I recognize the Myrddin, a man with a short dark beard and the title of most powerful caster in all of Europe. He is in charge of the portal. A map of the dead world and the edges of the Last City awaits along with pieces showing proposed lines of defense. For safety reasons, the portal will be facing away from the city so as to avoid providing the liches with a direct line of fire into our reserves. Nirari walks casually to the map which he inspects with mild interest. His aura still smothers anyone around though it seems to be thicker around the pale archmages. I can smell the terror in the sweat of those around. My sire is done with subtlety, it seems. I step forward, Nirari¡¯s fear applying to me as well by proximity. I pick German as the language of my choice because most of the men present understand it. The Imperials speak it by default. The French speak it for the same reason a shepherd recognizes the howl of a wolf. The English speak it because they are allied with the French. The Italian General present speaks it because he comes from Milan and was trained in Munich. As for the Soviets, even Hastings herself could not force the Imperials to tolerate their presence on their land without breaking their entire command chain one mind after the other. ¡°Guten abendt. You know who and what we are so I will be brief. We have come bearing two answers and one gift. The first answer replies to the question: how do we keep the liches away from our troops. The answer is that we will engage them. The second answer replies to the question: how do we take a city from an entrenched foe who has been fortifying it for centuries. The answer is that you will not. We will handle them. You merely need to hold the line against the many threats those monsters send at you. As for our gift, it will protect you from the liches¡¯ most common and frustrating tool: the ability to wrench the life from people with a wave of their hand.¡± I reach for the pack at my back to remove a carefully engraved and decorated spike made of dark wood, carved and polished to perfection. To his credit, the Myrddin leaves the protection of his circle to pick the item. He inspects the glyphs for all of three seconds before speaking. ¡°A portable becalming area hex. I believe it depends on earth¡¯s willingness to defend itself, Fraulein.¡± ¡°It will work in the dead world so long as there is an open portal nearby. I have tested it.¡± ¡°What is the range and the duration?¡± ¡°The item covers everything in a fifty meters radius around itself. It will last for a week.¡± ¡°And I assume you have more of them?¡± ¡°I have over a thousand. I made them myself. I call these the scorn spikes.¡± ¡°It feels unusually strong. Were you the first?¡± ¡°I was the first to cast this spell, yes, although the credit for its design belongs to another,¡± I say, sending a glance towards Constantine. ¡°I can vouch for this if other spikes match this one¡¯s quality. They must overlap. Our mages will have great difficulties casting within its area of effect, however we would be of limited use over there anyway. Well done.¡± He fixes me with a glare. ¡°They do not explode, do they?¡± ¡°We have given our word that we would come as allies. Do you question our honor, mortal?¡± ¡°I suppose not.¡± ¡°I have questions,¡± the general in charge says after a miraculous recovery. Did Nirari permit him to speak? Some of those mortals boast some impressive willpower. ¡°General Stiglitz. Do tell.¡± ¡°How exactly do you expect to take down the city?¡± ¡°For the sake of operational security, we cannot share this detail, General Stiglitz,¡± I allow with a smile. ¡°Besides, you have stockpiles designed for a real siege so just act as if you intended to grind it down.¡± ¡°Why, this is¡ª¡± Nirari turns to him and speaks a version of German I can barely understand. Stiglitz understands it if his absolute shock is any indication. ¡°You will be silent and you will not question your betters. Be grateful that we come to deliver you from these invaders.¡± ¡°There is no need to be heavy-handed,¡± the Myrddin retorts. ¡°We are partners, creatures. Not your subordinates.¡± ¡°When you can stand by our side as we face the liches at the heart of their power, we will consider you a partner.¡± The old archmage bristles but he, too, can feel the impossible might contained in Nirari¡¯s massive frame. I can tell he is fighting the aura¡¯s domineering aspect and slowly losing. ¡°Our vanguard will enter the dead world with your first wave. Others will hold back. You need not concern yourselves with us. Merely fight with everything you have, for they are mankind¡¯s greatest foe at the moment. Many humans will not live to see Earth again.¡± ¡°You could at least have told us you were coming and in what numbers. We could have built our strategy around it,¡± the Myrddin grumbles. This time, I am the one to answer. ¡°You know very well why we didn¡¯t tell you when and how we would arrive,¡± I mockingly reply. ¡°Lest some of you get¡­ ideas.¡± ¡°Do not question my honor, creature.¡± ¡°There is only one path that would lead me to trust you. Make a good show of yourself tonight and¡­¡± I lick my fangs. ¡°Perhaps it can be arranged.¡± ¡°Never.¡± ¡°Then we are done here. Unless you wish for us to double-check your spellwork?¡± ¡°Begone, creature.¡± Ah. Cannot let that go. My mental attack probes and finds a gap in a protective amulet by following the man¡¯s instinctive fear, then I claw up his defenses to find a formidable sphere of spiked steel and glass in which he sits. Dark eyes peer down at me from his mental fortress, sneering, then¡­ I pull him in. The sphere lands in my thorn garden¡¯s central plaza, a perfect circle of white marble under the ever present gaze of the Watcher. I see arrogance turn to confusion. The sphere tries to dig through my palace through weight alone, The marble cracks a little, yet from those gaps emerge the questing tendrils of new growth. Vegetation slowly surrounds the fortress, testing the inanimate object for flaws. The Myrddin focuses but finds he cannot escape unless he is willing to come out and play. The first crack appears in the glass above his head. I watch confusion turn to panic when the roots move faster to cover his palace, pushing and pulling against the protection. Then, I let him go. He stumbles back under the befuddled gaze of his peers. We exchange another glance. ¡°Careful,¡± I tell him. *** Three teams have gathered on the Fury¡¯s deck. Well, three teams in the loosest sense of the term. The first consists of Malakim and a retinue of Dvor fighters, mostly nimble masters wearing light armor. The second team is led by Cadiz and gathers his most dedicated students at master level. The third group is just one lord who volunteered to do so. I do not recognize him, or his aura. I would say he is of Mediterranean descent. He also declined to share a name but I know he is a vampire and he did swear a restraining oath. Nirari also confirmed the man could be trusted based on the same information and the Rosenthal delegation vouched for him so I shall let it go. Nirari asks. The first of our kind tilts his head in a gesture that reminds me of myself, annoying enough. one of the lords says. I say, eyeing the lone volunteer. I shake my head in disbelief. Isaac vouched for him! Perhaps he is one of their agents and the silly act only serves to hide his abilities. No matter. I brought three bombs for safety but in truth, Malakim and Cadiz should both succeed without much difficulty. I simmer in my resentment at being interrupted, yet another emotion soon fills my heart: dread. Nirari is too kind to me. This makes no sense at all. He should have at least threatened me a little for daring to take the spotlight. Perhaps I do not understand him as well as I should. Perhaps I am missing something important. In any case, there is little I can do. The dies were cast a long time ago. Nirari helpfully adds. I hiss but he merely chuckles, his posture more relaxed. Our display seems to unnerve our allies. Malakim challenges, bare muscular arms crossed over his dragon armor. I drily reply, unamused by his implication. he replies. That is when I smash his face against the deck. I half expected Nirari to stop me but he waited. Only after Malakim¡¯s head is buried in a steel plate does he take a step forward. I toss my ¡®brother¡¯ aside. We are done here anyway. the unnamed lord asks. Nirari says with an indulgent smile. I hope we will not join them. *** S?a??h th? N?v?lF?re.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. Cadiz tells me with all the seriousness in the world, and nevermind that he cannot defeat me in a straight fight if I use all of my power. I cannot match his technique or his skill, of course, but then I do not need to be the best at everything. I just need to win. I ask. I will not lose my composure, however this is a grand undertaking relying on a plan with too many unknowns. The liches could even have their own bomb equivalent which they would unleash against us. Our only hope is that they act the way they have acted so far, using their strengths sparingly until they are forced to unveil a new tool. The attack on their last and only stronghold could change that. Suddenly, Cadiz¡¯ power expands. Despite Nirari¡¯s own aura lingering like a lead yoke on my shoulders, the strength of earth¡¯s most talented duelist breaks through. It tastes of snow, effort, and fresh air. I dodge under a light slap at the back of my head through sheer muscle memory. He is right. I have to trust that he will succeed. No one else could improvise better. *** I feel sorry for John. His drive has always been to protect me and he has grown into a formidable defensive fighter. Sadly, I have little need for protection myself. *** Power gathers in seven circles around the immense field, the chant of dozens of cabals covered by the rumbling of hundreds of engines. At the heart of the ritual, the Myrddin stands with his arms extended to direct colossal energies towards the opening of the colossal gate. White flames pulse at the periphery of a silver circle with more intensity with each passing second. the air smells of ozone and exhaust. It is time. It starts with a pulse up above us as if an invisible giant plucked at the world. As more energy feeds into the construct, the pulse becomes frantic, accelerates. Soon, it is a blur, then a sinking hole going deep where the world should have no depth. We have come a long way since the first barbarous puncture into the fabric of reality. I have to admit that the mages know their business. I am not participating in the first ritual. Even I find it exhausting and we will need every ounce of concentration we can muster once that thing opens. Sitting back allows me to appreciate the beauty of an opening portal. There is something divine in the act of connecting two places so distant normal travel would never bridge them. Everything is ready - it has been ready over here for a long time - so I simply stand there, relaxing. Svyatoslav joins me at some point and we wait in silence. He wears forrester garb over mail armor, not that metal has ever done anything to stop the liches. An enchanted quiver rests against his back. His helmet is pointed and of ancient design, with mail links descending down to his shoulders. ¡± he whispers. Another moment passes. The shadows under the portal deepen. He chuckles. I bump my greave against his. I know he values physical gestures more than any other vampires. At least those that come from me. That garners me another smile. Just then, the ritual reaches its paroxysm. All seven circles flash white, then the bubbling space expands in a vortex until alien daylight shines on the encampment. Aides rush to carry the stumbling mages away, except for the Myrddin who walks away of his own accord. The time is now. Nirari is the first to cross the portal. I am quick to follow while the roar of engines and the cries of men form a wall of sound behind us. The dry, stale air of the dead world greets us. Ochre mountains tower in the distance. No signs of hostiles for now, except for the odd mana hounds we dispatch with casual swings of our soul blades. The portal faces away from the city just as planned. I move to the side and turn to see our target. It is immense. Pillars of dark stone reaching to the sky form a forest of crumbling giants crawling with slaves and their undying masters far in the distance, behind a wall as tall as a hill as a demented monument to greed and neglect. There are so many towers that they blot out the horizon from one end of the valley to the other, their sizes so mind-defying as to induce vertigo. By comparison, the column of tanks and armored personnel carriers are like ants planning to take down a city hall. There are many ants, however, and they carry little surprises. Engineers are already at work marking positions for artillery emplacements and supply depots. The invasion of the dead world has begun. I have never exterminated the last sapient races off a sphere. I believe that I shall enjoy it. Chapter 220: Dark Gods of Gaia If my vision were not so perfect, the walls of the Last City could be taken for a cliff, so impossibly vast they are. The craggy rocks damaged by unrepaired cracks and ravines share more with a geological feature than a man-made work. I surmise it is the result of some spellwork due to the sheer scale of it and the current state of abandon it finds itself in. It perfectly represents the liches and their mentality. They feed off the work of others and the dregs of some illustrious past. Infamous too, given the state of their world.Just like the last city, the wall is decrepit and rotting and just like it, it is still impossibly formidable. It would be enough to repel most armies if our level of technology had not progressed since the portals first opened. Mundanes, mages, and kin now stand side by side in the metaphorical shield wall and more importantly, the mundanes now wield weapons of war fit to burn down entire cities. Even now, the roar of diesel engines behind me heralds the coming of the old world¡¯s wrath, a military might the likes of which history has never seen. Tanks and self-propelled artillery vehicles form a well-spaced line across the portal, the first defensive square already completed. Infantry companies and the crew themselves have climbed out of their positions to dig trenches as fast as they could. The first of many scorn spikes are plunged into the ground to protect the mortals from having their lifeforce reaped with a single gesture. In an hour or so, ammo trucks and ambulances will clog part of the way but for now, earth is spitting as much power as it can to begin the siege. The rattle of small arms fire already sounds from the periphery, where soldiers clear out the odd hounds. Nirari stands by my side in a relaxed posture near the front of the formation, our back to the reverse side of the portal. Humans move around us while studiously ignoring our armored forms. He does not seem worried at all despite the non-negligible chance that the liches will wipe us off in an instant with some wonder weapon. Instead, the old monster claps his hand. A moment later, a throne emerges from the gray ashy earth like a submersible from the sea, then a stone platform rises underneath until we can see over the turrets of the nearest tanks. He sits, opening a bag of average size I had not noticed until now. The packed stone flows to accommodate his colossal black armor. The armored hands disappear in the bag¡¯s recess. Larger inside than outside, it seems. I had seen such enchantment in faerie but they were atrociously hard to reproduce. Shortly after, Nirari removes a javelin from the artifact¡¯s depth. First I see the hard grain of dark polished wood, then the head appears and I am forced to avert my eyes. They hurt from merely watching the ivory tip, so sharp it feels. I have an idea what it might be. I ask. Very far away, the massive gate leading into the city opens. Or rather, one pane opens while the other remains stuck midway. It would be comical if their size was not so daunting. A purple tide rushes out from the maw soon followed by a cloud of a similar color. The hounds might be the most common of mana-starved creatures but they are not the only one. They have scouts as well. Fliers. Brood mothers are notably absent even though they have the best chance of withstanding the punishment the mortals shall inflict upon them. Vampires throughout the century have used this to great effect, catching liches off guard before they could deploy their most dangerous weapons. Urchin, especially, has elevated the technique to an artform. I can feel him covering our flank at the edge of my perception between two Hastings masters. We are opening with our best tricksters. The mortals are not blind to the tide of flesh rushing to them. They stop working, jumping into their half-finished defenses while engineers bring sandbags as fast as they can fill them. The first line of defenses finishes its preparation right in front of us. A bit early, perhaps. It takes several minutes for the distant purple wave to become individual creatures. By the time they are almost in range, the scent of fear thickens the air. Human soldiers keep coming in. At this stage, I have no idea if time is with or against us. The first artillery positions open fire soon after, almost at minimum range. Little red flowers bloom on the enemy charge. Each shell pulps dozens of creatures, yet the tide feels just as large as before. I notice that there are no more hounds coming out of the gates. At the same time, more guns are firing at our back. I feel no breach within my sphere of influence, no mysterious passage or portal opened to deliver beasts within our fortifications, yet the battle already rages all around us. Nirari idly comments. I hiss at him. Giving orders sitting on his arse! Ugh! It annoys me to see him so smug, yet it scares me to see him so accommodating. I have challenged him several times and he has yet to do anything but deflect with good humor. What is happening here? Surely he does not expect to convert me to his banner? In front of us, the tanks open fire. More craters and dust pepper the land, thick black smoke rising into the stale air. The scent of powder grows pungent, the song of the guns, deafening. Machine guns soon add their rattles to the din. We have taught the mortals that morale is not a factor to hounds a long time ago. They understand only hunger. Men are trained to kill as soon as they have a shot. In front of us, the plains are nothing but oily plumes of soot, fire, and a wall of purple flesh. It is only now that I realize that the tide has barely been slowed despite the constant pummeling. The hounds¡¯ number is beyond reckoning. Every gun on the front line now spits lead at the incoming assault. Officers scream their orders, whistle their commands. The men shoot as fast as they can. I can already see the barrel of some of the weapons shining red at the tip. They do not stop. By the , there is not even a need to aim. Every bullet will hit something. The tide barely even slows down. I feel like I am standing in front of an ocean. Time to help, I suppose. I wish I could save my strength fully but it appears I have no choice. No matter, I can make a difference with minimum use of resources. Instead of doing anything fancy, I form rows of outward facing roots upon which the beasts impale themselves. It takes a bit of time for all of them to fully form but they considerably slow the advance. Some of the soldiers are surprised at first but they are quick to catch on. For a beautiful moment, it looks like I have brought the beasts to a standstill. The hounds that follow the first are blocked by the squirming mass of the wounded, caught as they are on my spikes. A dike of corpses forms until the mass of flesh becomes too much and rolls over on yet another line of spikes so that yet another group of hounds plant themselves on the next defensive line. The mortals do not let that opportunity go to waste. Mortar fire and a storm of bullets tear into that easy target with abandon until blood floods the trenches in a gory carpet. The human artillery is fully active now. Some enterprising grenadiers lob their ¡®pineapples¡¯ dozens of meters away. It is a carnage. And then, the fliers arrive. Masked by smoke, their drone swallowed in the deafening din of detonations, thousands of bladed insects fall on the human defenders like so many locusts. Rifles aim up but too late to make much of a difference. The first human screams erupt soon afterward. Independently, flying drones are not much. A small child would outweigh one. It takes little effort to grab and smash them against the nearest rocks. Unfortunately, they move fast, bite, and there are a lot of them. The first line is overrun in seconds. a mocking voice taunts from behind. I must act. As much as I hate revealing my tricks, this specific one would be useless against him anyway. I extend my hands, calling the Aurora¡¯s power. Rime appears around me. Nirari¡¯s throne grows crystalline decorations of icicles and verglas. The Duke¡¯s prize at the center of the armor shines like a winter¡¯s sun behind a frozen waterfall. I extend my hand. The hounds absorb magic. The drones merely resist it. Neither absorb the cold. The Likaean words ring true. Winter comes to a planet without seasons. ¡°Polar midnight.¡± Light fades. Like a giant maw closing on its prey, an arctic wind blows through the tight ranks of the drones in an extending cone. Most of those caught freeze solid mid-air while the others escape the death corridor sluggishly. Meanwhile, the mortals are not idle. Flak cannons add their staccato to the sounds of battle. The tanks never stopped shooting, their servants protected by solid steel. More soldiers charge forward, shooting, fighting to throw the creatures off their beleaguered companions. The wounded move back, replaced by fresh men with full ammunition belts. I keep feeding power to the spell until it collapses by itself. If I had not fed on a dragon, this would have been exhausting. On the other hand, if I had not fed on the dragon, I would have never made this plan to begin with. With most of the fliers dead, the hounds are the only threat remaining but they have used the lull in gunfire to its full effect. They are almost within stabbing distance now. Meanwhile, more soldiers join the fray. I watch the carnage enfold with fascination. The humans have forfeited their usual tactics to form thick firing lines. Standing men shoot over kneeling men who, in turn, shoot over leaning men. Machine gunners rush in with their weapons held at the hip like some cowboys and with good effect for no one can miss at this range. Here and there, the tide breaks through, entire squads savaged in instants. Tanks get covered in tight masses of clawing hounds before the flak cannons ¡®delouse¡¯ them with extreme prejudice. It is an orchestra of destruction, a symphony of entrails without pause while blood red and purple dyes the ground. I have seen war before, but this? This is madness. And yet, we must win. Many masters have decided to join, several fighting a roaming battle, closing gaps and delaying advances where they can. A blue flash far to my side reveals that someone underestimated their foe. Gah, it is too soon to lose kin. This is just the appetizer. For a few minutes, balance is achieved between the waning wave and the constant rush of human reinforcements. A few tanks are destroyed when determined hounds finally manage to tear off the turrets, though it costs them much. At some point, the last of the hounds in close quarter combat dies and the soldiers manage to kill the rest before they can even reach the human lines. Explosions fade to low a drum while the men wipe the sweat off their brows and reload their overheating guns. I see disbelief and the distant gaze of those lost in a waking nightmare in the front squads, those that survived the assault anyway. The world in front of them is a charnel pit of charred earth and offal. It is not that I could walk on corpses for a mile without having to touch the ground. For that mile, I could not find an unsullied rock, a dry patch of soil to save my life. The stench of burnt hound meat suffices to make me scrunch my nose. It is done. At great cost, we have withstood the first attack. a voice says in my ear. I tap the enchanted ear link I hid inside of my helmet. We already knew he had people on his side, especially those Mask leaders who aligned with him. The communication ends. Below us, the mortals have recovered. The battle lines have reformed with fresh squad while the dead and dying are evacuated on stretchers by nurses. There are hospitals ready on the other side to take care of them. By now, over fifteen thousand men spread out in an ever-expanding wedge. The influx has slowed to a trickle now that ammunition is required to keep them fighting. As ever, logistics will be the bane of us. It is in the lull of force gathering that I notice something is wrong. A sentry to the far side suddenly shakes, then falls, moved to convulsion. Another soldier joins to help only to succumb to the same fate. Then another, always at the edge of the formation. I ask no one in particular. ¡° The human skin book. I swear and obey. I must remain wary of the dynamic he is trying to impose on our relationship. Unfortunately, he is right. As soon as the blood magic spell is cast, a gray film covers my vision. Everything appears in sharp contrast including the ghostly figure of those who died to fend off the hound. And behind them, wraiths cross the field with monstrously long, extended arms. Hair like braided wire, dislocated jaws and famished figures define this new threat. Tattered robes trail behind them as if dragged by an unseen wind. As I watch, one of them embraces and kisses a soldier who immediately gasps and falls, their life drained in an instant. I race away from the platform. Rose extends and whips at one of the horrible creatures. The blade passes clean through to absolutely no effect. I swear again. The spells are just as useless. Nirari remarks from behind. Needled by frustration, I observe a feeding specimen. Envy. Greed. It is motivated by powerful emotions. It gazes up at me and¡­ I feel a contact. The soldiers around me watch with fear while officers scream orders but we all know it is only a matter of time before they break. Men will stand against a cavalry charge but not against an enemy they can neither see nor comprehend. Alright. Time to put my heart where my mouth is. I can feel a strange sort of magic expand towards me, ghoulish and hungry. I grab it and pull. *** My mind palace. Even the greatest mind mage would get lost if they dared enter. A maze of thorny hedges and statues welcomes visitors into a torturous death trap no one ever managed to conquer. The defenses will heal so long as I live for no one can bear trauma like a midnight aristocrat. Shredding vines will grind down the most steadfast protections because no one can match our patience and ferocity. The size itself makes every fight a battle of attrition for no one lives longer than us in an endless pursuit of power. I had never felt fear until now. I observe the wraith from the confines of my bedroom. The creature does not seem lost. To be lost would imply a desire to be elsewhere, a destination. The wraith merely moves away from a place where no prey can be found to another one. It will keep doing so until it finds a target or the universe ends. The fact that it avoids the hedges fills me with hope. So far, the creature had always moved through terrain as if it were not here. The desiccated, malformed corpse still fills me with worry. Is this truly a ghost? I had never observed one before, though there are stories. How did the liches come up with such a monster? I discreetly move a thorn in the creature¡¯s path. The thorn catches the monster''s shroud and stretches it, wispy trails forming in its path. I feel that it is affected but I fear it will not be enough. Soon, however, I get a surprise. This creature has life essence. Very little of it, but life essence nonetheless. This time, I flay the entire creature with several branches. The shape stutters and blinks like a bad movie while more of the essence filters back to me. I sit down in a meditative position. I need to understand. A distant memory calls at the edge of my perception. I nudge my intuition to waken it, capture it. The memory is alone while most would be linked to others and yet it is so strong and so very vivid. I am close. Another attack leaves the wraith a ratty remnant of its former self. I see it now. *** Even as a dream, the pain I feel is unspeakable. Essence flows into the athame then into a canopic jar carved with angry runes made of edges and shard ends. The lich hungers yet it cannot feed, wants to die yet cannot fade. It loses itself. Behind, it leaves only its thirst for lifeforce. I pull out of the memory. The parallel with my own situation makes me somewhat uncomfortable. A wraith is nothing but a rogue lich. How upsetting. In any case, I know what to do now. I grab the sheer terror of the obsidian knife and turn it into a mind render, a memory shaped as a weapon, a very personal one. It manifests as a sword in front of me. I grab it, then I break it. Silvery liquid spills between my hand, then through the floor. Outside, thorns take on a silvery edge. They slam into the weakened wraith. Its screech threatens to deafen me. The fright is so intense that it pops into white motes, drifting off into the unseen wind. A quick check shows that my physical form still stands outside, but the wraith is no more. A step in the palace brings me to the main square. I clap my hand to form a massive circle, hedges moving to accommodate my request. Thorns with silver barbs grow to form a cage. A heavy stomp shakes the ground at my back. Loth¡¯s statue, clad in his formidable armor, lurches forward brandishing a warhammer. The head shines silver as well. Next, Mannfred smoothly strides in caressing the edge of his axe, a revolver resting in his other hand. He still wears his knight armor set. Dalton arrives, twirling his dual pistol. Then the werewolf, then Sinead and Sivaya now wearing their original forms. Statues gather in a circle, humans, mages, werewolves and fae. A mob forms with weapons brandished. A flock of winged fae buzzes overheard led by the statues of fly-faced Nol and Makyas of the Court of Wings and Keyholes. And above still, a massive flap of wings sends white flower petals drifting to the ground. *** There are now dozens of wraiths eating their ways through the panicking ranks of the mortals. They have dispersed but most are still within the range of my Magna Arqa, and in here, space is relative. Relative to me. The first of them jumps at a nurse and faces a wall of thorns, then it faces me. It disappears. Inside of my mind palace, a shot rings. One by one, I pull the wraiths in. The essence they feed me helps me perceive and understand lifeforce more though I have little idea what to do with it. Inside of my palace, the slaughter never stops. Soon there are no more prey to be found. I inform Nirari. It takes me all of ten minutes to hunt stragglers. Men and equipment keep accumulating in the dead world while I work. I find the last wraith after it exits a tank, having devoured its crew. I had missed it the first time. Soon, I am on my way back. Urchin intercepts me as I walk under the cautious gaze of human soldiers. The Vanheim master shrugs though his eyes never stop staring out towards the wall. Urchin flips his blade, the metal turning into a cane. *** Three hours after the first soldier has set foot on the dead world, our camp has grown to host over eighty thousand men. The flags of twelve nations float on this foreign ground, limp because of the lack of wind. Mortals have tirelessly worked to dig trenches, install barbed wire and set up artillery installations. Stockpiles of shells and crates now dot the newly built fortifications. The human leadership has decided to pause reinforcements now that the earth army extends for miles. A constant stream of trucks brings supplies to the farthest wings of our formation. Guns rattle constantly to fend off an unending stream of hounds and fliers, their survival instincts overridden by the promise of so much meat and life force to feed on. I have come to miss the stale air of this fallen world now that the stench of corpses has come to replace it. For hours now, the humans around us have done their best to ignore us, though I have heard many whisper that I was to thank for the thorns and the dead ghosts. A sense of cautious optimism animates the men who have arrived after the early slaughter. Many mock the decrepit state of the walls as well as the lack of reaction of the besieged city. They are fools, of course. Let them enjoy their fleeting confidence. As the hours pass, I am faced with an unexpected complication. Although the portal leads away from the city while Nirari and I face it, the coming dawn casts its purifying rays through the aperture not far from my position. I can feel the pressure on my back, taste ash at the back of my tongue. A faint memory of pain on my right side serves to remind me that, although I have grown strong, a few dozens steps back would be enough to end me forever. Nirari does not seem affected. He casually lounges on his throne and since he displays no concern, neither can I. S?a??h the ??v?l_Fir?.?et website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. Near noon of our time, the human army turns to the offense. First one, then dozens and eventually hundreds of guns open up, but they do not target the gate. They never intended to assault the city first thing. Instead, they aim at the complex of low structures standing between the wall and the first of the bloated skyscrapers. Once again, a constant, thunderous noise makes my ears ring. Black smoke and the tip of massive fires soon blots out the horizon, masking the city from view. The Liches¡¯ answer is immediate. The gates open, this time fully and with an ominous creak of twisted metal. A tide of armored slaves emerges from it in thick ranks. This time, I see towering constructs among their numbers, something we had never seen before. It appears they were amassing before the bombardment forced their hand. Our mortals are not fools. Our guns soon focus on that thick mass of troops but as the first shell lands, it stops against a thick, transparent barrier. I idly comment. Nirari replies. I correct. In terms of magic, the liches are our masters, not our students. Their understanding of the arcane arts likely overpassed ours millennia ago until lifeforce casting made most of it obsolete. What is the point of a shield when your foe can rip through it and your life as easily as taking candy from a child. Now that they face us, it appears they have returned to their roots in their endless quest for efficiency. Battalions of soldiers march out under the cover of those shields as they are carried by what appears to be reanimated, elephant-sized beetles. I can spot the glint of lifeforce orbs under their polished exoskeletons. Titans of bone and metal march among them, each step lifting clouds of dust. Punishment that would level a city falls on the shields to no effect. Nevertheless, our mortals persist. They know that every protection has its limits. I am just unsure as to what those are. As for the slave warriors, they do not stop coming. Most immediately move to the sides, under their wall, to form a battleline of biblical proportions. The sunset light shines on the dull steel of their gear to form a tapestry of blood-tinged metal. When the fire of the artillery drops to a trickle, not one of the defenders¡¯ protections has failed and still more of their men leave the cover of their walls. What I took for a massive army is outnumbered four to one, then five to one, then I simply lose count. Night falls on the Last City before the lich army has fully deployed. By then, an entire infantry division has reached us from earth as officers call for emergency reinforcements. A drop in the bucket compared to what we face. To my surprise, we are approached by a group of humans. I turn to see General Stiglitz, his command staff trailing him with determined steps. Their shining uniforms are backlit by the light of our noon sun. I gather my will to resist averting my eyes and for a fugacious moment, they appear regal, here, walking fearlessly in front of hundreds of thousands of warrior slaves with their golden ropes, their medals, their berets and kepis. There is not a hint of fear on their traits. They mask it well. ¡°It appears the welcoming committee has finally arrived. And still not a lich in sight!¡± ¡°Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof,¡± I reply. ¡°A dark goddess quoting the bible? Now I have seen everything,¡± he jokes, and we all smile. We need it. Also, I like being called a dark goddess. My papa would be very proud if he could see me now. ¡°I have some bad news and some good news,¡± General Stiglitz continues in what seems to be an unexpected bout of humor. I wonder how much of it is bravado but I admire him for it nonetheless. ¡°Always start with the bad news.¡± ¡°Good, I would have done so no matter what. The enemy¡¯s wings have already started to move. It appears they intend to envelop us.¡± ¡°Ah. And the good news?¡± ¡°Soon we will be able to fire in every direction.¡± This time I do smile genuinely. Our force are already defending the entire edge of the camp due to the constant threat of hounds. It still means that the warrior slaves can bring their entire force to bear, and with our artillery neutered, we have lost our greatest tool against human waves. ¡°I suppose you come here with a request. Do ask?¡± ¡°Yes. Since you can call winter and bloom an entire forest, I do not suppose that you and the other vampires could do something about those pesky shields?¡± I consider our options until a smooth voice interrupts my musings. Once again, my sire speaks in that old German I barely understand. The meaning, however, is crystal clear. ¡°You will focus your modern weapons on three shields at a time, until they break. You will remember that those shields are powered by stolen life force and that their servants cannot replenish them without the help of a lich. My kin shall assist you when the enemy draws near. And lastly.¡± My sire finally turns. His dark eyes take in the entire group. They take a collective step back. His domineering aura smashes into them, blue light fighting back from hidden crosses in what should be a winning battle but, once again, those are not fanatics who lead Earth¡¯s armies. Their faith protects them like an umbrella stops the deluge. ¡°You can honor your allegiances to your nations for now but if you come to us for help again, you will bow first or I will take your knees.¡± All the goodwill I have accumulated melts like dew under a desert sun. The officers nod and flee as fast as their dignity will allow. Nirari¡¯s aura recedes once more. And indeed, it does not take long. Drums beat in the distance. Horns bleat. Slowly, the gigantic wall of soldiers move forward, brandishing spears and battle standards like a warhost of old but this time they have magic on their side while we have the hope that their shields will fail before we run out of shells. Well, it is finally time to give instructions. I say. A flurry of acknowledgements return, though less than half of the numbers of vampires who should be here. They are not dead. They are merely ignoring me. Again, time slows down to a nervous crawl while the foe crosses the miles that separate us. All of the artillery focus on the three central shields, each one large enough to protect thousands of men. They disappear under a torrent of fire and steel. The air is now hot and it constantly shakes. Ceaseless explosions deafen me, making any conversation impossible. The first line holds fire while the enemy approaches with the slow inevitability of an avalanche. Soon, even the mortals can see the faces of their enemies. But then, the first shield breaks. It is too much for even stolen life force. A shattering noise heralds the breach after almost half an hour of effort. The brigade that used it for shelter is instantly obliterated. Shells still fall for half a minute before the cannons redirect their effort to the two shields near it. They fall soon after. I can now see the gate beyond a sea of ravaged corpses. It gives me a prime view of the unending mass of armed civilians it vomits. Malnourished bodies covered in sores, brandishing stones and cudgels run forward with abandon. Women, children, toothless wretches foam at the mouth in their urge to join the fray. There has to be some sorcery at play. General Stiglitz sees the danger. Guns focus on the gates to stem the flood of maddened paupers. I dare not look. This is not a battle anymore. This is a senseless travesty of everything that makes a life, a hunt, civilization. The liches have emptied their poorer districts in an effort to end us. And it might just work. With our guns busy, the shields are about to reach us. The first soldiers enter the reach of my Magna Arqa. Well, nothing for it. I am one of the first to charge forward. The shield barely slows me down. It is designed to stop projectiles, not people. I have sprinted past the first foe before they even realize I am coming. I notice javelin throwers and orb wielders hidden among the ranks of armor-clad men. The mortals have their work cut out for them. It is merely a matter of a second for me to peel off the steel exoskeleton around the generator. A thrust of Rose and the orb collapses, bleeding lifeforce over the sweaty ranks in a refreshing breeze of energy. I am away and to the next before the closest slave even turns to watch. I reach the next in an instant to inflict the same treatment upon it. They appear to have no traps. Perhaps I should have gone before. In front of me, Urchin weaves between fiery tongues sent by the hidden orb users. Those who come too close catch a thrown knife to the face. He takes great care to step on as many officers¡¯ heads as he can on his way to the generator. I watch him extend his hand. ¡°Mine now.¡± The shield array¡¯s massive lifeforce ball lands in his hands. The spell fails at the same instant. It remains an annoyingly useful ability. Urchin runs back, cackling and holding his prize. Behind us, the mortals are eager to take advantage of the failing defenses. A torrent of fire and steel turns the attack into a carnage. There is nowhere to hide here, no time to run. They die where they stand or crushed under the weight of their fallen. On the sides, other forces are not so lucky. Some vampires have died or failed or there were not enough to begin with. The shields get in contact with our lines and the warrior slaves charge. Javelins and massive spells woven from orbs answer rifles fired at point blank range. Spearmen charge on bayonets. The melee is immediately intense and the armored warriors overwhelm the first lines without stopping. For each of them who falls, a dozen take their place. They may know fear but they do not know disobedience. The left flank is immediately under threat. I run from shield to shield to disable them, feeling like I accomplish very little. Even with my thorns attacking with me. There are simply so many of them. Then I hear it, a drone like a buzz of very, very large wasps. ¡°They took their sweet time.¡± We do not rely on a single portal, of course. Other have been opened in air bases all around Europe and the first squadrons have arrived, ready to deliver The first wave of dive bombers must have received their instruction because the first ace dives fearlessly into a shield and reappears on the other side, no worse for wear. I suppose a plane is much slower than a bullet. This oversight will cost the liches dearly. I suddenly feel an urge to step back. To see. This is not my battle yet. I can feel it. The mortals are pulling the thread of fate for now. This war is one of numbers, not champions. I want to watch it. Using a root, I jump up in the air and into a vista of apocalypse. The earth base forms a star of interlocked defensive lines and scattered guns. Tanks form thick, impenetrable lines around flexible companies of defenders. By contrast, the warrior slaves of the Dead World advance in thick lines around their strange walkers, groups of javelin throwers and orb users providing support. A thick smoke blots the sky while the thunder of cannon fire covers everything else. It smells of meat, blood, fire, and death. Every sense is saturated before the unceasing fury of two alliances that can never be reconciled. Where the shields have faded, the Earth¡¯s troops harvest the city¡¯s defenders in a nightmarish display of superior technology. Dive bombers smash formations before they truly form with hails of explosive bullets. Tanks patiently line up walkers to blow them up mid step. Those who stand die. Those who hide burn. There is no escaping the jaws of progress. Where the shields still hold, however, the back lines cannot support the front ones. Waves of spearmen overwhelm the trenches, stabbing the defenders in the guts. The walkers stomp turrets and crumple them and the pilots underneath. Javelins catch machine gunners while pockets of resistance are torched by terrible spells. Screams in English, German and Italian echo the moans of the local, more guttural tongue. Mud covers both sides for the first time not because of rain but because there is simply so much blood in those tightly packed quarters. I brought the Earth army here. This violence and death from wall to the horizon, I made it happen, but looking at this now gives me a strange sense of vertigo. I may have started this all but not even god could stop it now. Enough of this. I will make myself useful. I join the melee. Those metal walkers they have might be tough cookies but compared to what Loth can achieve, they remain awkward piles of junk as I smash them on my way to the next generator then the next after that. I do not lose myself in the thrill of battle. The real opponents have not arrived yet. They should. This is the perfect opportunity and they are nothing if not good at exploiting weaknesses. Above me, stars of fire engulf a squadron of dive bombers. Their wrecks crash among the tightly packed men, leaving great and bloody furrows. I withdraw Rose from a walker to watch the new arrivals. All of us do. For a moment, there is a lull in the battle. Tiny dots fly over the distant ranks of the rear guard. Small, yes, yet immeasurably more dangerous than those who precede them. Aura crashes against us to promise death or servitude. There are so many of them. At least fifty, each one more powerful than an archmage. A monstrous, six-armed figure leads them. It extends a massive scepter forward to the core of our formation. Terror strikes the earth fighters before whatever horror that thing is about to conjure can even manifest. Even I feel it like a solid weight above my shoulders. Power gathers to a blazing intensity. And then the scepter explodes. The lich screeches, one hand lost. Only then do I hear an extraordinary boom that breaks the oppressive silence. The enemy leader retreats behind a shield. Svyatoslav joins my side, bow deployed. The undead aura of the life defilers recedes like the tide against another rock, more ancient and much more powerful. Silence spreads over the dead plain. Even the screams of the dying are silenced. For the first time in over twelve hours, the land before the Last City is quiet. Two worlds hold their breaths. a voice deep says behind me, and somehow I know everyone can hear it, and everyone can understand it. Purple light blazes, bathing the battlefield. The time of numbers is over. The hour of champions is now. Nirari stands up. Chapter 221: The Dragonslayers Nirari whispers.A heartseeker spell forms, the one spell he named after his weapon and, given the apparent power, designed himself. Tendrils of red energy spread out in front of him, scouring the battlefield like starving wraiths. The packed ranks of the slave warriors are ravaged, their shields never meant to stop magic. Orb weavers attempt in vain to take control of the energy but they cannot handle so many tendrils and, column by column, company by company, the spell engorges itself with blood. It leaves behind white husks baring their teeth to the heavens. Even the liches recoil before the display of power. I sense something in the spell that I had not anticipated: it manipulates life and so it would resist the liches¡¯ attempt to alter it. When I came to Nirari to invite him to my war, I did not give him a new idea. He has not just considered invading the dead world. He was already preparing to do so. He proves it with his next action. All the drained blood gathers in an ominous crimson orb as tall as a hill. With a gesture, he sends it crashing against the farther slave warriors and armed civilians. A veritable wall of carmine energy surges over hundreds, thousands of foes, mangling them in instants. It has taken at most five seconds for Nirari to stand, silence the battlefield, then cast a city-ending spell before anyone else can recover from his calamitous aura. The field leading to the liches cleared, he does what I expected to do from the start. Nirari roars, then under the purple gaze of the Watcher, Nirari charges, and we charge with him. His attack frees us of the aura. The world, which had held its breath, now releases it eagerly. The roar calls upon the most primal part of us all. This bloodshed is about conquest and supremacy. All of us know this, including the liches. Who steps away from that battlefield will eventually come to rule two planets. There is only one acceptable outcome, one thing left to do. Fight and triumph. There is no viable alternative. As one, the two armies resume the hostility with renewed fury. Ranks of spearmen charge entrenched shooters and machine guns nest. Cannons roar. Rifles rattle. Orbs char and freeze entire trenches. Tanks and other vehicles move forward, crushing the wounded and the slow under their treads. Dive bombers drop fire and steel on shield arrays and walkers alike in an unending display of carnage. This is no longer war as I know it, with maneuvers and logistics and positioning where a stronger opponent can be defeated with superior tactics. This is a slugging match of biblical proportion with men killing and dying where they stand. The slave warriors and their masters have no regard for life whatsoever. The carnage will continue until only one side remains. This is it. I no longer need to worry about the big picture. Kill or be killed is a concept I mastered a long time ago. In a way, I rejoice. I am at peace. I can shed my concerns and do what we were all designed to do. Hunt. I charge forward, following Nirari and the path his spell carved. In front of us, the liches spend all they have to unleash torrents of fire geysers of magma, shimmering lights and the fury of the sky as viridian bolts join the chromatic cloud aiming at us. I raise a forest of roots and thorns to block it. Blood sprites and shields grow among the boughs like grotesque fruits to intercept the attacks. Magic might crashes against our defenses and fails to break through, the stolen energy absorbed by the otherworldly power granted by the Watcher. The liches fly and spread out as we approach, their first concern always being their own safety. Soon, shields flare left and right. Nirari stomps the ground. I know what to do. We have no need to speak. A massive root flips out, propelling the first vampire on a collision course against a lich at a speed that the creatures cannot follow. My sire goes through the shield, the lich, and the slaves beyond in one strike of his glaive. I block some of the answering spells with a wave of thorns beyond which my sire hides before launching himself at another target. Those liches that keep climbing soon find themselves picked off, the large shields an easy target for the European aces. Svyatoslav takes shots at targets of opportunity as they lower their guards. I am the shield, Slava is the spear, and Nirari is the hammer. Only after smashing through another lich do I take a moment to slow down. A transmission comes from my ear receiver, which I had temporarily forgotten. I can barely understand the words. I take a moment to watch our surroundings. I expect the Last Judgment may approach what I see in intensity if God will have cause to be particularly vindictive. Smoke, fire, liches and warplanes battle in the skies for supremacy while the war on land has reached a paroxysm of savagery. I observe Urchin stealing yet another scepter before absconding back into the melee to the screeches of his victim. Far to the side, a master ascends to ladyship and reappears inside of the shield of her victim. Many others trigger at this juncture while some of our kin fall to fire spells. It will take decades to rebuild the ranks of those who have met their ends here and will meet it before this is all over. As I watch, a rod of light arches from the city skyline over our heads, then lands in the middle of an artillery detachment, vaporizing it. More streaks soon appear on the background of clouds. I resume my offense. There is nothing I can do for them except take out liches and attract their attention. The more time passes and the more desperate our foe will grow, and the more they will sacrifice their reserves to bring us down. It has not been one day and the weapons they throw at us could already level towns. I lose myself in the flow of battle. It feels so natural to fight with my kin. I surf over roots and tendrils, emerging from the cover only to swat the liches unfortunate enough to remain. My statues slaughter anything that approaches while Slava and Nirari use the protection I provide to dodge spells, only to resurface in bursts of speed and aggression. A lich attempts to roast me with a bolt of lightning but the strange taste of the air warns me and I use a tendril to intercept it. I jump on a root to launch myself at it, then a vertical swing to smack the creature down with its shield. Thorns cover and shred it before it can escape again. We are chewing through the opposition at great speed, matchless and deadly. Truly, fighting besides the oldest, most powerful vampire does have its perks. The liches that attempt to attack the mortals find that the scorn spikes buried at regular intervals weaken their spells while anchoring the lifeforce. it takes them a lot of resources to bypass or destroy them, time during which they become visible, slow targets. Nevertheless, the long-ranged spells coming from the city¡¯s heart still inflict great damage on our backlines. An earthquake shakes the ground, spreading out from the gates but most of the tremor stops at the edge of the spikes, their energies calmed. It ends up helping our side more as the slave warriors stumble and pause. I hope Cadiz will not be long. Suddenly, I am caught in a gray dome, the outside world muted. My Magna Arqa becomes restrained to the sphere and I watch both Nirari and Slava emerge on the naked ground, soon becoming the target of a thousand spells. I hope Slava will be fine. A lich takes the center of the sphere, clad in a silvery armor dulled by the ages. It wields a sword encrusted with jewels. ¡°You have come to this world to die,¡± it says. A torrent of fast, silvery barbs emerges from its blade with every swing. The first wave hits my stone dragon as it flies out from the forest of thorns. I can feel that the stone cannot reform, at least not for now. The spell appears designed to kill my kind. ¡°You should have taught it to your brethren,¡± I mock. It does not reply. I race around the sphere, dodging all of the clouds aimed at me. They leave the ground pitted behind as if by a rain of acid. It does not move from the center of the sphere and I am not eager to escape. Any creature that traps itself in an enclosed space with a war lady deserves what happens next. I feint a few times by moving up but the lich does not react. Perhaps it does not have a short-ranged countermeasure? That would be foolish. With a hiss, I ride a wave of thorns up and strike with Rose at the maximum range. The creature¡¯s shield cracks and a wave of fire expands out in the same reaction. A reactive defense? Adorable. I am gone before it can reach me. I notice a crack in the shield. Flimsy work for a powerful lich, perhaps a side effect of the reactivity. I ride another wave to target the same spot again. Once more, I swing with all of my strength, the blade¡¯s teeth slicing through the air with a ghastly crack. The wave this time is stronger and the lich swings where it believes I will dodge. ¡°Polar midnight.¡± I simply pass through the wall of flames. FIRE BAD. But victory is sweet. The shield cracks. The lich raises its sword above its skull. Purple orbs emerge in a rain of projectiles. I strike the first one as I dive. It explodes. Rose twists away from my hand. I am disarmed? The soul blade clangs against the wall and I feel a sort of pressure upon my essence, though it does not break. For an instant, my soul weapon was subjected to a monstrous force but thankfully, and so long as I live, it is quite unbreakable. I summon the whip sword back in my hand though I do not use it. Inefficient. Instead, I call more statues. They launch themselves at the balls to intercept them. The projectiles leave behind perfectly spherical gouges in my constructs. Even the dragon gets obliterated just as I reformed it. I dive under my roots and pick up my revolver from a back pocket. I named that one the Slayer. The only reason why it is not a pistol is that my hand could not fit around the handle. The Slayer has exactly four bullets and each one has been carefully assembled over a night for a single purpose: to kill the unkillable. Voices like a choir chant when I aim. I feel a strange pull on my instinct. I can watch the exact trajectory the bullet will take with my intuition before I even fire. I pull the trigger and am launched back. The lich¡¯s body explodes, skull going and ¡ª Suddenly, I am caught in a gray dome, the outside world muted. My Magna Arqa becomes restrained to the sphere and I watch both Nirari and Slava emerge on the naked ground, soon becoming the target of a thousand spells. I hope Slava will be fine. A lich takes the center of the sphere, clad in a silvery armor dulled by the ages. It wields a sword encrusted with jewels. Wait a moment. This¡­ what? It cannot be. The lich raises its sword above its head. A dissonance gives me a headache. A different path? I was flung back in the past! ¡°Do it again so I can kill you a third time,¡± I tell the creature. Well, I have wasted enough time on this episode, pun intended. The first purple orb tosses Rose away. The second hits my werewolf statue as it emerges. I recall Rose and extend her, hitting the third orb as it leaves the shield. An explosion pushes both me and the now shieldless lich away. Before it can recover, I fling Rose at it. The creature¡¯s torso is mangled but it is not quite dead yet. A veritable inferno surges from the lich directly at me. I do not think it quite understands so I merely fill the Aurora with power. The jewel on the chestplate shines a teal blue. The hungering jaw of winter welcomes the heat, absorbs it with greedy fangs. It fades and only the endless expanse of stillness remains. My armored boot crushes the lich. Suddenly, I am caught in a gray dome, the outside world muted. My Magna Arqa becomes restrained to the sphere and I watch both Nirari and Slava emerge on the naked ground, soon becoming the target of a thousand spells. I hope Slava will be fine. ¡°I can do this all night!¡± I tell the lich. The dome fades. It tries to fly away. I move up while the dragon statue swoops down. Another attempt at fire fails to deter us and we crush the lich one last time as the sword crumbles to dust, its power exhausted. I find myself on the dragon¡¯s back, flying. I¡­ can ride the dragon. I cannot believe I did not think of that before! My meeting with the Old One terrorized me so much that I considered using his effigy as a means of transportation to be simply too blasphemous, perhaps? Yet, this is merely an effigy and qualms of propriety have no place on the battlefield. Flying it is. The next lich that crosses my path appears quite surprised. By now, the two other Devourers have split and I realize why. The liches have completely scattered, no longer trying to overwhelm us with their numbers. I believe they had a good chance at success if they had worked together but obviously that runs contrary to their very nature. I look up to see a large explosion, then another reveals what is happening. Against all odds, dive bombers are flying straight at those rod spells and intercepting them mid air. Human pilots are sacrificing themselves to protect hundreds of men from certain death on the ground. As I watch, another squadron positions itself to intercept more. This is the difference between the liches and us. This is why we will win. As the mousquetaires say, one for all and all for one. Our mortals are also starting to counter-attack with new forces rushing out of the portal with pristine energy. It seems the balance is slowly tilting in our favor, until the next disaster comes for us, of course. I ride the dragon statue up and scare a plane or two before assaulting another lich from the back. We crash back into slave ranks and I kill it there, then I invoke a veritable forest to tear into the tightly packed enemies. Devoured energy fills my essence. There are just so many of them. I feel completely refreshed once I am done. Truly, the battlefield is where Devourers perform the best. We could just keep going until there is nothing left but us and a sea of exsanguinated corpses. a voice says in my ear, but I am not listening. I stopped. I had to. Just to make sure I have not grown mad. I am struck with disbelief. A small spell confirms my suspicion and I watch a tiny needle of aura go mad trying to find the planet¡¯s magnetic north. I see the other vampires reacting as well. They have felt it. The magic is back. The Dead World is¡­ alive? It feels alive. Normal. How can this be? I look around, finding the liches leaving the frontline. The continues unabated though the vampires also stop, hesitant. I was so sure, still am so sure that this planet has perished. I do not understand what is happening. Nirari flares his aura, calling us back to him. I ride the stone dragon higher on my way to see around the plain. Nothing unusual jumps to my eyes but I remember Cadiz¡¯ message and peer at the Last City¡¯s skyline. Nothing much has changed. It is still a forest of titanic, decrepit buildings. Hmmm, I can see something over the horizon. A tiny dot, rather far and ascending. It arches back towards us and flies with¡­ beats of wings? For a moment, I believe my vision betrays me. Bone wings move diaphanous membranes, a blue fire burns inside the chest and in the empty sockets of a massive form but no. I have to believe the evidence as I can feel the wave of magic emanating from the ghastly form. The realization forces me to swallow my fear as if I were still human. This seems entirely too much. They have a lich dragon. It is a dragon, It brings life, is the symbol of a rising world. A dragon! All hail the ¡ª No! No. I shake my head, concentration momentarily lost. Around us, the fighting has stopped. Men stand in the middle of what they were doing, weapons forgotten. The planes fly in slow circles. The cannons have grown silent. Everyone watches the coming of what appears to be a liberator, a symbol of hope and majesty. Life returned to a long perished world¡­ except they are deceived. I can sense it, somehow. This is not a true dragon. Someone has stolen its form and now wears it like one wears a mask, a grotesque parody of its true self. This lich dragon represents life in the Dead World in the same way maggots represent life in a rotting carcass. It is bleeding off excess energy, not gathering it. The dragon flies but a humanoid mind drives it. If the Old One were here, this world would be turned to ash in moments to atone for this vile desecration. No matter. We have a real issue. If that thing reaches the portal, my scorn spikes will stand as much chance as a sand castle against a tidal wave. The army will die in moments, and the portal will be undone. We need to do something. I move towards Nirari, only to find him looking at me. We are the only two here who can still function in the frozen hellscape this battlefield has become. I know why. I tell him. Ah yes, the spear. It rests against his throne even now. While he races to pick it up, I rush back to our lines. The fact it takes me more than a few seconds stands as testament to the sheer number of soldiers killing each other on this plain. I soon find myself at the front, near German troops. Nirari sees conquest as domination and destruction. He killed his dragon in single combat. He draws power from the dead. I see domination as an empire to build against all odds. I defeated my dragon in a ritual contest. I draw power from the living and it is the living that will see us through this ordeal. Normally, we old vampires keep our auras contained at all times. To emit one¡¯s energy freely is not just rude, it places a beacon upon our location and one never knows what might be paying attention. I can no longer afford to be hidden, however. I must be heard. I do not just flare my aura, who I am and what I have done. I push it out until it drowns the siren pull of the lich dragon¡¯s presence. I immediately realize that it will not suffice. It lacks¡­ personality. Momentum. A spark to get the pyre going. In front of me stand a squad of German infantrymen, the closest a heavyset man holding a rifle with a bloodied bayonet still attached. He stares listlessly at the approaching doom. I slap him, gently. He blinks. Using my best drill sergeant voice enhanced by a sound spell, I begin my tirade. ¡°Wachen Sie auf, Schweinen! Wake up you fools. On se r¨¦veille, tas de m¨¦duses! Pick yourselves up and fight! Fight if you want to live! Si sveglino, imbecili. NOW!¡± I launch into a polyglottal rant of the most abusive insults I can muster as I rush through the ranks, distributing wallops and comments on their mothers¡¯ proclivities, weight, and species when applicable. ¡°Stand and fight. Fire, FIRE! Feu ¨¤ volont¨¦! Angriff. ANGRIFF! Fuego a voluntad ! ? Finally all those years of study are paying off. Also, I find clocking helmeted goons to be really cathartic. First by pockets, then by companies, my wake up calls force men to move, reload. Shake their neighbors. No one here believes for a single second that the breathtakingly captivating sight means anything else than something coming to ruin their day. The previous hours of bloodshed have cured them of any illusions. The Dead World is that, dead, and anything that comes from it carries a final sentence. I am trying to remember enough Swedish to abuse their expeditionary corps when Stiglitz finds me, a few officers in tow. He signals and one of his aides insults the group in Danish which seems to stir them awake even faster. ¡°What is that thing and how do we stop it?¡± ¡°We need to crack the shield. We need all our guns on it but¡­¡± ¡°But it¡¯s a flying target. Rather slow. Yes?¡± ¡°Very much and the shield bubble should be quite large. Still¡­¡± ¡°Do not worry about asking artillerymen to commit geometry. I assure you, it will be done. In the meanwhile, kindly get up there and give me my fighters back. Getting flyers off our ass is their damn job.¡± I nod, surprised about the change of tone from the previous conversation. I suppose that being confronted with a myth tends to give someone perspective. ¡°Right.¡± We will need all the firepower we can to even dent its protection, and the most effective would be anti-ship weaponry. If only¡­ I almost smack myself when I realize what I have missed. It is a matter of moment to change the frequency of my earpiece to the desired one. ¡°Skipper? Talk to me.¡± I wait. One, two, three¡ª ¡°This is Skipper. I copy.¡± ¡°Skipper, the magic is temporary back in the Dead World. Shove the Fury through the portal aperture as fast as you can and bring everything that flies and has a gun with you. General Stiglitz will back us up.¡± ¡°Yes ma¡¯am. And when we get there, any specific instructions?¡± ¡°Yes. Fire everything you have at the dragon.¡± ¡°¡­. pardon me?¡± I do not grace that with an answer. Instead, I take to the skies on the back of my statue. The planes are still airborne which is a small miracle in itself, but they have spread out. My previous method of punting people into each other until they start moving will not work here. I need a more¡­ thorough method. Even if it tires me a little. Most of the planes have formed a sort of wide, disorganized death spiral circling over the battlefield. I move to the exact middle and pull my aura in completely. Then, I feed it to the Aurora. The gem shines like a star as I wake it up and feed it all I have. The wind picks up over the Last City for the first time in eons. The clouds roll, darkening. ¡°Come on,¡± I say in Likaean. ¡°Let them taste winter.¡± I feel something fall against my cheek, then look down to see where it fell. Over a strand of blonde hair, I find a perfect snowflake. I can feel a smile blooming. Ah, this will be fun. If there is one thing dive bombers and fighter pilots fear, it is to be hunted by something on their tail. Today, I am that something. Winter does love a good chase. The statue flaps its massive wings one last time on its assent. For a moment, gravity loses its hold. The stale air of the corpse planet is replaced with the crisp kiss of a solstice twilight. I spread my hand, relaxing for the first time in what feels like an eternity. I channel all I am in that beautiful moment with nothing but the clouds and the gathering blizzard. And I ROAR Like a scared flock of birds, the planes buckle and dodge. If they were not so widely spaced. Some of them would have crashed into each other. Swear words in half a dozen languages erupt through the skies under the drone of engines. A part of me is concerned about the need for refueling but the rest has only one thing to say, and I say it in adult Likaean. I do not do so for expediency, or even because time is of the essence. I do so because the ritual has begun and proper form must be followed. A story with a dragon is never about the dragon. It is always about the one who kills it. ¡°You are the wings of the dragon slayer. Follow me. When you can fire, fire. When I turn, turn. Fly with courage if you want to live. Strike without hesitation if you want to be a legend.¡± I do not wait to see if they obey. I know they will. The strands of fate positively vibrate as I make a beeline for the spheres¡¯ most powerful predator. I have something to say about the mortals I have led here. They possess the grim tenacity that leads armies past the breaking point and into the realm of heroism. Without prompt, squadrons reform, wingmen find wingmen until I have them all behind me, to my sides, above and under the dragon statue. We form a shape of our own, though one made of trained soldiers, machinery, and a total disregard for the odds. I watch our prey take more of the skies as we approach it, passing over crumbling skyscrapers. If I refer to it as a prey in my mind often enough, I may end up believing it. Just as ordered, the planes fire when they have a shot, more than five thousand feet away. They cannot miss. I consider using my gun but my intuition tells me that I shall need those bullets later, and it will not make any difference anyway. The hail of projectiles rattle off a village-sized shield. Several planes run out of ammunition almost immediately. No matter, I can see the shield flare. We are applying pressure. I break off the attack at three thousand feet. I can already feel the creature¡¯s pull, even though there is no intent in its gaze. It feels¡­ sleepy. Passive. We have not endangered it yet. I consider doing another pass but I cannot. Suddenly, explosions bloom on the immense shield. First a few, then dozens, then a torrent until the vewy view of the lich dragon disappears under a firestorm. The last I see is a blue eye waking up. Enormous pressure smashes against my mind and fills me with a sense of vertigo. For an instant, all those material elements like bombs and vectors and fuel levels become secondary to a clash of concepts happening together and parallel to the real world event. The lich represents the dragon¡¯s power, life even though it is weak and rotting. I represent the dragon slayer, unity, manipulation, blood, the hunt. We are an arrow and a target in the tapestry that is destiny. I am the unstoppable force to its unmovable object. Time does not matter. Place does not matter. We are merely two particles on an ancient, unavoidable collision course. The last spark of blue fire disappears and I am myself once again. Concept or not, that thing is going down. The human camp is now a grid of artillery placement with flying ships spread over it, firing broadside after broadside with more climbing to attack altitude with every second. The shield hums, a wakening song fighting the onslaught. It seems to thicken at the front but I can already see the first flaws forming in the apparently impenetrable shield. I have done all I could. Now the assembled might of mankind will pierce the shield or not. The die, as they say, is cast. It is only when I hear his voice that I remember the pitfall that intuition can be, the way it blinds those who dance with fate to outside factors. I am not a particle on a collision course. There are two of us. Nirari makes his move. he says in a cold voice. Malakim replies. Ah. Shit. I think very fast. I scream ¡®back¡¯ at the planes, though we are already on our way out. At the same time, I change the frequency to find Cadiz¡¯. I am too late. A second before it happens, I can feel the pit of my stomach drop while primal terror overcomes me. Some scientists argued that triggering a nuclear explosion would set our atmosphere on fire, wiping out all life. I am happy to confirm that they were wrong. It certainly feels that way, however. For a brief moment, I can see every bone in my arms through the armor. Every knuckle of my digits, even though I know they would turn to ash if detached. They are all there. I could count them. The world becomes a gray tapestry, a negative version of itself. Then I am set on fire. I am thoroughly ashed. It lasts for merely a split second and is more terrifying than really painful. I do not even feel the horrible pain that is fire. I am already dead, gone from the world. Whatever passes for nerves in my eldritch body has fried before reporting to my brain. But the moment passes and I am alive. I gasp when the shockwave hits me. Several planes dislocate mid air while others wobble. barely holding on. The statue cracks and falls like a stone because I have lost control of my essence. It takes a supreme effort of will to recover before I can dive. I cannot believe it. I cannot believe it! Light and fire rage behind me. The groans of titanic mountains collapsing on themselves deafen me so it is in perfect silence that I perceive more than see the lich dragon¡¯s shield cracking, smashed in its weak side by an unexpected blow. I also perceive more than see Nirari arming his throw, his perfect form as the dragon bone spear flies through the air. I know it will hit. There can be no other outcome. The lich dragon is hit with a death blow. It crumples like a bus hitting the bottom of a cliff. The almighty bones that survived countless centuries imbued with arcane might shatter like glass. The second shockwave feels almost as world-ending as the first. This place is so hot. Need to get away but¡­ I am still flying forward when my earpiece crackles, his word carried to my regrown drums. I hear the voices of the panicked attendant when Nirari crosses the portal. I also hear him sing my own bloody spell. S~?a??h the N?v?lFire.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. For the second time in my life, I watch, powerless, the portal back home seal itself in front of me. Nirari used a calming spell which not only closed the portal but will also make it almost impossible to open one again from our end. Not until the spell fades. More importantly, he will not fail to notice the beacon of power formed by his mother¡¯s ascension ritual, one that she began the second he entered the Dead World, as the two of us agreed upon. His parting words imply he knew of it before returning, in any case, which implies he made a contingency plan. Now, the first vampire can set his sights on godhood and the only person capable of standing in his path has been left behind like the complete idiot she is. We have a problem. Chapter 222: All In. There is no time to plan. I must absolutely get to the other side. Fortunately, the next portal should be fairly close and completely out of reach of the becalming spell. I estimate it will take ten minutes at top speed to reach it if it was indeed opened as planned. Before that, though, there are things I must do.¡°Skipper. The magic is going to fade again. Make sure all ships have landed before their batteries run out.¡± ¡°Aye aye, ma¡¯am.¡± A few seconds later, I land at the empty spot where the portal used to be and where ambulances now stop, their shocked drivers looking at the empty space where the lifeline of their patients used to be. General Stiglitz is already racing towards me with anger flushing his face. Around us, the battle has stopped. The slave warriors have collapsed in various states of horror while it appears that a regrettable amount of allied soldiers have simply been blinded by the detonation, even with buildings blocking most of the blast. Only now do I turn around to take in the results of the detonation. Where the city center had been hidden from sight, now fragments can be seen from sparse holes in the concentric layers of skyscrapers that form the Last City. The little I can spot from my position reveals hints of pyramids and toppled towers and fire, fire everywhere, a crimson glow that radiates like a second sun. A storm of ash dances around an expanding cloud so tall it dwarfs even the colossal buildings. The sight would steal my breath if I still had any. For all their corrupted ways, the inhabitants of the dead world built enduring structures so vast I could confuse them for geological features. I was wrong. The mushroom of superheated ash? Now that is the size of a geological feature. It appears our ability to destroy far outstrips their ability to build. I have a feeling this has been a constant for many years. Cadiz should be there, somewhere. Hopefully underground. By the , with the land becalmed, his emergency recall portal will not activate. I do not even have time to look for him. I think I killed him by bringing him here. I gaze at the inferno hidden behind the wall of damaged buildings. The crimson glow of the gigantic blaze bathes everything in red. It is so far, miles away, that the moans and cries of the slave warriors drowns it out. They abandon the field and start to walk back to the city as I watch, perhaps in the vain hope to stop the enfolding disaster. The surviving liches have abandoned them. Their world is collapsing. I doubt there is enough water in all of the city to make a difference. ¡°Was this you?¡± Stiglitz screams, ¡°was this your plan?¡± I consider Charming the anger away from him before I come to the realization that I do not care. ¡°The bombs were my idea. Getting trapped was not.¡± ¡°You madwoman! This is insanity! Wait. Are we even safe here?¡± I am about to reply that yes, they are, but I remember the corpses strewn across the lab back in Sweden. ¡°No. You need to pull back to Charlie Bravo point. It is the closest ¡ª¡± ¡°Makeshift landing strip for emergency recovery. I know. I can read a map.¡± I hiss softly but he stands his ground. ¡°I would advise leaving everything behind except what you need for the trip. The Last City is done for.¡± ¡°Why did the dark god close the portal?¡± ¡°Yes, I would like to know as well,¡± Slava¡¯s voice says behind me. Urchin has come as well with a smattering of vampires. I see the Fury maneuvering in close. I should have flown to them so they can carry me. Or perhaps not. Perhaps waiting a minute to clear things up will not make a great difference in the grand scheme of things. And perhaps the dragon will be faster. ¡°The dark god is not truly a god, not yet. To do so, he needs to consume his mother,¡± I explain. ¡°That thing has a mother?¡± Stigitz asks. ¡°Yes, he did not pop out of Hades¡¯ thigh, fully armed. I made a deal with her. She will try to ascend to godhood herself, leave this planet and take him with her. Or at least disable him completely. Unfortunately, the ascension ritual is felt all across the planet. She started as soon as Nirari left with the hope that she would finish before he could return. Unfortunately, we have been too effective.¡± ¡°So now he is after her and she is on earth, defenseless?¡± ¡°Not defenseless. I have left a squad of people I trust with her but her wards and schemes can only last so long while the guards themselves would merely be a speed bump. I suspect he has summoned his own forces as well. Chaos likely reigns on the earth side. I will fly there immediately to stop him.¡± ¡°We will discuss the use of an experimental weapon IN RANGE OF MY MEN after this is over but in the meanwhile, I will be coming with you.¡± ¡°Room is limited and I must take others with me,¡± I reply. ¡°Listen, woman. The portal closed and now the soldiers under my responsibility are in disarray, possibly attacked by forces unknown. You will take me with you so I can bring order to the allied forces before this degenerates into a second world war. I know what it is you deployed just as I know there are more earthside,¡± he says. ¡°Believe me. You want me to stop this as much as I do.¡± Hmmmm. He is making a lot of sense. Chaos serves Nirari more than it does me. The dragon reappears from a wall of thorn. I have delayed enough. ¡°Very well. Jump on. Slava and Urchin will come as well. Let us go.¡± Stiglitz screams a few instructions at his subordinates, mostly to drop everything and retreat in good order. We have a lot of wounded so it will take some time. The blind will have to be led as well. He also orders them to recover the pilots of the fighters and dive bombers as they make emergency landings across the battlefield, something I had not considered. I sit on the neck, Slava takes position over the wings with Stigtiz safely nestled between us. Urchin is left clinging to the tail. We are airborne in short order, though fear still constricts my heart. I believe that every second counts. The dragon statue takes off. Its very flight bothers me because its wingspan should not possibly be enough to sustain its heavy weight. This affront to physics tickles the engineer in me though so, technically, does my body. Another part hopes that the Old One never learns I used his likeness as a cargo transport, or all is lost. No one speaks as we fly away from the battlefield and across the deserted plains. The tension is palpable. Even Slava¡¯s nervousness pierces through his stoicism. I whisper. I sigh. To be honest, I was a little foolish. Slava hisses with disbelief. I have never heard him do so. Suddenly, the world turns black and white. For the second time that day, I can see every bone in my body and for the second time, a kiss of heat leaves the taste of ash in my mouth. A shockwave hits us, sending my hair aflutter and forcing a swear word out of Stiglitz. I look back and see a second ball of fire engulf and devour the first one, most of the buildings still intact collapsing, shredded and abused. The Last City is a desolated wreck of its former self. In less than twenty-four hours since we arrived, a metropolis that had withstood the end of its world now breathes its last, gutted and charred beyond salvation. A second mushroom rises above what remains of the blackened skyline. ¡°God almighty,¡± Stiglitz whisper. We no longer speak after that. It takes seven minutes for the dragon statue to fly as fast as it can to the secret air strip. It lies hidden in a recess, portal mercifully open. Two damaged planes already wait on the tarmac, though I am using the term loosely. It is merely more than packed earth and a few camouflaged tents. Two anti aircraft guns open on us but they aim far too high and we are on the ground before they can truly do anything. The soldiers rushing out lower their weapons when they spot us. No one opposes me as I march resolutely through the portal and back on earth. I step out on green grass, rich, loamy air with the scent of golden wheat, the din of distant battle, and quite a few people. Aki says. Our newest Progenitor wields a blood-stained javelin over his armored shoulder. The black weapon glints in the light of nearby lanterns. I smell werewolf blood. My perception expands to cover our surroundings. We stand in the middle of a clearing with yet another airstrip built to be the continuity of the first one. Mages and soldiers rush around, carrying crates of ammunition and other supplies. It appears Nirari has already started. I spot Ollie standing by a table with human officers while Slava, Urchin and Stiglitz cross over. The leader of the Red Cabal looks majestic in his uniform. I ask. ¡± I ask, but he is already leaving. Ollie looks up when we approach. ¡°You are here, and earlier than I expected. Is it done?¡± A flash of blinding light lights up the aperture behind us. The earth shakes on the other side of the portal while it remains stable here, a disturbing sight. All three bombs have detonated. I am not quite sure what to think but I am quite sure the war is over. There is such a thing as overkill. Unfortunately, the fact often only becomes obvious in retrospect. ¡°It is thrice done. What is the situation here?¡± ¡°That is a relief. Well, hard to say, Ariane. Total chaos since ten minutes ago. Suddenly, everyone started firing at everyone while a wave of feral werewolves attacked our position. I felt Nirari¡¯s aura heading west towards that massive ritual. I assume this is bad news?¡± ¡°The ritual must succeed. What of the rest of the Accords?¡± ¡°When we lost contact with the base, they headed north towards the ritual site while Aki stayed behind to fight the werewolves. One of their masters reported that they had engaged Mask troops. I know little more. Ariane, everyone is moving in from everywhere. I heard reports that Amaretta squads deployed before everything went dark. They normally never fight. What is going on?¡± ¡°Semiramis is trying to become a god. Nirari is trying to eat her. We are on Semiramis¡¯ side. I made a contract with her.¡± ¡°I hope that contract is airtight.¡± ¡°I sent it to the Rosenthals for verification,¡± I tell him, feeling no need to elaborate. No one can wiggle out of a Rosenthal contract. Ollie turns to watch a blazing airship crash nearby, a trail of fire marking it advance. Flames erupt in a line a few hundred yards away. ¡°I need to move,¡± I tell him. I can feel the monstrous pulse of Semiramis¡¯ ritual needling me on. Nirari must be in this direction. At least she is still alive. I have no time to waste. Running is faster than flying here. I also need to consider mental fatigue. We have been fighting for over twelve hours now and even my mind needs rest. I hope I do not run into too many obstacles. ¡°We will clear you a path,¡± Ollie tells me, perhaps understanding my concerns. ¡°Over here!¡± ¡°I will stay here and find a radio,¡± Stiglitz tells me before heading off to the nearest tent. The redhead races, Aki by his side. I follow him through a nearby copse of trees to find the trenches he had mentioned. In front of us, several lines of fortifications and machine gun nests host a hive of moving soldiers in French uniforms and Red Cabal fighters in crimson. An empty field extends to faraway woods, now filled with mortar craters and the corpses of ferals. I recognize Jeffrey in the first line with a group of American werewolves. He is already transformed. Nervous soldiers reload and prepare. I notice that the French soldiers wield IGL guns rather than their own. ¡°Sharing my property with strangers?¡± I ask Ollie. ¡°Their rifles can¡¯t fire our silver bullets so we shared. Have you ever tried to use steel jacketed rounds on a mad werewolf?¡± ¡°No, I do believe I ever have.¡± ¡°I guess you wouldn¡¯t,¡± he grumbled ¡°Ah, here they come again.¡± A massive werewolf appears at the edge of the forest, soon surrounded by a mass of ferals. ¡°He has been testing us. Steady!¡± Ollie orders. The humans and mages abandon what they were doing to grab their weapons. ¡°I could just kill it,¡± I observe. ¡°That will make the ferals berzerk according to Jeffrey. He wants to kill the leader himself. He has refused my help,¡± Aki says with approval. ¡°I will open the way for you after they charge.¡± ¡°You go ahead,¡± Slava tells me. ¡°Urchin and I will catch up.¡± The enemy leader howls, a mournful sound closer to a dirge than a celebration of the hunt. The ferals do not seem to care and they rush in while he stays back. ¡°Steady¡­ Now! Fire!¡± Under Ollie¡¯s direction, the soldiers unleash a storm of silver. I notice that they attack everywhere except on a corridor that leads straight to the leader. Aki says. I follow him and Jeffrey as they charge the mass of attacking ferals. Jeffrey roars a challenge but the foe merely snarls, moving away. He intends to let us tire ourselves. Trees explode behind him. A long black arrow is lodged in the grass. The foe hesitates and that is all it takes for Jeffrey to roar again, and for battle to become inevitable. Aki skillfully carves a path for us with his spear. He throws it in front of him to skewer several foes before it shortly reappears in his hand. Our path leads us away from a large circle where Jeffrey and the foe duke it out while his men form a ring to cover his back. We are in the forest soon though I keep track of the duel for a while longer. Aki says by my side. I reply bitterly. Aki chuckles, a low rumble that shakes his whole frame. I can count on the fingers of a single hand the times I have seen him smile so his display comes as a surprise. He nods then heads back. I accelerate, leaving the woods behind. I race across fields and bases, finding desolation everywhere. Even here, far away from the base, the signs of conflict are omnipresent. Deserted bunkers and slaughtered patrols alternate with running groups of men firing at everything that moves, and above that, the urgent call of the ritual. Squadrons fly aimlessly overhead. Chaos rules everywhere. I consider the distance and whistle for Metis though it will slow me down even more. The valiant lady gallops the moment she appears without sass this time. She must be feeling my tension. I can see it soon after, as I leave another patch of wood. Far in front of me, a lonely hill surges out of the surrounding flatland, its top dominated by a dome of shimmering golden light. The power it would take to fuel such a construct boggles the mind but I remember that Semiramis has some way to store power. She has been storing it for a long time, apparently. The protections are still in place and do not appear to shake or flicker. I wonder what Nirari is doing. Between the hill and I, a battle is raging. In contrast with the Dead World¡¯s merciless struggle, this one is fast and moving, with groups constantly moving in and out before repositioning. I can spot a mass of warrior slaves and mercenaries arranged before the edge of the shield in a half-circle, the only constant in that ever-shifting contest. They appear to have engaged British soldiers as well as mercenaries I do not recognize. I do, however, recognize the hulking armors providing supporting fire. ¡°Loth¡­¡± I should hurry. Metis surges forward even faster. Entire fields disappear behind us on our mad race ahead. For a moment, I believe I am clear until auras approaching from the front force me to slow down. There are many of them and I fear leaving them at my back. I recognize old foes and friends as they grow closer. A wall of fire appears in front of me, the flames reaching as high as the tallest tree in a sudden conflagration. The edge of the wall immediately shifts and turns into a ball that slams back into the one who cast it. I hear invectives in Akkad. A mere push of the Aurora kills the inferno, allowing Metis and I to pass through. On the other side, I find a familiar duo. The two women stand face to face on a field of ash. The same heart-shaped faces and rictus of rage animate them. Being on Metis¡¯ back also makes their short stature even more obvious. S?a?ch* Th? Nov?lF?re .??t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. I would say they are having a small disagreement if I were in the mood for barbs. Melusine hisses at her distant relative. Martha of the Lancaster frowns though she does not take the bait. Power gathers in her hands, forming two blindingly bright flashes. I ask the war mage. she hisses. I huff at the provocation, or at least start to until I see a cunning glint in her eyes. More telling, Melusine has not used the opportunity to spew vitriol. Martha does not enjoy her predicament and she is sneakily attempting to tell me something. Bertrand appears before I can decipher the meaning of her comment. the Mask champion grumbles. He knows I can dispatch him in moments. he continues with a flat voice. The delivery is so deadpan that I stop and frown, momentarily thrown off. I am missing some context here. Constantine appears soon after in his golem armor. He stands far above the others in that colossal suit of enchanted silver and steel. Chains ripple on its surface. A few stomps bring him to my side. More and more vampires arrive from both Mask and the Accords. Adrian, Wilhelm and Jarek take their spot by my side while Rafael stands by Bertrand''s side. A blind man could tell the Mask vampires are less than thrilled to be here. Unfortunately, they gave their word. And I do. This is a contest for domination. Two world views clash tonight and the winner takes all. Nirari stands for sovereignty without compromise. I stand for unity of purpose. He stands on a mountain of corpses while I walk at the head of the living. I remember that brief confrontation with the reanimated dragon, the way matter and physical events seemed less important than meaning and corresponding actions. Perhaps tonight will be decided by a single stroke of the blade but in order for there to be a chance, I need to act my part. I need to be the leader I claim to be so that others may carry my vision as well. I need to fight Nirari as an equal. Ollie and Aki understood it. That is why they insisted on opening a path. I am merely a little slow. Constantine declares with absolute conviction. All it takes is a step forward. I need to trust them. I need to trust myself. I spared a thought to those who lost their lives making sure the day would come, not just for me to stand a chance against my sire, but also to do so with my mind intact. Dalton. Nashoba. Mannfred. Thank you. It was all worth it just for this moment. Auras explode on our side. Constantine¡¯s power is exceptionally domineering, like chains on one¡¯s shoulders. His golem armor¡¯s fist lifts, showing serrated, engraved claws. They point at Bertrand who seems really eager to be somewhere else. Magna Arqa explode all around as the Accords force falls on the reluctant Mask warriors. I push Metis who moves on at a smug canter while the vampire war rages all around us. Constantine grabs a lord in layers of Promethean chains before smashing another who had stepped on my path. The ground heaves with furious displays of power yet we never falter. After all, I am queen and queens stand above the melee. a Roland lady yells at my back. And I believe her. I let my intuition take over, if only for now. There is no need to rush. He is waiting for me. Relaxing my grip on the Aurora, I make way towards Nirari¡¯s main line of defense. I am a queen on her way to a contest, walking over a field of ice. All of the groups in the plain perceive my power and how could they not? They converge towards me. Among their numbers, one aura blazes like the north star and causes me no small amount of concern though I do not show it. It tastes¡­ ancient. And primal. Soon, a man stands in front of me with a retinue of elite warriors in old armor of chain and furs. The wild facial hair and stretched auras hint at their nature. Those are old and powerful Dvor lords. The first among them is a wide man with gray hair, a beard that reaches his belly, and a frown over a nose broken far too many times to keep its original shape. Disapproval radiates from him in waves. I am forced to stop which I fear may not be ideal until I remember that being opposed then let through will reinforce my image as queen. I merely need people to stand for me. In the meanwhile, I only need to stall. It should be easy. Dvor seems eager to speak. A measure of shock fills me. He speaks Akkad, as I do, and yet the meaning behind his words and the way he articulates them feels old and alien to me. He talks like one reads an ancient tablet gnawed by time. He probably saw it engraved. I am talking to a vampire as they were near the beginning. Nirari evolved. He did not. Well, time for a taste of modernity. he spits. a voice says from behind me. As before, people line by my side. The one who talked this time is of Dvor¡¯s blood which incenses him. Viktoriya rests her trident on her armored shoulder and stands, defiant and cocky. More Dvor line up by her side, the young and the hungry. I am surprised to see Dominique, de facto leader of Mask and the Roland twins come as well as a contingent of loyalists. It seems our current struggle has split factions in two. Brotherhood members are next, then Amaretta warriors with their glaives, then a group I have never seen before wearing silver mail and crosses. Those are the Vitiazi, Slava¡¯s supporters. The last group surprises me the most. Laestra the Shade trainer says as the Knights join my side. Finally those scoundrels are fulfilling their promise eighty years after I told them to sod off. There is hope yet. Or not. I do not see Octave among their ranks and he is one of the only ones who can genuinely threaten me due to his equalizing Magna Arqa. No matter. My role is set. There is no path but forward. Dvor grumbles but he is vastly outnumbered and he is no Devourer. Viktoriya says with an eager smirk. She is the first to lead the charge towards her Progenitor which I find quite courageous of her. Dvor¡¯s honor guard is forced to peel off by a multitude of Magna Arqa while the ancient monster himself stands his ground, that is until the leader of the Vitiazi brandishes a cross in his face. Dvor is forced back and I move through, still on the back of Metis and still unbothered. I am very close now. I can almost see the last line of defense. Behind me, familiar cries clue me that the battles I left behind me have joined as a general melee. The battle is reaching a paroxysm. I also realize that if I had to battle through all of this, I would have reached Nirari exhausted. I can finally see him, far away at the foot of the hill, his back to the golden shield. He is looking at me. *** The bunker was dark despite the pale glow of electric lights. The three men inside stood nervously across a table. Confused reports came every minute from different sources but all agreed that the portal to the dead world had closed and that slave warriors fought on the plains. Despite the late hour, summer heat never left them. They sweated under tight uniforms that clung to them. They glare at each other and the map. They had discussed this before but now that action was required, no one dared take the lead. Worse, the situation was simply too chaotic. Some said that the main base had been attacked and others that the Last City was razed to the ground. Uncertainty weighed on their shoulders. They knew the decision they had to take might lead to the pantheon of heroes or to a place in Hades¡¯ collections. They knew that no matter what, it would end in history books. The fate of the planet hung in the balance. ¡°Gentleman, we will not get a better chance,¡± the central figure finally said. ¡°May God forgive us for what we are about to do,¡± the left man said, always eager to follow the first. The third man hesitated. He had always been the voice of reason. Now though, he realized the first man was right. The vampires had all gathered in one spot. This blight upon mankind could not be rooted out without a full commitment of the population, one the heathens would never tolerate, yet in their arrogance they had all gathered in one spot. It was as if a cancer had retracted its insidious tendrils and gathered in a single, easily operable spot. Healthy tissue would have to be excised as well, they realized. Hundreds of thousands of patriots defending their land would fall when they pressed the button but it would neutralize the aristocracy of the night and break them for millennia. Perhaps even forever. All the intelligence sources agreed that their strongest members were all in attendance. The first man was right. They would never get a better chance. Mankind would never get a better chance. ¡°I will do it,¡± he finally agreed. The three made their way to the radio station in solemn silence. The sentries on duty paled when they spotted the three together. Those brave men knew what it entailed. Many began to pray. Jaws locked in the radio room. The central man approached a long device and inserted a key in consternated silence, soon followed by the three others until a complex machine was revealed. He pushed a dial and a number appeared on a slim sheet of paper. The central man approached the nearest radio then took the microphone. Besides him, an operator had already selected the right frequency with trembling fingers. ¡°Eiger this is central three, please confirm your current position and heading, over.¡± ¡°This is Eiger, we are circling over Home One at seventeen thousand feet, over.¡± ¡°Eiger, prepare to receive the code.¡± The central man read twelve numbers in a slow, deliberate voice, then he repeated them to complete the protocol. He soon received acknowledgement. The central man took a deep breath. This was it. ¡°Eiger, you are clear to drop the package. I repeat¡ª¡± Gloved, delicate fingers stole the microphone from his rigid fingers with disconcerting ease. He felt like a child whose prized toy was snatched by his mother. Shock froze him in his tracks. ¡°Picard, is that you darling?¡± a female voice asked. Said voice belonged to a beautiful woman with mesmerizing gray eyes under black locks. She smiled in a sinister fashion. He had no idea where she could have come from. It was as if she had appeared from thin air. ¡°This¡­ yes? Who is it? What is going on?¡± ¡°It was the best of times. It was the worst of times.¡± The three men beheld a fit body clad in a positively scandalous black bodysuit, but they were soon fixated on black gun she held in her left hand, barrel ending in a thick cylinder. ¡°Lady Constance? What can I do for you?¡± the bomber pilot finally said. The three men gasped but they were alone. All around them, the operators and sentries looked ahead in bovine dazzlement. A song like a distant hum teased their ears though they could not quite hear it. There was something about the woman¡¯s eyes. Something cold. So very cold. ¡°Belay that order Picard. Come home.¡± ¡°Understood, Lady Constance.¡± The three men could only watch in horror as the stranger returned the microphone to the operator. She never broke eye contact. ¡°Who are you?¡± the central man finely demanded. ¡°Oh. I am insurance. Farewell.¡± The stranger lady raised her gun and, calmly, shot them each in the head. Chapter 223: Conquest, Incarnate It was a beautiful thing, to witness the birth of a god.Semiramis hovered over a circle of incomprehensible proportions. No matter how many times Jimena tried to wrap her head around it, the scene before her always seemed to shimmer and fade, replaced by another ephemeral burst of radiance that should not have been here. It was as if dimensions and perspectives were an annoyance the spell struggled against. It pushed the boundaries one by one before retracting, gathering strength for another attempt. Aura so powerful it pushed against her, shook the weave and gave the air the subtle taste of ash. It did little to attenuate the breathtaking display. Those were arcane she wanted nothing to do with. She was more than happy to leave those to her sister and keep to her blade, thank you very much. Her thoughts went to Aintza, outside and hopefully safe in the Red Cabal camp. She would have enjoyed the lights. Her mind was wandering. Semiramis had picked an isolated spot deep in the warrens of the world. She had sealed all access except for one, a cave in a lone mountain over the plains east of Warsaw, where the world was thin and fragile. She had woven her cocoon of wards and traps, then Ari had sent Jimena and a few others to act as a last line of defense. The defenses were specifically meant to evoke the sun and they were specifically aimed at a single person. That old monster now sat outside, far above and beyond. He was held off for now, but Jimena could still feel a distant gaze over her shoulder. Cadiz had trained her and there was no one more guilty on this planet than Nirari, save perhaps his mother. Nevertheless, she kept her peace. One thing Cadiz had taught her was to avoid fights she could not hope to prevail if she could help it. Footsteps echoed in the tunnel in front of her. There were no decorations in the empty cave. Not even lights. The magic was enough to let even a mole see. For all the labyrinths the old witch had prepared, her defenses would not have been enough. The footsteps were deliberate too. He wanted them to know he was coming. Jimena stepped in front of the tunnel entrance with her blade a comfortable weight in her hand. Diego took her left. He was a spear-wielding lord trained by Cadiz as well. John took her right in an armor so heavy every step shook the earth. They were some of the best defensive fighters of vampirekind. Malakim stepped out of the shadows. Despite the cruel man¡¯s smirk, it was clear that the wards were weakening him, taking their toll with the pressure of the sun itself. Yellow light shone on his naked arms and Jimena could swear she could see the skin peel and turn to ash in some places. It would not be enough but it would be a start. Behind her, the ritual gained in intensity. Semiramis was defenseless, her entire attention dedicated to the complex spell as it bloomed into being. Almost there. An hour at most. Malakim would not give them an hour. Malakim hissed. Jimena saw no hint of a doubt on the cursed Devourer¡¯s face, not a shred of consideration for his opponent. He was absolutely certain of his victory. Jimena would enjoy wiping that smirk off his face. Jimena scoffed. Malakim drew. Diego and John took her side. Malakim rushed forward like a tornado. His powerful thrust whistled through the air on its way to her heart, Jimena grunted and struck up with all her might. The blow was barely deflected but it pinged against a timely raised shield. John was slow but he was quite strong and really good at following directions. Her counter was parried and she was forced to move back, just as practiced. Diego¡¯s spear appeared besides Malakim, blindsiding him yet he still managed to veer away. Another furious assault began. Jimena deflected some of the vicious strikes, attacking unexpectedly while leaving her heart open to Malakim¡¯s obvious surprise but there was always a shield on the way. He aimed for her head but a spear tip grazed his face, almost taking the eye. It was clear Malakim was unused to being contested, especially by people he believed to be his inferiors. A sideway sweep clanged against all three defenses and left him wide open. None of the defenders took the bait. Jimena saw a vicious eye glaring at her over the extended shoulder and knew it was a trap just as her window closed. Malakim took a few steps back, still sneering. Malakim resumed his reckless offensive, or so it seemed, but Jimena saw it for what it was. Malakim¡¯s entire style revolved around his disregard for pain and the knowledge that the chestplate would protect him against any attack. What seemed like wide openings were all feints he wanted them to fall for. His ceaseless offense teased out the beast in her. Her dark aspect wanted to rise to the challenge, to punish him. The fencer in her ground her teeth at the flawed style. Malakim was a living invitation to make mistakes. Thankfully, she was prepared and so were the others. Diego only aimed for the head. John only defended her, covering a side at all times. Malakim realized it and suddenly veered to her left to strike at the vulnerable Natalis master. At the same moment, the entire formation pivoted. Jimena lunged and caught the Devourer in the arm while Diego managed to score a gash on his leg. Makalim¡¯s blade still smashed against the shield, pushing John¡¯s titanic form back. To his surprise, the shield held. When he pulled back, there was not even a hint of damage on the monumental slab of enchanted metal. There was also not a hint of emotion in the twin brown eyes peering through the closed visor. Not even fear. The three repositioned, not pressing the assault even though Malakim was wounded. They knew he would only use it to his advantage. Malakim was twisted and resourceful. He thrived off chaos. They would deny him that chaos. Jimena replied with well-deserved smugness. They exchanged another few blows. Her triad moved fluidly, just like in training. Malkim spat as his efforts failed once again. Jimena weighed her options, then decided that making him angrier and prone to mistakes would serve them better. Malakim screamed incoherently and the assault redoubled. *** The first vampire did not move, which meant that there were more hurdles yet. I could feel the next one rushing in. Metis stopped, feeling his approach. Octave walks in with grief plain on his handsome features. His knight armor is the most elaborate I have ever seen. He blocks my path. In a way, I feel sorry for him. When I followed Jimena into reclaiming my freedom from an order that betrayed me, I was fully aware that I was dealing with the most corrupt elements within their ranks. Octave has always been a believer and his path has always been that of the blade. People like him, those who pursue a goal with singular focus, often fail at seeing the flaws and risks within those who help them along. I can lay the blame for his neglect at his own feet but I can never accuse him of dishonesty. I will also never forget the passion he displayed when training me to the best of his abilities before I turned the sword he helped me forge and metaphorically plunged it into his breast. It would make a confrontation unpleasant if I ever intended to fight him. he softly accuses. Ah, he feels like monologuing. Well, time should be on my side, after all. More steps from the side. A large man in a flowing armor of wood and stone stops in front of me with pale hair freely falling down his back. Torran replied. The armor flows, covering his face as if the wood is alive. Which it absolutely is. Torran orders, and Octave feels compelled into accepting. It would not do for a vaunted duelist to refuse a duel. They leave and I am once again on the move. The last hurdle before me is paradoxically the weakest, the one I could probably clear simply by walking. Fortifications typical of this region of the world where danger could come from any corner hide very different groups. Nirari¡¯s slave warriors occupy trenches in front of me, their inferior weapons brandished yet unused. They are perfectly silent and grouped in a way that hints at discipline if not at superior training. They number in the thousands, their lines disappearing behind a hill far to my left. Their flank is covered by an assembled mass of Germans harried by furious officers who needle them to bring the fight to another contingent of European soldiers, those ones directly to my right and wearing the colors of a British highland regiment. It is clear at first sight that the highlanders had to turn their entire formation very quickly to face the new threat, yet they still enjoy a massive superiority in the presence of Dvergur shock troops in elaborate steam armor. I recognize Loth¡¯s own making its way towards me. The earth soldiers on both sides take half-hearted potshots at the other, clearly not too happy about the situation. The expanse of grass between them remains empty, however. It is one thing to recognize an unmotivated foe and quite another to test them. I need to find a way to break the status quo. Suddenly, the radios that had been silent until now blare a message in English of all things. I recognize Stiglitz¡¯ voice. The British soldiers stop firing at the sky. At the same time, the same voice is transmitted to the German side. A pre-recorded message, perhaps. ¡°This is General Stiglitz addressing all the defenders of mankind. Listen well, men, because this is the most important order you will receive in your lives. Perhaps you have heard the rumor and I will confirm it. We have destroyed the Last City, razed it to the ground. We have broken the liches. Our purpose is achieved but we have not won, not yet. One last push of mercenaries and monsters aims to take control over us. They seek to exploit the chaos to fulfill their nefarious needs at the moment of our unity. The seeds of distrust were sowed and now they seek to harvest us. I say no. I say, we show them that no matter what face they wear, those who seek to break us shall fail. I say forget your flags and your uniforms until dawn shines upon us once more. Stand shoulder to shoulder against the darkness with warriors of every nation. Find the golden light and defend it, champions of humanity because the field must be ours no matter the cost. Stand up and FIGHT!¡± One of the German officers rushes forward over the trenches, vociferating in vain. A gray-beared sergeant stands and punches him in the face. Like one man, the entire German line turns on their compromised officers. The punishment is swift. Well, it seems my solution is all found then. Nirari¡¯s slave warriors barely have time to reform when the onslaught of steel takes them in the flank at point blank range. English soldiers rise from their trenches with fixed bayonets to join the fray across the devastated plain. Dvergur armor suits walk forward to support them. The wave of soldiers overwhelms the first line of defenses in seconds but Nirari¡¯s warriors are disciplined and they do not fear death. They regroup in order then the battle in the trenches grows fierce. Nevertheless, humans have swept away the last obstacle. ¡°Right. I¡¯ll leave ye to it then. And keep those basterds off yer arse. Ariane?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Give him hell.¡± ¡°You have my word.¡± The king charges off then while I dismount from Metis to ascend the steps towards the throne. Each of my steps leaves behind ribbons of frost expanding like flakes. My sire watches me climb with a satisfied smile. S?a?ch* Th? ?ov?l?ir?.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. He stands just as I reach the pedestal. We face off then. He, taller in his armor of obsidian, me in the Aurora shining with the colors of winter. He slowly reaches behind him to bring forth a black-plumed helmet which he slowly places over his head. A crown as dark as the void mirrors the cobalt dragon horns decorating the sides of my visor. It is time. I feel one last pang of regret for all those who brought me here without seeing it to the end. I will make them all proud. Their sacrifices will not be in vain. I start, Nirari smiles and for once, it is not condescending. He sighs, eyes dreamy. I somehow feel as if I were watching myself from afar as I call for Rose, mirroring Nirair who summons his glaive. We salute to a background of screams, gunshots, and explosions. The Watcher opens his eye to reality. A great breath goes over the battlefield as even the mundane combatants feel the weight of its alien attention but the battle soon resumes. We are observed in this defining moment. This is it. The fight I have been dreading for over a century since I saw Nirari casually plunge his hand into a lord¡¯s chest. The time has come. I have done everything I could to have a chance and now, I can seize it. I discard all my concerns and the lingering fear of his power. They will not help me here. The die is cast. We charge each other. For the first time since the dragon, I pour all my power and mobilize all my strength in this fight. I push myself to the limit. The world around me slows down until the humans are barely moving at all. Mortar explosions are but flowers of fire and steel blooming leisurely in the background. Spells dance across the air while other vampires are graceful dancers fleeting across the land. By the Watcher, I can see bullets. I could stop them. I dive under a horizontal slash and lunge at the same time. Nirari turns on himself to let Rose¡¯s tip glance off his armor. He finishes his rotation with another slash. Cannot dodge, but can block. I deflect. The two soul weapons rake against each other with a grinding sound. He pushes me back with the shaft. I let him and counter. Strong. Fast. There are symbols on the black plates of his own armor. Not used yet. I attack again. Nirari uses his reach advantage to strike at me but Rose extending means that I can surprise him. A parry turns into an attack on his gauntlets, which he respects by twisting the ghastly glaive. Close in. Rose is now a sword and I have the advantage. A flurry of blows is hastily blocked then he moves away. He is the most physically powerful enemy I have crossed blades with yet I am faster. I am used to that. Cadiz taught me how to fight with speed. I follow him. We weave across the battlefield in a flurry of quick exchanges. Earth shatters and lifts in great rocks across our path but we are gone before it can even reach human height. Soldiers die between us without ever realizing they were in danger. We dance across the cones of machine gun fires. We hop over exploding ordinance. We swat shrapnel aside mid explosion. It is a contest like no others. The king of all hunts. I have never felt so alive. It is¡­ fantastic. A fast exchange and we end up splitting. I see an opening. I take it. Our spells meet, strand for strand, and explode in a cataclysmic shock that sends dust sky high. I use flying debris as stepping stones. I am airborne, though not for long. A thrust. Nirari blocks but he is forced back by the power of the blow. He does not quite fight like what Cadiz showed me. Too graceful and conservative. We fight at maximum range, whip against glaive. Each blow deflected carves through the land. We leave scars behind. We reach a pack of vampires and move around them as they fight their own duels. I manage to redirect a soul spear to where Nirari will be, forcing him back once more. I close in and Nirari shoulder checks me. My intuition screams but it feels confused. Of course, it is confused. He probably ate quite a few seers. It matters not. I know I have to act so I roll with the blow and claw at his helmet. The talons rake the side, leaving gashes in the obsidian. The shriek is atrocious. I bounce and strike at the same time, forcing him to pull back a punch. He is too physically imposing, have to be careful not to get grabbed too easily. He comes at me again. I dodge behind a flying boulder then hit it. Heartseeker carves through it. And right into a faceful of chains. They surround him on all sides. He drops his glaive. What? Nirari¡¯s form shivers, then he appears a few feet away. Oh, of course I knew he could do that. Still¡­ Troublesome. My turn to be defensive. Nirari likes to alternate quick jabs followed by sweeping, powerful swings. He is so damn STRONG. I peel off. I have to use Rose as a sword because the whip gets slapped aside. Nirari grabs an entire tank and slams it into my face. He dares? Using technology against me? Grab the gun as it falls. Complete circle. Slam him back. Hear the pureed pilots. Groan of steel and parts screeching. Close in and stab him. STAB HIM. Faster now, as fast as we can. We know each other well. We have grown used to our styles. The space grows more narrow, the attacks more precise. He tries to smash me away.. Block with the grinding part of Rose and block the blade with my elbow. Grab it. I kick up and catch his fist as it descends on my face. An opening. The chains touch him, latch on the armor. Red runes shine and disrupt the spells structure but those were designed by Constantine and they are sturdy. They pile on. I close in for the kill. Any time now. Any time. He joins his hands and teleports away. I turn and draw the dragonslayer revolver as he reappears. The gun roars. The bullet crashes against the left side of his helmet. Obsidian explodes. The fragments destroy a machine gun nest. A ricochet obliterates a small hill on its way out. Nirari stumbles. I see flesh. I charge. Nirari bellows. He catches my spell on an armguard. I am sent flying by a wave of pure force. The earth is peeled around me, revealing sheer rock. Can¡¯t see him but I still feel him. Need to hunt him. Cannot let the pressure go. His blade shears through soil to find the first mirage I have used in ages. His blade disappears into the illusion. I see his eyes widen. He is out of balance. He still leans against my blow. His chest armor shrieks under Rose¡¯s ravenous edge. He uses the power of the blow to turn. We both slice at the same time. I catch him in the jaw where the helmet has broken. He hits Aurora on the chest. Specks of eternal ice fly off. We are pushed away from each other. Now, we stand apart at the same distance we began. I move my shoulder as if stretching. I felt that blow to my bones but I appear to be intact. The gash in the Aurora¡¯s flank is already closing with every pulse of the winter¡¯s gem embedded on my chest. Time takes its hold back on us. We appear in the midst of a particularly violent confrontation between Cadiz squads and crumbling Mask loyalists. The duels stop once we appear while the fighters step back at a respectful distance, eyes lowered despite their own powers. None try to take advantage of the situation. Around us, hills fall apart, men are tossed like sticks of wood in a storm. Showers of gravel and minced flesh fall like rain to mark our passage. Screams of horror ring where we have carved rocks, weapons and people in our attempt to murder each other. For a moment, the battlefield holds its breath as every pair of eyes in range from the most humble private to the mightiest lord search to find exactly how close they are to the cataclysm that can devour them before they realize it. An expanding circle of emptiness spreads when they find exactly how close they are to us. Debris are still falling when my opponent finally moves. Nirari slowly places his fingers against his wounded cheek, then watches the black liquid smudge with unbridled fascination. His face splits into the most beatific, the most unadulterated expression of felicity I never expected to see. I watch with shock as thick tears drip down his eyes. A deep, rumbling laugh shakes his massive frame. It rises to ecstatic, then almost hysterical intensity. The part of me that wants to attack while his guard is down remains powerless in front of the fascinated horror that fills me. What¡­ is happening? Do my eyes deceive me? Have I gone mad, or as he? Nirari is capable of feeling happiness? Satisfaction? What strange sorcery is this? Power explodes from his frame. Even the grass at his step dries up, taking on a red tinge. The purple gaze of the Watcher now covers the cloud, the hills. We are at the center of its attention. Ah. Yes. Now that is what I expected. Nirari bull rushes me. Now, his style is angry, overwhelming. Each swing or thrust is backed by his whole body. I am forced to block rather than deflect once and am sent crashing through several trees. Even the Aurora will not suffice. That is fine. That is completely fine. That is the style I trained to face. The one that closely resembles my own. I use entomb to disappear under a sweeping strike then stab up through the earth. Got him. Chipped the armor. He stomps and pushes me up in the air. I taste blood when he punches me in the chest, even through the armor. Would have caved my entire chest in. We are fighting again before the soil even completes its ascent. Quick strikes, fast strikes. I close in the distance just to break his rhythm. I allow glancing blows on my armor just so I can retaliate. Mirages confuse him a few more times though it is a close thing. Exhilarating. I cannot stop, cannot break away. I have to overwhelm him. Add more dents to his obsidian defenses because they will not regrow. The Aurora heals every attack. Time is on my side. We dance faster and faster. I kneel and stop an overhead strike. He smirks and presses down but a mortar round lands at his feet. He loses his footing. We have moved before dust reaches our knees. We race around Dvor lords locked in fratricidal combat. He pushes me into Martha¡¯s fire. ¡°Polar midnight.¡± I swing with my feet firmly planted while he sprints on the tip of his toes, flinging him against Constantine¡¯s hell of chains. He bounces and teleports again. Another predicted path. Another bullet of the dragonslayer, this one against his chest. He is pushed back, then surges back with a deafening roar. He is enjoying every moment of this. So am I. We lock blades. I am pushed down and away. We cast shred at the same time. The resulting explosion levels a hill. We are blasted away once again and find ourselves standing aside from each other. Nirari breathes, armor damaged. He is still smiling. His aura jumps and then explodes. I am forced to stay where I am or risk being undone. Crosses burn blue hundreds of yards from us, so intense the release is. Our eyes meet. His are purple and slitted. Chapter 224: Three Parts Ascension Light. Pain. I am pushed back.Not the sun. Too red and angry, like blood on warm sand. Too dim¡­ for now. I still live. Nirari rises in the air, laughing, arms spread in the beatitude of pure abandon. An incandescent red sphere has appeared on his back like a giant halo, the regalia of an ancient sky god. He is so joyful and relaxed. Gravity has lost its hold on him. He rises and his light spreads everywhere, ghastly yet so very powerful. His presence casts shadows on fallen trees, splintered rocks, and the wrecks of the conflict. The closest masters die before I can react. Far in the valley, a bird sings to greet the defective sunrise. It is the only noise to break the oppressive, numbing silence and pressure of his presence. No one challenges his ascent and no one strikes him. I cannot even consider doing it. He is a sun, bathing us with his merciless radiance to reveal our flaws and the inherent weakness of our nature. I can already taste ash at the back of my throat. The last dawn of Babylon is upon us. A forest of thorns covers my allies before more can die, cover me as well. The light hurts me through the Aurora. It can stop fire but this is different. Nirari is our anathema and our hope at the same time, the hope that one day we can escape the vengeance of the sun purifier. I cannot face the light. No, I must. He cannot go uncontested. Roots cover us, cover me. I am out of the rays. Immediately, the awe and despair leave me, pushed back by my own outraged ego. Wow. He certainly has some gall presenting himself as a savior. My forest shivers now that the men inside have started to recover. I extend my protection to enemies as well, if only because it costs me no effort to offer a unified defense. The battle has stopped anyway. With my own power extended, I realize we were winning quite handily, not that numbers will make any difference now. Nirari steps on thin air towards me. The nearest roots recoil from the damage his very presence inflicts. Cadiz did warn me that merely looking upon him would be difficult but I never expected this crushing might. I cannot even stand in front of him without losing my focus. Was the blood of the Old One truly not enough to bridge the abyss between us? My only salvation will be in the ace I brought. If only I had not left it behind¡­ ¡°Skipper, talk to me,¡± I whisper in my earring. ¡°This is Ollie, I¡¯m acting as relay. The Fury is diving into the portal now. ETA one minute.¡± Well, I need to hold on for a minute. I have to do it. I have to stand up to him, now, or he will be unopposed. He cannot have the field. If he does, then all is lost. The ritual is gaining in intensity, I can tell. We only need to contain him for a little longer. He is going to kill me. He is going to kill me. With the bloody SUN at his back. THE SUN. THE SUN. THE¡ª Quiet, my instincts. This is a ploy. I whisper, and yet, the words carry. Nirari merely laughs. A mass crashes into the forest and only the strange effect I have on space allows me to be somewhere else as it lands. Roots are crushed, tendrils are burned. Shattered thorns return to dust. The first vampire only has to walk and all but my stoutest roots can¡¯t even resist his presence. I try to bat at him a few times. He slaps the roots away. I call upon statues but they are instantly destroyed without accomplishing anything. I have to get out and¡ª I freeze in my tracks while Nirari turns with ponderous majesty. I feel the forest shift in answer to one I am protecting. Roots peel off to reveal the glittering form of Constantine¡¯s golem. A wave of power expands outward with the challenge. I can feel Constantine falter in my sphere, see the rictus of terror on his traits. I¡­ I need time that he can buy. I must help him. A twitch of the roots wakes him up from his fright. Nirari waits, expectant. He is so certain of his victory. I distinctly see Nirari¡¯s surprise turn to shock then annoyance when Constantine lifts his extremely hefty machine gun, which he proceeds to empty on his target. The first vampire raises a massive shield of blood to stop the onslaught and it works¡­ to a degree. Nirari might be a pagan god but every bullet spat at him was carefully carved by a master enchanter and there are a lot of them. I can see when arrogance turns to doubt, then focus. The armor golem¡¯s second arm sputters, then spits a thick liquid. I can feel the heat from here, hundreds of yards away. Nirari¡¯s shield expands, bubbles and hisses, poorly matched blood struggling to keep the fire at bay. Nevertheless, he is not without recourse. I close roots over Constantine the moment I expect Nirari to move. His thrown glaive pierces through my strongest defense and reaches the cockpit¡­ only to ping off Constantine¡¯s own monstrous defenses. Chains whip out to join the double assault. Nirari huffs and teleports to the side, his glaive returned. The fire he left behind suddenly roars then rushes at him to our surprise. Melusine whispers as she steps from the edge of the forest in her fire form. That harridan upstages me at my own final battle! Unbelievable. Nirari gestures and a torrent of blood washes over the flame in a tidal wave, drowning them with a cacophonous hiss. He chuckles and gestures. S~?a??h the N???lFire.n?t website on G??gl? to access chapters of n?vels early and in the highest quality. A field of crimson blades erupts in every direction, slamming into my forest with devastating effect. I attempt to shield the two and fail. Constantine¡¯s golem loses the flamethrower arm. Melusine loses a leg. They are forced back. Nirari flinches and moves his hand. I do not¡ª A loud bang spreads a shockwave that flattens the nearest tendrils. Nirari is pushed back, his feet digging a furrow in the ground. When he stops moving, we are boh surprised to see an arrow planted through his forearm, the obsidian vambrace shattered. I recognize that one. It belongs to Slava. Something shifts. We have all resisted him little by little and the effects of our wakening auras are compounding to force his own back. Oh, I am still afraid as are the others but now we can at least function. The time was granted by Nirari himself. He could not resist gloating after all. The Myrddin is next to act. He activates a scepter with an amber stone at its tip. This time, true light hits a blood shield and pierces through it almost immediately. Nirari is forced to move and I use a tendril to guide the mage¡¯s aim since he cannot follow by himself. I sadly fail but Nirari is forced to sacrifice many precious seconds. I close the roots around my ally just before Nirari strikes him and he is now somewhere else. There was never a doubt in my mind that he would execute me. Others may be useful tools, I have grown too much to tolerate. Fortunately, the distraction has lasted long enough. I hear the Fury¡¯s engines roaring overhead. ¡°Package away,¡± a voice says in my ear piece. I perceive the Fury roaring at the edge of my spheres, all engines at maximum. A heavy silver box slams down at some distance without Nirari noticing or caring. I reply. With one step, the box appears next to me while Nirari destroys an entire copse with a swing of his glaive. I may have lost people here. I find focusing on both tasks a little difficult. The box surrenders its content and I attach a second layer over the Aurora. Piece by piece, the armor lodges itself over the powerful set. I feel a pang of outrage and ignore it. Hoarfrost spreads as spider webs on the new addition. Pah. Temperamental garments, the bane of all ladies of the world. With a last strap, I am ready. I pleasantly say as I exit the forest, just as Nirari faces me with renewed disbelief. I barely feel the pressure of his sun. My eyes are of no use under the thick faceplate and that is fine. I can feel Nirari in my sphere. I swing Rose. I feel¡­ better. Back to being myself. I deflect the first blow and am still sent like a puppet against the nearest tree. So¡­ so very strong. I deflect the next one by cutting upward with my extended whip. It feels like hitting a wall, the kind I cannot break. Such stupid strength! The false sun at his back bubbles and in the recess of that disk, I perceive the emerging forms of screaming faces before they are subsumed under the surface once more. He is powered by death and there has been a lot of it. A short exchange ends with me slammed into the ground, forcing me to use my last Dragonslayer bullets to keep him at bay. I¡­ am running out of options. Jumping up, I use the forest to impede his movement. It barely slows him down. The light burns my roots. Nirari lunges as I disappear under a hedge. His body just smashes roots aside and he finds himself nose to nose with the second item contained in the silver box: my own repeater gun. The weapon vomits a torrent of enchanted silver. A few score more marks on his armor then most of them are blocked by yet another blood shield of immense power. Nevertheless, he is pushed back. I dodge under a monstrous blow. He might, in fact, crush me. The follow up blow comes too fast for me to dodge. A mirage spell gives me a moment to recover my balance. I deflect another, jump over a third and catch the fourth with Rose before it caves my chest in. I am sent tumbling on a pillow of roots. The Aurora protects me for now but I can already hear creaks, weaknesses in the mirrors. I cannot stop him at his full power. I can barely even slow him down. Not good. *** ¡°We are losing,¡± Urchin whispered. It hurt to admit. The bosswoman knew her business and she had prepared for a long time. Didn¡¯t matter in the end. Power was power. General Stiglitz stood by his side. The man had rushed here at the head of an armored column and was now busy placing bullets in his service pistol. He didn¡¯t seem worried. ¡°I don¡¯t think that will faze him. You might as well pray,¡± the Vanheim said with more bitterness than he expected. He wanted the boss woman to win. To prove the young and cunning could surpass the old and entrenched. It mattered to him a lot. ¡°Herr vampire, do you perhaps know the parable of the three ships and the drowning man?¡± ¡°Can¡¯t say I do.¡± ¡°A drowning man prays for God to save him from the sea¡¯s embrace. Three boats come, one after another, and offer him rescue but he says God will answer his call. He eventually dies and when he faces the pearly gates, he asks God, why did you not help me? And what does God answer?¡± ¡°I sent you three boats.¡± The general nodded gravely while the tanks spread out around him. More soldiers, mages, and allied vampires were pouring in by the minute under the protective canopy of the thorn forest. ¡°Ja. When you pray to Him to deliver you from evil, do not expect an angel with a fiery sword. Expect to find a gun. And we already have that gun.¡± ¡°You are right,¡± Urchin replied. He looked at the form-changing blade. It would not make much of a difference. He would certainly die. He would fight anyway. ¡°Warten Sie einen Moment. Wait a moment, Herr vampire. You misunderstand. I will not throw us in the meat grinder. You said your mistress draws strength from the living while her sire draws strength from those who died by his hand, correct?¡± ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°And she drinks essence from her thorns?¡± ¡°... yes? Oh.¡± Stiglitz smiled and calmly grabbed a nearby root. The thorns bit into his flesh. Crimson liquid dripped down his glove but he never lost his smile. ¡°Then we shall provide it.¡± ¡°I did not think of that.¡± ¡°And that is why, mein freund, I am the general. For the Queen of Thorn and Hunger.¡± ¡°For the Queen of Thorn and Hunger,¡± Urchin agreed. He grabbed a tendril. A shiver ran through the forest. *** Naminata pulled her spear back and spared a glance at the Vanheim master a little further. Ariane¡¯s man. He and a few others had grabbed roots and were now offering their blood to her little cupcake. The ritual aspect of the offering was turning it into a massive blood sacrifice of a proportion she had never seen before, while more and more creatures of all sorts joined. *** The Cadiz line stopped and regrouped. The field was theirs as the last foe had surrendered. Ceron and Suarez felt the change overtaking the forest. They heard the call of the improvised ritual and its raw, primal power. It was almost ¡®alive¡¯. Suarez said. The two exchanged a glance. They chuckled and grabbed the nearest branch, soon followed by the others. *** ¡°You know, we slept together, her and I.¡± Isaac mentioned. He was not sure why he felt like mentioning that. ¡°Is this the right time to boast about your romantic life, sir?¡± the mercenary captain by his side asked. ¡°No better time.¡± He grabbed the offered branch. The captain eyed the thorns with distrust. ¡°Must we really?¡± ¡°I cannot pay you if we are all dead.¡± ¡°A fair point, sir.¡± *** Viktoriya of the Dvor explained as her blood pooled. ¡± Commenus of the Dvor winced. The two pondered the similarities. *** Torran said. Octave considered the branch. Torran stood at a distance, wounded but still very much a danger. The long wound down his own chest served as a reminder of the soul smith¡¯s mastery of the blade. The old knight looked at his feet. He felt¡­ empty. Even revenge had lost its meaning. It had done so long ago. The two men stood on opposite sides of a clearing, unmoving. They did not speak for a while. Octave finally agreed, and he kneeled to grab on a root. *** Constantine called for the liana. It snaked along his suit¡¯s arm and then through the tiny hole in his cockpit. Thorns caressed his skin. He flexed his arm and they bit. It didn¡¯t hurt as much as he expected. He wondered if the request was perhaps too formal. *** The Myrddin glared. Ollie didn¡¯t mind much. He¡¯d been glared at before. ¡°Young man, you have no idea what you are getting yourself into. Vampires cannot be trusted. You are selling your soul to one who is undeserving. Her reign could be even worse than his own.¡± Ollie grabbed the branch tighter and lifted it so the blood would trickle down his arm. He maintained eye contact with the old man. ¡°Pussy.¡± The Myrddin seethed in silence for a good ten seconds, then he grabbed the damn liana. *** ¡°How many damn times do ah need to pull yer arse out of the damn fire with my red stuff, lass? I¡¯m not a bloody dispensary!¡± *** *** Jeffrey didn¡¯t enjoy the hybrid form very much at this moment. He felt the urge to speak but his instincts insisted he should howl to signal the attack instead. It was a historical occasion too! He couldn¡¯t wait to tell June. In the meanwhile, had to help the boss woman win. His paw descended on an exposed root. He had to try and say at least something! Mark the occasion. ¡°Arf!¡± For shame. *** So. Much. So much essence, so much life force. So much! I am going to explode! I block Nirari¡¯s strike. Not deflect. Block. My feet dig grooves on the ground but I arrest his momentum. Our eyes meet. I punch him in the face. I think he was not expecting that. Nirari smashes into a tree, which I am now powerful enough to twist into another tree, and another three before energy explodes out, undoing them. They have regrown before he is fully standing. Nirari roars and the light blasts out. ¡°Nu Sharran.¡± My first spell, the darkness one, surges forward like a bolt of shadow, fighting his light for dominance. Its power shields me and from this protective aegis, I strike¡­ and so does Slava. Nirari blocks the arrow but not my blade, which smashes through the weakened armor on his flank and¡­ stops. Nirari is still pushed back by the violence of the blow and for one fugacious moment, I spot the ominous glint of old scale. Of course he would have made dragon armor for himself. I will just have to dismember him then, and before my followers inevitably run out of energy. I rush ahead and unleash a flurry of blows. He blocks and parries, then counter-attacks. Our dance is one of finely tuned chaos. I clip him with the end of the whip, body so close to the ground I barely reach his knee. He slams the glaive down and the ground explodes out. I kick a stone. He uses a spell to fan the rest at me. We fight through a blur of dust, now used to each other¡¯s style. Easy, when we almost mirror one another. He ignores a mirage spell and believes he catches me off guard. In the distance, the beat of a music begins. Nirari¡¯s body jerks while I dance with it. I stab him in the leg in that brief instant before he understands. he protests. He must have never met Nami. I push him back in the path of Jarek¡¯s titan arms which he has to block, giving me another opening. I score another gash on his arm. He is slowing down a little. He attacks and I hide behind the armor-clad form of a Roland lord. Nirari smirks, then slams his glaive into the armor. It fails to pierce at all. Another wound joins the others. Behind us, the lord swears with all his breath but I knew he would make it, after all, his Magna Arqa makes him temporarily invincible so long as he does not move. As we weave through the forest, I coordinate with more and more people to overwhelm Nirari. Constantine¡¯s chains, Melusine¡¯s fires, other powers of European allies, I use them all. I even find one on the verge of blooming and I smile in anticipation. *** Urchin watched the first of his kind fight and it frustrated him. He had worked really hard to overcome his nature and yet, despite his best efforts, there was a gap between him and the Babyonian royal that no effort would ever bridge. He was still, and would always be, an urchin. And that was fine. The right urchin only needed a single opportunity to make a kingdom fall. Urchin extended his arm forward. He flexed his finger and felt a weight settling in his palm. It was damn heavy. His eyes settled on the long, deadly form of Heartseeker, Nirari¡¯s glaive. The old monster would claim it back in a few seconds. It was still a symbolic victory. *** Nirari jumps up and up and¡­ just flies, out of the range of my sphere. The rays of his light now bathe the entire valley in blood-tinged colors. He glares at me, from his unattainable position. An orb forms over him, a dark red planetoid that grows with every second, gathering power. I can feel the hunger and power it gathers from down here and watch, shocked by the spell and the decision behind it. I admit, And truly, he is too used to looking down on everybody. Until that moment, Nirari had been a blur of unstoppable destruction so that the majority of my allies could do little but to support me with their offering. I suspect they might be feeling powerless, outmatched and at the mercy of forces beyond their ability to fight. I feel a lot of silent rage and fuming resentment from those who have joined their fate with mine, and until this moment, I could do nothing for them. Nirari, however, has decided to parade like a peacock over a battlefield of tens of thousands of annoyed warriors. And after that, he made the most peculiar decision he could come up with. He made himself a stationary target. There is no need for me to give any orders. They know what to do. Intents flow from their blood to the spines. The tendrils grasp and pull at machine guns, tilt cannons back, and lift the front of tanks. Soldiers find their arms supported, their aims adjusted. I enjoy watching doubt wipe the rictus off Nirari¡¯s face the moment he faces tens of thousands of muzzles, arrows, spears, spells, shells, everything everyone can throw at him. Everyone fires at once. The single, coordinated volley is absolutely cataclysmic. Since Nirari is far above us, I watch with fascination the tracers form a pyramid of light, a pyrotechnical show that only the earlier atomic bomb could have matched. The blast is deafening. After the relative silence, the single boom makes the ground shake under my feet, rattling my teeth. They all land on either Nirari, his hastily rising shield, or the expanding sphere of hungering blood above him in a fury of fire and steel. They disappear under the onslaught. I manage to find my own machine gun and bring it to me, joining my voice to the chorus. And it does not let up. Men only stop to slot fresh magazines or shove another shell in their cannons. For the first time since Nirari called his sun upon them, people can let go. And so, they do. The cumulative weight of all races unleash their pent up frustration on his still unmoving form. I know he could let go and return to fight me, possibly hold on until my support is exhausted¡­ and I know he will not. He cannot. He might be shrewd but once provoked, he is as unbending as iron. And like iron, he is brittle. Nirari¡¯s insults are drowned under the torrent of detonations, he whose voice had silenced a whole army is in turn swallowed by a flood of defiance. I watch his shield crumble, the sphere scatter. Again, I feel this strange disconnect I experienced when facing the dragon. His adversaries were scattered and so he was a monolith. Now they are united in a single blade aimed at his heart and he cannot discount them anymore. Through me, they exist in the thread of destiny. We are but droplets but with enough droplets, one can swallow a continent. Nirari gives up. His roaring form descends on us like a falling star trailing the debris of his spell like the tail of a comet, still dangerous but broken. I¡­ I could do anything, and I can see the perfect end. Of course, it could only be this way. With a monumental effort, the forest rises to form a bowl, a recess with the limits of my sphere as walls. He plunges into that waiting maw while still peppered by projectiles. I watch him, his purple eyes, his fury, his failing belief in his own invincibility and I smile at him just because I can, just because I am no longer that scared little girl he thought he could break a hundred years and an eternity ago. His maddened anger redoubles while the armor shatters, revealing the scales underneath. Wounds cover his arms and legs. He is still bleeding from his cheek. His glaive lands on Rose. My feet plunge into the ground from the titanic impact but I do not fall. Instead, I drop my sword and catch his hands. We are locked. Nirari¡¯s sun blazes. I am slowly, slowly pushed down. We stand face to face, him in the ruins of his helm, the crown broken, and me under the mirror patiently crafted by Loth. Behind us, a man screams and jumps at slow, human speed over a root, descending on Nirari¡¯s back. I watch the utter confusion on the face of a monster who has always known his place in the world and the incomprehension in the face of the unexpected, because my ace is entirely human. At first glance. Because he is human, the light of the false sun does not stop him and because he is human, Nirari still cannot believe this man would be a threat. I can see him very well in my sphere. He wears the uniform of the British forces. He wields the dragon tooth sword. On his chest, a single line reads his name. Andrew Bingle. I would have it no other way. Nirari struggles to escape but it is too late. The sword bites into his back, shearing the scales and the flesh underneath like paper. I hear his gasp of pain and feel his strength failing so I allow the mirror to fall and bite down, blinded but victorious. At the last moment, there is a magical trigger of sorts but the dragon scale armor under my arms is still there and so, I taste Devourer essence. *** Wait a moment. No that¡­ is impossible! No! I pull back, furious and confused into the face of Malakim. They¡­ they swapped? Runes on the armor still shine from a remote activation. Malakim is heavily wounded. He is disintegrating into ash. No. No no no no no this cannot be. The armor disappears from his body before it, too, is ruined. Urchin stands next to me with the set in his hands. He looks uncertain. They¡­ they swapped places? The twinned armor allow them to swap places? Was it his plan from the beginning? Urchin asks. By the Watcher, please no. ¡°Ariane!¡± a voice screams in my ear. ¡°Constance?¡± ¡°Ariane! Aintza is dead! She¡­ she just died!¡± Ah. *** One minute earlier. Jimena¡¯s focus was absolute. Malakim was the most dangerous opponent she had ever faced and any mistake would spell disaster. Deflect low. Step back. Counter. Deflect right. Wait for Diego¡¯s hit to distract to lunge. He was always just a little late. That was fine. They did not need to win. Malakim pulled back once again this time without new wounds. They didn¡¯t matter. Malakim was a bear trap of spite and mutual destruction. Committing against him meant death. He wanted it, wanted people to attack his protected heart. Ariane told her. Ariane trained her in his style. Jimena would not let up. Her focus was absolute. Then, Diego made a mistake. He overextended. Jimena pulled the lord aside but their formation was in disarray. John was to her back. She had to hold him. That was fine. She still had an ace. ¡°Magna Arqa.¡± Behind them, Semiramis cried out. A burst of power distracted Malakim long enough to push him back but she still needed to fend him off. Semiramis was ascending right now. She was becoming a goddess. They had almost won. Jimena pointed her sword, Justice, at Malakim. Power, intoxicating and rightful filled her veins. She felt like living thunder as she rushed him. It was great to fight with the perfect knowledge that one¡¯s cause was just. Malakim smirked. He stole her thunder. He cut her wings. His sword aimed for her heart. She lightly deflected it then stabbed him in the jaw. She almost beheaded him but he twisted away at the last moment, face a mangled wreck. His baleful gaze was still on her but it was clouded, confused. Thick black blood dripped down the dragon scale armor. She had hit something important. Diego and John were in position. She attacked. Malakim stumbled. She had him. And then, the runes on his armor shone and Jimena was facing death itself. There was no time to react. No time to curse her fate. One strike. Power like no other. One lunge, one perfect movement to close the distance. The red sun of Nirari¡¯s might was already eating at her skin. Nirari was weakened, hurt. Still taking his bearings. Her gaze met his. He roared, an expression of rage, pain, and anguish. Jimena¡¯s blade bit deeply into the flesh of his hand but he did stop her, the tip of Justice only a finger away from his eye. She saw terror, there. She had shed the blood of the first. Then he killed her. With a series of furious strikes, Nirari cut down the entire squad before they could react just as his Magna Arqa failed, power buckling under the strain. He dragged himself forward to the circle. The cave¡¯s enchantments turned his spilled blood to ash but it would not be enough. Even on his last leg, he was still the first. Only John remained to watch the old queen¡¯s last moments. Nirari moved inside of the circle to the hovering form of his mother. Her dark eyes shone like magma as she glanced upward, lost in the felicity of apotheosis. She was blind to the world while the secrets of the universe were finally revealed, so she could not react when Nirari embraced her one last time. Nirari bit down. It took a while for the power to transfer to him, for the ritual to change direction but eventually, it did. It was his turn to ascend. John pulled himself towards the side of the cavern. The dying god had come. He had killed Diego and Jimena with a gesture. He had tried to kill John as well but Miss Ari¡¯s chest protector had stopped the first blow and the helmet, most of the second one. He was still terribly hurt. Pain. That was a familiar companion. He kept dragging himself forward. In the center of the circle, the wounded god finished killing his mother. He was a broken thing. Miss Ari had done a good job. Now it was his turn. Nothing changed at first glance, though the god turned to him. He was struggling with all that power he kept trying to grab. It fought with his broken frame, his defeated persona, refused him, and yet, he was still a god. Still immeasurably stronger than John. It wouldn¡¯t change anything. John never wanted to be the strongest. He only wanted to be strong enough to do what mattered to him. To do what must be done. A moan of pain interrupted the wounded god. John stood, in agony but his body whole again. He grabbed for his massive duffle bag and pulled it open. Inside, there was a very large metal case. He opened the lid. John replied. There were keys to turn and codes to enter but John had memorized it and his hands went through the gesture with quiet competence. He did not spare the wounded god even a glance. Spells tore through John¡¯s form and through the casing but they both returned to their original form after the spell was through. The damage was simply denied. John was finished. The countdown read five seconds, then four. It was done. He finally met the wounded god¡¯s glare. They both shared the same purple gaze now but John knew his was serene. At peace. It had been, John decided, a very good life. Atomic fire devoured them both. *** The mountain has turned into a volcano. It roars, bathing us in the light of genuine fire this time. The explosion is much less than expected because, I suspect, it occurred in the Warrens. They are surely destroyed by now but whatever power leaked through now blazes with a rare intensity. The problem is that¡­ I can still perceive Nirari¡¯s new, godlike aura. It lacks the raw intensity of before but it still struggles¡­ and I cannot get in there to finish him off. John. Jimena¡­ Slava stoically said by my side. He walked to Urchin and grabbed the pilfered set of dragon armor, shedding his own to put it on with slow, deliberate movements. The runes engraved in the surface had cooled but now that Slava wore it, their intensity increased again. Slava does not reply. With soft gestures, he embraces me, then places my mouth against his collarbone. I do not understand? Another hand on my neck forces me to open my mouth. My fangs touch his skin though they do not pierce yet. He wants me to¡­ what? The runes activate once again. I am suddenly no longer hugging Slava. There is a void between my hands, an emptiness filled with nothing but raw power and the burning form of mangled dragon scales. The incredible heat fights against the Aurora which pushes back with a furious hiss of metal on ice. There is nothing under my fangs but superheated air, then ash, then flesh. Then power. Nirari reforms, screaming under my fangs and I drink him just as he does. Power fills me in a burning wave but this time, I do not lose my senses as I did with the dragon blood. The energy fills me as if I were a receptacle meant to receive it. I am merely¡­ being completed. The rush is still incredible. I let it swallow me. *** The weave. The song of the world. The song of the other spheres in the distance. This sphere is mine. It is waiting to be claimed. It can be claimed now. To claim a sphere is to be the center and keep the music alive. I do so now. I have challenged and won. It is done. I will mourn those I have lost later. For now, it is done. Chapter 1 - 1. Cruel Genesis Where¡­ where am I? I take a deep breath in, which promptly turns into a coughing fit as I spit¡­ something on the ground. Agh! Disgusting. This is entirely too disgraceful. I hope there is no one around to witness my shame! The thought is born and dies in an instant. I struggle to remain calm, but I can already feel the onset of panic. I smell dampness, old stones, and rust. This is not my bedroom, nor is it any hospital I would be sent to. What has happened? I am lost. The stone bricks I can see through my waterfall of blonde hair are oddly well-defined, as if the distance did not affect my sight. Darkness is now just deeper shade instead of an impenetrable veil. I can hear individual sounds of dripping water and groaning wood with perfect clarity instead of as background noise. The air smells of dampness and iron and the taste on my tongue is as cloying as it is distracting. Every sensation is magnified, and each one catches my attention briefly before another one takes over in a disorienting dance. Soon, the sensory overload grows into a stabbing pain just behind my eyes. I feel sick. I need to understand. I take stock of my situation and shiver in fright. My wrists are shackled. My legs are on the floor, the skin scraped raw. I feel the coarse fabric of a simple tunic on my shoulders and¡­ Oh, I am not wearing undergarments! Someone may have seen me without... I cannot bear the thought. I twist a bit and feel wet hair plastered to my skull, falling to my shoulders. I see my legs, coming out of a rough piece of fabric. They are even paler than usual and dotted with red spots, which I realize is blood. The very same blood I spat earlier. I breathe deeper to control my fear. I shall not break down. I shall not scream. I am no tender flower from Charleston to faint at the mere sight of the crimson liquid. I am made from sterner stock! My fear does not recede, yet I am once more in control of myself. I do not know exactly the predicament I find myself in but I know that panic shall not help. I will not succumb to it. Wary, I continue my inspection. Bare walls of the ubiquitous grey stone and a single massive door with a barred window. Is this a farce? I am in a dungeon! I must be dreaming. Yes, this is a dream and I am still asleep. Or perhaps I am quite mad, and this is one of those "hospices" I have heard so much about, and what is this? I am wearing rags! Even slaves would not wear such a thing! I swear, I will get to the bottom of this, or my name isn''t¡­ My name isn''t¡­ I am¡­ Cannot focus. My thoughts are a jumble of impressions and emotions, of needs I do not understand. They slip away before I can grasp them fully. I shake my head and bite my lips to clear them, to no effect. Nothing works. I cannot recall my name. I must recall my name. Unbidden, my mouth opens and the sound escapes. "A¡­Ariane" The pain! I bend forward as much as I can while my throat burns me. Soon, the agony extends to my stomach and tears me from inside. My mind blanks from the sheer intensity. This is a hundred times worse than anything I have ever felt. God please, make it stop. Make it stop! Someone, anyone! And it seems someone listened to my prayer. I can hear the clang of a door open far in front of me. Three sets of footsteps approach. Faster, I beg you! "Told ya I heard something. Sun just set, so it''s possible." "Hmmm." Despite the lack of any light source, I can see with great clarity the face of my would-be savior, and now I know for sure that I am doomed. This man looks like a highwayman. Why, if I met him in the street, I would immediately flee and call for the nearest guard. He has unkempt black hair and a greasy beard that he must not have trimmed in months! Yet even then I could take him for a laborer were it not for a pair of insane blue eyes that freeze my very soul. The man smiles and displays a full set of uneven teeth. How very chilling. And yet I know with certainty that this man could help me, were I not stopped by a strange feeling. This man already belongs to¡­ someone else. And I would be better off not touching him. I know I should be curious, but the pain is making me dizzy. The second man is not white. He is not unlike some of the coolies who help dig the train tracks, with the same golden skin and slanted eyes, and yet to compare them is to compare a Pomeranian with a wolf. His arms bulge with muscles and his expression is fierce indeed. I can tell from his posture that he is a fencer, or a pugilist of sorts. He moves with the grace of a predator, and once again a strange feeling washes over me. I know with certainty that this man is dangerous beyond his appearance. He has a cold aura to him, and he cannot help me. The third man can. I feel joy and warmth fill my chest. Yes! This man is a captive like me, an adolescent with a lost look. He wears the clothes of a smith, or perhaps a cooper, and a thin chain hangs from his neck. He can make the pain stop; I just know it in my heart. And so, I move. And I stop. I look in confusion at my stretched arms but of course, silly me. I am still in chains! Heavy locks of a silvery metal join my wrists to the wall in two taut lines. I am trapped. "Wow! A feisty one heh? Come on, give her the boy." The Asian man frowns. Our eyes meet and there is a hint of sympathy in his rugged features. He pushes the young man towards me. My left hand brushes the boy''s collar. Yes! Yes, finally, I am saved! I drag my hero closer and breathe in his neck. Oh, this delicate bouquet, like an exquisite wine from a perfect year, so rich and intoxicating. I am losing my mind. My canines brush his skin, pierce the flesh. Something thick and sweet brushes my tongue. The world explodes in ecstasy. I have no words. For an eternity, nothing exists. Nothing but heavenly pleasure that rolls and roils and boils and drowns. I die and I live again, and I die once more. The wave of felicity ravages my very being and shatters my psyche. If this is half as good as lovemaking, I understand women who find themselves with child out of wedlock. This is good enough to sell one''s soul. I love it. Love it, love it, love it. I wish it never stopped. Alas, at some point, it does. I do not know how long it takes but when the tide recedes, I know peace and the certainty that all is right in the world. How peculiar. No amount of prayer has ever brought me to such heights. I am touching on the realm of the divine! I release the young man who flops on the ground. He can no longer help me and worse, he smells terrible! The creepy man chuckles and drags the adolescent''s chain to pull him out of my reach, as if I were an animal. How rude! I frown in disapproval. "What¡­" my voice croaks "What is the meaning of this?" How I wish I could convey my outrage at being held like this! Not even a bucket of water, or a chamber pot! Am I to live like a beast? I do not want to think about it. I do not want to think about a great many things. The smaller, white man jumps in surprise and even the Asian guardian lifts an eyebrow. What is wrong with them? Did they expect me to cower, to beg? "Well, Milady. Forgive this humble Baudouin, heh? Did not expect ya to be so¡­" I huff with impatience and address his companion. "How about you, warrior, care to explain why I am being held so?" Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. While Baudouin is flustered, this one seems barely amused. "It is for your own safety." "My safety? I will be secure when I am unbound and at home, you rogue! What will it take for you to release me?" Baudouin interrupts me, apparently miffed at being ignored. "Don''t ya worry your cute little head, Lady, you''ll be released soon enough." "I¡­ I¡­" I want to go on, I want to extract information from the reluctant duo, but I feel so tired, so very exhausted. Torpor invades my limbs and makes everything so heavy. My eyelids slide down with the weight of an executioner''s axe. It is summer at the plantation. Sugar canes raise from the red earth, lush and green, as far as my eyes can see. The relentless sun beats down on my shoulders with a weight that is almost physical. It would be unbearable but for a light breeze and the smell of the river. A massive blond man kneels in front of me. His knife slices into the flesh of the sugar cane until only a dripping sliver remains. His face is rugged and red and there are tangles in his blond beard, but I do not care. His shining blue eyes, which I inherited, look at me with all the warmth in the world. "Try this, mon ange" "I don''t wanna! It''s dirty!" "Try it to make Papa happy. Allez!" "D''accord." I take it with a tiny hand and bring it through my lips. It is strangely fibrous and at the same time, sweet and juicy. "''Mmm!" "See? Your Papa knows best. That''s why you should have listened, mon ange." "Hm?" "I told you to always wear your hat outside because it is so hot when the sun is out. But did you listen? Oh no, you didn''t. And now, you burn." Flames erupt from the flesh of my hand, I scream and scream, and I try to stop them, but my other arm catches fire and it spreads all over me. It hurts, it hurts so much. Blackened meat cracks to reveal tarnished bones. My hair combusts. Nothing stops the raging inferno. I beg the darkness to take me and eventually, it does. I awaken in the same grey cell. There is no sign of the captors or anyone else. I feel odd. There is a part of me that fights and rebels and tries to make me question my circumstances. I am aware that there have been inconsistencies in, well, everything, and yet I find it hard to focus. Like a patient in the claws of high fever, my grasp on reality is tenuous and uncertain. No matter how hard I try to focus, I am only afforded bits of lucidity. I remember a nightmare. I remember yesterday. I remember my name. What was it again? Ariane. Yes, my name is Ariane, although I must be honest and state that it is merely a praenomen. Using my voice helped. I shall endeavour to do so again. "My name¡­ is Ariane¡­ I am¡­ nineteen." I am of age to be married. I have¡­ suitors. I think? "I¡­ come from¡­" Two city names come to mind, one is Baton Rouge, and it gives a homey feeling. The other is New-Orleans and it feels more exciting but also tainted. I cannot finish the sentence. I feel myself drifting into apathy and I cannot let that happen, so I force myself to press on. "I¡­" I what? "I have¡­ a family." Yes, I know this is right. I try to recall the man from my dream, his smile, and happy looks but his image blurs and another one replaces him. The second man is terrifying. I remember a cruel smile and doll-like eyes that mirror a soul as black as the night. My musings stop when the same craving comes over me. My throat is parched. It is only natural as people need to drink quite a bit of water every day. I remember stories of sailors going mad when deprived of it, their sanity robbed as they suffer surrounded by a liquid they cannot ingest. I am sure someone will come. If they wanted me dead, it would have already happened. Time passes with agonizing slowness. My thirst grows so much that I start moaning. My teeth bite painfully into increasingly dry lips. The only saving grace is that after two days I haven''t had to go to the... Well, this is embarrassing and queer. How come I have had no need to visit the... the what? A distant clang interrupts my thoughts, whatever they were. I have already forgotten. Three sets of footsteps again. I wonder how I can tell with such accuracy but, well, it does not truly matter. They soon stop and yesterday''s Asian man gives me a passing glance before opening the door. He steps in and stands aside with the dignity of a British Royal Guard. The second visitor is a woman out of a fairy tale. Truly, if anyone had described her to me, I would have called them a liar, and yet here she stands. Tall and lithe, her slender body is clad in a blue gown that would be the envy of King William''s court. It suits her form perfectly and manages to be enticing without being vulgar which, given her silhouette, is quite an achievement. Her skin is as white as alabaster and her face is the very image of grace and majesty. Black curls fall with restraint from an elaborate hairdo and encase two striking green eyes, bright as emeralds. Why, if my mouth were not so dry, I would be gawping like some country bumpkin right about now. The same cold aura that encases the Asian man also comes from her and yet I hesitate to compare them as she seems in a class of her own. If the man''s is a drum, the woman''s is an orchestra. The pressure it gives off terrifies me to my core and I do not think that demanding anything of her would be a good idea. I turn to the last to enter, a man, and I am immediately in love. He is tall and incredibly handsome, like a legendary king of old. Brown curls and brown hair adorn a skin lightly kissed by the sun. His build is powerful, but it is not the solid weight of the farmer. It is the deadly grace of the duelist. I feel like I am kneeling before Achilles, or Romulus, such is the presence of this man. I just know he is the one for me. His aura is less cold and somehow familiar, so powerful and yet restrained. I bask in his presence as a strange warmth grows in my belly. Oh, the shame! Am I to be swayed so easily by somebody I just met? I must not! And yet I know that if this man touches me, I will be undone. I forget my thirst; I forget my discomfort. If he but takes me in his arms, I can die with no regrets. "¡­ his spawn could communicate, Ogotai, and yet¡­" I blink and realize that the noble Lady is talking to the Asian man, Ogotai apparently. What is most curious is that they do not speak English. This language of theirs is mostly sing-song vowels and soft consonants with the occasional guttural sound. I am sure I have never heard anything quite like it and yet I can understand it. "I assure you that she spoke, Lady Moor." I must have day-dreamed again. This lack of attention is so taxing, and now my love must think me daft! I must give my best impression so that he becomes mine forever. I turn to him and use a lull in the conversation, or should I say the harsh reprimand, to address him. "Greetings." All eyes fall on me. No that is not quite right. If I speak English now, they will not think of me as worldly. "Greetings lady, and gentlemen. My name is Ariane. May I ask yours?" There, concise and polite. My voice cracked mid-sentence, I am filthy and dressed in rags that an orphanage would not take but my manners remain impeccable. The woman scowls and displays such intense disgust, one would think I am drenched in manure. Without a word, she turns around and leaves the room while covering her nose with a perfumed handkerchief. I would blush in shame and anger if it were not for the man. He kneels in front of me and I lose myself in the intensity of his liquid eyes. He is smiling, he must be. He is proud of me, I think. No, hE is SmUg. No, he is proud of me. He loves me and only wants the best. I love him! I do nOt. He huRt me. I love him, and he will be mine forever. The comfortable blanket settles on my mind until only adoration remains. I wait with bated breath for a sentence, a word, anything until I can''t anymore. I move. Once more, the chains block me, my face only a few fingers away from the golden skin of his neck. I strain and stretch and the metal moans but, of course, I am too weak to break free. I am only human after all. I cannot bend metal. Can I? The man captures my attention and the thirst fades away for a while. The fragrance of his perfume makes me dizzy and at the same time, safe. I am where I belong. By his side. Yes. No. Yes. He places a single finger under my chin to raise my head until our eyes are level. The touch of his skin sends tiny shivers down my back. "You will address us as Master." "Yes, Master." "You will speak only when spoken to." I nod in silence. Of course, I will do as he asks. "You will obey the woman known as Jimena in all things. You will behave properly. Do so, and in three days you may draw our essence, and live." I nod frantically. I want to say that I will be good, but I hesitate to talk. The man is done and stands back up before turning to Ogotai. Oh, how I loved it when he was so close. It was everything I expected. It is everything I could dream for. "Why is my fledgling still in a drone cell, Warden?" Ogotai''s bow is almost servile, which should be odd on such a man, and yet how can I blame him? Who could stand before this man and call themselves his equal? Surely, even Alexander and Scipio Africanus would find themselves wanting. The man exits the cell without a look back. Why did he leave me so? I love him so much, surely, he must see it plainly! I am the one for him! Or am I simply not good enough? Is a landed Lady from Louisiana perhaps too rustic for his tastes? Perhaps I should GUT THAT GREEN-EYED PAINTED HARLOT AND STRANGLE HER WITH HER OWN ENTRAILS. Wait. What was I thinking again? I can hear a keening whine and soon realize it is coming from my throat. Augh! I need to get a hold of myself. What is wrong with me? A strange Asian man approaches me with a silver key. Ah yes, Ogotai. He was here earlier. He is to take me out of the cell and¡­ Do what? Ah yes, I finally remember. I am to obey that wonderful man. My love. No, AboMinAtion. Love. I remember his orders. I am to remain silent unless spoken to. I am to obey Jimena in all things. I am to behave properly. I will do so, since he asked this of me, and he is so irresistible. I just hope there will be something to drink. I am dying of thirst. "Ah!" I cry. The manacles drop on the ground with a surprisingly loud clang and take with them a layer of skin. I look at my now free wrists. The horror! I am flayed! The flesh is raw and thick with black blood! Convinced I am about to retch I move forward and yet, nothing happens. I do not feel nauseous at the sight of those unsightly wounds. They are most certainly infected and will quite likely scar! Oh, the humanity! Shall I have to bear the stigma of my captivity for the rest of my life? "Come out, slowly." sea??h th§× Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. I take a staggering step forward. I feel weak and light-headed. I pray they have water somewhere. Chapter 2 - 2. Jimena I seethe. The Asian man stares at me with a mixture of disgust and caution, and I cannot help but feel offended. Of course, I would not look proper dressed in rags and filthy like a coal merchant! The audacity of my captors is simply incredible. I finally leave my cell to the sight of a short corridor of the same stone. A single torch provides enough illumination to see everything clearly, which surprises me a bit. The passage is dotted with what I believe to be murder holes. How very quaint. I must have collapsed and been magically transported to some Scotsman''s demesne. Ogotai locks the door behind me and I move forward, quite eager to be away from this dreary place. As I am about to reach the second door, the naked blade of a saber taps my shoulder. "Hold. Move to the side." I turn around with outrage, although I remain silent. How dare he draw a blade on me? The master said I was to obey Jimena and he is not her. HE HAS NO RIGHT TO GIVE ME ORDERS, I WILL TEACH HIM THE MEANING OF PAIN AND¡­ A hand grabs my raggedy shirt and propels me into the wall. He threw me like a doll! My back hits the rock and explodes in blinding pain. My head follows suit and my teeth rattle from the impact. Agony radiates in every bone, only exacerbating the discomfort I am already in. "Ah!" His hand drills my chest in the wall. My bones creak and groan under his abuse. I frantically scratch his arms so that he lets me go but I stop when I feel a metallic cold against my neck. "Agh!" "I will have no attitude from you, fledgling." There are red spots on his sleeve. It seems that, in my panic, I scratched him bloody. My nails are dark as black pearls, and quite sharp to boot. When did that happen? The blade of his weapon leaves my neck and its tip buries under my chin until I start yelling. Oh God, what have I done to deserve such treatment? Why must they be so cruel? It hurts! "Do I make myself clear?" "Yes!" I whimper. How I hate to debase myself, but what can one do against such wanton brutality? Slowly, the man lets me go, although his blade remains drawn. I stay still and massage my poor chest. Terror starts creeping into my mind and awakens primal instincts. I want to run, but I cannot. The door is locked. I do not even know where to go. Ogotai patiently works his set of keys and I finally walk out to another stone tunnel. This one, however, is different. It appears that my jail is but one of many. Several blocks made with thick walls cover most of the area, lit by the occasional torch. Each cell has four walls and a passage that would allow the wardens to circle it completely. The murder holes I noticed let visitors look inside the corridor and, I assume, shoot through them as well. I do not know what manner of beast is normally held here, but I would complain about being treated that way, were it in my power to do so. The Asian man guides me through the labyrinth of passages to a massive door made of the same silvery metal as my shackles. He pushes it open with little effort. How strong can this man be? I walk up a set of stairs to several landings with more doors, but Ogotai does not let me stop. Eventually, we cross one last metal gate and finally emerge into a proper building. And what a building it is. I want to take a deep breath and celebrate being out of this accursed hole in the ground, yet I find myself at a loss. Who in their right mind would spend the fortune required for something like this? A hallway spreads to my right and left to an intersection and a dead-end, respectively. Closed doors alternate with subdued alcoves supported by Doric columns. The ground is made of marble and the walls of pink granite. Tapestries and paintings hang everywhere, leaving an impression of subdued elegance. Never in a thousand years would I suspect that such a place exists in the Americas! I believe I would need to cross the Atlantic, to Buckingham or Versailles, to find a match for this gaudy display. And the owners of this place have me at their mercy. I shiver once more. I thought I had seen wealth, how na?ve I was! These people are no rakes and outlaws out for a quick ransom and a ride West. Why, were I to escape and come across a lawman, who would he believe? A filthy waif or the masters of this place? My testimony would be the ramblings of a madwoman. What have I gotten myself into? The excitement offered me a moment of clarity, as if external stimulus could lift the veil upon my mind but soon enough, I find it hard to focus again. Why did I want to escape? I want to see that man again; it is my heart''s fondest desire. Ogotai leads me up another set of stairs and down another corridor. We come across a man in a suit that would leave him drenched in sweat if he were to step outside, a pair of women in maid outfits who exude a pleasant smell, and a slip of a girl in a white dress. Every time we pass someone, Ogotai holds my neck and forces my head down so that I cannot meet their eyes, not that I need much encouragement. My embarrassment is reason enough. Finally, the warden leaves those endless alleys and forces me into a bedroom. Before I can even start to panic, he bids me to get cleaned and slams the door shut. Once again, I take stock. The room itself is rather small, which is only sensible as there are so many of them. It is also lavishly decorated in shades of red and gold. Whoever designed the baroque hallways clearly extended his influence on my new lodgings. The bed has four posters and takes the entire middle of the room with a writing desk and a chair lining the side wall. The living space is partitioned by white panels and I find a copper tub on the other side, as well as amenities and another surprise. This place has hot running water. I prepare a bath and rid myself of that vile potato bag I was wearing to slide in the bath with a sigh of pleasure. I do not know if I should attribute how I feel to my previous ordeals or the state of my body, but the very act of washing myself has never been so pleasant. Water caresses my skin with its silky touch as the heat of the liquid seeps into me, to my delight. I could almost forget how thirsty I am. Oh, how silly, there is now water to be found! What was I waiting for? I bring the warm liquid from the tap to my lips and take in a hasty gulp and I know without a doubt that, unfortunately, it will not do. How strange! Is it the symptom of some disorder? Well, I will think upon it later. When did my skin turn so white? Summer reached Louisiana a few weeks ago and I remember a light, but distinct tan, and yet now I look as pale as a Canuck. My nails are also black and quite sharp, which I cannot explain. One more mystery to add upon the pile. Or perhaps I should realize whAt I haVe beCome why I do not feel hunger? Wait, there are more urgent matters to attend. I must be presentable. If that warden comes in while I am still undressed, I shall surely die of embarrassment. There is only so much humiliation a proper lady can tolerate in a single day. I scrub myself vigorously and enjoy every moment of it. After drying myself, I find undergarments and a simple linen dress on the desk, which I promptly don. They do not fit me, exactly and are a bit tight around the waist, and yet I find I care little. It feels so nice to be decent again, and the sensation of soft fabric on my skin is simply divine. I luxuriate in it until I am disturbed by an insistent knock. I open the door to see two men outside. Ogotai stares me down without emotion, the other man is younger and dressed as a servant. My thirst surges at the scent of him. Such an intoxicating perfume! Before I can lean forward, Ogotai''s hand grabs my neck once more. Ah! Must this man irritate me so! I want to CLAW HIM APART LIKE THE CUR HE IS! "Fledgling." I force myself to swallow. I do not want a repeat of the cell scene. Those ruffians made it clear they would resort to violence given the opportunity. Except that handsome gentleman of course. "You will cease when ordered." The servant looks at me with undisguised fear. His chocolate eyes are fixed on my smile as he starts blabbering in some unknown language I care not about. His attempt at retreating is stopped by the Warden''s steel grip on his neck and only serves to whet my maddening Thirst. It bites into my chest and drills into my mind, demanding satisfaction. Nothing matters but that merciless craving. How peculiar, the sight of a terrified man makes me¡­ giddy? And even more thirsty? This abduction has made me a moNster. What? No, this ordeal made me a little bit hysterical. Yes. Just a little tense. Nothing to it. I chuckle as I grab the man firmly between my arms, and then as he vainly tries to push me away. I am still laughing when his eyes meet mine and grow unfocused. I sigh as I take in the musk of his terror, with just a touch of desire. Scrumptious. I smile as my fangs puncture the skin of his neck and I can finally, FINALLY, slake this godforsaken Thirst. Rapture, again. I am transported, I am ravished, I am undone. If there is one way to transcend time and space, this is it. No dervish and no prophet, no shaman and no mage would come close to this divine experience. Not with all the incense and prayers of the world. I love it, love it, love it. A piercing pain brings me back into the real world. The warden''s clawed fingers dig into the muscles of my neck, forcing my jaw open inch by inch. The young servant is dragged away, still mesmerized by God knows what. "NooOooOoo." "Fledgling." I swallow as the pain turns my vision white. I stop moving. This is just too much. "You will lick the wound closed. Do it now." With the tip of my tongue, I manage to clean the precious nectar from the young man''s skin even as the trickle stops. I waste not a drop. Eventually, Ogotai pulls him away further and he collapses against the wall in a daze. The expression on his face is content, for some unknown reason. I, however, am not. I need more. MUCH MORE. Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. "Aaaiiii!" I cry. Ogotai''s hand does not relent. His other arm, now free, forces my own in a lock behind my back. I arch myself to prevent the agony from becoming too much. I barely struggle against his hold. My frustration is no match for the constant pain and the prospect of dislocation. The horrible Thirst finally abates. It retreats into the recess of my mind like a wary tiger, pacified but not gone. I am myself again. Wait, what just occurred? I cannot recall. Something to do with nourishment. Ogotai pushes me away and I fall on the bed. With a yelp and scramble, I am upright again. I am not so innocent as to not understand the implication of being in a bedroom with a man and the Warden makes me wary. Fortunately, my apprehension was unfounded this time. Ogotai bends to the servant to, I assume, check on his well-being. Apparently satisfied, he stands back up and bids me follow him. We leave the room, and I do my best to keep up with the tall stranger. Torpor once more makes my limbs heavy and my mind weary, yet I refuse to yield. We descend back to what I assume is the ground floor, and shortly reach a thick set of gates made out an essence of wood I do not recognize. Ogotai opens one with ease and shoves me in. The room I find myself in is, without a doubt, a training room. It is an extremely wide rectangle surrounded by an unadorned wall of grey stone. Racks of weapons line my left, targets my right and the far wall is adorned with benches. I am surprised to see that the ground is stone covered by a layer of sand, reminding me of this illustration of the Colosseum I once saw in a book. Why, if a lion and a gladiator were to strut in to the sound of a brass horn, I wouldn''t even bat an eye. The only person present besides us is a woman with black curls tied in a bun. I cannot decide whether she shocks me or impresses me more. Her face is handsome, rather than beautiful due to an unfortunately squarish jaw and yet she exudes an aura of gentle grace that is only enhanced by a scandalously fitting leather armor. Her appearance makes me once again question my sanity. I know that Napoleon''s "Cuirassiers" would ride into battle with a steel breastplate, but she looks more like a poacher than a soldier and besides, the gentler sex should not dress so, it is just not proper. She ignores us as we approach until there can be no doubt that we come to address her. With a frown, she sheathes a blade she had been cleaning and turns to us. Her cold aura is as strong as Ogotai''s yet more refined, and I believe she''S oNe of thEm, I mean I believe it is the source of her self-confidence. Is she an Amazon, to stand here before that man without fear? I surmise that some horrible accident befell me, and I am now in the thrall of some potent concoction that causes me to hallucinate. "Squire." "Courtier", she replies with a sneer. There is a flash of anger on Ogotai''s twisted face, quickly hidden. "You are to induct this fledgling while her master attends to the important matter of the conclave." "What kind of master would bring a fledgling here? Is she so flawed that she cannot be left unattended?" "You may relay your concerns to Lord Nirari. I am sure he will be delighted to hear your objections, squire. The order is passed. I bid you farewell." And with this, Ogotai turns around and leaves us both stranded. I harbor some hope that this person would take pity in my plight, but those expectations are too soon dashed. The disgust on her face reminds me of Lady Moor''s, only hers is laced with fury. I instinctively take a step back. A sense of danger dissipates my lethargy and I realize that the Warden set the stage masterfully so that there is no chance that I would find a friend here. I still do not understand what is happening. My mind is barely working. I am a woman playing an intricate card game without having been taught its rules and I am even forbidden from asking for help. The woman seems to resolve herself to the situation and gestures me to join her next to a rack. I gaze at rows upon rows of medieval weapons, including some that must have come from barbarian kingdoms. Never have I laid my eyes on so many bladed, pointy and blunt instruments, coming in all shapes and sizes. One is just a chain, with a blade at the end, and I simply cannot fathom how that could be a sensible weapon. We both stop and she looks at me expectantly. I have no idea what to do. Does she expect me to pick a weapon myself? "Well?" I feel panic rising in my chest. Eager not to displease the harridan, I desperately look for something to defend myself and I find it. I grab it and hold it protectively before me. "That is a shield." I nod in approval. Obviously, it is. "Are you provoking me, fledging? Can you even talk?" "Yes, sorry, yes I can talk, and no I am not trying to provoke you." "And what, pray tell, can you wield?" I do not remember much, but I do know for sure that my¡­ father? Yes, my father, whose very face I cannot recall, would have never allowed me to take up fencing. Wielding a blade is so unladylike. Louisiana is already the dumping ground for France''s debtors, whores, and scoundrels. There is no need for us landowners to act as savages as well. With that said, I did hunt for fur and meat, and there are enough escaped slaves to make leaving the plantation without weapon a foolish endeavor. "I am a good shot with a flintlock rif -agh!" The woman''s face turns into a mask of rage. She grabs me by the collar and in a seamless gesture, throws me across the room. My mind blanks. The world turns and twists before my eyes. I land, painfully, on my shoulder, and still I slide on the ground. Eventually, I stop against a machine. A second later, I hear the crash of my shield against a distant wall. Pain steals my breath away. I cannot think. It. Hurts. "AaaAAAaa¡­" I do not know how much time I spend here, sobbing hunched on myself. Everything hurts, I am so tired, and I am still thirsty. Why? Why why why why why? Something cold pokes my ribs painfully. I open an eye to see that evil hag looking down. She uses a dull training sword as a poker. Oh, why, why must she be so cruel? "Well, fledgeling, let me see you fire that rifle of yours." "I¡­" "What are you waiting for?" And she stabs me. The tip of the sword pierces into my chest, not enough to kill me but enough to hurt. This new agony only adds to the old one and I go over the edge. I cannot do this anymore. Their cruel games, their pointless aggression, their cold demeanor. I did not ask to be here, ridiculed and humiliated at every turn. Abused. Tortured. And for what? What sinister game are they all playing, that they do not deem me even worthy of knowing the rules? I just want it to be over, I just want to die. Papa, please come save me, I can''t take this anymore. And so, I bawl like a baby. Sobs wrack my body and tears stream down my face. I wait for the armored hellion to continue her abuse, crying all the while, and yet it does not come. A pair of hands picks me up gently and sets me against the stupid mannequin. I keep my eyes closed in terror. A finger brushes my chin and holds my face up. After a few seconds, I dare open my eyes. The woman''s face is frighteningly close to mine. She stares at my cheeks with wonder. "Fledgling, I have a request." "Huh?" "Can I please lick your tears?" "W¡­ Wha?" Is this woman entirely insane? This request is completely senseless! And yet, there is suddenly a longing on her face so powerful and so pure that my breath catches in my chest. "Please¡­ Please, I beg you." My instincts tell me that she speaks the truth, as unlikely as it seems. It is all so very surreal that I find myself speechless. Is this the same person who tossed me across the room like a ragdoll? I must decide, and against my better judgement, I agree. I close my eyes as she slowly leans forward. A cold slip moves across my skin and I force myself not to yelp. This new sensation is so strange, and yet so intimate that I dare not move. The cold tongue traces the other side of my face. Immediately, I hear a gasp and a sob. I open my eyes once more to witness a spectacle that defies common sense. The woman, whose posture had been so flawless before is now sobbing before me. A pink tinge colors her and as I watch she slowly collapses forward. A protective impulse guides my left hand to the back of her head. I pat it in a soothing gesture. Her black curls are the softest thing I have ever touched. She tenses, at first, but soon she leans into my gesture and for a moment, we just lie here. My pain fades away quickly. Was I wounded? No, probably not. I let my arm fall. This feels so delightful. I believe I may just fall asleep right now. I blink. The Amazon is looking at me with her usual frigid mask. Have I dreamt the whole encounter? Surely not! Why, her skin is still rosy. "Fledgling." I gulp in fear. "Do you know who I am?" I shake my head, too scared to cause another bout of mindless rage. "I am Jimena, squire of clan Cadiz and quartermaster for this underkeep." "¡­" "Can you understand anything I said?" "You are Jimena." She sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. "How old are you, exactly?" "I am nineteen." She frowns. "I had not heard about Lord Nirari siring a fledgling, especially not one that could talk. What has he taught you then?" "Who?" "Lord Nirari, your master." sea??h th§× ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "I do not know that man." "What do you mean? You are his, I saw your fangs." I silently gape at the woman. Fangs? Master? I am dealing with a raving lunatic! "Unless¡­ No!" Jimena looks at me in utter disbelief. "Did you happen to meet a tall man with brown eyes and brown hair recently? Dark, imposing?" "And incredibly handsome," I reply with a dreamy voice. "Yes, and he did tell me to call him master. Is his name Nirari?" "Yes, and when, exactly, did you see him first?" "Why, this very morning, in my cell!" Jimena appears increasingly agitated, and I still cannot say whether I am mad, or she is. At the very least I learnt the name of my kiLl¡­ my master. Nirari. Such an exotic name. Perhaps one day it can be mine as well. "Fledgling?" "Hmm?" "I need you to tell me the truth." "Oh I will, the master told me to obey you in all things." "I see. Well, please do tell, is your earliest memory of that very same cell?" "Yes! Oh my G¡­" I cough, my throat suddenly obstructed. Jimena winces in sympathy. "Yes. I woke up there yesterday. Or at least I think it was yesterday. It is hard to tell the passing of the time without sun or the clock." "Yesterday? YESTERDAY!?" "Yes?" "And you feel as if your mind fails you, as if your memories were hidden behind a veil?" "Yes!" Finally, someone who understands my plight! Oh, I could cry in relief! Instead of answers though, Jimena just stands and starts pacing. "Is it some sort of affliction?" "Yes. Yes, it is. You will also notice the paleness, the sharp nails. And the Thirst." "Does it get better?" Jimena stops pacing and stares into the distance. "No¡­ no, it does not." I wait patiently for her to elaborate. I can learn more about my circumstances from her, provided I do not agitate her further. I hope she hurries, as I find myself more and more eager to return to my bedroom. Perhaps there I shall find something to drink. "What is your name, do you remember?" "Yes. Ariane." "Well met, Ariane. Has Lord Nirari mentioned a ceremony?" "He said that if I do well, I may draw his essence in three days and live." Jimena mutters to herself, and I unfortunately manage to hear what she says. The woman can swear like a sailor! "Well, young Ariane, you find yourself in a delicate situation. However, you gave me something quite rare, and something that can only be gifted, not taken. Powerful emotions are such a precious thing. For that, I am grateful and shall endeavor to assist you." She helps me up. "You are afflicted, yes, and I am sorry to say that there is no cure." "What? I¡­ I have never heard of such a disease! And is that why I am your captive? Because of this condition?" "Indeed. You may consider the veil over your mind as a sort of anesthetic that will shield it during the transition." "But¡­ I don''t want to-" "Shh," she says, "''tis a terrible thing, I know, yet you are still Ariane. Always remember, that you are still your own." "Y-yes, I am Ariane. I am my own." I stagger forward. "Ah, you must be exhausted. Rest on my shoulder, that I may guide you to a room." Chapter 3 - 3. False Haven My best friend locks arms with me as we walk the streets of New-Orleans. Already the sun creeps past the horizon and the dying light paints the cobblestone red. How daring we are, two young women, out with no chaperones! "It is so good that you came amiga, for alone I would never have dared!" "Think nothing of it, Constanza. I have a good reason to attend this ball as well. It is said that Lady Le Moyne opened a distillery in Haiti and has an eye for business. It is truly fortuitous that she is there tonight, and I would be unwise to miss such an occasion." Blond locks brush my shoulder and I find myself staring in a pair of laughing chestnut eyes. "Ah my poor Ariane, is it always business with you? You should keep an eye open for a husband instead. Then he can open that distillery you crave, while we spend our days in merriment!" "Psssh! Licentious woman, you shall not tempt me so! And besides, men cannot be trusted. Even Papa said so." "Ah amiga, your Papa is not here tonight, and truly I understand now, that I have to find you suitors of a more mature kind." "Whatever do you mean?!" "Hahaha, fret not amiga, and look! Here is a new contender!" I follow my best friend''s direction to the entrance of the manse, only to recoil in terror. In front of the double door stands a monster out of the grisliest tale. It stands taller than any man. Its skin is white as the moon and it is completely hairless. Eyes the color of the abyss drill into my soul. I want to run; I try to run but I am paralyzed. My best friend holds my arm in a death grip. A deep gash mars her pretty face and her eyes take on a mad glint. "No, do not leave, he is the one just for you. A perfect match, for one who tries to reach above her station." I cannot move, I cannot even blink. I am forced to watch as the monster steps closer. It grabs my head and exposes my throat. The last thing I see are eight merciless fangs. I wake up in a bedroom that is not my own. Memories slowly come back to me and I find myself in a turmoil. I have some hope now that I found an ally in Jimena, and yet I have little doubt that she speaks the truth. I am indeed afflicted by some unknown condition. The realization almost crushes my spirit and for a while, I sit under the velvet canopy, too stunned to move. It does not last though for Jimena bids me join her and I must obey. I stand and make myself ready. The ill-fitting dress I wore yesterday is still clinging to my body. A few drops of blood have stained the front and back, yet I do not recall being wounded. Curious. This specific guestroom is similarly equipped as the previous one, so I quickly take another bath after making sure the door is locked. It takes all my willpower not to luxuriate in the sensual feeling of warm water on my skin, despite how thirsty I am. After drying myself, I find that someone left a strange looking grey ensemble by the entrance. I put it on. To my surprise, it is extremely comfortable, with the notable exception of the area around my, hmm, posterior, which is too tight. Nevertheless, it does not limit my range of movement in any way. What a great find! Oh, if only I could wear this in polite society, but it has trousers, and this simply will not do. Difficulty strikes when I try to sort the bird''s nest that my hair has become. There is not a mirror in sight! How do they expect a lady to show her best without a mirror to attend to herself I wonder? Does Lady Moor¡­ oh. She probably has servants of some sort. Fortunately, my hair easily parts under my tAloNs fingers, and I believe I am at least somewhat presentable. They do not expect me to appear in polite society in any case! With everything done, I leave. Fortunately, it does not take me long to find the training room. I take the stairs down and wander a bit until I find the double doors. During this, I only come across one maid who avoids my eyes as she rushes by. She has an enticing scent, but I do not let it distract me. I am, after all, expected. I only hope that Jimena has something to drink, this Thirst is killing me. I find her at a table, cleaning an elaborate fencing foil. Next to her is a short and stocky woman in a peasant dress. She has short black hair and stares at me with a frown and worried black eyes. As I come closer, I realize she smells divine, why, I just cannot stop myself- Jimena halts me with a hand on my shoulder. "Oh, sorry, where are my manners! Good morning Jimena, and you as well madam. Hmm, it is morning, isn''t it?" Jimena returns my greeting with a nod and a smile. "Not quite. This is Aintza, she is a retainer for the Cadiz clan." "Oh, greetings Aintza." The woman does not answer. Instead, she nervously swallows, and I find myself fascinated by the movement of her neck. Such a pretty neck, so very fetching. "Ariane." "Hm?" "I need your attention. Look at me." I turn to her and realize she is much closer than I am comfortable with. She takes my hands in hers. Her skin is soft and cool. "Do you want to get closer to Aintza?" "Yes." "Are you feeling thirsty?" "Yes, quite so. It is almost unbearable." "Close your eyes. Good. Now, I want you to think about a place where you are safe. The safest place you know." "But I do not remember my past¡­" "Your mind does not, but your heart can. Do you remember what I told you yesterday?" "I am mine. I will always be mine." "Good. Let your heart speak, Ariane. You are safe. You can see around you. What do you see?" "I-I don''t know. I am so very thirsty. I just NEED A FEW DROPS FROM--" "No! Stop! Good. It will work better because you are thirsty. Now, try again." At first, I find the entire exercise silly. Why, it feels like one of these hogwash meditation exercises those charlatans claim can cure blindness? Jimena, however, does not relent. She guides me with a soothing voice. When the Thirst becomes too much, she grabs my neck in a firm hold and it helps me remain in control. Eventually, I feel it. On the edge of the sugar cane fields stands a log cabin. It is barely large enough for a single bed, a chest and a small fire pit. It was never meant to be lived in. It is merely a shelter, unadorned and unpolished. The only thing that matters is that it is safe. I drag myself up on the straw mattress. It smells like soap and sunshine and I know I can wait here for him to return. A cool wind rustles the trees outside and carries the smell of rain on fresh soil. Now that the weather is better, he will come back shortly and hopefully bring me something to drink. In the meanwhile, I will just hug Mr. Scruffybear. Mr. Scruffybear is such a gentleman. "Good. Now, does it not smell so nice?" "Yes." "Good, now lick it." I lick something exquisite. It must be the world''s very best bonbon. Someone moans in pleasure, and I know I should be shocked but cannot make myself care. "Good, it will turn the pain to pleasure, and now, just follow your instincts." I bit down delicately. Something soft and warm parts under my teeth like the sweetest of fruits, and once again the delicious nectar comes to sate the Thirst. Rapture. It is so good, so very good. And yet, it feels duller, somehow. It does not compare to before. There is a partition between the feeling and me. I am enjoying myself, but part of me also sits in the bed of my cabin with Mr. Scruffybear. "Slow down and listen." I can hear mostly two things. The first is a woman moaning most shamefully. I am not too na?ve not to understand that she¡­ Hah, I cannot even make myself finish the thought. The second is a heartbeat, and it has been beating increasingly faster. "The heartbeat is too fast. When it is so, you must stop. Stop now." I do so immediately. The Thirst has abated enough that the urge is no longer so pressing. I also remember my master''s instructions. I must obey Jimena in all things. "Excellent. Now lick the wound clean." I do so. I am overcome by a feeling of strong intimacy and were it not for my strange state, I believe I would be blushing. A moment later, I open my eyes. Jimena is holding Aintza in a princess carry. I dare not mention how inappropriate this all is, not to mention Aintza''s rosy cheeks! Why, if someone were to come right now, I would surely die of embarrassment! "Ariane." "Yes? Hrm." "Do you know what just happened?" "Hmm, you told me to find a safe place, which I did, and then¡­" I frown in confusion. What happened then? I cannot seem to recall. "I do not remember. Is it this accursed affliction?" "Yes. Do not worry, the veil in your mind will be lifted when you next meet your master, or so he said." "Oh, this cannot come soon enough¡­" I reply in a dreamy voice. Before I can embarrass myself further, Jimena turns around with a sad smile. "You should not be too hasty. Not all knowledge is good to take. Ah, I am not good at this. Stay here while I bring Aintza to safety. As you wait, I want you to remember that safe place you found. When you suffer from the Thirst, or when you quench it, you may find it again. This is important Ariane. If you must remember but one thing, remember this." Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. "I understand." "Good." Jimena leaves and I am left alone. I can already feel that call of torpor even though I must have awakened not an hour ago. To distract myself, I inspect the training dummies. I am simply astonished when I realize that some of those are automatons! How wealthy must those lords and ladies be, that they can afford such intricate machinery for such a trivial task? I can only assume that they are from Europe, for duels are still a way to resolve a dispute among nobles. My musings are interrupted by the sound of the door opening and closing behind me. I turn from my inspection to greet a returning Jimena and instead recoil in surprise. There are now two people in the room, only a few steps from me, and I have never seen them in my life. How can they already be so close?! It is impossible! Unless¡­ I blink. What was I thinking about? Hmmm. It matters not. There are people in front of me and I haven''t greeted them yet. I curtsy, even though I do not wear a dress. Master told me to sTop RunNing to behave, and I shall do so. And I wait. The woman on the left is wearing a richly embroidered cream gown with green eyes and shockingly red hair. She is extremely beautiful, and both her aura and her posture remind me of Lady Moor. A younger Lady Moor at least. Perhaps a relative? The black-haired man on the right is dressed in an assorted cream jacket that went out of fashion a century ago, and yet I would never call him on it. sea??h th§× Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. With his chiseled jaw and handsome face, he would be at home as a Shakespearian actor in the fanciest theaters of London. His own aura is blander, yet similar to that of his companion. While she is sneering, he appears to be a victim of the most dire form of boredom. His blue eyes dismiss me almost immediately. I have not grown to the age of nineteen without learning how to spot trouble. Whatever they want, I must delay it until Jimena returns without drawing their ire. And so, I remain silent. Time is on my side, and the newcomers know it too. The woman''s sneer turns into a scowl as the first round goes to me. "We came to see the latest spawn. Tell me, spawn, do you even speak?" Jimena, I beseech you, wherever you are, come back with all haste! "Are you referring to me?" "Obviously! Who else do you see in this pathetic hovel?" I must thread the needle between aggression and passivity. Too meek, and she will escalate. Too witty, and she will retaliate. I let silence draw as long as I dare before continuing. "In case you were still waiting for an answer, yes, I can speak. Is that so surprising?" "It is. Lord Nirari seldom chooses them sharp, you see, he prefers to go for¡­ other attributes." What is it with everyone expecting me to be a simpleton!? "Although this time he may have made an exception." She says, eyeing me critically. Does she expect me to lose my composure so easily? "Are you perhaps related to Lady Moor?" It appears that I hit the mark. Her face freezes and her eyes turn calculating. The man''s head turns to the door and he voices a warning. "Melusine¡­" She continues, unfazed. "And why do you believe that?" "You have all the bark but none of the class." I COULD NOT RESIST, HAHAHAHA. Oops. "You DARE!" She was just waiting for an excuse. She moves, and I can see it. Something sings in my veins like the leftover of a good dream, and so, I move as well. I go to grab her backhand and manage to catch her fist. This was a terrible idea. She is not quite fast, but the strength behind her strike is unthinkable. I am launched through the air as if I weighed nothing. By chance, I manage to roll on the ground without hurting myself too much. Her power is truly inhuman! If her backhand had landed, I would have had to collect my molars from the farthest door. How can a slip of a girl like her¡­ Wait, what was I thinking? I do not know; I know however that I am in danger. I grunt and pull myself on my knees. I somehow ended up between two of those automatons. "Time is short, Melusine." Says the man, as impassive as ever. Melusine strides towards me, wearing on her face the promise of pain. Their urgency must come from Jimena''s imminent return; therefore, I only need to stall for a few moments. I am, however, spent. This affliction has sapped my strength. My limbs are heavier than they were a minute ago. I will not be able to fight her. I will not be able to escape. In desperation, I do something that I can only attribute to my addled mind. I catch the side of the nearest automaton and pull its lever. At best, I was expecting the dummy to rotate and buy me a few moments. Instead, the unthinkable happens. A complex imprint flashes in the automaton''s chest and basks it in crimson. It shudders and steps down from its wooden support, and then it stretches four arms ending in wicked blades. Its eyeless head finds the closest moving target, Melusine. I am too stunned to move. Sorcery! Sorcery of the vilest sort! I barely notice the man pulling his astonished companion behind himself, when a voice sweeps the room in one mighty roar. "HOLD!" Jimena walks in with the confidence of a lioness. Her eyes find the dummy, which moved a bit forward for some reason and then settles on Melusine with an amused sneer. "It is good to see clan Lancaster attempt to remedy their abysmal lack of martial prowess. With that said, you could just have asked me instead of scurrying around the proving grounds like rats." "Watch your mouth, Squire." I jump as both doors shut without any visible intervention. "You should take your own advice." A heavy silence falls in the room as Jimena closes the distance with the two outsiders. Before she can reach them, the man takes a step forward and offers a formal bow. "Squire Jimena, it appears that we have come here by mistake. Perhaps you would consent to open the door?" Jimena stops and considers for a while. "You will leave the fledgling alone while she is in my care." "Very well." Is that all? After all of this, they are free to leave? WE SHOULD CUT THEIR LEGS AT THE KNEES AND MAKE THEM CRAWL ON THEIR STUMPS! No, it is a perfectly reasonable outcome for this farce, and I am delighted to see the back of them. They leave without a word. "I suppose I should start to train you to defend yourself." The woman sighs after the gates close. "With all due respect, Jimena, I think not" I respectfully disagree. "I need to understand who those people are, and the reason for their animosity. Why, when we first met, were you not goaded into attacking me by Ogotai?" Jimena flinches. "You are correct, young Ariane. Ah, but I am bad at this. Where should I even begin?" "You could start by telling me why I am a fledgling and you a Squire, and why does Lady Moor despise me so." Jimena stops to consider, then quickly nods in assent. "Very well, but please bear in mind that I will remain intentionally vague, lest your mind obfuscates some of the information." "I assumed that I would be unable to learn more about the affliction until I meet my master once more." "Indeed. Now, to begin. Newly turned¡­ Afflicted, start off as drones. They are mindless and pitiful creatures who only react to obey their master''s voices. Most remain in that sorry state for a few weeks at most. Others never move past it." I shiver in disgust, what a dreadful fate! "When drones recover enough of a sense of self, they receive, ahem, their master assists them, and they become fledgling, as you are. A fledgling is essentially a young afflicted." "Jimena, my dear, are you not mistaken? I have not yet received that help you mentioned! Am I still a drone?" "Yes, and no. Someone who has reconstituted a sense of self is always treated as a fledgling. Receiving help is but a formality." "What if--" "No, Ariane, do not think of it. Your master will assist you when the time has come." "He told me to behave¡­ And I--" "Did not roll over and bend to Lancaster curs. Worry not, Ariane." "Thank you, Jimena." She graces me with one of her rare smiles. "Ah, what a refreshing young lady, but let us continue. Once a Fledgling is deemed an adult, after a few dec-- after some time--" Did Jimena almost say decades? Surely my ears deceive me, I would not want to wait until my hair grows grey to emancipate! Not that it matters, as soon as I may, I shall go home. "--they become Courtiers. This title is earned by the grace of their clan and is universally recognized by the others. Those two from before, Melusine and Lambert, are Courtiers. Those who, ah, master their affliction become masters. Masters do not need the recognition of their clans. Their rank is obvious. Masters who control a territory are often called Lords. Above them are the clan sovereigns and their councils, and we will address this later." "What about Squires?" "Ah yes. Knights are the military arms of the clans. They are trained and deployed by a separate Order and enjoy some measure of autonomy. Squires are Knights in Training, as well as disgraced Knights." Jimena looks at me expectantly. I can tell this is a test of my personality. I have known the woman for only two days, and I can already tell that she is honest and straightforward, perhaps a bit too straightforward. "When Ogotai, and later Melusine addressed you as Squire, they meant it as a slight, did they not?" "Correct. They riled me up on purpose and I fell for it." She steps forward and I recoil. My reaction hurts her, I can tell. "Jimena, I am sorry, I¡­" "Do not apologize, Ariane. I raised my hand against you yesterday. I only have myself to blame for your apprehension. I shall now explain to you why your situation is so precarious. Ah, where to begin. Hm. We are currently in Louisiana." I have not been moved to a forsaken corner of the earth, at least. "This region has changed hands quite a few times. As a result, a smattering of people now live here: the original Chitimacha, Choctaw and Coushatta, the French and Canadian French, the Spaniards, Africans and now the Anglos. Usually, clans do not mix, and those unique circumstances have required some level of adjustment. You see, clans are quite territorial." I almost scoff at the thought. Why would diseased people be territorial, and why include savages and slaves in the decision process? Unthinkable. "The clans who call this place theirs have gathered to negotiate spheres of influence. There were to be four: the Cadiz, the Lancaster, the Roland and the Ekon clans of Spanish, English, French and Guinean Gulf origin, respectively." "You include slaves in your discussions?" I scoff. Something flashes in Jimena''s expression. "Ah yes, I forgot to mention. We¡­ Afflicted, do not care for each other''s skin color. You would be well to remember it." "Well! How very¡­ progressive of you." "You will understand why, in due time. For now, I expect you to treat others with respect, no matter their race and gender. It is for your own good." "Understood Jimena." I will do as she asks; I am to obey her in all things. "The issue comes from your master. Lord Nirari is your sponsor, so to speak. You are affiliated with him no matter what." Jimena leads me to a comfortable bench and holds my hands. I find the gesture quite touching coming from the Amazon woman. "Lord Nirari is not unlike the sovereign of a clan. He is a bit of a rogue, and his arrival was unexpected. Nevertheless, he was welcomed with utmost courtesy. You see, insulting him is considered an exotic form of suicide." My face must reflect my astonishment, for Jimena decides to explain a bit more. "Your master''s way is that of the ancients. He deems the rules of hospitality sacred, yet every slight is met with ruthless vengeance. He is universally feared and reviled, and his reputation reflects on you." "What!" I interrupt, scandalized, "He is A bEasT the very soul of kindness! A gentleman of refinement! How dare they slander him so?" Jimena does not interrupt my ranting; instead she looks at me with pity. How I wish I could convince her. "Nevertheless, his reputation is well established, and he is known for, ah, not caring about the fate of his prot¨¦g¨¦s." "Jimena, I am so confused. Does he have a clan, or not? Do I?" "He, well, he is just known as the Devourer, and to my knowledge only one of his Spawns, besides you, still lives. You are the third member of his line." I¡­ What? "I am sorry Ariane, your legacy will always be known, Lord Nirari''s afflicted are quite distinctive." Her attention flickers to my mouth. "I do not understand! This makes no sense at all!" "You will, in time. I am sorry." I am too astonished to reply. None of this makes sense. A mysterious disease? Clans and politics? A clan of three? "Jimena, please, tell me the truth. Am I hysterical? Is this some asylum where the mad are left to live their insanity?" "Ariane, believe me, you are not insane." I am not insane. "This is a difficult time for you, yet if you are tenacious, and if you display a better political acumen than my own, I am confident that you will thrive." "Thrive? I do not want to thrive! I want to go home! I just want to go home¡­" I try to hold it but despite my best efforts I start crying. "Ariane?" "Yes?" "May I¡­ may I please drink your tears?" Nothing that happens in this madhouse can surprise me anymore. I nod in assent, then yelp as Jimena pulls me in her embrace. Before I can react, she licks my cheeks! How daring! We stay there. I would be otherwise offended at her familiarity and yet I realize how much I owe her. If what she says is true, and I have no reasons to doubt her words, then my master is a bit of a pariah. Our acquaintance taints her reputation. Her honesty and loyalty are costing her and yet she defended me. I can only be thankful that I met her. "For an afflicted, you cry a lot." "Oh, shush!" I feel so comfortable in her arms. I was already tired before my confrontation with that horrible harridan and now my entire body feels so heavy. I believe I shall take a quick nap. Just a few minutes. Chapter 4 - 4. The seed of Discord The last harmonies of the hymn wash over the pews and the many attendants. The mass is in full swing now, and I can feel that I am a part of something greater than myself as people from all origins unite with one purpose. I take a deep breath. The church smells like dust and incense, and a unique mix of perfume and sweat that humanity brought here. The morning sun kisses the little skin I show. I am, after all, in my Sunday best. Vanity might be a sin, but how I do love that blue dress I wear. It suits me so much. Papa stands next to me, and I can tell he is looking at the others, acting as my guard. The young men who stare will be noted and he will tell me of it. Those who stare too much will be reprimanded later. A smiling old man in the black cassock of the Catholic priests steps in front of us. His genuine smile makes my heart lighter. Father Armand''s homilies are always so wise and pertinent, much better than that priest from Mobile. What a bore that man was, always screaming about eternal damnation and witches. "Welcome, everyone, welcome to Mass. I am so pleased to see all of you today. With Easter coming soon, I was about to make my sermon about the dangers of gluttony and over-indulgence. Alas, I received yesterday a meat pie from Mrs. Cantrel and you all know how I abhor hypocrisy!" I chuckle, like most people present. "So, I will talk instead about something far less pleasant I''m afraid. It has come to my attention that there have been some scuffles with Mr. Sutton''s parish members. Over the question of religion." The mood turns grim. "Why, I can barely blame you for being confused. I remember myself a loyal subject of King Louis the XVth going out to hunt a pesky snapdragon and when I came back, I was Spanish!" Once more, we chuckle, the old priest playing us like a fiddle. I do not mind terribly; he is a good man. "I go make some tea, and I am French again, muchas gracias!" The Spanish members of the congregation laugh harder, possibly due to father Armand''s atrocious pronunciation. "And now we have been sold to the United States of America by Napoleon himself. Why, it is no wonder we are all at a loss. I now own more flags than shirts and have considered turning ones into the others. Hehe. Yes. And so it is that our Parish now harbors quite a few Protestants." There are more than a few grumbles at the mention of those heretics. "And yet I ask you this. When Jesus debated with the Pharisees or the Sadducees, did he punch them in the face? Did he throw manure at their women?" The grumble dies on the spot and quite a few faces redden in shame. "No, he did not, for he knew that all should have a chance to hear the word of God. We must all remember that we are Christians not because of who we oppose, but because of who we love. I will have no more of this. Instead, you will love thy neighbor as is ordered in the Holy Scriptures, for the Protestants are not your enemies, merely people who walk a different path. Nay, the true enemies are demon-worshipping sluts like Ariane here." "W¡­What!?" "You moaned and squirmed under the Beast like a wanton whore. He took you on the first night and you enjoyed every second of it. Neither Sodom not Gomorrah ever witnessed such a shameful display of lust!" "What?! No! You''re mistaken. Papa! Tell them!" "I should have drowned you the day you were born. Look at what you''ve become. You cannot even stand here." Smoke erupts from my now blood-stained gown and fire soon follows. I try to run but I am blinded. I fall against a wooden bench and the contact sears my hand. It hurts so much. I roll on the ground, screaming in agony. Angry whispers surround me as the congregation watches me die. "Here, catin, this should help." Father Armand throws water on me but it does not stop the fire. I vanish in a flash of blue light and an ear-piercing shriek. I open my eyes to green sheets and a bedpost made out of a reddish wood I have never seen before. Another day, another room, and I remember that this is no home. I am, at best, an unwilling guest in a gilded cage. I still savor the moment. I only have a few minutes of lucidity, of peace, before it comes. The Thirst. I do not know much about this affliction. I feel that every time I am told more, the ideas flee through my mind like through a sieve. Jimena told me that all will be made clear tomorrow when I meet Him again and I do hope it will be so. It cannot be healthy to remain in such a fugue state for an extended period. I go through my new morning ritual while the craving grows in me. It is a strange thing. The Thirst is not limited to the throat and mouth. It digs in my chest, my belly, and my mind with its needy claws. Every line of thought is derailed, and my feet carry me to the door whenever my attention fails. No, this cannot last. I find another grey set, the same as yesterday. It is again quite tight around the hips, and I suspect I am wearing one of Jimena''s spare sets. As I finish, someone knocks on my door. As I move to unlock it, I pause. What if it is not my improvised tutor, but the Lancaster shrew and her stooge? They promised to leave me be. They also did not strike me as people of their words, and they are not the only ones who would do me harm. It is at this moment that I notice that there is a tiny glass window, no bigger than a thumbnail at the door. I look through it and lo and behold! I can see who is outside with all clarity! It must be some sort of magnifying glass, or a short telescope, mayhap? I thought running water in every room was a luxury, until now. Why, if their lavatories were encrusted with diamonds I would not be surprised. Speaking of lavatories, why have I not¡­ Hm? What was I thinking about? Another knock on the door, more insistent this time, wakes me up from my reverie. I unlock it and greet Jimena. "Forgive me, dear friend, for my mind is as muddled as ever, and I do pray you brought something to drink. I am parched!" "And a good day to you too, Ariane," she replies with a smile, "this is Ricardo, another retainer for clan Cadiz." She says, and only now do I notice another man. He is dressed well but soberly. He is tall, with brown eyes and curly brown hair and looks at me not unkindly. I greet him politely, which he returns. "Buenas tardes, se?orita." Jimena then bids me let them both in, which is I suppose acceptable since Jimena could be considered a chaperone. After that comes some more meditation and when we leave, Ricardo stays behind. I feel refreshed and the Thirst releases its hold on me. "Lord Ceron requested your presence. He is the local head of clan Cadiz and we should attend him now." "What? Jimena, surely you jest! This attire¡­" I dare not criticize too much since she gave it to me so graciously, however, trousers are indecent, particularly those that are, well, so very tight around the hips. Jimena notices my discomfort and smiles knowingly while addressing my concerns. "Fret not, young one. Grey is the color of the knight order and by wearing it you are distancing yourself from the Court. You are claiming neutrality and impartiality, and this can only help you." I ponder her words in silence. "You surprise me Jimena, this is a well-thought statement." "Well, I am not so oblivious to the vicissitudes of v¡­ afflicted politics. I usually ignore them. Recent events have forced me to reassess my priorities." I suspect that it has to do with her fall from grace and tactfully refrain from asking. In short order, we reach the edge of the many apartments to another set of doors. The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. It appears that each level contains a square of individual living quarters surrounded on each side by waiting rooms where visitors may gather. "How many floors does this building have? And why are there no windows?" I ask. "Only five floors if you count the basement as one. That said, you have seen but one wing of the fortress, there is more on this level than you have had the opportunity to visit. As for the lack of windows, it is for the sake of safety." "Hmm." "You will¡­" "Yes, yes, I will understand in time." "One more night and all will be made clear." She opens the door to a large boudoir. Comfortable seats are gathered in small groups and other afflicted in fineries mingle there. We ignore them and reach yet another door. Jimena knocks and, without waiting for an answer, gets in. We enter an antechamber of modest size. The furniture and decorations are of the same Baroque style as everything else I have seen since leaving the dungeon. This place has been designed for people to stay, not to live. An oaken chest in a corner convinces me that the sole occupant of this place shares my status as a guest, although he might be doing it willingly. A man sits at a work desk facing the entrance. He calmly puts down his pen and rises to welcome us. He is, without a doubt, on the same level as Lady Moor. His aura pressures my mind and while it lacks sophistication, there is a solidity to it that reflects his physique. The Cadiz clan lord has cornflower blue eyes, like my own, and black curls that reach his muscular shoulders. His facial features are virile and elegant and complemented by a roguish beard and mustache. Why, he must have stepped out of some pirate tale, ready to plunder and ravish! I am pleased to see, however, that his gaze is calculating as opposed to overly hostile. Once he reaches us, I curtsy, partly to hide my surprise. This man is muscular beyond compare! I believe Ogotai has nothing on him, and that he could bend metal with his bare hands. Are all Cadiz clan members so dedicated to physical prowess? "Rise." I do so and stay silent as the man takes my measure. "Greetings Ariane. I am Lord Ceron of clan Cadiz and I welcome you to my humble abode." "The pleasure is mine, Lord Ceron." The man smiles wryly and turns to Jimena. "It is as you said, Squire." In his mouth, the rank of Squire becomes praise for past achievements rather than an insult and I can tell that Jimena is grateful. "Tell me Ariane, has my quartermaster explained the situation to you?" "She told me of the council and my Master''s unexpected arrival." "I see. Has she explained your role in this?" "My role?" Lord Ceron just chuckles. "As expected of our Jimena. I wager her first answer was to put a blade in your hand." Jimena hisses playfully and crosses her arm under his teasing rebuke. "Lord Nirari always holds his word and respects a few rules with unerring consistency, yet he is otherwise quite infamous." "You make it sound like he has committed atrocities, yet I do believe I would have heard of them in the news as he looks barely a day above forty!" Lord Ceron''s eyes flicker to Jimena before he continues. "You would be surprised, young Ariane. He is much older than he looks, and he has traveled extensively over the mill--over the years. I think you have realized that our world is apart from the mundane one. Afflicted are kept secret and in our society, he has earned quite the reputation, which makes his visit even more unusual. This land is remote. We who reside here have not come, we have been sent. For someone of his stature to be here and to make his presence known, he must be after something. This conclave started three days ago and is set to conclude tomorrow. Yes, I am aware of Lord Nirari''s promise. I quite assure you, that no nascent fledgling is ever left without receiving their Master''s blessing. You can look forward to the ceremony without trepidation." I was not worried, but I certainly am now! "What happens if I do not?" Lord Ceron seems temporarily at a loss so Jimena takes my hand and continues in a reassuring voice. "Eventually the stress on the fledgling''s mind becomes too much and they revert to drones. Rest assured though, barring a major catastrophe it shall certainly not occur." "Yes, Ariane, all will be fine. I should not even have mentioned it. Let us focus on the main topic if you will, and the reason for your presence here. "You see, Lord Nirari requested our hospitality and we granted it. On the second night, he spent quite some time with Lady Moor, and we suspect she is the reason for his presence or rather, her property is. "Lady Moor manages the local ship trading for the Lancaster and to our knowledge, she is the only one with the means to provide him with passage back to the Middle-East, or wherever it is he wants to travel to." "Can he not arm his own ship? Surely a man of his stature would not be without coin?" "That is not the issue. Transporting us across vast distances requires specific logistics. It is both easier and safer to reach an agreement with Lady Moor, rather than create a way by oneself." "I have so many questions¡­" "I know," he says with a smile, "And I am sorry. Now, as I mentioned, Lord Nirari is our guest and as such he will not force Lady Moor into serving him, and so he needed a bargaining chip. You." "Me?" "Yes. As the only person able to help him, Lady Moor has a monopoly and finds herself under no obligation to hasten the discussions. Quite the contrary. Lord Nirari is believed to be affluent. Very, very affluent. She could use it to leverage her position and that is where you come in." "I do not follow." "What do you know about your Master''s other prot¨¦g¨¦s?" "Everyone expects me to be some raving lunatic with barely the ability to speak?" Both Cadiz chuckle before my outraged face. Ah, but it is good to be with polite company, although I would not call Lord Ceron a friend. "Quite so. The Devourer has, hmm, had quite a few prot¨¦g¨¦s in the past. He cares little for them and has used them as tools more often than not." They were not me. As soon as we get acquainted, my Master will have no choice but to see that I am the one wHo should rUn away for him. "When needed, he reared them into psychopathic maniacs who he then let loose. They ravaged entire parishes before they could be stopped." "W..What?!" No, they must be wrong. This is nonsense! An individual alone would never be able to¡­ I would have heard about¡­ He would NEVER¡­ What was I thinking about? I blink. Jimena signals to Lord Ceron and he graces me with an apologetic smile. "Forgive me, I forgot myself. Suffice to say that you are a sword of Damocles that hangs over Lady Moor''s head and leave it at that." "I don''t see how?" Jimena clasps my hand between hers. I forgot how cool and soft they could be. "Trust me on this, he is saying the truth." I am a sword of Damocles hanging over Lady Moor''s head. "I see." "Good. Lord Nirari uses your existence as an incentive to push the negotiation forward. He is under no obligation to limit the damages you could inflict according to his own twisted sense of honor." Lord Ceron sits back and spreads his hands. "The implications for you are twofold. The first is that you will be under intense scrutiny while here, and most opinions will be, ah, hostile. The second one is, that should everything proceed as we think it will, you will be left at clan Lancaster''s mercy." "What, but, this is horrible! They hate me! Can you¡­ I am ashamed to beg you thus, but can you do something?" "Alas, no. We have no justifiable way to claim you. The best outcome for you is to serve under them." "Best outcome?! Surely you jest, or you underestimate their scorn! They attacked me ruthlessly¡­ And with little provocation! I would be a fool to put myself at their mercy!" I answer, dejected. "It was a test of your character. Melusine and Lambert are Lady Moor''s only competent subordinates, they were sent there to assess you while someone else was delaying Jimena. S~ea??h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Thankfully, they were quite bad, and she saw through their awkward attempt. The short time they had to see you should work in your favor. Melusine will want to keep you alive out of curiosity if nothing else." They leave me a few seconds to gather my thoughts. "So, my Master will not take me with him?" "There is not a chance, although I know you will try anyway. If you wish to live, you will plan accordingly, and I know the way to do so. Tell me, Ariane, what is it that you want?" I want this to never have happened, but I know it is wishful thinking. Jimena told me to believe her, and that this disease has no cure. Then, what I desire most is¡­ "I want to go home to my friends and family. I want to walk along the fields of sugar cane in the morning light with whatever pet I have that I cannot remember. I want to open a distillery and bring wealth to my family. I want to bag an egret in one shot and eat its meat grilled over charcoal. I just want this insanity to stop." I am too close to crying again, and I refuse to do so in front of the local head of the Cadiz clan. My passionate declamation only stuns my hosts into silence. I hope they do not find me whiny and pathetic, but I comfort myself in the certitude that I have cause to be a little dramatic! Some unspoken message passes between them until Lord Ceron finally returns his focus on our conversation. "If going home is your fondest wish, we will do our best to grant you the opportunity to do so. This will be a difficult task, however, and you will need to make it worth our while." "How mercenary of you!" I reply, scandalized. "I have obligations towards my own clan, and one of them is to protect its members and make sure its resources are well used. You ask me to risk people and funds to rescue a stranger." "I thought I was asking a personal request." "It will take more than the two of us Ariane. I am sorry." I hold my head between my hands, trying to come to terms with my circumstances. Eventually, I calm down enough to ask the Lord his terms. "Very well, then what would you ask of me?" "While you are with them, look for information on their business activities. Inventories, deeds and titles, we can use the information." "You expect me to spy for you?!" "Yes. I assure you that those mongrels do not deserve your loyalty." "It is not that! Spying is just so¡­" "Distasteful?" "Precisely." "Trust me, after tomorrow, you will change your perspective on the matter." "Very well, I shall do what I can even though I fear you may be overestimating me." After a few pleasantries, Jimena and I leave the Cadiz enclave and she drags me to her proving grounds to teach me the basics of fencing, including posture and how to hold a blade. I successfully learn a few things before sleep takes me. Chapter 5 - 5. The Reveal "Aunt Catherine!" "Ma petite ch¨¦rie, I am so glad to see you!" I rush down the stairs and embrace her. She returns the hug, then steps back and inspects me with a serious face and smiling eyes. "Mhhh but how you have grown! Any bigger and we shall have to trim you a bit." "Not funny!" I reply laughing. "I am thirteen, and when I turn twenty all of you will have to look up to me! I shall overcome even Papa!" "Perish the thought!" She answers. "Your appetite would bankrupt us all." We chuckle for a while until her expression grows serious. I feel extremely awkward as I am now convinced of the reason for her presence, even more so because she left my cousins at home. "We need to have a talk goddaughter, one that requires privacy. Should we retire to your room?" "Very well." I would like to pout and protest, but I''m a woman now and need to show patience and restraint. I lead her up the stairs to my room and claim the bed while she takes a chair. sea??h th§× n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "How I wish Diana could see you now, she would be so proud." I am instantly saddened. "I am sorry ma ch¨¦rie, I did not mean to make you sad." "It is fine, we both miss her." "Yes, and this makes it even worse. How I regret it, what I have to do¡­" "Dear aunt, you exaggerate. I know discussing lady issues are a tad delicate¡­" "Not that, this." Her hands grip my throat and she pushes me into the mattress. I cannot breathe! I struggle and fight but she is so much bigger and stronger. My sharp nails dig into her arms to no avail. Red tears of regret mar her cheeks and her mouth distends to show serrated fangs. Oh my God! I panic even more but already darkness creeps upon my sight. "I am sorry ch¨¦rie, this is the only way! He will claim your soul otherwise! I am so sorry, ma Cherie. So sorry¡­" I grow more frantic in my struggle. Her fingers dig into my skin, draw blood until the pressure is too much. The pain becomes intolerable and with one grisly crack, my cervical bones shatter. Something is wrong. I¡­ What¡­ Who? I cannot think properly, everything seems distended and cloudy. I feel the urge to just stay there, and wait, but I know something is wrong. It smells like fire. The thought of fire horrifies me, a visceral reaction of such intensity that it forces me up. I¡­ I don''t know what to do. No, focus, this has happened before. "My¡­ name is¡­ Ariane¡­ I¡­ Am my¡­ Own." Slowly, painfully, my psyche stitches itself back together, fraying at the edge. Holding my mind together is like holding sand, and I know I need something. I desperately need it. The Thirst hits me like a rock. I bend forward and grip my stomach. Oh God, it hurts¡­ I need it. I need it. I need it. I NEED IT! I need to find my master. He promised¡­ Then we will leave this forsaken place together. Yes. But first I need to FIND HIM NOW. I pull myself together and just walk to the door, carefully opening it. The smells hit me first. Woodsmoke. Gun powder. Blood. Excrements. The corridor is deserted but for two unmoving forms. The first one is a servant in a maid outfit. Her hands clasp a deep wound in her chest. They are so coated in red that she looks like she is wearing scarlet gloves. She is also quite dead. Tears trail down her face from half-lidded eyes. The other one is a man in a black leather overcoat. His clothes are military without being a uniform I recognize. I see no wound on him but he is lying in a pool of his own blood, also dead. I feel nothing. A distant part of me screams that this is not right, that I have seen bodies before but never like this. I care not. The man is holding a gun, a pistol of good make with silver embroidery. I get closer and see that it is discharged. A basic inspection yields silvery bullets and a powder horn, which I take. I reload the weapon and cock it. The woman took a bullet wound. Whoever attacked this place, they care not for unarmed women. They did not even have the grace to give her mercy, instead choosing to let her suffer atrociously before she drew her last breath. I will not have the same fate. I have not come this far to fall to some brutish lout. I need to flee the building. The smell of fire worries me. I dare not find Jimena, for if I know the woman, she will be in the heart of the battle if she still lives. Fortunately, I know where to go. We are in one of the wings of the fortress and the exit should be on the "ground" level of the wing, quite close to the entrance to the dungeon. I am quite certain that there are hidden ways given the builder''s strange tastes, but I am not inclined to look for them. I would rather risk a blockade. The Thirst is killing me. I go down one floor with all the patience I can manage and stop when something peculiar hits me. This is the floor where I first slept and the door to my first room has been broken open. Only one other room had its entrance forced. Are they hunting the residents? If so, how did they know where to find me? I reach the ground level and slow down. If the mysterious assailants are still around, this is where I will find them. As I finish this thought, a few footsteps echo from a nearby hallway and I hear Ogotai''s distinctive voice. "¡­incompetent, I would never have agreed to this! How many men do you need to¡­" Relieved, I step out of an alcove as Ogotai comes into view, taking care to hide my pistol at my back in case he proves himself to be too nervous. A gravelly voice retorts but I barely pay attention until his two companions step into view. Both of them look like hard men. The older one has deep claw scars on one side of his face, barely missing his black eyes. The second one is much younger, with red hair and a sharp look. Both of them wear the black overcoat of the intruders, enough weapons to start a small conflict and unexplainably, silver crosses. We all freeze at the sight of each other. I understand immediately. Traitor. I turn to run and Ogotai moves. I will never make it in time. And that is fine. A part of me that I do not recognize rises to the surface of my being. There is barely enough of me left to direct it and yet it is enough. I move as well. Just as the edge of his blade kisses my neck I lift the firearm and pull the trigger. Point-blank range. A child could not miss. Ogotai is so surprised at the sight of the muzzle, that I see his mouth form an "O" an instant before it is blown away. I am not done. The two men instantly pulled guns and are now firing. I grab Ogotai''s body and use it as a shield. Two dull impacts make his chest shiver as I rush forward. I am barely thinking, something is taking over and I let it. I will live. I will live. And so they must die. Ogotai''s body flies through the air to the older man who tries to dodge to the side. A pointless endeavor. The warrior''s body is too massive and the corridor too tight. With a grunt, he falls. So thirsty. With a high pitched scream, I rush at the redhead until a flash of silver makes me dodge. Something flies over my shoulder. The corridor''s tightness now plays against me and I move to avoid another one. My foe anticipates it and a third something stabs into my arm with a flash of blinding pain. A knife!? I hiss and barely manage to endure it. He is close, so close! Something glows white and I am propelled backward by an implacable force. Swatted like an insect I bounce on the floor. No! No, this cannot be. I am too thirsty. I need it. I NEED IT! I manage to stagger back up in time to find the young man taking out another pistol from a recess in his vest and aim it at me. As he fires it, I throw my own discharged firearm. It impacts his shoulder as he shoots and a massive hole opens in the wall next to me. I need to get closer, but I can''t! What to do! Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. Oh. Of course. I rush forward once more as the man takes out a smaller pistol from yet another pocket. How many does he even have? This time he waits calmly for me to approach. When I am but a few feet away I pull the knife from my arm and throw it at him. I care not about the pain. I only care about the deliverance he will offer me. My awkward throw sends the flat of the blade to impact his nose and it breaks his concentration. As he recoils from the pain. I manage to move around him. I grab his neck with two fingers and push him down. At the same time, I bring one of his arms back and bite. Ah, yes! Or no. This isn''t close to what I had before! It simply will not do! I cannot take it in. It barely dulls the edge. I need more. I need him. I NEED IT FROM HIM! I¡­ what? Nothing makes sense anymore! Somebody cackles like a madwoman. Me. I stand up and grab a dagger. Ignoring everything else, I follow my nose to a draft of fresh air I feel. The air is tainted by smoke but this is the way out. I know it. I will live. In a daze, I leave the three bodies behind and walk past corpses of servants and soldiers as well as one inexplicable pile of ash to the scene from a battlefield. A broken down barricade stands not ten meters from a half-collapsed wall. I count more than a dozen bodies of both sides strewn about, including a few women and quite the assortment of weapons. It looks like the invaders stormed it and left no one alive. As I pass the barricade, the reason for their anger lies before me. The entrance to this wing of the fortress has been blown open, yet the wall partly collapsed, creating a chokepoint and corpses of the invaders litter the ground. Even in my dazed state, I am stunned by the extent of the destruction I am witnessing. What manner of fanatics would throw their lives away like this? What would justify such determination, or such hatred? I cross the door and find trails of drying blood. Recent. Someone dragged their wounded out. So thirsty. I stumble forward and find myself in a massive hall the size of a cathedral. The walls are natural. Is this some sort of cave? Another set of doors faces me. The cave goes up to my left but the draft comes from my right. I walk in that direction. This place is empty but for the dead. A handful of oil lamps provides enough illumination to see clearly. This hall is barren and its sole purpose seems to be to instill a sense of majesty or dread. I cannot tell. I quickly reach a set of massive stairs when two forms step down from it. I did not hear them at all! The first one is a bearded blond man with pale grey eyes in a blue overcoat who frowns at my sight. The second one elicits a gasp of surprise from me. I have seen many slaves and freemen, hailing from Haiti or the continent. They always have something about them while in the presence of many white folks. Sometimes it is fear, sometimes, respect and quite often, it is defiance, but what they all have in common is that they never let their guard down. Not this man. Dressed in a beige leather ensemble and quite visibly armed, he has a sarcastic smirk on his face that shows that he fears no one. Bar Master and my father, he is also the tallest man I have ever seen. The two newcomers are followed by brown haired twin men and a black woman, respectively. All of them exude the same cold aura I now attribute to afflicted, with the first two men being on par with Lady Moor and Lord Ceron. I need to go up. I NEED TO BREAK THROUGH. No. They are stronger, I cannot leave. The blond man steps towards me and before I can react, he moves faster than I can think and my vision turns white. "Ah!" One moment I am looking forward, the next I am held above ground by five sharp things digging in my stomach. The pain is unbearable and the tenuous hold I had on my mind finally breaks. It is too much. I stay there, unmoving. I don''t have to struggle. I don''t have to breathe. Moving just means more pain. Better to stay and wait. Focus on fighting the fog. The last dregs of consciousness I can hold to. If I let go, it is over. I know it in my soul. As I drift in and out I can hear fragments of conversation. "¡­clear as day! Someone betrayed us and we know it cannot be a cattle!" "¡­ raving imbecile. She has been one of us for four days while this raid is weeks in the making." "¡­cannot trust his spawn! I knew it was a mistake to¡­" "Bring her back up or we will never know. She fed and is still degenerating; she''s almost too far gone." Somehow, we are going up. We reach another grand entrance, this one made of wood. We walk through the burnt husk of a mansion. We walk through a garden. We are outside. Finally, something shakes me from my torpor and I let out a weak moan. It''s Him! My salvation! His mere presence stitches more of me back together. Enough to follow what happens. The blond man throws me on the ground. I curl up around my belly. I fight off the pain. I can do nothing else. I will live. I just need a few more minutes, and Master will save me. Just a little bit longer¡­ "Back so soon?" "Don''t play coy, Lord Nirari, I am wise to your schemes!" "I really doubt that little Gaspard, you do not even have enough fingers to count them all." "You! So you admit that this is your doing?!" "What is?" "This attack on us! You come here and not a week goes by and we are assaulted?! You expect me to believe this is a coincidence?!" "Or it could be because of the long-awaited conclave. I would explain Occam''s razor and confirmation bias to you, Gaspard, but I lack the patience and crayons to do so." "Oh!" "Enough Lord Gaspard. If we want to know more we have but to ask the lass. Lord Nirari?" "I admit that I am curious as well." Master grabs my neck. I do not need to see him to know it. His touch makes my body lax. Even the pain and the Thirst fade. I find myself looking into his face. Ah, those handsome features! This kingly presence! His noble beard! HiS eIghT fanGs. "Ariane." Oh, my name on his lips! I am undone. I find myself smiling like a witless maiden. I love him so much! "Answer me." The world gradually disappears as my body relaxes completely. The world fades away and at the same time, I regain perfect clarity. Never since my awakening in this dark cell have I felt so focused. "What did I ask of you when we first met?" "Do not speak unless spoken to, address you as master, behave, obey Jimena in all things." "Have you spoken without leave?" "No, Master." "Have you addressed me as anything but Master?" "No, Master." "Have you obeyed Jimena in all things?" "Yes, master." "Have you behaved?" "I¡­ I think so? Yes, Master." "We shall see. Ask your questions Lord Ekon, and I shall relay them to her." His attention goes to someone else. No! Look at me! He turns back to me. Yes! "When did you wake up?" " I do not know, maybe fifteen minutes ago?" "At sunset then. Do you know of the raid on our fortress?" "Yes." "Did you help the assailants in any way, at any time?" "No." There is some commotion outside, after a while, He asks me more. "Little Gaspard here thinks we were betrayed. What do you think, little one?" "I agree." Another commotion. Master looks pleasantly surprised. "Oh? And why do you think so?" "I saw Ogotai walk with two of the invaders. They were talking" This time the commotion is quite loud. "Tell us about it." As I relay the encounter to master, his smile grows wider and more malevolent until he laughs. The sinister sound sets my stomach aflutter. "Ah, young Ariane, you have brought me something I would not have expected to find in this forsaken corner of the world: entertainment. Jimena, did my spawn behave properly?" A pause. "Very well then, I declare that you upheld your end of the bargain. I am pleasantly surprised by this outcome! It is not every decade that someone manages to elate me so. As promised, you may draw my essence. May it be everything you hoped for." He slowly drags me up to the crook of his neck. I do not understand what he wants until he places my mouth against his soft skin. My mouth instinctively opens and he lets himself be touched. I feel something thick and syrupy pass through my parted lips. Time stops. Even if one day I forget my name, even if I live a thousand years, even if I am robbed of every last shred of sanity I have, I shall never forget the moment I taste this essence. I will go on blessed by the experience and cursed by the knowledge that nothing will ever compare. Words escape me. I die of pleasure a thousand times. The wave of agony and bliss burns through me again and again, lasting both an instant and an eternity, and I am carried on it helplessly. After a while, visions like fleeting dreams appear to me. I am in a chariot pulled by two horses. I let loose an arrow that flies true and buries itself in a man''s throat. My first kill, one of many. A foreign princess prostrates herself before me, the blood of her brother still staining her dress. I utter a few words. With tears of humiliation rolling on her face, she unclasps the gown. It smoothly falls from her golden shoulders. I stand up. An older woman sits at the heart of an intricate garden. Her beauty and wisdom are legends. She is writing an intricate spell on a square of tanned human skin. When she hears me, she looks up and smiles. I lie on a bed stained with my sweat and blood. My hands grip the hole in my gut. The stench is nauseating. The same woman leans against me with a sad smile. She tenderly brushes my hair back. Her other hand brings a vial of black liquid to my lips and I swallow it. I pull away with a gasp before the blazing potency makes me burn from within. My fraying mind is reforged at its sharpest and coldest. The power courses through me and invades every organ. I absorb it like a woman dying of thirst. I remember. My name is Ariane Lucille Beatrice Reynaud. I have a father and an older brother. Family, friends, hopes and dreams. I came to New Orleans with my best friend for a short stay. I intended to talk to an acquaintance at a ball and met Master here. He¡­ No. No. No no nonononoNONONONO NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME, YOU! YOU!" The monster laughs, he is filled with mirth! NO! This cannot be, it is a nightmare! No. I refuse to¡­ No. It''s¡­ "What hAve yOu done? What am I? Why?" "So much anger little one, do you hate me? Do you?" How can I hate him when I love him so much and I hate him so much and love him so much and¡­.. "No, MasTeR¡­" "No? Then are you happy?" "HAAAAAGH" "Tears? How very precious! No? Was it not your desire?" "HOW! HOW DARE YOU! YOU VIOLATED ME, KILLED ME, TURNED ME INTO THIS!" His hand slides from my neck to my throat. "Urgh!" "Tut tut, I will have no mouth from you little one. After everything I have done for you." He smiles disarmingly. "You were so precious, a little peasant girl who dared approach me, as if we were equal. You even addressed me first, introduced yourself freely. I wanted to tear you apart limb by limb for your insolence, but then you started talking. So many projects, so many dreams. This drive, this passion, I was so touched. You reminded me of someone I knew long ago. Like you, she reached above her station, however, she succeeded. Her deeds inspired a whole civilization. You were like her. You wanted it all, and you even wanted me! You asked me if I was married. Such presumption, such hubris. I had to see it through. So here you are, little one, like me, a vampire. Free of the constraints of this barely civilized corner of the world. You can live forever. Time will not wither your beauty, nor will it dull your wit. You can get it all, and you can even get me. Show me how far you can overreach, little Ariane. Show me that I did not waste my blood and my seed on yet another failure." "You will not get away with this, Guh¡­!" "God? Did you want to say God? There is only one God left for us. Look up." Despite my best efforts, I raise my eyes to the sky above. So beautiful. A canopy of light and darkness. A canvas where some divine artist threw lights and shades of colors in some unfathomable pattern. I never knew the heavens could be so breathtaking, and I would stare in wonder were it not for a new celestial body. Twisted clouds and roots of baleful purple enshrine an eye of black sclera and a slitted red pupil. It is absolutely massive. It dwarfs even the moon. The sky has a gigantic eye. A demonic cat eye in a purple crown. I stare, speechless. It stares back. I want to close my eyes but I cannot for Master bid me look. Sheer terror courses through my mind. It is alive. I feel a presence. "Welcome to your journey of Black and Red little one," Master says, "may it be everything you hoped for." Chapter 6 - 6. Uprooted The man throws me on the ground. "As agreed, she is yours," he says without a care. I can barely lift my eyes to see the hem of a blue dress. This is all too much. I finally understand. I remember dying. I am now a monster. I have been a monster for four days. I drink blood. I am damned, an abomination. And the people in the corridor, they were priests. I killed a priest. That boy on the first night, I killed him too. And before that, my last nights as a normal person, I¡­ He¡­did things to me. This is not a nightmare, I know it with perfect clarity, just as I know that I should feel hysterical but cannot, I should wish for death but I do not. Something in me is broken. Old age may have robbed me of my mind, eventually, but what streams my consciousness, what moves my heart now is not the spirit of a person. It is much colder. Already, the tears I shed have dried on my cheeks. Panic has receded, replaced by cold certainty. I am no longer the Ariane that danced and drank fine wine on that night, the one who suffered, fought and begged for freedom then for a quick death. I am not her. Not entirely. I am a vampire, and I want to live. I may have been robbed of the future I envisioned but I will not throw away this pathetic excuse of a life until I fulfill this promise to myself. I am Ariane. I am my own. I will live, and I will go home. They cannot take this from me. I will not let them. Never. As Jimena said, patience and determination will carry me. Jimena. She helped me. She showed compassion, kindness, honor. Are they not all monsters? I turn my head left. There she is, her armor reddened by blood but otherwise unharmed. She looks forward like a soldier at a parade. As I look, she turns to me briefly. Long enough to see the pity in her eyes. I need to think, to evaluate. I need time. "Not so fast you old monster. You think me daft? You would have me believe Moor''s servant betrayed us all and you had nothing to do with it? Both of you plotted our demise!" "Those are preposterous accusations Gaspard, and you should know better," Lord Ceron answers. "All of you are too blind to see it but I will not be made a fool!" "Careful," says Master, and the clearing goes deathly still. "It sounds like you insulted me twice." "And what would you know of honor? You hide behind a false code and vile sorceries!" "Oh? You believe me weak of arm, young Gaspard? Would you wager your eternity on it?" "You will regret those words you decrepit husk! I accept your challenge. No magic, only our blades and us." I turn my head in disbelief to the blond bearded man. Gaspard, the representative for clan Roland. Is he serious?! Can he not tell how utterly outclassed he is? "Witnessed by Clan Ekon," the tall black man declares in a low rumble. "Witnessed by Clan Cadiz," Lord Ceron adds. "Witnessed by Clan Lancaster. Farewell Gaspard, I cannot say that I will miss you," Lady Moor continues with a voice as cold as it is uncaring. The group moves away and I push myself up to Lady Moor''s icy eyes. "Well, are you going to hug the dirt like a scullery maid for much longer?" I stand up before her and grind my teeth in silence. I do not know the rules that regulate vampires and therefore I do not know how freely she can kill me. I need to make her believe that keeping me alive will be more beneficial than finishing me off. "You serve me now." "Yes, Lady Moor." "Will I have to discipline you?" "No, Lady Moor." "Humph! At least you know your place now. Even monkeys can be taught, it seems." That trollop, I so want to WRENCH OFF HER HEAD. Ah. So this is what it is. I can feel my own mind, twisted and corrupted like the surface of a lake, and there is something else, something deeper. When I was alive, I was prone to feeling anger, but this is different. It is like a twisted thing that prowls beneath the surface, pitiless and predatory. It is the part of me that fought those priests and took Ogotai by surprise, and if I release it, it will not throw harsh words. Right now, it is of no use to me. Any resistance on my part will be met swiftly and mercilessly. Mistaking my silence for complacency, Lady Moor smirks and moves away. "Follow." I do, and finally take the time to check around me. We stand in the middle of an exquisite garden. The mansion dominating it might have been a sight at some point. Now, only blackened beams and collapsed walls remain. Somebody dug a path from the outside to the massive steel door at its heart. sea??h th§× N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Bodies of those battle priests litter the grass although most seem to have died in some sort of defensive line. Collapsed tents and slain beasts form a grisly spectacle somewhere at the edge of the property. I can spot servants packing belongings in coaches in the distance, so it seems some of them survived. Vampires gather around a flat circle in silence. It seems that each lord has between two and five followers who stand behind them. I want to join Master, yet I place myself behind the Lancasters. Melusine turns in my direction and smiles cruelly. I do not react. The two combatants enter the arena. Lady Moor takes a white band and releases it without ceremony. I can see every detail on the Roland Lord''s arrogant face: his pride, his disdain, the certainty of his victory. I shall never be so utterly brainless, and thus I promise to myself to keep the beast in check. What follows is a lesson, and this lesson is not for Gaspard. It is for the rest of us. One moment the Lord stands at the edge of the circle, the next moment he is right next to Master in a perfect lunge. His black bladed sword kisses the edge of Master''s deep blue coat without touching it. Master has one hand on Gaspard''s sword arm and the second deep within his chest. Gaspard''s expression turns from triumph, to surprise, to pain, to horror. A torrent of black blood rains on the ground and the Roland clan representative staggers and lurches, only kept standing by Master''s steel grip. A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. With deliberate slowness, Master ignores the man''s pleading eyes and releases the blade, which falls on the ground. He then grabs his throat. What follows is a moment I shall never forget. The sound of flesh tearing and bone breaking, the suction noise as the head is pulled minutely, the vertebrae revealed to the world with agonizing slowness. It takes the man ten seconds to die in a flash of blue fire. Ten seconds during which Master reveals his true colors: he is utterly bored. This is nothing to him, just another insect that needs its wings pulled so that the other vermin know better than to provoke him. The local master did not even warrant the satisfaction of the kill. He was such easy a prey. Master turns to the silent assembly with one raised eyebrow. Lady Moor bows to him. "Melusine will show you to your ship, my Lord." I derive a small amount of satisfaction from the abject terror shown on the little harlot''s face. Unfortunately, when Master turns to leave, I take a step forward despite myself. "Master¡­" I know I shouldn''t, yet I must try. He ignores me, completely. He leaves without a word, without even a look. I don''t understand. I have been a good girl. I did everything he asked¡­ I did my best! So why, why¡­ The other vampires are perfectly silent, so my outburst and the following shame are witnessed by all. When I think it could not possibly get worse, I feel two claws grab my neck. Lady Moor''s cold breath on my ear makes me shiver. "Not ten minutes in my service and you already embarrass me in front of my peers. It looks like you need discipline after all. Undress." "What?" Her vicious claws draw blood and I convulse in answer. Ah! This really hurts! "Do not make me repeat myself." I can only be grateful that most other vampires leave to attend to other business as I slowly take off my gown, gritting my teeth. In short order, I stand in my smallclothes in the middle of the clearing, grateful that the view of my disrobed body remains hidden behind a curtain of green. This is the most indecent thing I have been forced to do. I wince as a memory worms itself to the forefront of my mind. It is, in fact, the second most indecent thing I have ever been submitted to. God, why did I have to die like this? What have I ever done to deserve such treatment? Why have you forsaken me? I do not receive an answer, not that I expect one. I do not wait long. A bearded man soon reaches us. I recognize the insane blue eyes that greeted me in my cell back on the first day. He leers at me shamelessly! I try to cover myself as best as I can. "Hehe, looks like Nirari knows how to pick ''em¡­" I hiss in outrage and he recoils. "Enough Baudouin, she is more than you can tame." The man looks at me thoughtfully then throws me another dress, a humble apparel of white linen. I would never have let one of our estate''s servants walk around in this rag, and yet I treasure it for it is the only material thing I possess now. I do believe that Lady Moor did not want me naked only so that the unspoken threat of this condition deters me from opposing her will. As soon as I am covered, we leave to join the procession of coaches and carriages leaving the fortress ground. The remaining Roland clan members precede us as I recognize the twins. It appears that the death of their leader has not affected them in the slightest. I am horrified when I see where I am led. Lady Moor turns to me, expecting a reaction, yet this time I manage to remain silent. A cage. They are going to transport me in a cage like a circus animal. Oh, I so wish to make them SUFFER, but I need to exert patience. Baudouin has a pair of manacles hanging from his shoulder, massive objects of cruel metal, and I have no intention of letting him come anywhere near me if I can help it. Lady Moor gestures to the door and I get in wordlessly. It is a testament to my circumstances that I am grateful that the cage is clean. Lambert silently rides a horse to my side. He pointedly ignores me and I am only too happy to return the favor. Clan Lancaster is the last to leave the fortress grounds. Only a dozen servants are left to clean up the battlefield. Our little procession is made of six coaches and four carts including my own, and we depart in silence. Despite my circumstances, I cannot help but look around me in wonder. For the first time, I truly appreciate night in the bayou. The oppressing wet heat of summer is mercifully subdued at night, or perhaps I am no longer so afflicted by it. Sounds and smells form a vast harmony and I spend quite a bit of time looking at strange arrangements in the leaves and barks of the cypresses, and ripples on ponds of brackish waters. Every insect and every plant hold a new fascination for me as if I had never seen them before. I suspect that vampire vision is highly superior to that of humans to help us perform some foul deeds, and it brings me some consolation that my new senses can be used for more than just evil. It is also my luck that the path is quite muddy, else I would be swallowing the entire caravan''s dust. We are in July and night is the only time when the weather is tolerable. So, I am a vampire. I have no idea what that means. Never have I heard of such a thing. I have difficulties admitting that monsters could live among humans, moving faster than the eye can see and digging into people''s chest at will without it being common knowledge. Surely, people would ask questions upon having their blood consumed? If those battle priests know of us, why not call the colonial militia and give us the cannons? I am simply baffled. There are so many things I do not understand. Truly, I am a toddler once more. Thinking on it, can I still bear children? Would I even want to? Would they not be twisted things, just like me? I abandon this line of thought. I will not give Lambert the satisfaction of seeing me cry a second time in a single night. I would also not want to ask questions. It appears that talking without leave is not looked upon kindly. My cart is at the very tail of the procession and we advance at a snail''s pace, so much that we eventually lose sight of the rest. I assume that so many carts together in the middle of the night would attract undue attention, so I am only left with a human driver and the ever-taciturn Lambert. Fortunately, the new experience of the night entertains me until we come across a patrol of three armed militia. They look at me questioningly. I do not wish to resist at this point. Jimena''s promise is still clear in my mind and I do not doubt that Lambert could disable them in an instant, should I try to force a rescue. I am therefore compelled to hear him explain how I am the wanton daughter of a tailor, who ran away from home after finding out I was with child, from an unknown father, no less. I apparently murdered the babe as he was born so I could continue with my depravity. The faces of the men turn from wariness, to shock and eventually, to disgust as Lambert spins his tale. He is as good an actor as I took him for, and I note to myself that I shall never trust a word he says. We leave the patrol behind us and cross a small village. The night comes alive with the smell of humanity. Under the stench of sweat and unwashed bodies, there is a perfume of vitality that makes my jaw ache. I pass my tongue over my fangs, only to find out that there are eight of them. They have replaced all my canines, and the outermost incisive as well. Jimena mentioned that my bloodline''s appearance was unmistakable. This is certainly why. Now that my memory is clearer, the other vampires all have four. This is grave news. It means that I must absolutely keep the sight of my teeth to myself lest my lineage is immediately found. As I ruminate, we leave the village and come upon another patrol. This time, Lambert entertains them with a tale of my murder of the old man who welcomed me to his hearth, how I poisoned him and seduced his son to steal the family''s fortune. Again, the looks of horror on their face are striking and I wonder why Lambert lies with such aplomb when there is no benefit to it. He is not even having fun. After a while, the land gradually changes and we find ourselves next to a colonial house of massive proportions. For a while now, I have smelled the barest hint of brine in the wind and I remember that clan Lancaster has an interest in sea trade. I suspect that we may not be far from New Orleans. The place of my demise. Lambert opens the cage and lets me out. I follow him in silence across a grand entrance and a series of corridors. We walk past tastefully decorated rooms and a few submissive servants in blue uniform to a closed door. Lambert knocks and we go in. The room is a boudoir of good size illuminated by candles. A handful of vampires lounge lazily on comfortable couches. I am horrified, not by their number, but by their immobility. There is not a whisper of moving fabric, not a sigh. They are not even breathing. Shocked, I begin holding my breath. I am still holding it as Lambert leads me to the forefront. I am still holding it as Lady Moor stands up from a throne-like seat to address the crowd. The vampires shift their postures to show attention. I feel like I am watching a puppet show, so unnatural their movements are. I count seven in total. Besides Lady Moor, Melusine, and Lambert, there are also a weasel-faced scoundrel, a bovine toad of a woman, a witless looking slip of a girl with crooked teeth, and a balding brute. It finally occurs to me that Louisiana is not a land of exiles just for the humans. "My esteemed clan kin, the conclave has reached a favorable conclusion and once more, Lancaster has risen to the top. The successful negotiations I conducted solidified our hold on New Orleans and its boon of treasure and cattle. Our success is assured." The grisly automatons clap politely, like the obedient curs they are. "This victory did not come without its share of disappointment, however. As you know, we lost Caytlinn and were betrayed by Ogotai, may his soul burn forever." The assembly does not betray any sort of reaction. I do not believe that such a sorry lot would harbor any kind of sympathy for each other. "We have received a new member as payment for service rendered by Lord Nirari himself. As the foremost clan in this land, the Devourer has favored us with his business and we will reap the benefits for years to come." Not if I can help it. "Please welcome Ariane to our loving family." I feel like a piece of meat dangled before a pack of bloodhounds. "She is yet very young, so it will be up to Melusine to rear her into a valuable and productive member of our community, for the good of all. I notice the vilest and cruel of smiles on the red-headed harridan. Ah, truly, I will need every scrap of self-control I can salvage. "And with this, I shall retire for the evening. There is much for me to do." The rest of them stand as she leaves. Melusine reaches my side and grabs my arms as if we were the best of friends before dragging me out of the room. I am surprised to see that I am quite a bit taller than her but it matters not. She has me, and she knows it. This will be difficult. Chapter 7 - 7. Servitude I open my eyes to total darkness. The pantry sized room they call mine greets me in all its misery. In truth, it is a cell, for what bedroom has a lock on the outside? No nightmare tonight. A pleasant change. I hear footsteps coming. I do not even have the luxury of privacy. I have learned much in a week. Vampires "die" at dawn and wake up at sunset or before. During that time, we are utterly defenseless. Sunlight kills us. Silver blades cut us deep. Fire will turn us into torches faster than one can say "arson". Our mind is prone to distractions unless we hunt. In return, our body is superior in all accounts and can heal even the most grievous of wounds, given enough time and nourishment. We do not have to breathe, poison cannot hurt us and we cannot drown. Only the destruction of our head and heart spells a certain end. This implies that Ogotai may have survived his wounds if one of the priests supplied him with blood. Blood. It is the Red of the Journey, the energy we need to consume to sustain the parody of life that animates us. It cannot be stored. It must be consumed from the source and without it, the predatory part of us will take over until it tastes the crimson nectar. Vampires who lose control, sometimes fail to get it back. They must be hunted down like beasts. The Thirst drives us. It taints every aspect of our existence. It can never be completely overcome, and it will never be truly sated. For fledglings like me, it is a daily struggle to control it, and then another struggle not to fall into torpor after we slake it. For this, we have a few tools. Vampire saliva can make the bite extremely pleasurable, and then closes the wound so that it fades at record speed. Bitten individuals will develop an unnatural loyalty for the vampire, despite themselves. Our eyes can confuse memory, though I am sure there is more to it than I was told. I have not been allowed to leave the building so far, and every night a new human is brought to me. Using Jimena''s method, I have been able to stop feeding without Melusine hurting me too much. I can tell that she is disappointed, and the death of cattle would have been a good excuse for her to belittle me. The logistics used in feeding eight vampires must be truly staggering. That is probably how the battle priests usually find us. We have a few distinctive features, such as the claws and pallor but our fangs are usually hidden unless the grasp of the Thirst gets too strong. We are not reflected by mirrors either, which I find quite silly. All in all, it seems that whoever created us meant for us to infiltrate the human world. Hunting us must be quite difficult. When I asked about the priests, Melusine became unusually tight lipped and I had to drop the topic. I hear soft gasps. Joan is gathering enough courage to knock on my door. She does not have the submissive behavior of servants who have bowed to vampires for a long time. There is a fire in her that they have not managed to extinguish. Melusine knows this, and that is why she is charged with being the first I see in the morning. I mean, evening. If I drink her dry, Melusine has killed two birds with one stone. She is quite petty like that. So far, I have managed to control myself, but it is becoming difficult. Melusine is stopping my feedings just a little bit early. Every night, I find my self-control eroding a bit more. There is a knock on my door. "Come in." The courtesy is a joke and we both know it, yet I cling to any appearance of control and every scrap of manners to keep the Thirst at bay. "Mistress Melusine requests your presence, Miss Ariane." I nod, not trusting myself to speak and she leaves promptly. The scent of vitality caresses my nostrils and the Thirst punches me in the gut. I feel like someone scooped my innards with a frozen axe. Nobody has fed from Joan for a long time. So it would be fine if I had a taste. Just a taste. Melusine can punish me later. I need just a tiny, tiny mouthful. Just a few droplets. No. I must not. When I come to, my hand is on the handle of the door and Joan is standing still with her back to the wood. She is perfectly silent, her eyes closed and her face lax but I can smell the fear in her perspiration, hear it in the beat of her heart. She is doing her best not to struggle, knowing that a mere move will set me off. So close. So very, very close. Finger by finger, I release my hold and open the door for her. Only when I turn around does she leave. That was the closest call, BUT I SHOULD RUN AFTER HER AND TACKLE HER TO THE GROUND! THEN-- No. I will not. I get changed, mechanically, and reach Melusine''s office. She is in deep conversation with a richly dressed man with a fetching appearance. He does not know what he is in for. I can see it from his flushed face and the scent of his arousal. To be alone with a woman like Melusine is titillating him. His mind has yet to be tainted by one of us. Prey. Melusine plays us both with a lengthy introduction. His initial frustration at being interrupted turns to pure lust at the sight of two beautiful women. I can imagine the lewd pictures his twisted mind must provide. How many indignities must I be subjected to before it is over? I have only been here for a week; a week of constant battle against myself and Melusine''s petty humiliations. Finally, I am given an opportunity to embrace him under some ridiculous pretext. My hands reach around his shoulders and I nuzzle his neck. I am in the wooden cabin. One lick, one bite. Finally. I drank two more swallows than I was granted by enduring the pain of the hussy''s claws in my neck. She drew blood. After I am done, she carries him to parts unknown while I attempt to scrub the memory of his erect manhood against my belly. How I wish padded pants were in fashion. With a knock, two other vampires join us and Melusine resumes her "lessons". What follows is what makes my predicament border on the intolerable. I have already been robbed of my humanity, now the Lancaster princess is after my sanity as well. Her teachings are a tragedy in two acts and four participants. First, she will demonstrate her knowledge of a specific topic, like the superiority of the Lancaster philosophy, with as much arrogance and derision as she can muster. While she does so, my fellow students, the bovine Charlotte and witless Sophie will gush at Melusine''s intellect and overall superiority. Praises must be properly heaped on and the princess will select a different favorite every day, who will receive her benevolence while the two others accumulate scathing remarks and disparaging comments. Suffice to say, I only participate enough not to be punished. After a while, she will test our understanding with tricky questions. She has a way to slide cutting remarks and casual humiliations in every sentence that is designed to leave the rest of us ashamed. She expertly divides and conquers us, constantly pulling our group down but distributing just enough encouragement to foster a nasty form of competition. She gives her favor as easily as she takes it and does her best to keep us on our toes. I can only grit my teeth. I am less insulted by her numerous slights and more by the fact that she thinks herself smart. She can only do this because my two companions have the intellect of a shrivelled turnip between the two of them. I do not know who turned those two brainless twits into creatures of the night. I think they should have stabbed themselves in the groin instead. "And so our numbers are limited due to the difficulty involved in creating a spawn. Ariane dear, can you tell me why?" "Only a master can create a spawn and it takes a century on average to become one. The process itself is also taxing and will leave the Master weakened for years." "I am sure that you will be a master very soon, Mistress, I can already feel a presence," Charlotte gushes, that sow. "Quite so! Sometimes I cannot tell if you are passing by, or if it is Lady Moor!" If battle priests were to bust the door open right now and set us all ablaze, I believe I would let them, and be grateful to boot. "Of course, we Lancaster are always picked from the best stock." How can she say that with a straight face? I see the malevolent glint in Melusine''s eyes and I can tell that I should have nodded along with the two stooges. Now I must endure her for a bit longer before she switches targets. "Yes, and it is our duty to share the blessing of our good breeding with other bloodlines, don''t you agree Ariane?" "Of course mistress and I will forever be grateful for the privilege of your presence. I consider myself lucky to be taught by no other than you." I can feel two baleful glares directed at me as I apparently overtake the two simpletons in the pecking order. "Quite so, and surely you would feel grateful to be shown such favor, yes?" I nod in assent. I do not like where this is going but I must play along. Whatever Melusine wants me to do, I will be compelled to do. My only hope is that she loses interest to pick on another. "With the tragic betrayal of the ungrateful savage, we are in dire need of helping hands to manage the city. Surely you would consent to assist us, yes?" I freeze. With no heartbeat and no need to breathe, we vampires can reach a state of perfect immobility, which I am displaying right now. I absolutely need to show a hint of fear, and then submission. If she guesses the truth she might withdraw her offer just to see me suffer. I pretend to swallow nervously and flinch, before giving her a nervous smile. "Of course mistress Melusine, I would be delighted to repay the debt of gratitude I owe you." Sear?h the n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Please, I beg you, accept this lie. I would do anything to get out of this farce of a tea party if only for a few days. I will shovel horse dung by the cartload. I will crawl in the mud and catch frogs with my bare hands. Please, let me go. Three sadistic smiles inform me of the success of my little facade. "Then I shall begin private lessons tomorrow in order to prepare you! We would not want you to bring shame to your benefactors with your poor performance, after all." The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. I barely manage to contain my excitement the next hour. I compel myself to look suitably worried and act more submissive than usual. Finally. I may be able to go out. OoO I wake up to the whispers of gossip. Cattle are a strange sort. They are unusually obedient and unerringly loyal, yet their other flaws feel exacerbated. They backstab, plot and slander to earn the favor of creatures that will never see them as more than blood sources and bed warmers. They have their use, though. After a week of being harmless, they have started to treat me with indifference. They do not seek my favors due to my status as an outsider and rumors about my bloodline, and my lack of reaction means that they have lowered their guard when around me. And so, I have picked up quite a bit of information. Most of it disgusts me. The Lancaster vampires are a petty, vicious and promiscuous lot. Each one has their flaws, their twisted desires, and vile habits. They are all detestable, each in their own special way. Melusine enjoys breaking couples. She will track them for days, seduce and have her way with the fianc¨¦ and then arrange a public confrontation. The more violent the breakup, the better for her. Lambert is a compulsive liar who preys after young and ambitious merchants. He will deceive and scam them until they are ruined. It is only at the moment of their fall that he will display something more than his usual apathy. Charlotte is a violent bully with an inferiority complex. She enjoys breaking servants and I am convinced she used to be one. Sophie has the wit of a boiled potato and half the charm. She does not behave too cruelly because she lacks the cunning to do so. It could be an act, of course, and I never let my guard down around her. The weasel man answers to Wilburn and he is a serial rapist. Only his fear of Melusine has protected me from his attention. I surmise that he tried something on her, and she made the following lesson unforgettable. The burly, bald man is named Harold and he has a chip on his shoulder. Every perceived slight against him eventually turns into physical punishment and no amount of pleading and promises changes his belief that everyone is insulting him behind his back. If their continued existence is not proof that God has abandoned this world, I do not know what is. "My name is Ariane, I am my own. I will live, escape, then go home." I repeat this sentence every twilight, in that small moment of peace before the Thirst turns me into a fiend masquerading as a person. I say it in the tongue of Akkad, the language of vampires. I was surprised to learn that the others had to study it. I have no idea how the knowledge just slithered in my mind, and I would rather not ask. Joan knocks on my door shortly after the Thirst hits. This time, I do not ask her in. Instead, I quickly send her away. I don one of my four outfits and get out. All my clothes look shabby and out of fashion while being functional. I look like the daughter of a family that fell on hard times, all of this to feed the image of the world as it exists in Melusine''s twisted psyche. They are not even comfortable, especially around my, well¡­ They are just too tight. The rotund form of Charlotte blocks the passage. "Yes?" "Mistress Melusine bids you join her in the training room. It is time that you made yourself useful, stray. You cannot just keep living off of our generosity." "Clan Lancaster certainly does welcome low-born in its ranks. It is such a shame some of us will never rise above their previous station," I reply. Her fat jowls quiver with fury at my rebuke. Ah, but her master must have loved Rubenesque women, and been short-sighted and deaf besides. Perhaps he lived in some remote corner of Finland and she was the only woman within a month of travel. I can think of no other explanation. Instead of leaving, her scowl turns to a smirk and I brace myself for the next inanity to be born from her addled brain. "The Mistress will instruct you in the way of battle. Perhaps a correction will force some manners into you." "And perhaps I will need a partner to practice?" I insinuate. I smile. I am Thirsty and this stupid sow is in my way. Let her see the fangs. Let her remember what my vampiric siblings are famous for. She flinches and steps back when I pass her by. I may be weak, like all fledglings, but she is even weaker. She is the dreg at the bottom of the barrel. I will make every encounter a slap to her pride until she learns to leave me be. The Lancaster training room is on the first floor. If there is a basement, I have never seen it. Melusine is waiting. She is dressed in a strange outfit that bridges the gap between travel dress and armor. She is also holding a fencing sword. Sophie is already sitting on the side and Charlotte enters shortly after me. No humans. This is not very auspicious. If Melusine invited spectators, it means that she intends to humiliate me. She gives me a training sword and demonstrates proper handling and some basic moves while the two clueless twits fawn over her "grace and elegance". Still no humans. I am so Thirsty. I return my attention to the little princess. Watching her reminds me of Jimena''s comment on the Lancaster clan. She mentioned their lack of prowess on the field of battle and I can tell from comparing the two women that it is accurate. Melusine may have had some formal training, but she is no master. Her movements are too mechanical. She lacks the deadly grace and seamless ease of the Cadiz squire. Jimena had made every demonstration natural and effortless. After a while, she orders me to copy her gestures and I do my best to learn. This is the most constructive activity I have taken part in since reaching this den of depravity. No amount of poorly-veiled insults will ruin my enjoyment. The physicality of the activity even manages to distract me from the Thirst. Since I am not talking, or thinking, life is simple. I lunge, I cut, I move. I let my body and the monster within guide me. It already knows how to do it. I have but to listen and follow. "Well, your posture is still awkward, but I suppose I should not expect too much from the likes of you." It seems my enjoyment was too obvious. "We shall now start with a light spar and today''s most important lesson!" Ah, it is time for the inevitable humiliation. I just hope it will be brief, and not too painful. Melusine retrieves an engraved glove of strange design. It is pretty enough to wear at a ball, I suppose, yet the amount of metal involved makes it look like some knight gauntlet. "Now, attack me." She says with supreme confidence. Should I go faster? It will make me even more Thirsty. In the end, my pride will not allow me to roll over and grant her an easy triumph. I move. When I reach her, she lifts her gauntleted hand and speaks calmly. "Blast." I dodge left. Something smacks against my waist and leg. I am sent flying and spinning. How? I smack against the weapon rack. Steel beams punch my side and I collapse on the floor. My head is spinning, and the pain clouds my mind. "Aaa!" It hurts. Why fight this one? Cannot consuMe. Too stRong. DoOr. Out. PREY. "And that is why no matter your efforts, you will never be able to surpass me Ariane. You were taken from mundane stock. You were never a warrior. You were, at best, a glorified peasant. I was chosen from a noble mage family and spawned by Lady Lancaster herself. No amount of time and no personal efforts will ever bridge that gap. The sooner you accept this, the better." "M¡­ MagE?" "Yes, a mage. You are still an ignorant little thing, but don''t worry. I will let you witness my ascension, so long as you remember your place." I need the sweet nectar now. Need it, need it, nEed it. The red-haired woman sees something in my face and grabs my neck. She takes me out. I do not resist, this time. She is leading me to blood. I know it. We reach a black-haired woman. Cute. Delicious smell of terror. She knows. I smile. Tears. Beautiful. Wait no, need to remember. The log cabin. Maybe not this time? Maybe this time I can just let myself go? Joan. No, this is a trick. The red-haired woman hurt me. I sit in the log cabin. Outside, the wind rustles the sugar canes and carries the smell of wet earth. I am safe. This is a good place. My name is Ariane. Melusine is a trollop. Something is thumping. The rhythm is too fast and-- I pull out and lick the wound clean. Joan is unconscious and white as a sheet, but it looks like I managed to stop in time. I will not give that harlot satisfaction. If I kill cattle, it will be because I decided it. "Ah finally. Under my guidance, it appears that your self-control has improved! Even the spawn of the Devourer can account for something if they are guided by a stern hand." It occurs to me that her entire misbegotten farce of a clan is so twisted that she might actually mean it. In a few decades, I shall attempt to revisit the question while skinning her alive with a rusty letter opener. "And now you can finally repay us for our kindness." Ah yes, I should show my appreciation for their precious gifts. The glorified wardrobe they call a bedroom and all four of my outfits. I follow Melusine to the entrance. Apparently, twenty minutes of training qualify me for a soldier role. I spent that much time listening to Papa before he would even let me hold an unloaded pistol. My mind wanders. I wonder how my family is doing. They must think me dead. I remember waking up in a hospital after¡­the first night. I was in too much pain to remember much. I think Father was there. Then that man took me from the room and dragged me to a basement. I died there, on the third night. I push back unwanted memories. If they see me again, they will know. There was too much damage. I would have born the scars my whole life. Should I even attempt it? I must. I want closure. I need to say farewell to what I used to be. Bury human Ariane''s hopes and plans. Grieve. We reach the main hall and turn left to what I know is Baudoin''s office. I know he is mortal, but he is not cattle. I smell Lady Moor on him. "You will assist Baudoin in whatever way he sees fit. I am a busy woman and shall return to more worthwhile pursuits while you run his errands." She turns around and leaves. Curious. I knock on the door and a bored voice bids me come in. I close the door behind me and catch Baudoin staring at my backside as I turn around. I hiss softly, which is enough to remind him that I do not play. "Yes? What do you want with old Baudoin?" His accent is quite strange, and I cannot place it, even after hearing English spoken from Acadian and Choctaw mouths. "I was sent to assist you." "I do not want help from a fledgling of less than a year! This will require a delicate hand. Lady Moor herself said I could have Melusine for this task." I need to add sloth to Melusine''s long list of flaws. "She did mention not wanting to run your errands." "Is that so? Well, you tell her to get back here, lest I tell the Lady, heh?" "Of course Baudouin, I shall convey your message." "No, wait." He says as my hand grasps the handle. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. Baudouin''s office says a lot about the man himself. I am suitably impressed by the organized stacks of documents, the cleanliness and the stress on function over form. Under his appearance of a perverted and deviant highwayman, he is, in fact, a perverted and deviant businessman. Which is infinitely more dangerous. "Perhaps, you will do." I can understand the pain of forcing the little princess to do anything productive. "What is it that you need?" I ask him. The man sits back in his comfortable chair. "A young rogue by the name of Andre Villemain had the audacity of taking over one of our warehouses. Yesterday, he and his merry band broke in and set up camp among crates of our finest china." Baudouin waits to see if I react. I gesture for him to continue. If he needed Melusine, it means the situation needs to be resolved with a scalpel, not a hammer. "Normally I would sicc the boys on them and be done with it. Unfortunately, Villemain is the son of two rather important people and killing him would sour our professional relationships." "I assume they cannot rein him in?" "Unfortunately, Villemain is at the age where one rebels against authority. Due to his lineage, he believes himself untouchable and flaunts his status to all who would listen. Worse, he attracted a gathering of children from good families and any bloodbath could impact our bottom line for years to come." "You need someone to convince them to get out without resorting to violence?" "Not too much violence at least. He is quick to anger and your, ah, fellow immortals tend to be heavy-handed. I need a delicate touch. I also need to send a clear warning. We simply cannot be trodden upon. That is why I cannot bribe him." "This will require a delicate balance." "And now you know why old Baudouin is troubled, lass. What can an artist like me do without proper agents to carry my will?" I scoff. "I am willing to try, but I require something in exchange," The cunning negotiator''s eyes suddenly turn cold. "And what would that be?" "Only general questions about the world. Despite my lessons, there is still much for me to learn." "And Melusine''s choice of materials is not to your liking? Let me guess, you know everything about clan Lancaster''s noble history?" "Since the war of the Two Roses, decade by decade." He laughs softly. "Very well, as long as it is nothing too serious. You would not try to turn on old Baudouin now, would you?" "Of course not." I smile. He swallows nervously. I believe I shall never tire of the effect the eight fangs have on people. "Before we leave, there is a small matter of security. I am sure you understand." I am immediately wary. "I will require you to wear this while we are outside." He stands up and walks to a safe. A moment later, he retrieves a richly decorated bracer from it. It looks like jewelry that gypsies would wear. All gold and bright color. "What is it?" "A tracking object, linked to Lady Moor herself." "Magic?" "Yes. Should you try anything that could damage me or the clan, she will be able to track you and disable you. That means our reputation too. And don''t you try to remove it. Better people than you have failed." I measure my desire to get out of this filthy den against my unwillingness to be chained like a dog. Eventually, I choose to preserve my sanity over my dignity. Besides, if it comes to that I may be able to chop off my arm and reattach it later. I am that desperate. The bracer is frigid against my skin and I can feel something dormant in the pattern of gold and stones that decorate it. "Let us go then." Chapter 8 - 8. Outside We step outside and something stops me in my tracks. The night, in all its glory. The oppressive heat of deep Southern summer days has cooled down a bit. Life in all its forms has come out to enjoy the small respite. I smell water from the sea and from the marshes, life in the trees and the scent of humanity. The woodsmoke and the cooking meats, the alcohol and the sweat and under that, all this vitality. I hear people and hunting things. Insects. Some distant music. Men and women dancing, drinking, and singing their worries away. Tomorrow, news of capricious floods devastating fields and villages may come, as they do every summer, but for now, they forget. I look at the many roofs and the burning lamps, and above it, the sky. There are so many colors, so many patterns I had never noticed before. The Milky Way slashes the sky like the thrown brush of an irate painter. At the center of this incredible vista looms the strange eye I first saw. Just as I look at it, it stares right back, and I can once again feel an alien presence. It does not threaten nor promises, it does not even judge. It just watches quietly. Perhaps I have somewhat come to terms with my new nature because I find it soothing. Even the ever-present Thirst takes a place in the background. An insistent pull on my sleeve wakes me up from my reverie. I expected anger from Baudouin, but he only displays patient amusement. "I always wondered how your kind sees it. You all look like it contains a Faberge egg, or a tarantula." "You know of what we see?" "The eye? Aye, Lady Moor mentioned it. She calls it the Demon''s gaze." "It is not a demon, but a Silent Watcher." Baudouin flinches. "What?" "Lord Nirari used the exact same term. I guess his blood runs true eh?" He sighs "They say every vampire who looks up sees the eye staring right at them. Scary stuff, aye." I have nothing to reply to that. We walk towards the docks and pass by the brand-new Spanish buildings around the Vieux Carr¨¦. The bells of the Saint Louis Cathedral grate my ears. It is midnight. "Is something the matter Ariane?" "I walked here, not a month ago. In that exact same street." "Ah, I forgot. I am not used to working with one so young. We will have to adapt, lest you are recognized." "You make it sound like you are an old man." As it turns out, he is. Baudouin is Lady Moor''s human servant. They are bound together and so long as she lives, so does he. Only masters can bind someone so. I learn more useful facts from him in thirty minutes than I ever did from that slovenly whore. Clan Lancaster rules most of the English part of New Orleans while clan Ekon wormed its way into the Creole population. Clan Cadiz only has a nominal presence. The Roland are all in Baton Rouge. What is left of them is, anyway. Clan Lancaster is renowned for its business acumen and "recruits" heavily from mage families, with whom they are constantly at war. Clan Lancaster makes good money from the trade of slaves and foodstuff. Most of the profits are paid as a tithe to the Main House in England. I am sure this vexes Moor to no end. Mages are another part of the magical population. Baudouin informs me that he will give me a more detailed explanation of the global magic community if I prove myself a trusted associate. He knows much about vampires. Fledglings apparently need more blood just to function. Physical exertion consumes a tremendous amount of energy and is discouraged during the first two years. In fact, it appears that fledglings need to be reared for quite some time before they are able to enter society once more. The youngest of us are either feral or apathetic. There is no in-between. I seem to be the exception, though I am not sure why. Master is not known for siring spawns of notable intellect. Baudouin learned about my confrontation in Jimena''s training room. I am quite fast for a newborn, but also very fragile and physically weak. This is good to know. Master is very old and I had hoped that it would make me stronger but it seems life does not work this way. Vampires dislike firearms, bows, and crossbows because those are peasant weapons. Many powerful vampires predate the use of gunpowder. This is yet another sign of profound arrogance and imbecility to me until I remember Master and Gaspard moving faster than even I could perceive. Perhaps this makes the use of ranged weapons pointless among us. I still see no reason not to use it on humans. Speaking of humans, the battle priests are members of the Order of Gabriel. They are dedicated to the extermination of all magical beings. They also despise the Irish, the Mexicans, the Jews, the poor, and women. Truly, a charming lot. Quickly, we reach the warehouse and I halt Baudoin before we come in sight. Those streets are silent but for laughter coming from our destination. I drag him through a nearby alley and approach the target from the side. It looks more like a barn than anything else. It is made from a dark wood that smells faintly of rot and is large enough to hide a sloop. I move my befuddled companion towards the entrance but stop before turning the corner and getting in view of the door. This is where the laughter is the loudest. I track a ray of light to a small hole in a plank. "It is too small to see through, Ariane," says Baudouin with derision. I stare him in the eye, place my clawed index against the opening and push. The damaged wood bends and breaks under the sharp nail and my finger digs completely. The raucous conversations mask the small noise I made. I did not break eye contact. Baudouin pales a bit, even though he must have seen more impressive displays of strength during his many years of service. I successfully hide my relief that the wood yielded. It would have been quite embarrassing otherwise. I look in. Dull oil lamps cast a yellow blaze on a dozen men and women in the midst of a drunken revel. They are all young and flushed with heat and vitality. The girls show just a bit too much skin than their parents would allow. The men''s smiles have a wolfish quality. The Thirst wakes up from its slumber. Greedy thing, you were already fed once tonight. Like a princeling on his throne, a dashing young man in an open leather vest, brown pants, and boots sits at the forefront. He has black hair, an opera pirate beard, and dreamy grey eyes. He currently holds on his lap a cute blonde woman in trousers whose generous bust is revealed by a ample cleavage. A tall and strong bearded man stands close with a wary eye on the door. There is no doubt in my mind that the rakish lad is Mr. Villemain, the person I will have to convince. His pretentious mannerism and cocksure air strike a nerve in me and I take an instant dislike to him. I also discover another interesting fact about myself. While I used to judge group dynamics around power play and cliques, what I notice now is entirely focused on hunting. This is a herd. It has a dominant male, a dominant female, and a powerful beta. I see who will fight and who will flee. I see who I can isolate easily and who the easiest prey is. The runt of the group is a mousey girl with heavy glasses who stares fixedly at dear Andre with what Papa would call "des yeux de crapaud mort d''amour." Eyes of the toad dying of love. Poor thing. I know better than most what infatuation can do when one''s chosen''s heart is as black as tar. "Baudouin, find out who I cannot touch." With his help, I identify three men and two women whose disappearance would cause an uproar. Andre''s second and the blonde woman are not among them. Excellent. A plan starts to take form. "How much time do I have?" "Until the next delivery arrives, that would be three days from now." "That should be more than enough," I reply and walk to the doors. There is no sentry outside, which does not surprise me. Andre is quite confident in the protection his name grants him. I open the door in silence and enter peacefully. I initially believed that the princeling had chosen this place because he wanted to ransom its content, but I may have overestimated him. The smell of overwrought sex is pungent in here. The dark corners of the warehouse provided the group with long-awaited intimacy. I am confident that some of the ladies present will regret their decisions in a few months when the consequences grow too big to be hidden from their parents. The bearded man is the first to see me and he takes out a cudgel, only to stop in his tracks when he notices my appearance. Gradually, the assembly falls silent as they realize the presence of an intruder until Andre is forced to turn his attention away from the blonde woman''s left nipple to address this new development. The hussy has the audacity to look at me with rage as she readjusts her top, furious about the interruption. "Well well well!" says the imbecile as the men chuckle "Are you lost, sweet thing?" "No, you are. This is a warehouse, not a club." Anger flashes in the man''s eye. sea??h th§× n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Would you kindly leave? My employer needs this place." The blonde woman whispers something in his ear with a sadistic smile and he nods. Some of the boys start jeering and "complimenting" my backside. The temptation to shred them all and bathe in their viscera grows by the minute yet I successfully resist it. "Why don''t you stay awhile and play a few games? Then we will consider your proposal¡­" "I will take this as a ''no'' and shall return tomorrow to see if you have changed your mind." I turn around to leave. "Not so fast!" I reach the door. "Hey, you slut! George, get her!" When George steps out, I am already gone. Now they know what their sin is, I just need to hand the punishment. "So, what did you learn today little sister?" I sip slowly from the glass of water and try my best to ignore the cookie jar atop the kitchen counter. The familiar room is bathed in the reddish light of late afternoon. A stew slowly boils in the hearth. "We learned about anatomy, and the various functions of organs!" Big brother Achille scoffs. "What do women need to know about such things?" "Women produce superior nurses and doctors!" "Nonsense." "Well, I remember when cousin Sylvie lost her water on the carriage Montfort, and only one of us panicked, no?" "Alright, alright! I guess! So, tell me about organs." "Well, there is for example, hmm, the liver! It cleanses the blood and it produces bile which is necessary for digestion." If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. "Is that so? And where is the liver situated?" "It''s huh, hmm, in the chest! Right side. Around here?" I reply while pointing a finger at the middle of my chest, to the right. "Hah, no. A bit higher. Well, let''s find it together!" Wait, what? I am bound spread-eagle on the table now. My chest is bare. What is happening? Achille is approaching me with a sharpened pick. "Wait, no, please! Please don''t! Achille!" "It''s for your own good sister, that way you''ll remember for sure! There it is¡­" "AAAAAAAAAAAGH" "There! We found it on the first try! Now, if you want to reach above your station to become a doctor, you can." "Noooo please, stop! It hurts!" "Ah, yes, but it will not kill you, as you are an abomination now! Good news, sister. And now, the pancreas. There!" "AAAAAAAhAHAhaaaaaa no please¡­ Please!" I take a deep breath and release it. What an unpleasant nightmare. "My name is Ariane, I am my own. I will live, I will go home." I take another calming breath as the phantom pain of cold blades in my stomach makes me wince. I may no longer sweat, nor does my skin peel but there is still a scent to my body. It is not entirely unpleasant, I suppose, but I will have to take a bath later when I return from the warehouse. Yesterday was strangely gratifying. I am already dressed when a new servant knocks on my door. Joan is resting and this one lacks courage. I suppose I can hardly blame her when I almost killed her predecessor. "I know where I need to go. You may leave." I walk to the back of the property and the pens. There are a few isolated cages where the Lancaster stow the problematic cattle. "Good evening, Blanche." "M¡­ Mistress Ariane! Please, please let me out! I promise I won''t¡­" I bring the blonde woman closer to me and hug her tight. After a night of sex with the princeling and day out in the sweltering heat, she smells quite ripe. Her trousers are sticky with perspiration. I lick the two white scars on her neck, and she shivers with pleasure. I bite. I did not truly taste her yesterday, only marked her. It takes all my self-control not to kill her on the spot. It would be so easy. I wouldn''t even be blamed. Something stops me, a sense of ownership. Blanche is my first cattle. Or at least she will be after a few more bites. It would just feel wasteful. I lick the wound clean and the Thirst recedes in the background of my mind, like a patient tiger. "Of course Blanche, you know I only do this for your own good¡­." "Yes, Mistress, mmmmh. I''m so sorry, we were just playing! I will tell Andre and he will understand, he is a good man! After you explain the situation to him, he will surely agree to leave!" "Naturally." I reply, smiling. I let my captive clean herself a bit in a water barrel as we wouldn''t want to be stopped by the militia simply because of the smell. Before we set out, I stop by Baudouin''s office. "Come in! Ah, Ariane, how may I assist?" "First, you could stop staring at my bottom every time I turn to close the door." "I fear it is too late for me to amend my behavior, young one." "You old pervert. In any case, I should return to the warehouse tonight and have them leave." "What if they refuse?" "They will not." Baudouin raises a dubious brow but gives me leave to go, as well as the small knife I requested. I walk through the streets of New Orleans in a simple dress and a conservative hat, courtesy of Baudouin. I also carry the bracer and a leather satchel. The cunning man mentioned it yesterday as we were walking back, and he was right. Clothes and behavior really allow one to blend in. I change the way I walk to appear less confident by slightly bending my back, lowering my head and affecting a subdued expression. Soon, I fade in the background. Just another maid on an errand, nothing to see and no one to notice. It is a different sort of magic, the art of street artists and con men. The tricks of the mind. I find them exhilarating. We reach the warehouse quickly. There is no merriment tonight. The place is deadly silent, but not deserted. Andre is living in an illusion of his own making. His parents are feared and protect him, his friends are rich and admire him. Daughters of respectable families fall for his wealth and good looks and spread their legs for his personal enjoyment. He is living the life. Yesterday he founded the seat of his power in some fat merchant''s warehouse. In his mind, they would have fun for a while then leave after being paid off, preferably before the place turns too rank; the first step towards the creation of his own criminal empire, perhaps. Then I came. Blanche stepped out at some point during the night to attend to some natural needs, with George keeping an eye out. I took him out with a small bite and kidnapped the girl. Bites make everyone pliable, if only for a while. I knock on the door and receive no answer. I can smell people inside. They expected me to return after yesterday''s message. I need them out. Fending off an ambush at this stage would be tedious. "Mistress?" "I am sorry, Blanche." I step back from the gate and grab her, then I break one of her fingers. What a beautiful voice she has. As expected, the door bursts open and what is left of the gang spills out in the streets with Andre at the head. Only five of them left. All men. This is truly pathetic. I force Blanche on her knees and grab her hair while she nurses her hand. Her quiet sobs are the only thing disturbing the silence. I appreciate the moment. I find it fascinating that real life would match fiction so deliciously. Here we stand, at the end of act three. The male lead bristles with rage while his loved one bemoans her fate. The trusty second''s eyes grow wide at the sight of me. The seeds of the plot are ready to germinate and their battered group ready to implode. I shiver in pleasure. I am the playwright and I already know how it all ends: with my victory. "Release her immediately! Or else!" Yesterday, they would have rushed me with their eyes full of bloodlust. Tonight, they are wary, and broken. I took out their princess. She sits on the ground in front of me in defeat, and after one day of search, they failed to find her, to rescue her. Hours of rageful and enthusiastic inquiries, then the feeling of powerlessness. Reality came knocking and they didn''t like it. They have already suffered the casualties of those who were there for the guilty pleasures and banter, but find street fighting and kidnappings too pedestrian. It is already over. Before Andre takes a step forward, I remove the knife from my satchel and apply the blade against Blanche''s tender neck, hard enough to draw blood. "No, Mistress, please. I beg you¡­" It is too much for the one remaining noble. He drops his saber and runs away. This leaves Andre, George and two henchmen. Laughable. "You will pay for this you whore! You have no idea who you are messing with!" "Andre Villemain, son of Gauthier Villemain and Alice Wintraub." "Wh¡­ What?" "We know who you are, we know who your parents are, and we know what you have been up to. You came here high on pride and arrogance, thinking yourself untouchable. You thought wrong. Ah, but before we continue, this is a private conversation. The two of you? Leave us." The two henchmen look at each other and decide that it is not worth it. Now, only George and Andre remain. "If you know my parents then you should know that you have messed with the wrong man!" "Your parents disavowed your actions, Andre. They will not lift a finger. Even you are not worth a war with us." "You lie!" "As long as you draw breath, Andre, they will not retaliate. This means that everything you own and everyone you know is fair game, starting with Blanche here." I move the knife just enough to elicit a cry of pain. "No, please wait! Wait. I understand alright? Let us all calm down. I will do it. I''ll just leave. Hell, I will even compensate you for the damage. Just please, let her go¡­" Oh? He cares more than I expected. "A reasonable proposal. Sadly, it will not suffice. George?" "Yes?" I do¡­ something. It is like drawing on a rope that is made of beads. The harder I pull and the more frayed my control grows. Still, a link is made. The bites I made yesterday sank something in their souls and now I have limited control over them. "For Andre''s own good, bring him to me." "What!?" "Very well, Mistress." George punches Andre who collapses on the ground like a doll with its strings cut. He takes the man in a gentle hold and brings him closer. I can feel him fight me, but my request is reasonable so far, and George is a natural follower. The cold part of me enjoys itself and I finally understand those Lancaster inbred. This is entertaining! "Understand, young Andre, that there is more to the night than you could ever imagine. We can tolerate joyrides and brash statements but this time you went too far. I am going to have to leave you with a reminder." I place the tip of the blade against the edge of his eye socket and carve downward. This will scar nicely, and since I am feeling generous, he can even keep the eye. "Wait¡­ What are you¡­ No! Aaaaaaa!" After I am finished, I calmly pocket the blade and stand up. "And with this, we are done." I say as he sobs and grabs his carved cheek. My hold on George just broke and Blanche''s loyalty is tenuous despite the two bites. If I go any further, I will have to shed more blood than I planned. "I expect the place to be cleared tonight. Farewell." I walk away. I can feel the tether that binds the two humans to me evaporate like morning dew with this symbolic gesture. I do not want to keep them with me, for the simple reason that they will be used as leverage by Melusine and the others. Any possession I gather must remain hidden, or it must be intangible, like status. I will not let her use them against me. As soon as I am out of view, I hurry to the place where Baudouin and I first spied on the warehouse. "You might as well come out." Smiling, the man himself walks out from a recess with his arms raised in mock surrender. I think a human could have passed him by a thousand times without ever noticing him. "I hope you do not take this as a sign of distrust." I sneer. "And if I had turned the street red, Baudouin, what would you have done? Scream for the¡­" I gasp as I am interrupted by a sudden and violent pain. It shakes my bones and rattles my teeth and leaves me trembling after a brief instant. "What¡­ What happened?" "I am sorry Ariane," he says as he shows a golden band around his wrist, "The tracking bracer can also be used to inflict pain and disable its victim, and before you use that vampiric alacrity of yours, know that the bracer will punish you, should you touch me. I hiss softly. What did I expect, that a clan full of liars and scoundrels would let me out of their house without a means to control me? "Do not be too cross, little one. I will make it up to you." "How?" "Before we begin, I have to ask. Why did you wait one day? Why the kidnapping?" "You want to know the reason behind my plans? "Yes, I am assessing you as a potential long-term associate. I need someone to replace Ogotai, if only temporarily. Harold and Wilburn are ill-suited to tasks that require a brain. As Lady Moor''s human servant, I can shield you from most of Melusine''s petty vengeance should you take that role." Baudouin''s expression turns to scorn at the mention of the other vampires. I am reminded that under his unsavory appearance, he hides a keen intellect. Also unsavory. "I have the Mistress'' trust when running day to day affairs. So long I guarantee that you are better used solving problems than entertaining that arrogant twit, she will leave you be." I consider his words for a moment. Getting out means the Cadiz can contact me more easily when the time comes. "Can you truly protect me from Melusine? She does not strike me as one who easily admits defeat. She could just abuse you until you change your mind." "When you realized I hurt you, how close were you to striking me down?" "I¡­ I¡­" Baudouin is right. The predatory part of me, the part that always pushes me to violence was strangely silent. "Vampires do not attack human servants directly unless they are desperate or unhinged. It is a rule that is engraved into your kind''s minds from the day you wake up again. Your very instincts will try to stop you." He is right. I was not tempted to retaliate. How tainted has my mind become? Is it still even my own? "Melusine shall not harm me, and she knows the price of annoying the Mistress too much. Now, Ariane, do we have an understanding?" "I shall not do anything that would rob me of the little dignity I have left. I hope we are clear on this, Baudouin." "Of course, Ariane," he smirks "I would not force you to turn tricks. I have other agents for that." I hiss again but my heart is not into it. "Well?" I sigh. It costs me little to explain my actions. "This group was fractured from the start. The leader had three associates with a poor background. The rest were scions of affluent families playing rogue. It was easy to make them confront the reality of the night. After that the mood was ruined, so to speak, and I just had to pick the pieces." "I see, and you judged that the best way to achieve this, to collapse their house of cards, was to abduct one of their members?" "Perhaps not the best but certainly the most expedient. Few things match kidnapping as a wake-up call. Not to mention that I wanted a snack." He laughs with abandon, then: "Walk with me." As we reach the brighter lights around the Vieux Carr¨¦, Baudouin starts in a soft voice. "You are nothing like I expected, you know?" "How so?" "I have seen many fledglings being reborn to this world. Most start off as mindless beasts, barely more than automatons. It is only after some time that they regain some semblance of humanity. You started as your old self and are now becoming more and more like a vampire." "Surely, my circumstances are not unique." "They are not; however, it is still quite rare. I cannot think of anyone who was quite so¡­ alive, as you were when I first saw you." "I would prefer not to be reminded of this moment." He chuckles. "There is also the issue with you being so weak. Lord Nirari managed to foster spawns that would go toe to toe with knight squads in only a few years." "Give me some time." He shakes his head. "No Ariane, I can already tell that you will not match this development speed. You are faster than most fledglings, and some courtiers, but your strength is almost human." I wonder how I can become more powerful. If I could be fast enough to dodge Melusine''s dark powers and then grab her by the ankle and¡­ I spent some time imagining the red-haired harridan slamming into walls until we reached the outskirts of the city. I then realize something. "Baudouin." "Yes?" "You said you used Ogotai for this kind of work?" "Indeed. His betrayal has caused quite a few problems, as you can imagine." "Did you expect his treachery?" "No. I was stupefied when he found his spine. You see, Ogotai is centuries old. He has suffered abuse at the hands of the Lancasters for longer than I was alive." "Perhaps Melusine sent him over the edge." Baudouin''s laugh causes a few late revelers to turn. "Ahh yes, I can believe that. You see, Ogotai was part of a horde of warriors from the East who invaded Hungary. He made the mistake of hunting a local Lord and the vengeance was what you guessed. Ogotai lacks something. He has never reached the rank of Master and he never will, if he still lives." "Can Lords figure out the best candidates for new Spawns?" "If some do, they keep it secret. Some clans heavily recruit mages as they keep some of their powers, but for the rest, I do not know. I do not know what makes one vampire much better than another." "I see." When we reach the house, a servant hurries inside and a few moments later, Melusine gets out the door like a devil out of a box. It occurs to me that I failed to warn her that I would not attend her circus act of a lesson. Oops? She and Baudouin stare at each other and a silent message must have been passed, for soon Melusine retreats. As the door shuts, I catch a glimpse of her face. It is twisted by the blackest of rage. Your move, witch. Chapter 9 - 9. A casual visit A leafy canopy covers the forest''s ground in shadows. I dart around trunks as large as carriages, doing my best to avoid the sunlight that stabs through here and there. The coverage is not perfect, and my skin is already covered in blisters. The cruel rays go straight through clothes as if they were not there. "Ahh!" I scream and hiss, as yet another gust of wind moves branches and I am exposed to the cruel touch. "You should give up; you are only delaying the inevitable." I want to make Him shut up, but he stands in the light, mocking me. Here, he looks human and regal with his thick brown beard and noble posture, a true king of old. "Your peers reject you; the humans reject you. Even the sun itself wants you gone from this world." I dodge and sprint, time is running out. The sun is already going down. The shadows lengthen. "The nail that sticks out gets nailed down, after all. You are only prolonging your suffering." I need to keep going. I just have to reach the house. I will be safe inside. "You think your family will welcome you? Idiot. You are not Ariane, though you stole her name for yourself. She died, that night, alone and broken. You are just the final insult to her memory." "You lie! I am me!" "How can you be so sure? Have you seen yourself in a mirror?" The sun is closing to the horizon, but I will never survive to twilight. The forest parts to expose me. At the last moment, I dive behind a tree and feel the bark to my back. The murderous rays start to twist around the trunk, and I yell when they reach the edges of my arm. "You will forever be a pariah, spawn, no matter how much you beg or bow." I start screaming. Several voices join the chorus calling me an outsider then there is only fiery death. I awake and quickly repeat the now-familiar sentence. I have been here for two months, two months of playing thug and errand girl. I am even building a bit of a reputation. I wonder why I have so many nightmares, and if the others do as well. Unfortunately, I would sooner stab myself in the foot with a rusty meat skewer than share this detail with anyone here. My questions will therefore remain unanswered, for now. The phantom pain coursing through my body ruins my meditation. I wish I could cry, but this is a function of the body that I find myself unable to force. I endure the memory of burning to a crisp for only a minute before it is replaced by a more powerful imperative. I wonder if older vampires treat the Thirst as an old friend, or if they are all driven mad by it. Baudouin confirmed that fledglings consume more, especially the very young ones. I can only hope that I maintain a healthy self-control, at least long enough to grow out of "infancy". Like every night, I take the time to bathe and dress properly. I battle the Thirst with every bit of self-control I can muster to take the time to care for myself and my appearance. I even bought a comb. After a quick detour by the cages, I reach Baudouin''s office. "Ah, Ariane. Come in, come in." "Good evening. I am ready for the meeting." "Ah yes, well, unfortunately, you will not be attending." I freeze immediately. During my time here, I took my role as a spy quite seriously. I have listed all their warehouses, their banks, and business partners. Every key ally, every lie and every weakness I have religiously catalogued. A sentence overheard, a confidential document left lying around, an unexpected visit, every activity is an opportunity to discover more. I have made reports that I have hidden well. If they fall in the hands of the Cadiz, they will be able to strike those degenerates down with deadly accuracy. Hit them where it hurts the most: their pride, and their wallets. Has Baudouin discovered my stratagems? I thought I was careful¡­ I even have an escape kit ready, hidden under the destroyed belfry of a derelict church. I found the irony delicious. Baudouin eyes me nervously. He does not know. He assumes I am mortally offended. "This is not a punishment, in fact, I have something of a reward for you. Today, we had a situation. One of our whores made the unfortunate decision to laugh at a customer''s privates." "On Delore street?" "No, the Red Veil, unfortunately." "Ah." This is the Lancaster''s high-end brothel, and that means the offended party is rich and powerful. "The issue is that the man, a Simon Henley, took justice in his own hands and carved her up. That will not do. He is in his estate now, with half a dozen guards." "You expect me to go there and intimidate him?" "No Ariane, I expect you to kill him. He made some very public statements and demanded reparations. I cannot let this stand." "How do you want this done?" "Do what you want. I will burn down the house when you are finished. The militia knows to avoid this place tonight." "Can I get a gun this time?" "No Ariane, my opinion hasn''t changed, we do not use guns." Neanderthals. I harrumph, then make for the exit. "Then I will be on my way." "Do enjoy yourself." As I exit the office, my eyes are inevitably drawn by a figure going down the stairs. Lady Moor does not belong here. This land is young and rakish. Its wealth is stolen from native tribes and torn from the earth by the labor of countless slaves, brought here against their wills in floating coffins. It is no place for complicated intrigue and veiled threats, at least, not yet. Her appearance reflects this. Even her dress is too warm for the suffocating weather. She ignores me and soon crosses the threshold, followed by a smug Melusine and Lambert the ever-bored. They will attend a meeting with the representative of clan Ekon about some flesh market issue. I should have been there as "muscle". It would have been an opportunity to meet them and perhaps know what the Cadiz have been up to. Well, there is always a next time. I go back to my room to get changed and don a provocative attire with a shawl to hide my shoulders. Now I look like a streetwalker. If Papa would see me¡­ No! I must wear this as an armor. My appearance is both a weapon and a bait. Simon Henley expects some reparation from a bordello and this is what he will see, a suitable emissary. I will preserve my dignity according to my own rules and clothes are no longer a concern. I leave the house with the bracer and a heavy bag, keeping to well-lit streets. I have enough stashed away to run for a while with what I picked during my errands, the problem is that I would be hunted down and eliminated even without the bracer. I need a clean escape. Since we are going to an expensive side of town and a woman alone would draw unneeded attention, A carriage has been made available. As we drive on, I am for once thankful for my cold body. Without it, the enclosed space would have been stifling. After a quarter hour or so, we stop in front of a manor and the carriage leaves. The Victorian style house is without much embellishment, but the garden is impeccably maintained. Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Papa always said that understated signs of wealth are the mark of good breeding and I have trouble reconciling the tasteful residence with the image of a man who would disfigure a whore because she laughed at his manhood. Perhaps this was built and maintained by his father? I cross the deserted entrance and arrive in front of a pair of wooden doors. At this time of the night, there should be lights and servants about, but the place is suspiciously silent. I find myself growing wary. I knock on the door and it opens immediately. A rough-looking man with a scowl inspects me in silence. I curtsey. They are expecting me, it seems. With a grunt, the man invites me in. This is it. I could start killing right away but something stops me. The guard is armed with a truncheon and no other visible weapon. He is no danger to me. Something else is. Just like vampires have a cold aura, I feel something bright and colorful and it comes from deeper into the house. I am curious. What could it possibly be? I follow the guard into a modest ballroom covered with a plush carpet. Large windows adorn the wall opposite the entrance and there is only one door, the one I came from. On my left, a few seats have been gathered and four hard men stop their game of cards to take a gander at the newcomer. On my right, next to a piano of good make, stands the master of the house. He sits atop a leather throne that was brought here for the occasion. A flagon of spirits rests on a small coffee table to his side and next to him stands a bodyguard who immediately captivates me. He is tall and muscular with a trimmed beard and wears on him enough weapons to take over a small town. I count no less than two pistols and seven daggers at first glance. He even wears a helmet, indoors, like some uncouth savage. The colorful aura comes from him. Our eyes meet and he gives me the most peculiar of smiles. "Why don''t you take a seat?" asks Simon Henley, pointing to a modest chair in front of him. He is dressed in an expensive shirt and jacket that do little to hide his gut. His pale skin is the worm-flesh white of people who do not leave their house during the day, it is also covered in clammy perspiration. His grey eyes do not meet mine. He is scared out of his mind. Everything is wrong. The thugs should be leering or indifferent, not wary. Henley should be smug and arrogant, not terrified. The last man does not belong here. My instincts and intellect unite in the firm belief that this is a trap. Worse, the bodyguard probably knows what I am and he is convinced he can take me on. I remember the followers of Gabriel assaulting the keep. They, too, had a plethora of arms and the training to use it. They did not have an aura. This man is a mage. If I take this seat, I am dead, again. This will not happen. I step towards it and kick it into the pair. The mage easily dodges but Henley takes it in the face and collapses with a muffled scream. I move back, and not one second too soon. "Seal!" A white light erupts in a circle where the chair used to be and misses me by a hair. The room erupts in chaos and yells. The mage takes out a gun and fires it at me. I finish my movement by falling on the floor. The bullet misses me. I end up at the feet of a stupefied guard. I stand up and claw his throat in one movement. The geyser of blood distracts the other three. His blood stinks, there is something wrong with it. I hiss and grab a second guard to use a shield. An instant later something bites into my side. What? I stare down in disbelief. There is a large gash on my waist. The dress is torn apart to reveal shredded flesh seeping dark red blood. The man I used as a shield screams, dying. The mage shot his own ally! Something pings on the floor and I instinctively look at it just as it detonates. A thunderous explosion, and a white light blind me, deafen me. I drop the man to grab my maimed eyes. HURT, need to escape. Can''t see. Behind me, cover. I move backwards and grab the edge of the poker table. With a grunt, I flip it and jump behind. I move to the side as something roars. Someone bumps against me and falls. I find a shoulder, a throat. I slash it open. The blood smells wrong again. The bottle of wine that was on the table smells wrong too. Something they drank? I can hear better now but my eyes still hurt. There are windows. Escape. I grab a body and blindly rush to the wall. Can find. Can break through. "None of that! Seal!" Something bumps against me. It does not hurt but it pushes me back with incredible strength. I crash against the table and it breaks under me. A shard stabs into my back. It hurts. So Thirsty. Can''t stay here. I crawl away from the mage. Waist hurt. Back hurt. Bleeding. Need blood, but it all smells wrong. Ah, I can finally see again. I turn myself as a throwing knife whistles past my shoulder and buries itself in the carpet. Finally, a decent weapon. I remove the shard of wood in my back. It did not go deep. The mage throws more daggers and once more I use bodies and the table to dodge and block. I grab one blade in each hand, then I throw a third one at him. It pings against his armor. The man is still smiling, he unsheathes a saber and a short blade and rushes me. I manage to stand up to meet him in the middle of the room. I realize very soon that this was a mistake. I may be faster than the mage but in everything else, he has the advantage. His reach is longer, and his technique superior. He deflects my strikes with precise and conservative movement. I am completely outmatched. Soon, I have a new long gash in my wrist, and I drop a blade. I cannot move my hand! I am not healing at all, and I am so very thirsty. I cannot get out! The pain becomes too much. I have one last quick move in me but after that, I shall be helpless, I have to make it count and-- What is that delicious smell? Blood. It comes from Henley! I need to-- "Fire whip." A red snake twists around my useless hand. My flesh immediately starts to smolder. I scream in agony and lash out with the last knife I have. Fortunately, whatever made his blades so painful also breaks the spell. I collapse on the ground shrieking. I can''t stay there, I need to move, but... it hUrts so muCh. "Aaaah, that backlash was nasty. You cunning bitch! Though I must say, I am rather disappointed. With all the talks about vampires being century old apex predators, I was really looking forward to a good fight. Yet here you are, a brute relying on her speed rather than technique. Sloppy, and pathetic." PredAtoR saYs. YeS, viaBlE plaN. ImpLemEnt. "Well, guess I have to find a knight next. Now, I was told that piercing the heart will incapacitate your kind. At least I can put that theory to the test." YeS, prey, cOme closer¡­ "I dare say killing that werewolf turned out to be more--AAARG!" I move. I stay low, grab a knife and bury it behind the knee. Weak point. Now spring up his back, grab around with my claws. " Pulse!" Something propels me backward and I smash into the coffee table and Henley''s inanimate body. "Aaaah, you BITCH! Ah, Heal! HEAL! Dammit." So delicious. "You''ll pay for this! I was going to make it quick but now I think I''ll burn you alive. Ah. Shit! Just you wait!" I am feeding from Henley, my back to the mage when something happens. I can feel all of my fangs pull. The strength I draw multiplies tenfold, a hundredfold. This time there is no bliss. This time, there is only life, and the strength I need to survive. This time I do not feed. I Devour. It takes less than four seconds for Henley to die. As the last of his life force is torn away from his body, I feel a temporary burst of power. The pain is still there, as is the Thirst. It just does not matter so much anymore. So this man is a hunter? He thinks I am game? I am no beast. I am a vampire. I pull myself up and find the mage applying bandages to his wounded leg. His disbelief turns to horror at the sight of my face. Blood is still dripping. I give a ghastly smile. Then I throw the corpse at him. I put my hips into it and the body flies. The mage swears and ducks. I jump and fly with claws forward. I crash against him and send him on his back. I claw and lash, trying to reach his face. His armored bracers stand in the way but I manage to score hits in unprotected places. "Shie--!" None of that. I use one hand to push both of his arms towards me and stab a finger in his cheek. I rake his face. Blood flows. Still smells wrong. I am weakening. I can feel him struggling to get something. I can''t fight much longer. My strength is already waning. He pulls something that roars. I feel cold punching through my stomach. I ignore the armed hand and deflect the other. I put one thumb against his eye and push. With a ghastly crunch, the eyes pop and I bury my fingers to the hilt in his skull. Fluids splurts on my face. The blood in them is¡­ It smells horrible but there is so much power in there. It is fading quickly. I bite deep and take a swallow. The blood is potent, it is also laced with something that ravages my throat. The balance is barely in favor of the blood. I punch his face, once, twice, three times. The pain catches up to me and I collapse on the mangled corpse. Everything hurts. I have not felt this bad since my death. Then, all feelings fade. I feel strange. S~ea??h the N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Pain is a distant thing and so is the Thirst. I expected to turn into a ravening beast, but it appears that I am, in fact, sated. Wounded, but sated. I can only draw strength from the red nectar so fast. The edge of my vision is growing darker and I remember. This is what dying was like, back when it happened the first time. The sensation of slipping, of letting go. "Nom de Dieu, c''est un cauchemar!" Ah. I remember now, we only killed three of the four guards, the mage and I. "M¡­ Monstre! D¨¦mon !" The last one must have cowered in some corner. I do not blame him. He is growing a spine now, though. He took a knife. He is getting closer. I absolutely cannot move. I am¡­ So cold. Slumber calls to me. I could just close my eyes and¡­ forget, and yet dying is a once in a lifetime experience. Well, twice in my case. I would rather not miss it. And now somebody knocks on the ballroom''s door. The guard squeals and jumps like a scalded maid. Heh. A black woman walks in. A vampire. She is dressed in leather pants and a tight white shirt. How unladylike, although to be fair, she is not baring her midriff to the world like I am. "Well, color me impressed," she says with a fanged smile. Chapter 10 - 10. No rest for the wicked Everything about the woman is predatory. Her walk, her posture, her mouth, they all speak of danger, but also of elegance. I am convinced that many men would deem her worth the risk. "Who¡­ Who are y--" The man does not finish his sentence. The newcomer unsheathes a dagger and with a casual swipe, slices his throat open. She did not even grace him with a look. I can see the tubes, and smell the fouled liquid. How vexing. I can barely perceive the woman passing by. So very tired. Just need to close my eyes for a moment. "Stay with me, young one." I blink my eyes open as something straddles me. The woman is here! She rubs her thighs on my stained dress, making herself comfortable. Then, she extends one hand and digs inside my chest. "Urk!" "Shhhh, look at me, follow my voice." I stare in chocolate brown eyes twinkling with mischief. She is doing something, but I am too weak to act. "Nothing hurts, it just feels like you are surrounded by fluffy pillows." Something pulls on my stomach, but I feel no pain. A moment later, the strange woman is inspecting a silver ball held in a blood-soaked hand. She whistles. "Nice catch, darling!" Is it? I frown. "You are comfortable, yes?" Am I? I guess I am. I feel like taking a nap, but something is holding me conscious. How peculiar. "So, did you know Jasper, the tracker?" Who? "I guess not, sweet cheeks. I''m talking about that mage who almost killed you. I assume it is he, seeing that the head is mostly gone. Nasty man. He had a habit of hunting monsters and people for sport, regardless of guilt. This time, he bit off more than he could chew. Pun intended." I see. "Hmm you are too quiet, my little honey pot. Let me help you." She takes out a small canteen from her jacket and empties some of its content around my mouth. The burning sensation I had forgotten is simply washed away. She dabs at the damp spot with a clean tissue. I tentatively lick my lips. I am still sluggish, but now I can talk. "Good evening." The woman looks dumbfounded before exploding into laughter. "Aaaah my little duckling, so precious! I am Naminata, but you can call me Nami." "Nami..." "So, why are you here anyway? I assume you were not tracking the Tracker." Talking is tiring. I slightly turn my head to the broken chair and the corpse besides it. "Oh, that swine. You are the one who killed him, yes? Well done. I could not have entered this house otherwise." She leans forward. The distance between us grows intimate and when she licks her lips, I shudder. "I know you don''t want to stay with those Lancaster bastards. You want in with us? One word to Kouakou and he will marry you. We could use une autre go, ma petite ch¨¦rie." Now that my gut is free of bullets, I can feel my body struggle to heal itself. The torpor is receding a bit, replaced by pain and a renewed Thirst. I still cannot do more than shake myself a little. "Never¡­ again¡­ Gggh! At the mercy¡­of another." The smile falls from her face, to be replaced by regret and a little bit of shame. I recognize her now that my mind is clearer. She was with the representative of clan Ekon when I escaped the fortress. She stays silent for a while. We do not move. I am starting to drift. A hand pats my head softly. The sharp claws brush through my hair with a gentle touch, parting the strands without snagging them. The effect is so soothing that I shiver and relax. "Ssshhh, alright little one. I am sorry. I forgot. Very well, I shall let you go with a little gift. As an apology for my tactless offer." My eyes are closed but suddenly I can smell something. It is a fragrance like wet earth and spice, an exotic scent, something to dance and sing to. "I wonder how it feels. Come on, bite!" I feel soft skin against my lips. The perfume grows hauntingly strong. I am so Thirsty. This is not exactly what I need, but it will help. My fangs pierce her skin. This is so different from a human. There is no rush, no ecstasy of life. I barely get any energy and whatever I obtain feels sluggish. No heartbeat drives vitality into my aching body. What I get instead is power. If life is the thing that perpetuates my damned existence, what I get now is the essence that lets me do impossible things. I can feel myself growing noticeably more powerful. I suppose that I am so weak now, that every little bit counts. There was something similar with the mage. Drinking from magical creatures makes me stronger. I finally understand the reason why the other spawns are so much more dangerous than me. My Master feeds them the blood of powerful things, and possibly his own. Their quick growth must ravage their mind and turn them into the natural disaster that they are made to be. How dreadful. Baudouin said that vampires grow in power with age, implying that the Devourer and his spawns draw power from the things they feed on, much more so than the other bloodlines. I am not quite sure that this is common knowledge. I am however certain that no one knows how significant that is, here in Louisiana, and I fully intend to keep it that way. I am afraid that some would cull me before I become a threat, if they found out. "That is enough little one," says a sultry voice. I obediently lick the wound clean. This experience was far too intimate for my liking. I fear that Nami stole my first kiss, or whatever the vampiric equivalent is. "Aaaaah, I so love to walk on the edge! But enough of this, ma ch¨¦rie. I shall recover Mr. Jasper here, and I will be on my way. A bient?t!" With Nami''s departure, something snaps and I immediately lose consciousness. "No, please Achille, please¡­" "I told you sister, it won''t help." A ghastly wind blows through desiccated sugar canes, throwing ash and dust into the air. The sky is so darkened by smoke that I cannot tell the time. "Please¡­ I am so Thirsty! Please¡­" Achille carries the only flask of cold water around. He drinks from it from time to time. I can almost feel it on the tip of my tongue, so tantalizingly close. "It''s all your fault, you know? If only you had died correctly, we could have had closure, but even this you could not manage." A blast of air blows embers on my tattered dress. The red dots settle on me and smoke starts to rise. I can already feel the heat burning my skin. I struggle, but I am restrained. My arms are held up by chains attached to a wooden mast dug deep into the ground. The familiar log cabin taunts me with its safety but it is so far, I can barely see its charred walls. They still stand. "Achille¡­" "You do not believe me. Very well. Try it yourself." My brother approaches. His wide shoulder and muscular body used to be a sign of comfort, but now it is a threat. I feel like he would gladly shatter bones and bruise flesh with strikes from his meaty hands, but he does not. Instead, he brings the canteen to my parched lips. Yes! At last! The cold liquid rushes past my mouth, finally. It tastes like fresh mountain water. I gulp greedily yet nothing happens. "What?" "I told you, I told you it would not work. Only pain and misery will sate you now, you horror wearing my sister''s skin. Have it then. Gorge yourself on it. Monster." Achille takes out a hunting knife and slowly places it against his jugular. "Wait! Achille, No! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?" The knife slices down and a veritable geyser of blood splashes all over me and the ground. He is going to die if I don''t¡­ I don''t¡­ Stolen story; please report. I need it, I need it so much. I am hurt, and so very¡­. THIRSTY! THIRSTY! "Ngah!" Ah, the pain! What? Where is my respite? Where is my minute of introspection?! I cannot move. I crack open my eyes. I am attached to my bed by thick ropes that twist around me and the mattress. I am still wearing the remnants of yesterday''s dress under the layers of twine. It smells ripe. My face is coated with dried blood that cracks as I move. This is amateur work. I can free myself in a few minutes and hunt someone to drink dry. I squirm and the pain redoubles. My stomach lances me so much I could believe I have been shot once more. Ah, this is it. I must not have healed completely from yesterday''s ordeal. If I had been alive, such a wound would have killed me within an hour. I would have gasped my last in a pool of my own blood and offal. There are some benefits to this cursed life after all. I hear footsteps just as I manage to sever the first knots with a talon. The door opens to reveal Lady Moor. She looks just as majestic as always, scrunching her nose in displeasure. How I hate her and her misplaced arrogance. She would smell like entrails and stale blood too if she got her dainty hands dirty, instead of parading herself in this barely civilized swamp like a peacock and letting others labor for her achievements. Hussy. "Is that defiance I see on your face, fledgling?" This is no time for confrontation. I will escape, and much, much later, I will wipe that expression from her face. "No, Mistress." I will not let arrogance destroy me. I realized yesterday that mortals are fortunate when it comes to pain. There is only so much damage a person can take before one''s body gives up, unless they are under the care of a particularly talented torturer I suppose. S§×ar?h the Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Vampires, on the other hand, can take so much abuse. Enough to drive one insane. I may be stronger than yesterday but I am still a sparrow to Lady Moor''s eagle. I need much more time before I can even compare. I shall be patient. I must be patient. I will be feared like Master, even if it takes me a thousand years. I will see that pretentious wench broken before me. "Baudouin had assured me that you made yourself useful. However, I now believe that you played him, you filthy little trollop. He does not know your kind as I do, too used to dealing with mortals, I suppose. Now, you will tell me all the dealings you have had with Clan Ekon." What? "I have no arrangement with Clan Ekon." "Is that so?" "Yes. None whatsoever." "Then how do you explain that Naminata was seen exiting the building we found you unconscious in?" "This was the first time I saw her since the fortress." I explain what happened yesterday with the exception of my increased strength, such as it is. "You said that you killed this Jasper man? Alone and unarmed?" "I was not entirely unarmed. I used his throwing knives." She scoffs, her carmine lips twisted by disdain. "Picking up a mortal weapon like a beggar with no dignity? Now this story is suddenly more believable." And whose fault is it that I ended up in harm''s way equipped with a shawl? Bah! This woman would not know intellectual honesty if it slapped her in the face with a rotten catfish. Although¡­ Did she just imply that she cannot recognize lies from the truth? That is tremendous news! It means I can hide my little conspiracy from her. I still have to be careful, for she would not have survived this long without being crafty. Not with that attitude, at least. "But to expect someone of your lineage to be honest? You must think me daft, girl." "I assure you that there are no arrangements between Clan Ekon and myself! I even refused Naminata''s proposal." "Hah! I knew it. And what proposal would that be?" I did not mean to say that. My anger got the best of me yet again. "To marry Lord Kouakou." "Hah! Hahaha, how it must have been tempting, you shameless harlot! Freedom at the tip of this savage''s member? What stopped you? The perspective of only being the second wife?" "Hsss!" It appears that Jimena was wrong. Vampires are racist, just not to each other''s face. "Indeed, it appears that I was mistaken to believe you crafty enough to make such an arrangement. You certainly possess some form of low cunning; however, it is not enough to successfully plot against us." I remain silent. I finally see the end of my torment. I just want the insufferable woman to take her leave so that I may hunt in peace. "A betrayal is not to be borne however, no matter how small. I am quite certain that your addled brain came up with some scheme, and I shall hear of it now." "What?" "You have a plan to escape. You must have, and I will hear it when you are ready to share. Not to worry girl, I brought some light reading to entertain myself while we wait. You must understand that in my veins runs the blood of kings. Those who have been brought up in such high spheres know the best tools to achieve the intended result, without ever having to sully their hands. In this specific instance, the tool is patience; and so we shall wait." Lady Moor ignores my protests. She sits on my chair, at my own desk and takes a book from a small bag, which she then proceeds to read. I shuffle in discomfort. My stomach is still quite painful, if not as much as before. My Thirst, however¡­ It starts from the chest, at the height of my arm. It spreads up and down until it reaches my throat and tummy. It is an itch, a burn, and a craving. There is nothing like it, and no human experience can quite compare. When I was a child, I held a heavy plate for as long as I could. At first, it felt easy, then uncomfortable, then painful until finally, it became almost unbearable. If I held longer, my entire existence had to be limited to the task. The situation is somewhat similar, in the same way that being stung by a bee is similar to being stabbed by an enchanted silver dagger. After a few minutes, I would roll around and fight the bindings openly, the pain in my stomach forgotten. I could not help myself. After half an hour I was hissing and grunting. Lady Moor had heavy chains brought by a smirking Charlotte , and I was held up like in a cocoon. After that, I lasted only a few more pages before starting to beg. "Anything I want?" "Yes! Yesssss. Just, please. PLEASE!" "Your arrangements with Clan Ekon, I would hear of them now." "THERE ARE NO ARRANGEMENT YOU--ARG!" "But you do have a place to escape." "I¡­" "Well?" "Yes! Yes, damn it, I do. I have a plan." "And what is that plan of yours?" "I have money put away! I will take it and go!" There is barely enough sanity in me left to throw away my most desperate plan. I will use it as bait, as a sacrifice. "You STOLE from us?" "N-no Mistress, I took money from your foes. The people in the warehouse! The swordfish gang, the rapists and the dodgers. I took their money!" "Pfff! Hahaha oh, a war prize? Oh, this is just too precious. Very well, you might be slightly more cunning than I gave you credit for, but I must ask, how did you expect to survive the following manhunt?" "Well, there is enough money to take a night coach. I would run afterward." "I was referring to the bracer you hare-brained bumpkin." "I¡­" "Yes?" "I was going to cut off my arm." "Oh. OH! This is just getting better and better. Why, I should thank you for tonight''s entertainment my dear, I have paid fortunes and laughed less. You seriously, seriously intended to mutilate yourself?" "I¡­ I know we can regrow limbs!" "That is technically correct, and also completely irrelevant, as expected of you. You simply fail to understand the reality of your existence. You are no true spawn of The Devourer, mad with power and Thirst. You are just a lost fledgling abandoned by her sire who thinks herself tough enough to do what it takes to escape. You are not, and since I am a benevolent Mistress, I will educate you this instant." She walks to me and takes out a wicked dagger from a recess of her robe. The weapon is terrifying. It is black as obsidian and strangely curved. I have never seen such a thing before, yet one look at it is enough to know it was designed to slay humans. She raises it and I flinch but she just frees my hands, and then removes the shackles. The rest of my body remains trapped. "Well, I had almost forgotten your stench. I only have myself to blame. In any case, take it." She gives me the dagger hilt first and I grab it before thinking. I could just cut the rest of the rope and get some blood¡­ "Cut off your arm here and now and I shall let you drink someone dry, then I will give you your freedom." "What?!" "You heard me. Should you successfully cut off your arm, you can leave. This is my blade. It can cut through metal. Even an untrained mortal could decapitate a foe in two strikes using it, so slicing through an arm is a small matter." Doubt assails my mind through the numbing Thirst. Could it really be this easy? "There are no traps. Go on. Try it." I extend my left arm and brandish the blade and I realize the issue. I am terrified of pain. I have suffered a lot in the past few months and one would think it would make me used to it. It does not. I do not want to be hurt. I do not want to bleed. But I must try. I have to. This is my best shot at freedom. I turn my eyes towards the master vampire at my side. She has a patient and slightly condescending look on her face. She seems so certain that it is impossible for me. I will show her. I take a deep breath, grit my teeth and move to strike with all the speed and strength I can muster. I will hack down and slice before my brain can register what I have done. My hand falls down and begins to quake. Oh. My. God. "AAAAAAaaaaAAaaaahhh!" Can''t move. Can''t think. Hurts. Blade grates against the bone, buried deep. I keep screaming and holding my arm, with the knife still in it, for some time. The agony washes my mind free of anything but the blinding pain itself. The world turns white. There is only suffering. Eventually, another voice pushes through the dry sobs. "Well, you managed to reach the bone. Here, let me help a bit." A hand pushes the blade down in a resounding crack and I lose consciousness for a few moments. When I come to, the knife is halfway through my arm. Blood slowly seeps on the stained sheets. The only sounds are my whimpers. "You are halfway there, though arguably this was the easy half. Well, will you continue? Take your time." Too much pain. Too much pain and too Thirsty. I should continue, but I simply cannot. It hurts too much. I am not some hero out of a story, who can just ignore pain and adversity. I am not strong enough. I don''t want to do it. I don''t want to feel this torment. It will have to be the Cadiz. I am only lucky that Lady Moor forfeited a full interrogation in favor of humiliation. It seems that being looked down upon remains my greatest asset, for now. I would feel sorry about myself, but I am in too much agony for even that. "Should I take it out?" I nod. Yes, God please, just make it stop. Make everything stop. I feel like crying but I will not let go of the shreds of dignity I am still clinging to. Lady Moor removes the knife and to her credit, she does it cleanly. The wound does not heal and I vainly hold my mangled arm to prevent more of the precious liquid from flowing away. So Thirsty. I can''t take it anymore. She drags me to the cattle pens and I feed on two victims one after the other. Something changed. I notice that the sky outside of my mind refuge has turned dark. I should perhaps be worried, yet how could a vampire find daylight soothing? This is no more than I deserve. After we are done, Lady Moor drags me back inside and throws me on the carpet. I can hear a snicker from Harold who watches me from the stairs. Those jackals are ever eager to witness someone else''s humiliation. "My devoted Melusine tried to turn you into an acceptable courtier; however you preferred to be with the dregs. Now, unless you want to help with the gauntlet, you will work in a position that suits you better. More specifically, on your back." "Gauntlet." I croak. "I beg your pardon?" "Gauntlet." I repeat with more conviction. Whatever it is, it is still better than the fate she has in mind right now. If Lady Moor is angered by my refusal, I see no trace of it. "Very well. The Gauntlet it is." Chapter 11 - 11. The Gauntlet I was mistaken in believing I knew everything about the Lancaster''s various businesses. I used my free access to Baudouin''s office to copy a few documents, including quarterly reports to the head of the Lancaster, in old English no less. I knew about the plantations, the factories and warehouses. I knew about the inns and brothels. I knew about the slave and flesh trades. I even knew about the occasional contraband. Of course, they would hide something so that it is not taxed, and so I did not know about the blood sports. New-Orleans'' landed gentry is proving to be an utter disappointment. Their unusual tastes have created a demand for the most horrendous of spectacles. Two to three times per week, men and sometimes even women, are given the opportunity to be freed of debt or punishment in exchange for a night of combat. Should they survive, of course. Ladies and gentlemen in expensive suits and domino masks travel by coach to one of Lancaster''s villas, walk through a cleanly cut maze of grass and sit with refreshments on the slope of a Greek-style amphitheater. An entertainer dressed in a toga and a full-face helmet loudly proclaims the night''s program. The arena also employs a few prizefighters to guarantee some modicum of quality in the art of killing. OoO "Hsss..." I breathe slowly. I do not need air anymore, but there is something in the cycles of breathing that provides the soothing rhythm I need to stay focused. Inside, the log cabin has changed. It is no longer comically large, like I remember it as a child. The building is simply more spacious with some semblance of furniture. The cot has turned into a bed with a canopy that reminds me of my own, before I became what I am now. The smell of wood smoke and fresh rain is just as prevalent as before. I let the light of the moon caress my skin from an open window and stare outside to endless fields of thorny trees. I do not recognize their essence and I know they should look menacing but I feel protected. Safe. Nobody will cross this expanse to harm me. They would be turned to bloody shreds in the labyrinthine forest. I have not stepped outside yet. I am not ready. I keep breathing. In and out. In and out. I just need to last a little longer. The Thirst will not make me throw myself against the bars. Never again. I have been here for two weeks, and it only happened twice. A clanging sound interrupts my meditation. Harold is opening the door to my cell. I can feel his hungry eyes on my body and I am once more thankful to Baudouin for his parting gift. He left clear instructions that I am not to be touched inappropriately, an order that the male vampire has yet to disobey. When I kill every last one of them, I will be sure to make the human''s death painless. "It''s time." says the brute. I adjust my half mask and tighten the leather armor I wear. They are part of my public persona. I am, to the spectators, a Himalayan tribeswoman cursed with a taste for blood who fights without a blade. Yes. How they swallowed this much nonsense, I shall never know. We walk through a short corridor to the arena''s gate. Harold stays mercifully silent the whole time. Just a few more minutes. I can do it. The gates open and I cross the threshold. The night smells of sweat, arousal, sand, and stale blood. In front of me, a burly man in a kilt and ancient helmet wipes his wounded shoulder with a stained piece of fabric. The corpse of a starved wolf lies a few feet farther. "Laaadies and Gentlemen! Demetrius won his daughter''s freedom, can he repeat the exploit for the rest of his family? Will you grant him your favor against theeeeeee Blood Beast?!" Seriously. I raise my eyes to the skies and find the purple shape of the Silent Watcher. The twisted heaven grows closer as I am made aware of its presence. It does not judge. That is all I can perceive and at the moment, it is all that I need. I bask in the eldritch light and savor the simplicity of the eye''s intent. The raging Thirst slides in the background, if only for an instant. My only valued companion is a gigantic eye in the sky. This says a lot about my current social standing. "Five lives, I have five lives, who will give me a sixth? No? Five lives it is! May the gaaaaaaame, BEGIN!" The man grabs a trident and I finally notice a discarded net lying around. Baudouin must have gone for the Roman angle, as I recognize the attire of a Retiarius. That would make Harold a Lannista, the master of ceremony in a Roman circus, and me an idiot. The man charges me with a grunt and thrusts the trident awkwardly. I easily push the shaft aside and stab a claw in his shoulder wound before dancing away. I lick my bloodied finger for all to see. "And we are one life down already! The Blood Beast teaches yet another lesson!" The man howls in pain. The crowd roars in approval. I want to consume the prey. He tastes so sweet. Fear does that, it brings life to the surface. I must remain patient. My opponents have "lives". Instead of going for a killing blow, I am to merely hurt them until they run out of it. Spectators can throw money to purchase an additional life for a contender, or they can pay that same amount to remove one. To win, they only have to draw blood. For me, the game is slightly different. I could finish the fight in an instant by moving, however, I have two objectives: provide entertainment, and spend as little resources as possible doing so. If I rouse the spectators, then Harold lets me feed on the defeated a little bit longer. On off days, the cattle arrives a little bit faster. If I am defeated, or if I am too fast or too brutal, pain and the Thirst follow. If Harold punishes me for no reason, I immediately kill my opponent. There is a balance of terror in our relationship. I successfully made myself too valuable to kill and too difficult to control. The failed Retiarius finally recovers from the pain and grabs the trident firmly with two hands, like an oversized sword. He swings at me menacingly a few times but I do not move. I can recognize the most obvious feints now. Out of patience, the man swings at my head and I dodge down and forward to close the distance. He reacts in an instant by dropping the unwieldy weapon and punching forward. He is much faster now, and I barely manage to block. The impact pushes me back. My arm stings a bit. He immediately jumps on me but this time, I was expecting it. I sidestep his bull rush and stab a talon in his side as he goes by. Not too deep. The man and the crowd roar at the same time as I lift a finger high. I lick it again. Hmm. I cannot wait much longer. "And that is two! Is hope quickly fading for Demetrius? Can he make the monster bleed?" Monster is a code word by the announcer to tell me to slow down. Drag the fight. I am so Thirsty, surely they would understand? As Demetrius stands up, a heavy object buries itself at his feet with a thud. Silence descends upon the arena. Throwing objects, and particularly weapons inside is ground for removal, who would dare to¡­ Ah. A petite woman in a blue dress and a checkered mask waves her hand at me. Her crimson hair bobs up and down with her giggles. Melusine. The announcer recovers faster than me. "Mistress! Do you grace Demetrius with your blessing?" She waves lazily and sits down. The dismissal is so well done that all the attention returns to him and forces his hand. "Very well! Demetrius, you have been given a second chance. Do not disappoint this noble assembly!" I watch, speechless, as the gladiator picks up the massive knife and draws another one from his boot. So, not a Retiarius gladiator anymore. A Dimachaerus? Those are the ones who use two swords if I remember properly. I fall back before my opponent. It is obvious that he knows how to use those. His posture is different and he feels so confident. I see no opening. I dodge a slice, another. On the third, I try to grab his arm but his second blade lashes out. I barely avoid the bite. His moves are much more conservative and efficient. Melusine broke the rules to make the fight more difficult and I know well that she will receive no more than a slap on the wrist for this transgression. I slip to the side and sprint to my left. Demetrius easily keeps up with me, then I reverse course and rush forward. Caught off-guard, the gladiator stumbles. His weight makes it harder for him to change direction quickly. As I pass him by, he slashes the air. The blade slides against my armor with a scratch, a glancing blow that draws no blood. I roll forward and grab the discarded trident. As he jumps at me again, I swing the massive weapon and smash it against his side. He crumples in a heap. The crowd yells in approval, delighted at my quick thinking, such as it is. "Oooooh, it appears that our valiant Demetrius still looks down upon the blood maiden! Three down, two left!" I lick the outer prong. Very little blood. Not sharp. Soon. Have to wait. "The trident is not yours." Once again, Melusine''s voice silences the intoxicated mob. Oh no, she did not. I am not to speak so instead, I tilt my masked helmet to the side, hold the polearm like a javelin and throw it at her. Melusine''s eyes widen in disbelief behind her checkered mask. She barely manages to fall to her side and the weapon hits the stone behind her with a loud clang. I threw it shaft first, as a precaution. Yup, it''s yours now. Your move, you insufferable daughter of a hag. Melusine shivers in rage but she already broke the rules twice for her own enjoyment. She is on thin ice, and she knows it. Fuming, she sits back down and I turn to the prostrate gladiator with a small scoff. I make sure she notices. Now that my anger dies down, the Thirst once more takes over. The wait is the worst. I am easily distracted from the craving but I do need something to focus on. I walk a bit and when my preparation is done, I stand in front of the panting gladiator. I wait. Perhaps I cracked his ribs? "You bitch!" It is always the same insults with them. No lily-livered wenches, no unable worms and three-fold fools. Has no one told them that variety is the spice of life? Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. "F-for my boy!" says he, as he stands up, quite audibly too. The crowd erupts in cheers. The narration of the moment crystallizes in their sick minds. Here is the criminal with the good heart fighting for his family''s freedom. There, the cold maiden from the tribe at the dawn of time, the remnant of an archaic world where the fairer sex could wield blades as sharp as their tongue. I care not. I am Ariane, I am my own. I will live, I will go home. All those who stand in my way, be they saints or criminals, I will devour. The man rushes me again but he is slowing down. I easily dodge his slices by moving backwards and to the side. I leave my hands behind my back to everyone''s amusement. Finally, he corners me then overextends and I throw the net I was hiding that whole time. Sear?h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. There is an art to throwing a net. You have to make sure it is as wide as can be when it lands. Demetrius recoils in panic and raises his hand in reflex. The net wraps around him beautifully and I draw a furrow in his left cheek with a talon. Yes. We are finally reaching the conclusion to this farce. The crowd is silent now as the last act is about to open. The desperate man fumbles for a while and finally manages to get free. He immediately rushes me with a desperate roar. I stand my ground as the crowd watches with bated breath. When the knives reach me, I step backwards and grab both arms, let myself fall, put a foot against his belly and push. That is a neat trick. The big man is propelled like a derailed locomotive and crashes against the arena''s wall in a fracas of metal. I am on him in an instant. I lock one arm with a leg, the other with my right arm. I pull his head back and bite deep. Finally. Wait. No, this is wrong! I know that stench! That Jasper ruffian used the same concoction! How¡­ A mage potion? How? When? There on the ground, a glass vial. He must have drunk it as he was fumbling under the net. But who would give it to him? I spit out. Livid, I turn around and point an accusatory finger at Melusine. She was bent forward in anticipation! I knew it! "YOU WHORE! YOU TAINTED THE BLOOD!" Whispers and murmurs break among the crowd, growing in a crescendo. How dare she! How dare she pollute the precious substance! Pain from the bracer makes me collapse. Harold comes and picks me up before retreating to the corridor. I need it. I need it, need it, need it. When Harold brings me another prisoner, it takes all my self-control not to kill the whimpering sod on the spot. Two weeks later There are no signs of Melusine, and I can only assume that she was reprimanded for her idiotic display. Fights remain difficult but I am fed enough to remain sane. Mostly. Three weeks later The man facing me is an old French sailor with graying hair and nose flattened by repeated fractures. "Non, you must move better. I show." Marius is quite popular with the crowd, especially when he uses a ridiculous harpoon as a spear. He fights dirty and I learn a lot from him. We have an off night and I want to pick up a few tricks. God knows I could do better. This is unladylike, but I will do almost anything to survive. Four weeks later Marius is dead. He was killed by a downed debtor who stabbed him in the back after the fight had ended. On a positive note, I got to drink the shameless prick dry. I had a new fighter, an Italian lout, show me how to use a knife. Five weeks later The Italian lout made a name for himself as "Benedetti". His knife-wielding technique and rakish looks apparently made him popular with widowed female spectators. I am fighting a bit less as a result. We also picked up a coolie called "Long". He calls himself a "Martial artist". He moves well but fights too clean. Six weeks later I lost my first match in a while against a desperate fighter, a cavalryman of some repute apparently. He managed to stab my arm using a suicidal attack. The crowd loved it. I think he may even survive. Seven weeks later I wake up to a familiar ceiling of red bricks. There are four hundred and ninety-six of them, to be precise. Entertainment is sparse here. The cell is made of three brick walls and one made of metal bars to allow my captors a full view of my quarters, such as they are. The only saving grace is that I do not need to visit the lavatories, nor is it difficult to keep clean. No sweaty armpit, no dead skin for this young vampire. No moon blood either. Even my costume is cleaned after every fight by a terrified maid. There is very little cause for me to undress, and I have so far managed to clean myself at record speed and therefore avoided any spectator. "I am Ariane, I am my own, I will survive, I will go home." I repeat the sentences every night, though my heart is not in it these days. I have achieved something I thought would have been impossible after waking up with no pulse. I am bored. I know, on an intellectual level, that I am in mortal danger. I also know that I am a prisoner, and yet my life has become routine. There are only a few variations. Sometimes, I am let out to practice with other gladiators as a reward for good behavior. I learn to move better, I learn where it hurts and what my body can do, but that barely covers an hour. Sometimes, I fight, and although it can be entertaining it is over too quickly. The rest of the time, there is nothing to do. I asked for a book and they brought me a bible. I suppose this was a crude attempt at humor. I remember the cross on the men of the order of Gabriel and their dreadful effects on me. However, when I opened my own copy, nothing happened despite the holy symbol on the cover. I thought that reading this most august of works would shed some new light on the world, now that I am aware of the existence of unnatural creatures. Sadly I found little of interest. It appears that a lot of the content is about who begat who and which tribe camped where. Disappointing. Two sets of footsteps approach my door. Harold comes into view, dragging a reluctant woman in a maid uniform. He opens the door and shoves her in. I approach slowly and she offers her neck, however as I draw closer, she seizes my arm. I do not show any surprise and when we are done, she leaves without a word. I open the folded paper she placed in my hand to read its content. Do not let him transform. The message bears no signature and I do not recognize who wrote the blocky letters. A moment later, Harold returns with a fresh armor. No helmet this time. "Put it on, and hurry." As I walk to the arena, I know something has changed. Winter is here. The air tastes colder and more quiescent, and the whispers and laughter of the crowd have fallen silent. When my feet tread the sand, I glance around in surprise. The rowdy crowd has been replaced by my so-called benefactors. Lady Moor sits in the middle, in a comfortable throne. Baudouin and Melusine are on either sides. The redheaded hag is smirking gleefully and I am now convinced my opponent will be a difficult one. Lady Moor glowers down at me. "Let the mercenary¡­" she stops. Melusine leans towards her and whispers a few things. Moor considers her words for a moment before nodding in assent. "You are correct, this is not technically against the rules. Inform Mr. Vauttier that he may start turning right away." Harold nods and crosses to the other gate. A moment later, dreadful cracks and groans emerge from the darkened corridor in front of me. What in the world is happening?! The abominable noises continue for half a minute and culminate in a sound that freezes the blood in my veins: a primal roar of utmost savagery. The sound reverberates in the closed space. Birds take flight in the distance and the world around me holds its breath. A clattering of claws on cold stone announces the arrival of a creature of nightmare. Dark grey skin covers every muscular inch of a chimera between man and wolf. Even when hunched, it stands taller than me by half and its long and powerful hands end in claws that completely dwarf mine. What in the name of God is that thing?! I am supposed to fight that!? The creature''s yellow eyes fall on me and in the same instant it jumps, and I move. I sidestep the beast, slide under its extended arms and rake my talons across its powerful sides. It feels like carving into stone! The monster''s hands grab air and before it can turn around, I rush from behind and kick its lower back. I used this move before to shove an unbalanced opponent into the wall with some success. Now? It feels like hitting a pile of bricks. The creature turns around and slices the air where I was standing an instant before. It misses me by a breath. That thing is fast, almost as fast as me unless I move. That said, I am not giving a show anymore. I am well fed, and I do not have to give quarter. I draw into a deep part of me, the predatory aspect that ignores all rationality. The Lancasters fade away, the locked doors fade away. There is only me and the prey. BIG, RESILIENT. INFLICT CRITICAL DAMAGE. NO DRAGGING OUT. The monster rushes me, this time it stops beyond my reach and lashes out towards my torso. I move, using the same jump I used to hit the mage. The enemy misses, but its arm brushes against my leg and I am propelled off course. I barely manage to swipe my target on the side of his head before ending up at its back again. This time, the creature howls in pain and reaches for the ruin of its left eye. I do not wait. I jump on it and dig both hands in its jugulars, then I pull. To no avail. My talons are stuck in the rock-hard skin. I fight and struggle in vain for an instant then the monster''s claws hit my midriff and throw me away. There is a horrible shredding sound when my claws are torn from his arteries, and another when my body is sent flying. Are those my guts? Oh my God, it is, oh my God oh my GoD tHis¡­ ThiS is noT alRigHt. In a panic, I try to pull my intestines back as fast as possible while the beast coughs and hacks. I am almost done when it turns to me. Don''t think about it Ariane, don''t think about knowing what touching your own organs feels like. Gah! The beast jumps again. So much blood! It killed itself when it wrestled me, slit its own throat. I just need to last a little longer! It steps forward and¡­ Hmmm, such a tantalizing bouquet! I wilL paRtaKe of it. The creature lurches at me, then strikes. I move for the third and last time tonight, dodging strike after strike with one hand against my stomach until eventually, I stumble. What? Why? I look down to my blood-drenched form. The wound is not closing at all. I am bleeding out! Using my distraction, the monster grabs my left arm and pulls. The pain is renewed as I feel things come out that should have stayed in. So strong! I manage to lift my right hand so the beast''s other arm clamps on my torso instead. The pain is almost enough to make me faint, only panic and my will to live keep me off the edge. It opens a hellish maw, filled with serrated fangs. Oh God! It is going to eat me! No! I grab its lower jaw and pull it towards me. The beast''s mouth bites on my fingers and a new pain joins the other, but I had enough time. The creature did not expect this. No prey wants to get closer. My mouth sticks to the gaping wound on its throat and I start drinking. The beast shivers, it is already too late. A rush of power and life unlike anything I have ever felt crashes against my mind. There is no time to think about any cabin, no time to prepare. I am just washed away. Night. The hunt. I see something on the vale under the light of the full moon. It is an abomination devouring a child! I shoot. It jumps at me. I run. I reach a house. I reach the cellar door. Something bites my ankle but I turn and stab it in the eye. I run in. The beast is too large to follow me. Night. The hunt. Blood sings through my veins as I howl in triumph. The pale prey and their pathetic mounts lay dismembered around me. Morning. Regret. Grief. Shame. Exile. I push away from the carcass and take a deep breath in. This was incredible! It does not compare to my master of course, but it was the closest to have come to it. I hear a suction noise and look down. Under the grime and congealing blood, I am unharmed. Silence reigns over the arena. Melusine''s face is a mask of stupefaction while Moor is contemplative. Baudouin is pale and sweaty. "It''s not fair! My Lady, this is a draw!" "Unless I''m mistaken, your candidate is a stiff. How is that a draw?" "Enough! Do not argue in public. Melusine, do not be ridiculous. Take the loss and go." "But¡­" Lady Moor''s image blurs and I hear a loud smack at the same time as Melusine''s face moves back. She collapses in a heap and coughs blood. Oh. OH. Let this moment be engraved in my memory until the end of times. Melusine''s pretty face with the imprint of someone''s hand on it and blood dripping down her poisonous mouth. Whatever God favors us vampires, praise be to thee. Hah! Torpor hits me like a hammer. I fed a lot and took a lot of damage in a very short time. I can barely keep to my feet. I look up to the Silent Watcher as I am dragged away. "Did you enjoy it too?" Pale light shines on the meadow. In the semi-darkness, everything looks the same shade of grey except for scarlet droplets. I smirk and shoulder the smoking musket. With a trail that obvious, who needs bloodhounds? I stride forward with haste, lest my prey ends up in some other animal''s belly. It is a swamp rabbit of prodigious size! Wait until I show it to Papa. I will surely break his and Achille''s records. Ariane Reynaud, greatest hunter of House Reynaud, here I come! The trail goes over ferns and through bushes, and I follow. In less than a minute I start to hear wood snapping and a whimper of pain. Hah, so close. Here it is, my prey. Such a huge rabbit it is! "No amiga, please! Do you not recognize me?" I take out my hunting knife to finish it off humanely. One slice and it will bleed out nicely. "No, Ariane, please, Ariane I beg you! ARIANE, NO!" There, all nice and proper. I lick the blood a bit, because it tastes so divine. Not bad! Now I just have to bring the carcass to the camp and weigh it. After I am done gloating, I shall allow Achille to gut and skin it for me. There is just something most peculiar about its empty eyes, staring at nothing. It is almost as if¡­ "GAH!" By all the saints in paradise, what is it with these inane dreams! How awful. Who in their right mind would hunt at night in the bayou? Preposterous. Strutting around in the dark, in the marshlands is a sure-fire way to get bitten by an alligator and drown in some murky pond. I would not be caught dead doing something this senseless. There is, of course, the small matter of the murder of my best friend. Unfortunately, I expect nothing else from those nightmares. I lay there in relative peace. I am fully healed from yesterday''s fight and clean, and though my quarters are nothing comfortable, there is a pleasant feeling to just staying in bed. Inevitably, the Thirst lets itself known and like clockwork, two sets of footsteps approach my cage. When my donor comes into view, it takes all my self-control not to jump in joy. I school my expression as the door opens, as the donor slips something with the glint of gold in Harold''s hand and as he leaves us alone. When I hear a shutting door though, I let myself smile warmly. "Good evening Aintza." The Cadiz have finally made contact. Chapter 12 - 12. Acte I, scène finale "Lo siento se?orita. Time is short, and you must listen." I shiver as Aintza''s warm breath tickles my ear. We are sitting on my cot and I find her gesture distracting. "We finally have an opportunity to force your escape. Unfortunately, it will have to be tomorrow. Is there anything that you can give us to justify our help? Please, my mistress wants to assist you, but her hands are tied." "Would a list of clan Lancaster''s holdings, contracts, and associates do? It is quite comprehensive." Aintza''s eyes widen in surprise. "Truly, you have gathered this much?" "Indeed." "You are a prisoner, however. Do you have it secure somewhere?" "Yes, and I shall give it to you, but I must ask," I add warily, "what stops you from taking the document and leaving?" "Se?orita Ariane, you know of my mistress. Do you truly expect her to behave in such a shameful way?" "I suppose not." "You can ask me again after you have fed, to assuage any doubt." "Will I not be fighting your Mistress for influence over you?" Aintza shakes her head with a light smile. "Please, let us do it. Everything will be made clear." I embrace the shorter woman, who obediently bares her throat. Unmarred skin greets me and the offering is just too tempting. I flick my tongue and she shivers and moans. Hmm, that was most lewd, and now I feel somewhat uncomfortable. "Please¡­ please!" she urges me on. Am I being molested? Bah, quickly, let me feed and think of this no more! As I stand in my refuge, I realize something incredible. I am tied to the diminutive woman by a bond we forged months ago. That means that Jimena hasn''t touched her companion in that long! That also explains why she could reach me without being recognized as another clan''s human. There is no trace on her of the touch of another vampire besides my meager own. I can only applaud the squire''s restraint and the servant''s loyalty. It also means that she has been prepared to infiltrate the Lancaster clan since before I even entered their service. My vampire friend truly is a woman of honor. I am sure this separation has cost them dearly. I pull away long before I must. There is something too intimate about this experience that I am uncomfortable with. Aintza''s rosy cheeks and the smell of her arousal are enough to convince me that she and Jimena may entertain a Sapphic relationship. Oh dear. "Ask me again." "Hmm, do you and Jimena intend to save me?" "Yes, you will be free tomorrow night. We have a plan. They will think you dead, and thus will not pursue." "And what is that plan, if I may ask?" "Hm, I want to tell you, but Jimena said that it will not work then." I want to question her more, but the sound of Harold''s footsteps dissuades me. I quickly write a few directions to one of my hideouts for her. Time matters not. I have waited for six months. I can wait one more night. I can almost feel it. I am Ariane, I am my own, I will survive and tomorrow, I will head home, to freedom. I follow Harold through the maze in a dress reminiscent of what Melusine had worn during our extremely short sparring session. The warden turns back to me every five seconds, frowning at my bare arms. No shackles for this vampire! I can only assume that wherever we go, I may not appear as a slave. Harold fully expects me to make a run for it. I have taken his measure, and I am far from confident that I could escape him, and so I am patient. I will not endanger Jimena''s plan for a harebrained scheme. A short time later, I climb into a carriage and settle down as it leaves. Lady Moor sits opposite me, wearing the finest white robe. She stares at me with an assessing gaze. I feel measured, weighted and judged. "Good evening Ariane." I bow slightly to return the courtesy. Vampire society is ruthless, yet polite. Manners and rules are more important, it seems, when everyone can remove spines from torsos with their bare hands. "Lady Moor, greetings." "It seems that I have misjudged you. Baudouin''s assessment was mostly correct after all." My eyes widen in shock. This sounded suspiciously like a compliment and an apology! Or, at least, as close to one as this stuck-up, arrogant twit can manage. They must be desperate. "This leads us to tonight. Clan Ekon has issued a formal challenge, to be witnessed by clan Roland." "A challenge, my Lady?" "The slave trade is picking up and those jackals want in on it. Nothing to concern yourself over." She waves a hand dismissively. "As the provoked party, we had the choice of the form of the duel. What do you know about vampire conflicts?" "Nothing." "I see. I would have hoped that Melusine would have taught...bah, it matters not. There are several forms of formal resolutions. I am sure that Kouakou would have preferred to fight me in a duel, but I will not sully my hands wielding a blade against that savage." I highly suspect "that savage" would give her a proper and well-deserved spanking. "And so we will rely on champions. By rule, it cannot be a member of our House. In this desolate place, it would mean an expensive mercenary or a duelist. You have already slain Melusine''s contender and so you are our best candidate. Win for us, and I will officially let you become Baudouin''s right hand." Desperate indeed! Oh, but I must not look too eager lest she suspects something. "Should I accept, I want to have the right to possess a weapon and a proper bedroom." "Yes, yes indeed. You will be given Caitlynn''s free room. She died during the raid on the fortress. You will also be paid handsomely and be allowed to carry a blade, and before you ask, no, I cannot have someone representing my clan walk around with a musket. Women do not carry muskets around town! Just leave it be!" She knows me so well. I am amused to realize that "Musket" is "Fire staff" in the tongue of Akkad. "You have a deal, my Lady." "Excellent! Now, as the offended party, you have the freedom to choose the weapon." I let Moor tell me about strategy with only half an ear. Now that the bracer is off, I feel so giddy. In short order, we stop in front of a derelict theater with a Spanish fa?ade of pitted stone. I walk in flanked by Harold and we reach an opulent entrance of yellow stone and red curtains. Two curved stairs lead upward to a circular promenade while a set of doors stands in front of us. Corridors open here and there, basked in shadows. Belying the decayed exterior, everything here is spotless. Without a word, Harold leads me to a narrow passage while Moor struts proudly forward. I follow him through twisted alleys, barely lit by the errand candle. Freedom, so close I can taste it. Harold opens a set of doors and the golden light of torches shines on a renovated opera house. The lodges have been left intact, but the ground has been entirely replaced by a sand arena. This must be where they hold blood games during the winter. I can feel quite a few vampires in the tribunes, as well as a smattering of mortals. A small gathering lies ahead of us. The silence is eerie. Lady Moor and Lambert stand on one side, while Naminata and the man I recognize as Lord Kouakou stand on the other. The twins, who had been Gaspard''s subordinates back at the fortress, are in the middle. I meet my savior''s eyes and she lowers them with sadness. If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Uh? I expected her to be more playful. "I present to you our champion, Ariane of Clan Nirari." "There is no Clan Nirari," retorts a frowning Kouakou. "Then unaffiliated, not that it matters," says Lady Moor with a smirk. One of the twins raises his hand and both sides fall silent. Both are men with very light brown hair, brown eyes, and tan skin. They are rather short and have the muscles I would associate with dancers. They wear an identical beige ensemble and the whole effect is decidedly monochromatic. "The Lancaster is correct Lord Kouakou. There were no restrictions on champion selection when you both agreed. A vampire from another house lent for the occasion is completely acceptable." I freeze in horror. Oh dear. I finally understand. So caught in the perspective of freedom, I ignored Aintza''s drunken remark. "They will think you dead," she said. Oh no. This is going to be most painful. "On this auspicious remark, let me present to you my representative: Squire Jimena of Clan Cadiz." I hear a sharp breath intake coming from Moor. She clearly did not see that coming. "Since when are you a Cadiz lackey, Kouakou!? I thought--!" "You thought our argument over the cane farms was unresolved, yes, I know." Lady Moor falls silent and I use this opportunity to stare at Jimena as she approaches. I thought I looked good in that strange battle dress I wear, yet she puts me to shame. She is regal in a form-fitting leather cuirass. Elaborate metal bracers adorn her forearms and her hand rests on the pommel of a sword of exquisite make. "Both champions are approved. The parties may regain their seats." The others retreat and I am left with the twins and my opponent. Jimena''s face is a frozen mask. The second twin turns to me: "Ariane, as the offended party, the choice of arms is yours." "If I may¡­" We both turn to Jimena. "I advise you to choose a blade, young one. There is no need to make this worse than it is." How are they so serious? "I am afraid she is right, young one." "Very well, I choose swords." One of the twins leaves and shortly comes back with a pair of identical dueling blades, made of silver without adornments. I pick one and Jimena, the other. "This duel is to the death. You may begin when the door is shut." Hold on, what!? To the death!? The twins leave at a leisurely pace. "Do not let your circumstances dishearten you young Ariane, do your best to kill me." Then the door closes behind the judges. Oh dear. I am sure she has a plan, and she was quite clear that I use this sword to the best of my abilities. "Fight me, Ariane." Very well. I move, I try to swat her blade aside and lean in for a thrust, but she just lowers her blade then swipes it back up to deflect my blow. I keep moving more and more. Every attack is deflected, every feint is ignored until I turn it into a real attack that is, and then it is blocked. I rush at Jimena like an enraged mantis and she dodges by the barest of margins. Sometimes, she ripostes but her moves are transparent, and I parry without difficulty. I accelerate to the limits of my power and already the Thirst is back in strength. I try to grab her, I try to claw her. I try to kick and punch her. I attack her arm and legs. Nothing works. This fight has lasted longer than the fight against the werewolf. I have completed no less than five quick sequences and am approaching my limits when something odd happens. My head lurches, I stumble. My mind pops like a soap bubble. Every desire to fight evaporates and strength abandons me. My arms fall, the blade rolls on the floor. "Huh?" What is going on? I am trying to think through a thick wall of cotton. Ah. There is a blade in my heart. Thick red blood flows freely to my feet. There is so much of it. Jimena approaches me with sorrow clear on her face. Is it over, just like that? There was a plan? No? Her talons reach my throat. No? With a ripping sound, she tears something and my vision falls to black with the sound of polite applause. S§×arch* The n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Night reigns absolute in the thorn forest. Vines as thick as my legs twist and cross from all sides. They are covered in massive spines that could punch through a skull. It is getting colder. I walk and the vegetation moves aside to let me through. Even when I know my skin should be shredded by the contact, I receive instead the briefest of caresses. It is not enough to give me courage. It is getting cold. I hug myself to stave off the frigid air in vain. I should be home, but I do not know the way. I am lost. Papa must be worried. Perhaps he is already looking for me. The stars, if I see the stars then I will at least know where the North lies! As if by magic, I immediately reach a clearing of packed earth. There are stars above but they are too indistinct, I recognize no constellation. I know in my heart that something is missing, but what? Ah yes, I know. Of course, silly me, there is always the Silent Watcher! A veil parts and the ominous orb stares at me in unknowable serenity. Somehow, its presence feels sharper today. My mind is like taken and flung across the earth. The jolt is enough to wake me up from my trance. I am stunned. What just happened? But wait, there is no time to lose. I am dying. It is not the false death of our sleep but the true end that no one can come back from. I need to move, to fight. I stand up and sprint towards the cabin. I do not need to see it to know where it is. We are, after all, in my psyche. A cold wind picks up and roars behind me. The forest twists and shakes to hold it back, in vain. I need to go faster. Suddenly, an enticing scent reaches my nostrils: blood most potent. It smells incredible. I run even faster. I need it. Such vitality, such life, I must make it my own. It is simply irresistible. I finally reach the log house and crash through the door. I come to with a gasp and terrible cough. AWAKE. THIRSTY. WOUNDED. An incredible treat in my mouth and down my throat. Delicious. So strong. Not enough. Prey ahead, chained and whimpering. I reach the prey. I drink deep. Rush of life. No pleasure, too hurt. It dies. I take a deep breath and cough. Blood droplets splatter on the bound corpse in front of me and my shoes. The battle dress'' front is completely red. The hole in my chest is already closed and I understand. Jimena barely clipped my heart; even then the damage was massive. I understand the look on Gaspard''s face as he died. I haven''t felt this helpless since the night I met Him. My throat still pains me. I cough again to try and clear the airway. More of the crimson liquid drips from my lips. I take stock. I am in some wooden shed devoid of anything but the corpse of the tied man, a backpack and an oiled envelope on top of it. I approach the bag and notice a sheathed silver knife. Unbidden, a smile reaches my lips. She did it, Jimena did it! I am free! "Ahhh!" Someone just screamed outside, I am not completely free it seems. I approach the door in silence and stare through the keyhole. I am in a courtyard occupied by two people. The first one is Aintza and the second one is Charlotte. The bovine woman is holding the servant''s hand. Two fingers are already bent at an unnatural angle. Curses, what should I do? If I come out, I may be found out and this will have all been for nothing, assuming I even survive, and yet, not intervening feels wrong. I have a debt of gratitude towards Jimena and Aintza. I am not foolish enough to assume that we made a fair deal. They went to great length to guarantee my escape. Aintza is begging now. She might be slain. Curse it all. This shall not stand. I would never be able to face my friend if I let it happen. I will have to risk it. I open the door and the hinges squeal like a stuck pig. So much for discretion. Charlotte turns her piggish face to me and erupts in triumph. "Hah, I knew it! You thought you could outsmart old Charlotte? You will not escape our service so easily. Wait until the Lady hears of this, your punishment will be exemplary! To return our gratitude--" "So the Lady does not yet know?" I say in a gravelly voice. "No, but soon we shall all--" "So only you are aware of this scheme?" I smile, making sure to show my fangs. This blood that was poured down my throat and the man that followed sated me, but the repairing damage is keeping the torpor at bay. I feel awake, strong, and quite happy. I am free, and now Charlotte comes to me without anyone knowing? This is just the cherry on the cake. I watch outrage and pride turn to hesitation then to fear. Yes, realize now your predicament you brainless excuse of a frigid ham. "Y-you would not dare." I step closer, slowly as that she does not panic. I do not want to run after her. I stop at arm''s reach. "I am this close to escaping, you fat sow. Only your wagging tongue stands between me and freedom so I ask you: why not?" She turns to run and I move. The silver knife slides between her ribs and my hand on her neck buries her ugly mug in the dirt. She is so slow and pathetic. Turning your back to your opponent while they are so close? It is tantamount to suicide. I adjust my grip and bring the blade out. She cries briefly and I use the distraction to stab her in the heart. Her struggle immediately seizes. I hear a whimper as I drag her neck up. "In life as death, you were ever at the bottom, cur." I drink her dry. When I stand up, a weak blue light starts to consume her lifeless body. I feel like I am watching a log disintegrate. Even her taste was disappointing. Truly, a waste of essence to the very end. Oh well. I turn to Aintza. She stepped away from the fight and is currently cradling her wounded hand. Her face is pale but resolute. "Aintza--" "You must leave Ariane, or you will risk us all." "Will you be alright?" "Yes, do not worry, this is not my first time running a scheme for Jimena." "She does seem too honest for her own good." "There is not a devious bone in her whole body." She adds with a warm smile and dreamy eyes. She loves her. If I had any doubts before, there are none now. Even with the bonds formed from our recent bite, Jimena is still the most precious person in the world to the petite woman. I feel a pang of jealousy in my heart but I quickly suppress it. I do not need it. I do not want it. "I shall take my leave then. Thank you, both of you, for everything." "Godspeed Lady Ariane. Read the letter with attention, it contains everything you need to know." I nod and rush away into the night. After six months of servitude, I am finally free. I made it. And now, I am going home. Chapter 13 - 13. Homeward The town of Montfort where I grew up is about two-thirds of the way between New Orleans and Baton Rouge. It took us a day of riding to come here, back when I was alive. Tonight, it only took me two hours of running to reach the outskirts. I should have died. Even if my heart was barely clipped and my head still mostly attached, the grievous wounds I suffered should have been the end of me. Instead, I was given a few swallows of blood so potent, so incredibly strong that it amplified my healing and is even now carrying me forward. I have run before and any exertion quickly led to Thirst. This time, I ride on the wind of boundless energy, a well of vitality that just goes on forever. Even now, I feel sated. I do not understand what I was given; I only know that I had never heard of something similar. Whatever I was gifted, it was both rare and precious. One more debt to add to the pile. I slow down as I recognize familiar houses. At this time of the night, the roads are completely empty and with clouds covering the night sky, even someone staring out of their windows would be hard-pressed to notice me. I still walk through fields and copses of trees to reach the back entrance of my house. I do not want to take any chances. I reach the first of my family''s cane fields. Winter is almost here so they lie empty and desolate. I keep walking. Wet earth and trees give me the peculiar smell I associate with home and I stop. I have done it. My primary purpose, the goal I aimed for since I woke up under the fortress has been fulfilled. I held to this feeling, this idea of freedom and heading home to keep my sanity and determination in situations that could have broken me and left me helpless. I now realize that I have no idea how to proceed now that I have achieved those priorities. Those were not plans that could be implemented, they were ideals without follow up. I sit down on a tree stump. What do I want? I am a monster. My family will know sooner rather than later, should I try to go back to my old life. Worse, the news of my return would spread far and wide and I might as well just send a missive to the Lancaster and the order of Gabriel to show up to my house with a sharp blade and a silver spike. I do not want to stay. I still want to know how my father and brother are faring. They need this closure as much as I do. I do not want to die. I do not want to be a slave. All those are negative desires. They are an absence of things. They are not goals I can strive towards. At a loss, I decide to read Jimena''s letter. She might have provided some good advice. I take out the heavy envelope from my larger backpack and open it. I note in passing that it is coated in something, to protect it from liquids, no doubt. They really thought of everything. The first line is a series of strange runes, all wedges, and sharp angles. It looks like someone stabbed the paper and the ink is black blood seeping from the wound. I blink and the meaning becomes obvious. Blood sister, if you can read and write the tongue of Akkad, please use it from now on in our correspondence. I do not even question how the knowledge ended up in my mind. The rest of the writing is in English. Jimena''s letters are identical and evenly spaced. The paper does not have a single blot, which is no less than I expected from that straight arrow of a woman. "My dear Ariane, The first thing you need to do upon reading these words is to get away from the city. Avoid the entire region around New-Orleans like the plague, and give Baton-Rouge a wide berth! You must not attract the notice of our peers, at least for a good ten years. Do not let our efforts be in vain, for I will be unable to rescue you a second time. The second thing I need to tell you is to be careful if you head home. I do not blame you, for we have all done it. May the experience be kinder to you than it was to me. For the same reason, be careful not to be noticed and for the love of all you hold dear, do not try to live your old life. You cannot trick the humans for long and if the vampires do not notice, the order of Gabriel will. Do not be fooled by their failure at the fortress. They are an efficient and ruthless lot, and they have been the end of many a fledgling. Underestimate them at your peril. Now that I assume you are safe and away, I would like to impart a few notions upon you. Your first priority is to survive for another year and a half. As a new fledgling, you require a lot of sustenance. You will need to drink deep every night and finding the blood is not easy. You may feed off lone travelers, outlaws, and escapees with relative ease. Small villages may offer a hunting ground, but only for a single night. You must remember this. Wherever you go, you are and will be an outsider. You will attract attention and attention is not your friend. As a vampire, you are more dangerous than most individual entities of the world. You are also isolated, at least for now. Do not let yourself be discovered and cornered. Do not let yourself be tracked down. Be always one step ahead of others and your life will never be at risk. Let the crowd learn of the thing in its midst, however, and you will die. A hundred may fall before you but still, you will die, for nothing. The only place where your presence might be properly hidden is within the anonymous multitude of cities. Even then, you will be at constant risk without the support of a master. At least until you gather allies, you should stay on the move. For obvious reasons, you should avoid territories belonging to the natives as a lone white woman at night will always be too noticeable. You may go where you wish, I would still advise you to stay well enough away from the two other vampire communities on the continent. One is in Charleston and the other in New York. Avoid them if you can. Onto more practical matters, here is a list of advice I wish someone had given me when I first set out: Create a fake identity and make it believable. Stick to it. The more familiar you are with it, the less people will think you lie. Remain consistent. Changing name and persona in every village will not protect you from the Order, or vampires tracking you. It will only make slipping more likely. Always drink before you need to or the choice to spare a life will be taken away by the Thirst. You must find a place to spend the day at least two hours before daylight. If the sun reaches you as you slumber, you will never wake up again. Do not try to pet dogs, cats or any other animals. They can tell what we are. Always keep a clean set of clothes, and if possible, clean socks as well. Do not forget to wash behind your ears for the errant spot of blood. Do not use pigs set on fire as a distraction; it will never work as intended! The same goes for boars and bulls. Huh? When people welcome you with a smile, it means they assume you to be a fugitive and a member of their house is already on his way to the constable. And last but most important Hide the bodies. I close the letter with a sigh of regret. Jimena''s words are directions and warnings, there is no indication on what I should do with my life, besides surviving. I have only been delaying the inevitable. As much as I hate it, I will have to do some introspection. What do I want? I want to create something for myself and then nurture it. When I was younger, I wanted to build a stable and later a distillery. It is most likely impossible for now according to what I understand from Jimena''s letter. I might be able to do it later. I will never be too old to start a new project, after all. If I cannot build then at least I can travel. I could go to Florida or Texas, or even visit the Anglos lands in the North. I could even go to Canada! Or, Paris! London! No, that seems like a terrible idea. I would need to cross the ocean and even my Master would not risk it without preparation. This would also put me in contact with other clans. No Paris, no Barcelona, no Berlin for this lone vampire. I shall make the New World my own. Yes. I can travel, I can discover things and meet people, and eat them too! As soon as I am done here. Suddenly my mood plummets. I ran all the way here, and now I am wasting time making inane plans that may never reach completion. I am¡­ I am scared. There, I said it. I am terrified by what I will find. What will I do if they try to kill me? What will I do if they are dead? No, no. They cannot be dead. I will not accept it. I stand up in a rush and stride towards the mansion, I am almost there. The log cabin. I slowly step to the place of my childhood. It is burnt to the ground. No! Black soot clings to the stone foundations and the few surviving beams. The charcoal is dark and shiny, its surface made smooth by a season of rain. The small hearth is half-collapsed and there is nothing left of the furniture. I step forward and kneel. I grab a handful of dark dust. What happened? Why is it gone, and why is it so small? My log cabin is tall. Large and strong, with a canopy bed! This pale imitation, this pathetic excuse of a dump cannot be the place of my childhood! I cannot accept it. Is this a joke? Is this some sort of trick? Is there a hidden place farther away? Perhaps I remember it wrong, this has to be a shed and the real thing is farther away? I am crying. I silently dab the tears away with a clean tissue. I am so terribly affected by the loss of this place. Why? Why am I so sad? I look up to the Silent Watcher and suddenly, my mind reaches my refuge. The sky is still dark and cloudless. Staring into it gives a feeling of immensity. I look down to the solid walls that would shame the ramparts of a Roman Oppidum and step in. The gate opens before me, unbidden. The interior is warm and clean. The bed occupies the middle of the room, surrounded by furniture and the odd trinket, each a symbol of a significant memory. A fire roars in the hearth and the wood pops and hisses contentedly. Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. I step out and end up sitting in wet ashes. So that is what it feels like, the death of innocence. It has been six months and the world moved on. It did not wait for me. I stand back up. No. This is nothing. This is just a building. I will not let such an event shatter me. I refuse. I keep going, after a while my childhood home comes in sight. It is a two-story colonial house, the wood painted white. An outside patio leads to a grand entrance. I know every room in it, every nook and cranny and yet there is a major problem. I cannot get in, at least not without an invitation. I need Papa to invite me. I walk away to his bedroom window, on the side of the second floor. I jump up. I easily grab the sill with both hands and dig my talons in it, then I look down. Impressive, I will have to remember to jump up to avoid pursuers. Turning my attention forward, I face a shutter. Of course. I slide my index finger forward and the wood gives way with an audible crack, and I lift the lock. The shutter opens with a shriek from its rusty hinges. Inside, a dog starts to bark. I stare through the window and drawn curtains. Surely, Papa heard me? He should be up and waving around a massive iron poker while bellowing threats at whoever dares do disturb his property and his rest. The door slams wide and a female figure with a small dog comes in. I duck and let go. "Roger, someone opened the shutter!" "Damn it woman, I told you to wait for me." "Dad? What''s going on?" I stay where I stand. Curses, this is my aunt and her family. What are they doing here? And where is my father? "You stay there, I''m going to look outside." "Dad?" "I said, stay there." He is going to step outside, voluntarily? How convenient. Roger leaves the house with a lamp, the dog and a loaded musket. The small white thing keeps barking until it catches my scent. Then it starts shaking. I jump down from the patio and land behind him in perfect silence. I grab the man''s neck between two talons. He freezes and drops everything to grip my hand. I let him frantically struggle for a few seconds, then I increase the pressure. "I have some questions," I say in a low voice. "Ari?!" I stop dead. I cannot believe it. Did he recognize my voice? Roger and I were never close, we had not spoken since last May. How? How could he? "Ari, is that you?" "No!" "Ari, what happened to you? We can help--" "Silence! I do not--no! I ask the questions. Yes. And you answer. Now tell me, where is Papa?" "Ari I am sorry, we had to--" "WHERE IS HE!" "In the dependence!" I can''t stand this anymore. What the FUCK is he doing in the dependence? Those are the servant quarters! I turn Roger around and slam him against the wall. "Why is he there? Why not here? THIS IS HIS FUCKING HOUSE!" "I can tell you!" "Please don''t hurt my daddy!" Both of us turn to a small child, my nephew. For the first time, Roger''s voice shows true panic. "Please¡­ Lucien, no. Go home." "Aunt Ari?" No this is wrong, this is all wrong, this should not be happening! THEY DO NOT BELONG HERE! THIS IS THE NEST! SLAY THE INTRUDERS, DRINK THEM DRY, DISPLAY THEIR CORPSES AS WARNING FOR THE OTH-- No! No. This is my family. This parody of life has already robbed the human Ariane of her life, it will not take her family as well. I refuse. I am no slave, not to the Lancasters, not to Him, and certainly not to my own instincts. This will not stand. I release the old man who collapses on the ground. Lucien looks at me in wonder. Curses, he must have seen the teeth. Now they know. I should kill them just to be on the safe side, I can easily get rid of the bodies. What is wrong with me? I need to leave. "Where?" "Tom''s old house. Wait!" I stop but do not dare to turn around and face them. "He had a hard time handling your disappearance." "Then why is he not in his bedroom where he belongs?" "He drank too much, he burnt down the resting cabin, almost burnt down the house too. He moved out. We are taking care of the slaves and his investment while he, well, wastes away." "¡­ I see." "Ari, what happened to you?" "You did not see me, uncle. You never saw me here. I am dead. Do you understand?" "We love you, Ari, we are your family. Just stay--" "No! I cannot. I really cannot. I would endanger Lucien and Sara. I would endanger us all." "I understand. Is it farewell then?" "It is." "Then, I wish you the best and I am sorry." "Goodbye Roger." "Goodbye, Ari." "Bye Aunt Ari, take care." I sprint forward to a group of small houses. It only takes me a few seconds to find the right house and knock on the door like a fury. It takes him a long time to answer, long enough, in fact, for other people to wake up. I care not. Eventually, he opens the door and we stare at each other in stunned silence. It is him, it is really him. "Let me in." "Ari?" "LET ME IN, DAMN IT!" Astonished, he makes the barest of move and that is all that I need. I push past him and he closes the door behind me. Only a small candle provides light around us. His place is a hovel, filled with rickety furniture and empty bottles. It reeks of alcohol, digested alcohol, and sweat. We stay silent. I do not even turn to face him. I jump when someone knocks on the door. "Mr. Reynaud, are you alright in there?" "Yes. I am fine. Please, leave me be." "As you say, sir." We both turn at the same time. I wear a winter traveling garb complete with a cape but my head is bare and my hair free. I am the exact copy of the woman who left his house back in July, down to the hair length. He, however, is but a shadow of his former self. His sickly skin is drawn taut over a skeletal frame. His blue eyes are sunken and devoid of their usual spark. His shoulders are slumped, he is hunched and even his proud blonde beard is matted and messy. I find the irony tragic. I am the one who was left behind but he is the one who could not let go. "Is that really you, or is this some sort of cruel joke?" His voice is cold but his face shows an ocean of suffering, constant grief without end that even the bottle failed to blunt. "I..." I hesitate, then I decide to go for honesty. "I am so sorry, I do not know." I start bawling like a child. God, how pathetic I am. The proud vampire who reigned undefeated over the Gauntlet reduced to a quivering mess. My father takes me in his arms and hugs me. I lean into it. We stay like this for a while. God, I wish this would never stop. After a while, I push him away. He lets me go. "You cried blood on my shirt, daughter." "It was filthy anyway." "Tell me what is going on." I start talking and I do not stop. The tale of what happens comes out in a messy jumble. I talk about being cursed, being dead, needing blood, escaping, my friend Jimena, how I first met her, fighting in the Gauntlet, running errands, the big eye in the sky. It just comes out in a big pile of nonsense and never does he interrupt me. After a good hour, I putter out like a wet pistol. He dries his wet cheeks with a tissue as I wait for something, a verdict I suppose. "You believe that my daughter died in that basement?" "I think so," I say with some hesitation, "I do not think I am human." "Did she suffer? Did she call for me?" I look at him. His face is a mask. Should I say the truth? He would never believe a lie. "Yes. I did." He sits down and cries again. We have cried quite a bit this past hour. I even stained the front of my dress. "I never expected you to come," I say. I sit down. "There was nothing you could have done. This is unfair, I know, but I can tell you this: even if you had found me, you would have died as well." "I failed you." "No, you did not. You made me happy. For those past nineteen years, you made me happy. This is what you were supposed to do Papa. Killing millennia-old monsters was never part of the deal." "If I had known--" "But you could not." We sit in silence. "Do you really have to leave?" "Yes. I just came by because I needed closure. We both did." "I guess." "Where is Achille?" "Closing a contract in Houston. He has come to terms with your death, I believe." "I expected no less from my practical brother. How is Constanza?" "She recovered, but her face is scarred. She was followed by a nice doctor from the city and they are getting married in April." "That is good to hear." We stay for a while in comfortable silence. I do not believe I have ever stayed awake for so long since I died. I am dimly aware that I will need to find shelter for the day but right now, I cannot bring myself to care. "I must leave Papa." "Yes, I suppose you do." His eyes suddenly widen in shock and a silly smile lightens his features. I feel myself mirror the expression. It is so good to see life come back to him if only a little. "Hold on! Before you go, I have your birthday gift!" "What? You do?" And it finally occurs to me that I turned twenty in August. I was so focused on running errands and surviving that it never occurred to me to celebrate. Excited, Papa runs to his bedroom and rummages through various belongings. I hear him mutter and curse, then with a triumphant "Aha!", he returns with a long leather holster. "Papa! Is that?" "Indeed! I had Talleyrand make it for you. Try it out!" I open the cover and take out a brand-new rifle. "Oh my, oh my! It''s wonderful!" I jump excitedly and I touch the smooth polished stock of red-colored wood, the silver engraved firing mechanism, and the long barrel. The weapon is a work of art and love. I aim and it is as if I have had it my whole life. It is perfectly balanced and quite light, although I suppose I can thank my new strength for that last part. "Incredible! It is as if it was made for me!" "It was. Talleyrand used your exact measurements" "Oh Papa, this is such a great gift! Thank you, thank you!" I jump and hug him again, laughing all the time. "But wait, I haven''t told you the best part yet!" He replies with amusement. S~ea??h the N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. For a while, my father goes to great length to explain how special the gun is. It is a more recent design that uses paper cartridges and is loaded from the gun''s breech instead of the muzzle. The barrel is even rifled for increased accuracy. Truly, the wonders of science know no bounds. After that, it is time to say goodbye. I shoulder my backpack, the leather cover and pocket the bag of ammunition in silence. Father holds my shoulders then gives me one last hug. It is the first time in six months that I embrace someone I will not feed from. He backs up a bit then a rugged thumb caresses my cheek. "I remember that you told me you are not my Ariane, but you were wrong. You still carry the same spirit, the same aspirations and God forgive me, the same love for unladylike things that go boom." "Father!" "Shhh, hahaha, let your old man finish. You think that being human is what made you my daughter. It is not. Being you is what made you my daughter. You have always changed and grown, this particular change is just the latest and the most dire. Do not despair and do not let go of your past and our time together, yes?" "Don''t make me cry again!" "Haha, it is fine." "The same goes for you!" I reply between two hiccups, "You better clean yourself, mister. Don''t make me feel ashamed." "Oh, believe me, I will." I turn and step to the door before I lose every last bit of self-control I have. I am so emotional tonight, more so than usual. This strange blood might be to blame yet I feel no regret. I think that I needed it. "Take the key to the Saint Landry warehouse. You can rest there today and, Ariane?" "Yes?" "You have enemies. Give them hell and no quarters. I refuse to lose you again, you hear? You are forbidden from dying before me." "I promise." "Good, now go, and don''t forget to write!" I leave Montfort at a dead run, feeling light as a feather. I did not expect everything to have gone so well. I look up and exchange a glance with the Silent Watcher. Its gaze feels softer tonight. "I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did." The road forward lies open. Chapter 14 - 14. Roadside snacks It has been a week since I left Montfort. I have been able to take shelter in sheds and barns locked for the winter without much difficulty. The ability to climb means that I never have to force a door open. At worst, I have removed a pair of planks. As for nourishment, it was not hard either. There are several kinds of victims. Some villages have sentries who walk around with a lantern. The light they carry makes them visible from hundreds of meters away, which I find very thoughtful of them. I have but to follow the signal and blood is to be found. There is also the odd travelers. A surprising amount of people move at night for one reason or another, merchants coming back home, doctors, soldiers on leave¡­ It is enough. If I ever grow desperate, I can always remove a layer of clothes and knock on a door with desperation on my face, although I shall do this as a last resort. I have followed Jimena''s advice to stay on the move and to leave no body to be found. The best way to do so, I find, is to not create one to begin with. It seems that tonight will be the exception. I am reaching the end of settled land and have started to skirt Choctaw territory, moving East. This used to be Native country as well, but it changed hands when a certain governor decided that respecting treaties only applied when the other side had a modern army. I noticed that since passing Mobile, the land and its people have grown increasingly rough. Case in point. "Your turn, Bouc!" I stand at the edge of a small clearing. A hound is attached to the opposite end and is voraciously devouring a piece of charred meat. Two patched tents sit on both sides of a small fire and the ground is littered with half-chewed bones and empty bottles. The culprits are three filthy men in their twenties who roar in laughter when a thrown knife kisses the cheek of a slave bound to a tree, eliciting a small whimper. I frown in disapproval. I understand playing with your prey but there is something about this situation that bothers me. The black man shows courage in the face of defeat, surely, this warrants some sort of respect, no? The situation is quite clear to me. The slave escaped, was successfully tracked down and now he will be returned, judged and punished according to the Black Code. The way they torture him and shed his blood for no reason feels wasteful and disrespectful of the Prey and the Hunt. Those people disgust me, and I am Thirsty, so we shall see forthwith if they truly are the predators they believe themselves to be. I retreat and hide my backpack as well as my precious rifle. I quickly don my most tattered dress, leave my travel cloak on the ground and return to the camp. After some deliberation, I decide to bare one white shoulder for them to see. The bait is set. I take the hunched posture of the victim and cross my arm in a protective gesture. I step into the clearing, let out a loud gasp and deliberately step on a branch. The dog starts growling. The three men fail to notice me. Unbelievable. Only when the slave''s eyes grow wide, do they turn around. I have maintained my frightened deer expression for a solid ten seconds now. Heavens, how much effort I am wasting trying to turn this into a proper contest! I could have broken two of the ruffian''s neck and the last one would still be giggling like a cretin while scratching his privates. I really hope they will do better from now on. "Well, well well sweet thing, are you lost? Don''t ya worry, me and the boys will take reaaaal good care of ya, won''t we lads?" says the leader, a gangly man with a cruel face. "Yeah, huhuhu" replies a short man with a bushy beard and a lazy eye. The third man just stands there with an absent smile. A trail of drool drips down his chin. And just like that, my interest in a verbal exchange has died down. There is little cause for a battle of wit when my opponents are so obviously unarmed, so I let out a distressed yelp and turn to flee. As expected, the three launch themselves after with drunken laughter. I am forced to slow down so that they do not lose my trail. We eventually reach another clearing and I veer left, then I hide at the base of the tallest beech tree I can find. The trio reaches the clearing and the leader scowls. He makes a hand gesture and they separate to start to look for tracks. "Should have taken the dog." Says the leader. That would not have saved you. I wait a bit until they are properly split, then I let one foot hanging out of my hiding spot. As soon as the closest lout looks in my direction, I snap a branch and his eyes land on it. I hope he is dumb enough to fall for that more than obvious ploy. He is. I am not surprised, but still a bit disappointed. I see from the corner of my eye the man, the bearded one called Bouc, gesture at his friends to join him. Of course, they are already too far from each other to notice and so he would have to call them, warning me that I am spotted. Or he could take me by surprise. Bouc is eminently predictable. I know he will prefer to end the chase as fast as possible and I also know why. He is after another kind of sport. If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. As the man creeps ever closer with all the subtlety of a drunken bull in a China shop. The wind blows and I catch a waft of his musk. Oh. My. GOD! Do I really want to drink from him? Can I truly not catch any diseases? I am afraid that I will have to burn that dress afterward, or risk being noticed from a mile away. How can a man allow himself to be so revolting? How has his nose not fallen off yet? Ah, this is getting worse and worse. The man extends a filthy hand to catch my leg and at the last moment, before he can stain my sock beyond anyone''s ability to wash it, I move. Two fingers close on his airway without drawing blood, yet. I smile to him and make sure he sees the eight fangs. I start whispering. "Congratulations, you caught¡­" And I freeze. The man just soiled himself. I thought the smell could not possibly get any worse, I was sorely mistaken. "Tch, you insufferable swine! I¡­" I stop again. Something is crawling from his beard to my arm. My eyes widen in shock as my enhanced vision reveals the unwelcome transient. Lice. "Hsss!" Oh, that is IT! I punch the man in the throat, grab his arm and bite deep. In the safety of my refuge, I ignore both the rush of life and my memories to stare at the echo of the Silent Watcher. "Don''t think about it, don''t think about it, don''t think about it¡­" "Ngah!" With a last shiver of revulsion, I drop the bloody arm and the corpse it is attached to slumps on the ground. I made a bit of a mess and I silently scold myself. I should not, in any circumstances, waste blood. Still¡­ "Bouc?" The leader is walking in my general direction with a scowl. I push the horrendous remains in a recess and walk forward in the clearing as if I were trying to be stealthy. I then seemingly notice the leader and run away with a scream of terror. The leader smiles and sprints, all thoughts of his friend promptly forgotten. We race for half a minute, during which the man manages to promise me that I will like it, threaten me if I don''t stop, call me a dumb whore, and "compliments" my rear. Really, what is it with men and my posterior? Should I ask? Eventually, I pretend to fall. The gangly lowlife stops to savor the sight of his target crawling on the ground. The glint in his eye is quite telling, and so is the way he licks his lips. Then I turn my head and fix a random spot in the tree. "Behind you!" I scream in terror. The man frowns and turns away, only for two talons to grab his neck. "I said," I add in a sultry voice, "Behind you¡­" I took my time enjoying the leader and I am now sated. The Thirst has left me be for the night and I now face a dilemma. Should I slay the simpleton in front of me, or let him go free? I am not confident about my ability to make him forget. When I drew from travelers on my way here, the bite and a look were always enough to send them off with no recollection of the event. A chase that resulted in the disappearance of friends, however, is another issue altogether. If I let him leave, will he speak of a blonde woman in a tattered dress? In the best-case scenario, informed parties might recognize the influence of a vampire. In the worst case, they could start a manhunt. He is dangerous. And yet is any of this truly his fault? He looks too dim to understand the evil of his ways. His "friends" were quite possibly a bad influence. Am I not being too hasty? I am already feeling just a little tipsy. Could vampires get drunk from too much blood? Surely not. "You woman! I fouuuuund you!" says the dullard as he finally notices me. He then proceeds to unhook his belt and lower his pants. "I do you like the servant girl!" S§×ar?h the N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Well, that settles it. "Teeheehee!" Oh but what a beautiful night it is! So nice and quiet, and peaceful, and the weather is so clement. Why, I could have a tea party under the moon! And the Silent Watcher! Except, with no tea, please. Instead, we could have gentlemen on the table and Jimena and Constanza could be there! And the gentlemen would be completely¡­ Nude! "Teehehehehehehe, nude!" But first I have to clean up the bodies because Jimena said I should and Jimena is my best friend in the whole world! So, I bring them together, it is so easy. The idiot was already there, so I went to pick up the leader and it took me a little bit to find him but eventually I did and then I brought him and piled them and then I found the stinky one but he is too gross so I took the belt from the idiot and wrapped it around his leg and then I tied it to the head of the idiot. Now I only have to drag the idiot to move both of them! "Genius! Ariane, the light of your intellect truly shines upon this world!" So, I take the leader''s belt and attach his head the idiot''s leg and now I can just return to the camp in one go with all three corpses! My ability to innovate knows no bounds! So, I pick the leader and start to drag and fall on my face. Heavy! I spit out a few leaves and stare up at the Silent Watcher. "You didn''t see anything!" It watches. "Fine! But don''t tell anyone, I am serious!" I continue between two grunts, "I have a reputation to uphold." I navigate myself and the corpse train back to the camp and only fall twice and bump against one tree. Ariane, queen of dexterity! As I reach the clearing, the dog starts barking and howling so I roar once and it quiets down with a whimper. Good dog. I drop my luggage and look around for a shovel. There are no marshes around so I would be better off burying the bodies. Oh but wait¡­ I turn around and burp. A trail of blood drips from my chin. Ariane, manners! Ah yes, I remember now. The captive! I move closer and the black man looks at me with a surprising amount of calm. Why, how courageous. My mouth is positively covered in the red liquid and still, he does not flinch! "Greeting, princess." Huh, did he just¡­ The man leans forward despite the ropes biting in his wrist and offers his jugular. That is so unusual and so exciting! He spoke the tongue! And he was so polite by calling me "Nin", a princess! And this submissive position, I feel that I should not hurt him. Why, I am curious now. I was going to kill him cleanly but now I just have to hear what he has to say! The words escape my lips, unbidden. "Supplicant." The man almost collapses in relief. What? He was that anxious? "Princess, would you please free my hands?" It is a reasonable request, and besides, he cannot kneel properly as he is. The position of supplicant is all wrong! "Very well." I walk to him and cut the ropes with a few swipes with my talons. Just like a cat! "Teehehehehe!" Now the man massages his wrists, well, where is my kneeling supplicant? He freezes and slowly kneels and, again, offers his throat to me. Just so! Now, I am satisfied. So I stop growling. "You may rise." He does not move and so I sigh, "You may rise." Silly Ariane, you cannot expect every human to know the tongue! Bah. "What is your name?" "Toussaint." A Creole! That might explain it. He is acquainted with the Ekon, maybe even that scandalous girl Nami. Possibly. "How do you know how to address me?" "Princess, there is a Bokor who goes from plantation to plantation. He speaks to us of the Voodoo and the way of magic. He also told us of the loa, the loup-garou, and the pale ones. He said that if one meets a pale one outside at night, he should greet them politely, and pray they are feeling merciful." I hold my hands up, this is a fascinating tale but I now have a most urgent matter to attend to. I rush to the nearest bush. "OooOoOoo¡­" I throw up blood. It stinks! There is no vitality to be found in it, at all. Bah! I should not have drunk so much, but, well, I did not want all that life to go to waste. "Hic! Uuuuh." When I come back, Toussaint has not moved an inch, Droplets of cold sweat have gathered on his brow however, despite the chill. "What is a loup-garou anyway?" "A werewolf. A cursed soul who turns into a horrible monster under the light of the moon. It is said that it is as tall as two men, covered in fur, and strong enough to shred metal! Only by silver can it be slain, but it is no small task! For the beast is terrifying: its maw is like that of a wolf and lined with nightmarish¡­" "Ooooh, so thaaaaaat''s what it was. Well, it was delicious. Full of life and power. I wonder if I can catch another one?" Toussaint does not reply but he smells afraid again. Was it something I said? Bah. "So you presented yourself as a supplicant. Now tell me, what is your request?" "Hum, I would like to live." "Hum!" I tap my index against my chin and ponder those words. He would like to live. Well, it does sound reasonable, I suppose. I cannot stomach another human anyway. I could let him go? "Ah Toussaint, I wish I could, but I really cannot have someone spread tales of my passage. You see," I grab his shoulder and lean closer because it''s a secret. "I am trying to move inco¡­ Incon¡­ Wait. INCOGNITO!" He winces." Yes, that is it. Teehee!" "That is not an issue, princess." He replies with the barest trace of panic. "I can swear an oath on the loa!" "So?" "If I lie, my soul will burn in hell for all eternity! The Bondye will never forgive me!" "Hmmm, give me your hand." I lightly bite him and stare in his eyes. "You meant to betray me?" "No princess! Toussaint is a man of honor!" "Do you believe that if you break an oath to the loa, your soul will go to hell?" "Of course!" He answers, scandalized. "Humm. Very well then. I will consent to let you go. In return, you will help me bury the bodies." "Princess? Truly?" He licks his lips, hope clear as day on his face. "Yes. Now Swear!" I expected a hastily cobbled up sentence, instead, the man actually builds a small altar of wood and soot and mutters a long prayer, complete with a loud proclamation of demise should he break his word. How queer! I was having a perfectly reasonable night and suddenly, something completely out of the ordinary happens, a heathen ceremony. That is so quaint! After he is done, Toussaint finds a small gully and we drop the bodies there and then cover them with earth and heavy stones so that wild animals don''t dig them up. Tada! They''re gone. Ariane, queen of prestidigitation! We walk back to camp one last time. Toussaint assures me that he knows where he intends to go, that he will take care of the men''s belonging and their dog as well. He also gives me some directions without prompt. On this note, we part ways. The expression of grateful incredulity he shows me when I leave is so touching. He is, as my father would say, a good lad. With his advice, I quickly find shelter in a natural cave system and although it is still quite early, I decide to call it a night. Chapter 15 - 15. Reap what you sow Yesterday did not happen. Nope! It did not. Nothing embarrassing happened, at all. The blood on my chin and clothes? A hunting accident. I was hunting a deer. Yes, a deer. A vicious one. I walk on a trail that skirts the border between Louisiana proper and the native lands. Despite yesterday''s excess, I already feel Thirsty. I am also feeling a bit lonely. I never anticipated this to happen. I have been on the road for only a week, yet a simple conversation with this human, Toussaint, reminded me of what I had forfeited. I want to talk to someone, I want to learn something new, discuss ideas. I do not want to turn into some sort of hermit. I find it impressive that the mundane reasserts itself so easily. When I was attending the red-haired bitch queen, I wanted nothing but to be left alone. When I was in the gauntlet, I wanted nothing but entertainment, and now I want company. It is Humanity''s lot to always crave for more, and death has not made me an exception. I sigh and shoulder my backpack. I now have exactly three outfits, with one being the battle dress with a hole in the chest. I should have brought a sewing kit¡­ I was too hasty when I skirted Mobile. I should have stopped and resupplied. The fact that I need no food blinded me and¡­ I stop on the trail. I have been walking in mostly forested land for two days now. Between the hills, the tree trunks and the occasional rock, visibility is limited despite my eyes. I close them. I hear the cracks and groans of living wood, distant birds, the wind. Strange, I could swear that I felt something, not the auras I associate with magical beings but something weaker and less alive. Hum. I start walking again a bit faster and leave the trail for the top of the nearest hill. My instincts have never betrayed me. Something is off. I reach the top and look around, nothing but trees and silence. I climb the tallest tree I can find using my claws to dig in. Still nothing, and now my fingers are sticky with sap. The feeling comes and goes again, both closer and stronger. I still have no idea what it could be, yet I can think of only one explanation. Someone or something is tracking me. Should I run for it? Can I? Running makes me Thirsty and finding blood here will be difficult if I have to rush it. Should I ambush them? That would be pointless if they know my exact location. Hum. Perhaps they cannot. I believe whatever is tracking me to do the magical equivalent of yelling to find someone in the forest, and the person yells back. I need more information. I shall hide and wait to see what it is and at the first sign of danger, I shall be gone like the wind. After half an hour, the feeling comes back. It is exactly as it was, that I can say. Someone is hunting me, I am sure of it. However, they stopped. I wait half an hour more without change. The feeling does no return and the implication scares me. It is likely, that whatever is doing this knows my approximate location. It decided to stop when it noticed me doing the same, and I finally understand why. Time is against me. If they can track me during daylight, I am finished. Most vampires protect themselves by slumbering in fortresses defended by loyal followers. This was made obvious during the fortress raid. I have none of those defenses. My only advantage in hiding is that no one was looking for me, until now that is. There is no labyrinth, no rock formation that will hide me from whatever is out for me. It would be child''s play to find my body in some bear cave or abandoned shack and then dispose of me. How did this even happen? I thought I was being careful. Bah, it matters not. I must find what I am up against. My only saving grace is that it prefers to wait until I am defenseless, which means that it is not confident it can slay me in a fair fight. I do not have a way to track it, however. How should I proceed? I have superior sight, hearing, and sense of smell. I can use it. I also have my wits, such as they are. I have been on the move for a week, mostly going North and now East. Whatever is tracking me must logically be behind. I need to retrace my steps. Secondly, whatever is tracking me has a high chance of being sapient. Indeed, I find it unlikely that a beast would have the presence of mind to wait for daylight to slay its prey. It might well have followed the trail. I take out and load my rifle as a precaution, grateful that it has not rained in a while. I also make sure that Jimena''s knife is within reach. The taste of tallow on the paper cartridge, I could have done without. Pah! I walk back, stopping every three hundred steps. I close my eyes and listen to sounds, taste the air. I do not detect anything abnormal and continue. I do this for a solid hour and it becomes increasingly difficult not to focus on the Thirst. Perhaps I should just drop everything and go to those small outposts Toussaint mentioned, hunt, and return? It would just take a couple of hours¡­ No! I am close, I can feel it. I am so distracted that when the tracking thingie returns, I yelp in surprise. It is closer and stronger than ever before! I could just run around and¡­ No. Focus, Ariane, you can do this. This was like a pulse, a ripple on the surface of a placid lake. Concentric circles going back and reflecting obstacles. I still cannot tell where it comes from, it could be anywhere¡­ I sniff in disappointment and it hits me. There is a new smell. I rush forward on the trail and I finally identify it, I just found horse dung. I walk closer. I can tell that it is still very fresh. I kneel and stare at the ground. Here and there are the deep imprints of hooves with horseshoes. I am no tracking expert, but I can already tell a few things. I am being hunted by humans because vampires and werewolves do not ride horses, at least not when they hunt. Natives do not use steel tips. Finally, there are more than one but less than a lot. That means the culprits are a small squad of either servants of Gabriel, or mages. Given that I am sure I am being magically followed, I shall go with mages. That is extremely problematic. They may have ways to mask their presence or turn invisible. Mayhaps, they can even turn themselves into newts! And then, what should I do to find them. I follow the tracks to a bend in the road where it disappears. I quickly figure out that they decided to leave the path at that moment. That must be when they realized I was not moving anymore. Time is running short, and so is my patience. I must find them before the cravings become unmanageable. I follow the prints to a mass of rocky outcrops covered in pine trees and lose them on the solid ground. I am not sure what to do. I have never hunted without a dog before. I sniff the air. The smell of pine sap is overwhelming and under it there is woodsmoke. Aha! A fire! I find the tallest tree I can and start climbing. Ignoring my ever stickier talons, I look around. Nothing, absolutely nothing. There is not the red hint of a cooling ember. Not a single pop or crack of wood turning to ash. Not even a trail of smoke rising to the skies. They are hiding. What should I do, what should I do? I can walk around for all the remaining time I have before I turn into a ravening beast and they slay me in a well-prepared trap. No, wait, they cannot be far, I can just go from hilltop to hilltop and smell them. Arg, this will take too much time. Ah, but I almost forgot. They have horses. I remember yesterday, I managed to scare the dog. Horses are prey, they should scare easily. I just have to do something to make them panic. I could set fire to the forest. No Ariane, this is the dumbest idea you ever had since you tried to deep-fry butter. You are not a creature of fire, no, you are a creature of the night. So let us scare them. "Roaaaa!" ¡­ That was beyond pathetic. I might have scared three bats and a squirrel. This is wrong. I am trying to act too human. I close my eyes and focus. Under the smooth lake of my thoughts lie the instincts that saved me so many times before. I call upon them now, I draw them out, helped by urgency and The Thirst. I feel the slight wind on my face, smell the barest hint of woodsmoke. My blood sings in the night, this is my moment. The prey is cloSE. NO ONE TRACKS THE VAMPIRE. FIND. KILL. TAKE TROPHY. HIDING LIKE COCKROACHES. LET THEM KNOW. LET THEM KNOW I AM NO PREY. I AM THE APEX. THE NIGHT IS MINE. "ROOOOAAAAAAR!!!" The terrifying scream erupts like a volcano, spreads and rolls over the valleys and the forests, filling every cranny, reaching under every root. Hundreds of animals freeze in terror as millions of year of natural selection reminds them of their place in the pecking order. It is fury made manifest, the screams at the dawn of time, back when the winner would eat its victim''s blood-soaked heart. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. There, a neigh. PREY! Slightly to my left. They are so close! I rush forward and then I slow down. They know I am coming. Charging in against a mage has already proven to be stupid, and a few months of limited training has not suddenly turned me into an Amazon. I need to play this smart. OR CHARGE IN KILL DRINK. No. I hear another subdued neigh, as well as the sound of hooves hitting the ground. They are just behind this tall rock. I look around me. There is a colossal pine tree a maybe thirty steps away to my right. I carefully walk there. I drop my backpack. Change? Change. I wear the battle dress and I appreciate that someone would make something elegant and practical. It even has pockets! Imagine that. I tie the dagger to my hip and the rifle to my shoulder and I start climbing. I am not entirely silent but I still manage to slither between branches until I reach the proper height. There they are. Three men sit in a secluded clearing surrounded by rocks. The only entrance is facing away from the road, which means that whoever follows them would have to go around the pile of rocks then circle back. One of the men is doing his best to control three heavily laden horses, another sits in a meditation position next to a smothered campfire and the last one is staring towards the entrance of the valley with a¡­ Is that a blunderbuss? Ah well, at least they are taking this seriously. A circle of something surrounds them. It shines in my view in a white aura that makes the air shimmer as if it were heated. Despite the closeness, I cannot feel the colorful aura that I associate with mages. I consider my options. I have to kill them quickly, but I can try it in several ways. I could jump on them. That would let me kill one before the others retaliate, but I do not know what that strange barrier does. It could just prevent me from feeling them. It could also set me on fire, and would that not be unpleasant. Or, I could try my brand new Talleyrand custom made fifty-six caliber breech-loaded rifle that I haven''t had the chance to try yet from the safety of a tree and bathed in almost total darkness. Hum¡­ BANG! The bullet hits the sitting man in the chest. Yes! He tips backward with a yelp of surprise. Wait, surprise? The circle fades. The man reaches from something in his pocket with panic and takes out a strange object, he starts mumbling something while the man with the blunderbuss kneels by his side and aims in my general direction. Uh oh. The wounded man points a finger and I let myself drop just as a storm of metal shreds my hiding spot. Never mind, close quarters it is. I leave the rifle and rush forward with my knife in front. I jump up and down the rock face and land in their camp. The first mage is still mumbling and I freeze in shock. The two other men are from the order of Gabriel! I thought this was impossible! A quick gesture wakes me up. The two hunters draw pistols while the mage takes out a sword, their faces are pale and drawn by worry. As they aim at me, I move forward. The man guarding the horse fires too fast and his shot goes completely off but the other one waits until I get closer. I push myself and rush the mage. At the last moment, I pretend to slow down, then move down instead. A roar deafens me as a bullet slices the air where my head was but a moment before. I dodge forward and slice the hunter''s extended hand, Unfortunately, my blade catches his hand at an angle and merely makes him drop the spent weapon. A quick movement makes me raise my hand and a silver dagger pings uselessly against my forearm. Wait, this dress is armored? I did not know! I return my focus to the mage, he smells delicious! I jump on him. "Fire whip!" An incendiary snake coils angrily around my neck, I back off and slice it with all my strength. The blade cuts into it and the magical construct pops like a soap bubble. "Arg!" I block another silver dagger from the hunter and move around the mage. "Hedgehog!" Silvery spines erupt from his back, easily avoided. I cannot touch his back without getting skewered, but I don''t have to. I plant one foot in the ground, arm the second one and kick up with all my strength. My foot lifts off the ground in a shower of leaves and catches the mage square between the legs. He is launched up in the air and collapses in a miserable heap a few feet farther. Thanks for the advice, Marcus. As you would have said, "Right in the jewels" I ignore the look of unmitigated horror on the other two men''s face and rush the second hunter. The third one, the one near the horse, is brandishing a pistol like an amateur. LOW THREAT. I move more slowly now. I can still accelerate but the Thirst is growing by the second and I am afraid to lose control. Against those foes, it would be a terrible idea. I reach the expert hunter and try to stab him. He deflects my knife with one of his own, but it looks like I really hurt his hand after all. "Run Gregoire, that''s an order!" The man with the horses hesitates but mounts a horse and gallops away. Arg! Must not¡­ The expert hunter uses my distraction to slice my wrist. I manage to move at the last moment and the blade slides against the dress'' armor. "Foul Monster!" This man is quite old, with a creased face and a gigantic scar on his cheek. His eyes are anything but dimmed though, and he harbors an expression of endless hatred. In a quick movement, he throws his knife at me and I duck to avoid it. "In the name of GOD!" With a strange, silent explosion, I am propelled back against the rock wall. I barely manage to dive left when a bullet hits my right arm. With a scream of pain. I drop the knife. The hunter is already drawing a third pistol. I move forward, then to the side and grab the unconscious body of the mage to lift it. The hunter tries to circle me to get a clear shot I use my left hand to¡­ BANG. Time slows down as I move left. A burning line spreads to the side of my head. "Gah!" It hurts! Dammit! Oh, just you wait. My frantic hand finally finds what I was looking for as the hunter rushes me with yet another knife. His hopeful face falls when he sees what I managed to grab. A pistol. I cock the weapon, aim at his leg and pull the trigger. With a deafening roar, the hunter falls, clutching his leg. I do not leave him the time to recover. I jump on his back and punch his neck, but not enough to kill him. He collapses. I breathe by reflex. I am alive, I won. I need to¡­ First thing, I need to feed. The downed mage is bleeding heavily from a bullet wound to the head. Waste. I put my mouth against the wound. Messy. Nevermind. Ah, yes, this man did not use the potion to poison his own blood. This is amazing. There is much less vitality than in a werewolf but all this power... I take my time to drink until the man dies. Ah yes, that was something. I stand up and roll my shoulder to my instant regret. With all this action, I forgot about the bullet wound. The projectile punched right through, fortunately. I soon feel my body start to heal itself under the influence of my recent feeding and despite the pain, I am quite alright. Good. On another note, one of my foes escaped, and that is not good. I rummage through the men''s belonging until I find a rope and use it to bind the remaining man tightly. I then disarm him as best as I can. With that much rope, it would take a magician to escape anyway. I will have some questions for him when he wakes up. I start to race after the inexperienced hunter. Gregoire, apparently. I still have five hours before dawn and I have quite a bit of energy to burn. The man is easy to follow. Deep imprints in the mud lead me forward until I pick up a pained neigh. His horse is lying on the ground. One of its legs is bent at the wrong angle. The man left it to suffer here. I look at brown eyes made frantic with fear and pain. It''s a beautiful beast. It is a shame. "It was a good hunt." I stab it in the brain, it dies instantly. "You rest now." I, however, still have a quarry. Now, where did he go? I cannot follow his footprint as easily but he cannot be far. If I were a panicked and inexperienced human, what would I do? Keep moving forward, seek shelter. He is afraid and tired. I keep going. The ground of the forest is at an incline and I walk down. On my right, I see a large trace of disturbed soil, as if something had fallen heavily. I change course and see a few other clumps of disturbed earth. Thankfully, the ground here is softer. I follow it until down the vale then up to a small wooden structure. I approach it carefully. I have already been shot twice tonight. I creep closer and hear a voice. "¡­ Midst of the shadow of death, I will fear no evils, for thou art..." Cute. I silently creep to the door and immediately encounter a problem. There is a massive silver cross hanging to the door. I cannot enter. "Hsss" No invitation will let me step foot into this hovel. This is hostile territory. Hum. Let us try diplomacy. "Gregoiiiire," I say in a singsong voice. The man screams then keeps muttering his psalms. The sound grates my ears and sets my teeth on edge. "Gregoire, let''s talk, shall we?" No reply. I suppose I will have to be a little more convincing. This haphazard pile of rotten wood has suddenly been turned into a sacristy for some inane reason. Force will not help me. At least, not the kind of force I can apply with my bare hands. I do have a bargaining chip, however. I retrace my steps to the clearing. The mage is still dead and the servant of Gabriel still unconscious. I go to the pine tree to gather my belongings. With my hurt arm, it will be difficult to shoot through the walls and my dagger is barely better than my claws. I empty the mage''s pockets and I recover a very nice pistol with golden engravings, a bag of silver bullets and two throwing daggers. I can get all the firearms I want now, hah! There are a few magical knick-knacks but I have no idea what they are for and so I leave them here. I also empty his pockets of a few Spanish golden doubloons. No point in leaving those to the wolves. Out of curiosity, I grab the strange gauntlet all mages seem to have and fasten it to my hand. "Spike! Shield! Seal! Firewhip!" I spend a few minutes trying to shout incantations, imagine the effect, scream and yell. Nothing happens. I raise my eyes to the Silent Watcher. Can a celestial body convey amused condescension? I believe it can. Dejected, I drop the useless piece of junk, grab my prisoner and walk forward. We reach the small hovel and I still hear the blithering idiot spewing the holy Bible verse by verse. Pah! "Gregoiiire, are you still in there?" The man hiccups and the recitation speeds up. I have his attention. "It is not polite to ignore a lady. Why, I believe I may even take it out on your friend here." I reach behind for a finger and break it. The older man wakes up with a scream of pain. "Oh my God, no¡­" "Ah, I knew you could hear me Gregoire dear. Now, let us talk." S~ea??h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Gregoire, listen to me, don''t tell her¡­" Tch, your participation is no longer required, old man. I reach in my backpack for the closest piece of fabric and shove it in the man''s mouth. He looks at me in surprise, then in confusion. I have a better look at this specific piece of fabric. It is white cotton with a nice line of frills and a little bow and¡­ "Gah!''" I rip my underwear from the man''s mouth and promptly replace it with a sock. I look up to the Silent Watcher. "This definitely stays between us." It watches. "I am serious." "Oh my God, oh my God!" Ah, yes, right. To the matter at hand. Yes. This never happened. Nope! It was a sock from the beginning. Yes. A sock. "Now Gregoire, I am going to ask you a few questions." "I will not speak to you, beast! Get thee behind me¡­" "And every time I do not like the answer, I will break something. After I run out of things to break, I will drink him dry." Silence. "Let us start with a simple question. What is this man''s name?" "Father Perry." The bound man groans and shakes but he might as well wrestle a bear. Yes, this is the right way I can feel it. I will ask simple questions that cost him nothing. The more he replies, the more he will reply. I can take a little time here. I could¡­ I am sleepy. The immediate danger has passed, so my body is shutting down. The potent blood of the mage can only carry me so far. Curses! I have to hurry. "Are you members of the order of Gabriel?" "Yes! And we shall strike you down, foul fiend! The Wrath of God shall¡­" I think I liked him more when he was silent. " You seem too inexperienced to be out hunting vampires. Why are you here?" Gregoire remains silent but eventually, he answers. "I am an archivist. Father Perry asked me to come." "Did he now? And where is his squad?" Gregoire hesitates. I am about to snap another knuckle when I figure out the situation by myself. "Let me guess, you are short-handed since your disastrous assault on the vampire keep." "The¡­ The warriors of God are legion! We are without number! Always, righteous men will answer the call and rise against the agent of Evil and¡­" "Yes, yes, I understand now. What I do not understand is why the three of you would go to such an extent to hunt me down. And why is there a mage with you? I thought you hated each other. Are you not supposed to put all of them on a pyre and set it ablaze?" "I..I¡­" "Nine fingers left." "I am weak, but I know that father Perry would rather die than have me betray the secrets of the order. I refuse to speak!" Time is running short. I could always torture him but¡­ Hum. That could work. "I have a proposal. You answer three questions of mine, and I will let father Perry go." "No, you lie." "I will swear on the Silent Watcher." "Suqqam Hayatu? Ah, the Watcher. Really? No, you are a devil! You are trying to manipulate me." "Tell you what," I say in the tone that got me fifteen pence on the bushel at the Montfort market, "I ask three questions, you answer them fully. If at any point you think the answer is not worth your friend''s life, you can stop and I will kill him cleanly. If you answer all my questions, I will drop him on the front of the door, no more harmed than he is right now, and let you take him in. At no point will I try to harm him or you. When the door is closed and you two are secured, our truce will end." The man ponders while father Perry spits mumbled imprecations in my mud-stained sock. There are no tricks, no places to wiggle. If I swear and he answers, this will end with both of my surviving enemies secured and away. "I consent." Good. Father Perry screams in muffled outrage. Inside the shack, I hear the sound of furniture being moved around. The man remembers that I used firearms and thinks my end goal is to shoot them from the outside. He is building a shelter. I find his determination admirable. "How come you are teaming up with a mage?" "¡­ It was Father Perry''s decision." "FULL answers, Gregoire. This was the deal." I say with impatience. "We did not have the numbers to track you down and you did not leave the trail of bodies we expected from a yearling, so we had to hire a mercenary mage to find you, despite our rules." "What made you go to such extent to kill me?" Gregoire truly hesitates this time. I do not understand why this is so important. "You killed his son, at the fortress. We figured out who you were from the New Orleans Saint Lucia hospital incident. We knew the victim was Ariane Reynaud, but with the Order evacuating we did not have the numbers to take you down. That''s why we did what we had to do. I owe the father my life, so I followed." I turn and take a good look at the priest. That scar. I remember¡­ The corridor in the vampire keep, Ogotai''s lifeless body falling. I throw it at the man with a scar on his face, his red-haired companion shoots me¡­ Oh my God. I look in that pair of grey eyes, I see hatred beyond limit. I see a lust for vengeance that neither time nor distance will ever grind, no drug and nor love will ever smother. This man forfeited his hierarchy, his vows and his very values for the sole purpose of killing me. Scorn to defy God. I am flattered. "How were you able to track me?" "The¡­ The mage¡­" "Full answers Gregoire. If any mage could track down vampires at will I would know." "A lock of your hair." "What!?" "We used a lock of your hair from one of your father''s locket as a focus, it was well preserved and carried a strong meaning so the mercenary was able to use it!" I feel my entire body freeze. My voice is deceptively calm "Gregoire, what did you do to my father?" "Nothing! We will never harm the innocent!" I look at father Perry. I am not so sure¡­ "We got it from your uncle Roger, we said we wanted to add it to a memorial to victims of violence in New Orleans! I swear. Also, this was the fourth question, which I answered willingly but my part is done." Pah, he is right. As promised, I drag the furious priest to the door and step away. Gregoire opens the door and we take each other''s measure. He seems captivated by me as I stand here in my blood-stained dress, arms crossed against my chest. Then he drags his friend in, locks the door and they both take shelter in whatever fortified nest he managed to construct. Our truce is over. The discovery of Perry''s grudge and the risk he is for my father feeds slow-burning anger that pushes the torpor away. I calmly walk back to the clearing and find what I was looking for in the saddles of a panicked horse. I find more in their bags. After I have everything I need I head back to the shack. I tear a piece of tissue from their spare cloth and wrap it around a stick of dry wood, then I splash lantern oil on it. I emptied the remaining oil against one of the walls. Set the torch ablaze with tinder and set it against the wooden frame. After it catches nicely, I throw the torch on the thatch roof. This is not a church, but a sanctified hunter shack. As I mentioned, it has not rained in a little while. They last for fifteen minutes, but eventually, the smoke and heat forces them out. They both still fight to the end. I make it quick and painless. "It was a good hunt." I drink a bit from both of them, and then I throw their bodies and that of the mage in the funeral pyre that the sanctuary has become. I add the magical item, including the tracking device to it. I leave their crosses on a standing post outside. Later, I quickly find a cave and collapse, utterly exhausted. Chapter 16 - 16. Marsh March It has been three nights since I fought the renegades of the Order and I keep thinking about my experience. This truly was a good hunt. The enemy was strong and cunning, and I managed to fight better and outsmart them, the predatory part of me used in service of a well-executed plan. This is as it should be. Gr¨¦goire, Perry and you the unnamed mage, may you find rest in the afterlife. Between hunting parties, patrols and the occasional lone traveler, I have stayed well-fed without draining anyone dry. That includes tonight. I am crossing a meadow when suddenly, something attracts my attention. Not too far to my left, I feel a powerful aura that does not come from a person, but a spell. This one does not track or warn, it is a sort of polite invitation. How curious. A call in the middle of nowhere? I cannot perceive any malice or any compelling effect in the working. It is, in fact, the equivalent of a merchant hawking his goods at the top of his lungs in the marketplace. Although there appears to be nothing amiss, the prudent call would be to continue forward. Curiosity killed the cat after all, and a vampire has only one life... I am also growing increasingly bored. I should have packed a book, a good romance filled with moneyed gentlemen and impoverished yet witty women. Ah, but alas, I was so worried about my physical well-being that I failed to account for the mental one. It is probably nothing too bad. Just a quick look. I walk towards the obvious origin of the magic. Whoever designed it made sure that it could not be missed. I still make some effort to walk off the path and keep close to the edge of the copses I come across. After a few minutes, I reach the edge of a vast open field. This is the largest valley I have seen in a while. Despite the overcast sky, I can see for a good mile in any direction, and so I do not miss the strange construct that sits thirty paces away from me, nor the three natives who approach it. The construct is a wooden pillar covered in carvings from top to bottom. I identify several human and animal heads and body parts covered in garish colors. Branches have been drilled to form limbs that hold a variety of objects including a spear and a drum. This is the magic beacon. The trio eventually stops before it. They are quite the group. The first man walks with a strong limp and is helped forward by the two others. I am not familiar with native customs but his clothes seem haphazardly put on, as if he had opened a drawer and just piled on what he could find. Despite the variety of cuts and fabrics, he still manages to have parts of his chest bare in temperatures that approach freezing. He is also drunk as a skunk. The second man wears a mix of Western and native clothes, glasses and a bowler hat. I can appreciate the care that was invested in making the arrangement stylish. He looks scared. The last man is a warrior. If the eagle feathers, spear, and javelins had not given him away, his scowl and musculature would have made it obvious. His expression is that of a man who has utterly run out of patience and is one wrong word away from a tussle. Mesmerized, I observe them. What are they doing here so late? And why? The drunk man falls on his knees before the statue and starts muttering and shrieking imprecations in a language I do not know. His lunatic ravings reach a crescendo that ends in a sentence that he screams at the top of his lungs. "Come and partake." What!? WHAT?! Did this buffoon actually¡­ Impossible. Implausible. This is surely a coincidence? The man quickly proves me wrong. He grabs a bowl from some recess of his cloth, stabs himself in the arm quite viciously and soon enough, the recipient contains a few gulps of blood. He then kneels and presents this offering towards my general direction. The warrior is at the end of his patience, he is about to intervene when the man with glasses holds him back. They start arguing between themselves, gesticulating and pointing at the kneeling lunatic, the statue and wherever they came from. The scent of the blood reaches me and despite being fed, my fangs come out. This man''s blood contains powerful magic. Drinking it would be extremely beneficial, not to mention delicious. It''s here, cooling in that bowl. It would be a shame to let it go to waste. With a last inspection of my surroundings, I leave the safety of the woods and silently approach the madman. My instincts tell me that it is safe, that the supplicant should not be ignored. Yes, this is right. A moment later, I drink the bowl and lick the wound close. The lunatic looks at me with brown eyes full of wonder, and I realize that he is much younger than I thought. He waits for me to release his arm and smiles toothily. That is not the reaction I expected. Regardless, the beacon and offerings mean they have a proposal, and now I am interested in hearing it. "You may speak, supplicant." The two others jump and yelp as they finally notice me. The warrior immediately points his spear in my direction before realizing something. His eyes go from furious to afraid and when his companion pushes the weapon down, he does not resist. As I wait without a move, the lunatic places his head against my leg and sighs. I abhor physical contact from strangers, yet his gesture is so innocent and harmless that I decide to tolerate it. I place a proprietary hand on the young man''s head. "Well?" The pair look at each other and the hatted man lifts his hat and addresses me in French. "Good evening madam, I am Iskani, of the Choctaw people. We invited you here because we humbly request your assistance." He grips the hat nervously. I signal him to go on. "Our tribe is hunted by a giant cursed alligator. It is said that the beast is as long as three men and black as the night. It comes out every month to eat a man or a child. We cannot let this continue. My chief Minco," He points to the warrior, "led several hunts against the creature, but they were not successful. It stays hidden and turns a deaf ear to the challenges of brave hunters." The warrior crosses his arms as if to dare me to deride his efforts. "Our shaman Nashoba had a vision. He said that a pale one would be willing to help, maybe." The man swallows in fear. He knows what we are capable of. He also knows that he stands without a weapon or a plan on an open field. I am curious about the beast, however. I was informed by Baudouin that vampires cannot feed on animals and indeed, beast blood lacks this vitality I crave so much. With that said, I successfully fed from a werewolf and I am not quite confident that a seven feet tall fur-covered wolf hybrid still qualifies as homo sapiens. He was technically a cursed human, of course, but with that form¡­ Could I perhaps feed on a magical beast to grow stronger? I am tempted to try. I could certainly use the distraction, at least. "What do you offer in exchange?" The translator turns to his chief and the two debate for a while, eventually the chief points to Nashoda with a smirk. His companion frowns, yet still offers. "Minco says that should you slay the beast, we will let you have the shaman to drink dry." I remain silent and unmoving. This is not right. Only a free man can become a supplicant. Only what is offered freely can be taken fully. My lack of response produces the expected result. The two men start shifting nervously and Minco''s grip on his spear makes the wood creak. I turn to the kneeling shaman. "Should I do as your chief asks, you will offer your blood to me freely." "Forgive me pale one, our shaman does not speak..." "Give blood, earring to hide better, for you, child of thorn and hunger." He blinks slowly, first one eye then the other, like a wave. One of his pupils is much larger than the other. This young man is mad as a March hare and caution dictates that I should not trust a word he says. It would be wrong. Nashoba showed up exactly as I reached this clearing. Given our respective speed, he would have had to depart from his village far before I noticed the beacon. He also spoke the tongue, twice and that is no coincidence. It is said that genius and insanity walk hand in hand. Perhaps there is some truth to it. He also offered me something I did not ask for. Earrings that will help me hide? Did he see a reason why I would need those? Did he see my future? This man is dangerous. Perhaps I should dispose of him before he can be turned against me. No, this is wrong, a supplicant should never be harmed. What was I thinking? "Agreed." The shaman nods as if my approval was never in doubt. He stands up and points a finger towards one side of the valley that goes deeper into native land. A low incline leads to a sparse canopy of trees and the occasional glimpse of gray water. As a gesture of goodwill, I nod to his two companions, but they only stare at me with apprehension. This is a bit rude, though I harbor no grudge. Their fear is not unwarranted. I pick up my pack and set out while they do the same. Once I am out of view, I change into the battle dress. The original spotless garment now harbors a bloody stab wound, a bloody bullet wound, a bloodstain on the left shoulder and scorch marks. It also smells a bit rank as a result. I really need to stop and do some actual laundry. Ariane, the vampire that washes bloody rags under the moonlight. Perhaps I should sing, too. I quickly reach the edge of the marsh proper. Now, how to proceed? My quarry should be either in, or next to a body of water that can contain it. Even accounting for exaggeration, the beast should be massive and only the largest ponds would be a suitable habitat for it. I am reasonably confident that I can feel its magic. My plan is decided. I shall skirt alongside the aforementioned ponds and keep my senses sharp. I will start by going left and circle the marsh, then go inwards. I will use this opportunity to find shelter should the task prove to be too much for a single night. Nodding to myself, I set out and for a couple of hours, I search. At this time of the year, the marsh is unusually quiet. Strands of mist hover on the water and around naked trees. Their blackened limbs extend like the desiccated hands of crones, ready to snatch and strangle. Only the sound of my traveling boots in the odd pool breaks the ominous silence. Finally, I find the first trace of my quarry. The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Under a gnarled root, I find a severed arm. Only my keen nose led me to the relatively fresh appendage. It has been cut off at the shoulder and I push it with a shoe to stare at the grisly wound. I count three tooth marks. For an entire shoulder. Aha. I back up slowly and almost lose my footing when I step in a hole. Cursing, I quickly regain my balance and stop when I realize what I walked in. It is a footprint. It is¡­ Quite large. Really large. Surely, it could not be that big? When Iskani said that the creature was as long as three men, he was joking, right? That was poetic license, yes? It just has very, very big feet. Right? Oh my God. That thing must be as big as a bloody elephant! Nevermind my rifle; I should have brought a navy cannon, nay, a frigate, with a full marine complement! Did I truly agree to go after this Behemoth? Was I insane? Forget it, it would be better to cover the entire marsh in black tar and set it on fire. Problem solved. I stay like this for a few seconds, but my cold will soon reasserts itself. This is a hunt. The prey is deadly, and so am I. I secure my backpack and take out and load the pistol with a silver bullet. Should the beast assault me, I will rely on my speed to shoot and stab it in the eyes. Alligator brains are small and their eyes, unarmored. It will do. I hope. Another few minutes later, I stop as I see something promising. There is a small lake further inland with parts of the shore suspiciously devoid of vegetation. I creep closer and my suspicions are confirmed. There are a few stumps and dead trees as if something massive had passed through several times. This could be the lair of my prey. I start walking along the edge until I pick something up, the aura of a living being. I step away from the edge of the water as soon as I realize two problems. First, it does not come from the water but a copse of trees a few paces away. Secondly, it is wrong. This aura does not feel like a marsh animal should be like. It is powerful, yes, but powerful like a mountain, like steel. It is unbreakable, indomitable and it is ancient. I turn to the source, aim my pistol and cock it. Without being prompted, a nightmarish form stands up. And up, and up. What in the name of¡­ It is an abomination! An insectoid creature covered in moss and dead vegetation, with two arms and two legs and¡­ Oh. It is a very tall, very strong man in a black iron armor of strange make, covered with camouflage. "Are ye quite alright, lass?" With an annoyed click, I close my mouth and holster the pistol. I must have looked like some scared bumpkin just now. What a disgrace! A giant insect? Please. "Hum, yes, I am, thank you for inquiring Mr¡­?" The man in front of me is a force of nature. He is the tallest person I have ever seen by a wide margin and his shoulders match the rest of his physique. What can be seen that is not hidden by armor is scar-covered muscles and tan skin. The armor itself is a thing of wonder. It looks like it was built from a locomotive, with rivets and additions aplenty and shaped like a massive beetle. There are even gauges and buttons spread about. I cannot see his expression behind a conical half-helmet and glasses that look like a pair of tinted monocles. The rest of his face is covered by a majestic beard sitting under a huge, ruddy nose. Quite the character! "Loth of Skoragg, lass, it is a pleasure to meet ye." The man''s voice is deep and cultured. It is much softer than I expected, even if there is a gravelly quality to it. "Ariane," I reply as I curtsy. This is new and exciting! "May I inquire as to what you were trying to ambush here?" "Of course. I am hunting an alligator of prodigious size that has been terrorizing the locals." I freeze. Could it be? "And were you perhaps asked to do so by a trio of Choctaw men?" "Ah, ye saw their advertisement too?" Gah! Of course! They just attract anyone that has a chance and then throw them at their problem. Is this a scam? Have I been swindled? "And may I ask what you have been promised as compensation?" "A few shards of obsidian. Nothing too fancy. Ye?" "A trinket, also I get to drink from the shaman." Oops, I spoke too hastily! Instead of a reply, a whirr and click come from the man''s helmet and his left eye''s lens is substituted by a reddish one. "Ah, a vampire. I never expected one so far away from a large settlement. Well, to tell ye the truth I am more interested in the beast''s scales, unfortunately, it has refused to come out and attack me. I had resolved to wait on one of its trails until it passed by, but your arrival has changed things. Do tell, how did ye notice me, lass?" "I¡­" I hesitate. The man raises a hand. "I apologize for my manners, vampire. It has been a while since I had a proper discussion and I am understandably rusty." He stands straighter and the armor creaks and groans like an old barn to accommodate him. That thing must weigh a ton! "Hum hum, I, Loth of Skoragg, would like to offer ye to cooperate on this hunt. Since our prizes are different, there is no reason for us ta compete. Instead, I would like to ask for the help of whatever keen senses told ye of my presence. In return, I shall cover ye and provide ranged support to take down the beast." I see no field cannon on that man. "And what, pray tell, will you use to pierce through its thick dermis?" "I thought ye''d never ask, lass." Loth turns back and leans forward. There are a few clangs, a few grunts and he eventually turns around to show me his weapon, proudly displayed in front of his hips. "Oh, my, it is so big!" The man smiles as I admire his equipment. It looks like a harpoon launcher that would have been taken from a whaler''s deck. It is humongous in size and no human should be able to wield this monstrosity. "Aye, just wait ''till I start shooting." By comparison, my poor pistol looks woefully inadequate. Oh, what an unpleasant feeling. "Before I agree, I would like to ask you a few questions. Hum. You are not human, are you?" The man stops moving. "Wh¡­What gave it away?" "Hum you have an aura but you are not a mage, there is also your size, that strange armor of yours, the oversized harpoon¡­" "Aye, alright, but what about my voice? My mannerisms? Close yer eyes for a while and imagine we''re havin'' this conversation in a nice salon, aye? Would I come off as strange?" "This conversation? The one we are having about hunting a titanic magical alligator together, at night, in Choctaw territory, in exchange for blood and obsidian shards?" He nods frantically. "Uuuuuuh, besides the obvious, you sound perfectly normal, I think?" "Oof! Ya had me worried for a second here lass. Ya see I haven''t had a talk this long in three months! I was afraid I was coming off as particular. Ya know? Borderline? Loony? Isolation can do that to ya" "I¡­ I see. Hold on, you have not talked to anyone in three months?! What in the world were you doing!?" "I was looking for magical beast skin." "¡­" "¡­" "Magical alligator skin?" "Aye lass that would do, and that is why I need yer help! I thought I was blessed when I spotted that towering column of magic those lads set up and heard their proposal. But that beast is cunning! It hides from groups and things too big. I walked around; screamed obscenities that could be heard from here to the North pole and even showed it my arse but ''twas all for nothing! The beast will not take the bait. I have been stuck in that piece of armor for three bloody days! Do you know how hard it is when you got that itch in ya¡­" Does¡­ Does this man have any censure?! "Ye alright lass?" I close my mouth with a click. I just wanted to know what he was! How did we end up talking about his itchy crotch¡­? Arg! "Oooh, ye asked me what I am. Well, I am a Dvergur." I stare in silence. "Aye, don''t look at me like that! I''m telling the truth. I''m probably the only Dvergur on the continent, well, the only one with pure enough blood to know what he is." "What do you mean?" "Well we have a veeeery low birth rate, aye, and we are so close to human most can''t tell, so many of us just marry into human families. Why, my second wife was human!" "What happened to her? Where is she?" "She died of old age! That was, oh three hundred years ago, give or take." "WHAT?! How old are you!?" "Aye lass, that''s sort of a personal thing to ask hey?" And telling me about the state of his unmentionables is not personal? Pah! Men, I swear. "We are close to stone and steel. Always have been. We love metal and magic and we wield them well! Why, I built that thing meself! Oh, and we also love good liquor. And lasses, or lads! Ah, and we can live very long. My grand-uncle Lokri, bless his heart, was already a man when Rome fell to those Huns upstarts. And he''s probably still alive if that harpy of a wife has not¡­" I spend a good three minutes listening to the man talk about his cousins twice-removed back in Norway and Lapony and whatnot, and I am growing increasingly worried. I am confident that the Choctaw tribesmen will not speak of me, not because I believe in their honesty, but because no warriors worth their salt will admit to having asked a foreign woman for help. I am planning to kill Loth, however. He already proved beyond the shadow of a doubt that he cannot keep his mouth shut. The more he talks, however, and the more I see the issue. Loth is a centuries-old battle-hardened veteran encased in a magical suit of armor of his own making. I would rather try my luck against the crocodile, bare-handed. Could I possibly wait until he lowers his guard? He will get out of this thing after the hunt. I can still work with him to slay our quarry, though I dislike the idea of murdering someone I fought side by side with. "¡­ And then it took three weeks for their wives to figure out the twins had switched place, bahahaha! Lokri and Takk are such pranksters!" "Loth of Skoragg?" "Aye?" "I propose that we kill the alligator together. You take all the skin you want, I get to try its blood and then we shall return to the tribesmen and claim our respective rewards. Do you agree?" "Aye, sure lass, works fer me. We''ve already delayed long enough as it is." And whose fault is this you gossiping blabbermouth?! Gah! "Let us set out then." I walk forward, close to the water while Loth covers me from much farther away. When I asked him about it, he answered that the beast would only go after "cute and juicy-rumped targets", that I should not worry my "pretty noggin" over playing bait because he could "throw a Francisca through a troll''s nostrils at a hundred paces.", whatever that meant, and that I was, therefore "Guarded as a dragon''s bollocks". After that, I decided not to ask any more questions. Loth is direct, vulgar and talkative but as I offer my back to him, I do not doubt that he will only protect it. My instincts agree. I do not want to fight him, but I want to fall back into vampire hands even less. .. We circle the whole pond without success and the strange man leads me to another lake where our target may be resting. "Ya know, East of here there''s a species of wetland trees with its roots bare. It''s a bit indecent if ye ask me. They''re showing their naked legs to everyone if ya think about it." "Ya know, all this mud reminds me of Aunt Gerda''s cooking. She could not make a proper meal ta save her life. We used to say, just throw it up it will taste better the second time! I remember that even that starving fox¡­" "Ya know, I think vampires should say yesternight, cause it''s never yesterday, technically." He never shuts up. I know a few nasty words could make him stop. I do not say them. It would be unwise to antagonize him now. Ah who am I kidding, I understand him perfectly. He has spent three months in solitude, and now he has someone who he can talk to about events that happened two hundred years before without being seen as a madman. He is also the only Dvergur around. I know that I should avoid other vampires like the plague but at least they are there. I am not the only one of my kind. I have Jimena. I have my father and Aintza. Loth is alone. How can someone so old be so alone? "And here we are lass, I hope I did not bother too much with me ramblings aye?" "Not at all Loth. Should we proceed as before?" "Aye. Just so. Keep yer peepers open, I think it''s the right one." We keep walking. The immobility of the marsh grates on my nerves. At the same time, I feel myself growing sluggish. The tedious search is not the same as an active hunt, and since I fed almost immediately upon waking up, I... A noise behind me. I turn around. Massive jaws. Impossible, IMPOSSIBLE! I did not feel anything?! I move and it compensates. With a snap, it closes. Caught. DRAGGED. STUCK. TRAPPED. MUST SLASH. The thing is too fast, its skin too thick, it drags me away. My head is submerged. There is muddy water in my mouth; there is muddy water in my lungs. It hurts. My leg hurts. IGNORE PAIN, KILL FIGHT. I grab the silver dagger and stab what I can reach: inside a nostril, the gum, a broken tooth. I fight like a fury. I grab the jaw and try to push it away. Suddenly, I surface. I manage to open the nightmarish maw, I free a bleeding leg. I crawl away. The beast does not move. I cough a lungful of brackish liquid. I turn again. It''s dead. I cough more. "Ariane." I''m fine, I''m fine, I''m fine¡­ "Ariane! You are safe lass, it''s over. We killed it." "Cough, I .. cough, I did not feel it coming, at all! Cough!" "Yes, I understand now, it could mask its presence. I was looking at the water the whole time and did not see anything. Its eyes should have been visible." I stare at the corpse of the beast. The alligator is as massive as expected, and its scales are completely black. The darkness is so intense it seems like it is swallowing the light. Even the corridors of the arena were never that obscure. The beast has a single, massive harpoon lodged to the hilt in its eye. Transparent liquid slowly drips down its side. This was an incredible shot. Loth is as good as his word. After a pause, the man goes on. "Try the blood, then we can go back. I''ll skin the thing tomorrow at dawn. " Yes, I should not let myself be distracted by a near-death experience at the hand of a massive Saurian. I take my knife and stab into its throat. A thin trail of blood drips down. I must hurry before all the vitality disappears. I take one swallow. "Blergh." So bitter! This is completely undrinkable! I can feel the potency, but I cannot stomach its medium. "Yes, I thought it might be the case. I met vampires in Boston, ya know? Some of them can distill essence from magical beast blood. I thought it was weird that ye tried to drink it raw." He looks at me and frowns. This is bad, I don''t want him to¡­ "We should get back to my camp. I have rainwater. Let''s wash the worst of it clean." I look down at myself. The dress is beyond ruined. A massive tear runs from waist high down and shows my pale left leg on top of the existing damage. It is also disgustingly filthy. The walk back to the camp feels like an eternity, an eternity spent picking weed off my hair. Eventually, we arrive back where we first met. "Come, sit." S§×ar?h the N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. I am not thinking straight. I am exhausted now. I still need to pick up my gear and find shelter for the day. This will be a closer call than I would like¡­ I sheathe the knife and drop my holster. I will have to clean those very thoroughly, preferably before I slumber. I really need one night spent on supplies and cleaning¡­ So bothersome. Loth grabs an entire barrel and slowly upends it on top of my head. I rinse my hair, my face. I remove the worst from the dress. I need clean clothes. "Hey lass, that hunt was a bit anticlimactic don''t ye think? We got all that anticipation, all that tension, and then bam, it''s over in a second. Kind of disappointing, ya know. I was hoping for something that would get the blood pumping" It suddenly occurs to me that I am weakened, and completely unarmed. He¡­ he wouldn''t¡­ "I know what I want to do to get a little bit of excitement, a challenge if ye will. I heard that vampires are exceptional at it" No¡­ He wants a real hunt. I can''t fight him, I am not at my best and he is dangerous, deadly even! Must RECOVER DAGGER, CREATE DISTANCE, HIDE, AMBU¡­ "Say, let''s have sex!" WHAT What?! "What?!" I sputter. "Aye, to celebrate the hunt, the fact that we''re alive and the beast is dead aye? We Dvergur¡­." His hand caresses my shoulder¡­ I am crying. The front of my dress is shredded, but my right arm is still free. I grab around. I find a rock. The abomination has stopped moving. It is looking right at me, daring me to act. "Go on, try." With a yell of defiance, I smash the rock against its temple. I might as well have hit a steel door. "I think that you do not need to use that arm anymore." A heavy hand grabs my shoulder. "NOOOOOO!" I jump, I grab my knife, I wave it in front of me. "STAY AWAY FROM ME!" He looks too astonished to move at first, then he slowly raises his hands to appear harmless. "You, you stay away from me, don''t touch me. Don''t touch me at all. Stay away." "Alright." "You, you don''t come near." "I won''t come near. I''m sitting down." He does, and at the same time, he deflates. I know that he is the same size, but he seems to collapse on himself. Slowly, Loth raises his hand and unlocks something, then he removes his helmet, which falls on the ground with a loud thud. He then waits in silence. I realize that I am hyperventilating. Ariane, the only hyperventilating creature that needs no air. Pathetic. I am pathetic. I was weak. I am weak. We killed the alligator? What a joke. He killed the alligator. I was just floundering around like an idiot. I am still very much the Spawn that was thrown away by its Master after only four bloody days. Unwanted. A bargaining chip. The butt of the bloody joke. Damn it. We spend some time in this strange stalemate. I am standing with a blade trying to regain control, while he sits quietly, waiting for God knows what. "I am so sorry, Ariane." I look up and take his measure for the first time. Now that his head is revealed, I can see that Loth has a pleasant face, in a rugged gentleman kind of way. His hair is black and cut short and he has chestnut-colored eyes currently fixed on me. Right now, he looks like a beaten dog. A harpoon-equipped, armored, beaten dog. I say nothing. He waits. Why did this happen? I have been touched by people before without triggering any memories, without turning into a quivering mess. Except, besides my father, I have never been touched by a man who wasn''t a cattle or a supplicant. They were all in my power. They were not men to me, not really. Loth is. He is mature, strong and we are not bound by oath or contract. What should I do? At a loss, I look up to the Silent Watcher. Once more, its quiet gaze brings me a modicum of self-control. "Ye''re a fugitive, ain''t ye ?" Well, that settles it. He figured me out. It has come to this. I should never have agreed to a truce, I should have fought him on the spot. I stand up. "What if I am?" "Aye, don''t get yer panties in a twist. I''m asking because, well, because I can help ya." I scoff. Does he think me daft? "Why would you ever do something like that? We just met." I must run away. Even with his helmet off, I am far from confident that I can take him out. Loth''s expression turns resolute. He stands up, takes a step back and methodically removes a gauntlet. I watch, mesmerized as he takes a small knife and slices his palm open. Blood wells. It smells pretty good. "I, Loth of Skoragg, hereby swear that I shall protect Ariane''s life, freedom, and welfare until next midnight, or die trying." A powerful wave of magic washes over me. It tastes like snow, mountain, and unyielding metal, all things I am not familiar with and yet I feel them as if I knew them intimately. The intensity of the blood oath is stunning. The Dvergur closes his fist and kisses it without breaking eye contact with me. What?! What just happened? I don''t know what to say. I certainly did not expect this. Loth of Skoragg, warrior, and craftsman, will die to defend me if it comes to it. I know this with the same certainty that I know the sun will rise in the East. It is inevitable. "But why?" "Perhaps I feel like a fool that ignored all the obvious signs. Perhaps I owe ye for what I just put ye through by being callous. And perhaps¡­" He pauses for a long time and I wait without a sound. This moment feels important. It would be sacrilegious to interrupt him. "Perhaps I feel lonely." I ponder this strange confession for a little while. His words make little sense to me. I cannot reconcile them with my image of him. "I do not understand. You look human, you sound human, you can drink, eat and walk under the sun, so why are you alone?" "Ye are so young to ask me such a question¡­ Tyr, I should have known. I should have noticed. Yes, humans are good companions. Did I mention me second wife, Agna?" I nod. "I stayed by her side until her head went white. In the end, she could no longer walk, could barely see. Never did she harbor any grudge that her body would fail her while I would go on." Loth marks a heavy pause. The pain in his eyes is sobering. "It broke me heart when she died. I promised myself, never again. Our children were adults by that time, so I picked me things and left. I stayed in the mountains for a century to hone my craft. It did not help. Even today I can see her smile as a young lass, as a mother, as a mature woman and as I held her hand because she could not see me no more. If ye live long enough ye will know this too. Human lives shine bright, but they fade fast. I cannot let meself be burnt like that again." "And maybe I will die in two weeks. Fugitive, remember?" "And maybe ye won''t, especially if ye accept me proposal. The gist of it is, maybe in a hundred years, ye''ll still be here. The humans won''t, and there''s nothing I can do about it. Just knowing it is enough." "Not to mention, you can''t talk about that time your nephew Rollo showed his posterior to Edward the First without people starting to wonder how old that would make you." "Aye lass, ye got me there. Rollo two Beards we called him afterward!" "Well, after what you said and that oath of yours, I think¡­ I think that I want to hear your proposal." "And I''ll tell ye tomorrow. Ye''re barely staying awake as it is, and we need to find ye some shelter." "Yes¡­ I am afraid you may have to carry me." "That''s not the issue¡­ Don''t ye want to get changed? Ye''re kind of covered in swamp water" "Ah! Let us make haste!" Chapter 17 - 17. Loth of Skoraggs offer. My wrists and ankles are bound to the chair by massive manacles of steel and silver. Scarlet runes glow ominously. "Does it not look scrumptious, Ari?" The long table spreads in front of me. I am at the place of honor, where the "pater familias", the father, should sit. This isn''t normal. The dishes are not normal. They shimmer in the semi-darkness like red-hot embers. S§×arch* The Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "It¡­ It sure does aunt Sara!" "Does it now?" she replies with a smirk, "Well then, should we start?" Her eyes are not the usual grey. They are as dark as the place between the stars and just as empty. My right hand is drawn forward to a fork by the manacle. I cannot resist. When I make contact, the cutlery flashes blue and my skin erupts in bloody blisters. I bite down screams of pain. "Something the matter Ari? You are Ari, are you not?" "Of course something is the matter darling." Says uncle Roger as he takes a seat, soon followed by other members of the family. Black eyes everywhere. A powerful hand grabs my hair and pulls my head back. "Did you forget to say the Graces, sister? Surely, only a dirty slut who sold herself to the Devil to survive would forget to say them?" "No! No, I was just waiting for everyone to be seated, as is proper!" "Proper hmmm? Well since you are so proper dear sister, you may say them first." "But Achille, Papa should be the one to do it, no?" Father enters the room. Each of his steps makes the ground tremble. He is so strong, strong enough to shatter my arms with a finger. On his collar stands a cross of the order of Gabriel, and in his hands, he holds wooden spikes and a silver maul. He takes the seat that faces mine, at the end of the table. "Tut tut tut daughter. We awaited your return among us for so long. Just this once, you may take my place and do the rites. It is a great honor, one that only a wanton harlot would refuse. You agree, do you not?" "O¡­ Of course." "Very good. Since we are all here, you may begin." They all stare at me with hungry mouths just a bit too wide. The skin around their eyes cracks as the darkness spreads. "B¡­ Bless us, cough, O cough, O Lord, cough cough, and these Thy¡­" My throat burns, clouds of ash and droplets of charred blood erupt with each word. I have to continue, oh no, they are standing up, no please¡­. I wake up to an unfamiliar sight: the canopy of a canvas tent. I am in a metal box with the top opened. I do not remember how I got there. I sit up and a simple cover of brown fabric falls from me. Under it, I am still wearing the traveled-stained dress I fell to torpor in. I take in the sights. A single lamp shines with soft blue light on the vast interior. A chest and a tidied cot occupy one side, while another accommodates a copper tub filled to the brim with water. A chair next to it holds soap and a folded cloth. "Hello?" "I''m outside, lass." I stand up. The box I am in looks suspiciously like a coffin, except that this one has a lock on the inside allowing its occupant to shut it tight and a symbolic quilt. That is quite thoughtful, and the effort makes me feel a bit better after this nightmare. I step to the entrance and move my head out. We stand in a clearing. Two torches illuminate a circle of grassy earth upon which stand tanning posts. Vast squares of black scaly skin are left to dry. Loth is in the process of dismantling the first one with an ease that speaks of experience. Tanneries usually smell like a latrine''s latrines and I am quite surprised when my nose only picks up hints of chemicals and herbs. "Good evening Loth." "Good evening Ariane, I drew ye a bath and ye can tell me if that dress fits." "Hold on, you skinned and tanned the alligator, made a dress and the coffin for me in one day?!" "I would prefer the term sarcophagus" he replies with a laugh, "and aye. You were slumbering for more than sixteen hours ya know? Ye must have been exhausted." "I see, hum, well, I''ll talk to you later." I feel a bit wary at the thought of disrobing while only a layer of fabric separates me from a man. All my concerns melt as I step into the bath. "Aaaaaa." It feels so incredibly good to immerse myself in piping warm, clean water after more than a week on the road. I submerge my head for a full minute and enjoy the feeling of weightlessness that no lack of air can disturb. I sit back up and grab a bar of soap. It is scented! Is that jasmine? I slather my hair and body. "Ooooo so good!" It feels so incredible. Beware, world, Ariane the squeaky-clean vampire Queen is about! I hear Loth chuckle. He heard me! Gah! I get out and dry myself on a deliciously clean towel just as the Thirst makes its presence known. I dig out my last set of relatively clean underwear and put on the dress. This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. It is a marvel. The cut is very simple and without any adornments but also comfortable and flexible. Dark green and brown cotton offer a natural camouflage and I can tell it has been reinforced at the sleeves. There are also, wonders of wonders, pockets! And it suits me! I come out in a rush. "Loth, this is incredible! How did you know my measurements?" "I promise I did not touch ye Ariane, I just have, hum, quite a bit of experience with women." "Oh¡­" I would blush if I still could. "Just hold on for a bit while I pack." "Oh, let me assist." While he gathers the skin, I take care of the tent and its contents. "Thank ya. Now let''s get all this on me ride." I pick my bag and the chest and follow him. Across the clearing stands a huge metal box. I notice the enormous wheels stuck to it and realize that this is a carriage. If I had to transport all the jewels of India from one side of the continent to the other, I would place them in this. "Wow." What manner of beast could draw this monstrosity? Curious, I circle. "Wow!" Loth smiles broadly and chuckles. His giant chest quakes with hilarity as I lay my eyes on a mastodon of a beast of burden. Someone must have successfully cross-bred a bison with a blue whale! The shaggy quadruped is bigger than most carriages I have seen. A set of horns that could skewer a horse extend from its bovine skull. "Hah, meet Asni. Impressive, isn''t he?" "How?!" "Ah don''t mind the size, he isn''t the biggest thing around. Instead, go closer." I hesitate. "Hum Loth, animals do not react well to my presence." "Asni is special. Come, come!" We walk to the front of the animal. A shaggy mane covers its eyes. Only its jaw moves, busy masticating. "Touch him." I am surprised to see that Asni has not reacted to my presence yet. I slowly bring a hand to its muzzle and pet him slowly. His pelt is surprisingly soft, and I find myself enjoying the experience. Loth stands in front of me proudly with its chest out. He places a hand in the small of his back and shows Asni with the other. He looks like a businessman unveiling his latest venture. "Have ye ever had your mount flee after a werewolf''s howl, or panic at the sight of a giant magical hyena? Does the scent of blood make yer ride unreliable? Well, worry no more, Loth of Skoragg has the solution. This here majestic beast is the result of decades of effort and selective breeding into making the absolute dumbest animal possible." I giggle. "That''s right, ladies and gentlemen! This here beast is simply too dim-witted to be afraid. With Asni, experience the boundless courage of abysmal stupidity as it rides into battle with a serene heart and an empty skull!" I applaud and Loth bows perfectly. "Let''s be on our way before¡­" It starts as a whistle, then a trumpet, then whistle, then trumpet again and ends up with the sound of wet cloth flapping in the wind. It lasted for almost ten seconds. I stare at Loth, horrified. "Aye, that''s a problem. Let''s move before we can smell it. That''s also why I never park him near an open flame." I am tempted to ask to ride in the back. I do admire the beast, but I am not inclined to be submitted to such cavernous bouts of flatulence. I know I do not have to breathe but this is simply a matter of principles! We load everything in the back of his carriage in comfortable silence. I notice that his armor is stored in the center with free access. The interior looks defensible. This was designed on purpose to let him defend himself should the carriage be intercepted. When we''re done, I sit next to him. He takes out a massive stick and slaps the beast''s rear with it. He places it back on the side and we wait. And wait. And wait. Finally, the beast starts moving forward at a placid pace, pulling the moving fort as if it weighed nothing. "Takes a few seconds for the signal to reach its brain. Ye got to anticipate when ye want to stop." I smile and let the movement distract me from the Thirst. I realize that our truce only lasts until midnight and if I want to consider staying with him, we need to have a talk. I decide to start with basic courtesy. "I wanted to thank you for your care. You went beyond any reasonable expectations. I notice that you even cleaned my gun." "Ye''re welcome lass. Now we go to get yer reward and that blood. How long can ye go without feeding by the way? More than a day?" "No." "I figured ye were pretty young. Ye''re not a courtier are ye? Ye''re a fledgling." "How do you know so much about us?" "I think I mentioned that I met one of you near Boston. He goes by Constantine, and he''s a scholar of sorts. We talked a lot and I got some good work done with his protection." "I see, and to answer your question, yes I am a fledgling." "How old are ye really? Ye don''t have to answer by the way. I just know that younger vampires have more needs, so I''ll know to adapt." I hesitate. There is no reason for me to share this with him. The less he knows, the less everything can go to the dogs if the deal falls through and I don''t manage to kill him. Loth gives me a sad smile. For some reason, seeing the pain on his bushy face makes me uncomfortable. Between the ruddy nose and glorious beard, he looks like a favorite uncle or grandfather. It is a face designed for boisterous claims and roaring laughter, not for the raw hurt I see on it now. "Ya know, I can see the cogs turning behind those sky-colored eyes of yers. I know we just met but I believe I have been nothing but true to my word. Even if we part ways, I will swear an oath to secrecy. Ye have nothing to fear from me." I believe him. I have spent so much time surrounded by the scum of the earth that I have forgotten that there are people out there whose sole purpose is not to make my life as miserable and brief as possible. "I am twenty." "Oh, I thought that was less. Ye''re almost a courtier then." He stops. "Ye do know vampires measure their age from the day they rise again, aye?" "Uuuh now that you mention it, I think my friend mentioned this the first day we met. Then I am six months old." It sounds wrong when I say it, as if who I was before did not matter, as if you could discard almost two decades of life experience on the ground that I was human when I had them. Loth thinks on it for a while. He looks angry. "That ain''t right lass, that ain''t right at all. Ye did not commit some sort of horrible crime, did ye?" "Besides existing you mean? No. If you must know though, I have blood on my hands." "All vampires do. This ain''t right ta force someone so new ta flee away. A yearling should feel the need ta hunker down and nest for safety''s sake. If you felt compelled to take the road¡­ I dare not imagine what ye went though. I have no more questions, so just ya know, I want to invite ye to live with me. I''ll protect ye and in return, there are a few things I can use yer help with, ye being an immortal killing machine and all. I''ll compensate ye of course, and it will be exciting work, ye can rely on that. Oh, and no biting me. Ask your questions." "Before we start, I want to make it clear. I''m not performing any¡­ Favor¡­ For anyone." Loth suddenly turns terribly embarrassed, his nose becomes even redder than unusual. "Hrm, again, I am so sorry for yesterday''s indiscretion. I assumed ye were much older and vampires have a bit of a reputation fer that¡­ Please, forgive me. I have never taken a woman against her will and I shall never do so! Naturally, hrm, I will never expect anything of the sort. Please! Let us never speak of this again. Rest assured that I will never act in an untoward manner. My shame¡­" "It''s alright, Loth" I reply, smiling "I believe you. I just needed to say it." "Hrm! Of course, of course." "I do not have any questions at the moment. Tell me, what do you propose?" "Aye, it''s simple enough lass. I have a manor with a basement in the town of Higginsville, named after its founder, Philip Higgins. I met him ya know? A fine lad, a bit obsessed with garter belts and Rubenian¡­" "Loth?" "Aye, I was saying. A manor. I''ll give ye a secure room and defend ye during the day. I''m one of the two towns doctors. They see me as a bit of an eccentric, a gentleman of science. Why, this one time, young Tim Letterson came to me and¡­" "Loth." "Sorry, as the town doctor I will ask for blood donations in lieu of payment, ye see? I''ll say it''s for experiments. So ye can just drink fresh from a chalice. Ye''ll need a few glasses per nights and ye''ll have ta hunt on occasion, but it should be fine. In return, I''ll need yer help for a few things like hunting dangerous beasts, exploring caves, killing the odd brigand band and werewolf. Oh, and helping me carry heavy stuff. I only ask that you don''t kill anyone from the town. Limit yerself to criminals and outcasts." I stare at Loth who is now focused on the trail. He is giving me time to think. It sounds too good to be true. I could lay low in a remote town where no vampires would look for me, protected by a gentleman of repute who would defend and hide me out of his own free will. I could survive my most vulnerable years safely. I could build something. I could learn something. I could send letters to Jimena and Papa. I could live, as opposed to surviving. "This is a very generous offer." "Aye, it is." "Is there a catch?" "No, there isn''t lass. Ye need to catch a break. I''ll be happy to help. I wish someone had done it for me when I needed it." "I won''t kill people if I don''t want to." "HAHAHA! Lass, far be it from me to force a vampire to kill, aye?" "I won''t break my word for you." "And neither will I." I want it. I really want it now. "If I want to leave I can, and you will let me go and swear an oath to secrecy." "Aye." I want it. "I want to try." "Then open your palm and we shake on it. Be aware that ye''re a creature of magic now. Ye can lie but ye can''t break an oath without breaking yerself." We slice our hands, him with a knife and I with a talon. We shake them without ceremony. A powerful wave of magic washes over both of us. I feel Loth''s essence of mountain and steel and another one that smells of thorns and wet earth. It is done. I sit back into the chair and let the oath settle on me as the wound on my hand closes. This was strange and wonderful. This was an experience that I would never have thought possible a year ago. Perhaps, things do not have to be so bad. Half an hour later, we reach the edge of the valley where we met the Choctaw men. Asni is strong but also slow. I do not mind. We step down and walk to the statue, a totem apparently, and witness the approach of a strange procession. Nashoba walks with the help of two scowling women. He looks cleaner and tidier than yesterday. Minco walks at their side with a furious glare, while Iskani trails the two groups with the awkward look of the man caught between two friends arguing. They stop at ten paces and Iskani shuffles forward, greets us both with a bow and asks us how the hunt went. Loth smiles and throws him a bag that smells of dead meat to me. The translator opens it and turns an interesting shade of green. Loth whispers in a sound that only I can hear. "It''s the other eyeball." I school my expression so I do not laugh. The man brings the trophy to his chief who also grows noticeably paler. Yes, Minco, you are not impressing us very much with that tiny spear of yours. Iskani grabs a satchel and hands it to Loth. My companion checks the contents then nods. It is right to make sure he receives his proper reward, even if it is of little value to him. It is my turn. I extend my hand towards my supplicant. Nashoba tries to free himself from the grasp of the two women, but the left one holds him back and starts arguing with him and Minco. My hand is still out. They wouldn''t dare. They wouldn''t dare break their word with me. I would have to teach them the consequences of their actions. I would have to make the lesson very thorough. "Hssssssss" I feel anger overcoming me, I feel the beast beneath the surface waking up. The valley freezes. Even the wind dies down. Loth''s measured and soft voice slithers through the fog over my mind. "Ye''re not trying to renege on a deal with a pale one, are ya? Because that would be a bad idea." In the silence that follows, Nashoba frees himself from the paralyzed woman with the barest of touch. Good, now I will kill only her. My supplicant places his hand in mine. The other one brushes the skin of my wrist. I look at him. With an innocent smile, he reaches into his pocket and takes out a pair of earrings. Today, his eyes are clear and focused. "Gift." The pieces of jewelry are made of copper and transparent stone engraved with strange drawings. No matter how much I concentrate on them they always appear out of focus. Nashoba closes my hand over the offering and slowly comes closer. He grabs one of my shoulders and offers me his throat. Mmmh, perhaps there is no need to slay anyone tonight. All is as it should be. I hold him up as I feed. This is unexpected. He is, of course, delicious, but there is something more. His power resonates within me. There is something familiar that echoes with the refuge I find myself in. I stop long before I need to. I have taken my due, I do not need more. I lick the wound close. The shaman smiles one last time. He walks to the two women who pick him up and leave in a hurry. They do not meet my eyes. The two men look at me, at each other and follow suit. I did not know people could go that fast without running. Loth and I leave as well and settle on the steel carriage. "Ye sure know how to leave an impression. Well done." "You approve?" "I''d say ye left a warning without hurting anyone and that''s the best outcome. I''d also say how you deal with oathbreakers is none of my business. Ye ready to go?" "Yes, I am ready and eager." Loth pokes Asni. "Good, now I wanted ta talk about yer lair. All good lairs need ta be hidden, protected and not worth the effort, as cousin Okri used ta say." "He is a locksmith?" "Nah, a thief." The carriage moves slowly into the night. Chapter 18 - 18. Six Months Later My dearest Ariane, Words cannot express how relieved I am to hear from you. Aintza and I were ready to cover your tracks, fully expecting a slip-up. When you disappeared without a trace, we feared the worst. I now see that my concerns were unwarranted and that you are very much the resourceful young vampire I took you to be. Onto the most pressing matters, I must issue a word of warning. You must not, under any circumstances, write to your father. I do not believe that the Lancaster suspect you may have survived, however, the order of Gabriel has sent significant reinforcements to Louisiana following their disastrous assault. We believe your house to be under constant surveillance. Do send me a short message and I will make sure it reaches him safely. As for that most potent blood that was given to you after your apparent demise at my hand, I was hoping you could have forgotten its very existence. I must beseech you, never to mention it to anyone. Forgive me, for I cannot say more. I am pleased with your arrangement. A safe place to grow and prosper is exactly what you need now. It is what you should have received. Do be cautious, for overconfidence is always involved in our kind''s demise and pride will ever be our greatest sin. Aintza is well and she has indeed made a full recovery. She mentioned that you defended her life at a risk to your own even though your freedom was at hand. I will be eternally grateful to you for this decision, and I am proud to call you my friend. Please write often and let me know about your adventures. Use the same secured method. Yours, Jimena de Cadiz. The log cabin has grown quite a bit, I muse, as I stare at the massive four-poster bed at its center. The fire roars in the chimney with a flame that will never burn me. A cool wind brings the smell of wet earth through an open window. Someone is knocking politely. I stand up and go down the stairs to the house''s main room. I open the gate and stare outside. The small grass expanse that leads to the thorn forest lies empty. A path opens before me. I follow it to a dense line of trees stretching on both sides as far as the eye can see. Thorny vines twist and mesh to form an impenetrable wall that looks more sculpted than grown. The knocks come from behind. There is something familiar about the rhythm I cannot quite place. There is also nothing hostile about the invitation. If I were to compare it, it would be the same as a friend tugging on your sleeve to wake you up. I want to get through. The roots and trunks shiver then part before me with a deep rumble. An alley extends into the mists. I stumble when I cross the threshold, but something helps me regain my balance. I move through the white fog for a few moments until I come across a small mound. The air clears up and I am standing in a gorge. On both sides, sheer cliffs climb up beyond my sight while in front stands a most peculiar structure. It looks like someone carved a temple in the very rock. The architecture is blocky, massive and solemn. Styled lions stand guard at each side of a monumental entrance. What I thought to be a mound turns out to be a tortoise of massive proportion. It spreads all over the path and is currently sleeping contentedly. The Choctaw shaman is perched atop its shell. "Nashoba?" "Child of thorn and hunger. Curious home this is, no? You should visit." "Where is it?" "Not where, when." The tortoise yawns and the mists close on me. "Please miss, you gotta believe me!" "Nope!" "I swear, I am not the person you are looking for." "Yes, you are Charles Bishop, charlatan, conman, and horse thief." "You got the wrong person miss, I never heard of this Bishop." "And yet you ride on a horse that was stolen from the Mitchell estate this very morning by a Charles Bishop, charlatan, conman, and horse thief, who happens to match your description." "That''s not right miss, you must have seen it wrong!" "I found their brand on the beast''s leg." That was a lie, but it is indeed the right horse. I simply do love how Mr. Bishop''s face falls for half a second as he rebuilds a tale in his brain that will accommodate my solid evidence. "Ah, I knew my kindness would play tricks on me! I met this man not three hours ago, he looked desperate. He wanted to sell me this horse so he could take a coach to Atlanta to visit his sick mother. And I, the fool, believed him! I did not tell you because I knew there was trouble. You gotta believe me, I am the victim in this sordid affair!" Mesmerizing. He is spinning a tale and gauging my reaction at the very same time! Is this how people like him manipulate their audience, through constant adaptation? Truly, this man is an artist. It is no wonder that he could swindle old Margie Mitchell out of her pension. "A famous tale Mr. Bishop. Now we shall play a little game. I will ask you questions and if you lie, I will break one of your fingers." I grab his bound hands in my own and free his index without much fuss. "Let us start with a simple one. What is your name?" "Marcus¡­" Snap. This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. "AAAAaaaagh. What is wrong with you! This is intolerable, an abuse of power. Guards, guards, anyone, help! I am being assaulted! You better let me go before I have you arrested for your heinous crimes! The law is on my side." The man swallows nervously. His eyes dart around my face, looking for hints of emotions. Hmm, perhaps I should stop smiling so much. It is at least fortunate that I had the presence of mind to hide my fangs. "What. Is. Your. Name." He hesitates "Miss you gotta believe me I''m telling the truth, I am the victim of an odious machination. My name really is Marcus¡­" Snap. "Aaaaaa! FUCK! Aaaaaaahaha it hurts. Miss, please, have mercy. You''re a sharp lady aye, I can see that. I am indeed Charles Bishop," I was almost expecting him to double down! "But I was telling you the truth! I am indeed the victim of an odious machination! Those Mitchell bastards are a bunch of heathens and faithless liars. I have done nothing as they say, they''re just slandering me because the truth is that Jeremy Mitchell¡­. Is my father!" "Pffff Hohohohaha this is just too good. Oh my! Do these kinds of lies work on anyone?" "I swear it on God¡­" Snap. "AAAAaaaa JESUS! FUCK!" "Tut tut tut, do not anger me by making false oaths, particularly on that name. You know this is an experiment, correct? I am just determining how many fingers it will take before you realize I can see through your lies." "Miss, miss, enough. Please!" "I only asked for your name and we are already at three fingers. I hope you can do better in the future." I brush the top of the knee-high wheat with a gloved hand. This is frustrating. I had to drag Mr. Bishop half a mile into a deserted field while a man could have flashed his credentials and conducted the interrogation in a private room in the town hall. This is unfair. I even asked Loth for male clothes, but he said I had, and I quote, "an arse ta send ships across the Aegean" and that he "would not have innocent young lads question their sexuality every time ye cross the street." Which I assume means crossdressing is off. So here I am. Entertaining myself as best as I can, in the middle of a wheat field in the back end of Georgia while I could be doing it in a comfortable room, with the full authority of the citizen watch simply because my genitals do not happen to dangle around when I walk. This is a disgrace. I almost miss Vampire society and its ruthless equal treatment. "Miss?" How should I proceed? "Besides cash, what did you steal?" A quick movement of the eye to the right, towards the town. "So you did steal something." "No miss, please, you gotta believe me, I''m an honest man!" Snap. "Gaaaaaaaaaaaahahahaaaaaaaahaha!" "Charles dear, you are almost begging for it. You already admitted to lying not a minute ago. Do you ever realize that you are going too far?" "Baaaaahahaha" I watch, impressed, as Mr. Bishop spins an incredible tale of pain and misery for a whole minute. Tears flow from his eyes, and snot from his nostrils like unto the Niagara Falls. He is the very picture of despair and repentance. I just have to let him go, and after he buys medicine for his poor mother, he will lead the honest life he always craved. I try to look increasingly filled with pity as the story reaches its dramatic conclusion. "Your poor family¡­" "Yes, miss¡­" "What caused your sister to go blind?" "I, Uhh" Snap. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA" "Charles, Charles, now you are making me angry. Don''t tell me you''ve never thought of that! Of course, people are going to be asking questions to challenge your claims! You need to be able to answer such basic inquiries on the spot or the lies will unravel. What a poor performance. Ah, what am I to do with you?" Hmm. "Anyway, onto the next question. Is what you stole in the horse''s saddle." "YES, YES DAMMIT YES, IT''S ALL THERE!" "And the pension?" "¡­" Snap. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAA I DID NOT SAY ANYTHING!" "You were thinking about it! You were licking your lips and calculating the odds! I am tired of this, you obviously cannot tell the truth to save your own miserable life! I broke six fingers! Six! How stupid can you be! Do not waste my time any further." "Yes, yes I will tell you." I grab the man''s hair with one hand and Jimena''s dagger with the other. I place the blade at the base of the orbit, just below the eyeball. He freezes. "I will now ask one more time. If anything but the precise and complete answer to my question comes out of your mouth, I will push the knife in. And I do mean anything. You protest, you beg, whimper or lie and you lose that eye and I go to the next target. You don''t need any eyes, nor ears, nor fingers to tell me what I want to know. I will take them in precisely that order until I get what I want. Do I make myself perfectly clear?" He nods. "Where is the pension money?" "I buried it in a burlap sack under the apple tree behind the inn. The one that''s next to the shitter." "Very good." I sheathe the dagger and go rummage into my backpack for what I stole from the inn. "You''re probably here for the bounty aye? You could take everything and let me go, keep the pension for yourself. If someone asks, you never met me. Just untie me and I''ll be gone like the wind. You''ll never see me again and the pension money will be yours." Oh? "Charles, Charles, Charles¡­ If I were to do as you ask and keep the pension for myself, why, pray tell, would I ever leave a witness?" Mr. Bishop turns to a pleasant shade of grey. Oh, he is so ripe with fear and vitality! A few more minutes and I will be unable to resist. "I may consider letting you go if you do a little thing for me. A very simple thing¡­" "Yes, yes, please anything!" Bishop yelps in surprise, and then in pain as I shove a brand-new candle between his bound hands. The look of incomprehension on his face as I use a match to light it is just precious. "I just realized that tonight is my Birthday! Well, in a manner of speaking. I was not exactly born. Still, I simply must celebrate the occasion. I would just ask that you sing for me." S§×arch* The N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "W¡­ What?" "SING!" "H¡­ Haaaaappy Birthday t¡­ to youuu." I sing along and only take my dagger out once, to encourage him to finish. When he is done, I clap and blow the candle. Only the light of the moon shines on us now. "Good! And now I need a drink, for what is a party with nothing to drink? Would you help me get something nice?" "Of¡­ Of course! Drink as much as you like!" "Why thank you!" I grab him by the throat and bite down. Several things have changed over the past six months. I can move faster and for longer periods of time. I can use the same energy to strengthen myself, although I find it much more difficult. I can also wrestle adult men without effort. The most valuable change, in my opinion, is that I can now stay awake for almost the entire night, though to be fair, the night lasts for nine hours in July. It is only by living with Loth that I realize how little I can accomplish every day. With only a few hours of complete activity, every project takes a week to finish. I should not be surprised that Father Perry managed to catch up to me. In two days of intense riding, he easily went further than I had in one week. Despite the short time I have at my disposal, I have managed to accomplish several things. I have assisted Loth in several hunts and I often help him with the finishing touches of delicate tasks. In return, I have learned to read several rune alphabets and although magic is beyond me, its understanding is not. I now comprehend the abilities of mages and the various tools at their disposal and I must say that I am incredibly lucky that those I faced were lone wolves. A cabal of them working together is a dangerous thing indeed. When I am not working with Loth, I read and hunt bounties. The Town we live in and its neighbors do not have a group dedicated to law enforcement. Lawbreakers are dealt with by groups of "concerned citizens" who can be prompt to dish out mob justice. When the perpetrator manages to escape immediate punishment, the mayor issues a bounty so that he, or in this case she, who brings them back are compensated for the loss of income. Being a bounty hunter is no easy task. When the judge and half the jury know the victim personally, the executioner has his work cut out for him and the fugitives know it. Hence my arrangement with the good Mr. Partridge. I knock on the reinforced wooden door. "Come in!" I enter a soberly decorated living room. I do my best to ignore the ever-present Christian imagery and focus on the man in front of me. Michael Partridge is a stocky man with a greying beard and a single good eye. The undyed clothes he wears underline wiry muscles that age has not managed to tear down, although he is starting to sport a little belly. "Miss Delaney, did you find him?" Loth goes by Delaney, for now. "Yes. I left him tied under the big chestnut tree, at the crossing between Jacksonville and the Holst farmstead." "Well done, I will pick him up tomorrow. The horse?" "Tied up in front of the Fat Pig tavern." "And old Ms. Mitchell''s savings?" "All here," I answer as I place the loot on his table. "There is also a pair of silver candelabra and some cutlery. Hold on." I exit the house and return with a bag I pretend to struggle with. I was never weak, for a woman, but I am not built like a day laborer and silver can be rather heavy. Loth mentioned that humans are designed to notice inconsistencies as a survival mechanism, and so I am careful when dealing with people I do not intend to bite. I deposit the heavy bag next to the first one. "Good find. The Mitchells did not mention this. Could it be from another victim?" "I doubt that he had the time. Perhaps old Lady Mitchell did not want to admit to being swindled and robbed blind. You know how ashamed people can be about being attacked as if it were their fault that they were targeted." Michael nods thoughtfully. "Or perhaps she forgot, but yes, that is plausible. I remember thinking if I had dodged left instead of backward, that Hessian spear would never have... ah but listen to me rambling like an old man. Thank you miss Delaney. I will make sure Margaret knows how much you helped." "You must be discreet¡­" "Of course, of course." I am about to leave but my host scratches his beard and gazes in the distance, a sure sign that something bothers him. "Do tell, what is the cause of your uneasiness?" The man sighs and massages his tired eyes. "Would you care for a cup of tea?" Even if I could drink it, I would refuse simply for that massive cross hanging above the table. "It is late sir, and I should really be heading home." "Yes, and it is not even proper for me to ask, just as it is not proper... Ah, there is not a single proper thing to this whole madness. I am helping a lone woman apprehend dangerous criminals in the dead of night. This is insanity. You should be home in your bed at this hour, or better yet, in the bed of your husband." "And then who would have caught up with that Bishop fellow?" "I don''t know! Phillips maybe, or the Mitchell brothers when they arrive! Not... you!" "And do you believe they would have forced where he had buried his catch out of him if they found him at all?" He is about to retort when the information registers. Curses I should have remained silent. "What did you do to him?" Way to go, Ariane. "I just broke a few fingers..." "JESUS, WOMAN!" I wince. "Language!" "Ah! I... I am sorry. This is wrong miss Delaney, just plain wrong." I need to act. If our agreement is broken it will make hunting outlaws much less rewarding. "When you return old Mrs. Mitchell her life savings, look her in the eyes and tell her it is wrong, tell her it was not proper. We live in a lawless land Michael, and for Evil to triumph, it is enough that good people do nothing. If we both do not stand up to treachery, who will? If we must choose between propriety and Justice, I know that my heart will lean towards what will protect our people." Hum, I am laying it a little thick here. "You... you are right miss Delaney. I have no right to object," he says as a single tear rolls down in ruddy cheek, "I only wish this bad leg of mine wouldn''t hold me back." Huh. It worked. He wipes his eyes and stares straight at me, nodding at my pretend determination to carry out the Law. "I do not know why you were blessed with those skills even though you are of the fairer sex, but the Lord works in mysterious ways, and so long as we carry His will, that is all that matters. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, and may He have mercy on Charles Bishop for we shall not." He stands up and grabs my hand, which he shakes with enthusiasm and leads me outside. "Go home safe miss Delaney, sleep well and may God be with you. You did well tonight. I will leave the reward with your uncle." I walk back to Loth''s mansion. Hmmm, what just happened? Well, as long as I can keep hunting¡­ Chapter 19 - 19. A gentleman and a scholar I wake up to the same thing I have woken to for the past hundred days: complete darkness. My hand easily finds and pulls a handle. With nary a noise, the top of my sarcophagus slides up and away on a pair of well-oiled rails. The exterior is completely smooth. It can only be opened from the inside. My room is rather small but I like it. It is well furnished with a bed I barely ever use, a desk, a wardrobe that hides a secret exit and a small but well-provisioned library. I quickly dress and cross the fortified door that leads to the rest of the basement, rush up the steps and reach the study. Loth is not here so I quickly uncover two golden chalices covered with runes and gulp down their crimson contents. The chalices are of Loth''s design and manage to conserve the vitality of the liquid for a short while. This way, I can get some nourishment from donors I will never have to touch. It is not much though, just a pale copy of the real thing to stem the Thirst until the next bounty. It will never suffice on its own. I close my eyes and listen. Loth is not in his office, which means¡­ I leave the part of the house that doubles as a doctor''s office and reach Loth''s private quarters. A woman is slowly walking down the stairs. Despite her conservative clothes and traces of gray in her hair, she blushes like a maiden when she sees me. "Hello Mrs. Nobel." "Oh! Hum, Ariane! I did not see you there. I was just hmmmm." "Of course Mrs. Nobel, I wish you a good evening." Turning a delicate shade of tulip, the mature girl makes an awkward exit on shaky legs. As she passes me by, I catch a whiff of her. Oh my, Loth, you have outdone yourself this time. Leaving our visitor to her walk of shame, I continue and hear Loth in the smoking room. I knock politely. "Good evening Loth, are you decent?" "Good evening Ari, come in, come in!" Loth sits leisurely in a very casual set of silk pants and jacket crossed over a muscular and hirsute chest. He sips Whiskey from a lowball glass while staring at nothing. "It is good that ye came, there are three things I wanted ta address." "Oh?" I answer, suddenly wary. "Nothing bad I assure ye. First, I recovered a letter from Jimena at the drop point. Here it is." He says, and hands me a sealed envelope. "The second thing is a bit delicate, ya know. Would ya consider taking a seat?" he says, and gestures to a leather couch. I do as he says. "It has come to me attention that the disgusting little weasel who abused poor Margaret was apprehended yesterday. I received a very thoughtful thank ye note from her, I should mention. She even offered to introduce ye to her favorite nephew, a banker from Savannah who happens to be looking fer a wife." "Pass." "I shall convey yer regrets lass. What concerns me slightly is the state of the weasel''s hands. Now, ye have respected our agreement to the letter and ye had every right ta kill the prick where he stood, however, I would like ta offer ye a piece of advice, from an old monster to a young one." "How unusually serious. Do tell." "I know ya played with that one while ye simply bit and questioned that other conman from three weeks ago. Ya treated them differently. Why?" "I was curious about Bishop''s lies. It is as if he could not stop, as if his life depended on it. Testing the limits was quite interesting." "So ye did it on the spur of the moment, aye?" "Yes?" Loth calmly puts his glass on the coffee table and crosses his fingers in front of him in a pose I now associate with lecturing. "Many of us long-lived creatures do not attach the same value ta life as most mortals do. They will often hesitate ta torture or ta kill, ya know. It is a natural mechanism that I have observed in all of the peaceful societies I have lived in and is, I believe, caused by the need ta live in harmony. Killing becomes taboo. We outsiders are exempt of that. This is both a benefit and a tremendous risk. Ya see, the more you follow your instincts and the more you are prone ta fall the path of easy murder, until the very idea of civilization and peaceful cohabitation loses its meaning." My Master being the prime example of that. "Do you mean that I should not torture or kill?" "Of course not, ye are a vampire. And besides, it would be hypocritical of me to ask this of ya, don''t ye think?" I remember the only time we went after a band of outlaws together. They had raided a distant farm and spared no one. Loth had been¡­ Thorough. He does not play around like I do. He is methodical and merciless. "I merely suggest that ye develop a code and try ta stick to it." "What if I decide that rapists and those who wear white at someone else''s wedding can be mercilessly tortured before I kill them?" "Then it is so. I am not judging the scale by which ye decide someone''s fate, Ari, I only ask that ye find one." I contemplate those words. Loth is experienced and there is a truth to what he says. I suppose I could at least try. "I need to think of one. And it will not apply if my life is at risk." "Naturally. Now, onto more pleasant matters. I apologize fer the heavy discussion and I have just the thing ta lighten the mood. There''s this English lad who came ta visit this afternoon. He wanted ta, what was it? Entertain me with a proposal that I would find to me taste. Or something. I thought ye might want ta hear it as well so I told him ta show up at eight." "That is very thoughtful of you Loth. I appreciate it." "Don''t mention it lass" he adds with a smile, "and if he''s trying to, as aunt Freyja said, slather me up and shove me on a spit, I want ya to eat him." I smile as we talk about yesterday''s hunt. No matter what happens, tonight will be fun! "Cecil Rutherford Bingle, miss, at your service!" The red-haired man removes his bowler hat and bows perfectly. I simply cannot believe my eyes. The chops, the wide, waxed mustache, the leather overcoat, everything conspires to make him appear as the hero of some silly book about mummies and damsels in distress. He has a ruggedly handsome face with a chin like a sledgehammer and the healthy tan of the consumate traveler. He even speaks as if he were in the middle of a theater and had to be heard by spectators on the fourth floor! I am simply in awe. Loth gives me a half smile and a knowing look. "Oh, uh, it is my pleasure Mr. Bingle." "Hohoho, do not be alarmed by my roguish appearance young miss, I assure you, I do not bite!" What a coincidence. "Yet the road is not safe, and a gentleman must do what he must do to guarantee his safety, I say! Now, I apologize if I seem abrupt, but the tardiness and the reason for my visit bear heavily on my heart, and I must beg you to hear me out promptly, for this matter is urgent, as you shall see Professor Delaney." Loth answers in kind. "Then let us retire to my salon. Ari, my dear, would ye be so kind as to brew a pot for our guest, and then join us." "Mr. Delaney, hrm hrm, far from me to tell you how to manage your house, hrm, however, the matters I wish to address are so grave as to, hrm, hurt delicate sensitivities, and I would be mortified if hrm, your niece were to be indisposed as a result of hearing them." Loth takes a grave and tragic air. With his red nose and beard, he looks like a grizzled retired captain reminiscing about a doomed expedition to the North Pole. "My esteemed guest, I appreciate yer tactful observation and I see that even in your hour of need, ye still show admirable concern for everyone around ye, however I ask now that ye trust in my judgment on this matter, as it pertains ta my expertise, and to please exert patience, as the necessity of her presence will be explained in due time." "Very well, Mr. Delaney, lead the way!" I leave the two men to go prepare tea and cups. I find the ritual of tea brewing relaxing, one of the reasons why Loth lets me use his precious reserve. It does not matter that I do not drink, the act of preparing it and the fragrance from a successful brew are rewards enough. This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. When I reach the others, Loth is busy explaining the subtle differences between two rune systems, one of which I am unfamiliar with. After serving them, I sit in a comfortable leather sofa slightly on the side. After one last dubious look at me, Bingle starts his tale. "Three years ago, I was stationed in Gibraltar when I met a most peculiar and delightful woman by the name of Flora Schaffer. The daughter of a Prussian Junker, she had a deep and curious interest in ancient history and when my service ended, I agreed to follow her in an expedition to Syria, deep in Ottoman territory. I shall not recount our tale now, as one night would not be enough to do it justice. Suffice to say she located a tablet covered in strange runes that she studied with a morbid fascination. Seven months ago, I received a letter from her and it was no small amount of surprise that I learnt that she was in the Americas, where her search had led her. Indeed, the only match for those strange runes came from a lone amphora traded to a collector of curios by a group of Natives who disappeared soon after. The letter was vague but hinted at the need for a dangerous expedition. Alas, when I arrived, she had already left to hire a group of adventurers of ill repute called the Valiant Companions. This was three months ago. I am afraid that her eagerness may have cost her dearly. I inquired about them and learned the most dreadful thing: they are now suspected of several acts of heinous banditry, such as raiding, kidnapping, and racketeering. They have since then escaped the vicinity of Savannah and thus, the arm of the law. Of my companion, there is no trace and I fear the worst has happened. Intent on gathering clues, I found her notebook in her personal effects, however many of the notes relate to a runic alphabet I cannot decipher. I was about to give in to despair when a friend of mine mentioned you, Mr. Delaney. He said that you were a scholar, a gentleman, and a crack shot, all qualities that I am in dire need of." Loth nods in understanding. He opens the notebook and takes out a few drawings, then raises an eyebrow. He places them back and resumes the conversation. "I appreciate the worth and the urgency of your task Mr. Bingle. Before we continue, I ask that you forgive my rudeness for there is something I need to discuss with my niece. If you will excuse us for a moment." I follow Loth outside. "Yes?" "He is going ta ask me to join him on his expedition and I am going ta accept because I am bored and his story sounds interesting. I think ye should join too." "Isn''t every trip dangerous? What if I cannot find a prey?" "I think this will not be a problem, at least not at the early stage. I anticipate a lot of violence. The reason why I ask is because I recognized the runes on the tablet and amphora. Those are vampire runes." "Truly? In the tongue?" "Yes. They are vanishingly rare in mundane circles, and their presence outside of vampire cities makes no sense. I am curious as to how the trail ended up here. I also need to state that remote regions of the world are where deranged individuals hide, and strange runes are closely associated with them." "Hum." "There is a major issue though, should ya join, and it is that of your peculiarities. Mr. Bingle is sharper than he appears, and I have no doubt that he will figure out that something is wrong too quickly. I would be disappointed if we had to silence him." "If we travel together, I am afraid that it is inevitable. What do you propose?" "Well, I caught a glimpse of Frau Schaffer''s notebook and it contained ample references to magic although I doubt that she was a practitioner herself. I am convinced that Bingle knows about magic in general, and suspects that I dabble. Otherwise, he would have defended himself from believing in it beforehand so as not to appear as a lunatic. We could pretend that you are under a curse." "A curse? As in I am a human victim of a spell?" "Yes." "Would he believe it?" "He will if you are the one to tell him the tale. Vampires are unnaturally persuasive. I am sure you can come up with something." sea??h th§× NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "What do we do with him after we discover the truth. I would rather know beforehand. I would not create ties or take oaths if we end up disposing of him." "If we manage to keep most of your physical prowess and my deadliest enchanted weapon under wrap, it should be within his expectations. If so, he will naturally assume that we are but two eccentric people and we won''t have to kill him. If we reveal inhuman traits, then it is different. He will want to know the truth." "If we fight by his side then killing him would be distasteful." "Then let us make sure it does not happen." I do not even suggest killing the man and recovering everything ourselves. This man is Loth''s supplicant, he is also a guest and he has been nothing but honorable. It would simply be wrong to kill him. We head back and as I sit, Loth turns to me. "Cecil, I ask that you forgive my poor manners. I had to ask my niece if she were comfortable about sharing the details of the tragedy... But before we begin, Cecil, I must ask. Do you believe in magic? Do you believe that in dark corners of the world exist things that have no place in civilized society? Do you believe that there is some knowledge that it would be wise not to acquire?" "Mr. Delaney, no, Loth. I was afraid to say so, for who in their right mind would believe what seems like childish poppycock! Yet my eyes did not deceive me, back in Syria. I saw and fought things that will never have their place in a compendium of natural history." "Indeed, and this leads me to my poor Ariane''s story." In a shaky voice, I tell Bingle about my father, the African explorer. How he hunted dangerous game, and how one day he came across a strange altar while tracking a vicious lion on the plains of the Serengeti. Upon this altar sat the effigy of a bat. Curious, if wary, he brought it to a local sorcerer. He was told that the effigy was linked to a powerful spirit, that of a night hunter. A ravenous, bloodthirsty beast. He was told that the night hunter would share its gift upon the offering of a suitable sacrifice. Amused, my father brought the morbid statue back with him as a sort of grisly trophy. The years went by and we thought nothing of it until my father''s vision declined and he was forced to retire. Alas, the thrill of the hunt could not be denied, and he became increasingly obsessed. What if he could still go after the most dangerous preys and fell them? What if he could move at night like the deadliest panther? The thought devoured him until he could take it no longer. I tried to stop him, to distract him, but it was in vain. One night, I saw a light in the distance and grew suspicious. As I approached, the most horrid spectacle was unveiled, and I almost fainted. Upon a meadow was my father, the accursed effigy and the bleeding body of the family dog. My father turned to me and the insanity in his eyes made me recoil in terror. "Behold, Ariane, for we are blessed!" He said in a great and terrible voice. Then, with a great laugh, he ran into the woods with a vitality and gait most unnatural. I waited for his return and as dawn came, I saw him appear on the horizon. As the rays of the sun touched him, a dreadful shriek escaped his lips. He fell, unconscious. I immediately set out to rescue him but alas, no sooner had I stepped outside that a most abominable pain seized me and I was forced to retreat. The sacrifice, it seems, was not suitable. Indeed, how could such a dreadful entity accept anything but the most precious of flesh? We were deemed unworthy. In exchange for vision, my father and his bloodline were cursed never to walk under the sun on penalty of death. Worse, I now must follow their habits and drink the blood of living creatures! I left the family house without looking back and went to my dear uncle for help, for his knowledge of the world is renowned. He protects me and together, we have looked for a cure forever since." Warm tears fall freely from Cecil Rutherford Bingle''s weathered face by the time I finish the steaming pile of inanities that is this story and when he speaks, his voice is quavering with emotion. "Such a dreadful tale my dear, such a dreadful, dreadful fate! Oh cruelty of cruelties to place this burden on the shoulder of such kind a soul, such amenable a temperament! If I can be of help..." I shake my head, my eyes wet with emotion, face slightly flushed despite their pallor. "It almost seems like a lost cause Mr. Bingle, but at least I have my dear uncle to look after me. I wish to accompany and help, for if I cannot save myself, my heart can be at ease with the belief that I should help others." Bingle lets out a terrible sob as emotion once again overcomes him. Loth grabs my shoulder in a paternal hand, his face also marred by sorrow and regret. As he turns away to wipe a tear I hear a whisper from him. "Seven out of ten." What?! The man is crying, I at least deserve a nine! Bah. "Cecil, ye may ask yerself why I wanted to share this delicate piece of information with ye, sir. Well I wanted ta explain why my niece is competent to hear such stories. She is also well-versed in dead languages. Ariane, could ye look at this?" I take the notebook and read what was transcribed form the amphora. "Salt." "Salt?" "Yes salt, the alchemical reagent. This is the language of Akkad, derived from Akkadian inscriptions. Notice the sharp indents. The runes are designed to be inscribed on tablet with stylus." "What could it mean?" "This was most likely taken from an alchemy set. It hints at some sort of laboratory or even something larger." "Who would use a long dead language to perform alchemy?" asks Bingle. "Someone who studied alchemy from a dead civilization, perhaps." Or someone who was there when it was still very much alive. Loth clears his throat and the adventurer emerges from his contemplation to look at him. "My dear Mr. Bingle, if I understand correctly, ye require my expertise in deciphering Mrs. Schaffer''s notes, and ye also ask for me to join ye on this expedition, aye?" Bingle blushes in embarrassment when the enormity of what he asks is stated so plainly. "Hrm, I am aware that I ask much, hrm, however, circumstances dictate that I put aside my pride! Indeed, the life of Flora is certainly at risk, and I would gladly sacrifice my reputation should it bring her back alive and safe. Please forgive me for this audacious request, and know that we Bingle are not without means. I will compensate you for this effort, naturally, though I know that for a gentleman such as yourself, the call of adventure, knowledge, and honor fulfilled are of greater import!" I never imagined that Bingle could assess Loth so accurately, albeit for the wrong reasons. I can tell that his curiosity is piqued. An amphora covered with ancient runes, found here? Even I am curious. "Fret not, Mr. Bingle, fer yer call fer help has not fallen on deaf ears. I am willing, nay, eager, ta help ye rescue yer friend from those ruffians. We shall depart tomorrow and find those Valiant Companions you spoke of so we can determine Miss Schaffer''s whereabouts. I have a few acquaintances in law enforcement who will be eager to inform me upon their current whereabouts. Perhaps the outlaws will be amenable to discussion and if not, we can extract this knowledge from them through violence or subterfuge." The conversation devolves into minutiae and after a manly handshake, Bingle is gone. Loth and I go to his workshop. The massive room which takes half of the first and second floor is his sanctuary. I only entered the place a few times and never alone, so it comes as a mild surprise when he drags me in. "Ariane, I have a service to ask of you. I am quite drained¡­" I chuckle. He smiles, a bit embarrassed. "Yes, I did not anticipate Clara''s appetite. In any case, I am tired. Could you please pack for me?" "Of course." He points out what he wants to take, and I spend a few hours moving heavy equipment and gadgets to the heavy carriage. Even though he does not intend to use it, I also take his massive armor as a measure of safety. I myself pack the practical outfits he made for me, as well as my rifle, knife and notebook on ancient languages. I go by the kitchen and prepare a significant amount of travel food. After I am done, I retire to my room. I pick a piece of paper. It was torn from an advertisement and on it are a few words. "I love you daughter, do not forget your promise." A tear smudged the ink a bit. I place it in a locket, which I put around my neck. Finally, I decide to open Jimena''s letter. Most of the content is news about herself, but one line catches my attention. "We have received confirmation that the Southern Lady was lost off the coast of Senegal with all hands." This was the ship my Master was sailing on. I do not know what happened to him. I was told that older vampires can enter a form of stasis if they are trapped somewhere, so it is likely that he still lives, held in an iron coffin in the darkness of the deep ocean. I do not know how I feel about this. Artificial tendrils of twisted love make me yearn to go and rescue him, but they are quickly silenced. I am relieved that I will not see him again. I hate how I lose my mind when he is around. I am afraid of what will happen when he gets free. It is inevitable. Well, enough moping. This is far beyond my control. I drag the sarcophagus to the carriage, secure it and call it a night. Chapter 20 - 20. The Pursuer and the Pursued Bonk. "Ouch." BONK. "Ow! What in the!?" I open the sarcophagus and jump out in a fury. I am inside the carriage. It is currently running at full speed on a bumpy road. Why would they ever do something so¡­ Bang! Ah, of course. I open a small slit that allows sight to the forward coach. "Uncle? I take it the negotiations did not pan out? "Ah, Ari. We can''t seem to shake them off. Can you think of something?" "Miss Delaney, this is not safe, you should stay inside while we deal with those ruffians!" "I''ll see what I can do!" I jump and reach a hatch on the carriage''s ceiling. I quickly open it and take a look outside. Around us, a dense pine forest hugs a trail that should be too small for our wheels. Behind, a dozen men on horses follow us with sabers and pistols waved fiercely. As I watch, one of them tries to overtake the carriage and catches a bullet for his trouble. I turn my head and end up face to face with a bandit crawling forward. His surprise turns to a vicious smile when he sees me. Could it be¡­ Breakfast delivery? How thoughtful! I grace him with my own vicious smile and as he starts screaming, I claw his shoulder and drag him to the darkness below, face first. I am about to bite when Loth yells. "Hurry girl, Asni can''t last much longer!" Hum, annoying, they are interrupting my moment. I stun the man with a hit to the neck and decide how to address the problem. Prey. PREY. WEAKLINGS. MAGGOTS. WAIT YOUR TURNS BLOODBAGS. CLIMB, HATCH. THERE. RUNNING AFTER ME! LET THEM KNOW. "ROOOAAAAAAAAR" Horses panic and collapse. Men try to keep control and fail. The pursuers stop in their tracks. Good. Now, back to¡­ "W¡­ What was that?!" Ah, oops? I grab something on the floor and open the slit to a pair of curious eyes. "Uncle, it worked! Your phlogiston noisinator scared them off!" I yell while waving around what is essentially a fuel tank with a gauge and three connectors. "Remarkable!" answers the eyes on the right. "This invention is truly a godsend!" "Yes, niece, I congratulate you on your¡­ quick thinking." answers the scowling pair of eyes on the left. I nod happily and discreetly push the bandit''s body under a tarp in case Bingle''s eyes start roaming. "Unfortunately, we are not safe yet. They are sure to resume pursuit and Asni has reached the end of his stamina. We need to hunker down somewhere and hold them off." "How about the river crossing, Loth. There is a small cliff on the side. We would be protected and have a commanding view of the passage." "Very well." I close the slit. We don''t have much time! I quickly drink the bandit, barely enjoying the experience. I open the hatch and let the corpse drop on the road. There. Ariane, queen of expedited evidence disposal. If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. A few minutes later, we cross a small river, not large enough to prevent passage downstream by determined riders, I note. The carriage is parked some distance away and the men take their weapons and prepare to leave. "I shall stay here and water Asni. Be careful uncle, please! And you too Mr. Bingle." "Hah, those low-lives will rue the day they came across Cecil Rutherford Bingle, I say! For it should be their last." The man trumpets. "I care not for the lives of those men, Mr. Bingle, I only want both of you to return to me safe." "Of course Ms. Delaney" he replies with a tremor in his voice, "We shall come back safe and sound. You have my word!" I watch the two disappear in the darkness. Well, darkness for them, I can see perfectly well under the moonlight. I take out a humongous barrel and start rolling liter upon liter to the poor overheated Asni. A few minutes later, the crack of discharged muskets reaches my ears. Loth is only wearing a secured surcoat but I know he brought his night vision monocle. Those imbeciles are as good as dead. That said, there is an obvious way to circumvent their blockade. I close my eyes and focus. Yes, I hear the sound of hooves from across the water. I lay low and follow them. Two hundred yards downstream, three men on horseback emerge from the vegetation and start crossing at a cautious pace. I let them pass me by. One, two. Any time now. The horses catch my scent and neigh nervously. "What is wrong with those¡­" Using the distraction, I jump on the last rider and stab him in the spine, then I haul him backward. "Some sort of beast? Smith, do you see¡­ Smith?" I slap the panicked horse on the rump and the scared animal immediately goes to a gallop. Cursing, the two other men try to keep control of their mounts and I take down the second one in the same manner. The last man takes the hint and urges his horse to run away. Futile. Sear?h the N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. I move. I grab him and bite deep. Once more, I must hurry and do not enjoy myself. Curses, but this travel is having some unintended aspects, namely, vampire travel rations. I drop the third body and after making sure the horses are heading away from the crossing, I quickly run back. There, crisis averted and in perfect silence as well! Ariane, queen of efficacy. I make sure that Asni is cooling down and settle down to wait. The two men soon return without a scratch. I come from behind the carriage with apparent worry turning to apparent relief. "Oh, thank G¡­ cough, thankfully, you are back! Are you both safe?" "Yes, miss Delaney! Fear not, for we sure gave them what for!" Loth silently points at my cheek. Oops. I turn my visage away and pretend to dry tears while I do my best to clean the bandit''s blood. "Oh miss Delaney¡­" says Bingle with emotion. Loth takes me in a bear hug and pat my back. "There, there, it is all over, we are safe." And then more silently. "How many?" I escape the hug and turn to him with eyes full of tears. "This wait frayed my nerves! I know it was a short time, but it felt like three hours!" Loth nods. "We gave them a lesson aye, one the survivors will not soon forget. Nevertheless, we should hide and recover for now. Let us depart, niece." We find a small recess in a woody valley large enough to accommodate everything. The men promptly dig a hole while I gather wood. They build the fire inside and when it starts, the light is blocked by earth. Loth even uses some sort of grill to prevent smoke and floating embers from rising into the night sky. I do not mention that anyone with one eye and half a brain could follow our tracks. I offer to take the first watch and Bingle only protests twice, a testament to how exhausted he is. After three hours, Loth wakes up and joins me around the pit. "So how did it go?" "They denied ever meeting Flora. Bingle managed ta search their leader''s hideout while I was distracting the rest of the Valiants with a demonstration of the latest iteration of the Skoragg repeater. Reminds me of that time my first wife Gurda distracted a crowd with the proper way ta skin a rabbit while I was robbing their granary. Anyway. He stole a diary and another notebook but was found out. We escaped before it could degenerate into a firefight." Loth is quiet. I know him rather well after our six months of friendship and I can tell that he is not done. "There is something strange about that Bingle lad, a kind of magic." "He is a mage?" "What? No. No, it is different. All our timings were too perfect, too dramatic. His infiltration should never have worked yet it did, and his exit should have not been noticed yet it was. It is as if... the world works around him, somehow. Events are changed to make things more exciting and keep him alive at the same time." "Are we in danger?" "Good question. I don''t think so. He would not endanger us on purpose, ya know. Just.... consider the narrative when he is involved." "This does not make sense." "Welcome ta the world of wild magic, Ari." "... I suppose I should not complain when it comes to magical aid. Vampires are not exactly at a disadvantage either." "Heh. Speaking of vampires, how are ye feeling?" "It is barely past midnight. I can go on for another few hours. Why?" "I''d like ya ta trace back our steps. See if we''ve been followed. The leader of the Valiants, Crow, he called himself, he was a bit on the side." "You mean..." "Aye, mad as a March hare, a few cards short of a deck, out there with the faeries, batty, nutty, off his damn trolley. Ya know." "I''ll go. If I don''t see him within one hour, I shall head back here." "Be careful." I strap up my knives but leave the rifle. I do not intend to shoot anyone if I can help it. We need to be discreet. Chapter 21 - 21. Murder of Crows I quickly retrace our steps. As expected, a blind child could track us down. In half an hour I slow down when I see the smoke and ember of another camp. I creep closer until I happen upon the remainders of the ill-fated Valiants. Most of the group lounges dejectedly around the campfire. They lost more than half of their numbers today. Many men sit apart from each other. Eyes do not meet. A real group bound by links of blood or friendship would cling together tightly. Misery and fear would promote the herd instinct and a feeling of unity before the catastrophe. Those people are nothing like that. They are a band of jackals and hyenas brought together by greed and the promise of easy violence. Now that their failure is made evident, they are starting to split along lines of allegiance. This motley crew does not even qualify for the moniker of Warband. Truly pathetic. I can see the alpha and beta males in a contest. The beta is a huge man with an imposing black beard that reaches his protruding belly. The alpha is sitting on a rock, his hand on the pommel of a saber. I can tell why he calls himself Crow. His jacket, trousers, and boots are black. Even his hat is the same color and adorned with shiny dark feathers of the eponymous bird. I am getting flashbacks from half a year ago when I cleared the warehouse. I return my attention to the group. They have two sentries. I also count eight men in various stages of despair. Only the two leaders pose some sort of threat, or they would if they had adapted weapons, which I doubt. I feel disappointed and this feeling worries me. I know what is required for survival. I know from the books Loth lent me that victory is often achieved before the battle even begins. I am still frustrated. I want a challenge. I want to walk on the edge. I want a good hunt so that when I defeat my opponent, their blood is that much sweeter. I remember Nami''s expression when she let me drink from her. She was also seeking a thrill. Am I turning into a prideful fop? I looked down on Gaspard, the man my master crushed because he was arrogant. I fear now that this lust for danger will make me take unreasonable risks. On the other hand, measured risks are beneficial. I never learned so much about fighting as a vampire as when I was running the Gauntlet. There was a stake, a cost for defeat and therefore I was invested. Even Loth, old as he is, still takes risks. I find it unlikely that a single bullet even to the head could take him out, however fighting still brings a risk to him. He still does it. Perhaps this is what it takes to stay alive, actually alive, for so long. I will set my own rules now. I will challenge myself only if I am confident that I can at least escape and survive. Yes, that sounds reasonable. I shall still ask Loth about his opinion later. He must have guidelines for having lived for so long. Using a tried and true method, I wait until the first sentry gets out of sight to neutralize him. In the camp, nobody notices. This is the first time since the night with Toussaint that I am faced with more blood than I can safely consume. I can not afford to get drunk this time. I decide to try to Devour him. It may only grant me a fraction of the normal vitality, but it is faster, does not make me drunk and leaves me in control. Truly there is no better way to recover strength quickly. Now to do it. I plunge eight fangs in the man''s carotid and pull. It is much harder than last time. The part of me that pulls is not quite AWAKE. MANY PREY. HUNTING GROUND. CATTLE. Wait, cattle? I smell the air. There, near the tent. It smells like unwashed women. Could it be... "You might as well come out!" I turn my attention back to Crow who stands on the middle of the clearing. Everyone else is staring at him as if he were insane. "Peter disappeared without a noise one minute ago and two men cannot account for all of our casualties. Not to mention, all of this occurred at night. I know what is happening, I know you''re here somewhere. Come on out. Let me see the face of my doom. I dare you!" Ho? Now this is interesting. "Do you now, little bird..." How they jump in fright at the clear sound of my voice. How they brandish their weapons in vain. Hopeless. S§×ar?h the N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. I step out in the middle of the clearing with my weapon holstered. I know how I look: like a young woman in a traveling dress. Young, fresh and innocent, with the pale skin of those who do not work outside. The image in their head does not match with what they know. I present myself as a threat yet I do not look like one. Their expectations of the world will make them look down upon me until it is far too late. Such is the power of a vampire. Despite his bluster, Crow swallows nervously. He looks like a little boy who threatened the monster under his bed to come out, only for something to drag on his sheets. You called the night and it answered. I tap my index under my chin and this time I do not bother to hide what I am. Talons and fangs are out. I stop bothering to breathe or close my eyes. "I am curious, little bird, what did you think would happen now? Hum? A heroic fight?" The man swallows and retorts with pretend confidence. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I challenge you to a duel." There is something desperate about the proclamation. Those are the words of a drowning man clinging to the familiar. "And why would I accept?" "Why not? Are you scared?" I move, turn on myself to slash the throat of the man approaching me from the back with his knife drawn. I heard the sound of metal scraping against leather. I saw the looks of the others when they forced themselves to look straight away. I smelled his perspiration and his fear. I finish the circular motion in an instant, ending up exactly as I had started except for red liquid dripping down my claws. I hear blood spilling on the ground and the gurgles of the dying. I resume as if nothing had happened. "Am I truly? Or do I simply not see the point in granting you this request? You will fight me anyway. Well, you will try. Why should I offer you a formal duel?" "A wager!" "Oh?" I can almost see the cogs grinding in his skull, looking for a solution to his predicament. "I have information. I know you were looking for the girl and you think you''ll get what you''re looking for from my diary, well, you won''t. You won''t get anything. It''s encrypted." "There is no cipher your mind can come up with that my friend cannot crack in twenty seconds." He shakes his head. "Not that kind of cipher. I wrote things like, I smelled strawberry today and it means I was thinking of my sister." As he says so, he blushes. Hah, the dark and brooding Crow, thinking about a sister. "It won''t matter. I know things that I didn''t write. Couldn''t write. It was just too insane. I know who she really was, what she really was after, exactly where I sold her, and to whom." "And what are you asking for in return?" "If I give you a good show you will spare my men." The clearing is perfectly silent. You could hear a pin drop. "We engage in bouts until blood is drawn. For every time you make me bleed, you get to choose one person. I will not hunt them, and they can survive the night. For every time I draw yours, you tell me something I want to know. If I don''t like it or it is too brief, I shall assume you have run out of ideas and I will kill you. While we duel, I will not use my powers, just my body and my blades." "Deal!" "Then let us begin." I jump on the man, who desperately draws and attempts so slice me in the same motion. I am used to this now and I can tell where the blade will land. I simply block it with my knife and stab him in the shoulder with my left hand. Not too deep. Not the dominant arm. That would not be sporting. "Gaaaaah! Hell!" "Speak." "Gah, fine. Fine! That woman, she was not who she said she was. She had some weird rings and documents in German. When we captured her she said that she worked for the Order of the Heirs, whatever that means. She said they''re a powerful secret society. I thought it might be poppycock but what do I know." Hum, it appears that everyone and their dogs manipulate poor Cecil. Ah well, I care not. As long as she does not endanger me, she can belong to the Chinese imperial family for all I care. As for the organization itself, there is absolutely no way that they would have a big enough presence here to be any of my concern in the short run. This is a problem for much later if indeed it is even true. I resume a guarding stance and we circle each other. Crow probes my defenses with conservative movements. I move as little as I can until he overcommits on a feint. I jump forward and hit the saber with the knife''s small guard. We lock blade and I easily stop his left hand with my own. I stab a finger in his wrist and he drops the knife he had been concealing. "Ah, dammit!" "Speak." Cold sweat has started to form on Crow''s brow. A darker patch marks his wounds on his shoulder and sleeve. He smells delicious, like battle lust and courage in the face of certain death. I am sated, for now, thankfully, or resisting the Thirst would be difficult. "We sold the woman to some insane communities up there at the southernmost peaks of the Appalachians. Some kind of inbred idiots who worship the weirdest things. Heathens and maniacs, the lot of them." If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. "Where?" "Hey come on, I..." "Where?" "F... four days of riding, to the North. They have some insane estate painted white and red. You''d think you were transported to bloody Gloucestershire." "Hmm." We resume guard position and this time, Crow goes all out. I use it as an opportunity to dodge with minimal movement and try to predict the way he moves his body, and yet the fight becomes much harder. His heavy cavalry saber was a liability in quick exchanges but now its weight and power make it harder to block and dodge. This exchange lasts for a very long time. Thirty seconds. Forty seconds. He does not relent. At the fifty seconds mark, he tires and slips on the muddy ground. I bounce forward but he surprises me. Instead of trying to block his fall, he uses a two-handed strike to swipe at me. I block with my left talons but stop as I am about to stab him in the ribs. We stay there for a second as I look in his terrified eyes. Humans blink a lot. I get back up and inspect my left hand. The blade caught between two talons and sliced my finger. The wound is already closed, still... "Choose." "What?" "You drew blood. Choose." "Dalton." As the name crosses his lips, I hear a scream from behind. I turn to see the large bearded man take out a gun and aim it. Not at me, at a very young man sitting terrified at the side. Tut tut tut I won''t have someone ruin my moment. I move. I stab every finger of my left hand in the man''s chest. He gasps in pain and drops the gun. Ooowww! What? That hurts! I think I broke two knuckles! How are ribs so bloody hard?! Master put his entire hands in someone''s chest and made it look easy! How! I remove my hand. The man falls without a noise and I face Crow again. I do my very best to school my expression. Ouch ouch ouch ouch... Gah! Dammit! Must focus. Crow looks at me warily. I just assume an en guarde position again and we resume fighting. I can tell that he is tiring. It is long past midnight, he has had a long day and he is bleeding. Crow has a pattern. At the end of an exchange, he loves to swing and hit his opponent''s blade on the way up, then immediately slash back down and move forward at the same time before they can recover. It must have worked well against weaker opponents, particularly given how heavy his saber is. It is useless against me. The next time he does it. I strike the blade further out just as he reverses and get into his guard. I slice a shallow cut across his chest. "Gah!" We are now on the last act of this tragedy and the others can feel it. I catch a few subtle glances and I hear footsteps. I turn around to a filthy man in a straw hat who is much closer to the edge of the forest than he was a moment ago. "You run, you die first." The man stops. This will give me a moment before I have to finish this. "Speak." "I, hmm. The cult. They keep stealing people around for who knows what." Stealing huh. I know who they have "stealing" those people. "That is not helpful. Tell me how you knew what I was." "The... the head of the cult. I sold the woman to him. He called you vampires. He said that you are hoarding your power. He says that he will achieve this by himself and share the bounty with his followers." "Hmmm." I return to the center of the clearing and wait for Crow to do the same. As soon as he is in position, he charges me, and all the Valiant Companions turn and run. I stand my ground. Crow sees his men run and charges me with a desperate cry. Remarkable! Of course, I was expecting no less from a crafty outlaw. I flip my left arm and a moment later, Crow stumbles and falls. He stares with disbelief at the throwing dagger in his chest. I did not waste my time those past six months. "I did warn you when I said blades." I move after every bandit. I Devour them one after the other without pause. In the dark, they are all slow and noisy. I make it quick and painless. When I return to the clearing, only Crow and that young man Dalton remain. "It should not... be like this. We were meant... to be adventurers. Heroes¡­ Like knights of old." Says the fallen leader with a strained voice. I straddle Crow and let my hair fall on his face. He is so warm and his perfume is exquisite. A perfect end to a worthy Hunt. "Heroes, you say? Do heroes raid travelers? Do they keep sex slaves?" "They are... natives, not white women." "They are sex slaves. Who they are does not change what you did." "That''s rich... coming from a monster." "Ah, but I do know what I am. Just as I know who kidnaps people for that strange estate you mentioned, and just as I know why you were prompt to sell them the woman as well. You have fallen farther than most, Crow. Now, any last words?" Crow gives me one last smile with red-tinged teeth. Defiant to the end. I love it. "I''ll see you in hell." Heh. "Farewell human, it was a good Hunt." When I am done, I stand up and take in the devastation I brought. Corpses litter the clearing, strewn around broken tents and trampled personal effects. The sole survivor of this massacre is kneeling on the ground with his hand on his head. I ignore him for now. I approach the largest tent and open it. The stench of unwashed bodies is pungent here, yet I fight through. Two young women stare at me with insane eyes. The first one is shaking with fury while the other one cowers behind her. They are dressed in the torn remnants of filthy rags. Their dark hair is stringy and matted. When I get closer, the stronger one growls and curses under her breath. Hum. I retreat and pick up a skinning knife, then get back in and drop it at their feet. I leave them be. Crow used a short stool to sit. I right it and settle near the fire. I need to think. Why did I accept the challenge? Why did I kill these men but spare their prisoners? What do I do with Dalton? Do I stick to the spirit of the agreement and let him go? Or do I follow the letter and make sure that he dies before he reaches a settlement? Was I led here by Bingle''s preposterous narrative power because what I learned is vital to the continuation of our quest? I ignore the two native women as they stumble around the camp, kicking and spitting on corpses while crying and sobbing in their language. I accepted the challenge because it was right. It was right to offer them a chance to accomplish something instead of butchering them like animals. It made for a good Hunt. And again with this Hunt concept. It certainly has something to do with the tainted blood in my veins. I never thought much about the concepts of the Hunt when I was alive. Should I stop? Will it kill me like blind confidence killed Gaspard? I do not think so. Crow''s blood was both delicious and more powerful than it should have been because its potency did not stem from the man himself, but from the way it was taken. Respecting the spirit of the Hunt and winning makes me stronger. It also made me feel more alive. The contest forced me to work for it, instead of just taking it with overwhelming force, just like the blood of a supplicant tastes sweeter than that of the cattle. Yes, I know that I am right. I shall respect the prey and in turn, it will make me stronger, more patient and more cautious. Challenges will remind me of my limits and that I should never look down upon mortals, just like Crow reminded me of my imperfect technique when he sliced my finger. If I encounter a situation that is a challenge in itself, then I do not need to give myself constraints. Instead, I will use every tool at my disposal to achieve victory. Yes, it is as it should be. The red nectar needs to be earned. I must never forget it. Now onto the next concern. Who do I spare, and why? Loth was correct. Rules and guidelines are the first steps in any proper society. As the only vampire in the area, I need to set those rules and enforce them on myself, by myself. I shall now create ground rules, just as the Continental Congress established a constitution more than two decades ago. Those I call my friends, those that are bound to me by contract or oath, those I am negotiating with, and those who are too young should not be touched without their explicit consent. This includes supplicants. Those who are not related to me can be fed upon, but not killed nor enslaved. Those who have disrespected the Hunt by hurting weak prey, those who have broken their oaths to others, and those I have been contracted to capture can be fed upon, tortured and enslaved, but not killed. Those who broke their oath to me and my own, those that stole lives out of self-interest and those that stole women''s dignity are fair game. Those rules apply to groups I consider myself at war with, but not their relatives. Those that endanger me by their existence and those that tried to kill me yet respected the spirit of the hunt can be fed upon and killed, but not tortured nor enslaved. Above all else, I must keep my word and protect myself and mine. Yes. This feels right. I shall apply those rules at least for now. I will adjust them as I go if I deem it necessary. I return my attention to the present. The boy has not moved, and the two native women are cleaning themselves while eyeing the prostrate man with suspicion. The taller one is caressing her knife with a contemplative expression. I start gathering supplies. I know what I must do with the boy and I want no witnesses. I prepare two heavy backpacks and return to the women. Diplomacy is made difficult because they do not speak a word of English, French nor Spanish, not that I blame them. With enough grunts and pointed fingers, they understand that they are to take horses and food and go, but they refuse. After pointing to the sky and fire a few times, I finally remember that this is currently the dead of night and traveling is not the best of ideas. I am sated and they represent no danger to me, so I decide to let them do as they please. Instead, I grab the boy by the elbow and drag him to the cover of the trees. He does not resist. "Can you understand me?" He nods. "You are safe from me for tonight, but tonight only." The young man raises his head to me. Just like the other bandits, he is wearing a mix and match of farming and travelling clothes of simple but solid make. His brown vest is too large for him. I think he may have been the youngest person of the group at around sixteen. I end up face to face with liquid blue eyes paler than mine. They are large and strangely magnetic. Even when I look at the rest of him, my gaze is drawn back. He looks at me with a sort of childish wonder and though I smell fear on him, it is not as strong as I would have expected. I do not want to kill him. I do not believe he is a threat to me. He does not feel like one. "If you never speak of this, nor of me, to anyone, I will let you go. Do you agree?" The boy actually considers my words for a moment, and only then agrees by nodding again. "Swear on it." "I will not betray you. I swear." "Good, now I shall test your word." I take his unresisting arm and bite, then stare in his eyes. "Did you intend to betray me?" "No. Never." That was fast. According to my rules, I can kill him if I deem him a threat. I do not. He is not a friend either, so he can be fed upon, but not harmed further. I do not Thirst. Bah, enough, the hour grows late. "Very well. You may leave and go where you wish. Respect your word, for if you do not, I will not be the only one to go after you provided you are even believed." "I will not betray you." The boy''s reactions are rather strange. Could he be retarded? That would explain why Crow chose him to be spared. He must be the least deserving of death of them all. "You should leave the camp this very moment. I doubt your previous captives would forgive you for what they have been through." "I know where to go." Again with the lack of any doubt. There is something wrong with this young man. He is entirely too accepting of the situation. Could he be hiding what he really is? No. I did get the barest hint of his essence when I bit him and he is, beyond a doubt, a mortal. Bah, it matters not. I have already delayed too long. I make sure I have all my weapons on me and promptly depart the area. The return trip is much faster since I do not have to search for our camp, nor do I need to hide my presence. Two hours after I left, I soon find the familiar lights of our campfire. As I return to the camp, I see a hint of magic in the air. Loth has not been idle while I was out. I cross the spell''s demarcation, eliciting a light chime. I hear a sleeper waking up and follow the sounds to a slightly haggard Loth. He gestures to Bingle and we leave the warmth of the dying fire to discuss the night''s events without waking him up. I tell him everything, including my findings, the ethic code and Dalton''s fate. "Hum. Ari, are ye tipsy?" "What? Hum, perhaps? How could you possibly tell?" "Yer attention is wandering and ye are more contemplative than usual. I saw this in Constantine back in Boston, he would have a similar mood after a lethal hunt. In any case, I must congratulate ye on tonight. Well done" "You think so?" "Ye eliminated the threat, left no dangerous survivors and got us what we wanted. Now ye''re back safe and sound. Tyr, I wish all my raids had gone that well." "Yes, and now we must decide on how to proceed." "There''s no doubt to be had aye? We''ll ride North ta purge those madmen and recover the lass, if she lives. I doubt it, ya know? Any weird cult that buys people don''t keep them around for long." "I do not like this. We are moving blindly into a situation that could very well be dangerous. Is there no group that should be sent to deal with this?" "Aye lass, there is us! We are the two most powerful entities for a hundred miles so it''s up ta us ta defend our territory. Hahaha, Tyr, you are still so human sometimes. Did you expect the gendarmes or militia to come and hunt monsters?" "Hum, not them, but their supernatural peers? I assumed that the order of Gabriel or vampire knight squads would dedicate themselves to hunting those strange groups." Loth looks at me in silence for a moment. The atmosphere grows heavy. A sort of pressure makes me want to avert my gaze and I am reminded of who Loth of Skoragg really is, not a gentleman and a scholar but an ancient being of vast magical knowledge whose hands are tainted with blood. I remember when we fought together. I remember the silent titan of cold metal slaughtering his way through fighting and pleading men without ever stopping, without ever flinching, and I shiver. "Lass, this is our territory and we don''t need no idiots to protect it for us. This is not the human world, where ye can rely on institutions and laws. For us, what is ours is what we can get and keep, and don''t ye ever forget it. Besides, I won''t tolerate those fanatical mongrels stepping foot on it anyway." Loth closes his eyes and massages the bridge of his prominent nose. "Aye, listen ta me rambling like an old man. I did not mean ta scold you lass. Sometimes, you are so good at being what ye are that I forget that ye''re so young. As fer knight squads, ye don''t understand." He sits down and moves his hands together in the lecture stance and I sit comfortably. "I mentioned that they fix supernatural issues before they get out of hand. I did not tell ye more, but I should have. Vampires are a rare breed. Ye are a territorial and arrogant lot. Ye''ll rarely see more than fifteen in a large city, and they will be defended by a handful of masters. The reason why vampires sit at the top of the hierarchy where they are is because each master is incredibly dangerous. Knight Squads are groups of battle-hardened masters dedicated to war. There''s barely a handful of them, but ye can be sure that if they get sent somewhere, the problem gets solved. Permanently. That''s the thing though, they''re always busy. They will only come here if the cult somehow gets out of hand and starts summoning horrors from the beyond." "They¡­ They can really do that?!" "Aye it can happen, but we won''t let it come to this. Don''t ye worry." "I see. So it is up to us. Well, I won''t let you down." "I know I can count on ye. Well. We have a big day ahead of us. I''d better catch some shut-eye." Loth lies down and five minutes later I hear both men snoring like two horns playing a duo. If I were a mortal woman trying to sleep, I believe I would be trying to smother them with their pillows now. I take out my notebook on ancient languages and review it as the night slowly reaches its end. Chapter 22 - 22. The Waiting Maw I place the dessert spoon back on the empty plate and rest both hands on my round belly. "Where are the kids?" Asks Achille with a smile. "Mine or yours?" "Both." "They are outside. Roger is looking after them, don''t worry." "Good. There is somebody I wanted you to meet." "Really? At this time?" "You already know him." A young man enters the dining room. He is certainly not dressed for the occasion! Why, he just looks like an apprentice running errand for his mentor! "That is exactly what I was doing." Huh? Now that I am paying attention, he looks a little pale, and are those tear marks on his boyish face? "What I was doing when you killed me that is. They captured me and dragged me to you. You were a new monster then, not yet the accomplished murderer you have become" "We could have had children, family of flesh and bone and not those pathetic fantasies you still cling to." Says a newcomer to my left. I recognize him. He was father Perry''s son. My talons grip the edge of the table and I move forward a bit now that my figure is as lean as it should be. "Yeah!" "Hear, hear!" The dining room is full of men clamoring and complaining. I recognize some from my days as an enforcer, the estate where I met Nami and my days at the Gauntlet. "We could have been so much more!" Achille grabs my hand. "You will never create life. You will never make the world more, only less. Your very existence is..." "Shut up." I pick a knife and stab him in the wrist. The flesh breaks like porcelain, as if it were solid. I stare into cracking eyes as black as night. The entire assembly is focused on me like a pack of hounds on a wounded deer. I am no wounded deer. "I claimed your essences to the last and you think your pathetic rabble of fools can stop me?" Night falls outside and the smell of roast is replaced by wet earth and woodsmoke. Something grinds against the walls of the dining room. Something huge, and covered in spikes. The ceiling breaks and strands of baleful purple light shines on the white sheets and posh chairs. "You are no hunting party. You are just drained prey I left in my trail." "You can''t stop us all." Says Crow. I stand up and the wood groans and cracks under my feet. "I already have." I wake up to the familiar darkness. Well. That was... different. I did not expect a nightmare to lead to anything but my death. This is also the first time that it refers to potential events instead of reinterpretation of my past. Now is not the time for introspection, however. I close my eyes and focus on my hearing. This is a new precaution I have come up with. We are in hostile territory and there is no guarantee that the carriage could not fall into hostile hands. I need to see if anyone is around before I make my presence known. There, a heartbeat. It stands just beside the sarcophagus. I feel a tug on my mind and the beat grows more excited. With a sigh, I open the sarcophagus. I slide the door open, already annoyed. "I feel like I am repeating myself in vain, but you should really leave." "Yes." "Yes?" "Yes Mistress, you are repeating yourself in vain." I tap on the edge of my haven with a talon. The clinking sound echoes the noise of the rain outside. Dalton''s large eyes do not have a hint of mockery. He just stands there being¡­ I do not know what he is. "We will arrive at the estate within two hours. Mr. Bingle says that the heavy rain will help us with our cover as waylaid travelers. Mr. Delaney suggests that you wear the blue dress." The blue dress is formal. Why do I want the formal dress? Why do we simply not move under the cover of the night and the heavy rain and slaughter everything? We already determined these cultists mass kidnap innocents. Just like the Lancaster. Fair enough, I am being hypocritical. Let us just say that I, as the resident vampire in these lands, reserve the exclusive right to the mass kidnapping of innocent people for the sake of sacrificing them to some dark entity, in this specific case myself. There. Now they are an enemy organization and all its members are fair game. This adventure is wearing my patience thin. Dalton leaves and I clean myself quickly, brush my hair and finally open the slit that separates the interior of the carriage from the drivers. "Gentlemen." "Good evening miss Ariane, I hope you are well?" "I am Mr. Bingle, thank you. I am however concerned by your plan to make yourselves known! Those ruffians are in the habit of capturing people. Why would they not put all of us in chains at the first opportunity?" "You would prefer that we simply find Flora and make our escape, do you not?" Actually, I was planning on slaughtering everything and everyone and then setting the rest on fire. "That seems more prudent." "Indeed, and I recognize there your kind heart, miss Ariane. Truly, you are too pure for this world, and indeed what you say makes perfect sense, but for two important factors. First, we do not know how many prisoners they hold, I wager quite a lot! We must also learn of their sinister purposes!" I wager those prisoners are not as many as he thinks, the live ones at least. "And secondly, I know the type of people who lead such terrible and dreadful schemes. They are vain creatures, eager to display themselves and their extraordinary qualities¡­" Look who''s talking. "Therefore they will want to show how superior they are, as well as learn how we found them. And we shall let them know, I say! We shall let them know before the night is out! They will rue the day¡­" I ignore the rest of the rant. I am Thirsty now. Yesterday I managed to feed a bit from a Choctaw traveler who left his teepee to attend to a natural need. I had to wait for two hours for him to come out. He was weakened by the low temperatures and I did not get much vitality. Tonight will be a feast I am looking forward to. As the Thirst momentarily overcomes me, I feel my fangs draw out and something tugs on my mind. A pair of large icy eyes reach the slit. "Are you alright, miss?" The invitation in his eyes is clear. He offers himself, his blood, to me. I should accept but something makes me uncomfortable. He chose me, not the contrary. He chose me not as supplicant but as something else. I am not in control. I should be in control. I should be the one to select who I want to feed on. It is not normal that one would be willing to serve an abomination like me. All humans should want to kill me because I prey on them. This is unnatural? I think? Right? Bingle interrupts his many promises of retribution and justice to express his concern. "Miss Ariane, please do not be alarmed. I know you abhor violence, but this is not my first adventure and I will protect you with my life!" You fool, how can you promise such a thing? Can you predict the trajectories of bullets? Can you stop explosions before they deliver their deadly shrapnel? Could you have stopped Master from k¡­ Enough. Enough of this. "He is right niece; it would be better for us to be invited in. They would lower their guard. Besides, young Dalton will remain hidden inside the wagon and bring us our weapons should we need them." Mmmmh, as always, Loth makes a point. I could not get into the mansion without an invitation. Well thought. "Yes, miss Ariane, young Dalton has proven himself an invaluable help since he joined us. He has been looking after you with dedication, and I am pleased at his change of heart. He is the proof that men who lose their way to darkness can always find the light if they look for courage inside their heart. A truly moving tale, I say!" A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. Yes, invaluable help since he showed up at their camp with a wild tale of the Valiant Companions killing each other. He offered to show the group the way to the cult''s base and drowned Bingle with a tale of contrition. It never occurred to the red-haired hero that Dalton''s change of heart happened rather late in the group''s criminal career. If he is not evil there is at least something wrong with him. I am unwilling to ask. After we return to civilization, he will have to go. Yes. That would probably be for the best. Around us, pine forests give way to empty fields and basic wooden shacks. I change seats with Dalton, who is supposed to remain hidden, when we reach the outskirts of the cultist base. I can smell cattle, the animal kind, and woodsmoke. It is not long before we arrive at the limit of a stone enclosure. If I were still mortal, I would pinch myself and check for a fever. The wall marks the border between semi wilderness and an outlandish version of a British cottage. Why, I am looking at something out of a book! A beautifully made manor of stone and glass, actual glass, with an arched rooftop of grey tiles sits at the top of a gently inclined hill. Even in the dead of winter, the trees are expertly trimmed and the lawn is taken care of. A small pond lies further to the side and a clean road of white gravel leads from an iron gate to the foot of the grand entrance. A cliff of sheer rock rises a hundred yards behind the property, adding a mysterious and grandiose air to the edifice. What am I even looking at? "How peculiar!" says Bingle. What is peculiar is the color theme. The walls are painted, flawlessly, in white and red. "Where are the workers housed? With so many fields there should be at least thirty people tending to them and cattle. They''re not living in the manor, I assume?" I add. "A most astute observation miss Ariane! We must assume that there are more buildings we are not yet aware of, and that we should keep an eye open for them. Indeed, who knows how many people live here?" I hope we do not find out when they rush us with torches and pitchforks? This¡­ This stupid plan! I want to leave, find somebody to drink. This farce can only lead to disaster! Gah, why am I so Thirsty?! I drank my fill less than a week ago! Do I really have to suffer through this for another year? Curses, curses, curses¡­ While I am ranting in the privacy of my addled brain, two men in mud-colored cloth emerge from behind the wall and open the door of the property for us. Maybe I can eat them? "There, there." Says Bingle with a comforting voice. He is about to pat my shoulder but then he hesitates and retracts his hand. That''s right my good man, keep your appendages away or I will tear them off and shove them up your¡­ "Welcome to the Abernathy estate gentlemen, and lady. May I inquire what business you have here?" We let Bingle drown the poor guard in platitudes and a story of lost travelers, unusual itineraries and some such nonsense until he regrets ever asking. Perhaps I should slice his throat to end his suffering, let the warm, red geyser of life¡­ "Alright come in, come in, Mr. Abernathy will be delighted to see you." He adds with a sinister smile. If I were a normal girl I would already be out there trying my luck with the grizzlies. Is everybody devoid of common sense? I gnash my teeth as the carriage climbs the small hill and we come in view of the manor''s owners, apparently warned of our presence. "Come in, come in, gentlemen, and lady! I, Rufus Abernathy, would like to formally welcome you to my humble abode." The man who addresses us is in his fifties with carefully combed silver hair and an aristocratic face. He is clean shaven but for a small mustache and dark eyes. His prestance and charisma are impressive and are reinforced by a fetching tweed ensemble. I feel myself warming to his presence despite an inkling of what he is. He introduces his wife Maria, a portly woman with an astoundingly good skin. Her black hair is held in a severe bun, but her smile is warm and welcoming. Those people are good. They really look the part of the kind and welcoming hosts. They smell a little bit wrong, however, particularly the woman. There is something acid and altogether unpleasant about her smell. It is not rot or any disease I can think of. Odd. "You are too kind sir, and we apologize for coming here unannounced. We were set upon by a dreadful storm and I was afraid we would have to spend the night outside, if you would imagine!" We follow our host through a grand entrance and up a set of stairs to corridors painted white. The furniture is a bit crude but the ground is spotless. We do not meet anyone on the way and I suspect it is not due to the late hour. My hearing confirms that this place is mostly empty. It is a fa?ade. Abernathy leads us into a large smoking room. Several leather couches surround a coffee table while the walls are covered with books and maps. The smell of cold cigar and alcohol is prevalent, it makes me suspect that this is used as a meeting room of sort. The number of seats hint at five or six people and I presume that the cult''s leadership may include people we haven''t met yet. After a short exchange of niceties, Bingle tells our cover story in a performance I judge passable while I do my best to ignore lady Abernathy''s inspection of my appearance. I pretend not to notice, and play the tired and reserved niece until her attention switches to Loth. Free of scrutiny, I examine our surroundings. There is nothing untoward here. No scent of blood or corpse, no suspicious sounds. Were it not for the strange stench emanating from the woman at my side, I could have closed my eyes and imagined being back in New Orleans. With the niceties out of the way, our host finally hits his stride, much to my dismay. "America was meant to be a land of opportunity and so it was for a short while, but man needs to rule and be ruled and now states and governments spread everywhere to bring order to what they perceive as chaos but in the end is just what Rousseau would say is the state of nature." "Rousseau assumed Man to be good at heart, however..." answers Loth. "Ah, a fellow philosopher? Would you not agree that..." And so they go on. Bingle who I suspect does not care the least about the enlightened philosopher and would prefer to treat every Frenchman as if they were the devil himself pouts in silence. It seems that not being the center of attention is an uncomfortable and unfamiliar feeling for our brave gentleman. I, however, pray that they finish their pointless conversation with commendable haste, or else... To my chagrin, Abernathy keeps on leading the conversation in the tried and true method which consists in asking a question, pretending to listen, and then saying what you wanted to say to begin with. Now he has "masterfully" led us to where he wanted to be and starts his main point as tea is served by a shy maid. "We who traveled across the ocean to this place have brought with us chains. Those chains I speak of are chains of the mind. We still worship what we should study and pray to what we should strive to understand. The judgement of others stirs the direction in which we..." Yadda yadda yadda I deem myself a scientist and ethical concerns hold me back. I get it. Abernathy now leans forward with a mad glint in his eye, his slight frame animated by the manic energy of the fanatic. "You do not seem to agree, Miss Delaney." I should have better schooled my expression. This pretentious fop is dancing a waltz on my already frayed nerve. Should I play the dumb blond? Should I throw Aristotles in the fragile construct of his theory? Should I START KILLING. ENOUGH GAMES. "Mr. Abernathy, the road has been long and tiring..." "Yes darling," adds his wife who had been standing there like a scarecrow, "we of the fairer sex have little taste for those grand endeavors, let me take care of the young Lady while you men remake the world." "A fair point, I wouldn''t want to... overtax you." Jerk. I stand and bow stiffly. Yes, a breath of fresh air and a drink is exactly what I need right now. "Take good care of yourself niece, we shall see you again later." Yes don''t worry old man I shall take really good care of myself, indulge even. The mistress of the house holds my hand and drags me out in the corridor and deeper into the mansion, which I will tolerate without severing it from the rest of her arm nail after nail, knuckle after knuckle, because I am patient and perfectly in control. After a while, we enter a small tearoom with a roaring fire and decoration in shades of red and white, to no one''s surprise. A woman in a maid uniform is stirring a log with a cast iron poker. "My, your hand is freezing. How about some tea?" "I would appreciate something hot to drink, Mrs. Abernathy." "Excellent. Rose, please give her a cup, my house blend." The maid nods silently. While the water boils, I notice that she has the same wrong smell as her employer, and she''s almost paralyzed by anxiety. "You must forgive my husband. Ah, those men, always remaking the universe from the comfort of their seats while we toil to make the world around us better through action. I must confess that all those talks about ethics are going over my head!" "Indeed?" I could suggest that she read the classics, starting with Socrates. I remember fighting with Achille, stating that we should act in accordance with virtue, not with what seems the most convenient at the time. I remember him telling me women did not understand such things. I remember informing him this was taken directly from Aristotle''s Nicomachean ethics. I remember him mumbling something. I remember needling him about it for a whole week. Good times. It doesn''t matter. We are on opposite sides of the conflict. I feel no need to advise someone I may have to kill. I do not have the patience. We exchange a few platitudes until the maid comes and serves me tea. I bring the cup to my lips and take a deep breath in. Essence of laudanum. A very powerful anesthetic. A single gulp would have sent me to dreamland for the next few hours. I raise my eyes to Mrs. Abernathy. I will not consider this oath-breaking because we are already hostile. This is more ruse or.... Huh? What?! I watch, astonished as Rose swings the iron poker with all her might and crashes it against the mistress of the house''s temple. I hear a wet crunch and the woman falls like a puppet with its strings cut. Huh. Wow. She''s dead. The maid killed her employer in front of me. Finally, something amusing. "Ssssh! Please do not scream," she whispers "I mean you no harm!" Miss, that would work better if you were not waving that red-tinged poker around? Common sense? Nevermind, let me just nod. "Please do not drink the tea, as it is poisoned. I apologize for this, but we must speak at all costs. Your companions and you are in grave danger! This place is not what it seems. It is a den of sin and iniquity of the most grievous sort! I beg of you, escape this place and take me with you!" I turn to the corpse of my deceitful host. The blood dripping from her temple and nose smells abominable. It is not disease or a spell but something tainted and abject. I feel as if someone had taken a painter''s masterpiece and covered it in feces. I am beyond disgusted. I will never, ever partake of it. I look at the maid. She is a tall and sturdy girl and the loose uniform barely hides her well-endowed figure. Her face has a kind of honest beauty to it. I would think her smart but guileless. This sudden murder is rather unexpected. Alarmingly, she has the same revolting smell as her former employer. I knew it. I should have fed from Dalton. Why did I wait? Gah. So Thirsty... "She is in on this conspiracy. Please, I know you must be alarmed and that this is difficult to accept but you must believe me! Those people here, Abernathy, everyone! They kidnap settlers and then they... They.... Snif. God as my witness you are my only chance. We must save your friends and escape!" I need to find them, and I need to find Dalton. "We expected this. We are looking for someone who was abducted." "Wait. You knew? And you still came?! The three of you?!" "We, ah, underestimated the size of the group." "There is almost a hundred people on the compound! Fighting is folly!" "It is too late now. Let us meet up with the others and at least get our gear back. We can discuss a plan then." "Right, quickly before she wakes up." She says. Huh... If she wakes up from that she can start her own religion. Nevermind, I should not mention it now. There is no reason to risk her turning hysterical. That would be the last thing I need. The first thing I need is blood, and quickly. "Lead the way back to the salon. With any luck they are still listening to Abernathy''s disjointed rant so my uncle and his friend can overwhelm him." I grab the late mistress under her shoulder and pull her behind a couch, then I cover her with a table sheet while trying to ignore the smell of excrement. When I return to Rose, she is staring at me warily. Ah yes, I was supposed to be the brainless blonde. "Ah, you are more, hm, resourceful than I thought." "I came prepared, although not prepared for this. You surprised me." "I...I suppose. I shall lead the way! Stay behind me and all should be well. Yes." We walk back through an empty corridor. Yes, I remember. Now we go right and... sea??h th§× Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. I hold Rose back as she is about to turn and pull her towards me. She looks at me in confusion until I hold a finger in front of my lips and point towards our destination. We peek across the corner. A large group of very burly men is dragging two struggling shapes to parts unknown. There goes the team. I knew this was a stupid idea from the beginning! I should never, NEVER HAD AGREED. PATHETIC HUNTERS. BUFFOONS. Alright. Calm. Enough. Loth has probably decided to play along and he is counting on me to drink, I mean to save him later. Alright. I can''t just go in and DROWN THE PLACE IN TAINTED BLOOD, HOW DARE THEY. ROACHES. MONGRELS. Yes. Yes yes yes fine, I shall wait. I shall rescue them the old-fashioned way, with dumb luck and outrageous plans that should not work. "Nooooo we are too late! What should we do?!" My unfortunate companion whispers. "Calm down. Do you know where they are taken?" "Yes. Yes I do, all the prisoners are held in cells inside the mountain." Inside the mountain?! What is this?! Shakespeare''s Tempest? Will I meet queen Mab and Puck? Gah. This is all Bingle''s fault! Him and his stupid fate magic! "Can you lead me there?" "Yes I was held there before I... before I joined them." She shivers. "There will be guards and other people on the way." "We need weapons and we need a disguise. Weapons first. Do you know where they took the carriage?" "I do, near the stables and the pens. Follow me!" Chapter 23 - 23. Into the Heart I trail Rose through a set of doors and smaller stairs. We do not come across anyone and soon reach a side of the manor. In front of me stand the stables and in the distance, I can see a few barns of great size, possibly home to over a hundred beasts. More houses rise around interspersed with trees. After a quick glance to the Silent Watcher for serenity and good luck, I order Rose to walk ahead while I stealthily move after her. My guide only crosses path with a patrol of two burly men walking around before we reach our destination. I easily avoid them by sticking to the shadows. There is something wrong with them that I had not noticed on the gate guards. They carry the same smell as lady Abernathy, only stronger. There is something too mechanical about their steps and their skin is too smooth for outdoor people. Their vigilance is also terribly lacking. It is not due to overconfidence or laziness, rather, their eyes are fixed in front of them with a strange focus instead of roaming around like proper scouts, seeing nothing and everything at once. All my instincts scream not in fear, but in outrage. This is more than blood wasted, the people here have desecrated that which should have remained untouched, for the good of everyone. I need to get to the bottom of this and stop it, even if it means revealing what I am. We enter the stable in total silence. Once more I grab Rose. "Shhh, do you smell this?" "Smell what?" "Blood and death." The woman moves in the darkness with a lack of concern I find both admirable and stupid. A moment later, she bumps into a prone body and falls with a most unladylike epithet. "Perhaps this will help?" I add as I light a lantern. "Ah, hum, of course, silly me. I just¡­. Wanted to be inconspicuous, in case¡­ Lord above!" Inconspicuous? You opened the door like a drunk octogenarian, fumbled like a gravid hippopotamus and managed to fall heel over head? You are as inconspicuous as an eight-month pregnancy, you undrinkable daft sow. Let me just kill every last person here besides Loth, set everything on fire, then sod off. Gah. "Somebody is dead! Oh my God! There is blood everywhere!" I help the woman stand up and make sure she doesn''t get blood on the white part of her dress. The lantern''s light falls on the remains of a burly man. He had his throat slit. Whoever did it left nothing to chance. The wound is so deep his head is half-detached. I move the lantern to the open door of the carriage, and another door opposite us. Another guard lies dead against it. The front of his chest is a mangled mess of shredded fabric and gaping puncture wounds. He was stabbed with incredible savagery. Dalton. I cannot pick the scent of pure blood, not even a hint. A quick look in the carriage confirms that our conventional weaponry is gone. He made it out with our guns. I choose to believe he will fulfill his part but this display of absurd violence makes me¡­ PROUD. COMPETENT VASSAL. DUTIFUL. CUNNING. WILL REWARD. Oh no no no no no dear instincts of mine, let us not get carried away. This is a good point however¡­ Ah, later. "Our weapons are gone, and so is our ally, we must¡­" Rose is looking quite green around the gills. Perhaps throwing up will make her feel better? "Rose?" "My, My God¡­ All this blood. And¡­ Those people are." I rotate the woman and stare into her eyes. "Rose, I know you are unaccustomed to violence and this is hard to take, but now I need you to focus. We are still very much in danger. I need you to help me find the others, so we can all leave together." "I¡­ I don''t want to go back there. They dragged me in after they raided our caravan¡­ I did not want to, but I drunk the¡­ Jesus¡­" "You drank what? Blood?" She gasps. "How did you know!?" "It is standard for a cult. They do this to make you feel bad, to make you feel like you do not deserve to be saved, but redemption does not depend on them now does it?" "No, no indeed, it depends on the will of God. I¡­ I will not let them win! I will be redeemed, once we find and save the others. If I turn away now, I will never forgive myself!" There, it worked. "Oh, miss Ariane, you are so strong and courageous. How I wish I could be like you!" "Shhh, you are more courageous than you know Rose. You fought their influence alone, and you saved me from the poison. Use this iron will of yours, for the night is not done. Are you with me?" "Yes, by God, yes. I shall show you the way." Gah, finally. Why do all my motivational talks make the others think of God? I assure you, he was not included in the making of me. After drying her tears, my guide raises herself to her full height, takes a deep breath and we step outside. I follow Rose through paths and thickets to the edge of the mountain, until I see it. If the estate itself has already been impressive, this goes beyond my expectations. Two torches sit in a small clearing with a stone path leading to an impressive gate into the very rock. I am reminded of the vampire fortress access to the underground structure, so grandiose and unexpected the view is. Three guards stand with muskets and torches around it. There will be no sneaking in, at all. "I need a disguise." "Oh, yes, that would be better. Hum, I know!" I follow her back. The cult''s quarters are not only barracks as I had assumed. The women have their own personal sheds. I assume that Abernathy drags the choice morsels to one of his opulent bedrooms when the urge takes him, so the sheds are meant to provide intimacy for lieutenants. That brings all of them in the rapist category. There is no consent when the alternative is death. We find an unlocked door which Rose pushes open. "This used to belong to Sophia but she... She disappeared shortly after I got inducted." Guilt mars her expression before she regains control. She does have a good heart. As for the dearly departed Sophia, I do not doubt that she was set as an example. I do not believe for a moment that Abernathy believes in the sanctity of human lives. In short order, I put on a maid uniform. It is a bit tight around the hips as usual. It will be a pain to move in. We clean up and reach the gate once more. There are four sentinels this time, all alert. Most of them wear a dull brown overcoat except one. He is wearing all white and radiates arrogance. Behind me, I can hear shouts and the barks of dogs. It appears that someone kicked the hornet''s nest. Rose leads the way and I smell tainted blood. A drying pool of respectable size was spilled to the door''s right. Four pairs of eyes follow us and when we arrive, one of the men interrupts us. "And what are you doing here, Rose?" "We carry a message for the jailers. Let us through." "Do you, now? And why are you the one to carry this message? Should it not be a guard as usual?" I smell fear from her. She is about to falter. As expected, she is not one for deceit. "All the guards are covering the ground so they can flush out the intruders, sir." Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. The man turns to me and raises an eyebrow. His eyes roam over my body with a complete lack of decency. He might be clean and tidy, but there is something twisted about him that reminds me of the Lancaster. Malice backed by cunning. "Hmm. And who might you be?" "Ari sir, I... I... drank yesterday." The man is more alert and careful than all the others put together. I put out my best act. I lower my head in embarrassment. I am the newcomer, not quite yet indoctrinated. I feel fingers reaching for my chin. MAIM GUT KILL. No, later, he is no threat to me. I can kill him when I want. He lifts my face. I keep my eyes lowered so he doesn''t see the fury in them. "You do have the pure skin..." "Leonard! This is not the time for your games!" Rose came to my defense. "Of course, I will see you two... later." Rose grabs my hand. We rush up some stupid stairs. Breathe in, breathe out. I can do it. Everything is under control. I will free the stumbling idiots then TEAR LIMB RIP HEAD PULL INNARDS. "Hsss" "Miss Ariane?" "... Nothing." Can''t look up now. Silent Watcher hidden. Must focus. Rose quietly guides me up a massive central staircase and then through a big side door. The two men guarding it let us pass without a word. I smell Dalton''s blood. Not enough to kill him. Soooo intoxicating. Why did I ever refuse him? He shall be rewarded for his efforts, I will bless him with my kiss. A proper vassal. Yes, I will do all of that. The passage we take is much darker than the previous one. The stone is rough and sparsely lit by torches. We follow it to yet another door, without guard this time. I get in to the sound of flesh hitting flesh. We stand in an antechamber. It is a guard post of sorts, with chairs, a rough wooden table with a deck of cards and a rack holding rifles and crude sabers. A pistol was left unattended and its handle bears the enticing smell of Dalton''s blood. Light shines through an opening leading to a well-lit chamber ahead. I hold Rose and take a moment to lock the door with a set of keys next to it, which I then hide in a barrel. I open the firing mechanism of every musket I find and let the powder drop on the ground. After I am done, we cross the threshold. This is a large guards room, mostly devoid of furniture but for chests and table set against the wall. Five men are gathered in a circle kicking the prostrated form of Dalton. No, HE IS MINE TO DISPOSE OF AS I WISH. "Gentlemen? Excuse me? Hello?" The group slows the beating. They blink and look at us like people waking up from sleep. It seems that most guards lack something essential, a sense of self perhaps. They are just too passive. A bit like... Drones. "We are here to see the prisoners. One of you will lead us to them. Now." I sense resistance. They are still human, and I do not fit into the category of people who can give them orders. They stir. "We were sent by the Master himself. Do not waste his time." I back the claim by the barest hint of suggestion. I focus on the one who seems most alert. "Fair enough. Philips, you show them our guests. The rest of you back to your post. And you Wallace, take the boy to a cell." Wallace and Philips move and open the reinforced door opposite the entrance with the grace and energy I associate with ruminants. We follow them inside a narrow corridor lined with cells. I close the door behind us which makes Rose look at me with worry, and catch up to the group. I bypass the girl and lift a truncheon from Wallace''s belt. He does not notice. Wallace drags Dalton''s unconscious form inside one of the dark rooms. It takes all my self-control not to follow them. The VASSAL NEEDS US. PROTECT THEN CONSUME. No, I shall stick to my plan. Philips leads us to the very last cell. As the door clanks open, I smash the truncheon in his neck with far too much strength. The noise is covered by the whine of the rusty hinge. I pick the key and wordlessly hand it to Rose. There must be something wrong with me because she pales and nods frantically. We pass one another. She stinks. They all do. They do not belong here, on this planet. They need to die. I get in Dalton''s cell at an unhurried pace. The cow-like guard stares dumbly when I get in. He looks surprised when my hand wraps around his trachea. His eyes bulge when I wrench his neck like a chicken''s. I throw the twitching corpse to the side. What have they done to my Vassal? A single liquid eye opens, unfocused. The other is covered by a purple bruise. Blood everywhere. They broke his nose. Thirsty, so Thirsty. He lifts a wounded arm to me. I grab his chain. I pop the collar like a rotten piece of fabric. There is something calm and relaxed in him, a sense of certainty, faith. sea??h th§× Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. I lick the wound on his brow. The blood calls to me. The tear is healed. The Vassal is safer, as it should be. I feel weird, and I feel like I am starving. I need to feed but it will kill him. I don''t want to kill him. He is my Vassal, not cattle. The first one. THE FIRST OF MANY. Somebody enters behind me. Man, Fresh sweat, Cologne. The adventurer. CAN KILL. No, oath break, oath to Loth. Cannot drink friends and business partner. THIRST. HAND REACHING FOR ME. NO RIGHT. TEAR LIMB. "Cecil." "Ah, my apologies, I forgot, Loth. No touching. The boy though¡­" "Let me handle it. She is very fragile. Please wait for us outside, aye?" "Very well my friend, I am sorry." "Not yer fault." Someone steps out. Mountain and steel get closer. Loth. Ally. Oath. Must not KILL. "I''ll help him." Vassal needs help. Ally can offer. I cannot. Not in control. THIRSTY. I nod. Yes, ally. Do it. Mountain and steel leans forward. "I need to get my supplies back. It''s in the guard room. I will be back." "Six little preys, fire sticks neutered. Do not let them run." "I am sorry Ariane..." Stupid, fragile, slow mortals. If Master were here, we could just tear through them and be done. I repeat myself, in English this time. "Six little preys, fire sticks neutered. Do not let them run." "Alright." Stinky woman comes closer. Temporary ally. Still useful. Displays worry, concern, not a threat. Sounds from exit. Fighting. Noisy one making claims, being boisterous. Sounds of flesh beaten and torn. Can feel the silent rage of the mountain and steel. Good. Soon done. Mountain Is back. Applies magic to Vassal''s wound. Stable. Good. "We need ta go. Rose, pick Dalton." "What about miss Ariane?" "She will follow and no matter what, do not touch her, aye?" "Yes, sir." The stinky woman picks up the Vassal with reverence. Care. Only stinky, still useful. Tolerate for now. Cannot touch Vassal. Could kill. Follow through doors, bowels of rock. Stinky woman guides from behind. Reach vast staircase. Go up. Hear sounds. Go left. Close access. They go up. I follow, I do not follow. Something in the way. Metal bars with Silver thingie. Magic. "Ari, look at me." Says steel and mountain. I do. "You need to go back and hide before they find us. We triggered the alarm. Try to hide. We''ll come back for you alright? You need to make it out." I nod. Try to hide. THIRST. They leave. Know where to hide. Up. Climb up, one hand, one foot on each wall. Hidden. Wait. Men come in. A dozen. Torches. A dog whimpers. Three of them are dressed in white, the other ten or so, in brown. The dog panics. Two of the white ones are arguing. Dog tries to run. One of the white ones frowns. Sniffs the air. Brows raise. It looks up. It sees me. It smiles. I am no longer hidden. Something bumps against my chin. It is a pendant. I know it. Inside there is a note stained by tear. It says this: "I love you, remember your promise." I cannot die before my father. I made the oath. "Well my pretty, let''s get you down." There are no witnesses here. Only the stinky ones and my oath. "HSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS." "Ah, SHIT!" I drop. Beautiful patterns in shades and strands. Pure red, stained beyond measure, both holy and blasphemous. I can hear them sing. They long to be free. I have ten needles and eight knives. The eight knives cannot do. They, too, are holy. The needles are used for dirty work, like now. Patterns flow free and pure. Other patterns fall towards me, they want to stop the dance but cannot. The dance is alive with the song of the night, the purity of the Hunt. Brown canvas falls quickly, the white canvas leave so that they are the head of the painting. It is alright, they are leading me to something greater. I go through a neck in the fabric. More brown pieces of canvas join at the shoulders. I follow the three white ones towards the right arm. Some of the canvas use faster and noisier patterns and one of them bites into me. It does not hurt much, but a little of the precious liquid is lost. My own ink. It calls for more, too concentrated. Strong but tired. I need more so that I can keep painting. More canvas is unmade as potential and made as fleeting perfection. Their strands blow like stars and bouquets, beautiful and rotten. The three go to another neck. I follow, there is no more brown canvas. I enter a room. A circle on the ground. Yet another canvas stands with the three others. This one is untainted. I can get more ink! I move forward and the circle comes alive. Patterns of silver block my way. Impregnable. I am trapped? Keep pushing the pattern until I¡­ NO! Hurts hurts hurts hurts dammit. So Thirsty so Thirsty cannot take it anymore. Never since Moore¡­ Alright, need to focus. "I knew your kind would show up. Your arrogance and selfishness know no bounds. You try to keep the secrets of immortality to yourselves! But you will not triumph, oh no, this is a new world and a new century. A time of science and enlightenment. No longer will your powers be in the hands of the few. I shall usher in a New Age of¡­" Breathe in breathe out breathe in breathe out. Push the pain away from the core. Think. Instincts will not help here. I am inside of a magic circle. I am trapped. But not all is lost. Loth taught me the basics of magic and I know what I can do to escape. Magic requires three things: power, symbolism, and will. The power feeds magic in the working. Symbolism is the core of the working. Symbols are used to translate power into concepts. Mages use runes, bones, dice, and so on to give a frame, boundaries. Will shapes the meaning and unleashes it upon the real world. Thus is intent made manifest and reality is altered. I do not have Power; therefore I cannot cast spells. Loth mentioned that old vampires can use blood magic but this is an impossibility for me. I cannot counter the spell. I cannot stop the power, nor the will. I can, however, ruin the symbols. I slowly grab Jimena''s gift from a holster against my thigh. Everything hurts. I can''t even stand straight, so intense is the pain in my guts. I look at the circle. I recognize the runes. Western Standard. All mages from Europe use it, with minimal variation. There should be. There. The rune for Ulz, containment. I stab towards it. "AAAAAAAAAAHHHH" Burns, Skin scalded but "containment" rune is now "understanding" rune. The circle flickers. The man stops talking. Need one more. Change hand. Find another Ulz. Stab. "AAaahhhhahah" Dry sobs, Other hand hurts. Firesticks roar and something punches me in the left arm, something else in my breast. I cough blood. Arm dangles. Dagger fallen. Pick up with other arm. I walk forward, too wounded to run, too weak to move. A man in white is too stunned. Slit throat. Tainted blood. Need the leader. Another man jumps at me. "Fire Whip!" I swipe where I know the spell will lash. Easy to predict. The man falters. I stab him. I keep moving. Leader back against the wall. Cannot fight anymore¡­ Barely enough strength to¡­ "Noooo stay away!" Nasty dagger aimed at my chest. Cannot block. Need to take and bite at the same time. Thock Mind pops like a bubble. ¡­Huh? I fall. Dark red blood spills on the ground. Thoughts... Broken... Huh? Exhaustion. Darkness. Chapter 24 - 24. Valor "¡­ Potent blood for the experiments, Leonard¡­" "¡­ Over there next to the others, and cover her in chains¡­" "¡­ Costly, but think of the possibilities! She is fully turned; we now have a benchmark¡­" Time passes. Sometimes I move my eyes. There are bricks. Sometimes I hear a sound. People are crying. Sometimes I smell fear and unwashed bodies. And blood. Time passes. I cough. A few droplets flash blue and turn to ash. Time passes. A flake of ash falls from my finger. It won''t be long now. Time passes. Something is traveling underground. When it emerges from the ground, all will be ash. Time passes. It''s cold, and sometimes very hot when I cough, but mostly cold. Time passes. Something grabs me. Pair of brown eyes. Worry, pain, guilt. I close my eyes. "No, Ari, Tyr, Ari, stay with me." "Loth¡­" "Sod off Cecil, she ain''t dead yet. I need privacy. NOW!" Something wet falls on my face. I breathe in. Steel and Mountain. Feels safe. Can go now. "No no no no it''s my bloody fault. Don''t ye dare. Don''t ye fucking dare leave. Alright, alright. No choice you daft old cunt. You brought her here. Now pay the price. Only ye can do it. Right. Right, hold on girl. This old fool got ye." I breathe in something fantastic. Absolutely incredible. Exquisite. I open my eyes, a red wrist. It forcefully parts my cracked lips. The pure liquid seeps on my tongue, drips down my throat. Aaaaahhh Yes. I stand in the middle of a battlefield. Crags and green grass, and the sea beyond. My chest is bare but for blue woad and black hair. A man charges me, shield up. I bury a heavy ax in it. He loses his balance. I pull and he falls forward. My other ax kisses his neck. I roar in laughter and jump to the next warrior. A vast hall. Sturdy men and women drink and make merry. Meat juices flow down my chin and on my beard and that blonde lass keeps reaching between my legs. A grey-bearded man grabs my shoulder and I smile to him. He is so proud and happy. Father, my heart is full. I watch with amusement as that tall brown-haired human screams in outrage at Skeggi. He threatens her with a fist. She upends a bag of manure on his short frame. We all laugh as he runs screaming to the river. Her name is Agna. My feet dig in the mattress. Both my hands grasp the sheet. Agna smiles mischievously and licks her flushed lips. I want to grab her heavy breast, tease those erect nipples yet I do not. She smiles wider, she grabs my arms with her own and lowers her torso, sinuous and sensual. I see the white of her belly, I smell her arousal. Her soft skin brushes mine. Nails drift against my skin. I shiver. Her head is level with my chest. She kisses me lightly. I moan. I do not move. She raises her hips and her mound rubs against my manhood. I feel moist skin and pubic hair made wet by her ardor. I pant with desire and still, I do not move. I close my eyes. Something incredibly soft and wet parts to let me in. She sheathes herself with agonizing slowness. Her sigh of ecstasy tickles my ear. Still, I do not move. She lowers herself to grab more of me. Her hip rolls against mine and I can take it no longer. With a soft growl, I collapse as she laughs and grabs my back. I take a firm cheek with one hand, her graying hair in the other and I move inside her, slow and steady. Soon, her giggles turn to moans and she answers my rhythm with her own, guiding me towards her bliss. We accelerate and tenderness turns to a relentless dance, one we have mastered over the years. I go as deep as I can and her legs twist on my back to lock me in. After a while, we turn frantic and I barely manage to control myself. With a last moan, she rakes my back as her whole body stills. I keep the exact same speed and soon we climax together. Her body spasms as I empty myself inside of her. Our moans of release shake the walls of our home. A minute later, we catch our breath, I roll on my back and she falls asleep on my shoulder. I am safe. I am happy. The last shovelful of black earth leaves the hole. There, that should be deep enough. Someone gouged my chest a day ago and filled it with brine and ice. Agna is dead. The pain I feel cannot be expressed with words, it cannot be expressed with deeds. It is so immense, so incredibly overwhelming, that it covers the entirety of creation and then some. Agna is dead. Her mortality caught up with her. I pick up the covered body and gently lower it. Then I exit the tomb and fill it with earth. I would fill it with gold, diamond and the heads of emperors if she had let me. She wanted good earth and flowers instead, so I plant the flowers, take my bag and leave. I climbed down from the mountain because the clan needs me. Father points me at enemies, and I kill. Father gave me a bride and I married her. I fuck her as well. She does not love me, but she likes the prestige and pleasure I give, I think. My younger brother challenged me today. He and my wife planned a coup. I saw the fear when I took my ax. He knows what I can do. I do not kill him. Instead, I leave. I walk North and take a ship to Greenland, then I start walking. Let them have it if they want it so much. I care not. It is frigid and I am too thin. I munch on the cold fish I caught from the depth. Tasteless. There is land to the South. I am tired of this. I want to travel to a better place, to forget. "Ariane, please, Tyr, answer me." My consciousness rises to the surface. "L¡­ Loth?" "Yes. Yes, I''m here lass. I''m here." I cough a bit. I spit out something sticky and disgusting. I feel a wet cloth clean my mouth. "How are ye feeling," "Hnn¡­As if Asni and the carriage trampled me a dozen times, then left me to dry under the sun." I crack open my eyes. It''s difficult to concentrate. Things come in and out of focus. All sounds come to me distorted. "I¡­ Feel so weak." "Ye''re lucky my blood is potent. I fear¡­. I fear the worst may have happened otherwise. For a fledgling to suffer so much and live¡­ I did not dare hope." I try to lift an arm to my chest but I fail. The left one is bandaged tight and the right one is unusually heavy. "Wow, slow down." "Bandages?" "Ye''re still not fully healed. Yer arm was punched clean through. Ye''re lucky it''s still attached. Ye also got lacerations, burn marks and a bullet through the right lung. And yer heart was stabbed." "I don''t feel Thirsty¡­" "What can I say, I am delicious." We stay silent for a while, then... "I think I need a moment." I feel pain, though less than I should. More than that I feel empty, drained. I know we are probably still in danger but cannot bring myself to care. A little of the apathy I felt earlier still clings to my psyche despite the holes in my chest now being closed. I decide to focus on just breathing, not because I need air, but because it has always helped me settle. I count thirty cycles before I turn my face up to Loth again. "Shouldn''t we be on the move?" "We need some time to organize the prisoners we just freed. The cultists have taken some of them and regrouped higher in the mountain complex. We must prepare before we continue." "How are the others?" "Everybody is fine. Dalton has cracked ribs, nothing too serious. I gave him a tonic and he will be able to function for another four hours, then he will crash down." Loth pauses long enough for me to realize he is considering something. "He found you." "He did?" "Yes. He knew where you went, somehow. You bonded. We will have to discuss this later, in greater detail, when we have time." "Right. Do we have a plan to get out? I cannot fight anymore tonight." "I think you will need a few days to recover, at the very least. Before we discuss a plan I have to ask. What happened? What managed to take you down?" I recount my evening to Loth. He frowns at the mention of tainted blood, raises his eyebrows in surprise when I mention that there are two mages left, and shows barely restrained anger when I share my pain. "There, you have it. I expect that there are at least twenty more guards, fifteen tops if they did not pull back from the property grounds. The two mages are also a problem." "Yer immense Thirst almost killed ye because I did not anticipate this¡­" "You could not¡­" This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. "Do not make excuses fer me, young one. I brought you on my raid and ye almost starved. This is my failure, and I will reflect on it when we are done here. As for the plan, I will explain when everyone is ready." I finally take the time to look around. We stand in the middle of a vast, rectangular room with a single wide door. Chains are attached to the bare stone wall at regular intervals. Most are empty, but some still hold captives. As I watch, Bingle and Dalton walk around to free prisoners. They are a sorry lot, thin and weakened, but most look angry and eager for revenge. A small group of women stands near the exit huddling together protectively. Every one of them is pale and filthy. The cell has a rancid stench of unwashed bodies, old sweat, and excrement. "Maybe we should¡­" "Let''s wait for a while. When we found ye, ye looked like a corpse. I thought¡­ Nevermind that lass. Just give it one more minute. Ye''re already haler." Hale? A vampire? I begin to protest, however, I realize that I do not want to move. I am warm here, and safe. Just five more minutes, then I will stand up. "Mmmrglm?" "Sorry Ari, we gotta go now. Come on." Loth hoists me up and drags me to the rest of the group. I can barely put one foot in front of the other. Two women I do not know rush to take me under the armpit. "We thought you were dead miss." "I thought I was dead too." I close my eyes for a while until I hear someone clearing their throat. I look up to see Bingle''s worried face. "Miss Delaney, I cannot express how sorry I am to see you in this state. I failed to protect you. My shame knows no bounds." "Do not fret good sir, if you recall, this was my decision to put myself in harm''s way." "And I remember recommending against it, and if you had followed my recommendation, I would be currently rotting in a cell and awaiting a fate most cruel. You saved my life twice tonight, miss Delaney, when you braved those corridors to free me, and when you sabotaged our jailor''s muskets. I shall never forget it. You have my word as a Bingle!" "Ah, I thank you for your gratitude, and yet I cannot accept it, for are we not saving each other? In the face of such evil, can good souls do else but to rise up to the challenge?" "Well said, I say, well said! By Jove, what a loss it is for the armed forces that you were born a woman! I am most blessed to have met people such as you and Loth!" "Thank you, Mr. Bingle. Now, I dare not ask, but did you find Mrs. Schaffer?" Ah, I should not have asked. How very tactless of me. "Alas no. But I do not despair! There are still captives to be saved, and if not, I shall find a trace of her passage. I shall not grieve, nor relent until the light is shed on her fate, whatever it may be." There is something chivalrous about this man, an indomitable will to fight with the belief that in the end, Good will triumph. Behind all the boisterous claims and bombastic sentences, Bingle has courage, honor, and compassion. I think he was born in the wrong time, that he should have been a knight riding fearlessly in the defense of the innocents. This anachronism makes him sympathetic and his friend''s certain death all the more tragic. "We can but hope." "Indeed. Now I shall address this crowd and then we will set out to end this menace once and for all." "Do you think it wise, sir? Many of those men are weakened." "Yes miss Delaney, for where you see sheep, I see starving wolves, and they shall be led by a lion." With this "optimistic" statement, Bingle calls for anyone''s attention and we gather in a small crowd facing Loth and him. "Ladies and Gentlemen, it is good that we were able to release you from the clutch of those faithless heathens, those worshippers of idols and devilry! Yet our task is not done. Although it is my fondest wish to see you all depart this forsaken place safely, I must ask, nay, beg you for assistance. Indeed, there is still a hurdle on the road to freedom! Our enemies stand strong and we are still in the black heart of their keep. I cannot prevail alone, and I find myself compelled to call on you brave souls for help. I know that your burden was great. You traveled West to find a new life, safe from starvation, oppression, tyranny! And on the cusp of success, succor was stolen from you by the most horrid of foes! Your pains are great and you have lost friends and family, and yet you still stand before me! Undaunted and unbroken!" "Yea!" "Hear hear!" "Those hateful curs thought you an easy take, but settlers are made of stern stuff and they shall regret ever laying their filthy hands on you!" "Aye!" "And I ask you, my brothers and sisters in arms, will we allow this injustice to continue? Will we bend the knees like pigs to be slaughtered? Will we forfeit our dignity?" "Nay!" "Indeed not! For our hearts cry for justice and the righteous glory of the Lord! We shall not surrender, we shall overcome, and may God have mercy on their souls!" "YEAAAAAAH!" I watch mesmerized as Bingle works the crowd. I finally realize why he is so convincing, it is because he is convinced himself. His eyes shine with emotion, his face is reddened with passion. He truly believes this motley crew capable of defeating two dozen well-armed guards, and he will personally lead them into battle. As the yells of fury die down, Bingle asks for everyone''s attention as Loth walks to a wall where he draws a map with white chalk. "The cultists have gathered in their ceremony room. It is a vast open cavern leading to a sheer cliff. It could easily hold two hundred people. We expect the cultist head to be at the altar which is situated in the middle of the cave and close to the edge. There is a main entrance that will undoubtedly be guarded; however, we have found an alternate way. On one side, the cave wall rises to an elevated platform from whence lady Abernathy could watch the proceedings. There is a very small corridor that leads to this platform and we shall take it. We will distribute muskets shortly. The best marksmen will stay on the elevation to provide covering fire while the bulk of us will jump down and engage the guards. Sir Bingle is volunteering to lead the attack himself." With the leader dead, the drones will be affected. I need to make sure it happens sooner rather than later. There are no questions. Loth and Bingle distribute weapons taken from guards. There are truncheons, the odd saber, and a few old muskets. I would be worried if our opponents were not in the same situation. Rose and the men lead the way out and I notice Dalton standing guard outside. He joins me when he sees me. "Thank you, friends, I think I can stand now." The two women let me go with a nod and a knowing smile. Dalton silently hands me my pistol, some ammunition and one of my throwing knives. "There you go, Mistress." In his eyes, I find the same tranquil faith, the same blind acceptance as before. I find it hard to reconcile this peaceful demeanor with the mangled corpse of the stable''s sentinel, its chest turned to ruin by relentless stabbings. It finally occurs to me that Dalton would make an excellent vampire. There is, of course, no way for me to turn him into one. I can still keep him as a vassal. "Do you understand the choice you have made? You are bound to me now." "I told you the night we met. I will never betray you and I know where to go." I turn away, unable to face him any longer. I do not want the responsibility of another person¡­ Or do I? It is only suitable for me to have a Vassal. With him, I can easily hunt bounties, purchase lands, sign contracts¡­ The possibilities are endless. "There is much I can accomplish with you." "Yes, Mistress¡­" I can already imagine it. We would track our quarry, then Dalton could handle the authorities while I snack. I would not even have to go into Partridge''s house anymore! No more will I have to face tasteless Christian imagery! This is great! "Are you feeling better Mistress?" "Hum? Oh, I can walk but I cannot fight. You will have to do without me." "Not to worry Mistress. I believe your ¡­ Uncle¡­ has reached the end of his patience." We silently move up a set of stairs, down dark alleys and corridors interspersed with storage rooms and studies. We do not meet anyone on the way and the silence is only broken by footsteps and tired breathing. We finally stop while inside a particularly dark and twisted passage and instructions roll down the line in frantic whispers. "We''re there, keep silent and wait for the signal before attacking." What kind of signal would that be anyway? Bingle never said. Was he really an officer of his Majesty''s army? This is amateurish, I believe. Little by little, the group enters a monumental cave. We stand on an elevated balcony with a low stone parapet. Below us, the cavern extends in every direction. Illumination is provided by iron candelabra suspended here and there. The reddish light of torches reflects on the sheer rock with an ominous glint. A natural opening into the side of the cliff on our left only shows the night''s cloudy sky while on our right, the cave ends up in a massive set of doors. Our target stands in the center, surrounded by braziers and armed goons. He holds a chalice over a white altar and as we watch, a captive is dragged to its marble surface to be secured with bindings. A group of prisoners is kneeling beside, waiting for their turn. My senses are coming back and even from here, I can tell that the stench I smelled in everyone comes from what this chalice contains. The fact that I am not shaking with fury is a testament to how weakened I am. Now we just have to get in position while they are focused on making this victim drink¡­ "YOU HAVE SHED BLOOD FOR THE LAST TIME FOUL FIEND! HAVE AT THEM LADS, FOR KING AND COUNTRY! CHAAAAAAAAARGE!!!" Bingle grabs one of the ropes that secures a candelabra and cuts it at the base. As the implement falls on the head of an unfortunate goon, he is propelled forward and up, lands feet first on another guard''s chest and rushes the cult head with a furious yell. At the same moment, Loth bellows a deafening roar that washes over the cave as he jumps down and crashes against a hastily drawn line of opponents. They are sent flying like ragdolls before his fury. A second later, the rest of the men reach him and lay into their enemies with vicious enthusiasm. So... That was the signal. Huh. Sear?h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. I turn to Dalton and remember to close my mouth. "Did he just?!" "It''s been like that for the whole evening, Mistress." My consternation is interrupted when the gates slam open and another squad of guards comes to the help of their beleaguered allies. They are led by a man in white: the surviving mage, Leonard. "Over there!" I scream. The musket team was hesitant to shoot at the melee, but the newcomers are exposed and close enough to be easy targets for even an inexperienced marksman. The sounds of detonations and the smell of powder soon fill the air as both groups exchange shots. Two guards soon fall but on our side, one man falls back clutching the ruins of his left hand. "Let me!" A burly woman grabs the fallen combatant''s gun while a few others pull him to safety. She reloads with expertise and a few seconds later, yet another guard collapses with a smoking hole in his chest. Seeing that our cover advantage is too great, the mage orders his troop behind him and rushes our position. The balcony is on a slope which means that they will reach us too easily. "Shield!" Two lead bullets crash uselessly against a transparent barrier to our side''s consternation. "Sorcery!" "Keep firing!" I push myself against the wall and Dalton kneels against the parapet. An instant later, five guards led by a furious Leonard jump on the landing and push the men back. I notice Jimena''s knife on his belt. Oh no he didn''t. With a vicious smile, he raises his gauntlet to the fallen shooters and panicked women. "You should have stayed in your cages." That''s when I shoot him. The bullet goes cleanly through his skull and covers his neighbor in brain matter. He should have kept his shield up and his grimy paws off my precious knife. Hah. The drones turn to me and charge. I move to the side and collapse instantly with a hiss of pain. I watch powerless as a guard raises his truncheon. This is going to hurt. Dalton jumps on the foe''s back and stabs him like a madman, my enemy falls with a yelp of pain. Our men regroup and charge back but I watch, powerless, as a second guard raises his truncheon. No escaping it this time, this is going to hurt. "Lady Delaney showed us the way! YAAAAAAA!" A massive woman in a white bonnet and the clothes of a baker smashes into the goon with the power of a freight train. I can hear the "oof" as air leaves his lungs and the crack of bones when she pins him into the wall like an ugly butterfly. With a deafening shriek, the rest of the women slam into the beleaguered guards with terrifying fury, overwhelming them in seconds. Goons are pummeled into the ground with boots, stones, and white-hot rage. I can scarcely believe my eyes. Not even the Gauntlet displayed this magnitude of unleashed violence. I stand up, pick up my blade and walk from group to group, delivering a jab when the guard is still moving a bit and in short order our victory is total. Below us, the fight is also taking a turn for the better. Our side would have been losing were it not for Loth of Skoragg. Suffice to say, the man has had enough. I can only imagine that following Bingle on his silly adventure has frayed his nerves. He is currently right where he wants to be: in the thick of battle. As I watch, he grabs the neck of an enemy who was about to kill one of our own and throws him in the feet of another. He then dodges a club and punches his assailant in the face, breaking his nose. As the man raises his hands to his face with a cry of pain, Loth gives him a gut punch of such strength that his opponent''s feet lift off the ground, then kicks him in the head. The guard flies back into one of his partners. Half of his teeth stay where they are. I know for a fact that he can kill more efficiently. He is just letting off steam. Men, I swear. My attention turns to Bingle who seems to be in a bit of a predicament. The cultist leader is harrying him with a fire whip spell which he manages to deflect with his saber. Unfortunately, Abernathy manages to snag the blade and tear it out of his hand. Bingle stumbles and Abernathy uses this opening to use a push spell. Our adventurer is propelled against the altar and I can tell he is in pain. I turn around and urge the nearest marksman to look at the leader and shoot him. It is already clear that I will be too late. "You are blinded by your ignorance, fool!" screams Abernathy hysterically. "It is you who cannot see." retorts Bingle as he throws the cult''s blood chalice. His opponent is caught off guard and although he stops the goblet with his arm, its contents splash over his face. Bingle ignores his distressed screams to jump back into the fray. He grabs his blade and puts an end to his vile foe. The rest of the cultists still fight to the bitter end, but they are disheartened and without a head to think for them, they only offer us token resistance. In short order, we stand victorious. It is finally over. People cheer and jeer, hug and cry. Bingle walks under the acclamation of the mass. His clothes are singed, he is hurt and tired and yet there is a spring in his step as he walks triumphant from group to group, shaking hands and patting shoulders. Dalton and I gather the wounded and bring them to Loth who sets up a temporary infirmary. There is a lull of activity when everyone catches their breath and I use this opportunity to approach the mouth of the cave. Finally, a reprieve. It is at this moment that I regret never learning how to draw. The land lays before me for miles in so many valleys and plains. The mountain range extends to my right at a sharp angle and the sky is enormous, almost overbearing. The presence of the Silent Watcher greets me with its now-familiar light. A fresh breeze blows inside the cavern, making the light dance. It brings with it untainted air, and something else. I turn my gaze to the right when I smell something tantalizing. The perfume is gone as fast as it appeared. Stairs are going up along the cliff. "This leads to the sanctum, Miss Delaney." Says Rose as she walks to me. "We need to explore it, make sure we did not miss anything and destroy the research." "Are you sure? I mean..." "Yes, I am sure." I leave the entrance with regret, but I have no choice. The sun will rise in less than four hours and I need to prepare for it. We gather and it is decided that Bingle, Dalton and I will go up while Loth stays with the rest to look after the wounded and protect the group. "Don''t worry lass I''ll take a look later." We set out. Chapter 25 - 25. The Source Stairs have been dug into the side of the mountain and railings placed at strategic positions. It does not help, I feel like I am a trespasser in a place that should have remained untamed and untouched. We quickly reach a small landing. Nestled between two planes of the mountain is a shack. It is little more than a shelter and when we enter, I notice that it can barely contain all three of us. A cot and cupboard have been pushed against the farthest wall. Most of the single floor is covered with an alchemy kit and a desk covered in paper. I let the men walk around and quickly find what I knew would be there: a research journal. The tome is hefty so I mostly glance through. The cult leader''s writing is methodical and more importantly, it is not coded, therefore my reading is quick and unimpeded. I soon learn that Abernathy found the place three years ago thanks to hints from a Creek guide. He immediately found something which he refers to as the temple, further up, and studied the inscriptions left behind. Apparently, some of them contained European style alchemical annotations on the art of blood magic. He gathered several rogue mages and followers and moved in. A bit over a year ago someone broke through the temple and destroyed the lab and many of the notes, that is when Abernathy ramped up his activities and started kidnapping people for blood experiments. At the same time, he acquired something he refers to as "the Source". He believed he could produce an elixir of eternal life without the drawbacks of sun sensitivity and bloodlust. The attack on the lab was taken as an attempt to stop him from reaching enlightenment. We have to go up. Dalton and Bingle join me with little to show for their efforts. I wordlessly hand the adventurer a single sheet I took from experiment note. "Subject: Flora Schaffer, female..." His voice dies down as he keeps on reading. I already suspected she would be dead of course. This only confirms it. My vassal and I wait in respectful silence until he is done. The grief on his face is palpable. "Forgive me, I need a moment." We step outside, close the gate behind us and wait. I am a bit shaken as I realize that this is the first time I have witnessed the fearless adventurer with such a hopeless expression on his face. "I wanted to ask you something, Mistress." Says Dalton. "Yes?" "What are you exactly?" I turn to him dumbfounded. "You decided to serve me, yet you do not know what I am?" "I knew enough to decide, now I want to know everything." I spend a few minutes telling him about my strengths but also my weakness to fire, silver and the sun. It only occurs to me when I am done that I did not even contemplate him betraying me. My instincts tell me that he will not. We have bonded now. His loyalty is as certain as the dawn. It doesn''t take long for Bingle to join us. "Forgive me for this delay. I am.. I was..." I place a comforting hand on his arm and address him with a soothing voice. "There is nothing to apologize for sir, and I can only extend my condolences to you. I know it is poor comfort in the face of such pain, yet I must remind you that without our timely intervention, those unfortunate souls behind us would have suffered a fate most cruel." Bingle seems surprised by my touch; his honest face brims with emotion. "Yes, you are correct. Thank you so much Miss Delaney. We have done well tonight, and though salvation was beyond my grasp, we made sure that vengeance was not. A worthy end, I say!" "Indeed. Now, that loathsome man''s notes mention a temple above, and I would like to see it with my own eyes and make sure there is nothing afoot." "Of course, Miss Delaney! Your tenacity and rigor are an inspiration! No stone shall remain unturned until we ascertain that evil has been vanquished!" Right. "Then I shall lead the way, forward!" Wait, what is wrong with me?! Why did I just say that?! Impossible... Is the man contagious? I certainly hope not. I would not want to turn righteous. My hearing has recovered enough to hear Dalton''s amused chuckle. I may never live this down. We walk for ten minutes at a measured pace along the mountain and up a natural ridge. Eventually, the path turns right to end on a small plateau. Hidden from the worst of the wind, pine trees and knee-high bushes have prospered and spread around the place, turning it into a shelter. I notice regular formations that look too perfect to be the work of nature. Rather, someone grew a garden here and left it for at least a decade. Further up, the valley disappears between two cliffs. This feels awfully familiar. Oh. OH! I remember now. "Not where, but when." said Nashoba in that dream months ago. I found it! The place from the dream! Just as I remember it, the blocky architecture clings to the rock as if it had been dug in. Two lion statues stand guard on each side of the main entrance, a little worse for wear. I hear nothing suspicious. "Let me in first Miss Delaney." We enter the so-called temple and look around. The men take out lanterns and light the insides. Abernathy has mentioned that the place had been ransacked. That is not correct. The single room has been devastated by an impact of incredible power. Everything that stands near the door such as a stone bed and fire pit remains intact. Further up, debris litter the floor and the opposite wall has been shattered completely. On the side, I recognize a bare alchemy station under a pile of rocks curiously arranged. I walk closer. Somebody gathered stones with inscription. I recognize the tongue. "Dalton, I need your lantern." It is, of course, a lie for the benefit of Bingle. I read a few runes despite the poor state. Unfortunately, there is not enough to infer a meaning, unless... I walk to the shattered wall, dodging the errant stone. Something smells delicious. I know a very similar scent, from long ago. It''s on the tip of my tongue... I approach the impact. Either someone brought a small cannon or... I place my fist against the central hole and push in. I touch smashed rock when I am elbow deep. Hmm. I take a look inside. The point of origin has a single black spot. Could it be.... I shove hand back in and after fumbling for a few seconds I manage to touch something. When I pull back my index has the slightest hint of a tar-like substance. I rub my fingers and sample the scent. If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. A wave of emotion overcomes me. There is no vitality left yet this fragrance is unmistakable. Stunned, I stand back and realize the crater is surrounded by other runes. I pull two and two together. "What are those Miss Delaney?" "A poem in the tongue of Akkad. It says: Little bird flew low and high To the rock and to the sky Little bird flew far and wide Yet always one step behind" "I do not understand." "This is a taunt." My Master came here a year ago. He did not find what he was looking for. Someone took it and hid it from him. This is why he came to this remote place. This is also how he¡­ Found me. As to what his target was, I have no idea. If we find a container of some sort, we might get a clue. I decide to keep looking. I am particularly interested in where that precious smell comes from. I turn left and walk to the wall. A particularly well-preserved stone cabinet has escaped the devastation. That is rather suspicious. "Help me move this, I think there might be something there." Both men rush past me, intent on making sure I do not need to work. Alright, so there are some benefits to being of the fairer sex. I would still rather be allowed to go bounty hunting. With little effort, Dalton and Bingle push the piece of furniture out of the way. Light shines into a small bathroom, sparsely equipped with a stone tube and a storage shelf. More interesting is the prostrate figure on the ground. This is where the tantalizing scent comes from. I can''t help myself. I walk past my companions and ignore their warnings. I fall on my knees before the humanoid thing and lift its chin. Two Amber eyes open and blink at me. They are too large to belong on a human face. The thing''s traits have a strange alienness to them, different yet alluring. I think it is male, a he then. I lean closer. He smells so scrumptious, so incredibly delicate. This bouquet, this vitality ... I open my mouth and eight fangs manifest. The man cries a single tear as he shows an acceptance born out of the deepest pits of despair. He knows what I am, he knows what I will do and he has already given up. Good, now I just need to... "Miss Delaney?" I close my mouth with a click. If I do this now, I will have to kill Bingle. I do not believe I can hypnotize him into forgetting someone''s death. I don''t want to kill Bingle. No. I do not want my instincts to get in the way of my long term plans. So I slowly force myself away from the most potent, delicious blood I have... Wait that''s it. This entity provided the blood that saved my life the night of my escape. Or not. His smell is slightly different, spicier and more mature. I fed on his kind, however. "Miss?" I finally force myself to turn. "He''s alive! We need to free him." I compel myself to take a step back from that enticing, delicious smell. Bingle passes me by and kneels. I notice that he still has the keys he used to free the other prisoners fortunately, and that they fit. Hold on he will notice that something is wrong! I turn in a panic, only to see a perfectly normal, if unhealthy man where I left the strange creature. A quick study shows a sort of shimmer around his eyes and ears. "Can you talk lad?" "Y...Yes." "Are you hurt anywhere." "No... just sore, thirsty and hungry." But not dirty. How could somebody dirty have such an incredible perfume! "Don''t worry lad. Your troubles are at an end! We shall take good care of you. You have the word of Cecil Rutherford Bingle!" Yessssssssss good care. "Mistress you are drooling." Whispers Dalton. "Do you need more blood?" "Thank you I''ll be fine." What is wrong with me? Besides the recently skewered heart, nothing. I do not even feel the Thirst. This creature just has a blood that I apparently cannot resist. I will not bite. I will not bite. Maybe just a little... NO! I will not bite. Calm down Ari, this is not like you. Just take a deep breath. Alright, this was a terrible idea. How can this man smell so intoxicating! Gah! "Are you alright Miss Delaney?" I look away so he doesn''t see the fangs. "I apologize, it is just, I am sorry I need some fresh air." I stumble out until I reach outside. Up here, a cold wind blows down the flanks of the mountain and carries on it hints of pine. I start feeling better or at least, more in control. Only a short while later, the three men exit the structure. In the open, the temptation is not so strong. Bingle looks at me with empathy and leads the way down. I follow him while Dalton supports the strange creature. I do not dare get closer. Actually, Bingle has his back to me so I suppose I could indulge... No. No! Oh, that is it. Get a hold of yourself Ariane! This is unsightly! I am no slave to my impulses. As I slap my cheek, the softest breeze caresses my ears as something whispers to me. "Why did you spare me Nightwalker?" "WOW!" "Mistress?" "Miss Delaney?" "Hum sorry! Sorry everyone, I just missed a step." Dalton is dubious and Bingle full of concern. "Miss Delaney, I apologize! I should have remembered your ordeal! Foolish me! You, hrm, if you, hrm, if it is not too impertinent of me to offer, you may take my arm. I shall lead you to safety!" Yes, let me be downwind before I do something we shall all regret. "If it is not too much trouble..." I approach and grab his muscular arm. Hum! This is not entirely unpleasant. The man himself radiates with pride, it seems that my trust means a lot to him. Perhaps I should not offer my back to this creature though. It made it clear it knows what I am. "Is this a cruel trap, Nightwalker?" Whispers the wind once more. "My name is Ariane" I grumble back, too low to be heard by the humans. "Very well, since you have given me the gift of courtesy I shall reciprocate. I am Sinead." We continue our conversation in the same manner. S§×ar?h the N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "What are you?" "You truly do not know?" "I wouldn''t ask otherwise!" I softly hiss. "Your kind calls us trespassers or errant ones. We are from far away¡­" "How far is far away? India? Nippon?" "We are from another dimension." "Ah¡­Really?! How did you even come here?!" The wind sighs with annoyance. "My kind likes to play games. Sometimes we slip and fall into other worlds. This would not be an issue if your plane was not so heavy." "Huh?" "Your reality is rigid. We cannot get through it. It resists us too much. We cannot get back and so we are lost, trespassers and prey." "Prey?" "You must be young... Your kind captures us and harvests our immortal blood. It is kept in secure containers to be drunk as an emergency. We are slaves and cattle to you lot. Barely better than animals." He adds with resentment. I now understand. Six months ago, I should have died from the wounds I suffered at the hand of Jimena. Only a miracle could have saved me, and this miracle was the blood of his species. "I do not understand! I thought that blood must be consumed on the spot!" "We are immortal. We do not age, and so our blood can keep its vitality indefinitely if harvested properly." "I never knew..." "Curious, I would expect clans to inform their members of our existence so that you know not to devour us instantly should you happen upon our kind. It would be too merciful a fate, I suppose... Our essence remains bound to the blood so only a limited amount of elixirs can be harvested from the same captive, who then needs to be kept alive. My people has been reduced to kept assets and fugitives like me." If what he says is true, and I believe him, then Jimena gave up on an incredible treasure to help me. What I used to run home could have been employed in combat to save her life instead! My gratitude towards her only ever grows. Why did she not mention it? Well, I am not surprised that my friend would try to hide the extent of her sacrifice, and yet there could be something else. Vampires may attempt to hush the existence of such a powerful secret weapon. I will have to be discreet. "I know not what you have planned," Says Sinead, "and so I am left at the mercy of a creature of the night..." He goes on like that for a while and I learn a few interesting things. His species is called the Likaeans and they are powerful magic users. On their home plane, they can manipulate the very essence of reality the way a great painter manipulates colors. Down here, they are limited to a few tricks and illusions. I also learn that Sinead is by default the leader of his kind, the most powerful Likaean here, and that he has a second of sort. Finally I learn that Sinead is an absolute drama queen. Honestly, I am impressed. Grand declamations, laments and inflamed discourses pour ceaselessly from his lips. Some of it even rhymes! He goes on and on without pause, cursing this plane and its inhabitants, his fate, the moon and the stars, the neighbor''s dog. Everyone. The worse thing for me is that he never even tried to escape. We are on a dark path outside, at night, he is not bound, and we are clearly exhausted and wounded and still, there is not a single attempt to even steal a knife! If it were me, I would have at least tried something... Wait, could he have played me all that time?! I turn in a panic but no, he is still hanging from Dalton''s shoulder, looking in the distance like an opera main lead. I can still smell him when the wind gives us a respite. I believe that if his race is half as dramatic as he is, it is no wonder that they have been exploited by vampires. We all have one thing in common: ruthlessness. I continue musing while we walk down the path at a slow pace. With Bingle guiding me, I can stop focusing on my surroundings and Sinead''s constant whining. He is clearly the Source mentioned in Abernathy''s workshop notes. If I understand properly, the cult leader has been using his blood as an attempt to reach eternal life. Perhaps this is why it felt so wrong. Likaean blood is precious. It is not to be squandered by a fumbling idiot with no talent or experience. A few scratched symbols are not enough to reach the apex of mastery required to brew an elixir of eternity. I remember the woman in my vision, when I drunk from Master and was made a vampire. She was writing something on tanned human skin. It was an intricate formula, a work of art far beyond anything I have seen since, not even in Loth''s workshop. This man could not have achieved his goal within three lifetimes. He only made an impure mix with fleeting effects, at the cost of one''s free-will. How na?ve of him to even assume that our mewling rescuee could be a strong enough source of power. He is weak and pathetic here. He would not have sufficed, no. It would take something incredible to change a human at such a fundamental level. It would take a god. Truly, this entire project was doomed from the start. I take comfort in the knowledge that at the very least, we cleaned our own backyard. Oh, and we rescued some humans and that weird alien being. I suppose this counts as a success. "¡­ So tell me, child of darkness, tell me why do you play with me so? What sinister fate awaits me, now that my freedom¡­" Sinead''s ranting has progressed enough that he requires attention. Good. "I have not decided yet." "Pardon?" "I said, I have not made a choice. Now please leave me be, I tire of this conversation." I do not have the inclination to handle this man today. I am not Thirsty, I am exhausted and his survival depends on a tangle of commitments and rules I do not feel like considering before a good rest. We soon reach the cave again. I go to Loth, still busy with the wounded. It seems that a few of them will not make it. "Dalton?" "Yes Mistress?" "Please look after me, I need to rest my eyes for a moment." "Very well Mistress." Yes, there is still much to be done. I just need a moment. Chapter 26 - 26. Self-Discovery I open my eyes to the familiar darkness. I am still wearing the ruin of the maid outfit and the congealed blood sticks to my skin in a most unpleasant way. The smell is not much better. Outside I can hear two heartbeats. I slide the sarcophagus open to the canopy of Loth''s large tent. Just like six months ago, it is basked in soothing blue light. "Good evening." "Good evening lass, quick, take this!" He hands me a silver chalice with a cover. The hint of fresh blood immediately wakes the Thirst. I take off the top and drink. It tastes so much sweeter than my usual fare. It is, without a doubt, human, with a hint of something special. A strange power fleets through its exquisite vitality, taunting and tricksy, but not malicious. It is the best human blood I have ever sampled since the first. "Bingle?" "Yes, he volunteered. He said he wanted to contribute to the potion that will alleviate the curse. It seems that it mattered to him quite a bit," says Loth, as he finishes draining his blood in a second chalice. "Loth¡­" "Ye were hurt by my fault, so I will give ye my blood in good faith tonight. Take it as a day off. A night off. Whatever." I stand up and take stock while he finishes. I am healed, yet still weak. It would be best if I do not have to fight anyone tonight. "I believe I will take you up on that offer. Thank you, Loth." I drink the second chalice, a full cup of steel, mountain, and power. Although nowhere close to yesterday''s blood, it is still extremely potent. "Thank you Loth! That was delicious!" "Naturally. Now lass, we need to address your first follower." "My Vassal, Dalton." "Aye. The boy and I came ta an agreement. I need someone to clean around the garden, run some errands and spot me when I calibrate rifles. He''ll do. I also expect him ta make yer hunting easier. Smooth things out, as it were." I turn to Dalton. "It''s a very good offer Mistress, I could never hope for such a good position anywhere else." "Good, so it''s settled then?" "Aye, all that''s left is that you, ah, seal the deal so to speak..." "Wh¡­ What!?" "¡­By drinking his blood." "Of course! Haha, yes, naturally." Loth gives me a knowing smile and leaves the tent. "So¡­" says Dalton. Why does he have to make it so awkward? It''s just¡­ Hum, part of the deal! We just have to be intimate even though we met a week ago¡­ Is this how arranged marriage feels like? Bah, I don''t want to think about this any longer. I approach Dalton who obediently tilts his head and embrace him. He smells like soap, sunshine, and liquor. Not a bad mix. His pulse quickens¡­ I lick the jugular and he swallows. The movement is so enticing. Slowly, I bite. Ah¡­ Yesssss. So good. It reminds me of that time with Aintza¡­ The same arousal¡­ Oh no! Hum! Let me lick this close with all haste and let him go. God, young men are so enthusiastic! Gah, this is embarrassing, but kind of fun. How I wish Jimena liked men. Then we could talk together and she could tell me more. We could even have many Vassals! Bring them together and have them walk around with nothing on their butts! We could stare at their butts! Even touch them! "Teeheehee!" "Mistress?" "Nothing! Now, I really need to take a bath. Is there water?" "There is a river a few hundred yards away. I could draw enough for a bath and warm it for you?" "Silly Vassal! That would take aaaaaaaaages! Let me just go there. I don''t need warm water. Cold water will help me wake up! It forges the character!" I step outside and immediately come across Loth, waiting for something. "Ariane?" "I''m going to take a bath!" "We do have other things to discuss¡­" "After the bath! Now, where is the river?" "You¡­ Want to bath in the river?" "Of course not! Do you take me for a savage? Wait¡­ OOoooooooh of course, thank you Loth!" Silly me, to go out like that. I come back inside and pile my favorite jasmine soap of all time and clean clothes in the copper tub then drag it outside. "Alright, I''m gone!" "Ari¡­" "Yes?" "¡­ The river is the other way." "Oooooh thanks, see you later Loth!" I manage to drag the tub with me through the undergrowth and only fall twice and impact a single tree. I don''t know who planted that pine like that in the middle of the way, it''s so stupid! If I catch the rogue! Ugh. The river is quite shallow and I only have to drag the tub to the edge, realize my stuff is still in it, take my stuff out, fill it with water and settle it in a nice secluded grove and ta da! It''s done. I jump in and start peeling the ruined uniform and flaking red stuff. Aaaaah but it is so good to be there. I can enjoy the light of the moon, the water, bubbly soap and the caress of the wind on my skin. Stars illuminate the sky while the relaxing light of the Silent Watcher stands as proof to its eternal vigil. The riot of colors and sounds form together a chaotic symphony both complex and so very alive. The night is beautiful, and it is mine. I savor the moment and think back on yesterday. Loth is right, we have much to discuss. I will have to tell him about the vision. He is my friend and needs to know what I saw. Having a penis was a strange experience. I know how it feels now. Teehee. Oh my, I know how it feels to be inside of a woman! Truly remarkable. I am willing to bet some women would pay solid gold to feel what I experienced! And what an experience it was. The slow and steady moves, the feeling of a warm body against my own, the moans of pleasure... This is so much more than I expected. It was amazing... I stop and realize I am no longer applying soap. My left hand is cupping my breast and the other rests at the edge of my pubis. I lower myself in the tub and raise my hips. Yes, Agna had raised hers, just so. They had rolled with a hypnotic motion¡­ I lower my right hand until it parts the blond hair, and then I stop again. I let it lie there, quiescent. I always thought I knew all there is to know about sex. I saw animals go at it so I had a general idea about the process. I learned from the people around me that married couples do it to have children. I was told that men want it all the time and women give it. I understood that it could be painful or somewhat pleasant for us. Hussies are those who let many men have what they want from them and use it for their own benefits. This is what I was led to believe. It is also a lie. Yesterday, Loth showed me what could be. He showed me that sex could be a source of incredible bliss for both partners, a felicity that transcends the physical into the quasi mystic. When Agna climaxed, the sensation was so strong that she looked like she was dying. They shared this together. It was intense and beautiful. It was sacred. I remember what Master did. It does not have to be that way. I do not have to surrender this to him, not to anyone. It can be mine. I could even share it with someone else, one day. Maybe. I lower my hand. My sex is flushed and wet, not with water but something much softer. It makes my fingers drift smoothly over my folds and that little nub of flesh that¡­ Aaaaaaah. My body spasms once around my core in a wave that expands throughout my entire body. I arc my back away from the water. More. I move two fingers in slow and large circular motions. I take my time and enjoy the feeling building inside of me. My finger brushes the little nub, again and again, slow and steady. I remember yesterday, Loth''s lips on her nipple. I use my other hand to touch and tease my own until the pink tips become hard and sensitive. I move progressively faster. I moan loudly and I don''t care. After a while, I stop once more. I want to try things. I move my fingers horizontally or vertically, with more or less pressure. Sometimes my movements are slow, sometimes a little bit faster. I remember when Agna impaled herself on Loth. The look on her face¡­ I move my hand lower and slide a finger in. So wet! Yes, she was moving just so, pushing him in. I move my hips as well and do not forget the little nub. I find a rhythm I like, slow but purposeful and I lose myself in it. Time abandons its meaning, there are only the sensual dance and the pleasure that scours me. Eventually, the urge to reach something becomes too great. I play the nub again, faster, with a bit more strength. Something warm builds up inside. I want to know. I want to feel. I keep going on and on until I''m on the verge of something great. I keep going, almost there. Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. And then I climax. Oh. My. GOD! "Ooooohohoho yesss!!!" For ten seconds my mind blanks as successive waves of ecstasy ravage body and mind. My body shivers and quakes around its center. Aaaaa soooo good! I splash back into the tub and just stay there for a moment, unable to move. I haven''t recovered when an aftershock sends me into another shake that makes me curl my toes. Wow! This is great! Better than great! Aaaaa! For a while there, I could think of nothing! Why did I not hear of this earlier?! Who keeps this secret?! I swear that half of human conflicts would be solved on the spot if people experienced this daily! Hiding this is a disgrace, a vile conspiracy!!! So this is why vampires are rumored to enjoy lovemaking. It is a bloodless, victimless alternative to our usual fare, and without risks of disease and unknown pregnancy to boot! Aaaah this explains so much! Hum! I should try to get another one, for science''s purposes. It is only true if it is repeatable, is it not? Thirty minutes later I finish dressing and start walking back to the camp, with a towel around my hair and the tub in tow. Well, this was enlightening and relaxing. Much of the tension of these past few days has been lifted from my shoulders. That said, perhaps I should not share my newfound knowledge with the men. I do believe it does not concern them. Hum, yes, this seems wiser. I wouldn''t want them to get jealous! The poor things. Rather soon I find my way back to the carriage. I only fall once, and someone else planted another damned pine in the middle of the way! Who would even do such a thing? Three people wait in the small clearing, although I can see other campfires around and hear noises in the distance. I wave at them and promptly fall on my face. Bah, the ground of the forest is so uneven! Unbelievable! "What''s wrong with her?" I hear someone whisper. "She''s drunk off her arse." replies my friend. "Loth of Skoragg! Je ne vous permets pas!" "In English my dear." "Then let it be known that I find your grrrrrrroundless accusations... Scandalous!" "My apologies, now we need to reach an agreement with the latest addition to our merry band." "Who?" "Me!!!" Replies the newcomer, red with anger. I get closer. This is a person of the male persuasion. Yes. Ariane, of the astute observations! It does not help me tremendously though. "Uhhhhhhh." I turn to Dalton who taps his nose. Wait, is something wrong with the smell? ... Delicious! What a wonderful fragrance! Ah, I remember now! "Mmmmmmmmm." I scrunch my face with effort. "MMMMMMMMMMMM." The others seem at a loss. Oh, just you wait. "MMMMM AH! SYNOAD!" "It''s Sinead! Sinead, you disrespectful wench!" Dalton and Loth take a collective step back from the newcomer. "I beg your pardon?" I say as I smile. Surely I misheard? I have been nothing but patient and respectful since we met. "Do you have an issue with how you''ve been treated so far?" Looking left and right, the Likaean realizes that the others are unwilling to help him with his current predicament. "I believe I spoke too hastily." "It''s alright Senerad, it was wrong of me to mispronounce your name. I will endeavor not to do so again." Sinied glowers but says nothing. What a prickly fellow. "I believe we were going to discuss his fate." "Oh yes! Enough distractions. So, hum. What should we do? I want to feed on him at some point" "Well. I was hoping that you would not." "Hum!" I tap my index against my chin. Well. It does sound like a sensible request. He is no danger to me and I feel quite full. Ah, but he is both magical and delicious... what to do? "Unless you name him as your friend, I can drink from him but not kill him. We rescued that man, I believe that there is a debt. Besides, I would be stupid not to get some power from him. I can get much. " "That''s the thing lass, I had a talk with Sinead and I believe that should you bite, you will drain him dry and we will not be able to pry you away." "Is that so?" "Yes," says the man himself, "I arrived in this land twenty years ago to look for my lost brethren. Alas, I failed to hide my nature at first and rumors of my happening drew the hated Nightwalkers of clan Roland to me! I was powerless before their strength, and they abducted me, dragged me to a hideout deep in the forests of Ardennes. There, I met others of my kind. I learned that we are mercilessly hunted and that our blood drives you mad the moment you taste it. A feeding is almost always fatal, therefore the red liquid is carefully harvested and used in potions that grant limitless power for a night. A vampire under the effect of our blood is nigh unstoppable. As I mentioned, we need to be kept alive for this to happen and our essence will not regenerate while the potion remains intact. Each captive thus yields a limited, but precious resource. We are under heavy guard, constantly. Fortunately, I managed to fool the humans at dawn by using a mighty illusion. My deception was not detected until far too late. To my deep regret, I was unable to free the others and had to escape alone..." Sinaiad''s expression is one of utter guilt. He left his people behind! Well, I am in no position to judge. "I stowed on a ship headed for the New World, thinking it would be a haven where I could plan a daring rescue. I was mistaken. Human mages successfully detected my presence and abducted me. I was soon sold to the man your party slew yesterday. The rest, you know." The Likaean licks his lips nervously. "While I was in the custody of this clan, I learned much and I would be willing to tell you, in exchange for safe passage." "Then are you a supplicant?" "Mustemiqu? Ah, a supplicant. Yes." "Then kneel." The man turns red with fury. I do not understand the rage I see in him now. Supplicants kneel. It is the way of things. It is what should be. We stand and listen, the Supplicants speak and kneel, and if an agreement is reached, we grant a favor. Why the hatred? "Ari..." I turn to Loth with a raised eyebrow. "His kind is enslaved by your kind. He is their leader by default. Kneeling to you is... a humiliation." "How does that concern the matter at hand? Is he not the Supplicant? Do I not listen?" "I see... in this case, I would ask that you forgive the lack of decorum as a favor to me. Just this once." "I..." I don''t know. I find the very proposal distasteful. If proper forms are not respected, then what does that mean for the proceedings? Are we honorless beasts, to discard traditions so easily? "Is your skin so thin that you need the worship, vampire?" Asks Sinead, irate. The haze I was in until now drops like water to be replaced by cold instinct and the death of empathy. I move. I move faster than ever before despite my weakened state. My hand closes around his neck. "Gah!" "Ari! Please wait!" "Perhaps forms are important to us for another reason? Perhaps we need it to balance our humanity and that part of us that calls you food?" "Ari, please. Please!" I drop my victim and turn around before I TAKE A TOE OR TWO. AND HIS TONGUE AS WELL. "Safe passage in exchange for information was it?" "Y... Yes." Loth is fraught with worry. The alien insulted the protocol. That puts him dangerously close to the oath-breaker category as far as I am concerned. I would drink him dry, but he clearly made a deal with Loth and it means I cannot drink from him? Confusing. Perhaps I should just kill him and be done with it... No, I cannot do this to Loth. Not after what happened last night. "I want this and blood. Your objections make little sense to me. You admitted that a potion can be drawn from his blood and that means there is a safe way to harvest it. I am not letting him go without a taste. You will find a way to provide it safely or I will take my chances." "Ari..." "No! I bled and almost died for this, and refrained from feeding until we could reach a proper agreement. I have been more than reasonable! Blood, to be consumed on the spot, is to be part of this." "I do not know how to properly harvest blood. The task was done by human alchemists in the employ of the Roland." "Then Loth can help you draw it and preserve it in the chalice until I wake. If you are not around when I consume it, it should be safe." Everyone is silent. I will not back down on this. The blood will be mine one way or the other. "Very well Nightwalker. This is humiliating but you leave me with little choice. I agree to your terms. Blood and information in exchange for safe passage." The annoying man leaves with a huff. I track his movement then return my attention to Loth. "We need to talk." He points to the tent and we get in. I stand up and pace while he sits priestly on the only cot. I don''t know how to start. How do you admit something this big to a friend? "Why are you trying to save Sinead anyway? You''re not exactly a bleeding heart." "Oh? Ye think me too generous in rescuing my fellow supernatural beings? Should I have been harsher?" He asks pointedly. I stop in my tracks. "I''m sorry Loth, I guess I deserved that one." To my surprise, he chuckles. "Ye''re forgiven, but please say what ye want to say." "Aaaah how should I put it..." I explain how I saw visions and describe the first one, the battlefield. "Aye I remember, I remember well. ''Twas my first real battle, it was. That''s where my old uncle Strum got the nickname of ball-crusher after he accidentally fell on an anvil." I ignore the juicy anecdote and tell him about the banquet. I describe the grey-bearded man in great detail. "Aye, my father. Yes. He was so proud. Was there also a blond woman?" "Hum, yes. She, huh, kept reaching for..." "My cock, aye" I wince at the vulgarity, "that was Gerda, good old Gerda! We called her the virgin hunter. Half of my generation blew their first load in her hairy..." sea??h th§× ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "LOTH!" "Alright, alright. Ye win. Next." I hesitate and lick my lips. I do owe him the truth. I don''t want to hide this. Those memories belong to him. "You saw Agna for the first time. She threw manure at Skeggi''s face." Loth studies me. "How did you know it was Skeggi?" "I felt what you felt, learned what you thought. You were not thinking of that Gerda woman in the short interval I perceived." "I see." He deliberately marks a pause. He knows what follows is the reason I feel embarrassed. "I was you when you made love to Agna." The revelation is received a stunned silence. It takes a long time before Loth speaks again, long enough for the campfire outside to weaken. Long enough for Dalton to fall asleep in the tent next to mine. "I don''t exactly remember her face. I tried to engrave it, but it never looked quite right. Metal is a poor medium to create the portrait of a loved one, I find. I never managed to form what I wanted. It always felt dead, a farcical attempt at capturing that which cannot be held. Like sand flowing between my fingers, ya know?" Loth barely raises his head and looks at me. There is something there that I saw in Master, but also in Moor and even to an extent, Jimena. Agelessness. Before me stands an ancient being whose life has extended longer than some dynasties lasted. "I destroyed every last one of them, and now I regret it. Memories grow hazy after a few centuries. Even a shadow of what she was would have helped me remember." So the mind lost its grip, but the blood remembers. Loth sighs deeply. I give him some time as I realize that if he wanted an input he would ask for it. Entities of his age probably cherish moments of strong emotion as proof that they still live. "What else?" Loth doesn''t comment when I tell him about the rest. His only reaction is a bitter smile at the mention of his brother and wife''s betrayal. "And that is all." "I see. Well. Thank ye for sharing, I appreciate that. It was bittersweet ta say the least. " I hesitate for a while before asking the question that has been nagging me for a few minutes now. Loth is always straightforward. If he thinks it inappropriate, he will let me know. "Just ask yer question lass." "How did you know!?" "When you are thinking too hard you forget to breathe. Humans may not notice but I do." "Aaaah no, this is a good way to get caught." "Hahaha give it some time, and stop stalling!" "Fine. Why did you never return?" Loth freezes like a cat caught with its paw in the bowl of cream. "... I''m scared of boats. Long travel distance between here and home, ya know?" "Loth." "Also, many projects here, can''t decently just stop everything..." "Loth!" "I''m scared! There, ye got it. I did not leave on good terms and I was an important warrior for my family. Many bad things could have happened." "How about a letter?!" "Damn good idea lass, I''ll just address it ta a clan of long-lived dwarves in the Kebnekaise mountain range somewhere in Sweden. The postmen could sure use a good laugh." I do not reply, instead, I reflect in silence. This does not sound like the Loth I have come to know, and yet do I really understand him? I have never seen him face something he could not immediately handle. I have never known true love either. My friend lost his soul mate and could not overcome his grief, not even in a century. Is he constantly escaping reality? Should I say something? "Don''t be too disappointed in this old man, lass. The truth is that I care about my clan back home, and I miss them a lot. That doesn''t change the fact that I was used by them, manipulated and then betrayed by those who believed they could do better. I have given much, and should I return, I will be asked to give even more." I still say nothing. Loth made a few very good points and it does not matter. He is not doing anything because he is scared, that is the crux of the matter. I want to point it out. I also want to respect the boundaries he is currently setting. "Damn it lass, you are doing that vampire thing again. Fine, fine. I¡­ I admit that I am still running away. I won''t visit them but perhaps a letter will do. For starter." How is being silent so efficient?! Is it because I do not breathe nor move? "It would bring you closure, my friend, if only that." "Right. Yea. I was considering it, ya know?" Men are so good at self-deception, it is almost unreal. Well, time to change the topic. I shall verify later that he is indeed working on a proper means of correspondence. "I want to ask, what happened after I fell into torpor?" "We rested for an hour then moved everyone down. Bingle and I got rid of the handful of guards remaining. When we got outside there was a, well, a purge. The prisoners and freed servants picked seven among them and slaughtered them in the street. It was sudden and extremely violent. Bingle''s voice was drowned by the vengeful mob. It was not pretty. After that, we all crashed down. In the morning, we gathered in a council to decide what to do. Bingle managed to steer the discussion effectively and it only took an hour to finish. Some decided to stay and take care of the cattle and fields. Those that left were allowed to take valuables and sundries to start over somewhere else, they are with us now. I''d estimate around fifteen people. Rose is here as well. She and Bingle have grown quite close." "Hum." Rose is both grounded and painfully honest. They could be a good match. I want to ask about our plans but I can see that Loth is tired. Even though I just woke up, I feel exhausted as well so we both decide to call it a night. Chapter 27 - 27. Coming of Age I wake up to the sound of animated discussion. I quickly don one of my armored dresses in dark blue and wonder if I should pick up my pistol. So far, I can only hear irate voices and the appearance of someone armed might do more damage than good. Let us try diplomacy first. I step out of the tent and realize that we are at the edge of a native city of respectable size. An earthen pyramid dominates the vista in front of me, surrounded by wooden buildings that form a circle around it. Well-tended farms dot the valley as far as I can see, and a few campfires give the place a festive feeling. Our campfire is not festive at all. Most of the escapees that elected to join us are in a circle of wagons to my left. The men stand around like sentinels and there is not a woman in sight. The voices come from a gathering a few paces away. Torches provide a reddish light to what I hope is just a heated negotiation. On one side stands a frowning Bingle, an old man who I know has weight with the people we freed, and Loth. Only the Dvergur seems somewhat relaxed. I can feel Dalton from somewhere inside the circle. On the other side is a most curious motley crew. The largest group is composed of men and women in light and colorful clothes. There are bells and jewelry in their hair, and pieces of mirrors hang from oversized necklaces. I notice at least one European and a few of the younger people are obvious mixed bloods. They are led by two siblings, a large man with a moustache and a red bandana and a shrewd looking woman. I think the man''s moustache may even rival Bingle''s! Is it why they are trying to stare each other down? I always thought there would be a brotherhood of the great moustaches, yet it appears that they are competing for supremacy. Perhaps they need to establish a hierarchy first? Men are strange creatures. My attempts at joining my allies discreetly are thwarted when the second part of the native group turns to me. They are dressed in more conservative undyed leather clothes. Nashoba limps from the group and greets me with a radiant smile, which I return. The argument dies down and all attention turn to me. Ah, this is uncomfortable. "Greetings, Child of Thorn and Hunger." "Greetings Nashoba. What is this about?" The circle expands to include me. After Nashoba''s voice dies down I get varied reactions from the colorful group. Many are wary while a few look at me with doubt in their eyes. The European openly scoffs, which does not bother me much. I would rather he believed pale ones to be a myth from the mind of gullible savages. "The Muscogee of the Fox clan take exception to you crossing their land without license. The white men have been encroaching on them as of late. Tensions are running high, though the death of the defiler has bought you much goodwill." "And what are you doing here? You are not one of their own." "I came here to make sure those negotiations succeed. That alligator you killed is not the only thing hunting us and your help is required again." "Before we begin, I am not slaughtering entire villages of white folks for you, if that is what you were referring to." "Indeed not, child of Thorn, for this path would save no one. Ah, but our companions are losing patience, so let us listen to their whining and posturing for a while." He adds with a smirk. I did not remember him being so assertive. It appears that the past six months have been good to him. It is the male Muscogee envoy who resumes the hostilities. He spews what I assume are scathing remarks to the rest of his band and wildly gestures at Nashoba and myself. I do not understand his language at all and apparently neither does the shaman. One of the Choctaw is growing increasingly red though, and I assume he is the interpreter. I notice that one of the women who picked Nashoba after I exacted my payment is here as well, although she is currently staring at the ground with rare intensity. Loth was correct. I did leave a lasting impression. The harangue lasts until his sister grabs his sleeve. Two newcomers are walking towards us from the village at a brisk pace. I immediately recognize one of them to be the shy captive I freed from the Valiant''s camps. Not so shy anymore. At the sight of me she frowns before turning to the assembly. Her speech is short and to the point. The woman envoy asks her a few questions which she answers curtly. A wind of fear and surprise washes over the crowd with one single exception: the white man is apparently unimpressed and grows increasingly angrier. The male leader starts asking something, but the short woman cuts him off with an obvious rebuke and leaves without looking back. Her companion, an older lady, struggles to catch up. I suppose my identity has been verified. The Muscogee group is filled with whispers and comments which I suppose is good, however the white man in native clothes is moving forward and is about to be annoying. I look at Loth and he instantly grabs Bingle''s and the old man''s attention. My Dvergur friend is a rare treasure, to understand me so readily. The nuisance and I cross eyes. I focus on him. Hypnotizing people has always been difficult. Besides feeding, attempting to influence someone is always a hit or miss. This time, however, I can feel a tug. While not exactly subtle, I manage to push what I want to convey through the temporary bindings that connect us. Stop. Look. Feel. Understand. Cower. The world fades around me as the man stops in his track. I watch as his confused frown turns to bleak realization then to stark terror. He takes an involuntary step back. The connection frays and I break eye contact just as the rest of his group reaches a consensus. They do not address the European group. Instead, the shrewd woman and Nashoba exchange a few words before retreating in the darkness. The entire Muscogee delegation soon follows, including a bewildered stranger. "I will need your help for a hunt, one week from now. In return, your people may go through unhindered. Those that remained will not be harassed. Do I need to convince you to join?" "What is it that you want?" "The world will not die in one day, nor will it be redeemed in one. I plant seeds that save and uproot others that destroy." "I hardly qualify as savior." "The Fallen Prince and the others behind you show otherwise." "¡­ This was not entirely my decision." The shaman smiles sadly. "It never is. Will you help me? Must I beg?" "Yes, yes, I will. In one week. Where?" "I will send you a dream." Well is that not convenient. Nashoba limps away, immediately followed by the rest of his small group. In short order, we are alone. "What just happened?" Ah I forgot about Bingle and the old man. How am I going to explain this? If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. One hour later, I stand in front of Sinead and Loth on the village''s outskirt. I could tell that Bingle was doubtful about the shaman being a fellow archeologist, but our exchange in a "dead" language as well as the credit I garnered with him allowed the lie to pass. He even offered to accompany me on my next "archeological expedition", which is how I sold the whole thing. Only the assurance that it would be night-long pottery inspections changed his mind. I am touched, but I would rather clean Melusine''s feet than attempt to hunt Nashoba''s next target without the full extent of my power. One brush with death per year is enough, please and thank you. "Still nothing?" "Well he does smell enticing, even from far away but I feel quite fine." "How long does it usually take to manifest?" "Under a minute." "I see." Something is notable by its absence, something I have learned to live with for the past year. The Thirst. I feel fine. It is still here, just somewhat sated. As if I had a light feeding. "Can ye tell me how many people there are around us?" I close my eyes and focus on heartbeats, the sound of footsteps and movements. "Seventeen people in our camp. There are three sentries keeping an eye on us from behind that drying rack." I do not add that there is a couple in the middle of a furious coit in the nearest wagon. Hearing this made me feel uncomfortable, as if I were spying. "Yes that''s twenty in total, good guess. Now look at the pyramid and tell me what ye see." I turn at the shape half a mile away. "There is a stone door leading inside. It''s guarded." Loth''s eyes widen in surprise. "Well I''ll be. Can ye try to move quickly?" I do so and finish the movement behind him. As I touch his shoulder, he jumps with a short yelp. "Hooooly cow Ari, don''t ye frighten me like that girl," he says, breathless "my old heart cannot take it, ya know? " "It felt faster than even yesterday." "Aye, I know what''s happening. It''s incredible! Ari, ye''re on the path to becoming a Courtier." "What? What do you mean a Courtier? I thought I was still a fledgling for another year!" "Well¡­" Loth says, eyeing Sinead with suspicion. "I assure you" retorts the offended party, "I have no interest in sharing information with your enemies. They are mine as well, if you recall." We do not say anything, because we know his comment is worthless. "¡­ Very well, I swear an oath to secrecy." "Right. Ari, your Devourer bloodline must be hastening yer growth. How many powerful creatures have ye drained since ye awoke?" I think for a while. Sinead gasps in horror. "How many creatures have you killed, Nightwalker?" "Well, I fully drained two mages, three werewolves including two with Loth''s help and one vampire. I got blood offered in good will by one mage, one blessed human, that would be Bingle, one powerful vampire Courtier and one centuries-old Dvergur. " "¡­ Yeah that would do it." "By the grove! In one year?" "I have been busy. In any case, you are telling me that one year was enough? I assumed that it was fixed, like pregnancy." "It is not. Constantine said it took him only a year and a half. You are probably setting some sort of record, though you would need to compare yourself to others of your kind if you want a benchmark. And yes, I am aware that this is impossible. I suspect that it is as fast as it can get while retaining one''s sanity. Your Master''s other creations grew significantly faster, but they were hand-fed, so to speak." "You are a scion of the Devourer?" I expected fear in Sinead, instead he is contemplative. "Yes. And?" "Your Master has a bit of a reputation in Europe. It is said that every century or so, a faction tries to take him out for one reason or another." "Foolish." "That is what is said, yes. They also say that he is always true to his word, both in letter and in spirit." Sear?h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Are you sure? He made me to pressure someone he was negotiating with." "I never said he was kind, only that when the bargain is struck, he will stick to it. I choose to believe that his blood runs true." "Hssss." "Regardless of your opinion of him, you are of his bloodline." I find no trace of contempt on Sinead''s expression. This was not an insult, merely an observation that he deems important. It is true that from his perspective, all vampires must be equally threatening. If someone is ripping your throat open, why care if they have four or eight fangs? "Fair enough, I suppose. Now, does somebody know what is happening?" "I can tell you, since it is part of our agreement. Your host can attend as well." Sinead clears his throat and proceeds with the lecture. "During my seven years of captivity, I managed to gather quite a few tidbits of information from my jailors, be they humans or vampires. The conditions of drone and fledgling, you already know. The title of Courtier is more informal in the sense that it is traditionally bestowed by one''s clan. There are several aspects of a vampire''s powers one must master before they obtain this recognition, Those specific elements vary from clan to clan and reflect the organization''s mindset and priorities. For example, the Hastings require the completion of a complex project while the Roland base it on ability in one''s chosen field. I am not familiar with what your Sire would ask of you to acknowledge you, and I doubt it would matter. Concretely a Courtier is an adult vampire. The majority of vampires are at this stage, as it takes around a century to reach the next threshold in your development. The only real constant is that contrary to fledglings, Courtiers can go two days or more between feedings and stay awake for the whole night. Aspiring Courtiers typically start by improving their powers: Charm, Senses and Movements. Those are what separates Vampires from the rest of the mortals, besides your many weaknesses." "Could you elaborate?" "Yes," replies Sinead scathingly, "I was leading to it. You already experienced them. Charm alters the mortals'' perception; Senses is exactly what it says, and Movements is what allows your kind supernatural displays of strength and speed." "I can already do all of that." "Not to the best of your abilities, I believe. For example, the pyramid''s door you inspected earlier has a small statue at the top." Surprised, I check the earthen mound again and yes, there is something at the top of the white stone door. I try to focus on it, instead, my vision turns blurry and my head starts to hurt. "It will come with time and practice, like most things. In any case, you have your work cut out for you. Now, let us continue." Sinead carries on his lesson for a good two hours before my brain finally cries for mercy. My precious notebook finds itself filled with valuable information on various clans, major figures and ideologies. Little of that is of use to me now besides two critical pieces of information. The first is that there are three main political alliances in the community that covers Europe, the Middle-East, and North Africa. Their members shift to a degree, but not by much. Eseru is the group of hidden kingdoms, entire cities subverted to an openly vampiric ruling class. They have groups everywhere but mostly in the East and South of the region. Masks are partisans of secret dominion. They have a strong artistic and hedonistic side and a pull on several governments. They are mostly present in the United Kingdom, France, and Italy. Followers of the Path are a diverse bunch dedicated to causes outside of the more political spheres of influence, such as scientific and magic research. It appears that the community in Louisiana represents all three, which is rather surprising considering that they are currently at war. This is the second piece of news and it surprises me a lot. I expected vampire conflicts to be short, violent and usually one-sided. Instead, much time is spent on preparation for decisive strikes, plots within plots are revealed or unraveled every day and allegiances shift according to inscrutable arrangements. It even appears that they try to avoid fatalities whenever possible. I recognize that when I killed Charlotte, it put me at odds with our usual rules of engagement. Ah whatever, Melusine is next. That tramp. "This concludes my presentation on European Vampire politics. I realize that human minds are fragile and feeble things and I see no objection to continuing tomorrow." "Yes, that would be for the best." I answer with fraying patience. "I need a break anyway." I return to the encampment to find Dalton almost falling asleep on his feet. "Mistress?" "How are you feeling, besides exhaustion of course." "My ribs hurt and the road is not helping. I will be fine though. Say, be careful about Sinead." "Ah?" Dalton rubs his eyes and stares in the distance. "Heard of his kind, I did, from my grandmother. I was born further North and my folks are from Ireland. She spoke of one like him, with big eyes, pointy ears and shiny hair that looks too colorful to be from this world." Besides the hair it sounds like the Likaean indeed. Perhaps it will grow back? "She called them the Fae. She said they like to play around and that not everyone survives their games. They are cruel and callous. Their amusement is all that matters to them. Our lives are worthless because they are so ephemeral, she said. Be careful. Sinead may be a victim, and an assailant too." I pause, contemplating. Do I care? I don''t want to get close to the man anyway. "Thank you Dalton. Our bargain was already struck, however I shall remember his contempt for mankind. You should sleep. You look exhausted." No sooner have I said those words that the young man falls on his cot. He is out in seconds. I reach our tent and find Loth writing in his own notebook. He closes it when I approach. "Yes?" "I was wondering what we were going to do now that our objective is complete?" "We are going to the limit of settled lands, a place called fort Barrington which we should arrive in tomorrow. We''ll report our findings to the authorities and split up with Bingle and the settlers there. Then we head home and prepare for your hunt. Ah but it is good to head home from a raid, ya know? Though I would have preferred more loot¡­" "What about the Likaean." "He will accompany us. By the time you return, he will be gone. I''ll put him on a ship to South America." "Good. Well, that is all. I''m going for a walk." "Enjoy." He answers with a predatory smile. I walk outside and away from the others. When I have reached the edge of the valley, I start to run. Finally alone. It feels good. It feels good to let go, to run around with no immediate need to hunt, no need to patrol or come back. Just me and the land. I enjoy the wind on my face, the earth and roots under my feet, and the sounds of the night, alive around me. I move in bursts of speed just because I can. Sometimes, my dress gets snagged or I stumble but it does not ruin my fun. The dress I wear is sturdy and so is the body it covers. For a good hour, I trot and sprint across the land with no direction. I am alive. My Master took my life and future from me and I turned this curse into a new beginning. I survived and endured and reclaimed. Now, I can choose and carve my own path. It will be difficult but for now, I can let go. "Hahahahaha!" I run and run and run. I only return an hour before dawn, mind clear and hair riddled with broken twigs. I look wild, and I care not. Chapter 28 - 28. Like Herding Cats pt. 1 "What is this place?" I ask as I exit the sarcophagus. "We are inside the Tillerson plantation house Mistress. The largest and most expensive manor in a hundred-mile radius! The furniture was made by a famous Philadelphia artisan and it has no less than forty windows. Please note the wonderful Corinthian column on the front porch, so lovely." Says Dalton, deadpan. I am grateful that vampires rise fully awake. "The Tillerson are very proud of the place, aren''t they?" "Yes, Mistress. They explained everything in great detail. Took one bloody hour." "And I assume that we reached fort Barrington safely during the day?" "Yes Mistress." "And we have become their guests because¡­?" "Why Mistress, how could Cornelius Tillerson let a good act such as this rescue remain unpunished? Of course, he must show the hero of the moment, sir Cecil Rutherford Bingle, to all of his posh friends! We are invited to the ball." "Loth has been unable to leave?" "Unable and unwilling. We only arrived two hours ago, so leaving would have been unreasonable. Not to mention, suspicious." "What does suspicion have to do with anything?" "We do not all have sir Bingle''s winning charisma, Mistress. See, the brave man credited us for many things. Except, I''m not exactly hero material and Loth is a bit odd. Not to mention a few widows and spinsters have been sweet on him. Never good to steal the women the first day in a new place, I can tell you. Was hoping you could use your legendary persuasion to smooth things out." And by "smoothing things out" he does not mean killing everyone here, this time. sea??h th§× ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Very well, but I want to clean up first." "I''ll have the servants bring water." The bedroom I am in is small but well furnished. It is too impersonal to be cozy, but I can appreciate the effort. As I finish picking leaves and twigs from my hair a harried-looking black woman drags a pot of tepid water inside before leaving without a word. I have helped organize enough receptions to know that improvising one is a tiring and thankless ordeal. The Thirst takes me as I finish putting on Nashoba''s earrings and a mother of pearl necklace. The royal blue dress I wear is too practical to be elegant, unfortunately. At least, it is well cut and should serve adequately. I exit the bedroom and find myself in a corridor of respectable size, and I admit to being impressed. The Tillerson mansion is large indeed, and expensively decorated. I would think that more money than sense had been thrown at our surroundings. As the guest, however, I am also grateful for the care and will refrain from commenting. Dalton has been waiting for me faithfully. I notice that he is much more polished than his usual self. He is clean-shaven and his hair is combed back and even waxed. He has become darkly charismatic, the kind of men fathers are afraid of when their daughters come of age. A well-cut suit helped him transition from outlaw to prodigal son. Good. This image is more respectable than the last and should help him in serving me. "Offer me your arm." "Mistress? You¡­ Are Thirsty?" "No! Well, yes, but that is not what I meant. Offer me your arm so that we may walk together." "Aaaah. Of course." I grab him and we move towards a set of stairs. I can hear quite a few people making merry below, as well as the scent of alcohol, vitality and sweat. And also¡­ I stop Dalton with a gesture and knock on a nearby door. "Excuse me! Hello?" It is soon opened by a mortified man in the uniform of a butler. One of his hands is behind his back to hide the proof of his crime: a half-empty bottle of fine scotch. "Hrm. May I help you miss¡­" When our eyes meet, I hit him with the full power of my hypnosis. With one small push, he tumbles back inside. To my dismay, his bow tie is in the way so I must feed on his arm. Well, nevermind. When I am finished, I return to Dalton and leave my donor in the haze he was so desperately seeking. It seems that it is impossible to find good help anywhere nowadays. Oh well, that is feeding taken care of for tonight I suppose. "Where is Sinead anyway?" "Oh, he mentioned something about filthy humans stinking up the air and left for the forest. If we''re lucky a wolf will eat him¡­" "Not before I get my due I hope!" "I believe, however, that some na?ve daughter will give birth to a child with strange hair nine months from now." "¡­" That sounded personal. I am starting to think that someone in his family may have rolled in the hay with the wrong species. Hum. I shall leave those thoughts for some other time as we approach our destination. The ballroom is at the back of the property and it seems the party is already in full swing. Groups of revelers have spilled over the main hall and the garden beyond through open French windows. I notice the conservative yet expensive garb of wealthy landowners in light colors, but also more than a few army uniforms in dark blue, quite close to my dress in fact. I wonder if Loth did it on purpose? It would not surprise me, coming from the crafty old bugger. We are stopped at the entrance by a man in a butler outfit who is as puffed up as a singing bird. The self-importance radiating from his scowling features is remarkable. He considers Dalton with obvious distrust. I, however, seem to pass some kind of test. The condition of one''s skin in the South is an easy way to determine their position in society. Anyone with a white and healthy skin is hidden during the day and sleeps at night. Thus, they must be rich. The dress and understated jewelry as well as my posture only reinforce this image. In half a second, the gatekeeper has deemed me worthy. "Who should I announce, miss?" "Ariane Delaney." "Oh! You are¡­ Hm. Forgive me." The man is flustered by his breach of decorum. Well, I cannot blame him as I can already hear Loth''s roaring laughter. "Miss Ariane Delaney!" Announces the man to the crowd, to the general indiff¡­ Why is everyone looking at me? "Miss Delaney, over here!" says Bingle in the center of the room. I bypass several groups of people, smiling and nodding to any guest meeting my eyes. Dalton follows me in like a shadow before merging into the crowd, unnoticed. Soon, I arrive before a group of people who I assume are the instigators of tonight''s unexpected celebration. I notice in passing that Rose is absent from Bingle''s arm. I hope she is not being snubbed. "Miss Delaney, it is so good to see you! Here, let me present to you our most excellent and generous Hosts: Cornelius Tillerson," He indicates a jolly fellow with a large grey beard and mustache. His well-cut suit struggles to contain a gut, his nose is already quite red and his glass is empty, not the first one tonight I''d wager. The master of the house is a man who indulges it seems. "¡­ Lydia Tillerson¡­" His wife is much younger than him. She is also gorgeous and elegant. With her slightly graying hair, she is the very image of a mature beauty. Loth would be pleased. She smells of sex. This is rather interesting because her husband does not. "¡­ And their daughter Cecily!" The last member of the assembly has unfortunately inherited her father''s traits, although I have seen worse. What she lacks in beauty, she makes up for in self-confidence, and her calculating eyes hint at a keen intelligence. Since the introductions are done, I curtsy only for Cornelius to shove his hand in my face. I give him my own fully expecting a proper kiss, instead the man pumps it like he expects me to spit crude oil. "The heroine of the hour! Bingle here mentioned your courage! A true testament to American women you are, not like those pale flowers the Brits seem to like, hah!" "Haha. Surely Mr. Bingle is exaggerating. He and my uncle did most of the work." "He also said you were modest." He replies with a sly smile. "Corny dear, stop hogging the poor woman, you will scare her!" "Is it true that you deceived a room full of guard and clobbered one of them?" Why does he make it sound so uncouth? "Well, there were two of them. The other was guarding Dalton." "Hah! HAHAHAHA by God Bingle, you missed one! Aaaa thank you my girl, I have not laughed that hard in a long time. Now. Why don''t you and Cecily enjoy yourselves with the young people while we crusty old folks reminisce about the past! My friends would never forgive me if I do not give their sons a chance to court you. Now go! Enjoy and be merry, and come back to us when you have made the round!" The young woman immediately locks arms with me while Cornelius and Bingle resume their previous discussions under the lady of the house''s tolerant gaze. She drags me from group to group and introduces me to more people than I care to remember. I answer a barrage of repetitive questions with all the charm and patience I can muster. Am I engaged? No but I have prospects. Is it true I manipulated a group of men and used violence on one of them in order to save my uncle and the adventurer? It certainly is. Someone heard that I shot a pistol in someone''s face at point blank range. That last rumor, which I deny in vain, makes me popular among the soldiers and younger people, not so with the more conservative fringe of the room. For some reason, I have a particularly warm reception from the women. I am willing to bet that quite a few of them would find swinging a club at their rivals a therapeutic experience. I am leaving a group of scowling spinsters when I catch a warning sign from the corner of my eyes. Dalton is frantically gesturing in several directions. Ah, it seems that I am being corralled. A few men in uniform are making their way across the crowd. I immediately spot the leader by virtue of his cloth being the shiniest, turn around and stop. "What is it?" Asks Cecily. "Someone could not wait their turn." This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. To her credit, my companion does not inquire more. Instead, she moves closer to me to offer a united front. In moments, a tall officer with a clean-shaven face and piercing brown eyes appears from the edge of a herd of guests. He is wearing a powdered white wig despite the sweltering heat. Whether it is by vanity or love for decorum, I cannot tell. His eyes fall on me with a frown. Yes, I was expecting you. What I was not expecting is for you to smell of sex and of Lydia Tillerson. This is an abuse of his position as guest. It makes me want to kill him. "Miss Delaney?" "Yes?" "Would you please..." "And who might you be?" The man''s face ticks in anger at being interrupted. This is a trick I learned from Papa. People in a position of power are not used to opposition. If they are thwarted, their first reaction will almost always be to threaten. "I am captain Lannes of the United States army, and you would do well to follow me." "Is there an issue, Jonas?" Asks my neighbor. You just lost the home advantage Jonas, let us see if I can take it for myself. "I have some questions for your guest, nothing serious I assure you." Says the Officer with a strained smile. "Then surely you can ask them here." I suggest loudly. A few people are starting to turn to us, sensing the tension in our respective postures. I could have been surprised that Cecily supports me instead of someone she lives with. I am not. My stay with the Lancaster taught me that people are always eager to employ newcomers as tool in an ongoing conflict. The rigid officer is not on his first offense, it seems, and Cecily is not someone I would offend lightly. Now to see if he stays or retreats. "I was very impressed by your uncle''s tale Miss Delaney. There is no need for hostility. I merely wanted to clarify a few points. As a member of law enforcement in those savage lands, it is my duty to shed light on your extraordinary adventure." Cute save, mortal. "I notice that you still haven''t asked a question." "Your aggression does you a disservice Miss Delaney, it almost looks suspicious." "I confess, I am guilty of running out of patience. Ask your questions and be gone Jonas, we still have many guests to greet. " Poor Jonas. You cannot touch me and we both know it. "... Very well. What''s your relationship with the group of outlaws known as the Valiant Companions?" "There isn''t one." "Really?" He smirks. "Then can you explain why you came here arm in arm with one of its members?" "And who would that be?" I answer immediately. The immediate riposte catches him off-guard. If he expected guilt and fear, I am going to disappoint him. "Do not play coy. I am referring to Mr. Dalton." "Is he a member of the Valiant Companions?" "... Yes?" "Curious, I would expect him to be in chains then, since he is an outlaw. No?" Silence. I am aware that I am playing a dangerous game. The best would be to avoid the conflict. That would mean that they attempt to corner me for the rest of the evening however, and I am not letting that happen. "Mr. Dalton''s pardon does not absolve him of his crime before the Lord." "I suppose that is between them then, was there anything else?" "...Yes, in fact, there is. I find it hard to believe that a woman with an interest in ancient writings could manipulate a room full of guards and neutralize one with a single hit." "You are mistaken in your assumption sir. I have plenty of experience in making men do what I want." This gets me a few chuckles from the growing circle of people following the exchange. Wit will triumph over honesty here. "As for neutralizing a guard, I come from a long line of hunters. The nape of the neck has ever been a vulnerable area." "Indeed. What an interesting pair you two are. Say¡­" The officer asks a flurry of questions about Loth, myself, our relationship and so on. I am not sure what he expected. I created Ariane Delaney over six months ago. I know this persona as well as an experienced actor knows their favorite character. After half a dozen questions the man relents and leaves with a polite farewell. I watch his back recede into the crowd and the spectators of our altercation return to their groups. We are departing this place tomorrow so we should be fine. "Are you alright Ariane?" I sigh deeply. "I apologize for this display of hostility. I did not mean to ruin the mood of the party but I could not just stand there and suffer those shameless accusations." "Please, my friend, it is I who should be apologizing. Captain Lannes'' misplaced zeal has brought us no end of problems. He is as rigid as he is obtuse in his management of every issue to everyone''s dismay. He cares not about spreading strife and misery so long as his precious law is upheld." "Fiat Justitia, Ruat Caelum?" "Precisely. Justice should serve the common good in my opinion. If we could redeem as we punish, the world would be better for it. His way leaves us with no teeth and no eyes." We continue our round though I see that Cecily''s mood has plummeted after our talk. Her dislike runs deep. We have just left my drunk "uncle" with a trio of mature ladies when Dalton crosses our path. "I am sorry to interrupt Mistress. Rose needs your help." "She does? Cecily, I must beg your pardon." "Oh do not mind me Ariane, I have been a poor host for the past hour. Some fresh air will do me good. Take care, and do enjoy the party!" "Thank you Cecily, We should meet again later." Dalton leads me through a servant access to a kitchen filled with rushing staff and a side corridor. Nobody questions our passage. "Are you acquainted with the staff?" "Yes, before you came I assisted them with the party preparations." "Well done, Vassal." Dalton shivers. "Thank you Mistress. It''s over there." I follow Dalton into a room that looks suspiciously like my own. We are still on the first floor, which means that this is the guest wing. I am surprised to see Rose is accompanied by a timid young woman in a grey dress, currently sitting on a large armchair. As I enter, Rose pats her companion''s hand in an awkward attempt at comfort. She is concerned and the girl, terrified. I can see it, and smell it. Curious. "What is this about?" "Rose¡­" says the newcomer. " I thank you, however I must beg..." "Yes, yes, I will do as you say, though I do not approve. Ariane, I leave the young miss in your capable hands and shall return to the ballroom. Do let me know how things pan out, please." Rose leaves and closes the door behind her. I do not say anything, for her perfume leaves me no doubt. That girl is also a Vassal. After six months of isolation, I have been found. Before I can decide what to do the young woman stands up, gathers her courage and kneels with her throat exposed in the traditional supplicant gesture. How could I miss the two thin scars on her jugular? And why is she asking for me? Can Vassals become someone else''s supplicant? Is this adultery? Vassals are special, they are not cattle or prey but trusted seconds and aides. I feel towards her the barest hint of what I felt towards Baudouin: an unwillingness to harm, as if touching her were taboo. I now understand one of the most vital facets of their personalities: Vassals are willing. Dalton chose me of his own volition, fully knowing who, and what, I am, and this woman is the same. She seeks my help because I am a vampire, and to her vampires can be trusted. It is decided, I shall assist her if I can guarantee my safety. Good Vassals are precious things and protecting one for a fellow denizen of the night is a matter of... Let us say professional courtesy. Although nothing compels me to do so, I shall assist if only for the goodwill it will get me. Yes, I can feel it in my soul. I am no longer in danger. A supplicant is harmless to me, for they seek my power and in exchange, I will always be able to ask enough to protect myself. "Speak." "My name is Inez. I came here as an envoy for my Master to attend to some business matters. Unfortunately, I was followed here by my previous husband." Fear, no, stark terror mars her face. Now that I look further, I notice that she has a scar on her right brow and the telltale of badly fused bones. She also bears faded marks or her left cheekbone and her lip. I do not need to see her body to know that she has suffered some terrible abuse. "I take it that you did not part amicably?" Inez lets out a strangled laugh that quickly turns into a sob. Annoying. WEAK VASSAL. WOUNDED. Well, I can protect and calm her down, I even know how to do it. I approach the woman and place my hand on the top of her head. I caress her skin with the lightest touch and let my claws part the strands of hair. Slowly, she regains some measure of inner peace. "Thank you, Mistress. I¡­ he, he is here for me. With his brothers and servants. I saw him. I left to hide but he will find me. He will never let me go!" "Shhh. Your master is protecting you, I presume?" "Yes. Rodrigo was warned and even punished, but he never takes no for an answer and never will. Oh, when my Master hears of this¡­ Ah, it matters little. My nemesis is here now. I will not survive to see revenge, for his twisted sense of honor calls for my death! If I am not his then no one else can have me, he said." "Focus, Inez." I add quickly. "And ask your favor." "Mistress, I cannot ask for mortal protection. Most judges believe that marriage is until death and many would return me to my husband to be disciplined! Please protect me!" As expected. "If I guarantee your safety for tonight, what will you give?" "Not blood, I cannot¡­ I have nothing¡­. A favor Mistress? Please, I beg you. Lord Suarez always pays his debts." I have never heard from this man, which means he is probably one of the Charleston vampires. I am in a unique situation to create a bond I may use in the future, at the low price of defending this mortal. This is most likely a boon. "A favor and secrecy from you and your Master. I do not want my presence here to be known." "Yes, I can promise this. If you save me your secret will be safe with us! Lord Suarez will agree, I would bet my life on it." "Agreed. Now hide behind the bed, quickly. You too Dalton. Now." They obey with commendable swiftness like proper Vassals. I sigh as I unbutton the top of my dress and slide it off my shoulder. Whatever happened to relaxing evenings? Is this a continuation of the Bingle effect? Is the man contagious? Footsteps close in on us, the same footsteps I have heard noisily checking rooms for the past minute. My door is banged open by a tall and virile man dressed in black. I take in warm brown eyes, a mustache, and an anchor beard before I turn with fabric hiding my bared breast. "Oh no! Lo Siento!" A little bit late for apologies mister. "EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK!!!!!" The intruder slams the door closed and takes off, leaving his prize and his dignity behind. Let''s make sure he does not return. "PERVERT! HELP! HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELP!" I hear swearing in the distance. I rush to the window and see a form disappear in the tree line at a corner of the manicured garden. I finish buttoning my dress as the Vassals emerge from their hiding spot. Dalton looks quite proud. "I think we will not see him again tonight, Mistress." "And you would be mistaken, my dear Dalton. People like him do not give up." We drag Inez to the bedroom opposite ours, mercifully empty, and order her to lock herself in until she hears from us. The butler who introduced me is walking towards us with thunder on his brow by the time we are finished. "Was it you who screamed like that? What happened?" "A stranger entered the bedroom I was using to readjust my dress! This is scandalous!!!" I describe the intruder with pleasurable anticipation. I could, of course, follow the man and incapacitate or even slaughter him. There would be a risk, even should the bodies disappear. There is no need for this, however, I do not even have to dirty my hands. There will always be opportunities for violence and good hunts. Now is the time for an elegant solution. "Are you saying that there is an intruder? Here? In the house of the Tillersons?!" answers the butler with outrage. "I looked out the window and saw a shadow approaching the wall sir. I am so scared! Are we not safe even here, in this beacon of civilization?" If the man inflates his chest any more, he will surely explode. "This shall not stand. Rodgers, to me, let us see what this is all about." "I beg you sir, be careful!" We go back the way we came. Before reaching the kitchen, we turn to a side door that is apparently used for deliveries and cross it. While I and a few servants wait on the sideline, the butler, a strong old man and Dalton walk stealthily into the treeline. Less than a minute after. We see them rushing back. The butler reaches us, looking a bit lost. My ever-useful Vassal takes the lead. "There is a full carriage Mistress Ariane, with quite a few horses. I counted four men and there are probably more around the property. They have clubs and sticks." "We are beset by bandits! I must warn Mr. Tillerson." "No, they are not bandits. They only sent one man to look around and they have weapon to beat, not kill. They are looking for someone." I add. The butler looks at me with no small amount of confusion. Before my expertise in illegal activities is looked into, I lead the conversation towards more interesting grounds. "It is time to call for reinforcement sir. I suggest we ask the soldiers for assistance." I say, and turn to leave. Dalton immediately follows and the poor man is carried by the wave of the small group of servants we have gathered. People are starting to whisper excitedly. We turn a corner of the mansion and reach its back. As expected, the party has spilled over and a large group of inebriated soldiers and male landowners is currently watching a weasely corporal in an ill-fitting uniform juggle an impressive number of knives. "Hrm, gentlemen, please!" Over twenty people grant me their attention. "I am terribly sorry to impose upon your evening, however circumstances dictate that we beg for your help." I add meekly. I then turn to the butler at my side. "Hrm, yes! Gentlemen, my name is Jonathan and I am the butler for this estate. We have spotted a group of ill-meaning¡­" I watch him recount his discovery and the inebriated minds of the group turns to violence with commendable speed. I am moving towards my goal and I have yet to use any of my vampire powers. This is fun and flattering! As soon as the butler is done I decide to stir the crowd in the right direction. "Please, will you brave soldiers defend us? Who knows what those rogues are after!? They could be here to abduct women!" "A threat!? A challenge!? Now that''s my kind of party!" yells a red-hair lieutenant with a waxed handlebar mustache. "Wilkins, take your men to the back entrance and circle around. Jackson you and your lads do the same from the delivery road. The rest, with me. When we start the scrap, jump them." "Yes sir!" The drunkest group moves straight forward with surprising stealth. I follow at a good distance while Dalton and the butler, and a quite a few civilians, join their improvised squad. A moment later the line of men disappears into the trees except for the weasely man who climbs one of them. A minute passes and my hearing picks up hard breath and rustling until the lieutenant''s voice breaks the relative silence "WHY GOOD EVENING LADS!" Immediately after, the sound of war cries, charge, counter charge and a merciless melee starts and dies within the span of twenty heartbeats. It is not long before a procession returns to us from the garden gate. The soldiers line up with a few trussed up captives between them and I take the time to congratulate them and listen to their boasts one by one. WELL DONE PUPPETS. I AM PLEASED. Yes, quite pleased. This was done without anyone seriously hurt. Poor Jonathan has the beginning of what is going to be a spectacular bruise yet it does not seem to diminish his pride in the slightest. Well done my minions, well done indeed. "You are making a mistake! We are here on a mission of honor to reclaim a liar and a whore! She will not escape her fate!" says Inez''s ex-husband. "So you are after the women!" I retort before he can take back any control of the situation. The accusation is met with the righteous roar of the assembly. Yes, how dare they sneak about to steal your women... "Don''t worry, "friend", you''ll tell us everything we want to know real soon. Come on lads, to the barracks!" With a victory cry, the soldiers leave while the happy civilians toast their resounding victory and battle prowess. Soon, the enemy troops numbered in the dozens, were all the size of Goliath and carried enough swords to equip a regiment of hussars. Ah, what beautiful tales we get when male pride and liquor intersect. I cross my arms, satisfied. And that, as they say, is that. Chapter 29 - 29. Like Herding Cats Pt. 2 I am walking back to the manor when Rose storms out in a panic. She immediately spots me and rushes to my side. From the red in her cheeks, I can tell that she has been running for a while. She still stinks of tainted blood. Gah, what is it with tonight? Can I not enjoy this party in peace? Is it too much to ask that the world polices itself for one evening? "Miss Ari, your uncle asks for you, he has been challenged to a shooting competition and turned it into a three-on-three public match. Everyone is waiting!" Seriously... Seriously! I raise my eyes to the Silent Watcher and think "can you believe this?" I get a vague feeling that it is not impressed. Fair enough. "Dalton, take Inez and make sure she stays safe. There could be more of them." "Yes, mistress." "And Dalton? Be careful my Vassal." "I will be." He leaves without a word. I am lucky to have him around. How did I manage society without his helpful presence? Ah, yes, I have been living like a recluse for six months. I was not managing anything. I stride towards the front of the house and notice in passing that the ballroom is empty. This explains the lack of reaction we got when the soldiers returned victorious. The other revelers did not hear us. The garden in front of the manor is a meticulously kept lawn. The party-goers have gathered in a semi-circle around two targets. My uncle and his three giggling girl friends are forward and to the left while Captain Lannes and his three stooges mirror him on the right. In the middle of it stands Cecily, currently playing the violin. In the distance, someone set up two target practice dummies. They are at least thirty paces away from the crowd and surrounded by lit torches. I cannot believe my own eyes. They are serious about this. Loth notices me and has the audacity of winking. I roll my eyes and join him on the lawn, feeling the heavy weight of the crowd''s attention weighing on my back. I turn around. The center of the semi-circle is occupied by our hosts and Bingle, the guest of honor. He seems a bit upset though when our eyes meet, I am graced with the most awkward and exaggerated nod I ever received. Cecily finishes her piece, a respectable performance, and joins her parents. Loth untangles himself from his improvised harem and struts forward. His booming voice soon fills the clearing. "Ladies and Gentlemen, fine people of fort Barrington, good evening! My name is Loth Delaney and I have the honor of being yer guest tonight, as well as yer entertainer for a very specific event. And what an event it will be! Indeed, ladies and gentlemen, my martial abilities, my very skills as a marksman have been questioned! Can any Southern Gentleman let this challenge stay unanswered? Nay! And what better way to dispel such a notion than a good and proper demonstration, I ask? There is none! For deeds speak louder than words! As the provoked party, I took the initiative to select a format that will, I hope, garner your approval! Three of us will take the field, for three opponents of captain Lannes'' choosing." That rotten twat, of course. "As my champion, as my second, I humbly beg the assistance of sir Bingle, the hero of the hour!" "And you shall have it!" replies the adventurer with a resounding voice that matches Loth''s tempestuous barytone. The crowd roars its approval at the theatrical display. It is just the start. "Thank ye sir, and for my second champion, I ask the only other person of my blood present. My niece, Ariane!" It is rude for a proper lady to raise her voice and so I merely curtsy. The announcement is welcomed with equal part excitement and disapproval, or is it merely surprise? "As for the rules, we shall take turns shooting at the targets before us. Each person gets one shot. Shots to the head are worth ten points, the body seven and the limbs four. The team that after three shots has the most points, wins! Now, let us begin, and may fortune favor the bold!" Applause fills the air as Lydia Tillerson steps forward with two engraved muskets. I pick one and a sneering officer with black hair picks the other. Well, aren''t we confident? The crowd is still cheering, partly due to Loth''s limited eloquence but more, I suspect, because of alcohol. I do so hate when Loth is bored. A solid looking soldier with greying sideburns goes first. He loads the musket with practiced ease, patiently lines up the shot and fires on his target. The roar of the weapon is accompanied by womanly yells of dismay. Yes. Firearms are loud... Lady Tillerson steps forward and verifies that indeed, it is a square hit to the chest. The assembly erupts in polite congratulations and I spot Cecily inscribe a big seven on a piece of blackboard brought for the occasion. The man is a cautious soldier and with the distance, it is not so easy to guarantee a headshot. For humans, that is. I judge his decision as wise with the limited information he has access to. Bingle steps forward but Loth will not have it. He jumps to his feet and bellows: "As the eldest, I claim the first shot!" The facetious Dvergur then winks to me and stumbles as he takes the musket from my hand. He makes a show of loading the weapon and even has the paper cartridge brought to him by a blushing beauty. Loth aligns the sight, takes the time to give me a radiant smile then pulls the trigger. I roll my eyes just as our target''s head bounces back. Dead silence spreads over the clearing. Unfazed, the lady of the house inspects and announces. "Headshot!" The front of the house resounds with yells and cheers. On the soldier side, Lannes eyebrows creep up in astonishment. A smug ten appears on our board, outlined twice by a vengeful Cecily. The advantage is with us. It is the captain''s turn. He loads his musket with slow and deliberate movements. Several seconds pass as he aims. The tension is palpable. A loud bang heralds their own target''s head reeling back. The screams of excitement eclipse even the sound of the discharge. What started as a bet has turned into a memorable show. Let us see if I can make it unforgettable. Bingle detaches from the family and picks the musket and cartridge I offer him with a tense look. He, too, loads according to the manual and lines his shot with deliberate patience. Yet another cloud of blue smoke lifts in the air and after it clears, Lydia shouts the result. "Body shot!" Again, the crowd cheers in delight. Both teams are now tied and everything will depend on the last competitors. Bingle chose not to take risks, nor to offend the soldiers. How politically minded of him. In perfect silence, the smug-looking officer loads and shoots with the ease of the veteran marksman. "Body shot!" Yells the mistress to everyone''s delight. It is my turn. I step forward and look at Loth. His smile is vicious and predatory as he points his finger towards the space between his eyes. I slightly turn to Cecily who makes a long and very obvious gesture of slicing someone''s throat. Alright then. With the ease of experience, I hold the musket horizontal, bite the paper cartridge and pour powder into the pan. Spitting the piece of paper is accompanied by some whispers of disapproval from the traditional fringe of the assembly. I close the frizzen and place the butt of the weapon on the ground. I shove the cartridge in the barrel and push it down with the ramrod which I quickly reattach. I lay the weapon horizontal with a flick of the wrist, line the shot and fire. It took me around ten seconds which is fast but not inhumanly so. I wait for the hit to be witnessed. It does not happen. Eh? I turn around to a wall of shocked faces. The only one who isn''t surprised is Loth. He is currently laughing to tears and drying his eyes with a handkerchief. "Well well well niece, I believe you are half an inch wide to the left." Oh, he dares! "You were wide as well!" "Aye, I overcompensated." "It''s a headshot!" Yells Lydia with astonishment. It starts slow, ripples between groups and inflates until the acknowledgment of my prowess becomes a deafening ovation. Loth is looking like a cat who found the pot of cream. This is less about the result, more about playing the crowd. In the end we have a supernatural advantage and the experience to back it up. The soldiers including Bingle will aim for the center mass because it is enough to incapacitate any human they hit. We, however, train to hit quick-moving monsters. A stationary target at thirty paces is child''s play. My eyes meet Cecily''s. She is glowing with pride and sated revenge. Our victory is announced on the blackboard with broad letters. Lannes'' group is less than pleased. I believe that once the rumor spreads, the loss of face will dog them for years. It does not matter that two of us and one of them pulled a very difficult shot. People will only remember that they were beaten by a girl. A pale girl with blond hair and deep blue eyes that came out of nowhere. Heavens, I hope this does not spread too far. I would not want someone to add two and two. Loth, what have you done? And why? Everyone spills on the ground to congratulate the victors. Our target is brought forward and the three black holes in the cloth held for all to behold. Our victory is proven beyond a shadow of a doubt and the few dissidents are quickly silenced. I meet eyes with the soldier with grey morse mustache and he salutes me. I find the move touching and quite sportsmanlike, and curtsy in return. For a while, I am forced to handle everyone''s attention as politely as I can. Bingle comes to compliment me on my shot with Rose on his arm, expressing his complete trust in me. This man is unbelievable. His pride extends to those he sees as allies, and my success is a cause for joy. Truly a relic from the past. He should have sat at the round table. This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. It takes a while for things to wind down. I find myself shooting another two times in friendly competition, while teams form up to emulate the original show. Loth may have created a trend here. I am about to follow my irresponsible pseudo-uncle inside the mansion when my nose picks the group''s heavy musk. I decide that I would leave them a few hours of intimacy before we have that discussion. When I turn around, a flash of light catches my eyes. Only a few people notice and then immediately dismiss it. Unfortunately for me and with how the evening has been going so far, I know I must investigate. I discreetly reach the tree line and rush in the direction of the sound. It doesn''t take long before another flash of white light illuminates the undergrowth and soon I am close enough to hear a commotion. Oh, no. No! How could this happen?! We are still far from everything, practically at the edge of European expansion. This should not be possible. There shouldn''t be another vampire here, and yet there is no mistaking this cold aura. Flash. A hiss of anger. Impossible. Sinead was spotted? We are far from everything!? Is this bad luck or some cosmic joke? I could just leave... I promised Sinead safe passage. That doesn''t mean that I need to protect him... No! If he falls now I will never get his blood. That won''t stand. This blood is mine. MINE! I run through the dense copse of trees until I see movement in the distance. I move forward and am immediately noticed. A man slowly steps out of a mass of ferns. I call him a man out of generosity for he is more beast than kin. He is also the vampire I felt. Some affliction took him over only to leave behind a tortured husk. His cloth is ravaged and stained. The stench of rancid blood overwhelms my sensitive nose and so does he. It is as if he had turned, like spoiled milk or vinegar. His pallid skin slouches lightly and instead of our needle nails, he sports true talons of malformed chitin. Is this what happens if we let go too completely? "Followed me to the prize did you? Can''t have him can''t have him. Mine. MINE. Took everything you did. This I''ll keep and when I come back you will all pay pay pay pay. Should not have cast me away. Not sharing this treasure, oh no. All mine." This man is far gone. He licks his lips when I reveal a white leg and does not even seem to notice the knife I retrieve from its sheath. I move first. I rush his left side and take a jab at his heart. His claw misses the blade yet at the same time he twists on himself and the blade only slides against his flank. "Little girl, you''re young. Should have stayed with the others." We exchange a few blows, me with my weapon and him with claws. I am quickly pushed back. His strength is insane! I fail to deflect completely and his left hand slices into my shoulder. At the same time, I rotate and manage to catch his face with the tip. We separate. Sear?h the ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. I got his left eye and he doesn''t care a bit. Thick black blood seeps from half a dozen superficial wounds I inflicted using my superior range, while the one cut on my shoulder stings horribly. "Young, too young. Don''t know you. Not a Harcourt, not an Erenwald." I rush him again, more carefully. I use my superior speed and range to harry him and even manage to slice off two fingers. If my strikes do something it doesn''t show. "You''re not one of my pursuers then. Too inexperienced. Let me show you how I could run away." He dodges back and places two feet against the trunk of a tree and pushes. I yelp in surprise and duck, not a moment too soon. My foe barrels over me like a cannonball only to smack into a nearby tree with the noise of broken bones. "How stupid can he be?" I think as I turn to stab him in the back. We''re in the middle of the forest, of course he¡­ The man is already pushing his feet against the trunk he impacted. Too late, can''t¡­ He crashes against me. All air leaves my lungs as I am propelled backward and against something solid. His claws dig into the bracer of my left forearm which I placed in front of my heart. His other hand digs into my fingers, trying to pry my knife off. Only his missing digits prevent him from carrying out his plans. So strong! Slowly I manage to angle my blade to slice into his hand yet at the same time, one of his claws reaches the bone. Hurts. TRAPPED. WOUNDED. BITE. His torso is against mine. I have no leverage. He is so powerful that a human would have had his arms ripped off already. Even with enhanced strength, I feel things tearing! I must escape this. With an impatient grunt, the man arches his back and head away from me. His forehead smashes against my cheek. I only managed to turn my head at the last moment. He arches back and I move and bite into his face. My mouth closes around his nose. DEVOUR. He tastes bad, sour, but not toxic. Power. Power is good. My foe once against shows his disregard for pain. He still pulls away and something rips. I spit the flesh and prepare to bite again. Something is wrong, the air shimmers around us. Instead of attacking me, my foe recoils in horror. His mangled hands raise up reflexively. Won''t get a better chance. I stab him and he still manages to move at the last moment. I try to compensate and fail. It hurts. The blade still bites deep in his chest. I just need to slice and¡­ Both of his hands smash down into my forearm with enough strength to shatter the bone. PAIN. I lash out with my left claws and dig deep in his face. Both his eyes are red ruins now. I just need to slice his throat¡­ He angles his head down and when I stab forward, he bites down. I managed to move away and only get scraped by his canines. I twist away as he slices me but not quick enough. I was too committed. He catches me under my right breast and the strength of his strike lifts me off the air. I see the ground getting away. My ribs cracked. Something hits the small of my back, increasing the pain I already feel there, then another hits my head, then another hits my left leg. I land heavily on a root and roll on the ground like a ragdoll. "Hss." Owwww. This hurts! Aaaaah! Curses! STAND UP AND FIGHT. I slowly pick myself up, trying to ignore the litany of aches I feel in my body. The broken ribs are the most painful of all. I need to finish him off. There will be no egress for me with these wounds. On open ground, his ridiculous jumps will allow him to close the distance. How I wish I had told Loth instead of going alone. So stupid! Gah, I hope this mistake will not cost me my life. Just have to stand up Ari. Come on. Stand up. Up! STAND UP. With a cry of pain, I finish dragging myself against a trunk just in time to see that accursed vampire is blindly stumbling forward towards me, feeling the air in front of him with my own dagger. DEFILER. THIEF. FAE MINE, BLADE MINE. "Hssssss" "Found you, little girl. Kill you, then drink, then I''ll go. They won''t catch me." You, sir, are going nowhere. "Sinead, give me noise!" I wait because I know why my opponent recoiled in terror and who produced the blinding flash of light. Soon, the sounds of the forest are amplified beyond reason. My foe is disoriented by the cacophony of the forest. I brace and jump above him, landing lightly behind him. I grab my chest in pain and take a second to gather myself, then I do as he did. I jump on his back. As expected he twists at the last moment but this time I''m not trying to stab but to grab. I coil around him as best as I can with a broken arm and bite deep in his neck. He flails and bucks as I Devour, when this does not work he jumps back and crashes me against a tree, head first. I manage to protect myself with a raised arm at the moment of impact so the shock only allows me to bite deeper. It only takes a few more seconds for him to stop struggling. "Devourer¡­" he whispers with a note of fear. I keep draining him until there is nothing left. After what feels like ages I fall away from the corpse just as it starts disintegrating. "It was a good Hunt," I say and wince in pain. That was some good power if a bit sour, now I just need to¡­ Trying to move sends a sharp spike of agony through my gut. What is¡­ Ah. He stabbed me. That faithless son of a mongrel stabbed me with my own bloody dagger. Arg! The CUR!!!! I touch the handle and hiss. I need this out but I am really tired and this is quite painful. The wind whispers in my ears: "Hold on Nightwalker, I shall fetch your Vassal for you." Yes, if he comes near, the Thirst will turn me insane. Ah, this was supposed to be a GODDAMN RELAXED EVENING, and now I am bleeding out in the woods with my own knife in my stomach. Why? Why why why why. Is this divine retribution for clinging to life? For not letting those fanatics spike my heart in the foul smelling depths of the vampire fortress? I should¡­ Just¡­ Bah! I slowly drag myself in a small recess just so that a misplaced root does not dig into my bruised back. I take quick and shallow breaths to fight off the pain. Damn it all, I need to staunch the wound. I use my unbroken hand to apply light pressure and realize the dress is already soaked with my blood. If I remove the blade I will be incapacitated for sure. And when I wake up again¡­ Aaaahh this hurts! Dammit. I wish I could look at the Silent Watcher and meditate but the canopy is too dense. I have stopped being a real fledgling for one bloody day and I''m already a wreck. Is there an end to this? My life hasn''t changed since a year ago. I ran away from the fortress, ran away from the Lancaster and from the Order. Then I hid with Loth and ran around to assuage my Thirst while waiting to grow. Now that I can stay awake for longer than eight hours and don''t have to spend a significant amount of that time hunting, I am running around to solve issues. I was supposed to be a leader, not everyone''s problem solver! Why am I only able to handle the things directly in front of me? Is this my fault!? Should I plan better? And what of that vampire? I am quite sure that he was a fugitive. His words lend credence to my belief. Are there more like him? How likely am I to be found by an errant monster? Are they being tracked and could they lead others to me, or was this just the height of misfortune? So many questions. I know what I will next ask Jimena. I wince at a pain that does not abate. I think I am no longer healing. I close my eyes and focus on breathing. I am not dying, not like last time. I am, however, quite cold. And tired. I could just stop for a few moments. Let go a bit. Stop breathing. It does not even hurt anymore¡­ I have fled. I flee. I will keep fleeing. I do not need air nor water to keep pushing, to pummel the earth with my feet and leave dust and fallen leaves in my trail. So long as the tainted blood flows through my veins, the limitations of this form can be ignored. Unfortunately, the same goes for my pursuers. I can hear them behind and to the side. They are trying to close in and box me. I am fast and I am no city bird so I have managed to stay one step ahead but it is only a matter of time before a mistake sends me to my knees and my subsequent demise. "We will find you." They say, "It is inevitable." I keep going. What can I do but stay ahead for as long as I can? Eventually, my foot is snagged by a root I saw too late. I land awkwardly and even as I pick myself up the shadows gather around me for the kill. And then they die. Incredible power is unleashed to vaporize all my foes. Flames of blue spread and annihilate them where they stand. When it is done, not even ashes remain. I am paralyzed with terror as a giant with fiery hair walks past me and kneels by my side. "Interesting nightmare, Nightwalker, if painfully classic. How I wish I could be my true self in the real world as well, and show your kind the error of their ways. I would keep you alive as a pet, of course. You are just so precious." His armor shines in white and blue with such an intensity that I wonder why I have not been burnt to a crisp yet. He is terrifying, a force of nature. I dare not meet his eyes. For the first time, I see someone who could take on my Master and live. "Yes, proper respect, finally. If the Goddess wills, one day you will see it with your own eyes. Now, wake up." I regain consciousness on the bed of my guest room. Loth and Dalton''s worried faces are uncomfortably close. I feel fantastic despite the closing wound on my stomach. "Please do not tell me I had fae''s blood and was not awake to experience it." Their eyes meet and they look just a tad nervous. "Very well Mistress, we won''t tell you." "Dammit!" I say with feeling. I knew it was going to be delicious. I was truly looking forward to it! "I''m sorry lass, I should have been there." "Bah, how could you know. I did not even warn you before rushing into danger. I only have myself to blame for this mishap. Aah. It hurts." "Don''t move Mistress. We only just removed the dagger." "Ah, I wish I knew how to use it better. I got stabbed with my own blade..." "Not everyone can boast such an intimate knowledge of their weapon Mistress." "... Right. And what of my opponent?" "We have spread the ashes lass. We are still unnoticed." "I cannot believe it. I have used the full extent of my physical powers no less than five times in the past week and Bingle and the others are still unaware of my true nature. It''s miraculous, truly." "If you say so Mistress, I personally believe the word you are looking for is ''gullible''." "As you say, Dalton. By the way, I missed the opportunity to say farewell to the adventurer. We are parting ways tomorrow after all." "Ah, he did mention it. Let me see if I can wake him up lass." "I''m sorry for having you raise at such a time." "Think nothing of it Ms. Delaney! It is I who should have remembered your, hem, condition. Besides, I am to blame for your next task. Are you sure that you do not want company? I can catch the next ship, I assure you." "Oh Mr. Bingle. Your solicitude moves me. I promise you that I will be well defended." "Ah yes, your uncle assured me that you had past dealings with the savage and that he was a man of his word." "Yes, and I will have a chaperone in the person of his sister." Possibly. "Indeed?" If Bingle'' eyebrows raise any higher they will take flight. It is my fault for trying to make this situation anything less than absolutely scandalous. For the unmarried daughter of a good family to go gallivanting in forgotten ruins in the company of natives will never be acceptable in any country of the globe. At least Bingle does his best to mask his disapproval. "Hum, truly you have the soul of an adventurer Ms. Delaney. I hope you will travel to Europe at some point. The Royal Museum would certainly be of interest to you. Why, I dare say you could teach the curator a thing or two!" I misjudged him again. This man is too pure for his own good. The discussion ends in pleasantries and extended farewells, which I hate. Bingle is dejected and tears shine in his eyes. I don''t understand why he would grow so attached in such a short time. Finally, dawn approaches and torpor makes me stumble. This pushes the poor gentleman out of the room so that I can rest, at last. Chapter 30 - 30. Charm "And what is this?" I ask as I get out of the carriage. We are in the middle of a meadow off the beaten path. Besides Loth''s moving fortress there is also another one, an actual coach of outdated but solid make. "That''s yer ride. I need to keep Asni and the wagon with me, ya know?" "Yes yes, I was referring to the man." A prisoner kneels between Loth and Dalton. Sinead is standing a hundred paces away, busy drawing a pile of something in a notebook. From the smell, I assume it to be carrion. "We were set upon by bandits, if you would believe it. We thought you might want some breakfast." The captive''s eyes widen in surprise. Having someone hunt for me feels like a bad habit to develop but I would not want this man''s life to go to waste. I can indulge for a night, I suppose. I draw closer and take in the man''s appearance. Is this some sort of test? "Is something the matter, Ari?" "Loth dear, do not tell me you have not noticed what is wrong? This man is no bandit." "Excellent." Whispers the wind. We all turn to Sinead as he makes his way to us. "I was afraid that you would simply miss it, Nightwalker. I am pleased that it is not so. As part of our agreement on safe passage, I believe I still owe you a bit of information and so I have decided to turn it into an impromptu lesson. Consider it a mark of appreciation for yesterday''s timely assistance." The Fae pockets his book and pen then turns to me with his hands against the small of his back. There is an intensity and fire to him that even his gaunt figure cannot dim. He smiles, pleased like a well-fed cat. "Trickery, lies, and deception. Those are the greatest tools of your kind. It is not the strength of your arms that moves nations against one another, but a well-placed letter, a forlorn love or a single word at the right time. We both know why it must be so, do we not?" It is so because we would lose ourselves then lose our lives to a united humanity. There is no need to voice this, however. "And how do they unravel, those plots and conspiracies? By the pull of a single thread. Find one inconsistency, unmask one perpetrator and the whole scheme falls apart like a house of cards. This is why it is so exciting, no? Patience and meticulous planning against paranoia and observation. The eternal balance of the secret battlefields. Tell the class, oh dweller in the dark. Tell us what you saw. And then I shall guide you on the next step." I am loath to indulge him, however I am quite eager to learn from his experience. "This man smells like soap and his clothes are rumpled but clean. His beard is trimmed and I can smell wax. Expensive. His skin is too healthy for someone who spends much time outside in squalor. Finally, his self-discipline is admirable. He is ex-military and lives in town. This is a mercenary." "Precisely! Observe the clean shoes as well. Amateurs always get the shoes wrong. And the guns! Too expensive. Too modern. Outlaw outfits rarely manage to obtain uniform gear. No, we have been deliberately attacked." Dalton and Loth are only surprised but for a moment. Soon, their gazes turn calculating and our prisoner fear turns to stark terror. "And before you two lovable meatheads take out the pliers and hot coals, I would ask your patience. I wish to instruct the Lady of the House in the subtle arts of suggestion." Oh, this is going to be good. "What annoys me the most on this forsaken plane of existence is not the fact that your kind enslaved my own. It is not even my unfulfilled wish to regain my true power so that I may turn my jailors into quivering piles of flesh for all of eternity, no. What truly sets me off is how pathetically primitive your mind techniques are. You had millennia of existence to come up with something fun and still miserably failed! I know that good techniques are wasted on mortals, but still, for the love of art! You should not settle for mediocrity! It is thus my greatest pleasure to introduce you to this most hallowed of pursuit. Now, Nightwalker, how do you perceive your own Charm?" "Like a rope." Sinead turns into the living embodiment of condescension. I need to learn how to draw properly so that I may immortalize the arrogance on his face if only to have a frame of reference when I eat him later. "A rope. Truly. I expected so little and am still disappointed. Well, do you notice that this rope changes as you proceed with the manipulation?" "Yes. It can be strong or weak, taut or loose and it frays under pressure, just like my tolerance for rude behavior." "Yes, hrm, a fair point. Obviously the strength of the bond reflects the depth of the relationship. Time and genuine care will improve it better than brute strength. The frays appear when you force your victims to do something against their will. The more unreasonable or absurd the request, the more they will fight it. Even the frailest human mind will buckle and fight if you, say, ask them to kill their own child." I hope he does not speak from experience, that would be rather distasteful. "You will, if you focus, notice colors and patterns in your... rope. They are the marks of emotion. Not all bonds are the same. I find that love trumps all, though terror is a close second. Now, the basics. What do you think is the most important thing in manipulation?" "Subtlety?" "Wrong, though not entirely out of topic. The answer is: the other. You are not stabbing a target, you are painting a masterpiece. Every working is different even when it involves the exact same person. You need to understand your target to some extent so that you may obtain the best results. A proper session is nine parts eloquence and one part magic. Without eloquence, you will not even understand which are the best questions to ask." "Let me take an example. You, Vassal, what is the first question you would ask our guest?" "Hum, do you have mates and are they on their way here?" "Not bad! I''ll give you three out of ten. The proper question is: am I in immediate danger? What tells you that his ''mates'', as you call it, are the only things that threaten your life? Hmm? What''s your name lad? How should I call you?" The man struggles a bit before admitting to himself that this is not exactly vital information. "Hendricks, sir." "And Hendricks. Do you believe me to be in immediate danger?" Silence. "Maybe a little bit eh?" The man reluctantly nods. "It''s not that the knife would have saved you. You saw us fight. Do you believe yourself fast enough to capture a hostage? Indeed not. Now be a good lad and drop it on the ground." Dalton pales as an open straight razor drops from the captive''s bound hands. Loth seems a bit displeased. "First thing I''ll teach ye when we''re back is how ya frisk properly." "I''m sorry sir." "Now, now, do not let yourselves be distracted! Remember, open-ended questions! Do not let your preconceived ideas get in the way of the truth. Do not demand a flower when you could inquire about the whole bouquet." "What are you doing to me?!" Asks the mercenary in a panic. Sinead considers him for a second as if remembering that this is an actual living being and not just the point of his demonstration. How does the puppet dare speak out of turn? Before things can get any further I step forward and our eyes meet. I smile kindly and brush a strand of errant hair behind his ear. "Shhh do not worry, my friends are a tad strange, but I am here for you. You are safe now as long as we get what we want. You want to help us, don''t you? Help us then leave?" "Yes..." "Hendricks was it?" "Yes, ma''am." "My name is Ari. These men here just want to protect me. Do you understand?" "Yes Ari." "You are strong. And courageous. Are you an army man?" "Yes ma''am, I was a Marine before I signed up with this outfit." "A Marine eh? You served aboard a ship then?" "Yes ma''am, I had the honor of serving aboard the USS Wasp!" "Indeed! And you signed with ''your outfit'' afterwards then?" "Yes, ma''am, seven months ago, hrm. The pay is very good. You understand, I am sure." This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience. "Of course! Soldiers are never well paid, even during a war, are they not?" "Absolutely ma''am. A disgrace is what it is." "And I understand that your current employer would better reward a man of your talents?" "Yes, they do what needs to be done and they know who to hire for that." Keep him talking, keep him saying yes, build a rapport, make him talk about himself. Those are all things that I learned from my dad and from Achilles. I understand now that this is the heart of Charm. My ability to mesmerize is only one more tool in my arsenal and if I am not careful it will become a crutch. I will have to use it now, however, if I hope to reach the next part of our conversation. I place my hands on the sides of his head. He is close now. My cool breath ruffles his dark hair. "It sounds dangerous." "Why yes, it is, obviously..." "You have been placed in danger, my good Hendricks, by incompetent people," I add with a frown. "Yes, in danger." "They don''t know how to work with you. They didn''t know how to use your skills. Yes?" "Yes." "Don''t you think it''s unfair? You''re so good at what you do, and they waste your potential so..." "Yes..." "Truly unfair. We should do something about it. We are friends, are we not?" "Yes." "And friends protect and help each other. Yes?" "Yes, protect and help." "So we should go and see them, those that sent you here." "Yes, they are not far." "Truly?" "Yes, they wanted us to bring you to them." "Us as in...." "Either the bearded one or the blonde woman." "And that is why you were hired?" "Yes." "They showed themselves to you?" "Yes. Two officers from the continental army. Bunch of pricks." "I bet they looked arrogant and thought they were better than anyone else." "Yes. Yes! Just because they are still in service. As if they didn''t buy their rank! Hah!" "This place is desolate. How would you ever find them?" "Easily Ari, just follow the road west until you come across an abandoned farm with brown brick walls and a burned down barn. They are waiting there." "Thank you, Hendricks. Gentlemen?" "I want to talk to those fine gentlemen promptly. Do hurry." "Go ahead lass." "Bon app¨¦tit, Mistress." Normally, feeding is an intimate experience. In this specific case, I make it quick and lethal. There is something empowering about draining someone to death while surrounded by three killers. Even if the act of drinking should make me vulnerable, I am not afraid, because they are on my side. All those present know what I am and accept it, well, all those that will survive anyway. I am making a statement and I like it. Out of those killers, I am also the deadliest. My feeding shows my lack of concern. It is as much a show of self-confidence as it is one of trust. I have achieved much in the past year. "We are expected, gentlemen. Shall we?" "Aye lass, can''t wait to see those twats again." "Language!" "Yeah yeah." We are polite monsters. Sinead kindly requests to sit next to me to continue the lesson which leaves poor Dalton to eat our dust. "No worries Mistress. Just make sure you learn all you can!" Good Vassal. We sit down next to Loth and Sinead immediately turns to me with a smile. "You are a natural, Nightwalker, but you miss the point. You are far too ruthless, too result-driven. Charm is an art that should be enjoyed for the sake of it. Aaaah, how many masterpieces has my race created over the eons, games millennia-long won by those we never even suspected of playing? How pleasant the retelling! Ah, but I digress. It will come to you in time I am sure. The young ones are always eager to go for the immediate reward instead of one matured to perfection. No matter. Now I shall teach you how to force a mood, then we shall move on to memory alteration and defense bypasses. The basics, really." We spend a good hour working on each other. Sinead feels like a genius swordsman fighting with a spoon. He is blocked from most of his capabilities and yet his skill is undeniable. His insights are keen beyond compare and I feel myself progressing with incredible swiftness. I believe that he simply is the best Charm teacher on the planet at this moment, and my opinion of him improves drastically. We only stop when we are in sight of the abandoned farm mentioned by the dearly departed Hendricks. "Excellent. Now let me see you apply this lesson to your next target." All four of us silently sneak through the overgrown edge of the farm. I lead the way by tracking the smell of fresh sweat and bad cologne while Sinead manifests a light that only we can see. Without surprise, we spot Captain Lannes and his arrogant subordinate smoking nervously in the lunar shade of a great pine tree. I can smell the musk of their anxiety with the barest onset of panic. They are perfectly ripe. "Someone wants them?" I whisper. "I think you need them for practice, Mistress, lessons applied on the spot are the easiest to remember." "I concur with the mortal." "I want to watch ye at work lass, make it fun." I stealthily move up and around. They have horses in the distance and more interestingly, a few unlit torches on the ground. "I don''t like this, they are taking too long!" "Shut up, Jenkins." Aha! I did not know the other imbecile''s name. Since they have their back to me it is trivial to steal one of the torches as well as a match. It takes me a few tries to light one, however when the sound of burning Sulphur reaches their ears, they turn just in time for flames to shed light on my pale visage. Both men freeze with their hands on their pistols while I smile cordially. I do so love this moment when it dawns on them that the nature of the hunt is not as it seems, that their condition is not that of the predator. My fangs are still hidden, and my claws tucked away, but they know. Deep inside, they know. "Why the cold shoulder, gentlemen? Was I not expected?" I walk slowly to the side as I speak. The predator in me taught me how to walk better, and it has become increasingly easier to bring this skill forward. My step is as assured as it is silent. I still walk as a human in public but here I do not have to. I know the feeling I give, more sinuous. Predatory. Lethal. The men instinctively take a step back. Lannes knows something is wrong. He is hesitating. I can hear the cogs turning in his panicked brain: ''We have been found out and the sellswords defeated, but why is this woman here? Why is it not Loth holding me at gunpoint?'' ''And why am I so afraid?'' I know the answer. Their well-honed instincts are telling them something is wrong while their societal mind tells them I am harmless. "Well?" Lannes takes out his pistol and cocks it threateningly. My eyes meet his and Jenkins'' and I capture their attention. Following Sinead''s advice, I taste the connection. I still visualize it as ropes but this time there is a hint of colors and more details on its strength. There is fear here, as well as disdain and mistrust. I could brute force attraction, perhaps, but it would defeat the purpose of the exercise. I am here to learn how to properly Charm someone and as my improvised mentor said, it is an art. "You are under arrest! Now tell us where Loth Delaney is!" The rope on Jenkins'' side vibrates as a new emotion runs through it. I recognize it well. Discomfort and embarrassment. "Under arrest? For what crime and under what authority, pray tell? Do you claim to serve justice as you lurk in the dark like a highwayman?" "You and your ilk may have fooled the Tillersons and most of the garrison but I know better, oh yes! You are criminals and traitors of the vilest sort!" "So you are acting on your own! Breaking the law by ordering hired thugs to abduct citizens? Are those the actions of law-abiding men? Is this not the sort of thing our fathers fought to end not two decades ago?" Yes! I knew it, Jenkins does not approve. With the lightest touch, I fan the flames of paranoia in both their hearts. It is difficult to affect two people at once but I still manage it with patience and concentration. With minute detail, Lannes'' second reaches for his own gun while keeping a wary eye on his commanding officer. "I do what is necessary to protect us from outside influence!" "Whatever are you talking about?" "Do not play coy with me! You are foreign agents!" "Those are preposterous accusations that you pulled out of your hat! You have no reasonable cause to insult us so!" I lace the challenge with the barest hint of suggestion, just enough to make him choose outrage over caution. "Schaffer was a spy!" What!? Oh my GOD this is Bingle''s fault! Again! Aaaarg! "¡­Who?" "Flora Schaffer! The woman your British scoundrel followed was an asset for Prussia and your so-called adventurer knew it. Why else would he track her all the way to this god-forsaken mudhole?!" "Love of course, you monster. He was madly in love with her!" I do not even need to act for Jenkins'' discomfort to turn to doubt. Few people would be comfortable placing "Bingle" and "intelligence", foreign and otherwise, in the same sentence. "And what a strange thing to assert, Captain. Your covert actions do not strike me as those of a man mandated by the government! Where do these accusations come from, I ask? Not from our own spies I''d wager!" "You! I do not have to justify myself before a scandalous woman of dubious origin!" And now we have anger, the last primal dye to add to this first painting. It only takes a nudge to set the stone in motion. "As a matter of fact¡­" says Jenkins. "I would like to know from whence this belief came, sir." "You dare!" adds Lannes, incensed, "I will not be questioned by the likes of you!" Oh, this is almost too easy. "The likes of me!?" screams the second man in outrage. "You are na?ve, Jenkins! People like me are what stands between our country and tyranny. We are the shield of civilization against the machinations of the old world and its darkest creations!" "So you admit being part of a conspiracy!" I add with delight. "It is no conspiracy! We protect the nation!" "In secret and against our will! That is a conspiracy! Hah! Who is the traitor now?" "The Brotherhood of the New Light is no group of rakes you wench! And you¡­" Lannes takes a step back from his subordinate and his pistol sways towards the man''s chest but the righteous Jenkins has had enough. He jumps and manages to seize his opponent''s arm. Both of them fall and struggle on the ground with grunts of effort and anger. I watch, fascinated. Admittedly it got out of hand before I could learn more but I don''t care. This is¡­ Beautiful. A shot rings under the canopy with the distinct sound of gored flesh. Ah, oops? Jenkins recoils in horror from the mangled form of his superior. Only a gurgling scream can be heard in the dead silence, coming from the ravaged half-face of his victim. The sinus and other cavities are exposed to the air. One eye has been burnt from its orbit and as I stare, arterial blood splurts from the ghastly wound with every heartbeat. Ah, what a waste. With a step, I walk to Jenkins and use his pistol to finish off the Captain cleanly, as the Hunt demands. And now I have a whimpering and guilt-stricken human to handle. This is so annoying. He tried to kill you, he failed, and you killed him. The logic is sound. You were not even friends! "Jenkins¡­ It''s over calm down." "It''s over, it''s all over! I committed a murder!" "No. Jenkins, look at me. There. Good. You defended yourself against someone you thought you trusted." "Hah," he sobs, "as if it mattered in a court of law!" "There will be no court of law." S§×ar?h the Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "What? But¡­ I killed him." "No, I killed him. I pulled the trigger." Jenkins stops to consider. I use this and the barest hint of suggestion to talk about conspiracy and duty, how Lannes'' associates must never know that they were found out and some such nonsense about sacrifice, the good of the nation and whatnot. "You are correct miss Delaney, I must uncover this vile plot! I shall return and head a discreet inquiry, starting with this traitor''s personal correspondence. But¡­ What of the body?" "I came here to get answers but my companions are not far behind. The mercenary''s ambush made them irate, as I am sure you understand. If you leave quickly I should be able to convince them to let you go, and take care of the remains beside." "But what should I tell the others?" "Nothing. You know nothing of this man''s desertion. I am sure that a thorough search of his personal effects will shed some light on the matter." "Yes¡­ Yes you are correct. Thank you Ms. Delaney, thank you! I shall return, and should I find something I will keep you and your uncle in the confidence. I will get to the bottom of this yet! Goodbye Ms. Delaney! Cecily was right, you are a true heroine." Then the brave soldier takes his horse and leaves in a gallop. A true heroine, huh, at least he did not mention God this time. As the sound of hooves pounding the ground recedes in the distance, I hear a slow clap. The trio of men exits the undergrowth with a grinning Sinead at the head. "A capital performance young Ariane. Aaaaaah it is so pleasant to see a new talent enter the scene. A first rendition of "the False Egress" and "the Turning of the Friend" in a single night! That is two out of the five basic plots as described by Arakus the elder in his famous anthology. You need but "the Unrequited Love", "Brother Bane" and "the Apprentice" and you will have completed an important rite of passage for us Likaeans. I am most pleased, most pleased!" I am not sure what to do so I curtsey awkwardly. This is the first time Sinead does not address me as "Nightwalker" I believe. I will take the compliment. "Let us travel together tonight so that I may impart a few more pieces of knowledge upon you, then we will split ways. Fate will bring us together again in the future. Of this, I am sure!" Before we leave, we draw straws to determine who will bury the bodies and I lose. From the other''s innocent faces I highly suspect foul play, yet I decide not to press the issue. I made this body after all. As I dig and later, as we travel, I soak up Sinead''s knowledge for all I can until dawn and exhaustion creep upon me. Chapter 31 - 31. Winternight First comes the smell, then the buzz of flies, and last is the sight of a desiccated limb covered by loose strands of fabric. The bright colors of the improvised shrouds turn the bodies into macabre puppets. This one is a child, I note idly. They were the second to go, after the sick and wounded. "Another one?" "Yes." We have been following the trail of the lost Three Rivers tribe for two days now, and my patience is running short. Nashoba insists that we catch up with them together, or the shaman who called for his help might simply attack me out of fear. I am concerned that by the time we reach them, there will be no one to interrogate. This splinter of the Muskogee people was expelled from their land by settlers a month ago and since then they have wandered West. A vision sent to my, well, "employer" I suppose, spoke of a terrible beast stalking them and devouring their members. I now believe that this is the least of their worries. We have come across no less than ten cadavers in a single day of travel and they all exhibited signs of starvation. The bodies were husks, curled up on themselves by a devouring pain. I do not envy their fate. "We...We should really..." "For the last time Shaman, you can do this on the way back. The longer we delay, the more bodies there will be." "He was just a child." "Yes, yes, I am sure that the adults wanted to live too. Listen Nashoba, our arrangement was that I hunt a monster for you, not dig a mass grave." "Ah, of course. You are correct, I am letting my emotions interfere with our task. There may be others that still draw breath." I want to roll my eyes but I refrain. Nashoba is only mortal, and he at least did not involve God nor smother me with speeches on the importance of grief and other inanities. I can understand his anguish, although I do not share it. "Mistress, we should stop the carriage here and continue on horse." "Your Tushka is right. Road very small." Nashoba gained mastery of the tongue through a dream quest apparently. The contrast between his flawless Akkad and his broken English is jarring. "Then you take the horses." "There is something in the air, Daughter of Thorn. We are close, and late." I sniff a bit and detect nothing but pine, mountain air and the stench of a decomposing body. Noticing me, Dalton adds: "It is cold Mistress, unseasonably so." "We are halfway up the Appalachians. Is this not normal?" "No, Mistress." I already noticed that the place is too quiet. There are clearly magical shenanigans afoot and time is therefore of the essence. "Then you take the horses and light the torches. I will scout ahead and guide you. Hurry." For an hour we climb up the twisted path. Scrawny pine trees and dried up vegetation with the occasional corpse make the place desolate and the trip unpleasant. All my instincts tell me that this is not natural. There are no spells here, nor creatures nearby. The influence is more pervasive. It is like an old grease smell that would leave an oily taste on my tongue. We make good time despite my companion''s exhaustion and the path finally clears up as we reach a small plateau. Large slabs of granite covered with lichen alternate with diseased ferns. The remnants of a large camp can be seen in the center. There is a fire, still smoking a bit, as well as broken tents, pottery and baskets, and the shattered remains of a loom. No corpses. The others join me, and I raise my hand in warning. The plateau is rather small at the base. It could contain perhaps an encampment of a hundred people at most. The stone plane climbs up to the left and falls steeply on our right. The few trees offer little protection against the chilling wind. Nashoba stays on his mare while Dalton arms himself before disappearing in the darkness. I track him by sound until he stops moving. That means he found a vantage point. I turn back to Nashoba and point to my nose, then to the left. I follow the stench of unwashed bodies and rancid sweat to a hollow in the face of the rock. I lean forward and look in. The light reflects off the eyes of a dozen people huddled under grimy covers. A dying fire barely emits any heat. The smell is eye-watering. Under the abominable odor, I detect a mage power gone rancid. It is close in nature to Nashoba but with a most sour aftertaste that reminds me of the fallen vampire I slew a week past. It appears we found our shaman. Whether they are still sane is open for debate. Nashoba approaches the hollow then recoils in disgust. Perhaps I should have warned him of the revolting musk. I am much less affected by it than mortals both by my nature and by virtue of not having to breathe. The shaman places a scarf around his head and starts speaking to the miserable band. His inquiries are first met with silence, then answered by a wizened woman with a bone headdress sitting at the back of the group. Her gnarly fingers grip a staff adorned with a crow skull and she speaks in a deep gravely voice. I do not need to understand to feel the pain and terror in her tale. The remaining tribe members recoil under my gaze and refuse to look up. They feel like people who have given up on everything. They truly are a sorry lot, and I note in passing that there are no children left. This tribe is done for. Few could remain sane after going through what they suffered. Their best bet for survival would be to splinter and join other people, praying to their gods that they can forget the horror of their existence. Not that I care. I wait patiently until my companion is finished and I note that it is lucky that the female shaman can speak Choctaw. It is easy to forget that the natives are made of several people with their own culture and dialects when most of us white folks refer to them as savages. Being a vampire has certainly changed my perspective on the matter. After a few minutes, Nashoba walks without a word to the center of the clearing and restarts the fire using kindling and a few pieces of dry fabric. S§×ar?h the N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Forgive me Daughter of Thorn. Could you kindly help me gather some wood? I ask this as a favor." He has no right to demand it and his specific phrasing shows his acknowledgement. With that said, Nashoba is one of the few mortals I respect. He is also tired and lame. "Very well." I can show kindness to those I favor. I also deduce from his anguished expression that the news is not good, and he may need some time to process it. We have found the survivors of the tribe and extracted the knowledge that we sought, after all. Some more delay is acceptable. I go around gathering firewood and, in some cases, making it. I find snapping the trunks of those weakened trees surprisingly easy. I suppose I have no more use for an axe, now. After three trips Nashoba informs me that I have gathered more than enough and places a large pot on top of the fire which he fills with water from his canteen. "Should we not give them our rations if you intend to save them?" "Not directly. Those who starve have a weak stomach and eating solids could kill them. Their body can only tolerate a broth." "I see. While we wait, you should share what you learned." "Of course, Daughter of Thorn. I have delayed but too long. They left their lands with little food and this was soon exhausted. They did their best to forage but without knowing the lay of the land, feeding seventy mouths is impossible. It is at this time of great distress that the beast struck. Like carrion birds circling a bleeding beast it harried them. One after the other, the hunters started to disappear. Of course, the tribe started to send people out in pairs or even larger groups. It was all in vain. The beast would then take more and the food situation kept deteriorating. First, the weakest members perished then the children started dying too. Despair took over them. Women started to hunt as well, and some would come back hurt. A few people took their own lives. The survivors decided to flee up the mountain in hope that the beast would give up or that they could at least confront it. They built this fire you see here and waited. They say the beast came. They say it was taller than the tallest man and dressed in a patchwork of skins. That its face was like of a rock cleft in two and that its teeth were like the canines of a wolf. All of them. They say arrows and spears bounced off it like toys and that it killed a man with every swing of its mighty arms. They say they could no more stop it than they could stop winter. After it killed enough people, the rest fled higher up while this small group hid there in the hopes that it would look them over, or at least that the cave would be too small for its massive frame. That was yesterday." The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. "So, the beast is still up there?" "Yes, and so are the survivors if there are any." "Then I''d better be on my way. Can you ward your fire?" "Yes, I shall do so immediately." "Will it be enough? It seems this other shaman could not stop it." "She is old, weakened by hunger and her tribe lost its land and its way. Her powers are so diminished they might as well be nothing. I should be able to keep a monster at bay until you return. If I am in danger, I will fire the pistol you lent me in the air." "I hope for your sake that it will be enough." Before I leave, I discreetly reach Dalton''s hideout and discover he hid himself with fallen branches. In the dark and covered with greenery, he is barely visible. I tell him not to engage unless he has no choice and follow the trail up the mountain. Without the mortals I can move much faster. A first inspection reveals no tracks, so the creature probably has some way to mask its presence. That would also explain why no hunter managed to escape it. Undeterred, I rush up the steep incline with as much celerity as I can without leaving myself open. In two minutes, I find my first body. It is a man, quite old. As expected, he is covered with bite marks that show a jaw several times larger than a human''s. The beast devoured the muscles on the legs and arms, the back and most of his entrails. I am about to leave when I notice something peculiar. There are no defensive wounds and the reason is made clear when I push the head to the side with my boot. The man has been brained by something blunt before being devoured. My theory of the monster being able to hide increases and I feel the onset of paranoia as all my senses grow to their sharpest. I even spot rabbit''s fur in the hunter''s hand, proof that the beast left nothing that could be easily swallowed. A few meters away I find a mother and her child, still holding hands. They were killed the same way. I continue quickly, making a conscious effort not to run in a straight line and checking regularly behind me. I see nothing out of the ordinary, only abandoned personal effects and a mess of human tracks. In a few more minutes, I notice embers glowing in the distance. The night is silent. I approach from a side. Nestled among trees are the remains of the last campfire of the tribe. There is nothing left, not even a body, but the smell of old blood is pungent and after circling I see no tracks going further up. The lack of remains worries me a little. What manner of beast can do that? I walk warily forward. The unnatural stillness of this place is getting to me. Besides the freezing wind nothing stirs, not even the grey ash covering everything like stained snow. Massive bloodstains dot the site. They are only a few hours old. I am about to circle around to look for tracks, hints, anything, when I spot something among the embers. Curious, I approach. A branch snaps behind me. I roll forward and slice behind me at the same time only to hit air. There is nothing to see, which means... I turn, claws up and ready. Still nothing. I circle. Still nothing. The quiet sound of a breathing rabbit comes from the pines. I am jumping at shadows. I still move in the clearing so if the creature tries to rush me, I would still have some time to react. This foe is proving to be troublesome. It can hide and is probably quite strong and resilient. The dagger should be enough to hurt it and am confident in my speed, however it will be of little use if I am caught off guard. Tracks on the dust show signs of a massive scuffle. So many human feet, and what is this near the camp fire? Bones. Human bones Hundred of bones shattered, their marrow sucked dry, as if... As if... Well, that is curious, and illogical. Wait. No, it could not be. And yet... The hunters disappearing one by one, caught by surprise. The lack of anything but human tracks. The remaining tribesmen slaughtered in one spot instead of fleeing a large opponent. Cooked human bones¡­ I need to be sure. I jump in the bush looking for a very specific set of tracks and eventually, I find it. Multiple humans heading down the path. Now that I know what to look for it is easy to notice. God Bloody DAMNIT! Played for a fool! Aaaarg! I run down the mountain like all the hounds of hell are on my heels. Come on come on come on. Let me be there in time. Let me be there in time... A gunshot. That is not a pistol but Dalton''s rifle. I move even faster. My chest is almost to the ground and the very wind pushes my hair away and back. With every step I dig furrows in the loam and fly forward ten paces. Faster. Faster! I will be on time. I''m here. In a single moment I spot Nashoba in the middle of a magical circle with his pistol discarded on a rock. He is surrounded by the cannibals who silently slaughtered and devoured their own kin. It appears they lost their humanity in the process. Long, gaunt forms of white skin and bones are now revealed by their discarded blankets. The little flesh they have is twisted and taut like steel cable. Their face is human down to their upper lips, then it turns nightmarish. They bare distended maws of crooked and yellowed teeth to my companion''s ward. Five of them press at the edge of a shimmering circle. The Three Rivers shaman is standing at the edge, still clad in her rotten regalia. She is dancing and croaking while waving her ominous staff. A seventh abomination is prone on the ground with a smoking hole through the torso. Dalton''s handiwork. He must have shot as they were creeping on the Choctaw man. There is little time. I move faster than I ever have. I need to push them out of the way! I reach the first creature without slowing down and punch it in the gut. With a ghastly sound of shattered bones, the thing folds around my stretched hand like a wet towel. The momentum catapults it against two of its fiendish allies and they are smashed backward like pins. I finish the move by throwing my entire weight in a swipe. The first target''s chest disappears in a curtain of gore. An instant later, the fifth creature''s head just disappears. I finish the sequence with a silver throwing knife that shatters the enemy mage''s headdress and sends a splatter of blackened blood flying. This will do for now. I crash into the thicket with all the subtlety of a herd of buffalos. A second gunshot guides me to Dalton. As I arrive, he unloads his last pistol in the face of the last standing foe. He must have missed the brain as the creature jumps on him with claw extended. Oh no you don''t. PUNY WEAKLING. BOTTOM FEEDER. SCUM. YOU DARE RAISE YOUR HAND AGAINST HE WHO IS MINE? I dig two talons in the thing''s neck and swing it over my head with a furious roar, sending it careening head over heel. The creature''s short flight is interrupted by a large stone on which his head bursts like an egg, then a trunk, before finishing in a ravaged heap on the ground. Dalton is fine, if a bit stunned by my sudden appearance. I sprint back to the clearing and take out my dagger. I quickly finish off two wounded before turning to the enemy shaman. It is pressed against the wall of the cliff by Nashoba''s staff. Its filthy yellow talons dig into the rock and her shrieks make my ears ring, yet my ally does not budge. "So, you want to interrogate it?" "I know all there is to know. I kept the thing alive so that you could feed." "... Do I have to?" It reeks like a pox-ridden pigsty. Nashoba glares at me in silence. I suppose I should not behave like a spoilt child. I can certainly use the power. I grab the thing''s arm. It tries to fight me but compared to the fallen vampire I faced a few days ago, I feel I am wrestling a toddler. I still break all its fingers for good measures. Why take a risk? I bite down. I am so hungry, so hungry. The pain in my belly is relentless. It digs into my entrails with its serrated fingers. There is nothing but the devouring agony. I led them here. I led them to their death. We should have fought and died on our feet like warriors, not hunted and starved like animals. The children... what have I done? The visions I sent were sent too late. By the time the tortoise shaman of the Choctaw comes, there will be nothing left of the Three Rivers clan. Today I ate my finger. The pain of tearing down the limb was less than that of starvation. It was hot and juicy, if terribly bony. Now I remember what food feels like. I feel clarity of thought drift away. There are others like me, who tasted the forbidden flesh. I can feel their eyes on me and on each other. I do not want sanity. Sanity is what brought me here in the first place. Let me be mad. Let me be lost, but above all, let me be sated. We are silent. There is no need to speak just as there was no need to listen to the dying cries of our kin. We are still starving despite the heaps upon heaps of flesh we pushed down our gullets. It is fine. Tomorrow we go down the mountain. There will always be more villages and more hunting parties. Always. I back up from the shriveled form of my victim. That was strange, though not entirely unpleasant. Both sour and tasty like pickled fish, and the power was good. On par with an experienced mage, I would say. I suspect Nashoba is interested in my vision, so I share it with him as Dalton joins us. "Yes, Daughter of Thorn. I know of what you speak. They are called Wendigos. I heard the tale of a mighty hunter called Anwe the Slayer who was the first to find them and purge them from this world. I never thought the stories were true..." Nashoba limps back to a stone and sits wearily. I must remember that they traveled through the day and it is now past midnight. They will need to sleep soon. "They are Hunger," he continues, "they are what happens when men and women succumb to it. Those of the stories were lazy hunters who would take the wives of their victims as their own. This was not the case here. The Three Rivers tribe fell because it was chased away. They fell because they chose to flee as an act of desperation." The shaman is having a moment, which I can respect. Dalton has tied a scarf around his nose and busies himself piling the Wendigos while I feed the fire and wait. "There will be more of them. Every month, your ships spill their cargo of men and machines on these shores. We are getting pushed West slowly but surely." "Will you fight?" He scoffs. "Some of us will. At least, they will die on their feet. There is no facing your people''s weapon of fire and steel, not without our own. We would need schools and mines and factories and armories to compete and when we have all of this, we will have become you. This is a tide that cannot be stopped." Powerlessness. I know this feeling all too well. "We achieved something today." "A drop in the ocean. Those we saved may one day join the ranks of those we just freed." I wish I were drunk so I could join in his melodrama. "You think too highly of yourself, shaman of the Choctaw. We are droplets ourselves. Did you not say that we were weeding roots of destruction? That is what we did tonight. Do not look at what you cannot change and despair. It serves no purpose but to invite madness." "Forgive me if I cannot appreciate your perspective while I stand in the ashes of seventy men, women and children." I shrug. I cannot share his emotions and I would not care to, but I can respect his grief and give him the time he needs. The Hunt is done, after all. It was interesting although the Prey was a disgrace to its own kind. I assist Dalton in building a funeral pyre. Thankfully material is abundant. Our native companion joins us as we light it. For a moment, all is quiet, then he starts singing. I do not understand the words and I do not need to. The song carries regret and impotent rage at first, then melancholy and finally, a measure of peace. We stay there watching warm winds carry motes of light to the sky. It no longer feels so cold anymore. Somewhere below us, an owl hoots and the fire crackles. At some point, the two men fall asleep. I make sure they are covered and when dawn approaches, I stand up to go. As I take a step, Nashoba shifts in his covers. "Thank you, Ariane." I nod and leave. Chapter 32 - 32. Old Money When we return to Higginsville, Sinead is long gone. Loth does not tell me where he went and I do not ask. The Likaean prince did leave a few things for me, the first being a letter. My dear Ariane, You are not a bad sort for a Nightwalker, and I am sure we shall meet again after you have grown into your new self. I look forward to it, and I have left you two things as a gesture of my appreciation. The first is a primer on the proper use of Charm including quite a few tricks, meditation techniques, and my favorite subtleties. I wrote it in the space of two days as if in a trance! When we next meet, we shall have a little contest that I may see what you learned. The second is half a gift and half an apology. I realize that you may not have drunk my blood the way you wanted it, and so I had Loth draw a smidgen of my essence and capture it in the precious receptacle you will find attached. Keep it on you, always. If one day you are in danger of dying, no matter how grievous your wounds, drink it and it will undoubtedly save your life. This contains the essence of a Fae Prince, given freely. Do not squander it! I will know! Until we meet again, poppet. Sinead. I resolve to keep the tiny silvery tube around my neck, always. It hangs next to the pendant containing my father''s message. Those two are my lifelines, one for the body and one for the soul. The following months see us fall into a healthy routine. I spend most evenings helping Loth with various tasks related to research, both magical and mundane, as well as metallurgy. I even assist him as a nurse when his hospital sees an increase in traffic. My complete lack of queasiness is put to good use as my dear friend would insist that some of the tasks I am requested to perform will "forge the character". I soon learn that the expression is a hypocritical substitute for "It is revolting, and now that I have an underling I don''t have to do it anymore." Loth also tests the limit of my physical power by, naturally, having me carry heavy loads for him. His final conclusion is that I am "as strong as a gravid troll and marginally better-looking." How he manages to sweet-talk all the county''s widows into his bed with that tongue of his, I shall never know. The rest of my nights are spent in various activities. I continue my study of the Western standard rune system and look into several forms of shamanism as well. I also pick up drawing as a hobby despite Jimena''s advice to try music. My disastrous attempt to practice the violin at the tender of age of seven still weighs heavily upon my soul. I work on Movement by running around the woods as fast as I can and through knife-throwing and marksmanship training with Loth. Dalton adjusts to his new duty with perfect ease. He has a way of appearing unimportant to people unless he wants to be noticed that makes him fit everywhere, and when he needs to make an impact his dark charisma is enough. He quickly endears himself to both the male and female population of our little town. The only issue is the rumors surrounding us, not that I mind much. His presence makes bounty hunting trivial and fun. No longer do I have to work around my lack of acceptance. I only handle the fun part and my Vassal dutifully takes care of the rest. Many times, we cooperate to capture our mark in an entertaining way. This quickly gives him an ambivalent reputation, as well as a lot of respect. I also use this opportunity to practice both Senses and Charm. We continue like this for a while until I receive a letter from my dear Jimena. My dearest Ariane, I cannot express the many emotions I went through upon learning of your latest adventures! A pierced heart? A rogue vampire? I have not felt this anxious since I helped in your escape. Please show some consideration for my poor heart, young one, and some more to yours as well! A fledgeling is not supposed to have theirs destroyed and particularly not twice in the span of a single year! Truly, if you were not of the Devourer''s line, I fear we would have lost you already. Before all else, I should advise you on things I would have mentioned in previous letters, had I imagined that you would challenge Courtiers trained in the arts of war! Those matters concern armed conflicts between our kind. The way to fight a vampire differs from the way we fight anything else. There are very few beings that can match our speed, therefore vampires slain in battles with other races are taken down by overwhelming damage. Vampires, on the contrary, will always aim for the heart first and foremost. Even the smallest wound will spell your end. When we next meet, I shall train you in ways to protect yourself through martial techniques. Until then, do not practice mortal methods as you will develop bad habits. We do not move nor fight like humans, and thus their arts are not suited to us. It will be easier if you come to me with no preconceived ideas. There are ways to improve yourself, however. One of them you already know. Those treks under the moon you mentioned will help you get accustomed to your body and will improve your natural dexterity. When it comes to moving, follow your instincts. I also strongly advise you to wear a suit of armor around your torso when you go to battle. You will find a blueprint for a standard Harcourt chest protector enclosed in this envelope. I am sure that your friend can assist you in its making. It bears repeating that your bloodline can progress fast if fed with the blood of mighty foes. This makes your natural abilities on par with an experienced Courtier. It does not give you the experience of one. The creature you faced was unarmed and half-mad and so it was not in any way equal to the manner of opponent you would face, should a clan decide to take you down. Should you be discovered, I beg of you, flee. As long as you leave their territory, the other side will likely abandon pursuit and merely report your presence to the Knight chapter in Boston. I hope you heed my warning. Now that this is out of the way, allow me to be the first vampire to congratulate you on reaching adulthood! Ah, but I remember it as if it were yesterday, a timid and lost woman standing awkwardly in my training ground! Even then, your personality shone bright and set you apart from the rest. And now, you have come into your own! My heart fills with pride, and I wish I could celebrate this auspicious night with you. Now you are a Courtier and do not let anybody tell you otherwise. This means that the next step in our plan is a go! In eighteen ten, just over five years from now, there will be a major conclave of all vampires in North America. I shall use this opportunity to petition the current Speaker for your induction. If it is accepted, we will be allowed to register you as a member of an independent House under the Accords, and you will be beyond the reach of the Lancaster forever. Constantine will surely give you a task or two as reparation for being on his land illegally, though I would not worry about it too much. He is known for being a tolerant ruler and the new Continent is as much a place of opportunity as it is one of refuge. I am pleased to learn that you want to use your time to build both expertise and capital. The pursuit of excellence is a defining attribute in the Followers of the Path, the faction the Cadiz clan belongs to. As a new vampire, I would advise you to learn an instrument. Art helps us maintain our humanity and Music most of all. You also need to consider building your wealth. As you can imagine, mortal institutions are ill-suited to our needs and so I advise you to travel to the port city of Savannah where you will find a small branch of the Rosenthal Consortium. They are a neutral entity in the supernatural world, and they are as reliable as they are efficient. Open an account with them and remember that we all started small. Lastly, we are fairly certain that the order of Gabriel no longer keeps an eye on your father, so you may now correspond more freely. Aintza and I miss you, Ariane. When time permits, I shall meet you again in person. I must be careful as most of my actions are currently under scrutiny, indeed, I have been given a chance to regain my status and join the ranks of the Knights once more! My next mission will carry me to the everglades and last for a few months. If all goes well, I will be given a task and upon its completion, I would be reinstated. I cannot express how important this is for me my dear. Wish me luck! With sisterly love, Jimena de Cadiz. September 7th, 1804 February 1805, Savannah, Georgia. The Rosenthal Consortium building is fairly small, barely bigger than my childhood home and yet it manages to draw attention from a full block away. I would call the local architecture basic, only because I am feeling generous. The most common adornment is a coat of paint slapped on the ubiquitous horizontal planks, even for public places such as the Town Hall. The noble institution''s house is orange. Yes, orange. Its walls are made entirely of vertical carved white stones and bricks of the fiery color. It stands like a jewel, or a pustule, amongst its prude neighbors. The barred windows and the reinforced gates only reinforce the impression of being an outsider. Without a word, Dalton fades into the shadows while I approach the guard. He pretends to ignore me until politeness demands a reaction. He looks quite solemn, dressed all in black with a white shirt, and his pale face sports an impressive beard. I smell gunpowder from him and, quite interestingly, spelled items though he himself is not a mage. I taste it and recognize a specific aura. When the man meets my eyes, my suspicions are confirmed. The protections are designed to ward off influence, which extends to Charm. Finally, an occasion to practice some of the tricks Sinead mentioned! The rope between us glances off a smooth shield. I slowly change our bond''s color by matching it to his current mood. He is distrustful yet unworried. In the space of half a second, the string becomes one with the shield and goes through. I give the man a polite smile with just a bit of suggestion, which he returns. Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. It worked! "Good evening sir, is this the Rosenthal Consortium, Savannah branch?" "Indeed miss, and we would be happy to assist. Unfortunately, we are closed." That is fine, I will work on him until he believes me important enough to warrant special treatment. "That is a shame, I was led to understand that you would operate after sunset." Or so Jimena claimed. The guard''s reaction is unexpected. He pales visibly and his pleasant smile evaporates. "Ah yes, my apologies madam, we were not expecting you." He turns to the entrance and bangs a pattern on the door. He then takes out a key from a recess in his coat and manages to turn it in after a few nervous attempts. The door opens invitingly. "Go ahead, madam." Hum. How queer. Did they infer my nature from one comment? This would not be a trap, would it? Unlikely. Jimena would not have sent me here without a warning otherwise. I walk in a beautiful lobby. I thought the exterior gaudy and I was wrong. The floor is entirely made of polished black stone with a massive white circle five paces across in its middle. Golden runes I do not recognize surround its edge. The walls are of the same black stone at the base, before going up in shades of bronze. The room is narrow and leads up to a high mahogany counter, behind which a teller is hard at work. Apart from the desk, there are only a few chairs and a medieval piece of armor holding a halberd as visible furniture. Beside the door I just crossed, there is also one on the left, another on the right wall as well as, curiously, a barred window. I also spot a corridor on the far wall as well as stairs going up. I immediately stop. This place is packed with magic. I already triggered some sort of alarm when I crossed the threshold which could not be avoided. I can also feel a significant amount of power coming from the circle, the suit of armor, the many doors and surprisingly, the counter. The man behind it stands up, notices me and freezes. The barred window to the right opens to let another frowning man with a gun look through it. Upon seeing me, he also stops in his tracks. Well, this is rather awkward is it not? "I am here to open an account." I would rather make my intentions clear before the set of armor starts moving on its own. "Ah, hm, I¡­" The man behind the counter is what I would expect an accountant to be. He nervously tries to replace the monocle on his nose, but his trembling hand knocks it out of the orbit and it falls against his chest. Silence fills the place. I wait. Soon, footsteps can be heard from the stairs. They are slow and measured. A moment later, a man calmly reaches inside the room and walks in my direction. He is slightly shorter than me, with combed back black hair and piercing grey eyes. His traits are sharp, aristocratic, and his expression is that of polite respect. His black suit is exquisitely tailored and shows understated good taste. He is also a Courtier, a powerful one. I would place him at the edge of something greater. His aura is also one of the most disciplined and controlled I have ever felt. "Greetings milady, and welcome to our humble establishment. I am Isaac of the Rosenthal. I welcome you here tonight." "Thank you, Isaac, I am Ariane of the, well, Nirari clan." A complex set of emotions moves his otherwise unflappable countenance. "Truly? Splendid, splendid! It is an honor and a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. Please, follow me." I take his invitation and we walk side by side. You could hear a pin drop here as neither of us makes a sound when our feet touch the ground. He leads me up to the second floor and to his office at the end of an alley. We enter a spacious room lit by a single candle. A large window situated at its back gives us a view of rooftops and the clouded sky. Two comfortable leather chairs are on opposite sides of a large desk that speaks of hard work and obsessive organization. Stacks of folders are neatly arranged in wooden dividers and not a single document is currently out in the open, a necessity when one''s guest can see so clearly. Bookshelves filled with writings on law, economics, and philosophy give the place a cozy feeling. "Take a seat. Make yourself comfortable." He sits with dignity and gazes at me for a while then leans forward with mild interest. "Before we begin, I would like to ascertain your identity. Would you mind, ah, forgive my impertinence, would it be acceptable for you to show me your fangs?" I wait for signs that he insulted me before admitting that this is not an unreasonable request. I am not carrying identification papers after all. "Ah yes, all eight of them. Incredible. I had the honor of seeing your Master half a century ago in Geneva. He caused quite the ruckus!" "I was told he tends to do that¡­" He gives me a pointed look. "Yes, yes indeed. An apt euphemism. Let me just say that I am delighted to see you. We were informed that lord Nirari had sired a new Spawn and I was rather miffed when I heard you were slain." "Rumors of my demise were exaggerated." "So it would seem! And now you come to us to open an account, bringing the number of Nirari holders to three. This is a historic moment for my clan." "Yes. Before we begin, I had several questions if you would not mind?" "Of course not. If it pleases you, I can explain a list of our services, terms and conditions. Then, I would be pleased to go into more details if there is anything you would like to know." "That sounds perfect. First, however, I want to make something clear. My existence is not, let us say, approved by the current authorities of this land. Could this become a problem?" "Ah, yes. Your concerns are understandable. We are a fully independent entity with ties to all governments and no obligation to enforce their rules. Privacy is valued enough that our autonomy is protected by consensus. As such, not only can I offer you our full range of services, I can also guarantee that your very existence will be kept confidential until you see fit to, ah, enter Society as a debutante." His expression is solemn. "That is reassuring sir. If you please, I would like to know what services you propose." "Excellent, excellent! We offer a full range of financial services. This includes all manner of personal banking, assets and wealth management, transactions and safekeeping. We also offer legal advice, administrative assistance such as new identities for our long-lived patrons, which I assure, you will be needing at some point. We also deal with matters of insurance and inheritance¡­" Isaac''s full presentation lasts an hour and is rather exhaustive. I doubt that I will need ownership of a company transferred between two fake identities any time soon, though it is still good to know that the possibility exists. In the end, I choose to create a checking account and invest the rest of the money I brought in a fund with a high, if volatile return rate. The crafty man offers me access to a strongbox as a commercial gesture which I accept but do not make use of. My most precious belongings all fit around my neck and in holsters after all. I go down and signal Dalton to join me with our stash. I have almost four hundred dollars in total from bounty hunting and helping Loth with various tasks. It is easy to save when one does not need to spend on food and lodging, even after granting my Vassal a fair share. Isaac invites me back up as we wait for my stash to be counted. "I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions?" "Naturally miss Ariane, naturally. Though I must warn you that I may not share anything that would violate the privacy of our other customers." "I understand. You have confirmed that I have a sibling, and I would like to know if there is anything you could tell me about them." "Yes, easily. I forgot that you have been so far isolated from politics. Your brother is Svyatoslav. He is currently the most dominant figure in Saint Petersburg." "Truly? Is Russia part of one of the main factions I heard about?" Isaac thinks a bit before continuing. "Clans seldom respect borders, miss Ariane, therefore we never refer to ourselves as "Portugal" or "Switzerland", but by clan or alliance name." Ah, first question and I already revealed myself as a yokel. Well done Ariane. "Russia is home to two factions. One of them is a gathering of bandits, witches and cultists and is an alliance more in name than in reality. The second group is decidedly martial, and their closest allies are the Knights. They call themselves the Vityazi and dedicate themselves to the culling of dangerous magical fauna. I had the opportunity of visiting their headquarters in 1756 and I admit to being pleasantly surprised." "You have a good memory." "It is the defining trait of my bloodline. We all have a tidy mind served by an eidetic memory." "Forgive me for saying so sir, but I have only joined you for less than two years and there are already many things I would rather forget." "Not at all, not at all. Fortunately, we are able to take some distance from our worst recollections. Else it would make pain resistance training unbearable, I''m afraid." The delivery was so deadpan that for a moment I believe he spoke in jest, yet his face betrays nothing. I think Isaac just opened up to me a little bit. "We are getting distracted. Your brother acts as a buffer between local groups of interest. His friendship with various key decision makers usually suffices. When it does not, well, he reminds everyone of the dangers of provoking him." "Is he that strong?" "He is seven centuries old, miss, he was a prince of the Kievan Russ Confederation." Wow. If he lived for that long and fought as much as I believe he did then he must be a force of nature. This is my reality now, something I forgot for not spending time with my kin. Some of us have lived to see Rome fall. Perhaps they even participated. "I could send him a message on your behalf, if you wish." Do I want to meet someone who would remind me of MastEr? "That will not be necessary, thank you." I hate him and love him and hate him and¡­ And I am being a bAd giRl. I should gather enough money to get a ship, look for his resting place and dig him out So tHat wE¡­ No! Dammit! "Miss?" "It is nothing. Ah, is there a way for you to petition the¡­ Speaker, so that my presence here is, shall we say, legalized?" "Unfortunately, we are not a signatory of the Accords. We cannot petition them for what is essentially an internal conflict within clan Lancaster, if we are being strict. We can, however, pass along a message. I can tell you now that without anyone to vouch for you, getting recognized as an independent House under the Accords will be difficult." "What are the Accords?" "They are a set of rules regulating the rights and duties of all vampires residing on the New Continent. They are rather lax. Most of them focus on protecting individuals and preventing distant conflicts from spilling over here. Are you aware that the three alliances are at war?" "Yes, although I do not know the specifics." "And neither do we as alliances shift long before news reaches us. Under the Accords, local branches are forbidden from participating and so far the locals have managed to remain uninvolved." "How are those rules even enforced?" "The current Speaker, lord Constantine, has a handful of troops and can call some more. No local clan has reached a critical mass yet and none are capable of offering a real challenge. For now." "Fascinating. This place is really meant for exiles and refugees. Ah, I meant no disrespect." I have no idea if Isaac is offended. The man has as many facial expressions as a marble statue. This would be unnerving were it not for my habit of doing the same to Loth. "None taken. Truth be told, I am here on vacation." Huh? "On vacation? Truly?" "Truly." I look pointedly at the meticulous desk and piles of papers. This man could visit anything from the Niagara falls to Key West and he chooses to stay here and do paperwork? In Savannah of all places? The Silent Watcher save me from this lunatic. "Do not let the circumstances fool you. My workload is very light, especially compared to home. I am catching up on quite a few books I have been looking forward to reading for a decade." "I was aware that Bankers work hard of course¡­" "That is an understatement, and it is during relatively normal circumstances. Right now, Europe is burning from the fires of Napoleon''s wrath, we are anticipating trade war measures within the next year. The Masks are in the middle of a civil conflict and Eseru and the Followers of the Path are at each other''s throat. Trust me, I needed a pastoral retreat. When I learned my clan was looking for someone in a remote place for a two-year position I jumped on the occasion." That is the first time I have seen a real display of emotion from him. Even then it was mild, at most. "I see. I only wish my country had more to offer than¡­ This." "Not to worry, I have my books. The only thing I was missing was the company of my kind, and so your visit is most fortuitous, most fortuitous indeed! Say¡­" "Yes?" "No¡­ No, I should not. I am being terribly unprofessional. I beg your forgiveness." How queer! This is unexpected. This man came out as extremely polished and should I say, a bit pompous and now he is talking like a rake about to pull some villainous scheme? I am intrigued! "Isaac, now that our business is done, I ask you, not as customer to member of the esteemed house of Rosenthal but from one lone vampire to another, what is it? Out with it." He looks flustered. "Ah, well, hrm. Let us finish here and then perhaps we could resume this conversation outside?" Curiouser and curiouser. The unfazed banker is suddenly losing his composure? All my expectations are destroyed. I follow the odd man outside through the lobby and out the main door with Dalton by my side. The guard gives a surprised look, though he refrains from commenting. We soon arrive in a small flower garden, empty at this time. Isaac turns towards me and stops. He strikes me as someone who dispenses words carefully, therefore I give him the time he needs to formulate what I am sure will be a request. Vampires cannot be Supplicants because they can defend themselves, therefore it needs to be an equal trade between peers. I look forward to hearing it. Sear?h the N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Finally, Isaac takes a deep breath just as Dalton starts to look a bit worried at our unnatural immobility. My patience is going to be rewarded! I am sure it will be quite a tale. "Ariane of clan Nirari, I would like you to provide support as I kill someone." Ah. Chapter 33 - 33. The science of the Hunt Forget about gentle reserve, this man is utterly scandalous! Who would ask something like that on the first night? This is bold, quite bold in fact! S~ea??h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Isaac! How outrageously daring of you!" His face scrunches in displeasure. His shame must be great indeed for him to display it so. "Of course, Ariane, I must apologize for being so very forward, yet I beg you hear me out before you pass a final judgement. My awkward request is dictated by the current circumstances." "Well, I admit to being surprised. You do strike me as a man of exquisite manners so I imagine those circumstances you mentioned must be great for you to breach protocol so." "I have never hunted in my whole life." "¡­" WHAT?! He¡­ What? A vampire that never!? Are my ears deceiving me? "Surely you are jesting Isaac, you mentioned being alive in seventeen fifty-six. I refuse¡­ I simply CANNOT accept that you¡­ That is impossible." "Ah, your reaction does not surprise me. On the contrary, it shows you are the best person on the planet to fulfill my request." "Isaac! Hunters is what we ARE. You cannot not hunt! It¡­ Gah!" My companion smiles sadly and it occurs to me that in my surprise, I have insulted him. "Forgive me Isaac, I meant no disrespect. I assumed you had someone specific in mind?" "Yes, although I do not know who or more importantly, how many. What would you ask in return for this service?" "I know not what you can offer." "How about this: shall you manage to garner enough support to petition House status, and should you commit no atrocities, I will add my personal recommendation to the pile. Although I am not part of the Accords, the reputation of one such as I would be of use to you." "I do not know the value of this recommendation." I will only consent to a fair deal. Isaac and I are not friends like I am with Jimena, therefore I owe him no favor but the courtesy of listening. "When your petition is heard, your survival shall be made public with all the consequences that entails. When the Lancaster inevitably seek to regain custody over you, they will not be able to invoke your master''s agreement with them since you successfully escaped their grasp. However, they shall surely claim that you are a danger to the community and yourself and must be placed under strict control, theirs obviously, as they managed to prevent you from rampaging for six months. There will be a trial of sorts during which I shall attest that we met, and that you were polite and composed. Constantine has a rational mind and we have a reputation for impartiality. He will know that both the Lancaster and your allies are biased. We of the Rosenthal bloodline are known for our reliability and impartiality. This will have a major impact on his decision, I assure you. Please do note that if you start slaughtering villages, I will no longer stand at your side. You understand, I am sure." "You are offering a conditional, future and intangible reward to an immediate service." "I solemnly swear that I believe it to be to your advantage." "Hm." For anyone else I would refuse, however a vampire that swears an oath is telling the truth. Isaac does believe it to be to my advantage and his knowledge of our political system far outstrips mine. I would be wise to take this into consideration. "I accept." "¡­Excellent." He does not move. "So? Who are we killing?" I ask with burgeoning impatience. "Right, yes. For the past three months, women have been disappearing around the city. At least seven of them, though it would be difficult to know for sure due to the low social standing of the victims. Normally, I would not be involved, because we operate under strict principles of neutrality, and because my Master is particularly insistent on us never fighting." "Truly?" "Yes, this is our tradition, our values. We are meant to be withdrawn from the conflicts of the world and focus on arbitration and preservation. Our power comes from our wealth and alliances; as such we are encouraged not to draw blades ourselves." "That sounds¡­ Tedious, and frustrating." "It would be an impossibility for you, Ariane. Your line is not called that of the Devourer for nothing. Your extra fangs that allow feeding in the midst of battle are for one thing only: to keep killing, again, and again, until you are the last ones standing." "Hold on¡­ Hold on¡­ Are you telling me that only we can Devour?" "Indeed! As we are meant to be the depository of knowledge and records through our superior mind, you are made to stand alone against all." "¡­It does not seem to be going well for us." "That would be because your Master cares not about you, unfortunately. In any case, I¡­ Have not yet managed a hunt from one end to another. Master would disapprove." "They do not have to know." "Oh, she will. The Consortium''s mortal employees report to her." "¡­" Being spied upon by one''s own followers? This is absolutely unthinkable. How can he not slay them, unless¡­ Ah, he is compelled to follow his master''s orders. "Should you not be more worried?" "Listen, I have served the clan faithfully for more than seventy years. I obeyed every order without fault and made major contributions to our success. Now there is a killer on the loose in MY territory, and my servants have so far failed to apprehend them. So, I will solve the problem myself! If my Master has objections, she can voice them when I return¡­. Thirteen months from now." "Your defiance is admirable, I suppose, though I hope I will not share your punishment, as your accomplice." "Ariane, I am sorry there is no pleasant way to put it¡­ You are not important enough to warrant her attention." "¡­" Well, that is humbling. Now that I am finally reconnected with other vampires, I am reminded that I am but a discarded ex-Fledgling in a Frontier region with no connections and no power. Perhaps living isolated for so long has made me forget where I currently stand in the Night''s pecking order. I find myself wanting to remedy that at some point in the future. I will not stay at the bottom. I refuse. "Very well. Now as I mentioned, the latest disappearance happened at nightfall. If we hurry, we may be able to gather clues from the crime scene." Clues? Crime scene? "I am not sure I follow." "We shall inspect where the victim disappeared and infer the nature and identity of the culprit from... things he may have left behind." "Oh, I believe I understand. You are taking a scientific and methodical approach to crime solving. Yes?" "Indeed. You... do not?" "No. This must be necessary in big cities but is superfluous in smaller communities. If the town you live in has two hundred inhabitants, the list of potential lawbreakers is extremely short. It is either one of the handful of troublemakers or a traveler passing by. A quick interrogation is normally enough to clear any doubts." "Ah, naturally, yes, naturally. I hope it will be that easy this time. Let us depart promptly." Shadowed by Dalton, we arrive in the poorer area of Savannah fifteen minutes later. The houses there grow like uneven teeth. Some are barely bigger than shacks. The smell of humans and their refuse is mitigated by the cold, though not much. Behind that I also smell woodsmoke, soap and food. We walk to a small home, barely more than one room under the scrutiny of all those we come across. Our clean appearance and wealthy clothes set us apart at a time of suspicion. This is not right. We are meant to stand out like roses in a sea of grass, not like sore thumbs. The whole process makes me uncomfortable and only the urgency of our task prevents me from asking Isaac for the opportunity to get changed. We stop in front of an edifice of unpainted and unadorned wood and stone no different from the others around it. The sickly browns and greys of what passes as architecture here is so dreary that I believe putting the entire district to the torch would only improve its appearance. My companion knocks. Inside, I can hear three beating hearts belonging to two children and a crying woman. Perhaps we can hear what they have to say? "Go to hell!" Well, we''re off to an auspicious start. "Excuse me madam, we are here about the missing woman." I say in a calming voice. I hear a brief inhale, then heavy footsteps until the door opens with a bang. "Who the fuck are you?!" I give her my best disarming smile and extend the courtesy of not tearing out her throat for provoking me. She is, after all, grieving. "This is Isaac Rosenthal, a concerned citizen and Conall Dalton, the best bounty hunter in Georgia. I understand that there is a person missing?" I ask as I capture the woman with my eyes. I lightly push despair at the forefront. "She''s gone! Nobody believes me, nobody! The coppers say she is just a whore turning tricks somewhere else but I know her, she said she would be home and she''s always where she''s supposed to be, and the room was a mess, and...Waaa." I slightly pull the woman forward and pat her head. Her hair is dry and coarse under my touch but she smells clean. I comfort her for a while and ask her to invite us in. We follow her into the single room. The place speaks to me of dignity in the face of adversity. The white plastered walls are bare, the furniture all cobbled together from rough wood, some of it falling apart. What pots can be found are chipped and in the middle of it all stands a bed in a state of disarray. I can now tell for sure that the disappeared woman was indeed "turning tricks", as the smell of tobacco and stale sex is unmistakable. I seat the woman in a rickety chair under the worried gazes of two young children, a boy and a girl. They have the lost expression of those who know that something tragic has occurred, yet do not understand the implications. "Are they here for mama?" I was mistaken, they do understand. "Yes, we are. Now go sit on the bed while I talk to my new friend here." I add with a hint of suggestion. I am bound to find the victim, that does not mean I have to suffer the presence and constant nagging of her spawn. This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. "Now tell us what happened." While our host babbles, I steal a look towards Isaac and I immediately understand how he could maintain his sanity all those years. His very mind is predatory. Dalton looks aloof, taking in a few details but generally acting as a sentinel. By comparison, my kin is like a bloodhound. His gaze shifts from one element to another with absolute concentration, noting every detail and cataloguing them before switching to the next with a logic that only he can follow. No one here exists. He is in a world of his own where his intellect peels apart and dissects every bit of detail, every information his mind can capture. It appears my role has been decided, I shall calm the mortal down while he does his thing. I find the thread of hope in the woman and pull it. Immediately, her tears dry and she tells me her tale. I make sure that she keeps her eyes on me. My host''s name is Suzanne and her sister is, or was called Christine. She lived alone with her two children and survived mostly through odd jobs. I also learn that it was common for her to place them under her sibling''s care while she was practising the world''s most ancient profession for a few more coins. When Suzanne returned today, she found the house empty and partially damaged. She knew immediately that something had gone wrong, but the neighbors had heard nothing out of the ordinary and seen no unusually suspicious people. The nearby road lies between warehouses and the docks after all, and traffic is heavy even late. When she finishes, she glares at me as if daring to comment. I understand why she is defensive. Her sister is a cheap prostitute and a scullery maid. She sits at the bottom of a vertiginous social order and there is no reason for us to care, at all. I find that I care, as much as I care about any other mortal. Those people are on the food chain just like the landowners, the soldiers, and everyone else, and just like everyone else they have their place, beneath me. They have value in what they can bring me and I shall not discard anyone solely because of their social standing. That is their intrinsic value and it does not even take into consideration the circumstances: that woman was not killed, she was abducted. Nobody died here, at least recently and I know why she was selected. Somebody went through the trouble of abducting a woman from her home. It is a risky endeavor even with meticulous planning. It speaks of means, will, and some measure of competence. I would be curious as to what motivated this decision. As to why Christine in particular, it is obvious. She was extremely vulnerable, an outlaw in the most literal sense of the word: someone who the law no longer protects. I would bet good money that the majority of the other victims share a similarity. If one day I must build myself a nest, those are the people I will recruit, not the posh nobles out for some thrill or the influential merchants, but the outcasts and the fringe members who life has not broken yet, for what they lack in power and influence, they make up in tenacity and scorn. Even now the defiance is Suzanne''s eyes will not be extinguished. They are survivors, like me. I can buy influence and I can influence money. Nothing will replace that sheer will to live. Completely oblivious to the situation, Isaac suddenly walks up to a curtain and draws it to reveal a back door. He barely pauses before opening it and stepping outside. Not one for pleasantries I see. Our host certainly looks a bit out of sort at such a cavalier attitude. Well, time to go. I stand up to leave, Dalton in tow. "We shall look for her and return to you when we have news." "But...Wait!" "Stay here and take care of your niece and nephew, yes?" "Yes¡­ Yes, of course." Outside, my fellow vampire has crossed a vegetable patch and kneels in front of a path, barely more than a mud trail. A stone wall, refuse, and stacks of firewood block the view in every direction. Wordlessly, Isaac stands and follows it back towards the warehouse district. "We are following a carriage?" "Yes Mistress, there was no indication that the entry was forced so she let them in. It would have been risky to exit a well frequented street with a wrapped body however, so they probably dragged her out of the back door." They? I look at the ground and indeed, besides our footsteps I count three more. One of them is very well defined, which hints at quality boots. It is unfortunate that the abductee would let men in without too much fuss as a matter of habit. The kidnappers chose their victim well. "Isaac, should we not ask the neighbors what they saw?" "No need, I know more than enough. The woman was neutralized quickly by three men she allowed to enter, then taken out the back and placed in a covered carriage of small size" Quite confident about the details, are we? I shall see if it is warranted. I expected us to lose the tracks, this being a busy place, however I was mistaken. The kidnapping was only a few hours ago and it is quite late, so only light traffic was in the street. The distinctive marks have not been entirely erased yet. We search for an hour. When the tracks are covered, such as in the middle of a busy intersection, Isaac simply inspects every possible exit road until he finds the trail again. Sometimes, men with hungry eyes follow the richly dressed and distracted passerby until a look from Dalton dissuades them. He has grown and filled out quite a bit in the past six months thanks to regular meals, and the glint of a pistol''s handle makes for a compelling argument. Eventually, our guide leads us to a more remote part of the docks. It is perfectly silent at this time of the night and I am reminded of when I cleared the warehouse as a first task for Baudoin. I assume that just like then, this area is worked by people who know better than to ask questions. Isaac is inspecting a puzzling set of interlocking tracks when I decide to intervene. I lightly touch his shoulder and he turns around, frustrated. Silently, I tap my nose. He breathes in and his eyes widen in understanding. It smells like tobacco, more specifically of the same quality as the one we were subjected to while in the hovel. This time, however, it is still burning. We follow it to its source. We know we reached our destination when we walk past a city guard in uniform. Red embers from a cigar illuminate his sallow face and his eyes follow us until we leave his sight. There is no discernible reason for this man to guard a private property, alone, at this time of the night. So that is how the kidnappers managed to access Christine''s dwelling without a fuss. Not everyone would trust an officer of the law but few would openly defy one. That is especially true for vulnerable people, like those that were taken. He must have demanded that the door be opened to them and they thought better than to cause a commotion. Here, their respect of Justice and its agents were used as a tool by criminals. Truly, fate can be ironic. We know how and what, now is the time to learn why. I see two possibilities. Either they were abducted for the pleasure of a monster wearing human skin, in which case the Hunt shall end here, or they were taken to be sold or used elsewhere. Breaking in silently will grant us the most options. I push the men in a side street. I first turn to Dalton. After working together on quite a few bounties, we have developed a way to communicate by gestures that I am rather proud of. I sign the message slowly and deliberately: Isaac, I, up, hunt, kill, you, go, sentinel, silent, warn, incoming. His answer is prompt: condition, enemy, come, kill, silent, agreement? I nod in affirmation. He can eliminate incoming threats at his discretion. I trust him. With this, Dalton leaves like a shadow and I take a moment to appreciate his skill. After he turns the corner, I climb the wooden walls of the nearest building and stride across the roofs, Isaac in tow. "Who is that man to you?" I turn with no small amount of curiosity. Can he not tell? "That is my Vassal." "Impressive. Vassals are the first step towards the creation of a true human servant. You are fortunate to have found one so soon, and powerful for binding him so early in your new life. I admit that your Master''s acumen in selecting candidates is as good as they say." I frown in anger. Of coUrsE thE mAstEr was rIgHt to choOse mE¡­ Wait, no, what does he mean? Have I been insulted? "Please, I meant it as a compliment. You see, most clans are so focused on turning those that are the best soldiers, artists and bankers that they forget to turn those that will be the best vampires." What? "Forgive me, I am getting distracted. Onto the matter at hand." I doubt that his bloodline wants for attention span. Either my status is more interesting than finishing the hunt or he was delaying. No matter. We jump across the narrow ledge separating us from our target. I kneel, close my eyes and focus. Under the creak and groans of wood and the various sounds of the night, there are three heartbeats. It is too difficult for me to discern at this time if the victim is one of them. I need more practice. The advantage of hunting with a fellow vampire is that I do not need signs. I can whisper and his acute hearing will pick it up while the mortals are none the wiser. "Three inside. Shall we take out the officer first?" "Only if we have no choice." A strange decision. I do not understand his logic. Why make things complicated? We should just locate the women and kill those that infringe on his territory. Anything else is just¡­ Bah, enough. I agreed to help him. My word is given. At least avoiding the policeman''s attention should offer some measure of challenge and make the Hunt interesting. I am an old hand at breaking into warehouses, sadly. The first step is always to scout it. I walk to the back and lower myself in front of a filthy window. I manage to glimpse the interior through the stained glass. Three men are playing cards under the light of a lantern. They are sitting around a table in the center of a mezzanine overlooking the ground floor. On the far end, just above the main entrance, I spot a small office. It is barely more than a cage, but it should suffice. I hoist myself back up and invite Isaac to follow. After stopping in front of the office window, I drop down and hang in front of it with my feet in the air and one clawed hand firmly planted into the wall''s wood. Then, I close my eyes. The noises of the game come into focus. A few hands are played in relative silence until one gets especially heated. As a triumphal "Hah!" echoes in the room, I dig my claw in the frame. My finger pushes through cleanly. It hurts a little. I wait in silence as they continue. I remain so far unnoticed. I slowly lift the lock with my finger and take it out, I then place four claws under the lower rail. I wait until the next commotion to lift the entire stile. This time, the noise was not entirely covered. "Did you hear something?" "No?" I still go to the roof as a measure of precaution. A few seconds later, it is not the players but the police officer who comes to check the source of the disturbance. I was heard from the outside. Fortunately, it is too dark for him to notice that the window is still open. After a perfunctory examination, he leaves. I admit that this is fun. My foes may be no match for me in a straight fight, but to outwit and outmanoeuvre them so completely is gratifying. Perhaps Isaac did the right thing after all. As soon as the coast is clear, I quietly slide into the office. The game of cards has resumed though it is more subdued now. I climb over a desk and down to the dusty ground to find that the room is cluttered with a strange hoard of everyday items including tools, ropes, pots and even a toy horse. Someone managed to create a path to the door. Isaac slides in behind me and his eyes latch on the pile of papers in front of him. Before he can get too absorbed, I whisper. "Should we not interrogate them? The woman is not here." "It would be too noisy, besides, I can get all the answers I need from here," he answers dismissively. "Did you, or did you not come here to hunt?" I hiss quietly. "If you can make them talk without alerting the whole quarter with the commotion, be my guest." He then turns and starts sorting and arranging the documents, completely absorbed in his task. Very well then, you insufferable bookworm. SCARED OF HIS TRUE SELF. WASTE OF ESSENCE. Yet I gave my word, so he remains in charge. He did, however, challenge me. The walls of the room are nothing but a small separation, they do not even raise all the way to the rafters. What was a handicap when trying to break in discreetly has become an advantage. I jump to a wooden beam and grab it with both talons and knees, then follow it out of the enclosed space. I am now hanging upside down and moving slowly towards the small group. Blood does not rush to my head, making the position strangely relaxing. Now to choose. The dominant male is a cruel-looking giant of a man with a respectable pile of coins in front of him. His clothes are grubby and there is something insane about his smile. The two others are wary of him in the typical way of people expecting violence. The second man is dressed as a docker and shows the stigmata of unfortunate souls whose mothers drank heavily during pregnancy. The last man is quite promising. He is a weasely fellow wearing a respectable but ill-fitting suit. His legs are locked around his stool in a death grip; I can also spot dirty and decrepit shoes. Perfect. This one is the archetype of the cowardly social climber. He will squeal the most and will likely have observed more than he should have. I reach the edge of the meagre circle of light, then fish a coin from my pocket. I throw it at a copper plate placed against the wall. The coin lands with a small clang as I am already dropping on the ground. The three men turn their heads away from me. I move. My left hand closes around the docker''s neck and shatters it as my right lightly punches the weasel''s throat. I jump across the table and dig my index in the brute''s breastbone. The pain steals his breath. I grab his shoulder and summersault over his head, grab it and bite deep with all eight fangs. I devour the man''s life force. I am not feeding, I am making a point. All the while, my eyes are on the weasel gripping his throat and struggling to take a deep breath. He stares at me with unmitigated terror as his bladder empties under him. I drop the lifeless body. Between my toss and now, less than four seconds have passed. I walk to the weasel with the grace of an immortal predator and lean before him with a red-tinged smile. I am close enough that my breath makes him flinch. He desperately crosses the air in front of him with a trembling arm in a pathetic attempt to ward me off. My smile only grows wider. It is a bit late to try and convert. "I have some questions. You will answer me, yes?" He nods frantically, still trying to catch his breath. Rivers of tears fall down his grimy face and from his throat comes a weird keening. Good. I grab him and drag his mewling form up. "You are the ones who took the woman tonight?" Nod. "And the other women before?" Nod. "Were they taken here first?" Nod. "Do you know where tonight''s woman was taken?" Nod. "Were all of them taken to the same place?" He shakes his head. Hmm. I walk back to the office and open the door. Isaac has classified and reordered all the books and free papers and is in the process of organizing them, apparently. When I reach him, he turns around and whispers excitedly. "Ah, you are back, I have found some fascinating tidbits of¡­ Oh." Isaac takes in my captive, still hanging from my hand. He is turning a delicate shade of purple. "The others?" I smile. He looks a tad uncomfortable. YES, THIS IS WHAT A TRUE HUNT LOOKS LIKE. PAPER DOES NOT BLEED, WEAKLING. "Tell him where you took the girl, little man." "The.. The Frederickson estate." He manages to croak. "Good, good. That is consistent with what I found so far. If you just let me..." "Enough of this Isaac, if you want to find the girl before they move her, we need to act now." "Hold on, I just discovered a large illegal human traffic ring, there is..." "That is not our agreement! You asked me to help you kill the one responsible for tonight''s abduction, not to overturn an entire conspiracy!" "This is far more important!" "Are you changing the terms of our agreement, Isaac?" I ask with a deceptively soft voice. He is about to raise his voice but something in my countenance must have warned him. He pauses instead, then admits with no small amount of reluctance: "I am not, and my current behavior is defeating the purpose of this whole exercise," he sighs, " Let us go, then." "Excellent. Do you mind?" I ask as I point to our captive. "Not at all." He gathers a notebook and a few of the papers under his arm and leaves. Hold on, disposing of the bodies is part of my attributions now?! This little escapade is proving to be increasingly frustrating. Oh well, at least I will face the night with my belly full. Chapter 34 - 34. Ring Breaker I manage to convince Isaac to grant me enough time to get changed before our assault on the Frederickson Estate. I have cobwebs on my nice blue dress just because of that stunt on the beam. If possible, I would rather avoid bloodstains as well. Cobwebs can at least be brushed away. I decide against taking my rifle. It is useful but unwieldy, and thus unsuitable for infiltration. The sad truth is that I have difficulties moving around when burdened with it. I would sometimes crawl forward and forget its very presence, only for the barrel to clang against a doorframe. Embarrassing. Perhaps I just need more practice. Nothing will make me forfeit my pistol, however. I am a woman of elegance, refinement, and black powder. Try and stop me! Our carriage arrives at the previously agreed meeting point. As I exit, Isaac comes out from behind the shadow of a tree. We are now at the Western edge of Savannah and even the most miserable hovels are giving way to barren fields. The chill in the air is biting and Dalton''s breath shows in small icy clouds. The vampire''s eyes widen when he sees my outfit. Loth and I worked on it for more than thirty hours and it shows. It is a dress, black as night. No parties will it see, nor dance nor revels. It is a tool of death, an instrument of the Hunt, and a statement. It is enough to glance at it to know that its wearer has not come to parlay. It is mine and I love it. The outfit covers me snugly from neck to foot. Light metal scales held by silk threads cover most of my torso, arms, and legs. My heart is protected by a fully integrated Hastings-designed chest armor, while bracers of dull steel go over my forearms, strong enough to stop a blade. There are also holsters for my blade, throwing knives and a pistol. Dark boots and a skirt complete the ensemble, although the skirt is just me not feeling comfortable wearing man trousers. The cloth is snug so that when I move, there is no sound of fabric flapping in the air to betray my presence. It was designed and created for me. I walk to Isaac just as Dalton takes out a monstrosity of a crossbow, another one of Loth''s creation. My Vassal has taken a liking to the ungodly contraption. It might be slow, but it is silent and the draw strength is terrifying. It was designed to kill werewolves, after all. "Greetings, hrm, Ariane, the, hrm, estate. Just that way. Over the hill." I should add distracting to the list of the armor''s quality. Perhaps it is just a bit too close-fitting? Particularly, around the bottom? Surely not. Leaving those considerations behind for the moment, I look up to our destination. There is nothing to see, just an empty field going up. The road continues away to our right, and to our left, a small copse of trees hides the carriage. It appears that Isaac expects me to lead and so I do. I walk a bit to the side until we find a path. I do not intend to walk through the actual field. Vampire or no, I would end up with enough caked mud under my soles to start my own plantation. We follow the path in silence, and I keep my ears open for trouble. Soon, the edge of the Estate comes into view. Now, I admit to being a commoner. I even admit that the "glorified peasant" insult I heard from Lady Moor hit a tad too close to home, so I am not the best one to judge other people''s properties. With that said, if this qualifies as an Estate, then I am the queen of Spain. This is a decrepit farm, nothing more. Isaac seems to share my concerns. "Is this¡­ really the place?" "Undoubtedly," I answer and point forward. The farm is surrounded by stone walls that go around and along the buildings. I see a house, servant quarters and a barn through a pair of opened gates. There is some activity in the courtyard, and I can spot the distinctive glow of lanterns. "Could they simply not be doing peasant things?" Really? REALLY? "In the middle of the night?", I hiss, "In February? And they need guards for this?" I add as I point to a pair of sentinels around the door. "¡­I suppose not." This man has been sheltered beyond belief! "I assure you, they are the right people. Now, before we proceed, are we in agreement that everyone here needs to die?" "I would prefer to capture a few so that I may interrogate them at a later time." I grab my temporary employer''s shoulder before I lose the last remnants of my temper. I stare him in the eyes, all the while trying to formulate a message that will not be perceived as unnecessarily rude. "No need for formalities Ariane, speak your mind." "Very well. You requested that I offer support while you eliminate your foe, now foes, with the clear purpose of protecting your territory. Those are the terms of our arrangement, sir. What happened instead is that I killed your opponents and extracted a location from our prisoners. I assumed that you needed a little nudge and I was, obviously, mistaken. You will assault this farm. You will kill its inhabitants and reclaim your place as its apex predator, and I shall only step in if you find yourself in danger. Only then will you have experienced a true Hunt. If I do everything for you, what was the point in coming?" "Yes, yes, you are correct." "Why are you reluctant to kill? Is this not one of the easiest things for us?" "As a group, I suppose," he replies with a hint of impatience, "the issue is that I was trained not to do it. We Rosenthal learn how to dodge, avoid and flee because any conflict we get stuck in is one we should not have been involved in to begin with." "Then it is time to rely less on your training and more on your instinct, is it not? Look at those men, look at them." Isaac turns to the pair of grumpy guards. They are complaining in low voices about their assignment and the cruel treatment the weather is inflicting on their gonads. "Do you know what they are missing?" Isaac frowns and looks them up and down. I can imagine him going through a checklist of what he expects a member of a kidnapping ring should have. I sigh. "Fear. Isaac, they do not know fear. They are here on your territory in the dead of night, and they know no fear. They even have lights up and strut around noisily because they are not even afraid of the militia, and why should they? How many of them are in their pockets? They have been poaching from you with impunity for who knows how long. Like rats. Does that not irk you? Is this how things should be?" "No..." "You do not need training to tear necks and crush bones, you just need to do what feels right. Yes?" "Yessssss." "Then show me." He slips into the shadows and moves around to approach the sentinel from the side. I watch him with a bit of concern, soon proven to be unwarranted. He remains quiet. The only issue I ever had with my instincts was that I tend to overestimate myself when I, let us say, succumb to them. Isaac''s predicament is beyond comprehension. What manner of vampire fears his own power? I can only presume that I am missing a vital element that would let me understand. I return my attention to the present. Isaac is moving along the walls and will strike shortly. I signal Dalton and whisper in his ear. "Go around to the front gate. Kill all who escape." He taps my hand in understanding and leaves. Working for Isaac only increased my appreciation for the faithful Vassal. He is not only competent; he is also obedient and proactive. The Valiant Companions would have been a force to reckon with if he had been a part of their leadership. Their loss, my win. I keep looking as Isaac uses a lull in conversation to grab the first sentinel and smash him backward into the wall. Disappointing. Of course, the second sentinel hears the impact and turns around. The outlaw and the vampire face each other. And stop. Come on! Do something! I walk forward and grab a throwing dagger. I would prefer if the alarm were not raised. If we get spotted too early, it might turn into a chore to chase everyone, not to mention entering the house if anybody calls it their home. Just as the sentinel raises his musket in alarm, Isaac jumps. I recognize that move. I first used it by instinct in the Henley residence, back in New-Orleans. It is a great opener and finisher. The vampire''s claws dig into the man''s chest, stealing his breath forever. Blood erupts in a geyser and paints my companion''s face crimson. I do not understand. He could have avoided this easily. He slowly passes his hand over his face, as if to clean it. A fruitless endeavor as they are both covered by the crimson liquid. He stares at his drenched hands. His eyes narrow, considering. He licks his lips. He raises his face to me and for an instant, I see a drop of baleful purple reflected in his tame brown, and then he''s gone. I rush to the wall and jump on it. The courtyard is mostly empty but for a few crates. The doors of the barn are wide open and a small cart with a narrow frame is parked in front of it. A few lanterns scattered around allow limited vision to the mortals. A horse neighs in fear. I hear the sound of torn flesh and exclamation of surprise and dismay. My ally is savaging a downed man under the shocked look of a handful of other humans. I cannot see his face from here, I should... I should what? Why would I stop him? Because we need at least one prisoner in case an invitation is required. Curses. I jump down as the first musket is fired. Isaac is hit and that seems to stop his frenzy. He turns to the offender and moves, crushes his throat with a hand before throwing the corpse at another man. His movements are quick and savage but utterly inefficient. He spends far too much time on each victim and would have risked being overwhelmed if his enemies had been trained and equipped to stop him. I find myself disappointed again. I would have loved to see another one of my kind in action against someone other than me, for a change. This performance is rather lackluster. One of our opponents has the presence of mind to jump on the nearest horse to flee as his associates are slaughtered by the strangely resilient madman in their midst. He rushes to the front door and something must have reflected just right because he turns to me and our eyes meet. I smile lightly and point forward. He turns around just in time for a quarrel to appear in his mount''s chest. They collapse in a heap. A magnificent shot, as always. Now I just need to select one of the survivors... ah, it appears that it will not be necessary. The front door of the house is banged open by a veritable mountain of a man in dirty coveralls. From here I can smell the stench of alcohol and old sweat, a revolting mix that speaks of decadence and neglect. He carries in his hand a large butcher knife covered with old blood, some of it human. Behind him comes the leader of this place. I know authority when I see it. The ringleader is dressed in a conservative grey suit that would not be out of place in a courtroom. His dark eyes sweep the courtyard without a hint of care for the fallen. He is not worried in the slightest, only angry that someone would dare assault his operation. Both men notice me at the same time. The tall one smiles with a most dreadful expression, while the leader only shows cold disdain. "A woman." "Very astute sir, I commend you on your keen sense of observation." They both frown. Ah yes, it is difficult to reconcile me with what they know of the world. In it, I should be cowering in fear like all the vulnerable people they kidnapped from their home. "Get her." Says the leader with a bored voice. I let the tall man approach me. The ugly smirk on his face would have had me worried two years ago. I am no longer that Ariane. His grubby paw reaches to grab my shoulder. I quickly stab his arm and dance away, ripping his artery open lengthwise. He recoils in pain and surprise. I do not understand his astonishment. I did not move, did not show fear. Did he truly expect me to stay there and wait for the cruel treatment his countenance promised? "You bitch!" He advances with fury while his hands try to stem the flow of blood. I step back. This is my favorite moment. Fury turns to concern when he sees the puddle of blood that already escaped his doomed body, then to genuine fear and then to panic. He ties a filthy handkerchief around the gaping wound as if it could stem the tide. "Boss, help me!" The "boss" grinds his teeth in frustration and takes out a gun. He does not even spare a look for his poor subordinate. Ah, a true monster in human skin with no empathy and no honor. I shall enjoy toying with him. The brute falls on his knees as the other man passes him by. He is white as a sheet while the earth under him turns a beautiful shade of carmine. For an instant, I take in the beauty of the moment. The red, the black and the white highlights. Life and death intertwined for one fleeting moment. A wonderful trio of a dying man, one walking to his death and a woman who died and came back, each a victim of a fate beyond their knowledge and control. I sometimes miss the daylight, but times such as those make it all worthwhile. The second man reaches me and the painting fades. With a sneer, he lifts a pistol and shoots me in the face. Or at least, tries to. How very forward, and quite rude besides! Why, these Savannah people certainly are a brazen bunch. I move my entire torso to the side as he pulls the trigger and the smoke ignites. There is no need for me to dodge the projectile, just the man''s aim. The bullet skims past my left ear like an angry hornet. Ow! Ow ow ow! So loud! This is quite painful! Why do I not have this issue on our house''s firing range!? Is it because this time I''m on the receiving end?! Gah! I force myself to keep smiling even though I want to RIP HIS THROAT OPEN. I just wanted to appreciate a little "Memento Mori" instant in peace, is it too much to ask? Bah, I cannot kill him. Really, it is forbidden by my agreement with Isaac. The cold man in front of me shows a bit of wariness for the first time since we met. Fascinating. Seeing his men dead or dying should have clued him in, and yet it takes his own failure to realize his predicament? Hubris. The failings of a man used to seeing talent in himself only. "You have no idea who you''re messing with. You and your friends are already dead." "Unless?" The "boss" scowls in frustration. Somewhere behind us, a man begs for his life. "Go on. You were going to finish your sentence with something, no? You will all die unless you let me go? If you leave I will only ask for reparation? My many powerful friends will destroy you and your families? Do continue, I think I''ve heard most variations of the classics but sometimes, someone still manages to surprise me." "I will teach you respect, whore!" Boring. Oh well. The man unsheathes a rapier from an ornate scabbard and lunges immediately. I take a simple step back to avoid the tip of the blade while grabbing my own and swipe up to deflect a follow up that does not come. After his attack failed to hit, the man simply fell back and now circles me warily. "You know, you might be decently trained but you lack real-world experience." "Shut up!" I dodge two more lunges, then bat the third to the side. Instead of using his superior reach to his advantage, he stops again. Another mistake. "Shooting the head is good in a competition. Soldiers know better and aim for the center mass. Less chance of missing, that way, and the target is just as disabled, not that it would have helped you." "I said, shut up!!! You wench! I''ll have you entertain the whole barrack!" "So only three men, no, two now." This man is trained to fight in a fencing room so I simply move more across the battlefield. He tries to follow as I dodge and weave around crates and bodies. "You''re too focused on me, keep an eye on your surroundings." "You slut! Once I get my hands on you, your friends will let me go and then I''m coming after all of you! You don''t know who you''re fucking with!" I smile. Typical. "Watch the leg," I warn as I parry. The rapier slides on Jimena''s gift above my head as I move forward and down. He jumps back in reflex and stumbles against the extended limb of one of his fallen comrades. "I did not mean yours. Ah, this has been a disappointment. Crow was much more entertaining than you, puppet. Perhaps I should have offered a wager?" "This isn''t over!" "If you look left, you will see that it is!" The man cannot resist, his eyes flicker to the left just as Isaac smashes into him from the right. "Oops! I lied," I say, then I stop. Something is wrong. S§×ar?h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Isaac''s posture has devolved. He is hunched like a beast and his snarls and disorderly strikes send plumes of crimson into the air as he slashes ineffectively. His clothes are in tatters and the cold and orderly aura I associate with him has turned sour. Just like the vampire in the wood at the Tillerson estate. Bloody hell. I move forward, grab Isaac by the shoulder and push him away from his mewling victim. He rolls and faces me. I see no sign of intelligence in his brown eyes. His entire face is coated with blood. Oooh this is bad. "That is enough, get a hold of yourself." "MINE!" He growls in answer. He hisses and I do the same. Trying to ASSERT DOMINANCE? WEAKLING. NOT EVEN ABLE TO CONTROL HIMSELF. WORTHLESS. I WILL PUT HIM IN HIS PLACE. And non-lethally. I may not warrant the attention of clan Rosenthal now, but should I slay one of its scions I certainly will. Briefly. He lunges and I move and duck. As he glides above me, I stab his solar plexus with five talons to stop his momentum. Then I slam him on his back. I aim for his heart and he grabs my wrist in panic. My other hand is already reaching up. I lift him and as his body leaves the ground, I find the opening I need. Two claws dig mercilessly into the back of his neck. He stops moving. "Isaac, look at me." He growls softly and shows me fangs. DEFIANCE? YOU CANNOT AFFORD DEFIANCE. Two spikes of black chitin pierce the bone of his spine. He whimpers. "Isaac. Look at me. Isaac." "Yes... I am Isaac." He closes his eyes in meditation and slowly, his body relaxes. The cold aura slowly loses its sour note until nothing is left but perfectly ordered strands. I haven''t moved, and I still do not move when he looks at me, nor when his hand grabs the one I left resting on his chest. The intimacy of the moment gives me a peculiar feeling though I am not afraid. I made him submit. For tonight, our hierarchy is clear. "Thank you, I would like to stand up now." I drag him up. He looks beyond exhausted, even while his skin is smooth and his eyes clear. It is a fatigue of the mind and of the soul. "How do you do it?" "What?" "How do you keep it at bay, the great Beast, the one that needs to dominate and destroy. I tried so hard to hear it through my conditioning that when I succeeded, there were only screams in my head. Nothing mattered but to terrify and slay the mortals. It wanted more and more. Your voice is the only one that could pierce the veil, make it go quiet." "You just remind yourself of what your purpose is. The violent part of us lacks self-preservation. It needs to be tempered." "Is it?" He chuckles madly, "Is it really a part of me? That thing that only craves death and subjugation? How do you live with it, Ariane, how do you live with its constant whispers?" "There are no whispers. There has never been anyone in my head but myself. This is not some mysterious evil entity, Isaac, just a part of you that needs to be controlled so that it can be used as one more tool in your arsenal. I have always been me. ''It'' has always been a part of me, nothing more and nothing less. " My companion looks mortified as if I had just condemned him to death. "What about him?" I point to the fallen leader to change the topic. "Did you not want to question him?" "I have an inkling as to what his business model is like. I do not feel like saving his life just to end it later." "You should drain him then, bring tonight''s Hunt to a proper end." "I cannot, I..." He throws up. Black, disgusting liquid with not a shred of essence spills on the muddy ground. I step back so it does not stain my boots. "I cannot." Isaac stands straight and wipes his mouth with a dirty handkerchief. He takes a deep breath and addresses me with impressive solemnity. "Ariane of clan Nirari, I, Isaac of clan Rosenthal declare your contract fulfilled. As a token of my appreciation, I offer you the prize of the Hunt" Magic washes over me, reminding me of my deal with Loth. This is the power of the oath and in this case, of a promise fulfilled. A wave of pleasure creeps up my spine with the purity and certainty of things made right. I smoothly go to the pitiful head of this defunct operation, brought low in a single night. I ignore his babbles and empty promises as I hoist him up. I disregard his cries of fear and pain as I bite deep. I feed. Yes, even in the relative serenity of my mind''s fortress I can feel the power rushing into me along with the vitality of the vanquished. I can feel Isaac''s presence at my side, waiting respectfully until I am done. It is empowering, flattering, and just a little arousing. I hope his nose is saturated by the stench of blood. When I am done, I throw the body away. "I must leave now, Ariane. There is much for me to consider, and I feel unusually tired. I will handle the cleanup, do not worry." I nod. He pauses briefly to consider something in silence. "You really are good at this, you know? Being a vampire. Some of us lose ourselves to our instincts. Somehow, I figure this will never be a risk for you. Seeing you fight so naturally has been... enlightening. I thank you and wish you all the best. Do write when you have the time." I nod again and he departs without a look back. When I am convinced that he is out of sight, I finally relax. "Teeeeeeeeehehehehehe that was sooooo fun!" Damn it, I''m drunk again. Chapter 35 - 35. Blood Ties Following our heroic return from opening a bank account and killing six people in the process, Dalton and I continue much like before. As a charming lad with good prospects and a secured income, Dalton starts receiving several discreet inquiries from good families to see if their daughters could be a match. He systematically turns them down. This only gives wind to the rumor mill. Now everyone says we are an item. Fortunately, we are protected by our good reputation and we are therefore seen more as an exotic pair than a couple of sinners. This leads me to consider a relationship with him. I am certain that he would not hesitate. I am also certain that our lovemaking would be pleasant and concern-free and yet, I decide against it. Although I cannot reclaim what Master took, what I give is still mine to choose and I want my first consensual intimate moment to be like what Agna and Loth shared. I do not want to indulge; I want what they had. My feelings for Dalton are not that of a lover, and so we cannot have what I desire. In the meanwhile, I, ahem, still have a way to entertain myself. While I wait for the conclave and for Jimena to submit my petition, I am not idle. My present circumstances give me access to a wealth of resources to work with. Following Jimena''s recommendation on the pursuit of art, I am taking drawing classes. Well, that is not entirely correct. Upon Jimena''s recommendation, I have picked up drawing. It is upon Loth''s recommendation that I am taking classes for it, under the benevolent mentoring of old Margie Mitchell. What occurred, is that after a brief period of self-study, I showed Loth the fruit of my labor. He was not impressed. His very words were: "Don''t ye worry about yer lack of talent lass, ye got centuries ta learn. Now explain ta me how ye think that''s a house. Please, I could use another laugh." Rascal. Fortunately, my other pursuits are going better. My study of magic runes and their arrangement has progressed enough that Loth started showing how to build, avoid, and disarm magical protections and alarms. It will at least allow me to know what things can do, and then, break them. Casting even the most basic ward is still completely beyond me. When I ask how he knows so much about breaking and entering, Loth grows suspiciously evasive. He mentions something about a girl, a crown, and his good cousin Okri. I leave it at that. Bounty hunting has become interesting. There is a new market for escaped slaves and after learning of it, Loth offered me a trade. I would hunt down the fugitives and instead of delivering them back to their owner, I would lead them to isolated houses or lost paths, where others would take them. Loth explained that he was part of a secret network called the Underground Railroad dedicated to helping slaves travel North towards Canada or West to Mexico. Ah, Loth, always the bleeding heart. The rest of the bounties are the usual conmen, thieves, murderers, and rapists. Which leads me to tonight. May 1805, Georgian Wilderness. "That''s them, Mistress." Dalton points to a small gathering of people off what passes as roads in these parts. I see three wagons and three groups around one campfire. They unfortunately have a dog. I study them. There is a couple of young farmers, probably married since the woman is heavily pregnant. I also note a larger family with many children being fed by a heavyset woman while her husband smokes a pipe. He is dressed in the black attire of a preacher. The last two members are a crone in a rocking chair attended by a woman with the absent face of a simpleton. None of them look to be Mr. Darius Hill, charlatan, and thug. I like charlatans, they always have the best stories. "And you say none of them saw your quarry?" I ask. "Or so they claim, and they seemed honest. The thing is, it should be impossible. Hill followed the same path, and nobody remembered him in Salt Spring. Unless he went off-road before he came across this group, they should have seen something." I keep looking. I don''t think they saw anything. They are traveling together for safety but there is no friendship here. If anything, the young couple and the simpleton are both wary of the preacher. He probably bashed their ears with threats of divine punishment during the whole trip. There would be no reason for a coordinated lie. It looks like a trek through the wilderness is increasingly more likely, though that does not fit what I know of the man. A conman cons his way through travel. Murderers are more likely to go brave the wilderness. Unless... No way! This is just precious. I stare a bit longer until I am completely convinced I am right, and then stand up. "Mistress?" "My dearest Vassal, you have yet things to learn! Follow and observe." "Yes Mistress, I bow before your superior wisdom," he deadpans. How many vampires get sass from their Vassals I wonder? We make our way to the camp from the road. The dog is the first to hear and smell me. His furious barks alarm the assembly, and both men grab a musket. Dalton reaches the edge of the campfire''s circle of light. The flames reflect on his deputy badge, making it glint. "You again?!" Roars the priest with outrage. Dalton remains unfazed. "Hsssssss." The sound is too low for human ears. The dog barks, whimpers then falls silent. Good. I sidestep Dalton to get closer to the group. It is time for an exciting lesson. "My dear Dalton, when following a prey, you must remember that..." "Who gave you leave to speak, wench?" We are going to have a problem. I consider killing their dog as a warning when Dalton intervenes. "I did. Now stay silent." The priest stands up with rage at his treatment and opens his mouth but nothing comes out. The distinctive sound of a cocked pistol silences everyone. "You would not dare firing on a..." "Yes. I very much would. Now shut up, you are interfering with the duties of a deputy Marshall." Nicely done Dalton, now I won''t have to kill anyone. "As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted," "You dare!" BANG! The priest falls backward with a yelp and his family panics, for one second, until it becomes evident that Dalton fired a warning shot in the air. When everyone''s attention has turned to him, my Vassal calmly holsters his pistol only to take out another one from his other hip. His countenance is perfectly at ease. "The next one is for your knee." You could hear a pin drop. Good Vassal. "... many imbeciles only see danger when looking down the muzzle of a gun. And so those that prey on others have found ways to make themselves appear harmless until it is too late." I walk around the camp and stop in front of the simpleton. "However, most criminals are stupid, and the disguise is often flawed. For example, senile women do not smell of cigar and liquor." I snag the hat from the "crone" head to reveal a bald skull. The wig has remained stuck to the coiffe. "YOU BITCH!" screams Mr. Hill as he attempts to extract himself from the reclining chair with a face twisted by rage. An instant later, his hateful glare is buried under Dalton''s leather-clad foot. Hill falls back down and screams. The simpleton screams, the couple screams, the priest''s family screams. My poor ears. "Darius Hill you are under arrest for assault with a deadly weapon, battery, larceny..." I watch Dalton work as he shackles the criminal. All this fresh blood dripping on the ground... I feel the Thirst awakening. I have been feeding on chalices for the past three days, and it is time for Mr. Hill to contribute. "What is the meaning of this?!" yells the priest as he tries to regain some authority. "You shared a campfire with a felon and a transvestite, that''s what it means." I smile and prepare to leave until I notice that Dalton is staring at the man, considering. "You know, when I asked you the first time you said that God would reveal the soul of a sinner. And yet here he is, sharing a fire with you. Strange is it not?" "What are you implying, you insolent scoundrel? Do you know who you''re talking to?" If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. "No, but you''re going to tell me. Name, surname, and place of origin please," replies Dalton. "I''m the Reverend Luther Boone of the Baptist church of the United States, with the grace of..." "Date of birth and place of origin." "I beg your pardon?!" "For the last time, you will give me your date of birth and place of origin, sir, or are you refusing to comply?" "This is an outrage! I have never been treated like this! I''ll have you know..." "You harbored a fugitive and now you''re refusing to cooperate with a deputy Marshall of the state of Georgia. You will answer my questions, or you will be detained. Is that clear?" "!!!" "IS. THAT. CLEAR?" There is a moment of tension when I almost believe that the priest will lose his temper, until Dalton takes out another pair of manacles. The priest quickly looks around as if seeking support, however, the couple is looking at him warily and the simpleton is still sobbing on the ground. He swallows his pride and sits back down. What follows is a short interrogation during which Dalton asks a few pointed questions. The others do not realize it, but I see what he is doing. His tone and phrasing are not inquisitive, they are degrading. Interjections such as "Is that so?" and "care to repeat that?" constantly destabilize his interlocutor, giving the vague feeling that Dalton does not believe a word he says. The treatment lasts until the red in the priest''s face no longer comes from his anger but from his humiliation. When he''s done, Dalton turns away and before leaving, delivers a parting shot: "I will be verifying these claims, sir, and if they are not to my satisfaction you can expect another visit." And then we disappear into the night, captive in tow. The impression is only slightly ruined when the simpleton runs after us, bawling her eyes out. "I think she likes you, Mistress." "Don''t even start." Our carriage is riding back towards Coolidge, the city where the now slightly anemic Hill was last seen. I believe that he grabbed the simple woman there and used her as a cover. We will drop her off as soon as we locate her abode. Said simpleton can speak quite a bit when she is no longer so scared. I learned that she lives mostly alone in a shed and that she really likes rabbits. Tonight''s sortie is getting stranger by the minute. "Dalton..." My Vassal sighs heavily, not meeting my eyes. "I am sorry Mistress. It won''t happen again." "Oh, no, far from me to rob you of your fun. It was a pleasant surprise, although, you understand my curiosity¡­" I see something rare in my precious ally, embarrassment. "It happened long ago..." "Then at least tell me what caused your ire. You are usually so stern¡­" Dalton takes a moment to gather his thoughts then he begins. "There is a kind of person who enjoys being in power. They enjoy it so much, in fact, that they will try to make everyone around them less so that it remains. They beat their wife, they beat their children, they crush their spirits so that all there is around them is a bunch of broken cowards too afraid to stand up for themselves. Growth does not interest them, only control. Now some of those men, like this despicable cad from before, they found a religion. That religion tells them that they are the chosen of God and they know the one truth, and that places them at the top of the bloody world. How happy they are. Now when they beat their family it''s to protect them from sin. And how do they know it''s sin? Well, since they are the chosen of God, if they don''t like it, then God must not like it either. And so it goes. An entire village of self-righteous feckless mongrels weeding out everyone who could cast a shade on their happy hegemony. " It does not take a mastermind to understand where his resentment comes from. "You did punish him beautifully." "Oh, no Mistress. The punishment is only getting started. You see, I did it in front of his kids. Now they know their father is fallible. Just an angry little man, really. When they are of age, they will remember this, and that one could face him and win." "The seeds of rebellion?" "Perhaps. Perhaps none of them will have the guts, or they could all be like him. It doesn''t matter. I gave them something to consider. That''s more than I got..." With this last statement, Dalton grows unusually subdued. I decide to leave him to his musings. The rarity of his displays of emotion could be a cause for concern in others, it does not bother me. The unity brought by our bond cannot be faked, nor destroyed. "I will not let my resentment endanger our cause, Mistress." "I know. I trust you, and I believe I understand now why you trust me, trusted me, that day in the Valiant''s camp." "Yes," he replies with a smile, "I will take an honorable monster over a hypocritical human any day of the week." We share a knowing smile and fall into a comfortable silence as the carriage takes us back. Savannah, October 1805. The guard opens the door the moment he recognizes me. The nervous accountant who handled my money last time trots up and speaks with reverence. "Welcome back, Lady Ariane. Master Isaac will be with you shortly. If you would take a seat? Would you like something to dr... Uhhhh." "I am fine, thank you," I tell the paling man. Yes, a poor choice of words. I would not take him up on his offer anyway, it would be quite rude towards Isaac. Not to mention that I liked the sound of "Lady Ariane." The bean counter scurries back to the illusory safety of his desk while I take some time to study the magical protections of the place. I now recognize the set of armor as an animated golem, currently unpowered. The book Loth lent me mentioned that they were indefatigable and did not know pain. They are a good defense against a vampire although their slow speed can be a liability. The easiest way to deal with them is to outmaneuver them. Barring that, they have a core that would need to be destroyed. The glyph on the ground is also interesting. It is a seal of Solomonic tradition, and although its full purpose escapes me, I believe it is related to the disruption of foreign magic. "Studying the competition, Ariane?" I stand up and curtsy before my host. My answer dies in my throat when I take in his presence. Something has changed. The cold aura that marks him as my kin has increased in power by a significant amount. Moreover, it seems to be in flux, growing as I look, and despite all this it is still as organized and disciplined as before. "Well! Are congratulations in order?" "Indeed! Indeed, they are. Let us be on our way and I shall regale you with the tales of my latest achievement." I refuse to take his offered arm which he accepts gracefully. We exit the building and leave on foot away from the docks, towards the more affluent part of the city. Dalton follows us at a short distance, ever vigilant. "Your power feels like that of a Master." "Yes, after our little outing I came home and immediately collapsed into a long slumber. I learned much from that night, much more than you think. The insights I gained were enough to tip me over the edge. You are looking at clan Rosenthal''s newest Ascendant!" "Congratulations once more. So what is the custom? Should I offer you a coming of age present?" He shakes his hand dismissively. "Normally there would be a ceremony and yes, gifts. Do not fret though, your contribution was already more than I could ever ask. And there is something else." "Yes?" "Well, those gifts would usually be very precious and as your financial advisor I strongly advise against any excessive spendings at the moment." "... Did you just call me poor, sir?" "Of course not! Of course not, I was merely looking out for your best interest. As is proper." Isaac''s perfect poker face only betrays his inner smirk. If he were honest, he would have apologized profusely. "Well, excuse me." S§×arch* The Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "You are forgiven." I hiss playfully. Loth, Sinead and now Isaac, it appears that loners end up being comfortable in my presence. How else to explain the ocean of sass I must deal with? Even Dalton teases me on occasion. His deadpan deliveries can be scathing when something manages to stir his emotions. Perhaps I am a refreshing breeze for them, someone who they know will not commit a betrayal. I suspect Master''s reputation could get him some allies, or even friends, if he weRe not sUch a... Better not go there. "We are almost there. As promised, the location is secured. You have my word." "Thank you Isaac, I knew I could count on you." "Indeed! Indeed, say Ariane, what you have is extraordinary. I am happy for you. Cherish the memories you make tonight." "I will. Thank you." "Enough of this, on you go!" I enter alone the lobby of a small hotel. Signs of age and constant use mark the desk and furniture. Instead of being decrepit, warm colors and the smell of soap and flowers give the room a homey feeling. The place is empty but for a heartbeat coming from the dining room. I step in silently. If my own heart were still in motion, it would be fluttering right now. He is sitting at a table, his back to me. His fingers tap a nervous dance on the scratched wood as he tries in vain to focus on a shipping manifest. I sneak up on him with childish giddiness. Oh, but I haven''t felt this human in months! I place my hands on his eyes, covering them. "Devine qui c''est!" "Ma petite fille!" He roars with pleasure. "Let me take a good look at you!" He jumps to his feet and catches me under the armpits. He lifts me in the air like I am made of straw and turns me around like a weird animal. I realize with pleasure that he regained his normal strength, though his hair has more grey in it than I remember. I try not to let it get to me. After a few seconds, he returns his verdict. "You''ve gained weight." "Lies! Calomnies!" I sputter. "Hahaha fine, fine. Come on, sit down here and tell your old man everything." I give him a light recounting of the events after I left the house. As expected, I am interrupted almost immediately. "Those damn fanatics hiring a mage? Typical hypocrites. Fucking pricks, I hope you gave them hell." "I did. Also, language!" "Give me a break, daughter. Your aunt isn''t here." "So I can start swearing too?!" "Do you want to?" "That''s not the point!" "Do as I say, not as I do, such is the privilege of every parent!" I hiss in jest. When I realize what I have done, I freeze. I did not intend to show this side of me, however, my expectations are dashed. Instead of being alarmed at the inhuman noise, Papa steps closer. "Can I... Can I see them?" I hesitate. "It''s fine if you don''t want to Ariane, I appreciate that it can be difficult." "No, it''s fine." Papa takes my hand in his and rubs the talon, careful not to cut himself on the edge. At the same time I open my mouth and allow my fangs to show. He lowers his head to inspect them. "Hrm." We both jump in surprise when we realize Isaac is in the room. "Jesus man, don''t you scare me like that!" "My apologies Mr. Reynaud. I merely wanted to tell you that everything is in order. You will find the signed contract in your quarters. And with this, I bid you a good night." He bows with perfect professionalism. I''m never going to live this down, am I? We stare in silence as he leaves. "You entered a contract with the Rosenthal?" "Yes, they were looking for a trustworthy contact with significant storage capabilities. Our location allows them to bypass other clans'' areas of influence." "That is good I, wait, hold on, wait, how do you know all of this?!" "Hmmmmmmm." "Papa?!" "I''ll tell you if you tell me why Lucien asks me about you when his parents are not around." "Ah. Aha. Wellllll." My father crossed his arms and raises a brow which means I''m not getting out of this one. "When I came looking for you, I passed by the manor first. Roger came out and Lucien trailed him." "They saw you? Roger never said..." "I asked him never to mention me." "I see. As for why I know so much, well, your letters came from a vampire and I managed to get in touch with her." "What?! She never said so!" "I asked her to keep it secret, I did not want you to worry." "Father, this world is dangerous!" "And closing my eyes to it won''t save me, not since they took you. In any case, Achille has expanded the business and a lot of transactions we thought strange make sense now that we can account for hidden groups of interest. Also, Achille does not know it yet, but I am planning to leave you your rightful share of inheritance." "Papa...." "Tut tut, I fully expect you to look after your nieces and nephews, and their children after that. I want you to be around for a long time and I am charging you with protecting the family in the future." "... Alright, I promise." "Speaking of which, Achille''s wife Nicole is expecting their second child! And so is Constanza." The discussion continues on my family until I resume my tale. Eventually, I mention Dalton. "We mostly hunt bounties together." "Is that what kids call it these days?" "Papa?!" "Hahaha joking. Well, remember to tell me in advance for the nuptials. I have to make arrangements." "Even if I did, we could not find a priest." "Aaaah who cares about that, I could do a pagan marriage. With that Nashoba lad attending us." "Pass." "Alright, alright." After that, I have Dalton himself join us. They take the measure of each other and immediately hit it off. We finish the night on a pleasant note, and with plans for the future. I have not felt closer to human Ariane in a long time. I wonder if it will be a weakness and I realize that I do not mind. If I manage not to get killed, I will be forced to see all my family die of old age. Perhaps their children too. I need to enjoy the present moment while I can, and safeguard those memories. It feels important. I also realize that I am in a position to look after Achille''s descendants. I am too weak to make a difference now, and the descendants in question are mostly yet to come. This is still something to consider in the future. This is all making me out of sorts. I know what I need, a good Hunt. Chapter 36 - 36. Cloaks and Daggers "I already hate this Hunt." "Ye''re just a sore loser, lass." "Just because I end up being a loser a bit too often for my tastes..." Loth looks like the very picture of innocence, which I find extremely suspicious. I insist that we change the way we select who will go first every time, and yet I still lose. Surely, Loth is not capable of cheating at every game. Surely... "Wipe that smirk off your face, mister. " A howl interrupts his answer. I know how wolves sound. Their songs are eerie, beautiful and if you are outside, frightening. It does not compare to the grating abomination I am hearing now. More importantly... "Loth, there are two of them." "Aye, I heard." "We need to help him." "No, we need to trust him." Loth is about to hold me back with an extended arm then thinks better of it. Our eyes meet briefly. "I hope that you can provide me with a good reason, Loth." "Aye, this is the lad''s first outing. Don''t clip his wings. Let him give a good accounting of himself. Have some faith, Ariane." I grind my teeth in frustration. I don''t want him to get hurt, I need to LET HIM HUNT IN MY NAME, yes, that seems fair. He is my Vassal, he will take down those CURS LIKE THE MONGRELS THEY ARE. In the clearing in front of us, torches burn at regular intervals centered around a butchered horse covered with three chalices of human blood. Dalton stands straight with Loth''s latest iteration of the Wolf Slayer in his steady hands. A boar spear with a silver inlay is dug into the ground at his feet. Even my vampire senses can barely pick up any fear in him, only anticipation and the thrill of the deadly struggle to come. My Vassal chose the location himself, with the rationale that a clear line of sight was the most important thing to have. Loth did not comment so the idea must have merit, although I would prefer to HUNT THEM MYSELF AND MANGLE THEM LIMB FROM LIMB, except, I gave my word. Dalton drew the short straw and the attempt is his. They come. I lean forward in anticipation. Wood creaks and groans under the push of a massive body. Dalton turns and kneels. The Wolf Slayer is a massive crossbow. Its draw strength is guaranteed by an elegant system of pulleys and taut metallic strings. It must be heavy for a mortal, though looking at Dalton, you could not tell. He holds it with ease born out of rigorous practice. A hulking abomination crashes through the vegetation into the clearing. It spots Dalton. Dalton aims, and waits. The werewolf runs to him on all fours, its strange gait an obscene parody of nature. Dalton waits. The creature screams its rage and its thirst for blood, claws digging furrows in the tortured ground. Forty paces away. Thirty. Dalton waits. Twenty-five. I hear the twang of strained cords finally released, I do not see the barbed silver quarrel leave its slot. It is simply too fast. The werewolf''s head explodes in a cloud of blood and brain matter. Its body drops in a tangle of monstrous limbs. Dalton stands up and brings out two pistols from the holsters on his hips as a second dark shape overtakes the first. He fires one second before the thing reaches him. The werewolf raises a paw to his ruined eyes but does not stop. The yowling form barrels past him as he rolls to the side, grabbing the boar spear. Before the blinded beast can recover, my Vassal buries his silver blade deep under its armpit. The creature shivers and struggles in vain. Dalton manages to keep it at bay through power and balance. With every movement its wound only becomes more grievous. Carmine blood soon spreads in a pool around it. With proper preparation and deadly skill, Dalton took down two of the most dangerous supernatural creatures of the land. "Come and partake Mistress, before it is too late." I move to his side with pride in my chest. He did so well! I feed quickly. It tastes exquisite, like a hard-won prize. An offering worthy of any king. When I come to, Loth is congratulating Dalton on his aim and his courage. "Ice-cold lad! We''ll make a sharpshooter out of you yet." "Thank you, my dear Vassal, for the show and for the meal. Now, I shall¡­ Wait. Shhh! I hear something." Both men immediately fall silent, even their breathing grows subdued. I close my eyes and focus on listening. I hear the beating hearts of my companions, fire burning softly on the torches, the many sounds of the forest, and behind that, footsteps. A group of creatures is approaching us. They are confident if cautious. I focus on them. For a single moment, my ears are cleared of everything but them, then a furious headache makes me recoil. I scowl at the discomfort. There is still much for me to learn, but now I know enough. "Group of men, three or maybe four. I heard creaking leather and metal so they must be armed." I turn to Loth and so does Dalton. Tonight we went hunting at his behest and this is his territory. By right the decision should be his. "We hide and observe." I fetch the quarrel while the others take the boar spear and crossbow. We run to cover. We do not have to wait long before the intruders make themselves known. Three men in the now familiar leather outfit of the order of Gabriel trudge through the undergrowth and stop at the edge of the clearing. I lean towards Loth and ask: "What do you want to do?" "We need to kill them all." Reasonable. Just then, I catch a whiff of them. Sweat, fear and under this, one of them is... Now that is interesting. "Can I try something?" "Sure thing lass, it''s your turn, but they don''t leave the clearing alive." "Very well." I move out of sight to my backpack and change into my traveling dress as fast as I can. I enter the clearing from the side just as the others do. I crawl between the rings of light cast by our torches to a spot on the ground not too far from the two werewolf corpses. Now that I think about it, I did not know they could hunt in pairs. Loth never mentioned it was possible. Bah, it probably is just an anomaly. Nothing to concern myself over. The trio walks towards the center of the clearing with one man looking back at all times. I find it striking that they would adopt this formation, clearly designed to fight werewolves. The corpses of the two monstrosities are squat between two torches, clearly visible from where they are. The death of their prey as well as the presence of torches should hint that their enemies, if indeed they are enemies, use tools. With this logic, walking slowly out in the open and in sight of everyone is the last thing they should do. I focus on hearing again and confirm that they are not being followed. It appears that ancient vampires do not have a monopoly on rigid mindsets. I should not be surprised. Once more, I am putting too much effort in a confrontation that could have been solved at the speed of the crossbow''s muzzle velocity. Ah well, at least I can make it interesting. I feel the threads of a beautiful rendition of "The Turning of a Friend" blooming before me. Improvised, of course, but still interesting. The trio reaches the two monster corpses. One of them touches the body of one of the beasts. "Still warm..." "We should..." I sneeze. Three lanterns turn on me with blinding glare. I lift an arm to shield my eyes. "Please... Don''t hurt me!" Heavy footsteps draw close. A hand closes on my wrist and drags me to the floor. I yelp in surprise and pain. "No... Please!" "A woman? Here?" "Who are you? What are you doing here?" says the one who manhandled me, now on my left. I whimper in fear, my eyes still closed. I am but a poor defenseless woman in a dark and isolated forest. Three men have me at their mercy. Anything could happen. I am terrified. "Calm Gamelin, can''t you see you''re scaring her half to death? You, woman, what''s your name?" Asks the man in the middle. "M... Mathilda, sir, Mathilda Wallace." "What are you doing out there at this hour, huh?" Says a bitter man on my right. "It''s not my fault! I did not want to be here, but he took me..." "Who? Who took you?" "I don''t know! A man! I don''t know him!" "Hold on, start from the beginning. And you two, keep a look around. What is this, a picnic?!" With the lanterns away from my face I raise my eyes to their leader. I blink rapidly to clear them. He is an older gentleman with sideburns. More interesting is that I cannot Charm him. All three men are surrounded by a sort of cocoon centered around their cross. There is no bond between us, and when I try to force it I only receive a jolt that feels distinctly like a warning. Something like the taste of ash at the back of my tongue. Very well, the old-fashioned way it is. "I... I was on my way to Hull. Not far from here." I wave my arm South. We crossed the hamlet on our way here. "Then this tall man covered with weapons jumped out of the woods! I was so afraid!" "What sort of weapons?" "Well, I saw, hmm, guns!" "Women..." adds the bitter man. I am pretty sure he is the one with the interesting smell. Just you wait, you yellow-livered halfwit. "Dale will you shut up for one blessed second, please? Miss... Wallace was it? What sort of guns?" "Well. At least two pistols. Maybe more." "Go on?" "He also had a strange sort of bow. With a handle." "A crossbow?" "I don''t know sir, I did not see a cross." Dale sniggers. With a supreme effort, Sideburns refrains from cuffing him. "Anything else?" "Yes, he had a spear. It was a hunting spear I think. I saw my father use the same." "That''s not one of us." "Dale, one more word and I will use you as live bait. Miss Wallace, the man, what did he look like." "A very tall man, strong as a bull he was. He had a big red beard, flat nose and a ring above his right eye." I just described Rolf Stonehead, possibly the dumbest of Loth''s relatives. Somewhere in the treeline, someone chuckles softly. "A ring, you say?" I nod frantically. "Why should we believe that hussy. Any respectable woman should be in bed at this hour, she probably followed him here for a tryst." I may be a scared lone woman but those accusations sting my pride and so I must show it. "That is not charitable of you, sir!" I claim. The fear of the demon-like creature must soon reassert itself, however. "Ooooh, this is a nightmare! This cannot be real..." "Miss, look at me." Although the leader of the squad affects kindness, his eyes remain calculating. This one is sharper than the rest. He can feel that something is wrong. "Tell me, what happened after." I lower my head and close my eyes, doing my best to remember. "Hum, he grabbed me. He was strong and I was scared so I did not fight him. It didn''t hurt. He said he needed bait." Dale and Gamlin exchange whispers. "Who might he be, an independant hunter?" "One of the devil-worshippers perhaps?" I go on. "Then he dragged me through the woods. He did not answer my questions, or my pleas. He only told me to... To shut up." "A wise decision." Sideburns stands up and floors his subordinate with a powerful right hook. I cover my head and yelp at the sudden violence. I have to admit, it was done beautifully. To my inner delight, Dale growls. A flicker of doubt crosses Sideburns'' otherwise stern expression. In typical fashion, he dismisses it almost immediately. Yes mortal, you are so close to understanding, and yet you dare not face the truth. "Then what?" I swallow with difficulty, intimidated by the clearly dangerous man in front of me. "And then... he brought me here. There was a horse carcass. And torches." "Go on." "When night fell, he used a syringe to draw some blood," I say as I massage the crook of my left arm, "and he just spilled it on the body. I thought he was a lunatic and he would do some evil ritual." "What tells you that he didn''t?" Ah, a solid observation. This would destabilize many a liar. "I don''t know? He dragged me to the side and he just stood there. Did not say a word until... until..." My voice quivers and I grab my head and collapse on the ground. My breath comes hard and fast and one of my hands is on my heart, as if to calm down its panic. "Are those demons?" "They are godless creatures. That is all you need to know." He turns to leave. What, going so soon? "Wait! Please." Sideburns would ignore me but leaving a woman defenseless is more than he can tolerate. I have a short window of opportunity. "Do you live nearby? Can I come with you?" "No, we do not. And no you cannot." "Don''t leave me here please!" "Listen, they''re dead now so we should be safe." "What if there are more of them?!" "There are none. We have been tracking those two for three days now. There are no others." Ah, so they already fought those creatures and that is how dear Dale ended up cursed. The fact that they have been traveling for three days also means that their base is relatively far. Perhaps Loth knows more. Now for the finish. "Then at least come back to Hull with me for the night. You will be able to rest. You should not walk around with one of you bleeding like that." Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. They all stop. Oh, yes. This is so precious, the fateful moment when the seed of doubt blooms into a beautiful, tainted flower. "What did you just say?" "Nothing! Nothing! I''m sorry! I did not mean to imply anything!", I yell in terror. Sideburns grabs me by the collar and hoists me up. My, quite daring! "Who! Who is bleeding?! What did you see?!" I just have enough time to raise my hand protectively before Sideburns'' head explodes in my face. My dress is soiled with blood and pulverized brain matter. Ew. Also, really? I was expecting a fierce argument ending up in a fight. I did not expect Dale to be so trigger-happy. Oh well. "No!" , screams Gamelin, taking out his own pistol, "How could you!?" They throw themselves at each other in a mad tangle of limbs, trying desperately to angle the barrel of their guns towards soft flesh. "I need to go back to Elise! I have to! I know what you will do to me!" "Traitor! Did you not swear an oath like all of us? Are you so ready to forfeit your immortal soul?" "Screw this! I''m not cursed! I can''t be! I''m God''s chosen!" Yes, yes, God''s chosen. Father Armand also used to tell me God loved me and yet here we are. I watch with interest as they wrestle on the blood-soaked ground until it looks like Gamelin has the advantage. He slams Dale on the ground. Instead of fighting both his previous colleague and gravity, Dale suddenly pushes his arm down. In the brief moment of leeway he has, he aims his gun up and shoots. The bullet misses Gamelin by a wide margin. The cloud of ignited black powder, however, does not. The poor sod recoils and reaches for his eyes. The turncoat does not hesitate. He grabs the discarded gun, turns it on the man he called his brother and fires it at point-blank range. Gamelin''s head whips back. He collapses, dead. I am sobbing and crying on the ground. Only my pathetic mewling and Dale''s heartfelt curses break the silence of the grave that has befallen this clearing. Eventually, he stands back up and walks to me. "No, please, please! I haven''t done anything!" "I know. I am sorry. I have no choice." he says, while aiming one more pistol at my head. He turns his head away with an expression of pure guilt. On his cheek, a single tear trails down. He pulls the trigger. After the echo of the gunshot has died, he falls to his knees. For a long time, there are only bitter tears of guilt until finally he bellows his pain to the heavens. "Why?" "Because you broke your oath." Dale turns in fright as I stand up and brush the grass from my knees. Now the travel dress has stains of blood, brain and soot. What a chore it will be to wash. "What? No! I don''t understand! Who are you? What is this?" "This, is a passable rendition of The Turning of a Friend, with you in the role of the traitorous companion, and me as the puppeteer. Although, to be fair, you made it too easy." "How are you still alive? I shot you in the head!" "Correction, you shot at my head. You missed." "It''s impossible... I am insane, completely insane, this is just a dream, yes just a dream." What an interesting development! He is losing his mind. I approach and kneel in the grass in front of him. The cross on this man''s chest burns my hand when I grab it but I still manage to tear it off. "It hurts right? All of this." "Yes, please make it stop make it stop make it stop. Let me wake up." "I will make it all better, little oath breaker. Just hold still..." He tastes like a play led to completion, and a hint of curse. Not bad. Loth and Dalton clap politely as they enter the clearing. Dalton piles the carcasses, Loth checks the priests'' belongings and I gather firewood to build a pyre. Dale was a traitor and a fratricide. I look down upon him while I respect Sideburns, whose name I never learned. It is curious that I would harbor the least resentment to those who could have harmed me the most. I only feel respect for those who follow their beliefs to the end, even if it means that they need to destroy me. Perhaps it is... "Ari, are ye tipsy again?" "What? Psh, no, absolutely not. I would if I drained three people and I only drained two. So there!" "Are you sure? I remember that werewolf blood is potent." "That was only one werewolf and half so it doesn''t count." "Ye are being contemplative lass. You are contemplative when ye''re tipsy." "Am not! I am perfectly fine! "Alright, sorry. By the way , why are you adding their muskets to the bonfire?" "..." "..." "Technically, they are made of wood. Mostly." "Right, lass of course. Go sit down for a minute or two aye?" Acting is hard. The towel is hung, the tub is empty, and my bedroom''s secured doors are locked tight. Loth retired after a last attempt at creating a magical skeleton key, his latest project. Dalton is long asleep. I walk naked to my bed, not the sarcophagus, and plop onto its soft mattress. It smells of soap. I smell of jasmine and the subtle spice of vampire skin. The canopy covers me in soft blue tones. I run a finger down my torso. The claw trails against my skin without breaking it, until my hand stops just below my navel. I turn my head to the nightstand upon which rests another of Jimena''s gifts. It is a rare print of a story about a shepherdess and far too many handsome noblemen. I am going to have myself some "me-time". I open the book with one hand and start a new chapter titled "In which our Heroine absconds to the woods with don Miguel¡­" What a delightful turn of events. "¡­ and don Rodrigo." Oh, my! Alas, as I start reading the bell rings. The urgent bell. The one that signals that Loth has an important matter that needs to be addressed immediately. Perhaps I can rip it from the wall and pretend it was an accident? With a resigned sigh, I pull on a nightdress and undergarments, don a pair of slippers and promptly exit my room. As expected, the house is dark and deserted. No fire, no intruder and generally, nothing that warranted me being disturbed at this most inopportune moment. I swallow my annoyance and climb upstairs. I hope this is truly important. I find Loth in the smoking room in a fine silk robe and a lowball glass full of whiskey. An empty bottle lies on the table at his side. The dying fire reflects in his dark eyes. Sensing the mood, I silently sit in front of him and wait. He slowly brushes his hand over his face, then pinches the bridge of his nose. When he can no longer delay, his voice starts rough from stress and the burn of liquor. "It''s yer fault, ya know?" He sounds defensive. "Many things are my fault. You will have to be more specific." Loth puckers his mouth, moving his great beard in comical fashion and finally hands me a rumpled letter, which I open. The text is entirely runic. My study of his magic system allows me to decipher a few key elements: wife, ship, arrival, a few runes that refer to people as well as a time coordinate which I realize is three days from now. It does not take long to piece the puzzle together. "Loth?" I shake the paper like a flag. "How long have you had this?" "Grmgmlmlmrgmrl." "Loth!" "A month!" The Silent Watcher save me from procrastinators. "Am I to understand that your correspondence has been fruitful?" "No! As soon as Leikny, that be me wife, found out I was alive, she managed to track me down and now she''s on her way ta Savannah! With that damn Rollo!" "Rollo who showed his posterior to the king of England or swine-kisser Rollo?" "Neither of them, it''s a third one I never mentioned before." "Ah?" "Aye, see, he''s a wee bit of a cunt." I splutter in outrage but Loth cuts me off. "Don''t ye start. I''m wroth, and I''ll damn swear if I feel like it. DAMNIT! I have ta confront them. Else they''ll come here and I''ll never hear the end of it." I can imagine the commotion. All those widows coming here for a roll in the hay, finding out that their paramour is still married. Scandalous. Well, more scandalous at any rate. "I feel a bit responsible. I could¡­ Convince them to head back." Loth''s eyes are reduced to slivers under his thunderous brow. I had to needle him before the temptation to cut and run could grow too strong. Now his pride will not let him retreat. "I can solve me own damn problems thank ye very much. Just¡­" "Yes?" "Can ye come with me? For safety?" "Of course." "Hold on lass, ye think I''m being metaphorical. Am not. That Rollo is three snakes in a gambeson." "You suspect foul play?" "Suspect? No. I expect foul play. So you and I are going ta make a short list of contingencies in case I''m not as paranoid as ya think. Aye?" "Of course Loth, I shall endeavor to assuage your fears." "Assuage? Come on, Ariane, stop being so damn respectable for one damn second." "No." "Please¡­" "Bah, fine, but just this once! If they dare touch you, I will fuck them up." "Thank ye lass, but did ya mean ta say that ye''ll shove their heads up their¡­" "Do not press your luck." I never knew one could infuse so much meaning in a single gesture. Some smiles are worth paragraphs. Loth''s sigh spells an entire book. Regret, anxiety, shame, hopelessness, resentment, disappointment, the list is long. We have set up a meeting point in a rather expensive inn at the edge of Savannah. Three people just arrived. Four had gone down the walkway a day before, carrying with them a massive crate. Big enough to contain an oversized man, like Loth for example. It does not take a genius to suspect that they want him back with a bit too much enthusiasm. "I am feeling out of sorts Ariane. I am not quite sure what to do." "What does your heart desire?" Loth turns to me and I am reminded of the warrior in my vision, the one who had laughed as he had buried his axe into another man''s chest. "Let''s not go there, aye? What my heart wants now even you would object, say it dishonors the Hunt or some such." I feel a rush of excitement. This is not about the Hunt, this is about retribution. Those kin of his intend to commit some terrible offense, breaking their oath in spirit, and to their own blood no less. They would accept his offer of peace with ill intent in their hearts. Oath breakers. We should make an example out of them. PEEL THEM OPEN ONE BY ONE, EXTRACT THEIR SECRETS LIKE MARROW FROM A BONE. SEND BACK THE DREGS. LET THE REST WITNESS THE COST OF TRANSGRESSION. "Do not tempt me lass, I beg of you, do not tempt me." I wipe the ghastly smile from my face and retract all of my fangs. If Loth were after justice, his wife would be dead. He is after closure. I do not want to push him to do something he might regret. He deserves better from a friend. "You want to confront them?" "Spring the trap? It''s bloody stupid, is what it is." He mulls it over for a while, like prodding a wound to see how painful it is. When he finally turns to me, all his emotions have been boxed in tight. Only cold anger remains. "I need ta know." I look through the window. The inn is suspiciously empty. Only one table is occupied, around which Loth''s relatives and spouse are sitting. The stocky blond must be Leikny, and she looks nervous. The other two share my friend''s muscular frame and lush beard. The one on the right is an apprehensive red-hair, the one on the left has hair as black as night, curled in an elegant do. He has a vicious countenance to him and I would bet solid gold that this is Rollo. As I look, he reaches mechanically for a bulge on his side and I see the glint of chain mail. "They are armed, and armored." "Of course they are." Loth moves back from the cover of the carriage and stretches. Joints and bones pop like a military fanfare. "Well, here goes nothing." "Loth? I was thinking¡­" "Yes? "Is it really kin slaying if they are your in-laws? Surely that should be acceptable." "Heh!" The large man only graces me with half a smile, but he feels less brittle. The raw grief is now covered by a veneer of fatalistic contempt. Before leaving, he turns to me one last time. "Thanks Ari, and¡­ I am counting on you." I nod in acknowledgement. Leikny''s party is not stupid. They must have planned for Loth to resist and have measures in place. If they are not fools, they will have many. It is time for me to fulfill my end of the bargain. I circle the inn out of sight, find an empty alley and climb on the wall. In a few short hops, I am next to the inn''s roof. Now, if I wanted to bring Loth back to his country with me, I would first try to convince him peacefully. It would only cost time. That is why Leikny is here herself. Failing this, I would make sure he is tranquilized. That is why the shadow I see detaching itself from the second floor window is here. So much treachery just to try to get him back. If they truly understood the man, they would know that five of his cousins and a two weeks drinking binge would do the trick. The silhouette moves enough that I recognize the shape of a man. I am intrigued. I cannot feel a single flutter of magic coming from him and yet there are clearly some occult shenanigans at play here. A concealment binding? I have difficulties seeing this person work. His actions come out as a jumble of movement that I find hard to follow, not because they are fast but because they are confusing. I manage to perceive more by not staring directly at him. He dangles from the roof and slowly lowers himself in front of a window. I see a glyph being hung on top of it, and then he rolls back, giving me clear access. Runic inscriptions of the script Loth favors are engraved into a transparent disk. They circle a pale blue stone in intricate patterns. I see several iterations of the same instruction: stop, surrender, sleep. If Loth jumps out the window he will drop like a stone. The strange man now lowers himself on top of the door. If I wait, the cloaked man may go back inside. If I attack him and I am heard, Loth may burst out of the door and be instantly incapacitated. What should I do? I decide that the ability to escape is more important. I wait for the man to get back in through a window and jump silently on the inn''s roof. I climb down the wall using claws and study the first glyph once more. It has been fastened to the top rail with an adhesive substance. I also taste a small spell. There, next to the glyph is a small rune of alarm. It will warn its user in case of tampering. That will draw the stranger man out. I move. I rip both glyphs from the wall and rush back up, first on the roof and then on top of the window. I hide myself and focus on my senses. For a full minute, nothing happens, then the barest sound of well-oiled hinges tickles my ears. Coming from behind. Ah, curses! I stride silently across the roof until I am atop another window, lean down, and then wait. The light sound of the pane opening stops and stills. I wait. Then something small appears in front of me. It looks like a small silver disk at the end of a metal rod. The disk rotates. This is a mirror, which means... I move forward and over the edge, as I spin down I grab a gloved hand and pull it down. The window pane crashes on the side as a hulking form barrels past me and into the streets below. And that, is... Wow! I roll to the side to dodge a bolt. I start moving too late, fortunately the arrow head pings harmlessly against my arm guard. As I watch, the figure twists on itself and lands on the ground with perfect grace. I must not underestimate that one. I jump down the ledge. As I fall, my foe fires another quarrel. This time I am prepared and barely manage to block it again. I rush him, dodge to the side as he slashes me and stab him in the leg. Or at least, I try to. The man grunts and stumbles but when I withdraw my blade, there is not a drop of blood to be seen. I move and dodge as several silver knives whistle past me. As I step back, my opponent throws two knives at the same time, I almost miss the small flask that follows them. His aim is off so I simply duck and move forward. Then something explodes behind me. Incredible heat basks my back and I''m sent tumbling on the ground. I''m on fire. I''m on fire I''m on fire I''m on fire. No! NO! MUST RUN. Must not run. I roll on the ground to extinguish the worst of the flames, jump back on my feet and sprint away. I turn the street corner. There, a water barrel. I lift it and empty it on my head. Immediately, a cool sensation spreads down my body, it brings me clarity of mind, and with it, the pain. It stings quite a bit. The acrid aroma of cat pee then assaults my delicate nose, it seems that the barrel contained more than just rainwater. Marvelous. Fair enough, you sorry excuse for a devious scoundrel. If your armor can stop my blade, then I shall have to teach you the meaning of blunt force trauma. I spot a half-sawn rotting beam placed against a nearby wall and dig my left hand claws in it. I ignore its mushy consistency and run back. The shadow warrior is hobbling to the inn when I approach. As I watch, he discards an empty vial, probably a potion of some sort. His movements are still harder to spot the more directly I look at him. I sprint silently and I swear he must have felt my eyes on his back. He twists and shoots at the same time. Another quarrel is soon embedded in the beam, which I use as an improvised tower shield. When I reach him, I swipe the heavy piece of wood in a circle aimed at his legs. As expected, he jumps up. As he is still in the air, I simply continue my motion until the circle completes, and goes on. The second passage does not miss. The beam hits him in the side and knee. At the same time, I reflexively twist as something rakes my chest. A blade cleaves the scales of my armored dress, parting them like water before stopping at the limit of my heart protector. The solid steel barely blunted the blow. I cough blood. A second later, the pain makes itself known. I hiss in agony, a sensation that only increases when a burning sensation spreads along the wound. KILL NOW. CRUSH THE HEAD AND DRAIN THE OTHERS. sea??h th§× N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. At this point, both of us stop. Something happened inside, something that was bad enough to trigger an event both awesome and terrible. Loth is angry. Perhaps the word pales to reflect the reality of it. Truth be told, Loth is mad with anger. A fierce bellow, less human and more like the clarion call of a great horn pierces the night''s tranquility like thunder from a cloudless sky. Loth is angry. He is in danger! "Hsss!" I need to move. I need to ignore the pain. I take one slow step forward, another. Loth needs me. I WILL NOT FALL. Especially not by one who thinks he can dwell in the shadows. THE NIGHT IS MINE. The shape turns and lobs something at me, I throw the beam. A vial breaks against the wood with a sizzling sound. An instant later the heavy object lands on its target with the ominous crack of broken bone. Acid eats at the darkness until it turns back into a screaming person. An armor made out of strange leather covers him entirely, and a few runes on his chest are being damaged by fuming acid. His head is covered by a helmet that would make Loth proud. Well aren''t we covered in expensive gear? Let''s see if we can put it to good use. I lean forward and grab him by the ankle before moving back to the entrance with the prisoner in tow, just as the sounds of broken furniture and crashing glass herald the start of a true rampage. As I reach the window, I throw my fallen foe through it. Damn it it still hurts. Gah. Note to self, move conservatively until the wound is somewhat better. I carefully hoist myself atop the broken sill, then fall heavily on the ground. I push myself up and stand witness to devastation the likes of which I had never seen before. Every piece of furniture but for the counter has been reduced to splinters, shards of broken glass litter the floor and the room is still lit by virtue of the lanterns being stuck to the ceiling. The red-haired man has been planted to his elbows through a wall of cheap plaster. Rollo is frantically trying to remove the chair leg embedded in his hand while Leikny is hugging the wall with tears in her eyes. In the middle of it all stands Loth. His presence weighs on the back of my mind as if he were three times the size. I know for a fact that he still fits in the inn but when I look at him, I see a giant. His elegant vest is now torn and scruffy. Breaks here and there show corded muscles flowing faintly with the twists and planes of tattooed runes. When he sees me, I fear for a second that he will not recognize me. A blink later and I am apparently in the clear. "Number two, please." I collect a secured vial of antidote from a pouch on my belt and pass it to him. Because of the continuous pain, I almost miss. Loth removes the silvery cap and swallows its contents down in one gulp. Then he crushes the metal container as if it were made of paper. Loth walks to the leather clad form on the ground and holds it by the neck. With a beautiful arc, he slams it on the counter, which sags noticeably under the brutal assault. A moment after, the helmet comes off. My opponent is a rather handsome man with a clean-shaven face. A vertical scar runs down his face on the right side, barely missing the eye. Loth''s anger turns cold. He addresses his wife in English with a deceptively low voice. If those people were not part of his family, they would be formless meat on the ground by now. Even then, I do not know if we will finish the night without a death. "Skjoll. You brought Skjoll with you. You intended to kill me?" The blonde woman blabbers in their native language. "You have lost that right. I will not sully our tongue by sharing it with the likes of you. Now I am going to ask you again. Did you truly mean to kill me?" "Loth," I interrupt, "he placed stunning glyphs on the door and window." I finish the sentence and then cough some more blood. I spit reddish phlegm on the ground. So unladylike... Ah well, this is not the time to worry about such things, really. Just then I hear footsteps outside. Slowly, I try to get to my feet and wince. Nevermind, let me stay there for a little while longer, unless my assistance is required. Thankfully the wound has healed a bit and the pain is now barely tolerable. A fat guardsman and four others at his side crash through the door with all the authority and outrage they can muster. "Now what is the meaning of... Of..." The squad falls silent as they take in the damage and, square in the middle of the room, the cause of it. "Hey." I say. Five pairs of eyes turn to me and I grab their attention like one grabs a handful of stalks. With that many people, I will not be able to work any subtlety, nor do I have to. Few entities could stand before Loth now without feeling a bit of apprehension, and these guards do not qualify. "Flee." They leave with commendable speed. Amusingly, the head guard takes the time to dip his hat in polite farewell before slamming the door close. He has more self-control than I gave him credit for. The woman speaks in anger and disbelief. Loth''s answer worries me. He might hurt them in his fury, and he already did, but what I hear now is different. He has gone full cold. "Aye, she is a vampire. And as to why I favor her over you, I shall tell ya." With each sentence, he comes closer to her. "She does not demand I stop being who I am. She does not demand I stop liking what I like. She does not demand I forget the past. She did not come to abduct me like some cheap highwaymen. She did not poison my bloody drink. She always has my back, and last but not least¡­" Their faces are only a hand apart now. "She did not shag my brother for power, aye?" She protests. "I don''t care why ye did it, only matters that ye did. Now, whose brilliant idea was it ta kidnap me and bring me back ta the country trussed up like a dead boar?" She closes her eyes and cries. "Ye don''t have ta answer. Ye don''t have the guts, Skjoll never starts anything and Haardrad is far too daft." Loth goes for Rollo, who was crawling on the ground towards the stairs. He grabs him by the back of the neck and casually smashes him in the far wall, then he takes each arm and calmly breaks them at the elbow. This is savage even by my standards, though this vengeance is not my own and so I remain silent. When he is done, he pulls him up by the collar. Rollo tries to say something, only to be cut off by a terrible right hook. "When I took the title of Jarl, I made an oath never ta shed the blood of my kin. Just as ye made an oath ta always protect the interests of the clan.. Well, lucky ye, we will both hold our promises in our own way, I suppose." Loth encircles his treacherous relative''s head in his massive arms. Once it is locked, he twists right, then left. The sound of shattered bones echoes through the room, soon joined by Leikny''s horrified sobs. He is not done. Loth drops the corpse like it is garbage and walks to her. He takes something from his pocket and throws it on the filthy ground. It''s a golden ring, with beautiful inlays. "Consider yerself divorced." He turns away and leaves. When he sees me still on the ground, he kneels. I did not notice but the front of my dress is slick with glistening black blood. The wound is not completely closed yet. Without a word, Loth grabs me under the shoulder and takes me up in a princess carry. I let him. I trust him. We reach the door and he kicks it down. The crowd outside lets us pass in wary silence. We reach the carriage with no one stopping us. Loth helps me up and after signaling Asni, and waiting for a few seconds, we depart. I do not move. I do not even pretend to breathe. This is technically my fault. Had I not pushed him, he would not have contacted them and he would not have been forced to kill one to make a point. There would have been no ambush. I thought I had done well. I thought this would help him. I was wrong. There was nothing to gain from facing the past, only scars to be reopened and old blood to be shed anew. Ariane, dimmest vampire on earth. Bah. "Why are ye so down lass? It should be me." "How can you even tell?" "Ye got perfect poker face, what with not breathing and looking like a statue, but when ye''re sad ye bend yer back a bit." I chuckle lightly. Is this how I manage to lose every game I play with Dalton and him? "I should have stabbed myself in the foot the day I told you to send the letter." "Nah, ye were right. This had ta be done." "You''re not mad?" "I am mad. At them, at myself, at this fucking world that took Agna and left me with those rotten fucking snakes, but not at ye. I was stupid, too afraid and in a rush ta just get this over with. I forgot all I had learnt those past decades." "And what would that be?" "Politics. Like it or not, I''m a public figure. I can''t just waltz in with a smile on my face and expect those twats to leave me the fuck alone. If I want to enjoy the presence of my kin without being used all the time I gotta prepare, gather allies. Only when I have a chance to be my own man will I return. Constantine showed me how to do it, but I was not ready. You may have noticed, but I am not the most subtle man around." Understatement of the century. I somehow successfully hold my tongue. My, but when Loth is incensed, he is quite foul-mouthed. "I, Ariane of clan Nirari, will assist you in this endeavor. I may have access to a safe way to send your letters." "Why thank you. And now oh Ariane of clan Nirari, the mighty vampire, care to explain why you stink like cat pee?" "..." "..." "..." "I was on fire! I had no other choice! There was this barrel..." "Right." Chapter 37 - 37. 1812, Overture. I open my eyes to an embroidered canopy. In the distance, the pops and hisses of the hearth''s fire welcome me. I know where I am. This is my mind fortress in all its slumbering glory. I hear a deep sigh coming from outside. I walk down a flight of stairs to the grand entrance. The gates open as I pass. Under the serene gaze of the Watcher, flowerbeds extend on manicured lawn according to a bizarre pattern. I make my way to the nearest wall of towering thorn trees and they part before me. The clouds of the in-between flow past all around before resolving into a familiar sight. Nashoba is leaning against the shell of his giant turtle. He holds his head between two hands, his knees close against his chest. He looks more vulnerable than I have ever seen. I walk to him and sit on the ground. "Why the sorrow, shaman?" "Ah, Daughter of Thorn and Hunger. I did not mean to interrupt your torpor tonight." "Think nothing of it. Are you in danger?" Nashoba is one of my favorite humans. I would be displeased if he were to die before his time. "No. It is not that. Do you remember what I said about planting and weeding seeds?" "You remove threats before they do too much harm?" He smiles sadly. "It is so much like you to forget the growing part, though you cannot be blamed. What matters is that I failed." "Perhaps it is not too late?" "It is. The winds of war are blowing, Ariane. I see crimson clubs raised high to the North. Nothing will stop it now. It is inevitable." "North means the Muskogee. If they seek war, it will not be against you, no?" "You miss the point. Every year more of your kind spills on the shore in search of fortune and every year the newcomers head west to look for land. They find us. This conflict will give your chiefs the cause they need to impose yet another treaty, ancestral land swapped for a few crates of goods. Ah, look at me, trying to hold back a river with two twigs and my bare hands." Nashoba sighs heavily once more. "Never mind that, Ariane. There is more to discuss since you are already here. Yes. Let me worry about what I can still change." He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. The tortoise behind him rumbles lightly. "Death is coming, of a scale that this land has not seen before. We must stop it. You must seek a key that breaks." I remain silent for a moment, expecting him to go on. He does not. "How unusually cryptic of you." "I know. The foe only started moving its pieces and something obscures my sight. You must pull on the threads of fate, Ariane. Whack the bushes and see what comes out. If you uncover enough, a pattern will emerge." "I appreciate the trust, old friend. I only fear that you overestimate my reach." "I do not. This much I know: you will be instrumental in this struggle. Should you fail, this evil will run its course. Test the limits of your hunting grounds, daughter of Thorn. Do not leave the initiative to our foe." Nashoba stands up and stretches, looking slightly better than before. "I must leave you now, we will speak again later." The man moves his hand, the tortoise opens one blind eye and I fall backwards into slumber. 17th of July, 1812, Higginsville, Georgia. It has been nine years since I became a vampire. I cannot agree with my kind''s way of measuring age. I am twenty-eight, with all the experience and knowledge I gained during that time. I draw as much from my human years as I do from what happened after. I lift the top of the sarcophagus. Soft blue light shines on my bedroom. I lift an arm and look at the black nails that end it. If I had not gone to the ball on that fateful night, my body would be different now, marked by childbirth and the passage of time. Instead, it appears exactly the same as the night I died, to the last strand of hair. Appearances are deceiving, however. The human Ariane could not eviscerate werewolves. What has visibly changed is my room. I used to think it spacious, back when I had three items and a broken backpack to my name. It is now cluttered with books and trophies representing my various pursuits. I stuck my best works on the wall: portraits of Dalton I draw every year, as well as one of Margaret Mitchell I made before she died, a Muskogee on his farm, a black child asleep outside of his house, a Choctaw dance. All of those are painted as seen by my vampire eyes, colorful and vivid even in the dead of night. In the middle, I placed my most ambitious work, a partial rendition of the Silent Watcher. Drawing the vampire aster is difficult. When I look up, I reach a state of serenity that is not conducive to the observation of physical objects. Rather, I can focus on parts of it but never the whole. After three days of fruitless attempts I reached the conclusion that it simply does not obey the laws of physics. I will never be able to draw it as it is, for even if my brain could comprehend what it perceives, my tools would not allow me to do it justice. And so I tried to draw a feeling instead of an image. I found a set of colors between purple and red and after almost a month of frantic efforts, I finally succeeded in capturing a glimpse of what it feels like to be in its presence. Dalton and Loth did not like that, not one bit. Merely looking made them extremely uncomfortable, they said. I count that as a major success. On either side of the wall, I placed bookshelves. They are filled with copies of Loth''s own books, as well as quite a few others I managed to acquire courtesy of the Rosenthal consortium. I am now well versed in several mage traditions and systems although it is still completely beyond me to work anything myself. I also purchased books on hidden history as well as magical fauna and flora. I also have my own notebooks, packed with references and observations on subjects as varied as shamanic magic and gun smithing. Finally, the center of the wall is occupied by a desk containing my current subject of study as well as important letters. The most precious one is written in the tongue of Akkad by a steady and refined hand. It reads like this: Ariane of clan Nirari, Your request to join our community as an independent House under the Accords has been approved. You will present yourself as well as all relevant witnesses at the 1820 conclave taking place in Boston, Massachusetts, where you will be given the opportunity to argue your case. I wish you good fortune in this endeavor. With regards, Constantine. This specific letter is currently my most precious possession. It is the hope that soon, I may come across one of my kind without having to fear slavery or death. I owe it to Jimena, who submitted my request at the previous gathering two years ago. It is unfortunate that such events only occur every decade, and yet it perfectly reflects the laissez-faire attitude of the current Speaker, the same attitude that may allow a Devourer reject to reach legal status. The wait is a small price to pay, all things considered. Next to it are the correspondence with my father, Jimena, Isaac who is back in Geneva as well as a few business contacts and even a scholar or two. The table holds a single fiction, a work by one Cecil R. Bingle titled: "In the clutches of the Blood Cult.", with an engraving of the man himself on the cover. He looks dashing and holds in his arms a fawning woman thankfully inspired by Rose. It does star as a side character the ''sensual and mysterious Adrienne, beset by an evil curse because of the sins of her father.'' Loth still laughs about it sometimes, although he slowed down on the "Oh ye sensual and mysterious lass, pass me the number three wrench" since I "accidentally" dropped it on his foot. Bingle, the mark of your passage still haunts me eight years after. With a sigh, I get dressed and leave the vault. Loth has dropped two letters in a small basket by my door. I grab them and head up. I reach the smoking room and sit next to the man himself, busy snacking on a handful of nuts. "Good evening Loth." "Evening lass, any good news?" "We shall see in a moment." I open the first letter and read its content. Our good Bingle is well in Sussex, and Rose is expecting their third child. He takes a moment to mention something I was not aware of. "Loth, why is Bingle lamenting the unfortunate state of affairs between our two great nations?" "Ah, yes, we are at war with the Great Britain." "WHAT?! Since when?!" "June. I just got the news. Something about illegal trade restrictions, arming the Indians and abducting sailors." "War! How are you not worried? This country has no real standing army!" "This country, as you say, is not our worry lass. Its citizens will kill us if they learn of what we are anyway." "And this mindset will be of little help if a regiment of dragoons turns this entire town into a pile of cinders now, will it? Not to mention the Lancaster may want a larger piece of the pie if their home nation takes over." "Ye worry too much, they''re busy in Europe right now. And broke. We''ll talk again if they make landfall." I do not reply. Loth is right, I do not have a squadron of ships of the line handy so right now my ability to contribute to the war effort is laughable. I turn my attention to the second letter. I do not recognize the writing style and there is no return address. How peculiar. Well, let us see what this is about. "Miss Delaney, if you are reading this, then I am dead." Well, we are off to a great start. "I set an arrangement, so that if I were to fall, you would receive this letter as a measure of security. My name is captain Alexander Jenkins. A few years back, you set me on the trail of the Brotherhood of the New Light, after revealing to me that my superior at the time, Captain Lannes, was a member of this most sinister organization." Lannes... Lannes... Impossible. The Tillerson estate party! Is this act giving dividends after so many years? This is incredible! "What I discovered went beyond anything I ever thought, or even dreamt to be possible. Alas, it is the truth and no matter how strange my claims, how outlandish my accusation, I ask of you that you believe me. Heed my words and heed them well, for we are all in terrible danger. The purpose of this community of people is not to gather wealth and power, nay, it is to achieve eternal life by means most foul! You must find allies you can trust and take up the torch! For if we fail to stop them, I fear that we will witness horrors the likes of which civilization should have left behind." How very ominous. Nashoba, and now the dearly departed officer warning me of some impending doom? This is no coincidence. "Please find in this enveloppe the key and deed to a safe box in the first South Carolina bank in Charleston, where I secured my latest findings. I am sorry I could do no more. Good luck, and may God be with you. Yours, Augustin Alexander Jenkins." Here go my plans for the week. "Something the matter Ari?" "Somebody died and left me with inheritance." "Oh? And what would that be?" "The burden of stopping a mysterious and dangerous conspiracy whose monstrous pursuit will leave uncounted victims in its wake should no one step up to face it." We ponder this for a few moments. You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. "I find that leaving money is usually better received." "Mmmmmh." "Anything I can do to help?" "I need to go to Charleston." "Ah. Charleston. The third seat of power for vampires in North America. That Charleston. The city Jimena unambiguously told you to avoid. That one, aye?" "Yes." "And what will you do there?" "I need to retrieve some incriminating documents from a safe." "Oh, a heist! I love me some good heist!" "No, Loth, I have the key." "Oh." He looks disappointed. "You know Loth, if you absolutely must commit grand larceny, why don''t you just do it?" "It''s the stakes. It''s not the same if there are no stakes, ya know?" This is how I feel about Hunts. "I do. Now, I need to reach this bank, go in and out and leave with no one the wiser." "Ah finally we''re talking! We''ll get to proper planning, right after we celebrate your birthday! Death day! Ah, whatever." Loth rings a bell. I hear the sound of something being wheeled to us as well as two heartbeats. An instant later, Dalton rolls in with a trussed-up captive on a sick bed, holding a lit candle in his manacled hands. Oh, so thoughtful! "Happy birthday Mistress!" "Happy birthday lass." "Mmgrgnfmmmlf." "Oh, you shouldn''t have, thank you, thank you!" July 23rd 1812, abandoned house on the outskirts of Charleston, South Carolina. I once thought New Orleans imposing. I believed it to be a major trade hub for slaves and agricultural products, a cosmopolitan metropolis to match European towns. How naive I was. Charleston sprawls before me, covering a fang of land nestled between two rivers as wide as a lake. Lines of ships reach and leave its waterfront through a channel heading East, into the ocean. The city has more than fifteen thousand people in expansive districts, more than half of them black. The rest comes from Scotland, Ireland, France, the Caribbean, Prussia... the list is long. The streets ring with the sounds of a veritable Babel''s worth of language. There is a marketplace made from stone, an exchange and even a bank that was built to be a bank, like on the old continent! Truly, a beacon of civilization. Countless slaves, bales of cotton and other goods pass through it every day. I wish I could spend more time in it, walking its roads and browsing its stalls. Alas, that would be unwise. As the maps would say, Hic Sunt Dracones, except here the dragons are real and will kill me for trespassing on their territory. And so, we are reduced to a "smash and grab", as my friend would say it. "It''s been a long time since I prepared a heist, feels nostalgic, ya know?" "It''s not a heist! I have a right to that box. I have the key!" "We''ve got a plan, disguises, and exit routes. Sure feels like a heist to me, aye?" "Bah! Nonsense..." I grumble without much conviction. "Go over the plan one last time, Mistress." Dalton is serious tonight, even more so than usual. I have tried to hide my apprehension at coming across a Master or even worse, a Lord. I would not bet on my disguise over whatever Senses they have at their disposal. "I go to the bank on foot and come in from the front, completely ignore the people keeping an eye on the entrance and get access to the box the normal way. Then I exit from the side entrance and make my way South to the pier. If I am followed, I go through the designated ambush points. I take the rowing boat across the river to James Island and we meet between the two blue lanterns no matter what two hours from now. The most important thing is not to alert the local vampires of my presence, and so I will limit myself to human abilities unless discovered." Dalton nods and goes on. "Is everyone ready?" "Yes, before ya go, I have something for ya." Loth takes out three ceremonial knives and gives each of us one. "It''s a tradition back where I''m from, for good luck. Stab one into the table. It will be waiting for you to return and so return you will. Go ahead." We stab our respective blades in the old wood and leave the room without a look back. The difficulty, I believe, is to stay in character. I am carrying three magical items right now: Nashoba''s earrings, said to protect me from tracking, Jimena''s blade as a safety and a small pendant made from cut glass. The last one is Loth''s most recent prototype, an attempt at reproducing the runes he saw on Skjoll''s armor. I did ask him how he managed to pay attention to those while smashing said Skjoll into the furniture, and as usual the answers were rather evasive. The result is worth it. The creation should mask my cold aura from any casual viewer for the duration of the operation. I would have to come face to face with a vampire for it to fail. If I do not demonstrate any strange ability or otherworldly speed, no one will suspect a thing. The local vampires should not even imagine that their territory was breached. I am sure everything will go according to plan. I don''t even know why I am nervous. I am going to the bank to retrieve something that is mine. There is no cause for concern. Really. I am greatly concerned as I walk to the bank''s door through a small plaza. The building is large and solemn, made of sandstone and beige plaster interspersed with white. The windows of the second floor are tall and proud, looking down on the people below underneath a church-like cupola. There are no first-floor windows, and the customers enter the building via a single round-arch gate that looks solid enough to resist a battering ram. It takes all of my self-control to ignore the three goons looking at the entrance like hawks. Three is far too many, and I wish to believe they are not there for the safe, and yet I cannot ignore the obvious. If I had eliminated Jenkins and wanted to ascertain that my plot is still secret, what better way than to capture those who will inherit his notes? It is also likely that they would not dare breach the vault themselves to retrieve its contents while they can have some poor sap do it for them. Jenkins, what on earth have you stumbled upon? My disguise gives me the appearance of a middle-aged woman. It is heavily padded, except around the posterior, which according to Loth needed no modification. All my hair is hidden under a conservative bonnet and I look to everyone like a matron huffing and puffing her way through a late errand. A touch of makeup helps with the general impression. A doorman in uniform with a truncheon tips his hat as I pass by, and soon I find myself inside. The main lobby is soberly decorated with landscape paintings and wood panels. At this late hour, only one counter is open, behind which a fussy young man with a monocle is working. The lights are subdued, casting the interior in long shadows. A guard struggling to stay awake is the only other occupant of the place. "Can I help you?" "Good evening young man," I say in a lower pitch than normal, "I would like to access my safe, please. Here are the deed and the key." The man inspects the key with apparent disinterest until he sees the number. His eyes widen in excitement and fear for a single instant. He mechanically licks his lips. He knows. This is bad. The bank has been compromised. "Of course Madam, of course. Please follow me. Barney? Barney!" "Sir?" S~ea??h the nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "We are going to the safes." "Very well sir." There is no mistaking the brief pause before the guard acquiesces. I am now on borrowed time. I follow the short man deeper into the building, through a door and down a set of stairs. At this late hour, the place is mostly deserted and gives an eerie feeling of emptiness. After unlocking and relocking a few more barriers, we enter a small room under the watchful gaze of a heavily armed guard. Boxes cover the place, set into the wall. We quickly locate mine. "We will now give you some privacy." "That will not be necessary," I answer as I open the safe. It contains a notebook, as well as several plans and letters in a great bundle, which I place in a secure briefcase provided by Loth. It should protect the documents well enough provided I am not set on fire. I quickly close and lock the safe then turn to my guide. "I am done, thank you." Drops of sweat trail down the paper pusher''s brow and he practically fidgets. The armed man looks from him to me with a curious gaze. Whoever he is, he is not involved. "Shall we?" "Ah, yes of course, of course, please follow." So far so good, it is now time for the next part of the plan. As we return to the first floor, I wait until he locks the door before addressing him again. "One moment please sir. Circumstances dictate that I take measures to guarantee my safety. Do you have another way out?" The man''s attention flickers towards the corridor behind me. As expected, there is a direct way to the bank''s side entrance there. "Yes, however it is for employees only¡­ I do not believe that¡­" "Please sir, I am quite certain that there are people after me." He laughs nervously, panic making him practically sway. "I don''t, I think, hum¡­" "I am afraid I must insist," I add, cocking a small pistol I took from my pocket. It is too much for the poor sod. He hiccups a few times at the sight of the firearm, then stares at me with tears flowing freely down his face. He completely lost his composure at the mere possibility of violence. So, he is fine leading me to a trap and yet one physical threat and he crumbles like a house of cards. Typical. With no small amount of impatience, I turn him around and push him in front of me. We walk down the corridor towards the exit. I am about to turn left when I hear heavy footsteps. I grab the man and shove him in a side room, then follow him promptly. We listen in silence as a guard making rounds passes us by. My prisoner tugs insistently on a sleeve and so I let him whisper near my ear. "I cannot stay here, this is the women''s restroom!" I straighten and turn to him. Really. This is what you are worried about? Without me having to reply, he lowers his face in shame. How meek. Dalton truly is a rarity; I should show him some more appreciation. After the guard has left, I resume my escape and we quickly reach a square vestibule leading outside, with an adjoining changing room. I open it and shove my unwilling guide inside, stun him with a light hit at the base of the neck and abscond with his keys. Good, now I only need to get out and reach the docks. As I step outside, I take in my surroundings, then I turn around to lock it behind me and take a second to think. There is a bank guard eyeing me suspiciously, and a fourth goon in plain sight. Really, this is too much. I am out of options, I need to run. At human speed. For a second, I am almost overwhelmed by my instincts. I want to Charm the guard into hitting the goon. I want to draw the goon into a side alley and feast on him. The temptation is strong, and yet I do not yield. The stratagem must be followed to its completion. I throw the keys at the guard who catches them by reflex, and I walk away calmly. There is around a second and a half of incredulity before they react. "Hey you, halt!" I take off with both men on my heel. I grab the bag between my hands and run at the upper limits of what the human body can achieve. The guard is soon distanced; however the goon is not. Something strange is going on, something unnatural. The man is gaining on me, which should be impossible. I can also feel a trace of magic from him. He is no mage, nor is it something he carries. I am curious, but not curious enough to risk discovery. I turn South towards the piers and through the traffic. Even at this time, pedestrians, horses, and carriages navigate the streets in clumps. People turn towards us, but not many react beyond the odd shout. My pursuer is still gaining on me. I need to gain some time. I strafe left across traffic and turn onto a side road just as the goon is about to grab me. I skirt a horse coming from the side. The man, much heavier, smacks right into it. A neigh of pain as well as quite a few curses tell me I have earned a few seconds. I keep going and turn South again, weaving across clumps of people. "There she is!" I glance behind me to see, to my surprise, half a dozen horsemen bearing down on me. Well, this complicates matters. I focus on my hearing. We are not far from a marketplace. If I can last until there, I can hopefully lose them along the stalls. I run low to break line of sight and weave in and out of traffic. The pursuers struggle to follow, until their leader just pushes his way through a group of slaves without care. I jump against a tall fence and hoist myself in a garden just as he reaches me. Without pausing, I run diagonally across a carefully tended vegetable patch, frightening a nanny and a small dog. No time to stop. I cross the opposite wall into a minuscule side street, not even wide enough for a cart. Something makes me turn my head back. The horseman circling the house spots me and stirs his horse to a fast trot. On his face, I see a smirk of triumph, and of contempt. "Light will be shed!" he screams fanatically. I do not move. A feeling of heaviness assails me, of inevitability. The pursuer draws closer. When he is fifteen paces away, reality takes a breath and the wall to his right explodes in a shower of splinters. Something just blasted their way through a wall. When the shards clear, a tall man is holding the goon by his throat. The horse is collapsed on the ground, dead. The newcomer is dressed in finery and has the countenance of nobility. His face is dreamy and regal, and his brown eyes are fixed on his prey with the arrogance of the mighty. When he speaks, his warm voice cuts through the din of the city with supernatural clarity. "Buenas tardes, gentlemen. Finally, you reveal yourselves. ? Then he drops whatever it was that masked his aura. Power, glacial and overwhelming crashes into me. I recognize this specific feel, like standing in front of a frigid wind roaring in my face. Oh. Oh, no. That is a bloody vampire lord of the Cadiz. I turn away to run just as the rest of the pursuers enter the alley. A man follows the lord through the crater he just ripped in someone''s business. The newcomer is slightly shorter with a barrel chest and not quite as handsome. The vampire barely spares me a glance before turning towards the incoming cavalry charge. I can hear his words as I start running. "Get the girl and bring her to me, alive." "Yes, Master." And off we go. Wonderful. An actual Lord. If I wanted stakes, now I have them, for if this man approaches me, I am absolutely done for. I do not stand the ghost of a chance against that. I keep running South at the very limit of what would be suspicious. So long as I appear human, I may not be worth the effort. The person behind me is one too, and I can feel in my soul that he is the lord''s Vassal. I should feel lucky that this is not a vampire and yet I am not. The reason behind his Master''s trust is soon made apparent as my pursuer displays an incredible aptitude at moving through an urban landscape. I cannot compete, I simply lack experience. While I run around stalls, he jumps over them. When I pass a horse, he slides under it. He avoids crates, boxes, and bales with a sure foot and skirts gracefully across groups and individuals alike. I cannot lose him. Worse, I cannot hurt him in any way. My very being revolts at the thought. I even hesitate at throwing something in his path. In desperation, I start focusing on the movements of people. My perception slows and I follow a path that closes behind me, running at the edge of moving groups and passing carriages. Even then, he is about to jump on my back when a large man carrying a case of wine bottles abruptly turns and smashes into him. Both of them collapse in a tangle of limbs and broken glass. I can hear their exchange as I disappear into the night crowd. "WATCH WHERE YE''RE GOING!" "Lo siento, senor! I must find that¡­" "LEAVE WITHOUT PAYING FOR THE BROKEN STUFF AYE SURE WHY DON''T YE ALSO COME TO ME HOUSE AND SHAG ME WIFE WHILE YE''RE AT IT YA FUCKIN WALLOPER?!" A most timely rescue. Wait, do I smell blood? BLASPHEMY, WE HURT HIM. No, No! He''s fine. Completely fine. Please¡­ Ah, dammit. The feelings of pain, surprise, and distress must have gone through the connection because something cold and absolutely massive is barreling down the avenue like some sort of natural disaster. I think he is running over the bloody roofs. Damn it. I need out. I need out now! I sprint low and fast across the street straight to the piers without stopping. The presence behind me stops for a handful of seconds, probably to ascertain the well-being of his protegee, and then it starts after me. Curses curses curses, I accelerate just above human speed as the docks finally come into view. Stone pavement stops at the edge of the harbor and ships of many sizes rest lazily on the placid waves. I turn right in the direction of the rowing boat, knowing full well that I shall never reach it in time. I need an alternative. Thankfully, there are few people at this time, so I slide left behind a pile of crates and go over the edge. I grab the wall with a clawed hand, then lower myself into the water. I keep the small document briefcase on the top of my head. A few seconds later, the Cadiz lord lands on the street. His aura bursts out like a miniature winter sun and I huddle against the brick wall praying the Silent Watcher that Loth''s rune works. I do not move, I do not breathe. I even close my eyes. "Spread out, search the ships." The man never raises his voice and yet he can always be heard. I hear no other footsteps, which means that he gave those orders to vampires. There are a few choice words I heard Loth say that would be really appropriate right now. I need to cut line of sight. I spot a piece of flotsam and lightly place the precious documents on it with all the gentleness I can muster, then I fully submerge and turn face up, under it. The edge of the pier is distorted by the squalid water, but I can see and they cannot. With agonizing slowness, I drift along the wall towards my destination. Every time a shadow crosses the light''s halo, I completely stop. I pass under bows, between wooden beams and through piles of detritus without a sound. Suddenly, a pair of boots appears just above me. I freeze. Please do not look down, please do not look down¡­ A moment later, there is a sort of disturbance in the water not an arm''s length to my right. Ah, it appears that I am being urinated on. Wonderful. If I feel a warm draft, this evening will truly be a complete experience. My unwitting abuser shakes his¡­ Thing, spits for good measure and leaves. I wonder, with all those cotton bales hanging around what are the odds of burning the whole city to a crisp? I am genuinely curious. At least he was not one of the vampires. Fortunately, the rest of the trip is uneventful. I do get a good sample of what Charlestonians throw into the sea, however. Forget fire, I fully intend to flay the entire populace alive and sew a giant flag out of their skins spelling the words: "No littering." I need a bath. I also need to forget. Eventually, I reach the rowing boat and drag it South fifty meters before daring to climb up. The trip South takes another fifteen minutes of solid rowing. Who would have thought that a river could be so wide? When I see the two blue lantern I almost cry. Loth and Dalton are waiting with worried expressions, turning into unmitigated relief when they spot me. I get off the boat and submerge again before joining them. Loth picks up the briefcase from the rowing boat while Dalton simply waits. "Long night, Mistress?" "I don''t want to talk about it." I really hope this was worth it. Chapter 38 - 38. Learning curve. August the 3rd 1812, Higginsville. I look around Loth''s study number three, the one he usually uses for storage and long-duration experiments. It has now been cleaned, emptied and placed at my disposal for my first complete project. Time and time again, I have conducted my own studies, written my own dissertations and run experiments. This time is different. This time, I am handling this task from beginning to end. And what a project it is, to go toe to toe with the mysterious Brotherhood of the New Light and prevent it from achieving its nefarious goals. I will not tolerate this sort of competition. Sadly, the room is mostly empty at this stage, although this is about to change. We have a basic map of the South Coast with a pin on Charleston and a few tentative ones in other cities showing possible Brotherhood presence. We have a list of names, ranging from bankers to officers with possible or proven associations with the group. We have movements of goods, people and funds, most being sadly outdated. Finally, we have the object of their current activity and the reason for Jenkins'' demise. His last notes speak of an auction for the sales of a surgery set (mostly intact) belonging to one Andrew Exeter, as well as a shipping manifest for the Leucadia on its trip to New Orleans, dated 1792. The dearly departed officer mentions that most members know very little about the plan of the whole group, and so rather than going blindly from assumed location to contact and leave a trail of blood, I decided to exert subtlety, for once, and have Dalton consult the Port Authority archives in New Orleans. Alone, this time. "I can start whenever, Mistress." My Vassal looks a bit rough around the edges. He has been riding for three days straight. His thin moustache, which he has taken to grow lately, is scruffy and his large amber eyes are bloodshot. "Make your report and then you should catch some rest." "Yes, Mistress," he replies, not quite rolling his eyes. If I am without artifice, Dalton looks slightly older than me, perhaps like a big brother. This has made him more daring in public, going so far as to give me suggestions! How very daring of him¡­ I ring so that Loth can join us and soon, we begin. "I obtained the information we sought without difficulties. The man in charge of the archives is an old bugger with a sharp mind by the name of Kilbride. The first thing to know is that we were not the first to ask about the Leucadia. Some suspicious people came to inquire about the ship not a month ago. He answered fully and politely, though their dubious behavior was suspicious. Lo and behold, two weeks ago he had a break in: two masked men with knives. He burned the brains of one and skewered the other with a cavalry saber from his days in the light dragoons. The curious thing is that they were quite strong and did not attempt to steal anything. It is obvious that there was an attempt to silence him." "That is very thorough, my Vassal. If we have further need of him, we may need to offer some measure of protection." "That will not be necessary Mistress, I know all he knows on the matter." Dalton straightens up and clears his throat before continuing. "The British Merchant ship Leucadia was due in New-Orleans in October 1792, however it never arrived and was believed to be lost with all hands. The crew manifest from a previous voyage mentions one Andrew Exeter as ship doctor. This implies that the Brotherhood is after something, or someone, who was on the ship, and that the wreck itself must have been located for the surgery kit to resurface." "I checked the shipment manifest, there was nothing of note." "There were also no mentions of the ship taking passengers both in the archives and on the notes we recovered. That does not mean that there were none. I suspect that the Leucadia may have been used by smugglers or even the Brotherhood itself to transport sensitive goods or individuals. Illegal transport was and still is prevalent around here." "So, we know that they were after what the ship transported. That does not tell us what it was." "No, lass, it does not, but do let the boy finish." Dalton nods in approval before continuing. "We were fortunate in having the Archivist survive. He recognized his dead assailants as the men who had come to ask him questions and reported it to the guards. The lawmen, however, saw the dead bodies and considered the matter closed." "Typical." "Indeed, and while they gave up, Kilbride did not. He was understandably miffed by the attempt on his life. He found out by asking around that the trespassers had come from the North on a direct coach from Milledgeville." We have been to this brand-new city a few times. It was founded just after I started living with Loth and the role of state capital was forced upon it during its infancy. "He did not pursue, the risks were too high for his tastes." "Then we have two matters to look into. First, we need to find who sold Exeter''s surgery kit to that auction, and second we need to go to Milledgeville, find out where the goons came from and ask some pointed questions." "I need to go to Savannah to pick up some orders lass, I will stop at the Rosenthal consortium and request their assistance. There is no way someone held an auction without them knowing about it. As for ye, ye should go and ask those questions yerself, ye''ve been a wee bit tense since we came back from the heist." "For the last time it was not¡­ Augh! Fine, I suppose that you are correct." I had to run away and hide like a cockroach. I thought it would not matter, but my instincts disagree. I need some action to take my mind off things. "Very well. Dalton and I shall leave tomorrow evening." August the 6th, Milledgeville, Georgia. "I do not know what would have occurred without your help my dear Magdalene, you and your husband have our most sincere gratitude," I say as I lightly pat the woman''s hand. I am currently acting the part of Mrs. Langford, of the Savannah Langford. I wear travelling clothes bearing the subtle marks of wealth, in light blue. The conservative apparel and my impeccable posture give me the air of the scion of a very good family. I complete the deception by sitting with confidence in the middle of the eating room like a noblewoman holding court. Poor Magdalene has ruddy cheeks and covers her distended belly with a sack-like cotton dress. They are a humble family of honest workers. Her husband is laboring at the forge to repair our coach despite the late hour, and the woman is doing her best to play the part of the gracious host. A gaggle of children peeks curiously from the door when she is not looking. "Think nothing of it," she says with a blush, "it is my honor, hem, I am happy I could receive you. Oh dear, please forgive the poor reception, I have so little to offer!" The woman is suitably flustered. "It is I who should apologize for dropping by unannounced, alas, Man plans, and the ''lord'' disposes." I can actually quote the bible if I don''t think too hard about which lord I am referring to. Saying "God" will, I assume, remain an impossibility forever. We make small talk for a while, during which I praise her for her clean house and the impeccable morals and values it represents. Magdalene likes being the center of the conversation, especially while in my hallowed presence. She has much to say about Milledgeville and its most notorious citizens. Eventually, curiosity spurs her into asking the question that had been at the back of her mind since she invited me inside. "And what brings you here in our beautiful city?" "Oh," I scoff, "a most sordid affair, but I do not wish to burden you with the details, I do not know if it is even proper to mention them." I can almost see the fire of gossip burning bright in her honest eyes. An affluent midnight visitor? A sordid affair? Her fame in the parish will be made for a decade, sharing those juicy tidbits. "Do not mind me Mrs. Langford, we are hardy folks here, I am sure I have heard worse." I am sure as well. I reluctantly share my anger and outrage at being swindled so. Two men from Milledgeville, coming to lodge at our family-owned flophouse and leaving with the strongbox. The audacity! What manner of ruffians could do such a thing? Magdalene is at first ashamed and displeased, until I mention that every city has its undesirables, and that it in no way impacts the respectability of its law-abiding citizens. We go on a tangent blaming the Indians for their raids until I specify that the scoundrels were clearly of European decent. No, they were not mulattos. Yes, they were white white, not half-white. Were they Irish? Perhaps. Excited, Magdalene starts a long list of all the people she has grievances against starting with her cousin who married a catholic, to that thief of a tanner. Eventually, she mentions some disreputable persons at the warehouses and even out there among the plantations. It is at this moment that she stops in fear. "If those men came from the Baxter estate, I beg of you, you must desist." "Pah, I am accompanied by a marshal, what do I have to fear?" "No miss, you must not think like this. We may be the capital, but we are still a frontier town. This attracts all sorts, even the worst and there are dark rumors circulating around. There are some who say that they are cannibals!" "They eat people!? How monstrous!" Heh. "Those are just silly rumors miss, do not take them at face value, I would still recommend that you exert great caution. The marshal''s star will be of little use if you disappear without a trace." "I shall take this into consideration. Let us forget about this," I add with a hint of suggestion, "and talk about more pleasant matters. You said that you enjoyed sewing?" My host shows me some of her work, fearful of my judgement. It is precise and expertly made, if unimaginative. I congratulate her and she acts pleased as can be. After an hour, Dalton and the husband inform us that the task is complete. I decline their invitation to stay under the pretense that we are already expected in town and we soon depart. Dalton leaves them a suitable bonus. "We are delayed Mistress, the inn''s main room could be empty. I will make discreet inquiries tomorrow." "My time was not spent idly, my Vassal, there are already places for us to check." We successfully located the base of the Brotherhood of the New Light at the Baxter Estate. The members make a show of being isolationist and hostile and so their neighbors leave them alone. Careful observation, however, reveals insignia, strange handshakes and a myriad of other behaviors that betray their allegiance. They are not even remotely discreet about it, nor do they have reason to. The Baxter estate covers easily forty acres of land with exposed access points and several patrols. No less than twenty-five men work on it and tread in groups of three, with attack dogs. This is less a safe house and more a fortress. The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. This would not trouble me much in normal circumstances, however we are trying to get information and I will not obtain it through bloodshed. We need a careful approach, and to infiltrate the place properly. Abducting and interrogating somebody who might, in fact, know something remains a daunting prospect. The only one who displayed signs of authority is Baxter himself, who rarely leaves his enormous house. It is time for an abduction. August the 9th, Milledgeville, Georgia. I walk from shadow to shadow, ten paces ahead of Dalton. I guide him through copses of large oaks and sugar cane fields. On the outskirts of the property the place is mostly deserted. This will change soon. My ears pick up a sound and I click my tongue. Two clicks answer behind me. We retreat deeper into the woods. In front of us, three guardsmen and a dog walk the road. Despite the late hour, their attention is fully focused on their tasks and rays of light from lanterns swipe over the surroundings. The men do not speak. For this infiltration I dabbed peppermint oil on my neck and wrists. The smell is overpowering, and it should fool the hounds long enough for us to leave undetected. For some reason the perfume is fading very fast however, and I suspect that my nature is to blame for this. The patrol leaves none the wiser. I still wait for thirty seconds before signaling Dalton that we may go. The plan is simple. I will lead him to the Estate, which he will enter alone as I would need an invitation. Dalton will use a simple charm Loth made to disable Baxter and get him out, as well as gather any incriminating documents we may find. We will then escape and interrogate the man at a remote hunting cabin, where we will also dispose of his remains. This is a basic scheme with little opportunity for errors. It does depend on us remaining undetected, at least until our target is in our hands, though I am not worried. If needs must, I have a petrol bomb which I may use on the silo of molasses we located close to the house. The subsequent fire should give us a nice distraction should we need it. I skirt one of the last fields to take a side path going around the property. With Dalton behind, I hasten my step when suddenly, something metallic snaps under me. I jump in fright and am still in the air when steel teeth join where my leg was but an instant before. What in the?! "Mistress?" whispers my Vassal. I walk back to him and mutter in his ear. "Bear traps! On the path! How paranoid can these people be?!" "Not enough, it seems." "Hmf! Given the average lout''s memory, I''m surprised they don''t lose a leg a year, at least!" "Those groups do tend to have a high turnover. Shall we?" "Yes, I will keep an eye out for freshly turned earth, do be careful though." Dalton smirks ever so slightly. "I will just walk slightly off the path. And if I see you bounce like a scalded cat again, I will know you found another one." Bah! He used to be so cute, looking up to me with adoration. Whatever happened? Truly, familiarity breeds contempt. We continue quietly until we reach a fence. The Estate proper lies before us and in its middle, the colonial edifice Baxter calls his home. The entire area is flat and devoid of any form of cover. The well-cut lawn is just an excuse to deny any covert entry. I spot a sentry near the roof, as expected, and three more groups patrol the area with their dogs. Torches placed on sconces provide reliable light sources at regular intervals. There is no good approach here, I will have to brute force my way through their defenses. I signal Dalton to stay put and crawl forward, close to the ground. I move slowly and patiently along a tortuous path. I avoid the most lit areas and always keep an eye on the sentry. So long as the sentry looks the other way, I move quicker but not too fast. Humans are good at spotting rapid movement at the edge of their line of sight. There is no need to make a mistake trying to save twenty seconds. After a few good minutes of slow progress, I freeze as yet another patrol turns the corner of the mansion. Their path will lead them in front of me. I stick to the ground and wait. They pass me by and are about to go on when their hound stops and growls. Ah, this might be an issue. Thinking quickly, I reach for the bottle of perfume and open it, spreading some on the ground. In a few moments the unfortunate dog stops growling and starts sneezing instead. Thankfully, I am upwind. The men mumble and drag their whining charge forward. I take a breath in order to sigh in relief, a habit I have not managed to shake off yet, and regret it instantly. The assault on my nostrils is unbearable. Pwah! If I smell peppermint again before the end of the century, it will be too soon! When the last torch disappears around a corner I rush forward and start climbing the plaster walls to the sentry''s crow''s nest, it is nothing more than a repurposed balcony. I only tolerate one gaze watching me, and it is not his. I jump over the ledge and as his mouth opens in surprise, our eyes meet. I keep his attention captive as I choke him. As he loses consciousness, I release him and wipe the memory from his mind. I would prefer to leave as little evidence as possible. The man will simply believe he fell asleep. Once this is done, I take out a sort of whistle and blow it. The call of a bird of prey rings in the empty night. I watch Dalton''s form run forward to join me. He stops and hugs the ground halfway to let a patrol pass through. His dark green coat is barely visible against the short grass. When he reaches the wall, I lower a rope and drag him up. He quickly joins me and immediately opens the window leading inside. As expected, it is unlocked to allow the sentry access. Dalton sneaks inside. I wait. Only someone who lives in a house can invite me in, so long as its inhabitants draw breath. We have determined that Baxter''s study is most likely a room near the roof given that it is sometimes lit even at night. Dalton will try that first, then check the bedroom around for the man himself. I settle in to wait. This is the part I hate the most. I am not waiting for prey or for an opportunity, I am waiting for something beyond my control, and I hate it. It does not matter that Dalton is one of the most competent infiltrators in the entire country thanks to Loth''s and my training. All I know is that he is inside, and I am out. Even his heartbeat is beyond my ability to hear, masked as it is by thick walls. He is grown up now. I will not be the one to break his wings. In the meanwhile, I keep an eye out but besides the patrols, there is not a sound. Until I hear a gunshot. Even muffled by the walls, the deflagration echoes through the night with unmistakable clarity. Then there is this single second of silence, when the world takes a deep breath, and everyone stops to make sure of what they heard. After that, all hell breaks loose. In the distance and towards what we identified as the barracks, a bell rings frantically. Shouts erupt left and right and the night shines red with lit torches. I can see the dancing lights of lanterns rushing in the distance, all aiming towards us. The closest ones are about to reach the clearing. Hidden by the wall, the main entrance of the mansion is banged open by irate men. Dalton is fine, I can feel it through our bond. He will not stay that way if we make a break for it. I cannot kill them all before they shoot at us. We need a diversion. With apprehension, I take out the petrol bomb I prepared. I take out a matchstick and light it. Come on Ariane, it''s just a small FIRE, that will help us, really no need to BURN¡­ Gah! Fighting my own instincts, I light the fuse which sends angry sparkles everywhere and throw it at the molasses silo at the edge of the lawn. The projectile arcs beautifully into the night sky, leaving a trail of red embers. It lands and a small pool of incandescent liquid trails down the wall. I don''t know what happens next. I think it touches an existing leak. No matter the reason, the fire spreads along a line to the ground and to the side with tremendous speed. In only a few moments, the entire structure is ablaze. The cries of alarm turn to sheer panic when a barn beyond our view catches fire as well. A cacophony of squeals, shrill and ear-shattering, soon smothers every other noise. It is the worst sound I have ever heard in my entire life. I get a sense of deja-vu, an echo of something that happened years ago¡­ Something Jimena mentioned¡­ I think it was in her advice letter. Oh yes, do not use pigs set on fire as a distraction. It never works as intended. Surely, she was exaggerating. It cannot be that bad? Right? Something breaks open under the onslaught of porcine panic. Quadruped forms charge through fences, through the grass and into the building, rolling around and hitting things. Maddened with pain, they leave trails of flames everywhere, which spread like the plague. Some people in the distance open fire and I can already hear cries of agony. One patrol in the distance is charged by a crazy animal and fall like pins. Two of the men catch FIRE. FIRE EVERYWHERE. MUST RUN. No, I need to wait for Dalton. The window behind me opens and he runs out, cradling his arm. He''s bleeding. MUST KILL THE FOES, no, I must protect him, we need to leave. Now. I do not wait. I grab him in a princess carry and jump off. He screams in surprise. I manage to land properly and not break his spine. Without waiting, we start to run. The bowled over patrol is almost directly in our way. I move forward. I need to protect him, and so they need to die. They see me and move as well. I almost stop in surprise. They are inhumanly fast! Well, nowhere as fast as me of course. I charge the first one as he aims his musket and just as I reach him, the silo explodes. For a single instant, it is day. Then the noise and heat reach us. We are all sent to the ground, head over heel, by the shockwave. Flaming debris rain everywhere. In the distance, some of the forest ignites. Something warms lands on my back. Hot, HOT HOT! I roll on the ground before I am burned to a crisp. The budding flame is immediately extinguished but it still hurts like hell. NEED TO GET OUT. Damnit. I pull a shaky Dalton on his feet and drag him forward. One of the guards sees me and reaches for a holster. Oh no you don''t. I jump on him and grab his neck, then I Devour him. Perhaps this will stop the pain. So little. This man has almost no vitality! I have drained ancient grandfathers with more strength than him. Bah, no time. We need to leave now! Dalton has almost reached the edge of the forest. I quickly finish off the patrol with a knife to the throat, thus also masking the bite marks, then I join him. We dive under cover. Copses on both sides are already engulfed by the raging inferno. Crimson embers reach for the stars. We rush out without a word, only stopping to let running men pass us. Thankfully, Dalton''s wound is not serious, and he already staunched the bleeding. Eventually, we make it out and back to our hideout and hunker down for the night. August the 13th, Higginsville, Georgia. "Lass, I did say ye should ''ask some pointed questions''. I never mentioned blowing up their property!" "It was an accident! I just wanted a diversion! It''s those accursed pigs!" "Pigs? You set pigs on fire?" asks Loth with dread in his eyes. "What''s with all of you and the devil-cursed pigs? Huh?" "Ye NEVER set pigs on fire! Even as a diversion! It never works as intended!" "For the last bloody time it was an accident!" "The place had pigs, and you set it on fire! What did ya expect!?" "Enough with the damned pigs and the damned fire! I got it already!" "Fine, fine." answers Loth, deflating, "we all need to do it once to learn anyway." "Augh!" I throw my hands up in frustration. I planned this whole operation and it was a complete disaster. I sit heavily on the chair. Dalton has not joined us. He is in bed as recommended by Loth after being not only wounded but also inhaling smoke. "What happened?" "Baxter, our target and the leader of the cell, happened. He resisted the charm you made and overpowered Dalton. He even rushed him while my Vassal had a pistol drawn." "A strong man¡­" "No. Baxter was five feet two, grossly overweight with a potbelly and he smoked. The Society''s members outside also demonstrated supernatural speed, on par with a young fledgling, I would say." Charlotte had been that fast, although she was truly the bottom of the barrel. "Did ye not mention that the Brotherhood member in Charleston was faster than even a strong human?" "Yes, and when I consumed that guard, his vitality was extremely low, as if he were dying." "Do ya believe¡­" "Yes, they have a way to temporarily boost their physical abilities, at a high cost to their life expectancy I would wager. I wonder how they do it." "I am sure a dissection would shed some light on this mystery." "Oh, I would be delighted to procure one for you. If Baxter is any indication, they are fanatics. It is getting one alive that will prove difficult. In any case, the raid was not completely fruitless. We did acquire a few things." "Oh? Do tell." sea??h th§× N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Dalton stole documents, coded, I already started working on them. It seems like a basic substitution cipher. Even then, there is no guarantee that it will be something useful." I shrug. "He also recovered a Brotherhood insignia as well as a special ring from Baxter, and we observed and recorded sets of signals they use. With this, we may be able to infiltrate a cell if we manage to locate it." "That is not so bad. I lost my temper a bit here. In my experience, any raid you can walk out of is a good one." "I would not be quite so sure." I shake my head in frustration. "It does look like a spectacular failure to me. I thought I was fast and efficient and instead I ruined what could have been our only chance at information, all because I misjudged our mark. Had I been more patient, more careful, I could have Charmed my way to more information." I sigh heavily. "Everything is wrong. This is my first true project. I thought I was ready¡­" "You are. Ariane, listen. Ye mistake lack of experience for lack of talent. Ye may be good at being a vampire, but that does not magically turn ye into an all-knowing spymaster, ya know? Ya grew up the lady of a good family, not a swindler or a con artist. Give yerself some time and it will all come to ye." "We may not have some time¡­" "We do. I am here to help. We''ll succeed together. We will hunt them and erase them from our territory. Where ya see a failed attempt ta acquire intelligence, I see a partial success and the complete elimination of a major cell. No doubt this will set them back and put some fear in them. And you accomplished that with two people and in less than a week." Loth is always supportive, and that is perhaps what I need right now. "Perhaps you are right... Yes, it will not do to dwell on my mistakes. We still have much we can achieve. Speaking of which, were you successful in uncovering the origin of the surgery kit?" "Sort of. Isaac''s replacement knew exactly what I was referring to. He is human by the way, and he said the kit was sold in a semi-legal auction. Many items were most likely acquired by smugglers. They are also looking into it and he will tell us more in exchange for a service, as soon as he knows more." "Very well then. In the meanwhile, there are more documents to go over. I should get started¡­" "Did I ever tell you about my first real raid?" I turn to him with no small amount of curiosity. Loth is always secretive when it comes to his past. "We made landfall and I isolated myself to, hah, get myself some privacy. We had been stuck in the ship for two weeks and I was young, ya know? Anyway, the camp was attacked while I was otherwise busy. We were not prepared. Would have lost half our numbers normally. I did not even take the time to pull up my pants and just charged them from the flanks. I was screaming in fear and fury, totally naked from waist down and sporting a raging hard-on." My imagination helpfully supplies a few images, which I could have done without. "I assume your story has a point?" "Aye, I thought I did poorly. I left my people behind to have a wank and charged the enemy without a plan and with my erect dong flapping in the wind, so ta speak." "Loth!" "And they ran away. They all just ran away. A half-naked madman charged them with a battle boner, and they scattered in panic. I thought I was a failure but the psychological impact on them was incredible. It became a clan legend. My point is this. Don''t just think about how you perceive what happened, think also about what the enemy perceives as well. Their base burnt to the ground, many men dead, all at the hands of a mysterious foe. Do not show weakness and you can capitalize on this in the coming battles. Turn an apparent failure into a resounding victory." That¡­ Is some good advice. "Thank you Loth, I really appreciate it, although your description of the events¡­" "Aye ye always get flustered when I talk about naked men, let an old man have his fun, aye?" "I knew it," I grumble without much conviction. Chapter 39 - 39. The Righteous One The documents we recovered at the Baxter Estate turn out to be rather useful. It appears that we found the main base of operation of the Brotherhood in Georgia. This makes our failure to recover its leader intact that much more regrettable but also allows us to learn quite a bit. Many of the notebooks detail transfers of supply and money to various local cells, and by checking against records we ''convince'' merchants to share, we identify three hideouts in the span of a month. Dalton manages to convince the third one that he is a member of the Brotherhood for long enough to learn a few things before we neutralize it. We confirm that they are on the trail of the wreck of the Leucadia, and that the ship was used by their sister organization in London to transfer a relic of great significance. There is no doubt in my mind that this is the ''key that breaks'' that Nashoba was referring to. Unfortunately, it soon becomes clear that those Brotherhood members are but low-level agents. They know barely enough to accomplish their objectives, a cautious policy that proves the experience of our foes in the business of secrecy. We still have no idea about who their leadership is and what they aim to achieve, or indeed what the relic really is. Some of their notable members may know more, though going after such public figures will require some preparation. I do not want to leave a slew of murdered high-profile targets. There is no surer way to attract the attention of powerful forces I would be unable to face. September 9th, Higginsville, Georgia. I am in the planning room reviewing notes when I feel panic coming from Dalton. I surge to the door and come across him in the entrance. "What is it?" "Mistress¡­ There is a vampire outside!" Ah. "Only one?" "That I can tell. They are wearing a mask, and they are dressed in grey." My mind, which was on the verge of panic, immediately calms down and I smile happily. "Grey, you say?" "Mistress?" I open the door outside and take in the newcomer. Masked, she is dressed in a form-fitting lamellar armor of exquisite make. The whispers of powerful enchantments come from her armguards and the sword at her waist, a blade I recognize easily. "Jimena!'' "Are you going to invite me in?" Her voice comes clearly and carries a hint of a smile, yet it also sounds tired. "Of course, I offer you my hospitality." "Thank you, Ariane." I lead her up the stairs, Dalton has gone to warn Loth. "You have a Vassal?" "Yes." "At such a young age too, I am impressed." I do not reply, and we soon find ourselves in the smoking room. Jimena takes a seat with a sigh that betrays a wariness that is not physical in nature. "I need to ask you something, Ariane." "Yes?" "I need your help infiltrating a major army camp and killing its general, no questions asked." "When are we leaving?" Jimena lets out a short laugh, bitter, yet relieved. "I knew I could count on you. Pack your things and bid your farewells. Your companions must stay here, your Vassal too. We will be back within a week." Ah, so we were going to kill the commanding officer of a local force. This is troublesome. Murdered public figures attract a great deal of attention, something I could use a lot less of. Without a word, I leave to prepare, meeting Loth and Dalton on the way. I confirm that it is safe. In anticipation of a possible evacuation, I have an ''emergency bag'' ready for a quick departure. I grab it and add a few personal effects, travelling clothes, and my rifle. I also take a silver bullet with a piercing glyph, courtesy of the master of the house. When it comes to assassinations, long-range weapons are always a safe bet. When I return to the entrance, I find all three people talking in quiet voices. Dalton is telling them of his latest arrest involving a duo of conmen pretending to be Castilian nobility. They did not speak three words of Spanish between themselves. "Ah, you are here. Loth, Dalton, I am sorry but I cannot involve you in this." "Don''t worry, I understand. Just make sure ya bring her back to me in one piece aye?" "Yes, I promise, though I would not worry too much. I am sure she can defend herself." Her tone is dismissive, her demeanour, distracted. I am deeply concerned. All the vampires I have met learn very soon how to school their expressions and keep their emotions under control. Beyond politeness, it is a question of survival. That Jimena would give it up fills me with worry. She politely bows to Loth and Dalton both and turns without a look. With a last goodbye, I hurry to follow. "Hum, Jimena, I have a sarcophagus we could use to sleep safely¡­" "I have my own and we can share it." She stops in her tracks and turns to me. For the first time this evening, I detect a hint of hesitation. "Ariane, I know you are not¡­ Like me and Aintza. I will not force anything upon you, I give you my word." "Ah, yes," I reply with tremor. I will have to let her touch me, probably. It should be fine. I trust her, I think. "Worry not, the secured container is wide enough. I understand that you need space. Listen, Ariane, I, ah, no, I will tell you in a moment. I apologize for the confusion. As you can guess, I feel a bit out of sorts." Understatement of the year. She seems so lost, almost like a human. This bothers me more than I would like to admit. I still trail her without pause. We exit Loth''s grounds and find a black carriage at a crossroad. I am surprised to see horses again and I remember that Lambert used to ride one. "I never asked, how are those horses not afraid of us?" "They are called Nightmares, a special breed. Quite expensive." And that is it. Proper conversation is a lost art, it seems. It would be easier to pull rotten teeth from a grizzly than to draw words from my companion tonight. I give up, and we depart in silence after she covers her conspicuous armour with a cloak. I expect us to make good time and I am soon proven wrong. After less than an hour of travel Jimena leaves the Eastern road for a side path, and we soon arrive in front of a concealed lake lined with wildflowers. The landscape is so enchanting that I have little doubt that she selected it on purpose. The view of the stars and moon in the cloudless night sky is breathtaking. Tendrils of baleful purple reflect on the surface of the placid water, turning it into an exotic composition enshrined in a green background. The sounds of life and the movements around us only understate our immobility, a proof that we have more in common with what is above than what is around. Vampires in general are mostly static, until we are not. Jimena removes a ceremonial knife from a recess in her grey armour and turns it in her hands thoughtfully. The blade is not metal, but a crystalline and irregular form. I give her the time she needs to gather her courage. Eventually, she does and makes a conscious effort to meet my eyes. "When you left New Orleans I wrote you a letter. In it, I called you blood sister. It was¡­ Presumptuous of me to say that. I gather you do not know what blood bonds are?" "I am sorry, I do not." "There is no need to apologize, my dear. Blood bonds are promises of friendship between two vampires that transcend allegiance. To claim one is a great privilege, for they are precious things. Few would dare to commit themselves to such a deep oath." Jimena takes a deep breath before continuing. "I offer and ask that we join as one." I pause, surprised. And where does this come from? I cross my arm in front of me in what I know to be a defensive gesture. I care not about showing signs of weakness in front of her. Apparently, we are past that. "What does it really entail?" "There are many words I could say, yet they matter little. The essence of the bond is that we will protect and work in each other''s best interest when asked and when possible. The words of the oath themselves are vague but the meaning is clear. We will become as sisters should be." I ponder this for a moment. I like and respect her as a friend, I do. I owe her my life and freedom and quite a bit besides, and none of it matters. This oath, it is not one that stems from obligation. It requires free will in its purest form. "I am no Mistress, you know this. When Nirari returns, his will shall crush mine and there is nothing I can do about it." "If he does return, then it will be so. We do not ask the impossible of each other, we ask that we act when it matters." "Why do you want to take the oath, really? You already did for me more than I could ever ask and I never hesitated to join you. We act as if we were sisters." "Yes, and this would make it official. You will be able to claim this bond, as will I." "You are taking a risk with this, are you not?" "With all due respect, I do not give a dead rat''s ass. I came and asked for help. You answered. You did not even stop to think about it. That is all I need to know." A sister. I never had a sister, yet if I did, I wish she could have been like Jimena: unconditionally supportive, fearless, and caring. "I accept." Jimena blinks in a show of powerful emotion. She swallows with difficulty and slices her palm with the glassy blade, then shoves it in my face like a bashful teenager at her first outing. "In joy and despair, in feast and battle, in triumph and death, one of heart." My, so brusque. She really isn''t one for long ceremonies¡­ "One of heart," I reply, and slice my hand as well. We join and for a beautiful moment, I feel the deep bond of kinship that we just created. We stay here for a while, enjoying the deep trust between us and the ephemeral beauty of the scene around us, and I¡­ "Alright let''s go." Ah? Why you tomboyish lout! Can I not enjoy the moment?! "Are you this much in a hurry!?" "S-sorry, I am not good at this sort of thing. Sorry!" She rushes away, towards the carriage. The fugacious satisfaction I had fades like dew under the sun, and my mouth curves into a pout. It really isn''t fair. This is the sort of memory that lasts a lifetime, or several in our case, and she went and ruined it. Seriously¡­ When we depart once more, she will not meet my eyes. I settle into a sulky silence and wonder what it will take for her to share what is troubling her so. Only then would I be able to "untwist her panties" as Loth would say it. We ride past sleepy hamlets and harvested fields in silence. I consider taking out my notebook and reviewing either runes or our latest progress and eventually decide against it. I have not been out here for a while, just enjoying the landscape as we pass it. This activity lacks the frantic pleasure of running outside that I do enjoy so much, and yet I find it relaxing in its own right. Perhaps I needed this. We have been focused so much on tracking the Brotherhood, that not an instant has passed that I did not think about it. This distraction is a boon in disguise. It is long past midnight when we come across a small patrol carrying torches. Two men on horses with muskets at their back ride to us. We are hailed by the lead. "Hold! State your name and business." "We are travellers and our business is our own," replies Jimena testily before I even manage to consider a diplomatic response. Hem, that is not the proper way to handle this situation. "It is my business if two women are out there at this hour around those parts. Where are your fathers and husbands, I ask? Proper, God-fearing ladies have no cause to wander around after the light is out." "And proper gentlemen have no cause to accost women, after dark and otherwise. Now step aside and I will remind you to mind your manners." "I will not allow a woman to teach a man, she must remain silent!" replies the man with a triumphant sneer. At this stage, both the second patrolman, who is a young man with a frizzy moustache, and myself share a moment of horrified fascination. "But I tell you that anyone who looks at a woman lustfully has already committed adultery with her in his heart," retorts Jimena with deadpan delivery, "See? Two can play that game." Now that both parties have shown their ability to quote the Bible when it suits their purposes, we enter the next phase of any doctrinal dispute: violence. The man sputters in fury and pushes his horse to my sister who looks at him with the immobility of the gargoyle. I can feel the turmoil in her aura. Oh, oh no. I really hope she brought a shovel. "I''m going to teach you some respect, wench!" He grabs for her shoulder and pulls the other hand to throw a punch. Faster than even I can see, both his arms are imprisoned in a steel grip. "By what right? By what right will you teach me a lesson? Because you are stronger? Because society allows it? Well, go ahead. Punish, oh mighty one." What is wrong with her? Jimena releases one hand, and her assailant throws a hook in her cheek. "Let me go, you crazy hag!" Jimena''s dismissive slap cracks against his head, Blood gushes from his mouth and falls on the dirt below. His horse starts to panic. In front of me, the second militiaman looks on stupefied before grabbing his musket. Oh, well, it was nice meeting you. I jump. In a single bound, I cross the distance that separates us, then throw him on the ground and stab his panicked ride in the brain. I jump down as it falls and catch the downed man by his ankle before he can crawl away. I then drag my screaming captive under the cover of the trees. At least my need for blood is momentarily solved. Before leaving to a more secluded place, I turn back to a somewhat bashful Jimena. She holds her own prey in a choke and has the decency to look embarrassed. I make myself frown to clearly mark my displeasure. "Do not take too long." If she lets his horse go, I swear I am not running after it. What was this all about anyway? Ah, never mind that. Let me enjoy myself first. "Would you mind explaining what is going on?" "This is nothing to concern yourself about," says Jimena with a grunt as she digs deeper. The hole required to bury two horses is very deep. It will take us the rest of the night to finish. Well, it will take her the rest of the night. I have elected not to help. "It is, if you are going to act like a blood-crazed fledgling with a grudge. I thought we were in a hurry? This was entirely uncalled for and you know it." Jimena sighs deeply and leans on the shovel. "I am loath to bother you with it. You are already helping me tremendously and I offered you sisterhood partly for this. With our bond now made undeniable, you can claim me as sister and when the time comes, call for my help as well." "This is not just about backing. Being your sister means that we share our concerns, not just use each other''s support for clandestine operations. There is a step between partners in crime and siblings." She lowers her head in shame. "You are right, of course. I am sorry. So many things have happened in the past few years that have challenged my beliefs, and now I am facing some uncomfortable truths about the world and myself. I realize now that I am dragging you into this. I can tell that you are facing your own struggles and still I bother you with my concerns..." "Will you stop this already? Just spit it out woman, do not force me to extract the information out of you." "Oh?" she replies with a bit of mirth, "and what will you do if I refuse?" "I''ll sing." Jimena laughs at what she believes to be an idle threat. A short rendition of Auld Lang Syne for the departed patrol later, she quickly reassesses the danger her ears and sanity find themselves in. "Alright, I''ll talk, just please, stop. Oof. I see that you were not bluffing. Now I must ask, when I suggested music, did you follow through? Please say no." Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. "I am not a fool. I picked up drawing and painting." "Thank the Watcher. I know that you potentially have decades to practice, but¡­" "You are trying to change topic dear sister, and I would qualify this latest remark as a low blow. Perhaps I should pick up where I left off?" "No no no forgive me! I will speak." I close my mouth like one sheathes a blade. For the umpteenth time tonight, Jimena sighs loudly and painfully. She resumes digging and starts her story. At first, her tone is hesitant, almost shy, and she often lifts her head to look for a reaction. Then, she forgets about everything to let her story flow. "In order to explain my distress and the situation I find myself in, I have no choice but to tell you of my story. I know of your past, and it is now time for me to share mine as well. " "I was born in a village in Catalonia in the year sixteen eighty-six. And before you interrupt, yes, I know you have no idea where this is and so I will elaborate. Catalonia is a region in the North East of Spain. Now, when you think of my homeland at that time, you probably imagine galleons filled with gold, fiery soldiers full of bravado duelling before a field of wheat while clad in garish colours, yes?" "I blame the book you sent me, the descriptions were fairly vivid." I answer. She snickers but the sound comes off wrong. It is cold and empty, just a human gesture produced out of habit and politeness with no real substance. There is not a trace of mirth in it, and I soon learn why. "Spain at that time was hell on earth. It was a corpse ravaged by war, famine, droughts and plagues. Bandits and mercenaries scoured the land and milked it to its last dregs, and its people were facing suffering the likes of which had not been seen in centuries. There was no longer a state. Justice could not be obtained but by the strength of one''s arms. The inequality of status between the mighty nobles squabbling like vultures and the poorest commoners cannot be understood by one who was born in a republic." Jimena''s shovel arcs in the air, sending a plume of rocks and mud that falls like hail on the branches of a nearby tree. "Look at me, using all those complicated words and setting the scene like we are going to the bloody opera. Let me paint you a clearer picture. I was born from the daughter of a coalman and a passing soldier. She had many other children and we all grew up together with others in this small village at the edge of a forest. We were hungry all the time. We were also destitute, and insignificant. My favourite half-brother died when he crossed the road in front of a viscount and forced him to slow down. The man shot him in the head there and then. My younger cousin was found by bandits as she was foraging for food at the edge of the road to Tarragona. They had their fun then slit her throat. She was thirteen. In winter we had to take turns going out because we only had enough clothes for three children at once. The rest had to huddle naked under a pile of filthy blankets. We had to dump our dead outside and bury them in spring because no one had the strength and willingness to dig into the ice. Every year, we lost family to disease and exposure. Every year the remaining ones would rut like beasts and every year, the tired women would pop out screaming runts into the world, and would latch them to their barren breasts in the hope that this one would survive to adulthood. This was my life." "In our village, there lived an old priest. He was the third son of a merchant who fell out of favor with his hierarchy for one reason or another. He liked to gather the survivors and tell us stories of a time when our nation was rich and mighty. He told us we used to be the pride of Europe, that we cut the Americas between ourselves with another country called Portugal. He told us of the Habsburg empire and how massive it was, ranging from the Mediterranean to a land far to the North, beyond the Pyrenees. I was full of questions. I asked him why we were suffering. Were we punished by Him? He said that yes, we had lost our ways and that we used to follow the values of Christianity and were being punished for our conceit. He told me of the heroes of our past including El Cid, and his wife Dona Jimena Diaz who shared my name. I thought about that a lot. Perhaps if I lived a better life, the human god would bless me and I could save myself and Spain like El Cid saved Leon and Castile from Ibn Yusuf. A few months later, my little band found a wounded noble on a hunting path we were using to poach rabbits. Most of us wanted to rob him but I alone argued against it, and since I was taller and stronger than most, we brought the man to a refuge we used to smoke the meat and dry pelts. When he woke up, the first thing he did was to beat me black and blue and accuse me of assaulting him. He then decided to teach me a lesson. I was lucky, my strongest cousin came back with an early catch and got him off of me before he could finish. Then, I took his dagger and I stabbed him, and stabbed him, and kept stabbing until he stopped moving." I know how this feels. The powerlessness, the unfairness, the pain, the guilt. "We buried his body and I took his purse to the closest city. A few boys and I bought bags of grains and meat with the coin we had found. For a week afterwards, none of us went hungry. This is when it came to me. I had followed the will of the church and lost my virtue, then I followed the will of the world and got a full stomach. I got a lot of respect out of the plunder from the ankle biters of the village. I could beat most boys in a straight fight, I could come up with plans and I did not belong to any man. That was enough to become a leader. The next time some lowlives came by to take our food we waited until they were drunk and asleep and killed them all. We took their weapons and used them to prey on travellers and merchants alike. We were cautious and patient, and we left no witnesses. And so I became a bandit queen. We had a good run. We chose our targets carefully and would spend entire seasons without attacking anyone. With this, we were able to get things for our village. Men had the strength to work, women would not starve so much and many more children made it through the winter. It lasted until that fateful night we tried to attack a single mark. A noble carriage with no escort drawn by two black horses." "Ah." "Yes, this is how I met lady Urraca, my sire, and the only lady of the Cadiz clan." Jimena''s mood turns contemplative after that. I know that upon reaching masterhood, vampires are freed from the need to obey the one who turned them. It does not cut all ties, however, and it appears that her relationship with this Urraca lady is more harmonious than what I have with¡­ MastEr. "She was so impressed with a band led by a woman that she only killed two of us. The others were let go under the condition that I would enter her service. And I did, gladly. Now, you may wonder why I would serve a monster willingly. You have to understand, I was certain I was doomed. ''Thou shall not kill''. I had broken the most cardinal rule. It was a damned soul no matter what and I fully expected, in my heart, that one day my luck would run out and I would end up trying to hold in my entrails on the side of some muddy road or with my corpse hanging from a noose and crows gobbling up my eyes. This is what the world had in store for me, and I did not know, did not hope for anything better. "And then this woman came. "She was not a member of the nobility, yet she was rich and clean and smelled so good. Fat merchants and pompous counts alike would fight over her favours. She was a woman and yet she was a fierce warrior learned in the ways of the blade. She was not a believer and yet she seemed at peace with the world and herself. I was told this was impossible. I was wrong. I wanted to be her. I loved her. No, I adored her. She was the world to me. "She moved through the night granting gifts to those who deserved it and punishing those that abused their power. All those validos parasites were but dead branches that she carefully pruned from her domain, like one tends a garden. Their pathetic plots were seen through and unmade in record time. This is it, I thought at that time, this is what a true heroine is. "When she selected me to be turned, it was the most beautiful day of my life. I was convinced then that I would live among vampires a life of honour, following our strict code of conduct and carving a place for myself at the tip of my sword. The days of corruption, nepotism and petty politics would end with me. Oh, don''t look at me like that. I was eighteen and lady Urraca was the only one of us I had ever met." Jimena looks older than eighteen. The life of a highwaywoman must have been harrowing, or perhaps it made her mature faster. For all her apparent candour, I did not miss the moment she said they left no witnesses. "You can imagine my disappointment. Disillusion is a dangerous emotion for us, but still I fought on because I realized there existed a group that shared my beliefs." "The knights." "Yes. Clad in grey to show that they shed their erstwhile allegiances. A unified army with strict rules, fighting to rid the world of its worst elements." "This is a bit ironic considering vampires can be seen as the world''s most dangerous elements." "Do you really believe that?" Jimena''s question is a valid one. I think for a moment. Do I believe myself a blight on this world? Not really. I have killed, yes, many times, and yet I have also protected my territory from worse threats. We are the lesser evil, I believe. Were we to rule the world, there would be less freedom, and also less senseless slaughter. Something to keep in mind. "No, I do not." S§×arch* The n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. My sister nods as if there ever were any doubt. As someone who has seen the worst humanity has to offer, we must seem mild to her in comparison. "I joined the knights and for a while I really believed I had found my place. Squads and individuals were dispatched to bring order and discipline, relentless in this pursuit. Then I was betrayed on a protection mission." "Betrayed?" "Yes. I was charged with bringing a fledgeling to Geneva for judgement. We knew she had committed an unsanctioned massacre, but her master''s involvement was still under debate. She was to be put to the question." "Fledgling cannot countermand their master''s order. If they ordered her to be quiet, she would not talk." Jimena stops digging for a second and leans on the shovel, as if under a great weight. "There are¡­ Ways¡­ To break the compulsion. A vampire''s body can endure inhuman amounts of punishment when their spirits cannot. Even the Ekon and their legendary pain tolerance will eventually succumb to agony and the truth can be extracted from a shattered mind. As I said¡­ It has been done, and will be done again." "Goodness¡­" "Yes, in any case, I gave our route to a fellow knight who was in the vicinity, requesting support, unaware that he and my charge''s master had been lovers." "You did not know?" "It was not common knowledge. He leaked the route. We were ambushed and the fledgeling was slain. An inquiry revealed the knight''s duplicity and he was punished then exiled. My own failure was judged less harshly, and I was only demoted." Jimena stares in the distance for a while then resumes her digging. "When you found me under the keep, I was bitter. The emotion carried by your tears allowed me to deal with the frustration and anger at the unfairness of it all. It led to the belief that this was only a one-time occurrence. I had to accept that knights were fallible. As I mentioned in one of my letters, I was given the opportunity to regain my rank by the head of the knights in Boston, a man named Wolfgang. I must accomplish several tasks and if successful, I will be a knight again. Only¡­" "Yes?" "There are two other squires in this land and one of them has been sabotaging my work. You can imagine my present state of mind." "Oh, my, this again. I must ask though, are you and those other squires in competition?" "Implicitly. The length one has to remain a squire can vary according to their ranking." "Have you considered that Wolfgang may have left instructions to test whether or not you learned your lesson?" She freezes completely. "What lesson would that be?" "Don''t trust anyone, not even other knights?" She puts the shovel down. "You are implying that he would cripple his own operations on purpose?" "Perhaps, perhaps not, but what better way to see if a fallen knight can be redeemed than to make her face what caused her failure, the betrayal of her own side, once more?" "Then it means I made a mistake when asking you for support. We are not to share the details of current operations, I am already stretching the rules as it is, by asking you to come to back me up out of concern for a trap." "Or perhaps you are using an outside and reliable ally when a fellow squire is not." "Yes¡­ Yes, you are correct. I know I can count on you because I know you. I am right to follow my instincts. Just as I should have followed both my instincts and common sense before. This is a test, one way or the other. Thank you Ariane, this was enlightening." "Hum, I do believe you are giving me too much credit." "I am not. I was bitter because nothing has changed, and I was wrong. I cannot make the world perfect, but I can do what you do." "Eating one''s enemies?" "No! Well, yes, but not just that. I meant the way you see the world. You understand the bigger picture, yet you always genuinely focus on the most immediate issue, the one you may yet solve. Instead of being dejected that some knights do not conform to my standards, I should instead work on purging them from our ranks. Yes, that is what I should do. Thank you, Ari, thank you!" I am not convinced that I should take any credit in this whole affair. I still nod in recognition. "I am glad to be of assistance. There is just one last thing." "Hm?" "I think you can stop digging now," I say as I indicate that the hole is now deeper than she is tall. "Ah. Yes. This is deep enough. We just need to put them in and refill." "No, dear sister, you refill." "Bah, fine!" As fate would have it our target is near Fort Barrington, location of my last meeting with the honourable sir Bingle. I am tempted to check on Cecily and see if she found a good party, unfortunately we are "here for business" as Loth would put it, and so I stick to Jimena and the plan. When she told me our target was in a military camp, I was imagining rows of tents and men at parade surrounded by earthworks and wooden towers, like I saw in those patriotic recollections distributed around town. I was mistaken. This is no temporary bivouac of an army on the march, it is for all intents and purposes a town. Fort Barrington proper lies on a fortified hill surrounded on two sides by rivers and on the last one by a complex of fortifications and redoubts. We have no issue passing those in our carriage, and I soon understand why. Beyond the first ring lies a mess of wooden huts of simple, but solid make. Between them and even at night, a crowd has gathered around an improvised marketplace. Sutlers operating from wagons provide men on leave with tobacco and alcohol. Women collect used uniforms and return them sewn and laundered. The smell of food is everywhere and the sounds of sex coming from a two-story building shows beyond a doubt that the world''s oldest profession is practised here. There are at least five hundred people around us as we make our way to what seems to be the designated parking space. Some soldiers even walk around with their wives and children. "Hum, how many combatants are we talking about here?" "The third line infantry regiment and first regiment of Georgia militia with some horses and artillery, a bit over three thousand men in total. Access to the general''s quarter is restricted at all times, therefore we will have to infiltrate the base itself." "I see. And the target?" "General Chester Floyd, commander of the seventh military district. He dies tonight." We park between two empty wagons and I get down quickly. "We will proceed with our task when most mortals have fallen asleep. You should not show yourself too much. People will remember tonight and strangers most of all." "Hold on, I have an idea. I will be back in ten minutes." True to my word, I run my errand, making sure to Charm my memory away from the cloth merchant and return promptly to my accomplice. When Jimena sees me, her brows creep up ever so slightly. "Ta-da! What do you think? In the darkness, we could pass as soldiers! It should help our infiltration!" Jimena blinks several times as she takes in my uniform. "Ariane, turn around please." I grumble and comply. Those trousers are entirely too tight where it counts and I am afraid that the seams will just pop open should I attempt to crouch too fast. When I am facing my sister again, she is biting her lower lip. "Is something the matter? It''s a good idea!" "Oh, Ariane, it is certainly an excellent idea. Revolutionary and¡­ eye-opening. Unfortunately, ah, how should I put it? You are too shapely to pass as a man." "It will be dark!" "Anyone who spots you in this uniform will inevitably notice that it is being worn by a woman. I am sorry, Ariane." "Aaaw." I was really looking forward to being disguised too¡­ "Well, I suppose I will have to return them." "Ah no no no wait! Give them to me please, I want Aitza to try them on." "Jimena, surely you would not ask her to infiltrate a base?" "What? Oh, of course not, hrm, don''t worry I will make sure she removes it¡­ Promptly. You have my word. It will be for a good cause." Curious. Oh well, it matters not. "Rather, I can lend you one of my squire armors. They are adjustable." "That will not be necessary, I would rather move in the outfit I am comfortable with." In the next few minutes, we compare our murder apparels in an impromptu fashion meet. "And the blood washes so easily!" "What a marvellous contraption dear sister, and you say the dress has the heart protector I recommended?" "Indeed." "Stupendous, I wonder if Loth of Skoragg would be inclined to make one for me, against compensation of course?" "I am sure he would be delighted to have your business." We promptly get prepared. I keep my Talleyrand in a black shoulder holster to prevent light from shining on it while we move, and though my sister frowns with disapproval, she does not object me bringing it. I would sure hope so! Next to poison, ranged weaponry is a great way to get rid of targets safely and we are hunting a human. Truly, my rifle is the optimal solution. Jimena has me memorize a basic map of the military camp itself and we settle to wait in companionable silence. The sounds of the night grow progressively more subdued as the crowd drifts to sleep. A little past midnight, she stands up and declares that it is time. We run through the village in perfect silence, easily avoiding the occasional late revellers. We soon reach open ground and accelerate towards our target. When we reach the first earthworks, Jimena easily jumps over it and I follow her immediately. As she lands, she seems to remember me and looks with worry, promptly turning to relief as I stop beside her. This situation is repeated a few times until she realizes that I have no difficulty matching her speed. All those nights spent running around have finally paid off. In the next few minutes, we weave and sneak our way through the base like ghosts. We step behind patrols, between pickets and above the walls of redoubts. Neither rocks nor spikes can stop vampires. Nor can eyes and ears catch us as we make our way through mortal defences with perfect discretion, unmatched and unbothered. The entire facility lies open and I use this opportunity to inspect it. Rows of wooden barracks housing a squad each alternate with smithies, armouries and barns. I have issues wrapping my head around the number of fighting men present here, and they only represent a fraction of the forces that would be brought to bear against an invasion! I can only imagine major battles involving tens of thousands of troops. What a spectacle it must be! How unfortunate that such actions only occur during the day. Without incident, we approach the general''s quarter from the side. He lives in an old house that predates the camp by a few years, surrounded in turn by a square fort with guard towers on each corner. We easily jump up the wall and after making sure that the sentries are looking elsewhere, drop down. I immediately follow Jimena in the shadow of a small cabin built against the palisade. In the middle of the open ground stands the refuge of the man we are here to slay. It shines in my eyes like a city''s night sky, while several squads stand at attention. "I knew it," whispers my companion and indeed her suspicions are confirmed. The stone edifice is covered in wards and spells of all kinds. It is enough to make it almost impregnable. Only someone warned beforehand would set up such an intricate and expensive work in place. This represents several days of effort for a team of experienced mages, and a small fortune in materials. Jimena was indeed betrayed, by someone with a connection to spellcasters. "Can you break the protections so that I may get in?" she asks. I turn to her dismissively. "What are you talking about? We are not here to infiltrate, but to end a life." "We would need to drag him out of this death trap." "Inaccurate, sister, I only need to see him, and I know the way to do it." I examine our surroundings and locate what I expected. The fort is designed to be autonomous under siege even if artillery would make short work of the walls, therefore it contains a powder reserve. "Here is what we should do," I whisper, and share a simple plan. At first Jimena is reluctant. Her old-fashioned approach to operations conflicts with my method, and yet she cannot deny the allure of such a pragmatic solution. "Very well, sister, I shall follow your lead in this matter." She is about to leave when she stops and adds in a whisper, without facing me: "When you came to me in the keep, you said you were a fair shot and I ridiculed you for it. I owe you an apology." "Then do so after I succeed. Good luck." I breathe in and out with absolute calm. The two men on the guard tower slumber at my feet, their willpower no match for my full-powered Charm. The night is silent but for the flames of open torches and the heartbeats of tired men. I wait. A hundred paces in front of me, Jimena slips behind a bored guard and slowly lifts a set of keys from his belt. She turns and opens the door to the armory. It turns on its hinges in silence. She disappears inside and emerges a few moments later with a barrel of powder. I wait. She skirts the outer wall in the darkness to a shed facing the general''s bedroom. I wait. A fire erupts from it. It quickly engulfs the small structure while Jimena slips away. Screams and sounds of alerts erupt left and right. I wait. The shed explodes in a rain of fire and shards. An alarm bell rings in the distance. At my feet, one of the guards stir. The air is filled with yells and screams. The camp is waking up. I wait. A trumpet blares in the darkness while a crowd of half-naked men rushes out of their beds, weapon in hands. They spread out. Additional torches redden the night, casting shades on the ground that shake and twist as if dancing in madness. I wait. The shutters open to reveal an old man with short hair wearing an open shirt. His eyes are a striking blue and a small scar on his left cheek are all that remain from a Creek arrow. Hello, Chester, and goodbye. I pull the trigger. With unerring accuracy, my Talleyrand rifle sends its payload into the night. Loth''s engraved silver bullet shatters the wards as if they were flimsy glass. A red flower blooms on his forehead and I know his brains now splatter the inside of his bedroom. I take a second to holster my weapon. My task is accomplished. "W-what?" mumbles a sleepy guard. I backhand him into unconsciousness again. I could just kill him, but I love the idea of leaving only one victim. The message is that much more potent. It shows that all those guards were so useless we did not even bother taking them out. As Jimena reaches me, we jump out and vanish into the night. The next evening. "You are incredible Ariane, I have never seen a young Courtier move as well as you did, I never expected you to keep up with me so easily! And this is not just your physical abilities that do you credit. It was a brilliant idea to use fire as a diversion and the risks were calculated. I was hesitant at first, because I have had unfortunate experiences in the past. Obviously my concerns were unwarranted." "Yes, I had Loth teach me a bit about fire management after I too made a bit of a disaster," I add with a wince. "Well at least you did not try the flaming pigs. I swear this was the second worst idea I ever had. I am glad that you could learn from my mistakes." I wince once more, not meeting her eyes. "Ariane..." "Please no, I do not want to be reminded of that debacle." "Ariane I quite specifically told you..." "I know alright? It was an accident!" "How can it be an accident?! You used fire! There were pigs!" "I did not know they were there specifically!" "How did you not anticipate this development, I ask?" "Halt!" We turn around to a strong picket of men checking the camp''s exit. "Am I disturbing you ladies in the middle of an argument?" asks the head guard with a smirk. He is an imposing sergeant with the countenance of a man who has seen much. Black pockets under his eyes are a sure sign that his shift should have ended long ago. With the assassination of its highest-ranking member, the camp is in disarray, and by now most soldiers only remain upright by sheer frustration. "Of course not, sir." "And why are you leaving us so soon?" I capture his attention and realize the man is frustrated, he most likely believes the killer to be either a turncoat in hiding or long gone. He is also dismissive, as in his mind two young women could not possibly be the culprits. "Our business is done, we are heading back to our village, sir." "Your business huh¡­" he adds, and I realize I was mistaken. He thinks us courtesans heading back to wherever we came from after entertaining officers. Our fresh faces and subdued clothes, coupled with the fact we travel alone, place us firmly in this category, I smile sheepishly. Yes, my good man, you caught us. "Will you need to search the carriage?" "How do you know we search carriages," he asks with a frown. Jimena turns a worried eye to me but I reply without pause. "You searched the one in front of us, and now you stop us. Sir." My voice is candid and without arrogance. I slightly push on the feeling of dismissal and the sergeant soon turns around and waves us off. I nod and we depart. Jimena smiles appreciatively after we are out of earshot. "That was quick and efficient, Ariane. You are full of surprises, and just as resourceful as I hoped." "Yes dear sister, it is extraordinary how much can be achieved when one does not antagonize a figure of authority in front of its subordinates, is it not?" Jimena ruminates on that before continuing. "I think I liked you better when you were not so sassy." So, this is how Dalton feels when he gives me lip? My situation is hopeless, for he will never give up that beautiful vindication. We spend the trip back in stories and humorous bickering. Chapter 40 - 40. Masquerade My dream palace melts in a phantasmagoria of shapes and colors. Awareness comes and goes with the ebb and flow of the riotous tide that pushes me forward. I know in my soul that I am here for a reason, an important one. An evanescent feeling of purpose. It calls to me from beyond the mirage swirling around my essence. As I think this, I breach a sort of membrane and fall forward into a body that is not my own. I do not have the time to consider any of its physical properties for my mind is swallowed by an overwhelming sensation. So much power. The might of a demigod courses through my veins, begging to be used. I tower above all and none can match me. The clouds of shifting illusions coalesce and turn dark. A scene unravels before me. I am standing there and I am¡­ I am¡­ I am bored. Plumes of smoke rise into the night sky as fire ravages the husk of a fishing village. Nets, baskets and jars litter the ground alongside armor-clad corpses. There is not a labourer in sight. All those who lie here are warriors, or rather, what passes as a warrior in this pathetic era. They are fools. Weak fools. I direct my steps to a man in grey plate, still clinging to life. My feet raise clouds of ash as I cleave my way through the remains of the fallen. Men, vampires, even exotic creatures called by magic, all fell before me without showing the barest sign of inspiration, the dimmest spark of genius. Lives wasted in the pursuit of mediocrity, now fated to be lost to time, their memory stained by their ultimate and pointless failure. This one was their leader. His dark beard is stuck to his face by thick black blood while the red flame of one of my spells slowly digs into his flesh. He raises mismatched eyes to me with the empty courage of men who have nothing to lose. "I won''t say anything! You might as well slay me, beast." "You think I want to know why vampires and mages have united against me, or how you knew where I would emerge? You are mistaken, worm. I care not. The only thing I wonder is why you believed that you stood a chance." I pick him up by the collar. He grunts in pain as the motion makes my spell bite ever deeper. "This is not new to me, none of this is. I have seen this alliance before. I have fought this kind of ambush before. I have slain lords and knights before. You bring me nothing. Even your flimsy excuses to stop me are rehashed arguments I have already heard a thousand times. You have been nothing but a disappointment, though I am feeling generous tonight. Tell me something interesting and I will let you live." "I... Know who it is you seek... You will never... Catch her." "I have all of eternity, and I need to be lucky but once." I drain him dry and throw the smouldering corpse away. Vanheim bloodline, a bit bland for a lordling. "Are the preparations complete?" I perceive a lithe form nodding in assent behind me. Good. I have tarried for too long and the trail has gone cold. It is not the first time and probably won''t be the last either. "Then go." My servant disappears. I would eagerly depart myself, unfortunately, there is something left to do. My attackers evacuated the village before my arrival to prevent unnecessary casualties and to stop me from Devouring them, perhaps. I need to show them the futility of such actions. I need to set an example so that I am left alone for a few decades. Another tedious task. To it then. I dreamt today. Nightmares torture me until I wake and other phantasms always start in the heart of my mind fortress so I know that this was different, only, when I woke, the images flizzled between my fingers before I could commit them to memory. There was a man, no, I was a man, and there was also a fallen knight. He died. I killed him. I remember the taste of him. There was something important to realize, if only I could remember what it was. Can a dream really matter? Is there more to it than my sufferings and Nashoba''s unwillingness to send a letter like everyone else? The carriage rolls to a halt, interrupting my musings. It is not yet time. We have just joined the line of people waiting to be admitted to John Fillmore''s party. John Fillmore, self-made man and the current governor of Georgia. Also, a high-ranking member of the Brotherhood and my target tonight. I lower my gaze to the mask in my hands and lightly caress its lacquered surface. This is the latest addition to my arsenal. Loth really surpassed himself when he made this masterpiece. The exterior is a perfect oval in lunar white with no features. Towards the middle, two discrete holes allow me to breathe in when I need to sample scents and the lower part can be removed, but is otherwise alien in its design. The total absence of feature makes me look like a true monster, and only serves to accentuate what I painted on it. I drew what can only be described as a giant mocking smile in pure black. It took me a long time to get the dismissive sneer just right, the perfect expression of amused contempt. Eight stylized fangs border the mouth in a powerful statement. There is a delicious irony in fully accepting my lineage only when anonymous. I also drew a pair of stylized brows and eyeshadows. When I angle my head forward, for example when I am in combat, the shades deepen and make me appear more murderous. The interior matches me completely so that it could hold even without straps. The mask leaves my ears and the back off my head free. It also contains the drawing of a rune, etched in gold, that should prove salutary. Its working masks my aura to an extent. It will not suffice when dealing with wards but individuals will have a hard time noticing me. It will, hopefully, allow me to outrun what I cannot outfight. I put it on just as my ride stops in front of the monumental doors of the Fillmore residence and I step out to pass them, formal invitation in hand. The open gates, the majordomo genially checking the cream envelopes, all seems to indicate that I am invited here and I go through the threshold without issue but not without apprehension. It worked. I move forward to the ballroom as the first revellers turn to take in my sight. For this operation we have forfeited discretion and gone for maximum impact and I must say that without the mask, I would not have had the gumption to carry this out. My attire is provocative. There is no other way to say it. I am wearing a black dress with long raven feathers covering the collar and shoulders. High gloves ending in chitinous talons cover my arms and while I show very little skin, the attire is form-fitting. Shards of obsidian are sewn in hypnotic patterns along my side to attract and distract those that dare look. Wearing this dress is a statement I have no choice but to own. And so I weave my way to the crowd, haughty as you please. I dodge and slide and strut and stalk with a grace that no mortal can hope to match, and leave in my trail envy and just a tiny note of fear. Those who look will know I am a predator. For a woman to walk thus should be unthinkable in good society, and the same rule that should constrain me does not allow the attendees to challenge me aloud. The sensation is almost intoxicating. Tonight, I am not Ariane the demure daughter of a landed gentleman, who was chaste and attended church every Sunday. I am Ariane of the Nirari, the daughter of Thorn and Hunger, she who carved a bloody path to freedom through vampires and werewolves alike. That Ariane does not care for peer pressure and the judgement of the cattle. She already has her place in the world, and friends she can rely on. I ignore the whispers, the gawking yokels and the dancers stumbling their way in the middle of the floor. I grab a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and make my way out towards the garden. From the corner of my eye I see the master of the place, leaning to the side to ask some questions to a second majordomo. I am no betting woman but I would match peanuts against solid gold that it concerns my identity. With the bait set, I step outside. It so happens that Mr. Fillmore likes young and confident women. I am also not someone he has ever met, having obtained the invitation through one of their business partners. If everything works well, he should approach me himself. I only need to hold on until he makes a move and I would rather avoid getting too stuck in discussions before it happens. I step outside and walk down a set of stairs on a gravel path surrounded by perfectly cut lawn. The garden expands before me, deserted at this hour. It is surprisingly vast. I slowly make my way alongside carefully carved trees and geometrically placed flower beds. Cubic hedges line the path forward. I recognize the marks of a French formal garden with its obsession of symmetry and control over nature. It used to be my favorite when I was younger. I had found its controlled lines and deliberate design soothing. Recently, I have found myself craving something a bit more on the wild side and the design of my mind fortress'' ethereal park reflects this change of taste. There are more hidden paths and sinuous ways. The flowers have thorns and sprawl lazily where they please, covering strange rocks. My feet lead me to a small copse of trees, the only part of the property to have escaped man''s controlling grasp and I am for once surprised. There is already somebody there. A bit curious, I dodge under a branch and become the uninvited guest to a most peculiar show. A man in a satyr mask with two horns jutting upright is playing a silent melody on a transverse flute. I quickly understand the lack of sound. The strange musician has placed the end of a light scarf on the embouchure and lip plate, so as to prevent his creation from escaping. His fingers danse a light gig on the silvery metal until, as I watch, they tangle and stop. "Overly-complicated pretentious bullshit," he swears with emotion. "Is that the name of the piece good sir?" The satyr jumps in surprise at my voice and grabs his heart. "Good lord, milady, please knock on a trunk next time," and without missing a beat, "you are as quiet as a whisper milady, please forgive my manners, I had not seen you." He then bows smartly with his flute held to the side like a saber. "You are forgiven, dear satyr. Though if I might ask, this is a strange place for a rehearsal." I draw closer and study the weird human. He is probably quite young, dressed in a green suit adorned with leaves and vines in dyed fabric. His feet have been covered by a hilariously large set of fake hooves. Dark eyes without guile study me from behind the mask. A curtain of wavy black hair fall from it on both sides. "Would you believe me if I said I am offering my songs to the goddess, hoping that Artemis herself will interrupt her hunt and descend from the firmament to bestow upon me the secrets of the night and perhaps even, her favor?" "An exciting proposition my friend, though satyrs serve Dyonisos, songs are the domain of Euterpe and, sadly, Artemis is forever a virgin." "Curse classical education. My lies have been undone." "To be fair, overly-complicated bul¡­ Poppycock, sounds like a poor offering." "Nothing can escape your keen senses. Very well, I at least owe you the truth for submitting your ears to this unsightly display. I am hiding." "From whom?" "Have you perhaps seen a woman in a brown dress rushing around? Wearing a dog mask." "I cannot say that I did." "She has been hounding me." I groan at the poor pun, yet cannot help but smile. The delivery was top notch. "It is true! Her name is Margaret Hart, daughter of a local furniture merchant, and she decided that we were destined for each other. I had no say in this decision, mind you. She has been courting me quite aggressively ever since." "Has she captured your heart yet?" "No, though not for lack of assaulting it." "I see, and this mask will not protect you?" "Oh, I cannot hide, I''m afraid. Despite the disguise, we remain recognizable. We are an insular folk here, and have known each other for years. No thick cloth nor masks will rid poor cousin Francis of his unfortunate tendency to scratch his ass in public for example. Ah, pardon my French." "You are forgiven for your language, sir, but not from bringing this to my imagination. I am inclined to retaliate by bringing your pursuer''s on you." "I am at your mercy milady. Though, I would like to point out that she would devote some of that attention to you." "As a rival?" "Assuredly." "That seems far stretched, we only met." "The poor girl is craving excitement, and the appearance of a mysterious and beautiful woman will be enough to name you an enemy for life." "You must be exaggerating." "Her most favoured gossip remains her aunt''s unwanted pregnancy." "It... Does seem like a serious affair?" "Not if you consider that it happened thirteen years ago. The boy is almost as tall as her, though obviously not quite as heavy. This is, to date, still the most exciting thing to happen in her life." "Oh my, how dreadfully boring." I would rather spike myself and face the dawn than to live such an existence. "Now you can imagine my worries." "Marrying her would be a death of the soul. I understand. By the way, how do you know I am beautiful? I could be a gorgon under this guise." "This is a masquerade milady, I can choose to think you pretty and you would have to break the rules to prove me wrong. Besides, there is something in your countenance, something that speaks of confidence. This is not the mark of an ugly woman." "Oh my, how insightful. But tell me, is your suitor not beautiful herself?" "I am afraid that she fell off the ugly tree at birth and hit every branch on her way down, then landed face first." "Surely she has a redeeming quality?" "Her stature can only be called willowy if said willow has been cut down and turned into a barrel. Her temperament would suit Hades better than Persephone and if she ever had a moral fiber, it has long since dried out and been turned into a basket." I cannot help but laugh. What fun he is! I have not had such a pleasant and carefree conversation since¡­ Since¡­ I cannot remember. I have been fighting and hiding for so long, even social events were only the setting for another intrigue. Come to think of it, this one is too. I still have a little time however, I must not rush this operation and besides, this is so entertaining. Yes. I missed this. Just a nice evening out with a pleasant conversationalist. Witty retorts and fun exchanges. It is lucky that he would be here alone, and he smells quite good, like soap and sunshine on clean skin. His heart beats so strong, a bit faster now. I could see him touch me and not be terrified. He would be tender and patient, and I would BIND HIM TO MY SERVICE¡­ No! The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. I take a step back and retract my eager fangs. The mask saved me from doing something regrettable. This is not the time to be shopping for new followers. I have a mission to complete! And I would lose him. This man would not do as a vassal, I would have to bind him and after each feeding, he would grow ever more placid and obedient, and even less himself. A hollow shell. Cattle. My hand, which was about to touch his shoulder, falls down by my side. His own hand retreats and I can tell he is a bit disappointed. "I am sorry. I do not know what came over me." "Haha, there is nothing to apologize for. I wish whatever came over you had stayed a second longer. This was¡­ Pleasant." "I would not want to be too forward." "Think nothing of it, I can handle unwanted attention, and this was not it." I say nothing for a while. I liked this moment. I liked him as well, but now the spell is broken and I remember why I am here and what I have become. There is still something more I could steal from this evening. "Regarding your unwanted suitor, I do believe you have been approaching the situation the wrong way." "You think so? I am open to suggestions. My next step was to unleash the dogs when she would next visit." "Nothing so crass I assure you. Think of your poor dogs. No, what you need is to stake a public claim. The humiliation will prevent her from pursuing the matter." The man''s stance shows hope. "What would you suggest?" I lean forward ever so slightly. "Invite me for a dance?" He licks his lips nervously. "Yes. I see how this would be an excellent idea." I place my arm in his. I am daring tonight! Constanza would be squealing if she knew. My mysterious friend leads me back inside and to the dance floor, chest puffed with pride. I realize that he is most likely much younger than me, an occurrence that will only happen more often as years go by. We enter under the curious glance of more than one attendant, line up with the other dancers and move with the sounds of flutes and violins. S§×arch* The novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Dancing is ever the social activity. The slow rhythm invites flirting, though the presence of so many people around prevents anything too bold from happening. There is no physical contact except the occasional hand clap, though it does not stop me from making myself noticeable. Even the most minute change to someone''s balance can make a twirl awkward or perfect and I am, to them, perfect. Every step, every twist is flawlessly timed, and I let my partner guide me and guide him in return. As the music goes on we become the centre of attention for none can match our display. From the corner of my eye, I notice a plump woman in a dog mask storming out of the room. "It seems our little ruse has worked, your suitor just left the scene." "I would rather make sure, would you grant me the next dance as well?" I laugh happily. What my companion lacks in experience, he makes up for it in enthusiasm. Alas, I can see the next step of our plan unfolding and it will soon be time to get back to work. I must cut our amusement short. "I''m afraid I must decline my good sir. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned after all. I must prepare for my exit." He is about to protest when I break protocol and place a finger before his lips. The gesture is enough to make him miss a step, thankfully promptly corrected. The poor lad looks completely dejected. "Will I see you again?" No, we will not meet again. This was an experience born of the moment, and perhaps a sign that I can move on a bit, retake what should have been mine. "Who knows?" When the orchestra stops, I merge into the crowd, leaving him behind, and make my way to the middle of the room where I am intercepted by another majordomo in a frog mask. "Milady, forgive my impertinence. Mr. Fillmore would be delighted if you could join him for a moment if it pleases you." I nod and follow. Our plan has borne fruit. I thought I would go to him directly upon arriving, however Loth said it would be preferable to be invited. Since my purpose is to be alone with him, it will require us to depart the room, which is better done without too many people''s scrutiny. I harbored doubts and voiced them to Loth. How could I, a woman without much experience in flirting let alone seducing, end up alone with a notable man such as Mr. Fillmore? Especially in one night? Is he not overestimating me? The tall man had simply raised a brow and retorted: "Aye how could a powerful man be convinced to be alone with a beautiful woman in his own house? Big difficulty that is. Guess ye''ll have to impress him with yer knitting first, ya know? Engage in jolly conversation? Jokes aside, use yer instincts and Sinead''s lessons. That man wants ta be seduced, so since ye''re wearing a mask, use it ta be a little daring aye? Trust me, I''m a man. It will work." And so here we are. I just hope he will not be so vulgar as to touch me in public. That would be catastrophic for everyone involved. The crowd parts and I finally see our benevolent host. He sits on an actual throne, in a suit of cream and gold. A sun mask adorns his face, held in place by a golden crown. By his side, a large man with a clean shaven head stands at attention. This is the most blatant show of megalomania I have seen since leaving the Lancaster clan. "Ah, good evening miss, I do not believe we are acquainted?" "Naturally, sun king, this is a masquerade after all." The man chuckles, though his eyes remain curious. "How should I address you then?" "Melpomene." "A muse! Dare I ask to see your cothurnus?" Cothurnus are shoes worn by classical Greek actors in tragedies. Achilles mentioned it once, thankfully, else I would look ridiculous right now. "Surely you would not want me to be indecent at your own party sir." "Of course not, haha, of course not..." Right. "Say, milady¡­" The following conversation is a careful exercise in patience. I immediately start by engaging Fillmore on his favorite topic: himself. At the same time, I remain mysterious and use a light touch in my attempt to keep him entertained. Any heavy-handed attempt might be detected by someone with his experience in social matters. I stay careful and do not overestimate myself. A light laugh here, an amused and snarky remark there, little by little I make him more comfortable and after his guard has let up a bit, I insert a bit of Charm in my eyes. It is then that my caution proves warranted as Mr. Fillmore is wearing a protective magical charm. How interesting. It appears that my dear guest has fingers in a great many pies, to be linked both to the secret society and to mages. Following Sinead''s method once more proves to be a boon. I carefully align the essence of the bond linking us to his current feeling and I start to dig through the magical shield. This charm, however, is powerful. Much more so than the one the Rosenthal guard wore. I must now focus on both my conversation and the breakthrough. Thanks to hours of practice, I quickly succeed and get a glimpse of his thoughts. Unsurprisingly, my host does not hold me in high regard. I do not detect any feeling of respect or concern in his mind, he does however harbor no small amount of lust. It is only tempered by careful self-control and¡­ Apprehension. It cannot be that he knows what I am, the feeling is far too diffuse for that. Then what? Ah, of course, social pressure. My host is a widower, and although it would not be unacceptable for him to search for a new party, being seen going upstairs alone with a younger woman could become a stain on his reputation. This fear is a boon if I can carefully reduce it. Fillmore is clearly worried about his mind being tampered with, and any sudden increase of sexual desire may be regarded as suspicious. Instead, I will simply weaken his inhibitions. Nothing liquor could not have achieved, had he indulged a little more. Soon we reach a tipping point in our exchange. He had been boasting about a collection of Renaissance paintings he had shipped from Italy at great cost when he suddenly stops and turns to me. This is it. Tonight''s crux. If he leaves, I will have lost my opportunity to enter his inner sanctum. We would lose weeks of work. I have to try it. "How I wish I could see it. I am a painter myself." "You are?" "Yes, though I do not claim to have any talent in it. I did not study Renaissance much, I prefer Baroque. Do you know why?" "Do tell." I lean forward and my arms press my modest bust forward. It is not much, but I can see a flicker in his eyes as he takes in the view. "They capture the moment. Bernini paints David as he throws the stone and Vermeer paints the girl with the pearl earring as she turns towards him. They play with light and motion to make their work come to life." "Fascinating¡­ Yes, the moment. You do make a good case, and I would appreciate your opinion on my modest possessions." "I am quite tempted, although, I would be loath to hog you at your own party." "Think nothing of it. It is not everyday that I have the pleasure of entertaining a guest of such refined tastes." I bet. "Shall we?" He stands up and the majordomo and bodyguard both mask our exit in what appears to be a well-rehearsed maneuver. I follow him up a flight of stairs to a corridor where we inspect the paintings as we go. Fillmore prefers pastoral landscapes and nudes. Very few of the works displayed are religious in nature, and Greek mythology is prevalent. This might explain how he dared use "cothurnus" in a conversation without suffocating under the weight of his own self-importance. Cothurnus. Honestly. "And now, the prize of my collection." We are alone in a room filled with curios and art. Fillmore''s acolytes did not follow us up the stairs and I will not get a better chance. "Impressive¡­" I say, as I drag a nail along his collar. I discreetly dig out the pendant''s chain and easily snap it between two claws. My prey breathes faster as his desire gets the better of him. He does not even notice his protections being stripped away. I let go of any subtlety and crack his mind like a nut. I have been Charming him for the better part of an hour. He does not stand a chance. "You want to satisfy me, don''t you?" "Yes." "Do you keep notes related to the Brotherhood of the New Light?" "Yes. Notes and blackmail material." "Where is it?" "Some of it is in my safe, in my office. The rest is spread across the county." "Lead me there." I do not need to maintain eye contact, though I cannot leave him alone for too long. We quietly leave for his quarters and he unlocks his study, making a rather complex ward disappear with an intricate key. Fillmore''s office is all gaudy displays and hard work. He clearly does not owe his success to anyone but himself. I have not seen such discipline and efficiency since Isaac helped me open an account. I shove, without reading, everything I can to a secured inner pocket on the side of my dress. It will make a bulge, but I do not expect a great many people to notice. Owing to my experience in Charleston, it is also insulated against water, fire, smoke and even to some extent, bullets. There is also more than five hundred dollars in obligation, which I pocket. Spoils of war! I remember a derogatory remark from lady Moor about looting and dismiss it immediately. That pompous goose earns everything through prior investments and by smuggling alcohol. She and Melusine can go sunbathe in a volcano, this money is mine. "Is there anything else of value for you?" "Yes, my setup in the basement." "Wine?" "No, the secret basement." Oh my! He truly is an opera villain. "How do I access it?" It turns out that the concealed entrance is hidden behind a false wall in his bedroom. I have him drink a few decanters of an excellent whisky I found on his desk and follow him there. "There are several exits, all easily accessible from the cellar heading out. No traps." I order him to open the way for me, close it behind and then fall into deep slumber. I wipe most of the memories of the past hour, leaving a blurred image tainted by alcohol. He should wake up realizing he has been robbed by a woman whose face he never saw, and the embarrassment should keep him mostly quiet. I doubt that he will complain to his secret society brethren, as I can easily imagine how they handle compromised elements. I follow a narrow set of stairs in semi darkness. I do not bother with lamps, and why would I? The passage carries me three floors down. I can still hear violins and the whispers of conversation through thin walls, signs that the party is in full swing. On the last landing is a secured door, with no wards this time. I open it and lock it behind me. What in the name of the Watcher is this?! I turn around and my eyes confirm what my ears and nose picked up. I stand in the middle of a vast room with a packed dirt floor and support columns. Steel doors lead further into this space, but what attracts my attention stands in the middle. There are four cages fastened to the floor and ceiling by steel chains, and in each cage is a woman. Fillmore you disgusting pervert, I underestimated your depravity. What an incredible setup! This is almost vampire-like in its nature, though terribly amateurish. I could mention three improvements off the top of my head. All the cages have covers, a jug of water and a chamber pot. In the first to my left I see a short Asian woman fixing the ceiling with an empty gaze. The second contains a very young black woman cradling her knees. A native girl turns her back to me in the third cage, this time to my left, and the last cage is occupied by a redhead who stares at me in disbelief. My, my, my, what should I do with this lot? I notice a desk by the entrance covered in notes and conduct a summary inspection of all his notes. It''s sex. All of it. I should not have come here, this is a waste of my time. "Psss! Please, I beg you." I should just go. "Miss. Please¡­" Sighing, I approach the red-haired woman. From up close, I realize she is even younger than I assumed. She is surprisingly clean, but exhaustion and misery are clear on her face. Her paleness serves as a contrast to the red of her eyes, the black of the pockets below and the blue of the numerous bruises I see on every spot of naked skin. "What is it, supplicant?" The alien word makes her recoil and she flinches in anticipation for some sort of punishment. Seeing none coming, she gathers her courage and continues. "Are you with him?" "No." "Then¡­ Please help us escape." "And why would I do that?" The black girl''s sobs turn to a panicked whine. I do not react and instead consider the girl in front of me. Resourceful. Daring. Not easily broken. I feel a kind of kinship with this one. She is a survivor, like me. "I''ll serve you. I can cook, clean and sing. I can swing a bat with the best of them. Please miss, I''ll serve you with all my heart, you won''t regret it." "Deal." What will Loth say? Ah well. "How do I open the cages?" "Sir, I mean, that man who owns the house. He has it." Damn it, I should have been more thorough in my interrogation! "Any other way?" She shakes her head, licks her lips, thinking fast. "He could keep a spare somewhere around?" I nod and look around. Besides the desk, there are also several wooden apparatuses that would not be out of place in a torture chamber. A rack holds tools I do not recognize, though their shapes speak of a tragic tale. Should I free this woman, Fillmore may not survive the night. I return to the desk. Unfortunately, a more thorough search only gets me a hidden knife. I am certain that there are no secret compartments. A quick search beyond the two steel doors only reveals the concealed exit and an actual cellar as large as a warehouse filled with crates and cleaning supplies. I return to the red-haired woman, who is starting to tear up and grab the door. I pull. "It''s steel, miss¡­" The metal creaks and groans, the hinge pops and the door opens. "Hoooly shit!" "Language." "Sorry!" I turn to the others. I could do the same or keep them as snacks perhaps? A noise comes from upstairs, heavy footsteps rushing down. What should I do? If I drag her now, they will rush us before I can open the concealed exit. Indecision takes the decision away from me. "Stay here, pretend the door is closed," I manage to whisper before the door bangs open and Fillmore bursts in with three men in tow. One of them is the bodyguard I met before, still as expressive as ever. The other two are more interesting. There is a tired looking old man with a graying beard and fat man with a red jacket stained with grease, pasty face red and out of breath. The two newcomers are mages, very likely the ones who made the pendant and set up the wards. "You will¡ªwheeze¡ªreturn the documents¡ªwheeze¡ªnow!" says my host while brandishing a gun. Instead of answering, I run towards the darkness. Fillmore does not pull the trigger, not that it would stop me, but even the most soundproof ceiling will not stop the thundering blast of a gunshot. Instead of reaching for the exit, I enter the warehouse, lock the door behind me and jump up. I use my claws and feet to stick to the ceiling and wait. "She went left?" "No, right, idiot." answers a gravelly voice. Probably the older man. The trio bursts into the room. The older man had the presence of mind to take a lantern and the bodyguard now has a club. "We search the area, you go right I go left and we meet at the end. Alister you guard the door and catch her if she tries to make a run for it." "Do we really have to? We could just..." "Shut up. Yes you really have to. Now go." "I don''t have a light." "Then make one." answers the leader out of patience. The fat man grumbles and complies. "Light!" A pale orb rises and shines on me. They do not look up. No one ever does. The two men split up and start their search. Theirs is the only source of illumination here. With the clutter, it is easy to hide if only for a minute or two. "Come on out, don''t make it too hard on yourself. You know you''re trapped." I wait until they are a few meters away before dropping on the bodyguard. I may still spare Fillmore to avoid a major scandal. These men are expendable. I silently kill the bodyguard with a finger through the neck. I pull him down to avoid noise of a collapsing body and hide his form in the shade. One down, two to go. "Don''t be ridiculous girl, it can only end one way." "What makes you quite so sure?" Both men swing around, one with a yelp of surprise and the other with his gauntlet raised. "He got caught huh? Nicely done, but you are only delaying the inevitable." "Again I ask, what makes you so sure?" "There is only one thing that could stop me with no weapon, girl, and you ain''t it. Now down on your knees." I am delighted to see that this rune does indeed mask my aura quite well. Loth will be pleased. I press a small indent at the base of my mask. It slides open to reveal my really, really pointy smile. "Think again." "Aw FUCK!" I move. I almost behead the fat man before he can do more than open his mouth in surprise. "Spike!" Translucent spines start to appear on the old man, before he can do more I am on him. I dodge to the side and grab him by the heel where his defenses have so far failed to appear and swing him bodily into the nearest pile of crates. The wood explodes under him. He gasps in pain as red foam taint his lips. A bar of rusted steel emerges from his battered chest. He gives me one last bitter smile, which I return in kind, before I Devour him. "It was a good Hunt." That was easier than I anticipated. Unfortunately, my short pleasure is interrupted by a gunshot. Bah, can a woman not enjoy her drink in peace? What manner of party is this? Then there is another gunshot, then two others. Oh. Oh no. I replace the mask and when I step outside of the room, a squad of men has gathered in a defensive circle around a shaking Fillmore and two others. A beautiful woman in a daring green dress and crimson hair stands with her eyes closed. Besides her, a tall man with black hair and a well trimmed beard is calmly reloading a pistol. He has the understated charm of old nobility and is clearly in command. The four girls are dead. The supplicant is sprawled on the ground with brain matter leaking from her shattered skull. Her one remaining eye is staring at the ceiling and freedom that never came. I... failed? I failed! I said I would free her and she died, under my care! The supplicant is dead, killed while I was feeding?! God dammit. I feel revolted. I was careless and arrogant and because of this a supplicant I swore to protect lost her life. Fulfilling my word should have come first! I should have massacred those idiots where they stood and forced my way out instead of trying to be smart. Or I should have refused the deal! Instead I went half-cocked and look where I end up. Pah! Ariane the fool. Ariane the conceited. Ariane, queen of three papers and a corpse. "It''s her! Melpomene!" I return my attention to the men in front of me. The squad surrounding Fillmore is armed with muskets all pointing forward. "Imbecile, don''t you know that Melpomene carries a knife? She gave you the hint and you did not take it... Typical vampire humor. You lot, fire!" I dodge left and down as a storm of lead clatters against the bricks behind me. I charge forward immediately. "Belinda!" I brake and manage to slow down by digging my talons in the packed earth as a circle of silvery fire raises from the ground. The woman has her eyes opened, and a ring aimed at me. "Bolt!" I barely manage to dodge the white hot beam coming from her. I am probably as surprised as she is though I certainly do not show it. "My God she''s a Master, up, up the stairs, now! Cover Belinda!" I take my dagger from a holster on my leg and stab into the barrier. The red-haired woman grunts but does not yield. The pain I feel is manageable in comparison to the deeply unsettling shame now coursing through my mind. Failure. I am forced to back off when one of the soldiers fires at point blank range. A small twist allows me to reposition but it is clear that this tactic will not succeed. Instead, I retreat to a torture table and grab it. The witch was practically sneering when I was falling back. Now that she sees me lifting the piece of furniture in the air, her countenance breaks. "Shit. Inferno!" The spell goes off and she collapses in the arms of a soldier who drags her up. A moment later, the piece of furniture slams into a straggler and pulps him against the unyielding steel door, now closed. A wave of delayed heat explodes outward. I upend a table and take cover as it moved forward, igniting everything in its path. FIRE. Dammit. I need to get out. Now! I rush over ground shimmering with heat and don''t bother touching the reddening handle. "Yah!" I boot the door opened the way Loth showed me. The rectangle of steel bangs against the wall and I roll inside. "Hot hot hot aaaaaaa!" The temperature keeps increasing, I manage to operate the locking mechanism and jump through the opening into the blessedly cool night. And then I run away. Fillmore will have rescinded his invitation so I cannot finish off my enemies, even if I were willing to take the risk. I got documents we will have to decrypt. In return I let them know they face a vampire. Ah who am I kidding I know what I lost, a supplicant and even perhaps a potential Vassal. As I disappear in the darkness, this night feels like everything but victory. Chapter 41 - 41. Stand your ground. Normally upon waking I immediately exit my sealed sarcophagus. There has been a lot to do recently, and time is precious when one is slumbering for as long as I do. Now, my hand reaches for the lever and hesitates. I need a moment for myself, to think. Last night was full of lessons. The first one is that my romantic life will require me to stop myself from eating my partner if he is a mortal. I can see that this would be problematic. The easy solution would be to court or let myself be courted by a vampire, and that is not going to happen any time soon. A problem for another time. The second important lesson was how easy it was to dispose of two mages and a guard. I butchered them in an instant. They did not stand a chance. Even a prepared group with a defensive circle did little more than delay me for a few seconds. I need to reevaluate the impact I can have when battle is joined in the future. I must remain cautious, of course, but I can see myself slaughtering my way through an entire squad if I catch them unprepared. I should be flattered by the progress I made, yet I cannot rid myself of the oppressive weight of my own failure. Even the overall success of the operation pales in comparison to the loss of the one I had sworn to protect. I am left bitter and deeply unsettled. I exit my protective shell and join Dalton on the driver''s seat. "Good evening Dalton, how are you doing?" "I will be good for another few hours. Asni will have to drink at some point. It would be best if we stopped in a few miles." "Very well.." I keep silent as we trudge forward. Dalton once again shows his ability to read the mood and stays quiet. Letting me work through my problems. With no distractions, I submit myself to a pointless game of what ifs. What if I had decided to just finish Fillmore off? What if I had dragged her out the moment I heard footsteps? What if I had hidden completely and made them believe I had left by another way? I churn and mix scenarios in my head again and again until I am interrupted in my self-destructive musings. "What happened Mistress? Talk." "How do you know that I am upset?" "You lean forward and occasionally scrunch your nose when you rehash something." "Bah!" I will have to work on my composure when I enter vampire society. Being read like a book sounds like a terrible liability to have if Lancaster clan''s byzantine politics are any indication. "Well?" I dramatically sigh to convey my annoyance. "I failed a promise." I recount the night and focus on the supplicant''s death. Dalton takes the time to reflect before asking me a question I had not considered. "Does failing hurt your pride and esteem or does it bite deeper? Your kind follows strange rules. Perhaps breaking them hurts you as diseases and age hurt us." Is he correct? Breaking an oath is, for me, unthinkable, but perhaps vampires can be forced into situations when they see no other choices but to do it. What if two promises conflict one another? Then this would strike at our very essence. We are supernatural creatures and Loth has already demonstrated the importance of will and purpose. I dare not imagine what would happen to a vampire oath breaker. Then what about me? I did not let her die on purpose. Then why? If this is about intent and belief, then what do I believe killed her? Greed. This is it, is it not? I was not committed. I tried to both complete my task in an optimal way and to protect her somewhat. Indecision and greed were my sin. I focused so much on planning and long-term benefit that I forgot this simple truth. I am not a Master yet, to have plans within plans. If I give my word, I must pursue it with all my might, probably. "Yes Dalton, it hurt me. If I had only tried to save her and killed Fillmore on the spot, this would not have happened." "Perhaps, or perhaps we would have the entire Georgian militia trailing us even now, looking for a red-hair woman with bruises on her face. Do you realize the ramifications of violently slaying a Governor, Mistress? Do you think me able to manage the situation during the day, alone and without plan as the nation''s most wanted outlaw?" Now that he put it like that¡­ "I was born North of here in an isolated hamlet." I completely stop. I turn to Dalton and look at him with wide eyes. In our eight years together, he has never, ever mentioned his family even once. I know what food he likes, what music he prefers, even how he ties his shoes. I still have no idea about his origin and I did not pry. This revelation is simply unprecedented. "Lots of religious folks moved to the New World because of persecutions and I got to give it to these European lads, many of them were correct. Some beliefs should have remained in the dark ages. Let me give you an example. You have a community. Each wise and holy man has several wives, and plenty of children. When women are of age, when they have their first blood, they are married off to other wise and holy men. When the men are of age, they are invited to travel the world, witness its debauchery, and accomplish some nigh impossible tasks. Do you see where I am going with this?" "And if the young men return too early or do not conform, then something happens to them?" "Nothing has to happen to them. The village elders shun them, and the entire community follows suit. There is little need for violence when you have absolute control, and they did. We were told that the outside world was unholy and monstrous, we were told that the wise men guided us for our own good and since some of them were our parents, we believed them. "When my little sister turned thirteen, she was set to be married with the leader of our community, a man by the name of Holden. Holden was seventy if he was a day and something about this bothered me greatly. My sister was scared of him. I made the mistake to voice my doubts to my father. I was immediately ostracized, publicly humiliated. I was asked to repent. I was told that I was the victim of evil souls. My friends avoided me, all because I voiced some concerns. "I did not even oppose the marriage. In my mind, this man was a saint. This ordeal opened my eyes to a series of petty abuse that was so unchristian that I confronted my father about it at dinner, as he was hurling insults at me. "We came to blows. I was surprised but eventually, I won. I knew I had to leave and I offered my sister to come with me. She refused. "That is the thing that bothers me to this day. She refused because she was scared of the outside. Because they had fed her with lies and manipulated her from birth, she could not envision anything else. It was preferable to have this ancient man touch her than having to face the road, uncertainty, starvation perhaps. "She refused because she adored them and they could do no wrong, and they could do no wrong because if they had, her entire world would collapse. "And that is why since this moment, I follow no one blindly. Nobody is free from mistakes, Mistress, not even you. Maybe not even God." Until that point, Dalton eyes have been fixed forward as he reminisced those painful memories. Now, he turns to me with a fanatic light in his eyes. I never took him for a believer in anything and I was wrong. My Vassal has a set of values that is so deeply embedded in his personality that I could never tell he had thought them through. "You can be wrong Mistress, and contrary to the others, you have an eternity to learn from your mistakes and make progress. Neither of us can say which would have been the better path. Only experience will tell you and you will get it, if you live. So stop blaming yourself, you did what you thought was best and failed. You cannot succeed every time, what matters is that you follow your values as best you can and never stop improving." I never thought I could be so impressed by him. Dalton is usually so reserved, I sometimes tend to forget that his mind is no longer that of the shy boy I took from the Valiants. "Those are words to live by, my Dalton. Thank you." "We are here for each other Mistress. As you know." "Indeed. Have you ever thought about returning?" "Yes, and no I will not. I would find her comfortable in her existence and her place in the world, surrounded by a gaggle of children. And yes, I know there are other girls, but even if we go and break the walls of this prison they would only curse us for it, and rebuild them higher. It takes a lot to question one''s value Mistress. Most people here tend to forget that the pursuit of happiness does not equate the pursuit of freedom. Liberty is a burden that not everyone is willing to carry." "Oh I know. In fact, I am counting on it." "Shopping for cattle, Mistress?" "Eventually. We will depart the nest at some point. Carve a kingdom, maybe?" "I want dibs on the ministry of justice." "One thing at a time." After a few more jabs at each other, we continue in silence. Dalton''s lesson makes me feel better. I made a mistake, yes, and that is normal. Vampire are hunters, not protectors. There will be a learning curve. I wake up to the ring of a bell. I hastily dress and leave my bedroom to see what the emergency is this time. As soon as I reach the main floor. I know that something is different. All shutters are drawn and the protective wards along the walls are on standby, humming quietly and filling the air with the promise of retribution. I count no less than twenty-five heartbeats upstairs and stop in my tracks. Loth voice reaches me from the smoking room. "Ari? Please join us." Still a bit wary, I climb up the stairs and spot men in a strange uniform equipped with long muskets. They salute smartly as I pass. There is a hint of fear in them, hinting that they know what I am. As I approach the door, I feel a familiar aura that surprises me to my core. "Isaac?!" "Hello Ariane. Excellent, you are here, yes, excellent. Please, do come in, there is much to discuss." I enter the room and take the gathering in front of me. Loth is lounging in his favorite chair in full battle regalia, minus his steel armor. Facing him, Isaac sits upright with a mortal standing by his side. The man has a close-cropped beard and the bearing of a veteran. His mature face is frozen in a mask of disapproval and his eyes dart around the room, evaluating and gauging. Dalton is next to my seat. He is armed to the teeth and shows a few bruises but appears otherwise unharmed. "Splendid, now that you are here, I can explain the situation in earnest. I will be using English for the benefit of Loth, Mr. Dalton, as well as Mr. Venet here, who is the head of my security detail. Be aware that I am here as the official representative of the Rosenthal consortium as it relates to the matter of the Leucadia. Now, your competent Vassal noticed two suspicious men circling the property and attempted to apprehend them. They turned out to be Brotherhood members and he put them down despite their physical prowess." I turn to Dalton and realize now where the bruises come from. "They can''t outrun bullets Mistress, not like you." His smile has a vicious quality to it that I mirror with pleasure. Those imbeciles tried to take down my precious Vassal. A quick death was too good for the likes of them. "Yes, well, their bodies are downstairs and we managed to dissect them." "Wait, you were awake during the day?" "Yes Ariane, masters wake up increasingly earlier as they grow, though our vulnerability to sunlight remains and we are extremely weakened while it is out. Please focus, time is of the essence. Moving on, we found out that they have runes inscribed in invisible tattoos upon them. Those are mostly shoddy work and allows them to perform incredible feats at the cost of their life expectancy. They can momentarily increase their speed, strength or endurance. Never more than one at a time. Loth and I estimate the average lifespan after inscription to be around two and a half years, though that will certainly not be relevant to us. There is no known way to deprive them of this power." This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. It is still fortunate that we found those two. The members of cells we had encountered while clearing secondary rings had not been marked. I suspect that only their trusted muscle will have access to runes and that can only mean one thing. "They are onto us." "Yes. We are expecting them either tonight or tomorrow. Loth of Skoragg decided to make a stand and, though we do not approve, we will offer assistance this once." Ah, I thought that the tension was due to the imminent arrival of our enemies, but it seems it is a question of ego between Loth and probably Venet. If the head of security thinks he can convince the old Dvergur to give ground, he is sorely mistaken. The only person on the planet who can convince Loth of Skoragg to retreat is Loth of Skoragg. I presume that my dear host felt no obligation to explain the extent of his formidable defenses to the newcomers. They have no idea, and neither does our foe. "In the meanwhile, I shall explain the reason for my coming and the importance of the mission that is ours and by extension, yours. What we are looking for, is this." Isaac removes a drawing from his briefcase and places it on the table in front of me with reverence. The paper is yellow with age and depicts an ornate black box with silver engravings. The lower right corner has been painted a deep black with a frantic hand, wild strokes of the brush contrasting with the realistic depiction of the object. "Your painter had a stroke?" asks Loth with little humor. "No¡­ This is deliberate¡­" I add without thinking. I lightly caress the black surface. Frantic lines, a sudden urge to render something that cannot be rendered, I know this effect all too well. "He tried to draw it but did not have the tools." Isaac looks at me with naked curiosity. "Yes, very insightful Ariane. This is an illustration of the box containing the Gate of Beriah. It was drawn by Mr. Matthys, an artist under our employ during the late sixteenth century. We believe that the Gate bled through its containment and affected him. Matthys was an extremely rigorous man. When questioned, he insisted that his depiction was made faithfully. For the very same reason, we have no idea what the item looks like in reality. Scholars who got their hand on it have described it in confusing terms. Al-Din describes it as, and I quote, an aperture into the unfathomable path up and in. " A key that breaks. Nashoba''s prophecy is now confirmed. "Let me guess, they all turn mad?" asks Loth. "Curiously, no. All those who study it have been witnessed to be functional adults, or at least as functional as this sort can be. Their notes, however, grow increasingly cryptic and yet it appears that they understand them. Regardless of the Gate''s true nature, it is an artefact of great power that is said to unlock man''s true potential. The thing is that it requires energy to function, life energy to be precise." "Like the runes?", I ask, "Is this a coincidence?" "It is not. Ownership and study of the artefact allowed the Brotherhood of the New Light, or Ascendency as they are called in Europe, to develop this extremely crude method. Let me finish, please. The artefact has been partially charged during only two events. The first one was the black plague and the second, the seven years war. The reason why we did not notice immediately is the staggering amount of deaths occurring at the time, as well as the general hysteria. Simply put, we are still uncertain of how it kills, only that it does and turns its victims into mindless creatures craving the vitality that was robbed from them." "Wait, what?" "If the Gate is acquired and triggered, all humans in its vicinity but its bearer will be robbed of both life and sanity. They will turn into short-lived but murderous lunatics. At the same time, the survivor will acquire the strength to defy a Lord, if they manage to repeat the process enough times." "By the Watcher." "Indeed. The item was stolen from a secret vault by means unknown and later purchased by Ascendency. Before we could act, it was shipped to the New World." "And the ship was lost..." "Precisely. And now, it has been found. Lady, and gentlemen, my task is to secure the artefact and return it to Rosenthal custody, I would appreciate your support in this matter." Not that we have much choice anymore. Loth and I meet eyes and I start: "I have questions." "Go ahead lass, I will ask mine later." "Thank you. What is the consortium''s stake in all this?" "The secured vault was ours. We have a responsibility to stop them." Isaac gives me a pointed look, as if daring me to question his integrity. I shift my posture by the barest amount in a display of annoyance, a gesture that mortals will not pick up. Isaac returns an expression of contrition for a mere tenth of a second before his face turns back into a mask of professionalism. I let the matter go. "Have you located the wreck of the Leucadia ?" "Not yet, but we have found those who have. I will elaborate further later." "Fine. I am done for now, Loth." "Alright. Ye said ye wanted to stop them aye? Those Brotherhood twats?" My talons click on my seat''s wooden arms but I refrain from commenting. So long as there is an outsider here, I will not castigate Loth on his foul language. "Yes." "You and what army?" Before Venet can object to the remark, Isaac raises a hand to stop him and replies with a conciliatory tone. "Venet''s company is well trained and they have the full trust of the consortium. If more men are required, up to a hundred will join us from Savannah. I did not bring a full company to a social visit, I am sure that you understand why." "Who did you say had the wreck?" "Well that''s the thing. The vessel that sold the surgery box belongs to a faction we have no influence on, more specifically, the pirates of Barataria." I can scarcely believe my ears. "Excuse me? We are to confront pirates?!" "Indeed, my dear, indeed. Pirates and smugglers. We know where to locate them, and we will depart once we have repulsed the Brotherhood assault." "Oh, I''m going ta repulse them alright, don''t ye worry." "You think they will come tonight?" "Aye lass, they don''t want us ta escape, ya know? If ye''re discovered ye have to launch the raid immediately or retreat. I don''t know about ye but I don''t see them half-brain fuckwits falling back. They think they''re strong and canny and we''ve been pissing them off for weeks now." The wood under my hands creaks ominously in the silence that follows that statement. "Ahem, yes Loth, indeed. I''m going to prepare for the fight. Will you help Loth, Vassal?" "Yes Mistress, before that I have a question as well. Mr. Isaac. Sir." "Ask away." Answers Isaac with a pleased smile. "You said the Brotherhood is related to Ascendency. Any chance of those guys coming here like you did?" "Yes. A very good point, very good point indeed. We have ways to track them if they come from Savannah in great numbers, but yes, we can still expect them to receive reinforcements. The consortium is monitoring the situation and I will be advised if we are to face more enemies. In the meanwhile, our task is to locate the Gate first and make sure they cannot obtain it. Now, let us discuss tactics." I leave and let Loth and Venet sort it out. I am not a tactician, or rather my tactics are radically different from theirs, and I am content to leave the squad planning in their expert hands. When Dalton and I return armed to the teeth, both men have managed to temporarily shelve their massive egos and align a little bit. Venet looks furious which, I assume, means that my host got the last word, possibly with a variation of ''ye can do as I say or ye can take yer gear and f¡­ and go away''. Isaac sits comfortably in his chair and harbours a genial smile. I know who I have to thank for a quick agreement. Loth explains the battle plan. Three of Venet''s men would watch the back and two, the sides, while the remaining fifteen would gather around windows on the second floor and attic with the shutters closed. At the right moment, I will fire a flare to provide illumination and that will be the signal to shoot on the intruders. With the door locked and a clear view of our opponents, as well as Loth''s surprises, we will turn the front of the house into a cross-fire field of death. I would deal with any surprise they may have. The plan has the merit of being simple and sound, and we take positions. Loth disappears into his first floor workshop under Venet''s disapproving glance. I know what Loth is up to and find myself smiling inward, hoping that the Brotherhood sent enough men to annoy the grumpy giant. A little after midnight, they come. Six figures emerge from the tree line and sneak towards the house in dispersed order. I fire the flare gun and immediately line a shot. "Now!" As the angry spark flies in the air and basks the lawn in furious red, I pull the trigger on my rifle and see the lead foe''s head snap back. An instant later, the crack of gunshot rings into the night. I reload with vampire speed but as I watch, our targets are sprinting back with unnatural swiftness. Most shots miss as a result with only one other intruder falling. Just as they reach cover a thunderous boom resounds, taking both a man''s head and part of a trunk. Loth has decided to open with his lowest caliber weapon, it seems. From the safety of the forest, red flowers and plumes of smoke erupt. Five, then ten, then forty muskets answer our challenge, their bullets clattering uselessly against the protective steel barriers now covering the windows. I aim and shoot at an exposed man but they are so many. "I can''t see them Mistress." I grunt and reload the flare gun, doing my best to forget that shooting myself with this will turn me into a torch. I angle the small weapon and send an incandescent light close to the enemy line. With them illuminated, our side resumes firing. Undaunted by the futility of their attack, our foes keep shooting. I am not too worried about our ammunitions or defenses. What worries me is the implication of such an attack. They do not care about publicity. There is no way to hide the assault of half a company on a doctor''s house. There will be an investigation. So why, why would they take such an insane risk? Just as I line yet another shot, they suddenly retreat and silence descends on the clearing. This is strange¡­ I would expect them to storm us¡­ As I think those words, a deafening explosion erupts from deeper into the copse and a small cannonball smashes against the main door. It pings, bounces back and digs a furrow in the ground. They have artillery?! I tap on Dalton''s shoulder and scream: "I''m going out!" I drop from a window on the left side wall and rush to the cover of the trees. Just as I reach a large oaken trunk, I jump up, thus avoiding a furious swing from a tall man wielding a cavalry saber. The weapon buries itself in the wood as if it were butter. His eyes widen in surprise. "Above you," I add teasingly before stabbing him. I am immediately on the next man. There are six of them and they do not stand a chance. Even their improved reflexes are not enough to match me. Compared to father Perry, who had struck where I would be instead of where I was, those men are but awkward children. In only a handful of heartbeat there is only one left standing. He raises a musket and I decide to try something. As our eyes meet, I use Charm. Instead of my usual attempts at subtlety, I simply crush his mind like a rotten apple. He blinks and lowers his arm in confusion. Not waiting for any further results, I close the distance and take his head off. Huh, it worked! One more tool in my arsenal. I could even use it to destabilize a foe at a critical moment. My distraction does not last. Loth''s wards may be sturdy, but not sturdy enough to repel sustained cannon fire. I move right towards the forest at the front of the house and the enemy artillery hidden within it, keeping my head low. Perhaps I should have painted the mask black. I finally hear heartbeats in front of me and take a close look at the men regrouping in the tree line and the defences arrayed around them. I am so surprised by what I see that my mouth hangs open. Only the sound of a second detonation a few heartbeats later manages to draw me out of my surprise. This is bad. I should fall back. I should fall back and warn the others and yet, I have an opportunity to learn more and to repay a debt. Just a minute. I sprint forward, trigger a proximity ward and jump up. I scramble up the tree like a squirrel as a man''s voice gives an order in a commanding voice. "Now!" Men erupt from the ground, shedding their camouflage in great sprays of mud and leaves, to find¡­ Nothing. The man from Fillmore''s cave steps up from a dug-up shelter. He is dressed in luxurious hunting gear in green and brown and holds a decorated musket. To his right, Belinda emerges similarly equipped and I notice with pleasure that she looks just a bit apprehensive. To his left is a man I have never seen. He wears a steel helmet of unknown origin and the plastron of a "cuirass¨¦". On his chest, a massive pendant harbouring the symbol of a tower dangles and his clean-shaven face is scrunched in concentration. The biggest threat will have to go first, but before that¡­ Using the confusion, I throw one of Loth''s beacon stones next to the six-pounder pummeling our door. You just wait. I shoot a pistol at Belinda, only for it to flatten against a translucent shield. I stare in awe. This was a silver bullet! Belinda yelps and the leader flinches, but the tower man barely moves. It''s him. His shield has stopped my projectile. I now regret not taking one of Loth''s special bullets. Before their eyes look up, I am already falling among the crowd. I cut a man open and claw a throat before they even register my presence but soon, they bring their numbers to bear. They all focus on speed and rush me all at once. I flip over the closest warrior and cave his skull in on the way. I land on another foot first and jump against a trunk, slashing a spine. Then with both feet against solid wood, I propel myself like the rogue vampire showed me and barrel forward closer to the mages. I land on a soldier blade first and send two silver throwing knives in the shield. It holds, though the enemy mage''s hands start shaking. I do not dare get closer as I expect another silvery circle to close around me if I did. I cannot afford to get caught in a trap. It does not matter, MORE PREY TO THE SLAUGHTER. Yes, there is still work to be done. I jump backward and in the same motion, grab the dead enemy''s pistol and fire at the witch. As I expected, more silver. I use the backward momentum to slide under another foe''s slash and dig my left hand in his chest, raise him above me and send him flying into the shield. "I can''t take much more of this!" screams the tower mage. Dark joy fills my still heart. This is what I have been made for, this bloodshed, my foe''s plans unravelling as I carve a red path through their terrified ranks. "You brought sheep to a lion hunt," I remark. "I''m done!" yells the witch immediately, "Blood hound!" The world stills as reality submits to the will of the woman. A ball-sized projectile erupts from her gauntlet with a deafening shriek, leaving behind a trail of reddish gold. It flies straight at me. I ignore the retreating vermin and dodge to the side and under cover. The spell hits a trunk and melts through it without stopping. Its trajectory changes to track my movements. That might be problematic. I throw a silver knife through it without much effect, it hits a branch in a pile of molten slag. Running out of ideas, I rush at the man whose spine I severed and lift his still moaning body as the sphere of death is about to hit. I throw him forward. Spell and screaming man impact and with a thundering sound, he explodes. Blood showers all present. Note to self: do not get hit by that. "Shit!" screams the witch, but her leader shows no trace of concern. "It does not matter, vampire, and you know it." The haughty man looks at me from behind a line of soldiers and the two mages. PATHETIC WEAKLING, HIDING. No, he is trying to gaud me into rushing forward. They probably have another trap and I do not want to risk it. "And who might you be?" "You can call me the Herald, for this is my purpose. Tonight, I bring death." He is delaying, and so am I. Very well, let us turn this into a contest. I make a show of watching the corpses around me before returning my attention to him. "You did send a lot of your followers to the Hades." "And their sacrifice will not be in vain. I am so glad that you and the interloper looking into our business work together. I do so love killing two birds with one stone." He smiles viciously. I am unimpressed. I SHOULD SHOW HIM HIS OWN INNARDS. No, Ari, this is a trick. Think about something pleasant, like painting, the placid gaze of the Watcher, or the nice screams the Herald will give me when I shove my thumbs in his orbits. Ah, this is not working. Better move the conversation forward. "This house is a fortress. Your pathetic band will never breach it." "Oh, I beg to differ. See the men behind us. Look at their uniform." I already saw. "You are bluffing. Your kind works from the shadows." "The time of shadows is past!" intones the man with solemnity. The next words are not for me, but for his men. Sear?h the N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "The time of enlightenment is upon us! We will bring our full power to bear to fulfill our mission and usher humanity in a higher realm. Nothing shall stop us in this most august of tasks! You and your associates are but insects buzzing in our ears. Noisy and bothersome, but ultimately just a nuisance. Your pitiful attempts stop tonight. You see, contrary to you our reach is long, and you criminals did cause the governor''s house to burn down¡­" Ah so that is it. I have to warn the others. At least I dropped the beacon in the midst of brotherhood members. "I would love to stay and listen, but I do believe my associate has a message for you." Hesitation mars the Herald''s face just at the right time. For the second time, the night stills as a monstrous detonation shakes the earth and makes the very air vibrate. From the house, a large metal mouth belches a storm of steel and fire onto the forest. In a single instant, the maelstrom of incandescent death smashes into the six-pounder, its servants and everyone and everything around on a twenty feet radius. The cloud propagates outward like the Devil''s own breath. When the dust settles, all that is left behind are splintered trunks, torn earth and the shredded remains of men and equipment. Fools, they thought they could outgun Loth. Laughable. With an ominous groan of rotating gears, the decorated barrel angles left. "Fall back." orders the Herald with a calm voice. His men form a ring around him, and they move deeper into the forest. I could go after them but I realize that I simply do not have the time. If what he says is correct, and I believe him, by morning this place will be swarming with enemies. We need to leave. I run back up and inside. I ask Dalton to fetch Loth and soon, we all gather in the entrance with Isaac and Venet. "We have a problem." "I noticed lass. It''s vaporized now." "Ah no, we have a real one. The cannon was indeed used by Brotherhood, but the musket line is not them." "No?" "No, you see, for the past twenty minutes we have been firing on the United States Army¡­" Chapter 42 - 42. The Cruel Seas We left. Sitting on top of the box, I look behind to see what had been my home for nine long years go up in flames, embers carried high in the windless sky. Those mortals took my lair. We live to fight another day but the need to flee leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. My instinct to turn and fight conflicts with the knowledge that there is nothing to be gained and the house being already lost makes a difference in helping me stay put. I do not dare imagine how Loth must feel. He was quick to agree that fighting the actual army on the field and engaging in a protracted battle is a doomed proposition, and also stupid, but just like me, he is harried by his emotions. I am angry, deeply angry. Objectively, I know that we are at war and we were simply outmanoeuvred. Vae Victis and all this nonsense. Subjectively, I fully intend to watch the Herald beg for mercy as I pull his witch''s insides out and strangle his eyeless head with her intestines. Or some such. I will usher him onto his new age one limb at a time. I will¡­ Pah. I will plan properly and win. Behind the box are Loth''s main gun and three drawn carriages carrying the supplies of Venet''s men, who themselves trail us on their horses. Escaping was not too difficult. The house had three prepared tunnels and we managed to use the biggest ones. We piled what effects we could in the carriages, gathered the rest in my bedroom which was subsequently sealed. All non-essential items such as cheap raw materials, prototypes etc were consigned to the fire. Our ability to strike back is still intact though our lives are wrecked. "Did you have the time to feed, Ariane?" Isaac''s voice comes from inside the box. Venet moved him here, as it remains the most secure place in the entire convoy. My sarcophagus is there also, ready to protect me from the sun and, according to Loth, powder charge or even indirect artillery fire. Not that I would put it to the test. "No." Their vitality was simply too low. It was not worth the effort. "I should be fine until tomorrow." I do feel a light onset of the Thirst. I drank from a passerby on our way back to Higginsville, though not deeply, and this should allow me to continue until tomorrow. "Good! Good. We need to keep going for a while." My fellow vampire probably worries about my composure, a wise decision. My siblings are not exactly renowned for their self-control. With this said, the conversation dies out. None of us are in a talkative mood. An hour later we stop at a crossroads. Venet, Isaac, Loth, Dalton and I gather for an improvised war council around a map hastily drawn on their largest table.. "We have two priorities. The first is to get the government off your backs. Fortunately, the consortium has given me full authority to draw on our ample resources and with what Ariane told me of Fillmore''s basement, I have a perfect way to get rid of him." "Will he not fight back?" "A man such as himself has many secret enemies, Ariane, people who are more than willing to withdraw their support for a shot at his position. I can have him retired by the end of the week, even if I have to ask favours from the Charleston enclave. You can count on me. In the meanwhile, I need the two of you¡­" Loth clears his throat. "Request¡­ That the two of you go to the port city of Clarkson''s Cove to the South and talk to a man called Dennis. He will have the information you need." "To do what?" "Why, to find a pirate ship and board it of course." Truly, fiction is no match for reality. Clarkson''s Cove, Georgia, two days later. I step behind Loth on half-buried planks, over desolate marshland. His broad back is a bit hunched, not under stress but because of deep-seated hatred. I do not need to ask. My companion may act the gentleman now but he used to be a warlord. The veneer of civilization has always been skin-deep on him. Now, it is cracking. "We''re here." "Would you like to do the talking?" Loth turns, his eye manic under his thunderous brow, and yet he reasserts his control in a mere moment. I admire his discipline. "Aye lass, why not." Then after a pause. "Thanks fer asking." I do not reply. There is no need for that between us. We cross an open expanse to find a large one-story wooden house built on an elevated mound in the middle of the swamps. A fire burns brightly near its entrance and two sentinels relax after seeing that there are only two of us. Unwise, though not unexpected. They are armed with muskets, and quite a few blades besides. Their clothes are mostly green-dyed cotton and cured leather and they leave very little skin uncovered even in this early fall. Their bushy beards give them an unkempt, and dangerous look. They trail us as we climb up the path. "I think you''re lost, friends." says the first man with a nervous smirk. No one can be completely relaxed in front of Loth, especially now that he exudes barely-contained violence. "We''re here ta see Quick Wallace." "Maybe Quick Wallace don''t wanna see you." "He does." Loth''s voice has an unmistakable tone of finality in it. "Stay here, I''ll check." Smart. The first goon gets in while the second steps back and eyes us nervously. As time passes by, the man becomes increasingly paler under Loth''s pitiless glare. "He''ll see y''all now. No funny business" I follow my friend inside to a large open room used both as a meeting place and a kitchen, apparently. The smells of roasted meat and tobacco permeate the air, the first coming from a fireplace upon which roasts a whole piglet. Men sit and lean among derelict furniture centered around a curious trio. The first is a blond man with an eyepatch, sitting lazily in the room''s throne. The second is a huge black man in leather coveralls with an oversized machete standing by his side. He is as tall as Loth, and his face is covered in what seems to be ritual scars. The last one is a surprise. He is the only clean-shaven person of the lot, has a monocle hanging from his city jacket and is currently nervously holding a bowler hat that has apparently been subjected to this cruel treatment for at least a year. The blond man is clearly the leader. His posture is relaxed, assertive, and his brown coat is of good cut. Jewelled ring adorn his fingers. He leans forward and starts, with a smile and a cautious glance. "I''m Wallace. This is Moise," he points at the tall man with a stiletto he is using to clean his nails, "and this here dashing lad is Loustic. Now tell me why the fuck I shouldn''t carve you up like a pig and stick your gal on my mast." He smirks. I am wondering, do we really need him? We just need his crew, right? And I have a good way to ensure their loyalty. Loth who once again proves his unerring self-control simply throws Isaac''s letter to the man. He doesn''t look at it and instead passes the envelope directly to Loustic. "We''re not some pansy ass city folks here, we have Loustic to read for us. We have our ways. For example Moises here. He don''t part the seas, yeah? He parts people." We remain nonplussed. "It''s from¡­ Savannah, boss." Wallace''s face falls. "You''re one of them?" Loth slowly shakes his head before adding. "Nay, she is." All eyes turn to me. I grab everyone and roughly push terror at the forefront. The effort required leaves me a tad dizzy and a bit Thirsty. I should not have done that. "Now that the pishing contest is done, can we go on or do ye wankers need to jack each other off before ye sail." You could hear a pin drop. Aaaah Loth, you should have just told me you needed to unwind a bit. "Bet you wouldn''t be so tough without that monster behind you." I take exception to that. Or rather, I would but Loth needs the relief more than I do. I grab Loustic by the wrist in the frozen room and head for the exit. Before I cross it, I turn and add in a dignified tone. "Don''t take too long." I stand outside with the strange pirate by my side still holding our letter. The two sentinels stare at us, with expressions of bovine surprise. Inside the house, I hear the rustle of fabric as Loth carefully removes his jacket. Then the heckling start. "Any of ye cocksuckers want ta put yer fists where yer mouths are?" There follows the sound of feet rushing forward, of flesh hitting flesh, and that of a body impacting the wall. Then all hell breaks loose. The sound of fighting, the crash of bodies, thrown furniture and broken glass, the grunts of effort and the moans of pain form a disharmonious symphony to match my survey of the land. The composition is not so bad, all in browns and greens with hints of red. I am almost tempted to draw it later. "So¡­" starts Loustic with a shaky voice, "come here often?" A pirate''s body crashes through a window and lands in the mud, stopping after a few rolls. "No." "Oh¡­" After half a minute, a roar explodes outwards and scares a few bats into flying away. "Hah, that''s Moise!" adds a sentinel with a vindictive smile. Loth bellows. The sound, flat and pure as if it were coming from a longship''s horn makes the remaining windows shake. A duel of titanic proportion announces itself to us through the walls as if they were not here. Fists on flesh, broken wood and shattered pottery, massive bodies crashing around like battering rams. After a few more seconds the fight reaches a climax and the two men smash through the door like freight trains, sending the thing careening in the air. Loth landed on top and he stands up without trouble. Apart from a thin line of blood coming from his temple, he appears unharmed. Moise looks a bit dazed. My friend slowly walks to a dead tree by the path and simply uproots it. He breaks the trunk in half and approaches his opponent with his hideous, improvised club. The roots shake ominously as he marches forward. "Remember what ye asked me two minutes ago?" "Naw man," replies the black man while spitting blood, "I''m stumped." Loth looks at the thing in his hand, then at Moise smiling bloodily on the ground, then back to the improvised siege equipment. Then he drops it. And laughs. Both men roar with hilarity, soon joined by the recovering pirates. Soon, bottles start to appear and the whole group down bottles of rotgut like they''re water. I don''t understand what is happening. Is this a men thing? Fifteen minutes later. Wallace points at a map salvaged from under a broken table. "This here cross marks Cotton Cove, it should harbour the Sainte Rita, one of the many smuggling ships used by the pirates of Barataria under that accursed Frenchman, Jean Lafitte, until the day after tomorrow. The ship stays anchored long enough for the crew to unload their goods, get drunk off their arses, load some more loot then fuck off. We''ll catch them with their pants down." Good, then I will have my fill of blood for the first time in two bloody weeks. "To avoid detection I''ll take Loustic, Moise and the first shift crew to go by foot and take down their land-bound team. Patterson, you''ll drop us off half a mile up the coast and cut off their retreat. Milady, hm, would you mind staying with us?" "Not at all captain." "Good, hrm, good. Then it''s settled. Let''s go." Those mortals are only a little scared of me, and they are all deferent. I could get used to this, of the normal ones knowing what I am and accepting it. I remember the creed of the Eneru vampire faction and their hidden cities, filled with people who know what they are. I can see the attraction of a symbiotic relationship. Loth and I return to grab some effects and our weapons and board the pirate ship. The smuggling base at Cotton Cove is very cleverly designed, I will give them that. No road goes to it and as far as I can see, it is hidden from passing ships by judicious use of rocky outcrops and vegetation. Three ramshackle buildings huddle under cover and the telltale plumes of smoke are noticeably absent. I raise a fist and the men behind me stop. "No signs of them. Stay here, I will scout ahead." I move to the compound and stop ten paces away from the main entrance. I smell that lot of blood has been spilt here very recently. I detect no heartbeat. I silently look through every window and see nothing but crates and personal effects. My summary inspection over, I return to the others and inform them of my findings. The mood turns grim. "This ain''t good," mutters Wallace. "Let''s check the base thoroughly and then proceed with the plan." I add. Ah, I was really looking forward to a good meal. This setback is¡­ Unfortunate. For our allies. No, Ari, hold on. They are under Isaac''s protection and he trusted me with those enticing people. I need to at least try to keep them safe and sound and delicious. I mean, safe and sound. Ignore the Thirst. I have done it before and I can do it again. We reach the buildings once more and Wallace and a few others remove the cover from lanterns to inspect their surroundings. I lightly tap on the captain''s shoulder. He turns with fury but flinches when he finds himself staring at my mask. "Two people were killed here." He points his light at the ground, where ominous red pools spread an extinguished brasero." "Recent?" "Less than three hours." The man swears like a sailor, which I guess he is so it should be fine really. I wonder if he would swear less if I made him more pliable. Just a small bite¡­ "Those torches were lit, they were doused. Milady, can you see anything else?" I point at the largest building. "More blood here. No one alive." Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. I lead them into what turns out to be the barracks. Two double beds and a few hammocks surround a cooking station as well as an upended table. Stained cards litter the ground. Blood marks in pools and splashes cover almost everything. The stench is unpleasant. "Still no bodies¡­" mutters Moise. I do not reply, instead I grab under a bed to reveal a severed hand still holding two cards. Jack of spade and queen of heart. Ominous. Loustic runs outside to retch. I sigh. "So they took most of the bodies. Who would do that?!" asks a pirate. I doubt it was vampires. It is far too messy. Even a rogue one would drink his fill. Out of ideas, I inspect the wound on the limb I found. A blade and overwhelming strength cut it which does not mean much. I believe that at least half of the men present would have the strength to do it. Are we too late? Did the Brotherhood''s muscle do that? "We need to get to the ship." Loth and Dalton show no fear but the pirate crew is more apprehensive. A few mutter about monsters and one of them stops in the middle of signing himself when he realizes I am watching. "Yea¡­ Let''s go. Come on lads, time to earn your pay." Our group leaves the abandoned buildings and we follow a small trail to a pier hidden in the shadow of an islet. We find an empty rowing boat and traces of blood. "I ain''t going! Tis some vile sorcery, it is!" mutters one of the crew. "He''s right cap''n we don''t know what we''re up against!" A part of me knows I should let Wallace handle the discipline. This part of me is buried by another, much more interested in this development. "So, you are not going then?" I ask lightly. Silence is made as eight people hold their breath. For a moment, nothing happens, then the entire squad scrambles aboard. Good. And also, slightly disappointing. Men start rowing while Wallace and I stay at the prow. The night is rather dark, and his attempts to spot something on the Sainte Rita''s deck are so far fruitless. I could just tell him that there is nobody there but I do not bother. Rather, we have a small problem. "Loth." "Aye lass?" "If you use any more power to row we''ll soon complete a circle." "Ah, right." Even with Moise on the other side, the strengths of the teams are not balanced. I would need to row myself and that is not happening while MORTALS ARE HERE TO SERVE. We make our way across the cove in relative silence. The men smell appetizingly terrified. Perhaps I should¡­ No. I can wait a bit more. Soon, Wallace expertly aligns the rowing boat with our target and I jump on the deck while the others climb up a netting. Deserted, except for more blood. This one is slightly older and I deduce that whoever slaughtered the smugglers started with their ship. I open the only door to the lower level and listen. There is exactly one heartbeat left. The crew gathers upon the main deck with their backs to each other. The tension is palpable. I signal Dalton who relays what I found to Loth. The pair climbs down, soon followed by an irate Wallace, angry at losing the initiative. Two men are left behind to guard the rowboat. They exchange a nervous glance and when they turn around, the rest of us have disappeared. I wait, hidden in the sails. The smell of the sea and the sound of the waves lapping at the hull relax me. This is the waiting part. After a few seconds, something clicks on the treated wood, I wait. More things click on the side. Fascinating. They can at least breathe underwater. Now eight things are crawling up towards the clueless pirates. They are standing back to back with their pistols drawn, sweeping the darkness with their lanterns. I wait. One of the things pops its head above the railing and I am once more surprised, and pleased. This is a man-fish! Or a fish-man. Bah, it matters not what it is called, it is humanoid. A bald head covered in scales and a flat face without a nose sits atop a powerful chest and muscular arms ending in claws. Besides the white face, the creature appears to be coloured a deep cyan. This will be interesting. The thing grabs the railing with two hands and repositions in what I recognize to be a prepared jump, then it launches at the two men with a scream, interrupted when I boot its head into the wooden planks. The other four creatures already on the deck scramble and dodge instead of charging, and the two pirates miss their panicked shot as a result. If the detonations have not alerted the rest of the crew, their girlish screams will. "What the fuck is that!?" I shelve my annoyance and grab a thrown trident by the shaft, only to return it to its sender with interest. The strange weapon catches the fish creature in its guarding arms and propels it above the rail. And then the one under my foot grunts a strange, sibylline cry and they all jump out, leaving me with the leader and two urine-soaked seamen. Marvelous. The thing is not struggling so I remove my foot to allow it to move up. It slowly does so and I take the opportunity to inspect my captive. The creature is almost as tall as Loth, though its build is lithe and sinuous. Its legs have been replaced by a muscular tail with pointy fins that slither on the ground. The white of its face extends down to its chest and only stops where the belly button would be. Its eyes are a dirty amber colour with no sclera, the black of its pupils fixed on me. It opens its lipless mouth to reveal needle-like fangs but otherwise stays put. I, however, am quite Thirsty. "It was a good Hunt," I whisper with my fangs out. "Nirari." I freeze in surprise. What?! It speaks?! Its voice is raspy and strange and yet there is no mistaking it. It called my name?! Against all expectations, the creature bows in a supplicant gesture and offers its throat. "You speak my language?" "Nirari, submit." The rest of the pirate crew rushes out. Silence reigns as they take in their terrified comrades and the strange creature kneeling before me. "It''s that devil thing that killed the Sainte Rita''s crew. Kill it!" screams Wallace. "HSSSSSSS!" A collective intake of breath accompanies a collective lowering of guns. "You would not be trying to interrupt my Mistress? Because that would be a bad idea," adds a voice from the back. Loth and Dalton emerge from the depth with a portly shivering man between them. At the sight of the creature, the madman soils himself, adding a new and unnecessary layer to the complex cocktail of odors assailing me. Wallace does not reply. Loustic and Moise both pray, the latter in French. Their inane babbles grate on my nerves. "Do you understand me?" "Nirari, Mashulduru." An expiatory sacrifice. The creature offers his life to redeem the crime of his tribe. "Agreed." I approach and bite. Slowly, the sacrificial essence feeds the Thirst. Ah. Yes. Exquisite. It has been long since I tasted a blood this rich. A ritual offering made by a willing creature. It tastes of the sea, of blood and conflict, of regret. Of desperation. I let go as soon as I received my fill. I am merciful tonight. Those creatures are hunters like me, and they submitted before the power of the conquerors, as is fitting. There is little to be gained in annihilating their leader. I would prefer to earn a favour instead. I lick the wound clean and enjoy the strangeness of the cool scale under my tongue. The released fish-man''s eyes widen in surprise when I gesture towards the ocean. It bows deeply and slithers away. A splash announces its departure. "You let that thing go?" "Yes?" "Are you insane, woman? It killed the ship''s whole crew!" I walk towards the pirates. Everyone but their captain and Moise take a step back. With my half-mask I must look alien to them, although obviously not alien enough or they would not take the liberty to question me. "And? You think to tell me how to deal with my prey? You intend to dictate the terms of our contract?" "It''s not about that! They are monsters!" "And so," I add with a smile, "am I. You are not here to decide who lives or dies, you are here to assist us in getting the information we want. Is that clear?" "Huh, aye." Silence. Is that insubordination that I see in his eyes? We will see soon. In the meanwhile, I have a sailor to question. I grab the man and drag him to the prow of the ship. "His mind is fragile Mistress, I do not know if we can keep him sane." "I care not, I only need one answer from him." I sit the mewling man in front of me. He''s a wreck, tearing up and shaking like a leaf in the wind. His uniform is stained with sauce and I presume that what we found was the ship''s cook. "Let me guess, you found him in the larder?" "Aye lass, now hurry up because we have more ta discuss." "Is it related to their treachery?" asks Dalton. "What do you mean? Have they betrayed us?" "No lass, but they intend to. There are telling signs." "Really?! Really¡­ I was going to interrogate one but you seem so sure..." "Yes, we are. Tell her the signs, Dalton." "Well, they are not trying to ingratiate themselves at all which anyone who wants to pursue an alliance would do, their men won''t meet my eyes, and there are always at least two crewmen with their hands on their weapon keeping their eye on either of us. Finally, they are pirates. They are dishonest by profession." "I am not objecting, however, this could be caution and nothing more." "Easy enough to check lass, if they delay our landing until dawn, they are planning something that needs you to be out. In the meantime, question the lad." I forcefully raise the cook''s head to me. He stinks horribly, stubble covers his fat jowls and he has a face a drunk mother could not love. Drool drips down his fat lips. They let this creature prepare their food? At this stage the fish men eating them is just nature correcting itself. I grab the arm and bite lightly, capturing his attention with my eyes. "Tell me your name." "They... they came from the sea!" "Your name." "Huh?" "Look at me. Good. Now give me your name." "Allan Parks." "Good, Allan. How long have you been serving aboard this ship?" "Three years, as a cook, mam." "Under who?" "Captain Strauss mam." "And during this time you stopped at Savannah, correct?" "Yes mam, three times." "On the last time you delivered items for an auction, correct?" "Yes mam, from stuff they found on that accursed wreck, capn Strauss and his dumbass first mate." "Where was the wreck?" "The monsters, they..." I push harder and the rope between us starts to unravel. I grab it in the iron grip of my will and return his attention to the here and now. "Where. Was. The. Wreck." "Agh! On the beach! By Black Harbor village!" "And why did you say it''s cursed?" "Aaaaah my head!" "WHY?" "They came for him! The first mate! Those crazy strong goons! And then the monsters... Nooo!" I drop the babbling body at my feet. His mind is gone, snapped like a twig, but I have what I needed. So, some people abducted their first mate. It must be the Brotherhood, they know where the wreck is. I feel like we are always a step behind. "Our foes know. We need to head back and warn the others." I snap the poor sod''s neck and we leave the prow to find the crew hard at work with sails and ropes. Loth first, we climb on the structure behind the biggest mast, called aftcastle according to my companions, to find the captain at the wheel. "What are you doing?" asks Loth without preamble. Moise, by him, crosses his arms threateningly as matter of habit, surely. His frown softens when he realizes who he is trying to impress. "We''re leaving this place, I''m not using the rowing boat with those things around. My ship will escort us back to Clarkson''s Cove and you can be on your way from there." He is not asking for hazard pay or about the fish-men. How¡­ Uncharacteristic. "When do you think we will arrive?" I ask. I watch patiently from behind my mask as a rivulet of sweat falls from his temple. Nervous, are we? Truly these people do not have the means to match their ambition. "Probably sometime tonight, huh, that said we''re slower because we don''t have a whole crew." "Is that so?" Sweaty silence. "I was wondering, was taking the Sainte Rita part of your agreement with the Consortium? "Huh, sure it was. I''ll settle it with Mr. Isaac. No worries." "Is that so?" Even sweatier silence. "Well, I will be below deck until we arrive." The man nods and when I turn around, I hear two sighs of relief. I should not be picky since those are pirates after all, but those gentlemen of fortune cannot be the sharpest tools in the shed, or in this case the saber rack I suppose? Disappointing. Annoyed at their mediocrity and quite proud at having used ''below deck'' in an actual conversation, I open the door leading down, a decision I regret immediately. "Ugh, this place stinks!" "Pirates are not known for their pursuit of hygiene, Mistress." "Hsss." "Don''t do that Mistress, or you will have to breathe more of this air." I hate it when he is right. A flight of stairs leads to an open surface against the hull. Hammocks still hang from posts stained with congealed blood. Further up, a cooking space and the storage proper occupy the space. On the side are the main attractions. "Is that?" "Naval guns lass, yes. Four on each side." "They look old." "They are, but they are the cleanest thing on this sorry floating derelict." "Right, well, they shall remain unused. I will neutralize the crew and we can leave using the rowing boat as soon as it is convenient." "Right." answers Loth with a twinkle in his eyes. Dalton looks strangely excited by our adventure, he inspects the interior of the ship looking for the Watcher knows what. I hope they are not up for some dastardly shenanigans for I am not. We are going to head back to solid land and nothing untoward will happen. Nothing at all. "I''m heading out, " I announce and approach the hull. As expected there is some sort of opening, currently shut tight, that allows the guns to be fired upon enemy ships without first blowing a hole through the thin partition separating us from a horde of fish-men, squids, and an entirely unreasonable amount of salty water. I play with the chains to try and open it, first by myself and then with the condescending help of my two companions. "Hsss" "Just trying to help!" The very picture of innocence, those two. I climb out with my talons stuck in the salt-encrusted wood. I am close to the water when something breaks its surface. The head of the fish man I spared earlier. He is accompanied by his whole party. Their agile bodies slice the surface and they cast unreadable glances at me before diving back under. I suppose we are in a state of truce for they are content with just watching me. I angle myself up and climb along the wall in complete silence. I detect eight heartbeats, as expected. There are three on the aftcastle and the rest moves around, except for one that stays at the prow. I slowly make my way there until I see him. Loustic is acting strangely, opening and closing his lantern to provide light signals. We are currently moving along the coast and he is making those signals towards the sea... Ah, of course, he is communicating with Wallace''s ship, the Red Maiden. That is not entirely unexpected and not too worrisome. I shall just wait until the message is sent and then strike. I climb up ever so slowly as my unfortunate victim leans forward to better read the response. I push myself at the limit of the bannister. No one is looking. A blink later, I drag the pirate above the railing by the throat and bite, with one hand stuck to hold me and the other wrapped around his mouth. He is so close to me, intimately so. His heart thunders just below my elbow and my knee is a bit too close to his manhood for respectability. Both of his hands rest on my shoulder with all the grip he can muster. It does not hurt me and I do enjoy the light pressure. "You have been a very bad boy haven''t you?" The bite weakened the man''s already fleeting resolve. This is like stealing candy from a sleeping child. Not that I would. "Well?" He nods frightfully. "You wanted to do something that would anger me, yes?" Nod. "And that''s bad right? You do not want to hurt me." He shakes his head frenetically. "I''m a bit disappointed but I will forgive you, if you tell me what you had planned. Whisper it in my ear." His warm breath tickles my skin and makes my hair flow. I think I would enjoy drinking him dry very much, though it would be terribly unwise. I am, after all, well-fed. "We were not going to hurt you. We were going to seal you in a coffin and ransom you to the rich bastard." "And the others?" "Them as well. We were just going to rough them up if they put up a fight. We were not going to kill you I swear!" "I believe you," I whisper back, then break his neck. I lower myself and the body to avoid making a splash. Just as I lower myself enough, the lead fish-man raises up from the ocean and grabs the body before passing it along. It disappears under the black wave. Now I understand. They must be acquainted with my Master and expect its spawn to leave behind a trail of corpses. Vindicating their beliefs annoys me slightly. I am not like him. They betrayed us first. I am different. When I reach the railing once more, I take almost a few seconds to study where my foes lie then strike. I jump from the railing up to the front mast and break the neck of a sailor working on a rope. Before he can react, I slay his companion. I immediately jump and land behind a third man and stab a finger between his eyes. A knife at the back of the head silences a man looking at the coast. "Did you hear that?" "Hear what?!" I jump on the aftcastle and rush the last sailor currently at the tiller, no it''s called a wheel, and slice his throat open in passing before burying a hand in Moise''s chest. Just as expected I need to stab behind the heart instead of the organ itself, then it''s easier to go through the ribs. I flip on myself and throw a dagger at Wallace. The ship lurches and my throw misses. This gives the captain enough time to take out a pistol and a cross. With one hand I snap the pistol away and with the other, I crush his hand around the Christian symbol. "It only works if you believe it, you imbecile." Truly pathetic. I can hardly believe that those idiots exist on the same plane of existence as Synead. The world is vast indeed. "Do what you will monster, I''ll see you soon in the depth." Uncaring, I almost take his entire head away. How is that for a witty retort? "Mistress, the wheel!" Dalton erupts from below and sprints to the aftcastle. Ah yes, the corpse of the sailor dragged the wheel to the side and now we are heading towards the ocean. My Vassal replaces the deceased, what was it called? Ah yes, a helmsman. He rolls the thing right and soon we realign. And not a moment too soon. From the other ship, a whistling sound comes accompanied by bells and the yells of men. We are discovered! Pah, I should have been more careful! If the ship had not changed course, we wouldn''t have... wouldn''t have... "Dalton, why are you wearing a tricorn?!" "No time! Mistress, go to the foremast and unfurl the sails!" "Which one is the foremast?!" "The front one!" "And what''s unfurling?" "Loosen them so they expand and catch the wind." I grumble my way and untie overly complicated knots, moving left and right like some accursed monkey. Disgraceful! I am a vampire, not a bloody deckhand! "Brace!" From the Maiden comes the boom of canons and a terrible whistling noise, a moment later projectiles fly over us and rip into the sea, except one which smashes into our side with a groan of shattering wood. "Bloody hell! They''re firing on us!", I exclaim. "One minute a sailor and you''re already swearing?" I slap my hand on my mouth. Aaaaa no! "Unfurl the other one Mistress I think Loth is about ready!" I jump again and repeat the previous unknotting, silently this time. Just as I free the last one, a gun roars from below deck. "Was that us?" "Ahoy!" He''s enjoying this far too much. The cannonball curves elegantly and maims the side of our opponent just at the limit of the sea line. Loth timed his shot perfectly, just as we were cresting a wave. "The wind is picking up Mistress you need to reef the sails!" "Did I not just unfurl them?! And what does a reef have to do with anything?!" "Just do what I say!" "Arg!" I follow his indication, all the while pestering against all those complicated words and Dalton''s suggestions. "No, Vassal, I do not want to be the bosun!" "But vampirates! Think about it!" "No!" Loth fires once more, from a different gun this time and his aim is true. Another hole appears, slightly higher. This was too fast for a single man. I understand now, they loaded all four canons while I was cleaning house. Smart. It also means that once we are out it will take an eternity to reload. "Brace!" The Maiden fires another broadside. This time no less than three cannonballs wrack our flank, one of them clipping a mast. It''s only a matter of time now. Dalton still does his best to keep us more or less facing them but they are faster and it seems that their plan is working. In order to stay aligned, we are turning right. Or was it starboard? Whatever. Soon, we will enter shallow waters and possibly run ourselves into some rocks, or we will have to turn left and let them fire on us without returning it. Loth''s third shot bounces on the surface of the sea and damages their railings, but nothing more. From the depth, a roar of anger in mixed English and Dvergur complaining about ''garbage pig iron'', and ''inbred manufacturers'' shakes the night. I am about to despair in the middle of reefing the other sail when I notice that our foe is starting to lurch. "Those accursed sea dogs are taking water! Haha!" Seriously. Loth''s last shot strikes the front of the hull and adds another leak. It seems to be the tipping point. The Red Maiden slows down and we start to overtake her. Then I hear screams. It appears that I made new allies. Silhouettes crawl over the tilted deck and slay distracted sailors while the rest ineffectually attempt to stem the tide of water invading their hull. The battle is won. "Nirari. Offering." This fish-man is a fish-woman now that I take the time to look. She distinctly lacks breasts but her form is definitely feminine, especially around the middle. Her face is also thinner and more delicate. She is the one who threw the trident at me, a weapon now lying on the ground as a gesture of peace. She was the first to timidly climb up our side, soon followed by the rest of the raiding party, and now kneels in the position of the supplicant. I want to tell her that if they managed to keep up with a ship for that long they can just take the bodies and go because I am not swimming after them to extract payment. The language barrier is a real obstacle, however. I sigh and look at my companions. "What are you two even drinking?" The men are passing along a bottle of aged glass with blurred contents. Dalton is still wearing the accursed tricorn and refuses categorically to remove it. "Aged rum from the Guadeloupe. A delicacy. It will put hair on your chest." "Don''t you think you should remain sober at least until we reach the land?" "Let us celebrate this victory lass, also, it''s rude to let a lady wait, ya know? Even if she is half fish. Just as cousin Gromling used ta say, don''t let the wet lady go to waste." "Loth!" "Seriously, refusing offered blood is rude, pretty sure. Means you think her unworthy and whatnot." Despite the decidedly dubious explanation, he is right. I should honor her offer. It''s just that... Ah no matter, it should be fine. Yes, totally fine. Her blood cannot be that potent. I bite. She tastes less of the Hunt than her packmate. Hers is tradition, direction, and quite likely magic. I lick the wound clean and they are on their way. "Right! No more idiotic pranks! We head back with huuuuh serious! And decorum!" "Absolutely lass we''ll do it right proper. And that''s a promise." One hour later. "There were two lofty ships from old England came, Blow high, blow low, and so sailed we; One was the Prince of Luther, and the other Prince of Wales, Cruising down along the coast of the High Barbaree. "Aloft there, aloft!" our jolly Dalton cries, Blow high, blow low, and so sailed we; "Look ahead, look astern, look aweather and alee, Look along down the coast of the High Barbaree." S§×arch* The n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. There''s nought upon the stern, there''s nought upon the lee, Blow high, blow low, and so sailed we; But there''s a lofty ship to windward, and she''s sailing fast and free, Sailing down along the coast of the High Barbaree. "Oh, hail her, Oh, hail her," our dread vampire cried, Blow high, blow low, and so sailed we; "Are you a man-o''-war or a privateer," said she, "Cruising down along the coast of the High Barbaree." "Oh, I am not a man-o''-war nor privateer," said he, Blow high, blow low, and so sailed we; "But I''m a salt-sea pirate a-looking for my fee, "Cruising down the coast of the High Barbaree." Oh, ''twas broadside to broadside a long time we lay, Blow high, blow low, and so sailed we; Until the Prince of Luther shot the pirate''s hull away, Cruising down along the coast of the High Barbaree. "Oh, quarter, Oh, quarter," those pirates then did cry, Blow high, blow low, and so sailed we; But the quarter that we gave them ¨C we fed them to the fish-men, Coming down along the coast of the High Barbareeeeeeeeeeee" "Dammit lass, I love you dearly but you really, really can''t sing for shit." Chapter 43 - 43. Confluence After Dalton had his fun, Loth takes over and gets us moored or anchored or whatever it is called to the Clarkson Cove pier. Nobody in the tiny port town even reacts to the obvious signs of battle damage and I am reminded that this nation is at war with a naval power. Privateers and raided merchants are almost an everyday occurrence. There are even talks of ships fighting duels, one on one, as if they were champions of old. Loth heads out to the city of Black Harbor to scout it while Dalton and I leave to meet up with Isaac. I spend the day slumbering and at nightfall, leave him and our carriage behind to sprint across the land. I move faster than a galloping horse and a trip that could have taken a day took me only two hours. When I arrive at the inn Isaac decided upon, I find it surrounded by a modest but orderly military camp. The mercenaries on guard do not challenge me. Instead, they direct me to the building''s main room, where I find Venet and Isaac with several officers surrounding a map of the surrounding states. "Do you have it, Ariane?" The men turn and notice me. I left the mask to my side behind but kept the rest. We are reaching the end of this play, and I expect us to fight at any time. They are nervous, but not the shifty nerves of the pirates. They know that they face a creature against whom their training would not suffice. This grants me a modicum of apprehension tinged with respect. "Yes. The wreck is one day away from the city of Black Harbor. We asked and located it. It''s here." I place a black claw on the map, at coordinates we confirmed with Clarkson''s Cove only cartographer. "There is more. The Brotherhood captured the first mate some time ago. They probably know where it is." Venet and Isaac share a glance. "Well this complicates matters. We have confirmed that the British have landed in Shreveport minor, here." He points at the map, suspiciously close to Black Harbor. It is likely that the small port could not handle an expeditionary force of this size and decided to go to a bigger port to unload troops and equipment. "There is no doubt that this is the work of Ascendency." "How many?" "By our estimates, eight hundred plus field artillery. A hundred horses." It takes all my experience to school my face into displaying no emotion. "I cannot face those numbers plus their mages, even in a war of attrition." "And you will not have to. You will be pleased to know that Mr. Fillmore has been found guilty of abduction and other heinous crimes. He was quietly retired and the shame proved too much. I''m afraid he took his own life." Isaac''s voice is filled with regret, a performance I am personally impressed with. It conflicts beautifully with the air of smugness he affects. Like a cat who has found the bird''s nest. Note to self, the consortium can retire and kill off a governor in one week flat. "Following this unfortunate event, you and Loth have received a full pardon and we can now draw on the strength of the local military. Match their troops with our own. I took the liberty of mobilizing the 4th regiment of line and the Georgia militia. I will sign their marching order as soon as this conversation is over, and our plan set up. Mr. Venet, how do you see us proceeding?" "We should link up with the army and force march to Black Harbor. If we take the field first, we can set up defences and force Ascendency into a disadvantageous attack. Time is on our side since they can''t get supplies easily, and if we have to attack them first, their Napoleonic war veterans will chew through our green troops like a hot knife through butter. My men can form a solid core but there is only a hundred of us and the locals won''t trust us." "You are mistaken on the last point, Venet, time is not on our side. This is not a battle for land but for an artefact. The first one to get it wins, no matter if his army is decimated in the process." "With all due respect sir," "With all due respect nothing. If the Herald gets his hands on the box, we lose. I do not have to explain myself to you, I need you to trust me on this." "Very well sir. Our initial plan remains the same then, however we will need to apply constant pressure on their forces so that they cannot send searching parties. This will be... difficult." "I believe I can assist with this. I will have reinforcements from irregulars." I add. Isaac raises a brow in a public display of curiosity. "The Choctaw and the Muskogee will fight by our side." "We don''t need help from savages." "Hssss" Silence. Isaac coughs lightly to lift the tension. "I agree with Ariane of the Nirari Mr. Venet, we need all the help we can beg, borrow or steal. The land around Black Harbor is heavily wooded and native fighters will be of tremendous help." Venet agrees reluctantly. His pride is misplaced, for beggars cannot be choosers. "To summarize, Mr. Venet and myself will link up with the army and make our way to the wreck by the most direct route. In the meanwhile, you shall gather Loth of Skoragg and whatever irregulars you can gather and join us. If possible, delay them. They are closer to the wreck than we are. Is this agreeable?" I appreciate the courtesy and signify it with a minute nod, which he immediately mirrors. "It is, then I shall be on my way." I stand facing the thorn wall at the edge of my dream fortress. I managed to warn Nashoba of my need to speak by thinking about him, his blood, his eyes when we first met. I also touched the earrings he gave me before succumbing to torpor. The result is that I can feel him through the wall, and he has not yet managed to establish a connection. I feel a vague sense of frustration, then of energy rising and rising, then it being released all at once. Finally, there is peace and the way opens. When I am done crossing the fog barrier, I find him in the middle of a pine forest playing with a cone. He is dressed in dark leather and his face is painted in fearsome colors. A war club lays by his side and a quiver on his shoulder. His laughing dark eyes peer at me from under thick dark hair. Just like Dalton, Nashoba has grown a lot since I first met him. "What took you so long? What happened?" "I could not fall asleep to come see you so I, ah, asked Tinami for help." Tinami? That is a girl''s name... "Oooooh I DID NOT NEED TO KNOW THAT!" "Why are you so squeamish, daughter of thorn and hunger? You should make love too, it will soothe your spirit" "Keep going and I''ll soothe your spirit forever." "Tut tut, one cannot deny the needs of the body and stay in balance. But that is a discussion for later. Time is upon us, I know. I am leading my war band to you." "It is already assembled?" Nashoba takes a thoughtful expression. His acting is terrible. "Have I ever mentioned that I could see the future?" I am polite and respectful and would never be caught dead uttering the term ''smart ass''. It did, however, cross my mind. "Then I will depart before you bequeath any more wisdom upon me, oh great one." "Before you do, Ariane, I wanted to thank you. I knew I could count on you. You know what the key that breaks needs to be triggered. Our people are currently scattered and vulnerable. We lack Nightwalkers to face this menace and the tools to warn everyone. If we fail now, the carrier can disappear in our lands and carve a path of destruction across the land before they can be stopped, if they can even be stopped at this point. You really are my only hope in this junction... I pray the spirits that we succeed. I will see you soon." The curtain of cloud falls on me. The village is completely deserted. The smell of carrion spreads from cattle slain in their own fields and left to rot. The houses stand empty of light, broken doors and blood trails the silent witnesses of the horrors of war waged on the defenseless. In the distance, a dog howls dejectedly. "Where are the people?" asks Dalton in a low voice. I point at the burnt husk of a church. Thin smoke and trails of ash stream in the wind and carry with them the scent of cooked meat. "Why would they do that?" "This is their main foraging party. Perhaps they did not want to leave anyone to relay their presence." "It seems extreme, even by Brotherhood standards." I nod. This is the second depopulated hamlet we have come across while following the trail of the British horse. Well, either them or a hundred strong group of bandits sprouted out of nowhere and decided to devastate the countryside, which is practically impossible. We will find the Ascendency expedition at the end of this path. Dalton is showing signs of exhaustion. He has been working both day and night this past week, only catching sleep here and there. Watching his darkened eyes, the stubble on his cheeks and the strain in his voice causes me to feel unsettled. I am reminded that he is, for all his qualities, just a mortal man. He is vulnerable. A simple mistake may cost him his life and tiredness makes men prone to them. I need to keep him away from danger until he can rest. I wish I could turn him. I would lose a competent Vassal but I would gain a friend, alas it is simply impossible. It took me only one year to become a Courtier when most take around two, and that was already a record. I can''t remember how many times I almost died again during that period. Assuming I keep the same growth, it will take another forty years to become a Master myself and that would make Dalton over sixty-five... He would be an old man, if he even survives that long. Perhaps I should ask Jimena if her clan is looking for a valuable candidate... No, then he would not be one of mine anymore. I will not share. I am at a loss. Loth mentioned it on the day we met, the ephemeral nature of mortal life. He said that being with someone who would not age made a difference. I believed that the loss of his loved ones had taxed his undying mind, and yet the same fear now grips me. "What is wrong Mistress?" "You will die before me." Ah, I replied without thinking. Am I being too uncouth? "Yes Mistress, I would hope so!" "I cannot change you. I am too young." "I do not want to be changed." "Really? I thought..." Dalton shakes his head. "Loth told me more about what the change means. It is irrelevant to you now but not to me. I do not want to become a vampire." "You will grow old and die." "Yes, as did my ancestors before me. Mistress, you are letting the future ruin your present. Cherish the instant and let the memories you create now accompany you throughout the centuries. For example, look at what we found," he adds with a smile. In front of us, the road descends into a wooden valley currently specked with campfires. Rows of orderly tents cover the ground in a sprawling mass. A river cuts the plain in two and separates us from the major parts of their forces. A bridge joins both sides, and upon it, looted wagons loaded with supplies cross at a snail''s pace. "It appears that we found the expedition my dear Vassal." At this moment, the bridge explodes in a deafening conflagration, sending horses, carriages and men into the air. Pieces of masonry smash into tents and cooking stations. Fiery embers in red and green ignite supplies and the night soon fills with screams and cries. "And we found Loth as well! How convenient." We just caught the tail of the foraging party and the explosion caught its head. A dozen men are on the ground, unmoving while the rest are struggling to maintain control of their mounts or running around without purpose. The chaos is simply marvelous. I try to capture the moment in my mind so that I can commit it to a canvas at a later point. Just as I think the scene could not possibly be improved, a tall, dark figure emerges from the thickets behind the rear guard. The man stands proudly, clad in a strange looking black armor like a barbarian of old, and with a voice that covers the field, it cries: "UP YERS YA FOOKIN WANKERS!" Wonderful. If unnecessarily vulgar. In case the message was not convincing enough, Loth shoulders his monstrosity of a rifle, lines a shot and takes out the head of an officer trying to keep his men together. Quite literally. When he starts running there are already more than thirty men trailing him. "I am sure he has a plan, nevertheless I shall run to the rescue." "I will hide the carriage." I nod, put on my mask and move around the already nervous horses. No need to make them panic. Before me lies a wooded area, then the road Loth disappeared on. Furious riders spur their mounts there. I can see them through the branches. Now that I am paying attention, those are mostly auxiliary troops probably drawn from the local Brotherhood ranks. No red coats, and there is also something feral about them. They spur their mounts with more rage than sense, apparently unworried that the man who caught them in such a deadly trap would attempt to do so again. Imbeciles. I run parallel to them into the forested area with ease born out of constant practice. I decide not to overtake them as being closest to Loth right now is an unhealthy proposition. As expected, the road broadens into an open field ending in a steep hill. The path forward turns back towards the river, and stands empty. As no one is in sight, the herd of men slows down and only now do the least dim-witted members realize their predicament. Their cries of ''back!'' is covered by my friend''s deafening roar. "Fire!" A line of muskets opens from the slope. The shooters are smartly camouflaged among stones and vegetation, and I am quite surprised to see two dozen of them. Where did he even find those men? Another officer arrives in the clearing just as the Brotherhood soldiers ineffectually exchange shots with their well-entrenched foes. His attempt at sorting the mess is interrupted by another one of Loth''s flawless shots. Despite this, a few combatants still on horse are looking to escape. The first ones are already galloping back. That won''t do at all. Time to show them why you don''t use a horse when expecting to face a vampire. I stand on the dirt path, the head rider sees me and turns to run me down. Cute. Below the surface, the monster stirs. The part of me that always wants to dominate, to tear and to destroy, the part that I always keep in check because it does not care for what I can actually achieve, this part of me, I finally LET LOOSE. PATHETIC WEAKLINGS. IDIOTS. UNWORTHY OF BEING EVEN HUNTED. LEARN OF YOUR PLACE, AS YOU DIE. "ROAAAR!" This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. I catch the exact moment when the lead rider''s pupils contract to a pinprick. The small intake of breath as realization strikes. His horse reeling in panic, soon imitated by all the others. Yes. This is my time. For the next minute, I can just... Let go. Claws into chest. Throw body. Red trail. Next prey. Cleave. Shear. Stab. Swipe. Tear and gore and slice and more. Always more. One behind trying to flee into the trees. Slow and cumbersome and pathetically awkward. Jump after. Roots and trunks are not obstacles, just convenient nooks for me to angle myself, position for the next strike. This is my territory. All of it. Crack the spine then return. Scythe my way through their scattered numbers. The last survivors have formed a turtle formation which I circle. I plant myself on their way. They fire their pistols. I fall to dodge and stand back up in a smooth motion. "Who are you to oppose the coming of the new light?" screams a puny vermin. WILL NOT WASTE WORDS ON DEAD MEN. I rush forward, slide under their blades. No runes in this plane will let them match the speed of a Devourer. Crash into them and send men flying. Whirlwind of blood and limbs. The survivors run in every direction, a few steps before I take them apart. The last one raises pleading hands. No. As the corpse shivers on the ground, I take in my surroundings. Bodies and the moans of the dying. The air is heavy with the reek of gunpowder, excrement and their feeble blood. "Hold fire." Loth struts down the slope with absolute confidence. His heavy black armor does not slow him one bit, which would surprise his men if they knew how much it weighs. A bunch of tough fighters slowly emerges from the bushes with no small amount of apprehension. They truly are a motley bunch from all ages and sizes. The only thing they have in common is long beards and dirty cloth that merge in their surroundings. There is even a one-eyed grandpa with an actual monkey on his shoulders. Is this a carnival or a battle?! As I consider the assembly, Loth stops a few steps away from me and slowly, his followers form a half circle behind him. Their guns and blades are pointed at me though seeing the fear in their eyes, they know perfectly well how much good it will do. Nobody says a word. The tension makes them fidget. Beads of sweat drip down their foreheads, and a few of the most desperate ones even found God if their prayers are any indication. After having his fun, Loth''s scowl turns into a merry smile. "Nice showing lass, now where is Mr. Posh and his merry band?" I slowly incline my head but I do not answer. Loth wants to play the crowd. So will I. Blood drips from my talons onto the ground. Slowly. Drip, drip. Before the first of his men have heart attacks, I reply. Perhaps it is the moment, or perhaps the darker part of me is still close to the surface, my voice is sultry and dangerous. "I left them behind, did not want to miss the fun." The thugs relax. "Ariane, let me present to you the band of the crow, merriest pack of bloodthirsty privateers this side of the Atlantic." "Pirates? This did not work so well last time." The thugs tense. "Oh don''t ye worry I think they will obey just fine. They don''t want to end like Big Pete." "Big Pete?" "Their former leader, the head of Black Harbor city by mandate of Jean Lafitte himself. I mentioned the incoming invasion and he questioned my credibility and my honor. Was quite unpleasant about it as well. We had words." "Let me guess. Some of those were ''ah my eyes''." "Quite so." "Good. Then I do not have to elaborate on what I will do to them should they step out of line?" "Indeed not." "Excellent." The thugs relax. "I''m a bit Thirsty though, I could use a dessert." The thugs tense. This is fun. Unfortunately, Loth objects to me eating his allies and so I leave to get Dalton. The rest of the night is spent watching over them as they rest, and preparing for the next day. It is day. The vengeful orb courses across the skies. Under its vigilant gaze, all that does not belong is purged away, made vapor and ash. In a half-tamed land, two furious foes struggle for supremacy. The first is a mighty lion. Its glorious mane shines golden and its arrogance is unmatched. It prowls through the land without fear but behold! A lean and dark wolf jumps from the underbrush and bites its leg! The king is hurt but not vanquished, far from it in truth. It roars and challenges its opponent. The wolf will not answer. It is a thing of speed and momentum. It will not let itself be drawn. Again and again, the two meet and the nimble overtakes the strong. And yet the wounds remain insignificant because its size is great indeed. And see! The lion spits fire in great gouts. The wolf is hurt! It flees! The feline follows it to its lair! The struggle grows desperate. Suddenly the light dims. The suns sets! It is time, time for what? Time for... FOR ME. The sarcophagus opens and I jump out like a devil out of its box. "Fire whip!" My silver dagger flashes out and the fiery line wraps around it and tries in vain to consume its prey. The blade twists and flashes and breaks the spell. A mage screams in pain in the torched remains of Loth''s tent. My sarcophagus is marred by impacts and shocks and yet it remains inviolate. I grab the mage by the throat. He is wearing the red uniform of the British. Utter panic deforms his features. "Your time is up," I whisper, and bite down. I devour him in moments, but my Thirst is far from sated. I did not feed yesterday, and expended a lot of energy. Loth barrels into the enclosed space. Only when he sees me does he show anything but dread. "Tyr lass, we could use some help. Here, I managed to finish what you asked." He hands me three small spheres with a little needle pointing out. "How do they work?" "Blood trigger. Prick yourself and throw. The enchantment should hold for another few hours." I nod and without a word, come out. The tent was raised under the canopy of a great oak at the edge of tilled fields. Bare earth littered with bodies spread all around me, some clad in red, some clad in pirate leather, but most in the undyed cotton I associate with farmers. A few German style houses in the distance hint at the existence of a larger village. In the middle of a scorched circle stand two men in red coat equipped with metallic gloves and belts filled with strange implements. Mages. An infantry squad of around twenty men has formed around them and fires in the distance at shapes hidden behind fences and low walls. Return fire pings uselessly against a transparent barrier, to the pirates'' cries of dismay. A ruddy man with sergeant stripes approaches one of the mages and screams in his ears. "Sir! Remember our orders!" "For the last time Crespin, you will stop whining or I will have you demoted! We are on the verge of..." "Death." When my voice echoes on the plain, both sides stop firing and the soldiers reform in fearful silence to face me. I smell the tantalizing musk of fear in the air. My, but those past few days have been filled with bloodshed, one battle after the other. I can smell the dried blood on the dress which is starting to show signs of damage. Even my mask is stained by layers of caked red. "She''s bluffing, she can''t stop us. It''s just a legend." says the first mage, a brash young man with a waxed moustache and black hair. Liar, liar, I can hear your little heart pounding away the delectable liquid. You know what you did. The second mage, a portly young man, does not answer. The sergeant licks his lips. His eyes dart left and right like a drowning man looking for salvation. None will come tonight. I am just waiting for them to unload a volley. It will be more convenient to dodge now than when I work on their shield. "They can''t be that powerful. It''s just stories. Look!" Without using his gloved hand, he takes out a pistol and fires it. The powder fizzles and the shot fails. Awkward. The sergeant snarls and takes out his own gun. I see the trajectory and do not move an inch when the bullet buzzes angrily by my head, making a few errand strands of hair shiver. They collectively take one step back. Pathetic. TRULY PATHETIC. SUBPAR SPECIMEN. POOR HUNT. I prick my finger and throw the metal sphere into their shield. It sticks to the transparent surface and with a noise of brittle glass, a half-sphere crystallizes. A breath later my silver dagger punches through it. The whole defense shakes and falls apart with the shrill cry of the portly mage. Got you. The other mage''s face shows incredulity as I remove it from his shoulders. Next are the soldiers. Skulls and rib cages are hard, so I stab them, throats are soft, so I swipe them. Arterial blood paints a darker red on the washed-out carmine of their uniforms. They fall where they are or while reloading or while striking. Some fall with their backs to me. Some I kill as they pray to God, some as they call their mothers. It does not matter, they all fall. The sergeant now faces me with the youngest soldier behind him. He points his saber in my direction, but his eyes are filled with manic fear. "Please, he''s just a boy." The one behind him is very young, perhaps as young as Dalton when I picked him. I point at my mask with a bloody talon. S~ea??h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Is this the face of mercy?" The veteran''s pleadings turn into a mask of steely resignation. "Come on boy, stand up." The one behind him cries hot tears and yet he still obeys. Courage. WORTHY ONES. THEIR ESSENCE WILL MAKE ME STRONG. "This was a good Hunt." I make it quick and feed from the older man only. No time to indulge. When I am done, Loth and my Vassal are waiting at a respectful distance. His men are hiding far behind and none will meet my gaze. FITTING. "Yes?" "Sorry for the rude wake-up call. Our camp was overrun and we only attacked and took it back at nightfall." Loth is in his black armor, not the steam-powered one. Dalton is wearing a lighter version showing a few impacts. They look rough around the edges and more than a bit tired. "The sarcophagus held." "Naturally," Loth scoffs, "those amateurs could not pierce it in a hundred years." "Hmm" My resting place being disturbed makes me feel... Uncomfortable. FIND NEST. TAKE OVER. No, this is not the time to hide. I can do this later. "We are five miles from Black Harbor and we''ve been harassing their column for the whole bloody day. They haven''t been able to reckon or gather much supplies. This was their best effort to take us out in fact, but on the other hand that''s it. We''re spent. If Isaac''s men are not in position by the time Ascendency arrive, we''re done. I can''t fight no more and neither can those lads. Already had to execute two deserters." "Understood, I shall go there myself." "We''re all going. The men need to rest anyway. Tyr, what a mess." I grab my belongings, so my weapons and mask. The rest of it is... Out there somewhere. Like the paintings. It does not feel that important anymore. Loth guides me to a side path. The others, including Dalton, follow us at a distance. In my Vassal''s case it is due to exhaustion, but I am not here to coddle him. As long as he is not in danger he can look after himself. COMPETENT VASSAL. WILL REST WHILE I KILL. "I am going back to the old country after this lass." "Hmmm?" Loth looks at me curiously. "How many people have ya killed in the past week?" I don''t know. I cannot remember. "Can''t tell hey? That means it''s been going for too long." "You... said you were leaving?" "Yes, after this is done. I will not rebuild. I have transferred all my stuff to warehouses on the coast. The Rosenthal will carry them East for me. I''m going home. It is time." "That is... good for you. Is it not?" "Aye, it is. How about ye? Any plan?" "No and I know what you are trying to do. I''m not going rogue. Stop trying to distract me." "Alright. Oh, look! They made it!" We go over the crest of a hill to see where the war for the gate of Beriah will be fought. A natural harbor extends in front of us in all its dark beauty. A village of respectable size is nestled at its end with a few fishing ships moored to its pier. Opposite us, on a rocky promontory, stands a heavily protected stone fort. Only a single open path leads to it, devoid of any cover and on a slope for a good few hundred yards. I see the black maws of a few cannons from where I stand. It would take an army to dislodge its occupants. Or one vampire. A lone flag I do not recognize floats lazily in the night wind. Further inland, tilled fields form an open plain large enough to accommodate the army camping on it. I recognize the American flag in front of some of the tents and a particularly well-ordered enclave that must be Isaac''s mercenaries. The distance between the fort and the army camp gives the impression of our side laying siege. Well at least they''re here. "We should let them know we have arrived and that the Brotherhood is almost here as well." "With a full contingent of mages. Pricks." "Language." "Fuck off." "You do realize you are one of the few people on the planet who can say that and keep their insides on the inside, right?" "I would not risk it otherwise." This is fine, I can save all this frustration and put it to good use... Very soon. We leave the pirates behind and take a road leading to the camp. Dalton leaves to stumble to Venet''s tents while we reach the main entrance guarded by two men. The officer''s tent is clearly visible in the distance as the largest one. The first sentries spot us. "Halt! In the name of..." I capture their minds and slap them like insects. "Back off." They take an involuntary step back. I have no time for this. I make my way forward with Loth in tow. I can hear his soft chuckle as men fall silent in shock and surprise at our sight. I know he is intimidating in his black armor, and that I am covered in blood. An angry looking old corporal steps up to bar our way. "We''re with Venet." I simply say, and push on the uncertainty he feels. Yes, walking here like I belong and my mannerisms only give credence to my claims. I step inside the tent before he can react. And through a detection circle. Around a table with a large map stand a small assembly. Two men in the blue uniform of the army, and passably annoyed as well, form one group. Venet stands impassable in the middle while a curious trio forms the second one. They are mages, wearing gloves and a coordinated set of green leathers. There is an old man with an extremely long beard and a scholarly air, a strange person who appears to have shaven every inch of his skin and, to my surprise, a young woman with curly auburn hair. As I enter, the soldiers look up with exasperation quickly tempered by apprehension. Venet closes his eyes in anticipation of something bad and the three collectively jump like a bunch of frightened cats. "Shit!" "Dammit!" Exclaim the two young ones. The old man only tries to discreetly incline his staff in my direction while fighting down an intense panic. That won''t do. "You won''t be able to cast that spell before I shove that staff down your throat." He relents and swallows with difficulty. Clammy sweat covers their brows as they collectively look for a way out of this predicament. Ah, I know how it feels to be at the mercy of a creature renowned for lacking anything of the sort. When it happened to me, I was cheaply bargained into slavery. And them? It will not be needed. I already know why they are here. Mage groups must have conflicting interests, like we do. This cadre of spellcasters is on our side. I return my attention to Venet, but before I can ask anything the ranking officer interrupts us. "Madam, please state the reason of your presence and then leave us. This is a war council." At least he did not tell me that courtesans belong with the camp followers. Progress, I suppose. He is even quite handsome in a sharp kind of way. His uniform is well worn and covers a tall and wiry body. Light brown hairs are gathered in a neat tail reaching his shoulder. Two deep set brown eyes stare at me from the top of an aquiline nose, shining with intelligence and the knowledge that something is wrong. Loth steps by my side and tells a succinct report on the enemy troop composition and position. I do not really pay attention as this is nothing new to me. After his report is done, the officer does not show a single sign of emotion. His assistant, a smaller man with dirty blonde hair and fat jowls takes a discrete step away, anticipating some display of temper. "And who are you? What is this, a menagerie? Venet, if you expect me to believe this POPPYCOCK, you are sorely... Ack!" I interrupt the officer by moving in front of him and grabbing both he and his partner''s throat. "I do not have time for this. You will believe us, or do you need a more... Convincing demonstration?" I let the two men struggle in vain for a few seconds, not expecting any answer, but I do not pursue. Isaac is coming, preceded by his aura. "Ah, I have been careless." he says as he pushes the fabric aside. The representative of the Consortium is dressed like a gentleman at a hunting event. The contrast with us is rather obvious. "Shit there''s another one?" whispers the woman. "Yes Ms. Merritt, there is another one. Please give me a moment with dear colonel Strand here. You too Ariane, I will explain later." We dutifully file out, the mortals only too happy to be away from us. A minute passes and Isaac points his head out again. "Ms. Merritt, Mr Colvert and Langdon, please join me." The trio looks at the tent, then at the camp, then at me, evaluate their chances of escape and wisely decide to head back in. Another minute later, Isaac invites the rest of us. Loth smirks when he sees the thunderstruck faces of the people inside. Colonel Strand looks like he has swallowed a whole lemon, skin included. "Very well, yes, very well. I had not planned to reveal my hand and forgot that you two were going to lack the, ah, patience to try and find me first. Now that the different parties have been... Reminded of what is at stake, we should move forward with our main concern." Blackmail is in season or is it just him? "Even then, I don''t see why we should work with bloodsuckers." blurts the female mage to her companion''s consternation. Isaac gives a minute sign and his eyes flicker towards me, faster that they can perceive. It seems that our roles have been assigned for this play. I am more than happy to act as the iron fist, this time. "Am I to understand that you refuse to contribute?" I ask casually. The question hangs in the air for very little time before the older mage elbows his associate. "Uhhhh no, no it''s fine. Not the first time our order works together with mon... I mean with vampires. For the greater good and all that." A vein starts slowly pulsing on the colonel''s temple. "Can we get back to the matter at hand?" "Aye and first question is, where is the Barataria representative? The one from the fort." While Strand takes a deep, calming breath, his aide de camp answers in his stead. "He refused to work with us, nor give us access to his fortress. He was quite rude about it too!" I raise my eyes in annoyance. Apparently, our cause is not valid enough to garner support. It''s just about the control of a weapon that can turn everyone around it into a murderous lunatic. Nothing too serious¡­ "I''ll be right back." I emerge from the tent with a desire to KILL THEM ALL AND TAKE OVER, no, for a bath. Yes. A warm bath. Calming. With the jasmine soap that is currently ash in Loth''s burned down tent... Arg! Alright Ariane, calm down. We will whip this assortment of idiots in shape and prepare to receive the Brotherhood and everything will be fine. Yes, absolutely fine. I shall head up to the fortress and convince the man in charge of his interest to cooperate through a subtle mix of charm and diplomacy. Yes. Then, I''ll find a tub and peel this blood-soaked dress from my delicate skin. Half an hour later. I strut back into the tent with a man in tow, kicking and screaming. "Nom de Dieu, let me go sorci¨¨re! Diablesse! Aaaaah!" I remove my claws from his neck, leaving two bloody imprints behind. "These are the leaders of the army outside your gates. You will give them your full cooperation, or I''ll do to you what I did to your bodyguard. Do we understand each other?" "Yes bon sang. Please just leave my soul alone!" What? His soul? I don''t even... Nevermind. "Only if you serve us well. If you don''t, I may just strip it from your blackened heart and feed it to a demon. Do not disappoint me." The man nods but as soon as the good colonel recovers enough from his surprise to ask how many soldiers he has at his disposal, all my efforts are undone. "And why should I share this information with a government dog?!" The clicks of my claws on the planning table resound in the silence that follows. Once I have his attention, I position one talon perpendicular to the surface and dig it into the table. Slowly. Our newest addition considers the sound of tortured wood for a brief moment. "A bit above seventy fighting men." Now that wasn''t too hard was it? A bit more and I''ll have all of my supposed allies actually trying to stop a madman from playing god with some eldritch artefact, and wouldn''t that be nice? The rest of the meeting is spent coordinating tomorrow''s battle. Isaac is certain that the Herald will look down on our troops and force an attack, and so soldiers are arranged near the fort. It is decided to leave the village uninvolved to avoid unnecessary civilian casualties. The army will be drawn along a line facing towards the Brotherhood expedition, with its right flank anchored at the pirate fortress and the left consisting of Venet''s battle-hardened veterans. The center consists of militia and regulars in two columns with a solid reserve. The leaders use knives planted in the map to show where they will position themselves, which I find quaint. Loth even borrows one of my silver knives to indicate that he will be coordinating artillery strikes from the fort itself. Isaac brought him his cannon and enough ammunition for a bit of fun. With little left to do before dawn, I leave the soldiers behind to recover the sarcophagus, clean and prepare. Just as I depart, Strand''s aide looks regretfully at the forest of blades and the finger-sized hole in his furniture. "My table..." Our side knows its first casualty. Chapter 44 - 44. Daydreaming Perhaps due to my deep concern, or simply by chance, I find myself at the heart of my mental palace. The Watcher''s tendrils float outside, more animated than usual. The fire in the master bedroom''s hearth brings no comfort. I want to see. I need to see. For the first time, I live the incapacitation that comes with the day as the burden it is. I will spend almost ten hours in slumber, during which my friends and allies will fight, bleed and die, and there is absolutely nothing I can do to change it. I need to see. Show me. Show me! A tendril of purple flashes by the window and I feel a tug. I get out into the main hall and walk down the stairs. Twin reinforced doors open before me. The garden is as strange and beautiful as always, filled with unknown essences and strange rocks. I pace through its hidden alcoves and false paths with a familiarity born out of intimate knowledge. We are in my mind and the place I am going to now, I have never seen before. Curtains of thorny roots part to reveal a small circular pond. Trees curve inward and mask it from the outside. Its placid surface only reflects the eye above, and the black void surrounding it. The reflection is just as strange as the original but not quite as mesmerizing. It is like watching the sun through darkened glass. The blinding glare is tamer, though still as majestic. Show me. The reflection blurs and changes in a kaleidoscope of shapes and colors. I lean closer and the pond swallows me whole. A tall man emerges from the seas, walking leisurely as if the army arrayed against him was of no concern. Dark shapes swim behind as witness to the bloodshed to come. His black hair and beard are plastered against his golden skin and his dark eyes glint with dismissive amusement. An armor the color of the depths emerges from below and enshrouds his powerful form just as the first of his opponents spots him. The last thing they see of his face is the glint of eight cruel fangs before his body is encased in nightmarish plates and monstrous scales. On the shore, a small army has gathered. Two hundred men and women heavily armed with bows, guns and gauntlets. Their colorful robes and armors come from another age, with glowing auras and shiny runes pushing back the darkness of the night. Around them, formations and circles have been dug to stop, defend, and empower. They are ready. "Fire!" From the ranks of fighters, a flurry of projectiles erupts. Arrows, bullets, spears and stones. Spells in beautiful shades of blue and gold. They curve across the sky like a charging horde and descend upon the man. He raises a hand. Three concentric circles of red runes form in the air, then he closes his fist. A blade of purple and crimson is born. It smashes through the collective offensive like the tide through a sandcastle. The curse travels back and hits the carefully erected shields. Layers upon layers are burnt through in an effort to stop the onslaught. Men and women fall to their knees with bleeding eyes and screaming voices. Those behind stop their offense to join the defenders. Finally, the hex fizzles. Behind the army, an old man in an elaborate dress raises an arm holding a stylized lock. At his feet, a complex rune formation ignites, mirrored under his dark-armored foe. Unbeknownst to the mage, the tall man points two fingers down and black runes encircle his wrist, a twisted mirror to the spell thrown at him. For the first time, he stops. The circles around him flash silver. At the same time, a woman in a red tunic sends forth a screaming scarlet orb and a couple in grey lamellar armor rush him from the sides. The fire hits, just as the man''s black Claymore cuts through his target''s throat and the woman''s foil stabs his heart. And then the decoy collapses. Eyes turn to the mage in robes, but too late. Already his corpse is held aloft and his blood drained. The man in dark armor throws it aside and extends his arms, wrists together. A construct like a black tree erupts from them. Where its gnarly branches hit, combatants fall with their bodies mummified as if they had been years in the desert. The spells turns red with absorbed life force and is soon changed into a massive scythe. It impacts the red woman''s defenses and scatters them. The man in grey armor surges forward and his foe steps back before countering with a deadly spell. The knight collapses. His companion lunges but her strikes rakes against an obsidian gauntlet. The same gauntlet lashes out and takes her head. The witch in red is interrupted in her next spell. She stares with disbelief at the blade in her gut. With this, resistance collapses. The vampire lord bends down to Devour the mage, and none stand before him I pull out of the vision. Not this. I saw it before, I remember it now. Yes, Master has returned. I don''t care. He is on some island and good riddance, I only miSs hiM so mUch¡­ No! I don''t need him! I don''t need anyone! Show. Me. The. Bloody. Battle! Something strains and snaps but I don''t care and push on. Yes! It is here, around me! Noon. Ascendency has finally finished their preparations and their infantry moves forward. The battle is joined, just as a horrible surprise comes to hit the morale of the defenders. Two frigates bearing the Union Jack emerge from a bend in the coast and immediately fire on the pirate fortress. Its elevated position protects it to an extent, but walls soon show the marks of damage as cannonballs punch through them. There is no return fire. All the guns are pointed inland. On the American right flank, the regiment of line faces its equivalent in furious combat. Men in blue uniform fire volley after volley from behind low walls, supported by a handful of twelve-pounders. They face those who stopped Napoleon''s ambitions in their crimson uniforms and black hats. The same who stood fast from the sandy dunes of Egypt to Waterloo''s dreary plains. The red line retaliates with accurate musket shots and the support of their own gun park, much larger. Worse, supporting artillery from the fort is made inaccurate by antiquated equipment and the ships'' ceaseless assault. Despite their ordeal, the continentals return blow for blow, just like their fathers did before them. The grounds are littered with dead and wounded, the air thick with smoke, and yet no side will relent. In the center, the battle is not going so well. Strand''s inexperienced militia panics and fires too early, long before their enemies are in effective range. Some of the bullets even fall short due to inept gun loading. The British rank stops at fifty paces and delivers one lethal volley. As the militia reels from the impact, the red line fixes bayonet and charges. The American rank disintegrates under their vigorous assault. The disciplined ranks of soldiers pushes their enemies away like insects. From the outside, they look like a single monster whose teeth spit lead. It pounced once, and now readies for the kill. Thankfully, the fleeing troops join and merge with their comrades in arms of the second line, solidly anchored along a ridge. The British advance is halted by accurate shots delivered under the orders of a screaming veteran officer who has seen worse blows and turned them aside. The main British group attempts to charge again but the militia holds by the skin of their teeth, stabbing ahead at the deadly foe. The monster bleeds from a thousand cuts and after a furious melee, it is repulsed. Unfortunately for the defenders, the enemy general smells blood in the water and soon, commits his reserves to the breach. From behind the reforming infantry, drums and fanfare herald the coming of a regiment of Highlanders, their elite reserves. They soon resume the attack with even greater ferocity. Less than two hours after the first shot was fired, the American army is at risk of being cut in half. S§×arch* The n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. On the left flank, the British advance is checked by deadly shots from Venet''s veterans. Their light grey uniform denotes them as an elite unit and their opponents realize they are facing perhaps more than they can beat. Using number advantage, they attempt to form a half circle around Isaac''s own guard. Just as they reach optimal range, skirmishers erupt from everywhere and lay fire into the close-ranked troops. The British captain orders his men to charge, supported by what is left of their horse. The light troops on the flank are overrun but just as the main rush reaches a small thicket, the sound of a mighty horn blares across the plain. The American cavalry detachment springs from the trees and meets its counterpart in merciless close quarter combat. The red tide is thrown back but manages to retreat in good order. Venet decides not to pursue, worried about his right flank. Then, the tide of battle turns. From the fort, a single canon opens with a deafening roar and hits the lead frigate with inhuman accuracy. A second later, civilians huddling in the village hear mad screams about ''bullshit weather'' and ''dry storage my hairy ass''. A second shot joins the first as the frigate captain realizes what is happening. He turns his ship away, too late. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. The third shell ignites. In a horrific conflagration, the ship''s powder store is set ablaze by an incendiary projectile this world had never seen. The resulting fireball reddens the sky and boosts the morale of the defenders. At the same time, shots from the fortress becomes increasingly accurate under the expert motivation of a certain Dvergur screaming incentives such as ''My uncle Gromir can shoot better and he''s fucking blind!'' or ''Miss again and I''ll shove you down the barrel head first you absolute fucking walloper!''. The right flank is thus bolstered and holds fast. In the center, Strand''s trap closes its steel jaws on the charging reserve. The devious colonel counted on his foe''s disdain of the militia to force an assault in the center and the enemy commander swallowed the bait hook, line and sinker. From the forest on the right, his elite regiment emerges to reinforce the beleaguered militia, while from the left comes a column of bloodthirsty privateers, charging the Highlanders like madmen. Undisciplined and unreliable they may be, but if there is anything you can count on, it is their irrepressible hatred of the English. Men in leather armed with sabers, pistols and axes close the short distance and assault the infantry''s flanks. Sensing the trap, Ascendency orders a general retreat under the cover of their flanks and concentrated artillery fire. Their men escape, but leave many wounded on the field. The day is won. Night comes. IT HURTS! Agh! My head is like in a vice! Why? Why why why. Is it because I pushed this? The ability to see what was going on? Not worth it, not worth it at all, I could have just waited and now I am stuck with this devilish headache! Is this magical hangover? Curses! I push the top of the sarcophagus aside and find myself in Isaac''s secure tent. Dalton is waiting anxiously with a bound man by his side. As soon as he sees me, his face turns horrified. "Mistress? Are you alright?" I attempt to rub my eyes, only to find something sticky. Blackish blood sticks to my fingers. It appears I bled from my eyes and ears. Oh joy. I cannot even be dead in peace. "I''m fine." "What happened?" "Later. Who is this?" Remembering the prisoner by his side, Dalton pulls him up. The captive is a shifty fellow wearing the blue uniform of our allies. One of his eyes is closed by a spectacular bruise and his hands are bound behind his back. His complaints are muffled by a gag, although his eyes move frantically from the sarcophagus. I can guess what is going through his mind. "I knew that they must have infiltrated our ranks, so I kept my eyes open for suspicious behavior. This man was attempting to desert and join the enemy lines when I caught him. Oh, by the way, we won!" "I know." "You do!?" I wave a hand dismissively. There is no time to explain. "Did you bring him to be interrogated?" "Yes, and I believe Isaac wants your help with something. He woke up an hour ago. You may not have the time to hunt." With those words, my future breakfast panics in earnest. I hastily grab him before he can soil himself as it would sour the air, and bite. A quick interrogation reveals that he himself knows nothing. He was only promised a large reward if he could report on our force and their location. Once I am done, Dalton signals outside and the body is carried out by bored guards. I follow Dalton outside to Venet''s command tent and to my surprise, find the three mages standing outside. Venet himself is by their side. "I beg you wait a while, miss Ariane. My employer is¡­ Having a meal." We had a few spies then. I turn my attention to the trio, with no small amount of curiosity. The older man stands with his eyes closed and it takes but a few seconds to realize that he is, in fact, fast asleep. The woman who I remember is called Merritt looks confrontational, but her companion is fidgeting with curiosity. His complete lack of any sort of hair gives him the appearance of a circus freak and his large eyes do not help. I might as well get acquainted with my allies. I have never talked to mages except to inform them how they will die. "Yes?" "Are you a corpse?" We are off to a great start. "I ask because of humor. See, a corpse is filled with vile humor and is a carrier of diseases so if you bite someone as a corpse you will make them sick but at the same time your blood slave looks healthy so it''s probably not that anyway I was just curious please don''t eat me." He talks a lot about disease for someone afflicted with verbal diarrhea. "Dalton is not my slave, he is a Vassal. And I am not a corpse. I do not decay, nor will I ever." "What if you die again?" Seriously? "We turn into ash." The man looks shocked. "What about mosquitoes? Lice?" "We are magical creatures you cretin, we do not have diseases or parasites of any kind." "Even in your hair?" "Yes even in our hair. Are all spell casters maniacs or are you just an extreme case?" "Don''t mind Colvert, he is obsessed with cleanliness." "is this why he looks like a walking alchemical accident?" She nods. "He cleans his hands seventeen times per day." "You are sharing critical information with the enemy!" her companion hisses. The witch and I share a kindred moment between relatively sane people. "I''m Merritt by the way." "Ariane." She scoffs and shakes her head in disbelief. "I never thought I would one day speak with a legendary vampire. You are a thing of myth. It is said that to meet one is to meet death, and the cities you have taken over are black zones where to stay after dusk is to stay forever. And now I am talking to one." "It is a rare opportunity for me also. I only ever shared but few words with mages." "Truly?" "Yes, and they were along the line of ''fire whip!'' and ''please no''." Merritt laughs lightly. "Hah! Yeah, I suppose. Say, one girl to another. How do you get so many men to listen to you? Those old codgers always go about me learning my place and all." "It is mostly Isaac''s influence. We know each other from before, his trust in me gives me a measure of legitimacy." "So it''s because of a man huh." She looks dejected. "Find someone reliable to be on your side and you will not have to fight for recognition every step of the way, he will do it for you." "How could I find such treasure." "Not with your personality, that''s for sure." interjects Dalton. I knew he had not forgotten the blood slave comment. The woman''s face turns ugly and before our attempt at diplomacy is irredeemably damaged, I try to comfort her. "A foe looking down on you acts carelessly, and the air of surprise they affect as they die is that much sweeter." This excellent observation on the nature of the universe is welcome with stunned silence. What!? It''s really solid advice! Born from personal experience! "Ahem. Thank you for those kind words, I guess?" "Hold on, I have questions as well. Are you all part of a mage organization?" Both mages exchange glances. The bald one only shrugs. "Guess it does not hurt us to tell you. We''re with Sanctuary, it''s more like a vague alliance than a real thing. Not like those Houses back in Europe. Langdon is our mentor. He''s in charge when he is awake, so, not that often." Loth told me what little he knew about the mage population. They are the most numerous of the world''s strange denizens, with easily a hundred thousand in the known world. Many only have a smidgen of power, but their trained soldiery is numerous and dangerous. There is a constellation of groups, lodges, secret societies, families, cartels and others with as many objectives and agendas as there are political affiliations. In a sense, they are the true representation of humanity. Insane cultists fight against devoted Christians who think their powers are a gift of God, while devious mastermind and police orders fight for control of local government. Loth''s information is sparse, however, and I assume that there are some groups at the top. "And you oppose the Brotherhood of the New Light?" "Well yeah the guys in charge decided that having a power-hungry lunatic in possession of an artifact capable of mass murder is a bad idea. Go figure." Common sense! I can scarcely believe my ears, surely I am mistaken? "That is sensible." "It is, isn''t it? Oh, it looks like it''s our turn." Venet waves at us from the side of the tent and we join in, the sleepy mage being dragged in by his associates. A more detailed map of the area is lain on a table at its center. The ink is still wet. "Good evening! Good evening¡­ Yes. I apologize in advance if I seem abrupt, but time is short. As you know we have managed to repel Ascendency''s main assault. I shall leave the management of the battlefield to our dear Colonel and focus on what is truly at stake. And by this I mean the key of Beriah. Our good Venet as well as sir Loth have noticed movements around Black Harbor Village as well as the beach, and so I am quite certain that the hunt for the relic is already under way. This is, of course, completely unacceptable. We rule the night, as they will soon remember. Ariane, I am counting on you, and you mages, please support her as best you can. The enemy has many spellcasters and we have not seen them today. Something is bound to happen." Our mortal allies take the end of the sentence as a dismissal and exit with record speed. I stay. "How are you?" asks my host. "I do not know. The past few weeks have been a constant fight against the Brotherhood and their influence. I find myself missing painting, or taking strolls through the woods at night. Anything to take my mind off my worries. I feel myself eroding under this unceasing pressure, losing depth, so to speak. We have a need for balance." "Us more than most. When this is done, you should join me when I return to Savannah. We have need of someone of your talent and can give you shelter while you wait. It would be lucrative as well." "Loth is going to Europe." "It would be unwise for you to join him. Dvergur politics notwithstanding, you are technically a rogue and Europe is extremely policed compared to here. The risk would be high." "I¡­ will think on it." "Of course." "And by the way, do you not think it strange that they would send patrols at night?" "Not really, no. I doubt that their information is reliable, after all. I see two possibilities. The first is that they are desperate. With their failure to take the town, they might just be attempting a quick smash and grab. Such gambit makes sense given their dire situation. The second possibility is that they are trying to trap you." "Me?" "Yes. How many men have died by your hand or that of Loth of Skoragg since you started your offensive?" "I did not keep count." "Vampires trained for war are strategic assets. If they take you out, they will be able to use their mages to conduct night operations in quasi impunity. We only have the three, enough to guard our leaders and nothing more." "We have killed the two they sent after us." "This is nothing. The core of their numbers should still be intact. I expect that you will be facing perhaps ten battle-trained mages, and those two archmages besides. That is why I requested that you are accompanied." "Hmm. We shall see. I will prepare and depart." "Go to the shore and look for tracks heading South. If there are none or if they fell back, go North. We cannot let them search." "I shall do so." Isaac nods, and adds as an afterthought: "Thank you for cooperating. I appreciate your support, as I have before. I will not forget it." "You can''t." We both smile and I leave. I clean my claws with a torn piece of greyish uniform. There was only one group. Eight men with their suicidal runes, no mages. Strange. The three spell casters walk up to me and stop as they take in the devastation around. I can taste their fear in the air, and in their heartbeats, yet they remain silent. "Unless they are truly out of ideas, this is just an attempt to waste my time." The old man will not meet my eyes. He licks his lips nervously before replying. "Yes, but for what?" As soon as the words come out of his mouth, a series of whistling motes emerge from the Ascendancy camp, far to the North, before smashing into the ground. An instant later the night turns red. "For this. Dammit. Back, back!" Chapter 45 - 45. Embracing Modernity I sprint up the cliff to the best artillery expert we have. Behind me, fiery flowers bloom in the midst of our encampments, forcing the remaining men away from their cots and their weapons. Already, a layer of cloying black smoke covers the stars. White tents and piles of supplies are set ablaze by the fire and no one is foolish enough to try and stop it. The air is thick with soot and the unsettling aroma of cooking meat. I left the mages and Dalton behind a ridge at the border of the village and I believe they are safe, for now. The rest of our troops, not so much. I find Loth in his steam armor at the gate of the fortress. From afar he looks like a machine, no, a golem of unstoppable power. The glowing runes on his chest reflect those I saw on his skin on the fateful day he confronted his family. His visor clicks twice. "Hey lass. Funny thing, aye." "We are being bombarded!" "I noticed." "Are those mortars? How do I destroy them?" "Those ain''t mortars lass, those are artillery spells." "What?!" "Read about those. Incredibly rare. Takes a crew of three spellcasters working together to operate one and it can get pretty draining." "I don''t understand. Why did they not use those today!?" Isaac appears from behind us, announcing his arrival with his disciplined aura. "A good question Ariane, one we can answer later. Did you find those teams?" "There was only one on this side of the shore. They''re dead." "Yes, yes indeed, likely a distraction for this setup. Now the mages are quite likely firmly entrenched and waiting on you, my dear." "I will go." "We should¡­ What? Are you certain?" "Yes. They have always relied on the same strategy. Mortals are not the only one who can adapt. Loth?" "I have them and I''m coming too. I have a score to settle." "I do not believe¡­" says Isaac. "They burnt my fucking house." The flames reflect ominously on Loth''s polished plates. The fact that he is almost half again my size makes him intimidating. I like that. "Alright, I''ll get the mages and Dalton and then we''re going." "Very well. We will reform the lines and advance immediately. Oh, and Ariane, do be careful." With a quick nod, we descend into the plain and pick up the rest of our group on the way. Most of the magical shells are landing on what is left of the camp behind us, and so for a while, we will be relatively safe. This will change soon, however, as drums and trumpets sound the muster of the troops. It appears that our foe will attempt an attack. "I thought nobody fought during the night," I remark as we make our way on the remains of today''s battlefield, weaving between corpses and discarded equipment. "Look behind," answers Loth. sea??h th§× novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. I do. Numerous fires dot the landscape. With the bodies around, we stepped into a hellscape that would equal a Bosch painting, were it not for the lack of demons. "So?" "Ah, I forgot sorry. Visibility is perfect here. Those pricks can just show up at the edge of the camp and shoot down anyone trying to retrieve their gear while they stay under the cover of the dark. It''s perfect for them." And here is why they patiently waited until night, so that our men would be unarmed and asleep. Devious. I stop the men behind the remains of a dead horse to eliminate a sentry. With the light of the inferno at our back, my companions will appear as black silhouettes and I cannot risk it. Finally, our little group finds relative safety under the cover of trees. Loth and I guide the rest through thickets and our attempts at discretion appear doomed when it becomes obvious that our spellcasting allies are¡­ Not the athletic type. They trudge through the undergrowth like gravid longhorns. Their breath is like a forge''s bellows. I admit that I have an unfair advantage but Dalton trails me without too much difficulty while even Merritt is red and sweaty. By contrast, Loth is eerily quiet even in his massive suit. They are starting to look tasty. Hmm. No Ari, remember, no eating our allies. They haven''t even proved their usefulness yet. When we reach the other side of the small forest, we get our first view of the enemy camp and its occupants. Soldiers are joining formations in front of their tents, harried by angry officers. I cannot fail to notice the tense faces, the bandages, the hungry looks. These men are not the heart of Ascendancy, they are the normal soldiers brought on a senseless adventure by corrupt men. They probably wonder why they are here at all, questioning the wisdom of their leadership. I smell weakness. I smell despair and the cohesion fraying at the edge. They are ripe for the slaughter, but it will not come by my hand. My prey is another, one who I have been looking forward to face for a long time. "Are we¡­ There yet?" wheezes the bald mage. Perhaps if he spent less time worrying about hygiene and more time moving his hairless self around, he would not look like the rear end of a baboon right now. "No. Follow." Useless. We trail along the edge of the clearing. Fortunately, most sentries are distracted by the preparations behind them and we make good time without being spotted. We soon arrive at the artillery emplacement by following the smoke trails to their origin. I have assisted Loth countless times and even I am impressed by their set-up. The battery is situated at the top of a small hill, in the centre of a vast circle of naked ground. No trees will provide covers for anyone approaching, on any side. The installation itself is heavily fortified with dug trenches where men are lying in wait. Smaller canons are pointed outward, their servants ready to fire on any incoming enemies. Protective circles and the tantalizing aura of wizards lay everywhere. At the highest points, I can see groups of mages working around stubby artillery pieces that look as much as mortars as pieces of art. Their brassy surfaces shine lightly in the darkness with the smouldering red of burning embers, and the surfaces of the barrels are carefully engraved with rows upon rows of vicious runes. "Skargard guns. Dvergur work." adds Loth helpfully. "They look expensive." "They are. You are looking at enough gold to equip a ship of the line here." I have no idea how much a ship of the line would even cost, nor do I care. It is enough to realize that Ascendency went all in on this operation. "We should circle around." Both Loth and Dalton look worried. There is no doubt in my mind that this place is fortified in every direction and those look mighty indeed. I should be able to survive a direct approach. Loth may also, though probably not unharmed. The mortals will be turned to mincemeat. They will have to support us from afar, if at all. Silently enough we turn around until we are situated almost behind them. The pirate fortress is directly in front of us, visible as a dark patch above the treeline, while to our left, the lights of the Ascendency camp shine fiercely. Far away and to the front, fires dot the night and with the air distorted by the heated air, it sometimes looks like a whole city has been set ablaze. Our target lays directly in front of us, so close I could shoot the head off their soldiers. Even being in their back, I can still see at least one field gun aimed backwards and we still have a large force of British behind us. There is also a curious magical construct at the edge of the field, something that pulsates softly like a beacon. Its touch is light and familiar, and I realize that it is attuned to me, and to me only. Only one man could achieve such a thing, and only one man would be brazen enough to take such a risk. Finally. The first shield breaker orb hits the barrier protecting the twelve-pounder aimed outward, a courtesy for Loth and Dalton. The lead gunner barely has the time to widen his eyes in surprise before I remove his head. The second orb hits the circle around one of the mortars and the mage powering the defences screams in pain as I kill her two companions. Then the trap snaps closed around me. The broken circle reactivates and turns silver. All of the other casters interrupt their firing with swear words and add their might to my prison. Hidden in the centre of the hill, men with swords and silvery shields surge forward, forming around the one they are tasked to protect. A very familiar redhead in a green dress walks towards me with majesty in her steps and a sneer on her face. "So kind of you to join us, vampire." "Belinda." "You remember my name. I hope you do not expect me to be impressed, after all, your kind has always been better at reminiscing rather than coming up with new ideas." The assembled mages look at me with a mixture of fear and relief. A motley bunch of different ages both male and female, they are brought together by their expensive-looking red dresses, seemingly made out of some kind of dyed leather. They gawk like children seeing a wolf behind bars. They know it can kill, just as they know that it will never shatter the cage. Despite the shimmering runes around me, the most primitive part of their brains is still pushing them to run. They should have taken the chance when they had it. This time, I am wearing all my gear except my mask, because I am not here to intimidate but to captivate. The men and women arrayed against me ogle my face, my nose, my lips, expecting it to be ripped open to expose the monster beneath, perhaps. It will not happen. Yes, the blonde girl before you is the cause of the slaughter at your feet. See the bodies. See my dagger and claws still coated in her blood. It really is me, no matter how hard it is to reconcile with your expectations. Belinda steps a few feet away from the containment as a statement of power, and of trust in herself and her abilities. I mirror her and we stand only a few feet away. She takes her time to inspect me while I drink in her presence. She is a mature beauty with large inquisitive eyes and an aristocratic face with barely a hint of crow''s feet. Instead of detracting from her charm, it only shows that her confidence is born from experience rather than birth, an impression reinforced by her impeccable posture. The difference with Merritt is striking, I notice in passing. The poor girl looks like an overgrown street urchin by contrast. When she is done with her own inspection, our eyes meet and she flinches but holds. She has an amulet protecting her mind, I can tell, and I do not even try to Charm her through the barrier. There is no need. "You look meeker than I expected." Ten years ago or if she had caught me off-guard, I may have lost my composure. Instead, I slowly turn to the side and walk slowly along the edge of my prison. Then I bend down and her smile falters when I pull up the moaning form of the one surviving mage, the one in charge of the shield. "Why don''t you tell me what happens next while I enjoy this hors d''oeuvre?" She opens and closes her mouth like a beached fish as I casually pull aside the leather coat of the woman I hold, denuding her shoulder. I recognize the glyphs around me. They are quite resilient and in return, quite inflexible as well. It would be nigh impossible to break the trap from within and at the same time, they cannot reach me. Only sound and light may pass, everything else would be stopped, even the air. That means that as long as this prison stays inviolate, so will I. The girl I Devour is short and a bit pudgy, with rosy cheeks and a bob haircut. I cannot risk the loss of focus that comes with a normal feeding but I do drag and enjoy the process for as long as I can. This allows me to maintain eye contact with dearest Belinda and enjoy the impotent rage boiling under the frozen mask she has donned. This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. She and her companions deprived me of a potential Vassal. It is only fair that I share the distress they imposed so callously. When I am done, she still hasn''t spoken so I decide to needle her a bit. It is obvious from her inner struggle that she cared about her sister in craft. "Palatable, if a bit rustic." I say as I drop the corpse unceremoniously. Aaaah, delicious, delicious anger. Her voice shakes with fury and sorrow. Magnificent. And it was so easy as well! "You¡­ Will stay here until dawn while we defeat your allies, and when it comes, I will enjoy your screams of pain while the purifying sun turns your unholy flesh to cinders." "My, are we getting a bit emotional perhaps?" "You are too full of yourself, vampire!" she spits the term as if it were an insult. "You parasites are things of the past. This is the Age of Enlightenment! You will be left behind with the rotten temples and the insane superstitions. We will cleanse this world of all the freaks and curses our own ancestors unleashed upon us. Even this predictable resistance of yours is just the swan song of a dying era. You just went after us again and again in exactly the same way and your insane strength only carried you so far. You fought like a mad beast until you fell into our trap and now, I will put you down like one." While she was talking, three suspicious hooting sounds came from around the hill. I need all eyes fixed upon me so I lean down against my dearly departed breakfast and unlatch her gauntlet, which I slowly fasten around my own wrist. My own armour leaves the talons free and this would be quite painful. "You! You are bluffing! You are not a mage!" They instinctively all take a step back, which I find amusing considering that this formation around me would hold a mage with even more ease than it holds me. "Oh no, this is not for spellcasting. This is for isolation." I take the last of the three orbs Loth managed to create this evening and push it against the shield. Now this is not an actual spell, it is a construct in the same way that the circle around me is a construct. When the two clash, angry bolts of blue weave and dance like furious snakes. Belinda screams and holds her own glove as we push each other, but the barrier is meant to contain and the breacher is meant to pierce it. It is like pushing a needle away with one''s bare hand. It also hurts me atrociously. I do my best to keep the ball in place, but it is so very painful I cannot even feel the tip of my fingers. I grit my teeth in silence. Only cold resolve and a healthy dose of pride prevent me from dropping the abominable thing where it stands. Hurts. Dammit! Allied mages form around Belinda, adding their strengths to her. The breacher glows red in my hand and I let it go before the bloody thing turns my fingertips into charcoals. It. Hurts. I am clamping my jaw so that I do not scream. It takes a good two seconds before Belinda realizes that the cry of pain she hears around her are not my work. One moment, two rings of men in compact formation devote their entire attention to the monster in their midst, next the hill turns into a giant melee as Muskogee in garish colours and Choctaw warriors in leather crash into them with unbridled fury. Ululating war cries blare through the night in a glorious cacophony, supported by insane war drums. Fire arrows land on unarmored chests. Magical white trails from our own team hit shields with keening sounds as tomahawks, sabres and bayonets hack into flesh with desperate abandon. But we are not facing weaklings. Belinda reacts immediately. She steps back under the cover of two of her comrades and though it is weakened, the barrier holds. Even if the middle of such chaos, she knows that letting me go is the worst thing that can happen. That is why she doesn''t flinch when a blue disrupting spell hits her own, though her frown only grows. When a massive cross-bolt obliterates the chest of the man next to her, she still doesn''t relent. I am impressed though it is, of course, all in vain. From behind, I hear a stomping sound that increases in intensity with each passing second. The heavy impact is such that even the in the deafening din of battle, some heads turn in wonder. Then the sounds stop. And coming from above, a roaring steel titan descends two glowing gauntlets on my prison. The barrier does not break, it explodes. Belinda is propelled backward, as well as quite a few combatants from both sides. I raise my hands in a protective gesture until the shockwave disperses. When I raise them up I meet Loth''s goofy smile. "Damn lass it''s been too long! YAAAAAA!" And then he''s gone. Unfortunately, a swarthy mage managed to drag Belinda behind a circle at the centre of the hill, the last refuge I presume, in case things go wrong. Those who can, join it and soon a green shield pushes back arrows and thrown axes. I, however, am running in the other direction. A thing of the past I am? Left behind? I run into my Vassal who looks a tad worried and I realize I am laughing maniacally. "Mistress?" Still laughing I find what I was looking for and get to work. Inside the last stand shield, two mortar pairs form hands while the shield holders are pushed back by native warriors. They raise their arms in unison. "Inferno!" Choctaws and Muscogees cringe in terror from the incoming wall of flame, however the blistering heat never reaches them. The war drums reach a crescendo and jade coloured tortoise scale appear around the shield, stopping the blast instantly. As the enemy mages stare in surprised horror, their defences are pummeled by a bloodthirsty Dvergur warlord and long-range shield disrupters from our own team of mages. I almost hope it will take long enough as I am almost done. Predictable and always using the same tactics huh? I stop mere feet away from the battle line. The warriors in front of me widen their eyes and flee to the side as they see what stands behind them. Belinda was looking around the battlefield for me. Our eyes cross and her pretty mouth form an ''o'' of surprise. It mirrors the gaping maw of the captured twelve-pounder facing her beautifully. "EMBRACE MODERNITY YOU HUSSY!" I ignite the prime charge. The gun vomits its payload in a sonorous deflagration. The grapeshot breaks the defences like stones through a flimsy window. I see Belinda fall and the native warriors surging ahead, brushing aside all opposition. "Oof!" I was so incensed I forgot the recoil and I''m actually pushed back by the moving wheel and slapped to the side. Oooow my poor breast. Can''t even massage it properly through the armour. Ow! Two heavy boots land before me and Dalton helps me to my feet. He watches me rub myself where it hurts. "Hum. Perhaps the timing is ill-chosen, Mistress?" I hiss and move forward. Loth is a bad influence on him. Now is not the time though. I would like to enjoy the fruits of my labour. I find the red-haired witch on the ground. From the waist up, she is her gorgeous self. From the waist down, I would say crushed raspberry. I kneel by her side and pull her head down more comfortably. Her panicked eyes search for mine, as I knew they would, eventually. "We will never be in the past, because we are, and will always be, you." I bite down. Delicious. Extraordinary. With the screams of the dying in the background, victory at last. Vengeance. Challenge answered and insults paid back in full. I am reminded of the first time I tasted a werewolf, back in the Lancaster arena. Ah, but what a wondrous fragrance, and this power. Wonderful. Nashoba joins us looking a bit tired. At the front, Loth is walking down back toward the crackles and pops we hear in the distance. Ah yes the night is not done, is it? I jump over the line of warriors, eliciting some shouts. To my side, Loth''s face is just a bloody rictus and his eyes glint madly with red reflections. We do not need to share words. Led by their war leaders, the natives walk down the slope leading to the battlefield where red and blue troops are fighting for supremacy. We do not go through the forest this time, but directly to them, from behind. With Loth at the forefront, the walk turns into a trot. We are carried on the wings of victory. We tread on the corpses of the vanquished on our way here and the next to know death are in front, just around the bend. I lose myself in the breath and heartbeats of men running by my side flush with bloodlust, the maddened smiles and the predatory postures. Fresh blood and sweats. Maniacal laughs. A stolen memory of the smell of heated sand caresses my nose. I can almost feel the desert wind on my skin, dry, hot, and clean. The morning sun kisses my skin and the clamour and songs around me celebrate the greatest city that ever was, and the queen that led it to glory. This is where we are meant to be. Here at the head of the army. With the wheels of our chariots crushing bones and our spears biting flesh. Let the sentinels follow us to victory. We are at the front, as is fitting, and will claim the first blood. We cannot be stopped. We are without match. And we are without mercy. The men in red see us, hear us, they form a square to stop our onslaught. A hopeless attempt. "Hold rank lads, those are just men! Just normal men!" Foolish mortal. "SEMIRAMIS HIA''LU SALTANIS!" The mortals do not understand the ancient warcries but they follow anyway. There is no turning back from the charge. I breach their line first, headed straight for their prince. The titan of mountain and steel smashes into them second, like a great scythe. His glorious bellow deafens their ears while he sends the foes toppling like broken toys. The prince lowers something at me from his horse. Courage in the face of death, admirable but ultimately futile. I slam him on the ground and take his head with a mighty swing. I give it for all to see, so no one doubts where the tide of battle goes. The men in red break rank. Pathetic. Your wives and sisters will shed tears tonight. "ROAAAR!" I blink. All around me, the ordered world of what is right collapses into the chaos that battle truly is. I realize I am holding a captain''s severed head, still covered with a hat. Hum. I appear to have been slightly carried away. Ascendency''s borrowed infantry has disintegrated. Their rout is complete and even the officers are running for their lives. Soldiers drop their weapons to run faster, with the native warriors on their trails. Farther away, the line is retreating somewhat coherently under the onslaught of Strand''s regulars. A cursory glance does not reveal the Herald and his tower mage though they should have been here, somewhere. I am concerned, deeply concerned by what just happened. Those memories came from Master, I am sure of it. I knew my bloodline would affect how I think, not what I remember. Is this the result of our bond and will it disappear once I gain my full independence or is it fully a part of me now? My worries last but for a second before the cold part of my mind covers it, settles it. It does not change anything. It will remain a part of me for the foreseeable future and no one can change that. And what a part it was. Human Ariane could have had children and a suntan but I got to charge at the head of a host of bloodthirsty warriors like Boudicca or the legendary Amazons, so there. I was able to let go, and it was¡­ Glorious. Now there are still two persons I need to find: the Herald and his bodyguard. They were nowhere to be found. I did not even see their tent in the British camp now abandoned. I returned to our own to find men in the middle of raucous celebrations. Avoiding the crowd, I walk to Venet''s side of the camp where order and discipline are always maintained and soon reach the command tent. Isaac and his second are present, and so are Nashoba, the mages, Dalton and Loth, the last one passably drunk. They look preoccupied except Loth who just looks plastered. "Ah, there you are. Any news?" says Isaac, at the head of the table. "I could not find the Herald." "Ah, you were gone looking for him I see. A thoughtful decision. I will let Nashoba speak on this matter." The shaman looks exhausted and more than a little annoyed. He scolds me as if I were his little sister. "As I was about to tell you before you jumped forward like a pouncing wolf, the future is clouded. I cannot see past this junction and this conflict is therefore not over. We must prepare." "Wait, I thought we broke their backs?" I continue in English. "We did, Milady. We killed or captured almost four hundred men and that is more than half of their effective strength. They are neutralized as a land-based fighting force," answers Venet, "but they have ships. They might decide to burn Black Harbor to the ground, then send search parties after all is smoke and ruin if they so desire." I turn to Loth in surprise. I thought he was an effective deterrent? "Aye don''t look at me lass, I''m just one man and they got a lot of ships. They have three more frigates and if they play it carefully, there isn''t much I can do." "Do you believe this is their plan? And how do you know how many ships they have at their disposal?" "An attack by the sea is the most likely Milady. As for the frigates themselves, we pursued the survivors to a creek two miles up North. They were loaded aboard transports and covering fire from three of their warships prevented us from overrunning their position. I suspect that the Herald is already on board and that it is via this cove that they were able to deploy the elite mage squad you took down tonight without us scouting them beforehand." "I see. I would be of little use in an artillery duel," I note. Venet shakes his head. "Not as such, though there is still much we can do with your help Milady. We will relocate all our guns towards the sea before dawn. I understand that you already participated in a night boarding action?" I wince. "And we will count again on..." Venet is interrupted by one of his men lifting the flap of the tent with visible excitement. "Sir, I think you''ll want to see this." We all exit to see a British ship moored in the harbour and a rowing boat heading to the pier, well lit by lanterns. At its head, a man holds a white flag. "Sooooooo do you mind if I ashk you a questshion?" I am currently cleaning every part of my armoured gown, a task that is normally a moment of calm and contemplation. "What is it, Merritt?" "Do you have to go to the loo?" Ah. So that is it. I now understand why we were sent these three specifically. The head mage wisely chose casters of respectable magical capabilities so he could not be accused of sabotaging the operation. At the same time, he used this opportunity to get rid of the most mentally inept and those whose habits placed them firmly at the bottom of the barrel, socially. I had noticed that Langdon is awake perhaps two hours while I am active, and his companion has been scrubbing himself raw in a bathtub for the past hour and a half. I was expecting Merritt to be at the losing side of a political play but no, oh no, she is just a raging imbecile. I delicately place my brush on the small workshop in front of me, drop the now clean plate next to the other and turn towards her. I am contemplating whether or not I should plant a massive ''DO NOT DISTURB'' sign at its entrance with the witch''s head firmly shoved on top it. That would be a good deterrent. She still isn''t moving. I turn towards her in what I hope to be a firm rebuttal. "I beg your pardon?" "You know, you drink blood right?" "..." "So it''z gotta go somewhere right? It''s the only conclushion." "You know that conservation of mass and energy does not apply to magic, right?" "But I tried to find a spell that stops peeing for years! How can you just do it naturally?!" Gah! "Shouldn''t you be, I don''t know, somewhere else? Don''t you want to unwind a bit? Dalton doesn''t want company? Loth?" Here, two birdbrains with one stone. "Dalton is helping Venet''s men so I couldn''t ashk... And Loth left with the laundry girls," her eyes widen in awe, "all three of them!" Battle always gets his blood pumping. "And you came to me for..." "Yasss! A lady moment! With two ladies!" "Where is your friend then?" The insult does not even register. Her face scrunches in concentration until a deep realization comes upon her taxed mind. "I need to pee!" "Wonderful. Don''t let the flap hit you on your way out." I cannot really stay irate for any length of time. Merritt might be a strange one, but she is a potential source of knowledge on the mage factions of the new continent and someone I may be able to add to my circle, one way or another. Although I may not have accepted Isaac''s proposal officially, I obviously need to. My presence has been noticed by dozens of people and the repercussions of a significant land battle will be felt for months to come. I lost my haven, and I will be hunted down unless I manage to find shelter and there is no better shelter than the ancient and respectable house of the Rosenthal. I am packing my cleaning oil and the last of my throwing daggers when Dalton knocks on one of the stone posts to announce his arrival although we both know I do not need it. Ah, manners. "Come in." My Vassal looks thoroughly exhausted but otherwise healthy. "You should rest." "I will. Just one thing. Colonel Strand contacted us, he says the redcoats want to discuss terms tomorrow evening." "Evening?" Dalton nods. His large amber eyes twinkle in the candlelight. "They know who defeated them." "I would expect them to avoid us." "You and Isaac will be the ones to decide anyway, in the end." Will we? Will I? I am only here to make sure the key of Beriah stays contained. Isaac involves me in the decision-making process because I am our greatest weapon against their elite mages. Or does he? I should try to make a demand on occasion. I have refrained so far because he and Venet have things well in hand. Now though, I am curious. How important am I? "I will seek him. Now go to sleep." "Right away." As for me, I will seek Isaac. We need to align before tomorrow. Chapter 46 - 46. The Eternal Game Instead of asking me to wait, Venet''s two sentries bow smartly and lift the flap of the command tent. I find Isaac sitting at a desk busy making notes, and he stands up as soon as I enter. "Ariane of the Nirari, a capital performance once again. It was a pleasure to see you at work." "You saw?" "Indeed! A spectacle the likes of which I never thought I would witness. The way you tore through their ranks and slaughtered their officer corps in an instant! And brandishing that head was such a nice touch." "Hrm." "Do not be embarrassed. Your actions broke our foe''s spirits and this is what we needed. Shock and awe, not good manners and subtle threats. The right tool in the right situation, applied in measure. I knew you were the right woman for the task. Now, I have a request, but I can tell that you do have something to say. Please, tell me." "I understand that we are to discuss terms tomorrow?" "Indeed. Strand and his counterpart, colonel Ingram, will officially meet." "I would like to make sure that we share the same goals and the same bottom line." "Absolutely. How fortuitous, what I was about to ask is related. You see, I cannot attend tomorrow''s negotiations." "What?!" "Venet estimates that there is a low chance that they will try to bombard our delegation on its way back, should no agreement be reached. I think this is silly, but I am already pushing it by being here. By a lot. I did mention it before, we are forbidden from participating in battles. I am going to be reprimanded on my return... In any case, with my absence, the leadership of the vampire faction falls upon you." Huh, I came here to make sure we got the Brotherhood off the old continent and to see how important I was, I did not expect to get such an immediate answer. "You want me to be lead negotiator for our side?" "I would advise you to let Strand and Ingram do things on their end. We care little about prisoners and other terms. Otherwise yes and why not? You have destroyed their installations over the last year, bought us time and gathered the auxiliaries that brought us victory tonight. I consider you a full partner in this endeavour, and what we care about is the key of Beriah being under the custody of the consortium." He frowns with a hint of worry. "We do agree about that last part right?" "I have no interest in becoming the guardian of an eldritch artefact, Isaac. Just make sure you don''t lose it this time." He laughs. "Look at us, talking about that thing as if it were a ring of keys. In any case, you and Loth will be richly rewarded for your service. Just like every crime against us is recorded, we Rosenthal never forget those who helped us in our time of need. You already earned a significant monetary bonus and we will deposit the sum of five hundred francs on your account when the key is safely on its way to Geneva." "I don''t even know how much that is." Isaac leans forward as if he were about to deliver a juicy piece of gossip. "Enough money to buy a mansion in the better part of Savannah..." "I see what you''re doing." "I would hope so. Have you given any thought to my proposal?" "Well... Yes. Tell me, can you really protect me from my status as Rogue? And from the Lancaster?" "Absolutely. As one of our assets here you would not be a rogue, but an agent from a third party organization under the Accords. Until you claim House status and therefore become a free agent, you will be under our protection. Only the knights would be allowed to track you down and they won''t move unless you commit some serious offense, which, I must say, I cannot imagine you doing. Afterwards, the Lancaster will have a hard time proving that you are a danger when you have stayed in our employ for an extended period of time." "Very well. I would like a written agreement between us that clearly states our terms." "But of course! Of course, yes. We shall draft it on our way back to Savannah, if it is agreeable." "It is. I was also wondering if the beaches are still under surveillance?" "Rest assured, I have men everywhere on the coast. They will not be able to land a search party without our cavalry detachment knowing about it. Now if you don''t mind, I would like us to work on the details for tomorrow''s ordeal. I have prepared a list of conditions that represent our bottom line..." For the next hours, Isaac briefs then drills me on negotiation practices and what terms are acceptable. One thing is certain, Ascendency is leaving this land. I step in Black Harbor village proper for the first time. Both armies mostly left the place alone and the inhabitants had been hiding. Now that rumours of peace abound, they leave their homes to watch us pass with curiosity. This is not much different from Clarkson cove. The houses are made of wood and purely functional. The only adornments are glass trinkets or small decorations that hang about to give some personality to the otherwise dreary place. The inhabitants themselves have sullen tanned faces and mostly plain clothes. Colours are rare. So are young men. I assume that most of them are sailors in one capacity or another and that they left their children, sisters and parents at home. The assembled crowd is strangely silent. The presence of men in uniform is the likely cause for their nervosity. At least nobody is throwing stones. The delegation consists of Strand and a squad of ten men, Venet and two guards, Langdon and Colvert, a war chief named Okili for the native tribes, Dalton and myself. We each represent one of the factions on our side, with the two mages here as an additional safety. Loth stayed behind to work with the cannons while Merritt was tasked to protect Isaac''s camp against possible infiltrators. She complained about it vocally too. One of Strand''s men casts a fearful glance backwards. It appears that rumours have started to spread. Our eyes meet and he shudders, turns around and crosses himself. His companion snorts with disdain, so my nature is not yet widely recognized. We soon arrive at the village''s rickety piers. The Ascendency delegation have chosen to mirror us, with a squad of soldiers in front and the Herald and his tower mage behind. The officer in charge is a short man in a powdered wig harbouring an air of anger and arrogance. He takes a deep breath before ordering his group forward. The Herald is a surprise for me. He does not look furious as I expected but instead, sorrowful. His brown eyes are darkened by exhaustion though he wears a perfectly tailored ensemble in dark green that could be worn at the court of Queen Elizabeth. He shows me the thinnest smile, the kind that comes with grace in defeat. "You came, vampire." Ingram turns to his charge in outrage. It appears that Ascendency leaders are at odds, which isn''t surprising when one considers the result of their campaign. "You will let me have this conversation, then I will give you free rein to conduct the negotiations as you please." retorts the man calmly The Herald takes the time to study me. My own companions are obviously annoyed though they wisely decide to remain quiet. "Such a pretty mask for such a dangerous thing. One would never think¡­ And yet¡­" "Have you come here to pontificate?" "No, I wanted to say goodbye. Tell me, what of Belinda?" "She died well." I am surprised that he shows so much regret at those words. I always assumed that those two were associates, but it appears that their relationship went deeper. "I see." "I notice that you left your tower mage behind." "I did. I know that your kind never breaks their word. We are ever forced to dance around you with ruse and tricks while you take us down with your might. An Eternal Game, if you will. Tell me vampire, what do you know of the key of Beriah?" The non sequitur surprises me though I try not to show it. What is his game? Even his allies consider him with worry. He should know that it is too late for that. "If you are trying to bargain, know that¡­" "No, I am not. We both know this is the end. Just¡­ Indulge me?" I see Dalton frown from the corner of my eye and pick up on his tension. I agree, it looks like he is up to something, and yet his pain, his sorrow, those are not fake. I am sure of it. "It does not belong here." The Herald nods as if I were a student and he, a professor. The strangeness of the situation is starting to get to me. I just want this to be over with. I want him and his ilk to depart these lands and never return. I am not interested in a post-battle contest of wit, especially not with him. "Yes, I assume that you saw the drawing of the box, but you did not read the scholarly work on it. I did. And in all of them, I found the same thing," he lectures, "Cooperate, speak, receive, embrace. The same words, the same semantic field. I understood it then. The key is not just an artifact. It is¡­ Alive. Just like your mysterious eye in the sky." "What!?" "Yes. And the next step was obvious. If it is conscious, if it is eager to share, then it wants to be found." No. No no no no no move Ari MOVE! I need to kill him but¡­ I should not. We are under the flag of truce! And then it is too late. From a recess in his vest, the Herald removes a curved blue spike that cannot possibly fit inside, and the item swallows me. Just like the Watcher, it captivates but this time I can feel something terrible within. This is the Key of Beriah, and he somehow found it first. The construct is wrong. It should not be here. It should never have been brought¡­ So many depths, so many curves, inward and outward ad infinitum. Is there an end? I feel like the deeper meanings caress my consciousness with the siren call of knowledge, power, anything I want, if only I would let it¡­ The man raises it. He should not. The Key does not belong. The man raises it, still, and with a primeval scream of anguish, the world shatters. Impossible bonds curve up and down, but mostly out. They follow a shockwave that extends all over the village and where it hits, people scream. Their cries speak of pure agony, a pain so powerful and so intimate that it defies description. I scream too. The tendrils of power pull on my very essence and find no purchase, but they follow Dalton''s bond into my soul and the tug of war for my essence is horrific. Pain, white hot, blinding. Let me just die, please. And then just as it had started, the scathing tendrils retract. Dalton, protected by me, stands before the Key master. He removes a pistol from its sheath and shoots the man in the heart. The Herald takes a painful breath, and the shockwave stops, reverses. All around us and deep into the houses, men, women, and children fall to the ground and stop moving. Filaments of the deepest blue emerge from the eldritch object and dig into the Herald''s body. He is lifted in the air by the mind defying vitality and power. I cannot move. The pain has stolen my control away. No! I need to fight¡­ I need to do it. I must help my Vassal. I must help Dalton. One finger. Move one BLOODY finger. Come on! Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings. The horrible wound on my foe''s chest heals before my very eyes. Faster than anything I have ever seen, or known to be possible. This was an engraved silver bullet¡­ Dalton lifts his second gun with perfect calm. The world ending around us does not concern him. He pulls the trigger. The Herald''s forehead explodes and he falls back down spread-eagle. Need to take the artefact from him! Must move! I want to tell him to run. Vassals should not have to defend their Mistress but I can''t. I watch powerlessly as the gaping hole on the Herald''s head closes itself, the missing brain matter already replaced by sparkling blue light. The influx of power is simply too massive. "No. Flee." He cannot hear me. Dalton sprints to the fallen man to wrestle the key away from it. Just as he closes in, the thing speaks. The nerve-wracking sounds pierce my ears as if a god were swearing against creation. Dalton claws his ears and falls forward. The monstrous form lifts a single hand. No. I do the only thing I can think of. I take a deep breath and scream. "Oathbreaker!" The Herald''s eyes are now burning with an otherworldly blue light. He is held aloft under some magical influence and blue bolts extend from his feet to the ground. The thunderous discharges dig deep furrows in the shore''s packed hearth. Each one is echoed by the miserable screams of the prostrate forms surrounding him. When he speaks, his voice is mirrored by another one, much deeper. "I care not, vampire. I am a mortal man, not bound to... to..." Yes! His face twists in rage, then in pain. The ocean of power around him peters out. It is still there, but he can no longer control it. He is a magical being now! "You harlot! You think you are so smart." He smiles again. Gone is the refined gentleman. The thing looking back at me is no longer human. It bends forward and picks up something from the dying colonel by his side. Oh no. No! Damn it Ariane MOVE! "As you took from me, so shall I take from you." He calmly lines up his shot. I finally manage to push myself up from the ground. He pulls the trigger. I know that sound well, the one of metal hitting flesh. Dalton does not cry. He lets out a small yelp of pain and clutches his chest. No. This is not happening. This is not happening at all. This is a nightmare. Some kind of prophetic dream. It can''t be real. And the people around us are rising, moaning, yelling, a choir of the damned. I ignore the cackling form fleeing away from us, towards the forest. I crawl to Dalton. I can still save him. I can feel our bond. He is not dead. PROTECT THE VASSAL. I am myself again, pick him up, kick and push the screaming mass trying to shed his blood, trying to reclaim the essence stolen from them to stop the maddening pain. I sprint away from Venet, Strand, Langdon, Colvert, the men who came here. I need to reach Loth. He''s a bloody doctor, with some magic. He can save him. Definitely. I run and rush past children with their eyes gouged out, adults trying to rip their throats out with their own bare fingers. Those who smell follow with the fury of despair. I don''t have the time. Loth is up in the fortress. "Mistress." It''s fine he is still alive, if I hurry I can make it. "Mistress, please." Loth is a miracle worker. "Please, stop." No I can''t I must go on, I must LISTEN. I stop and jump at the top of the town''s church, of all things. Gently, I lay him on the wooden roof. He is so pale, and his brow is wet with perspiration. His familiar amber eyes are now feverish, clouded. "You''ll be fine." I realize how stupid this is the moment the words cross my lips. He does not answer but his face turns tender, filled with sympathy, I don''t care about sympathy. Fuck sympathy I want him with me. "Please." "No. No, you can''t . You just rest now and Loth will save you. He will. He''s a good, good surgeon." "Please." "Don''t leave me alone Dalton. Please don''t leave me alone. I don''t want to be alone again. Please." "I can''t." "No... Just stay a little longer and I will find a way..." "Isn''t." There is so much blood trailing down the stupid rafters of this stupid fucking church. Fucking useless piece of shit God. "Hurts." "No shh rest, rest and we''ll go. Just don''t leave. Don''t leave. Please." "Send me off." Nononono. No. I... I MUST LISTEN. DUTY. Fighting every step of the way, I slowly bend forward, I gently cradle his head. I don''t want to, but I have to. For him. He asked. The ultimate freedom of choosing how to go. I MUST HONOR IT. I cannot stop. He is in so much pain. I bite his neck softly. The punch sends me reeling. I don''t understand. It was just an honest question. How can he behave so much like a heathen? I want to remind him of the love we must spread but he punches again. His face is a mask of rage. I block and try to argue. "Father, I..." The next punch almost knocks me down. He is trying to kill me. I''m hurt. I lash out. Father recoils and holds his liver. I make a hammer with both of my fists and strike him down. He is insane! When I look up, my family only shows fear and disgust. "My son, you must repent." Repent? Have you not seen with your own eyes? This is unfair, so unfair. They are all mad! Hypocrites¡­ I run to my room, take a backpack. I leave home. The man with the crow feathers is charming and malevolent. He is the one I was warned against. A tool of the Devil. "Can you shoot?" "Yes." "Then, you''re in." I want to see with my own eyes, this punishment, this life of sins they spoke of. She killed big Bert with a single strike, without even looking back. So beautiful, my angel of death. The others are running. They are fools. The end is coming for us and this is our last chance to show some spine. She walks up to me, with those hands dripping with blood. Her nostrils flare in a gesture that seems human but is not. She stops. She will keep her word? A monster who keeps her word. I want to see. Everything hurts. I think they''ve come to kill me. I failed my new companions, failed to bring them their arms. The cultist opens the door and takes out a knife. I wish I had been stronger. He falls dead with a crack of bone and a twist of the neck. She is here. She came for me. She came. For me. Eight fangs pierce my skin. I shudder in pleasure, then something is made. I can feel her. I can get a glimpse of her emotions. She accepted me, committed herself to this. I was chosen. This is the most beautiful day of my life. The garden. Dusk''s sun colors everything a light red. She is sleeping. I can feel her below me, somewhere. She is even dreaming. Loth inspects the target and turns, satisfied. There are three concentric circles on it, and only the center one is shredded by repeated impacts from the Wolf Slayer crossbow. The rest is immaculate. "Ye''re ready." I won''t disappoint her. I''m strong now. I can help us both, repay the debt. She and Loth will be proud. I am part of a family, a strange one but it feels right. I know who I am, what I do, and who I will fight for. I am dying. My only regret is the suffering it will cause. I love you Ariane, I am sorry I must go first. Live and remember, Ariane. Live for us and remember. Forgive me... The bond snaps. It recoils like an angry snake and returns to its one surviving tether. It will kill me on impact, of this I am sure. At this instant, I cannot bring myself to care. A cloud of warm golden light stops the feedback. It slows down. Even then, the pain is so intense that I lose my mind. My talons dig in the thatch roof and tear it apart. My throat gets raw for screaming so much. Physical and mental agony wrack my body and my mind. Excruciating. Endless. I cannot sob, I cannot even look down. Slowly, I crawl my hand back to my throat where I manage to close it. Anything to make it stop. Please just make it stop. LIVE FOR US. I can''t. It wasn''t meant to be. Not so soon. Not like this. LIVE FOR US. No. Yes. No. Yes. My arm falls by my side and I abandon myself to the fire coursing my veins and my soul. An eternity passes. Eventually, the burning tide recedes. I am left shivering on the roof. My face is drenched with blackish blood trailing from my eyes, my nose, even my ears. I feel empty. I am lightly choking. I breathe great gulps of air that do absolutely nothing. Dalton lies next to me. I push him with my hand to wake him up. He doesn''t move. I push again and again and again. "Enough with the joke. Wake up. It''s not funny." I push. "Not funny at all." Have to breathe harder. It doesn''t work. Choking to death. And so Thirsty. The feedback stops. He''s dead. I already know he''s dead. I am just lying to myself like the sorry excuse of a failure I am. Need to bring him back. I can''t leave him here. He''s family. I take his body in my arms and jump down. There are moaning people around, searching with despair. My sudden arrival triggers something in them. They attack. I kick the closest one and place the body on the steps of the church. Then I turn around, grab and bite. It''s weak, so weak. Barely any essence there. It takes me less than half a second to feed. No matter, there are others. They are condemned anyway. The next is an older woman with an embroidered cap. The next is a young boy with a scar across the nose. The next is an old sailor with teeth stained with tobacco. The next is a young girl with a scarf dyed red. And the next, and the next, until there are none. So Thirsty, and so tired. My chest hurts. I feel hollow. Above, there are war cries and the sounds of battle. That means people, people who can help me. I pick him up and move through the twisted streets to another junction with more people. Every time I do so, I find a relatively clean surface and then Devour the meagre prize. Rinse and repeat. So little to take, but still better than nothing. The more time passes and the thicker the resistance is. Houses with their doors hanging open like tongues lolling from corpses. Moans. Somewhere, a fire. Smells of blood and offal. I do not know how long it took but I am out, moving up a hill. There are more people than ever. I walk, stop, lower the body, stab and slice and feed then I do it again. At the edge of Isaac''s camp, the fighting is the thickest. I have to stop completely. Sometimes I have to move to fight them off even though I can no longer afford the energy expenditure. Thirsty, always Thirsty. Always choking. I breathe like the runner at Marathon for the illusory relief it provides. More people come, a mountain of them. A sea. I am going to be overwhelmed. I find a tree and climb up. Place him as if he were having a nap. His head keeps falling to the side. I drop down. I keep at the edge of the herd like a circling wolf. It is easier to Devour when the density is less. I thin the herd. Minutes turn to hours and still I slaughter them and still, they come. There is no more sanity in them. The pain has turned them all mad. I am cold and methodical and keep doing it because they are in the way and because they are lost. Nothing matters. They never broke. At some point, I raise my eyes from my latest victim and everyone is dead. It takes me a full minute to find the tree and recover its charge and then I walk to the line. Venet''s men and Nashoba''s Warband have formed an impregnable fortress on a hill. A ring of corpses three men thick surrounds a small earthwork where the men stand side by side in unusual harmony. They are filthy, exhausted, and their gazes reflect a pain that will never leave them. No celebratory yells come with this victory. Loth is in the middle. He spots me and raises a gauntlet, then sees everything and lowers it. I walk up to him and the men part to let me through. I reach my friend and open my mouth but nothing comes out. I don''t know what to say. Are there words? Is there even one language on this sorry rock that can adequately transcribe¡­ This? "Here, here lass, let me take him from ye¡­ Let me take care of it. Ye¡­" he sobs "Ye go see Isaac aye? Tyr, not this again. Let''s go together. Come here lass. Come." Loth does not pull me. He slightly nudges and I follow. I pass wounded men and others bawling like children. Some are looking in the distance, lost in nightmares of their own. Merritt stands at the centre of a circle of power, unconscious. Blood slowly drips from her nose. Venet''s second is trying to bring some order around with a sonorous voice that wavers every four words. We get in the command tent. Loth deposits him on a low table, by the side. Isaac is here. His normally flawless composure is fractured by the ordeal he went through. "Ariane, by the Watcher¡­ I am so sorry." I listen to the words. I understand the meaning behind them but somehow, they don''t translate into anything I can use. "And there is no time. Ariane, you must leave with me." I blink slowly, then start breathing again. I slowly clutch my chest, where it hurts the most. Isaac winces. "Why?" The vampire hesitates, then realizes that I will not be moved unless he manages to convince me. "It''s¡­ About your Master. He is back." Why does this even matter? "I know." This time, Isaac is clearly surprised. "What? How?" "I dreamt of it." It does not matter. This entire conversation is pointless. Behind me, Loth has brought water in a barrel. He is undressing and cleaning him. Sometimes, he stops to wipe a few silent tears. S§×ar?h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "You dreamt of it?! When?" "A few nights ago?" "By the Watcher Ariane, this is¡­ No, it could simply be Nirari himself. Who knows with one so strong? Still, Ariane, you must never share this. Dreams of the future are¡­ Well, you must not speak of this so casually." Whatever. "In any case, your Master has slain Wolfgang." "Who?" "Wolfgang, the leader of the Knights on the American continent." I still don''t understand and do not really care to. There must be blood around here. So Thirsty. "I just received the news by sending. His disciples are coming here looking for you." This doesn''t make sense to me. "Why?" "I am not sure, they may think that you helped him wake, or they could just assume you are a rogue. There could be many reasons and none of them good. It''s a Knight squad Ariane. You do not stand a chance. We must flee. I will take you back to Europe with me. We can protect you, I owe you that much." "No." "No? Really? Why? Is this about the Key?" I shiver. Of course, not you¡­ Daft creature. This is not about ANY PITIFUL REMNANT. I MUST RETALIATE. "Ariane, please, I beg you. This is your nature talking. I have no idea how much it must hurt but you cannot stay. The Knights will find you. They will kill you." "No." "Please Ariane, please, think. You do not want to die. This is¡­ Not what Vassals live for. They are here to keep us anchored, close to our living selves. He was here to better your life, not have you throw it away!" "I will go." "Listen, someone who used the key is practically unstoppable. It would take a Lord!" "It does not matter. There is a price to pay. Vassals are forbidden. They are not to be touched!" He should not have taken that which is sacred. He should have left Dalton alive. You do not touch Vassals. Vassals are the binds, the souls, the living ones. They keep us centered, and safe. They remind us of rules and of others and of why we maintain that balance. They must remain inviolate, or the price is too high, for everyone. Now all of those Ascendency imbeciles, every last member of this pathetic rabble, none of them will see their home again. None of them will leave these shores, no matter the cost. There will be retribution. It has to be so. Not one may live. Not one may live. Not one may live. Not one may live. Not one may live. Not one may live. Not one may live. Not one may live. Not one may live. Not one may live. N?o?????t ?o???n???????e???? ?m??????a????y???????? ????????l??i????????v?????e??????.? ?????N???o????????t???????? ??o?????n?e?????? ??m?????a????y??????? ??????l????????i??v???????e??. ??N???????o?t??????? ?????o?????n?e??????? ??????m???????a?y????? ???l?????i??v?????e????.?? ?????N??????ot???????? ?o?n???e? ????m????a??y?????? ?l???i?????v??e??.???? ?????N??????o????t?????? ?o????n?e ???????m????????a???y? ?????l??i???????v?????e?.??? ????N?o???????t???? ????????o???n???e??????? ???m?????a??y? ????l????i?????v??e???????.? ???N??????o???????t???????? ?????????o????n??e??????? ??????m????a??????????y?????????? ?????????l????i????v???????????e??.???????? ???N???????o???????t?????? ???????????o???????????n??????e???????? ???????m??a??????y????????? ?????l????????i????v????????e????????.???? ??????N??????????o????t???????? ???o??????????n??????e?????? ?????????m???a????????????y????? ?l????i???v???????????e???????????.??????? ?????N???????o??t?? ????????o?????n????????e??????????? ???????m????a?????y????? ??????????l?????i????v??????????e????.???????? ?????N????????o????????t???????? ???????????o???????n?????e???? ?????????m???????a?????y?????? ?????????l????????i?????????v?????????e??.??? ??????N??????o?????t???? ????????o????????n???????e????????? ????m???????a???y??? ????l??????i????????v??????e???????.??????????? ?????????N????o??????t????????? ????o??????n??????????e??????? ?????????m?????a???????y???????? ???l??????i?????????v???e?.?????? N?????????????????o????????????????t???????????? ???????????????????o??????????n????????e??????????????????????? ????????m???????????????????a??????????????????y??????????????????? ???????????????????????l???????????????????i??????v???????e????????????????.???????????????? ???????????N??????????o??????????????????????t???????????????? ????????o????????????n???????????e?????? ???????????????????m???????????????????a???????????y?????????????????????? ???????????????????????l???????????i????????????????????v???????????e???????????????????????.???????????? Not. One. Chapter 47 - 47. Nemesis I lean against one of the corners of the tent and breathe in vain. Isaac takes a step forward, as if to help, then shakes his head in shame. "I will not go against direct orders from my clan. I cannot come. I am sorry." I care little. I don''t need him to exert my vengeance. He is clearly torn but it is not up to me to grant him forgiveness. We will all have to face the consequences of our decisions in the end. Isaac has not given up yet. He clasps his hands and bends forward in a strange gesture. When he stands back up, the guilt has been replaced by a new resolution. "I can still help. Here." He walks to a large chest and takes out a box. It looks like an expensive jewelry coffer made of lacquered wood decorated with strange glyphs. I cannot feel magic coming from it despite its obvious nature. Isaac rips the wood apart with his bare hands. Beams and planes are shed from the structure until only a metallic frame is left. It consists of a handle stuck to a bar with a series of spikes branching out and curving back inward as if meant to encase a cylindrical object. The metal is silvery and the structure a bit rough, seemingly made in a rudimentary forge by an apprentice, and yet upon closer inspection, the surface is covered in hair-thin runes forming a complex lattice. Its aura is subdued and oppressive, evoking restraints. "This was meant to contain the key, should the box be lost. It will disrupt its power on contact and quite possibly, hurt the Herald as well. Here, take it." I grab the artefact, cold and smooth under my fingers. Definitely used to restrain something until it is completely powerless...Dark basement. Broken arm. Broken leg. Dried blood. I shake my head and wince. I feel so weak. Things are seeping in. Memories that should remain dead and buried. I take the contraption away and turn to Loth. "Aye lass, I''m coming." "And so am I." Merritt lifts the tent access flap soon followed by Nashoba. She looks like death warmed over while the shaman is the picture of concern. "You don''t get to tell me I can''t come. They killed my¡­" "You can come." "Friends¡­ Huh? You are fine with it?" Headache. What do I care how you spend your life? "Yes." "We still stand a chance to stop him if there is no one to slaughter. I split up the Warband. They have orders to reach the nearest villages and have them evacuate before the Herald and what is left of his men can reach it." "Will they be on time?" "Yes. Those are their families at stake, daughter of Thorn and Hunger. They will make it." "Then I just need to stop him before he can get any more power." "Yes. The visions say you are immune to his touch." I am, now that¡­ Now that the only bond I had to a mortal is gone. "You will have to face him alone. If we approach, we will die and feed him." "I know. Tell me, shaman of the Choctaw, can you see my future?" Nashoba lowers his head in disappointment. "I cannot." "Excellent. It means that this is not over." I dream. It is dark, not the embrace of the now-familiar nocturnal veil but the oppressive obscurity of the unfathomable depths. Pressure, crushing and unforgiving, bends my neck forward. There is nothing around but rocks surrounded by onyx sand as far as I can perceive, while above, there is nothing but the black of a fathomless canopy. The air, if it is air, is dry and scentless, Unspeakable things prowl lazily around, massive and contemptuous. Although I cannot see it well, I know that an obsidian obelisk lies before me, toppled. And upon it sits a mocking silhouette. It holds in its hand a strange skull and starts with a voice that nothing can silence. "Rage, Goddess. Sing of the rage of Peleus'' son Achilles, murderous, doomed, that which caused the Achaeans countless agonies and threw many warrior souls deep into Hades, leaving their bodies to be feasted upon by carrion birds and savage dogs, all to fulfill the will of Zeus." The voice should have been solemn, even fearful, as befits one who implores a Muse. Instead, it is ripe with bloodlust and the anticipation of the violence to come. Its owner leans forward until I look into eyes darker than even the abyss we stand on. "It has been a long time, my child" I scowl in recognition. Tall, dark hair and beard, golden skin. The Lord of the Nirari looks as regal as always in a sand-colored outfit richly decorated with rivers of precious stones. He looks like a Caliph holding court, at ease and confidant even in this desolate place. "You¡­" "Yes, me, at long last. Ten years. Ten long years I have waited, watched, eager to see if the little princess would fall like the others. And now for the first time, you are on the path to self-destruction, consumed by the blackest of rage. Tell me, child, what hurt you so? What deeds tipped the scales? Who was your Patrocles?" My words escape me, unbidden. I must answer. "¡­ My Vassal. Killed." "How?" "Treachery! Lies. The Herald took an oath to uphold a truce, intending to break it. And he did. He shot my Vassal down like an animal¡­" "And this enemy, you intend to pursue him?" "I must." "For all debts must be repaid?" Our eyes meet. I do not submit. "Yes." The monster stands up and moves towards me. The pressure I am feeling increases with every step he takes, but I hold. "Defiant, still. You were never completely broken, even at the end. You share my curse now, the one I share with my better scions." He turns and walks away and I collapse with relief. "We do not know how to lose. Very well then. A lesson, so that you may repay the debt. Listen well, princess of the blood. Listen to your Master. An eternity ago, the greatest queen who ever lived created a set of elixirs, and those have found their ways to the hands of the mighty and the fated over the years. Those were elixirs of eternal life. A spark of the divine, with a twist: a curse to steal the vitality that we would no longer create. I, her son, was the first. I drank and the essence that became mine reflected what I needed and who I was." "A Warlord?" "No. A conqueror. Every new bloodline, every new creature you sample is added to your kingdom. It becomes yours. Drinking more makes you powerful but the first one opens the path." "I know this." "You do not. You feel stronger but you do not understand the power itself. Close your eyes. Focus. Go deeper." My perception of the world fades and the scene grows distant. "I will guide you." Something drives me forward until we lurch and spill in my mental fortress. I end up sprawled on the grass of my strange garden, next to a rock in the shape of the first merman I faced. A presence behind me makes me turn. Master is here, though he is somewhat transparent like I imagine a ghost would be. I want him out, but I cannot push him away. Something stops me. My defenses do not recognize him as a foreign entity. He turns his gaze to the statue and smiles, then with a wave of his hand, an arch emerges from the ground. "You have refined tastes, princess. Now, open the way." I must still obey. A distant part of me objects to his coming here. He does not belong in my sanctuary. He desecrates this land by simply treading it. That part is drawn by another that insists that this is the most natural thing in the world. Both voices are right. I arrive in a circular plaza surrounded by tall walls of tightly woven roses, in black, white, and red. The ground is made of polished marble slabs but what attracts my attention is its inhabitants. The deceptively wide expanse is currently covered in statues, most white and standing, and a few colored and kneeling. Wherever I look, the open space widens, and more come into focus, only to fade as I look away. I recognize a few of them as people I killed, like the werewolf I faced in the Lancaster Arena. Others, I do not remember. "An impressive tally, little one. You may look upon them with pride, I do not believe I have seen its like since I sired Malakim." "Those are¡­" "Your victims, yes, and those who paid you tribute, of their own free will. They are the sources of your power as my scion. Yours, for as long as you walk the worlds. Observe, a few of them already lent you their allegiance." Indeed, some of the constructs surrounding us are not only kneeling, they are colored while the others are alabaster white and they feel reactive. I recognize a few, including a very faint outline of Sinead, Bingle, Nashoba, Loth, Naminata of the Ekon whom I met just before being sent to fight in the pits. "I do not understand. I did not make them submit." "Oh? An interesting distinction. Go ahead then, make the others¡­ Submit." This is not a matter of words. I focus on the deep part of me, the one that wants to subjugate, and bring it forth. The plaza below us pulses once and something stirs in the depths. Its size defies comprehension. Above us, the purple light of the Watcher shifts. SUBMIT. The command spreads outward like a wave. The ones I killed kneel in turn but the ones that gave me their blood of their own free will stand up and fade in the background. Worse, those who kneel are not colored. Master chuckles and shakes his head in amusement. One of his hand holds his elbow while the other caresses his beard. "Tell me, princess, from whence stems power? Say, for the, hm, president, of your old nation." "The mandate of the people?" "And for the king of the Britons?" "I don''t know? Divine will perhaps?" "Such complicated mental gymnastics, such elaborate concepts. So many theories to justify one eternal truth. No matter how strong an idea, or how beloved a sovereign, there will always be dissidents. How are they kept in check?" "Military might?" "Yes, overwhelming martial strength. Those," he gestures around him, "are not yours because you are a vampire. They are yours because they faced you and lost. Because you vanquished them. You are very close. Try again." I bring the deeper part of me towards the surface again, but this time I infuse a truth in the words, my own belief that they shall submit by the most ancient rule of them all, the right of the victor. SUBMIT. The statues kneel, this time with color. They raise their hands in surrender. Their powers are mine because they have no choice. Once more, those who gave me blood out of their own free will remain standing. "I do not understand." "Patience little princess, patience. You remind me of a desert raider I once knew. You only understand conquest through violence. Those allies and supplicants who helped you, they flocked to your banner." "Two of those were used to save my life." "And they strengthened you by doing so. We vampires, we conquerors, are not mindless killers. We have our codes and our honor, our Vassals and Servants, our clans and communities. Those who follow willingly may do it for safety, order, power, vengeance, for as many reasons as human nature allows. What matters is that they follow. Try again." I understand, I think. They trusted me, some trust me still, to have mastery over those gifts they offered. They are not mine because I crushed them but because they acknowledged me as one deserving of tribute. Loth loves me in his own way. Bingle sacrificed himself out of duty and friendship. They did not do it because I defeated them, but because they believed in me as a person, enough to expose themselves. Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. I take a deep breath. I know what I must do. To conquer is not to destroy. To conquer is not always to stand alone. That is the difference. SUBMIT. Some kneel because they have to, some because they choose to. One by one, all the statues before me bow and color springs from the ground to cover them. Then, their powers unlock. I have never felt stronger. I bask in the ensuing bliss. I could send a werewolf flying. I could crush steel. I could outpace the fastest stallion. It feels amazing, more than that, it is a deserved reward. Master walks among the statues like a collector inspecting his latest acquisitions. "The mortals do not amount for much, and the mages you cannot use. Yet. The werewolves are a nice touch, you can draw on their savagery to fight longer, heal faster. The Ekon bloodline is renowned for its ability to hold pain and the Thirst at bay, a necessity for those adventurers. The Lancaster are peerless when it comes to Charm. You even drained a rogue Natalis! I am impressed. Their dumb physical strength will serve you well. Oh, and a few stranger creatures! Why, I have never met those spirits of Hunger. Degenerated native people perhaps? I will have to come back at some point. The fae prince and the god-touched powers are locked from us, unfortunately. Only the inherent strength can be yours. Well, this is a pleasant surprise. You have been productive." His inspection over, he returns by my side and places a hand on my shoulder. I feel the steel grip behind the light touch, and I am not scared, just a bit pleased at his approval. This is a dream. Many of my gut reactions are subdued. "With this, you have access to four of the fourteen bloodlines I know of. I granted you this lesson as a favor, princess of the blood. See that it is not misplaced." The shape of him evaporates in black vapor until only an eight-fanged smile remains, then this is gone too, and I wake up. Pain. Thirst. Claustrophobia. The sensation of choking. I gulp great breaths of air that do nothing but satisfy a vestigial reflex. My claws scratch the sarcophagus'' inner padding until I grab the handles and pull them. I jump up and fall on the side, coming to my feet in an instant. Around me, dry earth and roots topped by a very low tent. Loth stares at me with a blank look from behind a tiny workbench. He has never looked more tired. No immediate danger. Clear exits. No need to FIGHT OR FLEE. I clutch the center of my chest to try in vain to ward off asphyxiation. He came in my mind. He came in my mind and did what he wanted and I did NOTHING. Nothing to stop him even though I¡­ Even if he¡­ Gah! Only distance saves me from him anyway. If I were by his side, I would just be a bumbling and lovestruck wreck. Pathetic. Maybe I was lucky. At least I got to be myself from the onset. Now I just need to find somebody to eat to end this unbearable pain and I know just the man. In silence, I attach battered pieces of armor to my stained dress and affix my half-mask, leaving the mouth free. "Lass?" "I''m ready. How are we doing?" He considers the lump of metal in front of him and removes his hands from it. Just as I recognize the object in front of me, its aura pervades the small space we stand in. I don''t know how long it took for him to finish it but I would presume every waking hour since I fell to slumber. In typical Loth fashion, he took the problem and analyzed it then found a solution that would satisfy his need for violent revenge. Since it is too risky to get close, my friend made a shell. No, calling it a shell does not do it justice. He made a shell-shaped object that is more magical concentrated spite than steel. It is made from darkened metal engraved with vengeful runes pulsing a deep red like a wound leaking blood. Lines of glyphs criss-cross it in every direction like taut barbed wires. Loth''s creation looks like what it is, the fruit of patient malevolence, made for the exclusive purpose of inflicting pain and death. Whispers at the edge of my hearing promise dark retribution. My friend lifts hollowed eyes to me. "I''m ready. Let''s go outside." We leave and I find myself in a depression surrounded by pines at the top of a hill overlooking a large valley. Dried needles and fallen cones cover the ground and let out a pleasant scent that offers a sharp contrast with the tensions of those in it. There are no fires, no gear and no horses around, only two exhausted mortals lying on the ground next to the covered form of Loth''s steel canon. Nashoba and Merritt turn around and see me but do not react. Everyone is on edge. I lean down by their side. If they notice me trying to breathe, they do not comment on it. In front of us lies a vale with an open ground around a tiny stream. Muskogee houses and structures dot it with a few tilled fields in the distance. Signs of life are everywhere but I see no locals alive or dead. In the central plaza, the Herald is in an animated discussion with a handful of subordinates including the Tower Mage. "The evacuation was successful. Merritt managed to track that bastard and we used our mobility to our advantage." says Nashoba in English. I turn in surprise to the mage. Her eyes are bloodshot and her traits drawn but there is no mistaking the pride in her voice. "That asshole left a lot of blood behind. I scraped it off the pier and made a compass." "Excellent. Loth, are you opening?" "Yes." "When?" "Right now. You two, get out." The two mortals stand up without a word and run away in the opposite direction. "Listen lass. As soon as that shell is off I''m getting the hell out of here. You''re the only one who can stand in front of the key and live. The rest of us would just feed him more power." "I know." Loth stops and turns to me. In his eyes, there is not a hint of doubt that I will succeed. "I won''t say good luck. I''ll see you on the other side. Now, stand back. This is my moment." Loth removes the tarp from the gun''s maw, I take position by his side. "Betrayed." he murmurs. His huge hands cradle the patiently made shell almost lovingly. The terrifying thing pulses in rhythm with his heartbeat. "Bloodied. By oath broken and words made void, one was taken from us." He slides the shell in the gun. I can see a reddish glow flowing down its length as the whispers grow louder then with a final ''thunk'', it nestles deep within, quiet and ready to be unleashed. "By the old laws, by our own honor intact, we come to claim our due." He adjusts the gun with patience and a deceptive calm. The atmosphere is so heavy that I stop breathing again. I know that I am witnessing something unique, a master at work for a once in a lifetime performance. "Your guilt and debt set ablaze, our vengeance expressed." He walks back and grabs the rope that will release the primer. "And made manifest." He pulls the cord. The canon vomits its horrifying payload into the world. The shell screams its way down like a chorus of furious demons, a symphony of nightmares that fills my ears with its insane voices, I grit my teeth before the onslaught and watch the shell impact, then detonate. One instant, the village is empty but peaceful, the next, it is simply gone. The shield used by the tower mage makes as much difference as a teapot emptied on a house fire. The clearing is obliterated by a deafening explosion that sends pieces of rocks and soil high into the air. The shockwave extends outward and levels the entire forest in a wave of fire and destruction. The trees closer to the epicenter are simply torched. Not a single needle remains attached. And the fire keeps burning. First white, then an unnaturally dark red, the raging inferno emits heat that hits me like a wall even hundreds of feet away. I raise a hesitant hand to painful ears and return a few drops of dark blood. For a solid minute, I ignore Loth''s retreating form and stare into hell itself. How could anything survive that?! And yet, a dark silhouette soon shows against the incandescent background, shambling forward mindlessly. As it exits the area, the flames gutter and die like a man losing heart. The hexed shell did its best. Now, dinner is served. I sprint forward with incredible speed, faster than I have ever been in my entire life and yet with absolute confidence in my steps. Over stumps and trunks and upturned earth I go, never slowing. My hair clings to my skull with the wind of my passage and in only a few heartbeats, I reach the Herald. As I watch, blue links and patterns do not knit flesh, but make it appear from nowhere. The aura I feel is incredible. It buffets me like an alien wind. I grab my prey from behind and bite down to Devour. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH." It burns! I spit blood and teeth, only for it to regenerate and melt again. I fall backward and crawl away, mewling in pain. So much power. Too much. Like kissing a thunderbolt. And despite that I feel strong, so strong. Just an instant, but it felt like drinking from Master. I calm myself, letting the lava-like substance drip away from my charred lips for a few seconds, but soon the sounds of the Herald regenerating behind me forces a new alarm. No. No! I will not let go. This. Is. Nothing! I draw on the deep and cold will inside to STAND UP AND FIGHT. My claws catch a half-formed arm and pull it out of its socket. The crack of ruptured ligaments is accompanied by a muffled scream that spurs me. I grab the other arm and the Herald''s aura explodes outward. "Oof!" I am pushed backwards, only to roll on the ground and sprint back up. The scrapes, the pain, nothing will stop me. This is to the death. "You! You¡­ This is all your fault!" screams the Herald with a broken voice. His flesh is now intact, and I notice in passing that he is naked from the waist down. The tattered remnants of his hunting jacket cling to his form while hot tears run down his face. "It was supposed to be my moment! I don''t understand! What in the seven hells are you!" YOUR DEATH. I slice and stab him three more times until his cries of pain turn to pure rage and he strikes. For a moment, he is faster than me, perhaps even as fast as Jimena. And he misses. His fist goes wide and his body collapses in the ashy ground. In an instant I am on him. I take his head, twist left and right and throw it away. I take out my blade and slice great swaths of fabric from his enchanted vest. I need that thing off. Once more I am blasted away but this time I roll and barely dodge a strike to the side before retaliating. The herald only screams incoherently at this point. "Why why why won''t you die!" I block the exact same strike coming from the exact same angle and counter-attack with a blade to the stomach. I jump away and gut him like a fish. His yells of agony sound strange in the deadened air. He grabs a fallen pine and tosses it, hoping to crush me perhaps? I step to the side to avoid the improvised projectile. I have been me for a decade. I know how my body works. He is just an inexperienced mortal playing demigod. For a good minute, I dance around him and use my experience to inflict terrible damage. I find that cutting off limbs works better than piercing flesh as the key regenerates it entirely. It takes more time and hopefully, more energy. Our contest is an unequal ballet between a wasp and a drunken, bumbling fool. He just won''t stay down. I maim and amputate and slice and still his body is reformed in instants. Changing gear, I boot him away and to the side, then I jump on his back and bring him down. I savage his back. I know he will heal these wounds but this is therapeutic. Once more, his aura explodes outward but this time I cling to his jacket, tearing it to pieces. A second later, his actual body explodes. When I land and stand back up, there is something different. He is taller, paler, and his face is no longer fully human. His aristocratic beard is gone as well as his lips and nose. Only pale skin below two slits are left. Even his eyes shine a strange blue. "I eliminated pain, vampire, and the key will repair my mind. It''s only a matter of time now." He is also fully naked. I search the rag in my hand for a pocket and find something cylindrical, but the contact is peculiar. I feel my fingers closing on it and yet it has no texture, no temperature, and then it is gone. "Looking for this?" asks the Herald, amused. In his hand, the key appears. "We are one now. You can no longer claim it, assuming your kind ever could." I need it. I jump. He dodges and I follow up by cutting off his leg at the knee. The resistance is higher, for some reason. Is his body tougher? I block the following counter and am smashed against the ground once again. Stupid strength. I dodge a downward punch that buries itself in the earth and slice one of the arms on the way out, then I move around and grab the key. At the same moment, his aura once more explodes and I am flung away. S§×ar?h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Annoying insect!" The Herald is whole, and yet I can spot the barest hints of black veins under his skin, perhaps exhaustion or perhaps a remnant of yesterday''s transgression. His aura is more and more manifest, buckling and thrashing against his control. He may be insanely strong but he cannot bring this power to bear. "It is not for you to take." My foe seizes the key and places it at the top of his forehead. The artifact digs into his skull with blue tendrils and latches, looking all the while like the world''s most disgusting unicorn. He rushes me and slaps the air in front of my retreating torso. I dodge by the barest of margins to counter again. DODGE. I jump left just as an insane power erupts from his palm. With a roar, blue energy digs a deep furrow into the earth, smashing rocks and sending toppled trees spinning in the air like pins. PAIN. I grit my teeth and claw his face, blinding him. Pain. Pain! I check my right arm to see it now stops at the elbow. Where is my bloody.. Oh, here it is. I jump forward and catch it, then place the mangled limb against my stump. Come on! I feel a rush of wild energy and the need to howl, to hunt. Bones bound, muscles rejoin and skin knits before my very eyes. "Where are you, harlot? Only one¡­" The Herald''s eyes widen in surprise when he sees me healed. I open and close my hand around the dagger. Everything is fine. It doesn''t hurt one bit. For the first time in two nights, I smile. "You still do not understand." I rush forward then back to avoid another shockwave, then forward again. My enemy screams in frustration while I dive under and jump above bolts of blue energy. His face melts under the intense power, only to reform again and again. Each time, the traits are more inhuman, more cruel. His teeth are now completely triangular. Great black arteries snake under his skin, leaving the flesh around blemished. Finally, I manage to sidestep a two-handed vertical strike and find myself behind him. Now time to DODGE. Massive bone spikes grown from his back in every direction. I did not manage to leave in time and two pierce my enchanted bracers as if they were butter, while the last digs deep into my belly. PAIN. I fall back and block a backhand blow with the dagger. The sharp blade cuts off the limb once more. Reprieve. Just need a second to¡­ "This has been far too annoying, I do believe I will take it now." The Herald extends his hand and grasps. I feel nothing myself, then the dagger jolts. I watch powerless as Jimena''s gift is dismantled, deconstructed before my very eyes. "Interesting." The Herald lift his fingers and each tip is replaced by inches of silvery blades covered in runes. Not good. The blackened veins expand even more and I can feel his aura stuttering but that won''t help me if I am dismembered in the next few seconds. I turn and run. "You won''t escape me you hussy! Hahahaha!" Not escaping, just looking for¡­ Ah. I turn my back to a large vertical rock upturned by Loth''s cataclysmic shot. The Herald smirks and jumps. He stole my technique! I throw myself backward on the ground, trying to ignore the wound in my stomach. There is a single instant of faith when all I can see is the smoke-filled sky, then the stars are blotted by a body passing overhead. With a grunt of anger, my foe''s steely claws bury themselves deep into the stone, and stay there. Cracks form almost immediately but I am faster. I dig talons into his wrist and break it apart, then grab the severed hand and use it as an improvised weapon. The first swipe guts him, the second blinds him, while with my right, I reach behind to grab Isaac''s present and place it against his exposed spine. Then both of his hands explode. Silvery shrapnel hit me. Agony. I scream and roll on the ground. Take them out, MUST TAKE THEM OUT! I remove a piece of smoldering metal from the meat of my shoulder then another from a calf, another from my right ear. After two more I finally stop panicking and stand up. The Herald is holding his head and yelling atrociously. The keening sound should be a torture but in truth, it is music to my ears. "You! What have you done!?" If he had not turned off the pain, he would know that his organs reformed around something foreign. Now with the recent change to his body, I would be surprised if he could tell how many spikes grow out of his back. Energy explodes randomly around him. As I watch, his right leg bursts and reforms as a grotesque parody of an insect''s feeler. Both his hands grow mismatched claws and tentacles. He finally remembers the cause of his woes, however, and charges me with the strength of despair. I surprise him by charging as well. He is barely faster than me now and just as he strikes, I dig my left foot into the ground and boot him with all my strength. I remember the maddened charge of the Natalis rogue and pour the same mindless energy in my kick. The Herald lifts off and crashes against a rock, a fallen pine, a burning stump and another rock. He sees me approach and tries to stand up, in vain. His mutated leg does not find enough purchase to pry the spikes off the stone they are embedded in. "If you had not looked down on humans and their form so much¡­" I raise my hand and plant my feet in the ground to resist an aura explosion. It barely slows me down. "¡­You would not have fought like a toddler¡­" I duck to avoid a bolt of energy. "¡­ You would not have paid so much for an oath broken¡­" I grab the key on his forehead, dig claws in his chest to find Isaac''s suppressor and place both feet against his chest. "¡­ And you would not have destroyed your organization and yourself." With a ghastly sound of broken flesh, both objects break free of the form encasing them. "I am Ariane of the Nirari. You were dead the moment you killed my Vassal." The steel trap''s spine close around the key and the connection breaks. Energy arcs from the Herald''s prostrate form, raking him and the ground. My foe lets out a last, keening yell and in mere instants, he is but a scorched husk. I did it. The link is severed. He''s dead. I won, and paid the debt. Now I just need to¡­ Return the key of Beriah for safekeeping? I know it should be the best decision, then something whispers into my mind. I look up. When did I ever think the Watcher was far? He is close, so close. A tendril descends and brushes a strand of hair away from my cheek. The eye croons and then asks like a very young child: "Give?" No words are actually spoken. The requests appear in my mind instantly with a purity of meaning that the spoken word can never hope to match. "Give?" This is not an order, not even a demand. There is something so innocent and beautiful about the simple request, so humble. I know I could refuse without consequence. There would not be a grudge. I raise the key. The closest purple limb closes around it, two things that do not belong here, and then the blue construct is lifted into¡­ I blink. Space and reality hiccupped for a moment. I frown, trying to remember in detail what just happened but cannot. I¡­ Could not process what just occurred. My mind is simply not equipped. What I know with certainty is that the key is gone. I look up. The vampire aster is as distant and mesmerizing as always but for the first time, I feel something I never expected. Approval. Chapter 48 - 48. Pyre of Dreams I slowly make my way to a flat piece of ground and sit down. I feel tired, in a bone-weary way that I did not think possible. The pain of asphyxiation has mostly abated with the death of the Herald but the many wounds I collected are still slowly closing, Jimena''s stolen dagger having bitten deep. So, it is over. I won. Victory tastes of ash and regret. Now, if I want to send Dalton off, then I will have to leave, flee once more. There is a chance that I can convince the knight squad that I am not some raving lunatic, but I would rather not take a chance. Their pursuit is strange, to say the least. What kind of influence do they expect me to have over Master? How is the death of Wolfgang any of my responsibility? It does not make sense. Worse, it sounds increasingly like someone holding a grudge for the death of their ally. If they expect my own demise to hurt my sire, they are terribly mistaken, not that it will matter much if I am slain. No, the best course of action is to escape. I am not without means, and I should be able to access funds via the consortium once I have found a place to settle. Far away from any vampire settlements until I can get those orders rescinded. There is still much time before the conclave. I stand up heavily, eager to rejoin the others and let them know of my success when my ears detect rushing feet coming from behind. Soon after, I perceive familiar heartbeats and Loth''s steel and mountain aura. Merritt and Nashoba appear first, trailed by a dozen native warriors. A few others are helping Loth carry a coffin. They gather around the burnt carcass in a half circle. Loth puts down in charge and takes a step forward. "So. You did it." I nod. We stare at each other without saying a word but like old friends, we convey a mountain of meaning. Pain, relief, trust, regret, sympathy, much is shared. "We followed the fight thanks to Nashoba. He used some sort of sorcery to watch you but lost it when you grabbed the Key of Beriah. What happened?" "I destroyed it." "You did? I¡­ Alright, help me make a bonfire." I find myself caught off guard. "We will cremate Dalton here?" "Yes. A proper farewell surrounded by bloodied warriors and on the corpse of his killer. I don''t know a better way to send someone off." I consider this for a moment. I was thinking of burying him. I was thinking like a Christian, a mortal. This is no longer what Dalton and I stand for. Their God no longer welcomes what I have become. Loth is right, we will pay our respects like the warriors of old, with a meaningful ceremony. "We will mourn with you," adds Nashoba, "he fought for us like you did. We will be with you in this sorrowful time." "We''re not leaving you alone." adds Merritt. I say nothing. Besides Loth, they did not know him, but they wish to pay their respect. This is something that I can understand and consent to. With barely a word, we follow Loth''s direction and gather pine wood from around us. The task is made easy by the ravaged land. Fallen branches and trunks litter the ground for hundreds of yards in every direction. Once the pyre is made on top of the Herald''s remains, Loth drenches it in resin and oil. He lights a torch and hands it to me. "Say a few words." What is there to say? He is gone and will not return. And I will never be allowed to follow when my time has come. "Share a memory," insists Loth, "something we will remember him by." "No man is truly gone who lives in someone else''s heart." Adds Nashoba with a whisper. "I¡­ When I let him go, I saw myself through his eyes. For him, one of the most defining moments of his life was when I saved him in the blood cult''s cave, after he failed to bring us our weapons. I barely remember it. I was half-mad with Thirst and did not care about anything but my next meal. He was on my side and already on the way to becoming my Vassal. Of course, I would save him. I barely remember this moment. For me, one of the most important memories we shared was when he took the initiative for the first time as we were bounty hunting. It made him reliable and independent in my mind. Different perspectives, really. In the end, it was the small gestures we did for each other that impacted the other the most." I light the fire and walk back to the others at a respectful distance. We watch in silence as the flames lick the coffin. Embers rise to the sky and add to the melancholy. On the side, the Choctaw warriors sing a mournful song in their language. I do not understand the words, but I know they speak of the sky and of farewell. "I have a story too." Adds Loth in turn. He clears his throat and begins. "When I was trying to build a magical key, I dropped a batch of prototypes and messed up so I forgot which was which. I was about to throw them all away, but the boy stopped me. He took them and the list and calculated the mass of each key according to the composition of its alloy. Took him a few hours to finish everything but he was so damned proud. I had been teaching him algebra for a few weeks by then and he was always eager. Eager to help, eager to matter, to make a difference. He never asked anything in return. He just did it for us. It was a point of pride." The pyre''s flame dance high by now. We listen to the warrior''s songs for a while until Nashoba steps forward. "I have story as well." "Drink first. Here." Loth takes a flask from a pouch around his waist and throws it at the shaman who expertly grabs it and takes a swig. I can smell alcohol and the native''s scrunched face confirms this is ''the good stuff''. Nashoba''s voice is hesitant at first, but progressively gains in fluidity. His mastery of English is still poor. "We had many wives lost when cleaning at the river. We asked the white men around but were sent off. Then I offered bounty. No one takes. Then Dalton comes. He tracks group of six men and saves the girls then runs back to us. The bad men follow. We¡­ Punish. Dalton saves and gives vengeance. Life and death. Only crime matters, not the color of skin." That''s right. He never judged us for what we were, only for how we acted. Damn, I will miss him so much. And I am crying now. The bittersweet pain tastes different now that his killer lies dead. I feel like I can finally grieve properly. We are lost in our own thoughts. The pyre is in full blast now. From time to time, Nashoba throws a few leaves and resins in it until the clearing smells clean and fresh, like new spring, and blue smoke rises up in an ethereal dances. This is the first time that I have been close to a fire this size without a hint of apprehension. Even my instincts are subdued. And then, a new presence lets itself known. A cold aura that can only mean one thing. Vampire. For one frightful second, I fear that the squad of knights has found me. I soon realize my mistake. The man is alone. He is respectfully letting us know of his coming. I turn out of curiosity, though I already know who this is. The others mirror me and gasp. "Lord Suarez." "Buenas Noches, Senorita. May I join your fire?" The last time I had a good look at him, lord Suarez was blasting his way through an actual wall in a shower of splinters. Then, I was running through the streets of Charleston with his terrifying presence at the heels. Tonight, the monster is contained and the man facing me is a rich noble taking a stroll through his woods. Suarez is taller than Ceron, though a bit less muscular. He has melancholic chestnut eyes, dark hair that falls to his shoulder and a pencil-thin and perfectly groomed anchor beard and moustache. He looks too dignified to be a Caribbean pirate and too roguish to be a duke. Even his clothes are ambiguous. He wears a light orange and outdated courtly ensemble that would look ridiculous on anyone but him and sports a dangerous-looking fencing sword by his side. I point at a spot to my left while the warriors retreat at a safe distance. I do not have the heart to refuse. I felt his power before. If Suarez wants to sit, he will damn well sit and there is nothing I could do to stop him. Unlocking the might of my bloodline gave me the edge I needed to defeat the Herald and I am confident I could take on older Courtiers, perhaps even several of them at the same time. A battle Lord of the Cadiz is an entire other prospect. "Senorita¡­May I?" The man is close. Even sitting, he is not just taller, he feels larger. Much larger than me, and yet, his voice is incredibly soft, and I can see longing in his eyes. I realize what he is asking. "Are you here to kill me?" "No." "Then¡­ Alright." Lord Suarez extends a single claw against my cheek and recovers a pearl of red tear with religious reverence. He brings it to his lips, hesitates at the last moment then gives in. The mighty vampire turns his head away almost bashfully and takes one shaky breath. Silence returns to the clearing. I find myself captivated by the chaotic pattern of the flames dancing towards heaven. I am not surprised that they would be used to cleanse us from this world. There is something wild and unforgiving about fire. Those mages who use it in spells do not control it, they merely select a way to unleash its rage. "Who are you mourning?" S§×arch* The N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Lord Suarez is facing me now. His cheeks are flushed in a decidedly mortal way. I wonder how it feels to drink tears. It does seem different from just shedding them. "My Vassal." He nods in understanding. "Then allow me first to pay my respects." He stands, then kneels before the pyre and though his lips moved, no sound escape it. After a while, the vampire stands up and pricks his finger, sending a few drops to be consumed by the pyre, then he returns to my side. I am pleased by his show of respect. Dalton truly got a proper send off, like he deserved. "Tell me of him." "I¡­Think I should go. If you found me so easily then¡­" "The knights will be here in fifteen minutes." "WHAT?!" "I saw their day encampment and left them behind. There is nothing you can do to run away now, and I swear on my name that staying is to your advantage." "I¡­ don''t know." "Please believe me, you should stay. Stay and tell me of him." He would never lie. "Very well." I start my story with Crow''s request and progressively move forward. I am not a coherent storyteller at the moment. Times are all over the place, anecdotes and remarks follow each other without sense and yet not once does he interrupt me. His few comments only show support and interest, or help me center myself. Towards the end, he urges me to speak of Dalton''s demise and the fight that followed. When I am done, he considers his next words carefully. "You had something quite precious and I am sorry that you lost it. Now, the knights are upon us. I ask that you do not engage." His gaze drills into mine. "Do not engage. Talk to them but do not attack. If it comes to this, I will handle them myself." "But why?" "Have you forgotten? You spared me from the fate that befell you by saving my own Vassal, Inez." "¡­ The Tillerson estate." "Yes. On that night she asked and you listened. You saved her life. I have a debt, one that I will repay tonight. Your deeds speak for themselves Ariane of the Nirari. I will protect you from harm in the coming confrontation. You do not stand alone." He speaks the truth. Nashoba is here, so are Loth and Merritt. Isaac is gone but he left me with the suppressor. I have been carried so far by the bonds I created through joy, pain and common effort. Dalton may be gone but what we shared will live within me. I am not alone. This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. I turn to face the night. Suarez stands to my right, while Loth, Nashoba and Merritt are on my left. The witch utters a small "Ah, fuck me." Before standing up but she joins us anyway. I have no idea what I did to get her loyalty. It doesn''t take long for a few unknown vampires to step out of the shadows. They mask their auras. I knew it was possible, for how else could Suarez surprise me in Charleston? It is one thing to know of it, however, and another to see a squad of knights in full battle regalia surround me while coming out of seemingly nowhere. There are four of them, all in the grey lamellar armor I saw on both Jimena and Wolfgang. They are an eclectic bunch, though they move with a synchronism that speaks of trust and training. On one side is a taciturn man with a shaven head and an axe and shield. His muscular arms flex as he rolls his shoulders and inspects us. Opposite him is a black-haired lad with an almost girlish face and a long dagger he twirls between agile fingers. He is the only person smiling here, mischievously. Behind them, a woman looks warily towards Suarez as she holds a staff between clenched hands. Her face is covered by a scarf that only leaves dark eyes free. The last one, and their leader if I read the situation correctly, is fixing me with an angry glare. He looks straight out of the ''prince charming'' page of a fairy tale book right down to the confident pose. A handsome face, a chiseled chin, deep blue eyes darker than mine, a regal air. He has it all, and even his arrogance could pass off as nobility. I instantly dislike him. We should not be allowed to look self-righteous. Not us. The hypocrisy is simply too much to bear. "I see you have decided to stop hiding, beast, and face your judgement!" Hold on, what? "Who are you calling a beast?" "Long have I waited for the chance to rid the world of your tainted kind. You are a blight, and I am the cure." "Did you take those lines from the Brotherhood?" That gets me a chuckle from the black-haired man. His leader looks at him, furious, but the roguish knight just shrugs helplessly. Lord Suarez uses the pause to take a step forward. "She is no beast, Anatole, even you cannot be this blind." "She is a rogue; she has to be. Every Nirari spawn is a disaster in waiting." "We are having a conversation, are we not? Is this standard rogue behavior?" I add with impatience. "And what of the rumors that you left a trail of blood on your way out of New-Orleans?" "Rumors, really? I thought the knights were a serious organization, and you base your judgement on hearsay? Not to mention my sibling Svyatoslav in Russia, who works with the Vityazi. Is he also a disaster in waiting? Will you go to Moscow and apprehend him afterward?" His fellow knights track Anatole''s reaction with no hint of support. This only serves to make the man more incensed. The situation is disturbingly easy to understand, a poor prospect when vampires are concerned. "You suddenly appear and at the same moment, your master resurfaces to wreak havoc. You expect me to believe that this is a coincidence?" "If you believe me to have any influence on a millennia-old monster, I am sorry to say that you are grossly overestimating my reach, Anatole." "Who knows what dark sorcery led to the death of my mentor!" "There is no deep secret, knight, he went after my Master and perished, like legions before him, and more after, no matter how many die by his hand." "He was supposed to be weakened! He had to receive some help!" "And this highly hypothetical help must have come from me, an isolated young vampire with no knowledge of sorcery and no means, operating thousands of miles away? Truly astute of you." "Perhaps you used the key of Beriah?" "The artefact that wasn''t found until yesterday? That key?" "And where is it now?" "Are you going to keep spewing baseless slander until you find something that sticks?" "I am the knight, I ask the questions here. Do you have in your possession the key of Beriah, an artefact of great danger?" "No." I add between gritted teeth. This¡­ insufferable, obnoxious PRICK! Calm, Ariane, let Suarez handle this. I do not want to risk my friends. "No? Where is it then?" "I destroyed it." "You destroyed? How? With your bare hands?" "No I¡­ The Watcher took it." He scoffs. "Surely lord Suarez, you can see that she is either lying or delusional." The Cadiz lord does not answer, he looks at me with a contemplative expression before returning his attention to the head knight. "You have made a lot of accusations Anatole, most of them so completely groundless as to be preposterous. The way the events unfold makes me think more of a pithy revenge for the loss of a mentor than the act of a reliable new leader dedicated to keeping us safe." "How dare you!" exclaims Anatole, his aura flaring. "Easily, young one." Suarez lets go of his control and his frigid power blasts all others like a father castigating rowdy children. All three mortals by my side swear softly, each in their own language, as the cold wave washes over us. I shiver. Such power¡­ "I dare much, and you would do well to remember that your position is not as secure as you may think." Anatole shows apprehension for the first time, but not for long. Soon, his haughty face returns with a vengeance. "It matters not, she is persona non grata on the entire territory. Her execution has been approved by no other than Constantine himself." "What?!" I sputter. "How?! This is impossible! He knew of me beforehand! He even sent me an invitation to the next conclave! I cannot believe this, I refuse. You lie!" Oh, I wish I could wipe that smirk off his face. He is a cad and a scoundrel, trying to finagle his way. There absolutely no way that Constantine would sign this¡­ This sham! "And yet he did. See for yourself, Lord Suarez." I am stunned. Speechless. How, how is this happening?! He lies, does he not? I gathered support, I played by the rules I¡­ What? Everything was fine! I was going to join the society of my peers after ten long years! No longer an outcast! And now, the leader has signed my death warrant? Out of nowhere? "Is this some cruel joke!?" "I''m afraid not Senorita. This is Constantine''s seal. It cannot be counterfeited." "No, this is wrong, this is all wrong..." "Now, ''Lord'' Suarez, step away and let us complete our mission, unless you want to raise your hand against a knight?" There is a heavy pause as my ally digests the threat and thinly veiled insult. Anatole looks unbearably smug. I would be furious but cannot. Between the grief, my still aching wounds and now this? I must be asleep, there is no other explanation. I am living a nightmare. Surely, the world would not be so cruel¡­ Suarez turns to me and smiles sadly. "Please Senorita, remember what I said. Stay with your friends and do not fight, understood? Remember my oath." Words escape me, so I just nod. "A wise decision," says Anatole as he sidesteps the Cadiz vampire, "now¡­" "Oh, but we are not done." The entire squad freezes and tenses at once. Even I can feel the threat, no, the promise of violence in the lord''s voice. "You played politics to achieve your petty goal, thus forfeiting the protection that your status entails." "You would not dare¡­" "You parrot the same sentence again, child." With a single word, Suarez reminds all present of the gap between himself and the others. "And you do not understand. Do you think the knights will go to war with my Coven to protect you?" "Yes!" "Not if I leave most of you alive. I will receive at most a slap on the wrist." "You would fight us? For her?" "I owe her a debt of gratitude, one I fully intend to repay. I owe you nothing but contempt for what you just did, and one last thing¡­" Suarez positions himself between the knights and us. "You mocked me, disrespected me before friend and foe. I cannot let it slide. You will bear the stigma of this mistake in your soul, and in your flesh." "This is folly! Wait!" "Too late, mongrel. Draw." I struggle to understand the combat that follows. The Cadiz'' lord aura washes over us like a tidal wave and a furious battle is joined. The four knights react immediately. They move as a single unit in complex and ever-flowing formations. The woman provides some subtle magical support I cannot identify, while the men alternate to contain their opponent. Anatole takes point with a black sword and dagger that appeared seemingly out of nowhere with the shield-bearer in support, ready to step up when he is pushed back. The playful man with the stilettos circles around, constantly looking for an opening. He is quick to strike and quick to retreat, always playing interference. In front of them, Suarez fights like a swordmaster. He is tempered fury and perfection in motion. Their dance is one I can barely follow and cannot understand. Their every movement is a complex dialogue in sequences that elude me, and I now realize the wall that separates me from them. They are not just faster than me, they are not simply godly fencers, they are also drawing on decades, nay, centuries of experience fighting their own kind. Every savage strike is also an expert move from a brilliant choregraphy. Every cunning feint is turned into a merciless attack if ignored. I am the witness to a spectacle that is as beautiful as it is daunting, and I am glad I did not try to fight the knights. They would have wiped the floor with me in mere moments, even if I were at the top of my form. I had felt a sense of power after slaying the Herald. I heard Isaac say that someone attuned with the key could go toe to toe with a lord. Clearly, they must have consumed more than a small village and used the artefact for longer than a single night. I am out of my depth and witness, powerlessly, the contest that will decide my fate. At first, Lord Suarez seems to have the upper hand as he manages to land a few blows that his opponents struggle to heal. For a while, Anatole is hard-pressed and his ally almost drops his axe. The Cadiz lord even manages to feint beautifully to catch the knife holder in the heart and through the armor, disabling him with a single strike. Shortly thereafter, the tides of battle change. With an overhead strike from his obsidian-colored blade, Anatole catches his foe''s blade with an ominous clang. It is too much for Suarez'' sword. It shatters in myriad pieces. The knight leader follows up with a slash that draws a bloody line across my ally''s chest. Lord Suarez steps back. "Not bad at all, for a second-rate team." "It is over, Lord Suarez. You fought impressively but your sword is broken. You are defenseless." "None of us are ever truly defenseless, fool. You should have remembered that. Just as you should always expect a battle lord to carry a soul weapon." Soul weapon? Are those the black weapons vampire lords pull out of nowhere? Suarez takes a step forward and the three remaining fighters huddle protectively as he speaks in an unnaturally loud voice. His presence fills the clearing with an overwhelming sense of pressure. Even standing behind him, I must struggle to resist bending my back and lowering my eyes. Such is the power of a lord. "I tested your mettle and found it wanting, Anatole. You do not have the means of your arrogance. I am sure that your elders taught you the importance of diplomacy and subtlety, but perhaps you forgot. I shall remind you of it, as it is a lesson that you need to learn if you ever want to last. No need to thank me, I will do it with pleasure." Suarez straightens and breathes deeply. A massive ornamented two-hander appears between his hands, held vertically in front of him. The hilt is silvery and elegant but its surface absorbs the very light, while the very air shakes before it as an ominous hum covers the clearing. Just like Loth when he is truly angry, there is an unspeakable weight to it that goes beyond the mere physical world. The Cadiz Lord will now impose his will on the reality around him and nothing, not Anatole screaming orders, not the axeman charging him, not even the sorceress begging will stop. When he next speaks, the two words cover everything else. "Magna Arqa." What happens next defies description. Suarez'' eyes flash purple and then, he strikes. His sword bisects the heavier knight from right shoulder to waist, through shield, weapon, and armor. I did not see him move. His opponent falls instantly. Without pause, he slices horizontally behind him and catches Anatole mid-lunge. The monstrous attack cuts cleanly through the leader''s chest as well as his right arm, and sends his own sword spinning in the darkness. The clearing goes quiet as the witch gives up and falls to her knees. The entire exchange lasted less than a heartbeat. "Hooooly shit." whispers Merritt. Well, yes. Quite. My ally turns to the last remaining member of the squad. "Will you fight as well?" "No, lord, I would rather make sure they are safe. Thank you for sparing their lives." I mistakenly assumed her to be a coward, but it appears that she merely possesses common sense. "Take them and leave." "As you say." We watch quietly as she collects her companion''s ''disheartened'' pieces. Now that the show is over and done, the reality of the situation overwhelms me once more. "Why? Why would you do that?" I say accusingly, "I thought knights were our vanguards, the true monster slayers?" The witch spares me a glance. "How many spawns of the Devourers have laid havoc and how many have become members of our society?" "Knowing which category I belong to would have taken your squad all of five minutes, hypocrite." She will not meet my eyes. "I obey." Pathetic. SPINELESS WEAKLING. Why Jimena wants to join their sorry excuse for an outfit, I shall never know. A moment later, we are alone in the clearing. This is all too surreal. We just witnessed a cataclysmic battle and all that remains is a handful of blood marks. There is also the small matter of my life, my entire project, being in shambles. Constantine''s invitation? I might as well fold it and use it as a napkin. Unbelievable. "What now." "Now, you must flee." Is this some sort of cosmic farce? "I worked so much for this, waited for so long! Is there no other way?" "I am sorry." "So, this was all for nothing." All my efforts. Ruined. Well, this is not entirely true. I have made friends and allies, have grown stronger, experienced much. Even though I must run away again, I am no longer the weak fledgling who struggled to survive. And I am not destitute either. "Is there a way to reverse an execution order?" Suarez blinks in surprise, perhaps not expecting me to recover so fast. I haven''t, I just need something to look forward to. "Perhaps. I have not studied the Accords beyond what is expected of me." "There must be a way, and I shall find it. Lord Suarez, I thank you for your help. Consider your debt repaid." "Not yet young one," he replies with a smile, "I intend to send you on your way. Your companions cannot follow, so I would advise you to say your farewell now. I shall wait for you over there." The first to come to me is Loth. He looks sad and also a bit awkward. I imagine that the old warlord is not used to expressing his feelings, unless they relate to fighting, sex, or food. "I cannot follow you." "I know. Take care of your family, and we will meet again. I promise." "Aye ye''d better. You and I, we can do great things together. Also, I''ll miss ya. Ah, Tyr." Loth dries his eyes with a handkerchief. "Be safe. Don''t do anything too reckless." "Well, you know me. I''m the very soul of caution." There is a moment of silence before we both chuckle. "I''ll go before I turn into a moppy milk drinker. Don''t forget your promise. You carry the boy''s memory too now." I nod and we hug. Loth then turns to leave and Nashoba joins me. "This is goodbye daughter of Thorn and Hunger. You should go West, and North." "This is as good direction as any I suppose." "No, it is much better, trust me, I..." "Can see the future, yes." "I will carry your friend''s ashes to the sea. He will be at peace. You have my word." "Thank you. Take care as well." "I will and do not worry, we shall meet again. Keep those earrings on at all times." My hands go to his gift. I wear them as a habit now. I only now come to realize how useful they must have been. I have no idea how many times they have protected me, only that they will save me once more. When the knights inevitably try to track me, they will have to do it the old-fashioned way. I wish them good luck. They will need it. "So um, that was intense yeah?" Merritt. She really pulled through. I am pleasantly surprised. "Thank you, mage Merritt, you stood by my side, our side, through everything. You are a credit to your organization and mages everywhere. I am glad you were here." "Wow! Do you really mean that?" For some reason, she appears moved to tears. I do not understand, is she letting the general mood affect her? "Yes. Yes, I do." "Wow, this is the nicest thing someone has said to me in¡­ Forever!" Huh. That is¡­ Rather pathetic. "It is well deserved. In my case, I must bid you goodbye and I wish you good luck." She bites her lip, considering. Before she follows that specific thought I cut her off. "You cannot follow. I will be going too fast." "Yes, I know. It''s just, I admire you. You stand up for yourself so much, and you are so confident, and strong! Can we stay in touch? Exchange letters?" "Well¡­ Yes of course. Via the Rosenthal consortium. Get in touch with them." Her happiness is a curious thing. I never realized I could matter so much to someone without trying to, not since Loth anyway. Not if they know what I am. I take a step back and realize that all my belongings are somewhere else. I only have my mask and the ruined dress left, as well as my two pendants and the pair of earrings. "I am ready." I announce to Suarez. "Then follow." "And what is this?" Before me is a majestic horse with a black coat and surprisingly red eyes. He is bound to a tree, his saddles bulging with supplies. "Is that¡­" "Yes, young one. A nightmare. Isaac left it to you, as well as most of your clothes from the camp, I believe. He assured me that the rest would be stored safely until you find a place to call yours again." "Excellent. What is its name?" "Her name is Metis and she is a gift fit for a king. Let me guide you through the bonding phase. And then you can go." Five minutes later I am riding full speed West, with the wind in my face and the grace of the immortal. "Weeeeee! Faster Metis, faster!" Chapter 49 - 49. The shadow over Marquette. September 1813 Message to Isaac of the Rosenthal. Metis is well. Marquette, IL. A. December 1813 Milady, After reviewing your project, you will be pleased to learn that the board has approved your loan, with a one-year grace period before interest is collected. You will find the signed agreement, as well as a reminder of our terms and conditions in separate documents. We wish you all the best in your endeavour. Best regards, Andrew Mills, Manager for the Rosenthal Consortium, branch of Savannah. December 21st 1831, Marquette, Illinois. Below my bedroom''s largest window, I placed a mahogany desk. The delicate furniture is an expensive and wasteful affair I gifted myself last summer as a well-deserved treat for my birthday. Its surface has not been clear since then, always cluttered with messages, invoices, and orders I must countersign. Tonight, the right-hand pile will remain untouched. Tonight, I dedicate my time to contemplation. I lined the walls with some of my best paintings. The Eye, my favourite rendition of the Herald, a portrait of Dalton, another one of Loth. Those are the personal paintings while the rabble downstairs contents themselves with my landscapes and other portraits. There is even a single piece of poetry under a protective glass case, a Sonnet in alexandrines written by a passing artist singing the glory of my rear. That one made me laugh. The four-poster bed with a goose feather mattress, I seldom use, just like the vanity with its attached mirror. They serve to keep appearances in case somebody manages to break in. The two wardrobes are packed. I do have a reputation to uphold, one that requires a flawless appearance. Right now, I am wearing a blue winter gown with an ermine collar as I stare over the city. Two winters in a row now, the entire state has been covered in thick snow. Travel is almost impossible, and I expect that when it thaws, we will have to recover the corpses of the unwary and the unfortunate. The fluffy white mantle hangs over everything and even the dark soot of burnt coal has yet to mar its pristine beauty. For a few more hours, the alabaster cloth will mask the truth of what this city is: a rotten shithole. White powder to hide away the decrepitude like heavy makeup on an old whore. I appreciate the moment while it lasts. Then somebody knocks on the door. I sigh deeply and resist the urge to crumple the fragile letter in my hand, the one telling me of father''s death three years ago to this day. I take one last look outside and enjoy the scent of jasmine and burning log, the crisp air inside before it is polluted. "Come in." Margaret''s vixen face appears as I knew it would. She searches the dim room with her pitch-black eyes. "Margaret." "Mistress¡­" "Did I not leave specific instructions that I should not be disturbed?" "Yes, but¡­" She swallows nervously. "You also said to fetch you if the Alvaro were to come again. They¡­ They are here. Three brothers. Hm. Michael and George and Gabriel. Those." Two archangels and one king. Pretentious. "Very well. I will go." "And mistress? Hm. You might want to check Patrick. I think¡­ I think he''s been drinking." I wait a few seconds before answering. "You may go." She closes the door and scurries away, to prepare her promotion, no doubt. Margaret is my best cattle, and I believe she may have been Lancaster vampire material. That, or she is just a cunning, backstabbing harridan. I cannot decide which. This is, in essence, what cattle are. After three bites they lose most of their autonomy and only exist to serve us. The fires of ambition and inspiration in their soul is smothered. Their entire existence is reduced to menial tasks and spying on each other to improve their standing. I turned her into this because the twit poisoned my wine. I did Patrick because he tried to swindle me. They remain the most proactive of those I took in, and I placed them in charge of the dozen I keep around at all times. Sadly, their blood is just as insipid as their personalities. I wish I could have a Vassal but unsurprisingly, it takes a deep connection between vampire and mortal to form such a bond. The deepest connections I formed since my arrival consisted of my hand in someone''s rib cage and I do not see it changing any time soon. I suspect that Masters can have several, though I remember Baudouin mentioning that only one can become the Servant and thus escape old age for a life of servitude. I step out of my room and in the corridor to the view of Margaret''s quickly retreating back. The alley is decorated by my paintings and actual plaster, with doors on both sides leading to storage closets and the staff''s personal quarters. I follow it to the end then down the set of stairs. The Dream is four stories high with three wings around an inner court. It is the largest building in a hundred miles in any direction, not that the South of Illinois abounds with those. I am about to reach the third floor when I come across a nervous Patrick climbing up. He sees me and stops. Under the stench of stale sweat, sex and unwashed bodies, I detect the subtle hint of expensive liquor. "Patrick." The weaselly man freezes in his tracks, not even daring to move. "Mistress?" "Turn around." If the man gets anymore scared, I fear he may soil his pants. Human excrement is not something I wish to add to the already fragrant bouquet I submit myself to. "Choose." "Mistress? I¡­" I slap him. He manages to cushion his head with an arm before it impacts the wall. Blood drips down his crooked nose. "Choose." "A finger." He shakily extends his hand. I grab the index and snap it. Ignoring his scream of pain, I drag him by his broken digit until he kneels before me. "I can tolerate mistakes but not deception. One more incident and you will join Russel and the others, and I would hate to ask John to dig a grave in this weather. Do I make myself clear?" "Yes, Mistress." "You will give the key to the pantry and cave to Margaret." "¡­ Yes, Mistress." After one last twist, I leave the whimpering failure behind. Such a waste of my time. Two more landings and I am on the ground floor. Normally, the noise coming from the saloon eclipses even the moans and giggles of the upper floors. Tonight, it is unusually quiet. Even the piano stopped playing. John is waiting at the bottom with an iron poker and a big goofy smile. He cleans the drool from his cleft lip and bows. "Miss Lethe." "Good evening John, I see you remember. Thank you." The man nods frantically with a delicate blush. John is an interesting find. He is without a doubt the tallest and strongest man in town by a wide margin. He is also one of the ugliest men I ever had the misfortune of ever meeting. I wish I could say he is the stupidest. He is not, but he is close. "I remember. September seventh eighteen thirty-one. If they come back, bam!" What John is explaining in his own words is my previous banishment of the Alvaro brothers from the Dream on threat of death, by strenuous application of the aforementioned implement. John''s memory is simply uncanny. His ability to process information, not so much. With the poker held by my side, I enter the main room and calmly walk towards the bar where the trio is drinking, their back to the oaken strip. Gabriel, the eldest, is pointing an old pistol at the crowd while the two others nurse glasses and glance around nervously. The customers and girls alike stare at them and I can see quite a few predatory smirks. Those are not the delicate gentlemen and ladies of the East coast, but godless frontier folk and they are always eager for a free bloody show. When Gabriel spots me, he swings the pistol in my direction, and I catch a glimpse of the pan. Truly, it is a miracle that the entire Alvaro bloodline is not extinguished yet by the result of their sheer incompetence. A mistake that nature made and that I shall remedy myself. "Well well well, and who graces my establishment tonight?" "You bitch, we go where we want. You don''t get to order us around, you know who we are?" "As a matter of fact, I do. I remember telling you to leave and never return, or else. Isn''t that right Gabriel?" "You don''t get to tell us that. We''re the Alvaro. You gots to respect us. You''re just a nasty slut, who cares what you want. Ain''t that right?" I have almost reached them yet. I could Charm them into begging. I could make them leave with their tails between their legs, but I will not. I made a public promise, one I fully intend to fulfil. Their fate was sealed the moment they stepped into my domain without my leave. I do have a reputation to uphold after all, and the fancy clothes are only a part of it. "I said, if you come back here, I will break your skulls with an iron poker." I am close now, just barely out of arm''s reach. "I don''t see no iron poker, you whore." I slightly extend my right arm until the entire room sees the implement. A collective intake of breath and a few expressions of admiration welcome the barbaric statement. Gabriel panics, he lifts his pistol and pulls the trigger. The flint erupts in a rain of sparks as the people behind me yell in dismay. Nothing happens. That inbred cretin forgot to close the pan. His powder is on the ground somewhere. My strike catches him in the temple with a resounding crack. There is a trick to applying strength in public as a vampire. I only need to move at human speed and let the weapon''s weight do the job for me. A two-handed swing takes care of George on the right, and a downward strike cracks Michael''s head as he kneels by his sibling''s side. For a beautiful moment, the room is filled and yet perfectly silent, then the mob lets loose. Cheers, jeers and laughter bloom at my back as I drop the poker without a care. I approach my barman under tumultuous applause. He is cleaning glass as if nothing of note had occurred. "Oscar." The man is a black freeman, an oddity around here. Light from the candles shines on his bald head. He raises sad brown eyes to me and nods in appreciation. "I''m sorry for giving them booze miss Lethe, they threatened me with that gun." "Did you give them the cheapest swill?" Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. "Of course." "Good man." He returns to work and I approach the main entrance just as my men step in to get rid of the corpses. I smile pleasantly at the revellers complimenting me. "Ice-cold miss!" "You sure showed them!" "Did not even flinch¡­" A man with a black beard and a brutish face is waiting right outside. "Horrigan." "Boss?" "Those three must have cut a way through the snow to come to town. Take three teams and go to the Alvaro estate. Kill all the adults, take the kids, and burn the house down." "Even old Mary Alvaro?" Sear?h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Especially her. Now go." "Yes, ma''am." I turn around. Horrigan is a brute and also the leader of my private army. There are around twenty of them at any time, a costly investment but one I can afford. The unruly pack will loot the place but they will also do as I ordered. I step back inside and use a side passage to return to my room unhindered. I meet a few couples on my way up. The men remove their hats and my girls curtsey, as I instructed. This should soothe me, yet it does not. The calm is gone. Well, I might as well do some paperwork. "This concludes the meeting. Anyone else has anything to add?" Horrigan is already trying to escape and frowns as Kitty, the one in charge of the girls, raises a hand. He is not a fan of work, especially the kind that requires a brain. "Preparations for the Christmas party would go better if your, ah, personal staff helped us shovel snow." Margaret fixes her. If looks could kill¡­ "Very well, the men only." Kitty dips her head and soon my assistants file out. There is Horrigan for security, Kitty for the girls, Oscar for the entertainment side and old Martha for food and cleaning. Margaret is present as well, though their role is separate. When I settled here, I realized that there were very few positions of authority for women that did not start with ''wife of'', so I became a madame. I run a brothel. If my father had learnt of it, he would have died of embarrassment. As for me, I don''t really care that much. It is a means to an end, an excellent means besides. And the end is near. I just need two more years. My establishment, the Dream, was built with funds I borrowed from the Consortium. That debt is now repaid several times over. Indeed, I am in the business of pleasure and illusion, and business is booming. Mine is the only place of entertainment in the surrounding three counties, the only destination where one can forget about their miserable existence, their back-breaking labour or their nagging wife. This is the grandest building in all of Marquette, larger and more lavish than both the mine''s office and town hall together. For a week''s pay, workers and farmhands can come and drink rotgut in fancy glasses of fake crystal, served from ornate bottles by beautiful women who pretend to care. With only a handful of coins, they will find comfort in arms smelling of cheap perfume and wake up the next day just as miserable but with their mood, their purse, and their testicles lighter. Their aspirations are fulfilled, if only for an evening. All of their aspirations. The Dream is well provisioned. They want shy brunettes? I have them. Prissy blondes? Got them too. They want plump girls dressed in farm clothes they bend over to fulfil a cousin fantasy? They can. Refined ladies pretending to slum it to get their freak on? I got them as well, with quality acting delivered by the daughters of expert conmen. I got red-heads, I got auburn, I even got grey. Fat and slim, tall and small, luscious or boyish, I have them all. They want a black woman? No problem. A native? A Chinese? Right this way sir. They want food served? I have all the ribs they will ever need. I have beer, whiskey, gin and wine. I have music and dancers. I have games and jokes and all they will ever need to live the dream, to feel successful, to feel that they matter. And when dawn comes and the shining rays of the sun show the cracks in the wall painting and the imperfection on the bar''s varnish, their money is already on its way to my office. Leading this small empire is not an easy task though. This is a company. We sell services and the logistics alone is already a nightmare. The amount of food required to satisfy almost three hundred people on busy nights is truly staggering, and this is without even considering cleaning. Before starting this, I had no idea how much effort is required to wash a hundred and fifty sheets, and well, let''s just say that if a mer-woman lives downstream, she''s pregnant. Growing and managing the massive structure has been a formative experience and I have a newfound respect for Isaac. Tonight is a town council night. As the owner and sole proprietor of the Dream, I count as one of the city''s top dogs, which I guess makes me the alpha bitch. The big wheels gather once per week to discuss their domain''s ongoing affairs and align to solve them. This goes from funding public works to handling disgruntled employees or undesirables, an initiative made necessary by the frontier''s unequal rule of law. Until tonight, that is. I leave Horrigan and John in the town hall''s entrance. A woman alone is a tempting target for those who do not know better, therefore I bring them along to intimidate people. And it works. I ordered John to smile and remain silent when people talk to him. The resulting facial expression is an abominable rictus that does not reach his eyes. As long as he doesn''t utter a word, he appears dangerous instead of just plain stupid. I left no instructions to Horrigan, he only needs to be himself. The council room is a stuffy fumoir with heavy leather couches. The walls are yellowed by years of cigar smoke and the centre is occupied by a coffee table cluttered with alcohol bottles, often emptied and changed. Inebriation makes my colleagues more amenable, most of the time. I highly suspect this will not apply to the newcomer. "Ah, here you are hehe! Miss Lethe, meet our new judge, the honourable Mr Richard Sullivan. Splendid, hehe, yes, now, order will finally come to our beloved city, hehe, isn''t that right Mr Sullivan?" The mayor is a short and plump man with a sweet disposition. Under his affable air lies a shrewd businessman, one with probity, according to local standards. His striped suit flares around the middle making him bottom heavy. By contrast, the newcomer is dressed in black with a top hat, gloves and an entirely black suit with a white shirt. He is tall, with white hair and an abundant white beard, and painfully thin. Two pale blue eyes peer down an aquiline nose. His tone is glacial. "Yes. Quite." A silver cross hangs on his tie. Not from the Brotherhood thankfully, or our collaboration would have been brief indeed. Thankfully, I know how to handle his kind without leaving a corpse. I curtsey respectfully and offer my hand in greeting. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, judge Sullivan." And here is the thing, scorning me would not only be unbecoming of a gentleman in public, it would also insult the mayor, his host. After a slight hesitation, Sullivan relents and holds my hand. He bows slightly in a gesture that is calculated to convey disdain. "I have heard much about you and your¡­ Establishment, Ms Lethe." "Only good things, I hope?" I add, ever the pleasant host. "It is a den of sin!" "You mean, prostitution?" "So, you do not deny it?" "No." My calm statement takes him by surprise, and I use the distraction to push him further. "We live on the frontier, judge Sullivan. Those are hardy and persistent folks, but they have base instincts. I merely offer them a safe and clean place to relax and¡­ ply their trade." "You attempt to present adultery as something inevitable!" "Ah, but we both know that if your constituents were all respectable citizens, your task would be significantly easier would it not? I understand that you would see the Dream as a tool of chaos and evil, but you could not be further from the truth. When I came here, these women were living in poorly lit and filthy barns while the men were drinking dangerous concoctions made by smugglers and criminals. The squalor of their living conditions was appalling and every year, many would die to disease and exposure. The Dream brought civilization, such as it is, to those poor people. We provide a safe environment for them to¡­ Channel their impulses. As a man of law, I believe that you can appreciate our contribution to peace and order in this town." "Certainly, their time would be better spent attending church rather than a house of ill repute!" "I am afraid that this would be the purview of pastor van Tassel. Ah, here he is." An older gentleman in a dark ensemble joins us at the table, soon followed by a dour bald man who manages the city''s coal mine for some Chicago firm. "Mrs Lethe is right I''m afraid. I fight an uphill battle to save the souls of those lost lambs. At the very least, her financial contribution to the church helped us repair it last winter so my efforts could continue." Of course, I would fund the local church. I do need the priest off my back, not to mention that he likes curvy women and roleplay. Interestingly, so does his wife. "An undisciplined rabble is what they are!" harrumphs the mayor, "it takes all of Ms Lethe and pastor''s van Tassel''s efforts to keep them in line. Why just yesterday an entire farm was burnt to the ground as part of a criminal''s quarrel, no doubt!" Ahem. "You have your task cut out for you, judge Sullivan. You can, of course, count on all our help." He continues. "Hmpf!" The righteous man is not convinced by their arguments in my favour, but he is mellowed and that will be enough for a first contact. As in most things political, I will take my time, erode determinations and enmities by making them too costly to maintain. In truth, immortality grants me a unique mindset to appreciate long-term goals. So many decisions are motivated by biological imperatives to find fortune, a good party, or to leave a legacy to one''s children within a few years. I do not disdain mortals for it, quite the contrary. So many great deeds are carried out through the motivation a limited lifespan offers. Short-sightedness is only an unfortunate and unavoidable side effect of this condition, and with no vampires around, insults slide off me like water. Betrayals are nothing but amusing distractions I need to repay in a particularly inventive and cruel manner. Finally, if the offenders decide it wiser to leave town, they never reach the next one. Metis and I make sure of it. A slow stream of notables joins us until all are present or excused. I remain the only woman present to the general indifference of all. It appears mortals can get used to anything, with time. Judge Sullivan introduces himself and what he stands for through a concise speech mentioning "God" far too many times for my taste, and "Justice" too few. Our discussions then lead to the town''s Christmas celebrations. Van Tassel and I mention our respective preparations, and the meeting is soon adjourned. I never truly appreciated cold before. I feel it in my bones but it is no longer uncomfortable, nor distressing. Instead of shivers and lethargy, I enjoy the crisp air and silence only broken by feet trudging through snow. Then we reach the Dream and I am hit by a sensory wall. Bright lights, loud music, the overwhelming stench of sweat, stale sex and unwashed bodies. Spilled booze mingles with cheap tobacco in a concerted effort to saturate my mind. I immediately turn to a side door to escape the main room before one of our patrons gathers enough courage to accost me. "Miss Ari?" "Yes John." "Your head hurts?" How can he be so perceptive yet so dumb? A most peculiar man. "No, the music is just too loud." The towering giant nods wisely, or his version of wise anyway. Horrigan sneers but remains quiet. Once, I ordered John to execute a man who had shot one of our girls. The simpleton placed his hands around his victim''s skull and crushed it like an overripe melon. Since that fateful moment, not a man has seen it wise to test or bully my self-proclaimed bodyguard. "I will retire to my room. You two enjoy your evening." I close the door behind me. Finally, blessed quiet, and the light scent of cleanliness and jasmine. And woodsmoke. And¡­ Roses. There is an envelope on my bed. NEST COMPROMISED. FIND THE INTRUDER AND KILL IT. KILL IT NOW! "MARGARET!" Feet scurry outside, only to stop at the door. I bang it open and take her by her devious, lying throat. "Who came here!? Who?" "No¡­ Please!" "HSSSSS!" "No one! No one I swear!" A small gathering of cattle is now watching us. "Who came in here?" "No one Mistress." They all shake their heads. They look scared, terrified even, but I detect no signs of duplicity. No shifty eyes, no one trying to avoid attention. They are all looking around trying to catch another lying, eager to curry my favor. I even forbid them from entering and as far as I know, cattle cannot, and will not disobey a direct order. "Very well. Wait here." I go back in and look around the room. The windows are sealed, and cannot be opened from the outside. I inspect all four of them without finding any sign of tampering. There are no magical auras either. Not even from the envelope. "Margaret. Find anyone who came to this floor while I was away and bring them to me." "Very well, Mistress." The letter smells of roses. I open it and read its content, a single piece of paper covered in a flowery script I do not recognize. "Dear princess, Your problem is more than skin deep. With love, An admirer." What in the name of the Watcher?! "Miss?" "Yes Margaret." "They are here, and I heard some terrible news!" "Do tell." "Old man Roger has been assassinated!" Old man Roger does not matter. His assassination does. I do not tolerate any bloodletting on my territory unless I am the instigator, and so I decide to head out immediately. Interrogation will have to wait. I leave the house with John in tow. The murder occurred near the Northern entrance to the town on a large square surrounded by warehouses where convoys unload their wares. The Southern entrance is mostly used to load coal and is easily recognizable by its spoil pile, an artificial dark valley devoid of plant life where the mine dumps its rejects. When we arrive, we find a small gathering even at this late hour. They part to let us through and I find that I am late to the party. The doors to one of the warehouses are wide open, the interior lit and in it, I find men surrounding what I assume is Roger''s corpse. "Ms. Lethe, would you mind explaining what on earth do you think you''re doing here? This is no place for a woman." "Judge Sullivan." The man is surrounded by four men in heavy cloth and identical leather coats with Marshal stars, quite likely men he named himself. None of them are locals which tells a lot about judge Sullivan''s trust in local law enforcement and his willingness to be part of our community. "I wanted to know if the dreadful rumors I heard about old Roger have any truth to them. He did some work for us after all. His well-being concerns me." The man scoffs lightly but he questions my sincerity and not my motive, and that is all I care about. As for me I know the rumors to be true. The scent of carrion and blood is heavy on the air. "See for yourself." The men step back. On the ground, lies old Roger or to be precise, what is left of him. He has been savaged with full pieces of meat and most of the innards missing while the skin of his face has been peeled off and removed. Only his signature hat, his pipe and a missing right eye ascertain his identity. I have seldom seen such cadavers outside of animal attacks and this is simply impossible here. "You do not seem shocked." I raise my eyes to meet the judge''s inquisitive brown eyes. "I have seen worse, in animal attacks." "Did you now? And do you believe this to be an animal attack?" Ah, time to decide. Do I gracefully dodge the question, or do I make myself look competent? This is a defining moment, one that will shape our future relationship for the next two years. What do I want? I want him to consider me as an off-man. I have seen it before. Many of the more religious men see women as incapable of holding a business or dealing with violence. When confronted with me, those beliefs conflict with observable facts and when it happens, they simply discard me as an anomaly. I become an "off-man", someone who was conceived without dangling parts by some divine clerical error. Competence it is. "Not at all, sir." "Explain." "A mauled man is always surrounded by a pool of blood, here the ground is mostly dry so he was not killed here. No beast large enough to inflict this type of wound would move the body, not to mention they would never reach this far into the city, nor open a gate." "What if an animal killed him and dropped the body here." "Unlikely, there are no blood trails. And something is clearly missing." He blinks. I hear his heartbeat accelerate in excitement. "What is?" Is he not tired of testing me? "Bite marks. Roger''s corpse has been cut apart by claws or a claw like instrument but there are no teeth marks. Look at the chest, the pieces of flesh here and there have been clearly carved out but not bitten. It cannot possibly be the work of a beast." The marshals all bend down to get a better look, a few looking a bit green around the gills. Sullivan''s eyes widen and I realize my mistakes. They had not noticed yet. I hope I did not present myself as too competent. The judge takes a step forward, only for John to cross his arms at my side. I classify John crossing his arms as a spectator sport. When he does it, many men realize that waists are not that thick. They stare in wonder and their eyes drift up to a face even a mother would not love, which explains why he was abandoned as a kid. Then John smiles. Sullivan wisely decides to take a step back from the man who might very well be Illinois'' second highest altitude after Charles Mound and asks his question from afar. "How does a woman know all of that?" Because my eight hundred years old Dvergur friend taught me how to recognize monsters from their victims. "Because I grew up in a farm, judge Sullivan. I saw dead sheep and dead horses and it was nothing quite like that." Technically correct. "So he was killed somewhere else. It cannot be far since he was still alive three hours ago." No way. Too rotted. "He was?" "Yes, he and other drivers¡­" Sullivan stops abruptly and with a blush of embarrassment, realizes he is giving precious information to a civilian, and worse! One who wears petticoats. "Thank you for your assistance Ms. Lethe. Now I will ask you to clear the scene." I nod and gracefully make my exit, my bodyguard in tow. "Someone killed Mr. Roger. Mr. Roger gave me treacle twice and tobacco four times." It is a rare thing for John to speak first. The death must trouble him a lot. "Who killed Mr. Roger, Ms. Ari?" "A monster." One who can mask his aura. "Are you going to kill it?" "Of course." Chapter 50 - 50. Under the Skin Behind the Dream, two minutes on foot eastward, one can find a small shop called the Seamstress Union. Every month, a cart makes the rounds of nearby farms to drop off spools of cotton thread and pick up finished cloth. The best are dyed and sold here to Marquette''s more affluent citizens, under the watchful eye of its proprietor. "Good evening Debbie." "Ms Lethe." Deborah frowns. I''d like to think that, if I had stayed human, I would have been a bit like her. She has five children and a loving husband, a flourishing business, and bears her age with beauty and dignity. The grey in her auburn hair and the crow''s feet by her dark eyes fail to extinguish her charm. She carries herself with poise and confidence. She is also an untrained mage. I can feel in her the telltale aura of spellcasters. Perhaps because we are far from large cities, she never had any magical education and her potential only manifests in one curious quirk. She can spot lies in mortals. "What is tonight''s guess?" "Sophia." "Wrong again." "One day I''ll find out what your first name is." "Don''t bother, it''s Fernande." "Truly?" "No, it is Berenice." "You are making a fool of me!" She pretends to scowl, then we both chuckle. "How do I even know that you will respect your promise? I still cannot tell when you deceive me." "I gave you my word." She snorts with bitter amusement. "Who respects their promises nowadays?" "I do." Our eyes meet and though I do not use Charm, she recoils and shivers. She is quite perceptive despite her lack of formal training, sensitive enough to pick up when my own aura flares. I hold my promises, oh yes. All of them. "You are one strange woman, miss Lethe." "I will accept this as the compliment I am sure this was meant to be." "Ah yes, of course." She answers, lowering her eyes. I need to remember to blink more often. I did not mean to be intimidating. "There is something I would like to know." "Yes?" "The caravan Roger was in, was there anyone new in it?" "The murders. Why can you never ask me about the latest gossip like everyone else? It''s always dark things with you." "Someone has to ask, or nothing is ever solved. Speaking of which¡­ I would like my answer now." "Yes, sorry. It was only the old team. They struggled to make their way here from Springfield through all that snow and I don''t think they could have a stowaway. Not unless it could have gotten its water from sucking icicles." "Fair enough, tell me of Mrs. Tucker''s death." She shivers and crosses herself. I resist the urge to hiss softly. "Dreadful affair, that. She was found in her bedroom earlier today if you will believe it, only a few hours after attending Mrs. Callaghan''s tea party. Did you¡­ Did you go to her house?" "I did. Unfortunately, the body had been picked up and dragged to the morgue under the judge''s office. He made it clear to his doorman that I was persona non grata." There was only a pool of congealed blood in her study, a sure sign that she was slaughtered on location. It was old as well, at least a day. "Pushing you away, is he? Don''t you think you ought to let him work? I know that John of yours is a fearsome lad but¡­ It may not be enough this time if that madman comes after you." "Two persons were butchered Debbie, people are scared and when they are, they tend to do unwise things." "But it''s good for your business, right? Desperate people do things to feel alive? So, it''s not too bad?" I stop flat and study my counterpart. This was¡­ Odd. For a mortal. Valuing profit over gruesome death is considered amoral. I know she is not, and her tone is slightly hesitant. Why would she ever risk appearing callous? Unless¡­ "Are you worried about me?" The mask breaks and she explodes. "Dear lord woman, this is not your duty! Do you know how horrible the town center was before you settled in? I remember it well! What happens if that maniac goes after you and your dunce of a bodyguard misses him? Everything will go to hell, again!" "Calm your nerves Debbie, I have taken precautions. Should I disappear, the Dream will be taken over by people I trust." "Everybody may be replaceable Ms. Lethe, but not always by their match. Just¡­ Keep it in mind. Before you end up way over your head." "I shall take your advice under consideration. Now, the murder please." "You know, I don''t need any intuition to know that was a crock of shit." "I did not lie just now; I used a polite yet unambiguous way to tell you off." Debbie shakes her head and leans against the counter. A deep breath later, she returns her attention to me. "I didn''t want to tell you this. That old bat has been harping since yesterday about the dangers of accepting misfits and the inevitable fate that befalls those who frequent them. She insisted that God protected her because she was living a life of purity and avoided the congress of whores, witches, savages and foreigners." "Charming." "Is it not?" "It''s almost as if she provoked whatever killed Roger and the thing answered." We stare at each other, the silence pregnant with signs of dispute. Debbie cracks first. "You''re going to do it, aren''t you? Set yourself as bait." "It could work." "Jesus Christ, I knew it!" "I will be careful." "Right you are. Just¡­ Get out. And don''t you dare die on me you hear?" I wave goodbye as I turn around. Her concern is touching, but I am not exactly defenseless, and it has been too long since I had a proper meal. A welcoming party awaits my return to the Dream, one I could have done without. "Judge Sullivan." "Miss Lethe, I was wondering if you could clarify some elements for me." "Of course, would you like to step inside?" "I would rather not." Three of his marshals move to surround me and John in a thinly veiled gesture of intimidation. I raise one brow in mock surprise then we wait in silence. I have perfected the effect of annoyed boredom over the years and this is the expression I serve them now. Behind the judge, the gates of the Dream open and a man steps out, then gets back in. Annoyed at the delay, Sullivan speaks first. "Two people have been horribly murdered in the past few days." Silence. "I could not help but notice that old man Roger was working for you." "Indirectly, yes. And?" "There are rumors that he stole merchandise destined for the Dream." I shrug. "It would not matter. We check every delivery and only pay for goods that actually enter storage." "And Mrs. Tucker was quite vocal in her condemnation of your¡­ Establishment." "Her and quite a few others." While we were talking, a steady stream of armed men have been leaving the Dream and casually taking position around our group. The marshals notice it but too late, they are already surrounded and vastly outnumbered. They think they can pull an intimidation on me? Preposterous. "Do not play coy with me woman. I just arrived here and a killer butchers two citizens, whose disappearances favor you? It seems like somebody is killing two birds with one stone, removing opposition while making me look incompetent." "Why would I produce any effort towards an end that you yourself pursue so relentlessly?" "You dare!" Sullivan takes a step forward only for John to repel him with a small hand push. Despite my bodyguard''s apparent restraint, the older man almost loses balance. Only his associates manage to hold him upright. Sullivan inflates with anger like a furious toad but finally notices the dire straits he finds himself in. Most of my guards have completely encircled the lawmen. They stand close enough that any conflict will end up with the defenders quickly overwhelmed. Sullivan realizes this, just as he realizes that quite a few patrons have come to witness the debacle. I could make an effort to salvage the man''s honor. On the other hand, I have the perfect opportunity to impart some rules to the newcomer. About our respective balance of power, for example. "I find it curious as well. The deaths occurred shortly after your arrival, after all. Perhaps a member of your party is a monster in human clothes?" "Scandalous! This¡­ Slander!" "Just a theory, one that has as much merit as your own. More, perhaps. I have suffered insults from the likes of Tucker for more than a decade without ever losing composure. I have little reason to act now, especially because Mr. Tucker himself is one of our regulars." "What?!" "Surprised? You should not be. All of those gossips, the town''s history, and information on its most influential members are easily acquired through simple conversations with your constituents. And yet you did not even bother. Instead, you brought your goons from out of town and strut around like a rooster, throwing empty theories in the winds. We, the town council, have kept order since your predecessor''s untimely death and you would do well to remember that we can still have you recalled. Now, if you will excuse me¡­" I walk without resistance past the judge and his small squad with my men trailing behind. There are quite a few sniggers and I hear the distinctive sound of Horrigan spitting on someone''s shoes. Lovely. And a waste of my time. I need a plan to have Sullivan expelled from the city just in case he perseveres in his error. Killing a judge would be messy and I have reached my quota of "mysterious disappearances" for the year. One more hurdle. I walk to the bar and smile at the friendly greetings I receive. Removing my coat, I lean forward over the bar to a few appreciative "aaahs". Oscar nods in greeting. "I need a rumor started." "Yea?" "Make sure everyone hears that I think Roger''s killer is a coward, that he would never have the balls to come here and that my room is the safest place in the city. Safer than the bank vault." The head barman stops wiping a glass and fixes me with his sad chocolate eyes. "You sure about this boss?" "Very sure." "¡­ Alright then. I see how it is. Be careful though." I make my way to my bedroom. The truth is that I know too little about my target. I smelled nothing inhuman around the bodies, nor were there any traces of aura nearby. The only elements I have come from the victims. First, the corpses were left in supposedly secured locations where they would inevitably be found. The warehouse has a large traffic, even now, and Mrs. Tucker''s house is a normal place of gathering for righteous old harpies to eat cake, break wind and blame it on their rat-like dogs. This speaks of supreme self-confidence. The monster does not care to stay hidden, for it believes that the entire population is powerless to stop it, which leads to the second point. If the bodies are messages, then Roger was meant to announce its arrival and Tucker''s, to show that no one is safe. My intuition tells me that my target''s arrogance knows no bounds, and that it delights in putting a show. Clearly, it has never come face to face with a vampire. In any case, setting a bait should work better than running around and attempting to track a creature that can quite obviously hide its presence. In the meanwhile, there is the small matter of securing my bedroom against further visits from my secret admirer. Then I will teach him or her the meaning of boundaries, one phalanx at a time. A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. One night later. All my preparations are complete. I reinforced my door with two more locks and installed one of my creations near every exit. Based on Loth''s take on a magical capacitor, the tool is a piece of silver looking like a drill on one end, and a key on the other. Its function is simple. Any spell cast in its vicinity will be disrupted and its energies absorbed. It will allow me to circumvent my own lack of magical skill and hopefully provide a bit of a surprise to any spellcaster who will not expect it, should they attempt to gain ingress through supernatural means. An elegant solution, if I do say so myself. There are limits of course. The range is extremely limited for one, and I also doubt that it will affect spells that are already cast. To guard my nest, it should be enough. In the end, I decided against placing mouse traps in strategic places. I would rather break those fingers myself. The last measure I took concerns my fellow hunter. She is ready and more than eager. And since everything is done I have no further excuses. Paperwork it is! I am not sure why I am billed fifty chicken but there better be fifty damn chicken on that Christmas table or I know how I will use those feathers. I will even pay for the tar out of my own pocket. A pair of footsteps announce the arrival of visitors. I recognize Margaret''s fearful touch but not the other. Heavier. A man. After a moment of hesitation, Margaret knocks and I answer. "Mistress, Mr Tucker is here. He wants to talk to you about the murders." How interesting. "Come in." Margaret lets the man enter and leaves immediately, as ordered, and I take a moment to inspect my guest. Mr. Tucker is a mousey man. He has been one of our more discreet guests over the past few years. He owns shares of the mines, and works at one of the city''s two banks as an accountant. Or owned, I suppose. Under his normal human smell, there is now another one, the light rot of a dried corpse. I would not have noticed it in a crowd, only the clean environment of my room allows me to pick it up with ease. There is still no trace of aura. "Ms. Lethe. Good evening," he says as he holds his hat between two nervous hands. An impressive facsimile, even to the mannerism. "Ah Mr. Tucker, we have been friends for a long time, you and I, have we not?" The man blinks, then lowers his head nervously. "I wouldn''t say that¡­" Alright, I am impressed. And a tad worried. Was it a lucky guess, or does it have access to its victim''s memories? If it does, then I hope there is a limit to it or this creature may have access to the collected knowledge of humanity. It would be dangerous if it had a physique to match. "You were going to speak about the murder? You know what I find the most interesting?" I turn away and approach one of the two windows leading to the inner court, opening it despite the weather and the late hour. "The victims were seen moving after they were dead." I duck under the swipe of eagle-like talons coming from an elegant sleeve, grab it and pull. The thing that used to be Mr. Tucker is sent screaming into the night, properly defenestrated. I''m not going to risk a fight indoors, not with how much furniture costs in this forsaken place. I jump lightly and land in a crouch next to the creature as it stands up. Besides the clawed hands, the thing''s head is also split in half by a nightmarish mouth covered by a forest of needle-like teeth. Strands of skin peel off from the inhuman parts as if they had burst from the inside. The rank smell of carrion is stronger and I can finally feel the beginning of an aura. Where a werewolf is anger and unbridled fury, this thing is envy and pride, meant to pervert and desecrate. I feel disgusted at its sight and outraged at the challenge it dared offer. Judging from the speed of its attack and the strength it exhibited when slaughtering its prey, the creature is slightly more dangerous than a Wendigo. I am offended that something so weak would trespass on my territory. "What are you?" It still speaks. I, however, am done. I move in and dig a hand in its chest to find¡­ Nothing. Not a hint of blood. Only layers upon layers of parchment-like skin. I recoil in surprise and swipe its face with a similar result. Only a trickle of blood drips from a few teeth I raked in passing. Before I can attack again, Tucker''s face just falls from the monster''s head like a poorly pinned drawing from a wall and below I find a young, handsome man with a haughty composure and deep blue eyes. The clawed hand extends towards me and my foe''s aura flares, its tainted nature supplemented by the shimmering aura of spellcasters. "Firewhip!" I focus. Deep in my mind palace, the statue of the transformed Herald shines an ominous blue light and in the real world, purple essence lines my claws. I swipe and the spell breaks, its heat dispersing harmlessly in the winter air. The surprise in its eyes is precious. An instant later, I pierce them and see a satisfying fountain of fluid emerges from the wound. Then the creature screams. The horrible and tremulous sound is ear-shattering, and the music inside of the Dream stops. "What the HELL was that!?" Oh no you little prick, that''s my business you are trying to disrupt! I prepare to jump after it but reconsider. The creature is turning tail and I cannot butcher it in the courtyard. Curtains are already being thrown aside by alarmed patrons. A change of scenery is called for. I let it run away and whistle. On my right, the stable''s door bangs open and Metis comes out, fully harnessed. She is massive, a towering black presence that fills its surroundings with an ominous aura. Her hooves thunder on the packed snow as she trudges forward. I grab a leather strap on her chest and nimbly twist around as she passes me by, landing on her back. Metis is never saddled. The harness is only here to keep my hunting implements secured. I don a black cloak I had prepared and we rush left on a side street after the fleeing shadow. The creature is fast, but Metis is faster. The light of the moon reflects on a pair of panicked eyes, dark brown this time. A new face is shed and its limbs grow thinner and longer, then it jumps on a nearby roof. Wendigo. It can mimic magical creatures, not just mages. I lean to the side as my mount turns without prompt. When Metis has prey in her sight, a forest fire would not stop her. Now I don''t want that thing jumping around delicate tiles, waking everyone around in the dead of night. One silver dagger later and the creature falls with a yelp¡­ On the other side of the street. I crouch and leap in turn. In a single motion, I reach the top of the incline and push myself to the other side. Too late, the street is empty. This isn''t over. It THINKS IT CAN HIDE. I sample the air. The stench of rotten skin is strong but fading. I move up and down the street. Nothing. It is still there, hiding. There are only large log houses and a ceramic shop around. Nothing moves. I close my eyes and focus. I hear a few slow heartbeats barely perceptible through the thick walls, and then something else lighter, faster. I turn and throw at the same time. My third and last dagger hits MY PREY, a huge bat almost fifty feet away, which shrieks and falls in the snow. Uh, what. That is not my prey at all! With a revolting squelch, a stag emerges from the remains and flees away. Nevermind, it is. I rush after it and hop on Metis as she joins me from a side street. We gallop down the street like a charge of Hessian hussars, leaving clouds of brown and white in our trail. The stag is close enough that I could shoot or catch up to it but it is currently heading out of town and that suits me just fine. Metis will have her fun and I will have my peace of mind. We lightly jump over a fence and the last of the houses fall away. In front of us, there is only an endless sea of flat snow dotted by the odd copse of trees, shining like powdered diamond under the moonlight. The stag has grown large enough to break a path through the pristine layer. I can hear its panicked breath and Metis'' own as the frigid wind caresses my skin. My hood falls back and my hair is free. There, under the dark heaven, there is nothing but the three of us dancing a ballet with an end as old as time and just as inevitable. It will soon be over but for now, we race and I cherish the moment. With Metis now at full speed, the distance between us closes until the metamorphosed horror can hear the nightmare at its back trampling snow beneath its cruel hooves. It darts to the side and enters a thicket. I hear another crack, yet another discarded skin, and take out my large game spear. Another one of my creations, this lance is a weapon designed to hunt from horseback. It has a spiked guard designed to keep the harpooned prey away from its wielder and a silver and steel blade two feet long, enough to pin two grown men to a brick wall. I lower it in anticipation. The largest werewolf I have ever seen emerges from the treeline. Its fur is dark and criss-crossed with claw marks and other scars. It opens its fanged maw and lets out a monstrous howl, a promise of blood that would make any mortal pale and any horse falter. Metis is not any horse. She accelerates, eager to answer the challenge. I lean into her, use my legs as support and catch the surprised foe in the throat. The spear lifts the beast off its paws and I stab it in the trunk of a great pine as deep as I can. Without waiting I jump off for the kill. I don''t know how many layers of skin this thing has but I certainly intend to find out. Even if I have to spread enough human vellum on the forest ground to furnish the library of Alexandria. It''s going down. Now. I savage the chest, break a clawed limb. With another hand, it quite literally grabs its face and discards it. The flesh disappears and a large bird is freed. The head! Of course! I grab the feathered head and tear off its beak, which breaks without resistance. We tumble on the ground as I ravage layer after layer of caked dermis, sometimes an animal but mostly humans. I do not hesitate when the creature changes into a child, or a pleading mother, or a sad-looking old man. CHILDISH AND PATHETIC. Such artifice is wasted on my kind. After twenty more faces, I stop the cast of another spell, then rip off the muzzle of another wolf, then break the spine of another wendigo. The skins are now shed faster, the creature desperate to break my hold by changing shape as fast as it can. A hopeless struggle. The only thing it unsettles is my sense of smell. I stop counting the shapes. I just slice and rip and tear and catch a limb when my captive manages to slither away. This is no longer a fight, just a messy execution, and after a few minutes my claw draws blood. I stop out of curiosity for a moment, even though I should know better. The real features are those of a native man, twisted by malice. Its eyes shine with utter malevolence. It spits insult and imprecations. Yes, struggle and blame your fate INTRUDER, YOU DIE NOW. I lean forward and¡­ Recoil. Ew ew ew he stinks to high heaven! Pwah! I would have retched my last three meals if it were physiologically possible. What in the name of the Watcher is that?! Did his real body marinate for a decade under all that skin!? Pah! I shove the man headfirst into the pure snow, curse my delicate nose and drag him around the closest trees. When I am done, I slap him unconscious for good measure and look at the crook of his neck. No. Just no. Nope! I grab a wrist and wipe it energetically with handfuls of ice. I''m not letting my meal go, out of the question! Seriously though¡­ I am not entirely convinced this is worth the effort. Eventually, the skin is clear and only smells marginally like a tanner''s armpit. "It was a good¡­" I cannot say it. This was unique and entertaining right to the moment where I had to dress my kill like some cavewoman. Well, nothing to it. Close your eyes Ariane and think of America! I bite down. A foreign land, red and cracked like an old farmer''s skin. Men on horseback emerge from a scar in the earth, bringing prisoners and captured cattle. Father is a good chief and one day, so will I. My leg did not heal right. I did not want to be a Hatalii, a healer. At least I will have Shandiin. Her beauty will soothe my pain. I hate them, hate them, hate them. I drop the bloody stone on the back of my dead brother. If Shandiin will only spread her legs for the mighty Hashk¨¦ Dilwo''ii and not for a cripple then I will give her what she wants. I grab out a skinning knife and smile for the first time in months. I am mighty of body, mighty of magic! I am yee naaldlloshii, a skinwalker. Travellers and raiders and villagers and herders, all fall before my guile and their skins and memories join my collection. All those that scorned me, I cast them down. No one can¡­ I pitch forward, nudged by an impatient and hungry creature. Her warm breath tickles my ear. "Hsss! Impatient girl! It is your time soon I promise! Let me finish!" No one can stop me for they do not even recognize the danger in their- Bump. "Aw Metis come on!" I stand up and let the exsanguinated body fall. I was almost done too! Alright, I will give the attention she deserves. I pat her head to congratulate her for a job well done and negotiate a truce until it is her turn. "There, there¡­" Metis'' nostrils flare and I realize my mistake. "No wait, Metis, I''m sorry!" Too late. The proud and offended equine neighs in distress at the ungodly stench coating my fingers, turns tail, and gallops away. "Metiiiiiiis!" Dammit. She got my shovel too! "Stupid pony!" Agh I''m going to have to return to the Dream and then come back with a shovel to hide that disgusting thing. This evening couldn''t possibly get any worse! I stare at the opened door of my bedroom. I had left specific orders that it be locked again after my departure and I know for a fact that Margaret did it. I push it open and my nose is assailed by the cloying scent of roses. All the little silver traps I had prepared to disrupt magic have been carefully cut, twisted and assembled in an artful rendition of a nativity scene on my desk. Another envelope has been placed on my bed. I jinxed it, didn''t I. With a heavy sigh bemoaning the cruel fate befalling this poor, humble vampire trying her best, I open it. "My cute little princess, Now that you have resolved your territorial dispute, so to speak, do come and find me. We have much to discuss. With much love, Your admirer." Arg. That little¡­ "Hsss! Oh, that is IT!" I step out and immediately hail Margaret. "Besides Roger''s caravan and Sullivan''s group, did anyone else come to town recently?" "No mistress the town is entirely devoid of travelers, I am not sure that handsome gentleman even stayed." What? "A handsome gentleman? What handsome gentleman? This the first time I hear about this!" She blinks in surprise and her mouths twists with worry. "I never mentioned him before? I apologize Mistress!" "Nevermind that." A handsome gentleman. Right. At least I know where to start looking. First the swan, the only formal establishment in the city. This is where visiting dignitaries and clergymen stay while they pass through town. Officially at least. I shall start my search there. Failing that, I will return to the Seamstress Union tomorrow and ask Debbie where that man is and why she failed to mention him before. This is just unacceptable. The Swan''s main entrance reeks of roses. A fully blossomed flower thrones proudly next to the clerk''s desk. Unbelievable. "Excuse me sir, I am looking for a friend." "Of course you are Ms. Lethe¡­ Please refrain from disturbing the peace and silence of the place while you are here, yes?" The clerk, a tall and thin old man with a respectable air, struggles not to smirk at his own joke. I should have woken John up. I lean forward and stare him in the eye, letting a hint of threat slide through my composed mask. "The owner can afford to disrespect me in public sir, can you?" The sneer turns to anger but I recognize him now. He is the night manager for this inn. Mostly incorruptible but not exempt of weakness. "Can you, Philips? Can you afford to be unprofessional? What will your daughters do if you lose your income?" The sneer falls. "I will ask you to leave, Madam." "After I am done." I climb up the stairs, following the trail of perfume to the top floor and its master bedroom. I open the door to a well-furnished receiving boudoir around a fumoir occupied by a roaring fire. The balcony''s door is open despite the polar temperature and from it, a melody emerges. The voice is male, with a tenor pitch that is nothing short of exquisite. A few notes played on a small harp or lyre accompany the song with tasteful and delicate arpeggios. The lyrics, however¡­ "There once was a spawn so fair, Whose foul mouth was beyond compare, And while she did try her best, The mortals were impressed By the beauty of her derri¨¨re." I look out the opening into a vis ¨¤ vis bedroom. In it, I see a majestic couch upon which languidly lounges a man I recognize. I groan and smack my head on the sill out of sheer frustration. "Sineaaaaaaad!" The Likaean looks positively princely in an ornate green jacket. Gone is the emaciated ghost we rescued from that cave, his twinkling amber eyes are now surrounded by a filled-out, handsome face, both delicate and somehow virile. His hair is grown and surrounds his face in a pleasant halo, shining like wheat under the July sun. As I watch, a golden shimmer comes upon him and for an instant, his colors grow incredibly vivid before fading back to normalcy. "Good evening poppet, it has been too long." That rake! He planned this so well, I cannot even pinch him as he is in someone else''s home. I even see a white leg emerging from the heavy bed cover, distinctly female¡­ Something clicks in my mind as I remember this part of town and who the house belongs to. "Sinead, is that Louisa Watson''s bedroom you are in?" "Ah yes, Louisa, such a precious young woman." "You¡­ She has a fianc¨¦!!!" "And they will be promptly married within the next two months thanks to me, I guarantee it. The lad should feel grateful!" "Sinead!" "I even taught her a few tricks that will positively delight him." "Oh my¡­ cough¡­ SINEAD YOU ABSOLUTE CAD!" "Shhhh! You will wake her up. I am not here to talk about my delicious snack, no, I am here to discuss our upcoming cooperation!" he adds with a devastating smile. "Cooperation my¡­ My posterior! How dare you!" "Tut tut tut I did tell you I would test you when we next meet. Can''t say I am impressed. It took you long enough to find a man who does not even try to hide." "I was otherwise engaged!" "What, with the skinning monster? Pffffft. Laughable. It should not have taken you more than a few minutes to take it apart." "Aaarrg!" "But let us first leave this dreary place. People here are so stuffy, so officious. Reminds me of the court back home. I have had enough seducing the virtue off of spout frogs mind you, I want some salacious lasses climbing all over me, three at a time." "You are so dead." "None of that! I have a wonderful proposal that you will not refuse. Just offer me the hospitality for a week and I will expose it in detail." "I don''t see what¡­" "I have the location of the Order of Gabriel''s main prison on the continent, less than two days of travel away from this city." The end of my sentence dies on my lips as Sinead smiles like the very picture of innocence. He is telling the truth, without a doubt. "Well?" "¡­ Fair enough, but there better be no tricks. One week of hospitality I grant thee." "Excellent!" S§×ar?h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Sinead lithely jumps, closes the windows and picks up a prepared travel suitcase. We walk down the stairs and he stops at the welcoming desk, from behind which our dear Mr. Philips gazes at us like an irate gargoyle. "Ah yes, Ariane dear I appear to be strapped for cash. Would you mind filling for me, seeing as I am your guest?" "What?!" The Likaean leans in and whispers in my ears. "Is it not your duty to guarantee my well-being? We would not want me to go to prison surely, how would I guide you to the aforementioned locale then?" I should just let him rot. Or wipe the memory of my coming from Philips'' mind and let that imbecile cool his rear on a prison bench for a bit but¡­ Gah, he is right, I cannot have the mortals annoy my guest. With clenched teeth, I ask for the bill. Philips smiles like a cannibal at a battle site and draws a veritable bundle of papers from a nearby drawer. "Let us see here. Three nights, three breakfasts, lunches and dinners, bath supplement, as well as two bottles of Roman¨¦e-Conti, three of Vosne-Roman¨¦e, one Saint-Emilion, one Riesling, one bottle of Mumm black ribbon champagne, one of bourbon, a mignonette of Peach schnapps, a dozen pots of honey, three bars of Swiss chocolate and a quart of mead for a grand total of one hundred and twenty-six dollars and fifteen cents." Breathe Ariane, just breathe. Count to ten. Can''t kill him, that would be breaking the oath. "Herm. My bank will honor it." "Certainly. Please sign here Ms. Ariane Lethe." It takes all of my self-control not to stab the bill, Philips'' eyes, then myself with the stupid pen. Once out, I immediately turn left on a side street. "Hey, the Dream is not that way!" I find a metal bar in a barrel next to a construction material stand and twist it like a wet noodle. "This better be a great, magnificent, STUPENDOUS OFFER YOU ABSOLUTE BLOODY SCANDALOUS RAKE! SCOUNDREL!" "Tut tut no need to make a scene poppet, why, traveling here was a horrible experience and I needed to recover. Surely you understand? Don''t you ever indulge?" I move and stop with my index'' claw right under his nose. "Once this truce is over, I''ll show you exactly how I ''indulge'' mister, you can count on it," Sinead just frowns. "What''s that smell?" I have unknowingly died and been sent to some absurd circle of hell. Chapter 51 - 51. Prince of Azure and Gold Sinead plops on my comfortable mattress and extends his arms with a satisfied smile. "That''s my bed!" "And it saddens me to see it go to waste. Goose feathers, the best one can find in this sad plane." I massage the bridge of my nose between two fingers. I should have said no. It was folly to accept this wastrel into my perfectly controlled life. I just need to stay at the top for two more years then I can have justice. What came over me, to risk everything so? Ah yes, the prison. "I have so many questions." "Ah mortals, so full of those. Always wondering about everything, all the time¡­" "And you are any different?" "Of course," the Likaean answers with a shiny smile, "what my kind cannot infer will not be answered freely anyway." "Yes, well, you will have to indulge this ex-mortal." "Of course! I will make some allowance on account of your young age poppet, ask away!" There are many things I wonder, and one that concerns me greatly. "Alright, the first and most urgent one. How did you find me?" I catch the pillow thrown at my head and resist the urge to shred it. "Oh no no no! Please! You do not receive enough sunlight to afford to be so dim! How could I not know where you are?!" What, is he tracking me? Wait¡­ Oh. My hand goes to my collar, under which my two keepsakes are hidden. The first is the promissory note to my father that I would outlive him. The promise may be fulfilled, but the emotion and meaning in that yellow piece of paper remain. The second is my emergency dose of Likaean blood in an enchanted silver canister, granted by the most insufferable creature this side of reality. "You can really track this little blood?" "This is my most precious of essence we are talking about here, you commoner!" "Most precious!? If my observations are correct, you have been spreading ''essence'' around with utmost abandon!" "Psh! Beautiful women should never be vulgar, poppet. It is beneath you." "You give me lessons even though you have the impudence of¡­ of¡­ oh, the audacity!" "While beneath me, you will find dear Louisa Watson." "Sinead!" "I am already bored, how can you blame me if I feel cranky, I ask? Why is there no proper liquor in your bedroom anyway?" I take a deep breath. The familiar gesture calms me, just like the belief that my location is still secure. "I am abstinent." Sinead''s eyes flash in amusement and for a moment they shine with a golden color that poets dream of. "That you are, though not entirely. I can tell that you know how to have a bit of fun." If I could still blush, I would. I usually manage to keep a certain distance from my employees and their patrons. The mysterious aura works in my favor when I need to feed or to avoid unwanted attention and so far, I have not found someone that I would be willing to take to my bed. As Debbie would put it, the odds are good, but the goods are odd. Not so with Sinead. He somehow managed to get under my skin in only two days. I have lost my composure more times since he deposited that first envelope than during the past three years together. "Your imagination is truly a wild and impetuous thing." "Is it?" he answers with a smug smile, then reveals a book I had on my night table from behind him, opens it at a random page and reads in a falsetto voice. "Oh lord Alejandro, I can wait no longer. I beg thee, sheathe thyself¡­" "GIVE IT BACK THIS INSTANT!" The uncouth rogue does not resist as I grab my¡­ ahem, relaxation book and put it back where it belongs. So embarrassing. "Would it not be nice?" I turn around to face him. He is just standing there, looking awfully suspicious by not doing anything. "What?" "To have someone who knows you and appreciates you for who you truly are? Someone mature and skilled you could depend on?" When did he get so close? "Would it not be nice to finally let go in the arms of a man you could have loved?" His perfume is tantalizing. Seeing him again makes me miss Loth, Isaac, Dalton¡­ I am so alone here, surrounded at all times by employees and cattle but not friends. I cannot bring someone in my confidence here, for how could I? How could I share what worries me with a mortal without sending them screaming to the nearest church? And I cannot expect anything valuable from cattle whose sole purpose is to please me. The mortals are at it downstairs, and in the city around, night after night. Being merry. Embracing each other. Whispering things about love. Making it. Sinead is insufferable, and I would not trust myself with him, but perhaps just a kiss? To see what it''s like after waiting so long? What would be the harm? I should have had a kiss from someone brilliant and fetching for so long. I deserve it. I deserve to have someone take care of me, for a change. Sinead is witty, elegant and experienced, and he could charm the undergarments off a nun. Probably did it too, at some point. Perhaps I should try it. I lean forward and at the same moment, Sinead steps away. "Alas, it cannot be me. Not as crippled as I am now anyway. I could not stand to be the weaker partner, and you could not resist the temptation." Huh? "You are such a tease!" "Not so poppet, merely trying to help you. You are still too afraid. You need to be in control but when you are, you only stay where you feel safe. It would take an older vampire with might, a delicate touch and genuine feelings playing a balancing act to crack your shell from the outside. I am merely trying to help you get out of your egg by yourself." "You are the very soul of kindness." "I know." "Hold on¡­ I had questions! How did we ever get so sidetracked!?" "Apologies dearie. Ask away, and be quick about it. I need to sample the bar downstairs." "Not so fast. Second question, how come I cannot smell you or detect your aura?" "Without giving away precious details, know that I have found a way to contain my munificence to match your dreary world. As for the aura, surely you know they can be controlled, yes?" "Hum. I know they can expand or retract, to match our mood?" "Pfeh! You speak as if knowing when the tide comes is the same as controlling the sea. Child, I am talking about aura control. Control!" "But, yours has disappeared! It''s completely gone!" Sinead gazes at me as if I were the village dullard. "I am prince of the Likaeans Ariane, why would I have anything but perfect mastery over myself?" "It did not prevent you from being captured¡­" I grumble. "True! You have to understand, however, that the very concept of having to hide was new to me. Not everyone can match your ability to scurry around and survive against all odds, poppet." I frown. "I think there must have been a vague insult here somewhere." "Whatever do you mean? How can I not admire your tenacity? Your uncanny skill at avoiding the foot of the mighty stomping down on you?" "I am not a cockroach! And stop trying to distract me. How did you ever come here? I thought you were in South America." "Loth sent me to central America poppet, however I did not stay there. I have conducted a discreet enquiry that led me here, to the order of Gabriel''s prison. I want your help dismantling it." "And in return?" "Why, I shall grace your humble halls with my presence of course!" Silence spreads in the room as I cross my arms in exasperation. "I do believe I have been more than generous in any dealing I ever had with you Sinead. You are abusing my kindness." "And on top of that, I shall grant you favors, yes!" Favors. Sinead has no money, no influence over those who matter to me. What he does have is knowledge, and for us, knowledge is priceless. "How old are you anyway?" "Oh my dear poppet, I am so glad to finally interest you as a person. Know that time flows erratically in the kingdoms. It should come as no surprise then, that I may not give you a satisfactory answer. Just know that compared to us, your civilization is in its infant stage, and I am using civilization in its broadest sense here." Sinead''s eyes shine like gold and his face twists with savagery. In an instant, the affable trickster melts away and I can see the Prince beneath. I remember the figure in my dream more than twenty years ago, with hair of fire and eyes of molten metal. With a wave of his hand, he had sent azure flames to engulf the shadows hounding me, vaporizing them in a single instant. I know in my soul that they are the same person. The balance of power between us now is a grotesque reversal of what it could be, no, what it would be, in his native reality. Unaware or uncaring, Sinead continues his speech. "All of us caught here and used as batteries for your kind represent a library of Alexandria''s worth of knowledge. Some have written pieces of poetry so beautiful that lesser beings have lost their lives hearing it. Others, sculptures and visual works so mesmerizing that one can admire them for centuries without ever growing jaded. They could make statues cry and yet here their voices are silenced, and their fingers broken by the basest of greed. There are no words in your coarse language, no insult dire enough to give justice to this tragedy, Ariane of the Nirari." I am struck before the incandescent display and just as he is done, the moment passes. He is back to being just Sinead the witty and rakishly handsome socialite. "But let us change topic. I fear I may be a tad sensitive over this particular issue, it relates to my utmost desire you see." "Your utmost desire? What is it?" "Why, nothing less than the complete liberation of every Likaean on this plane and their safe return back to the kingdoms." I almost sputter at the enormity of it. Complete liberation? Poppycock. "Do you have any idea¡­" "I have excellent ideas poppet, about everything. And you shall play a role." The Likaeans are incredible assets for the clans who own them. To forcefully liberate them on a large scale would force a war between the conspirators and the whole of vampiredom. Loth estimates our number at a bit over two thousand in total. Even if only one in twenty is a lord, that still represents enough power to defeat any force on the planet. I saw what Lord Suarez could do. To stand against a hundred like him is folly. Pure insanity. "You are mad Sinead. I should give up on you and drink you dry before another one does it." "You should, Devourer, and yet you will not." I glare at him with all the outrage I can muster. "I wouldn''t be so sure." "Oh I am sure, I would not have survived and stayed prince if I were not an excellent judge of character. You have a cruel and violent streak in you, but it is always tempered by a profound sense of justice and honor. Is it not?" Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. "I wouldn''t say that¡­" "You did not punish your cattle in anger for allowing me entry, because they could do nothing and so were not at fault. Many vampires would have made an example. You did not break the spirit of the agreement between us to drink my blood while I was weak, yet you could have. You faced the Herald, though you did not have to, and you killed it." Sinead approaches. He moves gracefully, like a dancer, not a predator like me. I find myself staring up in his too large iris. He slowly lifts a finger up to my exposed collarbone and touches my bare skin. The contact is intimate yet restrained. Respectful. "I choose you as my knight in this endeavor for it is what you are. You will help me because I will make it worth your while, but mostly you will help me because I will stand for what you believe in, the right to exist and to be free." He almost got me there. "You have a grand vision Sinead but you seem to forget. We are not Prince and Knight. We are two fugitives in a box of wood painted gold at the back end of nowhere. There are hundreds of vampires who can snap my neck in an instant and they are the ones we would have to face." "Not if my plan succeeds, and for this, I need one of the prisoners we will liberate soon." "Who?" "My fianc¨¦e, Princess Sivaya of the Court of Blue." Oh, great now there is another one. "Hum Sinead, I am not exactly aware of Likaean courtship customs¡­" "It is considered an excellent omen if the husband has already fathered several bastards with lesser beings. Twenty is best, though the standing record is at six hundred and forty-seven known offsprings." I have absolutely no idea what to do with this information. "Oh but do not worry, I do not intend to break it. So¡­ Was there anything else?" "Yes! Stop trying to distract me. The prize for my assistance." "And what would you ask?" I open my mouth to speak then stop. Sinead looks like a teacher with a predictable student. He expects me to ask something. "You will teach me how to hide my aura like you do." "Of course!" "And you will help me practice Charm." "Naturally, I am sure we can make this the entertainment." "And last, you will¡­ Go downstairs and do your thing." His eyes flash dangerously. "What do you mean?" "Be yourself, be pleasant to be around, and witty, and charismatic. We offer a good service. What we lack is¡­ Cachet. Credence." Sear?h the N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "I see. You want my aura, so to speak. The figurative one." I nod. Sinead leans forward, the very image of amused contempt. I memorize that fantastic expression for later. "Of course, poppet. I shall do this for you." "Good." "For how else could I keep myself entertained while we wait for the snow to thaw?" Um. What? Marquette, March 1832 The geraniums are blooming in pretty shades of pink and blue. I make my way from one pot to another, pouring a little bit of water each time. I am surprised they survive at all. I have slain so many people I have lost count, animals fear me and I am barren. I almost expected my touch to wither plants, yet here they are, uncaring. Pouring water is soothing, a task that was listed as a ''ladylike activity'' by that book on good manners I read twenty years and a lifetime ago. Perhaps there is some truth to it. You can also throw the metal sprinkler at someone''s head in a pinch. Once I am done, I step out and take the report that Margaret hands me. Some issues, mostly negotiating new contracts, have been solved by Sinead while others by their respective managers. I note in passing that Kitty banished a girl for theft. Harrington had to break the arm of a patron and Sullivan made a fuss, but could not press the matter. Ah, something interesting. There is a suspicious group of men camping a few miles down the road who have been coming to town to buy supplies and inquire about some escaped criminal woman. They have a precise description. I''ll handle that one myself. I walk down the stairs. Tonight, I wear a comfortable riding gown in royal blue as well as a scarf of the same color. John is waiting, as usual, at the bottom of the stairs. When he sees my attire, he greets me with his big, ugly smile. "We go for a midnight stroll?" That sounded suspiciously like something Sinead would say. "Did my friend explain what it means?" John thinks for a while, his face scrunching in concentration. "No." "Yes, we are going on a midnight stroll, later. First I need to talk to the odd ones. Have them wait by my workshop, alright?" "Thy will is my command," he says, standing as straight as a grenadier on review. He salutes then leave. I shake my head in disbelief and enter the main room. It has changed a bit since last time. We used to have a large scene at the back, where performers would dance or sing. Sinead made it into an elite place, separate and above the rest. The shows are now under his direct purview. I am genuinely impressed by the results. I was expecting my regulars to complain but Sinead enchanted them all. He is simply magnetic, distributing jokes, praises and rebukes so that the room revolves around his presence. Every night he presides over the assembly like a king hosting a decadent feast. Men come to pay homage, drink a glass with him and leave feeling¡­ Special. He flatters some before the girls, asks others about their troubles, pats a shoulder here, shakes a hand there. They adore him. They worship him. They would do everything for him. My employees love him too, he is just that smooth. I even caught Oscar smiling and that happened twice since I hired him eight years ago. Truly, the man is a miracle, one that extends to business. Since he arrived, our sales have increased by twenty percent and our offer is diversified with very advantageous contracts. I could not be more pleased. In theory. I am slightly annoyed that he is so much better than me. I cannot even blame it on experience. Sinead is just a peerless socialite. He could sell rotgut to a moonshiner and they would thank him for it, then invite him to dinner. Then he would abscond with their wife. Frustrating. I enter the saloon to see that festivities are in full swing. A passably drunk duet is playing something while the crowd laughs raucously. A few stairs lead me to where my friend holds court. Couches and low seats are gathered around a coffee table. The man himself is relaxing comfortably with a woman in each arm, Janet and Hilda if memory serves. They look at me as if I caught them red-handed. I let Sinead sleep in my room since I do not use it anyway, and most assume we are lovers. I made it clear that I was not jealous but the two pretty faces in front of me are still worried. They are caught with the alpha male by the alpha female. With a smile, I dismiss their concern and lean towards my friend. "It''s time, let''s plan the operation tonight." "Hmm?" "Sinead, stop trying to stare down my cleavage, it is unsightly." "Ah but I can feel the touch of frontier spirit in my heart, urging me to explore yet untouched territories." "Keep exploring and the next thing you shall feel in your heart will be my right hand. We have work to do." "Yes yes, lead the way poppet." Honestly, I thought he was in a hurry. After extricating himself from his comfortable seat, my guest holds my arm and we walk downstairs to the basement. It holds most of our storage space, the laundry room and my workshop. My secured chamber, where I slumber, is hidden below. The workshop is at the back of a corridor of brick walls, behind a secured steel door that would give most bank robbers a stop. Five armed men and one woman are waiting for us in silence. I unlock the door and let everyone into my sanctum. When I left Georgia, I only had clothes on my back. Several generous ''donations'' from travellers and bandits gave me what I needed to get by, and when I reached Marquette I settled down and contacted the consortium. To my surprise, Loth had left me most of his crafting tools, with a letter arguing that he "could get much better stuff back home". Lies, of course. He just used his usual gruff way of helping me and trying to make it seem like I am the one doing him a service. Besides that, there are also my weapons, my spare battle apparel, painting tools and other raw materials. They have all found their place here. The room is a long rectangle taking half a wing with three exits, the one at our back, a trap door leading outside and a secret passage to my real ''bedroom'' which houses the secured sarcophagus. The walls are of dark bricks with alcoves set at regular intervals. Support pillars dot the surface, against which I have placed lanterns. A large central table surrounded by wooden chairs occupies its center. On it, maps in yellow paper display the town and general area, with pins showing the most recently formed hamlets. The newcomers look left and right at working benches occupied with current projects, the well ordered tools and the weapons rack. Especially the weapons rack. Sinead whistles as he follows the shaft of my modified boar spear with a light touch. His gaze rests on the engravings on the blade, then on the smithy in the corner, then back to me. "A woman of many talents," he adds with a smirk. The rest of the group sits heavily in their chairs. They are people of few words, just the way I like it. The odd squad is composed of two Creek brothers, two escaped slaves, an old mute and a large woman with graying hair and a cruel streak a mile wide. They are the ones I call upon for all the discrete work that some may find unsavory. I can count on their discretion, not least because they do not have an ounce of credibility between themselves. I will admit that they are also a disciplined group and the old loner is a crack shot. Seeing as we will go after dedicated monster killers who have a tendency to bless everything around them, I figure that the time is right to recruit mundane helpers. "Let us start. Sinead, can you tell us where the prison is and what we will be up against?" "Well, I don''t know where it is exactly." He lifts a hand to hold my protests. "I extracted all the information I possess by interrogating a member of the order. I never saw the compound itself, but I know how to get there and what we will find." He points at the area map towards Marquette''s North West. "Two days travel from here, there is a small depression in the middle of a vast plain where our destination lies. The approach is completely devoid of cover, and under constant surveillance by teams of sentries with fanatical devotion to the order. Only the most steadfast of them are handpicked to guard it. I will mask our approach until we can close the distance and neutralize the watchers. Then we need to liberate the prisoners, destroy the facility and exterminate the staff to the last man. We can leave no witness, or we may attract more attention than we can afford." "Tell us about the facility itself." "There are four dug emplacements from where sentries look out situated at each corner, then there are four buildings of reinforced stone. One is the barracks, one is the processing building, there is also a warehouse and finally, the prison itself. The captives are all below-ground." "We will need to liberate the captives first, lest they are all slain by their jailors as soon as an attack starts." "Absolutely. There is a possibility that you may not physically enter the place, Ariane." The squad knows I am not fully human. Most of them probably assume I am some sort of witch. "Here is what I propose. As soon as we are close enough, we eliminate the sentries silently. Then, one group goes down to neutralize the prison while the other places charges on the barracks. As soon as the target is rescued, we detonate the explosives and kill everything. Would that work?" Shrugs and vague nods are the answers I get. The plan has the merit of being simple. "I will provide the explosives. Ah, hum, while we are on the topic of setting things ablaze, do you know if they keep pigs around?" Sinead lifts an eyebrow. "I do not think so, it would go against their desires to stay hidden. Discretion is their best defense, and is quite hard to achieve when you have swine squealing in the wind. Why?" "Nothing." Tom, one of the two black men, passes a hand through his large white beard before commenting. "We need something to carry the prisoners, in case they can''t walk." "Good thinking. We will need a cart. Anything else?" "How many of those folks are we supposed to kill?" adds Laura, the woman. "Around ten." "Who are they?" asks one of the Creeks. Silence descends on the table. I am not in the habit of being questioned by subordinates. This time, their concerns are warranted and I decide to answer. "The order of Gabriel is a collection of religious fanatics dedicated to removing impurities from the world. The list of unacceptable people includes, but is not limited to, monsters, witches, shamans, heretics, loan givers, people who work on Sunday, Muslims, Jews, women who don''t know their place, idol worshippers, people who frequent brothels, girls who work there, drunkards, philosophers, artists who create indecent work, Arabs, the Chinese, people who eat meat during Easter¡­" "Hold on," adds Tom, "Just tell us who they tolerate. Reckon that''d be faster." "Themselves and those who live according to their version of the scriptures. And orthodox Christians." "That true?" "No, they burn orthodox Christians as heretics." "Well¡­ Alright I guess." "Good. We leave tomorrow just after sunset. Prepare supplies for five days, just in case, and your arms. Sinead I''ll give you something. I''ll also have a carriage ready and I''m taking care of the bombs. Dismissed." Two hours later, Marquette''s outskirts. Midnight. Flat plains have a way to make the sky feel endless and for once, the sky is empty. The moon, the stars, and the Watcher dispense their diffuse lights to late travellers and thieves alike. Some inbred cretins raised a camp in the middle of a thicket by the road, a miserable affair made of three tents in a circle. A few men gather in silence around a blazing campfire in a futile attempt to fend off the chill of the night. Winter has not released its hold on Illinois yet, and their breath coalesces in little clouds before being dispersed by the biting wind. Metis'' arrival silences their conversation. Fearful eyes glance up, and up, to the rider on top. Me. "Bad time to be camping outside, is it not? The weather is inclement at this time of the year." "Who are you? What do you want?" asks one of them in the back. "Excellent questions. You may call me Miss Lethe, and can you guess what I do? Hm?" I do not expect an answer. They are taken off guard and probably need a moment to regroup. Those are farmhands dressed in mismatched layers of undyed wool. They stink. The only exception is a young man in a slightly better outfit sporting a bowler hat of all things. He is the one who questioned me. "I am the proprietor of the Dream, finest bordello this side of the Lake Michigan. And you know how I recruit my girls? Can you take a guess?" The farmhands all turn to the young man who is quite clearly the ringleader. He is still reeling from the surprise and the massive dark horse facing him is not easily discounted. "I''ll tell you. The truth is, you will not find a child who, growing up, wants to become a whore. Those who come to me are desperate or starving, or on the run. Sometimes all three at the same time. Quite a few are already with child when I take them under my wings." Metis takes another step forward. She snorts and glares at one of the men, who swallows nervously. "The stories are tragically repetitive. This one was beaten so badly by her brute of a husband that he broke her ribs. That one was raped by her uncle, or her father, or her older brother. This one was shunned by the community and forced to sell herself for stale bread or starve. Or sold by her family to some old swine. And so on, and so forth. It is a story as old as time, really. "They come to the big city with sallow cheeks and the eyes of cornered animals, begging for scraps of food. Then I pick them up. I feed them and fix them. I turn them into¡­ productive members of Society, shall we say." Metis stops mere fingers away from the fire. The dancing flames make her red eyes glint like a beacon in the darkness. "What¡­ What is this about?" asks the head clown. "This is about you. Most of the time, my girls are broken goods and nobody wants them. Sometimes though, their relatives or spouses are incensed by the loss of their favourite piece of meat. And so here they come, snooping around like the world''s clumsiest sneaks. Soon we learn that our fair city is plagued by poisoners, thieves and debt dodgers that need to be returned to their owners for the sake of justice. You see where the problem lies, yes?" "Annabel belongs with her family!" "I don''t care about you, or your family. You can all go to hell. Annabel is mine now. Take your bumbling gaggle of imbeciles and go back to the filthy mudhole you crawled out of before I bury you all." "You have no right to order me around you glorified strumpet!" "Look around you." Harrigan and a dozen of my lackeys come out of the shadows with muskets in evidence and the promise of violence on their loutish faces. The outsiders bunch up like sheep surrounded by wolves. They know how this will end. "You may believe judges or religion will support your cause, and it will change nothing. I have the only right that matters. Power. When my men are done with you, you will lick your wounds and leave with your tails between your legs like the mongrels you are, or the next time I come, I will bring a shovel. Good night." I turn Metis around as the first sounds of wood hitting flesh reach me. Music to my ears. Chapter 52 - 52. Fate and Absurdity I awaken to moans of pain and the coppery scent of congealed blood. My hands find the sarcophagus'' opening mechanism and the lid opens without a sound. Something went wrong. We are still a day away from the prison, and from any patrol that would take exception to our presence. I make sure my dark battle gown is secured and my weapons ready before stepping outside. I left seven men and one woman in good health at dawn. Now Laura is missing, Tom is dying on the grass and we are short three horses. The survivors have formed a scattered perimeter along a ridge with a sheer cliff at their backs and a sharply declining slope on every side. Tall pines and large boulders dot red-tinted earth covered with dried needles. There is almost no cover to be found. This is a defensible position, and a deathtrap. We have our backs to the wall, quite literally. Farther down, I hear the soft murmur of running water and footsteps of encroaching foes. We have also gained a few newcomers. Four natives from a tribe I do not recognize have gathered with us. One of them, older, is praying softly while the others look out, clutching spears and bows in their nervous hands. Their faces are deep red and cracked by years spent under a merciless sun. John is the first to notice me. A smile of utter relief spreads on his simple face. "Ms. Lethe! Ms. Lethe is here!" He is quickly silenced but now my presence is known. Sinead lifts the musket I gave him and crawls towards me. "Ah, poppet, I am ecstatic to see you up and about. We find ourselves in a bit of a pickle." "You don''t say." "Tut tut, sarcasm does not become beautiful women." "Less seduction more explanation, please?" "Of course. We are beset by, and please believe me when I say this comes as a surprise, cannibal monsters. Yes. As to how we ended up in this predicament, we left late afternoon on schedule and made good time on our journey West. Not long after, we came across a group of natives and decided to group up for safety. Then an hour ago, the path led us to a rickety wooden bridge over a deep gorge. Laura had point and crossed first to see if the structure was sound enough to pass with our wagon. They fell on her like wolves as soon as she was on the other side." "They?" For the first time since he arrived, Sinead shivers and I see unease piercing though his usually unflappable countenance. Something terrible must have happened, and his usually jovial nature has been replaced with obvious worry. "Thin men dressed in leather. Fast and feral. They unhorsed her and brought her to the ground in seconds. She managed to fire one shot and got an assailant in the chest, but he stood back up and joined the others." Sinead licks his lips, unsure on how to proceed. "They ate her alive, Ariane. Starting with her face. The screams were something I could have done without." He lowers his eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to regain control. When he looks up, only cold resolve remains. "My dear, I am aware that the success of my project is far from guaranteed but please, if it comes to this, do not let me be eaten alive. I would die of embarrassment. Not to mention, they do not deserve to taste a flesh as delicate as mine." "You won''t fall to them. Continue your story." "Yes, yes of course. Many more of those things jumped out of the woods. They were frenzied, insane. I believe they were waiting in ambush but could not resist, and their lack of control saved us. I had everyone turn around and retreat as more of those came after us. We managed to hold ourselves and the horses together for a while, yet despite my best efforts, they soon caught up to us. Your men showed admirable control and we were able to go on a fighting retreat up to this position. Unfortunately, we lost two horses and a third one ran away when a creature managed to drag Tom down. Metis must have disappeared in the confusion as well. The monsters attacked relentlessly. They did not care at all for their own well-being." Sinead''s voice is barely a whisper now. "There is something else. They eat their dead. I saw it with my own eyes." "I expected that, just like I know what they are. I just never came across them in such numbers." Wendigos. They are organized now, enough to set up an ambush. Enough to take down a heavily armed convoy. The world is changing and I am not sure if I like it. I could go out and slaughter them. I am confident that they would all die but I also lost someone in the past by being overconfident. My priority should be to keep the rest of my allies alive. I need to stay with them. Now, should we make a stand or move? It would be more difficult to keep everyone together if we try to break out, not to mention the horses may panic. So I need the Wendigos to strike and slaughter them as they come. I also need to wipe them out. If a majority scatters and leaves, I may not be able to hunt them all before dawn and then the group would be vulnerable to a counter-attack. We need bait. I turn to Sinead just as I hear approaching footsteps at the edge of my perception. "Somebody is coming. I''ll stall them. Walk around and prepare a fall back circle against the cliff. We need to fire on them when they attack, then draw them in and deny vision to their reinforcement." To my surprise, Sinead obeys without comment. Our situation must be dire indeed for him to eschew his acidic wit. Ignoring the urgent whispers spreading around I step onto the ridge to await the monster''s envoy. Down the slope, a hungry mob of fighters has gathered in a loose line just out of musket range. The mass seethes and writhes in a tide of lean flesh and salient bones. Their sour musk pervades the very air. As I watch, a figure approaches. The man is larger and while still lean, he is not as skeletal as some of his brethren. He walks leisurely forward in a smooth gait that sometimes reveals his leathery skin and below, muscles like corded steel. I take an involuntary breath as I recognize the two crossed bands on his desiccated brown outfit. Our native allies during the battle at Black Harbor wore something similar. Those are Choctaw Wendigos. Nashoba, my friend... No. I refuse to believe it. They are so far from their land! No, it cannot be. I must have made a mistake. Or they are raiders. Or exiles. I shall learn the truth! "Why do you come to us dressed as a Mingo?" The man stops and looks up in surprise. His black eyes inspect my body and when they reach my midriff, he licks his lips. "I am a Mingo, a chief, white woman." "You are far from your lands, Mingo." I realize immediately that I made a mistake. The chief''s visage twists with inhuman fury, revealing a jagged set of teeth. To my surprise he regains control almost immediately. "You do not know." "Know what?" He laughs. It is a mirthless and broken sound that grates the ears. A mockery of the real thing. "We are so insignificant that the white men of the North do not even know what their leaders have done." "I do not understand." "Then I shall tell you, white woman. I shall tell you how we ended up here like this. So you know how we were betrayed and why you die. "Long ago, my father fought alongside your warriors against the Creek and the English both. He was there with Pushmataha when New Orleans was saved from the invasion. We thought you our friends, bound by blood spilt and shed together. You called us one of the five civilized tribes and we respected you in return, but the memory of your kind is short and your greed, endless. "Two years ago, we were invited to a feast at Dancing Rabbit Creek and told we would have to bow to your rule or be exiled West. I saw how your free men were treated so we left. We could not fight you. Your kind cheered as my people walked through your cities because they knew there was new land to be had. All of our previous treaties meant nothing. We did not deserve to be treated with honor. "I should have taken my war club, painted it red and died like a man. Instead we were led into the swamps by incompetent guides. We lost our way. Many died on the trail of tears." The fallen chief''s gaze is lost in the distance and his voice grows heavy with memories. I am surprised by his self-control. I never thought Wendigos could even be articulate, and yet his command of English is flawless. "I was so hungry. I ate a crawfish, raw, with the pincers. And worms. My... my wife. She was chewing her own fingers..." For a few moments, remnants of humanity bleed through the creature, only to disappear as the thing returns its attention to me. He has grown cold. His eyes are two black pits of nothingness smouldering with scorn and anger. "Look at what I have become, because of greed. So hungry all the time. Like I have a dog gnawing from the inside. Enough. I was going to offer terms but no more. You will feel my pain, you, the Creek, the red people and the black men. All of you. I will eat the tender flesh from your stomachs, your breasts, and your thighs while you scream for mercy. Then, I will kill you." He steps back and screams. The sound is guttural and charged with meaning. It speaks of carcass eaten to the last pieces of cartilage, of broken bones with the marrow sucked off. It speaks of hunger and madness. "There will be nothing left of you." Then he steps away. He is lucky I need him alive. That scream sounded like a CHALLENGE. One I will answer. Later. I trot back to the wagon and take out my rifle, then join my allies against the improvised trench. "I can''t see shit." comments Russel, one of the two black freemen. Good point. "Light the lanterns and give them to me, quickly." The mute hermit and John scramble to provide what I asked. I take the first one as soon as it is ready and throw it. Everyone follows the piece of red ember as it arches through the sky, then crashes against a pine tree. Oil spills, setting the tree ablaze. The halo of scarlet light shines on the advancing force. It reveals parodies of men, some of them on all four. "Fire!" Our side opens on the foes. The volley catches the creatures off guard and a handful falls. Unfortunately, the rest forfeits any attempt at discretion. They charge with throaty screams. There are quite a few of them, I''d say at least thirty. I don''t see their leader and deduce that he will use his more feral troops to soften us. Sinead and I fire our pistols, slowing segments of the incoming force as some of them fall on their dead comrades. Soon, the first creature is climbing up the ridge. "Fall back!" The others retreat to the prepared positions. "You too, John." The simple giant hesitated but he has never disobeyed a direct order and today is not the day he will start. The others form a circle with the wagons at their back. The hermit and Russel reload frantically, preparing to cover the Creeks who have taken out steel tomahawks and stand shoulder to shoulder with the red-skinned men. Somewhere in front, the lanterns have set a tree ablaze and dark silhouettes appear clearly against the red-tinged background. I cave in the first Wendigo''s chest with a closed fist. Snap the spine of a second one. I move slowly, hiding most of my abilities. Those are scavengers. If the tide of battle turns too fast, they will flee. I need to make it look like they might win while keeping my allies alive. Sinead and John must hold at all cost. The rest are replaceable. The assaults starts in earnest. A creature falls to a point-blank shot and the next to John''s oversized metal club. I dance among the slow monsters and kill them where they stand. I am careful not to spread too much of their sour blood and I mostly break bones. One of the red-skins yells as he is dragged forward. I move and break his foe''s spine, then throw the corpse near the ledge to slow down the assault. Another uses the opportunity to jump on my back. YOU DARE. I grab the thing''s head before it can bite down and CRUSH IT, send the body flying. I kill three others in quick succession. Bodies are piling, some are fed on. Allies are being overwhelmed, too many. KILL FASTER. I go through their rank from one side of the circle to the other by slitting their throats and ripping their heads off. Spilt essence everywhere. Some of the mortals are already hurt, with fresh blood dripping from their wounds. The scent mingles with sweat, fear and Wendigo''s acidic ichor to form an intoxicating perfume, pungent and heady. Too many, I need to THIN THE HERD. "HSSSSSSS!" Oh no you do not want to leave. Look at me, all of you, yes, you are THIRSTY, SO VERY THIRSTY. YOU NEED THE PRECIOUS LIQUID. Feel the craving, the abominable pain. Come sate it. I am here. Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. The creatures open their dislocated maw and scream in anguish before rushing me. YES, COME. This is my moment. The brothel, the politics and the others can all go to some lost circle of hell, this is what I was made for. I claw off half a head, grab the corpse and smash another with it. I dive under a grasping arm and stab another in the spine, use his corpse as a battering ram and crash into a group. They fall like pins. I stomp down and smash a skull, dismember them as they try to stand back up. Their screams of pain are a glorious symphony and the red mist of my labor caresses my nostrils. So good. Yes. MORE. Some of them falter. Oh no, that won''t do. I find one of my allies on the ground and grab him by the throat. He is wounded. Yes, he will do nicely. "Scream." He obeys. Some others join in. The scavengers smell weakness as they recognize the sound of falling prey. The Mingo reaches the top. More than two-thirds of his base creatures are dead. The rest is spread on the floor, nursing wounds, or paralyzed by indecision. It roars in outrage. PITIFUL WEAKLING. YOU THINK ME AFRAID? YOU ARE DOG AND I AM QUEEN. "ROOAAAAR!" Its face twists in terror. It turns to flee. One of his better-fed companions extends a hand and mutters a word. A translucent snake emerges from it, only to be bisected by my blue-clad talon. You call this magic? Pathetic. Die. I massacre what is left of the retinue, gorge on their blood as the fallen one abandons the field. Yes, A BIT OF SPORT. "Metis!" The nightmare gallops seemingly out of nowhere and I jump on her back as she passes me by. We chase after the fleeing PREY. It turns just before the end, so that I can see the disbelief on its face. Metis runs him down in a cacophony of yelps and shattered bone. It crawls away. I drop and grab it by the neck. "It was a good hunt." He tastes pleasantly sour and powerful, with a tinge of regret and thwarted vengeance. The forest, moments before filled with the clamour of battle, falls silent. And just like that, the hunt is over. I drop the broken remains of the dead Choctaw on the ground and look around. Two pines are still ablaze with sputtering flames, the sooty smoke trailing up to the sky. Bloody corpses are gathered in clumps where we shot them and where their allies fell on them to feed. The air is heavy with woodsmoke, gunpowder and blood. I lost control, for the first time in two decades. I revealed my wildest self in public, in full view of my allies. I brought the odd squad because rumors coming from them would be dismissed and they know it, and this time it might not suffice. It is one thing to suspect your employer of being a witch, another to see her mow through supernatural creatures like a demon from hell. Oh, and I think I Devoured a few of them, did I not? Yes I did. Wonderful. Tremendous. Perhaps all that dismemberment was a tad overdone. Ripping the arms from your enemy''s chest? So last millennium. Dammit. I did not need this. I must have enough men to assault the prison and access the areas that will necessarily be consecrated. The order of Gabriel has been formed and trained to slay things like me, it is therefore wise to use mundane means against them. I cannot afford a mutiny before this is done. Metis nudges me and brings me back to the present. I tear off the leather strips from the dead one''s stomach and leave her to her own feast. The walk back to the fortified camp is a long one as I fear what I will find and the decisions I shall have to take. On the ridge, only John is waiting for my return. He is looking around at the charnel pit that this place has become. His brow scrunches in confusion, then he turns to me and asks me with a calm voice: "Why did they attack us, Miss Lethe?" I stop by his side and consider an answer. I could tell him that they wanted to inflict pain in return for the pain they suffered. I could tell him that we were in the wrong place at the wrong time and made to pay for sins committed by men who would see me dead if they could. I could tell him that the world is a senseless hellhole where fortune and tragedy walk hand in hand for no specific reason, that I did not deserve to die for reaching above my station, and that my first victim should not have perished to feed me. I could add that I did not deserve to be saved by Loth or tortured by Lady Moor. I will not. It is a fool''s errand to seek meaning in that vast cosmic circus of a world. There is no justice in that divine farce, save the one we dispense ourselves. Why did they attack us? Why indeed. "Because they were hungry." I pat the huge man on the shoulder as he nods beatifically. His all-knowing and all-powerful Mistress answered the question and explained reality, and now all is right in the world. Sometimes, I envy him. The men I left behind are bandaging their wounds when I find them again. They collectively recoil when my steps lead me down. Only Sinead and the old red-skinned man are not staring at the ground in hope that when they look back up, it will all have been a dream. The ancient warrior looks at me with a calm and contemplative gaze, and I believe that he had been ready to meet death long before our paths crossed. Sinead is inspecting the others and gauging their reactions, already planning ahead. Behind them, Tom''s raspy breath and the man I forced to scream''s soft sobs are the only sounds that break the silence. The fire dies out. I force back a sigh and bend to grab a defunct Wendigo. We have to stay here for a little while to allow the others some rest and clearing the battlefield is a necessity. Dead, my foes lose their bestial countenance and unnatural strength. They are thin and shockingly light, weighing less than an adult should. "Light some torches." They obey and we work in silence. When I have grabbed the last severed limb and added it to an improvised pyre, I turn and find their attention on me. Good, it is the perfect opportunity to deliver an important message. "You just found out that the world is bigger and darker than you thought. All of you realize that I am part of it. If anyone wants to panic, or pray, do it now, because tomorrow you will perform according to my expectations or you will die. I do not care if afterward you run all the way to Texas screaming like banshees. Until this is over, you are mine. And in case any of you got any bright ideas about fleeing by day or warning the authorities, I will now explain why you should not. First, no one will believe you. And second, when I find out, I will make sure that your end is the stuff of legend. I will grind your flesh until you are ready to sell your souls just so that I allow you to succumb. No distance will be too great and no fortress safe enough to protect you from my retribution. Do I make myself perfectly clear?" A series of nods and "Yes ma''am" answers my question. Even the otherwise cold hermit seems a bit flabbergasted by the sudden display, though Sinead is just shaking his head and wincing. I am about to turn and go for a calming run when the old chief stands and greets me. Or at least I think he does, I do not understand a word of what he says. "Allow me to help here," says my Likaean friend. "How do you even know his language?" "I have a gift for tongues, as you may have guessed. I will translate for you." "Thank you." The ancient man''s diction is peculiar. His voice flows peacefully in a soft dialect that makes sentence structures hard to spot. The melody of his words is rhythmic and soothing. "He says he thanks you for saving us all. His name translates as ''He who raided at dawn'', and he came here in pursuit of his son." "Was his son abducted?" "No, he says he is here to kill him." That was unexpected. The chief grows agitated as he elaborates on his outrageous claim. "He says that his eldest son used dark magic to kill both a brother and his wife. He is filled with malice and steals the skin of innocents to fuel his evil powers. And the monster cannot be slain, for every time it falls dead, it sheds its skin like a snake and is born anew. Only a bone spear made from a relative can slay the creature once and for all. Say, Ariane¡­" "I know. Ask him if, uh, what was it again, Shandeen was the girl?" At the mention of the female name I dug from my memories, He who raids at dawn steps back in apprehension. He grabs his spear and eyes me with suspicion while his men look on, unsure of what to do. THREATENING ME. No! Not threatening me, he is merely afraid of something that can take anyone''s form. I do not want to kill him unless I have to. He fought at my side and shows no sign of betrayal. It means something to me. "Tell him I killed his son, the old-fashioned way." The father lowers his spear. He and Sinead whisper in a low voice for a little while and though his fear has abated, there is a strange weariness to him. I think I understand. He committed to a desperate quest, willing to sacrifice his very life to redeem the honor of his clan only to find out that the transgressor is already dead and buried. The ultimate evil has fallen to another ultimate evil, one who likes petticoats and geraniums. I would be at a loss too. After a few more exchanges and questions about the death of the skinwalker and his final physical appearance, the old chief asks to see his son''s grave and I accept. He then proceeds to vaunt my powerful magic and the ease with which I channel the spirit of the Mountain Lion and to be careful not to let it take over. He adds that he will repay his debt by assisting us in our next raid. This might be the nicest thing a stranger has said or done to me after seeing me at work, and I smile at his graceful offer. The exchange goes on until Russel walks to me and announces that Tom wants to talk. I leave the others behind, and find Tom''s harried form is at the back of the wagon. He has been bandaged, but the wounds are too deep and his normally clear skin is ashy with pain and blood loss. Strands of white hair from his beard are plastered by sweat to his clammy skin. Feverish eyes follow me as I approach. A stained hand reaches out from under his cover. I grab it and hold him steady. His voice is strained but clear in the quiet vale. "Miss Lethe¡­ I have a wish." This is important. He is my fallen warrior. I must listen. "I have no cause to hold a grudge¡­ I knew I might die here¡­ If you could just look after my son¡­" This is the first time Tom mentions a family. "Who is your son?" "His name is¡­ David. I left him behind. Left him on the plantation. He was too young¡­ I am so sorry, David¡­" "David what?" "King. The tobacco plantation of Mr. Dawes, in Louisville." "I will find your son and buy his freedom if he still lives. You have my word." "Good. Thank you. May God bless your soul¡­ Whatever you are. Please, leave me not here on the ground... To be eaten by jackals." "I''ll bury you in a pleasant spot with a view on the river. We will not abandon you." "Thank you¡­ Ah¡­ It hurts so much¡­" "Look at me. Yes, good. Follow my voice. There is no more pain. No more pain. You feel warm and cozy, under that cover. You hear the fire crackling. It is warm and cozy and comfortable. You are sleepy. Sleep is good. Now let go. Let go." Tom sighs one last time and shivers. I lean forward and slowly close his eyes. He died a warrior''s death in my service, and I will give him whatever last rites I can. This is just as important as respecting the hunt and my promises. It is a part of my identity, one I fully accept. I pick up the body, still warm. His blood has seeped through the bandages and cover. The smell mingles with the inevitable stench of released bowels but I do not mind. This is no longer Tom but what he left behind and respecting it is also about respecting ourselves. sea??h th§× n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Russel is waiting by the camp''s edge with a shovel and an attitude. "I''m coming too. He was my friend." I nod in silence. I now understand why Sinead showed his displeasure at my earlier display. There were many ways for me to handle the situation and I went with threats. Someone as smooth as him could turn this raggedy outfit into a guard loyal to the death but I am not him, I am a survivor, and so I went with what I knew would work. For the first time, I realize that I took the wrong approach. Sinead had us stop a mile away from the prison and prepare, and now we are moving slowly towards it. The moonless night offers so little visibility that the mortals must hold hands not to drift. The noise of their stumble through soil and grass is masked by the Likaean''s magic. I would not have noticed anything special about the hill we are heading to if he had not pointed it out. Even now, only a small window allows one sentry to look out. The opening is almost invisible from the outside. The obscurity serves us as well, though I am a bit worried about the smell. Our entire company is quite ripe after yesterday''s battle and even if I managed to clean up in the river, the frigid temperatures deterred the others. I made sure I stood upwind. It''s that bad. Our destination is a wall between two of the four watch posts. We reach it without incident. Behind it, the hidden complex sprawls. It looks more like a warren than something where humans live. All four structures are low, parts of them dug into the ground. Trenches provide access to buildings and instead of a roof, there are only mud bricks covered by a thin layer of grass. "Careful," I whisper, "broken glass." Somebody painstakingly glued jagged shards on top of the wall at the entire circumference of the camp. The dedication and time required to do that are impressive. I silently break off the sharpest parts and cover a meter-wide segment in mud and clumps of grass. Time to go. I attempt to jump and¡­ immediately fall back down on my bottom. "Hsss." "Perhaps not a knight," comments Sinead lightly, "but you do have a future as a court jester." "It''s blessed! The entire place is consecrated." I whisper back. This is a terrible thing. I planned around buildings being forbidden to me, but not the entire compound! "Impossible. Look left, there is a log gate to the outside. They must have blessed the wall only, to prevent intrusion. Listen, I can lead the men to the door and unlock it from the inside. You should be able to go then." "Hold on. I may have a better idea." I walk back and tap on John''s shoulder, then drag him up to the wall. He kneels by my side so that I can whisper in his ear. He smells of sweat and tobacco, a familiar scent that puts me at ease. "Get over the wall, go right until you find a door. Open it quietly. Kill the man inside, in silence. Find a big cross. Break the cross. Stab the wood in the corpse. Return." John nods and walks up with unquestioning obedience. There is a childlike purity in the way he murders people. I ordered it, and thus it must be right. This kind of unquestioning obedience is a precious thing and one that can be easily abused. I will not do so. John is mine and those who choose to become mine will be well treated. I close my eyes and focus. By my side, Sinead''s calm breath and steady heart show that my friend is no stranger to covert action. I am not truly surprised, and I follow John''s steps as he moves forward with a grace that belies his large size. The feet stop. A door slides on slightly rusty hinges. A man takes a sharp intake of breath, a muffled scream is interrupted by what I assume are my soldier''s bear-like mitts. Flesh impacts wood, once, twice, thrice. Bone breaks. A heavy body falls on the floor. John''s breath is just as steady as ever. He does not doubt and that is why I believe my plan will work. A minute passes, then I hear the noise of broken wood, of mangled flesh. It is done. John steps outside and walks back to us. I hear him counting steps as he makes his way. When he arrives, he turns with worry on his face, fixing the darkness with big round eyes. "Miss Lethe?" His large hands search the wall lightly, finding the dirt cover. I grab one and see pure relief on his big ugly face. "You have done well. Now, invite me in?" "Please come in miss Lethe." The silent warning dissipates before innocence corrupted and twisted to end a life. The barrier disappears almost¡­ reluctantly. I am in. With a tug, Sinead guides the others into the prison. The area is one of the queerest structures I have ever witnessed, and I was reborn in a cavernous underground fortress. Four buildings as large as family houses are dug into the ground and trenches lead from one to another. The roofs are covered in grass and vegetation. Excruciating attention to detail has been devoted to make this place as hard to find as humanly possible. Thankfully, there are no pig pens. "Any patrol?" "No." "Then we proceed as planned." The red-skinned men, who I learnt come from a people called the Navajo, split up and jump down into the trenches to wait by the guard post entrances. I grab a leather bag I had brought and open it to reveal ominous black canisters. "Are those fire bombs?" asks Sinead with curiosity. "Made of oil and resin, perhaps?" "Oil and resin?" I scoff, "Pfff! Nothing so pedestrian, I assure you. Those are powder charges of a special blend containing traces of magnesium and I assure you sir, that those devices will ignite beautifully, and reach temperatures as high as¡­" "Yes, yes yes, alright, calm down woman. By the spheres, I never knew explosions could have such a rousing effect on you." "I thought you could appreciate true beauty you ruffian!" "Shh! The plan! Focus on the plan!" Right. I leave the odd squad to set up an ambush around what we identified as the barracks and Sinead leads me to the smallest building. He turns to me. "Ariane, I am going to reveal how I located my fianc¨¦e. Please promise me you will not share this secret." "You have my word." "I knew I could count on you. Look." He takes from a pendant around his neck something that looks like a compass, with an arrow shining viridian even in the dead of night. "This is keyed to her essence. If the secret of its existence should fall into the wrong hands¡­" "I already told you I would keep your secret." "I know. Let us find out where my darling went." The so-called jail is barely more than a shed. I am about to question Sinead''s crafting skills when it comes to me. This is an underground prison. Sinead kneels in front of the door and fiddles with the lock until I hear a click. It opens to surprisingly large stairs and a packed earth landing. Soft murmurs can be heard further on. This is the moment of truth. I take a step in and breathe in relief. This area is not sanctified, and that means I know what I could find here. Captive vampires. I walk down the stairs to a large landing. A rectangular room leads to two massive locked doors to my left and right. They are made of reinforced steel and could probably hold a siege. The room itself is mostly bare. I spot only an armory, a table with chairs and my first piece of luck since starting this endeavor: the guards are kneeling on the floor, praying. Their gear was left on the ground. Oh, the irony is just delicious. I resist the disturbing urge to taunt them and instead pounce for the kill. The first man dies immediately, a second falls before realizing anything and the third one only has the time to widen his eyes before I stab his brain. Beautifully done, if I dare say so myself. At this moment, I hear a clang behind me. A fourth man gazes stupidly at my toothy smile and the bodies at my feet. Ah, damn it. I jump but too late, the door shuts close. I manage to grab it and pull open with a groan of tortured steel. The last order member gives up on closing it and takes out a cross and a pistol. "The power of God compels you!" I hiss and take a step back. What does he take me for, the devil? I dodge to the side as he pulls the trigger, jump on the wall, then behind him. Then he dies. Outside, a second of silence follows the sound of gunshot, then men yell in alarm. Spotted. The others should be fine and my priority is the prisoner. There could be more guards and they could have a way to purge all the cells at once. That''s what I would have done. "It''s clear!" I inform Sinead. The Likaean walks in as the sound of detonations confirm that my charges were conserved in a dry environment. Heh. I wish I could have seen the explosion. I turn around when my ally joins me and inspect the corridor I find myself in. Lanterns sit at regular intervals, shedding light on the brick walls as well as the fortified doors lining them. The corridor turns at a right angle further down. "How can we tell which door is hers?" "I can''t. Her aura is too strong, the compass'' needle is just twisting around." I grumble at the loss of time but not too much. I wanted to check the other cells anyway. "Return to the guard room, I shall examine each one." Sinead is safe by the time I open the first door. It took me half a minute to find the right key from the jailor''s massive collection. The cell is completely devoid of any comfort. There is not even a bucket or a pail of straw, only grey stones. On the far wall, a human man is chained, held by massive steel links. His wiry frame is covered in wounds and sores. A single manic eye glints with madness as he lifts his head. "Finally, thou have answered my summons! Thine master orders thee, succubus!" "Uuuuuh¡­" "Now get on thine knees and suck my cock!" Ten seconds later I step back out, wiping blood from my lips. "So?" "No one important, next!" A few curses later, I manage to get the next room and immediately regret my lack of caution. The steel links have been shattered and a prostrate figure lies in the middle of the room. The cold aura of a vampire reaches me, one that feels strangely familiar. The man is muscular, and tall. Long black hair falls in front of his face and prevents me from recognizing him until he turns his attention on me and I recognize the slanted eyes and the foreign skin color. Impossible. Could it be? "Ogotai?" The rogue opens a maw filled with serrated teeth. His long yellow claws rake the unforgiving ground, then he charges me. Chapter 53 - ??. Black and Red Healer 183? undisclosed location. I stroll leisurely alongside the river, enjoying the silence and the feeling of a job well done. Light from gas lampposts illuminates the doric columns of the massive building by my side. My guard is down, and this mistake costs me dearly. One moment, the world is as normal as it can get these days, the other, a sphere of void opens in front of me and tendrils of power snatch me like a child takes a doll. I barely have time to take out my dagger and slash at the power ineffectually before I am dragged in. "Ah, what the¡­" A massive hall. "... hell?" I stand in the middle of a spell circle. The construct is grandiose, almost on the scale of what Semiramis pulled off. I am filled with dread. Who would squander this much power to get me must have a purpose. As I watch, the last of the runes fade and a protective dome of force covers me. I feel no immediate danger, and so I take in my surrounding. The hall is a rectangular throne room of ridiculous proportions. The ground is pink marble polished to a delicate lustre. And the walls white stone smoothed to a shine. Golden leaves etched into the stone tell tales of valor, showing knights and heroes fighting mighty demons. Magic is clearly shown and in one of the decorations, a horned man with a furious glare blows off the top of a mountain. I really, really hope this is a metaphor of sorts. It also smells of stale air, and something unpleasant underneath. I think we are belowground. I return my attention to the people, now that the last flashes of magic die down and I can use most of my senses again. The room is not empty. Lines of guards in gaudy armour line it, and though I question their taste, I can tell that their gear is magical. Dangerous. At the end of the hall, several mages stand around who I assume to be the sovereign. They must be the summoners. Before they can even speak, I feel something to my right, eddies of power that even our magical restraints cannot stop. I am in only one of three circles. One contains remnants of flesh that appear as if a person had been made to go through a tube the size of an arm. The last is occupied by a woman. She is slightly taller than me, with raven black hair left to fall on her toned shoulders. Her clothes are that of a peasant. A white shirt hinting at a modest bust, brown pants ending with athletic legs. Her feet are clad in boots of good quality, made to fit. It is as if she did not care about her appearance at all even though she clearly could. And yet, her posture speaks of confidence, an absolute trust in her own power. She is lightly balanced on the balls of her feet with a grace that no mortals should be able to achieve. Truly, by appearing so normal, I feel like someone placed a tiny hat on a giant tiger. The woman turns to me lightly. Cold blue eyes take me in and assess me in an instant. She is mighty. I do not know how I realize this, only that it is a certain thing. Her essence has a terrible weight as if she were much smaller than she should be, and waves of tremendous magic pulse from her in waves. Fortunately, she continues her inspection. The woman checks the ground around her and the people in front of us with no hint of concern whatsoever. If anything her smirk has not left her face since I started to look. Finally, one of the men in the small assembly comes forward. He is rather ancient and clad in a garish cloak of red and gold. His smile is thick as molasses, and just as dark, "Welcome! Heroes of faraway lands! You have been summoned by nobody lesser than the great and mighty King Abel! To fulfil the prophecy and rid this land of every and all demons!" He does not speak English, the meaning of his words is simply carried by a harmless magical tendril directly into my mind. I truly am not in my own plane. This is magic on a grand scale. Too bad it was carried out by what amounts to kidnappers. "Ah great. The summoned hero story. Why put a barrier up if you want our help?" says the woman on my side, in proper English this time. Her voice has a strange accent that I cannot place, and there is something behind too. I feel like she could speak louder, loud enough to crack my mind open. "We mean you no harm!" the man continues as he comes closer, and I can finally tell where the smell comes from. He is only playing at being a human but I can taste his essence through the barrier. It is foul. "The shield is there to prevent magical power leaking outwards. You were chosen as prospective heroes, individuals with great potential. Young and surging in power!" the creature continues as it approaches. There is something off with its face as well. The Skinwalker was better at imitating people. This stinks of enslavement coated with a thin layer of bullshit. Is it so hard to imagine that "Heroes of Faraway Lands" would have more intellect than the average hamster? Prevent magical power leaking outward indeed. They are not even trying. I flex my claws. No one enslaves me, not anymore. I just hope the blue-eyed monster thinks the same as she turns to me. "What do you think?" she says, looking at me, "That bundle of flesh doesn''t seem quite happy about being here either." "A spell that has one in three chances of turning their target to mincemeat indicates that little care is given to their target," I observe. Unwise. Our captors are beyond careless. This flimsy barrier will not hold the one next to me and even I should manage to break with the Herald''s power, given time. "How thoughtful. You are right. Though I must say, I would very much like to experience the full extent of this spell''s power¡­ perhaps I could learn to resist it fully¡­," the woman adds. Oh, so that''s how it is. She''s probably quite resilient, the kind to travel around looking for a challenge. I sincerely hope that she will not find it here. "Why summon us?", she continues, "Doesn''t the mighty, high and powerful king what''s his name have enough powerful people to fight the war himself? You already have fourty eight capable knights standing in this very hall. Pretty wasteful if you ask me." She clearly saw through their feeble attempts at manipulation. Her mocking tone is obvious, and if I were those imbeciles over there, I would start to reinforce the barrier or find somewhere else to be. "You were chosen to fight the fiends who wield necromancy, blood magic and curses in their unrelenting pursuit of conquest! Are you not those good of heart and spirit? Those who would vanquish the evils of the world?" They must have messed up their ritual. This is the only explanation. "Some of my best friends are necromancers. And blood mages¡­ and curse¡­ mages?" the woman adds, looking thoughtful. That is good news for me. At least she is not a zealot. "Besides¡­ I can feel blood magic from your king. Seems a little dishonest to me," the woman continues, then something strange happens. Her essence materializes into ash, which coalesces into a chair. At the same time, she reaches into the shadow of her aura and pulls¡­ a bowl of food. By the Watcher! If only I could do the same thing, store items in my shadow¡­ then... I could store guns! Explosives! Maybe a whole canon! That would be so great¡­ Wait, no Ariane, focus. The big one is about to speak. "Then, perhaps¡­" the ''King'' starts in a voice like shredded metal, before coughing. "Perhaps you would be interested to side with us after all-" he finishes. If the pitch was not already enough to betray his inhumanity, the blood would. The scent is tangy, reminding me of Wendigo. The thing on the ground is fouled, but what runs in his veins¡­ now that would be something. "My King! You mustn''t," one of the sovereign''s attendants interrupts. The King just punts him into a wall. Alright then. It might make for a GOOD HUNT, STRONG PREY. Wait, hold on, I was going to negotiate my return. This is not time to start shedding blood, if I can even do it. Who knows how powerful they are? I need to be cautious, extremely cautious. "A¡­ being¡­ of ash. And one of blood," the king says with an empty chuckle. "Would you not serve me? You could be lords¡­ whole continents would cower before your might. As heralds of King Abel." Cute, but something tells me we would have to conquer those continents ourselves. Besides, I SERVE NO ONE. Calm, Ariane, you need to stay calm. Diplomacy will get me through this. "I''m quite happy where I am. Can you send us back now please? I have obligations and I''m sure the same is true for you." the woman says and she once more turns to me, "I''m Ilea by the way, nice to meet you. Like the daggers and the whole corpse-like thing you''ve got going on," You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. How rude! "I am Ariane of the Nirari," I grumble, "and I am not a corpse." Honestly, do corpses even move? Nonsense. At least she likes my daggers, so she has a few redeeming qualities. Before I can introduce myself further, the woman continues. "Hey you''re a vampire, right?" She knows. Dread takes my heart. She knows! I really hope that my judgement was correct and that I can join necromancers and blood mage on the list of approved creatures or else, I am done for. I can taste her essence in the very air. She will obliterate me if she wants to. Perhaps¡­ she could even hold her own against my sire. "Don''t worry about it. As long as you''re not a feral monster trying to eat me, there shouldn''t be a problem," she continues with the same unsettling smile, as if everything was an amusing distraction for her. I feel that if that smile were to disappear, terrible things would occur. At least I will be fine. It would take utter desperation or a truly maddening Thirst to force me to go against her. "I am afraid such is not possible. Too much was invested to get you here. You will serve me. Willingly or not," the king says, as he emits a powerful aura. This is bad. I have no time to think, no time to plan. There is too much I do not understand. "Hold on, friend, perhaps we should try to negotiate with them first¡­" I tell the firebrand at my side. We can stall. They are ready and prepared for us now, with lines of knights. If we wait, perhaps security will be laxer and we will have a better chance of escaping. "Okay mate. Last chance. Beam us back or I will literally rip off your head," the woman replies. That''s her way of negotiating? Well, we''re in it now. I prepare to dodge a spell but I am not a target. A globe of power emanating from the King spreads out and hits Ilea. A ghastly wound explodes on her chest. Carmine blood stains her shirt, the ground, and her lips. That''s got to be a lung. This is it. I take out my dagger, call the power of the Herald in my claws and watch in amazement as the woman''s torso pops back in as if nothing had happened. Huh? Mesmerized, I stand witness to a miracle. First, a full set of bone-coloured armor emerges from the shadow of her aura to cover her entire body. Then, the thundering essence around her takes shape and slides over the first defense to form a streamlined layer the color of ash, if ash shone like white stars. It clads her from head to toe in an intricate tapestry of scales and plates as elegant as they look sturdy. This is the work of a true master, designed for her. The only thing exposed is a pair of glacial blue eyes under forward-facing horns, and they look cold indeed. There is an anticipation in the air. The time for talk is over. Now, we Hunt. "I don''t think you have a choice here," she adds with a wink. Indeed I do not. And it''s your fault! Bah! "Kill them!" the king screams as he discards his human form, exploding into a demonic grey-skinned abomination with a crown sitting atop a lupine skull. Quite tall too! Well, the bigger they are...the better they taste. "Whoa, pretty disgusting there," Ilea comments with the tone of a housewife seeing a half-rotten cabbage on the ground. She''s correct, it is rather gross. Well, nothing to it. I move, and go after the knights first. The smart thing would be to go after the mages or the creature that can make someone''s chest explode from afar but I am counting on my unexpected ally to be the obvious target and she does not disappoint. She somehow appears in their midst and wrecks through them in moments. The magical armors which I had admired but moments ago folds like cheap paper as her strange back... tentacles? Literally rip the things apart. I still want those breastplates, they look nifty. I lay into the knights myself. I weave through them and stab necks, armpits and thighs, avoiding the protected areas. The knights'' movements are good but they are far too slow. Their blood smells like a lesser version of the King''s. Inhuman. TASTY. "You dare defy me!?" the king roars with a broken voice, "Yes, yes. I do dare. I''ve heard this so many times before. What the fuck did you expect, summoning powerful heroes here?" Ilea asks, sounding weirdly reasonable as limbs and broken corpses rain around her. I am moving forward and to the sides, using walls and the knight''s positioning against them. I need to avoid getting cornered. I stab and slash, sometimes pushing foes on the path of thrown spears and axes. The chaos of battle works to my advantage and allows me to stay one step ahead. Ilea''s chest explodes once more, only to reform in instants. She does not even flinch. I''m a bit jealous. "You''ll need more than that!" she says like a fishmonger asking for more change. Then she extends a hand and a cone of pure heat blasts vaporizes everything behind me. FIRE. RUN. "Hsss!" Hot hot hot. I''M ON FIRE. No, calm down, it''s just my second most expensive dress. Aaaaaah. I glare at the culprit who shrugs helplessly as her tentacles stab and gut a knight poised to strike her. "My dress!" I complain. That bloody thing cost me two hundred dollars! "Sorry¡­ behind you!" Yes, yes, I know. I jump forward and knee the creature in the chest plate to unbalance it, then stab it. Ow. Should have just stabbed it. My knees! Ow! This is getting worse and worse. I hiss once more as another knight uses the opening to nick my leg. And there go my leggings too. Unforgivable. VERMINS. KILL THEM ALL. Ilea has nearly reached the King when one of the robbed mages erects a barrier. PATHETIC. I gather the power of the Herald in my claws and breach it. PREY. I fall on the robbed and Devour it in a second. Power, defiled and mighty roars in its veins. It calls for domination and violence, but it is also unstable and destructive. Delicious. Focus. I raise my head to see the tentacle woman looking slightly amused. She points at the King who is still trying to make her chest explode as if this time, the result would be any different. "That guy," she says and points at the malformed sovereign. Hm. Yes? A few dark spears blink into existence and rush the creature with enough speed and power to skewer a frigate. Our foe simply blocks it with its muscular arms, and I feel power reaching beneath me. Spikes of blood emerge from the ground. Before I can dodge, Ilea blinks before me and stop the onslaught by¡­ simply standing there and letting them crash on her torso. "Want a bite?" she offers "Certainly," I reply. The King looks like a prize. Then she grabs me by the collar and tosses me forward. Huh? Aaaaaah¡­ Why that tricksy little¡­ Ah! I twist my body mid-air and manage to land knives first into the creature''s eyes. It reels. It opens a wide maw. Before it can bite down, Ilea appears on its side and casually punches it. The impact sends the beast to the side. It is unbalanced. It''s my chance. I claw my way in its steely flesh and latch to its throat. I bite down. The crown upon my brow is light, it is where it belongs now. The empire of Ys has suffered the independence of those squabbling kingdoms to the South for far too long. My father was weak, and it is time to strike! Those who resisted will be trampled, their wives shall weep and their children will die in darkness, mining leagues below the ground for the glimmering fuel that powers our machines. Fools! My troops have been stalled by guerillas and armed peasants? Inconceivable. I need to take harsher measures. Tarran Hill has fallen under the combined efforts of the alliance. How did it ever come to this? I have no choice now, I will conduct the ritual, bind my essence to that of an Outsider. The others before me turned into half-mad demons but I will not succumb to its influence. I am far too strong for that¡­ S§×ar?h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. I pull out. Power, unbridled, courses through my vein. The host was weak but the corrupting essence? It is incredible. Like a smooth fire begging to be unleashed. It tastes of cruel trickery and almost lies, of a game of patience that can never truly be lost. I fall down to a knee. Oops? Teehee. Wait, no, now is not the time to lose my focus. I am a mighty ruffian-propelled vampiric projectile of death and destruction. I am sharp and devious and completely, completely sober. Yep! "It is done," I announce. Ilea blinks before me and I jump back in alarm, though she simply lowers her hands. "No worries. I''m a healer," she says. Yes, you are the very essence of the Hippocratic oath, you lunatic. "It will heal. There is no need," I reply. "Ah, you can regenerate too, nice, can you lose your head too?" I don''t like where this conversation is going. But hey, it''s fun! "In theory yes, though I would rather not find out. Why, can you? " I ask with a smile. "You''re drunk, aren''t you?" The woman smirks. Blasted! I am made. "No! I am not! Just curious, is all," I say, taking great care to have a good pronunciation. There! No way she figures it out now. Ariane, queen of acting! Instead of replying. She tears her head off. Just like that. I am not really here. Somebody managed to hypnotize me and I am now having a vivid hallucination. Either that or I am, in fact, dead, and must suffer for all eternity in this hell, enduring some sick being''s twisted sense of humor. Those are the only reasonable explanations I can think of. "Huh, I did not expect a demonstration. Perhaps one day, I shall develop the power to erase selective memories. That would be nice," I add. "Want a bite?" she says, and throws it at me. It really is her head. It''s still even smiling. Gah. "Made you lose your head in five minutes, heh. Who are you¡­ really?" I ask "I told you, I''m Ilea. I was brought here from Elos and I intend to go back," she says. I have never heard of Elos. It is probably another plane. One thing is sure, if that woman is the norm, I don''t want to go there, ever. Being able to walk under a foreign moon is not worth having spare body parts thrown at you mid-conversation. I will still play nice though, in case she expects me to return the favor. I like my own head where it is now, thank you very much. "Ilea¡­ well met! I am a vampire as you have previously deducted. Do you perchance have a way to travel through the planes?" Somebody get me out of here. "Nice to meet you too, Ariane. I can only return to my own realm. Maybe one of the mages here can help out," she suggests. "The mages! Yes! How could I forget?" We did not kill them all. "I have no clue either, sorry," she says. I look around and focus. One heartbeat, behind the pillar. "I found one," I say, and go grab the man. I drag him back to the pedestal, kicking and screaming. Dessert! No wait, I need him alive. To go home! "Return me to the United States, promptly!" I demand. "We can''t¡­ the magic required¡­ it would take decades," he whispers. "I can supply it," Ilea says. "You just provide the magic circle." "Can we trust this¡­ creature?" I wonder. Ilea shrugs. "No. Definitely not but do you have another idea?" Fair point. "The circle is simple¡­ I understand it, studied it¡­ for decades¡­ please, let me live! I can bring you back," the man pleads. He smells delicious, like¡­ a second main course. I Charm him in an instant, sweeping aside his pathetic defences. He is terrified and as a result, he wants to please. His survival depends on our goodwill. I lower the fear and fan the flames of devotion in his heart. "You want to live, don''t you? You are a powerful mage, are you not?" I ask. "Yes I do. I am, quite powerful. Wiser than even King Abel!" "Then you would surely be able to bring us back to our realms. To protect your own people," I say, and I do not need to bluff to make him believe it. "Yes, of course. But the magic¡­ it is impossible," the man stammers out. Not if Ilea fuels it. She can grow heads like some grow petunias. What''s a magical portal through time and space? I press on. "With her help, it may be possible. You would be a hero! Having banished the monstrous creatures that have murdered your king!" "I will get right to it! Only small modifications need to be made¡­ but I can only send you back from where you have come¡­ nowhere else," he says and scrambles to the circle to complete it. I watch his back with satisfaction. "Impressive powers. Does that come with the vampire class?" asks the woman by my side. "Class? I know of no such thing. What are you? If I might ask?" "I''m a human. So are you, by the looks of it. You said United States? I''m from Earth too, though I don''t exactly call it home anymore. The place I''m from has magic and monsters. And quite a few opportunities to find power," "Human¡­ you looked more monster than woman," I add with some regret. I am so jealous. "You too. Well, sometimes you just have to let it out, you know? Feels good to let loose and these fuckers deserved it. So, ready to go home?" The man motions us to join him, the modifications to the magic circle done. Last chance for a dessert. "If I might ask... would you¡­ would it be fine for you if¡­ if I drank a little of your blood?" By the Watcher, I sound like a Supplicant but this is a unique opportunity. I hope she does not take offence. "Knock yourself out," Ilea says. "But it does feel a little uncomfortable seeing you hold my head." I return the body part which I was still holding for the simple reason that it would feel inappropriate to boot it under some column while its owner is just right there, watching. She makes the thing disappear. "This should suffice for blood," she says, and use a tentacle to literally wrench her heart out, breaking her ribs and everything. Alrighty then. I''m sure Isaac has some methods to make memories fade in the background. Definitely. I hope. "A parting gift," she says with a bright smile as her chest cavity fills out again. "Erm, thank you, Ilea of Elos. It was an experience to make your acquaintance," I reply. I wouldn''t mind seeing her again actually. Provided we are on the same side. "Ready?," Ilea asks as I step into the circle. "Until we meet again." Teleportation. The ability to open a conduit through time and space, sending and retrieving people and goods from unfathomable distances in the blink of an eye. Truly, a wonder of magic. If I am being reasonable, I should not be surprised, nor angry, that the panicked mage would miss the mark by twenty paces and send me back just above the river. "FU-" Chapter 54 - 53. Three is a Crowd I dodge a clawing motion then another, stunned at what I see. So weak. Ogotai is pitifully slow, his movements jerky and inefficient. I feel like I am fighting a drunk child. Were rogues not supposed to be particularly dangerous? Was he always so feeble? I reminisce as I stop another assault and slam my old jailor against the stone wall. Back in the vampire fortress as I first woke up, he had been terrifying. I was powerless before his strength and the pain he could and did inflict. With Jimena and Master, he was one of the three individuals who had ruled my life then. I have trouble reconciling my memories with the sad wreck in front of me. "Ogotai, wake up." The degenerate creature shakes its head and charges again with a yowl of fury. I seize his arms as he extends them and shatter the wrists. The beast screams in pain. "Ogotai, enough, wake up." I will kill him. He is a traitor and not someone I intend to keep around. I just want to give him a chance of doing so on his own two feet, as a last courtesy from one vampire to another. Not like this. My words are useless. He just tries to bite my arm wherever he can reach it. His aura fizzles sickly and I am left to wonder how much time he spent here. When I disabled him and stunned Father Perry, could the priest have taken the vampire captive with him? Did the traitor spend more than thirty years in their custody, bound here by chains of steel and walls of stone? Did they even feed him? By the Watcher, I would rather rip my own throat and throw myself on a silver spike. I avert my eyes from the fallen one as I remember why I am here. I do not have more time to give him. With a hint of regret, I expose his throat and bite deep. Winter When Subotai led us to the city they call Kiev, I thought we had reached the end of the world. We brought back strange furs, and slaves with skin as milk and hair like wheat in summer, a treasure for the horde and for the Khan. Now, we ride again into this place they call Hungary. I was already there when Temujin led us into China and because of my experience and prowess, I was named to lead a hundred men! We have split from the main column to find more land to plunder. This tall fortress of black stone looks like a good place to start. They told me I was a vampire. They told me I belonged to the Erenwald clan now. Me! Those sons of diseased dogs! I hate them, and I hate what I have become. They have me sit and do nothing, tend horses or speak to trees! Like a woman! I want my life back! Even if I have to burn everything around me. So much time has passed that even the Golden Horde is just a distant memory. Since I was sold to that horrible woman, I managed to grasp enough control to go out and find one of the servants of the crucified god. If my strength will not do, my guile will have to suffice. Thirsty thirsty, thirsty, thirsty, thirsty, thirsty, thirsty, thirsty, thirsty, thirsty, thirsty, thirsty, thirsty, thirsty, thirsty, thirsty, thirsty, thirsty, thirsty, thirsty, thirsty, thirsty, thirsty, thirsty, thirsty, thirsty, thirsty, thirsty, thirsty, thirsty, thirsty, thirsty, thirsty, thirsty, thirsty, thirsty, thirsty, thirsty, thirsty, thirsty, thirsty, thirsty, thirsty, thirsty, thirsty, thirsty, thirsty, thirsty, thirsty, thirsty! I pull out. Thirty years trapped here, after I shot him in the face. He woke up to find himself already in chains. This must never happen to me. I need to find a way to escape, in case all is lost. I would rather not exist than exist in this world of endless suffering. Hell itself cannot be worse. Ogotai was changed by mistake or out of cruelty. This is a travesty of what we should be and his master shares a part of responsibility in this disaster. A waste, from the very beginning. I turn around and ignore the strands of ash clinging to my sleeves. The search leads me to three other mad wizards, whom I promptly Devour. The next room is more interesting. As I enter it, my nose scrunches in displeasure. Mutt. INTRUDER. KILL HIM. No, this is a captive, not an intruder. He TRESPASSES by accident. A man faces me, bound to the wall with chains shining silver. He is surprisingly calm considering the circumstances. He is also sniffing the air, his gestures mirroring mine in a way I find disturbing. His build is light and wiry, like a forester. Straw colored hair fall on a gentle face centered on vivid green eyes clouded by pain. A smattering of freckles covers his sun-kissed cheeks. What I find strange is that there is no defiance nor aggression in his posture. If anything, he looks like a man who would lend me an ear and comfort me if I were to share a tale. When he speaks, his voice is warm and smooth like good coffee. I wish I could hear him sing. "Fair lady, I see you are not one of them. I would be eternally grateful for any assistance you could provide." I realize that this is my very first time having a conversation with a werewolf. I was planning on rescuing the fianc¨¦e and vampires provided they agree to secrecy. Now I need to decide what to do with this unexpected find. Kill, or subsume? "Fair lady, if you will not release me, will you at least end my torments?" "You ask for death?" "I seek freedom, no matter the cost. I would be thankful either way." I don''t need another essence of werewolf. I could, however, get some answers on a curse and lifestyle I know nothing about. "Are you asking for my help? Are you willing to pay the price?" "I would be willing to negotiate my liberty at a fair price, yes. You have my word, fair lady." "Supplicant. Very well. In return for freedom, you will swear absolute secrecy on me and mine forever. You will also protect me and answer all my questions for a duration of a week, and finally, you will offer me blood. Willingly." "Fair lady, this is a generous offer. I accept. Though¡­" "Yes?" "May I ask why do you need my blood exactly? I do not wish to renege, you understand, only to warn you that it carries a potent curse." "Oh," I add with a toothy smile, "I know." The man''s enchanting eyes widen in surprise when he sees my fangs, then he smirks. "It appears that I am the one most in need of answers. What may I call you?" "Ariane." Ah damn. "But please, in public call me Ms. Lethe." I add, as I find the key to open his restraints. "How very mysterious. My name is Alistair Locke, at your service. Rest assured that I will answer any threat to your person by whomsoever they might be given with the utmost urgency." "You are most kind, and since I see you so amenable, there is one more request I would like to ask of you before I draw your blood." "Please do." "Would you mind going to the other room and find clothes that could cover your manhood?" Alistair stares down and realizes his state of undress. I will admit that the view is quite nice, and I graciously step out of his way as he leaves. I also look after him just to make sure there are no anomalies. As a measure of precaution, of course. Nice butt. Enough distractions, however nice, I need to find that woman and there are only four cells left. The next one contains another werewolf, this one fully transformed and quite wild. I drink him dry. Waste not want not! I get a final werewolf and to my surprise a Wendigo. I Devour them as well and arrive at the second to last door. I have gone full circle. I open the gate to find myself in a bedroom. Instead of the naked stone, unpolished furniture clutters the area giving it a homey feeling. All four walls are covered with papers upon which strange glyphs and letters written with an elegant hand. A woman sits at an organized desk, carefully reviewing a document. She is breathtaking. Even the sackcloth they gave her does little to mask her grace and elegance. Dark auburn hair are tied in a messy ponytail that let a few strands grace her cheeks like the frame around a painting. She turns to me, her heart-shaped face regal, and I find myself staring into shining cerulean eyes. "Lady Sivaya of the Court of Blue?" The woman lifts one imperious brow, then notices something on my face. "V¡ª Vampire!" She then spouts imprecations in a voice that goes crescendo culminating with a strident scream. The princess raises a hand to her forehead, then proceeds to faint. "Errr. Nice to meet you too?" Typical. I grab the woman and pull her up, then drag her to the main room where Sinead''s face lightens with pleasure. "Hah, you found her! Is she¡­ Alright?" "Think so. She lost her nerve when she saw me. Don''t know why." "Perhaps that would be because you are smiling and your fangs are quite visible. Did you find any documents?" "Yes! A veritable¡­" I stop to find the right word, holding a hand so that Sinead waits. "Plethora! Yes!" "It would be better to wake her up and find out which she wants to keep, or I will never hear the end of it." "Of course!" I grab the princess by the collar and slap her vigorously. Sinead looks at me in wonder. "Is something the matter?" "I''ve always wanted to do that¡­" Our exchange is interrupted by the woman''s fluttering eyes. She looks from Sinead to me with a complicated expression. Then she reaches a decision and takes a deep breath as her brows furrow. I block her mouth with a hand. "Mflrgn!" "You handle the screaming part Sinead, I have two more things to do." I leave the lovey-dovey pair behind and turn to Alistair, who had been watching the proceedings with bemused attention. "And now dear supplicant, time to seal the deal, please assume the proper position!" Mr. Locke looks distinctly ill at ease in his pilfered uniform. I frown at his utter lack of manners. What good household would forget to teach someone how to do a proper blood offering. What household, I ask! Out of patience, I curtsey and expose my neck which makes him smile, which makes me frown, which makes him recoil, which makes me smile, then he obliges. "Excellent. Now don''t move, this won''t hurt a bit." In the confines of my mind palace, I am amazed. Werewolves have always been wild and this one is no exception and yet there is a noticeable improvement in Alistair. His aura is ordered and controlled. Underneath the beastly urges, there is deep peace and acceptance of his fate and an unwavering resolve to face it with all his might. I find an echo of my own belief in him, this desire to do the most with what we have and to never give up on what I believe makes my identity. I lick the wound clean and pull back a bit. He is flushed, and his smile is beautiful. "I must say, this was¡­ Intense, miss." Something pokes my stomach through, thankfully, two layers of cloth. "I can tell." "Sorry!" I chuckle and let the man turn around to, ah, get things under control. I am sure he has the situation well in hand. As for me, I intend to¡­ "Ari?" "Yes Sinead?" "Princess Sivaya needs to collect some documents from her room." Silence ensues. I am not quite sure what he means. "I fail to see how that is any of my concern." Sinead looks a bit embarrassed and his fianc¨¦e, angry. "Herm, I was hoping you could lend a hand." I tap my finger against my lips in fake consideration. "Let me think about it. No?" I leave the Llikaean to handle his lady friend. Hah! Serves him right. Pranking and torturing me daily for weeks? Making me pay for enough wine to roll a Scottish infantry regiment under the table? Do not expect any help. "Teeheehee. Serves him right indeed." "I can hear you, you know?" I ignore that sore loser and open the very last door. Inside, I find a naked woman chained to the wall by a veritable tangle of chains. I can barely see the ebony skin beneath the many links covering her lithe form. Her face is haughty and beautiful with sharp cheekbones. She is also a vampire. "You look familiar¡­" I whisper. Hope flares in her dusky eyes. She strains against her restraints with unbidden excitement. "You¡­ I know you. Ah yes, we met in New Orleans, sweet cheeks. I thought you dead!" I remember her. I was tasked with punishing a man by Baudouin and she walked in and saved me. Her name was¡­ "Naminata!" "Ariane! It is so good to see you! I thought I was finished for sure this time. Aaaa." I step much closer, excited. "Incredible! The world is small indeed, to think that we would meet again so!" "Yes, well, about that. May I ask that you unbind me?" "Eh? Oh, of course." "It''s the big key. Two to the right. No, the other right. Good." I am about to open the chain when a thought crosses my mind. "Hm." I scrunch my face in displeasure. There is something I need to remember. Something to do with why I am here. Arg, frustrating, I should run naked in the woods. The fresh air would do me good! "Is something the matter?" "Yes. Oh that''s it! I have conditions!" "Do tell. Quickly please." "There are two Likaeans under my custody. No touching, and no telling anyone you saw them ever. No betraying my trust. Yea?" She laughs lightly. "You already have blood slaves, and two of them? I am impressed. I swear that your secret is safe with me." "Ah, and no telling anyone where I am. You see¡­" I lean very close and claim in her ear, with pride. "I AM IN HIDING. TEEHEEE. So exciting, is it not?" I nod to myself. Yep. Very roguish of me, if I do say so myself. "Ariane. Are you drunk?" "What. Me? Pfffff. Of course not. I only had, huuuuuh¡­" "Right. Please free me, I promise absolute secrecy for you and yours as well as one year of service. Please?" "Alriiiiight! Company! So, how did you even get captured?" I ask as I remove the lock and start untwisting the chains. "I was trying to bed every member of the order from the same chapter, one by one. I was halfway done when a handsome fellow managed to trap me with the coming of dawn. Crafty bastard. I woke up covered with more steel than a bank door. I don''t know how long I would have lasted without your help. I will be eternally forever in your debt for this timely assistance." "Yea yeah. Let''s go!" "There could be more prisoners." "I already, huh, visited the other cells." "That explains it¡­" She mumbles, "You could have left some for me!" "I''ll just ask John to provide you with a few sips. He''s a good lad. Also, can you explain why you wanted to lie with members of the order of Gabriel? That doesn''t strike me as a wise idea." "For bragging rights. Nobody has done it before, I checked on the Ekon repository. Also, guilty sex is nice." "Ekon repository?" "We members of the Ekon clans are trying to experience as much as we can. Our progenitor lost his life to experience dawn, in fact. All new records are written inside a depository for future generations to peruse, with notes by the record holder on how interesting the experience was." I nod in echo with this absolutely outrageous statement. They keep records of all the insane things they''ve done. Unbelievable. Before I can sate my curiosity further, we reach the main room and Nami walks boldly forth then stops with her hand on her waist in a confident posture. She is of course completely naked, and her shamelessness is so blatant that it transcends good manners and turns into some sort of assertiveness. Or at least, that is how I perceive it. Siraya hides behind Sinead who looks at me with a measure of apprehension. Thankfully Naminata remains true to her word and does not engage, only looks on with curiosity. Then she turns to me with a pure expression of wonder and starts with a girlish scream. "They are not collared! They are free!" "Hum. Yes?" "Do you know what that means?!" I incline my head to the side. Surely, she would not dare¡­ "That means I can do it! I can have my record! Be the first Ekon to have a civilized discussion with free members of their race! I will stay vague of course, to protect you, but still, oh, Ariane, thank you, thank you!" "Hmm. Glad to be of help I suppose." "Yes, excellent, now I have a request." The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. "Speak." "Can I get some clothes?" Ah yes. That does sound reasonable. Even Alistair is¡­ Visibly distracted. Our problems start as soon as we get back out. The odd squad is gathered around one of the Navajo warriors, who is developing what will certainly be a spectacular bruise. "What happened?" "One of them escaped," answers a Creek, "He left the compound on horseback." "When?" "Immediately after the barracks exploded. He came out swinging." Do I have to do everything in this place? "Very well, I shall handle this myself!" I whistle and Metis arrives at a trot. I jump on her back on the way. Time for another Hunt! Teehee! I can enjoy the wind in my hair and on my skin, the crisp winter air. I go through the now open gate of the prison and pass underneath the earth, only to emerge from a concealed trap door at full sprint. Yes! The hunt, the open land, that low branch on my path! Why is it so close? Ow. Ow ow ow ow. Ow. Fine, I admit I''m drunk. Ooooow. S§×arch* The N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. M¨¦tis snorts and nuzzles my prone form as I massage my poor forehead. If I were still a mortal I would have brained myself on that thing, not that it would have harmed any vital organ if my lack of prudence is any indicator. By the Watcher I am too old to be this silly! Note to self, Devouring too many magical creatures is still intoxicating. I stand back up and consider that my only saving grace is that no one witnessed this debacle. Now, time to find my prey. The last survivor fled on horseback so there should be tracks and scents. I inspect my surroundings and eventually find clumps of disturbed earth. Unfortunately, I do not smell nor hear anything out of place in the frigid night. The tracks stop at a river. The lone horseman followed it up or down the stream to mask his tracks and escape pursuers. I consider trying my luck and choosing a side on a coin toss, then decide otherwise. It matters little if news of the fall of the prison reach an order outpost earlier than planned. They did not see my face, nor do they know where I live. My priority remains the survival and protection of the rescued. With regret, I turn around but comfort myself with the knowledge that I acted reasonably and sensibly in these trying times. When I reach the others, they have thoroughly checked and looted all the buildings. Men and horses are laden with pilfered weapons and supplies. The Navajo, in particular, look pleased with their most recent acquisition of quality muskets. I find my sarcophagus placed snugly between walls of various loot including piles of rolled up documents. Soon, the convoy departs and Nami walks up to me. "Honey, I have one more request." "Ask." The taller woman, now dressed in my own dress, places a proprietary arm around my waist as I jump and yelp. Her cold breath brushed my right ear. "Can I share your place of slumber, sweet cheeks?" "Ah, yes, of course. No shenanigans!" She chuckles but relents. Her hand moves from my waist to my shoulder and she leans forward to continue the conversation. "So... I heard that you own a brothel?" "Yes. It was... Expedient." "Of course. I perfectly understand. So¡­ What''s your favorite kind of cock?" I sputter in shock. This is going to be a very long night. Two days later I slam the door behind me. Sinead, sitting at my borrowed desk, patiently places a pen down and closes his eyes. After a moment gathering his courage, he turns to me like a man expecting horrible news. "It''s about your fianc¨¦e." "I expected as much. Before we begin, I understand that our Navajo friend left?" I know he is attempting to distract me. I will only oblige because I intended to tell him anyway. "Yes. We went to the place where I had buried the remains. The old chief''s spear was pointing towards it in any case. After a brief ceremony we had a talk and they left." "They asked many questions, about how many warriors your kind has and muskets. I answered faithfully, I hope you do not mind." "Not at all." "This knowledge will be used against your kind, when the time comes." "My kind?" "The Europeans." I laugh. "Vampires are my kind, and you are forgetting something. Do you truly believe you will make a difference?" Sinead stops to consider the idea, yet declines to answer. I go on. "This is a tide that no one can stop. My friend Nashoba said that in order to stop the colonists, he would have to become like them. This state alone can marshal tens of thousands of militia with support artillery and a baggage train in weeks. Do you think the natives can match this? Do you think knowing will make a difference?" "Knowing always makes a difference." "Only a modern army can stop another modern army. There are no foundries here, no weaponsmiths, no military academies. If he were a king and had decades of preparation it would still not be enough." "In the kingdoms, decades of preparation means an invasion will never succeed." "There is not enough magic in this plane to equalize the field when columns of men are brought to bear, and the blue cloud of spent powder reaches to the heavens. They could have victories here and there, but it will not suffice." "You seem certain." "It already happened before. East of here." "Interesting. Life is truly different in this plane." "Speaking of life here. I have an issue with your darling." Many have issues with his darling. Sivaya has managed to offend everyone''s ego in record time through supreme condescension and a complete refusal to communicate with the others. She spends most of her time isolated downstairs, busy with research. "She doesn''t speak English." "But she understands it, does she not?" I reply undeterred. Sinead winces. "I think I preferred you when you were a bit more gullible." "Enough, her behavior is unacceptable. I will have you communicate the rules to her for the last time. If she does not comply, I will declare you in breach of your agreement as guests. Do I make myself clear? No spreading her mess outside of her designated areas clearly delimited by blue marks, no stealing my paint and no leaving the number ten wrench on her worktable like some avatar of chaos! I was looking for that thing for ages!" "Yes, I will tell her. I promise. Please be patient, she is¡­ not used to this." "You are royalty too and she is far from being your equal in terms of insight and subtlety. Managing one''s allies is a vital part of any political scheme." "She and I are not alike. We are the two most powerful Likaeans on this plane, Ariane, but in reality our backgrounds could hardly be more different." Sinead''s gaze drifts to the windows and the gray clouds outside. His face grows distant and thoughtful. A comfortable silence comes between us as he loses himself in his memories Eventually, he returns his attention to me, gauging. Then he relaxes and nods, coming to a decision. "What I am going to share with you, I never intended to reveal. You have earned that much, for sparing my life then and for helping me now. I know that our contract is to my benefit and that you are aware of this fact. My gratitude for you is real, and I will repay it if I survive and my plan is carried out to completion. "Sivaya is a princess of the Blue Court, one of their most talented scions. She has spent her whole life in the heart of the Cloud Spires, its airy halls and intricate research laboratories. When I confirmed her presence on this plane, I knew we stood a chance. Make no mistake, she is brilliant, but her outlook is extremely limited. Only research matters to her, and the notes we brought back from the prison as well as those she is nailing to every wall of your sanctum are the written statement of a revolutionary approach to planar travel. Like all geniuses, her other skills are¡­ lacking. She never had to fight for supremacy or survival. Her dreams were always within her reach, and the means to pursue them, always generously provided. The Court of Blue is also isolated from most turmoil. No army has besieged their capital in eons, for they are the architects behind the best workings in history. All those circumstances conspired to her behavior and while I do not expect you to excuse her, I ask that you act as the better person, and show her the patience and courtesy that she denied you, for me. Please." "It is not just a matter of image, Sinead. I am a vampire and you are on my territory. If you are not guests, then you are intruders, and I will not fight against myself to accommodate you." I walk to the window and turn my back to him. I will not dull my words. He must understand. "Your fianc¨¦e is no longer in the Cloud Spires. She is here, in this world, with us. If my second life taught me anything, it is that weak people are crushed when they step out of bounds. The nail that sticks out gets hammered down. This is a lesson you will have to impart upon her before someone else does it for you." Sinead winces, then nods in the end. I am not done though. "You surprise me to accommodate her so. Why the deference. Are you not her equal?" My friend chuckles bitterly. Once more, he appears more vulnerable than usual. His veneer of sarcasm is momentarily shed. "I am Prince yes, one of many. The Court of Summer has a king, my father. Unfortunately, my mother is a dancer of the Wandering Court. She caught his fancy one festival year, and when they parted, she was with child. My siblings on my father''s side are numerous and many of them are well connected. I am not." I watch, fascinated, the veil masking Sinead''s otherworldly traits evaporate as he loses his usual focus. His hair shines like flames and his eyes like molten gold. Motes of blue dance around his shoulders as he continues his tales. He does look regal, I admit. And dreamy. "It was only when I reached adulthood that I was admitted to court. I believe my mother wanted to protect me for as long as she could from cutthroat politics. She taught me art and poetry, and dance. A bit of fencing. All useless, I thought, until I realized that she helped me form a core of individuality. She made me who I am before the others could ruin it. I would have lost myself otherwise. "Competition was difficult. It still is. Now though, this tragedy might be a blessing in disguise. There is another Prince named Revas who had decided that I was a threat to him, and was about to crush me. I would have had to bend, but now if we are successful, the return of so many lost ones will cover me with glory. Many a mighty clan will owe me favors. I could even earn my father''s preference, who knows? So, my knight, now that I have unveiled my ultimate goal, will you stand by my side?" I smile at the return of his good mood. "I still think you are insane. I will help you as a friend, but I will not forfeit my life on a suicidal attack." "Nor will I ask this of you," he adds with a smile. I assume he has some grand plan, and I understand the need for secrecy. I would not trust myself with anything too confidential quite yet, especially with my status as rogue. "We will leave in three days. There is so much for us to do, and we are too exposed here. We thank you for your assistance, and I believe we will have a suitable present. A token of our appreciation." "I will look forward to it." "You keep slaves. I saw them on the last floor." Alistair seems wary. After spending two days together, I have determined that his disposition is calm and poised. He is also patient, protective, and an excellent listener. He is the last person I would have taken for a cursed one and yet he is. Just for the smell, I had to rent him a room at a nearby residence or risk hissing with customers present. This is the first time I see him consider me with anything but affable good will. "You mean cattle?" "Yes. They are robbed of something." "Indeed. Your point?" He frowns and stops to consider. My most curious guest has a tendency to think his words before uttering them, a good habit to have. Papa used to say that after words cross our lips, we belong to them. "This is wrong and unexpected. I thought you a champion of freedom after you returned me mine. I will not dictate your actions, of course. I merely hoped to understand." HE DARES QUESTION ME. No, this is different. He made a respectful enquiry and acknowledged that I did not owe him answers, despite the mild anger he is feeling. This is just a matter of courtesy. That blood pumping faster, the mild red on his freckled cheeks. Aaaaah. Thirsty. No Ariane, this is just gluttony. "They tried to kill, cheat or trap me. This is their punishment." "Why not slay them? Surely, death would be preferable to what you have done to them." "Due to my nature, I need protection during the day, as well as servants who will not wonder why their Mistress requires no sustenance. Consider them a necessary evil, if it pleases you." "I thank you for your answer. You are my benefactor and I will remember this first and foremost." I DO NOT NEED YOUR APPROVAL, WEAKLING. "I thank you for your consideration. While you are here, I have questions." "Of course, Ariane. Do ask." "I faced loup-garous before, and you are different. Can you tell me more?" "Yes. The answer to your question as well as many others you will learn in my tale, and I would like to share it with you, if you will allow me." "Please do, you have my attention." "Thank you. I was not always cursed. For the first part of my life, I was the son of a doctor in the town of York in Upper Canada. I got bitten during a hunting party. The monster slaughtered my horse but spared my life in a gesture that, I did not realize until much later, took an immense amount of self-control. When I realized the nature of my affliction, I attempted to take my own life, only to realize that the steel blade I was using was unequal to the task. "I decided to find death in the wilderness and instead, my kin found me. They took me in and welcomed me as one of them." "Hold on. Werewolves live in communities?!" "We prefer the term pack. And yes." This is tremendous news! No, extraordinary news! Werewolves are organizing themselves? This has never happened before in history if Isaac is to be believed. I have to tell him. "We have developed social structures across packs, spread all over Canada''s most remote areas. The Indians leave us alone and in return, so do we. It is a peaceful life and one where the curse does not lead to human deaths. Our community helps us stay in control. I used to play the role of omega. For some reason, my inner wolf is more of a loner and finds no interest in the struggle for supremacy. This allows me to smooth things out, as it were, and welcome new members to our pack, or at least it was the case until last summer." "What happened?" "I will not go into too much detail. We used to keep in touch with each other via a loose network of messengers. The mightiest pack of the North decided that they would prefer a pyramidal hierarchy with them on top. They have already subdued many clans by killing the local alphas. They are a detestable lot, those Black Peak ones, and they need to be stopped. It was decided that I would head South as an emissary, to recruit the help of local packs in our struggle for independence." "I am not aware of any packs around." "That would be because there are none." Alistair smiles sadly. "We are the only place where the structure developed and now I can see why. It appears that my kind is hunted like animals here. I do not blame you. I know the trail of destruction many of us leave behind and I know that some even embrace it. I only wish that some were given a chance. We are not cursed by our own choice." "You make a good point. My instincts are telling me to end your life, and I never questioned this before. Perhaps I am being too harsh." Alistair pales a bit at that. He knows what I can do. I decide to assuage his fear. "I will stop to consider before starting a hunt, from now on." "That is all I can ask. Was there anything else?" "Any chance that Black Peak heads South?" "Yes they will, eventually, and if there is any justice in this world they will cross your path. Be careful, for they are still a dangerous group with large numbers on their side." "I will. We will talk more later." The man facing me wears a quality shirt and beige vest stained at the armpit by days spent under the sun. His light blue eyes are piercing, and the rest of his virile face hidden behind an auburn beard. His gaze alternates between the document on the table, the nervous flesh trader by his left and me. His jaw works on a wad of tobacco he bit off from a brown stick. The sounds of mastication and the stench grate my already fraying nerves. "What''s this about?" The obsequious merchant passes a hand in his greasy sand hair and speaks with a nervousness that hints at fear. Mr. Lipp, with whom I am now treating, is known for occasional bouts of anger. He has destroyed more teeth than the town''s dentist. "As I mentioned, sir, Ms. Lethe here would like to purchase the negro known as David King. Her offer is more than generous, as you will¡­" "Bullshit Sharpe, you know what I mean. Ain''t no negro of mine worth five hundred dollars. So what''s this about really?" I have already spent more time on this than I planned on. Who knew slave acquisition would be so despicable, not to mention tedious? They have people lining up naked as if they were swine. Naked! Disgraceful. And unsightly! I have never been exposed to so many genitals and I live in a brothel. And the paperwork¡­ "I will answer, if only to make you act with celerity. His father died in my service, protecting me from an attack by Indians. It was his dying wish that I take care of his child." Lipp chuckles with a smile that does not reach his eyes. "Women are sentimental and irrational. David King is a dangerous one. I applied the lash generously and read the scriptures and still, he defies me. You need an iron fist to deal with his kind." "Is my safety your concern Mr. Lipp? If that is the case, let me assuage it. John?" Heavy stomps batter the wooden floor, then the door bangs open. The tiny negotiation room goes from intimate to cramped in a heartbeat, as my giant bodyguard looms dangerously over my shoulder. "Tell the gentlemen what you do to those who displease me." John''s ugly mug turns dangerous as he smiles. "Whatever you ask, Mistress." Both men recoil instinctively. I used to think it amusing that they would be more scared of him than they are of me, and only realized after the prison raid that it matters not to the sheep if it is slain by a wolf or a lion. "I assure you, I am quite safe and we already spent more than enough time on this nonsense." I push the pen across, with just a hint of suggestion. Lipp''s eyes drift to John''s enormous paws, wrapped around my chair''s back. "Now, sign." Twenty minutes later. David King is a hard man. His build is the lean of near starvation and his skin bears the mark of undue exposure to the elements, but despite this, he remains unbroken. I feel his gaze on me. Though he is taller, he has to look up for his horse is no match for Metis. "You have a question. Ask it." "Is it true that you were sent by my old man?" "Yes." "He never cared much for us or he wouldn''t have left us behind." John turns to glare at the newcomer, who he assumes is acting out of bounds. I calm him with a gesture. "Humans will do terrible things when they are desperate." "With all due respect miss that''s bullshit. He could have let us know. My mother died thinking he had been lynched somewhere." "Mr King, that is between your father and yourself. I fulfilled my promise and have little care for the rest. You will have to find your own answers." My statement is taken with a sullen silence. When King speaks, his voice is more subdued. "What happens now?" "We cross into Illinois, then I will give you papers confirming that you are a free man. You should travel North to Chicago or East, where circumstances would be marginally better for you." "Is it true that you own a business?" "Yes." "You hire black folks?" "Yes." "Would you treat me fairly?" Interesting. I turn to him and see worry in his eyes, and hope too. "I assure you, I give every person under my employ equal concern." They are higher than strangers and lower than supplicants. This is the proper order of things. "I see." David King turns around and his expression turns calculating. I only now realize that there may be others he left behind and may want to free. If he ends up working for me, I will need to insist that I am not dragged into any illegal mess against my will. The more time I pass here and the more I find myself bound to the world around me by deals and debts. I do not know how to feel about it. April 1832 The spear catches me in the sternum, pushing all air away from my lungs. I am propelled backwards into a trunk then dodge the following strike by falling to the side. My opponent''s movements are always flowing and her weapon''s tip drifts around in a hypnotic dance. A feint turns into a sweep turns into a series of quick jabs. It takes all my speed and reflexes to avoid being taken out. I find no opportunity to counter-attack, close the distance and stab with my dagger. Eventually, I fall into a trap and the bladed edge strikes my temple. I fall. "That is enough. Are you alright honey?" "Uuuh so difficult." "I told you. Spears are my weapons of choice." "Who taught you how to move like that?" "A Greek woman on the Island of Samos. A mortal. Every night we would find each other, fight then make love. It was a beautiful time." I have recovered now, and stand back up. Spring is here, and the woods at the edge of town have sprung to life. I am having the Dream renovated following one last suggestion of Sinead before his departure. I do believe him when he said Sivaya thanked me for my hospitality, though it is hard to say. She sticks to that rhythmic and sybillant language of hers and refuses to sully her tongue with our coarse language. With nothing much to do, I have decided to resume combat training for the first time since Loth departed. I am confident in my ability to face hordes of Wendigos, mage strike teams and members of the Order, and in knowing when to flee. Vampires are another thing altogether. Without feeling their aura, it is a fool''s errand to judge their strength. A slip of a girl could grasp a boulder and smash me with it and there is nothing I could do to stop her. By facing Naminata in combat, I am learning how to deal with a superior adversary. It''s not going well. Naminata moves better, faster, strikes harder than me, and her technique is impeccable. All my tricks are seen through before I can even start. Whenever she gets serious, all I can do is find clever ways to disengage and survive for a handful more seconds. The lesson is clear. When having to face a superior vampire in combat, the solution is: don''t. All is not lost of course. I practice against several styles and armaments and even learn the basics myself. I never knew, for example, that swords, sabers and foils were different arms that required different techniques. "Again." I rush her. Might as well go out with a bang. Her spear takes across my chest. I managed to angle the blow so that I am not pushed away. HURTS. This is nothing, we use blunt training equipment. I crash forward and jump back up while slicing, block her back step sweep and keep the pressure. I stay low and mobile. My footwork has improved, but not enough. At the moment I think I have her. She plants her spear on the ground and kicks around it. Her dainty foot catches me in the nose. Pain. More pain when she stabs my prone form. "Not too bad sweety. I have a few things to add." "Mfff." "Ah yes, a broken nose hurts a lot. Do be careful when facing us, some manoeuvres that would be impractical for a mortal are well within our grasps. Second point, if you get stabbed by a spear, you will be skewered. A real weapon would have had you pinned like a precious butterfly to this tree, yes?" I wipe black blood from my face and nod silently. Nami describes herself as a "fair" duelist, and she is a relatively new Mistress. I can imagine what facing an actual knight would be like. I believe I would just forfeit any attempt at honourable combat, shoot them if I can, and run if I cannot. "Again?" "Yes." We go on for two hours, two hours of constant defeats and failures on my part. Nami''s style evolves to match mine as fast as I get used to her flowing movements and ethereal grace. I need to GO FASTER, ASSERT DOMINANCE. "Oof." "Your mastery over your instincts is impressive, but be careful. Anger will only make you more predictable. Direct it, use it as fuel." AGAIN. USE SWIPES TO KEEP THE BLADE AWAY. IF I GRAB THE HAFT, I WIN. Stay close to the ground for faster movement. Force her to target a smaller area. Her blade tip catches my hand and breaks three fingers. The next breaks my jaw. "Mpff." "Aw sweet cheeks. You would need to be much faster than me to catch my spear." FALSE. Her next strike is going for my temple. The wood haft smacks in my ready hand and I grab it just as it bumps back. Then with muffled scream, I strike and it splinters. "Hah! Not bad honey. Not bad at all." I wait for my jaw to heal. I''ve had enough of the pain for one night and the Thirst is waking up after expending so much energy. "I could use a break." "I concur, you are showing signs of mental exhaustion. I will admit that I am impressed by your performance so far. Your style is very close to that of rogues and yet it is so much smarter and more unpredictable. You are better than any Courtier I have ever seen, you could perhaps even match some Masters in hand to hand combat. It is a shame that your understanding of weapons is so lacking and I fully intend to help you remedy this. You need to understand at least the basics and eventually, find your favourite blade and develop your own style. We will have to... Experiment. Don''t you think?" There is a twinkle in her eyes I recognize only too well. Fighting always gets her blood pumping, so to speak. I am not tempted, although I believe she is a beautiful woman. "I wish you could meet Jimena." "Of the Cadiz? That little strumpet has gone monogamous if you will believe it, with her brand new human servant! What a loss for us all. Best tongue this side of the Atlantic." "Ahem. How do you even know Jimena? Do all vampires know each other? Is this like high society?" Naminata scoffs. "There are only two hundred of us on the continent, and less than half are Masters. Of course, we know each other! It''s a small world, you see." "Unbelievable. So Aintza is a servant now? Would it not be better to have turned her?" "Ah, so wise and yet so ignorant sometimes. I believe I will need to teach you more about our kind. Servants are meant to help us keep our humanity, while we sire fledglings to lose it together with us." "Such a nice turn of phrase." "Is it not?" We walk together back to the Dream with a pleasant discussion. Just like Sinead before her, I let Nami occupy herself however she wishes when we are not training and she already has many suitors, including quite a few white men. I reflect, as we walk, that her carefree attitude and pleasant disposition are at odds with the rest of our kin, and yet she still has the backing of Kouakou, the leader of clan Ekon here. I find the contrast comforting. There is some room in our community for fringe personalities after all. As soon as we reach the Dream, one of the cattle notices me and rushes forward with a message. "Mistress. There is a woman with two children asking for shelter." "Yes. And?" "She indicates that she knew you under the name Ariane of the Nirari. She also said that we would be attacked very soon by, and she was serious, wizards." And here I was complaining about getting Thirsty. Chapter 55 - 54. Night-Owned Town I immediately recognize the visiting mage. Her hair color is more intense than I remember, reminding me of Sinead''s true form. The rebellious girl has turned assertive and her beauty is now that of a mature woman, calm and composed. The black marks under her eyes and other signs of wariness do little to damage her elegance and poise. When I enter the study, she turns to me and her mask cracks. Under the apparent control is a woman at the end of her rope. Two children, a boy of around ten and a much younger girl are held protectively behind her. I cannot help but smile when seeing her. Because I am such a good host, I give her the fangless version. "Merritt, it is so good to see you again." "Ariane¡­ You haven''t changed at all." She looks a bit surprised. "And you have only grown more beautiful." It is true. I did not realize it until now but she does not look a day above thirty. Do mages age slower? It does not seem to be the case for my local informant, though that person is untrained. "I ask for shelter. Hold on, I was told by your friend from the consortium that you prefer when things are done properly." She starts kneeling and I stop her. "You stood by my side against the Herald Merritt, there is no need for this. Not for you." "Ah, very well." She blinks owlishly. She looks a bit lost, not in the way of those who have missed a night but in that of people who have gone beyond their limits for weeks. Fatigue has stolen her wit. "I¡­ I need shelter for my children. And I am sorry. I need to tell you! The assh¡­ The Pyke family is after me. They have tracked me here. I brought danger to your home¡­" "Shhhh, it is quite alright. You want protection then?" "Yes¡­. I would do¡­ Almost anything. For my children." "It so happens that I am in dire need of an experienced mage. You would be welcome here, and receive honest pay for mostly honest work. I have a security detail during the day and by night, there is me. Interested?" "No enslaving minds? Blood magic? Summoning eldritch horrors from beyond the veil?" "I was thinking more along the lines of wards and enchantments. The occasional fireballing of religious fanatics¡­" "Standard stuff." "Yes. So?" Merritt takes a deep breath and stumbles forward, all tension leaving her body. Her children look up in alarm as I help her brace with one hand. "There is still the matter of the Pykes. They are on my heels. I will help you¡­ Fend them off." Naminata enters at this moment, with a smile and a glass of brandy. She favors bright color and exotic dresses and today, she wears yellow and white with a red sash around her tiny waist. "Darling, you are in no condition to go anywhere. Here, have a little pick me up. Ari and I will see to the intruders." "Merritt, meet Naminata, my friend. She is right, you are in no condition to help and besides, you mages have an unfortunate tendency to set each other on fire." "A terrible waste of blood if you ask me." "Exactly, mages are a delicacy, and you lot tend to walk around fire-whipping everything in sight. A disgrace is what it is." The harried mage blinks very slowly, her haggard eyes bulging as our conversation progresses. "I¡­ I don''t know." "Merritt? What is wrong?" "It''s just¡­" She closes her eyes and grabs her children''s shoulders. They stare at us with silent wonder. I am no expert on little ones, but I can tell there is something peculiar about them. They are a bit too serious, too focused. Perhaps they had to grow too fast. Unaware of my inspection, Merritt continues. "I have been on the run for four years and on the road for two months. I had lost hope. I simply cannot believe that I could be safe now." "Oh, it is decided. You take care of your family and settle down. Kitty will help you with that, and I will leave John to protect you just in case. You can rest assured that your pursuers will no longer bother you after tonight." "Thank you. Thank you Ariane, so much. Before you leave, I have to tell you about them. I would not have you face them unprepared." Merritt sits down heavily and upends the brandy glass in one swift motion, before setting it down with a click. Wow, that was so manly! "They''re my in-laws." Oh! This is juicy, crispy gossip! I can tell that the twinkle in Nami''s eyes reflects my own avid expression. "What happened? Do tell!" "Cornelius died is what happened. He was my husband." She hugs her children tightly. They share her distinctive red hair and while the young girl leans into her embrace, the boy looks at me with what I assume is meant to be a threatening expression. I find it adorable. CUB. "He was at odds with his family. So long as he lived, they kept their distance. That changed when he was killed in an ambush in 28. We were culling rogue practitioners when the order of Gabriel attacked all of us at once. It happened so fast¡­ Now, the Pykes want to recover Ollie and Lynn and this is not happening so long as I live. The stories Corny told me about the way he was raised¡­ I will never submit them to this." I place a comforting hand on her shoulder and greet her frowning child with a wink. "You do not have to justify yourself to me Merritt dear. Our deal is struck and will be honored. Speaking of which, we''d better get on the way. The Dream is made out of wood and it is a material that is tragically flammable. Ta ta." I leave the exhausted woman with a wave and give orders so that she and her children are protected and fed, then get back to it. Finally, some proper entertainment. "Naminata, my dear, it is my great privilege to invite you to a Hunt." "And it is my pleasure to accept, sweetie. Let''s get changed, I would not want to stain this new dress." An hour later. I close my eyes and focus the way Sinead taught me. My own vampire aura is around me, always, a mark of my nature and a symbol of status. Tonight, I want it to be more subdued. Slowly, my perception shifts to the same sense I use when Charming. The aura is here, quiescent. I take it in. The sensation is strange and defies description, not because it is confusing but because I lack the words. It is not unlike using a muscle I did not know I had. My presence constricts inward and I start feeling as if I were too small for my gown. The sensation is only mildly uncomfortable. After a while, it becomes too difficult to continue. My concentration falters under the unusual strain. Sinead assured me that with regular practice, I could eventually mask my presence from all but the most sensitive of foes, or even alter its properties for a variety of use, and so I have practised dutifully every night. This is the first time I am granted an opportunity to apply that knowledge in a real situation. With my presence so hidden, I step into the second floor alley where our unwitting intruder and impromptu snack is currently tracking my friend. "Good evening kind sir, and where might you be going?" The mage facing me jumps in surprise and takes his eyes away from the device in his hands. The brass colored apparatus shares enough similarities with a compass that it might be mistaken for one, were it not for the powerful aura it emits. It tastes like perseverance and a weathervane. A most peculiar mix. The man himself wears travel clothes of good fabric stained by heavy use. His face is covered with several days'' worth of stubble below angry dark eyes that inspect then immediately dismiss me. "None of your business, begone harlot!" I like it the most when they''re rude. "Oh, but I do believe this is our business, kind sir," adds Nami as she steps behind him. Perhaps because he feels trapped, or perhaps his mind made a last-ditch effort to warn him of his imminent doom. He raises a gauntleted hand. "Last warning hussy, back off." I grab his wrist, which I break, then stab his palm with my thumb. His muffled scream is drowned by the music downstairs and Nami''s hand on his mouth. "But kind sir, we are not quite done yet." I smile and enjoy the scent of terror, the frenetic heartbeat, and the bulging eyes. Nami joins my game. Her other hand digs into his shoulder with a sound of torn fabric and she leans delicately over his shoulder. "Yes, mage, be our guest for the night. We insist." "You will be accommodating, yes?" Our captive clings to our words like a drowning man to a plank. His eyes search mine for a hint of mercy and find subjugation instead. He is not even wearing a protective charm. "You want me to be happy with you, yes?" "Yes." "It''s important that we become good friends." "Yes." S§×ar?h the N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "You are with the Pyke family?" "Yes." "You came here by yourself?" "Yes." "So courageous. You are a brave man, yes?" "Yes." "What is your name brave man?" The flow of conversation breaks a bit as the pattern of questions changes, but not enough to affect the Charm noticeably. My victim is already caught, hook, line, and sinker. "Matthias, miss." "Tell me Matthias, are you here to scout?" "Yes." "To what end?" "Find that insufferable whore and her spawns, for the family. They might be redeemed yet." "I see, and you have friends around yes?" "Of course, this is a serious matter you see. Patriarch Benedict is here, as well as his two other sons." "Is that so? Surely, such august characters do not travel alone?" "No, for such a task they brought their retinue, two mages trained for war and a dozen armed men. She doesn''t stand a chance." "You sound very proud Matthias." The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. "I am, miss, tis my privilege to serve them." "So it would seem Matthias, but tell me, where might I find this illustrious group?" "We made our camp an hour down the road Eastward, in an abandoned farm." "Oh, I know the place. And now dear Matthias, there is a secret I wanted to share with you. I''ll tell it in your ear¡­" Fifteen minutes later. Nami and I walk down the road at an energetic pace. I lent her one of my armored black gowns modified to fit her figure. With those and our spears and assorted blades, we both cut dashing figures. I considered bringing Metis, unfortunately Nami does not have a Nightmare and it would just be rude to have her trot by my side. Despite her promise to serve me for a year, we have maintained a cordial and respectful relationship so far and I intend to keep it that way. She is a Master and just as importantly, someone I consider a friend. Our relationship is more like that of relaxed mentor and experienced student, even though some of her lessons are more than dubious¡­ "A good-looking ball sack is of great importance in love-making. You do not want to fondle one that looks like a shriveled old prune, you see. It is truly man''s most underrated attractive feature. My favorite kind is¡­" "Were we not discussing interrogation techniques?" "I was discussing scrotum relative to interrogation. A trick I learnt quite early is that males, any males, will endeavor to offer clear and complete answers if you hold said anatomical feature between your talons." "Would it not be, I don''t know, sweaty?" "In mortals, assuredly. Not in vampires though, which leads me to vampire specific techniques¡­" "I would prefer if we limited the scope of our discussion to interrogation techniques, specifically." "Ah, you are no fun. Though, I will admit that you impress me sweetie. Your Charm is simply incredible for your age." "I have a very good teacher." "You must be very talented as well. Can you use it in combat yet?" "Against mortals." "Marvelous!" I decide to steer the conversation in case Nami has not fully detailed her preferences yet. "Say I have a question. What''s with gloating. Why do I always feel like doing it? Is it just me?" Nami chuckles fondly. "Silly goose! Proper gloating is a staple of a good vampire. How can you be an immortal horror and not gloat? How, I ask?" "I don''t know it just feels silly. How many times must our prey escape or do we place ourselves in danger because of our tendency to play with our food?" "But what fun! Consider this, successful vampires live for a very long time. It would be a terrible bore if we had to act like merciless knights most of the time. Where would be the entertainment? Why would you favor an eternity of ennui over constant excitement?" "With all due respect Naminata, I am not sure this is sound advice coming from you. Dying over a stupid record!" "Pffft! This was just a minor hiccup." "You were chained, naked, to a wall!" "I do that for fun all the time." "Pah! Insufferable woman. I do not mind a little challenge, I am only worried that others could pay the price of my arrogance." "Then cover your obligations when you must and enjoy yourself the rest of the time! A good life needs a proper balance. You think you gloated now with dearly departed Matthias?" "A little bit?" "Aw you sweet summer child. You call this gloating? Surely, you jest." "Was it not? What would you have done then?" "First, pretend to be scared and lure him to an isolated room, then toy with him a bit, then reveal what you are, toy a bit more, and finally eat him." "What if he sets the room on fire?" "What if, what if¡­ Everything can always go wrong, and also go so right. If you are uncomfortable enjoying your prey too close to your pet witch, just drag him away to some farm and play tag there. Use your imagination!" "I don''t know¡­" "That was merely an example, my little jam pot. The point of gloating is entertainment. Go with whatever makes you happy. If you absolutely need to make sure your obligations are honored before you can let go then so be it. Now, where was that farm again?" It turns out that the abandoned estate I assumed Matthias had referred to stood empty. I would have been both angry and afraid, were it not for a suspicious trail of smoke rising further along the road. Naminata and I find two sentries keeping warm around a large pyre at the Patterson farm. Perhaps the Pyke family found the house empty and thought it abandoned. They were wrong. The Pattersons are a new addition to the area and the place reflects this. The English-style house is small but cozy, with the unusual luxury of colored glass windows. They made the effort of decorating the new structures with marks of individuality like blue flowers of an unusual essence, small wooden carvings hanging from the roof by twine and even a fake scarecrow with a humorously big gut. I know this because Jenny Patterson used to be mine. They have a child who is four now, and whose name I forgot. They tend to go to the city often to visit the father''s family, leaving the house devoid of inhabitants. This might be problematic as I would need an invitation to give old Benedict Pyke my regards, if it is indeed his men outside. With a gesture, I indicate that we should check the back of the house and realize that we will not, after all, need invitation. The Pattersons came home tonight. They shouldn''t have. Behind their home, Jenny kept a small garden. Some enterprising thug started digging a trench large enough to bury the family and stopped half way. They piled the dead haphazardly to the side, both parents, the child and their dog. Jenny''s leg emerges from below the others, pale and naked under moonlight. Her shoe fell off at some point to reveal a patched up sock in a display that is so odious and disrespectful that it fills my heart with rage. I do not know why this tiny detail of desecrated intimacy strikes me more than the myriad others. It just does. The Pattersons were slain out of convenience and cast off to rot at the back off their own house like so much garbage. They did not even warrant the effort of a finished grave and a shroud. I find the depth of this insult abhorrent. "We will have no trouble getting in." Sensing the mood, Nami does not reply. Her expression turns cold and her aura gains this fleeting mobility that defines her fighting style. I strut to the front of the house, making no effort to hide my presence. The two sentries soon notice my approaching form and recoil, allowing me a glimpse into what they had been burning to keep warm: the Patterson carriage. Those are thugs of the common variety. They know they will have to silence me but their ability to improvise is limited by a stunted brain entirely devoted to cards and uninspired threats. "You made a mistake Miss, there is nothing here for you." As expected. "I disagree," I reply. I grab behind me to seize my silver pistol and point it at the closest man. I pull the trigger. The detonation rings loudly in the night. The heavy lead ball takes his right eye and most of his skull. Before the corpse even drops I grab the second man and allow my fury to show. "You look cold, boy." Into the pyre he goes, face first. The tremulous screams add to the vacarm as sounds of alarm come from the inside. In mere seconds, the door bangs open and a group of men exits their stolen abode. At their head stands who I assume to be Benedict Pyke, grandfather of Ollie and Lynn, a dead man walking. He shares some similar traits with his grandchildren like a delicate nose and piercing eyes. His aristocratic features are currently scrunched in displeasure as if he were smelling something particularly nauseous. Come to think of it, the stench of roasting pig permeates the air, so perhaps he does. His minions and two spawns whose hair are black where his are grey spread out and point their muskets at us, looking a bit unsure on how to proceed. "Kill them," adds the older man summarily. Before they can react, I take out my modified boar spear and move forward, skewering the nearest hireling mage before tossing his bleeding remains on a mortal thug. I stab the rest of them before they can move. On my side, Nami silently matches my gesture and from the corner of my eye, I notice the three Pykes retreating back into the house. Ah, the human instinct to go to ground can always be counted on. I climb the two steps leading to the house''s gate and push it open with the butt of my weapon. The instigators of tonight''s festivities have formed the expected shielded circle in the center of the living room. "Begone, foul creature. You can keep the woman, we shall depart from your lands at sunrise." I turn to Nami with a fake expression of delight. "Do you hear this my dear? Our intruder deigns to let us leave. We are blessed." "Indeed honey, such honor he bestows upon our worthless heads. We are free to go. Should we take him on his more than generous offer?" Tonight, I feel like gloating. "I do not know, there is still the matter of feckless vermin sneaking into my lands and killing what is mine, then expecting to depart in all impunity?" "As if his sins carried no weight and his survival was but a matter of fact?" Benedict sneers in a way that speaks of inborn privilege and a life-long lack of challenging encounters. I do so love when his kind comes to me. I delight in shattering foolish pride so much. "You do not scare me, dead thing. Your kind cannot enter houses without invitations, your words are just empty bluster." "Semantics? Nami ch¨¦rie, I thought I told you to warn me when we would reach this part of the discussion?" "My failings are many." "Yes, you see Benedict, it is homes we cannot enter, and this one," I add as I step forward, "is not yours." I point my boar spear at him, charge and activate one of the two gifts the haughty Princess of the Court of Blue left me. The tip glows strangely and space twists around it as our brains stutter, unable to process what our eyes see. An instant later, the silvery spike finds its way deep into Benedict''s chest as if his shield were never here. For all I know, it technically wasn''t. I finish the motion and pin him to the wall like a butterfly. Naminata uses the momentary confusion to disable one of the two sons. The last one raises a gauntleted hand and meets my gaze. "Falter." He flinches and his spell fizzles. I focus and the edge of my claw glows blue. I swipe the shield. Hurts. No, THIS IS NOTHING. "Hsss." Unprepared mages are just prey. I Devour this one before turning to Merritt''s nemesis. How fleeting the world is. One moment we are in control and the next, we die and sometimes even wake up in a strange dungeon with new and unusual appetites. "It was a good Hunt." I take my time. When I come to, Nami is licking her own lips and greets me with a feline smile. "I partake with you." "Uh, thank you?" She chuckles at my reply. "Your manners still lack polish, treacle cake. We will work on that as well." "Indeed. In the meanwhile, we are done here." "Will that judge of yours use the opportunity to cause more troubles?" "No doubt, but it had to be done." I drag the bodies out. Apparently, the bandits who killed the Pattersons fought among themselves until they perished or left. Over the loot no doubt. I make sure to pocket most of their valuables so the story is at least somewhat believable and look up to see Nami with an amused, and slightly condescending expression. "What, it''s spoils of war!" "Assuredly." "If they had too much wealth my bandit explanation would be too far-stretched." "No doubt." "I don''t need to justify taking their possessions, they are mine by right of conquest." "Huh huh." Yes. She is absolutely convinced of the necessity of such actions. Now we just need to head back so I can add the choicest pieces to my collection. I recently purchased an extension at the edge of town, a wide communal house to lodge my employees. Some leave and retire, but we also have sick girls, those who can no longer work for one reason or another, girls on leave and something more: children. They come with new employees or as a side effect of the profession, and someone needs to take care of them. Until now I found them to be noisy, smelly and generally obnoxious. I was therefore more than happy to have them contained somewhere I would not have to deal with them. Loth used to say that kids are like winds, one can only tolerate their own. The comparison is apt if typically vulgar. It is in this dubious haven that Merritt moved into until she could secure better accommodation. I find myself in a clean if austere room. Baths and the kitchen are common parts, and still there is barely enough space for a wardrobe and seats. The bed is the largest piece of furniture here, blocking the entire space below the window. I find the witch busy brushing the hair of her daughter Lynn. The copper curls resist the veteran spellcaster every step of the way and it appears that my newest ally may be defeated yet. I decide to offer her some respite. "Good evening Merritt. How are you settling in?" "Fine," she answers. Then any further exchange is interrupted by the whistle of a heated teapot. "Oh, hold this for me!" I look at my hand where suddenly a brush has landed. My gaze drift to the little girl''s big innocent eyes. Oh, no the crafty witch would not dare! Alas, the malicious spawn silently points at the rat''s nest above her brows. Curses! With a sigh, I resolved myself to my punishment after being so deftly outmaneuvered. I start working on a painless liberation, using my claws to separate the most uncooperative strands. I swear Alexander the Great himself did not struggle so much with the Gordian knot. "To what do I owe the pleasure? You want to talk about the wards you need?" I turn to her while still working and realize Ollie has snatched a knitting needle from somewhere and is in the process of caressing the implement. CUB. FEARLESS. I LIKE IT. My heart swells with pride at having acquired such valuable followers. Yes, they will do nicely. After they grow up a bit. There is just a hint of fear on his face when he sees my smile and he still attempts to hide it. Merritt serves herself a cup of tea, unaware of the powerplay that occurred between me, the shaggy mop on top of Lynn''s head and her pint-sized defender. "Yes. As you know, I have established a business here, and I am quite satisfied with how I managed it so far with a considerable exception." The witch sits by her daughter''s side, intrigued. "Do tell." "I need a day manager. I had a friend come here before and take care of the Dream as I was slumbering. He left recently, and his absence made me realize how much I lose and how much more effort I have to produce to offset my daylight absence. I could achieve much more with competent help and I believe you can do the job." "Hold on. You want me to take the head of your brothel?" "Yes, though only during the day. You would be compensated accordingly, of course." Merritt''s composure shows wariness and excitement in equal measure. "Why me?" "There are no others who display all the qualities required to handle both Kitty''s team and Harrigan''s. He is my head of security." "The black-bearded, black-haired, vicious and barely legalized highwayman who broke a man''s arm because he was annoying him?" "Precisely! You understand my conundrum. I need someone with your spine to keep him in check and execute him if he goes too far, and I need the same person to handle that cackling, unruly mass of gossip mongers who work for me. Few people who qualify can do both to my satisfaction and I trust you to have the means to achieve this, and the loyalty not to stab me in the back." "This is a generous offer Ari, I am just not sure that I can live up to your expectations." "Do not feel pressured into accepting immediately. I wanted you to know and keep my offer in mind as you get to know the town." "Very well¡­" I did not tell her the entire truth. When I am gone, I intend for her to take over if she so desires. No need for anyone to know though. I gain nothing by having them plot accordingly. We discuss for a few more minutes but it soon becomes clear that she is still too busy to share her tale. I bid her farewell and quickly leave the premises. The large structure is surrounded by a vegetable patch and low walls. As I walk forward, I hear a strange crackling noise coming from a storage shed by the path and stop, considering. It almost sounds like burning black powder. Then the shed explodes. Chapter 56 - 55. Sins. And explosions! First comes a wave, then the feeling of being compressed, like under a cosmic rolling pin. The blast sends me into the air like a ragdoll. Up becomes down, down becomes left and earth is in the sky. For a moment, I feel lost, the certainty of my mind fractured. The next instant I see something at the edge of my field of vision that grants me enough willpower to regain my focus. No. I refuse! I gasp in pain and dig a claw in the ground, leaving behind tortured furrows. My trajectory changes at the last moment and I impact the house with a dull thud and falling plaster. I gasp in pain but I care not, I succeeded. "Hah!" I exclaim to fate and the heavens both, before coughing pinkish foam. Ow. The flaming remains of a shovel shaft fall on my arm. I AM ON FIRE. No, I am not on fire, calm down. I pat the embers with a nervous hand until they die off. I did it. My eyes go up to the intact form of the outhouse only a few feet away. I bloody did it. I avoided crashing into human refuse, and my honor and dignity remain intact! Ariane, defeating the odds once more. My ears pop and the whispers of worried voices and crackle of dying flames make their return. People are going to react. The estate''s door bursts open and Merritt comes out, hand covered by a shimmering gauntlet. Behind her, a few women peer out fearfully with loaded muskets. Irma the housekeeper stomps out with two cleavers held in her massive hands. "What happened here?" she asks with her large wrinkled face scrunched in displeasure. I raise a hand to signal that I need a few moments and the reality of my situation finally occurs to them. In moments I find myself surrounded by a gaggle of yapping humans prodding and pulling at me. I resist the urge to hiss and successfully climb to my feet. If I had been a mortal, it would have been a bad idea to move me so. Come to think of it, if I had been a mortal, I would not have heard the powder and I would be a squishy corpse with my brains leaking down my nose. "Are you alright? What happened?" "The storage shed exploded," I answer laconically. It distracts them for long enough for me to take some distance and consider what happened. Someone blew up a powder charge on my damn lawn and destroyed both my gardening tools and my credibility. This will not stand. I slowly approach the fuming crater while a few of the more quick-witted girls pour water on still burning wreckage. It is, as expected, quite large. I smell spent black powder in the air and presume it would have taken at least a small crate to achieve this result, a non-negligible amount. There is one more important thing I have to find out before everyone and their dogs come to trample the place. With a protective Irma and Merritt in tow, I circle the hole and find what I was looking for snaking along the debris. Burning powder left a long trail of scorched grass leading to the epicentre of the deflagration. This tells me a few things. First, somebody waited for me to come out before igniting the charge so I was presumably the target. Second, that person must have been close by. It appears that I have been upgraded to assassination target. Marvellous. I should get a plaque to commemorate the event. I try to step forward and see if I can get the scent of my mysterious admirer. Alas, it is not to be. I am literally dragged away and inside by irate and protective followers despite my best efforts to convince them that I am, in fact, unharmed. I could try to Charm them all or threaten them but decide against antagonizing my entire staff. In short order I find myself tucked in bed with a hot cup of chamomile infusion. This feels nice, a testament to the success of my infiltration and my meek public persona, hiding beneath the¡­ Ah whatever, it is just nice. I enjoy the feeling of people fussing around me until only Merritt and I are left, with someone sent to fetch John to escort me back. The mage builds up enough courage to ask what had been distressing her the past minutes. "So, I have to ask Ariane." "Yes?" "Is that sort of thing normal here?" "If you are referring to structures exploding, it almost never happens. We had that warehouse back in 1821 but that was due to an unfortunate mix of highly explosive substance and poor judgement. No, this is a deliberate attempt on my life, I am sure of it." Merritt stares at me with the face one shows when amusing a delusional patient. "Of course, of course, say, can vampires get concussions?" I tsk in annoyance. One moment in bed and my entire reputation collapses, really? "It was easier to let myself be pampered than to fight them off. My death would be catastrophic for them, at this stage." "At this stage?" "Yes, I realize now that I made a mistake by not grooming a replacement. My lack of trust in others endangers my project. I understand their concern and that is why I consent to this farce but rest assured that I remain in full possession of my abilities. Which leads me to my next point, this amount of black powder cannot be obtained so easily, even here on the frontier. Somebody obtained this and we must find who." "Do you need my help?" "Yes, I do. I want you to go to a shop called the Seamstress Union, two minutes on foot East of the Dream. The owner of the shop is called Debbie. Tell her Ariane sent you and inform her of what happened, then enlist her help in finding out if a shipment of explosives disappeared recently." "You want me to interrogate a seamstress?" asks Merritt with disbelief, I scowl. "Debbie is the city''s information dealer, and you would do well to take her seriously." "Oh, I understand." "You can work tomorrow during the day while the stores are open. I will ask Harrigan and a girl called Lizzie to see if the warehouse master knows anything." "Is Lizzie an informant as well?" "No. The man likes petite brunettes." "Oh." "I''ll have John and Margaret go to the mine''s foreman and that should be all I can think of. After they''re done, they''ll return to the Dream. Coordinate with them and prepare a report but do not engage if you find the culprit. I will take care of it at nightfall. You are not as durable as me, and there is no reason for you to risk your lives." "Understood." John arrives shortly thereafter and I am escorted back to the Dream. I was hoping for some calm so that I may investigate on my end, but unfortunately a problem never comes alone. A man I could have done without is waiting for me by the entrance. His face is painted with hostility and when he sees me, the corner of his mouth lifts up. Only two of his men have come to back him up this time. "Ms. Lethe." "Judge Sullivan, good evening. To what do I owe this pleasure?" I ask with enough emphasis on ''pleasure'' to leave no doubt as to my real feelings. My nemesis makes a conscious effort to hide his delight and I am starting to wonder if assassinating a public figure really is too risky. Perhaps he could fall to his death from a tall building? Who knows? "I am here to personally inform you that one of my modest proposals has been approved by the State judiciary committee in order to cleanse the sin from our fair city." He is righteous anger incarnate. "For too long I have tolerated the pit of degeneracy that¡­ some citizens have let fester around here, and it is my pleasure to inform you that starting on May 1st, 1832, only citizens of white descent and of pure pedigree will be allowed within the streets of Marquette. You will inform your¡­ employees of color that they must vacate the town on April 28th at the latest. One week from now. That includes employees of both genders, mind you, in case I was not clear enough. I expect you to comply with the law to the utmost of your¡­ abilities, and I will be checking on this establishment to ascertain your compliance. I hope I am being direct enough, and with this, I bid you good day." The judge shoves the crumpled ordnance in my hands, tips his hat and struts away with the pride of the just. Prick. "Is Oscar a man of color?" "Yes he is, John." "That means he must go?" asks the simpleton with a hint of worry. "Not quite yet. Don''t worry dear, I have been a bit lenient but it appears I need to give our brave magistrate a reminder of who he is dealing with." I pat my bodyguard''s arm to offer comfort and walk back in, already plotting. This will have to take priority over patrolling the city in search of some mystery bomber. April is dying and with it, the once pristine snow has melted into a disgusting sludge that sticks to our boots. The main thoroughfares are little better than mud alleys. Mortals can be heard from afar, one only has to follow the squelches of their soles leaving the ground, and I am grateful for whatever supernatural power allows me to walk over instead of through it. A light drizzle falls on the hood of my cape. The occasional fat droplets condense on the hem before falling on my skin, delivering their frigid payload. I may no longer fear the cold but I do abhor humidity. This weather is miserable and when I get my claws on whoever forced me out, there will be hell to pay. The warehouse at the Northern end of town I am looking for can easily be noticed, for it is the only one whose entrance is lit by a lantern despite the late hour. It swings with the occasional gust of wind, its meagre pool of light more a beacon than any effort at illumination. As is proper, I ignore the inviting door and step to a side alley. I find purchase in the walls'' wooden planks and lift myself to an opening covered with shutters, before taking out a burglary kit from a recess in my cloak. It saddens me to say that I am an old hand at this. I pull myself inside and take a look around. I find myself on a small concourse devoid of any sort of furniture. Only pails of rotten hay lay discarded here and there, making the air wet and pungent. The wood used here looks brittle and decayed, its surface scored by pockmarks like the skin of a diseased man. If I were a mortal, I would be worried about catching tuberculosis just walking around this place. I would never tolerate such slovenliness in one of my own properties. Downstairs, rows of crates and barrels are piled haphazardly around the open space. There are no clear delimitations, and the only thing standing out is a table on which two men are working by the light of candles. One of them shivers and pulls on a cloak. "Right, gonna take a leak." Ah, excellent timing. The burly man limps towards a side door, opens it and disappears outside. I sneak back out and soon find myself overlooking my first victim as it leans heavily, one hand resting against the wall and the other helping his aim. I do so enjoy catching them with their pants down, pun intended. I drop behind him and snake an arm around to grab his throat. With the other, I place a knife against his jugular and force him to arch backwards. "Mfrlgn!" I expected his frantic struggle and stay upright as he fights for purchase, in vain. Very soon, the reality of his situation overcomes the first instinctive response and silence returns as the last drops of urine fall on his trousers. I will not need charm here, I caught him at his most vulnerable. "I want a word with Stutton and I expect privacy. You will leave now without looking back." My captive nods frantically and I release him. I watch with interest as he struggles to sprint and lifts his trousers back up at the same time. It seems to cause him some difficulties, and I find the show amusing in a base way. Enough distractions, I have things to do. I sneak back inside and make my way around the warehouse in perfect silence. As I approach the second man from behind, he passes a hand in his greasy grey hair and turns his attention away from a pile of yellow papers. His coat is heavy and filthy and must have been blue at some point. In the distant past. "What''s taking him so long?" In lieu of an answer, I smash his head against the table. The old smuggler does not even attempt to struggle upon feeling the cold weight of steel on his neck. "Good evening Stutton." "Who are you, what do you want?" "You will remain silent until I let you speak and when you do, you will tell me the truth, and all of it. Now, two weeks ago you were tasked with transporting cargo. Who paid for it and what did it contain?" "Listen, hm, miss, my reputation as a smuggler is everything." "I will get my answers from you now, or when you are but a pile of raw, quivering flesh begging for the sweet release of death." "It was some sort of powder and I don''t think it was made of wheat. As for the buyer, he was a sullen man, black beard and very light grey eyes. Tall and thin. Not much of a talker." "Tell me more about this mysterious man." "Went by Bradley. Moved very quietly, all cat-like. Huh, I don''t know where he went." "Is he here? In Marquette?" "Aye, I brought him as a caravan hand. He paid me in gold doubloons too. The old Spanish kind." This is highly unusual. If he used more of that rare currency, I can definitely track him. "Anyone else with him?" "Nah, he was definitely a loner, didn''t mention anyone else here." "Anything else you can tell me to find him? Think carefully." Stutton stops for a while to consider and that is good for him, because if he had just replied no I would have had to take a finger. "He was armed at all times, like he expected a tussle. And he looked kind of angry." Not much to go by. I turn Stutton and our eyes meet. He is already at my mercy and this makes Charming him trivial. "Did you tell me the truth?" "Yes." "Is there something you hid from me?" "Yes. I like rough women." I sigh deeply, now aware of the man''s aroused state. The Watcher protect me from this town. Sometimes I feel like half of them are judgemental bigots and the other, shameless deviants. Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. "Anything else that concerns this man?" "No." Good. I wipe the memory of the last ten minutes from his mind and force him to sleep. I could have Charmed him from the beginning, however Sinead warned me against using it as a crutch. I try mundane means first, then make sure I did not miss anything. This method allowed me to become better at telling lies. As I exit the building I consider his words. My target is a man, apparently alone, who pays in doubloons and doesn''t like to talk. If he is indeed a newcomer then he must be living somewhere and that is not in one of the city''s inns. His strange behavior and the amount of powder he procured means that he needs a base of operations of sort, somewhere dry and relatively isolated. This means an abandoned building within close distance and the list of possibilities is short. I decide to head back and find Nami first. I remember the shock and fire from yesterday and realize that I fear this man more than the group of mages we recently slaughtered, and for good reasons. He knows what I am, and he came prepared. This must be it. I have spent the last hour going from one possible hideout to another and this is my third attempt and the right one at that. The Smiths moved back East after Peter Smith inherited, and they left behind a quiet building at the edge of town, conveniently hidden behind a copse of trees. A perfect spot to hide unusual activities. I can see wafts of smoke coming from a chimney of the two-storey building, where there should be none. "Shall we, sweet cheeks?" "Let''s take a look around the place first." We discreetly inspect our target. This home is abandoned, a derelict, which means that I should be able to enter without issue. Mud tracks mar the wooden planks at the front and back entrance but whoever lives here made no effort to make the place more inhabitable. Or clean, for that matter. The garden plot is abandoned, only a fallow field covered in sickly weeds, a pile of mud and a half-fallen shed. "Right. I''m handling this, and I have a request. Could you please stay outside and whistle if you see anything wrong?" "Expecting something?" "Yes. Explosions. We are not exactly fireproof and this house is made of wood." "Why not have your mortal servants handle this?" I look at her in disbelief before realizing from her placid face that this is a test. "Enough with this nonsense, now is not the time." She nods and walks back towards the copse, masking her aura. In moments even I cannot find her. I turn back to the house and approach the back door. Instead of using the handle, I close my eyes and focus. Wind. Cracking wood. Nocturnal animals chasing and being chased. No human heartbeat nor footsteps inside the house, though it could be covered by thick walls. On a whim, I punch through the fragile wood above the lock. Nami lets out a warm chuckle. What, one can never be too careful. Have a Dvergur ninja crawl down a wall to place a touch-trigger rune outside a window and you too will reconsider traps as a way to take out your targets, I assure you. How I wish I could trap my opponent, unfortunately he seems crafty and I am not exactly patient, particularly not when my real estate is at risk of being turned into smoldering cinders. I search my cloak and find a small hand mirror, and though I cannot see my reflection, I can use it to inspect the door for anomalies. It pays to be prepared. There is nothing. This is a completely normal door. With a sigh, I open it and find myself in a central room. Two pairs of doors lead to the right and left, and a set of stairs leads to the second floor. There are no cries of alarm and no sound of a heartbeat, and so I take my time to inspect my surroundings. The walls are entirely bare and covered with a thick layer of dust. The ground too has not seen any cleaning in a while, which allows me to notice tracks left by the same man coming and going multiple times. Interestingly, they only lead up. Did the man never use the kitchen? I am about to go forward when two irregularities catch my attention. First, there is a lot of mud, so he may have spent quite some time in the garden, but to what end? And then it comes to me. The pile of mud outside has not grown any vegetation, meaning it is quite recent! How have I not already drawn this obvious conclusion? I must be losing my peasant roots; Papa would be disappointed. So Mr. Bomber dug something out. Whatever it is, the access must be upstairs. Curious. The second irregularity is a single plank just before the stairs. It is suspiciously clean,as if the man had avoided it every time. I would be wise to do the same. Curiosity still leads me to lean above it and breathe in. Rot, mud, humidity, and below that the scent of gunpowder. So, there was indeed a trap. Satisfied, I climb up the stairs in silence, taking extra care to pause at every step. I consider climbing on the walls and just forfeit the damn floor entirely, but I am afraid that they may not support my weight. Not that I am heavy, the wood is just that damaged. After entirely too much time, I find myself on the landing to the second floor. Once more, there are a total of four doors and only two on my right have been in use. I walk up to the first one and look through the keyhole. It appears to be a workshop of sorts. I lean down and snap one of the most damaged planks to look in with my mirror. This time again, there are no traps, and I enter the room. All the windows have been shuttered. My vision dims, something that only occurs when in presence of absolute darkness. The room is mostly bare. I can only see crates, a worktable, and a cabinet filled with equipment set against the wall to my left. I am shocked by the contrast between this room and the outside. The floor has been meticulously cleaned, the walls are almost shining and the supplies and tools are strictly classified with a sense of detail that I haven''t seen since Loth. Even the pots of powder on the shelf are labelled with the date of creation and chemical composition of its contents. This is where he made his bombs and I can only applaud his professionalism. I move to the table to inspect it. There is only one thing of note, a small book that I quickly skim through. The contents teach me nothing. The man just tracked the resources he expended with a rigor that borders on obsession. The letters are blocky, even childish perhaps, but the hand that drew them was assured. The crates and cabinet show nothing but the parts and components used by an artificer and a gunsmith, including the expected powder. I exit and walk to the last room, and I can tell that it is far more promising. From behind the door I smell cooked bacon and beans, as well as human sweat. Still no heartbeat. For what I hope to be the last time, I snap parts of the door to inspect the other side. A thin thread is attached to the handle and trails up to the frame, then through loop to flintlock firing mechanism lodged against a earthen pot of massive proportion. Hah. HAH! I knew it. I punch a hole at the center of the door to let my arm through, then after a second of realization, a second one to actually see what I am doing. With infinite patience and inhuman precision, I seize the thread between two claws and cut it. The piece of twine falls slowly on the floor, without a noise. With a smirk, I realize that I am in my opponent''s sanctum. Pride fills my chest. YES, HIS NEST IS MINE NOW. Like his workshop, the place is perfectly clean, with only a small cot, basic cooking implements near a still warm hearth and a single wardrobe. The Spartan surroundings leave me uneasy. Did this man really live here for two weeks? I would have grown insane. The level of dedication required to maintain discipline for so long is both inspiring and terrifying, and I find myself respecting my foe for it. Even if he turns out to be insane, at least he managed to transcend his madness and turn it into a strength. With nothing urgent, I sweep the room to see if there are any clues as to his location. The most promising element is what appears to be a trapdoor at the edge of the room, now sealed. What is it doing here? I approach it and check it for traps as well before opening it. It leads down, far down, into a walled out section of the house. It is not deserted though, just filled with lit fuses. At least five of them, snaking up from the depths. Fuck. I tear the shutters away with the strength of desperation. Open air. Wide enough. I jump out. I hit the ground running as fast as I can, the world blurs around me and I whistle with all my power, hoping that Nami heard. The pile of mud, a passage down. He must have dug out his way to a sort of cave and holed here, but how did he know I was coming? I run around a bend of the road and roll on the ground, covering my ears. One¡­ Two.. Three... At the count of five, the house explodes. I scream as the deafening bang reaches me, and a wall of heat passes me by, singeing my hair. Flaming debris is sent so far in the air they can probably be seen at the other end of town. Wow. He really wanted to make sure huh. I stand up and survey the wreckage. The scene is apocalyptic, a valley of flame and scorched earth around a smoldering crater that may well lead to the gates of hell. "Ariane?!" "Here!" Nami runs the periphery of the disaster zone and slides to a stop by my side. Her face twists with concern until she sees that I am well, then her smile turns wicked. "What?" "First stop screaming, and second, don''t worry they should grow back within a few minutes." "What? Why are you whispering?" She does not answer and instead just taps her ears. Ah. I am deafened. An instant later, my ears pop and a black liquid trickles down my neck. What was it about growing back? I realize that a side of my head is suddenly more sensitive to the warm wind blowing from the remains of the house and pat it. My hair. It''s gone! "Relax, it will be back in a few minutes." My hair, my precious hair, blond and silky! My pride and joy¡­ "Ariane, calm down. It will be back soon. Yes?" "Mes beaux cheveux¡­" "Sweetie, focus. Did you see the bomber?" Ah right, the man who almost roasted me, that little¡­ Ugh! "No, he has dug some sort of passage down. He set off the explosion from there." "Do you believe that he killed himself?" That is an easy question. "I find it unlikely. Everything was carefully prepared with several layers of redundancy to make sure I would end up as charcoal. He probably has an escape tunnel. It couldn''t be too long. We could look for a trapdoor heading out from that corner," I answer and point to where the trapdoor used to be. "Alright. We must hurry, people will undoubtedly come to see what happened." We spread out and search quickly and for once we are in luck. The blast of the explosion pushed away all manners of things from its epicenter, including a dust covered tarp marking a secret exit. Truly, does that man know no limit? Who does that? I slam the door open and move aside at the same time as a precaution. Thankfully, it appears that the man ran out of powder. I peer down and find a tunnel heading down then back towards the house. I glance at Nami and with a nod, jump down. The passage is very narrow, it arches so that I have to follow it sideways and can only see a few feet forward. The earthen walls, barely reinforced by the rare log, give me an intense feeling of claustrophobia. If it collapses, I could stay there a long time, crushed by a mountain of rock and maddened by bloodlust. I shiver and chase the thought away. Nami knows where I am. I slowly move forward, taking time to make sure no support has been sabotaged but it appears I am in the clear. After entirely too much time, the passage widens and leads to a reinforced door adorned with a cross, fixed into the walls by bars of steel. As I come into view, a metal bar slides open and I find myself face to face with the business end of a blunderbuss. I move down and forward and the following shot rakes the passage above me. In the blueish cloud of powder that follows, I spot a slit of light. In a single motion, I take out a pistol and fire at point blank rage. There is a ping of metal, then silence. The air rings with two consecutive detonations in such a closed space and swirls of spent powder cloud my vision. My ears pop once more, and I comment off handedly. "You missed." "So did you." There, where used to be the yellow glare of a lantern, now sit two grey eyes. The skin around is angry and red, signs that the cloud of powder from my own shot still marked my target. I try to Charm him more out of habit than anything else, though the bond is stopped by an invisible barrier that tastes like a warning. Just as expected then. "I don''t think we have met yet, Bradley." "We have." I blink, trying to place him. His steely glare is unflinching. Not fearless, but beyond it. He knows what I am, he knows what I can do, and he still decided to come after me. He also managed to drive me to a stalemate. I cannot pass that door of his without preparation, a fact that escapes neither of us. I think I would remember such a man. Unless¡­ "You were at the order''s prison. You are the sole survivor, the one who got away." He does not have to reply, the flash of fury on his face is answer enough. "And you still decided to come after me," I continue, "alone. I do not know if I should salute your courage or laugh at your arrogance." "I am never alone." Adds the man, still calm. "Nobody else came here. I checked." He does not answer, instead, a finger appears pointing down. I lower my gaze to the cross embedded into the gate with apparent dedication. The object glints with a silvery sheen, despite the absence of any sort of illumination. Strange to think that it used to be a familiar symbol and now, it is anathema to my very existence. "I am never alone, unlike you." "Ah, we have reached the part of the conversation where you call me an abomination?" "If you wish." I smile at this. What a surprising man, and so unexpected. We are a minute into an exchange and I haven''t been called a devil''s harlot even once. What a novel prospect. I am enthused. "Where is your righteousness, warrior of the order? Where are the insults?" "I am not much for conversation." "What are you much for then, besides meticulous planning and demolition?" His eyes track my expression, gauging. Fool, I have played poker for thirty years now. Even Loth could not read me. "You sure like to talk a lot." "Ah, but can you blame me? Such occasions are so rare. Old enemies forced to a truce by circumstances. We are like characters in the Iliad. So tell me oh defender of light, why come here alone? Why not gather a large troop and burn the city to the ground, hmm?" "Wouldn''t work. You don''t sleep in that room." "Oh? How would you know?" "I climbed the wall and had a look." I look at him, aghast. "You scoundrel! Peeping Tom! How did you even manage to slip past the guards?" "During a change of patrol." "What? You know their schedule? How?" "I observed." I am having the most curious of experiences. I am talking to a door, with a man behind who would see me dead if he could and yet is more interesting than most people I have met. "Are you telling me that in two weeks, you managed to infiltrate the Dream, blow up my shed, and set up such an elaborate trap all without attracting attention even once?" "Hm. Yes? Why?" He even looks surprised. "Have you considered that you could be a great vampire?" "No." "Never mind, I prefer my fellow night denizen to have a sense of humor." "You stole that from me." "I did?" He avoids my gaze for a moment to reminisce on some painful memory, no doubt. The pause lasts for but a moment and when it ends, the man is as controlled as ever. "Not you. Your kind. Some demon worshipper cult." "You lost people to mages?" sea??h th§× N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Once more, the naked pain and anger that flash on his face convey more meaning than a book ever could. "I am no mage, and I worship no one if you must know. Why serve in a prison in the first place then?" "Don''t work well with others. They don''t trust me in a team so they put me there. I took the prison''s money cache and came after you." "I know you are entertaining me to waste my time until dawn. You are trapped here and this town answers to me, so if you want to see the day, you will have to do better. Why come after me at all, alone of all things?" Bradley sighs and closes his eyes, and I can tell that the pressure of the past two weeks has taken a toll on his mind. "My sin was pride. Vampires are arrogant, is what I heard." "We are people. Some of us are arrogant, some of us know better." "You¡­ I guess it''s true. You were a bit careful." "No, if I were truly careful, I would have sent mortals after you." "Then why didn''t you?" This is the first question he asks. I smile wider, showing my fangs. He doesn''t flinch. "You did not hurt my people, so this Hunt is still between the two of us. Ah, and those demon worshippers, have you found them yet?" "No¡­" "Did you join the brothers for this?" "They had the tools. And the training." "I see. It appears that I have to cut our conversation short. There are people coming. Goodbye Bradley, and see you later." I turn around and get back into the passage. He does not fire on my back. Outside, I manage to avoid the attention of the handful of people already searching the wreck for survivors and quickly find Nami under the cover of the trees. I relay the meeting to her, which she finds immensely amusing. "Ah, my little chocolate pie, I am so happy for you. This is the kind of memory that you will cherish decades from now, when you share it with your lover." That sounded strangely specific. "What will you do now?" she continues, "Have your men smoke him out?" "That won''t be necessary. I left the way open; it is only a matter of time before¡­ Ah. Look." The number of people checking the wreckage has reached two dozen and the trapdoor is quickly found by an inquisitive girl. A couple of burly men volunteer to check the tunnel and I watch with fascination while reloading my pistol. I am still looking at the crater, expecting Bradley to exit from there when a noise warns me and Nami and I jump away. The earth collapses to reveal a mine hole. A dirt-covered form with a backpack brushes itself and emerges into the night. Nami and I exchange a look. There is no light here, he is blind as a mole! With a resolute air, the man steps forward onto something soft. The moment he realizes something is wrong is just priceless. "That," I whisper in his ear, "was my foot,". This is the moment of truth and Bradley does not disappoint. He shows determination and courage in the face of certain death and I admire him for this. "Does the order know I am here?" "No." "Would you like to live?" "Do not play with me." "I do not. Offer me your blood and swear to keep my existence a secret, and I will escort you to the edge of town. You will be free to pursue your revenge." "Why would you do that? You can just bleed me here." "Call it¡­ A professional courtesy, from one explosion-loving hunter to another. What will it be, Bradley? Your loyalty to the order and its principles, or a chance to pursue your revenge?" Silence. Nami looks at me in delight, probably happy that I would do something so reckless. Only his fluttering heartbeat betrays the man''s desperate inner struggle. What will it be? I can''t wait to see. "Vengeance." Yessss. "Extend your arm and swear." "I swear I''ll keep your existence secret, and never return here." I bite down. Ah, so delicious. A broken oath to God and his peers for the pursuit of a grudge, the end of a successful hunt. Delectable. Once I am done I lick the wound close and whistle lightly. Metis trudges through the undergrowth like the massive warbeast she is and I climb up, then drag Bradley across the harness like a trussed up boar. "Ya!" We ride like the wind into the night and as the smokey air clears up, I consider that I am truly glad to be alive. Chapter 57 - 56. Preparations The strange ship bobs on the waves of an endless ocean. Above there are no clouds, only a sky without stars and the quiescent tendrils of the Watcher. The ship is small enough that I can operate it, yet still large and threatening. The sail curves back like the fin of a titanic shark, and the prow points out like a jagged spear. We cleave through the tide like a knife through flesh, carried ever forward by an inescapable current. Slowly, the morose surroundings change. Small vortices imply the presence of other flows. I need to hurry. More and more, my own current narrows and I catch glimpses of others. Other constructs, other actors. We are all led forward on a collision course with our knowledge and more importantly, our consent. A conflict is coming to a close. The final pieces are almost in position. Yet something is wrong. On my path there is an impossibility. A wreck, rotten and flimsy but still very much a danger. The ship must not change course and I know what must be done. There will be no more delay, no more obstacles. At the end of the path stands my birthright, the status that I was denied twice before by fate and casual cruelty. This time, I will not be stopped. Those who stand before me expect a fight, I will give them a war. The dream''s warning does not fall on uncaring ears. In the following days and in preparation of my confrontation with Sullivan, I go through a flurry of measures and projects. Merritt proves herself to be a resourceful woman, just as I expected, and she wormed her way into Marquette''s respectable society by attending the tea parties that were beyond my reach. Her networking has already borne fruit, though the most curious consequence is that between the two of us we have finished mapping Marquette''s index of male sexual prowess. Quite the eye-opener. Between preparations, the necessary work and my training, the nights pass quickly. April 25th, 1832 "Miss Lethe, come in, come in." The mayor''s office is luxuriously decorated in an honest attempt to equal the pomp and respectability of his Eastern counterparts. The stink of brandy and tobacco almost masks the musk of sweat and coal, though the effort is somewhat wasted by the ever-growing pile of slag I can spot from the window behind him. Sometimes, I think that this byproduct of coal mining may one day become the State''s highest elevation. The man himself stares at me from beyond his desk, with the simulated expression of someone who knows he will have to refuse a request and does not want a scene. His mask falls when his second guest follows in my steps. Without a word, we sit down and I introduce my companion. "Sir, this is Jason Mac Mahon, a marshal from the state of Pennsylvania. He came to lodge at my establishment and I wanted to use the opportunity of our meeting to introduce the two of you, and hope we can put an end to this regrettable affair before any rumor starts to spread." The mayor, who has his fingers in far too many pies, blanches visibly and I allow myself a minute smile before Mac Mahon dispels his fear. The Marshal is a gruff man in a travel-worn duster. His scruffy chops and moustaches have been awkwardly waxed for the occasion, but what really attracts the eyes are the scars. From cheeks to knuckles, the marshal bears on his body the marks of quite a few tussles and is clearly still standing. He is amusingly awkward with a bowler hat clenched between his rough hands. "Right, good evening Mr. mayor sir. As the lady said, probably just a misunderstanding, but if it''s not, well¡­" "Out with it man, what is it?" "It''s about one of your deputies, Mr. John Graham. See, I got this here warrant for a John Graham from Philadelphia regarding an assault charge." "Are you telling me that one of our own officers is wanted? Unthinkable." "There is a drawing of him, see if you recognize him." Mac Mahon removes a folded poster from an inner pocket and gives it to the mayor whose eyes widen. Yes, it appears our dear judge who still refuses to hire local on fear of them being corrupted has a criminal in his employ. Our gazes meet, and I wink. Later that night. The man I summoned walks with hesitation down the empty street, the collar of his green jacket pulled up to ward off the constant drizzle. He steps with fear and his eyes dart left and right over dark corners as if expecting an ambush. At this time of the night, the warehouse district is empty and desolate. The rickety buildings inspire little confidence in a respectable member of society. His face shows relief when he spots me, standing within the yellow nimbus of lantern light like an oasis in the darkness. His comfort is short-lived when he notices my companion. No one does "looming" quite like John. His presence towers so much that he might as well be a geographical feature, one that can break an adult skull on demand. My guest falters and I smile innocently before the yellow-livered fool attempts to run away. My time is precious. My greeting sounds hollow in the deserted alley. "Mr. Collins, thank you so much for joining me. I am delighted to see you." He stops five steps away from us. "Look, Miss Lethe, if that concerns my obligation, I promise I will repay you fully by¡­" My ''come-hither'' gesture interrupts him. We are having a conversation, not a screaming match. I will not tolerate disrespect from the likes of him. The imbecile hesitates and somewhere within John''s peculiar brain, the realization that someone is disobeying me expands like the puddle of blood from a slit artery. My bodyguard stands straighter and from this single gesture, conveys a promise of imminent violence. His prodigious spine pops under the strain of warming muscles and he slowly caresses his monstrous hands. He''s such a good lad. Feeling the mood, Collins steps closer and swallows his saliva with some difficulty. I watch his Adam''s apple bob up and down with middling interest. He smells appetizing but also, weak. I fed yesterday from a rowdy patron, no need to indulge just yet. Let''s get this over with. "Collins. I will grant you a delay before I collect your debt. It will even be interest-free. In return, you will do something for me. Trust me, it will be to your advantage¡­" April 26th. The fumoir at the back of the town hall is packed tonight, and the divide between two camps could not have been more obvious to anyone with a hint of social grace. Marquette''s most influential members sit in the first circle of comfortable leather chairs while others, including myself, linger at the edge, still present but not quite as influential. The air is heavy with the blueish smoke of cigar as tensions run high, and quite a few of the bottles are already empty. Judge Sullivan sits opposite me, surrounded by a posse of Marquette''s most fanatical and self-righteous idiots. I notice with pleasure that the number is lower than a week before, a sure sign that the most recent scandal stained his previously immaculate image. The judge hired no locals under the pretext of avoiding corrupting influence and behold, one of his deputies was wanted! Truly, the man knows no shame, favoring criminal outsiders over our brave local lads. And the timing could not be worse! Just a day before the big meeting, to have a marshal drag his cuffed subordinate through the main street, for everyone to see. How very unfortunate for him. The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Our eyes meet, and I blink. What? I am the very soul of innocence. "The session is open. The honorable mayor has the floor." "Thank you, thank you. Gentlemen, we have much to discuss today. Without further ado, I will now proceed with our first order of business, the injunction brought forward by the honorable judge Sullivan. As you know, it is our duty and burden to oversee our community and guide it on the right path. Although the lesser races are no less deserving of our benevolent counsel, it remains our right to protect our wives and children from any depravity that they may be exposed to. Starting May the first, our community will no longer welcome in its midst neither people of color nor vagrants. Our city is safe." The statement is welcomed by polite applause which I do not join. Sullivan stares at me like a hawk, waiting for me to make my move. This only shows his lack of understanding. I have never talked in public for the simple reason that I am a woman, and that is enough for some to dismiss me. I very much prefer a puppet to dance for me and take the limelight. This is much more expedient. "With that said, our nation is still a land of opportunity and we must find it in our heart to leave to others the chance that was offered to us to better our lot. Freedom and the pursuit of happiness should be extended to all regardless of their nature, and this is with great pleasure that I will now allow Mr. Collins to bring forward his proposal. For those of you who are new here, Mr. Collins owns Collins Construction and he has been a pillar of our community for more than a decade." More polite applause. Collins stands up and brushes imaginary dust from his elegant ensemble. He clears his throat then starts with the mellifluous voice of the consummate salesman. "Gentlemen, good evening. It is my honor and privilege to address you today. For thirteen long years I have been part of this community. I have seen it grow, struggle and prosper. Through years of abundance and years of famine we have endured, and now we are finally taking the first step towards becoming a real city, to rival those our forefathers founded when this country was in its infancy. Like all entities, we will face growing pain, but as the leaders of Marquette it is our sacred duty to manage them as well as we can, so God help us." A few amen echo around us. I am rather proud of that touching religious moment. Hear this God? The daughter you abandoned still pays homage through her servant. I mean, representative. "A population increase needs to be handled properly. For the first time in our history, we must plan our growth with vision and purpose rather than organically. That is why I propose that we open a new section of town reserved for the other races, so that they too may strive for fortune amongst their brethren. A new district for them, distinct yet with the same amenities." Agitated whispers fill the room at the mention of such an ambitious project, and it doesn''t take long for another notable to object. "And who do you propose will pay for all of this?" asks a loud voice. The newcomer is twirling his massive mustache with an obvious air of doubt. That''s my good friend Andrews, my main supplier of beef and poultry for all my businesses. "Thank you for asking, I would not waste this assembly''s precious time without an actionable plan. I, and the group of concerned citizens, have purchased the lands around the Smith residence, and we have sent a generous offer to them as well. We will fund the creation of this new district in its entirety, all for the benefit of Marquette. The only thing we require is your blessing before we proceed with construction, and that this new area be exempted from the ban." A wave of approving nods spreads over the assembly. Since it solves their issue without costing them a penny, most of them would be inclined to agree. I still made sure to test the water beforehand. You never know, with mortals. They get obsessed over the most innocuous of things. Like mutilation. "And another thing. I am sure that many of you work with citizens and freemen of Kentucky down South. Some of them may even have come across Gentleman Bennings who married a black woman. Now, I don''t want to discuss his proclivities, but when he comes to town, should I tell him his spouse isn''t welcome? A man of his stature and wealth? What about other travelers and freemen? Must they camp outside the city? Should we deny ourselves business because of inflexibility?" A series of nay sounds throughout the room. Sullivan has turned scarlet, because he knows where this is going. Anymore and he will be foaming at the mouth. "This measure is designed to keep out undesirables, not endanger our livelihood. That is why I propose that we allow foreign visitors access to one inn so that they may stay while they conduct their business. I nominate the Dream as the most convenient location." A few members look my way, mostly those who were not warned. Sullivan scowls with fury. He raises his hand indicating his wish to intervene. Collins ignores him. "With this measure, we will be ready to face the consequences of the implementation of this measure with confidence¡­" The speech goes on with more details and the obligatory embellishments. I school my expression into one of polite attention and pretend I do not notice the reddening judge. Before the vote is cast, he gets his time. "Gentlemen. Is a law a law, if it doesn''t apply to everyone?" Andrews coughs loudly while a few angry whispers echo at the back. The word hypocrite may have been uttered. Sullivan scowls even more but he does not relent. He rambles for ten minutes on civic duty and the importance of the strict application of rules. ''Fiat Justicia, ruat caelum!'' and all that. I watch with amused fascination as he loses the attention of even his most stalwart supporters, by repeating himself. Is this what a political wreck looks like? How can he not see the obvious? This is not the way the game is played. You do not get people to your side during the meeting. All relevant negotiations are conducted beforehand behind closed doors, in smoke-filled receiving rooms. A real politician would have understood this, what am I saying, a real politician would have seen it coming from a mile away and killed the proposal before it was submitted. The game is already over. Before long, the ballot is cast. The mayor counts the votes himself and comes up with the final result. "The motion is accepted by seventeen votes in favor and five against." For Sullivan, this is the last straw. He stands up in fury and walks in the middle of the room under more than a few disapproving glances. "I have had enough of this!" "Judge Sullivan, you do not have the floor, please sit down." The mayor''s warning falls on deaf ears. The judge is too incensed to listen. His voice rises to a sharp crescendo as he starts with the emphatic voice of the Baptist preacher. "Don''t you see? This is your divine test. The lord is offering you a chance to repent, to abandon your wicked ways and get back into his graces. For too long this town has glorified sin and villainy, with wanton women selling their bodies with the tacit approval of all. No more, I say, no more. Pray and reconsider." I cower like the poor, unfairly slandered Lady I am. Oh, this is just too perfect. He is ruining the little credit the latest scandal left him with instead of biding his time. What a glorious declaration. Yes, dear judge, please insult everyone some more. "Sir, I think you should sit down," adds one of his supporters pointedly, "now." Sullivan''s expression turns stricken, but instead of answering, he stomps away under the disapproving gaze of the entire assembly. Perfect, just perfect. My victory is complete, and I did not have to move a muscle, nor to intone a single word. Ah, Sinead, I wish you were here to see this. You would say this is a play for children, but it is still a masterful one. I hide my saddened expression behind a fan and receive more than a few sympathetic comments in the ensuing confusion. Even those that oppose me normally look aghast as their champion of justice just up and left after this final stain on their reputation. Ah, if only he could exile himself out of scorn, and then I could pursue and eat him! But alas, that would be too risky. Disappearing notables are always a pain to handle. After a few moments, calm returns and the meeting resumes. The next order of business is of direct interest to me, and it is put forward by the mayor with my unspoken support. "There are rumors that native tribes under the command of one ruffian named Black Hawk are marching on land that was rightfully ceded to us under the treaty of Saint Louis. We must be able to defend ourselves should they attack. That is why, I propose that we fund a militia capable of defending us against all dangers¡­" A few questions follow, mostly on funding, but most of the men present agree that the prospect of armed poor white men is slightly less terrifying than that of Indian raiders, and so the Marquette militia is officially founded. Its new leader is nominated as well, a veteran of the previous war by the name of Wallace who enjoys buxom blondes and poker just a bit too much. Just as planned. As for how they will be armed, I am currently a shareholder of a Massachusetts arms manufactory that will, I am sure, make a reasonable offer. Thanks, Isaac. The meeting ends and as I leave, there are already groups gathering to discuss what should be done about poor Sullivan. It seems like the air of the countryside just doesn''t agree with him. Probably all that coal in the air. I head back to the Dream with John in tow doing my best not to whistle. Half an hour later, Dream''s meeting room. S§×ar?h the Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "So I would call that a complete success. Now we only need to secure an armory and powder reserve for fast access, and I will make sure Wallace is under control. Merritt I''m counting on you for the armory, search around the warehouse district." "Right." The mage leaves with a pile of documents while Nami plays with a serrated knife, twisting it between her fingers with acrobatic dexterity. I can tell that something is on her mind. "Yes?" "I would not call tonight a complete success." "Why not?" "Because in four days, I will be forbidden from walking the streets of this city. Quite the inconvenience, don''t you think?" I am surprised, as well as a bit worried. Is she offended? "I did not think it would bother you. Should I have opposed the measure?" "You are pragmatic Ariane, and that is a good thing, but your sensibility is already slipping as a result. Amongst your followers, how many are affected?" "Hm. Oscar, King, Russel, the Creek brothers¡­" "And two maids and one kitchen staff. Do you think they see this as a complete success? I doubt it. You acted as you thought best. I am sure that the new district you have planned will not be the den of poverty it could have been without you, and it will increase your power and control over this place. You did not cause the misery you are feeding from, but they will resent it and you must not forget." I consider her words in silence. I did not, in fact, consider the victims. I never do, and this time I should have. I call Nami my friend and did not even consider her comfort. "You''re mad at me?" "No Ariane, this is nothing new to me. I was getting rusty with rooftop travelling anyway. I merely wanted to remind you to be careful around mortals. They are always so emotional, and forgetting this would be harmful to your interests." "Oh. Alright." "Don''t make this face sweetling, I won''t bite. Unless you want me to? Perhaps you need a little punishment¡­" "Noooo back off!" Insufferable woman. Chapter 58 - 57. The Beacon The removal of minorities from Marquette goes without trouble, the few concerned individuals already resolved to their fates. The Dream as well as the main street are exempt, which makes my establishment even more popular among travelers, with our reputation reaching farther than ever before. Meanwhile, the new district opens and it takes more effort than I expected to keep it well provisioned. Many of my suppliers refuse to even enter the place and I am forced to arrange my own system of distribution, which in turn leaves me in a position of monopoly. I could easily make their lives hell if I so desired, and the memory of Nami''s remark is ever present. On the military side of things, our militia sees immediate deployment when a warband led a by a Sauk named Black Hawk tries to resettle the land they had ''ceded'' in ''treaty''. The group is made of fighters from several tribes and meets with some initial success, including raids on settlers where they kill, mutilate and scalp men, women and children. This triggers a massive exodus of isolated settlers. They arrive in Marquette in small groups, bringing their families and cattle in great convoys that settle in fallow fields at the edge of town. Small circles of tents pop out of the ground like mushrooms after rain, filled with harried men and women with dangerous eyes. They stay there in insalubrious conditions that even slums cannot match. The newcomers are wary of everyone, including each other. Tension and distrust lead to more trouble for my new district. I have to deploy Harrigan''s squads more than a few times in the following weeks to knock some heads before they can come up with stupid ideas. The hatred between newcomers and ''true'' Marquette citizens burns bright. Paranoia runs rampant. Most of the fighting occurring between militia and Indians are skirmishes, but hearing the reports, thousands of bloodthirsty savages were soon going to descend upon the town to rape and plunder to their hearts'' content. I don''t even think they had a thousand men to start with. The panic makes people feel cornered and aggressive. Marquette becomes a powder keg of tension and deep-seated resentment. I am forced to have the few Creek under my employ wear white armbands at all times to differentiate them from hostile natives. All public gatherings are forbidden and any brawl suppressed with a heavy hand before they can degenerate into large scale riots. Then, because a catastrophe never comes alone, May brings us a cholera epidemic. Seeing people soil themselves to death really makes me appreciate my own immortality. We even lose a few girls, which frustrates me to no end. Diseases are not opponents I can simply massacre. Against this unseen enemy, I am powerless. Without means to retaliate, I decide to stop our normal operations to help fight the epidemic and between this, renovations and investing in weaponry, this year will definitely end in the red for me. That''s fine, it''s an investment. This complete mess reduces the time I could spend on aura training, running outside with Metis and sparring with Nami. The poor Ekon girl is growing restless in such a small city, so starting from June, I allow her to roam around the land and get back to me if she finds anything interesting. At the same time, news of the war restores confidence in the militia after their triumph at Horseshoe bend. That epic battle was just thirty men killing eleven but hearing the commoners speak of it, it might as well have been a new Waterloo. All the same, settlers start to head home which reduces the burden on the town. I no longer understand mortals. I kill eleven men all the time and you don''t see me parading on the street with a flag. Bah. In any case, my mood massively improves when my latest purchases make their way to town in a large convoy. June 3rd, 1832, Marquette "Ariane?" "Yes Alexandra?" "I told you to call me Merritt! And why are you laughing maniacally in the corridors? That''s not good for your image." "I am most pleased." "Whatever happened that has you so merry?" Meritt asks, the very image of suspicion. "My special delivery is here. Let''s go, let''s go. Quick!" We leave the Dream behind with John in tow. I walk through the evening crowd who parts to let me through. Some of them even greet me. My reputation has improved a lot since I spent my own money on civic duties, to the extent that even some respectable citizens have disregarded the origin of my wealth. A pleasant development. The trip is fast. In only a few minutes, we reach the warehouse district and my destination. "Where is it? Where are they?" I ask the first man I recognize. The foreman stops backing when he realizes he has hit a wall and that answering my question is the safest way to save himself. "In¡­ in here!" I disregard the poor sod and enter a smaller barn to find my little precious things well protected under tarps. Yesssss. They''re here! Behind me, Merritt and the man confer in low voices. "Why is she laughing like that? I was so scared." "No idea¡­" Fools! Can''t they see the magnificence before them? "John! Help me take off those covers." We remove the tarps to reveal shiny gaping steel maws, all sweet and lubricated. "Are those¡­ Oh. Oh no." "That''s right Merritt. Feast your eyes upon those state-of-the-art, rifled, limber-drawn twelve-pounder field artillery guns. In a revolutionary new technique, they use balls that are fractionally larger than the bore so they engage with the grooves for that sweet, sweet spin. It will drastically improve precision, see? With that, I can put a hole through a man''s belly button large enough to place a hand while leaving his crotch intact at two hundred paces!" If their faces are any indication, I lost them at ''limber-drawn''. Bah, it doesn''t matter that those heathens cannot appreciate the good things in life. I laugh and pet my little babies. Just wait until I drag you to a field for some testing and, oh, what is this? Besides the two expected guns, there is a third form. A small, stubby thing under a red cover. I pick a small envelope attached to it and excitedly read its content. "Ariane, Please accept this humble gift as an expression of my appreciation, and of my hope for your success. Now that you have a mage in your service, I am sure you will find a use for it. It was, after all, your prize. With all my friendship. I." A moment later, I lift the cover and am left speechless. Merritt walks by my side and after inspecting the intricate work before her, asks: "What is that, it looks like a gun?" "This, dear Merritt, is a Skarbrand runic mortar, a wonder of magical engineering that can send fiery spells to incinerate foes from a mile away. And you will be its operator." The redhead''s eyes widen in wonder as even she can tell what terrible destruction they will be able to inflict together. Perfect, this is just perfect. I bask in the afterglow of all these explodey things I now own. Oh, I am so very happy. If only Papa could see me! Yesterday a rifle, today, artillery guns, and tomorrow, who knows? A ship of the line? So many problems I could solve by the generous application of scorn and gunpowder. I almost can''t wait for live targets. Whatever storm comes to find me, I hope they will be ready, for I sure as hell am. I only have two weeks to train the poor artillery crews, a thankless task that involves a lot of math and a lot of screaming, before something unexpected happens. At midnight in the heart of June, I feel a powerful magic pulse coming far away from the East. Its power shines like a beacon, demanding attention. It has started. June 19th 1832 I don''t think I have ever felt such a powerful aura other than from the Herald. It tastes sharp and surprisingly focused. Since it''s a mighty spell I do not understand, I naturally assume it is bad news. I decide to head out first to check what we are against while Merritt, John and the odd squad pack things up. They will join me at a safe house before dawn and I do hope the situation will be solved by then, though I do not harbor much hope. With my own pack always prepared, it is only a matter of getting changed and riding out. The buildings of Marquette and civilization fall behind me as Metis and I rush across the plain. This is my most hated time of the year. I have to spend so much time in slumber that every second is precious, and most are spent handling the Dream and all my new projects. I am glad to steal this moment for myself with only Metis, the night and the endless sky. I have no need to consider politics, be it with the humans or my fellow vampires. There is no appearance to keep or expectations to fulfill. The plane is vast beyond compare, especially for me, who grew up in the swampy South. Sometimes, a gust of wind comes to caress my skin and brings the scent of sap and dried vegetation, making the grass around us dance like waves on the ocean. We cut a way through that sea and leave meadows, forests and the vast fields behind, always in the middle of an endless green only matched by the endless midnight blue above. Life is vibrant around us as insects and beasts hunt, mate or die, and although I do prefer winter, I have to admit that there is a charm to this season. The Nightmare is also happy to let go, I can tell. I may be able to outrun her on short distances but for long runs she is without a match. There is also something exhilarating about trampling the ground on top of a hellish, flesh-eating warhorse who doesn''t know fear. I already have a spear. I am just missing a banner and a helm, as well as some fancy warcry like the knights of the round table. What should I scream when charging? What do I fight for? Blood, freedom, and gunpowder? Hm. Not bad. I try it as well as a few others as we make good way until something attracts my attention and I stop. Before me, a bend in the road goes around a lake reduced to a pond by dry weather. A few trees mask the path ahead, and a peculiar shine attracts my eye. I close my eyes and focus. Heartbeats, at least two. This is an ambush. I''m so excited! In all my years, I have never been the target of a robbery unless I was looking for it. Could it be that I finally got lucky? I could use the distraction to feed a bit before the inevitable showdown. As I slow Metis to a canter, she snorts in anticipation. Sometimes, I cannot tell how smart she really is. Obviously, she is smarter than some humans. I just don''t know exactly how much she understands. We pass the bend and the trees hide the moon, casting us in an extremely deep shadow. The pond is currently to my left and to my front and right the plain goes on seemingly forever dotted with the occasional tree. The largest white oak I have ever seen stands at the top of a small mound, and on one of its lower branches, someone has installed a noose. How quaint! "Come on out." I order calmly. And two of Judge Sullivan''s deputies exit from the cover of the forest behind me like children caught sneaking. One of them is a blond man who I remember is kind but shy, and the other is a quiet, stocky man with grey chops. I smile lightly. I should have expected this, really, considering the judge''s personality. I just did not anticipate him to be so brazen. Hanging me is sure to gather a lot of attention. What was he even thinking? One more lanky deputy and Sullivan himself come out from further down the way, I assume they were the ones to stop me, and the men behind were tasked with cutting off my escape. I suppose it could have worked, although I cannot help but feel this is a bit amateurish. I would have placed a man on the other side of the road to shoot down the horse, just in case my prey attempts to flee through the plain. I would also have my men draw their weapons. What would happen if I started to run now, huh? How long before they can fumble their muskets out to line a shot in the dark? So gauche. The four close on me with what I assume is a vague attempt at intimidation. The effect is ruined by two things. First, they act like meek virgins, which in a way they are. Second, they gawk at my outfit and equipment like bumpkins instead of remaining stoic. Even Sullivan''s eyes are wide in surprise. I am wearing an innocuous travel cloak, not my battle gown, but I am still riding without saddle and my covered legs hug Metis'' flank almost horizontally, which is unusual to say the least. I am sure they are also taken aback by the wicked-looking spear in my hand. I would find it amusing to act the victim for the following play, unfortunately it is absolutely impossible to appear harmless while riding Metis, even without weaponry. She''s just too dangerous, my sweet little toothy charger. Since I cannot fool them, I just assume the air of supreme confidence I am feeling right now, and since they appear hesitant, I will open the game. I take my most arrogant voice and begin: "I must admit I expected very little from you and am still disappointed. Highway banditry, really? How have you fallen so low, Sullivan?" "This is not banditry but justice!" he replies defensively. If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. "Justice at the dead of night? Without witness?" "You leave me no choice, witch. Your talons are dug too deep into this town, and the only way to purge the body is to cut off the infected limb. I regret that it comes to this¡­" "Lies." "¡­but only God can judge me now." "He already has, I believe the exact term was ''you shall not kill''." "The exodus also said ''Suffer not the witch to live.''" He replies with fire in his eyes. "And you are all here, certain that I am a witch? So sure, in fact, that you are willing to flaunt the law to put me to death? Is it your belief and your resolve?" "Yes," he replies with increasing fervor, "for we are the hand of God, united in purpose and chosen to deliver His punishment!" I hope they''re not, or humanity is done for. "United huh, and where is Douglas?" I ask innocently. After the loss of one deputy to a bounty hunter, there are only four left and one of them was slightly more integrated with the town than the others. I notice that he is absent. Sullivan hesitates at this reminder that his men are not as devoted to his cause as they look. "You already captured his mind with your sorcerous ways, he is too soft to do what needs to be done!" "Have you considered that perhaps, the town keeps me around for a reason and you four may be in the wrong?" "There is no doubt in my heart! My faith protects me from your poisoned words," Sullivan replies with conviction, but too late. Two of his men look less than enthusiastic about this whole covert lynching business. I realize that I could just kill all of them and be done with it, but I would have to deal with the disappearance of a high ranking official and his subordinates, who may have informed someone that they were going after me. It would be much more efficient to manipulate the situation to my advantage. I am a Courtier after all, not some bloodthirsty imbecile. Let''s see how fruitful Sinead''s lessons have been. From the situation, I can see that two of them could switch sides, though Sullivan and the last one are so set in their belief that it would require me to shred their minds to get anywhere. Time for me to make my case, and I feel like justifying myself, for once. "You believe that my influence comes from hexes, or from some strange pleasure magic that blinds men with the promise of sex. You think me some parasite sucking the life from Marquette, corrupting the souls of its inhabitants. You could not be more wrong. The people of the city tolerate me because many of them remember the time before the Dream, when this place was just one more mud hole on the frontier. They remember life without my work, something that you never bothered to ask about. When I came here, girls were already selling themselves and men were already getting drunk. When I came here, whore corpses would be found once every five months and dead miners once every two. Carcasses were left for so long that you could follow their path to the graveyard by the trail of maggots they left behind, and people were rutting behind barns or on pails of rotten hay like animals. What a sorry sight they all were, sick and covered in sores, with missing teeth and scarred faces. Any pass could end up with a knife to the gut and every bottle of moonshine was poison in waiting. Misery was the norm and chaos the law. This is what I found, and this is what I changed." I feel myself getting more animated. "I made a safe place and opened it to those wretches so that none could feed from their miseries. I brought them safe bedrooms to work and sleep, I brought them warm food and alcohol that was not made from sawdust. I made rules and forced manners to make them feel like people. I lifted them and ruled fairly, and I have protected them ever since. This is why I am tolerated, because I have become the last safety net for desperate people where none would, and everyone is better for it. "You would know this if you had thought but for a moment, or if you had relied on your powers of observation instead of blind faith to understand the world. You have not. This loyalty I receive, I earned it. You believe John to be spelled? When I picked him up from the streets, I could circle his wrist with two fingers. Oscar? Cut down from a tree where he had been left to slowly choke. Kitty? She was almost beaten to death by her degenerate brother. This is why they accept me, not because of spells but because of the human decency that I showed them where your powdered ladies and respectable gentlemen would not, and you? You come here with your belief that the town is tainted, throwing around your weight and your book, expecting some kind of recognition? You do not even realize that I do more for this place''s well-being in a day than you have done since you arrived. "When you fail to garner the approval you expected, you do not ask yourself if you have committed a sin of pride. No, you just throw everything you have sworn to uphold down the gutter to assassinate a woman like some vulgar highwaymen, in the dead of night and in the middle of nowhere. You hide like the coward you are because you know the people would not stand this farcical sentencing, because you could not face your own inadequacies. You even hide from your own colleagues! You, a defender of justice? Don''t make me laugh. This is not justice you are seeking, but base revenge for your wounded self-esteem. Come on, look me in the eyes and tell me this is divine will. Tell me you could go back to Chicago and announce what you''ve done without being hanged until death!" My inflamed declamation is received with stunned silence, and I realize that I may have just gone a little bit overboard. I am myself surprised. Perhaps I did have just a tiny bit of frustration backed up after months of harassment from that self-important cretin. First to recover is the deputy to my left. He passes a gloved hand through his messy blond hair and addresses his superior with a helpless tone. "She''s right, we shouldn''t hang her. We should bring her to another town and if she''s really a witch they can burn her just as well." "Fool, she will enchant them too! We are committed to this. Just imagine what will happen to you if she escapes now." "What kind of justice bears no witness?" I interject. Inside, I am in turmoil. Not because of the trap, as losing the argument will not be my end. I just came to an awful realization. I care about Marquette. I really do. I dislike my circumstances and the ensuing isolation from my kind. I hate the smell of burning coal and human excrement. The cacophony of yells, songs and moans that surround my nights make me want to gut them all. And yet, despite all of this, I don''t want them to suffer. They''re mine. I protected them and those who have grown to produce something useful or to serve me well fill my heart with pride. They are the results of my effort, my... my subjects. Is this what ruling is like? How can master just travel from place to place like some obnoxious vagrant when he could be doing this instead? Nurturing those frail mortals into something that will shine briefly, but brightly. This feels like something worthwhile. Meanwhile, the argument goes on between two sides. On one end, we have Sullivan supported by the increasingly angry lanky man, who is decidedly on edge. On the other side is the blond man who argues about silly notions like due procedures, the habeas corpus and all manners of nice things that frontier people do not care about. He is supported in turn by Mr. Stocky whose name I never bothered to remember, but who is apparently a firm supporter of the equal application of laws. His muffled but frequent ''that''s right'' needle blondie forward and give him the legitimacy he needed to face the judge. A fascinating debate. No matter how interesting their moral qualms are, however, I should not stay to listen. I am on schedule. There is still the matter of the incredibly powerful spell being woven a few miles East to attend to, and I would rather address this issue before it explodes, or turns everything in a ten miles radius into turnips. I know just the way. Sullivan is still wearing a cross on his tie, the prick, and the warning aura that comes from it forces me to avert my gaze. Incredible how much would be revealed if they tried to exorcise me, or if they looked a bit closer at the spear I hold. Paradoxically, it is civilization that is protecting both parties. If they had just forfeited the trappings of law, we could have just gone medieval on each other from the start. I would have torn them apart, of course, but my cover would have suffered from it, to the extent perhaps that I would have had to disappear. Hm, I really need to focus. And Mr. Lanky is presenting me with the perfect opportunity. He is not wearing a cross and his paranoid mind is already inventing dangers where there are none. I meet his eyes and wrap him instantly. I push the fear to new heights. He is seeing monsters in every shadow now. That''s right. You are in mortal danger. Your doom has come. As his terror peaks, I lightly push Metis and she takes a step to the side with a light neigh. That is enough for my target. His hand, which had been hovering over the handle of his pistol, plunges and grabs the weapon. He is taking it out before he can think. "Gun!" I scream helpfully. In an instant, all hell breaks loose. Blondie and Chops raise their carbines while Lanky''s aim wavers between the three of us. Sullivan also raises an engraved musket. I pretend to cower in fear. From below my arm, I capture Lanky''s mind and force a fearful reflex. His finger tightens on the trigger. The shot sounds incredibly loud in the empty night. "Stand down!" bellows Sullivan, a bit late. The others hold back at the last moment though tension is at its paroxysm. "She''s a witch! She is, don''t you see? Burn her, burn the witch!" screams Lanky hysterically. The others do not react, but the moment has broken what little community they had. Sullivan frowns in frustration and barely contained anger, having sensed it too. I am now faced with a choice. I could start a bloodbath, or I could call this a victory and focus on my original task. In the end, pragmatism wins over. I wish I could finish this once and for all, I am just not willing to pay the price. Humility is a virtue I have but too few occasions to practice. I wish Nami or Sinead were here, we could have done something interesting. Now I am reduced to a gracious retreat. Time to make my exit. "I am going to go on my way and let you men solve your problems. I am not stopping for anyone so if you are going to shoot me, you''d better do it now." Then I''ll have to run less to skin your sorry hides. I push a mildly grumpy Metis forward. The smart girl can tell she just missed a meal, though I am not too worried. There will be more soon. The horse carries me forward through the immobile men slowly, then I start a canter as I pass them by, which quickly turns into a gallop. I handled this really well and I have no regrets about not hanging Sullivan with his own innards from that stupid tree before setting it on fire. Nope! No regret. Alright I have regrets but I am proud I managed to act like the adult and patient vampire I am. He is completely discredited now, even in the eyes of his own men, and will no longer be an issue. If he dares show his face in Marquette again I will have him arrested by the militia. I am only surprised that they did not comment on my appearance. My horse and spear should have garnered a few comments at least. I decide to put this behind me and return my attention to the beacon of power pulsating softly before me. I am almost at the safe house and yet still nowhere close to it. The might of this aura, even at this distance, defies understanding. I have difficulties accepting that something so massive could exist in our reality, for it feels more like the kind of spell the Court of Blue could produce. The closer I get and the more I realize that if this is the work of an individual, then there is little I can do to stop it. I can only hope that they are fully absorbed in whatever this is. I soon reach the safe house and leave a message to the others, then go on. The vast plains soon turn to valleys, and I start to see more variation in the landscape. The path itself zigzags between rocky outcrops and denser patches of wood. Pines replace oaks and moss replaces grass. All in all, it takes me another two hours before I find something. Just as I am crossing an empty valley, a gap in the ridge to my side lets me catch a glimpse of fires. I circle around slowly and climb a small elevation to see what it is I am dealing with. S§×arch* The n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. In front of me, in a small basin half a mile across, the most peculiar and remarkable of troops has gathered. A hundred men and women from all races and ages mill around in an improvised camp. Tents and wagons are spread haphazardly while the ground is covered with cooking fires, covers and personal effects. The place is messy and without order, a reflection of its inhabitants. Besides one morbidly obese man who looks like he escaped from the circus, all the others are painfully thin, dressed in rags and mismatched clothes and wearing haggard expressions. The whole place feels like the most miserable refugee camp that ever was. The only thing missing is bawling children. And yet, in the middle of it, stands a double circle of individuals chanting and raising their hands. The power coming from them is breathtaking, and the essence they weave is so potent that the naked eye can see it. Twirls of strange colors dance in the air, as ephemeral as flames. Sometimes, I think I see alien landscapes and once, even a city entirely made of bone. Curious, I keep looking, searching for priority targets. My surprise is complete when I realize what is missing. This place has no leader. On occasion, one of the lost souls stands up and goes to replace a caster who stumbles away from the circle to a cot or a cooking pit. Small groups gather and break, speaking in soft voices, but there is no focal point, no entity to direct this mass of wretches. I do not understand. My instincts and experience tell me this is an impossibility. A military troop that large could never function, much less this pile of reprobates. There is more to it than I can perceive. I need to get there and inquire. I stand up and carefully make my way down the slope. There are a hundred people and I wager they are too eclectic a group to know each other well. I am confident that with a bit of Charm, I can infiltrate their ranks. But first, I need to go right. Yes, right. There is something there calling to me, a buzz at the back of my head that I cannot ignore. I am sure that I will find some answers there, and when have my instincts failed me. Quite often really. No, my instincts have never failed me, though following them blindly isn''t always wise. That''s not what I am doing now. I am being very careful. Yes, I can tell now, those below are untrained mages like Debbie. They are no danger to me so I can just keep going and everything will be alright. It is completely safe. My steps carry me along the edge of the basin and to a small mound that overlooks it entirely. There seems to be a promontory on top of it, but the walls are sheer. I circle around to the right, leaving the camp and its few lights at my back. The path is deserted. Wait, what am I doing? I am doing what I should do, investigating this strange situation. I keep walking with the cliff to my left. If I can find an easy way up, I will have a commanding view from that promontory I saw earlier. Yes, seems reasonable. I should just claw my way up find a path because I am civilized and do not want mud on my pretty dress. After only a minute, I find an inviting way in. A tunnel, dug through the stone. A pair of stylized lion statues guard the entrance on each side, below lit sconces. The light and perfume are strangely soothing. This is what I was looking for. No wait, this is wro this is what I was looking for. Wait. This is definitely wrong. I saw this before. When I was with Bingle and the blood cult. Master had been looking for something in a similar¡­ I am being Charmed?! A massive wave of well-being flows through my mind and wraps me up in a comfortable cocoon. The presence it reveals gives up on stealth for a more direct approach, and the assault is not something I can stop. It is not something I want to stop. This aura is benevolent, it feels like¡­ It feels like family. And this scent. Warm sun on hot sand, flowers, spices. It is so strange yet so familiar. I step forward, at peace. I will now go and join her, because there is no other choice. I cannot stop myself anymore than I can stop the sun from rising. The corridor of stone leads up to a rectangular room of stone with a small pond, decorated by climbing ivy. A square hole in the ceiling lets me see the stars and the Watcher. I lose myself for a second in his comforting embrace, and it lets out a cooing sensation, like someone seeing a puppy. A door leads farther in. I pass by a bedroom, a laboratory and a small indoor garden. The place is both luxurious and intimate, like the private quarters of a queen. Then, the passage leads up and I finally step on the promontory. My mind freezes. Unadulterated surprise breaks through the fog of the compulsion I find myself under. What I am seeing is impossible, and at the same time there were many signs that could hint at it. I know I am gawking like a bumpkin and cannot find it in myself to stop. I stand at the edge of a circle once again dug through the stone by means unknown. A pair of chairs and a table with two cups and a teapot stand at the edge of the most complex spell circle I have ever seen by several orders of magnitude. The entire surface of the circle is engraved with golden runes so thin and precise, they are practically a work of art. The exquisite working makes Loth''s efforts look like childish scribbles. This is magic at a scale that should not exist. This is a world changer. On one of the seats, a woman is resting daintily. Once, I read of how Helen of Troy provoked a war that lasted a decade, and how Cleopatra seduced the first emperor of Rome. I found the stories silly. Surely, no being is beautiful enough to change the course of history so. Now, though, I can believe it. She wears a white toga of delicate make, tied to her waist by a golden cord. She has wavy hair as black as the night and as shiny as stars. Her heart-shape face is sensual and generous, her lips are ruby and her skin is gold. Raphael or Vermeer could spend hours painting the crook of her arm, the shadow of her calf, without doing them justice and still, they would paint a masterpiece. She is beauty made flesh, and I know her. Once, I drank the most powerful blood in the world and I remembered an ancient ruler, one who inspired an entire civilization. Master did not see her beauty or rather, it did not matter to him. She was there, at the beginning. She guided his hand and his ire. She gave him the flawed elixir of eternal life so he would not succumb to his wounds. He called her mother. And now she is here, before my eyes. Her heart still beats, and breath still lifts her perfect bust after more than three millennia. The words form on my lips, unbidden, to confirm the mirage. "Queen Semiramis." She turns and smiles with an otherworldly gaze that even Sinead could not match. I wish I could capture this moment and remember it forever. Her voice is, as expected, exquisite, a vibrant alto with a delicate lilt that enchants the ear. "Greetings little one. Seeing you here is such a pleasant surprise. Come and sit. Join me. I insist." Chapter 59 - 58. The First Queen As I walk across the circle, I sense power beneath my feet and realize what is happening. The untrained mages outside are not casters, they are fuel. Semiramis is casually channelling a spell that will change the world, sitting on a comfortable chair, while a hundred mortals unwittingly do her bidding. I have no idea how she pulled that off, but I know that the skill required to do so should not exist at all. The glyph pulsates with more energy than the Herald ever had. I feel like I am standing on the surface of the sun, only separated from my impending doom by a hair-thin barrier and my host''s goodwill. When she invites me to sit, I comply. The ancient queen leans forward in a suggestive way that shows a hint of cleavage, and I do believe those who appreciate this kind of thing would have lost their minds by now. The gesture is sensual without being vulgar, and the pose is so easy and graceful it is worth painting. Despite the dire straits I find myself in, I try to commit it to memory. To my surprise, she serves me a cup of infusion from her pot. The liquid has an exotic reddish color and an earthy smell with a hint of spice. "Try it." I hesitate, then realize that I should not refuse her hospitality. I have pretended to drink tea on numerous occasions. This is but one more. I wet my lips with the liquid and its fragrance covers my tongue. As expected, earthy and spicy. Its warmth covers my palate and I swallow. It has a minty aftertaste, peculiar and refreshing. Hold on. I just had tea, as a vampire. Impossible! My eyes widen despite my attempts to remain composed, and my host smiles lightly. She drinks as well, then gazes at me with a hawkish focus. I feel like a deer before a pack of wolves. Her tone turns glacial and laden with threat. "Before we go any further, does my son know you are here?" "No¡­ I mean, I do not think so?" "When was the last time you saw him?" "In dreams or in person?" My answer surprises her, I can tell, yet soon enough the interrogation continues. "Interesting¡­ Answer for both conditions." "1803 in person, and 1812 in dreams." "Ah. You were one of the discarded spawns. Lucky you. Well, you are not a threat and I know who set us on a collision course." "Who?" She lifts a beautiful hand, pointing up. I realize before lifting my eyes what she is referring to. "I thought it only watched?" "Mostly yes, but it does pull on the strands of fate on occasion. Answer me one more question. What are you doing here?" "We are close to my city. I thought that perhaps, the spell was a threat meant to destroy me as I was nearing my goal." "Is that so? What is this goal you are talking about?" "I need to remain in control of a city for twenty years to be officially recognized as a city master. This will allow me to use a loophole in the Accords to circumvent the execution order against me." "Ah, I see." The controlling glare of the judging queen fades away and I am once more but a valued guest in the world''s most remarkable tea party. She takes a sip and continues: "If you are not here on your Master''s behalf, then we are not enemies. You find me at a most curious time little one. What are you called?" "Ariane." "Ariane, mhh. An old name. In any case, I find myself occupied by this dreary task until the end of summer solstice, and I am in a mood to entertain. It has been a long time since I had a conversation for the sake of it. I assume you have questions?" "Yes!" I blurt out, "Plenty!" Her expression turns patient and understanding, like a teacher with an interested student. "Ask then." "What are we?" Semiramis looks stunned for a moment, then laughs merrily. The sound is like chimes in the wind, ethereal and pleasant. "Aaaa yes, I can see why you could resist me so. Truly, you have a peculiar mind little one. Very well then, let me tell you a story. It will satisfy your curiosity I am sure, and there is no better way to pass the time. Ahem." The queen sits straighter and captivates me with her dark eyes. Gradually, the world around me fades until I can feel warm sand beneath my feet, the smell of heated stone and spices and the din of a humanity that existed at the dawn of time, before reason and enlightenment made man the center of the world. "Almost three millenia ago, there was a land between two rivers where city states grew like roses in the desert. They flourished into empires or were sacked and dominated, but in the end, they would all perish to leave the scene to others. I was born in one such kingdom. "It was a time where magic was not hidden. It was one more tool in the panoply of majesty that all rulers coveted, as only those favored by the gods could wield such blessings. When I was twelve, I manifested this magic, and used it to kill my father. "Instead of being put to death, I was married to king Ninos as his third wife. He was eighteen and needed the support of gifted individuals to secure his rule and his line. Three years later, I gave birth to Nirari, my son. He is my only male child to reach adulthood. The others were assassinated. "When he reached fifteen, he led our armies against barbarians from the West and emerged victorious. His arrows were the first to slay a foe and his chariot, the first into their lines. His skill and ferocity were made legend then, and when the Hittites slew my husband, I became queen with his support. By then, I had eliminated the other consorts and their progeny while warding off dozens of attempts on our lives. We had poured molten gold in the mouths of mercenaries bought to kill us and lathered the genitals and anus of assassins with honey before burying them in red ant''s nests. I had sent terrible curses on our enemies so that their fingers would rot and maggots would crawl out of their head as they were still conscious." Oh. Wow. And I thought brother Achilles and I had big fights. "In the next few years, Babylon became unmatched. Tribes and cities would send us tithes and offerings of slaves and gold. They would send their princesses to give my sons descendants of their blood, but it was not enough. "I was the greatest mage who ever lived and still, I knew that I had access but to a fragment of what could be done. I found reflections of alien planes and strange people, civilizations before which we were but children squabbling in the dirt. I needed more time than a human body could provide, much more time. And so, I searched far and wide for something that could pierce the veil of our reality, a reality that resisted magic more than most. It needed to be powerful enough to grant me what I desired, and honorable or patient enough not to destroy us. And in the most remarkable of places, I found it." "What? What did you find?" Once more she lifts a finger. I am too stunned to accept this answer. "Impossible!" "Very much possible. The Watcher was all of that and more. You may think of it as both an almighty being and a toddler. The most accurate description I can give of it, is that of the sliver of a creator god. One day it will die and give birth to a new universe." "No that''s¡­ You can''t know all of that. It''s impossible." Genuine dread constricts my chest and freezes my mind. She can understand what is unthinkable? That would make her mind that of a god and I refuse¡­ I absolutely refuse to accept this. No human mind should comprehend this. It isn''t right! Surely... "Trust me, I had a very, very long time to study my partner. Communication was arduous at first, but I did not give up. When I told you that I was the greatest mage who ever lived, it was not hubris. I really was, and I still am." I force myself to calm down a bit, surprised by my lack of control. I consider the might of the spell under us and the hundred people outside, laboring to an end they probably do not even understand. She can manipulate all of them, mesmerize me and cast this incredible working all at once, while sitting at a table having tea. Yes, I can believe her, and it terrifies me. After a pause, she resumes her outlandish tale. "I struck a bargain with it. I needed immortality, it needed knowledge. It was, I think, curious, and a little bored. In return for my prize, he asked to be let in. I could not achieve this. He cannot come to this planet, no more than a grown man can get into a thimble. So instead I offered him an aperture through which he could see and even interact by the tiniest of margins. Vessels to carry his essence. You." "Are you telling me¡­ That we are tools so that the Watcher can spy on this world?!" "Not spying. Spying implies a malevolent intent. It learns and, perhaps, entertains itself. I received the power to alter my essence into that of an immortal and in return, I created the elixirs filled with its essence to share and spread to humans who would interest it throughout the ages. The unleashed alien potential turned them into Progenitors, the first ones, whose bloodline powers reflected their very nature. All vampires carry this foreign mark. That is why your existence is denied by the sun purifier, why you cannot create life and need to steal it from others, why calls to a creator God deny your existence and repulse you, and why the soul of the person you were needs to depart before you can rise again. The Watcher cannot create here, only alter, and your nature is reflected by this." "Wait, hold on, wait. I still have my soul. I am still¡­ me! It''s just changed! No?" Semiramis shows something that I cannot accept: pity. "You believe you are the same? Oh, poor thing. Her memories and spirit are yours now, but her soul is gone to wherever souls go, replaced by vampiric essence." "I¡­ what? No, you are wrong. I am me! I am still me! Ariane Beatrice Lucille Reynaud! This is a lie, a travesty. Papa, he¡­ I cannot accept this." "You are still you, yes, but the mortal girl is dead. I am so sorry." I don''t have a soul? I Don''t have a soul, at all? I am¡­ not her? Then, when I woke up in that cell under the fortress, those were my first moments? Then¡­ the human Ariane died under Master''s tender care, and her last three days were spent lying broken and bloody. Tortured. Defiled. Just for having addressed a man at a party? I look at the queen, expecting a hint of disdain or amused cruelty, but there is none. When she sees my doubt, she adds with a soft voice: "I am telling the truth, on my honor I do so swear." This is bullshit. I thought I was continuing being me, a daughter, a sister and a friend. I thought I was honoring myself by enduring despite what life had thrown at me. And now it turns out that it was all for nothing? I was masquerading a dead woman after stealing her violated body? This was all for nothing? It was all a lie? Is this what this world really is about? Cruelty and malice without end? Endless destruction without meaning? Suddenly, all I have witnessed surges back in me, unhindered by my usually cold nature. I remember those children who died in their own dejection as cholera ravaged their frail insides, those people murdered and scalped for being at the wrong place or those others summarily executed for being the wrong color. When I arrived in Marquette, there were whores stabbed in the chest and left to drown in their own blood and men with gut wounds who died slowly, their blood poisoned by their own shit, for nothing more than a fistful of coin. Was there a reason for that? The girls barely entering puberty who would show up at the Dream pregnant by some relatives, those poor assholes with missing body parts left to die by the side of the mine, did they serve a purpose? All of those, I ignored because they were mortals, and suffering and dying is what mortals do. Now, it''s coming back, all at once. All the pointless misery and senseless suffering. All the horror that can be blamed on nothing but fate. Was there a point to Ariane''s existence, to be snuffed like this, so cruelly? And she was not the only one. What about Penelope who retired seven years ago, only for her to lose her husband and children in a flood and hang herself afterwards? The Stevensons whose only child died of a strange and painful disease? Is there a point? At all? There is no God. If there is one, it is merciless beyond measure. I hate it. I hate everything. I hate being cheated by fate. I hate having no immortal soul. I hate the lies I told Papa and myself. Do I even have a right to call him father? I''m just some parasite who stole the lifeless husk that was left of his daughter after Master had his fun. Fuck. "Ariane, look at my hand, I will make it all go away." "Don''t you fucking dare." Annoying bitch. Did I ask you something? "Little one, it is not weakness to seek help in difficult times." "Would you erase your own thoughts because they are not convenient?" "I have." I lift my head in surprise at this admission. Her face is candid and open, and though I suspect it to be artifice, I am still appreciative of the effort. When she sees that I am paying attention, she continues. "Some knowledge will destroy the mind. But enough about me, am I correct in assuming that you have a bit of an identity crisis?" "And faith crisis, yes." "If you would refuse my magic, would you still take my advice?" "No, thank you." A flash of anger, gone in an instant. You are angry? Really? Who gives a shit? Not me and not the original Ariane, because she''s dead. What a fucking joke. My dad, no, Ariane''s dad, I lied to him. I truly am a monster wearing the face of his child. Just a thief born from an alien God''s perverse curiosity. So, Watcher, you enjoy watching your pet creature fuck, drink, and kill huh? You sick bastard. This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. God fucking dammit. Alright, enough, I need to calm down. Now is not the time to panic. I pinch the bridge of my nose and resist the urge to glance at the vampire star. Normally, it would fill my heart with calm, like coming home. Now, I just want that transcendental arsehole to get a comet up its cosmic arse or something. Since I am still facing the second most dangerous entity I have ever come across, I close my eyes and do the next best thing. In an instant, my mental fortress appears before me and I leave the bedroom at its heart to walk through its inner halls. Tortuous hallways and illusory rooms fade in the background as I walk to the entrance. I will never get lost here, this home is mine. I know the emplacement of each memento, each statue and each tree. When I reach the grand entrance, the double doors bang open as a reflection of my mood and the garden greets me in all its glory. The purple tendrils look more subdued today, almost quiescent. I cannot resist. I look up to the dark aster that I always considered an ally. It looks down and once more to the familiar split pupil and red sclera. Its unconditional acceptance fills my heart with peace. And grief. I died. She died. And now I''m here. I will deal with this. I just need a moment. I prepare to bask in the otherworldly light but something tugs at me. Several tendrils are insistently pointing in a direction. I follow and my gaze lands on a distant wall. There is something happening there. I draw nearer and look at the border of my mind. As usual, a forest of thorny roots and branches without end blocks anyone coming in, or at least it should. There is something there that doesn''t belong, moving quietly through the otherwise impregnable wall. I focus and see the strange thing. This place is me, and that thing is not. I become more aware of that part of my mind, I survey it and gauge it. I can feel the wrongness, but I cannot identify it properly. I sharpen my will to a point and inspect the wall strand by strand. This is me, this is me, this is me¡­ The anomaly moves back, trying to escape. This is not me. Those are not mine! Somebody is trying to¡­ I open my eyes to see Semiramis'' hand move back by a fraction of an inch. Our eyes meet. sea??h th§× n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. A single droplet of sweat pearls on her august temple. WEAKNESS. That thrice accursed donkey-shagged vixen tried something, probably some sort of mental-based Charm. The way she made me think this was part of me is the same trick I use to Charm someone through a magical protection. KILL. For one long second, tension reaches a paroxysm. She is weakened. I know it for sure. She has been casting for a full day probably without stopping, without sleeping, a spell of incredible might. She tried to pierce my mental defenses earlier through brute assault and then used a more indirect approach because dominating me was too costly. She is at the end of her rope. I think. I could take her. Or, she could forfeit the spell and turn that power against me to annihilate my form in a split second. Can I kill her before she can cast? I am far from certain of it. More importantly, she has kept Master at bay and that fits me just fine. I know if I meet him again, he will be able to order me around but I feel more and more like myself and right now, him being busy at the other side of the globe is perfectly agreeable. I don''t need him. I DON''T NEED ANYONE. But I do need her alive. Yes, that is right. I can''t deal with my pain right now. I need to get out of here alive because her death would not be to my advantage even if I were to somehow succeed. I check my mind for foreign influence and find nothing. It appears that it truly is my own conclusion. What now? Survival comes first, then I will find a way to come to terms with, well, everything. How do I do that? A trade? Let us test the water. "By the way, I would like to thank you for your hospitality queen Semiramis. You honor me." She smiles graciously and with perfect ease, assumes another enchanting pose. I know for sure those are all lies and masks, but I cannot help but envy her appearance. I used to be one of the prettier ladies around, or at least human Ariane used to be, but I now realize that I am an ugly duckling compared to her. King Ninos did not stand a chance, and neither would Jimena. She resumes the conversation as if attempting to bend me to her will was just a passing fancy. "It is my pleasure. It has been so long since I had a, shall we say, proper guest. I am afraid that my pursuit is a lonely one, and this is truly a pleasant distraction. Spell completion will occur on the summer solstice, tomorrow, at midnight. You should stay to see it." Oh, she wants to play. Good. We are like two wild cats arguing over the remains of a mouse. Neither of us is willing to get hurt for it. We cannot afford to. She cannot risk letting me go until she is done, this is clear enough. I am fine with that, though I need to guarantee my safety while I am here. There is also the matter of three nights being my limit for going without blood. "I would be delighted to, but I would not like to impose for so long." I am pretty sure that eternal life means she is a magical being. I can reasonably trust hospitality if she offers it. "Of course, you are welcome to spend the night here." "And the day?" Once more, I catch a small expression of annoyance. Did she really plan on letting me roast under the sunlight? Unbelievable. "Yes, yes," she adds as she waves a hand dismissively, "you will be protected until the spell is done, then you can be on your way. You have my word." That went better than I expected. I just need to confirm one more thing. "Thank you so much, why I know that you value your privacy, and I am privileged to be in your company tonight." "Indeed. I do not need to tell you that this has to remain our little secret. I hope you understand." "It is as if you read my mind. Of course, I swear never to mention this meeting to anyone but you." The oath takes me like someone grabbing my heart from the inside. With this, our deal is complete. She will have to protect me and stay out of my head till the spell is complete, then we both go on our way and I will not speak of this. Semiramis delicately refills our cups. The strange infusion is still piping hot and as tasty as ever. I decide to ask more of her, since we are stuck here anyway. "You asked about Master. Do I understand that you do not wish your presence to be known by him?" "Indeed not. We are at odds, him and I. While I wish to attain divinity through magical means, he has a much more direct route offered to him." "You?" She nods, the gesture strangely attractive. "You are correct. My essence changed to that of an immortal being and his blood is that of the conquerors. Should he devour me, I believe he would be truly eternal. I, of course, object." "He would do this to his own mother?" Her chuckle this time is slightly bitter. "Nirari no longer cares about this attachment, not after two thousand years, and especially not after what we have done to each other. You see, once he showed interest in tracking me, I had to destroy the means by which he could do so. I destroyed his kingdom." "What?!" "I could not leave him the tools to chase me effectively." This isn''t what I meant at all. She can destroy a kingdom? By the Watcher! "Why did you not just stop him? Surely, someone with your magical skills could have done it?" The queen raises brows in surprise and for one moment she looks incredibly haughty. I almost expect her to order hidden royal guards to throw me to the crocodiles. Just like everything else, she is incredible while doing so. I am a bit jealous. Still, she replies. "You do not mince your words. Very well, I will tell you what you seek. I did not kill him, because he was what was left of my son. I could not harm him in any way. I even helped him at first, as much as I could. I taught him all I knew at the time of magic, which he had previously neglected in favor of statecraft. It no longer matters now. He can no longer be opposed." "What do you mean? Is it because he devoured too many powerful foes?" "He would be mighty but not invincible. No, the crux of the matter is that there are two things that make him untouchable. The first is my mistake. In the year eleven forty-two of your calendar, Nirari tracked down the dragon on the desertic shore of Erythrea. There, he faced it in battle, defeated it, and consumed it." "What!?" "I should have seen it coming, in retrospect, but I underestimated him. Our world only ever had the one, though it was apparently weakened by our plane''s scarce magic. Dragons are¡­ different from any other planar beings. They are magic made flesh. By draining one, he obtained enough magical strength to overcome mine with sheer brute force. I can no longer face him directly." "I¡­ Wow." Dragons? Magical duels? I was just trying to survive until I get proof that I was a city master, and now I am thrown in some sort of fairy tale? With no consideration for my distress, the Queen continues. "And the second is his right arm. Ah, Ariane, unless he has gone to ground to create a new offspring, there are now three of his spawn that still walk the earth." Surely, I misheard. "Three?" "Yes. Svyatoslav in Russia, you, and a last one. The only spawn he kept and raised himself." "I did not see him at the fortress." "You would not, he is seldom involved in diplomacy. Child, let me tell you of Malakim." She leans forward once more, showing just enough golden skin to be distracting even to me. Her voice shifts into that of a story-teller. Where before I could feel sand and sun, now there is only darkness, blood and the clangs of battle, and her tone is as ominous as her words. "Malakim is hatred incarnate. It is said in those circles that know of him, that he was born from a corpse, that he was reared by a Scythian witch who laced her milk with man''s blood and the poison of snakes. It is said that he killed his first victim when he was seven. It is said that in his first battle, he slaughtered both sides until only he was left standing. It could all be true. Nirari found him in the middle of bloodshed, as was his wont, slaughtering Turks for the Holy League. He was impressed, captured Malakim and turned him quickly." She stops her tale to take a sip of tea. Her next glance to me is wary and she speaks more intimately, as if she were afraid we could be overheard. "You have known your master''s touch. All of the spawns who were successfully interrogated speak of the same treatment. Oh, I see doubt in your eye. Yes, even the men. He debases and breaks them too. He breaks everyone. Except for Malakim. His anger protected his mind, just as it torments him endlessly, so that even in the face of death he would not relent. Your Master threatened a clan with that story and when his demands were rejected, he unleashed his new servant''s blood-crazed form on a small island of the Aegean, exterminating its entire population. When the usual knight squad came to slay the errant spawn, Malakim managed to escape on their boat, killing one. "I need you to understand that it is, and remains, a unique achievement. It had never happened before in history, and did not occur again ever since. The incident was even kept under wraps to avoid a loss of face and faith in the Knight order. Having witnessed his tool''s extraordinary abilities, Nirari took him under his wing and taught him more, then by means unknown, obtained his loyalty. He encased his spawn''s heart and collar in armor made of an otherworldly metal that could keep shape in the heart of a volcano and uses him sometimes as messenger, sometimes as a taskmaster but more often than not, as an executor. Malakim has been his mouth, his shadow and his fist. And wherever he goes, he leaves few survivors. "Perhaps you do not yet understand why he is such an obstacle. With regard to that man, it is not martial prowess or intellect that define him, although he has those aplenty. What defines Malakim is his sheer, stubborn hatred. He was flayed alive, dismembered and castrated. He was whipped until he was but a slab of raw meat, he was pierced by serrated arrows, he was boiled and burnt. Still, he would come after his foes, ever more ferocious. He cannot be cowed, dominated, or reasoned with. His rage flows pure and unending and no amount of wounds or torture can stop him whenever he is set on a path of destruction. He never relents, he never gives up, until he has received his due. Mental magic has no hold on him, for to peer into his mind is to call madness itself. He smashes through wards and endures their punishments with careless abandon. He went a week without drinking as a Courtier to hunt down a foe. The monster''s focus is impossibly sharp, and its fuel is loathing for all of creation, including himself. No one has ever managed to inflict a lethal wound on him, and many have tried. He always gets back up and he never forfeits. "That is what anyone would have to face to stop the Progenitor of the Devourers, and so far, none have found a way to overcome those odds. Have you seen your Master fight?" "Only once." "Know that he is at his most dangerous when truly challenged, for then he will use his full power. You will know it when he takes out his soul weapon, a glaive he named Heartseeker." I wish I could make fun of this tacky name, but the memory of Master''s hand through a lord''s chest is still vivid in my memory. I am also surprised, as I do not remember ever watching him wielding a blade. "I only saw him use his hands and some spells." "Then you have not seen him fight, you have merely seen him play." By the Watcher, truly this world is vast. My own struggles and achievements seem so petty by comparison, that I feel like a child boasting the sale of a bucket of apples to a British spice trader. I look briefly to the eye in the sky. Why did you want me to see this? My perspective changes once more, with straight lines being strangely curved and distance becoming meaningless. The Watcher''s pupil is now intimately close. It whispers, with a roar that deafens me, a very specific feeling. When I was a kid, I played by myself a lot due to there being no one close in age. It was not too hard, as I had an entire court of bears and puppets lovingly provided by my father. One day, I was playing with a tea set I had made from broken clay pots and realized I needed some actual water to drink. I picked up a jar, hoping to fill it with water. I walked back from the garden into our house, through the main hall and to the back. I noticed that the door to the fumoir was opened and peered in. Papa was playing cards with three men from town. On the table between them, there was a small pile of money. I count several whole dollars. It was more than I had received in allowances and gifts in my life up to that point. I stared at the pot in my hands and realized what adult games were, and for the first time in my life, felt inadequate. This is what the Watcher is showing me. This world is a vast and dangerous place, an eternal playground where powers fight for the resources, lives and souls of its inhabitants, and the more one knows and the deeper they go, and the deadlier the game gets. This is the abyss. The ultimate game. Master and his mother are locked in a millennia-long race for godhood and whoever wins, we may all lose. If Master succeeds, he will Devour her and then, with her no longer stopping his rise to power, he may just take over the world. Who would stop him? Who would even know there was someone to stop? Even the order of Gabriel, so effective against our kind, may not have a way to slay him for good. Even if they managed it, the devastation could be unheard of. If she wins, who knows what she may do with her magic? Would she change the fabric of reality until we match Sinead''s land in fluidity, then announce herself as its sovereign? This is what truly is at stake, and what I have been shown. I do not know why. Compared to those old monsters, I am but a flea. Those two decades spent consolidating power and training are but a drop in the ocean that separates us. Why are you showing me this, Watcher? Will you also show the games of kings to a beggar? Do you not know that the nail that stands out gets hammered down? I can''t get involved in this. Even if the world should burn because of everyone''s indifference, I will not be the one to save it anyway. I am too weak. Semiramis does not mind the silence, so I raise my eyes and glance once more into the curious one. Is this what you want? To give me perspective? It does not answer, I only get the general sense of contentment he shares since I gave him the Key. I need to remember that the Watcher is barely sapient by our standards. There might be no reason at all. There might be a reason, but he might not understand the circumstances. A toddler could gather all its pet ants in a single spot without realizing that they are in the middle of a fight to the death. I need to get out of here in one piece and at the very least be legally alive. World ending threats will have to wait. Sorry! "You are thoughtful, and this is a surprise for me. I knew that Svyatoslav was sane, of course. He could not have achieved so much, nor garnered the respect of those stuck-up Vityazi vampires if he were not. I had, however, assumed he was an exception. Say, you have seen my son recently. Yes?" It appears that Semiramis is ambivalent. On one hand, she assures me that human Ariane is dead, on the other hand she calls Nirari her son. I find myself sharing her feelings in this matter. I still cannot accept that I am not her, at least not fully. I don''t want to think about this right now. I decide to continue talking with her. "Yes, I have." "Could you tell me about it? I haven''t seen him in person for so long." For one moment, I feel anger bubbling inside me. What does she want me to say? That he does not bind his victims so that they always feel like they can struggle and escape? Before I can say anything else, the cold nature of my mind reasserts itself as fury is replaced by calculations. It is a testament to my distress that the idea of having no soul can torment me for so long. "I can, and while I do so, would you allow me to do something?" "What is it?" she answers guardedly. "I would like to draw you." This time, her surprise shows. Is it because of exhaustion or because she feels safe now that our bargain is struck, I do not know, but her expressions feel more natural. With an amused smirk, she points at a corner of the room where a small stand holds supplies. I do not remark that there was nothing there a moment ago. I just stand up, pick the provided tools and start working on different views and expressions of her. While I do so, I relate what I saw of him in the vampire fortress, then in dreams. She does not comment, only asks questions, then starts mentioning anecdotes of her life as a teenager an eternity ago. Semiramis is a smooth teller and her stories are extraordinary. Her tales speak of vengeance and plans within plans. After a while, they all blur together as I draw her smiling, defiant, menacing or nonchalant. I expand to drawing her full body, then details until the task absorbs me completely. In this simple occupation, I finally find the peace that I had previously failed to achieve. Soon, dawn approaches and the queen walks me to guest quarters that I am quite sure were not there when I arrived. As she turns around to return to her spell, I come to a great realization that soothes my heart. Semiramis may be more skilled, wise, and powerful than me. Her beauty might be legend and her grace unmatched, but no matter what, and for all of eternity, I will always have the better ass. Chapter 60 - 59. Omen of the end. This night, I wake up to a strange ceiling. Vampire minds are instantly clear and I am spared the instinctive panic of one who comes to, in an unexpected place. Instead, I decide to take stock. The guest quarters are a set of two rooms and a bath, all in beige rocks, silk and goose feathers. The mix of both spartan and luxurious is peculiar, and I suppose this should be close to Persian aesthetics, though I could be wrong. There is even a basket of fruits, mundane ones this time. The antechamber doubles as a social space and its emptiness turns it from welcoming to ominous. There is not even a lamp right now. I take a deep breath to settle myself. Yesterday was taxing. I don''t really care about the incredible revelations I heard, although now I have further questions. It was taxing because I realized what I really am. Not some cursed human, but a new entity built from a corpse and the essence of an alien being. I find that hard to digest. I feel degraded. More importantly, I feel like I lied to myself... and to Ariane''s father. Or is it Papa? I have not decided yet. He helped and protected me after I escaped from the Lancaster arena. He gave me the Talleyrand rifle. He kept in touch via letters until I left for Marquette, then I had Isaac notify him that I had to go into hiding. I want to believe that he really cared, and so did I. We were there for each other when it counted. That was not a lie. And yet¡­ Bah, enough of this. I will not get my mind off this loop any time soon and I already told myself I had to get away from here first. I should go see my host, after all, midnight is close with summer nights only lasting a bit over nine hours. I sniff my skin. Vampires don''t exactly smell bad, but we do have a scent and I have it now. I must now face a decision. Do I take the time to clean myself up or do I ask questions to the incredibly knowledgeable three millennia old archmage who created our race? Let me just brush my hair. Two minutes later, I emerge from the labyrinth of corridors and alleys onto the circle where Queen Semiramis waits. It appears that the facility is considerably larger than what this mound should be able to contain, which I would find stupefying any other day. Now, a giant walking broomstick could walk out of the ground to launder my dress and I would not even bat an eye. It has been that kind of week. Like yesterday, she sits at the table with a pot of mysterious tea, clad in toga the color of sand that manages to show her generous figure without being vulgar. In the background, the enthralled people are still dancing around, looking worse for wear. They now move with manic passion and those who stumble out collapse immediately. The queen looks exhausted. Dark pockets line her eyes and her face is tight. She blinks in a way that speaks of headache as soon as she sees me. If it were me, I would look like death warmed over. The queen, though, looks delicate and vulnerable. She is a tender rose that needs to be protected, never mind the thorns. And she does it so effortlessly too. "Good evening Ariane. Come, join me. Have you slept well?" "Better than you apparently." She snorts and by that I mean, she pushes air through her regal nose in a way that makes me feel that I am intimate with a great personage. Her alto voice is rougher than yesterday and it has a bite. "I forgot how irreverent kingless people can be. I almost missed it. Now tell me, would you care for a talk? The grand spell is easy to channel but I cannot move from here, and I could really use a distraction from a proper conversationalist." I almost smile at the offhand compliment. She has the devil''s silver tongue, truly, and I am more than happy to oblige. I also need distraction. It is growing now, more and more. The Thirst. It has been three days. For a moment I consider asking for her essence but I reconsider. She knows what our bloodline is capable of and if I ask, she may consider me a threat. Or rude. Not much difference as far as her family is concerned. I would rather have answers to some pressing questions, even if the first one is still risky. "May I ask you about that spell you weave?" Once more she looks like a teacher who finds her student amusing. "This is the second question I expected you to ask, after the traditional ''who are you''. Alas, I would prefer not to reveal its purpose. Just know that it is no danger to you, at least not directly." "Am I correct in assuming that it will change the world?" This time she looks pleased. "Only a small part of it, the one that matters to me. But enough of this. Ask more and take my thoughts off this growing migraine." "Right. First question, I am unable to cast a spell, but I was told that it could change?" She nods in approval. "Aah, impatient to dabble in the mystic arts, are we? Yes. If you survive long enough to become a master yourself, you will be allowed to touch your own essence. It will be your fuel for casting spells, just like human mages use theirs. Vampires have a knack for blood magic and I sense some potential in you, though it would not have awakened inside your mortal self." "Wait, do you mean that my family has mages?" "Perhaps. Many mortals have traces of power, but in this realm they will rarely manifest. Such was the case for you." Again, without paying attention, she referred to my human self as me. I decide to let it go for now. "Any advice on how to get started?" "When the time comes, do not discard mortal teachers. They retain the drive and intuition that comes with their nature. For the same reason, do not despair when you progress slowly. It is inevitable, just as they will die of old age eventually." "Eventually?" "Yes, mages of great power age more slowly. Most only reach a stage where it matters when they are already old. Beware a youthful archmage. They are the most gifted." I remember Belinda and realize that she may have been slightly older than I thought. Not that it matters now. "Anything else?" "Not specifically. Just follow your instincts when it comes to blood magic and you will do fine." "Thank you. Well, if it''s fine, I had questions concerning bloodlines. If I understand correctly, all the Progenitors come from elixirs you brewed?" "Yes, and I may just do so again. I follow the Watcher''s whims on this matter. Thankfully, it happens less than once a century on average." "Master mentioned that there are fourteen bloodlines he knows of. Are there more?" "Maybe. Why don''t you tell me those you have met, and I will tell you of them." More than fourteen bloodlines?! So much to DEVOUR. Alright, calm down. Answers, focus on answers. Let''s start chronologically. "The Lancaster." "Ah yes, Charmers one and all. They became so talented at moving masses during the war of the roses that their progenitor was slain by a once-in-history alliance of mages, brothers of the Order of Gabriel and even some vampires. It was an entertaining time." "Ahem. Right. The... the Cadiz?" "They can focus on a task with unerring concentration. It makes them particularly good duelists and helps with practising a craft. Their tunnel vision has hurt them in the past, however. Their Progenitor is gone. He is one of the few to ever cross a portal to another world. I still do not know how he managed it, why, and where he ended up. He was quite old as well, as he drank the elixir in the ninth century of your era." "Wow. Right. Next, the Roland?" "Incredible willpower, though it makes them quite stubborn. They date back to the end of your eighth century and their Progenitor was changed quite close to the Cadiz one, geographically speaking. It was an interesting time for Europe, to be sure. I had to move more often in those times. Their Progenitor is currently in deep slumber. The weight of centuries lies heavy on the mind of the truly old ones. They need to rest for years, on occasion." I remember that Master used his unplanned shipwreck to nap at the bottom of the Atlantic, proof that he is not immune. "How about the Ekon?" "A curious bunch, always eager to experience new things. You know of their book, the one that recollects every new and unique experience?" "My friend mentioned it, yes." "The greatest entry of all was made by Ekon himself. He died to experience the sun, and sent his impressions to a telepath on the very moment of his demise." Huh. Nami already mentioned it, I think. That does not suprise me coming from those madmen. Moving on. "I met a Natalis spawn, he had turned rogue." Her face scrunches in mild disapproval, the most intense emotion she has displayed so far tonight. "Their stupid strength is legendary. It can be an incredible boon, it is just a shame that they rarely have the intellect to match. I don''t understand why they do not recruit someone smart and strong, it is not like those people do not exist. Bah. Natalis himself disappeared. I personally think he got lost or drunk and the sun caught him. I do not know what the Watcher sees in them." Entertainment, probably. "I also met a member of the Rosenthal clan¡­" Semiramis raises her eyes in exasperation. Never mind the Natalis, apparently it is the quiet and peaceful defenders of knowledge who have drawn her ire. "Those bores! How many times must I say no before they understand that I do not wish to be disturbed with their ceaseless questions? I swear, every decade some fresh-faced nincompoop thinks he found the holy Grail that will lure me away from my research. The fools! I would have razed their headquarters to the ground if they were not so useful. And that old bat of a progenitor is simply insufferable." I witness the explosion of temper with some trepidation. A sore spot, it seems. Either Isaac''s progenitor is incredibly annoying, or Semiramis'' control is slipping. Better distract her. "There are no other clan I can think of right now." "Really," she answers impatiently, "you have never heard of Constantine?" What? "The Speaker for the Accords, the nominal head of vampires in North America?!" "The very same. Am I correct in assuming that you have never met?" "You are." "That is a shame, for Constantine is fairly young as far as progenitors go, and I am unsure as to what his powers are. He has not sired any spawn yet." "Well, hm, good luck finding out?" The queen frowns, perhaps trying to decide if I insulted her or not. I really need to keep her talking. "Your majesty, how about other bloodlines?" She inclines her head by a fraction, probably to show that she was not duped by my feeble attempt at distracting her. She still obliges. "There is the Amaretta clan. They are seers and are interested in the future, perhaps a bit too much. You can recognize them by the veil they always wear." One of the knight squad members was an Amaretta then. "Amaretta is active, but she spends all her time contemplating and gazing into the future. Not an action person, that one. The next are the Dvor. The second oldest clan after yours. They have land-based mentality and powers, and all their members are part of Eneru. Do you know the main vampire alliances?" This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. "Eneru is about ruling fairly, the Masks influence things from the shadows and the Brotherhood is about personal pursuits, if I remember correctly." "Aptly summarized. The Dvor progenitor is currently slumbering away in the heart of his fortress, somewhere in North Africa. Then there is the Erenwald clan. They are the only vampires animals do not fear. They wield some strange magic, primal and dangerous." Ogotai was an Erenwald! I need to check if I can approach animals again. In front of me, Semiramis chuckles with such a demeaning air that I feel like a child. "Their progenitor turned into a tree. A tree! Can you believe it? Preposterous. In any case, the next are the Hastings and they are an interesting lot. They are physically weaker than all other houses, but the benefits are worth it, in my opinion. They can eat and digest human food, and stand the rays of the sun! The current head of the Masks is one of them and Lady Hastings fell for a human. They eloped. They live in a small cottage in the back end of Derbyshire." "What? How? Can''t he tell?" "She would just appear as a sickly woman who doesn''t go out much. I was told there is no shortage of those in England. I am sure she has ways of finding sustenance." "Isn''t she more vulnerable living that way?" "Few know of what I tell you, and fewer still would attempt to take advantage. Why risk the fury of someone who can sway the governments of the most powerful nations on earth when she voluntarily removed herself from the chessboard? It would be folly." "I see¡­ Do you think¡­" "You will never gain sun immunity like them, but perhaps it would allow you to wake earlier." I had felt hope for a moment here. So nice of her to squash it before it can grow. Yes, so nice. "Oh, do not make that face Ariane, it does not become one who has survived so much." "There is a lot for me to process. You can hardly blame me for feeling out of sorts." "Of course, now who is next on the blood-sucking list, hmm? Ah, only two. Let us start with the Kalinin. They are mostly based around Russia and most of your Eastern sibling''s allies come from their rank. It is said that they can wield holy equipment, so long as their cause is just." "Are you sure? This feels¡­ impossible." "Yes, they fight for this world even if they are not of it. It is closely linked to belief I suppose. Their Progenitor is dead by the way. He was slain and devoured by your Master." "I do not understand why people still come after him knowing all of this." "He would be more dissuasive if he were in the habit of leaving survivors, that is true. The last line is the Vanheim. They are a wild card and I do not know myself who their progenitor was. Their powers are random and surprising. A bit of chaos in the game, if you will. They are rare and mostly solitary, which makes them mostly wanderers. And with this, I believe we have addressed your question entirely. It has been so long since I gave a lecture. I was afraid of losing my touch." "Thank you for your answers, your majesty." "You are welcome, young one. I must interrupt you, unfortunately. We are reaching a crucial part of the spell, and I will need to focus entirely on it. Do enjoy the show, for you will never see its like again." Without further ado, she stands up and I mimic her out of politeness, only to realize that I am standing outside of the circle. I note in passing that space really isn''t behaving around here but soon all other thoughts disappear in the background before the incredible show. I have my back to the entrance, and to my front and left, the overhang dips down to reveal the vale where her thralls are dancing. As I watch, the few tired dancers suddenly burst into motion, soon joined by frenetic companions. Concentric circles of men and women in mismatched clothes move with insane fervor, their clear exhaustion a sharp contrast with garish clothes and orgasmic faces. The mad waltz grows to a crescendo and from here I can see the sickly skin tones and the poisonous pleasure they have fallen prey to as they twist and jump beyond what their weakened frames can bear. She is killing them. The impact of their feet on the soil echoes with their heartbeats in a hypnotic music that makes me want to join them and drain them in equal measure. They scream in joy as the life is torn from their bodies, pooling visibly in the circle under their tormentor until the construct glows a vivid indigo. I have no idea how powerful a spell must be so that its fuel is visible with the naked eye, and then I find out. The mortals outside scream all at once and Semiramis drops the barrier separating her glyph from the world. Reality sobs. My mind blanks completely. Something incredible pulses once, as if the planet itself had a heart. I am physically compressed by the power unleashed and for one moment, I believe I''m going to die. When I can think again, I need to take a few steps back. A double helix of pure power emerges from the ground to the sky above in great waves. The noise is deafening, and the heat and aura emanating from the woven strands force me to grit my teeth. Dark blood drips from my nose, eyes and ears but I cannot look away from the incredible scene. The queen herself floats above the ground with her arms spread wide. She speaks and I scream. We all scream. Her voice burns my mind with images of stabilized pathways and aligned spheres, concepts I cannot comprehend. Only my inability to comply saves my spirit from total destruction. Her command lasts for but a few instants, or for an eternity, I cannot tell. After she is done, colors bleed into each other like spilled dye until the spell overhead explodes. Another pulse bends the word again, in the other direction. I cannot see. I press my hands to my ears but I cannot feel. Even my instincts are silent. Darkness. I am in darkness. All my senses are gone. Am I¡­ dead? I reach into my mental fortress and find the comforting surroundings of the master bedroom intact. Not dead then, probably. sea??h th§× N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. I return to reality to find that I can finally see. Technically, I only see shapes but at least there is some progress. As my view improves, my ears pop and now I can hear a high pitch whistle. After that I feel stone under me. It takes a few more seconds before I cough a gobbet of blood and pass a shaky hand before my face to clear out the dark blood covering it. I can see now. Semiramis is on her knees, in the middle of her circle now black and charred beyond recognition. She looks drained, weak, but there is a smile of triumph on her face as she looks in front of her. BARGAIN COMPLETED, KILL. I held until the spell was done, as promised. If I were to strike her now¡­ Before I can decide anything, I find myself riveted by yet another display of impossibility. The construct was cast, yes, but its result is only now showing itself, and what a result it is. In the heart of the vale, human forms are strewn around like broken puppets. Some of them move weakly while a majority are clearly dead. At the center of the first circle of now deceased dancers, the world is broken. It is as if someone had brought a knife to a painting. In the background, we are still in Illinois. In the foreground, like seen through cracks in an opaque window, an endless desert of gray and pink stone spreads as far as the eye can see. Jagged spikes emerge from the ground under a sky of dusty blue while pale lichen clings to life under some round rocks. The sun bleeds an angry red, casting strange shadows on our side''s grass. For a second, I fear I would disintegrate under the waning light but nothing happens. The foreign star''s rays leave my flesh alone. Fascinated by this glimpse of another world, I almost miss the patter of heavy appendages on sandy ground and so I am surprised when something comes into view. There is life there, and it is terrifying. A herd of strange creatures trots forward from behind a larger shard of stone. A colder part of me reflects that they probably belong to the same species but with different purposes, like ants perhaps, or wasps. The vampire side reflects that those are clearly predators, COMPETITION, while the purely Ariane part can only think one thing. What in the seven circles of hell is that unholy pile of abomination? What sick god gave birth to those horrors? There are three types of beings. The first is the smallest and more numerous. They hover above their kin like a malevolent swarm. Dragonfly wings bat the air with a sinister hum, with two atrophied limbs tugged under a red lean body as large as a raccoon. Two more limbs ending in sharp claws encircle a triangular head with a smattering of eyes. They dart back and forth looking for the Watcher knows what. The second kind is clearly made of outriders. I spot about two dozen of them the size of small poneys, with six limbs ending in talons. They are as red as their brethren, but their face has only two eyes and a pair of pincers. And above them all dominates a horror I never thought could exist. The beast is as large as a small barn. Its six massive limbs support a body with a larger back end disturbingly insectoid in nature, while its face simply does not exist. Instead, the creature sports a set of tentacles equipped with bony protrusions facing inward. Whoever gets caught by this is not getting out, I believe. It turns towards me and samples the air with a long pink tongue. Its mouth is like a gate into the abyss. There is a sound like broken bones being set back and one of the breaks in reality snaps close. Besides a quickly fading blur, it is as if there had never been anything. The bigger thing sniffs the air once more then bellows. The sound is absolutely atrocious. The closest analogy I can find is a mix between shredding steel, a bobcat being skinned alive and a woman giving birth. I shudder in disgust. And to think I had to go to a hellish landscape to find a serious contender to the squeals of flaming pigs as the worst sound ever made. The abominable creature moves closer to the breach, surrounded by its unholy brood. I fight my body to force myself to move. I manage to close two fists and lift my chest off the ground but my legs are still unresponsive and I am growing Thirsty. Come on, get up. It passes its maw through the breach and samples the air again. The swarm around it grows agitated. Please no. The breach is too small for it, right? Right? One more break snaps back to normal and the warning spurs the monster forward. The others follow it through the break as it gingerly tests the grass with a hesitant stumpy leg. When nothing occurs, it gurgles and its followers fall on the defenseless mages in an orgy of blood and violence. The few surviving men and women can do nothing but slowly crawl away as fliers and outriders slaughter and devour them alive. In the middle of the grisly melee, the larger creature grabs corpse after corpse and makes them disappear in the abyss of its gullet with a horrific gurgle. A regal voice distracts me, easily covering the sounds of the feast. "That would be a Merghol mana hound pack. I learnt of them in a long lost tome that fell through the cracks of the world. They are artificial creatures designed to hunt and kill mages, used in that dying world you saw." She sounds conversational, as if we were two ladies attending an event. Those who allowed her to come this far are being devoured as they still draw breath and she does not care in the slightest. They were just tools for her, and she sacrificed them without hesitation. Not even cattle would receive this treatment. I am a vampire. I have little sympathy for most mortals but tonight she is the real monster. There is not a trace of empathy in the woman before me and even if her heart still beats, it is cold. "Of course," continues the queen, "there is little left here to sate their hunger for magic. Once they are done with the meagre fare, they will hunt the next mage with extreme prejudice." She stares down at me with a triumphant smirk. "The spell is done, and we are now in a stable alignment with our closest neighboring spheres. You just witnessed a revolution in magic, little one, I hope you appreciated the show. As promised, you are free to go. I would hurry if I were you." I do not even contemplate going after her now that she has nothing else to focus on. Even in her exhausted state she could surely turn me inside out with a flick of her finger. Wait, what does she mean I should hurry? I am no mage. Unless¡­ The safe house is only an hour away from here, at a slow pace, surely they would not¡­ The biggest creature samples the air and its revolting snout turns West. Ah, please no. With one last grunt the thing goes forth, followed by its menagerie. The swarm of fliers spreads out. Merritt. All my followers¡­ No, I won''t let them die. I stand up, turn to Semiramis'' amused figure and bow politely one last time. "I shall take my leave, your majesty." "See that you do. For what it is worth, I had a pleasant time in your company. Until we meet again, little princess." I turn around and run, past the studies and the private apartments, past the bedrooms and laboratory. During this, I hear the chime-like chuckle of the immortal queen, glacial and merciless. There are no unexpected space shenanigans and I find myself outside in record time, I whistle for Metis and she rides past as I grab for her. Hold on, she was waiting outside all this time¡­ Poor thing, I hope she did not suffer from deprivation too much¡­ A flash of pink attracts my gaze and I realize that the galloping equine is casually munching on somebody''s hairy forearm. Ah well, she can take care of herself. Now that I am outside of the cave, I realize that Merritt set up a beacon and is probably looking for me. Such brazen display of magic is unusual, especially because she must have sensed the spell. It is not like her to be so careless¡­ I hope I am not too late. I angle Metis parallel to the path of the horrid creature and its nightmarish brood, leaving it to my right, and we soon gain on them. The Merghol creatures do not appear to be that fast, perhaps they make up for it in stamina¡­ And I spoke too fast. An outrider jumps from an overhang to block the narrow valley we find ourselves in. The fliers to spot and harry. The outriders to catch and corner. The behemoth to crush resistance. They are truly well designed, and this is before I know of whatever tool they have against magic. I spur Metis forward. Not with actual spurs mind you, I am not suicidal. The proud warhorse sprints forward with a defiant neigh and I grab my spear from my saddle. When we are but half a second away from the ready beast, another one jumps at us from above. I stab up and push into its body then angle the shaft to the left, using its own momentum to smash it against a rock. It yelps in pain and rage. I remove the spear with a gush of red ichor, aiming forward, for nothing. Metis snorts and as the other hunter jumps at her, she lifts herself on her hind legs and smashes down. I hear broken bones and screeches of pain, then silence as we leave its mangled form behind. She barely slowed at all. "Well done!" I say, and pat her neck. Unfortunately, our triumph is short lived. More howls sound from behind us and the first fliers catch up easily. They hover around us, diving in on occasion to try to harry her flank. I pierce the first creature in the head and find it surprisingly hard. Hits to the body fair better. As their number increases, I switch to just damaging the wings to disable them instead of killing them outright. After half a dozen fall, the rest move to a safer distance but they do not leave. I now regret bringing nothing but the spear, and I have no way to warn Merritt and the others¡­ Time will be short. Metis and I soon overtake the small horde which we still hear behind our back. We tread through narrow valleys and escarpments at breakneck speed, leaving clouds of dust and broken needles in our path. I would be completely lost were it not for the beacon. I do not understand how Metis always finds the easiest path forward either, but I count myself lucky. Our window will be short. The safe house is located on top a forested hill, hidden from view by a dense patch of pines. It is a simple one-story edifice of logs half-buried into the ground. Stores of powder and weapon racks would allow defenders to repel a vigorous assault, and a small cellar acts as a last ditch protection against this place''s most obvious weakness: fire. The problem here is that camouflage remains the most serious defense of this place, and this protection was thrown to the winds the moment Merritt announced her presence to anyone with a hint of magic. I slow down Metis to a trot as we make our way to the ring of tall pines and whistle when I come in view of the inner clearing. I cut my signal short out of surprise. In a single day, the unassuming bunker was turned into a defensible position by the apparent determination of Merritt''s group. A full barricade of sharp spikes surrounds the structure and from here I can see the tip of hats and bayonets. Torches on sconces light the entire perimeter, giving even mortals a clear visibility. "It''s her!" yells a familiar voice. I approach and realize that quite a group has assembled here. My usual odd squad foot soldiers number around ten now, and they have joined with Merritt, John, and Nami. This is all well and good but we cannot stay here. "Gather up, we''re leaving. There are monsters coming and they are after mages. Merritt, hop on your horse we will need to drive them away from the main group then break off." "What monsters are we talking about exactly?" asks Nami with a frustrated voice. "They''re called mana hounds but I don''t know what they can do. No one has faced them on earth yet." "What did you just say?" she answers with surprise. "It''s a long story, and¡­" "Are you sure nobody has faced one before?" she asks with a widening, insane smile, "No one ever? We would be the first?" Oh. Oh no. Chapter 61 - 60. Big Game Hunting All the remaining mortals, a dozen people including Meritt, gather around us to witness our untimely argument. I frown at Nami''s display. Our arrangement is clear, she may be my elder and a Master but as long as the year of service is not ended, I remain in charge. This has worked so far in part due to my lax approach to ''service'' and our friendly relationship. That is why I did not expect insubordination from her, not at this time. I hiss softly, baring my fangs to her alone. "You said those monsters hunted mages?" asks Merritt with a hint of worry. I turn my attention away from Nami who only seems amused by my display. I''ll show her¡­ later. Focus, Ari. Ignore the THIRST. "Yes. Do not use spells. You will be fine, we will ride on Metis and¡­" "What happens if I do run? Will they stop at some point? Before sunrise? If they lose us will they go for the nearest mage after me?" "I don''t know¡­ If you run¡­" "What if they go after my kids?" Ah. Yes, her children. They already have an aura, even though they cannot use it yet. Merritt realizes that I know very little about the beasts when I do not reply. "What if they rampage through the countryside unchecked? Can they reproduce?" David King, whom I bought and released and who joined the squad comes forth as well. "Miss Lethe, we know you and Naminata try to purge the world from evil despite your curse. We will help you on this and, God willing, we will end this scourge before it can cause harm to the population." The other members of the squad nod in approval, white, black and native united in purpose around God apparently. When did that happen? Did I create a new order of Gabriel? An order of Ariane, so to speak? In the background, John''s simple smile is unerring. If I say we leave, he is the only one who will obey without complaint. Mistaking my intention, he frowns in an attempt to show he is serious. The ghastly result could send a prison warden running. "I shoot for you miss Lethe!" he adds while waving around the heavily modified wolf slayer. The ominous crossbow looks like a normal-sized weapon in his hands, meaning it would be otherwise mounted as a fixed piece of artillery on some castle wall. I sigh in resignation. I have been outvoted. Me, the supposed vampire master of Marquette. Ah well. I pat Metis, dismount and jump over the barricade and pass between the group to the armoury below, adding as I go: "Fair enough then, I''ll get changed, keep your eyes peeled for flying horrors and breaking trees." I rush into the main room currently covered in sleeping bags and personal effects, to a corner where my own gear lays. I change into my most heavily armoured gown, with an enchanted heart protector and add a knife belt, two pistols, and a long dagger made after Jimena''s gift but without the enchantments. I also pick up my spear, my rifle, and a mining powder charge which I place in a bag at my back. A knock on the door makes me look up just as I am done loading and priming the last firearm. "Come in." John enters and closes the door behind him with measured movements, just as I told him to do after he broke too many pieces of furniture back in the Dream. He looks at me with shyness so I ask. "What is it, John?" "Miz Nami said you were too thirsty. She said you need a bit of blood. I want to help." I consider. They are both right, of course, but I have always considered John to be in the list of people I would not drink from. According to my own set of rules, I cannot take the blood from people I am currently cooperating with, supplicants before the deal and children. I hesitate. Is an offering the same? "Miz Nami said if you say no, if you are hurt later then you will lose control and take blood anyway. She says you have a choice now, but you won''t later." That is fairly accurate, and yet¡­ "I say, why you don''t want my blood? Is my blood bad because I''m dumb?" "What? No, no that''s not true at all." Somehow, I find the big oaf endearing. I do not want a follower to suffer needlessly. He is mine. "Then take blood and help protect Marquette. I help too. I will always help." I sigh and smile softly, disarmed by his helpless look. Denying him would feel like kicking the world''s ugliest puppy. "Alright John, you win." The man extends his wrist and I realize that there is a small logistical issue with feeding this time. His wrists are as big as my leg. Five minutes and a painful jaw later, I come out of the cabin fed, armed and feeling like a brand new woman. The troop gathers around me, covered in weapons and primed for bloodshed. I feel a bit of pride at the sight. They are here because of what I built over the past two decades. Time for a plan, and as those things go, easier is usually better when we have so little time to prepare. "Alright listen up. Those are magic-hunting creatures so Merritt, don''t throw magic at them, keep the beacon going until they find us then switch to guns. Now, there are three kinds of monsters. The first is small, flying ones, don''t shoot them unless you''re sure of your shot. Let Nami and me handle them, and if they attack you stab them in the chest, not the head. The next is big hound-like creatures the size of small ponies. Those are your priority, use everything you can to stop them from overwhelming us. Finally, the pack is led by a huge creature the size of a small barn, do not get close to its tentacle mouth and let Nami and I handle the close-quarter fighting. That is all. You two get inside and grab all the muskets we have and load them. The rest, take your positions and good luck, everyone." I turn around and take position at the tip of the barricade line. Behind me, mutters erupt in the group. "Tentacle mouth? Did I hear that right?" Welcome to the party lads. A few seconds later I turn around when Nami leans on the earthwork besides me. "How are you feeling Ariane? I have never seen you so out of sorts. Is there a worse danger that you have not mentioned yet?" "No, nothing in the short term at least." Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. "Are you hurt then?" "No. I¡­ came to a terrible realization concerning my condition." "Ah yes, ''tis terrible indeed to be a virgin at your age." "¡­Excuse me?" Naminata nods knowingly, trying to act mature. It is laughable though I appreciate the effort. "You do not know the embrace of someone you are intimate with, the rhythm of sex and their skin on yours. You do not know about working together towards that sweet release, of your moans and theirs, of the taste of their lips and the scent of their arousal. The satisfaction of lying on the comfortable mattress wracked by the aftershocks of your orgasm afterwards. Tragic, really." "That is¡­ What¡­ Why do you¡­ Arg!" I sputter. "First of all, I am not a virgin." "Are you referring to what lord Nirari did to you?" "Yes?" "Really? Did you have anything of what I listed just now?" "Hum, no?" How did this conversation start anyway? I have never felt so out of control in two decades. "You don''t take a lover because you want your first time to be special, yes? Your first time making love?" "Ahem, is this the right time to¡­" "It is. Answer me." "I, yes. But¡­" "See? Virgin." We remain silent for a few moments after that, but Nami is not done. "Do you want to talk about what makes you sad my lovely little virgin?" "I will hit you." "Ah, better. Now you are finally yourself." "I am always myself. I appreciate your attempts to distract me Nami, there is just a lot for me to think about, and that is not related to my sex life thank you very much." "Then do it some other time. Come on, we are the first to face those creatures on earth! And one of them is as big as an elephant if you are not exaggerating. Don''t you feel some measure of excitement? This is the hunt of a century! Vampires everywhere will envy us this prize. Let go of what you cannot control and embrace what you are, for this is our way." "I¡­ Yes. Yes, of course you are right. I shall enjoy the moment for who knows what tomorrow is made of? Thank you Nami, ruling the city taught me to see the greater picture, and now I need to learn when to focus on the details. Tonight, we hunt." "That''s the spirit. I call dibs on the big one." "Not a chance." We continue our friendly banter for a moment and I find that I bet twenty dollars with her that I would fell their alpha. In a few minutes though, the drone of fliers interrupts us. "Merritt, drop the beacon and help us reload. All of you hold fire," I yell as I take one of the five muskets King dropped by my side. Soon enough, the first scout enters the halo of torchlight surrounding our camp. Aim, shoot, switch musket. The first creature falls into the trees with its sternum turned into a smoking mess. Aim, shoot, switch musket. Merritt is by my side reloading with mechanical precision. Fearless, this one. Aim, shoot, switch musket. Nami takes a shot as well and gets one in the wings. Should have spent more time at the firing range, though I suppose I should be grateful she learnt at all. Aim, shoot, switch musket. By then, several fliers are zipping around us and the baying of hounds grows closer. Nami switches to her pistol and takes down one creature that had drifted a bit too close. Aim, shoot, switch to the Talleyrand rifle. The first hound steps into the light and howls with a nightmarish sound. "Hold!" I scream, though the gasps of fear and surprise suggest they would have hesitated. Aim, shoot, switch to a pistol. Two other hounds join the first one. "Fire at will!" The crack of muskets and clouds of spent powder fill the air. Two of the hounds fall immediately, pierced by numerous bullets. The odd squad is well trained and at this distance, they won''t miss. The third one yelps but still charges forward. Four other hounds enter the fray as we switch weapons and shoot as fast as possible. I empty my remaining pistol into a flier and send knife after knife into glittering wings. All the remaining scouts descend upon us just as the first outrider jumps over the barricade. Nami is already there. She stabs up and into its brain with her spear, before throwing the twitching corpse on the ground. Her war cry rouses the rest of us and we throw ourselves at the creatures with fury. The thrill of battle takes me and I rush into the melee. Screams of pain from humans and beasts merge into a glorious din. FIGHT WITH THE SENTINELS. LEAD THEM TO CARNAGE. I dance from group to group, slicing necks and appendages with my dagger to help and save wherever I can, while Nami focuses on taking out the hounds in innovative and exotic ways. Despite my efforts, one of my men is already bleeding out from a missing throat and one of the Creek is holding his scratched face and bleeding eye. FASTER. The Thirst returns as I force myself to move in long sequences. The last scout falls to the ground and I turn to see a hound savage a bearded man on the ground as the hermit stabs it repeatedly. I grab the creature''s maw and force it open. It yelps first in surprise, then in pain as I break its jaw. SAVAGE? YOU DO NOT KNOW SAVAGERY. I WILL SHOW YOU. I claw its eyes off and stab into its brain. DIE. Then I dodge a flying piece of wood. The brood leader is here. It crashed against the barricade, sending debris and a few men sprawling including poor Merritt. Do those things know no fear? Sear?h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. A slick barbed tongue shoots out and encircles King who screams in pain. I move and slice the filthy appendage. THIS MORTAL IS MINE TO DEVOUR IF I WISH. I will not share with you, stupid INVADER. KILL IT. I move to the side and hack and slash into the dense epidermis. The creature roars in pain and flays around with its many tentacles. I step aside. Then it pushes itself away from the barricade, great bloody gashes spurt blood from its chest as it turns around and flees. Oh no you don''t! "Metis!" I roar in delight. The charger gallops from the treeline and I jump on her when she goes by. The behemoth crushes its way through trees with surprising deftness. USELESS. We ride after it. Nami is rushing as well, I will NOT LOSE. TROPHY. We gallop after it, following the path of devastation it left behind. Stumps and splintered trunks litter the ground, and great tracks were raked through the undergrowth. A blind man could follow this. In no time I catch the creature. Metis weaves through pines and rocks in the wooded valley, over ridges and down narrow paths full of pebbles and vegetation with a supernaturally sure foot. At the same time, I harry the creature''s flanks but the spear now works against me. Its reach is long but it has two prongs used to keep boars away, or in this case house-sized tentacular abominations. It also prevents me from stabbing deep enough to inflict critical damage now. I dare not move on top of it in case I fail to cause a mortal wound and get hurt as a result. Nami does not share my concerns. As we reach a clearing, she jumps on the hound''s back and runs to its head before stabbing down where the brain is supposed to be. Her own pike digs at least halfway through the creature. Nami''s triumphant expression turns dismayed when the behemoth screeches to a halt and smashes the shaft with a slimy appendage. I smile and take my own secret weapon from the bag on my back. Why bother precision when you can blow everything up? Those are the words I live by. I light the powder charge''s fuse and jump off Metis'' back, right in front of the brood leader''s maw. "Hey, ya ugly bastard!" I scream, channeling my inner Loth. It extends its tentacles and for one precious instant, its gaping maw is uncovered. My timing is impeccable and the sparkling herald of military engineering disappears in the creature''s gullet. You''re dead now, PREY. I dance away from the reaching appendages and turn my back to it, crossing glance with a stunned Nami. The charge explodes. With one last whine, the creature falls. I WIN. With class and pyrotechnics, as it should be. I smile smugly and address the loser of tonight''s competition. "Hah, right down the ha¡­" The creature spasms and projectile-vomits a disgusting soup of saliva, blood, bile and half-digested body parts that covers me completely. For one precious second, the valley is perfectly silent, then it begins. It starts with a long drawn out yelp of incredulity then chuckles that quickly turn into a full belly laugh. Naminata runs out of breath and needs long, winded respirations to keep cackling her ass off while I sigh in defeat and remove gnawed fingers from my hair. Metis snorts, bends down to pick up a severed tentacle and trots off into the night. Traitor. "Tis¡­ truly your¡­ glorious victory¡­ fearless leader!", she manages to say between hiccups of hilarity, "Best twenty dollars I have ever spent." I find myself smiling at the absurdity of it all. Here I am, ankles deep in eldritch gastric fluid wondering what it means to have no soul while my friend is mocking me, and my horse just fled with a snack. I raise my gaze to the Watcher and feel the same tacit approval and comforting presence as before. I have been through a lot of unfair things, and I will certainly face even more desperate battles in the future, and that is fine. It should not prevent me from smiling now. Nami interrupts my musings. "Have I mentioned that we ran out of water at the safe house?" Nevermind. Someone please just stab me in the heart. Chapter 62 - 61. Before the Storm September 4th 1833, Marquette. I awake in the darkness. As usual. I slide the sarcophagus'' lid open and make a note to oil the hinges. The blasted thing already looks too much like a coffin, no need to have it creak ominously. The secured room I am in is bare, except for a survival bag, a dagger, and a single lantern. I light it and let its yellow glare shed light on the bricks around me. This is my haven. It only has two exits. One of them leads to a side street and cannot be opened from the outside, while the other leads to my bedroom''s hearth back inside the Dream via a small vertical shaft. I follow it and unlock the passage, checking for heartbeats. I detect no mortal though Nami''s polite aura warns me of her presence. My bedroom is almost cluttered with prizes and mementos now, so much that I had to send a few paintings to storage. I have portraits of Sinead and his bride hidden away for safety reasons, as well as a few sketches of the Queen I made from memory. I wouldn''t want anybody to see those. Portraits of others are displayed openly, and in the center is a special gift for Loth which I will finish soon. Nami already picked her favorite rendition of herself, a nude unsurprisingly. She is beautiful in a lithe and dangerous way, and painting her would have been a real pleasure if it were not for her constant teasing. The muse herself is currently looking out to the many roofs of Marquette. She wears a simple white shift that leaves her shoulder bare. The muscles there and on her back are toned and give her a fierce touch, like those Amazons I read about. Tonight, she is in an unusually contemplative mood and I join her in silence. She smells of vampire and fresh sex and I notice that her hair is mussed. Ah. "I will leave tonight." I nod in silence, marking my understanding. She is a wanderer at heart, and I am even surprised that she stayed here for so long. "You know, you are an unexpectedly competent city master. We Ekon have difficulties living in towns we do not control. The masters there usually require a degree of reliability that we are not always willing to provide. It is in our nature to come and go where the wind will lead us, not to sign contracts for years of service against a fixed compensation. You were kind to let me travel when I asked for it. Such leeway is rarely granted." "I see us more as friends and you as my guest, as you know. It was a pleasure to have you and I hope our paths meet again." "It will, I am sure of it. Please make sure you do not die, yes?" "I promise to do my very best." She hugs me and I awkwardly pat her back. I am not very tactile to start with, not anymore, and the feeling of her erect nipples against my own chest is a bit, well, too intimate. We exchange a few more sentences, mostly me making sure that she has everything she needs before she leaves. There are no emotional farewells like when I left Loth behind. We do not have that kind of relationship. After I see her off from the Dream''s inner court with John by my side, one of the girls comes to me with a message, a terse note by Merritt''s hand requiring my presence at the living quarters. On my way there, I come across a detachment of the Home Guard back from practice. The Home Guard is one of my ideas though perhaps not one of the best. Following the Black Hawk war, increasing concern over security has led a group of local women to form a defense committee with the explicit purpose of arming and training themselves. It was made clear that they would never form an actual militia or be deployed, but only be able to defend themselves against roving bands of marauders, hence the name Home Guard. The initiative was mostly ridiculed by Marquette''s gentry and male citizenry until they called for my support. I knew that getting approval from the local council would be a near-impossible task, so I just purchased even more arms from the East and organized the whole thing in a discreet and efficient manner. There were only two dozen of them, and I was glad to share my love of ballistics. What was the harm? That was a mistake. After the first few training sessions, the local female gentry marched to the field and lodged a formal complaint about the trainees'' behavior, mentioning it was not ''proper'' and that any sort of warfare was under the dominion of men. The wives of Marquette''s mining population came to show their support of the Guard and shared with the intruders their opinion of ''propriety'' and in which exact part of their anatomy the malcontents could shove it. Followed a proper exchange of imprecations and threats that culminated with the intervention of old Marta Hartford, the spouse of a local caravan lead. An otherwise calm and composed woman, she had apparently had enough and unleashed the full might of her expansive insult arsenal. After a good ten minutes and a maelstrom of curses questioning the interrupting party''s beauty, wit, general hygiene, intimate hygiene, sexual preferences, weight, height, ancestry, eating habits, marital status and even species, the poor newcomers had left red-eared and mortified. I noticed that the male population had wisely decided to lay low until the whole thing blew over, proof that frontiersmen''s survival instincts are top-notch and their down to earth wisdom, unequalled. By that time, it was too late to withdraw my support as the issue had crystallized passions. This initiative undid hours of networking effort by Merritt with our more uptight citizens, and she still mentions it three months later. I don''t believe those old goats would have been of use to us anyway. Who in their right mind would refuse to fire a musket? It is such a relaxing occupation. As for the Home Guard itself, their ranks have swelled to a hundred and they are quite motivated. They have become fairly accurate with practice, with most sessions ending in improvised tea parties where they mingle and gossip despite their differences in social status. It''s not so bad, really. I only wish Sybil Stenton would stop cackling every time she hits the target''s genitals. It is slightly disturbing. Especially because she is such a crack shot. I leave the patrol behind and decide that since I am departing so soon, any major blunder I make now should only be seen as an experiment. They are not even that major anyway. Soon, I reach the mansion used as living quarters for part of my employees. With a recent increase in business, I also used some of the lands next to the "coloured" quarter to expand. As a result, the place is much less crowded and only a few families now occupy it. I get in through the main entrance and into the common room. Irma the housekeeper rears her ugly head through the kitchen door but recognizing me, nods soberly and returns to her business, which should be meat pies if my nose is any indicator. I climb up the step to the master bedroom and politely knock. A red-haired hurricane blows through and out, leaving me with a pile of documents, pamphlets and a childish drawing of what I assume is a cow. "Gottagokeepaneyeonthekidsthanks!" it proclaims in passing. I feel like life is moving on and leaving me behind. Is this what older vampires experience? I shake my head and walk in to see Ollie scrubbing spilt green paint from the floor with his shirt while Lynn is crying hysterically in a corner, holding a drawing covered in, incidentally, green paint. The culprit, an emptied pot of respectable size, has rolled under their bed leaving its blood all over the wooden floor. I did not sign up for this. I signed up for mastery over mortal hordes, overseeing my numerous minions from atop a throne with the skulls of my enemies on the side and a handsome, virile man with a Claymore beheading those who disrespect me and don''t cover their nose when they sneeze. The man would be half-naked too. Playing nanny was not part of the deal, at any point. Maybe I should just impress them? I hiss softly. "Aunt Ari, I spilt the paint¡­" says Ollie on the edge of tears as soon as he lifts his eyes. CUB. I sigh and consider just jumping out the window and running very fast. "I see that Ollie, it''s not too bad. First, we''ll get you and your sister cleaned up then we will see about the room. Yes? John, tell Irma we have an emergency, please. Now, where is the bathroom? Go wash while I comfort your sister." Five minutes later, I ambush my supposed ally as she sneaks back in from the garden entrance. "Alexandria Winston Pyke-Merritt." The mage winces visibly under the ominous declamation of her full name. I step from the shadows and cross my arms. Her answer is rushed and just a bit panicky. Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. "So sorry Ariane, I really had no choice. The warehouse was about to close, and I had to get that shipment of beer¡­" "And the fact that your bedroom was looking like a warzone, screaming victims included was just a coincidence hmm?" "Sooorry. Hrm, did Irma say anything?" "She expects you in the kitchen." "Ah. When?" "Now." Another wince. Irma can indeed give an earful and under her roof, she is the queen. Merritt resolves herself to her fate, but not before delivering a parting shot. "Oh, nothing new except for one thing. Mr Pruitt is retiring from the tannery business and he wanted you to meet his son. I told him you would be over there tonight." Ah, the treacherous knave. I grab her metaphorical arrow before it can bury itself too deep in my bosom and return it, plus interests. "I will go then, oh, by the way, Lynn asked me for a trumpet for her twelfth birthday and I promised her one if she behaved. I will have it delivered before the end of the month." I turn away and leave, hiding my smirk as a desperate voice falls on my uncaring ears. "A trumpet? Ariane? That was a joke, right? Ariane? I''m sorry! Waaaaait!" Serves her right. I walk to the tannery slowly, because I want to reflect and not at all because the entire workshop and its vicinity smells like a skunk mated with a three days dead Wendigo''s armpit. Even if I do not breathe, the insidious stench worms its way through my delicate nostrils and my vampire senses carry it in all its pungent glory to my unwilling mind. I need a distraction and the redhead was kind enough to provide one. When Merritt first came here, she was like a cornered animal and her kids were not much better. Now, she seems much happier. She recently finished teaching tools for when Ollie and Lynn come of age and gain the ability to cast. I feel like she has finally settled. I remember her saying that vampire-held towns were black holes where to stay after dark was to invite death, or worse. I would wager that her opinion has changed now that she is confident enough to leave her children with me. I wonder how others do it. Do Masks typically let citizens know of their existence? Do the members of Eneru rule like immortal aristocrats? I want to know, and soon, I will. Earlier than I hoped, the tannery comes into scent and view. At the outskirts of town and downwind, the small building houses one of Marquette''s less developed, yet still vital industries. I walk into the main building and weave my way through the hanging skins and workstations to the back of the warehouse, where cured leather is stored to be later used in boots, tacks and machinery belts. Goodman Pruitt is bent over a desk, poring over a document while a young man with large droopy eyes stands at attention by his side. It takes a few taps on the old codger''s shoulder from his assistant before he realizes he has a guest. He invites me in, and offers me tea and a conversation. Pruitt is a respectable mortal. He started from nothing and made his fortune through hard work and dedication. He also never even entered the Dream and is still happily married. He apparently decided to retire and to leave his business to his eldest son. The purpose of the meeting is for the two of us to become acquainted. I am the tannery''s second most important customer after the mine consortium, having purchased quite a few cobbler shops where retired girls can find a source of income. It is just one more social call that is a vital part of any business where trust is of utmost importance, and so I carry out my duty with a smile. Staying in touch with mortals is important, they keep us grounded. After half an hour of getting to know each other, I wish the son and his old man their best and invite them to drink at my place sometime, an offer they decline with a blush. Then, I take my leave. I head back to the Dream to take part in our next order of business. Someone came up with the idea of a poker tournament and I approved of it. I already allocated funds for the event but the finer points of organization and security are still to be determined. As I enter through the back door, one of the younger kitchen helpers runs to me to deliver a message. The envelope is thick and heavy, and closed with a wax seal bearing the rune of the Rosenthal. Finally. I knew this would come within the next few days, but I did not dare hope. With what happened last time I tried to reenter vampire society, I was half expecting a last-minute hitch to my plan. Not this time apparently. I have done it. This is all so anticlimactic. I go back to my office and close the door behind me, leaving John outside. This is an important moment. Inside the letter, I find a note and a heavy parchment filled in Akkad, with three magical signatures at the bottom. I unfold it and read with trepidation. Ariane of the Nirari, By the present letter, we, the Rosenthal representative for North America, recognize that you have ruled over Marquette, Illinois, for a period of twenty years. As such, you are recognized as City Master under the Accords with all the responsibilities and privileges thereof. We wish you all the best in your future endeavours. Yours¡­ I close the parchment and take a deep breath. That''s it, I did it. Under the Accords, no City Master can be considered a rogue and summarily executed. They have to be judged. Constantine may have sold me out for some reason but now he will have to acknowledge that I am not insane or break his own laws, which would spell his end as a ruler. I need but to signal the knights, in this case, Jimena because I am not stupid, and head directly to Boston for trial. I find a protective tube I use to store my paintings and secure the certificate. It is not that vital anyway. The document can be produced again, even if it were lost. The only thing I need to make sure now is to survive. I take the small note and read it. This one is in English. Milady, My name is Sorrel and I am a mage in the employ of your allies. One of your acquaintances requested to speak to you by sending. Will you allow me on your territory? I will be awaiting your answer by Marquette''s North entrance. Respectfully, Sorrel. Interesting. I open the door and have Margie send a runner. Twenty minutes later, a knock on the door announces the arrival of the messenger. Sorrel is a stately man in an expensive travel duster. He has a dark beard and deep-set eyes that take everything in the room as he enters. After Margie closes the door behind him, he bows smartly and loses no time. "Milady, Salim of the Rosenthal requests an interview by sending. If it pleases you, I will call him now so that you may converse." "Greeting mister Sorrel. Yes, that is agreeable. Do you need anything?" "No Milady," he replies and grabs a leather bag by his side to retrieve a crystal orb with an intriguing aura. The mage focuses and chants in a low voice. I feel a thread going from him to the artefact and then from the artefact to¡­ somewhere. After a moment, smoke swirls in the recess of the sphere before parting to show me a nose. I raise a questioning brow. The nose retreats and I see that it is attached to a young man with caramel skin. He is clean-shaven with soft traits and large brown eyes. His face is crowned by curly brown hair in a small halo, that makes him look more like an artist than an accountant despite his sober attire. "Is this thing working? Hello?" Sorrel''s jaw locks fractionally as I hide my amusement. "Yes, it is working. Am I addressing Salim of the Rosenthal?" "Ah! Indeed, and you must be Ariane of the Nirari? It is an honor madam; I have heard so much about you!" He¡­ is younger than me. This is not just his candidness. His gestures lack the grace and precision that comes with age for us. They feel a bit jerky to my experienced eyes. I realize that this is my first time meeting a younger vampire, though hopefully not the last. I feel strange. I always was the clueless newcomer and now, a youngling has heard of my prowess. I feel flattered. I think I like it. "Only good things, I hope?" "Ah, yes of course! Is it true that you destroyed an entire compound of cultists by using swines set ablaze? Such tactics were recorded by Pliny the Elder as used against Carthage''s elephants, of course, but I never heard of any modern use! Quite an achievement." "Yes, haha, quite." Next time I see Isaac I''m releasing a boar family and a barrelful of firecrackers in his bedroom. "But enough of this. I dispatched Monsieur Sorrel because of troubling rumors, rumors which I have since then confirmed. A man by the name of Sullivan has been making waves in Chicago and a fairly accurate description of your person has been shared by several intelligence organizations. As we speak, that Sullivan fellow has gathered a small army with the backing of a group we have not identified yet, and they are on their way South to, and I quote, purge Marquette of its devilish influence." I should have killed him when I had a chance. I have been too cautious and must now pay the price for my lack of foresight. Oh well, live and learn. "We are pleased to offer you an escort to Boston that will safely deliver you in front of Constantine, before this army arrives." "Out of the question." Salim smiles lightly and his entire demeanor becomes lighter. What a change from the usual vampire''s guarded expression. "Isaac said you would answer that. He says that he took the liberty of contacting Jimena to ''arrest'' you just in case Anatole twists the rules even more than he already has. She is on her way. She will be in touch as soon as your town is deemed safe." "I appreciate it." S§×arch* The novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. He bows respectfully. "You are most welcome, Ariane of the Nirari. I must ask though, is it wise to face that danger by yourself? This army is made out of roving bands of mercenaries and pardoned outlaws but surely, even this is too much." "Don''t worry, I was expecting something of the sort." "You were?" "I was, and if they had not come, why," I add with fangs displayed, "I believe I would have been disappointed." Chapter 63 - 62. Eneru September 22nd, 1833, Marquette. The council room is stunned into silence after hearing my revelations. Ten years ago, I would have been ridiculed for stating those facts in public, in front of a ruling assembly. Now, my reputation lends credence to my words, and the resources at my disposal are second to none within the town. Even the mine consortium cannot match me in terms of military strength and influence. They know I speak the truth. The mayor is the first to recover and passes a nervous hand in his thinning grey hair. "Are you positive about their numbers?" "Barring any major desertion, there should indeed be two hundred and fifty fighters at the very least, with a good fifth mounted." "I cannot believe it. Sullivan, what was he thinking?" Silence reigns while members eye each other nervously. Holden, the banker and one of Sullivan''s previous supporters, steps forward. I have a good idea about what his argument will be and I need it to be stated and addressed here and now, lest it be mentioned later behind closed doors. We cannot afford dissent. "Gentlemen, we are facing a destructive force but Sullivan himself is a known defender of the faith, if a bit misguided. Our first priority should be to enter into negotiation with them rather than seek bloodshed like savages." The owner of Marquette''s only luxury good store, an old man with a bushy white beard by the name of Dean, grumbles in the background. "You call that misguided?" "Please gentlemen, please, do not let fear and anger guide your mind. We are all civilized people here, I am sure that everything can be solved with just enough goodwill." "Easy for you to say," replies the furious old man, "you licked his arse ''till it shone like a freshly minted nickel!" Oooh, good one. "I am merely asking that we hear his demands and see if an understanding cannot be reached." His eyes bore into mine, or at least try to until he flinches. "The sacrifice of the few to redeem the many is a small price to pay for peace and salvation." Jeers, insults and some cries of approval are exchanged by the participants until the mayor screams. "ENOUGH!" That¡­ is the first time I have heard him raise his voice in all those years. "This is pointless. Of course, there will be a discussion, and of course, it will be for nothing." The mayor stands up and walks through the room while we watch in wonder. He is usually such a stickler for protocol that even I find myself eager to see where this will all lead. "I know what kind of man I am. During the seven years of my office, I have served as this city''s most senior public servant. The people have followed my recommendations not because of any sort of authority, but because I always found arrangements that would benefit everyone. I have always pursued concord and compromises in all my dealings. It was my goal to resolve issues in the most peaceful and agreeable way possible between the miners and the merchants, the rich and the poor, the farmers and the caravan hands, for the benefit of all. Oh, I know what they say behind my back. That I am meek and weak. And they are not wrong! I am not the blood of noble warriors and soldiers who carved this land and took it from the grasping hands of the old world like some of you here. I favour peace more than I favour victory, and I will admit it. And it is because of this that I tell you now, there will be no agreement here." By this time we are all drinking his words and the entire room watches, enraptured, as a leader is forged in a time of peril. "Sullivan will not be content to close a bordello and bar a few drinking establishments. Do you believe a man who would forfeit due process and the rule of law so easily would be satisfied by a few concessions? Do any of you honestly think you will still have a voice in this council when he is done? No, I say. No. A man who is shunned and seeks to impose his will on the people not by his virtue or his ideas, but by the strength of his arms, will not stop until the world is broken and twisted to his vision. Sullivan will purge this city until its every responsibility, every position is filled by lackeys and sycophants. Even then, he will track opposition where he believes it may be. And if you ask for proof, ask yourself instead how he managed to rally so many men to his cause. Who backed up his claim with coin and arms? We do not know, but what I do know, Mr. Banker, is that an operation of this magnitude is an investment. And this investor will expect to be paid back. There is no wealth in Marquette but the one we created and own ourselves and mark my words, it will be taken. "No, gentlemen, there will be no arrangement. There is only one word for a man who would impose his rule through strength and subjugation and that word is tyrant. As Jefferson once said, it is the blood of tyrants as well as ours that must from time to time refresh the tree of liberty. That time, gentlemen, is upon us, for I have not worked so hard and sacrificed so much to see my beloved city fall into the hands of a fanatic and a madman. Regardless of your decision tonight, I will fight this man to my last breath and send him and his minions to the depths of hell itself, one bullet at a time if I have to, for Marquette will stay free, no matter the cost." The room is so perfectly quiet you could hear the shadow of a pin drop, then old man Dean bursts from his seat and trumpets. "Bloody well said!" Thundering applause turns to a standing ovation. I am quite proud of our little mayor, and when did he even grow a spine? His incisive words shattered the peace party''s fragile unity in under a minute, as even the most cowardly of them succumb to peer pressure. The rest follows with a degree of efficiency I am simply unused to. A town council resolution written in a single hour and voted unanimously? That is simply unheard of. In short order, the council mobilizes the militia and draws defensive lines that are quickly barricaded. The entire city helps with its erection while the mayor enchants the masses with rousing speeches, giving the entire affair an air of festival. I know what is coming and make my own preparations. The Order of Gabriel prefers covert methods, and my old spellcaster enemies are all broken including the Pyke clan. That leaves only one faction aggressive and powerful enough to commandeer an army like one does a wagon. Vampires. September 24th 1833, Marquette A vampire is coming to Marquette. I have Harrigan, my head of security, scout their encampment. Since he already looks like a highwayman he will fit right in, and I make sure to remind him that the Dream will be burnt to the ground if Sullivan wins, and not to get any bright ideas. My henchman confirmed it. An old acquaintance is on his way, and I am eager to receive him with all the respect he deserves. I am not confident that I can defeat him in single combat, but I can stall him long enough for his rabble to disintegrate. Their ragtag band expects to intimidate a hundred militiamen at most. They have no idea about the pyrotechnic devastation I will unleash upon their sorry hides. In preparation for their arrival, I have taken a few additional measures. I expect the fight to extend during the night and my minions, hrm, I mean my troops will need some light to see, so we erected pyres covered with pitch that can be lit easily from afar. I am sure that my own security will fight as I recruited them myself with this possibility in mind. The great question is, will the Home Guard? As I make my way to their training field where they conduct a late practice, I consider that they have trained to take potshots at marauders and cattle thieves, not to hold back a determined force. The warehouses of the Northern District fall away and as I pass the last guarded barricade, I hear the sounds of marching troops and clamours. The Home Guard is drilling in their usual spot but without the usual good humor. I have avoided their meetings so far and only now realize how many of my girls are in their ranks, some of them have not even retired from the Dream yet. Their expressions are grim and determined, though a few flinch when they look at the group of men arrayed at the edge of the grassy expanse. Those spectators wear clothes of varying quality, and the only thing really tying them together is the general sense of anxiety they display. A few of them spot me and a portly old man in a mended suit limps towards me, waving a cane in the air. "It''s your fault, it''s all your fault!" he screams in a shrill voice. John stops him casually with a hand to the chest. The man''s anger turns to my bodyguard for a fraction of a second before self-preservation kicks in, and he cautiously steps back. A few others pile on behind him to join their accusations to his. "You and your silly ideas!" "Not the role of the fairer sex!" "Cease this nonsense forthwith." And so on. I can easily imagine the cause of their anger. The Home Guard would have perhaps disbanded were it not for my support, and though the initiative was not mine, I am an obvious and easy target for their recriminations. I weather their insults with composure and the certitude that a solution will show itself very soon. In fact, it is currently crossing the field with thunder on its brows. A heavyset woman walks around the small assembly and plants her feet before the old man who now looks like a child caught stealing eggs. "Augustus Edmond Schr?dinger Junior!" What a mouthful. "My little dove¡­" "None of that! You dare shame me before the entire damn town?" "The front line is no place for a cutesy darling like you, wife of mine." "Don''t you dare butter me up, do you think I''m stupid? Y''all think that you can just go to your homes and wait for it to blow over, huh? Let me tell y''all something. Jenny there, she was in Johnstown when it got taken over by a bandit group and I don''t expect things to go better here if they get their way. If y''all pull your pants and turn around now don''t expect us women to be safe because a winning army always needs to be entertained, got it? Now Augustus when you married me in a barn, I didn''t say nothing, did I?" This is getting pleasantly personal. The men present recoil for they know that tone, but we gossip lovers lean forward with anticipation. "No, my honey pot¡­" replies the poor sod. "And when you were off to drink with your buddies while I was sick with the runs and taking care of the kids you did not hear me complain, did you?" "Well¡­" "DID YOU?" "No sugar." Ah, the wonders of selective memory. "And when your ma came to live with us did I leave her out in the rain?" "No, darling." "Then if you got to listen ONCE in your goddamn life it''s now because I sure as hell ain''t waiting for those clowns to walk around town like they own it." "But surely," emerges a voice from the small crowd of men, "Mr. Sullivan wouldn''t let them¡­" There is a precious, delicious moment of silence as the entire assembly looks at the culprit, a youngish man whose face turns red when he realizes that his neighbors have wisely decided to step away from him. "Peter Willikins, is that you I hear spouting nonsense?" screams an elderly voice from the back. Before the lynching can begin in earnest, Mrs. Schr?dinger signals that she is not done. "Sullivan is an asshole." Gasps. "Aye, I said it! Whoever thinks he''ll hold his word has forgotten his vow to uphold justice? To protect the people? Can you explain how we''re protected with an army moving on us? Penelope dear, what is it you said?" "Those who would give up essential Liberty, to purchase a little temporary Safety, deserve neither Liberty nor Safety," answers an owlish girl with a lecturing voice. "¡­And they won''t get either," Schr?dinger continues with a deceptive calm. "Mark my words, those kind of people, once they have tasted power, they''ll never give it back without a fight. We might as well fight now while we still can win." A hum of approval comes from the female crowd and poor Augustus sighs, defeated. "I understand, wife, not that I like it but¡­ I understand. I''m just so worried¡­ I suppose it can''t be helped then. We must do what we must do," he replies, and walks away. The crowd disperses soon after, and while the girls go back to training, Mrs. Schr?dinger and Stetson stay next to me. I break the silence once we have enough quiet. "I need to ask them." I expected arguments but I don''t get any. "Aye, I suppose you do. Not that we need your approval to fight, you know?" "Of course not. I just want those beside me to know what they are in for." "Yeah yeah, just¡­ let''s get this over with." We walk slowly to the field and the nervous women gather around in a vague circle. Some look calm, some less, but unless I miss my guess they are all here. Well, better get it over with. "There are many forms of courage, and not all of them require violence. There are many ways to serve, to be useful to a community in peril. In the coming days, we will need hands to work, to take care of the wounded and to repair the destruction that will be done. I want you to understand that this is all anyone can ask of you. Tomorrow, Sullivan''s troops will arrive and there will be a battle. I want you all to realize that in order to fight for the town and your sisters in arms, you must be willing to look a man in the eyes and pull the trigger to kill. You must be ready to see your friends bleed, suffer and die, perhaps even make the ultimate sacrifice yourselves. There is no shame in joining the nurses or the clean up crews and there is more than enough time to do so. Those of you who gather on the square tomorrow must be ready to go all the way, for our enemy will have no mercy. I will now leave you to make your choice and hopefully, we will all see each other at the end of this. That is all." When I leave, the silence is complete, but it does not take one minute before the drill resumes. I have my answer. They will fight. September 25th 1833, Marquette. The moon is full tonight, and its light shines on us with a pleasant glow. The visibility is so good that even mortals have no difficulties moving around. I wonder if this was intentional, just like the timing of the invading force is intentional. The troop was set to arrive at midday but was delayed by their inherent lack of organization. They set up camp at the northern edge of town at nightfall and have been recovering and eating ever since, laughing raucously and singing ribald songs as if victory was already assured. My men have spent the day making preparations and I have refrained from looking at them from my dream palace, though I knew I could. I would rather save my strength for the confrontation to come. Now we stand on horseback facing the quickly assembling louts. There are three hundred of them in eclectic clothes, more a mob than a proper force. They gather around bandit lords and mercenary leaders in dense packs. An army from another age, as fierce and undisciplined as Germanic warriors facing the Roman legions. Behind us, the warehouse district is heavily barricaded except for an obvious weak point, the main street only has basic fortifications that a man can climb in a few seconds, manned in part by, well, women. Our purpose should be obvious. We look weak, so that they do not split their force to besiege us from less defended districts. We want them to look down upon us and charge forward expecting to smash our resistance in one fell swoop. It is working. My hearing picks assailants already commenting on what kind of girl they prefer. Hopefully, their lack of discipline will deny any flexibility to their leadership. We, however, have a plan which relies on drawing them further into the warehouse square. It has the merit to be simple, like most of my plans, and involve exploding things¡­ like most of my plans, actually. We also have other options if they do not take the bait. The small delegation by my side shifts uncomfortably. I have always endeavoured to look proper and a bit meek to offset my position as Madame. No one can look meek atop Metis. The Nightmare is a foot taller than even the tallest stallion and it took her all of two seconds to cow every other horse here. I am wearing my combat dress, which is sleek and form-fitting and looks exactly like what it is, armor. I also took my hunting spear and rifle which hangs from Metis'' harness, and two pistols as well as a long knife. The various people of the delegation force their eyes forward, then cannot resist and one by one, turn to me. They blink when their eyes confirm my appearance and then resume looking forward. After ten seconds or so, disbelief forces them to look at me again to confirm that those outrageous memories are true. It''s a circle. If their cats had come home dragging the corpse of the neighbor''s dog behind it, they would probably feel the same. It''s on my side but it is also much more dangerous than I anticipated. I care little for we have reached the end game. No matter what happens here, I will be gone in a few days. I am beyond worrying about my image. There are six of us, representing Marquette''s citizenry. Half the council is here as well as another woman who represents the gentry and would not spit in my face if it were on fire. A few riders emerge from the quivering horde facing us and make their lazy way across the plain. There are twelve of them, which is a clear message and the exact amount of petty intimidation I expected by the man facing me, on their right. Besides Sullivan, he is the only person who does not look like he attacks caravans for a living. A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. Riding a nightmare, he still wears a beige ensemble from another age like the first day I met him. His handsome face is still crowned by dark hair and his blue eyes still show the same utter lack of interest. The only difference comes from his aura. Lambert of the Lancaster, Melusine''s counterpart and lady Moor''s enforcer is now a Master. He meets my eyes and the annoyance he conveys is the most overt display of emotion I ever felt from him. The moment passes and he stares with condescending amusement at the town behind me. I have been dismissed. Sullivan stops uncomfortably close to the mayor and his own men do not exactly surround us, but the message is clear. He sneers when he sees me, and the arrogance of self-righteousness is clear to all as he first speaks. "I will be short. I am not here to negotiate but to offer an ultimatum. You will renounce your wicked ways, or your entire city will be purged from evil. To show your contrition and acceptance of the light and will of God, you will deliver this¡­ woman, and her staff, to my custody. You will relinquish your weapons and direct yourself to the town church where you will await judgement in prayer. Do so and I shall be merciful. Even those who opposed me will be granted an opportunity to atone for their sins and keep their property and families mostly intact. Resist me, and I shall visit upon you the wrath of the Lord himself. We will track and punish evil and slay all in our path, for God is just and will sort you out. You have an hour, do not tarry." And with all the dignity of the consummate bloodthirsty lordling, he turns around and leaves. The men behind stay long enough to growl and spit at our feet, and a few even ask us to resist as their men need to ''unwind''. Lambert was the second person to leave. I did not even warrant a word from him, apparently. The mayor turns with as much disdain and dignity as his short, portly frame allows and we follow him quietly back to the barricade. The sentries open a short passage to let us through and close it immediately after. Still without a word, we follow our fearless leader to the command tent where captain Wallace, head of the militia and entirely in my pocket, awaits us. Instead of speaking, Mr. Mayor walks to his corner and rummages through his personal effects until he finds a plump smoked sausage. The rest of the council surrounds him in a half-circle but still he does not speak. Instead, he takes out a pocket knife and unfolds it, then plops the sausage on the town map I generously provided and that had remained free of grease stains so far. He raises his eyes and starts in a calm voice. "My grandfather taught me a story of England, it is a good one, and though you may think my timing is ill-advised, I beg you listen to me now as all will be made clear. "In sixteen forty-nine, a man by the name of Cromwell managed to install a republic and though we Americans see such regimes with benevolence, I assure you, it was anything but. Grampa told me of how they took power by defeating the royalists. A victorious regime will of course, for the sake of stability, purge the opposition from its government, sometimes permanently." He cuts the end of the sausage and discards it on the side. "''Tis only natural after all, and so nobody helped. Then, the Republic had to be united so the Welsh were next to be brought into the fold, and who would even help them? The others were not Welsh, and so they did not help." A new slice joins the first one. S§×arch* The NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "But then dissenters surged in Scotland and they had to be put down as well. By then there were few people willing to help the Scots. And see, the proud highlanders stood alone and divided, and were defeated." By now, the plump sausage is less than half its original size. "And of course the commonwealth extended to Ireland. Cromwell brought the secession war to a close and who helped the Irish? No one, for there was no one left." There is a fat third of the sausage remaining "And of course, for the good of all and the salvation of their soul, attending the Church of England was made compulsory, and who would oppose it? No one. They had to bend or be fined for every transgression." The mayor drops one last slice on the discarded pile and raises the stump of the original piece between stubby fingers. It is barely larger than the other parts. "You are all brilliant men, I do not need to expand on this fable too much. Know this, when Sullivan realizes that the disappearance of Mrs. Lethe has not brought about the divine kingdom he envisioned, he will seek who he perceives as the nearest agent of corruption, then the next, then the next. By the time he is done, not one of you will be left whole. I will not even discuss his proposal with you for it is not a compromise but terms of surrender with a side of threats. Now, does anyone object? Speak now without fear." Nobody speaks, even the supporters of peace can feel the coming of pitch and gallows, and although some would disagree in other circumstances, they now keep their peace. "Then it is decided. Mr. Wallace, we will proceed as planned. I will personally, and alone, deliver our decision to Sullivan. Gentlemen, it has been an honor." "With all due respect sir," I object and everyone freezes, "I may have a safer and more obvious way to convey our refusal." "Do you, now?" "Yes. I assure you, the message will be clear as day." "Very well. Gentlemen, return to your position and make ready. We shall express our opinion on Sullivan''s offer shortly and God help us all. Dismissed!" Would the Christian God help me against another vampire? An interesting perspective. The council files out of the room in order and they spread around. I step out with the mayor at my side. All the present troops mill around with no clear purpose, throwing furtive glances at us as if I could not see them all waiting for us to speak. Those mortals are so cute, pretending to be busy like that. THEY ARE MINE. WE KILL TOGETHER. I make a gesture and they slowly gather around me with a mix of determination and shyness. John takes his place by my side with a serious air and the heavy wolf slayer in his oversized paws. A full quiver hangs from his shoulders. It takes a good minute for the bashful group to shuffle itself. The odd squad is spread around town, ready to suppress those I suspect of turning coat with only the Creek brothers present. The rest of my forces are all here. From my right to my left, I find my security detail led by an eager Harrigan literally covered in arms. Then comes a group of armed volunteers who joined us at the last hour, led by Mr. Schr?dinger who would not, and I quote, "leave my wife to give those ruffians what for." Finally, the Home Guard is here dressed in their Sunday best of all things. Everyone is wearing blue armbands for easy identification. I turn to the mayor and see him sneakily eat a piece of sausage. When he realizes I noticed, he shrugs and adds in a quiet voice. "Eating always helps me settle down, sorry." Well, that explains his gut, and now his magnificent demonstration is ruined by the suspicion that he might have had further motives when savaging that poor snack. "Would you like to do the honours?" he adds with a quiet voice. Why, I am impressed! I never expected him to let me have command, for this is surely what he meant. I move to the side and climb atop Metis. My persona goes from overdressed madame to warlord in a second and when Metis takes one step forward, they recoil. She snorts in what I could swear is amusement. They are all waiting, and I need to be convincing, for the Lancaster''s speciality is their influence on mortals. Those bandits and mercenaries outside have been gathered under his orders and he will motivate them to unheard-of displays of savagery, I just know it. Lambert has always been the very essence of arrogance and petty destruction. It is not enough that I am taken out or captured, he will destroy everything I have ever built, erase each of my achievements from the map. That is who he is, and what his men are here for. I take a deep breath and channel my inner predator. Tonight, I am no longer the hand behind the scene. I am Ariane of the Nirari, Princess of the Blood. I belong to the oldest clan that was ever made, and my essence is that of the conquerors. I have killed hundreds and carved a path of blood to survive, to free myself and now to rule. This LITTLE MONGREL cannot possibly understand what I have gone through. This field trip of his will be his last. I smile wide and in one fell swoop, capture the entire crowd. My eyes find Harrigan first and I use what I learned from Loth. "And where are my men, my keepers of the dream, gamblers and drinkers, fighters and killers one and all? Where are my rascals?" They roar as I wake their bloodlust and their will to destroy and dominate. I turn next to the armed citizen of Marquette. "And where are the militia volunteers? The fathers and workers of our city? Who took arms to defend their homes and their families? Where are the stalwart defenders of Marquette?" Another roar joins the first, this one made of pride and determination. They are the peaceful men driven to violence by circumstances, and like all those unused to violence, tonight they will know no restraint. "And finally, where are the women of Marquette, my Amazons? Where are the frontier harridans, the unbowed and unconquered? Where is the Home Guard?" The third roar is shrill and high-pitched until a shriller voice yet interrupts it. "Brave defender, pick your flintlock¡­" And a hundred voices echo. "AND REMEMBER, AIM FOR THE COCK." A small part of me is horrified while the other only thinks, GOOD, MAIM AND TERRORIZE. When did they even¡­ Never mind. Let me just continue. "No army will come and save us. No miracle will sweep our enemies from the field. Look at those around you. This is it. We are what stands between the ravenous horde outside and your loved ones, your families and your homes. Some of us will bleed and some of us will die, and it is up to everyone to make sure that this sacrifice will not be in vain. So take your muskets and aim to kill. Tonight, you are not wives, husbands and citizens. Tonight you are warriors, fighting for each other and for your town. So tell me, what are you tonight?" "WARRIORS!" "Then warriors, remember the plan! Men in front, women behind, sharpshooters to the sides. Fight without fear and slay without mercy, and any wanker that shoots before I order, I''ll shove their muskets up their arse!" The roar that follows is deafening and I can see from here the enemies hastily form ranks. No fighters will surrender, who can make such a cry. YES, COME TO THE SLAUGHTER, PREY. I turn to my artillery assistant, an old man with a serious expression. "Let''s give them our formal reply. Half a mile mark, fire at will." The man turns and whistles, before shaking a red flag at someone far behind us. A moment later, it begins. I always found the mortars make a deeper, more quiet sound than field guns. Few things offer a clearer refusal than indirect artillery fire. The first boom resounds behind us and makes the dust on the ground vibrate. The shell climbs to the zenith of its trajectory, leaving behind a red trail and a whistle like the world''s angriest teapot. A few seconds later, the projectile hits the earth with a resounding boom that even distance cannot dull. A beautiful fiery plume erupts in the middle of the encampment, setting tents and supplies ablaze. Some men scream as they are torched by the Skaragg magical shell, the same one Ascendency used against us at the battle of Black Harbor. I really much prefer to be on the side that does the bombardment. I only wish I could see Lambert''s face right now. The mass of enemies is now running forward, a stupid maneuver that will have them exhausted before they reach us. Ah, but Lambert brought highwaymen to a war. I brought soldiers. Our line waits silently in front of the barricade in orderly ranks. "Check range and adjust," I tell the spotter, and leave him to do his job. Merritt is good at what she does and with the support of the borrowed Rosenthal mage, they will be able to fire quite a few shells from the protection of a circle. I signal the Creek brothers immediately after. "Light them up." Soon enough, flaming arrows land on the prepared pyres. The pitch goes off in an instant and a reddish glow lights the field. My mortals will have perfect visibility. We wait in silence and I turn with curiosity to the mayor. He is mumbling a prayer under his breath which irritates my ear. In his hands, he holds a Bible and a pistol. "Praying for forgiveness, Mayor?" "No Milady, I am praying for courage. Forgiveness will come later." He returns a wan smile and I tap his shoulder as a sign of support. He is here, it is all that matters. The foes are still trotting towards us. Their screams and jeers offer a stark contrast with our own disciplined ranks. No one speaks, no one moves. There are only hard faces all around. The mortar fire now falls behind the assembled mass until the spotter raises another flag and the next screaming shell lands this time a bit short, still blocking the path with an incandescent crater. Somewhere to my left, a man throws up, only to be offered a handkerchief by his neighbour. The next shell lands squarely in the middle of the enemy. Two dozen men are instantly slain and their dismembered limbs rain on their comrades in arms, who remain unfazed. Lambert''s work, no doubt. It will take a lot to shock them. "Hot out there, innit." whispers one of my bouncers. A few dark chuckles welcome the comment. In a few more moments, the first foes reach the halo of light. The blaze reflects in their manic eyes and the glint of their weapons. A low roar starts as we finally come in their view. The first few start running again towards us as the rest spread in the semblance of a line. One hundred and fifty yards. "Ready!" The first rank lifts their muskets. "Aim!" A forest of steel-tipped branches leans down and forward. One hundred yards. "Fire!" The roar of the volley makes my ears tingle. The blue cloud of spent powder rises towards the sky as the first rank kneels and reloads without a word. In front of us, only a fraction of the men fell but the advance slows as even the most brainwashed moron hesitates to walk towards their death. A few of the rowdiest bandits return fire with little effect. "Come on you bastards, you want to live forever?" screams a man in fancy clothes looking vaguely like a uniform. He raises a sabre and the foes resume their advance, faster still. "Ready!" I yell again. "Aim!" Fifty yards. "Fire!" The Home Guard fires at a range where most can hit a target the size of a small mirror. More than twenty men fall instantly while others scream, holding mangled parts of their anatomy. The man with the sabre lets out a horrendous scream and falls to the side, holding what is left of his manhood. A girly titter with just a touch of insanity caresses my ears. I turn to the mayor. "It''s Stetson. She has a fixation." He just nods, looking quite pale. The forward line is now in full sprint and even the humans should be able to hear their many feet pounding the ground, the heavy breaths from their chest and the yells from their lips. They are like a gigantic creature with a hundred hearts, bleeding and hurting but quite alive and very dangerous. A maddened grizzly. We are a steel line in ties, hats and frills. And they will not break us. "Ready!" The first rank stands back up except a few too nervous to reload. "Aim!" Twenty yards. "Fire!" This time the volley is devastating. Dozens of men fall and roll to the ground, only to be trampled by the rest as they have worked themselves up to a frenzy. The fastest warriors sprint towards us with abandon. "First rank, fix bayonets! Second rank, fire at will!" With practised ease, the men turn their line into a deadly expanse of sharpened steel. The Home Guard behind is reloading frantically. The mortar falls silent after one last shell as the enemy is now too close to us. And then it is too late to plan. The melee is joined when the first fighters jump over the barricade. The first ones end impaled but some manage to smash into our ranks, felling men here and there. It only takes a few seconds for the line to be bogged in heavy combat. Immediately after, the pressure is lessened when the Home Guard start firing on assailants as they climb the barricade. I see a man climb up and take aim at our line. I blow his brains out just as a quarrel from John''s own crossbow sends a pair of ruffians flying back over the edge. After that, the other foes get the message. The barricade lessened the initial shock and my first line holds fast. On the left, the citizens fight defensively, covering each other with care and fighting with unity. To the right, my own security detail just makes use of the arsenal I put at their disposal to dispatch their foes with matchless savagery. Knives and balanced war axes fly through the air to catch the bandits as they pass over the barricade. Pistols are unloaded at point-blank range, more often than not in someone''s face. The supporting fire from the Home Guard makes a real difference but there are still almost two hundred and fifty enemies and little by little, they push through. Before long, too many men are atop the barricade for our muskets to dispatch them fast enough and it is the scoundrel''s turns to shoot into our ranks. The first female screams join the chorus of pain and fury. A girl beside me gets shot in the heart, fires her muskets and falls dead. Wounds accumulate and we are steadily pushed back. I reload my pistol almost inhumanly fast and take out officers and sharpshooters but it is not enough. Then it happens. A highwayman covered in clay pots climbs on a crate and holds two of his grenades to the cigar on his cracked lips. "Damn it." I curse with dismay. I need to¡­ but no time¡­ I grab a knife until a crack from my side surprises me. The madman covered in grenades falls with a surprised look and a deep hole in his chest. The mayor looks at the spent pistol in his trembling hands. Nice shot. I think it is time. I whistle and get the attention of the spotter. He nods and takes a trumpet hanging from his side. The clear sound of a horn covers the din of the battle. "Alright lads, lob it!" Sparks emerge from deep within our ranks and soon, our own grenades arc overhead before falling amongst the chaos of the opposing side. The attackers mill around in despair. Some fall to their knees in an attempt to seize the bombs before they can detonate. I turn around and gallop to a side alley with the mayor and John on my heels. Our troops use the confusion to run, clinging to the side of the street. In the alley, Marquette''s entire mounted detachment awaits with impatience. Anxiety has been replaced by anticipation in the eyes of those men, and they are more than eager to join the fray. "It''s about damn time," grumbles their commander, "gentlemen, forward." I follow them as they slowly make their way into the main street. In front of us, men and women flee in disorder but as planned, they leave the centre of the main street free. The chaos from the explosions and relative lack of visibility allow most to slip away safely. "Form up!" The riders form a tight wedge behind their leaders. LEAD, CRUSH AND SUBJUGATE. No, let them do their job. If I charge now, I won''t hold back. Lambert is still missing. "Swords out, CHARGE!" The entire detachment jumps forward without restraint, men scream at the top of their lungs and somewhere in the middle, a musician with a trumpet is having the time of his life. How does a disorganized infantry hold a cavalry charge? The answer is, they do not. The tightly grouped spear tip cleaves its way through the bandits, crushing them underfoot. I do not follow. I move around, picking stragglers with my spear. Some of my mortals are on the ground and beyond my help. I still spot a figure in a brown dress leaning against the wall to the side. She is the last one. I push Metis forward and we pick up the girl, who I remember is Penelope. She grabs my arm with a blood-stained hand. Her head rests against my shoulder. Somewhere in the melee, she lost her hat. Her brown hair tickles my nose as we ride back to warehouse square. We do not speak. She spasms one last time in my arms. When I lower her lifeless body in the arms of nurses behind our back up barricade, they too say nothing. There will be time to honour the fallen after. Warehouse square is the largest open space in the entire city. My mortals have regrouped and reformed rank behind a last barricade. Some are missing. Some others wear bloodied bandages if their wounds are not too serious. The wails of pain behind us comes from the infirmary. They remind everyone that there are no other fallback positions. A minute passes and the cavalry detachment emerges in disorder from the main street, before turning right to their assigned position. The enemy does not follow. Come on. You smell blood in the water. You want to follow us. Soon enough, a sound reaches my ears and explains the delay. Thundering hooves make the earth shake and raucous screams leave us with no doubt. Their cavalry is in the city. They must have taken the time to clear the barricade and allow themselves in. The sound of the charge grows louder and louder. The Dream security, citizen and Home Guard cling to their muskets with determination. They are bloodied but not down. Some look with undisguised anticipation at the piece beside them. The line of cavalry emerges from the darkness in one great torrent, with Sullivan at the head. He holds a crucifix in one hand, his face a mask of exaltation. He screams with fervour when he spots us. "It is God''s will!" I could not have put it better myself. "Fire!" At the head of the charge, the riders show me a unique gamut of expression as they notice the gaping maw of the twenty-four pounder facing them. Curiosity, surprise, horror and even, acceptance. They all disappear as the field gun opens into them with a canister shot at optimal range. The world goes deaf. The cannon vomits a storm of fire and steel that takes the charge in enfilade. Tens of men are turned to red mist and flying organs in a moment, and the survivors can only look in terror as they bleed and die from musket fire. To the sides, the cavalry detachment and a militia squad that was waiting in reserve for this exact moment maul the foe in a deadly crossfire. YES, PERFECTLY EXECUTED. WELL DONE, MY MORTALS. "They have a fucking cannon!?" screams a mercenary with dismay. Indeed not, silly human, indeed not. We have two. "Battery two, fire!" The second field gun reaps a bloody harvest at another angle. Those who escaped the devastation of the first blow crumble and die. Panic spreads and for the first time, uncertainty pierces through the veil of fanaticism that Lambert placed there. They are RIPE FOR THE TAKING. Sullivan looks askance at the bolt nailing his cross to his palm, courtesy of John who can certainly be petty when he wants to. Our eyes meet. I did not shred their ranks with my claws, I did not engage Lambert in a battle of Charm. I fought like a queen, and now, I WIN. Sullivan, you were outplayed from the very beginning. "Checkmate." The lead ball catches the fallen judge under the nose. His corpse leans back, spread eagle on top of his panicked horse as it flees the carnage. "Now lads and lasses, let''s kick them out!" The order to charge comes from everywhere. Militia and cavalry sweep through the disoriented attackers like a tidal wave. Citizens and guards push forward with a great cry, eager to reclaim their land and the bodies of their friends, eager to exorcise the fear that had gripped their gut for days. It is too much for the bandits who expected easy prey. They disintegrate and run away with all the speed they can muster. And yet, the battle is not over. Musket shots ring from our left and I realize the issue immediately. A significant part of Sullivan''s men, maybe half, went to the side. They probably expected to flank us. I rally the militia, still fresh and out for blood. Their officer already feels the danger and rushes to their aid. I open the way with the ever-faithful John by my side, until I see him. Lambert stands in the middle of a deserted shopping road. His usual air of arrogant nonchalance is gone, replaced by frustration. He is so emotionally dead that I wonder if anger is beyond him. The militia behind me instinctively turns to a side alley to go on. "You go as well my friend, this is my battle." John nods and reluctantly rides away. This is it. I climb down from Metis. Vampires are too fast to make mounted battle practical, and I do not want her to be harmed needlessly. The street is empty. The shops there are barred and their goods hidden. It almost looks like a ghost town, but the red glow of fires and the cracks of discharging firearms belies the sense of calm that permeates it. Lambert walks to me, he the Master and the enforcer, me the one who escaped and prospered. He thinks me weak, still. Even with his men fallen and his plans in tatters, his prideful demeanour is unchanged. He does not understand yet, but he will. I am Queen here, and he is PREY. Chapter 64 - 63. Reign of Blood Lambert''s blue eyes are the cold of the deepest ice as he steps towards me with barely contained fury. I take my spear out and twirl it casually. We will come to blows but I wouldn''t mind talking a bit before that. Time is on my side in this case. Without his leadership, his rabble will collapse while my side has every advantage including numbers now. As he stops at a respectable distance, I consider that I have not interacted that much with Lambert. I know why now. He was the enforcer while I was the errand girl. In a way, it is a mercy that we did not meet so often. His perverted drive to taint and destroy everything a person is and owns before killing them is the mark of a sick mind, a deviant, whose sole entertainment is ruin. I use the silence to study him as he studies me. Arrogance. This is what he embodies. His posture is relaxed and confident. His handsome face is twisted by scorn and disdain. My enslavement and death are not even a game to him. They are a chore. Something he will inflict in passing before returning to more civilized lands. He only wears one weapon, a luxurious fencing sword in a scabbard by his left flank. His hands are gloved with white and his spotless beige ensemble fits comfortably on athletic shoulders. By comparison, I am dirtier than a farm hand after a slaughter. I do not mind. Those are the marks of who we are. I suppose Lambert expected me to threaten, beg, or negotiate. My uncaring silence has worn his patience thin and he is the first to talk. "We meet again, peasant girl. I have been¡­ sent¡­ to retrieve you so that you may be judged for your many crimes. You can come peacefully, and I will be mostly gentle. Or you can resist, and I will remove your legs and arms and drag you back to New Orleans in a child coffin." I pretend to consider it for a moment. "Such a generous offer¡­ Are you convinced you are in a position to make it?" "Lady Moor gave me leave to drag you back the way I see fit." "You are a bit slow Lambert. I am questioning your competence. Do you really think you can capture me? You and what army?" "I don''t need mortals, you imbecile!" he hisses, "especially not frontier dogs." "Why bring them then?" I snap back, "don''t reply, I know why. You wanted to punish me for dragging you to this mudhole, am I right?" Lambert tightens his fists, then relaxes, still in control. "You think yourself victorious, as expected from someone who lacks vision. None of your pathetic accomplishments matter. After we are done with you, you will beg me to come help you burn this place down." "You are delusional." "You really do not understand the situation you are in," he scoffs, " the kill order on your person is still valid and even if you were to miraculously escape this place, the knight squad on your tail will not falter. I made sure they knew everything. You have run out of options." "Of course they are coming, I called them here." I did not, I called Jimena, but as long as she''s here I will be fine. "You what?! You are insane! If you think Anatole will show you mercy¡­" "Of course not," I say dismissively, "but I do count on him respecting the Accords. You see, there is a way around a kill order." I have his attention now. Every minute spent talking brings his forces closer to destruction. He may fall back just to avoid being surrounded by hostiles. I do wish to kill him, but I also wish to take little risks. I am so close to safety, to recognition¡­ "In his great wisdom, Constantine included an amendment to the law. City Masters are expected to be the target of many a machination, and to guarantee that the Speaker is not dragged into local conflicts, a Knight Squad cannot be sent to slay one. They must be brought before the Speaker for judgement." "You cannot be serious¡­" "I received recognition from House Rosenthal, the local branch of the clan. A copy was sent to Boston. It is done, Lambert, I am entering society properly this time, and you cannot stop it. Burning the city to the ground will not help, threatening me will not help. Even that devious and dishonorable blond cur will not raise a hand to me unless he wants to publicly break his oath to the Knights. You come as the game is already over, Lambert. I will go to Boston and claim my due. I have made it. After thirty years as a slave, pariah and fugitive, I have finally made it." "No, you have not," he snarls, "I will take you back this very night and you will be our slave forever. No one mocks us and lives free." "Your army has failed, your machinations have failed, all at the hand of a ''peasant girl''. And now you threaten me with violence? I am unimpressed." "We shall see, peasant girl, we shall see. The night is still young and there is much I will show you." Lambert draws and charges. I push him back with a quick jab and we start circling each other. I probe his defenses and find them formidable. Even my fastest attacks are lazily deflected by the tip of his blade. When he attacks, he tries to bat the spear away but quick footwork and bringing the spear back allows me to keep my distance. Thank you, Nami, I cannot imagine how hard it would be to face him without your training. Lambert is clearly a master fencer and only my experience facing superior foes lets me fight him without already collecting wounds. His speed is only the same as mine, but his strength and technique are far above. PATIENT HUNTER. I will take my time. He looks down upon me. His overconfidence will give me an opening. We move around the street. He moves in a line while I move in a circle, mostly to counter him. We go faster now that we are used to each other''s style. Then he stops and crouches. DODGE to the side. In an instant, he disappears, and a fiery line ravages my left cheek. "Better. Now you will hold your tongue." Silvery runes glow on his blade. An enchanted weapon, of course. The unfamiliar feeling of cold air on my teeth almost eclipses the pain. Lambert blinks and inspects his left flank, where I left a little surprise. One throwing knife used, two to go. The Lancaster grunts and removes my weapon from his flank. Black blood seeps on his beige overcoat. Merritt''s runes glow red. That has to sting a bit. "You will pay for your insolence." I return a lopsided smile and we resume our fight. Lambert changes his style. He uses his strength more and tries to corner me recklessly. His blade bites into my left armguard but the blow is mostly stopped. The pain is still manageable. I retaliate by using more sweeps and exploiting his opening. Eventually, he tries to walk on my spear as I extend it. I dive low and catch him in the tibia with a horizontal swing that smashes him into a boarded window. He stands up with a snarl before I can capitalize on my victory, however, but a new black stain mars his trousers. He redoubles his efforts. I am on the backfoot and retreat as his attacks become ever more aggressive. He maneuvers me into an alley. I jump back then up, bouncing from wall to wall until I am on the roof to avoid being trapped in close quarters. I AM PATIENT. I cannot match him in strength. I just need to hold on and then, PUNISH. "Ever tire of running?" he asks with an arrogant voice. I keep my distance. I am a PATIENT HUNTER. I do not let my rage overcome me. "You think that being part of vampire society will change your life. It will not. You are not ostracized because you are unlucky. You are ostracized because you are a monster made on a whim by an ancient horror. All of your master''s spawns are sick puppies and you are no exception. The only thing that saved you from immediate execution, is that you were not picked for intimidation but for entertainment." Sear?h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. I maneuver around a chimney. Lambert just jumps on it and lunges at me. The shock of our weapons sends me to slide over the roof. I twist to the side to avoid a downward swing. We crash through the roof into a cluttered shop filled with cooking and gardening tools. I weave my way around stoves and piles of pans, avoiding large strikes that shatter furniture and send metal flying. I almost lose my balance on an errant pot. Lambert''s eyes narrow. He lunges. I kick the guilty pot and it shatters on his chest, enough to deflect. The sword still bites into my upper right arm. Lambert crashes into me, I manage to put my foot on his sternum and push with all my strength. He takes off and his back smacks against a support beam. I throw my second knife. Somehow, Lambert twists midair and it only draws a bloody line across his temple. Lambert lands lightly and gingerly touches his now bisected ear. He does not show anger, and this worries me more than the blood slowly dripping from my dress. I move my tongue around my mouth and find out that the first wound is mostly closed and that I can speak. I have nothing to say. He is just spouting nonsense. He tries to destabilize me. I''m a PATient¡­ I am patient. And strong. He is just bluffing. "That Russian mujik is only alive because he is the Vitiazi''s attack dog, kept on a tight leash by oaths and agreements. There is nothing for you in this world you wish to join. You will forever be a pariah, barely tolerated or hunted outright. Anatole is not an outlier. He is the norm." I parry the next lunge and counterattack. Lambert grabs the shaft and uses it to throw me through the front door. I climb to my feet to face him. This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. The enforcer steps out of the ruin of the shop''s entrance. He casually inspects the small wound I inflicted on his hand as he threw me. He is supremely unconcerned, and his eyes are so cold. "I will remember each of your words and slights against me. I will have you repent for your insolence. One hour of agony for every second of annoyance you dared inflict on your betters. One limb for every wound. I will skin you, I will break your every bone, I will cut your tongue and cauterize the wound every night. I will have burly sailors line up to ravage you for five pennies a shot. You may even like it." That twit¡­ I¡­ Lambert lunges once more, sliding under my guard. I twist into his attack and hit him with my shoulder. I might as well have hit a train. His hand reaches for my throat. I drop the spear and try to claw him. He drops his sword and captures my wrists, pushes me away without releasing his hold and drags me back. Light in my vision. Pain. I spit blood. No time. I dive before he can kick me in the face again and bite his unarmored sleeve. I barely pierce the skin before he releases me. I block a punch with an armguard, but still fly into the air. I land heavily against a wall. Nose bleeding. Mouth bleeding. Dizzy. I shake my head and push myself back. Use the wall to get back up. Need to be quicker. Lambert does not use the opportunity granted to him. He is still looking down on me, not that I can really blame him. "Yes, little peasant girl, get back up. The trip here was long and tedious and I do need to unwind. Tell me, when you left us, did you go back home? Did you sate your Thirst on your family or did they just throw you out like the beast you are?" "Didn''t." "I wonder if your father knew his precious daughter had died bleeding in some damp cellar, only to be replaced by you? Did he think of you in his last moments? Did he know the soulless monster desecrating her body was still walking around, whoring herself out to sweaty miners?" "I¡­" "Did you try to lie to him? Did you seek comfort? How long did it take for him to throw you out, you filthy scamp? How long did it take for him to discover the truth about what you had become?" Not long. Not long at all, in fact. We never discussed soul, but he could tell I had been changed. That I was different. I told him I died. I did. I told him I did not know if I was the same girl. I remember now. How silly. I tortured myself, wondering if I had betrayed his trust but I did not. I told him everything. This question was never for me to answer, it was for him. And he did. I was feeling guilty while Papa had answered decades before I even asked myself if I were still me. Suddenly and with perfect clarity, I remember his words. They ring in my ears as clearly as the night he said them, after I walked home, free, for the first time in my second life. "I remember that you told me you are not my Ariane, but you were wrong. You still carry the same spirit, the same aspirations and God forgive me, the same love for unladylike things that go boom." Yes. "You think that being human is what made you my daughter. It is not. Being you is what made you my daughter. You have always changed and grown, this particular change is just the latest and the most dire. Do not despair and do not let go of your past and our time together, yes?" Yes. YES. I am me. I am always me. Not just a monster, not just a person, not just my father''s child and not just a vampire. I am all of it, and more. I. Am. Me. Ariane of the Nirari, previously Ariane Beatrice Lucille Reynaud, daughter of Hercule Reynaud and Diana Anjou, scion of the first. Friend to Jimena, Nashoba, Isaac, Loth, Merritt and others. Protector of Marquette. And royally pissed. I parry Lambert''s lunge before the blade digs into my heart. It slides along the armor, digging a furrow in my flesh. I grab the hilt and drag the sword forward until it digs deep into the wood. GOUGE THE TALON. I twist and slice, catching Lambert''s arm and cleaving him to the bone. He hisses in pain. I am not done. I rush him. I have a knife and he has nothing, the sword stuck in the thick log behind me. He blocks and dodges but not enough. His suit is half black with blood. SUBJUGATE AND DEVOUR. Lambert winces and grabs something from his chest. My next strike is deflected by¡­ a shield!? DODGE. I dive under a claw and block a foot, I am propelled back and when I look up, Lambert is snapping something around his left hand. Ah. I should have expected that, to be fair. Lambert is a bloody mage. "I will admit that your stupid savagery gives you some measure of resilience. I suppose I will have to make some effort to take you down, after all." Not good. I dive to the side and pick up my spear. I rush forward. I had no idea he could cast! I don''t even know how good he is. This will be a close one. I need to finish this quickly. I move faster than ever. "Bind!" Massive red manacles emerge from the gauntlet. They hiss and slither to me like snakes. My claws glow blue. I will only be able to deflect such a strong spell once before running out of energy. It matters not. I only need one try. I slap the spell away. Lambert''s face widens in surprise. Close. Lunge! "Shield!" "Pierce!" The spear tip glows with Sivaya''s gift. The Court of Blue''s expertise clashes with Lancaster spellcraft. The spear tip digs through my foe''s chest like a hot knife through butter. I lift his body and slam it into the ground, pin him like an insect. YES. YES! No¡­ Hold on, something is¡­ "Bind," a voice coughs. I DODGE, but the angry links track me, find me. They snake around my arms and pull me to the ground. So heavy. Hurts. Everything hurts. Lambert grabs the shaft and pulls the blade from his bleeding lung. He spits blood and slowly gets back up. Impossible! This is impossible! No vampire can stand after losing their heart. The very idea is ridiculous! Our heart is¡­ our heart! How! I cannot be! "Never thought¡­" he coughs bloody foam on his lips, "you''d push me so far¡­ Few know of this." He adds with a smirk as he grabs the spear''s shaft. "Shatter." The lightly enchanted pole breaks in his fingers. I¡­ don''t understand. Lambert painfully stands back up with an evil grin on his face. The chain constricts me, extending from his glove to my chest. The links grate painfully against my bones and the wound on my left flank. Without the Ekon''s power, I would be screaming. "None of your efforts matter. You are out of tricks now, and in the end you fall, alone." "I am never alone." "You¡­" Lambert screams as he dodges a silver quarrel. His focus breaks and the chains break and fade. "Your servants will not save you." "I will admit the timing was impeccable, but this isn''t what I was referring to." He is right, I am out of tricks. I only have my ace left. I take the silver cylinder on my chest, pop its cap open and down the contents. Cheers! I despise this world. I despise it and those in it. It is drab and dull. They are uninspired simpletons. I only wish to go back, and so I dedicate my intellect to solving the one issue that bars our way: how to open a path back when the barrier on this side is so dense. I will succeed, I must. My eyes rest on the mountain of notes on my borrowed workshop. I need a break. My fianc¨¦ is up there, playing host and gallivanting. I do not know how he does it, but I approve so much. The Court of Blue is as rife with intrigue as the Court of Summer. I am glad I will rely on one so keen and witty, so that I may dedicate myself to my research. It helps that he is such a competent lover. On a separate table, lies a side project. Sinead gave her his blood as a sign of trust and as a favor. The receptacle''s workings need to be maintained so that the blood is correctly protected. She is¡­ different. As drab as the others, to be sure, but at least there is a spark there, a drive. Perhaps I have been too arrogant in my dealings with her. It is not because she is beneath my station that I may not show esteem and gratitude. Virtue stems not from the others but from ourselves. I step closer. I will return this artefact, with a gift. Let it not be said that Sivaya of the Court of Blue is ungrateful. Let it not be said that she does not support her spouse''s projects, no matter how¡­ boorish they may be. I carefully unscrew the top and prick my finger. A single drop charged with my immortal essence slides into it, mixing with the gift of Summer. The blood of a royal couple, given freely and with our blessing. May she one day realize its value and may her heart fill with joy. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAthatstupidtartAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA IT BURNS. Always before, a struggle, always before, not enough, always before, Thirsty! Too much too much, it is too much. The vitality and power carry me like a torrent, a tidal wave! They are everywhere and they do not stop and there is always MORE. I am exploding but inside, and exploding again and again and again. The power bursts into my bones, my ligaments, my organs, everywhere! They force themselves into me and then they become me and more comes and becomes me as well. It doesn''t stop. There is more me, more of my essence, mine. MORE. There is as much power as in my master''s blood but it doesn''t let me stop, it doesn''t let me breathe. I should be the size of a barn, and yet it manages to push itself into my tiny frame and there is still more! From my heart, I feel something pulsate once and find an echo somewhere above. It pulses again and again as each wave of power burrows itself into my essence and becomes mine. My wounds are long closed. My exhaustion was washed away in the first instant. Lambert is standing here, moving like a slug with horror on his face and I could snap his neck, but I cannot because I cannot move! I can only endure as the wave washes through me and in me, only to be replaced by another. The pulses come faster now, and I can feel it. My essence echoes from my heart to the rest of my body. My essence. I can feel my essence, for the first time ever. It is mine and mine only, the touch of the Watcher. My inhuman soul. My aura flairs and expands with unprecedented might. I am¡­ a Master! The power stops because it has pushed into me as much as it could, carrying me over the edge. I feel raw and tender but now the power courses through my veins, eager to be used. It purrs like a great cat. So much energy. I can do¡­ anything! "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" I extend a hand to Lambert''s face. A rune appears in the air, one I saw in the dream when Nirari killed Wolfgang and the army arrayed against him. A red branch emerges from it and crashes through a hastily erected shield. Lambert screams as his arm is mummified in an instant. His blood crawls back to me, a droplet in an ocean. I am doing magic! How can I not? I am a GODDESS. Why is that cockroach still alive? Power expands in a bubble and I see his own essence centered around his heart, which is¡­ on the wrong side of his chest! Is that how he escaped death? A circus trick? Laughable. It won''t help him now. He runs, no, he limps away. I already hurt him so much. I lift a hand and the spear head jumps to it, unbidden. I do not need to run. "Heartseeker." The spearhead blasts away and pierces through the enforcer''s chest, two walls and into a smithy with an ear-shattering clang. So easy. PREY is on the ground, unmoving. I reach once more and the body is dragged towards me, but slower. The power is going out. Why? Lambert''s heartless form is before me. I kneel and grab him by the collar. Ignoring his panicked eyes, I push his head back to uncover a white neck. I bite down. I know the taste should be exquisite, but my senses are dulled. There is so much that happened. The power in me has mostly petered out. The rest is seeping into my heart as fast as it can welcome it, completing the transition. I feel so wrung out. Beyond tired. A pair of solid arms pick me up as I collapse. I see the softest smile''s on John''s hideous face. "I help you now." I am safe. I close my eyes and surrender to the darkness. Chapter 65 - 64. Knight Takes Queen. The dining room. Achilles is trying to look serious with his freshly grown adolescent beard. Papa''s eyes are full of mirth and my aunt Catherine''s are full of pride. Her husband Roger smiles peacefully as he eyes the cake with a hint of gluttony. It is so big and white and red! Covered in strawberries! "Go on mon ange, blow the candles." I take a deep breath in and blow. So many little lights I need to extinguish. It takes a long time for every last one of them to die down but soon, I am finally done. Time to get a slice! I stab and look up through the darkness. A desiccated man stares back with blind eyes set deep into his skull. Only parchment-like yellowed skin clings to it, not even a tuft of hair remains on his ancient scalp. "W-what?" "Took you long enough¡­" The mummified corpse falls on the rotten table with nary a sound, joining the others there. I drop the knife. It stays upright, dug deeply into a woman''s sternum. She has blonde hair and a face I know all too well. Deep tear tracks mark her cheeks. Her warm blood rolls on the table and drips on my lap. The corpses are sitting back up and they applaud, but I can only hear one person clapping. The scene disappears like sand in the wind, and we stand at the edge of my mental fortress. My sire looks like a prince gone slumming. He wears a dark suit and white shirt with the top buttons opened. His dark curls hang loosely, making him almost relaxed. His smile is just on the edge of cynical with still a hint of pride. "I wanted to be the first to congratulate you on joining the ranks of Masters. I hope you will indulge me and forgive my interruption of¡­ whatever this was. It is, after all, the last time I can freely visit." "What do you want?" I growl. "No need to be adversarial, Princess of the blood. As I said, I am only here to salute a great accomplishment. At first, you were only an amusement, and now you have grown into a true princess. You have achieved much in a relatively short amount of time and more importantly, you have done so in a pleasing way. Your enemies crushed, you allies loyal, and your debts fulfilled. You are worthy of being my scion." "You do realize that your compliments mean little to me. You played no part in my success, if anything, I thrived despite you." "Yes, as you should. Devourers are self-made, at least the three of you that still survive. We survivors are few, but we are quite formidable. I will leave you now. You can expect your coming of age gift within a month. Do try not to die." He steps back and disappears. The thorny roots which had started to slither towards him pull back like disappointed cats. He said it was the last time he could come here freely. That means from now on the fortress is entirely MINE. Anybody who DARES disturb me will¡ª Knock knock. With a step, I reach the border and the thick walls of sharp branches slide aside to reveal a parading figure in lean armor made of the white and blue of a summer sky. He struts in like a diva in an art gallery, annoyingly tall and annoyingly shiny. The Likaean prince lazily fixes his golden hair with an artist''s hand. The grass shimmers beneath his feet and takes on a different quality. "Well done, poppet, well done indeed! I am so delighted with your progress! A few more decades and you will be more than marginally useful!" "Sinead! What are you doing here?" Before he can reply, another form joins him. Sivaya is radiant in her Likaean form. In shades of pearl white and ocean blue, she is beautiful and subdued. Her face is even more elfin and ethereal, almost too alien. When she moves, her steps are so light that not a blade of grass is disturbed, and only the barest hints of movements are revealed by her azure flowing robes. I address her immediately. "Lady Sivaya, thank you for your gift. It was¡­ unexpected." There is a long pause when both Sinead and I wait to see if she will reply. Eventually, she averts her head in a gesture that changes her entire demeanour from gracefully distant to plain bashful. Her voice has an ethereal quality as if heard through some echoing cave. "You are welcome, vampire." Then she turns around and leaves. Sinead watches her as she disappears, looking thoughtful. Then he turns back and offers me another dazzling smile. "So, you have broken your chains! You are your own woman, vampire, whatever. Think what lofty heights we will reach together! Can you join us now, or are you busy?" "There is the small issue of the kill-on-sight order on my head and one of the most powerful clans on the planet trying to enslave me¡­" "Pffft! Trifling matters. Wait until you have to unweave three plots against your life every month, then things get interesting." "That Court of yours sounds like a real treasure. Why, I believe I would have chosen exile voluntarily." "And thus you show your naivete poppet. The weak and unaligned are always taken care of, lest they become problematic later. But enough, I have not come to dispense lessons but to see whether or not you had squandered our gift. So, tell me, what did you use it for beside finally cutting the eldritch umbilical cord?" "I killed an enforcer sent after me by a rival clan." "Only one? Disappointing." "Hey! Do it then you can criticize. Hrm. If I had known consuming your blood would allow me to go over the edge¡­" "Tut-tut poppet, I will hear no recriminations or ifs, especially because you had ample opportunities to taste my fluids and didn''t." "Get out." "I will wait for a month or so then make contact again. No sunbathing while I''m gone! Ta-ta." The tall armoured figure saunters away, leaving behind imprints of vivid green that do not fade. I stare at the wall for a moment and realize that my supposed fortress has seen more use as a receiving room than an actual bloody keep. Should I try to think up a nice gazebo, where we would all come and sit for tea? I am speechless. With one last sigh, I decide to return to my bedroom. I miss Papa and Dalton tonight. I will look at their copied portraits and reminisce for a while. It will do me good. I wake up in my bed and stare in alarm. Something is wrong. A crimson ray pierces through the room''s heavy curtains and basks a spot in the wall in an ominous light. It is death, death and agony. Terror grips my heart and I stand up to flee. Or at least, I try to. I feel so weak. My limbs are heavy and my attempted jump turns into a tumble. I slip from the bed and crash awkwardly on the floor. I feel feverish and weakened. With a supreme effort, I manage to climb back up to my feet and stare back. The ray is still here, slowly travelling up. Dread seizes me and constricts my chest. All my instincts scream of danger. I walk slowly to the fireplace and press a button on the side. The secret passage to my safe room opens quietly. I do not take it. Something strange is going on. I need to understand. These instincts I feel are most queer and this ray of supposed doom is quite meek for a deathly threat. I watch and resist the urge to cower. It slides up and up, then disappears, and with it, my weakness. In one instant, I go from feverish and weak to perfectly alert, as usual. Understanding makes me widen my eyes. The sun. I saw sunshine. I was awake before dusk! I truly am a Master! This was not an hallucination. Then¡­ I close my eyes and relax. I feel it within myself. My essence. It is centred in my chest and expands outwards in veins and networks to my extremities. The channels are thin for now but they should grow, in time. I try to hide my aura like Nami showed me, and though my control is already smoother, I have more difficulties. My aura flares and drops randomly. I am not too worried. I remember Isaac mentioning something similar. It will take at least a week before everything settles back to normal. And now, for the moment of truth. "Lord Nirari is a twit." I wait with bated breath which isn''t too surprising considering I do not breathe to begin with. Nothing. "Lord Nirari is a twit, a twit I say! Hehehe! Twit! Hahahaha!" I can badmouth him! I can say bad things and I. Don''t. Care. This is fantastic! "He is a twit and he smells bad! And he has poor taste in clothes!" Those are lies. I am merely testing the limits of my newfound freedom. "He can go and greet the sun! Hahahaha! Eeep!" I jump in surprise when somebody knocks on the door. "Ahem. Come in." Merritt''s tired face greets me. She stares at me with no small level of annoyance. "Are you having fun?" "I have no idea what you may be referring to." She rolls her eyes, something that Ollie has been doing a lot recently and that I associate in her with exhaustion. I got it easy, going to bed. She must have spent a lot of energy handling the aftermath of yesterday''s events. "So, how are things?" I ask lightly. "A lot happened while you were having your beauty sleep. Wallace''s men went after the stragglers for most of the day and made sure they couldn''t regroup. They think we''re safe now, especially with Sullivan dead. Most of the bodies have been cleared and there will be a service on Sunday for our own. We lost thirty-seven people all included and probably another four more before tonight. The rest should recover though we still have more than fifty wounded. The Home Guard lost six, including Penelope. Annabelle got two fingers shot off. Harrigan says your security lost three but many are wounded. The citizens lost seven, including Mr. Schrodinger. He died covering his wife''s retreat." I wince. I care so little for mortal lives, usually, that it feels strange when I do. Merritt is not done. "The militia found more than a thousand dollars in gold in their command tent. The council had an emergency meeting and decided that they would be used to repair the town and compensate the families of the victims. Marquette is still a mess and the barricades mostly stand. I expect it will take three days for things to return to normal." "I understand." Merritt shows signs that she has something else on her mind, so I wait. She seems rebellious for some reason. "Where did you disappear to? I was looking for you the whole night." "I killed the vampire attacking us in single combat then I collapsed." All her built-up aggression melts in an instant. "I''m sorry, I had no idea. It must have been hard." I remember scraping the wall behind me to climb back up, covered in wounds and with a broken nose. "Yes. Yes, it was." "Yeah, sorry. And uh, thanks. So, I got to ask¡­ are you leaving?" Ah, so that is how it is. "We have already discussed it. I am leaving, this very night." "Could you not wait until everything is settled?" "Knights are going to come looking for me sooner rather than later. I have to go, Merritt, we already had this discussion." "Well¡­ I guess!" And for one moment, she is the young mage I met fighting Ascendency. Despite all her experience, Merritt is still the same emotive woman who had stood up and faced a knight squad by my side, three days after meeting me. "I will miss you too." "What?" she sputters, "Hmm, yes I mean. Arg! Let''s just go downstairs. There is still something I need you to solve." The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. I nod and before leaving, grab the backpack I prepared. Everything else is already prepared for shipping. The Dream is mostly silent, which surprises me. Battle has a way to make people seek the purest expression of life and little says life like mindless sex. I make my way down to the workshop where only Merritt''s family''s belongings remain. She is standing next to an anvil. I am surprised to see that the heavy piece is splintered in its middle. "What is this?" She wordlessly points down and I walk around the smithing implement to see what caused it to break in such a way. "Oh." That would be the head of my spear. It''s still intact too! Sivaya does good work. "Would you mind removing it? Teams of men tried and failed, and Mr. Sully wants it back." "Not at all." I brace against the solid piece of iron and pull the blade out with a shriek of tortured metal. I inspect the tip. It doesn''t look damaged. I''m impressed! Merritt shakes her head and whispers "Vampires¡­" under her breath. I chuckle and she leads me back up, towards the main room. As she opens it, I hear a plethora of heartbeats and soon it is too late to flee. This is where the revellers were waiting. A legion of people lines the room wall to wall. They remain silent until I step in. Even the mayor is here. He applauds first, then everyone joins him to create a thundering clamour that shakes the building. S§×ar?h the n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Huh. I am¡­ I feel¡­ strangely emotional. Somebody hugs me, one of the girls who had joined the Home Guard. "Annabelle¡­" Before she can release me, another joins her, then another. Meanwhile, drinks and food are distributed around as person after person wishes me goodbye. I was planning to leave unnoticed. One could argue that Sullivan came here because of me, that the army attacked us because I was there. On the other hand, I did a lot for this city and I stayed when it mattered. I followed the spirit of Eneru, to rule justly. This is the conclusion of twenty years of reign. I feel decidedly strange, and it is not because of my flaring aura. I feel¡­ I feel sad. I am leaving Marquette for good. For the past three years, this moment could not come any faster. Only now, at the moment of my departure, do I realize all the good things I will have to leave behind, and the best thing of all is the people. How I loved to hate them. Those frontier men and women. Stubborn and filled with superstitions, judgmental and temperamental they are, but under that, there was a kind and courageous heart. They came through when it mattered the most, when others would have panicked and fled. I make my way through the crowd and greet Oscar, my bartender, Solomon the rescue, the Creek brothers and the other members of the odd squad, Kitty and the girls, Irma and some of the families. Regulars who come every week and citizens who never stepped in here before, all come and pay their homage. Little by little I start to accumulate gifts as well. Harrigan leaves me one of his lucky knives, which has a bat skull as a pommel. Ollie and Lynn give me adorable drawings of me beating the ever-loving hell out of wolves and the judge. They even drew the fangs. I get trinkets, carvings and enough cutlery and tankards to start another inn. All of it goes into a giant coffer that I will have to ship as well. It takes me a solid two hours to run out of faces to greet. By then, each farewell is made longer by my interlocutor''s advanced state of inebriety, and I have to extricate myself from more passionate declarations than I had to face in the past five years combined. I step outside to face the hardest farewell yet. I cannot bring anyone with me as I will technically be in "custody", and every aspect of my travel, including nourishment and security, will be in the hands of the Knight. "John." The giant''s eyes widen completely and the bow of his horrendous mouth curves upward until¡­. "BWAAAAHAHAHAHAAAAA." His bawling sounds like a group of men blowing a pierced hornpipe. Before I can try to comfort him, he lifts me in his arms. "Agh!" Ow, there goes my spine. That would have killed a mortal for sure¡­ I awkwardly pat his shoulder while he turns the front of my dress into his personal handkerchief. "Don''t worry, we will meet again. This is just goodbye." It takes a long time before he lets go and when he does, he looks lost. I recognize in me an emotion that I almost never feel while awake. Guilt. The cattle will be sent to Charleston as part of another agreement but John is different. He is not cattle, nor Supplicant nor Vassal. He is just a man who offered me his loyalty. And now I leave him behind. "I need you to stay here and protect Merritt. She is strong but she cannot notice everything like you do. You stay here and watch her back. I''m counting on you." The simpleton nods and swallows his cries, which only makes his face even more tragic as tears trail down his ruddy cheeks. I am not too worried. Merritt can certainly use a bodyguard. Speaking of the red-headed devil. "So, this is goodbye." I nod. It is. "I must say, two years ago I would never have thought¡­ but then¡­ God, I''m making a mess of things ain''t I?" I wince. "Ah sorry. Still can''t believe I''m taking over a large part of town on behalf of a friend who also happens to be an immortal creature from legends. I had to run for so long to stay away from the Pyke family and protect the kids. I was ready to die in exile, so to speak. Is this all real, or am I dying somewhere of fever?" "If you are, stop dreaming of me facing mortal perils so often, pretty please?" "Heh. Ah, enough of this. You take care and if those Knights cause you problems, I''ll come and kick their collective asses. Stay alive and come and visit sometimes." "Thanks Merritt. Be careful and write often. Goodbye." I grab my backpack and with one last wave, I ride into the night. Then I stop behind a barn because John drooled all over my dress and I need to get changed. Metis'' hooves join the sounds of the night in a rhythmical pattern. Beasts hunt, mate and die in a background of creaking wood and whispering wind. The scent of sap and dust is almost overwhelming. The road leads us on top of a small hill. The land here is flat, with the odd copse of trees to bring some measure of variety to the otherwise uniform landscape. I am nervous. This is it. A campfire shines clear in my sight, surrounded by three armoured wagons that an army would not dare assault. A small beacon has been lit, guiding me to them. Jimena is here, but she is not alone. This is the moment of truth. For the first time since my escape, I will have to surrender my freedom to a higher authority and hope that they respect their own oaths. Normally I would never take such an inane risk, but this is the best chance I am going to get. Metis presses forward. Next to the fire, I spot two figures in the grey lamellar armour of the Knights. Whoever else is there has decided to hide. I take one last deep breath to keep my composure and discipline my aura. Two sets of eyes track me as I dismount at the edge of the circle. I stop when I face them. Jimena is as dignified as ever, except for the wide smile that widens further when she takes in my new essence. Anatole, on the contrary, looks like he swallowed a bucket of lemons. His hand never strays from the princely blade by his side. "I see you have come to face your judgement. I was afraid you would run once more." With his blond hair, blue eyes and handsome face, Anatole still looks like the Prince Charming from fairy tales. The contrast with Jimena''s square jaw and tomboyish look is striking. The bombastic prick and the pragmatic friend. The judgmental hypocrite who invokes the rules and the honourable knight who follows them, in letter and in spirit. I simply raise an eyebrow while Jimena adds in a slightly condescending voice. "Should I read the warrant, ''Captain''?" The disrespect is barely veiled. Anatole glowers as he complies. His voice is coldly professional with a hint of scorn. His hands are tied, he knows it, and he knows we all know it. The powerlessness and rage in his posture are delicious and I find myself relaxing and enjoying the present humiliation. "You stand accused of roguish behaviour and are ordered to stand trial before a jury of your peers and the Speaker. We will now take you into custody. You have a right to remain silent, you have a right to safety, and reasonable nourishment. You have a duty to uphold our instructions during your transfer. You have a duty to surrender any and all mundane and magical tools and weapons you may have, with no limitation. You may not keep company of any sort¡­" "Including Metis?" I ask with surprise. "Of. Any. Sort." he replies with annoyance, "your transportation will be assured by my squad, and so will your safety. Are you willing to comply?" He looks hopeful for a moment. I notice Jimena''s serene smile and her imperceptible nod. She is confident. "I will comply, yes." I turn to Metis and release her from her harness. Once she is fully free, I turn to pat her but she surprises me yet again. The proud Nightmare places her head on my shoulder. I am moved, and reach to caress her chin. As I approach she moves back, blows air into my face and gallops away with a neigh that sounds suspiciously close to a laugh. "I see you have properly bonded," Jimena comments drily. Anatole remains mercifully silent, focused as he is on my gear. I approach and take out the spearhead, still not repaired, a silver pistol, three throwing knives and a dagger which I leave on the harness. "Are you not a bit underequipped?" asks Jimena with a knowing smile. "I know," I reply, "I left my rifle and a few other things. I figured I would be travelling light." "Right¡­" "Are you not forgetting something?" asks Anatole with impatience. I think for a moment. Am I? "Whatever tool you use to avoid detection." "Ah, yes." I take out my earrings. They join the pile of things that have helped me survive so far. "Aisha, please come and verify that she is not hiding anything." As Anatole speaks, a secured door clanks open on the side of a carriage and the veiled female Knight who survived Suarez''s displeasure unscathed steps down, soon followed by the two other fighters. Her eyes are so dark they look like pits and with her perfectly controlled expression and aura, I find myself unable to read her. She picks Nashoba''s gifts with a subdued grace and inspects them carefully. The carved amber glints under the firelight. She nods. "Does she have anything else on her?" Anatole asks as the rest of his squad exits the carriage. The woman closes her eyes and faces me. I feel the softest touch of power, not exactly intrusive but annoying, nonetheless. "No." Silence. "Can we go now, or do you want me to frisk her too?" asks Jimena. With sudden clarity, I understand the game. Jimena stands with her back to me and a deceptively calm appearance, clearly showing where her allegiance stands. Anatole faces me, which leaves his side open to Jimena. His stance is tense and his face furious, which I would be as well if a subordinate humiliated me so before both his squad and an outsider. Finally, the three remaining members of his squad sit on the sideline, showing neutrality and by extension, a lack of support to their leader. The largest man of the squad is searching the hills for hostiles, probably. He is not a handsome man, and his shaved scalp makes him intimidating. I see that he found another shield and axe. The sneaky one with the knives leans leisurely against the carriage, and when our eyes meet, he winks. He is beautiful, with lush black hair and almond eyes so I suppose others may swoon. I have seen Sinead at work though, and I am partially immune to roguish charm. Too much trouble. The woman is the strangest of the bunch. She is shorter than me and quite thin, and she carries herself demurely. Her only obvious weapon is a staff that I recognize as an old-fashioned focus. Mages these days much prefer gauntlets as they are small, effective and more importantly, innocuous. Carrying a magical staff around in a country that burnt witches to the stake only a century ago is not conducive to discretion. With one last murderous glance, Anatole relents. "Good, take her inside, we leave as soon as we''re ready." "I''ll do it." Jimena answers immediately. Anatole stares coldly but says nothing as I follow my friend. I understand. Anatole brought his whole squad to arrest me and escort me back, and they were waiting not in ambush, but at the very least fully equipped. I know that Knight squads are valuable resources and he still decided to come with everyone to complete a task that Jimena could have done alone without issue. He still wants me dead. Thank the Watcher for Jimena''s presence. The inside of the carriage is surprisingly spacious. Furniture in ash and white velvet gives the room a cosy appearance and I feel like I just entered a luxurious cabin in some line ship. A secured sarcophagus and a well-provisioned weapon rack are the only thing out of the ordinary. I love it. "Wow." "Welcome to my humble abode" Jimena declares proudly as a triplet of mortals lines out quickly, keeping their eyes down. "Do you always travel with such arrangements?" "Hold on." After they''re gone, Jimena locks the door, presses a rune and with a hum, magic is deployed. Any noise from the outside is cut off. Jimena lifts me into a hug. "Ooof!" "A Master! You are a Master! I am so damn proud! By the Eye, you are full of surprises! How did it ever happen?" "This is quite a story. I¡­ got my hand on some Likaean essence." "The Fae? How did you¡­ nevermind, keep it secret." "I drank it during my fight with Lambert and here we are." "You faced Lambert?" Jimena asks, suddenly serious, "Where is he now?" "Ahem." "You killed him, didn''t you?" "Yes¡­" I stare at Jimena with worry but if anything she looks ecstatic. "You killed Lambert¡­ My dream¡­ How I wish I were here to see the look of horror on his face as he turned to ash. Well done, well done indeed." "I thought killing vampires was undesirable?" Jimena shrugs. "In political conflicts between Houses and Clans, yes. It is not the case here, as you were fighting for your own survival. We are not talking about territories changing hands here, we are talking about abject servitude. If anything, the killing of a major clan''s enforcer will improve your odds of forming valuable partnerships. A competent and reliable ally is worth more than gold in our circles." "That is good to hear, but perhaps we are getting ahead of ourselves. I am worried about Anatole, and I will admit that I was not expecting him." "Ah yes, I am sorry about this. He caught up to me as I was waiting for you. Do not worry overmuch. His honor as a Knight demands that he brings you safely to Boston." "I do not think much of his honor." "Let me rephrase then, the perception others have of his honor matters to him. He would not try to slay you on the way, I am sure of it. It would go poorly if he tried." She smirks and lifts her arm. A weapon as dark as the void drops into her ready palm seemingly out of nowhere. One moment she is unarmed, the other, she holds a long rapier with a triangular point and a tip so thin, it could probably pierce through a sheet of steel by its own weight. The guard is delicate and small roses adorn its hilt. A scale is engraved into the hilt. It looks elegant and lethal. "A soul blade!" "Indeed, my dear. I present to you ''Justice'', made recently with the assistance of the Cadiz smith." "Beautiful. I believe congratulations are in order?" "For the both of us. Were it that we could celebrate properly. I am afraid we will have to wait a few months for a valid celebration." "The trial will take months?!" "Not the trial, your entrance into Society. Your petition to gain House status will be conducted as soon as you are clear. You can expect the Lancasters to fight fang and claws to regain control over you, however. They are experts on legal matters and they simply cannot afford to make this easy for you." "I¡­ need a lawyer?" "I have made contact with a few prospective candidates. Do not worry overmuch, you have made quite a few allies and the Lancasters, quite a few enemies. They sent Lambert because they knew they had no ground to stand on, though if we are not cautious, they could demand significant reparations. I will not let this happen." "I see. So what now, do I stay inside until we reach Boston?" "Of course not. It will take a bit under a week, with the mortals driving us during the day and us driving at night. Our horses are low-blood Nightmares and they do not tire. You may walk around when we are encamped, the rest of the time I would recommend you always stay within sight of one of us and no matter what, never be alone with Anatole. For the rest, use common sense." "I still don''t understand why he hates me so." "He is a Roland. Their unbreakable will sometimes makes them stubborn to the point of stupidity, and such is the case here. Anatole is, the Eye forgive me the term, on a crusade to rid the world of everything that does not conform to his twisted version of peace and order. You also proved to be elusive and smart, a combination that is sure to infuriate him. The only good news is that he has used considerable resources to track you down without success, diverting them from more important operations. Constantine''s patience is at an end and his trust in Anatole''s judgement at an all-time low. You may have felt the tension in our group?" "It would be hard not to." "The others would very much prefer to hunt dangerous rogues and the newly appeared packs of werewolves rather than spend entire nights trudging aimlessly through the back end of Illinois, I assure you. His position is weakened and that is why I am able to defy him openly." "Yes, that shocked me. I did not think that someone as honourable as you would pick a fight with a superior officer." "I''ll pick a fight with anybody if they''re being an asshole. Ah, we''re moving. Come on, tell me more about that Merritt girl you were writing about and then I will tell you about how I made Aintza my human Servant." It is good to see Jimena again, and I realize as we gossip, that I am not so worried anymore. Chapter 66 - 65. Sur les Bords du Mississippi... The Sweet Sunrise paddles lazily forward across murky water as I make my way to her deck. She is rather small as steamboats go, though no less majestic for it. The novelty of this experience has not worn off yet, and I enjoy it while it lasts. Long as a barn, she has white flanks shining with fresh paint, railings, and a chimney cleaned to shimmering perfection. The flat bottom and broad hull make her look like a corpulent lady trudging peacefully downstream at a sedate pace. I do my best to enjoy the view as I walk leisurely along, stopping sometimes to catch a moment I may paint later. My notebook will soon be filled with sketches of the riverbanks, of the sailors and merchants, of the officers and passengers. Time slows down and I use the meditative state I am in to think. We have been rerouted and I do not know why, nor do I have any influence on our course. I am not even part of the planning. Aisha received a sending and the Knight squad changed course on the spot, all previous plans abandoned. When I inquired about the delay, Jimena gave me an apologetic look and the promise that the current crisis is not related to me. Knights will go where they are needed, with or without their prisoner in tow. I only wished whoever sent them off had ordered Jimena to bring me back herself. That would have been common sense, a resource that appears in short supply around those parts. Sear?h the N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. I am left with nothing to do. I am bound to stay under their surveillance as I am now while they take care of travel arrangements, decide on security matters and they plan the next operation away from my sensitive ears. My only role is to stay put and to behave. Even now, I can feel the curious gaze of Alaric, their dagger-wielding flanker, on my back. There is always someone keeping an eye on me. I am not in control of my fate. I hate feeling powerless. It does not matter that we use a trusted captain and have a security detail that a king would find adequate. When dawn presses upon my mind, I join Jimena''s secured sarcophagus with the thought that I am at the mercy of men I do not know and cannot trust. It goes against all that I am and yet I do nothing. It would be unwise to act on it and so I bide my time. Any measure I could take to regain some independence now would harm my situation if I were found out. I will have to trust Jimena, and that is all I can do. With one last sigh, I finish a simple rendition of a dead trunk bent over the water, with its branches caressing the passing flow, and slam the book closed. I turn around to the cabin from which the helmsman steers the ship and decide to join him on a whim. It would be too inappropriate for me to visit the engine room and I do not want soot on one of the three clean dresses I brought anyway. The perch from which the ship is steered will do nicely. I deftly climb the ladder up and ignore Alaric''s gaze on my back and lower back. The box is small, with windows offering a clear view of the surroundings. A solemn man is at the wheel, smoking a cigar and inspecting with care the land around him. He wears a comfortable-looking and well-cut shirt and his black beard shows traces of grey. "Excuse me, sir." The man turns and glares with a frown. I can feel his rising temper in the beat of his heart and the intake of breath, but the insults and complaints die on his lips at my demure air and pleasant smile. I am no Lady Moor, but I have never been hard on the eyes either and few mortals could resist the benevolent attention of my kind. "And what can I do for you, miss? You''re one of those folks that came aboard today aye? Something about an unexpected business?" "Indeed. We were set for Boston, but were waylaid." He nods in understanding and immediately returns his attention to the water before him. I cannot see any danger, but he frowns at things I do not perceive and adjusts our course with a few light touches. "The name''s Scoresby, mam, one of the two pilots of the esteemed Sweet Sunrise. Pleasure having you on board. To what do I owe your unexpected visit?" The irony of a bunch of vampires travelling aboard a ship named Sweet Sunrise does not escape me, nor does the pilot''s guarded tone. It appears that I have intruded upon his sanctum and no amount of passive Charm will dent his offended pride. I decide to ask the difference between helmsman and pilot later. "This is my first time aboard a steamboat, and I could not help but admire all I could. Why, I haven''t seen a grander thing in my whole life!" I exclaim. That is a lie. I witnessed a millennia-old sorceress remake the fabric of the reality while sipping an infusion and throwing witty barbs. Nothing can top that. I still go on with my shameless flattery, buttering the old grouch up with thick compliments and a pinch of manipulation so that he spills his gut. Metaphorically. "I am sure you have seen so much and heard so many incredible tales! Would you mind sharing a few with me, to pass the time?" His caution melts like snow under a fire spell, and he puffs his chest so much that I fear he may pop buttons. Too late, I realize my mistake. The fellow''s tongue is untied, the dam has been breached! A torrent of words escapes from his mouth with a Southern accent I realize I had missed. "I''ve been on this ship for a good year, I have, and by the by, I''d say she''s one of the finest old ladies to grace this river. And I know what I''m talking about. I''ve been at this for a score years and the things I''ve seen and done, you could write a book about. Why, there is no finer pilot this side of Jackson, and I got the eyes of a cat and the mind of a fox, I do. No shallow or dark water there is that will make Andrew Scoresby lose his way, no mam!" Not once did he glance in my direction. His gaze is always forward as he keeps us on course. "We pilots have to remember all islands, reefs, sand bars and bends, yes ma''am, and they change all the time! We got to know the shape of the river like we know the shape of our wives, beg your pardon, better even! Like now at night. And here, we''re in luck because the stars and moon show us the way but when it gets dark as a negroe''s bunghole, beg your pardon, then it''s another thing altogether! All lines look straight, and all shadows look like snags. You think they''ll grab you like a scorned lover but no, tis but shades and bluster. And that bend that looks just fine will shove a rock up the old girl''s arse, beg your pardon, and cause the loss of fifty lives and a quarter million-dollar steamboat, it will. And that''s just the natural dangers we face. Tell me M''lady, do you believe in the¡­ supernatural?" He affects an air of mystery, or at least tries to. "I try to keep an open mind," I reply drily. "Then listen here, there''s more that preys on ships than just treacherous waters, there is. I got a story from my cousin who was on the ship itself when it happened. He was a mechanic, mind you. Only eighteen at the time. I reckon the ship''s name was the Louisa and she could carry one hundred and fifty people comfortably. "Once, they were making their way to the Kellog plantation pier. It was a dark night, darker than this one! A fine mist was covering the river and the land was so silent, you could hear the first mate fart from the engine room, beg your pardon. "My cousin was off shift and he enjoyed watching the pilot work. There were two of them on the Louisa like on this one. An old crusty man by the name of Knutson and a new dandy one called Lannis. Lannis was on the wheel then. He was looking out the cabin and frowning mightily. Sometimes, he would mutter and turn around to look at bends that my cousin swear looks exactly like bends should look like! His nervousness must have been catching, because soon enough there was a small crowd at the fore, muttering under their breaths. Out of patience, my cousin went up to Lannis to ask the poor fellow what troubled him so? "Heavens, the pilot replied, something is damn wrong with the river tonight. Be a good boy and go fetch old Knutson, because either my brain is playing tricks on me, or there is some devilish force at work!" The pilot is not heated, fully absorbed in his story. He gesticulates wildly and points at imaginary things and people with one hand, the other still firmly on the controls. Even as he speaks, his attention never wavers from the river before him. "The boy was scared beyond belief. Terror gripped his heart, but he did what he was told and woke up the old grumbler who first gave him quite an earful, but when he was told of the junior pilot''s words, his brow furrowed and he climbed to the bridge like a company of savages was at his heels. "Lannis old boy, he bellowed, where in hell did you get us to?! Knutson old bugger, Lannis replied, we were abreast the Wallis farm an hour ago, and now God only knows where we are! "The old man paled and climbed to the pilot cabin, muttering in his beard furiously. He came by Lannis'' side and took a gander around. Then with a great gasp, he recoiled and announced, Lannis my friend, no matter what happens you cannot have us flounder, you hear me? We must pull through! "At his words, all the men at the fore were taken with a great fright, and they looked around to the shores but saw nothing but mist, reeds and gnarled trees with roots reaching into the water like witches'' fingers. "Lannis carried on with old Knutson guiding him until they came to a sharp bend to the right in the river, with what looked like really shallow waters. There was a moment of silence as the pilot guided the ship port. He reached to his tube and called this engine room, telling them to go slow and steady. "He slowly turned her starboard and the measures of depth were coming like bells tolling for midnight. Thirteen feet, they said, mark twain, eleven feet, ten feet! The men were clinging to the railings with desperation for they had never seen the old pilot scared and they knew in their heart that if they were stranded here, a cruel fate would befall them. Nine feet, they heard, eight feet and a half!" Scoresby is now screaming with enthusiasm. I hope the other passengers to not think I may be assaulting him. "Then suddenly, Knutson screamed: now! And Lannis grabbed the horn and yelled give me all you got, dammit, full speed ahead! The chimney vomited great gouts of smoke and the paddlewheel slapped the water with great vigor. They all heard sand scrapping the keel but a moment later, the ship was through! "A great ovation rose to the sky and the two partners were celebrated for their skill and admirable sangfroid. Soon, the mist lifted and everyone could see a lantern to their right. The Kellog pier was in view, with a man sitting on a recliner who stood up and waved his hat like a flag when he saw them. Everyone started to relax and talk about that strange occurrence, and whatever happened to the river? Everyone that is, but the two pilots. "Full speed ahead, screamed Knutson, don''t stop for anything! "My cousin was terribly surprised and asked the old man what was wrong! His teeth were chattering, and hair was falling from his beard from the stress. Lannis was not much better. Cold sweat made his jacket cling to his lanky frame. "The Louisa forged ahead as the passengers stared, mesmerized, and when it became clear that the ship wouldn''t stop, the man on the pier threw his hat down in anger. And his eyes were black as the devil''s heart, they were, not just the iris, the entire eye! Abject horror seized all aboard. They were so scared they almost suffocated, and a few of them even lost consciousness. "Fools, Knutson said, we''re not out yet! And so the pilots kept going and soon enough, the shores became normal again and they landed safely a bit later. "When my cousin asked the pair how they knew it was not the Kellog plantation, Lannis answered. The pier was right, he said, the man was right too, but the shore was wrong. Then old Knutson brought his partner, my cousin and a bottle of whiskey to the mess and talked about a legend that there was a wicked man who lived on an island in the middle of the river and made his wealth stealing from passing ships. "One night, the river flooded and plunged the entire island under the water. The devil took his soul then, and will only let it go if he can bring enough dead to offset the weight of his sins. And that, m''lady, is why pilots are so important and why we need to know the river perfectly." I do hope we come across this interesting character. I bet he would taste nice. "Thank you sir, I feel safer now that I know we are in such good hands." "Right you are mam, right you are." How I wish I could stay and hear more of those outlandish tales. Perhaps there will be more time after I answer this call I just felt. The Mississippi is long and my destination unknown. "I thank you for your time, Mr. Scoresby. I will leave you to your work." That was a pleasant distraction. Unfortunately, I will have to shorten it. With one last smile, I step down the ladder to answer the summons of my smiling jailor. The ability to feel my essence is a tremendous advantage in just about everything I can do with my powers. It is so helpful, that I have no idea how I managed without it. I can better control my aura, which is now significantly more powerful and I am confident I will be able to hide it almost completely within a year. Healing can be directed now to specific wounds instead of just happening. I can move faster, more easily, and for a longer period of time. All that I do tires me less and I wake up earlier every day. I also noticed that Charm works by sending a very thin tendril of essence to the targeted person or their aura, which means that I no longer need to imagine a rope, nor do I really need eye contact, though it helps. I cannot explain why eye contact helps. This strange logic always leaves me feeling ambivalent. The rational part of me, the one that trusts science and enlightenment, finds it all very strange. I would go so far as to say nonsensical. The deeper part understands it to a level that no words can do justice to. It remembers the fairy tales and the ghost stories, the strange rules of dusk, midnight and dawn. The power of oaths and beliefs. I am part of this realm and I know how to play the game, though I would be hard-pressed to explain exactly how, or why, it works. It is all quite peculiar. One of the side effects of an attuned essence is that one can use it to ''tug'' at another vampire. A sort of signal, if you will. I am convinced that Alaric is being if not rude, quite cavalier in poking me so. His familiarity grates on my nerves. "Good evening Ariane, I see you found entertainment in this dreary place." Yes, until I was interrupted. I would find more entertainment by SHOVING MY CLAWS IN HIS GUT AND PULLING HIS INNARDS INCH BY INCH, but alas, he may object. And so, I show a fangless smile and keep a pleasant tone. I just need to reach Boston to be rid of those buffoons until the next turn of the century, or until someone mistakes their gaudy carriages for a bank convoy and blows it to smithereens. I would be happy either way, as surely, they would eventually let Jimena lead a squad. Even the most corrupt imbecile must eventually run out of incompetent people to promote to leadership positions. Right? "Good evening Alaric. Do you require anything?" "Ask not what you can do for your Knight, but what the Knight can do for you," he says with a laugh, "We are public servants of a sort, after all." This is my first real conversation with him, as so far I have only kept the company of Jimena, who has been very protective of me. I appreciate the efforts of my blood sister as I doubt Alaric has my best interests in mind. "Very well then, what can you do for me?" "I thought I could help you pass the time. We have not properly been introduced yet. I am Alaric of the Roland, the team''s Shade, at your service." This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. Alaric''s voice is mellow and cultured, with a hint of British accent even when he speaks Akkad. He bows to me like a dancer after a performance. "¡­ and I am Ariane of the Nirari. I assume that I do not need to introduce myself." "I daresay you do. I have read the reports, not met the woman. Our only past meeting was too short and a bit too intense for my tastes." "What with getting your heart skewered?" He affects holding his wounded heart with a convincing impersonation of a dying mortal, before returning to normal and continuing our conversation as if nothing had happened. "Precisely. Lord Suarez is a prickly man where honor and duty are concerned. He often supports Knights when they operate on his territory. His censure was that much unexpected and, shall we say, heavy-handed." "You should be grateful. My own sire would have made an example out of you." Alaric leans against the railing and smiles disarmingly. "Thankfully Anatole is not completely suicidal. So tell me, how was it, being a city Master? Tending to your flock, one Charm at a time?" "It was varied and interesting. How is it being a Shade?" He lifts a brow. "Do you know what a Shade is?" "I do not." I confess, somewhat miffed. "Well then, allow me to enlighten you." Alaric stands straighter. In one moment, he turns from dilettante to calm professor. Even his voice has changed. "Knights are expected to face any sort of situation and are trained accordingly. The formation of squads allowed us to develop a higher level of specialization and although we are good at everything, we are experts of a few key subjects, divided by roles. "The Vanguard is a soldier and an assassin, a weapon expert trained to slay its targets whoever and wherever they may be. The Shade is the scout and tracker who guides the team forward. The Vestal is the thinker, strategist, and magic expert. Finally, the Voice is the ambassador and infiltrator of the team." "Does your squad not have a Voice?" The Shade takes a mildly disapproving air, one I would expect from a mentor whose pupil asked a question he should have known the answer to. "This role is Anatole''s, obviously." I refrain from commenting. When your ambassador gets your entire squad ripped apart by a furious Battle Lord, it might be time to ask for a reassignment. Alaric takes my silence for the condemnation it is but instead of defending his leader, he smiles knowingly and steps closer. His demeanor changes again and I am now wondering if he should not be the infiltrator. He sheds personas like one sheds shirts. "If you are looking to join our ranks, I am sure Jimena could vouch for you, though perhaps you should hold before doing it. You have never been part of our world as an equal. There is so much to discover, so many new experiences to be had. "You should see the balls organized by the Masks with their byzantine codes and exquisite games. You could join a coven and live in one of our cities, be part of glorious Hunts for dangerous rogues or those new packs we have seen appear. There are plays that only our kind can produce and music only we can play, and more of course." He is close now, so close that I can smell his own perfume, similar to mine but not quite the same. The cold spice of vampires, alluring and dangerous. With a hint of vanilla and ethereal trickery. I find it enticing. "Where mortals have passion, we have patience and dedication. Who but us can wait ten years for a sculpture to be completed? Who could create gardens that will bloom in half a century? Who could learn how to make love like we do?" "Who could hold such grudges?" "Hah! You will find that it is rarely so. The enemies of today are the friends of tomorrow, sometimes. Only the Rolands keep grudges for centuries, I believe." "Like Anatole and you then? Just my luck." "I hold no grudge towards you. I swore an oath to uphold the code and I have no doubt that you will gain your freedom after we reach Boston. Then who knows, ancient enmities could disappear in favor of more¡­ pleasant arrangements." "Such as those you mentioned previously, I suppose?" "Music? Of course." The Shade''s smile is roguish and handsome. I am quite sure he thinks highly of himself and that some may swoon in his presence. "Are you good at¡­ music, Alaric?" "You will find that my reputation precedes me." He is so close now. I could lean a bit and kiss him. "I have a reputation too, for surviving." "A well-deserved one." "It would be because I know who I can place my trust in," I say as I place a finger on his lips. I am not done. "You follow a man who wants my death and forced me into twenty years of isolation. I will see the balls and hear the songs, and perhaps when I am done, we will all meet again..." I smile and show eight fangs, just to remind him of who he is talking to. "¡­ and share that Hunt you mentioned." The Knight''s smile freezes, then blooms again. He looks almost impressed. "I will look forward to it." It is then that our ship reaches a stop, and the moment is gone. We part and watch the Sweet Sunrise attach to a small pier and goods and people making their way in and out. Alaric watches with attention and I find no reason to break the silence. Five minutes later, a cabin boy comes running and stops when he spots the two of us. I can taste a trace of terror in the air before his rational mind silences his instincts. He approaches, swallows with difficulty and stands at attention. "Yes?" I ask curtly. "Excuse me madam, are you Ariane Nirari?" How curious. "I am." "That''s the thing¡­" he licks his lips nervously, "there is this Indian outside, says he knows you. Says he knew you''d pass by and that you two should talk. Should I¡­ should I tell him off?" An Indian who knew where I would pass? Could it be¡­ "Did he tell you his name?" "Yes, mam. He said his name was Nashoba." Nashoba, so you were alive all this time. Incredible. I must speak to him, I may not have another chance "I will see him immediately. Where is he?" "At the pier, madam." I pick a coin from my pocket and toss it at the urchin. Double payday for that little twerp, for there is no doubt in my mind that Nashoba bribed him as well to carry this message. I am half expecting Alaric to stop me, as Anatole would have. Instead, he follows me behind and to my right, as if he were escorting instead of guarding. I would be grateful but I highly suspect that curiosity got the better of him. My steps take me down the now empty plank as I take in my old friend. We have not kept in touch, though he could have contacted me by dreams. I was wondering if he had perished and now I realize that perhaps, he simply didn''t have the strength. Nashoba is dying. He is still handsome in a lost artist sort of way. He still has liquid brown eyes and mismatched cloth that reveal skin. There is grey in his hair and his hairline receded, but that only would make him look wiser if it were not for the rest. His skin is sallow, with a yellow tinge. It clings to his frame too tightly and his posture is slightly stooped, like someone who is in constant pain. He smiles before he turns to me and I am surprised once again when I realize that he came alone. "Nashoba." "We meet again, daughter of Thorn and Hunger." Behind me, Alaric hisses softly when he hears the tongue of Akkad in a mortal mouth. He does not react further, and I decide that it is safe to speak, for now. "I did not know if you were still around. I met¡­ some fallen tribesmen." "Yes, they went North, did they not? We left in waves after the white men took the last of our lands and set us on the trail of tears and death. One of the waves was lost in the swamps and¡­ you know the rest. My new home is West of here now. We just settled." "I had heard your people had been exiled, but¡­" "We were. You will have to remember that for we mortals, oaths are only binding among equals." "Oh, I will not forget that lesson ever again." He bows his head slightly and gives me a sad smile. "Yes. Dalton''s loss must weigh heavily on a mind that does not age. My apologies." "No harm done, my friend. Now, I assume this is not a courtesy visit?" My tone may have been a little more abrupt than I intended and Nashoba notices it. "No, indeed. Are you displeased to see me?" "No," I add with regret, "I just wished it had been sooner." I just exposed my friendship with Nashoba before Alaric when I confessed I missed him. This was a mistake. I am being careless again. "Forgive me, it took all my strength to delay the inevitable and then, manage it. This is the most terrible ordeal my people have ever faced. I had no time for myself nor for my friends. And now, I must apologize, for I come asking you for a favor, as you have guessed." My hands are bound now but perhaps there is something I can do. "Tell me." "I would like you to help me die." Heh? "I beg your pardon?" Nashoba smiles once more and his posture conveys so much vulnerability that even my instincts are silent. There is no Hunt to be had there. He is as defenceless and weak as a child. "You have noticed my failing health. I am in constant pain. I want you to help me on my final journey. Please." "What is going on here?" says a voice that tightens my chest. Anatole is here without Jimena. This is the worst thing that could have happened. "Who is this man?" "He is a supplicant, come here for the Last Gift," answers Alaric, "he asked for her by name. They know each other." "Do they now? Do you speak English, savage?" "Probably better than you, pretender." Nashoba answers sharply. Anatole''s face is a mask of horror, then it twists into a scowl of deep hatred. His aura overflows and I shiver at the cruelty I perceive beneath. I have no idea what is happening, I only know that I must not let Nashoba be hurt by what may follow. "If you wish for the Last Gift, I will gladly provide it," says Anatole with a sinister smile. INTRUDER. THIEF. "You dare? The Last Gift is sacred, you philistine!" I hiss. "I decide what you take, creature." KILL HIM. No, wait, no, I need to beat him through words, but how? Think Ariane, think. What can I trade for? Ah yes, his pride. I need to play this well. I remember Lady Moor and her demeanor, her poise and haughty expression that made anyone feel like insects polluting her air. I do my best impersonation and though I know I fall short, the cold in my voice surprises even me. "I did not imagine that a squad leader would stoop so low as to steal his captive''s leftovers and deny her nourishment. What is next, oh mighty one? Will you borrow my spare boots too?" My aura is frigid. It spreads over the pier like a blanket of ice. Anatole frowns. Taking Nashoba now would go against his vow to keep me well-fed as well as common courtesy. Alaric''s eyes narrow at his leader and his crossed arms show mild disapproval, something that his squad has refrained from showing so far. I hope it is enough. How I wish my blood sister were here instead of the cabin with Aisha and the axeman, Alec. "If you must, I will allow you to draw from his sickly essence. We will keep watch, of course. Do not try anything." Oh, this¡­ brute! The Last Gift is sacred, and he is going to police it? I clamp my jaw before I say anything I might regret. Nashoba was unwise to provoke this fiend, though I know why he did it anyway, despite the danger. My friend is scared. Scared, and in pain. I wish I had more time to talk to him. I can tell that the burden in his shoulder is heavy. In a way, death is a mercy. I take the shaman in my arms. He winces in pain until our eyes meet. Gently, I Charm the pain away. I smother it and shove it in the background where it can be ignored. Nashoba takes one shuddering breath and almost collapses. Tears of relief drip down his pallid cheeks. "Are you ready?" I ask softly. "I was ready before coming, you know, because I¡­" "¡­ can see the future," I finish with a smile. I gently take his neck as he eases his head back. I bite down. I take the rope and tie it to my neck. I left my shirt and other things on a stone. That way, they will know what I have done and maybe little sister can get a spare shirt. I am strange. The others don''t like it. They call me cloud head. Now they are bullying little sister too, because she is my sister. I will die now and everyone will be better. Me too. I hope. I pick the stone and walk forward but something bumps against me. I look down. There is a big turtle. She bumps my leg with her tiny head. "Hello." I say. The dream vision is so clear, I am a shaman now, bound to the turtle spirit. She is enduring and smart, though she is slow too. She values vision and planning because when it takes so long to walk anywhere, you cannot afford to do the trip twice. The one I foresaw is here, she''s here! She is an Anglo girl, and her mind is cold like a mid-winter night. She is lost, I can tell, like me. She cautiously steps out in the open and sniffs the air. Quick, I will present my offering, my blood. I hope we can be good friends. Dalton is dead and this part of my life is gone. Ariane, Daughter of Thorn and Hunger, leaves. It will take a long time for her to earn this moniker, but I am confident that she will one day, long after I have passed. With the earrings I gave her, her foes'' feeble tracking attempts will fail. I wish I could see her again before our last meeting, though I fear I will not have the strength to spare for a dream visit. They invited us as Dancing Rabbit Creek and some of us went expecting a party. I knew what was coming but there was nothing I could do. Our land is claimed by the United States. To stay, we will have to become citizens. I have seen what befalls those who are not of their race and though some of us will stay, they will just suffer longer. Leaving remains the most pragmatic choice. I am sick and tired. The ache in my liver is now a constant pain that permeates everything I do. I am reaching the end of my path and my tribe will survive in Okla Humma, the land of the red people. There is only one thing left to do before I can finally rest. I have to give her the key so that she may grow into what will give this world a chance. I must strengthen her gift. Then, I can finally sleep. At long last¡­ I am so very tired¡­ It is done. I pull back and Cradle Nashoba''s unmoving shell. He is dead. We have known each other for thirty years and we haven''t talked in twenty and now the chance is gone. Time caught up to him like it caught up to my father and others. I feel¡­ brittle. I can find no other word for it. Beyond sadness, I am overwhelmed by a sense of vulnerability that does not affect my body but my spirit. This is one more anchor to my human part I leave behind. I slowly lay the body on the ground. Once more, I wonder how someone could look at a corpse and think the person is asleep. The mouth is open, distended, and the vitality is gone from its muscles. My friend has passed and what he left behind is a painfully thin flesh puppet. It already stinks of relaxed bowels and soon, rot. There is no dignity in death. My kind is lucky to leave only ash behind. I jump in surprise when Anatole grabs the body by the ankle, and starts dragging it towards the boat. "What are you doing!" I hiss in anger. Anatole turns to me with a smirk. "Taking out the trash." And with a lazy swing, he drops the corpse into the river. "Nooooo! You heathen! How dare you!" DEFILER. I move forward, have to recover the body but something holds me back. Alaric, I realize, has grabbed me under the arms and lifted me up so that my feet cannot find purchase. "Why would you do that? He was my friend!" "I am not surprised that a bumpkin like you would befriend a barbarian." "You dare!" "Calm down Ariane," says a voice from behind, "this is just a husk." "It''s not about the husk it''s about respect for the dead! It''s about us, and what value we place on the departed! How can you do this?" Anatole''s cruel smile widens. He is most amused. KILL HIM, KILL HIM NOW. That''s it, I am done with those idiots! I will¡­ I will do no such thing. I stop struggling and let the coldest part of me smother my heart before it can kill me. This is what Anatole wants, one more trap to force my hand into resisting him. He knows the game is almost over. Now he resorts to dirty tricks in a last-ditch effort to execute me before the journey ends. I can play that game too. "Release me," I ask Alaric with a soft voice, and he does. I glare at Anatole and slowly, painfully, force myself to smile too. "Corpse defiling now, Anatole? You are a failure of a Knight and a leader. You are no hero, you only have the appearance of one. Nashoba was right, you are just a pretender." The word bites deep, deeper than I thought they would. He takes a step forward and his claw-tipped hands spread with animalistic fury. Oh, yes, you hypocrite, I can sting too. "Bring her back on board and confine her to her quarters." Anatole says with a voice strained with anger. I dodge Alaric''s hand on my way up. The shaman''s body has disappeared in the current and it is too late for me to do anything about it. One more debt to be repaid. The future is uncertain. Revenge isn''t. When I am ready, I will find this man and kill him myself. I will add his essence to my garden and every night for a year, I shall pass by his kneeling statue and repeat the word that wounded his pride. Pretender. Chapter 67 - 66. ... un alligator se tapit. The veil of thorns parts. I move past the fog with all the speed I can muster, not believing my own instincts. For a moment, I see nothing, hear nothing, yet I do not slow. Eventually, the mist fades and I find myself in a clearing. Wheat and wildflowers cover it in a vivid cushion upon which a gigantic tortoise is resting. She is taller than I am, even with her legs splayed on the side. A figure leans against the marked shell with a relaxed posture and an easy smile. He is young again, with lean muscles and the eternally mismatched clothes. I stop in the middle, even more surprised. There is sun on my skin. Sun. Not the unforgiving fire that keeps me hidden and afraid, real, honest, July sun. I raise my head to see an endless sky of azure and lift a hand to cover the glare of the golden orb. "A gift from me to you, as an apology for not keeping in touch." I am crying. Thirty years. Thirty long years and now this memory that I will keep and cherish, untainted by the transformation. "I would let you get a tan if I could, Daughter of Thorn and Hunger. Unfortunately, we are on a schedule. My friend here cannot extend my stay for too long." "How are you here? You are¡­" "Dead. Yes." Immediately, guilt makes me bend my head. "Your body¡­" "¡­ was fished out of the river by my son two minutes after falling in, and given a proper funeral. Of course, I would not come alone, nor let an alligator snack on my most excellent features. How could I let that happen? Don''t you know? I can¡­" "¡­ see the future. Of course." I chuckle merrily. I was right not to attack Anatole and now I no longer have cause for regrets. I will still kill him though. "What did you mean by pretender?" The tortoise snorts and Nashoba''s smile fades, his expression turning serious. "We do not have time, I''m afraid. You can get that story elsewhere. I came because I have to tell you about your dreams. Of the future." "I only had one since arriving in Marquette." "It matters not how often you have them, only that the possibility exists. You had a seed of potential that would not have awakened while you were a Mortal, and a vampire''s ability to grow such skills is immensely stunted. But there is a loophole, so to speak. As a Devourer, you can take the essence of seers and prophets and use it to develop your own. You will need it." "Can I force dreams? I think I did before. I saw the day battle at Black Harbor." "That was a vision of the present, of events happening less than a mile away, and in which you were heavily involved. Other visions will be harder. As a general rule, you want to rely on mundane means as they are more reliable. The best use you can make of it is to keep an open mind and follow the current when it catches you. Do not fall into a trap of counting on them. It is not your nature to be a seer yourself, but let fate give you a helping hand and set you on the right course." "Why do I need it?" Nashoba smiles sadly. "The world is changing faster than ever, and it will change faster still. Conflicts that have spanned millennia will soon find a conclusion. Yes, I am referring to the race between those two, and yes, there are more. Unless you and a few others rise up to the task, the planet will die in less than two centuries." "Hold on, less than two centuries?! Really?" Nashoba grows taller and his eyes shine like stars. His voice sounds like a choir of singers speaking in unison. "Darkness, ash and thin air." As quickly as it came, the moment is gone. "That is all I see, daughter of Thorn and Hunger. This is my burden. I pass it on to you now. It will not come now and it will not come quick, but make no mistake. The end is nigh, unless someone keeps it at bay." I step back and pick a tulip. Its petals are red and silky. "You forget that I am weak. My sire killed a Lord without trying and his Mother could probably unmake me with a gesture. Can I really make a difference? Can the World be saved?" "Perhaps." He winces. "My time has come. Remember what I said. Build your strengths, prepare, and when the time comes, step up to the challenge." "Fair enough. One last thing?" Nashoba places his hand on my shoulder. The touch is soft and intimate, it conveys more emotions than a book could. "No, we cannot meet again. I do not know where you will go when your time comes, but it is not my destination. I am sorry." The tortoise puffs again. The world fades around me. "Farewell, my friend. And good luck." The mist returns. I am once more in my garden. I decide to stroll along the garden, between hidden paths and statues. I try to forget what I know for sure happened. I refuse to consider it. He lied when he said perhaps. No, he was probably wrong. Probably. I wake up to a ceiling of lacquered wood. Jimena''s cabin. I expected spartan furniture aboard. Instead, each vampire-occupied room is lined with chocolate-coloured planks varnished and polished to a lustre, with assorted chairs, table, and cabinet. There are no windows and we are at the bottom, behind several layers of reinforced doors. Between those precautions and the guards, it would take an immense effort to eliminate the squad. To kill us, one would need to catch up to us, board us, and fight through well-trained and well-armed guards. Then, they would need to escape as the men have instructions to scuttle us if it looks like the battle is lost. The intruders would have to dive and recover the sunk sarcophagus through the wreck and then blow them up before night comes. A daunting prospect. Despite those many measures, the most secure defence of the ship is still its anonymity. The steamboat carries carefully vetted goods and people aboard. It appears, for all intents and purposes, like any other ship sailing this great river. Truly, we are in good hands. The luxury is just an added bonus. I sit up and look around. Jimena''s fortified coffin is at the side of the bed, and the woman herself is reading, already fully dressed. I am only wearing a modest shift to sleep. "Good evening, sister," I say. The poor woman frowns and her hands flex on her book, the claws scratching the cover. Her lips draw into a line. "Enough," I add with a smile, "I told you it is fine." "And I still disagree. I should have been here." I stand up and shake my head, giving up on the argument. "Do we have any plans for today?" "No. It will still take one day at our current speed to reach our destination. I suppose I can tell you now, we are going to New Orleans." I stop in my tracks. "Fret not, I told you this was not related to you in any way." "You did. Since I have nothing to do, I was wondering if you were willing to answer a few questions¡­" "Naturally. We can start here, then we should go outside at nightfall. If I enjoyed being cooped up like this, I would have become a nun." I make full use of this opportunity to learn more about my world, or what will be my world if I can finally stop being delayed. There are about one hundred and twenty vampires on the continent, an extremely low number for such a large territory. Half of them renounced their allegiance while the others are autonomous branches of existing clans, bound to the rules created by the Speaker, Constantine. The man himself is an intriguing character. Jimena describes him as a talented mage versed in several schools, a rarity among our kind. As a Progenitor of his own bloodline, he was a master upon first waking up and had immediate access to singular amounts of essence. This, combined with his personal guard, allowed him to enforce rules that the European clans agreed to. Jimena reveals that it was much more profitable for them to set up the New World as a neutral ground where clans could peacefully make money, rather than cross the ocean and dedicate great resources to subduing a Progenitor, just for the privilege of being piled on back home by competitors exploiting their weakness. As for his bloodline powers, no one knows for sure what they are, and he has yet to sire a spawn. All she knows is that he dislikes bureaucracy and politics, preferring research which might explain how Anatole managed to get the kill order out of him. For all his apparent leadership flaws, the Accords are still an exemplary framework. Under their light rules, clans have a margin of liberty for expansion and covert actions while large scale conflict is heavily restricted. I am surprised that such an ass.. such a person could create good laws and fail to implement them until I remember that the gap between being good at theory and simply being good is an abyss. Jimena then goes on to explain that the Cadiz, Ekon, Lancaster, and Roland clans have territories while the others have yet to come. There are less than ten Lords and Ladies, which again, is very small. When prompted, she informs me that the difference between them and the rank of Master is the ability called Magna Arqa. It apparently channels our essence in a pure expression of power that breaks the rules of reality. Each power is expressed differently and reflects the personality and skills of its wielder. On top of that, Lords usually have access to soul weapons, which I learn are the vampire''s crystallized essence, given form by a crafter. There are only a dozen such crafters in the world and they are untouchable. No vampire will raise a hand against them, and they can travel everywhere even in time of war without fear. I inform Jimena that I saw Suarez use his power. "I know," she answers with a smile, "he told me all about it. His power makes a few of his strikes unstoppable. Incidentally, there is a Roland lord whose power makes him invincible for a short period. There are standing bets as to what will happen if they clash in battle." "I bet the world will break." "Silly woman," she scoffs, "how would you collect on that bet, then?" I learn more about Masters next. Now that I can manipulate my essence, there is something I can do that I never considered. Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. "You can sire a spawn, though I would strongly advise against it. Not only would it be poorly received, but it would weaken you for a very long time. The older you get and the more concentrated your essence is. The more powerful the essence, the less time you need to recover from siring someone." "How is it even done?" "Once you have made your choice, you can let your instincts guide you or so I have been told. You concentrate your essence in a few droplets of blood which your spawn must drink three nights in a row. The process is highly unpleasant, though it has a few advantages such as keeping the recipient alive through diseases and wounds that will kill most mortals." I shiver. Agony, cold, thirst. I push the memories away. "I am sorry." "It is nothing," I force myself to say. Becoming a Master did not erase all scars. Even my cold mind still reels from remembering those nights. "Ahem, yes, in any case, once the process is started, it will end with a drone or a corpse. Or rarely, as a fledgling I suppose. Ah, it is night, let us take a stroll along the gangway, sister!" We link arms like the best of friends and enjoy the summer evening. I used to do that with Constanza when I was still human. She is a grandmother now. I could even take a look at her, if we pass by¡­ No. I will not. Not while Anatole is around. Sear?h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. We have a pleasant time, standing at the fore and looking out to the shore, its sleepy villages and budding farms, whispering in low voices about newly created spawns and the few newcomers who landed recently, until a distraction offers itself. Two gentlemen walk up behind us, confer in low voice about who should court whom before politely accosting us. Jimena and I exchange knowing smiles. "Good evening, ladies. It is such a pleasure to meet good company. Are you enjoying the view?" asks the first, a suave man with an auburn mustache and a top hat, of all things. "We needed fresh air; my friend was a bit out of sorts," I answer with mischievousness. "Yes, I felt light-headed and I would not want to go down on my friend." I cough into my elbow to mask my surprise. I have spent enough time in a brothel to get acquainted with that specific expression. Note to self, never try to tease Jimena. She plays dirty. "If I may, perhaps you should sit down as well," adds the second, broad-chested and sporting impressive sideburns in an old-fashioned suit. "I apologize if I am stepping out of bounds," he continues, "I am a medical practitioner. It comes with the job." "Oh, not to worry," I add, "she''s healthy as can be." "My family doctor says I could live forever," Jimena deadpans. "You two seem very close. Oh, but where are my manners? I am Francis Levine and my doctor friend here is Frederick Schuyler. Pleased to make your acquaintance." "The pleasure is ours. I am Ariane, and my friend is Jimena." "No last name?" asks Francis with a smile that shows he does not feel rebuked. "For now," I answer. "You two are quite close," Frederick observes. "We are¡­" I reply. "Like sisters!" Jimena adds. We spend a few minutes in banter, the two friends asking us questions and us dodging them with an air of mystery, until Francis exaggeratedly shivers. "It''s a bit chilly, are you not cold?" Francis asks with a convincing expression of concern. "Now that you mention it, the front of the boat is a tad windy. Come Ariane, we would not want to catch consumption." "My blood runs cold at the very thought." We have been competing with puns since the start of the conversation. I will admit that Jimena is winning. Quoth that witty Frenchman Victor Hugo, puns are farts of the mind, and shame wars with amusement within my heart. "Say, how about we continue this conversation in our cabin? We have a bottle of¡­" "Francis!" exclaims Frederick, shocked, "this is entirely inappropriate." "We do not mind, we are convinced that you will not do anything untoward," answers Jimena. I nod in assent. Frederick looks a bit flustered and possibly a bit scandalized, though he is too polite to object. Together, we make our way down. Half an hour and a pleasant meal later, we leave the two resting comfortably with an empty bottle on the table and extremely fuzzy memories. Aisha is waiting outside for us. In civilian clothes, she wears a surprisingly colourful dress with middle-eastern influence and a heavy shawl with which she masks her lower face. It sometimes shifts enough to show unmarred skin. Whatever causes her to hide herself, it is not disfigurement. She bows elegantly and addresses Jimena. "Knight, Anatole requests your presence in the command room. There have been developments. Do not be alarmed, I will keep your ward company." An elegant way to tell her to get moving and that she will be my watchdog. I appreciate the politeness, if nothing else. Jimena frowns but she cannot disobey a direct summons. At least, not without reasons. "You will be with Anatole," I remind her. Realizing that she will be keeping an eye on the cause of my woes, she relents and leaves with one last warning look towards her colleague. I almost jump and claw off the petite woman''s face when she grabs my hand. Her eyes are wide and convey a sense of urgency. "Quick, I don''t have much time. I know you have no cause to trust me, yet I beg you. Please follow me!" And then she drags me through an alley and down a set of stairs below deck. We pass by a patrol of guards who ignore us after a quick glance and to a smoking room, mercifully empty at this late hour. She practically slams the door closed and locks it. The stench of cold cigar is omnipresent, though the leather couches and warm tones are pleasant. She turns to me and bow deeply, to my surprise. "Forgive me. Our window is short." Her tone is clipped and her voice, lower than I remember and a bit coarse. "I must present you with two gifts." "But why¡­" "There is no time. I am Aisha of the Amaretta. I will help you. Set you on the path. Now onto the first gift." She takes out a sharp silver knife. AMBUSH. KILL. I hiss and step back, still uncertain. Aisha does not even spare me a glance. She digs the tip of her blade into her arm and slices along the artery. Before I can properly react, she bows low again and presents me with the bleeding wound. What is she¡­ SUPPLICANT. Can vampires even be¡­ OF COURSE SHE IS A SUPPLICANT. BLOOD OFFERED FOR AN AUDIENCE. DRINK THE OFFERING. LET IT NOT BE SPOILED. I bend forward and lick the wound, all caution thrown to the wind. Power overwhelms me and drags me under. We meditate, all together under Amaretta herself. She will never stop but we come and go as we are needed, as we are sent away on missions or to recover. She needs us to help her focus and she needs us to alter the world, to carefully influence it for a better outcome. Once, it used to be for our own development and power, others be damned. Now, it is for survival. The world as it is, a complex network of information expanding horizontally. The world as it could be and will be, a great pattern of data expanding outward and upward, to infinity. Instants turning to seconds turning to minutes. Flows so dense and complex, we only perceive it in hues and ever-changing shadows. For us, following it is as impossible as predicting a pattern in the flames of a roaring bonfire. For her, it is the wave on which she sails and we are her helpers. It is beautiful. We could lose ourselves forever in the myriad of futures that exist and flourish and die as potential becomes certainty, and certainty becomes fact. She chides some of us who fumble, let others go and be lost forever. Is it punishment, or reward? The more time passes and the more I have doubts. The tapestry is shrinking. The infinity of time and space is closing on us. It is not a sign that the world shall perish, but that we will. Something, or somebody, is clipping our wings. Week after week, month after month, our future narrows and dies. For hours now, I have been following our Mother on a specific task. She sorts through strands as I do my best to assist her focus. Suddenly, a pair of vivid green eyes turn to me and my concentration shatters. "Go West, past the ocean. Seek the spawn of the Devourer. Set her on our path." I gasp and open my eyes. I sit in a circular amphitheatre in the heart of our sanctum. On the rafters, other Masters sit behind the vestals who sired them and in the middle of it all is an open casket. A prone form lies with, surrounded by fresh lilies. Her skeletal face is at peace, or so I thought. As I watch, a tiny droplet of blood the color of midnight pearls at the edge of her aquiline nose. I leave the room with a hurried step. I pull back. "Wow. That was¡­ abstract." I have no better words for what I felt. The sense she used is not something I possess. The memory of using it as naturally as if I had been born with it is disconcerting. I do not have the time to consider it further. The small Knight collapses in my arms. SUPPLICANT. "Speak." Aisha gasps through her shawl and grabs my shoulder with her hand. It takes her a few moments to recover. When she does, she stands back up at a respectful distance, as if nothing had happened. "I shall teach you how to control and develop the foresight you have. I shall speak for you during the eventual trial that will set you free. In return, I ask you for one favor." "Do tell." "I need you to prevent my death, which will happen two nights from now." Ah. That is surprising. "I cannot promise to save you. I can promise that I will do my utmost to do so." I will not make false promises like I did to that redhead under the governor''s palace. "That is enough," she says. She silently walks to a couch and collapses in it with catlike grace. Outside, a trio of drunkards tries to open the door before giving up. We wait in silence until their laughs fade in the background. "I suppose I should tell you more. We have been summoned because all contacts were lost with clan Lancaster." What? "Please, stop smiling so openly," she scowls, "the possible loss of our kind is not to be taken so lightly." "I respectfully disagree." It looks like she wants to argue then thinks better of it. I don''t care about the Lancaster being vampires. They could be talking unicorns from Atlantis that I would still dump the whole lot of them into the nearest volcano, given the chance. I would sell Melusine to the order of Gabriel for three pennies and a rusty fork, and I don''t even eat. Hell, if I were in a room with Moor, Nirari, Semiramis and two pistols, I would shoot Moor twice. Aisha continues her briefing with a noticeably darker mood. "They were in conflict with a major spellcaster group called the White Cabal. We have so far ignored the Cabal, as they are defensive in nature. They mostly track down rogue spellcasters and they are surprisingly effective against the Order of Gabriel. It appears that the Lancaster drew their ire, due to their¡­ aggressive recruiting practice." "Let me guess. They abducted one of their members and turned them?" "As far as we can tell, not just any member. A well-appreciated enforcer and defender. The Lancaster expected the Cabal to lay low, instead, they rallied and brought the fight to New-Orleans. That was a week ago. Since then, we do not know what happened. It is not unusual for a House to go dark during an all-out fight, but never for that long. Constantine asked us to move in just in case. His caution proved warranted." Ooooh, go dark! This is all so very mysterious and exciting, and the Lancasters could even be dead! "Could this Cabal truly have taken out the entire den?" "Unlikely, but possible. Some Houses grow complacent and many of Lady Moor''s resources are nothing but rejects." I frown. "Present company excluded, of course," she adds hurriedly. Well, she''s not wrong. It just stings when someone else says it. "Pray tell, do you know how you will die?" "I do not. Only that it will be violent. You appear in the strands where I survive, so your contribution is required." "Fair enough. So, no matter what there will be a fight?" "It is inevitable, though the details are blurred." "Could you not just refuse to join?" She glares coldly. "Would you?" "Of course not," I reply with a smile. Well, this should be interesting. Let''s start with the most obvious. "Say, Aisha, is there any way for you to conveniently have my weapons around when things go to hell?" "I''ll see what I can do. In the meanwhile, take this." I stare at her offering. "That¡­ is a deck of cards." "Yes." "Texas hold''em? Three-card brag? Omaha?" Aisha tsks and lightly slaps my hand. "This is not a standard deck." "I can play Tarot, no worries." "Will you stop this!" she hisses. "This is a vision deck. It contains twelve pairs of opposite concepts. For some reason, it is easier to guess what you will draw. We use this to train our fledgelings. Now, what concept is this?" she says, drawing a card at random. "Err. Vengeance." "It''s not even on the list!" "How would I even know what''s on the list!" I hiss back. I realize that we are very close, fangs out. I am supposed to let her teach me. This is a part of our agreement that helps both of us. I made a commitment. I pull back. "Tell me what I am supposed to do." She sniffs disdainfully. I have not left the best of impressions. Neither did she. "Do you know how to meditate?" "Yes." "Try to do that and leave yourself open. I will present you with a card. Focus on the card and just the card, nothing else. When this works, you will be able to glimpse details of it. Just tell me those and we will see if this worked." Right. Nashoba said that distance, time and level of involvement all affect how easily I can see. The bloody thing is right in front of me, it''s the present and I can hardly be more involved. This will be child''s play. Probably. "You latched a tendril of essence to the card." "Should I stop?" "No. Latching won''t help you read the card but it might help you focus. Go on." Card. The card. Card. The world, in all its horizontal glory. The infinity of potential upward and beyond. A crux. Two choices. One branches from immediate satisfaction, the other, from maturity. The second choice leads to a better path. I will need to act out of character. It will require- "Forgiveness! Ow!" I collapse forward. Aisha prevents me from hitting the floor by steadying me. I grab my head to ward off the beginning of a terrible migraine. Something sticky rolls to my lips. "Forgiveness is not in the list, although I can tell you saw something. Come, let me guide you to your room. You need rest." I don''t know who I will have to forgive but if it''s Melusine, we''re all doomed. Chapter 68 - 67. Expect the unexpected. The Sweet Sunrise docks without issue. Nobody challenges us as we walk down the gangway, which should not be happening. I was joking earlier, but perhaps it is true. They may all be dead. Without a word, the Knights and their staff form a small convoy and as we walk directly to the residence of the Lancaster clan, I do my best to hide my reaction. I do not recognize the city. The mix of blacks and whites is the same, and French is still prevalent, yet now German and Irish have joined the mix. Gas-powered lamps have popped up from the ground and added their unwavering light to the lanterns and candles, reflecting on the gold and silver of jewelry on wrists and earlobes. Fashions clash and compete in a carnival of colors. The smell of spice, alcohol and sweat has not changed, but it is now multiplied to match the tide of humanity clogging the streets, glad to be out after a day of suffocating heat. Only the architecture, showing hints of Spanish influence, has not changed so much yet. The city has grown and fattened formidably. I knew that the world would move forward without me, yet being subjected to irrefutable proof of the march of time still troubles me. And now is not the time to lower my guard. I trail behind the squad of Knights, with Jimena at my side and mortal workers at the back. I half-expected them to look like a military squad mid-operation, but it seems that my disdain for Anatole is clouding my judgement. They move seamlessly in and out of the flow of people. Anatole is the rich scion of a merchant family while Aisha is a meek girl on an errand. Alaric is the smiling rake, robbing hearts and catching the attention as he goes. Alec plays the role of the silent thug, on his way to ruin someone''s evening and quite possibly, their kneecaps. He does not need any acting skill for that. They fit in. Only someone who would know to look for them could identify them. They do not even walk at the same speed. Without incident, we leave the Vieux Carr¨¦ behind and walk to the outskirts. The night gradually takes back its right and the deafening din of people lowers to a murmur. We come across fewer people and those who look at us lower their eyes and scurry away. They have good instincts. The Lancaster''s mansion is dark. Anatole lifts a fist and after a quick series of signs, Aisha and Alaric disappear to the sides. Alec recovers a shield and axe from a crate. I check around. The last bystander is hurriedly deciding to change path. Hey, all the vampires in the squad have a name that starts with an A! Truly, Jimena does not belong. She should quit this silly notion of upholding the law across the globe and join with me instead¡­ I am interrupted in my subversive thoughts when the rest of the team moves forward. As a prisoner they are not authorized to leave behind, I have received clear instructions on how to proceed. They can be summarized as follows. Stay right behind Don''t get in the way In fact, don''t do anything Also, shut up. The language was a bit more flowery, but the meaning was clear. As soon as we pass the outer gate and the manor proper is in view, I can tell that something has gone wrong. One of the double doors of the entrance lies slightly opened and there are visible traces of damage. I can smell a faint scent of old blood beneath the usual roses and cedar. Anatole signs again and the others move. They stop at the threshold, inspect it for traps and get in. After a few moments, I join them. I have never seen the main hall so deserted. The place is empty and smells of dust and a bit of rot. There are no lights. A lone decorative amphora lies on the door, smashed. The door to Baudouin''s study lies open. The squad is somewhere, silently clearing the place. Their aura is masked and they are silent, so I am not sure where they went. Slowly, I approach the study. I notice that the door has been forced. The office is wrecked. Someone went through it with methodical violence. The bookshelves are empty, their contents spread on the ground. A spilled pot of ink made a stain that dripped on the carpet. All the paintings are on the ground. I notice that one of them was hiding a safe which is currently closed. It looks like somebody attempted to open it without success. "You used to live here, yes?" asks a neutral voice. I school my reaction and turn to Anatole. The bastard crept up on me. "I did, for about six months." "Can you think of any place where survivors might be hidden?" S§×arch* The nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Suddenly I am useful, and he is polite. I could inform him that he is welcome to find the nearest bundle of bayonets and sit on it, but I manage to control myself. The matter is serious. "There is a panic room of sorts, behind the pantry." "Lead us there." I pass him by and make my way through the ground floor with the rest of the team in tow. Aisha and Alaric join us from the side alley, quickly signing what I assume is the code for "I ain''t found shit." We move quickly and silently. Since I have the lead, I am extremely careful. There are no traps though. No steel lines drawn across the corridor, no hidden powder charges and no magic. Nothing. What I do find are blood spots. People died here, but their corpses were disposed of. I open the pantry door carefully after checking through the keyhole and sniffing it for good measure. I focused on my hearing in case somebody trapped it like that priest trapped his home back in Marquette. Still nothing. The pantry itself is well provisioned and from behind a cupboard, I hear breathing. Something warns me and I move my shoulder before Anatole can touch it. I refrain from hissing. He is not looking at me but at the safe room. The squad carefully deploys while Alaric and Aisha remain in the corridor to guard the rear. Anatole slowly slides the piece of furniture aside. It moves on prepared railings with little noise. Behind, we find an empty room and in it, one of the cattle in maid uniform sobbing uncontrollably. She stinks of old fear and sweat, she also relieved herself in one corner of the room. The stench is horrendous. She disgusts me. We make cattle by removing from them what we appreciate in humans. The irony of despising our own creations does not escape me. The mewling human is still cowering as Anatole lights a lantern. She takes in his dark countenance and her tear-marked face turns ecstatic. "Oh Master, Master, thank you!" "Shhh. Tell me, what happened here?" "Yes, yes of course. Where to start¡­" "This place was attacked." "Ah, yes! The White Cabal found us. You know about them?" "I do." "They assaulted during the day. The guards were quickly overwhelmed. Their vicious soldiers fought with no mercy. I was so scared!" "Go on." "They killed Sophie. She forgot to lock herself, she was just slumbering in a bedroom upstairs." Hold on. There were seven Lancaster vampires here when I arrived. Eight if you count the one that died in the fortress. I killed Charlotte the fat sow when I escaped, and Lambert in Marquette. Sophie the nitwit died here. That only leaves Moor, Melusine, Wilburn the rapist and Harold the bully. By the Watcher, I''m halfway done! What an auspicious night! "They failed to locate the others since the resting chambers can only be opened from the inside," the cattle continues. Defense of a vampire nest is always the same. The enemy attacks at dawn. They need to successfully overcome the mortal defenders and then locate the vampires. We always sleep beneath the ground so it takes wit to find us and explosives to reach us. Sometimes, the mortals will also set the building on fire to slow down the assault like they did at the vampire fortress. If the attackers fail to eliminate everyone in time, the Lords and Ladies wake up first and they are usually displeased at the intrusion. I am talking about ripping your limbs off and bludgeoning your friends to a pulp with it levels of miffed. Then, as time passes, the situation grows more dire. It is a race against time, one that the White Cabal lost. People who attack a fortress during the night are simply suicidal. "The mages escaped quickly when they realized they could not get at our Masters. They left the unarmed ones alive." How very humane of them. I will have to remember this weakness. "At night, Lady Moor ordered the others to pursue the Cabal and exterminate them. One of her mercenaries successfully managed to track the retreating group to a small hamlet North-West of here called Triste Chasse. Melusine was put in charge because Lambert is still not back from hunting that deviant." A Lancaster calling me deviant? Pot, meet kettle. I hear Jimena scoff lightly at my side. Thank you for the support, sister! "What about Lady Moor?" asks Anatole. "After the others were gone, she evacuated the building with Baudouin, the new fledgling and a few others. I don''t know where they went, I swear!" The squad leader is silent. I can tell he disapproves of a Lady leaving this insult unanswered. I can only assume that he and Moor are not acquainted, or he would know that she does not have a speck of honor. She does, however, care about her reputation. There must be more at play. Anatole does not react at the mention of a fledgling. He already knows of her poaching activities. "Why are you still here?" Anatole asks. "I knew you would come back. I am here to serve, Master!" the cattle says with an empty smile. Her eyes are full of blind adoration. Most likely, she is too far gone to live by herself. "Of course. You have done well." I can tell what is coming. All my instincts are screaming of it, yet I still raise a brow when the Knight decapitates her in one smooth summoning of his soul sword. The smile is still there on the detached head, manic and strained. Anatole is expedient. I am not sure if I approve of the waste. On the other hand, she would have slowed us down. "We follow protocol. Then we go after the attack group," he continues. The others nod, and we depart. It turns out that protocol dictates that any compromised lair must be purged. As we leave, I turn to take one last glimpse at the blazing inferno engulfing the manor, enjoying every second of it. The devouring fire cleanses Lancaster presence and my memories from this place, the flames climbing up to the heaven in a great roar. They cast strange shadows on surroundings that used to be familiar and that I am now leaving behind. Aaaaaah, yesssss. Enemy things set on fire. A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. Beautiful. I could watch this all night. It''s only missing a screaming Lancaster or two roasting on a pit to make it even more interesting. I could also laugh maniacally. Fortunately, I am a mature and devious Master vampire and I have no need of those artifices to feel satisfaction. It would still be nice though. Ah well. Our steps carry us North West through swampy ground and slums resulting from rapid expansion. Both the Mississippi to our South and Lake Pontchartrain to our North conspire to make the air humid and oppressing. Our mortal followers fan themselves despite the late hour. Our guide, a local contact we picked up near the pier, leads the way. Sometimes, he turns around as if to make sure we were still here and flinches when some of us are. The squad patrols along our small convoy by group, so when the poor man checks on us, he never sees the same faces. The others come and go without a noise. After two hours at a brisk pace we come in full view of our destination. Triste Chasse is a dump. It also means "sad hunt" in French which I hope is not prophetic. No more than two hundred people live here at any time, piled in squalid houses centered around a central pair of workshops and a small church. Our guide informs us that the city provides cheap ceramics and tablecloth for the whole region. I will admit that Marquette was not much to look at, but even I can tell this place reeks of misery, of people barely eking out a living. There is no paint, only a few decorations, and piles of refuse litter the place. I smell the stench of rubbish and filth even under the acrid scent of smoke. That is the other important thing. Triste Chasse was the scene of a recent battle, of which traces can be clearly seen. Plumes of black fumes dot the city. More indicative of vampire presence, the church is missing, presumably collapsed. "Form a camp. Hide," Anatole orders, and the mortal assistants move to the side of the road with well-practiced ease. In the meanwhile, the Knights pick up their gear and leave for the seclusion of a thicket to get changed. Ah. I now realize that I can never join their rank. Ever. Now dressed in their armor and fully equipped, they spread out and disappear into the dense woods surrounding our destination. Jimena, Aisha and I are left behind, advancing at a sedate pace. The Vestal has her staff out and I feel magic coming from her, though it''s extremely subtle. I use the down time to lean towards my sister. "So, hrm, do you always get naked in front of each other when you don your armors? Just like that?" "By the Eye, you ogled us didn''t you, you little pervert." "Did not!" "Alaric has such a perfect butt¡­" she adds dreamily. "Well, it''s rather nice I suppose," I answer before slapping my mouth. Jimena does not say anything. Her "gotcha" grin speaks for her. I got manipulated by Jimena of all people! Arg! I really need to focus or I''ll never manage to save Aisha tonight. I keep silent and look around until we enter the village proper. The outer ring of houses has been barricaded. Furniture and bags of half-finished cloth are in the way, yet there are no signs of violence here. The entire setting is bizarre. It looks like the city was ready for a siege, but no one warned the authorities. It could be Lancaster influence at work or else, something more sinister. A hoot sounds to our right. We leave the first of three concentric circles of houses behind and move towards the sound. We also encounter our first victim. "A White Cabal combatant," Jimena comments. The dead man is set against a wall, head bowed. He wears a white jacket stained with blood caused by multiple chest wounds, delivered with a blade. Sloppy work, that. A broken musket lies by his side. He does not have any gauntlet that I can tell. "Not a mage then," I whisper. "Not all of the White Cabal can cast. Their ranks also contain foot soldiers. Do not underestimate them, their training is comprehensive and they are dedicated." I nod noncommittally. I rarely underestimate my opponents to start with. We go on and I keep looking around, searching for any signs of hostility. I find none. What I do find are blood tracks. A lot of people died here, yet only a few bodies have been left behind. They could have run out of time to clear out everything, I suppose. My unease grows as the strangeness of the situation only increases. There is a lot here that makes little sense, and so I keep searching around for hints. I inspect every house we go by for runes, in case our foes managed to hide the spell''s auras. I check every window for movement in case they successfully masked their presence. So far, nothing. It takes us only a minute to reach a taller house closer to the center, moving low and fast. Our destination is grander than any other edifice we saw so far. Why, the planks are even a bit varnished! The proprietor attempted to imitate Victorian house architecture with modest means and poor judgment. The resulting horror is what I would expect if a skinwalker could turn into a building and were caught mid transformation. It even smells a bit similar. There really is no accounting for taste. Shaking my head at this embarrassment, I follow the other two inside. The rest of the team has converged into a living room of sorts. Honestly, I would just call it a surviving room instead, it is far more fitting. The furniture is made from wobbly planks, the couches are slightly decrepit and there is a dented tea set on a table near the entrance. As I enter, my nose revolts. At least half a dozen people died here, less than three hours ago. The blood is still sticky. And in the middle of the room, there is a conspicuous pile of ash. Four gone, three to go. "Report," says Anatole. The other members speak in turn. I learn that all the houses are empty, that there are tracks going out of the town''s only road, to the North, so the population was presumably evacuated recently. The church is completely gone, but the pot factory still stands, and its entrance and few windows are heavily warded. Of the Lancasters, there are no signs. I do not pay much attention as the others exchange ideas on how to breach the workshop. If somebody is going to kill Aisha, taking us by surprise is still the best solution. I focus and look outside through windows. And I find something. "Excuse me," I say, and the Knights turn to me. Before Anatole can tell me off, I point at a nearby house and say: "I would like to inspect this ruin." They all turn to see where I point at. My target is a half-collapsed home near the main road to the North, slightly closer to the center of the town. The destroyed church is right next to it. "I''ll go with her. I want to look at their defenses," says Jimena. I am once more grateful for her continuous help. Anatole lets us go without a word and the squad resumes their preparations, no doubt happy to see the back of us outsiders. Now that being an absolute tit interferes with his chances at survival, Anatole has been unusually amenable. I shall enjoy it while it lasts. Jimena follows me out. We move like shadows from cover to cover. At the edge of the road, she stops me. "You do your thing; I want to look at the workshop." I nod and return my attention to the place I chose while she climbs a tree to get a better view. I did not choose the place at random. Nothing happened so far, and the city is empty. The Lancasters no longer have the numbers to kill Aisha, so the White Cabal are the most likely culprits, especially since they killed at least one of their attackers. If I want to know more and get some measure of warning, I need to gather information and this is the best place to start. The edifice in front of me shows extensive signs of battle. The logs that form its walls are pockmarked with bullet impacts and singed by more than a few spells. A White Cabal corpse lies near the entrance with half his head torn off, killed as he was getting in. I move across the road and through the door. The smell warns me in advance, but the spectacle is still impressive. Inside, I find at least four tracks of blood where bodies have been dragged out. There is also a pile of ash. Five down, two to go. I am just a little bit worried now. Besides the ash, only one body is left, and he is not White Cabal. Decked in a leather armor dyed black, the man is young and athletic, with a short mop of raven hair. He fell against a pile of rubble then to the side. The cause of death is a bullet to the temple made by a small caliber, one of the many wounds on his person. I count three blade cuts and another two firearm shots besides the last. One that broke his left arm and another that grazed his flank. He went down fighting in a puddle of his own blood. When I see him, I feel an inexplicable sense of loss. I push the silly emotion away, but it slithers back into my mind and settles there, increasing my apprehension. Something happened here. Something bad. I need to understand. I notice that on top of an elaborate rapier, the fallen warrior also has a mage gauntlet of exquisite facture. A patch on his shoulder bears the stylized "L" that Lady Moor used as a seal for her important correspondence. A quick inspection reveals nothing else. No notebook, no convenient farewell letter. Frustrated, I close my eyes and open myself to other senses. The stench is nothing unusual. Blood. Sweat. Feces. Spent gunpowder. The night is as silent as it can be in the middle of summer. A pulse of magic comes from behind the man. At first, it was so weak that I dismissed it as a remnant of the numerous spells cast here, but I should have known better. I should have recognized the cold aura. I do now. I pick the corpse under the arm and lightly lift it, before placing it carefully on his back. On a whim, I close the dark eyes one last time and position both hands on his chest. This simple gesture makes me feel better and I now realize why. The man fought to the end, and with his dying breath, covered another body. A shock of red hair and pale arm dotted with freckles emerge from the rubble, previously hidden by the fallen warrior. Melusine, saved by the sacrifice of her Vassal. I remove the heaviest logs of wood crushing her body, uncovering it. Her petite figure is covered by the female equivalent of the Lancaster leather armor. I pull a few sharp spikes from her body, flinging them away with droplets of black blood. It takes only a few moments for her regeneration to kick in, as the wounds were not too serious. A caving in her skull pops back with a nasty sound and she blinks awake. She takes a deep breath in and whines in a broken voice. Uncaring of her surroundings, she crawls on the ground then on her knees towards the prone form. She keeps trying to breathe and say things, but only dry coughs emerge from her tortured throat. When she has reached her vassal, she sits on the side. With a shaky hand, she approaches a wound in his chest, then another, recoiling every time as if worried to hurt him. Her eyes finally find the hole in his head. The shaky hand collapses into a fist, with which she weakly hits his shoulder. Then, she pushes on the body and tries to make him move, show signs that there is still life. It takes a few seconds before she gives up. Her head dips until they touch forehead to forehead, and she wails. Her voice is weak and broken, so low that even Jimena should not be able to hear it. For a few minutes, she only cries, suffocates, then cries more. Her claws hold the fallen Vassal''s armor in a death grip. Eventually, she stops. When her face comes up, blood drips freely from her eyes and on the dead man. Finally, she notices me. Her eyes find mine and she chuckles. It is not the laugh of amusement, but of someone who has gone beyond grief and emerged on the side of madness. No words are spoken. She bends her head, silent. I understand yesterday''s intuition. Forgiveness through shared loss. This is what this is about, and the true question. Can I forgive her for who she is and admit that we now share something in common? Is this it? Preposterous. Absolutely ridiculous. Should I forget my nature and who I am for a so-called better outcome? No. The very notion goes against all I have done, against everything I am. We Nirari do not forgive. We get even. No amount of pain and suffering will erase the debt, unless we inflict it ourselves. With that said, there are several ways to get even and I do believe it is time for the smart one. "As amusing as it is to see you crawl on the ground, I must interrupt you," I say. "What do you want?" she croaks without much conviction. "For starters, tell me what happened here." "What didn''t happen¡­ By the Eye¡­ Arthur¡­" I seize her neck between claws and press down in a gesture of domination that, with delicious irony, she taught me herself. She hisses but does not resist. "What do you know?" she asks, panting slightly from the pain and the loss of her bond. "You came here with Harold, Wilburn and your Vassal. You fought the White Cabal." "Yes. They had prepared the terrain well. We pushed them all the way back to the pot workshop and they barricaded themselves inside after we destroyed the church. It was Arthur''s idea to scorch it from afar, and it worked well. The holy ground was supposed to be their last redoubt. They did manage to kill Wilburn in a house. He disobeyed my orders. They lured him with a woman." That disgusting swine. Good riddance. "Hold on," I add, "why is Lady Moor not with you?" "A trick. To make it short, I was on the verge of having her recalled to Manchester on charges of embezzlement. It wasn''t much, but it would have allowed me to take control of the local branch. The shrewd harpy must have guessed my intentions, because she captured and turned a talented White Cabal enforcer, only to send the rest of us to deal with the aftermath. She fled, didn''t she?" "She did." "Bitch. Well, it doesn''t matter anymore. Nothing does." "Focus. How did the Cabal beat you? Do they have special weapons?" Melusine scoffs, and sniffs, then unsuccessfully tries to wipe the blood from her cheeks. "Stupid girl. Did I not tell you? We beat them, cut off their retreat. They found temporary refuge in the workshop." "If they did not defeat you, then who did? Who killed Harold and your Vassal?" I ask with no small amount of curiosity. Instead of replying, Melusine points a bloodstained claw to the North, towards the road. A red light grows and grows there, increasing in intensity by the second. Soon, the sky is lit as if by a crimson dawn that does not reach the stars. The source comes into view. An army of torches lights the night with a vengeful radiance, some others move to the side and ignite the outer barricades, covered in cloth. From all around us, fires burn until the entire perimeter around the city is but one gigantic inferno, and from the North, the army of embers crests the edge of an incline, and its carriers come into view. At the forefront, sturdy men wield shields covered with crosses and silvery pikes, forming a wall. Behind, ranks upon ranks of musketeers in the uniform of the order of Gabriel march forward. They are led by a man on a horse wielding a battle standard upon which a winged archangel slays a horde of demons with cleansing light. His voice rings true. "For if God did not spare angels when they sinned, but sent them to hell, If he did not spare the ancient world when he brought the flood on its ungodly people But allowed Noah to live, and seven others, and rescued Lot from heathens, Then the Lord knows to rescue the godly from trial and to hold the unrighteous for punishment on the day of the judgement! And that day has come!" "Amen," a hundred throats answer in unison. I turn back to Melusine''s prostrate form, surprised that I managed not to gawk. "That would be them," she says laconically. Well, shit. Chapter 69 - 68. Dies Irae I cast a last glance at the army arrayed before us and return my attention to Melusine. I note in passing that she feels like a Master now, though weakened as she is, it is hard to tell for sure. "They trapped you too?" "Hard to believe, is it not? They managed to kill Harold. I heard his screams before part of the house decided to fall on me." "I just¡­ how? How did it come to this?" "You are so young, still. You believe the Order to be nothing more than a nuisance. They always managed to kill some of us every decade or so, back on the old continent. We cull them but they always come back. Always. What you see out there is the cream of the crop of this generation. They were probably after the Cabal and caught us as well, and now, you." "How can it be? How did they know we would be here?" "They were probably not expecting you. They pulled out recently after their assault on the workshop failed, probably to regroup before delivering the last blow. They took their dead with them. I imagine that they are delighted that their snare would catch yet another prey. As for knowing of your coming, you probably marched through the road like we did. It takes but one scout to warn them of our advance and they have plenty of people willing to take that role. Arrogance was my mistake. Carelessness. And now¡­" Melusine takes a deep, shivering breath. I remember that it helps with the feeling of suffocation. For a while. "We thought that with three vampire clans present, they would not dare approach the city. They are fanatical, not stupid. They must have thought they could get away with it and with lady Moor gone, circumstances prove them right." She grabs her sternum and hisses softly, in pain. If we fight now, she will be mostly useless. If I let her live, that is. "Whatever happened to Lambert? He was supposed to go after you?" I press her neck until my talons draw blood. Her breath accelerates and she closes her eyes to deal with the pain. "I ask the questions." "Yes¡­" "Now we are in an interesting situation. I could kill you and the others who came with me would be none the wiser. Or, you can make it worth my while, and I could be convinced to make some efforts to ensure that you get through this ordeal in a form that doesn''t fit in a funerary vase." "I¡­ I want vengeance. I don''t want to die just yet. What did you have in mind?" I had been thinking about something that would help me in the long run, and I believe I have just the thing. Melusine listens to my three conditions, even smiling cruelly at the end. "Yes, I believe that would be adequate. And well-deserved by all. Very well, I consent, and I have to admit, I expected you to demand something truly demeaning of me." "We do not all enjoy seeing our opponents crawl at our feet like the miserable worms they are." She stares. "Alright, I do also enjoy seeing my opponents crawl at my feet like the miserable worms they are, but since you still have access to resources, and because you are one of the most devious, spiteful, and vindictive painted trollops I ever had the displeasure of coming across, I figured I would at least try not to give you undue causes for revenge." "That''s more like it. And don''t you worry, you mongrel-born Nirari meathead. Among those I wish to flay alive, you do not even make the top five." "Excellent." With our truce firmly in place, I drag the filthy degenerate harlot up and we calmly make our way back to the Knights. The first condition is that she will let me have her blood once she has recovered, something I need to demand a lot more often if I ever hope to get powerful enough to stand against the mightiest Lords. The second is that she will help me in battle, once, in the moment of my choosing. The last is for the hearing to gain House status. I have no doubt that I will be acquitted, so I require no help for my trial as a rogue, but the hearing will take place just a bit later and Jimena made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that the Lancaster were a crafty lot. Even if they do not reclaim me, they could still demand compensation for my loss and this is not something I want to waste time on. We cross the street at a sedate pace, not trying to hide. The workshop harboring the Cabal remnants is not in view anyway, while the order troops have blocked the only path out of the fire, content to let us roast. There is barely any wind so it should take some time for the flames to reach us but the air is already heavy with smoke and, more unsettling, the smell of roasting meat. While we move, I think. We need a plan to get out. The order blocks the only access and they will shoot and pray away whoever gets close. Even the Knights would have difficulties breaking through that perfect setup. In fact, I believe Aisha will die if we try it. We need a way to cancel that advantage. Jimena jumps down as we pass by her tree. Her expression is sombre and does not improve when she sees who I help limp along. "Color me surprised." "Did not expect me to make it, did you?" asks Melusine with a raspy voice. "I expected you to survive the mages, but not my blood sister''s wrath." Melusine''s eyes widen. What Jimena just did was to freely acknowledge our bond. It is a mark of support despite the political cost of doing so, something that genuinely pleases me. Ah, Jimena. You are so stupid. In a cute way. "We came to an agreement." I reassure her. "Is that so? In any case, I have finished scouting the workshop though obviously it matters little now." "Does it?" I wonder. Hmmm. It could work. "For now, we should return to the others. Time is short." "Yes, forget about dawn, we will be ash before two hours pass." Jimena and I drag the skank with us and find the squad where we left them. Anatole seems preoccupied, a sign of how serious the situation is. "Ah, you are here at last. Who is this?" he asks, pointing at the weakened vampire between us. "A survivor," replies Jimena, "from the Lancaster force. There are no others." Melusine does not object. She is staring in the distance, sometimes taking deep breaths. "I see. I will save my questions for later, for now, we have an emergency. I hereby change the parameters of this mission. We shall break through the order''s army and retreat back to New Orleans, where we will find shelter for the day." "So, how are you going to do that?" I ask, curious. Anatole frowns, then remembers that my security is his responsibility and keeping me in the dark does not help. "We have well-established strategies for assaulting well-entrenched order troops." "Let me guess: don''t?" If looks could kill, I would be lying on the floor right now. With a supreme effort, Anatole retains his self-control. "Not all of us will turn tail at the first sign of danger," he retorts, "when required, squads will attack using their speed and the terrain to force a reaction. Harrying them as they waste their bullets on our fleeting forms. So long as we are not cornered, victory can eventually be ours." Aisha will not make it. I may not either. "So, a frontal assault is the plan? That sounds¡­ stupid." "Unless you have a better idea, wench, we should go now while smoke offers us a measure of cover," Anatole replies with a voice dripping with contempt. "I do, in fact, have a better idea." Everyone stops moving. No one does immobility quite like vampires, I think. Anyone entering now would have to take a moment to realize we are not statues. "And¡­ what would that be?" asks Anatole with regret. Yes, imbecile, you should not have given me such an opening. "A truce with the white Cabal." Melusine''s breath hitches in her chest and I look towards her, but she does not even lift her head. I remember the horrible void I felt following Dalton''s loss and I only managed to assuage it by consuming the depleted essence of half a village, something that only Devourers could manage. I will credit her for not whining. I suppose the strumpet has some spine after all, it is just a shame that it is not attached to a heart nor a brain. Anatole looks almost relieved. "And here I thought you would surprise me. Enough of this, let''s go." "Hold." Anatole''s eyes widen in shock as he realizes Aisha was the one to speak. Even Alec shows surprise on his bald rock of a face. "It costs us little to try¡­" she continues with a timid voice. "I will not tolerate insubordination. I said, let''s go." "She''s right," adds Alec. Oh, how I do so enjoy watching the squad leader squirm. A mutiny! How fun. "Obstacles are tools, enemies are weapons," adds the grim axeman. It sounds like he is quoting something. Anatole appears to consider. We carry a lot of meaning through body gestures, when we want to. Alaric is currently neutral, but Aisha, Alec and Jimena all cross arms which is a clear sign of disapproval. I remain neutral. I do not want to squander my chances of fulfilling a promise for the pleasure of needling that bastard. After a short consideration, he concedes. "Very well, you may go and discuss terms with them, though Jimena will guarantee your safety. Keep in mind that every minute you waste, the fire spreads and our window of opportunity shortens." I nod and exit the room, Jimena in tow. To my surprise, Aisha comes after me. "Wait! I have what you asked." What I asked? Oh! My weapons! "Here you go," she announces with pride, and hands me my dagger. Dagger. "Hum, Aisha, what about the rest?" "I only took your proper vampire blade!" "Not the rifle? You know, the thing that would have let me take potshots at the order and snipe down their leaders? Thin their ranks? That rifle?" "But¡­" "Fat lots of good that toothpick is going to do, aye? Proper vampire blade she says. The audacity!" "I am sorry¡­ Does this mean¡­" The proud Knight looks completely dejected. Pah. Elite group indeed. "It means nothing," I reply, "I''ll make do, as always." I turn around and my sister and I make our way to the fortified workshop. A dagger. I swear¡­ Well, nothing to it. Time to implement the next phase of my plan and try diplomacy. First, I need information. "What can you tell me about the Cabal''s hideout?" "Everything is heavily warded except the walls, though it''s mostly rushed work. The points of ingress are the windows, the office entrance, the wagon entrance and the cellar. The windows are shuttered and barred, and the office and wagon gates are both to the front of the workshop so the approach has no cover. The cellar door is the most heavily fortified and it''s made out of steel. There are no easy ways to get in and I suspect they may shoot you on sight." "Any chance of them surviving the fire?" "None. Even if the workshop was not made out of wood, it is not the flame itself that kills mortals, but the smoke. They will suffocate long before their retreat is set ablaze." "Hmm. Show me the cellar. I might be able to get through." The workshop is rectangular. The cellar door is at the back, opposite the two other entrances. The approach is covered by stacks of crates and other sundries left in random piles. I suspect that the workers just dump whatever they are not using there. Their carelessness is a boon, as we make our way undetected. Jimena points to the gate, a double door made out of steel set almost horizontally against the wall. There is a thin line where it doesn''t close exactly, and from it, I can hear moans of pain and low whispers. Under the smoke, I smell a bit of blood both old and fresh. I understand now. "They put the wounded belowground. They probably plan to escape from there if they get overrun." "Fascinating but unhelpful. What do you plan on doing?" I can feel the wards placed here. There is an alarm, but mostly they increase the durability of the base material. It would take a direct hit from a cannon to blast through the thing. There is however, an obvious weakness. The space between the two doors is thin but not thin enough that I cannot get my claws in. I bet that they forgot to reinforce the steel bar. "Why, knock politely, of course." I grab below each pane, get down on my knees and with a grunt, channel both the Herald''s power and my essence for an additional boost of strength. Sear?h the Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. A month ago, I could not have easily bent steel by pulling on it. A month ago, I was not a Master. With a terrible shriek of tortured metal, the way opens to stairs heading down. At their bottom, a man with his arm covered in bandages wakes up with a jolt and stares at me, uncomprehending. I calmly walk down while Jimena stays behind just in case. In short order, I find myself in a vast open room with a stone floor. A dozen people lie there and they are all wounded. Most are men, ranging from a grizzled veteran to a young and portly man with what I imagine is an attempt at growing a moustache. There are women as well. A grandmotherly one holding the stump of her hand, and a girl with curly black hair and a bump on her head the size of a quail egg. They all stare at me with expressions ranging from disbelief to plain horror. Only one person is standing, a young woman with liquid red eyes and white hair tucked firmly under a nurse hat. She slowly lifts a trembling hand clad with a mage gauntlet. Before things can devolve, I raise two hands to show that they are empty, a universal gesture of peace. Not that being unarmed makes us harmless. "My name is Ariane. I wish to speak to your leaders and offer a truce." Nobody moves and I figure out why the nurse''s eyes appeared liquid. Fat tears drip down her eyes as she opens her mouth. "Bwaaaaahahahaaaaaaa¡­" She starts bawling. Her face turns into a red mess with snot dripping down her nose. Her still-raised hand wavers but she does not lower it. She just keeps crying like a fountain. It just doesn''t stop Most of the wounded are awake now, and look at each other and the crying nurse, at a loss. Still crying. It''s a little bit awkward. The door opens and a mage walks down the stairs. "Sola? Is something the matter?" He freezes when he sees me. "For Christ''s sake Jebediah, not you too. Go back up and fetch Jonathan and the Dog, Ariane here wants to talk," says a grizzled veteran with an annoyed voice. Jebediah opens and closes his mouth a few times like a beached fish, then turns around and mechanically climbs back up. Moments later, clambering footsteps and yells of alarm ring throughout the building. The door from upstairs bursts open and two men come in. The first one is panting heavily and holding his gauntlet and a large cavalry saber. He wears a more elaborate version of everyone else''s white uniform as well as a thunderous expression. With his long grey beard and serious figure, he looks like an old general in the midst of battle. The second figure is deeply calm and walks in without fear, though not carelessly either. His familiar dark eyes take in the situation in an instant. I will admit that I am surprised. I knew this man as Bradley when he tried to blow me up back in Marquette. He was with the order then. How convenient for mortals, to be able to change their allegiances so. His heartbeat is the only steady one here. He must have guessed it was me from the name. There are so few of us, another vampiric Ariane would be extremely unlikely. Though, now that I think about it, if there is one I will have to find her and convince her that I am the Arianest of them all. The old man charges down the stairs like an enraged bull at the sight of the still sobbing nurse. "I swear, if you hurt her¡­" he starts. THREATENING ME? "If I hurt her then what?" I hiss softly, and completely release my aura. About half of the wounded are mages, and they shiver before the arctic onslaught. Even the old man''s steps falter. As quickly as I displayed it, I pull my presence back in until it is entirely subsumed within me. I made my point. This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. The nurse collapses in a heap, and other wounded drag her out of the way. WEAKLING. No, she is a healer. They have their use and should be respected. "I have come to discuss a truce and temporary alliance," I say. "Why should I believe anything you would say, monster," replies their leader, still bristly despite my rebuke. "You should," says Bradley. All attention turns to him. Normally, I am good at picking up leaders and influencers in a crowd, but in this case, Bradley''s subdued presence misled me. The others look at him with respect, almost reverence. I did not anticipate that. Let us see if this can be leveraged. "What do you mean, Jonathan?" the old man asks. "I met her before. She held her promise, despite our enmity." "You faced a vampire in combat and lived?" asks a young mage with admiration. "I tried to trap her and failed. She captured me." At those words, everyone in the room stares with renewed fear and this time, respect. Apparently, piercing through their wards in seconds through guile and expertise doesn''t count but one word from this ruffian and I''m vetted? Typical. "She let me go because I amused her. She kept her word. I believe we can trust her," he continues in his calm voice. I remember him sounding the same when we were negotiating. Does this man ever show any emotion? I do not know who I should pity the most, his foes or his lovers. The crowd nods and even the old man goes from fuming to contemplating in a heartbeat. "Very well, I will hear your proposal." "First, I offer a truce, between my faction and yours, for a week." "Done. What''s next?" That went better than I expected. The next step should be easy then. "I propose a temporary alliance, to face a common threat." "And ally with your kind? Never!" he spits with renewed anger. I jinxed it didn''t I? "Hold on," says a female voice in the room, and silence is made. The person who talked is the old woman with a missing hand. She stands up from comforting the red-eyed nurse who she had been hugging. Her skin is pallid and there are deep pockets under her eyes but her voice is firm and her expression, cold and resolute. "Sigismund Abelard Coolridge, a word please. In private." The full name treatment? Somebody is in trouble. "Is the timing well-chosen, woman?" asks a noticeably nervous Sigismund Abelard Coolridge. "Don''t make me tell you twice." The gloves are off. The proud warrior leans towards his spouse and they confer in whispers. I can hear their conversation perfectly well. It is the age-old debate. On one side we have ''Can we trust them?'' and ''I wouldn''t be caught dead working with vampires''. On the other, we have ''All those kids are going to die from your stubbornness you pig-headed fool'' and ''One more hour and you''ll be caught dead alright. We have no choice''. I leave them to their arguments and return my attention to the former Gabrielite. Is Gabrielite even a word? Whatever, it is now. "So, Bradley¡­" "I go by Jonathan now." "Jonathan. Is that your new identity?" I ask with amusement. "In fact¡­ that is my real name." "Hm." It tastes like the truth. How queer. Could it be that he is more honest about his current alliance than the past one? "How did you come to be a well-respected member of a mage group? They would certainly be looking at your past allegiances with distrust," I remark in a low voice, low enough that the crowd looking at me with a mix of wonder and fear lean towards us in an amusing attempt to eavesdrop. "I told you I was tracking a group of evil magickers." "I remember." "I followed rumors and gruesome crimes to their hidden base. The White Cabal was investigating them too. That is how we made contact. "I am surprised that you would willingly reveal yourself so." "I did not. I took two of them for a scouting party and captured then interrogated them. They told me of their allegiance. I decided that we could benefit from working together." "That could not have been more than a year ago. How come this¡­ Dog? Believes you." "The Black Dog is the head of the military in any White Cabal cell. Coolridge is in charge of this war party." "He seems to hold you in high regard." "When I joined, they thought slinging spells equalled fighting. I proved them wrong. They opened to non-mages and varied their training afterwards." "And this is your doing? This assault on the Lancaster? Being trapped?" Jonathan smiles so lightly that some would have missed it. His smile has a sad and fragile quality that makes me want to draw the ephemeral moment. I commit his face to memory, for later. If we make it. "I recommended against this assault. The leadership would not take the loss of Cyril without retaliation, however. I came because I knew I could save a few lives." An act of courage and sacrifice. How many of those ended up with more cattle for the clans I wonder? Futile. Cyril must be the fledgling the maid mentioned. He is already changed and on his way to parts unknown, a member of Lady Moor''s entourage. I understand their feelings all too well though. I would have done the same, had one of my people been taken. Before we can continue, the couple returns. The woman sits heavily, with a clear wince, while the Black Dog walks up to me. He is quite tall, and draws on his size and girth in what looks like an attempt at intimidation. I am not amused. AGGRESSION. DISSUADE OR PUNISH. The Dog pales and takes a step back just as I realize I had been letting a low hiss and showing just a hint of fangs. "Cease your pathetic attempts old man, I have faced nightmares that would have swallowed you whole and lived to tell the tale. You are nothing," I growl. "Sigismund dearie, if you could stop being a pig-headed ass for one goddamn minute?" asks the old woman with a deceptively calm voice. The Dog gives her a quick, angry glance, though he also calms down. ''Right. We¡ª" A few people snicker. "I SAID, we have decided that we would entertain your proposal. Of an alliance. What did you have in mind?" That was quick. "First, I would like to ask, did you have any plan to get out of this situation?" The old man immediately grows suspicious but Jonathan replies with his usual calm. "I gathered all our remaining black powder and made charges with the clay pots we found here. I was planning on detonating them on a hunter path to the South." "Why?" I ask with curiosity. "It is not a well-known fact. Explosions will snuff out flames, though if there is fuel they will restart. I believe it would have been enough for some of us to pass through." I look around as I understand the implication. The path would be terribly hot and smoky. Those who manage to pass would have light burns and lung damage. The wounded¡­ would be left behind. Would they truly do this? I imagined the White Cabal to be suicidal idealists. They attacked a vampire city, after all. "I never said it was a good plan," says Jonathan, amused at my lack of reaction. The others lower their eyes as the mood plummets. These people are desperate. My intrusion distracted them for only a few minutes before the thought of their imminent demise returned to haunt them. I should not have worried about this alliance. Their leader''s defiance aside, they are ripe for the taking. I just need to give them hope and they will eat it from my hands. And I do believe I have just the idea. The powder charges are the last tools I needed for the plan I had been considering. "I will offer an alternative. Our main problem is not the fire so much as the order troops. Dig in or escape by blowing up a path, the problem remains the same. The order is coming for you, and for us, and you will be too slow to escape their fury. If they are defeated, however, the road North will open and you can go home safely with your wounded." "We know that," the Dog snaps, "it''s just that a frontal assault would be stupid." "Not if we use the right tools. Their advantages lie in the presence of a chokepoint, their ranged weapons and their tight formation. I have a way to neutralize or even turn those advantages against them. It will require my group and yours to work together. We will need¡­" I expose my idea, and doubt is replaced by attention, then by a blooming excitement. "Yes, this could work," their bright faces say. Jonathan assists by making adjustments and corrections and even the old Black Dog offers a few pieces of advice based on his mages'' abilities. We end up with a workable plan in less than five minutes. A miracle. "Give me a moment while I tell everyone upstairs. Unless there are major objections, I will confirm the alliance and we will then implement the plan while you fetch your allies. Is that¡­ acceptable?" Oh, he is trying diplomacy. How cute. I nod and he climbs back upstairs, casting fearful glances behind as if I would suddenly murder everyone around. Jonathan follows him without a word. I am left alone, standing in the middle of the room while a dozen people gawp at the vampire. I do not enjoy being the centre of attention like this, not unless I am playing a role. To my surprise, the uncomfortable silence is broken by the nurse. I remember that her affliction is called albinism, and it makes her sensitive to sunlight. We have something in common, then. "How could I not feel you? Your presence was hidden," she asks with a vaguely offended voice. She probably blames me for her public meltdown. Before I can think of a proper answer, I find myself misquoting Sinead. "I am a Master vampire, why would I have anything less than mastery over my own aura?" The mood changes once more as morbid curiosity turns into fearful respect. It¡­ it worked? It worked! Oh Sinead, Master of half-truths and boisterous claims, I bow before thine expert windbaggery. Your pompous turn of phrase allowed me to awe those mortals. I shall never doubt thee again, great one. Properly chastised, the nurse seems to deflate. I am almost disappointed that her spine would disappear so quickly. "It took great courage to face me," I say, remembering how she almost soiled herself and could do nothing but stand there and cry like a fountain. "To protect your charge." I realize that I mean it. She is not a fighter, but a healer. She still stood there and faced her death head-on. WORTHY PREY. No not prey. Remember Ariane, no eating your allies. It''s important. "Thank you! Hm, what I meant was, you cannot tempt me, night creature!" And there she goes and ruins it. "Sola, help me up," the old woman intervenes with a tired voice. "Are you sure?" asks one of the younger men, "the warriors have not agreed yet." She shuts him up with one glance. Slowly, the wounded who can stand are helped up by comrades. Nurse Sola closes her eyes and a pulse of energy expands from her chest. The power spreads around the room harmlessly and I now remember what is missing. Corruption. Anytime I walked around a field hospital, the stench of opened bowels and souring wounds would assault me. Not so now. It smells of fear, pain and blood, a scent that I am accustomed to. The rest is missing. Is this some sort of healing magic? Interesting. I can understand why the Lancasters would shop for talents among the Cabal''s ranks. I am tempted myself, though I think I can devise a much better way than plain open warfare. I believe I have understood the essence of openly negotiating as a vampire. Since it would be insane to work with me from a mortal perspective, I merely need prey finding themselves in absurd circumstances and appear as the sane choice. Like I just did now. It would be mad to walk through a fire, leaving wounded behind in the vain hope to escape an order war party. The world has grown insane, therefore doing insane things is the path to salvation. I am no longer a fledgling harried by the Thirst. I can establish working relationships with the powers that be, and they need not be vampires. I return my attention to the present when Jonathan pops his head from the upstairs door and addresses me. "They agreed. Meet us in front of the workshop." So¡­ so cavalier! Addendum one to the previous proposal, I shall establish working relationships with the powers that be and teach them proper manners! Being surrounded by a blazing fire and outnumbered by fanatics sworn to your destruction is no cause for such wanton vulgarity. Pah! Miffed, I exit the building from whence I came and meet with Jimena. She throws me a questioning glance. "What is the matter sister, did they not agree?" "Oh, they did, they were just not very respectful about it." "Oh sister, you did not get your fill of groveling servants? Allow me to assist." She stoops and scurry at my feet with a false limp. "Oh Mithtreth, thine geniuth ith unmathhed, thine intellect shineth like a beacon! Allow me to polith thine toes with mine unworthy thpittle!" "I''ll tell Aintza where you got the soldier fetish from." "Ack!" We stand in the corridor to hell. Red flames and smoldering husks make up the world and a black cloud masks the heaven. The fire flickers and casts dancing shadows that turn into mocking demons when I am not looking. Suffocating smoke stings my eyes and unbreathing lungs like acid and this is not the worst. The only egress is forward, through disciplined ranks of well-trained, well-equipped, and dug-in vampire killers and this is not the worst either. No, the worst is the heat, a physical wall that crushes my mind and body like a cover of lead. It wipes my mind and bends me with its domineering presence. It tells me that I do not belong in this world, that I need to be purged. It tells me that my clock is ticking and sooner or later, it will get me. The heat will consume me and only ash will be left behind. To move is torture, to stand is agony and yet I trudge forward. No sweat can protect me from the inferno''s rage. Even paces away and through my cover, it still sends embers to kiss my bare skin, blackening it like paper. The dark voice in my mind screams and harries me. It wants me to run, to find the darkness and cold that will welcome me in its blessed embrace, yet I endure. I must. Ping! A silver bullet hits the warded door, causing a small vibration to travel up my arm. For one instant, I falter and the improvised shield drops a bit. HIDE. With a hiss, I bring it back up. "Hold," the order commander screams, and no other shots are fired. Even with my senses, I can barely hear him over the roar of the fire, the creaks and groans of the dying homes. We move forward. I am at the head of the formation, with Jimena and the A squad''s brawn by my side. They hold torn off doors and plates facing forward, like roman legionaries of yore. The weight of those covers is beyond mortal ability to carry, and this is where we come in. Our steps are slow and measured to prevent gaps from appearing in the improvised wall. Behind us and to the sides, carriages loaded with wounded and covered with tarp protect the flank from the implacable heat. Behind us, mages walk low. Their faces are covered in wet rags and they stay close to the ground with tears dripping down their abused eyes. I must have been insane to propose this. Perhaps I should have listened to Anatole when he announced he was not a glorified shield bearer for a sorry mass of uppity magelings. Ah, who am I kidding? The Knights would have suffered the most. This heat is too much, even for them. It assaults my mind with the urgency of my situation, of how I am fighting my own nature. No training will ever allow me to face this without dread. "Steady now," Jonathan says with a hoarse voice. His voice drags me back away from the panic. I focus on putting one step in front of the other. FIRE. I know, me, shut up. Fifty paces. We walk along at a steady rhythm. We had no time to rehearse, and we will have no second chances. I lost track of where we are. I dare not check through gaps to see our progress, lest the wall be disrupted. I can only stare at my boots and take another step forward, and another. My entire existence is reduced to that, and biting down whenever an errant flake adds yet another small burn to my growing collection. One step, silence my screaming instincts, another step, keep going. It goes on and on. It never ends. It never stops. My arms hurt. "Halt." I almost miss the signal and need to take my foot back. There are sounds from around us. The order has broken formation? I put the shield down, in case some order bastards decide to shoot my toes off. I bend and look through the hole where the handle used to be. A few outliers wearing heavy coats are trying to flank us. With their back to the flames, they slink at the edges. They are trying to enfilade us. "Shields take a step forward, mages at the ready," says Jonathan in a calm voice. The first flanker finds a gap and lines up a shot. "Firebolt!" someone roars, and the Gabrielite is skewered. A few others rush to the side and take potshots but most of them are lost against the sides of the carriage. The order''s formation is working against them. The flankers have to move out of cover to get in position while our mages can fire safely and more importantly, en masse. The order commander realizes it and rescinds his order. "Back, back, tighten formation." This is it. "Shields up, forward!" says Jonathan firmly. I realize that the temperature is dropping. We are doing it, we are leaving the fire behind. And now, in front of me are those responsible. Ah, yesssss. Soon. Very soon. "Stop!" We are so close. I can hear the Gabrielite''s heartbeats, their controlled breath and the horrid prayers they mutter to themselves. They have spears and we don''t. They have powder and we don''t. Their shields will stop our spells. We have to charge through, and when we drop our shields to do so, they will unleash a barrage that will mow us like wheat. Or so they think. "Now lob''em!" screams Jonathan, and a dozen improvised powder charges arc over our heads to fall among them. Cries of dismay echo as some foes run, pushing others away and disrupting formation. A few pick up the heavy clay pots hoping to send them back, in vain. Jonathan is a master artificer and his fuses are perfect. The homemade grenades explode. Blood mist erupts in the enemy ranks as limbs and innards rain around. Their discipline is momentarily weakened by the incredible shock. "Now, CHARGE!" bellows Jonathan. Finally! I raise the door with a roar of fury and toss the heavy metal and wood protection in the face of a very surprised enemy shield bearer. The heavy piece of hardware smashes into three men and squishes them like bugs. All around me, projectiles start flying into the surprised mass of the order. It is as I expected, they do not know how to face a combined force of mages and vampires. I rush forward and soon, there is no more room for deep thought. I kill. Slice up and down, slide under a man to avoid a shot, steal a pistol. Get pushed back by faith, slash a heel on my way down, gut a man on my way up. Throw the body on my foes, shoot a man yelling orders, stab and maim and roar and bite. YOU WANTED ME, I AM HERE. My essence sings as the air overloads with the smell of death and blood, the din of battle and the screams of men and women in a fight to the death. They do not break, they do not flee. They stand and fight. They rally and regroup. We are not facing bandits but dedicated and well-trained groups. WORTHY FOES. Pain in my flank. An errant bullet found me. I steal more guns from standing men and corpses. SLAY THE LEADERS, CLAIM THEIR HEADS. The other Knights are zipping across the battlefield. They disrupt formations and force the Gabrielites to react or to die, while the mages and soldiers of the White Cabal rush forward. Behind them, some of the wounded stand up from their carriage to shoot spells at targets of opportunity. It is not enough. Here and there, our mortal allies fall to bullets, blades and spears. As I watch, the old woman with a missing hand moves in front of the nurse. Her chest explodes in a red mist and she falls, face twisted in pain. Aisha has an arm missing. Alec is spilling black blood with every movement, his stature making him a target through sheer size. And I realize what is wrong. Alaric, Anatole, Jimena and even a weakened Melusine are at the edge of the battle on the other side, fighting defensively while Alec and Aisha, though bogged down, slowly make their way to them. The vampires are not fighting to win, they are fighting to escape, and they are right. This is the smart thing to do. Our alliance is not formal, we are fighting the same foes and that is all. We never said we would stay. I lose my focus for one instant and am rewarded with a bullet punching through my shoulder. Hsss. Hurts, dammit. I can''t¡­ I can''t¡­ I don''t know what to do. Aisha pulls through with Jimena''s help but as I watch, Alec finally takes a bullet to the back of the head and falls forward. He is immediately surrounded by shield bearers while a man takes out a silver spike. Not happening. I move forward and grab a dead Gabrielite with a loaded pistol. I channel the Natalis and werewolf essence as strongly as I can and throw the corpse. Prayers are not enough to stop their dead comrades and the line collapses backward. I aim and shoot the would-be slayer through a gap in their defense. Anatole is there in an instant. He takes Alec by the foot and extracts the heavyset man as if he weighed nothing. I follow. The world cools down and darkens. The vampires made it out, even Aisha. The Cabal is bleeding and dying behind us. I stop. The bullet in my flank exits from the wound to be replaced by unmarred skin, a benefit of Masterhood. I am still fully capable. I could still fight but I need not to. It is done. I have accomplished what I set out to do. All those I wanted to rescue made it out and the rest are but small fry. I can go now, leave the fire behind and rest in the gold-leafed and baroque buildings we call our own, and yet, I will not. This is wrong. My instincts are telling me this. Those are allies I left behind. I obeyed only the letter of the agreement, not the spirit. Those mortals by our side displayed bravery and gallantry in the face of certain demise. They are worthy. They are¡­ They are mine. After a fashion. And the day has not come that I will give up what is mine to those bigoted pricks. I turn around and face the world painted red, and for the first time since the beginning of this battle, my instincts and mind align. This will be dangerous, yes, but also exciting. I will face this horror and I will defeat it. My essence sings and my heart pulses once. I feel a hum of approval from the Watcher. It likes it, I think, when I do what I live for no matter the cost. I know what to do now. I whistle and from behind, the heavy stomp of dark hooves sound like war drums. The other vampires stop and watch with blank masks as I stand aside and grab the harness as she goes. "A true-bond Nightmare¡­" Aisha whispers in awe. YES. Go Metis, go! For blood, freedom and gunpowder! I lean to the side and pick up a spear as we approach the melee again. The largest bulk of the order has rallied around their leader, a tall man bearing a battle standard. Perfect. A few heads turn when they hear the nightmare charging at their back, a few pray or scream to alert their friends, in vain. The leader turns, sees me. He turns a cross around. I roar. I throw the spear like a javelin. The projectile goes through his chest without slowing, then through the back of men facing the mages. Then Metis finishes her charge in their packed ranks. Physics plays its merciless role when the heavy steed''s body impacts that of the squishy mortals. The back rank flies like pinwheels. YES, WE ARE WHERE WE BELONG. Metis stops in the middle and, essentially, unleashes her bad temper. She raises her front legs and shortens whoever she lands on. Her back hooves dent shields and skulls as she kicks and with each bite, she steals ears and noses. I am not idle either. I pick up a spear and protect her flanks, but soon our predicament becomes clear when the poor girl neighs in pain. Someone shot her! YOU DARE. I hiss and turn. A few musketeers have created distance and are already lining shots. I can''t reach them. I will be too late! Then their heads start to fall. Jimena is here, picking those out of positions with ease. "Come on men, one last push!" screams Jonathan from the other side. And then, what I never expected happens. "Fall back," a Gabrielite yells with authority, "fall back!" His men all pick up shields as they can and stop shooting. They grab their wounded and slowly retreat in a defensive formation, looking like a large turtle. I use the distraction to get back to the Cabal ranks. I stand down and check Metis'' health. As I watch, a slash on her chest slowly closes. She will heal. I sigh as fear leaves me. This was too dangerous. She could have died. Is it wise for me to bring her in fights like that, where bullets fly while she does not have my speed? There is only one reasonable solution. I need to get her a full plate barding, Dvergur-made, because I am not giving up on riding her into battle and I suspect that neither will she. Silence descends upon the field as the Cabal combatants lower their weapons and look around with disbelief. The battle is over. The night is ours, but no cries of victory sound through the night. There are only stares of disbelief and cries of relief. Only fifteen Cabal orders are still standing from a group that must have been around fifty two days ago. Many of the wounded will recover, yet they have still lost almost half their numbers. A terrible blow. I feel little pity for them. They were fools to attack to begin with. If Jonathan had not been here, none of them would have returned. I climb back on top of Metis and turn her around. Reddened eyes filled with grief follow us. I glance one last time at the old Dog, holding the body of his dead wife. I care not, my task is done. "Our bargain is fulfilled," I say, and ride out into the night. Chapter 70 - 69. Trial We make our way to New-Orleans without incident. I remove a silver bullet from Metis'' flank though she did not appear to be bothered, after which she trots off while munching on an arm. Jimena informs me that only a Nightmare and vampire with a true bond could call on each other like that, and that I must have been an exceptionally talented and domineering owner for her to be so subservient. When I inform my sister that Metis is anything but subservient and that the haughty, overgrown pony has a tendency to wander off when she feels like it, I am faced with a complicated expression. "Somehow, I am not surprised," she declares after a while. Whatever that means. We take shelter for the day inside of the building that had hosted my fateful duel against Jimena. I learn that it acts as a sort of embassy, inn and government office rolled in one for the local vampires and their visitors. There, the Knights relay the situation to a representative of the Roland and Ekon clans who quickly dispatch mercenaries to the location of the fight. When they arrive, both the White Cabal and the Order are long gone. A night later, we take a ship to Boston with Melusine, who is to be interrogated about the whole disaster and her role in it. We settle in another boat ride which leads to yet another case of boredom. There is only so much coast I can watch before it becomes tedious. I occupy my time by drawing some of the things I saw like Jonathan''s half-smile, the old woman sacrificing her life to save Sola, the albino nurse herself facing me despite her fear but before too much snot drips down her nose etc. Anatole stops harassing me and I get to practice guessing cards with Aisha''s help, something she assures me I am moderately talented at. In addition, I exchange a few words with Melusine on occasion. Our conversations are usually like this. "Oh, Ariane, I thought it smelled like sweat, mud and sugar cane around here." "Is that you Melusine? I thought it was someone important." And so on. I am so beyond ennui that I wouldn''t mind a pirate attack. I would scream the random words that Dalton taught me and have somebody, anybody really, walk the plank afterward. Alas, the days of the dread pirate Ariane have not come yet. I pester a sailor until he informs me that we sail at a speed of seven knots, then pester him further to learn that it is equivalent to eight miles per hour which is apparently really good, for a sailboat. After a week of travel and at sundown, we come in view of Boston harbor. The sea is covered in ships, warships, steamers and rowboats of all sizes. White sails and dark hulls contrast with the muddy green of the ocean. The flurry of activity does not stop, even at this late hour. We pass a few islands before our destination comes into view. An elevated landmass covered in buildings sits here, surrounded by waterways. "Water on the other side as well," an old sailor comments laconically. Rows upon rows of warehouses and factories start from the shore and continue out of view. The uniform mass of their dark roofs is broken here and there by the spire of a church, or by the white columns of official buildings. Columns of smoke rise into the night air like so many snakes, and the air is charged with the perfume of brine and burnt sugar under the overwhelming stench of raw sewage. I scrunch my nose with distaste. It doesn''t take us long to moor at a pier where several carriages drawn by lesser Nightmares await us. We disembark and climb in without a word, and mortals soon lead us through the city. I look out the window as we pass by. I have never been to the original colonies, so this is quite exciting! We pass endless rows of factories, herds of animals led through the street and a few markets smelling of meat, rum, and tobacco. The population here is so¡­ white, compared to New Orleans. And the richer denizens sound weird, with an accent I have never heard before. I drink the sights until finally, we reach the southern part of the city and nature makes a reappearance. I return my attention to the interior of the ride. Jimena, Anatole and Melusine ride with me. I cross eyes with the red-haired harpy. She smiles lightly and her lips spell the word "bumpkin." Perhaps I should look outside more, it wouldn''t do to slay her while she can still be of use. Cut stone and painted wood gives way to maple and birch as we ride South. After a few more minutes, we follow deserted trails until we enter a forest of tall pine trees. The scent of their sap and dried needles soothes my increasingly nervous mind, until we leave their cover behind. The path we follow leaves the forest behind and descends into a small expanse of flatland covered in vegetation. There, hidden from view, greenhouses and patches of greenery alternate with small homes lit by lanterns, with a few larger barns casting darker shadows. On the sides, the land falls abruptly into the sea so that an intimate valley is formed. In front of us and after the flatlands, a large mound of sheer cliff dominates the landscape, with the road dug into its stony flanks. Light shines from its summit and I can already see the edge of a slated roof. The carriages do not stop, and we slowly make our way up, past two security checks whose guards wave us forward. Soon, we reach the top and a manor comes into full view. sea??h th§× nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. We first travel through a last gate and a garden designed to look natural. Rows of trees block the wind and create hidden paths where revelers would have the illusion of intimacy. Behind that, the road ends at the foot of a majestic U-shaped edifice with the main body parallel to the sea. Its walls are of pink sandstone with only light decorations. Three wings, each more than sixty yards long, shelter in their embrace a French style garden centered around a fountain. A straight path leads from the entrance to a monumental set of stairs decorated on each side by columns separating the garden proper from a covered promenade. French windows on the left give me glimpses of a ballroom that could easily fit a hundred, and the entire second floor is adorned by one uninterrupted balcony. I can tell that there is a third floor and attic, and I expect that as in most vampire strongholds, a significant part of the structure will be buried. The most striking thing is not the architecture, however, but the vampires. A dozen of them cross the garden at a sedate pace and lean from the balconies in small groups of two to three. They affect indifference, but I can feel the weight of their attention on us. Their auras are deployed yet peaceful, and I can tell that most of them are Masters with at least one Lord thrown in. Jimena exits first and takes my side as I follow. We walk in behind Anatole, and I thank Sinead''s harsh training for without which my aura would have betrayed my stress. Instead of a standard hall, the entrance leads to a lobby with the opposite windows offering a view of the sea and beyond that, the mainland. Tables and couches set on thick rugs form a harmonious rest area around a hearth in which a fire burns quietly. Light is provided by multiple candles though it remains subdued. On each table, pots filled with dried flowers and herbs perfume the air. It is not enough to mask the cold spice I associate with vampires. The air is heavy with it, both a welcome and a warning. A man stands in front of a front desk with his hand folded against his back. He wears an elaborate black suit with a bowtie that would look like a butler uniform were it not for the jacket being slightly too long and suspiciously heavy. Despite his obvious role as the welcome party, I find myself intimidated. His aura is powerful, probably more powerful than Moor''s, and it has a wild quality to it that reminds me of werewolf. His eyes are so dark that I cannot tell the iris from the pupil and he wears his long sandy-colored hair tied in a tail, as well as a short and well-trimmed beard of the same color. His face has a ruddy quality, as if he had been an outdoorsman before being turned. From his expression, I can tell that he is not pleased. "The Speaker expects you in the courtroom," he starts with a deep voice, "immediately." His tone makes it clear that this wasn''t a suggestion. We turn left into a soberly decorated corridor, and then right into an antechamber. There are no windows here, only an empty desk and a few chairs. A single large door leads further in, and on each side stands a sentinel. And here the veneer of civilization falls off and the iron fist beneath the velvet glove is revealed. The pair are a battle Lord and Lady without a doubt. They held pole weapons the color of the void and were clad in a twin set of Dvergur-made enchanted armor that would cause Loth to whistle in admiration. I realize that there is enough might in this room to depopulate a small city and repress a shiver. The sheer pressure of so many crushing auras in such an enclosed space strikes me with a claustrophobia that has nothing to do with the lack of exits. Despite their fearful appearance, they open the door in silence and let us through without pause. This is it. This is where my fate will soon be decided. Jimena takes my hand for a fraction of a second and releases it, for which I am grateful. I let go of a breath that I had been holding since the garden. I take a second to inspect my surroundings. The room is split in two in its middle with rows of seats on each side. The top rows have unadorned desks with partitions allowing privacy. They lead to an elevated area with a tall desk which I remember is called the bench. I can see three highly decorative seats to the left and a door to the right leading to parts unknown. Large windows set high into the wall only show the night sky. The room is empty. Our advance grinds to a stop and I expect the others to be at a loss. I am quickly proven wrong, as Jimena leads me to the left front seat while Anatole and his squad sit on the right. Jimena proudly takes her place by my side and I hear a single click when Anatole''s jaws lock together. We wait for only one minute before the right door bangs open and a man in a dark magistrate robe steps in. I don''t know what I expected from Constantine but whatever it was, I am not disappointed. North America''s only Progenitor is very tall, but also quite thin. He has a hooked nose and sensual lips as well as large chestnut-colored eyes. His hair is dark and cut very close. His face''s strange features would be ugly on anybody else, but on him the arrangement is eye-catching and magnetically attractive. His eyes immediately fall on me and I feel a pressing weight settling on my shoulders for a moment before he turns his attention to Anatole with obvious displeasure. His voice is a soft baritone that would be more fitting in a lecture hall but right now, it is dripping with sarcasm and disappointment. "So, this is the rabid rogue you spent so much time and resources tracking down, Anatole? The bloodthirsty and barely coherent monster you promised?" "Please, your excellence, do not let yourself be fooled by-" My eyes widen in surprise. Seriously? That little, pathetic, ungrateful prick! We fought together! "-her meek appearance, she-" "Silence." Constantine says a single word, and his aura bursts out. Power. Unbridled. I gasp in surprise and pain, and even Jimena winces before the merciless display. My neck bends forward under the ominous pressure and I fight to remain upright. This is the power of a Progenitor. And he is the youngest of them? By the Watcher, Semiramis was right. I have never witnessed my Sire take anything seriously. "Answer my question carefully, Anatole. Is she a rogue?" The abominable wanker licks his lips with nervousness. How I wish I could KILL HIM for the¡­ the sheer audacity! "Perhaps not," he replies, "but I have proof that¡­" "This trial is to decide the rogue status of a young and isolated vampire who thoroughly outplayed you, using loopholes in my carefully constructed laws to make a technically correct claim. I think the verdict is clear." "Yes, but¡­" "But you have another litany of charges to submit against her, wasting countless more hours of my valuable time, yes?" "Excellence, I assure you that she has shown signs of working for unidentified forces. Those earrings, for example, could never have been made by a savage as she claimed¡­" I''ll kill him. I''ll fucking kill him and I will make it slow, shameful and excruciating. I will peel the skin from his back, I''ll¡­ "I have had enough of you and of this whole farce. Ariane of the Nirari will be thoroughly interrogated to determine if she presents an active danger to the Accords." I feel shock overcoming me. Don''t I have a say in that? Jimena mirrors my expression of dismay. "Yes, Excellence," answers Anatole with a dangerous glint. Oh no, please no¡­ "Not by you of course, by Ignace. If declared innocent, she will be cleared of any and all charges from her rebirth until now and her petition for House status will proceed immediately." Anatole scowls. Though he wisely decides to remain silent. "In addition, Anatole, you will be stripped from your position." You could hear a pin drop three rooms over. "You do not have the authority to have me removed," he slowly enunciates. Instead of exploding, Constantine raises an aristocratic brow. "Let me clarify. You will be banished from North America on pain of death. If this occurs, the Knights will have little choice but to have you replaced, won''t they?" Both Jimena and Anatole stand up in protest after he is done but the Speaker''s voice covers them all. "Enough! It is done. Take her away." The two sentinels grab me by the shoulders, and despite my hiss, take me away with ease. I do my best to calm down as they drag me down several steps of stairs until the coziness of the manor gives way to bedrock in dark granite. It should be alright. I can answer truthfully to any question they have, except perhaps on Semiramis¡­ By the Watcher I hope it will not count against me. It shouldn''t. I have done nothing to harm the Accords. Yes, if anything, I have been quiet and cautious. I think it will be fine. I will be fine. The pair opens a heavily reinforced door at the end of the corridor and we enter a square room dug directly into the stone. The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. A chair of dark iron. Heavy restraints. Pliers, pincers, a brasero. A painfully thin man with his chest bare turns as we come in. His face is dour and his dull brown eyes are lifeless. "Good evening, I am Ignace. Should we begin?" No¡­ "¡­" "Ah, the issue with oaths is an intriguing one. Our minds are still surprisingly human, we are not automatons who consider all possibilities after all, yes? Sometimes, oaths may contradict each other. Take the case of a loyal knight who swore to protect king and country. What happens if he realizes that the king is insane? Would it be better to revolt to protect the country despite the destruction it would cause, or fight to defend the king? An intriguing situation, is it not? In our case, it will cost us, but we will decide or realize which oath is the most important. And so, some people could swear to withhold information before being questioned and thus be shielded from confession. That is why we should proceed this way. In the end, I will break you and learn all there is to know, and then, eventually, you will make a full recovery. Begging is useless. Bargaining is useless. It is but one hurdle to pass, but pass it you will. I am good at what I do." "I worked on some of your siblings, you know? They were always too far gone for us to learn anything worthwhile. It is such an unexpected pleasure to cooperate with you." "¡­" "Oh, but this is a cooperation. I shall teach you much while we make our path together. For example, you care too much about your body''s integrity and nudity. You are no longer a mortal, yes? Your body will always recover from harm. It is just a vessel. Losing an arm is a hindrance, not a life sentence. Losing your eyes just means you need to rely on other senses while they regrow. Speaking of which¡­" "The most sensitive parts of the human body are the hands, the face and to some extent, the genitals. Vampires are especially sensitive to losing fangs. You can still feed properly even if you are missing some of them. Remember, they will grow back. Now, drink." "To grow back selective parts more quickly, you need to focus your essence on the wound. You will know it works when the severed limb turns to ash. Try again. Faster, this time." "Tell me of your path up till now. You were a city master, yes? Quite the smart little trickster you are. It will be a pleasure to see you grow." The Master learnt that she could see into the future. "A seer hm? You do not have the contemplative personality to make full use of it, but I am sure the intuition that will result from this practice will be of use to a warrior such as you." The Courtier drank the royal blood and became Master. She slew the enforcer from the enemy clan. "You treat the Fae as a faction? Oh, this is so very precious. You are an interesting one, Ariane of the Nirari. I have not been this pleasantly surprised in a long time. Rest assured that this tale is safe with me. The sun will grow cold before I break the secrecy of the confession, it is, after all, my most precious oath." The Courtier followed the beacon. "I would rather not hear this story. I know of whom you speak and would prefer not to attract her attention." The Courtier ruled over Marquette. "An interesting mix of Mask and Eneru doctrines. You will undoubtedly fit well with either group when the time comes for you to visit our birthplace." The Courtier tracked the key and faced the Herald. "Magnificent. And to lose such an excellent Vassal and carry on. You are a wonder. Those alliances you made will serve you well. Very few of us attract the favor of the Rosenthal, not to mention a major Dwarf clan." The Courtier lived and fought alongside Loth and for a time, the human Bingle as well. "There are forces at work that operate on a different level than us. It is unusual for any of them to be so heavy handed. I wish I could have witnessed it." The fledgling ran through the wilderness. "You did extremely well. Most fleeing fledglings are quickly caught by simply following the trail of bodies. It takes cunning and caution to survive on the run." The fledgling served the Lancaster as their ward and their slave. "It is not unusual for covens to pick up errant Fledglings and Courtiers from other clans. The way you were treated is an anomaly, however. Only the arrogant and foolish sharpen the blade that will be used against them." The fledgling struggled to remain herself after waking up. "A most difficult situation. I understand that most Masters carefully select and nurture those they will sire over a long period of time. It has been so for the past half a millennium." The girl¡­ "Go on." She¡­ "I said, go on." Third night. The na?ve girl swallows air in big dry gulps between two cracked lips. Her body is but one large sore covered in scabs from which blood slowly seeps. Broken bones and failing organs. She is dying and knows it. She wants the embrace of death, to just make it stop. It will not come. Something dark is eating her from the inside, keeping the reaper at bay. It should not be. Her feverish thoughts are muddied. Demons crawl from the walls and from under the cot she was dumped on to scratch at her mangled flesh, to gnaw on her shattered digits. Please, just let it end. Please. Heavy footsteps. The monster is coming back. She tries to scream. Only a broken rattle escapes from her tortured throat. He bites her again. He forces her to drink the black thing. It is even more delicious than yesterday and the pain of drinking it, the feeling of violation, is even more. Her heart stops beating. Her lungs give up. Her last vision was that of the amused monster and a corner of dirty ceiling. "Go on." Second night. The na?ve girl wakes up with a jolt. She fell asleep in the hospital bed. This is not the hospital bed. He took her back. She panics. Then, she calms down a bit, regains control. She is hurt. Soiled. Not broken. Not yet. She slowly sits back up. The claw marks on her stomach make her moan but she endures. She makes herself fall from the bed and gasps in agony. It takes her a minute just to stop shaking. One of her arms is broken. The left one. There is just an ocean of pain between her legs. She is in a cellar, somewhere. The door is open. She sees it by the light of a lantern. It is still day. She doesn''t know how she knows it. She knows she must escape. She crawls forward. Drags herself with one hand. With each movement, the wounds around and in her core reopen. Tears fall down her eyes but she bites down and endures. Little by little, she goes on. She passes the door. On her left, a man with dark curly hair and a muscular back sits at a desk. She freezes. He finishes writing then turns around with a smile. He says something in a language she does not understand. She screams when he picks her up, when he breaks the fingers of her right hand. He bites her neck. He forces her to drink something. It is intoxicating, the most exquisite thing in the world, but it burns everything on its way down. The pain and violation defy description, but she cannot stop. The pain makes her consciousness shatter. "Go on." First night. The na?ve girl and her friend Constanza flit from group to group in the prestigious New Orleans venue. The reception room itself is larger than any place they have ever been in, including the church. Smartly dressed waiters circle around richly dressed revelers, offering bubbly flutes and appetizers. The two friends have a lot of fun. They are newcomers, and the novelty of their presence as well as their pleasant appearance made them the center of attention for the young male gentry. They bask in the glow of their attention and enjoy their first outing in the big city thoroughly. The na?ve girl is not interested in the men her age. They speak of parties and events and gossip about childish things. She wants someone who speaks of economics and politics, who understands market trends and treats her like more than just a pretty thing. The na?ve girl has projects aplenty. She also had two cups of champagne. One man attracts her the most. He is slightly older but not by much. He is mostly silent, as if bored, yet his eyes drift around the room, seeing everything and nothing at once. She is intrigued. She should have asked to be introduced, as is proper, but she is tipsy. Her face is flushed and her heart full of bravery, so she will display a little bit of derring-do. At first, the man seems cold but after she has talked for a minute or so, he asks questions. She tells him everything. She speaks of producing rum and the infrastructure and funds needed. She speaks of investment, of distribution networks. She speaks of the home she wants for herself and even what kind of husband she wants. She doesn''t stop speaking. He is a good listener. He knows exactly when to needle her on and when to focus her when she loses track. She feels like she has known him forever. She feels like he could be the one. She asks for his name, and if they could meet again. She wants to lick her lips and trail her hand against his broad chest, to feel it against her own. Constanza comes and bids them to go, as it is quite late. She agrees. She wants to meet the man again, later. The two friends leave. The na?ve girl giggles as she speaks of him. Constanza teases the na?ve girl. They walk to the inn where they stay and where they left their chaperone deep in his drinks. They pass next to an alley when it happens. A monster grabs the na?ve girl. Her friend screams and threatens. The monster smiles. It claws the face of Constanza. The girl falls, cradling her head. Red blood drips from it in great gouts. They scream. The monster takes the na?ve girl. He jumps from roof to roof. He lands near a deserted lumber mill. She tries to flee. He snaps her left leg. She falls and sobs. She fights, still. "¡­ do not need this arm anymore." A snapping sound. The na?ve girl howls. The monster shreds her dress. The na?ve girl fights the pain more than the man. The na?ve girl cannot believe this is happening. The na?ve girl sees herself as if she were outside of her own body. The monster moves between her legs. The monster defiles her. The monster bites her neck. The monster holds his own arm up. It stops moving. The monster slashes its wrist. It forces thick blood as dark as a winter night between her moaning lips. The naive girl drinks. The blood tastes divine. It ravages her insides. It is an indescribable experience. The monster takes the na?ve girl in his arms¡­ In the now, a door bangs open. A human girl charges in. She is a Servant, with a hawkish nose and sensual lips. "Ignace, you hijo de puta!" "Meliton. You may not enter here, I have your Master''s permission for this." "Fuck him, and fuck you too. You think me stupid? You already know if she is a threat for sure, it has been three days!" the Servant says in fluent Akkad. Behind her, a vampire with short dark hair and a face more handsome than pretty stares at the na?ve girl with guilt. "Mierda, Ariane¡­" the vampire whispers. "I still have much to ask." "Bullshit. She was talking to you about her change at the hands of that old beast. You can easily tell if she did anything to harm the Accords. Did she?" "¡­" "DID SHE? I swear to fuck Ignace, if you do not answer me right this instant¡­" "No." "That''s what you were fucking asked to find out you twisted fuck. Release her, or having you greet the day will become my life''s purpose." "¡­ very well, I suppose I know enough." "Hurry." The manacles are removed just as the naive girl regenerates digits three and seven. She grabs her own fingers and pulls on them, one by one. They were no longer mangled and out of position anyway, but it feels good to do so. The vampire and the Servant help the na?ve girl take out the silver spikes in her body. The na?ve girl removes the ones inside her nose first, then from her face and then from the rest of her body. The na?ve girl has no more spikes. The female vampire smells good, like family. "Right, let''s get you dressed. Slowly." The female vampire helps the na?ve girl into a large tunic that falls to her knees. The fabric is very soft. It feels good. Like when the silver spikes are removed from her teeth. The two take the na?ve girl and guide her. They touch her but it is fine. The vampire is sister. The human is a Servant. Up up up they go. They come across a Lord in a black ensemble. He has sandy hair and a beard. "I see you found your solution, Jimena," the Lord says. "Fuck off," the Servant says. She is very angry. They climb more stairs. Up up up they go. They arrive in front of two large doors, with a battle Lord and a battle Lady on each side. The Servant walks in unopposed. The na?ve girl is dragged in too. They are in a pretty office. There are many books and precious things. A man stands behind a massive desk. He is more powerful than a Lord. He, too, has a hawkish nose and large lips. The Servant screams at him in a strange language she never heard before. She is very angry. She is angry for a long time. The man tries to interrupt but she keeps screaming. The man stands up and approaches them. "Listen Mel, I had to be sure¡­" The girl screams some more. "She will be fine! She is a Master, they always recover. Look she is already¡­" The man crashes against the desk then on the ground with a trail of dark blood dripping from his flattened nose. The na?ve girl looks at her fist, still in the air. Nobody moves, they just stare, astonished. "Asshole." "Asshole," she repeats. "Asshole, asshole, asshole, asshole asshole," I say. I jump on him. I punch him more. "Asshole asshole asshole!" "Calm down, by the Eye, not you too," the man protests while doing his best to fend me off. I am very fast and still manage to land a blow in his kidneys. "Oof! Enough of this. Promethean," Constantine says. His aura flares, Thick binding chains emerge from his hands and capture me with blinding speed. I call the power of the Herald but I am weak, it is sluggish and does not even manage to crack one link. I fight against the restraints, with no result. "And you two, are you not my bodyguards?" the Speaker asks. "We are not to interfere in arguments with your servant. You were quite clear," the male Lord answers coldly. In vampire terms, this is a scathing rebuke, The room falls silent, except for me. I am still fighting the bindings. "I suppose I was hasty." "Not the first fucking time either. I told you, brother, if you can''t be arsed to get off your fucking books to rule properly then give the throne to someone who cares." "There isn''t anyone I would trust with this responsibility." "Then how about biting the bullet and doing your fucking job, since you committed to it? Huh?" the Servant retorts, unamused. The Progenitor clenches his jaws but does not answer. "Very well. Since Ignace found nothing so far, I declare you cleared of all wrongdoings, including your¡­ most recent attack on my person. Do not do it again. Appearances must be preserved, and I would be forced to take drastic measures." "Asshole!" "I heard you the first ten times, Ariane of the Nirari. Mel, find her a room in the left wing and stay away from the right one. The Lancaster delegation is there. The Hearing will begin tomorrow. Now, go." The others take me somewhere as I desperately pull on my fingers but no matter how often I do, the phantom pain remains. Come on, cold mind of mine. Do your thing. Push the memories in the background where they lose color and intensity. Make me forget. Please. "In there," Jimena whispers, "Lie on the bed, Ariane. It''s over now. I''ll stay with you. Mel, I''m calling Aintza to me, can you get Wilhelm to send up something? Jasmine would help." "I''ll go now." Jimena caresses my head and I touch my fingers, one after the other. They''re all there. They''re fine. All there. All straight. Fine. Fine fine fine. Yes. Fine. All there. The door opens once more and Aintza comes in. She looks a bit older now, older than Jimena in any case but not shockingly so. She lies by my side, so I am between them. The covers are comfortable. Aintza is very hot also, so the feeling of her warm body next to mine is strange and rather comfortable too. A few minutes later, Meliton returns and lights a few candles then starts a fire in the hearth. The perfume of jasmine takes over the room. It is nice. Jimena smells good, the room smells good now as a result. And safe. I slow down on touching my fingers but I do not stop. I move my toes, also. Sometimes I move my arms because I can. The pattern of the fire is fascinating. The fire dances and rolls without pause, never twice the same. I watch it. At some point, the room grows darker because they close the shutters. Dawn comes. Chapter 71 - 70. Painful hearing. "Do not worry overmuch, I assure you that you are in good hands," Jimena assures me. "That would be a nice change," I answer with a wince. Jimena says nothing, and she makes no comment when I lightly pull on one of my fingers. We make our way to the dreaded courtroom. I have no time to prepare, no time to work on anything. My hearing is to start tonight and this is it. My only saving grace is that the request not to delay came from my self-appointed lawyer, Salim of the Rosenthal, the same Courtier who warned me of Lambert''s coming. Jimena assures me that he is both experienced and competent. I do not have an eidetic memory, nor was I a lawyer in any point of my existence, so I shall rely on him. As my father would have said, they who choose to represent themselves have an idiot as a client. I just wish my fate did not depend on someone else, no matter how talented they may be. "Just a warning sister dear, if the Lancasters gain custody over me, I''m going out with a bang." "If it comes to that, we both die tonight," she answers with a thin smile. There is not a trace of apprehension in her, though whether it comes from confidence in Salim or acceptance of death, I cannot say. Seeing my worried expression, she continues. "Fret not, you will be a House before this is done. Then you will be free to go anywhere on the continent, visit Charleston, Boston, even make your own coven! Think of all the travels we could enjoy together, the people we will meet, and eat! It shall be glorious." "Yes¡­ Yes, I am so tired of being hidden." "You will soon be embraced as one of us. You shall see." "Hm." I was settled in a second-floor bedroom. The central wing of the manor is almost entirely dedicated to lodgings, as well as a few private reception rooms. The right-wing contains suites meant for larger parties as well as a library, while the left-wing is dedicated to offices and records. The underground floors go deep and are extremely well defended, with wards and mechanisms that make any day assault hazardous at best. Even Jimena does not know the full extent of its defenses. She tells me of a well-furnished armory, a sophisticated training room, magical workshops¡­ and a torture room I suppose. We make our way along a corridor soberly decorated in earthy tones and dark woods, and down a large set of stone stairs. Wards are set at regular intervals and designed to reinforce the structure and, unless I am mistaken, to resist fire. They taste of snow and suffocation. The stairs end with a corridor crossing the one I had taken three days and an eternity ago. We turn right and soon come in view of the courtroom. We walk in. I remember to relax my grip on Jimena''s hand when one of her knuckles cracks. She does not utter a sound. This time, the antechamber''s desk is occupied by a severe-looking woman with mousy brown hair and a pinched face. She nods when she sees us and waves us in. Her aura is that of a weak, or very young Master. I recognized the well-ordered feel of the Rosenthal though I also notice a strange spikiness to it. Before I can notice more, we go between the two sentinels and into the room where my fate will once more be decided. I sure hope things will go better this time. On the right side, the plaintiff-side I remember, there are five people and I recognize most of them. At the top of the table, Lady Moor''s onyx hair is held up in an elaborate hairdo. Beside her is a vampire I do not recognize. Male from the clothes, with very pale hair in a black suit. Directly behind her, I see the backs of Melusine, Baudouin and if I am not mistaken, one of the Roland twins who presided over my duel with Jimena thirty years ago. Then my eyes look at my side. At the front sits Salim of the Rosenthal. Behind him, Naminata lounges in a fancy white cotton dress with a lot of frills while behind her, Aintza is sitting upright next to a man I''ve never met. I look at him as I pass by and notice to my surprise that he is a very old Dvergur with a wild look, a large bald spot and a scruffy white beard. He stares as I go by, his eyes assessing. Jimena stops by Naminata and lightly pushes me forward. I sit next to Salim who gives me what I assume is an encouraging smile. I do not find the strength to retort. Instead, I close my eyes. Fingers fine. Toes fine. Fresh air. Can move. Good. I repeat this mantra in my head. It helps. I hoped that my cold mind would smother the memories. I suppose I should not be too greedy. A mortal would have needed¡­ actually a mortal would have died. We do not wait long. It seems that Constantine is not the kind of person to make others wait as a power play. He enters the room from the right-hand door with three vampires in tow. It is only now that I realize the implication of being here. Boston is the vampire capital of North America and I am in the seat of its government. The first man to follow is tall and very muscular, not like a worker but like a circus strongman. The brown ensemble he wears is bulging, and though it was obviously custom-tailored, it looks painted on. As if somebody had stuck a bear in a tuxedo. I do not need to taste his aura to recognize a Natalis and I can tell that this one is old and very powerful. The second person to come through is a dainty young woman with blonde hair and crystalline blue eyes the color of the coldest ice. She wears an elegant sleeveless white dress and high gloves. She smiles innocently as she sees me and though her aura is subdued, I can tell without a doubt that this is a Lady. The last man to come in is a Lord as well though his aura feels like something is missing. He wears a scowl under bushy eyebrows and shoulder-length gray hair. His suit is also the color of ash, and shows a lean but muscular physique. His face is a bit older than the average vampire and with his steely eyes, he is like a wolf. He surveys the room calmly and without apparent interest. And to think I was impressed a few days ago. Forget about depopulating a small town, there is enough might in this room to destroy an army. Of course, they will probably never agree to fight side by side. The three newcomers take the elevated seats to my left and behind Constantine. They are diagonal compared to us, and their position gives them a commanding view of the proceedings to come. Constantine walks behind his pulpit and without ceremony, begins his speech. "Ariane of the Nirari petitioned the Speaker to obtain House status under the Accords. House Lancaster, the local representatives of clan Lancaster, exerted their right to object. We shall now examine the validity of their claim. The verdict will come from a jury of neutral peers. Please welcome Lord Jarek of the Natalis, Lady Sephare of the Hastings, as well as Lord Torran of the Dvor." To my surprise, Salim''s eyes widen at the mention of the last name. I feel a shift in all vampires present. Apparently the man is important. Good for him. "Keep in mind that anybody caught telling an outright lie will be left in Ignace''s capable hands, no matter their rank. Barlow, you have the floor," Constantine finishes. "Thank you, Excellence," the pale-haired man answers. He stands up and walks to the front. The man is quite handsome in an aristocratic way, but his sneer when our eyes meet twist his face into a mask of cruelty. "In 1803, following the decennial conclave, House Lancaster took custody of Ariane of the Nirari as she was just a fledgling by agreement with her sire. The House dedicated a considerable effort and resources to raising her, effort she repaid by fleeing her responsibilities six months later, after cheating on an Accord-ordained duel and assassinating a coven mate in a cowardly way. Following this, she left a trail of destruction across America that proves without a doubt that this¡­ woman¡­ cannot be left to her own devices. We argue that House Lancaster was wronged, and that our generosity was spat on by the defendant. All that we demand is justice. We ask for reparations and that the culprit be released into our custody until the debt is repaid, for her own good. Thank you." The scoundrel walks back to his seat with dignity. I seethe. The audacity of these people¡­ Will this abuse ever end? "Salim, you have the floor," Constantine says in turn. Salim stands up with a slight smile and takes the place Barlow had occupied. "The defense argues that the liberation of Ariane from the torment she was subjected to was at the time, a Lancaster internal matter. We argue that the plaintiffs do not have a legal ground to stand on, and that they waste this noble assembly''s time with flimsy charges to get back at the vampire who outplayed them so thoroughly. We beg for the assembly to see through the ploy and bring the proceedings to a swift and just end." It lasts for one moment but I can tell that Salim''s plea finds echo in the Speaker. He did strike me as a man who sees his own time as precious. Too precious, perhaps. My lawyer understands the judge well, an auspicious start. As Salim walks back, I realize that for the first time since leaving Marquette, I am feeling a new emotion. Hope. "Barlow, you may start." "Excellence, I call forward Lady Moor of the Lancaster." The haughty woman walks forward and to a small circle to the right of the open space I had not noticed before. She stands there as if her mere presence was a privilege we should appreciate. Her testimony is a heart-wrenching tale of how she ''rescued me'' from the clutches of my sire, a man known for his depravity and the horrendous way he treats his spawn. No objections there. The Lady then elaborates on how she wanted to give me a chance at life despite my unfortunate ancestry, and did her best to educate and guide me until my fateful betrayal. I am furious though I hide it rather well, and find out that being angry helps. I do not feel so haunted anymore. Instead, I add Moor, Anatole, and that snivelling little prick to the list of persons I will personally flay alive then dip in a barrel of freshly squeezed lemon juice, before roasting them over a pit. Salim''s turn comes. The difference between him and Barlow is striking. While the unctuous bastard speaks in flowery language interspersed with witty traits, Salim is sober and to the point. "What compensation did you receive from Lord Nirari besides custody of my client?" "Objection," voices Barlow energetically, "irrelevant." Constantine returns his gaze to Salim, indicating that he may answer. "Excellence, the plaintiff presents taking Ariane as a favor done to her. I merely wish to demonstrate that it was anything but." Constantine''s attention goes to Moor. "This is a false dichotomy, young sir, I can act in a way that is beneficial to both Ariane and myself. Intelligence in business is not a flaw." "So this was a business deal first and foremost, and as for beneficial, I have a copy of a letter sent to the Accord''s administration dated August 1803 signed by your hand, asking for recognition for, and I quote, neutralizing the threat of a Devourer spawn. I suppose this was you displaying ''intelligence'' while being your usual benevolent self, Lady Moor?" Silence. "No further questions, Excellence." I know that nothing concrete was achieved with this exchange. This was merely a preliminary testimony to establish the circumstances of my servitude, and yet Salim broke their narrative. My status went from protegee to that of asset in only a few sentences. The next person to come up is Baudouin and I force myself not to smile at the implication. Melusine should have been next if they wanted to prove how much they contributed and how I repaid them. Their decision is probably for the best, though the jury might wonder why she did not intervene. The loyal Servant explains in English, and in gory details, how I cleared a warehouse for him. He remembers how in the course of my work I displayed cruelty and malice beyond what was needed. He speaks of broken wrists and shattered limbs, of men and women drained of blood as soon I was given the opportunity. His twisted tale does not anger me. Baudouin is a Servant and Servants align with their Masters. It is the way of things. After Baudouin is done with his wild exaggerations, Salim stands up and smiles. "How many separate missions did you trust Ariane with Lancaster business? Give us an estimate." Trust. Smart choice of words, Salim. Baudouin hesitates. "You mentioned at least thirteen different instances where she proved excessively violent, so I ask again, how many missions did you send her way? Fifty?" "More or less¡­" "Remind me, how many Lancaster vampires were present in the city during that time?" "They were not always there." "Answer the question please." "Seven." "There were seven vampires to handle Lancaster affairs, and yet you relied so much on a fledgling from a different bloodline?" "Their time is precious. I do not know how you conduct your business but here, we do not have lofty individuals waste their time on menial tasks." "To defend the financial interests of your House is a menial task? Are you saying that you employed Ariane so many times because all other seven vampires in the coven could not be bothered with menial tasks, and this despite your apparent disapproval of her conduct?" "I did not imply that." "Let me summarize your tale Baudouin. You repeatedly called on my client for sensitive affairs despite being extremely displeased with her savagery, because all seven other members of the coven were busy with extremely important and sensitive cases. Yes?" Silence. "Don''t bother answering Baudouin. Another question, when you mentioned my client ravenous Thirst, how many people had she already fed on those nights?" "I am not responsible for the vampire''s feeding habits." "Ah, but as your Master''s executor you should have been aware of the status of the fledgling you unleashed upon the city, yes? Surely you would not have let a Thirsty fledgling run around without supervision and without feeding her? Such an irresponsible act would have been a grave violation of the safety clause of the Accords." "She was not running unchecked. I was very careful." Stolen novel; please report. "Were you? How did you enforce her obedience?" Silence. Up till now, the jury had been quiet. This last sentence wakes up their interest. Suddenly, the atmosphere gets heavy and the weight of their attention falls on the Servant. "Answer the question, Baudouin," Constantine says in a deceptively soft voice. "With a pain-based control bracelet." Painful, awkward silence as four judgmental sets of eyes land on Lady Moor. To her credit, she doesn''t flinch. I know I would have. "To summarize, the Lancaster benevolence implied grueling work, poorly managed feedings of a fledgling and loyalty enforced by a pain bracelet. For once, I will agree with the plaintiff, there are indeed reparations to be made. No further questions, Excellence." Baudouin walks back to his place as if he were on eggshells. The hostility in the jury''s aura is an exceptional thing, as our instincts will naturally blunt the desire to harm Servants. It appears that I am not the only one who despises captivity, and worse, captivity under someone who isn''t a vampire. I steal a glance towards the Lancaster bench. Barlow and Moor are as impassive as ever but behind them, Melusine''s fists are clenched. Our eyes meet briefly. I understand that Salim is well-prepared and doesn''t need my input. He knows much about me and what I have done through Jimena, Nami, Isaac and Loth. I still think him reckless for proceeding so fast. There could be information I did not share yet and could be relevant for the trial. The next witness to be called by Barlow is one of the Roland twins. He recounts how he presided over a duel and confirmed it was to the death under the Accords. Salim only objects when Barlow implies my duplicity instead of demonstrating it, and does not ask questions. Then Constantine declares a short recess. He leaves the room first, followed by the jury. They gauge me as they pass by. They look interested. The defendants are the first to leave and we are escorted to a receiving room by one of the Speaker''s silent sentinels. The groups do not leave together as a precaution against sudden violence. A wise choice, as I would happily stab them if I could get away with it. We sit on couches, including the old Dvergur who looks completely out of place, and also vaguely smells of fish for some reason. "Introductions first?" I ask in English to be polite, and look at him. "A noo who you be, lassie." This voice, the insane eyes, the incredible age¡­ "Are you¡­ Erlingur?" "Aye." I know of Erlingur. Loth mentioned him often. Erlingur is ancient and pretty much a legend in Dvergur clans. His temper is the subject of many a ballad and so is his lust for women and mead. It is said that he broke his first axe on the head of one of Trajan''s legionaries. It is said he plied his trade as a mercenary from the cold Kievan Rus to the shores of Hispania, that he was a captain in the Byzantine Varangian and a bodyguard for the first Calif. It is also said that he once wrestled a roast boar at his ex-wife''s wedding. The boar won. He is not exactly known for his shining intellect. Nevertheless, Loth thought of him fondly last time we talked. It is Erlingur who taught him English after coming back from a stint in the Scottish Highlands. He is also my friend''s oldest surviving uncle. "Is it true that when you caught that Narwhal¡­" "Ahem," Salim interrupts. I was distracted, and it felt nice. Though judging from the old man''s scowl, I should have picked another story. Definitely not the one with the squid though. "Our time is short," the lawyer continues, "I need to ask you if you are in a good enough state to testify." "It would certainly have been better if you had given me time to recover," I hiss in response. All there. All straight. All fine. No, I need to focus more. Calm down. "There is a reason. Am I correct in assuming that you refuse to give the Lancaster anything?" "If they gain custody in any way, this will be my last night, and I shall take as many of them as I can on my way out." "Then consider this. The final decision is to be made by the jury. They are the ones we need to convince. They are visiting dignitaries from Europe and they know of your recent ordeal..." "They do?" "Yes. They know that you were callously used by Constantine in a power play between himself and the Knights. To know and to see are different things, however. Constantine does not understand the pain. He cannot." Salim''s expression grows clouded and I recall Isaac mentioning torture training. He knows. "There isn''t a Lord or Lady alive who hasn''t suffered enough pain to madden a hundred mortals, yet here you are on the very next night, down but not out." "You expect them to feel sympathy?" "Not sympathy, Ariane. Respect." Hmm. Jimena sits closer. With a light finger, she brushes the side of my arm. On the other side, Nami bumps my shoulder. "Very well, I will do it," I reply. Salim prepares me for the next fifteen minutes, insisting that no good lawyer asks a question he doesn''t know the answer to. I use the opportunity to indicate that Melusine''s loyalty is uncertain, something that Salim is sure he can exploit if they try to use her. After that, I ask for a bit of privacy with Jimena. The others queue out of the room without complaint. "When?" I ask. "When will it stop?" "Yes." "I am sorry sister; I wish I had an answer but I do not. Lord Ceron could help you¡­ Ah, perhaps later. Know that once this is over you will be free and have as much time as you need to recover. You have been either hiding or fleeing since you became one of us. Consider this, you will be able to visit any of our cities and be welcomed as a guest." "I am not so sure¡­" "You will be welcome here, in Charleston by my clan and in New Orleans by the Ekon. There are libraries, teachers and trainers you will call upon. There are wonders to visit and parties to attend, people to meet who were alive when Columbus was soiling his britches. Think about it." "I can''t. I can only¡­ never mind. Let''s get this over with, I will not be able to calm down until I know I am safe." "Very well." Weakness. Powerlessness. I had forgotten for so long how it felt and now I am reminded of it once more, in this room filled with old monsters. "Did you plan on cheating during your duel against Jimena of the Cadiz?" "No." "Did you do anything that could be considered cheating" "No." "Did you know you would face her in battle?" "No." "You must have suspected something to happen though?" "I expected something to happen, yes, so I was very surprised when she stabbed me in the heart." The members of the jury shift, perhaps amused? In any case, my innocence in subverting an Accord''s sponsored duel should be established. It was not my ploy, and if they doubt my word, they can always ask Ignace for confirmation. That is one less tool in the Lancaster''s arsenal of slanders and half-lies. Next, Salim has me go into details about the many tasks I had to do for Baudouin. My answers show a deep understanding of their structure and priorities, something that a barely contained thug would not have known. I briefly explain why the trophy-hunting mage''s attack and Nami''s subsequent rescue made Moor doubt my allegiance, and how she did not hesitate to use me in her arena. Moor tenses visibly at the mention of how much money was probably involved and Barlow looks suddenly quite interested. Take that you dishonest hag. Salim''s measured diction calms me down and I realize soon that the three members of the jury intentionally subdued their aura. They do not feel so domineering anymore, instead, they are slightly protective. Yes, they are dangerous, but not to me or at least, not right now. It still takes all my willpower to stay upright. I just want this to end. I will go on a little bit more and all will be fine. Barlow stands up to interrogate me. Salim''s advice was to answer the truth and not to worry about any impression I left. So, I will do that. I do not think hard, and I do not play coy. I answer concisely and that''s it. S§×ar?h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "You went back to see your family, didn''t you?" "Yes." "Did they welcome you back?" "Yes." It doesn''t seem to go as well as Barlow thought. I suppose that after considering me as a bloodthirsty moron for so long, the Lancaster ended up believing their own myth. "When did they throw you out?" "They did not. I left the same night and maintained a loving relationship with my father until his death three years ago." "¡­" And so on. "How many people did you kill during your flight from New Orleans?" "Some mortal to slake my Thirst, and a vampire." "Francoise?" "Yes." "You disposed of a fellow coven member to mask your treachery?" "No, I killed her because she was about to slay Aintza," I say as I point to the Servant in the room. A shocked gasp escapes the Hastings Lady''s mouth. "She had already broken her fingers," I add helpfully. Of course, at that time Aintza was not yet bound to Jimena, though I fail to elaborate on this specific point. "Ahem. Yes. But what about after that. How many mortals perished by your hand?" I count. The three idiots who were lynching that escaped slave named Toussaint, incidentally the first time I got drunk. Then father Perry and his entourage. "Six," I answer, and explain who they were and the circumstances of their demise. Barlow ends with a few perfidious and slanderous comments, implying that my testimony is unreliable and that I may have killed those I had been feeding on without realizing it. He points out to the increased number of disappearances during that time period, to which Salim objects. This ends his counter-interrogation. Already, members of the jury display signs of impatience. They make it subtle enough not to insult their host but easy enough for the rest of us to pick them. The fact that they sit slightly behind Constantine helps. Salim smiles and introduces the next witness. "The plaintiff questions my client''s ability to function alone. I will now demonstrate without the shadow of a doubt that she strived and succeeded beyond what can be expected from a one-year-old fledgeling as soon as she escaped her tormentors. For this, I shall call upon the testimony of King Loth of Skoragg." King? Erlingur stands up and skulks his way to the front with a box in his gnarly paws. The artefact is an intricate silver construct with a needle on top, and a moderate magical aura emanates from it. It tastes like¡­ It tastes like Loth, like mountain and steel! He made the enchantment himself. "Erlingur, please state the reason for your visit," says Salim. It is extremely subtle, yet I notice that the Courtier''s expression is just a bit amused. The reason soon becomes obvious. "Loth ashked me. Aye, a knew him as a wee bairn. Ya ol'' walloper he sed, ya spend aw day scunnert oot yer mind in ya fucken hoose loik a pure twally, ye disnae wanty go oot he sed, so a sed shut yer gob ye hackit goon ''fore I batter it, a don wanty, so he sed, get oot ''fore I burn doon yer gaff a got a job fer ya so I sed aye and here I be." Silence falls over the room. Constantine''s gaze drills into Salim who looks on placidly. The Hastings lady opens a fan to mask her obvious smile. "What did he say?" the Speaker asks, annoyed. "Erlingur is here at the behest of King Loth." "¡­ I see, and what task was he given?" "I know," an extremely low-pitched and gravelly voice says. The one who speaks is the Natalis Lord. His voice is surprisingly soft for someone his size, and his words are slow and measured. "It is a voice record box, a Dvergur creation. They are very precious and rarely used. He is here to open it." "This one can only be activated by the blood of a relative. It is a safeguard to prevent the message from being tampered with," the lord with the long gray hair adds. His voice is still a basso though not as low as his neighbor''s. He also has a strange accent even in Akkad. There is rhythm to it, as if he were reciting. Constantine considers the item with curiosity. He''s probably never seen one before. "We shall hear your kin''s message then," he says. The sentence is barely finished before Erlingur pricks a thumb on the device. The box shines blue with runes, then an illusory globe rises in the air. It vibrates slightly with each sound the enchantment produces. "Am busy! Get tae fuck!" my friend''s inimitable voice says. A rare emotion fills my heart and I raise both hands to my chest. Loth''s aura spreads through the room now, as if he were here. "Is that bloody thing even on, ah yes. Ahem. "My name is Loth of Skoragg. I have spent the past century in North America and for ten years, I welcomed within my home and hearth Ariane of the Nirari. During that time, she respected all the terms of our arrangement without fail. Never did she kill one of my citizens, and never did she endanger my life or secrecy. She showed loyalty and candor in her dealings, curiosity and ingenuity in her pursuit of knowledge. She fought by my side and bled with me no matter the odds or the risks to her person. She helped me face my demons and made me a better man, not out of self-interest but because she wanted ta help. She was in turn an apprentice, a confidante and an aide, and more than that she was a friend. A real friend who I would risk my life for without a sliver of hesitation. Ta all of ye oversea bloodsuckers, whoever ye are, ye have a diamond in yer midst and I regret every day that she can''t be here with me instead of these arse-licking, unruly ninnies. What good Hunts we would have, hah! Anyway, I''ve said enough. Ariane if ye''re here, next time we meet I''ll make ye a gun that will blow an asshole''s head clean off from a mile and then do it five times more without reloading, ye''ll see! Awrite. This is King Loth, signing off." The sound bubble dissipates and I let out an uncontrolled gasp and lightly bend forward. Happiness. This emotion is so fleeting and precious that I forgot about the whole hearing to focus on that elusive warmth in my chest. I let it go through me. Only when it dissipates in the cold recess of my unbeating heart do I open my eyes again and straighten out. Both the jury and the Speaker are looking forward though I know they saw my reaction. They pretended not to see my momentary weakness. That is a sign of respect. On the other bench, the Lancaster discomfort is obvious. If I had to judge how the Hearing is going for them so far, I would have to use the word "disastrously". Despite their numerous setbacks, Barlow hasn''t given up yet. "Erlingur, the two of them spent ten years together. Would it not be possible for your King to have been under her influence?" Ah, trying to discredit the witness in front of his grumpy uncle? Brilliant idea, moron, let''s see how that works out for you. "Ye''re off yer fooken heid ye daft cunt," the old man''s spits, shivering with rage, "dinnae talk mince course we checked his mind, ya wee fanny!" "He respectfully disagrees," adds Salim, deadpan. The only sound is the groan of wood as Barlow''s claws slowly dig into his desk. Beautiful. "I think this is enough," Constantine declares while glaring at the Lancaster side. "One last thing, sir, if I may," Barlow interjects respectfully. Gah, when will you give up? Constantine remains silent which the lawyer interprets as permission to continue. "We also have proof that Ariane of the Nirari allied herself with the White Cabal, a hostile religious order of mages who inflicted great pain upon our House. We argue that her cooperation with an enemy of all of us is a crime that requires punishment." "And the reason why you did not mention this before?" Constantine asks, out of patience. "Our witness is Melusine of the Lancaster. She recently suffered a tremendous loss and we would have preferred not to cause her undue stress." Right. Melusine stands up and replaces Elringur at the front. This is going to be good. "Melusine, after the battle which cost your Vassal his life, you bore witness to Ariane collaborating with the enemy, is that correct?" Silence. Melusine''s shoulders are tense and her face is a frozen mask. I dare not imagine the tumultuous emotion ravaging her mind right now, and I rejoice that she decided to honor our oath above her loyalty to her clan. "Is that correct?" Barlow repeats with visible anger. If I had been humiliated like he was, I would be angry too. "Melusine you forget yourself. Answer the question," he insists as Lady Moor''s eyes throw daggers at the little minx. A condemning silence! This could not have gone any better. "¡­saved me." The sound is barely a whisper, so silent that the mortals could not have heard, and yet for us it is like thunder in a blue sky. "Pardon me?" Barlow half-screams. "She saved me. You want an answer? I''ll give you an answer you sanctimonious twit. That blonde glorified peasant saved my life that night. She dragged my maimed body through fire and smoke and broke through while I could not. She showed cunning and ruthlessness, sending one group of worshippers to slay the other and fought fang and claw while your mistress fled with her tail between her legs! All of this because she nabbed their precious warlord and didn''t deign to cover her tracks like the DUMB BITCH SHE IS," Melusine is screaming now. I bet they can hear her on the other side of the bay. Nevermind my earlier comment, this is a thousand times better than silence. "Moor you conniving piece of shit! My Arthur died because your stupid self could not be arsed to do things right and you sent me without backup to clean your shit! And now you ORDER me to help? You think you''re smart? You think you won the game? When the throne receives my report on your embezzlement and your scams, not even the miles of dick you normally gobble will save your scrawny ass from retribution!" Forget the bay they can hear her in London. "Loyalty to the cause? Hah! Fuck the cause, fuck the clan and fuck YOU!" The room grows quiet. Or at least I think it does, my ears are still ringing. By the Watcher. Wow. I am floored. Barlow and Moor gawp like a pair of beached fishes, aghast. "Anything to add?" Constantine adds politely while the irate redhair is still gasping for air. "I¡­ I want House status!" "As a political refugee, I presume?" "Yes!" "Your petition is accepted. Lords and Lady of the jury, I propose we stop here. Do you need time to deliberate?" "No, Speaker." "No." "Indeed not." "And what is the verdict?" "I, Jarek of the Natalis, reject the Lancaster claim." "I, Sephare of the Hastings, reject the Lancaster claim." "I, Torran of the Dvor, reject the Lancaster claim." "The Lancaster claim is rejected. The request is granted. Welcome to the Accords, House Nirari." And that, as they say, is that. Chapter 72 - Glossary. List of bloodlines Amaretta: A bloodline focused on prophecy and vision. Their Progenitor is active but only meditates. Most Amaretta members are female and they are concentrated around the western Mediterranean. Known member: Aisha, member of the North American knight squad Amaretta, the Progenitor Cadiz: A clan based in Spain, whose members are known to achieve supernatural focus. They boast many of the world''s greatest duelists, though they sometimes suffer from tunnel vision. Their Progenitor has gone through a portal in search of a challenge. Many of their members support the Eneru faction. Known members: Ceron: Lord, first met by Ariane in the fortress, contributed to her escape in exchange for Lancaster confidential information. Jimena, Ariane''s friend and blood sister, knight, owner of a soul sword called Justice. Suarez: Lord, first encountered during the Charleston heist. Ariane had previously rescued his Vassal and he repaid his debt by helping her escape the knight squad when they came to slay her. Constantine: Constantine himself has not yet sired a Spawn. His powers are unknown. Known members: Constantine, the man who established the political order for all vampires in North America, under a unified system of laws called the Accords. He is the Speaker. He has some limited military power and is also one of the world''s greatest living blood mages, making him a powerhouse. Dvor: Dvor vampires bind with a territory and mostly remain there. They are significantly stronger when defending it against intruders and weakened while away. All of them support Eneru and make up most of the alliance''s upper ranks. Their Progenitor is asleep in his city somewhere in North Africa, while his descendants concentrate around the Middle East and Eastern Europe. Known members: Torran, Lord. Not much else is known at this juncture. Erenwald: Based in Germany and central Europe, Erenwald vampires favor nature and the wilderness. They are the only bloodline animals do not shun, and rear most Nightmares. Some of them can perform druidic magic and their Progenitor turned himself into a tree. They contribute heavily to the Followers of the Path, the third vampire faction. Known members: Ogotai: Ariane''s jailor back at the fortress when she first woke up. He turned against his superior Lady Moor out of hatred and opened the fortress to the Order of Gabriel. He was killed years later. Wilhelm: not much is known about this lord, only that he is Constantine''s steward. Hastings: Hastings can walk in undirect sunlight, though they consider it unpleasant. They also naturally wake up early and can consume food and drinks. In exchange, they are physically weaker than the other bloodlines though they should never be underestimated. Their Progenitor recently eloped with a mortal and they hide somewhere in the English countryside. The clan is a major contributor of the Mask alliance. They concentrate in the United Kingdom and France. Known members: Hastings, the Progenitor. She is on holiday. Sephare: not much is known about her yet. Ekon: Ekon vampires are obsessed with new experiences, gathering their impressions in a magical repository known as the Great Book of the Ekon. Their Progenitor died to experience the sun and share his experience. Several copies of the Book exist across the land updating themselves as soon as a new entry is made. Ekon vampires possess increased Thirst and pain resistance to assist them in their endeavor. They are mostly neutral and seldom gather, preferring to travel the land in their never-ending quest for the new and the exciting. As a result, they do not have a main territory. They are also one of the few clans recruiting in central Africa and the Guinean gulf. Known members: Naminata the Singing Spear, Master, Ariane''s friend. Known for her reckless nature and legendary sexual appetite. Kouakou: Lord, one of the few Ekon who does not travel much. He handles Ekon financial interests in Louisiana and is a major supporter of the clan as one of their few sedentary Lords. Kalinin: Kalinin vampires can resist and even wield holy symbols so long as they believe their cause is just. Their Progenitor was killed in combat and devoured by Nirari. They make their home in western Russia, particularly around Moscow and Saint Petersburg. They are neutral. No known members so far. Lancaster: Lancaster vampires are exceptional at Charm. They are the other clan operating in the United Kingdom and also support Mask. Their Progenitor was killed by a once in history alliance of mages, Gabrielites and even some vampires. Known significant members: Moor: Lady, (previous) head of the Louisiana House. Melusine: recent Master, made a nuisance of herself for Ariane. Capable mage. She recently entered a truce with Ariane. Lambert: Master, enforcer, mage, had his heart on the other side of his chest. Slain by Ariane in single combat. Natalis: Natalis vampires boast incredible physical strength. It comes at a cost to their intellectual abilities, though most of them are not completely stupid. Their Progenitor has disappeared and some suspect that he has died. Natalis are mercenaries and bodyguards, having very few holds of their own. Most Natalis Lords support the Eneru faction. Known members: Jarek, Lord, not much is known about him yet. Nirari: The Devourer bloodline, the first vampires. Nirari can absorb a fragment of the strength of their victims and keep it for themselves at the cost of particularly strong instincts. Because of the Progenitor''s use of his Spawn, only four Devourers are currently alive while some newer bloodlines boast numbers in the hundreds. Lord Nirari himself is locked in a secret war with his mother, a conflict that has spanned millennia. He is considered unstoppable by most organizations. Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. Known members: Nirari: Ariane''s sire. Ancient Prince of Babyon. The first one to receive the elixir of flawed eternal life. He is cruel and vindictive though he always respects his word. S~ea??h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Ariane: you know. Svyatoslav : the first Spawn to gain his independence. Svyatoslav was a prince of Kivan Rus''. He is currently operating in Russia. Malakim: Nirari''s right hand, a tortured soul devoured by hatred. Roland: Roland vampire boast an unbreakable will that lets them train harder, fight longer and pursue passions with more determination than any other bloodline. They, unfortunately, tend to be stubborn as a result. They are based in France and make up the core of Mask''s military. They have a tradition of being patrons of the arts, even more so than the Rosenthal. Their progenitor is currently slumbering in an unknown location. Known members: Gaspard: Lord, slain by Nirari at the vampire fortress after provoking him. Anatole: a Master previous head of the knight squad, he is an arrogant prick. He went after Ariane hard out of blind hatred and got exiled for it. Nashoba called him a pretender. Rosenthal: The Rosenthals boast an eidetic memory and synthetic mind. They are completely neutral and act as the lorekeepers, bankers and administrators of vampirekind. They benefit from a positive relationship with other factions of the supernatural world and boast a powerful mortal military made of well-trained and loyal mercenaries. Rosenthal vampires are mostly uninvolved and are forbidden from taking part in conflicts by their Progenitor herself. They operate out of Switzerland but recruit everywhere. Known members: Isaac, Ariane''s banker and wealth manager. He became a Master following a hunt they shared. He has a rebellious streak. Salim: Isaac replacement after he departed from America. Vanheim: The wild cards of their kind. Their powers are unpredictable, and the Progenitor is unknown. Vanheim are rare, few, and often isolated though they are not shunned outright. Known members: none so far. The three vampire alliances: Mask. Masks dominate Western Europe. They favor infiltration and influencing the world from the shadows. They are known patrons of the arts, funding extravagant works and hosting grand balls. Their games and contests are often cruel. Masks dominate Western Europe except for Spain. Eneru: Eneru members postulate that vampires, as long-lived and resilient individuals, have the potential to be superior rulers. That is not to say that any vampire has the necessary leadership skills, of course. Member of Eneru will semi-openly rule small domains over which they have near complete control, employing talented mortals as representatives and agents. They tend to be traditionalists though many of them still understand the need to change. Eneru vampires control Spain, parts of north Africa, parts of the middle east and parts of the Balkans. They are more fragmented than Masks. Followers of the path. The Followers are isolationists and can be considered a faction only insofar as they oppose the two others. Followers control central and Northern Europe as well as Western Russia. The Accords. A good number of vampires have moved to North America, until a community formed under the patient rule of Constantine. The Accords heavily regulate conflict between the eclectic members of the group. Constantine''s personal guard as well as himself and a squad of knights ensures that discipline is enforced with deadly efficiency. The White Cabal. Based in the state of New York, the White Cabal is a group dedicated to the protection and development of mages in north America. They have recently started to gain a significant amount of power. Their budding military mixes mages and mundane soldiers and uses specialized tactics. The Order of Gabriel. A fanatical order devoted to the extermination of all things supernatural, they are well-trained and well-funded for the most part, and do not hesitate to sacrifice their lives in the hope of killing one more monster. They go mostly after practitioners, rogue and otherwise, but will attack vampires if they think they have a shot at taking one down. The attrition rate of the order is extremely high but there is no shortage of volunteers to join their ranks as supernatural entities often leave many vengeful victims in their wake. Other characters: Achille: Ariane''s brother, currently still alive. He is a bit on the judgemental and stubborn side though he does have a good heart. We know little of him save that he made the family business prosper and had many children. Aintza: Jimena''s S ervant and long-term lover. She was instrumental in freeing Ariane from Lancaster servitude. Arthur: Melusine''s Vassal , he died saving her from an Order ambush. Cecil Rutherford Bingle: an adventurer and a gentleman. He returned to England after sharing an adventure with Ariane, and married the woman he had met there, Rose. He has a peculiar magic that turns everything dramatic around him. Dalton: Ariane''s first vassal, he was killed by the key of Beriah during the 1812 conflict. His death was avenged by Ariane after a major battle after which she gained the ability to destroy magic with her claws, at the cost of energy. Erlingur: Loth''s uncle. One of the oldest living Dvergur and possibly the dumbest as well, he is known for a strange mix of courage, blind luck and sheer stupidity. Harrigan: Ariane and now Merritt''s head of security, a despicable but disciplined man. Jonathan Hopkins: dark hair, dark eyes, a sober man with a mind like a bear trap. Jonathan first joined the Order before switching allegiance and turning the White Cabal''s military into a professional force. David King: a rescued slave who joined the odd squad after Ariane bought and freed him. His father died fighting wendigos. Kitty: the Dream''s leading girl. Loth of Skorrag: A Dvergur (dwarf) from Scandinavia, Loth is a master artificer and a deadly fighter. He is also a scholar who will happily talk about his family''s long and tumultuous history. He recently returned to his home country. Loth is extremely tall, bulky and the proud owner of a dark bushy beard. A few strands of silver have made their way into it, not that he much cares. Notably fond of mature beauties. Alexandria Merritt: previously free mage who joined Ariane as her second in command. Merritt is loyal though she is still fond of the occasional mischief. She has two children: Ollie and Lynn. All three are redheads. Semiramis: Nirari''s mother and the single greatest mage who ever lived, she was granted immortality by the entity known as the Eye or the Watcher against allowing his essence into the world. Semiramis is sometimes tasked by the Watcher with creating an elixir of flawed eternal life. Upon consumption, the chosen will become the Progenitor of a new bloodline. She is trying to become a goddess and is locked in eternal conflict with her son Nirari, the first vampire. Her den possesses strange dimensional properties. Sivaya: an ethereal beauty and princess of the Likaean court of Blue, she is a magical genius. Politically, however, she is a disaster according to Likaean standards. She is currently working on a way for her people to go home. Sola: a beautiful albino girl, a rare natural healer and purifier, capable of closing even grievous gut wounds. She is part of the white Cabal. Nashoba: shaman of the Choctaw nation. He made the earrings Ariane is still using to evade detection. He could see the future, and called Ariane ''daughter of thorn and hunger''. He died from Ariane''s hand as a way to escape the pain of his disease. Ariane liked him fondly and carries his memory. Papa: technically named Hercule Reynaud but effectively Papa forever, Ariane''s dad was ever supportive of his child even when she lost her soul. He met her several times and they kept a steady correspondence until his death in the early 30''s. His wife Diane died very early in Ariane''s life, making him her sole parent, a role which he dedicated himself to. Sinead: the most powerful Likaean on the planet, and a prince of the Court of Summer. He is at time a rogue and a dilettante, and at times a deadly schemer. No matter what, it always looks like he gets what he wanted in the end. Both Ari and him have done things for the other that they did not have to do... The Watcher: the embryo of a creator god, the Watcher will one day ''die'' to give birth to a new universe, or at least this is what Semiramis believes. Nobody is exactly sure what its agenda is, or indeed if it has one to begin with. All that is known is that the Watcher is sapient, can communicate and is intimately tied to vampires and their existence. Chapter 73 - 71. House Nirari I stand in front of Constantine with my arms crossed while he adds the finishing touches to the official document. It is a mere formality but it appears the Speaker enjoys his formalities. Once he is done, he delicately puts his pen down and crosses his hands before his mouth. In the following silence, neither of us yields. In the end, Constantine speaks first. "The tasks of a leader are many. It is our burden to take difficult decisions for the good of all." I lift a hand in the air to interrupt him. His eyes light with anger. "You forget that I also ruled for twenty years." "Ruling a backwater city is not the same as ruling the entire continent''s vampirekind!" "And that''s where you are wrong. Whether a group of five or five million, the basics are the same, only the scale changes. It is all about politics." "And that is what I have done. I needed Anatole replaced and you gave me the perfect opportunity. With your testimony guaranteed by Ignace, the Knights were compelled to have him replaced." "Rulers like you are fine with large sacrifices, as long as they are done by someone else." "Enough!" he yells, "I don''t expect you to understand¡­" "I understand that you took the easy way out, just like Melitone said. You chose expedience over subtlety without considering the cost to me." "All Masters heal, eventually." "You have no idea what you are talking about. We cannot faint. We cannot escape. We only have our instincts as our teeth reform to be broken again and our fingers regrow to be mangled once more. You do not, cannot understand the horror and the agony. What you think of as three days of unpleasantness is HELL! Hell, you hear me? I would have walked through piled glass for the privilege of greeting the dawn after one bloody hour. My mind was broken. You do not know what you are talking about!" I stop, realizing I was screaming. Constantine remains silent. "I read the Accords, you know? You did a good job but that won''t help much. You probably think that by introducing a sound power structure, you would be exempt from petty politics. You are na?ve. No system is good enough that it cannot be destroyed by nepotism, clan politics and power games. It would have been easy for you to outmanoeuvre Anatole after his show of incompetence. Instead, your so-called thoroughness has cost you my allegiance, that of a Devourer." "I care little about your bloodline young one, I am a Progenitor." "Do you know how many Progenitors have already perished?" Constantine''s brows furrow. "If you are threatening me¡­" "I have no need. The Lancaster progenitor was slain, and so was Kalinin. You rely on your status too much and think yourself untouchable. You are not. For now, your so-called allies accommodate you, just like they accommodated this farce of a trial of yours, because they are still fighting and reeling from the previous war. Right now, it is convenient that the New World remains neutral and accessible to all, but as we grow and become richer, the temptation to take over resources and new territories will become too strong. They will come for you, eventually, and by that time you will have allies and subordinates, or you will die alone." Constantine considers me quietly. He shows no anger at my provocative speech which is a good sign. "You are not the kind of woman who speaks in vain. Am I to understand that you would work for me?" "I will never work for you, but I would work with you, under one condition." "Name it." "Your blood." "You¡­ want my blood?" "Oh, don''t act so surprised. You must know how we Devourers gain strength. Your blood, freely given in secret, and I will do your bidding against compensation, while trying to forget the excruciating pain you have subjected me to. If you get caught in a power struggle, I will even help you instead of making sure you suffer as I did before mounting your head on a spike." "You are quite bold, I''ll give you that." I wait patiently while Constantine ponders my proposal. I am too weak to do anything to him, yet. The past few days have shown me that despite reaching masterhood, I am still a small fry compared to the real decision-makers. I may be safe from rogue hunts or arbitrary execution now, but I am still a pawn in a chessboard full of ancient and cunning creatures to whom mercy is but a weakness to exploit. I will take time to recover and I will enjoy the world, and I will also start working on the future. If I want to face the threats Aisha hinted at, I will need power both personal and political. I shall train, feed and find weapons. I shall also ally with those I can rely on, be they vampires, Likaeans or mages. Hell, I would even work with werewolves and forfeit their sweet, nourishing essence. And tolerate their stench. Perhaps. Constantine sits back into his cushioned chair. He has reached a decision. "Your words have merit. Melitone mentioned something similar and as much as I regret it, I must deal with the world as it is instead of as it should be. Here is my proposal. Complete a task for me and I will let you draw my essence under strict supervision. Afterward, you will be in my employ for a period of two years, during which you will have the liberty to refuse the tasks I give you. I will also compensate you more than generously for each one that you complete successfully. If your work is as satisfactory as your record hints at, I will grant you a territory to call your own and back you up should it be infringed upon, and then we can consider further collaboration." It sounds like a great deal¡­ "I will let you consult your loyal friends before you accept. As for the first task, Torran of the Dvor has asked for a protection detail while he is here. He asked for you specifically." "He is a Lord. Why would he need protection?" "The Dvor are linked to their domain. Inside its boundaries, they have great powers to call upon, while outside they are weakened. Both Jimena of the Cadiz and Naminata of the Ekon vouch for your combat performance, and that is high praise coming from that firebrand and the Singing Spear of the Ekon. You also slew Lambert and you are a Devourer. You are more than qualified." "Do not mock me. I am neither able nor willing to protect anyone right now." "Just talk to him, then give me your answer." The Speaker hands me an official House declaration, properly folded. I know when I have been dismissed. I take the scroll and leave his office, greeting his mousy-haired secretary on my way out. I turn to the butler as I exit. He has been waiting for me and made no secret of it. I consider that with so many vampires around, rules and tact must apply differently. The personal rooms and offices such as Constantine''s are warded of course, but the rest is not. Nami already taught me that etiquette demands I maintain my aura overt and non-threatening out of politeness, but what about the rest? Any whispers in Akkad will be heard from half a wing away. Everyone smells as soon as you enter the room if you have been intimate, and with whom. They know if you have been to the city or if you have been gardening, or if you haven''t bathed in more than a day. I am reminded of living in very close space with nosy relatives. Suddenly, the notion of having my own sanctioned territory and only coming here to mingle sounds all the more attractive. I could strike a good balance between the countryside and its many exotic creatures, and the city and possible new bloodlines to add to my growing collection. "Allow me to congratulate you on your ascension," the man says in a soft and cultured voice. I do not reply and glare instead. I am convinced that Jimena came to him for help and he sent her away. This is not the kind of resentment I can simply give up on for the sake of expediency. The truth is that I hate them. I hate them all. Resentment is no longer the smouldering fire in my chest that it used to be when I was human. It is a cold and hard thing, both patient and quite unpliable. There is a debt, and sooner and later that debt will be paid. What Ignace said was wrong, my body is not something that must only be preserved for the sake of survival. I am also my body. By maiming it repeatedly as he did, he hurt me in a way that I had not been even when my heart was damaged. Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. Contrary to my expectations, the butler only smiles. "Would you care to share the cause for your amusement?" I ask. "Not amused, only relieved. If you had been all smiles after what was done to you, I would have known you to be a snake. Instead, you show me your teeth so I know you to be a wolf." "And I know you to be an asshole, what am I to do with this piece of information?" "Language, young lady." sea??h th§× Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Fuck you." He sighs, giving up. "Not that I do not enjoy our current conversation, Lady Nirari, but I feel obliged to mention that your friends are waiting." Ah yes. I stop rubbing my fingers which are all there, intact, and indicate that he should lead the way. "By order of the Speaker, the South Wing suite number two is yours for the month. You have also been granted access to a secured vault, should you prefer to slumber underground. Your friends are waiting for you in your personal quarters." We climb up a set of stairs, coming across two mortals in colorful dresses showing plenty of cleavage. Their cheeks are flushed and they smell of perfume and sex. The pair curtsies, keeping their heads bowed as we cross paths. I can feel through my aura that their vitality is a bit depleted, signs that they fed someone recently. "Lord Jarek occupies the other suite," Wilhelm comments in lieu of explanation. We come across a Courtier in a form-fitting, daring red dress of expensive make who also bows as we pass by, and quickly reach our destination. The butler also bows before presenting the suite. There is a lot of bowing going around and, fortunately, I am not the one doing it. "Here we are. We should discuss your introduction ball at some point. Come see me once you have recovered." I go in without waiting. The ball can wait. I want to talk to everyone. As soon as I close the door behind me, everyone inside stands up to welcome me, even old man Erlingur. I notice that Sorrel, the mage who allowed me to talk to Isaac through a crystal focus back in Marquette is also present. The small number of guests is at odds with the grandeur of the receiving room. Contrary to the rest of the manor which favors earthy tones, the decorations here are in shades of white and deep blue. The furniture is lavishly decorated with bronze and engravings. There are enough seats to host a party. My friends have gathered around a central table upon which a few snacks and drinks have been set. Erlingur is nursing his second bottle, and looks distinctly tamer than before. I approach with a smile. I am safe here, and surrounded by friends. All is fine. I force myself to relax my shoulders. All will be fine. In time. "Congratulations!" the yells erupt. I am quickly surrounded, though I also notice that they leave a respectful distance between us. I don''t want that. Nami is in front of me, so I grab her into a hug. I trust Nami. Clawed hands part my hair, rest against my neck for an instant, then trail down my spine. I shiver lightly at the intimate touch. A low rumble shakes her chest. Suddenly, another pair of arms surround me from the back. Jimena''s scent is familiar and comforting. For the first time tonight, I truly relax, and let out a shaky breath. "It''s not fair¡­" Salim grumbles. Our trio chuckles and they let me go. I join the small assembly and sit in a throne-like chair they left for me, facing the entrance. As if planned, everyone goes to a small pile of containers in the corner of the room that I had not noticed before. I give Jimena a questioning glance, but she just winks. Soon, my guests form a line and approach me one by one, Jimena first. "Congratulations on becoming a Master! As I have mentioned before, reaching the stage of Master is a momentous occasion and a great cause for celebration. Even neighboring covens will often join the festivities. As your sister and the most important person in the room¡ª" Groans from the audience. Since she spoke in English, everyone can follow. I am appreciative of the favor she does the mortals. "¡ªit is my privilege to be the first to grant you these gifts I bear." She hands me a small crate filled with books. "Go on, have a look!" I pick them up one by one, amused, and read the titles out loud. The books themselves are of high-quality paper and either brand new or truly ancient. "Vampire History Throughout the Ages, a Primer." "A Guide to Proper Etiquette and Not Ending Up Skewered and Beheaded." I notice that this copy is old and has seen good use. "Lady Hornicia and the three brawny lumberjacks¡­" I glare at Jimena''s impassive face while behind her, the group exchanges knowing smiles. "¡­ with Illustrations," I finish, hearing a few "ooooh". I notice that Sorrel is embarrassed. There goes my reputation. The next books contain written guides on many things vampiric, including the infusion of essence and aura. This is of special interest to me as those are the first steps to our version of magic. I thank Jimena with a smile and she walks back to her chair while Nami takes her place. I open her box, fully expecting something sordid, and take from it a strange shawl of a very light blue fabric. The garment is ethereal and practically floats in the air. I caress it, enjoying its soft and cool texture. "This is so beautiful, what is it?" "Tis called a cave shroud. Do not be alarmed when I tell you that it is in fact a spore colony from a rare form of magical flora. It is alive and will grow in length if it doesn''t perish. Only the Erenwalds know the secret of its making." I hold the piece of clothing between two hands and enjoy the smooth feeling. The shawl indeed has the lightest aura. "It fears fire and the sun, just like us. Take good care of it." "I will." I wrap the shroud around my neck and immediately feel better, while Nami goes back to her seat and Sorrel takes her place. I am surprised that the mage would step before Salim, and he answers my questioning look by taking out his transparent ball and chanting a few incantations. The crystal apparatus grows cloudy, then clears away to reveal a desk organized with manic attention. Isaac smiles as our eyes meet. "Ah, Ariane. Excellent! Excellent, yes. Congratulations on reaching masterhood and House status. I was already glad to call you a friend, and now I am proud to call you a peer. I have prepared a small gift to celebrate your independence, please accept it as a substitute while I correct this unfortunate situation." "It is so good to see you Isaac. Your consideration is gift enough, I assure you." "Nonsense. I will not be found wanting, my dear. And while you are at it, I do have a request." "Yes?" "Please wait a bit before becoming a Lady, if possible. My heart can only take so much." I smile at his words, and after a few more pleasantries, we cut the call. We have not spoken for half a minute and Sorrel is already on the pale side. While the spellcaster sits to recover, I open his chest. Inside, I find a deed to a significant share of the coal company operating in Marquette, as well as a notebook enchanted to accept more pages. I set them aside with a smile. Salim is next, and he offers me a card upon which is the address of one of Boston''s most up and coming tailors. He managed to get me exclusive services for two weeks. I will finally have the opportunity to replenish my wardrobe. "Please, do not see it as a criticism of your current apparel." "Not at all. Thank you, this is very thoughtful, Salim." "You are welcome." After that, Aintza gives me a pair of small concealed pistols which I immediately love, and Erlingur delivers a massive crate with a small letter covered by Loth''s unmistakable scribbles: "Ariane, Here is a suit of armor, hope you didn''t fatten too much and that I still got your measurements right. I''ll send you an experimental gun you might like as well. It is not suitable for humans but perhaps you can put it to good use. I hope to see you soon, Loth." I take out a black, heavily enchanted ensemble. It is to my old suit what a ball gown is to a maid''s uniform. Plates and scales cover every inch of it with glossy darkness, each enchanted separately and linked with minute precision. The chest is covered by a single large plate upon which a haunting rune is etched. It looks like a circle open at the top, with two wing-like lines going up and to the sides. Mid-way through the wings, downward formations have been placed, looking suspiciously like fangs. Forget discretion, this is an armor made for war. Anyone who sees me in that will know that I am here to kill, and that I can afford to do so in style. I bet that thing could stop an enchanted blade, or a volley of bullets. It is a royal gift. Now I understand why Loth always complained about poor tools and materials. This is what he can accomplish with proper instruments. This is what the true work of a centuries-old Master is. This is the dress of a Queen, made to clad her form as she drenches the world in blood. I love it. Love it, love it, love it. I want to try it on. Even the others are looking in wonder. I grab the thing and disappear through a door leading to a luxurious bedchamber in the same style as the receiving room. I quickly remove my last surviving dress and put on the armor, fastening it quickly. The inner fabric is smooth as silk and though the armor itself is heavy enough that a mortal would struggle moving in it, it doesn''t hamper my movements in any way. I feel giddy and when I walk back out, the vampires cheer while the mortals look on with mixed dread and admiration. I wish I could use a mirror. I decide that tonight is not the night for a test run. I do not know if I can just run around the property, I do not know if it would set nearby alarms and more importantly, I would not be able to appreciate it properly. I change back, and we have a pleasant time together, speaking about everything but politics and torture. Between Jimena''s knowledge, Salim''s wit and Nami''s and Aintza''s humor, the conversation is as effortless as it is pleasant. I also learn that I am free to organize my introduction party and that they look forward to it. When I mention Constantine''s offer, all agree that it is an excellent deal, almost suspiciously so. Salim wagers that Constantine is trying to mend our relationship while Jimena believes that the Speaker sees me as a potential enforcer. Nami merely asks that I make sure to have hunks on hand for when she decides to visit. Sorrel is the first to leave, exhausted. Erlingur soon follows, but not before I make sure he leaves with the gift I prepared for Loth back in Marquette. Salim is next as he has work to do, and I smirk when Nami manages to drag both Aintza and Jimena away. She is the very soul of corruption, that one. Once I am alone, I retire to the bedroom. Somebody left the secure sarcophagus I always use on a small dais by the bed. Before retiring for the day, I make a list of everything I will do next. I need to plan the ball. I already know what I want to do, what sort of image I want to give. I need to accept Constantine''s offer and get in touch with Torran of the Dvor, see what he needs. I need to network while I am here, and find new creatures to sample. I need to learn how to do magic. I need to learn how to obtain a soul weapon. Only when I have everything will I take the next logical step, replace Constantine as the head of our kind in North America. And not as Speaker. As Queen. Chapter 74 - 72. All that Glitters I wake up and slide the sarcophagus open to an unfamiliar view. The ceiling is ornamented white plaster, a bit gaudy but a welcome sight. Nothing bad happened. I awake truly free for the very first time since I woke up in the Louisiana fortress. There is no abusive Mistress to obey, no knight squad to hide from, nothing. It took thirty years to achieve this state but achieve it I did. My elation is short-lived. Outside of these thick walls, the sun''s merciless embrace lights the world with its radiance. Its weight makes me sluggish even here, behind walls of unyielding stone. I feel it like a buzz, or a roar at the very edge of my consciousness. Come out, it says, come out and face your nature. You live on borrowed time. You will be ash. Eventually. I shake my head and force my fingers to open one by one. I need a distraction. I also need to secure a supply of blood before tomorrow, as I doubt that the Speaker tolerates poaching on his territory. I dress quickly and walk into the reception room. All the windows are shuttered. A pair of enchanted lanterns shine with a light blue glow. A mortal woman in a maid''s uniform consisting of a black dress under a white apron, with a cute little hat, sits at her desk and reviews documents. I send a tendril of essence to nudge her and she blinks owlishly. Then, her eyes find me by the door. She lets out a minute gasp, though she recovers quickly. She does her best not to show fear and surprise as she stands up, a good idea when dealing with us. With a careful hand, she places the sheets she was holding on the coffee table beside her before curtseying. "Good evening milady, my name is Solveig. I will be assisting you during your stay, if it pleases you." Solveig is a tall woman with golden blonde hair in an impeccable tail. I would place her in her early forties, though she would look younger to inexperienced eyes. Just like Jimena, she is more handsome than pretty, with a ramrod straight back and a sensible air. "I am Ariane, it is nice to meet you. What assistance can you provide?" The maid lets out a small breath of relief. I suppose that some guests can be adversarial, and adversarial vampires can be a daunting prospect. "Much. You can count on me to arrange anything from baths to a cab. We can get you clothes, weapons, send messages and arrange meetings with vampires and mortals alike. I am also free to share with you details on whoever is available, as well as arrivals and departures, should you wish to engage in social activities. You have access to loyal mortals should you wish to partake in their blood without hunting. Finally, the Speaker has granted you an allowance of two hundred dollars per week for expenses." Convenient. Two hundred per week is more than I used to earn at the beginning of my reign in Marquette. Now though, it is merely a pittance. I still appreciate the gesture. "There is more milady. You have received three letters, and an unknown Nightmare is occupying your reserved stable." Excellent, I had been wondering if she would show up. "She is a picky eater. Let me know if that becomes an issue." Solveig blinks slowly, apparently at a loss. "I-I will relay your words to the stable master, milady. That is all for now. Is there anything I can help you with?" "Yes, have a bath drawn please." "As you wish." I sit down and pick the first letter as she heads for the bathroom. The first one comes from Merritt and arrived before I did. I open it with trepidation. "Ariane, Everything is fine here, though I have news. Your John eloped yesterday¡ª" WHAT!? "¡ªwith Irma''s cousin, Gladys. Now, I am not exactly complaining or anything, but I would appreciate it if you could get him back. He''s been morose since you left (I believe this is the right word), and, well, you''ll see. Let me know how things are going on your end! With all my love, Merritt." He eloped? In ten days? I need to see this. I make a note to summon John, his wife and members of the odd squad who so desire as I expect I will need some hands to complete my missions. The day has not come that Ariane of the Nirari will be outgooned by the locals. I shall show them that when it comes to thugs, I have both quality and quantity. The next letter comes in an envelope sealed with wax and contains only a few words. Torran of the Dvor cordially invites me, in a sublime cursive, to discuss our possible arrangement at my convenience. He insists that he will wait for me. I find the attention flattering, but I smell a hidden agenda. He probably needs something from me and I better find out sooner rather than later. The last message is in English by someone with an uncertain command of the written word, asking for an audience. The wrinkled piece of paper is signed with the name "Urchin". This can wait. There is still much to be done. Solveig comes out shortly after and I give her my instructions. Tonight, I shall meet Torran, then take a carriage to town for some overdue shopping. To my surprise, she does know of Urchin. I watch, amused, as her manners conflict with her resentment. "He is one of your own, milady, though, perhaps not quite as¡­ What I mean is¡­ Well¡­" I snort, amused by her inner turmoil. "I shall meet this Urchin and see for myself the cause for your discomfort." Her face twists in disapproval, though she only nods. After giving the rest of my instructions, including a letter to Merritt, I finally take that bath. It was long overdue. I enjoy the warmth seeping through my bones, but I do not luxuriate. Every time I close my eyes, I remember. Regrow two and seven. Two is my left-hand ring finger. Seven is my right-hand index. Regrow one and six. One is my left-hand little finger. Six is my right-hand thumb. They are still here. I check. Yes, still here, and still fine. I stand up and towel my body. The pale skin is unmarred, as it has been since the day I was born again. No trace remains of the decades of abuse I subjected myself to. No scar, no blemish, not even a change of texture. It is as soft and spotless as ever. It feels wrong. I can still taste the ghost of pain. There should be something to show for it. The discrepancy grates on my nerves. With one last shake, I push these thoughts at the back of my mind. There is much to do. I dress quickly and realize with pleasure that my other dresses have been cleaned. The one I choose is a light grey ensemble with little embellishment. Only the form-fitting cut and the quality of the cloth mark it as a high-quality product. Those who see it as a sign of meekness will only betray their own lack of insight. Also, my more elaborate dresses are full of holes, so¡­ As a last touch, I add Nami''s shawl and, again, feel better as my neck is covered. Solveig brushes my hair with a softer touch than I would expect, then I follow her outside. "The Knights have left, and so has the Lancaster delegation, milady. Your friends Jimena, Naminata and Salim are set to stay until the end of the week, at least," she comments as we go. Torran''s suite is somewhere on this floor, yet despite the short distance, we still come across a Courtier. The man is tall with the build of a soldier, a squarish jaw and angry brown eyes. His aura is undisciplined and tastes of the Roland. The first chapter of the book Jimena offered me deals with greetings. When on neutral ground like we are now, it is customary for the Courtier to offer a minute bow to the Master who would then return a small nod. The man''s aura lashes out and he displays signs of defiance. I stop as Solveig stumbles besides me, and look the man in the eye. I will not tolerate any sign of disrespect, especially not from a youngling. My own essence uncoils like a lazy snake. Tendrils latch around the man''s figure, smothering his power. In them, I pour my cold anger, my suffering, and the promise of retribution. The Courtier perceives what I am. He bows respectfully, and I keep going. Things are as they should be. He and I understand each other. Solveig swallows nervously and lets out a shaky breath as we leave the man behind us. I cannot let myself be challenged, especially not now. We make the rest of the way in silence. Torran''s suite is directly opposite mine, I discover, and as soon as he answers Solveig''s knocks, I dismiss her. "Please make the arrangements I requested." "Of course, milady, you have but to ring a bell to summon me or another maid when you are done." She turns around and leaves as the door opens. The woman who lets me in isn''t Torran but his Servant. She inspects me with hooded eyes darkened by kohl, curious yet respectful. Her head is completely bald and covered in an intricate lattice of henna tattoos set in subtle patterns. They exude no aura, and I understand that they are purely decorative. She tilts her head before pointing a bejeweled finger to my host. I turn and take in the surroundings. This suite is a mirror to mine, though while mine is all azure and alabaster, his is crimson and gold. The gaudiness is less pronounced, thankfully, and the darkness gives it a feeling of royal intimacy. Torran himself stands by the fire where two high-back chairs have been placed. Our eyes meet. The Dvor lord bows first, a greeting I return, and invites me to sit. We take each other''s measure in silence. His eyes are the color of steel, and his grey hair is bound back in a serious ponytail. A modest smile parts his ruddy face, taking the edge off. He is quite the handsome man if one sees past the wolfish countenance. Once he sees that I am done gauging him, he nods and speaks first. His voice is rhythmic and strangely melodious. "Thank you for humoring me, Ariane of the Nirari. Did Constantine convey my request?" "He mentioned a protection detail?" "Inelegant, yet accurate. It is tradition that I ask for an escort while conducting my business abroad. We Dvor are cut off from most of our powers while outside of the lands we control. I am far from defenseless, of course, but I have not reached this age by taking unnecessary risks. I would be honored if you would consider accompanying me during my stay." I need to confirm something. Nami mentioned such arrangements before. Sometimes, visiting dignitaries are offered a vampire of inferior rank as a guide, guard and intermediary. Physical intimacy is often part of the package, and it is not something that I am willing to offer. "Before we go any further, I would like to ascertain what your expectations are. I would be willing to guarantee your safety¡­" "I understand," Torran replies, "this is not what I am after." I am curious. "Then what are you after?" "If I must spend time with someone, why not with a capable and beautiful woman? Beating the Lancaster at their own game is no small feat, and doing so while ruling a city piqued my curiosity. Between this and your reputation, I am confident you are the best person for this task." "My reputation?" I ask with a frown. Torran just smiles. His next offer takes me off-guard. "Could I interest you in continuing this discussion outside?" "Outside? What do you mean?" "Wilhelm keeps a flower garden near the cliff. It is rather beautiful. Would you care for a stroll?" "Hmmm." Come to think of it, I have been cooped up for too long. Some fresh air would do me good. "Very well. Lead the way." "Of course." Torran stands up, opens the window, steps on the balcony and casually drops down. Ah. I look at his Servant, currently busy reading what looks like a poetry book. She did not even raise her head. Well¡­ Jimena''s book certainly did not cover that part? I follow the lord outside and drop down as well, careful not to let my dress flare. I wouldn''t want to give everyone an eyeful on my first night of freedom! "Is it a common habit to ignore the exits?" I ask the waiting lord. "What? No, I merely wanted to avoid unwanted social interactions," he replies without concern. "Forgive me for asking, is that a common occurrence?" I would rather find out before someone drops from the ceiling. This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. "Not at all. Foibles in Courtiers become eccentricities in Masters. What is the point of living so long if I cannot drop from balconies when I please? Shall we?" He offers me his arm, which I take, and we pass by the fountain. With the inverted U of the manor at our back, we turn left. I remember that the road up the mount is to our right, so I have never been where we are going now. Torran''s pace is slow and deliberate. The road beneath us changes to a path of white gravel surrounded by grass, until we reach a wall of hedges of tall boxwood, split in the middle by a large entrance above which vegetation closes, forming a natural archway. We duck underneath and walk between two rows of solid oaks, interspersed with yet more hedges. Illumination is provided by runes shining green. We follow the tortuous path with no vision of the outside, until lights are revealed at the corner of a bend. A massive flower garden opens before us. Small paths weave between artfully arranged beds mixing several species by color and theme. Behind it, a few stone benches against a wall mark the edge of the cliff and beyond that is the bay, with Boston''s shimmering lights far in the distance. The view is breathtaking, especially coming out of the tunnel, and I make a note to return later to spend a few lonely hours drawing and dreaming. With the sketches of the Mississippi, the burning house of the Lancaster and the faces of the mages, my painting list is getting a serious backlog. Torran quietly guides me around as I take in the exotic perfumes. Wilhelm has gathered four separate beds each with their own personality. The first is red and wild, with earth the color of fresh blood and tall flowers on thin stalks standing proudly and shamelessly. The second is green, blue and pink, with modest bushes arranged as if nature had received a divine inspiration. Only the smallest details reveal the hand behind the arrangement, the will behind the graceful chaos. In the center, a pond lies around a circle of lilies, surrounded by a handful of mangrove trees. The last bed is nestled against the wall and it speaks to me the most. The earth is black, and on it, thorn bushes and twisted trees with dark bark and branches like the fingers of a hag struggle for space. The flora is ominous, and yet there is beauty under the apparent savagery. Precious small flowers shine in the moonlight like diamonds on a midnight dress, fearless and uncaring. Elegance and doom living in harmony. I like it a lot. I stop Torran when we leave the pond at our back. The last garden, wall, water and sky form four bands of color with the Watcher at the top. It has been so long since I gazed into its depths. I do so now. The strange entity draws me in. I relax in the familiar embrace as it croons and drinks my madness. It takes the suffering and the hatred and inspects them carefully, then it returns them in full. I lower my eyes. My fingers are still all here, all straight and¡­ feeling good? Torran has taken my hand in his own. With one, he massages my palm and with the other, pulls delicately on each finger one by one. When he realizes that I have returned, he smiles sadly. The expression of sympathy is peculiar on his lean face. "You are not the only one to find herself at the losing end of a political struggle. I developed this method long ago. I had hoped I would never have to use it again." Then, as if sensing that he overstepped himself, he lets me go. "What a bodyguard I am," I say bitterly. "You have not agreed yet," the lord reminds me, amused, "do not be so harsh on yourself. You can take all the time you need to recover. I do not intend to leave the city for a while, and we are as safe as can be. In fact, I would enjoy a little bit of tourism. Can I tempt you into accompanying me?" "What did you have in mind?" "Music, tomorrow at ten. L''elisir d''Amore, by Donizetti. I am told it is the fury in Milan right now." "An opera?" "Yes." I have never been to the opera! "Well, of course, I would be delighted." I have a social life! And it is fancy! "It is decided then." "I need to find something to wear," I half-mutter to myself, "Oh, and can you please tell me what you meant when you mentioned my reputation?" Torran does not object to the abrupt change of topic. If anything, he sounds helpful. "Certainly. In the following nights, you will meet quite a few new faces, I''d wager, and though you will never have heard of them, they will have heard of you. Most Nirari Spawn are abominations. They are renowned for their physical prowess and the difficulty to put them down in a battle of attrition. And here you come, with allies and plans and tricks. You managed to stay hidden for a decade then two, became the blood sister of Jimena of the Cadiz, have Lord Suarez defend you against Knights and Lord Ceron vouch for you at a Conclave. You befriended the singing spear of the Ekon, a Dvergur warrior King and ruled a city. You overturned a kill order on your person, the first such occurrence in North America, and finally, they say that you defeated Lambert of the Lancaster in single combat. Is that true?" "Yes. I ate him too." "Good." Torran declares with a smile, and then as an afterthought: "He was a massive prick." "Sir!" "Ah, don''t sir me. He existed only to despoil and the only positive contribution he made for this planet was when his ashes fertilized the ground." "Ahem." "But I digress. Suffice to say that others may be apprehensive of you, as they are of any individuals who can show both guile and brawn, as well as the will to use them. But enough of this. You ruled the town of Marquette, would you mind telling me more? I am a member of Eneru, and I am curious to know how a young vampire could take over a town of modern people. You see, I once debated another Dvor Master on this very subject¡­" For the next half an hour, Torran and I have a proper discussion. We compare notes on how we rule our respective territories, the main difference being that his people know of what he is and respect it anyway. I find the notion outlandish, until he reminds me that his lands occupy one of the most remote and parochial reaches of the Austrian empire. The locals have been his for generations, and mistrust strangers with a ferocity that no Gabrielites or mages could hope to overcome. My style is closer to the Mask doctrine of hiding in plain sight. Rather than being offended that I would use his competitors'' methods, Torran praises me for creating a sustainable system from scratch. We exchange anecdotes until a heartbeat emerges from the tunnel entrance. A maid I do not recognize timidly informs me that a carriage has been arranged. I steal a glance to the side. Torran''s appearance is cold when he looks at someone else. His countenance turns predatorial and pitiless though I suspect he is only uncaring. It would be interesting to see him hunt. Perhaps I can arrange something. In the meanwhile, I am on a schedule. Torran walks me back to the garden entrance then stays behind, with a promise that we will meet tomorrow an hour before the start of the opera. I make my way to my bedroom with a busy mind, nodding on the way at the Courtier with a red dress I had seen yesterday. Nami and Jimena are inside, playing a game of chess while Salim is filling some papers. I do not mind that they let themselves in but I make a mistake by not greeting them immediately. My sister immediately realizes I am a bit flustered. "What is the matter Ari?" What is the matter indeed? The matter is that I just realized what happened in that garden. "I¡­ Torran and I held hands," I tell her. Just as the words cross my lips, I realize my mistake. Jimena and Nami share a knowing look, like two wolves spotting a limping fat deer. "You held hands? Pervert." "And on the first night, you shameless hussy." "Harlot." "What is going on in here?" Salim asks with a worried expression. "Torran and Ariane held hands," Jimena answers with mock shock. The sly lawyer winces in pretend disgust. "Please spare me these tales of wanton debauchery. Holding hands? Scandalous. What is next, a stroll in the garden without a chaperone?" he asks in a horrified voice. "Ariane, you must not succumb to your base desires, or next thing you know he and you may link arms," Naminata remarks. "I heard that''s how you catch the pregnant," Jimena adds helpfully. "Are you all quite done?" I ask, exasperated, "you forget that due to my status as a fugitive, I had little opportunity for hand-holding." S§×ar?h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "We all know that your dry spell is the size of the Sahara, Ariane. We are just delighted that you would consider his courtship." "Hold on, it is a bit early to talk about courtship, is it not? We have only just met. Perhaps he is just being friendly?" "If I want to know with certainty, I usually walk into their bedroom naked," Naminata suggests innocently. "Thank you for your input Nami, I shall consider the next time I want to strut in a vampire den in the state of nature." "You should try it. The face on these snobbish twits when you show them a proper ass is always priceless." "Yes, well, perhaps later. Now is the time for shopping." "I''m coming as well!" Jimena decides with enthusiasm. Naminata decides to stay behind to "sample" Lord Jarek while Salim waves us off with a last "You couldn''t pay me enough to go shopping with a pair of bored girls." We leave hand in hand, and for the first time since leaving that dreadful dungeon, I feel no need to check my fingers. Torran''s massage was surprisingly effective. I should ask him to do it again. Because of the therapeutic value, of course. Yep. The trip back to Boston proper takes half an hour. Jimena informs me that the maids and other mortals I have seen moving around are not cattle but employees from families that have served us for generations. Their loyalty is not taken for granted either. All those who come here are screened and submitted to redundant security checks. Constantine also has a contract with a die-hard mercenary company and the favor of the local governor, not to mention a dense network of spies, agents and informers handled by his secretary, Sophia of the Rosenthal. It would take an army to make the manor fall when a mouse could not reach it. I am, of course, not convinced. No matter how good defenses are, there is always a way to get through. Jonathan would find a method, I am sure. I am without alternative at the moment though, and will trust both my host and Loth''s reinforced sarcophagus. The tailor we are to visit works from the outskirts of Boston, hidden between a large inn and a few barns meant to host animals before they are sold in the city''s many markets. Lines of high trees mask the small workshop and its customers from view. We are welcomed at the door by an old man with curly white hair and beard, and smart chestnut eyes behind a pair of round glasses. He bids us in, clearly expecting our arrival. "Come in, come in. You must be lady Nirari, I was told you would arrive. My name is Gunther Goode, tailor for over two decades. And you are?" "Jimena de Cadiz." "A pleasure. Please, follow me." The workshop is a single room, with models and fabric at the back. It lacks the usual counter one could expect from a business open to the public. A small table holding measuring bands sits near the entrance and this is where Goode leads us. He directs me with expertise, measuring everything and muttering about lavender and blush and whatnot. "How many dresses did you need?" "Four would be best, with one at the end of the week and one for tomorrow, if possible." "Difficult, but doable. May I ask what the occasion is?" "I am going to the opera." "Ah," he comments, delighted. The old man loses his professional countenance, replaced by genuine wonder. "L''elisir d''Amore. It has everything to warm my old heart. Love transcending social barriers, music to melt a statue''s heart, passion, a quack doctor! Yes, I will have your dress ready." The old tailor continues his measurements, humming happily under his breath. I find it endearing. He is competent and creative, just what we admire in mortals. I am not surprised that my host would have him on retainer. "Say, are you two related to Mr. Constantine?" "He is a distant cousin" I answer vaguely, "why?" "All those of you who live there, you have this¡­ something¡­" His eyes lose their focus. A callous finger traces the edge of my dress to the skin of my wrist. "Most mysterious¡­" His mouth opens slightly and his nostrils flair. I hesitate to intervene but thankfully, there is no need. Goode blinks and blushes, red as a poppy. He promptly removes the guilty appendage and finds the courage to meet my eyes. My instincts are silent. This one is no threat and his touch was a mark of adoration. I shall tolerate it. This once. When he realizes that I am not offended, the old man sighs in relief though his embarrassment remains. "Ahem, where was I? Ah yes." It doesn''t take long for the measurements to be over and the tailor to usher us out so that he can focus on his craft. Jimena leans into me and whispers as we exit: "You should tone down your aura my dear. I knew you had absorbed Lancaster essence, I never imagined it would show so much." Before I can reply, I feel a tug on my essence. The feeling defies description, like a tether attached to a part of me that does not physically exist. I recognize it now thanks to my practice with Aisha''s cards. Fate is calling. I focus on my senses to see if I can perceive anything and soon, I do. "Shhhh. Do you hear that?" Jimena tilts her head, then her eyes widen slightly. Thuds, impacts, grunts of pain. A serious brawl is taking place on the other side of the inn. The lack of drunken yells is proof enough that the participants are taking this seriously. I smile and point up. My sister grins and jumps on the inn''s thatched roof in one graceful motion while I fasten the hooded cape I took to avoid attention. I move to the side of the wall, then behind, and see a sight I did not expect. The tavern''s back court is a rectangular space occupied by crates, barrels and an outhouse. Four rough men in worker clothes are trying to corner a fifth one and not doing a great job of it. Two others are already out cold on the ground. The brutes are nothing special, the average dregs. The last man, however, is quite a sight. His attire is suitable for court and certainly not for this sorry joint, marking him as an outsider. He wears a black ensemble with a white shirt and stock tie, and even a top hat which currently lies discarded on the ground. In his gloved hands, he holds a scepter with a silver pommel, with which he strikes knees, jaws, noses and as I watch, testes. As a third man falls to the ground holding his abused crotch, a lucky kick finally makes the lone fighter stumble, an opening his opponents use to disarm him. The heroic combatant still escapes their grip and raises his fists in a pugilist guard. "Now you shouldn''t have done that," the biggest goon threatens in a low voice. He spits blood and removes a very large knife from his vest. Now that won''t do. I can''t use a man robbed of his innards after all. I step out of the shadows. "I believe that is quite enough." The three men jump and turn to face me. The lone fighter uses this opportunity to make some distance and I realize that he favors his left side. He did not come out of the ordeal unscathed. "Who are you? Are you his girl?" I can almost hear the rusty cog turning in the lead bruiser''s cavernous head. His primitive brain associates me with weakness, and then weakness with hostage. "Why don''t you come over here girl, and we won''t hurt you. Much," he declares with a nasty grin while waving his pig-sticker in what I assume is an attempt at intimidation. I could, of course, kill them in an instant. I could also Charm them into stabbing each other. But that wouldn''t be fun. Naminata had it right, gloating is the guilty pleasure of our kind and I am confident I can get the best out of it. "My dear sir, I fear that you brought a knife," I say as I pick Aintza''s gift from my left pocket. "To a gunfight." Click. The leader scoffs. "Pffft, what are you going to do? Shoot me?" I don''t think I fully understand mortals anymore. Why would he tempt me so? I pull the trigger. The lout falls to the ground, clutching his knee. "Aaaaaah you bitch! You shot me!" "Very perceptive of you, sir." "Baldy, Shivers, get the whore." The two men hesitantly take a step forward, no longer so certain about the outcome of the battle. I calmly holster the first pistol and take out the second one, with the predictable effect. Now that is proper intimidation. Dalton, wherever you are, look down and laugh, for you did not show me this trick in vain. On the field, the two remaining foes smartly step back. "Take your boss and sod off," I offer generously. They grab their whimpering leader and the sad trio limps out, leaving three of their numbers on the field, as well as quite a few teeth. Once we are alone, my rescue greets me with a smile. He has black hair in an aristocratic cut and dark piercing eyes. His face is elegant and refined, even with the beginning of a bruise. As I put back my weapon, he walks forward and grabs his cane and top hat, before offering me a dazzling smile and a flawless bow. "Cornered and beaten I was, By treachery and despair, Till the villains were given pause By such a maiden fair Never has there been a rose, With such a thorny flair. Now this beauty did give them cause To fear a new nightmare. Milady, I thank you for your timely assistance. Nathan Riley Bingle, at your service." Hah, his name is Bingle. Just like¡­ Just like¡­ By the Watcher. Oh hell no not this again! Noooooooooo! "No need to thank me sir, I am merely doing what honor demands. And now, please excuse meeeeee." I run away to the corner then move, just as Bingle junior decries "Milady, wait!" I rush headfirst into the carriage and order it forward. Jimena lands atop of it and slides by my side an instant later. "What was that?" she asks, at a loss, "is he dangerous?" "Much worse!" I hiss, "He is interesting!" Chapter 75 - 73. Mise en Abyme Wilhem''s office shows a lot about the man himself. The walls are covered with rough wood, giving it the mood of a log cabin. The furniture was handmade by a patient craftsman. There are few decorations, yet the carvings show a level of intricacy and dedication that only hours of meticulous work can create. The few paintings are of landscapes by day. Wilhelm favors forests and mountains. In the corner, a grizzly head greets visitors with a silent roar. The hunting trophy would be tacky, were it not for the insane size of the beast. It would have been at least twice my size standing up on its hind legs. From behind his redwood desk, Wilhelm addresses me with a slightly bored voice. "The introduction party is a show of strength, milady. Branches of mighty clans display their wealth and power, while exiles use it to create new alliances. The party can be anything, from a masquerade to a hunt. The Ekon''s morbid festival is still the talk of the salons a century after." "I gathered this much. Can I use the ballroom?" "Naturally. All our facilities are at your disposal." "Then I would like the ball to be in a week. Invite everyone." "Everyone?" "Well, not the Lancasters of course." "An open invitation for the locals. Very well. What else do you need? What sort of event will it be?" "A vernissage." If Wilhelm is surprised, he does not show it. "A vernissage. Yes, we can make it work. The ballroom will do nicely, if you have enough creations to exhibit, of course." "I do." Eighteen years spent hiding out in the boonies with only a flesh-eating capricious pony as company can be a tremendous source of motivation. It was that or collecting pretty rocks. And going slowly insane. "You will reach the most people if the celebration occurs four days from now. It will also be enough time for Lord Suarez and Lord Ceron to come here. I was told that they had an interest in your success." "And that will give me time to get everything out of storage." "Very well. I will have Solveig act as an intermediary for the details. Was there anything else?" "No. Goodbye Wilhelm." "Goodbye Ariane of the Nirari. My door is always open." Wilhelm writes a few notes while I leave. I consider his parting words on my way back to my room, maid in tow. The ''butler'' is more of a steward, I decide, and these words he said indicate that I have his ear. It might be that he was just being polite, or perhaps he is enthusiastic about a helping hand joining his coven. I remember the difference Nami made in Marquette simply by taking the odd mission. Vampire Masters are useful enough that even the crustiest grumbler will try to stay civil. Time will tell if Wilhelm proves useful. "Solveig?" "Yes, milady." "I would speak with this urchin fellow. Now." "He is in a guest room on the first floor milady, should I have him fetched?" "Yes." My maid leaves on her errand while I return to my den and settle to wait. Jimena has left for the night, so I prepare a list of the paintings I want to exhibit and consider including my best takes on the Watcher. Those are special because they get the most extreme reactions from their viewers. As I am done, a polite knock on the door announces the arrival of my guest. He walks in and I immediately understand why Solveig would disapprove of him. The man is a Courtier with a curious, flighty aura like nothing I have felt before. The cause for my faithful aide''s disapproval, however, is appearance. Urchin wears a blouse, beret and threadbare pants, something I would expect from dockworkers. His face and poise firmly place him in the alley thug category, and not just any alley thug either, the vile kind. He exudes sleaze and low cunning. His rat-like face and crooked nose, his messy hair and hunched back. His hair-covered, gnarly hands. His small stature. He is like the living embodiment of the scam, the duke of deceit, the devilish deviant. A gullible Samaritan would not trust him with a broken shoelace. And he''s ugly as sin. I am honestly impressed. "You must be Urchin. Come, have a seat." "Sit? Ah, sit. Thank you." Even his Akkad is atrocious. I remember that not everyone inherits the knowledge from their sire''s essence, yet surely, after all this time, he should have learnt. No? "You wished to speak to me?" "Ah. My Akkad, not so good. English?" I frown with disapproval. Negotiations between vampires should be in Akkad. This is the proper way of things! Using English desecrates our interaction, makes it¡­ weaker. I hesitate, though in the end, I allow it. This man''s command of the tongue is pathetic. We will get nowhere by sticking to tradition. "You wished to speak to me." "Yes, Lady Nirari. I''ll be brief yeah? My name''s Urchin. A little bird told me you have a territory, yeah? I want to move in." My talons click on the varnished wood of the throne-like seat I chose. Sensing the mood, Urchin lowers his misshapen head with respect. "As your follower, of course, beg your pardon miss." At least he didn''t call me ''guv''nor''. I suppose I shouldn''t be too judgmental. "And why should I allow you on my territory, Urchin?" "I know my way around the city, I do." I stay silent. "Also, I can do this. Watch!" Urchin furrows his caterpillar-like eyebrows and something peculiar happens. His aura flares, then a tendril whips out and strikes me with blinding speed. I raise a hand in reflex over my heart while jumping in the air, but the tendril just moves past it and latches on the shawl I am wearing. Then, it moves back, leaving my neck unprotected. HE DARES? In an instant, I am on him. I place one hand over his heart with the other around his neck. His large eyes widen comically but instead of resisting, he bares his throat. The gesture stops me. Smart. "Give. It. Back." I take my silky property from his helpless, and quite frankly grubby hands, and fold it again around my neck. The smooth and cold fabric comes to rest against my skin and I immediately feel better. I need this. I need to feel protected and in control, at least until I make a full recovery. I take a small moment to luxuriate in the feeling before opening my eyes. Urchin is desperately trying to burrow into his seat and appear inconspicuous at the same time, failing miserably at both. I find out that I am no longer angry, and I reflect on what just occurred. His ability is strange. It was not a spell; I am sure of it. It looked like an instinctive ability, something that a Courtier should not possess. Unless¡­ "You are a Vanheim." "Beg your pardon?" "You are Vanheim. A wild card. You are of the fourteenth bloodline, are you not?" "I have no idea, miss. I just woke up one day and I was like that." "You do not know your sire?" "No." His face shows pain, betrayal, then burning resentment. "I got thrown away like an old shoe. Don''t even remember my name, or who I was before that." Scorn. I can work with that. I can also work with something else. "You may prove useful after all. I will allow you to serve and live on my territory, if you pay the price." "And what would that be?" he asks with a hint of apprehension. "Only the absolute proof of your submission," I answer with a fanged smirk. I stand still as Solveig makes the finishing touches to my hairdo. Goode delivered. The dress is of a very light pink color I would normally avoid, and of an interesting take. The design is asymmetrical, with a brighter piece of fabric draping over my right flank, elegant yet daring. Both my shoulder, back and cleavage are completely covered, therefore I do not show more skin than is appropriate. Instead, the lack of modesty comes from the design itself. The cut is quite close to the body, including a skirt with barely any flare, so that my shapes are easy to spot. Some would find this distracting. The rich fabric and flawless work mark the garment as the work of a master, and so the result is ambiguous. Conservative busybodies could stare with disapproval for hours without ever being able to pinpoint exactly where I cross the line. I admit that the old codger is worth every penny we paid him, though I cannot help but think he may not be as innocent as he looked. To complete my image, I asked Solveig to pull my hair up, freeing my neck. I intend to wear the shawl even if the colors may clash a bit. The maid inspects her work one last time, then nods to herself. I cannot see for sure what I look like. I hope that Torran will like it. Also, I apparently care what Torran thinks of my appearance. Huh. I should probably not let this get to my head. He is probably just being nice. It is not because he is polite, respectful, smart, knowledgeable, interesting, handsome and thoughtful that I should be interested. Nope. I review the list of selected paintings and circle two of them to send to the special exhibit. Out of all the efforts I have made to evoke the Watcher with an image, these are the most convincing. It is just unfortunate that humans would feel distressed by it, and so they will be hidden from the mortal attendants in a separate pavilion. Such a bother. Besides those, I have one large battle scene as a centerpiece, quite a few landscapes, nightlife scenes, and portraits of vampires and mortals alike. In total, I pick my thirty best works in so many years, with the exception of the gift I sent Loth. I finish this and go over the guest list, realizing that I have no idea who those people are. As promised, no members of the Lancaster clans are invited. Serves them right. I finish setting up John''s future living quarters when a knock on the door makes me put my pen down. Solveig walks up and lets Torran in. He takes in my appearance and smiles brightly. I am inexplicably proud as I stand and curtsey, a gesture he politely returns with a short bow. "You look ravishing, Ariane." Yaaaaaaa of course I do! Alright Ari, calm down. "Thank you for your kind words. You don''t look so bad yourself." Torran is a bit on the strict side with a grey coat over white shirt and trousers. Wearing white is a statement for us, as the smallest droplet of blood will leave a stain. It speaks of great control and trust in one''s abilities. For us, white never speaks of innocence, for none of us has clean hands. Nor would we pretend to. Torran chuckles at my words and offers me his arm, which I take, relishing the feeling of solidity he gives off. We make our way down and out to a waiting carriage. As a true gentleman, he holds the door for me and pretends to help me up, then follows. I get a whiff of his scent as he passes by. It is the same cold spice as the rest of us, with a touch of something earthy, like midnight on a mountain. "How are the preparations for your ball of the debutantes?" he asks. "Pah, don''t mention it!" I start by complaining about staff being disturbed by my innocent painting of the godlike entity that breached the barriers between the worlds and unleashed a plague upon mankind for its own obscure amusement, then talk shortly about Loth who got me started on painting, then of Bingle and yesterday''s meeting. When I ask Torran if he ever witnessed something similar, his answer surprises me. "In fact, I have. We have several theories about their existence, the most common one being that they have the blood of powerful entities who use them as sources of entertainment, or who simply gave them their traits. We call them godlings. I personally came across a godling of love, a century ago." "It must have been horrible." "Not exactly. As you have surmised, powerful emotions are something we crave and the godlings cause them by their very existence. The whole love triangle, misunderstandings and brooding part I could have done without, however." "You must be correct about them being a source of feelings. I have rarely been as annoyed as when Bingle was around. Has anyone tried to conduct experiments on them?" "Likely, though not recently. As I mentioned, they are discussed among those with an interest in the unfathomable. Theories abound yet only one thing is certain. No one captured or killed one on purpose, then lived to tell the tale. My theory is that they can die, but only from characters inside of their own stories." There goes my last-ditch solution to avoid the Bingle effect if we ever meet again. "But enough about research," Torran continues, "I wanted you to have this." I pick up his gift which happens to be a small booklet. "The opera is in Italian. Do you speak it?" "Not a word." "This is a summary of the story. There are also a few words on the actors themselves and Donizetti, the composer, if you are interested. Some people prefer to learn very little of the show before seeing it for the first time, so that they get a fresh impression." I nod and leaf through the booklet. The story is relatively simple, and takes a single page. I also learn that all the soloists are from a famous Spanish troop while the choir and orchestra are locals. We shall see how well they work together. Stolen story; please report. I am so excited! It so happens that Boston doesn''t have a proper opera house yet. Instead of spending tens of thousands of dollars on a proper edifice to rival those of the old world, the powers that be turned a barn into something that might pass. The carriage deposits Torran and me at the steps of the building''s entrance, not far from Faneuil Hall and its market. Some efforts were made to add Doric columns on each side of the monumental gates, and admission is done by doormen wearing impeccable suits and grave expressions. It is not enough. The building looks like what it is: a glorified animal pen. Torran leads me through a small hall and throngs of spectators, up a flight of narrow stairs to the second floor, where our private booth is situated. Despite our restrained auras, we catch more attention than I deem wise from staff and guests alike. My pride will not let me try to fade into the background, however. I note with interest that the other visitors are not from the richest population of the city. Instead, we are surrounded by what appears to be merchants and their adult children. Perhaps the most affluent citizens do not deem opera as ''proper'' fun. By silent agreement, Torran and I neither mingle nor tarry. We walk along a semi-circular walkway, then pass through a small door and find ourselves on a dais overlooking the ground floor seats, the pit where the orchestra is busy setting up, and the scene, now shyly hidden by a massive curtain. There are four small seats crammed here, and my host and I sit on the central ones. I will admit that whoever switched the building''s function from cattle to the fine arts made a real effort. It is just a shame that my eyes are too good to be fooled. The golden decorations are cheap paint slathered on by untalented craftsmen. The wooden carvings are the work of apprentices, littered with flaws, scratches, and holes. Even the smell of varnish doesn''t mask that of sweat and humanity. My excitement turns into a cold ball that sits in my stomach and burns it with resentment. So many unpleasant details accumulate and fray my fragile nerves, betraying my expectations. Then the lights dim, and suddenly all those flaws no longer matter that much. The orchestra is tuning. In waves and groups, they prepare their instruments with chaotic accords that fill the air and make my body vibrate, until from many notes it becomes a ringing whole. Strings start, then they are joined by the wood and brass instruments in a glorious explosion of discord that stops as quickly as it started. The remaining whispers from spectators die off as all remaining lanterns are blinded to plunge the room into darkness. I lean forward to see more. The conductor lifts his hands, causing the players to raise bows and flutes with military precision. Then the true music begins. Sear?h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. I have heard groups, including a quintet on the street back in New Orleans. The songs they played had made me want to dance and sing. They had filled my heart and lungs with vivacious energy. The emotions I felt then formed some of my most pleasant memories. Even those moments do not compare to my experience right now. The orchestra transcends individual instruments in a harmony so breathtaking and unique that my jaw hangs open. This is unfair. This is madness. Wood, metal and catgut have no right to sound so hauntingly beautiful, to overwhelm me with such ease. I am no longer hearing with my ears. That simple explanation does not do the experience justice. I am hearing with my essence. The overture fills the air with a joyous melody, soon joined by the wood instruments. They play together to create beauty as ephemeral as it is poignant, and they carry me, helpless, to the beginning of their tale. The curtain lifts on a scene of village life. The mortals walk around under an illusory sun that doesn''t burn me in simulated chaos. They are so perfect. Their clothes are free of mud and their face of the ravages of exposure, and their idleness is as fake as my innocence. They move with disguised purpose to trap us into their story. Their voices rise to the painted heaven with power and grace unlike anything I have ever experienced at church. They tell me, in Italian, of their simple life. They tell me that the sun is too hot, an opinion I can only agree with. The arias follow each other as the story progresses. Nemorino the peasant, played by a handsome lad with sandy hair, is in love with Adina, a rich landowner. And here she comes! The woman is not a classical beauty, but she is striking. Her dark and hooded eyes inflame those around and her steps are confident and proud. She shares the story she is reading of Tristan and Isolde, how the brave warrior stole the favor of the beautiful Irish princess from his uncle thanks to a love potion. I wonder if those really exist. And behold, the young peasant gets ideas! Oh, you cad, you want some alchemical assistance in your courtship, don''t you? I have maimed some for less. And look, a newcomer! A dashing officer with his platoon arrives. He aggressively courts the cold-hearted beauty, caressing his square jaw and showing his muscular figure. A little while later, Nemorino declares his love but Adina sends him packing. She wants a lover a day! Hah, you do you, my girl. And now, a solution appears in the person of a quack doctor with a large gut, who sells the na?ve boy cheap booze disguised as an elixir of love. Shenanigans ensue, ending with Adina promising to marry the officer, Belcore. The curtain falls. The first act is over. It was¡­ It was¡­ I turn to Torran and try to express what I feel, but words fail me. I end up helplessly flapping my arms. It was¡­ More flapping. "You seem pleased." "Yes! It was so¡­ All their voices together! And the acting! And the instruments¡­ And¡­ And everything! It was so great! I don''t know what to say!" Torran''s face was a mask, yet when he hears my words, he relaxes completely and a soft smile shines on his lips. I can tell that it was important for him that I enjoy myself. He now looks as pleased as a cat who found the pot of cream. "I am ecstatic to hear that, Ariane. I enjoy and play music myself." "Really? What do you play?" "This and that, though my favorite instrument is the organ." "The organ?" I ask with surprise, "but, aren''t most of them in churches?" "Exactly!" he exclaims with sudden passion, "this is ridiculous! The best organs are in the hearts of cathedrals and basilica, and what do they use it for? To animate the mass with stale hymns and flat Kyries! The waste! Ah, the things I could do with those wonders of art and engineering¡­ Did you know that¡­" I stare with amusement, and a bit bewildered, as Torran lists all the best organs, their impressive sizes and the time it took to build them. He is clearly an enthusiast. Being locked out of the best instruments remains a sore spot, not to mention that stealing one is completely unfeasible. After that, we quickly discuss the performances of the various singers. Torran observes that Nemorino is nothing special, but Adina is a prodigy, playing her role perfectly at the age of twenty-one. I was going to ask about the part of the quack doctor, Dulcamara, when the door to our lodge bangs open and a man sneaks inside, slamming it close behind him. I gently massage the bridge of my nose. The INTRUDER is, of course, Bingle. By my side, Torran stands up. I always thought him to be pleasant, with an edge. Now I realize that he is the edge. He radiates offended nobility and threat, and the most interesting fact is that he does it without his aura. His power only slightly circles but never escapes his steel grip to spread across the place, and yet, I gaze at him and shiver. Before he punishes the newcomer, I place a light hand on his sleeve and mutter ''Bingle'', causing him to sit back with a knowing smirk. The walking calamity who invaded our privacy still wears his dark suit, with top hat and silver cane, giving a new dimension to the term "conspicuous." In short order, the annoying mortal turns to us and realizes that the lodge he chose as a hiding spot is occupied, and recognizes me in one swift motion. "By jove! My fair rescuer, in this place?" he whispers. I did not realize it last time because of the surprise, perhaps, but Bingle sounds just as positively English as his relative. "What are you doing here?!" I hiss in a low voice. "I am here to save a life and solve a crime, milady. The soprano, the woman who plays Adina, is in possession of a most precious gem. The rakes I am trying to avoid are after it, and her!" By the Watcher. Why? Just why? "If I do not reach her first, she will never return home tonight. They will make sure of it. Milady, I know I have no right to ask, but I fear that alone, I will fail. Please, will you not help me? It would be a most noble and valorous act, worthy of your valor." "You are absolutely correct, Bingle, you have no right to ask." "Ahem," Torran interrupts softly, "dearest one, would you please save her on my behalf? Singers of her quality are rare. Her disappearance would ruin the entire season," he finishes in Akkad. The opera season, ruined? That simply will not do. "Oh, very well. After the second act." "Milady, time is of the essence," Bingle urges. "I assume that they will not try to abduct her mid-performance, yes?" I ask, annoyed, "It can wait." "But surely¡­" ENOUGH. I grab him by the shoulder. The young man winces at the pressure as I pull him close enough to bite his nose off. "Listen here, young Bingle. I am having the time of my life enjoying my first opera ever, after a very, very difficult week. I will watch Nemorino steal the cold Adina''s heart or die trying, even if I have to dismember every last mortal in this room. So, you will sit down and watch the show, or I swear I will tear off your arm and shove it down your crumpet-eating, tea-drinking throat. Is that clear?" "Ariane?" Torran asks in a soft and slightly worried voice. At the word, Bingle''s face enters a mesmerizing metamorphosis. From apprehension, he switches to incredulity, wonder, then excitement. "Ariane Delaney¡­ It''s you¡­ It''s really you!" Ah god fucking dammit. Now I''m in it for sure. "Father mentioned you so many times! I thought he was embellishing the stories but no, the legend was true. Incredible! You really did not age, and this blazing spirit! But, were you not in Georgia?" "That was almost thirty years ago. I moved." "Astounding! I cannot believe my eyes, Ariane Delaney in the flesh. Oh, thank God. With your help, we will surely get to the bottom of this!" "I assure you He had nothing to do with the situation. Now quiet, or it is to the bottom of the river you''ll go." Bingle Junior lifts his hand in surrender, and it doesn''t take long for spectators to regain their seats, the light to darken and the show to resume. The magic is intact, and I let myself get carried away by the otherworldly music. Adina and Belcore''s wedding is in full swing, a ruse by the cruel beauty to make Nemorino jealous. A lot of effort for such a small result but oh well, she is a rich single lady who lives in a village. Perhaps she is supremely bored? In the meanwhile, the poor peasant has conveniently inherited a fortune making him suddenly popular. More shenanigans ensue, following which Nemorino contemplates the single tear he saw in his beloved''s eye in a heart-wrenching, sublime aria that makes me gasp with pleasure. Una furtiva lagrima! All leads to a happy ending between the lovers with Belcore remarking without spite that there are plenty of fishes in the sea, and the quack doctor claiming undue recognition for what inebriation achieved. It is finished. The actors leave the stage, under thunderous applause. I lean back into my chair, close my eyes. That was perfect. I turn to see an indescribable emotion in Torran''s eyes. His smile is soft and just a little sad when he tells me, with his strange lilt: "Sometimes, I wish I could forget everything and experience music for the first time again." I nod. Yes, this was a life-changing experience, one I will never repeat. As a mortal, I could have died before attending a single opera, and how is that fair? How is that sane? Madness, I say. Utter madness. "Milady¡­" "Yes, yes. We should depart now so that we can be backstage before the singers return." While the artists salute the crowds, we quickly make our way out into the small concourse circling the second floor. Torran guides us to the right up till the end of it, then down a set of stairs hidden behind a heavy curtain. At the bottom of it, a heavyset man turns, his eyes widening when he recognizes Bingle. Without pausing, Torran slaps him into the wall. I realize with satisfaction that the unfortunate thug is still breathing. Leaving bodies lying around is oftentimes more trouble than it''s worth, unless we are assaulting a remote location and everybody can mysteriously perish in a tragic house fire. The situation is only exacerbated by the presence of the godling. Judging by what I have seen so far, he would probably complain about the sanctity of life or measured response or some such annoying concepts. Personally, I only care because a corpse could have the opera closed for an enquiry. The horror. I take a look around. We are on the ground floor, in a part of the structure not meant for public access. No gaudy decorations adorn the walls here. We are in the naked guts of the structure where magic is made. Piles of props, seats and leaflets line our way. We make a sharp right through a door, into a passage with a gate leading outside. High windows give a glimpse of the stone walls of a nearby office. Directly in front of us, the artist entrance lies closed, guarded by a heavyset man with crossed arms and a stubborn air. I have a lie ready. I will just pretend to be the actress'' childhood friend. From Madrid. I will even utter the few Spanish words my friend Constanza taught me, if I can remember them. In front of me, Torran does not slow down. "Stand aside, boy," he says calmly. The doorman takes a short look at the impeccably dressed herald of doom bearing down on him, evaluates his chances after refusing a rich and influential man, and finds them wanting. He obeys. Or we can just do that. Torran did not use his aura at all. I am slightly annoyed now, and decide that I will not use power at all next time I try to convince a mortal. I''m sure I can do it just as well! The staff area is currently empty, and I assume it will be another few minutes before the artists stop drinking in the adulation of the spectators and pass through here on their way home. We find ourselves in a well-lit, large room with a way to what should be the pit. Discarded instrument cases litter the ground, as well as food, music sheets and even a lonely sock. Three private rooms share the cramped end. We head there. "It will save us a lot of trouble if we can avoid the attention of the entire orchestra by waiting for your friend in her private quarters," Torran comments. "Indeed, sir, very astute," Bingle comments. He must be unused to basic common sense. I am not even remotely surprised. We check the first room, which contains an impressive number of empty liquor bottles. "The director''s room," Bingle says, "singers avoid strong alcohol since it can damage their voices." Torran nods, and we inspect the next one. That room has a small mirror, a pile of faded bouquets in the corner, and enough makeup to repaint the Sistine chapel. Flashy costumes and fake jewelry are strewn haphazardly across the cluttered ground. "This is the right place," Bingle claims with a smile. Torran and I wait until he turns away from the mirror and take position by the far wall. I notice that envelopes are tied to the flowers and retrieve an opened one. "Madame, your lips..." Ah, this kind of correspondence. As we wait, Torran and Bingle finally introduce themselves properly. Upon learning that my companion is from Hungary, Bingle says a few words in Magyar. I can tell his pronunciation is horrible, though the vampire does not seem to mind. This is a neat trick to break the ice, and I make a note of it. Eventually, the diva herself closes the door behind her, takes a deep, exhausted sigh and turns to find her sanctum desecrated by a troublesome trio. Before she can release a mighty scream, Bingle gives an impeccable bow, and addresses his scared rescue. "Senorita Diaz, please, do not be alarmed." Her yell dies in her throat, replaced by a panicked croak. I am surprised as her last name is listed as "de la Vega" on the leaflet. "Who are you, how do you know my real name, and how dare you break into my room you maldito?" "Forgive our intrusion. My name is Bingle, and these are my friends Ariane and Torran. I came here on behalf of Princess Padma, to warn you of a terrible danger!" I barely have time to raise an eyebrow at the mention of royalty before Bingle starts the most outlandish tale I have ever heard. That Diaz woman was apparently given a jewel by Princess Padma of the kingdom of Mysore, for safekeeping. Indeed, that jewel is part of a trio of precious stones that adorn the mythical Scepter of the Tiger, a royal ornament that the princess wishes to hide from her evil and manipulative uncle. Should he lay his hands on them, he would be able to reforge the artefact and claim the throne for himself! But alas, the secret was leaked, and the ruby and emerald of the Tiger already fell within his hands. Princess Padma called upon the illustrious adventurer Bingle to protect the last sapphire and its guardian from a most cruel fate! What a pile of rubbish. "I can scarcely believe it," Diaz whispers with a worried voice. Yes, neither can I. "I never thought this day would come that we are found out. I must warn my cousin, then we must escape." Gah! After a last look of shared disbelief, Torran and I follow the pair out. The other players are surprised to see strangers in their midst, but since Diaz vouches for us we continue unmolested. The diva knocks on the third door where we are answered by the man playing the quack doctor. Without his wig and fake belly, he appears significantly younger. "Sara? Qu¨¦ est¨¢ pasando?" he asks. "Oh Miguel, we are found out! Foes have come after us and the jewel. We must escape promptly." Alarm fills the poor lad. "How? They probably have us surrounded?" "If I may," I interject. When their attention is on me, I expose my plan. "We could leave with a large part of the orchestra and choir. These thugs will never dare to assault a large group. We will leave their encirclement, then disappear once we are far enough." "A splendid idea, Miss Delaney." To be fair, I used that trick with Constanza back when I wanted to dodge ugly suitors after mass. They do not need to know that though. Without any prompt on my part, Torran steps forward and he sort of¡­ inflates. Not physically, though, and not through his aura. I do not know how, but suddenly he has become the center of the room, the person around whom all groups orbit. He claps his hands once, and the sound reverberates like thunder through the entire room. Silence smothers all conversations. "Your attention please! I am Prince Torran Dvor, from Hungary. I cannot express how pleased I am to find such brilliant artists here, so far away from Prague and Vienna. It would be my honor and pleasure to invite you all to the Blue Jay for refreshments as a gesture of my appreciation." Whispers of glee at the offer of free food and drinks spreads like the plague through the eager musicians. They grab their effects and rush to the exit like a swarm of locusts spotting a wheat field. We are carried forward, and spill in the streets where a pair of men with hungry eyes see us go by without recourse. I almost stop in my tracks when I casually Charm one of them, feeling the lightest resistance. Interesting. Torran easily makes his way to the head of the horde and leads us forward with a sure step and enough speed to force our pursuers to scramble after us. We leave large streets and stone buildings behind for a more narrow street filled with people, then into a three-storied hotel and restaurant. A butler with jowls and a receding hairline looks worriedly at the approaching crowd, then recognizes the man at its head. "Sir?" "I am sorry to intrude upon you, Sylvester. Do you happen to have a private room we may use?" "Of course sir, right this way. May I ask what the occasion is?" "Certainly," the vampire answers as he leans in. He makes up a story about a scorned lover and a daring escape for the poor diva, a tale of unrequited attraction that leaves the stoic waiter with the barest hint of a mischievous smile. Bingle, Diaz and Miguel speed to a backdoor for a quick escape, but not before I reassure the astounding adventurer that he can get in touch with me by leaving a message here. Then, the rest of us are led to a separate room where the musicians are promised drinks and appetizers. After a few minutes and some excuses, Torran pays the bill in advance and we leave through the front door. "I admit that I am curious as to why you would allow him to keep in touch with you. From what I can tell, you find his presence unpalatable," my companion casually remarks. "Yes, but I think I figured out why we were drawn into his story. I just need to confirm my theory. And I''m quite Thirsty." "Well, we picked up a tail." "Two birds with one stone. We should turn here." We make our way in a narrow alley that only holds service entrances. Our pursuer rushes in only a few seconds later. I grab him and inspect his throat, ignoring the weak complaints. Mortals do not scream when they choke. "Observe," I comment as I point at two barely visible fang marks. They are very recent, and the cause of my prey''s small resistance to domination. Torran''s eyes widen slightly at their sight, for he knows what we face. A vampire. "We were not brought in for amusement. We are here to balance the scales." Chapter 76 - 74. Vernissage When vampires hold a party, there are no half-measures. Take the manor''s receiving room, for example. The solemn space could host hundreds of people under its exquisitely molded ceiling and crystal chandeliers. I could place a throne at one end, a pair of guards and pretend to be in Versailles'' Galerie des Glaces while dukes and counts dance and plot. The long rectangular surface is lined on one side by french windows leading to the inner court and its fountain, and on the other, by countless mirrors that do not reflect me. It is grandiose, but still mostly empty. Wilhelm and I welcome the partygoers by the door and direct them to the exhibits. Starting to the left and alternating with the windows leading to the manor''s inner courts, I have placed my portraits. Loth, Dalton, Jimena, Nami and even Jonathan alternate with more exotic takes on human nature, such as the Herald before and after his transformation, one of the more courageous English soldiers right as he died and the insane face of one of the cultists. There are no Likaeans displayed, for obvious reasons. After that, the visitors can appreciate scenes such as "A Slave Family''s Home", "The Roofs of Marquette" captured on the coldest winter''s coldest night and "A Werewolf on the Hunt". My favorites are those depicting the charging wendigos and the submissive mermaid shaman as she offered me her blood. In all of those scenes, I paid attention to the illusion of movement by catching my subjects mid-motion, or by adding elements such as fabric held by the wind. The result is that of life as if caught in amber. It took me a long time and the study of many bodies, most of them still alive, to achieve this. Around twenty such paintings line the left wall to its end. The back wall is also covered in mirrors, a curious choice that makes the place eerie, as the reflection does not have as many people as the actual room. The strange discrepancy makes it feel even larger than it actually is. My largest work thrones there. I painted the Choctaw, Muskogee and American infantry charging English lines at the battle of Black Harbor. The scene appears mostly normal until one looks more closely. First, they will notice that the largest celestial body looks strangely like an eye, then they will find Loth''s colossal form clad in his battle armor, cleaving through ranks of men like an unstoppable god of war. Further examination will show that the twirls of shadows draw shapes of war chariots and ancient soldiers wielding glaives and severed heads, and the best part is that it takes some time to notice everything. I did not draw myself in that painting. I have not completely forgotten what I look like, I just cannot picture it well enough to paint. It bothers me just a little bit. To the right, a small pavilion covers the exhibit''s main piece. A small notice on a pulpit by the entrance warns mortals that the view inside is disturbing and can lead to one being hypnotized. I left this to prevent any guest from having an unpleasant experience, fully expecting the pavilion to mainly attract vampires. I should have known better. A few daring individuals watched the Watcher, so to speak, and shared their experience with disbelieving friends. Soon, the attraction became a center of morbid curiosity, and my work was examined not only by the staff waiters but also the maids, the guests, the cooks, the handymen, the gardeners and no less than seventeen soldiers and assorted bodyguards. I refused three separate offers to sell the paintings, for a good sum too. Mortals are strange. They are curious when they should be scared and scared when they should be calculating. Oh well. The last part of the ballroom is occupied by tables around a bar where those of us who still digest can get refreshments. A few of the individuals sitting there are hired to provide a more vivacious kind of snack for those with a bit more bite to their Thirst. I greet a trio of vampires who present themselves as Rolands. The Master then moves to the side, with her two Courtiers trailing her like chicks after a mother hen. Wilhem informs me that they are refugees from a coven that found itself at the losing end of a power struggle back in Spain. They are here to find another coven to join, or for the right to establish their own. The butler adds that such visitors are quite common, and even more so during times of strife. The exiles will be using this gathering to network and make enquiries. The next person to go through the door fills my heart with joy. "Lord Dvor, welcome." "Please Ariane, call me Torran, always." "If you wish. Come to enjoy my paintings?" "I wouldn''t miss them for the world. I''ll leave you to your duties my dear. Do find me when you have the time." He kisses the hand I present and leaves behind the lingering touch of his fingers. His mysterious Servant bows deeply then trails him. Her respect appears genuine. "I do not believe I had seen Lord Torran smile before," Whilhelm comments offhandedly. Mhhh. I definitely need to ask him if he''s courting me. More guests come and go. Wilhelm introduces them and I do my best to memorize their names. It is easier with vampires. They have a stronger existence to me, as I can taste their essence through their disciplined auras. Their individuality is simply more marked in my mind. Soon after, a man I hadn''t seen in thirty years makes his entrance. Lord Ceron is just as striking as I remember. He has dark, curly hair, a well-trimmed beard and the muscles of a prize-fighter. His eyes are cornflower blue and shining with intelligence, warning others that under the brawny appearance hides a keen intellect. I remember that in the fortress, he invested in me before I even became a proper fledgeling. His decision brought dividends, as I have since struck devastating blows against his rivals the Lancasters. The handsome man smiles broadly before giving me a gracious bow. "House Nirari, welcome." "None of that Lord Ceron, not between us. How have you been?" "Wonderful. Ah, but I remember a fragile youngling in a baggy grey training garb bumbling about. How you''ve grown." "I knew it! I knew that attire wasn''t appropriate." "No," Ceron replies with a laugh, "it really was. Your current dress just suits you so much better." The Cadiz lord is right. I am wearing the second of Goode''s creations. This one is an old-fashioned affair in shades of white and blue. It fits me like a glove and is just as mildly provocative as the other. Ceron and I conduct small talk, and I gather that he would be interested in a formal alliance after I have acquired a territory. I subtly assure him that I would be delighted and he moves to the side to allow other people to greet me. Some of the visitors are mortals from loyal families, and I make an effort to make them comfortable. Wilhelm warned me that Devourers have a reputation, and more than a few are more apprehensive of me than of others. I once more find the notion ridiculous. It should not matter to the sheep if it is slain by a wolf or a lion, and no bloodline is immune to rogues in their ranks. The next important guest is also a Cadiz. "Lord Suarez, it has been so long. And Inez is with you, your Servant now I see. Congratulations to you both." The current ruler of Charleston greets me with a smile. The bruised slip of a girl I had saved decades ago is now a mature beauty with perfect countenance. She greets me warmly, and the pair soon join Ceron in an animated discussion. I welcome almost fifty people in the space of an hour. Most move on quickly. Others have questions, including the one I am addressing now, a Hastings Master with grey hair and the look of a chief accountant. "Do you know where your Master is?" "He is no longer my Master." "But do you know where he is?" "I do not." "Will you side with him when he returns? I have not moved here to suffer from the whims of a capricious madman and his ilk." My smile grows strained, and I pull him forward while adding in a low voice. "My good sir, I understand your distress, but let me assure you that if you do not release my hand right now, my sire will be the least of your worries." The man drops my fingers as if they were on fire. He looks scandalized by my threatening tone and turns to Wilhelm, presumably seeking support. "You are holding the line, sir," the steward remarks with a perfect mask. The Master realizes the battle is lost and pulls back with a last huff. Showing his BACK. WEAKLING. PREY. POUNCE AND¡­ and nothing. This is a party. "Thank you, Wilhelm." "Think nothing of it, miss. He should be the one grateful to me for saving him from the consequences of his behavior." "I would not kill him simply for being rude." "Not just from you, but also from the Lords already present as a show of support. As for killing, let me just say that your control is excellent, young one, but I am an old hand at reading auras. This bloodlust. Intoxicating." Hah, I knew it. Under the veneer of rules and etiquettes, the beast lies. Perhaps I should invite Wilhem for a Hunt. Ah but no, it wouldn''t be proper. I need to invite Torran first. I must ask Jimena the rules of vampire dating. If I invite a vampire for a private Hunt, is it a date? I have not reached that part of her book yet. I think it depends on the balance of power. When I brought Isaac on his first Hunt, it was definitely not a date. Hmmm. The next guests come quickly. Salim, Jimena and Nami arrive together with Aintza and a few of their mortals, soon followed by a sheepish Lord Jarek, supporting a tired woman under each of his massive arms. Lady Sephare of the Hastings joins late, apologizes for it and proceeds to fuss over my dress, which she compliments copiously. We are about to move on when an unexpected figure comes through the door. The man is from a bloodline I have never encountered, a rarity now. He wears a fancy purple silk vest over a white shirt and tie that shows his broad physique. He has that impression I had from my father, of a bit of fat over a lot of muscle. His face is large and squarish with fat lips, a blond mustache and glacial blue eyes. He sees me and gives me a smile that does not reach his eyes. I wait for a presentation to come but realize something is wrong. Wilhelm froze in place, and his face has gone from mild to stiff, his equivalent of screaming in anger. Pretending not to have noticed, the newcomer takes one step forward. One. Behind me, a familiar aura of cold night on a mountain flares, it seeps into the ground and though the land does not answer, there is a pulse far away to the East, as if something vast had answered the call. The aura is joined by the focused burst from two Cadiz lords, and a smattering of others. I feel eyes drilling into my back. The conversation in the room dies out in a matter of seconds when everyone realizes the apex predators among them have gone from quiescent to deadly. The man wisely stops, places a hand against his heart and gives a short bow. I do not return the greeting. Instead, I turn to Wihelm and ask in a calm voice that every vampire hears. "Is he on the guest list?" "I''m afraid not." "Pardon the intrusion," the gentleman declares with a rolling accent, "I merely wanted to pay homage to the newly ascended House Nirari. My name is Sergei of the Kalinin, the new leader for the Knight squad." Relative silence falls over the room, with the mortal''s slightly panicked breaths and heartbeats the only source of sounds. I am not sure what Sergei''s game is. Perhaps he came to take my measure, or perhaps he was not aware of the support I had garnered. It matters little, for I know two things. First, his name is not Andrei so I will have to rename the A team, darn it. Second, he crashed my party and made no secret of it, disrespecting me and my guests in the process. There is a time for subtlety. This is not it. "A pleasure. I hope you fare better than your predecessor and now if you''ll excuse us, this is a private event." Sergei looks around, probably realizing that cooks and maids are lined in front of the Watcher tent, with my blessing I might add. He takes a breath, possibly willing to continue our verbal joust, but a deceptively calm voice interrupts him, backed by an arctic aura. I cannot resist, I turn around to see Torran right behind me, fixing the intruder with a steely glare that carries the promise of violence as certainly as a naked blade to the throat. "Do not make the lady repeat herself." That is all, just one sentence with a meaning as clear as crystal. Leave, or die. Either the Dvor lord is better at bluffing than Sinead himself, or he will, in fact, skewer the man''s heart and rip out his spine. With one last defiant look, Sergei gives me a minute bow and retreats. The vampires in the room return to their conversations as if nothing had happened and the mortals let out a collective breath. I wonder if he was here to gauge me, the one who caused his predecessor to fall from grace? I see no other explanation. I turn to Wilhelm and a silent message of respect passes between us, then Torran comes to our side. "That would be most of them Wilhelm, would it not?" "Indeed." "What now?" I ask with trepidation. The sight of a potential new enemy rattles me more than I would like to admit. I don''t want to go through this again. I can''t think about going through this again. I am not ready. "Normally you would mingle, however if it pleases you, I would enjoy a presentation of those masterpieces by the artist herself," Torran suggests respectfully. Sensing my hesitation, Wilhelm adds in a whisper: "It is appropriate to show favor that way. You can always network afterward." I accept and take Torran''s offered arm. He lightly holds my hand and does his massage that helps me relax while we go to the portraits. Guests respectfully part to let us through everywhere we go. Torran''s touch is soft and his scent teases my nostrils. I walk my companion through the exhibit. I have a little story for each painting. I talk about the inspiration, I talk about the technique and I talk about my mood and what I enjoyed the most in the creation process. Torran chuckles at the tale of my father meeting me and asking to see my fangs when his portrait comes. "I really enjoy the way you draw. Most painters will go for the exact rendition of a person''s appearance while you go for who they are. You captured your father''s pride, Jimena''s determination and Naminata''s playfulness just as clearly as their eyes and noses. I see people, not just their faces." "Thank you." Torran takes a deep breath, hesitant. This is so unlike the usually self-assured lord that my curiosity If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. "Would you consider painting me?" "You want a portrait?" "Yes. Vampire painters are a rarity. Many of us lost the creative edge that defined us as mortals. Those who remain often enjoy music due to the ease with which we move. Immortality is an obstacle, not an advantage, when it comes to visual arts." "I never thought about it that way," I remark as we reach the first landscape. I notice in passing that Jarek has stepped outside and Ceron is at my back. I do not feel boxed in. The auras present are cold but peaceful, though given so many flavors it feels more like a truce than an alliance. I will be safe tonight. We spend comparatively less time on the landscapes, simply because Torran does not have so many questions. When we reach the massive battle scene, we make a game of him spotting every little element I snuck in there. He manages to find them all with only a handful of hints. Eventually, we make it to the tent where mortals are still taking bets. They make way for us and genuflect as we go by. The interior of the small tent is lit by a single light blue lantern. Two images of the Watcher stare into our soul, the effect significantly dulled compared to the real one outside, but present nonetheless. The left one depicts the vampire god in a background of stars, and the right one as a baleful moon overlooking a lake. The left eye''s pupil narrows. I blink and shake my head. Surely a hallucination. Or not. Who knows with that eccentric celestial entity? Meanwhile, Torran focuses on each frame, one after the other. "Impressive. This is a magical item." "It is?" "It does not have an aura in a traditional sense, not one most would pick up anyway, and yet the pull is undeniable. It could even be used as a defensive tool against intruders, and be incredibly effective too. Infiltration requires paying attention to details to spot traps. A spy''s sense of observation would be used against them." His fingers brush against my knuckle and he loses his intense glare. "Forgive me Ariane. My desire for safety got the best of me. Two months away from my territory and I already behave like a cautious old man. This is an incredible piece of art and I treat it like a vulgar trap." "I do not mind. I will give you one of them, if you want." Torran smiles brightly, and the shadow in his eyes lightens. "I now own two of your paintings, that gives me a monopoly." "Tut tut my dear, I already sent a set to King Loth himself. You are not even the majority shareholder." "Blast, I shall cross the ocean and duel him for it." "I would not," I lean in and add with a devious tone, "those are paintings of his previous wife." "Even better." "Torran, you rake!" We chuckle and exit the tent, then join the impromptu gathering at the center of the room. There, my guests welcome us. Both Ceron and Suarez congratulate me on a well deserved victory and request a portrait. Naminata then asks for a nude of herself to send to a suitor, and Jimena shily orders a scene with both Aintza and herself. Just like that, my career as official vampire portraitist is all but certain, and I could very well retire in a distant cottage to spend my days in work and isolation if I so desired. I have a pleasant time creating bonds of friendship with old acquaintances and newcomers alike, until, an hour later, I feel the need for fresh air. I draw Torran away from his conversations and drag him out through the french windows and out near the fountain. We follow the path out then right into an open space by the road leading down. There, the gardener who created the intricate flower garden now at our back left the land more barren and open, so that walking there is like taking a stroll through the wilderness. I remain silent until we stop at a low wall marking the edge of the cliff. The bay and the river in the distance move with unstoppable slowness and for a moment there is no manor, no politics, just the flow of murky water under the endless sky and nestled in its midst, the alien being that allowed our existence, ever watching. Just as before, its presence is calming and its subtle approval puts my mind at ease. The Watcher is not a judgemental god. It is neither jealous or demanding, merely curious, and observing us for some unknown purpose. Sometimes I wonder if Semiramis was right and if it is the embryo of a universe, destined to consume itself in a great explosion. What it does with our experience, our sufferings and achievements and more importantly, our inherent predatory nature, I know not. There is something I have come to believe, however. Perhaps when we die our essence is not lost to disperse in the air like our bodies. Perhaps we come back to it and bring with us what we learnt. I think I would like that. I would not go where Nashoba and Dalton are, but at least what I am would not be lost, when my time comes. Sensing my contemplative mood, Torran remains silent. I appreciate it, and the efforts he made to accommodate my skittish nature. I think I am ready now to learn for sure. "Torran, I have a question." "Do ask." "You are courting me, are you not?" He chuckles, his amusement clear. "Thank the Eye, my efforts have been noticed. Yes, Ariane, I am courting you. Why?" "Because you are doing a fantastic job of it. I am just not quite sure what you find in me. I am not particularly graceful, nor the smartest or most competent woman around. By siding with me so clearly, you are making an enemy of the Lancasters, the Knights, and who knows how many others who take exception to the existence of Devourers. I want to know why." Torran lets go of my arm to face me properly. He still has this slight smile that turns his steely, almost cruel demeanor into a distinguished one instead. "Very well, I will declare. There is something with you, Ariane, that I cannot resist. It is not your appearance, though you are beautiful. Not your intelligence, though you are brilliant, nor your achievements though they are many. It is the way you stood straight when facing your accusers at the trial. The way you walked out with your head held high. The way you blinked and relaxed when I tugged on your fingers and the smile you gave me when I showed you the garden. I felt you when you smiled at those flowers, when you listened to those arias at the opera. You were vibrant and alive with a passion that echoed in my soul. Every small gesture, every clever word made something blossom in a heart I thought cold and barren for all of eternity. "Faster than I thought possible, I coveted you like a thirsty man covets fresh water but I was afraid. Me, the old monster, I was terrified. That you would leave. So, I approached you with care and all the patience I could muster because I wanted to drink in your presence and all the little things that make Ariane. I cannot express the felicity I felt when you loved the Elisir d''Amore or when you took my offered arm without worry. I had no right to feel something so powerful. And yet I did. When that Kalinin knight came to intimidate the guests, I was just about ready to tear him apart with my bare hands. The realization of how far I would go for you did not scare me, because deep inside I already knew I was caught. "So yes, I want to look at you when you''re being you, I want to wake up by your side and I want us to run together, Hunt together and fight together, and if you will have me I will, no matter who is arrayed against us. I want you to be mine as I will be yours." Wow. I can''t think of any clever reply. That was so¡­ raw. Then there is no more room for thought. Torran''s lips are soft, and cold, but I do not mind that. His arms circle me in an embrace that I do not fear, just as my own reach to his shoulders. He smells and tastes delicious and crisp. And strong. I melt into it and come to rest against his body as we explore each other. I relax completely and forget myself in this new experience, at peace. Torran''s kiss is daring and possessive. I let him take control and guide me through things until after a while, we pull away from each other. I just smile like an idiot. So does he. "You are a very, very dangerous man, Torran of the Dvor." "Of course, that is why you like me." "Cheeky rogue. I must warn you though, I just gave you something quite precious. Do not betray my trust." "I will not." I rest my hand against his chest as he caresses my hair, then a sudden thought makes me pull back and narrow my eyes with suspicion. "What?" he asks, suddenly worried. "When we discussed me escorting you, you clearly said you were not after this kind of companionship!" "First, you were referring to casual sex and that is not what I was after, second, you forget the ancestral truth, my star." "And what would that be?" "All is fair in love and war." "Gah! I am betrayed. I demand compensation! Kiss me again." Torran is only too happy to comply and after a little while, we are distracted by ponderous steps coming to our direction. Lord Jarek comes into view, only to stop at an appropriate distance. I appreciate the warning, as he only made noises to warn us of his arrival well in advance. "Lord Jarek?" I ask with a bit of concern. "There is a message for the both of you at the reception desk. Also, one more thing," he starts with his singularly low-pitched voice. "Yes?" I ask the suddenly solemn strongman. "Where I come from, no coming of age party is complete without a show of strength and a good fight. Here, have a show of strength," he says. Then he walks up to the closest tree, an oak of respectable size, and grabs it with his two hands. He grunts with effort as the trunk is literally torn apart under his prodigious grip, then, with a last agonizing creak, the poor thing topples. Jarek is not done. He hoists the body like one would a javelin, aims, and tosses it into the bay. I watch, mesmerized, as hundreds of pounds of lumber arc beautifully into the night like the bolt of an ancient siege weapon. It takes more than five seconds for the vampire-propelled tree to finally topple beneath the waves. I close my mouth with a click. "Now we wait for a good fight." "Ah?" "Wilhelm is an Erenwald of great power. This natural garden, the flower patches and many of the greenhouses on the plain below are under his purview." "Ah." Just as I answer, a furious roar emerges from somewhere to my right. "Who DARES!?" Jarek rolls his shoulders and two massive gauntlets with vambraces made of the void-like substance of soul weapons appear on his oversized hands. An instant later, he''s gone and the first metallic clang of clashing weapons rings through the clearing. The fight has begun. I lean against Torran as I try, and fail, to follow the fight. I already know this is not a struggle to the death and they take great pain to avoid being too destructive. I see it more as a match than anything too serious and manage not to become nervous. Wilhelm does seem hellbent on teaching the Natalis lord a lesson, however, and his face is a mask of focus and contained fury. He wields a twin set of dark axes with which he attacks relentlessly in breathless rushes and large, flowing whirlwinds. By comparison, Jarek is more defensive and fights like a boxer. He blocks, attacks and moves in surprising bursts of speed that I would never have expected from somebody so large. For a while, they test each other''s defense but neither one is willing to fully commit, resulting in a stalemate. Should Wilhelm land a blow, his vicious looking axes would do tremendous damage while anyone hit by Jarek''s fists would be mercilessly punted into the bay. They are obviously trying to avoid that fate. After a few minutes, both combatants salute and the Natalis lord leaves for the manor while our poor steward stares, despondent, at the pit where his precious tree used to be. I decide to leave him for now and bid Torran follow me inside for that message. I have grown just a bit more sensitive over the past weeks thanks to Aisha''s game and something tells me I should not be late. At the front desk, I am given a nice envelope by a matronly dark-haired Servant. The contents do not surprise me in the slightest. "Ms. Delaney, I hope you receive this letter in time, for I was compelled to leave it at your friend''s hotel. Indeed, the fight over the scepter has come to a close and light has been shed on this darkest of conspiracies¡­" Any more eye-rolling on my part and I shall soon see the back of my skull. "If I may¡­" Torran says as he picks up the guilty sheet. "Ahem." Declaiming like Cicero, Torran reads the letter with gusto while I snort and applaud appropriately. The frankly preposterous recollection of events Bingle saw fit to lay on paper becomes hilarious when recounted in the haughty and slightly sarcastic voice of the Dvor lord. I learn that he brought the two singers to his own secret abode to protect them from the goons sent to ransack their home. He managed to get the jump on them and learnt from a captive that they had been hired by the Sommerville consortium of merchants. After infiltrating their compound and the subsequent daring escape, he found out the location of a secret base and now requests our help in assaulting the location and hopefully recovering the stolen jewels. The tale ends on a moving plea to assist him in this endeavor. Torran folds the message back while I lightly clap before this masterful performance. "Where I am from, if a trained man asked a lady for assistance in battle, he would be shunned throughout the land," my lover remarks with a hint of disapproval. I want to remind him that he officially did just that but consider that it was all a ruse. Instead and despite my annoyance, I come to the adventurer''s rescue. "Since his foes work with vampires, I would be surprised if the compound were not protected by them or at least by some magical means. As before, he calls upon us to equalize the field without realizing it." "Will you go?" "Yes. I dare not think what will happen if I do not answer the call. Besides¡­ it will be fun." "Then do you mind if I accompany you?" "Not at all, I am sure there will be labor for the both of us. Now, when did he say he would assault the compound?" "Tuesday, an hour after midnight." We both pause. "By the Watcher, it is midnight. We need to leave now!" The carriage comes to an abrupt stop less than five minutes after leaving the compound. I finish fastening my heart protector, regretting that I cannot bring out my armor this time. Bingle still doesn''t know about vampires and I would prefer if he did not find out. I open the slit leading to the driver seat. "What now?" I ask with impatience. "Milady, we are being robbed," Urchin answers from the other side. "Come on out with your hands in the air and nobody gets hurt!" a nervous voice screams in the night. Torran stands up. His aura blankets the space so that even outside, horses neigh with worry. "I will be right back, my star." "Hold on, I would like to find out if they were sent here and if yes, by whom." "Oh, very well then." He opens the door and takes one step outside. Around us, I count three mounted raiders to his side and one on mine slightly forward. Their rides take a step back. "You''re that man that''s been flashing the money around town! I knew it! Give us your coin and nobody gets hurt." "Amateurs." "Wha''?" "Amateurs. You''re too close." Torran''s hand blurs, I hear a sound like air displaced by something massive and the very specific sound of sliced meat. The three mounts on the left twitch, their heads gone. Cries of disbelief turn into screams of pain when the carcasses fall on the ground and on fragile legs. The man on the right swears in alarm, then realizes his gun is gone. "Mine now," Urchin says. My new minion shoots. He misses. I do not. The horse falls dead, trapping his rider like the others. "When this is over, remind me to bring you to a firing range. I will not tolerate poor shots among my ranks." "That pistol was faulty!" "The only faulty thing here is your aim. Now quiet, we need to ask a few questions." I approach the nearest rider and notice that Torran has gathered their guns. I kneel by his side. The man is dirty and stinks quite a bit. A mask of filthy fabric wraps around his face and I spot the greasy ends of a beard peeking from underneath. His eyes are muddied by pain and confusion. "Now whose brilliant idea was it to attack us?" The man instinctively turns to his leader, a tall thug with a black beard and a large scar across his ugly face. "We no longer need the others," I note. An instant later, three men are silenced. "Oh shit oh shit, who the fuck are you monsters?" "You attacked us and you didn''t know?" "What? No, please¡­ We just wanted your money. We would not have killed you!" "I care not. Tell me who suggested this raid?" "Please, I don''t want to die!" "Look at me. Good. Now, you want to live, don''t you?" "Yes." "I have a bargain for you. If you tell me everything I want to know. I will let you go with a one-minute lead and when I come after you, I will not run." "Right, right. I was scouting that eatery where all the rich folks go for a grub, then I saw your John coming and figured he must be loaded. Shook down a waiter for a story and followed the runner here, figuring he would come out alone. We only meant to take the swag and scram, I swear." S~ea??h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "That was your idea?" "Yeah?" I grab the lout''s face and turn it around. No trace of bite marks, nor does he smell of one of our own. "Incredible, Torran. A genuine highway robbery!" "Is it that rare?" "Yes, especially so close to a city! Ah, but I digress. Torran dear, I propose that we let Urchin handle the clean up and continue by ourselves." "Of course, my star, tonight is your night." "Thank you. I appreciate your patience in dealing with these ruffians. I know that you indulge me, and have done so for the past few days." "Do not worry, you more than make up for it," he answers with a smile. The rogue. I turn to the terrified highwayman and lift the horse off his body. "As promised. One-minute lead." He stares at me, frozen in disbelief. So I smile and make sure to show him all my fangs. "Fifty-five seconds." Ah, now that is much better. I turn to my helpful aide. "Little Urchin, can you please head back to the manor and have someone clean this mess." "Yes ma''am. Say, I did not kill that one there on the ground. Can I drink him?" "Of course. Make sure everything is done before somebody notices. Now, Torran dear. How about a little Hunt before we go raiding?" "I know exactly what you had in mind when you made that promise." "Did you, now?" Heavy hooves trample the earth. A large warhorse gallops through the darkness, its obsidian coat nearly invisible to mortal eyes. It is not Metis. "Krowar," Torran whispers with pleasure. He climbs atop the nightmare as it stops by his side. "Metis," I echo an instant later when my proud ride joins us. I climb on her back. The two mounts greet each other while my friend checks a richly decorated pocket watch. After a while, he closes it and looks at me. The night is beautiful. The trees mask the city in the distance. The smells of blood and pine needles overwhelm all others and the forest is alive with predators and prey caught in their deadly dance. Somewhere in front of us, our quarry struggles forward, needled by dread. We will ride it down together and partake of his blood. Torran leans forward and kisses me lightly. His eyes shine with a mischievous glint as he pulls back and he whispers, with his exotic lilt. "First to the prey." He is gone in a great thunder of flowing dirt and crushed shrubbery. "Eh? Go, Metis go! Torraaaan! Wait for meeeeee!" Chapter 77 - 75. Oh, the Binglery! I lost the race. But only because Torran cheated! Then after a nice shared snack, we left to steal a few jewels. Bingle gave us general directions to a remote compound to the south of the city, not far from the manor. The private property sits at the edge of a fishing village, with only a muddy road as an entry point. The reek of decaying life and scummy waters slap me in the face long before the wooden palisade surrounding our destination comes into view. Bingle did not tell us exactly where he would meet us, but since his stupid power makes everything run smoothly, we easily find him by his scent and the noise of heartbeats. A mortal would never have erred for hours trying to regroup and that annoys me to no end. When I plan things, it must all be perfect or I end up with half of the odd squad stuck in a ditch and the other half on fire or eating their horses because they ran out of food. Bingle can just say let''s meet around here and everyone gathers without a hitch. It''s not fair. We sneak up from behind and I enjoy some vindication when I muffle the soprano''s startled yelp. There are three people hiding behind a bush when we arrive. Bingle, of course in all his darkly charismatic glory, but also the singer Sara whose jewel they recovered safely from a hiding place, and a third man I had not met before. The newcomer is clearly not from around. He has bronze skin, and a soft face with melancholic traits and liquid brown eyes. The impression is tempered by a fierce moustache and an impressive stature. Ochre robes barely hide the man''s rolling muscles. He also wears a white turban with a golden feather pointing upward. I am left wondering if we are truly trying to sneak in, and if we do, whether or not these people have any notion of camouflage. By comparison, I am wearing a travelling dress of midnight blue with a hood while Torran wears a suit and coat of the darkest grey, with the only glint being that of the steel sword by his side. In typical vampire fashion, even his slumming attire is of exquisite make. "Ah, Ariane and Torran, splendid timing as always" Bingle half-whispers and half-declaims. "Please meet the esteemed warrior Sarvajna, sent by my employer and friend to assist me in the recovery of the jewels. He left London just after I did and arrived only yesterday." "Greetings Sahib, Sahiba, I am one of Princess Cheluvambe''s bodyguards, here to protect Bingle Sahib from his enemies," the tall man declares. We smile and shake hands and pretend that he is not here to keep an eye on things. Sarvajna shows just a hint of apprehension when he meets Torran''s eyes and radiates disapproval when he meets mine. He discreetly spares a glare at Sara and so I assume his displeasure is due to the relative parity of the group. Very few societies bring their women in battle, much less for night operations. After the round of introductions is done, Bingle shares with us the nature of our task. "This remote compound is the seat of power of Augustus Summerville himself. That unconscionable devil is ever ambitious. He is the one who sent the thieves after the other pieces of the Scepter and there is no doubt in my mind that he works hand in hand with the princess'' devious uncle. He will go to any length to see his grand adventure come to fruition, even if others must suffer for it." Pot, meet kettle. "We must recover the jewels and abscond, promptly. My conversation with Summerville''s licentious son at that poker tournament earlier today led me to believe the pieces are held here, in the man''s office. He will have a safe which I will crack." "Where will we find this office?" Sara asks with a small voice. "A man like him is easy to read. His den will be at the highest point, as from those lofty heights, he gazes upon his dominion as he works to further his nefarious schemes." We turn to the compound. Bingle''s hiding spot is slightly elevated, and this allows us to see a few roofs. The largest building is probably a warehouse. There are also two more including a two-storied office with quite a few windows. If Bingle did not miss his guess, this is where we will find the precious stones. "Are you confident that you can open this safe?" the tall Indian man asks with a bit of worry. "I am," the adventurer proudly answers, "I even know exactly which model he purchased thanks to a most thorough inquiry." It appears that Bingle did his homework. I should not be too judgmental. His father was perhaps helped by the hand of fate, but it was his competence that carried the story forward, and so it is with junior. I must give the youth some credit. "What force can we expect inside?" Torran asks. "I expect no less than a dozen guards, and possibly more asleep. And that is the problem. The main entrance is closed for the night." I can spot from here the only road trailing through the marshy forest and to a set of double gates set on both sides by twin lookouts. Small movements show that the flimsy structures are garrisoned. Lanterns placed at regular intervals give the vigils a commanding view of their surroundings, enough to make a direct approach hazardous at best. "We need to scale the walls," Bingle continues, "and while I do have a rope," he points at a large dark bag by his feet, "there are complications. Namely, they have patrols walking the perimeter. There will never be enough time for all of us to make the climb." "Why must we all go?" I ask with curiosity. "A most astute question!" Bingle replies, beaming, as if my questioning of his intellect was a source of pride. "I need milady Diaz here to verify the authenticity of the jewels themselves and alert me if I have been misled by decoys. She is the only one who saw them back in Europe." "My father is a jeweler," the woman explains somewhat defensively. Well, isn''t that convenient. "Precisely. It would be riskier to carry out several infiltrations, not to mention that I will need someone to watch my back while I work on the safe. We need to bypass the patrol." "A distraction?" "I would rather not. It could make them more alert and we would encounter a similar problem while going out. I suggest that we await the next change of the guard, then neutralize a patrol." How very bloodthirsty. I like it. "The only problem I have is that they have dogs. Massive, ferocious beasts that would alert the group." "I believe I can do something about it," I announce. Torran appears surprised, though to his credit he does not question me in front of the others. I appreciate it, and let him know with an imperceptible nod. "I have a way with dogs." My outrageous claim is welcomed with incredulity by both Sara and Sarvajna. Bingle, of course, does not doubt me. "Excellent. Can I rely on you to attract the attention of the patrol and keep their hounds calm, meanwhile Sarvajna and myself will sneak up on them and give them a good wallop. Afterward, feed this to the beasts," he says, as he passes me a somewhat sticky piece of flesh wrapped in paper, "it is meat laced with sedative. Anything that swallows it will promptly fall asleep." I wonder why we can''t just murder them all, dogs included, though I know better than to voice my concern. Just like anything involving that insufferable godling, we will produce a lot of effort for something that could be dealt with in two minutes straight if I could just go all out. Forget finding the combination of the safe, I would just massacre everyone and tear the blasted things from its wall and carry it to safety. But alas. Bingle. We decide that I will be assisted by Torran ''for safety'' and the next hour I spent considering contingencies and sharing information. I learn from Bingle that the compound has a pier, but that it is well-lit and guarded without fail. I am, for one, appreciative of the fact that we will not swim inside as I have witnessed first hand what the water around a populous city looks like back in Charleston and I am not eager to renew the experience. After a while, the two patrols on either side of the gate come in and new ones lazily take their place. I notice that the guards are foreigners wearing the same cloth as our brave bodyguard. We are in the right place. "Those men are from Mahishuru, my home. Traitors, the lot of them!" the man himself grumbles into his moustache. Bingle, de facto leader of the expedition, gestures us in and I silently follow Torran to the right palisade. We circle around slowly to give our mortal counterparts time enough to prepare. "Should I ask about the dog?" "I Devoured the essence of an Erenwald vampire, and they have some control over animals and plants. Dogs no longer fear me. I can calm one long enough for us to feed it the poisoned food." "Convenient! How about the mortals, would you like to Charm them? Or would you fancy an old-fashioned distraction?" "What''s an old-fashioned distraction?" I ask with narrowed eyes. "We lie through our teeth, of course," Torran replies, with a devious glint in his eyes. "In fact, let''s make a contest out of it, my star. Whoever tells the most shameless lie wins." "Deal," I answer with a smile. Torran is such a dearie, to find sources of amusement while sneaking through the underbrush like vulgar cattle-thieves. I just hope the guards speak English. We settle to wait at the edge of the perimeter. Soon enough, Bingle Junior and Sarvajna are in position. I light the lantern and we step onto the road. The patrol spots us walking in from seemingly nowhere and trots to us with a mix of fear and confusion on their gold-skinned face. I shove a tendril of essence into the growling beast before it can catch a good whiff of Torran and go mad. The creature blinks owlishly. "What are you doing here? This is a private property!" the first guard declares in a surprisingly good English. He twirls his moustache with fury while his barrel-chested companion caresses a truncheon while wearily eyeing my lover. "Private property? I bought these lands good sir, and here I take a midnight stroll only to find this hideous construct. Scandalous." "Absolutely," I add not to be outdone, "besides who would build their warehouse on an Indian burial ground?" At the mention of a cursed locale, the moustachioed man''s eyes bulge comically. He takes an involuntary step back though he does not relent. "It does not matter. You can''t be here!" "How dare you address me? I''ll have you know I was a friend of Krishnaraja Wodeyar the third, your previous ruler!" Torran claims, and for a moment the magic takes. Lit by the flame of the lantern, the vampire Lord''s stature and poise radiate power and barely controlled outrage. The hilt of the blade by his side reminds everyone that he is a warrior. He is domineering and mighty without using a smidgen of essence. I like that a lot. Also, he is not winning that contest. "Absolutely, you worthless curs. Can''t you recognize who your illustrious guest is?" I declare with passion, "You have the honor of talking to the Duke of New York!" The men of the patrol freeze, Savrajna freezes, even Bingle freezes at the shamelessness of such a claim. Torran crosses his arms, as regal as any emperor. "Whatever you think you''re doing, you''d better think fast," I add with a pointed look at our partners in crime. Clonk! Two clubs smack the backs of the guards'' heads and they collapse in a heap. I take out the meat and feed it to the still dizzy dog, who gulps the pieces down without complaint. I also find out that when Bingle said ''sedative'', what he meant was ''a hefty dose of sweet liquor''. "The Duke of New York, hm? You win this round, my star." Damn right I do. We drag the unconscious bodies under some trees and leave the dog panting happily there, his leash tied around a nearby pine. I am left wondering why Bingle would refuse to slay an animal but so liberally clobber the head of his fellow mortals. So many times, I''ve had victims wake up not quite themselves or not as sharp as they used to be. The body is a fragile thing. Oh well, it''s his operation. With the way reality bends around him, they will wake up with a light migraine and a newfound taste for scones and marmalade. Bingle throws a hook over the palisade and we climb wooden logs without difficulty, save for Sara who has to be pulled up. The compound is just as we expected, a circular space of packed earth containing a large warehouse, a barrack, and a two-storied office. In the back, a pier leads to the bay''s murky waters. The inner court is much less lit than the exterior and there are no patrols. Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. We head to the office with light steps, then wait as Bingle picks the lock. Junior can open doors and safes, I realize. Naughty. It takes less than half a minute for all of us to get in. After that, Bingle closes the door behind us and lights a candle, casting a fragile light on our surroundings. The room is actually a secondary storage space and its contents give me the first real bit of apprehension since the end of the hearing. The smell of black powder and the shape of some of the crates are a dead giveaway. "What is this?" Sarvajna asks. I lean next to a nearby barrel and pop the lid open with my claws, then turn around and pretend it was already unlocked. Torran rolls his eyes at the theatrics. "Is this..?" Sara asks. "Yes," I reply with an ominous voice, "we are in an armory. There are enough weapons here to arm a hundred men." Svarajna swears in an unknown tongue while the soprano pales a bit. Bingle frowns but shakes his head. "We knew about Summerville''s ambition. This changes nothing. Without the Tiger Scepter, his candidate has no legitimacy. We must find the jewels with all haste." We nod and follow the intrepid adventurer up the stairs to a locked door, which offers only a modicum of resistance to our hero''s nimble fingers. We all queue into Summerville''s unreasonably vast office and take in our surroundings. I have seen some horrors in my Watcher-forsaken existence. I have witnessed Merghol mana-hounds feasting on the withered flesh of drained mages. I have gazed upon the corpses of starved children with bones cracked open, the marrow sucked by Wendigos. I have seen the world slashed open like a cheap envelope and still this shocks me to my very core. How can a man have such bad taste? How can the Christian God allow such horrors to be inflicted upon its children? From wall to wall, flashy colors, excessive decorations and gold paint clash with common sense and each other. Knick-knacks of horrible craftsmanship fight for space with empty bottles of very expensive wine and fake-jewel-encrusted cups. I learn that Summerville himself is a weaselly man of rotund proportion by the sheer amount of portraits and engravings of him plastered on the walls. There is even a large painting of him replacing Washington crossing the Delaware. In this ''piece of art'', he is represented as being easily seven feet tall. It''s a miracle that my eyes are not bleeding right now. I turn to Torran to ask if he is seeing this. Alas, the poor darling is leaning against the walls, eyes closed, gently massaging his temples. "Right," Bingle says, reminding us of what is at stake, "let us find the safe." I find his sang-froid admirable. I already want to set the place on fire and forget about the jewels. They must be cursed after staying here for more than a night anyway, we might as well deny Summerville his assets and be done with it. Why can''t those adventures be simple Hunts where we chase some prey and eat a werewolf or two at the end? Those are nice, straightforward tasks with a meal included but no, we must absolutely investigate the den of the sin of Pride''s most tasteless avatar. Bingle starts walking around, soon followed by Sara and then by Svarajna. It will be difficult to locate a small safe in this cluttered space. Unless, of course, it is defended by magic. A diffuse aura comes from behind a grandfather clock. I inspect the horrid thing and quickly notice a button, simply because the depression is covered in food grease and thus slightly less shiny than the rest of the contraption. I press it and with a clank, the upper part slides to the side to reveal a depression in the wall, and the safe therein. "Well done, Mrs. Delaney, well done indeed," Bingle whispers as he walks to me. I make a hand gesture to hold and search one of the pockets on my cloak. I expected to face a vampire, and to some extent, magic. I came prepared. I retrieve a pinch of white powder from a metal canister and blow it upon the safe''s surface. In the darkness of the room, the powder spreads across a circular construct like morning frost over a spider''s web, leaving it glittering softly. The spectacle is as beautiful as it is worrying. "Do you know what this is?" Bingle asks while his two companions cross themselves and set my teeth on edge. I study the revealed construct. It is flimsy and there lies the problem. I could break through most spells worked upon a surface this small, and in this case it would be useless. "This is an alarm, and before you ask, I do not have the means to disarm it. As soon as you start working on the safe, the net you see will snap and alert the person to whom it is attuned, most likely Summerville." In order to bypass these defenses, one would have to slowly pull on each strand until the construct is either displaced or ''rolled in'' so as to prevent it from triggering. Unfortunately, it requires fine magical control, a skill I do not yet possess. Behind me, Torran does not react. He is unwilling or unable to assist. No matter the reason, I trust his judgement on this matter. "Summerville is spending time with a lady of the night, in an establishment not far from here. This would leave us a quarter of an hour before the ruffian''s arrival. We could do it." "And possibly escape how?" I ask, more as a formality than out of real concern. "Worry not milady, I have a secret trump card that will save the day." "Fair enough," I reply, my doubts assuaged. "We should use this opportunity to fortify this location, just in case," Torran adds with a wink in my direction. I consider his words as the bodyguard voices his assent. Fifteen minutes of preparation. A hundred guns. Enough gunpowder to blow Summerville''s hired help back to India by way of the moon. Bingle, you are officially forgiven. "A very astute remark, my love. Let''s get to it." Sara stays with the gentleman thief to hold his lantern, no innuendo intended, as the three of us make our way downstairs and I try not to giggle like a child on Christmas morning. I light a few lanterns and take stock of what we have while the two muscular beefcakes get to work boarding the windows. I elect to create a small diversion by stepping outside with a few barrels of powder, then quickly return and start loading one musket after another at the very edge of human speed. Sarvajna sometimes stops to watch with disbelief, before moving more empty crates to block the way in. Soon enough, Torran volunteers to carry loaded firearms upstairs while the bodyguard and myself keep loading with determination. I slow down to be just slightly faster than him. I will not ridicule him, but I will not spare his feelings either. "Bingle Sahib said your father was a great hunter, the greatest one who ever lived. Is that true?" I consider his words. The story I made up for Cecil Rutherford Bingle was one of cursed totems and twisted wishes, with my ''father'' dying from his passion, burnt to a crisp by the dawn''s sun as he was returning from a hunt. Regardless of those lies, Nirari is my father after a fashion and he is indeed the greatest hunter who ever lived. "Yes, it is." "Are you a huntress as well, Lady Delaney?" I look up from a powder-filled pan and meet the Mysore warrior''s eyes. There is no longer any sign of disapproval in the stoic man. S~ea??h the N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Yes." "I thought so. The spirit of the goddess of war Durga is with you. I can feel the shakti, the energy when you move. Tonight, we will defeat our enemies together with your husband and return the Scepter to its rightful owner, the princess." I hear a snicker from the stairs at the mention of matrimony. Hold your horses Torran, I am not tamed just yet. "We will, Sarvajna. Summerville will regret ever keeping those stolen artifacts." We continue loading the guns with renewed focus. Our group has more than sixty primed weapons at its disposal by the time Torran knocks on a wood beam and points upward. We gather the last of them and climb up to the second floor, where we find Bingle sitting at a table and working on a secondary lockbox. The safe lies gutted, and yet the jewels are still not ours. It appears that Summerville took additional precautions. I believe it would be better to take the lockbox and run for it. The danger of being trapped is superior to that of having the jewels be taken to another, more secure place. I suppose it is not my call. The show must go on. We turn to the compound''s entrance, where a fire snake of men bearing torches descends. A pair of sentinels jumps from the guard tower and hurries to the door. "I need a few more minutes," says Bingle, tense, "if only there was a way to slow them down." In answer, I open the window closest to the office''s door, grab a lantern and throw it down under the mortal''s petrified gaze. The glass smashes open and burning oil ignites the pile of powder I had left there. Fire spreads through the trail I left for it, arching its way to the barrels I hid besides the left tower. The guards let out dismayed cries when they spot the impending danger. They flee as fast as their legs can carry them to the cover of the nearby barracks. The flames reach the barrels and seemingly peter out. I duck. Sara looks turns to me and asks: "Oh, they were extingui-" Like thunder on a cloudless sky, the explosion takes everyone off-guard. Horses neigh and riders swear as flaming wreckage rains upon the marshland. A plume of smoke and embers soon hides the riders from view with the collapsed guard tower lying across the entrance. "Not extinguished," I reply as I remove my fingers from my ears. "WHAT?" Oh dear. "Very impressive, Miss Delaney. I will require but a few minutes to implement my plan. Do tell, are some of the guards of the Indian persuasion?" Bingle says. "Yes?" "Splendid. Do kindly try not to kill them." "You''re asking me to miss?" I ask, outraged. "Of course not milady, I only ask that you aim somewhere else." Well, he got me there. "I will be downstairs, my star. You may shoot to your heart''s content," Torran says on his way down. With him there, I can focus on blasting targets away without fear of being overrun. I would be grateful if I did not suspect that his sacrifice was motivated by his dislike of muskets. He''s a bit old-fashioned as vampires go, after all. With the surrounding of the main gates at roasting temperature, the palisade is now working against Summerville''s troops. I hear a strident voice screaming orders to ''get over the damn wall''. It appears that some of our foes brought ropes, as the first few lassoes fly over the edge of the logs. On the ground below us, the men of the garrison test the windows for a way in. I wish them the best of luck and line up a shot. Above the palisade, a glorious red feather rises, soon followed by a shiny white turban, soon followed by a pair of inquisitive eyes. Mindful of Bingle''s orders, I shoot the observer''s hat off his head, provoking a yelp and a backward fall. It''s not my fault if they break limbs, I really cannot be blamed for that. For good measure, I shoot the rope tied around the palisade, causing someone else to fall. It does not take long for the would-be assailants to try their luck elsewhere. Honestly, I could have just waited and shot them as they came. Bingle''s rule is too restrictive, I sincerely hope there is a reason for that. Then comes the hard part. Our enemies find a section of the wall covered by the barrack and manage to go over it while behind cover, then, they join up with the rest of the guards to besiege us. Soldiers pick up axes and crowbars to force their way in while others shoot the windows to keep us busy. Thankfully the light does not reach up to us and the walls are thick, so we are relatively protected. Unfortunately, there is only so much I can do to deter the Indian soldiers without killing them. Even grazing blows do not faze the stalwart warriors as they peel windows open with grim determination. Local goons I saw at the theatre are mixed in the lots. Those, I kill without hesitation whenever I can. Unfortunately, there is only so much I can do while making sure I am not hit by stray bullets. It would be awkward to bear the mask of humanity for so long only for the others to see me close a hole in my skull. It does not take long before the first guards pull stabbed hands from under broken shutters. Torran is buying us a few precious seconds in a game of delays. I resist the urge to pressure the adventurer as even Svarjana has given up on aiming and just fire blindly between two enemy volleys. Sara is in a corner, praying and most likely reconsidering her life choices. I feel strangely excited. There is a stake now! Without much recourse, I simply keep firing until Torran walks up the stairs and slams the door closed behind him. "Too many breaches," he comments with a small smile. I nod and smash my musket on the fingers of a man who was trying to climb. He falls back with a resounding "whore!". Very well mister. Next time, I shall just stab you. I retreat to the center of the room. An attacker appears at the rear window and gets back down with a broken nose. Another takes his place while to the side, two more pop up. I bash a skull and grab a gaudy goblet which I use as an improvised projectile on another, forcing them back. "I got it!" Bingle screams, and not a moment too soon. The bangs on the door cease and men stop climbing. Silence descends upon the base until a strident voice breaks it. It drips with contempt and lowly pretension. "Surrender you fools, and I shall be merciful." I do not need deep insight into human nature to know that there will be no mercy. We violated this person''s, well, ''sanctum'', and humiliated him. Such an act demands retribution. Bingle lifts two jewels the size of quail eggs from the lockbox, soon adding a third one from his pocket. They shine like embers in my sight and in my aura. There is power here, not just symbolic but mystic as well. He turns to the shattered window and approaches it without a hint of fear. I step by his left with Torran in support, while Sarvajna takes the other. Sara is still hiding. "Who dares soil the abode of Augustus Summerville?" the strident voice resumes. I look down to find our interlocutor and realize my previous misconception. I thought the painters had done Mr. Summerville a disservice by giving a rotund and snivelling frame. They were instead granting him a favor, but alas, there are some appearances for which art can do little. "''Tis I, Nathan Riley Bingle, you villainous coward, you bumbling mass of nefarious grease, you spineless bulb of quivering lard. ''Tis I who shall be your doom!" "Hah! You move that wicked tongue of yours in vain! From where I am standing, the doomed one is you!" "Appearances can be deceiving, as you shall soon learn." Under the mesmerized gaze of half a hundred men, Bingle takes the pommel ending his silver cane. The globe retracts, then rotates under his hand, and splits open in half to reveal underneath the maw of a mighty beast. "The Tiger Scepter!" a man down below screams, and the crowd erupts in agitated whispers in a tongue I do not understand. Undaunted, Bingle calmly places all the stones in indents made to this end. As the sapphire locks in place, a magical circuit is formed and pale light emanates from the artefact of power, pushing away the darkness and the harsh red glare of torches. One by one, the many Indian soldiers drop to their knees in amazement. Bingle is breathtaking. The dashing adventurer is no longer as rakish as before. His black hair shines under the pale glow, and his black eyes convey power and serenity I had never seen in a mortal. A sense of wonder erupts from my heart as I gaze upon what could have been, had this reality been slightly less rigid. All the sagas and stories that could have been written and all the heroes of the past are here now before me, trapped in the nets of causality and yet still shining upon the world. They carry with them tales as old as time whose mere mention robs even the most jaded men of their disbelief, if only for a moment. That glow radiating outward does not impose a will, instead it asks the question: What if? What if there were true heroes, true tales, true reality-defying magic? What if there were more to life than boring physics and realistic odds? What if we could be amazed once more? Bingle makes me believe it could happen. I gaze upon the face of the godling and take Torran''s hand in mine. Our eyes meet and I see with pleasure the weight of timelessness momentarily lifted from his shoulders. Whatever silliness we have been through, this made it all worthwhile. I will cherish the memories I made today until the moment I return to the ashes. "Noooooooo! Kill him!" the hysterical trader bellows. One of his men hesitantly lifts a rifle. A terrible roar of outrage erupts over the compound. Everywhere I look, Mysore exiles rise and overtake Summerville''s mooks like an angry wolf pack. The slippery scoundrel himself only finds salvation by using his considerable girth to plow a way to the gates. Unfortunately for him, he forgot about his main foe. Bingle quickly attached his rope to the window frame and rappels down smoothly. He runs after his quarry and the soldiers part before him like the Red Sea before Moses. Sarvajna turns to us, stupefied. "You do not understand. Everyone can hold the Scepter. Only those worthy can make it shine so!" Hah, what a great twist. On the ground, Bingle has caught up. Summerville casts a desperate glance behind him and drops on the ground to grab a musket, turning it on his pursuers. "Back, back, you vile criminal. How dare you do this to me? Know your place!" Behind Summerville, the second guard tower creaks ominously. "Your dastardly plans are at an end, Summerville! Surrender now, and you may yet live." "Surrender? To the likes of you? Never! I will leave this place and rebuild my empire and then I shall come for you, you meddling troublemaker!" "Your words are empty, you sweaty globe of suet. Justice from above will strike you down." "Hah, I''d like to see that!" With a last crack, one of the supports of the second mirador snaps and the great structure collapses. I watch, mesmerized, as a large beam falls on Summerville''s disbelieving face. There is a vile crunching sound and the shifty man is no more. "¡­then you should have been on the lookout," Bingle deadpans. By the Watcher. The ironic end, the banter, the horrible pun and its delivery! They are so bad they are good. I turn to Torran with a bright smile though he remains unamused. With a frown, he leans in and whispers as the victors cheer and rejoice. "This isn''t over." "Indeed not, the vampire did not show up. That is all for tonight, however. Let us return." Chapter 78 - 76. Finale I dodge low and sweep the blade with my spear. The foe is strong, diverting his strikes takes all my might. Fighting during the day is wrong, I should HIDE AND REST, but being prepared pays off and I need to train now in case I get caught off-guard one day. My thoughts are sluggish and moving is difficult. Sometimes I need to stop and remind myself that I am fighting. Vampiric speed is all but impossible. Thankfully, I am not entirely defenseless. My strength and agility are still my own, though it takes everything I have to keep that specific enemy at bay. Torran lunges, feints and stabs again. I counter and dodge back at the same time, just the way Nami showed me. My lover is forced to abort his attack to deflect the strike aimed at his heart. The gesture is small and effortless. He lightly slaps the blow aside then his assault resumes. He is grim and relentless, a veritable storm of steel that follows me with no respite. By comparison, my style is much more chaotic. I am often low to the ground except for lunges, and change direction constantly. I keep the patterns as unpredictable as possible, capitalizing on every opening and opportunity I can spot. We are relentless perfection and savagery opposed, but the advantage is his. Despite my speed, I only managed to strike his flank once and paid for it by a slash to the face. By comparison, my training gear is already covered in scratches and tears. We face each other with steel blades so any wound closes promptly, but the sting to my pride does not heal so easily. He struck my heart at least five times. Torran controls a sphere around him where his existence is tyranny and he attacks with a relentless will that grinds all opposition. Despite my best efforts, my concentration wanes and I am soon entirely on the backfoot. One of his slices catches me across the shoulder and sends me careening through the training room. Night falls. I feel alive. Energy courses through my veins as everything gets back into focus and my mind sharpens to a deadly point. Then something unusual happens. I have practiced diligently with the cards Aisha gave me. Two times out of three now, I can predict the outcome and whenever I do, I feel a pull towards a direction that does not exist, not exactly inward but close. I feel it now. With perfect clarity, I can tell exactly where Torran''s blow will fall, even with my back to him. At the last moment, I twist on myself. His blade rakes against my chest protector as I stand and swing at the same time. My blind talons find purchase in the flesh of his throat. YES, YOU ARE MINE NOW. Something pointy presses into my chest. His sword. I stop. Torran''s steel grey eyes capture me. They are filled with pride. "Beautifully done, my star." "Not so bad yourself, Torran. You were right, this was a good idea." "Of course, I was!" he replies, feigning outrage. Behind us, two mortal attendants wait with equipment in the manor''s largest training room. One of them is a slightly older, burly man with a satisfied grin while the other is younger and obviously witnessing vampires fight for the first time. If he opens his mouth anymore, I will be able to shove a whole egg in its cavernous depths. We are alone for now in that bare room of dark stone, though soon vampires and mortals alike will tread its vast expanse, using dummies and targets to hone their skills while the most adventurous will make their way to the circle we now stand on. With nightfall comes something else. I feel, once again, a pull. There is something that I should be doing but I am not quite sure why, only that it is important. "Shall we continue?" "Hold on, dear, there is something." "What is it?" "I am not sure. A hunch." Torran waits in silence as I close my eyes and focus. Alas, getting anything else is impossible. I am simply not good enough yet, and the meaning escapes me. All that I can perceive is a diffuse sense of forgetting something, or of having a destination in mind though I do not know which. "I do not know." "Is it related to Bingle?" "Likely, yes." "Then let us not stay here and find him instead." I frown in frustration. Did Nashoba not tell me that real life work would serve me better than blindly following hunches? And here I am, already forgetting. After a quick passage through changing rooms designed to this effect, we leave the blades in the hands of the two attendants and depart the arena. The training room is situated underground and is well provisioned with all manner of weapons, including pistols. The duelling ground is covered in sands to absorb spilled blood, a necessary measure for us. I follow Torran up a set of stairs dug into the very stone and through massive vault doors locked in case of emergencies. We are only in the first basement, and I am not sure exactly how deep into the earth''s crust the complex extends. I have little interest to find out, especially because the torture room is two levels below. We quickly make our way to the front desk where we find Sophia, Constantine''s assistant. The unusual Rosenthal stands straight as a rod, with brown hair in a prim tail and her hand on a saber by her side. "What can I do for you?" "Are there any messages for either of us?" "No. Expecting something in particular?" "We are helping a godling. Someone touched by fate. He may have tried to contact us." The woman considers our problem for a moment. "Could you describe him?" "Dark hair, dark eyes, shaven, wears black-" "And carries a cane?" "Yes!" "He is down the road at the first checkpoint. We blocked his access for we did not know him. I was about to have him brought in for interrogation. Would you like to see him?" "Yes, have him brought up and wait in the lobby, I will be right back." I turn to leave while Torran finds a seat to wait. The night past, we helped Bingle take the Scepter. I would not be surprised if the vampire at the other end of the chessboard had played their turn. If it is the case, it ends tonight, and quite likely through a physical confrontation. Time to try Loth''s armor. I move to my bedroom, scaring Solveig on the way and throwing the special wardrobe open. The battle dress awaits me in all its baleful glory. I undress until all that remains are my smallclothes and put it on. I fasten it piece by piece, feeling the protective garment fit snugly until I am clad in it as in a second skin. Once this is done, I take a second to stretch and luxuriate in the feeling of the silk-like fabric against my skin. Each scale slides in position with uncanny precision, leaving me completely free to move. I then grab throwing knives, my silver dagger and the spear, finishing with the silver pistol I took from father Perry, the oldest piece in my collection. I tie my hair and grab my old mask from a container, the one I had worn at the masquerade, though I do not yet put it on. I am ready. A minute later, I reach the lobby once more and smile at the sight. The room is packed with vampires here to see the godling. The lobby''s couches, normally mostly empty, are now filled with a variety of my kindred and their servants. Some pretend to read books while others confer, or plot, in low voices. An annoyed-looking older woman is knitting, her brow furrowed. In the middle of it, Bingle sits sheepishly by Torran''s side. The adventurer has lost some of his flame. His clothes are in disarray and deep pockets have formed under his eyes. Even his back, normally ramrod straight, has a slight bend to it. Something bad happened. I sit by his side and skip the pleasantries. "Talk to me." "I was a fool," he exclaims bitterly. This is the first time I have seen him expressing negative emotions with such strength. "Elaborate?" He sighs. He gently massages his temples with shaky hands. "We were betrayed. Unknown assailants found our hiding place and kidnapped Miguel, Sara''s cousin, while we were away. They killed Sarvajna. Stabbed him to death. While I was checking for traps, Sara found the ransom notice. She absconded with it and the Scepter, only leaving me with a hastily scribbled note and vague apologies. I know from her words that the exchange will be made at nightfall but she did not tell me where." The more I look, and the more I see the myth fraying at the edges. Stubble mars his pointy chin, his traits are drawn and his eyes bloodshot. The most fascinating element is that he is still himself, a godling. He only now represents another aspect of the adventurer, the jaded one, the one who drowns memories and lost friends with gin and carries a gun instead of a cane. We are at a junction. I am not obligated to do anything, I can feel it. The pull of fate disappeared at the very moment I sat at this table. I could just tell him to fight his own battles and drive the hero down a darker path, one of vengeance and knives in the night. Along this route, there would be more opportunities for me to use him to my own ends. I won''t. I have enough darkness around as it is. Soon, this period of respite will be over and I will return to my scheming, ruling, and the wholesale slaughter of mortals who overstep themselves. Bingle is the vaguely annoying yet cute cub that offers distractions regardless of one''s own plans. Yes, Bingle is my puppy, I realize. I should not kick the puppy away. Besides, we are playing a game, that other vampire and I. One they are winning. It is my turn to play and it would be a shame if I had gotten changed for nothing. I emerge from my thoughts to see that the atmosphere around us has changed. The spectators of the scene stare not at the daring man but at me and my armor. The spear by my side shines with the flickering red of the hearth. The scent of Wilhelm''s flower arrangements clash with that of vampire and human sweat. They want to see what I will decide. Some look eager. They know that one does not dress as I do for a tea party. I turn to Solveig who had followed me down and ask her to inquire after Salim. We will need his pet mage, Sorrel, to track down the unruly artist. "Do you have the message she left you?" "Yes," he replies, taking a folded sheet from his breast pocket, "here." I pick it between two talons and unfold it. The writing is horrible, barely more than pinpricks. I also spot two wet marks, quite likely tears of regret that cannot end there unless shed on purpose. Sara''s tasteless antics will end up making our task easier. It will work. I turn to the Bingle and take his hand in mine. He shivers at their coldness, and only now does he notice how sharp my ''nails'' are. "You know that I am different, don''t you? You can feel it in your heart when our eyes meet, when you see me move." "I do. That curse, it-" His Adam apple bobs as he swallows his saliva with more nervousness than he had ever displayed. "-it changed you." "Correct. It changed me. It also showed me a world that was previously hidden. I can find the woman for you, but then you will know and that will make me vulnerable." "I can keep a secret." "Good. What you see tonight, you will not write down, and you will not report either. You will keep it secret. Will you do that?" "Of course. I am grateful for your help, Miss Delaney. I would never betray your trust." I nod and fall silent. It doesn''t take long for Salim and Sorrel to show up. I suspect that they were already on their way to this impromptu gathering. I negotiate a tracking spell in Akkad with a smiling Salim, and the serious mage immediately gets to work. Tracking spells are simple constructs for those with proper training. We have our compass in only a few minutes. "I hope it is not too late," says Bingle. Normally it would be, but the enemy being a vampire, perhaps they have not had the time to reach the exchange point. Something tells me that the godling''s strange effect on reality would at least grant him a chance, though I am not so certain. Arriving just a tad late would be a good plot twist. If we want to have a chance, we will need speed. "Follow," I say, and go to the counter where Wilhem is waiting. The blond man''s dark eyes fasten on my guest with a predatory intent. Bingle feels it and shivers. "Wilhelm. Would you have a mount for my guest?" "We do not lend Nightmares, even the half-blood ones, to mortals." "He is no mortal." Wilhelm turns his attention to me. His considerations are short. After a few seconds, he reluctantly nods. "Very well. I do expect compensation. You will complete a task for me in return. Of little danger, and no more than a single night." S~ea??h the n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Agreed." "Go to the front of the manor, I will join you there." Join me? Behind us, Torran walks up. "Wilhelm will want to keep an eye on his mount, my star. Would you care for my company? It will make the journey faster." "Of course, dear, though I would prefer it if you left our foe to me." "It is your Hunt." "Clan Natalis offers assistance with your ride, House Nirari," comes a low, rumbling voice from behind. Lord Jarek is here, dressed in custom-fitted hunting leathers. It looks good on him though I suspect there is enough material involved to build a tent. "It has been too long and the occasion could not be better. Will you allow it?" "I will," I add without hesitation. If there were a price, he would have mentioned it, and I will not look a gift lord in the mouth. We walk out. The pull of fate is silent now. It has been replaced by another, a sort of momentum that carries me forward and gives more weight to my steps. I am not sure what is happening, all I know is that it will be special. I turn to Bingle. He needs to understand. "What you will experience now is a rare privilege," I inform him. To ride by our side, vampires who have lived through hell and slaughtered legions. I know this to be true. Bingle nods, his expression serious. The weight of his failure has been momentarily lifted from his shoulders by his burning curiosity. He is still an adventurer at heart, and nothing speaks of adventure quite like a hidden order of whatever he thinks we are. The unexpected excitement is making him positively giddy. Our little procession stops at the edge of the inner court and Jarek steps forward. "I claim the lead as eldest." In my mind, the possibility of denying him dies before it can truly be born. Jarek is the eldest, and strongest. He shall lead the ride to a satisfactory conclusion. It is as should be. Above, the Watcher''s tendrils uncoil lazily. It likes it when I experience things, I can tell. The vague feeling of satisfaction is both alien and clear beyond any doubt. The Natalis lord steps forward and whistles. The ground rumbles with the weight of ungodly hooves. The largest horse I have ever seen comes forth from the darkness. Massive. There are no other words for it. I thought Metis large and she is, but she is also built for speed and power both. This newcomer is a charger, bred to carry armored knights to and through enemy lines. Its dark saddle is so high that I would never be able drag myself up to it without jumping. The beast waits placidly as Jarek hoists his gigantic frame onto it. The size of the pair plays with my sense of perspective, until the dense forest leading to the bay comes into focus and I am forced to accept reality. They really are that big. If Famine, War or Pestilence came to herald the coming of the apocalypse, they would look like that. Excitement fills my heart. Krowar is next and Torran takes Jarek''s right, then Wilhelm comes and takes his left, pulling behind him a shorter Nightmare. I help Bingle up and climb on a visibly excited Metis by his side. We are right behind the Natalis lord on either side of him. Jarek turns briefly to ascertain that we are all ready. To our right, the balconies are filled with mortals and vampires who observe us in silence. The scene is deathly quiet as they wait for us to start. Jarek lifts a gauntlet covered hand to the heavens then forward. His unnatural destrier walks at a leisurely pace. We follow. We are slow, so deceptively slow, but there is, again, this momentum carrying us forward with the energy of an avalanche. We cross the bend at the top of the plateau and descend down the road along the cliff at a trot. The guards have opened all the gates and cleared the way. We trot down, our coming announced by a rumble like an emergent quake. We reach flat ground. Jarek lifts the compass in his armored hand. The construct looks no bigger than a marble between his giant fingers. The needle pointing South-East shines a strange purple hue. We accelerate. Everything up to now was but a preparation for the real event. Wind pushes strands of hair from my face as trees and road drift past, the group now moving at a furious gallop. We ride. We move into a forested path and soon, there is nothing but us and the way forward. The deafening sound of Nightmares trampling the ground expands and reverberates until we are no longer few, but an endless horde charging through an infinite forest to a battlefield at the end of time. Under the sky and its eldritch denizen, we ride, and we cannot be stopped. Nothing exists but the smooth movements of Metis, our destination in front and the other predators by my side, united in purpose. I do not know how long it takes for us to come in view of the clearing, probably less than a quarter hour. It felt both like much more and much less. Jarek holds a fist and we slow down. It is over. For a moment there, I was part of something great. With only four of us, I felt like Attilla''s adoptive daughter riding down Aetius'' legions. What could we achieve with twenty, one hundred? It will likely never happen. Vampires are too divided, too solitary. But perhaps, one day¡­ I shake my head to regain my senses. This is a thought for another time. Climbing down from Metis takes only a moment, one the others use to leave on their own business. I am left with a dazed Bingle, my own death pony and the mystical equivalent of a hangover. The adventurer is the first to recover and I realize that he is quite committed to his cause. I shake my head and follow his skulking form, realizing that if evil befalls the soprano, the opera season will be ruined. I need to focus on what is important. The clearing around us overlooks the Dorchester flats, with Boston far to our left. It used to be lived in but now lies abandoned and desolate. A single large structure stands in the middle, surrounded by overgrown vegetation on all sides. Upon closer inspection, the building is less a house and more a hall of some sorts with a glass cupola at its top. There are no lights and besides footsteps in the tall grass, no signs that this place has seen human presence in years. The contrast between the decrepit shell and the bustling city in the background is mesmerizing. This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it Bingle does not care for this at all. While the experience of the ride distracted me, it made him more focused. He crosses the unkempt lawn in angry strides up to the door. I catch up to him before he can rush in. He turns to me, his face showing will and just a hint of bloodlust. Did I change the story, somehow? "I will cover you in case something goes wrong," I tell him. He nods in silence. As an afterthought, I pick up my silver pistol and present it to him, handle first. He carries another cane tonight and I fear that this one might not suffice. "Take it. You may be heavily outnumbered." I expected him to resist and I am surprised when he picks the weapon with a grip that shows training. "My debt towards you only grows," he notes with a frown, before sneaking in without a sound. Time to see this story to its conclusion. I look up and easily jump to the second floor, then to the dilapidated roof. I make my way to the cupola and realize with pleasure that one of the glass panels has been broken. I lean in and look below. The remnants of a library occupies the massive open space beneath, carrying the scent of mold and a familiar spice. The walls are covered with empty bookshelves, now only hosting a handful of rotten tomes. A smattering of candles brings light to the desolate place, though I doubt mortals can see more than a few feet away. In the center, three people occupy a space left clear by the removal of work desks. I recognize the soprano of course, currently trussed up like a turkey, but also her cousin Miguel who appears to be suspiciously devoid of bindings. He is talking to a man in an expensive jacket that has seen better days. They are speaking in Spanish, and though I do not understand the content, they are clearly disagreeing with each other. I now understand why Bingle would mention betrayal. Those two are conspirators, not enemies. I turn my attention to the new man. He holds in his hands the Tiger Scepter. The artefact is the only thing of beauty in this den of treachery and neglect. Curiously, I feel revulsion at the thought of taking it from him. Intriguing. I extend a tendril of essence down and to him, tasting his own. He is far and the exercise strains my control. The result is a vague sense of dampened aggression. A Vassal. It appears that the decisive round of our little game will be played by our main assets. I will bet on the godling over whoever this one serves any night of the week. After all... Click "Drop the staff, raise your hands in the air and step aside from the woman, slowly." My agent came prepared. The unknown Vassal looks hesitantly to Miguel, then to the Scepter in his hands. "I have not had to shoot anyone in two years sir, but do not think for a second that I would hesitate." His voice is cold and commanding. Desperation brought out the pragmatism in my companion. He would make a good Vassal himself... No, Ariane, better not go there. I have enough trouble with mysterious and seemingly unstoppable entities as it is. No need to look for trouble. The reality of their circumstances finally dawns on the pistolless pair. The Vassal delicately places the Tiger Scepter on the ground and stands back while giving his partner a knowing look. They are about as subtle as two gravid elephants in a China shop. Bingle does not acknowledge that he is aware of the cousin''s duplicity. He walks up towards the prostrate form of Sara now letting out muffled growls. Her treacherous cousin steps back and to the side. "I always wondered how you knew Miss Diaz had the stone," the adventurer says. His eyes are curiously on the ground by his side as he keeps his gun on the Vassal with a lazy aim. I watch with rapt attention as Bingle lays his trap. It will be good, I am sure of it. Miguel takes a hidden stiletto from his sleeve and creeps forward while Sara moans impotently in her gag. "Or how a warrior like Sarvajna could be caught off guard. Now I know. All the evidence..." It happens fast. Miguel jumps and a glint of light reflects in the collapsed glass panel beneath me. I realize where the adventurer has been staring. He used the missing glass pane as a mirror. Bingle rounds on Miguel. He holds the pistol in a hammer grip and slams it into the traitor''s hand. The other holds his cane below the pommel and presses a hidden button. A sharp blade snaps out of the implement''s end before seamlessly getting buried in the traitor''s tender abdomen. "... points to you, Miguel." Ah, he could not resist, could he? I smile and since my time has come, I put on my mask and drop down through the shattered canopy, onto an empty bookshelf. I land in a crouch without disturbing its delicate balance, and not even the half-rotten wood groans under my light touch. The Vassal was prepared and rushes forward. Only when Miguel''s blood dots the floor with crimson droplets does he realize his predicament. His hesitation costs him dearly. Bingle turns around and calmly aims. He pulls the trigger. A form moves through the room from a nearby hallway and interposes itself as the shot goes off. I recognize her now! She was at the party with two Courtiers claiming to seek asylum. I remember little from her except that she is a Roland. Her face is strict and average with thick black hair, giving her the appearance of a governess, perhaps. She wears a black set of leather armor with plates around the heart and a metal choker. The bullet bites deep into her shoulder and I delight in the look of pain and surprise when she realizes that I only ever pack silver. Her two Courtiers are close behind and spread on either side of her. Their armor is similar and they hold duelling swords which they aim at Bingle. The one on the left has the appearance of a veteran soldier and knows how to use his weapon, while the one on the right is more bookish and clearly isn''t enjoying himself. "Let it go, child," the woman says with a hint of wariness, "you should know when you are outclassed. I believe this is my cue. I slowly clap while releasing my aura. It washes over the trio like a wave, forcing them to take a step back as I drop down. I slowly walk up to the small gathering, my smile hidden behind the mask. This is just so deliciously dramatic. "I could not have put it better myself." "You¡­" "Yes. Me. You should have expected it, facing against a godling." While we talk, Bingle doesn''t waste time standing around doing nothing. He unbinds a protesting Sara who pushes him away with tears in her eyes. He lets her go and grabs the Scepter at his feet. "You have no right to oppose me. I am merely reclaiming what is rightfully ours. We are protected by our status as seekers and attacking us is a violation of the neutrality covenant." "Ah, yes, that specific law, the one that is aimed at protecting newcomers from retribution. Tell me, do you know the obligations that come with such status?" I ask innocently. The woman''s expression turns hesitant. She thought she could lawyer me. Hilarious. "I learned the Accords through and through because my survival depended on it. In order to benefit from immunity, you must forfeit all previous allegiances and arrangements, including current operations¡­ Yes. That includes retrieving a scepter from the hands of a godling. Your status will be revoked as soon as Constantine learns of your machinations." "Then I am sorry but you leave me no choice. You must be silenced until we can depart. I regret that I cannot give you a fair fight," she says, and draws. "I feel the same way. After all, there are only three of you," I reply mockingly even as her Vassal leaves. She charges in with her two companions in support. I sweep at the approaching figure only for the left Courtier to dash forward after the retreating forms of my allies. I smirk. Using one of Nami''s tricks I step back and strike the approaching Master at the same time. I channel the Natalis essence and the strength of the blow catches her by surprise. She is pushed back. I reverse my grip and stab to my left without looking. The Courtier falls, a bleeding wound where his heart used to be. One down, two to go. "By the Eye," the woman says before moving again, this time more cautiously and we fight in earnest. I have to admit, her confidence is well founded. I am faster and stronger but her technique is exquisite and my lack of experience fighting duels on open ground shows. She deflects my strikes with economical movements, waiting for an opening then counter attacks mercilessly. The Courtier by her side almost never attacks but his presence hovering by her side continues to pose a danger. Their style is the most defensive I have ever faced and I am starting to think there is some truth to them surviving the fall of their coven. I finally manage to overwhelm her after a flurry of blows that leave the air ringing with the sound of metal on metal. As she stumbles back, I throw two daggers with strength. She falls to the side, dodging them. As expected. The satisfied grin on her face fades as soon as she hears the gurgling sound of her companion''s shred throat. "I wasn''t aiming at you." "No! You, this isn''t over. You are but a child." The man falls incapacitated, the grievous wound too much for him. Only the Master is still capable of putting up a fight. Since it worked the first time, I launch another series of furious attacks, culminating in a sweep that knocks her blade from her fingers. Disappointing. I close in for the kill. An immediate sense of danger and urgency makes me falter and I barely react to her next move. She extends her hand. An instant later, an oversized estoc manifests in it and punches clean through my mask, leaving a deep furrow in my cheek. I fall back and resist the urge to touch the wound. Keeping hidden claws are we? Let''s see how well she uses them. Now that her trap is sprung, she adapts her style to using her soul weapon. Her reach is longer and striking the blade feels like hitting the side of a mountain. I keep moving around her looking for openings but her defense is flawless and I want to avoid being hurt. Worse, my armor is now useless before this blade. Even the heart protector would only deflect a glancing blow. So hard to crack. So annoying. I could escape her easily but this is not what I want. I want her to be broken and at my mercy. The small wounds I manage to land do not impede her and it would take only one lucky hit to take me down. We dance for a while and then I get an opportunity. I block an overhead sweep and with one last ominous crack, the steel shaft breaks in two pieces. She roars in triumph. I let her blade slide along my shoulder plate as I crouch then push on, closing the distance. I stab at her with the half spear I now hold. She blocks it before I can bury its cruel edge into her chest. At the same time, I grab her other hand. This is now a contest of strength and I will CRUSH HER. She claws pointlessly at the armor''s heavily enchanted arm brace while my own talons dig deep into her flesh until they shatter her wrist. She screams and drops her soul blade, then braces and tries to kick me in the face. Cute. Lambert did it better. I grab her foot and lift it higher, then sweep the other from under her. She falls. I fall on her. RIP HER APART. She manages to cover her neck while I straddle her. I slash her arms, painting great lines of blood across the floor. Mine now. "I surrender! Please..." Surrender? I will EAT YOU. "My star." A voice I was not expecting wakes me from my bloodlust. The familiar aura flares at my back, towards the entrance. Who does HE THINK HE IS? She''s my prey, I''m not sharing! "What do you want?" I growl, and stop savaging my captive. The vanquished one under me stops moving as well. She shows her throat. Good. "This is your first fight since you joined our society," the intruder says. "And?" "The decision you take now will affect the relationship with your peers for years to come. It is customary to accept surrenders when offered unless the conflict is too great. It is also customary to spare our kin whenever feasible. One day, you may be glad that someone extends this courtesy to you." "Talk talk talk. You talk too much. I win. I feast. This is the way of things." "This is the darker path. I ask that you reconsider, my star, at least until the rage of battle abates." "And why would I do that?" I growl. "Because..." Torran starts, then seems to reconsider. His mouth twists into an evil smile as he steps forward, exuding confidence. "Because you are being a brat and I will discipline you if you don''t." "Discipline me? I''d like to see you try!" "Then come," he answers with a smile then opens his arms in welcome. He dares. I''ll show him who is the queen, I bow before NO ONE! I jump at him, spearhead held tight in my fist. Torran smiles. He manifests his soul weapon. It is a two-handed sword of ridiculous size, the most intricate and beautiful work I have ever seen bar none. It is even more majestic than Suarez'' broadsword. Breathtaking. He swipes, so fast that I can barely follow. The spearhead soars into the air. Oh. A hand at the back of my head punches me into the ground. I yelp in pain, then in surprise when two talons grab my neck. I try to squirm out but the pressure only increases. I stop fighting. Torran lifts me by the neck like a kitten until we face each other. With his other hand, he unfastens my mask which falls to the floor. The cold air washes over my face, stinging the wound on my cheek. "Better?" He asks with a sly voice. "Not... exactly," I answer. I lick my lips. This is strange. I hate restraints with a passion and yet Torran''s hand on my neck does not fill me with fury and horror. I trust him implicitly, therefore I am not trapped. I am, however, dominated. The same instincts that pushed me to kill a moment ago now ask that I present my throat so that I do not die and since it''s Torran, and he is my partner, the sensation is not entirely unpleasant. He did, after all, just crush me. That makes him powerful on top of everything else. Hmm. "Ariane?" "I will consent to taking them prisoner. Your arguments have weight." We both chuckle, and he releases me. I drop down and lean slightly against his chest, breathing in the scent of him. He is solid under my fingers. His presence is grounding and even relaxing. We stay there for a moment while behind us, the woman helps her second Courtier up. The first one she will have to carry. A destroyed heart will not heal in a single night, unless one has access to extremely potent blood. The woman''s Vassal returns and helps them and soon, we are ready to depart. We leave the building in a single group. Outside, I find Jarek on top of his monstrosity of a Nightmare patiently waiting for us. He lifts a brow when we exit the building with three vampires in tow, though he does not comment on it. In laconic fashion, he informs us that Wilhelm escorted "your godling and that noisy girl" back to the city. The return trip is tamer than its predecessor, and while we ride in silence, I find myself thinking. More specifically, I think of him. Torran is by my side with his steely grey glare and impeccable poise. His ruddy face makes him look mature and weathered, the kind of man who has seen it all and remains unimpressed. He is a bit terrifying in a warlord kind of way, and he has the body and sword to back it up. Then, he turns to me and his entire demeanor changes. He goes from strict to roguish, and unbending to solid in an instant. His traits grow softer. I want him. I want him enough that I no longer fear intimacy. I want to kiss him and feel him and all those other things I know of. Living in a brothel jaded me towards lovemaking, or so I thought. Overexposure made it a messy, fleshy affair that I had little interest in, something that others did. Now though, I realize that sex is what you make of it and I really, really want to make something great. The last remnant of the conservative girl I was complains that we have only known the man for a bit under two weeks and that lying with him would make us a hussy. The more mature part of me says that we are technically a fifty years old spinster and that, really, fuck it. I have waited long enough. Carpe diem, or is it carpe noctem? No matter. I want him. I do. "Say Torran, do you have any plan for the rest of the evening?" I ask in what I hope is an unaffected voice. "No?" he replies with half-lidded eyes. I''m not subtle, am I? "Would you care to join me in my room? There is... something I would like to show you." Torran takes a very careful expression. I hope I was not too forward, and that he doesn''t think any less of me. "Of course, Ariane. You can show me whatever you want." And I thought I was too direct. I frown, but in the end, decide not to take offence. Nobody will take this night from me, not even myself. The door closes behind me. This is it. I am nervous. Torran walks up and hugs me from behind. I am not tactile, not since I was turned, yet this firm embrace soothes me. Torran is solid and dependable, and he has shown time and time again that he was there for me, even when I had lost myself. We have known each other for all of two weeks, I remember. Somehow it feels longer than that. My lover remains silent. He must have an idea what goes through my mind right now. He knows that I am scared. What he may not know is that I am also eager. It happened during our very short fight, when he showed me the steel under that composure of his. It was not the violence itself but the control and power behind it that made me want him. I turn in his embrace and reach up to kiss him. He is hungrier than before and a bit demanding. My nervousness disappears before his passion and I close my eyes to enjoy the moment. His hands caress my shoulders and my back and for a while, we just enjoy each other''s presence. Rather quickly, I feel something hard push against my belly. Torran takes a half-step away. He knows what I felt. His face is unapologetic, waiting for my decision. "Torran¡­" "Be sure what you want Ariane, because I am done holding myself back." In answer, I place my hand on the flat expanse of his stomach and trail down until I reach the tip of his erect member. Torran groans and grabs me as I yelp in delight. There is much I want to see, and he is eager to show. For the rest of the night, I know only him. I submerge in piping hot water and luxuriate in the amazing feeling of the warm water surrounding my body. Last night was so great. On one hand, I am horrified that it took me so long to experience lovemaking. On the other hand, it probably had to be Torran. That man is talented. Dangerously so. A knock on my bedroom door forces me to lift my head off the bathwater. "Yes?" "Guests milady. Your friends Naminata and sister Jimena." "Those busybodies¡­" I grumble, then louder: "let them in, I will join them momentarily." I dry myself in a hurry and pick up a light pink dress which I put on. I leave my hair down and come out into the main room. "Look at that slovenly girl, Jimena dear. One night of sin and she''s already given up on propriety," a sly voice remarks. "That''s rich coming from you, Nami. How is Jarek by the way?" "Hanging around, I''m sure." I wince. I should not get Nami started on him or she''ll be debating about the perfect¡­ scrotum. For a good ten minutes. Again. "We heard that Torran spent the night. We are delighted for you, sister," Jimena says. "How do you know already?" I ask with horror. "It takes a lot of effort to keep such things secret in this place. The staff also loves gossip, and as a newcomer yourself, you are a prime target. You must also take recent events into consideration." "You mean the trial?" "The trial, the hearing, your lineage. There are also rumors of an arrangement with Constantine to take over a new region as the entire state of Illinois has been taken off the list of available lands." I did not know that. "Your duel with Torran yesterday morning impressed a few people as well. There are few who can offer a challenge to a warrior like him. And you''re so young as well, my little lemon pie!" Nami explains. "And now you went and nabbed one of this den''s most eligible bachelors." "I admit that he exceeds all my expectations," I cannot help but remark. The other two smile at each other knowingly. "Oh, it is not just that. You don''t know why he is here, do you?" Nami asks smugly. "He mentioned his technical expertise was needed. He was quite vague." "Naturally so. He did not want the knowledge of who he really is to affect you. Many would chase him just for what he can do." "Whatever do you mean?" I ask with suspicion. Naminata smiles knowingly and nods to herself. "He is one of the world''s few soul smiths, my sweet." "What?!" "He can help Masters bring soul weapons into being. That is why he is here." "I know what a soul smith is! Why are you telling me this only now?" "He requested that we do not share this knowledge and we agreed." On one hand, I understand him. I too, would prefer if someone was attracted to who I am instead of what strategic value I have. On the other¡­ I frown. "Have you two and my lover been plotting together all this time?" "Of course, dear," Nami declares as if it was obvious. "From the very beginning," Jimena adds, "he came to us for advice on how to best approach our favorite thorny rose." "Hey!" "It is for your own good, my little strawberry," Nami retorts, "how else could we get you out of your shell? You needed a very special blend of silk and steel to let yourself go and he was only too happy to provide it. We are delighted that it worked just as planned." I hold my head between my hands. "Am I that easy to read?" I complain, dejected. "You are not. In terms of emotions, however, you are surprisingly consistent, sister," Jimena says with a gentle voice. "''Tis a good thing to be reliable in love and business, unpredictable in schemes and wars," Nami adds. This sounds like good wisdom, especially coming from her. "Don''t look at me like that, treacle cake, I am predictable in some ways." "You always go for the hunkiest beefcake?" "That too," she answers without a hint of embarrassment. I shake my head. This is a surprise, and though I understand Torran''s choice, we must still have a talk. "So Torran is here to create soul weapons. What about the other two lords who arrived with him? What are their plans?" Nami and Jimena glance at each other. Jimena shrugs and Nami starts. "We are not sure. The most likely event is an arrangement for both Hastings and Natalis clans to take over a domain, though this is mere speculation. Lady Sephare holds a lot of sway in the United Kingdom. She would have to sacrifice it all to come here herself and none of her prot¨¦g¨¦es qualify either." "Indeed," Jimena continues, "there could be other reasons such as a trade agreement or simply Constantine''s expertise. He is possibly the most prominent blood mage in existence, after all." I bet he isn''t. "In any case, we will know soon enough. All three of them came to an agreement two days ago, an official declaration is sure to follow." "Speaking of time," I interject, "you have stayed here for a long time, Jimena. Is your position with the Knights assured?" "It is. I am afforded more flexibility than the squad; therefore, I can stay here until my next task comes up. Hopefully not too soon." "I will stay as well, honey," Nami continues with a devious smile, "you always bring me the best and most interesting things." "... are you referring to the Merghol mana hounds?" "Absolutely. The Book of Lives can be accessed via several physical tomes, one of which is in New Orleans under Kouakou''s care. I already shared that Hunt, including its last glorious moment. You''re famous!" A dreadful foreboding fills my heart. "We are talking about my incredible stunt right? The part where I threw a lit powder charge down the beast''s gullet?" She just smiles. "We imbue the recollection with a smidgen of essence. Your face just after the creature projectile-vomited on your back was so priceless..." "Nami!" "It was! And now the whole of clan Ekon is grateful for your contribution. I received several commendations for having saved your life back in New Orleans. Some call me the Devourer Wrangler." "Forget I asked..." I reply, appalled. Jimena smiles knowingly and asks in turn. "Speaking of embarrassment, how is Urchin doing? Remember that you can always cast him out if he fails your expectations." "He is doing adequately. I sent him to get a new wardrobe and I have taught him better posture, manner and, most importantly, proper Akkad. My hope is to have him promoted from street thug to fancy highwayman by the end of the year." "He does not know the tongue? You do not have to teach him yourself, you know? Constantine has several books available for self-studies." "That would help if he knew how to read." "You must be joking." "Alas, no. Why are you even surprised?" "You are correct of course. I wonder who changed him and what pushed them to do so. There are rumors that Vanheim him or herself is to blame for these random occurrences." "You don''t say. Urchin would be a first generation vampire? Like me?" "Hard to say. The Vanheim progenitor is barely more than a legend at this stage." "I see." At this moment, Solveig stands up to answer a knock on the door. She walks back to give me an envelope. It contains a message from Wilhelm requesting my presence, quite possibly to pay back the favor he did for me yesterday. I dislike having debts, and so I take my leave of the others and go see what the steward wants from me. Chapter 79 - 77. Wilhelms Task The moon is exceptional tonight. It hangs there in all its gibbous glory, beautiful and luminous but otherwise useless. The contrast with the Watcher is fascinating. The moon changes and moves across the sky but as far as I know, it remains at the same distance and is boringly inanimate. The Watcher exists at a level where distance and size lose their meanings. Under its eldritch influence, lines become curves and curves, points. It is also sapient, after a fashion, and alien beyond anything that exists on this plane. Right now, the strange celestial body is quiescent, but not bored. Never bored. Hesitant footsteps tread the loam at my back. I recline on a park bench and breathe in the scents of late summer. The grass under my feet is brittle and some of the growth around the small clearing is already starting to wilt despite the gardener''s efforts. The heavy smell of vegetation is only offset by that of the sea, more pungent. A faint breeze brings me the scent of pines and human sweat. The woman stops at the edge of the clearing and her breath hitches in her chest. The park is deserted at this hour, so we do not risk being disturbed. Yet that same emptiness fills her with apprehension. I am intrigued by the source of light she is using though. It shines an unnatural pale blue, probably some sorcery. The newcomer''s aura shimmers and buckles wildly, signs that she is a barely trained mage and a strong one at that. "Come closer," I say. For one moment, I think she will try to run. In the end, she chooses to walk to my side, but not too close. I turn to inspect her. She is young, in her early twenties with a candid air that life has not robbed her of yet. She wears a dark dress with a cloak that has seen better days and holds in her hand a crystalline sphere from which escapes the strange radiance. The item is magical, a weak artefact. It reminds me of fireflies or luminescent flora with its organic glow, shining over her traits. I find myself thinking of Constantine. They have in common to be more striking than beautiful, and her brown eyes express frustration as a tendril of essence quests towards me. Rude. "I cannot feel you at all," she remarks in a soft voice. In order to cut that part of our meeting short, I calmly release my aura though I keep it subdued. The woman shivers when she tastes it. "Hum, you are not a mage? But where are my manners, sorry. My name is Vera Wild. I thought I was to meet a man named Wilhelm?" "Wilhelm of the Erenwald is busy and asked me to assist you tonight in his stead. You may call me Ariane." "Nice to meet you Ariane. So, if I may ask, what are you? No offense." Curious, are we? "A vampire." It strikes a bell. She mutters and takes a small tome bound in leather from one of her pockets. It looks well-used, and she turns its pages with familiarity. "Hold on," she says, "I think gran wrote something about your kind. Ah yes. Here." She reads slowly and carefully under the pale light of her orb, like someone a bit unused to the exercise. I can hear her mutter the words. "Vampires¡­ If you meet one of the de-denizens of the night¡­ who call them-themselves vampires, do as instro¡­ instructed. First, use your most po- hmmm potent! Potent fire spell¡­" Her eyes widen in surprise. "Hmmm¡­" she mutters. I wait. "Hm!" I still wait. "Firebolt!" A pathetic gout of flame emerges from the half-ruined wand she just pulled from her handbag. I call the barest thread of the Herald''s essence and slap the spell away. It sputters and dies at my feet as silence once more fills the clearing. The pathetic ring of blackened herb captures her attention and, apparently, her wit. She opens and closes her mouth like a beached fish. "Why don''t you finish reading that text of yours?" I suggest as I stand and move closer. The skittish dolt hesitates once more, then curiosity triumphs over common sense. A tragically common occurrence for young mages. "That way if they lie you can¡­ scare! Scare the pretenders away, and if they tell the truth¡­" She stops and suddenly appears dismayed. I hear a few swear words. "¡­ then hopefully you angered them enough to die with dignity." Vera looks like the victim of a prank and holds her notebook with barely contained anger. Her tiny fingers grip it as if she wanted to tear it apart. "Ooooo gran!!" she moans comically. Only after that does she realize her predicament. "Eerrr, please don''t kill me? I was tricked!" Laughable. I wish I could at least give her a good scare. Unfortunately, I gave Wilhelm my word and my hands are thus tied. I am to assist the hapless thing for the night even if I do not accept her as a Supplicant. "Does that book of yours mention our propensity for mercy?" "I don''t know, I haven''t finished it. I''m not the fastest reader, you see?" "Indeed." "So you''re not going to kill me?" she asks with a quivering voice. I sigh. "No Vera, I will not kill you. Now, why don''t you be a good girl and tell me why you would call upon us." "Good girl? You''re not much older than I am!" she protests. Ah, a true neophyte. S§×ar?h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "You don''t know the first thing about vampires, do you? We do not age." "You mean you can live for a very long time?" "I meant exactly what I said." "But then¡­" "Yes," I answer with a mysterious smile, "I am considerably older than I look." She gulps and I find the situation amusing. I am indeed considerably older than I look, just not inhumanly so. No need to tell her though. Let me bask in the glory of my mysterious and intimidating persona. I notice that she''s a bit gullible. "The way Gran wrote it, you are more dangerous than a werewolf, haha." I cannot help but give her a grin, the toothy kind. She recoils in horror. I know I should not waste my time bullying the meek but she''s just too amusing. Nami was right, gloating is our guilty pleasure. "We consider werewolves as delicacies," I announce truthfully. "Wow! But¡­ I don''t want Opa to get hurt, that was not our agreement!" "Enough child, if I were here to kill I would have no need of you. Wilhelm mentioned an inheritance. What is this about?" "Right¡­ Right. I''d better tell you the story from the beginning. It''s about my Opa, Mr. Schmidt. Mom''s dad. She¡­ well, she didn''t marry the right person. She married my da and they stayed together until he died. He¡­ was Irish." Absolutely scandalous. Seeing my lack of reaction, Vera continues with more confidence. "She went against the entire family''s wishes and she was cast out for it. Only Opa took care of us behind their back. It changed recently though. He found out about what I could do. Also that my Gran, that''s my dad''s mom, she had been teaching me witch things. He got mad. Real mad. He told me bad things like I was Satan''s whore and got my powers from, hm, sinning with demons. I don''t do that, I haven''t even seen a demon ever! I haven''t even done anything more than kissing!" Kissing huh? You shameless harlot. "Anyway, he said that he was going to leave all his money with somebody called Gabriel who would punish me for my wicked ways. Have you heard of him?" Oh, Gabriel you pitiless monster. I know thee well. "I assume you are referring to the Order of Gabriel, a group dedicated to the extermination of any and all supernatural beings?" "Ah, probably. That''s bad, right?" "It does sound inconvenient. What do you want, exactly?" Vera takes a deep breath then her lips shiver while her eyes turn liquid. "I just want my Opa back¡­" she says. Fat tears roll down her pretty cheeks. She''s making me Thirsty with her amusing weakness. She just smells too much like prey. Alright, Ari calm down this is not the time. "I can make him love you." "Not like that! I want him to believe me when I say it''s not my fault, that I didn''t do anything bad with any demon or anyone really. I am not trying to deceive the hearts of men or some such nonsense, I''m just trying to learn how not to set the curtains on fire every time I''m upset! Is it so hard to understand?" She pouts. "I think I could convince him if we can have an adult conversation," I reply, "where is he right now?" A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. "At the factory. He owns a printing press, the biggest one in the city." "Will he not be home at this late hour?" "Nah. He always stays late. Not to work, mind you, he''s just avoiding my grandmother." That will be convenient. Vera takes my silence for doubt. "No really, she''s an old harpy. She turns the milk sour by standing next to it." "I see. Now, show me to the printing press you mentioned." Vera leads me to the park''s exit and then through half-deserted streets. The difference between us is flagrant. We look the same age but while I walk as if I owned the street, she scurries around like a mouse, casting fearful glances all around. Her bent back, nervous hands and rapid head gestures scream weakness and "please mug me" to everyone around. I can see at least four groups of men stare at us like a pack of wolves. They do not act on it, however, and we leave a residential district behind us without me getting free snacks. Slowly, the modest houses with thatched roofs give way to small businesses and the occasional warehouse, all closed now. The gas lamps cast long shadows on the pavement as we walk by. We do not tarry, and it is not long before our destination comes in view. Vera was starting to forget to be scared and asking questions about what werewolves taste like so it is a relief when our journey ends at the gates of Schmidt''s Reliable Printing. I am surprised to see that not only is the place still open, there are people hard at work. They come and go, carrying bundles of leaflets and other supplies. Schmidt Reliable Printing is clearly doing well. The facilities may be old, yet they are well-maintained as well as recently painted. I count two buildings. One is a very large warehouse with two doors wide enough to allow a carriage through. The other is a narrower two-story edifice of red bricks. The clang of machinery coming from it is almost deafening and it is surrounded on all sides by crates and barrels containing the Watcher knows what. Following Vera''s indications, I drag her towards it under the curious gaze of the workers. Once more, disguise is decisive in facilitating my access. A well-dressed woman who walks with confidence is an unusual sight in such places, enough to garner suspicion. The key is a haughty demeanor that marks me as a rich wife or daughter, possibly of a client. While my presence without a chaperone at this late hour is improper, addressing me is even more so for those beneath my station. It would bring little to stop us and could cost them dearly, therefore nobody dares to overstep their bounds, and so we get in unmolested. A male vampire would have to take a different approach. Urchin could not get in the normal way, because he just breathes duplicity. The shady man could not walk three blocks without a police patrol asking him about his intentions. I will have to find a proper use for him. Without stopping, I weave my way through the long lines of the presses while staying mostly out of sight. I could easily Charm everyone barring us but I keep Sinead''s words close to my heart. Power is a crutch. To depend on it too much is to invite disaster while to hone one''s skills is the way to greatness. Besides, I have pride. I will not let an inattentive mortal get the drop on me, even while I am dragging a skittish bundle of nerves behind me. "We can''t be here like this! What if they tell Opa?!" said bundle hisses with panic. "He will know we''re here soon enough. Now, shut up." We climb a set of stairs to a much quieter second floor. A corridor leads us past closed doors leading to offices and archives, up to the biggest office. A heavyset man with salt and pepper hair sits by the heavy oaken door, reading a book. He is tall and strong with the broken nose of prizefighters and the damaged knuckles that go with it. A worker outfit in grey and brown covers the body of a warrior gone slightly too fat. He has a bit of a belly, but also corded muscles covered with scars. He has not spotted us yet. "That''s Charlie," Vera whispers, "he is Opa''s strongman. He will definitely recognize me. Oh my God, what are we going to do?!" This is as far as I can go on bluff alone, at least not without preparation. I keep moving forward without stopping. When we are close enough, the man lifts his eyes and frowns. I can see the onset of cataracts in them. He probably doesn''t see very well. Our eyes meet and I instinctively send a tendril of essence, Charming him. Instead of resorting to brute force, I fan the flames of interest in his book and smother his curiosity towards us. His task is inherently boring while the book apparently isn''t. He dismisses us as belonging here and soon returns his full attention to it. We pass him by and I take a peek out of curiosity. I cannot help but smile. The book cover is protected by an additional layer of paper bearing the image of a pugilist. The content is quite different. I read only a few sentences and realize that Charlie is fully absorbed in a tragic romance involving a woman and a man far beneath her social standing. His eyes widen as she laments their cruel fate. You do you, Charlie. Without knocking, I drag a stupefied Vera through the door and find myself in a large office. The room is clean and smells faintly of cigars. The walls are covered in overflowing bookshelves containing rare tomes as well as ledgers. Two comfortable leather seats face a massive lacquered desk behind which an old man is writing by candlelight. His traits are emaciated, and sad jowls drop on either side of his face as if he had lost a lot of weight recently. His skin is yellow and dry, and his eyes are bloodshot. White chops hang sadly by his side and the bald pate on his head is covered in liver spots. He puts his plume down and massages his eyes with a gnarly hand before looking at the intruders. He frowns when he spots us, then his expression turns horrified when he lays his eyes on his granddaughter. His shrivelled face, already pallid, turns cadaverous. Vera recoils as if physically hurt. He stands up slowly and painfully though his thin frame quakes and twin spots of red blossom on his cheeks. His gaze is fixed on my companion and conveys not just anger but also, longing. "Vera! You¡­ And who are you? Another devil-worshipper?!" he asks with a fragile voice. I have learnt much in a short time, and I have a good idea on how to proceed now. "I am not a witch, no. I am something else." "What do you mean?" he asks with suspicion, just as he slowly reaches for one of his drawers. "You talked to the Gabrielite. Did they not explain who ruled the night?" It takes him a second to understand the implication. When he does, he frantically opens said drawer and looks around. It takes him a few moments to find what he was looking for and when he does, he jumps backwards as he realizes that I am now sitting in front of him, lazily inspecting a talon. He did not see me move. "Stay away! Stay back, you devil!" he whimpers. His face twists in pain and he reaches for his flank. "Opa?" Vera asks, with tears in her eyes. She is shared between the desire to help him and the fear of his wrath. Schmidt brandishes a cross and waves it around. We fail to scream and evaporate. I tug a bit on a finger and blink when it feels good. It appears that I am not entirely recovered. Finally, the old man''s breath calms down and he swallows nervously. "Why are you here?" he asks. "Please, Mr. Schmidt. You know very well why I am here." "Are¡­ are you the one who set her on the path to damnation?" "Nonsense. Magic is an inborn trait. Wickedness has nothing to do with it." "But the Order said¡­" "The Order lies when it suits their purpose. Your granddaughter is not lost. She was just born with an unusual disposition." "But the bible says I should not suffer a witch to live¡­" "Also that he who is without sin should cast the first stone. Yes?" It amuses me that I can quote the book if I am vague enough. "But she has lain with¡­" "No I have not!'' Vera pleads with powerful emotion, "Opa please, you know me. You have to believe me, I am still untouched. I would never do such a thing! Please, it''s still me¡­" The old man is now equally distressed. His own eyes shine with unshed tears, but soon, he steels himself and turns back to me. "I do not know what you thought you could achieve but it will not occur. You must both leave, before I have Charlie cast you out. Vera, I love you still, my little cat. I will not report you to the Order, yet I fear it is too late for you. Depart the city. Please." "I think not," I reply, gathering his attention, "I am only getting started. To make my point, let us see what Charlie thinks about all of this." Even now, the cross'' aura pushes me back and grates against my essence. The warning it gives is no weaker than before. If anything, its power has grown like mine. The silent threat still carries the promise of oblivion and with it, a subtle taste of ash. Charlie, however, is unprepared. I slowly lean forward and grab a small bell from the desk. A simple shake and the light chime summons heavy footsteps. The door opens and the burly bodyguard looms in, his eyes widening in surprise before growing dull under the full strength of my Charm. I showed the carrot in the person of Vera. Now comes the stick. I am not sure Sinead would approve of that last sentence. Oh well. "Charlie. Join us," I order with a pleasant voice. My captive blinks owlishly and comes to sit in the empty chair by my side. I stand up and walk behind him before placing both hands on his shoulders. Schmidt watches me with apprehension. His knobbled hands clutch the cross like a drowning man to a buoy. "You are dying," I announce without preamble. "No!" Vera screams. She rushes to the old man and hugs him with the strength of despair, making him wince a bit. He looks brittle next to her. Fading. She could squish him if she held him too tight. Eyes still fixed on me and Charlie, the old grandfather reflexively leans into the embrace of the one he trusts. They form a nice contrast and I commit this image to memory to paint it later. "You are dying," I continue, "and you want your inheritance to be put to good use. You were approached by a man who said the Order needed you and it took little convincing for you to appreciate the need to defend mankind. You were already witness to Vera''s strange abilities. Am I correct so far?" "Y-yes. He said that the fight against the forces of darkness was raging." "Correct. We fight a war that cannot end. They are without number and we are without limits, and so generations after generations of fighters fall to this conflict. There is something you should be wondering, however. Something obvious." His mind is keen, still, and he immediately understands what I am getting at. "Why do we not rise against you?" "Correct. Why does the order maintain secrecy? Why does humanity not unite in a great war to purge us from this world. Can you guess?" Silence. "Your kind is not as pure and disinterested as you think. There are millions of magic wielders and many of them are born to mundane families. We vampires are few but we have influence over a great many things, and you would be surprised at the number of rulers tempted by the eternal life we offer. An open conflict would be apocalyptic and there is no guarantee the Order would end up on top. And so, we continue our secret war, age after age." I have their full attention now. "There are unspoken rules, of course. One of them is that mortals who do not know of this conflict are mostly left alone. We do not lay cities to waste, slaughtering people in the alleys. If you join one side, however¡­" I grip Charlie''s shoulder harder. He moans softly as my talons pierce his skin and draw blood. I relax before I tear into the muscle, though the damage is done. Both Vera and Schmidt stare mesmerize at the expanding red stains on the man''s shirt. The bodyguard is as glassy-eyed and unresponsive as before. "¡­ you forfeit your immunity," I continue. "You think you are doing humanity a favor by leaving the fruits of your labor in the hands of its defenders? You are not. You merely lay the burden of combat on the shoulders of those you leave behind, like our brave Charlie here." I lift a talon and place it directly under the man''s right eye. The needle-sharp end digs into his skin. I drag it down, leaving behind a bloody furrow. I cast a light glance at Vera as well. She does not see it, but her grandfather does. "They will be the ones who pay for your decision. I am sure that your friend in the Order will speak of sacrifice and safety in number. You already have an idea of how safe you are. As for the price to pay, ask yourself this: if a man dies without a choice because of your decision, is he your sacrifice or your victim? You already know the answer." Schmidt''s throat bobs as he swallows. His voice is calm now. He has gone beyond fear, to the cold place where one stares the reaper in the face. "Is there a way for this meeting not to end in blood?" "Yes." "What are your terms?" "Desist. Enjoy your last weeks with your loving granddaughter, make peace with yourselves and others and leave your company to one you deem a worthy successor, I care not. This is not your war, old man, and it is not up to you to decide who will fight it. Do we have an understanding?" "Yes. I believe we do. I give you my word that I will not support the Order in any way. Will you need guarantees?" "Your word is enough. You know what will happen if you change your mind." "I see. Yes. One last question. If this magic doesn''t come from deals with the devil, then where does it come from?" I have a theory, actually. Loth had scholarly books that spoke of noetic fields and soul and some such. I believe the answer to be significantly more prosaic. "Nobody knows for sure, though I suspect that some ancestors had children with fantastic creatures." "Like gnomes and korrigans?" "Hm, yes," I answer, thinking about a very specific bright-haired and absolutely scandalous individual. "That remains a hypothesis that I do not have a way to verify," I continue. "A scientific-minded monster," Schmidt remarks ruefully, "that was all, thank you for your answer." "Then I''m off. Remember, we will be watching." "I already gave you my word," the old man growls, idly caressing his granddaughter''s hair. They have things well in hand, and my work is done. Vera gives me one last grateful glance as I exit and release my hold on Charlie. Funny how she doesn''t realize that I implied I would kill her. Oh well. Now the situation should be comfortably heading where we want it. I did not perceive any lie in the old man''s words, and if he changes his mind and goes back on his word as mortals are wont to do... well, I shall visit again. Chapter 80 - 78. The Secret Task I take one last look at the note in my hand. It contains an invitation to visit the 26th Dorcer alley to meet an informant regarding mentors of the mystical arts. I had been looking forward to learning magic, so the letter was welcome. The problem now is quite obvious. There is no 26th Dorcer alley. The street is a dead end with a brick wall between a tailor shop and a writing supply store. Only the lack of ambushers convinces me that this was not a trap. Or is it? Two footsteps and two heartbeats come from my back. I turn around and stare at the newcomers as they make their way down the deserted path. They do not exude danger at all. If anything, the taller one is apprehensive while the shorter one, still a head above me, struts around as if he owned the town. The taller man is clearly the muscle here. He has the keen eyes and clean make of the mercenary rather than the common arm breaker. He checks corners and roofs with experience but no matter what, his attention invariably returns to me. When it does, he frowns and displays signs of incredulity. Intriguing. The second man is queer. There is something about him¡­ I cannot quite put my finger on it¡­ He has a greying beard and the air of a perfect gentleman, with an impeccably ironed dark blue vest and slack that suit him perfectly. His appearance is unfamiliar. And yet, and yet¡­ The man stops a few paces away from me and extends his hands disarmingly. His smile is smug beyond reason. In fact, his behavior screams amused superiority and condescending confidence in a way that I have only ever seen¡­ Oh no. It cannot be. I extend a trembling claw at the man and hiss in anger. "You¡­ You! ARG." "Tut tut, poppet. Manners! You are embarrassing me in front of my friend." "Sinead! You dare! Do you know what this town is?" "Vampire central? Bloodston?" "It''s the last place you should be! I swear to the Watcher if you get caught stupidly I will drink you dry before I let the others have you." "Oh so sweet, my precious poppet, but fret not, I took all necessary precautions to mask any hint of my presence. And we''re leaving soon anyway!" I frown with suspicion. "We are?" "Yes, on a glorious quest to save one of my kin. He is being transported as we speak across the ocean deep. We will have to engage into a tiny bit of piracy to rescue him. You will have to kill a vampire I''m afraid." "I am not sure this is a good idea. Not while I finally gained some legitimacy." "He is a distasteful man who enjoys torturing his prey before drinking." "Your point?" "Ah, your heart truly is cold. He is also a Lancaster known for his tendency to go after his foe''s human entourage out of spite." On one hand, the risks. On the other hand, the return of the Dread Pirate Ariane the Bloodthirsty, Queen of the Waves. "Let me just make a few arrangements and summon some interesting help. We do not want to leave witnesses right?" Sinead''s smile would make any mortal tremble. Captain Smollett''s tale It had been a bad year. The night carried an unseasonably cold wind that chilled Captain Smollett to his very bones. It had been a bad year and it could still get much worse. Frowning, the man knocked on the wood of the railing for good luck and kept an eye on the endless expanse of waves before him. A passing gust tried in vain to alter his unflappable countenance. Captain Smollett of the Blue Jay may have fallen on hard times, that was true, but he would never forfeit discipline nor manners. No sir! And not honor either. As for tradition¡­ Some things had to be sacrificed. It all started with the Compromise Tariff of 1833. Congress had passed a bill to reduce taxes on import to a more manageable level. Some businesses had flourished, mostly in the south. Some others, which heavily depended on protectionism to be viable, had collapsed. Such was the case for the Blue Jay''s main employer. To make matters worse, one of his ship''s two masts had split right in the middle during a particularly vicious storm, forcing her into drydock so that she could be repaired. Now his Blue Jay, his beautiful schooner, was at risk of being lost through bankruptcy. It was all because of bad luck. Desperation had led him to consider employment that he would have scoffed at a few months before. Now, even the notoriously underpaid sailors threatened to leave his ship. There had been no choice but to accept Simon Nead''s proposal. His letter of marque had been genuine, as far the captain could tell, but the very act of privateering was distasteful and the guests Nead had brought on board¡­ There were ten mercenaries trained to kill. Smollett knew that kind. They did not look at you so much as through you and it only meant one thing, that when lead would start to fly, they would lodge an inch of steel in your gut like some shove a loaf in the oven. Clinical. Uncaring. They patrolled around the ship in pairs like bloodhounds and never mixed with the rest of the crew. Nead himself was entirely different. The man cheated at cards, the Captain was certain. As sure as the sun rose in the East! And yet his men did not care because he did not cheat to win but to make things more interesting, more alive. Every night now, the men off watch would gather around the table on the lower deck and throw their fates and fortunes on the table, at the mercy of painted paper and bone cubes. Spades and Hearts would mix with numbers in an unholy dance under the greedy eyes of breathless spectators. They would scream and moan and laugh until drunk with emotion. With feverish fingers and wild abandon, they would count coins and tokens and throw them with panache and far too little thought. Princes and first sons of merchant houses could not match their flair and passion. Glittering casinos could not match the fire burning in their veins nor the madness in their eyes, while enthroned in the midst of those improvised bacchanals, Nead himself would govern like a sultan of old. He would needle here and tease there. With one of his words, fortunes would change hands, then again in the other direction but no matter how much they lost, they could never stop. Every night the players were back and every night they would throw themselves at the game as if their life depended on it. Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. And then there was the woman. A woman. On his ship. It was a non-negotiable clause of the contract bonding Smollett to the service of the enigmatic gentleman. The strange lady would be on board and that was it. She was a quiet one, and that worried him greatly. She would only come out at night and walk the bridge under the fascinated eye of the sailors at work. She would wear a proper dress that left nothing uncovered and yet hinted at a great figure. The others looked at her with more adoration than lust. She was unattainable, as ethereal and distant as the North star to rustic seamen unused to the fairer sex, for the only gentler contact they had were their relatives and the shore harlots, ugly things who would spread their hairy legs for a quarter a pass. She might as well have belonged to another species. Perhaps she did. The others would only steal glances but he did not have to. She was beautiful, of course, with hair like ripe wheat and eyes the color of the sky at summer''s height. Her skin was fair and her manners graceful and yet there was something odd, something that grated him. It was her demeanor. His men saw her and thought she was an aristo, a blue blood or some such. Smollett knew it was a lie. He had attended wealthy parties where the richest scions of the land had gathered to intrigue. He had seen them, and they had not been her match. They had lacked the predatory grace, the unnerving movements and the perfect poise. She was something else. The woman would walk on the bridge with an incongruous tricorn sat on her pretty head, singing a queer song. It stuck to his mind like shells to a keel. She sang it with a beautiful voice, and slightly off-key. The whole thing was eerie and captivating. "Here twelve poor men remained on a sinking frigate. So many lives were lost to a dreadful pirate Neither tide nor the sky gave the crew no quarter Off the coast of Cuba they would meet their maker Oooo, off the coast of Cuba they would meet their maker" As she sang, she would brush the railing and look out to the sea, where Smollett knew there was nothing, and follow some phantasm with a knowing smile. She was doing this right now. As he watched, her hand stopped on something and flicked it away with such speed that for a moment, he believed he had hallucinated the gesture. Then she resumed her stroll, humming under her breath. Smollett stepped forward as soon as she was away. On that piece of familiar railing used to be a stuck nail. The captain had damaged the sleeve of his favorite jacket on the protruding piece of metal, months before. It was gone now, as well as a long sliver of wood. Someone had dug a ghastly furrow through the salt-encrusted oak. Smollett closed his eyes and prayed. The ship had been moored for a day. Smollett had barely slept. In a dream, he had spied Nead overseeing a game of poker belowdecks. In front of the players, there had been no coins, nothing but tiny pearls emitting an incredible radiance. They were souls, he knew with certainty. The maddened sailors were betting their souls on the game, spitting and screaming and frantic as they played. Then Nead looked up and his eyes were no longer brown but a pale amber, and lo, on his head grew a great pair of horns. He had woken up in a jolt, clammy with cold sweat. Breathless. No amount of prayer nor alcohol had allowed him to catch a wink after that. Now the Blue Jay bobbed up and down at the whim of the waves, hidden behind a low island. Nead was no longer overseeing his games. He was waiting for passing boats and each time one would, he checked his compass and shook his head. Smollett had caught a glimpse of the strange contraption and one thing was sure, it did not point North. Sorcery. Smollett was sure of it now, there was vile wizardry at work. He was harboring devil worshippers! He would have liked to rally his crew and throw the disgusting heathens overboard, alas, most of them were already under the spell of Nead. Curse him! Curse that contract and curse the day he agreed to it. Rather sell the Blue Jay than work with the servants of the Enemy. Too late now, far too late. Nead had his evil claws deep into the minds of the sailors. Smollett would have to finish his task and hope for salvation. Then, there was the woman. She was strolling alongside the railing, singing slightly off-key in that haunting voice of hers. "The cap''n begged and prayed for someone to rescue The brave crew and himself ''fore the reefs claimed their due Neither angels nor saints would answer his prayer Off the coast of Cuba they would meet their maker Ooooo, off the coast of Cuba they would meet their maker" Their eyes met and Smollett realized she knew. About his belief. Her gaze pierced his mind and revealed the doubt and fear under, torching away the haze of alcohol and the numbness of habit to revive in his heart the freshest of terrors. She knew and did not care. Once more, her merciless stare aimed outward, to the ocean and beyond. She saw something. Smollett could not help himself. He walked up and searched for the source of her amusement. What dark delight brought such a smile to her graceful face? There was nothing but the night. "You feel it, don''t you? The world is holding its breath and those who pay attention have already noticed," she said in a lovely voice. Her smile was sharp and dismissive. It angered him for some reason. The fury dug deep into his chest and lit waiting embers. They had no right to come here and steal his ship, his people, for their nefarious purposes! "There is nothing there, nothing at all!" he yelled. "Of course there is," the woman replied with amusement, "do you wish to see?" The captain froze. He wanted to say no. He knew he had to refuse, but his mouth was dry as the Sahara. It would not open to say the words and a sick curiosity needled him forward. He felt himself waver at the edge of that question like a skiff caught in a whirlpool. His sanity was sliding, slowly, but with a fateful certainty that gripped his heart and whispered sweet promises in his unwilling ears. He had to know. To find out the truth. It was the most natural thing. How could the truth be worse than whatever uncertainty and doubts were torturing his mind right now? Smollett did not resist when the woman''s fingers gripped his shoulder. He shivered, surprised by her strength. "Look," she purred. And a veil was lifted. The sea was not empty, though he wished it were. His mouth opened though he could produce no sound. Terror. Mind-stealing, debilitating terror froze his very being. The sea was alive. It was teeming with unnatural life. The edge of a fin, the hint of a webbed hand, the end of a scaly tails. Baleful yellow eyes reflecting the pallid light of the moon above. Sinuous movements of slimy skin and unnatural limbs left and right. Smollett wanted to scream but the Boschian vista had robbed him of his voice. Only a keening sound emerged from his choking throat, and tears of the starkest fear trailed down his cheeks. "Welcome to your new world," the siren''s voice by his side murmured. The Devil had his quarry in sight. Smollett brushed an idle hand on his filthy jacket. The reek of liquor was strong even in the open air as the Blue Jay sliced through the waves. His crew went through the motions like automatons. They licked their lips and smiled and exchanged gossip about the games, the previous ones and the others to come. They cared little about their surroundings, or they would have surrendered to madness as he had. Last night, his helmsman had met a cruel fate, thrown overboard and lost. He had been a resilient and pious man. Smollett found that he envied the departed. Nead was at the prow, no longer holding a compass but a mirror instead. The strange artefact hurt the captain''s tender head when he stared too long. He knew what it did. Under the Blue Jay, a perfect reflection of his beloved ship had appeared. Its light was supernaturally bright and yet its halo did not extend past the shimmering mirage. The sea around them was darker than a demon''s soul, so that Smollett could barely see the murk bubbling with the passage of the monstrous pack. It was as if all lights had been captured by some evil witchery. They were occulted by a veil of darkness. The men aboard their prey were oblivious to their imminent demise. No cry of alarm had sounded yet even though they approached it at full speed. The woman stood straight from leaning against the railing. She was dressed in an armor of obsidian beauty, bearing an alien sigil. Like this, she looked like a savage goddess from a heathen nation, whose warriors raided shores and left nothing behind but burned husks and beheaded monks on stained altars. A desperate laugh rose from his chest. She sang still. "Then a voice offered him with a frightful whisper The salvation he sought at this fateful hour For a price, the voice said to the tempted skipper Off the coast of Cuba you won''t meet your maker Oooooo off the coast of Cuba you won''t meet your maker." They rammed the other ship. A terrible groan of tortured wood exploded like thunder on a cloudless sky. All of the men on their victim''s deck were sent flying into the air. Some fell in the ocean. Others fell poorly, smacking into hard surfaces with ghastly crunches. Nead''s men released their holds on ropes and lifted their muskets at the door leading belowdecks while the witch jumped up and let out a terrible whistle. Then she blurred. Something so fast it was practically invisible wracked through the stunned crew, leaving behind only mangled corpses and severed limbs tumbling. A mist of red spread over the deck as the incomprehensible carnage continued. Soon, the horrid forms of the fishmen he had glimpsed climbed up from the abyss and joined the fray. The shriek of the dying and the roar of the coming abomination filled the air in a hellish cacophony. Then, the door opened and men trailed out led by a pale warrior decked in full plate armor. It was at that moment Smollett knew he had gone mad. The creature screamed in a lilting tongue he had never heard and great fangs emerged from his ruby lips. The challenge was answered in full by a terrible deflagration as Nead''s entire team fired upon the newcomer. Men died left and right, and the form blurred as well. The otherworldly scene devolved into a nightmare that even the most unhinged prophet could not have imagined. The fight reached a paroxysm of bloodlust and savagery until with a victorious roar, the witch severed the warrior''s hand. Her next strike skewered him through the chest and before Smollett could register this new development, she was on him, biting into his throat with delectation. Around her, the abyssal horrors dismembered the last of the desperate defenders and the battle, if you could call it such, turned into a feast. Smollett sobbed as he witnessed scenes of great gluttony. Entire cadavers would disappear down the monsters'' gullets in seconds and in the midst, the witch finished her business. The remains of her foe fell to dust until all that remained of him was a circle of black gore around her delicate lips, which she licked with gusto. "Flawless ''execution'', don''t you think?" Nead joked by the captain''s side, and the seaman laughed and laughed and laughed. "Sixty men sailed to sea, only one did come back S§×ar?h the ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. On a ship of red hull and with sails of pure black With the devil''s due paid he would drift forever Off the coast of Cuba not to meet his maker Oooooo off the coast of Cuba not to meet his maker." A huddled form sat singing in the center of a derelict room. The sickly man wrote frantically on a stained piece of paper under the light of a dying candle. Bottles of liquor and empty vials of opium littered the ground. He sang with a broken voice and ignored the spittle accumulating at the corner of his unshaved mouth. Finally, the man leaned back and sighed. Tension left the nerve-wracked silhouette. His shoulders, previously taut like bowstrings, finally relaxed. His face went slack as he closed his eyes. Peace, at last. All was recounted. His duty was done. He could finally let go. The man dried the paper with a pinch of sawdust, added the last page to a bundle which he carefully placed in an envelope. He inscribed an address and left next to it a small pile of money. Finally, he lifted a captain''s cap from his desk and threw it unceremoniously on the ground. He grabbed the pistol underneath with an air of angelic felicity, placed the barrel in his mouth and pulled the trigger. In the next apartment, someone swore. Time passed. The door opened in silence. A tall man with amber eyes and hair like gold stepped in. He scrunched his nose with displeasure then walked to the desk, from whence he retrieved the sealed envelope. He opened it with obvious excitement and quickly read through the manuscript. Each new discovery was met with appreciative ''oh'' or disappointed ''meh''. After an indeterminate amount of time, the man grabbed the fragile testimony and approached his unwitting host''s prostrate form. "Not bad, not bad at all. Thank you, Mr. Smollett," the intruder whispered in a sing-song language. The papers were soon committed to the flame of the candle. The bundle burnt brightly for a moment and the guest waited patiently, unmoving even as the fire licked his delicate fingers. When the work was consumed, he brushed his intact hands until nothing remained but a small pile of crushed ash. After he was done, he left the door open and disappeared into the bowels of the city. Chapter 81 - 79. Reception "I am glad that the candidate you are considering is a man. Quite tactful of you, dear," I tell Torran. "Hmm," Torran replies, apparently lost in thought. I tsk and roll into the bedsheets so that my butt is covered. Torran blinks owlishly. "Hmm? You were saying?" Torran expertly dodges the pillow I throw at his head and chuckles as he sits on the bed. His tone switches from playful to half-serious. "Yes, I am considering a man, though I cannot claim credit in this instance. Dvor ranks are overwhelmingly composed of men. Perhaps three-quarters of us serve Mars and not Venus, though I feel the need to point out that it is not a question of competence, but of culture. "You see, we come and recruit from traditional societies in which the roles of the sexes are clearly delineated. The ownership and defense of the land that qualifies us is usually under the purview of men, though there are exceptions. Adapting to Western European and now American society has been¡­ a challenging experience." "Oh," I reply crestfallen, "I knew I was being too forward." "Nothing of the sort," Torran chuckles as he moves next to me and tucks an errant strand of hair behind my ear, "if anything, inviting a man to one''s chambers is a common occurrence back home. I was referring to you charging into danger then unloading musket after musket into the ranks of screaming invaders while clad in a custom-made armor that would intimidate a Tatar raider. That sort of thing." "I see," I reply somewhat relieved, "your women do not fight?" "Not really, no," he replies with increasing amusement. "How do they hunt then?" I ask. "Many demand offerings, the satisfaction of having one''s prey brought to you by underlings can be a pleasure in itself. For others, the thrill comes from outmanoeuvring rivals and foes. Social confrontations often end with the loser insensate on a couch. They will later wake up with a severe case of anaemia. The spirit of the Hunt is respected and the satisfaction it brings, genuine." "I understand," I say with a nod, "I still prefer my method, however." "I can tell." I narrow my eyes at my lover who shrugs helplessly. Well, he is not wrong. "I enjoy our conversation, my star, though I fear we must continue at the party. I cannot afford to be late." "Yes, especially as one of the honored guests." A man entering the ballroom would think themselves transported to a fairy tale or a nightmare. Protestantism has seeped deeply into the cracks of American society and with it, a certain sobriety and disdain of ostentation. Successful people should have no need of splendor, for they ought to find happiness in God and hard work. Extravagance is discouraged. Vampires have no such qualms. The manor''s right-wing is packed with groups of men and women dressed in exquisite dresses as stylish as they are precious. Cadiz in martial jackets mingle with Rolands in warm tones while on the side, a band of Ekon clad in garish colors joke and carouse to their heart''s content. There is enough wealth on display to fund a small expedition. The crowd has been here long enough for an interesting phenomenon of social decantation to split it into three distinctive and immiscible layers. At the forefront, Courtiers socialize with each other, their entourage and loyal mortal families, the susurrus of their conversation providing a pleasant background to a talented string quartet. In this environment, politeness is an absolute rule. Rivals greet each other with veiled threats and smiles that do not reach their eyes. They exchange barbs and clever repartees with casual grace in an endless contest of wit, yet if anyone feels angered, they do not show it. Even the auras are hermetic and subdued as those who cannot control themselves were left behind. A second layer consists of Vassals, Servants and Masters in small clusters bound by interest. While the younglings joust, these men and women plot. A word or a few gestures exchanged behind a fan seal the deal on some obscure transactions, the nature of which I can only guess at. Beyond them, the third and last layer is also the thinnest, being host to a handful of lords and ladies, as well as their closest advisors. At these rarefied heights, the conversations turn to the mundane, or gossips. Indeed, deals worth the illustrious guests'' time could only be conducted behind closed doors. Behind them, an elevated platform on which the musicians play takes the furthest part of the room from the entrance. After that, the illusion begins. Since the mirrors at the end of the ballroom only show half of the revellers, the reflection does not match reality and space seems to go on forever. It is as if the manor outstripped even the palaces of Rome or London, becoming a castle of mythic proportions. We first make our way layer by layer, coming across Cadiz and Roland who salute me rather coldly, Ekon who salutes me too warmly and even new Lancasters who I assumed would salute me not at all. Their polite greetings surprise me until I remember that with Moor an outcast and their territory in shambles, they have a vested interest in starting anew. After what seems like forever, we end up next to Sephare and Jarek. If I had been alone, etiquette would have demanded that I stayed with my peers. As Torran''s companion, however, I am expected to remain by his side. I do not mind it this time, as I expect my peers would have subjected me to a proper interrogation. Masters already know what will be announced of course, yet none would waste an opportunity to extract a few useful tidbits from the mouth of one of the lovers of tonight''s main actors. Lost to contemplation, I allow Torran to guide me through the crowd until a lull gives me the opportunity to assuage my curiosity. "Are there any vampire musicians around?" I whisper in Torran''s ear. Despite the guests'' delicate hearing, it is customary to act human. Besides, picking a voice among so many can be taxing. "There are, but they do not perform in such functions. No self-respecting Courtiers would agree to be just background entertainment." "I see," I answer while I watch Jarek and Suarez apparently agreeing to a spar. "The mood among the Lords and Ladies is lighter than anywhere else." "Naturally. At this age most enmities ended with one or both opponents dead. You will find that after a while, even bitter foes can become friends. Especially when few of either survived. It is, as they say, lonely at the top. "Here, look at the partygoers. Do you see those clear lines between Courtiers and Masters, then Master and Lords? This celebration is a microcosm of our society, with the proportions respected. Observe how few of us are left who call no man their Master. Many who volunteer to join our ranks swallow the bait of eternal life but there are no guarantees. The average spawn has as much chance of seeing his fiftieth birthday as if they had stayed human. It takes quite a bit of skill and just a little luck to be counted amongst the long-lived." "Worthy allies, too." "Quite right. Ah, it appears that the time has come." And indeed, the musicians pack up and leave the floor to Constantine himself. The Progenitor, flanked by Melitone who saved me from the torturer, climbs the two steps to the platform and faces the crowd with dignity. Torran gives me a last nod before joining Sephare and Jarek at his side. Silence is quick to come. "Ladies and Gentlemen, my lords and ladies, thank you for joining in tonight," our host begins calmly and in English, "tonight, I am pleased to announce that three new clans shall join our honored community. Please give a warm welcome to the representatives of clan Natalis, Hastings, and Dvor." We applaud politely. In formal occasions, vampires are announced by order of seniority, gender has no impact. I was surprised to learn that this cute slip of a girl is older than Torran. She looks and acts so human that I let my guard down. "In the years to come," Constantine continues, "Lord Jarek will head South West to join the Texians in Mexico. The Dvor territory will depend on the leanings of Lord Torran''s candidate and its location will remain confidential for safety reasons. As for the Hastings, their domain shall cover the District of Columbia." I almost gasp in surprise and behind me, more than a few low whispers erupt across the room. Washington? Constantine is giving the Hastings free reign of the capital? The Congress? Is he insane? No wonder the negotiations took so long. He must have demanded quite a few guarantees. The Lancasters may control humans better than most but Hastings act human. They can eat. They can even stand the light of the sun! To give them access to this place¡­ I barely listen as Constantine speaks of the Accords, our great community yada yada. The Hastings are taking over the government of the nation, continuing centuries of Mask traditions. Checks and balances mean nothing when one has a finger in every pie. This is a momentous development. The worst thing is that there is little I can do to change anything. I need to secure my own den. I need Illinois. I must negotiate with Constantine with this in mind. I should have asked for it after the trial together with the Progenitor''s blood. Oh well. Constantine promptly concludes his speech. Afterward, Jarek, ever laconic, talks about a haven for his kind and of strengthening the bonds that bring us together. Sephare''s speech centers on development and independence while Torran''s is based on the values and cultural roots we must develop. I notice that all three stress independence and the creation of a society separate from the old one, even Torran who will eventually return to his homeland. It could be Constantine''s influence, or it could be that they all see the need of preparing against Mask and Eneru''s inevitable power grab, Jarek and Sephare for their own interest and Torran for that of his spawn. At the end of the speeches, the three of them walk down and mix with everyone to answer their many questions. I have no interest in joining their territories, nor to be so close to so many people. I, therefore, decided to head outside through the French doors and on the promenade surrounding the manor''s inner garden. The fountain gurgles happily and the humdrum of conversations is replaced by the sounds of the night. I breathe in relief, though my respite is short-lived. As soon as I exit, I detect a familiar aura to my right. "Tired out by so many big words? The lords can be condescending. By the way, condescending means they look down on you." S~ea??h the nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Melusine, I''m surprised that you are not in there kissing bottoms with that silver tongue of yours. Are you not tired of being homeless?" I reply to the Lancaster by my side. Melusine wears a conservative emerald dress that covers her body but leaves the neck free. Her red hair is pulled up in an elaborate hairdo, and a single teardrop ruby sits at the edge of her cleavage. "That''s rich coming from someone who lives in a brothel." "Above a brothel. Every time I opened the door and took a deep breath it reminded me of you." "Strange appetites you have. Speaking of which, when will you take my blood? I grow tired of this sword of Damocles on my neck." I planned on taking it at the moment I called upon her for a task. However, I can tell that the idea of owing me such an intimate favor irritates her. If I were vindictive, I would leave her now, yet something stops me. Melusine was my first rival. I used to call her a trollop every day in my head just for the strength to keep going. It feels like ages ago. In a way, it was. I have changed much since then and so did she. The loss of her Vassal has made her less petulant, sharper. I no longer feel like taking revenge and I do not wish to make one more enemy. "Right now, if you wish." Melusine inhales and blinks. She clearly did not expect me to agree so readily. However, she does not let the opportunity go to waste. "Over here," she says, and I follow her to an alcove in the promenade. She sits first with dignity and I join her promptly. At first, she will not meet my gaze, then all of a sudden she frowns and glares at me. "Don''t kill me." "I won''t," I reply, offended. I do know why she is like this though. It takes efforts to surrender oneself so completely and to do so to a rival is a terrifying prospect. "Let''s get this over with," she declares, and bares her neck to me, eyes closed. I lean against her. She has a pleasant scent and her hair tickles my nose. Her skin is very pale, and no pulse moves her blood. I lick once to numb the pain, making her sigh in the process then bite down. She is powerful with a little bit of that color that I associate with mages. To my surprise, memories start to surge. Surrounded. I need to hold on just a bit longer so that the others can escape. The Lancaster vampires caught us off guard but if the children can reach the main base, not all is lost. I just need to hold the shield. Just need to hold. One more minute. Ten more seconds. Just¡­ hold it together Melusine, you can do it. You can d¡­ The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. Master is dead. She was found guilty of supporting the Jacobites against clan lines and got executed as a result. They put all her spawn in cages and made us watch. It hurt so much. Now we are being shipped to the New World. Only Lambert is truly by my side. The rest are either broken like Caitlynn or just plain useless like that Francoise sow. I planned to kill Arthur on our third night together. Then we talked for a while, then we made love. He knows what I am because I naively revealed it to him. He said he did not care and now I have a Vassal. I think I like it. He makes me feel things I had long forgotten and for the first time in what has been forever, I did not wait for dawn hating myself. The world has turned upside down. That Devourer twit proved herself cunning and merciful. She spared me so that I can take revenge on my kin. Nothing makes sense anymore, not since he died. I don''t know what to do. I only know that I can''t return to England. There is nothing left there for me. An exile from the land of exiles would just be a laughingstock, a living cautionary tale just good enough to be bent over for the amusement of mortals seeking a thrill. Never. I will stay here and rebuild myself a life. Then, I''m going after Moor, that rancid, treacherous cu¡­ I pull back. I did not take much strength and still her memories almost overwhelmed me. Both Melusine and I shudder and we move away from each other. We stay there for a while, me processing what I saw and her possibly recovering from the ordeal. After a while, I wordlessly offer her a tissue and she wipes the little dark blood there is. I look around awkwardly. The garden is now home to a few groups of guests seeking privacy. Now that the main event is done, the celebration has spilled over into the surroundings and no doubt into the bed-chambers as well. What marks me the most is the absence of guards. They would be everywhere back in the Dream, always visible to remind both employees and customers that security is enforced, with or despite them. "Doesn''t look secure¡­" I comment idly. "It is," Melusine replies without emotion, "This is one of the most secured locales in the entire continent." "How so?" I ask with curiosity. Melusine narrows her eyes once more, so I just wait to see if she is inclined to answer. After a while, she shrugs, her green dress slightly shifting on her white shoulders. "I do not need to explain how this place is secured at night. During the day, the different guests'' security forces will secure both the valley and the manor. There is only one, very narrow way up. Anyone trying to infiltrate our base would have to slip by two hundred well-trained soldiers, four hundred now if we count every clan''s entourage. Those trying to force their way through would have to assault this chokepoint against well-equipped, well-trained and entrenched enemies. "It is also common knowledge that Constantine has left many unpleasant surprises in the surrounding forests and the manor cliffs. Should someone succeed anyway, they would need to pass the vault doors leading to vampires'' slumbering places. Constantine wakes up quite early so they would have to contend through this as well. Finally, vampires living in the manor proper are to be evacuated to a secondary shelter at the first sign of trouble. Anyone still here at nightfall would be dead meat. "That is not the manor''s main defense, of course. Our first and most important tool is intelligence. There are always signs of a great force gathering: moving people, stored powder or bought weapons. That is why the assault on the fortress thirty years ago took us off guard. It required a great deal of preparation and an insider''s help. Still, it failed spectacularly." "You know a lot," I exclaim with genuine surprise. Melusine gives me a dismissive glare. "This is always the first thing you should check when moving to a new den." "I was¡­ otherwise engaged," I retort with a scowl. Melusine closes her eyes and shivers, acknowledging my point. It appears that she too experienced the tender care of hostile hospitality. "Fair enough. And now I will take my leave of you, Devourer. I hope your peasant palate enjoyed the refined taste of me, for you shall never enjoy its match again." "True, it had a unique blend of strawberry and entitlement," I fire back. Melusine hisses but it lacks bite. Our truce holds. There it is, Master''s gift. It was delivered earlier today by an uneasy Salim who held it at arm''s length as if it were a snake waiting to bite. I can tell from the packaging that this is a book, which makes it the second precious tome I have received in a few days, which absolutely means that I am a cultural and sophisticated vampire and absolutely not the brute Melusine implies I am. Nope. I place the heavy bundle on my desk next to its companion. Sinead gifted me with this, a sublimely designed, leather-bound affair dyed deep blue with its title printed boldly in golden letter, as a reward for our short escapade on the seas. I find some of his methods wasteful, but there is no denying the expertise with which he sealed the fate of so many in so short a time. Likaean, a Primer. Despite the laconic title, this really is a one-of-a-kind tome of untold value. Its monetary worth itself is likely more than the entire Dream, not that I ever intend to sell it. If knowledge of the book''s existence were to spread, it would cause no end of trouble for me. Sivaya wrote this specifically for me. It is a complete guide to their language including pronunciation, grammar, vocabulary and even idioms. I do not plan on visiting their land ever, especially if Sinead is the norm, and yet beyond the purely cultural value, there is also another one that relates directly to spellcasting. As Loth explained to me long ago, there are three elements to a spell: the symbols, the will and the fuel. In most cases, all three elements are required to bend reality to one''s will, though I am sure that the most powerful casters out there can do without the symbol part. The caster''s essence provides the energy needed for the working, visible as aura. Essence stems from the soul and though its energies can temporarily be depleted, they always return, unless one is robbed of their own will. I have heard of external energy sources and Loth even experimented with an electrum-based receptacle at some point, however they are extremely inefficient and one needs essence to start the process anyway. The will of the caster is the beginning and the end of any magical process. It guides the energies and transforms them to suit the purpose of their master. It is that will that alters the world and momentarily breaks the laws of physics, chemistry, and God. The more experienced the will, the more potent the spells cast and the more the mage can achieve before exhaustion inevitably takes hold. Unfortunately for us, our sad reality can only be pushed and bullied so far before she rolls back, smothering the offender beneath her ponderous yoke. To move her thick molasses, symbols are a vital component of the spellcaster''s arsenal. It is also by far the most versatile. Spells themselves are mostly incomprehensible. We know fire. We also know through the work of Lavoisier and others of oxidation and a more scientific approach to it. Spellcasters still cannot quite tell how their magic transforms this fire from a natural phenomenon into an almost living entity that chases after its prey like a bloodhound. The causes and effects are more or less understood, but the why remains beyond a veil of strangeness that no experiment can pierce. As such, symbols can bridge the gap between that alien phenomenon and our primitive minds. They act as a translator between the will and the form, or a bridge perhaps. In any case, symbols are incredible and many systems were developed over the years by the countless cabals, covens and cults gracing our history to assist casters in their projects. Another element of symbols is one''s relationship to it. For a man who has spent his life amongst the arid dunes of the Sahara, Finnish runes of reindeers and Aurora Borealis would be of little use. His mind cannot link symbols and his own ideas, and so that alphabet would be a hindrance. No, one''s code needs to match one''s mindset to be of optimal use, therefore the choice of which system to use is determined by affinity. Of this system, the most basic element is the language. In this regard, my sire favors his mother''s system and uses Akkad when he throws his terrible curses. I planned on doing the same since Akkad is our sacred tongue. Now, however, I have a whole new option. I am not a Likaean by any means and yet I feel a deep connection to Sinead, their prince. Deception, ruthlessness and the lust for freedom are values that he defends and that I sympathize with. Likaean is a secret language and although its usage may spark some unfortunate bouts of curiosity, using it to cast spells is far from the smoking gun that the book would be. I am willing to take the risks, for secrecy and for one other reason. Likaean is a magical tongue. I mean it quite literally. I whispered "sharrar", their word for darkness, and I felt shadows creeping at the edges of the room. The whispered consonants slithered in the corners like smoky imps and drank the light greedily, leaving the room dimmer. If this is how life works in the land of the Likaean, I almost wish I could travel to the court of Blue and feast my eyes on the incredible things I could see there. A talented gardener could simply sing flowers to life, or a warrior could scream his enemies into bloody pieces. Incredible. I am giddy at the possibilities, especially now that I have more time to spend on personal projects. My smile falters when I return my attention to the unopened package. Nirari''s gift. After a moment of hesitation, I tear off the paper and realize my mistake. I do not hold a book, but a book container. The metallic rectangle is engraved with runes of protection and containment. A circular lock was placed where a title would be, the key already engaged. The key itself is no standard work. It is a circle of silver and onyx without embellishments. Ominous, to say the least. I rotate the mechanism and hear a click. The lock opens and a powerful aura submerges me. Blood. Power. Death. The aura is intoxicating and heady. TREASURE. Precious and poisoned. Then, the moment passes and the aura diminishes until it is merely a trace, something that stays in the background. From the unorthodox box, I retrieve a tome. The piece is unadorned and old beyond measure. The edge of the cover is slightly cracked and mysterious dark stains mar the otherwise yellow surface. I caress it. Smooth, like skin. Some sort of vellum? Unbidden, memories surface of the vision I had back at the vampire fortress an eternity ago, when I drew Nirari''s essence and stabilized my existence. It was the first time I saw Semiramis and she was inscribing runes on human skin. Ah. I am now the proud owner of an entire manuscript written on the literal back of mortals. Tacky. At least it looks well preserved. I open the first page to see only "Spellbook" written in Akkad by an elegant hand, and ignore the ominous feeling I have to leaf through its contents. The first part is tightly packed text while the rest is page after page of blood magic spells described in excruciating details. I am not familiar with the rune system he uses but I can tell at a glance that they are complex. Once more I am reminded of the past, specifically the spell my sire cast against the army that opposed his return and the pale imitation I used against Lambert while drunk with power. This is an incredible gift, though I have little use for it right now. I can tell at a glance that the level of difficulty of the average spell is high. This is not a beginner''s book, and it will take me a while to reach the level where I can use any of the spells contained within. I have so much to do. Every night, I practice with Aisha''s card deck, with the only notable effect being that sometimes when I fight, I can tell what my sparring partner will do next. Every night, I also train and educate a grateful Urchin. Mock battles and fights with lords and masters are also common and allow me to experience a variety of styles and techniques, something that I have a great need for. Finally, I spend time with my friends, with Torran, shopping, at the opera, etc. The distractions are many and I am happy to indulge after being in hiding for so long. I simply haven''t had the time to invest into learning magic. The irony of an immortal out of time does not escape me. That is fine. I have much to do, including drinking Constantine''s blood and securing a territory. After this is done, I will dedicate myself to magic. The mystical arts cannot be pursued lightly, after all. I spend half an hour studying Likaean and writing observations in a brand-new notebook when a knock at the door distracts me. "Yes, Solveig?" "One of Lady Sephare''s maids is here, milady. Her mistress would like to invite you for tea." "Tea?" "That is what she said." I wonder what she wants. "We shall visit her momentarily." Solveig departs and I stand up. I am wearing one of my latest acquisitions, a comfortable yet elegant interior dress in light blue. It will suffice. I walk out and follow the maid to Sephare''s suite, which happens to be in the opposite wing. We enter a richly decorated reception room even more grand than mine in tones of white and pink. Lady Sephare herself sits at a table with a pair of plates, a teapot and cutlery. Pastries are piled on a strange contraption consisting of several plates set against a metal frame. "Ariane! I am so delighted that you could make it on such a short notice. Come in, come in!" Sephare is also blonde with blue eyes, yet we could hardly be any more different. Her colors are paler, for starters, so that meeting her gaze is like staring at the surface of a frozen lake. She is also a dainty, delicate thing while I am more, well, solid. She looks like a precious slip of a girl that belongs at court or in some seaside house dying of pneumonia, and her cheerful and seemingly awkward personality makes her appear more human. It is, of course, a ploy, and yet I find myself unconsciously lowering my guard. I have to remind myself not to give in too easily. "Thank you for your invitation, Lady Sephare," I reply as I sit. I notice that she placed a teacup in front of me. "Would you care for a cup of my own special blend? It would make me so glad even if you only wet your lips." "I would be delighted." "Lovely! All those conferences are so boorish. Why can''t we all discuss around a good cup, I ask? Here, shall I be mother?" Hm, what? "I beg your pardon?" I ask, alarmed. "Oh, silly me, you are not familiar with this idiom, haha. I meant to ask you if I should serve the tea." "Oh! Yes, please, if you wouldn''t mind." I was really worried here for a second, and how does serving tea have anything to do with a mom?! I am suffering from culture shock ten meters away from my own bed-chamber. What in the world? Unaware of my inner turmoil, Sephare serves us both with painting-worthy elegance, each gesture as graceful as the next. Soon, the cup in front of me is piping hot with amber liquid and exudes a delicate fragrance. I pick it up and pretend to sip it, letting a few droplets spread on my tongue. My sense of taste is completely muted for anything other than blood yet my nose still manages to pick up hints of black tea though slightly more gentle than what I am used to, rose, as well as something else I do not recognize. It is pretty nice, I suppose. It smells more fragrant than what I have ever experienced, at least. Sephare lets me appreciate her tea in silence while she helps herself to a slice of chocolate tart. Her tiny fork bites into the tender filling with surgical precision. "Oh, look, it''s raining. I suppose we were lucky to have a clear sky for so long. Not that I mind it when it gets a bit dreary. Best time to stay home with a good book." We do a bit of small talk mostly focused on the weather. I let her take her time as I assume that she will eventually get to the point and I am soon proven correct. "You must have guessed, by now, that I requested the pleasure of your company with an agenda. It has not escaped my notice that we are barely acquainted and yet I find myself compelled to call upon you in my hour of need. "You see, I left England with too limited an entourage for the task I shall soon endeavour to complete. I, therefore, request your assistance in taking over Washington," she announces calmly. I hesitate, then decide that I have little to use in explaining my reservation. "I am honored by your trust, and yet I find myself already bound to another task." "The safety of Lord Torran hmmm?" she asks with a knowing look and a sly smile. If I could, I would be blushing now. "It so happens that Torran will travel to Carolina to assist with the making of a soul weapon quite soon. During that time, he will be protected by the Cadiz, an honored guest of Lord Suarez himself. I am sure I can borrow you for a couple of weeks. Oh, and I was led to understand that you have an ongoing deal with Constantine? Helping me would count towards completing the second task." I grit my teeth not to react to that. This would mean that as soon as the first task, Torran''s protection, is completed, I can taste the blood of a progenitor. "There is something I would like to ask," I say before I hesitate. Sephare lifts a delicate brow which I take as an invitation to go on. "I would like your support when I claim a territory." Her delicate mouth forms a perfect ''o''. "Our land grab has whet your appetite, I see. I would be willing to support your claim under one condition." "Name it." "An alliance. I am an old hand at tasks that require a light touch, yet sometimes I find that a more¡­ direct approach can bear fruits faster." "You want an attack dog." "Goodness me, no, nothing so crass! What I want is a friend, and what I need is someone with the disposition to act decisively when the occasion calls for it, and to exercise restraint otherwise. You are that person. Sit me on my throne and I shall get you yours. Do we have a deal?" she asks, and I feel myself weighted and judged by her penetrating gaze. Caution, Ariane, caution. "I agree in principle, though I must remind you that a clan already placed me under their dominion once and you know how this ended. I will be a valuable partner. I will not be a servant." "Quite so, my dear, quite so. I am sure we will accomplish great things together¡­" I leave shortly after this with the uncomfortable feeling that I committed myself perhaps a bit too quickly. As they say, one door opens and ten others close, and yet I feel like by standing without making allies, I would not go anywhere. Someone as savvy as Lady Sephare is a good place to start. On my way back to my room, I come across one of Lord Ceron''s retainers. He bows as I pass and whispers: "Have a care not to be too hasty milady, perhaps consider why she left in the first place." I look back only to see him walking without pause. So, it has begun. Politics. And this time I will not be able to Charm my way to success. Chapter 82 - 80. Smoke and Mirrors The next night, I find myself teaching Urchin the most basic form of elementary etiquette in the privacy of my study. "No, it is not appropriate to compliment a lady on her bust. Or on her rear. If you must make a compliment, commend her for her poise, skills, presence..." I swear this man could not be any slimier if he tried. "But what if I, beg your pardon, want to get to know the lady intimately?" Case in point. "The only kind of lady willing to know you intimately would give you a discount if you would only shut up." Urchin winces, looking a bit crestfallen which in his case gives him the appearance of a drowned rat and about as much charm. I remind myself of Sinead''s lesson. He used to say that there must always be a carrot no matter how thorny and nailed-covered the stick. "Listen Urchin, I appreciate how¡­ challenging your life has been up till now and how it might have not been conducive to learning social graces," I continue. "Say wha''?" The Watcher grant me patience. "You''re a low-born ruffian and it''s not your fault." This revelation is welcomed by a confused stare. "Huh, thanks I guess?" my pupil answers. "Which is not to say," I continue with superhuman control, "that you must remain in this sorry state. If things go well, you will never age. You don''t want to remain a shifty, pathetic dreg of humankind for the rest of your existence, do you?" "No!" "Good." "I want to be rich! Aw!" he screams as I slap him across the face with my dictionary. Reminder to self: wipe it later. I grab him by the collar and smash him against a bookshelf. "Listen to me and listen well because I will not repeat myself. Your appearance, manners, and language are how you are judged by the people you come across, no matter who they are. Those reflect your nature and allow others to assess you before you exchange more than three sentences. It takes hours of interaction to reverse a first impression, and that is why we as vampires need to be at the very top. "This is our ultimate weapon. Not our strength, speed or even our magic, but our ability to pass as rulers, to divide and conquer before the battle has even started. I have no need of a bottom-dwelling scum who can only snatch petty change out of pockets, do you hear me? You will learn and grow or you will fall." Urchin''s eyes, at first filled with terror, switch to contemplation. Gears rusted by idleness rotate in his cavernous head until he licks his lips, seemingly come to a conclusion. "Appearance. Right, like a gang boss is not a leader because he''s the strongest but because he''s got the swagger." Finally, we are getting somewhere. "Correct. He talks, moves, acts and thinks like a leader and so people follow him." Urchin looks far in the distance, then after a while, his attention focuses on me. I would be annoyed at his behavior, were it not for the belief that he is having a breakthrough. "So¡­" he asks with hesitation, "do you think I can be a proper leader one day?" Not a chance in hell. "Yes, otherwise I wouldn''t be using my precious time training you." I think he can become quite useful when it comes to trickery and other unsavory tasks. I doubt that he will ever be a part of polite society. You can take the Urchin out of the street but not the street out of the Urchin. My musings are interrupted by a knock on the study''s door. After a prompt, Solveig comes in from the main room bearing a message and an air of disapproval. "The mage Sorrel has come, Milady; he says that there are two message requests for you." "Two?" I ask with some measure of surprise. Solveig only nods. "I will see him shortly. Urchin, we must stop here for tonight. Please work on your Akkad and then meet me in the training room in one hour." "Of course, Mistress," he replies somewhat smoothly. Then he stands up at the same time as I do and bows to me, then to Solveig. "Then I shall take my leave, Mistress, Miss Solveig, I bid you goodnight." I smile in approval and Solveig curtsies reluctantly, an immense improvement from her previous reaction which was a mixture of morbid fascination and fear normally reserved for baboons wearing coveralls. I follow him into the main room and sit to wait as Sorrel strides in. "Good evening, Sorrel, please sit. What was that about two messages?" I hope it is not Merritt with some dire news. I can taste the messenger mage''s stress on his perspiration and heartbeat. "I bear two messages for you, milady," the bearded man declares as his deep-set dark eyes search my face for some kind of reaction. "Let''s hear them." "Right, I should probably start with the first request. Loth of Skorrag wishes for a conversation." Aha, I understand now what makes the well-dressed man shiver. Communication spells such as these become more intensive the farther the person is. Sorrel will probably leave this room drained of aura, and nursing a spectacular headache. "You may start when ready," I declare. The man nods, girding his metaphorical loins, no doubt. He takes the now familiar crystal sphere from a small bag by his side and starts casting with slow and deliberate care. It takes only a few seconds for the summoning to connect. Loth looks regal in a white ermine robe decorated with patterns of crimson and gold. A peculiar crown of bone sits on his noble brow and gives him an undeniable air of majesty. The impression is somewhat marred by the deep pockets under his reddish eyes and his vulnerable expression. In his hand, he holds a crystal snifter half-filled with amber liquid. He smiles sadly when he sees me but I can tell that it is a genuine one, filled with an intensity of raw emotion I had only seen once before, when I almost died back in the cave. He silently rotates his own orb and the image shifts, first showing walls of naked stone, not bricks mind you, actual smooth stone with very few decorations, then a massive bed next to which I find my gift. I made it for him back in Marquette and it took me close to two hundred hours of effort to get it just right. The piece consists of four man-sized panels of canvas on wood linked together. On each of the four parts, I painted Agna, Loth''s first love, at differents periods of her life. The rendition had to be absolutely striking and I so thrashed perhaps seven or eight attempts that were not up to my exacting standards. On the first panel, young Agna stands defiant with her hands on her wide hips, telling the world that it can shove it. Her beautiful brown hair flows wild and free and her face is both strong and very feminine. This was the first time they met. The second Agna is the one he married, only slightly older with her hair held up in a complex hairdo. Blooming flowers cling to her braids and she stands shyly in a form-fitting white dress. Her smile is so bright and pure, I believe this is what the sun used to feel like before it became my bane. The third Agna is by far the most daring. She is the one who had given him a few children, the one I had seen naked under him. She stands with her bare back turned to us, her toned shoulder and large buttocks displayed without shame. Her hair now falls freely in a typical post-coital chaos, dotted with silver which in no way detracts her mature beauty. She is slightly turned to the viewer, only enough for us to see a mischievous smile and one ample breast tipped by a slightly darker nipple. With Nami''s, those are the only two nudes I ever painted. The last Agna is her oldest form. In this one she is elderly and still her smile is here, warm and so very pure. She stands with difficulty on a background of flowers, grass and crags. I can almost smell the mountain air but more importantly, I can see the immense sadness and love in her expression. She died a few weeks after that. Of the second and fourth Agna I had caught but glimpses and so they were the hardest to paint, but now that I see it again, I could not be prouder. The image abruptly turns back to Loth, who starts with a hoarse voice. "This... has to be the best gift I ever received in my entire damn life. Tyr, Ari, ye¡­" Two fat droplets trail down from the edge of his eyes, he makes no effort to wipe them and when next speaks his voice breaks. "I had forgotten what she looked like! I could not remember! Ye¡­ I cannot express¡­ cannot tell ye. I needed this so much. Thank ye, by Tyr." Something warm and unfamiliar fills my chest. I press a hand there, surprised that there is still something moving in those cold depths. "Ari. Thanks¡­ Just thanks. Know that I owe ya more than I can ever repay. I am so, so very glad that you picked up painting ye know that? Hah! I haven''t left my room in a day. Also had the best wank of my life!" "Loth!" "It''s true! That ass..." he reminisces with nostalgia, grabbing at the air with a beatific smile. "Ahem." "Right, sorry. I''ll send ya a letter when I can think again. Just wanted ta express my gratitude in person." "I understand my friend. Please take care of yourself and do not succumb to melancholy again, yes?" "Of course not. I needed a break anyway. Right, come and see me soon, I have so much to show you of the old country." S~ea??h the ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. I wave as the connection cuts and sit back in my comfortable chair. This was too short. I would have preferred to talk for hours but alas, Sorrel was already blanching. Torran will inevitably return to Europe. When he does and after I have secured a domain, perhaps I should visit. I let Sorrel recover for ten minutes. He gulps down some alchemical concoction and I am only too glad to wait in silence as I reminisce about the good times we had together with the Dvergur and Dalton. This period is lost but the memories are bright and I am glad that I got to experience them. Even if Dalton''s death was horrible, I have no regrets. It truly is better to have loved and lost than never have loved at all, for with time, most memories become treasures. Not the torture thing though, that I would gladly forget. In short order, Sorrel is ready again and starts a new incantation. This time it is significantly easier and the face I see is quite a surprise. "Jonathan," I greet him. The man who blew up my shed in Marquette and followed it with a vertiginous climb of the ranks of the White Cabal has changed remarkably in the short time I have known him. He still has a short black beard and penetrating dark gaze, but where they made him appear distant and a bit feral, now they grant him the appearance of a veteran commander. He seems poised and stable, as dependable as he is deadly. "Ariane. A pleasure to see you again." "Likewise. What do you want?" I ask not to be curt but because Sorral is already on the pale side. "I wish to discuss an agreement that, I believe, will be to both our benefits. Can you meet me at our headquarters in New York? The sooner the better, as it is a time-sensitive request." I almost scoff at how ridiculous his request is. "I do not run to you when called, Jonathan." "I know this well, but as I mentioned this is time-sensitive and I am confident that I can make it worth your time." "Do tell." "My contact with the House of the Rosenthal assured me that you had control over your House, if I remember the term correctly." "Yes. Your point?" "As of last week I am the White Cabal''s Black Dog, our military commander. As such I am qualified to offer a formal alliance between your House and our organization." I question the value of such an alliance. "Please bear in mind that the White Cabal represents a growing order of more than three thousand practitioners and with a trained combat corps of over two hundred men, half of those being war mages and led by me." Oof. When he puts it like that¡­ "It will not take long, I promise. I merely need you to assist me with our new generation''s final exam. You will not be in any danger whatsoever and your security will be guaranteed by oath, mine and that of the mages under my command." I am¡­ intrigued? I also need to wrap this up before Sorrel upchucks on my tea table. "I will see if my current obligations can be postponed. When you say assist with examinations, what do you have in mind?" "I need you to scare them out of their mind." Oh, this is totally within my field of expertise. "Very well, I will need direction." We wrap up our talk and soon I leave an exhausted communication mage on my couch. There are people I need to see. "I believe it is a good idea, but you need your own guards," Torran comments from his desk. I sit on one of the reception room''s couches and grab a pillow to have something between my hands. "I don''t have men here. Do you think Constantine would rent me his mercenaries?" "For a price, of course. Salim would be a better bet though, his security forces are not just good, they carry colors that no one, especially a public group like the Cabal, would want to offend." "Great idea, I will see how much he asks for a twenty men complement." "That would be acceptable." I wait in silence for Torran to finish his document. When he is done, I gather my courage to talk. "I like what we have," I start. Sensing the mood, Torran turns and gives me his undivided attention. I like it when he stops everything to listen to me. I feel like the most important person in the world. "But?" he replies. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. "But nothing. I like what we have, full stop. I like you. I don''t want it to stop and yet it will, because I want to rule here and you will have to return to your own domain sooner or later." Torran holds his hands on his lap and considers for a moment. When he finally decides to talk, his voice is soft, softer than usual. "I am your first." "Yes." "You still think of relationships in mortal terms. For them, there is always a next step. Marry, found a house, create a family, raise the children, grow old together. We are denied this. We are denied an end." I never considered it like that. "When the partners are equal in our relationships, allowances must be made," he continues, "We are designed to be territorial and individualistic and those of us who survive to masterhood elevate those traits to an art. It is natural that at some point, our paths will diverge." "What then?" I ask, "Do we just say goodbye and move on? That seems¡­" "Too pragmatic?" he answers, as his lips curve upward ever so slightly. "Let me offer another perspective. We are lucky to have no end in sight. Perhaps in a hundred years we will still live and taste all those novelties you are so fond of. Who knows what wonders we will see, free of the ravages of time? The only thing that would prevent us from being together again is you, for I will brave oceans and armies for your favor, my¡­ callipygian beauty." I consider this for a moment and realize that he is right and that I am too concerned about the ifs to enjoy the now. I also realize that I have no idea what callipygian means. "This is all too depressing, and I no longer wish to consider this issue. Instead, I notice that you are not naked." "Indeed?" Torran replies with a sly look that shows where this is going. "Why not?" I ask. Torran and I leave Boston at the same time. He, to build a weapon and I, to build an alliance. It takes very little effort to convince Sephare to let me go since, as she said, it will take a few weeks to lay the groundwork of her conquest. She just sends me on my way with a smile and instructions to "have some fun, darling." I hire an escort from the Rosenthal, seething at the cost. I then remind myself that this is an investment and that they come with their own gear, supplies and training. They are also absolutely loyal which in itself is priceless. The trip to New York only takes two days moving at great speed. As we travel, the weather takes a turn for the worse and soon the wheels of my carriage are covered in mud. The morose climate even manages to pierce through my guards'' professionalism, and I hear a few heartfelt complaints. The only distraction occurs when I catch the scent of an interesting quarry, a werewolf on the loose. This one has turned feral and when I do find it, I can have a nice meal. Struck by inspiration, I bring back the corpse and have the slightly alarmed guards tie it up and place it on one of their wagons. Thankfully that werewolf had not fed yet so the body doesn''t stink and should not turn bad before I have put it to use. "No, there are no others. Yes, I''m sure," I tell the sergeant, a bald man with an impressive moustache by the name of Bannings. Finally, we arrive at the meeting point, an inn on the outskirts of the city proper. I expected it to be a den of misfits where I would conduct a shady transaction while hidden under a cloak, my penetrating gaze the only thing visible past the helm of my hood. But alas, it appears that the fiction I brought with me to pass the time set the wrong expectations. The traveler''s rest is clean and well-lit. As soon as we get in, an old gentleman with the face of an experienced accountant stands up in a hurry and comes to greet me. His mage aura is obvious. "Lady Ariane, it is you isn''t it? Mr. Hopkins described you perfectly." "How did he describe me exactly?" I ask with a neutral expression. To my delight, the man immediately squirms and I enjoy a hint of Schadenfreude at his unease. "Hem, he, hm, he said that you would look like a young girl but come in like a war mage channeling a fireball." Ah. He got me there. "To be fair," the man replies, correctly guessing at my state of mind, "you were the only blonde hair blue-eyed young woman to come in so late in the day." I am being comforted by a mage I just met and who is probably younger than me. Ah, well. This is not the bad part. Indeed, the real problem here is how easily Mr. Jonathan Hopkins read me. Am I becoming too predictable? Am I getting old? No no no it is fine. I just let my guard down because I was not trying to blend in. Yes. That is the real reason. I follow the mage outside in silence. He misses a step when he takes in the veritable convoy I am leading as well as their very distinctive white uniforms. Nevertheless, he is quick to recover, and we follow him through small country roads to the edge of the lands of the White Cabal. We pass by farmlands and animal pens between two stretches of forest. The farms here are not the sorry functional structures I am used to but comfortable homes in the German style, with wood beams visible on the walls and a sharply inclined roof. The land here is tamed and controlled, under the dominion of the same owners for over a century. At the bend of a road I spot our destination: a long wooden palisade surrounding a tall gate. I can taste mighty enchantments from here. Once more, those are not temporary defenses, but static works embedded into the very earth. It would take more than my claws to tear those open. They are on the scale of what Loth would manage with resources and a bit of time. The mage, whose name is Potts, turns his horse around and trots back to my carriage. "We have arrived Milady, allow me to be the first to welcome you to Avalon." Pretentious name. "I''ll get us through the gate. Mr. Hopkins requests that you do not show yourself as he would like to keep your presence a secret. We will go directly to his estate and he will explain everything. Would that be acceptable?" he asks with just a bit of worry. I assent, and close the carriage''s curtains. The gate guards wave us in promptly, an indication that we are expected. Avalon itself is an intriguing mix between a town and a military installation. We pass by solid stone barracks, as well as offices and further in, warehouses. There are also inns and restaurants, more often made from wood. Some perpendicular streets are filled with shops ranging from a smithy to bookstores. At this late hour, the people are mostly gathered around a pair of taverns, though the streets themselves are not empty. Patrols walk the deserted squares and empty alleys. I estimate that at the very least two thousand souls live here full-time. We do not stop and soon reach the outskirts. We ride past a firing range and kennels to more open lands. Spaced cottages fill the place now, each separated by thick lines of trees. We are still inside of the wooden wall which I can sometimes spot in the distance. In short order, we arrive at an unremarkable house where a familiar figure awaits us. I climb down and greet the worried woman. I remember her from the battle. She was the healer who stood up to me and cried a lot, easily recognizable by her white hair and red eyes. Her name was Sola if I recall correctly. Now that her visage isn''t covered in snot, I can appreciate that she is beautiful in a fragile sort of way. "Good evening! Oh, you are a bit early. Jon is still at a strategic meeting so we''ll have to wait a bit. He won''t be long." I follow her to the door of the cottage and stop at the threshold. Sola returns when she realizes I am not following and looks on with confusion before realizing the issue. "I am so sorry. Please come in." I wordlessly follow her in a cozy, if cramped, entrance. An old maid with a disapproving frown glares silently. "Hilda, please escort Lady Ariane to the study, would you?" Sola asks politely. The maid takes in my countenance and the girl''s fearful tone. Her behavior shifts from suspicious to respectful in a heartbeat and I follow her up narrow stairs to a small room on the second floor. There, the homey aspect of the rest of the house is discarded in favor of an almost militaristic installation. Bookshelves filled with well-ordered reports and manuals line the wall, with a single desk set against a large window. Its surface is spotless with the exception of a pile of documents set in a case labelled "to-do." The only concession to comfort is a set of three chairs centered around a coffee table, currently empty. "The young mistress will be with you shortly milady, would you like something to drink in the meanwhile?" "No thank you," I reply. The maid departs and I am left alone, so I decide to peruse Jonathan''s collection. Most of the books are treatises of various topics ranging from military to ethics, administration and economy. On a corner, I find a stocky dictionary and decide to check what "callipygian" means. I quickly find the right definition. Callipygian: having well-shaped buttocks. Well-played, Torran, well-played indeed. Soon, Sola knocks and enters the room, searching for me with fearful eyes. Her aura spreads from lack of control, further betraying her nervousness. The scent of wood and old books is washed away by a more neutral one. Now, it just smells clean and crisp. She had already demonstrated that ability back in the cellar where I met her. Most peculiar power. I could certainly use someone with her ability in Marquette. Ah, to have a room that smells clean. The dream. "Oh, hm, you are here," she mumbles with a small voice, "ah, where are my manners. Would you, huh, would you like some tea?" Her face scrounges with the perfect expression of someone who just realized she placed her foot in her mouth. I simply cannot let this opportunity pass. "No thank you, I prefer my drinks with a little more¡­ body," I reply, then show her a smile with a hint of fangs. She swallows nervously. Her fluttering heartbeat and the perfume of fear make her truly appetizing. That was a nice one. I shall have to tell Nami when we meet again. "R-right. Jon should be on his way back now. I''ll send him up. Hm. Bye!" And then she runs away. Jon, huh? I cannot help but notice that it looks like she lives there and I saw a ring on her finger. He is a fast one. It takes less than ten minutes for the man himself to stop in front of the door. I hear the imperceptible noise of a mechanism and turn to see that a previously hidden spying eye allows him to see in. I wave, and he enters. "Forgive me. One can never be too cautious." To be fair, he is the right amount of cautious. I am the one taking inane risks coming here. "I do not mind. So, you wanted to talk." "Right, talking. Talking, talking, talking." The curious man moves to the table and joins me in one of the chairs. He places a mug on the table from whence emerges wafts of tea. He takes a sip before continuing. "I have done more talking in the past three months than in the past five years combined." "The cost of responsibility." "Indeed. I have to explain not just the thing but the why of the thing and the how of the thing and I need to acknowledge and thank and compliment and argue. Why can''t everyone think with their head and focus on the goal? Why all the pointless bullshit?" Ah, that type. Jonathan sees politics and social niceties as a waste of time, a specificity of people whose intelligence far outstrips their social graces. Politics is an inevitability. He will get used to it, eventually. See it as yet another tool in his arsenal. "Apologies. You did not come here to hear me complain. Let''s talk about the plan." "Before that, I have questions," I interrupt. He gestures for me to go on while sipping from his mug. "You were promoted very recently, yes?" "Correct." "And this is a city, probably with some sort of council that can remove you from your post at any given moment. Are you not taking a risk, asking me here?" "On the contrary. I will be honest, I believe your presence will solidify my position and bring me, and us, multiple benefits." "Does it now?" "Yes. I shall explain, since I am the one who asked you here. First, the current generation of war mages is graduating from our courses and there is a major problem. You see, they are exceptional. So good, in fact, that the old timers have already started to call them the golden generation. At least eight of them have the potential to become archmages. They know it, and it makes them cocky. Careless. As things are going now, half will die in their first few missions." "I see, and you need me to calm them down." "More specifically I need you to terrify the ever-loving shit out of them." "Language," I protest. "I mean it," he continues, "they need to face you to understand that they remain humans in a world of old monsters." I mull this over. The way I see it, I am training mages to face vampires. I share my sentiment with Jonathan who only scoffs. "Please, no amount of training can make us match your speed. Besides, I am serious about that alliance. Allow me to continue. "The second benefit is political. Half of the council opposed my ascension to the title of Black Dog after Coolridge resigned even though he designated me as a successor." "They question your former affiliation?" "Not even that, I am just an outsider to them. The old guard is loath to share their power with newcomers. Fortunately, the selection of a new Dog is mostly made by fighters since the Cabal''s creation. Your support will greatly increase my prestige and demonstrate my abilities as a diplomat, a skill that I have not demonstrated yet. My opponents have criticized me for that. At length." "Which brings me back to my previous question. Won''t they see me as a monster? It is, after all, what I am." "You underestimate the mystique around your kind. You are less seen as something to be fought and more as an inevitability. You, especially, led us through a blockade that would have been the death of us all. My men witnessed your savagery and spread tales of your actions upon their return. Trust me, your presence here will give me a cachet that will solidify my position beyond the council''s ability to damage." "What about my well-being? There are probably more than a thousand mages here, and I have twenty guards. A well-coordinated assault could cause my death." "In conflicts, mages don''t count. War mages do, and they are all under my command. With that said I took the liberty of having a secret shelter dug a hundred yards from here, its entrance camouflaged by powerful enchantments. You can slumber there." "I do not like this, but I will agree if that alliance of yours proves interesting enough." "Ah, yes, thank you for the reminder. This is not the third advantage your presence brings me. That one¡­ I would rather tell you after the test since I am not sure it will turn out to be correct. There was something else I wanted to address." Jonathan places his cup on the table and leans forward. Our eyes meet, and I notice that he wears a pendant that protects him against my Charm. Like most of those, I could bypass it with time and effort. I will not, because we are negotiating as equals. "Do you know what New York''s most important feature is?" he continues. I gesture for him to go on. "New York is the entry point for most European immigration right now. The reason why the White Cabal has grown so much recently is that we have heavily recruited from the newcomers. This has upset the balance of power within our organization, but it also represents a unique opportunity for us to turn into something new." "A national-level mage group." "Precisely," Jonathan continues, "the largest alliance in the world. Power-wise we are far from it, but number-wise we are getting close. "I have studied the power structure of spellcasters extensively in the past few months. In Europe, the battle mages are mighty and dangerous. They wield spells refined over centuries yet also jealously guarded. The clans, cabals, whatever they call themselves heavily compete for resources and knowledge. "This secretive and adversarial state of mind made the winners strong, but it also contributed to a fragmented landscape with small entities constantly bickering with each other. We aim to change that here. Sola and I, as well as senior members of the council, are forcing the creation of a vast depository of knowledge that any member of the Cabal could access if they have proved themselves dependable. This is the first step towards normalized, large-scale training." "And the creation of a modern society of mages. The vampires may object to the creation of such a powerful organization." "You would not be the only ones. Spellcasters with a darker agenda, the Gabrielites and God knows who else will oppose us. That is why I am pushing for an alliance with you." "Jonathan, I eat people." "You are honorable and can be counted on. We are not here to save the world, we are here to save ourselves." "Some members of your organization must want to purge the world of our presence." "Yes, and half of their fighting men died in Louisiana last month. We are at a crossroad, and with your help, I will steer the Cabal towards cooperation. The first step of our alliance will be to send a contingent of our more frontier-minded people to Marquette, where they will settle and create a branch of the Cabal. That way, we can start transferring population outside of the compound before it gets saturated and we occupy the place." "You are worried that other groups may take over?" "Not take over Marquette obviously, but yes, we need branches around to prevent others from moving in. Nature, after all, abhors a vacuum." "Very well, but I have terms." Jonathan picks up his mug and leans back, indicating that I should start. "You get a territory where you may do whatever you want. You may not expand out of it before consulting with me and you may not enter the area around my nest without permission. You will support my men and me in any operations against my enemies, including other mages seeking my destruction. You will not prevent me from hunting. In return, I will also defend you and leave you to do your own thing on your end." "That sounds reasonable," Jonathan replies, "we''ll write it all down and take an oath. I still need to convince the council and I propose that we try tomorrow after the exam. Would that be agreeable?" "Yes. Now, let''s talk about the exam. I have prepared a few things¡­" Jonathan listens to my plan and for the first time since we met, his grin is wide and genuine. Chapter 83 - 81. The Test Today is a mighty important day! It''s the day we finally get to call ourselves full-fledged mages and wear the white uniform with the golden tassels, even us girls! Well, if we pass the final exam, of course. I am not too worried, though. Reggie said it would be a piece of cake, and besides, we passed every other exam with flying colors. What I really want is to beat Cornelius and wipe that self-assured grin off his stupid mug. The teams have gathered at the academy. The familiar complex of solid wooden logs with the practice field feels different at night. More like a field camp than a school. The instructors have lit braziers and they all wear a serious expression and their battle gear. This is all quite intimidating! Even instructor Lydia looks fierce with her pistol and gauntlet. I think they just want us to be in the mood and it''s working. I haven''t felt this stressed since the entrance examinations. As soon as everyone is here, Professor Tilley has us group up by teams, in ranks of two with the leader up front. Reggie is our captain. With his square jaw and dreamy green eyes, he is quite the dashing figure! He looks forward with aplomb and I find comfort in his confident stance and wide shoulders. That Cornelius wastrel sneers at us, but our dauntless leader would not even acknowledge his presence! That will show him. After Reginald, there is Carmela, looking as fierce and aloof as usual. True to her nickname of "the Amazon," she stands tall and uncaring, looking nifty with her saber. Our shield-master Cedric is his usual bubbling self. He can barely stop moving, and I can see the restraint he must exert not to start one of his usual jokes. Oh, what a cad! I hope his good mood carries us through this ordeal as well. Then, there is Will, as silent and brooding as usual. I''m sure his keen intellect is already picking up clues and tips to help us get ahead. And then there''s me. I may not look like much, but my firebolts are second to none! I worked hard for this, and even Professor Tilley commended me for their power and accuracy. Take that Cornelius! Where are your tradition and lineage now huh? You can shove your "mongrel" remarks up your¡ª Before my thought can finish, a man exits the command room and walks to the center of the line of teachers. It''s the Black Dog himself! My God, he is so young! I knew this, of course, but to see it with my own eyes! I met old Coolridge when he oversaw the entrance ceremony last October and, well, he looked like that kind of general from the stories who cares for his men. This Hopkins person is different. He wears the black uniform Coolridge had disdained and it suits him like a glove. And he seems¡­ I don''t know, dangerous? His dark eyes pass over us and I shiver a bit. He reminds me of Will when he had us skirt the rules to win the previous game. Like he would go to any length to achieve victory. I''m not sure I like it, but if that kind of man can protect others from what befell my family then I won''t complain. After he is done with his inspection, the Black Dog addresses us. His voice is curt and clear, silencing our whispers in an instant. "Welcome, students, to this year''s practical exam. Tonight, you will take part in a mock mission that will push your training and adaptability to their very limits. I expect each and every one of you to act like the war mages you have trained to become. Good luck and do us proud. That is all." With those few words, he steps back and Tilley takes the ground. That''s it? That''s the inspirational speech a general delivers? I cannot say that I''m impressed¡­ But then there is no more time for diversion. Tilley is explaining the details of the mission. "Your task tonight is as follows: you will go with your team to an outpost built deep within the Spiderwood forest. There, you will meet up with the patrol leader who will give you further instructions. We will send you out one team at a time. Team Zephyr starts immediately, the rest of you head inside the canteen to wait your turn." We walk back inside the complex through a wide door and sit at our usual tables in the building''s long refectory. Every team plans and discusses in low voices and we are no exception. "What do you think?" I ask no one in particular. "Orientation, followed by a patrol and a fight," Carmela starts in her smooth alto, "the Spiderwood is dense enough that they can set up an ambush. Test our awareness." "So kind of you to untangle that web," Cedric deadpans, forcing all of us to groan. Yet when we resume our conversation, the mood is slightly lighter. This is Cedric''s gift. He can always bring levity at our darkest time, like that time he comforted me during Christmas. I do not know if the others have noticed how much of a difference it makes, but I have. "I agree with Carmela," Reginald continues calmly, "I think we can use lanterns until the camp then switch to spells during the patrol. That way, we conserve our aura and reduce our exposure right as the enemy attacks. What do you think, Will?" Silence. "Will?" "Yes, I heard you. I think it''s fine." We all turn to the broody boy. He is resting his chin on his hands, fingers interlaced together. He usually does that when he is formulating one of his dastardly plans. "What''s the matter, my friend?" Cedric asks. "Nothing yet¡­ just¡­ something Hopkins said." "What, that speech?" Reggie scoffs, "that was miserable. Perhaps Cornelius was right, and this man doesn''t have the shoulders to lead. A true general should make one''s blood boil with only a few words!" he declares with passion. Reggie is so heroic! He is all fire and fury and I am so proud. With him as a leader, we are the best team around and fear nothing and no one! "Hmm," Will answers noncommittally as his dark eyes bore into Reggie''s righteous expression, "perhaps. In any case, we should do as you say until we receive further orders." We continue to converse as two more teams are led away. Soon, only Cornelius''s team, as well as Phenix team, Pearl team and ours, are left. I feel more and more anxious for some reason and soon realize the cause. The instructors are coming and going wearing peculiar expressions. Their faces are too¡­ blank. Should they be this nervous? I mean, we are the ones taking the exam, right? Soon, it is our turn and Tilley leads us away to the armory where we retrieve our gear, as well as lanterns, a map, and other sundries. "Is something the matter, sir?" asks Will who picked on the professor''s apparent nervousness. "Nothing you need to concern yourselves with," the older man retorts curtly, "just focus on the mission, that is all you need to do." We follow him to a smaller gate out of the enclave and directly into the Spider Wood. The line of tall trees looks much more ominous under the night light, their branches now the gnarled hands of some petrified witches. "Your mission starts now. Good luck," Tilley says, then hurries back as if there was an emergency. "That''s queer," Cedric observes with furrowed brows. We do not reply, and soon all turn to face the expanse of dark woods before us. Spider Wood may have a sinister name, but in truth it''s just a large patch of wood left completely untamed at the edge of Avalon. It remains untouched, mostly for training purposes and also as a buffer against the mundane world. We have crossed it a few times for orientation practice as well as games and mock battles. The "capture the flag" operations are particularly fun because the wood is so dense. There are many hiding spots and secret paths and Will is devious beyond measure, giving our squad the edge every time. We are on familiar grounds. "Night-patrol formation. Let''s do this, people," Reggie announces in his serious voice. We light some lanterns and walk into the dense shrubs, searching for a path. Cedric opens the way as usual. Not only does he have keen senses, he also wears an enchanted piece of cavalry breastplate and a heavy helmet. Reggie and Carmela follow and provide illumination. Then, there is me, who can throw the best bolts as well as a decent shield. Finally, Will closes the march in the black ensemble he chose. He also carries a small crossbow and though both he and Reggie know how to use pistols, we do not have any at the moment. We walk slowly through the dense vegetation in a single file and I am grateful that the clothes we wear are thick enough to protect my legs from both brambles and insects. It does not take long for the lights of the town to disappear and the forest to close in around us. The world is reduced to bulbous tree trunks strangled by ivy, branches and roots that grab at our feet and above our head, an impenetrable canopy. The two bobbing lights from the lanterns become our talismans to ward off the darkness. All I can hear are our heavy breaths, the snaps of broken twigs and the creaks of live wood. After a while, a curious sensation of timelessness grips my heart and I start to wonder if perhaps we are lost, if the trail no longer exists and we crossed some fae arch to disappear in this green hell for all of eternity. Fortunately, we find the beaten path before this curious idea grows into more than a fantasy. "That''s the Wilson trail," Reginald comments, "we can follow it to the flag clearing, then the camp is just around a bend, according to the map." We turn right and walk for another fifteen minutes. It feels good to see the stars again. Eventually, the path widens into a glade with a massive willow tree at its center. That''s where we won our first capture the flag battle against that pompous dolt Cornelius and his cronies! I remember the area well, except that under the light of the moon it feels much less friendly. Also¡­ "Was this always here?" "Jesus Christ." "What?" We gather in front of the huge trunk, struck by disbelief. Its previously pristine bark is now shredded, lacerated by a double set of claws. The marks are so deep that I could easily hide two knuckles in the furrows. "It''s like a beast marked its territory or something," Cedric exclaims. "What kind of beast?! There isn''t anything in the Spiderwood that can leave such marks," Carmela objects, her hand on the hilt of her saber. "A black bear?" Reginald suggests, hesitant. Will approaches and silently places his hand against the maimed bark. Even spaced at their widest, there is no way for his fingers to touch the outermost ditches. "My God¡­" I helplessly remark. A black bear? More like a grizzly! "Do you recognize the markings?" Reginald asks our resident know-it-all. "Maybe," Will answer cautiously, "it''s just that¡­ No. No, it can''t be." "Well, out with it, man," Cedric urges. "Werewolf." We all freeze in shock and horror. "The final exam can''t be a werewolf, right?" Cedric asks with fear. "Impossible! Don''t be ridiculous, man," Reginald chides him, "they would never allow fresh recruits against such a monster and particularly not in a wooded area. No, I think it''s unexpected." "What should we do then? We can''t exactly go toe to toe against a werewolf!" "I agree that it would be suicide, but right now we need to link up with the patrol at the outpost. It would still be safer than heading back." We all agree, and I remember the classes we had on werewolves. They are cursed humans who turn into giant lupine hybrids under the influence of the full moon or, sometimes, voluntarily. In wolf form, they are vicious creatures that kill for sport. They are incredibly fast, monstrously strong, and their claws can carve steel as if it were wax. They are even more dangerous in forests and the deadliest ones temper their savagery with humanlike cunning. Only experienced groups track them down and still incur the occasional casualties. I remember that Carmela''s elder sister was killed in such a hunt, poor thing. If this is truly a werewolf, we must act with all haste. We are vulnerable! "Let''s go quickly," Will urges us. We follow the trail out of the clearing and the forest swallows us once more. Everyone has their weapons out and I call upon my magic. I feel my aura suffuse my body and I guide it to the gauntlet where it lays, quiescent and ready. The energy glows softly in my mind like a reliable and constant companion. I have but to use the right symbol and say the word, and by my will manifest a spear of fire that can go through a man without slowing down. Not that I ever did such a thing! We are tense, checking every angle but never stopping along the way. Visibility is reduced when the road turns around a bend. We instinctively accelerate as the fires of the outpost come into view. Something is wrong. "Stay in formation," Reginald urges us as we move closer. There are no sentries and as we get close enough, I notice a discarded helmet on the ground. Some lanterns around the perimeter are still shining. We enter the outpost still in a circle with me at the center. It is closer to a treehouse than to a real installation. Just a few benches around a fire, three tents and a rope leading up to an observation post. Reginald gestures us in. There are no bodies but it smells like blood¡­ and soon we find the source: a trail of red leading further into the woods as if something heavy had been dragged. "God no¡­" Carmela whispers softly, her voice quavering. "There is only one track, and the rest of the camp left in a hurry," Cedric observes, "think they went after the beast?" "To rescue their comrade, undoubtedly!" Reggie proclaims. I look at the blood on the ground. All that red¡­ No, I have not seen the body so I must not give in to despair. Still¡­ "We must go after them. They might need our help!" our fearless leader proclaims, and I feel courage fill my heart. Yes, we are to be war mages! We need to act like proper heroes! All of us nod, our faces grim yet determined. All of us except Will. We all turn to him, surprised. "Will?" Reggie frowns, his chiseled jaw locked by anger. "I think we should head back to town and call for reinforcements." "What? And leave the others alone?" Reggie explodes. "Calm down, Reggie, please," Cedric says with a grim expression. As for Carmela, she is staring around frantically, trying to cover all angles. I don''t know what to say. This is the first time I saw Will argue for a full retreat. "We are not equipped to face a werewolf. Only Carmela has a silver blade and my silver-tipped quarrels are too small, not to mention that I have only the three. If we fall back now, we can have this place crawling with veteran fighters in half an hour." "These men don''t have half an hour!" "You don''t know that, and you should consider that we could be more hindrance than actual help." "I never took you for a coward!" Reginald bellows, red with fury. William, the ever-placid William, takes a deep breath in as his face contorts with unbridled anger. Then, just as I believe the two will come to blows, he settles down and his visage grows as cold and aloof as usual. I don''t like it when he does this, bury it all inside, but now is not the moment to fight. We must follow Reggie''s lead! "Very well, I suppose you will have to learn by yourself. Lead the way, oh fearless leader," the dark man answers, his voice dripping with sarcasm. I can tell that Reggie has been needled beyond reason but his anger is misplaced. "Reggie, if we want to help them, we must leave now," I declare. "Right, form up," he says, with a last venomous look at our friend. Reginald takes the lead with his gauntlet prepped and dagger raised. Cedric follows and then Carmela too, after a delay. She seems despondent. I don''t like it. Oooh, I don''t like any of this. Why is the team arguing now? And is Carmela fine? No one said anything to her. "Carmie?" I ask in a soft voice, but she doesn''t respond. Her eyes are still looking around, haunted, and her back is bent forward. I''m not so sure that this is a good idea. We are in way over our head. What Will said is true¡­ No, I must not doubt Reggie, not now. He is a true gentleman and one day he will become Black Dog, I am sure of it. "I will take point. Cedric and Carmela, be prepared to cover me. Mina, keep that spell ready and Will, give us night vision." Night vision is one of those weird spells that Will picked up at the library that no one else wanted. Thieves'' magic, Cornelius would say. It has proven useful on more than one occasion though. "Pierce the veil," Will whispers, and I can feel my view grow clearer and the world comes into focus. We leave the lanterns behind and trot forward. A blind man could follow the trail. Besides the blood, there are also the many footsteps of pursuers. We follow the chaos for a few minutes before seeing our first signs of combat. In another clearing, this one caused by a fallen tree, we find broken weapons and spell impacts but mercifully no other bodies. "We can''t be too far, keep going," Reggie urges us. I am getting really worried about Carmela but there is little I can do right now. We burst into yet another clearing, this one unfamiliar, and stop in our tracks. Surprise robs me of my speech. I expected a battlefield, I expected dead people and to some extent, I expected howls but certainly not this. The small valley has an incline with us at its bottom. Above us, a massive stone rises up from the grass. Below it sit three mages, clearly still alive and bound by chains, and on top of the stone itself, the displayed corpse of the werewolf. Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. I had never seen one before but there is no mistaking it. The body is humanoid, to some extent, though the head is as lupine as can be with a jaw filled with serrated teeth shining gloomily under the moonlight. Sharp, long claws hang from its long fingers. They are big enough to circle my waist with room to spare! And someone killed it? And took the mages prisoner? How can this be? Paralyzed by fear and indecision, we helplessly witness the spectacle before us. Reggie is the first to speak, and his sentence summarizes our minds well. "What in the name of God is going on?" Immediately, we get our answer. It starts with an aura, not the rich and shimmering one we all share but a cold and unyielding wave of power unlike anything I have ever felt before. It crashes against the squad and pulls us under, subjugating our spirits beneath its frigid claws. I gasp and hold my chest. Carmela''s blade slides from her helpless fingers. We all moan and fight the onset of despair, for something is coming. Heavy hooves stomp on the ground with deliberate slowness and I turn my head to the right to see a figure that my worst nightmares could not have conjured. A gigantic warhorse walks in our direction. Powerful muscles roll lazily under a coat as dark as soot. Eyes of flaming red regard us with disdain from up high, and even I can tell the incredible power waiting to be unleashed. This is the king of war horses, and if the apocalypse comes and the pale knight rides, it will do so on the back of such a creature. Sitting comfortably on the infernal beast is a young woman. She is beautiful, with delicate golden hair around an elegant face. Her blue eyes inspect us impassibly and the normalcy stops there, for below her neck she is clad in a midnight suit of armor that an emperor would envy. An intricate lattice of plates clings to her lithe form and on her chest, she bears an unknown coat of arms as strange as it is threatening. She also holds in her hand a cruel hunting spear coated with blood. The aura comes from her. It rolls from her silhouette in waves like a winter storm, flaying us with its sheer intensity. It freezes me to my soul. "More snacks!" she mocks in a haughty voice, "Such an auspicious night. You all just come running, do you not?" I turn to Reggie, too out of sort to even start to think. "Who are you and what have you done? This is White Cabal territory!" he boldly claims. "I say this is my territory since I hunt in it," she replies, uncaring, "and I hope that you will offer more of a challenge than your predecessors." "Release our friends immediately!" Reggie orders with a squeaky voice that I can barely recognize. I turn around and see that Carmie is ignoring us, still staring at the wolf''s corpse while Will''s expression is a frozen mask. The only other person to react is Cedric. "Reggie¡­ My God Reggie¡­" "What?" "I-I think¡­ she''s a vampire!" We turn to the woman, even Carmela, and watch in disbelief as she slowly, slowly grins, revealing pointed fangs. As she does it, a passing cloud shifts and moonlight bathes her alabaster skin in a ghostly light. My fear turns to panic. "Hold fast," Reggie trumpets, "hold fast and we have nothing to fear! We are the shield of Avalon!" The woman chuckles and slides off her mount with preternatural grace. She steps forward while twirling her spear in the air then stops fifteen paces away from us. "You have nothing to fear? Let me put this to the test." Then she disappears. One instant she''s away, in a relaxed stance and the next she is by our side, holding Carmela by the neck. "Shit!" Cedric swears. "Let her go, you monster, guiding blade!" Reggie screams and he throws his dagger. The projectile flies into the air! Unfortunately, the devious vampire moves and the projectile rakes Carmela''s flank! She screams in pain causing all of us to stop. The vampire lifts fingers now coated in blood and licks them languidly. "Not the sharpest knife in the drawer, are you?" she asks Reginald with palpable contempt. None of us dare move. None of us act as the vile monster bares our sobbing friend''s neck and bites it. We are still paralyzed a few seconds later when her groans are silenced and the creature drops her unmoving form. "Noooooooooo!" I scream, "no! Carmela!" "You beast!" Reggie roars. She won''t get away with it! I''ll send her to the abyss! S§×ar?h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Firebolt!" Hundreds of hours of practice have made my spells true. The beautiful and familiar crimson streak dashes across the valley. The woman lifts a hand which now shines blue. With contemptuous ease, she slaps my spell away! "Is that all?" she asks with a bored voice. "Firebolt!" I yell once more, soon followed by the others. We send hexes and curses after the demon but she either deflects or dodges them all. She does not even move from her place! Is she mocking us? "Do not relent!" Reggie bellows, and we keep firing. Three by three, we send ineffectual projectiles after her. I have never felt so powerless, even when my family was killed. I fight back the fear and the grief, not just for Carmela but also for the rest of us. We are going to die here. And then something else happens. I now realize that we have indeed attacked by three, which means¡­ that William disappeared! I now see a blur moving closer to the vampire, step by step. I must distract her! "Light!" I scream, and a blue ray extends from my gauntlet to the creature''s head. She closes her eyes. Yes! This is our chance! Will jumps at her back with one of his silver-tipped bolts used as an improvised stiletto. Hope surges in my heart. Then the monster turns and catches William mid-lunge. "A commendable effort, you even masked the noise." She dodges one last spell and bites down, staring Reggie in the eye. She''s making sure we see William perish! No, I will not allow that! Reggie charges forward, and I follow him bravely! We must not give up! Then something queer happens. I am sent in the air. I push myself from the ground and spit grime and leaves. Gah! What happened? Cedric, Reggie and I are in a heap on the ground? How? No¡­ It''s the vampire. She''s toying with us. It''s¡­ over, it really is. We are doomed. Carmela and Will, my friends¡­ I can''t believe it. This has to be an illusion, a nightmare! We were just going to become war mages! How can it all turn out like this?! "Disappointing. Pathetic. Are you really combat mages?" "We will¡­ not falter!" Reggie spits, his spirit unbroken. The vampire''s cold blue eyes turn to him with slow purpose and I feel an intense weight settling on my shoulder like a mighty yoke. Reggie flinches. "You must be the leader of this sorry lot." "I am Reginald Lewis¡­" "I care not," the vampire interrupts and Reggie''s voice dies in his throat. I feel something like a presence in my mind, a pervasive poison that fills me with dread but try as I might, I cannot shake it off. She''s doing something to me! "You are a poor excuse of a man to send this ragtag joke of a troop against me." She blurs again and when I see her, she is holding Cedric by the neck, her other hand digging into his armor as if it were paper. Cedric, kind-hearted Cedric, squirms and screams in her hold. When will the nightmare end? I let my tears fall freely from my cheeks. What can I do? What can I do? She''s just too fast, too strong! Nothing we''ve done even bothered her! "There," she continues casually as if she were entertaining guests, "do tell him about honor and glory. Go on." She squeezes and Cedric yells in pain. "Your pointless sacrifice honors the Cabal! Your fighting spirit will live on in the afterlife!" she declares in a fake voice, a mockery of Reggie''s previous statements. "Go on, leader," she urges Reggie. Her fangs are bared in a nightmarish smile, sly and filled with disdain. Oh yes, so filled with disdain. "Tell him you''ll win." We never stood a chance. Reggie''s face is a mask of pain and powerlessness. He, too, is crying. Then to my surprise, he swallows his sobs and turns to me. "Mina¡­" I am so scared. "¡­ run." Huh? "Now! Run!" I obey. I leave all my friends behind in this place of death, their corpses strewn across the grass. I run and I do not look back, and the worst thing is that I already know it will be for nothing. She''s just too fast. I won''t make it back to the camp, much less back to town. It''s over. It''s all over. As I run with all the desperation, I suddenly remember something. A voice I heard only an hour ago. It feels like an eternity now. "Act like the war mage you have trained to become," the Black Dog had said. That''s right. I am a war mage. If I must die, let my sacrifice be of use. I will warn the others! I shift right on the path, to a slightly more open area where the sky was opened by the fall of a large aspen. I channel all my power, all my will into one last spell. "I wonder what you hope to achieve¡­" an amused voice comments behind me. I turn around and see her only a few steps away from me. She stands there like a lady at court, talking about the weather. The contrast between her polite observation and the slaughter behind chills me to the bone. The gauntlet thrums with power and my hand is uncomfortably warm. This is it. I raise the gauntlet and the woman lifts an aristocratic brow, only to display genuine surprise when I point fully upward. "Firebolt!" I yell, and the spell takes off, its shiny radiance a reverse meteor that breaches the canopy and climbs to the sky. The spell explodes. The loud detonation sends leaves fleeting in the air, while the light shines like a small sun. "A beacon?" the vampire asks. I turn to her, facing my death. I do not lower my eyes nor bend my back. I am a war mage and will die like one. "Now, all of Avalon will come for you," I declare, and close my eyes. I pray one last time, thinking about my friends and the regrets I have. I wish I could have lived longer, and yet I find that if I had to do it again, I would. Carmela''s aloof grace and down-to-earth behavior, Reggie''s spirit, William''s guile and Cedric''s humor. Yes, I was blessed to end in such a company. Nothing happens. Is she toying with me? "Melthanein, not bad, cub. Perhaps enough for a passing grade." I open my eyes with surprise. The vampire is still here, tapping her index against her chin. Her eyes shift from the sky to me. They are no longer full of scorn. "This exam is over. Follow." What? What?! I sputter. What? Huh? This was¡­ not real? No? This was all an exam? No, impossible. The bodies, the blood. No? Maybe? Is this a farce? Am I dead or hallucinating the entire scene? This is¡­ too much. I burst into tears. "If this is¡­ some sort of cruel game!" "It is not. Your friends are waiting. Come, I don''t have all night." I stand there, wracked by emotions. The vampire turns and I meet her gaze. This time, it carries no judgement. "Your courage was commendable. Do use it a bit longer, there are still three more groups to assess." I stare in disbelief, then wipe my tears. Three groups, she said. That means she was part of the planning, probably. Also, there would be more bodies if she had found the other groups first¡­ and she has little reasons to keep me alive. The walk back to the clearing is an ordeal. My nerves are a frayed bundle of raw panic but I want to see them, I want to know. And finally, I do. The mages covered in chains are standing around the lying forms of Carmela, Cedric and Reggie and I now realize that the steel links do not cover their hands. William stands by the side with his arms crossed. I run to him and hug him, but I only allow myself to cry for a few seconds. I want to see to the others. Then I realize something is weird. I pull back, eyes narrowed, and the previous fear makes a return. "Did you know this was a test?" He hesitates, but eventually relents. "Yes." "And you did not tell us? Why?" His dark eyes inspect me, considering. "There are some lessons that can only be learned the hard way. Reggie¡­ is a good man, but he needed that." "That? This¡­ nightmare? We needed to go through that?" He nods. I want to slap him. "Why?" I demand, angry beyond measure. "There will be time for talks later," the vampire declares, and we turn. Carmela is on her feet, blinking owlishly. I jump to hug her as she takes in her surroundings. "Huh, so this is how it is¡­" she says. I fiercely hug her and feel better when she pats my back. I know she dislikes physical contact, I just couldn''t help it. "Is that a real werewolf?" She asks with a hoarse voice. I pull back just as the vampire woman answers with the affirmative. "Did you kill it yourself?" "Yes." "Can I take a closer look?" "Yes, but hurry. You five must be on your way." Carmela moves to the stone but I interrupt her. "Carmela, your flank!" "What about it?" I look for her wound but find none. I turn to the blonde vampire with a struck expression. "I stabbed my own palm to get some blood. You should have noticed that it was too dark to be hers." I hadn''t. "You panicked and your addled brain filled the gaps," she continues, as Cedric now wakes up with a jolt. "What?" he asks. Then he sees us all standing around, and slaps his forehead. "Oh, the exam, dammit! I guess we failed, huh." The exam. I don''t know what to think. Cedric flinches when he realizes that the vampire is still here, but he soon tries to gather his courage and even starts a conversation! "Hah, you''re amazing. An illusionist? I never saw you around here, are you a new archmage?" The men look at him with utter disappointment mixed with disbelief. The vampire just ignores him. It takes him but a few moments to realize his mistake and he pales once more. Reggie is last to wake. When his eyes open, he also quickly understands that this was all a test. Our leader alternates between outrage and despair. Eventually, he turns to the head war mage, a dour man I sometimes saw at the practice field. "What¡ª" "Shut up. Stand up and prepare to follow us back to the town." "I have a right to¡ª" "Two hours of detention." Reggie clamps his jaws but he doesn''t press the issue and he is right. I, too, can tell from the mage''s stony expression that he will not hesitate to have us peel potatoes until the winter solstice, should we dare to mouth off. The vampire woman closes with Carmela and whispers something in her ear. My friend turns away from the monstrous corpse still laid atop the monolith and joins us, her face contemplative. As she passes me by, she squeezes my hand and I feel better. The walk of shame back to the town is the worst of my life. At some point, Cedric starts to whisper only to be told to shut it by the mage trio. They have left their chains behind, which were put on by another team. It looks like everyone will get to experience facing off against a monster of legend. We drag ourselves not to the barracks but to the administrative headquarters of the White Cabal military. There, we are made to sit on uncomfortable chairs with no water and forced to stay silent while the dour mage leaves, probably to report. Ten minutes later, we are summoned to the office of the Black Dog himself. We line in front of him as he leans back in his leather chair, hands crossed over his lap. He glares at us from across a spotless desk, managing to look down upon us despite being the only one seated. Eventually, he starts in a tone rife with disappointment. "Do I need to spell out your result?" "Sir, I must protest!" Reggie starts immediately. "You must?" the Dog interrupts him, "do you object to my methods? Perhaps you find me unfair? Perhaps you find my standards too high?" Reggie reddens with shame. "Which specific aspect of this task did you find to be too hard?" "The vampire?!" "Indeed? Did I ask you to kill a vampire?" "But¡­" "Did I?" Black Dog Hopkins demands, raising his voice for the first time. Silence. "Answer me, Reginald Lewis, did I give you the impossible task to kill a vampire at any time of the briefing?" Silence. "So far, two teams have passed this test and will receive the title of war mage." "Impossible!" Reginald sputters. The Black Dog smashes his fist on his desk and we all jump in surprise. His next words drip with contempt. "You have all been judged according to the exact same standards. Team Phenix and Flame successfully pulled back and reported the presence of a werewolf, as well as the disappearance of the patrol." "What? But, this is cowardice?" Reggie exclaims. "Mr Lewis, what was the consequence of your so-called bravery this night? No need to answer, I will spell it for you. You and your entire team were killed to the last man, only managing to give some semblance of warning to our town because of the presence of mind of Mina Kinkaid. Did I summarize your achievements to your satisfaction?" Silence. Reggie looks¡­ defeated. Humiliated. I have never seen him so desperate. He who would always keep calm under any circumstances is now on the verge of tears. I want to comfort him against that miserable Black Dog and yet I do not because deep inside, I am troubled. Yes, we acted foolishly. William was right when he suggested a retreat. What looked like cowardice was in fact¡­ Common sense. "The White Cabal military is a professional outfit dedicated to the defense of our kind against the horrors of this world and those who would seek to enslave or exterminate us. I will not accept glory hounds and sanctimonious imbeciles in the ranks of my beloved army, for failure is not an option. That is why, Mr Lewis, we do not charge in against a superior opponent with no plan. That is why, Mr Lewis, we prioritize the survival of our team through common sense and basic logic. And finally, that is why, when lectured by a superior officer, we do not question and object but stay quiet and listen. Do you understand?" "¡­Yes sir." "Mr. Hope, Lady Ariane informs me that you saw through the whole thing. I am tired of wasting my breath on a bunch of incompetent morons. You will explain the situation." William licks his lips and turns to us. He is a bit hesitant at first, yet soon his words flow with the same precision and clarity as when he explains his plan. "The first hint happened during the speech. I can tell that you did not pay attention so I will remind you." "Act like the war mages you have trained to become¡­" I whisper, my eyes widening. "Precisely," Will says with approval, "this was a strange thing to say. I expected him to speak about valor, intelligence or some such but the specific wording and brevity of the message struck me as odd. Then there were the marks on the tree. They were a little too obvious and also lacked some other elements of territorial marks." "Huh?" Cedric asks. "Urine and fecal matter," William adds helpfully. "Oh." "In any case, the camp was also a setup. The trail was too clean. Normally, you would have a large splatter at the site of the attack and more chaos where the victim would try to get free. I was pretty sure that this was all a trick by that time and that''s why I suggested that we fall back." Behind Will, the Black Dog allows himself a small nod, the only sign of appreciation he has shown so far. "Why not tell us?" Cedric asks, stupefied. Reggie remains silent but he, too, looks curious. "That would have defeated the purpose of the exercise. We were meant to realize that we were outclassed and retreat, which I tried to explain. Instead, you called me a coward." William''s voice is not judgmental. If anything, he looks sad. Reginald purses his lips and averts his gaze. "I became sure when we spotted the vampire. Lady Ariane, apparently. Do you remember the details of the disaster at New-Orleans?" We remember of course, they only escaped thanks to the help of¡­ oh. "Is she the one?" "The very same," the Black Dog interjects. "Right, I asked around out of curiosity and the survivors described her as a young-looking woman with blonde hair and blue eyes. That''s why I was certain. When she pretended to bite me, she did not force me to lose consciousness so I faked stupor while she took care of you. She tasked me and the instructors with making sure you were all comfortable before going after Mina." A series of "oohs" and "aahs" flow through the room. "Good enough, now, attention!" the Black Dog says. We instinctively snap into salute. The Black Dog stands up and comes to stand before Reginald. He is quite tall, I notice. "Reginald Lewis, your performance was dismal. You allowed your lust for glory to get to your head, leading to the death of your entire squad as well as a failure to inform command of your situation. You did not order the creation of a defensive perimeter to delay the vampire, instead attacking her recklessly. You disregarded the advice of your subordinate and insulted him in front of his peers. You fail. You are hereby relieved of your position as squad leader until you pass the seminary on squad management to the satisfaction of your instructors." He walks to Cedric. "Cedric Birmingham, you remained quiet when your fellow member objected to Mr Lewis'' inane plan, you remained quiet after witnessing signs of a dangerous enemy, you failed to acknowledge your squad member''s intense emotional distress¡­" Cedric turns to Carmela, face stricken by surprise then by guilt. "¡­ and you omitted to establish a defensive shield to delay a superior opponent. You fail. You will attend intensive training for three months, following which you will be allowed to take the exam again." He turns to Carmela. "Carmela von Leeb. You should have known better." "Yes, sir." "You fail. You will follow the same program as Mr Birmingham here, as well as compulsory counseling." "¡­Yes, sir." She lowers her head. "Mina Kinkaid." I want to close my eyes but I do not. I keep my spine straight and look forward. "Not once did you question your leader''s poor decision, nor did you act on the distress of your comrade in arms. You followed blindly. You fail." "Yes, sir." "Compassion and intelligence mean nothing if you do not use them. I expected more from you." "Yes, sir, sorry, sir." "You will attend the same training as the two others." He stops before the last member of our group. "William Hope. You displayed wisdom by objecting to the plan and loyalty by still sticking with your friends. Lady Ariane says that your obfuscation spell is, and I quote, amusing though he should also work on his smell. You pass. You have two choices. You can remain with your friends as they attend the supplementary training, or¡­" "Supplementary training, sir." "I expected no less." He walks back behind his seat and picks the next paper off the bundle in front of him. "You have your orders. Now, get out of my office." We leave. What a night. Chapter 84 - 82. Pact. It has been one hour since the end of the exam. Hopkins mentioned a complication and an opportunity and I decided to stick with him and see how things develop. Right now, I am not too worried as I patiently wait inside the White Cabal Council building, their seat of political power. I have to give it to the Cabal, they have a vision. The council building is a large, two-storied square edifice with plenty of windows and a cupola beneath which an amphitheatre serves as the hub of their decision-makers. Both the architecture and the furniture are austere and painted all white, with minimum embellishments. It gives the place an air of dignity that helps visitors forget that this alliance is young and still fragile. A few pieces of art tastefully placed attract the eye, and I am pleased to see that they chose quality over quantity. The paintings are all neoclassical, static and disciplined. I can appreciate their work though I prefer the passion and colors of the romantic movements. It illustrates the creativity and fire I admire in mortals that much more. Also, some neoclassical artists have probably never seen a bare bosom in their life. Seriously, how can they so easily ignore the effects of gravity? Ah, I should not complain. Not that there are any exposed female nipples in the antechamber of this majestic institution anyway. As I muse and inspect a faithful reproduction of "Oath of the Horatii" by David, which shows the three Roman brothers as they prepare to fight to the death for their city, a commotion comes from the corridor leading to the exit. The alley I find myself in circles the large chamber at the center of the building. Stairs lead up to a mezzanine and some offices, while large windows give me a commanding view of the city outside. S~ea??h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. As for why I am not worried, the reasons are two-fold. First, the only force that would pose a mortal danger to me is firmly on Hopkins'' side and therefore, on mine. Secondly, I am well-protected by twenty Rosenthal mercenaries in their emblematic grey uniforms. That is why, when a large group approaches, I do not react, I do not stand up. I do not even avert my eyes from the masterpiece of civic duty and brotherly love before me. Bannings, their grizzled leader, approaches the newcomers. "Halt," he commands as his men close rank with their hands on their pistols, "may I ask your business here?" "I have no need to justify my presence at the heart of my own government!" exclaims the leader of the troop of mages who just appeared. I can tell from their aura that those men know how to fight though they do not carry the uniform of the Cabal soldiers. There are a dozen of them, some young, some old, all nervous. "If it''s your government you want to see, the door is behind you to your right." "I''m not here for the door, I''m here to take the vampire into custody in the name of the Council!" the man declares with far more confidence than he should. I can taste his fear under the cover of a bravado fueled more by pride than common sense. I do not react, nor do I need to. I was right to bring an escort, and Hopkins, always two steps ahead of his opposition, was right to give me some company. "Who is this I hear making such bold statements? Is that you, Garrick?" asks a calm voice. An old man with a flowing white beard and kind chocolate eyes gently pushes Bannings aside to stand between the two groups. "In the name of the Council? There was no such order, as we both know." "Councilman Frost?! Stand aside, this is no business of yours." "Of course it is, young Garrick, of course it is, since you just claimed a legitimacy you have no right to. Tell me, is this a coup? Are you rebelling against us and all of Avalon? Trying to seize power?" "What? No! We only wish to preserve the¡ª" "Then why do you lie so shamelessly, young Garrick? Why do you usurp the Council''s authority? Under whose orders are you really here?" he asks, and the younger man clicks his mouth shut. I can appreciate that Councilman Frost is smooth, much smoother than the other man who looks more like a follower and lacks the older gentleman''s political acumen. "Let me explain something to you, young Garrick, because though you may be a brilliant lad, you do not have the years of experience that I have. "Imagine that you don''t want two people to be married. The easiest way to do that is to have their families fight, yes? So you send a member of your family to attack a member of their family, there is a fight and the marriage is cancelled. Now, the important part to remember here is that you do not need to win the fight. You only need the fight to happen." Garrick frowns, unsure as to where the old man is going while his followers shuffle nervously. "You, Garrick, have not been sent to subjugate the vampire but to create an incident, and I can prove it." "¡­I sincerely doubt it." "O ye of little faith, tell me, you know that the vampire you were sent to disturb is the one who saved our men during the disaster, yes?" At that, low whispers spread through the ranks. "So? Vampires have no allies but themselves. Do not be naive." "Oh no, you do not understand. I am more concerned about the means than the cause. Why, I remember little Sola telling me how the vampire ripped apart the warded steel door of the cellar they were hiding in with her bare hands. Oh, and that lad Emmett said she moved so fast you could only follow her from the flying pieces of men she left behind, that her claws were shredding through their armors like a hot knife through cheese. I think the survivors have started to call her the Red Maiden on account of the rivers of blood she shed that night." Some of the mages behind Garrick are starting to reconsider their night out. "And your plan, my dear, was to show up here with your merry band and¡­ what exactly? Do enlighten me." "The¡­ the might of our magic¡­" "Did I mention that she slapped away or dodged every spell thrown at her tonight? Yes. Slapped. Not shielded against or dispelled. Slapped." Silence. "Our greatest strength is not the magic we wield but our adaptability, training and coordination. We are not as savage as werewolves, nor as fast as vampires. We cannot match the raw power of blood mages and other warlocks, yet we still endure. By being prepared, smart and using the tools we have to their best effect. The first and best tool you have is your brain." Silence. "A brain that sits on top of your stupid shoulders, sadly unused. You absolute tool. Get the fuck out, Garrick, and don''t ever let me catch you again acting like a complete dolt, or God help me I''ll remind you little shits why they called me Frostbite. Aye?" Lots of smacking around, tonight. Garrick looks at the old man in front of him, whose aura has started to condense threateningly, and the trained soldiers by his side. There are also noises of boots hitting the ground in cadence outside. He assesses his chances and for once, caution prevails. He turns tail and scampers with his cronies in tow. The old man comes back to sit by my side with a heavy sigh. I address him. "Very convincing, Mr Frost." "Thank you, miss. If we old farts can''t protect the new generations from their own stupidity, then the world is doomed." I do not think I was included in the "old fart" comment. Probably. "Nevertheless, I hope we get called in soon. My presence here obviously exacerbates tensions," I reply. "Not to worry, Hopkins usually does things fast. Ah, here they are." The door to our side opens and the humdrum of whispers suddenly invades the corridor. The entire room is warded against sound and possibly other means of spying, therefore it was until now impossible to eavesdrop on the tumultuous debate going on inside. Now that the wards are disabled, a delicate hearing is no longer required to follow the proceedings. In fact, even Frost winces. "You are fools to let this creature into our sanctum!" We step in. The Council room is a small amphitheater made not out of benches, but out of massive wooden thrones each bearing a different symbol. The first half-circle consists of only seven seats while behind, two more rows of smaller chairs make up the rest of the assembly. A single person sits facing the rest behind a bare pulpit. He wears a ceremonial robe in white that fails to mask his gut, as well as a mighty scowl above an impressive pair of chops. As we get in, he smashes an abused gavel on the depressed wood in front of him. If this session is the norm, I give the pulpit another three months tops before it collapses under the man''s relentless assault. "Order! Order! Councilor Pruitt, you do not have the floor." He then turns the incandescent focus of his gaze to me, then reaches inside his garment to reveal a lozenge pendant shimmering with colors. I cannot read the artefact''s aura since the room is saturated with auras, but I can guess. "Ladies and gentlemen, please reveal and verify your protective amulets, thank you." All present follow suit, including two guards by the door who eye me warily. Frost also reveals a defensive charm. I find it revealing that his own looks like a cross between a diamond and an icicle. The seated mages move to their neighbors, checking for defects. When they are certain that their minds are adequately shielded, they turn to the gavel man and nod. I do not try to taste the talismans nor probe their defenses, even though I am curious. It would not be worth it, and I may even get caught. Indeed, one of the main chairs, an old woman as wrinkled as a raisin, inspects me with a curious monocle. I perceive a tendril of essence sneaking towards me. Caution is one thing, disrespect, another. I block the probe and give the old woman a meaningful glance. Her brows rise in surprise, then she gives me an appreciative nod. I return my attention to the man at the center, who Hopkins explained to be the President. His role is to oversee the Council and make sure everything goes according to the rules. To do so, he must forfeit any other position for life to limit the risks of partisan behavior. Similarly, he does not have voting powers. Only the seven members of the Council representing the administration, army, education, treasury, research, intelligence and diplomacy can decide the course of the White Cabal, their uneven number helping to prevent deadlocks. "Good," the man continues, "now I believe Councilman Frost has a proposal to bring forward?" I am left standing while the old man ambles to his own chair. He sits back heavily and answers. "I do. The Chair of Diplomacy would like to bring forward a proposal of formal alliance between the Cabal and the vampire House Nirari, represented here by Ariane of the Nirari." "What?!" the irate man from earlier erupts from the side, "Frostie, have you lost your goddamn mind? Hopkins let that thing move freely around our children! She must be purged, both of them must be purged!" The objector is a well-dressed mage with a hook nose and an elaborate dress. He is loaded with powerful artefacts, more so than any mage I have met before. I remember that the President called him Pruitt. "Watch your tongue. I am done with your talks of tradition and values, they have proven their worth tonight." "What?" the man screams, "I demand an explanation for those words, Frost." "Easy enough. I supervised tonight''s exam at the request of Councilor Hopkins and I was shocked when your son ran away and left my granddaughter to die." "You old imbecile, this is a trick to move you to betray us and what we stand for!" "I saw it happen with my own eyes. Your precious Cornelius turned tail and bailed out, leaving others to cover his retreat. If that is the lineage and greatness you claim, I''d rather have little Margie marry a donkey!" Interestingly, Frost''s aura starts to bleed out in the air and the temperature drops. I remember that Sola''s aura removes corruption. His looks a bit more aggressive. "Order, order!" the President repeats with a tired voice, a sign that he has said these words far too many times. After pounding his poor pulpit like a battering ram on a fortress gate, and threatening to have Pruitt forcefully removed, he finally restores a semblance of calm. Hopkins uses this opportunity to expose his project. The terrible performance of Cornelius Pruitt gave us an opportunity to push an agreement between my House and the whole of the White Cabal rather than just the military. Instead of a garrison, I could have an enclave with families, a library, workshops, everything. The people who would move in would certainly be the more agreeable members of their organization, further bolstering our cooperation. This is the third advantage, the one Jonathan had hinted at during our conversation earlier. It was heavily dependent on Cornelius Pruitt''s poor performance, a hazardous prospect in my opinion. I was proven wrong and Jonathan''s uncanny ability to predict human behavior once again surprises me. He would really make a good vampire. Not that he would ever accept. As for me, as long as I remain in control of Marquette I will have the means to guarantee the alliance. There is a possibility that my plan to take over Illinois with Lady Sephare''s support does not pan out, but even if this is the case, I am still City Master. It would take a war to dislodge me and Constantine would not allow it. After Jonathan is done talking, the President turns to me. I am now the focus of at least seven archmages, their guards, and their subordinates currently sitting in the amphitheater''s higher tiers. This is almost flattering. Silence descends upon the assembly. I still haven''t moved nor talked. Simply, I do not have the floor, and as their guest I am bound to follow their rules. As a courtesy. If one of them starts flinging spells all deals are off. Nothing untowards happens. The President simply swallows nervously before addressing me. The entire room holds their breath. "Ariane of the Nirari, do you approve of Councilor Hopkins'' proposal?" "I do," I reply, and the people present shift in their seats. Hopkins warned me of the rarity of such a situation. For most of them, this is the first time seeing a vampire with their own eyes, not to mention conversing with one. If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. "You will truly defend us if we are attacked?" the woman with the monocle asks with disbelief. Gah, she doesn''t have the floor! Why are they all breaking their own rules so easily? "Alliances between mages and vampires are nothing new," I remind them, "an agreement was reached between several clans and cabals to take down the Lancaster progenitor, for example. Although those were temporary, nothing prevents us from forging a more permanent pact." The mages mull it over for a moment, then the monocle woman raises her hand. The President gives her the floor so that probably means we can have a conversation. "What''s your interest in all of this?" "Besides additional fighters in case of conflict, I could trade resources with you such as knowledge, training, enchantments¡­" "Can''t you have your own enslaved mages for that?" I tsk at the insinuation. As if I needed them enslaved. "I don''t keep people as cattle unless they show hostility." "So, any mage can just show up on your territory and live there?" "You come to my lands, I will give you a chance to negotiate an agreement to stay if that is what you wish." "The vampires have been only too happy to leave us alone," she continues, "why change anything now?" I think of Sephare and Washington. "You are mistaken. You are left alone because nobody has deemed it worthwhile to expand into your territory. Yet." Whispers erupt around me. "Lords do not operate on the same time frame as you do. Just because there have been no conflicts does not mean that there will not be any in the future." The next question takes me off-guard. "Would you fight by our side against other vampires?" A very good question, and also an easy one. "If we enter an alliance, I will let it be known that you are under my protection. Any vampire who attacks you will know that it is a declaration of war upon me. Remember that our agreement is defensive in nature; if you attack a clan you are on your own." A few of the councilmen nod in understanding. In the end, a table is brought and a contract drawn. The Cabal is allowed an enclave in Marquette in the nicer part of town. Within their controlled area they can do as they please so long as it does not endanger me. I place a limit to their number and to the business interests they can develop and acquire outside of the enclave itself. They are not allowed to interfere with my activities, even if I slay humans, a condition that I thought they would object to more vehemently. We add a few more terms including the possibility to trade for services and an exit clause to allow for a peaceful end to the pact, just in case. I read the contract with attention once it is done, and find no obvious loopholes, so I sign it and its copies, before leaving the room. The councilors were wary at first, but after I failed to sprout horns and wings, the whole negotiation became a tedious affair. As I exit, I consider a significant problem I had been ignoring for the past month. I have no plan. Rather, I have plenty of plans but no vision, no clear destination in place. Tactics I know, strategy, on the other hand¡­ I don''t think I have had any strategy since gaining House status. Such a thing is as dangerous as it is stupid and quite unlike me. Even signing two agreements in such a short time was hastily made and not particularly smart. I reacted. There is even a small chance that I bound myself to a cause I may later regret. I climb in the carriage that will lead me to my retreat for tonight. I accepted Jonathan''s hospitality, and will therefore slumber in a safe room under his house. If he did not have the soldiery under his control, I would never have taken such a risk, even with Loth''s impregnable sarcophagus to protect me. I relax in the seat and continue with my introspection. What is my long-term goal? To kill my sire and his mother before either one of them becomes unstoppable. Or at least disable them permanently. How do I manage this? By accruing power, disabling Malakim, and forging alliances with people and organizations. I don''t even know if it will suffice. That step is simply the necessary condition to even find a way to deal with them. From then on, there are several ways for me to progress. One, on the diplomatic front, I should find a way to secure an alliance with the Cadiz and Constantine himself. I also need to secure the state of Illinois, if possible. Finally, I need to make sure the pact with the White Cabal goes well. This is the priority. The ultimate goal would be to become queen of the Americas. On the power front, I need to keep practicing what I already have until the state situation is resolved, then I need to study magic. Once I have solid foundations, I will keep training and find new and interesting people to consume. Beyond that, I have several opportunities to explore though they will have to wait. I nod to myself. I had the right to take some well-deserved rest after what I endured. Now, it is time to be a little more proactive. Jonathan joins me an hour later and we sit in his cramped yet comfortable living room, him nursing a cup of tea. I notice the small telltale signs that the man is exhausted and respect the fact that he hides it remarkably well. "What did you think about the new recruits?" he asks. "Not much. Some had potential, some less. They are still horribly green." He nods. "You are correct, of course. I hope tonight''s ordeal will be a wake-up call for some of them." "Like that particularly arrogant team?" "Yes, them. I will be running them ragged for the next three months." "Surely you are exaggerating," I lightly object, "they showed maturity for such young people. Isn''t three months too much?" Jonathan lifts one imperious brow. "Do you know, Ariane, that Cedric made some considerable effort to gather information about you after your encounter?" "Oh? He is preparing for a rematch?" "Indeed not. He was trying to find out if you had a boyfriend." I ponder this revelation for a moment. "You know what, you are right, beat some sense into them." Sitting before my desk back at the Manor three days later, I consider the fact that I have made a mistake. Specifically, Urchin claimed he could now write, and though I somehow doubt he could master both orthography and calligraphy in so short a time, I gave him the benefit of the doubt. Never again. "Urchin¡­" I start, holding his "report" of what happened in my absence. "Yes, Milady." "During my second life, I have suffered countless indignities" "Milady?" "I have been shot, stabbed, eviscerated, burnt and partially exploded." "Yes, Milady." "I had silver nails driven into my gums and my fingers repeatedly severed with what amounted to a silver-coated gardening tool." "Yes, Milady." "I was driven half-mad by Thirst, enslaved, caged and humiliated." "Yes, Milady." "And despite all of that, reading that report of yours is still one of the most grating, disturbing experiences I have ever had to face." "I am sorry, Milady." "It is a nonsensical amalgam of barely readable and horribly misspelled sentences that could not be called English by the most generous of teachers working in an asylum for the criminally insane." "Yes, Milady." "If I were to read this anathema to grammar aloud, I shall surely conjure up a demon, which would then wail in despair at the treatment and promptly beg to be sent back to hell." "I apologize, Milady." "Henceforth, you shall read what you wrote aloud before delivering it to me, and if you cannot make sense of it yourself, you shall write it again." "I understand Milady." "Or I will go over every mistake and use your own intestines as script to illustrate my points." "Very well, Milady." "You may go, the timing is ill-chosen for your Akkad lesson." "Very well, Milady, goodbye." I watch the man''s retreating back. I remember that I should not be too harsh in my treatment of my own subordinates, however after what that little scoundrel did to the written art I could simply not stand by and allow this ignominy to go unpunished. We ride through the woods in silence. Torran did not ask questions when I dragged him from his paperwork, nor did he question me when I told him I needed his help. Instead, he just followed with grim determination. Truly, he is as intense a supporter as he is a lover. I can only be thankful that he is so firm and solid in his character, and that his spirits are always up. That kind of thing. Truly this relationship has been more fulfilling than I had ever hoped. Metis and I emerge from the dense thicket first, soon followed by Krowar and my lover. A small pier stands before us, upon which a canoe waits where I left it. The lights of Boston shine from somewhere on the left while on our right, the ocean beckons. I dismount and rush to the small ship, but Torran intercepts me and sits first. "I will row," he declares, and I let him. We push away from the rickety wood and make for the sea. I direct Torran to a cove and endure the scrutiny of his steely glare. "If you are in trouble my love, tell me now. Two heads are better than one." "It is nothing bad, I just really need your presence for this," I reply. "I am intrigued. Ah, is this it?" he asks as we come in view of a one-mast skiff moored not far in the distance. I nod and we approach then board it. I rented this small ship for two days and had one of Wilhelm''s men sail it here under the cover of secrecy. So far so good. I climb first and find the packed clothes next to the tiller, just as I instructed. "Here, put this on please. I will be right back," I tell Torran. He is looking more bothered by the minute and yet he still does as I request. I climb down a hatch to the single deck and check around. Behind a row of crates, there is a very comfortable mattress as well as my own disguise. I don it and climb back upstairs. Torran looks just as amazing as I expected in a light blue officer uniform that fits him perfectly. He is currently inspecting the sea, leaning sensually against the railing. The sensual part might be just in my head. "Captaaiiin..." I whisper suggestively. Torran turns and his eyes widen as he takes in my appearance. The scandalous pants, the outrageous open vest that leaves little to the imagination. The tricorn. His mouth forms a perfect o as I place my fists on my waist and push my modest bosom forward, clearly showing that I am not wearing anything underneath. We will be separated for a while to pursue our own projects. I want to make sure he remembers me, and doesn''t get any ideas. Then something happens that I was not expecting. He throws his head back and chuckles. The chuckle turns into a cackle then a full belly laugh that shakes his entire frame. He is still laughing when I push him down. Torran takes a slightly embarrassed expression as I draw him. He is completely naked and stands proudly, looking into the horizon. I, on the contrary, am not naked. I am wearing the tricorn. My hand flows on the paper, drawing lines while I commit the colors to memory. I am distracted by a splash behind me just as Torran looks on with alarm. I turn to see a fishwoman staring at us. She smells of magic. "Not this kind of night. Shoo!" I declare. She does not react. Her eyes are fixed on Torran. "No ogling," I warn. She does not reply. A dark tongue slides from her lipless mouth, tasting the air. She then turns to me. "Nirari. Strong," she observes with a raspy voice. Then she''s off. The carriage stops at the bottom of the manor''s ascent next to a small gathering of buildings meant to house less prestigious human visitors. The door opens and I smile as my minions walk out with tired expressions. Sephare requested that I take over a district for her. It will require a solid dose of diplomacy and finesse. For the rest, I will have them. The first to step down is one of the Creek brothers, who took the name Crews. Crews wears Western frontier clothes mostly made of leather as well as a war axe which is currently tucked away in his luggage. He greets me with a silent nod and lines up to wait for the others, his one surviving eye coldly inspecting his surroundings. Crews is a man of few words, even before losing an eye to the Merghol hounds. It is now hidden behind an eyepatch that does little to mask the impressive claw scar on his cheek. The second man to climb down is David King whom I bought in Kentucky, after his father asked this of me as a dying wish. The free man now sports a cowboy hat and a most impressive bushy beard. Oh yes, he will do nicely. He tips his hat and goes by Crews'' side. I eagerly await the next two. First comes John with a beatific look on his horrifying mug. By the Watcher, but did I miss the big oaf. He drags his wife behind him, whom I meet for the first time. Six feet three, brown hair, blue eyes. The build and face of a veteran British grenadier. Oh my. I feel so very sorry for their children. If one person''s appearance could be improved by being smacked in the face with a brick, it will be what comes out of that... woman''s nethers. Watcher, why did I even think about that? Arg. Some things should never be. Unaware of my growing horror, John jumps forth to introduce me to his slightly bashful absolute mudspout of a woman. I smile at the pair and wish them my best wishes for their matrimony, exerting once more all of my self-control and vampiric poise to chase the image of these two together from my vulnerable psyche. John is completely oblivious to my discomfort. He just bounces around with beatific happiness while his snaggletooth trog of a wife looks on with a mix of apprehension and distrust I associate with women fearing a rival. I would like to comfort her and assure her that she has nothing to fear, the two of them being in a category of their own. Possibly a species? I refrain. It would be in poor taste to do so and although I mock the woman''s appearance in my mind, I have no reason to offend her in reality. And so, I smile and play the good host. John and his wife shall have a separate house for the duration of their stay while the two others have single rooms in the barracks. Solveig already arranged everything at my bequest. As I am about to turn around, I am surprised to see both Lady Sephare and Lord Jarek ride down the slope on nightmares. Jarek''s humongous mount makes every mortal take a step back. "My dear Ariane," the Hastings woman starts with a honeyed voice, "those are your dear associates who will accompany us, yes? What a, hmmm, colourful lot." Her face betrays nothing and her tone is just as pleasant as before. Still... Have I just been firmly rebuked? I have no idea. "They have proven themselves on numerous occasions and will be the more conspicuous members of my retinue," I reply somewhat defensively. "Lovely, well, I am sure that you have a lot of catching up to do. Ta ta," the Lady smoothly replies, before leaving. I am still not quite sure whether or not she''s mad. Instead of following her, Jarek climbs down from his monstrous charger and silently steps to John. He''s completely ignoring me. I realize with surprise that they are about the same size, which places both in the category of height of people who always bend a bit before entering any buildings. They face off in perfect silence. Then, with slow purpose, Jarek grunts and takes a strongman posture, contracting arms and chest to display his impressive muscles. John is different. He is not as lean and corded as the ancient vampire. His body is broader but also just a bit softer. He looks a bit less like a trained knight and more like someone who could break a bear''s spine with his bare hands then carry the carcass over his shoulder to the nearest town. John turns to me. I don''t know what to do so I just sign "go ahead", which means that he will do as he pleases. My loyal defender huffs and puffs and places his fist over his head, his shirt protesting the abuse. Three buttons are on the very edge of popping, held together by faith and stubbornness. The two hold the pause for a few seconds. Then they both deflate at the same time. They shake hands. Jarek climbs back on his horse and leaves without a word. He still hasn''t acknowledged any of us. I am at a loss. Is this a mortal thing? I turn to John''s wife who looks just as helpless as I do. Or at least I''m pretty sure she does. Hard to tell for sure. I take a few seconds to recover, then direct everyone to where they belong. Enough silliness. We have a city to take. Chapter 85 - 83. Divide and Conquer The planning phase of the conquest takes me by surprise. I expected many things from Lady Sephare: a cold and reptilian intellect, an impressive network of informants, a secret army¡­ something! I also expected her to give me a precise plan that I would have to follow since she is the leader in this operation. I was terribly wrong. I do not know if the difference stems from culture or her personality, however what is certain is that Sephare''s approach to strategizing is unlike anything I have ever experienced before. And yet, I cannot deny its efficacy. First, she invites me for tea, again, and spends an entire hour questioning me about my takeover of Marquette. How did I proceed? Who did I recruit? What structure did I use? How did I handle the problems I faced? The questions are many and apparently important, since she asks me to elaborate on several occasions, never interrupting me. The next set of questions are even more curious. What opportunities did I miss? What do I regret? I do not understand why she asks these questions yet I answer, with the belief that she has more experience and a vested interest in her own success. Her inquiries are never personal enough to grate on me, and I have the distinct feeling that she is doing more than just preparing for the next task. She is assessing me as an ally, or even a rival which we will inevitably become if everything goes well. I have much to learn. Eventually, we move to another table containing a map of the district, and it is then that I realize the full extent of Lady Sephare''s preparations. Washington is not as big a city, as I expected from the Capital. It is, in fact, two counties bound together artificially and placed under the direct control of the federal government. The location itself is the result of a compromise. Before the decision, it was mostly marshland. I am terribly embarrassed that a foreigner would teach me that. In any case, two counties make up Sephare''s potential territory. To the east of the Potomac River, a federal city harbors the capitol and all the other important landmarks. To the west lies the city of Alexandria, an important slave trade location currently in decline, partly due to fear that the federal government will outlaw slavery within its own district. This is where Lady Sephare wants me to focus my efforts since I have "just the right set of skills". "Alexandria must become my primary source of income and recruits. There are three gangs and two mage groups I would like you to take over," she says. "Subjugate or neutralize?" I ask. "Goodness me, my dear, you do not mince your words! To answer your question, nobody wants to rule over a graveyard, do they? Whenever possible, I would like you to convince their leader to meet me for negotiations. All in good faith, I assure you. Of course, I expect that some of them may prove unreasonable. Do your best!" Force them to negotiate or perish, make examples. Got it. "I want you to attend the meeting with their leaders, dear. I am confident that I can teach you a thing or two, not that you need much!" "Of course, it would be my pleasure." "Lovely! Oh, I am so chuffed. I did not expect that we could start so early!" And there lies her genius. She is alone, therefore she does not have the numbers to rule over an entire county, yet. By deliberately choosing a smaller city with a disproportionate political influence, she has made the best use of her means. This begs the question, why is she alone? Someone of her power should have a cadre of Masters and Courtiers surrounding her at all times. Perhaps she is the first wave, or an experiment, or perhaps It is something more sinister. Once more, I made an alliance with someone I did not fully understand and while it saved me before, it might just cost me in the future. In truth, I have rushed into the game with clumsy enthusiasm only to realize that I was surrounded by bear traps. Only my friends and Torran''s interest have protected me from the consequences of my recklessness so far. This needs to change. Lady Sephare is the one I should emulate. She reveals little, learns much and weighs her decisions. Yes, I am convinced that she knows how to play. I still want to know why she is here, alone. I think about it as the meeting ends and she politely shoos me on my way. Back to my room, I pack my belongings and before I prepare for dawn, I do something I should have done before, ask Salim for a file on Sephare herself. Alexandria, District of Columbia, November 1833. John, Urchin and I are the last to arrive by carriage at the safe house Sephare has prepared for us. Alexandria is bordered in the east by the Potomac River, and the scent of muddy water battles that of misery to assault my senses. We are located at the southern end of town, and even from here I can see that the city was made by design rather than nature. Straight avenues split it in squarish blocks of perfect geometry, affording me and everyone else a commanding view of the land. As I step down, I spot a woman picking her nose five blocks away. The contrast between the regular lines and the outward signs of poverty defies logic. How can something planned so thoroughly also be so poor? Derelict warehouses and decrepit buildings outnumber affluent stores by a factor of five. The people in the street are clad in drab clothes, huddling in large groups and moving around with tense shoulders and shifty eyes. Here and there, manacled slaves shuffle forth under the vigilant eyes of their captors. Slave trade is the lifeblood of the city. Under the purview of the Franklin and Armfield Company which has the dubious honor of being the largest slave trading business in the United States, thousands of slaves are gathered each year to be sent to their Mississippi, Natchez and even New Orleans branches. The rest of the city is in economic decline and it shows. I can feel it. In the air floats a general miasma, a scent of anguish and rage, at lost opportunities and robbed freedom. It lacks the beautiful clarity of true anger I sometimes admire in my enemies. Instead, it worms its way in the heart like an insidious infection to sour everything and everyone it can affect. I close my eyes and listen. A few houses away, a man is beating a screaming child. Each meaty impact comes to interrupt an incoherent litany of supplications. It reminds me of Marquette, before I brought order to the chaos. Sometimes, I wonder if the mortals can truly be left to rule themselves. So many of them lack vision and long-term planning. So many struggle for power only to grab onto it with tooth and nail until one of their victims finally manages to take them down, screaming into the abyss. I shake my head. This is not the time to complain. With John, Urchin, and our luggage in tow, I climb up a set of stone stairs to what will be our temporary residence. The house is a three-story building surrounded by a garden protected from inquisitive eyes by a row of tall aspens. The wooden walls are painted the ubiquitous white, and the interior is soberly furnished and decorated. In other words, this building is completely unremarkable, which is exactly what we need. We let ourselves in. John will live here with both King and Crews until we can secure safer accommodations for them while Urchin and I will stay here during the whole operation. I let John explore while I climb down to the basement and my shared den. There, behind a fake wall, lies a secured and heavily enchanted gate. The workings themselves must have cost more than the entire edifice. Satisfied, I climb back up just as the two remaining members of the team join us. I drag everyone to the living room and they settle around the central table, upon which a map of the town was placed. "I will now start the general briefing for this operation. As you all know, our goal here is to take over Alexandria from within, and that means going after every interest group that can stop us and bringing them to heel." I place a few pins on the map as I continue my explanation. "Fortunately, we will not have to take over major companies and the government as Lady Sephare intends to do it herself progressively over the next few months. As for our immediate targets, there are five: three gangs and two magic societies." King raises his hand while idly passing a hand in his bushy beard. In order to fit in, he switched from a leather outfit to a more polished suit that marks him as a house slave. With his solid frame and placid face, he looks tame enough not to attract too much attention and intimidating enough that the local thugs will leave him alone. "Yes?" I offer. "How come there are so many? There are less than five thousand people living here." "Good question," I reply, "I suspect that the proximity of the capital caused the magic population to increase. As for the gangs, they are caused by a conjunction of poverty, human traffic, and the presence of docks. I do not believe that we will face anything unexpected. Keep your eyes open, in any case." "Of course." "Now for the plan, our best bet is to go after the different groups one by one, starting with the bottom of the social ladder. That means the gangs." I point to the more affluent part of town. "Over here are the Federals. They are almost legal, and they offer private security for visitors and businessmen alike. They operate a few loan sharks around town and control this area so I included them but I do not expect too much trouble. I will visit them tomorrow evening and talk to their director. The next two are more concerning." I point at the docks. "The riverside is under the domain of the Potomac Mudmen. They focus on smuggling and protection rackets, mostly, with some illegal fights on the side. They recruit from German and French immigrants and are relative newcomers around here." I then point at the slave pens. "Those are the Pomm Street Ratcatchers. They are the most numerous group here, and the oldest gang around. They have the habit of starting fires in houses of people they don''t like and since they control the fire brigade, extinguish it just a bit too late. Their other major source of income besides protection rackets is kidnappings. They have agents go over the North and find interesting black freemen, who they proceed to kidnap and sell here. The slaves are carried south, most of the time before they can be rescued." I stop for a moment as King''s massive hands clutch the table until the wood groans. "Sorry," he whispers, his eyes still shining with barely repressed hatred. "As such," I continue, "they have the most money and power. Lady Sephare and I agree that three gangs is two too many. The Federals'' illegal activities will be suspended and one of the remaining groups destroyed. After consideration, we have decided to ally with the Mudmen and destroy the Ratcatchers." The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. King visibly relaxes, while Urchin raises a hand. "Yes?" "I''ll take smugglers over kidnappers any day of the week, that said, why not take over the biggest group?" I nod to show my support. I encourage inquisitive minds, especially when they are employed in my service. "We would prefer to keep this town''s social structure mostly intact and cannot do so if the local hierarchy crumbles. The head of the Ratcatchers is a man who goes by Jed the Paunch. He has ruled the streets with an iron fist for the last ten years with the benediction of the local judge, with powerful lieutenants removed as soon as they became a threat. I estimate that, should I dominate him, he will lose the edge that allowed him to stay in power so far and fall within a week. His personality is simply too paranoid and aggressive to come to an amenable agreement without stripping him of his abilities, I''m afraid. At the same time, there is no heir apparent to replace him should he fall. Any partial removal will lead to a struggle for dominance, so it makes much more sense to destroy the entire leadership in one blow and absorb the rank and file into a pre-existing organization." I pause, considering whether I should share the rest of my thoughts. In the end, I decide to do it. "He''s also a despicable prick and I want him dead." For some reason, all the others nod in understanding. "Right. I will start working on the gang issue after I wake up. Tomorrow, I want King to find us a warehouse on neutral ground. Present yourself as my butler. Feel free to grease some palms." "Will do." "Crews, you stand out too much so I need you to stay hidden until we reveal ourselves." The Creek warrior nods silently, a finger trailing the massive scar on his face. He is still wearing his hunter leathers and I see no reason for him to change. Unlike King, he will never fit in here. "Good. You should rest tonight. Urchin and I will scout the town. Dismissed." The tables at the King''s Inn are spaced enough to grant their occupants some semblance of privacy. The white cloths and silver cutlery give it a luminous sheen, almost enough for everyone to forget the rampant poverty outside. The majordomo leads me forward with a light frown, hinting at the intense disapproval he feels. Mr. Cole is, after all, a married man. The unofficial leader of the "Federals" gang is an old man with the weathered face of a career soldier. He sits ramrod straight in his chair, holding a book and sipping a tankard of ale. He lifts an imperious brow when I sit at his table without permission. The majordomo hesitates behind me, then decides to beat a hasty retreat. Tonight, I am wearing another elegant dress in pale blue unassuming yet of good enough make that those who see me would recognize affluence. Cole inspects me, then dismisses me almost immediately. "Whatever you''re selling, lady, I''m not interested." Indeed, his sin is not lust. "I have a letter for you from the Premier Atlantic Bank. I suggest you read it. Now." Cole frowns at my tone, but the mere mention of his main creditor brings fear where there was annoyance. Now, he stares at the piece of paper as if it were a bear trap. "It would be in your best interest not to try my employer''s patience, Mr. Cole." The veteran businessman knows where this is going, I can tell. He may gamble with his money, and the bank''s money, but not with his life. With shaking hands, he opens the missive and reads it with slow purpose. The message is short and unambiguous. We bought all of his debts and can freely repossess his home, his office and most of his assets. "What do you want," he asks in a low voice. His composure does him credit, though I can taste his terror and his stress on his perspiration and in the beating of his heart. The tip of my tongue slides over a fang. Patience. I am no glutton and there will be ample opportunities¡­ later. "You are to cease all activities outside of your security business, including those pertaining to Wolfe and Jefferson streets. They will be taken over by my employer." He probably has other activities besides those two loan sharks, but we have not found them yet. He does not need to know that. Anger manages to push his fear away. "How do you expect me to repay you if you take away my income?" he hisses. An old round lady two tables away turns in our direction with the raptor-like focus of the consummate gossip. I lower my voice and lean forward. "You will receive a two months moratorium on the interest payments if the transition occurs without a hitch. We would hold you personally responsible if something¡­ untoward, were to happen. I highly suggest you oversee the proceedings yourself." "Who the hell are you people?" "That is not your concern. Good night, Mr. Cole, we will meet again." I stand up and leave the noticeably paler man behind me. The Federals were by far the easiest target. Now, I can begin in earnest. The carriage deposits me in front of the office of the respectable Mr. Jones, harbormaster. I knock on the door of the large building and am quickly let in by an annoyed man with a pencil-thin moustache. "What business do you have here?" he asks with as much disdain as he can gather. I ponder having John, who''s right behind me, teach him some manners. Unfortunately, we are still in enemy territory and I need to keep a somewhat low profile for as long as I can. Frustrating. "Mr. Jones is expecting me." "Is he now?" "Yes," I add, with just a hint of pressure, "he is." The infuriating doorman takes in my appearance and finally recognizes the marks of understated wealth. "Apologies, please come in." We follow him inside and up a set of stairs to a cluttered office where the dockmaster awaits us. John takes position by the door, the easy smile on my host''s face disappearing immediately. "Are you¡­ Miss Lethe?" the old man asks, while nervously cleaning a monocle on an ink-stained waistcoat. "I am. I require an introduction." "An introduction?" "With your friends on Union Street. By the docks," I continue. At the mention of his¡­ less savory acquaintances, Mr. Jones pales. He licks his lips as his eyes search for the exit, finding John in the way. Sear?h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "I am not sure what you mean¡­" "My employer is moving assets and we require additional security," I soberly explain. Jones may look like a pleasant grandfather, but he has used the Mudmen on more than one occasion to quell unrest born from the low wages he pays his employees. As far as we can tell, he is one of their primary sources of income. "Just business then?" the dockmaster asks, not believing his luck. I smile congenially. Indeed. Just business. For now. "Well¡­ I suppose there is no harm," he continues with clear relief. He still casts a dubious look at John. No one in their right mind would look at him and think "peaceful financial transaction". "Let us go, then." We walk along the river. At this time of the night, the silence is only broken by the sobs and prayers of living cargo, their stench and misery permeating the shore. One establishment is still open. The Mud Shack is a two-story building nestled between two warehouses. It is surprisingly large and well-lit, standing proudly as a beacon to drunkenness in the otherwise sleepy street. Men with keen eyes gather in packs, holding tankards and each other while singing rowdy songs. Their workman attire is so similar that they might as well be wearing a uniform. "John, stay there," I order my bodyguard after assessing the crowd. Jones looks back but does not comment and we soon reach the edge of the halo of light surrounding the Mudmen''s retreat. Immediately, five different men gaze at us. When they recognize my companion, they lower their guard, though their eyes still follow me as I make my way to the door. We come in and I see that I was right to leave John outside. The Mud Shack''s main floor is covered with round tables around which a good forty people have gathered. Not all of them are gang members, there are also dockers and day laborers. They are clearly happy to be there. The only members of the fairer sex are three serving girls and a barwoman. Not all gangs are averse to women in their ranks. The Ratcatchers employ grifters, con artists and pickpockets while they also have their own ladies of the night. In that case, women usually form a different subgroup within the organization with their own leaders and structure. The alternative is to leave the women home and consider them as civilians. This is the way the Mudmen went. If my intuition is correct, I will be received with less suspicion but it will also be significantly harder for me to be taken seriously. Taking John inside would have been perceived as a challenge. The hollow-eyed barwoman inspects me with palpable hatred. Perhaps it is my new dress, or the fact that I have all my teeth and do not smell like a barrack? Who knows? In any case, she quickly weighs my presence against the fact that I am led here by Jones and does what every good subordinate does: she lets her superiors decide. With a quick gesture, she directs us to a backroom. I manage to make it through the crowded room without errant hands trying their luck. At least they are well-behaved. Without a word, we make it to the backroom where six pairs of eyes watch us in silence. Four belong to poker players armed to the teeth. Guards. Inconsequential. The last two are the power here, the decision-makers. I can tell from their fearlessness, their pride, the way they look down upon us despite our superior social status. They make me want to kill them here and now, watch the horror and the pain in their eyes as I slaughter every last one of them and claim the place as my own. The drive to kill surges in my heart, only to be extinguished just as quickly. I am patient. They will bow, in the end. This is just a small part of the true game. "Jones? Who is this?" "Ah, my dear Ritter, this is Miss Lethe from Boston. She asked me to introduce the two of you." I take in the leader of the Mudmen. Ritter is a man of medium height in his early forties. He has the body of a worker gone to fat, with a potbelly and solid arms. His hair sprouts from his scalp in undisciplined clumps but his moustache is perfectly groomed, and his light blue eyes show cunning and impatience in equal measures. His companion is much younger, with shoulder-length sandy hair and clear brown eyes. He wears the same attire as the rest of the gang with some extra attention to his appearance, like a colored scarf and a necklace. Just enough to be noticed. I decide that he is probably a prot¨¦g¨¦. "Hear that lads? We''re famous," Ritter says with a gravelly voice. His stooges chuckle obligingly. I have two ways to do this. I could play the temptress, mixing elegance with just a bit of flirtation. This would position me as a ''traditional'' woman and guarantee a polite distance. It could, however, backfire when they realize they will be working for Lady Sephare. The second way is to come out as an off-man. It would deprive me of my civilian status, in exchange for a more equal relationship. I will go with that. I step forward, overtaking Jones. Immediately, the smiles turn to cold masks. "My employer believes we have a common problem." "Who is that employer and what problem would that be?" "We will remain anonymous." "I don''t think you will," the man says as he stands up. Jones retreats to the side while the guards form a half-circle at my back. Ritter closes the distance between us with his pretty boy by his side. He invades my personal space. His breath reeks of cigar. "Now¡­" he begins, then stops when he feels the cold business end of a concealed pistol pointing at his unmentionables. TOO CLOSE. SLAUGHTER THE SHEEP. No. Our eyes meet. I do not try to Charm him as there is no need. Then, slowly, Ritter smiles. "You''ve got stones, woman, I''ll give you that." With a handwave, he sends his men to sit back down and takes a respectful step back. He walks back to his desk and pours himself a glass of liquor. "I''ll hear you out, but watch your words." "We want the Ratcatchers gone." That got their attention. I hear gasps and accelerating heartbeats all around as they realize the enormity of what I just said. To me the Ratcatchers are just one hurdle on the path but to them, it has been the dominating force in Alexandria for years. Always, they have had to live with that shadow. "If it were so easy, we would have done it already, woman. You want to bring in an army?" "I only need access to their leaders including Jed the Paunch. We will take care of the rest." Wallace scoffs, his disdain clear. He does not think much of outsiders, an arrogance born from half a decade of unchallenged power. He is wrong. It is a mistake to believe that a stable situation will remain so in the future. A crown can be lost in a day. I hope that Jed has formed a similar bias¡­ Eventually, greed and hope overtake the man''s caution. I can tell that he does not truly believe I will be successful. It is chaos that sways him, and hope that I will upset the Ractcatchers enough to damage their position in the city. "In three days, there will be a Death Dance. It''s an underground tournament that occurs every year with a good amount of money to be won. All of the Ratcatchers leaders will show up with their champions. Not that it matters. The Crusher is undefeated." "A contest of pugilists?" "Bare-knuckled, vicious fighting. Crusher''s been earning his nickname for a while now. Only the desperate and the insane join the fight now. Fresh faces looking to make a name, debtors, slaves looking for freedom, take your pick. It''s still bloody fun. Just, people bet on how long the guys will last." "Do they accept new entries?" "Yeah, you can join the tournament, but didn''t you hear a word I say? Whoever you throw in there''s either defeated by a contestant or killed by that monster." I cannot help the slow, slow smile creeping on me. All of the Ratcatcher leadership under a single roof? A distraction? This is just perfect. "Do not concern yourself, Herr Ritter. I have just the man." Chapter 86 - 84. Bloody Games I miss the opera. The entertainment is better, and the spectators at least make a token attempt at maintaining personal hygiene. The Ratcatchers'' Death Dance venue is a repurposed warehouse with a circle of sand in its midst overlooked by rickety ''lodges''. I am in such a lodge now, with Urchin by my side. All of the remaining ones are occupied by the Ratcatcher leadership. On occasion, Jed the Paunch will ''invite'' one of his subordinates for a private talk that will leave the poor bugger pale and sweaty. I can track the small signs of concern on his rotund face. Even from here, I see the grease-stained shirt straining to hold his expanding gut. He does not even have a neck. Instead, his repulsive face is ringed by a circle of worm-like flesh covered with coarse hair. I bet I could run a lantern for weeks on the fat of his body. I would not, of course. The stench¡­ His concern is well-deserved. John has gone through the brackets like a stiletto through the skin, taking everyone by storm. None so far managed to stem the placid violence of the man they have come to call Jolly John. My faithful servant is far from invincible. He lacks the adaptability and quick-thinking that defines true genius. He does have his strong points. I remember Ritter, the Mudmen boss, telling me that he was too soft. The gang leader took a look at my aide and dismissed him as powerful but otherwise harmless. Not a true warrior. He is somewhat correct: John will not fight as a first reaction. He is pure and innocent, unwilling to hurt those around him. Unless, of course, I give him the order. The beauty of perfect control is that John fights with no hesitation and no remorse. If I order a man killed, that man must die. It is right, because Ariane ordered it, and so it shall be. And killed he has. When I picked him up in Marquette, John was skeletal. It took me a full year to have him recover enough to work. Since then, he has been my bouncer, bodyguard and on occasion, knee-breaker. The truth is, John is both very well trained and experienced. His perfect memory extends to patterns and techniques, and though he does not always understand which one to use, he is quick to remember even the most complex of instructions. The result is an incomprehensible warrior with savagery but no ego, technique but no imagination, and caution without fear. I considered using Urchin in his stead, unfortunately, it would not do. Urchin is still too raw to win without moving at an unnatural speed and he is also quite short. In the minds of people, pugilists must be big and brawny. If he wins too often and too strangely, it will not only attract undue attention. He will also be accused of cheating. Image is everything in entertainment. As a result, I have relied on John. Tonight, we have gathered for the final match. Around the arena, men and women sit on chairs, crates and anything else they could get their hands on. Alcohol and conversations flow free in a strident cacophony. Scantily-clad girls cling to the arm of the more well-off gang goons while others, the grifters and con artists, gather in mocking groups who tease passing men and sometimes even relieve them of their purses. Some attendants drink, some scream, and a few have even set up an improvised ring where the hot-blooded may get a sample of the spectacle to come. The smell of sweat both fresh and old mixes with that of old wood and spilt beer to form the classic mix I expect from frontier watering holes. The main difference is the energy. The taint of despair permeating the city here turns into frenetic and deleterious energy. Hearts pump fresh blood to minds already intoxicated by the promise of violence and blood to be shed. I see it in their frantic eyes, the way they lick their lips and the manner in which they track movement at the periphery of their vision, hunting, searching, waiting for the coming of the gladiators. For those who will kill and die to enter the fray. Ave Caesar, morituri te salutant. Hail Caesar, those who will die greet you, captives used to say. But alas, the coliseum here is a decrepit dump and the imperator was replaced by a bulging sphere of suet, a disgusting mass that not even the most corrupt of emperors would have devolved into. Sometimes, life is a tragedy. Sometimes, a farce, and here the first act. S§×arch* The NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. A man appears from the changing rooms as if by magic, wearing an impeccable black suit over a white shirt. He holds a top hat in his gloved hands, which he waves about to attract the crowd''s attention. Progressively, the humdrum of conversation dies down until his stentor''s voice prevails over the remaining din. "Ladies and Gentlemen, fine people of Alexandria, good evening! The moment you have been waiting for has finally come! Tonight, two men will give it their all in a contest of brawn and will. Tonight, two men will enter the arena for your greatest pleasure and tonight, only one will come out!" The audience screams with bloodlust. This is what they are here for. "Please enjoy this show brought to you by your host, Jedediah Collins!" The toad-like creature slightly bends forward while the crowd applauds, momentarily sobered. For one moment, I wonder if he will collapse under his own weight. Fortunately for him, gravity proves itself unequal to the task of felling him. It appears that I have to provide a helping hand. "And now, for our first contestant! He has taken the tournament by storm, defeating one opponent after another. The Frontier Felon, the Simple Savage, the man from the West who goes after the best! He has shown that he''s not a man to be trifled with, and his fists could chip rock! Ladies and Gentlemen¡­I give to youuuuuu JOHN DOE!" The audience yells and jeers, the support from outsiders and equal-opportunity enthusiasts barely enough to cover the booing fury of the most fervent Ratcatchers. John follows a pretty girl inside while from the changing room, I catch a glimpse of King giving me the "all-normal" sign. So, Jed did not try to hedge his bets. Color me surprised. He must have complete faith in his champion. John looks impressive in a thin white shirt that shows exactly how impossibly massive he is. His ugly face is calm, showing no emotion at all. He searches me and finds me above him in the lodges. Our eyes meet and I nod to him. John has his instructions and he will follow them to the best of his abilities, this I can count on. I saw the Crusher fight. I give my servant an even chance to win. Of course, the plan does not rely on his victory and should he be too much at risk, I would intervene. I will not lose John over some silly influence game. What matters is the diversion the fight provides. The Ratcatchers are on their home ground and the Crusher is a kind of legend himself. They want to see him win. They like to see him win. The bloodier, the better. The sheer emotional investment will keep their attention below, while Urchin and I can do what we came to do. "But in the challenger''s path lies a man we know and love. A man we fear! A man who eats steel and spits out nails for breakfast! A man who has ruled this arena undefeated for the past fiiiiive years! Can you bring him? Can you call his naaaaame?" The crowd, only too eager to obey, summons their champion with that very peculiar mob voice born of a hundred throats. "Cru-sher! Cru-sher" And the man obliges. Jumping out from behind the curtain leading to the changing room, the Ratcatcher champion, Jed''s bodyguard and lunatic extraordinaire, struts forward. He practically jumps on his feet. Now I realize why Jed did not take the chance to poison or incapacitate John. He believes he has no need. I have seen intoxicated men in my life, including those who become irrationally aggressive under the influence of alcohol, and the Crusher is at the deep end. Whatever Jed fed his attack dog is an order of magnitude more malicious. The Crusher''s scarred face shines with nervous perspiration. The dark orbs of his eyes shift, bloodshot and manic, then dart over the room before landing on John with monomaniacal intensity. He licks his flush lips with a bloated tongue. I can see veins pulsing under his shaved scalp. This man is insane. If he was not before, he is now. USELESS. BROKEN TOOL. The madman steps into the sand ring to everyone''s great enjoyment. He grunts and hollers, and the crowd echoes him in great waves of screams. Like a broken chorus. Oh, do I miss the opera. Finally, the room settles enough for the announcer to order everyone out of the fighting grounds. Employees darken lanterns until only the ring itself is fully visible to mortal eyes. John stands placidly at one end, as calm and gathered as if he were at dinner. Facing him, the Crusher paces on his side like a caged beast. Spittle foams at the corner of his mouth as he growls and mutters imprecations. "Let the fight¡­ begiiiiiiin!" I clutch the railing before me, feeling a change in the atmosphere. It tastes like inevitability. The Crusher jumps forward, only to stop a few feet away from John who is already prepared to receive him. My servant stands low with a fist forward, offering as little a target as possible. Even then, he looms over his opponent. As for the Crusher, his guard is more fluid as he jumps from side to side. His muscles are lean and corded and he looks like one solid mass of spite. "You dumb fuck! Dumb fuck!" he screams. Then, with great speed, he feints left and low, hits right and upwards. "The Crusher likes to fake an attack from a side, then attack from the other side. Like this." "Yes, miz Ari." I have watched the Crusher''s previous matches. The man has predictable patterns for those who know how to look. It would not matter to most, as the man can win most matches through speed, strength and unbridled violence alone. It matters to John, and so I trained him for hours in preparation for the confrontation by imitating his foe''s most common moves until he could defend against them. The feint does not work, though the strike was still too fast for my servant to dodge completely. The uppercut slides along ribs while the Crusher pulls back and manages to deflect the counter-attack from smashing his face to just impacting his shoulder. The crowd roars. They have a match, and we have our distraction. I signal Urchin who opens the door leading to the platform outside and the stairs leading below. A man in a stained waiter uniform turns his head when he notices us. Urchin bids him come closer with a gesture. The man blinks and his eyes turn glazed. He closes the distance while I put on my mask, in case I get spotted. Urchin seizes the waiter by the throat and kills him, gesturing with his left hand to take the man''s falling platter before it can hit the ground with a clang. Then, we are off. I turn left while he turns right. As the crowd roars, I open the door to the next lodge to the surprise of one of Jed''s lieutenants and his bodyguard, slicing their throat under the cover of bloodthirsty screams. In the ring, John and the Crusher probe each other''s defenses with quick jabs and the occasional low kick. I look at the dead man at my feet. Harry the Minge, according to Urchin''s intelligence gathering. He was responsible for the Ratcatchers'' staff from task distribution to recruitment. Next lodge, Velvet, the gang''s resident Madam. On the opposite side of the circle, Urchin steals a gun before it can be fired and practically decapitates Elbow Jim, the ''head'' of their protection racket. Our eyes meet briefly. He is doing well. Below, the exchange between combatants is getting fierce. "He will try to grab you. When he does, he will look like this. And move like this. Grab his neck if you can, keep your arms free and turn around. Urchin, give me a hand." Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. "Yes, miz Ari." The Crusher throws a right hook then dives, taking one of John''s legs. John immediately encircles the other man''s neck and leans forward, using his free leg to maintain his balance. He moves backwards and to the side when his foe presses on and otherwise punches him in the ribs. After a few seconds the Crusher gives up. He pushes John back with a parting left jab that hits my servant in the temple. John retaliates by digging his left foot in the sand and throwing a devastating right kick that catches the madman in the thigh and sends him reeling. John shakes his head and starts moving again. "I''m going to kill you, dumb fuck! I''ll kill you slow and everyone will love it!" The crowd is on fire. In the lodges, Fast Jack and Crude Kurt die a silent death. In the ring, the fight gains in intensity as both opponents get used to each other and start taking risks. Most blows are dodged, deflected or blocked but still they fight with bare knuckles and the sounds of impact is loud enough for even mortals to perceive over the whispers and jeers. John is still fine, but he is just one simple man while Jed''s drug-fed hound looks too excited to feel anything. He even laughs after some of the strikes. "Fight defensively. You don''t have to win, alright? You just need not to lose. Be safe." "Yes, miz Ari. I will be careful" "You stupid, dumb fuck! You can''t do shit! You''re just a fucking dumbass!" Both combatants are bloody. John is slowed, and I see some anguish on his normally unflappable face. He is in PAIN. MY SERVANT. No, I must trust him. Mortals should never be underestimated and this applies to the ones I picked myself. Pride is ever our greatest weakness, and to think only I can be depended upon is a clear sign of it. Let them make mistakes and suffer. It is also how I grew. Instead of acting. I move to the last lodge. Below, the fight is taking a turn for the worse. The Crusher is still not feeling pain. His attacks are relentless and drive John into a corner. My servant buckles. His breath is panicked, pained, and too fast. I need to hurry. I enter the last lodge on my side, just as Urchin disappears to complete his last objective. Jed is bent forward, staring at the show before him while munching on a chicken leg. Half-cleaned poultry bones litter the ground at his plump feet. Two bodyguards turn when I come in. I kill them with a dagger through the brain and hold their bodies as they fall. "Yea, kill him!" Jed blurts. A piece of chicken skin glides through the air, leaving behind a trail of spittle. Need to act fast. I step forward, then stop. Beneath us, the Crusher had been increasingly red tonight, now though, I notice that he is a strange shade of purple. Could it be¡­ The Ratcacher champion stops. He raises a hand to his heart, frowns. John stops hyperventilating. He takes one last seismic breath and lowers his turtle stance. "Miz Ari?" "Yes, John?" "Do you want me to win?" "If possible, yes John. I very much want you to win." "Alright, miz Ari." John bellows The yell pierces through the screams, the laughs and the encouragements. It pierces through the smacked furniture and applauses. It pierces through the very night as John moves. His fists blur as he abandons any pretense at defense or even at breathing. Then, John goes to town. The Crusher attempts to protect himself, in vain. John is a hurricane of knuckles and imbecilic rage, as relentless and unimaginative as an avalanche. Punch punch punch punch kick punch. He does not relent, not even to breathe, and the flurry of blows eventually pierces through his foe''s guard, first with glancing blows, and then more consistently. The champion stumbles to the side, offering his back to John who smashes the exposed neck with a two-handed hammer blow. The Crusher is not even screaming anymore. John circles the man''s neck with his massive arm and turns around, lifting the bruiser as if he were a bag of grain, then he places the man''s neck on his own shoulder, his own two hands under the jaw and pulls. The snapping sound resonates like thunder. Wow. The Crusher''s corpse falls to the ground, the head at an impossible angle. Hmm. I do not know what to say! Silence, sudden, deadly silence spreads over the room. It is¡­ over? I was not expecting this at all. You did it, you magnificent bastard. You won. John, bloody and hurt, covered in shades of expanding red and blue, John the underdog, but John victorious, turns to the crowd and lifts his humongous hands up. "Who''s the dumbass now, huh? Huh?" Cries of outrage now sound across the room. Jed somehow manages to jump to his feet, thus violating several rules of physics and inertia. He points a wavering finger at the man below him, who robbed him of his prizefighter. His shrill voice cuts through the chaos "Seize him! He¡­ AAAAAA!" Many heads turn to us at the interrupted speech, their eyes going wide as saucers as they register that the gang boss is bent forward over the railing by a woman in a mask holding a pistol. Screams of fear and surprise now overcome those of anger. The mob shifts and roils, looking around at the noticeably empty lodges. I like that moment. The reveal. The moment they realize their castle of cards is folding after almost ten years of stability. All it took for us was to open the door and the winds of change sent the whole edifice crumbling. They realize their strength was merely an unchallenged weakness. And the thing the survivors of the purge to come will remember is that one white mask, basked in the light of dimmed lanterns above the bleeding corpse of their deposed tyrant. I pull the trigger. The detonation is deafening. A woman faints as pieces of brain splatter in and around her cleavage. That will not wash off. Some rush to the exit, some try to climb up, some go for the stairs. John is long gone, using the confusion to slip away with the help of King and Crews. I shoot my other pistol at a man grabbing a rifle for good measure and throw a lantern into the small bar on the side, then calmly leave the lodge. Watcher, It feels amazing to let go a little after all those days spent skulking around. I take a deep breath, regret it instantly, and join Urchin near the stairs. He holds under his claws a dazed accountant desperately trying to keep his monocle from hitting the ground. "Is that him?" "Yes, Milady." "Good. Let us be off." We find a window and jump down next to utter chaos. Outside of the warehouse, a large group of Mudmen carrying truncheons were waiting for the signal to engage the fleeing Ratcatchers who are, quite ironically, caught like rats in the ensuing ambush. The combatants are now engaged in a desperate melee, with my allies acting like you would expect from someone with a blunt weapon, a target, and five years of pent up frustration. I quickly close the distance where my men are standing, next to a miserable John. "How are you, dear?" "It hurts, miz Ari." "Let''s have a look," I announce as I grab a first aid kit from a nearby barrel. We are at the back of the Mudmen lines and already a few concussed idiots are dragging themselves away. "Miss? Could we go?" I turn my attention to Crews who unexpectedly talked first. I arch a brow in wonder. "You mean¡­" He silently points at the ongoing brawl. "Fair enough, be sure to return before dawn yes? And don''t kill any allies." "Thanks." And off he goes. Next is King who raises a surprisingly delicate hand. "You too?" "Do you have any ideas how many times those assholes called me a n¡ª" "Oh, very well, off you go then. Same instructions." King sprints away, gaining speed before jumping feet first into a Ratcatcher''s face. "Milady," Urchin asks in turn. "Seriously?" "I''m a bit thirsty as well." "Just go, I''ll keep an eye on our¡­ guest," I add, as I look at Urchin''s captive currently hugging the floor and whimpering. My minion goes off to join his comrades in arms while I tend to John''s many cuts and bruises. Nothing broken, apparently, but he should still rest for at least a week. "I won," the large man observes. "That you did, John, it was an impressive fight." "It was hard," he continues in a soft voice, then after a while, "he was smaller but it was still so hard." I continue cleaning and bandaging. "I thought I was the strongest besides you. Now there are other strong people, like Urchin. Or that man with the grey hair. And that very tall man at the castle. There are many people and they are all very strong. Stronger than me." I had not realized he was suffering from his circumstances until now. "What can I do? I am not special anymore. I am just dumb now." "You do not need to be the smartest or strongest to be by my side. Besides, the Crusher cheated," I interrupt him, trying to assuage his fears. "Is it the kind of cheat that makes him lose the match if people know?" With the announcer in Jed''s pocket? On their home ground? Not a chance. John reads my silence with surprising accuracy. "Then it does not matter that he cheats." "John, you can''t be the best at everything. I am not the best at everything. We can only improve ourselves and rely on each other, yes?" "I want to be the best," he replies softly, looking into the distance. In a way, I understand him. It feels good to be respected for your expertise, even if others share it. I am not sure what to say. For the first time since I picked him up more than a decade ago, I have not managed to convince him. John spends the rest of the night in silence. The man Urchin scouted then captured was in charge of the Ratcatchers'' purse. With his¡­ enthusiastic contribution, we manage to recruit, eliminate or exile all of the remaining gang members as well as seize their assets in less than a week. The violence and suddenness of the assault gives them no time to recover and regroup. Soon enough, the Mudmen are left in charge of Alexandria''s network of criminal activity. On a whim, I decide to allow Crews and King to handle the returning flesh traders coming here from the North to sell their kidnapped victims. They worked well and I find the reward appropriate. The warehouse we purchased at the Western edge of town soon becomes loaded with war prizes, legal documents and other confiscated goods. I spend a large amount of time suppressing reactions to our little takeover by convincing officials and journalists that they should focus on something else, for their health. This leaves me little opportunity to handle the rest and I end up accepting more than fifteen new recruits who prefer to join me instead of the Mudmen. I end up using them for patrols and intelligence. As for our allies, Ritter is fully occupied with glutting himself on the spoils of his erstwhile rival. The few times we meet, I obtain a new reaction I had expected. Fear. The tales of the masked woman fly around town from gossips to taverns. Most cannot attach a face to those rumors. He can, and he does not seem to be enjoying the experience. I understand him easily. I have already replaced one boss, why not another? As a result, he was more than eager to meet my ''employer'', if only to avoid being next in line in the reshaping of Alexandria''s underground power structure. That does not stop me from planting a few suggestions through Charm and bite among his most valuable subordinates, of course. I would be an idiot to trust him and his willingness to cooperate. Soon, we have a perfect map of the Mudmen and their assets, just in case we end up requiring a more¡­ aggressive approach to their management. Once I decide that the situation is well-enough in hand, I approach Urchin as he polishes his shoes near our de facto armory. He has taken my remarks to heart and gives more attention to his appearance now. The result is, well, better. I need to work on his poise more in the future. He does not walk, he lurks. "Urchin." "Milady?" "It has been a month since you became my follower, and you have now completed your first full operation in a satisfactory manner. I am pleased with your service." For some reason, the poor Vanheim Courtier looks on in alarm. I can only presume that no one ever paid him any compliment without following it with a particularly horrifying betrayal. "Th-thank you?" "As such, I want to bestow upon you this gift I made," I add, and offer him a small box. It contains a curved dagger made of a steel and silver alloy I made myself at the manor, with inlays enchanted at great cost by one of Wilhelm''s retainers. The result is both elegant and deadly, allowing the wielder to stab and slice to his heart''s content. The poor lad opens the box with reverent eyes, even waits for my approval to pick the weapon. He caresses its surface with his marginally less grubby hands and wonders at its exquisite make. I am quite proud of the result myself. "No one has ever offered me anything. It''s¡­ beautiful." "I am delighted to hear it. This blade will serve you well in the struggles to come." "We are doing well so far, are we not?" he mentions while looking at the plunder we gathered. "Indeed. Sadly, this was the easiest target by far. We had good intelligence, the element of surprise and two vampires while they had no forewarning, no faith, and no magic. There was no real way for us to fail at this stage barring glaring incompetence. Those mages we must convince will certainly oppose us at first. You will have to be ready." Against all expectations, Urchin jumps to his feet and stands tall and proud. In his case, it means he reaches just slightly below my nose. "It is an honor to fight by your side, Milady. You can count on me! I shall be a tremendous watermelon!" He then proceeds to bow with great energy, his beret falling from his scalp on the muddy ground. We are not quite there yet. Our next target designates itself when one of our newest recruits comes rushing the very same night. "Boss lady, you said to tell you if there''s anything weird going on, right?" "What have you found?" "Well you know that bookshop you asked me to look at, there are at least twenty people that went in, right?" "Yes, and?" "It''s been three days and not a single one has come out." Problematic. Chapter 87 - 85. The Library of Alexandria At the northern end of town, hidden between a cattle feed shop and a small glassmaker, stands the Alexandria Shop of Books Rare and Precious for the Discerning Gentleman. I immediately notice two major issues. The first, neither Urchin nor I are gentlemen. Second, there is absolutely no way that twenty people would fit in there unless the building also sports an extensive underground network, a stupid idea this close to the Potomac. Hypothetically, if a mage wanted to slay a vampire, an effective way would be to attract them into a closed environment then detonate it. It is how I would do it. At the same time, I was not baited nor do I have any reason to go there myself. "Urchin, we will go down and ask some questions. If I tell you to start running, you do." "I understand, milady." I gather my dress and we drop down from a nearby roof, then cross the deserted street to the entrance of the store. The curtains are fully drawn and the door, locked tight. I easily perceive enchantments of warning and reinforcement engraved into the solid frame. Those are permanent works and not the shoddy labor of a caster who expects to up and leave at the first opportunity. The perspective of some elaborate trap grows more unlikely by the minute. Only the most fanatical madmen would draw their enemies in the heart of their domain and destroy it around them. Satisfied, I do the most logical thing. I bang on the door. Urchin looks at me, askance, and I feel the need to explain. "Lady Sephare bid us bring the mages to the negotiation table. There is no need for us to antagonize them if they bend willingly." "Are those men likely to accept her dominion?" "Some will not, but some may, and it is them that will be of use in the coming years," I reply as I keep smashing the wooden frame. "I see," Urchin replies thoughtfully. A moment later, the curtains part and reveal a panicked young man hastily fixing a monocle on one of his pale blue eyes, growing it to comical proportions. He bites an already bloodied lip and comes to a decision, opening the door between us. "We-we''re closed!" "I am not here for the books," I reply with a glacial tone. I expected many reactions, and yet I still find myself surprised at the sheer, pure expression of orgasmic relief on the meek man''s face. "Oh thank God, you are here to help? Right? Did someone get my message?" A message? Well, no reason to waste this opportunity. I give him my most genial smile and answer: "Why yes, I am certainly here to help. Why don''t you let us in and tell us everything we need to know." "Of course, of course. Sorry." We follow the man, apparently a clerk if his sweaty clothes are any indication, to a short counter surrounded everywhere by bookshelves filled to the brim by tomes of all ages and sizes. The air smells stale, the stench of the man''s ripe sweat overloading the delicate scent of ageing paper. Powerful waves of magic surge from a massive cabinet placed against a wall on the right, the apparently unused space an anomaly in the otherwise cluttered store. The clerk sits down heavily into a battered chair, sending a loaded pistol clattering on the ground. I note with interest that the seat is facing the aforementioned cabinet. "Oh, where are my manners? My name is Eric Booth. And, er, who might you be?" "My name is Ariane and this is my assistant, Urchin," I reply with a light smile. I do not use Charm, as I do not think it necessary. This man is desperate. He wants us to be his saviors and his addled brain will naturally omit all the little details that should arouse his suspicion. "No last name?" "You should know better than to ask," I chastise him with amusement, "All you need to know is that we are only called when the situation is urgent. Speaking of which¡­" "Yes, yes, my apologies. It''s just¡­ I was getting desperate. It has already been a day, you see." "Why not start from the beginning?" "Right! Right, so, the head librarian gathered everyone for his experiment, right? That was three days ago. I don''t know much about what they were doing, only that it related to aligned spheres and some such, all hush hush spell thingies, right?" Oh no, please no. "So, I was there last night minding my own business when I heard a terrible sound, like breaking metal. It was coming from the portal! I was close at that time so I jumped up and went to open it." The first thing to do when magic acts erratically is to take cover and find protective equipment. This man is an absolute moron. "So, I open it without worry and I hear the most horrendous screams! As if, er¡­" "People were eaten alive?" I suggest helpfully. "I guess? Hold on, you don''t think¡­?" the clerk replies fearfully. "Please go on." Noticeably paler, the clerk continues with his recollection. "I was looking down the stairs and then the lights started to flicker. Then after a while, I heard a noise, like something really heavy walking forward. I panicked and I closed the door and I''ve been waiting here ever since. I managed to get a kid to send a message to magister Schultz. He must have received it since you''re here." Urchin hides his mouth behind a sleeve and whispers in a voice that only I pick up. "There is a Schultz who died yesterday. He is the talk of the city, on account of dying after the consumption of an excessive amount of aphrodisiacs. It could be the same person." I would not be surprised. "I did not know what to do so I just took a pistol and waited in front of the door. I only left to go to the lavatories, make food, make tea and find the 1628 version of Don Quixote that had gone missing." The world is doomed. "Thank God you''re here now!" "Indeed," I reply drily, "I would like to have a look at the library now." "But¡­ you are not exactly armed?" I take a long silver dagger from a sheath at my back and wave it under the clerk''s nose. Tonight, I am not wearing my armor but a light grey travelling dress plus hood, currently lowered. Urchin wears a black ensemble under his unfortunate beret. The clerk swallows nervously before looking at my companion currently spinning my gift in the air. He then materializes two throwing knives from a side pocket and starts juggling. "Right away then." While the man fumbles with a keychain, I open the cabinet out of curiosity. Three empty ink pots and a crude drawing. The Clerk rushes by me, closes the door, locks and unlocks it. Along the frame, metal decorations in curls and spikes glow gold before fading away. The magic pulses once, then fades back to normal. Eric Booth pulls the door open, steps back and gestures wildly. "Welcome, miss, to the Library of Alexandria." I walk forth, speechless. My hand caresses a marble wall engraved with images of scrolls and books. Monumental stairs descend onto a platform below, lit by shining blue orbs fixed on the walls by sconces of polished bronze. Their shimmering glow reflects in the odd square of golden sheaf discreetly integrated into nearby carvings. With every step, the light shifts to focus on another detail, another scene. Here, the titan Prometheus grants fire to mankind, before being punished by an outraged Zeus. There, a Renaissance scholar dissects a man''s body before an assembly of his peers. Astronomers work side by side with dragons, mathematicians with sphinxes in an impossible festival of colors. Runes in all shapes and sizes flash before my eyes, harmless yet distracting by their sheer number. Still amazed, I finally attain the landing to find myself in a circular room. Filled bookshelves cover the walls. Two alcove doors lead left and right while right in front of us, glassless windows with a stone railing show similar openings in the distance as if we were part of a building around a circular inner court of massive proportion. I do not see the floor from where I stand. This place¡­ IS AWESOME. By the Watcher, I wish Torran were here to see this! Is this library as large as it looks? A hidden depository of magical knowledge exists here, below my feet! How I wish to explore it, plumb its occulted depths in the search of rare tomes and fantastic knowledge. I could spend years here, caressing those august spines and searching through ink of red and gold for that one pearl of wisdom, that one exquisite manuscript! Excited, I pick a book at random, marvelling at the quality of the preserved leather cover. I turn it around to read the title. "De Contemptis of Luve and Evill Wemen, cum commento. Scottish Poetry as compiled by George Bannatyne, a merchant of Edinburgh." Hmm. Well. I mean. It would be unfair of me to expect all of them to be life-changing masterpieces. Aww, this just ruined the mood. Bah, never mind, I am here to purge and subjugate. I shall not let such trifling matters affect me. Really. On a side note, I see no trace of eldritch invaders from another dimension just quite yet. There is however, a strange beastly musk in the air as well as the stench of stale blood and wastes, the source of which I promptly find. To the side of the room''s only desk, I find a ghastly pile of purple leavings. "What is that?" Urchin the city boy asks with a mix of disgust and fascination. "A massive pile of excrement," I suggest helpfully. He stares at me, askance, before coming to a revelation. "Oh, I know this one! You just used a metaphor, right?" "I''m afraid not." My fellow vampire appears troubled by the droppings. I suppose that both the size and the unusual color are a cause for worry. Ah, and speaking of the devil. "Mr Booth, go back up the stairs please. Urchin, come here," I order. The Vanheim vampire looks at me uncomprehending. "Take out your dagger." He materializes it mechanically. "If I do not miss my guess¡­ Ah, indeed not," I announce casually as heavy footsteps sound from a side corridor. Soon after, a head made of a large open maw surrounded by questing tendrils emerges from the door, sniffing the air with the power of a forge''s bellow. "What the hell is that?" Urchin hisses, panicked. "Tut tut, language," I chastise him, "that is a Merghol mana hound and you''re going to kill it." Silence reigns as the creature steps in and turns towards us. "I am?" Urchin squeaks. In answer, I boot the vile creature back from whence it came as it jumps at us and then gently push Urchin forward. "It shall be your first time facing an inhuman opponent. Enjoy the practice, and do your best!" Thankfully the creature does not call for its brethren as it throws itself on Urchin with abandon. This specific hound looks like one of the middle-sized ones we faced near Marquette, with several physical differences that could be due to any number of factors. This creature''s skin is purple, it is shorter and stockier than the others and possibly stronger, though it lacks grace. I encourage Urchin as he does his best to fend the creature off. "To the left. No, the other left." "Focus, Urchin, you''re faster than it." "Do not concern yourself with that knife, you can just fetch it back with your power." "Good one." "Stab under the maw to free yourself now!" "That is fine Urchin, you don''t even need all those fingers. They will regrow!" And finally, because I am losing patience and the smell of Eric Booth''s empty bowels are trying my patience. "By the Watcher Urchin, are you a sheep or a vampire? It is Prey, pathetic and filthy. KILL IT. KILL IT NOW." With one last scream of rage and desperation, my subordinate jumps on the creature''s back and stabs its spine, flanks and neck repeatedly until the thing stops moving. Behind him, a rumble announces the arrival of some more of the pack. I suppose we were a bit noisy. "I will be right back," I declare. I enter the corridor and find three hounds and, on the ground, an old splash of blood with bits of mangled fabric. I stab the first hound in the heart as it passes by, cleave through the second one''s neck and break the spine of the third just for variety''s sake. In this narrow corridor, they had to come after me one by one, making them easy targets. I clean purple blood from my long dagger on a nearby tapestry depicting a man conversing with a devil, then return to my allies. Urchin is on the ground, looking a bit blankly at the alien corpse before him. Booth is slowly stepping away from us and towards the entrance. "That should be all for now. Urchin, stand up." The man obeys. "And you Booth, come back here," I order without even a bit of compulsion. The man is a wimp and a glorified doormat, used to taking orders without question. "Give me the key," I order, and extend a hand in which he places the golden and intricate object. "What sort of mages are you?" He asks with a trembling voice. "The sort that can defeat those creatures," I reply. He just accepts the explanation without complaint. I do not understand why a secretive organization would not use their best agents to guard the gates. This level of oversight is beyond ridiculous, a sign of unwarranted confidence and a complete lack of common sense. Now that I think about it, those morons apparently opened a portal and got eaten as a result so I should not expect too much. All that knowledge and no brains. Disappointing. "Now, I need to check something. Wait here." I approach the window to the inner court and look out and down. Right above me, a ceiling imitating a night sky blocks the way up, indicating that we are on the topmost level of the library. Below, the structure continues over seven floors before ending on a large circular plaza of white and black tiles, over fifty paces across. In its center, an elevated platform of rose stone serves as a ritual locus. It also serves, for now, as a portal between dimensions. A large crack in the very air tears the veil between realities in a show so strange that my mind revolts at the sight, my eyes slipping away from the rift. The edges of the opening glide senselessly inside of the circle, painting the room in ever-changing shapes of magenta. As I watch, another hound crashes in, then shakes its maw and bickers with one of its siblings already pacing the hall. Creatures such as this one patrol the ground, sniffing at demolished furniture, pools of blood, and each other. Their grunts and huffs offer a disturbing counterpoint to the portal''s steady hum. Of the mages, very little remains, most of it smeared on the ground. The runes of the portal flare wildly one after the other without apparent rule. Every five seconds or so, the rift rotates abruptly. This spell is far from being stable and there is also a good chance that the Merghol hounds disrupt it by their very presence. They do feel queer, the aura around them empty and deleterious. If they truly are magical scramblers, I can already see a few problems looming. Loth was unusually thorough when teaching me the art of magic despite my own inability to cast. He started out of affection, but the real cause of his seriousness is the perfectionism with which he approaches every aspect of his craft. Barring demanding circumstances, Loth will not start any work that isn''t worth being done perfectly. One of the first lessons he taught me was the importance of safety. He would drill it into my mind until it became second nature. I still carry in my mind the lessons he shared. "If it''s unstable, it''s gonny explode, and it''s gonny explode in yer face," he would say. And other pearls of wisdom. "If it can splash on yer fingers it can splash in yer eyes, on yer feet, and on the neighbor''s dog." "Measure twice cast once." And finally, my favorite. "It''s only when I''m elbow deep in quicksilver that my arse starts to itch." That last one I was thankfully spared due to my immortal nature. One must note that Loth had a vertical pole covered in dense boar hair specifically installed to remedy the situation. It pays to be prepared. In any case, if he were here he would have some choice words about the situation. An experimental spell is fizzling quickly. An experimental spell that played with the very fabric of the world in a field of magic I am unfamiliar with for the simple reason that it did not exist two years ago. I cannot even begin to consider what the worst case scenario is. We are in uncharted disaster territory. The real question here is, do I cut and run? I could leave Alexandria to its fate. It would be the most reasonable action, at least in the short term. However, I dismiss this thought as soon as it comes to my mind, and I know why. It is not duty, though duty plays a part. To flee now is to give up on not just the task I was granted, but also on my alliance with Sephare and, possibly, even Constantine. Who would respect a vampire who had a chance to stop the cataclysm and turned tail instead? I would not. In managing our territories, we are expected to solve supernatural threats if only because we do not tolerate competition. It is not greed either, though greed plays a part. I found a treasure trove and I resent the very thought of leaving it for alien beasts to despoil. Already, the signs of their presence in those halls of gold and marble fill my heart with cold anger. We stand in a hallowed place, a temple to knowledge and humanism. I will not part with it so easily, and yet, it is still not the true reason. The real cause is, of course, pride. Our greatest sin. The ever-present cause for our demise. I have been thinking about it. I believe that in order to become a Lord, the Watcher''s influence is required. The mark of a Lord is the Magna Arqa, their strange power. When Lord Suarez demonstrated it against the Knight Squad, his eyes briefly flashed with the color of the vampire star. I know that I am relying on a vague impression or rather a hunch when making this assumption. It matters not. Hunches are born from instinct and experience, neither of which have failed me when it came to understanding my own nature. That influence will not be bestowed upon the meek, the useless and the stupid. Pride is simply at the heart of what we are. To deny it is to deny our nature. I cannot flee as surely as a fish cannot breathe air. "Booth," I ask, "where would the notes on this spell be kept?" "The¡ªthe mage quarters on the fourth floor, I believe. All their laboratories are there." "Excellent. I will need those to close the portal safely. For now, we must prepare." "Milady?" Urchin asks with doubt in his eyes. "We came equipped for a diplomatic mission. This is now an extermination mission, and I need my gear for that. We will return to base and fetch our weapons." This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. Pride must be tempered with caution. "You mean, a search and rescue mission, right?" our guide asks worriedly. "Yes yes, Mr. Booth. A search and rescue mission," I reply with rolling eyes. Perhaps I should have just bitten that idiot. According to our guide, the Library consists of seven main floors and an archive under the central plaza, which contains advanced magical knowledge and tomes of forbidden lore. In other words, the good stuff. The Fourth floor is dedicated to offices, quarters and laboratories. Enough for twenty people to conduct their research comfortably. All of the rift''s preparatory work should be there. Booth was quite helpful in describing the architecture of the library. I ended up biting him because I cannot take the risk that he would grow a spine as Urchin and I conduct our search. It would not do to solve the issue, only to return and find out he somehow sealed us in. "Milady, I am scared." "Then don''t look down," I reply drily. The stairs up and down are situated at either end of the circle and we would be guaranteed to get in combat with packs of the beast. Fighting now would be counterproductive. We need to close the portal first, then mop up. And so, we climb down the face of the inner court, using our claws to prevent an untimely fall onto the plaza. Also onto said plaza''s fauna and strange magical phenomenon. Even now, the chaotic light coming from below casts strange shadows on the walls'' white stone. Urchin slips. I dig one claw in the carved figure of a well-endowed nymph and grab my accomplice by the collar as he gasps. On the other side of the wall, a few huffs signify the presence of a hound. The creature is unimaginative, however, and after a few disappointed grunts, we hear it paddle away. I shove Urchin against a column which he clings to like an oyster to a hull, then resume my descent. A few seconds of muttered curses after, Urchin follows suit. Our climb ends without further incidents at the edge of the fourth floor. Looking over the railing, I immediately notice differences. While other floors are densely packed labyrinths of bookshelves around small study rooms, this one is almost entirely open. The gap in front of us opens into a vast study room dotted with support pillars and luxurious desks, all of which stand abandoned. A few doors on the opposite walls probably lead to the offices Booth described. Contrary to my expectations, the center path to the laboratories is currently sealed by stacked bookshelves and other various pieces of furniture. A quartet of hounds patrol the open space, occasionally prodding at the improvised barrier. I know what that means. Survivors. "Urchin, take the beast on the right," I order. "The one currently licking its¡ª" "Yes," I answer tiredly, "that one. On my mark. Ready? Go!" I charge and impale the first hound in the heart before it can even detect my presence. In one movement, I dig out the spear and plant a dagger in its companion''s head, then complete the twirl with a thrust forward that ends with Sivaya''s spearhead in the last creature''s skull. I turn around and watch Urchin as he climbs on his hound''s back, using his gift to stab the creature repeatedly without having to extricate his blades. The hound gasps in agony, its shrieks dying in what passes as its throat under the unimaginable pain. In only a few seconds, Urchin has dispatched his target which is, I will admit, a marked improvement. My minion stands up and turns to me, proud of his victory. He takes in the surgically dispatched targets and my waiting form, deflating a bit in the process. "You did well," I reassure him, "much better than last time." Carrot and stick, Ariane, carrot and stick. "Thank you Milady. Should I clear the irrigation system?" he offers, pointing at the barricade. "Yes, we will clear the corridor together," I correct him, stressing his mistake. "Oh, corridor." "Do not worry about it." "Thank you, you are most grapefruit." I sigh and we get to work. Our task is made more complicated by the need to stay relatively silent. We are forced to cooperate and create a small pile to the side. Fortunately, we receive unexpected help when someone else starts clearing the blockade from the other side. After one last bookshelf tucked away, I come face to face with an astounded wizard. He is rather short, with frizzy dark hair and curious brown eyes of noticeably different colors. His face is handsome, with a scar on his right cheek that grants him a rugged look. His aura is peculiar, as if it had depth. "You are not from the Society," he observes. Too late, I feel a small spell bouncing against my essence, tasting it. The mage reacts immediately by taking a nervous step back. He pales. "Indeed not," I reply with a fanged smile. The mage stumbles away and crosses himself. I do not feel the same threat as usual. Rather than pushing me away, he is simply accepting his fate. I use the opportunity to inspect him. He wears a beige suit and white shirt set I would expect from a well-to-do gentleman, though currently wrinkled and smelling a bit ripe. His right hand is clad in the most intricate gauntlet I have ever seen. While many mages will restrain themselves to a few combinations of runes for a good balance between power and versatility, the man facing me has clearly gone for specialization. He wields a tool, not a weapon. "So, er, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?" he asks, a bit flustered. So very courteous. "My name is Ariane, this is Urchin," I offer. "Oh, where are my manners? Ricardo Solo, at your service," he answers with a short bow. The familiarity of those words help him settle. "Charmed. Where were we? Ah yes. We were on our way to visit your most honorary Society as we meant to¡­ get acquainted with Alexandria''s respectable citizenry." "As is our wont," Urchin contributes. "When," I continue with a reproachful look, "we came across a tear in the very universe and a cataclysm of biblical proportion in the making." "Not to mention those weird dogs," Urchin continues, on a roll. "We would be really interested in a way to close the rift lest it swallows us all and casts our wretched coils into the great beyond." "Preferably before the sun rises," Urchin finishes, to my dismay. Solo''s wary expression turns hopeful, which I always find curious in people I have half a mind to eat. "Oh, then our interests coincide! I, too, would prefer not to be disintegrated into my component atoms. Should we work together?" "That would be brilliant." "Then follow me, fellow, er, non-hostile sapient beings," he declares with just a bit of hesitation, before heading back to one of the doors in the hallways beyond. As we step forth, Urchin leans towards me. "Milady, I believe this man is a bit out there, if you catch my meaning." "Thank you for your valuable input, Urchin," I retort. We follow the weird survivor to a side room clearly set to be a laboratory. Working stations line the walls, covered in protective white ceramic. The stone floor is corroded or oddly colored in some places, while to the side, our guest has set up an improvised camp. Several experiments are in progress, one involving temperature variation to condense the collected water which then drips into a beaker. Ricardo passes by and casually gulps its contents before moving on. We follow him to the largest table, set in the middle of the room. On it, a plan of the central ritual has been laid out with colored notes and pins stuck in strategic places. The complexity is breathtaking, and the difference to Semiramis'' work is that this time, it is simple enough that I manage to grasp some of the underlying concepts. The ritual uses two batteries, one instruction set, a stabilizing array on a loop and coordinates based on resonance codes. "Where did you get this?" I ask while pointing at that last component. The glyph used is unknown to me while the rest of the runes are typical Western Standard. "Oh, a practitioner as well? You must be well-educated to understand the spell that quickly," Ricardo answers. When I do not volunteer more information, he averts his eyes. "To answer your question, there has always been a, er, background mana signature in the air. Recently, that background became much more stable though we are not sure how and why." Because an old monster decided to play god. "There are several sequences of mana waves in the air, which we can capture on an electrum sheet using an appropriate apparatus." Pretentious. Silver ought to work just as well. "A mage from Switzerland correctly identified that the waves were not one, but instead a multitude of sequences of various lengths. I surmised that the main sequence identified our own world due to its intensity and perfect stability while others are echoes of distant worlds. "Those worlds move relative to ours and so their sequence is not perfectly stable, but thanks to a mathematical model, I was able to predict a time when a sequence would match a specific set of coordinates. Now, you have realized that the door to the bookstore manipulates space, correct?" "Indeed." "I made it ten years ago. The framework is mostly the same, the main difference being said coordinates." "Impressive," I note with grudging respect. The design is simple, clean and elegant. I remember that powerful casters age more slowly as they grow in power. For most, the slowing down occurs in their later years, meaning that most archmage gatherings look like geriatric wards. The fact that Ricardo does not look one year above thirty is a testament to his skill and power. "We now face a complication. The portal was fed energy for two days, and should naturally close within the next eight hours." "Let me guess, we do not have eight hours?" "Well, the coordinates are slowly changing as the connected world moves away from ours. It will place an ever-growing strain on the portal. There are also unexplained disruptions." "Probably those creatures." "Hmm, yes, likely. Whatever the cause is, the spell will go critical in less than three hours." "Meaning?" "Remember when I talked about disintegration?" We both fall silent. "I assume you have a failsafe?" I ask after a while with just a little bit of apprehension. "I do. Please look at this section." I follow his direction and find a sub-system of runes attached to the two batteries. It is part of the spell, and at the same time, it will not activate unless triggered separately. The glyphs for a sort of vent that should syphon out energy in record time. "This looks promising." "It will close the rift almost instantly." "I feel a ''but'' coming." Ricardo looks aggravated. "Obviously, I could not let anyone shut down my experiment with ease after all the work I put into it. In order to activate the failsafe, I must input a glyph code in a very specific order." "Let me get this straight. Your fail-safe, which you placed on an experimental work of great might with the potential to explode in your face and lay waste to the entire region, can only be used by you and takes seconds to activate." "A full minute." "By the Watcher!" "How could I know that things could go so bad?!" "Yes, how could the disaster occur with such competent people at the helm? I am positively flummoxed," I reply with an acerbic tone. Ricardo crosses his arm on his chest and lifts his chin, a gesture that would be considerably more intimidating if he were not so short. "So the rumors are true, vampires are creatures of sarcasm, eh?" I take a step forward and invade his personal space. "You should simmer down before I remind you of what else we are famous for." In this specific context, extreme violence. Ricardo understands my meaning clearly and raises both hands in a placating gesture. "My apologies. You are correct, of course, there were¡­ oversights. Including on my part." I step back, signaling an end to the hostilities. "If I understand correctly, we need to get you to that part of the glyph and give you one minute of calm, is that correct?" I ask the mage. "Yes, preferably before long." "Before we plan for that, I have another question." "Yes?" "How come you are the only survivor?" I ask lightly. Mr. Solo frowns as he realizes that I boxed him against the table. My relative closeness makes him uncomfortable. "I¡­ did not participate in the casting," he admits, "The design is mine but I wanted to wait another cycle to double-check my calculations. Hazel, er, that would be our previous leader, he wanted us to be the first to reach a new world. I have been corresponding with other researchers around the continent. We were at the vanguard of research, but Hazel wanted the prestige associated with a first successful rift." "So he cast it himself?" "Him and our other senior members. They took some precautions, of course, they even kept everyone around with battle spells ready. I had taken refuge in an isolation pod in a nearby laboratory just in case. When nothing exploded, I came out to the railing to watch the completed ritual. When I approached, I heard screams, then I saw the moving blasphemy my creation had vomited into this world." He shakes his head and grows visibly nervous. He grasps his hands tightly as if to exorcise the memories from his mind. "The screams, my god. Our spells did nothing against the creature. They only seemed to energize it. Then another came, probably attracted by the smell of blood, then another. There was nothing I could do. I retreated here and prepared a desperate plan to close that portal before it swallows us all." Ricardo shudders and averts his eyes, now brimming with unshed tears. I feared that he may be dangerously cold, and I was mistaken. He merely postponed his grief and his horror. There is no deception in him, I am sure of it. "Could there be any other survivors?" He considers the question for a moment. "I find it extremely unlikely but yes, someone may have locked themselves in one of the reading rooms on the first floor. They are specifically designed for isolation and privacy." "Why?" I ask excitedly, "are those where the books of hidden lore are stored?" "Not¡­ exactly." I look on with confusion. "Well, the first floor contains a very expansive collection¡­" Ricardo continues sheepishly "Of what?" I ask with impatience. "Pornography and Erotica." Just. I. What? I cannot. Seriously?! "You have to understand¡­" he continues, while behind us Urchin sniggers. I throw both arms up in exasperation. I cannot stand this stupid place anymore. Those people¡­ "We are mostly celibate¡­" "Have you considered getting in touch with the exclusively female society of witches living in the same Watcher-accursed city?" "There have been a few tentative openings, of course. Unfortunately, they didn''t pan out. A question of ego, on both sides I''m afraid." "You don''t say. You treated them like conceited tarts and they thought you were a bunch of pompous dolts, am I correct?" "More or less, yes." "Well, you were both right. Now, and before any more disappointing revelations, I would like us to focus on the task at hand. We have a cataclysm to stop." "Yes, my apologies. My primary concern is the ritual. Fortunately, the matter is simple, really. I need free access to the glyphs while remaining free of the attention of those wretched creatures. There has to be a dozen now, at least." "A little more than that, I''m afraid." "But surely¡­ You are here¡­" "We did not slaughter our way down, we bypassed them by climbing down the inner court''s walls." "So, they are unstoppable¡­" Ricardo whispers with dread. "We still killed eight on our way here," I retort somewhat defensively. Nothing is unstoppable for me. Well, no, many things are unstoppable. Just not these mutts. Pah. "Oh good," the man continues, "then perhaps¡­ Yes. If we could lure the beasts away from the central position¡­" "Then you could get down the same way as us, and close the portal as the hounds are otherwise occupied," I finish for him. "Precisely. As for the lure, a powerful spell coupled with some noise should be enough to draw them to the upper floors." "But we can''t cast spells," interjects Urchin, who had been quiet until now. I silence him with a glare. We never admit a weakness before a stranger, though in this case, his mistake is minor. I would have had to admit it at some point. "You are not a mage?" Ricardo ask me, stupefied, "but¡ª" "I am trained in magical theory. I haven''t found the time to practice yet." "How can you not find the time to study the Art of all arts!?" Ricardo demands, scandalized. I grab him by the collar and pull him in until our noses almost touch. "Because I keep being distracted from this noble goal by imbeciles with much more skill than common sense." He averts his eyes. "Point taken," he croaks, and I release him. "I cannot believe you have never cast," he mutters as he fixes his tie. Clearly, the revelation has rattled him. Typical of one whose existence does not depend on his ability to make himself too bothersome to kill. "Technically I have. Before you ask, I would not be able to reproduce the specific circumstances that allowed me to do it." "That changes everything! If you can cast, you can cast. I can help you." "Hold on, are you saying that you can teach me how to do magic in less than an hour?" "No, not as such, no," Solo mutters as he opens a cabinet under one of the tables and rummages through its contents. "Aha!" he exclaims. The proud mage turns around and both Urchin and I watch the massive gauntlet in his hands. "This is a focused gauntlet. It offers a considerable power boost, but you can only use it to cast one spell. We use it when we need to do some heavy lifting and neither flexibility nor subtlety are required." "It sounds right up your alley, Milady," Urchin whispers before recoiling when I fix him with a murderous glare. "With this," Solo continues, "you shall have no difficulty casting a basic spell. Did you have something in mind?" I consider it. Yes. As a matter of fact, I did. "Must I engrave the central plate here with the appropriate rune?" "That is correct. Do so, then follow my directions and you will find yourself casting in no time." I have a feeling it cannot be this easy. Ricardo rightfully takes my silence for doubt. "We are brute-forcing the spell. It will work, I am sure of it. I got a measure of your aura earlier and, well, you have a lot of power to play with. You will definitely succeed." "Hmm. If you say so," I concede. The seventh floor, near the entrance. Everything is ready. I left my pistols with Urchin, whose task it will be to protect Ricardo from stragglers. They are noisy but powerful weapons. By the time he uses them, I should have the full attention of the packs. In the meanwhile, he has knives. The pair is hanging from a delivery basket on the fourth floor, ready for the signal. My spell. The very first one I will cast voluntarily and without Likaean essence flooding my veins. I look at the unwieldy gauntlet around my left hand. It fits snuggly. I believe that one day, I will have my own, crafted for my own needs and according to my preferences. For now, I will make do. I use a claw to slice my thumb and christen the rune on the back of my hand with a bloody imprint. I extend a tendril of essence through it and into the gauntlet, feeling a queer sense of feedback. The reaction is both filling a container and lighting a fire. After only a moment, something clicks and yet I still feed more power into the conduit until it grows uncomfortably cramped. I have the symbols; I have the power. The last ingredient is the will. I call the concept into my mind. The interior of the sarcophagus as I wake up. The shadow of a building in the dark of the night. Storm clouds passing over the moon. It shelters me, protects me, assists me. It is my element, a tool and a weapon. A familiar absence. Sinead used to say that under its dominion fall both the caress of the lover and the stiletto to end a life, and he was right. It conceals the whisperers and the moaners, those who succumb to pleasure and to death. Science says it is the absence of light. That it is empty. Foolishness, for it harbors the fear of men in its vast, incomprehensible depths. Let it come now. Let darkness be. "Nu Sharran." I open my eyes to¡­ nothing. The orbs are muted, the candles extinguished. Black clouds, tarry yet immaterial roll away from me, taking with it an amount of energy so large it makes me gasps. The spell is born. It slithers between chair legs and through the interstitial space in the shattered bookshelves. It crawls under blood-drenched banners and over the cooling corpses of the slaughtered hounds. Darkness, pure and simple. I see nothing, yet I know where things are. The awareness comes to me for the cloud is from me, and through me. It is me. And below, the creatures bay. They can finally taste the scent of the prey that had eluded their efforts so far. A stampede makes the ground tremble, starting from below. Suddenly, an intuition comes over me. The same way I sometimes know from where an attack will come, I feel something. My death. I am going to die? No, I could die. I need to¡­ I cling to the impression, focusing on it as it drifts from my grasp like sand. I need¡­ I need¡­ Movement. Yes, of course. My usual strategy will not work against those creatures. I need to keep moving, always. Vampire strength will not save my life here. Vampire speed will. I approach the railing and pass my head through the cloud of unnatural darkness to stare below and check my allies'' progress. Oh. Oh no. Some hounds on the ground have not moved yet. They just paddle on the white and black tiles sniffing as they go. But of course! My spell is darkness. It must be stealthier than the classic firebolt, and they have not felt me! How did I not think of it? No¡­ What should I do? I need to attract their attention. Quickly Ariane, do something! Sounds? Well, I could just do that. I step over the railing. I stand straight, feet apart and hands on my waist. "Preeeeeeeeeeeendi!" The hounds stop and raise their alien maws as my voice resonates, clear and, of course, horribly off-tune. On the fourth floor, the two men stare with sheer horror as I inflict the most disgraceful, the most shamelessly vile treatment possible on Adina''s sublime aria. Somewhere in Italy, Donizetti''s poor ears ought to be bleeding. "Prendi, per me sei liiiiibero Resta nel suol natiiiiiiiio." I slaughter the song and the remaining hounds rush up the stairs with the wrath of ten thousand sopranos. The men wince and with one last look of pained incredulity, make their way down with the delivery basket. I just cast my first spell and instead of riding the wave of my pride, I am forced to commit musical murder in the name of survival. Truly, this world is cruel beyond compare. No time to cry, the first beasts are already coming. The time has come for me to fulfil my purpose, the reason why our bloodline exists in the first place. The fracas of heavy bodies galloping on solid stone grows like the sound of a rolling drum. It echoes across the void of the inner court and down the maze of shelves on all sides. I take my spear and point it forward. "You are not welcome here." I thrust through the first hound''s skull, catch the one jumping over the corpse of its companion in the heart and sweep a third against the wall, then I fall back as three more take their place. "We have claimed this land." With precise thrusts, I dispatch more hounds. A strike must kill with impunity or I do not take it. I run, I flee, it does not matter. Tonight, I am not the pouncing predator but a lone wolf harrying a stag. I cannot slay it in one go, and that is fine. Bit by bit, nibble by nibble, I will take their numbers down until the end. I just need to survive and not be swarmed. One mistake is all it would take. Thrust and sweep, kill two as they hamper each other trying to pass a small alcove. Always, I stay aware of my surroundings. I jump backwards over fallen bookshelves and slide below the largest desks while my pursuers ram themselves into every obstacle. I remain untouched, as swift and elusive as the wind. DANCE WITH ME MONGRELS. Yes, no matter how long I live I cannot give this up, the ecstasy of deadly combat. The waltz on the edge of a blade! Another fall as I dodge left, then retreat right, always keeping to the outside circle of the library. If I enter those labyrinthic inner rooms, I shall surely die. I go on, thrust, kick and dodge, until the inevitable happens. I hear growls at my back. I cast the spell while close to a first stairwell, and now I have completed a half-circle and reached the second. Without hesitation, I grab a desk and send it smashing into the lead hounds and turn around. I lower the spear and charge like a jousting knight, Stabbing into the first hound in front of me and pushing it into the next. I move left, along the railing, and use a palm to push a third hound away. A lucky swipe catches me in the calf, making me stumble. S§×arch* The n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Not good. I use the other leg to propel me forward as I turn to check the damage. I find very little of it. A trickle of blood and a gash in the intricate network of mail. I test my weight gingerly and find my mobility unimpeded, the wound already healing. Thank you, Loth. I rush to the stairs, slaying two more creatures on the way and jump down as hounds arrive from everywhere. I hear a gunshot coming from below and hope that Urchin did not miss this time. I did train him, after all. At the next landing, I move again, the horde still on my trail. I am faster, but killing slows me down and kill I must, if only to avoid being overwhelmed. Dodge, thrust, sprint, push. My universe is reduced to these actions. There is nothing but the dance. Then it happens. A lucky maw grabs my arm. I punch the creature, jump up and dig my claws into the plaster of the ceiling, pushing away. Close call. Far beneath my feet, the portal dies with a whine and a fizzle. I stumble at the wave. The dimensional spell''s energy bleeds out into the world. The purple beasts shiver, energized. Ah, by the Watcher. Faster now, faster, cannot afford to be boxed in. Just punch and sweep, no time to kill. Faster. And then, I feel a pull. The same intuition I practiced with cards, the very instincts that kept me alive so many times tell me that this is it, this is the moment. I listen. All the creatures must be here now, on this floor. Their insane baying drill into my ears. So loud. They are packed three-thick in the narrow corridors. Perfect. With a roar, I push forward and into a study, take a sharp turn and, with all my might, jump over the railings. The creatures scramble after me, many falling to their death. The head pursuers are pushed into the abyss by the ravening mass of their kin. I fly through the air in a beautiful arc, turn on myself and pull the satchel charge from my back. In one graceful movement, I trigger it by pulling on a rope and send the fuming package back where I came from. The dark leather bag disappears in the mass of bodies glutting against the gap. I remember to protect my ears. The charge explodes in a cataclysmic blow. The shockwave travels through the densely packed flesh with the ghastly sound of crushed meat and shattered bones. The explosion sends pieces of masonry flying in the central court, opening a hole six yards across. And from this gaping wound in the pallid flesh of the building, a cascade of purple ichor flows freely. The remnants of the creatures, torn apart by the detonation, leak the viscous fluid as if the marble was but a shell to some unnatural, titanic life. Monstrous slabs of bruised meat soon follow and with it, a few hounds saved by the unwilling sacrifice of their brethren. "Oof!" A half-pillar smacks into my back, sending me reeling. Momentum carries me on the opposite balcony, around the third floor. I smash into the carving of the gargoyle arms-first and manage to stop my fall. On the ritual ground, Urchin and Ricardo step back as a handful of surviving beasts rise, shaking their heads. I let go and land on the closest one, spear first. I slam my weapon into the ground with a loud crack, turn around and dispatch the survivors as they struggle to climb to their paws. The others stare at me, open-mouthed. It is done. It worked. I can mop up the stragglers later. I have succeeded. All our objectives are fulfilled, and we are still alive. We won, and yet, I cannot help but feel a little bit of sadness. Urchin steps forward, as proud as can be. He grabs a dazed Ricardo by the shoulder. His stretched arm encompasses the unholy mass of alien flesh before him, the flaming pieces of masonry and other burning debris, the dark snow of burnt paper falling over us like some hellish weather in the apocalyptic vista of death and destruction this place has become. "We did it, people! We saved the library!" Idiot. I slowly massage the bridge of my nose and ask the one question burning on my lips. "Urchin, are those my precious pistols I see discarded on the filthy ground?" "Errr." Chapter 88 - 86. Et tu, Brute? The woman jumps in fright when I accost her. It is late, and dark, and she is not a denizen of the night like I am. When she sees I am a woman too, her shoulders relax, the fear receding from her wary figure. She turns in my direction and I see that under the heavy green hood, she wears an evening dress of decent make, a shawl and a bag containing at the very least one magical item. Probably her focus. She is young, not a day over eighteen, I''d wager, and beautiful in a guileless and delicate sort of way. A pretty little sheep walking out, trying to grow. So easy to smother, so much life to draw. I will not. Instead, I take the demeanor of a bashful girl. I lower my head, avert my eyes slightly and force a tremble into my voice. "Sorry miss. Are you, perchance, going to Carol Fletcher''s reception too?" At those words the young lady relaxes fully. She takes on a more protective air and does her best to exude self-confidence. With her shoulders squared and back straightened, she addresses me with a voice full of authority. "That I am. I do not recognize you, are you new?" "Yes, I arrived in town recently. I came to introduce myself, but I must have taken a wrong turn somewhere," I add to reinforce my image as an airhead. Only an imbecile would take a wrong turn in a city that consists of squares. It is enough for the girl to take my arm and guide me forward. I sign for Urchin and John to follow me and be ready. As for Crews and King, they are already hidden next to our destination. Their ethnicity makes them too easy to notice. She introduces herself as Camille, and I as Ariane. She asks me what I think of Alexandria. My opinion is that it contains far too many gang members, slavers, and chronic masturbators with far too much pride and not enough common sense to fill a tumbler, though arguably that last problem just solved itself. Instead of sharing this pearl of wisdom, I comment on the weather just like Sephare would. After a few more reassurances from Camille''s part that everything would go smoothly, we arrive. My companion takes a turn from the wide main street to pass through a gate to an inner courtyard. The path turns to white gravel while on either side of us, a small garden of roses and other fragrant essence charge the winter air with their heady perfume in a display of magical skill. I enjoy the feeling of pebbles crushing beneath my feet since, this time, I should not be too silent. The large oaken door is reinforced with alarm and resistance runes of a peculiar make. The enchantment is made from wood and freshly cut flowers. Although it will fade fast, it is no less potent for it. I stop at the threshold and gaze up at the young lady already up two stairs. "Can I really just come in?" I ask politely. "Yes, of course. All are welcome in our community." I honestly doubt that. Nevertheless, the invitation is enough and as I go by, the enchantments remain inert. I was invited, after all. Camille precedes me in an intimate antechamber where she hangs her hood. A set of stairs goes up by my left and a few closed doors lead to other parts of the house. On the white walls, paintings of severe women alternate with tapestries and landscapes. If it were not for the homey cluttering, the decorations would be impressive. With the presence of personal effects, the house feels like a middle ground between a home and a public office. Without hesitation, the girl leads me through a set of double doors to a ''grand salon'' from whence I hear laughter and the murmurs of conversation. I am amazed at the size of the private receiving room. I did not expect so large a space inside of the city, and I find it obvious at first glance that great care has been given to its design. The ground is polished wood, the walls are painted white and blue with small windows. Instead, most of the natural light comes from a vast glass awning taking a good half of the roof and turning it into a solarium. Instead of flowers, however, Fletcher cultivates social connections. Clusters of witches converse casually in high-pitched voices, their colorful auras fluttering around them. A long banquet table occupies a side of the room, on which many dishes and desserts have been cut and prepared for the revellers. Brass cups and pitchers abound to allow them to wet their whistles for another round of gossip. If the variety of wares displayed is any indication, half of the food was brought here by guests. On the other side, a lone piano sits forlorn, for now, moved to make room for a large magical circle drawn in chalk, the work of several hours, at least. Camille waits for me to take in the sights with a knowing smile. She points at a trio at the far end of the room consisting of an old crone and a portly woman with a kind smile listening to a girl with black hair speaking with great animation. I focus and pick up a few words. It appears that she is wary of, and I quote, ''strange happenings in our fair city''. Ah, to be this na?ve. ''Strange happenings'' does not even begin to cover it. Thankfully, my mood recovered after the library debacle thanks to several factors. First, I poached Ricardo who is on his way to Boston with the library''s most useful tomes and his own dimensional research. Second, I had Urchin clean my pistols until they shone. Third, and the most important aspect, I do not have to take care of the library''s cleanup. Not my job. Dear Lady Sephare will just have to find a way to dispose of several metric tons of rotting purple meat on her own. "Those are Carol, Grace and Moon Flower," she explains, "you should go introduce yourself after they''re done talking." "Moon Flower?" I ask. "She insists we call her that and not her birth name," Camille answers, embarrassed. "It''s Nastasia by the way. But you didn''t hear it from me." Oh, juicy. Not three minutes in the room and I already know a pointless secret. "She is the Black Dog. That means she is in charge of protecting us. Go to her if you have any security concerns." "Oh, I will." "She can be a bit¡­ abrasive. Don''t let that deter you. She cares about us, even if her crusade against the social order can be a bit tiresome, at times." An idealist. That could be dangerous. "That is all," Camille finishes and I notice that she is eyeing a group, probably her friends. "Oh, Lucy is making eyes at me. Find me after you''re done, and we will make the rounds together." "Thank you Camille, I appreciate it," I tell her as a form of polite dismissal. A smile and wave and she is gone. I turn and delicately hold the shoulders of a woman before she can bump into me, then grab the plate she just dropped in surprise before it can land on the floor. "Oh, I''m so sorry! God, I''m such a clod!" "Think nothing of it," I reassure her. This witch is dressed in an old-fashioned dress that has seen too many uses. She attempted to apply rouge with limited success and her frizzy brown hair is held in a messy bun. The overall impression is that of a complete birdbrain. Her aura is particularly vivid, however, glowing around her in ever-moving abstract shapes. "Thank you, dearie. I would not have forgiven myself if I had dropped my carrot cake. Would you like a slice?" she generously offers. "I''m afraid I must decline. I am on a liquid diet," I share with amusement. The lady blinks owlishly and her face falls off a bit. "It smells delicious though, is that cinnamon?" "Shhhhh!" she half-screams, "it''s my secret ingredient!" "My lips are sealed," I answer with amusement, "here, let me help you." I forcibly pull the plate from her nervous hands and deposit it on the table. As I do so, I notice that a few of the groups take a step away as we pass by. My companion is shunned by the group, despite her obvious power. An interesting development. This Society gathers women from all backgrounds and I would naturally expect them to develop a pecking order. I did not imagine that it would mirror the social order to such a frightful extent, with the richest members clearly at an advantage here. I am almost disappointed. What is the difference between them and a butterfly appreciation group? Does competence not matter for something? "My name is Ariane by the way." "Oh, yes, manners. Sorry. I''m Violet." "No need to apologize. Say, your aura is rather impressive. May I ask what your specialty is?" The change of demeanor of my interlocutor is truly mesmerizing. She straightens and her chocolate eyes, which until then had flitted across the room, suddenly gain a penetrating intensity. "The art of oneiromancy deals with dreams and their applications. The dreamscape''s malleability offers many opportunities ranging from training to long-range communication," she proudly declares. Then the moment is passed and she deflates. "Not that our sisters show much interest in it. Our society focuses on plant-based magic. Little effort is made exploring other techniques." "And such a shame it is. I knew a man who could invite me to his dreams from a state away. The things he showed me¡­" I reminisce as I think of Nashoba. He gave me back the sun, if only for a moment. Violet blushes a delicate shade of pink. "Not that kind of experience!" I chastise her, and she turns even redder. "Sorry!" I chuckle, and notice that the leadership trio finally noticed my presence. Nastasia, I mean Moon Flower, looks my way with a frown. "Ah, it appears I am being summoned. Remember that if your skills are not appreciated here, there are others who would give you the attention and respect you justly deserve." Leaving Violet behind with a shocked expression, I make my way across the floor. I suppose I let the vampire bleed out a bit there, at the end. I could not resist such a perfect poaching opportunity. The Black Dog walks forward to meet me first, blocking my way to the two others. "Who are you? You shouldn''t be here; this is a private party," she spits out. She is one of the few who wears a real gauntlet and with a gesture, she sends a pulse of energy which I recognize as a detection spell. I close my aura completely, only allowing her a glimpse of the chill inside of me. "You are not even one of us," she scoffs. My, an elitist. "Indeed not," I reply neutrally, "I am merely a messenger, come here to convey my lady''s greetings." "You have some gall," she exclaims. "And what message would that be?" the older woman asks while the portly witch wrings her hands in distress. By that time, the underlying tension of our exchange has been perceived by the well-attuned assembly and they gather around us in a loose semi-circle. "My lady has claimed the District of Columbia for herself. She wants us to be good neighbors and cordially invites you and your representatives for an evening together, to¡­ discuss the modalities of our cohabitation." "Should we care?" Nastasia interrupts, her voice filled with arrogance. In answer, I give a light smile and move behind her, placing a hand on her shoulder and whispering in her ear. "You really¡­" I start, and move again to return to my starting position as she turns with a gasp. "¡­really should," I finish, and release my aura. A frigid wave washes over the assembly with the power of a blizzard, pushing on the lights of their lives like under a thick blanket of snow. They yelp and recoil and huddle against each other in groups. Even their precious protector takes a step back. Silence descends upon the room as I stretch my arms and walk around with deliberate slowness. I do not even have to raise my voice. "For years you have huddled in your little corner of the world, blind to the great happenings outside. Now, your lands are claimed by the Lady Sephare of the Hastings. Under her benevolent supervision, resources and knowledge will flood into the city for those who deserve them. The protection she will grant you will shield the society from the depredations of predators, both mundane and otherwise. You have but to work with her." I stop and turn to face the leading trio, all of them having recovered. They are simply waiting for me to finish out of politeness. "The winds of change have come to Alexandria and it is time for you to choose. Will you embrace this change and the numerous opportunities it affords, or will you close your eyes and be swept away? You will have to decide for yourselves," I finish, my goal completed. Nastasia is the first to recover. She finally came to fateful realization. "You are a vampire." "We. We are vampires." Whispers erupt all around us, curiosity just as prevalent as fear. Those witches stayed isolated for far too long, content to exchange balm recipes and snob each other, it seems. Many of them do not even know of my kind, their most dangerous predators. There should be a slang for magical bumpkins. I await the trio''s reaction and I am not disappointed. While the crone is contemplative and the portly woman busy comforting her peers, the Black Dog acts first. She takes a step forward and invades my personal space once again. I already know that this one will not learn, will not bend. She will have to be removed. But not tonight, for I came as a guest and a messenger. I will never break those rules. "I know a thing or two about you monsters. I know you drink blood and enslave humans, so you will forgive me if I call your negotiation for what it is, terms of subjugation! But you made a mistake in thinking that we would be easily cowed. This city has been a beacon of freedom since its very creation!" I scoff at that. Beacon of freedom? A slaver town? "You are the last," I reply. Nastasia''s answer dies on her lips. I can tell when the pieces of the puzzle click in her mind and she finally figures out how much we already achieved. She does not show fear, however, but overwhelming anger. She bares her teeth in a rictus of rage. "This isn''t over, creature. I know of your kind''s weaknesses. I do not know who invited you here but this is my home and you are no longer welcome. Leave." The declaration smashes into me like a train. HAVE TO GET OUT. I move. Outside the reception room and through the warded gate which closes behind me. I land lightly on my feet in the garden. Oof. That was¡­ unpleasant. This is the first time someone rescinds their invitation while I am still in their home, and I did not expect it to be so effective. I felt like I was pushed by a mighty hand. The urge to leave was just as imperative as that to stay away from someone wielding a cross. Urchin had been waiting nearby, he rushes to my side when he notices me. "Is something the matter?" "Someone just slammed the supernatural door in my face, otherwise I am fine," I reply. He scrunches his weasel face in confusion at my apparent lack of concern. "Is that not bad, milady?" "It was the most likely outcome. Besides, I achieved my purpose tonight." "You did?" I look at my minion and consider an impromptu lesson. Why not? He is showing some significant progress and some outward signs of respect and loyalty. I might as well keep trying to lift him. "Do you know what we really came here for?" I ask, as we make our way across the empty street and jump on the roof. Jumping is better than dropping because I do not have to place my hands on my thighs to avoid indecency. "I assume that you are not referring to Lady Sephare''s invitation to the city leaders?" Urchin remarks. "The invitation is only a pretext. What we are doing here is conquest, plain and simple. We are taking complete control over Alexandria, one group at a time, until Lady Sephare remains as the undisputed ruler. And what is the tool we use?" "A blend of extreme psychological and physical violence?" "No," I reply with amusement, "though you are close. It is fear. Fear is the tool we use." I smooth my dress, wipe a few tiles with a handkerchief and sit down. Below us, Crews and King wait by a carriage and I give them the signal to hold. Once I am settled, I turn to Urchin who had patiently been waiting. "Independent people wish to remain free by nature. This drive is a deeply embedded desire, an instinct, and that impulse is particularly strong on this land where being free is a matter of fact. The only way to override this desire for liberty so that men bend is to slowly subvert it." "But¡­ you just spoke of fear?" Urchin interrupts with a frown. I am pleased that he has been paying attention. Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. "If Lady Sephare is the de facto ruler of the land, its inhabitants will eventually come to accept it as a ''the way things are''. The benefits of order and development she brings will slowly sway even the most stubborn dissenters. Eventually, she will be perceived as a benevolent ruler, akin to a mild government. Some of her current detractors may even turn into fervent supporters. Unfortunately, and as I mentioned, this will take time." Urchin sits by my side, pondering on my speech. Some lessons have stuck. Already, his posture and fashion sense have evolved from lowly lout to merely disreputable under my teachings. Perhaps the one who sired him did see something in him beyond mere entertainment. "The only way to beat an instinct in a mob is to oppose it with another instinct. Fear will beat the lust for freedom and the resistance to change. It will keep the different factions in line until the new status quo is mostly accepted. I used fear of bankruptcy against the Federals and the fear of death against both the Mudmen and the Ratcatchers. The Mudmen leader, Wallace, agreed to meet Lady Sephare because we easily slaughtered his old rival, not because we granted him more power. Remember this quote by Caesar: it is better to be first of a village than second in Rome. Many of those you will interact with will sacrifice some power to gain autonomy." "Like you, milady?" "Yes. Like me. As for the mages," I continue, "the situation is different. I cannot simply murder talented spell-casters willy-nilly, or at least I would prefer to save it as a last resort. In their case, knowing our nature is already a strong fear motivator. We merely have to reveal ourselves to our foes for them to realize the danger they are in." Urchin muses on that last sentence, staring at the now locked entrance to the witch redoubt. "They will still fight you if their latest reaction is any indication," he observes. "Some of them will oppose us, yes. That is why I announced myself to the entire assembly instead of just their leaders. That way, the rank and file will pressure the leadership for a solution, and I expect many will favor a peaceful arrangement. They are not warriors, and they have much to lose in an open conflict." "So we wait until they come to a consensus?" "Of course not. I did not bring the carriage for a midnight stroll. We will wait until the party finishes and abduct a pair who we will then bring to our warehouse. Let us see how long they last when we start kidnapping their members one by one." Afternoon, the day after... The shutters are closed, and the house is secured and still, I can feel it outside. The unforgiving rays beat on the masonry and smother the tiles on the roof in their baleful embrace, even now at the end of fall. It crushes me. The sun. My powers are mostly dormant and according to John, I look deathly sick. I feel sluggish and nervous. Oppressed. Threatened. All by this most natural of phenomena. And the most curious thing is that it does not care. No matter how terrified I am by a tiny dot of pale white light leaking between two planks, there is no intent behind it, no ill will. The terror I feel is not reciprocated, not even by disdain. To take my mind off things, I organize paperwork. The absorption of the Ratcatchers by the Mudmen is proceeding on schedule, however the fallout from the death of all the mages needs to be carefully managed lest groups like the Gabrielites catch wind of it. I do not need the complications. Defusing this issue only requires a few paws greased, a price I am willing to pay. I must still monitor the situation carefully. I am reading a report from one of our newest recruits when it happens. The downstairs door bangs open with a noise like thunder, and a rush of feet come in, soon followed by multiple gunshots. The loud detonations ring loudly in our enclosed space. I stand up. What? How? No time to think, I grab my pair of pistols and run to the stairs leading from the second floor to the first. Then, I stop at the landing when I see it. Sunlight, like a wall of fire, blocks my way down. The intruders left the door open! And here comes the first one, whom I recognize. He is one of the Mudmen''s main enforcers, from Wallace''s personal guard. I shoot him in the face. His body falls back. Another face replaces him. This is Jack, Wallace''s protege, the dandy young man I met in the old gang member''s office. He gives me an apologetic smile and ducks. I aim down and realize that I left the powder and bullets in my office. Should I go get it, or just hold the line? Soon the decision is made for me. A furious aura emerges from below and the smug face of Nastasia appears, shield brandished before her. She smiles and moves up, Mudmen foot soldiers packed tight behind her. Ah, a rebellion. How quaint. Nastasia''s smile crumbles when I grab a cabinet and push it down. The heavy piece of furniture slides down the wooden stairs. "Move!" she yells, and a second later I hear a crash and a scream of pain. Male, unfortunately. I use the diversion to run to the office and grab my gear. I do not have the time to change into something more protected, unfortunately. I rush back and reload my pistol with frustratingly slow speed. A quick look down lets me see two Mudmen with muskets. I duck as they fire and shoot down one. The other leaves, screaming. "She''s here! Do it!" Do what? I move back and¡ª White. Void. P A I N Pain. Unspeakable. Overwhelming. Agony. I scream, the sound like three voices together, too high-pitched to come from a human throat. I burn. There is movement, there is sound, something grabs me under my arms and lifts me up. It blocks the light. Blessed darkness. The rays of light encircle the man''s shape like a deadly halo. He carries me. Up up up we go. Pain. Pain still. It pushes every sensation away, smothers every thought. The tiny orb of my consciousness is pressed on all sides by the red tide of that pain. Then, coolness. Liquid surrounds my body. The pain becomes less. It fades until I am an island in a sea of magma, not a rock inside of it. I can think. No longer on fire. Count to ten. Count to twenty. Get the pain under control. Need to move. With my right hand, I push, find a wall of ceramic. Lifts. Find the edge. I am in a tub filled with water. Of course. I push myself up, pain flaring on my left side. I am in the bathroom. King is here, his long black beard plastered against his chest by wetness. I must have moved water around. The entire left side of my face, my arm and part of my chest and back are burnt. I use my right eye, the only one that still works, to take stock. Red bloody meat with black-charred edges barely covered by strands of mangled fabric. It looks just as painful as it is. Were it not for the Ekon essence, I would be nothing but a screaming mess right now. Even then, the pain is paralyzing. "John?" I half-choke, then hiss as the agony from my left cheek robs me of my words. "Holding them back." "Crews?" "Dead, I think. He was on the first floor." I refrain from swearing. That was so sudden. It is¡­ S§×ar?h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. It is my fault. But no, no time for recriminations. We need to get out. I push myself and yelp in pain, falling back into the tube. Too much. "I¡­ I need a moment." "We do not have a moment," King replies, his voice noticeably strained. He¡­ oh no. I look up and only now realize that he is bleeding. The stench of fire had overwhelmed my sense of smell. "No," I whisper, "get me a bandage, I shall¡­" "Stop," he interrupts. He grabs my right hand. His face is grayish, his eyes clouded. "This is not the kind of wound us normal folks can come back from." His beard is not wet with water, but with blood. His chest¡­ "I am sorry," I say. What else is there? I cannot save him. He took the bullet carrying me away. He saved me. I find that I am genuinely sorry. "I am not," he replies with a pain smile, "live by the sword and all that. Now, come on." He lifts me up until I stand inside of the tub, with the intact part of my dress completely soaked. "Your wounds are not closing. You need blood, might as well be mine before it all ends up on the ground." I say nothing as he drags me closer, against his muscular chest. At the last moment, he looks down at me and our eyes meet. "We are even now," he declares. I nod. "Farewell, David." He pulls me in so that I rest against him and bite down, drinking deep. We slowly fall to the ground until I am on top of him. When I pull back, he is dead. Power rushes into me from blood freely given by a brother in arms. His sacrifice gives me a sorely needed infusion of vitality and when I stand up, some of the wounds no longer look so frightful. I am still a maimed mess. I slowly drag myself to the door and go through. As I do, an impact rattles the shutters which resist. Ah, they must have punched through the second-floor windows and shutter with bullets to let sunlight in. It really took just a trickle to hurt me so¡­ Fortunately, the third floor contains the passage to the vault where Urchin and I retire. All the exits are padded with metal and even the roof is reinforced. I find John on the landing with his giant crossbow. He winces when he sees me and quickly returns his attention to the stairs. Below us, the Mudmen slowly creep across the ground, searching. They are in no rush, as it will take at least another hour before the sun sets. I limp to my only remaining servant. I have recruited a few new helpers over the past few days, only the Watcher knows how many still live. Finally, the intruders make their way to the edge of the stairs. I hear several female voices arguing over who goes first. After a while, a woman named Gloria wins the honor of being the first to assault our position by virtue of having the strongest shield. A few moments later, our enemies yell and charge. The first to appear is a beautiful young woman with curly blonde hair. She raises her gauntlet and the air shimmers with her power. John pulls the trigger. His heavy silver bolt pierces the shield as if it were made of paper and propels the woman back. Her incantation dies on her lips as the projectile pins her against the floor. The war cries die as abruptly as they started. Two voices scream in distress. Gloria feebly tries to grab the bolt. She moans and coughs blood. Tears fall from her eyes in long trails that end in the expanding pool of red beneath her prone form. She extends a hand to her friends who dare not enter the field of vision of John, who already reloaded. It takes a solid twenty seconds for the woman to finally choke to death. Eventually, her pallid form''s struggles weaken then seize. The voices below cry, argue and yell for a while in a debate that I fail to follow. The pain continues. I normally heal quickly but between the source of the wound and the hour, I suspect it will be some time until I am whole again. In the meanwhile, every step is a nightmare. My focus slips inevitably until I manage to shake myself awake once more. It appears the deliberations are at an end. Nastasia uses a spell to levitate her friend''s body upward, then to the side to recover it. Her voice surges then, spiteful and confident. "Stay there then, you monster!" As one, her group leaves. I hear the clatter of their footsteps going down. John and I stay unmoving for a while. Time is on our side. Or is it? I finally realize why they were willing to go. If they cannot kill us the old-fashioned way, they are more than willing to resort to drastic measures. The house is on fire. The perfect crime. The Mudmen control the firefighters, who will come too late to save the house. Tragic. Fortunately, I am not completely out of options yet. "John, listen carefully," I start. The big man turns his ugly mug to me and I can see that the deaths of his friends affect him greatly, yet as always, he remains unflappable in this time of crisis. His attention turns entirely on me, ready to get his orders. "Go down to my office, find the key in my desk''s left drawer, take it, open the right drawer, take its contents then put everything into my bag next to the stairs leading to the ground floor. Then run back up and open that window," I say, as a point to the one closest to the neighbor''s house. "Climb up and jump on the neighbor''s roof, the one with slightly redder tiles." "I remember." "Hide next to the chimney. Do not look down, do not search for me. Wait for nightfall then look towards the garden. Wait for my signal." "I understand." "Good. Now, go." John takes off with a speed few would expect from a man of his size. I open the passage to the vault as the first wafts of smoke permeate the air, closing and locking it behind me. The descent along the stone shaft is a long one, alone, in an isolation that even the inferno outside cannot breach. Mistakes, mistakes, mistakes, always more mistakes on my part. King is dead. Crews is dead. The Mudmen turned against me. All because of my strategy. And if I had taken more time, the gangs would have thrown the city into an all-out war. And if I had not warned the witch of my existence, instead taking them out one by one, I would have forfeited any chance at diplomacy as requested by Lady Sephare. I did not expect the two groups to work together, considering one is a traditionalist Christian group and the other is made of witches. It will always be like that, will it not? I will always miss key information, underestimate one foe and overestimate the other. Mortals will always surprise me with their ability to twist their words and beliefs to suit their ends. I will always be the straightforward girl, better at planning a project than at manipulating nations from the shadows. Not like Lady Sephare. Am I too stupid to rule over a state? No, that is not the right question. The right question is, can I afford not to? And the answer is no. I reach the end of the shaft and drop down into the small room in which my sarcophagus lies. Urchin still slumbers away in his own coffin-like shelter, oblivious to the recent tragedy. I stare at my gear, set against the wall, and realize that I will never manage to put on the armor. I would need to peel off the dress first. I look at my arm. Some of the skin has started to regrow, the rest of the flesh is still raw muscle tissue covered in pinkish fluids and black blood. I feel a strange separation between my cold mind, and the pain, horror and disgust of the more human part of me. Is this really what I am made of? All that meat? I shake my head to clear my thoughts. Too much has happened, and the pain has not receded. I find it hard to think. I sit heavily against the wall. I just need a bit of time¡­ Ever so slowly, the wounds close and I can finally open my left eye. My mouth is sticky with King''s blood. I must have made a mess. Time passes. Night falls. As darkness blankets the world, I can feel myself again. Vigor returns to my limbs and sharpness to my spirit forcing me to acknowledge, understand and plan. In front of me, Urchin''s casket opens. He freezes when he notices me. "Milady?" "There is no time, Urchin, we have a dance to finish." I unlock the trap door and push a lever. Through a clever use of pulleys and the power of vampiric strength, several hundred pounds of steel shift up and to the side. I pop my head through the opening to find quite the reception. "You were right, sister, the rat had a way out," a cold voice sounds to my left. "Come on out, vampire," the voice of Nastasia replies from the front. I pull myself out and slowly crawl out. The wounds are mostly closed and still I can tell from the assembly''s visceral disgust that they are quite ghastly. Nastasia''s mouth turns down into a sneer as she takes in my poor appearance, including my blood-covered face. I stand in the middle of a circle, with a witch at each of the cardinal points. The spell is a simple shield aimed inward that allows their own casts to travel through, giving them an undeniable advantage. Behind them, a dozen Mudmen gang members spread in a half -circle, holding weapons and crosses. At their head, I find Wallace and his prot¨¦g¨¦ Jack, armed to the teeth. "Well, not so haughty, are you, vampire? I bet you did not expect that." "That certainly came as a surprise," I admit. Speaking remains uncomfortable, though nowhere close to the torture that it used to be. I turn my gaze to Wallace. The grizzled gang leader''s gaze is filled with disgust and hatred. "I assume he found me?" Nastasia smiles smugly, a hand on her hip. Is she gloating? Yes, she is. "I was right to seek the help of Alexandria''s underbelly to track down your location. Imagine my surprise when not only did they know you, but they were also quite happy to lend a hand." "I knew it. I knew you were a monster," Wallace spits. "Oh please," I retort, "you are only too happy to conduct a little coup now that we placed the gangs at your knees." "I can help the Lord and help myself, it''s the American way," he replies with a shrug. Nastasia interrupts us, apparently out of patience. "Enough of this. You made a mistake coming here but I will be magnanimous. If you tell me where Lady Sephare''s resting place is and swear an oath to leave the country, we will let you go." "Moon Flower?" one of the other women, a slender brunette with eyes reddened by grief asks. "I am sorry, Mary. We must place the interests of the community before our desire for vengeance. Finding her Master is more important than killing her. Gloria would understand, I am sure." The other witch seems troubled but, in the end, she relents. "Is that it?" I ask. Nastasia frowns. "What do you mean?" she replies cautiously. "You killed at least two of my men, and who knows how many of my newest recruits. Are you not going to demand that I forfeit vengeance? Do you think so little of me?" "What do creatures like you care about¡ª" "I do. I do care," I interrupt her, and start pacing the ground. The blood of David King sings in my essence, filling me with a sort of energy that I had not felt from a mundane mortal before. Most of my skin has regrown. Some of the Mudmen''s eyes widen in surprise and a few even take some steps back, clutching their crosses with panicked fingers when they realize how quickly I recovered. Quite a few do not react at all, as expected, and I force myself not to smile. "David King and Timothy Crews. I bought David from a slave owner in Kentucky two years ago at the request of his late father who also died fighting by my side. He was proud of his beard. He was a devoted friend to other members of his squad. His favorite food was baby back ribs. Timothy Crews, a loner of the Creek nation. Competent hunter and tobacco lover. His brother still works for me." Nastasia narrows her eyes. I can tell that I am making her uncomfortable by humanizing her victims. She probably never killed before. "You truly do not understand us. We care about mortals, friends and foes, and we know that they can still surprise us. That is why we take precautions to account for our own mistakes, such as making sure an organization stays loyal. Isn''t that right, Jack?" Ah, the beautiful moment when the bear trap closes on the unexpected leg, snapping it between its steel jaws. I am so wary of underestimating the mages that I sometimes forget that the sin of pride is not just ours to commit. Time slows to a trickle as I make a hand gesture and turn to my cattle. I bit quite a few people over the previous days as an insurance, and many of them are here tonight. Jack smoothly lifts his pistol and pulls the trigger on the brunette witch, killing her instantly. In the same motion, he unsheathes a knife and buries it deep in the chest of the gang leader by his side. The look of utter betrayal on Wallace''s face as he falls is absolutely priceless. Then John obeys my signal and a monstrous bolt goes through the witch to my left, the one who had called me a rat. She falls without a scream. All hell breaks loose. With only two witches maintaining it, the spell wavers and breaks. A solid half of the late Wallace''s personal guard turns on the other with single-minded mania. With surprise on their side, they cut down their foes with ease. I turn and kill the witch at my back by burying my hand in her heart. Pointless, yet cathartic. I recognize my guide Camille''s surprised face just as her blood splatters on the ground, then I shrug and return my attention to Nastasia just as she lifts an arm to cast. She, too, displays great anguish, to my delight. She looks quite shocked when she realizes her gauntlet is gone. "Mine now," Urchin''s voice whispers by her side. I was not sure if he could pull it off, now I know. "Make sure none have escaped, then you may feed," I order him. He rushes after the fleeing form of the last surviving Mudmen not under my command. As for Nastasia, she falls on her knees, toppled more by utter shock than by despair. I walk to her and bend a bit, so that our heads are quite close. "Relying on compromised assets was your first mistake. The second was to face me after dark," I continue as I pull the gauntlet I previously used in the library, now part of my arsenal. "I had this and an enchanted dagger to go through that amateurish shield of yours and I did not even have to use it." "Wait, please, I get it. You win. I surrender." "And the third mistake," I interrupt, "was to expect mercy from a vampire." I drink her dry, with the house still burning behind me. It does not taste like victory, not even like vengeance. I prepared a contingency plan in case I was betrayed and activated it. The precautions I took granted me victory tonight. I am sure that Lady Sephare would not have had to face a rebellion. We are only here tonight because I lack finesse and subtlety. I am still a bumbling child to the Lords and Ladies. With this sad realization, my mind busies itself with the incredible task of managing the consequences of this incident. I will have to calm down officials, grease palms, relocate, reorganize the gang leadership and, more importantly, recover and give the last rites to the remains of my allies. When I am done feeding, I drop Nastasia''s lifeless corpse and gather the remains of the four other witches in a pile. I do not stop as Jack comes to my side with the other controlled Mudmen by his side. "Did I do well, Mistress?" I face him. His loyalty to Wallace was strong enough that even now, within my thrall, the grief he feels still wars with his unnatural loyalty. "Of course, you did well. He betrayed me tonight, who knows when he would betray others?" I lie. Serenity returns to him, and with it, inaction. Such is the price of creating cattle. It is fortunate that Wallace did not rely on him being too independent yet. As for me, I have a delivery to make. Nastasia''s home. I open a panel through the sunroof and drop the lifeless corpses on the ground one by one. There are plenty of servants here so they should be found promptly. I am taking a risk by making the threat so obvious but to be honest, I am tired of this entire farce. Let Lady Sephare play with her city. I am done with it. As I head back, I contemplate how close I came to death earlier this afternoon. It reminds me of my own fragility. I believe that my demise is inevitable. I am no immortal monster like my sire, who was unbeatable long before Darius turned his gaze on Greece''s city states. Today''s world is chock-full of powers vying for dominance or extermination. Many heroes and fighters have already tried to slay me before I even ruled over more than a toothpick. They have failed. So far. Time has lost its grasp on me and they will never stop coming. It can only end one way. At some point, my luck will run out, my intuition will fail me, and someone will finally succeed. I will turn to ashes. Hopefully, not too soon. Carol Fletcher got my message and I have no doubt that she will cooperate. It will soon be time for me to meet Lady Sephare. Chapter 89 - 87. State of Affairs Washington, two nights later. The venue Lady Sephare chose for her meeting is the top floor of an elegant gentleman''s club she recently took over. The guests are led up through the deserted building by a butler exuding disapproval at the uncouth louts defiling his august halls with their unwashed bodies, grimy clothes, and rancid breaths. The gaping wastrels are then invited to sit at a long table in a large reception room upon which refreshments have already been served. When we come in, some of the rowdier ones are quaffing shooters of twenty-years-old Bourbon without ceremony like the absolute degenerates they are. Besides myself, Sephare brought a protection detail of men in top hats and dark suits, all of whom are wielding canes. Separate, they could be any upper-class gentlemen out for a stroll. Together, they look exactly like what they are: high-end enforcers. They silently take position at every corner of the room, in front of both entrances and along the open windows. As for the woman herself, she looks positively enchanting in a diaphanous green dress that reveals the curve of her alabaster shoulders. Our host walks forward and claps twice. Immediately, the room falls silent. When the new Lady of Washington speaks, she does so in a smooth and melodious voice that lulls me, rolls me into its rhythm until listening to her words becomes the most natural thing to do. "Good evening gentlemen, welcome to my humble establishment! My name is Sephare Hastings and I cannot express how delighted I am to see you all here gathered tonight¡ª" "A shrew? The new boss is a shrew?" one of the leaders erupts. He bares his teeth, two of them black, and stands up with fury. Oh dear. What Sephare does next is an exercise in control. She lifts the hem of her dress and runs behind the man with a speed that is just at the limit of what humans should be able to do. Too surprised by the suddenness of her reaction, the would-be rebel only manages to turn his head slightly before the diminutive blonde woman grabs it and smashes it down on his chair''s frame. Once, twice, thrice she strikes, and with the last impact, a dreadful snap resonates throughout the hall as the man''s neck bones shatter. Sephare drops the dying man who collapses face first on the table. Once more, she displayed just the amount of strength that a human could reasonably wield, but twice the savagery. The lady calmly removes her white gloves which she hands to one of her bodyguards while another fetches replacements from an inner pocket. She studiously puts them on in the ensuing quiet, the pathetic rattles of the paralyzed criminal the only perceivable noise. It takes him a good twenty seconds to choke to death. His mouth opens and closes like that of a beached fish while his bulging eyes search the room for a salvation that none can grant. Two of the guards grab the man under the shoulders as he takes his dying breath. Good idea, less of a mess. Sephare makes sure the gloves fit before resuming her speech in the exact same pleasant tone. "Please, kindly do not speak out of turn. Now, where was I? Oh yes! I am so glad you all decided to join us tonight! I have grand projects for your fair city, and I am sure that by working together, we will achieve all our dreams! Isn''t that exciting?" The hardened felons mumble and bob their heads in respectful assent. Nothing like breaking spines like twigs to make a memorable first impression, it seems. "Over the next week, I will be meeting each one of you in private to better understand your position and your strengths, and see which responsibility you can be granted. We have a lot of work to do and many rewards to reap, so let us all do our best together, yes?" The barely veiled threat coupled with the promise of power and money smooth the mood of the visitors, which turns contemplative. How can they refuse when they have been presented with the alternative? In short order, the meeting is adjourned, and I follow her to her office without a word. She closes the door behind us as I take in her workspace. Sephare chose a corner office with a view on the Capitol building''s cupola half-hidden behind tall trees. A large desk of dark wood has been placed below the window offering said view for additional symbolism. As expected of Sephare, a corner of the office is dedicated to tea and its consumption. What does surprise me is the windowless wall currently covered with maps teeming with pins and colored notes. I mechanically aim for the tea table but Sephare stops me with a gesture. "Hold on, Ariane. Before we sit down, I wanted to ask you something." "Yes?" "How many bloodlines have you consumed so far?" The non sequitur catches me off-guard. I count in my head. I have the Lancaster essence several times over, the Cadiz essence from Jimena, the Natalis essence from that rogue thirty years ago. Nami shared the Ekon resilience with me. Oh, obviously I have the Devourer essence. Who else? I have the Amaretta from Aisha, Erenwald from Ogotai and Vanheim from Urchin. That one is still inactive for now. I am still missing six. "Eight." "Am I correct in assuming that you do not have Hastings essence?" "You are. Wait, are you implying what I think you are?" She nods. When she next speaks, the coldness in her voice would chill mortal listeners. To me, it only means that she is dropping the mask. "You have proven your worth as an ally beyond my expectations by completing your tasks so thoroughly," she begins. I wince in reaction. "Oh, do not be so harsh on yourself. The librarians could not be saved, and the gangs would not have bent without bloodshed. It only took you less than three weeks to complete the conquest and bring me its remaining leaders. Do you know that the witches practically begged me to protect them from you?" She smiles at the memory, her thin fangs displayed in a show of greed and gluttony. Then, her expression returns to seriousness. "I was sorry to hear about your losses. Feel free to replenish the ranks of your servants from the local population. As long as you do not go overboard, I will not begrudge you your share of the spoils. Now concerning the matter at hand, you have proven yourself to be everything I hoped for. That is why I shall offer you my blood." I stare, askance. My surprise is simply too much. "I am of course grateful," I reply, "but I have to ask. Why?" "Why would I help you gain power? Do you know what will happen to this land soon?" "Err. I have not considered the fate of the nation. I was busy staying alive." Sephare grins, as if I had told a joke. "Fair enough. In the short term, this territory will be partitioned into areas of influences belonging to their respective Houses, independent from the clan or not. The Cadiz already control much of the south east from Charleston to New-Orleans, Florida and beyond. The Roland are more concentrated in the north east, and the Lancaster are struggling to get back into the game. Jarek is headed to Mexico. Even your precious Torran is working on creating a Dvor enclave. Everybody is scrambling for land right now." "Including you?" "Indeed. In this race, we newcomers are at a significant disadvantage. That is why we should stick together. As promised, I will help you claim Illinois, and then we may start solidifying our respective positions for the next great game. Can you guess what it will be?" I already considered it many times. "The old continent vampires will try to gain control." Sephare smiles like a proud parent. "Precisely. So far, the presence of Constantine has been an effective deterrent against any¡­ heavy-handed attempt at conquest. In time, it will not suffice. Do you know that even with our coming, there are less than twenty lords here?" "It matters?" "It does indeed. When it comes to true war, not those regulated skirmishes, but true vampire war, only Lords matter. Anything below is but fodder. It might be hard to understand for someone who has never seen a war Lord fight¡­" "I understand." "You do?" she asks. "Yes, I saw Lord Suarez take out a knight squad. He¡­ dismembered them." "Then you understand. Mortal conflicts are resolved through several factors such as numbers, quality, strategy and determination. For us, battle-trained Lords and Ladies are the deciding factor, and we have precious few of them. We need another deterrent." "You mean me?" "Yes, I mean you. It took you a mere three decades to become a Master and you are still sane. This speaks of a natural ability to grow as well as the means and willingness to Devour your foes. If you are a Lady by the time they are ready to come, they shall have to think twice before committing to the task." I hesitate at that. S§×ar?h the ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "I am not some invincible champion, you know?" I object, but Sephare just shakes her head. "I have seen you spar with Torran." "Ah?" "Your speed and strength are already above the average Master and you are still so young. And your style! Marvelous." "I was told that it was rough." "Yes, as expected from someone with only a few decades of experience. Do you know why Torran did not try to change it then? Why he merely helped you hone it through rigorous combat." "My style is good?" I ask, surprised. "Of course. Your movements are the closest I have seen to that of a rogue in my entire existence." I gape at that revelation. A rogue? I fight like a rogue? This does not make sense. "You are much more precise, cunning and unpredictable than a real rogue of course. In truth, it might become your greatest asset yet." "How so?" Sephare pauses to gather her thoughts and resumes her pacing. "Many of our kind''s fiercest warriors were combatants in their mortal lives. They learned how to fight and move using their bodies to the best of their abilities and this experience, those habits, are conserved during the change. Most train with sword, or spear, or mace, under the strict tutelage of the best master at arms they can find. It is a mistake." I think I am beginning to follow. "You learnt to fight after you became a vampire, therefore you fought with your new body using new instincts. There are no unfortunate habits or reflexes for you to forget." "I must protest. Surely, a sword master at the top of their art would be more dangerous." "Not so, for only when nature and style are one can a vampire achieve true fighting mastery. Some of the knight masters at arms have succeeded. For now, your own controlled chaos is already a terrible weapon against one used to traditional fighting styles. You have but to continue on your path, see what works for you. All existing schools were started by one person." "I do not believe I am that kind of genius." "Not at wielding weapons, perhaps, but at being a vampire." I do not reply to that. She is not the first to credit me with such a strange achievement. "So, Ariane, I will help you, and when the time comes, perhaps we will keep our kingdoms and then, who knows?" she asks with a mischievous smile. She then pulls her sleeve up and extends her arm. Her aura is concealed, the natural state of those of us with great control. Despite her best efforts, I can still feel her underlying tension. The act of offering blood is one of exposed vulnerability. It goes against our very instincts. I step forward and take the arm without ceremony. I know the experience is uncomfortable for her, and hurry a bit out of politeness. I lick once to prevent pain and bite down. Sunlight hits my hood from the side. It feels like standing next to an open oven. Even turning my head is an impossible task. She says it will become easier, in time. She says my sense of taste will return. She says many things and I do not like it. I was playing, testing my limits on those supposedly honorable bachelors and faithful husbands. It was good fun seeing them reveal their true colors and base instincts but I did not mean to attract her attention. I love her, of course. She is so great! But I do feel like I was robbed of my decision. I manage to deflect the tip of the man''s sword before he buries it into my chest. I manage a riposte but the enemy Master slaps it away with frustrating ease. He pushes me back until my back hits the table. I roll over it and send a silver plate flying at the man''s head. The attack buys me a few instants. It is enough to sprint past him and throw another plate. As I go through the door, I collapse a cupboard towards my pursuer. He kicks it, but the heavy piece of furniture is blocked by the narrow frame. I turn around. Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. The man stops. "Well done. You are getting better at this. We will start working on manipulation next session. We move to the kitchen." The Rosenthal battle master is here to teach us how to survive and escape. Our relative weakness would make us easy prey to other vampires in a straight fight, and that is why I vow never to be caught in one. One more afternoon, one more night. One more ball and one more game to stuff my sire''s portfolio with one more asset, one more unneeded favor. The bitch could already topple a government with some efforts, what else does she need? At this point, she is just playing because she cannot stop. One more party, one more knife in the dark. I need out. I need to get away from her pervading influence or I will go mad. I am too well-known though, with too many grudges against me. I need a fresh start. I pull back and lick the wound clean, then lead the exhausted Sephare to her chair before sitting opposite her. I close my eyes and within moments, I am inside of my mind palace. In the stone square where the statues of my conquest are gathered, her form kneels. I return to the real world to find a visibly excited Sephare pouring me black tea. She is still weakened, and yet her enthusiasm is catching. "You can use our powers my dear, can you not?" I feel a new instinctive way to appear more mortal, move more humanly and even bring a pink sheen to my cheeks by expanding a bit of power, an ability I can surely develop with a bit of practice. There is something else as well, though as expected, her main ability eludes me. "Yes, although not at the same level as you. I will never be able to walk under the sun for example." "Indeed? A pity. Nevertheless, please try the tea now!" I pick up the steaming cup and dip my lips in the infusion. The warm liquid rolls on my tongue, the taste light and pleasant. Taste. I can taste it. I can swallow. I allow myself to smile as I put the cup down. "Good." "Good? Hm. We all have one dish that we relish above all others. Would you care for some cake?" My mind rebels at the very thought of anything solid. "I fear I am still limited to liquids," I inform my host. Her smile does not lose any of its strength. "Oh, I am sure we will easily find¡ª" I interrupt her by raising my hand. I sniff the air like a bloodhound. There, this smell. The strong and unmistakable perfume of roasted beans, a powerful accent and a deep fragrance. Amazing. "Is this coffee I smell?" I ask with unbridled excitement. The deep, heart-wrenching sigh of abject betrayal that lifts my companion''s dainty chest speaks of a disappointment beyond words. It takes only a week for me to wrap up everything and then return to Boston with John and a few promising administrators. As for the others recent hires, it turns out that Jack, Wallace''s prot¨¦g¨¦ and my agent, has managed to save their lives when the Mudmen and witches took over the warehouse to rescue the hostage. Most of them decide to stay in their home city under the employ of Sephare. The few who do not are given the funds and means to reach Marquette. As soon as I arrive, I leave John in the arms of his worried ''tender half'' Gladys and have King and Crews'' personal effects sent back home. David King had no family left, unfortunately. Solveig ends up in my service once again and I find myself in the same room as before, now sadly empty. It will take Torran another week to finish his work and return, Nami traveled away to catch a giant squid, and Jimena is off on some confidential knight business which leaves me without company. As a result, I make some efforts to get acquainted with the manor''s population. Melitone, Constantine''s Servant happens to be around and I take the time to thank her for her assistance. The bubbly woman dismisses my thanks immediately and embarks on a rant against the Speaker during which I learn that they are twins and that she does not hold him in high regard. I end up spending a few afternoons with her as we are both painters. Melitone is strange. She moves almost too well for a mortal. With Wilhelm of the Erenwald, the steward, I learn how to take better care of Metis. Although he is busy as the butler and master of ceremony, he still takes the time to visit the stables at least once per night and I manage to learn quite a few tricks from him. For example, Nightmares love having their teeth brushed, something that Metis now demands during every visit. I also learn that Nightmare teeth brushing is a spectator sport and that participants are encouraged to have a way to regrow fingers. The other thing I learn is the Nightmare''s fondness for having sweet grass dipped in their drinking water. My big pony will gaze at the infusing liquid with unwavering fascination, sometimes using her nose to stir the concoction. It then occurs to me that Nightmares are deceptively malicious tea drinkers with a monotonous, meat-heavy diet. Therefore, Nightmares are English. The revelation helps me understand and tolerate Metis'' snorting antics with renewed patience. Wilhelm also helps me repair the blue ethereal shawl Nami had gifted me. It had suffered from the fire and had been reduced to a single strip. With his help, I restore the ghostly living fabric to its former glory. Besides Wilhelm, I also get to know a few visitors from various clans, including Roland exiles who are the first members of their clan not to attempt to kill or capture me. I also spend some time with Constantine''s secretary and assistant, a mousy woman who happens to be a Rosenthal renegade. They are apparently extremely rare. The woman, whose name is Sophia, carries a blade everywhere. It is her refusal to forfeit violence and bend to the clan''s rigid laws and hierarchy that prompted her self-exile. She is only too eager to ''test my mettle''; unfortunately, the fight is extremely one-sided. She relies on her memory and mind to analyze patterns and compare them to the styles she already studied in order to gain an edge. Apparently, my own style is far too chaotic and unpredictable for her to succeed. Add to that my superior reach and even without using much of my speed and strength, she still doesn''t stand a chance. We practice for a few hours, mostly for her benefit, though I manage to become familiar with different schools of fighting which she imitates with mechanical precision. When I mention developing her own style, she agrees with me in principle, but observes that she has difficulties doing so as she simply lacks the mental flexibility. I find that I enjoy myself more than I expected. During that week, I also receive a few messages. Ricardo successfully arrives in Marquette with my newly looted tomes. He and Merritt finally broker an uneasy peace after bickering over laboratory equipment. My financial assistance in creating two separate labs proved vital. I also learn from my witchy deputy that the White Cabal moved in successfully, and that they have so far respected their arrangement to the letter. They were quite surprised to find a completely independent practitioner on my land. In a worryingly short amount of time, my poor friend received one duel and three marriage invitations, all of which she answered with extreme prejudice. I stock up on coffee beans, to Solveig''s complete disbelief. Finally, I pay Urchin. So far, all I had given him was pocket money on top of a blood supply. I did pillage a few resources from Alexandria and decide to give the Vanheim Courtier a bonus, as a gesture of kindness. To my surprise, he decides to spend most of it on clothes. I direct my minion to Wilhelm and possibly the help of the tailor Gunther Goode who had so masterfully renewed my wardrobe. Only a true expert could salvage the situation anyway. To my delight, the work is accepted, and Urchin soon parades the manor in a well-cut grey suit that fits him like a glove. The Vanheim reject is almost respectable now that he no longer wears rags. And because he substituted his beret with a nice bowler hat. And since he takes regular baths. And combs his hair. Also, he walks, instead of skulking. And his back is straight which means he does not look like he is constantly plotting some unsavory plan that involves sneaking into women changing rooms. The improvement to his diction helps as well. He even stopped leering. Well. All in all, I would say that I did good work. He is almost no longer a rescue. With everything going reasonably well, for once, I hire the help of Salim and officially submit my claim to the state of Illinois. There are no specific rules concerning this sort of claim. Constantine remained purposely vague when listing the requirements in his laws. In order to be eligible, one must demonstrate sufficient martial power and have the means to control their territory. The rest is up to the Speaker, who is free to accept or not depending on if he believes the candidate has contributed or will be contributing to the community. I wiped out a Gabrielite base and an actual horde of Wendigos. That has to count for something. On the second day of December and three days before Torran is set to return, I am finally summoned to the Progenitor''s office. Winter has come to Boston. A heavy cover of snow blankets the entire bay, including the manor. The air grows crisp and pleasant and the nights long and productive. I sometimes ride through the pristine cover of white powder shining like crushed diamond when I successfully coax Metis out. Tonight is different. I knock on the door leading to the Speaker''s antechamber and Sophia ushers me in without fuss. "He is expecting you," she says quietly. I must admit that for all his flaws, Constantine does not keep people waiting. "House Nirari. Come in," he mutters as he finishes reading a report. Once I am sat, Constantine tucks the piece of paper away and removes a file from one of his many drawers. He opens it with slow and precise movements to remove my petition. I realize that the other documents contained look like the intelligence report he put away. He has been keeping an eye on me. Constantine gazes at me from above his hawkish nose, assessing. I wait. The memories associated with this place surge and for a moment, I am tempted to pull on my fingers and check they are fine. Sometimes, it is hard to believe that I was tortured not two months ago. It feels like an eternity. I suppose that I should be grateful. "I have no objection with your claim," he says softly. "You have the means to control your state. You have, without a doubt, the martial might. You have proven yourself reliable and helpful on several occasions, including when you rid us of pests. You even have an unusual network of allies and acquaintances, as the trial proved." "I sense a but," I reply with annoyance. The Speaker nods. "You have taken no steps to control the Great Lakes region, the location with the most potential, and this gave others an opportunity to make a conflicting claim. I was about to notify you of this fact to give you an opportunity to compete when you submitted your own petition, which is fortunate. Now, I find myself in the unenviable position of having to decide between two Houses." "What?" I sputter with uncontrolled outrage, "who would dare?!" Constantine raises a tired hand to stop my furious tirade before it can even begin. "Since a land can only have one king, I will figure out a way to select the most deserving party through a contest. You will be notified when the matter is decided. As to your question, the competing house is House Cadiz." Shock. Horror. Betrayal. Constantine smirks bitterly. His parting remark stings more than I anticipated. "You have had your first taste of true vampire politics. Welcome to my world, Ariane." "Lord Ceron will see you now," the voluptuous Courtier announces with no trace of condescension. She leads me to an intimate office in warm tones and closes the door behind me. Lord Ceron stands up and bows while I respectfully curtsey. It helps that I took the time to calm down. Incidentally, a pair of training dummies from the manor''s armory were mercilessly savaged by some barbarian with an axe. If anyone asks, I was otherwise engaged at that time. Somewhere else. It hurts that the Lord did not change at all since the time he and I allied back at the fortress. It is with his assistance that Jimena extracted me from the clutches of the Lancaster. He was well rewarded for his efforts with comprehensive details on Lancaster economic assets, a condition of his assistance. In retrospect, I was incredibly na?ve to think of us as allies. Lord Ceron looks as good as the first time I saw him. He still has the same deep blue eyes and curly dark hair around a handsome face, and this time I can tell that his imposing muscle mass marks him as a brawler more than a fencer. Or at least he was before he was changed. "Good evening Lord Ceron, I hope you are well." "And you too, Ariane. Please, take a seat." I do so, hold my hands before me and start immediately. "Is there any way you could withdraw your claim on Illinois?" A pause. Lord Ceron considers me with widened eyes and chuckles, the old vampire equivalent of a full belly laugh. "Ah, little one, your honesty is refreshing. I thank you for that. As for your question, I shall answer it with candor. You and I are after the same thing, therefore, we will compete for it. One of us will get it and the other will not. Such is our way." "There must be a reason why you would be after this land in particular," I reply. "Yes, the land itself. My faction within the local Cadiz clan is looking to expand, nothing less, nothing more." "I see," I note without much surprise. An agreement at that point was a long shot to begin with. I can tell that Lord Ceron is considering a reply, and so remain quiet until he decides on what to say. I do not have to wait long. "Since we have been on good terms for so long, I feel the need to speak plainly. May I?" he politely requests. "You may." "The Cadiz branch I lead does not do this to spite you personally, we are merely rushing to consolidate assets while the current race is still at its beginning. To be direct, we are wary of Lady Sephare, your ally, and thus moving against your interests proved logical from our perspective. You may see her as only one amongst many, as do most of you who were born on this land, and you would be sorely mistaken." Ceron relaxes in his chair as his eyes grow distant. "I opposed her quite a few times when she was fighting on the side of Mask. Do you know what differentiates one of us from a true villain?" I do not react, indicating that he should continue. "Villains have no bottom line. It might sound like a trite remark, but rest assured that it captures the essence of the problem. We are monsters. We kidnap, torture, and assassinate without batting an eye for that is our nature, and despite all of this, we still have a code, limits to how far we will go and who we will target. Sephare does not share such qualms. Do you know why she truly left the old world behind?" I did request a briefing on her from the Rosenthal, and I also caught a glimpse of her memories when she shared her essence with me. "She needed a fresh start. Her political situation was growing untenable." "Correct, yet incomplete. The reason why she ended up in dire straits is not through outside machinations but as a direct result of her own actions. She was marginalized within her own faction for attempting to assassinate Progenitor Hastings'' husband. Out of spite, I may add." I stare at Lord Ceron, waiting to see if this is some sort of joke. "There is no definite proof, of course, or she would have been flayed one layer at a time, leaving her head and heart intact until the very last moment. She was still strongly suspected, so much that Hastings herself had no choice but to make her a pariah. She provoked her exile through her own hand, or at the very least, as a consequence of her reputation. And still, you elected to throw your lot with her, despite our warnings." Ceron smiles magnanimously. "Your regrettable decision is not something I wish to hold against you in the long run. We may appear at odds right now, however this sad state of affair between us does not preclude a future agreement. We are not so heartless as to deny you your city. An arrangement could be made." For an instant, I am almost tempted to seek an agreement. It does not last. Devourers do not give up before the game has even started. Lord Ceron should have known, just as he should not underestimate the resources I can pull to get what I want. "We merely find ourselves at opposite sides of the chessboard," he continues, "as always, this is not personal." "It is always personal for the one being attacked," I retort, "You speak of her deviousness and lack of limit as if you were incapable of it yourselves? I cannot help but note that you did not attempt any sort of communication on the issue. Instead, you opened the hostilities without giving me the basic courtesy of an ultimatum. Now you stand here with a smile as if your maneuver constituted some sort of harmless prank. It does not." I click my talons on my chair and force myself to stop lest I start raising my voice. I must not display any anger. This is a game, only a game, whose rules have stayed unchanging for centuries. In the end, Lord Ceron is correct. There is nothing personal about his clan''s scheme because there is nothing personal between us. We are neither friends nor even allies, and that makes us fair game for each other. We will now compete, with the loser graciously bowing out with their body and followers intact. I will play that game. I may not be the most intelligent and calculating vampire around, but I have a few strengths and one of them is that I know when to rely on the assistance of a skilled ally. By provoking me, the Cadiz have unleashed the very evil they had sought to contain. They think Sephare too devious? Not only will I call for her, I will also ask the support of the most devious and manipulative entity this side of reality. I am going to bring Sinead into this battle. Then, they will know devious. "Good luck," I tell him as I leave. It will not suffice. Chapter 90 - 87.5 Unhinged Laurel''s Tale December 13th, an unnamed hamlet in Illinois. Laurel was the last to come in. He slammed the door behind him to keep the cold at bay and sighed with relief. Warm, at last. The common room was mostly deserted at that time. The road to Chicago was closed at this time of the year, which was why they had decided to use this establishment as a rally point for Brotherhood activity. The refuge was an absolute necessity now that winter was in full swing. It was a stupid mission to start with. They were tasked with finding traces of suspicious activity in the vicinity. At least there would be none of the more dangerous species about. There were no records of butchered livestock, and what would the evil bloodsuckers do in such a shithole? Laurel striped off his heavy coat and dropped it on the hanger. His two companions were already sitting at their usual table and rubbing their hands to bring some life back into them. There was Sal, pale and gaunt and judgemental, and Karl who was the human equivalent of a cock rash. In addition to them, the room contained two other patrons. The first one he recognized. It was Joe, a squirrely boy from Bale''s team. The lad barely had any hair on his chin and wanted to play the slayer. Hah, what a joke. The poor sod was reclining in his chair with a complicated expression, somewhere between fear and anger. The second man was also in the Order''s uniform. It was not quite his size and yet he was wearing it with predatory grace. He was lounging in his own chair with perfect confidence and for a moment, Laurel felt a pang of jealousy. He murmured a quick prayer to keep the temptation at bay. Envy was a cardinal sin, after all. He should just thank the Lord that this silver-haired gentleman was on his side. sea??h th§× ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "By God, Joe you little shit, what are you doing here by yourself?" Karl roared while scratching the stubble on his carmine cheeks. His porcine eyes focused on the boy like two gun muzzles. "You shall not use the Lord''s name in vain," Sal interjected in his low drone. As usual, Karl just dismissed him with one wave of his hairy paw. "Yea yea, shove it Mr. Rent-a-Bishop. So Joe, where are the others?" The young man mumbled something. Too low for the trio to understand but apparently loud enough for the grey-eyed man to smirk minutely. "What''s that?" Karl spat. "I said, they left me behind. Said I was a burden. They left me to die so I don''t care about them!" his victim half-yelled and half-whined. Joe''s eyes were shiny with unshed tears of outrage. As usual, neither Karl nor Sal cared a wit about the boy. Karl opened his mouth to start his usual badgering while Sal just sat there looking constipated, his thin mouth puckered in an eternal grimace of disapproval. It reminded Laurel of a cat''s asshole. "Enough of this," he said, exasperated. Before Karl could redirect his ill temper on him, Laurel turned to the newcomer. "And who might you be, brother? I haven''t seen you before." "I am with Hodges'' team. The rest of us will arrive tomorrow," the man replied genially. "Reinforcements? About damn time you pussies showed up," Karl grunted. Laurel frowned. He could not quite place the unknown man''s accent, and Karl was starting to get on his nerves. The new guy must have thought so too because he leaned forward and smiled dangerously. Laurel half-expected him to demand satisfaction, but it turned out he was wrong. "You must be cold. How about a drink?" He then knocked on his table and called the barmaid with obvious pleasure. "Barmaid! Barmaaaiiiiiiid!" he said. She soon appeared, putting on her apron and staring down at the one who had called her with annoyance. "Barmaid. Kindly give these gentlemen a beer. My treat!" he declared generously. "I''ll put it on your tab," the woman retorted before moving behind the counter. "Are you new?" Laurel asked the girl with curiosity. "Never mind that Laurel, you cockless twit, I''ll take her over old Greta any day of the week. Hey, beautiful!" Laurel was tempted to slam the vile man''s face into the table but quickly implored the Lord to deliver him from the sin of wrath. The prayer only kind of worked. "Greta is upstairs resting. She has had a long day, and I would appreciate it if you could keep your voices down," the woman retorted. "Fuck that, we men need to unwind. Now get us that beer, I need to drown my molars." With one last disapproving glance, the woman gritted her teeth and went for the pewter mugs. Laurel understood that lecherous prick Karl to an extent. The woman had golden hair like wheat under the sun, and sky-blue eyes. She was also beautiful. Her skin was rather pale with a delicate pink sheen over her cheeks. As she expertly drew beer from a barrel, he could not help but look down. She was moving with confident gestures that he found attractive. He looked down still and stopped himself before succumbing to the sin of lusty thoughts. The woman walked to them with the three mugs easily balanced in a single hand. She stopped at the edge of the table and frowned at Karl, who had licked his lips and was leering at her with naked sleaze. Without a word, the woman turned left and deposited the three mugs between Sal and Laurel himself, thus avoiding the risk of an errant hand. "Avoiding me, lass?" the disgusting man asked with a touch of anger. "I have good instincts," she retorted. "Karl, stop it," Laurel ordered. He could tell that his repulsive teammate wanted to escalate but the horrid man restrained himself. Even he knew that they were sent here in this desolate place because they had fallen out of favor and could not afford any more offenses under their names. In the end, the man relented. "Bah, at least the beer is decent here," he growled. Karl then proceeded to slurp the liquid. "This is a waste of time¡­" Laurel muttered, his patience and determination fraying under the combined effort of the remoteness, the weather and his insufferable allies. "There has not been anything of note around here since the Red Maiden," he continued with feelings. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. "The Red Maiden?" a foreign voice asked from the other table. It was the grey gentleman, currently holding his mug in front of his lips. Laurel groaned as Karl banged his drink on the table, sending foamy liquid across the polished wood. "Hah! You don''t know about the Red Maiden! I''ll tell you all you need to know, stranger. Your pal Karl knows a lot, he does! I got it all from one of them archivist eggheads who gathered it from interrogation reports and spying! Lend me your ears, because it''s a tale like no other!" Behind the bar, the waitress started to scrub glasses with furious energy. She was clearly annoyed, and Laurel could see why. It only took people thirty seconds to guess that any story garnering Karl''s interest would be vulgar. "It all started in New-Orleans, the land of savages, whores, negroes and degenerates. The Red Maiden was made at Mardi Gras'' greatest orgy from the slut who had won the best ass contest." The barmaid sighed heavily, but she let the men continue. Laurel considered for one moment that he had joined the Order to protect mankind for the depredations of unnatural creatures and that he had trained hard to learn how to face them. He had not expected that asking too many questions would land him there at the edge of civilization, forced to slog his way through the snow by day and listen to bawdy stories by night, paired up with a fanatical idiot who could only speak in Bible quotes and the sleaziest asshole this side of the Mississippi. Perhaps a career change was called for. He could respect his oath even if he operated independently. Next to him, Karl was still recounting his gross story with gusto to the polite interest of the grey brother. "Even the city''s debaucheries could not satisfy her! She would tour the brothels and take part in bloody games to quench her unholy drives. Her appetite for the pleasures of the flesh was never satisfied! She would lust after genitals the size of bulls and balls the size of ostrich eggs!" Karl added while extending his arm to demonstrate exactly how large the unlikely pieces of anatomy were. "She would drain the seed of hundreds of men with her mouth to steal their strength, and drink it as well as their soul, which was sucked through the urethra! And that is why she was also called the Devourer." Laurel jumped in his seat at the unexpected sound of tortured metal. When he turned however, he could only see the barmaid still cleaning a mug with a terribly focused expression. He shrugged, imagining that she would find the story vexing and attempt to ignore it. The grey brother, however, seemed to be having fun. His expression was split along the lines of disbelief and amusement. "Is that so?" the man lightly commented. "Right! But the story doesn''t end here! She left the city in her eternal quest for ever girthier manhoods and finally found a mountain man somewhere in Georgia. A spirit of stone and depravity." Laurel noted in passing that the waitress was more affected than he thought. She was slowly thumping her head against the wooden bar while muttering imprecations. "Perhaps you should stop your story there Karl, your tale serves no purpose but to cause distress and horror." "But we''re reaching the best part!" his companion exclaimed with spittle flying in the air, "How they labored together to create the ultimate sex automaton, a creature with endless stamina and an artificial Johnson that could be inflated in the middle of the action! They named it, the Key of Beriah!" A sound like an explosion. Laurel searched the room to find the waitress'' fist buried through a table. Her beautiful visage was twisted with fury, most of it directed at the grey knight who had lifted his hands in helpless surrender. "You think this is funny?! Sennak! An Suqqam Hayatu!" Laurel''s heart skipped a beat just as cold sweat erupted all over him. A shiver of dread crawled up his back as terror, sheer terror, paralyzed his mind. The appearance. The strange words. This strength. Her suddenly paler skin. It could not be! The grey gentleman replied in the same tongue with a tone that suggested an answer along the lines of "not my problem". An instant later, the woman shook her fists with anger and started a low hiss. To Laurel''s savvy eyes, she looked like a woman two seconds away from tossing cutlery with malicious intent. "Those slanderous¡­ scandalous lies! Perfidy!" she sputtered with outrage, "I would never!" Horrified silence covered the inn until an elegant voice interrupted it. "Are you quite sure you never lusted after large genitals?" the man in grey observed while inspecting his nails, which were black and quite sharp. Then he turned to the woman with the deadliest shit-eating grin Laurel had ever seen. The suicidal moron added in a mocking falsetto voice: "Is that your main gun captain, or are you just happy to see me?" Laurel upended his table and jumped to the side just as a stream of incoherent curses, in French of all things, turned into a scream of feral rage. "Goujat! Malotru! Sombre cretin!" An instant later, a piece of the bar with the deformed nails still attached crashed against the wall, missing the other man only because he had dodged it with supernatural speed. Not one, but two vampires. Unthinkable. Laurel instantly knew that they were still alive because the vampires were bickering. He climbed to his knees and grabbed the pallid Karl, dragging him behind himself. "We have to get out!" he screamed. Thankfully, they had the entrance wall to their direct back and the door was only a few feet away. They could do it. Sal did not listen. The religious retard stood up with an expression of triumph, brandishing his cross before him. "In the name of the Fa¡ª" An instant later, the man''s brains splattered against the stone behind them as the two survivors were showered with pieces of ceramic shrapnel. Laurel thought in passing that he had never seen a man killed with a thrown plate before. Laurel crawled to the door while on the other side of the upended table, a cataclysmic conflict was taking place with the fracas of broken furniture and the errant piece of gliding masonry. They finally reached the door. Laurel reached up for the knob, pausing only when a massive cleaver embedded itself only a hair away from his fingers. With his heart thundering in his ear, he finally managed to open the door and pass through. He turned around just to see a delicate hand ending in savage talons close around the neck of his companion before the man disappeared back into the room. Laurel turned and ran. He sprinted with all his strength, needled by despair. There was a derelict house in front of him across the town square. The stables were just behind. Five seconds. Four seconds. Three seconds. Almost there. Two seconds. One second. Behind him, the door of the inn crashed open as he was crossing the threshold of the ruin. A primal instinct made him turn. The woman was here with her arm up, claws extended. Laurel fell backwards with a scream, pointlessly covering his face. There was no pain. Hesitantly, Laurel removed his arm and took in his surroundings. He was inside the destroyed home. A quarter of the roof had collapsed, and it smelled of soot and unwashed bodies despite the open air. There was an extinguished fire by his left and a veritable rat nest of chest-high planks, tarps and clutter to his right piled against the wall. In front of him and on the other side of the threshold, the Red Maiden was staring in disbelief as she attempted in vain to enter the collapsed edifice. "But¡­ how!?" she exclaimed. And suddenly, the rat nest exploded outward. In an instant, Laurel realized his mistake. The pile of debris was actually a makeshift cabin! A light shone from beyond the tarps and he could even spot covers on the others side. A ghastly apparition suddenly stood before him. It was a man with a long beard that must have been white at some point of the distant past, possibly before it was used as a napkin, handkerchief, and other things he did not dare contemplate. His bald head was oily and grimy and two insane eyes above a large nose were fixed on Laurel with an expression of sheer malevolence. From the waist up, the man was covered in more layers of cloth that he thought could be possible, giving him an air of impossible obesity. From the waist down, the creature was completely naked. Two hirsute spindly legs emerged from the mess of shirts, and between them freely dangled the man''s shriveled genitals. They quivered feebly in the glacial air as he jumped up and down, spitting and vociferating. "Get off my lawn!" The stench emanating from the poor sod was nauseating and Laurel covered his nose. He must have intruded in the home of the hamlet''s reject. Then the reality of his situation came back to his battered mind and he fearfully returned his attention to the Maiden, only to find the vampire unmoving. She was cradling her elbow in one hand, the other hand massaging the bridge of her nose. Her eyes were closed. They stayed like this for a good ten seconds with the local idiot still jumping around. Eventually, she threw both hands in the air. "That''s it. I am done. I. Am. Done. Done!" Then she turned around and walked to the middle of the square, picked up the destroyed door, replaced it on its hinges and slammed it closed behind her. Laurel could not believe his luck and did not expect for it to last. He ran to the stable and took his horse, riding East until a pallid dawn cast its cold glow on the snowy land. And that is the closest a Gabrielite ever came to the Red Maiden without dying. Chapter 91 - 88. The Gathering Tide Constantine''s office is as spacious and ordered as before, but now it feels crowded. To my right stands a tall man with dark curly hair and the beard and mustache of a Spanish Conquistador, which, arguably, he might be. He is also my rival for the ownership of the State of Illinois. Behind his desk, Constantine gauges the both of us as we sit at attention, studiously ignoring each other. "I have a task for you," he finally says. "I have received concerning reports of unusual werewolf activity around the Grand Lakes region, particularly in Detroit, Michigan, and the city of York in Canada. Those cities are currently occupied by small covens of the Roland, and their House has requested my assistance in this matter. House Nirari will go to Detroit and House Cadiz to York, where you will collaborate with the local clans to elucidate then resolve the issues. You will be accompanied by people I fully trust: Melitone and Ignace." I hiss and stop, as Constantine immediately raised a hand to preclude any protest I may have. "I am not completely insensitive, Ariane. Melitone will go with you. Is that agreeable?" "Yes," I reply without hesitation. I should not have lashed out at the mention of my torturer and yet, I have. My fingers itch. I ignore them. "Continuing. The dominion over Illinois will be granted to those who have made the most significant contribution to our cause. I will not share the exact method by which I will judge you. Know that elements such as the numbers of foe killed as well as allied lives and assets kept out of harm will be taken into consideration, and so will more unquantifiable contributions such as bringing a long-term end to the matter." Constantine leans forward, his lean fingers intertwined on top of his desk. "You must take this task with utmost seriousness. For the first time in history, werewolves have been spotted in groups larger than three and displayed obvious signs of organization. I cannot overstate how unprecedented this is. So far, they have been nothing but pests or loners. If they form a faction, the political balance in our lands will be changed forever. I am counting on you to get to the bottom of the matter." "Of course, sir," my neighbor replies. "Right," I add, already considering the implications. A year ago or so, I rescued a werewolf from the Order prison where Sivaya and Nami were also held captive. Alistair was his name, and he was originally from the city of York. He had mentioned that communities had formed in the Canadian wilderness. He had also mentioned a group called Black Peak that was trying to gain dominance. At that time, I had dismissed the whole affair as having nothing to do with me, and I had not helped him. Well, the joke is on me now. This mass movement is most certainly related to that whole business. Either those groups Constantine mentioned are refugees or, more worrying, the Black Peak wolves are trying to expand. I really hope this is the former. I could, of course, share my observations with Constantine and my rival, but I really do not see the point. Vampires only rarely interact with werewolves besides by hunting them down, though individuals are sometimes used as freelance agents. If I treat them as an organized faction from the beginning, it might give me the edge I need to win this contest. "There are additional terms by which you will have to abide," Constantine continues with a pointed look. I am sure he anticipates some level of treachery. The poor sod. He has no idea what I am about to unleash, witness or not. Melitone cannot be everywhere at once. "First, Lazaro, you may only employ the vampires and mortals you have registered in your request to take over the state." That means that he can only rely on his subordinates, not his entire clan. Good news. "As for you Ariane, you may not call upon Torran nor Sephare to act directly," he declares, then as an afterthought: "and please keep the artillery, explosions and flaming pigs to a minimum." I sputter in outrage! Calumnies! Shameless defamation! It seldom ever happens! "Lazaro, you may leave. Ariane, please stay, we have another matter to discuss." My rival bows then to my surprise, turns to me. "I am sorry that we would meet this way Lady Ariane. It is an honor to face you in this contest, and I wish you good fortune." He grabs his fancy hat and departs the room. How dare he be polite and respectful while I plan to do unspeakably devious things to him and his party! This proper behavior will not save him from my wrath. His clan should have thought twice before annoying me. We wait until the door closes behind us. Then we wait some more. And some more. I am tempted to draw on the Hastings essence. Besides turning coffee into an elixir of the gods, it allows me to act more human. That means shifting in the seat, scratching my arm and other mannerisms that vampires apparently find endlessly annoying coming from another vampire, according to Torran. Fortunately, Constantine speaks before I must resort to psychological warfare. "Torran cannot stay under your protection in the current circumstances. I cannot allow him to accompany you on the frontlines nor can he complete his next contract just yet. As such, I am compelled to end your current, ah, protection detail." I instinctively grip the edge of my seat. If he dares¡­ "Since it is my decision to forbid Torran from helping you, I consider your task complete. As for your reward¡­ you have completed both tasks I required of you and as promised, you may draw from my essence." Constantine shows the most minute signs of distress. A mortal would have missed it. "Now will do, I suppose. Come," he announces as he stands up. Despite my best effort, I must have shown a sign of excitement because my host looks a bit aggravated. Progenitor blood! A rare treat indeed. It will lack vitality, but this power... I join him behind his desk, a symbolic allowance on his part. He extends one bare wrist which I take delicately, then his other hand whips out and grabs my head with lightning speed. I freeze. From where I stand, I see the edges of a mage gauntlet of incredible power. The contained aura of the artefact thrums with a threatening rhythm like war drums in the distance. It tastes of blood, iron and the tide. I feel no aggression from Constantine and so I stay still. Even my instincts are silent as power emanates in waves from the Progenitor''s form. He is considerably faster than me. He is also known as a blood magic genius, showing incredible innovation, a rarity among our kind. I am convinced that he will not kill me if I do not give him cause and so I keep my peace. "I place myself in a vulnerable position. Even if you were to swear an oath not to harm me now, the backlash of breaking that oath could possibly justify my death. When you taste my essence, the temptation will be here to consume more of it than you should. That is why when I say stop, you will stop, or you will regret it. Briefly. Do I make myself perfectly clear?" I nod. "Good, you may begin." I lick the skin over the vein, eliciting a sigh. I can feel the power crawling languishly under the pale skin. Despite my best efforts, I find myself anticipating the moment with great pleasure. I bite down. High tide. I must hurry or I will be too late. I cannot believe that the village could do that. They are stupid! Our village was not cursed. All the towns around us have bad harvests due to the poor weather, and the raiders were not due to bad luck, but because that alderman gixajo skimped on hiring some guards. I rush to the shore, hoping I am not too late. Behind me I hear the cries of pursuers. They know that I will act. They will not catch up. The beach, and the rocky formation at its edge. The bar of sand has been reduced to a thin line by the conquering waves. Too late. The entrance is already submerged. I am too late. "Hello, young man." I turn to see a woman covered in a cloak looking down with a smile. Despite the urgency, and despite the late hour, all thoughts abandon me. I can but stare. She is incredibly gorgeous, the most breathtaking beauty I have ever seen. She could walk right into Madrid and the king would throw himself at her feet, begging her to be his wife. The pope would embrace damnation for a night with her. Even with most of her form hidden, I can see hints of unmarred golden skin, a dark eye like a summer night and lips as red as blood. The cloak shifts, and I see the beginning of her cleavage, the barest hint of a curve. It would be enough for some to sell their souls. The goddess chuckles warmly as she sees me gape like an idiot. The sound is soft and intimate, not mocking. I feel privileged that she would share it with me. "A bit late are we? Only a champion could brave the waves and the rocks now. Only a champion could save his precious sister. Do you want to be this champion?" "Yes¡­" She smiles again, and removes from the recess of her garb a phial of exquisite make. I am a clock worker. I know the work of a master when I see one. Golden filigree encircles the body and stopper to form some alien characters I do not recognize. Beyond the crystalline barrier, I see droplets of a carmine liquid. "What is this?" I ask. "Fate," the woman replies. I feel measured by her gaze, judged and weighted by a cold intellect without match in any place where I have plied my trade. "Drink it, and become the one who can save your sister. Or do not and return to obscurity." I have no need to hesitate. I remove the stopper and imbibe the contents. This is not a liquid. It looks like it, behaves like it, but what slides down my throat is living fire. A power without match. No language of mankind can give justice to the intensity of it, the purity. It feels so dangerous and intimate at the same time. It moves through me. I drop the phial and fall to my knee, mouth agape and breath stolen as the decoction ravages my insides. It is pain, pleasure, hot and cold. And vibration like the purr of a cat if the cat were the size of the moon. All of it at once. The sensation grows too intense for me to stay conscious. In a way, I die. And I am reborn. Then, after what felt like an eternity, it is done. Whatever the potion did is completed, and I am in full control of myself once again. I feel so strong, so incredibly powerful. I can see her perfectly now, I can hear and smell everything. A manic energy moves my limbs as four strange new things protrude against my gums. My nails have fallen off, to be replaced by small talons like obsidian. I take a few seconds to remove the blood and discarded keratin from my shoes. "I will go now," I declare with finality. I have already wasted too much time. "Do as you please, young one. We will not meet again. Fare thee well." She is gone and so I am. My steps lead me to the beach, then to the rocky amalgam extending into the sea. There, our ancestors imprisoned sacrifices by placing them in a cave that could only be accessed at low tide. Other gaps allow the air to come in, but they are too small to pass through. They are barely enough for the voice inside to moan and beg, an unwilling bride for the god of the sea. The villagers sent my sister to die for them and I know why. She was always too headstrong, my Melitone. Just as smart as me who apprenticed with the clockmaker, but born a woman and unwilling to bend to tradition. I feel a deep anger boil and fester inside my now silent heart as I slip into the sea, as I swim through the furious waters as if they were but a mild bath in some bourgeois'' tub. I am fast and strong, so strong. I do not even need to struggle for breath. The interior of the cave is dark but I can see. "Sister." "Ganiz, is that you? Is this a dream?" a trembling voice answers. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. I grab her cold hand and place it on my face. Her fingers trace the familiar form. "I came here to rescue you." "Then you are a fool. The current will be too strong now." "It is not. There is a way. We will bind our fates." I slash my wrist and push it against her bluish lips. She is shivering now. Weakened. Her frantic eyes search the darkness for me. "Drink and you will become strong." I do not know how I know this, only that my confidence is absolute. S§×arch* The N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. She trusts me, she drinks just as I bite her. I could have done something differently so that she could become like me, but the change is all-encompassing, and it will have a price. That way she is bound as¡­ as a Servant. Not an equal, but a partner. She will be stronger though, stronger than all other Servants. She will share some of my power, because she is my sister, my only family, and I want her to be able to protect herself from now on. It is easy to leave, it is easy to climb out of the sea and shake the sand from our clothes. Our steps are assured and although I remain stronger, she is more dangerous than any soldier I have ever seen. "What now?" she asks, her voice calm and confidant. She was always good at moving on. Me, not so much. "Now?" I reply with a cruel smile, "Now we return to the village." I pull back. I have seen enough; I have taken enough. The essence is mine now. I finally understand the secret power Ganiz, no, Constantine, has chosen for himself. Just as my own sire was driven by conquest, Constantine crossed the boundary out of brotherly love. The touch of his line will make the Servant better, more powerful. Inhuman. Not as strong as a vampire but sharing none of our weaknesses, they will be a force to reckon with. Not to mention that we still cannot touch them. The taboo is still here. I find his sacrifice touching. I need to remember that Melitone will display superhuman abilities, especially now that she has had a century to train. It also implies that should she fall, the murderer will have to face a vengeance like no others. "That was¡­ interesting," Constantine idly comments to mask his temporary weakness. I care not. Again, so much power. I can feel it roll and merge into me. Its touch is gentler than Sinead and Sivaya''s essence, a pond to their torrent, but no less powerful for it. I stretch in delight under the soothing effect, marveling at its strength. My essence follows the line of my body, while my aura is more diffuse and more flexible. I can feel it growing denser and darker. It feels good. I flex my claws. Now would be a good time for a Hunt, but alas, necessity makes law. I note in passing that I am not drunk, just like the night I tasted my sire''s essence all those years ago. Perhaps it is due to the low vitality? Curious. Constantine studies me for a while, and I allow him some time to recuperate. He has not dismissed me yet therefore it would be rude to leave. "What is the core of the Nirari''s essence? Consumption?" "No," I reply, "conquest." "But you have not defeated me." I eye him with undisguised amusement. "Victory and conquest are not the same thing. An offer of blood is a clear sign of submission, is it not? To expose yourself so thoroughly to my mercy." "I¡­" Constantine replies, frowning, "I think you may leave now. Our deal is done, and you have much to do," he retorts with a bit of anger. I laugh as I leave. "No need to be so sore, Speaker. I have almost forgiven you for what you have done to me." "Just leave. Melitone will join you in Marquette." I chuckle and close the door behind me. I already knew I would need resources to complete my mission. The first step is thus to return to Marquette and gather those resources. Constantine correctly anticipated this move and I can rely on Melitone joining me shortly. As expected, I cannot count on Torran. Not that I planned on asking him for help. Torran is my senior in every regard, to rely on him is to send a signal that I am dependent on him. That will not do. Thankfully, I have much to work with. As I step outside of the manor and onto the inner garden, I am joined by the first additional member of our expedition. When I saved Melusine, I demanded of her a one-time assistance in battle, a favor I am calling upon now. As she turns and narrows her eyes, I will admit that she looks rather good in a brown traveling dress and deep green cloak that compliment her pale skin and carmine curls. "I am here, as promised," she declares as we make our way along the fountain and onto the gravel road leading down. I nod and we both whistle at the same time. Metis trots out of her stable with a prancing gait that shows everyone that she is the best Nightmare around and she knows it. She stops a few paces in front of us and snorts disdainfully, like the big good warhorse she is. By comparison, Melusine''s Nightmare is thinner, less muscular though arguably more graceful. She seems to glide on the earth with thin hooves while Metis'' trample the ground with the sound of thunder heralding the coming of the Huns. What is this delicate flower of the night? This is not a Nightmare. A Nightmare exists to run down werewolves and smash into human lines like the wrath of the Watcher itself. Both Melusine and I finish our inspection of each other''s horse and scoff at the same time. I turn to her with fangs bared. "Just so that we are clear, my pony is better than your pony." "In your dreams, peasant! Zana is a prime example of the perfect Nightmare, a shadow weaving through the trees without a sound! Any mortal catching a glimpse of her will question their sanity before this dark mirage!" "Dark mirage my posterior! Is this the one you will ride into battle charging down a pack of wendigos? The only thing you will slay is a romantic poet and only if the tuberculosis does not get him first. You could not tell a proper Nightmare if it kicked you in the face you flat-assed milksop!" Melusine gasps in outrage and displays her fangs in return. "And you would not know good taste if it was shoved up your muddy butt, you bumbling meathead!" "Ladies, please," a warm and slightly accented voice says from behind. I turn around to see my darling here and smile helplessly. He looks dashing in traveling leather, with that sardonic smirk that lifts one corner of his mouth more than the other. Without another word, he passes us by and calls for Krowar. The larger war horse trots forth with elegance and dignity. Torran climbs on it and rides first. Melusine and I exchange a glance. "At least you have good taste in men," she reluctantly admits. "I wish I could return the compliment, Melusine, I really do." Then after a pause, because I am not completely insensitive, and she did lose her Vassal and lover not too long ago. "With one notable exception," I concede. It is not every day that you will find a man who will hide your insensate form with his own dying body to save your life. We both fall silent as melancholy overcomes my companion. I grab her by the arm and pull her forward. Nothing like a good ride to clear one''s head, after all. We gallop and soon catch up with Torran as he rides down the path along the cliff leading down from the manor. The humans guards, always vigilant, let us pass without a word after a cursory inspection by the light of their torches. When we reach him, my lover slows down and pulls alongside me. "Your essence is denser," he declares while inspecting me. "You can tell?" "Yes. Soon, it will be enough to forge a soul weapon." "What are soul weapons anyway?" I ask with curiosity. We never actually discussed it, simply because I preferred his tales of home, games and politics and I wanted to make it clear that I was interested in him as an individual, not because of his role as a smith. This time is different. Torran initiated the conversation himself. "Soul weapons are crystalized essence, molded into an offensive form. They are the highest form of weaponry in this plane of existence and are unchanging and indestructible so long as the vampire lives. Soul weapons are killing drive made manifest." "Can an armor be a soul weapon?" "No. First, the artefact itself is a proactive item while most armors are reactive. Lord Jarek''s gauntlets are not protection, for example, but extensions of his fists." "Could a gun be a soul weapon?" I ask with excitement. Torran considers the question seriously. "Perhaps. There are a few ranged soul weapons already." "Really?" "Indeed. Your sibling Svyatoslav, for example. He uses a bow of tremendous size. Ammunition would be a concern though, and it would not fit you." "What do you mean?" I ask, surprised. I do enjoy my guns. "As I mentioned, soul weapons are an expression of one''s violence. Yours is¡­ up close and personal. Firearms are ranged weapons and they imply a certain desire to keep a distance from the conflict, and are usually associated with an ambush hunter''s mind. You can be patient, but you definitely prefer to be in the thick of it." Torran is not wrong. Even my pistols are often used at point blank range. To be fair this is the best way to use a pistol as they are not the most precise firearms around. "Huh. What do you think my soul weapon would be then?" "I have no idea, dear, however I hope that you will call upon me to forge it for you. I will do it for free." "You are too kind," I reply with appreciation. While the cost of a single forging is not only astronomical, the services of the smith may not even be purchased with money to begin with. "How does it work? May I ask?" I go on. "Explaining in too much detail would break the mystique of the forging itself. Your essence right now is in your body. It follows its outline though the essence itself is not physical. You can already pool it and send it elsewhere." "Like tendrils?" "Precisely. The forging consists of drawing out a large amount of essence and then, with my assistance, severing it and molding it into a weapon. The essence is still yours but it is separate from your normal body. It also coalesces into something physical." "That sounds¡­ painful," I remark. Torran turns his aristocratic face to me, his grey eyes twinkling with amusement. "Excruciatingly so. It will also weaken you. Temporarily." I jump on the occasion to ask another question that had bothered me. "So, we do lose essence? When we create a soul weapon and when we sire a fledgeling?" "And when you burn under the sun." I shiver at the memory, a memory I have shared with him. To my surprise, Torran has never been touched by the golden orb''s unforgiving radiance, though he has suffered countless other wounds. Yet less than a year of being able to move during the day and I have already been roasted once. Maybe I am just an idiot. "Can we recover that essence?" I ask with worry. I cannot afford to weaken. "Yes and no," Torran replies, "you will recover what you lost quickly. You must have realized that the Thirst grew stronger for a while? Well, it was to rebuild yourself. It still slows your growth a little bit because while you heal, you do not grow stronger. That is why I would suggest that in the future, you try to stay out of the daylight," he finishes with fake condescension. "Duly noted," I reply with a murderous glance. Torran has grown more teasing in the past few weeks, following in the footsteps of Jimena, Nami and basically anyone who has grown close to me. Is it fun to needle the Devourer? Unfair. By now, we are crossing the fields and glasshouses covering the valley We continue in silence for a while, until I notice signs that Melusine wishes to speak to me. Surprised, I pull back after a last nod at my lover and align myself with her. As we ride side by side I realize with pleasure that between my size and Metis'', I am easily two heads taller than her. "Yes?" I ask with a smirk. Melusine huffs, completely unamused. "I have a proposal for you, Ariane." Ooh, we are on a name basis now. "Do tell." "I am yours for this mission, under the seal of secrecy you so heavily insisted upon," she reminds me with annoyance, "and I fully intend to repay my debt. With that said, one of the causes of the current situation should be obvious to you by now." "All vampires are snakes and anyone not bound to you by alliance and contract is to be considered an enemy in waiting?" I suggest. Melusine merely rolls her eyes. "Nature abhors a vacuum, you simpleton. If you want your land to be fully secured, a coven must be established in every power center of the state. Provided that you win, you must take over the northern part of your domain." I stare at her, long and hard. Melusine does not flinch under my scrutiny. She lifts her chin with all the aristocratic grace embedded into her persona since she was dragged screaming into her clan so many nights ago. "You?" I coldly state. "Yes, me. I will swear an oath of allegiance to you. I will cover your backyard and promote your interests in the state and in the whole continent. I will come to your side when you call for battle. I will pay a tithe. In return, you let me rule the town as I see fit, with no interference and no spy to look over my shoulder. A true City Master." "You would follow me?" I ask disbelieving. "You are better than most. It is true that Devourers always keep their words, the sane ones in any case. As for me, you know well what I am capable of. You rule your land in the manner of the Eneru, with many knowing of your existence and a level of control that borders on the absolute. It will not work everywhere." She looks forward now, fully absorbed in her demonstration. In front of us, Torran shifts to let me see his amused smile. We must appear as children splitting a cake for one such as him. "The north will host the state capital because of its proximity to the Great Lakes, it will grow too fast for you to swallow. A more delicate touch is required to make the most of it, an iron hand in a velvet glove." She closes a fist and turns to me again with a hint of disdain. "¡­ while you are an iron hand in an iron gauntlet, the one with the tiny spikes on the knuckles." "Continue with your demonstration," I pointedly suggest. "For larger cities, the touch of Mask is preferable. I will rule from the shadows in your name and bring us countless benefits. I will stir it in secret, for you controlling sorts still haven''t realized that only the unfelt ruler is truly safe. On the other hand, you merely have to focus on what you enjoy doing to keep the jackals off our backs." I consider her proposal. First, she is serious. I can tell from her posture and determined air. She also makes a good point. I will need to create covens. I am unwilling to sire spawn for now and Urchin does not qualify as a coven member. Second, and most important, can I trust her? If she is willing to take an oath, then yes. Despite her devious Lancaster ways, she is still one of our kind and we do not break oaths easily. It still bears the question¡­ "You and I have been at odds many times. Are you not worried that I may use this opportunity to take revenge?" "Would you?" "I am asking you." Melusine smiles softly. "For all your achievements I forget that you are still young. For us, alliances of interests and enmities of opportunity are things to be discarded in the long run. I still think you are too callous and direct for your own good, and yet there is no denying your successes and, more importantly, your integrity." She stares me in the eyes with candor. "I would have no qualms following someone such as you, for as long as our agreement holds. If I have my city, then I will found a coven, accrue power and eventually, after I become a Lady, I will find Moor wherever she hides and skewer her rotten heart. Then I will personally shove warm coals up her nasty¡­" I phase out Melusine as she descends into cold rage, listing the many indignities she would subject her fallen superior to. Interestingly, many of them involve fire in some fashion. I think I can trust her. In theory, her arrangement is also to my benefit, though this time I will consider the question before taking any hasty decision. I will not repeat my mistake of agreeing to lady Sephare too quickly. "I will consider your proposal," I reply as I interrupt Melusine''s next description on what she will do to Moor, which involves a box with a small opening, coals and a rabid wolverine. "I must admit that I was not impressed with your performance when we were both in New Orleans," I continue and to my surprise, Melusine does not object. "You did not strike me as a competent follower then. It would significantly help your case if our cooperation went well," I continue. "I understand," she replies. We nod to each other with grudging respect and return to riding in a single file. The rest of the trip to the way station is done in silence. A few hours later, Torran and I part ways after promises to spend more time together when all is done. He will travel around for a bit while Melusine and I rush to Marquette at high speed using armored carriages. We have a war to plan, and to win. Chapter 92 - 89. Council The Dream. My old bedroom. Marquette is still bustling with activity, but the nature of the night shifted. Perhaps leaving the city gave me the distance I needed to come to a realization. Marquette is no longer a godforsaken mudhole. When I came here for the first time it most definitely was. Now, even at night, ladies and gentlemen decked in good if conservative clothes walk the street, going to some fancy restaurants or the newly opened theater house. Even the Dream''s clientele has visibly improved compared to when it started. The rowdy lights and loud songs are muted, and I notice that Merritt wisely decided to make Harrigan''s security force shave and bathe. The world is changing, including the things I built... That is fine. I am changing too. I hope I will keep changing quickly enough. Torran told me tales of others who were left behind, who allowed themselves to drift. They do not truly fall, but their influence dims as they retreat to ever more parochial villages, their hearts filled with bitterness and the mistaken belief that they were cheated. I must never let that happen to me. With a sigh, I adjust my newest dress and open the window to jump out. That dress is the answer to an age-old dilemma. How can I appear as a leader of men without a dress that can also double as a mainsail? How can I walk through a salon and a battlefield with the same aplomb? And finally, is there a way to wear a dress and jump from a roof without said dress ending over my head, my unmentionables thus revealed for the entire world to see? I used to make do with good cuts and holding my hands on the sides of my knees but no longer! I have a new secret weapon. Based on the battle dress design, I asked for a traditional cut above the waist with just a bit of cleavage to expose my collarbones. The forearms are left bare so that I can wear bracers if the occasion calls for it. Below the waist, I wear trousers with a single layer of dress-like fabric sewed on. That way, it looks like a dress until I start running. Only then do the trousers become visible. So it''s not cheating! Besides that, the new and improved battle dress also comes with a heart protector and some sheathes but no room for pistols and no additional armor. It is quite sturdy though, courtesy of Boothe, Wilhem''s tailor. This one is red. I am making a statement. Our war room is set in a new office building close to Merritt''s home and Marquette''s warehouse district. As soon as I am far enough away from the Dream, I don a dark cloak and walk the streets without worry. I could not afford to be recognized in my old establishment but out there, the old wisdom is still to not look too hard at the passing strangers. The office is large, with three stories, proper windows and a side warehouse to store anything we might need ranging from spare wheels to muskets. The silver ingots used for crafting magical implements are kept in a safe upstairs. As I confidently step inside, a pair of guards notice my approach. The younger one frowns and grabs for his shouldered rifle but he is instantly stopped by his partner, one of Harrigan''s veterans. The greying soldier shakes his head and the recruit swallows nervously before resuming his guard. "Evening, gentlemen," I generously greet as I go by. "Mam," they reply in unison. Ah, it is good to be home. Melusine is waiting for me in the soberly furnished lobby, just as I requested. Her own secured vault is under the main dormitory, the very same place where Jonathan blew up my shed, while Urchin''s is right here. He should already be upstairs. "Have you slept well?" "Your facilities were adequate, though I must ask, how did those two children know of what I was?" "Merritt''s children? I did not hide my nature from them." "Is that wise? The little girl asked me to braid her hair!" she huffs, scandalized. "Well, did you?" Melusine half-pouts half-hisses. "Then it was wise," I reply with a knowing smile. The proud Lancaster keeps growling behind me as we climb up to the top floor, passing a few employees still working at this late hour. "I only did it because red hair needs a delicate hand! Ours is the rarest and most beautiful of colors." Right. Melusine huffs and averts her gaze. The cubs have claimed yet another victim. "Believe what you will!" "Oh, I always do. Here, we have finally arrived." A guard in a leather overcoat opens the door to the state room, and we walk in. A crowd has gathered around the central table upon which several maps have been drawn. There is Urchin, impeccably dressed and currently twirling a knife in his hands with preternatural speed. He apparently picked up on finger acrobatics and this is possibly the first time I have seen him move with vampiric grace. Next to him, Sinead is helpfully showing my minion a few tricks to test his limits. He and his fianc¨¦e must not have been far to come this quickly. A lucky break, for me that is. For the Cadiz? Not so much. Then there is Merritt, currently conversing with a Cabal mage I am pleased to see again. John is not here, and the reminder of his absence dampens my good mood. Even if he was useful in the ambush and I thanked him for it, I can tell that something is bothering him. At his request, I granted him his first vacation since he entered my service and he has been spending more time with his wife. I am not sure what to think. John was never Vassal material. They are meant to help us maintain our humanity while John draws out my own controlling tendencies. He is the perfect puppet, loyal to a fault, but also lacking the wit and initiative that Dalton had. At the same time, he has always been special, and I find that the distance growing between us darkens my mood. Thankfully, I am quickly offered a distraction from those sad musings. Melusine comes in after me and gapes like a complete bumpkin, to my utter delight. Oh, to savor the moment. To remember it forever! "Pick up your jaw Melusine, we have work to do." "But¡­ No! It''s¡­ What!? HOW! A Fae HIGHBORN? HOW?" She keeps protesting as I drag her forward, past Urchin who bows smartly without stopping his game. "HE IS UNCHAINED! Ariane? Your Fae highborn is free! Free!" "Hello poppet, and what a titillating morsel you have brought me tonight," the prince declares in his usual velvety voice. Sinead has shed his disguise and his amber eyes and golden hair shine with an otherworldly glow. Wisps of blue flame dance in his pupils and his crooked smile only widens at the Lancaster''s surprise. Sinead apparently decided that if he was not going to hide, he would be the most visible of all in a white suit and garish golden shirt. "I am delighted to see you, Sinead. Rest assured that these two are sworn to secrecy." "Of course, my dear, you are not the sharing type. Oh, but what is this I sense in your aura? You found yourself a lover?" Is ''well laid'' somehow written on my face? I hope not. "Yes! And quite a capable one at that," I retort with vengeful pride before realizing that it really is none of his business. "Perhaps we should spend some time together so that you can compare," Sinead replies in smooth and seductive Likaean. I frown at the term he chose for sex. Likaean obviously possesses several words and idioms for lovemaking, and the one he picked implies feelings shared in a casual relationship. Very daring of him indeed. "If only you could handle¡­ all of my urges," I reply in the same language, to Melusine''s renewed disbelief. The poor thing is positively flummoxed. Sinead raises his hands in surrender, though he does not withdraw his offer and that is telling. He then rotates to let us pass. "We can discuss more later, poppet. Let us start that war council of yours. I am eager to play." I nod and drag the nonplussed Melusine to our next guest, Merritt. I note in passing that the concentration of redheads in the room is much higher than in the rest of the country. Is there something with me and gingers? I shall have to study the question. "Merritt, meet Melusine of the Lancasters, a semi-competent mage. Melusine, this is Merritt, my second in command," I announce, making the presentations. "Oh hello," Merritt greets semi-guardedly. "Are you the mother of Oliver and Alynna?" Melusine asks with interest. "Oh my God, did they do something? Alynna did not ask you to help her, did she?" Merritt asks with concern. "¡­no no," Melusine replies, just a bit sheepish. Oh, the blackmail material. Yes! "Merritt is in charge of Marquette when I am not around. She will assist us in getting the supplies we need in a timely fashion," I add to save my ally. "And the reinforcements too if things get out of hand. Go finish your round Ari, we have a myriad things to go over," With a smile, Melusine and I turn to the Cabal mage. "Good evening Frost, I did not expect to see you here." The old man smiles, his demeanor going from stern to grandfatherly in a heartbeat. His white hair and beard are impeccably trimmed, and he wears a dark grey suit that really complements his image of a benevolent elder gentleman. Until the smile turns almost feral. "There were mentions of werewolf packs. I have to see it with my own two eyes." "Forgive me for saying so, but there should be a lot of traipsing. Should you not leave this to the younger generation, someone less important?" I ask. Frost considers me, tilting his head to the side in a gesture that vampires would consider predatory. I am amused, and keep a carefully neutral expression. If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Frost is trying to determine if I insulted him. I can feel Melusine''s aura behind me shift from restrained to interested. Eventually, Frost and I smile at the same time, aware of each other''s game. "Do you know how long I have been at this?" he asks. "A very long time? I know your aging slows as you grow in power." "You are correct, young one. I am, indeed, very old. Ancient, even! I asked to come here, because I do not want the younglings to risk themselves on what could be a very dangerous mission, you see? I am old and disposable." He grins and crosses his arms, waiting. A test. The excuse he gave me was a false one. Not quite a lie, a half-truth. What reason could he possibly have to come here? Interest in me? No, he had plenty of opportunities before and I am not so fascinating. What then? And finally, it strikes me. His lack of concern, his game, the eagle-like gaze and the head tilt. Frost is not just a kindly and protective senior member of the Cabal''s government. Besides that, or rather before that, he was a killer. Yes, I see it now, in the certainty of his stare. There is a¡­ hungry quality to it. "You miss it, don''t you?" The grin widens. "The hunt," I continue. Melusine steps up and now we are a triangle of apex monsters. Oh, Frost might be a mortal and his envelope is now frail, but the aura I feel underneath that he briefly revealed, that was interesting. "I hope you bring me something new and exciting, Ariane dear. A few more years and I might just die in my bed, and wouldn''t that be a shame?" "Some consider it the best kind of revenge." "And they are completely wrong, it is merely the most convenient. Ah, but look at me rambling. I believe you have done all the little social niceties expected of you, so why don''t we move to the meat of the subject?" "Quite right. And I hear the last two guests coming." As promised and a few moments later, the door is thrown wide open by an impatient Melitone. The Servant and I have interacted only a few times, but it always struck me how similar she and Constantine are. They share the same aristocratic and exotic look, the same no-nonsense attitude and the same impatience to a world that does not move at their speed, nor matches their rational intellect. The only difference is that Melitone is slightly shorter and pretty, and that she is abrasive and direct where Constantine is distant and patient. "I found this stumbling in the street. Is this yours?" "Oh, evening everyone! Does anybody want some carrot cake? It''s my specialty!" a disheveled witch declares with a wide grin. Some things apparently do not change. When I met Violet in Alexandria, the dream-focused witch had been a bit lost and isolated. I can tell that she has made some effort with her appearance tonight, with even her winter dress sort of color-coordinated with the rest of her outfit. Her hair is also combed, for once. Alas, she ruined the impression with some obvious last-minute rush. She chose a ditzy bright pink shawl that horribly clashes with the rest of her outfit, possibly because of the unexpectedly frigid air. The wind has blown through a badly attached ribbon and now brown strands erupt from a prim and proper bun. It would be barely acceptable in a teenager and Violet is obviously in her thirties. I welcome her with a sympathetic smile. She will be instrumental in our next operation, and I am always willing to tolerate idiosyncrasies in talented individuals. "Put the cake on the table, we are ready to begin," I offer. As everyone settles in silence, an employee comes with refreshments including a cup of black coffee for myself to everyone''s disbelief. I choose to remain mysterious and to not explain myself. Being mysterious is a form of gloating. Both Sinead and Frost fall on the cake like Mongol raiders on a farming village, and both of them congratulate Violet for her excellent use of cinnamon, to the witch''s dismay. "It was supposed to be a secret ingredient¡­" she mutters under her breath, apparently surprised at so many refined palates. After we are done with pleasantries, I quickly explain our mission, including the possibility of having to face large numbers of coordinated werewolves which I justify as this being a possible cause of so many groups of scouts being spotted. Indeed, scouts are used to draw maps and maps are used to wage war. Before I can ask my advisors what they think we should bring, however, Melitone raises her hand. "Yes?" "I am sorry for being the bringer of bad news, Ariane. Unfortunately, we received a rather rude missive from Mornay, official Master of Detroit. I''ll summarize the content for you and remove the flowery crap. He does not trust outsiders. He will only allow you to bring a second and five mortals. That''s it." I blink, stupefied. "I am sorry, was I not to assist him?" Melitone takes a placating expression. "No need to protest, Ariane, you are preaching to the choir. The Roland clan called for help and since we accepted we are bound by the conditions they impose on us." "Fewer resources means worse results. Are my competitors under the same constraints?" "I am sorry Ariane, you already suspected that Lazaro and yourself would not face the exact same trials. Rest assured that your additional difficulties will be taken into consideration." I say nothing, but I know what the reality is. A failure is a failure, and excuses will never turn it into a success. "Very well. Then Melusine will come with me. For the mortals I''ll take Frost and four of his retinue, unless we are meant to bring in our own nourishment?" "That would be a terrible breach of etiquette on Moray''s part. He would not dare it." Sear?h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. I nod, and the rest of the council is dedicated to organizing our party. While we can only enter Detroit proper with a small group, nothing forbids me from having reinforcements around. Urchin will wait with mages and soldiers in a nearby village while we do our best to convince Moray that we are, in fact, here to assist. An hour later, everything is set and it is finally time for a second council, one of a darker nature. As the others leave the room, Sinead heads towards the liquor cabinet and helps himself to a crystal glass of amber liquid. He finds the room''s most comfortable chair and collapses into it, somehow managing to make the gesture both lazy and elegant. "How is Sivaya doing?" I politely ask in his language. His expression is guarded, and the circumstances are making me feel unusually awkward. "She is well," he replies in English, "Her collaboration with your dimension mage, Ricardo, is going swimmingly. He figured out a reliable way to lock on specific realms using frequencies she had apparently regarded as too weak to matter. His success stings her pride, but her esteem for humans is growing as a result." His voice is neutral. This distance between us worries me. "That is good to hear," I comment. "Ask me," he orders curtly, apparently out of patience. I take a breath and state my request, one I had so far only alluded to. "Please help me take over the state by sabotaging my competitors." Sinead grins, though his smile has an angry edge. He sips from his cup and leans forward. In a heartbeat, he goes from dilettante to deal broker. "You annoy me slightly, Ariane, do you know why?" I shake my head. Who knows what that wastrel finds vexing? "I could tell from your message that you need some assistance in making the other group¡­ ''look bad''," he quotes with disdain. "You are still underestimating me, poppet. You still think of me as a schemer and a rake, as superficial as my acting would make you believe. Sabotage? Pfah! You expect me to send contradictory orders, sow discord, attack supply routes and spread false intelligence, do you not?" "Well¡­" "If that is the case," he retorts, "you only needed that Hopkins lad you mentioned. He would have done perfectly, yet you called me. You must understand that the mortals and I do not play on the same field. I am no human operative, poppet, I am an artist. A Likaean prince." His stare drills into me. "You said that your ally, the Lady Sephare, knows much about your foes?" "Yes, though be careful as she is three parts scorn and one part black tea. For the rest, you can rely on Violet to pass messages and I can bankroll all of your costs." "Excellent. This will be enough for a proper demonstration." Sinead tilts his head and looks through a window. He grows contemplative. "I told you what games we play, and where true victory lies, but you forgot. Or you did not believe me, which I can understand. No matter then, I will give you a taste of what it means to play the true eternal game. Go wage your war, make your alliances and subjugate new foot soldiers Ariane. You will absorb yourself in your struggles and forget about me and the request you made. Only when the last pieces fall in place and the king is checked will you remember what you caused, and the rule I thought I had taught you." I must look suitably lost because the Likaean sighs heavily. "The best victories are achieved when no one ever figures out you were playing the game, poppet. Rather than creating long term tensions with the Cadiz like obvious sabotage would, they will blame their failures on circumstances. Only the most suspicious old monsters will look for signs of foul play and when they do not find them, your reputation will grow. They will consider the Devourer princess and wonder: what if? What if she made it happen? That, my dear, is the perfect triumph from whence a legend grows." "Nice words," I reply unamused, "you will forgive me if I wait for results before marveling at your unparalleled genius. And speaking of growth, I finally figured out where mages come from." Now that I know that he will help me, there was another topic I wanted to raise with my most indiscreet of friends. "Congratulations on finding out how babies are made, Ariane." "Stop trying to distract me. I always suspected but I had little proof, until now that is. Do you know that we have a slew of mage toddlers born from mundane mothers recently?" "Is that so? How fortunate." "I am talking about your bastards, Sinead." The Likaean smiles slightly. Most of the babies were born from those of my employees who did not take the necessary precautions. At first, I was merely suspicious of the unusually high number of births, yet only a look at the babies'' hair was enough to understand the situation. They were like molten gold, like Sinead''s own. "You already knew it," I conclude at his lack of reaction, "you knew that mage bloodlines come from a Fae ancestor." "I find it amusing that our children are stronger than us. In our home worlds, they would be but amusing toys with little potential, yet here they are the only ones who can alter reality with any degree of success, simply because they happen to be local while we are not," he continues with no trace of resentment. So, he did know. "And now you so happen to have a new generation of spellcasters growing up in your domain," he continues, "free for the taking, and with your own retainers to train them. You are most welcome." I freeze, stupefied. "You¡­ did it on purpose?" Sinead swirls the liquor in his glass with that typical air of light condescension that heralds the start of yet another lesson. "My actions can benefit you while still being pleasant for me, a lucky happenstance if you will. The mortals have a term for that, I believe. Was it serendipity? Yes, serendipity." He licks his lips, tasting the word. When he returns his gaze to me, any hint of amusement is gone. "Any prince of Summer who wants to live past the age of ten learns how to sow seeds and achieve multiple goals with a single word. Those mages growing in your backyard will be of use to you unless I overestimate your recruitment skills." I frown, realizing the obvious. "You ''help'' me far too much, Sinead, especially when I do not ask for it. What are you really after?" The Likaean does not answer. He upends the glass and swallows its content, his face growing tense. "We both know that we like each other and that all our arrangements and pacts are but formalities. You have already assisted me more than you should have, and I have returned the favor through my teachings. What do you want me to say, that I find you endearing? That from the moment you saved me from the cult, I have watched you with a longing only made more dire by the thrill of my inevitable doom, should I act on my heart''s desires? Should I explain how your shows of kindness and ruthlessness, of efficient violence tempered by the odd bout of adorable quirkiness are like a breath of fresh dew on the withered fields of my happiness? There, I said it." Hum. Wow. Did he just declare? Huh! "Now be a dear poppet, and grow strong quickly so that I may return home, and you can finally see me as I am." I remain silent. Sinead''s expression is candid with the smallest dash of vulnerability. I can imagine how incredibly rare it is for someone of his rank and stature to bare themselves so. The pitiless society he came from would chew him then spit him out if he were to reveal this degree of vulnerability. As for his honesty, I do not doubt it. Just as he started talking, he opened his aura to me without restraint. I can taste it even now, in all its fiery glory. I do not think that even a master at control could imitate the genuine affection it radiates at that moment. And I realize that I do like him, after a fashion. I like Torran very much. I will not betray his trust, yet Sinead is and has always been the forbidden fruit. A fruit I do not intend to pick. "I will not follow you," I admit after a while even though I suspect it will hurt him. "I am sorry Sinead, but my world is here, and it apparently needs me. I will not leave my life behind to go gallivanting in that cutthroat court of yours." Contrary to my expectations, the Likaean appears unaffected by my rejection. He finally closes his aura and walks towards the door, a sign that our conversation is at an end. "I know. In any case, you asked your question and I gave you an answer. I want to go home, and I want you to survive and grow. Let us work towards that end, yes?" Then he leaves without turning, closing the door''s state room behind him. I would be lying if I said I was expecting this. I always knew that the way we helped each other went far beyond whatever arrangement we had, I never thought that Sinead would openly explain why. Well, it does not matter. I have Torran and I am not interested in building a harem, especially from people I cannot entirely trust. Sinead plays too many games on too many layers. Sometimes, it scares me. With a sigh, I gather a few maps we will need and head towards the Dream to pack. Chapter 93 - 90. Northern Wind. It takes us only two days of hard riding to head north up to Lake Michigan, then east until we reach Detroit. Melitone, Frost, and three of his men ride by day while Melusine and I slumber. By night, the roles are reversed and since we use lesser Nightmares to pull the carriage, we manage not to stop. During the trip, I learn from Melitone that she expects the City master to be somewhat hostile, which does not surprise me in the slightest. We arrive in Detroit from the South in the early evening of the second day. Detroit is old, older than most cities I have been to. It was named for the river it borders, the houses lined along ridges that start at the shore and extend north. As soon as we enter the city, I turn right to take in the piers. It does not take me long. To my surprise, Detroit is fairly small with a population barely reaching two thousand five hundred. Many of the edifices are made of wood while Alexandria and Washington had favored bricks. We pass a few groups of late-night pedestrians trudging in the dirty snow, who eye us suspiciously, and mutter in low voices in French, English, German, and sometimes even Irish brogue until we step on the embankment. The Detroit River flows languidly before us, its placid waters clear enough to reflect the buildings above and surprisingly unfrozen. I spot canals leading into the city bordered by trees. It feels peaceful and¡ª "Have you seen enough? Can we go now?" a voice interrupts. I turn to Frost with a glare but he just shrugs. "This is not the liquid I am interested in. And before you ask, no I am not talking about booze." "What are you talking about then?" "Maple syrup." Behind him, Melitone takes a dreamy expression as she gathers her heavy cloak around herself. "What is maple syrup?" I ask, wondering if they are mocking me with made-up products. "You have never tried it? Oh, you poor thing!" Frost exclaims in mock horror, "it is as if the gods had shared ambrosia with us. It is as sweet as honey, it flows like water and tastes like heaven. I am surprised that you did not take the opportunity to try it." "I assure you that my change was not planned," I hiss in a low tone. Melitone frowns at the old man who bows his head in apology. Once more, I am amazed at how quickly he can switch from old rogue to kind grandfather in a single heartbeat. Even his aura reflects this to an extent, currently crisp when he could be glacial. "Ariane¡­" Melusine interjects. "Yes, I feel them too. Lady and gentlemen, we have company." I turn Metis back and we move towards the center of the city, leaving the carriage and Frost''s men slightly behind. Three vampires step forward to intercept us from around the bend of the road, appearing from behind a snow-covered hedge. The one in the middle has sandy hair and traits a bit too sharp to be truly handsome. He is glaring fiercely, dressed in an elegant if incongruous dark ensemble that would belong more in a salon than outside in the heart of winter. The second man, to the right, follows the first with the respect and attention I associate with Courtiers serving their sire. He has dark brown hair and a pencil-thin moustache that Loth would say he tolerates in his women. Both show the muscle structures of fencers and the overconfidence of bravos. The third person is clearly an outsider from her posture. She is beautiful with very dark curly hair and exceptionally pale skin, even for a vampire. She looks guarded and steps just a bit behind the rest of the trio. She seems familiar for some reason. All three have the aura of the Roland, which has a slight unyielding quality. Only the central figure is a Master and he is currently flaring his power in a display at the very limit of politeness. "And when did you plan on greeting the master of the city I wonder?" the leader asks with disdain. Or at least he tries to. Vampires, just like mortals, are susceptible to visual cues. Anyone on foot trying to look down on me while I am on Metis will only get a sore neck. In the silence that follows, Metis snorts and Zana, Melusine''s nightmare, quickly follows suit. I intentionally wait for a few seconds to pass in silence before replying in a cool voice. "So kind of you to come and greet us, City Master Mornay." "Save your breath, Devourer. I do not appreciate my clan overstepping its authority on my domain, nor did I ask for one of Constantine''s hounds. Assist, if you must, but know that I do not need you to get rid of pests." He turns to his side to look at the woman with some contempt. "Blake here will explain where the beasts can be found, won''t you, Blake?" "Yes, Mornay." "Good." And with this, the man dismisses us and turns to leave. "City Master," Melitone interrupts in a low voice, "are you not forgetting something?" "Watch your tone, Servant, I do not take orders from the likes of you." "You forget yourself, Mornay. You either respect our agreement or I ride back to Boston and your next visitor will be significantly less accommodating." Mornay turns once more, his face twisted in a grimace of rage. He flexes his hands, claws eager to rend and punish but with no real outlet. Melitone is completely beyond his reach. "Very well. Blake, please lead them to the Madison Hotel and make the necessary arrangements. Goodbye." One minute later, only a slightly nervous Courtier remains on the muddy ground, and I observe an interesting phenomenon I did not expect to see from her clan. Blake is now looking to the side and downward in a somewhat bashful pose, and Frost as well as the other men guarding the carriage are showing concern and even sympathy for her. I can tell that she is not using her essence, therefore the strange magnetism she emits is only a product of her natural charisma and beauty. "Right. Follow me," she grumbles. I dismount out of politeness and soon all the others follow suit. As I walk by her side, she inspects me warily and I simply let her. We proceed in silence in a street running parallel to the river, then left towards the center of the town and up a small hill before stopping next to a three-story edifice, still in wood, lit by bright light. When we enter, Blake excuses herself for a moment and soon after several staff come to take care of everyone. Melusine and I are led into a small dependence surrounded by a garden and hidden from view by tall walls. There is only one floor arranged as a large salon with a hearth, seats and a small library. Blake wordlessly pulls a carpet from the ground to reveal a stone trapdoor surrounded by crappy enchantments the likes of which I would not use to secure a larder. "Here we are," she announces. Since I am a master perfectly in control of my emotions, I do not start insulting her and her hospitality right away. "Are you jesting?" Melusine asks coldly. "The¡­ the shelter is well hidden and the family who owns the land has served Master Mornay for generations," the woman replies somewhat defensively. Melusine and I stare in silence. "Alright, so the man is a miser and he never expected to have guests. Happy? If it''s any comfort my own chamber is even worse." Now finally, we are going somewhere. "You seem familiar. Have we met before?" I ask before Melusine starts a tirade. Blake pouts, which even I find attractive. "We met at the manor. I was looking for a place to settle." Oh, yes, I remember now! "You were that vampire in a red dress I came across a few times!" "That was my only decent dress. It did not work so well in the end," she sighs dejectedly. Melusine frowns, but she must also realize that we may have found our only ally in this place. By silent agreement, we all sit around a rickety coffee table while Melusine lights all the candles in the room with a snap from her fingers. I will never admit to being impressed by this trick. I will, however, keep it in mind as a gloating tool. "Then you only joined this coven recently." "And so did the other two! This place is the ass end of nowhere so it did not justify our presence at all. The most exciting things around are riots and epidemics!" "You do not seem pleased with the arrangements." "Cut the crap. I fled here and this is the only coven that would take me in, and then only because they needed a third member to be called a coven in the first place." "Is it difficult to find a territory?" I ask, not understanding. "Maybe not for you, Devourer, but us who belong to a clan with a local presence have to bend to the rules or be outcast, and I am not exactly the lone survivor type." "I do not mean to insult your competence, but what stops you from claiming some frontier town and building a base there," I ask. "Simple, my dear. I''m broke. Absolutely broke. Red dress, remember?" "Ah." My dealings with the Rosenthal proved salutary during my exile. Without a starting capital, it would have been both difficult and risky to start the Dream from scratch. I would have had to steal. I mean, steal even more. "Yes, yes, Ariane, please do not lose yourself in the memories of your own abject poverty. We are here with a purpose, remember?" "Ah yes. The werewolves." "Quite. Blake, can you tell us more about the situation?" Blake removes her hood completely and stretches. I recognize the kind of things we do to center ourselves though we no longer have the biological need for it. Melusine and I wait in silence. "What do you know?" "Werewolves bad. Many werewolves worse. Go kill," I summarize laconically. Melusine shows fangs but Blake smiles a bit. She is a young one, I can tell. "We should summon Frost and Melitone, I do not feel like hearing this tale twice," the redhead advises. I agree and call a member of the staff to request their presence. After a few minutes, they join us, gathering around the table with warm drinks. Frost also picks a plate with what appears to be toast that was liberally drowned in some amber liquid which, I will admit, gives off an enticing perfume. Once everyone is settled, Blake begins her tale. "Three weeks ago, we cornered and executed a werewolf who had come to stay in our town. We didn''t think much of it until two more came looking for him. We killed them as well, only to realize that a fourth one had been staying at the edge of town. He fled before we could track him down and we lost his trace at the river." So far, nothing too abnormal besides the high number. "The loyalists we charged with disposing of the bodies informed us that they found matching tattoos on the victims. Two jagged black lines to be precise." A stylized mountain? It would make sense if this truly is the Black Peak pack. Every new piece of evidence hints at a danger the likes of which we have never faced, and I am at the frontline with only a pair of disputable allies. How I wish Torran were here instead of Melusine, and I would not mind backup from Jimena, Nami or John either. "We also found maps." I must have reacted to that last sentence, because Melusine turns to me, soon imitated by the rest of the table. "Maps are used to wage war. You dedicate teams to making maps when you plan an invasion," I explain, relaying a lesson taught by Loth. "But surely," Blake intervenes, "they could just ask for maps at the city hall?" I learn that Melusine''s way of conveying deep contempt is to slowly blink. We ignore her na?ve remark and move on with the conversation. You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. "Since last week, the werewolves have returned. There are more of them and they stay far away during the night. We only smell them at the edge of our territory." I wince at the memory of werewolves. They possess an innate vitality that makes them particularly appetizing to me, yet there is no denying that they have a peculiar musk which we find irritating. I remember having trouble tolerating the only werewolf I ever was on speaking terms with, the man named Alistair Locke. Every whiff of his scent would wake up my instincts and push me to track the intruder and slay him, even though he was a guest and never displayed any sign of aggression. "Have you tried having your humans track them?" "No," Blake replies, "Mornay has too few followers and none of them are fighters. He would not shed their blood by sending them against such foes." "I see," I reply, turning to Frost. "Yes, we have a way to track them using special charms sensitive to smells and specific auras. I would prefer if you were with us when we engage, however." "There will be no engagement," I say, interrupting them. Melitone frowns, uncomprehending. "What do you mean? The mission objectives¡­" "¡­ are to find and identify the primary threat. Frost will be in charge of finding their tracks and will stay at a distance. When night falls, we will join you and follow them to their base. Then, we will learn the true extent of this new threat. We will not waste time going after the small fry." "So you do believe in the existence of some sort of werewolf alliance?" Melusine asks with some doubt. "Maps? Coordination? Matching tattoos? What more do you need." The Lancaster has no answer and for the first time since we began, I see the tiniest hint of concern in the way her eyes narrow ever so slightly. "That works for me. I''ll leave Duke with you, he can use a messenger spell. That will save us a lot of effort." We conclude the council quickly with Blake being tasked with finding the maps for us to peruse. Melitone politely requests an interview and I follow her to her room while Frost and his men do some emergency work on our vault entrance. "What is it?" I ask as she closes the door behind her. She left her luggage half-open near a narrow bed and her perfume already permeates the place, soothing me a bit. "It appears that Mornay has elected not to cooperate with you in any meaningful way. I am allowed to share with you that he does not know the stakes you have in our arrangement." "Do you mean¡­" "Yes, he is unaware that Lazaro and yourself are competing for control, otherwise he would have been even more obnoxious. Make sure that he does not figure it out or he could make unreasonable demands." "I will be sure to let the others know." "Good. The second point is that Jimena is close by." I smile at this. "You are not supposed to know," Melitone warns me, "and any help you receive from her would affect your final score if you ask for it against my dear brother''s orders. I just wanted you to know in case the threat is just as dire as you seem to believe." "Right. But if she happens to come upon us¡­" "Then it will be a lucky happenstance." Oh, I can produce lucky happenstances, not to worry. "Do you really think there is a werewolf army?" Melitone suddenly asks. I realize that I am not sure. "Hope for the best, plan for the worst," I answer noncommittally. "In any case, we will keep you safe." "Good to know. Alright, thank you for letting me know and in case it was not clear, I am rooting for you." With that polite dismissal, I take my leave and return to our salon. Melusine and I spend the rest of the night exploring the vicinity, and I find myself enjoying my trips over snow-covered roofs. Despite our efforts, we find nothing. The werewolf maps are also of little help besides proving their complete lack of cartographic and artistic skills. With dawn approaching, we retire to our significantly improved vault. The following day, my mental fortress. I come to in my palatial bedroom, surrounded by pillows artfully arranged under a canopy that defies physics. On both sides of the vast bed, pedestals hold mementos and baubles, each one corresponding to a specific memory. Somebody is knocking. I walk out through a labyrinth of rooms and down the monumental stairs and into the inner courtyard. Great statues of creatures and men I have slain alternate with trees of strange essence, most bearing thorns. In the dark celestial vault above, the Watcher moves, more agitated than usual. Down into the garden I go, through hidden passages and illusions. Here and there, more statues appear. They are one of the defenses with the flora, and though no one has tried to attack my mind recently, whoever shall do so now will have a terrible time of it. Then I will kill them. The knocks stop, to be replaced by chimes which is quite novel. I soon reach the edge of the forest surrounding my domain. As before, it is made of thorny roots and trunks densely interwoven, sure to shred any intruder to the bone. With a small push from my will, the curtain parts and a figure glides in with a beatific smile. "Oh, good day! Lovely place you have there!" she exclaims in a chipper tone. Sometimes, I think Violet was never meant to wake. She is not unlike those birds who are terribly awkward on land but incomparably graceful while in the air. The curious thing is that her hair is still tousled, but here, in her dreams, it moves and merges into different styles according to her mood. Her clothes flow, sometimes as broad as a medieval gown and sometimes tight and scandalously vaporous. Patterns of color appear and disappear on it according to her mood and sometimes, motes of light like glittering butterflies pop out as she speaks, like now. Violet giggles. "What an incredible house! Please be sure to give me a tour of the garden before I depart!" I cannot help but smile as the strange lady jumps into the air and on top of a werewolf statue, the dress immediately turning to petticoat to protect her virtue. For an instant gravity lost its grasp on the woman and the thorny branches around her grew small white flowers. "Ooooh a maze! Amazing! Haha!" S~ea??h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Violet," I interrupt with a chuckle, "the messages?" "Ah yes. Quite a hassle that was," she adds, still looking around while balanced on the tip of her toes of a single foot. Her visage seemingly radiates from the inside, and her soft beauty is now made manifest through the serenity and joy that animate it. The difference is truly breathtaking. Then the bubbly faerie is gone as she stands straight, still on my statue, and closes her eyes. Her dress morphs into a toga of the purest white, with golden jewelries encircling her wrists and ankles. Her hair tightens itself into an elaborate braid that would require an hour and the efforts of two people to recreate in reality. "I summoned both Sinead and Sephare in the same space, and they talked for three hours. I will not elaborate on the level of detail in which Sinead went, just know that even Sephare was intimidated by the depth and breadth of his questioning," she begins in a steady voice. "I failed to understand the reason for many of them, and Sephare asked me to inform you that Sinead was dangerous," she continues, looking down to me. A part of me is bothered to be the one to look up, but the greater part is just amused at her antics, and glad to see her stretch her wings. A mortal who was bashful and possibly lonely has now bloomed into the incredible talent I knew her to be. I am only too glad to give her recognition for it. "I already knew he was a dangerous man," I reply. At this she blushes. Hmm. Hmm? SERIOUSLY? "Violet?" "It was only in a dream, I swear!" Oh that¡­ scandalous cad! Giving me inflamed declaration and then robbing my newest plaything of her virtue the following day?! I know that Likaeans have different customs but surely this is slap-worthy? No? "Not to worry, Violet, you are not the first to fall to his ploys," I tell her with gritted teeth. "Oh, I know, only a man with experience could be so incredible!" I facepalm. "Err, sorry." Beyond the fact that I would kill him in the heat of passion, this is another reason why it would not work between us. Sinead is part of a culture that does not even consider monogamy and I do not see myself sharing. I especially do not see myself playing second fiddle to Sivaya, or anyone else for that matter. With a last shake of my head, I banish from my thoughts the possibility that¡­ I banish any thoughts, at all. By the Watcher, I miss Torran. If he were around, I would not even look at another man. "Moving on," I continue, "Sinead asked some questions. What then?" "He made some arrangements to move towards York then disappeared with around a thousand dollars from your coffers." Ouch. Well, we will see if this leads anywhere. If not, I will take the compensation out of his hide. "What do you have to report besides that?" "Lady Sephare gave us the location and timing of the Cadiz supply route. As far as we can tell, they are respecting the limitations the Speaker put upon them. Sinead said you should not worry about them and focus on your own thing." "I see." "The last important piece of news is that you have fifteen men from your ''odd squad'' and five mages of the White Cabal on the way. They have orders to stop thirty miles from Detroit and to find a town to hole up in. We are having some difficulties moving around due to the inclement weather so you shouldn''t expect them before a week." A whole week! "That is all." Now is my turn to keep my allies informed. I share my findings, such as they are, with Violet who has instructions to relay them to Merritt and whoever commands the approaching detachment. After this is finished, I oblige and allow Violet to follow me around. We walk the maze, the gardens and the inner court but stop at the edge of the manor proper. "I will not follow you inside, it would not be proper," she says while shaking her head. "What do you mean?" I ask with surprise. "This is your sanctum. It contains all the memories and emotions you hold dear and will be your last redoubt if anyone tries to break into your mind." "What, you mean with magic?" She nods. "Precisely. Not that it would be a good idea for them. Your defenses are formidable. You must have worked on this mind palace for a long time." "Thirty years," I idly observe. "It shows. In any case, it was a pleasure visiting such a wonder. I will leave you to your sleep. I hope the others have prepared coffee! Goodbye Ariane, take care!" "And you too," I reply as Violet closes her eyes and fades into the background. I close my eyes and find myself back into the bedroom at the heart of the complex. I jump on one of the pillow stacks and drift to sleep. When Melusine and I climb out of the vault, we find one of Frost''s men waiting for us. He clearly wishes he were somewhere else. "We have found them." "So soon?" I ask with surprise. The man winces, and nervously scratches his short blond beard. "That is what Councilor Frost said. I do not have details." We order the man out while we change. We must wait for the sun to set to begin with. I put on my true armor, the one Loth made with the sigil on the chest. It looks just as deadly as the first time I tried it. Melusine gives me the stink eye when I look down on her own uniform, the now battered and hastily patched up dark leather armor she wore when her Vassal died. The Lancaster crest has been summarily torn off. I note in passing that she and I share the same body type. We are clearly used to physical effort, but we still have some, ahem, padding. The main difference is that Melusine is really well-endowed. Also, she is shorter, so there is that. And I obviously have the better posterior. "Are you done ogling?" "You could not get a replacement for your armor? This one is barely holding together." "When I exiled myself, the Lancaster took all my assets!" she hisses. "And you did not think to ask me?" I retort with calm. "I¡­ You would have laughed in my face!" "Of course, then I would have helped you get a new armor. Our future is more important than our pride, Melusine," I sternly tell her. "You are going to war in a wreck. This affects both our chances and our image," I continue. The grumbling Lancaster averts her eyes, before finally relenting. "I apologize. I did not expect you to be so reasonable." "I did manage an entire city for almost two decades if you recall. It taught me quite a bit about leadership and the importance of appearance." "I was under Moor the whole time. Give me a break." "Fair enough," I relent, "how are you for weapons?" She shows me. "I have a short sword and a spare set of daggers," I tell her. "Please. And thank you." In a gesture of unusual unity, we help each other bind our hair in tight braids that the wind will not disturb, then wait for nightfall. I leave a message to Mornay out of politeness, and then we ride. The mage goes first and his horse gallops through the dirty snow with commendable speed. I personally believe the poor beast is scared beyond reason, as it should be. Melusine and I may have donned heavy cloaks, but under them, the glint of weaponry is obvious. Our guide sometimes casts back a fearful glance as if the thundering hooves of Metis were not a sure way to tell what hounds his steps. It does not take us long to leave the city''s mostly empty streets behind. Our passage elicits a few yelps of terror from the citizens still outside. I even see a woman cross herself. Luckily for her, we are after another quarry tonight. The ordered rows of houses soon fall behind us, to be replaced by endless farmlands now covered in a layer of snow. Smoke from fires lift up towards the sky from every direction as we move on and where we pass, dogs whimper and hide. We go north then east until we are able to ride along the shore. After a few minutes, the mage slows down and we move alongside him. I did not realize it before but his horse is shorter than even Zana who is rather delicate herself, meaning that both Melusine and I look down upon him. We instinctively box him without the need to communicate. His horse neighs softly. "Why are we slowing down?" I ask in a deceptively soft voice. "The... my horse is tired, I can''t push him like you do your, uh, we''re almost there in any case." Ah, the smell of fear. Melusine and I exchange a knowing glance, but take no further action. It would not do to provoke our allies too much. "There is a small ship anchored nearby. The ferryman is waiting for us. Come." We turn right and follow our guide on a downward path through a dense copse of trees. As we reach the edge of the water, branches and exposed roots are no longer covered in snow, but instead encased in sheaths of solid ice that gives them an otherworldly look. They glitter like strange jewels under the diffuse light of the moon. We quickly exit the copse and find ourselves on a small, rickety pier hidden from sight. On it, a riverman wearing several layers of cloth to ward off the biting cold turns with anger, but his complaints die on his frozen lips when he takes in our appearance. Metis and Zana lazily step on the wooden skiff in perfect silence. The man swallows nervously and pushes away from the pier with commendable haste. I watch with interest as several large blocks of ice bump against the hull, but it appears that the placid current will prevent us from turning into a shipwreck. It would certainly kill neither Melusine nor myself, in any case. Once on the other side, our quiet guide resumes his pursuit and we soon leave any sign of civilization behind. The dense woods and pristine snow would make for a fantastic hunt were it not for the grunting mortal and his annoying light spell. Fortunately, I know that we will leave him behind soon and I feel no need to eviscerate him for ruining my fun. Truly, I have mastered my emotions. "They''re here," our guide finally says. For a while, we have been following a set of horse tracks and behind a rock, in a small depression hidden from the wind, we find the rest of Frost''s group huddling around a campfire. I note in passing that the fire is hidden from view by some concealment spells that also blocks off their aura and, more importantly, their smell. Frost himself is sitting comfortably against a trunk, seemingly unbothered by the cold. "Good evening, ladies. I hope you had a pleasant trip?" "Where are they, old man?" I answer with a grin. I am quite impatient now. "The tracks continue northward from here. They stopped trying to hide them so you should have no difficulties. When you are done scouting, come back here and we will make our way back to the city together." "Very well. Melusine?" "We hunt." The light behind us fades then disappears. The night, in all its glory. I wish Torran were here, so that three of us could gallop and recreate that exciting nightmare ride. Perhaps another time. Trees after trees after trees. The odd rock. Sometimes, an irregularity in the landscape forces us to ride to a side where our quarry climbed. They are close now, I can feel it in my essence. When the sensation turns to a dull warning, I raise a fist and we stop, heeding the warnings of my intuition. Melusine and I dismount without a word and drift through the landscape as silently as shadows. Our feet touch the ground without leaving tracks and no cliff can slow us down for more than a few instants. For a while now, we have approached a small mound and I can finally smell it on the wind. Werewolves. A pungent odor of dog, wet fur and human musk, as heady as it is unpleasant. Beyond the mere unpleasantness of it, their stench wakes in me the desire to find them and purge them, for we occupy the same niche, that of the apex predator. I spot Melusine frown with disapproval. She feels it too. Quietly, I make a circling gesture and we sprint perpendicular to the origin of the smell until we are downwind. An unpleasant necessity as we, too, have a scent. The landscape before us climbs to a ridge behind which our prey surely is. I find a flat rock some distance away that overlooks the field beyond and guide Melusine there. I climb first and use the promontory to survey the scene lying before me. Then I fall back, speechless. I almost bump into my companion who was on her way to join me. "What is wrong?" she softly hisses. "You know that feeling when the Order came at us in Triste Chasse? That realization that you are facing a threat you had not quite expected?" "Don''t be ridiculous, there were hundreds of them." I silently point forward and Melusine lifts her head to get a good look. "What the fuck?" Indeed. Chapter 94 - 91. Horde The werewolves have made camp in a basin nestled between the mound to our north and the ridge we stand on. The small depression hides the camp from sight, if not from smell, and bitter wind disperses the upward clouds of smoke of the campfires before they become visible. What shocks me is not the size of the camp, fully capable of hosting a good two hundred men. No. What shocks me is the incredible level of organization displayed here. This is not a refugee camp or even a caravan bivouac. We are spying on a military installation. Most of the camp is made of large tents, not set in rows but evenly spaced across a good half of the basin. The materials used are heavy furs and tanned hides sewn together, and a sentinel stands before each entrance with their arms crossed. I do not see any cannons or armory, nor any smithy, which does not surprise me much. I have noticed that entities who possess an overwhelming physique often underestimate the usefulness of firearms. Or perhaps, they simply lack the means or training. Small comfort. The missing structures have been replaced by cages. Rows and rows of densely packed prisons filled to the brim with the huddled forms of transformed werewolves. Their listless bodies form an incredible tapestry of colored fur behind a foreground of grey metal, a quiescent organism made of hundreds of temporarily inhibited monsters. When that slavering mass is unleashed, nothing will remain in its wake. Walking at the edge of this massive jail, a man patrols, a great horn of some bony material hanging around his chest. The artefact''s power echoes slowly across the mass of prisoners with some unknown effects. With his heavy mantle made of fur poorly sewn together, he looks like some shaman from the dawn of time. Finally, a command tent sits at the end of the camp opposite the cages, and in front of it stands the tallest werewolf I have ever seen. The creature easily tops nine feet and its muscular body is covered in thick dark hair now slowly drifting in the wind. "Are those ferals?" Melusine whispers as she points at the cages. "I believe so," I reply. Some werewolves lose themselves completely to the curse and never transform back. My companion and I share a moment of unease. Turning rogue will forever be a threat hanging over our heads, and the sight of those lost souls only reminds us of the possibility of our own demise, not to external forces but to the darker part of our nature. "There must be at least two hundred of them." "Agreed. Let us fall back for now." We return to the Nightmares, taking extra care not to leave any trace nor to be spotted. The ride back to Frost''s camp is morose, and for good reasons. We cannot stand against those numbers. I am confident that I can take on a dozen werewolf and come out unscathed, but the more enemies there are and the more likely it is that a single mistake will spell my doom. A single jaw firmly clamped on my arm means a dozen more all over my body by the time I can free myself. It means being trapped, overwhelmed, and dismembered. It will take more than five vampires to stand against such strengths, especially considering that two of us are Courtiers. It will take a large force and a careful plan. It will also require a high degree of cooperation between Mornay''s group and ours, a dubious proposal at best. Less than forty-eight hours into this operation and the situation is already desperate. "Hundreds, you say?" Mornay asks with a sneer as he reclines in his comfortable chair. We stand in an office that would look respectable if it did not still stink of fresh paint. Blake and the unnamed spawn stand at either side of him across the massive baroque desk while I am flanked by Melusine and Melitone. The prick did not even offer us a seat. "I would never lie on such a serious matter," I retort with more bite than I meant. "Lie? No. But hundreds of werewolves? From creatures that have never banded in groups larger than three until very recently? Allons donc. And besides, did your bloodline not show issues with, let us say, clarity?" he asks in a seemingly innocent tone. I flex and unflex my hands, claws hidden from their sight. I know Melusine enough to realize she is livid though she masks it well. By questioning my sanity, he is also insulting her, whose testimony backs my own. If we were not trying to work together, I would demand satisfaction right now. Unfortunately, there is no time for him to recover from the lesson I would impart. Nor do I really need to. This man is dead. I let the silence draw on, none of us moving in the slightest. Instead, I progressively release the hold I keep on my aura. So far, I had let Mornay''s presence dominate the room as a courtesy, even if he was still flirting with the limits of what is politely acceptable. Now, my own power radiates outward with increasing pressure. The change is not fast enough to qualify as an outburst but still quick enough for the atmosphere to change, and the unspoken threat to be stated. "Perhaps you would care to see for yourself?" I ask after his grin has fallen a bit. "And follow you alone into the wilderness? I think not," he retorts. Can I just KILL HIM. DISRESPECTFUL WEAKLING. "Are you refusing the Speaker''s aid, Mornay?" Melitone asks coldly. She, too, has a low tolerance for stupidity. "Of course not. You can assist if you wish. Now that our prey has been revealed, I shall face those pests and bring a swift end to the current troubles." "And how do you propose to do that?" Melitone retorts sweetly. "Why, I shall run them down like the parasites they are of course. A handful or a dozen it matters not, they will fall before me. If the Devourer spawn is too¡­ wary, she may watch from afar how extermination missions are conducted." He slams his fist on the desk in what I imagine is an attempt at appearing decisive, but in reality, looks more like the tantrum of an unruly child. I suppose I have grown too used to competence in the past few weeks. Mornay merely reminded me of the vicissitudes of this world, where us rational beings must every day contend with the malicious and the dimwitted. "Very well," I reply, "we will join you when you make your move." I conclude the meeting there, leaving immediately with my two companions in tow. Mornay''s parting words are interrupted by a slammed door and we promptly leave his estate and its intimidated staff. As soon as we turn on the next street, both of them start at the same time. "That asshole¡­" Melitone begins while shaking her brown locks. "I commend you for your control¡­" Melusine hisses, showing a bit of fang. I raise a hand to stave off their outburst. "Not now. We need to get back to the inn first." The trip is considerably faster than normal and I realize that I should have let them vent their frustration. As soon as we arrive, Melitone drags Frost into the conversation with the crafty old man only too eager to listen to everyone''s complaints. "Mornay is a windbag and a moron. His sire should have stabbed himself in the heart on the day he chose that brainless twit to join the ranks of the undying!" she spits. "In a way, I am pleased to see that politically motivated incompetence is not the prerogative of my bloodline," Melusine adds. And so on and so forth. After vociferating for a few minutes and letting Frost needle their aggression, they finally realize that I have remained silent. "Are you not irate, Ariane?" Melusine asks, "he disrespected you on purpose, and quite cruelly at that." I am indeed calm, because I know for certain that my vengeance is already assured. I turn to the Servant among us. "Melitone, how likely is my victory should the entire den fall?" I ask. She winces in return and I have my answer before she can even reply. "Well, if they all die and any of Lozaro''s charges survive¡­" "¡­ then we lose," I finish. Melitone only nods dejectedly as Frost decides to contribute. "Not to mention that you will receive some unwanted attention from that clan those idiots belong to. If they perish and you don''t, they will demand an inquiry." "So, we need at least some of them to survive. Do you think we can win?" Melusine asks. "Win?" I ask with disbelief, "that would depend on your definition of winning." That gets their attention, and so I explain. "We cannot possibly stop that horde if they all attack at once. Which they will." "How about those reinforcements?" Melitone asks. "There are hundreds of werewolves. I am not even confident we could stop them in Marquette, even if I gave silver bullets to every militiamen and women. Not without devastating casualties." "Then what?" I pause at that. Melitone remains an outsider, and I must not forget it. She is on my side in everything but what truly matters: formal allegiance. I cannot reveal the darker parts of my plan in her presence lest she reports it to her sibling, while at the same time I need to show enough that she does not suspect too much of a hidden agenda. "We will use the river¡­" I begin. The others join and soon add their expertise and minds to my own until finally, we have a workable plan. I find it remarkable that no matter if by ten miles or a thousand, being away from civilization and its lights always gives the illusion of infinity to the nocturnal landscape. Intellectually, I know that the dark frozen trunks and untouched snow do not go on forever, that a river flows at my back and that beyond it lies tamed land. It matters not. Here and now, we might as well be in the northern reaches of the world, where they say the night lasts for months. Mornay paces nervously in front of our small group. He wears a genuine plate armor of a strange make, a sign that he is at least taking this seriously. From time to time, he furtively takes a glance at my unmoving form. I repaired Melusine''s attire as best as I could with the limited time I had and the tools I brought with me. Thankfully, vampire dexterity and speed can work wonders, especially backed by a bit of Cadiz essence for continued focus. She now looks half-decent as her asymmetrical armor gives her a rebellious look, that of a pirate or highwaywoman. I will admit that it looks good on her. I also made sure she had proper greaves and gauntlets equipped. From experience, I can tell that werewolves will go for extremities on a moving target, so that they can bring it down. The additional protection should grant her a few more moments to break free before freakish jaws close in too deep and seal her fate. All in all, she looks like a fighter, if a scrappy one. I, on the other hand, look like a Master. Loth''s armor shimmers in the fleeting light of the torches held by Mornay''s men, its exquisite details obvious to my peers. I also wear my half-mask and carry with me an assortment of weapons including Sivaya''s spear and my own wolf-slayer. John''s version of the massive arbalest is designed for absurdly strong mortals. Mine is designed for absurdly strong vampires. It has the same draw strength with a major difference: my slayer is a repeater. The bolts are stored in a long magazine stored on top of the central axis. A crank with pulleys allows me to wind back the wire-like string without having to lower the weapon. It looks exactly like what it is, a siege weapon that should be operated by a crew and fired from crenellation at approaching shield walls. On top of that, I have a pair of one-second-fuse powder charges secured at my back, the ultimate way to clear a path. This is the werewolf hunt equivalent of being overdressed. I love it. With our tightly braided hair and matching blades, Melusine and I are the cold professionals to Mornay''s mismatched group of dilettantes. Blake doesn''t even wear proper armor. I hope she does not get caught too early. Eventually, Mornay''s pacings fail to assuage his worry and he turns to one of the four mortals carrying torches who had the misfortune of accompanying us. "What''s taking them so long?" he demands. The mortal obviously shrinks before his employer''s attention. What a stupid question to ask. How could the mortal know? A leader should never reveal their fear. Mornay''s master plan was to provoke the wolves into attacking him. We managed to find a roving patrol and he slew both untransformed wolves, one of them a woman, only to have one of his men drop the pair of severed heads at the camp''s entrance with a formal challenge. I almost insulted him here and now for his dismal stupidity. It takes a considerable amount of willpower to remind myself that I should not waste my breath on a dead man. The mortals will be intercepted. The werewolves will smell and notice the severed heads. They will exact vengeance. Then, when they are ready, they will find us. Such an insult cannot remain unanswered. In any case, the messengers are lost and so are the mortals present here. Simply because Mornay did not believe us and felt the need to double down like the arrogant fool he is. As we wait for the inevitable tide, I reflect on his behavior. He does not believe that werewolves can assemble in large numbers because it never happened before. This is the sort of mistake I have also committed. I realize that until recently, I no longer believed that mages could take me down. Then Alexandria happened. Without David King, I would have died that day. We vampires are all guilty of the sin of pride. If mages have failed twenty times to end my life, the twenty-first attempt might be the one to succeed. They have all of eternity to try and they only need to win once. I must walk the edge between death and insanity, taking them seriously while still giving them a chance to survive a proper Hunt. It does not take a genius in arithmetic to realize that no matter how small the odds, with an infinite amount of chances, success is assured. At some point, I will die. ¡­And here I am brooding again. I blink myself awake as a noticeable shift triggers my intuition. While before the world was uncaring, there is now a sense of anticipation on the wind. No, a sense of longing. An eagerness. I calmly load the crossbow, drawing a furious stare from Mornay and resisting the temptation to kill him right now and run while I can. Ariane, queen of mature self-control. I take a step forward. It happens quickly. No time for speeches. One moment, silence reigns. The next, snarls and grunts and pounded snow herald the coming of a pack and the very next instant, the bipedal hybrids of wolf and man storm the clearing. I unleash the first bolt on the leading beast as the tide of fangs and furs rushes us in tight ranks. They are so close and so similar that I feel that I am not facing a group but a single misbegotten entity with more limbs than a centipede. Even their aura is but one wave of feral rage. It crashes against our own with blind obstinacy. Then there is no more time to think. I manage to shoot twice more, taking heads each time and slowing the mass of bodies as the bolts pierce through the following member, then I take my spear and stick it in the first wolf jumping on us, using the momentum to throw its massive body into one of its neighbors. I repeat the gesture again and again with mechanical precision, breaking the tide like a rock at the head of the formation. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. Behind me, the vampires instinctively gather in a wedge, supporting each other. Melusine''s spells crash into the densely packed bodies in great fiery explosions, to my surprise. I did not know she could call fire. Both Courtiers are pushed to our back so that we make a defensive circle while the torch carriers are swept away with brief cries of terror and pain. We fight back to back, lunging for devastating strikes before pulling back to the cover provided by our allies. Blake and the Spawn sometimes falter but the trio of masters is more than enough to stem the tide and to compensate for momentary weaknesses. Savagery is answered by stern discipline and recklessness by surgical precision. Each of our blows either kills or maims beyond recovery. Every swipe throws one body into two more to hamper five. No matter how strong they are, we are deadly fighters with centuries of combined battle experience. And still, we bleed. The pack fights as one despite their apparent mindlessness. They blindside, feint, and distract with an ease that can only be born from instinct. They follow each other tightly so that one jumps over the other when the first one commits. They attack from multiple sides when they can and will always try for the weakest link or the overextended fighter. I am fine. I sometimes let glancing blows rake my armor without much effect when I want to use the momentum to strike elsewhere. Melusine manages to avoid most hits though she gets a cut on her temple, and thick dark blood now drips down her cheek. The Courtiers are not doing so well. They are already covered in wounds. Blake''s left arm hangs limply by her side. Both Melusine and Mornay are forced to compensate and in turn, so am I. As I kick a corpse into the side of a roving pair, it happens. Vibration shakes the air, the powdery snow, and my very body. It comes with a low-pitched sound like a horn of impossible size. The intermingled auras of our quarry undergo a drastic change under the sonorous blast: from aggressive and unhinged, they turn dark and patient. The surviving werewolves bound away in every direction as they leave their fallen comrades behind. We are left alone on the field, with corpses spread at our feet. Blood and other bodily fluids turn the pristine meadow into a grisly battlefield. Silence descends upon us. As quickly as it came, the battle is finished, and yet even the bombastic Mornay does not declare victory. A blind man would know that this retreat is temporary. This was a scouting party. They found us, and now the rest will come. My intuition tells me that the situation has not reverted back to normal. If anything, the anticipation in the air is even thicker than before. The horn blasts once more, again seemingly coming from nowhere and anywhere at once. And again, a second time. Beneath our feet the ground trembles like a drum beaten in a low roll. Beyond the densely packed trees, something moves. I lightly jump to a nearby branch and grab it to get a better view. Far in front of us, two small ridges form a natural barrier and in the small gap between them, I see quivering movement. This is the only warning I get before the horde crests over both ridges and punches through the gap at the same time. For an instant I am staring at the dark canvas of space dotted by a galaxy of twinkling stars before the illusion shatters, and the light is revealed to be nothing more than the moon reflected on hundreds of lupine eyes, all made frantic by bloodlust and the thrill of the hunt. A veritable tidal wave of creatures charges us in ranks so dense that their numbers obscure the ground. The drums we heard are their paws trampling the earth and the cacophony of snarls and growls heralds the violence to come. I drop down and turn to Mornay. He is indecisive, paralyzed by inaction. I take one last good look at him and the incredulous fear he displays, then it is too late. The edge of the horde is upon us. I do not hesitate. I pull the first powder charge and throw it forward and to my side as the first wolves weave through the trees, then I pick the wolf slayer and catch a few of the creatures in the mouth, just to topple them and slow the charge. The first wolves reach us on Mornay''s side. He turns around to cover his spawn. The first charge explodes. I step back and grab one of Blake''s arms as Melusine picks another. The Courtier yelps in pain. Mornay realizes his flank is uncovered. He turns on himself and deflects a strike but ten more wait behind. Our eyes meet one last time as his companion falls under the combined weight of a dozen creatures. "YOU BI¡ª" And then, the massive werewolf I had spotted in the camp surges and clips him in the flank before merging back into the mass of bodies. A wall of claws and teeth overwhelm the vampire''s defenses in moments, his speed unequal to the task of stopping such numbers. He disappears under the melee with one last shriek, cut short as something finds his throat. Melusine and I dash away as I use the last charge to blast the land behind us. The wolves are fast but not as fast as us, or rather, they would not be if we did not have to worry about our charge. "I got her," Melusine says in a clipped tone. I let her grab the girl in a fireman carry and she picks up speed. Blake does not resist. Her frantic eyes look behind us at the horde on our heels. One misstep and we die. I nod at the redhead. This is it. Now comes the next part of the plan, the difficult one. I will have to admit, I do not recall having this much fun without Torran for a long time. The tension, the price should I fail. Exhilarating. I rotate to the right as Melusine accelerates to the left. I take out my pistols and fire into the coming crowd, aiming for eyes. My first shot kills a creature but the second bounces against the orbit of a massive fighter. This one is so tough and muscular that even a silver bullet fails to achieve more than a light wound. It matters not. I am only doing this for the noise. It works as intended, with most of the horde hot on my heels. Most, but not all. I jump forward, landing on a low branch two dozen yards away from the lead creature. The tip of the pack slows, all eyes fixed on me with a hungry stare. YOU THINK YOURSELF STRONG. YOU HAVE THE NUMBERS. I HAVE EVERYTHING ELSE. INCLUDING PATIENCE. HEAR IT. FEEL IT. KNOW IT. I roar. In my cry, I pour all the fury and disdain I can muster in a challenge that cannot be ignored, and the horde answers. Larger specimens like the one who survived the shot echo with deep howls, lower-pitched and more tremulous than anything a real wolf could produce, then hundreds of monstrous throats pick up the yowl in a deafening warcry. In their excitement, even the farthest creature returns to the fold so that they may hunt down the one who dared provoke them. I cannot help it. I laugh and laugh as I move through the forest with unmatched agility. I have been running through the woods since I stopped being a fledgling two decades ago, just for the unique pleasure it provides. I know forests. We are in my domain now and we shall run indeed. And so, we do. For a minute, then two, then five, I sprint between trees and rocks and branches. I ascend vertical cliffs as if they were flat and cross frozen ponds as if they were grass, while my pursuers scramble and slip in their mad dash. When the horde breaks up, I pick isolated targets and skewer them, licking the blood from my spear as they fall. And always, I laugh. This is a perfect moment. This is why we live, not just for power and influence and all those¡­ human things, but also for this primal instant when instinct and conscience will cease to struggle for control. One mind, undivided in perfection. The wind on my face and the ground beneath my soles. The horde at my back, as unstoppable as winter but always one step behind, always a bit too late because they are flawed and weak. They were not made by a curious god to prey on the world, nor chosen by an ancient monster as a potential heir. They are but cursed men and women thrown at us by a fool who overreached, drunk on his provincial success. They are behind and there they will stay forever because they are not the apex predator. They are not... ME. And so, jaws clamp on empty air, claws flail and slip and muscular bodies fall to the ground in uncoordinated heaps. And they know it. After an indeterminate amount of time, the horn sounds once more and the pack slows down as we reach a clearing. I wait in the middle, fully exposed as the werewolves stop by the edge of the wood. Every bush, every tree conceals muscles like corded steel and yet, they do not move on. The imperious call of the horn proves too much. Time stops. For an instant, a gap in the landscape gives me a clear view of a scene a hundred yards beyond the impassable line of monsters. The black wolf who disabled Mornay stands next to a man clad in thick pelts holding a large horn made of bone, the very same who was guarding the ferals. They stare, and so do I. The man is the only one in human form and yet I know that he is a werewolf. There is something in his stance and in the way his iris reflects the light that leaves no doubt in my mind. Then the moment passes, just as the wolves slowly start to withdraw. The horde disintegrates into shuffling clumps from the previously unified pack, still dangerous but nothing like they were before. I wait until the last straggler disappears in the shadows of the trees. It is done. I take a few moments to center myself and to focus on the quickly fading impressions that course through me. This was great and I need to remember. I need to cherish this moment. I only hope the rest of the plan went without a hitch. It takes me several more minutes to find the river. I even had to find a tall tree to spot the hole in the forest. For once, the Detroit river''s languid flow does me a disservice as its quiet nature leaves little way for me to hear it. Eventually I find the shore and manage to orient myself, quickly running to one of the two hidden piers prepared for the occasion. I take the arranged rowboat and make my way across, cursing against the occasional slab of drifting ice. It takes me another five minutes before I arrive at Frost''s camp. If I did not know it was there, I would have missed it. A large circle of basic runes hides it from aura perception and smell while the location naturally blocks sight and sound. As soon as I enter the perimeter, Frost stands up from his position near a central fire. Blake follows suit, looking dazed. "Good you''re here. Is Melusine not with you?" the old man asks. I stop in my tracks. "What do you mean not with me? We split up so that she could evacuate Blake. They were supposed to cross the river together." "A small group of wolves followed us," the Courtier answers in a hesitant voice, "she stayed at the pier to stave them off." "I thought I attracted all of them" I hiss, "well, I am going back." I turn around to the small pier under the mages'' incredulous stares. "Careful Ariane, those who came after us were not ferals," Blake warns. It matters not. I sit in the rower seat only for Frost to lower himself in front of me. He removes a strange contraption from his pocket, something between a dreamcatcher and a compass. The artefact tastes like tracking and searching, not in my way, but in a more methodical and rational mindset. A bit like a Rosenthal hunt. "Well, what are we waiting for?" Frost asks. I frown, yet also start rowing. "I am surprised by the intensity of your reaction, Ariane. I did not expect Melusine and you to be¡­ close." "You should already know that I do not simply discard an ally in need." "And what about Mornay? And Reynald? They were not allies in need then?" "There was nothing I could do," I reply with a shrug. I did not even know that the spawn''s name was Reynald. Frost nods, pretending to be thoughtful. Then, after ten more seconds he continues. "It is fortunate that Blake made it." "When pursuing a line of questioning, you should be wary of what you may find at its end," I interrupt. Frost raises his hands in mock surrender, but I give him no recognition. He is too eager to poke and prod for no discernible gain. I am amazed that he still lives. "Naturally." The following minute is spent in silence as I focus on dodging the ubiquitous pocket icebergs and Frost tinkers with his bauble. I realize that the cold is absolutely biting, yet my companion seems unbothered. If anything, the frigid wind pools around him. I almost crash into the pier because of my speed and lack of attention. I climb down and inspect my surroundings. The forest around us is quiet, though the scent of werewolf blood is still strong. I notice that there are no corpses despite a suspiciously large pool, which means that our foes picked them up before leaving. The pier itself is mostly untouched but here and there, branches and trunks have been marked with the telltale signs of claws and pyrotechnics. The devastation follows the shore downstream. I follow the trail in silence with Frost on my tail. The land is empty of life and there are no auras besides our own. No signs of Melusine, so far. As I walk, I realize that my erstwhile bitter enemy took a significant risk by acting as bait, and I am reminded of the one prophecy I had in my life so far. The one about forgiveness. I am ashamed to admit that I have, in fact, forgiven her. We have both grown quite a bit since New-Orleans and she has been instrumental in the success of tonight''s operation. I really hope she made it. Fifty yards down, the traces of conflict abruptly stop. "Do you think she went into hiding?" Frost asks. "No, she would have had to kill the entire group for that and no werewolf died here. There would be tracks of a massive body on the ground." I check around but see no signs of ash, which is a good start "Where is she then?" I look at the river. "She probably followed the flow as a backup plan. Werewolves are too heavy. They sink, and they are sensitive to cold. Vampires do not need to breathe, and we do not fear low temperatures." "She jumped in?" "I do not think so," I reply as I find a particularly deep set of tracks, "I believe she was thrown. She could be too exhausted or wounded to save herself, even if she survived." I decide to continue heading downstream. I have no idea how far she could have been carried, if she was. I start scrutinizing the waters for any sign of an anomaly. I even sniff the air and pick up a queer scent. "There is a werewolf farther along the path," I inform Frost who is still tuning the artefact. When he hears my warning, he removes his hand from his pocket. Frost''s gauntlet is as white as its namesake. A single ruby is inserted halfway on the back, between his knuckles and his wrists. It glows ominously. We continue carefully but soon realize we need not have bothered. The scent comes from a prone form at the edge of the shore. Smoke wafts from the pale naked body of a young adult, a proof of the werewolf''s impossible metabolism. He is breathing fast and shivering while his aura flickers weakly. "Do we finish him off? He will be too weak to talk, at least for a while." Frost asks. I do not know how he can be so sure, but I trust him. "No. I have another use for him," I say, looking out again. "You want to jump in?" "Yes. If Melusine fell in she would be around here if my assumption is correct." "Then take it," he replies as he hands me his compass, "this is the tool I used to track the werewolves. I recalibrated it to find vampires instead." "Will it work underwater?" "Yes, and if your ally is unconscious, she will not try to restrain her aura." I nod, and jump. Even if I expected the cold, I am still disoriented by the sensory overload that comes with it. I take a moment to recover and look around. Seaweed. Rocks. Debris. The odd fish. No sarcastic Lancaster. No, focus Ariane, you have a tool, use it. I take out the compass and realize that the thin blue needle is pointing at the nearest vampire. So, me. I curse but realize that Frost cannot be this stupid. Below the needle, I find a single gem that I can press. I do so now and note that the next target is behind me, upstream. I quickly swim and find Melusine''s body near the bottom, huddled against a large rock. A thin trail of black blood emerges from the back of her head where her skull was crushed. So that is why she is here. She must have landed headfirst into a block of ice and sunk, while the werewolf struggled to float and only managed to climb back to the shore a bit farther away. It is a simple matter to drag her back and I soon emerge from the depths a few feet away from a bemused Frost. "An impressive show with that armor of yours," he comments, "too bad about the seaweed in your hair." I sigh and remove the guilty piece of vegetation, but I cannot muster any form of annoyance. I am relieved that Melusine survived. I would have missed her. "How is she?" he asks. "As long as she is not ash, she will be back to her posh and caustic self within the next hour." "Convenient." Frost discarded his coat to cover the shivering body of our prisoner. I grab underneath for an arm, and at the moment I succeed, the young man''s eyes flash open. They are a warm brown with flecks of green in it. Rather pretty. He sniffs the air, surprised. "You smell weird¡­" he comments, frowning. Then he yelps when I bite his wrist. What is it with people taking such liberties to comment about my hygiene and appearance, huh? Go waddle in the muck and you will smell strange too. Bah! With the wolf''s expression slackening, I bring his bleeding appendage to Melusine''s lips and let the carmine liquid trickle down. The redhead shifts and soon, ravenously latches on the wound. She stops as soon as she regains consciousness. Slowly, she opens her jaws and releases her still breathing captive. "Melusine," I begin as a greeting. "You saved me, again, like last time." "You are not going to battle again without some sort of helmet." "Agreed," she concedes with a bitter chuckle. Melusine does not stand up. A bad sign. We normally dislike being in a position of vulnerability. And although I appreciate the trust she shows, it also indicates that the ordeal has taken a toll on her. "When I saw you above me it reminded me of last time. It scared me. I feared to turn around lest I see him again. My Arthur." S§×arch* The n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "I am sorry, Melusine." "Oh, don''t be. By the Eye, this is ridiculous. I really thought I was done for this time. I remember every detail of my fall into the water. The branches overhead. The wind. The claws against my armor. I even remember useless details, like how the beast stank of rank sweat." "That''s rich, coming from a ginger." Melusine pauses and I witness with some pleasure her face turn from mewling to its usual haughty self. "Ariane, you are such a bitch." We both snort at the same time and this time, she is smiling. "Thank you," she says. "Ladies, if you don''t mind doing this later?" Frost comments. He is right. We are in hostile territory. I almost forgot about that. "You really could not save them?" Melitone asks firmly with just a hint of suspicion. Around us, the mages are packing their belongings in preparation for our retreat back to the city. "But you could save Blake?" she continues after a pause, looking at the woman sitting near the fire. I carefully maintain a neutral expression, mirrored by Melusine. "Blake was already wounded, and she is but a young Courtier. Wrestling a reluctant master would have been a different proposal altogether. As for his spawn, he was the first to fall." Melitone considers my words with clear unease. My testimony is perfectly believable, but the death of Mornay is simply too convenient. Almost as if I had planned from the beginning to let him die with his spawn so that the leadership of the den falls on Blake, who would be much more, shall we say, malleable, than her predecessor. "Melitone, I told you that this attack was suicide. I saved whomever I could despite the odds. We were facing a veritable wall of cursed flesh, fangs and claws out there. I give you my word on this: once they were upon us, there was nothing I could do. You can ask Blake if you do not believe me," I continue. Technically, I could have tried to convince him to leave or dragged him away and hoped he would follow, thus promoting the interests of the Speaker of the Accords and clan Roland. I did not. Lord Ceron proved beyond the shadow of a doubt that ours is a merciless world where self-interest rules. I am no fanatic in the service of Constantine, nor am I some sort of benevolent savior to risk my life for others of my kind. I am here to protect my own interests and those of my friends, and Mornay resolutely placed himself in the list of disposable assets. He was not my ally and I did not have an agreement with him. Indeed, my agreement was, and still is, with Constantine himself. Also, Mornay was a prick. And so, for convenience and for insulting me, he had to die. Now, with the leadership firmly in my hands, we can finally work on a proper plan. Melitone nods, admitting that my explanations make perfect sense, and here lies one of the most valuable lessons of the night. I swore that I could not help the deceased as the tide overran our position, and I told the truth. That does not mean that I could not have intervened before. Vampires seldom ever break their oaths as the price is too high. Similarly, if I swore I believe something is true then unless I twist in pain on the ground as the words leave my mouth, I did not lie. The abyss between the absence of falsehoods and a faithful rendition of reality is so vast that I understand why we are loath to bind our foes and allies in complex contracts. The more we abuse it, and the more the victim will struggle for a way to wiggle out of their bounds like the proverbial genie. And so, I am left in charge after letting nature follow its course. "Blake, you must return to Detroit and evacuate your people." "What?" "Like it or not, you are now the de facto leader of the local den. The werewolves may come to town tomorrow as we slumber and our meager defenses will not stop them, even if they keep to their human forms. We must leave and retreat to a fallback position. I have reinforcements waiting outside of town. Their camp will do." "Hmm. Right." "Then what?" Melitone asks, looking a bit lost. "Then the boy and I will have a conversation," I announce as I kick the prisoner by our feet, "and once we are done, we will finally understand the true nature of what we are facing." Chapter 95 - 92. Call of Blood and Bone "Oh, Adeline, since I met you on that fateful night and rescued you from Alonzo''s men, my world has changed beyond recognition. I thought I knew my place at court and the course of my life until the day I die. How wrong I was! ''Twas but a lie! A gilded prison that encircled my soul in its invisible embrace and condemned it to an existence without happiness. You opened my eyes, dear Adeline! You freed me from the grey fog of apathy with the sun of your spirit! At the very sight of you, my heart expands and fills with passion¡­" His heart, eh? Right. "My handsome Alphonso, I know not what to say. I am but a lowly servant who¡­" I am interrupted by a knock. Sighing, I mark the page and close my book, then slowly open the sarcophagus. Blessed darkness. And an impatient redhead. "Why are you still hunkering? We have much to do." "And the first order of business is to interrogate the werewolf, which I will certainly not do while the sun is still up," I retort. That is why I stayed inside, and absolutely not because only a thick layer of cloth separates me from the vengeful radiance of the sun. I am not terrified that some birdbrain could have left the opening flap unsealed, thus condemning me to a fiery death as soon as I open the sarcophagus. Not at all. Melusine lifts an imperious brow. "You do not want to read the reports made by our men? They are on the table." My indomitable will allows me to hoist myself up without grumbling. Everything is harder during the day, and Torran was right: it does not get better. The only option is to endure and compensate. I take a seat in front of the table and take a comb to brush my hair. I was able to take a quick bath yesterday, fortunately, otherwise, I would still be smelling like rank water and Melusine. The horror. I am getting a bit peckish as well. Frowning, I read the documents in front of me and remind myself that I should value the mages for their, well, mage skills. Not their spelling. It appears that a group of werewolves in human form infiltrated Detroit during the day and attempted to sniff out the vampire dens. Literally. They did break into Mornay''s office, but we had thankfully managed to clear out the place in time and they must have failed to find anything useful. Most of the Roland assets are still safe in various warehouses and caches, while the houses of loyal families were left untouched. The scout responsible for the report left town in the early afternoon, implying that the situation may have evolved. For obvious reasons, none of the mages approached the werewolf encampment. "A whole lot of nothing," I comment. "I have high hopes for our captive," Melusine replies, "and if he does not know enough, we can always capture more." "Indeed." We are lucky in the sense that our ability to Charm, especially compounded with our bite, makes keeping information from us an impossibility. Even the sturdiest of mages with special mental training would eventually fall under our ministrations. We do not even have to rely on that barbaric and inefficient method that is torture. Unless the target is one of our own, of course. I discreetly pull on my fingers. "By the way, I noticed something about the group that attacked me," Melusine idly notes. "Do tell?" "Their auras were unified as if they were a single entity. A most curious phenomenon. They numbered five and covered each other as much as they could. The boy, for example, started his suicide attack to protect another werewolf. A female." "A female?" I ask in surprise, "how do you know?" Melusine takes a stricken expression. "You do realize that the creatures are in the state of nature, and though their nether regions are atrophied, they are still present. Right?" "And you took the time to inspect their genitals? In the middle of combat?" I ask with disbelief. "Look, perhaps your vision is only restricted to fangs and claws, but we Lancasters are trained to notice every detail so that we may capitalize on weaknesses!" she hisses back with annoyance. "Uhu. Well, your contribution is appreciated, as we know for sure that they care about each other. Our prisoner has something to lose." "Yes. I killed the other three so that only leaves the woman. Perhaps his lover?" "We shall see." We wait another hour for the sun to set, our conversation turning to her training during her Lancaster days and my own experience after escaping. This bonding moment surprises me as much as her lack of judgement concerning my performance. She is particularly amused by my tale of Bingle''s shenanigans, but her expression turns morose when I mention Dalton and his tragic end. When the night has fully fallen, we finally leave the tent. The Marquette detachment managed to locate a deserted estate and settle there without trouble from the locals. Unfortunately, the main house and adjacent warehouse are both too damaged to provide adequate shelter for our delicate skins, and so we were reduced to using a heavy tent. The soldiers have no such qualms and between this and pavilions, our base has turned into a respectable military camp. The mood remains pleasant despite the knowledge of what we face. It is true. Humans can get used to anything. I turn back to see the tent we came out of. From the outside, it looks like any other, though a more careful inspection will reveal that the fabric is significantly thicker. We are still vulnerable to foes shooting in, thus opening gaps in the uniform cover for the light of the sun to filter in. This will not do. I have decided that as soon as this whole business is over, I will certainly acquire one of those armored carriages. They are too convenient to pass up. I will also install a swivel gun at the top that can be fired from the inside. Oh! And load it with canister shots. "Ariane, the prisoner is over there." "Ah! Yes, ahem. I was lost in thought. Let us go then." We walk confidently across the encampment while mages and soldiers stop what they were doing to watch us pass through under the glow of the odd torch. "The sun is down, and the pale ones are up," somebody whispers to our side. There is no fear in the man''s voice, but instead a sense of anticipation. Of ownership. I never thought that we could be adopted as if we were pet tigers. Interesting. Shaking my head, I follow Melusine to a tent that was set apart. Three men are surrounding it with muskets loaded and pointing in instead of out. I take a key from one of them, then turn to my companion right before lifting the flap. "It would be preferable if you stayed outside in case the three you killed were his friends. Can you listen in?" "Most certainly," Melusine answers with a smirk. I expected more resistance from her. Curious. I get in and immediately understand why my ally was so eager to shirk her role. This young man... STINKS. A subtle m¨¦lange of wet dog, filthy human and dried swamp scum. Eye-watering in close quarters. I do not remember Alistair, the only other werewolf I ever got close to without killing, being so dreadfully pungent. Absolute bowfing lad. The¡­ boy is on the ground. Both of his hands and feet are being held in massive silvery manacles that dwarf his skinny limbs. Someone was kind enough to procure a small cloth, but he is otherwise naked and his muscles are incredibly well-defined. Too well-defined, in fact. We used to see some of that in freshly purchased slaves coming from the worst plantations, back when I was human. They were all wiry strands of meat with no fat. As I watch, he tilts his head up and the light coming from outside briefly reflects in his eyes before the flap closes and surrounds us in darkness. He blinks, looking lost, and starts sniffing the air. The gesture is still oddly human. His eyes widen. I am recognized. "You look hungry," I comment in a soft voice. The boy sighs in what I recognize as an attempt to regain self-control. With his body bared, every reaction appears exaggerated from his breath to his shivering. On a whim, I exit the tent again and signal a soldier to bring me food and ''a lot of it''. Melusine does not react. Either she approves, or she will not oppose me publicly. It takes less than a minute for the man to return with a bowl of hearty stew and a large slice of dark bread. I bring them in, once more regretting this odious assault on my nose. I place them on the ground in front of my captive and free him from the manacles. He takes the bowl with some hesitation, and when no punishment comes, falls on it voraciously. Quite the spectacle. With his meal savaged, the boy leans back while I sit on a small stool, the only piece of furniture save for a very small table on which I light a candle. The weak light would barely be enough for a mortal to see the outline of my body, and yet the werewolf immediately inspects me from head to toe. I decide to do the same. The boy''s traits are still underdeveloped, and the prominent cheekbones give him the appearance of vulnerability. I recognize despair in those green-flecked brown eyes. I have seen the likeness before in those who hold so much grief that the world only appears in shades of grey. Nothing really matters anymore. This might make things easier, or he will clamp so hard that only a bite and a full-powered Charm will make him talk. In any case, resorting to strength as a means of intimidation makes little sense when the person already expects the worst without much concern. "Do you know what I am?" I ask. The boy considers answering me, then shakes his head and looks down. "No need to act tough, we are having a conversation. This is your chance to ask questions as well," I continue. The boy scoffs. "As if it matters. You''re gonna kill me," he replies with a young and accented voice. Farm stock, I''d wager. "You do not know what I am after," I reply with a smile. Good. He took the bait. I hope he is curious as the younger ones tend to be. "And what are you after?" he asks, still guarded. I smile lightly, and tease his curiosity awake with a bit of Charm. "I freed a werewolf from prison, a man by the name Alistair Locke." No hint of recognition. Perhaps Alistair died, after all. "He told me that your kind had gathered in the north. In packs. He spoke of one called Black Peak." Deep Hatred. This is getting interesting. "I assume they succeeded, and I would like to know how." "Why do you care?" he spits, "do you not hunt us like animals?" Guilty as charged. "You seem like a bright lad. The situation is a bit more complicated than that, as I am sure you can imagine." He frowns but does not object. He must believe my story. "You said we''re having a conversation, right? So I can ask questions too?" "Go ahead," I generously offer. "Why don''t you smell bad?" Well, because I take baths, for one. "I assume you find the smell of other vampires¡­ upsetting?" "Yeah. Like that redhead. I smelled her and it made me angry." It used to be the case for me as well. "The redhead and I come from different bloodlines. Mine can acquire the ability to alter our smell so that animals no longer fear us. I suppose that it works on your kind as well." "What''s a bloodline? You mean, like horses?" You little shit. "Like family. We obtain some of the powers of the one who changed us." "Right. So. Uh. I gotta ask. You''re not gonna kill me then?" he asks in a mix of hope and disbelief. "I have no interest in killing you. I do have an interest in stopping the Black Peaks from spreading too much. If I can do it by freeing the clans, all the better." I am serious. If I manage to stop the threat by myself, even if it means staying in enclosed space with werewolves for extended periods, I would gladly do so. I will just have to acquire a perfumed handkerchief prior to the negotiations. "You''re serious?" "Yes. I am, in fact, serious. You clearly dislike them yet you still risk your life fighting under their banner." So to speak. They do not have a banner. They do not even have pants! "What tells me that you''re not just trying to split us so that you can take us out one by one." "Let me be perfectly clear. Do you think the five of us who faced you represent our elite, the fine fleur of our military?" "Wha''?" Oops. Forgot who I was talking to. "Do you think your ferals faced the very best of us?" "We¡­ did not?" "Not even close. I will ask you to believe me on this, you have not yet faced our Lords and our knights and it would be wise to solve this before they get involved." "But then they could just hunt us down, even if we escape north?" "Would that not mean traipsing for years through the infinite expanses of the north?" "Wha''?" "Killing you off means spending years in the boonies. We have better things to do," I translate with a bit of annoyance. "You folks are pretty arrogant, you know that?" the boy observes, not unfairly. I prefer this glare he gives rather than the utter gloom that preceded it, but he remains my prisoner and we cannot have that. I grab him by the back of the neck and easily lift him above me, like a puppy. He jerks in surprise and his knee bangs uselessly against my chest plate. When he stares down, I show him fangs and he stops struggling. I will admit that I find his ability to understand visual cues refreshing. Some mortals would have kept struggling and spewing nonsense about ''releasing them'' and ''monster'' and some such drivel. "We have cause to be arrogant, don''t you think?" I reply, still smiling. Then, I drop him without waiting for an answer and he falls heavily on the ground. "Are there really more of you?" the boy asks as he tiredly climbs back to his feet. "Hundreds, just on this continent." He considers my words for a moment. "I am not sure why, but I believe you. Are you doing something to me?" "Not yet," I answer somewhat truthfully. So far, I have only nudged his curiosity so that he does not fall to apathy. "You could?" "Yes." "And you haven''t?" I tsk, annoyed. "I have no need for such artifice when I can have a normal conversation. Now, tell me. How does the Black Peak Clan control the others, including all those ferals." "It''s probably the way you smell." "Can we PLEASE focus on the problem at hand?" "But it''s really weird." "I am going to bite you, you know?" "Fine, fine¡­" The boy looks to the side and focuses on his memories. "I''d been with the Deep Lake Pack for two years after that big wolf bit me. Huh, in case you don''t know, werewolves can turn into a real big wolf instead of the monster thing. Depends on how you''re doing when you change. Anyway, been with the pack for a while then this big lug comes and challenges the bossman." He swallows with difficulty. "Our leader was the strongest man I''d ever seen. They fought long and hard but eventually, the big lug won. He didn''t kill the bossman, just said that we''d have to obey them from then on. Then they broke a few legs, killed two men and brought us back to that huge camp of them out in the middle of nowhere." Is this it? I expected something more dramatic. And I talked too soon. Only now does the boy''s eyes turn clouded. "They split us, except us five because we were so close. Anyone who showed a smidgen of rebellion they would break until he died or turned feral. They took the women too. They made Lilly turn feral. She was only fifteen." The weight of those memories bends the boy''s back. "You probably think we''re weaklings but you don''t get it. You can''t. We follow the strong or we''re isolated and when we get isolated, we can''t control the curse anymore. And there are many of them who just joined with the Black Peaks because it''s better to be on the winning side, right? And every time we started to resist, they would bring one of the skalds." "Skalds?" "It''s an old word for bard or something, ''xcept this bard just plays a big bone horn that, huh, not sure how to describe it." He stares into the flickering light of the candle, gritting his teeth all the while. "It''s like all your emotions get leveled. You get that anger in your belly, right? Because they starve us and they do horrible things to us, and we want to get out and be free. And then it sort of picks up, yeah? But then the skald comes and plays and the sound, it goes through your body and soul. Not the ear. It gets into you and then you lose the emotions. It¡­ it drains you. Like you''re a bottle and someone smashes the bottom. And all the juice gets out and you''re just¡­ empty for a while. It''s just as horrible as before but you can''t bring yourself to care." Only after finishing does he look up to me and realize that I had been listening. I can imagine his pain. "I know how horrible it can be to have your mind stolen from you," I reply. I choose to omit that I have no qualms inflicting this treatment on other people, of course. "You do? Yeah, maybe you do. Anyway. At some point, there is nothing left but despair. You just¡­ go through the motions or you give up and turn feral. The five of us¡­ we helped each other hold on. Well, we used to¡­" His eyes moisten and he passes a dirty hand on them to clear them. "It''s just me, now." "There is another one who survived. A girl." "She did? June lives?" he replies with renewed hope, though the emotion is short-lived. "It doesn''t matter." "Maybe it does," I reply, "but first tell me about the Black Peak Pack leadership." "Alright. Yeah, fine. There is the big bossman. I''ll have to admit he''s something else. He''s got black hair and beard that he keeps long, and those very pale eyes that stare into your soul. And he''s smart and cunning and whatnot. You can''t but help being impressed, you know? Like he''s around and you don''t mind that he''s a boss for a while. Goes by the name of Fenris but it''s all bull. That''s not his real name." A pretentious man. "I see. Who else?" "There''s Maul, the one who beat my previous boss. Dumb as a rock but so strong. He''s big too. Biggest man I ever seen. Maybe twice as tall as me." "Are you serious?" "Yeah, it''s uncanny. Anyway, Maul keeps people in line and he follows Fenris blindly. They say that Fenris defeated him in battle but I''ve never seen Fenris fight. I believe it though. Oh, and there''s Rolf. He''s the head skald. Some say he was the first one." The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. "Alright that''s interesting. Tell me more about the skalds." "Alright, so we stay in packs because it sort of made the curse smoother. I think it splits the curse over everyone like maple syrup on a pancake yeah? Soaks it right in so that we can keep it under control." What is it with everyone and maple syrup? "But skalds are different. They can force the same thing to happen, only more and with more folks, and when they ring their horns they can sort of push us in a direction. The ferals too." "How are skalds made?" "It''s weird. You sound the horn and you are supposed to push into it or something. I never managed when they tested me. Those few who succeed become skalds. They get a lot of power. And women. They get to choose who, well, you can guess." "You mentioned that before. Are your girls used as bargaining chips?" "It''s just that¡­ we have those instincts, right? And, well, the pleasures of the flesh, that''s one of them. But there are not many girls around, only one in four of us, tops. Mostly they do not make it through the first transformation." He looks stricken again. Keeping him focused on his tale is becoming harder, quite possibly due to the sheer amount of traumatic memories. I decide to give him some time to recover as I am starting to see how ''Fenris'' managed to unite the packs. The key is the use of bone horns. Those are very likely artefacts of blood and death magic, or something related more directly to the nature of the curse. To learn more, I will need to acquire one. Skalds are probably werewolves who had the potential to become spellcasters before they were transformed and can thus operate a magical item. I wonder if they can still be mages. Then something occurs to me. "Where are the children then?" A mistake. The boy''s face expresses outrage and powerless anger in equal measure. "We change every full moon. Some of the girls bleed when they turn back." Ah. "I am sorry." He shrugs, helpless. "It''s a curse, after all." It no longer bothers me to be infertile. I wonder if my vampire nature smothered those desires or if I simply grew used to my situation. I can appreciate that it would be a difficult situation for anyone who hoped to create a family. I decide to leave the matter behind. We are getting sidetracked. "You had one skald with you at the encampment," I note. "Yeah. Kohl. A prick. Some skalds resist Fenris but not him, that''s why he was put in charge here." "There are other groups such as yours?" "Only one other. Bigger. They are somewhere east of here, but I don''t know where. I think that''s where Fenris went." York. I hope Lazaro is having fun. "Would your group stay here, or move now that you''ve killed two of us." "We did? Hmm. Pretty sure we''re supposed to kill everyone before moving on. That''s how Fenris did it with the packs. Do they know you survived?" "Yes." "Then they''re probably looking for you during the day and hunkering down at night." I now have the beginning of a plan. "How many people would rebel if, say, Kohl were removed, and the horn disabled?" I step back as the boy undergoes an incredible metamorphosis. From broken and sitting, he suddenly stands up and his posture changes radically. His stance widens, and where his eyes were downcast, they now burn with fervor. "You would also need to kill Olaf. That''s the big werewolf with the dark fur. But wait. Hold on. You think you can take Kohl out?" He frowns. "But no. He will be at the center of the camp and surrounded by a wall of flesh as soon as the alert is given. And you cannot possibly get through the reinforced security. A whiff of you and the camp will go on high alert." "I already have a way, don''t you worry about that." "To go through the entire camp?!" "I say, let me worry about that and answer my previous question." "Hold on," he replies with his hand raised, "do you seriously intend to liberate the others? And oppose Fenris? Get us all out of his pack alive and free?" "I intend to kill him. And liberate the others so that they may return north, yes." "Swear it. Swear that you will help us, and I am your man. I''ll do anything you want." Errr. Why not, if it can guarantee his cooperation? This was my plan anyway. "I swear to do my best to free the werewolves in the camp from the clutches of the Black Peak Pack, and should they help me thereafter, to do my best so that they may return to their home, wherever that may be." The boy suddenly stands up like a valorous hero at the prow of a ship, aiming his sword at the horizon. I try to ignore the fact that his underwear slipped to reveal half of his butt. "Then I, Jeffrey of the Deep Lake Pack swear my allegiance to you. What''s your name fair lady?" "Hmm. Ariane." "Then Ariane, come on and let''s leave this dump, we have a revolution to plan! Hell yeah!" I mutter "language" after the man''s escaping posterior and walk to Melusine as Jeffrey shakes hands with a flabbergasted guard, informing them of what a good team they will make. "Nicely done," Melusine comments with a sarcastic grin, "though you are lucky that I ordered your men not to shoot at the gesticulating madman." "We were just having a conversation¡­" I reply, feeling that the situation escaped me somewhat. "And now you have a brand-new minion and it took you, what, ten minutes?" "You worked with his kind before, is this normal?" I ask, recalling that she had hired a mercenary to have me killed back when I was her prisoner. "I knew they tended to be, let us say, easily excitable. I always assumed that they only answered to negative emotions. Perhaps being part of a pack grounds them a bit?" "Yes, well, I still need to know more. Hey, Jeffrey!" "Yes Ariane?" "Come with me to the command tent! And please grab a pair of pants while you are at it." Melusine and I silently jump from ledge to ledge, digging claws in the occasional crevice to push ourselves up. The treacherous ice would be the end of any casual climber, but for us, even the most slippery of footings is barely more than an inconvenience. We scale the cliff with unmatched speed in only a few minutes until the sheer wall turns to a slope and, finally, to a large slab of stone which we share with a lone scraggly tree. Below us, the werewolf camp lies in its sheltered recess, and I notice that its denizens made a clear attempt at turning the place impregnable. A double ring of lit fires circles the entire perimeter with a warm halo of reddish light, flickering under the wind. No spot of darkness was left untouched, and patrols of unchanged men and women in groups of half a dozen watch intently into the darkness. In the middle of the camp, the massive black werewolf stands in front of his command tent while the skald, Kohl, sits next to the caged ferals with a small retinue of bodyguards. I notice with some satisfaction that the herd has been slightly thinned. It confirms my suspicion and Jeffrey''s words that they use ferals as front liners to soak up casualties since they cannot be used for anything else. There should still be over a hundred and eighty werewolves down there, but the thirty or so we killed yesterday did make a dent. This is somewhat comforting. Amusingly, I realize that werewolves make poor sentinels as the reason why they are clumped in large groups quickly becomes apparent. At any given time, at least half of their numbers will look in any direction but the one which they should. Finally, and more importantly, my observations are confirmed: predators never look up. I do not know whether it stems from overconfidence, carelessness, or simply out of a lack of meaningful tree-dwelling dangers on earth. In any case, our foes clearly expect us to come from any direction but the high mound to their north. "I hope this works," my ally mutters as she gingerly lifts the wolf slayer. I repurposed the tool with the help of Frost and his cadre for a very specific task and the trials were conclusive. It just feels strange to watch my precious creation in the hands of that woman. "It will work. You fired it five times and the rope deployed properly five times. Stop fussing and get in position," I reply as I open the large case by my side and quickly assemble its content. "You know, you defy all expectations. Ours is not the kind of plan I would associate with a Master of the Devourer bloodline." "Have you met many Masters of the Devourer bloodline?" I sweetly ask. Melusine scowls. "Then you are just being your typical arrogant strumpet self who thinks I am an airhead because I don''t turn my nose at everything. Now get in position." Muttering unkind words under her breath, the redhead obeys and proceeds to leap gracefully down the cliff to a ledge jutting over the camp while I finish my task. Two months ago, Loth sent me a gift, and after a long wait, I am finally granted the opportunity to use it in combat. I screw the two halves of an unreasonably long barrel filled with silvery engravings on the breech-loaded mechanism and load what might very well be the first functional long-range musket. I trained with it. I could shave the wings off a fly at several hundred paces. It was, of course, on a range. Melusine reaches her destination as I line down the sight. The musket''s stock rests comfortably against my shoulder. She waits for a particularly loud gust of wind to fire a quarrel at a stack of crates. The steel arrowhead buries itself in the frozen ground. A few nearby sentinels raise their head with curiosity. They sniff the air. They find nothing. Melusine replaces the crossbow at her back and attaches the other end of the thin wire to a piton that she furiously stabs in the ice at her feet. She grabs the wire in her gauntleted hand and jumps out, then lets gravity carry her down as she picks up speed. I turn the rifle''s humongous barrel towards my target. The skald''s face appears in the crosshairs when one of his bodyguards does not block the line of sight. His handsome face shows signs of boredom. I breathe once, out of habit. It settles me and sharpens my focus until I reach a mindset of calm and discipline. Melusine is still picking up speed. The way down the slope is long from the height of the mound. My prey is still hidden. S§×arch* The novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The wind dies down for an instant. He turns his head. There is a furry arm in the way. He looks up. He frowns. The bodyguard turns as well, curious. Kohl''s face is fully revealed. I pull the trigger. A quarter of a second later, my target''s head explodes out in a fountain of blood. The shot rings over the camp, reverberating on the slope of the peak I am on. Its echoes roll over the thunderstruck crowd. Melusine hits the ground at a dead sprint. She casts a nasty spell at the four bodyguards who fall to the ground, writhing in pain. She picks up the horn without slowing and runs like the wind between groups of stupefied guards still unsure of what to do. Slow and stupid. This is what happens when you never trust your subordinates: a complete lack of individual initiative. The Black Peak pack forfeited any chance of cornering Melusine the moment they relied on a clunky gathering of unwilling fighters. We are just getting started. Satisfied that the redhead is well on her way out, I return my attention to the black werewolf as I reload, but quickly give up on shooting him. Loth''s long-range rifle came with bullets designed to pierce through enchantments, not to inflict the kind of catastrophic damage that would pulp that monster''s skull. Rather than attempting it, I grab my gear and escape to the right on a path parallel to Melusine''s. Now comes the first hurdle: making sure the wolfies take the bait. And they do. By the Watcher, they do. One of them must have unleashed the ferals because I can hear their constant baying even over the roar of the northern gale. A rational decision I suppose, as they have no more means to effectively direct them. The best they can do is to point them at a quarry one last time, and hope for the best. I accelerate as much as I can, draining precious energy but gaining on my companion whose frigid aura is clearly revealed. We are almost at our destination when I finally catch up. "You''re still carrying that thing?!" she screams, pointing one claw at my gun while her other arm is firmly holding the horn as if it were an unwieldy flowerpot. "Why would I leave it behind?" I ask with surprise. "Tsk!" Prejudice against firearms is as deep-seated as it is inexplicable among my kind. Melusine slows down as we arrive at our improvised camp. Both the odd detachment and the mages have formed a hastily constructed half-circle with a barricade of sharpened spikes dug into the unyielding ice with Frost''s help. I may have misjudged how tired they would be as the men manning the defenses show signs of exhaustion, but at least their heavy clothes and various enchantments have kept them warm and they now show excitement as my ally and I jump over the barrier. They do not need our warnings. Only a deaf man would miss the signs that our plan worked. We walk to the center of the camp, where Frost is waiting inside an intricate circle glowing a soft white. At either side of him, Blake stands resolute with a borrowed blade while Jeffrey watches me approach with a goofy smile as he munches a piece of dried beef. "We are set," I observe laconically, keeping my eyes resolutely forward. "I hope so, dear. After all, you promised me a nice battle and here I have been, relegated to the role of support so far," Frost replies with casual interest. "Don''t worry, you will be elbow deep in fur within the next two minutes," Melusine remarks drily. I quickly disassemble the rifle and close the case under the mesmerized looks of the others, then almost tear the wolf slayer off Melusine''s back before loading it with repeater bolts. "You look miffed. Is something the matter, bosswoman?" the young werewolf asks. "WHY ARE YOU NAKED?" "Oh, if it''s just that, I guess I can transform now," he replies. The young man drops the bag of jerky on the ground and sighs deeply, somewhere between relief and anticipation. He extends his arms to the side and, without warning, it begins. His skin roils and erupts with fur and muscle, bones snapping as they expand and reattach themselves without method. The change is asymmetrical and messy. I fully expect blood and other fluids to cover the ground, but my expectations are dashed. It still looks unbelievably painful, and yet not a whine escapes the creature''s muzzle. In less than three seconds, a bipedal monster towers before us, dwarfing even the tallest man. Jeffrey flexes his sharp claws and displays a row of serrated fangs. Only his eyes remain unchanged as expressive orbs of brown flecked with green. Conservation of mass just tipped its hat and left the planet. I feel somewhat annoyed. As our first werewolf ally struts confidently forward under the wary gaze of the mortals, I lean closer to Melusine. "You never mentioned that he was that massive," I whisper. "And it''s really cold as well," she deadpans. I stare into her innocent face with growing frustration. "Get your mind out of the gutter, you know what I am referring to. His human form is all scrawny." "I believe it relates to the strength of the curse and possibly, how they place within the pack when their aura equalizes. Leaders tend to grow larger. Perhaps his less hairy aspect is just young and starving, and he will eventually grow to match his wolf form." "Perhaps." "If you are done, then here is the artefact. Would you like to try it before we are swarmed with monsters?" "Certainly." Right, our plan is simple. Eliminate the manipulative prick, steal his tool and the army''s cohesion will shatter. The second part is by far the most uncertain. The clans under the black werewolf, Olaf, follow him because of the horn and their instincts to obey the strong. We have three ways to remove his control and eliminate the group as a fighting force without a massive bloodbath. The first and most obvious solution is to kill him. A daunting task, but not an impossible one. It will require me to fight through his personal guard and hope that I can manage it without too many casualties on my side. Jeffrey assured me that without the horn''s powerful effects, the werewolves would revert to their normal mindsets. Their leader has not earned the right to lead a group of packs. A horde. He usurped it. Once the momentum of the chase is exhausted, the majority of werewolves should feel no urge to defend one they will instinctively resent. This unique opportunity comes from my smell. I do not have the scent of an enemy like Melusine and Blake do. Therefore, the army should not instinctively unite against me if I go after its leader. That is the theory. They could still decide to close rank on me and then I would be swarmed and killed. I will keep this option as a last resort. The second possibility is that the horde splits immediately once the others realize that they are free. I consider this to be wishful thinking. I personally believe that it will take more than the five minutes we gave them for the flames of liberties to burn in their hearts. I would bet that the instinctive response of a beaten group would be to wait and see, rather than to stand up and risk extermination if they are proven to be the outliers. Nobody wants to be the first target in front of the firing line. I asked if Jeffrey could challenge Olaf. My most recent minion said that yes, of course, he could issue a challenge. And then promptly die, thus reinforcing our foe''s legitimacy. The third and last option is to use the horn ourselves to push the packs over the edge and into open mutiny. The item is, after all, a thing of blood and bone. An artefact of the hunt. And what better wielder of such a creation, than me? There are none here. I cradle the object between my hands, passing a thumb over its smooth surface. The bones come from a predator judging from the size. Bear and wolf, mostly. The ivory material was fused together by means unknown and the smooth planes have been engraved with runes I do not recognize. They shine softly in carmine red, waiting for activation. The aura is mighty. I taste the hunt, of course, but also blood, lust, death, as well as warmth and cold. It was not designed for me, but I can use it. I hold nothing more than a dedicated focus meant to cast a single spell altered by the caster''s intent. Yes. I just need to place the COLD WITHIN. WARMTH IN THE PREY''S BLOOD. And everything will work out just fine. I am reminded of the gauntlet dedicated to casting a single spell I used in the library of Alexandria. The more deliberate and precise the tool, the less training is required to activate it. What the focus lacks in flexibility, it gains in sheer power. The irony of turning their own means of control against the Black Peak Clan is an added bonus. Yes, I think as I caress it, it will do nicely. "I am sure I can operate the horn but it might take a lot of power. I would rather wait until the non-ferals are within range." Melusine nods and turns, heading to the front. I follow her when Blake steps up to me. "Excuse me, Ariane." "Yes?" I ask with surprise. Blake has been helpful so far. She has protected the Roland assets through a careful evacuation and assisted with planning. Our cooperation has reinforced my opinion that she is strangely attractive to men though this in itself is not an issue, as she has done nothing to harm our efforts. Quite the contrary, in fact. "Can I get your crossbow?" "You know that if you die, it was all for nothing." "And I will not leave the shield, but I can still be useful. I can shoot." In a way, I understand her. She needs a symbolic kill. "Very well. You remember how to operate it?" "I was there when you taught Melusine." "Indeed," I reply as I give her my weapon as well as the spare ammunition. Then, I turn to a stump not far away from us and point at it. "Aim at¡ª" The upper part of the stump explodes in a shower of splinters. "As I was about to say," I drily comment to the embarrassed Courtier, "watch out for the sensitive trigger and aim a bit low." "Sorry." "There will be plenty of targets. Make sure you do not shoot our allies." She nods and I continue on my way until I stand at the edge of the barricade. The troops are arrayed in three circles covered by shields, with the largest one in the center and occupied by Frost. The packs may be freed, but the ferals could just disperse and become a significant danger for the population and for Blake whose duty it is to cull them. We need to take down as many as we can before they split up. Only a minute has passed since our arrival and already, the horde is coming. In front of us, the aura of a multitude of supernatural creatures blows like a strange wind, bringing with it a jumble of emotions. While still impressive, it lacks the terrifying pressure of yesterday''s assault. The sense of unity is gone. Behind us, another aura grows. Once, I stepped into a cavern while a blizzard was raging outside. The cavern was sheltered from the wind and only the back of my skull was buffeted by a furious gale. This is how I feel now. The spell Frost is building writhes inside of his circle with terrifying power, like a cannon aimed outward. I can see the glow of the fuse, but not the darkness of the muzzle. It is not aimed at me. For once. The forest moves in front of us as massive shapes crash against trees. The fastest ferals sprint ahead of the rest. I remove a pistol, aim, and fire, catching a frontrunner in the eye. All around us, the soldiers fire as soon as they have a shot. There is no point in massed volleys here. We are just trying not to get overwhelmed. Many of the bullets find a target and slow down the onslaught. Spells and the occasional bolt bring down attackers as fast as they appear until a large group bursts out in front of us. "Fireball!" Melusine screams, and a small explosion lands in their midst. Around me, soldiers switch from their empty muskets to grenades and lob them in front of us. The multiple explosions catch more ferals, killing some of them. Then the first foe jumps over the barricade into my waiting arms. Finally. I have been so very THIRSTY. GRAB CLAW. GRAB MUZZLE. SUBJUGATE. EXPOSE. BITE. Delicious. I Devour the creature in a second and send its corpse flying back over the barricade. I made a bit of a mess this time, I realize. Hm. That was completely on purpose for the sake of intimidation. "Are you going to be less catty now that you have had your fill?" a voice asks. FILL? "I am just getting started." The three shields manifest themselves as the first creatures slam into them, pushed back by silver bullets and bayonets. No one remains outside, except for me. STAB. MAIM. CLAW. They come one after the other just to die, unable to go beyond their bloodlust. I drag one more to Devour it after killing its two neighbors. The transparent energy shields waver. "Ariane!" I roll inside a circle as more and more bodies press against the overtaxed defenses. WEREWOLF. Hold on, that one is mine. No killing. STINKS. No. MINE. NO KILLING. To my side, Frost sighs deeply and stretches his arms to his side. All three shields flash a deep blue and the ferals recoil in pain. Incredible power saturates the inner part of the circle I stand in. The raw strength of the ritual electrifies my skin and burns my lungs. Slowly, Frost rises in the air, momentarily free of the bonds of this world. A beatific smile spreads on the old man''s face and his skin lights from within as it loses its wrinkly appearance. His hair and beard turn to silk, radiating the white of the dawn of a winter sun and when he opens his eyes, they shine in the darkness of the night like two faraway stars. He speaks and his voice is a murmur that smothers all other sounds. From the wolves to us to the trees and the very wind, the entirety of creation falls silent. "Cover, cover, the world over, Extinguish now their every light Hear thee my plea, heart of winter And share with them your endless night. Polaris." Light dims. The moon disappears behind some conjured darkness but I care not because Frost is all I can see and he is beautiful. From his extended hands, water streams and expands until it covers the spheres in a veil the color of sapphire. The liquid shudders to reflect its master''s eagerness as droplets stream up to the skies in defiance of the laws of nature. In less than a second, the watery blanket has reached an appreciable thickness. So thick it is, that the outside appears to us as if it had sunk to the depths of the ocean. Frost''s preparations are complete and I feel the pendulum of fate at the end of its swing. The tension has reached its paroxysm and now, the steel ball is on its way back. Frost throws both hands in a clawing gesture. The blue surface explodes outwards in a silent boom and the tinkling sound of shattered crystal. The wave expands, as unstoppable as the tide, until it disappears from my senses. The shields lower and light returns. I shiver with pleasure at the magnificent sight before us. We stand in a garden of statues. Ferals in all poses lay about, frozen for all of eternity, this one chasing, that one lunging, captured in the moment. I feast my eyes on this incredible sight and the beauty of their deep blue prisons. Translucent spikes of crystalline solids jut from their unmoving forms, giving the statues the appearance of some icy creatures trapped in strange amber. The spectacle is so very alien that none dare speak first among our ranks. We just stand there, facing a taste of the world at the end of times. Slowly, we wake up from the trance of this awesome display to realize that a half-circle of wolves peer at us from the cover of the trees, just outside of the range of the spell. They were waiting for the ferals to finish the job. The fact that they still haven''t moved is quite telling. In the middle of the assembly, the black-furred leader stands tall in an amusing attempt to look larger. I turn back to Frost and realize that his smile matches my own. He is so very attractive. And fascinating. This carnage. This¡­ conquest. He is¡­ He is worthy. RAISE. "Join us. Join us and conquer forever." The old man tilts his head. He sighs deeply and lifts a finger to my lips, touching them softly. I let him. His smile of regret tells me of his answer before he even speaks. "No." He made his choice and I respect it. "It is your turn to impress me, Ariane," he continues. I nod and take the horn from my side. I lightly jump on a frozen beam from our now pointless barricade. My audience is arrayed before me, paralyzed by indecision. I, too, would hesitate to strike after such a show of power. Let me spur them into action. I bring the horn to my mouth and take a deep breath. The artefact links with me just like the gauntlet did and I feel a great reservoir available for me to fill. I start pouring power into it and realize that it will not work. The horn is a tool designed to convey orders in a way that the cursed understand. I am not one of them, therefore reaching their minds will require the message to be as simple and unambiguous as possible. What do I want? In theory, I want control. In reality, subjugation is both impractical and dangerous. What I need is to free them. Just as I promised. Freedom. I search my memories for the feeling and find many instances of running through the woods, or riding Metis, where I felt truly free. I push into the horn and stop again. I am an idiot. It is not freedom I should go for, but liberation. Not being free, becoming free. And for that I have the perfect memory. I close my eyes. Charlotte stands close to Aintza. She is proud. She figured out our little ruse and she will gain much credit with Lady Moor for her cunning. When she tells her. She hasn''t done so yet. She came alone. Her mistake becomes obvious to her as I show my fangs, as I jump on her back and push her weak body into the mud where it belongs. I am strong, and smart, and I have ALLIES. WARDEN WEAK. PACK STRONG. FIGHT AND BE FREE. BREAK THE CHAINS. BOW TO NO ONE. The horn sounds over the plain in a single note, pure and mighty. The branches shiver and powdery snow fills the air. A tantalizing taste fills their mind. It speaks to them of running through the empty land with the others, the weight of their curse temporarily lifted from their shoulders. It reminds them of a better time when they found acceptance in a new family. One that understood their burden and lessened it through shared experience. It speaks of a future in which it happens again. They merely need to seize it. The first to change is a massive leader with a grey pelt. His transformation is the most impressive of all as cracks and groans lead him to expand his frame until he dwarfs even Olaf. A hundred pairs of malice-filled eyes turn to the Black Peak Pack''s bunched group, their torturers, jailers and rapists. The grey werewolf roars and it carries with it a mountain of torment that demands retribution. The next minute is one more incredible show in a night that was filled with them. The freed packs fall on their enemy with unparalleled hatred. They literally tear them apart in their fury. They leave no survivors. After the massacre is done, the fighters split up, gathering into little groups of naked bodies hugging each other for comfort. Cries of relief cover the plain once more as we watch without a word. The grey leader ignores them. He steps to the barricade with confidence, transforming back mid-stride which is, I assume, a rather impressive performance. The naked man before me stops at the edge of a log. He has short brown hair and expressive chestnut eyes. His squarish jaw and heroic face give him the appearance of a tragic hero. He sniffs the air and turns his attention to me. "Let''s talk." Chapter 96 - 93. The Smell of Victory. I regret everything. "For the love of all that is precious STOP SNIFFING ME!" "But it''s so strange¡­" "NO SNIFFING!" "Eep!" The tiny woman jumps back with a stricken look, but not for long. A man taps her on the shoulder and she turns with a smile. He is naked. Regrets. So many regrets. I agreed to follow the big grey werewolf back to his encampment with the rest of the horde in order to discuss what would follow. I will admit that my unwillingness to negotiate terms with a butt-naked individual in the middle of a statuary of frozen corpses played a big role in my decision. I thought it better to talk while the euphoria of their newfound liberty lifted their hearts. That was a mistake. First, my smell is apparently strange to them. It allows me to walk among their numbers without being perceived as an intruder, an advantage that my allies do not share and the reason why I left them behind. The other side of the medal is that they are rather curious. The most daring specimens challenge my personal space to sample the goods and only my unflappable countenance has allowed me to spare their miserable lives. How dare they! I am not a slab of meat! Gah! And the odd inquisitive wolf is the least of my worries. To be fair there are only a handful of them, they are harmless, and they leave when prompted. The main problem is¡­ Frankly, I should have anticipated it. Sex is a great activity, in general, a true celebration of life and pleasure. Its practice is somewhat limited by a combination of factors, such as babies which werewolves cannot carry to term, diseases which they are immune to, and social constraints which they are devoid of. As a result, a great celebration is occurring in the surrounding tents, with no concern given to propriety or, indeed, keeping one''s voice down. And as if things were not bad enough, they STINK. By the Watcher the situation is deteriorating every time a sweaty, naked, aroused ruffian lifts a tent flap to switch groups! My poor nose! After an interminable walk, we finally reach the command pavilion. Thanks to my indomitable will, I resist the urge to leave this forsaken place, find the highest tree I can and hug it like a Christmas ornament. Enclosed space. A central table with a map surrounded by seats covered in fur. A few chests. A stench like no others, a mix of wet dog, sweaty genitals, and INTRUDER. I should have taken a perfumed handkerchief. "Now that we''re¡ª" "First things first, wear some damn pants!" I hiss. The man stares at me with his sad brown eyes and I realize the overwhelming gap between us. He has been through a lot in the past few weeks, for sure, while for me fighting for my life while embroiled in cutthroat politics and diplomacy is just another Thursday. Perhaps, for efficiency''s sake, I should cut him some slack. After he covers his nads. With a heavy sigh, the new leader grabs a pair of leather pants and pulls them on. They look dirty. He picked them from the ground! They are not even his size! Stop thinking about it too much, Ariane, that way lies insanity. Pah! Pah pah pah. "Better?" the man asks coldly. "Somewhat. You wanted to talk, so talk," I declare. Blake gave me leave to negotiate in her name, provided that her bottom line is respected. In that case, it means all of the wolves leaving her territory posthaste. Besides that, I am free to negotiate the terms I see fit. And now that we are finally settled, of course, he remains silent. I use this opportunity to study this new addition to the list of people I am supposed to pay attention to. The grey werewolf is interesting. He is not what I expected from an improvised leader, especially not one who was the first to throw himself at his captors. His eyes are too soft and his expression too melancholic for a warrior, though with his square jaw and bulging muscles, he might just cut it. Seriously, I could hammer a steel ingot on those abdominals. And yet, he looks more like the doomed prince of a dying duchy, staring at the ocean from the battlements of his crumbling fortress with only an old butler and a few dogs for company. I should probably slow down on reading Jimena''s novels. I fear that they might be affecting my judgement. As I was inspecting him, my interlocutor had been dreamily staring into the distance. His musings are interrupted by someone tossing the tent''s flap aside to get in. I turn around to see a naked woman, flushed with lust and ambition. Our eyes meet and she bares her teeth. I deploy my aura, crushing her under its murderous pressure. "Don''t try me," I state. The intruder lowers her head before skulking back. I return my attention to the pack''s de facto leader with increasing annoyance. "Keep your people under control." "We men do not interfere in power struggles between the fairer sex." "I am not one of yours." "You are not completely out, either," he calmly observes. His manners are mild and his voice mellow and I find myself lowering my guard. "It''s the smell. Your scent is¡­" Never mind my previous reflection. "If you tell me I smell weird one more time¡­" "My apologies. We obviously started on the wrong footing¡ª" Understatement of the century. "¡ªand I propose that we begin anew. My name is Augustus Jennings of the now-defunct Deepwood Pack. Whom do I have the honor of addressing?" "Ariane of the Nirari." Augustus waits some more as if expecting me to go off with ''high queen of Northumbria, the unwashed, medical doctor'' and so on. When no such thing occurs, he resumes the conversation. "You are a vampire, correct? A master?" "Yes." "Well, what do you know of our kind?" "You taste delicious." Ah. Oops? Not very diplomatic, Ariane. "Besides that?" the man grumbles. "You headed north and split into groups you call packs. Being in one balances the curse, somehow. All was well until a man calling himself Fenris and leading a band called the Black Peak Pack started to subjugate everyone. Now you are more or less united under him, due to a mix of fear and the power of the skalds. Fenris decided to expand south and here we are." "Brief, if not entirely inaccurate. You are still missing an important part of the puzzle." Augustus looks into the horizon, broody and dreamy. I roll my eyes. Why does he have to be so dramatic? "What we know, we gathered from fragments of journals and ancient parchment yellowed by age over the centuries, a thankless task to find the source of the curse and the cause of our torment." I don''t caaaaaaaaaare. "Our dreadful tale begins during the darkest period of the hundred-year war, in the French region of Auvergne." Someone please shoot me. "A mage of considerable power weaved a dread curse, a thing so horrid and devastating that it twisted the very human form which should have remained sacrosanct. As for its purpose, we shall never know, but some suspect that it was used to punish an entire family¡­" the man continues in a pained whisper. Why would he assume that I would be interested? I just want to hammer out an agreement and head out. Aaaaaa if only I could just bite him and be done, but a meek leader of werewolves is of no use. "When the curse was made, our tormentor committed a fatal mistake. In their urge to spread destruction, they forced an instinct on the cursed: we disable our prey then move on to the next one, only to return to finish them off after no one is left standing. This turned against their intention as many wounded recovered enough to hide and thus survive the onslaught, and so our curse has spread throughout the world like a dreadful plague, causing the death of thousands." I must look like an attentive audience. That must be it. "Now, and for the first time in history, we have a chance to turn our lives around, but to do so we must make peace with the curse, with the trapped wolf in our soul, and to do so we must adopt some of the beast''s social habits." "I assume you have a point?" I ask, utterly out of patience. "I do," the man replies unamused, "it relates to us and the way we work as a group. Many of the rules we follow are taken from the behavior of wolves. That means that we do not delegate authority as a government would. The army arrayed against York is it." "What?" "It. All the remaining werewolves in the northern territories. Three hundred of them, give or take. It will take more than a few of your kind to hold back this tide. I am willing to guide the werewolves of this group north if you give us enough provisions and if you promise not to go after us." I widen my eyes in surprise, then I realize I cannot help it. I laugh. I am being vulgar and my fangs are showing but I cannot stop. This man! What a great comedian! "Oh dear, how precious. You are simply too much." "I assure you that¡ª" he begins. I move over the table, stopping only a few inches away from him and hit him fully with my Charm. I take the strand of apprehension, the one that is born of the knowledge of what I am, what I did, and feed my aura into it until it turns into a fat worm of terror. My claws dig into the wood below, which creaks torturously. "You are in no position to demand, boy," I hiss. Augustus jumps back with a curse. To his credit, he gets his fear under control faster than I have ever seen. From what I can tell, the curse fights back, somehow. It releases him from my influence with the utmost speed. I lean back and smile, pretending that his newfound courage is simply me releasing my hold on his emotions. His resistance to my power matters little when bluffs and manipulation can achieve so much. "Do not think us defeated, vampire," he retorts as his voice trembles ever so slightly, "we still have¡ª" "I have the horn, and I can operate it," I interrupt. That shuts him up. Good. "You are the shambling leader of a defeated and brittle band of disposable soldiers. Yesterday you could field dozens of ferals. Tonight, you have none. Yesterday your army had a skald and a warlord at their head. Tonight, well, there is you." I sneer. Augustus grits his teeth, but he does not reply. "You also wrongly assume that I care what happens to the population of York." "You do not?" he replies, half-surprised and half-scandalized. "You may consider them as rivals, of sorts. In fact, the best solution for me now would be to let them suffer so much that our knights must intervene while I wipe you out to the last." "You cannot. We will--" Augustus stops abruptly. I have the horn. I can use it. The terrible artifact is the crux of our negotiations. It places me in a position of strength from which I can demand much with little in return. "You can no longer stop me," I observe, "if you fight, I will disable then slaughter the packs. You scatter, and I will pick you off band by band, wolf by wolf, until I have drained every man, woman, and juvenile. We are discussing the terms of your surrender, Augustus. Do not provoke me again." The man leans back in his seat, contemplative. He displays no sign of giving up and I can practically see the gear turning behind his distant eyes. I respect him for it, and for not giving in despite the circumstances. If he were not so much of an insufferably stinky mutt, I could see us cooperate. "You do not smell like a leader. You cannot change or direct the curse like I can either, even with your newest toy, and besides, you do not strike me as another slaver. There must be something we can do for each other that you could not get with just the horn. Why don''t you tell me?" "Tut tut," I reply with amusement, "my newest toy is you, Augustus, and as for what I want, why, it is power of course. Let me explain¡­" In a few sentences, I describe the context while remaining intentionally vague about the current standing of the participating Houses. "¡­ best solution would be for me to save my kin in York and bring a long-term solution to the werewolf problem. My victory would be assured." The leader crosses his arms, always a bad sign in a conversation. At first, I take it that he is averse to cooperating but soon realize my mistake: he is revolted. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. "So, that is what this is all about to you. A political game." "Everything is a political game when more than three people are involved, boy. Spare me the theatrics. Now, are you willing to assist me, yes or no?" "You seriously want us to take down Fenris, Maul and Rolf?" "Of course not, I do not believe you to be capable of such a feat. I expect you to assist me while I take care of it myself. Do so, and I will help you in returning to your homes, wherever they may be." I already made that commitment to Jeffrey. It costs me little to simply repeat it. "Ariane of the Nirari, my people have suffered a terrible ordeal. They are weakened and wounded." Somewhere nearby, a couple screams in the thrall of a particularly intense orgasm. Augustus winces while I show no reaction. Still annoyed, I raise a finger to interrupt him as he is about to resume his impassioned plea. "You do not know much about my kind, do you?" "Knowledge is sparse, and for good reasons," he replies defensively. I imagine that we do not eagerly share the specifics of our nature. Quite the contrary, in fact. "Then let me enlighten you in a concise manner. We are arrogant, territorial, and deadly apex predators who do not care in the slightest about your freedom or, indeed, your continued survival. What you are doing is useless, because we are only vaguely aware of the mercy you are appealing to. We do not do charity. We do deals. Give me the incentive I need, and I will assist you, otherwise you are wasting both our times. Am I being clear?" "Crystal clear," the man grumbles, his eyes shining dangerously. I will let it go so long as he does not provoke me further. "It changes little," he continues, "we cannot stand against Fenris and his groups. They are three times our numbers. Attacking them is suicide." "We do not have to defeat the army in battle, we just need a path to those three," I reply. Augustus shakes his head, then returns his attention to me. "I need to think of a plan, Ariane of the Nirari. Would you consent to reconvening tomorrow evening?" And giving him the time to recover or even split up the packs? Not a chance in hell. S~ea??h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "If I leave this tent without a formal pact between us, I am coming back with the horn and my silver spear. None of you will see the dawn." Augustus growls. His eyes shine in the light of the tent''s single lantern as his teeth sharpen. I hiss back with fangs displayed. With what appears to be a supreme effort at self-control, he leans back into his throne. Good puppy. "Has anyone ever told you that you are difficult to deal with?" "No one who mattered," I sweetly reply. Silence. Augustus twines his fingers and closes his eyes. They flutter against their lids as their owner desperately looks for a way out, while outside, the sounds of revel continue unabated. The werewolves celebrate their newfound freedom with unbridled enthusiasm, unaware of its fragility. Behind the scene, a lone man has shouldered the burden of responsibility. He must complete a deal or the cries of ecstasy will soon turn to screams of horror, and then, silence. In a way I appreciate his self-control and dedication. I could almost respect him if he did not stink so much. And if he wore pants without being prompted. And if he were not so dramatically broody. Ah well. "How well can you use the horn?" he suddenly asks. "I can convey emotions through it," I reply with a shrug. The horn is a makeshift blood magic focus, not exactly the most elaborate tool. "What did it feel like, when you heard my call?" I ask, suddenly curious. His eyes glaze over as he reminisces. His voice grows distant. "Like I was almost there, almost free. I could feel it. I was so close. I only needed to reach out and kill that last person in the way." He turns his eyes to me, gauging. "Your emotions are more abstract than ours when we are changed. Freedom remains a human concept, after all, and our equivalent would be the ability to move freely. That is not the same thing. The horn still called us, but it did so from above instead of from within, if that makes sense." I understand that even our instincts do not operate on the same level. "If you can truly reproduce this effect then we may have a chance to both complete your main objective and avoid a wholesale slaughter." "Do tell," I answer as I lean over the table. "The horn''s call goes beyond the mere physical. You must have felt it too." "As if reality itself echoed the sound?" "Precisely. A call occupies space like sound normally cannot. When a skald uses the horn, there will be a delay before another can impart the world with another meaning. Blowing the horn also exhausts the skalds quickly. I believe that if we time it right, we may be able to use it to our advantage." "What did you have in mind?" "If we manage to approach Fenris'' camp undetected and blow the horn first, we will have a few minutes of initiative before they can bring their own skalds and numbers to bear. Within that time, we must break our way through their ranks until we reach Fenris. There, I will issue a formal challenge." "A challenge?" "Yes. I will fight him for dominance." "Hold on," I interrupt, "if it were that easy, why did you not do it before?" "Were you not paying attention?" he snarls, "the skalds stole everything from us, including our drive to be free. I did not challenge him because they robbed me of the will to do so." I frown, keenly aware of the many holes in that plan. "How confident are you that you can take him on?" "If I commit to it, I will kill him. Don''t ask me how," he replies with a confidence that I am tempted to call undue. It does seem simple. Carve a path through an unsuspecting foe until we reach their leaders, then let the big wolf sort his differences. I see three loss conditions. If we are detected, the breakthrough will fail, and our troops will break against superior numbers. If we manage to charge but not to pierce, then the same thing will happen. If we succeed but Augustus loses the fight, the plan fails as well. In all three cases, the enemy army takes over the defeated pack and even if I survive, then a loss will deal a fatal blow to my chances at winning the contest. On the other hand, Fenris is in York. If the Cadiz manage to eliminate him, they will have solved the werewolf problem for the time being, and won the contest. I still cannot think of a better plan and time is not on my side. I simply need to make this one workable. Vampires can eliminate the scouts ahead of the army while Frost covers our approach. My allies would be in front while I stay with the werewolves. It could work. For the breakthrough, I would simply need to convey the right feelings and stay at the tip of the formation. As for the duel, I need to know more before I commit. Fortunately, Jeffrey should be an excellent source of information considering that he never shuts up. "Very well," I finally answer, "we will go for your plan and if it succeeds, I will take the survivors under my protection and allow them to return to their lands, even if it puts me at odds with other vampires." I am confident that Constantine would approve of any problem-solving that does not involve a bloodbath. As for what the Cadiz may think of this agreement, I do not give a damn. "Please note that my protection only extends to the packs present here, not those assaulting York," I finish. Augustus considers my words for a long time. Eventually, he licks his lips and turns confrontational once more. "I swear on my honor and the pack that I will abide by your terms, with two more conditions. You will not use my people as cannon fodder." "Some will die during the fight," I observe. "You know what I mean." "I do. And yes, I will not send them to a pointless death." "And second, no sexual abuse." I pause at the enormity of his declaration. "I beg your pardon?" I reply, outraged. "You heard me. You will not abuse your authority to gain sexual favors from my people while we work together," he firmly replies. I¡­ What? No, I get where this is coming from but still! Me! And¡­ Seriously? "Let me be perfectly clear. I would rather stab myself in the liver with a rusty iron spike and greet the sun from atop a pile of manure than lie with you, or anyone else on this encampment!" I hiss, irate. What do they take me for? I have standards! And my heart is taken. Augustus turns curiously contemplative. "I do not believe I have ever been that forcefully rejected." "And I am delighted to be expanding your horizons." "Is it a race thing?" "Yes. You stink." Augustus flexes his biceps and sniffs his armpit. Then, he shrugs. "Aaaand I''m off. We reconvene tomorrow at dusk. Good night, sir! I say, good night!" I declaim on my way out. Outside, I take a deep breath and come to the realization that, like most things, stench is relative. In the open ground, the smell of wet dog is barely tolerable. "Hey bosswoman, you''re here. This is June, my packmate. She''s a sweetheart. Say hi, June!" With a perfect poker face, I push my exasperation to the back of my mind and greet my future little informer with a genial smile. I phase out his incessant drone and take a moment to inspect his companion. June is slightly taller than him with the honest face of a farm girl. She seems a bit dazed and wears an ill-fitting shirt that looks hastily put on. It reveals one of her shoulders and the lower part of her stomach. Interestingly, female werewolves appear to share similarities with their male counterparts. June is lean and muscular but she is also lithe. Her body reminds me of Nami''s: all vine-like cords hinting at the power underneath, yet still feminine and seductive. She lacks her grace and polish, however. I would still enjoy having her as a model. It is not every day that I get to paint bodies like hers. Come to think of it I should ask Augustus too, as he is rather fetching. I shall just have to make sure it happens somewhere with a strong air current. "Yeah, so are you heading back to the city?" Jeffrey finally asks. "Yes, would you care to join me?" I have an inkling that werewolves have enhanced senses. It would be easier to interrogate my new minion away from prying ears. We would not want to be interrupted. "Finally! A bed, in a real bedroom! We can have a bed, right?" the boy asks, excited. Ahem. A month ago, I had dreams of becoming the queen of North America, the head of an assembly of lords and ladies united in our desire for independence and uninterrupted dinners. Now, I am trading information on some werewolf against a room with a roof on top. How the tables have turned. I gaze up at the Watcher and feel more amusement than usual. Have a nice laugh at my expense you big celestial dolt. You are lucky not to be a giant nose. Imagine that. The Smeller. Heh. "Bosswoman?" "Yes, you can have a bed, Jeffrey. And even share it with your lady friend. Now come on." I declare as I take my leave, "AND STOP SNIFFING ME!" The trip back goes smoothly. I easily step over the fresh-fallen snow while they happily walk through it with unexpected grace. I had imagined that werewolves would just break their way through the thick white layer like plow horses, but I was just being unduly dismissive. They know how to move. Jeffrey is not the kind of man I need to crack open. Instead, he is so open I need to slow him down and sort through the drivel for the occasional nugget of wisdom. I need a direct approach. "What can you tell me about Augustus Jennings?" "Augustus Jennings? The moody twin? Figures. I told June, I did. I told her; he will step up to do the job if there is no one else. Didn''t I, June?" "Ah? Huh," she grumbles. The girl seems a bit out of it. I suspect that something is wrong in her, and she does not look like she was the sharpest knife in the drawer to begin with. "Anyway. Augustus. He''s Thomas'' twin. Did I ever tell you about Thomas Jennings?" "You did not." "Alright. When Fenris started to take over, not everyone remained passive. There was this guy, Thomas. He tried to gather packs around him. He was not as quick or efficient as Fenris but he did start to get a following. Instead of coming and beating the crap out of the local leader, he would try to convince people and sometimes do helpful stuff like killing the weird animals himself. You know about those?" "Like a giant crocodile who can hide its presence?" I answer, recalling the first time I met Loth. We hunted a few abnormal creatures after that, but nothing came close in terms of danger or intensity. Those hunts bring me no reward either. I cannot drink bear blood. "I guess it would be a crocodile down south huh. Never seen one o'' those myself. We have grizzlies, normal wolves and the odd elk. Mostly. Anyway, at some point he disappeared while escorting a caravan to some forts. The pack he was helping got immediately absorbed by the Black Peaks. My bet is that they ambushed him as he was alone and did him in." And so, the na?ve hero falls. I am not even remotely surprised. "If they assassinated Thomas, why not kill Augustus as well?" "Huh? But why would they? He was not the leader. Thomas was." I stare into his guileless face for any sign of humor. Alas, I find none. "Are you serious?" I still ask, incredulous. "Hm, yeah? That''s the story anyway. They were not from my pack." "Are you telling me that Fenris assassinated Thomas but left his twin alive? Would he take that risk?" "Hmm, I''m not sure I follow. Is it a vampire thing?" "It''s a commonsense thing! If you behead an organization by slaying its leader, you also kill off his identical sibling! I understand leaving the children alone but come on, a twin?" Both werewolves stare at me with equal expressions of bovine bafflement. After scratching his dirty scalp for a few seconds, Jeffrey''s eyes widen as he finally understands. I hope. "Ah, it''s because you think Augustus was a leader too!" There is no hope. "I need to explain then, bosswoman. You see, there are three kinds of werewolves'' behaviors and a leader is only one of them. When you''re a leader like me, your transformed body gets bigger and brawnier and you have to show people what to do, where to go, take care of everyone. That sort of thing. Then there are the followers like June here." She nods briefly then returns her gaze to the snow before her feet. "Most of us act as followers. A good follower reduces the burden on the leader and also makes him stronger. June is really good at it." June''s support must contribute to his surprising mass, though I suspect that the curse also plays a role. I find myself more and more curious about them. I would never have imagined that they could develop their own culture and hierarchy. "Then there are the outsiders," Jeffrey continues. "They don''t need to be in a pack to keep the curse under control and having them around is relaxing." "How so?" "I''m not sure. It just feels like all the little things that usually piss you off don''t matter that much anymore and you can think more clearly." So, an outsider restores their mind to a semblance of functionality. I need to get myself one of those. And soap. "Come to think of it, I believe Alistair mentioned something of the sort. He was an outsider to be traveling alone." "He was?" Jeffrey adds, suddenly more energetic, "then maybe he survived! Outsiders are the rarest of our kind. They are too valuable to kill off. Maybe he''s kept somewhere?" "Perhaps¡­" I reply noncommittally. Alistair was certainly the least irritating werewolf I ever dealt with. I would certainly prefer to deal with him than the others. Hold on. I was trying to get information on Augustus! Misled again! "Jeffrey, Augustus seems sure that he can provoke Fenris to a duel and win. What do you think?" The young werewolf stops behind me, soon imitated by June. I turn back and am forced to look up to him as we are currently walking downhill. From that angle and with his contemplative gaze, I believe that I am catching a glimpse into what kind of adult he will grow up to be. He appears more composed. Calmer, somehow. "There were rumors about Thomas. They said that he was invincible in direct combat. Maybe that''s why Fenris didn''t challenge him like he did everyone else. But that''s the thing, Augustus used to be an outsider, so I don''t know if it''s confidence or wishful thinking." "You can change roles?" I ask with surprise. Our own hierarchies are much more static. "We change roles all the time, yeah, though mostly it''s between leader and follower. It can even happen without a challenge!" "I see. And you never saw him fight?" "Did you not look at him during the brawl, earlier?" Jeffrey asks with some surprise. "I was checking our perimeter," I explain. Jeffrey looks askance, as if he had never heard the expression before. "He was strong," June speaks for the first time. Her voice is raspy and a bit slow, yet it is perfectly clear too. "He tore through Olaf without effort. I watched him do so. It was¡­ not pleasant. He was too cold." She shivers, and the pair remains lost in thoughts for a few moments before Jeffrey recovers his usual smile. "He looked almost sad. Not very werewolfy, if you ask me!" Nobody did. "You have not answered my question," I observe tiredly. "What question?" I sigh. "Do you think Augustus has a chance of winning against Fenris." "A chance? Yeah. After seeing him fight, I think he has a chance against anybody." We spend the rest of the trip in silence, and soon join back with the others. Melusine and Blake both frown to see that I have two mutts in tow now, but they do not comment on it in front of the mortals. A brief discussion is all we need to align on what to do. Blake will stay here and manage the city, including the cleanup of the frozen corpse garden. As she requests, I agree to leave the wolf slayer with her until the current crisis is resolved. I can tell that she really likes it, and plan on offering her a custom version as long as I get the time to forge it. As for the rest of us, we will be going. Frost is satisfied with the slaughter he caused and is quite eager to see if he can add a few more notches to his already massive kill count. He and Melusine will clear our approach while I stay with the horde and make sure that they get the boost they need at the right moment. The mortals will rest for a day, then we move. As we head back to the city, I realize that, for the first time, I will go to a conflict where both sides are my enemies and attempt to rescue all of them. Truly we live in interesting times. Chapter 97 - 94. The Die is Cast I push Metis onward. The mass of wolves in quadrupedal form smells the air, then reluctantly parts before us. Their instincts, pushed by the curse, still see anything with four legs as prey. Fortunately, Metis does not behave like prey. At all. Some of the more adventurous wolves are still healing from having an ear nipped off. What can I say? Metis is a gourmet. It helps that we do not smell like their usual fare either. Finally, we arrive in front of Augustus'' personal guard, an improvised squad resulting from remnants of packs brought together by revenge. They may not be the largest specimens, but they make up for it in aggression. They refuse to give way. Metis lets out a low-pitched neigh, the flesh-eating equine equivalent of "just try me." Before someone gets hooved into the frozen ground, the man of the hour steps forth. I have to admit that he looks better now than he did a few nights ago. His exhaustion left way to dark determination and his previously messy hair is now tied back, showing his square jaw and carved cheeks to his advantage. He wears only leather pants under a jacket left open to reveal the muscular chest underneath. With his grim air and the background of frozen wastes, he looks like some barbarian king in a raunchy novel. The wind blowing at my back prevents the wolf stench from coalescing into a noxious cloud of nauseating horror, allowing me to appreciate the moment. "What is it, Ariane?" he finally asks. "We have hit a hurdle and will need to conduct some measure of diplomacy. Your presence would be appreciated," I state. Interestingly, Augustus will never take any orders, especially not in public. Even the most sensible instructions are answered by a silent glare. A well-formulated request will always come across, however. In this regard, he is abnormally rational. It makes communicating with him both easy and difficult. This time again, he can read between the lines. A nod and a raised fist are all it takes for his personal guard to split before him and open us a path back. The horde stops in the valley behind us as we move up the slope to a line of pines tucked along a ridge. Frost, Melusine and Melitone are waiting for us at the edge. Only Melusine and I are mounted right now, on our respective Nightmares. We all wear armor, even Melitone who will definitely not take part in the fight despite her insistence that she can take care of herself. "Are we ready?" I ask. "Yeah, let''s do this," the Servant replies with hunger in her eyes. Being sidelined from the conflict is eroding her patience, which I understand only too well. I take the center with Mel and Augustus to my right and Melusine and Frost to my left. The valley''s pale light disappears as the snow-covered branches progressively block off the sky. Frost picks a pair of glasses from his pocket and casually places them on his nose, looking like a distinguished entomologist on a hike, never mind the cold. The stomping of hooves heralds their coming. Five shapes emerge from the gloom, appearing seamlessly from behind trees as if they had been there all along. Lamellar armors, gruesome weapons, and dark expressions to match. Knights. More specifically, the usual squad plus Jimena. Sergei of the Kalinin is the only one mounted on a Nightmare covered in mail. He himself wears a helm and carries with him a long spear. A massive two-handed axe hangs from his back. The rest of his team has not changed much. Alec is still stoic, Alaric still smiling playfully with his hands twirling daggers and Aisha gives no sign of recognizing me, eyes fixed forwards and face covered by her veil. No one knows yet that the Amaretta vampire and I are allied. "I think you owe us some sort of explanation," Sergei begins. "I don''t owe you anything," I immediately retort in English, then stop when Jimena discreetly coughs. Her light protest curbs my anger. She is right, this is no time to be arguing. We are on a schedule. "However," I continue, "for the sake of cooperation, I will gladly inform you that we are on the way to Fenris'' horde to kill him." Sergei''s glance stops on Augustus who studiously ignores him, then on the dense formation of transformed wolves down on the plain. They sit patiently on their haunches, looking towards where we disappeared with eerie focus, a sea of eyes twinkling in the moonlight. "You are bringing an army of werewolves next to another army of werewolves and expect them to fight each other," he observes, and I recognize his use of English as a courtesy. "Yes." "Is your confidence based on facts?" "They have done it before," I reply, not particularly surprised by the knight''s distrust. I notice that while Anatole was immediately dismissive, Sergei is merely dubious. My instincts tell me that he could be convinced. "You there," the haughty knight says as he addresses the werewolf, "will you really fight your own kind?" An awkward silence descends on the assembly as Augustus stares Sergei in the eyes. His bravery is commendable, if foolish. I have not tried to dominate Augustus and I have no doubt that his status as leader affords him some degree of protection, but against a Master? I would not bet on it. I intervene before the pissing contest degenerates and we accidentally end up at odds with some of the deadliest fighters on the continent. "My dear Augustus, would you kindly inform sir knight as to what you intend to do to Fenris once we reach his horde, please?" "My packs will open the path, then I will face Fenris in single combat and slay him. With the horde under my control, we will return north." "No you won''t," Sergei retorts. "Yes, he will," I pointedly insist. "Are you betraying us, Devourer? These creatures killed several of us!" "You are mistaken, Sergei. They killed several Rolands." "If I may, Ariane?" Melitone interrupts with a pleasant voice, "as Constantine''s representative in this matter, I believe I can bring this disagreement to a close." She turns to Sergei, whose expression has become more guarded. His caution is soon proven to be warranted. "The Speaker mandated Ariane to protect Detroit and bring the werewolf invasion to a close. I judge that Ariane''s plan to dethrone Fenris and disband his army not only satisfies the Roland request, it does so in a way that significantly reduces the risks of further casualties on our forces. She acts under our orders and with our approval." "The werewolves united once; they can do so again! We should purge as many as we can now, or they will spread again like an infestation!" Sergei retorts. "You can do so on your own free time. Our current objective is liberation, not extermination." "The objective changed when the knight squad¡ª" the knight spits, before being interrupted by Melitone taking a step forward. Sergei frowns in disapproval before realizing who she speaks for. "Constantine said you might react this way. He also said that under the Accords, which your organization agreed on respecting while you operate on our territories, Speaker-mandated missions take precedence over knight authority. He added, and I quote, ''if Sergei has difficulties understanding the standing agreement, I will be compelled to travel north and explain it to him in person.'' I will add that not only will it be an extremely unpleasant experience, he is also currently working on guardian golems for your Carpathian fortress. Who knows what unforeseen delays the project would face if he were to be disturbed?" Frost and Augustus look on with interest as the knight squad leader grits his teeth. The number of hostile factions I am supposed to assist just bumped to three. Watcher grant me patience, I just want to eat them all and be done. I can tell that Sergei has reached a decision when he slowly relaxes the death grip on his spear. "I suppose it will be up to us to deal with the consequences of your short-sightedness, as usual. In the meanwhile, please do share your strategy so that we may coordinate." Progress. Such as it is. I explain the plan in English. The knights all stare in the distance as they attempt to visualize what we intend to do, except Jimena who looks positively ecstatic. "I must admit that it sounds both simple and actionable," Sergei says after a delay, "I do have a few reservations." "Do tell," I reply, expecting more nonsense. "First, how can you be sure that the horn won''t affect the other wolves? Would it not be counterproductive to make them stronger?" "It won''t affect them the same way a firebolt does not explode in your face. Magic is about intent. Besides, it already worked once." Sergei nods and his gaze lingers on the artifact slung over my shoulders. I will have to be careful after the battle if I want to keep my word, which I do. If I can operate the horn, perhaps he can as well. "Very well," Sergei continues, "I was also wondering why you have to charge through the ranks. Can your champion not simply issue a challenge?" "I will take that one," Augustus interrupts. To my surprise, Sergei lets him. "Fenris is a snake. He will delay us until he can have his skald blow the horn in turn. The only reliable way to force him to duel is through a violent challenge that he cannot ignore." "I see. One last question: how certain are you that you can defeat him?" "Completely so. I have seen him fight before." I did not know. Augustus has remained tight-lipped about his past and I have not pried. I just hope that his confidence is warranted. Our whole plan hinges on it. Well not entirely. If he loses the fight, I will assassinate his head skald then flee through Augustus'' horde before Fenris can turn it on me. This course of events will most likely eliminate me from the contest, and yet I am committed now, and the appearance of the knights only confirms that I made the right choice. With their assistance, Lazaro will succeed then claim that he eliminated the werewolf threat. It will matter little that he had their help. No, I must gamble. I hate this. I prefer to approach a problem patiently and then, when the circumstances are right, I can let go in full confidence. The human part of me plans and the vampire part pounces, as it should be. All this uncertainty is grating on my nerves. "Well, I am convinced. Your rationality and flexibility impress me, Ariane." Oh, wow. What a surprise, I can be rational. Who would have thought? ¡­ I snap. All the tension of the last few days. The backstabbing, including the one I caused. The constant insults. Accommodating all those giant egos and more than that, the constant stink of the horde. And now this? "You are impressed?" I sweetly start, "Really? You are impressed? Because I came up with a viable plan? Blimey Sergei, the Devourer had a plan! It is almost as if I was not just a dumb brute! Almost as if, you know, I successfully escaped the Lancasters as a fledgling, then hid without worry for a DECADE! Protected my territory with a Dvergur fucking king and learned painting and engineering! It''s almost as if it took me repelling a FULL-SCALE INVASION, DESTROYING A CULT TO THE LAST MAN AND SLAYING THE HOLDER OF THE KEY OF BERIAH IN SINGLE COMBAT FOR YOUR CLOWNISH TWAT OF A PREDECESSOR TO FINALLY FIND ME!" I am slightly raising my voice at this stage, but I do believe that my slight annoyance is warranted. "I governed a town for twenty bloody years and destroyed a mercenary army with my own militia which I trained and equipped from scratch. I liberated a Gabrielite prison. I slew that absolute prick Lambert in a duel and drank his sorry hide dry. I have led raids and successful infiltrations, heists even! I am a demolition expert, a sharpshooter, a smith and a scholar of the magical arts. I am currently at the head of an alliance of people who would normally kill each other on sight, but no that didn''t count for shit you cockless fuckwit! The Devourer is an airhead! Oh look, she managed to tie her shoes! FUCK YOU! I AM FED UP OF NOT BEING TAKEN SERIOUSLY. DO YOU TOSSPOTS NOT BELIEVE IN RESULTS? HUH? IF YOU PAID ATTENTION TO ANYTHING I EVER DID YOU WOULD KNOW I SUCCEED MORE OFTEN THAN NOT. NOW SHUT THE FUCK UP AND FOLLOW MY PLAN AND STOP BITCHING, OR I''LL SHOVE YOUR SCRAWNY COLLECTIVE ARSES IN A NAVY GUN AND SPLATTER THEM OVER THE ATLANTIC! FUCK!" I only stop when I realize that Jimena is patiently patting my hand. She walked all the way to Metis without me realizing it. All the other vampires are staring at me with horror while Augustus looks strangely pleased. Melitone is smiling proudly and Frost has walked a few steps away, trying not to choke on his laughter. "This¡­ appears to be a sensitive topic," Sergei finally says with some hesitation. "There, there¡­" Jimena continues with an amused grin. I cannot fathom what happened. I am normally so calm, my mind turned cold by my own nature. This outburst was so very¡­ human. Perhaps I am suffering from some sort of fatigue. I remember when fighting side by side with Loth against Ascendency and their borrowed British forces. The fighting had gone on for days and towards the end, I had turned primal. Not rogue since I was still in control. Primal. All of my instincts were so close to the surface that every problem appeared as if they could be solved with overwhelming violence. I may be facing the opposite problem now. Working with the werewolves, assassinating Mornay and contending with the Cadiz indirectly are political games. I may just need a good slaughter. A battle where I do not have to run. Sergei interrupts my musings. "Ahem, yes. In any case, the plan is sound and we will support it. I will now share more about what we had planned ourselves. I perk up at this revelation as Jimena steps back and returns to her fellow knights without a word. I really love her for that: the little things she does without a word, without need for recognition. It conveys more affection than hours of discourse. "We have been helping the Cadiz for a night now. They are entrenched in a valley west of York, under siege by the army you mentioned since five days ago. Our plan was to have the vampires do a sortie, forcing a reaction from the man you called Fenris. Using that distraction, we would have flanked them and inflicted heavy losses before withdrawing. If possible, we would have killed their leaders too." "Sortie? Are they not heavily outnumbered?" Melusine asks. "Quite so, but they have mobility and a fallback position. We also lack options: the Cadiz only numbered five and lost a member on the first night. They have been conservative since then, but time is not on their side." "How did they hold for a week?" I ask with eyes narrowed. "The first thing a Cadiz does when investing a new territory is to build a fortress," Sergei patiently answers. Jimena nods to confirm this piece of information before explaining a bit more. "Fortresses start as a sort of oppidum. My clan uses logs and packed earth to create a perimeter then expands underground in a way that a handful of men can hold it for a long time. Vampires assist in the building, considerably shortening the time it would take to complete the work." I bet, considering that the average master can carry a trunk in one hand. If the Cadiz managed to create a proper tower, the werewolves will have lost the numbers advantage. I doubt that they carry any siege equipment either. We should still hurry. "Why is time not on their side?" Frost asks in turn. Sergei clearly hesitates. Rank is paramount for us, and Frost''s position is still unclear to him. Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. "Vampires need blood, more so if they are constantly fighting," I explain. "The Cadiz lost half of their mortal followers on the first night. Some are getting dangerously close to¡­ exhausting their patience," Sergei continues. The mortals may not understand the full implication of what such a loss incurs. Without an adequate supply of blood, the vampires may end up destroying the minds of their mortals and some could even turn rogue. "Can they not escape?" "The vampires may break through, if they sacrifice all of their followers." We all understand that it will not happen. "Enough questions; we need to move now. I propose that you knights proceed as planned but from another angle. The Cadiz attack first, you flank them and once both diversions are in progress, Augustus and I will charge. Melusine and Frost will cover our approach, as planned. Is this agreeable?" I ask. "It is," Sergei replies, "Aisha will signal the Cadiz to attack with a spell. We will wait a minute before engaging ourselves. You will probably face the least resistance if you wait a bit." Both Augustus and I signal our agreement. "We could be forced to disengage. Can you signal us when you attack so that we know we have held their attention for long enough?" "Oh, trust me," I reply, "you won''t miss it." For the first time since I met him, Sergei smiles. The little I can see of his mouth lifts upward and his entire demeanor changes. "It will be a pleasure to see you at work, Ariane of the Nirari. After you are done here, you should consider joining us for a spell. We could use a Vanguard of your caliber," he says. Vanguards are the knights'' combat experts. Did he just try to recruit me? I turn to Jimena who nods emphatically. Well, I could consider it in the far future. For a while. If my territory is secured. After all, they present some of the best opportunities to collect allies or blood samples. I consider the knights as they leave. We successfully coordinated in a peaceful and mostly respectful manner despite my apprehensions. Perhaps Anatole was the exception and the rest of them are not so bad that I cannot work with them. Of course, I will never fully trust them either. They did not oppose him as he was skirting the rules, after all. "Let us depart. We must still find our quarry," I tell my allies. Melusine and Frost assent and leave as Augustus and I return to the horde behind us. I can hardly believe it but with the knights on our side, our chances have significantly improved. I hope nothing comes to ruin our plan. The trip back is anticlimactic. I return at the tip of the formation where Metis is currently munching on yet another ear while Augustus returns to its heart. We move forward at a slow pace to allow the others to sweep for sentinels. Valleys lead to forests, and to ridges in turn. The night is beautiful, but I have difficulties enjoying it because of the smell and the unreliable allies at my back. The horde is incredibly quiet, for its size, yet even subdued their auras are too powerful for me to ignore them. Their constant presence weighs on my mind step after step. Only the reminder of what is to come relieves my overtaxed patience. We are going to attack. That means an all-out charge. Finally, I am done running, scheming and planning. I can let go. Soon. Finally, I hear it. A clamor of flesh and roars erupt to our right. Frost signals us from a line of trees before running to the side with his mages. The path is clear. I spot Melusine dragging a corpse away from a thicket as we enter it. Another clamor sounds, further away. The knights have entered the fray. And then we see it. The untapped wilderness falls before us in a large plain dotted with farms, all of them collapsed husks of charred wood. To our right, a mass of wolves in tight ranks face off against four flickering shades. The group tries to corner them, not committing too much while the vampires are forced to inflict superficial wounds before falling back. They are the largest group. Far away in front of us, the knights have engaged a second group of wolves, close to a hundred. They are much more brutal and effective, and several corpses already litter the ground. From the gestures, It appears that Fenris has sent the ferals to cover his flank. Finally, a bit to our left, a smaller group waits in a loose circle around a fortified encampment. Large tents and cages dot the ground and in its middle stand three men. The first sits on a throne of bone and leather, clad in a garish white pelt like a raider king. His long black hair and black beard offer a sharp contrast with light eyes and pale skin. Next to him stands a bald man with a hawkish nose and a vicious smile carrying a horn much like my own. On the other side, a veritable mountain of muscle with the face of a caveman looms menacingly. PREY. I turn to the line of wolves behind me. They are looking forward to the man on the throne with an intensity I never expected from such animalistic creatures. I feel a burning resentment, a deep-seated rage that dug into their heart and now fuels the coal of their anger. They lick their chops, hackles raised. Behind them, their leader waits. Augustus gives a single nod. They are ready. The world is waiting. The enemy skald has not used his horn in the few minutes that have passed, or he did it far enough away that it doesn''t matter. I stare at the circle below us. This is not how it should be. A leader of the pack should be among his fighters, in the thick of battle. Even I can tell that he is the wrong champion for his kind. I bring the horn to my lips. Augustus said I should be as instinctive as possible. I am no werewolf and some of the effects of the artifact will be lost. I must call to the lowest common denominator between us, and I have just the perfect memory to draw on. I close my eyes and remember. Black Harbor. Belinda is dead at my feet, her resistance shattered by a point-blank range canister shot. I drank what life still flowed in her veins and destroyed her batteries. Now, the Choctaw warriors, Dalton, Loth and I will lead the charge on the Ascendency flanks. The key of Beriah will not be theirs. The Herald dies tonight. The red-clad infantry is to our front, slightly down. They think their flanks covered. I dive more deeply into the memory, focusing on my emotions and sensations. Taste of blood. ONE PREY FELLED. ONE MORE TO DEVOUR. Night. Wind on my face. Warriors by my side. Friends. The PREY does not know that we are coming. THEY ARE WEAK. We move. It starts slowly. We march. We trot. We go faster. We are as inevitable and relentless as the tide. Back in the present, I pour my aura into the horn. I do not hold back. A veritable torrent of power fills the body and nestles into every bony crevice, ignites every crimson rune. It shines like fresh blood on the snow. We are running now, but nobody makes a sound. Manic grins to the sides. They do not know we are coming, and this will be A PERFECT SLAUGHTER. We will scream our rage, our delight and our lust for their lives as they turn. As they realize they are doomed. And just like that time, my mind is overwhelmed by another memory. Sand. A scorching sun made almost pleasant by the dry heat of the desert. Rocks crushed under the rolling wheels of war chariots as men in bronze armor with glaives and bow charge forward. We are the elite of queen Semiramis. Those who stand before us will fall. This is how it has been, how it will always be. At our front, the prince rides and laughs and shoots his hunter bow. A serrated arrow skewers a man through the chest at an impossible range. Once more, he claims the first kill. The chariots smash into packed infantry. They SHATTER AND FALL. All three visions meld into one. The present, with the horde of eager wolves behind me, the past with the Choctaw warband and the stolen moment of a distant history. All merge into one emotion, one overwhelming imperative. The need to conquer, to make them pay, and the absolute confidence in my own power. As unbridled energy disappears into the thrumming instrument, I realize a truth I had never contemplated. The werewolves are not the apex predators. They had to bow to Fenris and they had to face us. A part of them must know this. A few nights of freedom do not erase years of servitude. They are not the deadliest creature tonight. But they wish they were. They have come here to reclaim their freedom, and I can make it happen. I will share with them those instincts of mine, the thirst, the fury and the unshakeable belief that I cannot be stopped. I do not need to be too close to them after all. Even a sliver of how I feel now will send them howling down in the valley below. I let the three images superimpose and keep powering up. The horn now shines like a beacon in the night. It begs to be released as hairline fractures appear along its body. THEY ARE PREY. THE TRAP IS CLOSED. THE GAME IS OVER. NOW, I CAN LET GO. I HUNT WE HUNT. COME AND PARTAKE. I blow the horn. The sound takes me by surprise. It starts low and deep, incredibly deep. A horn should not be able to produce this sound even if it were four times the size. The vibration spreads all across the land, smothering every other noise. Then, it grows sharper and reaches a stable pitch at a frequency that shakes me to my very core. Just one note, pure and smooth. The note becomes richer as harmonics develop up and down until it feels like I am not blowing one horn but a thousand, echoing across faraway places, across ages, all calling for the exact same thing. Charge. I have no need to push Metis. We gallop down the slope carried by a tidal wave of snarls and howls. The horn breaks in my hands but the call, the call does not stop. It still carries us forward with the ineluctability of the avalanche. Fenris'' guard gathers in a tight block. Amusing. FUTILE. We are so fast now that the wind pushes my hair back. We are no longer charging. We are falling forward as if, for an instant, gravity pulled us straight instead of down. The enemy werewolves in bipedal form are right in front of us. They already waver. Deep inside they must know that their efforts are pointless. The grin on my face widens. I cannot help it. Breathtaking beauty. Then, impact. I roar. I push forward into the saddle and catch one under the jaw. I lift it off its feet to crash against the next, I stab another. Metis smashes into dense muscle, barely slowing. Behind us, our own horde reaches the enemy lines. Now I understand why Augustus kept them in their four-legged form. Like that, they are packed tight while only offering powerful backs covered with protective hair to their foes. The first ranks do not jump. They stay close to the ground and catch legs, pulling their prey under to be smothered and flayed. I always thought the bipedal version was more dangerous but I am proven wrong. The four-legged version is more stable, and Augustus'' troops take full advantage of it. Then the moment passes, and I stop thinking. There are only jabs and sweeps, Metis'' hooves falling on a skull or sent flying backwards into ribs. I laugh as they try to reach me and fail, just before they are caught. And soon the last creature falls and I am on open ground. The three PREY are before me. I smile because I am happy. Once more, I got to experience something precious and unique. "Now," screams the false king. His horn-toting servant raises an-old fashioned wand and screams something, I care not what. Red chains emerge from it and snake around, trying to encircle me. I raise a hand and let the spell slither over my armored body. I allow the immaterial links to ensnare my form as the giant mountain of muscle turns into its bipedal form and charges me. I permit it, and I laugh. I laugh and laugh at their bumbling efforts and pathetic ambush. They are so slow and blind to their own failings. They do not understand. I raise my eyes to the sky and its quirky denizen. I grin with all the joy I feel and invite it to play. "I want to show them. Let me." In my mind fortress, the statue of the transformed Herald twists and melts into a new form made of a mass of tendrils in an alien harmony. Its blue aura shifts to the familiar purple. In the realm of reality, my claws flash the same color and I tear the chain apart. The skald falls back, eyes bleeding. The mountain of muscles is already committed. Time for the appetizer! Ducking under its arms, I grab the open muzzle with one clawed hand before dragging forward and down. I use my other on his massive biceps and bite mercilessly into the jugular. The creature is so large that I cannot get in properly. It turns into a game. The big creature tries to escape, and I try to keep it more or less standing by shifting my posture. Its free hand rakes ineffectually against Loth''s unyielding armor. Delicious. I am surrounded by a sea of wolves and they do not intervene because I do not smell like an intruder. I belong here, feeding on one of their strongest warriors in all impunity. A monster among monsters. And I LIKE IT. It is still weakly struggling as I take my time and glare at Fenris. I could have killed him fifty times already, but I did not. I gave my word. All is as it should be. Augustus passes me by with solemn steps. When he stops in front of Fenris, something peculiar happens. In the valley, the din of battle seizes as the collective aura of the packs merge once more, but this time, it also includes our own horde. The merged power is wilder, more organic than what the horn can achieve, yet at the same time, it also feels more stable. A little bit of my call remains in the surrounding mood and the lust for violence runs high. Even the Cadiz and Sergei''s group stop in a strange truce. The night holds its breath as Augustus steps forward and stops before the throne. Fenris stands, pale eyes shining with resentment. "You dare ally with one of them? Traitor!" the false king snarls. "Enough games, ''Fenris''. I have seen how honorable you were when you killed my brother." Fenris frowns, then his eyes widen in surprise. "You¡­ you were there," he says. "Yes, I was. The call of your horn paralyzed me, but I had all the time in the world watching you slay the greatest of us, you mongrel. You did not even have the courage to face him in battle three against one." "A king must value results above all else! I united the packs! Not that na?ve fool you grieve!" "A king must value his people above all else. You do not have a united people, just a patchwork of repressed packs you need a magic trick to control. You would know how little it means if you understood the curse, but your vision is as shallow as your knowledge. You are a fake king with a fake name, and if you had a sliver of intellect, you would know that Fenris was a poor title to claim. You see, the Fenris-wolf was never the king. Odin is king. Fenris is his killer." Augustus lets his heavy coat drop on the floor, soon joined by his leather trousers. "And tonight, I will strip you of this name, as well as everything else. Come." My ally changes to his gigantic two-legged form. To his credit, the false king does the same with no hint of fear. Grey on my side, black on the other. Both creatures are at least twice the height of an adult human. They lunge and lock arms, each trying to force the other into submission. Then, just as quickly, they separate and fight by swiping claws. They do not turn around each other to test their defenses as human fighters would. The combat is immediately intense and without mercy. I admit to being pleasantly surprised. I never had the chance to properly duel a wolf since I am much faster and aim to kill. In truth, both Augustus and his foe are skilled fighters. They move with grace and confidence and stay light on their feet. They feint, dodge and counter with an expertise that can only stem from practice and perfect control over the curse, a human mind and bestial instincts working together in harmony. Augustus feels cleaner and more poised. He has the reach advantage and makes use of it by keeping his distance. Fenris, on the other hand, is wilder but he has a large collection of techniques he draws on to overwhelm his opponent. His style is vicious and reckless. They appear to be evenly matched. Soon, both sport deep furrow on the arms and chest but none of the wounds hamper their skill, or indeed, their spirit. Eventually, I start discerning patterns in their technique and so, apparently, does Fenris. Augustus jabs twice and tries to follow up with a hook-like sweep. His opponent anticipates the third movement and gets in his guard, clawing the biceps and sending Augustus tumbling. Fenris wastes no time capitalizing on his success. He throws himself at his opponent''s turned back. In a surprise move that leaves me appreciative, Augustus throws his leg back in a strange kicking movement I had never seen before. His clawed paw catches the black werewolf under the chin and he, in turn, falls to the ground. What follows is a series of short exchanges relying once more on wrestling before they disengage. I get it now. Werewolves win in a single strike. All those wounds they inflict on each other only serve to prepare that one opening that will give them victory. In this regard, we are strangely similar, though while we focus on the heart, they appear to focus on the neck. Augustus is slowing down. The bleeding cuts on his left arm limit his range of motion and I see pain in his eyes every time he moves it. Fenris is not looking too fresh either, but he has yet to suffer any debilitating injury. Augustus does it again. Jab jab, then hook, and just as last time, Fenris gets into his guard. I smile because I see how this will end. Augustus is a cunning warrior indeed. As the black werewolf goes to strike the biceps again, the grey one''s jaw clamps on his right clavicle. Fenris yelps in pain. Rather than savaging the wound, Augustus twists his head weirdly. There is a loud snap. I force myself not to wince at that sound. There goes the clavicle. Augustus falls back to avoid the return swipe and attacks with renewed fury. I watch him circle his now losing foe and understand why he would make such a good king. When he was wearing his human skin, he used his troops'' four-legged form to its best advantage, showing an understanding of the curse and the wolf. When he was in cursed form, he showed human adaptation in his combat style with deceit and a few unexpected movements. His merging of mind and instincts is truly impressive. It may even rival my own. As the fight drags on and Augustus calmly harries his foe, I keep staring with rapt attention. I am no longer so immersed in the magic as to ignore the fear of failure, but this time, there is no twist of fate. No last-minute cheat to steal my victory. The battle finishes without surprise as my champion methodically picks apart Fenris until the fallen king rolls to expose his throat. When he submits, the collective aura of the wolves ... settles, somehow. Up until now it had been, for lack of a better word, suspended. Like a held breath. Now, the power sighs and attaches itself on the shoulders of the victor. The man standing and the one on his knees slowly shift back to human form. Fenris'' face is a mask of fury as he cradles his mangled arm. "Take it then, take my life''s work and ruin it with your pithy dreams, but let me go." I realize that Augustus can indeed choose to exile the deposed sovereign. It is his choice. But we had an agreement, and he turns to me, a question in his cold eyes. S§×ar?h the N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. I smile and give him the barest of nods. The new king returns his focus to the killer of his twin. He shows nothing, no joy, no relief, not even a trace of satisfaction. "You may leave and take your horn-toting underling with you," he states in a calm voice. I turn and realize that the skald is still next to me with the blood of the feedback now dried on his lower face. The improvised mage drops the artifact he still holds and runs to his leader. He helps the man to his feet and, together, they limp away. They leave the circle of werewolves under the glare of many. Not a single cursed one steps up to follow them. Once they have left the group, the two transform again and start running. To their left and right, I see vampires keeping their distance. There is no need for words. I do not call for Metis. She steps up next to me, her heavy hooves pounding on the snow the only loud noise. When we go past Augustus, our eyes meet, and I see the first true hint of feelings in his features tonight. For a single instant, his control slips to reveal a mix of dark emotions that belies his calm aura. The first is a deep hatred, buried and fiery like the heart of a volcano. The second is immeasurable sorrow, not at the fleeing figure but at the one who should be there instead. I see it now. Augustus has always been an outsider. It was not he who was meant to carry the mantle of authority. It was his twin brother. He only stepped up because there was no one else. Victory must taste like ash to him. And then the moment is gone, and we ride forth. The sea of creatures seamlessly parts before us. Fenris is banished. That means the other wolves will not touch the pariah. I, however, am not a wolf. Three out of three. Tonight will be such a feast. Metis snorts. "Yes, yes, you can have their ears." She gallops faster, the glutton. Chapter 98 - 95. Curtains Eleven vampires stand around two corpses. Melusine silently took her place by my side, while on the left, the knight squad and Jimena arrayed themselves in a V formation. The last face of this uneven triangle is formed by the Cadiz. Lazaro and another master stare at Fenris'' remains with glassy eyes. Next to them, a woman with dark curls and a man with grey eyes under blond hair show various expressions of grief and regret. Their party has suffered the most from this adventure. It occurs to me that we have reached a critical mass. Four hundred werewolves could overwhelm anything short of a battle lord if the vampire were to stand and fight. With nine masters, we have an army. In theory. "What happens now?" Lazaro asks with a wary voice. "As per our agreement with the Speaker, we follow Ariane''s plan. Their warlord Augustus will lead his packs north and disperse them." Sergei answers in a tired voice. Lazaro nods, seemingly resigned. His companion does not. "Is that it? Was your outrage just a show?" he hisses with obvious hatred. "You are in no position to criticize me, Reyes, and particularly not before our friends," Lazaro retorts with a chastising glare, but the other is unfazed. "Your friends, perhaps, not mine. You can take your honor and image and go greet the dawn." "Last warning Reyes, you have exhausted my patience." "Is that a challenge?" "Yes." The words were exchanged in a clipped, fast tone. The rest of us do our best not to stare. This is unprecedented for me. Until now, all vampires had stuck to a strict etiquette. This public outburst surprises me greatly. What manner of conflict could have caused two warriors who have fought side by side to despise each other so? "I accept your challenge." "Witnessed by the knights," Sergei announces with obvious regret. Ahem. Melusine discreetly bumps my arm. "Witnessed by clan Nirari." "Witnessed by clan Lancaster," she says in turn. "The duel will take place before our fortress in half an hour. Make sure your affairs are in order, Reyes." "And the same to you." The Cadiz then split up. The Masters disappear, each in one direction. The two Courtiers remain, looking quite lost. They exchange a glance then leave together at a much slower pace. The awkwardness remains. Such an embarrassing display, unworthy of us. The only good thing is that there were no mortals to witness our shame. "We will go to the Cadiz hold, Ariane," Sergei says with a complicated expression. "Can I count on you to make sure your¡­ ''allies'' vacate the area?" "Yes." And soon, only Melusine and I are left. We inspect the mass of werewolves walking back to their camp in a strange mix of elation and grief. Some are in wolf form, some, in human. There is some fighting, some crying and a lot of hugging. Augustus and a few of his lieutenants are at the tail of the formation, helping along the most apathetic members. The ferals have been rounded and corralled, for now. "Could you please get Frost and Melitone to the hold while I talk to Augustus?" The redhead blinks and returns her focus to me. "Very well." "Oh, and one last thing," I add, because I am now certain, "you have proven yourself over the past few days. If you want to take over the north, it is yours." "If we win," she replies with a small smile. She is right. The contest is not over until Constantine passes judgement. I do believe we have an advantage now, but it will also depend on whether the Speaker considers an Augustus-led horde as a greater danger or not. Melitone''s support does not imply her brother''s approval. Melusine runs to the trees and I leave Metis, who had impatiently been waiting behind, to snack on prime wolf cuts. I walk back to Augustus on foot, taking my time. From that distance, the horde is a strange thing held together by some vague herd instinct. The packs, once united, now start to dislocate in units of varying sizes. I am reminded of a drunken crowd at the end of a summer feast, only, with more sorrow and slightly less clothes. They are a sorry lot. When I reach Augustus, even his guards only give him a passing glance before turning their efforts to the most catatonic members of the group. Many of them are women, I notice. It figures. The leader himself is still standing strong to offer a powerful fa?ade to those who look up to him for comfort. His monolithic aura shows no weakness to those with inferior senses. Only my own expertise reveals the turmoil underneath. "Ariane," he soberly greets. "How are you doing?" I ask, both out of concern and out of respect. "Now is not the time to be introspective." "I suppose," I reply. It takes a minute before he finally asks his question. "So, what happens now?" "You can leave as promised. The other vampires will adhere to the bargain I made." "That is tremendous news," he says with a heavy sigh. He rolls his shoulder under the coat which he has donned once more, and I can tell that the burden on his mind has lightened ever so slightly. "You should probably still leave quickly." "I know. We will walk north as soon as possible. My new pack and I will¡­ dispose of the ferals, in a humane way." I do not speak. What is there to say? How would I feel if I had to kill Jimena after she turned rogue? Words of comfort would not suffice. "I am concerned about food. We are running out of supplies and we have no way to sustain such a large group." "I am sure I could negotiate the purchase a herd or two," I inform him after thinking about it. It would be best if the risk of creating more ferals was reduced, in case starvation pushes some over the edge. "That would be appreciated. I have no way to repay you for now, but I would consider it a favor." "It is done," I declare. I always have a small stash with me when traveling with many mortals. It will be enough to buy a few dozen sheep from nearby villages, even if we must pay a premium. "Good. One last thing before I forget. Your, ah, minion was looking for you." "Jeffrey, you mean?" I reply, thinking about the little blabbermouth. "Yes. He''s over there." I follow Augstus'' finger to Jeffrey''s scrawny form. The little goof is waving frenetically with a stupid smile plastered on his face from the back of the formation. June stands next to him looking bored. With a frown, I join them feeling like I am being summoned. "Hey bosswoman! When are we leaving?" "What do you mean, we?" "Well I said I''d be your man, right? So that means I gotsa follow you to your town, right?" "Err¡­" "Aw come on, you wouldn''t throw me out like an old sock, would you? Forcing me to go back on my word like a scoundrel? Was I not a good lad?" he asks with puppy eyes. June''s eyes roll in their sockets. "Well, I suppose you were useful, true," I admit reluctantly. "It''s settled then! Me and my friends will live on your land and sniff out your foes and piss on their doors and whatnot." "Hold on," I interrupt, "what friends?" "Come on bosswoman, I told ya I was a leader, yeah? There are plenty of lasses and lads here who don''t want to return north. Ya know, on account of losing everything, the horrible memories, and abuse. They can come with and we will all do the things. All the things. Great hunts all around. Your own personal horde to call, except on weekends. And during the full moon, yeah?" A handful of girls and two boys of uncertain age detach themselves from the stragglers. Their faces show a mix of fear and determination. They did honor their promises. "Well, I suppose it would be acceptable," I concede. Having a handful of werewolves at my beck and call would certainly be an advantage. I would perhaps have the prestige of being the first vampire to command such a group! As for the smell, there are plenty of forests and wild lands around. I can probably buy them a farm out of the way until they are needed. No sooner have I accepted, than ten other wolves detach themselves from the group. Then twenty more. Then another twenty. Eventually, over fifty werewolves stand in a half-circle around the very proud and very naked young man. Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. "That''s settled then, thanks bosswoman! Everyone, follow June to the camp and grab some clothes. We must link up with Frost''s lads before dawn," he yells to the crowd. I smile and pretend that I did not just get played like a fresh daisy by a butt-naked guttersnipe half my age. Well done, Ariane, queen of the smelly mutts. Well done indeed. Now you need to buy a whole bloody village with attending woods. Farewell, my savings I had stashed to build myself a gun factory. Farewell! Thine demise is mine to bear. Out, out brief candle! The group I just took ownership of gathers in a large pack that now walks with a more determined step. Their cohesion separates them from the rest of the horde, and so does their appearance. I notice that many of the members look younger and that almost half are women, a significantly higher proportion than normal. And then a shape emerges from the retreating mass. A man I had not seen for a long time. Alistair''s sandy hair is the same, but his green eyes are now deep-seated in a face made more angular by hunger. "Mr. Locke," I greet him with a smile. The man stops and his posture changes. He stands straighter, and pretends to salute me with an imaginary hat. The move is elegant, and I find myself chuckling. "Ariane. A pleasure as always. I apologize for my state of undress as I remember that nakedness makes you uncomfortable." "Well if you turn to your left, you will see hundreds of butt cheeks quivering on their way to a camp so¡­" "You have grown accustomed to it." "I have pushed those sights to the back of my mind and after this crisis is over, I will have to paint ten landscapes to wash away the sight of all those genitals." "Ah yes, a lot of painful memories were made here," the man announces somberly, "at least it is over." "What will you do?" I ask to distract him. Alistair shakes his head before focusing on me again. "Did I mention that my father was a doctor? The call to heal remains. A lot of people here will need help to recover and I will provide it. We need a larger pack for a while, and Augustus has the power to bring us together. Besides, he, most of all, needs help." "I wanted to ask; I see no elders among you. Do you also never age?" "No, we can age, albeit more slowly. We were just not given the opportunity to do so," he replies with a bitter smile, "ah enough sadness. I came here to tell you that we would take the last horn with us." I almost forgot about that. "Fair enough." Gathering tools of control is unwise if the would-be controlled are aware that you are doing it. "And also return this. Here," he says, and gives me a bramble. The root-like appendage is still lively despite the current season. Its many thorns shine ominously, ready to rend the flesh of those foolish enough to approach it. Alistair is holding it by its severed base, which appears to have been cut by a tool of unnatural sharpness. In fact, it looks eerily familiar. Those thorns line the walls of my mind fortress. "Alistair, where did you get that?" I ask in a deceptively calm voice. "It grew where you broke the chains, Ariane, and then it fell off. I figured that you would not want others to notice. Not to worry, I doubt that anyone else paid attention during the fight." "I see," I reply. I pick up the strange piece of vegetation between two talons. It flashes purple and disappears into nothing. Hmm. Alright. Consider me disturbed. I raise my eyes to the Watcher but I get nothing. It feels more distant now that the main event of the night is completed. "You are a woman of many secrets, Ariane," Alistair continues, his eyes as wide as saucers. "Indeed. I just wish the secrets were not kept from me as well. Please forget what you just saw, yes?" "My lips are sealed." "Good." The conversation comes to an awkward close as I stare speechless at my now empty hands. I cannot fathom what just happened. I need to consult with Torran. He will know something, or whom I should talk to. In the meanwhile, I have a duel to bear witness to and I am already quite late. We gather in a circle, spaced evenly. There are ten of us in battle regalia, most still covered in drying blood but none hurt. Twelve fighters in total. A force sufficient to depopulate a small city in a single night. Of course, and given the occasion, I would prefer to attack the twelfth man. Constantine''s torturer has an air of meekness that I do not trust and by his side, an executioner axe hangs with its blade well-used. He was not supposed to interfere, but I assume that a clause in his orders permits him to defend himself. Behind us, the stocky form of the Cadiz hold offers a fitting background to this scene from another age. A duel under the stars, for honor and glory. All the mortals keep their distance, including Melitone who is currently standing next to a curious Frost. The two opponents slowly walk from the fort''s interior, now clean and proper. Lazaro gets in first. He wears an old-fashioned ensemble that makes him look like a conquistador or an opera villain, in yellow with trims of gold. In contrast, Reyes has chosen red. The angry color clashes against the background in a statement that is addressed as much to Lazaro as it is to us. I still have no idea what would cause such a rift between the two allies. I was late and could not afford to ask questions. Now the time to do so has passed. The atmosphere is heavy with the promise of a violence and no lust for vengeance or retribution comes to make us forget that one of us will be ash before the hour is done. There will be no winner here tonight. "Before we begin, we knights are in the habit of seeking a last-minute arrangement. Can you two, who were once friends, not reach an agreement and let reason prevail? Have you not already lost enough?" "For the death of my Servant and friend I demand the punishment of Lazaro''s little minx. I will have satisfaction, one way or another." "Miguel''s death was his own doing. You will not touch a hair from my Servant''s head." "I won''t have to, because she will not survive your fall, Lazaro. I should have spiked myself the night I decided to follow you." "Yes, you should have." They draw. Sergei sighs dejectedly before letting them loose. "You may begin." S~ea??h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. They launch themselves at each other with a resentment that only a broken friendship can bring. Rather than anger or fear, they show expressions of outrage mixed with anguish and for the first time in my life, I find myself regretting having to see such a spectacle. Lazaro fights with a sword and dagger while his foe favors a foil. Reyes is more nimble but the Cadiz leader compensates by forcing him back through powerful swings. I note in passing that I could probably kill either of them, though fighting them both would be impossible. Eventually, the challenger finds an opening but it proves to be a ruse. Lazaro masterfully baited him into an attack and manages to parry with his dagger at the last moment. Though the foil draws a dark line across his flank, Lazaro''s counter strike is devastating, carving his opponent''s chest almost in twain. The combat ends shortly afterward with a stab and a sweep. The body falls on the ground with a burst of blue flames. Grey ash against stained snow. Only sobs come to greet the victory. With two red lines marring his cheeks, Lazaro cleans his blades and carefully replaces them in their sheath. Sergei''s voice rings hollow as he announces the obvious result. I look at the ground and contemplate my own mortality. If Jimena had been slightly wrong, this is all that would have remained of me on the arena''s sand all those years ago. The Cadiz Master had been centuries old. How much knowledge had he accrued, how many lives did he touch, to finish here like this? I am not sure that I like this resolution very much. To my surprise, Lazaro turns to me after he is done. All the other vampires have already moved away to leave him to his grief. "I apologize for this display, se?ora. A shameful end to a shameful attempt. If you still want Illinois, it is yours. I withdraw from the competition," he declares, then turns away. Melusine walks up to me. She had been waiting nearby. She crosses her arms but says nothing. Melitone joins us as well, her striking and confident face now showing some distress. "I believe¡­ congratulations are in order?" she starts hesitantly. At first, I keep silent as I feel a small tug in my essence. It reminds me of those calls of fate that have served me well so far, only this time it appears more deliberate. "I need a walk. I will return soon," I answer, my rebuke to her remark left unsaid. I turn around and walk to the closest edge of the forest. I slowly cross the packed snow, many prints bearing witness to days of battle and maneuvering. I quickly reach the woods and hide under the canopy. Then, I follow a small path that snakes between several rocks up to a clearing. I stand facing a tall stone raised like a menhir, with a wind-battered pine tree at its top. The tug stops. I smile in defeat. I am after all, reaping the consequences of my actions. And so, like all good audiences played by the actors, I clap. The sounds echo throughout the tiny opening. In the distance, a bird takes flight. And from behind the stone, a man emerges, his hair the color of gold and his eyes like two spheres of amber. He walks with absolute confidence and bows with graceful disdain. "Incredible performance, Sinead. I can but wonder how you did it." "Must you? Or you could just accept my genius for what it is, and not let knowledge pollute the mystique I aim for," the Likaean casually declaims as he approaches me. Do I need to know? I want to know. "There was no way you could have predicted the duel." "Of course, there were ways. Violence was one of the possible outcomes of the conflict between those two. Lazaro could also have called for a trial. But then, a trial would have shown the Cadiz fragmenting to a Speaker who favors harmony above all else. And if Lazaro had lost, why, the Cadiz would have been disqualified by the death of their candidate." Sinead is quite close now and I taste something manic in his aura, something that seeks release but cannot, and I think I know why. This thick reality constrains him, and the height of winter only makes those shackles heavier. The prince is suffering and at the same time, he is pleased by his success. The storm of emotion erodes his normally unflappable character. Sinead rests his finger below my jaw and pushes up until our eyes are level. "You are still a child, poppet. We Likaeans do not play with stochastic events, we use them as a veil of deceit. A word from yours truly, a few falsified letters, and two Servants who should have known better found their way out of the Cadiz defenses. A dangerous tryst at a desperate time. A passing patrol. Tragedy strikes, and here we are. Reyes'' Servant loses his life while Lazaro''s does not, thus creating a rift that cannot be bridged. Sorrow leads to resentment, for who is to blame?" I place my hand against his chest to push him away before he gets too close. He is warm under my palm, with an enticing perfume. My jaw aches with the desire to KILL HIM because he touched a Servant, and yet¡­ such a WORTHY lover he would be. "I do not need to control every occurrence to guide a plot to its satisfactory conclusion, my dear. Schemes are not strongboxes to shackle but waves to ride," the man continues. He is flirting with danger and I think he likes it. It annoys me because the burden of control is placed solely on me. "Was the show to your satisfaction, poppet?" "I am very much impressed," I reply in Likaean, and I am. To control events to such a degree with so little time to prepare involves a large amount of skill and just the tiniest bit of luck. Impressed? I am amazed. "I only wish you had not killed the Servant." "Ah, yes, the old taboo on leaving the pets alone. You are but victims of your nature, poppet." "Why do you try me so?" I reply with a frown. "Think nothing of it, my dear. I am merely suffering from intense frustration and shall return to your home base promptly. Why, I believe your dream mage would enjoy my company." "What!? Leave the poor thing alone! And Merritt too!" "Oh, the grieving widow. It has been long since I last had guilty sex." "Get out." "I take my leave," the man replies. He steps back behind the rock and his aura disappears. In one moment, only the tracks in the snow confirm that our meeting was not a phantasm. Even his smell is gone, and I cannot hear a heartbeat. I could track him, but I will not. He helped me tremendously tonight and I will allow him to make an exit. Besides, I cannot be sure that I will remain in control if tensions rise. The death of Reyes'' Servant bothers me on a fundamental level. I do not know if Sinead anticipated how deeply upset I would be, and I am starting to think that he would have done it anyway. There was something a bit spiteful in his demeanor tonight, though it did not seem aimed at me. He was still more aggressive than normal. He was still quite obviously trying to dazzle me, and he did succeed. I suspect he was also punishing me for underestimating him, only, he had remained playful so far. Could he¡­. be jealous? No. No it cannot be. Not someone as detached and arrogant as him. Surely the tension is getting to his head. If he were truly jealous, he would not be going after all those other women, would he? Would he? Pah, stop it Ariane, this is all in your head. The walk back to the hold is a lonely one, until a mage sprints from the direction of our camp. "Miss Ariane?" the man asks, out of breath. "Yes?" "Councilman Frost says¡­ he says that something happened. He was resting his eyes when he got a dream message from Marquette. Mage Merritt was attacked. She is grievously wounded! And the assailants took her kids!" "WHAT?" Chapter 99 - 96. The Cubs Ollie hummed a song under his breath. A second later, a heavy fist crashed against the metal frame of his cage. "Shut up, you little shit, or I swear I''ll¡ª" "Enough, Garrett, you know the rules!" a distant voice interrupted the guard before returning to plotting or some such. The furious man gave Ollie a death glare, and what a glare that was. With one eye. The other wouldn''t open and the skin around it was red and all puffed up, courtesy of Ollie''s fire three days before. That was when those ne''er-do-wells had taken them and stabbed Mom, but now he knew she was fine so the thought did not make him all sorts of upset anymore. The man finally turned and continued walking around in that thing they called doing a patrol. Ollie thought it was just silly. If you wanted to catch something, you needed to hide first. All this walking about and grandstanding? Stupid. The men who caught him were not hidden at all. They were sitting squat in the middle of a forest like a bunch of idiots with huge fires going so that anyone with sight and more smarts than a roach could find them. They thought they were safe on account of having papers and permits and there being a bunch of them. Just stupid. Look at them standing around and worrying like old hags after church. Ollie hated them. Next to him, his sister tsked with a haughty voice. She smoothed the ratty cover they had been given to better warm the little kid with frizzy hair by her side, whom she seemed to have adopted. And never mind that Lynn was barely two years older than the slip of a girl, if that. They were all young, the children in this cage. They were all casters too. Some had even been sold willingly, like Boulder. By his parents. Others had been taken, like the girl Lynn was looking after. Nobody knew her name on account of not a single word going past her lips. Ollie thought she might be a mixed blood. She had pale skin but her hair was like Nami''s. So that means taking her would be easier. Those bastards. The anger kept Ollie warm, mostly. The children used to be cold and hungry but now they were just cold, because yesterday, Urchin had found them and snuck in and given everyone some meat pies. Even the adults in the other cages had not noticed the slippery vampire. Those shackled men and women were black, and he thought they were escaped slaves. Urchin also told them that mom would be fine. There was this White Cabal mage called Sola who had come to train people in healing magic and she had saved Mom. Ollie thought he was going to cry. Mom was going to be alright. But now he was still stuck in that annoying cage, and he had also dropped his shoes on the way here to make it easier for people like Urchin to follow so he felt uncomfortable and his socks were wet to boot. The anger once again made his heart all warm. Wisps of fire kissed the skin of his hand. But he wouldn''t use them. Too many adults anyway and besides, he wanted to see what aunt Ariane would do to them when she arrived, which would be real soon. Honestly, what were these people thinking? You cannot hide a band of pricks and their kidnapped victims out here in the boonies. Not from mages with tracking spells and a bunch of vampires. These men were just dumber than a rock collection. The bunch of fools was still arguing about the attack and whatnot and cussing up with great energy. He could hear it from here. "The prize will make it worth it, the Pyke family has a huge bounty for the two little twats," a man in a pink shirt and dark beard told the others. Ollie thought what a fat lot of good it would do them, and good luck with collecting that thing in the afterlife. "We need to release them, boss, you ain''t seen what I seen. Those people weren''t normal! Even their women started firing at us when we ran away! There was even one who shot Coulter and Bill in the cock!" "Bullshit, probably just a lucky hit." "She was laughing the whole time. Mad people I tell ya!" "Shut up Francis, no one asked you. We have the kids now and quite a few besides, two more days of travel and we''re going to be rich." "Are you now?" a pleasant male voice asked from somewhere on the right. The camp fell silent but Ollie grinned from ear to ear. He exchanged a glance with his sister who was smiling too. From the darkness under the branches, a man emerged. He wore a perfectly tailored blue ensemble under a bowler hat and leather shoes that looked completely out of place in the frozen mud and dirty snow. That would probably be hell to clean it if that man had been human. Sunk right to his heels he would have. But that man wasn''t human, not anymore. As Violet would say, Urchin cleaned up nice. He still looked like some kind of outlaw though. But the kind that robbed rich people with pretty words. Urchin smiled a sinister grin as he twirled a silver dollar on his knuckles. He launched the coin, which disappeared mid-air only to reappear in his other hand to get thrown again. That was some trick! Tink. Tink. The game continued. "Nice trick, asshole, you got another?" Someone asked. Urchin kept doing the same thing, but he had replaced the silver dollar with a wicked-looking knife. The others recoiled. "Who in the devil''s name are you?" the man in the pink shirt finally asked with a voice that was trying really hard to be angry. In answer, Urchin''s smile widened. Men and women with muskets and mage gauntlets slowly emerged from the undergrowth in silence to form a half-circle around the poor sods. They came from all ages and some looked rich while others, less so. Some wore traveler clothes; others wore a sort of white uniform and some other yet wore winter city clothes lined with frills and fur. The only thing they had in common was how mightily bad-tempered they looked. Ollie jumped in surprise when a cold aura washed over him. Melusine dropped from the top of their cage, gave them a gander to check if they were fine, and returned her attention to the front. The men in the middle were jumping around like headless chicken and squawking at every newcomer. There were a lot of those. Maybe forty to fifty people, more than twice the numbers of their abductors. It was entirely too much but Ollie could not blame his rescuers for being irked on account of being quite irked himself. The idiots now huddled in a circle. Most had left their guns next to their packs and the mages among them probably felt the collection of auras rolling around the clearing, each more incensed than the next one. It did not matter much that they could not grab their guns. It would be as useful as a garden sprinkler on a house fire when she showed up. Oh, here she was. Silence descended upon the clearing because something really big was plodding the earth on its way there. The Marquette group now looked on with hungry eyes, like people who came to the circus to see a lion eat its meal or something. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Metis entered the clearing with that proud gait of hers, and to her sides there were two huge wolves! Were those werewolves? By God they were the size of ponies! The wolves sniffed the air and then focused on the pile of men in front of them. They showed their fangs and thick drool dripped down their maws. What a show that was! And still, not a pip could be heard. Ollie could still not believe that Ariane had werewolves as minions! That was almost as intimidating as her full battle armor plus shiny spear. And the silence. That was the thing. The wrath of a vampire was always silent. Oh, they would hiss and roar sometimes at the start but when they got going there would not be a sound. Like when Ariane and Nami were sparring. You could hear the spears swooshing and clashing but that was it. No steps, no grunts, no cries. And that made it even scarier, because they really showed what they were. Finally, Aunt Ariane spoke. "You are bold. Quite bold indeed," the lady of Marquette declared, her voice echoing across the clearing. Normally she would probably say something witty, or at least try, to but Ollie knew why she didn''t. Ariane was livid. Her aura smashed into the kidnappers like a cold front. Even the non-mages recoiled and cussed up a storm. Ollie turned around when his sister closed her eyes and placed a protective hand over those of the little girl. The kid let her do so, too busy munching on a meat pie to object. "You might want to look elsewhere, folks," Ollie warned the others, but it was all for nothing because Melusine had taken a tarp from the ground and was putting it on the cage to block the view. Ollie still managed to hear what came next. "Which one, Urchin?" "The man in the red shirt," he answered with a sinister voice. Ollie still thought the shirt was pink. "Very well. This one lives. Dispose of the rest." What followed, Ollie could not see but it was very violent and very short. Also, the wolves howled. The action was to the front of the cage, but its entrance was to the left. Melusine dropped down once more and approached it. "It''s spelled. The man with a missing eye got the key," Ollie explained helpfully. Melusine did not reply. She put her gauntlet against the keyhole and whispered something in their weird tongue. Ollie felt the spell unravel and then Melusine tore the gate open, lock and all. It made her instantly popular with Boulder, he could tell. The others were a bit more scared, so Ollie stood up first and extended his arms so Melusine picked him up and lightly placed him on the ground after a brief inspection. "You are a bit pungent but otherwise unharmed," she observed. Ollie looked right long enough to see an arm fly off and decided that, perhaps, he should look to the other side instead. He was one of the oldest kids and he was well-acquainted with Melusine here so the others should listen to him because he was the wisest and most knowledgeable man nearby. "Right! Come on out people, we don''t have all night. Busy busy!" he said while radiating confidence. Lynn had finally managed to coax the girl up and they were all lifted in the air, checked for defects, and then delicately put down. "Hello, I''m Boulder," said Boulder with far too much enthusiasm when his turn came. "Hrm. Hello Boulder. A pleasure," Melusine replied with little apparent interest. Once Boulder touched the ground, he turned his big honest face to Ollie and whispered: "She said it was a pleasure to see me!" Ollie was a man of the world and he thought that she did not mean it exactly that way. Sometimes, adults really liked to say things and meant something else and vampires did it as well. For example, when Ariane said: go ahead and try, what she actually meant was: if you do try I will slap your face off. Life was complicated sometimes. Eventually, all the children were down and Violet, who was a nice lady with messy brown hair and a really colorful aura, came and picked them up. The mages and soldiers freed the captured slaves and soon, there was a big convoy ready to leave to make camp¡­ elsewhere. Where there was less blood and other stuff on the ground. As everyone left under the light of torches, Ollie drifted to the back of the line where Ariane was waiting right behind a man and a woman wearing entirely far too little stuff for this weather. Lynn wordlessly followed him with the little girl in tow. He was not sure where she got the meat pies she kept nibbling on. Eventually, he found himself looking up to Aunt Ariane who was on foot at the back of the column. That meant Metis was probably having a meal right now. She gave all three children a passing glance before resuming her vigil, looking right and left, and listening for pursuers. "Is Mom really going to be fine?" Lynn asked in a voice that cracked a bit at the end. "She will make a full recovery, but she needs a lot of rest and could not come with us. You can see her as soon as we get back to the White Cabal compound." sea??h th§× Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Ollie nodded, but he was still a bit out of sorts. As a man of the world, Ollie had to plan and account for everything so he could protect Lynn and Mom until he grew up enough to kick ass and take names himself, pardon his French. "Aunt Ari, I don''t understand," he started. Technically Ari was not his aunt. It was just Lynn who started to call her that and though Ari grumbled a bit, she let it go. Now, everyone around thought Ariane was their relative and that meant Lynn could ask pretty much anyone to do her hair. "Aunt Ari, how could these men just come and take us? I thought they were bounty hunters?" "They were slave catchers," she said with obvious disgust, "their job was to go north, and arrest escaped slaves to bring them back to their old masters. Being a slave catcher is legal, but it does tend to attract the unsavory types." "You mean they respect the law, but they are bad people?" This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Ariane gave him a measuring glance. Ollie knew she would do that every time she was going to explain something a bit hard. It didn''t mean that he was stupid, just that she didn''t know how much he understood. Adults were like that sometimes. They forgot how different they were at five or nine and how much they understood of the world. "Yes. The people in Congress passed a law a long time ago. It says that any escaped slaves can be recaptured at any time of their lives and if the slave was a woman and she had children, they were the property of the old master too. One thing is that when a black person is caught, their testimony is not recognized during a possible trial." Ollie furrowed his brows as Lynn tilted her head and Ari paused her explanation, recognizing that this last part was a bit too complex. Meanwhile, the little girl gobbled the last of her meat pie then dug another half-chewed pastry from the recess of her grubby dress. "What it means is that what the black person says does not matter to a judge. The slave catchers can just show up and claim that someone is an escaped slave and if the local authorities find their documents convincing enough, they will be taken south and sold. It makes many of the slave catchers opportunist jackals who will kidnap freemen. That kind of mongrel will also take children from the streets of my city if they believe they can get away with it, because what is one more innocent victim?" she finished with a low hiss. "So, they could come back?" Lynn asks, looking rightfully afraid. Ari stopped inspecting her surroundings and focused her raptor-like attention on the girl at her side. Then she took Ollie''s and Lynn''s hands in hers. The vampire''s fingers were cold outside the armor but Ollie did not mind much. "If those specific curs come back, they can start their own religion. As for the other bounty hunters, they will lose the incentive to come after you once the bounty is lifted." "You think you can convince our dad''s family to do that? There has to be a lot of them," Lynn asked shily. Aunt Ari did that thing again where she didn''t move or breathe. Sometimes, he wondered how she could look so much like a normal person one moment, and so different the next. "Indeed. I made a point last time and I assumed the rest of the family had understood the message. It appears that I will have to use more¡­ pointed arguments. It pleases me that the first instance of an alliance of humans, mages, wolves, and vampires in recorded history was assembled for the purpose of rescuing children. Now, I will make sure that such an opportunity never rises again." Ollie looked at the column on the road in front of him. The carriages were turning into an estate with guards at the front. That was probably their own camp. He did not know yet what would happen to the rest of his father''s family but he assumed that it would be very unpleasant. He thought it strange that he was defended by a monster against the crimes of his own blood. A bit crazy, he judged. That was fine. He was a man of the world and he would make sense of it, eventually. Marquette, three days later. Lynn raised her hand to knock on the door, only for Ari''s voice to tell her to come in. She closed it behind her and made a beeline for the vampire. Aunt Ari was sitting in a comfortable chair, with a proper table by her side on which she had placed a few documents and a cooling cup of coffee. The heavy scent hung pleasantly in the air of the small but cozy study. The thick walls were also blocking the humdrum of the building: maids preparing dinner and clerks joking and laughing as they wrapped up work for the day. The only thing missing were windows, but Ari had a very sensitive skin, apparently. Ari did not raise her eyes from the doodle she was drawing in her notebook. Lynn knew that she would do preparatory work before she started painting and that was part of it. That also meant that the vampire was not working at the moment, and that was the best time for a conversation between proper ladies. So, Lynn went to the opposite couch and sat herself daintily, smoothing her dress in front of her. Aunt Ari raised her eyes and put the notebook down. Lynn frowned a little bit as she caught a glimpse of the drawing just before Ari closed it. There were a lot of naked people in it. That was strange, because she was rather sure that it was not really proper. Ignoring that, Lynn smiled pleasantly and decided to start with small talk. Starting with small talk was a mark of good education. It showed interest in the other party and allowed one to learn about the other and their priorities, or so Violet had said. Also, gossip was fun. "Are you leaving for Boston soon?" "Yes, tomorrow in fact. You will be safe while I am gone, I assure you." "My dad''s family¡­" "¡­ has made a fatal mistake. The man we captured revealed quite a few unacceptable practices and now both the Cabal and we are moving against them." Lynn thought gossip would be more fun. "What about the werewolves? Mom said a lot of things about werewolves when we were kids. She said they were very dangerous." "They are. Those who moved in are¡­ well, they are different. A group of werewolves together can police themselves and its members do not suffer from the curse as much. I also trust their leader to comply with my orders. He has proven himself worthy if a little too talkative." Lynn did not know what to think about that. Werewolves were dangerous. Many werewolves were even more dangerous. And Aunt Ari was very fast and strong, so they were not as dangerous to her as they were to Lynn. On the other hand, Aunt Ari said they obeyed her and that meant dangerous people on her side, and that was usually good. "Okay?" she replied, but Aunt Ari frowned. "Not you too." "What?" "This ''okay'' thing. The acronym of a purposely misspelled ''all correct''. I first read it in a Boston journal and now it has spread everywhere, including here," she grumbled. Lynn kept silent. She had heard that from a traveling salesman and thought it sounded nice. "Probably just a fad," Aunt Ari continued, "something this silly cannot possibly become part of our everyday language." Then, seemingly recomforted, the vampire nodded to herself before returning her full attention to Lynn. "Say Lynn, what do you want to be when you grow up?" "Rich, beautiful, and with a good husband who loves me, and I love him." "I meant what sort of occupation," Ari continued seriously. "Oh. I want to be a mage that tells people what to do. Like Mom." Aunt Ari tilted her head, doing that thing again where only a small part of her moved and it gave her the appearance of an animated sculpture. She and Melusine were like that. They moved little and moved slowly until they were provoked. Then they moved too fast to see. Urchin was not there yet, Lynn judged, on account of being just a bit of a clod. He was doing his best though, and as Mom said, that was what mattered. "The White Cabal has offered to train you and the other children we rescued when your talents have matured. That will be very soon for Oliver. You should consider their offer as well." Lynn frowned because it sounded a bit like a test, maybe? She remembered that mom had said something about the White Cabal being allies, not friends. That was before they saved her life though. What was it she had said? "Are you not worried that they will, err, poach us?" she asked. "They will try, just as I know what the Cabal is like and why some resent its leadership. How should I explain? They make a lot of rules and talk a lot, and some find it annoying while I give a lot of leeway to those who¡­ assist me. A wise man once said, it is better to be first in a village than second in Rome." Lynn wondered what Rome had to do with anything, but the quote sounded very smart, so she just played along. And besides, she thought she understood what Aunt Ari meant. The White Cabal were a bunch of stuffy dunderheads while Ari was proper and well-tempered and did not insist on Lynn going to bed before nine. So obviously Lynn would want to stay with Aunt Ari. That made a lot of sense. "I think I would like to learn from them as long as they do not force me to wear white," she eventually decided. If they were going to teach her how to set things on fire like Ollie could then it was worth an early bedtime for a while. Then she realized that the conversation had gotten serious and now she wanted to go somewhere else. "Alright. I am going to see Metis," she declared. "No feeding her ears or she will grow fat," Aunt Ari warned. Giving Metis ears was really fun, so Lynn decided to negotiate a bit. "Why were you drawing naked people?" she asked innocently, "maybe I should ask around if it is proper and if I should do it as well?" Lynn waited in silence as Aunt Ari gauged her, and as expected the vampire eventually smiled at her antics. She always liked it when Lynn tried to manipulate her a bit. "One ear," she conceded with obvious amusement. "Yay!" Lynn ran out of the room and picked up Wisp, who had not moved from her spot and was currently inspecting a painting with her sad brown eyes. Wisp was not holding a meat pie, which probably meant a resupply run was necessary. "Shall we go to the kitchen?" Lynn offered, and Wisp nodded with energy, her dark frizzy hair bobbing along. They climbed down the polished wooden stairs past offices and to the ground floor. The kitchen was at the back and would serve dinner soon. The enticing smell of stew and fresh bread wafted from behind the door, and the clang of pots went hand in hand with the din of conversations. Lynn opened the door and was greeted by the massive form of Irma, casually cleaving a pig leg apart, bones and all. The old woman scowled a bit at the intrusion, only for a large grin to replace it when she recognized the newcomers. "Good evening Irma," Lynn said with a small curtsey. "If it isn''t the young lady Lynn. And Wisp! Are you ready to tell us your real name?" the woman asked the diminutive child with a laugh. Wisp twisted left and right and squirmed a bit, which only gave Irma a throaty laugh. The large woman delicately placed her cleaver on the cutting bench and cleaned her hands on her apron before turning to them. "And what do you want? It is still a bit early for dinner." "I would like one caramelized pig ear, for Metis," Lynn solemnly declared. Irma reached for a glass jar and popped the lid open. Lynn soon had a large brownish and slightly sticky ear which she then folded into a bit of cloth. While her back was turned, Irma made a show of sneaking Wisp a pair of small meat pies. The tiny girl rewarded the cook with one of her rare smiles. As soon as they were loaded, Lynn bowed one last time and ran away with Wisp still in tow. They snuck out into the courtyard and past heavy doors to Metis'' enclosure. The shack was part of the normal stable, yet everyone gave it a wide berth. Lynn was not surprised. When she entered, Wisp let go of her hand to climb to her designated crate. From there she would watch Lynn do her thing. Lynn herself was not sure why Wisp liked high places with a good view but that was alright because she sat with grace and poise and her back straight. The room they were in had a low plank wall surrounding the place where Metis stayed when she felt like it. It had hay and a large barrel of cold water, as well as a ball and a pillow placed on a pole to rest her head. The black Nightmare was present and she recognized Lynn immediately. Her massive frame now stomped forward, bumping her head lightly against Lynn''s chest and pushing the girl back with a small ''oof''. The horse''s face was large enough to cover Lynn''s whole torso, though that wouldn''t last because she would soon grow as tall as Irma, just you wait. Metis made that big ''snuff'' sound, easily picking up the scent of the pig ear. Lynn giggled and held it in her hand. Metis had her ritual. She would slowly eat half of the ear little bit by little bit with great care, then gobble the rest. Lynn let her do that, and then moved to pour water in a smaller barrel. That took a while because she was still not so strong but after a few minutes, she had a decent amount of liquid. She then went to the bison herb crate and removed a handful of the perfumed stalks, which she threw in the prepared water. She then grabbed a tool that looked like a giant spoon made out of wood and slowly stirred the decoction like Aunt Ari had shown her, feeling like a proper witch. As soon as she started, Metis placed her head over Lynn''s shoulder and stared, mesmerized, at the strange tea ceremony. ''Nightmare successfully captured,'' Lynn thought to herself with no small amount of satisfaction. When Metis decided that it was enough, she gently pushed Lynn out of the way and sipped on her brew. While she did so, she allowed Lynn to brush her, which the girl did with pleasure. Metis'' coat was strange. It was surprisingly smooth with a sort of glassy quality that other horses did not have. Petting her was fun and pleasant and completely ladylike and Lynn did it until Wisp cleared her throat. The small child pointed outside, and Lynn realized that indeed, night was falling. So, they had to meet with the others. The pair of children rushed out and left the Nightmare to her contemplative mood. Outside, Lynn half-coaxed and half-bullied a guard into doing her hair by casually dropping Aunt Ari''s name which never failed. Then, they ran through the streets of Marquette to their designated hideout which was at the back of one of the many warehouses Ari owned. Ollie was already there, checking a large bucket for leaks. Boulder waited nearby with his large arms crossed before his sturdy chest. Boulder, whose real name was Herbert, was tall and strong for a kid and his own magic made him even stronger for a while. That would be really useful tonight. "You''re late!" Ollie exclaimed. "A lady is never late," she retorted while pushing a braid back. Her brother rolled his eyes and passed the bucket to Boulder who held it without difficulty. "Yeah yeah whatever. Are you two ready? It''s almost time." "Let''s go!" Lynn shouted, excited at the thought of larceny. Well, technically it was called ''pulling a prank'' and was expected of children her age, really. She had heard some of the cooks say that many times. That meant it was ''okay''! Also, they did it to Maxwell who harassed girls and liked to punch people so, really, it was more like punishing the wicked. Therefore it was totally ladylike and the right thing to do and there were no ''ulterior motives'' at all. The four of them ran down the street as inconspicuously as children carrying a bucket and an eager expression at nightfall could manage, which Lynn admitted was not a lot. Fortunately, the inhabitants of Marquette were happy enough to be heading home and no one bothered them. They soon found themselves in a backstreet, the kind that serviced several workshops. One of the buildings let out a slightly unpleasant smell of burnt sugar and this was where the band''s efforts would be focused. Lynn placed herself facing the back door and Wisp stood by her side while the boys took position behind the opening, so they would not be immediately seen by anyone coming out. They did not have to wait for long. A young man stepped out with a heavy gait. He had a squarish jaw, boorish features and he was rather dirty. As soon as he spotted Lynn, his malicious eyes narrowed. Lynn breathed in and blew air in front of her. It helped her focus. Wisp clasped her hand and did her thing. Lynn felt her power expand under her friend''s influence, covering the entire backstreet like a cloud. It bumped against three presences. Two of them she recognized while the third was a tangled mess of loathing and resentment. Then she drew a deep breath in and swallowed the tangle. The man''s mouth, which was half-open to cuss or threaten, suddenly slackened as his eyes grew hazy. He stumbled a bit before managing to stand like a drunkard about to collapse. Ollie and Boulder wasted no time grabbing the door. Ollie snapped his fingers and a plume of fire lit in there to illuminate the now darkened store. They went in. In the meanwhile, Lynn''s focus was on the little ball of hatred in her mind. She held it still. It was a pretty little mess and she recognized some of the strands. That one was wrath against the other regardless of who they were. This one was self-loathing. And that one was envy! She was tempted to pull on the strings to see what happened. She had felt Aunt Ari do so on occasion. The vampire had made it look easy and quick, but Lynn was not so sure. She thought it could change someone for a long time and she did not know how exactly. It was just that Maxwell was a horrible person and surely¡­ There was this strand pulsing green and sickly. That one was despair. It was buried deep, but it also merged with everything else. If Lynn were just to pull on it a bit more, weaken the red angers and inflate it until it took everything over and drowned them under its thick mantle, perhaps¡­ Eventually, timing made the choice for her. The boys quickly left the store with a now-filled bucket, which even the strong Boulder had trouble pulling. "Let''s go!" Ollie whispered. Lynn let the boys disappear at a corner while slowly walking backward without breaking eye contact, Wisp still supporting her. Then she released the link and disappeared in the shadows. She caught a glimpse of Maxwell shaking his head with obvious confusion and then they were gone. They walked to the black side of town without hurry as the ''deed was done'' and the urgency had passed. There was still tension in the air as they lifted a plank off a wall and slid under, ending in a cluttered backyard where three black children were waiting for them. There was one plump boy in a blue overall carrying a basket, a girl with shorn hair and a taller boy with a beret and a red bandana. The two groups approached each other until the tall boy spoke first. "You got the goods?" "Right here. You?" Ollie retorted. The other pointed at the basket they had and leaned forward to inspect the contents of the bucket. It was molasses, thick and syrupy. There was enough sugar in there to produce cakes and pies for an entire street. "Three bags of candies, two of hush puppies, and two tarts." Ollie shook his head. "Four four and two, don''t try me Moses, we both know that''s the only molasse you will get before April." The tall boy shrugged. "Not my call, fireball. We only got three bags of candies and you know the hush puppies will get bad before you can finish them. I can get you another tart after my mom''s done." "Throw in a medium jar of jam and some jerky and you got yourself a deal." Moses considered it. "I guess. Fine. But I don''t have the rest, so you''ll get it tomorrow. Same place, same time?" "You bet." The two groups exchanged the bucket for the basket and soon, both were on their way with Wisp already filling her pockets with candy. Lynn hummed under her breath and considered that this stroll had been ''most educational'' and ''vivifying'', whatever that meant. Aunt Ari and Mom spent a lot of time ''liberating'' stuff from bad guys and keeping it for themselves so obviously that was ladylike behavior whatever they said in front of her. Lynn decided that once she was an adult, she would be the most ladylike of them all. She then picked one of the candies and placed it on her tongue. It tasted quite sweet. They stashed their loot and returned home, no one the wiser. Chapter 100 - 97. Takeover February 3rd, 1834, Boston "Congratulations on your success, Ariane of the Nirari," Constantine declares with all the enthusiasm of a city clerk delivering a building permit, "you are now the legitimate ruler of the State of Illinois with all the duties and rights entailed." Said duties and privileges are mostly about ruling properly and answering a call to arms in the event of a war. "Thank you, Speaker. Now, what shall I call myself? Queen of Illinois?" "I highly discourage traditional nobility titles, especially that of sovereign," Constantine scolds. He reflects for a moment, then concedes: "Given the size of your territory, European vampires would give you the title of Duchess. I, however, prefer the term ''head''." Boring. Well, we shall see what the others call themselves. I never considered that before. "Are there any other ''heads'' I know of?" I ask, clearly showing my disdain of the unassuming word. Constantine still does not understand that the trappings of power need to be solemn and awe-inspiring. Perhaps he will never learn. "Of course. There is me. I am the head of Massachusetts. You also know Kouakou, who recently took over Louisiana with the blessing of the Rolands. Sephare rules Washington and Jarek is settling in the Texan territories in Mexico. Of the Cadiz, you know Suarez who rules the Carolinas and Ceron who commands Florida. The Roland twins rule over Mississippi and Alabama," he continues in what I recognize as his lecturing tone, until he catches himself. The speaker frowns and when he speaks again, his voice is slightly clipped. "You do not need me to give you a lecture. I am sure Wilhelm will be more than happy to enlighten you." I know for a fact that he will not. The Erenwald steward is far too busy handling the day-to-day affairs. "In any case, here is your official deed, not that it matters. A formal acknowledgement is all you need. Will you be hosting a celebration here?" "I was planning on it." "Good. Once more, congratulations Ariane of the Nirari. I will be following your progress with great interest," he finishes before returning his attention to the pile of documents in front of him. I understand that I have been dismissed and stand up from the couch. I make my way out of his elegant office. I cross the antechamber and nod at his two mysterious bodyguards, as well as to Sophie, the Rosenthal renegade, who returns a congratulatory smile. The only surprise comes from the corridor. Lord Ceron is waiting, standing in the middle of the hallway in an elegant old-fashioned suit. His piercing blue eyes turn to me and he shifts his muscular frame to give me a light bow. I did not even know he was in the city. As usual, etiquette is everything. I return a low curtsey as a gesture of respect. We may be political rivals, we may have different allies and assets. None of this matters when two vampires come face to face. I am a newly minted Master and he is a centuries-old Lord who could control his essence before my ancestors even stepped on this continent. Deep inside, I can feel the power he wields, and my instincts urge me to show respect, and so I do. "Congratulations on your victory, Ariane of the Nirari," he says in a neutral voice. The Cadiz lord''s countenance betrays no sign of aggression. A mortal passing by could assume we were talking about the weather. "Thank you, Lord Ceron. My condolences on the loss of Reyes. He did not deserve it," I tell him honestly. Sear?h the n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "I agree, still, it does not lessen your extraordinary achievement." The lord''s eyes glisten dangerously. It is coming. "Tell me, how did you manage it?" he casually asks. I feign ignorance at the implicit meaning behind his question. The old monster is fishing, just as Sinead predicted. "You would be amazed what you can achieve when you treat other species as more than food," I answer honestly. My face is completely expressionless because what I said was the absolute, undiluted truth. I just failed to clarify which specific race I was referring to. The Cadiz nods slowly, before stepping to the side and letting me through. We part ways after a last polite exchange, and he enters Constantine''s domain. As soon as I know with certainty that I am alone I allow myself a victorious grin. Nami was right. Gloating is our guilty pleasure. I do not take part in the purge of the rest of the Pyke family. The reality is that there are few of them, barely twenty including their retainers. Slave hunting was a valuable business that gave them a cover to abduct young casters with no formal training and induct them, twisting their minds with sick games to better serve them and cull those who would resist. As unpleasant as they may be, they do not present a challenge, therefore I let Urchin handle this issue at his insistence. I may be annoyed, but I am also busy. The White Cabal gets massively involved as well and our two groups find unity in common hatred. With this concern out of my mind, I return my focus to settling my affairs. Melusine is granted the title of City Master for the future cities of the north and she decides to settle in a tiny place called Chicago, which she assures me has potential. I also organize a party to announce my ascension and invite all of the Accords to attend, knights and recently arrived Lancasters included. Finally, Blake of the Roland sends me an interesting letter offering a trade agreement between her new holdings and mine, which I accept after careful consideration. On the diplomatic side of things, I confer with Lady Sephare, still busy worming her way into every interest group she can find. I can tell that she prods me a bit too much on my mysterious adviser, and I deflect with amusement. Sinead has grown into a master of deceit and disguise. She will have to be left wondering. In fact, she should even suspect that I am receiving help from Nirari himself since he is my most likely source of support. With this lull in activity, with no one actively trying to kill me, rob me, or take over my lands, comes a time of planning and introspection. Painting all those new sources gives me all the time I need to ponder on the recent developments. I am only interrupted once, when I realize that a small version of the Watcher I drew over a large group of naked werewolves in human form turned into a nightmarish nose with tentacles coming out of the nostrils. Truly, an abomination that came from the recess of a completely twisted mind. Fortunately, I blink, and the image is gone. I still look outside to the cosmic entity and get a feeling of placid innocence. Sometimes I wonder how close the blasted thing is to full consciousness. Except for this small distraction, I am mostly left alone with a fateful question, one I had so far avoided. Two decades ago, Loth came to me after a particularly playful display of cruelty on my part. He advised me to develop a set of rules to follow when dealing with my foes, an advice I elected to follow. He was, as always, right. The laws I defined that night helped me keep myself grounded. Rather than base all my decisions on instinct and emotions, I set up a semi-permanent set of rules that could guide me through clouded judgement and moments of extreme stress. I have the feeling that I broke that law in the previous contest. More specifically, I broke the law on how to deal with enemies who did not commit acts I deem unforgivable. Reyes was not at fault for Ceron''s decision to encroach on my territory. I did not consider him responsible for the backstabbing, which is the most important factor. Yet, he was tortured by the loss of his Servant, an event which I caused by unleashing Sinead on the Cadiz faction. It would be dishonest of me to say that I am not responsible for the Likaean''s action. You do not put a snake in a crib and complain about venom. I knew he would inflict untold torment on a group who represents everything he resents about my kind. I relished it. It made my essence sing in anticipation. So, in some ways, I broke my own code. It matters little that it was through an agent, I knowingly let it happen. What surprises me is that I would not feel worse. I realize that when I set the code, I allowed myself some flexibility in the future. It acts more as a guideline than a dogma. Now a new situation has come up and I have to decide whether or not I should amend it. Should I accept the devastation caused by my allies or agents in a conflict? I do not believe so. It is a poor tool indeed that escapes its wielder''s control, or rather, a poor wielder who allows their tool to destroy what was meant to remain untouched. In this regard, I erred. I could have set boundaries within which Sinead had to operate. I did not, because I was angry. I do not feel remorse. Vampires are distanced from guilt in a way that only the sickest of mortals are. I do, however, believe that I made a mistake. I will offer no reparation for the damage I caused as it would be suicidal and idiotic to reveal my role in this fiasco. Instead, I will remain vigilant and take responsibility for the behavior of those under my command. Yes, this seems wise. After coming to a decision concerning this issue, I feel better. I accept that perfection will never be within my reach. Decades of hard work and immunity to the ravages of time will not change this fact, yet there is no reason not to keep trying, not to improve. It will take a miracle to stop either my sire or his insane mother. I might as well start by learning self-control in times of intense emotion. Speaking of emotions, there is one invitation letter I need to deliver in person. February 10th, 1834, somewhere in the Appalachians. I stalk my prey with patience and determination. My feet are silent on the wet loam. No twig cracks under my steps and no hanging branch snags my clothes. I am on unknown land but on familiar ground. The forest extends far in every direction and in its midst, a secluded cabin with a vast underground serves as home for my quarry tonight. Soon, a clearing comes in view and in it, three people are standing. I recognize the mysterious bald woman with the tattoos on her bronze-colored scalp. The second one is a man with the lost look of a fledgling. He possesses a sturdy frame with just a bit of paunch and a bushy yellow mustache. As I watch, he closes his eyes and listens to the sounds of the forest. I remember being overwhelmed too on the first night I left the fortress. The last man has his back turned to me. Perfect. I approach and climb up a large pine, taking additional care as to not draw attention. The figures below appear oblivious. I grin at the prospect of capturing my prey. It will be glorious. I place both feet against the trunk at my back and push, arcing delicately in the air. Torran''s back is close, so close. I extend my arms and try to grab his back. "Hah! Gotchaaaaaaaaaaarg!" I scream as the tall man grabs me by the throat without looking. He flips me like a crepe and slam me into the ground, not as heavily as he could have. "Oof!" My lungs are emptied of all air. Torran''s face is just as handsome and slightly intimidating as I remember. His hawkish traits show cold anger, but I recognize the twinkle in his eyes. "My dear Servant, please take Hardy inside while I deal with this intruder," he says with mock menace. I look up to see the bald woman take the fledgling on his way inside. She is smiling knowingly. "Now then, what shall I do with this little spy," Torran declares teasingly as he drags me up and holds me by the collar. I channel a smidgen of Hastings essence and struggle like a mortal, letting my feet dance a little jig. There is a dangerous glint in his gaze now at the show of fear. "How did you even know I was coming?" I object with a choking voice. "You masked your aura well and you came from downwind, but you forgot an important detail," he whispers in a husky voice. Then he pulls me in so that my back is against his chest. I still cannot touch the ground. His breath tickles my ear. "Your dress flaps in the wind like a mighty sail." I groan. "And I was forewarned of your arrival by the appearance of an ominous portent," he adds with obvious amusement. "What!?" A portent? Is Torran a seer? The man himself turns to face the forest trail leading to the clearing. There, between two leafless trunks, a certain Nightmare observes us with curiosity. "METIS! You treacherous backstabbing silly pony! No ears for you!" I sputter in outrage, but alas, the vile two-timing harridan neighs in a way that sounds suspiciously like a laugh before galloping away. The wench! She ruined my surprise! "Now then little spy, tell me why you have come." Feeling cheated by fate, I wiggle my butt against my captor in a pretend attempt to escape. I do not miss his groan. "I will only speak under duress, you big monster. Just try and interrogate meeeEEEEEEEP!" Half an hour later, I am thoroughly interrogated and rather grateful that the log cabin''s curtains happen to be drawn. I am playing with Torran''s hair and pulling it above my lip to pretend I have a mustache when he finally speaks. "Congratulations are in order, I believe." "You know?" I exclaim with surprise, blowing the gray strands away. "Of course. I asked Salim of the Rosenthal to keep me apprised of your success via mage sending." "Aw, were you going to ride to my rescue?" "¡­" "By the Watcher, you really were!" "No! No¡­ but I did buy an option for the Rosenthal mercenary branch in case the task proved to be too much," he concedes. "Thank you, Torran," I say, genuinely grateful. "No need to thank me, my star. I knew that you would succeed. That was merely for my own peace of mind," he replies while avoiding my gaze. My, what a little fusspot. "In any case, I actually came here to deliver this!" I proudly announce as I pick up my dress and remove a folded paper from a conveniently hidden pocket. Torran opens it carefully before reading its contents. "A celebration of your ascension with both a reception and a private concert, featuring the works of Schubert, Chopin, and Paganini," he notes with the beginning of a smile. Once more I am amazed by how quickly he goes from stern and severe to radiant. I find the transformation uncanny. "I have recruited two different mortals to play the piano. One has a classical education and the other is a prodigy from a poorer family, more unstable but also more expressive. For Paganini, I have called upon a newly come Roland vampire. Paganini''s caprices are designed to be displays of skills so a highly technical approach will work, even if it remains colder than what humans can achieve." The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. "An excellent choice. I notice that you have picked only recent composers as well. Do you wish to convey a message?" "One of embracing modernity, yes, but I also wanted to give those who have stayed here for a long time an opportunity to enjoy Europe''s latest creations." "How very thoughtful of you, my star. We will see if those old grumps appreciate novelty." "You think they will not?" I ask, scandalized. Torran only chuckles at my vehemence. Honestly, I am doing my best to bring them recent masterpieces. I would be profoundly offended if they did not show proper appreciation. Any grumbling will be met with a scathing silent glare. Repeat offenders will be tutted at. I will show no mercy. "Do not concern yourself overmuch, my star. Even the crustiest of lords appreciate a good show of human creativity, and a display of technique from a fellow vampire is always a pleasure. Everything will be fine," he replies in a conciliatory tone. February 21st, 1834, Boston. Winter came to the bay for one parting slap, and the air outside is bitingly cold. Standing in the ballroom of Constantine''s fortress, one could not tell. Hundreds of candles line the windows and the back mirrors, their warm glow turning the vast hall cozy. The walls radiate a soft heat thanks to the miracle of good plumbing and those of us who still breathe have discarded shawls and gloves to luxuriate in the pleasant atmosphere. Just like last time, I have stayed at the door to welcome newcomers and I am already noticing some major differences. To begin, everyone is significantly more polite. I would like to think that this was caused by my sterling behavior, my good manners, my irresistible charm, and the previous undeniable displays of competence on my part. That would be nice. Unfortunately, I will attribute it to the Lord by my side. Torran the soul weaponsmith stands protectively with my arm in his. Lady Hastings and Lord Suarez, who came from Charleston to offer his support, are never far. The Cadiz presence is modest after their setback, so his coming is that much more significant, and I let him know I appreciate it. "Think nothing of it, us Cadiz are not ones to hold grudges for an honest fight. You did well." If he knew the truth, we would be having a different conversation. After half an hour, it is now time to start and the crowd progressively switches to front seats. Wilhelm helped me assign them, for which I am grateful, otherwise I would have just given up and gone for alphabetical sorting. Constantine and the other lords are at the front, naturally. I step up the dais at the back of the room and feel their attention on me. Once more, all the present members have subdued their auras. I take a moment to appreciate the masterwork piano Wilhelm lent me for the occasion. It sits there, slick and black and entirely massive. I am really looking forward to this. "Ladies and Gentlemen, noble assembly, thank you so much for joining me tonight. I am delighted that we have enough room tonight, seeing that perhaps a quarter of my clan is present." That gives me a few nose exhalations, as well as knowing looks from the lords at the front who know that there are, in fact, four of us. The others would assume that I refer to a hypothetical spawn. "This land is one of opportunity," I start, and stretch my hands in a gesture of offering. "This sentence is as true for us as it is for the mortals. Three decades ago, I was indentured to another clan, and did not even possess the clothes on my back. Tonight, we have gathered to celebrate my ascension as head of a territory. My success is not due to skill, or luck, though they played their part. I am here because of the opportunities I found and seized for myself, and so can you." Some of the younger members shift in their seats, eager to know how they could replicate my success. "We are still parts of our respective clans and need not forfeit our traditions. We can, however, cast away the chains that tie us down. Past grudges. Past prejudices. Those prisons of the mind hamper us and limit our vision and options. I started in this world with no allies, but also with no enemies. A Cadiz freed me, an Ekon trained me, and I was proven innocent by a Lancaster. My path was made possible by the people who helped me along the way. Look to your left and right, and you will see your allies of tomorrow, if you so choose." No one moves but I see that quite a few people are thoughtful. Others remain unconvinced, which I naturally expected. "Now enough words. I promised you music and you shall receive it. Tonight, young and newly arrived artists will present you with works from recent masters, those who have known how to draw upon the classics to create a new current. Please give them a warm welcome," I finish. I quickly step down the dais to invite the first performer of the night. She had been waiting at the back with a plump old relative acting as guardian. The girl is young, with a severe and rotund face. She steps forth with all the grace she can muster and climbs the few steps under a hundred predatory gazes. She goes through the motions of curtseying with the rigidity of an automaton, then, as she sits before the massive piano forte, her demeanor changes. She turns more graceful and more fluid. In less than ten seconds, she has shed any trace of anxiety and the music rolls free under her delicate hands. Schubert''s sonata is beautiful and energetic, and the girl plays it well. Her interpretation is classic and scholarly but here and there, she teases a different tempo or a daring forte that hints at the character underneath. She is like a blooming flower struggling against the cage of rigid training and the others like it as much as I do. I can feel it in their immobile attention and carefully controlled auras. When she is done, the assembly gives her the applause she deserves. She smiles radiantly before stepping down and joining the now ecstatic plump woman on her way out. I smile and grab Torran''s hands who gives me a supportive squeeze. The next artist enters the room. He is a young black man, barely a day above eighteen, accompanied by an older man with white hair and the tracking eyes of someone who never lets his guard down. Amusingly, it is the elder who shows obvious hints of fear. He can tell that something is off by our expensive clothes and the immobility we affect when we are amongst each other. His weathered face turns grey and his grip on the shoulder of his prot¨¦g¨¦ tightens. A few of the youngest Courtiers shift at the obvious show of weakness. The pianist, however, remains unfazed. His stare has not left the masterwork piano since he entered the room. He frees himself and jumps the few steps up to the object of his fascination, belatedly remembering to bow on the way. He plops himself on the seat and plays a few arpeggios. His thin fingers dance on the black and white keyboard with the speed of knitting needles. Finally, he settles and gives us Chopin. I will admit that as much as I appreciated Schubert, the Polish turned Frenchman has my favor for the night. I am sure a true critique would find the perfect words for the music and compare him to great masters but since I am a neophyte and cannot, I will satisfy myself with the simplest of terms. The music is alive. It represents everything that we have lost and cannot possibly find again. It is clear to me that Chopin is or was a virtuoso, and the Nocturne played before us shows signs of a man improvising and searching as he plays. Some repeated sentences flow into each other in their hunt for illusive perfection and the artist knows it. The young man''s style is flowing and smooth and his movements are never twice the same. I love it. There is so much innovation here, so much life. Never have I so clearly understood the appeal of the Mask faction. To be the shepherds and the hands in the shadows, pushing civilization and fine arts forward. I can certainly understand. Far too soon, the piece is over and the young man blinks as he seems to remember where he is. We applaud him with enthusiasm, and he steps down shily to rejoin his guardian who fearfully pushes him out. Both of the players tonight will be paid and sent on their way safely. There is little need for additional precautions. The last performer makes his way in. He is a Roland Courtier by the name of Yves with close-cropped blonde hair and brown eyes who holds a violin as if it were a treasure, and perhaps it is. The mood of the assembly changes slightly as we now judge the artist with different criteria. Yves bows slightly and starts without ceremony. I admit to being impressed. Paganini''s caprices are the playing field of the technical genius and Yves proves his worth with sober and measured movements. Complex melodies cascade over us at inhuman speed and with exacting precision. Not a single note is out of place and not a single interval is missed. In the middle of this impossible show, the Courtier still manages to instill a few marks of originality and personality. It does not hold a candle to what the mortals offered us earlier, but we still smile appreciatively as we all know how difficult we find it. That last part ends quickly by virtue of Yves'' speed. We applaud him too with benevolent appreciation and respect. Soon after, we stand up as he steps down. The humdrum of conversation is immediate. I pick up words of pleasure and wonder in Akkad as well as in English, to my pride. Torran smiles and he wordlessly takes my hand in his, caressing one finger after another with a light touch. "For the second time you gather us and share your love of the world and its wonders. Thank you." "Of course, I am a woman of exquisite taste after all," I reply without seriousness as I place a hand on his chest. Torran chuckles warmly. "Indeed, and although you like to mislead your enemies and allies alike through your love of gunpowder, there is, as you have taught me, no incompatibility between pyrotechnical violence and the sensitivity of the gentler sex. My own bloodline could learn a lot from this lesson." "Torran?" I reply, amazed. "I will never repeat those words before my faction''s grumpy elders of course. I have a reputation of cold disdain to maintain, after all," he finishes with a grin. "Tch! I care not about them. I only care that you approve." "And I do. Ah, if we could have an organ here, my star." His eyes turn dreamy and I find myself smiling too. A few other revelers use the lull in our conversation to come and express their gratitude. I wish the artists themselves could have mingled but alas, they are still young and it is quite late, and I agreed to let them go. It is for the best. They burn bright and the allure might be too much for some of us. Constantine comes to greet me on his way out. The tall man does not enjoy celebrations, it seems. "A capital performance by your guests, House Nirari. I find your choice quite pleasing." "Thank you, Speaker." Of course, he would. It was all very polite and consensual, just as he imagines the world should be, and will be tonight. The truth is that no agreement will be reached before dawn comes. Plotters and schemers, sycophants and the mighty will make tentative gestures and contact the more receptive audience at a later date. My party is neutral ground. The Progenitor leaves soon after. I can tell that he makes efforts to mingle but they feel somewhat forced, while smoother conversationalists like Sephare flit from group to group, firing smiles and witty repartees like others fling arrows. The Accords will not survive long under their current structure if our numbers keep increasing. Only his personal might has kept him at the top so far. Our next notable visitor is a man with black hair that reaches the nape of his neck. He has an angular face with a large nose and a pointy chin. With his dark coat and trousers, he looks like a prince''s tutor or a stern college dean. The impression is smoothed by the genuine smile he wears. "Ah, Ariane of the Nirari. I am delighted to see another patron of the fine arts join our modest numbers. There are too few of us in these as of yet untamed lands." "Thank you for your kind words, Lord¡­" Something to do with music. "¡­Madrigal," I finish, with a hesitation that he does not miss. He is a Roland as well, though seemingly less stubborn than some of his kin. "Splendid! You remember the name. Ah, to be entirely truthful my name was Jean-Paul, but alas it was already taken. I named myself Madrigal to show my love for vocal composition in the typically childish fashion of those who do not plan. I am now stuck with it." "It could be worse, you could have called yourself Lieder," I remark teasingly. "I was na?ve, not stupid," the man castigates without any real bite. We all smile genially. "In any case, this is a busy evening so I will be brief. I act as an ambassador of sorts for the Roland faction in Europe, and I extend a formal invitation to visit our lovely Nadir," he continues. "Nadir?" I ask. "Nadir is the capital of Masks in Europe, my star," Torran explains, "It occupies some of the catacombs below Paris, with surface access to many inner courts and buildings." "As drily accurate as it is irrelevant," Lord Madrigal replies with a hint of condescension, "Nadir is a center of art and politics. We have masquerades and games that the mortals can only dream of, set in a oneiric locale transfigured by generations of artists. Some were even sane!" Torran does not rebuke the man, though they exchange a glance I cannot decipher. I think they know each other from before. "But I digress," the sharp man finishes, "just know that we will always welcome such a connoisseur and that should you plan a trip to the old world, you may contact me. I will make sure that you are received with all the honors. As I have already taken too much of your precious time, I bid you a good night." We all bow and the man departs. I might just be tempted to travel to Europe, if only because Torran will return to his home territory as soon as his fledgling is mature enough to travel. Before it happens, I have something to finish. Jonathan''s pale figure wavers as a lapse in concentration destabilizes the sending. The mage Salim lent me recovers and I continue our conversation. "Are you quite certain?" I ask. "Yes, he is your best bet." "You surprise me, Jonathan, I expected you to try and keep this in house." "It would be counterproductive. Your growth will be slow, and I need to maintain your flawless image," he retorts with a smile. Jerk. "Besides, you asked me for the best and he is it. Go and meet him. If he does not measure up to your standards, I have others who could." "And how shall I approach him?" "Directly, of course. The more direct the better. Impart upon him the, shall we say, unfortunate consequences of refusing your offer," the Cabal Black Dog replies with a ghastly smile. "He would also not be an opponent you wish to intimidate, would he?" I ask with a frown, "He is not. With that said, the White Cabal could certainly impress upon that man and his associates our power and our reach. Think of it as payment for this nugget of information. Good luck Ariane," the infuriating man finishes before cutting the link. I hope he is right. March 13th, 1834, Philadelphia. My secret lair is ready and well-protected. The local Roland coven gave me their approval, and it is now time to finally take the next step in my snail-paced yet inevitable plan to take over the world. I pick a cheap pamphlet from my official dress, the blue one that would look nice in a salon and can also stop a bullet fired at point-blank range into my heart. I unfold the now-wrinkled paper and inspect my notes. The door facing me is as innocuous as the five others in this place of half-abandoned brick factories, save for a specific sigil that looks like the zodiacal sign of the lion. I find all this cloak-and-dagger nonsense too amateurish to be amusing. "Let''s see now," I grumble, "ah, there it is." I find a dial conveniently hidden behind a greasy piece of paper (Old Lady Grayson Sausages, five cents apiece!) and turn it. "Five, Six, One, Nine," I whisper. Nothing happens. "Maybe Five, One, Six, Nine?" Clank! With the ominous sound of rusty hinges, the massive gate swings open to reveal the impenetrable darkness below. Not absolutely correct of course, it reveals a downward set of stairs in good need of a sweeping. I also notice strands of energy hanging in the air like a spiderweb. Probably an alarm system. I poke one out of politeness and the whole construct folds on itself like a mousetrap. Runes set in the wall a few feet ahead ignite and throw a bolt of lightning which I casually deflect with a charged claw. "Rude." They still shine purple, I notice. It feels strange to bring the light of the Watcher into the world of the mortals. They¡­ do not deserve to gaze upon its alien glow. Or perhaps I am being snobbish. With a sigh, I lift the heavy bag by my side and descend into the unknown, which end up twenty steps into another corridor blocked by another pane of reinforced planks. I knock politely. A deep and unsettling voice reverberates throughout the damp air. I easily recognize an intentionally garbled sending. "You are not welcome here, dark creature. Return to the night from whence¡ª" "Look, we can have this conversation face to face or not at all. There are limits to how much bad taste I can tolerate." "I said, return from whence, gah, foolish woman! Thine path is barred by the stoutest of¡ª" I boot ''thine path'' where I think the opening mechanism is and the old thing bangs open, smashes against the wall and half-closes again. "My door!" I ignore the whines and step into an open space that tries really hard not to look like the vaguely redesigned basement of a derelict cotton mill. I judge the effort passable. Banners wearing eldritch symbols hang from the wall, which would be more impressive if the fabric was not so cheap and if the runes did not spell air, fire, water, and increased body weight. Between those amusing works, bookshelves filled with manuscripts of forbidden lore as well as cookbooks and at least one children songs compendium mark the den of a powerful mage. Said mage stands inside of a small stone building, a building within a building, if you will. I also note a few more doors on the side and far walls as well as a lack of ceiling. The space above us is empty as far as the roof of the factory and its dirty glass skylight. It all looks like a good idea with poor execution. Besides the mage, three more beings occupy the cramped space. Two are clearly apprentices in ratty red robes that look like theater props dug up from a mass grave. The third one is more impressive, and I look forward to some interaction. "Away, foul fiend! Away! You will find no easy prey, for you have entered the chambers of Ezekiel the Red! Away, I tell thee!" the man vociferates. He is indeed a redhead, with a sharp and manic face covered by a wild beard, a hawkish nose and rare green eyes. His hair reaches below his shoulders in a good attempt to mask an advanced case of bald spot. He seems tall and gangly, though it is hard to tell for sure behind a robe in marginally better state than that of his wards. "Let me consider the question," I answer, and I tap a claw against my chin. "No?" "HELLBLAST!" A plume of fire erupts from the mage''s gauntlet. I grit my teeth as my instincts cry out to JUMP and, instead, angle my chest out of the spell''s trajectory. The roaring missile passes me by and crashes against unyielding bricks at my back. I pretend to brush ash away from my shoulder. Truth is, that was quite hot, and my dress might be singed. "BLOODCHAIN!" the man yells, undaunted. This time, I dance away from the links even as they pursue me. Lambert of the Lancaster used a similar spell and I know what to expect. It takes a few seconds for the mage''s focus to falter, which is quite a long time given the complex path the bindings followed. It speaks well of the caster''s ability, if not of his wisdom. "Anything else?" I ask in a bored voice. "It matters not," Ezekiel the Red spits as his two students grow more and more nervous, "you will never breach my sanctum!" I smile at the challenge and approach the single door leading inside of their safe room. The obstacle is made of reinforced steel with an opening sealed by vertical bars at head height and some respectable enchantments. I am not confident that I could destroy the lock, especially not with a caster able to reinforce the defenses as I work. I will, of course, not waste my time on such a stupid method. I grab two bars and place my feet against the walls on each side on the opening, careful that my dress does not ride up my legs and gives the quartet an eyeful. Once in position, I channel the Natalis and werewolf essences and pull. The metal hinges groan until, with a last tortured crack, the masonry gives way. It only takes a few pulls for the heavy piece to finish in my hands. I set it down on the side with deliberate slowness. Inside of the safe room, the mage and his pair of dunces have crawled against the walls with faces of unmitigated horror. The last occupant is a golem made out of an old knight armor and some nifty bone constructs. It stands ominously, holding a slightly rusted mass in its ivory hands, exactly like Jonathan described. "You¡­ my guardian will make short work of you, night creature! It has no blood to drink, nor mind to corrupt!" "Oh no!" I retort with a flat voice as I drop the heavy bag I was holding by my side, "I am undone! A golem, my very obvious and totally unexpected weakness! What am I to do?" I rummage inside the bag and drag a three-parts handle which I quickly assemble into a stick the length of a quarterstaff. "If only I had planned and brought an appropriate tool!" I continue in the same dead voice. I pick a hammer head from the bag and screw it on the handle. The hammerhead is an inelegant work of steel with a single silver pane at the point of impact. The pane itself is engraved with a single rune that spells "shatter". Even my own budding skills are enough to charge such a simple and specific apparatus. It will hurt, too. The mage observes the barbaric tool, aghast. He inspects his creation and the harbinger of destruction in the hands of she who just popped his door from its frames, bricks and all. He calculates his chances. It does not take long. "Can we talk about this?" "Certainly. We may even have started with that if you had not attempted to roast me." "Err really? What is it you want, exactly? I mean, state thine will, foul fiend!" For a moment I consider roaring and spreading a bit of terror, so he stops with the nonsense. In the end, I consider them soiling themselves to be counterproductive. "Is this little treasure hunt your doing?" I ask, holding the pamphlet. The crumpled piece of paper was published in a journal and advertised ''the secrets of the universe'' for those who could decipher its code. Ezekiel led me on a merry chase, one that required the ability to perceive magical workings to complete but was otherwise as boring as it was obtuse. And now, here we are. "Certainly. Then¡­" "Yes, I am here to learn magic." I could shove a fist in the man''s opened mouth. I refrain from doing so. "And you will teach me," I finish. Chapter 101 - 98. Schooled The gauntlet lets out a pathetic little ball of blue light, barely more than moonlight reflected on a soap bubble. The light shimmers lightly then winks out. So, that was a success. And now I get to do it all over again. "Light," the young witch by my side declares. A few seconds later, a shimmering burst erupts from her gauntlet and basks the moldy walls in its reddish glow. She cuts the spell and the shadows creep back in. Our eyes meet before she quickly averts her gaze and returns her attention to the exercise. The corners of her mouth creep up in pride. I allow it. I am a vampire of many talents. I am good at painting, shooting, basic engineering, forging and accounting. I have a reasonable head for finance and diplomacy, and I have good taste in friends. And men. Truly, my skills are many. Magic is not one of them. I am, simply put, below average. This is an unfortunate fact of life and can only be offset by time and no small amount of effort. I knew it would be so. I was warned. That is why I do not begrudge the pallid girl her pride and return my attention to the training gauntlet on my left hand. Magic is made of three components. The first is power. I have that aplenty. More than Ezekiel the Red himself. And yes, Ezekiel is his real name. It turns out that Devouring so many mages and having such a concentrated essence is a boon. I can hypothetically cast more spells, or more powerful ones, than even an experienced mage. The problem comes from the two other elements. The second is symbols. There is a need for a focus of sort, a physical representation of the desired effect to guide the energies. Some research Loth mentioned proved that even symbols made of light and shadows can be used, though they are less effective than something more concrete, which is, in turn, less effective than metals or worked materials. The symbols can come from many different systems. What matters is that they mean something to the caster. Loth had a theory that the more people use a system, the more powerful it becomes. It could explain why Western Standard is so popular. The best systems are the most flexible ones. Western Standard allows for complex sets of instructions for more specific working, a bit like a language. The Likaean system is similar but I decided to stick to Western Standard for now. One, I do not want to reveal too much, and two, the Likaean system is based on its language which is itself magical. It is, therefore, a crutch. I want to learn the hard way. A magic user needs to understand the symbol and the system at a fundamental level to wield it with any degree of mastery. My own study has progressed over the last decades and though it is by no means perfect, I am still far above the average apprentice. No, the difficulty stems from the third part, the will. Mages need to visualize and bring forth the desired effects and it is simply something that I have extreme difficulties with, barring some notable exceptions like the darkness spell. Calling my will forth is a bit like flexing a muscle that I never knew I had. Anger does not help. Thinking hard does not help. The mental effort fails to match anything I have done so far, including aura control. While the two others manage with commendable efficiency, I was not born with it, and need to learn from nothing. Magic is as unfamiliar to me as the sun. I am not just a talentless player learning the violin, I also need to do so while wearing mittens. Despite the frustration, I endure. I lift my gauntlet to look at the rune of light. I easily push power inside of the receptacle and attempt to visualize a ball. I can see the simple image in my mind, but it lacks¡­ substance. Light is not just the light that I can see, it is light that everyone can see from different angles. It has a¡­ trajectory. A ball of light has a depth. I do not rush. I do not force it. I proceed with calm and patience with the belief that, in time, I will gain in speed. Slowly but surely, something takes form in the back of my mind until a sort of trigger clicks, like figuring out the answer to a riddle. "Light," I whisper again, and another ball forms in my palm. I stare at its pale blue surface before dispelling it. Once more. We go on for fifteen minutes, then Ezekiel visits both students, giving insightful pieces of advice. He then stops before me with visible hesitation. "May I?" he politely asks. I nod and place my hand in his. He flinches slightly when they touch. Ezekiel''s gangly form stands straighter as he focuses on casting the spell himself. He could do it in an instant but instead he takes the time to clearly visualize his process. Through contact and mind magic, he shares his impression with me so that for an instant, I know how to cast the spell with perfect clarity. "Light." A reddish orb rises from the man''s gauntlet. It shines there like a bright star, serene and immortal, and not like my own flickering thing. Then Ezekiel withdraws his hand and I grasp at the memories of what I just experienced, and it works. Little by little, the man shares his own knowledge so that I do not have to search for understanding, only reach it. I am already making progress. I have the time to cast twice more before the teacher calls the class to a stop. The two others unclasp their gauntlets with visible relief. While I have reserves aplenty, they are still quite young, and I understand that continuous casting has a deleterious effect. It tires the mind and renders the mage unresponsive and dull until they have had time to recover. Ezekiel quite capably alternates theory and practice to prevent his human pupils from burning out. Jonathan was correct, the man knows his craft. The two red-robed youths sit at their desks and I join them. The boy''s name is Terrence. He is a painfully thin stick of a man with a prominent Adam''s apple and an unfortunate face that is made constantly melancholic by two droopy eyes. The girl is shorter, with hair as black as soot and a slightly chubby face under two piercing dark eyes. Her name is Margaret, and she reacts with violence to being called Maggie. They are quite different. As far as I can tell from my eavesdropping, the boy wants to escape a life as a shoemaker and his domineering mother. He is as hard-working as he is unimaginative. The girl has a chip on her shoulder and an insatiable drive for power that I can respect, even if I think it will burn her. Terrence is also hopelessly in love with Margaret, who noticed his toad-like puppy eyes and decided that she wanted nothing to do with it. At least she has standards. As usual, the three humans look at me with a hint of worry, even when I am on my best behavior. "Ahem," Ezekiel begins as he attempts to regain his composure, "tonight''s class will be focused on blood. Indeed, no one understands the vital liquid like us blood mages." Heavy, awkward silence. "No human, in any case," the man finishes sheepishly. He then proceeds to explain an important aspect of magic: the addition of concepts to standard castings. Bolt, for example, is a basic spell made out of three runes: forward, power, and impact. The ubiquitous Firebolt is constructed by adding the concept of fire to the power of the construct, turning the projectile from one of force to one of fire. It makes the casting more difficult, but turns the spell from a heavy blow to setting things on fire. That is particularly useful when your opponent can just shrug off that kind of damage. Now I understand why I have never been submitted to the standard bolt. It would have been absolutely pointless against me. Ezekiel continues his explanation in a measured tone, stressing the important words to make sure we understand. "Blood is a powerful and double-edged concept. It adds an organic dimension to the spell that can transform or enhance it, but always at a cost. A blood bolt will draw liquid from your veins. In return, the impact will be greater and wither your foe and their defenses. Competent blood mages walk that delicate edge to gain the upper hand even in the most desperate of circumstances." Margaret raises a hand. "Yes?" Ezekiel asks. "Then why are we not learning any of it?" she asks somewhat belligerently. Ezekiel, who is apparently not dealing with his first batch of power-hungry idiots, has the appropriate response lined up. "Because the first step in learning blood magic is to train how to work without it. You need to understand what you can do without its dangerous power. Only when you have found your limits can you safely overcome them." To my surprise, the girl appears convinced. I realize that the students really do look up to Ezekiel and why: he treats them with respect, something that they had apparently been missing. The class continues with theories on glyphs that I only half-listen to. This is all known to me, but being part of the normal class is part of my arrangement with Ezekiel the Red. The canny wizard agreed to teach me in return for a substantial monetary compensation and an obligation on my part not to interfere with his other students. The man has principles, I will grant him that, though he applies them strangely. For example, he has granted his two students a room in his derelict factory turned secret lair at no additional cost. Terrence even considers it his home, as a quick verification showed that I could not enter it uninvited. It still irks me that walls and a door can suddenly become an unbreakable sanctum that no amount of effort allows me to peacefully penetrate. With the power of belief, those are the two things the more rational part of me find difficult to accept. Ezekiel did not just offer them a safe haven. His training is comprehensive and he only asks from them a reasonable amount of money, to be returned in a manageable time frame after they graduate. He has garnered quite a reputation. On the other hand, he is an occasional contract killer. He also serves as muscle and otherworldly security to Philadelphia''s criminal underworld. I keep staring at the man lecturing us in his ridiculous opera prop costume under the yellow light of candles. He who has the blood of many on his hands, many of them possibly innocent, yet still took these youths under his benevolent guidance at a symbolic price. The dichotomy between murderous rake and fatherly figure is so poignant that I am led to wonder if we vampires truly are set apart from mankind, or if the magnificent sods simply delude themselves with ideas of universal values and self-obvious ethics. At midnight, Ezekiel finishes his classes and the exhausted little idiots retire to their quarters. Ezekiel usually teaches at night due to, he claims, some alignment of the spheres. I suspect that it has more to do with the mysticism that the night offers. Also, the shades hide the general rattiness of the setting. I stand up to leave when the gangly educator stops me with a hesitant voice. "One moment of your time, please, Ariane of the Nirari. I have a proposal for you." "Do tell?" I answer, curious. This is the first time in a week that we exchange more than trite pleasantries. "There will be no class tomorrow. There is a task I have to complete," he continues. I glare. Our agreement was a bit vague about an exact timetable, and I fully expected him to take some nights off on account of having to assassinate some poor idiots, break into houses and whatnot. I am therefore not shocked that it would occur. I do not have to inform him of this fact, of course. "I assure you that I will respect our agreement to the letter! It does not change anything. We will merely be delayed for a few hours." "I assume you have a point?" I drily ask. "Yes! Of course. I am to visit a certain place and retrieve a certain item." "And you want my assistance for this burglary?" The man coughs heavily in his sleeve and clears his throat, red with embarrassment. "Nothing of the sort. My destination is a hotel of some repute and I merely ask that you stay in its main hall and cover my retreat." "You are expecting trouble," I state. "Most assuredly. A band of disreputable louts have it in their mind that I somehow offended them. Poppycock! Nevertheless, they shall surely intercept me when I visit that particular location. They have ways to detect my presence, you see?" "And you expect me to stop them?" "Yes. I do. You may do with them as you wish. And their leader is a man by the name of Salazar. He is a talented warlock, and¡­hmmm¡­ I was led to understand that you are a woman of refined¡­" he swallows nervously. "¡­ palate." I am intrigued. And also, a bit annoyed. "Surely you are not implying this is payment for my service." The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. "Of course not!" he energetically replies, "I would never dare! No, I will also give you access to all my personal spells." Ah, now we''re talking. "All of them?" "Well, I only made a dozen, but I assure you that they have been praised in all the right circles. And they are efficient and of middling difficulty. You should be able to cast them all within a few years with a reasonable amount of practice. I have a custom-made tracking spell that can use even a single piece of hair!" That is, in fact, a great deal. Ezekiel is high on the list of able blood mages, and he is very clean in his casting. Anything he creates would be simple and efficient. By comparison, it will be decades before I can master the contents of the human skin tome my sire sent me as a gift. In the end, I negotiate for the spells plus his help in learning one of them. After we are done, he retreats to his personal quarters and I exit the building via the now-repaired door. Southwark greets me in all its dubious glory. Warehouses, docks, and trades bustle with activity during the day as Philadelphia digests coal and enough food for its tens of thousands of citizens. Now, they are mostly silent, especially in this more remote area. To the north, the strip that is the city proper shines in the night, nestled between the two dark arms of the Delaware and Schuylkill rivers. I don my cloak and slowly walk to the affluent part of town, confident that I am not being followed and that Nashoba''s earring still protects me from tracking spells. I cross the last track of open land to the geometrical chessboard that is the city proper. Sober buildings of red bricks line its streets, interspersed here and there by the white stone of churches and official buildings. Even at this late hour, gentlemen in crisp and conservative clothes head home, speaking English and German. There are still a few trees though I understand that they have grown rare, cut down to build houses for the ever-expanding population. Philadelphia might no longer be the political capital, and finance may be moving to New York, but it remains one of the continent''s largest cities. It is also one of the oldest, and the vampire population reflects this. Philadelphia used to be under the purview of Lady Berenice of the Roland, but she left recently to manage her clan''s expansion north. Reigning in her stead is a master by the name of Noel, whose hospitality I purchased at a decent cost. I am his guest, benefitting from his protection and company both. I walk unmolested to Arch street and step inside a multi-storied brick building that looks exactly like every other multi-storied brick building around it. A doorman bows as I go by, and I enter a lavishly decorated lobby. The contrast with the sober exterior remains jarring, even after a week. Vampires can only tolerate so much puritan sobriety before our love of art and decorations fights back. The conflict between personal preferences and the need to conform sometimes lead to such dens as this one. I make my way up a set of stone stairs. I allow my feet to bury in the luscious red carpet beneath, luxuriating in its soft plushiness. Servants and a Courtier salute me as we come across each other, and I soon arrive before a massive door. A knock, and I am invited in. There, the building''s perfume of vanilla and cleanliness turns to coffee and sandalwood. A quiet fire burns in the office''s hearth while behind the large desk, a man greets me with a smile. Noel is a thin man with aristocratic tendencies and a thin moustache. His auburn hair is combed back and he wears close-fitting clothes of the latest fashion. There are few official documents on his workspace. Instead, his workspace is covered in notes, correspondences and fossils enshrined in glass containers. He places one back down with great care as I come in before ringing a bell. I sit down before him with a smile. "Ariane, always a pleasure." "Likewise. How is the new specimen?" I politely ask. Noel is a great supporter of paleontology, which is, as I understand, the study of long-dead stuff. Not to be mixed with archeology which happens to be the study of long-dead people. I lost interest when he said there was no physical evidence of dragons ever existing. I do not look down upon this historical science and its practitioners. Rather, I am much more interested in a slew of more practical studies like chemistry. I still allowed Noel to teach me the basics for the sake of conversation. "Delightful. It appears to be a sort of shelled insect never seen in our current time. Who knows how many millenia, nay, tens of thousands of years ago this thing walked the earth!" he exclaims. He then frowns. "Or more accurately, crawled," he finally admits. "Any progress on a dating spell?" "Yes indeed. Unfortunately, we face the problem of reference points. I am considering the acquisition of a fragment of an antique tool to act as a base. Possibly Greek." Fascinating. "I wish you good fortune in this endeavor since you would also need a way to accurately date the tools. May I suggest Pompeii and Herculaneum? The cities are still being excavated," I politely suggest. "In Italy? Yes¡­ Yes, of course! And we know when the city was destroyed, so we can assess when the tools were made give or take a decade. Brilliant!" I wait for the man to feverishly write a message while a human maid comes in to bring me a cup of freshly made arabica. I sample it with pleasure, letting the bitter taste linger on my tongue. "I apologize," the Master finally says, "was there something specific you wanted to talk about?" "Yes. I have received a request for protection by my esteemed teacher on a visit tomorrow. I wanted to clear it with you as I expect violence." "Whose territory does this concern?" "Yours. It will take place on the Southern end of the city." "Then there is no issue," he answers dismissively before returning his attention to a note. I raise an eyebrow at that but refrain from commenting. I am but a guest and he is City Master in interim. How he conducts his affairs is his concern. sea??h th§× N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. I sip from my cup in the following silence. Noel makes conversation for a while and I soon leave. I know when someone would prefer to be left alone to play with their new toy. I still have quite a bit of time before dawn. As usual, I start with my correspondence. Marquette works well without me. All communities are in balance with clearly separated territories and rules to handle any dispute. So far, there has been nothing that would require my presence. I hope that this week''s mail will not prove any different. In any case, any urgent business would reach me by sending. I climb down to my official room. I slumber in the basement below, but I conduct my business here. The room is barely enough to contain my few personal effects and a pointlessly large bed. Torran is busy elsewhere. I open the first letter, which comes from Merritt, and peruse its contents. The werewolves ate a patrol of Gabrielites. We don''t know why they came because Jeffrey''s troops apparently consumed everything including the satchel containing their correspondence. There are few means of communication that can survive a trip through a werewolf''s digestive tract. Moving on. Jonathan''s wife Sola returned to their home base and is expected to stay there until she gives birth. Marquette now has three acceptably-trained healers. Good. John has successfully settled in the West with his family. At the thought of my lost ally, I feel a moment of disappointment. A small part of me still clamors that he was too valuable to be let go. It says that the man was mine until death and that I should have bound him to my service. This possessive drive is part of who we are, but listening to it is not always wise. We are incredibly vulnerable during the day and the one thing that can kill us is treachery brought by resentment. Forcing him to stay would have not just been dishonorable. It would have also been unwise. Next. The segregation law of Marquette has been lifted and anyone is now free to circulate anywhere. Excellent. The issue of slavery is still a burning topic everywhere in the nation, with Philadelphia firmly on the side of the abolitionists. I wonder for how long these tensions will last. Finally, the children are settling in. We rescued quite a few and I volunteered to have many orphans settle in my town. With Sinead''s bastards, we now have a new generation of potential mages growing up. It will be a challenge to train them and to keep a significant proportion away from the White Cabal. We might be allies, but we are also in competition for talents. I write a short answer to acknowledge reception and suggest that, next time, the werewolves backtrack the patrol''s path to its origin and finish their meal. I seal the envelope with wax and place it in a basket designed to that effect. The next letter is a financial recounting of my assets. I own or have shares in a respectable amount of Marquette''s businesses as well as factories in the east. Amusingly, the spirit of the frontier is one of independence and autonomy while, in my opinion, they should rely on communities. Few individuals and companies want to borrow or share ownership. They would rather labor for decades before finally opening their long-awaited companies than be indebted for five years and profit for fifteen. It does not make sense from an economic perspective. The world is a strange place. I open a few more letters and make appropriate answers, then comes the time for self-study. I take my training gauntlet and fasten it, then visualize the light spell once more. Time after time, I cast. The work is difficult and repetitive but I do not mind. The spell grows incrementally more familiar after every hour of practice and, every time the sphere appears, I feel a little bit of satisfaction. I am still learning, growing, evolving. Soon, I will add to my arsenal its most versatile element. It is only a matter of time, and I have plenty of it. For now. I sit on one of the Crossing Hotel lobby''s many couches. The red leather monstrosities are placed around a decadent coffee table, and their heavy musk almost overpowers that of tobacco. The monotonous ticking of a clock is the only sound breaking the silence. The receptionist took one glance at Ezekiel and I before deciding he would be better off somewhere else. I idly inspect my surroundings. The plaster and fresh paint do a good job of creating the illusion of understated opulence. I assume that this would be a good resting place for well-to-do traders for a few days. It remains depressingly empty now. The blood mage stepped up one of the twin sets of stairs and left me here to intercept the forces inevitably coming for him. Since I have a few minutes, I rummage in my shoulder bag and take out a few notes. They contain supplementary visualization exercises that Ezekiel made for students who struggle with it. They look entertaining and easier than a real casting. One of them consists of imagining the tracing of a cube. It is a cube spell. Completely useless but for the exercise itself. I flip the pages and realize that one of those small spells would in theory permit me to move objects at a distance. It does appear useful in itself. Unfortunately, it falls under the category of advanced exercises. I am still reading when the double door bangs open and a group of hard men in leather outfits barges in with fury. I count five separate pulses without turning my head. Their auras are that of experienced casters, especially the first one. He is domineering and tastes faintly of ash. "She''s with him. Kill her," the lead man orders with the uncaring voice of the consummate professional. A dark bolt leaves one of his subordinate''s gauntlets and slams against my patiently erected shield. The shield holds and I am almost overcome by giddy pleasure. My first shield! And it worked! To cast it, I did not use my gauntlet. Instead, I drew a circle and a few runes on the ground in silver powder. A worthwhile, if costly, exercise. "Rude," I mumble, somewhat annoyed now that I realize I have been attacked. What happened to courtesy? I finally turn to the attackers and quickly inspect them as another spell is prepared. The leader is in a dark outfit. He has black hair and beard that jut from his face and head at a sharp angle like so many jagged rocks. His face is too sharp to be called handsome and his eyes are dark brown and piercing as he assesses me. The others are a motley crew of younger men, all fit and alert and eager for violence with their flaring nostrils and palpitating hearts. "Witch!" the leader alerts, and he and another form shields at the head of the formation while the others focus on unleashing some deadly and complex constructs. I sigh and stand up, closing my book with a resonating snap. Tonight, I do not wear my training implement. The focus clamped on my wrist is bulky and on its back, a single rune drawn in blood shines an ominous red. The twisting script is not Western Standard, oh no. It is much, much older. I raise it and unleash my aura. The wave of cold washes over my opponents in a frigid tide and a few flinch. Their leader''s face whitens. I can feel it now. Even as I weave and call forth the spell, the edges of the room already darken. Shades creep over the floor and along the wall like prowling creatures. Likaean is the language of magic. Before I can even say the word, it already exists within the space we stand on because it is concept made sound. I am only casting it now because having a cover of darkness is an invaluable tactical advantage that I kinda sorta vaguely could use and absolutely not because my slow progress annoys me, and I want to show off. "Nu Sh¡ª" "We surrender!" a voice shrieks in the mostly empty hall, interrupting me. Ah? Light returns and I am now just standing and holding my gauntlet forward as if it were an unwieldy weapon of dissuasion. The leader is waving his hands in the air, shield discarded. His followers stare at him with a mix of confusion and disbelief. "We surrender! We completely surrender! Please do not kill us," he states with a strained smile, even if I can see the sweat dripping down his brow and taste his fear in the air. His aura flickers in tone with his nervous heartbeat. "You do?" I ask as I lower my hand and raise a brow. "Yep. We give up. Won''t get any trouble from us. No ma''am." Half of the group now stands down with the lost feeling of someone suddenly drenched in cold water. Only one remains belligerent, a tall lad with a bristling blond mustache. "How curious. I usually have to kill a few before the others realize the futility of their actions." "My friends here might be new, but I remember when your, ah, previous local ruler made her presence known. We did not know a being of the night would be here and ask for your forgiveness." That is rather new. I do not believe anyone ever surrendered so promptly before. "Wait¡­ is she a vampire?!" one of the men exclaims. "Sssh! Be polite!" another whispers urgently. "You think it will help?" a third one answers, dejected. "It will certainly not hurt your chances," I interrupt before they start a discussion, "now tell me why you are after Ezekiel the Red. I am curious." My teacher was tight-lipped and it would not do to press him for information under our arrangement. Forceful interrogation would go against the spirit of the contract, an unthinkable option for me. Obtaining information from other sources does not violate my oath, however. "Wait, we''re all going to lower our pants for that bitch?!" the previously impatient man erupts. Everyone takes a step back. Well, don''t mind if I do. I move and seize the man by the throat before he can react. I arc him backward and expose his neck. I bite down. Men swear. The leader INTERRUPTS THE SANCTITY OF FEEDING with a whine. "Please¡­ spare him." I lift a clawed finger to order him to COWER on the side. Once I am sated, I lick the wound close and release my moaning victim who quickly stumbles away. I lick my lips. "Where were we? Ah, yes. As part of our negotiations for me not to engage in a cathartic slaughter, you were going to enlighten me as to why you are currently hunting my pet. Now, speak," I calmly state to my now very captive and very docile audience. "We were just going to ask good ol'' Ezekiel a few things, is all." Heavy silence. "¡­aaaaand perhaps break a finger or two for stealing. But hey! It''s not like they don''t heal right? Haha. Really, it was about the questions." "Elaborate." "Yes, well, what do you know of our charming little communities of sorcerers and warlocks?" Casters really love calling themselves different things all the time. They are just casters. It is probably cultural. "My host described it as a nest of vipers biting each other''s tails in a large and pointless backstabbing melee." The leader has the grace to look embarrassed and passes a hand in his messy hair. "Accurate if a bit unfair. In any case, we have had a slight problem and wanted to make sure your little friend had nothing to do with it." "Do tell?" "Somebody is killing us group by group." I pause. The entire strike team now looks a bit sheepish, like children caught red-handed on their way to some mischief. This might be problematic. I really need Ezekiel to stay alive long enough to fulfill his part of the bargain. I also need to make sure I do not offend Noel by slaughtering the odd killer in his backyard without his license. This outing just became a lot more complicated. I sigh. I am being dishonest with myself. Even if I can guarantee Ezekiel''s safety, there is no way for me to tolerate an independent predator on my loaned territory. It does not matter that the land, in fact, belongs to a Courtier by the name of Clara. It does not matter that she answers to Noel. I will not¡­ I cannot tolerate competition so close to MY DEN. "My name is Ariane of the Nirari," I finally admit. "They call me Salazar. An honor to meet you," the man replies with obvious relief. "Tell me more about this killer of yours," I request as I sit and invite him to join me. I am going to regret this. Chapter 102 - 99. The Vampires Best Tools. "You seem preoccupied today," Marc-Antoine states with a knowing smile. His blade lightly taps my chest protector. ARROGANT. "Careful," I warn, and the man lifts his hands in mock surrender. The local Roland Master-at-Arms adjusts his mask and brushes his intact white chest plate. I assume the guard he showed me and we resume our bout. "Remember, this is not a hammer," the man remarks as I attempt, in vain, to smash his guard aside. I am faster and stronger than him, and so I could CRUSH HIM, but that would defeat the purpose of the exercise. With Noel mostly focused on brushing stone, his only other permanent neighbor, Marc-Antoine, was left bereft of a fencing partner and I was only too happy to oblige. Unfortunately, old habits die hard. The old Master realized rather quickly that I had absolutely no proficiency with a blade, at all. "Swords are the noble weapon, Ariane of the Nirari. You cannot keep coasting on speed and positioning alone!" Or so he said. I believe I did a good job coasting so far. His comments keep fusing as he effortlessly keeps up with my bumbling. "Don''t let me hit your blade! You can move the tip of your sword up and down with minimum hand movement. Do not let it stand still!" "Jumping back is fine but we are trying to get you used to the flow, my dear. Do not always disengage, parry and counter! Are you not faster than me?" "Cover your side!" "Guard up! Guard up!" Marc-Antoine is relentless. Every attack I make is easily parried or dodged, while his are flowing strikes that meld into one another, all of them deadly. He also tends to swing into my own attacks on occasion, as well as get into my guard and other annoying maneuvers. Part of me is impressed by his technical expertise which goes beyond just moving well. His battle instincts are superb. Another part of me wants to pick up my spear and skewer him against the wall like a fat butterfly. I could do it by playing on my superior physical abilities. Unfortunately, he is right. Technique is my weak point, despite years of practice. I am not halfway bad, I am just contending with a man who has dedicated himself to the craft for several mortal lifespans with the obsession of the Rolands. Frustrating. Sparring is only part of the practice. Marc-Antoine also makes me work on slow dance-like moves that Nami had also ingrained into me. They allow me to appreciate the realm of possibilities the sword offers in terms of movements. Many of those are either aerial or use walls and other vertical surfaces for quick changes of direction which I believe was designed for vampires. I enjoy this part a lot as I find it relaxing. After one hour of practice, my improvised mentor raises a fist to signal the end of the session. "You are doing well, Ariane. I am confident that I can turn you into a half-decent swordfighter by the turn of the century." "Flatterer," I reply with limited amusement. "Hah! Do not take umbrage, Devourer. Your dedication does you credit, and my lessons will serve you well. We will focus on the basics while you study the arcane arts. Your next teacher will have a solid foundation to build on." "I am surprised that you would invest so much time in me. I am, after all, but a guest." "Sword fighting is my life''s work Ariane. Raising a new talent is its own reward." "Are you not concerned that I could turn it against you, far in the future?" I jokingly ask. Marc-Antoine''s smile only widens. "Then it might be my turn to learn, who knows?" I mirror his good humor as we clean our blades and gear ourselves at his insistence. The sun is still high above and it will be another hour before I can leave the compound. "Will you train with anyone else tonight?" I ask, a bit curious as to why only we practice. His smile falls off a bit. "How I wish others were as dedicated as you are. Noel is too focused on his studies. As for the others, they seldom ever come back anymore. They all have their own dens in Southwark or the Northern Liberties. We have become a scattered bunch," he admits with regret. "Forgive me for saying so, but you all seem¡­ disinterested in the affairs of your domain," I risk. To criticize your own host is always considered a faux pas, especially in our society. Recent developments have forced my hand, however. Marc-Antoine shrugs helplessly. "You must understand, we have held this town for over a century now. There are few opportunities to explore, and fewer still now that power shifts elsewhere. We are victims of our own success." I am forced to blink at this outrageous declaration. Nothing to explore? In a city of tens of thousands? "I see that you do not believe me. Perhaps, in a few years, new mage cabals will make a move on us, blinded by our lack of activity. For now, we are at peace and our rule is uncontested." This is not right. We should always seek new challenges. To stagnate is to fall. We are designed for the Hunt. S~ea??h the Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Alas, our current leadership is not conducive to vast projects." The blademaster hesitates, perhaps aware that with this innocuous remark, he opened Pandora''s box. "Was he always this interested in paleontology?" I ask, plunging into the breach. "No¡­" the other answer with some hesitation, "at least not while he was in France. Noel was Dominique''s lover. He fell out of grace." "I heard about Dominique. The current leader of your clan, yes?" "Indeed. A curious and magnetic figure they are." They? "I have already said too much. Suffice to say, the man is taking some time away for himself and I admit that we have a tendency to focus a bit too much on our distractions." I choose not to comment and move to my room to get changed. The Roland disinterest in ruling is not my most dire concern. Tonight, I have an appointment with my newest toy. I look down on the red brick building below. Salazar is on time, alone as requested and dressed with much more care than yesterday. He wears a well-tailored grey suit and his hair is combed back under a clean bowler hat. As I watch, he removes a silver watch from a coat pocket, which he nervously inspects. He turns left and right, his eyes scanning the deserted street. I grab my cloak and tug my dress between my legs before falling by his side to prevent the displaced air from making it flap. I have already been standing there for a second when Salazar turns again. "NGAAAAA! JESUS, woman! Erm. Sorry! I did not see you there." Silence. "I mean, sorry milady, errrr, good evening. Would you like to go now? Aha." "Lead the way," I order in a flat voice, though internally I am having an unexpected amount of fun. Salazar is jumpy. It makes me feel¡­ playful. We start walking south along the still busy streets of uniform brick buildings. Here, gas lights cast their warm glows from inside their glass prisons on pedestrians and passing carriages alike. Traditional clothing in drab colors abound, as befit the city''s Quaker inheritance. The fire is not in the fashion but in the voices of the groups we come across. Philadelphia is host to the Second Bank of the United States, and the President ¡ª that arrogant loon! ¡ª has decided to defund it. The gall. The entire town is aflutter with snide remarks and consternated rebukes. My companion does not share in the general outrage, only casting looks left and right with the vigilance of someone who expects trouble. Slowly, I compress my aura until it almost disappears and walk slightly behind the tall man. We turn left into a deserted street. Salazar''s shoulders tighten when, I assume, he only hears one set of steps. The mage flinches and turns frightfully, only to jump once more when our eyes meet. I stand at the edge of his personal space, slightly to the side, and make no effort to breathe nor blink. "Yes?" I ask. "Nothing! It''s nothing. Sorry. We''re not far now. From a stable I mean. The place is a bit farther off. Errr. We''ll get a horse for the evening. You can ride horses, right?" "I will find my own, not to worry." "Oh good, good. I know the stable owner. You can rent a horse there. I mean, I will pay for the horse and you can ride it. Would that be acceptable?" "I will find my own," I repeat curtly. "Right. Right. It''s not far." We continue and this time, I slowly increase my aura while focusing on the man. As soon as he flinches, I reduce it again, then increase again. I am not being facetious; I am conducting a study on intimidation and destabilization methods on unaffiliated mages. The fact that I am having a tremendous amount of fun is merely a side-effect of my rigorous scientific investigation. It most definitely is. "We''re here," Salazar mumbles as we leave the well-ordered row of buildings to more open grounds, dotted with both fields and warehouses in the distance. A long wood construction takes the side of the road here, and from there comes the familiar smell of equines and their dejections. A few neighs filter from the now-closed door and in front of them, a burly man sweeps the ground under the light of a pair of lanterns. He raises his bearded face as we approach and only relaxes when he recognizes my companion. I stay near the entrance and leave the man to his business. He approaches the stablemaster with a confident stride and the two of them clasp hands like old acquaintances. "Salz, good to see you. Who''s the bird?" "Shhh!" the other man urges with a suddenly fearful glance. Both of them turn to my silhouette standing alone by the roadside. I keep a neutral face and, once more, make no particular effort to blink. "I''ll tell you later. You got a horse for me?" "Straw isn''t too tired and he''s already saddled. Will he do?" the other whispers back. "Fine." Salazar follows the other man inside, the pair now equally nervous. He appears to hesitate at the threshold as he expected me to follow inside and I do not, but in the end, he decides to move forward. I do not even have to whistle for Metis to stop by my side. The noble steed comes for only three things: food, extreme violence leading to the acquisition of said food, and showing off. I easily sit side saddle on her back, with my gloved hands on my lap. And I wait. After a few minutes, one of the large doors of the barn open to let out the stablemaster, Salazar, and a dun mount of middling size. The men freeze when they see me, mouths open and everything. The gelding by their side lowers his head and turns it to the side, casting a fearful glance at my Metis in all her glory. My impatient friend stomps a hoof, and the unnaturally heavy noise breaks the men from their fearful reverie. The stablemaster decides that, perhaps, the entrance is sufficiently swept for the night. He pushes Salazar out and barricades himself with the loud thud of a plank resolutely shoved in place. The horse and rider pair is left stuck outside between a vampire and a hard place. "Well?" I demand with as much queenly scorn as I can manage. From his face, I believe I am doing well. Metis assists with a low-pitch neigh of impatience that sends the pair on their way, posthaste. The mage hastily grabs a lantern then goes forth at the edge of a gallop, both himself and his mount focusing steadily on the path ahead as the heavy impact of nightmarish hooves leaves no doubt as to what follows. Such unexpected fun. What an amusing bouquet coming from my dear guide! Truly, our brand of humor does require a victim. Salazar rides south, then west towards Schuylkill. The night darkens as human sources of light grow far between. Soon, the lantern becomes a small halo of radiance surrounded on all sides by the encroaching shadows. "Would¡­ would you mind riding by my side?" the man bleats pitifully. You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. Don''t mind if I do. I kick Metis forward. In a second, she has closed the distance. Salazar yelps and jumps as we burst from the night, then he struggles for a few seconds to keep his mount under control. "Mother f¡ª Jesus!" The scowl dies on his face as our eyes meet. "Ah, I wanted to inform you of a few things. Yes." Silence. A pearl of sweat snails its way down the man''s forehead. "That is to say, there were three sites of attack. We will go to the most recent one which happened four days ago. And then the others afterward. At least, we think they are. We did not suspect a thing at first, you see? The first looked like a tragic accident." "We should start with the most recent one. The other sites are most likely too altered to reveal anything useful." "Sure." Interesting. Once focused on his task, Salazar instantly calms down. Even his posture changes. "Do you suspect anyone?" I finally ask. "That is the problem. I suspect everyone and no one. The first deaths were a very tight-knit group of mages following a Christian ethos, while the second victims were a couple belonging to a loose alliance of practitioners from south Germany. The last group were blood mages, or close enough, hence why I wanted to inquire about Ezekiel''s whereabouts the night of the murder." "From observation, he was probably holed in his moldy basement, dressed in opera prop rejects," I deadpan. Salazar laughs, then turns it into a cough with a measuring glance in my direction. Perhaps I should not make light of my teacher in front of his rival. I just¡­ do not feel the kind of kinship I had with many of the other mortals I have worked with. Ezekiel and I are bound in a professional relationship. That is all. Nevertheless, I admit, I have behaved in an uncourteous manner. I will not criticize him publicly any further. "In any case," my companion continues after a pause, "none of those groups were even remotely allied. I expect that the culprit is either an independent agent or a splinter group. They took great pain in erasing all tracks, therefore their purpose is not to sow discord by planting false evidence. My suspicion is that the victims were used in a blood ritual." "On site?" I ask with surprise. "It is possible and, in fact, the best option. Criminals and civilians alike severely underestimate the difficulty of carrying bodies across a populated area unchallenged." "I see." As I say that, we finally arrive. In the middle of a fallow field stand the remains of barn-like structures, or at least it appears to be as the building has been devastated by a fire of great intensity. Only a few blackened beams remain pointing skyward in uneven clumps, like the rotten teeth of an evil witch. The roof is entirely collapsed in a solid pile of coal covered in soot-stained snow. The silence is deafening, I step down from Metis and slowly circle the wreck. There is not a single aura to be found here. The ground, trampled by a great many steps, offers nothing of value until I come across an anomaly. On the side and to the left, I find a secondary pile of ashes linked to the main house by a snake of darkened ground. I lean forward until my nose is close enough for the frosted grass to tickle. A whiff is enough. The heavy smell of pine remains over that of charred vegetation. Terebinthine, or turpentine as it is known. Turpentine can be used as an accelerant, a substance that increases the speed of a chemical process. In this case, it would be the fire. Whoever started this arson was meticulous, but also terribly inefficient. It would have been much simpler and safer to cover the walls then ignite multiple locations at once, unless they were so afraid of discovery that they had to leg it at the first spark. This is quite curious. I find nothing else noticeable and return to Salazar who had been blinking owlishly from inside his little safe place in a foolish attempt to locate me. I, of course, approach him from his blind side. "Salazar." "Eep!" "Were there any wards in place inside the barn?" "Dammit¡­ Yes. Yes, there were but they were purged in the fire just like most of anything. That is why we highly suspect someone from the magical community. A group of mundanes would not have known how to break through without causing an alarm. This place might be remote but the first one was not. It was a school, with houses around. A fight would have attracted attention. Especially a firefight." "Hence why it could not be the order of Gabriel?" "I am not discounting them yet, though there have been no signs of them showing up. They have been known to use stealth when convenient. I just find it hard to believe that they could successfully kill a dozen people without alerting everyone around." "Hmm. What about that cottage?" I ask, pointing at a solid stone farm a few hundred yards away. "What about it?" "Did you interrogate the person there?" Salazar has the grace to act embarrassed. "We did not think it necessary. I mean, the building is rather far¡­" he replies somewhat defensively. "Well let''s give it a try, at least," I suggest sweetly and the man hurries to nod along. We walk to the isolated house and easily spot the light of candles from what appears to be the living room. The door looks solid, and locked tight. "Make the lantern brighter," I order in a low voice. "You can''t see?" "Not for us, for the one who lives inside," I hiss with annoyance. Salazar obeys and I knock on the door. Inside, a breath hitches. One inhabitant. A woman, from the footsteps. I pull Salazar back a bit and raise his arm so that we are well-lit. I then channel the Hastings essence. My posture changes immediately. My back bends a bit, and I cross my arms protectively under my chest. From unmoving, I let my eyes dart left and right in a typical prey fashion. I allow my composure to crumble until what is left is a scared young woman looking for answers, though she should know better. The person inside inspects us for a few seconds through a thick glass window. This is the moment of truth. If she refuses to open the door, there is not much I can do, and yet I remain confident. The hinges groan and we find ourselves face to face with a woman in her forties wielding a fire poker and a mighty scowl. As expected, curiosity has triumphed over common sense. We do not speak. I let her finish her inspection while Salazar is apparently too busy gawping at me and my change of behavior. The Hastings essence guides me into regular breaths, shifts and other quirks that make a living person more relatable. I can even tell that my cheeks have reddened under the influence of the biting cold. "Who are youse, and what the hell do you want?" She is messy but clean. Her clothes are unadorned and chosen for comfort rather than for style. She is still the kind of mature beauty that Loth would go after were it not for her open hostility. A widow, I''d wager, or someone who was at the losing end of a social conflict and ended up a pariah. Our eyes meet and I taste her emotions with a light touch. Fear, anger, frustration, curiosity. I need that last one the most. "Sorry to bother you at this late hour ma''am. My name is Ariane and I lost my brother a few nights ago. In there," I finish, pointing at the blackened husk of the barn. Oooh yes, the ambers of curiosity are fanned. I do not even need to push. "People are lying to me about what happened to him. They say it was an accident but it is all nonsense. I know it is late, but would you mind answering a few questions?" Without missing a beat, my interlocutor turns to the mage at my side and points the poker at him in a vaguely threatening fashion. "And who is this?" she asks, her suspicion surging to the top. Salazar is still looking at my meek figure as if I had grown a pair of horns. "My cousin. I took him with me for safety, you understand. Please do not mind him. He is a bit¡­. touched in the head," I deadpan. The experienced caster''s expression flinches, anger at being called a simpleton warring in his mind with the realization that breaking character would have immediate and unfortunate consequences. "Hellow!" he eventually says with a forced smile. "I see," the woman replies before returning her attention to me, "you said you had questions?" "Yes. If it''s not too much bother. I would have come tomorrow but time is of the essence, if indeed this was not the accident the authorities claim it is." "Yes, they would, wouldn''t they? Addled-brained gossipers and cowards, the lot of them." Ah, excellent. Hostility successfully redirected. "Well, come on in and hurry, ''fore all the heat is gone! Quickly!" I step in and allow myself a smile of pride as Salazar closes the door behind us. Our host drags us through a corridor that separates what I guess is the workshop from the living part. From the rolls of fabric stored on planks against the wall, I assume that she is a seamstress. We turn right through a creaking door and into the lit space we saw from afar. The room we now stand on clearly started as a kitchen until she dragged in a bed. One comfortable and well-used couch lies close to a dying fire with a book and a ceramic cup of tea placed on a small table beside. The walls are covered in shelves filled with pots, jars, books, and trinkets. The smell of human and stew saturates the air in a mix that is not entirely unpleasant. It feels cozy. This is the heart of the house. I can feel power as ancient and fundamental as crosses and the Watcher itself pulsing softly. One word from our host and I will be flung out, swatted like a fly by the very nature of locale. I never harbored any ill will towards the prickly woman. Even if I did, I would hesitate now under the influence of this¡­ I do not know what to call it. I am a guest and a guest is respectful. Yes, that is the proper way of things. "I did not catch your name," I remark. "You can call me Paulina," the woman grumbles while removing piles of folded covers and clothes from two small stools. She frees the seats and puts them against the table. Salazar attempts to help but is quickly dissuaded by a murderous glance. In the end, he leans against a window. "Care for some tea? It''s not good but it''s hot." "I would love some," I reply, causing another jolt of surprise in my companion. Even if I could not drink, any vampire worth their salt can pretend to sip with consummate grace. Clearly, Salazar has wrong expectations. The woman silently hands me a large chipped mug filled half-way with steaming liquid. I grasp the body of the container with two hands, feeling the warmth travel through the fabric of my gloves. The scent of black tea travels in wafts and I take a quick sip. The piping hot liquid almost scalds my tongue and leaves behind a sweet aftertaste. "Honey?" I ask. "My only indulgence," the older woman grunts. I cast a quick glance at the cover of the book she is reading. A collection of romantic poetry, nothing scandalous. "Thank you. Would you be comfortable answering a few questions for me?" "Yes, I suppose," she replies with apparent impatience, but I know better. Her posture is attentive and with the bond between us deepening, I can taste more. She is defensive and cautious as the poker still by her side easily reveals. Beneath, however, are the standard traits of the exiled. Loneliness. A need for validation. Paulina''s education is respectable if the rows of books are any indication, and she appears rather distrustful. I therefore judge that showing proper diction and a bit of spine would endear her enough to share what she knows. "I understand that my brother gathered here relatively often?" "Yes, twice per week without fail. He and his friends would come with platters of food and spend the evening together doing whatever it is they did. Do you know what this was about?" she asks with a challenge. "Not exactly, but I doubt that it was anything illegal. He never lacked for money." "What was his name?" "James. James Dalton," I reply immediately. The core of lying is to create another truth rather than improvising your way through the conversation. That way, there are less opportunities for contradictions. James is one of my go-to names for male relatives. As for the name Dalton¡­ I had not used it in a long time. Perhaps I am growing lonely. "James, huh. Sorry for your loss," she says, and I realize that with the help of the Hastings essence, I had revealed enough weakness and grief for her to latch on. "Not your fault. In any case, were you here the night he¡­ the night the barn burnt?" "Yes I was, but I feel the need to apologize. I know very little. By the time I woke up, the fire was already raging outside." "You sleep in this room, correct?" I say and point at the small cot. "Yes. In wintertime, warming the entire house is wasteful since my Henry died. I just stay down here." "Your windows face the barn. Were you woken up by the light?" "No. The windows are not large enough and the bed is low so the glow never shone into my face. It''s the noise that did it. Their roof collapsed." "I see. Did anything coming from the barn ever wake you up before?" Paulina considers the question seriously for a few seconds, clearly showing that those meetings have been going on for some time. "Maybe twice last year during celebrations. They were obviously quite drunk, including the women." She frowns with disapproval, but then her expression softens. "It was not much. Just loud conversations and raucous laughs, and it did not last. They were mostly a quiet bunch and I am not one to pry so I left them alone. Why? You''re thinking of something," she adds. I can share that much. "The accident did not have a single survivor and I learned yesterday that they found the bodies throughout the house. I find it unlikely that not a single person could escape. Even if they were all asleep and slowly choked on smoke, the people closest to the ground should have survived long enough to escape." "You suspect foul play." "I do not suspect," I correct her, "I know there was foul play. The fact that nothing woke you up shows that they did not scream. They were all probably dead by the time the fire claimed them." I darken my expression as Paulina gulps her tea to ease the tension. "It could have been someone on the inside." "Or a group of bandits," Paulina adds with some alarm, "do you think¡­" "I doubt that they were chosen at random. You are probably safe," I reassure her. "I pray that you are right," the woman finally adds. This is all she knew, and it confirmed that whatever killed them did so through successful infiltration, one way or another. After a few more remarks, I take my leave with a quiet Salazar in tow. We head back to the horses and ride to the next site, as planned. "You are not what I expected," the man finally remarks as I ponder on what we learnt. "What did you expect then?" "I''m not sure. More¡­ grandstanding and ordering around. More putting that woman under your spell and dominating her into telling her everything you want to know." "A more vampiric display of might?" "Yes. That." I could ignore him, but in the end decide not to. As amusing as it is to tease the mage, I must not forget that he is an ally in our quest to hunt a dangerous foe. I must not let my fun stand in the way of efficiency. Or at least, not too much. "Power is a crutch. Use it too often and you forget how to operate without it," I finally explain. This remark is as valid for me as ever. Such an occurrence would never happen in my territory. I would use my vast network of agents and informants to track every possible culprit, resorting to extreme measures to stop them before they could claim a second victim. I would unleash werewolves in the streets (in human form), and have mage scry every pebble. I would bring all my resources to bear. Here, cut off from most of them, I am forced once again to rely on myself as well as unreliable agents. I welcome the practice. Time honing one''s skill is never wasted. "You were also much less, err, vampiry," Salazar continues, passing a hand in his spiky black hair. I notice that he looks a bit miffed. In answer, I channel Hastings essence once more and, this time, assume the persona of the bashful young country lass, intimidated by the handsome and savvy city man before me. "Would¡­ would this be better, Mr. Salazar?" I ask in a sweet voice and I shily glance down. The man recoils. "You know what, that''s even worse!" he complains. I stop my impersonation and return to my old glacial self with a knowing smile that I make sure he sees. "You know what I truly am. If I wore a different skin, you would find it disturbing." "You don''t mean that literally, do you? The wearing a skin part?" If my eyes roll back any farther up my skull, I shall soon see down my own throat. "Please be patient with me, yes? I am not some century-old aristocrat of the night," the man protests. Hah. I have never heard us be called that, but I suppose it is fitting. Also, he thinks that I am a century old. I am wise and mature beyond my years. Even the mortals can tell. "Enough of this," I reluctantly say to stop his flattery, "we have two more sites to visit. Lead the way!" It takes us three more hours to inspect everything. The couple was killed in a shed at the back of their property while the second group was indeed slain in a school. The way the fire started was exactly the same, except the first time where the distance is significantly shorter. "There is not much to see," Salazar declares, mid-yawn. "On the contrary, there is plenty to understand. I do believe it is high time we met the vampire in charge of this location. The murder of the couple happened on the master''s territory. The two others belong to a Courtier named Lydia, unless I am mistaken." "You need her permission to act?" "I could bypass her and go directly to Noel, though that would be discourteous. We will visit her soon. First, we will need a little bit of magical and mundane assistance and you are going to help me." Chapter 103 - 100. Surprise! Ezekiel clasps his hands and frowns in an attempt to look more respectable. "Following a, ahem, rather forceful insistence from one of the members of our little coterie¡­" Three pairs of eyes turn to me. "¡­I shall introduce the arcane mysteries of rituals slightly ahead of schedule. Now, Terrence, please remind us how we normally get the symbolic element of casting." "From the prepared circuits in our own gauntlets, or I guess you could slap some on the ground with a bit of chalk." "Yes indeed," Ezekeil answers, bristling at the informal answer, "and what are the limits of such methods, Margaret?" "They place the burden of visualization on the will of the caster, forcing her to exert herself tremendously," the dark-haired girl answers with the solemn voice of a bishop at mass. "Correct. You cannot glance at your gauntlet to look at the runes for help, especially not while in the middle of intensive tasks." Such as running away from me. "And so, the gauntlet and its runes are a convenient yet demanding tool. Rituals, by comparison, allow us to cast spells of great powers provided we have¡­ what, Ariane?" "Time, material, location, and company," I automatically answer, quoting Loth. "Company?" "Some spells demand several practitioners working in concert. Like Skargard artillery spells. You need three people for that if you want more than a few shots." "Yes, yes indeed. Hmm. We will address such spells at a later date. A much later date, as they require a very high degree of training, compatibility, and trust between the casters." We all look at each other without comment. "Anyway," Ezekiel continues with some embarrassment, "you are correct. A ritual requires a proper surface to inscribe the rune. The materials themselves are quite important as well because using chalk will barely give you an edge. Time is, of course, necessary if you want to write down more than three symbols. A ritual is therefore demanding, but they make casting a spell significantly easier. Any spell with more than twelve symbols will require a circle, even for the more experienced mages." I bet Frost could do twenty and look you in the eye with a smirk as he cast it. Not to mention Semiramis. Ezekiel knows a lot of theory but few people. "It is still a bit early, but you have all been diligent and I think a small break is in order. We shall head outside to a proper ritual location." Terrence raises his hand, droopy eyes widened in apprehension. "When you mean outside, you do not mean the city proper, right?" "No, Terrence. We will go to an abandoned barn a few hundred yards away. I merely wish to limit the risks of our living quarters catching fire." "Okay¡­" I am slightly annoyed by the use of that detestable acronym, and so I decide to tease the lad a bit as we climb up the stairs and out into the empty alley. "What is the matter Terrence, afraid that some horrible fiendish creature will descend upon you?" I ask with a bit of fang. "Not at all," he deadpans, "merely that I must call her mother and listen to her whine until the rooster crows." I smile at that. Wit! From that bore! Perhaps I judged him too hastily. "You know, I could rid you of her, for the right price¡­" I whisper in a sulky voice. "I''m afraid I must refuse. I would not want to deny the devil his last few years of tranquility." Alright, that was not bad. I allow myself a chuckle. Terrence and I close the procession as we four cross our way through the abandoned district, with Margaret sometimes casting an incredulous glance backward. I realize that I only look slightly older than them, and it was apparently enough for the socially deprived young man to form a bond. We must be quite the show, them in crimson robes and me in my more traditional blue one. I suspect that any pedestrian witnessing the moment and trying to guess which one of us might be the blood-drinking immortal monster might act on false assumptions. In any case, it does not take long for Ezekiel to lead us to a derelict factory. The older man fiddles with the rusty lock protecting the gate into the inner courtyard. He finally manages to coax the thing open and we make our way through piles of rotten crates and broken supplies. The building itself is pockmarked bricks and misery, slouched like an old bar fly under a filthy coat of grayish snow. Only after we have entered its innards does Ezekiel allow himself some light and my companions stop stumbling around. The smell of mildew had, outside, been tolerable. "Jesus, what a dump," Margaret swears, finally breaking her queen of darkness persona. "Yes, well, at least we do not risk collateral damage," Ezekiel replies defensively. "Except on ourselves," I finish. I can survive a falling building, but between the frail mage and a support beam, I would bet on the harder contestant. "I assure you that I have used these facilities before and we are quite safe. Here," our fearless teacher says as he goes around the derelict building, lighting lanterns. They cast dancing shadows on the walls as they come to life one by one. In the center of the empty floor sits a silvery circle dug into the grimy floor. Contrary to my expectations, the interior is clean besides some dust and the terrible smell fades away from the continuous influx of fresh air coming from the still-open door at our back. "The circle you see will serve as a base for the following ritual. You will draw the remaining symbols of the classical mage bolt using the paste you will find in the container by the entrance, then cast the spell at this target." At the end of the factory, Ezekiel has painted a series of large concentric circles with a bull''s eye in the middle. I can tell from the numerous impacts marring the wall that we are not the first to test the old wreck''s structural integrity. "Let us start the exercise. Margaret, you go first. Do you remember the runes?" The young woman straightens her back and marches through the dust like a duchess at her own wedding. She picks up a pot of paint and brush and marches right back. The impression is only slightly ruined by her difficulties opening said pot. Eventually, she applies a thick paste inside the circle forming the four necessary runes for a bolt: power, momentum, projectile, and direction. They are all rather basic and it does not take long for her to succeed, then link them together according to the western standard runes of inscription. Power comes first, then she links momentum and direction together as a secondary principle with direction as the catalyst. She delicately places the pot and brush on the side and stands in the middle of her work with a hint of worry. "You are doing well, Margaret. Just cast," Ezekiel encourages her. She turns to us and we all show signs of support. Reinvigorated, the apprentice witch raises a naked hand and bellows: "Bolt!" Her croaking voice does not prevent her success. A translucent bolt of force erupts from the edge of the circle, distorting the air in a wide area. A thud sounds as the missile impacts the far wall and more dust rains down from the rafters. The mortals sneeze. Ezekiel trots over to open the door of the far end to create a draft of fresh air before tuberculosis and the Watcher knows what else wipes out the newest generation of mages in one fell swoop. I have rarely been so glad not to have to breathe. Ezekiel''s foresight is proven when he steps to the circle and peels off the now solidified paste, removing the symbols cleanly and easily. We will each have the opportunity to work with a pristine setting. Terrence is next. He appears much more worried at first, and yet he calms down and focuses as soon as the tracing begins. He takes no break between drawing and casting. The pot is barely down before he, too, successfully impacts the target. We clap as soon as our arms are no longer covering our heads. Finally, my turns come. "Hold, Ariane. I know that casting does not come so naturally to you, and I made some inquiries. I believe that you would perform better if we were to add a blood rune to your construct." "I thought we would work without blood magic?" I ask, a bit surprised. "Indeed, and this will be valid in the future. In this case, we will make an exception. It might take too long for you to activate all four runes and the purpose of the exercise is to experience ritual magic anyway. Adding a blood rune will bring the spell closer to¡­ the nature of your condition," the man finishes hesitantly. Ah, I see. I was repeatedly told that vampires take on blood magic more easily than its less sacrificial counterpart. It would be unfortunate to limit myself to learning what I am good at, but for the sake of the exercise¡­ I suppose. "Remember that power is no substitute for technique and effort." "I know," I inform the man somewhat drily. I take the brush and step in the circle. I trace the runes at four times the speed of the mortals, drawing both on my control and my drawing experience. Power. Momentum. Projectile. Direction. I finish and place the pot on the side. The last part will be done without a brush. I pull my sleeve up to reveal a pale forearm, place a talon against an artery and slice deeply. The two young ones hiss in sympathy but I ignore them. The pain is nothing compared to¡­ "Which fingers?" I push the memory away and smear two fingertips with dark blood. Tracing the last rune is a time-consuming and tedious process, not least because I need to add ''paint'' several times. Eventually, the work is done. The blood rune is visually different from the rest. Power is square and undaunted. Momentum is lithe and spiked like a lightning fork, but blood is alive. It twists organically like some nightmarish being. I feel kinship with this one. It was drawn from another script, more ancient and primal than the well-ordered code now used by astronomers and mathematicians. It speaks of dark caves lit by a tentative fire while a storm roars outside, of defeats and victories. Of squelched organs. I expose my still butchered arm and feel the ritual ease the spell into my mind. Power from blood. Momentum and projectile from power. Direction given to the birthed arrow. A trail of dark fluid snakes up from the jagged tear into a needle-thin dart. I feel more pain now, deeper, more intimate as the aura is forcefully dragged from my essence. The arrow is me and from me and it awaits my will. Never since casting that first darkness spell have I felt magic click so easily. I understand blood on a fundamental level that no mage can ever hope to attain, no matter how hard they study. The ancient power is there, for a price. One I have paid many times. "Blood bolt." This time air is not displaced, and the noise is not a blunt sound of impact, but the ghastly crunch of material brought over the edge of its mechanical resistance. There, in the bull''s eye, now stands a minuscule hole. Beyond that is the black of the night. I lower my hand. The power is spent. "And this is the might of well-executed blood magic," Ezekiel ends in a satisfied voice. "This is just plain stupid! How can we hope to stand against her kind with that pathetic little blast you showed us? We should learn blood magic too," the girl whines. "You will learn magic my way and at my speed, Margaret. First, it will take you years of practice to wield blood with such mastery, and second, if you think it will be enough to save you from a vampire, then I''m afraid that you are sorely mistaken. Enough! We are here now, and you will keep casting until I give you leave." "This is just unfair¡­" the woman eventually grumbles. "My presence is giving you the wrong sort of expectations, Margaret. You are infinitely more likely to face a bandit or an enemy practitioner than you are to face any one of us. Besides, Ezekiel is correct. You do not want to fight us, even with magic," I explain in a rare attempt to better our relationship. "If you are so bloody strong, why do you even learn magic to begin with?" S~ea??h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Given the same choice as me, would you not?" I answer with patience. Margaret stops to consider, her black brows furrowed in annoyance until she comes to a realization. Her expression softens then, until the naked ambition fades to reveal the rather young mind under it. "It''d be a shame not to." "Precisely. Magic is a versatile tool. Combat spells are but a small part of it." With this, we return our attention and efforts to ritual casting with one major difference. As each student painstakingly redraw his runes, the other leans towards me like a Florentine conspirator. "Is it true that you can slap a man''s head off without blinking?" "Yes, we do not need to blink." "Can vampires get erections?" "Get your mind out of the gutter, Margaret. Also, yes." "If you only drink blood, does it mean you only have to pee?" "We are magical creatures, Terrence. We do not ''digest'' per se." "If you wake up at twilight, does it mean that you can wake up inside a steep valley then run up the mountain and then it''s day again so you fall asleep?" "I have no idea." "Is it true that you can slip under a steel door?" "Technically yes, but the steel door will not survive the experience." And so on and so forth. Eventually, the questions tarry as the pair starts stumbling around like drunkards, yawning terribly. Ezekiel wisely decides to call it a night and we escort them back to their quarter where they promptly collapse. "A moment of your time, Ariane. I have prepared what you asked. Are you quite sure you want to proceed that way? I could still come with you." "Do not concern yourself. I have a plan." And now is the time to implement it. Mireille of the Rolands is tall, with wavy black hair and piercing green eyes that remind me of a discount Lady Moor. She could be the old harpy''s plain and less bitchy cousin. She wears a sensible dress the color of pine needles, of thick fabric, padded to ward off the winter air. She is not submissive. I would say that she acts carefully polite as she sits on her throne-like chair in the middle of a cozy boudoir. Mireille is a Courtier and her aura is not fully under control. It sometimes surges and bursts like a bubbling pot. "A killer you say?" my host asks with a frown. The light of her hearth covers one side of her face like carefully applied powder while the other remains deathly pale. Her concern appears genuine. Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator. "Yes." "I was made aware of the deaths you are referring to. The lack of reaction of affiliated factions led me to believe that those were just accidents." "Those are, without a doubt, murder. The signs are clear." "Hmm." I already explained the reasons for my involvement. Mireille accepted my explanations without comments and with her undivided attention. I am pleased that she does not share Noel''s apathy. "This is extremely preoccupying. So far, we have maintained a rather hands-off policy in the hope that it would lure more mages here. I can tolerate squabbles on my territory. An indiscriminate murderer is a different matter, one I cannot ignore. I will track them down. Thank you for bringing this to my attention." "I would not come to you with just suspicions," I interrupt her. "I have a way to track the culprit." "Do you now?" she answers with obvious surprise. I nod and take a compass-like contraption from a satchel by my side. It is clearly magical in nature and emits a faint aura. "I suspected that the scenes of the murder might have been destroyed to hide what, or who, was taken from them. That is why my associate and I scoured the houses of the victims for personal objects in an attempt to work a tracking spell. It seems that I was wrong, as there were indeed no survivors that we can tell. There was, however, one hit. A faint one. According to the mage who made the working, it should link to a personal belonging with some blood on it. Hopefully the killer made a mistake and left it in their lair." Mireille is suddenly more animated. She tilts her head, eyes unblinking. "Would this work? Should we go now?" "That would be for the best. I was hoping that we could go together for my own tranquility of mind." "Naturally. As long as you agree that this is my Hunt, as we are operating on my territory." "I understand." I do not. Torran let me have the lead on a few Hunts and I am not sure how he managed to shelf his pride. She is weak, or at least, weaker. I took the initiative. How DARE she¡­ But no. I must be patient. I grab my cloak and fasten it as Mireille equips herself with a short cutlass. We leave her small mansion, passing a few maids on the way. The atmosphere is relaxed and the mortals barely spare us a glance. Business as usual. Outside, I activate my tracking spell. The construct awakes and the needle spins once in its glass before settling west. Mireille and I walk on foot through fields and forests, leaving no trace behind and requiring no light. We are two ghosts in the night. It takes us an hour before the air grows wet and the smell of frigid water hints at the appearance of the Schuylkill. The forest grows denser now and we are forced to circle around snow-covered thickets until we find a path cut through the vegetation. Barely larger than a deer trail, it carries us deeper until the sky is crisscrossed by layers of naked branches. We soon emerge onto open ground and the river now flows before us, placid in all its murky glory. A single chair made from severed logs and rotten twine thrones in its middle. Empty bottles line its feet in single file like goslings following their mother. A fishing spot. "Right," I say in a low voice. We continue with some difficulty. Undergrowth as dense as this one is not easy to navigate, especially now with the biting cold making every twig a rigid claw waiting to shatter. There are no thick trunks we could latch onto and jump either. Fortunately, fate is on our side. The line of trees recedes in favor of waist-high grass growing on uneven ground. We hop from tuft to tuft for a few minutes longer and finally arrive in view of our destination. A few dozen yards away, at the river''s bend, someone built a tiny misshapen lodge hanging over the flowing waters. The main floor is at the top of a small mound, then a covered corridor dips towards the river and a small room that will be washed down at nature''s first tamper tantrum. Not a light in sight, as I expected. "I hope this trip was not in vain. Shall we?" I offer. "What if this is a home?" "A home would be lived in at night," I reply with conviction. We approach from the low ground and I force a shutter open. The snap of flimsy wood causes no reaction. I climb in, Courtier in tow. "Aha!" I cannot help but declaim with Binglesque glee. The interior of the room is filled and well-used, belying its decrepit appearance. Turpentine saturates the air in a thick cloud coming from three barrels stashed in a corner. Other supplies are separated in orderly piles on the swept ground. A single desk sits against the wall to the right of the passage leading up. There are no lanterns. "I think we found our foe''s den," I idly comment. "Well, he''s obviously not here," Mireille observes, "can you check the workspace for hints to his identity?" "Certainly." I step forward with confidence and immediately dodge low and to the left as her cutlass misses my head by a finger. I turn and claw her across the throat before the return hit. Black blood spurts from the wound. Black blood no longer spurts from the wound. She healed. I stop the blade with an armguard. It bites into the steel sheet with a resonating clang. Fast. I dodge under a swipe and my return strike eviscerates her. Once more, her wounds close at an alarming speed, as if time itself lost its grip on her body. The next hit slides against my left shoulder, opening a long furrow. Need to focus. Instead of falling back, I push forward. She gives up on the reach advantage and starts using her weapon as an overly large knife. She is relentless and ignores my counterstrikes. No Courtier should heal that fast from a Master''s talon. "You can''t have him! He''s mine! I am so close! So close!" the woman shrieks. Her aura buckles like a wild thing. Strikes and blows rain upon my defenses as she has little care for defense. I focus on blocking and deflecting, managing to land a few wounds myself though they quickly heal. Eventually, they take their toll on her mind if not on her body, and she pulls back. We glare at each other. "How did you even know?" "That it was you? I was not sure until I found your little hidey hole yesterday." "You what? How?" "There were too many elements pointing at you. All three attacks happened either on or at the edge of your territory. They all took place in public places, not homes. They were the work of an independent agent, not someone aligned with one of the many mage factions dotting this political landscape. The most decisive clue, I think, was that you started all your fires in such a cautious yet inefficient fashion. We can approach fire rationally but, deep inside, we will always fear it, won''t we?" "That''s it? Suspicion? That was all you had?" she sputters, furious. "It was enough to follow you here. This construct I used does not point out to one of your victim''s remains, but to a beacon I placed on the door behind you. And now, you fell into my trap." Mireille steps back, eyes darting to every corner of the room. The fear she shows is proof of an erratic behavior, and yet she does not feel like a rogue. I think I understand now. "There is no trap. You lie!" "There is one, and you already sprung it. By attacking me. You see, killing the mages on your land remains your prerogative and I have no right to protest. You are not breaking the Accords by doing so, therefore I have no right to interfere." She freezes as she realizes that she acted on instinct and the price thereof. "Until you attacked me without provocation to cover your tracks, of course. Now, House Roland is in serious violation of our written agreement, a hospitality contract that I paid for." I smile. Our kind has a visceral reaction to our lairs being breached. I expected her to act as soon as she realized that she was made. What I did not expect was for her to accompany me here. My original plan was to wait for her outside of her mansion, then follow when she would inevitably come to erase the evidence of her actions. She might not be breaking the Accords, but she certainly does not have Noel''s authorization to slay his people on such a large scale. Like most successful plans, mine relied on accounting for many possibilities. Confronting me meant breaking the Accords. Erasing the proofs meant that I would catch her red-handed and report her to Noel. Cutting and running would have solved my problems. Finally, turning the tables by using a scapegoat would have been countered by the many proofs I have collected and the oaths I could take. In every case, I can swear on my honor that I saw her sneak into the killer''s hole and that she had the key. It would have been enough for a thorough interrogation. "One last thing, my dear," I continue, "most Courtiers of sound mind would have realized that being in an enclosed space with a Devourer is the trap." "I don''t¡ª" I am done listening. I must admit that playing the polite student for so long has been taxing on my patience. I have a right to unwind a bit on Mireille since she has been quite naughty. Truly, no one could reasonably deny me this moment of cathartic relaxation. Still smiling, I grab the room''s entire desk, claws dug deep, before swinging it around and into the charging Courtier. "Oof!" The piece of furniture smacks her across the torso and propels her into the wall like a fancy pin. I grab the improvised disciplinary implement with both hands and swat it down with gusto. She will heal. "You" Smack. "Do not" Smack. "Break" Smack. "The Rules" Smack. "Of hospitality" Smack. "With me!" The desk breaks apart at the last strike. Mireille crawls away, left leg shattered. Since I am not a complete animal, I seize her right foot to send her crashing into the far wall. "Even with improved healing, broken bones take a while to set." Interestingly, Mireille and I should be about the same age. We do not, however, share the same experience. "No, wait! Please!" I grab her by the wrist and arc her over my head, ending the pretty display of acrobatic dance in a crate of ceramic containers. They shatter on impact with a satisfying crunch. I feel better already. I allow the poor Courtier to extract herself from the debris. She sits back down, hands raised. "Where is the fae whose blood is in your vein?" I demand. For a moment, Mireille''s face twists with an expression of the hottest rage. I do not punish her for it. She is not truly defying me, she just has difficulties letting go of her treasure. I can tolerate her taking a minute to bury her ambitions. "There is a trap door upstairs, under the bed. Lift it and climb down. You will find him there." "You harvested his essence?" "Yes. I always keep a container on me in case something like this happened. Not that it helped much¡­" "What were you trying to achieve? Did you think the potent blood would hasten your growth?" "It does not work as well for us as it does for Devourers, but we can still grow faster with a constant supply of potent essence." "Did you attack the mages for the same reason?" "Yes. There is only so much blood I can take from only one person." "Then know that your belief is wrong. You are brittle. The power you gathered has no outlet and it will escape your grasp sooner or later. You took a great risk for little reward." "Little reward?" she scoffs, "You are so far from the realities of our kind, Devourer. It matters not to me what you have been through. The only thing I see is how you strut around town like you own it and be treated like an equal by the haughty lords and ladies of the land. I want to be strong and free and pushing power into myself was very much worth the risk." "Not if it breaks you and eventually, it would have. Do you know why most Devourers do not live past twenty years?" This sentence stops her. Deep in her rational mind, she must be aware of the cost of power. "My siblings are forced to consume too much, too fast, and it destroys them. Pah, enough of this. I am not here to convince you. Do you yield?" This time, her hesitation provokes me. I grab by the neck and dig two claws in her tender flesh, bringing her face next to mine. "I yield!" I stop mid hiss and force myself to relax. Spirit is one thing. Defiance when you are defeated is another. "I yield. You win." I drop her unceremoniously. I want to see her prize now. The covered corridor leads to the upper floor you would expect in any hovel: a small bed, a cooking spot, a pantry. I lift the wooden frame to reveal the passage beneath. A few steps dug into the rock lead to a sort of cave lit by a single lantern. At the bottom of the stairs, I find a Likaean boy, a cot, a stained bucket and a single lantern letting out a pathetic glow. The frail youth cradles the source of light like a drowning man a buoy and I cannot help but feel a deep resentment towards Mireille whom I left mostly intact on the floor. This is not our way. We defang our foes by turning them into cattle, or we kill them, or we come to an agreement. Only personal vengeance should justify that horrid treatment. Not greed. Never greed. She should not have drained him like a leech, night after night to grow stronger. We are not leeches. We are hunters. The boy has very dark hair and abyssal eyes, showing just one little star of interest as he spots me. But soon, the realization of what I am turns hope into despair. A single heavy sigh shakes his skeletal frame and his gaze turns back to the glimmer cradled in his filthy hands. I approach slowly and kneel by his side. But I do not speak. Because I now realize my predicament. I want the kid to be free. My friendship with Sinead has changed my outlook on liberty and Nami''s presence has only served to reinforce this impression. I am not some champion of light. I merely believe that mortals and other creatures shine the most when they can be themselves, and it is at their brightest that they are the most delicious. Ethics and gastronomy rolled in one ideal: freedom. Truly, I am a benevolent being. But I cannot save this one. If I bring Mireille to Noel and take the Likaean for myself, she could share his existence with her clan as revenge or in the hope of lessening her punishment. If I kill Mireille, I will likely be found out and at the very least be banished, my captive taken as reparation. The repercussions of this decision could hurt me diplomatically for decades to come. No matter what, I will condemn this child to slavery. I stare at the tiny being. He still ignores my presence. I must kill him. This is the only salvation I can grant. It feels wrong. My inner rules forbid me from killing a child, though would that not be mercy in this case? Sometimes, death is preferable to the alternative. Especially for one as young-looking as this one. He is already broken. Sometimes, I must break rules in order to¡­ Oh. I am a complete idiot, am I not? When we are faced with contradictory rules and promises, we keep those we deem the most important. I step away from the kid and climb back up, then walk down the covered stairs down to the room where I left Mireille. I smile at her pleasantly, and she looks more terrified at my expression than when I had my claws at her throat. "You can give the child to me willingly, stop your killings and pursue power through training and study. If you do that, I will forget the whole debacle and we can both go on our merry way. That is the first option." I step closer until the symbolism of my standing form above hers leaves no room to interpretation. "In the heart of Constantine''s fortress hides a Master by the name of Ignace. My ransom for breaking the Accords and attacking me despite our treaty will be three days in his care. I am convinced that your House will be more than happy to throw you to the wolves for what you have done. Ignace will undress you and bind you to a chair, then, together, you will explore the meaning of pain. You will learn to recognize every organ in your body and every strand of muscle as he removes them with surgical precision. He will peel off the skin from flesh inch by inch until you beg him to die." "Enough! I know of Ignace." "Then realize that this is your second choice." She looks at me with narrowed eyes. "I could inform Noel and Lady Berenice of your proposal." "And I would receive at most a slap on the wrist. I am not working against them by trying to keep that fae for myself. I am not technically breaking the terms of our agreement. You, however¡­" "Yes, yes, I get it. What do you propose?" "I am sure we can agree to a carefully worded treaty¡­" It takes us only ten minutes to reach a compromise. By the time we are done, Mireille has seemingly accepted that the child was lost to her in any case and that it would be better to avoid punishment. I keep an option open to add terms after consulting with Salim, in case she finds a loophole, in exchange for no additional reparations. All in all, I think I covered myself well. When I step down from the ladder, he completely ignores me until I start speaking. The Likaean language comes slowly and haltingly. I have to think hard to get the right inflection and I am limited by my lack of information. Should I use the official vocabulary of declamation? Or a more polite greeting between unknown parties? Or should I assume that my rescue is as young as he looks and try for a more familiar tone to comfort him? In the end, I use the most neutral tone I can because I want to avoid mistakes. "Greetings, young one. My name is Ariane. I associate with the Court of Summer. May I ask for your name?" I say in Likaean. As the words cross my lips, their truth is carried in our small basement by the meaning I impart to them. My name really is Ariane. I truly am associated with the Court of Summer and its most disreputable prince. The weight of the sentence falls upon us with finality, and with it, hope returns. Slowly, the desperate mask of the boy melts to reveal the pain underneath. Tears flow from his eyes in great droplets as he grabs my arms with surprising strength and lets out a panicked babble. His voice is young and musical though made raspy by dehydration. I let him talk, too fast for me to understand, until he stops to catch his breath. It gave me the time to prepare an answer. "I apologize, young sir, my words are that of a child. You must speak slowly." Likaean is as infinitely complex as it is versatile. Young sir refers to a noble son of unknown origin. Child indicates that I have issues associating sounds with meaning. Sinead''s book mentions that the most powerful sovereigns can create gardens and charnel pits by declaiming poetry. The child slows down and his eyes aim up, to freedom. I silently hoist him over my shoulder and flinch at the stench of his unwashed body. The trip up is short, and he soon stands outside the main door, looking up the cloud-covered sky. I use dry wood and a bit more terebenthine than is wise to start a fire and haul him back in as soon as he gets the shivers. Snow and an iron basin are enough for an improvised bath. I wash his hair while he shoves syrupy apples down his throat with wild abandon. "What about my captor?" the boy asks after he is clean, dressed in clean clothes, and filled with enough sugar to start his own distillery. His voice is slow and measured, and just a bit condescending. Likaean is the same language across their many worlds and those who cannot learn it are not held in high regard. He does not understand yet that our reality is different. "I defeated her. I will bring you to my honored friend, Prince Sinead of the Court of Summer." It grates a bit to use such a highly polite term for such a licentious scoundrel, but apparently it was the right thing to do because he looks at me with renewed wonder. "Oh! Apologies! My name is Makyas of the Court of Wings and Keyholes." Hmm. I must have misunderstood that one. "Wings and Keyholes?" I repeat. Those are unusual words. Perhaps I am mistaking them? "Wings," the boy patiently whispers and I hear a fleeting sound of a dove taking flight, "and Keyholes," he continues as I perceive the word not as a passage but as a leaky thing, a flaw from which secrets escape. "The tiny Court!" "I am pleased to meet you, Makyas of the, errr, Court of Wings and Keyholes." "No no! I am pleased. In your debt now." I am almost certain that this Likaean is quite young. Younger than most, in any case. I need to contact Sinead because I am disinclined to act as a nursemaid. "Right. I will protect you for now. It will take a few days before help arrives and we can take you to a safer place." "Yay! I am in your care. Can you sing?" "This question is taboo." "So, no." Maybe I should just drain him a bit, as payment. Chapter 104 - 101. Tempus Fugit Sinead comes in person to recover his newest ally and I realize a few interesting details. First, Makyas of the Court of Wings and Keyholes is slightly more intimidating than I gave him credit for, if Sinead''s reaction is to be believed. Second, Makyas is obviously not a bashful child. He drops the act as soon as he finds himself in the presence of a prince and I get a glimpse of the playful malice beneath. Sinead also uses the opportunity to flirt outrageously. I should have expected it. I also learn that the Likaeans are busy working on a way back and, apparently, the space magic developed by Ricardo in Alexandria is the key. Sivaya is confident that she will finish a valid spell by the end of the century. When I remark that it is a long time, I am informed that creating an entirely new branch of magic in a rigid reality is a time-consuming effort and that I am welcome to try myself. Sinead''s condescending delivery is truly without a match. In any case, I foresee more shenanigans in the future and let them go on their way. Over the next few months, I manage to keep up my magical studies with the mortals through immense effort and the occasional application of blood magic when some spells become too complex. No matter how hard I try, my fire spells remain pallid and pathetic and my light spells are timid things, bright enough to be seen from afar but never seeming to give the mortals any visibility. On the contrary, anything related to blood, shadows and illusions comes to me naturally. I get no more issue from Mireille or any of the local Roland vampires afterward, though I do continue sword practice. I eventually come to enjoy it, relishing the flexibility that swords can offer. On the home front, I have to handle a slew of issues from the care of Sinead''s illegitimate children to the growth of the slave catcher population moving north from Kentucky. My dream mage also marries a cake maker to no one''s surprise. With the rescued children and the White Cabal''s presence, Marquette''s mage population explodes. Strangely, the werewolf population explodes as well even if they cannot bear children. Every time I pass by, there are more of them following me around with their nose in the air, only keeping a respectful distance because of Metis'' fearsome reputation as an ear thief. Any attempt to wiggle the whole truth from Jeffrey ends in a two hours declaration involving his cousins, nephews, friends from the coast, the Illuminati, that fisherwoman from Ottawa with the thick thighs¡­ As far as I understand, their village''s fame has grown as the safest and richest werewolf haven and it attracts a lot of those who would not do so well in traditional pack structures. I understand that many of those prefer to be left alone and that the new town, amusingly named Moonside, affords them the tranquility they crave. Jeffrey assures me that they will fight when called and that is, in the end, all that I care about. I still wish they would stop trying to smell me. I find it extremely vexing. Last but not least, I use the opportunity of a payment for a protection detail to ask for blood from Salim of the Rosenthal, which he secretly accepts. Their essence is certainly one of the most useful I have ever consumed. I can now recall things much more easily if I focus on them, and some tedious tasks like reading reports become significantly more relaxing. I complete them as if in a trance. Making paperwork less tedious is without a doubt one of the mightiest powers in creation. Unfortunately, better memories only make the following ordeal that much more painful. I knew this day would come. I knew it from the beginning, but I always managed to push the thought to the back of my mind. I had so much to do. There were always new foes to fight and problems to solve, things to learn. Now it has come and I am at a loss. I bump my head against Torran''s chest in a rare display of public affection. Others might see but I care little. I breathe in deep and the cold spice of him overwhelms the brine on the air to both soothe me and distress me even more. His hand pats the back of my head. We do not speak. We are beyond words. Everything that was worth saying was said a long time ago. The fact remains that I have my life here and he has his own back in Hungary. There is no bridging that gap, not when it takes months of travel between our territories. A Dvor can only stay so long away from his fief, after all. Torran will bring his fledgeling back with him and that is it. I feel a strong mix of emotions now, not enough to cry but enough that it feels¡­ good. I am alive now because of what we shared and must now leave behind. The bittersweet emotion dulls the throb of undirected anger threatening to overwhelm me. There is simply no one I can gut, stab, set on fire or detonate to keep him around and I find that extremely aggravating. The pier around us is silent, despite sailors loading the last of the goods and supplies they will carry over the Atlantic. No one interrupts us but still, I let him go. I am delaying the inevitable. "I release you from our bond, my star," Torran finally says, his face showing no emotion. "I release you from our bond," I answer, finishing the ritual. It hurts as much as I expected. I can appreciate that we will not see each other for years, possibly decades, and that it would be unfair of me to expect celibacy from him in the off case that I might come back. I still feel robbed. I do not want to share. If I come to visit and find some tart hanging about, I might just do something unfortunate. I warned him it would be the case, therefore the responsibility of any future dismemberments will be placed solely at his feet. I leave the pier behind and walk round a warehouse. The city is mostly silent at this time of the night. I stop and lean against some stupid door. Fuck. I wait for some time. It doesn''t get better. Someone comes, a familiar aura. "Sister," Jimena answers with a soft voice. She is dressed in a form-fitting leather armor, not in knight garb, for once. She drops a heavy-looking backpack and takes from it a case, which she gives me. I unpack it to reveal a weapon. A pistol, to be precise. Never have I witnessed its like. It is the work of a mad genius, nay, a revolutionary! I caress the smooth, silvery surface and ask with unmitigated wonder. "What is this thing?" "A prototype based on the design of a weapon dealer by the name of Colt. It can shoot six times before being reloaded. They are not even producing it yet. The cartridges go into that barrel over here." "Marvelous!" "So, there is a group of outlaws who just robbed a Rosenthal carriage outside of town. Would you like to go kill them and get paid?" This time, the emotion is too strong and a single ruby pearl drops down my cheek. "Jimena, you are the best sister I could ever ask for." The smug woman catches the tear before it can drop and raises it to her lips, licking it after I give her leave. "Aaaaah. Of course I am. I know you well and this is what you need. Now go and test this barbaric tool of yours." "Heathen!" At a corner of an empty road, beyond an overgrown path and the moss-covered room of a hunter rest, a few men have set up camp. They dug a pit and lit a fire there, counting on the remoteness and the wild vegetation to hide the smoke from inquisitive eyes. It was, of course, not enough. The sentinel is the first to notice me strutting forth with my fancy dress, my coat and the undeniably imposing leather tricorn which is totally appropriate and I would dare anyone to object. The man squints at my approaching figure. His beady eyes widen in surprise as I enter the light halo of his dusty lantern. He stinks of alcohol. "What the fuck?" "Language, mongrel." "Who the fuck are you?" I tut loudly, a gesture of intimidation that is known to make mortals cry, if they know what is good for them. "I am the law around these parts. You and your little friends have been very, very naughty." "You insane bitch. You got some plums coming here at night, I like that. Maybe I can reward you if you make me very happy." "I''ll only be happy when you hang from the neck until dead, rascal." The sentinel takes the affected smile of someone who is convinced his interlocutor suffers from severe delusion and who is ten seconds away from beating some sense into them. He shifts his coat aside to grab and take out a knife. I mirror his gesture with one small difference, one he realizes as soon as he ends up face to maw with the business end of the six-shooter. It will always fascinate me how some objects are clearly weapons. My pistol might be a prototype, but there is no mistaking the keen line and metallic gleam. This is a tool of death. "What the hell?" "Hands in the air and you might just live to see the day. I am the hand of the law and my reach is long indeed!" Somewhere behind me, a bush swears in Akkad and lets out a muffled laugh. "Shit! Everyone! Help! A madwoman!" "You won''t escape your punishment, miscreant!" I yell in my loudest human voice as if I were as self-righteous as a Gabrielite. I lightly jog after the fleeing man until we arrive at his camp. "She''s right behind me! Shoot her, shoot her!" A man fires a musket and the bullet misses me completely. What is he even aiming at? And now he is just standing here like a moron, gaping at the shadows. I shoot him in the chest. He falls with a dreadful shriek and the rest of his band finally realizes that they are under attack. They pile on behind crates of supplies and fire back. I skip behind a thick trunk and take potshots at those who break cover, making no particular effort to aim. I have plenty of bullets in a bag and this is the time to experiment. "It can''t be just the one, there are too many bullets flying. She must have help!" one of the men says in a panicked voice. "Maybe it''s a whole band of she-devils!" another replies, "They''re here to cut off our cocks! I told ye not to touch thoses lasses!" "Shut your mug!" "Your sins are many!" I shout with a gravelly voice, "and you should all repent! Repeeeeeent!" Hah, I can see why the Gabrielite would risk dismemberment. This is fun! I leave the cover of the trunk and empty all six bullets in my left gun in quick succession. "She''s got this strange gun! Do you think that''s why?" "Then it must be empty! Let''s rush her!" a brave soul screams and then jumps on top of the crate. I shoot the man down with the right gun like the dog he is. I then open the contraption to reload. Instead of doing it cartridge by cartridge, I just remove the entire barrel and replace it with a fresh one. This is such a revolutionary invention! I am witnessing history in the making! "Noooo she shot Jerry! Jerryyyyyyy!" "Let me die, fools. Run. Run for your lives!" How very dramatic. It reminds me, I should buy an opera ticket for the Queen of the Night by Mozart. An opera in German! I will go alone, have the waiters bring me a cup of coffee and throw chocolate wrappings on the heads of the rich folks below. It will be grand. Or I could bring Nami and enjoy the outrage. Hmmm. A bullet hits the trunks fairly close to my head, showering me with splinters. Right! I am already in the middle of something fun! Carpe diem and all that. I lean to the side and shoot at the ass of someone attempting to crawl away. He howls and his friends drag him back. There are only three of them now, including one who is no longer so cheeky. Heh. I turn once more and, this time, flick the hammer with one hand while I press the trigger with the other. This allows me to shoot faster but I am still limited by the physics of the gun itself. Otherwise I could shoot even faster! Incredible! Could I make an overly large version of this? Hmmm. "We surrender!" "WHAT REALLY? ALREADY?" I scream in utter annoyance. My legitimate question is received in stupefied silence. Jimena walks to me with a chuckle as I vociferate and grumble. "Why? How can they be such cowards?" "They are bandits, Ariane, not fanatics dying for a cause." "But I killed bandits before and they hardly ever surrendered!" "Did you even leave them enough time to do so? To understand their desperate circumstances?" "Well¡­" "Or did you just enter the fray and happily slaughtered them?" "I was not done with the test! I want to shoot at them and play with them and have them squirm. How dare they stay here like useless sacks of flesh while Torran is leaving me? They have no right. It should not be happening like this! He was the first man I loved in a romantic capacity in my entire Watcher-forsaken life, the only one I can even think of being intimate with. I love him dearly. I feel good with him, as myself and without a mask. He accepts me and my lack of experience and all my little flaws and he is patient and caring and loving. He knows so many stories. Also he can kick my ass. And he builds swords. Fuck!" "Ariane¡­" "It is not fair! There are so many wastes of space already here, why can''t they go and he can stay?" I finish sulkily. Jimena remains silent. She reaches up to lightly tap the top of my head. Because it is Jimena, I let her. "Errrr," a male voice says from behind, "can we please lower our hands or?" Torran''s departure leaves me irritable and ill-tempered for a few months during which I take a more hands-off attitude to ruling Marquette and my budding business empire. Following Salim''s advice, I also invest in the real estate of my territory, apparently a vampire tradition. I sink my time and undirected anger into magical and physical training with the occasional help of a few war-minded Masters like Nami and Jimena. I also try to involve guns in my combat style but soon realize that the task is extremely arduous and that my training partners object to being shot at mid-practice. I will have to return to that at a later date. The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. The year eighteen thirty-six brings an interesting event in the Natalis territory. Texans conduct a revolution and manage to capture the Mexican general Santa Anna, forcibly bringing him to the negotiation table and leading to the birth of the Republic of Texas. Lord Jarek''s territory is no longer part of Mexico as a result. The new State of Arkansas joins the union, giving us a new, clearly delimited territory, which is granted to the returning Lancaster. Lord Marion is their new leader and he takes the time to come and greet me, bearing offerings and a juicy trade agreement that finally allows me to set up a proper gun factory. Because of this and his overall politeness, I support his claim even though deep inside I am fuming. A few diplomatic agreements and he obtains a state! Pah! Back in my days, you had to wallow knee-deep in werewolf blood to get a tiny piece of land. Those newcomers do not know how good they have it. The entry of Arkansas brings forth a burning issue, that of slavery. The growth of the abolitionist movement leads to massive frictions and each new state that enters the union threatens the fragile equilibrium between the two sides. For now, Illinois is not a slave state but there are slave-catchers operating on the southern border while in the north, abolitionists assist fugitives on their way to Canada. Although I stick to my belief that a happy human is a tasty human and that no man, or woman, can truly be happy as long as they do not have free agency, I limit my actions to keeping the less honest catchers off my area of control through heavy beatings whenever necessary. At least three different clans have a vested interest in the institution, including the Cadiz whose financial interests are closely tied to the South and its plantations. Vampirekind is thus equally split on the subject. The Ekon, Roland and I are firmly in the abolitionist camp with Sephare herself calling it ''odious'', while the others argue that treating people as property is as old as history itself and therefore natural, if unfortunate. I do not see this ending well. In the meanwhile, I continue learning from Ezekiel until, in the month of January eighteen thirty-seven, Margaret disappears. The compass definitely points to the factory in front of me, showing me that the girl still lives. The building is decently new and obviously busy during daytime. The paint of the massive double gate is fresh and the many windows clearly show a neat interior. "That is not what I expected," Ezekiel says. Without his ridiculous red robes, he looks more like an actual professor and less like some cheap, farcical villain. His keen eyes fix the brick surface of his target as if they could bore right through it. I know what he means. Margaret has gone missing and she has ways of contacting us. I am going for kidnapping, mundane or otherwise. "Let me infiltrate the place, just in case," I request. To my surprise, Ezekiel does not argue. "Agreed, but be warned that after five minutes I shall break in gauntlet blazing. If you find some crime afoot, this is your window to reach a diplomatic agreement. After that¡­" Ezekiel''s vehemence does not surprise me. The man is surprisingly protective of his pupils, a habit I can respect. I leave without a word and crawl up the wall with the grace and expertise of the consummate cat burglar. This is not my first breaking and entering. I find an improperly latched window and open it with minimal noise and damage, then suddenly hear a gasp. We are in the factory district and the place is mostly empty at this time so I expected no company. Cursing my carelessness, I turn around to find a very drunk man holding a half-empty bottle of gin staring at me with bulging eyes. Hmm. I must strike a dashing figure, stuck like a lizard to the sheer wall in my conservative grey dress. Fortunately, the man has given me the very tool to defuse the situation. I wave at him with a manic smile then move into the building. I hear a curse, then the brittle noise of shattered glass followed in turn by barely coherent screams about she-devils and absinthe and whatnot. Crisis averted. The clock is still ticking however, and I quickly make my way outside of what appears to be an accounting department and down two sets of stairs. I realize on the ground floor that the door to outside is warded, and that it looks like professional work. Fearing a trap, I slow down and focus on my senses. There, behind a wall covered in advertisement posters, is a breathing person and what feels like a strong shield. The air tastes like nervous sweat. Fresh. I sigh and kneel to fix my dress to my leggings so that it does not trail everywhere, then I lightly jump up and crawl across the ceiling like the world''s prettiest bat. People never look up. I pass the corner and find a set of stairs leading down into a well-lit basement. A man stands in the way, gauntlet down but active. The air before him shimmers with a half-deployed ward of respectable power. He is also wearing a White Cabal battledress. My unexpected opponent is very young, although a bushy dark beard would lead people to think otherwise. He is not exactly inattentive either and I salute his discipline. In fact, his appearance reminds me of¡­ No way. "Cedric?" I ask in surprise, recognizing one of the students I had enjoyed terrifying, I mean, one of the students I had generously prepared for the vagaries of the life of a combat mage by direct request of his chief instructor. The man jumps in fright and lets out a rather girly scream, then he looks up as his shield activates. His frown turns to an expression of pure delight, then morphs to a mask of aloof confidence. He leans against a railing, twirling his mustache. "Oh, Ariane of the Nirari, fancy seeing you here." "Cedric, is everything alright?" a voice comes from below. "We have a guest, people!" Cedric declaims proudly as I drop from the ceiling and smooth my dress. We almost look the same age now. I do not believe I will ever get used to this. Before testing this team, Jonathan had warned me that they were perhaps the most talented group Avalon had ever produced and therefore fully expected them to fail spectacularly, which they did. Their arrogance and recklessness caused their loss despite some rather impressive individual displays of skill. I see that this lesson was not lost on them when three people climb up the stairs slowly and in tight formation. I recognize the man in the front as the leader, Reginald. He holds the shield, while behind him, the two ladies of the group cover him. The first is a dark-haired girl with brown eyes and a magnetic charm, Mina. Her gauntlet practically shines with power begging to be unleashed. The second is an aristocratic young woman with blue eyes and blonde hair, holding a silver sword at the ready. They all stop when they see me but to their credit, they do not lower their guard. "Oh. Hello," Reginald says with a slightly shameful expression. Our last interaction was indeed quite the humiliation for the fearless leader. I notice that the last member of the team is missing. "Is Will circling around to attack me from behind?" I ask, until I focus on my aura control and realize that the sneakier member of their coterie is, in fact, right around the corner behind his allies. "Ah, no, he is right here. Now, let me ask the fateful question to get it out of the way. Do you happen to have in your custody a young female warlock with dark hair, pale skin and a chip on her shoulder the size of Bunker Hill?" "Would she have a tendency to say things such as ''behold my dark power!'' and ''you cannot comprehend my might''?" I sigh. "Unfortunately, yes." "Yeah, we have her, she''s downstairs. Unhurt. Apprentices of the dark arts are always so full of themselves," Cedric explains, pleased. "Yes, Cedric, pompous fools the lot of them. They always need some harrowing experience to remind them of where they stand on the food chain," I remark, pointedly. Cedric has the grace to blush while Reggie and his two flankers close the distance. The shields are still up, I notice. Will steps out into the open with an embarrassed smile. "Would you consider releasing her into my care?" I politely ask in a way that merely hints at the fact that this is not a request rather than heavily imply it. "Of course, it''s not like she''s the one we''re looking for, don''t you think so guys?" Cedric states as he turns to his friends with a winning smile. They remain unamused. "I think that you talk too much," the blonde woman retorts with a freezing voice that carries just a bit of German. Her name is Carmella if I remember correctly. "Stop trying to flirt with the immortal mage-eater Cedric, she already told you you were too young and that beard changed nothing," Mina adds with genuine concern. "Nonsense," Cedric scoffs as he turns a delicate shade of tulip, "I did not grow it to look more mature and impress her!" A very, very awkward silence spreads across the assembly. The shield mage pales as he realizes that his blabbering has become his downfall. "Really? I had found the timing suspicious, of course, but to think¡­" Carmella observes. "Gee, Cedric, you wax your mustache for that?" Reginald adds with disgust. I clap my hands once to garner their attention and stop, nay, postpone the merciless hazing. "Please focus for one moment. Can I recover the witch?" "If you guarantee us protection from her retribution, such as it is, we will gladly give her to you," Reginald quickly answers. "It is done then. Please wait a moment while I inform my associate." Everyone smiles pleasantly as we wind down our spells, including my own blood-magic shield-piercer. Allied, yes. Stupid, no. I return to a fitful Ezekiel and inform him that I reached an agreement with the kidnappers and that they are not, in fact, kidnappers, but merely allies of mine who defended themselves. I can see the doubts in his eyes though he is smart enough not to voice them. To call a vampire a liar is a painfully vain exercise. I return to the White Cabal hideout and their basement to find that stacks of crates filled with metal parts were set aside to leave an open space. In it, the five war mages have created a workshop centered around a massive circle. Margaret is not in it. She was set aside, lying on her belly atop a pile of tarp and liberally tied with ropes, arms behind her and feet held up. She looks one skewer away from a roast pig. Tear trails line her cheeks, the poor arrogant thing. I detach her and she stands up, massaging her wrists to help with the blood flow and trying her best to melt into the wall. Perhaps there is a spell for that? "So, I have a standing argument with one of the lads back in Avalon. He says that vampires and mages are natural enemies while I say that it''s vampires and werewolves. What do you think?" Cedric asks me excitedly. "I think you are both mistaken," I reply sweetly, "from our perspective, you are all prey." A distinct chill freezes everyone in the room. William, who stands close, takes an instinctual step back. All but Cedric. "Hmm that makes sense," he comments as if I had shared a great pearl of wisdom. In a way, I have. He just did not get it. Cedric caresses his lush beard, staring at the ceiling with a penetrating gaze as if it held the secrets of the universe in its dusty recess. "Anyway," Will continues with an embarrassed glare, "I now understand why we have been deployed here. The environment is sufficiently challenging while we have an ally who can potentially come to the rescue. The Black Dog thought of everything." "Speaking of allies, would you consider assisting us?" Mina asks politely. I notice that both Will and Reginald give her their full attention as she makes her plea. There is a longing in their gaze that I easily recognize. "We are looking for a ring of human traffickers who sometimes manage to intercept refugee mages as they get off the boat. Despicable people! We are here to dismantle their local branch and prevent them from preying on the weak!" she boasts with undisguised pride. Hmm. Will steps forward, the first to realize that asking me to act out of the kindness of my heart is a doomed prospect. "We were given special shaped charges by Jonathan. They are designed to direct the blast in one direction only, thus sparing the people and materials engulfed in a normal powder blast''s area of effect. Perhaps you would consent to come with us and operate them yourself?" Ooooh, the crafty lad. Does he think I am the kind of woman who would assault an unknown foe for the chance of understanding a prototype explosive? Because he would be absolutely correct, but I cannot have him win so easily. It would set a dangerous precedent. "That sounds fascinating. Good luck with that," I inform a slightly crestfallen William. "We would compensate you for your time, of course," Reginald adds in a respectful voice. "Yeah! I volunteer my blood! Are you thirsty?" "Not now, Cedric. Ariane of the Nirari, our foe uses magic to hide themselves that renders the most standard tracking spells useless. We believe that this is extremely potent magic and one of our secondary objectives is to recover it. I believe that I can negotiate for not only access to this spell but also our help in mastering it, should you join us," Reginald continues. I do not need a way to hide thanks to Nashoba''s earrings. It could still be extremely useful to mask allies or even understand how to find somebody. "Deal. Now show me those shaped charges you mentioned." As the night progresses and we work together, I realize that I do not mind keeping an eye on the team. They are pleasantly competent and getting to know them and be known and relied on in return improves the chances that Jonathan''s alliance lasts for more than one generation. We eventually find the kidnappers and even get the help of both Ezekiel and Salazar as well as a few local mages. Peace soon returns to the city and I get a new blueprint for my trouble. I spend the next four years alternating between Philadelphia and my own territory, stopping my studies only long enough to handle the odd crisis that my competent underlings cannot easily handle. Merritt eventually remarries too and hires several associates, which I allow after vetting them and just a little bit of intimidation to make sure they understand that I will not tolerate duplicity. Urchin develops into a fine enforcer to my pleasant surprise. He develops his own fighting style which revolves around pulling objects out of seemingly nowhere and shoving them in someone''s back, or shooting them in the face with one of the many tiny pistols he had specially made. Marquette develops relatively quickly while Chicago expands at a vertiginous speed with a little help from Melusine''s peerless business acumen, allowing the both of us to consolidate our positions. I do not object when she recovers a few Lancaster exiles and even negotiates with Lord Marion to make sure there is no resentment left. Slowly, political blocks form around the Cadiz on one side and the Roland on the other, with a third force made from us weaker clans. The occurrence of issues and decisions that must be taken collectively continues to increase, leading us to today. I look down at Lady Sephare''s intricate golden curls as she climbs down the stairs before me. We proceed by pair, the state leader and their second side by side with Constantine leading the way. I chose Melusine, not that there was much competition. Servants, soldiers and employees stick to the walls of the fortress'' cozy interior and watch us pass with a bit of awe, as is suitable. We have enough political and physical power here to overthrow a small nation. The corridor widens and we soon tread a crimson carpet to a set of double doors guarded on each side by Constantine''s bodyguards, acting as mysterious as ever. Our combined auras, though peaceful, have a curious effect on our surroundings. We are not mingling with mortals this time, we are walking together with a purpose and a queer feeling of harmonization changes the texture of reality ever so slightly. It tastes thinner. I wonder if the others feel it too. The gates open for Constantine and we follow him into a large circular room wide enough to contain a cottage. Sophia, Constantine''s assistant, is already sitting behind a large writing desk at the far end. The floor at the center of the room is made from concentric rings of stone. As we approach, the Speaker lifts a gauntleted hand and seventeen slide up, one by one, with barely a noise. I count one for each pair of representatives and one for him. Finally, stone thrones rise up from the nineteenth ring to accommodate us. We pretend not to be impressed while Constantine feigns indifference at our lack of reaction. Lesser minds may gasp and whisper at such a mighty display, but I know better. In a few hours, the attendants will realize that naked stone makes for a poor cushion. Not everyone benefits from my, ahem, padding. We take our places in silence. The massive central table is split like a pie by minor light magic so that each present state is clearly shown by its flag when applicable, and its name in large, blocky letters. Right now they are all greyed out. Only the Speaker''s pie slice is lit in light red. He stands up to address us. "Welcome to the first Pan-American Council of Princes. The purpose of this reunion is to align and decide on major events. As previously stated, we will take decisions by vote at the end of a debate with me acting as arbitrator. You will notice that my side of the table is lit while the others are greyed out. When someone has the floor, their side will, in turn, be lit. If you do not have the floor you should refrain from interrupting. Disruptive behavior will be punished." As if we would act like rowdy children. "The first order of business tonight is the issue of slavery. With the recent ruling on the Amistad affair and the continuous clashes between abolitionists and their opponents, I have deemed it necessary that we establish guidelines all Houses should follow." Immediately, the atmosphere grows heavy. Kouakou and Naminata in particular fix Ceron and a few others with barely disguised hostility. They wear their traditional red and yellow boubous with disdainful pride, the bright colors offering a stark contrast with the drabber outfits worn by their rivals. "Several members of this assembly volunteered actionable plans. We will listen to their proposals and discuss their merits. House Ekon, you have the floor." "Thank you, Speaker," Lord Kouakou replies in a smooth bass. He stabs a talon in the flesh of his thumb, then places the pearl of dark blood on the stone surface. A few runes flare and a map of North America appears on the table. The next hour is spent in controlled arguments. We remain polite at all times and discussions do not heat up because most of the negotiations already happened behind closed doors. This is mostly a show of strength and of eloquence. The Ekon argue that each state leader should decide who to favor on their own territory, leaving them free to act as they see fit. In the case of the Ekon, that means facilitating escapes and freely financing groups such as the Underground Railroad. The Cadiz retort by claiming that slaves can be regarded as House assets, as such their recovery should be allowed across all territories. They add that abetting escapes is technically theft and that any House engaged in such activities should be considered hostile according to the Accords. At this stage, the fanged smiles strain noticeably. The Ekon predictably counter with the observation that, as soon as the fugitives reach a state where slavery is illegal, they have the right of ownership over themselves and could not be reacquired without breaking the laws of said state. Any attempt to recapture slaves would be poaching, still according to the Accords. The arguments go back and forth for almost an hour before Lady Sephare asks to intervene. She makes a reasonable and impassioned speech about the dangers of giving access to one''s territory, and while the practice of slavery was an ancient tradition, the right of every vampire to protect their territory from outside influence should supersede it. An escaped prisoner must be considered lost, and that is that. Her case is backed by every state leader who does not want foreign agents freely roaming their territory, including myself. The slavers among us will have to keep an eye on their merchandise themselves. We win that vote with a comfortable majority. As Constantine announces the result and Sophia writes it down for posterity, I consider that it merely pushes the conflict back to unofficial support and funding of various groups. Nothing is truly solved yet. The second order of business is land control. The Union recently gained the states of Arkansas and Michigan, while the republic of Texas was formed from Santa Anna''s blunder. At the same time, the Roland have expanded into Quebec. The question is whether to intervene into mortal affairs and steer the formation of borders in a certain way. This discussion is much more consensual, and we quickly agree to leave them to their own devices. We would only intervene by mutual agreement and if we consider our interests at risk. Once all agreements are made, Constantine calls an end to the proceedings and we file out in silence. We climb back up to the fortress'' living quarters and split up without comments. As soon as we are all dispersed, Melusine and I do not have the time to reflect before we receive an invitation to visit the Ekon quarters. With this, the diplomatic dance begins anew. Over the next five years I focus on my spellcasting and even start to experiment with complex rituals and my sire''s spells. They are nasty things of power and rage, efficient and refined yet¡­ inelegant. There is a spell that uses blades following randomized movement, one that sets up invisible caltrops of deleterious energy, one that is specialized in flaying its target alive¡­ I still study them all and realize that Nirari truly is talented, even though he relies more on power than on subtlety. Ten years have come and gone when suddenly, I find a letter waiting for me on my desk back in Marquette. This one bears the mark of the Rosenthal postal service and I freeze as I recognize a familiar cursive. I delicately pick its creamy surface and slide it closer, my eyes widening in disbelief. I had not seen this specific handwriting in decades. It could not be¡­ S~ea??h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. I flip the envelope and read the name of the sender with ever increasing surprise. It is. Chapter 105 - 102. Home April 1846. My feet tread the familiar ground in silence, and I bounce up the three small stairs to the entrance with the ease of familiarity. They have not changed. Neither have I. The door could use another coat of paint though. I pull on a cord. Light chimes sound from inside and a pair of heavy steps heralds the coming of the house staff. We are late enough that a visit would be considered rude, but not enough that I would be greeted with a musket. I do not recognize the woman who opens the door. She wears a conservative light dress and a scowl as she squints, trying to recognize me. "I am here to see Achille Reynaud," I announce. "And what business do you have with Mr Reynaud?" "He called me here." Her inspection is done and she clearly does not like what she sees. Some people have good instincts and I cannot help but smile. I am experiencing something new: nostalgia. I have not been home in so long. "Mr Reynaud is indisposed." "I know." "Then you should also know better than to come so late. Return tomorrow." She goes to close the door and shows quite a bit of surprise when I press a hand against the heavy frame, pushing her aside with ease. Her expression turns scandalized. "Madam, I will ask you to leave. Immediately!" I take a deep breath to appreciate the moment, tasting the air. I am still welcome. The old magic has left me untouched. I step forward. "Fortunately, you are not my host. I do not need your agreement." I lightly push her protesting form aside and climb up the stairs, ignoring her pathetic invectives. My brother will rest in the master bedroom and this is where my steps lead me. The house smells of incense, sickness, old furniture, and old people. Girders and support beams creak like the knees of a crone all around and the ticks of an ancient clock thrum like heartbeats. Still, this place lives, more solemn than decrepit. The pitted planks are lacquered while the shelves sag under the weight of well-ordered books and polished trinkets. Some of them even look quite expensive. I finally reach the fateful door. When I was a child, this was my father''s domain. He would tolerate my presence there while he accepted no one else, not since mother had died. I would charge in to wake him up sometimes, jumping on the mattress and bumping my head against his as if I were a ram. He is long gone and so is his scent. I knock lightly on the door and enter. Most of the furniture must have been replaced at some point. Only the bed itself occupies the same space. In it lies the prone form of my brother. The years have not been kind. I suppose that he is old now at sixty-four. Age does not explain the sunken cheek, the stringy beard or the yellow skin stuck to his skeletal body. Sickness does. His breath comes out raspy and difficult. A desiccated hand grabs at his torso and the probable source of his pain even as he fitfully sleeps. The air is heavy with the smell of medicine. I step closer and find a comfortable chair. I am confident that I was quiet, and yet just as I finish sitting, he pops his eyes open and turns them on me with unerring purpose. They are bloodshot and just as keen and blue as I remember them. His gaze turns to the table at his side and I understand the unspoken request. I stand again and light a few candles before returning to his side. We scrutinize each other in silence. His jaw shifts several times as, I assume, he struggles to find words that he perhaps prepared. I know better and did not even attempt the foolish exercise. "You have not changed at all. Are you still¡­ you?" he finally asks, his voice grating from an exhausted throat. "I''m afraid that is up for debate, and I wish I could return the compliment." For a moment, the barb throws us back to a time when our conflicted relationship shaped the lives, and ears, of many a nurse. We both smile at those memories and something clicks between us, a fleeting sense of camaraderie. When Achille next speaks, his voice is softer. "Thank you for coming. I wish it had been sooner but I had a few things to work through." "When did you learn that I was still, for lack of a better term, alive?" "Father told me before he passed away." Achille''s eyes grow distant. "It took me a long time to accept what he said as more than the delusions of a sick man and even longer to act. I apologize." "No need, Achille." "Yes, need," he retorts. He painfully shifts in his bed and grabs an envelope from his bedside table. The paper is wrinkled and faded by old age and when he hands it to me, I feel a weight inside. His skin is dry and feverish. "Father left this for you. There is a key inside. I did not want to give it to a monster. It took a lot of growing up to realize that it was not my decision to take." "Self-reflection? Who are you and what have you done with my brother?" I retort teasingly as I accept the gift. Achille''s answering smile is brittle and bittersweet. "You laugh. I spent entirely too much time growing a business and a family before realizing I had to grow as a person as well. A lot of events happening late in my life have changed my outlook. I had many certitudes. Now, much less so." "Je suis surprise," I admit, temporarily reverting to French. "Do not be, petite soeur, it is never too late to change." Our moment is interrupted by heavy steps trampling the floor on their way to the bedroom. I recognize the decisive struts, quick breath and dancing heartbeat of a terrified human desperately trying to rally their spirits. The door bangs open and a woman crashes in, head high and armed with an iron poker. A strange sensation of uncanny otherness overcomes me and I grip the couch, fangs almost bared in an instinctive response. It takes all of my self-control to shut my mouth and force myself to relax. She is not me. This was just an illusion, a phantom born from decades spent away from my own blood. She is not me. Her hair is darker and her face smoother. There could be other details but I forgot. I have not seen my own face in so long that her arrival confused me for a while. I notice with some amusement that her reaction mirrors my own, and that the threats and imprecations the iron poker was supposed to back up died on her lips the moment she took me in. We could be sisters. "Who are you?" she asks with a trembling voice. "My guest," Achille interrupts before I can reply. I let him. Host privilege. "Grand-pere, the doctor said that you should rest, especially at night." "I know, ma petite. This meeting could not wait." "Grand-pere! Please, you have to take care of yourself. Mademoiselle, can you not come back tomorrow morning?" she asks, turning to me. "June, listen to me," Achille speaks in a kind voice that I do not recognize. My brother has changed a lot. The Achille I knew could not tolerate objections or refusals. He had a very firm idea of his place in the world and everyone else''s too. Those who opposed his orders while being his inferior were severely reprimanded and their objections immediately dismissed as the ramblings of an inferior getting out of line and, therefore, unwise. This Achille is reasonable and patient. "June, my dear. You know that some things cannot wait. Please." Tears pearl at the corner of the girl''s eyelids. She furiously tries to chase them away by blinking very fast and scowling mightily before turning away and stomping back into the corridor where she stays to eavesdrop with all the spying acumen of a five-years-old. "You have mellowed in your old age," I remark, not unkindly. "You don''t know the half of it," Achille replies with a strangled chuckle, "that was June by the way." "Your second son''s daughter. I know." He welcomes my revelation like a pleasant surprise. "You kept an eye on us?" "Yes. I would have acted if you were facing a true menace, mundane or otherwise." "I see, I see. That is good. To return to my change of heart, a great many events rocked my perception of the world in the past few years. June is one of them. My second son turned out to be a major disappointment while June herself is kind, smart, and responsible. It certainly impacted my opinion on family hierarchy and the merits of male-only inheritance." "You are not considering¡­" "I am. When I die, she will inherit the property and quite a few assets besides." "You impress me," I admit with genuine care. "Thank you. I am sorry that I could not reconsider things before disease and circumstances made it an imperative. I called you here for a favor." Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. Supplicant. It has been a while since I last felt the intimate bond created by such a request. The ingrained urge to demand a price for my help fights a short war with an old sense of loyalty and loses. I will not ask for a price from Achille. "Speak." "My youngest son, Richard, enrolled in the US army last year following our increased tensions with Mexico. Are you familiar with the situation?" Naturally. The Natalis under Lord Jarek are monitoring the situation with great attention. They favor the American side for a variety of causes ranging from security against the Comanches to the benefits of having a stable government for one full year. "We are on the brink of war. President Polk ordered Taylor''s men south into the Nueces strip and Mexico will react." Achille nods. "Correct. Richard is now a proud dragoon in the second brigade. Full of bluster, that one. ''The nation this! Our honor that!'' His blood runs white-hot with the fury of unbridled patriotism!" His mocking tone surprises me. I always took him for someone who would support traditional institutions with the firm belief of a man whose position in life depends on them. He must have reconsidered his values at a fundamental level over the past decade. Achille''s breathing grows hard as the memory of his son''s departure agitates him. It takes a few seconds for him to take a deep, relaxing sigh. "Funny things, wars. Victory or defeat, there will always be one foolhardy charge or one vainglorious assault that kills all of its participants. Then, ten years from now, some Washington asshole will paint a nice scene about the whole affair." "You want me to get him out?" "I wish, but no. If life has told me one thing, it is that we must learn some lessons ourselves. I do not expect you to shield him from bayonets. I only wish for him not to lose his life in a stupid, preventable way. Can you do that?" "I can travel west and keep an eye on him, if you wish. I may not save him, but I will extract him if he is taken prisoner or if he is on the run." "Good enough. Yes, good enough." We keep quiet for a while, Achille lost to his musings and me observing him. "Say, I did not offer payment?" he asks as an afterthought. "No need. I think of us as family." He laughs at that. One short exhalation that soon turns into a wince of pain. "I will keep you apprised," I tell him. "No need. I have an understanding with my doctor. When you are gone, he will increase the dosage of some of my medicines and thus shorten my already minute lifespan. All my affairs are in order and I have no intention to dawdle and be a burden on June and the staff." "You will let go of the world?" I ask. "You do not age, do you? Then you will be spared the indignities of your own body failing you. Waking every morning, weakened. Dimmer. A slow wreck that nothing can stop." His gaze grows clouded as he contemplates his own mortality. "Death is not a failure. I am eager to shed this body and see what lies beyond, not because I despair, but because I can no longer grow in this crumbling vessel. You will stay here and look after our family, won''t you?" "For as long as I live." "Good. Now, I have never been one for long farewells. You must go to the wine cave." I thought it was never finished?" "Papa completed it a few years before he died. I think he left you something there. I sealed it after his passing and never entered it but I cleared the entrance every spring. It should still be easily accessible." "I see." "This is goodbye, you who may or may not be my sister. For what it''s worth, I think Papa is right and whatever you have become is still you." "Thank you, Achille." "Yes yes. Now begone with you! And look after everyone." "I will. Hopefully, for a very, very long time. Farewell Achille, it was a pleasure seeing you one last time." My brother chuckles and rests back into his pillow, closing his eyes. I can tell that he is in pain and do not wish to annoy him further. I do feel something, though the cold of my mind significantly dampens the intensity of the emotion. I close the door quietly behind me on my way out. June is gone. For now. I do not return to the entrance. My steps carry me further into the old house until I finally arrive at my old bedroom but I do not walk in. I will not find anything that belongs to me within this place I used to know more than any other. Several occupants have come since then and left their mark. The only prize I will reap would be a sense of violation, of breached den. I feel agitated and fear that bringing too many strong emotions to the surface would be unwise, and so I stop my hand before it can grip the handle and turn around, heading back. If I had not been taken that night decades ago and turned into what I have become, I would have followed a much different path. There would have been no midnight rides, no battles and no heists. No guns. Well, less guns in any case. I would have probably found a suitable husband I could have loved and trusted, who would have supported me and my projects rather than impose his will as some tend to do. I would have built a rum distillery and managed it for years. I would be here now, in this room, caring for my dying brother supported by my children and grandchildren. We would have had massive family reunions with luncheons lasting well into the night. I think that I would have been happy. Just as I am now. There was much to discover and many incredible people to meet. A mortal could not understand the ecstasy of the Hunt, of killing a werewolf and drinking them dry, of dancing in the midst of immortals dressed in fineries from another age. Yes. It was, in many ways, a worthy life I have lived so far. I made it so through my own efforts. Bah, enough! I am on a schedule. I retrace my steps and make for the exit. June is waiting in the main hall. Her expression is complicated. I climb down the stairs, taking care to make some noise and still she does not turn her eyes. Her mind remains fully captured by a painting on the wall I had ignored on my way up. Now, I finally look at it. Half a century ago, our father had sat us to celebrate Achilles'' twenty-first birthday in a way that would immortalize the occasion. Some cheap artist from Baton-Rouge came with his brushes and meek manners and drew a portrait of our family. His work had been awkward. I can now easily spot the flaws in his style and some too hasty strokes that blurred the contours of dad''s face. Despite the shoddy work, there is no mistaking the people present as one of them has not changed at all. June finally turns to me, mouth open in mixed horror and surprise, so I do the most vampire thing I can. I lightly tap her shoulder, smile mysteriously, and take my leave before she can recover. Being darkly secretive is a form of boasting. Outside, the smell of wet earth from recent rain and the sounds of nature renew my sense of nostalgia. The property has changed and has also stayed the same. Like me. The path to the wine cave is overgrown now, Achille being unable to clear it himself. I tread it with ease and end up at the edge of a gate seemingly stuck into a small hill. The surrounding vegetation assaults it from all sides in a furious attempt to close the gap. Green sprouts and other tendrils grasp towards each other like grasping limbs frozen in time. I use the iron key on the lock and push in. The door protests the intrusion with a deafening creak. Papa built himself a nice little haven here, away from prying eyes, and I immediately realize why. Two of the walls are lined with moldy bookshelves filled with cheap editions of magic theory books. A desk by the side collects dust, its surface barren. The entire far side of the room is covered by a large workshop filled with curious tools, including a few optical ones with their lenses shining strangely in the darkness. On it sits a box and a sealed envelope. I neglect the books. Most of them are easily obtainable and I know their content already, having spent a decade learning from one of the greatest arcane smiths who ever lived. A quick inspection of the desk yields nothing of value; the room was thoroughly cleaned before it was vacated. This is it. I open the envelope with trepidation and take my time to unfold the yellowed paper. My father''s smooth cursive greets me in all its comforting familiarity. My hand goes to my neck, to the pendant where his last instruction rests locked forever in a case of steel. Do not die before me. I fulfilled his request and read the text, written in French, to see if there is another one. "My dearest daughter, When you read this, I will probably be in a better place or at least I hope so! How I wish I could have held you in my arms one more time, but despite your absence I find comfort in the knowledge that you are safe. Jimena kept me aware of your progress through small missives slipped here and there throughout the years. The woman is paranoid! But considering who you face, I suppose caution is warranted. I am leaving soon. As I am writing these words, I have finished tidying up the cave and getting rid of the more incriminating correspondences. Know that I have not spent all of my last few years in idle occupation, sipping rum and flirting with the ladies. Only the majority of them. I also did a little bit of trading here and there. You know your old man! Eventually, I got my hands on something that will help you. Jimena informed me that it would be some time before you could use it and I find that I do not mind. I very much enjoy the idea that you carry this present into eternity, one gift from me, by your side, forever. Please take good care of it and give your enemies hell! This is farewell, my daughter. I wish I could have helped you through your original projects of having a large family and opening that distillery. Fate had something else in store for you and you faced it head on like the indomitable woman I raised. Remember me, remember us, and keep an eye out for Achille and his swarm, God knows he needs all the help he can get! Your mother would be proud. With all my love. Your papa." Silly, silly Papa. Silly. I did get my family, and my distillery too. And now I am crying blood on the silly paper. Bah! I fold the letter religiously, replacing it in the envelope. The container is locked until I try the key in the envelope Achilles gave me. It opens to reveal a velvet-padded interior like a jewelry box, and enshrined within, a mage gauntlet. And what a gauntlet it is. Smooth, elegant lines of the darkest black shine ominously like midnight stars on a glove that redefines threatening grace. If there was ever a vampire empress, she would have worn it. I recognize obsidian as the primary material for the frame, one that is as potent as it is difficult to handle. Chains of silver alloy bind the lithe knuckles to grant the artefact even more power. This is, perhaps, one of the mightiest foci one can make, and it looks good. An exquisite tool and a fashion statement. A small, hand-written note lies near the wrist. "Celestine ''Blackhand'' MacDhuibh''s regalia. Certificate of authenticity of the Rosenthal consortium." Wow. I recognize that name. Celestine MacDhuibh was a fifteenth century unconventional Scottish mage known for her brilliance and her short fuse. She invented several interesting spells, including the short-range killing one that afforded her the moniker, but also an explosive diarrhea hex she would use on rivals. Now, her gauntlet belongs to me, thanks to my Papa. I caress the smooth surface lovingly and consider how lucky I am. When I came back to my home after my escape from Lancaster custody, I almost expected him to be gone, or dead. I hesitated and delayed because I knew the most likely outcome of our reunion to be curses and screams. Instead, he welcomed me and sent me on my way with a gun and a promise. He was wrong in a way. Dalton, Loth, and Jimena became my family and I realize that without them my path would have been much darker. It would have been cut short quickly as well. I do not know how I would have behaved if rage and bitterness had guided my actions. The memory of that time remains dark. I had traveled the land harried by time, filth, and the Thirst. A Gabrielite almost killed me. Instead of disappearing like a ghost, I may have slaughtered my way through the countryside in a fit of rage and despair. S§×ar?h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. I would not be the same person without them. I grab the gauntlet and place it in a small bag by my side, replacing the standard focus I had purchased before. I make a note of recovering the books, just in case, and leave the wine cave. On my way out I meet an old man waiting by the road. He smokes a pipe with dignity, dressed in comfortable and clean outdoor clothes, but his eyes are laughing. I raise an eyebrow as, in my mind, mortals do not have the right to be silent and mysterious. I should maintain the exclusivity. "Hello, cousin," the man greets me. I freeze and dig through my memories, the Rosenthal essence proving necessary for this one. Cousin? I have some cousins. I even met one on the night I returned. "Lucien?" I blurt out. "Hah! I knew it. All those years and people telling me I had dreamt it, but no! My cousin Ariane is immortal! So, are you some sort of Greek hero or something? Is it a mythic item taken from a dead god?" "Something of the sort¡­" I mumble, completely out of sorts. I was recognized! Twice! "Alright then. Are you on your way to keep an eye on Richard?" "How did you know?" Arg! By the Watcher, I am supposed to be the one who surprises people! Being emotional interferes with my darkly charismatic femme fatale persona! The man nods wisely. "I thought old Achille would come around, eventually. On your way then! I''ll keep the house safe while you go slaying hydras or something. Good luck!" "Um. Fine. Goodbye Lucien, it was good seeing you again. I apologize for, huh, coming back from the dead?" "Oh, don''t worry about it. Everything in life is relative, including your relatives. Bye bye!" Ugh. Chapter 106 - 103. Down she goes. May 1st, 1846. I was not granted the time to return to my home base and muster a force. A hundred disciplined militiamen would have probably been welcomed by Taylor since there was a dire need for more trained troops. Unfortunately, fate forced my hand with news of a skirmish and Mexican forces moving on Fort Texas. I try to ignore the fact that dragoons died during the opening engagement, and that there is a chance that my mission failed before it could even begin. I remember the loss of a potential Vassal because I overestimated myself decades ago, and so I decide to head west without delay, even if it means having access to fewer resources. I am confident that I can, shall we say, ''convince'' Richard''s superior to be avaricious of the life of his men. I barely stop by a small pond to cast a message spell. Messaging spells are interesting as they require knowing the exact interlocutor and his approximate location before casting. The power required to hold a conversation is also significant, as is the need for focus. Fortunately, I merely must contact Boston to inform them that I would be lightly interfering with the military and request access to Natalis land, which their local representative agrees to immediately. I manage to set a meeting with their one caster capable of message-spells at the edge of their territory. With the diplomatic aspect of the problem solved, I can set out without concern. I make use of a more recent series of safe houses set up by Constantine on my way west. Those are maintained by the different clans in order to facilitate safe transit, a measure that we took from our European cousins. I rely on those for the first three nights on my ride by the coast, then find myself in the wilds on the fourth, at the edge of Texas. I decide to stop in a cove with tall leafy trees and the sea lapping on a stone beach further down as the night ends. I climb down from Metis, who looks at me with the silent, judgmental disappointment of someone who has not had her ear yet. I recover a small bag from her harness and remove the desired snack, which I wave around as I demonstrate. Her captive attention spurs my scholarly enthusiasm. "Since the dawn of time, our worst weakness has always been the sun. How many of my kin have succumbed as dawn caught them unaware or unprepared? How many turned to ash under the yellow orb''s vengeful radiance? Too many! Too many, I say! Thankfully, my sire, bless his ingenuity if not his kindness, came up with a permanent solution!" Metis takes a step forward, head tilted in a vain attempt to intimidate me. Silly pony. I am not done! "Behold, the instant resting place spell! After casting it, I shall be shoved into mother earth''s comfy embrace, safe from pesky incineration! Isn''t that grand? Have the damn ear." I forfeit the snack to Metis'' decidedly pointy teeth and raise a gauntleted fist. "Entomb!" The earth takes me. One day later. An absolute bloody idiot crawls out of the muddy soil like the brain-dead fuckwit she is, spitting twigs. "Pwah! Pwah pwah pwah pwah. Pwah! Urg, I think I swallowed a worm." The irredeemable imbecile who shall remain anonymous makes a pathetic attempt at unsticking dried earth from her completely ruined traveling dress. She looks like a mudslide. "Forsooth! If it is not my old enemy, the direct and completely predictable consequences of my own actions! Curse you. Curse you unto the dawn!" My moment of melodrama finished, I swallow my pride and go for a short swim in the ocean. The salty water can just finish what the mud started, I care not, I am not going around looking like an ambulating nymph-shaped bog. After coaxing Metis into letting me ride her through bribery, I stop at a ranch to upend a few bucketfuls of crystalline salvation on my unworthy head. A passing farmer approaches but a very frank ''I DON''T WANT TO HEAR IT!'' sends him on his way. Thankfully, the delay is short, and the incident only claims my self-esteem as a victim. Soon, I approach Corpus Christi, the town where the army used to be stationed and where I will link up with my contact. The weather is rather warm, but dryer than what I am used to in my native Louisiana. Texas has drier parts further west, but not here. For one irrational moment, and as the ranch-turned-trading-post-turned-garrison-town comes into view, I fear that a place named ''body of Christ'' will somehow repel me. I think that a mighty barrier might descend from the heavens to protect the hallowed ground, smiting the inhuman beings in their midst. Then, a vigorous young couple does, from behind a barn, what I will generously call a ''Corpus Christi Tussle''. I also quickly come across the Corpus Christi whorehouse and all my worries disappear like wrinkled dollar bills into an overstretched corset. Why should I care that I can no longer blaspheme? The mortals are doing it for me. I cross the bloated body of a watering hole that grew too fast so as to accommodate its many bored guests. It does not take me long to find the army''s previous encampment, now mostly empty. The first problem arises when the mage I contacted, and who was supposed to meet me, fails to materialize. Hmm. I take a moment to ascertain that, yes, I am at the right entrance. I even flare my aura for good measure. Nothing. A small tingle runs along my spine in a feeling I have come to recognize and rely on. My intuition informs me that something is up. Well, that is nice, but I am on a schedule. I manage to isolate a sentry and feed on him, leaving the poor sod woozy. Better not take risks with the Thirst. I also find the local well and fill a borrowed pot. The watery reflection will serve as a focus for the message spell. The mage does not reply. A worrisome development. He is, to my knowledge, the only long-range communication specialist for the Natalis. They are not exactly known for fostering mages. No matter, I am on a mission to locate a lone dragoon. I climb back on Metis and head south after my quarry without too much hassle. Four thousand men marching with their baggage leave a mark on a land that a blind simpleton could not miss. We ride hard and the landscape maintains its green sheen for now. There is something dry in the air that I can taste on the back of my tongue, a sunbaked flavor hinting at the height of summer when light will push down on the land, settling on the shoulders of mortals like a heavy cloak. It will be different from the engulfing wetness of the marshland but no less oppressive, I can tell. I find myself missing winter once more. Cold is more my thing. The land is mostly flat here and we make good time through the wilderness. A small draft carries the smell of the ocean, a constant companion these past few days. I find little comfort in it. The fateful tingle has not stopped, and though I detect no immediate danger, I am still wary. Just as dawn approaches, the road widens and the trees shorten to reveal the estuary of the Rio Grande, a patchwork of green grass, ochre sand and blue water. A fort built on top of a small inlet stands vigil over the idyllic locale. The earthwork was obviously made in a rush but it does look defensible with all that water around it. Torches set at regular intervals protect its approach. Even this early, a flurry of activity shows that soldiers are already awake and active. I hide behind a few trees and change into a clean dark green traveling dress, smooth my hair into a decent do and ride forth. I come across a patrol on foot made of young men who might be able to grow enough facial hair for a pencil mustache through collective efforts. They flinch when Metis trots by, but the presence of the fairer sex motivates them to straighten their backs. I am briefly asked a few questions and subsequently directed to Lieutenant Briggs, who is in charge of keeping track of things. I admit that they look rather fetching in their white and blue uniforms. I am stopped again at the fort gate by a grizzled sergeant with a coldly assessing look. I can taste his apprehension though he masks it well. The silly pony has this effect on everyone and particularly on those who have seen death. Some primal memory from ancient times resurfaces to warn them that she is more than she seems. "Who might you be and what in the name of God are you doing out here at this time, woman?" I adopt my tragic heroine persona, one of a girl who rode through dangerous lands for a noble cause. She is stricken by tragedy, yet still defiant. She is also hard to resist when she makes very reasonable requests. "My name is Ariane Reynaud, I bear an urgent message for Richard Reynaud, a dragoon in the second brigade. I would like to find him, please. I was told that Lieutenant Briggs could help me?" "I apologize, miss. I cannot grant a civilian access to the camp. We are in a state of war, in case you didn''t know." "I am aware, sir. I do not need to get in. Knowing where he is and giving him the message would suffice. Please, will you at least tell where I can find my brother?" A small lie, but one that will serve me well. Even if Richard is here and remembers that none of his sisters is called Ariane, he will merely assume that the old sergeant misheard. The man himself scratches his beard as I grow impatient. Dawn will fall in an hour and I am not eager to repeat the emergency tomb experience, thank you very much. Eventually, the benign nature of my question forces a reluctant grunt. He barks an order at one of his subordinates who takes off at a sprint. A few minutes later, an officer with a spring in his step struts to us, mustache waxed and uniform ironed to flat perfection. Even the flickering light of torches reflects on his shiny buttons. The newcomer is dark of hair and eye and his demeanor wordlessly screams of disdainful annoyance. He turns an angry gaze to my helpful sergeant. His nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath in anticipation for some furious tirade, no doubt. I do not have time for this and so I slip from Metis'' back and take a quick step forward and curtsey. "Thank you so much for taking the time to see me, sir. I apologize for the disturbance," I announce in an aggressively contrite voice. The officer is taken aback and his lambasting dies on his lips as he studies me. He places a pair of spectacles on his aquiline nose and scolds. "And what do you think gives you the right to disturb an officer? We are conducting a war here, miss, the affairs of the nation take precedence over¡­ whatever you think you are doing." "Please forgive me"¡ªyou little jackass¡ª"sir, I would not dare disturb you so in normal circumstances, but this is hardly the case here. Our father just died, and it was his dying wish that I carry over his last words to my brother as soon as I could. Please, I only need to give it to him." I affect my most pathetic face. Harmless, lips shaking, and eyes filled with sorrow, I plead with all of my being. It does not take long for the officer to crack under the double offensive of peer pressure and basic human empathy. Unfortunately, his reaction is not the one I expected. The emotion I decipher in his embarrassed face and aura is not acceptance, but guilt. He knows. He already knows. "Where is my brother, sir?" I ask, this time pushing on his sense of pressure. "You¡­ that is¡­ Richard Reynaud was captured on April 25th by the Rio Grande with most of his squadron. I am sorry." By the Watcher, what the¡­ Arg! It takes all of my self-control to mask the rage I feel right now and affect a tragic expression. I force my poor mouth into a ''o'' of surprise instead of an ''a'' of rage. Did I fail before I could even start? "As far as we know they are being treated with care. We recovered some wounded who named your brother amongst the captives and the Mexicans have so far respected the rules of war." He frowns. "Though you never know with those Catholics¡­" The sergeant clears his throat very noisily and the lieutenant immediately tries to correct his blunder. "I am sure they are fine." "I¡­ thank you, lieutenant. I believe I need a moment." "You''re about to keel over, miss. Come in and we''ll look after you," the sergeant says with some concern. I cannot accept. Dawn is on its way and I feel the coming of lethargy on the edge of my mind. I need to find cover. "Thank you kindly, sergeant. I fear that I must refuse," I tell him, not unkindly, and turn Metis around. They do not try to hold me back. My best of ponies tends to attract attention when she starts to move and there are few who would not be happy to see the back of her. I click my tongue to urge her on and we return north, towards the woods we just passed. I close my eyes and let intuition guide my steps. I need an enclosed space. As we move to the road and eventually to a side path, I consider what I just learned. Richard was captured. Now that my moment of outrage is over, I realize that this might, in fact, be a better outcome. Death in battle is less likely when one is covered in chains in some basement. Isolation, stale water, and hard bread are equally conductive to self-reflection on honor and the glories of war. The problem is that the spirit of fairness and gentlemanly conduct tends to be short-lived in any conflict. It seldom survives the first few battles. I should extract him. Assuming he was taken by ''permanentes'' and not some militia, he will be held at the base of the Mexican forces in Matamoros. The war has not lasted long enough, nor has there been enough battles for there to be a prisoner camp. I am working on more assumptions than facts here, but assumptions are all I have. I ignore the tingle along my spine and realize that we are now above a small entrance into a rocky hill. A quick inspection reveals some sort of smuggler cache, currently abandoned. It should do for today. Or will it? I wince at the memory of the sun on my skin. A flash of phantom pain surges along my flank. The sun and arrogance are the most common killers of our kind and I just looked down on both of them. Out of the hundreds of thousands of days I could spend being alive, there is bound to be an unlucky one. I cannot take the risk of leaving this realm with oaths unfulfilled simply because I refused to be dirty. Time to bite the bullet. Learning from the previous experience, I undress completely, stash my belongings in my bag and lift my head to see that Metis already trotted away. I do not have the time for any concealment work. I sigh, raise my gauntlet and cast the spell. One day later. I spring from the ground like a devil from his box, in the state of nature and covered in charcoal-colored dust. A quick inspection reveals that none are here to witness my embarrassment, so I simply grab my gear and walk a few hundred feet to the sea for a quick dip. Note to self: find a drying spell. Less than a week after my emergency travel and I am already walking around butt-naked like some savage. Truly, the veneer of civilization is a thin one indeed. Metis reappears after I am acceptably dry and we ride west at full speed and right into the American army. In retrospect, I should have guessed it from the trampled earth, dodged mounted patrols, and numerous animal droppings. Metis and I crest a slope to find the valley before us covered in rows of well-ordered white tents lit by evenly-spaced campfires. Even late, the air is filled with the various noises of camp life as soldiers and aides go about their business. I hear laughter, clamors, and orders as well as the clangs and bangs of material being handled by poorly paid men. Nervousness tempered by discipline gives a spring to the step of patrolling officers, and extra strength in the arm of artillerists polishing their limbered guns. They are making ready for battle. I consider going through and immediately realize the massive hassle it would be to lie and manipulate my way through layers of stressed bureaucrats. I turn Metis around and we make for the hills north and away from the Rio. I follow a goat trail up another tiny hill and as we reach the top, I spot a small copse of dried pine trees. I sample the air. It tastes like sap, leather, soap, cheap aftershave and gunpowder. It also smells like the sea and will do so until I can take a proper bath. Closing my eyes brings into focus the heartbeats of dozen men and as I turn back, I realize why. This spot provides a commanding view of the valley below. Any scout worth their salt could crawl through the underbrush to count men, horses, and guns with reasonable accuracy. Some enterprising Corporal laid an ambush just in case. I could avoid them with significant effort, or I could resort to a little bit of vampiric expediency. I refuse to call it shenanigans. Deception here serves the clear and explicit purpose of saving time, therefore it is a tactically sound, perfectly justified decision and the fact that I will have fun is only a side effect of said plan. I grab my bag and rummage through it to find my grey cloak, the only cold weather piece of cloth I packed. I drape it across my shoulder and raise my obsidian gauntlet. I love casting in Likaean. "Nu Sharran." Let darkness be. The sentence is barely more than a susurrus and still, darkness answers. Even before the words cross my lips, the little light filtering through the cloud cover had dimmed and shadows had stretched like waking cats. The language of magic plays with time and mind like a creature of flesh and blood. The cloak on my back turns into the black of the abyss, like a hole in the world. Filaments quest outward for more fabric to consume and the vestment becomes almost organic in appearance, a broken entity crawling out from some unspeakable dimension. In my branch of magic, darkness is more than a mere absence of light. It hides and tricks. Sometimes, it hungers, like me. The darkness is a comfortable and welcoming cocoon where the sun is nothing but a distant memory and others lose their way, their ancestral brain screaming for the safety of cave and campfire. I am home. And now, I feel something else, not exactly an imbalance and more an opportunity. With darkness present, its twin concept tugs at me and I am only too happy to oblige. I bend to the side and grab a fallen branch from the rocky ground, which I hold in my free hand to serve as a target. I have a plan. This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. S§×ar?h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The casting is smooth and effortless as it sometimes happens when the world aligns perfectly. "Nu Sarrehin." Let there be light. I remember struggling with the spell at first because I thought of light as something that reveals. A mortal tool that I no longer have a use for. I have since realized my mistake. Ours is not the beacon that guides but the ignis fatuus, the swamp mirage that lures travelers to their death. Like us, our lights shimmer selfishly for their own amusements in an illusive dance that teases and cheats. A dark purple orb rises atop the branch which I prune to leave a scythe-like shape of false gnawed bones. Then another. And another. "Hey, do you see that?" a voice whispers from the meadow. Metis perks up as she likes teasing mortals almost as much as teasing me and eating ears. I swear that she makes herself noisy on purpose. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. "Shh! Someone is coming!" someone else orders. I pass by, clad in a gown of midnight and carrying the macabre regalia of my office. The purple glint of the three orbs I conjured tremble around it like captive souls. Gasps. Moans. The sound of soiled trousers. The apocalypse pony stops without my prompt. She huffs the air, nostrils flaring, lungs working like two great bellows. Her massive head tilts right and two beady eyes sweep the underbrush like the glare of some hellish lighthouse. Her red, horrifying gaze slows on shapes that start to sob and mutter prayers to whatever deity might get them out of this deathtrap. Not to be outdone, I let the mortals stare at the void-black content of my hood. I wait a few moments before urging Metis forward. She rears and the ground trembles when she lands. Then, we are off. Strangely, the patrol decides not to challenge us. Our travel remains unimpeded as we continue west. I keep the darkness spell active with some effort but drop the light spell to help me hide. The landscape changes as we move away from the road: tall grass spreads out in all directions, only interrupted by the odd trees. There is very little light to be had and I must resort to my superior senses to get past the first Mexican patrol. I lead Metis behind a ridge and peer out with some curiosity at the other side of this conflict. Some of the differences are obvious. First, they all wear thick mustaches that could double as paint brushes. Second, some of them look considerably less well-fed than their American counterparts. I do not notice any difference in terms of discipline. The squad walks with careful attention under the direction of an officer wielding a small saber. They wear dark blue uniforms, so that only their shakos truly differentiate them from their foes. I see how this could be problematic in a pitched battle. Oh, well. I wait until they are gone and keep moving forward. I still feel the weight of destiny driving me forward. Something is going to happen, I am sure of it. I doubt that the disappearance of my contact is a coincidence. The problem is that I have no idea of what I might face, or even if I would be in danger. To my knowledge, there are no foes here who would justify such actions. As I think, we trudge through more tall grass. I see a tiny mound on my right with a lonely oak, tall and wide. I direct Metis there and jump up to have a look at the obstacle arrayed before me. To the west and five hundred paces away, the Ej¨¦rcito del Norte, Mexico''s Army of the North, has made camp. Where the American base was made of well-ordered rows so that you could not distinguish one unit from another, this one is made of tents sprouting together like mushrooms, like a patchwork of heterogeneous groups gathering for a festival. Where the Americans had patrolling officers, this one has roving bands of camp followers. Women gossip merrily around cooking pots. The professionalism I had seen in the patrol is much less prevalent here. Most importantly, they lack something that my instincts recognize as drive. There was a sort of hunger hanging around the other army, a sort of excitement, of eagerness. Here, even the regulars eye the command tent with reluctance. They pull on ill-fitting uniforms and slog from unwilling group to wary squad. I am unimpressed. The only noticeable advantage they have is number. Even then, I can spot so many civilians, including whole families, that I am unable to ascertain exactly how many of those present are combat personnel. They do appear to have some cavalry. As for their guns, they all look antiquated. Most of the muskets are the notoriously obsolete and unreliable Brown Bess they must have purchased in bulk from the United Kingdom. Looking at the camp, I come to a realization that chills me more than the sight of battle ever could. Even accounting for irregulars, the Mexican army should have around four thousand men while the American has two thousand. The battle of Waterloo counted almost twenty times that number. Twenty times. On each side. By the Watcher, any decisive battle fought here would barely count as a skirmish on the old continent. I would not foolishly assume that we are any different, having only a handful of vampires over the whole of Illinois for example. We barely have twenty lords in total. You could pick up more by carrying a bleeding Likaean from Basel to Paris without trying. I really hope the deterrence Constantine offers and the old clans'' arrogance will protect us for a few more decades. Let them dismember India. Let them rend China. Let them not come here¡­ I shake my head. There is nothing I can do right now. I am still a small fry in the grand scheme of things. Worse comes to worst, I have weathered storms before. I am confident that I can find a way to survive this one as well. I assume that the shore will be guarded, or at least populated, and decide to head north again. Metis carries me away from the many lights and into fields of colorful flowers dancing under the light wind. I would find the exercise relaxing if it were not for my ever-increasing sense of¡­ not exactly dread. Anticipation. We leave the army to our back and left, waiting a bit before angling back towards the road. A couple of hours later I come across a branch in the path as well as another ambush. High bushes by both sides of the road hide heartbeats and even one person snoring softly. A mage cast a rudimentary spell dragging across the trampled road. I can taste their unstable aura at the back, the tell-tale signs of a poorly trained practitioner. To my knowledge, there should be no mage group in the vicinity. Curious. I can surmise from their location that they are Mexicans. This is a unique opportunity for me to get some information from an isolated group that I can eliminate without major consequences. I need to know more about Matamoros, where I assume the prisoners should be. I need to know if there are any events that would warrant the foreshadowing I feel now. The only difficulty I see is language. I can barely say buenos dias without Jimena ribbing me. My only hope is that they have an interpreter to interrogate captives. Otherwise, they will try to bring me back to their camp and I will have to eliminate them. I believe this is worth the risk. "You might as well come out!" I announce, as I stop Metis just ahead of the crossing. I smile at the one second of stupefied silence this grants me before the sides of the road bursts with yelling militiamen brandishing rusty weapons and polished facial hair. I am soon surrounded on all parts by pilosity. After much ordering around¡ªPara! Para!¡ªa sneering irregular steps forward to, I assume, grab the reins. I am most amused by his expression of absolute disbelief when he realizes that there is none. Sadly for him, he makes the mistake of keeping his hand in the air. A snap, a yell, and the man now holds the mutilated stump of his little finger. More screams arise on all sides while Metis chews the lost appendage without breaking eye contact. Good pony. The man reaches for a pistol and I believe that negotiations will fail until a clear and distinctively female voice brings order to the screaming mob. "Ya basta!" Silence descends upon the quivering assembly and their nine-fingered member.The men part to let through a tall woman who walks with the assured gait of a lioness. They allow her through with obvious respect, to my surprise, and I finally realize my mistake. Some of the women I saw back at the camp were not followers. They were fighters. Clad in a brown travelling robe that has seen much abuse, the woman looks severe. Her dark hair is held in a tight braid and shifts to gray at the temples. Her skin speaks of decades under the sun, so brown and wrinkled it is, and no one would call her beautiful. Yet, she has a sort of magnetism to her. I feel it in her posture and the way she walks, strutting as if she owned the black soil beneath her dusty shoes. She is armed with an antique musket and a long knife hangs by her side. It has seen much use. I admit to being suitably impressed. The unexpected amazon glares at me with naked malevolence, planted here with her gnarly hands on her waist. Her confidence almost cancels my natural height advantage. "What is it pendeja, first time seeing a soldadera?" "You are a combatant?" "No, I keep the knife to skewer pumpkins. Of course, I''m a combatant." I keep my face impassive and dismiss the comment. She is the one who laid the ''spell'' and I find her interesting. I notice a small statue of who I expect to be Mary by her side, wrapped in golden thread with stylized bells made of wood. This is a rudimentary focus. The warrior woman is a rare case of an untrained mage who pushed herself until she could reliably cast. She probably believes it to be some sort of miracle. People like her began entire magical traditions when they taught their methods to their gifted children and apprentices. I did not expect to see a curandera, a Mexican witch, so far north. "Your command of the English language is impressive." "Yes. I learned it from Texans when I was running with the Comanches. They taught me so that we could ransom them properly," she explains with a sinister smile. It fades when I do not react with the horrified shock she was expecting. Hmm. I have two options. Option one, I stick with my cover story and pretend to be a foolishly brave woman on a quest. Option two, I reveal¡­ a little more of the world I belong to. Just a smidgen of aura to freeze the woman to her core and make her feel inside exactly where we both stand on the food chain. I think I will go with the second one as it is the most likely to get me answers. I judge that she would dismiss an idiot, brave or otherwise. I am also less inclined to act with subtlety when working with so many unknowns. "Is that so?" I casually ask. "What are you doing here, chica? You look lost," she demands, all attempt at subtle intimidation abandoned. Her goons feel like something is odd and close rank on both sides though they give Metis'' head a wide berth. "I was on my way to Matamoros to rescue a relative. How about you? Strange place to be lying in wait. Should you not be on the other side of the army?" "We are not here to serve the government!" she spits before her expression turns dangerous. Before she can escalate, I distract her by slipping from Metis'' back. My decision causes a small scuffle as my ''captors'' scramble to surround me threateningly. This is one of the rare cases where my gender is an advantage. The militiamen may have tried to physically subdue a man attempting the same move. Instead, they just stand at a respectful distance to prevent my escape. They do not know how to handle me. The woman does. "I don''t know what you think you are doing, chica. We are no longer in your daddy''s ranch. You are coming with us nice and slow and I''ll find a general for that fancy stallion of yours." "Mare." "Huh?" "Metis is a girl." I bore my essence into her defenseless one with ease. Some mages can resist Charm better than others, given enough training. She is not of them. I taste many things from the luminous aura: confidence, annoyance, wariness. Wariness? "If you are not serving the government then what are you doing here?" I ask on a cue. I feel her resistance. The setting is wrong, and she knows that she should be the one asking questions. The discrepancy between our apparent hierarchy and the way the conversation flows grates her. I could brute force it, but I stop myself. What would Sinead do? "I snuck past both armies and I have seen things. Perhaps I can help?" I ask, pushing just a little bit. The crowd is silent as they await the soldadera''s decision. She considers me for one moment and I nudge her curiosity just enough to subsume her natural distrust. "We are looking for a beast who preys on the people of the nearby village. He has returned every week for the past month to take someone. He should be back tonight and this time, he is not leaving." Something clicks in my mind with the inevitability of a falling boulder running down a slope. This is it. The last few nights of tingling spine and of anticipation, of searching in vain for some sort of sign have led to this moment. I am expected to act, assigned a role by the hand of fate, one that I would be unwise to shirk away from. Fate is calling. I have not felt so strong a pull since I saved Melusine back in Louisiana. The consequences of my decision will have long-lasting consequences. I consider ignoring it and rushing to Matamoros but dismiss the urge almost immediately. I lost a potential Vassal long ago by being too greedy, not by being careful. I am not so stupid as to ignore such a dire warning, not to mention that the disappearance of the Natalis mage could very well be related. I must know more. "We should head there then," I finally say. Her traits twist with fury, which I expected. I am, after all, challenging her authority by taking the initiative. Before she can manifest her anger, I decide to reveal my hand. I do not blast her with my aura. I push her, pressure her, box her in. The proud woman shivers, frozen to her bones by an otherworldly wind that no cloak can ward off. And then, I am blocked. The idol of the virgin by her sides shines blue in my sight as a warning. No matter, I have already achieved my goal. "Perhaps," I repeat more slowly, "I can help. I have seen such things happening in the past." "Madre de Dios, I just felt as if someone stepped over my tomb. Brrr." She crosses herself and I grit my teeth as the gesture sets me on edge. "It must be a sign of God. Come on pendeja, let''s go back to the village and talk." "No more ambushing?" "I need to check on Pedro. He was supposed to report every ten minutes, that lazy good-for-nothing," she complains off-handedly. Ah. "Then we should really hurry," I suggest as I climb back on Metis. The crowd of mortals senses that something is off and they gather protectively around their leader. She takes the branching path at a run. I follow them and consider the important question. What are we facing? It cannot be a rogue; they do not have enough self-control to stop at one victim. It cannot be a feral werewolf either. That still leaves a wide range of possibilities, from a sick human to vampire. By the Watcher, I hope it is not a vampire. The dusty road snakes down towards the river until the tall grass gives ground to tended fields of wheat and corn. After a minute, we reach the Rio Grande and the path angles right. The village itself appears made of stone buildings painted white, with low, wide roofs of straw. Nothing seems out of sort until we see the town square. There, at the crossroad of empty streets, lies the body of an irregular. He still grips a loaded pistol in his unmoving hands. A wide straw hat rolled against a merchant stall, now empty. "Qu¨¦ pedo con eso?" my companion softly swears. The spectacle is so bizarre that I stop Metis in her tracks. The corpse clashes against the otherwise mundane background in a stark contrast that wakes the artist in me. What makes this so captivating, I wonder? The gash in his neck? Oh. No blood. He was exsanguinated. The deathly silence that falls on us as we take in the grisly scene makes the gasp of pain behind me that much more poignant. I turn and come face to face with a man who was not there, who should not be there. He has wavy black hair that falls to his chin, a thin mouth twisted into a rictus of gleeful cruelty. He wears a dark leather coat and bears no obvious weapons and yet I cannot help but recoil. His eyes are grey, bloodshot, and they display the most manic rage, the most desperate hatred I have ever felt in my life. Their raw, bleeding intensity freezes me to my very soul. His left hand is buried deep in the soldadera''s rib cage. She gasps in immense pain as the buried limb keeps her upright. He has no aura. Nothing. On instinct, I send a tendril of essence that hits an invisible wall. Still nothing. He is as void as an empty grave. Slowly, with contemptuous wrath, the man lifts the dying form of my guide, then his arm blurs. I dodge the corpse. Her blood splashes against my dress as I slip from Metis'' back. "Go!" I order. She can do nothing here. By the time I hit the ground, my foe has killed three more men. I rush him, cursing myself for not having taken any weapons. What an idiot I am, spending ten years safely and then forgetting where I come from. I am not traveling without a full arsenal ever again, even in friendly territory. Then battle is joined and there is no more time for thought. I still have my claws and I still have my skill. I know immediately that it will not be enough. We throw ourselves at each other in a mirror display of fury. Our style is the same aggressive and relentless offense filled with unpredictability. We both walk the edge. One wrong move and the fight is over. A claw to the throat or a finger through the chest. The matter of a single instant. We swipe and dodge and grapple and escape, then I manage to kick him away. He stands there with his condescending sneer while I bend forward covered in wounds. I have deep furrows on my arms and shoulders where he raked or where I dodged a bit too late, dying the dress in a darker shade. This is bad. He was always too precise. The issue is not speed, the man simply moves perfectly. He breaks my rhythm. Counters too well. Even with the help of intuition I could not match his peerless style. But I am not done yet. I grab behind me and take one of the stalls by its side, then channel as much Natalis and werewolf essence as I can to swing it before me. My strength multiplies for a brief moment and I move backward, anticipating his tendency to get in instead of out. The maneuver works. The edge of the stall travels much faster than my arm and the heavy piece of furniture crashes against his guard, shattering in pieces as he strikes it but forcing him to take a step back. "Matehin!" Subdue. Three purple snakes of chain link scales whip forth as I charge him. He twists backward and to the right. Into a mortal. The man he chooses had been scrambling for his gun instead of running away like the two other survivors of this brief slaughter. My foe grabs him by the collar and tosses his mewling form in the path of my spell with disdain. One snake impacts but the two others dodge around. The sneering man boots the mortal in the back, pushing him to me. He jumps over the now captured militia and straight at me, leaving both bindings behind. In instead of out. As planned. Perfect. I drop the spell and cast the one I had prepared in the meanwhile. I expected him to find a way to close the distance. "Djarn." Flay. The backlash of merely speaking my sire''s creation sends a ghastly sensation up to my elbow, like being caressed by razor blades that never quite pierce the skin. My foe is not quite so lucky. The spell catches him midair. It shreds his extended arm to the marrow and climbs up to the right side of his face, leaving behind mangled, bloody chunks of flesh clinging to exposed bones. I sneer in turn. The man''s coat disintegrates to reveal a silvery collar that stops the damage from hurting his neck. He lands and charges without pause. His hand strikes my chest. I deflect as best as I can. PAIN. Movement. I crash through a shoddy brick wall back first, through filthy muck and against a pail of hay. It softens the landing, somehow. More pain. I cough blood. That jerk got me in the lung. By the Watcher, what the hell? So fucking strong. Need to GET OUT. I cannot win. Still cannot even feel his aura, nor hear him. I am pretty sure he is a vampire from the way he moves and with such perfect control, he has to be¡­ A Lord. I need to ESCAPE. I climb to my feet, hands against the gaping wound in my flank. Claws are crystallized essence and the damage they inflict does not heal quickly. I am a mess and this place stinks. Speaking of which, that smell is familiar¡­ Yes. This could work. Desperate time¡­ Desperate measures! My enemy steps into the small pigsty just as I break the far wall with a tired punch. One of his arms is just meat and I would expect his expression to have changed. It has not. He is the same controlled maniac as he was ten seconds and an eternity ago. Worse, the wounds are knitting shut as I watch. Unbelievable. He steps forward. He dodges under the lantern I throw at him, arcing an imperious brow as if asking me: really?" The lantern impacts against its intended target, covering it in burning oil. For the first time since we started to fight, my foe shows the first sign of hesitation as an ear-piercing, horrendous screech assaults his senses. He turns just in time to be pelted by the flaming wreck of the pen gate. Several hundred pounds of porcine fury charge with the might of a creature with nothing to lose. I¡­ I did it. I channeled chaos! "Hah!" I boast as I escape the death trap through the newly made emergency exit. I land in an enclosure and take off as fast as I can. I see the river in the distance. Perhaps I can¡ª Something grabs my neck and flings me against a post. Sharp things dig into my heel before I can even push myself away. Another post. Grabbed again. Left arm snapped. I grunt in pain and fight back with claws and feet. Too strong. He punches me in the face. I see stars. Not giving up yet. Another wall. I push back but he holds my head against the unyielding bricks. Agony. I scream, this time. Too much. He¡­ severed my spine? Cannot move. The sky. I gasp. Cannot angle my gauntlet. The man is there. For the first time, his smile broadens. Fangs. Four. Six. Eight. Eight fangs total. A Devourer. "Hello, sister." I am so¡ª He kneels by my side with casual grace. A bloody hand exposes my neck despite my weak struggles, then he bites. The eight little stilettos dig into my essence like needly spider legs. The pain they cause is intimate and exquisite. Agony expands to smother my thoughts, my instincts. He has not even drawn it in yet. Toying with me. "That is enough, Malakim." A voice I have not heard in decades now breaks the silence, warm and soft as desert sand. I cling to it despite knowing better because I teeter on the edge of the abyss and any buoy is better than none. One pull is all Malakim needs to destroy me. I am powerless. I hate being powerless. Everything hurts so much. "Let her go." I flop back to the ground. Less suffering now. I regain enough presence of mind to take in the newcomer. I know who he is. I would recognize the dark hair, the intimidating presence, and the kingly beard from among a million faces. I simply cannot believe it. He should not be here. They should not be here! "Greetings, little princess. It has been quite some time. We have a lot of catching up to do." I am so fucked. Chapter 107 - 104. Warrens of the World The ancient king kneels by my prone form. His expression is that of bored majesty, patient towards his lesser, yet unattainable. "Do you yield?" I feel no aura coming from him. Both he and Malakim have masked their presence so completely that I find myself incapable of even guessing at his state of mind. It does not matter. I know with certainty what the consequences are here, because his blood became mine and so did some of his instincts. I am defeated. I will yield or I will die. There are no other alternatives. I nod to signify assent, and he stands back up. It is done. I am his prisoner. I will no longer fight. "Take her to the side." Malakim picks me up by the collar and drags me through the mud to a patch of grass beneath a tall apple tree at the edge of the village. I take this opportunity to make an inventory as my feet dig a furrow in the wet loam. I have lacerations all over my arms, some of them still seeping blood. There is a gaping hole in my chest. My spine is broken. So is my arm. Despite having fed only a few days ago, the wounds are slow to heal since they were inflicted by Malakim''s claws. All in all, I hurt like a bitch. My dress is a rag and all my belongings besides the gauntlet are gone, not that I had taken much to begin with. This is a secondary concern. I do not own, nor know of any weapon, armor or tool that could have stopped either of those two. Malakim did not even push himself. He matched my strength and speed then beat me on technique alone. He was just toying with me. I stare at his broad, leather-covered back. The pale skin of his arm finished knitting itself from its previous butchered state. I am not scared. If I repeat it often enough, it might become true. Anything to take my mind off the fact that I am once again at the mercy of a man who ground me to dust, a man whose shadows I have lived under without him even being on the same continent. It took me years to rebuild myself, to forge a new identity from the wreck he left in his wake, and now he has returned and I am, once again, powerless. And the most amusing thing of all is that he does not care. Once I give him my agreement he turns and gracefully walks to the village square. I struggle as wariness smothers my mind, invades every recess with the urgency of my situation. I force myself to focus and rationalize it. Fate pushed me here instead of away. A path to salvation must exist, and I must witness or acquire something important. I refuse to believe that my sire can manipulate the threads of destiny himself, therefore, all is not as desperate as it seems. I just need to stay calm and play this carefully. I cannot afford to give up. Not now and not ever. My sire stops. From where I lie, I see him as he stands in the middle of the village. The view is¡­ odd. He is dressed in a cream-colored ensemble that fits him perfectly. Not a mote of dust nor a speck of mud has managed to stain its understated elegance. He looks like a sovereign in the midst of a royal hunt, more interested in networking with high lords than in running down stags. By comparison, the village represents the far side of poverty with cramped houses sticking haphazardly out of the dusty ground like the teeth of a hag. There is not a single pane of glass to be found nor any dyed material piece of cloth in the ratty curtains. Even the stalls are held together by hand-woven twine instead of nails. People here do not live. They subsist. They will not do so for long. The ancient monster raises a fist and I gasp at the raw, unadulterated power now bursting from his unmoving figure. Reality hiccups and moves until I feel a difference in the texture of the world. Colors flare brighter, bleed into each other as they become more fluid. Even my wounds close with increased speed as willpower gains the edge over matter and rules become more lax. The sensation is slightly euphoric, causing me to smile despite my predicament. If this is how it feels to live in a Likaean world then our planet must feel dreary indeed. My moment of pleasure dies when he casts. The vision I had of his battle on the beach did not give him justice. Nirari whispers a word and, by this act, violates the beauty he had brought here. A rune like a scar appears before his extended arm, as if carved into invisible flesh. It pulses the angry red of a festering wound. FLEE. I gasp and shiver, then gasp again when the pain of movement washes my mind clean. This is a new feeling. No, this is an emotion I lost a long time ago and one I have not missed. Terror. It washes away everything else. FLEE. I cannot. FLEE. I fight against the all-encompassing wave of white noise hounding my mind with all the mental fortitude I can muster. This is fake. This is a trick! Constanza wheels around, holding her lacerated cheek. A monster! I am no longer so weak. Which finger? I am no longer trapped and alone! You are. No. You are. The villagers crash against their doors in their desperate attempts to escape, only to be cut down like so many sheep to the slaughter by some dreadful spell. Nirari stands in the middle like a director to some hellish orchestra, stabbing, gouging, cleaving with simple gestures and not once does his expression move away from casual ennui. He is just cleaning house. I suppose that he does not wish to leave any witnesses. After only a minute, the massacre runs out of victims. Nirari signals, and Malakim pulls me through fields of uncaring grass like a captured flag. We leave the village behind with only two babies screaming their lungs out among a field of dead. This is not mercy, but expediency. Toddlers cannot speak and so no effort is expended to silence them. That is all. In the following hours, I am dragged north and away from my planned destination. Malakim and Nirari do not hurry, and eventually I manage to fix my spine and upgrade my station from luggage to unwilling follower. I do my best to keep my flickering aura under control and stare at their backs with apprehension. I can see them. I can even smell a whiff of cold perfume among the smells of loam, grass, and flowers. They do not emit sounds nor do they have an aura. Every time I turn my head, they disappear. Their stealth upsets me almost as much as the fact that I am wearing filthy rags. I have always been the one to sneak up on people, so far. I suppose that rules do not apply to them. As the night runs its course, we keep moving north through the wilderness. The land here is choked with life but devoid of human presence. I grit my teeth and focus on closing every last wound, still feeling the sting of Malakim''s claws in my flesh. I am ready to admit being lost in the monotony of the landscape until, finally, I spot smoke in the distance. When we crest the next hillock, I feel my sense of reality drift away once more. Hidden from prying eyes is a camp from another era, a gathering of people I would not have expected from the most vivid imagination. Men and women clad in white linen bands work among a circle of beige tents. Their skin is golden, and their limbs are lean and muscular in the manner of hunters. Tattoos adorn them, and shaven skulls as decorations or, more likely, symbols of rank. They perform various tasks in complete silence, the shuffling of their feet the only noise besides the crackling of their fires. A sentinel notices us and bows as we enter the perimeter. As if linked by a single mind, the others turn and salute with eerie uniformity. Those among them who wield glaives and bows raise them to their foreheads in a strange gesture I had never seen before. None speak. Nirari waves them back to their labor as we approach the object of his attention, a narrow opening in the side of a valley not unlike that of a mausoleum. It must have started as a natural cavern at some point in the past, then someone enlarged it and added decorations on the side walls shining an organic yellow glow in the darkness like so many veins. The assembled strange people apparently spent a significant amount of time clearing debris to free the path in as small piles of broken rocks, sand, and gravels dot the far side of the basin. We walk in. Though the path would not let a carriage through, even the unusually tall Nirari has no need to bend his back to cross the threshold. We end up inside a small cavern showing signs of a massive excavation. The lines of fluorescent paint merge and diverge in intricate patterns with no discernible order. Sometimes, I can almost glimpse hints of shape ¡ª an owl caught mid-flight, a lit candle ¡ª then I move and the construct collapses into amorphous shapes. The mirage is gone. Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. The cavern is not too deep and we angle downward into a passage. Some of the walls are still wet, soil staining the glistening surface. It goes on for a few yards and then the ground dries again. S§×ar?h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. I feel a shift in the air, like opening a door to a musty cellar the further we descend. It takes us a few minutes to reach another cavern. While the previous one had an almost primal feeling to it, this one has been clearly worked on and transformed into a workshop of sorts, now abandoned. Great tables of pale stone pitted with impacts and marred with puddles of molten metal speak of some great works in a distant past. A large brick smelter takes a significant part of the right wall, while the left used to be a storage area now empty save for a few broken remains of stone and ceramics. As deserted as it seems now, this place must have been quite a sight when active. The only intact thing remaining are runes engraved into almost every surface that still shine with remnants of power. They are in an ancient and unfamiliar script that reminds me of Akkad yet more sinuous, and the taste I get from them is that of molding and twisting. This is an artefact production facility. My sire lifts a fist and the ground rumbles. Blocks of stone emerge from the ground in compact formation, then some stop while others keep going up. In one second, he has formed a massive throne out of cyclopean grey slabs upon which he sits. Malakim comes to stand by his side, his eyes boring into me. My sire''s gaze lands on me and I feel an immediate sense of dread. I do not have to think; I know what is required of me. Stepping before him, I perform an ancient warrior salute, head bent and right hand raised before my arm. I believe that the state of my wardrobe and the obvious signs of battle grant me the right to claim a soldier status rather than that of a captured princess. The risk exists that he would take offense. It is one I am willing to take, considering the alternative. Fortunately, it appears that Nirari is in a pleasant mood. His brows rise almost imperceptibly in what I believe to be amusement. "Now what am I to do with you, my feisty little princess? Fate certainly has ways of toying with us." He did not ask a question and so I do not utter a word. The rules here are simple. Show utmost respect, answer fully and truthfully, and only speak when spoken to. To deviate is to die. Nirari spends some time pondering the situation while, outside, the night nears its end. I maintain my poise and will do so until he gives me leaves or until dawn does. "Did you know we were there?" he suddenly asks. "No." "Do you know why we are here?" "No." "Do you know where you are?" This one is open to interpretation. "West Texas?" He waves the answer away. "Were you not warned of our coming?" "No. Should I have been?" An acceptable inquiry, considering the situation. Our meeting might be considered as a waste of time, a hurdle for him. Looking for a guilty party to punish later is standard. "I made an agreement with clan Natalis. They were to close all outside communications and not speak of our coming, nor of our activities. They were given an hour to contact their traveling members. Did they not know that you were coming?" "They did." "Hmm. Curious." I do not volunteer the fact that I may not be reached by message spell so long as I carry Nashoba''s earrings. This is problematic. I may have to stop using them in the future. "What were you doing so far from your territory?" So, he knows where I live. I should have expected it, of course, yet hearing it from his very mouth sends a chill along my newly-repaired spine. I pushed him away from my thought, he and the other old monster, like a child hiding her feet under the cover from the creature under her bed. Bedsheets are no shield, and neither is distance. "I was on my way to save a relative. He is held captive in Matamoros to the south west." "A relative?" "My nephew." He allows himself the shadow of a smile. "Ah, yes. I remember having a clear lineage to protect. Children. Grandchildren. It has been so long¡­ I am pleased to learn that the tradition is still alive. Well then, little princess, you do not seem to know what we are here for so I will allow you to live and serve. I have an inkling as to how you may assist. After all, you did successfully cast one of my spells." He lifts a finger and a sound like chimes spreads over the cavern. "Send me Violet, I have a task for her," he orders. A few seconds later, I hear hurried footsteps from the corridor and soon, one of the strange humans appears before us. Just like the others, she is dressed in layers of white linen revealing golden skin decorated with intricate tattoos. Now that I am close enough, I notice that they are magical in nature though she herself is no mage. She walks forward without hesitation and kneels before my sire, placing her forehead on the ground. "You will serve my spawn, Ariane, until I rescind that order." The woman''s eyes widen in surprise. She stares at me with renewed interest, awe, and perhaps even a bit of envy before she nods in understanding. She understands Akkad? This is¡­ The mortals are not meant to learn it! This is our tongue! How can he commit such a blasphemy? Sensing my disapproval, Nirari smirks, this time genuinely. "Violet, open your mouth." She obeys, revealing a scarred stump. Someone cut the tip of her tongue. Well, I suppose that this would work. It also explains why the assembly was so silent. "Violet, you will clear one of the rooms adjacent to ours for the use of the princess. You must do so before sunrise. You may ask for assistance." The woman nods and stands up. She bows and rushes back up the stairs. "You will present yourself to me as soon as you wake up," Nirari finishes. He stands up and leaves through a pair of open stone gates dug in the far wall. Only after he is gone do I allow myself to relax the position I had assumed. I now realize that panic has saved me, because I told the truth when he asked if I knew what he was doing here. I did figure it out as soon as he mentioned the question, however. There is only one reason that could force Nirari to plumb the depths of the world looking at abandoned magical facilities. The ancient one is looking for mother dear. Meeting Semiramis made it rather obvious as to why Niari cannot catch up. Space is significantly more fluid for the witch queen than it is for the rest of us. It should be easy to remain one step ahead when one of hers is ten of ours. The thing is that when he last visited one of her old abodes, he merely punched a wall then left. This is different. He is conducting a full excavation of a base that was obviously abandoned at least a century ago. I do not know what he is looking for, but I would bet a night with Ignace that it relates to finding a countermeasure to his mother''s annoying traveling habits. I just pray that he does not find one. By the Watcher, I am not ready to oppose them. I would not even know where to begin. In short order, Violet returns with two more minions. They bow to me with the same respect they gave Nirari and I finally realize that they do not serve him. They worship him. I follow them through the gates and into a large corridor of rough-hewn gray rock that reminds me of a dungeon. The air is inexplicably fresh and enough light is provided by the twisting lines for the mortals to shuffle forward. They choose one of the rooms after a quick exchange of hand signals then cram themselves in like an assault team under bombardment. An instant later, I hear clangs and the rattle of heavy things dragged over rugged stone. I peer in out of curiosity. The three humans are busy gathering debris and goods out of what appears to be a disaffected storage room. A lanky man struggles with ingots of metal colored a dull verdigris while another picks up ossified planks from the dusty ground. Violet looks at me with a guilty stare, ashamed. I leave them to their task of making this habitable and decide to inspect the facility. There are more doors to other rooms, some wider than others. One still has abandoned tools possibly left as they were exceedingly easy to replace: calipers, pliers, and even a remote engraver used to inscribe runes on still-hot material. Two of the gates are closed and I assume that those are Nirari''s quarters and that of his minion. I have no intention of disturbing them. Further, the corridor ends in a junction with three ways. The one directly in front of me is blocked by more debris with signs of some of the rubble having already been cleared. The one to my right leads to another workshop. The one to my left fills me with foreboding. It arches to the right a hundred yards in the distance. A massive spot of dried red liquid covers the ground only a few paces away from me. I smell human blood, less than three days old. I expand my senses and focus on the space before me. I feel no magic at all, but I see a disturbance in the air. A minute current carrying motes of dust that disappears without reason. There is something there. Something hidden and lethal and lying in wait like a moray. The sense of foreboding I feel increases ever so slightly as I take in the length of this passage. A nest of morays. I decide to retreat. The other workshop beckons and dawn is close enough for lethargy to muddy my mind. I have no need to take any more risks. The next room is a copy of the first one, save that the smelter has been replaced by what may be the remnants of a large saw. Pale dust covers the ground and pieces of crumbled rock lie here and there as if fallen from larger constructs. Many of them have one perfect side, polished until flat as a mirror while the rest is raw and irregular. I assume that workers here processed stones but I cannot be sure. One thing is certain, a woman alone would have had no use for such a large place. I expected both Semiramis and Nirari to work alone and I was just disproved. What bothers me is that the tables here are just a bit too low for adult humans now that I stand by their side. I should not dwell on that. My priority should be to find a way to leave. Surrendering does not prevent me from planning an escape. That would have to take place tomorrow, however, now is far too late to be running outside. I also feel that it would be... treacherous to run away on the very night I was captured. I am aware of the lack of logic backing that statement. Much like all the instincts of honor and obligation I inherited from Nirari, this one is more a matter of tradition turned into law than anything else. Frustrating. I spend some time looking around the workshop and find two other sets of gates leading away, though they are currently locked. Afterward, I return to my quarters and notice that the three linen-covered servants have cleared the space, swept it, and created a rudimentary nest made from hard fabric seeded with a few colorful pillows. A pot-pourri exhales a perfume of rose and lavender, while a single lit candle basks the naked stone with a warm glow. They made a real effort turning this jail into a bedroom. I close the door behind me and settle for the night, hugging myself in the ruins of my dress. Tomorrow will be a long day. Chapter 108 - ??. Back and Here Again. Marquette, Undisclosed Date. A familiar tug. I jump up, sending my office chair banging against the wall. No. No no no no no no not that thing again. No! I refuse! This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. "Bind. Counter. Sever. Come on, work, dammit!" None of my efforts bear fruit. I end up muttering insults against fate, the spheres and whatever is causing this horrible phenomenon but to no avail. sea??h th§× Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. It will happen. I am being summoned again. Chapter 110 - 105. Trapped Tonight, my sire sits on a new throne in the stone workshop as I come in from my bedroom, servant in tow. The unceasing noise of his servants clearing rubble must have bothered him, because he gestures and the sounds¡­ stop. I do not let myself react. Casters have long realized that sound is carried by air, and interfering with said air will silence even the most dire of thunderstorms. I was led to understand that such an undertaking requires fine-tuned control. I knew that he could call on immense power, and it also appears that he knows how to use a scalpel just as well as a hammer. "You may rise, Ariane." Nirari''s voice is as smooth as caramel. It belongs in a boudoir somewhere, drinking tea and whispering amusing witticisms. I am not surprised that my foolish mortal self would fall for him. I stand back up from my respectful bow while Violet remains prostrate. I was thankfully given a hastily made white linen dress of strange make which leaves my arms and shoulders free while wrapping around my neck. I look like an exotic dancer posing as a Roman Vestal. Ah, I should not be so judgmental. They worked in a hurry and I would rather wear this than the grisly remains of my previous bloodstained dress. I did not realize yesterday that I was one thin thread away from revealing entirely too much breast. A dreadful proposal in the present company. "I did not expect to see you so soon. Fate has a way to set us on a collision course when we least expect it. Do you not you agree, little warrior princess?" "So it would seem," I politely reply. "I considered visiting you and having you join our cause. It is a grand one, a task that has been in the works for a millennium. The work of an epoch, soon to be completed." "Why did you not, then?" "Because our foe tends to go after my servants and tools as soon as I turn my back," he explains with obvious annoyance, "Only my financial assets remain untouched and only because she, too, relies on the Rosenthal to manage her wealth." "She?" I ask immediately as would be expected from someone who does not know of Semiramis. I am in luck, because my sire is so absorbed in his own speech that the deception is taken as an invitation to continue. "My mother. The greatest witch who ever lived and an extraordinary woman. She made me what I am. She made all of us." He returns his attention to me. "You remind me of her sometimes. It takes a certain mentality to never give up, to constantly search for ways to succeed regardless of the circumstances. Of course, she was more¡­ hungry. The world then had even less sympathy for weakness than it does now." He pauses as he mulls over some distant memory. As long as he speaks about himself, he does not ask me too many questions and that suits me just fine. I dare not think of what would happen if he knew that I had already met the one of whom he speaks. "I think I loved her, once." "What changed?" I ask. That was a mistake. Master¡­ no, my sire deploys his aura and he crushes me like an insect. I am slammed into the ground as if by a wall of cold and disdain. It does not even feel like aggression. He is just disciplining a wayward child. The world turns blank under the tremendous pressure. My mind slows. My eyes take in a small spot of ground on the distance, every bump, every shift in color of the grey stone, simply because I cannot turn my head. A strange sense of pressure forces my jaws shut. Nothing exists, only this small expanse of rock, Violet''s heartbeats and the biting cold. As soon as it came, the punishment stops. The abyssal pressure disappears, and I wonder in disbelief why the room has not frozen over. "A daring line of questioning, Ariane." I nod because I do not trust my voice at the moment. "What should matter to you is why I oppose her. You must have guessed." I know she wants to be a goddess and he wants to eat her before she succeeds, yet the knowledge is trite because it only scratches the surface. Their animosity stems from an irrepressible gap between them, the same that exists between him and I. We are too alike. I do not know how much of my drive is his and how much I inherited from my human self. I believe that I would have been happy making a family, creating successful companies and leading projects until the day I died without having to take on the world. My lack of arrogance was most likely wisdom. I knew the scope of what I could conquer with the limited time I had. Those considerations are gone now along with my mortality. We Devourers are not creatures of power, but of conquest. There is always another bigger prey. "She is your last great rival." "Correct," the ancient king answers, pleased, "only she still stands in the way of complete dominion. When I consume her, I will become a living god and achieve true immortality. No coalition, no Order, not even the endless tides of mankind''s armies will be an obstacle. Even the sun''s deadly embrace will fail to destroy me." His gaze grows distant. His expression turns thoughtful and what terrifies me is that the dream he speaks of comes with no animation, no gesture nor smile. He recites the words like an automaton, as if they had lost any meaning to him and he was just going through the motion. This terrifies me more than his aura ever could. "Imagine a world at peace, guided by a benevolent hand towards a unified goal rather than mired in petty squabbles as it is now. So many resources are wasted on meaningless pursuits while we could achieve so much as a unified people under my wise rule. Mortals, mages, vampires, all working towards common purposes for the benefit of all, for who better than one who has lived so long can envision so much? Who has a better long-term goal than he who will live to see it? It will be our golden age and you, too, can be a part of it." "You will not be satisfied," I almost spit, caution thrown to the winds. My sire shows no anger despite my challenge. "Of course not, and neither will the mortals. We are designed to expand and fill the world with our progeny, yes? Luckily, I have a way to circumvent this difficulty. Are you perhaps familiar with the latest advances in magic?" The information clicks in my mind. "The other realms." "Quite so. If there is one, then there are more. It will take some time to find them. I do not mind. Time is what I have." Conquest without an end. Endless wars. Unending subjugations. Until he tickles something too powerful and our entire civilization is wiped out from an uncaring universe. That is not the worst. The worst is that even if Nashoba and Amaretta''s prophecies prove correct and I manage to stop both him and Semiramis¡­ What will prevent me from doing the same? As he said, we are alike. My silence affords me a minute grin from the seated king. I do not lower my guard. He may be pleasant now, yet the steel below the surface is ever present and I would be a fool to think him in high spirits. "Enough banter. I have not yet decided what to do with you, little princess. Until I do, you will make yourself useful. I have a task for you." I perk up. Thinking that far in the future is a waste of time when I am not even sure I will survive the night. Yet another problem for future Ariane, may luck favor her. "Did you notice a corridor with a large pool of dried blood on your way here?" he asks. "I have." Even in this relatively cold temperature, the stain has started flaking and giving off a heavy, rancid stench. "You will clear it to its end then return to me. You do not have my permission to feed until you do so." "I understand." Frustration wells up until I force myself to calm down. I expended a lot of vitality putting myself back together. I should be fine for another day or two. Maybe. I remember that restraining the blood supply is a common, if risky, method of control. Constant Thirst is not conducive to deep thought and planning. Nirari dismisses me with a casual gesture and I leave from the door behind me, Violet in tow. We arrive at the four-way corridor. The stone workshop is at our back, my ''bedroom'' and the way out to my left and my destination forward. Tan men and women attack stones with bars and pickaxes, sometimes casting a hesitant glance in my direction as if unsure of the proper protocol. When I do not react, they go back to their labor with renewed energy. The corridor beckons. I stop at the edge of the pool of blood and turn to Violet by my back. I know that she communicates via hand gestures, but I do not know their code. We will have to work the old-fashioned way. "I will ask you a few questions. Nod for yes, shake your head for no. Do you understand?" The servant fidgets nervously, face suddenly paler. She quickly relents when my expression turns cold. "Did someone die here?" Nod. "Was that person one of your numbers?" Nod. S~ea??h the N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Did you see how it happened?" Shake. "Do you know what killed him?" Hesitant nod. I need to be more specific. "Was he killed by a trap?" Nod. "Was this trap magical in nature?" Frantic nod. I suspected that it might be the case given the obvious camouflage, but I was not quite certain. I still cannot pierce the veil of illusion marking whatever the corridor truly contains, a sign of professional work as most mirages unravel once their presence is made obvious. Hmm. I suppose that time has finally come for some real-life application of my studies. "Violet, do you know of the tool room? The one with smithing equipment?" Nod. "I want you to get me a rune engraver, a long bar, and a few plates, if you find any." Her charcoal eyes gaze at me for a full second before she answers and in them I see something I had not expected: relief. I remember that she was tasked to help me. Perhaps she expected me to use her as live bait? That would be wasteful and slovenly. I consider her a bit more as her retreating back turns into the corridor. She and her companions have very angular traits from a race I do not recognize. They are not cattle. Does this mean that my sire has a domain somewhere from whence he pulled them, or did he ''borrow'' a contingent from a Dvor lord? My understanding is that both he and his mother spend a significant amount of energy and resources destroying each other''s fiefs. It might just be that some have started to survive. I fear the implication. I turn back to the empty alley and pick a few pebbles that I throw forward. After five or so, I have thoroughly explored the boundaries of the illusion. The false image of normalcy starts six or seven paces away, just after the limit of the bloodstain. It curves outward slightly due to the enchantments being placed on the wall. This will make my attempt easier. Violet returns in short order with everything I asked, including a half-torn iron plate covered in fuzzy red rust. "Block your ears," I tell the woman. She obeys without hesitation. I grit my teeth and apply the carver against the plate. Soon, the abominable shriek of tortured metal covers even the clangs of the excavation. I finish tracing and inspect the results. Loth taught me how to disrupt spells when we worked on his shield breaker spheres. My construct is quite complex and shows the Dvergur runes for disrupt, reveal, and unmake. The reveal sigil takes the central position for an illusion-specific countermeasure. I prick my right wrist and trace the drawing with black blood, muttering in the sharp, gravelly tongue of my old friend. They soon shine blue and eager. I fling the thing until it lands at the point I identified as a nexus. At first nothing happens. Then the air shimmers and the color of the stones beneath shift from marble-white to obsidian-black. Rather quickly, a crackling circle of white bolts form in the air. It expands outward like a popping bubble. The spell breaks with a clear chime and the spectacle before us changes entirely. Gone are the naked rock and sterile appearance. Complex glyph patterns now adorn the walls, centered around metal panes set in the very stone. Above, the strange yellow lines that provide illumination radiate with renewed ardor. A few glyphs fizzle where the threshold used to be and reveal behind them a long metal pane with a horizontal slit. Tacky. "It appears that you were wrong, Violet, this is a mechanical trap," I conclude. The enticing scent of stark terror soon teases my nostril and I turn when I hear a light thump. The devoted servant is on her knees, forehead stuck to the ground. "Rise. There will be no punishment this time." She springs back up like a puppet on strings, face filled with gratitude. I have no time for this. I need to escape quickly, or they will find ways to control me through pact or coercion. She is an enemy, albeit not a serious one, and I do not want to spend the effort to create bonds. She and her companions are clearly indoctrinated like the most dedicated Eneru subjects. I will treat her decently since I would not benefit from gratuitous cruelty, but I will kill her if she gets in the way. Sensing my disdain, the woman lowers her head and I return my attention to the now unveiled corridor to come to an immediate and definitive conclusion: whoever did this was completely bonkers. Mad as a hare. And dangerous! It must have taken a hundred hours of work for a competent mage to design, create and install this deathtrap. Even Jonathan would be impressed by the depths of paranoia involved in this project. I feel like whistling in appreciation. Unfortunately, I will have to solve this Gordian knot and, who knows, perhaps I can escape that way and leave a few traps active? I immediately start to inspect the defenses and I am once more grateful for the inhuman sight which allows me to decipher the defenses without getting closer. The first trap, the one that already claimed a victim, is a mechanism springing blades horizontally from both walls with a magical trigger based on perceived movement. I think it has a way to rearm itself too. There are also pressure-activated fire spells on the ground in case someone gets cute and decides to crawl across. The disarming mechanism on those is trapped too. And this is just the first layer of defenses. There are two others, plus some contraption where the corridor angles connected to the metal pane of the blade trap. Oh well, at least this is interesting. "You might want to move back and to the side, Violet." I turn to see her point to the side with some confusion. "Move back and to the side," I order. This time, she obeys without hesitation. Note to self, my sire does not cultivate the art of ''insistent suggestions'' among his followers. "Spiderwalk." I cast the spell in English as I need very little power. Nirari did not react to me using Likaean during the fight. Perhaps he did not recognize the tongue? In any case, I would rather not force my luck. I crawl up the wall. If I were in my armor I could simply walk on the surface. Sadly, doing so in that dress would mean that my eyes would be covered instead of my unmentionables. Once I am above one of the panels, I use the rune engraver to disarm the trap preventing access to the inner mechanism, then repeat the same thing on the other side. After I am done, I drop and take care of the fire spell on the ground. Now for the mechanical one. I see no obvious gap in the pane. Sometimes, when there is no point of ingress, you just have to make one. I lean against the wall and raise my gauntlet. "Stone breaker." This spell is specifically designed to break hard material in a small surface. I added it to my repertoire for out of reach metal locks and other annoying things I want to demolish from afar. It shares the ''disrupt'' glyph with the reveal spell which is convenient since there are only so many runes that can fit in a gauntlet frame. The other three are opposition, shatter, and diamond. A narrow purple ray emerges from my hand to hit the distant panel. The contraption rings like a broken bell. A hidden panel in the far wall slides open and a giant quarrel that would belong on a Roman artillery piece emerges from its recess. A ballista trap! How quaint! The tip expands with a dreadful ''clang'' mid flight. Instead of a standard head, the projectile has four blades in a cross pattern. Fishing for volume, are we? I grab the thing with ease as it passes by, only moving forward a bit on account of its tremendous weight. Whoever designed the bolt sacrificed power in the hope of achieving surprise. A human with excellent reflexes could dodge this. I twirl the spear-like object and think. Only the mechanical trap is left. Now how would I go about getting rid of that one? I could use the bolt and the metal bar I requested to block the blade after triggering it, thus preventing it from rearming. Or I could go the ''Ariane'' way. That sounds like more fun and would let me inspect the thing for future references. I dig my talons at the edge between stone and metal, plant my feet on the wall, channel as much Natalis essence as I can and pull. The groan of forcefully deformed metal reverberates in the corridor and the sounds of excavation stop again. I grunt with the effort of pulling the panel open. It resists for a while, then something gives in and the whole thing comes loose. I place the trap on the ground to inspect it, keeping well clear of the path of the blade. The contraption is quite long. The cutting edge runs its length, kept in a state of tension by a lock triggered by a spell. A system of pulleys with a powerful enchantment reloads the trap after each use. I destroy the locking mechanism and the blade snaps out. Enchanted too! Someone was not taking any chances. I dispose of the second trap the same way and realize that I am, in fact, having fun. Disarming traps is like solving a puzzle with the added stake of something unpleasant happening if you make a mistake. How exciting! The only thing missing is a little snack at the end. I may be more Thirsty than I originally thought. Oh well. I turn to Violet who has been staring at me with some measure of amazement for a while now. She looks tasty. She is also forbidden, so I tear one of the blades off and go to the next trap. This one is designed to let off a massive amount of electricity into its victim, and is coupled with a pit with some spikes at the bottom, including one made out of silver. This one is a one time only, so I trigger the electrical part from afar, then walk closer and jam a metal bar in the opening mechanism of the pit. I think that someone who would only see the mechanical trap could consider crawling under, which would have triggered the flame spell, or rush through with some very powerful armor or a werewolf body and the second trap would have done them in no matter how sturdy they are. Well planned indeed. The third one is interesting as well. I find small openings which could throw darts. I also notice not one, but two decoys meant to have someone come closer with an unknown trigger hidden behind a layer of chipped paint. I try to activate it with movement, by throwing a spell through it and even by dropping my metal bar in the middle of the construct. Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. Nothing. On a hunch, I draw a decoy rune of blood on a stone and toss it. The corridor flashes at the presence of flesh and a strange whistle fills the air. "Hmm?" A disgusting, green cloud of acidic liquid is spat from the small holes, leaving behind an acrid stench. The strange liquid eats into the stone. Ah, if someone had managed to pass the first two hurdles through careful analysis, a close inspection of the decoys may have turned them to meaty soup. Charming. Whoever designed this is delightfully twisted. I want to take them by the collar and throw them through their own creation to see what remains at the end. After I had a little bite, of course. Thirsty. Casting takes comparatively little energy. The damage dealt by Malakim''s claws must have been more severe than I first assumed. Oh well. I can feed soon. I hope. After another thorough inspection, I finally manage to reach the end of the corridor where the hidden crossbow remains concealed and look around the corner to find¡­ Another corridor filled with traps with a heavy bronze door at its end. And, as my nose had informed me, a body in the distance. This one has remained here long enough to be ripe; it reeks atrociously. Violet, who had foolishly followed me without waiting for my go-ahead, pinches her nose under the horrible assault. This man apparently triggered the first layer of trap if the metal bar skewering his chest is any indication. He wears a full robe in purple with a golden filigree, which either makes him a cultist or a clownish villain in some traveling circus. It is hard to tell, sometimes. In any case, I am not working under these conditions. I quickly inscribe a few runes of air and flow on yet another stone, add a pinch of blood and voila, an improvised fan. The air progressively clears as I inspect this new intellectual delicacy. Alas, this one will be much easier to deal with. It is designed to trap people in. Our dear departed friend fell prey to it. Come to think of it, his body is past the first layer, therefore he must have been running for his life for inertia to carry his corpse that far. Truly, cultist cultisti lupus. I find no hidden crossbow facing that side of the corridor and start working, well aware of Violet''s regular breath as she watches me work. Her heartbeat thumps in my ears and her scent soon dispels memories of the earlier fetid smell. I do not have to report immediately. I could explore a bit, and, if I find an exit, drain the little spying waif dry before running away. Nashoba''s earrings still adorn my ears and I have ways to hide my tracks. Tempting. In fact, I believe I shall do just that. With renewed energy, I methodically dismantle the first layer of traps consisting of some overlapping fire spells and reach the corpse. He holds no focus that I can see, but I am not wading through corpse juice to find out more. I engrave a drying spell on the ground next to him to suck in water away. Bodies smell much less when they are mummified. Setting it on fire would be a stupid idea in an enclosed space. Finally I arrive at the last layer, giddy with excitement. I want to eat Violet and leave, but I must wait. I need to be sure. It is only a matter of seconds to trigger the two remaining traps as those do not have a way to rearm themselves, then I am at the heavy brass door. I bend forward to inspect it for one last trap on this side and am sent flying backwards. Ah? My back and head smash against the wall and I struggle against the hand now clamped on my throat. The pressure increases and I stop struggling. My vision clears to reveal the bloodshot eyes of Malakim. His black hair falls over his face and he sneers with hatred. "Going somewhere, sister?" He wears a dark leather armor with an assortment of weapons and phials secured around. His throat is covered by a grey scarf. "Merely checking the door for anomalies," I lie. Malakim sighs, then turns to Violet. "Fuck off." She runs away as fast as her legs can carry her. Once she is gone, Melakim returns his full attention to me. "Is that so? I find it hard to believe. Or perhaps this is my natural distrust at work. Has it occurred to you that I may want you to die?" "The thought crossed my mind," I croak, trying to relax his grip. My struggles are in vain. He is as unyielding as a steel wall. "Because I do. You, the latecomer. You, who were turned after our dear sire already found his pawn and you who grew up without his glacial claws on your neck." "I assure you that it was not a sinecure." Malakim releases me and I jump on my feet then away from him. He turns to match me with the door at his back. Escape plans cancelled. For now. "Ah, yes," the man says in a mocking voice, "the terrible burden of freedom. I am aware of the difficulties of being thrown out into the wilds as a fledgling, believe me. Just keep in mind that I would crawl through a mile of silvery glass for the privilege of suffering what you suffered." "You are aiming your anger at the wrong person." "You do not understand, ''princess'', I do not have to aim my anger at anyone, there is more than enough to go around. But since I am on a leash, I will drop you now and we will play nice, like the civilized assholes we pretend to be. And any time you look at me I want you to remember that I hate you, that I do not need a reason to hate you, and that I will gladly end your life." "If this is about the spell¡­" His eyes narrow with suspicion. "What spell?" He¡­ he forgot?! "The one I used to mangle your arm." It actually takes a few seconds for his face to show any hint of recollection, whereupon he proceeds to laugh. The sound would be warm if it were not so bitter. He keeps at it as if I had told a good jest. "That is cute. You think my arm matters. You brainless, ignorant, stupid bitch. I am looking forward to your escape attempt. I hope you make it fun." "I do not¡ª" I start defending myself, but he interrupts me by choking me again. "Or! Or, you could stay here and become our sire''s plaything. He no longer has much of a sexual appetite, but I am sure that you could resurrect it. He does enjoy breaking new toys." I need to get out. "So, try and leave and make it smart enough, daring enough that he gives you to me. I never had the opportunity to share everything he taught and now I have a sister. Please. The days are dull." "Let me go." "But of course!" he replies and he finally releases my throat. I massage it out of habit as he picks up the trap blade I had liberated and snaps it in half. That stupid strength. Still, I am curious, and the Thirst removes many of my inhibitions and survival mechanisms. "Can''t you regain your freedom, at all?" Instead of exploding, Malakim merely tilts his head in consideration. "You do not know. Of course, you do not know, ''princess''. There was no one to ever tell you otherwise. There is no regaining my freedom. I was a slave of my village, then I was a slave of the Holy League''s army, then I was a slave of our dear sire. There has not been a time when I was free and, until I die, there won''t." "Why? How can you be so sure?" I object. No matter how binding the oath, vampires can break it if they are willing to pay the price. I would die rather than do some things and this is an outcome I have already accepted. Why can he not just greet the dawn? In answer, Malakim removes his scarf and I get a better look at his collar. I first got a glimpse of it during our fight but I had, at the time, been focused on more pressing matters. More specifically, killing him. Now, I am left to wonder how distracted I had been. The fabric is of a strange material like the skin of a snake, with pearlescent scales interspersed here and there. The yellow light above does not reflect on it. Instead, it shines from inside with an otherworldly light as delicate as it is precious. I feel a sense of wonder taking it in, as well as one, more subdued, of horror when I see the outlines of several runes. Such potential, such ethereal grace and Nirari turned it into shackles in one sacrilegious decision. I am appalled. "There are some who die without ever being free, and I have been alive longer than most," Malakim says, this time almost subdued. I cannot hide the disbelief in my voice. "Is this¡­" "Yes. Dragon skin. He made a collar out of dragon skin. I cannot disobey, I cannot kill myself. Freedom will only come after the great task is done. This, he promised." "When he catches his mother?" "Indeed. We are looking for her, ''princess'', and when we find her, he will take her essence as his own. Then there will be no stopping him anymore. Death will no longer have sway. And when it is done, I can finally¡­. let go. It is only a matter of time before the rat runs out of places to hide." I would not be so sure. I peer at the dragon skin. I want to touch it, course my finger over the mesmerizing fabric but I cannot. Malakim notices my gaze for which I am grateful. I would not want him to try and see if I already knew of Semiramis from before. That would lead to unpleasant circumstances. "Greedy, are we? Sorry little sister, this one is already in use and I was told that there are no more dragons to be had." He then takes a few steps back and bows politely, extending a hand to the bronze gate. "I tire of this discussion and the air here is quite rank. Should we have a look around and see if there is anyone to talk to? Remember, no feeding." I hiss. How DARE HE. I NEED IT. The man raises both hands in a disarming gesture. "He said I could feed after clearing the corridor!" "Absolutely not, my Thirsty little sister. He said you would not have his leave until then. You still need his approval." I want to object to the semantics, but I realize that to get justice I would need to return to Nirari. To go further with Malakim means that, perhaps, there will be an opportunity to escape. There will be none if I return. I could DRAIN THE FOE''S PUPPET first and then go with Mala¡ª No! No. He is playing with me. I must take the risk. I must escape as soon as I can. The longer I stay and the easier it will be for them to bind me. So, I fake my best smile and move forward. The bronze gate is not even locked. I still inspect it for anomalies and find a few reinforcement runes as well as a spent alarm rune. With nothing dangerous around, I step into a large square room. The first thing I notice is that the smell is not much better, and the stench this time comes from a bisected mana hound. The massive purple beast was cleaved in two by some metal blade of sorts, both sides and the innards spread over a paved floor. Two doors lead away. The first one is to my left and must have been a way out at some point. A desk stands next to it as well as racks still covered in coats, and a few crates. It has been collapsed, rocks and gravel spilling into the room. The farther door is more promising. Made of heavy bronze like the others, it is still locked. I stare around as I move forward. This room doubled as a warehouse and armory at some point. I spot a rack of rifles, still clean, but no silver bullets. Clearly whoever made this base was a mage with a high sense of security if the traps are any indication. It was not enough and at least one mana hound escaped containment, possibly causing some sort of quarantine measure that sealed the entrance. In any case, if the inhabitants of the base have not left through another way, they should still have a strong presence. There should be at least a few mages and a few soldiers if the traps and weapons are any indication. I cannot exactly use this to my advantage. They will not make a difference against Malakim. I cross the floor, monster in tow, and am again grateful not to have to breathe. The two bodies must have stayed there for at least a week in a damp environment. Small mercy, there are no flies around so no maggots. Malakim is like a sword of Damocles hanging above my neck as I kneel to inspect the next gate. I close my eyes and focus on other senses. There is something on the other side, the familiar taste of warning of an alarm spell. A few years back I would have been unable to unravel it. Now, I place my gauntlet-covered hand against the cold, smooth metal and pluck the spell apart string by string until, with a snap, it collapses on itself with no one the wiser. I try the handle. Locked. A quick spell takes care of the unprotected keyhole and the heavy gate swings open silently, surfing on well-oiled hinges. We are in a dormitory. It is the middle of the night now and a dozen mortals sleep soundly in lined up cots separated by curtains hung on wooden poles. Chests and wardrobes line the wall. The left-side corner has been isolated, and the smell of soap and excrements emanates from it. No one has woken up yet. Malakim overtakes me, bumping against my shoulder and eliciting a hiss that he ignores. He stops above the first cot and looks on with a serene expression. This is the first time since I have met him that he seems at peace. He lifts a finger and inspects the talon with patient interest while, below him, a man slumbers. "That''s the best way to leave, I think. You sleep, then you die, comfortably drifting from one state to another. No pain and no awareness," he whispers in a voice that only a vampire could pick up. He stabs the man between the eyes and just above the nose. There is slight noise of broken bone and a sort of suction. His victim gasps very lightly, but the noise is not enough to cover the sighs and light snores of the others. I look with pain at the wasted blood dripping on the ground, turning it red. So THIRSTY. Maybe I can¡­ Just one¡­ But no, he is waiting for it. He is waiting for me to disobey. Malakim draws the curtain to reveal another victim. The first was bald and severe, lying on his back like a Gisant. This one is young with curly blond hair. He sleeps on his side curled in a fetal position. Malakim places his gore-covered finger against the man''s temple. He inspects me thoughtfully, aware that I am the unwilling witness of this farce. I despise him for this show. He is making a mockery of what we are by toying with a sleeping prey, spreading the scent of blood and wasted vitality while I am here, starving, only maintaining my facade because this might be my only chance to escape. "Then there is the surprise death that catches you when you least expect it. Still not a bad way to go," my horrid brother adds. The pain of a needle wakes the man long enough to draw a panicked breath in. Before he can even register the body of his friend, Malakim stabs down. Another gasp, another rattle, another source of vitality spoiled for his sordid amusement. A new curtain is drawn on his next victim. This time, the man is older with a bushy brown beard. His snores are the loudest. "The thing that scares us the most is to know you are dying, feel it in your soul, and be powerless to stop it. Very few experiences prepare us to face that fear, don''t you think?" He removes a thin stiletto from a sheath on his chest and stabs the bearded one in the neck. The man wakes up with widened eyes made all the more frantic by the abominable pain he must be feeling. Malakim just severed his spine. The maimed man gasps like a beached fish and tries to call for help, but no sounds come out. His lungs are no longer his own. He dies like this, tears staining his cheeks. Curtain. A very young man barely out of childhood with very dark close-cropped hair. So Thirsty. "And then there is a pain that transcends all others. All those who considered death coming reflected on what they would leave behind, what kind of legacy they left for their loved ones. Like you, who carved out a small kingdom in these barbaric lands and rules over it like a small-time landlady. I love to destroy their pitiful achievements and send them to oblivion with the knowledge that everything they struggled for is lost." The boy struggles frantically, held up in the air by two hands. His feet kick pointlessly against Malakim''s armor in a stupid little dance. His eyes focus on me. Such a waste. Malakim blocked his mouth and nose with one imperious hand as he lifted him. Not a single whine escapes the youth''s tortured throat as there simply is no air to do so. Clearly, brother dear has experience in such matters. The boy''s skin turns purple and his eyes, bloodshot. Before he dies, he has the time to see me, the corpses of his friends and to understand. Malakim gives him enough time to come to the realization that all those people he lived with were going to die. That is not the worst. The worst is that half of those people are still blissfully asleep and there is nothing he can do to save them. After one last twitch and the sound of emptying bowels, Malakim puts the corpse back on his bed with far more care than he had given when the boy was alive. Beside me, a man with the appearance of a soldier shows signs of waking up. "Kill him, but do not feed," Malakim orders. The CUR. I OBEY THE SIRE, but he has no right to¡ª "Ah!" The bastard stabbed me, just a flesh wound on my arm. He cleans the black blood on his armor as a supreme gesture of insult. "Kill him, but do not feed." One day I will kill him. And Nirari, and Semiramis, and Anatole, and Moor. They will all die. But not tonight. Tonight, I must survive and tally the offenses against me to be paid at a later date. This is fine. I have suffered indignations in the past and I will suffer them in the future as well, what matters is to live long enough to see them repaid. With interest. PATIENT HUNTER will triumph here. I take a page from his book and stab the man in the brain with a claw before he can react. I can do no better without a blade and I am, once again, weaponless. Cracking neck bones as I usually do would be too noisy. I do not even know why I care. All this blood. If I cause enough chaos then perhaps¡­ No, he will know. "Out of all the ways I demonstrated, you chose the most expedient, as expected of my survival expert of a sister." I care not for his sick game. I just want to FEED. "We will have ample time to teach you how to enjoy things the proper way." This idiot hovers at the edge of turning rogue. He is probably held back by his stupid almighty artefact. Dragon skin. By the Watcher. "We should finish and move on," I reply with gritted teeth. "Oh? Eager, are we? Very well then." He takes three knives from their harness and tosses them casually in one gesture. They hit three throats. Nice trick. He takes another five and moves his arms twice, killing the rest. Half a dozen men choke on their blood. "Shall we?" We leave the room now filled with the scents of blood, piss, and shit. Only a few gurgles still break the silence as I unlock the next door. Malakim once again pushes me into a room as large as the first one. This one was split in two. On our left, a workshop takes up most of the space. Heavy tables are covered in stone tablets and fragments in the process of being reassembled. A trail of dust leads to a small passage. On the right, two large beds host the remains of an orgy. Five scantily clad women sleep in the arms of a muscular man with a chest like a barrel and an older mage with a scar on his cheek. "Typical cults," Malakim idly comments, "the leader uses girls to reward his lieutenants and more valuable members. He will be in a separate room with the choicest morsels." "What are they doing here?" I wonder. "Grandma left many toys and entrances in those rat warrens of hers so it is no surprise that some were found." He affects a frown. "But of course, you are correct. We should ask them. Just to be sure." Malakim struts to the closest bed, grins like a teenager doing a prank and upends it. The tangle of limbs crashes to the ground with swears and shrieks. The muscle man is the first to jump on his feet, fists swinging. Malakim leans into his attack and smacks the man''s head back with an open palm. He barely uses enough strength to push his opponent. The mage notices me as he frantically puts on his glove. His eyes narrow with rage. "Bolt!" I dodge the transparent projectile with a hiss. Seriously? Why me? You have a perfectly valid target and you go for the unarmed woman in a skimpy Roman dress? Prick. Malakim chuckles as the burly man steps to the side and grabs a large truncheon. My brother takes hold of the bed, eliciting cries from the women still crawling on the ground, and lifts it. The little group grows silent as he tosses the piece of furniture into the workshop, where it crashes with a loud bang of broken wood. "What the hell?" the muscleman mutters. The mage pales. He understands. He looks and smells scrumptious. Alive and afraid. "Dios mio¡­" one of the women swears. Another stands up and does her best to readjust her shift so that they cover her heavy breasts. She is a bit older than the others, with a frame that leans on heavy and a long shock of brown hair that reaches her lower back. "I do not know who you are but please listen to me. You are interfering with a divine project that will redesign mankind as we know it. We can bring you hope too! We have a wonderful message to share if you would only listen¡­" "Ah, one of the recruiters. She leads the women to lure in new recruits." "I know how cults operate, Malakim, I do not need your lessons." "My god," the mage interrupts, shivering, "it cannot be¡­" "Oh, very well," Malakim answers before turning to the one who had interrupted him, "let me guess, you need to decipher the secrets in the universe held in those steles behind me, then your glorious leader will lead all of you to paradise?" The woman''s careful control slips, showing the worry underneath. "Hmm, yes! Absolutely, paradise on earth and eternal life. An end to hunger and disease! Would that not be wonderful?" "Please no¡­" the mage whispers on the side. "Ah, a variation on the old classic. Good enough." The stocky woman shows an expression of surprise as her head falls off her shoulders. Malakim mechanically butchers everyone except the mage in only a few swings. Screams die on silenced lips. The familiar smell of death now mingles with that of stale sex. Again, the waste makes me want to kill him. I barely listen to the panicked mumblings of the spellcaster as he speaks of research and insights into the tablet''s language. All things we do not need as Semiramis works in a coded version of Akkad. My brother grabs his victim by the throat and drains him slowly under my glare as a display of power. His two blue eyes peer over the white neck, daring me to attack him in his moment of vulnerability. I cannot afford it. I am already starving and healing from the wounds he would inflict would cost me any chance I have to escape. Bear with it, Ariane, PATIENT HUNTER. I can do it. I can do it. I just need a way out. A door opposite the one leading back creaks open. Shuffling feet and grumbles heralding the arrival of the cult''s¡­ "What is the¡­ Oh!" a woman says. "A large variation on the old classic," Malakim comments lazily like a man at a market inspecting a strangely shaped pumpkin. The newcomer is indeed a surprise. She is a beautiful woman with an entirely shaven head dressed in a heavy blue cloak. She is also a powerful mage and I recognize her aura in the traps we faced. A young man with an angelic face peers curiously from behind her. "You! What have you done?!" she screams. To her credit, she reacts immediately. Her hands raise to reveal two bracers covered in runes. Sharp blades emerge from her cloak to fly in the air like an angry swarm of bees. Interesting, she relies on a telekinesis spell. It takes a great amount of concentration and a natural predisposition to make this work. Malakim scoffs and lets the first blade impact his heart, where it stops completely. The woman pales. "I am going to walk to you. I will grab you by the neck and then I will snap your spine like a dry twig," he announces. The mage frowns and focuses a dozen blades in a cloud, hovering before her. Malakim takes a step forward. An enchanted dagger nicks his cheek. Black blood seeps from the wound. I understand now why he did not try to dodge my shred spell, the one that mangled his arm. Malakim does not dodge wounds if it allows him to finish the fight immediately. His method goes against every instinct of self-preservation ingrained deep within our minds. The cult leader throws everything she has at him. Malakim''s face turns into a pincushion but none of the blades pierce the skull. His foe''s anger turns to dismay. The vampire steps to the mage and grabs her by the throat as she scrambles against the wall. He stares her in the eyes as she dies, then backhands the boy attacking him from the side. "Were you not going to interrogate her?" I ask, my patience at an end. "Why would I ever do that?" Because I could have learnt if there is another exit besides the obviously caved-in one. "Because our sire is searching the place and they have researched it extensively." "Pah. They are cultists, not scholars." "Hsss!" I struggle to remain in control. Thirsty. I take a deep breath to push the sensation back, ignore its claws buried deeply into my mind, pushing, craving. It takes monumental effort of self-control but eventually I manage to regain some measure of calm. I am holding, for now. Malakim gives a knowing smile. "Almost there now. We will just see what is behind the last door and then we will head back. Normally we avoid drinking from the silent folk but I am sure that an exception will be made. I just need you to be very thorough in your inspection. We would not want to miss anything, no?" I know he will drag it out but I have no choice. A quick inspection of the workshop reveals a passage leading to storage rooms filled with preserved food, digging tools and a small well for fresh water. I accidentally find the cesspit they use to get rid of the wastes as well as the bodies of two more hounds. The smell is so shockingly strong that it clears my mind. We find the leader''s quarters in the last room of the complex. They contain a single bed with a large sword by its side, probably what she used to kill the hounds. A large circle dug into the ground shows rudimentary runes, a far cry from the sophisticated construct I saw in Alexandria. They are lucky the portal fizzled before it could destabilize. Amateurs. Children fiddling with magics they cannot understand, and yet, the cultist still managed to achieve something. I wonder if the knowledge of how to create portals is fully disseminated yet. I shake my head to focus on the last large gate left here. It was sealed with redundant layers of protection. Even with the caster dead, the runes covering it still shimmer under the pale light of the lines. This is my last hope. All the other passages have led to dead-ends. If this is one as well, I will have to postpone my plan and risk being bound. "No feeding until we determine exactly where the cult complex ends, little sister. Show me how you unlock this," Malakim says with a vicious grin. The Thirstier we grow, and the harder it becomes to focus on mental tasks. Fortunately, I am not so far gone yet. I pick a heavy key from a nearby bed table and calmly use it on the lock. I give a disparaging glance to Malakim as the runes fade and the gate clocks open. He returns one of controlled rage. Just because I am weaker does not mean I am stupid. We walk into a cavern wide enough to host a house. While the rest of the installation was dug into solid rocks through unknown means, this is quite clearly a natural formation. Stalactites hang from a tall ceiling criss-crossed with the ubiquitous yellow lines, and in its center lies a dragon. An entire bloody dragon. With a scaly muzzle, two horns, two wings, and a heavy orange stone on its forehead. It rests like a sphinx on its bed of stone. My legs almost give way before I take back control and realize my error. This is a statue of a dragon. By the Watcher, I would have had a heart attack if I still could. "By the Watcher¡­" Malakim whispers, joining his curse to mine. He whistles in admiration. The sound echoes across the chasm. The dragon statue opens its eyes. Chapter 111 - 106. End of the Line I jump under the closest stalagmite while Malakim looks on, uncaring. This is a trap. If there were any doubts, the voice of Semiramis emerging from the construct dispels them. "Alien essence detected. Scanning." Her voice is bored and formal, a sharp contrast to the massive golem''s threatening presence. Its stone skin is covered in runes under which a metal armature snakes, poking out here and there like broken bones through skin. Rays of dark red emerge from its eyes to sweep the floor. They land on Malakim. "Primary target identified. Engaging." I swear and crawl away from my brother''s standing form. He merely snickers as he walks forward to meet the construct head on. A massive bastard sword with a jagged edge appears in his hand, which he moves around with a flourish. "Let''s see what you can do then, you piece of scrap," he jeers. I search around for a way to protect myself and find one. My eyes land on an opening in the right wall ahead of me and a glimmer of hope grows in my chest, battling the Thirst for supremacy. If only those two could keep each other busy¡­ Malakim struts with absolute confidence. What a fool. I have seen golems before, of course. They are rare magical constructs that require an independent power source, most of the time a core formed from precious material and charged by mages over several days. Even then, they have always been suits of armor. They also have none of the weaknesses of their squishy creators. Golems are slow compared to us, yet what they lose in power, they make up in durability and blind tenacity. This one was designed by Semiramis to eliminate Malakim specifically, therefore it must have countermeasures to account for the man''s resilience and speed. I push my head up and watch from the side as Malakim appears before the golem. His sword digs a furrow in the construct''s torso, as if it were butter. My brother is like Siegfried before the imposing mass of his foe. Perhaps he can win easily after all? The orange gem on the dragon''s forehead shines¡ª Void. Pain. I am on the ground, The left part of my forehead is slightly singed and I shake under the dreadful memory, the terrible reminder of what I once endured. I want to stay down and hidden lest it happens again but curiosity and the need to escape urge me on. The sun. From the dragon''s gem came a single ray of the vengeful orb. It was a mere spark, a shadow of the real thing, yet that was enough. I raise my head to gaze at the dying shimmer of the orange gem, now spent. Impossible. Impossible! Semiramis can store sunlight! She can unleash it from inside a dark cave, and now, Malakim is missing his head. I can hardly believe it. The unstoppable force, the unmovable object who swatted me like a fly and filled me with despair falls on the ground, a finger away from death. The golem''s enormous paw will be enough to crush his heart and finish him off, now that he can no longer resist. Just like that. I am at a loss. The dragon golem pounces as I am paralyzed by indecision. The Thirst throws me off and robs me of my ability to think. Malakim is going to die. Is it good? Is it bad? Should I do something? I cannot think. The dragon''s clawed foot is as large as Malakim''s chest. It descends, and then it stops. Against a shield. A massive half-sphere of purple light has formed over the prone form and cocooned it in its inviolable embrace. The golem''s paw smashes once more against the defense before its red eyes once again glare over the battlefield. I finally manage to recover enough to realize that I should act while I can. I move to the right, towards the second exit until my back is to it, yet I dare not leave my cover. "Shield detected. Countermeasures engaged." Three silvery talons slide from the paw and on the next bump, the shield starts to crack. Fissures appear in the smooth surface. It does not matter. As I crawl away, I can feel him coming like a stormfront. This pressure grows and grows until the air feels almost liquid and advancing feels like fighting through molasses. He is pulling on the world to move faster. Something clicks in my mind. The weight of fate, which had been silent since last night, tugs on me once more. This is it. This is my chance. I lift my gauntlet. "Nu Sharran!" The light of the sun has created an imbalance and the spell flows out as if torn from my chest like an eager child. The deepest darkness gathers around me with its welcoming presence. The first vampire crashes into the cave in a cataclysmic shock. Shrapnel of bronze and stone fall like a hail and with one hand, he blocks the paw. The world holds its breath. Nirari has one hand on Malakim''s chest and one against the paw, his attention fixed on the construct with such immobile intensity that he has become a statue as well. "My son," Semiramis'' voice whispers from some enchanted recess. A complex expression takes over my sire''s adamant countenance. This is, perhaps, the most lively he has ever looked without making someone else suffer. Then the scene is broken when both eye-orbs crack and a noise like an angry teapot emerges from the golem. Nirari''s dark glare turns to me as the last tendril of my shadowy cloak forms and my side of the room changes into an inky abyss. He gives me the tiniest nod of respect. And then, I am gone. I move faster than I ever have in my life to the exit I chose. I race down a tunnel dug into the very rock with no care for traps or spells. I kick open a locked door, turn left into a side alley by stepping on the wall and rush forward without pause. The world rocks under a massive explosion. "Ooof!" I am thrown forward. Down becomes up. Scathing air flails my back. Ears pop. I wait, hands over my neck. It stops. I stand up on uncertain legs, brush the dust and pebbles covering me. Light above is still diffused by those yellow lines. Behind me, the passage is obstructed by collapsed rocks as large as slabs. The blockade must go on up to the golem cavern and farther in the other direction. Nobody is going through there for a long time. I did it. There is now a physical barrier between me and my captors that cannot be crossed. I am not safe yet, however. I need to exit the complex and find someone to drink. It must happen tonight. So THIRSTY. But no, I must focus and take precautions. Quick, quick, then I go. I make sure my earrings are securely fastened. They are. Now, to take care of the rest. I kneel and force my fleeting attention to my aura. Subdued is not enough; gone is required. I pull my power in. It feels like rolling and wringing my own mind, which I find eminently unpleasant. My control wavers at some point and I start to unravel, yet a last supreme effort brings me as close to aural invisibility as possible. I feel constrained as if I wore far too tight clothes. The discomfort adds to the craving pain in my abdomen and makes me want to claw myself open. I will move after one last thing. I raise my gauntlet and gather every last dredge of focus I can. Sinead uses this to escape detection by vampires. "Nu Mahiken Oe¡­" I cough and the spell wavers. Dust. The feedback burns into my veins until I seize firm control of it. I wrestle the construct back under control. The corridor around me turns¡­ smoother. The wall loses its granularity; rock powder falls to the ground. "Nu Mahiken Oessi Nok." Let the imprint be gone. With this, my smell should disappear almost entirely. It will last for as long as I feed it power and keep it at the back of my mind. I need blood. I really do. Time to find it. Wait, no, time to escape. VITALITY. Same thing really. The corridor moves forward and I follow it at a run. No time to waste. The beautiful canvas of the world needs some more red in it. Down with all that dreary grey! Three paths. Left, forward and right, all of them twisted so I do not see where they lead. Unless I missed something, I should FORWARD. Wait, no. From his throne room, I went forward then right then forward then right then right again into the golem chamber. Then I turned left. Right will head me back towards the throne room. Forward or left. FORWARD is fine. Go. I run without a sound. Another passage. Another three-way path. Strange glyphs on the wall looking like Akkad but not quite. Drawings? I hurry hurry hurry. It does not smell like much, just strangely fresh air and old magic. A dead end. I turn around and retrace my steps and pick another way. Left. No, Right! Right is left now. Yes. I go. I find another cross. So many ways! Where does this all lead? Forward forward forward with all haste I just need a way out I just need to find someone this is all that matters now I just need the blood and everything will be fine. Everything will be fine in the world. Another crossroad. Where am I? How many times have I turned? FORWARD. No, I need to keep track. I bend and dig a mark with my talon in the raw stone. The sound and sensation force me to grit my teeth, nothing that a little blood cannot solve. Forward now. A dead end. Back and to the side. Another mark. Another crossroad. Another. This is a maze. A large maze with symbols for keys and I do not remember them and I cannot remember how I got here and it HURTS. I lean against the wall, then on my knees, a hand grasping my chest. Calm down, Ariane, calm down. I am not in a maze per se. I already guessed that Semiramis travels around by messing with space. I recall that her ''home'' back when I met her was larger on the inside. I must be within a sort of transit system, and the glyphs are the key. I could just follow the same glyph and probably emerge somewhere. Which one? I do not recall. I stop where I am and inspect the symbols. There is a sort of turtle, a stylized circle, a cloud and a twisted arrow. I rush left. A sort of wolf, a honeycomb, a field, three mountains. No match. Maybe I saw wrong? I return. I double check. Turtle, circle, cloud, arrow. It makes no sense. Another path. No match. I come back to the one I chose as reference. Turtle, Scale, lantern, square. No. No no no no no no. No. No, I must be losing my focus. Keep it together, Ariane, you are just THIRSTY. Unfocused. I just need to¡­ PAIN. I stop and take a few shaky breaths to fight back against the pointless urge I feel now. My instincts have always been things to control and use, just like pain itself. Now, they are merely obstacles. Yes, I know that I am falling apart, thank you very much. No, I do not need to be reminded of it every last fucking second. Dear beastly me, things would go better if you just let me focus for one Watcher-forsaken minute. Fuck! The anger helps me push the pain back into a recess of my mind, yet I know this is merely a short reprieve before its needy talons dig once more into my vulnerable psyche. What to do? I am TRAPPED. Trapped, trapped, trapped. I would use fate to guide my feet, but I cannot manage to focus enough. I never thought I would need magic specifically to escape a labyrinth either¡­ Wait, I know! The air is fresh but I have not detected any runes to that effect. There must be circulation and I can just follow the draft to an exit, hopefully. Even if it comes from a small opening I cannot use, it will surely drive me closer to my goal. I close my eyes, wet my right index finger with a little bit of saliva and wait. It grows cold on one side and this is where I go. I repeat the maneuver at the next crossroad and am pointed in another direction. I hope I can finish this little treasure hunt before I run out of saliva. That would be awkward. At the next crossroad, the wind points me back the way I came, and I am not even surprised. I run back, paying more attention to my perception to see where exactly the spatial fuckery occurs. I cannot tell. Two more crossroads succeed each other and I can feel it now. The air grows cold and windy, not charged with the perfumes of soil and plant life but crisp and clean like a mountain. The last passage I follow does not lead to another choice. This one snakes up and up, through the earth, until the beautiful canvas of the wall shifts from grey to a deep sapphire blue. The temperature drops to lows I had never experienced before in my life, not even during my werewolf hunt in the heart of winter. Ice. My feet lose traction though I do not fall and keep rushing forward. The arch above me is pure cobalt under the midnight lights, and then, dotted black. Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. I am out. An incredible vista rolls before me to the horizon, a blanket of pure white carried to the end of the world and buffeted by howling gales that lift snow in the air like clouds of powdery diamond. The lack of relief makes the sky enormous and filled with an infinite sea of stars, and from them fall strange curtains of purple and green, bleeding up as if into another realm. The wind here plasters my hair to my skull and carries with it a complete absence of smell. No sap, no smoke, not even a hint of grass or fish. The otherworldly beauty robs me of words. I may as well be on another planet, with all the implications. This beauty is sterile. It cannot bear life. Even now my flimsy dress grows rigid under the arctic onslaught. Fuzzy spikes of ice grow on it like crystalline mushrooms. In a few minutes it will be frozen solid. There is no one here. No one. For a world and a half. Some mountains rise up to my left, so far that I may not even reach them in a full night. The biting cold should not hurt me, yet even I feel myself growing languid. This is a dead-end into a barren world as desolate as the surface of the moon. No blood. No blood at all. For the first time, it occurs to me that I may go rogue here and shackle myself in madness instead of in bondage. I could haunt those labyrinthine depths like a wraith until Semiramis finds me on her way and turns me inside out. Trapped trapped trapped. I step back in. There is only death outside. I run and rake my claws over the frigid wall, digging deep furrows. The tinkle of broken ice soothes me for an instant before the Thirst surges back in a tide of blinding need. I force back a moan and stop. Why force back? Why? I keen and growl and run because it does not matter and neither do the squiggly lines by the crossroads, as undecipherable to me as hieroglyphs. Pointless. Useless. Wasted. I run and I HUNT. NEED IT. THE SWEET NECTAR. Passages go by. STRAIGHT IS NOT STRAIGHT BUT BACKWARDS AND INWARDS TOGETHER. I kneel by each access with my nose on the ground sniffing out PREY. Hum a little song to keep the pain at bay. Canvas of grey needs canvass of green to lead to my goal. Outside. I run and I moan a keening sound, something sharp and discordant that no human throat can produce. The world fades at the edge of my vision until something fragments. The shards break apart, unravelling at the seams. They are of no use. They get in the way of blood. Quick quick, faster. I find a useful shard that pulls me in a certain direction. Nice little shard that will give me ink for the canvas, crimson ink vivid and fragrant for little me to keep going. Time slips. After a time, but not too long, I feel another draft. I move faster now and shed more shards. I smell it first. P R E Y Quickly now I rush up and through the twisted path until I¡­ Something¡­ An obstacle? CANNOT MOVE! Earth and trees and the familiar smell of tall grass beyond. Shuffling steps. TRAPPED. I grab a shed fragment. Bring it back. Discarded clarity returns for a moment. The way is barred. A metal grid of silvery fabric, with a¡­ a cross. Cannot get past. Feet approach. PREY. Cannot get past? I grab another fragment, then another, pull myself back together piece by piece even though it will fall apart again. "P¡ªplease! Please¡­" I beg. A young man in a leather duster with a scruffy black beard jumps, scared. DELICIOUS. He turns around, and his eyes widen at my sight. "Please¡­" "Hold on miss, I''ll get you out in a moment. Jesus, what happened to you?" He comes forth. The grid holds in place because of¡­ of¡­ One more fragment. The pain is unbearable but I need to know what, I need to know how. I need to get past. Hinges freshly mortared in. Quite possibly a rush job. The man''s hands slow as they take out a set of keys. His brow furrows. No. No! "What are you doing here, anyway?" he suddenly asks, his voice dripping with suspicion. More fragments. I need to Charm¡­ but the cross blocks me, just as unyielding as before. I bend over in pain and collapse against the wall as a wave of unimaginable agony overwhelms me. I scream and cry. Distant voices sound on the other side. "What''s going on, Beckett?" "A woman, sir. She looks hurt." "A woman, you say?" Another face. Fragments split again, useless. No! This is my chance. My only chance. Just one last little push is all I need. "Please¡­ it hurts¡­" "For the love of God, Beckett, step away from the bloody door, did your branch teach you nothing?" "I haven''t opened, sir!" the bearded man protests. "You there," a newcomer with greying hails, "who are you and what are you doing here?" "Please¡­" It hurts so much. "I gave you an order, woman!" He DARES? "HSSSSSSSSS!" "FUCK!" "Bloody hell! What is this?" the bearded man cries. "I can''t believe it, the reports were true! There is a nest in Texas. This is a blood-starved vampire!" No. They won''t open. Why won''t they open? Push against the barrier. Cannot. PUSH. Cannot. Enough! I need to¡­ I¡­ What? Unravelling. Breaking apart. I just¡­ Find a way. So close¡­ "Should we shoot her, sir?" "No, that would be a waste even if we hit. If she is truly blood-starved she will stay there until dawn. Either she burns or we open the gate and follow her in, kill her while she is asleep. Jesus am I glad we placed a cross here." More fragments. Come on, one last time. I need a projectile. The wall is sheer with no convenient bricks. This plan will not work. I struggle to regain some lucidity in one last-ditch, supreme effort of will. I have a tool. I raise my gauntleted hand. Tool. It can¡­ open things. From afar. PAIN. Cannot remember. What was I doing? Barrier Yes, I must break it. I have a tool. I can do it. PAIN. Soul-rending suffering. Why am I holding my arm up? No, I must¡­ Someone is coming? Many ink bottles covered in pretty leather, so close yet so far. There were two, now more have come. Behind, ephemeral constructs of things that do not matter. Tents. A fire. They all stare at me but someone is coming. I feel a scent in the air. An aura of a kin. Another vampire. One of the canvases on the left looks to the side but too late. I heard it first, the panicked neigh of a useless thing, a ''woosh'' of displaced air. A reinforced cart lands on the assembled group in a cataclysmic crash of steel and bone, wood and flesh. The fracas is deafening and the aftermath is screams and cries. The half-broken wheel of the chassis turns and turns and captivates me, until a new form arrives. A massive vampire in dark iron armor, face entirely covered by a medieval helm strides forward with energy. He stops before me and considers the grid. He approaches, but his hand is blocked. The cross. Our eyes meet. I do not know if he sees the agony there, the melting psyche. I only know that he speaks. "I will always be here for you, Miss Ari," he solemnly declares. Then he does the impossible. Massive armored gauntlets grab the bars while flames of burning blue devour the flesh underneath. He bellows with a roar that shakes the trees. With a crack of broken stone, the masonry gives way on one side. Can slip by. Slip by. Find a man on the ground. Bite down. Bliss. A pleasure like no other washes away everything in my mind. It sweeps away the pain, the memories, the will, my senses, the world around me. I only exist in ecstasy, a trance like no others that erases everything. Too soon, it ends but I am in luck! There are other broken things on the ground that still draw breath. More nectar for me. The other vampire comes and kneels by my side as I raise a struggling man and expose his throat. He removes his helmet to reveal¡­ a familiar face? The cleft lip is mostly gone though his smile remains lopsided. His swarthy complexion is paler now though he is still quite ugly. I know him well. He stops me with a hand on my shoulder. I allow it because it is him. "Miss Ari. Come back." He stops me and he is very strong. The blood is here. It will taste so sweet. I want to fight him and rip into him because he is a rival, except, this is not entirely correct. A small part of a fragment whispers something else. I do not wish to fight him, merely to drink. I pull more fragments in and now that the pain is gone, they rejoin the whole more easily. They have stopped disintegrating. I pull more to find a key, a way to make him leave me alone. "Go back to the Dream, I will be there shortly." The hand stays strong and his face, placid. "No, Miss Ari, I cannot obey you this time." What? He should. The fragments say that he is¡­ loyal. Always here for me. I need the blood so he should give me the blood. Only fair. "You are safe and sated. Come back Ariane. I am here now." "Ariane¡­" I taste the word. It feels familiar. Ariane. Ariane. Ariane is me. I am Ariane. "I am Ariane." "Yes, good, you are Ariane of the Nirari. We are near Fort Texas. You are here to fulfill an oath." "Fulfill an oath." I frown. Oaths are important. I have made oaths. I cannot die before father. I am the sister of Jimena. I will respect the Accords. I will aid the White Cabal. I will find my nephew. Little by little, all the little shards I had discarded return to me as they were about to slip into the abyss. I pull them back from the edge even though I could let go and drink and stop hurting. Several times I am tempted to give up but the voice of the man before me centers me, until I am almost whole again. "John?" He smiles. "Yes, it is me, John. I am back." "But¡­" "No but, Miss Ari. You have to focus. What are you here for?" "Blood." "No, you are here for an oath." I was here for blood but then I had some and I do have an oath. I just mentioned it. Ah, yes. "I am here to rescue my nephew. He was captured. He may be held in Matamoros. I was on my way to Matamoros. I¡­" Eight fangs. Malakim and Nirari. Captivity. The traps. The cult. The golem. Back home, the werewolf''s second village as their population explodes. Chicago expanding as well with Melusine''s subtle influence. Metis. Torran. The last parts of me fuse back and I let out a few shaky breaths. The agony is gone and so is the temptation of oblivion. They recede like a tidal wave, leaving the land behind scraped and raw. S~ea??h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. I sit heavily on the blood-stained ground, ignoring John as he finishes off the last broken Gabrielites. I almost went rogue. No, I went rogue and John pulled me from the brink before I was too far gone. Freed of the pain, I am still shaken and fragile. I need some time. "Are you alright, Miss Ari?" I nod, not trusting my voice. Oh wait. John. Natalis vampire. "How?" I ask. He only blinks in answer. "How are you a Natalis vampire?" He stops to reorder his thoughts and this time I notice that his mind seems faster, or perhaps his focus has improved? "I was weak. You were safe. Lord Jerak invited me to his land and offered to turn me. I served him for a bit over two years and had two children. I saw what kind of man he was and accepted the gift. I served him since and so does my family." "But¡­ you are here now?" Another pause. "Nirari came. He said that we had to keep his presence secret and not interfere while he worked in return for being left alone and payment. Lord Jerak agreed, and we only had half an hour to send messages warning that we would close communication. Our mage could not join you. Lord Jerak freed me from his service, so I would not be bound by the agreement. I came here with the mage who was also freed. We felt Nirari''s spell at the village and saw you with a spell. We followed you and him to another entrance close by. He left earlier tonight and condemned the entrance, but we had already found this one here. We came and there were Gabrielites. I saw you. I came to rescue you." He smiles proudly at that, the bright expression odd above his armor-clad frame. Goliath could not have been more intimidating. "You did," I admit, "thank you." I move next to a chest and sit on it heavily. "I need some time." Do I have time? No. "Nevermind," I grumble, and stand back up. I move as if through water and the earth grasps at my heels. Flowers and shapes undulate at the edge of my vision, only to feign immobility when I turn around. The world looks strange. "Would you like to keep this?" John asks. He holds a strange thorn plant, now severed at the end. It clicks with something in my memory. "Where did you find this?" I ask with suspicion. "Inside the corridor. Where you were trapped." The root ¡ª or is it a branch? ¡ª shines with the luster of polished obsidian. I touch it and it disappears in a flash of blue. This happened before when I faced the werewolves, only larger this time. Curious. Just like that time, I have no real way to investigate what this is, except perhaps mention it to someone like Sephare. Enough of this. "We need to leave. I don''t want my sire to find us." "They left. Or so Owens told me. Owens is the mage. We should go see him." "Yes, lead the way." John casts a last worried glance backward but he obeys. We leave the camp of the Gabrielites behind us and climb up a small slope to find the same landscape as before: tall grass over fertile black loam and the occasional meadows. I take a few wobbly steps before a familiar stomp makes me turn my head. Metis'' massive head bumps against my chest, almost sending me stumbling. "Yes, I was worried too, my best of all Nightmares," I whisper as I pet her luscious coat. She moves forward and I climb on her back. I see John relax. He opens the way, moving much faster now, and Metis follows him. The smooth motion and rolling muscles of my mount rock me and distract me from the constant fear that this is only the illusion of freedom. I cannot flee in the state I am in, therefore I must place my faith in an unknown mage''s observation. John and Metis'' presences soothe me. And now I have some time to think. John saved me. He turned himself into a Natalis vampire and forfeited his mortal existence out of loyalty to me unless I am mistaken. Now, he obeys another. I am grateful, of course, yet the implications are many. If he truly was released from his obligations, I will ask him to serve me. But he could be used as a spy. Can I truly trust a member of my inner circle when I know that a word of his Master will turn him against me? Lord Jarek and I are allies now, but it will take almost a century for John to gain his independence. Ah, who am I kidding? Urchin is in the same position and I have involved him in many of my ploys. This is John. He will be by my side. Next, the great question. Why did fate lead me here? What did I gain from this harrowing experience? I know I learned something from turning rogue, even if it was only for a minute: an intimate understanding of my limits and the process of losing oneself to instincts. That is only a side-benefit. The true knowledge is different. Nirari can cast spells via Malakim''s dragon skin armor. The shield was his, I am sure of it. I do not know how he managed that incredible feat, but I assume it has something to do with the shackles binding Malakim to his service. Malakim and Nirari know how Semiramis moves around. It is only a matter of time before they back her into a corner. Nashoba was right, their game is coming to a close. Speaking of which, Semiramis can store the Watcher-forsaken sunlight. Huh. That is quite impressive considering that I was told it was virtually impossible. Sunlight can be captured for a variety of things, but once stored it loses whatever makes it anathema to us. From cleansing fire to shy lantern, it fades, but not for her. Beyond the myriad things I have discovered, the most valuable experience I take from my confrontation is that time is running out and accruing power is not enough. It will never be enough. An alliance will not suffice to stop two gods, no matter how many soldiers I bring to the fray. Nirari cannot be overwhelmed. He forged himself against this eventuality. I need a special weapon, or three. I will find trump cards, powers and items he will not expect. Unpredictability will carry the day. I also know how to kill Malakim as well. I am surprised I did not think of it before. Yes. There is much work to be done. We still have some time. Perhaps a century, perhaps less, and I will be ready. I will have to be. Back outside of my mind, we arrive at a very small camp nestled against an overturned tree. A lanky black man with a short beard and a pair of round glasses sits on a folding chair, his spindly fingers held around the water basin on his lap. He wears a deep green suit over white shirt and tie. He and John look like quite the pair indeed. "Good evening, you must be Owens" I greet. "And to you too milady. You will forgive me if I do not rise, I need to keep an eye on our departing friends." Ah yes, he uses the water in the basin as focus for a heaven''s eye spell, something that can track people from afar. I remember that it is quite taxing on the mind. My sire most likely detected the scrying and allowed it on account of his agreement with Jerak. If Owens had tried to spy inside the cavern, things might have gone differently. The mage was wise to keep it light. "Nirari?" "Lord Nirari and his lost souls, yes. They are on their way east." I can scarcely believe it. He would truly let me go without a fight? He did not seem so eager to pursue me, but I would think that he would make a token effort to get me back if only for the sake of his reputation. Hold on. "And Malakim? His servant?" "They are together. His servant appears¡­ indisposed. He was missing part of his head before being shoved into a coffin." "I see." I consider his words in silence. I was¡­ so full of questions and uncertainty but they all flit around my head, escaping my efforts to concentrate. Clarity eludes me. There was something else though, something quite important¡­ Ah, yes. "Do you have any news about my nephew? He was a prisoner of the Mexicans, last I checked." "Ah, then you will be delighted to learn that following the victory of the United States at the battle of Palo Alto, an exchange of captives was agreed and that your nephew will be returned safe and sound." I glare at Owens, whose expression turns instantly worried. Is that it? I came to rescue someone and they just¡­ rescued themselves? And I had to rescue myself too? I feel cheated. I am also relieved that I would not fail my promise, even if through no fault of my own. Very well then, I shall complete my mission then return north. The Rosenthal and I have much to discuss. The future of the world depends on it. Chapter 112 - 107. Choosing sides The lieutenant who so generously lent me his tent chose candles to light its interior. The soft yellow glow basks the insides in a cozy brilliance. It gleams on medals, blades, and the shiny buttons of his spare vest. In contrast, my nephew''s expression is dark indeed. Upon learning that a relative had come, he had stormed in with righteous outrage. Now, his inquisitive eyes roam from John''s imposing form to my more familiar one. Eventually, curiosity needles him forward. "Do we know each other?" he asks coldly. Ah, yes, the arrogance of youth. I am pleased to learn that incarceration left his spirit undampened. "You can consider me as a¡­ relative of sorts. I came here on your father''s request, Richard." "And how come I have never heard of you before?" he demands. "The request," I go on, "was to keep an eye on you and make sure you do not lose your life pointlessly. I came here tonight to offer you a legitimate way out of your current employment, should you want one." Richard scoffs and the gesture reminds me of my brother. His eyes are the same blue, though his hair is brown, and he is leaner than Achille used to be. I notice a rebellious fire in his stance that my sibling always lacked. My brother was always content with the status quo. Richard wears the uniform of the dragoons well. "Look, I don''t know who you are miss, but if you expect me to believe¡ª" "Where are we?" I calmly interrupt. Anger fills him and I am once more reminded that I look like a young woman, not some grizzled authority figure to be instinctively obeyed. I could solve all my issues with a hint of Charm, but that is not why I came here. "Where are we? We are in Mexico!" "No, we are in your commanding officer''s tent, the use of which I was graciously offered to conduct my business. It should tell you more than you need to know about our respective positions. Now, I will repeat again, do you want to leave the service of the army and return to Louisiana without any legal consequences?" I can tell from his uncertain glare that Richard has trouble accepting my presence. Thankfully, John comes to the rescue as he used to. Truly, we have lost nothing of our teamwork. He shrugs and readjusts his posture. Massive muscles roll under his well-cut clothes like tectonic plates, attracting the eye as they readjust for maximum comfort. Great swathes of cloth groan and strain under the titanic pressure and buttons stretch to their very limit in a display that never fails to catch the eye. John captures Richard''s attention, forcing it up to a pair of condescending dark eyes. A primal chemistry occurs in my nephew''s mind, one that has guided his species for millennia. It goes like this: The human mountain range before me could probably snap my spine between two fingers. He looks like he lifts boulders for fun. I should respect him. He obeys the woman. Therefore, I should respect her. And there lays the crux of both my joy and my annoyance. My appearance is a lure to lower the guard of the most careful of foes. That same appearance prevents me from being taken seriously by those unfamiliar with the size of my network and bank account. Instead, they will fear John, the colossal paragon of virile masculinity, silently admiring the humongous size of his biceps. Even though I could massacre him in mere moments. Life is strange. In any case, Richard finally takes us seriously. "I know what father thinks of my endeavor, miss. We had words. I must also admit that the one battle I have been in rid me of some of my preconceived notions on war. None of it matters, because I took an oath." My nephew searches my expression. Perhaps he expected a rebuke? He soon resumes his argument. "I took an oath to defend my country and I fully intend to fulfill it." I resist the urge to remind him that he is hardly participating in a defensive war. It would be hypocritical of me to criticize someone fighting for more territory. "And there is something else," he adds after a delay, "I am fighting for my men." His expression changes as he speaks, going from declamatory to thoughtful. He turns his gaze to the flickering light of a candle as he delves into his own mind. "At first I thought we would crush their army in a heroic fight. Charge their lines with sabers and bayonets in one glorious assault, with God on our side. When we got caught and surrounded with Thornton it was a different affair. Messy. Confusing. And the smell! But what mattered is that I gathered my people and tried to get them out and when we failed, I kept us together. Two of the lads from the squadron tried to run for it by themselves and got shot down. Another squad got overwhelmed almost immediately. It was then that I realized how much of a difference I could make. Not for the whole war, mind you. For those around me. I think that was the first time I truly understood what responsibility meant." Richard stops there and I can tell from the steel in his voice that he will not allow himself to leave so easily. I am intrigued, and decide to test his resolve. "Richard, my coming here was your father''s dying wish," I tell him with a soft voice. Surprise then grief animate the soldier, in a controlled display. He is troubled. I can taste it. Richard readjusts himself in his seat as his eyes shine with unshed tears. I give him a moment. "My father is dead?" he finally asks. "Yes." "And his dying wish¡­ was that I would come back?" Hah! He got me there. Schooling my expression, I reply earnestly: "No, his last wish was that I should protect you from dying pointlessly. He would not rob you of your choice, even if that choice leads to your death." "Then¡­ I believe that I will stay." I allow myself a smile. If he stays, I have to stay. That was my promise. I cannot stop him from dying in battle, but I can protect him from night-time ambushes, politics, and magical attacks. Although the task will be time-consuming, I admit that I would have been disappointed if he had broken his oath. Hopefully, the war will be brought to a swift conclusion. Two nights later. The Accords constrain few freedoms when it comes to the management of one''s territory. Constantine understood from the start that a federation of vampires from very different backgrounds could only be achieved by leaving the grumpy old monsters to their own designs whenever possible. Conversely, the rules defining intervention in each other''s territory, general defense of our kind, and intervention in human conflicts are strictly defined. I keep a copy of the official document with my baggage just so that I can follow protocol to its last exacting detail. In this case, I was given leave to travel by Lord Jarek but not leave to stay, which leads me to the Natalis sovereign''s personal hacienda by the sea. I need to negotiate my status as a long-term guest. I also need to ask him a few questions concerning John. He and Owens are now taking care of his security from a Natalis base by Fort Texas. The front remains calm, for now, and I have no choice anyway. Metis and I follow a path along the beach, passing by shrubs and palm trees. The air smells of the ocean, damp earth, and orange trees. Jarek''s domain begins at a pair of white columns dug into the ground at an angle, as if by a giant. I suspect that it might actually be the case. The hacienda soon comes into view. The Natalis compound is a curious collection of buildings showing vastly different architectures. The main building is a square block of yellow stone under a gently sloping roof made of red tiles. Lanterns decorate the inner courtyard and its vaulted promenade to show tables covered with food. It is also the only concession to local preferences. As I follow the path through a well-maintained lawn, I spot what looks like a medieval castle, a large house with a high roof covered with thatch with its entire fa?ade displaying the wooden beams underneath the plaster. There is even a sort of massive circular hut. Even at the late hour, the land is filled with workers and their many children. The people are definitely on the muscular side of the scale. Even the bookish ones look like they could run miles without trouble. One such person approaches me with the uncertain manner of one who suspects I might be important, but not exactly how important. "I am Ariane of the Nirari," I start. "Oh, of course! Lord Jarek has been expecting you. This way, please." Owen probably warned him of my coming. I climb down from Metis'' back and follow after the subservient man to the side of the hacienda and onto a rectangular field dotted with athletic tools, deserted at this time of the night. In the distance, tilled fields alternate with wildland filled with shrubbery. Towers rise here and there, occupied by men with muskets. My surprise increases the deeper we travel into the property. I pass by a longhouse coming right out of one of Loth''s memories followed by a boxy construction of harsh white stone with deep blue shutters and a flat roof. The carnival of architectures finally calms down when the path snakes to the sea and along the beach. There, the locals have built a jetty that stabs into the sea with a large rock at its end. The stone is a monolith of smooth black rock upon which a man sits. Its shiny surface reflects the light of torches making it look as if fireflies were trapped within obsidian depths. My sense of perspective plays tricks on me as I take in the man meditating at its top. Either the pier is very narrow, or the man and the stone are quite large. Of course, I know which is which. "Did you create a path to that stone? It looks quite lovely," I ask of my guide. "No no," the man replies with a hint of fear, "he liked the stone, so he grabbed it and moved it there." Ah. I look at the size of that massive boulder, standing at the edge of being a geographical feature. Alright then. If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Lord Jarek opens his hazel eyes to watch us approach with a benevolent smile. He wears loose black trousers, a white shirt, and a red sash around his waist. He looks positively piratey. The merry costume does a good job of hinting at his massive musculature instead of emphasizing it so that a passerby could mistake him for something other than a warrior. I assume that I am meeting him at his most casual, in the heart of his domain. I appreciate the implied show of trust. "Good evening, Ariane of the Nirari," he greets as we reach the bottom of his rock. His voice is very deep with a gravelly quality that I find rather attractive. His face is handsome too, in a squarish, manly sort of way. I am not surprised that he would be so popular with the gentler sex during his short stay in Boston. "You may leave," he informs my guide who then scurries away. Then, he pats the stone by his side and, with a short jump, I join him on his unusual throne. We watch the hacienda for a while in companionable silence, with the sound of waves providing a rhythmical background. "Do you like my domain?" he finally asks. "I find it beautiful. If you allow me a question, why are there so many different types of houses?" I ask. Jarek''s expression grows wistful. He searches my face for some unknown sign. Although I am not accustomed to such a direct, confrontational gaze, I allow it. I can tell that this is important. "Do you know how bloodline powers came to be?" he asks. I need to be careful not to reveal too much. "They reflect the desire of the Progenitor, yes?" "Correct. I briefly met the first of our kind. He turned me," he announces. I am quite surprised, and he can tell. "Yes, I am old. Natalis was a simple man, a tortured man. When he was changed, he received the two things he had been craving: more strength and tranquility." "Tranquility?" "Yes, tranquility. A storm of thoughts and reflection rages in all minds, be they that of vampires or mortals. Suggestions, ideas, criticisms, memories, your spirits fly from one concept to another like bumblebees to flowers. Natalis found the constant noise abhorrent and had it suppressed. This is our weakness." "Is this truly a weakness? You make it sound like meditation," I object. "Our tranquility is born from emptiness," he explains while staring in the distance, "not calm. Our power robs us of initiative and idle reflection. It is, after yours, perhaps the greatest burden imposed on a bloodline. It has cost us our independence and our status on many occasions. Painted us as simpletons. The current Natalis holds in Europe are poor and scattered as a result. But not here." He points at the visible buildings. "I invited my brothers and sisters and told them to build what they wanted for once in their life. They flocked to my banners in unexpected numbers and turned this domain into a proper village. The locals were only too happy to be under our protection from raiders and beasts. They think we are sorcerers, and do not mind the blood and nightly habits." "Those houses are personal projects then?" "Yes. One of our Vassals is an excellent architect. He has helped us bring those projects to fruition, and we had our fun helping. Amusingly, those are not always childhood homes. Christiana''s house imitates the Mediterranean style she saw during her stay on the Greek island of Santorin." "The white house with the blue roof?" "Indeed." I keep quiet for a while, and wonder who, when presented with such rich variety, would choose to live in that hut I saw. Oh, well. "You did not come here to discuss architecture, I take it?" Jarek notes with an amused smile. "My apologies, and you are correct. I want to bargain for the right to stay in your domain." "And keep an eye on your nephew?" "Until the war ends, yes." Jarek ponders my request for a few seconds. "You will assist me with a task of my choosing, and handle your own nourishment. You are allowed a retinue of no more than ten people at any time. In return, you will hunt up to one target a month. You may also call upon me to protect your relative in your absence, should you have a need to travel." "Those are generous terms," I observe. "We are allies, are we not? Besides, this is not even close to the greatest service I have done for you." Jarek turns to me and I am caught in the intensity of his stare. I am reminded now that he is ancient and powerful even when his aura remains politely subdued. "Is it?" he insists. "John," I say. "Indeed. Though you may want to call him Doe in public, as we already had a John." "Why?" "Why what?" he answers with deceptive lightness. Ah, a game. "Why did you release him from your service to be by my side? John is a competent and loyal subordinate, and he is still a fledgling. You could have just detached him for a week instead of leaving him under my care so freely. It does not make sense." To my surprise, Lord Jarek chuckles. The deep laugh rumbles in his chest like a small avalanche. "You assume much, little Devourer. For example, you assume that I frenetically gather assets and underlings like you do. Or like Sephare does. I have my haven and I have my friends with more on the way. One fledgeling will not make a difference." "But¡­" Jarek lifts his hand to forestall my protests. "You are scrambling for power. Newly ascended Masters do the same while Sephare does it because she cut herself from her powerbase, though admittedly, her latest stunt had already cost her their support. I do not function under the same imperatives. I intended to return John to you shortly. Your sire''s timing merely forced my hand. "And before you ask, no I do not treat all my allies with so much care." "Then why me?" "Because you are a Devourer." There it is again. Allies and enemies alike treat me the way they do because of my bloodline, not because of how I act. "I see that my words frustrate you," Jarek states in an amused tone. I immediately school both my face and my aura. "I will explain myself for your sake. When your sire came to me to request free operation within my land and secrecy therein, I accepted his terms because I had no choice." I gaze at Jarek in wonder. It is quite unusual for a lord to admit weakness. "I am a second-generation vampire, like you. My martial prowess is almost unequalled among the Natalis and others. I stand at the pinnacle of physical power and yet, I do not stand a chance against your maker. At all. Nothing will ever narrow the gap between us." Lord Jarek cracks a sliver of basaltic rock from the monolith under him between his fingers and flicks it in the ocean. "Bloodlines are not made equal. None can match the intellect of the older Rosenthal lords, or the guile of the Hastings. We were never meant to balance each other. In terms of combat, Devourers are in a class of their own if they live long enough. You are still a fresh and small little thing, and yet your power already matches that of a trained master while you have been one of us for only half a century. In another hundred years, you could be among the deadliest fighters in the world" "You want me to oppose my sire," I state, "but it is impossible." "For now. Perhaps forever. It matters not. Any odds are better than zero. You are our only hope of ever matching Nirari and his second, so when I learned that you had been captured I dispatched Owens and our newest fledgling to your location. I ordered the pair to stand ready to assist you when you escaped and, as I expected, you did. I left Doe with you because you might need more help and this is as much as I can get away with." Something he said bothers me. "I am not the only living free scion. I know of Svyatoslav." Jarek shakes his head. "Your brother chose another path. He roped himself in codes and obligations. His oaths are both armor and shackles. He picked the bow as his soul weapon too, thus forfeiting your emblematic power." I remember Torran mentioning it and shake my head, still disbelieving. Why would he use a bow as a soul weapon? The crystallized essence is meant to be used to fight against our own kind as it would be wasted on anything else. And he chose a bow? Unthinkable, from my perspective. I hold guns in high regard, and I still know better than to rely on something that runs out of ammunition so quickly to fight against another vampire. "Your reaction speaks for itself, young one. Only you walk in the steps of your progenitor." "I really cannot catch up," I observe. Again, Jarek does not seem disappointed. "If we are to oppose him, your strength alone will not suffice. It will, however, be the bare minimum required to even think of fighting. You understood that. That is why you have not scoured the land imbibing blood wherever you went. Your Hunts have been efficient and you have taken time to learn how to duel, and apparently how to cast spells as well. This is the proper way. If you cannot win a contest of strength, then do not fight a contest of strength." "You have been keeping tabs on me," I reproach. My arcane training is not common knowledge. There is not even a hint of amusement in the old monster''s eyes. "Of course, I have. Me and the others. You are not the only investment we have made to improve our chances, but you are one of the more promising." "You are preparing for conflict besides fighting my sire?" "Indeed. We expect our European cousins to start testing us quite soon. There are some on this land who will side with them and others, like me, who would rather be left alone. A Devourer could be a game changer if you survive that long. " "You seem quite confident that I would side with you," I remark, a bit miffed that they would assume so much. "I am," he answers calmly. Annoying. "Your aura has changed," he remarks after a few seconds, "I know what you have been through." My aura? Could it be because I went rogue? "Do not worry, those of us who can tell have been through the same thing. There is no stigma. Remember the pain and more importantly, remember that you endured it. I wish to return to my meditation. You may stay here at any time you wish in the future. I will contact you when I have decided upon a task." For one moment I consider asking about the spikey growth that appeared when I went mad, but I know when I have been dismissed, and so I stand, curtsey, and climb down the rock. A female Vassal with pale skin and a lazy smile awaits me at the end of the pier to show me to my quarters. As we walk, I think. I should have expected Jarek and the others to plan for an eventual conflict with the major clans. They are the ones who can actually do something, and also those who have the most to lose. I did not imagine that they would try to nurture me as a sort of deterrent against them and my sire. Sometimes, I find it difficult to assess exactly how important I am to various factions. This time, their hope in my potential saved my sanity. In any case, I must now focus on finding tools and knowledge to use against my kind, and the sooner I get started, the better. As to who can help me, why, the answer is obvious. My friend glares at me with disdain though there is mirth in his brown eyes. "Oh, great one, the Rosenthal consortium is simply amazed by your insight. We need powerful artefacts and magic to oppose Lord Nirari! What a revelation. We, who have been the custodians of our kin for the past few centuries, have never ever considered that we needed a contingency plan in case he threw the gauntlet! Truly, the light of thine intellect shines upon thine unworthy¡ª" "Yes, yes, I get it, I am not the first to come up with this obvious idea" I interrupt, rolling my eyes, "please spare me the sass and tell me if I can join your merry band of peaceful murder planners. You need a hand to wield those mysterious tools, no?" Salim''s face wavers in the mirror I use to contact him, courtesy of the Natalis. My control is not yet perfect. The mirror''s surface undulates like a sea at low tide from the power I feed it. When he speaks again, his voice is serious. "Am I to understand that you intend to go against your sire if you can?" "Yes, I do." "Ariane, I need you to be sure. If you wish to commit with us there will be binding agreements. We have a friendly and fruitful relationship going, retracting your proposal would not go well." "Yes, I am quite sure." He pauses for a moment, giving me a chance to reconsider. I have no need to do so. "Very well. I will contact my hierarchy. Expect us to get in touch very soon. Goodbye Ariane." "Goodbye, Salim." I close the connection. The die is cast and all that. In a way, meeting Nirari and Malakim was salutary. It reminded me of the end game. There is another I could contact, who could grant me much power. I focus my attention on the mirror once more and push south, very far to the south. Soon, a connection is formed and I pour a torrent of power in the construct to stabilize the link. The face of a small boy with a beret on top of his fluffy dark hair appears, bobbing up and down with excitement. "Oh hello there!" "Greetings Makyas, I would speak with Sinead, if you please. I have a business proposal for him." The childish countenance falls away and what smirks now does so with sharp little teeth. S§×arch* The novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Chapter 113 - 108. The Other Sphere When I arrived in camp, dysentery did not rate high in the list of probable causes of death for Richard. That was underestimating mortal stupidity. The army made camp on the banks of the Rio and waited for reinforcements before heading south. Between June and July of 1846, its ranks swelled from two to ten thousand with an influx of volunteer regiments. The newcomers are a rabble of unsanitary louts. The stench of their squalid dens alone can be smelled from a mile away, five if I stand downwind. Between this, the Rio Grande''s waters, and the sweltering heat, the camp at Camargo has become a haven for all sorts of diseases. I end up bringing a medical mage from Marquette just to make sure my relative would not end up as a dehydrated corpse wallowing in his own refuse. Fortunately for me, though unfortunately for them, volunteers are the first victims of their own lack of preparations. Most of the regulars remain untouched. When it becomes clear that Taylor will not campaign at the height of summer, I relax my constant surveillance and agree to my first mission for the Natalis. This land is warm. Even now at night, I can smell the remnants of heat on the yellowed grass, the cracked earth. Shrubs of darkened wood speak of a day without shade or respite. An open-air oven. Metis'' steps cause little puffs of dust to pop in the air. Lord Jarek mentioned a cult of spellcasters hiding near the Rio west and north of Fort Texas, and he sent me to investigate. They did not choose to live near an existing town, so I had to locate them by trailing one of their supply convoys. The only problem I notice as I approach the clearing where they made their camp, is that they appear to have been massacred. The stench of death and the buzz of flies would have warned me if the towering columns of black smoke had not been enough. Frustrating. Someone stole the prey. Well, the more mundane, boring prey. "Cover me," I order John who follows me on foot. My faithful servant angles to the side of the dirt path to find a vantage point, silent as he goes. I follow the narrow path surrounded by dried out trees at a leisurely pace, taking the time to expand my senses. I quickly taste the remnants of a fire spell in the smoke and embers. A lone human heartbeat thumps angrily in defiance to the desolation around. Its owner remains hidden to my left when I pass by the wreck of the first carriage. A body lies near, half of its chest ravaged by buckshot. A flash of recognition at its garb sends a wave of fear in my heart before I realize that I am not in danger. The body wears a purple cloak with gold filigree just like the victims in the complex I visited with Malakim. Thankfully, both he and Nirari left the region. The cult remains, or at least some of it does. All three carriages were left in a line by the side of the open ground while the center is occupied by a cooking fire. Only the last item was ever meant to be ignited. Cultist handymen in simple clothes lie here and there while their four guards still grab their weapons with the stiff grip of rigor mortis. They certainly put up a fight, but they only managed to fell two of their attackers. There were three. On the other side of the clearing, near the first shrubs that cover the hill, I spot the corpse of a man who fell where he fought. He gazes at the stars with his one remaining eye. A lucky shot caught him right in the head. Another was dragged against a desolate tree, exsanguinated. His lifeblood smears his shirt and improvised bandages, shining a delicate shade of crimson against the steady fire. The pool around his prone figure shows that the efforts to save him were in vain. He is young. I lightly nudge Metis and she stops. I stare at the lone survivor''s hiding place until he stands up cautiously, red-coated hands strangling a shotgun. "Well, I''ll be. A woman." Fantastic tools of deduction there. I make no effort to move or breathe. He is a lone human under no particular protection, my staple food these days. "And what''s a pretty thing doing alone, here at this hour?" he demands. I inspect him with some interest as he does the same. He is a man of medium size, well built, with light brown eyes and a magnificent dark mustache that splits his head in two like an axe wound. He wears a long duster powdered with red earth, caked blood up to his elbows, as well as a wide-trimmed hat. A revolver hangs by his side and he bears on his breast the star of a marshal. A lawman! How quaint. "Are you an officer or are you a bandit?" I retort with innocence. The man is cautious, and I respect him for that. He alternates nervously between Metis, me, and some unidentified threat at our back with his gun brandished as if daring us to act. "Marshal Sheridan, ma''am, Texas Ranger. Now I''ll ask you to kindly tell me what the hell you''re doing out here," he says, and lifts a hand to grab Metis'' bridle. My precious Nightmare lifts her head, suddenly interested by five potential crunchy snacks. "I would not try that if I were you," I suggest, and his hand falls away. I can see the telltales of a man at the end of his rope. His nerves are raw and exposed, visible in the erratic movements of his hands and the bloodshot quality of his eyes. "You and I were after the same quarry, except that I intended to follow them to their base and you¡­ removed that option." "Those men were mad!" he suddenly screams, "Mad as hares the lots of them! Lunatics! I''d never¡­ never¡­" The shotgun in his hands aims down. A great shiver shakes his tired frame. A dam opens. "They never gave us the time. We were just asking questions¡­ I have been a ranger for four years and I have never seen such a¡­ Logan. James. I am sorry." As quickly as it appeared, the weakness is hidden behind a curtain of steely resolve. Sheridan regains control of his emotion with visible effort. "That ain''t here or now. Lady, you are confusing me. Quarry you say? That doesn''t sound right at all." "And yet," I reply with amusement, "here we are, and I would bet solid gold that an armed woman is far from being the strangest thing you have witnessed tonight hmmm? A bit of wizardry, perhaps?" "How did you know?" he asks with distrust. "I told you. We are after the same people. What differentiates us is that I knew exactly what I was going to face." I did not exactly lie. I exaggerated. Exaggerating is a form of gloating, and a perfectly acceptable occupation for a respectable young vampire. "Devilry¡­" Sheridan mutters. He resumes his inspection, this time more thoughtful than wary. His gaze travels along my travel dress, the lightly armored kind, my rifle, and to the revolvers on my hips. "Do you even know how to use those?" he scoffs. I draw and shoot his cap off. "JESUS¡­ FUCK!" he screams as he falls on his behind and scrambles away. I do not move, except for patting the gun I used to unhat him. Metis snorts, as is her wont when someone gets humiliated before her august presence. Sheridan climbs to his feet and recovers the mishandled headdress. He shoves a finger in the newly made ventilation hole ¡ª you are welcome Sheridan ¡ª and shakes his head for what must have been the twelfth time. "I must be mad." "I find it amusing that you would face a flame-tossing wizard, yet a girl with a gun aggravates you." "I had heard about flame-tossing wizards before¡­" he grumbles, before stepping back. "The world has turned on its head. Or I was indeed shot, and I am lying in some ditch hallucinating the whole scene." "Or perhaps someone came to answer your call in your hour of need." "Do you bring salvation?" he asks, hope flaring. "Perhaps¡­" "Are you¡­ an angel?" he says with uncertainty. I give him my most unmoving, cold smile. I let the dancing lights of the improvised funeral pyre shine on a hint of fang, red and shiny. Just enough to make him flinch. Metis rakes the ashes beneath her with a heavy hoof. "Do I look like an angel?" I get a great answer. Sheridan scrambles back, white as a sheet. He signs himself in his terror as his succulent heartbeat drums a merry tune to compliment the crackle of the fire. I missed this. "If you are here for my soul¡­" "Nothing so crass, I assure you. As I said, I am here to, shall we say, purify this land of their presence. Us meeting here was merely¡­ divine providence." I taste ash on my tongue as the religious terms cross my lips. The world does not like it when I skirt the rules. It lets me know in no uncertain terms. "You want me to pair up with you? A witch? Never! The lord is with me and I will never align with the forces of evil!" "Ah, so you would leave those who murdered your friends unpunished. I understand." "I know that I won''t forfeit my immortal soul!" "I already told you. It is not yours that I am here to collect." I am genuinely curious now. Will he take the bait? I have never worked with someone who sees themselves as virtuous and possesses an inkling as to what I am. The possibilities intrigue me. And if things come to a head, well¡­ I can always use a snack. Sheridan considers my offer with more seriousness than I expected. His attention turns to the bodies of his previous allies and only now do I see the glint of a star on their chests. At the sight of their lifeless forms, his body hardens. It gains an iron quality I have seen in humans who will pursue a goal to its bitter end. Vengeance has overtaken justice. "You are not after my soul, you swear?" "I am simply not interested in it and I will not go after it. You have my word." Sear?h the N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. What is it with humans and souls? I cannot even eat those. Pah. "Well¡­" His gaze hardens. "Dammit all. I have to complete my mission. At any cost." Our eyes meet. "Any cost. I will go after those loony heathens, and hell will come with me." "That it will, Mr. Sheridan, that it will." In the next few minutes, I silently assist Sheridan with the gruesome tasks of preparing the bodies of his friends. He places them on planks of wood he recovered from the wreck and covers them with mostly unburned tarp. I stand at a distance as he mutters a few prayers, then stand where I am as he climbs up the valley to recover his horse. I am lucky to have absorbed Erenwald essence or this partnership would have ended here and there, with a horrified horse. Instead, the poor gelding is merely made nervous by Metis'' scent. "Will you return for the bodies?" I finally ask. "We have patrols in the area. They will be found within one or two days with the smoke. I hope. I can do nothing for them anyway." I should not have mentioned it. The weather is very warm. The stench of carrion is sure to attract a multitude of animals eager for an easy meal. "You did not seem too surprised by the presence of a witch among our foes," I idly remark. "There have been rumors lately. We were told to fear more than the curses of the savages. Strange creatures. Abnormal beasts. The world is getting stranger and darker," he complains. Ah. I was expecting that. For a long time, magic had been a misunderstood and mysterious part of the world. Soldiers and peasants in the middle ages accepted magic as a fact of everyday life, making few differences between the potions of an herbalist and the hexes of one burnt at the stake. Even madmen or epileptics were part of the supernatural world on the level of gnomes, elves and korrigans. Enlightenment and the rise of the natural sciences have lifted the veil of mystery over many phenomena. Thunderbolts are electricity. Epilepsy is merely a disease. The potions of herbalists are chemical compounds with salutary effects on the flesh of man, and so on and so forth. The winds of change have stripped away much of the fog of superstition, but what remains now only stands in sharper contrast. Worse, the development of reliable means of communication, the multiplication of newspapers and centralized governments now shed light on magical creatures and their true capabilities. Most communities make a good attempt at remaining hidden, so the mortals in power probably underestimate the size of the supernatural population in their midst. The status quo will not last forever. I believe it is only a matter of time before we are revealed in a world that abhors differences. We must prepare. Creating bonds with mortal agents might be a first step towards protecting ourselves. I will treat my cooperation with Sheridan as a proof of concept and converse with Sephare. She has her fingers in a great many pies, and she understands politics better than most. If anyone knows how to manage the transition when it happens, it will be her. As I ponder, we follow the lone track away from the encampment and towards a series of hills in the distance. The night is as bright as a winter day, with a gibbous moon on a cloudless sky. I find myself bubbling with questions. "So, have you hunted witches before?" "Only once," Sheridan intones, "we chased a group of Comanches who had abducted women from an isolated farm. We hung the lot and the oldest of them cast a curse upon us. Lo and behold, five months later George was completely bald. Terrible thing, that." "Uhu," I answer noncommittally. Nevermind. "And there was that time where we had to kill a buffalo that was twice the normal size! And it could destroy a house by charging through it!" "Ah yes. I am familiar with the oversized fauna." Truth be told, they are much less amusing to hunt than feral werewolves. They lack the vicious cunning that makes the bipedal prey entertaining, with the notable exception of that alligator that almost ate me. Sheridan''s mood collapses. My distraction only pushed his grief and suspicion away for a moment. I am, once more, inspected from head to toe. "Are you really a witch?" "Of a sort." "So¡­ you¡­ and the devil¡­" It only takes me an instant to know exactly which myth he is referring to. "What? No! Noooo. That is not how it happens!" "Then what happened? What pushed such a nice young thing like you to¡­ do whatever you do?" His tone is gruff, yet strangely nonjudgmental. I remain silent for a while, searching his face for signs of disgust and finding none. Whether out of misplaced chivalry or true curiosity, his interest appears genuine. It is, I believe, the first time in my life that someone asks me this question. The men and women I interact with either do not care or know better than to ask. There has not been a single Devourer turned consensually since the first one. We were only allowed to die after being broken and humiliated. "It was not by choice," I begin, and falter under this stranger''s full attention. I never considered how to explain it. "It was not by choice," I try again, "I met someone at a social event a long time ago." "The devil?" "The closest thing this world has to the devil. He was mature, handsome, and charming. He was also an acceptable prospect for a well-to-do young woman. Champagne and sweet wine made me daring, and my audacity amused him enough to garner his attention." "What happened then?" Sheridan asks softly. "He killed me and turned me into something like him." "He turned you into one of his servants." Did he? "Not even that. I was made out of one part convenience and two parts fun." "For fun?" he exclaims. "For fun." "That sounds like a tough deal alright. Any chance you can, you know, redeem yourself?" "Not even death can redeem us because we already died once." My companion is not the best conversationalist, as I should have realized before. He ruminates on my words. Actually, he is ruminating on a piece of tobacco chew he removed from a breast pocket. I still appreciate the concern. "You were dealt a bad hand, miss." He chews pensively. "¡­ but you seem alright. My father used to say you got yourself and you got the world. If you were turned into some kind of demon lady in waiting or something and you still decided to go after faithless heathens like the fellows we''ll soon meet, well, you''re alright in my book." And just like that I have been vetted. I do not think I will ever grow used to how strangely accepting some people are of my nature. Papa was the first and there were others too, like Cecil Rutherford Bingle. Perhaps they are trying to make sense of the world through acceptance, or perhaps they simply have an open mind. Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. "We should plan," I finish. "Right. What do you know about those lunatics?" he asks. "They are part of an unnamed decentralized cult made of several cells that cooperate for supplies and knowledge. My associates and I believe that they trade with Comanche raiders for funds, among other things. From the size of the supply convoy and the regularity of the runs I would say that their base has between fifteen and twenty people, plus the ones you already eliminated, with at least five being women and untrained for war. They will have at least one other spellcaster of unknown strength. I expect the camp to be hidden over there," I say and point to the hills in front of us. "You can see a bit of smoke trailing over the vale right behind that cliff there. We can expect sentinels that we can dispatch if we are careful. As for weaponry, they can have anything from antiquated Brown Bess to Models eighteen forty-one cap locks they filched off some rich victims so you must remain careful." I stop and turn to Sheridan who is no longer chewing. His mouth hangs open. "You sure know your business, huh?" he finally says. "I always prepare if it is at all possible. Why? What put you on their trail?" "Kidnapping. Lots of settlers around here. Sometimes, some go missing. Bandits, raiders, sometimes they just get lost or die from diseases. We help whenever we can. I suppose we found what other source of financing they use heh?" "Ransoms? No. Abduction is a strange choice for them. Relatives may try to locate them to rescue the captives and they already have an efficient way to recruit new minions if they must. Hmm. I hope this is not what I think it is." "What do you mean?" "There are more than a hundred pounds of edible tissue in an average person." "Jesus woman, I hope you''re joking!" "So do I." Cannibals disgust me. Only those who have devolved to less than humanity would stoop so low. They also share a dreadful tendency not to wash themselves, which makes feeding a much less pleasurable experience. Also, lice. My latest remark sours the mood. Sheridan does not object when I lead angle off-track and dismount a short distance away. "We will make our approach on foot under the cover of the shrubbery. If they have even one sentry, they will be watching the road." I pick up my newest rifle from Metis'' harness and place a hand on the girl''s neck before she can take off. "No eating his colleagues," I warn her. She shakes her head in an equine ''maybe''. I can never be sure exactly how smart Metis is. I highly suspect that she is sharper than she lets on and pretends not to understand when it fits her temperament and her stomach. A bit like a cat if cats shattered rib cages for fun. "You are not tying her up?" Sheridan asks. "No need. She will be here if I need it." "So¡­ a magical horse?" he asks, and Metis snorts as she trots away. "Yes. She comes with increased stamina and sass." "Huh. Say, I have one more question." "Do tell." "It''s just that I have never seen real magic. I mean, I saw street magicians who could guess cards and the likes but I suppose that it''s all tricks. So, magic. Can you show me some? Because so far all I have is your word for it, and I feel a little bit like a fool. No offense." "None taken. Light." A small orb of purple light emerges from the center of my gauntlet, hidden beneath my sleeve. Sheridan fixes the selfish lantern with his sad brown eyes, then turns his attention to me. He studies my face now basked in the treacherous radiance and I meet his gaze with my own. "You are older than you appear, are you not?" "Excellent guess, Sheridan." He now turns a bit sheepish. "So¡­. How old are you exactly?" "Ranger!" I tsk, "You should never ask a lady''s age!" "Sorry! I''m just curious, is all." Oh well. If I am going to be honest to see his reaction, I might as well go all the way. "I am sixty-four." "Wow! Just like my nanna then!" he realizes. The exclamation turns his face a delicate shade of tulip. "Just like your nanna," I parrot, amused, but he now stares at the orb once again. "It''s pretty enough, I guess," he whispers. "Not what I expected from, well, devilry." "I get my powers from being what I am. Most other folks have powers because their ancestors frolicked with fairies. No devil involved." "Really? With fairies?" "To be fair," I remark while thinking about a specific amber-eyed villain, "they can be rather seductive." "Right. That''s¡­ a lot to take in." I hang my rifle over my shoulder. "Then take it in on the way. We have a busy night and must be done before morning. I have a very sensitive skin. The sun is bad for it." "What, will you burst into flames?" he laughs. "Yes." "Oh." We move forward in silence. The visibility is good tonight which is a double-edged sword. My companion will be able to see but so will our foes. This is the moment where I hesitate. I agreed to take this Hunt for Lord Jarek and I intend to bring it to a satisfactory conclusion. Sheridan''s presence adds a volatile element to a familiar mix. I am giving myself a disadvantage here. Ah, but I agreed to kill them, not to kill them tonight. Therefore, I can give myself a challenge so long as the task is completed in the end. The Natalis lord would understand, of this I am sure. Should I limit myself to support spells and my firearms? This could be an interesting¡­ ah, who am I kidding, it would be fun. I lovingly caress the engraved surface of my rifle. The revolvers are Jimena''s gift. This is my creation. "Is it a magic gun?" my companion wonders. "Glad you asked. This is a modified eighteen forty-one needle gun from Prussia with a custom firing pin and spring for improved reliability, a self-cooling bolt-action mechanism and percussion-cap, glyphed silver bullets. The barrel is perfectly rifled and reinforced at the base. This, Mr. Ranger, is a marvel of military engineering that can shoot a man dead from half a mile away." I raise my eyes from my creation, only to meet Sheridan''s puzzled expression. "Are you normal? For a witch, I mean." The lout. "You will learn, if you live, that there is little normalcy in our world. Now quiet, we must find their lair and decide on what to do," I grumble. We spend half an hour in silence, moving forward at a brisk pace to the base of the hill. The chest-high shrubbery turns to blackened tufts of grass as the land elevates. There will be no cover to be found here, so I take a full minute to thoroughly inspect the crest. It would be wasteful to put limitations on myself only to fail from overconfidence. Satisfied with my inspection, I move up and end up following Sheridan who endeavors to be first. He sometimes casts a glance back as we scale the incline and the ease with which I keep up needles his pride, so that he has turned into a sweaty, hard-breathing mess by the time we near the summit. "Do you have some sort of demonic constitution?" he gasps. "Of course." This offends him, somehow. "Look," I whisper, and point in the distance. Over the ridge of the hill and on the flank of the next, about two hundred paces away, the cultists have created a small encampment out of a strange ruin. While we have treaded soil on our way up, the opposing slope is rust-colored stone, sheer and vertiginous. The remnants of a village merge seamlessly with the geography, brick walls of the same dye allowing spaces for houses and other buildings. The settlement huddles around a central well next to which the earth is moist and dark. The cult only made a token effort to fit out the place. Most dwellings lie gutted and empty. Only a few openings have been covered with undyed tarp. As expected of a smaller group. A single trail leads from the path we abandoned earlier into a narrow ravine and up a mountain road. A sentinel covered with a cloak sits restlessly on a stone chair, peering at the moonlit approach. I was right. We would have been spotted immediately. I return my attention to the open ground before the well and its content: two rows of cages. The right one is a makeshift thing with an iron and wooden frame over a collapsed house. Multiple pieces of fabric cover it to ward off the sun during the day. I spot moving skin and clothes through the multiple openings. The kidnapped victims. The left one is a nasty steel trap that could contain a feral for hours. It currently hosts a living, drooling Merghol hound. The quadrupedal version. At the sight of the creature, I hiss, causing Sheridan to look on warily. I had forgotten my instinctive reaction because the beasts I had uncovered with Malakim had been quite dead. This one is healthy and kicking and it SHOULD NOT BE HERE. INTRUDER. "You see something?" "One sentry, one magical dog, and your abductees." Sheridan swears. "A dog means we cannot sneak in to¡ª" He stops when the scene changes before us. A group of three people exits the largest building. They wield torches so that even my companion manages to spot them with ease. The trio walks down a few steps to the well and the captives. The leader stops and removes a silvery tube covered in shimmering glyphs from the confines of his cloak that screams of powerful magic. Surprisingly, I feel nothing even if I should be able to perceive its aura with no barrier between us. Even focusing my attention on it yields no result. "What are they doing?" Sheridan whispers. The two other men are clearly muscle. They walk to the human cage and get in. I strain my ears and get a few panicked screams and the telltale impact of a fist on someone''s flesh in the still night. The goons soon drag a young man away from the cage, punch an older woman in the face when she tries to stop them, then slam the entrance close. They drag their victim towards the hound. A hand clamps on my shoulder, causing me to hiss once more. The issue is not physical contact; the issue is boundaries. "Woman, give me that gun," Sheridan orders. "Remove. Your. Hand." My tone brooks no compromise, and the man knows it. Reflexive Charm brings the point home with more certainty than a pistol to the head. We have reached the breaking point long before I anticipated it. I was entertaining an amusing distraction. He was riding with the flow, my strange presence like a fever dream after the loss of his partners. Something pushed him forward. Something stayed my hand. I feel fate tug on me once again, but this time I will do nothing. This moment belongs to him. The world around me tastes of the moment before the fall, when gravity still has to assert itself. "Can you make the shot?" Sheridan asks, his face ghastly. I am showing my fangs now. "Yes. It will reveal our position. Make my task harder." The child is at the cage now. One of the goons climbs on top of it. The hound slams against its prison, in vain. The cage is secured. "Will you not save them?" "Remember who you are talking to." A hesitation. "What will it take for you to save them?" Supplicant. Not just supplicant. Something more. A man who would accept me for who I am without being a monster himself. "I have been looking for someone like you for a very, very long time. Someone who would keep his values and his codes and still tolerate my nature. Let me be clear. I can save all those bumpkins you never met and yet value so much. I can put a bullet in the head of anyone who approaches their cage, then move closer and do much worse. I can do all of that and you cannot because all you have is a pistol and a crappy shotgun made from pig iron served by your pathetic mortal senses. I can do this for you." The first goon opens a smallish trapdoor. The hound rams its massive, ugly lamprey mouth into it and receives a few smacks of a truncheon for its trouble. "In return, you will come and see my world. One hunt is all I ask. Join me, and find out how far that midsummer night dream carries you." The second goon lifts the terrified wreck of the teenager to the top of the cage. "Yes, dammit yes. I will see. I want to see. Show me the world as it is." Something clicks. Then my firing pin clicks. The deflagration takes the cultists by surprise, especially the one on top of the cage when the bullet hits him in the neck. I was aiming for the head but, well, he jumped. I calmly open the bolt, replace the cartridge with a fresh one and close it in one smooth, practiced motion. The second goon was just about to turn when my next shot catches him in the chest. "Cover me, I''ll go save them!" the ranger yells. Then he is off. A few yards to my right, an escarpment juts out above the void below. An athletic adult could easily jump the distance to reach the opposing side without sliding down the ravine, not to mention the grueling climb that would follow. I notice this as my hand locks the third cartridge in its deadly little cradle. The man carrying the unknown artefact would be my next priority since my new objective is to protect the child. Unfortunately, he has more brains than his minions and he hits the ground almost immediately. I can barely spot the tip of his boots as he scrambles behind the well and its successive layers of mortared brick. So much for clearing the place entirely. I still shoot the sentinel as he makes his way back. Sheridan jumps over the chasm and lands on the other side in a puff of reddish dust. At the same time, the huddled form of the artefact holder screams orders to his men still inside. I hear a clang of released metal and a familiar baying. Of course, they would not just have the one hound. I tsk as several of the purple creatures charge into the settlement''s plaza with the grace of rabid bulls. They crash into the abductee''s cage almost immediately, ignoring the cultist as they pass him by. It only takes a moment for the ugliest of them to raise its tentacled snout into the air and breathe like a forge bellow. Sheridan, who had been rushing ahead with the energy of despair, stops in his tracks. The hounds turn in multiple directions. Two of them inspect the cage containing their brethren as well as the lanky youth hiding behind it. The rest focuses on the gesticulating form of the ranger a bit further. "Hey, hey, you big ugly cocksuckers! Come get a piece of this!" Foolish man. The head creature rises to the challenge and the pack follows soon after. I move towards them, firing all the while. I have a problem. The bullets I use could puncture a bear from eyeball to sphincter, but they only slow down the hounds unless I hit something vital and I do not dare take too long to aim. Stupid magic resistance. Sheridan is now sprinting back as fast as his legs can carry him. We reach the promontory at the same time. He jumps, half a dozen beasts barely half a second behind. I drop my rifle and draw a revolver. I lodge two bullets in the first hound''s skull, causing it to stumble in its death throes. The next two hit the corpse in a mad tussle that tilts them over the edge and down the chasm. One more hound. Two more bullets. Three. Another falls down with a yelp. Last hound. I switch to my last gun and empty the six chambers in its misshapen maw. The lead creatures smash into the rocks below. Their ululating shrieks cease. Silence returns. I flip the revolvers on my index a few times, then return them to their holsters with uncanny grace. I am not showing off. Alright, I am showing off, but only to impress the mortals. Displays of skills are an essential part of proper gloating. A quick levitation spell and my rifle jumps into my waiting hand. The shock on Sheridan''s face delights me. "Where did you learn how to shoot like that?!" "Now is not the time to be impressed," I soberly inform the man I was trying to impress, "the work is not done." "Yes, of course. The child." And off we go, running in the other direction again. I make a note to return later and make sure the dead hounds are actually dead. A quick jump, and we rush up the cliffside road to the pair of cages. "Let''s stay low," Sheridan orders, and well he does. We have barely topped the incline when the first bullet flies over us like a furious wasp. "Hold fire, dammit!" a commanding voice hollers in the distance. Ah, the joys of having incompetent underlings. That is why we vampires only recruit carefully instead of raking in anyone with two legs and a pulse. Sheridan sprints forward and fires his shotgun at one of the many maws in the ruins'' pockmarked face. Someone yelps in pain. Not bad. The ranger uses the distraction to slide against the cover of the well. He drops the discharged weapon and grabs his sidearm, a genuine Colt Patterson. "I''ll give you one chance to come out with your hands in the air ''fore I turn your collective asses into a sieve you lily-livered fucks!" Bullets impact the well, showering us with stone shards. "Very eloquent," I comment. "You know, before tonight I had only been in a shootout twice. In four years of service," Sheridan replies conversationally. The hail of bullets intensifies, which means that we will soon have a few seconds while those idiots all reload at the same time. I take a peek over the edge, only to see the man with the artefact lift it. Now that I get a perfect look at it, it resembles a long, girthy tube of silvery metal. The runes on its flank shine ominously as its maw reddens. That cannot be good. "By the Watcher. Get down! Shield," I yell. The purple half-circle is barely formed before the world explodes around us. A tremendous blast vaporizes half of our cover and smashes into my last line of defense. "Ooof!" I am pushed outward and land on Sheridan''s stomach. The ranger fearlessly grabbed me as I was falling. The shield cracks but the strength is enough to deflect the projectile which impacts the other side of the ravine in a great shower of carbonized dust and black grass. My ears ring. I feel like I was punched in the gut with a ship prow. Sheridan lifts me up with a wince and a cough. A cloud of brick powder masks our presence now and the gunfire has abated as our foes wait for the dust to settle. If I were them, I would expect our remains to fit in a snuff box. The feedback from the broken spell courses through my essence and I grit my teeth in pain and anger. Even more so when I take in the desperate state of my combat dress. It was the last one too! Augh! Can''t my foes spend one bloody night without ruining my wardrobes!? The insufferable¡­. Curs! "YOU HAVE BEEN VERY NAUGHTY!" I bellow to no one in particular. "You''re alive?" the artefact wielder exclaims. This kind of shameless observation only deserves the hardest of rebuke. I lift my gauntlet and consider the full catalog of horrible, bowel-dissolving, skin-peeling hexes I could unleash on my foes when I spot something at the edge of my vision and the very idea comes crashing down. Inside the cage, the one surviving hound gnaws on a steel bar with unmitigated ferocity, giving me a full vision of its collar. The strangeness of the situation surprises me so much that my attention lapses and, if I had been facing vampires, I would have been in danger. Nothing comes to distract me from my observation. Someone fastened a restraint around what passes as a neck of this horrid creature. The apparatus is unlike anything I have ever seen. Segments of dull straight metal alternate with modular, spring-like contraptions that keep the thing close to the beast while allowing a full range of motion. A larger cylinder on the side houses a glassy capsule inside of which sloshes a blue liquid. Its design is not just specifically made for the hound, it also shows a completely alien sense of aesthetics ¡ª or lack thereof ¡ª a sterile mesh of elements as meticulously made as they are bland. It is, without a doubt, new. The abomination it is stuck to has not yet found the time to despoil its smooth surface. The very sight of it fills me with rage. INTRUDER. OUTSIDER. A deep sense of wrongness fans the fires of my anger. Those cultists have done it, the fools. They have done it indeed. A long time ago, Semiramis mentioned that she had learnt the names of the creature by books she had found. I had realized the implication, of course. The dull world we saw had not always been dying, its magic shred from its physical anchor. No. Someone had caused the cataclysm. I had always expected the perpetrators of this monstrosity to have died from the consequences of their actions. Now, seeing the relatively new construct, I realize that I was wrong. Someone still lives beyond the portals. Someone with manufacturing capabilities. And those someones may just have ways to track their belongings. "What have you done?" I screech. Any thought of a new potential Vassal, any notion of challenge or the Hunt evaporates. Sapient life beyond the portals. And a plethora of careless idiots opening ways there left and right, leaving the key to piercing the veil at their very feet. Enough of this. I let my aura go, discarding any restraint I placed on myself. It crashes against my hidden foes who swear and curse as even their mundane senses pick up the arctic tide of power. As for the mage, he is stuck in place. I take a deep breath and the taste of magic changes around me. It feels like frenetic sprints and breached hiding places. The tension hangs in the air like a raised belt in a drunken father''s fist. I am done playing games. "Aennestra." Terror. Mewling screams expand like a wave from my extended hand as something screams at the edge of my listening range. The spell travels outward, its power warping the air with its passing. I let the underlings cower and flee and make my way to the leader, barely noticing the thorny root keeping him in place. The cultist cries when he finally understands what he has been facing all this time. I grab him by the throat and smash him against the wall. The cowl falls from his face, revealing a clean-shaven young man with pale green eyes. His aura flared after he dropped the cylinder. "I have questions." "I will answer everything you ask truthfully and completely if you agree to let me go and if neither you nor your servant pursue me," he babbles. Amusing. "I am not her servant, boy," Sheridan says, calm despite my display of power. I aimed the wave of terror forward so he and the other captives remained unscathed. This should be amusing. "You get one night of respite. For one night, neither he nor I nor the prisoners will be allowed to pursue nor strike you. Refuse and I will start interrogating you thoroughly. Do try me. I have much on my mind." "I agree to your terms," the mage hiccups between sobs. "Good. Where is your portal?" "Inside! In the main building! It''s inactive now." "Do the other cells know how to open gates as well?" "Yes! We are¡­ mapping the new world. We will find paradise, eventually." I stop for a moment and relax my hold on his neck. "I beg your pardon?" "Beyond limbo, there is Elysium. We will find it." They think this is the afterlife! The Watcher save me from those superstitious monkeys. "Why is there a hound with a collar here?" "The¡­the hounds of hell suck life and magic alike. We believe someone was controlling this specimen. We poisoned it and found remnants of a corpse in the vicinity, but I do not have it. The cadaver was taken by another cell. It looked like a short man, that''s all I know, I swear!" So, the handler was dead. Perhaps we have some time before we are found. Perhaps he was the last of his kind. Bah, who am I kidding? A dying man on a desolate world could not have forged that. I spend a few more minutes asking him about the location of other cells, but it soon becomes clear that my captive sits rather low on the cultist totem pole. Even the people shooting at us from inside the structures were just laborers, not trained soldiers, and they surrendered to my companion without any more effort on my part. "You may go," I finally inform the mage as I toss him on the side. By the time I was finished, Sheridan had already freed the surviving abductees and gathered them in a semblance of order. Many of them were staring at me with the wariness that comes from seeing a young woman lifting a fully grown adult with one arm before discarding him without effort. Despite everything, the ranger still walks up to me. "Guess you fulfilled your end of the bargain. Can''t say that I''m looking forward to mine." "Oh, don''t be dramatic. I will not ask you to do anything too unsavory. We might even save some mortals," I declare with some annoyance as I watch the back of my fleeing would-be dinner. "It does not feel right to let him go," the ranger grumbles. "Indeed not, Sheridan. Fortunately, my kind loves few things more than semantics, and giving our prey false hope." I whistle. It takes half a minute for a familiar voice to emerge from behind me. "Your will, Miss Ari?" "Do you see that man running down the ravine?" "Yes, mistress." "Kill him." Chapter 114 - 109. Hells Gates The following two months see me alternating between keeping an eye on Richard, cursing all the deities I can name and a few I cannot for the prolonged war, and taking Sheridan on Hunts. We find two more cult hideouts before the rest figure out that someone is after them, rescuing a few more mortals from ending up as hound chow. He is only slightly disappointed when it turns out that the second group of rescued captives is made of Comanches. "Well, they don''t deserve to be eaten either, I suppose," he gruffly admits. Jarek later requests that we track down an oversized jackal. We end up covered in guts when the creature inexplicably explodes. "I wish I could say this was unusual," I tersely remark as I remove a piece of intestine from my hair, "but that would be lying, Mr. Sheridan." The ranger ponders on an important revelation while cleaning shredded liver from his hat. "You know," he finally replies, "given the circumstances, I think that you may call me Marshal. If you wish." I still call him Sheridan. My Vassal candidate ends each Hunt with the same awkward "Let me know when we can do it again!" as if he had brought me home after a night at the dance. I am unsure how to express that I am more than ready to consummate our union, in this case by having him serve as my moral compass and ambassador for the rest of his mortal life. I cannot help but draw a parallel with Dalton who had been direct and daring. I should not compare the two. It would be unfair. Late September finally brings a change. The temperatures lower to merely ''oppressing'' from ''one of the circles of hell'' and the hostilities resume anew. The American army moves south and assaults the Mexican troops in Monterrey. Follow three days of hard-fought combat during which Richard makes a name for himself through decisive actions and a cunning understanding of tactics. His stance also shifts. From mentioning the strategic reasons of the conflict and justifying its existence, he progressively comes to talk more about his squad and leading them. Responsibility and duty catch him by surprise between two bouts of patriotism and it soon becomes clear that my nephew has a bright future in the army. To my dismay. I cannot simply drop a large group of bodyguards to defend him then scurry back north, because it would go against my oath. I promised Achille that I would take care of my nephew until he returned, and I must do so in person or risk my essence fracturing if he dies a preventable death. I am thus forced to handle all my affairs remotely. Fortunately, I have extremely competent allies in the persons of Merritt, Melusine and, surprisingly, Urchin. My presence near the army also means that I conduct a great deal of spying for my faction within the Accords and Constantine himself. There is also diplomacy. Mexico has an active population of mages with several competing traditions, a population that we are eager to establish contacts with. Fortunately for me, most of them are rather fragmented with little sympathy for their own government, making my task easier than it could have been. It also helps that I am polite and peaceful. Most people with any knowledge of my kind as well as two brain cells to rub together prefer to keep it that way. Texas, early October. My rented room inside of the Natalis safe house is cozy and warm. Red banners decorate the ochre stone and the lack of windows only makes the setting more intimate. My sarcophagus lies in the corner, its top open. A silvery mirror occupies one corner of a room. I sit down in front of it and focus on the engraving around the frame. The surface shimmers when I activate it and a man I recognize greets me with a smile. "Isaac of the Rosenthal? You have returned?" I exclaim. "Ah, Ariane, it is so good to see you again. Splendid, splendid. Yes, indeed I have come back to the New World for a most important occasion, and we will have an excellent opportunity to meet each other again." His image wavers due to my distraction. Fortunately, the mirror is a powerful focus, specifically designed for this task. It also cost a pretty penny. Isaac looks good with his intelligent brown eyes and carefully combed dark hair. He appears more predatory now, less a competent civil servant and more a sharp investor. "Being a Master suits you," I observe. "So it would seem. I am still grateful for the help you provided in that Hunt we shared. Without your timely assistance I would have failed to reach that state." "Surely you are exaggerating," I politely answer, "you were on the verge of becoming a master anyway." "No, Ariane, I was on the verge of going rogue. It was the excruciating agony of bringing myself back from that state that pushed me over the edge and let me feel my essence for the first time." Oh wow. "I¡­ am sorry. I had no idea." "The memory of this moment will remain engraved in my mind until the day I die. I had never felt anything close even under the care of our resistance trainers. Truly, it was a pain that seared my essence and left behind a cracked brand from which only death will deliver me." A drunken muse could not salvage this conversation. "Ah, but I digress, I digress, after you somehow erased the Key of Beriah, I returned to Geneva and managed to convince our Progenitor that not only had you rid the world of a tool of senseless death, you had also managed to do so by repulsing an invasion and slaying its Herald in single combat at the ripe age of twenty something. She was intrigued." "I did have some assistance." "Not for the dueling part. I assure you that it was no small feat, and you did it anyway. This, as well as my recommendation, means that we agree to your proposal on a formal alliance with the purpose of securing tools to kill the unkillable." "You will help me?" "Ariane, we are a centuries-old organization with means and knowledge beyond your comprehension. You will be assisting us." "Yes, whatever, as long as I pull the trigger and it works." "We are not ''pulling the trigger,'' as you so prosaically put it, my dear, we administer the medicine. One that the patient must survive." "The patient being the world?" "Yes. We have ways¡­ but we are unwilling to pay the price, unless we face a ''cas de force majeure''," he finishes in French. "We do have an interesting lead to pursue." "Do tell." "It will require an expedition that we will organize and fund and that you will head, if you so wish. My esteemed clan head requires a boon in return. We have decided to hold this year''s Hell''s Gate in New-Orleans." I remain silent as Isaac stands there, looking very proud of himself. "This will not involve tiny imps flying around and dragging the sinners, gamblers, and brazen hussies back into the bowels of Tartarus, will it?" I ask. "Of course not." "Good, because there would be very little left of the city then." "Hell''s Gate," Issac explains with the patience normally reserved for slow children, "is our annual inter-species auction." I pause. "Never heard of it." "A lady should never admit to ignorance, my dear. As for you never hearing about it, it is simply due to the fact that this august event has never taken place in your fair country. Yet." Then, after a while. "We also leave the best pick to the clans beforehand, so they have little reason to attend, or to mention it." "Fascinating. And you need my assistance?" "Indeed. We have a sensitive security matter we would need you to handle. It requires a delicate touch camouflaged as an iron fist. I immediately thought of you." "Yes. Delicate touch. That is completely me. Haha." "I apologize for asking this. Her grace the Lady Rosenthal requests further proof of competence and commitment from you, but she means no insult." "None taken." "Then, if you agree, make your way to Lord Jarek''s base where a ship will take you to New-Orleans." Hmm. "I have a¡­ Vassal candidate. I took him on two hunts but for some reason he is not crossing the threshold. Can I bring him with me?" "Can you vouch for him? You can bring a small team if you wish. Keep in mind that they will be your responsibility." "I understand. One last thing. Have you looked into what I asked?" We need to finish this quickly. My focus is wavering, as shown in Isaac''s increasingly blurry profile. "I am sorry Ariane. Except for some specific Erenwald powers and a handful of druidic traditions, there are no records of vampires causing thorny roots to grow when they fight. The spells I found always cause growth from existing vegetation and they do not disappear afterward. This is a mystery." By the Watcher. It already happened several times too. What could those be? "Ah, the spell is breaking on my end. Remember! The Natalis pier." Well, Richard''s squadron is still encamped for the foreseeable future and it looks like the next offensive will be by way of the sea. I will arrange for a light protection detail and see what this entails. One night later, off the coast of Texas. I lean against the railing of the tiny sloop and watch the shore as it passes me by. Beaches, cliffs and rocks succeed each other in a slow revolving canvas that has not yet grown monotonous. "It''s my first time aboard a ship," Sheridan finally admits, "besides canoes and small river crafts." "Is it? How do you like it so far?" "It''s very calm." "Yes, there should be no boarding actions this time," I assure him. Ah, perhaps it would have been better not to mention this at all. "Boarding actions?" he immediately replies, horrified, "could it be that you have engaged in piracy?" Dread Pirate Queen Ariane the Bloodthirsty, scourge of the Atlantic! "No no, just a little bit of privateering." The ranger submits me to his inquisitive glare, one that led to the confession of many a ruffian. "I had a genuine lettre de marque, I promise," I reply innocently. It might have been slightly illegal and crafted in secret by an assistant after a torrid night with the world''s most rakish Likaean. I could not say. "Right. And you committed state-sanctioned banditry too?" "State-sanctioned banditry is merely lawful asset retrieval," I observe. He does not look convinced. His brow furrows and his ample mustache quivers with suspicion. "You have seen how I operate, Sheridan. Do I strike you as a vulgar highwaywoman?" I finally say. "No¡­ I suppose not. So, tell me about this auction of yours." "Ah yes, the Hell''s Gates." "I beg your bloody pardon?!" he bellows. A few of the sailors watching over the deck decide to keep their distance. Ah, damn. "Ariane, you have insisted that you were not, in fact, made by the actual devil." "Yeeees?" "And that you do not lust after the souls of sinners." "Indeed not?" "And that your aversion to all church-related symbols was merely a, and I quote, side-effect of not truly being native to this world." "Yes." "Because your soul is bound to that big thingamajig in the sky that only you can see." Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. "I did say that, yes." "And your auction is called, the Hell''s Gates." "Errrr yes. I did not choose the name myself." Sheridan masticates his mustache in contemplation. "Sometimes I feel that you are making a fool of me." "Listen, my dear little mortal" I reply with fangs bared, "I have been nothing but forthcoming with you. The term merely alludes to the temporary contact between mages, who are mostly humans, and us who are not." "Right¡­ Right. So what happens then? What will we do?" I sigh. "The auction will take place in a large building in the old quarter previously used for administrative matters and duels." "Duels?!" "Yes, duels are an integral part of vampire politics. I had one duel there, actually." "Did you win?" "No, my blood sister stabbed me in the heart so I could feign my own death. Anyway¡­" "You survived being stabbed in the heart!?" he interrupts with a cry. "I did mention that we were resilient." "Have you already been shot, then?" "Yes." "Stabbed?" "Yes." "Exploded?" "That too." "Set on fire?" "Yes, that was horrible." "Frozen to death?" "I was frozen, but it barely affects us at all. I could still move. Being set ablaze was the worst thing by far." "I find it eerie that you would be vulnerable to fire." "For the last time, Sheridan, we are not demons from hell!" I complain for what feels like the millionth time. "Could have fooled me¡­" "Sheridan," I interrupt with a serious tone and he stares at me, sheepish in his duster with his Colt and star. "Why are you still here, by my side? If you truly thought we were abominations, you had ample opportunity to leave." "Hrm. I don''t know rightly myself." He avoids my gaze. "Either you think me a monster that needs to be erased, or you consider me a person. You tiptoe around the issue instead of choosing," I scold. "It''s not that easy!" he yells. Then, in a softer tone: "It''s not that easy. All my life I thought I knew how the world was. God created it in seven days and he made man in His image. He made all the animals and all the plants for us to use. And now I learn that there are other worlds? And species? Magic? Giant creatures? I never asked for this. I only wanted to live a right and peaceful life upholding justice, not getting in shootouts with madmen calling hellhounds from beyond the veil!" I let him finish. When he does, out of breath, I keep quiet for a few seconds to mark my understanding. I can appreciate that his circumstances are delicate. "Then you must decide if you want to return to your peaceful life. If you do, I will not blame you. You are free to go. But you must decide." "What is there to decide? I am already here, ain''t I?" "Your heart wavers. Tell me this is not true." He would not meet my eyes. "You will have to make a choice, and soon," I finish. The arena where I fought in is also the siege of vampire politics. I visited the old, square-building only once and the experience was disheartening, so to speak. I remember that it was a building of yellow stone with a strong Spanish influence at the edge of the Vieux Carr¨¦ intentionally left decrepit to avoid undue attention. I drag Sheridan through the streets, still warm and wet from the day. He tries to stay composed and dignified, but I can see his gaze drift from richly dressed ladies to darker-skinned beauties in exotic garbs of reds and yellows. His attention wanders to the gamblers and musicians filling the air like a discordant orchestra of life and sin. We stop at a stall and I buy him a few skewers of chicken dipped in red sauce. The scent of cayenne and paprika fill my heart with nostalgia, even more so than the familiar architecture. We then must stop to get a cold beer because Sheridan has no tolerance for spice. Eventually, the crowd thins, and I must admit to some surprise when our destination comes into view. Gone is the non-assuming edifice, the new center has been repainted and redecorated. Gas lamps shine on every corner and cast a deeper shade of beige on the walls, darker as they climb up to the third story. Guards in the white uniform of the Rosenthal mercenaries patrol in pairs of two, holding lanterns and poorly concealed pistols. They salute me as we pass by. "Welcome, Lady Ariane." I return the greeting. "They know you?" Sheridan asks as we make our way to the entrance. "They know of me. I have worked with their company before." "And they are all normal people?" "Yes. Professional soldiers trusted for generations, well-trained and well-paid. Such families form the backbone of our entourages." "Do you have families like that?" "Not yet." "What about traitors? Can they not strike you when you are the most vulnerable? Bring your enemies to your doorstep? Unless you have a way to control them." "We have multiple redundancies as far as security is concerned. It would take a convergence of factors for an attack to be successful, such as when we travel. Even then, we have ways to escape and fight back. We are also quite good at reading the emotions of those who surround us, including duplicity." "Hrm, hrm, really? Then what am I thinking about right now?" "You are scared to learn that I can read you like an open book." "Devilry!" "And here we go again¡­" "Sorry, sorry. Surprised me is all. Hrm. Ah, we are here." The entrance stands before us, brightly illuminated with lanterns of stained glass. Their armatures of crystal and brass reflect a smooth light so that the monumental entrance appears more inviting, like the manor of a rich relative opened for festivities. Guards in exquisite dress uniforms stand by it and they bow when we enter. The palatial hall greets me again in all its glory. A wide mosaic of black and white depicting a tragedy mask decorates the entire ground. A massive wood lobby lines the left wall with a few attendants idling behind. The large gate to the arena where I first experienced having my heart damaged are currently closed, while the double stairs leading to the second-floor promenade lie empty. The perfume of vanilla and scented candles replaces the squalid stench of humanity. The subdued lighting, the red drapes, the sober clothes all serve to welcome the guests in an intimate setting, and helps them forget the nature of their hosts. It will be our role to subtly remind them of that fact, should they become rowdy. We have barely stopped when Isaac steps out from a side corridor with a sharp older man in a white officer jacket and a morse mustache. The Rosenthal Master wears a black ensemble of exquisite make with a white shirt that seems to radiate from within. Somehow, I reach with my hands and he takes them. The intimate gesture ¡ª and the implicit show of trust ¡ª create an unexpected effect. All eyes land on us and I hear a few gasps of surprise. Isaac and I are united by bonds of friendship and shared suffering. I do not see myself getting involved with him, though now that I am once more celibate, the idea does not shock me as it used to do. "Ariane, my dear. I am so glad to see you in the flesh once again." "And you too, Isaac. It has been too long." "Indeed! Indeed¡­" he answers as he links his arm with mine, "allow me to introduce Lieutenant Venett, the head of mortal security." "A pleasure, madam," the officer says with a nod. His name is familiar. "I fought alongside a Venett thirty years ago." "Yes ma''am, my grandfather. He spoke highly of you in his correspondence. I am honored to work alongside you." "Likewise," I reply, pleased. And it does seem that my good reputation precedes me. I catch more furtive glances sent my way, all of them respectful. It feels¡­ oddly pleasant to be considered an ally. For once, I am not the unknown quantity, or a valuable investment. S~ea??h the ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "And you must be Sheridan!" Isaac continues. The presentations are short, and we quickly leave the lobby. Isaac and I dismiss our respective mortals so that they can compare notes and facial hair, then make our way up the stairs and through the largest door directly in front of us. We end in a lodge, much like an opera one. The circular arena where I fought is the same and private viewing booths line the walls on three sides. The sand has been replaced by a red carpet of massive proportions, as well as a pulpit and a small platform. "This will be where the main action takes place. I will be presenting the items personally two days from now." "You mentioned security. You expect troubles?" "We no longer expect, we are certain. A thief will attempt to steal the Heart of the Nile on the night of the auction. We are talking about a jewel worth half a million dollars." I refrain myself from showing any reaction at the outrageous sum so as not to appear as a bumpkin. "Besides its obvious worth, the Heart is one of the few gems capable of storing essence. It could be used to power a war golem as large as a carriage." "Why would you leave such an incredible asset in the hands of mortals?" I demand, scandalized. "Because, if you have a bag of sweets on top of a shelf, you need to dispense them on occasion, or the children will start looking for a ladder." "You mean that it is done to prevent theft?" "Precisely. Hoard too many assets too quickly and the magical societies will turn to banditry. Power must be shared. Sometimes." "I see." "We also have a sufficient amount of carriage-size war golems at our disposal at the moment." "That certainly helps." "Your task will be to either stop them or let them go after identifying them. I have not decided yet. It will certainly depend on how confident I am that the thief can be tracked down." I just glare at him. "Oh, do not be so cross. Obviously, the tracking part will be my responsibility." "You would take such a risk?" "We know that the Heart will be targeted because someone requested it and the request was answered. We do not know who that mysterious purchaser might be, and we are eager to find out, as you can imagine." "Are there many who would steal from the Rosenthal?" "Oh, yes, but few do so for very long," he replies with a pointed smile. "You already have security," I remark. "Indeed. Venett has the situation well in hand, I assure you. The goods were moved to a repurposed vault in the basement a month ago, long before we revealed the final location of the event, and they will only be taken out in two days. The vault itself is nigh impenetrable." "Are you sure?" "Quite so, Ariane, quite so. I will let you work out the details with the good lieutenant later. What I want you to do is to welcome the guests first, search for anomalies, then roam the place. You may deploy Sheridan and Doe as you see fit." John took the vampiric name ''Doe'' because his patronym is currently used by a Lancaster lord. Calling him after a skittish beast feels like strapping a cute party hat on the head of a lion. "Very well. I also wish to know what exactly I am to recover, if I join the expedition you mentioned." "Ah, yes. Are you familiar with the Sea Peoples?" "You will have to be more specific." "Not any people of the sea, Ariane, the Sea Peoples. They were responsible for much destruction around the Mediterranean Sea at the end of the bronze age. Quite a mysterious lot. We have recently recovered an interesting document from a dig site near the Nile that may shed light on their repeated invasion of Egypt." "Do tell." "We are still working on the translation, however, it appears that they were planning on heading south to slay a dragon with the assistance of a tool of great power." The mood turns from pleasant to deadly serious in a mere instant. I school my aura too late. Isaac''s inquisitive eyes pierce into my mind. "You know of the dragon." "I cannot speak of this," I reply, still aware of my binding agreement with Semiramis. "An oath?" "Yes." "How curious. In any case, they failed twice before the Pharaoh''s chariots and withdrew. The documents we recovered were buried on the site of the last major battle of the campaign, possibly to prevent hostile troops from seizing them. The entire journey of the army was painstakingly chronicled, meaning¡­" "Meaning that we can trace it back to the source." "And hopefully recover the weapon." It would sound promising if the details were not so sketchy "You base your assumptions on a significant amount of unknowns," I observe without malice. "Spoken like a true modern investor," Isaac answers, amused. "When it comes to ancient relics, unearthed documents in rare scripts are the best you can expect, since there is a good chance that the treasure has not been looted yet." "Even if it is, the weapon could just be rusted-out metal by now." "That, my dear, is not the case. You see, the little we have translated detailed the start of the expedition and the making of the blade. It appears that a massive fire-spitting snake interrupted an important commemoration and killed the high priest, and from his remains the Sea Peoples retrieved a claw." "A claw?" I am stunned. "Yes. The blade of our prize is a dragon claw." Huh. I say nothing for a while. The claw of a dragon? Due to the highly symbolic nature of magic, such a blade could cut the best armor including the hide of the creature itself. It could also put a stop to Nirari''s undoubtedly massive regeneration. It could kill him. It could work! "How soon can we go after it?" "Slow down, my dear, slow down. The manuscripts are still being deciphered and we will need the best mind on the planet to reverse their path to their original homes. Let us see the auction to a satisfactory end first, yes?" "Of course. I cannot believe that I finally have a chance." "That is because you do not," Isaac lightly chides. I am taken aback by his pessimism. "Oh, do not give me that look, young one. Only the desperate would face Nirari with just a blade, no matter how strong. We will continue stacking the odds, and the ancient weapons, in our favor until the night of reckoning, when our kind finally unites with a single purpose." "Hold on. A night of reckoning?" "Ah, forgive me, I was feeling melodramatic. Suffice to say that it will take an army to bring that old monster low, and not just any army: one that consists of lords and ladies, and possibly archmages. The rest will not matter. Only the most dire of circumstances will force those to cooperate." "One would believe that the threat of world domination at the hands of an ancient, ruthless king bent on conquering all the spheres would spur them on." Isaac taps on the railing with two fingers, amused. "How would you qualify the leading figures of the New World''s vampires?" I consider the question for a moment. "We are a viper den of backstabbing, devious fiends held together by the threat of mutual annihilation." Except Jimena. My sister is just too pure for this world. "How accurate! I will have you know that the European scene is a viper den of backstabbing, devious fiends with centuries of grudges held together by the threat of mutual destruction, with half of said vipers being reclusive, paranoid old twats." "Those are adverse conditions." "Quite an understatement, my dear. I am afraid that they will only act when they see their doom right in front of them. It will be up to us to prepare." I watch the plain of roofs from my temporary office on the building''s last floor. John looms, arms crossed across his prodigious pectorals. The ever-loyal man has raised looming to an artform, of which he is the master. No one can quite match the careful mix of polite disinterest and understated threat. Being turned has changed him a lot. He is no longer so ugly now that his cleft lip has closed into a scar, and his gaze is too sharp to be considered simple anymore. Our change has made predators of all of us. "Do you regret your decision?" I finally ask. John remains silent. I do not mind. He will speak when he is ready, he just needs time to order his thoughts. "I wanted to be by your side to protect you. Therefore, I asked Master to turn me. After that, I wanted to serve Master because it felt more important. Master said that I can serve him by keeping you alive. I have no regrets." "Is it really what you want to do? Protect me for years and years? Until I die, or you do?" The silence this time lasts long enough for me to hesitate. Did he lose the trail of his thought? Eventually, he makes his point with a slow, soft voice. "You saved my life, but that did not mean that I owed you everything. I followed you because you were always right and made things around you better. You made things better for me and also for those who were kind to me. It was good. Protecting you meant that the Dream would be better. After you left, we went to Alexandria and I realized that you would need to make things better for a bigger place and that I was too small to protect you from the world." He speaks with conviction now, not the affected tone of the politician, but the unwavering certitude of the zealot. It almost scares me. "That is when I decided to become a Natalis. I am still¡­ not that smart. It just no longer bothers me. Our mind is a quiet place. Natalis are free from worry and fear, even if it means that we have trouble listening to our hearts. But I do not need that. I know what my heart would say if it could speak. I am doing something important. The others do not realize how important it is yet. Only I do." "Do you perhaps¡­ see the future?" I ask with some alarm. Aisha of the Amaretta did mention that I would be instrumental in saving the world if I live long enough. Was John a seer all along? "No. I do not see the future." "How can you be so sure that protecting me is important?" I insist. "I just know it." And there it is. Under the placid tranquility of his mind lies a belief as unfounded as it is strange. "I know it, and when you give me orders with a hand gesture and only I understand what you want, I¡­ fulfill a purpose. Master said that was what we needed to find. A purpose. I have it, and so I have no regrets. I will protect you until I die because no one will kill you while I still live. I will break their spines." John picks a steel candelabra and presses it between his large hands. He maintains eye contact as the decorative metals bends under his power as if it were wax, until only a tiny ball of twisted scrap remains. "Like this." Chapter 115 - 110. The Heart of the Nile A Tale of Thieves "It''s the last job Kate, then we can retire. Get that land you dreamed of and never work another day in our lives!" Kate crosses her arms and turns her head wistfully. Her instinct had never failed her, and, right now, it told her that it was a ''Bad Idea''. "It''s too risky. We can just hit a few more banks and use the cash to disappear." "Not smart, darling. You never know how many rich folks you can piss off before they send the Cabals after you, and without a specific fence we would have to sell the stuff at a discount." "The Hell''s Gates are held by vampires, Chris. Not mages or mundane humans. Vampires. You know what they say." "We''ll just leave them to their games and blood drinking with the other guests. No need to get close. We get in, do the job, then get out. One hour tops. We already have someone in." "Griggs?" "He did it, yes. The mark will leave him a uniform." Kate stood abruptly. The simple bed of their rented room creaked under the sudden move and Chris backed off with a yelp. She held an accusing finger under his nose. "You took it! You took the contract!" Her brown ringlets shook with fury. "You did it behind my back!" Chris brushed his scruffy blond hair back, giving her a disarming smile. The gesture used to make her swoon. Now it only made her mad. "Don''t you try to act cute! You took such an important decision without checking with me first? You know we cannot back down on a contract with one of the covens!" "Relax darling, everything''s already planned. You only need to get in and do your magic, as usual. We''ll take care of the rest." Kate seethed in silence. She hated this heist. She also hated that she was dismissed and that Chris had gone ahead without her approval. He had always been the brain of the outfit, but things were supposed to be different now. They were supposed to be a couple and a couple did things together, not behind each other''s back. "This is the last time, Chris." "It is. I promise." Kate wanted to believe him. The cellar under their safe house was Chris'' domain. He was moving with confidence from the table to a map pinned against the wall, then to the supplies spread on the ground near the entrance. Never did he look more alive than when he planned a deed. Under the pressure, he would gain an intensity that Kate loved. His passion was infectious and affected the whole group, pushing them to outdo themselves. It was that fiery passion that had captured her heart. Sometimes, a small voice would tell her that Chris was not meant for the family life she envisioned, that he would wilt without the constant challenges that the criminal life brought him. She would push it away, but it would keep coming back. "Let''s start with the introductions, since we have a new member joining us tonight," her lover started with a dazzling smile as the group gathered around the table. "Our newcomer is Father MacCormick. He will be covering us if things go wrong." Kate eyed the latest addition to their merry band. The father was a man in his fifties with a white beard wearing the black and white collar of catholic priests. Her aura control was decent for someone without formal training, and she could tell he was a mage like herself. There were not a lot of caster priests that she knew of, but, well, it was a big world out there. "The good father will cover our retreat from the vampires if things go south. He assured me that crosses stop them. Isn''t that right, father?" "Not stop them so much as slow them down," the man grumbled, "you don''t stop vampires at night. You hold the cross and hope they don''t find a way to flank you before you close the door." "Have you faced one before?" Kate asked. The older gentleman stared at her with undisguised annoyance. His next comment dripped with disdain. "Since you lot allow women to interrupt your discussions, I will oblige. Some associates and I faced what they call a Courtier. We managed to wound and repulse him, but not before he managed to gut one of us. And it takes silver bullets to hurt one to begin with," he continued as he opened his vest to reveal a pistol''s handle. "We didn''t even see him move. That''s what we''re dealing with if they find us out." "Father MacCormick will only join us on the last leg of the missions. If it looks like we were made before that, we bail." "Let''s not get carried away. I need the money," their old time partner Griggs added with a radiant smile. Kate made the mistake of meeting his eyes. The green pools captured her in their murky depths, and she felt herself drifting before she regained control. She shook her head. It was not his fault. He could not control it, she told herself. Another part of her whispered that he made no effort to do so, and that she would not trust him around any woman she knew. She silenced that voice as well. Griggs shook his handsome face, long dark hair fluttering artfully. "I guess it''s my turn then, old man. I''m Griggs. I''m the infiltrator. I''ll get us through the first part of the mission." The priest frowned. "You wield power as well," he stated. Griggs'' answer was to flip a card from the deck he always kept, one of the many queer habits that rubbed Kate the wrong way. King of Hearts. "There are many who find me irresistible." Only because he left them little choice. In a perfect world, someone would have gouged his eyes out. Only Chris'' promise that he would never touch her soothed Kate enough to trust him on a heist, if barely. "And I am Moreau, nice to meet you," the only dark-skinned man at the table interrupted with a disapproving glare. Moreau had been the mover of the team for almost two years now. Kate was unsure as to why he kept working with them. She believed it had something to do with money, since he still had the same ratty clothes despite the hauls they had already made. "Moreau will stay with a carriage next to our exit and make sure that we do not dally. As for my dearest Kate, she has a special set of skills that will get us in the basement," Chris continued smoothly. "Does she, now?" MacCormick asked with clear doubt. Kate felt anger settle as a tight ball inside her stomach, but she would not say anything. It annoyed her that Chris let a newcomer doubt her skills, just as it annoyed her that he would introduce her instead of letting her do it herself. She settled with crossing her arms and looking as disdainful as she could. It worked, if the stupid priest''s reddening face was any indication. "And now for the plan!" Chris exclaimed with an enthusiasm that no friction could shake. "Our dear Griggs made contact with one of the attendants. He convinced her to hire him for the occasion as a waiter. Fortunately, their staff includes several groups working together so an unfamiliar face will be nothing too strange." "I also worked there for three days preparing the stage and nobody noticed anything. There are more than forty members of the staff slaving away to accommodate the guests right now," the infiltrator added, flipping a Jack of Spades from his deck. "They won''t notice a thing." "While your confidence is commendable, my dear Griggs, this only concerns the upper floors of the complex," Chris continued with a disapproving tone. "There are two stories above the main ground, plus a small attic under the roof. The auction will take place there, in a circular room at the heart of the building. The pieces will be brought one by one from the underground vault under escort. We will intercept it on the way." He moved to the wall and started pointing at a map. The pinned papers showed the main floor and an expansive basement. "Griggs will get in first and work normally. When the auction begins, Kate and I will come in as regular guests." Their two seats had cost them three hundred dollars, Kate thought bitterly. "We will join our lodge first, pretend everything is normal. Then Kate will feign sickness and Griggs will escort her to the infirmary situated right next to the main entrance to the lower level. She will do her thing and bypass their security when their alarm deactivates, which is every time they open the doors to let an item through." "How do you know all of this?" MacCormick asked with some doubt. "Alva is part of the retinue of the organizer, a vampire named Isaac. She was made aware of their security protocol in case she needs to evacuate," Griggs explained. "And the vampire just told her?" "She has served his, errr, clan, for her whole life. Her defenses were solid, and she even had a protective amulet. He must have trusted her quite a bit but as I mentioned, I am irresistible." That meant that he had used his full power. After Griggs finished with Alva, she would be a babbling wreck. The violation bothered Kate on a deep level, but she told herself that the woman deserved it for serving a monster. What person in their right mind would work for an abomination? Alva had made herself an enemy of mankind and she would face the consequences. That was all there was to it, really. The thought comforted Kate somewhat. "She confessed everything. We know most of their security measures, except for the vault. Which is why we won''t go in there," Chris explained. "Kate will follow the main corridor¡­ here," he continued, showing her path on the map, "then turn right into the first room where Griggs will have left a spare uniform and a key under the cupboard." "Why not use the trick that gets her past the guard in the corridor?" MacCormick interrupted. "It''s exhausting," she curtly replied before Chris could do it for her. "Right. MacCormick, there will be time for questions afterward. The servant uniform will allow Kate to move relatively unimpeded. They have one patrol and a pair of maids who are supposed to stay there for the whole night. The disguise will serve well in avoiding their attention. Though, make sure that they don''t get a good look at you," he told Kate. "In the meanwhile, Griggs will return to the main room so as to not attract attention. Kate will go there," he added while pointing at a specific spot. The group bent over the table to inspect the small room leading to what appeared to be a tunnel. "The ground here is very wet. The basement was modified to redirect humidity to a reservoir in this room, which they empty regularly through that passage here. It leads outside. The key opens the secured gate between the two. Do not lose it, because the gate is heavily enchanted and you won''t be able to open the door without it." "Understood. But why not open the escape tunnel from the outside?" Kate asked. "An alarm will trigger if the key leaves the compound. Now, the tunnel I mentioned doubles as an escape path leading all the way to a canal. I will exit the building and link up with Moreau and MacCormick as soon as Kate is through. We will circle around, and the priest and I will get in through the emergency exit. Once there, we will wait and intercept the people carrying the Heart on their way to the exit. They function by pair, with one pair carrying goods up with the other patrolling the basement. They swap with each new item." His expression grew more serious. "This is obviously the most delicate part of the heist, but we have little choice." "It does sound risky," Griggs mutters while biting his thumb. He mechanically flipped a card. Two of clubs. Kate shivered. "Not that risky," Chris calmly stated, "the basement is sound-proof and only has four guards at any time, two of whom will stay in front of the vault at all times. The basement is large enough that a small scuffle could remain unheard. After we disable the carrying pair, we will have some time to escape via the emergency exit. This is also where the plan branches. If it looks like we are made at any point before that, we escape, but if we manage to grab the Heart, we can escape even if the alarm is rung. You see, the entrance can be blocked by leaving the key half-turned in the lock, from the outside," he finished with a ghastly smile. "That sounds like a big oversight," Kate remarked under her breath. "That''s what Alva said," Griggs answered and the other laughed as if it was funny. They amused themselves for a few seconds, before Kate''s glare pushed Chris to resume the briefing. "Right. We all leave through the exit except Griggs who will just stay long enough not to arouse suspicion before leaving on his own. We reconvene here after the deed. Any questions? "How will you disable the guards?" Moreau asked with a frown. He was the most adverse to loss of life after Kate. "MacCormick has a disabling spell and I have my truncheon. The guards will be caught off-guard. They are well-trained but they are not mages and should have no adequate defenses against spells." "How is their security looking? It won''t help if the vampire goes to pick up the Heart in person," MacCormick commented while consulting the map. "They have around two dozen guards, most of whom will be outside or patrolling the upper floors. As for the vampires, Alva said that they would remain around the guests." "Vampires? Plural?" the priest answered with obvious concern. "There will be three of them. Isaac is the organizer, and he will present the items himself, therefore, he should not leave their auction room. The second one is called Doe and he acts as the muscle. Big guy. He looks like he wrestles bears for breakfast. The last one is called Ariane, and Alva said she and Isaac knew each other from before. She appears harmless, but she''s still a vampire so we need to be careful. She is the one who will be roaming around so we should keep an eye out for her. No matter what, the guarded, alarmed entrance is the only way to the vault and they probably trust it to keep intruders away. We would have no way through without Kate." "They don''t got last names?" Moreau asks. Kate raised her brows in surprise. Moreau usually stayed quiet unless he had specific questions about the plan. She thought that he did not fully approve of what they were doing. "I don''t think so. Apparently one vampire has one name and they don''t share. It works because there are not that many of them." "They are monsters, you can''t expect them to act like proper Christian folks," Griggs commented, and the others laughed again. Kate thought that they would be laughing much less when they met the real deal, even if those monsters could not be as bad as the rumors made them to be. "Still worried?" Chris asked after they were alone upstairs. His voice betrayed his seriousness, Kate could tell. It wavered slightly. He cared about her opinion. She shrugged. "Of course I am. Your harebrained schemes will be the end of you, one day." "But you will still go with it?" She rolled her eyes. "Yes, yes, you convinced me, oh great genius you." Chris chuckled knowingly and the familiar sound warmed her heart. He had this look, the one where he had something more planned. He walked to their chest and threw it open. From there, he withdrew a package in a linen bag she had never seen before. "What''s this?" she asked with trepidation. "We can''t have all those rich bastards looking down on my pretty girl, so I got you a present." Kate opened the package with all the excitement of a little girl to reveal a dress, and what a dress it was. Dark green taffeta with sequins sewn at the shoulders, a tapered waist and a big, flaring hem. It would cover her breast yet leave the shoulders bare. It looked fit for a princess. She threw herself in the arms of her lover. "Oh, Chris! It is wonderful! And my size! How did you manage it." "I have my resources," he gloated with relish, "as for your body, I have a passing knowledge of it," he finished, his hands trailing down to rest on her thighs. "You are incorrigible!" Inside, she felt more confident. She had a perfect pendant of nephrite and gold to match the outfit and she would wear her hair high, with two waves of brown ringlets falling on either side. She would look great. She would look the part. Kate did not feel confident at all. The auction hall had appeared at the corner of a street like an ephemeral palace from a fairy tale, as if it would disappear on the twelfth stroke of midnight. It blazed gloriously with gas lights, clad in haughty confidence. The walls were sheer and neatly painted. They defied the city''s squalor with their unexpected perfection. And the guards! They were walking around in pairs, holding lanterns and muskets, all princely in their pressed uniforms and shiny buttons. It was no longer a normal building. It had become, in her mind, the domain of some Austrian prince who had deigned to open it to the commoners for one night. Chris felt her waver. He gave her arm a squeeze and she forced herself to affect the confidence she did not feel. She was a mage, dammit, she belonged here! Or so she tried to tell herself. The ugly truth was that she was in way over her head. They all were. She had one nifty spell and that was it. The rest were trash invocations she had picked up here and there. Only her experience let her keep her composure when they climbed up fancy stairs to wide-open gates. She affected polite disdain when Chris gave their invitations to a serious butler in a suit so well-tailored, it must have cost an arm. Then they were in and she could not help but gasp. Kate had attended receptions before, mingled with the wives of bankers and landowners. This was a whole other level. The ceiling was so high and the room so large, you could fit her whole childhood home in there! The ground was covered in tiles that made some sort of mask and the place smelled exquisite, a delicate fragrance of vanilla, like some of those pricey perfumes one of her marks used to douse herself with. It took all of her willpower not to gawp like a bumpkin. The guests were fine too. Chris and her had joined a queue. She fixed her eyes on the wide shoulder of an old man in front of her. He was wearing a suit of cobalt blue and the aura he emanated was incredible. She felt that she could hold her hand before her and her fingers would freeze and blacken before she could even reach his shoulder. It was that strong. And it was carefully controlled too. She took a deep breath and tried to relax as the line moved on. There were only two groups left when she heard a commotion. The man in front of her took a step back and she angled to the side to have a look at the disturbance. A young woman was standing at the base of a double set of stairs, dressed in a magnificent lavender gown that embraced her forms in a way that was both daring and modest. She was calmly addressing a trio of burly men in matching brown coats. A tall lad with a wide mustache covered her side, his expression alternating between flustered and angry. "As I previously mentioned, you may keep your foci but your firearms must be left at the concierge. You will recover them when you leave." "I''m not disarming myself with you around, vampire." Kate''s eyes widened. This was the vampire? She appeared so normal! Her cheeks showed a light pink flush and she breathed and blinked normally. Not at all how Kate imagined her to be. Perhaps that was part of the disguise? Approach unsuspecting men and bite them when they leaned in for a kiss? "Your safety is guaranteed as a guest for tonight. I will ask you to comply, otherwise we will not grant you access to the facilities." "You think to stop us? I''d like to see you¡ª" "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" the mustached man interrupted with a terrible bellow. The loud voice silenced the whispers of the assembly, such was the desperation it conveyed. "Don''t say it. Don''t finish that sentence. You really, really don''t want to do that," he hastily continued while growing red in the face. The woman had tilted her head and was staring at him curiously. "She''s bound by the rules of hospitality so long as you keep your mouth shut and don''t do anything. I swear I saw a man tell her ''you''re welcome to try'' from inside his house because he thought himself safe. It counted as an invitation. He died the next second. Don''t mess with semantics when you''re around her. Just don''t." The man''s concern was so heartfelt that Kate, who had interacted with many grifters throughout the years, found herself convinced of his honesty. Here was a man who had seen much, she thought. Here was a man who had seen enough. At least for tonight. The trio of thugs remained ambivalent. She could see the tension in their backs. The vampire tuted once and something peculiar happened. She started to talk and as she did, she changed. Her skin gained an unearthly pallor and her poise, once demure, turned almost¡­ predatory. "If you wish to keep your pistols to defend yourselves from me, I promise you¡­" she said, and she smiled. It was ghastly. Canines, no, fangs, were revealed by the withdrawal of her carmine lips like knives laid bare. Her eyes were half-lidded now, and reminded Kate of a waiting cat. "¡­that they would not help." A cold wave washed over Kate. She and most of the other mages took a reflexive step back. She was reminded of opening the door in winter, at night. There was nothing in front of her but darkness and a biting cold that froze her to the marrow. That did it. The three men moved to the concierge without a word. Her gaze followed them before she turned her attention to the next guest. Her expression reverted to its previous preppy self as if nothing had happened. The old man had not stepped back before the onslaught. He strutted forward and Kate realized that he had a girl by his side, a pretty thing with a curious strand of white hair on her otherwise dark mop. The tensions must have addled her mind. She immediately remarked that the companion was young enough to be his granddaughter! Disgusting. "Ariane! Are you making a habit of bullying the younglings?" he exclaimed in a raucous voice. Kate half-expected the vampire to jump on him. Instead, she returned a disarming smile, sans the fangs this time. "Frost! Always a pleasure to see you. Have you reconsidered my offer?" "Nope! I will stay as is, thank you very much." "A shame. Ah, do not mind me. It is such a pleasure to see you again. And you brought your granddaughter with you! Welcome Margaret, how are you doing?" Oh. It seemed that Kate had judged him too hastily. "Fairly good, Lady Ariane, thank you. Grandpa has been training me with ice magic. It won''t be so easy for you next time!" she proudly answered. "I will be looking forward to it," the vampire replied without malice. There was no trace of her earlier hostility. "By the way, Ariane, you still owe me one glorious death in battle!" the old man said again. "You will have to forgive me, kind sir, a horde of werewolves failed to deliver so the task is harder than I thought. Rest assured that I will notify you of any heroic last stands I come across." "Damn right, you should." The powerful old man, apparently named Frost of all things, went on soon after and it was Chris and her turn. The experienced burglar handed the vampire their invitation with a flourish and a grin, which the monster returned affably. "Is this your first time attending a Rosenthal event?" she asked. "It is." "I would like to remind you of the rules, then. You are allowed to keep your foci, if you have any, and cast defensive spells if you believe that you are in danger. All other weapons must be left to the concierge. Any attack on staff or guests will be met swiftly and decisively. If your behavior interferes with the conduct of the event, you will be made to leave. Your safety and comfort are guaranteed by clan Rosenthal for the duration of your stay. If you have any questions, feel free to consult a member of the staff. Do enjoy your evening." The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. She returned the invitation and they left without a word. Kate allowed herself a sigh of relief. The vampire made her uncomfortable. They made their way up the flight of stairs, then to another further on the side. The second-floor promenade around the central area was draped in dark banners displaying a coat of arms that, she assumed, represented the clan hosting them tonight. They passed by other mages and mundanes in fineries as exotic as they were strange. There were even natives! She supposed vampires had no need to fear savages¡­ Chris opened a small door, and they went into the auction room. Kate''s breath caught up in her chest from the spectacle before her. They were in a tiny lodge with only two seats, one of many dotting the walls around the central pit. The only furniture was a small coffee table currently holding two strange glasses with tall bodies and narrow rims, as well as a bottle of bubbly. Sear?h the nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The plush red chairs belonged in a boudoir, accommodating rich ladies in extravagant outfits gossiping over barons and viscounts. The paint did not flake. It smelled clean. She caressed the velvety surface of the upholstery. After seeing so many gilded travesties of wealth, after being disenchanted so many times by the appearance of affluence without substance, it felt both strange and comforting to experience the real deal. She sat heavily and relaxed for the first time in three days. Her gaze trailed up to the large room''s ceiling where one more surprise awaited her. It was fully decorated with a massive, painted bas-relief that covered it from wall to wall. Once, she had visited a library and found a book on the history of art. It was a treasure trove of illustrations showing the greatest works of the European masters throughout the eras. The first page showed the Sistine chapel. Kate''s first thought had been to question how they could paint something that high, scaffolding she assumed, yet soon her considerations had disappeared. The circular vista mesmerized her with its breathtaking composition. God granting Adam the gift of life gave her vertigo. She could not help but draw a comparison. As her inspections continued, she felt a profound feeling of unease assail her. The men and women displayed were as varied as could be. One showed great strength. Another was a Mediterranean woman with eyes closed, seemingly asleep. Kate''s eyes rested on a black man holding a miniature sun, his traits showing a strange exaltation. They were... eerie. Something disturbed her on a fundamental level, though she could not quite put her finger on what, until she looked towards the heart. Like a small fish in a whirlpool her attention was drawn inward to a figure that sent shivers down her spine. It was a massive eye. There were lashes. At least, she hoped those were lashes. The eye was staring down and ignoring her. She felt a wave of insignificance threatening to overwhelm her. She did not matter. She never would. She was just... Kate shook her head to dispel the strange feeling. "Are you alright?" Chris asked. "Yes," she answered, "just a bit overwhelmed, is all." Chris squeezed her hand once again and she felt better. Her nerves were getting to her. It was just her imagination. She would complete the job and get out. Everything would be fine. She just had to keep it together, dammit. Kate ignored the disturbing painting and stared down. The lodges on the lower levels allowed more occupants. She recognized that Frost character with his overly serious granddaughter, who was nervously playing with her white strand of hair when she thought no one was looking. They shared the space with a handful of other mages, most of whom were caught in an animated discussion. She could hear their boisterous laughs. There were other groups, of course: natives in western clothes burdened by pendants and amulets staring at each other in awkward silence. Blacks turtling in their own lodge as if they expected trouble. People dressed like royalty. Others dressed like soldiers. A ship captain. A trapper. A gipsy woman playing with her golden circlets. This was a strange assembly that not even the rowdy fictions she sometimes enjoyed could describe. Here was a cour des miracles to equal the Parisian one, hidden in a palatial arena at the heart of the American capital of sin. She felt lost. But not for long. Down below, a man walked from behind a curtain to a waiting pulpit. She knew he was a vampire with immediate certainty. There was something there that caught the eye. The man swept the room with his gaze and it felt as if he stared directly at her. She could see his chestnut eyes with perfect clarity despite the distance. When he talked, his voice tickled her ear with its intimacy. It was warm. It made her feel comfortable and welcome. She felt herself relax a bit more. "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the Hell''s Gates auction! My name is Isaac of the Rosenthal clan, and I shall be your host tonight. It is my pleasure and privilege to welcome you and I hope that you are all comfortable and at ease. If you are not, you will find a bottle of Mumm Black Ribbon champagne by your side. I invite you to sample it and try again." A susurrus of soft chuckles and approving words rose through the air. "I am sure that you are all eager to see what we have prepared for you tonight. Without further ado, feast your eyes on our first exhibit!" The curtain behind the man flapped open and two guards pushed forth a heavy cart upon which a shape stood hidden behind a tarp. They removed it to reveal what appeared to be a suit of armor of incredible make. "The first item is a Rosenthal specialty, a Sentinel pattern Heritage Battle Golem. The Sentinel is an indefatigable and relentless defender, one that will protect you and your descendants thanks to a blood identification system. Upon the death of the owner, the Sentinel''s loyalty construct will follow either the first child or another one of your choosing. The frame and mechanical mind are Rosenthal specialties while the armor and propulsion systems come straight from the Skaragg armories, hidden deep in the bowels of the Norwegian Scandes. With the Sentinel, you do not just build your assets. You build a legacy. Starting price is ten thousand pounds or equivalent." Kate almost expected the audience to scoff at the ridiculous price. Ten thousand pounds? She could retire twelve times over with that sum! And yet, the group below was animated by discussions. "Is that thing really worth so much?" she hissed. "I have no idea," Chris replied with clear amusement. She pouted. "Ten thousand pounds on my left. Ten thousand¡­" Against all odds, the auction started to take off until it was won by a fat woman in a teal dress that made her look like a pastry. Kate shook her head again. "You fucking bitch!" someone screamed from across the room. The fiery declamation caused a few gasps and outraged whispers. The perpetrator did not appear to care. He was practically hanging over the railing, flailing his fists impotently. His scruffy grey beard made him look like some sort of vagrant, although his fine yellow vest told another story. "You think you can¡ª" It happened very fast. One moment, the man leant forward like a hound on a leash. The next, he was gone, and the door slammed behind him. Kate blinked to remember what had happened. There had been a hand. It had enclosed the screaming man''s head like hers would grab an egg. The hand had been attached to a giant. "Oh dear," their host commented genially, "please remember that we will not suffer interruptions. Now, for the next item¡­" And everyone acted as if nothing had happened. "I''m going to be sick¡­" she told Chris. "Not yet," he replied without looking, "wait a few more items." She wondered what would happen if she strangled him. Probably nothing good. The auction went on without any further disturbance. Some of the auctioned goods required lengthy explanations due to the strangeness. One, for example, was a painting of an eye that would mesmerize anyone staring at it. She was briefly reminded of the ceiling, yet when she looked up again, the feeling was gone. Quite a few groups sent members down to assess the piece of art. The canvas was angled away from the room. The newcomers would invariably take a look, stumble, then just stand there. Even the host''s smooth voice proved unequal to the task of keeping her calm after that one. She just wanted out. She closed her eyes to the wands and crowns and exotic weapons. She ignored the strange bookshelves and decrepit grimoires. The scandalous prices streaked through her brain like falling stars, the amounts absurd and fantastic. Each one was high enough to feed entire villages for years. The ransom of a king. After what felt like an eternity, Chris touched her arm and she knew that the time had come. Both of them stood up and rang the bell that would summon Griggs. The smarmy infiltrator took Kate by the arm. She had no need to feign illness on the way down. They dodged under a curtain and reached some sort of infirmary, bypassing the gate to the basement and its group of vigilant guards. A woman gave her a tonic and she gulped it down before she started to channel. Her power was strange and required some time to set up. Its major advantage was that her aura would only fluctuate strangely during the casting, a pattern consistent with the distress she claimed. She heard the telltale noise of the path down unlocking. "I feel better, thank you. We can go now," she announced. The pair of thieves left through the door and she looked left towards the passage. It was half-open, its enchantments disabled. A pair of guards were dragging a cart through. Her vision doubled. A part of her, more distant now, kept walking forward under the guidance of Griggs. That part was solid but also, false. It was an empty shell. The real part of her turned and walked confidently through the gaping maw leading down. That part was real. It was also invisible and intangible. She descended a few steps. The shell''s gaze fell on a pair of piercing blue eyes. A distant voice rang in her ears. "Is the lady indisposed?" "She is fine now," Griggs answered hurriedly, "just bringing her back to her seat, ma''am." "I see." The vampire called Ariane let them pass but the shell caught one more sight. The woman was scenting the air. A great fright shocked Kate. Her concentration wavered and the ghost gained solidity. Fortunately, there was no one to capitalize on her weakness. The shell remained solid and the vampire left. Kate allowed herself a sigh of relief. The way down was made of stones leading to a corridor well-lit by lanterns. The basement was clearly designed to be lived in. Paintings depicting grisly scenes from some heathen mythology adorned the walls. She stumbled. The shell was almost back in their lodge. Every step it took tore something from her chest and replaced it with ice. She leaned against the right door and forced it open. It was blessedly empty. She collapsed on the ground. The shell caught a glimpse of Chris and dissolved into nothing. It was done. She was through, and no one was the wiser. Kate awarded herself ten seconds of reprieve before starting her search. The room she found herself in was half living quarter and half workshop. Piles of clothes waited to be ironed, a few more awaited mending. In a corner of the room, a table displayed a chessboard and a pile of books. She took a minute to catch her breath and dispel the awful feeling that her torso was about to cave in. She had become better at it, but the spell was so harrowing that every cast left her feeling gouged out. She found the key and uniform where Griggs left them, snuck behind a patrol, and made her way to the emergency exit. Her target was more a cistern than anything else. It was bare, save for a massive central pool. The entire far wall was occupied by a grate with a massive, fortified gate set squarely in the middle. It shone with arcane symbols of defense, alarm and solidity. Steel bars blocked a small window, allowing her to see beyond, not unlike a prison door. The key clicked in place. She opened the way in silence, the titanic slab of metal rotating on perfectly oiled hinges. She had almost expected some metallic shriek that would alert the entire building. On the other side, she saw a canal with an overflow to allow the water to leave. It was tragically devoid of catholic priests. Or any other allies for that matter. She stood there and prayed. A minute later, a pair of footsteps emerged from the gloomy darkness and sent her heart aflutter. Her partners emerged a few moments later. "Well done," Chris said, "now we wait for the Heart." Even MacCormick grudgingly greeted her as he checked his many weapons. He was armed to the teeth. Things were looking up. Griggs sighed to prevent himself from whistling. He clenched his fist to avoid snapping his fingers, or taking his deck out to flick cards. Control, control, control. Frustrating. All those rules and norms and whatnot everyone had to follow. They were just games of shadows, pointless and restrictive. He stopped on the threshold to one of the lodges and knocked. The door was opened by a mage in a ridiculous white coat, who blinked when he recognized another practitioner. Fortunately, Griggs had long ago understood that a subdued aura was an inoffensive one and the guest asked another bottle of booze before slamming the door in his face. Griggs smirked, turned around and almost walked into the vampire. It was the woman. Lucky him. "Say, the woman you escorted down has mysteriously disappeared. You would not happen to know anything about that, would you?" she asked with a soft smile. Griggs returned it. They should have sent the muscle. He had a way with the fairer sex. He met her gaze and submitted her to the full power of his hypnosis. He saw the surprise in her pallid face, he saw her eyes flutter and felt a strong resistance, then he was through. He heard a noise like moving branches, then he appeared in her mindscape. It was there that he was king. In the real world, the world of flesh, he was one amongst many. Here, the fabric of the mind moved under his fingers like clay under the care of a virtuoso, creating wonders and destroying much too. All that it took was to find whichever item in the woman''s core, most of the time a bedroom, represented her ego. After that, he could tweak and twist to his heart''s content. Griggs inspected his surroundings and his good mood evaporated. What the hell was going on? He should be inside of a house, or a room. Instead, he was at the edge of a bizarre maze of bark and stone. Alleys stopped without reason while strange statues dotted the Boschian landscape representing men, but also strange wolf-like creatures and other chimeras. A fortress rose from the earth at some distance, white of walls, with sharp towers jutting like spines. The light of the moon was¡­ purple? Something told him that it would be a bad idea to look up. That was the mindscape of a vampire? Original. Yet, as always, insufficient. He focused and his form elongated. His hands turned into twin claws ending in long, crimson spikes. It was time to explore this unusual playground, and find something new to play with. Griggs took one step forward and hissed in pain. A thorny root had sneakily fastened around his ankle. He severed the guilty appendage and walked with renewed purpose. There had to be a way to the fortress. The first seemingly empty alley was hiding a passage, a way to the left hidden behind a sort of optical illusion with the wall of vegetation bulging slightly outward. He snickered and turned around. A branch whacked his chest. Griggs swore. His powerful claw savaged the guilty piece of vegetation, as well as the wall behind it. Leaves and twigs rained before his fury. He suddenly felt quite silly. Those were just obstacles, probably some sort of passive defense mechanism against intrusion that only vampires had. Alva''s defenses had been about camouflage and misdirection. This mind was probably trained differently. He realized that he should be grateful the blonde woman offered a challenge. It would not do to grow bored and jaded. Enough self-reflection, it was time to move on. Griggs took a step forward and gasped in pain. Another root had grabbed his foot. He freed himself, but not without damage. The horrid branch had blood and fabric stuck to its awful spines by the time he was done. This was getting tiring. "Have to keep moving," he grumbled to himself. The hidden path led through another maze, under arcs and by pools filled with thick scarlet liquid. He tried to stop to close his wounds but found the scraps reticent to his ability to shift. It was as if the thorns had marked him. He also noticed it now: every time he stopped, roots would quest towards his feet. Finally, he emerged on a circular plaza of white stone. One of the statues occupied the middle, a wolfish thing caught mid-howl. "Finally," he grumbled. Sitting on the marble-like floor, he focused on the cuts spotting his legs with red dots, in vain. The wounds resisted his effort to close them. "Fucking weird spa¡ª" Griggs received no warning. The statue''s heavy claws smashed into his flanks and sent him reeling against the bramble. His only saving grace came from his own claws blocking the worst of the damage. The pain still forced a cry out of his lungs. He scrambled out of the way and dodged the roots snaking towards him. The statue stepped back. "You piece of shit!" he yelled. Griggs lunged forward and raked the statue''s chest, easily crouching under its counter-attack. He stepped back once again. This had to be some sort of guardian. The statue retreated once more. "You cannot get out of the stone circle, can you?" he asked with a dreadful smile. The construct did not answer. Griggs carefully and patiently started to dismantle his foe. He would step in, strike one blow then dance out. He would keep moving to avoid getting trapped. His patient and cold joy turned to frustration. "Why won''t you die?" He tracked the groove his first attack had dug in the statue''s torso and realized, to his dismay, that it was closing. For the first time in years, Griggs felt something more than frustration. He could not even leave. The moment he broke the link with the vampire, she would kill him. He had taken MacCormick''s warning to heart. He did not stand a chance. "I must press on," he raged between gritted teeth. He had broken a hundred minds. Experience was on his side. He would crack this nut as he had cracked so many others. Griggs rushed through the circle and nimbly jumped over a swipe. The second one nicked his back, then he was through. He sprinted through another opening. "Dammit!" His circumstances were growing more dire by the minute. The questing roots were quicker to find him now. He managed to dodge under traps a few more times, but he could feel the maze closing in around him like the jaw of some impossible creature. And still, he dared not look up. There, light! He crashed into a large clearing, tired and hurt. The fortress doors loomed before him on the other side of a garden of statues. His blood ran cold. A female soldier in stylized medieval plate held a sword in a fencer guard, a fox mask hiding her features. A man in a leather suit, hands resting on the hilts of his two pistols. A titan in black iron armor gripped a massive double-headed axe. An amazon with a spear lounged on her pedestal as if it were a couch. Other unmoving pieces of art stood, kneeled, and sat between pillars of engraved onyx and amphoras bearing strange white flowers. The last guardian dominated the rest, and its alien appearance froze Griggs'' heart. It had a flat face, cruel blue eyes shining an otherworldly blue. Its smooth torso possessed a chitinous quality that the otherwise human traits made even more jarring. Griggs had to get through at any cost. He had to hope that the gates were unlocked. It was his only hope. But wait. There were spots there that did not have stones. Perhaps the range of each statue was extremely limited? He had to chance it. He sprinted forward with the strength of despair, relying on his longer limbs to move with unexpected swiftness. He rolled under the titan''s axe swing, he pushed on his feet and jumped forward. The titan pursued him. The titan stepped outside of its stone circle, signaling his demise. A sword caught him in the shoulder and pinned him to the ground like an insect. He raised his claws to break it, to escape. A gunshot. His left hand exploded in a shower of blood and bones. He screamed his heart out. The pain tore through his psyche and flayed his vessel. His body returned to normal. He awaited a coup-de-grace that did not come. The constructs took a step back while thorny branches captured his limbs. The strange vegetation hoisted him up and smashed him against a nearby wall. The ropey root around his throat threatened to crush his neck. Around him, the statues stood in a semicircle, weapons pointed at him. The vampire was sitting daintily on the shoulder of the last guardian in a vaporous dress of midnight blue. Her feet swung in the air. She held one of the white flowers between two nails of polished obsidian. "You know, I have a theory about those who assume a monstrous form in their mind palaces." "What¡­ the fuck¡­ are you?!" "My theory is that they are significantly less human on the inside than they appear to be. In any case, we have a busy night ahead of us so I will be brief. Where is the woman?" Griggs tried to break the connection, tried to fight, but he realized that he was completely overpowered. It was time to negotiate then. "How about¡ª" He screamed when something sharp stabbed the back of his skull. He felt himself unravel. "I forgot to mention, your consent is not required. You are probably familiar with the concept." "This isn''t what you said!" Kate hissed. One of the guards lay dead on the ground in an expanding pool of blood. He had managed to block Chris'' cudgel''s hit to the head, but not MacCormick''s follow up. The other one had crumbled insensate on the ground. Her lover looked pale but resolute. "Later, Kate. We need to leave first. We can hide the bodies but not the blood. We have to go." MacCormick seemed to agree as he grabbed the Heart of the Nile in a gloved hand. The jewel was as large as a quail egg and sapphire blue. He tossed it to Chris who deftly caught it. It seemed to Kate as if it had gained a red tint. "You killed him!" "They are enemies of mankind, girl, you waste your sympathy. Pah, I knew that it was a mistake to bring a woman," MacCormick spat. "Enough of this, let''s go!" Chris urged, but too late. From the entrance to the basement came the noise of stumbling footsteps and a terrible whine. The female vampire, Ariane, Kate remembered, strolled in with a man in tow. She dragged him behind her like one drags a rowdy child. It took her a moment to recognize Griggs. The man she had known and feared was gone. Only a shadow of its former self stood there gibbering like a madman, eyes wide and bloodshot, foamy spit bordering a mouth frozen in a rictus. He was emitting a keening sound, like a boiling pot of tea. She did not know if it stemmed from madness, or the talon stabbed deeply into his clavicle. The vampire stopped a few steps away to examine the scene with polite interest. Her gaze swept the guilty trio, the gem in their possession and the dead man at their feet. The detached, almost amused expression bothered Kate even more than the blood slowly staining her ally''s shirt. "Not a meal then, a buffet," she commented. They finally moved. Kate rushed into the cistern with Chris close behind. A blue light emerged from behind her, where MacCormick stood still. "In nomine patris, et filii¡­" the priest intoned. "Djarn," the vampire answered. Magic devastated the hallway. Kate had tasted power as she stood behind the old man at the entrance. She had not experienced it. The spell roaring behind her spoke of peeled skin and steel knives scraping bone. It stung her gums. It grated the nerves behind her eyes. She lost her balance even as her legs pumped up and down to propel her through the emergency exit faster than she had even run in her entire life. "Shield!" She knew that it would not be enough. MacCormick''s shriek turned into a gurgle as she crashed on the ground. The blue light dimmed. Chris slammed the door and turned the lock. The vampire was suddenly there. The couple jumped back and Kate raised an arm reflexively, expecting a violent end, yet, nothing happened. The lack of any further violence was almost anticlimactic. Chris was the first to stand back up and approach the door. She could not get through, Kate realized. The wards and steel had kept the monster at bay. They were¡­ saved?! But no, she could have alerted others. Soldiers could be coming around to block all egress. They had to hurry, except she recognized something in Chris'' eyes now, something that almost never occurred. He was angry. And anger made him stupid. It made him stubborn and defensive. She could only guess the cause too easily: he had considered Griggs a friend despite his many flaws. Chris lifted the jewel and practically dangled it under the creature''s nose. Even through the steel bars, she could tell that his provocation had not worked. The vampire showed the same polite interest as before, as if the murder of a man and the enslavement of another were but a pleasant diversion from her evening work. "How does it feel to be outsmarted and beaten by a mortal?" her lover asked. He sounded bitter and furious. Kate placed a hand on his arm to drag him away. The creature was wasting their time. It was a trap! "Chris¡ª" "How does it feel to lose?" he demanded again. The monster tilted her head as her smile broadened. When she spoke, her voice was conversational. "Truth be told, I lose rather often¡­" Kate pulled on Chris'' shoulder towards the end of the tunnel. She could almost hear the sounds of the night, smell the spice and stench of the city. "¡­ yet, in the end, I always come out on top." Kate''s heart stops in her chest. There was a click. There was the ''ting'' of metal touching metal. She turned to see the entire barrel of MacCormick''s looted pistol slide between the metal bars. The vampire shot Chris. The explosion reverberated in the enclosed space in a deafening crack that left her ears ringing, her nose itchy with the pungent odor of spent powder. Her lover stumbled back and fell onto one knee. His hands reached to his chest where bloomed the crimson petals of a strange flower, expanding from a core of tarnished black. "You¡­ you¡­" Kate screamed, then cut herself short a second later. She grabbed Chris under the shoulder and hoisted him up before he could finish his collapse. She took one difficult step forward, then another. They were going out. They were leaving this place for good. Chris'' breaths came in gasps and pants. She forced herself to ignore the location of the wound. It could be fine. Such gunshots could be survived, if one was lucky, and Chris had enough luck for ten people. She pushed the dread away. They exited the tunnel into an abandoned garden at the back of some decrepit manor. Moreau''s carriage was right ahead. He saw them and stepped down, helped her get a failing Chris inside. They were moving by the time she had torn the fabric of her beautiful dress to apply pressure to the wound. It was not working. The improvised bandage was already soaking wet with no signs of improvement. "Come on, come on..." Just apply pressure and the bleeding would stop. Elementary medicine. Practically everyone knew that. She just had to keep doing it. The carriage bumped and Chris moaned in pain. He grabbed her hand so she held onto it. The skin was slimy with half-coagulated liquid. She felt something as well. "Take¡­" he rasped. "Yes, I''m holding it. I''m holding your hand. Just hold on." It went limp. It fell from her grasp. There was something left there, a mineral node that used to be blue but was now covered in scarlet fingerprints. "Chris?" He was very pale. Kate went through grief and anger at the absurdity of it all and came out the other way, heart numb, brain frozen in a haze of stupidity. She could barely think. She had a jewel. She had a corpse. She was in a carriage vibrating like an earthquake. The information passed through her mind like through a sieve. She retained nothing. Something bumped on top of her. She heard a brief scream, quickly interrupted. The ceiling above her was ripped off like a page from a book. Each nail gave up one after another in a rhythmic ''clack clack clack''. A half-smile. Half-lidded blue eyes. "Why?" the thief whispered. "Why what?" the stranger answered, ignoring the entire absurd world. Then she was gone. There was a terrible crash, a feeling of weightlessness. Cold waters tore a gasp from her chest and she would have drowned here and there if the carriage frame had not kept the air in. Kate was so far beyond any reasonable thought that her instincts kicked in without conscious effort. She saw herself as if from the outside. The bereaved woman pushed herself from the wreck. She struggled with the weight of her soaked garment, the accursed thing trying to drag her to the depths. She beat a little dance with her feet until the blessed lights came close enough and her head broke through the surface of Lake Pontchartrain''s turbid waters. She gulped its fetid air. She blessed her aunt for teaching her how to swim and stay afloat, despite the weight of her clothes. She fought on. She heard heavy footsteps coming from the side. Someone pulled her up and she realized that the water was no longer so deep. She pushed the brown hair plastered to her forehead until she could see the brown murk around her and the green shore ahead. A man had helped her, was still helping her get out. She had clung to the Heart, somehow. They stopped. They were on a swampy piece of land at the edge of a gathering of shacks. A handful of torches provided illumination for the rickety wooden bridge nearby and the carriage that had smashed through its railing. Of the vampire, there was no sign. The man was familiar to her. She recognized the mustache and the righteous air. He and the vampire had welcomed her at the entrance after he apparently saved three thugs from¡­ whatever had happened to her team. She understood the implication only too easily, and found that she did not care. There was not enough left of Kate inside of Kate to care about Kate. Reality had lost its value, her own life included. "Should have left me under the water," she said, "wouldn''t be worse than what your precious monster has in store for me." "You begrudge me saving you?" he answered with a gruff voice. He had this white knight, valorous defender of the meek aura that pissed her off. "Yes, I begrudge. I begrudge mightily. Begrudge, begrudge, begrudge, you pompous ass. Why are you here? Why do you serve this... this beast! Do you not see what she has done? That she is an enemy?" Her voice started small but grew crescendo as the bottled ocean of feelings inside of her found a leak in her armor. Anger bubbled in her chest, aimed at everything and everyone. The man was unmoved by her anger, contrary to her expectations. He did not even exhibit a trace of guilt. "I have seen what she has done for much longer than you have." "She''s a monster!" "I know, and I think I finally understand. You think that I should help you because you are human, and she is not. Correct?" "Yes!" Was it not obvious? "Let me get it straight. You, a burglar guilty of breaking and entering, grand theft, and accessory to murder, want me to help you?" "It does not matter!" she bellowed, "They are not people!" "And the serial rapist in your team destroyed Miss Alva''s mind because she deserved it? You are fine with that? This¡­ level of violation? This all alright to you?" he continued, his voice gaining in intensity. It was stronger now and burned with a conviction that he had not shown earlier when holding the monster back "You speak of mankind. Hah! What a convenient and fleeting thing it is for you lot. Your allies loot, kill, and rape and that''s fine because they, whoever they are, deserve it. Kidnappings for the greater good. Sacrificing people for the betterment of that vague thing you call mankind. Horseshit!" What the hell was he talking about? "I understand now. You only plaster those values on the people you wrong so that it''s fine to treat them like garbage. You think yourself better than the monster you denounce? Hypocrites. She and I have done more for actual people of flesh and blood in the last month than you have in your entire life, you shameless tart. How people act is more important than what people are and you are a self-centered thief with no care for the victims your gang of thugs left in their trail. I am done. You can go back to your imaginary mankind, I want no part of it. I will do good in my own way." It took two seconds for the most important part of the answer to register. "You''re letting me go?" "I cannot morally justify holding you." Kate scowled at the tall man with obvious distrust, but she also knew that his type sometimes let women go, so happy they were with their little self-righteous moment. She also knew better than to stay. The pair glared at each other, both entrenched in their ethics as in a fortress. She trotted as fast as her exhausted legs could carry her and disappeared behind the corner of a dilapidated house. Silence, such as it was, descended upon the scene. "You might as well come out," the man finally said after calming down a bit. Shadows dissipated by the road. Ariane stepped forward. "You did not tell her," she said. "No, I did not," the man agreed between his teeth. She waited. "She is merely reaping the consequence of her own action, bringing a fake jewel to a cutthroat cabal. I am done wasting my time on those who are not worth the effort. I have made my choice. I will stay and¡­ stir you in the right direction. God knows you need the guidance." He did not see the vampire roll her eyes. "So, hum, is that fine with you? Do we need some sort of ceremony?" he asked with much less bluster. "You need to give me your blood to conclude the pact. All of my kin will know that you are not to be touched. We can do that back at the auction hall." "Just my blood, right, not my soul?" "For the last time, no!" The tall man grumbled under his moustache as he made his way up the road and to his horse. Ariane stayed. She took one look towards the city, where the thief had fled, then another at the back of her newest minion. "Two birds with one stone." "What was that?" "Nothing." Chapter 116 - 111. Blue I approach most of my problems with the same tried and true methodology. The first step is to identify the cause, the second step is to remove the cause with extreme prejudice. So far, I could not seem to apply it to my current issue, taking Richard out of the Mexican-American war. Indeed, the continuation of hostilities is not due to a sudden revival of Mexico''s scattered armed forces, but the very reason why their armed forces are scattered to begin with: they do not have a unified, functional government to agree on terms of surrender. I am stuck in the south, away from my power base. The first three months of eighteen-forty-seven are spent on several projects. Most of my time is dedicated to spying and keeping an eye on the ever-changing tides of war, and solidifying my alliance with the growing Natalis clan. Many a White Cabal agent finds employment among their magic-deprived ranks, thanks to my work as an intermediary. I also back Melusine''s many financial projects, including the completion of a canal and the first railroad in Chicago. I foresee that Melusine''s seat of power will eclipse Marquette in barely a few years and I do not mind too much. First, I have an interest in many of her endeavors and second, she cannot match the level of control, and thus safety, that I have over my land. The rest of the time is spent getting my behind kicked by Lord Jarek in sparring duels. That man is a monster. Even my most powerful spells barely make him flinch. I have yet to force him to use his Magna Arqa, and I have rebuilt my ribcage more times than I care to count. Besides training sessions, I also bring Sheridan up to speed on vampire customs and diplomacy. It takes an unreasonable amount of time, including exposure to my latest rendition of the Watcher, but he is finally convinced that we are not, in fact, hell spawns. No. Those are clearly the werewolves. Nothing I can say convince him that "unholy crosses between man and beast" can be anything but the work of the Devil. All in all, I had fun. Then, in April, I finally get my chance when Richard is wounded at the battle of Cerro Gordo, in the Mexican Heartlands. The medical mage I handily keep around makes sure that his arm does not get infected, but the wound is still quite serious and would require a long convalescence. Richard and I have a bit of a falling out when he realizes how many lives medical mages could save and how I let some of his men die in vain. My answer is that I simply do not care about them. Sheridan''s answer is to remind the young man of the treatment of sorcery in an aggressively protestant army in a combat situation. Sheridan''s answer wins the argument. I convince Richard to come home to rest and then, since the hostilities are petering out like a moist firecracker anyway, to accept the recommendation he received to enter West Point. The war is over for him. We board a Natalis ship from Veracruz back to New-Orleans and then home. Our little group arrives at my family compound a bit after sunset. June welcomes us on the stairs before the entrance. Her tired eyes light up when she sees her uncle, his arm still in a sling, but otherwise safe and sound. "Richard, bienvenue chez toi," she welcomes him in French. "I am glad to see you, comment vas-tu?" The pair catches up before June sends him inside for a late dinner. She turns to me with a sheer expression of relief. "Hello Ariane, and gentlemen," she greets. Sheridan and John politely remove their hats and I make the introduction. To her credit, she does not appear intimidated by John''s presence even after I revealed his true nature. I credit John himself for his performance. He developed a way to slouch that makes him appear as a sort of embarrassed, clumsy boulder. The disguise grants him a deceptive gentle giant aura that the fair sex often finds comforting. June and I send the men inside and I take her for a short stroll around the property. "You have such a nice dress," she compliments nervously. I am wearing a new iteration of the classic semi-battle apparel with reinforcements around the chest area, as well as vambraces. This one is violet with blue undertones. "Thanks. It has pockets," I tell her with a little bit of pride. I prove their existence by removing a knife from a recess near my waist. "Wow, how did you manage that?" "I threatened the tailor''s family." "No, I mean, nevermind. So huh, thank you for bringing him back." "You are welcome. I merely fulfilled my obligations to my brother." "Right. We had a funeral. It was calm and sober. Serene. He would have liked it, I think." She seeks my approval. No, comfort. Sheridan''s presence has a peculiar effect on my psyche. Beyond his ability to advise me, I feel that I care slightly more about things I had discarded before, such as other people''s feelings. Without realizing it, I had let my nature erode my interest in ''useless'' pursuits. Torran''s departure had not helped either. He always knew when to drag me away from the pursuit of power and influence in favor of the art of ''carpe diem''. With him gone, I have pursued my projects with relentless focus. S§×ar?h the N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Nirari''s presence reminded me of the end game but perhaps I should remember to unwind, from time to time. I should paint the drawings I made. And invite Isaac out while he is here. "I am sure he did," I comfort June with a soft smile, "my brother cared deeply about you. You were his pride. He told me so while I was there." She blushes. "He¡­ he did?" "Achille mellowed out in his later years. You would not have recognized him if you had met him earlier. Despite his best efforts, he remained someone who was very private with his own emotions. Deep inside he saw himself as a stable rock upon which the family could be built, like our father was for us." "I see. So that''s why¡­" she finishes. She tilts her head downward with the absent air of someone lost in their own thoughts. "What troubles you, child?" I ask. "Hah. You asking me while looking so young¡­" I consider leaving the Hasting essence unused and decide against it. I am not here to impress a mortal. I am here to spend time with my family, my mortal roots. Power games mean nothing and gain me nothing. "Ahem. Yes. My dad sued me." "I beg your pardon?" I exclaim, outraged. My anger finds echo in her, and outrage soon replaces shame on her lovely traits. "Our lawyer read grand-pere''s will. My dad wanted the house to clear his gambling debts but Grampa only left him a single letter that literally just said: ''you were my life''s greatest disappointment'', so now he claims that I poisoned his mind." That little¡­ Gah! I forgot that every family has their black sheep. "My own father¡­" June continues, her eyes brimming with tears. I grab her and pull her into my embrace. She immediately cries and I somewhat awkwardly pat the back of her head. Her hair smells of sunshine. "Do not worry, June. I will take care of this for you." "Oh¡­ I did not mean to¡­" "I know, I know, you do not want to bother me. I will not come back often, but I will promise you this: you can keep living your life as you see fit, and I will be the invisible hand that turns aside fate''s worst blows. You are a good person, June. I hereby choose you as my contact for the family. I grant you leave to reach out to me in times of need, though do not forget that I will not protect you from the consequences of your own actions." June nods emphatically, then stops, considering. She has learned not to trust a free meal. "What do you ask in exchange?" she asks. "Nothing more than what you already do. Think of me as a¡­ reclusive, rich, powerful, grumpy aunt that still wants to stay in touch with the family." She laughs this time, her joy dispelling her earlier dismay. I find that it¡­ pleases me. "I can do that." April 1847, Savannah. My destination is quite a sight. Made of white stone ¡ª but not marble ¡ª the Rosenthal Consortium Regional Headquarter manages to appear wealthy without standing out too much. Careful engravings attract the eye, while barred windows and a monumental steel gate give off the vague impression that it would be unwise to show up without pressing business. I am rather sure that no spells are involved. The construction was just designed to be intimidating from the ground up. I am quickly let in by very polite attendees and leave John to loom over a pair of clerks. "Come in," Isaac says as I knock on his door. I do so, and take in the sights. My friend chose well. His office overlooks the Savannah river and its many ships, offering a breathtaking view even at night. The desk offers the same understated elegance and anal-retentive obsession with order and cleanliness I have come to associate with him. Salim, at least, does not use a color code to differentiate three different types of litigations. I will admit that Isaac looks gorgeous, even when slumming it. His dark hair is only a bit scruffy, and his impeccable suit gives him a young scion of a ruling family aura that fits his composure perfectly. The vampire himself sits on a dignified leather chair, head held between his hands. A single gas light illuminates his work plan and the small pile of missives lying there. "Hello Isaac. Trouble?" I ask as I shuffle in. He offers me a seat with a casual gesture before flipping a letter to the side. "Oh, Ariane, please do not mind my somber mood. I am delighted to see you. Delighted. Just¡­ troublesome matters, such as revolutions in France, Germany, and Sweden. Hungary too. And a small book published earlier in London that has sent our seers in a frenzy," he complains. "A book?" I ask with a raised brow. He throws me a copy of the offending material and I inspect the cover. The Communist Manifesto by Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels. "Whatever," I scoff, and toss it back to him, "should you not be pleased since you are here anyway?" "No, for the same reason that your house being on fire does not become good news if it happens while you are on a trip," he deadpans, and I feel a bit stupid. Isaac is a competent manager. Of course, he will be made to solve issues upon his return, and delay will only compound the difficulties. "Sorry about that. You can always desert and join us, you know?" He glares. "Have you perhaps met Sophie?" he finally asks. I am a bit surprised by the non sequitur. "Sophie? Constantine''s secretary?" "That would be Lord Constantine, Ariane. Be careful, for lords take offense easily. And yes, I am referring to her." "So?" "She is, ah, persistent in her pursuit." The revelation strikes me dumb for a moment. "You would not consider switching sides because Sophie lusts after your scrumptious self and her attention scares you?" I never expected the fun I could get from seeing the placid vampire squirm. "Not exactly scare. And there are other factors, of course. I enjoy my current position and all the knowledge I derive from it." "Excuses, excuses." "You need but to suffer the romantic attention of a Rosenthal once to understand what I mean," he replies, unamused. "Oh? Are you volunteering?" I tease. "Hmmm. I do not love you as our kind sometimes does. I do find you fascinating, witty, brilliant, and dangerously attractive." "You are correct Isaac, I had not suffered Rosenthal attention before. I give you a passing grade." Isaac seems at loss for words. "As my first courting present, I am proud to offer this to you," I announce. I grab the wrapped painting by my side and present it to him. "Hold on, that is not¡­ Should I not be the one who¡­ Did you paint this yourself?" "Of course!" "May I?" "By all means." Isaac reveals his gift with meticulous patience, cutting every string until he can unfold the paper. I drew a portrait of him as seen from above, taken as he was extolling the properties of his treasures back at the auction. I believe I managed to capture his congenial persona except for the eyes. They glance upward with a certain shine that shows the sharp mind underneath. They seem to search the spectator''s soul to uncover plots and duplicities. This is the mask of a man over the brain of a god. A true Rosenthal vampire. I think he likes it. He does not speak for a full two minutes. His inspection is so very thorough, I think that he would remember every pigment and every stroke. Finally, he returns his attention to me, expression inscrutable. "I accept your courting present and hope that the subsequent sex will not get in the way of our friendship." Wow, that was unexpectedly fast. And both Jimena and Nami did mention that vampires frequently engaged in casual sex with those they trusted. And it has been a while. And I am curious. And, perhaps, a little bit lonely. And I trust Isaac on a deep level. He was the first to help me understand our society. And he looks really, really good in that suit. Hmm. I¡­ think I want to try that. I push on before I can overthink the situation. "That will depend on your performance, Isaac." "I will hold you to that." And off we go, with the Master of the place taking the initiative with an enthusiasm I would never have imagined from someone who was hesitating to hunt a prey. It turns out that the Rosenthal Consortium''s second floor contains a secured bedroom. I just go with the flow and admit that Isaac is an experienced partner. We do not love each other, but I manage to ignore the nagging remnants of mortal guilt that would otherwise ruin the experience to just let go and enjoy myself. And so I do, for a good hour. "I hesitate to ask, but did you end your relationship with Torran?" he asks, as we rest under the covers after the act. "A bit late, no?" I retort, amused, but he shakes his head. "Relationships between vampires follow different codes. Since marriages and families do not cement our unions, we make arrangements however we see fit. You could have ended your relationship, or opened it while you are separated." "I see. To answer your question, we are free to pursue companionship with the understanding that we will claim each other next time we meet." Stolen story; please report. He nods in understanding. "A wise agreement between lovers who hold each other dear." We relax in bed for a while longer and Isaac proves that he can put his memory to good use. He had clearly been paying attention to what I like. We have more fun and I take a pleasant bath afterward to give myself some time to recover, and also because my hair looks like tumbleweed. Alas, all pleasant times must come to an end. We eventually return to his office, where he shows a table containing a map, the official reason for my visit. "We have made progress in translating the path to the dragon claw." "Alleged dragon claw." "Have some faith, Ariane, you never know what might be listening." I know what is watching and it does not care. Bah. "The map, Isaac." "Yes. We called upon the minds of the prominent expert in the Sea Peoples, a Professor Fergusson, from Oxford. He and his assistant deciphered the text with incredible speed, and we have narrowed the starting base to an island south of Kos, in the Carpathian sea." "That is great news." "Not so much, because the island does not officially exist," he answers, pointing at a small expanse of blue in the heart of the Mediterranean. I recognize Crete to the south, where the minotaur was said to have his labyrinth, and Rhodes with its lost colossus to the east, though, arguably, I had no notion of where that island was before looking at the map. "Could they be mistaken?" "Indeed not. The navigation records are quite clear, especially the traveling distances and times recorded in the recovered parchments. There are a few possibilities that we have to account for." "The island was submerged?" "Possible, but unlikely. We have no records of any era with catastrophe consistent with an entire island disappearing beneath the waves. My guess, and our Progenitor agrees, is that the Sea Peoples managed to hide it with magical means." "What, an entire island?" Anticipating my protests, Isaac lifts his hands in a calming gesture. "Let me explain before you object. The place we are looking for is a sacred location. It was used as a rallying point for the fleets to conduct ritual ceremonies before they launched expeditions on whichever shore was unlucky enough to attract their gaze. It was not large. No more than five kilometers of diameter." "I remain unconvinced. Five kilometers is a lot to camouflage." "There could be something on the island that makes it special, something that would incite a confederation of raiders to choose it as their most sacred spot, despite worshipping different gods. Something that would draw a dragon in." "Hmmm. Perhaps. Your hypothesis raises the question, if it remained hidden for so long, how are we to find it?" "I am glad you asked! We have designed a powerful tracking spell that only someone with an immense amount of aura and a good knowledge of blood magic can possess." "Did you now?" "It will be set in a stella and dropped in the main cabin of a ship sailing soon to Gibraltar." "How soon does it depart?" "Whenever you are ready. You may bring your Vassal but I will ask that you keep Doe here, on account of the amount of blood he requires as a fledgling as well as other¡­ diplomatic issues." "I understand." "After you have arrived, you will transfer to the Corbeau, one of our exploration ships. Professor Fergusson and his assistant will already be on board, along with a team of researchers and helpers. Key members of the expedition will be made aware of your nature. You will have the power to stir them as you see fit, though we advise you to let them do their job." "Of course, they are qualified, after all." "Do you agree?" "Yes. I will take part in this expedition. Hopefully, It pans out and we get a nice weapon out of it." "Even if it does not, perhaps you can use this opportunity to tour Europe. I am sure that Loth and Torran would be delighted to see you again. You can take a month or two." "Hmm. That does sound tempting. A pleasant trip followed by a holiday tour. The only way that this could go poorly would be if the captain was named Bingle, haha." "Bingle?" Isaac answers with a frown. And there it is. My heart freezes in my chest ¡ª even more than usual ¡ª a great feeling of dread assails my mind. Please no. "As in Miranda Bingle? Professor Ferguson''s assistant?" Ah. Ah, indeed. Ah. I calmly place my hands on the table. I calmly grip it until the wood groans, then, I calmly smash it against the wall. The Atlantic, two weeks later. "I''m booooored." A bang on my large cabin''s door. "Not that bored! Go away, Sheridan!" The Corbeau''s executive cabin is vast and luxurious even to the exacting standards of vampire nobility. It contains a bedroom, a bathroom, and a receiving room of great size, richly decorated by furniture that can be locked in place in case of bad weather. Polished wood and lush rugs cover the walls in warm colors, giving guests a feeling of cozy intimacy. The armory I brought with me only makes the place more interesting. At least, to me. The best feature is the throne-like chair on which I am currently sitting. I turn to my domain''s temporary occupant. My cabin occupies the back of the back of the ship, and it includes a large rectangular hatch to the outside. My sarcophagus rests on rails aiming into it with an addition stuck around for the duration of the trip. Should the vessel ever be compromised, either I or Sheridan can launch it and I will safely rest under the waves until nightfall when ballasts will lift the heavy piece to the surface of the water. The purpose of the system is to render any attack on the ship for the purpose of killing me pointless. Said hatch also serves as an ingress point for the world''s strangest castaway. "A bother, don''t you think so, Sirryn dear?" The fish-woman replies with a throaty sound, her malevolent yellow eyed fixed on the door. She has scars on her greenish tail, across her pale white chest, on one cheek going backwards and she is missing parts of her fins and two webbed fingers. She looks like she was on the unpleasant end of a canister shot. Her nose is absent, replaced by twin vertical slits but that was from birth, so it does not technically count. Her only notable belonging besides her bag is a strange wristband of pink stone, the material encircling a purple gem as if it had been weaved around it. For all I know, it was. She showed up two days into the trip, flopping on the wooden board after banging on the hatch. I did not have the heart to chase her. I was already languid with ennui. "Ariane, we need to talk!" a voice yells from behind the door. I grumble since I can imagine why he wants a discussion. Simply, I have fifteen hours per day of activity. I have been reading, I have been casting, I have been practicing forms of spear and sword. I have written two essays on the inevitability of our appearance to the mundane world, which I will send to Lord Constantine when we make landfall in Gibraltar. I have written three odes and seventeen dirty limericks, with Melusine only starring in three. I have tried knitting and realized I disliked it. I have filled one of my books with various drawings taken from my memories. I even found out a way to enchant the barrel of my next rifle. It has not saved me. So, the Watcher forbid me, I have started playing pranks on the crew. I could not help it. Ghostly apparitions in the window? Done. Strange noises on the hull as people try to sleep? Done. Items that mysteriously disappear then reappear when no one is looking? Absolutely. Perhaps enchanting a piece of wet cloth to slap the butt of the next person visiting the lavatory was a bit too much. The scream woke up the captain. Rather than facing me directly, as the man was smart enough to know where the disruptions were coming from, our brave skipper asked an equally bored Sheridan to intercede with me and limit my shenanigans. The gall of this man, trying to make me responsible. I am older, therefore, mathematically more mature. "Ariane, this is serious. There are pirates!" Do my ears deceive me? "Pirates?" "Yes! Pirates!" "Oh! Yesssssss! PIRATES!" Finally! Finally! Miranda bloody Bingle came through! I thought her aura of undaunted catastrophe would only activate upon our meeting but no! Lo and behold, some action. "We are letting them board us without resistance since it''s almost night. Can we rely on you to solve the problem?" "Of course, you can. Do send them my way." Ooooh boarding action! It has been, what, ten years since the last one? How exciting. I wish I could have been on the main deck. I quickly move my throne to face the door. I also grab a coffee table and place it to the side to hold my two revolvers. Finally, I change into full battle regalia: Loth''s armor, the obsidian gauntlet, the knives, the spear which I leave to the side. I apply a small enchantment to the lone lantern to give the light a blue hue, then I settle to wait. Sirryn comes to stand by my side and hides her presence. I find the fish-woman curious. I am still unsure as to why she is sticking to me. It cannot be the food since she barely touched the salted cod I asked for her, preferring to rely on her own supply of multicolored algae and strangely preserved flesh she drags from her scale bag. Our conversations are often one-sided. She barely speaks more than five words per day, and all her sentences start with ''Nirari''. The most curious aspect of our unexpected partnership might be my reaction to her presence. She is a predator. I am a predator. So far, I have always felt strongly about those who would intrude upon my territory. Syrrin is still an unknown, and yet her presence does not bother me in the slightest, as if we were complimentary instead of competitive. I dismiss the thought. Heavy footsteps announce the coming of quite a few guests. A discreet bang on the door. "Come in," I offer, and Sheridan walks in first, hands in the air. That immediately ticks me off. The man who follows has a long brown beard and the sort of clothes designed to look like a navy officer''s uniform without being one. He stops when he spots me, and his mouth hangs open to reveal blackened teeth. The lout currently holds Sheridan''s colt, muzzle pointed at my Vassal''s back. That will not do at all. More men follow. They look like unkempt sailors. Many show dubious hygiene and faces turned scarlet by alcohol abuse. The smell of my space downgrades from that of a salon to that of a barrack. I scrunch my nose in displeasure. A good dozen men spread in a half-circle around me, all gaping like a bunch of fools and fouling the air with their fetid breath. My mood plummets. Ah, well. Let us make use of this diversion, at least. "Poras Dei Malkan." With a massive clang, the metal door seals behind my guests. They all jump at the same time and Sheridan uses the opportunity to withdraw to a darker corner of the room. I can feel his fury from here, a rare occurrence. It must chafe his manly pride to allow criminals on board. He is more of a ''to the last drop of blood'' kind of lad. I admire that he would place the safety of the sailors above his pride. Tick tick tick. My nails play a little tune on the throne''s lacquered arm. Progressively, the sorry rabble of imbeciles populating my private quarters returns their attention to me. "I was told that you had demands?" I ask, amused. A smile reveals a hint of fangs, not enough to be terrifying, just enough to leave them uneasy. "Nah we don''t. We were just on our way," the captain immediately babbles. Half of the crew nods emphatically while the rest still waits for their intellects ¡ª such as it is ¡ª to come back to life. Hmm. I find it both admirable and slightly disappointing that some people would exert common sense ten minutes after committing an act of piracy on a well-patrolled trading lane. "Oh no, be my guests. I insist," I finish in a lower pitch. I Charm all of them at once and force a step forward. I hear a few muttered prayers. A white noise rings in my ear as they do so. "First order of business, you will return his weapon to my friend. Now." The captain mechanically throws the Colt to Sheridan, who grabs it with relief. His anger abates. Good. "Now, I''d like to know whose brilliant idea it was to attack this specific ship." Silence. "No privateer with two bits of sense would risk what you risked boarding us, so I will ask again, who decided it would be a good idea to attack us?" "What are you all doing?! Let''s kill the bitch!" a voice declares from somewhere. Finally, someone with a spine and no brain on top. The culprit is revealed when his brave companions take a step away from him. He is an angry one, I can tell, skin carmine and eyes bulging. I can feel the violence underneath. He is a man used to it. "Oh? And how would you proceed?" I ask him. After taking a few seconds to process the question, he steps forward and takes out a pistol with unnecessary flourish. I get a good view of the badly maintained barrel when he waves it under my nose. I should kill him just for that. "Enough of your bullshit, woman..." "Shoot." Silence, once again, descends upon the rabble. "Shoot," I repeat. I am curious. I know that this will not kill me. I do wonder how much it will hurt, however. A tiny part of me thinks this is ridiculous, that I should just kill them and be done. The rest is bored, and knows that boredom is a dangerous thing. I need a little bit of play, a tiny hunt, something to keep me on my toes. Being shot in the face by a pirate might just be the thing. "Shoot, you pu¡ª" A click. I watch, mesmerized, the powder ignite when the frizzen hits the rusty pan. White. Something blows into my face. It feels like being slapped, burned, and stung at the same time. Ow. Ow. Ow. Alright, ow. That hurt. I open my eyes, blink a little bit, and blow air out of my nose. Black powder rises, which I fan away with the back of my hand. The sailor and his mates let their jaws hang open, aghast. I realize that the bullet has come to rest against my left lower molars. I push it with my tongue. Hot! And vile. Ugh. I spit the piece of lead on the carpet. Somebody swears. "My turn, I guess," I remark. I snap the shooter''s neck and send his corpse careening against the hull, for intimidation and also because it really hurt. Reminder to self, avoid the cloud of heated powder whenever possible. I grab a handkerchief and wipe my face, trying to digest the latest piece of information. Normal bullets no longer harm me. At all. I have changed so much in the past thirty years. I have gained many advantages. Sheridan''s presence reminds me that I have lost some as well. I should rejoice at the disappearance of one more weakness, and yet I cannot help but wonder what the cost was. I used to be¡­ more human, at first. I think. I find it hard to remember how it felt. I have forgotten. I return my attention to the present. I do not want melancholy to get its apathetic grasp on me. "Where were we? Ah yes, you were going to tell me why you attacked my ship, before I paint the room red." The following interrogation is as inspiring as it is unpleasant, with every minute those idiots spend here increasing the risk of having to delouse and fumigate the entire room. They were ordered to intercept us by a contact in a small port called Casablanca, in order to retrieve ''any cargo'' we might be carrying, including the more peculiar ones. I suspect some rogue cabal fishing for artefacts with disposable assets. Isaac is going to have a field day. He loves to pull the string of clues until he reveals a fat, secretive lumps of rich bastards who think themselves smart. "I understand. And you saw no problem with taking the contract," I summarize while tapping a talon on the coffee table. The captain has the decency to look embarrassed. His men huddle behind him smelling of fear and piss. More muttered prayers form an irritating drone at the back of my mind. "This world is vast, and filled with dangers," I continue. "Take it from someone who had survived for a long time, the most important thing you must know when stealing from someone is to know who, exactly, that someone is, and whether or not you can afford to cross them. Some companies will learn of a stolen shipment, write it down in their balance sheets, and contact their insurer. That would be the majority. There are others, like the Rosenthal Consortium, to whom this ship belongs, that need to protect their reputation. It means vengeance. It means that they will hire pirate hunters or¡­" I lean forward and this time I show my fangs. "... things like me, to send a clear message. That is why you little newts should have known better." I lean back. "But since I am feeling generous, I may consider letting you go if you play just a few games. Well, most of you, in any case." Hope shines in their yellow, bloodshot eyes. "First order of business, you are going to thin your own ranks," I start with a grisly smile that hints at unspeakable horrors and advanced psychological torture. The captain whips his pistol out and points it at a tub of lard of a man with filthy blond hair, pulls the trigger, then brains him. All over my books. My precious books! Covered with brain matter from a man with the cortex of a dead opossum. My only rampart against boredom. Soiled! "By the Watcher you cockless little AAAARGH! You should have waited for me to state the bloody rules! What is wrong with you lot!?" I am already grabbing my spear when a voice interrupts me, a warm baritone with a Texan accent. "That''s enough, Ariane. Let them go." How dare he¡­ My anger surges, then dies like a wave against a rock, broken by instinct and belief. Sheridan is here for me. He is merely playing his role. "I said I may let them go," I hiss. "No more semantics. If you were to kill them, and that was your prerogative, you should have done so from the get go. Do not play cat and mouse with human lives, Ariane. Respect the spirit of your word." He¡­ Hmm. Semantics and tricks are part and parcel of what we are. I also mentioned several games, and I did say ''may''. I do not believe that I am breaking the spirit of my word, as he said. I could argue with him. It would be a waste. Sheridan has decided to be my conscience. I do not need to be technically correct with him because he is on my side, and so I decide to let it go. The pleasure of killing them lost its appeal anyway. "Leave my ship," I begrudge, "and remember the rules, because another one of my kin might not be so generous. One gesture, and the heavy door unlocks behind the pirates. The room is blessedly devoid of disease carriers five seconds later. I consider that nothing prevents them from turning their guns on the ship, but I dismiss the concern. It will be night quite soon and the ship is sturdy. I will simply slay them all if they develop a collective case of insanity. "I am worried about you Ariane, you were not like this when we attacked the cult." "We were on a schedule," I reply, "I do not take as many risks playing with my food if there are lives at stake." Sheridan seems to accept my explanation, yet soon a new worry twists his traits into a scowl. "Speaking of which, you have not, you know..." "Fed from them?" "Yes." "Well, someone ruined the mood and decided to let them leave." "I... I see." He looks sheepish. I wave his concerns away. "Do not worry yourself. That was no worthy hunt. I will simply drink from one of the volunteers, as always. I am convinced that there will be ample opportunities to hunt before this trip is over." "Very well." "Now please leave me." "Right, good evening to you." "And have someone come clean all that brain!" I tell his retreating back. Hmph. Syrrin lowers her camouflage and point at the corpses "Nirari. Give. Flesh." Her raspy voice sounds strange in the open air. It also annoys me that, after me insisting that there would be no flesh for half of the trip and her looking at me like at a child who claims the dog grabbed the cookie jar, her incredulity turns out to be warranted. I never fail to deliver, do I? "Yes, yes. Just don''t eat his liver, or you may suffer from alcohol-induced coma." Syrrin ignores my warning. She opens the latch and a blade of sunset light reflects on the side of the room like a long red gash. I hiss softly. I do not believe that I will ever forget the burn I got in Alexandria. And now I am bored and reminiscing, again. This has to be the most disappointing pirate experience of my life. This debacle also served to underline a few important details. Sheridan is not Dalton. He sees himself as my conscience and as my protector, someone who will steer me towards the light (the non-burning kind). I will never compare them aloud because it would be a pointless and harmful experience. The Texas ranger was never meant to emulate another man. He has his ways, and that is fine. I will merely require a few adjustments in my expectations. I am also changing. Evolution of character is a natural thing, a comforting thing, because it reminds me that I am still learning, and growing. At the same time, my recent tendency to play with my prey worries me. It could simply be the lack of true challenges in the last two months, at least since Lord Jarek stopped bashing my face in during our spars. It could also be an instinctual response. If my nature turns more cruel as time goes by, I fear that when the time comes to fight the two old monsters, I might choose to join forces with one of them instead. No... no, that would not be me. Toying with our preys qualifies us as a... whatever we are. I merely need to question my own actions. As long as I ask myself if my behavior conforms to the rules I set for myself, I will never be truly lost. As for boredom, I just thought of something. A few weeks ago, when I amused myself with that entertaining little band of thieves, I came across a mildly competent mind mage. I allowed him to enter my mind fortress so we could have a bit of fun together. I realize now that I could perhaps develop a more battle-oriented setup. It could be a lot of fun. I close my eyes and meditate. I am now in the palatial bedroom of the imaginary castle of my psyche. The Watcher casts its purple radiance on a chaotic landscape of mazes, statues and gardens. Strange white flowers bloom on the dark roots and thorns that form the fabric of this space. Time for a little bit of experimental landscaping! I spend another week like this, mostly occupied with experimenting with mental warfare. I do not even need a partner to practice on. My instincts can gauge the deadliness of my creations. I cannot wait for another mental confrontation. Then, one night, Sheridan wordlessly drags me to the deck. We watch the green and grey of the shore rise to a sheer cliff gently sloping towards a bay and its many buildings. The Rock of Gibraltar stands guard over the entrance to the Mare Nostrum and its ancient treasures. At long last. Europe. Chapter 117 - 112. Third of her Line We moor in the Gibraltar harbor. The weather is particularly clement in May, and I merely wear a thin cloak in royal blue over a teal hybrid dress. The captain of the Corbeau, our ship, tries to stop me as I leave with Sheridan in tow. He combs his grey beard with a nervous hand. "Milady, the research team will board the ship as soon as our landing is approved. Do you not wish to stay here and welcome them?" "We leave in three days, yes?" "That is correct, Milady." "Then there will be ample time to greet them before we depart." Sear?h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "But surely¡­" "Are you suggesting that I should await their consent?" "N¡­ No, of course not." "I have pressing business in the city. Good night, captain." My pressing business would be to finally move and unwind before I start juggling with torn-off limbs. Me, at the disposal of mortals? Especially a Bingle? I am the money. They will see me when I feel like it. A pair of sailors in the white uniforms of the Rosenthal fleet hastily prepare a plank, both of them showing suitable deference. As befit men whose naked buttocks are at the mercy of my wrath! My Vassal and I tread the pavement of the harbor with palpable relief. I take a deep breath, and inhale the scent of the sea, but also of flowers and heated rock. The usual warehouses and offices I spot in the distance are made of stone and rather recent, while the town further back shows influence from both British and Spanish architecture. Fortifications cling to the cliff, dating back to the territory''s Moorish days. They are older than my nation. I am going to climb them. Later. It also smells like sweat and gunpowder now, and the source comes trampling down the pier with all the self-importance they can muster. Red uniforms. I let out a low hiss. "Are you expecting trouble, Ariane?" Sheridan asks while discreetly placing his hand near his holster. "No. Or at least, not from them. Last time I came across redcoats, they shot at me," I grumble. "Ah, I always forget that you are older than you look. So, they were hostile at the time, huh?" "Yes," I answer, then, after a while, "to be fair I was trying to eat them." The war is long over. I must remember that most of the men approaching me were not born when Dalton fell. "Madam, you must remain onboard until we have inspected and cleared the ship," the officer starts with a mighty frown. I glare. He is young, with the marks of a lieutenant. Waxed mustache and polished buttons show a great attention to his appearance, the image ruined by a vicious sunburn. Freshly dumped here from his native Sussex, then. Or Wessex. Some dreary land of fog, rain, and tuberculosis. A stickler for rules. "We have a medical emergency," I explain with a bit of Charm, "of the female kind." The man blushes purple and lets me pass with a muttered word. "I do not know of any medical emergency of a female kind that would warrant skipping quarantine and inspections," Sheridan remarks in a low voice. "That would be because you grew up on a farm, while this man grew up in some cottage where people insist on using ''expecting'' instead of ''pregnant'' because anatomy is improper. He would rather let me through than be further embarrassed." "I see." "Some people let respectability get in the way of common sense. Bah, enough of this, I am being too judgmental. Perhaps he just cared about my well-being." Probably not. "So, what should we do?" Sheridan finally asks as we leave the pier behind us. "You are going to the pub, or wherever your steps take you. I am going to climb to the top of that thing, visit that castle over there, and then poke the garrison." "Errrrr." "Don''t worry, the Rock is considered neutral ground. I am not invading anyone''s turf." Before leaving, I obtained American diplomatic identification papers. Traveling vampires also carry small, enchanted notebooks in Akkad to justify their presence. "That''s not what worries me, woman." "Hmm?" "You are going to prank the sentries, are you not?" "Perhaps a little bit." "Is there anything I can say that might convince you otherwise?" "I think not." "I need a whiskey." "Good luck! Oh, and try Scotch if they have it." Sheridan waves, already heading towards a more animated part of town. I hope he will have a grand time with the locals. I spend the night moving around freely. I enjoy the eclectic architecture combining several cultures as well as the old and new. I climb the sheer cliff to The Rock''s summit and feast my eyes upon the Atlantic, the Mediterranean, the Spanish town of La L¨ªnea de la Concepci¨®n to the North and Africa to the South. I find small monkeys sleeping in clusters of fluffy grey fur. I follow an intricate network of caves and explore it for a while, enamored by its beautiful complexity. The largest grottos near the surface are tame and rife with the remains of torches, food, and human blood, but the deeper parts show no signs of activity. I make one sentry pee himself by touching his shoulder, then his hair, then flipping his hat without revealing my presence. I sup on an officer in the middle of his surprise inspection, thus giving a patrol the time to hide their booze. Let it be known that I can show generosity. Finally, one hour before dawn, I retire to my quarters. Not even the discovery that Syrrin used some of my coffee beans to season her people jerky ruins my mood. It felt good to stretch my legs. The next night leads me to the garrison''s barracks and Sheridan''s jail in particular. The tall man sports a bruise on his left eye that already started to turn a spectacular shade of purple, green, and yellow. Like a half-finished portrait. A grim sergeant frees him and leads us outside, past the squat building''s many alcoves and onto the whipping court beyond. A patrol looks at us with curiosity as he hands the Texan his packed belongings. "Our apologies for the disturbance, ma''am," the soldier says in an accent that I can barely follow. For a moment, it seems that he called me ''mom''. "Certainly." "I must insist that your man must stop carrying deadly weapons around, authorization or not. This is a military base, not the frontier, aye?" "Yeah, yeah," Sheridan grumbles, although he keeps his belt and holster in a small bag instead of wearing it. We leave in the direction of the ship, and I await with one raised brow, before realizing that Sheridan is not looking at me at all. He is admiring the many boats passing the straits, even at night. "Well?" I finally exclaim, out of patience. "Well what? Oh, sorry. I went to their watering hole to grab a beer. Bunch of soldiers on leave asking a lot of questions. Nothing bad. Then a man deep in his drinks demanded that I toast Queen Victoria. I said that I''d toast the broad but that she was not my queen. They took exception." I wait. "I''ve always been the brawniest around, least ''till I started travelling with you. Recently though, I''ve been, I don''t know, feeling stronger. And faster than I had any right to be. And when I sent them to the ground it felt¡­ good. I was meant to be there, and they were meant to crawl on the ground. It lasted until that military police unit clobbered me in the face." "Ah yes, I was expecting it." The effects of Constantine''s essence. It appears that his power extends to Vassals, not just Servants. "A side effect of me becoming your spiritual guide? Sorry, I meant, uh, what was it? Vassal." "Yeeeees, spiritual guide indeed. I did not think that you would gain some of my instincts." "It scares me that I might not be entirely myself anymore." "You are yourself," I reassure him, "Consider it as a sort of drink that you would take every time you fight that removes your fear." "A coward''s crutch? No. I see what you mean." "You could probably also survive gut wounds with your enhanced constitution. I also suspect increased healing. Your bruise looks like it was made three days ago, not twelve hours." He turns pensive. "It does not sound too bad¡­" "And before you ask, no, your soul is still your own and quite intact." "¡­ I was not going to." "When you lie, you twirl your mustache on the right side." He drops his hands. "Dammit." We walk in silence. The paved streets are calm, and the harbor comes into view, with its sapphire waters and moored warships. The Corbeau shows signs of intense activity. Slightly longer than a brig and without armament, its swift shape reveals that it was built for the quick transportation of valuable goods. "You''re not mad? About the brawl?" Sheridan asks as we approach the gangplank. "No. I am in no position to criticize your use of violence. Think nothing of it and focus on the future. We should meet the main members of this expedition." Field Journal of Miranda Bingle. We finally boarded the Corbeau this morning! It was a ship of good size with the sharp figure of a frigate like I saw in Dover. We were welcomed by Captain Ozenne, who I assumed was a Frenchman but turned out to be Swiss! I did not even know Switzerland had a navy and captains. What a surprise it was. Captain Ozenne greeted us warmly, the very image of a gentleman. My cabin is fairly small, but at least it is mine. I have been loath to leave the ship, lest it left without me. I know it is a silly fear, and yet it will not leave me alone and wars in my heart with my boundless excitement. I am having my own story now! Not those senseless tales father and brother tell all the time, ripe with superstition, no! I will have my own very academic adventure, one that will propel the name Bingle into the more serious circles of scholarly pursuit! We will leave in three days and I am told we are soon to meet the rest of the team, including one of our investors, who was not available at the time. How exciting! I hope he will see the light of reason and insist on not pillaging our findings. We are archeologists, not tomb raiders. The stage is set, only awaiting the actors to come for the introduction scene. I have placed my seat facing the entrance with Sheridan by my side, while my guests will sit in front of me. The coffee table, now thoroughly debrained, hosts a few assortments of sweets as well as cups for everyone. For tonight, I wear an azure gown of exquisite make designed specifically to show wealth and good taste. I made my hair into a conservative braid to keep my cheeks free. A golden pendant of abstract design attracts the eye towards a modest cleavage to add a touch of exotism. Sheridan wears a custom duster that gives him the appearance of a seasoned adventurer, which in a way, he is. He left his colt behind at my insistence. A knock on the door. They are here. I stand up and Sheridan opens the door, inviting the two characters I was eager to meet. The first is a scholarly type with benevolent brown eyes set in a wrinkled face. A well-trimmed beard covers most of his jaw, and a close-fitting tweed suit shows the wiry body of a long-time athlete underneath. He reveals a bit of shock at my sight, although he recovers almost immediately. The second person to cross my threshold wears a sensible dress in dark brown. Its conservative cut still hints at a shapely figure, undoing the woman''s best efforts to appear bland. She wears round glasses to camouflage her lovely face and a pair of velvety brown orbs brimming with intelligence. Her only concession to beauty is her hair, which falls down her back in a shower of dark ringlets. She appears meek while he is confident, and the contrast between the two serves to underline the camaraderie of the pair, with the scholar instinctively shielding the maiden from my imposing Vassal. "Mr. Fergusson, Miss Bingle, I am delighted to make your acquaintance. Please, join me," I greet them pleasantly. This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience. Sheridan moves to the table and prepares the seat for Miranda like a perfect gentleman. The gesture of respect soothes my guests who sit down and eye the victuals with curiosity. "My name is Ariane Delaney. I represent your employer''s interests in this venture." No reaction from Miranda. "And this is Marshall Sheridan, previously of the Texas Rangers. He will contribute to the security of this expedition. Allow me to welcome you aboard and to thank you for your exemplary work so far. The Rosenthal Consortium has high hopes for you and we expect that this will mark the beginning of a fruitful collaboration." "Thank you for these kind words," Ferguson says, eyes darting around the room to take in the books, the maps, and the occult circle that I will use to locate the island poking from under the rug. "My pleasure. May I offer you something to drink? Tea, perhaps? A good friend of mine offered me this interesting blend." "Oh, it would be my pleasure," Ferguson answers while Miranda nods emphatically. I grab the prepared teapot and serve both guests in turn. The delicate scent of Lady Sephare''s creation spreads through the air in a cloud, the blend meticulously measured, then kept fresh in enchanted compartments. Both of their engraved white cups soon fill with piping hot liquid the color of mahogany. The pair lifts them to their lips in eerie silence and with perfect synchronization. They freeze at the same time, staring, askance, at my own. This is where I reveal another pot. Powerful wafts of freshly ground Arabica push the more discreet scent away like East Indian company crates into the Boston Harbor as I serve both Sheridan and myself the dark nectar. We sip in silence. "So, you are American then?" Fergusson finally asks, forcing Miranda to cough in her elbow. "Yes. You have questions before we begin?" So far, Miranda has remained silent. The older professor still looks to her on occasion with paternal care. They obviously hold each other in high esteem. It shames me that I suspect a forbidden love almost immediately, but no, their relationship is closer to that of mentor and mentee. No signs of arousal. "I was hoping that you could assuage my curiosity. Forgive an old man for taking liberties, haha. I could not help but remark that you are unexpectedly young¡­ and¡­" "Female." "Forgive me. Yes." "I appreciate your concerns. Do not be deceived by my youthful appearance, I have worked with the Consortium in the past. Your employer Isaac sometimes trusts me with his more... unusual pursuits." Oops, not to be taken out of context, that one. "Are you, ahem, a scholar of sorts?" "Think of me as the point of contact between the investigation team and your investors. My role is to make sure that everything runs smoothly. I can make decisions or request additional means to that effect, so that we bring this project to a satisfactory conclusion." "I understand," answers the man who clearly does not understand. I do not have the heart to tell him that, beyond a necessary help in case of supernatural foes, I am here as an overseer. "The chance to study ruins belonging to the Sea Peoples is a unique opportunity to learn more about this mysterious folk. I do hope that we will be free to share our findings with our esteemed colleagues throughout the world¡­" I smile pleasantly. "As stated in our contract, your research is your own. We reserve the right to keep a few key artefacts you might find." "For the purpose of conservation, of course?" the old gentleman asks pointedly. Ah, I have to draw the line, it would seem. "For the purpose we see fit and according to guidelines you already agreed on. Unless, of course, you find our terms unacceptable, and would prefer to opt out of the contract? This is your last chance." "No, no¡­ of course not," he replies with a put off expression. "We are grateful for the opportunity. I merely wish for you to consider the invaluable contribution to mankind those discoveries would mean." "Oh, believe me, I do." I use the pause provoked by the slight rebuke to sip on my delicious cup. I cannot believe that Syrrin would steal my beans and use them as spice. I hope that it messes with her metabolism and that she gets pimples all over that stupid flat face. Fergusson mirrors me. Signs of annoyance pierce through his admirable composure, though he hides them well. It must chafe to be chided by someone seemingly thirty years his junior. A woman, no less. His well-earned position grants him the respect and obedience of all those he usually works with and the drastic change of circumstances will undoubtedly create friction. He bears the frustration admirably. I hope it will be true for the other members of the expedition. "Good to hear. I have high hopes for our success. I have dedicated my whole life to the study of the Sea Peoples, you understand, a most frustrating endeavor considering the lack of direct sources. I had to rely on records from Mesopotamia¡­ Are you familiar with the history of Mesopotamia, Miss Delaney?" "Passably. I understand that the Sea Peoples are blamed for the collapse of the first community of civilizations in the twelfth century before¡­ the twelfth century BC." That was before the time of Semiramis too. "Indeed. I have sources from there as well as from Egypt. Unfortunately, we are only now barely starting to research the cradle of humanity, so there is little time and energy dedicated to the understanding of this specific group while so many other ruins still await to be recovered and studied. I hope that, by visiting one of their actual settlements, we will finally acquire first-hand materials to bring back to Oxford and comprehend the important ¡ª if destructive ¡ª role that the Sea Peoples played in the history of the ancient men." Ah, what delicious passion. Wait. No, Ariane, no sampling the expedition group. I must have smiled, because Fergusson''s eyes shine with enthusiasm and the pleasure of a shared interest. Miranda also stares dreamily into the distance. "This will be my last expedition, then, I hope to pass on the burden of discovery to the next generation on the person of my dearest assistant, a brilliant mind and a credit to her sex." Wait. Retirement? Passing the baton? Did this man just commit plot-related suicide? Aw, poor soul. I stare with interest when Miranda turns a delicate shade of rose in a fit of bashful modesty. Ah, when will she realize that she is under his protection and that the rest of the academic body does not squish her dreams and ambition because they are indulging an aging genius, not out of respect for her skills? Hopefully, not too soon. "I am sure that we will find something," I assure him with perfect confidence. With a Bingle on board, we are pretty much guaranteed catastrophic success. We make more small talk, with Miranda remaining mostly silent. I learn that Fergusson enjoys running and hunting, and that he used to play Rugby as a flanker, whatever that means. I reveal very little myself, except hinting that I have shares in many flourishing businesses and work closely with the Rosenthal. As they leave, I ask Miranda to stay for ''girl talk'' and let Sheridan escort Fergusson back to his cabin. She plants herself back on her chair with a guarded air. I allow her to squirm for a while as repayment for what she is going to put me through. "Is this about my qualifications?" she finally asks. "What do you mean?" "Are you displeased with my presence? Is it due to my youth?" "Ah. No. Everyone aboard this ship is here by the consent of House Rosenthal." Although, I would have been more stringent in my selection criteria. "I merely had a question regarding your family. Some of them are adventurers, are they not?" Her face scrunches in terrible disapproval. Her hackles raise with thunderous outrage. "Do not tell me their¡­ drivel has crossed the Atlantic!" Huh? "My brother and father write entertainment for simpletons. All these stories of curses and magic and other ridiculous notions, really! I intend to break away from fables and tall tales to bring our family name back to its erstwhile respectability." "Really? And you never opened one of those books?" "I have better ways to spend my time than to fill my head with wild exaggerations," she proudly exclaims. Then realizing my lack of reaction, she asks in turn: "Surely you do not believe in magic and superstitions, Miss Delaney?" I should knock on the hull and ask Syrrin in. Ah, no, it would remove the dramatic effect of what she will undoubtedly uncover. "Why would you, someone with an obvious education, believe in supernatural fabrications instead of what scientific evidence tells you?" Oi. "I like to keep an open mind. Perhaps some elements that are now considered mystical will, in time, be better understood and fall under the mantle of science," I politely suggest. There, all diplomatic and mysterious. Better than casting ''Shred'' on her arm asking her to scientifically analyze it. I am a merciful vampire. Sometimes. With a reasonable amount of select people. "Do you rely on occultism in your investment strategy? Surely not? Unless¡­ you think the artefacts we retrieve will be magical in nature?" "Perhaps. I cannot tell yet." "Oh, Miss Delaney, I would like your assurance that you will not deprive mankind of valuable sources of knowledge. You must not¡­" "Miss Bingle, please," I interrupt, surprised by the torrent of words I am submitted to, "remember that my beliefs are not your concern. We have a contract, and we will both abide by its rules." "The rigorous pursuit of truth¡­" "Enough!" I order, this time more sternly. "I do not owe you a justification. If you want to finish this conversation, I propose that we do so on our return trip." "Very well¡­ I, huh, I should go. Sorry." "Good night, Miss Bingle." Field Journal of Miranda Bingle We have bid adieu to Gibraltar and left for the Aegean, where Icarus fell to his death. The weather is pleasantly warm, and the distractions are many, giving the professor and I ample opportunities to mingle with our esteemed partners. We have another archeologist in the person of Emilien, full name: Emilien Eustache Marie Sigisbert Champignac. It is fortunate that our patronyms do not adorn our cabin doors, or he would have run out of ship. In any case, the Frenchman was polite enough, though flirty as expected of his race, and I learnt that he studied under Champollion himself. His knowledge of hieroglyphics and the reign of Ramses the Third will be of great use if we do find our ruins. We are also graced with a quiet Prussian scholar who spends entirely too much time drinking beer and scratching his sunburns. Finally, and for an unknown reason, we are saddled with a greasy little merchant from Sardinia. I have no idea what his purpose may be, and I dare not ask our patron after that latest fiasco. And indeed, the woman is intriguing. She only joins us for late afternoon tea, when we gather in the captain''s cabin, and I have no memories of seeing her move around much. When asked, the sailors deflect questions concerning their employer and show a clear apprehension of their curious guest. The only morsel of knowledge I grasped was from an angry man who hinted that she had been difficult to live with as they crossed the Atlantic. I can only deduce from this and her fine gowns that she is a woman of refined taste, and picky with either her food or her entertainment, thus creating a strain on the crew. I have so many questions. Why pick someone so young, when they clearly do not have a background in archeology or science? Her understanding of the expedition covers elements of logistics and finance, yet her knowledge of history remains basic. Is that gruff man following her around just a bodyguard, or something more sinister? Who are the people behind the Rosenthal Consortium? What are they hoping to find on their island that would justify such expense? This voyage grows more mysterious by the day. It appears that our brave captain has learned his lesson. From the moment we lift anchor, he makes sure that I am suitably entertained through various social calls and by teaching me how to play poker. I have made progress since Loth and Dalton last flounced me like a plucked chicken, but there is an art to playing that I had never understood before. He teaches me psychology, statistics, and bluff. Finally, he teaches me how to cheat. Between this, my usual activities, and hanging with the crew, my days are finally filled enough that I have stopped recharging the hidden glyphs to have doors spontaneously open at random intervals. I acquaint myself with the team as well. We will have around twenty handymen used for various tasks, cooking, and suffering ignominious deaths at the hands of ancient traps as Miranda looks on in horror. We also have a dour man of Germanic origin with a blond beard and delicate skin who does not seem to acclimate and whose life expectancy I count in days. We also have a Frenchman who might be the romantic interest, and a fat little prick from Italy whom I have labelled as ''emergency blood supply number one''. With Sheridan, we form a relatively large group. The captain and his crew will remain onboard with the understanding that they are not disposable like the rest of us. I should feel aggravated, but, well, this is my third Bingle. It only takes us a few busy days to bypass Crete from the north, the turn to the south before Kos. Captain Ozenne slows the ship to a crawl to wait for my directions. At nightfall, I change into a thin, functional white slip. I then seal my cabin and have Sheridan remove the rug with Syrrin watching to uncover the construct underneath. Isaac told me it would fit on a stele. Clearly, he was wrong. A circle of dark iron made of curved bars riveted to the hull''s interior forms the exterior of a complex series of glyphs engraved into the wood, three paces across. To begin, I open a can of luminescent paint and patiently retrace every part of the spell with meticulous care. A working of this size takes a great amount of work, yet at the same time it is strangely relaxing. I can stop worrying about the entire expedition and focus instead on the present moment and the brush between my fingers. With slow purpose, I complete the framework until it shines under the lantern''s light. The preparations are complete. I walk to my safe and remove from it a small box containing the mummified hand of the expedition leader, the same who led the doomed attempt on Ramses the Third''s host of charioteers. His remains were to be interred on the secret island and the resonance between those two should be powerful enough to direct the spell. If this fails, I have others, though I do not believe they will be needed. As soon as I touch the lead, my intuition tells me that this will work. I place the focus in the middle of the circle and leave to grab two more items. The first is a compass which will act as a conduit that I will be able to bring topside to help steer the ship. The second is my gauntlet. I feel a rush of sensations as I clasp the precious tool around my hand, the power yet to be shaped waiting in the air and singing in my essence. I walk to my spot by the box and slice a vein open with a sharp talon. Instead of dripping down, the droplets of black blood rise in the air as if caught by an unseen current. They explode in shimmering clouds of pale purple, like a sunset on an alien world, until I can barely see the roof. Slowly at first, then with increased speed, the nebula rotates as I feed power into the spell. Yellow light emerges from the paint, soon gaining in intensity. I pour more and more power as time passes until the very cabin vibrates with contained might, and still, I give more. The strain on my essence grows noticeable and forces me to grit my teeth. Finally, an ivory arrow forms in the air. "Seek." Syrrin and Sheridan back away from the roaring construct, which by this point whirls with tempestuous vigor. Despite the torrential onslaught, the boundaries hold fast under my practiced will. The arrow solidifies in the air, sharp as a foil. I raise the compass in my right hand. A matching light. "Good. It worked. Now, to get topside." "Get changed first, perhaps?" Sheridan mutters as he steals a glance towards my denuded feet. He is right. I would not want people to see my knees and think me a shameless harlot. Not after the effort I made to appear all proper. "Great idea Sheridan." He nods. "Then get out." "Oh, yes, sorry." Five minutes later and properly dressed, the Ranger and I join an expectant Captain Ozenne on the deserted aft castle. The sails are reefed, and a full shift of sailors await our direction on the deck below. "it worked, then?" the older man asks. "It did. Follow the arrow." With a mighty voice, he yells directions and the crew scurries left and right. Soon, we slice the waves like a sharp knife. And we wait. The arrow points forward with unerring focus for a solid hour, until something quite peculiar happens. The sky is clear and the moon casts a light so bright that even a mortal should be able to watch, yet the ocean before us blurs and melds with the sky in curious hues of cobalt. I study the phenomenon with curiosity when the captain''s voice interrupts my musing. "This is pointless. We should turn around. This cannot be right," the man protests, eyes strangely glazed. The sailors below echo his grumblings. "Keep course," I counter. "What? Why would¡­ Hold on, something is wrong," Sheridan says. He shakes his head like a man reeling from a punch. "I''m turning around," Ozenne continues. His frown turns to a thunderous scowl when I stop the wheel''s motion. "Let it go, woman." "Look at me," I order, "good." I Charm him and find the most curious of intruders deep within his psyche, a permeating fog that muddles his mind. I find myself unable to remove it. Instead, I simply combat its influence with mine. Ozenne blinks owlishly. "What?" "Maintain course, captain." "Oh right." The protests of the sailors intensifies, so I turn to them and grab one of them like one grabs the scruff of a rowdy dog. "Shut up and keep working," I bellow. The mutiny dies before it could start. Good. The next fifteen minutes are a pain. I am forced to assist the captain during bouts of terrorizing the mortals so that they stop protesting. At some point, Professor Ferguson inexplicably joins us to complain that the island location was wrongly calculated. I send him back to his cabin with the instruction to ''recalculate it then''. It works. And, finally, just as I was about to start slapping people, the indigo of the night fades like fog under the wind and our destination appears. An island like a tower springs into the air like a raised fist, sheer cliffs surrounding it on all sides with one exception. Slightly to the side, a small bay guards the only path up to a plateau and the thick forest covering the island''s center. The rocky walls are dotted with black marks from whence sea birds take flight. A network of caves. "What was that thing''s name?" Ozenne asks me with a dreamy voice. The repulsion effect faded as soon as we were through. "The Hand of the Drowned God." Chapter 118 - 113. Fist of the Drowned God Field Journal of Miranda Bingle We made landfall at dawn, carried to shore in small embarkations. The sailors of the Corbeau gallantly dragged ours onto the rocky beach so that I would not have to wet my boots. While most of the crew prepared a base camp in a pleasant clearing, the members of our expedition made our way inland with five workmen carrying supplies. Mr Champignac proposed to lead the way on account of his experience trudging around, to which we agreed, and we were soon on our way. The palm trees and bleached trunks of the shore soon left room to a dense forest showing essences from all across the Mediterranean! I saw olive trees, Lebanese cedars, Moroccan argan and other essences I did not recognize growing in dense clusters with thick, dark green leaves, and carrying unripe fruits. They seemed to close around us as we trudged our way in, and I could not help but feel a surreal sensation from their appearance. Many of the species I spotted were normally shrubs, and yet here they stood tall and strong like oaks. We started to follow an uphill trail. Emilien Champignac went first, followed by Herr Mueller the Prussian researcher and that sneazy little merchant Stefano. I made sure to follow at a small distance while Mr. Sheridan went behind, sometimes helping the staff cross the more arduous obstacles. The high cliffs surrounding us must have trapped the humidity inside, turning the basin into a greenhouse. The cloying smells of life soon replaced that of the sea and it was not long before I huffed and puffed under the weight of my backpack. Even wearing a thin cotton dress was not enough to escape the smothering sensation of this wet heat. My only reprieve came when the Texan bodyguard casually removed the burden from my back with a gravelly ''allow me, miss''. Even if he was already carrying his own, and enough weapons to overthrow a government! I wondered if all Texans liked firearms that much. I believe that he was taking our security too seriously. What could there possibly be to justify such an imposing arsenal? Preposterous. We paused for a lunch of bread, fruits, and cold cuts near a small spring. Mr Champignac was confident that we could reach the base of the cliffs opposite the beach tomorrow at the latest. From there, we could climb the comparatively gentler slope for a commanding view of the valley. It was during early afternoon that we made our first tremendous discovery. "Une route! A road, a road!" an excited voice came from the front. We all spread out ¡ª me with some difficulties since we had run out of path to stand on ¡ª and exclaimed our excitement at such a good find. There was indeed a road of stone with an elliptical surface reminiscent of Roman viae. Its inequal surface showed the passage of time and it was strangled by roots and creeping vegetation. None of it dampened our mood. "Civilization," Mr Champignac proudly exclaimed, and we all rejoiced. Miss Delaney''s map had not led us astray. There were indeed ruins in this place. "Should we follow it?" Mr. Sheridan asked. "Of course we should follow it!" the Frenchman scoffed, "roads lead to places after all." I was a tad aggravated that he would take a rhetorical question seriously, then look down upon he who had asked it. Mr. Sheridan took no offense, thankfully, and I crossed my arms and scowled in silent disapproval. That would show him! Fortunately, Professor Fergusson managed to save the mood by detailing the remarkable make of the ancient road. The ancient via led up to the center of the island and the base of the tallest cliff, and so we decided to follow it. I never realized how valuable a road was when going somewhere. With solid ground under our feet, our speed increased dramatically. The trees around us grew more sparse, but also taller as the altitude increased, until we started under the sun again. We entered a forest of pines just as the sun was starting to set. The pleasant scent of their sap soothed me, and reminded me of home. Our excitement returned when the stone path stopped at the mouth of a large circular opening. The forest was at our back, and the cliffs in front of us behind some rocky elevation we would have to climb. To our left, bramble-covered stairs led to a sublime discovery: an imposing, primitive statue of a man. It was at least eight feet tall and made of some darker stone than that of the island. The beard and flat, round face showed both Babylonian and Egyptian influence. I felt a sense of rare pride from this discovery, to which I had contributed! It was, perhaps, the first original Sea Folks artefact ever found at all! And it had been done with the contribution of Miranda Bingle! However, my pride soon turned to outrage. As we stood there mesmerized by the august spectacle before us, Mr. Stefano stepped forward and onto the thick layer of vegetation separating the clearing from the base of our discovery. ''There is something shining in its eyes!'' he said, moving forward with speed. Oh, what a lout I thought he was, although he spoke the truth. The statue''s eyes shone slightly blue under the afternoon sun, and I realized that jewels had been placed inside its orbits. My blood boiled in an instant. We were on the verge of the greatest archeological discovery of the decade and the only thing he cared about were precious stones! Alas, how I regret my reaction now, how I wish I had held him back and instilled into him the necessity of patience, for no sooner did he reach halfway that the vegetations at the edge of the clearing cracked ominously and the poor merchant sunk five inches. Too late did we realize our mistake. The cover of vegetation did not rest on solid land. It was a densely woven bridge of creepers and lianas over the abyss below! Mr. Stefano screamed in distress. Mr. Sheridan took out a rope and threw it to him, but it was too late. We were stuck on one side, powerless to come and rescue the poor soul and powerless to hold the heavy weight of nature as it collapsed down. There was a dreadful shriek, then silence. The men walked forward and looked down. Their horrified expressions told me all I needed to know. I screamed, I think, and had to move away. Our expedition had been struck by misfortune on the very first day! I remained prostrate under a tall pine tree for some time. Mr. Ferguson brought me a cover and I felt better afterward. Poor Mr. Stefano, he certainly did not deserve this. I had judged him hastily and only thought bad things about his morality, manners, fashion choices, and personal hygiene and now he had departed this world. The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. It took me some time, but eventually I picked up on strange activity going on. The helpers had set up camp in the clearing while I was gone and they had a fire going. Meanwhile, someone had cleared the passage to the statue, only to discover there was none. It stood on an elevated platform in the middle of a pit. The research team was nowhere to be found. I stepped closer and was informed that the mortal coil of Mr. Stefano had been recovered by Mr. Sheridan, whom they had lowered with ropes. It had been set upon a stretcher and two men were selected to carry it to base camp. I murmured a quick prayer and moved to the now-exposed hole to see what the fuss was all about. The opening into the bowels of the earth was not natural. It had been excavated, and strange wooden statues set on poles lined its walls. The research team ¡ª minus Mr. Stefano ¡ª was gathered in an animated circle. I found that they had installed a rope and wood ladder down and took the opportunity, while everyone was distracted, to climb down. It was difficult to respect propriety and still pursue research! I almost showed my calves! One must suffer in the pursuit of science. As soon as I reached the ground, the reason for all their excitement became obvious. The statues were not statues, and the poles were not poles. We were surrounded by the unmistakable shapes of ship prows. I marvelled at the incomprehensible sight of it all as Professor Ferguson welcomed me into the circle. I expressed my surprise and wondered at the age of those remains, and more importantly, the identity of those who had brought them here. It was then that Mr. Sheridan attracted my attention to the statue of a unicorn. On its flank, I found the following words engraved: S§×ar?h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "HMS Cutlass, Portsmouth, 1807." Surprise robbed me of my voice, and the good Professor anticipated my curiosity with amusement tempered by obvious worry. The island had been inhabited at the very least forty years ago, because it must have taken the hand of man to move those heavy things here. Where, then, were the inhabitants? And where were the rest of the ships? My many interrogations were mirrored by the others. We could find no adequate answer to this puzzling mystery. It was promptly agreed to make camp here to document and explore the locale, and to climb to the base of the cliff on the morrow. We stayed there and documented eight ships from five separate nations, the oldest dating back to 1789, but the latest being only twenty years old! Our belief that the island was inhabited only solidified from then, and I suggested that the local dwellers perhaps lived elsewhere and only came here rarely, perhaps for religious ceremonies. Everyone agreed that my theory made sense and so, at nightfall, we climbed the smallest of rocks to look at the sky. We did not find a single campfire. Not a light, nor a hint of smoke besides our own. We ate dinner in silence, with the Professor leading a moment of prayer for the departed. We each wished his soul a prompt journey, as did I, even if Mr. Stefano was catholic and quite a bit unpleasant. I promptly retired to my tent afterward, but for the longest of time, sleep eluded me. "We already lost someone," Sheridan announces in a gruff voice. He is leaning against a trunk, looking out into the woods with his trigger on the finger of the custom needle gun I have made for him. "Don''t mention it. I had to give Ozenne ten dollars." Sheridan looks positively shocked. "I bet with him that the Prussian would die first," I grumble as a way of explanation. "Ariane, this man was alive just this morning." "And I was so looking forward to remedying the situation personally." Sheridan gives me a slightly disappointed, chiding look. "You know that most of these people are going to die, right? I explained it to you," I tell him. "This history has not been written yet!" "It''s already half-way there. If you grab Miranda by the waist like a monkey right now and forcefully drag her to the ship, it will sink." We stare at each other and I do not relent. This expedition is doomed to succeed with terrible casualties. "You can no more stop Godlings than you can stop the tide, Sheridan. Even if you manage to kill her, you will not succeed unless it makes sense from a narrative perspective. That is why I am not fighting the tide, and that is why I am stacking the odds in your favor." Sheridan''s coat, hat, and guns have been magically reinforced by my own hand. He could be shot in the chest at point-blank range and survive. "Is this arsenal necessary? The coat is rather heavy." "I¡­ lost your predecessor to a shot in the chest. I cannot force you to do anything, but I would appreciate it if you still wore it." There must have been some emotions at play, because Sheridan''s expression is one of deep sympathy. "I am sorry. I did not know." "I want you to be safe." "Then, forgive me for asking, but why did you allow me to join?" I stare at him, askance. "You asked me." "And you said yes?" "Vassal is an inexact term, Sheridan. We do not control you. In fact, we cannot really refuse you. You exist to challenge us and keep us human. Our very instinct will push against controlling or harming you. Even hurting a rival''s Vassal is taboo." I shiver at the memory of what Sinead did to that poor Cadiz vampire. "I believe that you stand a very serious chance to make it out alive." "How so?" "I have been a part of the Bingle Epic since Miranda''s father came to our shore. I am reasonably certain that there is a thinking being behind all this nonsense." "How does this relate to my continued survival?" "Should you fall, I will track down Miranda and rend her limb from limb. I will also massacre the rest of the expedition and burn down their notes. I clearly said so to Isaac." "Errrr." "There is no story when there is no one left to tell it." "I am not certain that you should threaten a powerful being in that manner. Did you not tell me that killing a Godling was impossible?" "Ah, but I am already a character in this story. I will take my chances. I like them better than Miranda''s chances against a grieving vampire master in an enclosed island." "I see. I promise that I will wear my armor at all times for my own benefit then. It''s not even that heavy. By the way, we are looking for the denizens of this island. Have you found them yet? Can you lead us to them?" "Oh yes, I have found them alright. Or rather, Syrrin showed me. And as for meeting them, don''t worry," I finish with a toothy smile. "They will find you." Field Journal of Miranda Bingle We woke up the next day to find out that Herr Mueller had disappeared. Chapter 119 - 114. The Lost World Miranda Bingle''s Field Journal. We searched the camp first, and then around it with no result. Herr Mueller was gone. Mr. Sheridan kneeled by the empty bedroll and announced that the Prussian researcher had left on his own accord. When prompted by a dubious Mr Champignac, he explained his reasoning. There were no signs of struggle, and the man had taken his glasses and his hat, but had he left his pack behind. His bedroll had been closed properly. Additionally, one of the helpers, who had been on guard, had noticed nothing suspicious. Herr Mueller had snuck out during the night. This was the only reasonable explanation. The well-structured argument convinced us all. I was suitably impressed by the Texan''s deductions. I never expected that his law-enforcement background would be so useful in the middle of the forest, and I found myself sincerely hoping that we would have no further need for it. Mr Champignac grudgingly admitted that the American''s arguments made sense. The burgeoning rivalry between them gave me a feeling of unease as this expedition met difficulty after difficulty. Mr Sheridan inspected the vicinity of the camp with the focus and single-mindedness of a bloodhound. He found no trace of steps outside of the clearing, which led us to only two options. Either Herr Mueller had strolled back to the base camp during the middle of the night, or he had climbed up towards the base of the cliff. It was decided that we would climb as well. The elevation would provide us with a commanding view of the valley below. We packed up and left with six of the helpers, leaving two in the second camp. Those who had carried Mr Stefano''s body back to the ship had not yet returned. The ascent proved extremely difficult, loaded as we were. I stubbornly gritted my teeth and endured the difficulty with all the phlegm and grace expected of a well-bred Englishwoman. I would not allow a complaint to cross my lips, the upper one staying resolutely stiff. I carried within myself the hopes and dreams of all the proper ladies whose ambitions were thwarted by ridiculous notions on the fairer sex. Every step forward (and upward) was a clear victory, and a proof that I was a fully capable member of this expedition. The fire of my determination could not be quenched! The cliffs started a dull grey, but soon they turned the stained white of old bones as the sun of the Cretan Sea illuminated their pallid flanks. The slope was gentle, but the terrain was quite irregular, and we were forced to amble back a few times. Our progress was slow and measured, and somehow monotonous, until a cry from Mr Champignac awoke our curiosity. He pointed at something red, and for a moment the sight of Mr Stefano falling to his gruesome fate conjured images of blood. I soon had to chide my overeager imagination. The radiant crimson came from a piece of fabric left hanging on a promontory. Professor Ferguson exclaimed that he recognized Herr Mueller''s scarf and I remembered that the poor scholar had used it abundantly over the past few days. We were on the right track. And yet, I could not quite dispel the sense of dread that this curious omen brought to my mind. On the first day, one of us had lost his life, and now on the second day another one had lost his mind? What could have prompted the timid researcher to dare such a hazardous climb in the dead of night? What curious mania had dominated his psyche? The mystery only thickened. Eventually, we reached the promontory and turned around. We were rewarded with a view like no other. Behind us, and to our left and right, the cliffs reached out towards the azure sky and its distant clouds. There were gaps between the colossal slabs that separated them in five separate mounts grasping the heavens, and below came a rich and fertile plain bursting with nature green and fecund. It was like being in the palm of god as he bestowed life upon the world, and the sea expanded into the distance to the horizon. The strong emotion I felt could explain the embarrassing moment that followed. As we were staring with awe at this primeval wonder, I leaned back against the wall and my hand found a pole. I turned around with surprise and ended up face to face with a grinning, yellowed skull. I admit to letting out a horrified shriek. Perhaps I scrambled back most disgracefully on my behind. Oh, the shame, but could I really be blamed for my natural reaction when facing such a grisly trophy? The rest of the team gathered in surprise and Mr. Champignac did his best to comfort me, but I was inconsolable. Only when I realized that the skull was quite old did I finally calm down. Indeed, its brittle and faded color could only prove that it belonged more in an anatomy class than at a funeral. The morbid spectacle still cast yet another dampener on our mood. We had found yet one more proof of the existence of local inhabitants, and their choice of welcome did not bode well for Herr Mueller''s, or indeed our continued well-being. The mortal remains stood on a pole adorned with skulls and bright feathers at the edge of a natural, man-sized cavern entrance. The gap had been hidden during the climb behind the promontory we were now standing on. For the first time, my apprehension turned to genuine fear at the thought of entering into the bowels of the earth after seeing such an ominous warning. Both Mr Ferguson and Champignac agreed that it was a safe bet that Herr Mueller had entered the cave, on account of the scarf. I was less certain, but even I had to agree that there was no obvious path but down. Mr Sheridan then proved to be the voice of reason. He extolled the dangers of blind explorations, and the risk that we were running for everyone. He mentioned the possibility that the local inhabitants were hostile and that we should return prepared and armed. Mr Champignac scoffed and questioned the validity of such claims. He argued that the locals had to be savages, and that savages would naturally fear the white man, doubly so if the Texan would but unholster one of his firearms and give them ''what for''. Finally, he questioned the honor and morality of leaving the Prussian to his fate without knowing what had occurred to him. Fergusson half-heartedly sided with the Frenchman. He, too, would not leave one of our companions to a cruel fate. I believed that the Texan had grown so jaded to the loss of life that he had no qualms sacrificing the one to save the many. I understood his position as the one responsible for our safety, but we could not give up without a gallant attempt! To my surprise and to his credit, Mr Sheridan asked me my opinion! I was so taken off-guard by the unusual question that I became flustered. No one asked me for my thoughts, not least when there were two eminent Professors who had already spoken their mind! S§×ar?h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "I... I think that if we leave now without looking for Herr Mueller, I will never forgive myself," I stammered. The whole conversation made me feel terrible. Here was Mr Sheridan, who had been nothing but polite and helpful for the entire trip, and I was forced to side with the brazen Frenchman instead. How I hated my decision as soon as I had taken it. How foolish we were, jumping into unknown danger with more courage than sense and more temerity than courage! "Very well then, let''s go." "Indeed, let''s go!" Mr Champignac stammered with barely contained outrage. To have one''s opinion overlooked in favor of that of a young woman! His anger was understandable, and so he took the lead with great strides which stopped about twenty feet into the open tunnel when he realized that visibility had fallen drastically. Meanwhile, the veteran ranger had removed a piece of wood and some fabric from various pockets, and he was using twine to bind them together. He emptied a flask of oil on the newly made torch, lit it, and handed it to the flustered Frenchman without a word. I do not believe that I had ever witnessed so much condescension without a word being uttered. With Mr Champignac in front and the helpers closing the procession with another torch, we descended into the darkness. The mountain closed in around us. Soon, the sounds of the forest disappeared until only our breaths broke the silence, and the scent of sap and soil was replaced by that of damp rock. I felt that the walls were growing more narrow and that I would soon have to bend my head. The flame of the torch bobbed hypnotically in the distance and, when it disappeared around a bend, darkness returned. Time grew surprisingly hard to judge in that underworld, and yet it could not have been too long before we came across a juncture in the tunnel and the room beyond. We entered a cave of respectable size and all stopped, made mute by the curious sight of bioluminescent mushrooms stuck to the ceiling in a spiral pattern. Professor Fergusson remarked that this was a natural treasure, however, Mr Sheridan showed the keen insight of his peasant roots by pointing out the stuck earth out of which the growth emerged, and which had been placed there on purpose. We had found evidence of artistic creation in the local people, and by clever use of horticulture! It was at this moment that we heard the chant for the first time. This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience. It started low, and we could only hear it after shushing each other to silence. It went up in a ''o'' sound, then back down again in another. It was repeated slowly and ponderously by many throats. I would have taken back my choice to investigate the tunnel then, if I had had the courage. Mr Fegusson determined that the noise came from a tunnel that went left. Mr. Champignac marked the tunnel we had come from with a piece of charcoal in case we got lost, and we continued towards the source of this strange invocation. To my surprise, it sounded like Herr Mueller''s first name, Otto, repeated ad nauseam by a strange chorus. The intensity only grew as we moved further into the depths of the world. After only a minute or so, I was able to spot an orange light growing in the distance. We passed ancient bronze braziers burning scented herbs to emerge into a tomb. Despite our terrible circumstances, I could not help but feel genuine excitement at the sight of a finding that I had only read about in books. Me, Miranda Bingle, uncovering lost tombs! Alas, my joy was short-lived, for we were not alone. We fanned out on a circular cavern with four entrances on each corner. The center was occupied by a platform upon which treasures had been placed as offerings. I recognized a small shield tarnished by the years, throwing spears, a bow with its string snapped. Behind them sat a mummy wearing a mortuary mask of gold. It was holding a sword in its decrepit hands, the likes of which I had never seen before. Contrary to the rest of the treasure, the ancient weapon appeared as if it had only yesterday been assembled by the skilled hands of a legendary smith. Its blade was not made out of metal, but out of a chitinous, black material polished to a sheen. The guard was gold and the pommel was a gem. No king could lay their eyes on that blade and deem it unworthy. The other occupants of the cavern were Herr Otto Mueller, and the long-devined natives of this island. How I wish they had been noble savages awaiting only enlightenment and Protestant faith, which we would generously provide. Alas, those appeared to be of a less friendly sort. They were masked with strange clay disks that gave them monstrous traits, while their bodies were pallid and naked with the exception of a loincloth. They seemed agitated, and waved around spears with metal tips that looked like harpoons. I could hardly blame them, because our Prussian teammate was currently wrestling the sword from the mummies'' dessicated hands. We cried an alarm and tried to stop him. The poor man''s face was red and quite burnt by the sun, and I feared that a stroke had robbed him of his wits. He turned to us, his eyes manic and feverish. ''They are crying my name!'' he said, ''Seht ihr nicht? They were waiting for me!'' Indeed, the gravelly voices of the savage mangled the name Otto, or something close enough that our companion''s addled brain could not tell the difference. The professor and Mr Champignac urged him to caution, pleaded and begged for him to return to our lines as more of the denizens of the cavern were pouring in, their chant ever louder. It was all in vain. With a triumphant shout, the Prussian tore off the ancient mummy''s fingers and brandished the now detached blade triumphantly above his head. He yelled in triumph, then in ignominious plain. I must have screamed then, for one of the masked guardians had pierced the poor man''s chest from behind! Cruel fate! No sooner had the implement reached his heart that he toppled, dead. All hell broke loose. I remember little of the following confusion. We were beset on all sides by spear-wielding natives. I have a distinct memory of Mr Sheridan shooting one in the mask as he was grabbing me. The assailant fell dead just as I caught a glimpse of his traits, and what I saw froze my heart even further, for the man was barely human! He had pointed ears and sallow, pallid skin like the belly of a frog. Sharpened fangs glinted ominously in the flickering torches. Just as he died, he gave me one last bloodshot glare and the hatred I felt there was a thing so absolute and so deep, that I realized that we would never have left in peace. In the following chaos, Mr Sheridan pushed me into the arms of Professor Ferguson, who had grabbed a torch at some point. We fled through one of the side corridors as fast as our feet could carry us. We ran with desperate energy, needled by terror. Terrible explosions from Mr Sheridan''s gun rang in tune with my heartbeats behind us, and I could only guess from their urgency that Mr Champignac''s belief was unfounded. Our foes had not scattered. Instead, they hounded us with frenetic rage. We passed side passages and openings. We only stopped when our feet could carry us no further. Mr Fergusson had led us, but it appears that Mr Champignac and three of the helpers had managed to follow us as well. The darkness and wall conspired to assail my mind, and make me see eyes shining at the corners of my eyes. They suggested the most horrible fates for those of us who had not managed to flee. Visions of torture, which I will not write on this page for fear of conjuring them again, harried my spirit. The only small solace I received was when Mr Sheridan burst in after us with the calm strut of a general. He was pushing cartridges in the chamber of an engraved revolver of excellent facture, and it appeared that his caution, which I had taken as overblown, had been justified in every respect. His eyes swept the cave and landed on Mr. Champignac. Oh, what open scorn there was now, as Mr Champignac had indeed taken the sword as it fell from the hand of our deceased colleague. I was glad that we could recover such priceless artefact, but a part of me wondered at the cold-blooded mind that allowed one to look after a prize while the blood of friends was shed so freely. Mr Sheridan made a curt comment, and Mr Fergusson agreed that they might take the loss of their artefact with renewed anger, but it was far too late to return the blade and so we carried on after catching our breaths. Our path ran up. We were searching for a way out, and only now realizing the full extent to which this place had been mined and turned into a warren. It must have taken centuries of efforts for the ghastly creatures we had seen to worm their ways into the mountain''s flesh. We came across only a few crossings, and attempted as best we could to stick to the flank of the mountain in hopes of finding an exit. I almost yelped in joy when light came from an opening to the left, but the others were less pleased. Mr Fergusson remarked that it was on the wrong side of the wall. We all approached and peered in, and the sight shook us to our very souls. The mountain was hollow, and in it stood an unholy city, sprawling over like an infestation. Light fell from a large hole at the top to let us witness the grotesque spectacle of thousands of male and female creatures writhing in the decrepit remains of looted civilization like fleas on the hide of a mongrel. We found the missing boats whose prows now adorned the jungle like so many grisly trophies. They had been dragged in from the back of the cave where a low opening to the sea lay, then cobbled together to form a shanty town of rotten planks held together by frayed ropes. That was not the worst. Where the sea met the land, pens and cages contained those of them who had lost their humanity. This is when, I think, Miranda Bingle died and was reborn. I could have blamed the savage appearance of the bipedal creatures to a freak accident of nature born from remoteness and centuries of inbreeding. I could have claimed that they were still human, albeit barely so. Nothing could explain the monstrous hybrids dwelling in that sinful den, half-fish and half human, wallowing in filth and refuse. And at the back of that pustule on the face of the earth was an autel. It was an edifice of bones upon which sat an unmoving armored figure of inhuman size. It was the statue of a god, and it ruled over its land like a demonic, primal despot. I know not how long we stayed there, frozen in disgust and surprise both. I think I lost my mind and regained it in the space of moments, only to lose it again. One of the helpers failed then. He clawed his visage and left running back from whence we came before we could gather enough wit to save him. And then, a procession entered the city. We saw a column of warriors emerge from a side opening, and between them, strung like boars, were the lost helpers and the corpse of Otto Mueller. The song returned then, higher than ever. The wild warriors still sung the deformed name of the Prussian researcher in a vile mockery of a dirge. The body of the researcher was sent to a large building from which carcasses of fish hung, while the others were brought to the devil statue. The first helper was then laid on an altar in front of it. I can easily guess what happened, but I was mercifully spared that dreadful spectacle as Mr Sheridan dragged me away from the opening. He gathered all the survivors away from the gap, and I realize that without him, I would have kept watching until the last victim had bled out. We recovered what we could of our tired spirits and departed with Mr Champignac at the helm, pushed on by the strength of numb desperation. Horror had robbed us of speech. Mr Sheridan came by my side as we were resting again. He took my hand in his own burly mitts, and placed it on the grip of a smaller revolver. I was quite surprised by his gesture, and so was Professor Fergusson by my side although he was, as always, supportive. The weapon was strangely elegant with a nacreous finish. The barrel and cylinder were made of a soft silvery material engraved with beautiful inscriptions, and it held in my hand as if it had been designed for it. When prompted, Mr Sheridan informed me that I should keep it just in case, and he even showed me the basic operation. It could have been summarized as pointing it to the ''bad guys'' and keeping my eyes opened when I pulled the trigger. For some reason, after discovering all those horrors and witnessing the cruel end of our companions, the weight of the gun in my hand acted as a reminder of the existence of reason and of the industry that had made this pinnacle of technology possible. It grounded me at a time of intense distress. To the professor, Mr Sheridan gave his knife, and thus armed we departed. Hope soon returned when we found light, and not the bastardized radiance of the city, but genuine, creator-blessed sunlight. One last cavern and we would be out! It was at this critical junction that we were ambushed. The savages, made daring by our imminent escape, descended upon us! They jumped down from stalactites and emerged from behind stalagmites, swarming us like a pack of wolves. We had to fight! I did not know what to do in the dreadful confusion, and huddled behind the form of the Professor. The wizened man showed the unwavering courage that had been the hallmark of his character from his earlier days! He dodged a spear and stabbed his foe mightily. But then, disaster struck! Another creature stabbed him in the arm and he was forced to drop his blade and wrestle on the ground. I was backed into a corner and realized, then, that I had looked down on my father''s advice unfairly. That was right, I was the youngest child of the great adventurer Cecil Rutherford Bingle, and I would be damned if I allowed the vile creature to deprive the world of such a great man! I kneeled and pointed at the beast''s chest, two hands holding the grip. I did as Mr Sheridan had ordered and kept my eyes open. To my dismay, the gun report made me yelp and fall backward. My disgracious landing was redeemed when the creature''s head snapped back and it fell dead on the floor. I looked up to see the fight end as the last of our foes ran and fell, shot down like the curs they were. Mr Sheridan had once more carried the day, spreading death and destruction wherever he stepped. Mr Fergusson congratulated me on my aim. To my shame, I did not admit that I had aimed for the heart. The exit of the cavern beckoned. We only stopped long enough to bandage Professor Fergusson''s arms, and then we reached the surface and our salvation beyond. We were on a promontory looking over the sea. To our right, steps dug into the very cliff descended to a rift between the finger-like mounds and the forest beyond. To our left, a dread chasm led back into the heart of the hollow mountain. Mr Sheridan went to inspect it, when Mr Champignac turned to us. ''Do we have an agreement, gentlemen?'' he asked, and we did not understand, until the two remaining helpers nodded in unison. "I apologize, my dear, but I received an excellent offer for an artefact such as this one, and I cannot allow witnesses to report my lucky find," he said with a smirk. I could not react to my surprise and watched, hypnotized and horrified, as the Frenchman removed a concealed pistol from his coat pocket, lined it with Mr Sheridan and shot him in the back. The poor Texan, the same who had saved all of us, fell into the darkness below! I let out a mighty scream, only interrupted by another when Mr Champignac walked towards me with his stolen sword! Mr Fergusson saved me then. He launched himself on the traitor without a second of hesitation. Just as the blade pierced his chest, he screamed for me to run, and in my cowardice, I did. I left him behind, forgetting about the pistol still held in my hand. I pushed by the surprised helpers and sprinted towards the forest below even as the backstabbing miscreant urged them after me. I ran, and did not look back. Chapter 120 - 115. Otto Cliff camp, the night before. After leaving Sheridan, I search around but find no recent traces of the natives. Most of their patrols must have retreated after I killed the first one, and nobody else tries to set up an ambush. I find quite a few watchtowers but no trace of the forest being exploited for wood, or food, not exactly a surprise when nothing larger than a mouse remains. I make my way back to base camp shortly before dawn and find Syrrin waiting for me in my tent, by the sarcophagus. "Yes?" "Nirari. Follow." I stare askance at the tall shaman. She bends slightly. "Nirari. Follow. Please. Syrrin begs." I feel a tug, the barest hint of fate urging me on, and it has never failed me yet. Well, there was that time where it sent me on a collision course with my sire and his damned servant, but that was a necessity. Probably. It remains that her request has weight. It must be answered. I cannot afford to ignore my instincts given Sheridan''s involvement. I grab my weapons backpack and follow the fishwoman out. She turns only once to see if I am following, and that is after crawling through an opening into the cliff barely large enough for her muscular frame. We are in a damp cave lit by glowing mushrooms. A rotten pile of supplies lines one of the walls. Syrrin sighs heavily. She is¡­ tense. I can taste her weakness in the air. She turns and leaves. I follow her through a network of small caverns, many of those crudely excavated. She knows the path well. Even when the tortuous tunnels take unexpected turns, her slithers never falter. Syrrin comes from here, I realize now. She is familiar with the place. How far from her home she must have been when she found me? How desperate! I can tell now from the frantic determination of her movement that this is what she had been waiting for. Eventually, we stop in a large circular cavern with a pond at its core. Blue mushrooms emit an appeasing radiance and paint the walls in strange patterns of color. Syrrin rummages behind a pillar and shows me a tight sleeping place cleverly hidden behind a stone. "Nirari sleeps. Syrrin watches. Tomorrow. Nirari hunts." My caution screams at me not to believe the strange fishwoman, but I know in my essence that she will die before betraying me. I hide my supply backpack and my spear behind another column and tuck myself in for the day. It is afternoon now. The cavern possesses a timeless quality that soothes my mind, even if I can feel the cruel orb travelling through the sky from beyond layers of rock. I recover my gear and follow her, until we arrive at a crossing. She goes left, but I stop her and point right. She tilts her strange, flat face. I felt another tug. This one was important, vital even. "Instinct.." I inform the fishwoman. She follows. There is no need for me to explain. She understands magic better than any of our own customs. My steps guide me up until I find light blocking my path. Sunlight is a curious thing, when it is so diffuse. The frail radiance here is but a reflection of a reflection, not the purge of direct rays that torched my side back in Alexandria. It still carries with it a hint of blister and the taste of ash. I stop. What now? I feel like I am in the right place. Above, there is the bang of a discharged firearm. "What¡­" And then I hear it. Curses and the impact of armor-covered flesh on stone. "Aw! Fuck! Shit! No! Jesus! Fucking." I step forward, blinking owlishly against the pallid glow coming from above. I jump and grab Sheridan before he can land painfully. I end up on the other side of the passage with the Ranger in my arms. He is breathing hard. "Well well well, look just what fell into my lap." "By God. Ariane?" "Yes." "I think my back is broken." He would be screaming if it were. I put him on his feet and inspect the cause of his worries. I find the characteristic round mark of a shot. It must hurt like hell. That is where his fears come from. "It is not broken," I tell him, as I feel rage filling my heart. "It feels broken?" I tsk. "Have you ever had a broken back?" "No." "Then how can you tell?" He turns around, blinking like a mole and I realize that it is too dark for him to see. He lifts one arm and waves it around, then repeats it for his other arm. He moves his shoulders around. "Huh." "Who shot you?" I ask. "That little fucking backstabbing rat. I will snuff out his sniveling life with my own two hands, I swear." My anger recedes. It is the Vassal''s prey. "How do we get back up, anyway?" he asks. "We do not get back up. Syrrin and I have¡­ unfinished business." "You do?" "Yes." I realize what Syrrin is. She bowed. She asked. The strange fishwoman is a Supplicant. "Lead the way," I tell her. The shaman moves up as if nothing had happened. Our path is slower now, since I have to hold Sheridan by the hand so that he does not bump against every wall. My Vassal is clearly eager to pursue his vengeance and yet, he does not object even once to being left in the dark. Metaphorically. The caverns start to widen soon enough and to show signs of passage. The light remains minimal and the silence, absolute, until I see our destination. We arrive on a balcony overlooking a breathtaking scene that I would have never anticipated. The mountain is hollowed out! A giant cavern of amazing size hides within its mineral envelope, and with it, the strange dwellers of the island have built their den. I watch with interest as the strange beings cobbled together anything they could find to assemble a fantasmagoric construct of wood, rock, and shells held together by faith and moldy ropes. Shipwrecks tied to ancient statues lean dangerously over edifices smashed together in one pathetic hovel of a city. The spectacle further lowers them in my esteem. If they had spent millenia in isolation, I would have given them the benefit of the doubt, but they had seen the wonders of the outside world and decided to salvage it to make pigsties. Hah. There is not a spark of innovation, of insight, in this entire place. Not one of the precious qualities that we love and admire in humans. They are scavengers and cockroaches, barely better than animals. I shake my head as Syrrin stops by the opening to meditate. I cannot approach anyway. Pure sunlight descends from a crater in the city''s center. This land is forbidden to me. For now. "Why did you bring me here, Syrrin?" "Nirari. Grants. Life and death. We wait. Then, I show." She knows the place for sure. The question then is¡­ "Syrrin, how did you find me?" "The Dreams show you, and the black one. You, better." The little Shaman is a seer as well! It would appear that they do enjoy dragging me into their games. She is correct, of course. My sire would not let time-consuming requests distract him from his goal. We settle down for a few hours. Sheridan tells me of the events of the day in a low voice as afternoon goes on. "Miranda ran into the woods. Do you think that they will manage to catch her?" "Perhaps. I am not entirely sure about how godlings work with death, only that it is a possibility. I will look for her when we are done with our current task." "I hope she makes it. She is arrogant and stuck up, but she has courage and her heart''s in the right place." If Sheridan had died, her heart would be all over the place by now. As would the rest of her internal organs. "Follow," Syrrin finally requests, and we leave the balcony behind. To yet another side tunnel. The path leads down this time, and soon we hear the roar of the sea. The stench is abominable. I have had worse and merely stop breathing while Sheridan swears softly and covers his mouth and nose with a scarf. I give him credit for his iron stomach. Others would have succumbed to nausea by now. We end up in what has to be this place''s sewers. I am thankful for my boots being so thick. The path broadens until we arrive at the lowest point of the city. As we enter the large cavern, I notice an opening to the sea on our left, and something else that surprises me. There are fishmen and fishwomen swimming in and out of the secret cove''s entrance. They appear¡­ sick. Their scales do not share the lustre common to their brethren, and their postures are down and submissive. The sight immediately fills me with disgust. Fishmen are predators and man eaters. It is an established fact. A known fact. Every interaction I have had with them always ended in bloodshed and slaughter. To see them desperate and submissive fills me with a deep sense of unease and anger. I would not mind slaughtering an entire tribe in battle, because it would be the proper order of things. I would not impose their current fate on them unless I was overcome with rage. Perhaps that is why I have been reluctant to create cattle unless I had to prove a point. I turn back to Syrrin to ask questions, and instead find her physically struggling. She is holding her coral armband in one hand and fights on to keep moving, her eyes glazing over before a good shake allows her to trudge on. I do not know what is wrong with her. Even Sheridan appears affected. He stares at the shaman''s back with worried curiosity, one hand on his revolver. Our ailing companion guides us through the worst part of the shanty town and everywhere we see more of the same. The fish folks are occupied with menial tasks, and otherwise kept in cramped, squalid cages mired in filth by patrolling creatures that we avoid. I see sores and open wounds on their backs and limbs. Some of the older members of this tribe have been amputated. "Jesus," Sheridan whispers, as we see some of the primal humans drag a screaming child to a slaughterhouse. We do not react yet. Both my Vassal and I can tell that Syrrin decides the best course of action is to continue, for now. I wonder why they take such terrible treatment without complaint, and if it relates to the strange mood affecting our guide. As we move further into the city, the full extent of the tribe''s sufferings becomes even more obvious, and the heart of this ignominy is the breeding pen. I am forced to avert my gaze as I pass it by, so dreadful the state of the fishwomen is. So humiliating. I have seen atrocities before, of course. What really affects me is the casual cruelty involved in the treatment of the prisoners, the systematic destruction of everything that qualifies them as people. I push away the sights and the small voice at the back of my head telling me that such things exist everywhere, and that I have just closed my eyes to it. Sheridan is to blame. He is turning me more¡­ human. Syrrin slithers between two sentries and goes deeper into the shanty town. As time passes, I start feeling it as well. Something is spreading an impressive aura over the entire town. It is not attuned to me, hence why it took me so long to detect it. I can still taste it in the air. Despair. Void. Apathy. A sort of drunkenness that robs the will and smothers the flame of life. It is a detestable thing. It violates the spirit of the Hunt. Disgust is replaced by anger inside of my heart. The whole city is a sore on the face of the earth. It is lucky, then, that it would be made so poorly. My hands contract into claws as we move on and Sheridan''s heartbeat rises in answer. We fan the flames of each other''s anger the more our exploration goes on. The betrayal. The abuse we see. The extent of the primal humans'' disdain for their prey. They mix and merge in a torrent that cascades from him to me, then back again. It takes all I have not to hiss. We finally arrive before an out of the way cavern. The three of us kneel behind a stone looking over an opening in the sheer wall in front of which wait two primals in wood armor, their faces hidden behind elaborate clay masks. Apathetic fishmen and women lie in dejected piles around it. They stare into nothingness, overwhelmed by the powerful aura radiating from the mouth of the passage. Syrrin is shivering now. She holds her coral armband in a deathly grip. It is, I realize, her focus. She has been casting without reprieve to fight off the deleterious influence of the spell. When she lifts her flat, ugly head to me, her eyes are filled with tears. "Nirari gives life. And death. Please, give life back." Supplicant. There is no need to bargain now. There is no need to make a deal. The urgency is too much. "I shall grant you this boon." I move down. The two sentries turn to me. I slap the first one''s head off and plant my hand into the second one''s chest. His lifeblood spills from his silent lips. The scent of the red nectar permeates the air. The fish people''s nostrils flare, but they cannot fight yet. The chain on their mind is too heavy and the source is right here, behind a grate of rusted iron. I grab the obstacle and bend my knees. I channel the Natalis and werewolf essences and pull with a grunt of annoyance. Metal moans and cracked mortar pops. Behind, there is an old fishman attached to a rock under the malevolent glare of a smoldering red orb. A pendant adorns his skeletal chest and a scepter lays by his side. This is the source of the spell. I can taste it better now, and my outrage only grows. Whoever designed this was an artist, a jeweler of constructs. The weave is subtle and well-made. The delicate work was designed to subdue and calm targets based on a specific pattern of target. Another caster attuned the spell to the old one below, and now it has grown bloated, festered, a perversion of its intended purpose. I feel it then, the pull of fate. Magic is a fickle thing. It can be pulled and controlled, but sometimes it wants things to move and it wants cages to break. I do not believe I have ever felt my aura move so fast, nor the world respond to it quite so easily. The power courses through my gauntlet and I let it take over. I allow the will of the world to act through me and in return, I am rewarded. Power flows like a torrent. The light of the moon through the crater takes on a purple hue. "So is the chain by hand unbound The teeth unclenched and trident found The mark on your head I erase No tears to shed, and hell to raise." The orb cracks. "Tide caller." The orb shatters, and the crimson radiance spreads slowly, kept whole for the inevitable swing of the pendulum. The old man before me awakes, fixing me with milky white eyes. A tongue darts to taste the air. Syrrin joins me, her head held high and her emotions raw. She places a trembling hand on the old man''s jaw. They join their forehead and stay like this for a breath as the world stands on the edge. Then, Syrrin steps back and grabs the heavy scepter from the ground. The man closes his eyes. "Thank you," he says. Syrrin caves his skull in. She approaches the body as it is still wracked with tremors, and grabs the pendant. She puts it on. "Syrrin is queen now," she tells me, "Nirari gives life back. Now, give death. We follow. We will always answer the call." Supplicant. "Bargain struck," I inform her with a smile. I know I show my fangs and eagerness, and she sees, and she does not care. Sheridan waits outside surrounded by intensely focused fish folks, two of them already bearing the dead sentries'' spears. He is unafraid and so they leave him alone. Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. The red mist of the orb spreads around them and their wounds close, not completely, but enough. There is a glint in their dark eyes when there was nothing before. They flick their tongues and taste blood. Syrrin stands before them and they await, but they do not cower. She opens her bag and rummages through it. I turn to Sheridan and open my own to show the contents. "Wow." I place a box of silver cartridges before him. "Enchanted bullets with an extra shred spell. Help yourself and don''t skimp, because we are going to have a battle on our hands." I stare at him as he empties his two remaining revolvers ¡ª one of them is missing ¡ª and loads the bullets with malicious intent. "Tell me Sheridan, on a scale from one to ten, how angry are you?" The solid ranger looks at me with grim determination. "Lady, I''m about pushing an eleven right now." "You want in on the party?" "You could not stop me from joining." "Alright," I tell him. I remove the Needle rifle''s two parts from my bag and screw the barrel on, then I hand it to him as well as a belt of cartridges and a set of grenades. "Is it my birthday already?" "Sheridan," I tell him, with deadly seriousness, "I need to inform you of an important fact. We vampires never fully reveal ourselves with humans around because it would attract too much attention. We hide our powers and restrain ourselves." He waits for me to continue, not quite yet getting the point. "There are no humans around," I finish. "Oh. You are going all out." "Yes. Yes, I am. You will have to go with it and not let yourself be distracted." "No worries, I got your back. And if you see one of those heathen''s heads spontaneously explode. Don''t be alarmed. It''s me." We nod to each other and he finishes gearing up. I turn to Syrrin as two burly fishmen finish tying pieces of wood together in a strange pattern. It is like a staff with a reversed triangle on top. I wonder what purpose it will serve, until Syrrin removes a roll of fabric from her bag. She sticks it to the prepared support and I realize that it is, in fact, a flag. Made from human skin. Pirate, to be precise. It has my sigils on it, inscribed in an ink so dark it swallows the light. The gesture is so touching and attentive that I raise my hands to my chest in delight. Such a delicate attention! Nobody has ever done that for me yet! Then Syrrin grabs the flag and lifts it on her shoulder. She hands me a massive conch. "Nirari starts Hunt. We follow. We kill. We feast." A horn to blow to start the hunt? Aaaaaaa if she were a man and had a ring now I would be doomed, flat face or not. I examine the nice piece as the fishmen gather around. I see a red radiance in the air where the backlash from the shattered orb suffuses their bodies. They are hounds waiting to be unleashed, though they do not know it yet. The conch is no artefact, merely an ancient work of exquisite craftsmanship. Nothing says that I cannot use it for my own design, however. I raise my gauntlet and call an illusion spell, in the same spirit of those I use to spread darkness or baiting lights, but this time I use it to make my voice louder. I need them to hear and feel. The tongue does not matter. The magic will carry my intent through crags and cages and murky water. I merely need to seize it. The world is still waiting and now, it pays attention too. "Hunters of the abyss!" The diffuse light reflects on dark eyes, like a constellation on the bleak background. "Sharpen your claws and lick your fangs. Smell the ichor in the air. Hear the call; cast off your chains. Tonight is the night when the dream ends. A symphony of violence, an orgy of bloodshed. The Great Hunt has returned." I blow the conch. I did not plan for it, but the mournful sound is amplified by the magic as well. It rolls over the shanty, slams against its many walls, only to bounce back louder, stranger, until the echoes mix and a thousand angry hosts answer the call of the Hunt. The other side answers. Gates crash and warcries resonate throughout the unholy capital as masked, fallen men muster their own forces. Their strange cry fights back against the tide. It sounds like ''Otto'', which I cannot get used to. "To the cages," I say. We move fast. Already, fish folks overwhelm the few patrols present in the lower levels with savage fury, swarming them in great masses of teeth and claws. I barely slow down to slay those who still stand. Syrrin is by my side, waving the flag proudly and the awakened mass swells at our back in an unstoppable wave. We encounter our first pocket of resistance just as we approach the cages, with primals standing in a line with spears raised. We crash into them and do not slow down. The violence of the slaughter is stupefying. Fish folks are stronger than humans, I find, and the defenders are slain and dismembered in moments. The ground beneath us turns red. The cages lay in front of us, rattled by their irate occupants as the free fishmen fight guards in a chaotic hand-to-hand battle. "Go open the cages, I''ll take care of the reinforcements," I tell Sheridan. "Got it," he replies. He twirls his guns in excitement. He did not do that before. Am I changing him as well? Whatever. The ranger sprints and shoots off the first rudimentary lock. The enchanted bullets demolish the rusted metal with ease. He opens the first door and a sea of folks adds their anger to the conflict. I direct the bulk of our troops to a large avenue leading up, to the upper floors of the blighted mess of tied shipwrecks. Fish folks crash into the buildings to our sides, ramming through the moldy wood as if it were paper. We meet the first real opposition very quickly. Farther into the town, we find a plaza leading to a strange altar of bones at the back, and it is filled with natives as we approach it. There are bowmen on the walls of the nearby edifices. Sheridan angles right without a word and somehow manages to convince a tall fishman warrior to give him a lift by scowling mightily. We are close now, a wall of scaly flesh moving forward and up. The line of spears is just before us, at least five men deep and supported by taller warriors in wood armor and more elaborate masks. Sorcerers agitate them, ancient foci held high. We cannot stop. We must not stop. I need to find something inspiring to say to start the charge, for posterity! "REND THE FLESH FROM THEIR BONES!" Ah, oops. At least, it worked. The mass of fishmen sprints forward and I cast a spell I have never used in a combat situation before. "Shield." Obsidian-tipped arrows slam harmlessly into my erected defences. They would never pierce Loth''s armor, but Syrrin is just behind me and I do not want her to die. The fish folks bleed and die as arrows rain from above and from behind the enemy lines. They scream and hiss, but they do not stop. I crash into the line of spearmen and cut three in half with a single swing. "Flay." A shaman screams when the skin is ripped from his muscles. I grab the mangled form as it falls and devour it as, all around me, the melee is joined. Smaller, more agile fishwomen climb the buildings to dislodge the archers, throwing their screaming forms into the blender below. Every two seconds, a thunderous bang erupts and an officer or an archer falls with their chests skewered and their heads blown off. Our onslaught is unstoppable. I barely have to intervene. To their credit, the primals do not relent. More of their numbers join the fray every second, grabbing spears and rocks from the hands of the fallen and throwing themselves at us with wild abandon. Women jump on fishmen warriors to drag them down while their peers stab them both, and still, they sing their strange cry with unwavering faith. This is a battle of annihilation. I drift across the battlefield, eliminating priority targets and supporting ailing fighters. I laugh and jeer as blood covers my armor in a thick red coat. It is inevitable. And finally, we push them back. Their mass climbs the steps to the altar and spreads left and right until I see it. On a platform of bone, atop a throne of skulls, sits a large form clad in black armor. The statue does not move as its sycophants die in droves. "Your god will not save you," I bellow. Time to end this. I shall destroy that stupid effigy and break their spirits. I move forward and sweep with my spear to cut the head off. And then I am sent flying. "Oof!" Ow. I am in the air. Hmm. What just happened? I twist on myself and land feet first on a nearby ship deck. The planks crunch and groan under the impact, but they do not break and I can witness the unbelievable spectacle before me. The statue moved. The statue moved? No, impossible. It must be a golem then. I cannot feel its aura. The imposing black armor walks forth ponderously and the fish folks waver. The primals now fight with an impossible frenzy, screaming ''Otto!'' at the top of their lungs. All our fighters retreat in a confused mass. All except for Syrrin. She stands in her place, unmovable even as the fighters surrounding her try to drag her back. She slams her battle standard into the altar and glares up, defiant. I extract myself from the planks and sprint forward as fast as I can manage it. The wind screams in my ear. The golem lifts a heavy fist. No you don''t. "Shatter." I punch the descending limb with my own gloved gauntlet. The spell detonates on impact, sending shards of black metal everywhere. Syrrin still hasn''t moved. "Second round," I declare with a smile. Finally. A challenge! I roar and kick the armor back, barely displacing it but Syrrin is smart and retreats now that I have returned. The combatants leave a ring for the construct and I to settle our contest. Blood flows on the ground, turning it crimson. I dodge and move around my ponderous foe. I have fought large enemies before and close in on it instead of trying to create a distance, relentlessly attacking the weak points in the thick armor to get at the fragile articulations. Its plates are thick, but Sivaya''s spear tip is unnaturally sharp. I chip at the chinks piece by piece, never stopping, never getting hit. The golem has an impressive range of movements. It does not matter. I am faster, and I have sparred with the likes of Jimena, Nami, Torran. This thing does not even come close. It finally happens. I manage to lock the blade in the weak point under the golem''s arm and push in. I feel a resistance. I feel it hit something. The construct stumbles back on one knee. The fish folks roar in triumph, but the primals do not relent. And then, the golem does something that surprises me. Its two damaged gauntlets reach for the helmet, and remove it. Then, every piece of armor is patiently peeled off. I stare in wonder at the man thus revealed. I¡­ do not understand? How? And then my gaze lowers to my spear and its tip. The deadly blade is covered with thick, black blood. The smell hits me an instant later. The chest piece falls, revealing the lean and muscular form of a very tall man. He has white-blonde hair that falls to his shoulders, a handsome face with a square jaw and two piercing blue eyes that open and blink in confusion. Ah. Fuck. "Who wakes Otto, Lord of the Erenwald?" Huh. That¡­ is unexpected. Thoroughly unplanned for. He must have masked his aura, or perhaps he was asleep? The glare zeroes on me. His pale lips in a fanged smile. "A little Devourer." The man extends a right hand, materializing a soul weapon like a giant billhook. His aura explodes outwards and buffets us all. The primal assault renews with boundless intensity. This is a lord. A bloody lord in the middle of some deserted island. What in the world? Ah dammit, I should have attacked when it was changing. I was too surprised to react and missed the window. Curses. "Let us dance, little Devourer." I could no more cut and run than I could face the sun. I must kill him, or at least, I will try. Nothing to it. I grab my spear and charge. Our blades meet and I back out to run to the side. We have a similar reach, but his weapon is definitely heavier and I have no interest in a fencing contest. I use the movements that Nami taught me to smack his blade aside for an opening, trying to get a hit in. He is fast, but not so fast that I cannot follow and his style feels designed to fell heavier foes, with movements meant to crush and disembowel in one strike. I prevent him from catching me in his rhythm with quick attacks that he must block. Black blood still seeps from below his right armpit. Sivaya''s blade has a nasty bite. First blood is mine when the hook slides over my shoulder armor to the man''s surprise. His eyes widen and he dodges, but I still manage to trace a dark line across his chest. "Not bad, little Devourer. Let us see if your luck holds." The lord shortens his hold on the billhook and now fights more defensively. I know that one too. I move a bit farther and strike in more sweeping gestures, using my now superior range to harry him. I cannot pass his guard, but he cannot strike me either and I have time. One mistake, and he manages to grab the tip in his hook. He slams the weapon down into the altar to crush the pole, snapping it out of my hand. The bones give in, but the metal holds. It is made of an enchanted alloy of steel and silver that I reinforced to the brim. It could support the weight of a house. I did not want my weapon broken again. Lord Otto''s face turns in surprise again and I lodge a throwing knife just below his eye, missing the organ by a hair. He smirks and throws the spear away. "Call!" The spear returns to my hand as if dragged by a magnet. "Your tricks annoy me, little Devourer." "I like it when you whine," I retort, and the dance resumes. The Erenwald lord pulls the dagger from his cheek and throws it back, but he clearly does not know how to use it and the strike goes wide. Our fight resumes, neither of us gaining the advantage, until he manages to hook my arm. The blade bites into my armor, drawing blood. I turn on myself and kick the lord in the face before he can use it to his advantage and go in close. He disengages and I free myself in the same movement. During the fight, I let my instinct and my intuition guide me, avoiding tricky attacks and surprising bursts of speed at the last moment. I have to use every trick in the book, but we are evenly matched. Time is on my side. Around us, the primals are dying. Without fear and without hesitation, but they are dying. The fish folks are still pushed forward by the spell and the years of pent-up rage. Sheridan methodically picks off their leaders and spellcasters, one shield-piercer at a time, leaving them disorganized. I can see Otto''s eyes wander. He pushes me back with a mighty swing and turns to Syrrin. "Flay." I use the Likaean terms. No holding back. The spell hits the soul weapon and disperses, but some of it splashes over the vampire''s pale chest and more wounds come to adorn it. I am pressing him. I am pressuring him, a lord! The cold joy of battle fills my essence and my focus sharpens to an edge, because he still has a trump card and this is far from over. I will not let my guard down. I will harry him and take him down and I will not leave him a chance, because I am a PATIENT HUNTER. The Erenwald changes once more. He attacks with very wide, very powerful swings and some of those kill my warriors. I merely place myself in a position to capitalize on the openings he provides. Syrrin has seen the way she was targeted and once more placed herself deeper into the formation. Those he slays are of no consequence to me and I punish every attack, even if he avoids mortal danger. This lord is weakened. By what, I do not know, but he is no match for some of the fighters I have faced over the years. His wounds add and his mobility is affected. I see victory on the horizon. It will not be long now. "You are persistent." "Give it up, old man. Playing god has made you soft." His traits twist with rage. "You have come here with a ship. It must be intact. I believe I will take it and return, now. See how much the world has changed." "You had every opportunity to return before, you decrepit husk. You were either too passive or too scared." His fury warps his aura. I move low as the fateful incantation begins. "You overreach, pup. You still have much to learn. Magna Arqa." In the center of the corner, the light flashes purple. His aura spreads out and¡­ solidifies. I do not have a better term for it. The closer to him and the more different the world tastes. I jump out of the area of effect as soon as I can and watch, mesmerized, as the bodies by his feet wither. Inside of the circle, both fish folks and primal writhe in horrific pain. Branches and brambles pierce their skins from the inside and they dry up in moments. Flowers and trees emerge from between the bones, only to perish a few seconds later. An eruption of nature explodes around my foe, life and death in a ceaseless dance fuelled by the blood of the fallen. The wounds on the lord''s body close. All my work, erased in moments. The man sneers and steps forward, and the circle moves with him. "Back!" I yell, "back!" The fishmen do not need to understand my instructions to follow them. They flee from the altar as fast as they can, dragging the wounded with them. The primals care not and they die in droves. "I believe I will take your friends now," he says with a laugh. I rush forth and stop at the edge of the circle. I am unaffected, thankfully. I charge and engage again, trying to keep him off. I thrust and he¡­ does not dodge. He barely redirects the blade low. My spear digs deeply into his chest. To the hilt. Only my instincts and training allow me to block the counter blow. I scream in pain as the billhook hits my flank. Even Loth''s armor cannot stop the edge of the soul weapon and the power behind it. I let inertia carry me off to minimize the damage. I still leave a trail of blood in the air. Ow. Ow. This is going to hurt. I crash into the throne. PAIN. It does hurt. I roll on my feet and channel the Ekon essence to stand up and pull a short blade from a sheath. The enchanted weapon stops the hook an instant before it can take off my head. Otto is not giving me a chance. His smile is obvious, as the ghastly wound he just accepted closes quickly enough for me to see it. "It is only a matter of time now," he adds, and kicks my intact side. I crash into his followers. I grab one of the few remaining leaders on my way down. I stand back up and discard his freshly Devoured body. My own wounds close ever so slightly. Otto sees me and frowns. "Two can play that game." "This will not save you." "You will run out of pawns before I run out of fighters, fallen one." I charge and pull the spear to me. My foe does not notice. I let him hook the short blade. I roar and push the blade down, burying it into the stone where I now stand. The hook is stopped for a moment, a fragment of a second, while Otto pulls. I grab the spear and thrust. The lord''s eyes waver. I steal a gaze down. A black, thorny root encircles his foot. This one is not on his side, and I recognize the plant as my own. I do not know how it appeared, but I am not going to complain. "But¡­ how?" he whispers. I snarl in triumph, and yet despite the circumstances, he still manages to lodge the spear higher, missing his heart by a hair. But Sivaya''s blade still has a trick. "Shield breaker." The tip flashes blue as the fae''s magic takes hold. Otto''s face shows utter shock as the powerful enchantment slices his insides. I grunt, and pull. The blade slices through ribs as if it were butter. I touch his heart. The lord slackens instantly, eyes wide. The last of the flowers dry up and die. I pick him up by the throat and move him closer. He is lost. He sees me. He knows. Around us, the primals fall to their knees and the fish folks lay into them with wild abandon. The air is rich with the smell of blood and death, in a background of screeches and cries. The hunt is over, The quarry is captured. I have won. I can hardly believe it. I have faced a lord in battle and won. I care not about the circumstances or his strange state. He was a lord. He called the Magna Arqa. And now, he is at my mercy. This will taste so sweet. I bite down. Ecstasy. My ship crashed on a small island after I killed most of the crew. Incompetent fools! That said, this island houses a population of natives I can bring under my dominion until the situation in Saxony calms down. It has been two years since I arrived here. I managed to pacify a local tribe of these predatory mermen by giving a repellent to my minions, thus stopping the raids. Another ship has crashed here, beyond repair. I wonder if the strange magic around the island interferes with navigation? It has been ten years since I have arrived here. The local simpletons built me a shrine, from which I oversee their pitiful civilization. Every day is like the last, and I feel torpor overcoming me. I will allow myself to succumb to it and wake up later, when a way out has been found. I pull back as the body disintegrates between my hands. The power of a lord courses through my veins and, within my mental palace, the associated essence grows further. My victory makes me feel incredibly powerful. I have slain a lord in single combat! No trickery, no explosives, no unfortunate swine set on fire. Just me and blades. I did not even shoot him! Truly, I have grown beyond my own expectations. I stand up and watch lazily as the last of the primals are thrown to the ground and killed. Even the younger ones perish, something that I do not condone but that I will not stop either. This vengeance is not mine, and my own rules do not apply. I use the time to consider what I learnt. So, Otto of the Erenwald was indeed lost. Not feral, but withdrawn into his zone of comfort like an old, timid man. Encrusted. Frozen in time. How can one let themselves go so? They must have had nothing left to look forward to. I know from my sire''s influence that slumber only lasts a decade at most, and only for ancient beings like himself for whom such an interval means very little. Otto''s felt longer. Deeper. Meaningless. Nirari had settled to plan his return, while he had simply given up on any action. I will avoid this terrible fate. I am not too worried. My failings are many, but inaction and melancholy have never been one of them. Syrrin comes to stand next to me as the orgy of blood finishes and the victorious hunters gorge themselves on the flesh of the vanquished. Sheridan joins us with a clear air of distaste. A tall and powerful fishman warrior turns to confront him. I stop myself from hissing. The proud ranger turns to the massive creature. The barrel of his gun taps against the monster''s chest. "Try me," he states without an ounce of fear. The fishman tastes the air with his tongue. He slithers back with respect but not without fear. "You always show me the weirdest shit," he tells me when we are reunited. "Language." "Oh, fuck off." A liver slides at our feet. Syrrin picks it up and gobbles it in one gulp. "You may have a point there," I concede, "we should move out. I am curious to see what our little godling is up to." "Breathing, I hope. What about Champignac? He''s a dead man walking if I have any say in this." "He was a dead man walking the moment he decided to double-cross us and the Consortium. He is your prey." "What are the chances that he convinces Ozenne that we are all dead, and that he should leave?" "Less than zero?" Sheridan raises a dubious eyebrow. "Oh you of little faith, who cast the spell to bring us here safely?" "Ooooh, we need you to leave as well!" "Yes," I drily reply, "I am glad to see that my presence is appreciated. Enough talk. The main storyline awaits." "Excellent, let''s go." "One last thing, Sheridan." "Yes?" "Give me back my rifle. Thank you." I will have to build him one soon. Syrrin declines to accompany us. She has much to do to save her tribe, but she gives me a complement of seven muscular old fishmen who understand Akkad well enough to take orders. They guide us to yet another maze of corridors until we go sharply up. "I recognize this place," Sheridan informs me, "we came through here the first time." We pass by a tomb, where I am told that the dragon claw had been. The powerful sword is now in the hands of the villainous Frenchman. I will have to make sure that it is properly retrieved. We reach a promontory overlooking the forest. I raise my gauntlet and start a simple tracking spell, searching for the enchantment on my revolver which Sheridan so generously lended to the poor ingenue. We follow the spell for only ten minutes when we hear a discharge. I press onward, and arrive in a clearing. Miranda is on the ground, her dress stained with mud and her lush hair in disarray. She holds the borrowed revolver in two hands and stares, glassy eyed, at the body at her feet. I recognize one of the disposable¡­ one of the helpers we hired for the expedition. Not only is the rogue villain dishonest, but his dishonesty is also contagious! Scandalous. And at her back, the second helper approaches with fury in his eyes, knife held high. This is it, is it not? The reason why the Bingles always end up gravitating around me for some of their more defining stories. Cecil''s last adventure and his marriage. His son''s loss of innocence. Miranda''s confrontation with the world as it is. Fate, or laughing gods, keep sending them my way and I keep saving them because, each time, I am given a choice. Right now, I get to decide whether she lives or dies. Will her story continue, or will it end here, in the embrace of that cursed island. I keep getting hassled because my answer has always been to save them. I find the Bingles annoying and their endless shenanigans grate my patience, and yet, at the end of the day, stories are what define us as a species: the ability to lie. Nations are lies. Honor is a lie. They are intellectual constructs with no root in the real world, and yet those lies have propelled ships across the ocean deep and sent hundreds of thousands to their death. The lies we tell each other and believe in are just important as the fabric we wear or the food the mortals eat, perhaps more so. The godlings of adventure are that principle pushed to its limit. Stories that touch the world directly, instead of through our hands. And I have always loved a good story. I pull the trigger and the helper collapses, hands on his bleeding leg. Miranda shudders with fright, and yelps when she spots me. "Miss Delaney? Mr. Sheridan! Oh, it is so good to see you! I thought you dead! But how! And what are those creatures around you?" "Do not concern yourself with them," I tell the novice adventurer as my cadre drags the screaming helper back for the larder, "they will not hurt you. They obey me." Her eyes fill with tears as the events of the day quickly catch up to her exhausted psyche. "But why¡­" "Because they are smart, and you are not, little Bingle." "But¡­ those are monsters!" Her eyes trail on my blood-soaked armor. I grab her chin in a light hand. "Oh, my dear. If you had paid attention, you would have found that there were monsters here¡­" I show her my fangs. "From the very beginning." I smirk when she screams, and wait as she stares with disbelief. To her credit, she does not faint. Her pretty visage simply turns hollow. "All my life I always thought¡­ But those were real. I feel so stupid now, I do not know what to think anymore. Is science missing the point?" That annoys me. "Science is a method, little one, not a religion. Who says you cannot take a rigorous and logical approach to monsters?" She blinks. "You are right, of course. Completely right." Sheridan helps her up. She thanks him profusely for the firearm and tries to return it. My Vassal turns to me with a question in his eyes. I grab the hilt of the gun and close Miranda''s delicate hand on its cold, smooth surface. "Keep it, my dear. I have a feeling that you will have a need for it in the future. Deck of the Corbeau, past midnight. I lean against the railing and admire the show. "It is a horrible tragedy, captain, but there was truly nothing I could have done. They fell prey to terrible, bloodthirsty monsters. I had to flee for my own sake to bring you the tale of their demise," Champignac claims as he climbs the gangplank. He has conveniently scruffy hair and a very tiny cut on his face, which lends credence to his tale. His gaze sweeps the deck and narrows with worry before the sailors'' judgemental expressions. He stops in his tracks when he spots us. sea??h th§× N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Miranda crosses her arm in what must be a terrible display of raging emotions for her. Sheridan whistles as he checks the noose he prepared, and tied to the mast. He then steps down from the barrel and lowers his glare at the paling traitor. Ozenne tilts his head in consideration. "You see, Monsieur Champignac, those two have a much different story to tell, and the evidence overwhelmingly favors their version," he finishes calmly. "I demand to be judged before a tribunal, according to international laws," the treacherous lout demands with a trembling voice. "I wish I could accede to your demands, monsieur. Alas, it is a horrible tragedy, sir, but there is truly nothing I can do. You fell prey to a terrible, bloodthirsty monster. I shall have to decline for my own sake, to bring others the tale of your demise. Good day, sir." Sheridan steps forward and socks the man in the jaw, then drags the victim behind himself like a bear bringing an elk home. I let my Vassal handle his prey as he sees fit. This vengeance is his. After Champignac is hanged, I am approached by Ozenne as I enjoy the lights now adorning several cavern entrances, far into the distance. "It appears that there was indeed a traitor," the daring captain comments in a deceptively light tone. "As we both expected," I remark ruefully. "And that traitor happened to be the Frenchman," captain Ozenne continues. "So it would seem," I admit between gritted teeth. Silence descends upon the ship. I sigh deeply, and withdraw a small wallet from my backpack. I grab a ten pounds note which I hand to the smiling mortal. "A pleasure doing business with you, milady. Until we bet again." "You do not have to be so smug about it." "On the contrary, milady, I believe I do. For mankind. I bid you goodnight." The Watcher preserve me from sassy mortals. Chapter 121 - 116. The Tourist. Kingdom of Hungary, a week later. The Corbeau moors in the port of Fiume long enough for Sheridan and myself to disembark. The ranger is more than pleased to find solid ground under his feet after a turbulent trip through the Adriatic, and we take a few hours to enjoy the shore. I recognize Italian architecture in the tall buildings lining the seafront, and the Habsburg Empire also makes its presence known. It takes half an hour for us to be reminded of our status as guests in these parts. We are barely in view of the Cathedral, a squat, circular building, when a tall man in a black uniform accosts us. He has a rotund face that would appear benevolent except for a pair of cold blue eyes. Our auras touch with polite reserve. He is a strong Master. "Do I have the pleasure of speaking with Ariane of the Nirari?" he inquires with a respectful tone. "Yes." "My name is Lazlo of the Dvor, it is my privilege to make your acquaintance. Please, follow me to the train. My men are already taking care of your luggage," he says, and turns around. We follow. Fiume is part of the Kingdom of Hungary, and Hungary lies deep within Eneru territory. Both Eneru and Masks currently undergo a period of detente as both carefully monitor the revolutions wracking Europe, so transport should not prove too much of an issue for an independent agent like myself. I still need to behave and keep my identification papers with me at all times. We walk through the semi-deserted street, only encountering a pair of drunk men wearing a sheepskin and a bell, for some reason. The train station is a single building with a joined roof to protect travelers from the elements. Its quaint nature is made all the more obvious by the imposing convoy currently parked before it. A massive locomotive lies there, black and shiny like a beetle. Wagons trail behind it in a long procession of grim sheet metal. The windows tower above us. They only reveal embroidered curtains and, here and there, a piece of mahogany ceiling basked in amber light. "The first carriage is used by the staff. Carriages two and three are reserved for our companions and persons of import. I will kindly request that you leave them untouched. A restaurant occupies the third carriage, where our guests may enjoy the services of a chef at any time. You will also find willing company there that you may bring to your cabin if you so wish." He means food, although some prefer to feed during lovemaking. "We request that you exercise restraint. Male vampires occupy the fourth carriage and the gentler sex, the last. You will find your cabin and a salon there for your enjoyment. We ask that you respect the privacy of the other guests, and the male fumoir is invitation only." "How about the female salon?" I ask. Some of these remarks could be considered as insulting, as stating the basic rules of politeness sometimes is. I want to know where he stands. "It is invitation only as well, of course," the man continues with a smart bow. The gesture might be anodyne to a mortal. To us, it shows respect beyond any doubt. A hostile train butler would not show deference. I decide to give trust that he is honest, and nod in acknowledgement. "You have full access to the train and so does your Vassal, within the boundaries of the aforementioned rules. The Lady Viktoriya of the Dvor and her Courtier, Jence, are already aboard. We are still waiting for Master Karoly of the Dvor." "I understand." "Before we depart¡­" Lazlo continues in English, now slightly bashful, "I must regretfully ask you to leave your weapons in our custody for the duration of the trip. Except soul weapons, if applicable, of course. Rest assured that this rule extends to every guest and is there for your own safety. Your protection is guaranteed by clan Dvor while you travel with us. I apologize for the disruption." I take a good look at our guest and he does something rare; he opens his aura by releasing his control over it. I feel embarrassment. If he is faking, his control matches that of Sinead and I somehow doubt it. "Fair enough," I reply, and turn to Sheridan. The tall Texan is clearly uncomfortable, but he eventually shrugs when he realizes that I remain unconcerned. "When in Rome¡­" he comments stoically. We climb on the first carriage with the parts of our luggage that contain our gear. The interior is cramped and spartan, with many small cabins stuck to each other. Lazlo leads us to a locker secured behind a steel door. The entire train is enchanted, I notice, and the armory more than most. I detect nothing intrusive, just reinforcements and alarms. "If you please," Lazlo offers with a smile, pointing at a nearby table. Sheridan and I exchange a glance. He removes his belt and his personal Colt, still in its holster. I place the knife I always keep on me on the table. Sheridan grabs and deposits his second revolver. I rummage in my bag and place my belt of throwing knives, my short sword, and a secondary dagger. Sheridan drops a massive cutlass that can only be called a knife if a spear can be called a toothpick. I drop two boxes of enchanted ammunition and both halves of my spear. Sheridan reaches in his boot to find one last blade. I place a bandolier of bullets and the needle rifle''s sheath on top of that. Then, two powder charges. I finish with my gauntlet. We wait. Lazlo seems a bit at a loss before the arsenal. "Is¡­ is that all?" he asks in heavily accented English. "Yep." "Yes. Are you quite alright, sir?" I ask. "Of course, of course. I just did not expect¡­" "We had a busy trip," I suggest helpfully. "Pirates!" the Ranger entones. "... amongst other things," I finish. The poor Dvor Master finally recovers his phlegm. "You can rest assured that your belongings will be returned safely at your destination. Oh, and please do not start any wars before the train has had the time to depart for its next destination." "Don''t worry pal, we''ve never done anything bigger than a city-wide revolt." "I am immensely relieved to hear that," the train conductor deadpans. With our host thus appeased, we decide to split up for the night. I pass by the restaurant to find a snack. I manage to invite a dark-haired woman to join me in hesitant German. It turns out that, while they do not expect sex, all donors are ready for this eventuality. I send her on her way without taking advantage of her enthusiastic offer. Now set up, I decide to visit the salon. Time to greet the locals. I flash my aura to announce my presence and enter a narrow but long boudoir cluttered with couches, seats, and pillows. Warm yellow lights bathe the red upholstery. The place is gaudy, too much for my taste, and yet there is no denying that it feels welcoming. Two vampires await politely as I step in. I can never get tired of how poised we appear, and how predatory we really are. The two ladies sit daintily at the edge of puffy little seats around a tiny coffee table containing two books and a small bell. Their postures are straight and elegant and their smiles flawless, but their immobility reflects their true nature. I see it in the depths of their mirthless eyes. This is their territory I am intruding on, and we must reach an understanding first and foremost. I am almost certain that I can kill them if it comes to this, but it will not. I am their guest here, for they are Dvor and we are on Dvor territory. I can be polite when I want. And so, I smile pleasantly, and curtsey low enough to convey sincere respect. "My name is Ariane of the Nirari, miladies. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Am I speaking to Lady Viktoriya and Jence of the Dvor?" "Oh, no need to be so formal, dearie," the older one lies. "Come, join us!" Viktoriya is a dark-haired beauty. She has the appearance of a very young, voluptuous maid with an honest sort of charm. Meanwhile, Jence appears slightly older, around twenty, and has an ethereal, delicate presence. Her skin is extremely pale, and she averts her blue eyes delicately when I turn to inspect her. I take a seat. If the customs here are the same, Viktoriya will decide the direction of the conversation. "I seem to remember that the old monster had sired a sane child, for once, somewhere on the new continent. Are you her?" "I am. I had the fortune of finding good friends who helped me throughout the more difficult years." "And modest! It must have taken more than luck to find one good friend in your position. Is this your first time in Europe?" "It is! I am excited to visit a bit before politics inevitably drags me back to my territory." "Oh, you already have a city? Jence here covets her own, though it will take time before she can take ownership of one. The poor dearie dreams of taking over Vienna!" The blonde Courtier sputters and lowers her head in embarrassment. "Mistress! Must you tell someone we only just met!?" "My prerogatives include the teasing of young and ambitious spawns, my dear. Ariane darling, tell the poor girl what you had to do to get your territory." "Nothing too bad. A bit of politics, a few assassinations, and a massive werewolf hunt." "Hah! Such a good method. I approve! Do you know that Budapest''s dominion was decided over poetry? Poetry! I swear, vampires these days forget how to grasp prizes with their own bloody claws. Now, they only know how to recite Byron, count money, sway their hips, and lie. I blame our training program. You know what my training was? I stabbed a wolf with a pitchfork. That caught my sire''s eye. Have you ever stabbed a wolf with a pitchfork, Ariane?" "No, I was more a musket kind of girl." "Oh, that is perfectly acceptable. Just as violent and you get no blood on your dress! Jence dear, remind me to bring you bear hunting sometime." "I am not sure that Wladislaw would approve, milady." "Pfah! If that old baggage dares complain, I shall strap him to my saddle so that he can kiss my¡ª" "And how was your trip over here?" Jence interrupts in a shrill voice. "Boring. I dread the return trip. The only high point was a little incident involving pirates." "For a trip this long, you need a library and three strapping young lads. For variety," Viktoriya advises. "I will certainly prepare the return trip better. The library does sound tempting." "If I may ask," Jence interrupts with a respectful voice, "what brings you to Europe? Would you like to visit Austria and Hungary?" "As a matter of fact, I was planning on visiting Torran of the Dvor. He¡­ invited me." I try to remain calm when I see the lady''s inquisitive eyes, but they, of course, narrow with interest. "Did he now? Oh, I heard that his prowess in bed are legendary." Dammit. I would have blushed if it were possible. "Hah! I knew it! That codger finally found a sheath to his blade ey? Oh, when that withered hag Nina hears about this she will be livid. Or even more livid, in any case. She had designs on that tasty morsel." "Ahem," I interrupt, a bit put off. "Oh do not mind my foul mouth Ariane dear, he is certainly a prize of a man. You cannot blame me for feeling a little bit of envy." "Lord Torran remains one of the Dvor''s most yearned after bachelors! It would be amazing if he finally got involved with someone, even if that person is a foreign lady with her own territory," Jence observes, her gaze heavy with calculations. "Yes, yes, we are glad for you, girl, if he took an interest in you. I was starting to think he had gone cold. Oh, it appears that we have a visitor!" I tense, but then I feel it at the edge of my perception. Someone is coming, a master judging by the aura. Viktoriya smiles knowingly when my eyes drift to the side. Now, she knows how far I can detect things, although she cannot do much with this information. It annoys me that she reads me so easily. Fortunately, she does not appear hostile. The man who knocks politely and enters is quite easy on the eye. He has sandy hair and very light blue eyes that give him an angelic aura. The power of a master emanates from him in controlled waves. Jence''s own quivers with excitement and we all politely pretend not to have noticed. "Karoly! So kind of you to join us," she babbles. "Jence, flower of my soul, you are as beautiful as always!" Sleek bastard. Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. "You are too kind, sir!" "Karoly you sly dog, stop standing there like a lamp post and sit down before you give me a stiff neck." "Of course, milady. I merely needed your approval. Will that be acceptable with your¡­ new companion?" the smarmy man says, turning to me with curiosity. Jence''s aura betrays her annoyance. I hold back a smirk. "Since Lady Viktoriya trusts you, you have my blessing," I cordially allow. "Keep in mind that you defend the honor of European males, Karoly. Behave," the lady tells him with a hint of edge. We spend a pleasant time listening to Karoly''s recounting of his experience in the Ottoman Empire. He is a fine storyteller who wields light sarcasm as well as descriptive prose. Even I, who consider him with distrust, have to admit that he possesses a sharp mind and an unusual outlook, one that he must have developed over years of travel. He apparently struggles to find a place to settle and call his own, a peculiarity for a Dvor. Most are sired already attached to a land. I wonder what happened. After a while,Viktoriya grabs me by my hand and kindly requests that I walk her to the restaurant, which I do. Jence''s aura bubbles behind us. "Are you not afraid that he would have his way with her?" I ask as soon as we are out of hearing. We walk up through the now-moving train. It rides pleasantly and smoothly with a soothing ''kacha kacha'' sound as regular as a clock. Outside, the mountainous countryside beckons, with its ancient farmhouses hidden in craggy valleys. "Oh, I fully expect them to be naked and pinkish within ten minutes. I do not begrudge Jence her fun, and Karoly has everything she was taught to love in men. Power, wit, money, beauty. And he is good at lovemaking, if the tales are to be believed. Better to let her get it out of her system. I cannot work with a frustrated youngling. Too much hissing." "Even we can be heartbroken." The old matriarch dismisses my concern with a wave of her hand. "You are correct, my dear, but it matters not. How did it go again? ''Tis better to have loved and lost than to have not loved at all. She will spend time with the man of her dreams, get properly bonked, then realize that it is not enough to make a relationship. Not without children and not with how long we live. How often did you talk about money and moving into Torran''s castle when you were together?" "Errr. Never." "Good. Keep it that way." We sit in the restaurant wagon even if Viktoriya is not thirsty to begin with. I use the opportunity to order coffee to the lady''s surprise. The human staff does not react, leading me to deduce that they played host to Hastings vampires before. "I feel the need to warn you, my dear, I fear that Nina of the Dvor may have plans to visit your lover''s haunt. He cannot refuse her passage on his land since she is a lady, but he will refuse her access to his castle. Do not let yourself be intimidated." "Any advice?" I ask, since she knows the foe. "Are you after the favor of the Dvor and a long-term relationship with our ruling council?" Most of us American rulers agree that we will be at war with the European factions at some point in the near future. It would be a waste of time to establish a good relationship now. Sear?h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Absolutely not." "Then you will do fine. Remember, Nina is no fighter. In the end, she can only do to you what you allow her to do. Stay polite enough during your inevitable conversation, then say no and leave." "Understood. Worst case scenario, I have not yet tasted Dvor essence." Her smile turns predatory. "Just be sure to do it as part of a sanctioned duel, dearie, otherwise I would have to hunt you myself." "Only as a last resort. I have come for a good time." "Duels to the death are a good time. Ah, here comes Lazlo. Ariane dear, do you mind if I invite him over? Poor lad spends his days taking care of that big thing. Let us remind him that he is part of our community, yes?" "I would be delighted." The dour train conductor turns out to be a fine conversationalist, with a dry humor and pleasant deadpan deliveries. "Why does Nina think she and Torran will make such a good pair?" I find myself asking. "Because, milady, we call Torran the Old Wolf, and Nina the Old Bat. She must be going for a theme." And so on. At some point, Viktoriya asks me what my first years as a fledgeling were like. Seeing that most of it is public knowledge anyway, I share my experience with them, omitting anything that concerns the Likaean or Loth''s more sensitive topics.Viktoriya immediately picks up on my grief when I mention Dalton. "The loss of a Vassal marks us forever. I applaud you for not falling to the usual trap of control. Many become overprotective of their next Vassal, forgetting why they exist." "It would defeat the purpose," I grumble, having battled those tendencies. "Indeed. You and I know how difficult and painful it can be to fight your instincts to their bitter end." The Dvor lady and I exchange a glance. She allows me to touch a peculiar element of her aura and I recognize something there, a sort of... looseness. As if some chain had been broken. She almost turned feral too. We are marked, for better and for worse. I smile and nod at her, appreciative of her sharing the experience, then realize that Lazlo is still here. He politely inspects my cup of coffee, thus giving us a moment of privacy that I appreciate. I decide to share some of my hunts with Loth and Dalton to lift the mood.The tale of our attack on the Ascendency compound and the flaming pigs disaster that ensued leads them to share their own calamitous outings. Lazlo accidentally rammed the train into a poultry car. The staff could still find the odd feather three weeks after. Viktoriya had to distract a local master as part of an investigation. She ended up as the referee and announcer in a naked battle where contestants had to wrestle in a mud pool. I end up smiling at those tales of shame and depravity. We retire shortly before dawn. I realize that I had spent a pleasant moment, and offer both Lazlo and Viktoriya to contact me if they visit America. I know that we will end up on opposite sides of a war before this happens. It matters little. We have centuries. Hopefully. I make contact with Sheridan after. The man blushes when he sees me and I realize that he also made use of the offered company. Said company made him take a bath, for which I am grateful. "Not staying pure until marriage, I take it." "I, hm, it would have been rude to refuse." "But of course." We left Zagreb behind the night before. It takes little time before the train stops at a sleepy village on the border with Austria, our destination. We step down to a breathtaking mountainous vista of tall pines, snow-capped distant peaks and vampires. "Good evening, milady, are you Ariane of the Nirari?" The streets are deserted. Houses here are large, with walls painted white and roofs of brown wood still close to the ground. They are squat and must get snowed in during winter, but staying close to the ground means that they will be easier to keep warm. I can spot light through windows, but no one is about. Dogs bark a street away. The vampires are two women, Dvor masters of middling talent. They wear rich dresses and costly jewelry, looking out of place in that remote area. No coats, and no luggage. "That is correct," I reply. "Lady Nina of the Dvor requests the privilege of your presence while we wait for your host," one of them says, making it clear that this is not, in fact, a request. That was fast. The pair looks condescending. Smirks adorn their carmine lips. They look like two smug teachers who caught the class clown red-handed. I hate them already, but it would be rude to refuse and I cannot insult another one of Torran''s guests. "Of course. You may lead the way," I answer, and turn to Sheridan who bravely shoulders his luggage. I realize that I will have to carry my own or leave it here. This will not look good. And then, a group of men emerges from the still waiting train. They grab my belongings and make to follow, faces grim. I catch Lazlo through a window. He winks. I smile in return. I turn again to find the two hags slightly put off. No doubt that this was intentional on their part. I find their level of pettiness truly staggering. "Well?" I ask, feigning impatience. They grit their teeth and walk away. We move in silence. I am studiously ignored and use the opportunity to inspect my surroundings. We head towards the only tall building in this hamlet besides the church. The absence of people can only mean one thing. They know. Otherwise, no self-respecting gossip would ignore two women in lavish clothes escorting one in sensible travel gear through their land. The Dvor form the core of the Eneru faction, I remember, I just did not expect them to extend their reach so far out. The village cannot be home to a permanent vampire due to its small population. Their influence reaches even here. I know that our presence will be revealed to mankind sooner rather than later. I wonder if we could first become an open secret, a presence known to a significant portion of the population, and then make our presence official? It seems to work here. We enter our destination, which turns out to be an inn. No staff comes to greet us, though a fire burns in the hearth and lanterns and candles provide ample light. I direct the trio to deposit my belongings near the entrance and thank them for their assistance. They lift their hats and depart without hurry. Sheridan makes his way to the bar and helps himself to a beer, his scowl a clear indication of what he thinks of our games. I climb the stairs up to the second floor, one ''companion'' before and one behind as if they were leading me to the gallows. They even display the proper, solemn countenance. The second floor is right below the rafters. Some doors led to rooms, no doubt. It left most of the space free for a large table next to which three more vampires now sit. Two of them turn out to be masters, bringing the total to four, a show of force for the lady enthroned in their midst. My guides step up quickly to take prepared seats. I am left with the remaining spot, the one with its back to the door. The one opposite the five others. One more petty insult. "Sit," the lady starts. She is beautiful in a very distant sort of way. She was turned in her thirties, I think. Her heart-shape face is full, and her lips pink and plump. She has this unmistakable charm of the femme fatale, the consumate demoiselle of the court whose velvety eyes hide a thousand secrets. Her aura tastes of scheme and hidden sin. The lady brushes an errant strand of raven hair with a dainty finger. She opens her mouth to speak as I sit. "Thank you for having me," I interrupt, "oh you prepared tea! How thoughtful of you." Nina''s eyes rest on the table, which was made with cutlery and plates. I grab a cup and fill it with lukewarm liquid from a nearby pot. The tea is horrible, but only I can drink it. I then slowly remove my cloak and hang it on my chair. "Are you quite done?" my improvised host snaps. "Whatever do you mean?" I ask without a smile. This was one of Sinead''s lessons in dealing with sly remarks and innuendos. The most basic answer is to request explanations. Experienced pricks will find workarounds, especially if they are in a position of authority, but it will break their rhythm and ruin their game. I use that method now. "I have summoned you here for a grave matter, Ariane of the Nirari." She summoned nothing, but it would be rude to interrupt and correct her, and she would ask me to stay silent. It would lead to an immediate argument, and I would rather hear what she has to say. I sip on the tea with an eyebrow raised. "You must be at no loss to understand the reason for this meeting. Decency, respect, nay, common sense, must tell you why." "Indeed not. I was not expecting to meet you at all," I remark, and take another sip while I recline in my chair. "Very well, if you must choose to be obtuse then I will only act with the integrity that qualifies Dvor women. A most alarming report reached my ears a few weeks ago, one that I simply cannot quite believe, for it shows such a reckless nature that can only lead to disaster and premature doom in any civilized country of the world. For the sake of Lord Torran and that of all our honors, I had to come here in person despite pressing business and make sure that such dreadful rumors were baseless, and indeed, unimaginable." By the Watcher does that harlot like the sound of her own voice. "What would that be?" I asked in a bored voice. "A scandalous idea that our most esteemed Lord Torran, member of the council and one of the few soul smiths in existence, would invite a foreign woman on his land, one from the Frontier and without a situation here no less, to engage in amorous relationships! Although, it must be a terrible invention rife with falsehoods, for no gentleman of his stature would stoop so low as to engage in such careless behavior." Silence and pointed looks. I wait. I sip more tea. Our auras are calm so far, a tribute to our collective control. "It appears to be a question aimed at Torran himself," I remark. "Do not play coy with me, miss, I aim to know whether or not you have designs on our most esteemed host?." "Sure I do." My immediate answer ruffles their feathers. They did not expect a candid answer, maybe? "I mean, have you seen Torran? Great man, great lover, great warrior. And that ass¡­" "ARIANE OF THE NIRARI! YOU DARE!" "Yes, I dare." I calmly reply. We do not move now. Our assembly might well be statues. Nina stood in her anger, though I suspect most of it is acting, and stares down at me. "Let me explain the trouble you find yourself in. Lord Torran is one of the youngest and most promising members of our council, a rising star in the highest political spheres of our most ancient and noble clan." Bullshit. Torran hates politics. "His position is a peculiar one. As a soul smith and a warlord, he forms one of the cornerstones of our might. His position and wealth are well-ascertained, and we already have enchanting prospects that will bring him the balance and direction he needs, though he may not know it yet. Lord Torran deserves only the best for himself and his growth and tranquility." "We agree on that last part," I interrupt once more. "Then," she continues in a low growl, "you would do well to consider your own interest in the matter. One like you who lacks support and reputation cannot thrive in this environment, and a match would only be damaging for your own reputation. You would never obtain the power you crave." Heh. Somehow, it¡­ Hold on. I close my eyes and push the irritating voice into the background. I end up in the core of my mental palace and rush outside. Rooms and mazes blur as I reach the border of my domain. There, at the wall of thorns, lilac-colored limbs of smoke snake their way through my defenses. Subtle. But not subtle enough. I change the nature of the border, imagine the thorns turning thirsty. From passive and hard, they turn fluid. Questing. The smoke breaks. Some of it retreats. I open my eyes to see the master on the left flinch, one with short blonde hair and a soft face. She withdraws her hand from the table. "You nasty little twit," I growl. "You forget yourself!" Lady Nina screams once more, but this time, I am done. We were done the moment they stepped over the line. "And you forget who I am, cur." Five auras jump on mine to suppress it, and it works. I feel my presence crushed and a weight settle on my shoulder. I still manage to stand up to my full height with effort. Another attack. Rage pulses softly in my chest. It burns brighter with each moment. "You still sit here as if this one had not attacked me." "You are delusional," the blonde woman spits. "You think your clan is ancient, but mine was the first and we remember the old laws. We respect the law of hospitality, which you just broke, mongrel." "You will regret those words," the blonde retorts, eyes narrowed. "I accept your challenge," I calmly reply. That stops them. "You want to make me regret my words, yes? I choose the spear. You can take whatever weapon you fancy, I care not." "We are not in your Frontier where conflict solves everything," the blonde says again. I cannot taste her fear with my aura suppressed, but I know it is there and I smile, fangs out. "Have the Dvor lost their courage?" That gets me a few hisses. Nina is next to speak. "You may retract your challenge now, or I will be her champion," she remarks with just a hint of smugness. "I accept the substitution." More stunned silence. Clearly, they did not expect that, and I wonder why? Have the Devourers lost their reputation?" "You overestimate yourself, Ariane of the Nirari. You are not your sire. The gap between us is not one you can bridge." "You would not be the first lord I kill," I inform her, and my smile widens. The conversation took a strange turn for the worst but it appears that we ended up exactly where I wanted. "You do not understand me at all. I care not about your court, your council, and reputation. Your threats are laughable, and your little trial, pathetic. You simply miss the point. I am here to find my lover on his own turf and spend a very pleasant time in his company. You would have realized it if you had taken the time to judge me, but you naturally assumed I was the same ambitious devious bitch that you are yourself. And now, we will meet on the field and I will drain you dry. I choose the spear and gauntlet. You can take your soul weapon, if you even have one. It will make no difference." I drain the glass of tea and place it back on the table. Sephare spoiled me. This tea is a tragedy. "Do not take too long." I sashay out before she gets the chance to remember that she can set the date of the duel. I barely have to come downstairs when something happens that makes me smile. The ground rumbles. I move out and stare in the street. Torran gallops into the city atop his massive Nightmare, Krowar, with his aura deployed and thunder on his brow. He looks regal in a tailored rider outfit in dark leather and a strange high hat. His long grey hair is held in a tight braid. I smile like an idiot when I see him and, since I am alone, I jump and wave in excitement. The tenderness in his gaze leaves me breathless, but soon his attention returns to the door as Lady Nina and her entourage make their way out. His grey eyes gain the intensity of a hawk, and his demeanor turns positively glacial. "Ariane, my star, I apologize for the poor welcome you received," he begins in a low voice. I can feel the barely contained rage behind it. His aura fuses with its surroundings in a very peculiar way and I realize what it means. He is on his own land. He feels stronger here, more solid, and since he was already strong and solid, the result is simply awe-inspiring. I want to spar him a bit. Later. "Lord Torran," Nina starts with a reasonable tone, so that Torran appears angry while she is calm and composed, "we merely¡ª" "You were leaving when I arrived. Did you sense me, or did they pull something?" he asks, ignoring the interruption. I have no reason to defend them. "The blonde one tried mind magic. I was about to grab my spear and demand satisfaction." "A groundless fabrication, Lord Torran, this savage lies liberally. You should¡ª" "SILENCE." Torran''s aura washes over us, smashing over any defenses like a midnight tide. The barking dogs in the neighboring houses whimper and become silent. The wind dies down. Even the fluttering candles diminish. The impact extends to every aspect of reality, including the ground beneath my feet. "Do not tell me what I should or should not do in my domain, woman. I have tolerated your antics for too long. Leave." "As a lady of the council, you may not deny me access," she retorts, a proud chin lifted in defiance. "You may extend your complaints to the council, Nina. After your prompt departure." The stress on the prompt is unmistakable, as is the underlying threat. Torran has reached his limit. Nina huffs, and turns around with the dignity she can muster. But, I have not had my due yet. "Not so fast¡­" A challenge started must be finished. "Ariane?" Torran asks as the women stop in their tracks. "I would consider it a personal favor if you could let the matter drop. Please. For me." Aaaarrrrggg if he asks like that. "Oh, very well." He had better compensate me! I sulk a bit, but soon I forget all about it and jump on Torran when the hags are gone. I reveal my aura to him, to let him see how happy I am. I am probably as joyful as a vampire can be. His laugh is deep and full of mirth. "Hahaha, come on, leave your luggage here and ride with me!" "I did not bring Metis," I tell him. "The long crossing would have killed the poor creature." He appears surprised. "You do not know? Have you not guessed that they do not travel as we do?" "Whatever do you mean?" "Have you not noticed how our Nightmares always seem to be around? They travel through the forests of this world and others. Come. Try to call her." "Surely, you jest!" He does not appear to be jesting. "Oh well. Metis!" I hear a nearby gallop. "No way!" The proud pony herself rounds a corner at full speed, then prances around. She bumps my chest with her head, causing me to laugh. "Yes, Metis, I am so happy to see you too!" "Come on, my star, let us ride!" We do so. Krowar, his Nightmare, moves with absolute surety. Torran''s aura seems to smooth the passage wherever we go, through narrow mountain trails and deep pine forests. We ride for an hour until we stop by a crystalline spring in a lonely valley. "One of my favorite places, even before I became a vampire. Do you know what I find amazing with you Ariane?" I cross my arms, quite proud of myself. "Would you like the list thematically or alphabetically?" "Hah! No, I am serious, what was your plan for tonight?" "Well, I thought that, perhaps, we could visit your bedroom first, then a spar?" Ooooh I would blush if I still could. Torran only smiles. "Exactly, this is all about us as people. We will do as you propose later. Sparring will help with your recovery." "You are quite confident." I mock reproach. "No, not with our lovemaking. With your forging! I have your measure and I have prepared well. Everything is ready. We will make your soul weapon tonight." Chapter 122 - 117. Weaponized Torran and I finally arrive in a sprawling valley nestled comfortably between three mountains. Tilled fields extend all around a town of good size, its cozy wooden roofs extending far in the distance. I spot a church, but also two warehouses and factory buildings, and a pen that might contain either horses or cows. The tamed land extends to the edge of the mountains and the forests that cover its flanks. "Errenstadt. My home," Torran says with a smile, "I grew up here and was turned in my castle." "Your castle?" Torran points up to the nearest mountain. There, a white form with high towers and vertiginous spires covered in slates clings to the cliff. We travel on. He is impatient, it seems, and sometimes glances back with obvious excitement. He is almost¡­ giddy. "Are you quite alright?" I ask as we ride side by side. I have never seen him like this before. "Forgive me, my star, when I get in the mood to create a soul weapon, very little can distract me. I knew that you would grow in power since we last met and I am not disappointed. You are more than ready. I will not manage to rest until I have given life to my next masterpiece." "It is unlike you to be so¡­ hasty," I notice with a hint of worry. "Do not be alarmed, Ariane dear. I am an old hand at this task. I just¡­ I have to see it." S§×arch* The N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Fair enough," I reply. I find it surprising that he would be almost more excited than I am. Oh, I expected that it might happen, but I am here for him, not for a blade! "You will not be able to calm down before we proceed?" I ask him. "Indeed not. And the sooner we do it, the better. You will be weakened for a while after we do so. I would prefer if you stayed here, under my protection." "You expect trouble? With Nina, perhaps?" "Not particularly. She had to challenge you, and the mind magic was certainly reckless and heavy-handed, but she is a schemer before anything else. That is also why I had to convince you to drop the matter of the duel." "I could have taken her on." "Of this I have no doubt," Torran replies with a radiant smile, but soon it turns bitter. "Unfortunately, it would bring no end of trouble. If she can choose the date, she will push it to a later time and use her clout to have you expelled from Dvor territory, thus making you forfeit by default. If she can choose the weapon, she will pick the bow or something equally ridiculous. You have won this bout, better to stop now while we are ahead." "There is still a debt¡­" I grumble. I only accepted out of respect for him. "I will compensate you." "How?" "With my essence." I am left speechless. I had always kept the request to myself, although I was tempted to ask him. Dvor lord essence freely given is a high prize indeed. And he is right. I have better things to do than to engage a manipulative lady on her own turf. The compensation is adequate. We follow a well-traveled path through fields of high wheat. The road goes up, following the incline and soon enough it snakes its way around rocky outcrops and forest thickets. Torran''s aura is vibrant and powerful here. It makes one with the land. We arrive at the entrance, and the sight forces yet another smile out of me. A marble bridge spans over a deep chasm, leading to an island of beauty surrounded by sheer cliffs on all sides. Torran''s castle is old, but well-maintained with mossy outer walls and crenelations, but clean gravel and polished stone in the inner courtyard and the keep. The spires I spotted before extend upward, sharp and blue, like knives aimed at the sky. It is breath-takingly beautiful. Have I been transported into a fairy tale? I turn to Torran, who wears a smug expression of triumph, and remember to close my mouth. "I am so jealous!" He laughs, a warm, mellow sound that rolls and sends shivers up my spine. "Come on, let me show you where I work." We cross the bridge at a good pace. Torches in sconces line the walls of the courtyard we find ourselves in. Space here is cramped in a good way. The castle feels more personal and intimate than grandiose. An old mortal in coveralls bows and caresses Krowar''s flank as Torran dismounts. "You may leave Metis with Hector. He has my trust." "If you say so. Metis drinks water with bison grass and loves caramelized pig ears. Can you tell him that?" Torran laughs again. "By the Eye, I have missed you. Come!" I grumble a bit at the cavalier behavior. How pushy! And yet¡­ A soul weapon. The holy grail of vampire armament. For free. By a master. On the spot. Many would kill for such a privilege. We enter a sumptuous main hall with stairs leading up to a balcony. Doors on each side are now closed, except for one which we take. It leads down to a spiral staircase. We follow it. First, the walls and steps are made of brick, but then they appear dug into the very stone as we climb down. We pass a few doors without stopping. The air turns wet and cool the deeper we go. Eventually, we reach a landing and a vast natural cavern. I am, once again, shocked at the beauty I just discovered. The cavern''s ceiling is covered in stalactites of various sizes, many of them dropping crystalline droplets into the abyssal lake that covers half of the ground. Its surface is spotless, but for the ripples from the falling water, each impact resonating in the chamber. On the dry side, there are only two things: an incredibly complex and deep circle made of gold, and what appears to be half torture chair and half comfortable divan. I recognize the heavy enchanted manacles from personal experience. "Errr..." I say, with some worry. Torran stops then. His manic grin falls down, but it soon turns into a soft smile. "I apologize, my star. So many people come here ready and eager. You must be the first one I had to drag in here. Stop, and come here." He takes me into his arms and I take a deep breath. His scent is familiar and comforting, and so is the strength holding me. "You see me in a poor light. I am as excited as a fledgeling. I know you are afraid, and so I will solemnly swear to you on my essence, here and now, that I only have your best interest at heart and will forge you a weapon that you will carry your whole life. But not now. When you are ready." The vow settles around us. "I am ready. I trust you." It does not matter that there are manacles here. Torran said that he is doing this for my own good, and he will. Besides, I am curious as well now that my worry has abated. "Truly? We can delay for a few days." "No. There is no need. You are correct, I will need time to recover as you said. The anticipation will prevent me from enjoying myself fully. Is there enough time, though? It is already midnight." "More than enough time, my star. Familiarity with my partner''s aura makes the process faster, and the circle was designed to help me. It will take only an hour or so." "Oh, good!" "First you must change into that slip. Your clothes might get damaged." He turns around to inspect the circle and I find the garment he was referring to on the chair. It is a very thin tunic that reaches my knees, little more than a summer night cloth. I quickly wear it, and inform Torran that I am ready. My lover turns around and his focused expression turns¡­ thoughtful. He walks to me with hesitation in his steps. A light fingers trails along my flank. I enjoy watching him squirm a bit. "You know, you were right. We should, ah, delay everything. For a bit. Make sure you are properly¡­ relaxed." We spend the next hour ''relaxing''. He holds his promise and shows great determination to see me as free of stress as possible. "Should have started with that," I manage to force out as I lie on the divan. Torran chuckles warmly. "No time for pillow talk. I shall start before you realize what happens." "Fine, fine," I tell him, not caring. Our lovemaking left me in a state of contented restfulness. I do not react as he fastens the restraints over my ankles, wrists, and still waist. We are both still naked, therefore the process is more comically lewd than intimidating. "You will fight me, and not be able to help yourself. The process is uncomfortable." I remember something to that effect. "I will begin now. See you on the other side, my star." I groan and he laughs once more. I watch as Torran steps into the circle and activates it. A hum starts and grows as power flows into the construct, Golden glyphs appear and disappear in the air with great speed. It lasts for a moment, and then I feel something latching onto my essence. It is, as he mentioned, a deeply unsettling feeling. The sensation would be even worse for its intimacy, if I did not know Torran better. I am more exposed than I have ever been. My soul is undressed. Torran raises a hand and steps closer. He crosses the circle without breaking the connection. Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. He places his hand on my chest, between my breasts. Our essences link, and mine turns liquid. "Our ability to turn essence physical and malleable is what makes us soul smiths." I clench my jaw and stop myself from fighting it. The treatment is not exactly painful. I would call it more¡­ itchy, in the way that a tornado can be called an air current. Deeply unsettling. What I am at the core is now movable, and yet it is still the same, still¡­ whole. And still untouched. The sensation of wrongness threatens to overwhelm me, and only my love for Torran and my trust in him prevent me from letting the restraints do what self-control could not. I want him to know that I believe in him. And then he pulls. I cannot help it, I scream. I buckle and jump. He¡­ he is tearing my essence out of my body! My mind snaps under the alien experience. A part of me that I had never felt of as having a form is now stretched. A new sense awakes, if briefly, only to torment me. I lose my focus. TRAPPED. TRAPPED. TRAPPED. CONFUSION. "Ariane." CONFUSION. "Ariane." Two grey eyes. A hand. Black matter floating in the air. Should not be floating. Should not be visible. "Ariane, listen to my voice." "T-Torran?" "I need you to help me a bit. I want you to focus on my voice." "Yes." "Remember when you last fought?" The weakened lord. A circle of life and death. My fate on the line. A contest of skill. "Yes." "I want you to remember the way you moved, the way you fought. Bring it forward." I do so now, and find it easy. My aggressive, unpredictable style. Fighting at the edge. The equilibrium of primal rage and precise control. My truth. The black stuff in Torran''s hand changes shape. It becomes longer, narrower. Spines appear along its flank. "Yes, good, very good. Your essence is concentrated nicely. Every bit of it is you, and all of you. Good. Keep going." What follows are harrowing moments. I want to tell Torran to stop everything, that I have had enough, yet I endure. I will not let the strangeness of the situation interrupt us. I also believe that Torran can finish with or without my help, and that he will not stop the forging for anything. My vision blurs, so that I can notice no details. I just see a blade-like form, and Torran''s focused grey eyes. Until it stops and something of me is held in his hands. I can feel it like the extension of my own soul. It pulses in rhythm with the rest of me. That was not so bad, I find myself thinking as he walks back to the circle. Very uncomfortable, but compared to the torture, it¡ª "This might sting a bit. Sever!" PAIN. PAIN. PAINPAINPAINPAIN PAIN. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAARG!" Agony without match. The most devastating, traumatic pain I have ever suffered in my entire Watcher-forsaken life. A scourge like no other. The bane of my existence. The memory of it will be seared into my mind for all of eternity. A divine pain, one that transcends the physical to reach realms of consciousness that I did not know I had until they started flaying my soul. "AAAAAhahahaaaaaa¡­" The scream trails off and fizzles because I lack the strength to keep going. A tidal wave washes my mind away. I float in the recess of myself, above an ocean of red. I have to keep myself still or the pain will devour me. I am also present on the other side of the red wave. It is me, everything is me, but something bleeds out of that part. All that makes me a person, such as memories and thoughts, leaves it and rejoins the whole. What is left is the¡­ the canvas. The stuff on which I exist. And the part that kills given form. I must have lost consciousness then. I do not know how long I stay like this. I only come to when someone grabs me in a princess carry. I open an eye through disgusting gunk, and attempt to croak something, in vain. I cannot move at all. I lack the strength. Disorientation tangles my senses. For the first time since I last lost my heart, I feel utterly defenseless. There is a change then. It takes me some time to recognize the touch of cool water on my skin. The cocooning sensation soothes the phantom pain wracking my body, while a light touch cleans away¡­ I open my eyes again. This time, I can see blurry shapes, including the form of Torran above me. We are in the pool, and he is slowly cleaning me. My blood is everywhere. I try to speak and can barely manage a low grunt. "Here. This will help." Liquid fire ignites my tongue. Tonight, I discover my limits. Torran fed me Likaean blood and I simply cannot enjoy the experience. All my senses are saturated beyond reason. I force it down anyway. Pain. Binding. Humiliation. Let me die. I push the memories away. The impossible energy coming from their immortal blood surges into the wound in my being, giving my essence some of the energy it needs to rebuild itself. The process remains unpleasant. Calm down, Ariane. You are fine now. Almost. I breathe slowly and finally manage to relax as Torran cleans my face with a wet cloth and a delicate touch. "Are you feeling better?" I nod, then start with the simplest question. "That blood you gave me¡­" "A payment I recently received for a rush order. It will significantly hasten your recovery." I meant something else. He discarded such a precious treasure for me. "Do you want to see your soul weapon?" "Yes!" Ah, finally. Torran helps me up and I stand on shaking feet, now clean. I see a black blade before me. "Call it to you." I do so instinctively. The weapon disappears from the ground and reappears in my hand. It is¡­ a sword. Of sorts. The handle, pommel, and guard fit my idea of classical elegance in thin, sober lines of twisted material. Beyond that, however, lies a strange segmented blade that looks savage and, well, a little bit impractical? One side is sharp and smooth while the other has what appears to be notches at the back of each part. Something clicks in my mind and the segments fall limply to the ground, held together by some sort of wire. "T-Torran? What the hell is this!" "Do not worry if you cannot keep it up," the old lord deadpans, "it happens to everyone." "This is no time for a joke! Why is my soul weapon a limp sword?" "A truly unique and amazing weapon, just as I expected. This is a whip sword. A thoroughly impractical weapon for any human. So much that it only exists as a concept." "If you are trying to make me feel better, this is not working." "Think about it Ariane. You have learnt to fight from your vampire side. You have never fought like a human." "So?" "Obviously you need a blade that reflects your fighting style, and it comes as no surprise that no human could use it. The range variation and technique changes will push your unpredictable, overaggressive method to its limit." "That did not sound like a compliment at all!" "Do not be cross, my star, you know that I find your enthusiastic efforts to combat me adorable. Must I compliment you further?" Gah! "If no one uses that blade, no one can help me learn!" "Not per se. I will, however, spar with you so that you may grow into it. Soul weapons are designed to serve. You cannot fail at learning how to use your own." "If you say so¡­" I mumble. I snap the blade forward and upward. It whips the air, then another click in my mind, and the segments pull back to reform a sword. That was¡­ easy? "You may be right¡­" I grudgingly admit. "Incredible, my star, the centuries-old master soul-weapon smith has a passable knowledge of his craft. No one could have expected such a result." I grumble a bit more. He is, of course, right. "I apologize, my love. My worries got the better of me." "You call me this for the first time, I believe," Torran says in a low voice. He lifts me from the water and carries me out, towards the stairs. The blade disappears, yet it remains close. I have but to call it. "You must rest. We can talk more tomorrow." My protests die on my lips as even the energy from the blood of the fae fails to keep me awake. I wake up in a luxurious bed of smooth fabric, beneath a crimson canopy. The windows are open to the valley beyond, its tilled fields, and the yellow pinpricks of human fires. I have slept past sundown. I remove the cover from my body and inspect my surroundings. This is Torran''s bedroom. It smells like him. A small desk lies to the side covered in documents. A massive chestnut wardrobe stands half-open, with male clothes hanging inside in tight rows. The walls are cr¨¨me and covered in paintings of mountainous landscapes, except for a single painting that I recognize only too well: an undressed Torran by the Boston Harbor. He really does look nice naked. Hmmm. I should look for him and make sure that he is healthy! I stand up and find a dress left on a chair back, as well as small cloth. As expected, they are my size, and I put them on before inspecting myself. The dress is made of cotton, white, with a black bodice. It fits snuggly. How intriguing! I have never once worn something like that. I twirl a bit and let the hem flow. Amusing. Sadly, it shows my legs. Bah. Why should I care? I leave the room to find myself in a dark corridor lit by candles. It angles left and right towards different parts of the castle, with closed wooden doors set at regular intervals. I flash my aura and smile when Torran''s own answers me from the left. My steps lead me around the left corner and through a larger door, which houses a large library cluttered with tall shelves. Torran stands in the middle with a smile and a book. Tonight, he wears an old-fashioned jacket that would look at home in a last century novel, and I admit that he looks good in it. Between this and the dress, we are almost dressed for a themed party! "I found the dress," I tell him by way of greeting, and turn around to let him see how fetching I am. "Yes, the dress. A garment that young women used to wear when I was younger. Perhaps a bit¡­ beneath your station, but it is of excellent make," he says. "Beneath my station?" I ask with a mischievous smile, "Would that be a peasant or servant garb then?" Aw, he is a bit embarrassed. "My apologies, my star, I merely wanted to feast my eyes upon¡ª" I turn around and bend to pick up a book from the ground, letting him feast his eyes to his heart''s content. I sway a bit. "Oh no, milord, look at what you did to that precious book! However can I convince you to¡­ pay more attention?" Powerful hands grab my waist. "Do you know, dear one, that no one is allowed to enter here without my leave?" I move my hips in mock struggle. "Is that so? Milord would not be thinking of having his way?" It turns out that Torran did, in fact, think of having his way. We spend a very pleasant hour together, then I clean up back in his bedroom and we quickly visit the castle, starting with the third and highest floor. Torran''s domain turns out to be a curious mix of the ancient and the modern, all brought together in a strange and cozy harmony. The roof and its many spires protect a maze of small rooms, some only as large as a cabinet. In those, Torran stored centuries of tokens and mementos. Colorful banners line the walls side by side with romantic paintings and curious astronomy contraptions. The music room conceals his organ (the music instrument) as well as a selection of sheets ranging from Gregorian songs to the latest creations from Paris, Moscow, Florence... Everywhere is art in mismatched amalgams from different eras and styles, but they all show the same love for nature and tranquility. They are all his, and not a speck of dust comes to mar them. My lover has to drag me away from every room with a laugh, especially after I demanded a music demonstration that he said he would properly demonstrate at a later time. We go down through a stair concealed behind a golden tapestry. We barely meet anyone. Torran only has a small staff on hand. Even counting his Servant, there are only a dozen people present, including a cook and a handful of guards. Blood is always obtained outside during one of his trips, and I am immediately invited to the next one. The second floor contains his rooms, the library, and guest rooms including one from which his Servant emerges wearing a night shift and nothing else. "Is our guest comfortable, Nadia?" Torran asks with a knowing smile. The woman is still as bald as the day I met her, and the henna designs decorating her golden skin are slightly¡­ messy. "He is pleasantly asleep. I made sure of it," she answers in a syrupy alto. Everyone is having a grand time, I see. Forget castle Errenstadt. This place should be called castle Gottleid. Torran drags me away before my mind can torture itself with another dreadful pun. The main floor consists of the entrance and a ballroom, which also serves as a banquet room during special occasions. Staff quarters are on this level, as well as the kitchen and other functional rooms. We leave through the grand entrance and onto the courtyard, where Metis is currently trying to nibble on a placid Krowar''s ear. "No, Metis, no teasing our host!" I reprimand her. Hector stands by the side, looking amused. Torran greets him warmly in German while I inspect my surroundings. Worry had prevented me from appreciating it yesterday. Cobblestones cover the ground while the walls of polished white stone, strangely clean, float in my mind images of fairy tales. Only with Prince Charming being the monster and unicorns replaced by flesh-eating warhorses. My kind of fairy tale! I climb on Metis and follow Torran out. He leads me down the trail, the only path out, really, and then onto a nearby plateau where a field has been prepared. A line of wood mannequins stands there, planted into the ground. "Tonight, we shall test basic movements," Torran announces as he climbs down. I imitate him and call upon¡­ "Rose," I say, and bite my lip in embarrassment. "You cannot go wrong with a classic," Torran comforts me with a smile, "your sword shows both beauty and thorns. Rose is an appropriate name." "Rose is a bit¡­ naive, perhaps?" "Nonsense. Jimena called her blade Justice, did she not?" "My sister is not exactly the paragon of mature decision-making. Anyway, it is done now. The blade is my rose, and my thorn. Let us see what she can do." I slice the first mannequin with a bland overhead attack. Rose goes from shoulder through the waist with the ease of scissors going through fabric. I did not even need strength. "Sharp," I remark. "All soul weapons are. Now, try the other side." Rose''s segmented blade has two sides. One is smooth and sharp, the other shows small spines at the back of each section. I slice with what would be the back of the sword, the movement a bit unnatural. Contrary to the other side, this one shreds through the wood as if it had been mauled. "The spikes are too short to lock in a foe''s blade. They are here for damage. Now, try extending her." I lunge and push at the same time. Rose''s segments separate and pierce through the mannequin''s chest like a spear. I realize that my reach has not diminished at all! In fact, the flexibility should really help me incorporate techniques from a variety of people. I pull the blade back. On a hunch, I twist my wrist. The blade takes a snaking motion and tears the mannequin asunder. "Erm." "Not to worry, my star. I have prepared many more targets. Even if we run out of victims, I shall fetch a boulder for you to hone your skills." "How about a spar?" I ask teasingly. "How do you feel?" Torran asks me instead. I consider the question seriously. I feel¡­ tired. Even though I woke up after night fell, I have little wish to move. "The blood of the fae still courses through your veins. Once it is spent, exhaustion will settle over you for the next few weeks while you recover from your ordeal. We will have plenty of opportunities to try our mettle afterward. Now, try whipping motions." I extend the blade mid-swipe once more. Unfortunately, the edge gets stuck into the wood this time, and I must forcefully pull it. I immediately realize my mistake and make sure to keep the blade in a state of momentum, snapping and retracting it before it can become immobile. Immobility will kill me. I massacre one target after another, then try a few moves like striking as I retreat. My Rose answers me beautifully, but I am soon faced with a serious issue. I can dance around all I like. Only sparring will shed light on whether a move is merely esthetically pleasant, or if it can be employed in the thick of battle. Unfortunately, I soon feel weary. My limbs grow heavy and awkward. Torran notices in moments. "We should stop there, my star. We will have time later." "I hope this weakness will abate quickly. I would not want to be caught unaware." Torran grabs me by my shoulders, and lifts my face to his with a touch under my chin. "I realize that you have been fighting for yourself since the day you were reborn, that from the moment you emerged from obscurity, you have moved from one battlefield to another. I would like you to stop and take a deep breath, for I am Torran of the Dvor, councilman of the clan, soul-smith, and warlord, and while you have met more terrible existences than me, I assure you that there are none here. While you live on my land, you are under my protection. My sword is your sword, my castle is your shield, and anyone who comes here seeking trouble will find death. This, I swear. So sit back and relax. Enjoy this precious moment. Forget about your duties as I hold you in my arms, and enjoy your well-deserved holidays. The Eye knows that you deserve them." Chapter 123 - 118. Break The next few nights pass in pleasurable relaxation. First, I add the Dvor essence to my collection. I am not quite sure what it does, but I do feel a presence far away to the west. Perhaps the effects will be more obvious when I get back to Illinois. Second, Torran gives me full access to his communication mirror, and a short call to Merritt reassures me. My allies have not yet faced anything that they could not handle. With my obligations safely taken over by someone else, I can let go of my worries. I attend my first private concert, with Torran choosing the next pieces according to my requests. He is as talented as expected. Moreover, he still holds to that spark that animates me when I draw, the small core of emotion that we have lost on other pursuits. The difference is flagrant. Where other vampires remain mechanical and contrived, he allows himself to play. To breathe. He interprets while others perform. I love him all the more for it. One of the rooms is made available for me to draw, and I do so while he works by my side. On the third night, we descend into town. Errenstadt extends around us, its streets calm and clean. Only the inn and its surroundings still resonate with raucous laughter. I follow my lover to the largest building, the only one made entirely of yellow stone, where I am invited to attend Torran''s weekly meeting with his domain''s notables. I greet the burgermeister and priest in ''Hochdeutsch'', much to my host''s amusement. I was assured that this version of German could be understood across all states. The cause of his hilarity becomes manifest as we are joined by landowners and factory heads. The town speaks a dialect I have trouble following at all. Thankfully, the meeting concludes quickly and we are soon on our way. I remark that when Torran focuses, his expression grows cold. Silvery hair, grey eyes and his slightly rugged face add up to form a severe expression. His curt questions send the other attendants to check their notes with hasty zeal. Only I have the privilege to see him smile, it seems. It pleases me. I reserve my questions for after we are on our way back. "How much do they know?" "That I do not age and that I am not to be trifled with. I make an example every seven years on average, as they tend to forget." "You kill them?" "Worse. I bankrupt their families." Oooh. Nasty. "If they know you are unnatural, how can you have such a good relationship with the priest?" "You noticed? He is the only one I do not challenge, for the salvation of souls is not my concern. I also fund the repair of the church and quite a few projects besides." "I see." "How did you handle your priest?" "The first one liked submissive women with bountiful bosoms, such that I could provide at a discount. The second one is meek enough that I need not bother. Funding religious projects is also one of my favorite methods." I stop to consider the implications. "Are we one of the biggest patrons of the Protestant Church?" I finally ask as we leave the village behind. "And the Catholic. Their secret inquisition leaves us alone for a reason. That, and they have their hands full with doomsday cults." Wah. On the fourth day, Torran comes to see me as I finish a swim in his underground grotto. "An opportunity has arisen to seek nourishment, my star. Would you care for a little outing?" "With pleasure. Who are we eating?" "I shall tell you on the way. We will be spreading fear in the hearts of mortals." As it should be. "Would you like to dress up for the occasion?" he finishes with a ghastly smile. I swim to the shore and rest my arms on the smooth stone. "Do you mean, ''I am rich and powerful'' terrify or ''I shall mount your head on my mantlepiece'' terrify? I can do both." "Oh, yes, you have your armor!" He almost looks¡­ giddy. "The ''gibbering wreck'' terrify." He turns around and races back up the stairs. I take the time to dry and braid my hair, then return to my own quarters. Time to impress. I wear under cloth and Loth''s armor in its shiny dark perfection. The holes made by Otto have repaired themselves, but there are still spots where scales shine a darker hue. My war mask is also dented. Their heavy use only makes them more threatening. They say that some have tried to slay me and failed. I add knives to their sheaths, fasten my spear to my back, and clasp the black gauntlet on my eager hand. I bounce excitedly out and almost walk into Torran who was doing the same. We inspect each other. He wears a black plate armor with a Watcher-damn dragon on it, as well as a heavy cape. A polished sword hangs to his side in a silver-engraved scabbard so polished it reflects the lantern light. Even his presence feels heavier, somehow. He takes a step forward and the impact of his metal-clad foot echoes through the air. He actually is heavier! "How much does that weigh?" I exclaim in wonder. "Not nearly enough. I am using my aura to increase my presence. We Dvor can do that." "Hehehe, your armor even has spiky bits on the shoulders. How adorable!" "It pleases me to garner your approval. Do you believe us intimidating enough?" he jokingly asks. "Wait, wait. Watch this. Nu Sarrehin!" Let there be light. I realize too late that I spoke in the Likaean language. Thankfully, Torran is too absorbed by the effect of the spell to comment, for my eyes now shine with a cold blue light. The glacial radiance spreads from the mask''s hole like the gaze of a wraith. "Marvelous¡­" Torran whispers, "can you do me as well?" "Of course, my love. Nu Sharrehin!" The magic likes that. A lot. The dancing lights of lies and trickery turns his grey orbs greyer until he, too, appears ready to harvest souls. "You know, my star, I was tasked with punishing a sergeant in the imperial army. He raped a woman, then used his connections to escape justice." "Oh? And what does your Supplicant require?" "Death for escaping his fate and laughing at the family''s plea. I was going to do so discreetly, but now I believe that a more¡­ heavy-handed approach might be more entertaining." "You want to ride in like the heralds of the apocalypse? Would it not be too overt?" "Nonsense, we have plenty of legends about riders dragging souls to hell." Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. He stops and tilts his head. "It will also remind the soldiers that a uniform is not a shield, at least not on my lands. Let us depart!" I practically jump behind him as we enter the courtyard and scare the life out of the poor groom. Metis and Krowar prance through the portcullis and over the bridge, then into the forest at breakneck speed. The trees close in behind us. Their embrace settles like a cape on my shoulders. We follow a snaking path that I could have sworn was not there the day before, and Torran does his thing again. He feels heavier, more impactful. His aura twists the land. The ruckus of hooves stomping on wet soil joins the other sounds of the forest in a rhythmic and primal melody. Time ceases to matter. I am fairly confident we are still on earth when Torran finally slows down. In front of us, our path joins a well-travelled road leading to a sad village. Three farms surround an inn from whence emerges poorly played music, the lights of their windows pale and wan. Two soldiers in dark blue tunics stand guard next to a vine-covered fence. They look bored out of their mind. "Time for our grand entrance?" Torran whispers. "Wait! Let me set the mood first!" I cackle. "Tongue of cat, hair of a dog, Seeking tendrils of the fog Hide our cruel deeds." Smoke-like plumes expand forward, drawing the small clearing in mist and shadows. The two sentinels frown, feeling that something is not quite right. "Nu Sharran," Let there be darkness. Those are quite a few spells in quick succession and I can already feel the drain on my depleted essence, but the night is ours and the magic is willing. Eager. It wants us to play. Darkness creeps on our unsuspecting victims. Light loses ground quickly before our onslaught. "Act one, scene one," I tell Torran. My lover smirks and walks forward, so that every step Krowar takes resonates like drums on the fabric of the world. The two guards huddle close to each other. "Wer ¡ª wer kommt? Hallo?" And death incarnate emerges from the abyss. I can see exactly the moment when they spot the immortal horror bearing down on them. I can see their frowns melt into expressions of sheer, delicious horror. I can taste the tears raining down their pallid cheeks. "Nein¡­ bitte." Torran rides to them. He leans to the side and he is enormous. His shape has grown so much that the soldiers appear as children in comparison, pitiful toys of cloth and bones. His hand, clad in a gauntlet of black iron, fastens around one of the men''s neck and pulls him up as if he weighed nothing. "Wo ist Anton Friedman?" One of the poor souls points a shaky hand at the inn. Torran lets him drop and dismounts as his informant crawls away like a worm. By that time, all signs of merriment have disappeared from the nearby building. I hear a voice whisper: "Was ist los?" What is happening? Oh, do not worry, you shall soon find out. Torran crashes in, sending the remnants of the door tumbling down, hinges still attached. I follow him in and we find ourselves in a common room. Groups of soldiers huddle around tables, cluttered with cards and beer steins. "ANTON FRIEDMAN!" Torran bellows. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAH," the assembled mortals reply. Torran seems to hesitate then, and I point at a heavy-set man trying his best to hide behind a panicking waitress. Other soldiers also looked at him when my lover spoke his name. "Ich habe ihn gefunden, Teufel," I whisper. ''I have found him, devil.'' A hint of magic carries my words through the crowd. The culprit mewls piteously. Torran stomps his way through the room and grabs the man by his foot as he tries to escape. "Jetzt kommst du mit uns, S¨¹nder." Now you come with us, sinner. Torran certainly has a proper sense of decorum. I like it. My lover stomps away, dragging our prey behind him. His captive shrieks and scratches the stained ground on his way out. I hiss one last time to terrify our spectators, then we ride away, Herr Friedman hanging upside down from Torran''s grip like a plucked chicken. Panicked screams and howled prayers offer a pleasing background to our exit. "That should satisfy my supplicant," Torran mentions as we trot back to the forest. "Perhaps? I hope you were not tasked to make it mysterious, because I believe people may have noticed our presence." As soon as we are far enough, I thank Torran for the meal and we drain the prey. We head back in comfortable silence until I remember something. "How come you hesitated back in the room?" "My Supplicant described the villain in ample detail, and she spent a good minute on his moustache." "But¡­" "Yes. He had shaved. That threw me off." I cannot help it, I guffaw, and Torran soon joins me. Our intimidating display, almost undone by a lack of facial hair. For shame. "When did you learn German? I never asked," Torran remarks. "I started to study after you left. As fate would have it, I had to spend some time south and realized I should have taken Spanish instead." "There is still time. They are both wonderful languages. By the way, have you ever seen Faust? By Goethe?" "I have not had the chance." S~ea??h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Then listen well, I will recite it for you!" And I tread through the deep woods of the world, listening to my lover recite his favorite play. Ten days after making my soul weapon, I have finally recovered enough to start practicing in earnest. We head to the training field where Torran predictably gives me a sound beating. "Oof!" "You are too static, my star. Do not try too many tricks yet. Add them progressively to your style, or you will lose your rhythm." He is right, of course. I stand where I am trying to perform fanciful moves while my style is mobile and aggressive. What frustrates me is that I can feel the deep variety of unexpected twists and vicious counters lying in my Rose, waiting to be unleashed. I am simply unequal to the task of using them yet. We continue our spar, and I am finally able to include a few small improvements. One of them is the way the blade can curve as it extends, thus reaching flesh that was previously out of its range. The added amplitude forces Torran to adapt and parry earlier, adding to the pressure I can place on him. Soon, other techniques join the first one. By varying the range, I can launch attacks at unexpected moments, closing in then escaping without stopping the flurry of blows. My movements grow more graceful as time goes on. The highlight of the session comes when an overhead strike pushes Torran back and covers him in dust. "Haha! It seems that the student will soon overtake the master," I tease. Torran merely gives me the most condescending of smiles. "Is that so? Does my little star feel strong and deadly? Are you ready to take me on?" "I will show you the might of the Devourer, old man," I claim with pretend arrogance. I brandish the Rose before me. "Oh? Let me put you to the test then. A real one." And he is gone. And right in front of me. His blade smashes into my guard, pushing me back, and the battle resumes. This time, Torran is fighting seriously. His style is still direct and indomitable, a walking disaster advancing slowly but relentlessly. He is considerably stronger than before, stronger than he was in America. This is a Dvor lord on his domain. I am helplessly pushed back. "Alright alright! Maybe you are not so rusty after all!" I allow as I dive under a devastating sweep. "I will show you rusty, little star." Torran drops his sword, and another one appears in his outstretched hand, as black as the night. Its blade is large, too large to be practical. It looks terribly heavy. Torran''s next swing sends me crashing against a nearby tree. It is heavy indeed. "Fine!" I croak, "you w¡ª" "Magna Arqa." Eh? WHAT? Torran''s eyes flash purple as reality twists and moans around him. He starts growing, and growing, and growing. Obsidian rocks bleed from the ground to encircle his body and form a midnight armor of jagged spikes. The last few form a crown on his brow, close around his face so that only two grey orbs remain. He takes a step forth and the world trembles. I jump to my feet and sprint off in the other direction. The tree branches smack me, my feet slip on the ground. Rocks move to smack me aside as I pass them by, and from behind me comes the booming sound of a titan treading the world. "CAN WE TALK ABOUT IT?" Torran does not answer. Whelp. Time to run. Torran ended up squashing me like a bug against the side of a cliff, following which I sulked for two days. Our next spars are more intense as a result. I progressively include new ranges of motions in my style and, I have to admit, Rose''s unexpected moves make for some amusing and devastating maneuvers. I only had it for a few weeks, and I do not think that I can get back to using only a spear or a sword. Obviously I could. It would not be the same. A soul weapon really makes a world of difference. All together, I manage almost three weeks of uninterrupted holidays. Torran is, of course, a delicious host, and we spend our nights sparring, doing art, and making love. I even get to visit Vienna to attend a rendition of The Magic Flute by Mozart. The difference with L''Elisir d''Amore is significant, and yet I end up enjoying myself almost as much. The aria of the Queen of Night, in particular, provokes a strong emotion in me. I had no idea that the human voice could be pushed to such extremes, and that the result could be so breathtaking. Jealousy does not even rear its ugly head despite my own shortcomings in this specific field. The end of my respite comes from an unexpected source. As we come back from a hunt, I am informed by a maid that a message had come during my absence. Reading the hand-written note brings back memories, as I recognize this style well. "Ariane dear, I learned that you were in Europe, and that must be some damn stroke of luck or the hand of fate itself, because I could really, really use your help. I can only beg that you come at your soonest convenience. Just tell the other bloodsuckers that you are on a diplomatic mission to the Dvergur or whatever. Please. I apologize for the secrecy. I trust the Rosenthal to get this to you. I cannot trust your peers not to take a peek. This is a personal matter where discretion is paramount. I hope to see you soon. Your friend, Loth." It appears that I am going to Sweden. Chapter 124 - 119. V?lkommen till Sverige! Torran is understandably upset by my decision. At the same time, he understands honor and loyalty, therefore he never officially voices his regrets. My lover helps me plan my trip to Sweden and we spend the last three days being thoroughly unproductive. Our farewells are short and tinged with regrets at the station. "Until next time, my star. We will meet again. We will always meet again." "We will. And it is now your turn to come and visit!" Torran makes a face at that and I bump him on the shoulder. If I have to compare the current state of Marquette and Errendstadt, well, I can hardly blame him for his obvious lack of enthusiasm. One last kiss, and we board. Sheridan looks dejected. I believe that he has enjoyed the local hospitality to its utmost, since his bed was almost never slept in. We spend some time together in the train restaurant, talking about our respective experiences. "She even taught me some Magyar!" he claims. Yes, I am sure that he is familiar with her tongue by now. I allow Sheridan to enthusiastically massacre the language, not even reacting at one of the waiters'' painful wince. Poor Vassal. He is showing interest in other languages, he who had not even made efforts to understand Spanish. I must show my support. My Vassal soon goes to bed and I take out the first book on my list. I used to read a lot, back when I was a human. Under Loth''s tutelage, my studies had focused on technical manuals and essays. Besides Jimena''s raunchy novels, I had neglected this delicious pastime. I intend to remedy the situation, especially since the trip back by boat will take quite some time. I immediately dig into Dumas. His Count of Monte Cristo is a riveting story of long-planned revenge and I find myself sympathizing with the main character, who has the grudge of a vampire and still the squishy, weak heart of a mortal. Adorable. There are other books as well, such as the Three Musketeers from the same author. I also obtained some bizarre work by an author called Mary Shelley, which I reserve for later. Isaac mentioned that it was intriguing, and I am eager to see what all the fuss is about. Hugo, Dickens, and Bronte have joined the ranks of my to-read list. I completed my collection with the Iliad and a few fairy tales, as well as a few more¡­ audacious titles. I should be set for a week or two of idleness, and will complete my collection before boarding the ship back to America. The next two days are rather boring. Except for nightly stops that do not give me enough time to visit anything, there are few distractions. The conductor of this train is a polite but distant Roland obsessed with propriety and timeliness. We are joined by a Hastings for a few hours, but he does not leave his own room. I can finally breathe when we reach Danzig. Under the watchful gaze of an Erenwald master, Sheridan and I walk the streets of the city. The architecture here is ancient and beautiful, with ornamented facades and strange additions of towers that give each building a personality. We walk the "Long Street" to our enjoyment. Our host also humors us by explaining what we see. They even have a torture house! I should get something similar in Marquette. Our visit is short, yet pleasant. I do not know if I am accompanied out of politeness or caution. The master herself displays no signs of hostility, only polite distance. The intricacies of European power politics escape me. I have neither the time nor the inclination to explore them, not if Torran is not around to justify it. Oh, I already miss him. I wish I could open a magical portal between his land and mine. Perhaps, one day, I will. A few hours of exploration later, we board a Rosenthal ship to Sweden. A steam ship! I have not boarded one of those since I last descended to New-Orleans a few years ago. This one is considerably larger. The large dame leaves great puffs of smoke in her wake like a cigar aficionado. Sheridan''s mood dampens as the temperature drops and he experiences dried, salted fish. "You don''t know how good you have it, not having to eat." A pointed glare and a remark later, and my insensitive Vassal mumbles in apology. He is right, of course. I just want him to remember to be careful with his words. We are in neutral territory, at best. Who knows how easily the Dvergur could take offense? I would not want to damage Loth''s prospects as a new king due to a simple faux-pas. A day later, we arrive in view of the Stockholm archipelago. I expected much from Loth''s home country, and the first approach does not disappoint. Stockholm is not a single landmass, but a series of islands dotting the space between a lake and the Baltic Sea. The few buildings I see from the top of my steam ship are pale and austere, reflecting a classic approach to architecture. The rest, however¡­ The closer we are and the more I spot signs of poverty in the surrounding homes. I smell death and filth in the air, as well as the general air of despair I had perceived from Alexandria. The city is in decline. I dismiss it. Decline is a temporary human concern. Loth''s people will have different circumstances. I must not judge too hastily. I left the Rosenthal to arrange the details of the transport, and so I am mildly surprised when we do not stop at the largest pier. Instead, the ship heads inland for another hour, passing through complex systems of sluice gates, before stopping on the shore of Lake M?laren. The pier there is old and made of stone, well-lit, with a small warehouse at the back. A dense forest of pine trees masks the rest of the view. The land is deep green and cold despite the approaching summer. Compared to the Mediterranean, the weather is positively frigid. I am wearing an armored dress of midnight blue with a nice little cloak for the occasion. I need to impress if he brought people with him. A trio of figures await us. I recognize Loth, of course, tall and majestic in a fashionable dark suit. A tall woman stands by his side, just as nervous as he is. She is dark blonde with brown eyes and a powerful build, made obvious by an elegant emerald dress. Gold shines at her ears and neck. I find her beautiful, if a bit cold. The last man is vigilant, and he is the only one not to stare forward to try and pierce the cover of darkness. His eyes drift with the passive attention of the vigilant sentinel. I recognize him from the scar covering the right part of his handsome, clean-shaven face. He was the man I fought at the top of the inn where Loth was ambushed by his now ex-wife Leikny. I had to drop a barrel of rainwater on my head because he had set me on fire. A cat had peed in it. I forgot his name. I focus on the Rosenthal essence, and I remember the name Skjoll. Handy. Anyway, it matters not. It''s Loth! Aw, it is so good to see him again. I could fly! In fact, I believe I shall do just this. I turn to Sheridan. sea??h th§× N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "I shall see you on the shore." And then, I jump. Power easily carries me over the water and to the edge of the pier, where I land silently. "Loooooth!" I say with delight, as I grab the knife the bodyguard had reflexively sent mid-flight and jump again, this time into my friend''s waiting arms. "Loth! Teehee! It is really you!" Loth''s roar of delight shakes his massive chest. It rumbles under my grip, warm and solid. He returns my hug. I look up to see that he has mirrored my ecstatic smile. "Ye have no idea how long I''ve been waiting for this. You, here. And so strong! How you have grown." I drop from his chest and take a few steps back. I toss the knife back to a mildly annoyed guard and curtsy. Loth taught me rudimentary Dvergur ages ago, so that I could work his runes. My command of the language is terrible, but I managed to dig through my notes and remember enough to at least offer polite greetings. "Lady, and gentlemen, it is my pleasure to meet you. I am Ariane of the Nirari, vampire master," I greet in their own tongue. Loth claps excitedly and his female companion offers me a wan smile. Some of the tension leaves her shoulders. Loth knew that I was a master, of course. I suppose that my aura must have surprised him. "Ah, Ariane. Allow me to introduce you to Kari, my fianc¨¦e." "Ooh! Congratulations to both of you. I am delighted to hear that! When is the celebration? Is it soon?" A Dvergur marriage! "Well, about that. That''s why I asked ye to come, yes? By Tyr, what a mess. Anyway, you remember Skjoll?" he continues, pointing at the slightly miffed bodyguard. "Oh, yes, I remember you. You set fire to my dress and I thrashed you, did I not? Such a pleasure to see you again all alive and kicking." Hehe. "Yes. You were a worthy opponent," the taciturn man replies with obvious respect, to my surprise. "It was kind of you to come to us so quickly," Kari continues in a smooth alto. She is still a little wary of me. I cannot know for sure if it is due to my nature, or my past. Only a dimwit would believe that a healthy man would shack up with a beautiful vampire for ten years without some shagging taking place. "Anything for my friend," I answer while trying to look harmless. "So, can you tell me what this is all about? You seem¡­ anxious." "I suppose we can do it now. We have to wait for the ship to unload anyway," Loth answers. He gestures, and the four of us pull to the side, at the edge of the warehouse. "Remember the night I confronted Leikny?" Loth ask in a conspiratorial voice. "Hmm, yes? Mostly?" "Remember what I told Leinky at the end?" "Consider yourself divorced!" I declaim in a low voice, my face a mask of affronted pride. Kari smiles at my antics, and so does Loth, though he also looks embarrassed. "That too aye. The main thing was, she asked me why I favored you over her. I answered her and she, ah, relayed my word to the court." "I do not see the problem?" I retort, now slightly annoyed that they tiptoe around the problem. "Weeeell. According to Dvergur tradition, I claimed you as my wife. Kind of." I wait for him to laugh and tell me that it was a joke. I wait a bit more. Kari raises a brow. Whelp. "I am sorry, could you confirm that? We''re¡­ married?" "Not married, but fiances. Or at least, we are considered such under Dvergur law until you can state that this is not the case." "By the Watcher, Loth, does that make me a Dvergur princess? Royal concubine? Do I get a crown? A circlet, at least?" I start teasingly, but Loth only turns red as a boiled lobster. I raise my hands to indicate that I am dropping the joke. "My apologies, I had not realized that the matter was so serious. Do you need my testimony that we are not, in fact, bound by the promise of matrimony?" "Indeed." "Then you shall have it. My lover would be rather cross if I eloped without his knowledge. I am afraid that he might challenge you to duel!" "Hah! Been a long time since I got into a good scrap meself." "Perhaps not against him though. Oh, I so wish he could have come so that you two could meet, but he had other engagements." Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. Loth crosses his muscular arms over his imposing chest. "Looking down upon me already?" "With all due respect, my friend, I have seen both of you fight. I would bet on the angry Dvor lord. Forgive me." "It''s favoritism, is what it is." I place a hand on his arm as a gesture of conciliation. "Oh, I so wish I could have introduced him. You two would have been the best of friends, I am sure." Kari clears her throat to attract our attention. "Perhaps we should pursue this discussion in the carriage? It would be safer." Safer? I frown, but do not comment. If safety is a concern then explanations can wait. A few workers emerge from the warehouse to help the ship dock while we walk away. I hear a sound of impact, and see that Sheridan also jumped from the ship. He joins us as we walk away. "Marshall Sheridan, retired ranger and my Vassal," I introduce. Loth shakes his hand with enthusiasm. "A lawman, eh? Nice to meet ye, lad. We''ll catch a drink inside later, I have so much to tell ye about yer dear mistress." "Hey! No collusion!" But wait, in the face of slander, one has to go on the offensive. Balance of terror! "Kari¡­" I sweetly start, as I turn to the now very attentive bride-to-be. "There is no need for that," Loth interrupts hurriedly. We pass by the warehouse and come into view of a dense forest of deep green pines, as well as ''the carriage''. Truly, the term does not do justice to that crossbreed of a royal coach and a bank vault. To the mundane eye, it looks large and expensive, the private means of transportation of a prince with far more money than sense. I, however, can discern the multiple latticed layers of hardened material, as well as an excessive amount of protective enchantments. I could not force that monster open in one night. That thing could bounce back a cannonball without moving an inch! It should shine in the dark. "Are we expecting an attack?" I ask in jest. The grim expression of my hosts gives me all the answers I need. "That bad?" I ask with surprise, and my good mood falls. I turn my attention to my surroundings and open my senses. Just in time to hear the distinct ''click'' of a cocked gun. "Down!" I scream. I push Sheridan and Loth to the ground, while Skjoll jumps on Kari. The sound of a discharged firearm echoes through the empty night, and I hear the sound of a bullet scoring a hit. Loth. Sheridan. No armors. I panic. I sniff the air and taste no blood. They are under attack, my friends and my precious Vassal! And they were caught OFF GUARD. NOT READY. CRUSH THE THREAT. KILL. KILL! "ROAAAAAAAAAAR." "Vad fan var det?!" comes a voice from the side, hidden behind a dense thicket of ferns. Stupid PREY. Wind in my hair. I appear by their side. Two humans in hunter garb, with powerful rifles. They stand. More gunshots from the front. Need me, need me. No time. I worked so far to use the Rose smartly that I forgot its brute force potential. The mighty weapon appears in my hand. I swing from back to front, blade fully extended. I put all my strength and fury and instinctual response in the blow. ''HSSSS!" The mighty strike devastates everything in its path. The forest is cleared in a cone before me while splinters and gore are sent tumbling to the ground in a shower of debris. I taste essence. I stare in awe at the Rose for an instant. There, on the blade, blood disappears. The amount of strength I receive is negligible, barely a tenth of what devouring would grant me, but it is still significant. The Rose drinks blood. Literally. It appears that I gained an extra fang, and now is the time to put it to good use. I steal a glance at my allies. They are crouching behind the unbreakable barrier of the carriage, except for Skjoll who snuck low and approaches the enemy firing line from the side. They are humans in the same dark clothes as the ones I dismembered, as far as I can tell. They look local. I examine this as I rush forward and past Skjoll, then to the side of the line. Screams in their strange language echo across the herd, "? helvete", "? j?vlar". I can guess the general meaning. The scent of blood and powder wakes me up in a way only the sweet liquid can. Yes, I am back in the world of intrigue and slaughter. In a way, I have missed it. I sprint forth, killing everything in my path, then stop as the assaillants drop their weapons and run. NO MORE DANGER. Does Loth want prisoners? "You cocksuckers!" the man himself bellows. I turn to see my friend wearing a battle mask and a strange cylinder. It thumps loudly, and a small explosion rocks the underbush. Two men fall to the ground holding bleeding wounds. No prisoners then. I run after the few survivors and devour the first one. Then, as I grab the next, I feel something in the distance. I am now inside of the forest. Pine needles cover the ground and there are no more ferns. The visibility is improved and I can see a small rocky elevation in the distance. I felt something coming from there. The barest hint of magic. Interesting! I stalk closer, runners forgotten. I think there are only two terrified survivors anyway, and they do not interest me as much as this. A small thicket tops the large stone. I see nothing. I close my eyes and smell the air. Pine sap, soil, humidity, the distant tang of blood and the caustic bite of spent powder, but there is something underneath. Fresh sweat. Coming from the front. "I can smell you¡­" I hum with amusement. A muffled curse comes from the empty space before. "And now I can hear you as well," I note with a smile. I focus the Herald essence in my claw and¡­ the Rose turns blue. My claws are crystallized essence. The blade is crystallized essence. Of course, it can carry the magic-breaking effect as well. "Perfect." I jump to the side of the elevation and stab the air, being careful not to get too close. I guess that concealment magic is at work, but if it were up to me, I would have added an unpleasant effect if someone tried to force entry. My eyes widen in surprise when the charm falls to reveal a Dvergur in the process of standing up. This one has dark brown hair and a bushy beard like Loth, though he looks younger. He holds in his hands a rifle of complex make, the barrel engraved with many runes. It is now swerving towards my head. The man shoots as I duck. He would have caught me between the eyes. Pretty good reflexes for a mortal creature. "I see you, little rat." I punch him in the chest. What I took for a leather armor turns out to have reinforced metal underneath. Enchanted as well. There are so many spells weaved in his gear that I have trouble tasting which is which. His torso may have been protected, his head is not. He falls backward and cracks it against a pine trunk, bark flaking under the strain. I pick up the gun, then I catch him by the foot and drag him down the rock and towards my allies. Time to show them what I caught! I hear the click of a cocked pistol. I turn and grab the firearm aimed at my neck. The Dvergur has dark eyes and they are very close now. He smells of scrumptious terror, and shows signs of shame as well. Tempting, tempting. But no, there will be time later. My little rat presses the trigger with all the strength he has, in vain. My index is on the hammer. "Oh, feisty! It appears that you do not need this hand anymore." The snap of broken bones. I did not break too much. That can lead to internal bleeding that the mortals may not survive. I do not know how hardy this specific morsel is. I resume my walk, with my captive now too busy moaning in pain to offer much resistance. I find them still hiding behind the carriage, whose horses did not move at all during the altercation. Humans mutter on the other side of the warehouse. I approach the coach from the side, Dvergur in tow. "Look what I found!" I exclaim with pride. Loth turns from his argument with Skjoll, and he becomes furious at the sight of what I brought back. "Should have known, damn Isvalir." Sheridan looks a bit lost, arms crossed in a typical gesture of annoyance. Kari''s skin is pale and she smells of vomit. "Do you want to question him, then can I eat him after we are done?" "Where was he?" "Hidden above the other attackers, with this," I tell him, while handing the gun to Skjoll. "Probably to catch one of us in case the assault fails and we come looking for proof. With that caliber, he would have gone through heavy armor." "Would you really have gone to check?" I ask, surprised by his recklessness. "No¡­ I would have sent Skjoll." "As you should," the bodyguard replies, eyes fixed on my docile prisoner. "Is¡­ every battle like that?" Kari finally asks. She is staring behind me. A quick glance shows that the lights of the warehouse shine on what remains of the first pair of foes I got my hands on. Their remains are¡­ graphic. "That''s more of a vampire thing, darling," Loth replies with a comforting hand on her shoulder, "glad she is on our side, ey?" "It would certainly be better than the alternative," she says. There follows a series of curses in Dvergur and Swedish that I do not quite catch. Skjoll takes the prisoner from me to bind him while I go check on Sheridan. "Are you quite alright? I could swear I heard the bullet hitting." "Check your shoulder," the ranger replies with a grin. Indeed, I find a silver lump stuck against my heart protector''s harness. For once, I was lucky. It would have been quite painful. I still grumble and remove the offending thing. The bullet burnt my dress at the point of impact! One more dress lost in the line of duty. When will this ever end? They are not exactly cheap either¡­ "To answer your question, I admit to being terrified. I thought I had lost the fear of death after our Mediterranean adventure. I was wrong." "Good. The moment you lose it entirely, you will place both of us in danger. The armors I provide will not defend you from falling off a cliff, or being poisoned in your sleep. Caution will serve you well." "You do not seem afraid of death, however. Not with the way you run at danger." "I respect the possibility of death. It boils down to the same principle: do not act in a manner that could pointlessly make you lose your life. You did well by taking cover since you were unarmed and undefended, and I did well engaging an inferior foe to cover you." My brave Vassal frowns at the reminder of this unexpected piece of entertainment. "Yeah, what''s the matter with that! I thought we were on friendly territory!" "I suppose we will find out shortly." "You find out. I''m going to get my guns." I admit to being curious. The trio of Dvergur now stands before the prisoner, who glares at the ground with shame. They talk in their native tongue so that I can only glean fragments of speech. Forbidden and objection are spoken several times. Eventually, Kari throws her hands in the air in frustration. "Have you reached a decision? We should not dally," I tell them. "Skjoll and I believe that the information we could gain from a thorough interrogation justifies the pain of leaving one of our race to your tender care." "I can leave him unbroken. Mostly." "Operatives such as him are trained to resist mind techniques." "No training will ever be enough to stop us," I declare with confidence. The two exchange a glance. "Besides, I have not tasted Dvergur essence since¡ª" Kari perks up, and Loth shows the first hints of distress. "¡ªyou saved my life, back in the blood cult base," I casually finish. Loth smiles and Kari settles down. Do not worry, you old dog, I have your back. I must not let Kari think that we are anything more than friends and comrades-in-arms. The slaughter I just committed should also make me appear as more monster than woman. "I still think that we should conduct our inquiry in private." "Aye. I don''t think that anyone else is gonny show up. Kari dear, ye should go back to the carriage and I''ll let ye know what we find oot. Skjoll?" "I will make sure that the perimeter is secure, then supervise the loading of Lady Nirari''s luggage." We all agree, and I drag our prisoner with me to an empty storage room selected by Loth. He closes the door behind us, and I drop my charge on the ground. "Right. Time to tell ya what this is all about, I suppose." "That would be nice." "Aye. By the way, impressive display. I had forgotten how it felt to have you by my side. Nice sword too." I smile, because I can tell that guilt overcame him as he suddenly realized that I was attacked upon landing on his land following his invitation, and then proceeded to single-handedly save the day. Or night, in this particular example. "Enough, my friend, we will have time to talk later. For now, we should get into the¡­ meat¡­ of the matter." "Right. So, I am king of the Skoragg clan. My ex-wife is from the smaller Isvalir clan, and they enjoyed playing a bigger role in our politics. I just took a series of measures to get them to fuck off, starting with the divorce, and they''re being prissy twats about it. Problem is, they still got loyalists so they can find oot where I go to do that sort of shit." "Language." "Augh, not this again!" "Ahem. My apologies. Is he from the Isvalir clan?" "Him? Yes, but he was banished if I remember correctly. Vanr the Cruel, his name is. Right prick. I''d bet my right bollock that they offered him a pardon if he could off me but no way to prove it in court. They will say that we rewrote his memory with vampire magic." "Hmm." "I just want ta know about other traps, and anything he can tell me about his clan''s plans. Oh, and can you spare his life?" "Can I still drink his blood?" "Aye!" "I foresee no difficulty then. I will work on making him more...pliable¡­ and you prepare your questions. Agreed?" "Agreed." "Now, Vanr," I tell the panicking man on the ground, "I trust that you will offer more of a challenge than you previously did. You do not want to fail twice in the same night, do you?" I ask menacingly. "That was good lass, but I don''t think he understands English." In Vanr''s brown orbs, I only see anxiety and incomprehension. Dammit. Well, nevermind. It would be nice to practice my manipulation skill if I had the patience or spoke the language. Instead, I bite his throat. Dear Vanr is succulent. He tastes of fear and regrets, with a deeper magic made twisted by appetites he took no efforts to control. The power rushes through me, making me stronger once again. I stop too soon for my taste and stare him in the eyes. A barrier protects him, a mental discipline of sorts. It does not matter. I am already inside after biting him. His fall is simply a matter of patience. Patience, and relentless efforts. Slowly, carefully, I erode the wall he erected around his core. My mind seeps in the cracks. It peels off protective layers one by one, and dissects metaphorical locks before tearing them apart. Vanr''s face grows slack as the last of his willpower crumbles to dust. "All yours." "Mind working fer the crown full time? I can pay ye well." "I am sorry, old friend. I already have my own kingdom." "Heh. Had to try." Loth grabs the husk I left and asks questions in fast, angry Dvergur. Vanr''s answers are slow and mechanical. He offers no resistance at all. I pick at the hole in my dress out of boredom. "I am done," Loth finally says, "ye want to finish yer meal?" I consider the offer. I gave the would-be assassin as an offering to my friend, so that he could partake. In a way. Draining him now would feel strange. Besides, I am sated. "Let''s give him to your bride. Sparing his worthless life will please her peace-inclined mind." "Oh, right. And maybe I can get him publicly executed later. Do you mind if I anesthetize him?" Hmm... what? "Be my guest?" Loth grabs Vanr by the collar again and throws the most devastating, jaw-shattering hook I have ever seen. The other man twists on the side and crashes against stacked crates. "I think he is asleep, now," I remark drily. "Damn, that felt good. Let''s return to the others." I grumble and grab Vanr from the ground. Loth has returned to his old habit of having me carry heavy things! Chivalry is dead. We come out to see that the luggage has already been secured, and we are ready to go. "Where do you want him?" I ask. Kari lifts a finger and speaks in a slow and purposeful tone. Like a politician. "Despite the anger we feel, we must respect the rules of war as stated by¡ª" "Just toss him on the roof, I''ll grab the chains," Skjoll interrupts. The pair exchanges a murderous glare as I follow the bodyguard''s recommendation. I understand rules. I also understand brevity. The carriage''s insides amaze me by offering the most comfortable seats ever to grace my posterior outside of a salon. They cradle my butt in their velvety embrace, soothing and welcoming. I find myself repositioning just to make sure that they are real. "Nervous?" Sheridan asks, as he comes in. "No, just¡­" "Wow, these are some comfortable couches." "I know! Incredible." The red upholstery. The enchanted oil lamp and their soft red glow. Thick curtains. A silent Thirst. All conspires to push me into a state of relaxation, briefly interrupted when we are joined by Loth and Kari. The four of us fit comfortably inside despite the Dvergur''s heavy frames. "Like it?" Loth asks with a smile. "Yes, an amazing arrangement." "The inner part is shielded against sunlight as well, a necessity during our travels." "Wait," I ask, suddenly worried, "is our destination far?" "Indeed, for we are going to the Scandes, the long mountain range that runs the entirety of the Scandinavian peninsula. And since it is summer now, night will only last for a bit over six hours." "You cannot be serious¡­" I say with horror. Alas, he was. The trip to the Skoragg mountain home lasts for four days, four bloody days during which I remain mostly cooped up. At least Sheridan gets to visit the local woods. Only my books and Loth''s company saves me from insanity. "Leikny tried to remarry with my brother, but he cast her oot. He was fed up with her bull¡­ her nonsense too. Anyway, I showed up and got reinstated in less than three months by the old guard. The Isvalir really went too far recently, what with all the factories they tried ta take away from us. We recovered a lot of stuff already. Firebombed a few others. Cousin Okri was sitting on enough explosives ta blow up a mountain just for the occasion." "Did you manage to catch up with everyone and survive the subsequent hangover?" "Aye. By spreading it over four years. My liver will never be the same." "Is there an end game with that clan? How are they still trying to mess with you?" "Lots of oaths taken, have to disentangle by proving misconduct to the council. It''s just a gaggle of old farts who oversee the application of laws. No real power, but everyone listens to them all the same. We are winning now and when we''re done, I''ll make sure the Isvalir have just enough money left for a one-way trip to Canada." What did the Canadians do to deserve that? "Anyway, after your testimony, we''ll visit the land. I got some amusing things ta show you as an apology." "I will look forward to it, and do not forget to provide snacks." On the fifth night, I wake up to a comfortable bed covered in bear skin, and a vaulted ceiling of grey stone. A fire burns in a nearby hearth. Tapestries on the walls depict scenes of hunts. Skoragg, home of Loth''s clan. Chapter 125 - 120. The Hall of the Mountain King Loth did not give me a room, he gave me a full suite. I enjoy a long bath in a smooth cavity dug into the very rock, then realize that Loth left me something to wear. I pass my hand over a long blue dress and corset of a very thick fabric over a long-sleeved white shirt. It looks practical and feels nice. A part of me remains bothered that Loth knows my exact dimensions up to and including my breast size. It feels strangely intimate, in a way, but this part is silenced when I put on perfectly made boots. They are deliciously snug as they wrap my toes in their loving embrace. Now dressed and ready for battle, I search the room for a message, which I find on a night table by the bed. Finding where I am before leaving is paramount when walking out of the wrong door can turn me into an extra crispy pile of charcoal before I can say ''sun''. The message is laconic. "Lass, join me in my office. Get out of your room and turn left, then the first right. It''s at the end of the corridor. Your Vassal is fine by the way. He is out hunting elk with my cousin Rollo. The one with the hairy arse." Thank you for keeping me informed, Loth, much appreciated. I follow his directions through dim corridors lit by lanterns. The walls are sheer rock decorated with ancient, massive tapestries. Hand-woven, of course. I knock on a massive reinforced door decorated with steel, and politely wait. "Ah, you''re awake! And so early too." Loth wears a comfortable long jacket over a simple shirt and brown pants. He looks much like he used to when we lived together. The only change is a large amulet encircling a large ruby dangling from his collar. "Would you mind telling me why your door is trapped with explosive runes?" I ask. I did not trigger the spell, of course. It would have roasted a good quarter of the alley. "The entire fortress is trapped to the gills. But don''t ye worry yer pretty head, it''s all under the control of old man Erikur." "The one who punched a bear?" "And did it again when some cunt said it was bollocks. He was off his tits both times too." "I feel safer already." "Say, why don''t ah show you ''round my gaff." "Careful, your Scottish is showing." "Does it, aye?" I roll my eyes, but I trail him as he goes by. The Skoragg complex can only be referred to as massive. It is practically an underground city carved from the very rock, both solid and surprisingly cozy. We inspect a massive foundry where hairy, bare-chested men work in sweltering heat, a common room where people are already feasting, and even a hospital! As we move, those we come across salute him and smile at me. "They don''t know that ye''re a bloodsucker. We kept your coming all hush hush, and the clothes help as well. You look local." Not really. There are Swedes, who are mostly blonde and tall but with slightly different features so that I still look like a stranger. The Dvergur are easily recognizable from their heavy-set frames, both men and women. Some Dvergur are more easy to discern than the others, and I wonder if they are mixed bloods. "Wait, why are they always smiling at me then? Do they think I am your, ahem, side business?" "What? Nae!" Silence. "Well, yes. It''s a common practice here. Lots of kids with mixed ancestry, myself included. Sometimes, the Dvergur blood reemerges in surprising places. Take Ibn Arfin for example. Here he comes. Hey Arfin!" "Alaikum Salaam, boss man." We pass by an arabic Dvergur. "Lad had a hard time finding us, I tell ya. But probably not as hard as Li Hua. Anyway, we have a lot of kids with humans so it''s nothing shocking." "You are not going to get married soon? Should you not remain celibate?" I ask, scandalized. "Bah! I''ll knock Kari up good in no time, don''t worry about it." "But surely¡­ is this normal?" Loth turns to me and, this time, his expression is serious. "Listen lass, there is one absolute rule for, errr, living arrangements for our kind. It''s to mind yer own business." I raise my hands in surrender. I am not here to judge. "''Course, it stops at violence and the like. You get my meaning." "How do you raise the kids by the way?" "The clan has a reliable support system. Let me show you the nursery," he tells me with a smile. This one is rather close to the surface, so that the children can have easy access to sunlight. He has the roof aperture closed before I get in. Inside, I find a nicely decorated room with rows of cradles hosting an army of toddlers under the watchful gaze of a human nurse whose smile appears to be glued on. I channel the Hastings essence to look like a mortal myself. Some would react poorly to a vampire around their kids. "Oh, it is so nice to meet you. How do you like Sweden?" she asks me with a heavily accented voice. "Hmm. Delightful so far. So¡­ you take care of the children?" "Until a parent returns, yes. Many have tasks to complete that require utmost concentration! Our facilities are designed to provide a relaxing and stimulating environment favorable to a healthy growth!" Behind her, Loth rolls his eyes, but then he soon turns and smiles at the occupant of a cradle. Aw. I cannot wait for him to be a new dad. "You are expecting then?" she asks as she happily jumps to conclusions, "Here, this is Mathys, he is my two months-old nephew!" Arg, no! I react immediately and hold the toddler properly, one hand protecting the neck and head while the other supports the butt. He smells of Dvergur magic, though it is still nascent. Loth turns and looks at me with horror. Ah, he does not know that my experience as a madame gave me some experience with spawns. This baby looks healthy. Hmmm. For one moment, I consider how pliable they are and how much my kind could achieve with more intervention in education. The little one turns his gaze to me. "Aguu." "Burp on me and I will eat your mom," I singsong. "Oh, you already know how to handle a babe! You do not need my help at all!" the nurse states. Is she constantly upbeat? "I helped in raising kids in my previous position, but I never had one of my own. I am sure it will be fine, but you know men. Always worried about things they do not understand," I tell her. Behind the nurse, Loth blinks, flabbergasted. "Oh yes, he''s a worrywart I''ll give you that. Oh, you are visiting, yes? Go and finish your tour then come and see me sometime, we will exchange tips." I nod and bring a little more red to my cheeks. The Hastings essence does not make me more human, it shows me how to act like one and I find the results hilarious. Especially now that Loth drags me out into a stone alley with a mighty frown on his brow. I immediately drop the essence and make myself cold and immobile. "Oh, that''s more like it lass, ye had me worried there for a moment. All bashful and delicate like a normal person." "Hey!" "A true vampire would have said that the baby would make a fine sacrifice, haha." I keep my expression neutral. "You¡­ did not think that, right?" "He did have a nice, potent essence." "Oi!" I smile, he smiles, and we chuckle. "I still abide by my code, Loth. No children." "I know." "So, where is your throne room? Do you have one? Is the throne made out of the skulls of your enemies?" "Naw, we are not like that. We have a council table. Though, if you want to see the seat of my power¡­" He winks suggestively. I am not fooled. "It is your workshop, is it not?" "Got it in one! Come on, let me show you what I have been working on." Compared to before, Loth''s pace is faster and more excited than regal. We retrace our steps to the private quarters where my suite is, and I think I get a general idea of the mountain base''s layout. The heavily defended main entrance leads to barracks and the mess hall, with several wings branching out in every direction. The royal quarters are only one of the many complexes snaking below the skin of the earth, with many openings letting in the sunlight. We avoid those. Loth still informs me that they are made out of a crystalline substance that could block artillery shells. I admit to being impressed. They even have a massive greenhouse. This place could stand a siege almost indefinitely. Finally, Loth leads me to a vault door the size of a carriage. He removes a massive key from the recess of his jacket and inserts it in. A rumbling later, and the steel obstacle rotates on oiled hinges with nary a sound, revealing the treasure within. I admit to being impressed. I admit to being very impressed. "Wow." "Right? Come in, come in." Loth''s workshop occupies a circular room with a high ceiling, and walls of sheer rock. Illumination is provided by a set of enchanted lamps giving off a powerful white light. Rails dug into the very ground lead to a pair of gates on opposite sides of the place, perpendicular to the entrance we took. You could fit a sloop in there. In accordance to its owner''s bubbling mind, the workshop is neatly divided into subsections. Vertically. Even now, slabs and constructs and armors and tables hang suspended into the air at various elevations by heavy chains, each one being a work in progress. I see a magical cannon like the one he made for his home back in Georgia, but twice the size. His black iron armor hangs on one side and another delicate cuirass his size dangles at the opposite end. Racks of axes and swords take an entire wall. The current setting shows that he was working on something that looks like a bathtub, but I suspect might be some sort of metal coating technology. "What is that thing?" I ask, eyes filled with wonder. "A self-heating bathtub." Oh. "Let me show you something amazing." Loth lowers one of the many levers covering the walls, this one tucked snugly between sheafs of notes stabbed with a spear tip, and a coffee table with a half-eaten sandwich. The beautiful work of art lowering down like an angel from heaven sends me into a state of pure delight. It has eight long barrels at the end of a rectangular body with a thin bar at the top. It shines with cooling and reinforcement enchantments. "Is that¡­" "A work in progress, for now. Repetition is not so much a problem as weight, recoil, overheating and so on. Now, with an efficient framework, we could get something that could fire a hundred bullets a minute¡­ for five minutes." "Amazing." "It would be fixed, of course. Unless¡­ the wielder had unnatural strength." Wink wink. "By the Watcher!" "Problem is that it''s too heavy for me, and I have to turn it all the time. Mind giving me a hand? Just like old times?" I even have issues unsticking my gaze from this breathtaking piece of glorious engineering. "Spare apron?" "Behind you. Third shelf." One hour later. "It''s Raz, then Mir, then Ko," Loth explains in the calm voice reserved for those touched in the head. "And how do you expect to close the outer circle then, genius?" I hiss. I balance the hundreds of pounds of steel on one hand and point at a circle near the firing mechanism. "That''s not the outer circle. It''s the primer. The outer circle links to it via an Ogham conductor inside the casing." I open my mouth to reply and realize that¡­ yes, it should work perfectly. In fact, he just provided a brilliant solution to the energy efficiency problem I had seen coming. "Fuck it, you''re right. And do try not to look so smug, no need to be an asshole about it." "Language!" he squeals in a comically high voice. I point a claw at his chest. "None of that. What I say in the workshop stays in the workshop. Or else." Loth crosses his massive arms over an equally muscular torso. He gives me a slow nod. Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. "Fair enough. Help me turn ¡ª oh, bollocks." I hear it too. The entrance door opens with ponderous slowness. Kari walks in, looking quite fetching in an elegant forest-green dress. Her dark blonde hair is held in an elaborate do that highlights her aristocratic features. Her brown eyes smolder with barely contained fury. She takes the scene in. Me with an apron and protective mitts holding the gun barrels in optimal position; Loth in a similar gear, with a helmet on, right eye covered with a magic detection lens. He holds a brush and a pot of scintillating paint. She crosses her arms and takes a deep, rage-tinged breath. The kind that starts every screaming session. It does not happen, though. She blows it through her nose with the sound of forge bellows as her anger turns cold. She pointedly takes a watch from a pocket at her flank, and shakes it on its chain. Then, she turns around and departs with affronted dignity. Another Dvergur woman pops her head through the opening and frowns at us, before shaking her head in disgust and leaving as well. The vault gate shuts with the clang of a sealed coffin. "Something you forgot?" "I, ah, we were supposed to join her in her office after the visit. So she could prepare you for the testimony." "Really. When was that?" "Hum, what''s the time, lass?" "Nevermind." Loth and I manage to finish the circle we were working on, then race to Kari''s personal chambers in record times. The lady of the house waits for us in a throne-like leather chair with the attendant we saw earlier, a stern woman with greying brown hair. She snaps a fan close as we come in. Loth stands awkwardly with his hands behind his back like the big goof he can be sometimes. I, however, am a mighty vampire who does not need to justify herself so I stand with my arms crossed and looking at the side because I did absolutely nothing wrong and definitely do not deserve a scolding, so there. "Honestly, I am unsure as to how I am supposed to react to the two of you." I frown. I am here to assist at the request of a friend, as a favor. I do not answer to her. Kari must have felt something, because her expression softens. "I apologize, Ariane. You are our guest here, and we have not been equal to the task. If only there was a thousand years old adult with a good knowledge of the situation who could act responsibly¡­" "Alright, I get it," Loth grumbles in turn. "Good." Kari''s anger finally leaves her. Her attendant, whose name is Erva, brings chairs and we sit around a low table loaded with dried fruits and snacks. The Dvergur help themselves while I drink my host''s favorite infusion. Her room is much less cluttered than Loth''s space, with modern furniture made of dark wood. I notice that green is ubiquitous in her choice of decoration, clothes, and jewelry. A clan thing, perhaps? "Ariane, the reason why I wanted the pleasure of your company today was to prepare you for the examination that you so kindly agreed to participate in. While we are grateful for your selfless help, I have to regretfully say that the council of clans will make no effort to be accommodating." "What she''s saying is that they''re a bunch of nasty old twats," Loth adds helpfully as he skewers a meatball. "I do not need translation dahling," Kari hisses, finally out of patience. Loth shrugs. "In any case, we have made the formal request to have our marriage certified. Normally, this would not be necessary, but the Isvalir will have no recourse if we have the council''s backing. They will be pushed out for good. This is where you come in. The only serious objection they made was that Loth was betrothed to a vampire." "That sure made the old cunts foam at the mouth, squealing about treason. Pure rage." "It would have been against tradition," Kari continues, "and the council embodies tradition. Your timing could not be more fortuitous. My point is that they will ask questions with little regard to propriety." I take a sip of the warm liquid to give myself the time to think. My instincts are inherited from a man who normally repays insults by pulling the offender''s spine out of their own ribcage while they are still alive. "You do realize that there are limits to how much I can tolerate?" I say. "The council itself is no monolithic body. If one of them goes too far to provoke you, they will be censored by the other six. Or five. You only have to clad yourself in contempt while the offender reaps the consequences of their own actions." I have to ask. "What if they do go too far and I eat them?" Kari''s expression turns pained. "If they insult you too openly under our roof and you attack, we will side with you. It means bloody war, however, so please keep it in mind?" "Oh, and if ye do start killing, leave me that old cockless bugger Ragnar, lass. I want to strangle him myself," Loth adds helpfully between two bites. Kari massages her left temple with two fingers. Next to her, Erva sighs. "I promise to do my best. I am here to solve problems, not create more," I say. That gets me an appreciative nod from both women. "That is all I can ask. Now, what are vampire councils typically like?" "In terms of what?" "Everything." Why does she ask? Ah, I understand, she wants to manage my expectations. "We gather with our seconds in a secured underground vault, around a modular round table of obsidian. The Speaker animates the reunion and addresses the issues one by one. We vote on decisions that do not reach consensus." "So, well-ordered and mostly silent?" "An understatement. We do not move, nor breathe, and we are expected to remain unfailingly polite at all times. That includes a perfect control of one''s aura. Arguments are a rarity, because negotiations occur before the meeting starts." "No one raises their voices?" "It has not occurred yet." They look impressed. Loth drops a chicken bone in a nearby trash can and cleans his lips. He is back to serious. "This council is going ta be very different then. The decrepit old baggages will convene in our own council room around a table. Kari and I will sit there and present our case. Observers are allowed in benches on the side. Thing is, we have all known each other for a long time and we all have some faraway cousin who shagged their own faraway cousin and stole their chicken while they were asleep. Ye get the gist." "Is this a trial or a family argument?" I ask as a jest. Alas. They do not laugh. "Ye''re spot on. It''s both. And it can heat up fast. I was joking earlier, lass, I would also like it if blood were not shed. And they will insult you. At least some of them will." Dammit. "We are perhaps overstating how offensive they will be. What matters is that you are prepared." "I understand." "Good. Now, Erva?" "I suggest we retire to bedroom," the brunette says in thickly accented English, "I take measurement for new dress while you teach customs?" "Yes," Kari replies, "that would work nicely." Loth is smart enough not to tell them that he already has my measurements. We three leave Loth to gorge himself on snacks, and move to a side room hosting a palatial bed, as well as a small separation behind which I change into a shift. Erva then assaults me with a marked band while taking notes on a small book. Kari handles the Dvergur culture cramming session. The council consists of seven very old Dvergur, the oldest ones alive. I am taught their names and personalities, which can apparently all be placed somewhere on the ill-tempered and short-fused side of the spectrum. One in particular attracts her attention: Ragnar. He is close to the Islavir. He is also the kind of obtuse, rude jerk who has a very strict idea about everyone''s place in the world, especially his own. Anything that goes against his opinion is dismissed as false, or, when evidence is overwhelming, staged by his opponent to ridicule Ragnar''s genius. I hate him already. Our meeting finishes with dinner, where I join my hosts and Sheridan in the main hall as a guest of honor. Someone found half-decent coffee for which I am grateful, and we are entertained with music and beer. Soon, the festivities pick up in the expected fashion: everyone gets roaring drunk. I even consent to play a knife-throwing game, which I win handedly to everyone''s amusement. Sheridan gets his own attention after bagging an elk at three hundred feet in one shot. He soon leaves with one cute Dvergur lass under each arm. He will definitely have much to say about European women upon his return. As the night goes on, I finally isolate myself to practice with my Rose. I would consider myself almost recovered, and my new style slowly takes shape. I am almost at the point where I wield the whip sword better than the spear, though it will take a few more weeks of practice. I simply have too much to play with. For the next two days, I mostly stay indoors. I help Loth around his workshop during the afternoon and roam around after night has fallen. The Skoragg fortress is set deep in the Scandes, surrounded by a dense forest that the clan spent lots of efforts keeping uninhabited. While most of the complex is far below-ground, many facilities keep close to the surface to offer sunlight to dwellers and plants alike. The flower greenhouse offers a perfect moonlight-drenched setting for a good reading session. Sadly, the other ones use manure as fertilizers. On the third night, I leave through a set of massive gates to run for an hour, and climb atop a massive pine to look around, finding not one single light, one column of smoke to indicate the presence of humanity. The howling wind and creaks of evergreens form a melancholic melody to match the scent of sap. I enjoy this small moment of serenity before getting on Metis'' back to hunt something. The big girl is just happy to be running around without constraints. On the fourth day, I wake up inside of my sarcophagus. A curious thing. I trust the Dvergur hospitality without doubt, and so far I have slumbered in the bed they offered. And yet, the mere thought of one of them dropping the dress and seeing me lying there defenseless creates an instinctive response that compelled me to relocate to my trusted haven. They cannot have access to my unconscious form. No. Never. They do not deserve it. I only allow Torran to do so. One more quirk to add to the list. One smooth slide of a massive rail-mounted slab of reinforced steel and I am free to glare around for intruders. There are none. Instead, I am greeted by a new addition to my room: a dummy dressed in an extravagant dress. Oh, it is lovely. Erva must have made it with my nature in mind. The cloth is royal blue, my favorite color, with long sleeves and rather form-fitting. The fabric is thick and decorated with leaf patterns in mesmerizing arrangements. The crafty maker added a black cape with a white hermine fringe, giving a slight viking nobility feel paired with courtly charm. I am impressed. And I try it on immediately, only to discover that the part is not just comfortable, it is also armored around the chest. Perfect. A small envelope has been left for my attention, directing me to ring a bell to call for Erva, which I do. The attendant immediately crashes into my lair as if she had been set against the door for the past hour. She starts fussing with my hair and manages to put it in a small braid which she ties around my head, freeing my neck. I am finally lent jewels for the occasion. I should really get my own; I could hide some nasty enchantments in those. Practical and elegant. Finally, we are done. "You look very good and very fetching. Go impress the old wankers!" she says. I should probably tell her not to quote Loth, at least not unless she feels like screaming insults. Ah, well. The walk to the council chamber is short, but crowded. Gaggles of gossiping adults line the walls. They recognize me from the feasts and greet me with polite encouragements. "Don''t let them push ya around!" "Tell Ragnar he''s a flea-ridden bitch." Not the most diplomatic people around. Eventually, I run out of stone corridors and find my destination, a heavy double-gate topped by the Skoragg name in Dvergur runes. Skjoll guards it with all the pleasant attention of a prison guard. "They are in session. You can come in whenever you want." "Then let us get this over with." I am let in. The council room is much more solemn than I expected. Tapestries depicting significant historical events line the circular walls in thick formations. Rows of chandeliers provide a clear light for the large round table occupying its center, an ancient wood construct entirely covered in scars, burn marks, and scrawls. A few seats have been placed at the corners for observers. On the left side, of course, I find Loth and Kari holding hands in an adorable fashion. On my right, however, comes a surprise. Leikny provokes us with her presence as Loth''s divorced wife. A man sits by her side in a vision of affronted pride, clearly a relative. All four of them are silent. The humdrum of conversation comes from an assembly of ancient, wizened, bickering folks dressed in rich clothes too busy hurling insults at each other to realize that I have come in. I stand there, not knowing what to do. A glance at Loth reveals that he himself is quite lost, and more than a bit irritated. It takes a good twenty seconds for one of the two women present to raise her eyes to the ceiling after an ancient codger yelled at her in their tongue. When her gaze descends, it lands on me. "All of you, shut up, you are embarrassing me in front of the cold one!" One by one, the grunts of conversation die down until I find myself under the collective glare of centuries of stubborn hostility. I feel at home already. Following Kari''s instructions, I curtsey low enough to show respect, but not submission. I greet them in their tongue with the sentence I was taught. I am, unsurprisingly, interrupted halfway. "Yeah yeah, come sit your butt, girl, we don''t have all day!" the oldest one complains in a voice broken by age, and probably spirit abuse. I recognize him as Yngvar the Red-handed, the oldest Dvergur alive. He is almost two thousand years old. "You claim to care about tradition, but you interrupt the child as she greets us?" the woman who had first noticed me now complains. They bicker. It has to be Minttu, his wife. The others inspect me as I sit down with all the grace I am capable of, which is quite a lot. I present myself as graceful and harmless. To do so, I merely need to move slowly and fluidly while doing a few useless things such as repositioning my hands after I am seated. I have spent enough time around mortals to know how to appear demure. The members of the council lower their guard somewhat, with the exception of a man with red and grey hair, who glares with barely contained outrage. That must be Ragnar. "Enough of this!" Yngvar finally erupts in English, "We will proceed as I say. First, the cold one does not speak our language properly, so we will use English." Some grumbling. "None of that! You all know the tongue, even you Sigvald, don''t try to piss me off again. We all know you eloped with that Essex girl!" More grumbling, especially from Sigvald who bellows in Dvergur something along the lines of ''brief'' and ''divorce''. Yngvar ignores them. "We get to ask questions one by one, starting with me. Also, this is an official event so I will ask an oath. Lass, what''s your name?" "Ariane of the Nirari." "I shagged an Ariane once, in Greece," one of the men announces, eyes lost in dreamy recollection. "Nobody cares, Rolf, get those tits out of your mind!" Rolf seems to consider the request for a moment, then he rests his head on a fist and a beatific smile blooms on his face. "And we lost the old pervert. Fine! Ariane of the Nirari, we are here to determine if those two can get married without breaking some oaths. Waste of my fucking time, but what can you do? Anyway, can you please swear that you will say the truth, the whole truth?" I expected it, and prepared an answer. "I will swear to be entirely truthful, but I cannot promise to say everything, as I am bound by previous agreements." The Accords prevent me from revealing too much to rival political entities, and their council is one such group. "Well, fine, that works too. But no empty words!" He removes a monocle from a breast pocket and puts it on, inspecting me critically. It has to be magical. "I, Ariane of the Nirari, swear on my essence to be truthful to this assembly for the duration of the council." The oath takes hold in a way that leaves my chest feeling cold and vulnerable. Yngvar nods and places his monocle back in his pocket. "Out of curiosity, what happens if you lie now?" Minttu asks. "If I break my word knowingly, my essence will fracture. I would suffer the worst pain in existence for the brief moment that I still live." "Is her oath worth anything?" Ragnar insinuates with a soft voice, the snake. Yngvar dismisses the argument with a frown. "The vampires are even more magical than us, you cauliflower-brained dunce. I saw the magic take hold on her with my own eyes. Now shut up. I ask first. Lass, are you betrothed to Loth?" "No." That one was easy, and it should suffice to prove that the couple can marry safely. Of course, that unruly pack of codgers will not be satisfied until they have fully explored our relationship. They interrogate me one after the other. "Were you ever betrothed?" "No." "Have you two fucked a lot while you were in America?" "I have never engaged in sex with Loth," I say between gritted teeth. So¡­ rude! Agh. I must remember that their culture is much more loose with physical intimacy than we are. "Really? Why? Is he not good at it?" Pah, are we really doing this? I stop and look around, thinking that the person asking (Rolf the pervert, of course) would get the righteous talk down he deserves. Alas, it does not happen. They all await my assessment of Loth''s sexual prowesses with detached attention. Is it that serious? "Come on lass, don''t leave us hanging! Not good enough for you?" I sigh, and speak in a low, deliberate voice. "Numerous widows of the town we lived in mentioned that he was, and I quote, a god. I believe that they were honest with their own assessment, and they, ahem, smelled and sounded like they meant it." By the Watcheeeeeeerrrrrrr get me out please. The council aligns for the first time, in proud approval. "Alright then. Next question!" That one comes from Ragnar. He smirks, very pleased with himself. "Would you mind explaining what you were doing on Loth''s territory to start with?" Oh, implying that I hunted him down for my own benefit. He could prove that Loth is unfit, perhaps, or polluted somehow. "No, I would not mind." They wait. I wait. We all wait and I find myself smiling. "Next question, please?" I sweetly suggest. A few of the members guffaw when they figure out what I did while others complain. Ragnar erects himself from his seat, red with anger. "You dare disrespect¡ª" "Sit the fuck down Ragny boy, afore I give you a proper walloping. She got you good. It''s your fault for trying to sound like a posh asshole. ''Would you miiiiiiind''. Who the fuck are you, the Prince of Wales? Piss off, you''ll get your turn again. Next!" "How long did you live together?" "Around ten years, I could not tell you the exact time without some calculations." "Were you threatened into coming here?" Yngvar asks, since it is his turn again. "Here, to Sweden? No." "Will you receive compensation for appearing here?" I consider my answer for a while. Compensation is such a vague concept. I had better be thorough. "I was not paid or promised services, or even a favor. I did receive hospitality, and I expect that I will be offered nourishment some time soon as well." "Do you have shares in businesses owned by the Skoragg clan?" "Not to my knowledge. Some of my investments are through funds that I do not manage, so it remains a distant possibility." I am seeing a trend here. They are not satisfied, and will not be satisfied until they understand us. "Why were you on Loth''s land when you met him? Why did you seek the King of Skoragg hall?" Rganar asks again as his turn comes. Those are two questions! "Answer them lass, so that we''re done," Yngvar asks, out of patience. Fine. "We did not meet on his land. We met by accident during a hunt. And he was not the king of Skoragg hall at the time! Your understanding of our circumstances appears tenuous at best," I coldly state. "Perhaps, then, you should enlighten us," the next member asks before Ragnar explodes. This one is the only other woman. She smiles kindly. A request, not an order. I do not make a secret of my situation at that time. I guess I could share a bit, at least so that they do not hound us anymore with their ceaseless quest to find out the origin of our friendship. I look behind me at Loth, sitting on the side. He is serene, and gives me a subtle nod. He supports my decision, no matter what. I turn back and inspect the council. They are curious now, so curious, in fact, that they are silent. "Oh, very well then." I take a deep breath. Sheridan is out there, making me more human, otherwise I would never agree to share my own feelings for the sake of a friend, no matter how precious he is. Even now, frustration at the perceived audacity of the council still whispers in my ears that they know enough to make a decision, and that I would be well within my rights to inform them that our friendship is none of their business. Alas, Dvergur are passionate and emotional creatures, and if I truly want to help Loth, I must address them in a language that they can understand. So I swallow my pride and the distance I create with strangers because, in the end, I am here to assist someone I hold dear. Friendships are not always meant to be easy and free. It is quite telling that I would rather open someone''s ricage than open my own heart. They are waiting. Enough procrastination, I take a deep breath and try to forget my surroundings. I go back to those days decades ago when I was not free, mighty, and tightly woven in a dense network of allies and friends. I bring myself to remember those few hours of consciousness I had every night, that I had to spend finding blood and walking some distance before torpor inevitably made me defenseless. I can see her vividly, the younger Ariane. The one who endured only because of her unwavering belief that things would get better, if she only lasted for another night. I call upon her now. "When I met Loth, I was dirty and wet. It was the end of summer in Louisiana. I had come to a swamp to hunt an alligator as part of a deal to get enough blood to last me the night. I had recently escaped from abuse and torture by feigning my own death. My torment had lasted for six months and I was six months old. Twenty, if you counted my mortal years." The silence helps me focus. I close my eyes and I can see him, clad in his iron armor. He looked like a giant bug, and his sudden appearance gave me quite the fright. "Loth was there too for the same prey. From the moment I met him, I expected him to betray me and I prepared myself to fight or kill him. I was so distrustful that when the alligator did attack, it caught me completely off guard. Loth, of course, killed it in an instant with a bolt through the eye. After that, he¡­ made a casual advance." Chuckles around the table. I do not look. I am almost there. "I reacted badly. My captivity had been¡­ a harrowing experience. Loth saw that. He did not ridicule me, or threaten me. He did not run away. He saw that I needed help and he offered it. He saved me, I think. Perhaps not my life, but certainly the heart of what I am." Silence has returned. "In the following months, Loth was there for me. He was my first friend. The very first one. Even Jimena, the woman who helped me escape, became closer after a lengthy correspondence. Loth did not not just host me, he helped me grow. He taught me how to have a personal code, and how to handle mortals. He created a system to allow me to feed as a fledgeling without hurting the townsfolk. I owe much to his mentorship, including my love for design and smithing, especially if it relates to explosive ordinance or ways to deliver said explosive ordinance to faraway people I dislike. He taught me runes and forging and taking life with a grain of humor. There are only a handful of individuals on this planet that I regard with the same admiration and¡­ love, as I regard him. All the questions you have asked me only showed one concern. Who is this cold one, and what is her game here? I play no game tonight. I am here, because Loth asked me to come here. He could have asked for an assassination or a bombing run or plain old piracy and I would have obliged, but he just wanted me to talk to you. So, I do. Loth is a friend in a world of politics and ancient horrors. It is enough for me." I do not believe that the council members have remained silent for so many consecutive seconds for at least a decade. Of course, it ends quickly. sea??h th§× N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Say, girl," Yngvar asks, "what runes would you use on the base of an artillery gun barrel?" "Circled Tir Ko Og for reinforcement, unless you are going for single use and feel a bit adventurous, then you can go for an imposition glyph." "Sacrilege! Who would do this to a gun?" a man by his side asks. "Shut up! I use those on Turkish bronze bombards so I did not have to wreck them when we left!" Yngvar retorts, spit flying over the pitted table. "And how do you make proper black powder, hmmm?" Rolf asks, his mind finally away from whatever erotic recollection it had dwelled on. "Three parts salpeter, then for the rest three-fifths softwood charcoal, either willow or buckthorn, and two-fifths sulfur. Mix and grind to fine dust, and add liquid so that it can form granules. I prefer pure alcohol and water, but I drop a pinch of my blood for special bullets. You can add graphite afterward to prevent it from getting too wet." "What about adding runed bones from magical beasts?" another asks. I roll my eyes. Loth bored me enough with this ancient controversy. "It was proved not to work in a conclave of the clans two centuries ago. After lengthy experiments, I might add." "Hah! Even the vampires know about it, you decrepit fool!" another exclaims triumphantly. "No respect for tradition!" I let them bicker, but I clearly gathered their attention. "Special bullets? How do you mean?" Yngvar asks with excitement. "Silver and steel alloy for the body. I personally engrave each and every casing as well." "What do you use them for?" his wife asks with naked curiosity. "Shield piercing and big game hunting. Either werewolves or my kin." "What runes do you use for piercing?" Yngvar asks in turn. "You must be dreaming if you think I will share my recipe for free," I retort, but with good humor. "Hah! Hahaha, indeed! Alright. Enough questions. Sigvald, Aarne, enough with that conclave spat, it is time to decide!" His gaze turns cold and cunning as he turns it to Ragnar, who was fuming in silence, then to Leikny and her relative. "I cannot believe that I let you sponge-brained milksops talk my ears off with this purity and influence bullshit. You morons got it upside down! It''s not Loth who got vampired, it''s Ariane of the whatever who got Dvergured!" The council is shocked by this strange revelation. As I am. I remember to close my mouth with a click. "What do you call someone with honor, strength, and a propensity to apply scientific knowledge to blowing things up?" "A friend!" Rolf roars. "That''s right. Case fucking closed. Let''s get it over with so I can get myself a beer. All in favor of letting those two younglings bind themselves together through sacred matrimony?" "Aye!" five of them answer, though Ragnar now turns red. "Are you all mad?" he screams, but in vain. "Then your union is approved by the council, may you regret it every day of your life like I do!" Minttu socks him in the jaw and the poor fool falls backward and out of sight. Rolf leans to the side to remove pewter mugs from the Watcher knows where while another stands up to bang on a nearby service door asking for booze. I¡­ supposed the council is over then? Or not, because a shrill female voice soon pierces through the party preparations. "I demand my last recourse!" Leikny screams, and to my surprise, the entire assembly grinds to a pause. No more screams or signs of merriment. They even stop moving as they look on with the mix of horror and fascination normally reserved for gruesome accidents. "What?" Minttu asks, aghast. "I am serious. I demand trial by combat! Ariane of the Nirari, I defy you!" What? Chapter 126 - 121. Folly I hesitate as to how to react. Yngvar does not. "Absolutely out of the question! Have you lost your mind? Erikur, you better talk some sense into your daughter!" He then proceeds to swear in Dvergur. Erikur and he get into a screaming match, with the rest of the council complaining in their language as well. I inspect the rebuked ex-wife. She will not meet my eyes, and wears powerful mental protections under her fancy coat, whose blurring effect I can feel at the edge of my perception. I can still taste her emotions from her rapid breath, and the sweat pearling on her temples. Frantic heartbeats and nervous movement do not betray fear, but eagerness. She wants it. She wants it very much. "Well?" she finally asks, shivering with nervous energy. "You are a schemer and a scoundrel, Leikny. I have no reasons to believe that you would not choose dawn as a duelling time to kill me while I sleep." "You call me a schemer, but here you are, a stranger in our clans," she declaims in a louder voice, one designed for an audience. "You can stop that nonsense right now, child, we have been buttered by much more eloquent politicians than you throughout the years. Your theatrics bore us," Minttu spits. The rest of the council backs her with hostile glares and angry mutters. They have seen it all. The stern rebuke takes the wind out of Leikny''s sails, but Minttu is not done. "You have no standing. The rite of combat was designed when an objective decision based on evidence could not be achieved. It is a last resort, a way to place the ultimate decision in the hands of fate when we admit our failure to discern what is good and what is right. I watched two parents kill each other for the guardianship of their child. You¡­ defiling this sacred and horrific tradition disgusts me. The council''s decision was based on an oath-verified statement. Even your unlikely victory would not change that." "Our position has always been that Loth was not a suitable king for the illustrious Skoragg clan," Leikny''s father interrupts, "my daughter wishes to prove that his decision to cast her out was ruinous and self-destructive. She is worthy to be a queen, and she will prove it by taking down the creature in our midst, one who does not deserve to be here." "A waste of time then, Ariane of the something something has no obligation to answer your puerile challenge," Rolf notes while pouring schnapps from a pitcher. I want to kill her. But she is a sneaky little thing and she clearly expects to trap me. I turn to the father. The council is over, I have no need to keep the gloves on, nor do I have to show respect to the likes of those sniveling, cowardly rats. I release my aura, making sure that its cold depth conveys my annoyance and patiently reorient my seat to face them, in complete silence. I owe Loth my friendship and the council, my patience. I owe nothing to those two. They are fair game. Finally, the time has come to make things clear. "The play is over. You have lost," I start, "completely so. The marriage will take place. You will lose your influence over the Skoragg clan, and the enmities your greed created will hound you for the next century. Now you have come here at the eleventh hour with a flimsy excuse for a duel, one that follows rules that you will undoubtedly twist to their very limit because, in the end, you are just dishonorable pricks looking for a way out. I refuse." Silence and surprise fill the room, especially coming from the two Isvalir clan members. Perhaps they expected me to be hotheaded? In fact, I should be. I am surprised by my own reaction. I expected my instincts to push me to answer with arrogance, but they remain silent. The cause, I think, is the fact that the Isvalir are insignificant gnats in the grand scheme of things. Loth is successful, as was my wish. This challenge is merely the desperate yap of those who do not know when they are defeated. They are too far beneath me to cause anger. Of course, I cannot let this offense remain unpunished, but I have many other tools in my arsenal to retaliate. I am not some mindless, prideful idiot to jump head first into the first ambush. Or at least I try not to be. Leikny made the mistake of standing and requesting, while I sit and refuse. I am in a position of power. My aura fills the air. It smothers hers in its frigid embrace. "You refuse to face me? Are you scared?" she tries again. I chuckle, and she shivers once more. "Your taunts are worthless. What does a queen care that a beggar curses her name in an alley? If you want to play again, you have to put something on the table. Entertain me, little thing. Make it worth my time." Only after I am done do I register that Leikny is centuries older than I am. I have grown used to being the eldest among those who walk under the sun. Only the Dvergur can escape that rule. Oh, and the most aggravating people on the planet, but they do not count since they are technically from another world. Leikny turns to her father and they talk for a little while. Minttu and Yngvar also formed a huddle with another few elders, possibly discussing a common resolution. I seem to remember that they can veto the duel if they reach a consensus. I look at Ragnar, sitting with an air of utter arrogance, and know that they will fail. He will make sure of it. Leikny''s proposal comes a few moments later. Her voice drips with fear behind a haughty facade. "We will meet in glorious combat within the dome of the Ancestors'' Stellar Dome, at six in the evening, which I believe will be late enough for you to catch your beauty sleep? Any weapons and magical devices are allowed save for heavy explosives." Aha! All magical devices¡­ "Should you win, the Isvalir will transfer ownership of the Ice Palace to the Skoragg clan.'' Collective gasp. "I believe this is proof enough of our commitment." "Indeed. I shall first reconvene with my friends as this concerns them," I reply without missing a beat. I stand up and walk to Loth and Kari, who are still recovering from Leikny''s outrageous offer, and drag them to an isolated corner of the large room. I learnt quite a bit. "Why are they so desperate?" I ask. "You can tell?" Loth answers, "the Ice Palace is the seat of their power. Their ancestral home! They must be absolutely confident that they can take you down." "No," I answer, "there is more to it." "Indeed," Kari continues, "they did not hesitate, which means that they consider this a minor issue. Even the most rigged duel has several fail conditions, especially when both sides are intent on winning." "But¡­ you are implying that¡­" "Yes. The Isvalir already forfeited the palace," she finishes. Loth shakes his head in amazement. He steals a glance out, still struck with disbelief. "I find it hard to believe..." "Perhaps they made a deal that did not account for your return." "Perhaps¡­ listen lass, those are all good ideas but we have no way to confirm them. They could be arrogant and absolutely certain of their victory." "Not that old snake Erikur. He has ice in his veins," Kari interrupts "Fine! We should still refuse. No matter the cause, ye do not want to fight a rat backed into a corner if ye can avoid it." "Oh, but I do want to fight her." "What?" Both of my friends look on, nonplussed. "I want to find out why they want to kill me. And I know how they intend to do it." "How then?" Kari asks. "I can shield against fire and I am not the only master capable of that. My use of magic is no secret. Therefore, there is only one surefire way to kill me, and that would be¡­" "Sunlight. Of course. But to recreate sunlight is an impossible feat..." Kari says "I saw it done once, through a golem." "It can be done," Loth confirms, "although it is both incredibly difficult and prohibitively expensive. You need an amberstone for that, which will be destroyed in the process. Do you believe that this is the case?" "Most likely. What matters is that they really want me dead, and I would like to find out why. The main question would be, is there gear that can stop sunlight? I am asking you, Loth, as one of the world''s greatest smiths. If you do not know, then I will decline." "Do they have any way to kill you besides sunlight?" "One on one, on open ground and where I have access to all my equipment? It would take another vampire. Or an incredible archmage, which Leikny is not." I would feel it in her aura. "There is something, aye," Loth immediately replies, "something I have considered for a long time. A mirror armor." "A mirror?" I ask with some doubt. "Yes. You see, vampires have been defeated before by using mirrors to redirect sunlight deep into their lairs. Ergo, mirrors deflect sunlight. I believe that a shield made out of a mirror will efficiently deflect an attack ray. Just have to make sure it''s not too big." "How likely is it to work?" "It will work. We just have to make sure that the thing is thick enough to count as, well, being hidden. Your sensitivity to the light is a capricious thing. This rule works in a strange fashion." "How valuable is the Ice Palace anyway?" "Very, very, very valuable," Loth grumbles, eyes filled with visions of gold. "Extremely valuable," Kari adds. "It sits at the top of precious deposits of magically charged materials, and the glacier around it has taken on interesting properties over the centuries. Even if we displace the Isvalir clan as part of a war, the council could decide to step in to have its treasures shared communally by our race. Through this challenge, the Skoragg clan would become its sole owner peacefully and irrevocably. It would¡­ by Tyr." "It would make us the richest clan in the world." "Wait, what?" I interrupt, "that easily?" "You do not understand the ramifications of adding such a treasure trove to our already existing wealth," Kari states with excitement. It comforts me that she considers herself a member of the Skoragg clan. "We would be able to develop that much faster. Ariane, I know you are taking a risk, and so I will tell you now. Loth has been floating ideas concerning our future plans for the clan and our race in general. If you get us that prize, I will wholeheartedly support his idea." I turn to Loth, who blushes. I shall never grow tired of the centuries-old bearded muscle-bound colossus acting all bashful. "Aye, see, we want to leverage our expertise to build a manufacturing empire. We cannot innovate like the mortals do, but we are good at improving on pre-existing concepts. We want to open a Dvergur-led factory in the new world, to get access to more patents and rare talents." "If you give us this boon, we will give you an exclusivity contract. We will settle in your lands and pay tribute, against protection. Your land only. For a hundred years," Kari babbles. She has entered my personal space, and though I do not mind too much, I have a few reserves. The first is that we have not won the duel yet. In fact, I have not accepted it. And second, what am I, a supernatural collector? I got pet mages, pet werewolves, a pet vampire in the sense that Melusine is a sort of cat, and now pet Dvergur? I should have picked a land by the ocean so I could get better access to my pet fishmen. I would have built a small city with a sign that says: Ariane''s collection of wondrous creatures, where the food is you! No, seriously. "Seven point five percent of our income after tax," Kari says. By the Watcher, count me in. "Eight, I abhor decimals." "Fine!" Kari looks away and smiles, eyes lost in balance sheets and cash flows. I turn and take a peek at the Isvalir. They smile ever so slightly, studiously ignoring us. They got us and they know it. To lure me, they dangled a prize that could not be ignored, even by one who knows that there is a trap. "Very well, I will accept their conditions, but we need to check the duelling grounds beforehand for surprises. We also need to dig into why they are so set on killing me." Kari crosses her arm as she considers the situation. "I would not be too worried about the Stellar Dome. They would not dare tamper with it too outrageously, as it is a sacred site to our people. A long time ago, the clans cooperated to create an observatory to map the stars. It has not been used in a long while since the project completed successfully, at least not in its original design. Nowadays, the central circular space serves as a theater or as an arena, depending on the situation." "We will still have a look, in case they try anything sneaky. Don''t ye worry lass, if they booby-trapped the building, Yngvar will have their livers for breakfast." This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. "So, I agree?" "Yes, but ask for three weeks so that I have more than enough time to create an armor." "Fair enough." I return to the council and calmly address them. The Isvalir smile and leave first, with us departing soon afterward. Their trick certainly ruined our mood. The council, however, does not let that affect them too much as beer is brought in casks. As for us, there is much to plan and scheme. A week later. I regret everything. "It will be fine, lass, I promise." "You do not know that. Your confidence is born from nothing but STEP AWAY FROM THAT LEVER!" Loth lifts his arm in surrender, and returns to the center of his workshop. I clonk away in the heavy plate armor specifically designed for me. Now, I had considered sunlight to be my bane, one that no amount of finagling could ever hope to contravene. We are creatures of the night. We remain hidden. We cannot enter houses without invitation. In a way, all those limitations prevent us from ever truly taking over the world by strength. No matter how unstoppable the lord, there will be a time, every day, where he is as helpless as a babe. No matter how defenseless a mortal is, huddling in their house and praying will deflect all but the most determined of assaults. I always accepted the status quo as set in stone. My sire''s ancient mind has molded his spawn into respecting the ancient laws, and now, I am toeing the line of the most undeniable one there is. I am to step into sunlight. Well, to be honest, I am to pass an armored gauntlet through the hole of an isolation booth and into a very meager ray of twilight sun. It does not matter. It is¡­ THE SUN. I am to stay away away away AWAY¡­ "Ariane." "WHAT!" "If you want to give up¡­" "No! No, it''s... fine. I am doing it." I carefully place my left hand into the booth. The armor remains unwieldy despite its marvelous engineering. In normal armors, the articulations are thinner in order to conserve mobility, so that even knights could dance or climb ladder with the strength of their arms if they were fit enough. Here, we cannot afford the risk. Loth is confident that a one-centimeter-thick plate will do, and so the gauntlet is the first we test. If it passes muster, all other components will. "Ready or not, here we go, lass!" Clonk. I breathe hard and fast despite not needing the air. I am just¡­ panicking. Something happens. I¡­ cannot feel my hand! By the Watcher, I cannot move it at all. I need to¡­ It will hurt any moment now, an excruciating pain that will rob me of my senses because of THE SUN. Clonk. I drag my hand back with mighty strength and find¡­ the gauntlet intact. Sensations return to my hand. It worked. I am not feeling much better. The armor is so polished that its unblemished surface reflects its surroundings in a warped portrait, making me frown, because¡­ the armor does not reflect me when I am wearing it. It shows an inverted image of the room, and only the room. I feel deep unease, not just because the armor itself looks like someone with a twisted mind messed up an illusion, but because it skirts the rules in a way that bothers me on a fundamental level. And yet, I am committed now. I wish to succeed. I wish to cheat fate as I know the Isvalir will attempt the same. I just¡­ wish I had not taken this decision. It goes against every instinct I have. In fact, I have not fought my instincts this much since I almost turned rogue. I find the entire situation disconcerting. "I can always shoot the woman from afar, you know?" comes a voice from the side. Sheridan looks on with worry, one side of his moustache twisted by the repetitive application of nervous fingers. "No! The fight will happen," I reply. Nobody answers. I suppose that they want to leave me an exit door. As if I could cut and run now, after publicly accepting the challenge. I can only twist my own nature so far without it snapping back with indomitable revenge. Teasing the limits of my body is a thing. Running with my tail between my legs after a confrontation is another one entirely. "Alright lass, I will finish adjusting the armor and we can conduct a few more tests, just in case. They cannot use amberstone rays for more than a few seconds in any case, so your suffering will be short." "Yes," I reply bitterly, "one way or another¡­" "Stop whining." I am about to reply that he should go and stand under the radiance of the purifying orb, but he does it all the time and only gets a light tan. Unfair! Scandalously unfair. "Alright, we will test the entire armor at once. Give me an hour or so to check if everything works, then we get it over with. Please do tell me if you experience any burning sensation." "I am not one of your lady friends!" I spit with bad humor. Sheridan coughs in his elbow, but Loth remains unfazed. "You can be a bitch when you are stressed." "Hsss!" In the end, I experience no discomfort besides the oppressive promise of my fiery doom ravaging my psyche until I am a paralyzed wreck, my mind flooded by a numbing fear of THE SUN, THE SUN! I consider this a win. Given the circumstances. I promise to myself here and there that I shall never, ever, ever repeat this process after the duel. I can survive sunlight if protected by armor. Good. I cannot move if the rays touch it. The experiment is conclusive. Now let me ouuuut! With the armor ready in a week, I now have free time to pursue another project: learning why the Isvalir are so hell-bent on taking me. I turn to Kari for this, as she is the one in the ruling couple in charge of the spy network. "The rats are abandoning ship," she finally informs me as we take a late afternoon tea together. "Meaning?" "The Isvalir are leaving their Nordic strongholds. Some are taking ships owned by an interest group that we cannot identify. And no, before you ask, those are not Rosenthal ships. They belong to a third party. I hired human investigators to dig deeper. Unfortunately, they were disposed of while checking ship records back in Stockholm." "Gone without a trace?" "Yes, and nobody remembers a thing." "That¡­ sounds like vampire work." "It certainly does¡­" Kari grumbles above her cup with a glance that says ''you would know''. Well, yes, I would. I personally send a ''cease and desist'' letter to the perpetrator''s personal address as a final message, usually. I know that some of my kin prefer to remain mysterious all the way. "So, the clan has made agreements with shadowy partners and my life is the price?" "I suspect that the cost might be higher. The Ice Palace is being emptied as we speak, its ancestral treasures transferred to unknown destinations. They never planned on staying, and rightly so. The Skoragg clan as a whole is coming to terms with how much they abused our trust. Our retaliation would have crushed them. In any case, your demise was very likely commandeered by whoever now helps them in their exile. I have no way of learning the identity of your mysterious enemy in the short time we have available, not without sacrificing a number of irreplaceable assets. If you insist¡­" "No need. I know exactly how I will find out." My confidence surprises the Dvergur princess. "How can you be so sure?" "I will extract it from Leikny''s addled mind as I eat her." My ghastly smile forces her to shiver. "Sometimes, you act so human that I forget what you are¡­ and then your words remind me of the truth." Yes, that would be our entire identity. "I have an inkling as to whom it might be. I suppose that we will find out soon enough. Better to make sure that we have covered all our angles," I continue. I return to Loth for some minor adjustments, and we soon realize a major problem as I try combat maneuvers. I cannot use my focus. Of course, the black gauntlet would cause my hand to roast at the first sign of sunlight. In the end, Loth manages to engrave a few symbols on the inner side of the gauntlet so that I can at least cast shield. This oversight worries me, and I decide to forgo holsters entirely, which only leaves me with a mirror sword that Loth creates at the last minute, just in case. It should not matter too much as the ray may only last for a few seconds. Now with all tests completed, I can confidently say that I am ready. The armor is reinforced so that even a few light shocks will not damage it. The sword is sharp and deadly. I can stop fire. I can stop sunlight. I can, in theory, block explosives, although I doubt that a squishy mortal would resort to that. I am well-trained and significantly stronger than Leikny. All the angles are covered. And so, with time running out, we leave the Skoragg compound. The Stellar Dome of the ancestors lies deeper into the vast mountain range of the Scandes. We depart in a caravan to climb our way to the sacred site. With summer in full swing, nature is out to play. Fields of lush grass and seeding plants alternate with patches of forest, with the white and blue peaks covered in eternal snow always in the background. They form a wall that stretches to the horizon. On the second day of travel, we come across a nomad village. I exit my sarcophagus to rows of knit tents, as well as men and women wearing blue cylindric hats and fur coats. They part to let me through without a word as I move to find Loth. His aura guides me to the top of the hill where the village is situated, near a small gathering. I find my friend in deep conversation with a bearded man wearing a vest with strange metallic ornaments around the collar and down his chest. How quaint! "Evening lass, meet mister Luobbal. He is the head of this S¨¢mi gathering. He knows the best path to the Stellar Dome." "Should you not know the best path to the Stellar Dome?" I retort. "Don''t embarrass me in front of him, aye? I don''t know every square inch of Dvergur land. The S¨¢mi live in the area and they know all the right paths. They will guide us there." "Fine. Hold on, I should be polite." I turn to the old man, whose expression has remained glacial during our exchanges, as well as the rest of the group. I asked Kari to teach me a little bit of Swedish. It is now time to put it to good use! "Ahem, god kv?ll mina damer och herrar. Mitt namn ?r Ariane Nirari, vad trevligt att tr?ffas." There, I am properly introduced. I stated my name and told them that I was delighted to meet them. Ariane, queen of diplomacy! The answer, unfortunately, is not to my satisfaction. The old man turns to his friends and scratches his head, before turning back to me. "Jeg er ikke s? god i norsk. Kan du si det en gang til, saktere?" Loth laughs. I cannot recognize a single word of what the old man just said. "Sorry lass, they only speak Norwegian on top of their own tongue¡­" All of this for nothing. Pah! In the end, I do not mix with them as they do not seem all that interested in foreigners. I instead spend some time walking around the surrounding forests in an attempt to dispel my worries. I fed on a volunteer just before we left, and I will remain sated for a few days. We are ready. My intuition does not scream of doom, and yet, I cannot manage to rid myself of the nagging worry. I am being greedy and overconfident by walking into a trap. I always promised myself that I would not succumb to overconfidence. I believe that my preparations show that I am not so arrogant as to think myself invincible, and yet I am once again skirting the limits of what I believe in. This entire endeavor puts me in a state of unease. It was a mistake. I will not agree to such terms again, unless I have no choice. If I live. No amount of running allows me to relax, and I retreat before dawn to read. The trip to the Stellar Dome lasts another day, and I exit my sarcophagus in the early afternoon of the duel to a decrepit room held together by crumbling mortar. Sheridan waits by the door, which looks more recent and was reinforced with basic spells. I am already wearing the gambeson I will use under my armor. "Ah, you''re up. Loth told me to get you to the council room where the old geezers are doing their pow-wow. There will be a ceremony, then we fight. I mean, you fight. I watch." I stand up and take a few moments to comb my hair. My luggage was placed in the room, but the armor was not. I follow Sheridan outside and through a dusty alley of aged bricks with no windows. The Stellar Dome compound has not been used in a long time, it seems. Sheridan wordlessly opens a final door guarded by a pair of armored sentries, and we enter the Dome proper. My worries fade for a while as I take in the impressive vista before me. The room centers on a circular arena, around which rows of seats have been placed to create an amphitheater. The ceiling is quite high and it is, I realize, natural. Stalactites hang over us like so many swords of Damocles, while a cupola tops the arena proper. Even from here, I can spot intricate star carvings that the passage of time has not ruined yet. A small assembly has gathered in the middle of the room, in an open space, between rows of seats. They stand in a circle around two carpets covered in gear. I recognize my armor on the right, even now reflecting the viewers on its immaculate surface. On the left is Leikny''s gear, and I admit to being impressed. Of course, I expected the daughter of the clan head to come clad in layers of ancestral treasures. My anticipation did not do her regalia justice. I can feel the power radiating from here, over the auras of the assembled Dvergur. I see a conical helmet with a protective visor that will fit her eyes to perfection, a thick breastplate of shimmering metal engraved with countless runes over glittering mail. Light cuisses, greaves, and sabatons complete the custom set. She bears a round shield with a sun symbol on it, one I highly suspect of harboring the foreseen amberstone, and a thin, rapier-like sword shining a dull red in the semi-darkness. Yngvar inspects every piece of gear one by one to make sure that no forbidden explosives have been hidden in their recess. When he is done to his satisfaction, he turns to us. "Can''t say I approve of this, but you younglings are free to kill each other if it doesn''t condemn the future of the clans. So get to it, I have better things to do." The rest of the council grumbles their assent. Loth pulls my gear in my direction and we put it on piece by piece as, on the other side of the room, Leikny does the same. "We checked the building and the arena. Had the council run some tests. There''s nothing we can see. No traps or anything." "Hmmm." "I''ll be staying outside, just in case," Sheridan adds. "Why, do you anticipate something?" I ask the experienced lawman. "Nothing specific. Most charlatans and cheats I have handled had something in common though, an accomplice. Better safe than sorry." "Fair enough. Just be careful." "I am wearing my armor and I''ll take Skjoll to watch my back, if he''s willing." "He will be," Kari says. It only takes us a few minutes to get prepared, then Leikny and I both walk down to the arena proper. This one is different from the one I fought in, back in New Orleans. There is no sand on the ground to absorb the blood, for starters. Instead, the ground is naked stone marked by hundreds of years of usage and combat. It is quite dusty, and smells empty and abandoned. This place has not been used in a long time, years at least. My intuition flares to indicate imminent danger, enough to put me on guard. I am as ready as I am going to be. Yngvar steps on a podium overlooking the arena. He intones a few angry words in Dvergur, then says something that even I recognize. "Fight!" Leikny is already slamming her shield on the ground and I immediately dodge right and away from the spectators. I run perpendicular to her. S§×arch* The novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Anytime now. Leikny''s shield shines in radiant orange. I feel my faceplate growing denser as light intensifies. It will be fully opaque when the light becomes strong enough, temporarily blinding me. A semi-circular shield dome covers her kneeling form. I expected¡­ more? My intuition still screams of danger. Leikny smirks, and I hear a dreadful clank. From above me. I dodge back and raise my eyes to see a thin blade of light. Fragments of shattered ice rain from the roof. Oh. Oh! No way. I back up again as the red gash of late afternoon sun slices the arena in two, mostly in front of me. I am separated from the spectators. It slowly widens into a blinding crescent. They never planned on bringing amberstone, they planned on subjecting me to the real thing. The Stellar Dome cupola was originally a functional observatory. It can open. Fully. Behind Leikny''s smirking figure, the council is in full blown arguments. Ragnar clearly supports this ''brilliant interpretation of the rules'', while the rest are screaming their heads out. I see Loth running outside, probably to put an end to those shenanigans while Kari added her voice to the quarrel. They will be too late. The shield is probably quite strong. I have to try to break it. A part of me pushes me to action while the other is the reason for my indecision. The sun. The fucking sun. THE SUN THE SUN THE SUN No! No, calm down. Try to attack. I can do it. I move forward at mortal speed, not quite able to control myself properly. My sword smashes into the shield with little effect. Put strength into it, but I cannot. Because of THE SUN! Leikny is still smiling as the crescent turns into an oval that lights the spectators. Every passing moment makes the room clearer, as more debris fall into the arena. I ignore the argument and the woman in front of me and the sun closing in the sun CLOSING IN. Hit it, just hit it. Bang bang bang. Break the shield. Break the woman. I can live. I can still live. Years of practice help me dodge reflexively back as an overheated blade almost shaves off parts of the mirror. Leikny is standing now, she walks back into the light. I cannot go there. She is in the light of THE SUN THE SUN THE SUN THE SUN. No! No, I just need to¡­ perhaps Loth will help. I cannot do anything if I die, and I will die if the mirror is damaged. Sword in front. Light hand on the grip. Light on my feet. Calm. More light as a full half of the arena is now basked directly. Leikny is here. She moves forward with the wave. It hurts my mind to look at it. I can no longer see clearly. The point of her sword shines red and something is sent. I drop to the ground and roll on my side to avoid a superheated missile. Magic. I stand back up. Roll and dodge in the other direction. I cannot see. I cannot see the light. Everything is dark now with my visor fully blocking the view. There is just me, and my panicked breath because I breathe when I am scared, and one thumb of flimsy material between me and fiery death. Close eyes. They are useless. Magic in front, flaring. I roll to the side again. Footsteps getting closer. No real sun on me yet. Indirect ray only. Ignore it. Ignore what is outside. There is only me, and her. Sword up. I hear a whistling sound and swipe a broad arc. I miss. I swipe again and deflect something that hisses and sputters. My sword made an unpleasant sound. I back up slowly, stumble a bit. The armor is getting warmer. Ignore it. I deflect another attack. I can taste the magic in the woman''s gear right in front of me. I can barely use it to deflect the hits, but now it changes. She attacks my mirror sword. She strikes it again and again, but every time I manage to place it back in guard position so that it does not cut through the armor to expose my flesh to it, the thing coming closer with every moment. It carries death. It is here. It is the sun! THE SUN THE SUN THE SUN THE SUN. Sword breaks. I clamber back. I hit the wall. I am trapped. Almost here, the SUN THE SUN THE SUN THE SUN. THE SUN Bang! I hear¡­ something? A discharged firearm. A noise of snapping metal. The roof above me shakes and groans. The two half-spheres close like eyelids over us. Darker. Darker. Darker. A deafening sound. D A R K YESSSSSSS. I swat Leikny''s blade aside with a hand. My intuition sends me a quick vision, overloaded by my urgency. A Dvergur looks aghast at the snapped chain disappearing in the opening mechanism, now broken. Someone shot it. The aperture is slamming close. A vice-like grip on his shoulder. A voice in his ear speaking through gritted teeth, by a man fueled by incandescent anger. "You done fucked up now," it whispers in a Texan drawl. I drop my molten, shattered blade to lean into Leikny''s next attack, one of Nami''s favorite tricks. I punch her in the chest. The mirror''s surface of my gauntlet cracks under the power I use. She is sent flying, then crashing down on the ground a bit farther. The council is mute. Slowly, I remove my helmet as Leikny crawls back to her feet. She is no vampire to recover instantly from the most grievous of wounds. She is a warm, fleshy thing, full of spite and secrets. I am going to crack her open. "That tickled," I growl. I have given a rather poor account of myself. Reeling. Flailing. A mess, really. I need to imprint upon the locals that I am not TO BE TRIFLED WITH. "Hssss." The Rose appears in my hand just as Leikny manages to get upright. She casts the shield again. I let her. It shines a bit less now. I strike and let the teeth on the back of the blade dig into the transparent wall. I could channel the Herald essence. There is no need to use it on such a weakened construct. I pull, and the teeth shred the spell in a bright flash. The enchantment on top of the round shield flickers. Lekny casts it aside and bellows. The voice is low and powerful as she seems to inflate and occupy more space. Her aura blasts out in furious anger and she charges in. Pointless. I dodge and strike, dodge and strike. Her blade and fist come nowhere near hitting me while the articulation of her armors are hit again and again. The first piece of equipment to give up is her right elbow. A thin trail of blood drips on the ground and I can taste the woman''s essence. Just a sip. An appetizer. Next to break is her right leg at the back of the knee. She stumbles and falls, her rage spent in pointless movements. I accelerate then. The Rose peels her protections off glyph by glyph. She stumbles and falls. I approach, and she launches a last, desperate charge. I grab her raised fist and crush it. I hear a sob. A second later, her helmet is torn off. I bite down. Today is the most beautiful day of my life! I am to become queen of the Skoragg clan, and through our union, usher both our lines into a new era of prosperity. I will be a great queen, I know it. Loth does not love me, and he makes no secret of it. Our lovemaking is rare and cold. He refuses to grant me the powers I seek in the name of tradition and autonomy. I want more. I need more. If he will not work with me, then perhaps¡ª I pull back. I do not care about her story. What I need is too subtle to appear in visions. "You were compensated for killing me." "A promise," she answers in a broken voice, "your death in exchange for better conditions. We would have kept more in our exile." "Where are you going?" "South Africa." They are going nowhere close to my lair, therefore, I stop caring. "Who asked for my death." "We do not know for sure." I increase the pressure on her weakened essence. "But I suspect. From the names of the ship come to evacuate us." "Tell me." "L''amoureux. The Blue Rose. The Saint Louis." Something breaks my trance. Her answer is not what I expected. I expected¡­ who? Ah, yes, a certain Dvor lady. Instead, I get Mask. Someone in Mask wants to kill me. Hmm. Later, this is a thing for the calm and refined me to consider. Now, to finish this on a high note. I ignore the cries and the requests. I believe someone is begging me to spare his daughter? It does not matter. The game was strange and unpleasant, but the conclusion is all the more worthwhile. Leikny tastes of mountain, ice, and betrayal. She has the sweet accent of despair as she dies. Delicious. Loth always did have good taste in women. I stand up and discard the body, then walk out of the amphitheater with a confident step. Sheridan is here. He is armed to the teeth. "I know that you saved me. Thank you." "Any time, Ari, any time." The fear of the sun and my predatory response to Leikny finally fade from my mind, and I have only one thought. I am going to get a Dvergur weapon factory on my land. This is going to be great. Chapter 127 - 122. Disheartening moments I thought that we could bring this incident to a close and use that opportunity to rush to the Ice Palace to take ownership of it. I was dead wrong. The observatory was never meant to open fully. In fact, the mechanism had been disabled and laid covered in ice until the day of the duel, or so Yngvar and Loth had thought. The extent of the Ysvalir tampering gives the council a collective apoplexy, especially from the rigid Ragnar who had supported their clan until now. Such a violation is apparently unthinkable. So, we have some excuses for having approached the entire problem with such a high degree of incompetence, apparently. The old coots'' collective ire falls on a grieving Erikur who is still reeling from the loss of his daughter. He was the most vocal in trying to get me to offer mercy. He could have brought me the moon on a silver platter, and it would not have mattered. I have brought this hunt to a satisfactory conclusion. I would have it no other way. Erikur kills himself in his cell a day later. With this, the council''s wrath peters out and cold tensions arise. I care not, although I can tell that this entire fiasco weighs on the mind of my Dvergur friends and affects their mood. One would think that the death of their enemies and the acquisition of a massive prize would soothe their feelings, but alas, the whole disaster leaves a bitter taste on their tongue. I do not understand why they would feel depressed, nor do I have to. It is enough for me to know that they are and respect their pain. We eventually make our way back to the Skoragg compound. Loth insisted on leaving for the Ice Palace as soon as possible. His initiative is firmly denied by both Kari and Skjoll. The dedicated bodyguard reminds Loth that his new acquisition could be trapped, and that he has a responsibility to preserve his life as the sovereign. Skoragg scouts later find the stronghold abandoned, though not sabotaged. I use this opportunity to pursue a few more projects with Loth. First, I am offered the mirror armor, which I accepted. I do need the reminder of how reckless I was to accept a duel during daytime in a place I could not personally check. My greed got the better of me. I will remember this lesson for the rest of my life. Second, the pair of us forge a new gun using the technology I brought from the United States, with a twist. "Ye think of firearms as a mortal weapon that''s just for flexibility, not something ye would use in real combat." "I would use it on a vampire." "But ye don''t believe it would take one down. Ye need ta think bigger. You are not restrained by the limits of mortal bodies." And so we end up making an absolute beast of a revolver, with a rotating cylinder and a massive barrel with an enchantment-laden counterweight. It fires a custom caliber bullet the size of my thumb. With that enormity, I would have no trouble killing werewolves at any range. I could blow a hole through a fortress gate. The acquisition of such a marvel of engineering leads to the next obvious consequence. I ask for another gun. I express my concern for secretive work, and we end up with an opposite firearm: a tiny one with a pearl handle that could fit in a handbag. I collect both with giddy anticipation. Finally, we go to our next project, the most promising yet. Metis has always been by my side in the thickest battles, and while she is resistant to mundane harm, bullets can still hurt her as the battle with the Order of Gabriel had demonstrated. We now must work on giving the old girl an armor worthy of her talent. The issue is two-fold. First, we need to create a piece that can reliably stop bullets. Two, she must be willing to wear it. And here lies the crux of the matter. While the haughty Nightmare tolerates a light harness with relative grace, carrying hundreds of pounds of enchanted metal is simply out of the question, at least on a regular basis. I have no need for her rejection to understand that. Restraints of any sorts simply go against her nature. If we want a practical set, we must juggle between functionality, and designing a piece of art that she will tolerate in battle. In order to guarantee success, her input is required. I have negotiated with soldiers, merchants, mayors, and whores. I have made deals with mages, half-naked werewolves, fully-naked werewolves, and grumpy Dvergurs. I have held meetings with vampires to decide the fate of hundreds of souls. And now, finally, at the zenith of my diplomatic career, I must contend with my greatest challenge yet. I must negotiate with my horse. "How about this one?" "Nay!" I might be interpreting her neigh a bit here. We now stand in the Skoragg fortress gardens as I submit one design after another to the grumpy flesh-eater. Even the materials are problematic. Simply put, they need to match her nature as an otherworldly creature of the forest. In the end, Loth just gives her every piece of exotic material in the Skoragg vaults to sniff one at a time. Just as we are about to give up, Metis'' ears perk up at the sight of a very peculiar piece of black leather. I take the dark fabric from Loth''s hands and run my fingers over it. Smooth and scaly. My friend smiles. "I should have guessed that she would love that one." "What is it?" "The skin of the alligator we slew for the Choctaw. Our first hunt together." "What? I thought it had been destroyed with your house?" "No, I decided to keep it when we evacuated, and I was right. This will offer good protection and camouflage with a few correct enchantments. Besides, it holds significance for you as your first successful takedown of a magical beast." Successful takedown? The alligator caught me off guard and almost tore my arm off. Loth killed the beast before it could eat me. I was merely bait. "Your contribution was important, even if you did not land the killing blow." "I am over it, Loth, do not concern yourself with my feelings." "Or your self-esteem." "Or my self-esteem. Everything is fine. I am fine." "Huh huh." "Moving on! Leather. Can it really stop bullets?" "When I am done with it, it will. You will also find that your illusion spells extend over Metis more easily. Now, to find a proper design. Try to gauge how she would feel about adding a spike on her forehead. She could look like a unicorn!" Metis'' answer is swift and unambiguous. "Thankfully," I remark, "we are already in the garden so it is just more fertilizer." Loth and I finish the armor in a week before focusing on his repeater gun. We take much more time for that one, and I believe that Loth considers it more as a project of love to distract him from his many duties rather than something practical he really wants to finish. We spend another few weeks together, but soon September comes and, with it, Kari''s ultimatum. Loth is late on many of his other projects and needs to up his game. I, too, have postponed my duties for too long. My inquiries about Mask have not led to anything, especially from the Rosenthal who warned me against engaging in dangerous activities so far outside of my support structures. I agree with their sentiment. My decision made, I pack my belongings, including the tiny revolver, which I have named the Accessory, and the huge one, which I have dubbed the Big Iron after a suggestion from Sheridan. Time to head home. We soon ride back to Stockholm, then from there take a ship to Copenhagen where the vampire train network is active. I find passage aboard a transport leaving from Le Havre a few days later, and we resume our travels. I meet a few Erenwald and Roland vampires during my trip through the German states. Unfortunately, I learn very little as they gang up on me to ask questions about the New World and its many opportunities. While they always remain polite, I can feel a certain distance between us that indicates that my traveling companions have little interest in getting to know me better, or even for longer. I do not know whether it is caused by my image as a provincial frontierswoman, my sire, or the inevitability of conflict. The train puffs its way through sleepy hamlets and larger ones, but never stops long enough for me to visit. It appears that it is merely a means of transportation, while I would prefer a more leisurely pace. I also realize that I would be annoyed if I took the train back home, only to stop for twelve hours here and there for tourism. Unfortunately, staying in any place for longer than necessary would generate curiosity in people whose attention I would rather avoid. The first real setback of my European trip (if I do not count the unexpected battle with a lord) occurs in the Lille train station, in northern France, where we stop for an hour. Delighted by the building and its august skylight supported by a complex structure of wrought iron, I make the mistake of ordering a cafe. In French. "Pfffft, c''est quoi cet accent?" the plump waitress scoffs with amusement. "Un probleme, Marceline?" her employer asks from behind a polished counter. I lean back into the dainty wicker chair and listen to her hasty apology, but the deed is done. I have an amusing accent. My¡­ mother tongue''s pronunciation is that of a bumpkin of unknown provenance! Ugh! I have never felt so mortified! The realization that I have sounded like a clod to worldly French speakers every time I have opened my mouth sinks my mood to new depths of shame and despair. Oh, rage ! Oh, d¨¦sespoir ! Oh, vieillesse ennemie ! N''ai-je donc tant v¨¦cu que pour cette infamie ! I should eat the waitress to wipe the memory from her mind. No, no¡­ No! I shall only speak English or German from now on, at least until I can absorb the local intonations. But not here, in Paris, where we will have a short stay. Sheridan feels my dismay as we climb back up. "Something the matter?" he inquires. "Have you ever had the daunting realization that you have spoken a language all your life, and then you travel, and realize that everybody thinks that your way of pronunciation is that of a hopeless redneck?" I ask the Texan who grew up in a hacienda in the middle of nowhere. "Huh?" "Nevermind." Our journey continues, through the dense fields of the French countryside, now quiescent and bare after the recent harvest. The air is dry and pleasant, for now, though I can already smell fall in the air. We are crossing through a colorful little town with dark blue tiled roofs when the train slows down for an unexpected stop. I frown as I look down through the tinted glass of the restaurant wagon, where I had settled with a book and a cup. My eyes confirm what my aura detected: we are being hailed by a group of vampires. Six, if I count correctly. At least two of them are masters. "Stay here," I order Sheridan. I stand up, before realizing that all my weapons are in the usual secured locker. In fact, with the addition of two revolvers, just Sheridan and I occupy more than two thirds of the total available space. It matters little, as I still have my most powerful asset. No one will ever be able to strip it from me. I stop in the next carriage as the train leader, a tiny Roland woman with short auburn hair, runs to me. Although she betrays no signs of nervousness, I can feel the tremor in her aura. "Yes?" "Forgive me, Ariane of the Nirari. Those gentlemen outside would like to speak to you. I have no authority to refuse them, but I must insist that this is quite irregular and that I will be sure to forward a complaint!" And a fat lot of good it will do the both of us. Well, nothing to it. I rush to my bedroom to retrieve my official documentation, then walk down on a deserted platform. The six unknown vampires gather around me in a half-circle that is decidedly hostile. I tilt my head in wonder, and adopt a defensive stance. Those are Roland fighters. The four courtiers are non-entities if this turns into a fight, but the two masters are unknown. They wear black coats over dark suits, with white shirts, and red ties. There are only minor variations between each. Their bowler hats, however, are all identical. I feel like I am being robbed by a mob of pretentious ragamuffins. "Are you Ariane of the Nirari?" the head lout asks with a valiant attempt at conceited arrogance, though I can taste the apprehension underneath. He wears a brown moustache and a scowl. "Yes." I do not demand when I know that my requests will be ignored. Let them make the first mistake. Let them dig their own graves. My transit has been approved by both Mask and Eneru representatives long before I set foot on the continent. To aggress me now is to create a serious diplomatic incident. "We were warned of possible illegal entry. Please provide your proof of passage." I do not react to their daring, ARROGANT demands. They are legally allowed to do what they are doing, for now, even though the most naive of fledgelings could see where this is going. I must be patient. I must let them commit the first mistake. And so, I calmly hand them my passport, now heavy with stamps and notes. The leader makes a token effort to consult the hallowed document. A vampire passport is a magical object, making tampering not just incredibly difficult, but also incredibly illegal, and therefore, dangerous. "I do not see an authorization to enter Mask territory." "Then look better," I helpfully suggest. "I do not believe that¡­" I move and, with an explosive gesture, grab back what is mine. I open it at the right page as they grab weapons from pockets and sheaths. I am now faced with three shortswords, a gauntlet and dagger combo, and two maces. How quaint. "Here," I interrupt with calm, "on this page. Here it states: passage approved by the Boston embassy, valid until eighteen fifty-one. Yes?" The leader picks back the document with deliberate slowness. This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. "This page here?" I do not answer. He rips it out. "I do not see the page you refer to." Big mistake. "I think you should come with us, just to clarify the situation," he tells me with a smirk. I think not. "I have little reason to comply with someone who just violated the European Accords." "You refuse to comply?" he says, quite pleased with himself. FOOLISH CUR. I let the aura of my anger explode outward as I materialize Rose. They think they have me? They think THEY ARE SMART? If they were smart, they would have brought more goons. They would not have forgotten what I am, and what I can do. My first strike severs their leader from shoulder to heart. I do not finish him off, however, and punch the nearby courtier in the chest with a single finger. His face spasms and he starts to collapse. I have already moved on. I lunge to the other master and the Rose''s blade extends, penetrating his heart through his hastily erected guard. The next two fledgelings fall in moments. For them, I make sure not to damage their hearts too much. A mere puncture is all it takes for essence-rich, dark blood to spill on the ground. Only the mage is left, and I duck behind the falling form of his comrades to avoid the building spell. Alas, at the moment of the cast, I realize my mistake. A red flare takes off the platform and explodes hundreds of yards into the air, basking us in its scarlet radiance. The magical call that emerges from it dwarfs even the most powerful of beacon spells. Only Semiramis'' summoning came close in terms of sheer power. Ah¡­ "Now, everyone knows you are here," the pathetic courtier informs me with triumph in his gaze. AMUSING. I grab him by his throat and bring him close to my face, so that only a few fingers separate us. Bones creak under my unyielding grasp. "Tell me, little one, do you feel victorious?" "P-please¡­ I had to!" Tsk! I wish I could kill all of them, but that would be going too far. The moment I slaughter an entire group, I pass the point of no return on a land filled with short-fused battle lords and ladies, and so, I must content myself with the tiny prize that the Rose fetched for me. A broken spine and recovered passport later, I am moving back up to the train. The conductor stares at me with obvious horror. "Milady¡­ Forgive me, the protocols are clear¡­ In case of attack." "Silence. Just lead me to the weapon locker, I am cutting this trip short." "Oh. I can do that!" We run back to the front when I come across Sheridan. "Here, take this," I inform him as I hand over my passport and the ripped off page, "keep it safe, as I may need it depending on how things go." "You need covering fire?" "Not this time, my friend. Stay with the train, and make sure that the luggage reaches the ship. And keep the passport closely. It will clear me of wrongdoing if I do get caught. I shall meet you on the embankments." "Understood. Don''t you die on me." "I do not plan to. I must go." "Hey, give them hell." I nod, but I sincerely hope that it does not come to that. I do not wish to start a war. As soon as the locker is unlocked, I ditch my dress to reveal the small cloth underneath, to the obvious appreciation of the conductor. I decide to take everything but the rifle, as it is too unwieldy. I end up with my armor, mask, throwing knives, spare dagger, the Big Iron, and a spare revolver, all loaded with silver bullets. And my gauntlet, of course. "Thank you for your company, and I am sorry that we were so disturbed," I tell the petite woman. "Oh, think nothing of it. Not your fault! I will be sure to express my stern condemnation of their careless actions. To hijack a train! Why, they will certainly be heavily punished. So, huh, take care of yourself and stay alive. Perhaps we can meet again later in Paris? I know this place¡­" "This all sounds very tempting, but right now¡­" "Oh, right. Off you go then, and please be careful not to get killed!" "I promise to do my very best. Make sure to recover the bodies and place them in a secured spot. I did not spare their worthless hides for the sun to finish them off." "Naturally. I shall have to remember to delouse the carpets..." I jump out on the platform after a last farewell, then onto a nearby roof. After that, I sprint out of the village and into nearby woods. So. That happened. I suppose that my unknown enemies in Mask have made their move. It just feels so incredibly brazen. Not only are they creating a diplomatic incident, but it will certainly split their own ranks. Mask and Eneru are more groups of interests than a firm alliance united in purpose. Except for wars or exceptional ''cas de force majeure'', their members have no obligation to act on behalf of each other. Such is not the case now. I am not important enough that Mask would reach a consensus to dispose of me, at least not yet. The only explanation I can think of is that someone committed a blunder, as there was little incentive to act in such a heavy-handed fashion. Now, for my options. I could try to run to Le Havre, but I sincerely doubt that I can manage it. That flare they sent means that they prepared something in the eventuality of their failure. I will face heavy opposition. More than I can handle, certainly. No, the best I can do is to be taken into custody by someone who is not part of the ploy to arrest me in the first place, and they are bound to come and see what is happening if I resist long enough. I think that this is the most likely outcome. I will have to strike a delicate balance between defense and mercy. Ugh, to play with stupid rules. I hate politics, but I hate dying even more. Twenty minutes later, I emerge from the forest at full speed only to feel a spell ping against my aura. I am even now wearing Nashoba''s earrings, however, the enemy construct is not a proper tracker, but something different. It expands in a wave and returns the presence of anything with an aura. Truly, they are well-prepared. My time is short, and I realize my predicament. I have spent so much time developing spells and techniques to find someone that I have neglected countermeasures against being found. I know what I shall focus on next. That is fine. I did not expect to escape without fighting anyway. I run across an empty field and past an ancient stone house with a baying dog. The next forest is thick and old, with roots popping out of the packed earth like ancient bones out of a ruined grave. I weave my way between bulbous trunks and gnarly branches, barely slowing down. Something is coming. "Nu Sharran." A thin layer of darkness spreads from the gauntlet to cover the entire area, more fog than impenetrable wall this time. I am improvising. It seems to be working. "Damnation. We lost the quarry," a voice whispers to my front and right. Other tracking spells fuse from behind me, and far to the left. Multiple search parties? So soon? Time to learn more. I rush to my assailants. The other groups will soon converge on the cloud anyway, so I might as well attempt some defeat in detail. "Did you feel that?" the same voice asks. I jump up a trunk and then from one tree to another like the planet''s most elegant chimpanzee. Predators always forget to look up. I stare down. Three masters stand back to back, covering each other. This time, they are clearly decked for war in light armor and powerful heart protectors. They carry an assortment of weapons and, surprisingly, nets. One of them holds a shiny golden globe with a single ruby jumping on its surface. It looks like a powerful tracking device. I kind of want it. "Nu Sarrehin," I barely whisper, and a suspicious radiance pulses away from me, near the ground. All three of the foes react by instinct, brandishing weapons at the distraction. The fastest one immediately realizes that it is a trap, and already turns around with a sweeping motion. Unfortunately for him, I come from above. "Hello, boys." I stab the slowest fighter in the clavicle, through the thinner armor covering the shoulder, and all the way to his heart. Hahaha, YES! I dodge above a counter strike by bouncing off the falling body and launch a knife, which my opponent deflects by twisting to the side. They are already attacking as I touch the ground. The left one drops his device and takes a sword and dagger, looking like a musketeer with his curly brown hair and sharp face, while the other brandishes a short spear. That one is weirdly plump, with a frizzy dark beard. I lunge, but do not manage to extend it as the swordmaster smartly locks it with his two weapons. The bearded man takes a step to the side and attempts to stab me. I disengage by using a lot of strength and pulling with the shredding part of my soul weapon. The ghastly grinding sound surprises the first one who stumbles forward. I punch him in the face as he is now very close and his companion drives me back with a flurry of blows before I can capitalize on it. They resume their attack. I angle myself to place the swordsman in front of the spear-wielder, and am surprised when the first simply goes low to allow the second to strike above him. They really fight together well. "Cedric, I don''t think that she is a rogue," the fat man remarks as he reels from one of my strikes. "Why don''t you ask her nicely?" the first one retorts. I smile as I back up against a trunk. I can tell the moment where their eyes widen with the typical ''gotcha'' expression that I myself convey. Unfortunately for them, it was planned. I press two feet against the solid base and barrel forward with an extended overhead strike. The Rose cracks as the tip of the blade whips forward and down. The swordsman collapses with half of his head split in two while the fat man falls to his knees, yelling in pain. Their essence is rich and the fight makes it all the more tasty. It is unfortunate that I cannot devour them. Perhaps they would tolerate A DEATH OR TWO. No! No. I shall stick to the plan. "I am not rogue, thank you for asking," I inform him pleasantly. "Wonderful," he replies, eyes fixed on his companion. He returns his gaze to me after realizing that I will not kill him. "Kill or capture?" I ask. "What? Oh, disable. The standard procedure. Don''t suppose I can convince you to surrender?" "I took out the train station group because they illegally destroyed my travel documents. Would your group guarantee my safety?" "Can''t talk about safety, but it would be better for you to allow yourself to be neutralized. We don''t know about any document thing. We just track wayward souls. Just let me spike your heart with a thin shard, it will just be shortly unpleasant, and you don''t want to wait until the cavalry arrives. They do not ask." "I would rather talk to someone in charge, like civilized beings. Can it not be done?" "Sure, lady, after you are placed in custody. We are not to negotiate beforehand. Reputation and everything." "That is unfortunate¡­ for you," I hiss. I am not just letting someone put me in chains AGAIN. NEVER AGAIN. NOT THIS. I resist the temptation to dishearten the bearded man. I must stick to the plan and KILL THEM ALL. No! Just¡­ disable and force them to¡­ I do not know. Negotiate? Yes, negotiate. I am not GETTING BOUND, FINGERS CUT. NEVER AGAIN. RUN. RUN! "You should¡­ make sure that your teammates are brought to safety¡­" "Ahem, yes, thank you. I, Baltasar, owe you one." "Hsss." I leave and run, now feeling a distinct pull on my presence. They know where I am. I have to keep moving or I will be corralled. My instincts are rising to the surface with frightening speed at the thought of captivity, and yet, they feel more fluid than usual. They lack their previous indomitability. As if the experience of briefly going rogue shielded me from succumbing again. More forest to hide me. I avoid the empty fields. I see a small elevation in the distance with the gutted remnant of a stone fort, but do not go there. Visible. Useless. More fields, which I cannot avoid now. Pine trees. Danger. Intuition makes me dodge left as a dark arrow digs in, then through, a nearby trunk in a hail of splinters. A woman with a bow, in metal armor. Five other masters with a variety of weapons. Keep running. I dodge again as another arrow drills through every obstacle before smashing into the ground in a shower of dust. The woman swears behind, and I slow down to allow the fastest pursuers to catch up. And then I turn around, dodge under a thrown net which shimmers with enchantments as I avoid it by a hair, and stab forward. The lithe fighter was not expecting that. He parries with a foil but my strength cannot be denied and I mash him against a nearby tree, which cracks under the strain. An elbow to the face and my spare knife in his chest, pushed in with Natalis essence. One down, many to go. A halberd smacks me in the shoulder. I roll with the blow and allow the armor to absorb the impact of the heavy enchanted weapon. I kick a heavyset man with an axe as he appears from behind a ravine. A spear and halberd strike together. WORTHY PREY. "Flay." The spell strikes a tall woman in the arm at point blank range. She screams and drops her spear as the skin of her arm peels off, leaving behind grey, dessicated flesh. She tastes nice. I repulse the halberd wielder with a sweep, then catch him by surprise with a return strike. The Rose curves nicely around his guard to dig into his extended leg. A twist of the toothy side, and the limb is lopped off. Black blood on the ground. "TRY HARDER." I reverse course and rush back. The archer is here with two companions. "Nu Sharran." Darkness spreads over the forest once more. A projectile zips over my head. Good try. My turn. I take out the Big Iron from its holster on my back and level it at the archer. "Purge," an older-looking gentleman whispers. The illusion dissipates. My PREY sees the gun and crosses her arm over head and chest. I shoot her in the gut. The poor girl screams when half of her abdomen flies out of her back. Gonna need a bigger armor, dearie. UNPREPARED. ARROGANT. I should punish them for daring to go against me. The need to kill has faded somewhat. I am no longer here to destroy, but to teach them a painful lesson. The next bullet pierces a quickly erected shield, but the mage manages to deflect the shot so that it barely grazes his torso. The last man has a shield, and he uses it to stop the next two shots. Powerful enchantments on that one. Heavy too. I bend forward to avoid a sweeping blow from the axe wielder coming from behind, and slice his foot off. The Rose bounces back. Heavily armored. Still leave a bleeding furrow. "Fuck!" the man swears. He tries to stop my parting blow. The tooth part grinds back as I dodge a hastily thrown spell. The axe falls from the man''s arms. "Ya!" I dig both feet into the ground and sweep the Rose at maximum extension. It whistles through the air and pushes all three combatants to the ground, even digging into the shield. Time to try something fun! I jump and pull on the Rose, flying towards the tip instead of pulling it back. I stab one of my throwing daggers in the axeman''s eyes as I go over him. I land with both feet on the unbalanced shield wielder. "Shred." The mage grips his exploding gauntlet. I dodge back to avoid a sword thrust. My counter blow places the Rose''s edge into the attacker''s head. He falls to the ground, and his shield crashes on a stone with a deafening clang. I strike the mage through the heart. Intuition screams. I barely block the axeman as he tries, once again, to cut my head off. The attack still pierces through Loth''s armor and I feel pain for the first time tonight. STRONG OPPONENT. GOOD ESSENCE. The knife did not go deep enough. I also do not know of many foes who would get stabbed in the eye, pull it out and then get back into the fight without pause. To my surprise, my foe takes a few steps back and the cause becomes immediately obvious. The third group of pursuers is upon us. "Careful, she uses a whip sword and spells," the axeman yells, his remaining eye firmly fixed on me. "Spells? Is she not rogue?" one of the newcomers asks. "Fuck no." "Any chance that you would allow me to explain myself?" I ask, though I already suspect the answer. "You will explain yourself in custody, as is the law. I assure you that it is almost painless," a brunette of small stature affirms. She carries a massive two-handed sword on her back. "How do you know? Have you ever been spiked?" I retort. Though she does not reply, a blond man covered with knives does so in her stead. "I have. It was rather unpleasant, and I would not recommend it." "Not helping!" Our deadly dance resumes. I rush back and disable a charging spearman with a shot to the face. "You forgot about the enchanted gun? Really?" "Can''t you use your eyes? She also carries knives by the way, if you need glasses." A loss of cohesion, ey? THE SCENT OF BLOOD, THE VISION OF DEFEAT. THEY KNOW. One down, six to go. My last two bullets are blocked by a man in heavy armor, and the small woman who literally cuts the projectile in the air. She smirks. I holster the Big Iron and¡­ take out my spare gun. "Shit, how many of those does she¡ª" I sprint back and shoot out the vampires at the edge of the formation. The knife one manages to get away with superficial wounds, but a man in light armor and a pike is hit repeatedly. He stumbles, his wounds not healing. I aim my last bullet at the frontrunner. He has picked up the shield and charges me with the intent to slam it against my form. He ducks under cover and¡­ I flip the revolver to aim the gauntlet instead. "Shred." Enchantments groan under my attack, and finally snap with a dose of Rose fangs. I still have to disengage when the two-handed swordswoman almost cleaves me in two. Her fast attack catches me off-guard to bite deep into my chest plate. "Hsss." That hurt. And her blade is enchanted, so healing will be slow. She deflects my counter strike with a powerful sweep and returns to formation. I am at risk of being overwhelmed. I keep retreating until we reach another patch of woods. This one is too young to offer much cover so I merely keep moving until they grow dense enough to play with. "Don''t let her get away!" "How is she so strong, is she not a master as well?" "Shut up and keep fighting!" They work well together. I have difficulties capitalizing on my superior power as they do their damnedest to cover each other. That is fine. I can just chip at them until enough break. They are powerful fighters, all of them, and this combat is exciting. YES. A worthy challenge! "Nu Sharran." "Spell, spell, gather and regroup!" "Bolt. Bolt bolt bolt." I throw blood-magic reinforced spells at weak points using the cover of the darkness spell. Even those who manage to dodge only reveal their comrades'' exposed backs. I have already used more power than two average battle mages, and I still feel far from exhausted. I would have been even more dangerous if I let myself feed as well. It feels¡­ amazing. "Over here!" I take out the swordswoman by stabbing her in the gut through a trunk, then severing both with a furious snap. "Fuck! She got me¡­" "LESS TALKING MORE FIGHTING." This is AMUSING. Yes, little things, come and entertain me, so that I may teach you. "Close formation, don''t let her take picks." We exit another patch to yet another open ground, this one filled with ripening apple trees. The perfume of fruit and blood mix pleasantly in the early night. The five fighters still standing stop at the edge of the forest in a loose circle, wary of me. I swipe the Rose so that the extremity cracks in the air. The axeman flinches. "Enough of this," a smooth voice says from the side. Both the enemies and myself turn with more than a bit of surprise, as two men emerge from the shadows of the orchard. I have not felt them come at all. They are twins, I notice. Roland. I can taste their age and power from their movements alone. Even then, they stay at a respectable distance. "Lord Andre, Lord Vincent, we apologize for this shameful display¡­" The two have very dark curly hair, pencil moustaches and thin, pointy beards. Their expressions are filled with melancholy, as if the spectacle before them caused them pain on a fundamental level. They wear vastly different outfits, however, with one of them looking like a shepherd in a simple shirt and white trouser. The other wears a princely blue vest with shiny brass buttons. I see no weapons. "You have nothing to apologize for. We have seen her move," the first one answers with a forced smile. "Yes," the richer-looking one adds in an identical voice, "now tell us, have you suffered casualties?" The other group turns to the axe-wielder who shakes his head. "She could have killed. She did not." "Then, we will hear her out," the shepherd states. "But¡­" "We. Will. Hear her. Out." Silence now reigns over the fertile land. A nightly wind caresses my skin and cools the tingly sensation of my knitting flesh, where my defenses faltered. The grass undulates around us. The momentum of the night grinds to a stop as I feel their twinned aura rise from its slumber to anchor us all. "We know of what you are, child. We have faced your brethren before. Tell us why you are here shedding blood while madness failed to grip your mind." "I was set up." "Elaborate," the rich one orders. "My train was stopped and I was asked to climb down for inspection. The man in charge took my passport and tore off the page containing my permit, claiming that I was entering illegally. He tried to take me away." "And you refused." "I cannot give myself freely to one who would break the law in such a brazen fashion. I am here with the approval of the Mask ambassador to the New World and I ran to avoid abduction. It is the truth. On my essence, I so swear." The oath takes hold, and all present wait with eager expectation. Fate leaves me unscathed. Of course, there are ways to circumvent even the most direct of promises. It still holds weight, especially when the situation is messy enough that a complex scheme appears unlikely. "Very well. We will make sure that you are protected and the guilty face the consequences of their actions. Unfortunately¡­" "Unfortunately, we must still disable you. It is the law," the shepherd finishes. "What? Really?" I sputter. "All parties will be disabled until justice can be rendered. No exception. Seeing as you already took care of your foes¡­" "But¡­ this is ridiculous!" "A sword of Damocles that hangs over every troublemaker. Now, do you wish to fall as a warrior?" "I''m not letting you just stab me, if that is what you ask," I hiss in answer. "We understand. Then, en guarde." The twins make black foils appear from their hands, the rich one having a longer and more elaborate one while the shepherd''s is thicker and heavier. "Magna Arqa!" they declare at the same time. Their eyes flash purple. S§×ar?h the Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Arg! All my focus ends on the shepherd who charges at vertiginous speed. I lunge, but the strike is deflected with minimal movement. I pull back and let intuition take over. Left. Right. I move, and, with desperate speed, block a sweep that would have gutted me like a fish. I suddenly feel a great pain. The rich twin has reappeared. He was completely gone from my perception, and my attention had been entirely swallowed by the other one! Is this their Magna Arqa? His blade is lodged in my chest. Oh, this is bullsh¡ª Chapter 128 - 123. The Undercity I wake up expecting the worst only to be pleasantly surprised. I lie in a comfortable bed, head resting on a plump pillow and one hand placed on my belly. I feel the caress of a silk slip on my skin. Nothing restrains me, chains or otherwise. Somewhere to my front and left, the susurrus of paper being turned breaks the silence. Without moving, I slightly open my eyes to take in my surroundings. Somebody brought me to an extravagant bedroom of good size. The light of candelabras gives it a cozy feeling, and shows an interesting choice of decorations. All the paintings reveal a virginal woman in a white dress resting near a lake. Melancholy seeps into every rendition, even though each work was made by a different artist. Whoever decorated this room placed an emphasis on interpretation rather than on the subject itself. I notice this in an instant, then turn to the person currently sitting at the edge of my bed. He places a page marker in a small leather-covered book before hiding it in an inner pocket of his dark coat. His gloved hand retrieves a golden pocket watch, which he checks, before turning to me. "Five fifteen in the afternoon. Not bad, with a damaged heart." I take a moment to taste his aura. I have no doubt that he is powerful, yet his presence eludes me. The essence is extremely diffuse, with a vaporous quality that teases and disappears just as I grasp it. He wears an impeccable black suit under a dark coat with a brown vest and red tie. With his black hair and beard, he might have been threatening, and yet his smile as he talks to me would disarm even the most skittish of maidens. He is more like a handsome, sharp doctor than a dangerous predator. Even the amused glint in his dark brown eyes lacks bite. "I fear that you have me at a terrible disadvantage, sir," I observe. He chuckles in answer. sea??h th§× N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Indeed, then let me correct this grave offense. You are currently in Paris. You were taken into custody by the Lords Andre and Vincent after a mighty tussle, or so I heard, and were consequently absolved of all crimes. You are fine, your Vassal is fine, and your belongings will be returned to you in their integrality. Some of our best smiths are currently working on repairing your gear, though I am told that your armor does that by itself ¡ª quite the defensive equipment I must say." "Who undressed me?" "My own Servant, Mathilda. She bathed you too. I assure you that nothing untowards happened, I swear it on my essence." The oath settles without issue. "The Roland will make sure that you have a ship to return whenever you are ready. There is, however, one thing¡­" I frown. Of course, there always is. "Lady Dominique. Or Lord, depending on your preferences I suppose, wishes for the pleasure of your company tonight as she celebrates the thirtieth anniversary of the peace of Baden-Baden." Seeing my incomprehension, the man elaborates. "The cessation of hostility between the Mask and Eneru factions after the last war. Some territory changed hands, some reparations were agreed upon, and Lord Nathaniel was spiked through his anus to face the dawn until death." "Charming." "I regret not being able to witness that event, as I was slumbering at that time. Mathilda informed me that it was quite the festive occasion, however." "I will take your word for it. How does this concern me?" "I suppose that you will have to ask her. In case it was not clear, Lady Dominique does not make suggestions. Terribly sorry about that. Rest assured that your safety is guaranteed during your stay, and you will most likely have a grand time. Mask parties are always memorable." "Yes, I get it, I attend the party and then you let me go?" "Excellent. I knew that you would see reason. Now, you will find that we have prepared an outfit with your size for the masquerade. Please, don it, then join me outside. We have much to do before we are ready to begin. I will see myself out." "I did not catch your name?" "Oh, my apologies. I am Jean-Baptiste of the Roland. And you are Ariane of the Nirari, of course. A pleasure. I shall see you later." I wait until the door closes before jumping to my feet. I am fine, completely healed, in fact. And clean. Someone even took the time to brush and dry my hair before delicately positioning me in bed, in a very artistic posture. I confirm what my instincts told me. Nothing binds me. Unfortunately, I cannot refuse the hospitality of my host for two reasons. First, the only free exit is protected by thick shutters, on the other side of which is the sun. Second, I know of Jean-Baptiste. He is a renowned warlord of Mask, not just the Roland, but the actual alliance. His Magna Arqa fills his foes with abject terror. He is also the only known scythe-wielder among our kind. Naminata informed me that he was nicknamed The Reaper, though never to his face, and that he was entirely monogamous. If The Reaper wants me to attend a party, I will attend the party. I do not stand a chance against one such as he. He stands at the apex of power and martial prowess in the world. Amusingly, he does not feel that way. I would call him debonair and suave despite the underlying threat, as if we were both merely victims of unfortunate circumstances and he had decided to make the best of it. With a sigh, I move around and find an open chest at the base of the bed, which contains a white dress that I put on. The dress itself is rather complicated, and it takes me ten minutes to finish setting up everything by myself. Several layers of fabric contribute to a typically Victorian ensemble with a modest cleavage being the only concession to modernity. Every layer is made of different cloth, all of them bone-white, in a curious monochromatic harmony that relies on relief to create contrast. I like it. It is also almost my size. At the bottom of the chest, I find two masks and a note. "I was ordered to provide you with a basic mask, but nothing prevents you from using your own. The choice is yours. Jean-Baptiste." The first accessory would not look out of place on a cheap stall for Mardis-gras celebrations. The second is my war mask. Chipped. Damaged. Heavily enchanted. An instrument of combat whose owner survived many battles. I will not attend a masquerade wearing a debutante ball prop, thank you very much. Now set, I exit into a gaudy corridor. Jean-Baptiste waits on a nearby seat with his book. "Ah, excellent choice. First, you must be ravenous. Corentin is waiting in a nearby room." Corentin turns out to be a young man with angelic features, complete with golden curls, and a terrible case of the nerves. I soothe his mind and feed lightly, as it appears that he is rather inexperienced. I leave the satisfied youth asleep in his bed. "Good. Now that we are done, let us be on our way." The corridor leads to a massive entrance, also shuttered, as well as a most peculiar candelabra. Someone is affixed to it in a very uncomfortable position, though probably not as uncomfortable as having his body skewered by multiple barbed steel spikes. Black blood seeps from his many wounds and, as I pass, I hear a weak moan. "Is the decoration to your taste?" Jean-Baptiste lightly asks. I inspect the furniture and human hybrid more closely and realize that the fantastic moustache is familiar. Indeed, he and I met briefly when he tore up my passport. "Are we not missing five others?" I ask with a frown. "I did not want to waste valuable blood to hasten their regeneration. I made an exception for him, seeing as he surpassed all expectations by breaking three international treaties in a single night. You are an overachiever, are you not, Odilon?" "Please¡­" a raspy voice beseeches from the strange decoration. Jean-Baptiste does not slow down. We climb down marble stairs in the dim glow of gas lights to a locked entrance. My host leads me down a hidden path through a wine cellar, then through a secret passage hidden behind a fake wine barrel of monumental proportions. "A bit stereotyped, I know. We have to maintain appearances for the sake of newcomers and visiting dignitaries. Ah, but I wish I had seen you in action yesterday. To defeat over ten opponents in direct combat! And without the use of a Magna Arqa. It must have been such a precious spectacle. Alas..." I frown at the non sequitur but remember that he cannot see my expression behind the mask. "You talked to my captors?" "Vincent and Andre, yes. If there is one thing they dislike more than politics, it is to be disturbed by a botched attempt at it." "I am still unsure as to why I was attacked in the first place." Jean-Baptiste turns to me then, his eyes searching my own. "Ah. I understand that Dominique wished to see you, and that her orders were¡­ altered somewhere down the line. A polite invitation was twisted into a blundering attempt at coercion by an unseen hand. As for the culprit, you must ask Lady Dominique when you see her. I already overstepped my bounds by revealing so much." "I see. I do not care for so much mystery." "Quite frustrating to be on this side, is it not?" he says with a wink. I know what he means. We usually save the incomprehensible situations and theatrics for the mortals. And speaking of theatrics, the passage we follow descends into the darkness through stairs cut into the very rock. We soon approach a dead-end, the end wall emitting a powerful aura. Another secret passage. Jean-Baptiste bows with a flourish, then, without breaking eye contact, presses a secret panel that depresses to show the symbol of Mask. Corny does not do the mechanism justice. I struggle to find an appropriate euphemism. "How very... colorful." "Is it not? I shot down the suggestion to use a skull shape with its eyes shining red." "Only because you could not enchant it to laugh maniacally, I suppose?" The lord graces me with a smile, and it feels strangely genuine. "You understand." We walk through the revealed passage into a new area, this one significantly older. The air here smells damp and slightly rotten, the cause immediately apparent. We stand in a corridor harboring a multitude of alcoves, into which skeletons lie in neat, ordered rows. Stacks of skulls, bundles of tibia, mountains of ribs, and plains of knuckles alternate with each other to form a grim landscape of ancient, yellowed remains. I stop to inspect the show with curiosity. The remains are so ancient, and so anonymous, that they become a morbid background rather than dead people. I had no idea that such a place existed. "We are in the catacombs, below the Rive Gauche, the southern part of the city. We did not create it, mind you. It was used to store the mountain of old human remains buried across the city around sixty years ago. Dominique found the setting simply too tempting. We have co-opted it as a result." "They dug a mausoleum for the unknown dead?" "You underestimate the civil servants'' resourcefulness, my dear. Those are repurposed quarries." Jean-Baptiste leads me deeper into the warren of stone and bones. The passages quickly expand until every room becomes cavernous. The air gains an unnaturally cold quality as we move on, and I find myself enjoying it tremendously. Such an original setting! I wish I could take the time to make a few drawings. Perhaps later. Our journey continues through winding tunnels until my guide stops before an innocuous pile of grinning skulls that nothing differentiates from the others. "It should be here. Ah." He retrieves from behind it the head of a wolf, as dark as the night. I only realize its nature when he puts it on. The threatening maw is particularly convincing, and his eyes gain a wolfish quality. "Homo homini lupus." I roll my eyes at the antics, and am graced with a rumbling laugh. "Ah, you Americans. So refreshing. Forgive me for the detour, we will be there shortly." I finally notice how he orients himself when I realize that unknown symbols have been engraved on every arc. I would be lost without hope of rescue, were it not for my nature. The honeycomb of chambers and passages hides many secret entrances, easily discernible for those who can perceive magic. As we go on, I find the first irregularity since we started our little trek: a large arrow painted on the packed earth of the ground in luminescent paint. "What is that thing?" I ask, surprised by the graceless display. "Part of tonight''s entertainment. I am not privy to the details, yet I would bet a Louis d''or against a sou that it involves mortals. Maximilien loves his games." "Maximilien?" "The Prince of Paris, and organizer of this event. He rarely disappoints. Ah, here we are." Our feet have finally led us to a monumental entrance. Wrought iron twisted in intricate patterns contrasts with the crimson rosewood essence to create a red and black scenery. A doomed man beseeches a beautiful and terrible goddess, who ignores his advances as her gaze travels up. A pair of perfect sapphires were inserted where her eyes would. They shine, azure, under the glow of nearby torches. "The last work of Michel Entrenas. He hanged himself shortly afterward, claiming to have achieved perfection." "Your ambassador mentioned that you collected insane artists." "Yes. You can feel it, can you not? The manic fires of inspiration as his life slipped away like a guttering candle. Michel remains here, immortalized for all of eternity. I miss the bugger." "You knew him?" "Recovered him myself, actually. We try to prolong their lives, but only repetitive feeding will dull their pain, and then, they will have lost their spark. Some people are broken. What they create shines all the more brightly for it." I am not familiar with metalworking for the sake of art. I can even spot a few places where flaws have escaped the artists'' attention, and yet, the sheer emotion captured by this work grabs at my mind with the frantic grasp of the desperate. It embodies everything we have lost and still admire in mankind, the drive, the originality, the unfettered genius. Emotions, raw and pure, radiate from it in waves that force my attention to dart from one detail to another, from one loving twist to another obsessed hammering. I stand in the presence of greatness. Jean-Baptiste tugs on my sleeve, and I blink. "My apologies, we must enter. You will love the inside, I believe." "Ah, yes, please lead the way." We approach and I notice a single wardrobe sat on the side against the wall. It is partially open and contains a single male white suit. "Also part of the game," Jean-Baptiste comments. He is having fun. If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. I let him open the gate and walk in. If I still had a breath, it would have caught on my chest now. To call the place I find myself in grandiose would be a massive understatement. It is¡­ incredible. Under a ceiling that could fit a cathedral, a chamber of pharaonic proportion stretches far into the distance, leading to an elevated platform of white marble. The ground expands in a myriad of tiles of various sizes that still manage to fit perfectly. Columns as large as redwoods expand up, while stalactites climb down like so many swords of Damocles. Every inch of walls is engraved with chthonian scenes and alien landscapes, all unpainted grey, all bearing the touch of madness. At regular intervals, wood panels lit by candles show intriguing and unique portraits or sculptures in a succession of masterpieces that no mortal museum could match. A set of stairs lead to a balcony on the left side that allows its occupants to dominate the crowd. And what a crowd it is. In pairs or groups, vampires in white uniforms mingle with silent grace. Masks as varied as can be, hide their features in a clash of styles and tastes. Comedy masks, tragedy masks, veils and visors. Beasts and kings and gods and monsters. Assyria meets Rome while Guinea courts Russia in a dizzy dance of colors. It is, also, perfectly silent. All the guests sign with their hands at blinding speeds that only we can follow. Spread fans hide meaning from questing eyes, and the drone of moving fabric is the only noise, for no one here is a mortal. There are more than three hundred vampires present, at least fifty lords and ladies. Not a single courtier. The combined power present here simply defies description. Even with their auras so tightly controlled, I feel something in the air that¡­ alters it, as if a purple haze covered every nook and cranny of the room. The world around me feels more plastic, more fluid. I could gaze up and feel the presence of the Watcher through layers upon layers of stone. Jean-Baptiste breaks my line of sight just as I am about to lose myself in a deliciously insane interpretation of the Last Supper. He extends a hand which I automatically take, and we move onward. To the right and on the opposite side of the balcony, someone created an otherworldly pond filled with transparent water. Luminescent mushrooms and algae dance a chimeric rondo in step with the beat of a fountain, pulsing like a giant heart as it bleeds water. Vampires move and part before us in an organic fashion, and I realize why. My guide still wears black, save for the single scarlet dash of his tie. It gives the wolf mask an edge. I am led to the base of the stairs and let through by a pair of powerful lords wearing identical masks in the likeness of sphinxes. We climb up, and the hum of conversation pops out of nowhere as soon as we are on the steps. It appears that the privileged section of the assembly prefers speech, though they do not share it. Lady Dominique is throwing me a bone by inviting me among the hallowed ranks of vampire nobility, if only for a night. We top the landing, and I finally lay my eyes on the cream of the crop. Contrary to the uniform white below, the assembly here shows more color, though they maintain the monochromatic spirit of the evening. A burly man in red turns to look at me with a scowl barely disguised behind a kingly mask, also red except for stylized black curls in the hair and beard. A lithe lady in a blue gown and a very thin mask of a siren gives me an imperceptible nod before the pair returns to their previous conversation. As I pass, I feel the echo of Lancaster essence coming from her. A few other guests in white mingle around them, as well as another trio of dignitaries that we quickly join. I see a tall, muscular man in green with a mask seemingly grown from roots to give him a monstrous appearance complete with a haunting smile. I taste a hint of Erenwald forest on him. His deep blue eyes glance over me without reaction. Next is a curious man with the thin build of a fencer and the tiniest hint of a potbelly. His costume is purple and atrociously extravagant, a mix between gaudy prince and jester, with a grinning full mask and a clown hat with two jutting, pointy black ends. He is jumping excitedly from foot to foot in a decidedly unvampiric way. The center of the group, unmoving and aloof, is a vampire that can only be Lord Dominique. And I finally understand why I was told multiple times that deciding on her? His? Their sex, was up for discussion. Dominique wears yellow and gold, with a top hat and the most androgynous face I have ever seen ''hidden'' behind a thin domino mask. I believe I will go with ''he''. He has a delicate face with a slightly squarish chin and prominent cheekbones, as well as hooded brown eyes. He twirls in his hand a silver and ebony cane showing a tiny spider. Blond hair falls to his shoulders in a delicate mess, slightly wavy, and looking deliciously soft. A loose jacket hides what could be small breasts or undeveloped ones. It tapers to a thin waist and dancers'' legs. Dominique is by far the most androgynous being I have ever seen. He smiles as he sees us. "Look what the wolf dragged in. A wayward Devourer! Maximilien my dear, I hope you will not hold it against me, but I brought a surprise guest." Dominique''s voice is a husky alto as smooth as syrup, a voice to fall asleep to, or to sin with. "Oh Dom, you know that I loooooove surprises," Maximilen replies with renewed excitement. He is the flamboyant man in purple. I stop at a few feet and curtsy in the court-approved way. Thankfully, we have adopted the standard customs of our European cousins, and protocol comes to me naturally. "Oh, no need to be so formal," Dominique lies, "here, let me introduce you to the bigwigs. Meet the master of ceremony and our curator of forbidden pleasure, Maximilien of the Roland." I bow to the master of ceremony, who returns the greeting with ostentation. "And the fellow in green represents the Eneru on this auspicious day. Meet Ambassador Luther of the Erenwald." "A pleasure, milady," he rumbles, "and how is Metis?" "Eating well, last time I checked," I reply after a hesitation. I cannot decipher the Ambassador''s expression behind the forest spirit mask. Thankfully, Maximilen guffaws. "Luther my dear, how many times must I tell you to stop scaring the fairer sex away with horse questions from the get go?" I expect the Erenwald to lash out, yet he simply nods in understanding, his goal achieved. I do not know the first thing about him, while he knows the name of my Nightmare, which I do not share overmuch. The imbalance of information caught me off guard and set the pecking order. He managed it in one sentence. "As for me," Dominique continues, "I am your host tonight. Come, join us as we enjoy the festivities. We do not have the pleasure of seeing our ''outre-atlantique'' cousins very often. How fares Constantine?" "As fervent in his research as he is with legislation." This is common knowledge. I am not revealing anything that would endanger him. "Ah yes, we had a copy of the Accords brought to us! Such great fun we had reading it," Maximilien adds. I do not react at the cheap jab. "Oh," the outrageous man continues, "but my little finger just told me that our last guest is about to arrive, and just in time too! Please excuse me as I set fire to the fuse. Do enjoy!" he finishes. The peculiar man takes a step back and lightly jumps on the bannister ¡ª without looking ¡ª and levitates to the stage. I have no idea what kind of magic does that, but I admit to being impressed. And slightly put off by such a blatant violation of the laws of nature. Maximilien bows to the assembled vampires and saunters away. Dominique steps to the edge of the balcony and settles to wait. I join his right side while Luther takes the left. The edge of a powerful aura brushes my back and I do my best not to react to the feeling of imminent danger I feel from the light contact. The man in red silently steps to my own right, regal mask aimed frontwards. He tastes of Roland, and so old that his polar aura seeps through the skin to my very bones. If I were mortal, I would be shivering. The door opens to reveal a surprise. A human walks in. I observe the curious scene with interest as it unfolds before my eyes. The mortal wears the disguise that was left by the entrance as he hesitantly makes his way through the silent crowd. His brown eyes dart nervously from one guest to another as they sign and snap their fans close. Nobody shows any clue that they noticed what he is, and he moves on, oblivious to the fact that his thundering heartbeat resonates in the ears and minds of hundreds of apex predators. A chick in a wolf den. As he moves on, some of the vampires in his trail pause, their finger dances faltering. Soon, I realize why as his unique scent makes its way to me. I have never tasted such despair before. The raw, intense anguish he suffers from would have sent a lesser man screaming. The thrum of the blood pumping under his skin beats a staccato that forces me to clench my jaw shut, for his essence would be a prize like no other. He is probably living the single most intense moment of his life. I fear that he may die from the nerves before the next five minutes have passed. A small wave spreads through the crowd, imperceptible from the mass, yet obvious from my vantage point. They know. They wait for the climax. And it comes. From behind the elevated pedestal to my left, a curtain lifts and Maximilien struts in with two guards in sphinx masks. They pull a young woman between them. She is dressed in a beautiful rose gown, and her curly brown hair is raised in a chignon that reveals her tender neck. She is pretty, but quite lost as she gazes left and right with widened eyes. The man gasps as she is brought forward. Emotional distress like no other saturates the air. "Mesdemoiselles et messieurs," Maximilien says in French, "I have the pleasure of introducing the first attraction of the night! A game of skill for the most precious of prizes: Mireille Desmoulins, the beloved daughter!" His use of the local vernacular can only be for the benefit of our breathing little intruder. Indeed, the reveal soon follows. "And for our participant, I give you the retired soldier, the washed-out sharpshooter, the bereaved father, Alexandre Desmoulins!" As one man, the assembled vampires stomp their right feet on the ground, and turn towards the man with absolute uniformity. Those who are the closest also adjust their distance, so that the crying man falls in a geometrically exact circle of doom six feet across. "Nom de dieu!" The imprecation reverberates through the unmoving crowd, a veritable garden of white statues as pitiless and remorseless as winter itself. Not even a strand of hair flutters to betray that the spectacle before him is not an impossibly realistic image. My hands grip the stone beneath, for the terrible sense of doom the man emits has now reached an intoxicating intensity. Fear and love battle in his harried mind. The wafts of terror tug at my instincts, and I thank Jean-Baptiste in my mind for allowing me to feed before coming. "Alexandre mon coeur, it was perhaps unwise of you to default on your debts, yes? But since we are a generous sort, and so much enjoy a good story, you will be granted an opportunity to redeem yourself. Why, we do not ask for much, only that you participate in a little¡­ contest." The two guards drag Mireille to the side. One of them lifts a finger and a stone column emerges from the very ground of the platform rising up until it tops the tallest of men. They attach the addled woman to it, including the neck to keep her head stable. Meanwhile, Maximilien takes out a round, scarlet apple from the recess of his vest. Where he hid it, I have no idea. He tosses it in the air as he continues his speech. "Tell me, you must be familiar with the story of Guillaume Tell, yes?" Aha, I get it now. "No, mercy¡­" And so does Alexandre. I know Guillaume Tell, or rather William Tell''s story from an opera by Rossini. He was a Swiss folk hero who, forced by a cruel Austrian reeve, proved his incredible marksmanship¡­ by shooting an apple off the head of his son. "Tut tut tut tres cher. Surely a proof of skill would not be too much to ask of you, who claimed he had shot through every hole of a horseshoe at eight meters." Another guard brings an elaborate wooden box with silver engravings. Maximilien opens it, and picks up a master-crafted pistol, which he brandishes above his head. "Come and accept my challenge, or refuse, and you both die." The momentum of the event relies on Alexandre being decisive, and he is. The retired soldier gulps noisily, Adam''s apple bobbing up and down. He drags his stress-wracked form across the room but collapses as soon as he steps on the pedestal. The focused gazes of so many lands on his back, to see if their prey will stand up and offer some fun, or if the hunt has drawn to a close. And in a way, it is a proper hunt. Despite the artifices and cruelty, the prey stands a chance, technically, in a contest of wit and skill. He failed the contest of wit in a spectacular fashion, and the contest of skill is off to a very poor start. Nevertheless, I find no fault in Maximilien''s trap. Alexandre picks a pistol and turns to his captive daughter, now sporting a new fruity hat. His arm waivers before he even aims. "Oh, our candidate is facing some difficulties, it seems. Would there be a kind soul in the assembly who would champion him in his darkest hour? Someone to¡­ balance the scales?" A few heads tilt, but no one sees the need to gather undue attention. "A wager, perhaps? Hmm, what could I offer¡­" "I have a proposal," the man in red interrupts. I freeze. The spell that had withheld the sound of conversation from the balcony lifted as soon as he spoke. His smooth baritone rings clearly, and I find hundreds of masks now facing us. "You do, Bertrand? Do tell. Enlighten us with your ideas!" "I propose that, since Alexandre offended us, he be represented by a foreigner." A hundred gazes fall on Luther and glide away like water off oil. No one would dare play with an ambassador during a peace celebration, and so, they move left to the other stranger in their midst. For one moment, I wonder how they know who I am behind the mask, but the mystery is soon resolved when I peek right and meet the implacable glare of the man in red. "How about it, Ariane of the Nirari? I wager a secret against a ship." Interesting. I have an inkling that I may have found my enemy among the Roland. As to why he antagonizes me, I have no idea. I seem to remember from one of Nami''s lessons that Bertrand is a faction leader among the ranks of Mask, but I fail to see how it relates to me. As to the challenge itself, I fully intend to answer it. I already proved that I could fight. Let no man think that brawn is my only strength. "I accept. Should Alexandre fail to hit the apple, I will grant you a secret I know." "It is done!" Maximilien screams with obvious amusement before the man in red reacts. I know he meant a specific secret, and I purposely misunderstood. Now, it is too late to object thanks to Maximilien''s prompt assistance. Serves him right. Not that I intend to lose. I take a step back and move alongside the balcony to my left, then I use power to jump off the rails and directly on the platform, legs bent during the flight so as not to expose more than a stockings-covered ankle. I land in a crouch and turn it into a curtsey as I unfold. Applauses welcome my daring entrance, as well as the stupidity of calling the powerful man''s gamble, I suppose. They can be appreciative. It costs them nothing. Alexandre quivers at my inhuman display, but I soon approach him and address him in his own language. I take the time to articulate every word with care. "Forgive my accent, for I come from far away. I will assist you in your task," I calmly state. At the same time, I let my Charm radiate out and catch him slowly. Revulsion wars with hope in the father''s cracking mind. Eventually, he realizes that any port is good in a storm. He accepts me, and in turn, my influence grows. The Lancaster essence was the first one I collected, one that I have used with diligence over the past few decades. I have seldom resorted to the brute power it afforded me. Instead, I have built upon the patience and understanding I possessed even as a mortal. I have never let myself grow complacent. Under the inspired guidance of a true master, I have honed this skill to a deadly edge, never settling for mediocrity when style could be achieved. With my natural speed, Charm is, I believe, the ability that I had the most natural talent for. After all, power is a crutch. I pull a handkerchief from the man''s breast pocket, conveniently added for the disguise. I grab one hand and clean it slowly. Alexandre takes a deep breath as I give each finger its attention, pulling on them lightly as I am done. "Is it true? The horseshoe story?" I ask, as I carefully maneuver so that his back is to the silent assembly. From up close, the stench of nervous sweat almost overwhelms me. He truly was on the verge of a heart attack. "Yes¡­ Yes, though, it was an old one with only three holes. But yes, I did it. And at eight meters." "Is that so? Tell me about it." I let the man recollect the experience as I slowly, slowly seep deeper into his mind. The trick is to eat at the present while leaving the past alone. For that, I need him to focus on a specific memory that I know I must not touch. "I was on my cousin''s farm near Aix-en-Provence. It was summer. The air smelled of lavender and dust. I had my old pistol that I won at the Saint-Germain fair." Deeper still. His breath slows down, his back straightens. The tremors in his limbs, which had previously wracked his body in their unyielding grasp, disappear progressively. I conjure in his mind the peculiar smell of the flower and he shivers. I pause then. If he relaxes too quickly, he may collapse. "Were you trying for a record?" "Yes, a bet with a local girl whom I had taken a fancy to. I failed the first time and she left when she saw that I would not stop, could not stop, until I had placed those three damn bullets in those three damn holes. I knew I could do it. I was so close. So I repeated it, again, and again. Load the gun. Shoot the gun. Clean the gun. I attained a sort of¡­ spiritual state of perfection." "Describe it to me." "It was¡­ everything felt more alive, but also more distant? I was not just my body, I was something else. My gestures became part of a ritual." I slowly place the gun in his hand, feeling the calloused skin as I do so. They are not as precise or stable as they used to be, but the skill and memories are still there, buried under the constraints of his imperfect flesh. We just need to call them to the surface. He will never return to that moment, yet the memory of it will carry us through this ordeal. "I think I saw God that day." "Everything felt so smooth, yes? As if it had to happen. It was fate." "Yes. Fate." "And compared to that, shooting an apple would be so easy." "At the same distance? Hah! Child''s play." Time for power. He must not see his daughter for longer than an instant or his focus may waver. I place both hands on each side of his big, honest face, and turn him forward to the target. He can only see my mask. "You remind me of Marthe. She was my wife." Ah, oops? A bit too deep. I withdraw from his psyche and focus on the memory of the gun. It is almost too late, but not quite. I will grant him a few moments of absolute focus. "Show me perfection, Alexandre. The red apple." He nods and I step to the side. From a broken, mature man, he turns into a lethal fighter in an instant. One step forward and his posture relaxes. The gun lowers in his extended arm. In half a second, the barrel has aligned with its target. Alexandre pulls the trigger with casual ease and the fruit explodes into juicy fragments. Mireille yelps. The spell breaks. "Mireille, ma ch¨¦rie!" The expensive gun clatters on the ground as the mortal sprints forward, towards family. As for me, I face the crowd and bow. "Bravo, bravo!" Maximilien exults, "Cutting it a bit close at the end, but that was a commendable application of Charm, and by one so young! Bravo! Ladies and gentlemen, we are off to an auspicious start." Mask welcomes my performance with thunderous applause. Not a word is spoken, and yet I can feel grudging respect sneak through the restrained auras and controlled posture. Something pulls at me. I look left and into the incredulous gaze of Alexandre. His daughter is crying against his chest. I nod, and read the answer on his lips. "Thank you." You are welcome, my big, blundering oaf. You just earned me a ship! "Yes, excellent," Maximilen continues, "I hope that this little appetizer was enough to awaken your appetites, my lovelies, for the night is young and I have so much to share." I drop down from the pedestal and walk back to the stairs. Groups graciously meld and part before me, closing behind like glue in a practiced dance that only centuries of habit can create. It is as he said. We are just getting started. Chapter 129 - 124. Hearts and Masks. When I rejoin the upper floor, the man in red has returned to an animated discussion with Jean-Baptiste and the lady in blue. The air around them warps strangely so that I cannot discern their words, an intriguing effect created by a proximity enchantment set on his mask. A useful tool. The few guests in white have gathered in clumps, taken in their own intrigue, while Luther has wandered to the main floor on some errand. I am hailed by Dominique. "A pleasant performance. Maximilien''s prowess with Charm shames us all, and places him above the majority of the Lancasters, so any compliment he pays speaks very highly of one''s performance. Well done." "You honor me." "You almost went too deep at the end. Be careful, for strong memories bring strong associations." "He did mention his wife." "I like to step aside and deprive the prey of visual cues. It helps settle them. Ah, listen to me ramble." I am, in fact, taking notes. One does not every day get pointers from a centuries-old master of intrigue. "I invited you for a celebration and we could not go five minutes without you being hassled. I am making a poor show of it. Let us relax as we await the next act." Dominique and I make small talk, and by small talk, I mean that he questions me about the New World. Our discussion remains light-hearted, and I never come close to revealing what I believe to be confidential information. His main focus seems to be the opinion we have of our European cousins. When I imply that we expect interference sooner or later, my host surprises me by confirming my doubts, as expected, in a roundabout way. "Some, like our good Bertrand, see the world at large as an opportunity for our kind to expand faster. He theorizes that vampires require a living space, and that as apex predators, our living space is significantly larger than that of humans and beasts alike. Our numbers increase slowly while the spawn of men thrive and multiply, something that will become a cause for worry when we are inevitably discovered." "You believe that we will be dragged into the light?" "Yes. Do you not?" "I do. I just expected you to believe that you could maintain the status quo." "I have not remained in power for so long by basing my plans on hopes, young Ariane. The mages will publicize their existence, and soon. Afterward, the other members of the supernatural family will be revealed one by one." "And Bertrand believes that aggressive expansion could offset the risks?" "Bertrand believes that a more¡­ united ''vampirekind'', forgive the word, will be best equipped to fend off the backlash we will face. We would, of course, need to agree to be ruled by a united government." I finally understand. Bertrand heads a faction dedicated to uniting all of us under one flag, by force if necessary. That includes taking over the New World as we are comparatively weaker, and that means that if he has the opportunity to deprive us of one of our assets, he will. Such assets include a stable, sane Devourer with a proven record of acceptable combat prowess. Bertrand wants me dead. He was the one who tried to dispose of me, and Dominique just informed me in the most direct way possible. For a Mask, that is. "An intriguing plan. I believe that a fragmented nation means that we cannot be taken down in one fell swoop, however, perhaps there would be a need to decide on a common strategy to handle the crisis stemming from the great reveal?" "The Great Reveal. I like that. Yes, I will be in touch with Constantine. Ah, and here is the next piece of entertainment." Maximilien steps on the stage again while a string quatuor sits behind him to provide background music. "Ladies and gentlemen, my fellow denizens of the sunless earth. Here comes the moment that you have been expecting, the selection of the Queen of the Night!" A pair of burly men in sphinx masks come, carrying a rectangular black box covered in shimmering runes and reinforced with silvery bands, which they unlock to reveal a circular opening at the top. The thing looks massive and incredibly heavy. "Is that¡­ a raffle?" I ask with disbelief. Dominique merely chuckles. "One of the more recent and popular ideas from our brave Maximilien. He writes the names of the women set to attend the party and places them in this strongbox, which is then kept in a secret location for a week before being brought here. We do not check for tampering and the trail to follow is only mildly difficult." "Hold on, do you mean¡­" "Yes. This is a cheating competition. This time, the strongbox was placed in a bank vault. We made it excruciatingly clear that the guards were not to be harmed and we have seen, I must say, quite a few interesting takes on changing the contents of the box. You understand the issue with changing the box''s contents, yes?" I think for a second and¡­ of course. "You have to be the last one." "Indeed, you must be the last person to change the names to your advantage in order to win. That means that every new robber must contend both with the security and with the presents left by the previous teams. I do believe that I know who will win, though I will refrain from commenting for now. There could always be an upset." Maximilien is done ranting about the illustrious tradition he created merely a few years ago. He plunges a hand in the box and moves it around while the four players accompany him with dramatic tension. "And the winner is¡­ Meredith of the Hastings!" Everyone applauds immediately, and I do not detect a hint of distress from those who played and lost. A fair lady in a bee-themed mask points a finger at herself, apparently surprised. Instead of climbing to the stage to claim her prize, she turns to a man by her side and curtsies deeply. Dominique leans towards me to whisper in my ear. "Theodore of the Roland, the true artisan of this victory. Ah, what a delightful lad. Maximilien would not shut up when he figured out the young man''s trick. You see, Theodore unexpectedly went early to the box and left without altering it. He returned one night later¡­ and changed the upper plate. The one that Maximilien just put his hand through." I try to imagine someone in a bank vault, juggling magical implements and a screwdriver to achieve his goals. It must have been quite the task. "Do you not protect the box against tampering?" "Of course we do. There are low-level enchantments to prevent alteration as well as high-tier trackers to prevent someone from switching the whole box with another one. We detected the tampering, but Maximilien judged that it was delicate and clever enough that it should be tolerated. He also loved young Theodore''s concept. You see, that lad enchanted the plate so that every paper going through it will have his darling''s name written on it. A brilliant idea! And no matter how many times the ballots were replaced within the vault, the final result would be the same." "And Theodore struck a deal with Meredith?" "No, he just fancies her terribly. What a way to woo a girl. Why, I believe that he will spend a pleasant evening." And indeed, Maximilien enthrones Meredith in a farcical remake of a royal coronation. No sooner is the lady crowned, that she calls upon the crafty thief to join her side. The couple then walks through the crowd on their way to the balcony, receiving silent accolades and excited signs from everyone around. Meanwhile, Maximilien flutters from group to group. "Our gracious host will give a ranking to every performer, in secret of course, so that they may improve in the future." "What an excellent way to promote a healthy competition." "Indeed. And now, please excuse me a moment as I congratulate the victors." Dominique leaves me behind, and Luther uses this opportunity to take my side. Chairs of stone emerge from the stage''s ground, white and sober, as the quartet leaves and a column of mortals joins the party. They wear expressionless white masks and carry their instruments with them in an awkward shuffle, clearly unused to the ponderous red garments they had been given for the occasion. At their head stands a tall, fat man with long white hair. He huffs and puffs as he carries a pulpit with him, on which he fastened music sheets. "Oh, mortal performers," I observe. "The best at captivating us," Luther replies, "I enjoy good music very much. It is the only time when Masks will shut up." "Ahem." Luther leans towards me. From so close, the scent of old power and the sensation of being in the forest almost overwhelms me. "Do I shock you, Ariane of the Nirari?" "No, but you cannot blame me for avoiding a joke at our host''s expense. I already tested the limits of their hospitality." "Indeed. That cute little train conductor you seduced was most adamant in her protests. I had the opportunity to lodge a formal protest. How fares Odilon?" "The perpetrator? I am not sure if I am at liberty to say." "Do graciously dodge the question while leaving a hint, as tradition demands." "He was appreciating Jean-Baptiste''s furniture the last time I checked." Luther''s amusement is palpable. Bravo, Ariane, very subtle. "Ah yes, he was giving them a close look, I would wager? They can be so convoluted." "Thank you for the rescue." "I would not want you to feel like the only straight arrow in a quiver of hoops." Any witty retort I may have found dies on my lips as we watch the orchestra, now settled, welcome the arrival of a diva in a pink gown with a domino mask, and a male singer in a grey tuxedo. Also, did I seduce the train operator? It was by accident. I swear. "Ah, Ernani," Luther says as he nods to himself. If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. "Ernani?" "Yes, a recent Opera by Giuseppe Verdi. Are you familiar with the man?" "I loved Nabucco." "Then you will be delighted. This is the Orchestra of the Opera-Theatre de la Nation. Maximilien sometimes pays princely sums to famous performers so that they come here and entertain us. I recognize their conductors, as well as the singers." "Does he not fear discovery?" "Maximilien gives them two Louis d''Or per night and per head. I assure you that paying musicians a generous wage is such a rare occurrence these days that they would not forfeit their chance for any reason. Besides, this is Paris. You cannot raid a bakery without stumbling upon two secret societies'' meetings." The musicians tune quickly. The lights dim while strange lamps criss-cross the stage until the performers are illuminated and we bask in darkness. What follows is a reproduction of my very first night at the opera with Torran. The orchestra and singers play airs from Verdi''s masterpiece with talent backed by experience and hard work. The performance is flawless. The stage comes alive with the distressed arias of the disgraced nobleman Ernani and his promised, the beautiful and fierce Elvira. By themselves, then in pairs, they proclaim their love. I have to stop myself from leaning too much over the balustrade on two occasions, especially when Elvira begs Ernani to save her from marriage with a decrepit old codger. Poor thing. I have Luther to thank for offering context, as I do not speak a word of Italian. The performance ends too soon, and Maximilien now steps on the platform. "Une extraordinaire performance, toutes mes felicitations," he says to the orchestra, then he turns to us. "And now, my fellow puppeteers, I invite you to join us in singing a beautiful hymn, one that speaks of a lost land and its memory. Though we remain apatrid, we surely all long for what we sacrificed on the path. To me, my dearies, to me, and let your voices rise on wings of gold!" "This is my favorite part," Luther whispers in my ear, "watch closely, for you will not witness this anywhere else." The chef d''orchestre lifts a wand. Wood and brass answers. The music starts softly, with strings offering melancholic phrases, then the vast cavern booms with the call of fate, mirroring the cruel destiny of Nabucco''s Hebrews as they lament the loss of their city. Finally, the introduction ends with hints of hopes. The vampires come into play. With a single voice, they sing, as umoving as the cavern around them. The chorus should express a powerful longing, but in the polar voices of the assembly, its tune becomes hollow and threatening. The assembly''s inability to convey emotions they no longer experience turns the hymn into a dirge, the auric wings tarnished, yet no less imposing for it. Mask voices are as exact as they are flat, and their mechanical precision echoes an increasingly distressed orchestra. They can feel it. Haunted eyes rise from music sheets and away from the frantic director. They steal glances at what they finally recognize as predators. S§×ar?h the N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Le memorie nel petto raccendi, ci favella del tempo che fu!" Rekindle the memories in our heart, and speak of times gone by! Too late. It is far too late for us. No golden harps or prophet''s voices will help us recover what we left behind. The only warmth we feel is the one we plunder. After touching the hidden sky and the depths of the world, the chorus finally dies down with pianissimo voices and lightly plucked strings. The harmony lingers in the air for a few more seconds which are still, to me, parts of the song¡­ then the conductor lowers his hands and the performance is over. We all applaud the mortals and each other, and I do so with gusto. Truly, that was a show like no others. I only listen with half an ear to Maximilien''s compliments. Afterward, the orchestra shuffles away in silence, heads bent and eyes lost like drunken revelers heading home. Light progressively returns to the cave and the flickers of conversing hands heralds the return to normalcy. I lean back from the balcony. "I hope you had a delightful experience. Alas, I forgot to inform you about this new tradition, or I would have invited you to join us," Dominique pleasantly says as he returns to my side. Yes, well, no. "Think nothing of it. I believe that I had a more pleasant time listening than I would have had singing." Me and everyone with functional ears in a fifty yards radius. "It gladdens me that you would find the show to your taste. I am glad to see the younger generations appreciating the fine arts just as much as we do. Ah, how I wish we could end the evening on that beautiful note. Alas, we have a terrible matter to attend. Two of our domains have entered into conflict over ownership of the city of Amiens, and agreed to settle their differences tonight." "A duel?" I ask. I always like a good duel as long as I am not on the receiving end. "In a manner of speaking. No, I fear that the offended party chose chess." I was not aware that the game of kings was such a dreadful pastime. I am personally terrible at it, but I still have a good time watching experts play. "You will understand very shortly." As expected, Maximilien returns to the platform. "Our friends from Rouen and Lille agreed on a trial by chess for the control of Amiens. Although I regret, as always, that it has come to violence, I can only salute the determination of both parties in pursuing this ancient tradition." Hmm, what? "Lord Corentin, please select your champion," he continues. "We choose master Pascal D''alembert." From the door behind the stage, a portly man with a frizzy black beard in a dark ensemble comes out. He is a mortal, calm and composed. "D''Alembert is a renowned player, one that has dominated the field for over a decade. Lille is practically unbeaten," Dominique explains in a deceptively light tone. "Only mortal players have the wherewithal to do what must be done." I have a terrible feeling about this. "And you, Lady Annabelle?" "We choose Sabine Treillis." The crowd twitches and signs as a young woman appears, eliciting a raised brow from the chess master. She has sad, large brown eyes, and an elegant dress that both fits and does not. It is too majestic for the girl''s nervous hands and bent back. "Set the stage and let the contestants take their place." The stones of the platform shift again. Squares disappear below ground and emerge back later, now a shiny onyx. Soon, a traditional board, eight by eight, occupies a significant portion of the space. Then the pieces appear. Wearing swords and square shields, men in black and white uniforms emerge in two lines from the back. Cattle. They take the places of pawns as I watch with horrified fascination. Then¡­ No. No no no no no. No! I turn to Dominique to confirm that this is a joke, a jest to terrify me, but no, Vassals are now stepping up to the playing ground. Vassals! No, this is not what I think it is. I refuse to believe it. Maximilien flips a coin. "Sabine Treillis gets white." The Vassals, garbed in a variety of costumes designed to mimic armor, split in two groups. Sabine''s team lines up behind the white cattle-pawns. "You may begin." "Pawn to D4," the girl declares in French. A man with glassy eyes takes a few steps forward. "Knight to C6," D''Alembert retorts with barely hidden contempt. And so they go on, until the fateful moment. "Pawn to E5," Sabine announces. One of the cattle steps forward and to the diagonal. He brandishes his sword and sweeps at the opposing pawn''s neck. The sharpened blade hews through sinew and cartilage with a ghastly crunch. A tremendous geyser of blood splatters the killer, the ground, and a few nearby pieces as the fallen piece collapses on the ground with a last gurgle. By the Watcher. Surely, surely they would not. Surely. Two guards in sphinx masks come to retrieve the body, leaving promptly to free the space for D''Alembert''s next move. The victorious pawn''s rule ends when D''Alembert has yet another cattle strike him down. Sabine, however, was expecting it. "Queen to D8." Gasps echo through the spectators, and I understand why. D''Alembert''s move deprived his queen of cover, and Sabine decided to trade pieces in what I recognize to be a suicidal move. Her queen will take his and be in turn taken by the king. But¡­ no. They would not. A tall woman with a lost look steps forward with a heavy mace. On the other side, a smaller woman with very dark hair turns rigid. With slow purpose, the white queen moves forth. Her mace rises. This is WRONG. WRONG. THIS IS ALL WRONG. "What are they doing? What are you doing?" I hiss, realizing that the entire private floor can hear me and not caring one bit. How¡­ This makes no sense, no sense at all! The black queen lets out a muffled scream, a sharp thing that escapes through gritted teeth. I step forward and stop when I feel a hand on my shoulder. I swipe it away, feeling something impact. Claws grab my neck. No no no NO NO NO, FIGHT IT. Broken skull, one eye falling down, a mess of brain and matted hair. A second squishy hit. I am dragged away, through a door, only to hear Sabine''s calm voice. "We forfeit." A corridor and Dominique slams me against an engraved wall. He shows no emotion but regret. "It is their choice. I cannot intercede." "Then you are mad, you are all mad!" "Their sacrifice and ours will prevent the many deaths that come with open war." "It is better to die on the field than to allow such travesty to occur. You have lost yourselves, you fools!" I hiss and sputter, knowing that I offend and not caring a bit. They are insane. They are monstrous. Such a travesty should never have been allowed to occur. BLASPHEMY. SUBSUME AND PREVENT. "Our contest is cruel, but so is war. When a lord falls, their Servant dies as well. Their Vassals suffer from the severed bond." "You use sophistry to deny the truth, and the truth is that a Servant''s life is sacred. We all know it. We all feel it. You perceived the collective pain we all endured just as I did when that woman died. Bound mortals are not tools to be used in games of power!" "Everything is a tool." "If you truly believe that, then there is nothing left behind the Masks. You have become empty vessels with no substance." Heavy silence descends upon the empty corridor. I want to kill him. I want to kill them all. They desecrate everything that we should stand for. They taint the most fundamental rules that keep us in check. Vassals are treasures. I will never, ever tolerate anything else but that. "I shall forgive your words, as I understand where they came from. You have my apologies for submitting you to such a spectacle. I did not expect such a powerful instinctual response." "Perhaps you should pay more attention to what your instincts tell you." Claws grab my neck once more. "Be careful what you wish for." I swipe once more with as much speed as I can gather and Dominique takes a step back. "Spare me the theatrics, unless you wish to further break the rules of hospitality. You wanted me for something, yes? Tell me what it is so that I can leave this place." All the art and the songs, they no longer matter to me. The evening is entirely ruined by¡­ I cannot think about it without feeling a bone-deep anguish. I should have¡­ but no, I tried and was restrained. They are fools. Imbeciles. Dominique takes my measure. I cross my arms to signify that we are fully done. "Very well. Please, follow me to my study." We walk up a set of stairs and through soberly decorated alleys. Contrary to the catacombs, this place is warmer, and smells of fresher air. Eventually, Dominique opens a door and we enter a richly decorated workroom. Time to see what this is all about, why I had to fight my way through battle masters, got stabbed in the chest, then had to witness the murder of a Vassal. Time to see why the head of Masks demands my presence. I hope that it will not bind me to this place for another fortnight, because I am more than fed up. Dominique gestures. On a dark wood table, in the middle of the space, a single book has been left with a fountain pen by its side. This is a collector''s tome with a richly decorated cover and the crisp, white pages I associate with brand new editions. Indeed, I approach and realize that the bindings still smell of fresh leather. I pick up the pen without quite understanding my role until I look closer. A good half of the cover shows an excellent rendition of a red-haired man fighting off goons in brown outfits. He holds a sword in one hand, and a voluptuous dark-haired beauty in the other. In the background, a fetching blonde woman with a torch and a muscular man with dark hair and a beard fend off more assailants. The title jumps to my eyes in all its golden-lettered glory. "The Cecil R. Bingle Omnibus, Vol. III." Dominique''s voice wakes me up from my consternation. "I would like an autograph, ''Ariane Delaney''." Motherfucker. Chapter 130 - 125. Tempus Iterum Fugit ad-D¨¡r al-Bay?¨¡?, three days after the Parisian night. The inn had seen better days. The man in a hat poured himself another goblet of rum. He nursed it, savoring the burn as it went down his gullet. Even the stench of piss and vomit disappeared under the heady savor of processed sugarcane. It brought the man back to decades ago, when his world was simpler, and the sun of the Caribbean shone on endless opportunities. He allowed himself a sigh of contentment before returning his focus to the sleaze in front of him. While the man was a creature of the sea, the sleaze was a dweller in the muck. He had the pallid face and rotund gut that came with too little activity, too many shepherd''s pies. Or whatever fatty stuff they served here. The man felt an intense dislike for the sleaze, yet he said nothing, for the sleaze brought money. Usually. "So, what do you say?" the sleaze asked. "You know, there are rumors," the man replied. The sleaze frowned. "Rumors," the man continued with a pointed look, "and gossip. The crew of the Triton took a similar offer a few weeks ago. They told stories of a deed gone to shit." "Poppycock," the sleaze said, with a dismissive wave of his gloved hand. "They said that they met a she-devil below deck. That she swallowed a bullet and spat it out. They say that she killed two men by breaking their necks with two fingers. They say that she let them go because she had her fill." "Surely captain, you do not believe those¡­ those inventions. Stories, all of those." The man served himself another goblet. It would be the last one. He was no longer sixteen. Hadn''t been for a while. "I say that she let them go as bait." Eyes met eyes over the decrepit table. "And a week ago, men came. They had questions. I don''t like questions." The sleaze did not reply. He, too, knew about the men. He had disappeared the devil knew where the moment their strange white uniforms started to dot the streets. "And now you come here asking me to seek a pale lady on a small ship." "The money¡ª" "I have not lasted this long in my profession by being an imbecile. All the gold in the royal bank won''t do you any good if it''s Davy Jones footing the bill. I say no. And if others say yes, they are fools." With that said, the man downed the rum and sighed in appreciation. He walked out, shutting the door behind him. The noise of children playing in the sunny street came and dimmed again. The sleaze did not follow. A fancy cottage in Essex, five days after the Parisian night. A vampire and a godling sat on either side of a coffee table, each nursing a cup of fragrant black tea. A small fire was dying in the hearth. Sometimes, shiny embers danced over the blackened log, and the wood cracked merrily. There were no lights. The godling was old, ancient even, and yet powerful muscles still clung stubbornly to his aging frame. He lounged without fear, eyes closed. A persistent smile lifted the corners of his lips, hidden behind a scar and a prodigious white moustache. Between them, a series of books lied piled high. They were fresh from the printer, and still smelled vaguely of new leather. "You haven''t changed," the godling finally said. His voice only carried one emotion, and it was wonder. "You haven''t found a cure to your curse then?" he asks immediately after with obvious concern. "Hah, only death will lift this one. I am content. Rather, I will always be grateful for your understanding at that time. It¡­ helped me a lot. I was young then." "We both were! And I do believe that you have started to repay me¡­" the godling answered with a twinkle in his eyes. "Are you referring to your children?" "Indeed! I was endlessly amused when Nathan sent me the draft for his second book. Ariane Delaney! I could scarcely believe my eyes. You saved him, did you not?" "Not his life, but I believe that he would have had his heart broken if we had failed." "And a heart is needed to differentiate an adventurer from a looter. Ah, it pleases me endlessly to know that the younger generation has taken the torch to carry the name ''Bingle'' into the annals of history, even if the more respectable circles would dismiss it as nothing but bluster." "Perhaps not for long. The world is changing." "But it might be too late for my youngest. A good head on her shoulders, that one. Perhaps too good sometimes." "Miranda? She and I had a little encounter that, I believe, changed her mind." The godling chuckled, and it soon turned into a full belly laugh. "Ah, I am so pleased to see that the spirit of adventure lives on in my dear children. I am so glad that I got to share what I saw with them." "Is it also why you wrote your memoirs?" "That, and two other reasons." "Do tell." "The second, we do not all have the benefit of dodging old age, Miss Delaney. A man may live for decades, but leave a good book behind and he will keep touching hearts for centuries. We all have our paths to immortality, in a way." "A noble goal. And the third?" "Money. Hah! I used the mountain of pounds and shillings I made to purchase the lovely domain you see, as well as help for Rose and I in our old age. Our children got the best education money could provide through pages upon pages of naked blades and stiff upper lips. Huzzah!" "And thus, a new generation of Bingles was unleashed upon the world, to find adventure wherever it may be." "You know, Ariane, sometimes I believe that adventures find us." The vampire smiled mysteriously. "Who knows?" They sipped tea in companionable silence. "You know," the godling said, "even without the rest, I would still have been pleased with the one expedition we completed together. Even after finding the diamond of Manipura and the golden crown of the Prince of the Serengeti, saving those fifty people from a cult remains my greatest achievement. This, more than jewels, fills me with pride." "You have a good heart, Cecil. I could tell the moment that we met and the only thing you expressed was sympathy." "You were more guarded, then. I am glad to see that you have grown into your own, if only inside of your heart. I hope that you will find it in you to extend your benevolence to my grandchildren!" "You have my word that I will help those I can, given the occasion. The world would be drabber without them around to open forbidden vaults and uncover cursed temples. I just hope that neither they nor I will bite off more than we can chew." "But, my dear Ariane, being an adventurer is all about that!" December 1849, Boston, two years after the Parisian night. The street urchin hid his hands under his armpits. The mittens were not enough to keep the cold at bay. The old man by his side pointed to the right, where late pedestrians passed by the lit windows of tailor shops. Even at this late hour, the streets bustled with late shoppers and clerks heading home from work. "How about that one. What do you say?" The woman he chose was young, with blonde hair held up in two buns over her ears. A fashionable hat matched a dark blue cloak and gown ensemble that looked slightly too cold for the weather. Despite that, she showed no signs of suffering from the biting wind that froze the urchin to his core. The street rat stared and counted. He judged that her outfit must cost upward to twenty dollars despite the lack of much jewelry. At least! She also walked all slow and proper, and she had a handbag that could have some good money in it. And she was young and without a chaperone. Really, a perfect mark. And yet¡­ There was something there that pushed the urchin''s intuition to scream. It had never failed him, this intuition. Right now, it said not to approach the woman. It said to stay away, on the other side of the bay preferably. "No," he told the old man. "Hah, you''re still so green. Look¡ª" "No. She''s bad news." "Have you lost your damn mind?" The urchin shook his head with vehemence. The old man had never seen him so animated, so assertive. "Remember when I told you the cops were coming, and they were?" the urchin said. The woman passed them by. Suddenly, it felt even colder. The arctic gale sent the urchin''s teeth chattering. "Fair enough¡­" the old man whispered with a frightful glance, "fair enough. Come on." They left. The urchin looked back one last time as they turned the corner. His gaze met a pair of sapphires as cold as the winter solstice. There, he saw only two things. Death, and amusement. The sapphires followed him as he started to run. Thankfully, she did not follow. July 1851, Moonside, Illinois, four years after the Parisian night. The vampire and the mage rode into the village. It was a strange village. It lacked a few things. First, and sadly, it lacked children. And the old folks to look after them. Second, it lacked clothes. Or at least, that is how it appeared as many trod its street in the state of nature. The blonde mage took a deep breath. She was an interesting mix of deadly implements and noble beauty. Wheat-colored ringlets fell to her armor-clad shoulders, mixing with the white of her uniform. A sword adorned her lovely waist. She was the perfect synthesis of the war mage and the Austrian princess. She also smelled nervous, and the peculiar inhabitants of this peculiar village tasted it in the air. The vampire turned to the side and a tiny brunette pointed at a nearby field. "Just finished," she added, though what she was referring to was not expanded on. The vampire and the cabbalite rode through the street. A man stopped to sniff the air, but his companion slapped him across the back of the head, muttering something about ''not mentioning the smell'' and ''having to regrow your damn ears''. The pair made their way to a vast field unimpeded. There, they met a tall man cleaning his blood-soaked hands in a basin held by a bored-looking, muscular young woman. The man had the powerful build of a fighter at the top of his form. His body was covered in wiry muscles as taut as strings. He also moved with unnerving grace as he greeted the visitors with a happy smile. His square jaw and messy brown hair lent him a roguish charm that had some effect on the mage. "Heeeeyyy bosswoman, how are you doing? I told June, ya know? I told her. Damn, it''s been a while since we last saw the bosswoman, and there was this here matter that I had to solve and I knew, I just knew that the bosswoman would check on her good pal Jef. Didn''t I? Anyway, so good to see you." "Is this the¡­ matter you are referring to?" the vampire asked. In the field, there were many people milling about and discussing matters as if they were at a tavern. The center of the field hosted a circle drawn in chalk, and at the edge, there were the remains of a monster of good size. It would have been scary, with a wolf head filled with sharp, curved fangs, were it not for the sorry state it was in. Someone had done an impressive number on the thing. Its blood soaked the ground. One of the arms was detached. "Yes! Every three months or so, someone from the north comes and sees that Moonside is a pretty sweet haven, ya know? Milk and honey and whatnot. They see this and they think, ''Damn there''s a lot of girls here, and food. And the weather is nice, I guess?'' We have amazing weather, that''s for sure. Helps with the crops, and the hunts. Good situation. Anyway, they see this and do they think that it''s all hard work and being buddies with the immortal night horror who ate Fenris'' enforcer in front of him because she was feeling peckish? Nooooo they are all, yeah, free stuff. And I''m all, nah fellas, you want something, you have to go through me first. And they are all, hah you are a tenderfoot who doesn''t know about the hardships of the north! I have eaten my own shoes boiled with salt and my belt as a side dish, all while pushing the coals around with my massive, throbbing, oh there are ladies here nevermind. But you get the idea! Funny thing is, they keep me on my toes. Can''t get rusty with those around. Hey! You might think that they might learn, but they don''t. It''s like werewolves are not the most shining intellects around. Crazy, huh?" "Yes," the vampire deadpanned, "unbelievable." "Thanks bosswoman. So, who''s the new girl? Hello!" "Ahem, yes, and a good evening to you Mr. Jeffrey." "Hah! Mr Jeffrey! You hear that, June? Now that''s real class. Mr. Jeffrey. Got a pep to it, don''t ya think? Why just the other day I told old man Gregor, I told him, I said¡ª" "Jeffrey, as commendable as I find your enthusiasm, I need to finish this conversation before dawn," the vampire interrupts. She smiled gently to take the edge off her comment. They were, after all, on his territory. "Jeffrey, I would like you to meet Carmela von Leeb, of the White Cabal. She and her family have suffered at the hands of other werewolves, and she requested to meet with you in order to overcome her fear." The tall man unleashed a devastating lopsided grin on the hapless woman. He wore trousers and nothing else, highlighting an impressive physique. "Why, yes, fair lady, I will be your huckleberry¡ªEY!" The muscular woman by his side had so far listened to their conversation in sullen silence punctuated by the occasional eye roll. As Jeffrey tried to flirt, however, she had apparently decided that it was time to intervene and emptied the water basin on her leader''s head. Then, using the distraction, she decked him. The pair fell into a snarling pile of play-fighting. It was clear that Jeffrey would win with ease, when suddenly a grown man with lost eyes bowled into the victorious werewolf, resetting the struggle. Then, a wisp of a girl with a pixie haircut joined the fray, followed by a dangly fellow with a long beard. A massive fat man grabbed half of the pile and smashed it into the other. "Gus, get your fat fucking ass off my face!" someone bellowed. In the clearing, the visitors looked on. The vampire was checking the time on her watch while her horse sniffed disdainfully. A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. "Is it always like that?" the mage asked. "You get used to it." The mage was still a bit scared, but the werewolves had certainly lost some of their mystique already. And that was before the naked people charged in. 1854, A secured compound on the coast of Florida, seven years after the Parisian night. The war mage checked his circle one last time. This one was not some hastily drawn defense. It was engraved in the stone beneath him at great cost, with molten silver and great patience. The main gate had always been designed with reverence and defensibility in mind. It was paying off now. "Alright, remember, don''t wait until they come in. Fire immediately," he said to the men and women by his side. There were a dozen of them. He prayed that it would be enough. His attention returned to the double doors in front of him, made of solid wood reinforced with enchanted nails and steel bars. The fighters by his side wore clothes of an assortment of colors. His foes wore white and, more worryingly, red. The Red Cabal. He had heard of them. It was said that they served a dangerous master. There was a rumble and he brought his focus front and center. The wall on his left exploded inward, and a horror walked through the opening. No, the horror walked, and it made an opening. Mortar and bricks yielded under his tremendous bulk. Debris large enough to crush a skull bounced off his armor like gravel. He was humanoid, and he wore on himself a steel armor colored black and engraved with reinforcement runes shining a terrifying red in the shadows. The plates that made his protection were thick enough to stop a cannonball, and he wore them as if they weighed nothing. The floor groaned with every step. The man stomped down and cracks snaked out from the impact. He grunted, and swept before him with a maul of ridiculous proportions. The inelegant implement smashed through their entire flank with disheartening ease. Where the giant struck, only mangled bodies were left with bleeding eyes and ears from the shock of their crumpled shields. But the man was not a war mage for nothing. "Inferno!" "Mistral," a calm voice retorted. The wave of pure heat met a cold front as solid as a wall. Tempestuous winds ravaged the main entrance. The man looked up from behind the protection of his raised arm to see the colossus walk by. Their eyes met. The man felt himself dragged in the placid brown gaze. There were no emotions there, just a relentless drive to accomplish the task he was given. The sheer will inside of the titan''s mind was crushingly overwhelming. Here was a creature who would destroy a mountain piece by fucking piece over the eons if ordered. All obstacles would be swept not by smarts, but my single-minded obstinacy. He¡ª The amulet around the war mage''s pinged and the link between the two broke. The mage was not so much protected as kicked back into himself, reeling from the frayed contact. The colossus was now obliterating his way through his other flank. There were two gunshots and the men he had placed on the balcony fell to the ground with gaping holes where their chest used to be. It was already over, and there had been no battles. All those efforts and preparations swept away like a sand castle. He knew why. Even without the show of speed and inhuman power, even without the deleterious gaze that gnawed at his willpower, there were the auras. Cold. Powerful. Uncaring. Two of them. The war mage reinforced his shield as a woman stepped down from the wreck of the wall. Fighters in red and white were pouring in from the breach, not mixing with one another. They moved further into the complex in a way that showed that they were following clear orders, and knew where to go. It was humbling. It occurred to the war mage that he was the last alive from his group. Men and women he had trained and dined with now lay dead, their lives extinguished in mere moments. So many talents from so many places snuffed out at the same time, and with no result. The war mage was too experienced to feel much guilt. They were fucked no matter, that much was obvious. Which begged the question, why was he still alive? The male vampire held his humongous weapon close enough for the war mage to spot runes of breach and destruction. It was a tool specifically designed to crush shields. A mage-killer. The female one stopped to stand in front of him. He avoided her glare. "Why?" he asked. They were just smugglers who traded in exotic goods. Certainly not anything that justified such a thorough extermination. "Do you know who your main investor is?" the woman asked in a smooth voice. She had the barest southern accent. "My investor?" the man repeated with incredulity. "So, you do not know. Tell me, you are the head of security here, yes?" "I was. Until you killed everyone. How does this relate with my fucking investor? I got no investor, only a boss." "Your company has an interesting benefactor, one who has used your supply routes to smuggle equipment in and information out. We are in a period of preparation, you understand. Everyone is setting their pieces on the board, and it so happens that you are helping the other side." "And so you came and slaughtered us? Just like that?" "Yes. Just like that." She was barely paying attention. "Is that why you kept me alive? You wanted to make an example out of me?" He could see mild surprise through the pitted war mask as the vampire returned her attention to him. "Example? No, my dear. You are neither an example nor a rescue." "Then¡­" She was suddenly very close. The shield wavered around him. Her voice grew husky. sea??h th§× nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "You are dessert." September 1857, Louisiana, ten years after the Parisian night. The vampire held a small babe in her arms. Her poise and light touch showed a certain experience with children, although she kept her a bit farther than necessary, as if afraid to break her. There was still a distance there. A certain unease. "What do you think?" the mother said by her side. She had the frazzled hair of someone with too little sleep, but her eyes gleamed with excitement and a smile to match. "Healthy and beautiful, I can ask no more from my namesake." "I hope that she grows to be smart and careful, just like her mom." They spent some time playing with the child until she fell asleep. "How are things otherwise?" "The western plantation was destroyed in a flood two weeks ago. Fortunately, everyone got out before so we have no casualties. The harvest was insured. My only worry is that the broker might make some difficulties." "If it happens, do let me know. I can convince them to honor their bargain." "Yes. You know, since that incident with the bank five years ago, everyone has been polite and respectful with me." "Unsurprising. I made an example out of them, after all." "What did you do?" "It would be best if you did not know." December 1858, Boston, eleven years after the Parisian night. "I have no idea what this is," the tall vampire said. He placed his aristocratic hands on his desk, fingers intertwined. His attention was devoted to the strange item before him. It was a dark root covered in thorns. The base had been severed in a particularly clean way. "One thing is certain, however. It is not made of earthly materials. It has no weight when measured, though I can feel a pull when I move it around. I am sorry that I cannot help you. Furthermore, even if I had not sworn to keep my inquiries secret, there would still be no one I can think of who could give us an answer. You said that it flashed and disappeared when you touched it?" he asked the blonde woman facing him. "Yes. Others can pick them up, apparently." "Would you be willing to demonstrate?" The blonde vampire placed a finger on the root. It disappeared in a flash of purple light, leaving nothing behind. It was as if it had never existed at all. "Hmm, from the color, I would hypothesize that it relates to your future Magna Arqa." "How so?" "I would prefer not to elaborate. We progenitors have access to our own from the moment we were reborn, although, it took me a moment to realize that I had the ability at my disposal. I was informed by the lords and ladies I questioned that the ascension to their status was a personal experience, and that it varied greatly between one person and another. As such, any information I could give you could hamper your progress. It would be better if you approached this important step on your own." "Hmm." "Do not be too disappointed. Your actions so far have shown an intrinsic understanding of your own nature that I can only admire. I am sure that you will be fine." The blonde vampire blinked, perhaps surprised at the compliment. "As an apology for my lack of results, how about another class on blood magic?" "I would be delighted." "And so would I. You know, you are much easier to handle as a student than as a fellow ruler." "If you showed the same acumen for leadership as you did for the study of the arcane arts..." "I will have no lip now, young miss. The class has begun." March 1859, Boston, twelve years after the Parisian night. The Warden of Illinois and her second climbed down the rock stairs leading to the heart of the mountain, the seat of the shadowy power ruling the North American vampires. Runes shining a dull red cast a worrying glare on black stones that no mortal had seen in over a decade. There, below, decisions were taken that would reach many groups. With a single vote, a hundred souls could be consigned to oblivion. It had happened before. "I could accomplish so much with just one cadre of the Red Cabal," the red-haired one hissed. "I told you, it is too soon. I will wait for their esprit-de-corps to crystallize into tradition before splitting their numbers. The Red Cabal is less than three years old and they are a tentative group at best. Only when they have created an identity will it be safe for me to split their numbers," the blonde one retorted. Her annoyed tone suggested that the current discussion was merely the rehash of past grievances. "Just tell me if you do not trust me." "I trust you, Melusine. Did I not make you my second?" "Your alternatives are a dimwit and a pickpocket. Forgive me if I am not convinced." "Doe is not a dimwit," the blonde vampire warned with an edge to her voice. The other raised her hands in surrender. "Fine. Fine! Just keep in mind that we are missing opportunities that will not occur again." "If you need magical support, I can fund a mercenary squad. They will not be as trustworthy, however." "I am aware. And yes. Chicago is developing quickly, and the new territories offer intriguing opportunities for expansion. I need all the means I can get. Consider it an investment." "I hope I will see a return soon. I have already tied too much liquidity in those projects of yours." "And you will have massive returns. I promise it." The pair arrived at a landing and doors opened to let them in. The circular room was already occupied by powerful denizens of the night sitting in uneasy silence around an imposing round table made of raised stone. The mood was tense. The two representatives of Illinois sat at their designated spot. The blonde one exchanged a quick nod with the second of Louisiana, a sinuous black woman with a perpetual thin smile. A few more joined them, then a tall man in a red robe entered, and the vault was sealed shut behind him. Silence and immobility now reigned in the room. Those who sensed such things could have felt perfectly contained auras, one for each attendant. Another with a sharp control might have detected the edge they had. "Welcome to the conclave of the Accords," the tall man began without preamble. "Tonight we address the grievances of Lord Adam, of Alabama. Lord Adam, the floor is yours." The tall man sat down and a twin in a beige ensemble stood up, his sibling remaining in his chair. They both had eyes and hair of very light brown, almost copper. "Thank you, Speaker. We come to complain about the escape of more than one hundred and twenty slaves of various origins from our land over the past three months. All have been confirmed as genuinely escaped, and all have headed north into Tennessee, Kentucky, and eventually, Illinois. I have ample evidence that those fugitives received help from a well-developed organization. Unfortunately, any efforts made to recover those slaves from the state of Illinois have been rendered fruitless by the vehemence with which said hunters were¡­ compelled into leaving." The blonde vampire allowed herself the tiniest predatory smile. Lord Adam resumed his speech. "We argue that, one, the slaves are our legal and documented property and that, two, their liberation is an illegal act both according to the Accords and the law, as it constitutes theft. Three, we argue that, by actively opposing the retrieval of our stolen assets, House Nirari is breaking the Accords, which state that any clan is free to pursue offenders outside of their territories within reason. As such, we demand that Nirari ceases to offer support to the organization helping those refugees and known as the Underground Railroad. Furthermore, we demand that House Nirari allow our slave hunters access to her territory unfettered. Finally, we demand redress for the loss of goods incurred to a third of the market value of the lost slaves. Thank you." The Lord sits down, and the Speaker takes his place. "House Nirari will now have an opportunity to defend themselves, following which I will arbitrate the dispute according to the law." "Thank you, Speaker," the blonde vampire said as she stood up, "I would like to address each point in turn. First, House Nirari does not support the Underground Railroad in any way. We do not fund, supply, or inform them. We merely tolerate them on our land. If Lord Adam has any proof that we support them, we invite them to provide it. Otherwise, this specific case falls in the adversarial organization clause, and we have no obligation to oppose them." "You claim that the organization known as the Underground Railroad does not receive your support?" Lord Adam asks with obvious distrust. "That is correct." "The Railroad is too well-organized. They receive the help of one of us." "And that person is not me." Silence returned to the assembly. Lord Adam stewed in his own ire. The two black representatives from Louisiana checked their nails with mock inconspicuousness. "Would you be willing to swear on it?" "Yes," the woman immediately retorted. "And you are unable to stop them from stealing my slaves?" "Why would I do that?" "Enough," the speaker says before the bickering could start, "Ariane of the Nirari is correct. She is not obligated to remove that organization from her territory. You may not invoke the hostile group law as the Railroad does not target you specifically, merely your¡­ financial interests." The Speaker pauses, then turns back to the blonde vampire. "The other points remain." "Concerning the slave hunters, I refuse, and for two reasons. First, the slave hunters have, on repeated and verified occasions, abducted free citizens out of greed or laziness, some of whom were under my protection. The slave hunters are a vile and despicable lot, more interested in filling their pockets than in applying the law they so readily invoke. They are worms and roaches crawling on my territory, touching what is mine. I have made¡­ many examples¡­ and will make more until this is over. " The blonde vampire''s aura bubbled ever so slightly. Something crawled at the edge of reality, driven by her anger. When she realized it, she brought herself under control. The few who noticed did not comment. "As such, I am justified in refusing access." "To individuals, yes, not to a whole profession!" "I also refuse access to bandits. This is also a profession." "Slave hunters are pursuing a legal activity. They are not outlaws that no one will mourn!" "And this leads me to my second point. They are bandits, because I state that any slave brought to my domain is free as is the case in many territories throughout the Union." "Slaves brought to a free state do not become free. See the Dred Scott versus Sanford decision two years ago. Pardon my language, but if you believe that my slaves stop being my property simply because they crossed an imaginary line, you are delusional." "Pardon my language, but I can, and if you don''t like it, you can fuck right off!" "Order, order!" the Speaker yelled above the hisses. He knew that House Nirari was extremely territorial. Lord Adam must have expected it and tried to rile her up. Unfortunately for him, her arguments made sense. The Speaker waited a second for calm to return before addressing the crowd. "Ultimately, the decision depends on Lord Adam''s slaves counting as property or not. Even now, the United States is torn apart by the enduring conflict between slavers and abolitionists. Although I based our own organization around the mortal institutions ruling the territory, there is now a discrepancy between the two. To my immense surprise, this discrepancy does not stem from the addition of Mexican and Canadian lands to our dominion. Indeed, those have been added seamlessly to our ranks. No, the discrepancy comes from the so-called ''slave power'', the political might that slave owners hold over the American government and all its institutions. The Compromise of 1850 first, then the following events have driven a wedge between us, who have so far adhered to our principles, and the mortals, who have peddled them in favor of peace." The Speaker''s aura leaks as he gets more absorbed in his demonstration. "If we accept that every state makes their own decision on slavery, then the slave-owners should have no say in the fate of black people in abolitionist states. To allow bounty hunters to violate the local freedoms, and to deny freemen the protection of the law of the states they live in, this is an act of cowardice for the sake of tranquility. Our principles must prevail for our own peace to survive. Ariane of the Nirari has all authority in her province. If she denies slavery in Illinois, then there are no slaves in Illinois as far as this court is concerned. We will all respect our own boundaries. I will not have a repeat of the disaster that plunged Kansas into a state of protracted violence." Lord Adam winced, but he helplessly shrugged in a show of grudging acceptance. The issue was settled, for now, but the bitter taste of conflict lingered between two sides separated by an unbridgeable rift. April 1861, Marquette, Ariane''s administrative building. The blonde vampire dropped the newspaper heavily on a table near Alexandria Merritt. The fire archmage figured that, since Lynn had married off to one of Boston''s richest men, and Ollie had ascended as the first leader of the Red Cabal, she qualified as important and deserved some explanations. "What''s the matter, too many ''okays''?" "I wish. Do you remember what I said about those dwarven-engineered guns we made for the army?" "That you cannot wait to see who will be the sorry idiots our country next declares war on?" "Yes, that. Unfortunately, the joke is on me. We are the sorry idiots." The archmage leaned forward. The paper had the illustration of a smoking structure on a tiny island by a port. The header said, in big bold letters: Fort Sumter Attacked! And below, in even bigger, bolder letters. CIVIL WAR! "Ah, fuck." Chapter 131 - 126. Shadow Diplomacy Boston, October 1861. "I don''t like this at all, Ariane. We have seen war before, you and I, down in Mexico. This will be nothing like it." Sheridan grumbles as we pass the door leading into the Boston vampire compound. The three-winged edifice was expanded with cliffside structures overlooking the river to accommodate the rising number of night denizens. "How do you figure?" I reply with curiosity. Although he seldom voices his opinion, Sheridan has proven adept at getting a feel of things, especially when it relates to humanity''s darker emotions. "You remember the caning of senator Sumner?" Sear?h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. I frown, staring in his honest brown eyes. Thankfully, being a Vassal seems to have slowed the aging of the brave Texan, and only the barest of grey can be seen in his moustache. "Yes, I do. It occurred some time ago, no? Five years, or so?" "Yes. A representative beat a senator with a cane. A cane! During a session. Because he had dared to ridicule the institution of slavery. I knew, then, that it could only end in blood. When violence is left free to roam without criticism from the party of the offender, then you know that both sides have stopped seeing the other as people worthy of the protection of the law. There are two sides divided by a burning hatred, and it will only end when one of the fighters lies bloody on the ground." I sigh. I honestly believed that it would not come to war, and that slavery would die out eventually. I even fully supported the Ekon clan in helping as many of their followers as possible to escape north by opening my lands to the Underground Railroad. Now, it appears that ideology has ignited passions to the point of no return. I know of civil wars from my father. Among all the deleterious events that can affect a country, war is the worst, and out of all the wars, civil war is the worst. Civil wars turn brother against brother, friend against friend. They sap the strength of nations and fragment families. Neighbors no longer trust each other. Communities fracture and die. After such a long prelude, the bloodbath will be cataclysmic. It would take, to calm things down, an ability to compromise that does not exist in the hearts of men. "Will you do something?" Sheridan asks. His expression remains carefully guarded. I know what he means. He wonders if we, as a community, will intervene. We do not have enough weight to stop the conflict, that would be impossible. We do, however, have the possibility to support one side and tip the scales in their favor. "Only if we can reach a consensus. The only worse thing that could happen now is a vampire civil war on top of the rest." The Watcher knows that we will have our hands full in the immediate future. We move into the main building. Wilhelm the butler welcomes us from behind his desk, and I look left to see the main lobby filled with tables hosting a plethora of mortals, Vassals and Servants all of them. "I''ll be at the bar," Sheridan says with a subdued tone. He walks to Melitone who smiles when she sees him. I walk the corridor to the secured access to the council chamber. The walk down is more solemn than before this time, and everyone arrives before the official starting time, including a harried-looking Melusine. Thirty-one wardens and their seconds standing behind them sit in a circle, with territories ranging from Mexico to Quebec, and from the Atlantic to the Pacific. Only twenty-two are lords and ladies. Some of the wardens, like me, are still Masters. Constantine is last to arrive, though he is, as always, strictly on time. He strides to his stone chair and addresses us without preamble. "Ladies and Gentlemen, I will break tradition by starting with an important statement. Today, Spain, France, and the United Kingdom have gathered in London to discuss a military intervention in Mexico for the official purpose of debt collection. I have received word from reliable sources that the French do not intend to withdraw from Mexico, and furthermore that the intervention itself was pushed forward by a certain Mask faction hostile to the Accords. The armies of Europe will make landfall within the end of the year, and they will bring with them the forces of Mask. War is upon us." Whispers spread through the room. I do not react, as Sephare is the source, and she sent me word before the meeting. "Now, I hope many of you have read the war provisions of the Accords. I am as of now declaring a state of emergency. You may no longer communicate with your allies, trade partners and so on if they are part of the Expansion Faction of Mask. You may no longer invite them on our soil, and when they attack, you are duty-bound to join us in the defense of our lands." The whispers disappear and the implications are made clear. "I know that some of you might be reluctant to break ties. I know that some of you see this land as a temporary position, and wish to rejoin Europe soon. I will be generous. In a week, there will be another conclave. Those of you who wish to change allegiance can signify their choice by not attending. Please note that this will be considered a declaration of war, but war within the boundaries of the standard customs. You will have one more week to leave the continent with whatever you can take with you. If, however, you stay and it turns out that you are helping the enemy, you will receive the treatment of a rogue. I hope this is clear." Death for the transgressors. A suitable punishment for abusing Constantine''s generosity. With his message unambiguously stated, Constantine straightens his spine. "I may not be the smoothest politician, but I know myself enough to realize that, so far, we have not been treated seriously. The Accords have held because they were a convenient way to regulate relationships between vampires from very different backgrounds, and with very different expectations of the life they would find here. To many, our rules were a means to an end, and our community, merely the result of circumstances." Constantine''s demeanor turns unusually cold. I understand his purpose. He wishes to remind everybody that he is still a Progenitor, one of the most powerful vampires in existence, and certainly one of world''s topmost archmages. "When you go back to your fiefs to make your decision, I want you to remember that the Expansion Faction does not come here to add us to a healthy community. They are here to reap the harvest of our labor, and to absorb our resources in their pursuit of forceful unification. All that you have built here will be taken and employed, up to and including your own freedoms, because a faction on the path of total war acknowledges only two groups: their subjects, and their enemies. Do not mistake their promises and bargains for anything more than the offer of a fancier collar around your necks. We, on the contrary, are a known quantity. You know me, you know the rules, and you know that they do not stand in the way of whatever purpose you pursue. This is the Accord''s first true test. Are you willing to step up and defend what we stand for, or are you willing to roll over for whatever scraps the Expansion Faction throws your way? You have until next week to decide. That is all." We do not speak. Constantine has proven himself unusually eloquent. I suspect the delicate touch of Sephare and Melitone. "The next order of business is the Civil War that just started. I will let Lady Sephare take the floor and share with us the results of her work," he says. Constantine sits down, and Sephare stands up. She waves her hand. The smooth fabric of the titanic stone table between us grows liquid and a three-dimensional map of North America appears, with the United States split in three different entities. I admit to being much impressed. This is an incredible feat of magical engineering, and I had no idea that we were equipped with such an excellent tool. Like the others, I stare at the display before us. The territories going from Texas to the south-west, to Virginia in the east, are contained in a single entity named ''Confederate States of America''. The other side, much larger, is qualified as ''the Union'', while four states are labelled as ''Border States''. They form an horizontal line separating the two antagonists. Sephare''s demeanor changes from intimate to that of the university lecturer. Her voice fills the cave with clear diction. "First, I would like you to understand that this conflict is like nothing we have experienced here before. The United States army only numbered a bit above fifteen thousand two years ago. Now, upwards to a hundred thousand men are being rallied on each side, only limited by the inadequate means to train and equip them. It is too early to say who will have the advantage, yet right now, we can already tell that both sides will be formidable. They both have access to West Point graduates and Mexican war veterans, they both have a large amount of volunteers. In the long term, we believe that the Union will gain the advantage through their overwhelming industrial production if the conflict lasts. On the other hand, many of the Union recruits are city dwellers who may need time to reach peak physical condition." Sephare waves again and the border states turn grey. "Right now, those are states that refuse to leave the union but still allow slavery. We expect them to become fully absorbed within the next year." The Union states turn grey. "The victory condition for the Union is to invade and disband the confederacy. Nothing short of occupation will suffice." Now, the southern states are lit. "The victory condition for the south is twofold. They can crush the northern armies to victory, however we do not believe this outcome likely. Even if they won battle after battle, their weak infrastructure would not let them maintain the supply lines for long campaigns in the north. The other solution, and the most likely to occur, is for them to fight the Union to a standstill. They only need to last until the next elections. If war weariness prevails and Lincoln is soundly defeated, they can sue for peace. This would split the United States in two." We consider this possibility in silence. If this were to happen, the tension between the two entities would surely lead to another conflict down the road, if only because the north would actively support escaping slaves with no rules in place to stop them anymore. "No matter what happens, the war will be extremely bloody due to the ideological nature of the conflict and the lack of strategic objectives. Blood will be shed, ladies and gentlemen, and a lot of it. This cannot be avoided. The question remains, then. What do we do? I have spoken." Sephare sits down and Constantine replaces her. The map of the land still lies before us in liquid obsidian, the border new and unsettling. "We normally do not intervene in mortal conflicts when armies meet on the field of battle, and territory is exchanged by treaty. There are, however, precedents for taking a more active part." There are also precedents for such an intervention to trigger a vampire war, one we cannot afford right now. "As such," Constantine continues, "I suggest that we vote on a resolution. When we reconvene in a week, I will allow proposals supported by more than three Wardens to be presented in fifteen minutes or less. We will then vote on them in elimination rounds. The final resolution must receive more than two-thirds of total votes to be accepted." Constantine sets himself up for a political deadlock. At the same time, a two-thirds majority means that even detractors will hesitate to oppose it, should it be approved. My only fear is that the resolutions and their support will draw across clan lines. If this happens, the Accords will have failed as a community. We will merely be the same old bloodlines using the assembly as a political tool to trade influence. Only if a consensus is reached will the American vampires exist as a distinct entity. Constantine may have caused me to suffer horribly before we met, but now I find myself more and more tied with him as a supporter. I will depose him in the end, of course, but for now we must work together so that a crown is left to usurp. Constantine dissolves the assembly soon after. We file out and gather in clumps across the massive complex to discuss and scheme. Soon, Vassals and employees race through the corridors, bearing missives and invitations. I quickly make contact with my closest allies. "Ari, my sweet little peach, the time has finally come," Nami says as we gather in her salon. Our group consists of the Roland members who have made their seats in the North east and Canada, the Ekon, the Natalis, Sephare''s Hastings, and the one Vanheim Master here. And me, of course. The Cadiz who usually sit on the fence are notoriously absent, as are the new generation of Lancasters. Some of our more lukewarm supporters have also made themselves scarce, an unwise move. To leave now without plotting shows that they will take Constantine''s offer to leave the Accords. Staying for an hour would at least raise some doubts and give them more options. Ah well, perhaps I am missing something. "Is Lady Sephare not joining us?" the Vanheim Master asks. His name is Vadim, and he is strangely effeminate with a narrow face and a thin frame. "She will return after she is done with Constantine''s summons," I tell them. The information circulates in the room, everybody understanding the implicit message. Constantine supports us who might very well call ourselves the Union faction. The backing of the Speaker gives us an edge. "We need to start working on that resolution," one of Sephare''s seconds notes. We agree and add ideas and conditions to a list, with the optics of bringing the neutrals to our side. Sephare eventually joins us and informs me that Constantine wishes to talk. I agree, and tell her one last thing. "I want to negotiate with Lord Adam of the Roland." Sephare shows some surprise at the mention of a man who sued me in the past. "I seem to remember that you two have been at odds on several occasions?" "Yes, and now I possess a decent knowledge of his assets and priorities. I believe that I have a chance at convincing him to switch sides." Sephare offers me one of her rare genuine smiles. "I did not plan to try and convince him. I thought him a lost cause! All the better if you can manage it. Do let me know how the negotiations go." "Certainly." I leave the impromptu reunion, passing several couriers on my way down. Sheridan has left and I do not know where he went, but that is fine. I ask a maid from Wilhelm to carry my request for a meeting to Lord Adam, and in the meanwhile, walk to Constantine''s office. His two bodyguards and renegade Rosenthal secretary let me through the very same moment. The Speaker awaits at his desk, fingers intertwined as usual. More documents litter his desk than I can remember, while the bookshelves lining the wall show more disorder than usual. Our leader has been busy. "Ah, Ariane, excellent. I have a mission for you, if you accept it. You still have that, ahem, proof-of-concept ship, do you not?" Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings. I rejoice in my heart. Could it be? After all those years? "Yes, I do. A repurposed brig with a light plating and a full complement of Dvergur guns." Six of them, to be precise. Five more than necessary. Only the stoutest warships can withstand several volleys of Dvergur-engineered incendiary projectiles. "And is it operational?" "It most certainly is." "Good! Good. You see, Sephare and I have kept track of those elements we deemed, shall we say, unreliable. One of the northern lords has secretly prepared a port and base in the more remote parts of Nova Scotia, far to the north east." "I know where Nova Scotia is." "In any case, we think that a contingent of invaders are set to arrive there. Two days ago, we received two pieces of information from both Mask and Eneru informers, concerning a ship leaving Dublin and carrying a curious cargo." "Do you want me to intercept it?" "Yes, and make sure that they do not reach our shores. Although, if possible, do not kill them. I would prefer not to create bad blood too early in the conflict." "I will need more information if I am to find them." "I do not have their exact route, but I have prepared an artefact that will help you find them." "A vampire finder?" "No, the aura of vampires does not shine brightly enough to detect them. However, there is another kind of aura that is harder to miss." I am struck with memories of a previous boarding. "Fae aura." "Precisely. The assailants will most certainly carry vials of fae blood into battle. Most of them do. We do not share their resources." And I am partly to be blamed for that. "As such, I will prepare an artefact that will guide you to their location, provided that you are close enough. It should not be difficult since we know their destination. Will you do this for us?" "Yes." I do not ask payment for a task that serves our cause. "Thank you. Be sure to stay in touch with Lady Sephare so that we can keep you apprised of new developments. Will you be departing soon?" "Tomorrow, yes. I have one more errand to run." Lord Adam''s borrowed study comes in shades of blue. Like all other private quarters here, the room is both tastefully decorated and sterile. The Roland Lord and his sibling welcome me in casual shirts, and with a pot of coffee. A positive sign. "I hope you do not begrudge me the presence of my twin," Adam starts. "Not at all. I understand that you make most decisions together." "Indeed. So, you wanted to see us. We find ourselves curious as to why, as we have, shall we say, competing interests." "Not necessarily," I reply as I take a sip of coffee. A bit too cold. Oh, well. The delay affords me what I wanted. The pair sits down to face me across a coffee table painted in shades of gold, a sign that I have gained their attention. For now, only politeness affords me their time. If I want more, I will have to be convincing. "Correct me if I am mistaken. You have acres upon acres of plantations, and the slaves to work them. I would say that you have between one thousand five hundred and two thousand five hundred at any time. The work they provide is necessary to make your land profitable." I pause to assess their reactions. If my estimates are too far off, they will display signs of impatience. "Go on," the second twin says. "There are two scenarios. If the north wins the war, the slaves will be emancipated, and you will lose a fortune in assets. If, however, the south achieves independence, you will still bleed people as they escape north where no hunters will come seek them." "Unless the confederates include a provision in the peace settlement." "You do not need to be Napoleon to see how unlikely such a victory would be. The north''s industrial production outperforms the south by an order of magnitude, armament-wise." And I am partly responsible. They remain silent, which I take as a ''maybe''. "I can offer a third path, one that would be more to your advantage than the two others. I will pay you two hundred dollars per slave over a period of two years in quarterly installments if you agree to free them now, guaranteed by contract and backed by the Rosenthal." Lord Adam scoffs. "A slave is worth much more than this. Some go as high as two thousand per head." "For prize fighters or light-skinned fancy ladies, perhaps, not farmhands. Besides, you would not be losing them. You merely need to provide them with decent wages and humane living conditions, and the overwhelming majority will stay on account of not knowing any better." Freedom is pointless if it leads to immediate starvation, and the south will remain inhospitable to freedmen for a long time. "Can you really afford four hundred thousands dollars over two years?" the other twin asks with curiosity. "Yes." My confidence comes from the current circumstances. I am one of the country''s foremost weapons manufacturers, with access to Dvergur engineers, and the improved results they provide. Simply put, the team Loth sent brought with them an inexpensive method of steel-making they call the improved Bessemer process. Better raw materials and standardized production practices allow me to produce the best cannons this side of the Atlantic, at an affordable price. Even if my goods were not inherently superior, I could still sell them to the army thanks to a valuable ally. Sephare has absolute control over the Ordnance Department. As such, the Illinois Armament Manufactory already received massive orders of guns and cavalry rifles, enough for me to afford the massive bribe I am planning. My only surprise came from infantry rifle purchases. I expected my improved needle guns to flood the market. Instead, most states purchased a cheaper model from Massachusetts with less than half the firing rate to equip the troops they were training. Pah! Worse, the soldiers already deployed on the frontline use antiquated smoothbore muskets, as if we were still fighting the British! Disgrace. The world must be laughing at us. "An intriguing proposal. I did not expect the local Devourer to try and buy our support." "I am not so much bribing you as developing a future partnership. Take my proposal as a way to compensate you for the losses incurred." "Sharing the burden of modernization¡­" Adam continues. I am glad that we see eye to eye. "Precisely." "It leaves us with a major problem," the other twin says, "you see, one of our major sources of income is slave trading." I force myself to take another sip of coffee to mask my surprise. I did not know that they had an interest in this sector as well, despite my inquiries. This is problematic. The two lords exchange a glance. Eventually, the twin nods to Adam, who in turn addresses me. "We find your offer interesting, but as Adrien mentioned, this merely covers the losses of one part of our business. A Confederacy victory remains the preferable outcome." What to do? I have no solution. Slave-fuelled agriculture can transition into standard agriculture, but slave trading itself cannot be replaced since it will be entirely illegal. I need to find something else. Can the circumstances help me? How else can I compensate them? Oh. Of course. "There is one aspect of war that can only go one way," I tell them, certain of my guess, "the control of the ocean. General Winfield Scott''s plan to blockade southern ports cannot fail in the short term, and you, gentlemen, export a great many things." I know that they sell cotton, sugar, and tobacco abroad. No matter what, their trade lines will be disrupted for a long time, condemning their export-focused business to failure. "What do you propose?" the second twin, Adrien, asks. I do not miss it. Their perfect immobility and contained auras do not reveal anything of their inner thoughts, which means that I have hit the nail on the head. Lady Sephare taught me this little trick, that old ones who lack practice increase their control over themselves when they want to hide something. They have taken the bait. "An exclusive agreement. I will purchase your cotton in bulk for the next three years at pre-war market rate. All of it." "All of it?" "Yes. In return¡­" "In return we emancipate our slaves and support the Union faction in the coming vote." "No, you support the Union faction for the duration of the war, and at least three years. Whichever lasts the longest." "The duration of the war or two years," Adam corrects. That is fine. "Open support. You let it be known that you are both on our side." Once again, the twins exchange a silent glance. "We find your proposal interesting¡­ but we need to discuss it in private before we agree to your terms. I hope you understand." Of course. No Lords and Ladies agree to anything important without pondering the question for at least a day. A tentative agreement is all I can hope for now. "I do. Before I leave, there was one last thing," I say as I stand up. "We are the curators of this world, or shepherds, if you prefer. We are denied innovation and artistry, but we are granted cold intellects, and long-term mindsets to offset the loss. I would argue that slavery holds you back economically and socially, but I know that you may remain unconvinced. Instead, I will ask you to examine what your instincts tell you. Everything we value in humans, the spark that leads them to greatness and insanity alike, it cannot express itself when body and mind are chained. You are missing out on much by lording over cattle instead of people, and your own nature should tell you that much. We do not hunt cows. We do not hang cotton bales as trophies on our walls. I can provide the machines to replace the hands you need to increase your wealth, while those hands can work on the drawing board or the canvas instead. Consider it, then come back to me. We need not be enemies on this." I expect silence and even ridicule. Instead, Adam laughs and Adrien smiles lighty. "I did not expect you to call on our heart, Ariane of the Nirari. My advisers were right. Devourers truly are creatures of emotion, after all. Very well. As a reward for your refreshing honesty, I will be frank with you in return. We have considered transitioning out of labor-intensive agriculture for some time. The details will have to be hammered out to both parties'' satisfaction, but we are most definitely interested," the Warden says. "Can you extend your offer to others on our side? With the Natalis and the Canadians, you already have a majority, but if you want a true unification, you will need to leave no one behind," his sibling continues. "I cannot afford to fund the entire south personally, however, perhaps I can find others willing to assist." "That would be appreciated." After a few more polite exchanges, I return to Sephare to share what was decided. She agrees to take over the negotiations since I will be out, though she mentions that not all of the southern lords will be willing to budge. Some, after all, come from feudal societies. Some Rolands will refuse out of sheer stubbornness. They cannot envision an end to a peasant-centric society. After I am done, I return to the lobby and find Sheridan snoring softly on a leather couch. I come closer and catch a whiff of him. My, what a busy¡­ Wait a minute. "Sheridan, wake up!" I say as I shake him and grab the hand already grabbing for his gun. "Wh ¡ª Ariane? What''s the matter with you?" "Did I not leave you in deep conversation with Melitone?" The scent of fear, removed of its spice since the ranger is no prey. Eyes to search for an exit. "Perhaps?" "Are you banging the Speaker''s sister?" I hiss, outraged, "Do you have any idea¡­" Sheridan gently removes my hand from his shoulder and gives me one of his frank, no-nonsense gazes. "Ariane dear, we might be partners in our quest to rid the world of evil¡­" So he keeps believing. "...but that doesn''t mean that you get a say in whichever romantic partner I choose, lady. Besides, we''ll soon be as busy as a one-legged man at an ass-kicking contest, so cut me some slack, will you?" He¡­ argh! And I can say nothing because he is a Vassal. "Language¡­" I weakly retort. "What are we gonna do anyway? Where is the old man sending us this time?" "I am not his lap dog!" "Right. So, what are we supposed to do? Anything illegal?" "Grmbll." "Speak up, Ariane." "Piracy!" "So, does that bad language ban last for the entire operation, or?" "No need to be a smart-... no need to be so snide, Sheridan. Let us away!" Two weeks later, off the coast of Nova Scotia. The Cormoran bobs up and down as the powerful entities on its deck look at me with a mix of wonder and bafflement. I place the enchanted loudspeaker before my lips and greet them in a proper, appropriate fashion. "Is this thing working? Oh, it is! Ahem. YOU HAVE RUN AFOUL OF THE DREAD PIRATE ARIANE, QUEEN OF THE WAVES, YOU SORRY BUNCH OF SALTY SEA DOGS! Yes, what is it Olaf? It is? Excellent. Ahem. MY GUNNER INFORMS ME THAT THE CANNONS ARE READY. BEHOLD THAT ROCK OVER THERE!" Silence spreads over the calm seas as the powerful warriors exchange befuddled words. "Just one moment please, we were aiming for your ship, so we need to reposition. Behold, the might of the Spirit of Dalton! Are you done already? I can''t¡ª Ah, excellent. I said, behold the might of¡ª" BOOM! A cataclysmic deflagration drowns all other noises, and a ten-paces long plume of fire emerges from the side of our ship. Far behind and to the side of the enemy ship, a shard of granite rising from a small islet explodes in a cascade of flaming debris. A dark plume rises from the crater, all that remains of the exposed stone. Smoldering fragments rain down on the ocean''s waves. "Nice shot, Olaf, by the Watcher that rock never saw it coming. Shut up, Sheridan, I handle the threats. What do you even know of proper pirating? You are not even wearing a tricorn and you expect me to take you seriously? Ahem. Where was I? Oh, yes! Bring down your sails, drop anchor, and send someone to parlay or we will fire upon your vessel. You saw what our guns can do. I invite you to consider the structural integrity and flammable nature of your ship and reach the logical conclusion. Also, our hull is warded, so no funny business. If I see anything suspicious, you will get to visit the local seaweeds. Am I clear?" I see some activity on the deck, including two vampires arguing with each other with one waving at the column of smoke rising nearby. Eventually, the reasonable one seems to win the argument as his second throws his hands in anger. The head vampire lowers a skiff and rows to us. On their ship, nothing stirs. I decide to wait by returning to my throne, which I placed underneath the mizzen mast (the one just after the biggest mast). I place my revolver on a nearby barrel and invite a pair of young sailors to resume their strange, leggy dance for my own entertainment. "Is this necessary?" Sheridan grumbles. "I could sing," I reply. The grumpy ranger does not call my bluff. Eventually, the Mask vampire gets close enough for the negotiations to begin. "Please do not shoot, there are Vassals aboard!" he explains in a pleading voice. Blimey. Eventually, I am forced to agree to let them land under the condition that they all depart soon after. They do not have the blood and food supply for a safe trip back. I allow them to do so in their secret port, and the meeting with their renegade Accords host is somewhat awkward. Two days later, they are gone with the express condition that they may not engage in hostile activities with us for the next five years. I would call that a complete success. "Ariane, reality is not like your saucy books. Tricorns are not necessary to engage in high-sea banditry." "Sheridan, I recall you saying, if it''s stupid but it works, it ain''t stupid. Therefore, wear the damn hat." Chapter 132 - 127. A House Divided Boston, early November 1861 "The battle of Bull Run, and other skirmishes in Missouri and Virginia, have overwhelmingly favored the Confederacy. We argue that their victory remains a distinct possibility, one that we should not dismiss out of hand. Thank you." The Warden of Missouri sits down, and Lord Kouakou stands up to provide an answer. "The Warden of Louisiana has the floor," Constantine says with a certain impatience. "Thank you Speaker. We would offer a rebuke if the Warden of Missouri had made a point. We have yet to hear how a country split in two is to our advantage. Thank you." Lord Kouakou sits back down and I allow myself a minute smile. Each Warden has two opportunities to speak tonight in order to limit the risk of delay. With his answer, Kouakou both preserved his vote, and offered a scathing retort. "Next, we shall hear the proposal of Yann, Warden of Virginia. You have the floor." A tall Lord with a hawkish nose and thinning hair stands up. His height almost equals that of Constantine''s himself. He smiles benevolently and speaks in a calm, reasonable voice. S§×ar?h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Ladies and gentlemen, my fellow leaders. As the Speaker mentioned before, we come from very different backgrounds and traveled here pursuing different dreams. There are, however, values that bind us as vampires and as members of the Accords. Values that we all understand and support. One such value is to let mortals be mortals, provide a guiding hand, and appreciate their efforts and failures from a distance. For decades now, the nation that we call the United States has existed as an uneasy marriage between two dominant cultures. The north favors progress, the south, tradition. The north favors industry and the south, agriculture. The north promotes equal opportunity while the south takes to their peculiar institution, as they named it themselves. Now, the fires of war have ignited, and the country has been torn asunder. Two peoples now stand where there was once one." Yann allows himself a condescending smile. "No matter what Lincoln and members of this assembly believe, there will be no unity even if they win. Slavery and segregation are deeply ingrained in the culture of many of the southern states. No defeat, no matter how total, will strip away this legacy. Rather than force the abusive couple back together, would it not be preferable to allow them each to go their separate ways? To choose their path and see where it leads them? Beware, my friends, the cost of hubris, for to favor the Union is to force the hands of mortals when the wish of the many is to separate. My proposal will center on favoring the separation of the two antagonists in a way that minimizes damage. I have spoken." "Thank you, Lord Yann," Constantine says as he stands up again, "does someone wish to offer a rebuttal?" I raise my hand to the surprise of my own party. The fact is that I can provide an adequate answer to such a trite argument without much effort while the times of Kouakou and Sephare remain precious. The Union faction nods, and I am now in charge of providing an answer. "History is an old thing, and like old things, it tends to repeat itself." The tiny jab is well-received. "Five thousand years have passed since the kings of Sumer sent raiding bands to abduct captives to work their fields. Five millennia since the cities of Mesopotamia and elsewhere engaged in fractious disputes and intestine wars. If the mortals have not learned everything they could about secession and slavery since then, they never will. By supporting the Union, we are not putting two people back together who stand for different things. Our estimates are that less than one man in five owns slaves in the south, which means that four in five are somehow convinced that the practice benefits them despite all evidence to the contrary. What we are doing is severing the powerful hold that slave owners have over public opinion." Constantine and the others appreciate brevity. Deep inside, none of us will be swayed by words, as we are all creatures of conviction. What we are doing is, in fact, facing off for the sake of those among us still on the fence. If one party appears as too irrelevant or unconvincing, they will be seen as weak, and we abhor weakness. If the Union faction is to bring more people to its cause, we need to be perceived as competent and well-prepared. Such is the purpose of my argument, and that is why I must remain concise so as to not waste everyone''s time. This is not a lecture. "To think that splitting countries will afford us more power is a mistake, for our reach in this government will simply shrink with said government." This is aimed at the people around Yann. The Confederacy has its capital in Richmond, where the Roland lord also made his seat. He has the most to gain from their continued existence. The others, however, do not. With this sentence, I cast a doubt on Yann''s true motivations by reminding everyone that he has his own selfish interest in the matter. "More borders, more taxes, more regulations, a perpetual state of hostility and a rift that only widens with every year, this is what we will all have to contend with. I have spoken." I sit back down. Constantine lets another Warden speak up. This one is a Roland from Quebec and a secret ally of Sephare. One thing that Sinead taught me is that the mind is an imperfect tool. For example, if one proposal is immediately dismissed as ridiculous, then the next one will appear as more attractive by comparison. Such biases also affect us vampires. We are, after all, made from human molds. Sephare and Yann know this, that is why Yann offered his proposal after the Warden of Missouri''s weak statement, and the Warden of Quebec will be used as a sacrificial tool to introduce Sephare''s own resolution. After a short speech on the possibility of neutrality, his opinion is quickly deemed as pointless by both larger factions. Sephare does not speak last. Kouakou does. It surprises me a bit. The tall Ekon lord usually contents himself with letting the smooth Hasting handle diplomacy. I know, for participating, that they focus most of their efforts on their home fief of Louisiana, as well as the numerous requests for freedom they receive from their Supplicants. "Ladies and Gentlemen of the Accords, thank you for hearing me tonight. I fear that the topic of our debate has drifted away from its true core. The war, the splitting of the land, even the peripheral questions such as state rights, they all are symptoms and effects of the true cause, and that true cause is that one person in eight in this country are colored slaves. Slavery, is the cause and heart of tonight''s meeting." A daring approach, and one that serves Kouakou well. Despite some posturing, our dealings are mostly cold and methodical, and yet tonight Kouakou speaks with a fire that I did not expect from one of us outside of battle. "In the past year, I traveled to the north of my state to attend to some errand. I rode on horseback from New-Orleans to a plantation near the border of Arkansas. I rode alone. In that short period of time, I slew seven men who tried to rob me, and charmed more away from my path despite my burning desire to kill them. I am tired of it. Tired of the same requests to reunite a mother and their child, to take revenge against an overseer for the loss of a limb or that of a relative. I am tired of the perpetual institutional discrimination I must tolerate on my own land for the sake of peace. I want it to be clear when I say that there is no coming back." I resist the urge to turn to Sephare and gauge her reaction. This feels off-script. It would not help anyway, the wily Hasting would never betray her reaction. "I cannot withdraw from mortal affairs when said mortal affairs prevent me from moving across my land. I cannot let the mortals experiment when said experimentation leads to the suffering of my followers. I am no cattle, and I am done pretending to be one. We now have one opportunity to bring to a close a conflict that has been delayed for decades. We can purge the wound clean and reunite the central nation of the Accords, or we can let it fester in endless warfare until every drop of blood drawn by a lash has been paid by one drawn by a sword, and by the Eye, either one will happen." Stupefied silence descends upon us. I never expected him to be so vehement! And¡­ I like it. Finally, some politics I can get behind! "I will now present a proposal for full support of the Union in their mission to reabsorb the south. We will offer both measures to allow war to come to a swift conclusion, as well as ways for our southern brethren to offset the losses incurred by the emancipation of their workforce. Please be advised that our ability to assist is limited, and so is my patience. I have spoken." Meaning that only the southern lords who vote with us will be compensated. In the end, we are left with four proposals. Constantine calls the session in recess until we have had time to study them in detail. We all retreat back to our respective aisles of the manor, and pretend that it does not show the clear faction split. We take some time to read the printed documents until Sephare interrupts us as she struts into the room we have chosen as our gathering spot. "Do not waste your time reading the ''neutrality'' and ''stalling'' proposals. They are not true factions, merely decoys. Ariane, please see Wilhelm while the rest of us plan. He has something for you." I barely had the time to get off my ship in time for the vote, so I have little idea what the man has in store for me. I stand up and leave Melusine to pore over Yann''s proposal. She did not need Sephare''s advice to understand that the two other texts were inconsequential. I climb down the manor''s busy stairs to the steward''s office. The entire building is a hive of activity, with security present at every step. Vassals and guards alike step aside to let me through, and my travel time is short. Wilhelm''s office is still earthy and cozy, with woods and earthy tones, but the mood is less welcoming now. An armor stand occupies the corner. Sheathed blades hang from several pegs on the wall. The man himself reviews a map on his desk, and casually invites me over to join him. "We are mobilizing," he informs me. Wilhelm has dirty blond hair in a tail and his beard looks wilder than usual. He is much more woodsman than butler. "Most Masters and lords who have not left are now training in teams under the direction of a few battle lords and experienced fighters like Naminata. One of our three training grounds is in the state of Texas, in the Natalis compound. Lord Jarek just sent us word that he expects to be attacked. I need you to go there and support him during the evacuation." "We are not going to attack?" Wilhelm sighs, his muscular frame making the gesture more visceral. "We are not ready. You have never been in a vampire war?" "Not yet." "Vampires are most effective when fighting in squad-sized groups, but the volunteer teams we have need to work their kinks out in order to be even remotely effective. We will not have the time to match the coordination of some of our foes, but even a month of training will make the difference between a bunch of fighters vaguely on the same side, and a functional raiding party. We do not have a month. The Europeans are moving in." "It feels rushed. Are you certain?" "Yes, and they are right to do so. Lord Jarek wants to transport his retainers and the fighters he has trained north, by sea. The land route would not allow fledgelings and mortals to make it out in time. The old monster asked you by name." "I''ll have the Dalton''s Spirit depart immediately." "They can help with evacuation, but you must leave immediately. Vadim will help you travel to the compound. Can I count on you?" "Yes." "Vadim will leave after the voting session. If you need anything, let me know." "Understood. I will be off then." I leave the office and make my way back to our shared office, only for Melusine to stop me by the entrance. I am still wearing a formal dress, but she is not. I recognize the armored suit I had made for her and enchanted myself, with an elaborate heart protector and an integrated focus in case she loses her usual gauntlet. I designed it from the top down to serve my faithful second. I even wrote ''hussy'' on the inner plate of the heart protector before sealing it shut. Truly, it suits her. "Hunting something?" I ask. "I am coming with you. I have been cooped for too long doing politics. Even a Lancaster must sometimes partake in the king of all hunts, lest I forget the taste of my own blood." This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. "The king of all hunts being other vampires." "Indeed. So, do you accept?" I was not aware that I could refuse. Melusine is a City Master, and our agreement is clear. "Of course. We only need to make sure that Vadim can transport the both of us." "He said that he could, because we both have blood-bound Nightmares. The strain will be lower on his mind." "Very well. After the vote." "After the vote." Times are grave. We did not even bicker. The vote goes exactly as predicted. Every round, the proposal with the least votes is eliminated. Stalling is dismissed first, then the neutrality proposal goes next. Surprisingly, it received support from a few more people than I expected. Not enough to make a difference. Only twenty-seven Wardens remain after last session''s warning. Seventeen vote for support of the Union, while ten vote for support of the Confederacy. Thanks to my and Sephare''s actions, a number of southern lords have joined our cause, including the twins. The opposite side is led by Yann, unsurprisingly, and a few Roland and Cadiz including that backstabbing prick, Lord Ceron. Suarez voted in favor of the Union, even though he has much to lose financially. His support split the Cadiz faction in two. Another vote, and the stalemate remains. To triumph, the Union faction needs a majority of two-thirds plus one, so nineteen votes. We are two short. Constantine ends the session with the next planned in three days to allow both sides to conduct backroom negotiations. I fill the necessary paper to delegate the voting rights of Illinois to Sephare while I am absent. Melusine could have done it, but she is coming with me. "You can depart in peace," Sephare tells me, "I will work on the other side while you go rescue the big lug. Do keep him alive, please." "It might be difficult to convince Yann." "Not really. He already contacted me with an absolutely outrageous proposal. I refused, of course." "You did?" I ask with some surprise. "Not only was that asshole overly greedy, he also dared to condescend. I know his type, and they always think themselves too clever. I will deal with him on my own terms. Have some trust in me, Ariane, when have I let you down when it came to Florentine politicking?" "Florentine politics is always a letdown." "Pah! You, and the other honor-bond straight arrows. You are lucky to have me to steer the ship through those murky waters. In any case, I wish you good luck. Extend my salutations to Jarek and please make sure that he survives. There are few who call themselves his equal when it comes to physical prowess." "Yes, he is a mighty warrior." "Warrior? Oh! Hmm. Yes, of course." What? "You''d better be on your way," Sephare finishes. I return to my own quarters and change into my full battle gear. I no longer travel without access to it, and I even have a compact chest that I can fasten to my back in case of emergency. Although it might be unwieldy, I would rather appear ridiculous than be again caught without all my tools of destruction. And besides, who would make fun of someone capable of holding a huge chest on her back? No one with any lick of sense. After writing a list of instructions to Sheridan, who once again disappeared with Melitone somewhere in the bowels of the complex, I grab Melusine and we make our way down. We find Vadim already waiting for us by the stables. The Vanheim Master sits atop a Nightmare bred for speed. Zana, Melusine''s mare, embodies the pictural ideal of a lithe romantic horse. Pathetic. By contrast, Metis is a solid warhorse who can plow through a battle line without tragically collapsing for a nearby painter to capture. In fact, she even plowed through a werewolf army and emerged on the other side with bloody hooves and a tasty treat of werewolf ears. I can ask for no better pony. Almost as if she was designed for me. I frown suddenly, and try to remember if Metis had been that way when I first got her, and find out that I cannot quite recall. Not with any measure of certainty. Nightmares are truly mysterious, and so is Vadim''s power. He addresses us as we climb on our mounts. "Neither one of you have travelled with me so far so you should listen. There are rules. You must not stop. You must not stray away from me. As much as possible, keep your eyes on my back and for the love of the Eye, stay silent. It will be difficult enough to travel that distance in a single night with three people. I will need all the focus I can get." "We understand." With one last nod, Vadim rides down the path to the house-filled valley, where the attending mortals dwell. We accelerate out and, contrary to the usual, leave the main road leading to Boston. The Nightmares ride through the underbrush with haste, their hooves trampling the ground. We ride faster still. Trees to either side rush by in our maddened cavalcade. I can still spot the shining lights of civilization in the distance. "Come on," Vadim mutters. I think I can see the road in the distance. And suddenly, I cannot. The lights, so numerous a few moments ago, disappear one by one until their very existence becomes like a memory. Darkness, not the peppered black of the night sky, true darkness, spreads around us. I can no longer see the heavens above us through the suddenly dense canopy. The distant sounds of the city fade in moments, replaced by the silence of the deep forest. The young trees of a young forest give way to ancient, ossified trunks covered in scarred bark, twisted and gnarled with grasping roots worming their way through the damp loam. Any other creatures would have had to slow down to avoid the many pitfalls there, or risk snapping their legs like twigs. Instead, the Nightmares rush with renewed vigor, and for good reasons. We are, after all, in their world now. I resist the urge to call upon a light spell, unused to the impenetrable veil that blocks my sight. Anything that attracts attention here would be¡­ unwise, as there are things that call this alien world their home. Sometimes, whatever small radiance makes its way down from above glints on a spider web, on small glittering eyes hiding amongst the heavy boughs. We stop for nothing. Whoever falls there will be condemned to amble through the infinite forest until the Thirst claims their minds. Time soon loses its meaning in the typical fashion of the space between spheres. I have no need to direct Metis as she knows exactly where to go. I do not let the fear of the unknown grasp the cold part of my mind. Instead, I call my instincts to the surface and ride on the euphoric wave of the exhilarating journey. We no longer need to appear human. We can cast aside our worries about the war, both the mortal one and ours, because we have no way of impacting it for now. There is just us and the dark world of nightmares, the prey we will find at the end of the trail. I turn to Melusine and give her my best smile. She spares me a glance. A deep understanding passes between us, one that needs no words, and her serious air melts under the euphoria she allows herself to feel. We hiss together and the Nightmares answer with amused snorts. Vadim''s back relaxes. He joins us. And then something moves in front of us, something massive. I hear a growl. I spot matted dark fur. We have no time for you. Get. Out. Of. THE. WAY. "ROOOAAAR!" The warcry is echoed by two others and the angry neighs of our flesh-eating partners. The thing growls more and shuffles away, more annoyed than scared. I laugh at this amazing scene and we continue, never stopping. It takes us a small eternity to see our destination. I can tell that we approach when the fabric of the forest fails, and we catch whiffs of pine and iodine. "Just¡­ a little¡­ more," Vadim mutters in an exhausted voice. One last effort, and we burst out of the forest''s edge and onto a sandy beach, the sea crashing underneath the hooves of our mounts. They slow down. I can feel the heat radiating from a tired Metis and the shortness of her breath expanding her powerful flanks. Her glossy hide is wet with sweat. Vadims is barely better. The Vanheim Master slumps on the back of his ride. He is spent. "Come on, we are nearly there," I tell them. I recognize the coastline for having traveled it several times in the past. We are several miles north of the Natalis village. The frigid wet of Boston is far away. The weather here is clement enough that a small shawl over a dress would suffice. We have crossed two thousand miles of land in only a few hours. No creatures on earth can match that speed. "An impressive display, Vadim." "Enjoy it, Warden¡­ because I am not doing it again." I pat the lanky man on the shoulder and send Metis into a trot. We cross over dunes covered with tall grass and in between palm trees. I understand that Vadim fell short by about twenty miles, but I can hardly complain in the face of his extraordinary performance. It will take days for the Spirit of Dalton to travel so far south. We arrive with plenty of time to spare before dawn. The Natalis village is as organic and eclectic as I remember. While most of the newer buildings show a definitive hispanic influence, the vampire dwellings range in style from wooden huts to Alpine chalets. Anyone watching it for the first time would believe that they have stumbled upon an impossibly-sized carnival, blue shutters on white walls offering a counterpoint to high-peaked dachas that would not look out of place on the shores of the black sea. The entire city squirms with moving mortals loading and unloading skiffs carrying cargo to transport ships. They work with singular discipline that armies would envy. A powerfully-built master oversees the process, surrounded by an entourage of administrators. We maneuver through the moving files and dismount to address him out of politeness, but he moves forward and hails us as soon as we come into view. "Are you Ariane of the Nirari?" "Yes, and those are Vadim of the Vanheim and Melusine of the Lancasters," I reply. I introduced them by order of seniority. "You are here sooner than planned. Thank you. Lord Jarek waits in the wolf''s maw, at the end of the valley." I know of the place. Jarek had several strongholds placed across the arable lands his clan owns. This one is the most defensible one. It covers the entrance to his domain. We depart immediately. The wheat fields are empty of both men and stalks this late in the year. Fallow expanses of earth give the place a desolate air only made more desperate by the late evacuees rushing to the piers. I find Lord Jarek on a large stone overlooking a maze of rocky outcrops and brush marking the end of his land. I recognize the stone. He brought it here himself. Most of the time, the Natalis paragon wears custom-made clothes in a variety of styles, all having in common a singular feature: they looked like disguises on their owner''s titanic frame. Now, wearing armor, he looks more natural than ever. While Loth''s protection is a streamlined suit of interlocking scales designed for speed and efficiency, Jarek''s plates look like someone once decided to wear his own portable bank vault and went to work with a forge, persistence, and no sense of design. I know the impression to be deceptive, of course. It still reinforces the warlord''s image as a force of nature, an avatar of power with no finesse and no particular need for it. Plates and spikes and enough jutting parts to catch someone off-guard. I would know. I have been at their receiving ends more than a few times as we sparred. "Thank you for being here," he tells me without opening his eyes. "Of course. So, hmm, what is happening exactly?" Lord Jarek remains silent long enough that I almost think that he is ignoring me. When he speaks, his deep, gravelly voice rolls over us. "Bertrand''s soldiers will soon be upon us. The trained masters and most of my people are already on the ships. The civilians will stay and be left unharmed, but my retainers still need some time to board the transports. I called for help to hold back the first waves long enough for all of my people to go safely. That is what is happening." "Us and who else?" "There is a second team with Lord Islaev inside of the fort. They will provide backup. You are with me." "You want me to be part of your team?" "Yes." Another moment of silence until he asks me a question. "Do you know why I picked you among all the others I could choose?" "I am unsure." "Two reasons. First, you understand. You did not ask me to fall back and regroup with Constantine." I could not even contemplate Jarek leaving while his people are not safe. "Yes, I can see it in your aura. Others will ask me to see the big picture. They would batter my ears with talks of strategy and long-term while invaders trample my home, take my children. You are like me, Ariane of the Nirari. You understand. The second reason is that I can count on you to watch my back. We have been allies for a long time." "But why do you not use your own people?" I finally ask, afraid of the answer. "Because the two lords have their own squads, and the Masters are too weak." I am reminded that I have never, ever landed a wound on Jarek during our spars, at least not when he was wearing his armor. He seldom even materialized his gauntlets. "Out of all the Masters present in the Accords, only you can reliably survive it." It? Jarek turns to me. His gaze is black as coal and just as burning. "You will finally see the real deal, Ariane of the Nirari. You will see a vampire war, a battle with lords on both sides. And you will witness it, I who was turned by Natalis himself. You will see my Magna Arqa. I hope you live to tell the tale." Chapter 133 - 128. First Blood The heavy axe slides against Rose at the perfect angle. Most of the strength bleeds away along the edge and I strike the man facing me with the pommel. A series of quick jabs pushes him away. A hint from my intuition, and I dodge under a back attack while sweeping. Rose deploys, hitting both the target close to me to the front, and the one farther at the back in one perfect strike. They reel. "Darkness." I will not use Likaean here, especially not when those around are on my side. "Fireblast!" Melusine yells from behind. A powerful spell crashes against the two men in heavy armor. They do not see it coming as my magic hides and confuses, and they fall to the ground to smother the flames. Since I am in a generous mood, I conjure some ice to help them. A second later, Lord Islaev crashes against a nearby rock. He stands back up immediately, no worse for the wear. "Enough of this. I do not enjoy hitting my head against a wall," he says, his long cossack mustache quivering with outrage. I was mistaken. His pride took a serious wound. Jarek lands next to us a moment later, symbolically helping his ally to his feet. "You are correct. We enjoy too much of an advantage now. Thank you for bringing us to that point." The prideful Islaev grunts, then slaps Jarek on the shoulder with a bitter smile. It sounds like someone brought a sledgehammer to an ironclad''s hull. "I have done worse for less worthy causes. Your triumph is my triumph." "Thank you, old friend." Both teams dust themselves and enjoy a tense moment of handshaking. We have trained relentlessly for two nights already, one team against another, and enjoyed great progress. I always thought that the curse of vampirism was our lack of inspirational spark. It appears that this flaw does not extend to combat. Indeed, Jarek''s team, that is us, has made incredible progress. Jarek is the vanguard of the formation as the strongest fighter. I was informed that the vanguard''s role varies from team to team depending on its composition. As far as Jarek is concerned, his role is to get into the thick of it and distribute punishment, a task he excels at. My role is to keep his back clear, which involves fighting multiple opponents. I am, in return, covered by Melusine and Vadim. Vadim fights with knives in a style that reminds me a lot of Urchin, while Melusine is one of the handful of vampire mages capable of using fire. Hers is a smoky, smoldering thing that chokes and consumes, a great tool against other creatures of the night. I use my own style to give them the openings they need to bring their might to bear. I am myself surprised at how well we work together, especially Melusine and I. I am instinctive and aggressive while she is patient and decisive. She has an excellent sense of timing, and I create a lot of opportunities with the confidence that she will exploit them. Vadim is more of a lone wolf fighter who functions best when fighting at the edges of the formation, and Jarek can let go when he knows that he will not be outflanked. Our high degree of coordination is serendipitous, although we are barely scratching the surface. My understanding is also that Jarek''s style tends to grow destructive when he triggers his Magna Arqa, and he needs one powerful rear guard, one who can survive it, to truly let go. Our training finished for now, we check our gear and head back to the Maw. The woods surrounding the gate fortress mostly consists of shrubs and small trees. It offers more than enough cover for a small force, which is what we will be facing anyway. I follow Jarek as he climbs on the guard tower, and stares wistfully at the eastern horizon. "I should have brought more boats." I do not object. We still need to evacuate a handful of fledglings and recent Masters who lack the training and mentality to be of much help. The overloaded ships are heading towards New Orleans, the next safe city. It will take at least another two days for them to return under ideal circumstances. We do not know yet how close the vanguard of the Expansion Faction is, or at least I assumed so. There are footsteps behind us. We both turn to see the Natalis'' one rented mage climbing up the stairs. He catches his breath and makes his report. "My Lord, we have contact." "Where?" "The de la Vega hacienda. One full team. There are also rumors that gringos have gathered to the south, but I cannot say for sure." "I see. Thank you. Can you and Warden Nirari stay in contact?" The mage winces. "She will have to be the one to contact me, on account of¡­" He trails off. I have not publicized the existence of the earrings, so most people do not know how I avoid magical detection, and I would prefer to keep it that way. "It will do," Jarek calmly says, "please return to the docks. We have work to do." Curiosity and worry bloom on the mage''s face. He has been in their employ for a long while and the Natalis remain one of the more light-handed clans around. His show of loyalty does him credit. Nevertheless, the mortal knows that we will not explain our action, and he obeys. I wait for Jarek to decide. "We will sally forth," he finally says. I understand. Fortifications are of no use against vampires. As the outnumbered party, we must go on the offensive, and attempt to defeat them in detail before they can gather. Such an action presents risks without proper information, however. "We go now." Well, that was decisive. I follow the Natalis lord downstairs and we gather once more in our respective teams. I cannot help but feel a bit upset at a course of action I perceive as rash. Most of the time, my attacks are planned. "We have Europeans sniffing about the de la Vega Hacienda. We go fast, we go hard, and we take them prisoners. Are we in agreement?" Quite a few eyes settle on me. What? I do not devour everyone I fight! They should know this by now! "We are in agreement," I say between gritted teeth. Jarek notices and smiles. "I will take point. Vadim and Horacio will scout our flanks. Now, go." And we are off. We exit the Maw at full speed and approach the road, then quickly angle north and west through dense forest. We are mostly silent despite our speed, and the auras of Vadim and Horacio quickly disappear from my perception. I cannot help but feel a rush of excitement, despite the danger. This will be the first battle of the war. We sprint through the difficult terrain like shadows. Lesser vampires would fear the energy expenditure of moving for hours, but we are not them. A mortal on our path would perhaps see something on the corner of his field of vision. We would be long gone before he would turn his gaze towards the unknown. It feels great to run with peers in perfect silence. It feels great to hunt with others who are WORTHY. More than that, it feels great to chase after the greatest of prey: ourselves. Jarek knows the path. The land around us grows more rugged until we arrive at the edge of a valley. A large compound with red tiles surrounded by whitewashed walls takes the side, with tilled fields and dependent houses taking the rest. There are no signs of our foes. Jarek waits, and our scouts soon return. Vadim and the master from Islaev''s team return. They use call signs to give information with inhuman speed. Vadim detected a foe by the wall gates, and Horacio another by the dependence. Jarek turns to us and signs orders. Islaev''s team sprints to the side and we wait for a minute to let them get in position. "Now." We rush to the main building, forfeiting stealth. A cry shows that we have been spotted, but it comes too late. We cross the gate to the hacienda''s inner courtyard and find three foes, two masters on either side of a lord in full metal armor covered in runes. He drops a book he was holding. Jarek charges and smashes against the lord who barely manages to survive a left hook to the chest, crashing against the house for his trouble. I wait for it to happen and extend my gauntlet towards the closest fighter who had been sent stumbling. She is a fencer, with a sharp foil and a dark scale armor. I cannot see her traits to her combat mask but I can perceive from her aura that she is a strong Lancaster. "Promethean." I use one of Constantine''s signature spells. Red chains erupt from my gauntlet and latch on the unbalanced master''s frame. I deploy only two when the Speaker can manifest five times that amount, but they are difficult to cast, if cheap. "Shield!" she replies. I expected it. All Lancaster Masters are trained warmages. Instead of hitting the translucent barrier, the chains snake around and over it, encasing the foe in a crimson coffin. I immediately turn and block the other master''s strike with Rose''s guard. The next sequence happens simultaneously. Melusine''s shieldbreaker spell crashes against the Lancaster master, sending her reeling. I lower my center of gravity and extend Rose in the second master''s plate armor, flipping him and making him miss a dagger thrust to my heart. Jarek ducks under a horizontal counter-swipe with an agility that belies his massive size and grabs the lord''s leg. That one does not know it yet, but he is done for. The book hits the ground. Jarek pulls and swings the enemy lord into the ground, armor and all. "Magna Arqa," the downed fighter screams, and three copies of him appear and strike Jarek simultaneously. I also pull my captive towards me. She falls. Two fire spells hit her armored flank. Her hair catches on fire. The other Master and I exchange fast blows and it becomes clear that he is trying to disengage. Jarek uses his gauntlets to block the strikes to his heart and neck, letting a third plunge into his abdomen. He counter-attacks by moving forward, pushing two images back and letting the other dig deeper into his body. He hammers down on his prone target with both gauntlets. Dust rises from the impact and gravel is sent flying. The torched master is screaming now, and her companion turns to run. Vadim stabs him in the neck and armpit as he does so. The fallen book flops on its side. Jarek lunges back with the lord''s abused frame in front of him to shield him from further blows. The Magna Arqa imitations flicker. Melusine quenches the flames on the fallen Master, still held in chains, and stabs her in the neck in the same motion. The wounded Master falls in Vadim''s arms. He will not stand again tonight. Jerak''s humongous mitt grabs the other lord''s like a bloodhound bites on a rabbit. There are creaks of abused metal. I look on and see a curious pistol in the victim''s grip. How modern! Jarek frowns. "A flare gun. He wanted to send a signal," I explain. "I see." Jarek pries the gun away from the other man''s grip, snapping a few fingers. The enemy lord''s face cannot be seen under his helmet, and he does not make a sound despite the rough treatment. The Natalis lord considers the implement with some curiosity, raises it, and fires. I watch the red plume climb to the heavens where it explodes with a light pop. Islaev arrives as we watch the peculiar show. He finds the gun in Jarek''s hand. "Is that wise?" "I suppose we will find out. Vadim, can you transport the three prisoners to the pier? They know what to do." "We have found a fourth, by the way, and there was most likely a fifth. She covered his retreat" Islaev turns around and one of his men brings a burly woman in leather armor with, of all things, a bow. She was stabbed in the heart. "Almost took my eye out," Islaev comments drily. His bald head still shows a few spots of dark blood. "I do not suppose you would tell us where your last teammate went?" Jarek asks the vanquished lord, still held straight in front of him. "Unless you plan on¡­ extracting that piece of information from me, no," the prisoner answers in a breathy voice, possibly because of the broken ribs. His armor is in a poor state. "We are still abiding by the rules of war even if our leader does not consider you a valid faction. You know what I mean," he continues. Bertrand did not grace us with a declaration of war. He considers us as too beneath him. We are merely rebels he will bring back into the fray. Yet, the state of the hacienda shows that his soldiers have not engaged in wholesale slaughter yet. It could change, however, depending on Bertrand''s mindset and our own actions. "I do. And you will not be interrogated. I must still, however, disable you." "Would my word not suffice?" "Not in this instance. I would say that I am sorry but¡­ you are attacking my land." Jarek grasps the man''s helmet between his gauntlet and crushes it. There is a sharp cry, the moan of tortured metal and snapped bones, then silence. "Ariane, did you want to sample him?" Jarek asks as an afterthought. How very thoughtful of him! Still, I shake my head. "He is your prey, not mine. I will take a few drops from the Lancaster though." "I understand. Hurry up, please." Islaev''s team helps Vadim load the bodies on his Nightmare while I pick up the defeated mage. Melusine kneels by my side. "Remember, do not kill her," she asks with a hint of worry. "I assure you, Melusine, if I were in the habit of breaking my word to drain annoying Lancaster witches, you would know," I hiss back. The gall! My prey tastes of old magic and the sea. As expected, she is quite strong. We were fortunate to catch them off guard, outnumbered, and separated, or the battle would have been more challenging. We would still have won, of course. We let Vadim go back to the Natalis hold loaded with bodies, and Jarek immediately leaves the inner courtyard. "Their reinforcements should converge here. I expect that most enemies will be south of us, but perhaps we can get lucky and run into a reconnaissance team to the north. Unfortunately there is no time to call the base. Whatever happens, we return to the base afterward. Now go." We rush again. Jarek knows the land well and we cut through rough shrubbery to a well-traveled road snaking to the north. If a team comes from there, they will probably follow this landmark. Jarek pushes his home advantage to its maximum. A gesture, and we slow down and hide our presence on either side of the dusty road. We do not have to wait for long. I end up almost nose to nose with a fast-moving Master after only a minute or two. Auras flare all across the battlefield. The other team finds itself, once more, outnumbered. Jarek goes for their lord who is a bald man with a hooked nose and a severe face only wearing form-fitting clothes. He fights with strange daggers that include knuckle-guards and reacts immediately, flowing smoothly under and around Jarek''s assault. Their dance is deadly and patient, two masters with similar styles and centuries of battle experience. It goes poorly for the rest of the team. Within moments, Islaev is mangling a tall, spear-wielding fighter, while the rest of us overwhelms the rest of them. They start a fighting retreat and, eventually, run away, but not before someone uses another flare. We give chase shortly, with the lord using a Magna Arqa that makes his body liquid and impervious to most blows. Only my intuition saves me from a painful wound. I twist on myself and a heavily enchanted javelin slides along the scales of my armor. We are attacked in the back? They must have been closeby. In moments, the dynamic of the fight changes. I rush to Melusine''s help as she fends off an aggressive man wielding a sword and dagger. I cast a quick bind spell and distract him for long enough for Melusine to stab him with her foil, but the wound is not enough to take him down. It is enough for her to disengage. I attack. Three Masters rush me, but soon Islaev is by my side and so is a lady in heavy armor with two axes. She and Islaev trade blows, him with a titanic saber and her with her brutal instruments. Their quick movements disrupt the flowing battle line. I am in my element. Chaos is perfect for me. It fits my style, and it allows me to make full use of my intuition. Feint low, and the blade dodged strikes another. Spells countered and avoided reach other targets, adding to the razor edge maneuvering of high-speed combat. The battle is an infinitely complex ballet as fast as lightning and as strategic as chess, an inhuman display where every moment is a painting begging to be immortalized, every motion honed by thousands, tens of thousands of hours of practice. The game of the immortals. I love it. Three battle masters is still too much for me and I am forced to use every trick I know to delay them. I throw knives and use blood bolts as a delaying movement. Rose extends and retracts and twirls and slices from my hand. It lives in the blood we spill together. IN THE HEART OF WAR, AS IT SHOULD BE. I block a spear thrust and pull a foe towards me to use his body as a shield, then boot him away with a shot to the chest. He manages to sidestep at the last moment and I miss his heart, then duck under a spell before I can exploit the opening. One wrong move and it is all over. I do not make wrong moves, but others do. Little by little, the fighters'' focus wavers and mistakes lead to glancing blows, to severed fingers, then the atrocious pain of enchanted blades and soul weapons adds to the strain of constantly having to be perfect. Unexpected techniques such as the combination of my darkness spell and Melusine''s ranged attacks add to the mix until I get my chance. I allow a swordsman to land a blow on me, the blade going through my left armguard. The counterattack almost decapitates him. Rose feeds me figments of essence from the blood I shed, a small reward for a VANQUISHED PREY. I feel something coming from behind and dodge to the side. The master attacking me is sent careening away. "Take this and follow Horacio," Jarek says. He hands me something that squishes under my grip. I recognize the insensate form of the unarmored lord. His right side has been pulped. Ew. I turn around and immediately obey, following Islaev''s team''s scout. Behind us, our two lords lay into the enemy to delay them. We disengage and run for it. Horacio does something and our auras flicker, then we are heading east towards the ocean and our base. Both Jarek and Islaev soon join us, sporting new wounds. It takes us only ten minutes or so to reach the Maw. We enter the fortress, not that it will make much of a difference if the Expansion faction''s main force comes to repay us. Jarek walks up to me as I enter the wooden fort''s barracks and lifts the lord''s body from my shoulder. "I will return shortly. Keep your eyes opened." "What if they follow us?" I ask, wary of splitting our already meager forces. "I am certain that they will withdraw for tonight," he answers. I glare at Jarek. Many of his actions tonight seem reckless to me, and it sets me on edge. We are at the beginning of the game, and if we are already taking desperate risks, it will not take long before we are punished for it. Intuition can only carry me so far in the face of the ineluctable. "Do you trust me?" Jarek says to my surprise. I will have to be honest. "I did until tonight." Jarek smiles lightly, still covered in his damaged armor. A single chuckle shakes his mighty frame. "I suppose that this is fair." To my surprise, he leans forward and whispers in my ear at a volume so low that not even vampires could eavesdrop. "I will explain the why, but for now I need you to act naturally. This involves showing signs of discomfort. Would you grant me this boon?" I do not like it. I do not like it at all, and yet I owe the Natalis lord that much. Between his support, his training, and the help he provides John, I am in his debt. "Yes. For one more night." "That is all we will need. If no ships have come tomorrow, we will have to try our luck on land." I watch him leave. Jarek is tense, and he shows a fatalistic streak that I do not trust. I sincerely hope that I am mistaken. I return to Melusine as we wait for Jarek''s return. The Natalis compound has several secret underground dwelling places to hide vampires in times of crisis. We were shown one yesterday, and we were informed that we would be led to another tonight as well. "This was my first vampire battle," Melusine admits as we wait by a log wall, alone. "What do you think?" I ask. "I feel more at ease in an office, taking notes while eavesdropping on a board of directors meeting. My bloodline favors the subtle influence one can wield upon mortals. Your charm is decent despite your upbringing¡­" This twit. "... and so you can understand the attraits of the subtle arts. We Lancasters have long been compared to spiders sitting at the center of the webs. I am sure that you can see why." "You have hairy legs?" "No need to be crass. Our satisfaction derives more from clever plays than from violent, direct hunts. Not like you¡­" A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. No barbs? She must be concerned. "You look different when you are in the middle of battle. Most of the time, you appear reserved. Not so much demure as distant. I watched you fight in a true battle and you are so... alive. The smiles. The bared fangs. I think I understand more how we are similar, yet apart." "You do not enjoy being on the edge? Winning?" I ask with some curiosity. She considers my question in silence for a moment. The fort is so quiet around us, and the others have split up after a lookout was designed. "I enjoy winning, but not particularly the process leading to it. We are fortunate that I endeavored to keep myself battle-ready throughout the years, and still timing spells and keeping your foes from your back took every ounce of concentration I possessed. Fending off that master with my blade got the ''blood pumping'' if you will forgive me the expression, but not that much." "I see. Did you know it would be like that before you volunteered to join me?" This time, she does not hesitate. "I volunteered to join you because the vagaries of war made me wary and facing your fears directly is still the best way to conquer them." She hesitates, then continues. "And also because if you die here, I will have to deal with another Warden, and I cannot count on you not to fall." "Really?" I scoff, "does my record not speak for itself?" "Let us see. Charging into a fiery inferno and ranks of Gabrielites with dubious allies?" "It was the best way. And I did save you." "Getting trialed and tortured?" "That was Anatole''s fault." "Stabbed in the heart in a duel after less than six months of life?" "That was Jimena!" "You were almost swallowed by a mutant alligator." "Operative word: almost." "And almost roasted by sunlight? Twice?" "That doesn''t count!" "And the pigs¡­" "For the love of the Watcher, leave the pigs out of this!" "My point, my dear Warden, is that for someone who claims to avoid death, he certainly gives you quite a few courtesy visits." "Hey! Well. Perhaps you do have a point." We remain in silence for a while, until a revelation finally dawns on my tired brain. "Wait¡­ Did you come here to protect me?!" "You know what I want presently?" Melusine asks me all of the sudden. I cannot help but observe that she ignored my question. "What do you want?" I ask. "Jarek." I glare. "Is that a jest?" "Would you mind spending the night alone? I have things on my mind." "Hussy. Shameless harlot!" "We do not all have provincial European lords to entertain us in bed, Ariane. Speaking of which..." Jarek returns, his eyes distant. Melusine steps away from the wall and struts confidently to the Natalis warrior. "My lord, there was something I wanted your opinion on, before dawn, if you are so inclined," she calmly declares. That would be her chest. Definitely her chest. "Why, certainly. I was just about to show everyone to their quarters." It appears that I will spend the day alone. I wake up in a secured steel sarcophagus hidden behind a false wall hidden behind a shelf hidden under a trapdoor hidden in the middle of the fields. I make my way through rows of supplies left here as a distraction, and grab some water from a barrel for a bit of cleaning. I then proceed to scream when another false wall rolls down. Those are purely mechanical, so I did not detect it through my magical sense. "Do I come at a bad time?" Jarek says as he pokes his head out of a narrow tunnel. "GET OUT!" Five minutes later and now properly armored, I invite him in and we sit across a simple table in the center of the refuge. "My apologies. If it is any comfort, I have seen a lot of naked bodies in my days." "This is no comfort at all!" "Let us focus on the matter at hand. I have great news. The Spirit of Dalton just came to port." "What? Already? It should be impossible¡­" "My understanding is that their steam engine received a large supply of magical fuel just before they left. Your mages, as well as a few volunteers gathered by Sephare, have managed to push it beyond what should be possible." "I bet they must have messed up something." "They did. Your mages are all exhausted as well. On the other hand, this gives me some leeway in what will follow. I assume that you have found some of my actions¡­ questionable¡­ over the past few days." I frown and cross my arms, sitting back into the simple chair which groans against the weight of my armor. "Indeed. Your sortie was reckless. Announcing your presence was stupid." "I will not deny that it was risky, but much less than you assume. Allow me to elaborate. In every major vampire war, half of the battle is knowledge acquisition. Outmatched factions win if they find where to strike and how. There are several famous examples throughout history." "I understand the concept." "Then know that you have unwittingly been at the forefront of such a war." I have? "How?" I ask, somewhat annoyed that no one told me. "Sephare was certain that one or several wardens would sell us out, and she was right. She sends most wardens a weekly information note containing information. I see you frown, and you do not receive it because she keeps you appraised in person. You are, after all, allied." "Uhu." "In the past few weeks, she has disseminated enough information to compromise a few select informers in Mexico. Those were all lost." "Sacrificial pawns?" "Precisely. Since the fall of my hold was deemed¡­ inevitable, we have decided to use it as an opportunity to ascertain the identity of our leak. Sephare let it be known that I would evacuate my people and stay until the last moment with only a token presence. She judged that Bertrand would not resist the appeal of taking me out of the conflict early on. She was correct." "How does this relate to my, errr, contribution?" "Two weeks ago, she sent different reports instead of just one. People we suspect just got a valuable piece of information on the location of our underground caches, not those we are currently occupying of course, others. I will be personally notified of each and every one that gets opened during tonight''s battle thanks to a handy artefact purchased, I might add, from the White Cabal. My thanks. Now, we need a bait for the plan to work for sure, and that bait is prisoners. The expansion faction will want to extract them as soon as night falls." "Could they not send mortals before?" "It would have happened already, and it would have been foolish. It takes hours for mortals to find the exact location of the caches and then, no one with half a brain will go underground in a vampire base. Not if they have a shred of common sense. In any case, the caches will be breached shortly after dusk, then we will know the identity of the culprit or culprits." "Bertrand could decide to delay it." "Like all plans, this one has a chance of failing. Nevertheless, we must try, and I am confident in this one. You see, Sephare understands Bertrand. He is a man who must appear to be strong in order to lead that unruly pack of hierophants and sybarites he calls a ''faction''. Losing two lords of the first battle is not something that he can tolerate. He will go to any lengths to repair that outrage." "Including placing his trust in a backstabber?" "Precisely. From his perspective, it costs him nothing. Even if he suspects foul play, the safety of the traitor will mean little to him. Bertrand abhors those who switch sides in times of peril." "Fair enough. You still haven''t¡ª" Jarek raises a hand to interrupt me. "I am giving you the full background for a reason, Ariane of the Nirari. Be silent." I am a bit chastised. Jarek never loses his patience with me. "You are a known quantity for Bertrand. Your survival in Sweden and France irked him. He will want to handle you¡­ personally. As such, all of his faction knows of you and your presence was reported in yesterday''s battle. This is why I asked for your presence. This is also why I attacked the scouting parties. And yes, I knew where the scouting parties would be. I did not act at random. Do not ask me how." "Fair enough." "By being present, you revealed that Bertrand''s information was not entirely accurate. This bought us enough time to finish evacuation while he regroups and prepares." "At a high risk to myself." "I give you my word that I will cover your retreat." I stop at that. Does he mean that he will¡­ no, I cannot accept this. "We need you." "We need to win. Victory takes sacrifices. If I am not captured, Bertrand will look for the causes of his failure and he might find them. He must win today so that we may all win tomorrow." I glare, because I finally realized something. "You never intended to leave." "I made myself a promise. I will never abandon my family and my domain ever again. If I fall now, then so be it. Just make sure to capture enough people to exchange me later." "Oh, I thought you were going to, you know, die." "No one has died so far. Let us keep it that way, shall we?" I breathe and lean back into the rickety chair. I knew that we needed some time to merge our different bands into a functional military. Apparently, we also need to root out traitors. Fair enough. "What about Bertrand?" It is Jarek''s turn to glare. "If you can take him down, I will personally petition you to become queen of America." "Wow." "And by that I mean that it will not happen. Not within this century or the next." "Ah." "Enough of this. You understand what I must do and why. Your role is to escape when I tell you to, and bring Mel with you." I raise an eyebrow. "Mel?" Jarek is not amused. "Yes, Mel. Do you know that she can hold my entire¡ª" "Aaaaatatata not listening!" "¡ªBetween her¡ª" "ALRIGHT! Fine. I understand." "Do not wrestle with a pig if you are afraid of mud, Ariane." I grumble something, but I know when I have been defeated. "As I was saying before your constant interruptions, you must wait for my information, then leave however you can. Board your ship if possible, otherwise go by land. Our time will be short." "I understand." "Good. I had Islaev''s team board via sarcophagus, so it will be you, Mel, and me. I will come and get you just before night." I nod, and he leaves. This all feels like a gambit I had no idea I would play. I should have expected my allies to use me as a tool, and I cannot blame them. Of course, Sephare would not share with me information that I do not need. Of course, Jarek would do the same. The stakes are too high for us to use half-measures. It still pains me to realize that despite my efforts, I amount to little more than a pawn in this age-old game. A large pawn, I suppose, a bishop or a knight perhaps, but still a piece on the board. I could get angry and ask for more but I do not have the heart. I want to win more than I want to understand. It will still be time to grow afterward. I spend the rest of the afternoon preparing my weapons. "Are you ready?" Jarek asks. We can feel it. The sun is setting. The last rays of crimson light drift away from the land. Our time is almost here. It is night. We burst out of the cache. We merely need to last long enough for the trap to work. We now stand near a large boulder surrounded by fallow fields, with the port and welcome shape of the Dalton''s Spirit to the right. Just as I rush out, I freeze in my tracks in surprise and so does Melusine. Only Jarek seems unaffected. I have seen vampires being grandiose, being determined, and being brilliant. I had never before witnessed vampires being systematic. Every five hundred yards in every direction, a sarcophagus has been planted into the ground. As we watch, perhaps thirty fighters emerge from them all across the Natalis hold. We are vastly, vastly outnumbered. I turn to the ship, and realize that it does not rest at the pier, but easily two hundred yards out with deployed guns. We just stepped onto a battlefield. And a massive crimson veil the size of a village, falls down to trap us in. "Go!" We follow Jarek at break-neck speed to the obvious core of the ritual trapping us in. Ten mages stand in a circle with battle Masters quickly assembling between us and them. They operate under the direction of a tiny woman with very dark hair. They are themselves hidden behind another shield. I recognize the mages as being mortals, but the woman leading them emits a powerful Lancaster aura that speaks of great power. "Can you two breach the shield?" Jarek asks. We have not been intercepted yet. Instead, the masters run to each other to form hunting packs. My first answer is to say: absolutely not. We are two mages against eleven entrenched ones, led by a clear archmage lady who is even now looking at us come to her with clear amusement. And then, I realize that I am too hasty. There is one thing I still have. "I can." "You can?" Melusine screams by my side, "do you know who that is? Only one of the most powerful Lancaster alive!" "I can," I assure her, "just get me close enough." The masters arrayed before us form a single line bristling with soul weapons and spells and enchanted pieces of gear. Jarek accelerates beyond anything I thought possible and crashes into them, sending them reeling through sheer inertia. Many of the Masters bump harmlessly against the shield before sliding down. It did not even waver. As Jarek and Melusine fend off attackers, I approach and take out a flare gun from one of my smaller holsters, firing it against the shield. The burst of blue light rises high as the skies, past the red barrier holding us in. As expected, the obstacle only affects vampires, not magic or things. The Lancaster lady smiles broadly, baring her fangs. Her condescending gaze turns to Melusine who is now bleeding heavily from her right arm after an unfavorable exchange. "You keep strange company, descendant of mine. I will have to discipline you thoroughly when we are done here. Was this supposed to accomplish anything?" "Actually," I say, interrupting her, "it was more a code than a true attack." The possibility of defeat never enters her mind, and so she bends a bit forward and asks me with the tone of the teacher humoring the class idiot. "And what kind of code are we talking about?" Behind us, three very loud, very recognizable detonations make the air tremble. "In Dvergur, it means ''fire for effect''." I absolutely love the way her arrogant expression melts into outrage and fear as the incendiary projectile devastates her shield, opening it, and sending all ten mages to the ground with bleeding eyes and ears. "You will pay for this!" she screams as she tries to protect them from the spreading flames. The dome fragments and disintegrates. "You have run afoul of the dread pirate Ari¡ª" "No time for this," Jarek screams, "here, take it!" He gives me a strange circular object that looks like a canister with spaces left to write. Only one of the five spaces has letters on it, red as blood. The identity of the traitor. I grab it and place it in my powder charge stachel, but we are too late. We are surrounded. The master packs have gathered around and lords have joined the fray, the auras around us burn with anger and aggression. "It can only end one way," someone says. I keep quiet as Jarek steps forward, alone. He slowly unbuckles his shoulder plate and lets it fall to the ground with a loud thud. Dust rises from the sleeping earth. "You are right, it can only end one way. One more Natalis will fall tonight, outnumbered, because we are too dumb and too naive to see from whence the wind blows. It is already over. I cannot win." The second pauldron and his chest plate join the growing pile at his feet. "With that said, I am also dumb enough to have¡­ reservations about this whole affair. You see, one should not trample on another one''s home without some retribution, without some foretaste of the reckoning that will come one future night for the actions of this one. And there will be a reckoning, and I tell you now, I will be there for it." "Enough theatrics, old man, fight, or do not fight." "I never said there would be a fight. At least, not for you. Magna Arqa." Pressure. Crushing, overwhelming pressure. I gasp, hiccup, fall to my knees. Melusine collapses. The Masters struggle and lurch. Only Jarek remains standing. The very air turns blurry. I want to speak, to tell him to stop. I cannot. How is this possible? How can this power compare to that of others? How can there be such a gap between lords? Jarek is a bloody monster. "You need to leave, Ariane. Take Melusine with you, I will open the way." It takes all my effort to climb back to my feet and help Melusine to hers. We lumber to the line of fighters before us. Jarek contemptuously sweeps his hand to the side, and the shadow of a giant''s limb swats them, sending them flying like so many pins. We go through. I turn around one last time to see Jarek step calmly to someone in the distance. I see a warrior in a crimson plate armor with a battle mask that looks like a theater prop, complete with a beard of wrought silver steel. None other can stand before the two of them. The man in red materializes a massive, two-handed war axe as dark as the void. "Magna Arqa." Strings, strange veins cover his body until even the plate he wears gains an organic quality that dead materials should not have. The two titans smash into each other, sending shockwaves across the battlefields. Masters are pushed away, lords walk back. Jarek and the man I recognize as Bertrand are forces of nature. We cannot make a difference in that struggle. Melusine and I finally exit the area of effect of their combined powers. We sprint away without a word. One team managed to circumvent the colossal fight. They are after us. We take the northern exit to the hold with them after us. "Cover?" Melusine asks. "Darkness," I immediately say. A cloud of blindness and silence spreads around us. "Inferno!" A line of crimson extends behind us, slightly longer on one side than the other. Flames rise up as high as three men as we make our escape, or try to. I feel it. The most powerful aura behind us is the first to cross the hurdle, soon followed by others. The multiple foes disappear from my perception as they accelerate towards us. Scouts. They have been selected for speed and discretion, and Melusine is wounded, slower. We keep going and I wait for the inevitable. I do not have to wait long. Pushing my intuition to its maximum, I twist on myself and cast. The Master sneaking on us shows no trace of surprise as they slow down, bodies covered by a nebulous cloak that hides their features. "Promethean." The first chain forces a dodge, the second strikes right where I knew they would dodge. They still avoid it by collapsing on themselves in a strange motion. Rose hits them clear in the chest, doing catastrophic damage. The downside of speed is lousy armor, and it shows. My lucky hit takes them out of the fight. "Darkness," I say immediately, and my trap works. Another attacker is goaded into rushing forward, unaware that Melusine and I have reversed course. "Fire bolt." "Blood bolt." We time our spells and strikes to overwhelm her quickly. On a heavily armored opponent, such light attacks would not distract them enough to justify the wasted motion. On the leather-armored woman after us, however, the result is immediate. Her gear is not up to the task and she is soon covered in painful wounds. We disable her just as the last Master and the lady emerge from the woods. The Master wears a mask and dark cloth armor, with a sinuous build and twin maces in his hands. The lady''s garb is different, with plenty of pockets and harnesses. Her light build and average beauty gives her a forgettable look that I am certain she uses for spying. She opens by flourishing a strange curved blade as my darkness spell dissipates. I dodge to the side and a thrown knife still bites deep against the edge of the battle mask. I block the next two with an armguard, preventing them from drawing blood. I soon have to forfeit defending Melusine in favor of saving myself. Thankfully, she has healed enough to use her foil again. The lady is a Hastings, and the only saving grace here as our speeds are almost evenly matched. The issue is that she clearly knows how to fight fast opponents and I am immediately hard-pressed. Distractions, tricks, and misdirection are her main weapons. Without my intuition, I would have fallen in ten exchanges. As it is, I am barely hanging there by the skin of my teeth by using her own daggers against her and every spell in my repertoire. I cast a bind, then a flay and force her back, only for her to throw enchanted bolas that I have to fend off with my claws. Her ability to distract does not even anger me. In fact, I am quite impressed. WORTHY PREY. SMART HUNTER. I will take her down yet. I keep changing tactics to prevent her from adapting too much. I keep at a distance and pepper her with bolts, but she wears enchanted mail under her dark coveralls, and the attack fails to pierce. I charge her and we exchange fast blows. I am outmatched. Close quarter is clearly her domain of expertise. I receive a deep slash on my right thigh for my trouble. A point-blank range flay spell forces her back and I use Rose at medium range to pressure her. It works. My training with Nami is paying off intensely as she has taught me how to keep someone back, being an expert at it herself. I strike where she will be instead of where she is, and use Rose''s ability to expand to its full potential. She is pushed back and is running out of tricks. I even force a magical explosion on her flank when one of my bolts hits something she had gone to grab, her pockets working against her now. SHOW ME MORE, LITTLE PREY. She appears to disengage and throws her last dagger at me. Her tactic works against her when I grab one from the air and send it against the back of the enemy Master, helping a struggling Melusine. "Magna Arqa." She disappears. Hours upon hours of ingrained practice let me react before I can even think. I retract Rose and place her before me, close my eyes, and focus on my intuition. The strain is immense, yet I succeed once more. Right and behind. sea??h th§× Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. One step to the back, a sweeping downward blow. The lady stumbles back with her chest cleaved diagonally. Surprise finally shows on her face and she falls on her back, her heart still intact, but her innards spilling on the black earth. The damage is gruesome. I WIN. I hiss in triumph. I did it. I disabled a lady! And a real¡ª My aura flares. The sensation defies description, like a volcano or a pot boiling over. It escapes my control. My own aura escapes my control. The absolute impossibility of this fact stuns me and forces me to my knees as all my strength flees in the air. What¡­ Is that an attack? But no¡­ Dark roots and spiked tendrils erupt from the earth, from rocks, they surround me and twist as they search for prey. They find blood but¡­ I did not call them. I do not want them. I do not need them! They stole all my strength! I gasp, prone against the ground. It hurts. It hurts as much as when Dalton died and no amount of breathing and feeding could fend off the horrible hollow he left behind. I have been forcefully drained of every ounce of vitality I possessed. I am an empty shell, and I cannot even follow the end of the fight! There are blurry moves and a male cry, I taste just a bit of essence and then, Melusine leans by my side. She has dragged two bodies with her. There is blood on her flank, her cheek. "You have to stop it Ariane. Stop it." "I don''t know how!" And it does not matter. As fast as the phenomenon came, it disappears and the roots flash into nothingness. I am left lying on the ground, lacking the strength to even stand up. I can only gulp air to alleviate the pain. "Can you stand?" "No!" I could not do it to save my life. There is nothing to draw on. "Hold on. There could be something." Melusine rummages through the lord''s effects and takes out a vial from around her neck. "We are in luck. One drop for you." Pain. Humiliation. Shackles that never fall. I want to die. Likaean essence. I am saved. Slowly, carefully, I push myself to a sitting position. That was¡­ I have been betrayed by my own soul? CONFUSION. Hide not thy poison with such sugared words, myself? What gives? "We have no time for introspection," Melusine says curtly as she lets the tiniest amount of blood on her tongue. She helps me up. "Wait, please," the lady says. She has one more wound on her leg where a root grabbed her. "Let me have the rest, so that I bring my team to safety, lest the sun takes us." "Will you not be found? Night has just fallen." "I would rather not rely on it. You would have my gratitude, and I promise not to pursue you this night and the next." Melusine shrugs. I nod. "Alright." We help her and leave immediately. Fortunately, no other team follows us and we race northward along the shore. I finally find a suitable spot and Melusine and I create a spell circle to hide ourselves from basic tracking. I use a two-way beacon to try and reach a mage on the Spirit of Dalton. "Hmm?" "Felix, is that you? We need you to come get us." The man yawns, obviously exhausted. "Okay," he says, then breaks the spell. "Hsss." "One day, you will have to let go of your anger, Ariane. Accept that the word is here to stay." "Never!" Only a few minutes later, my ship sails before us. A rowing boat is pulled down and sailors drive it close to the shore. A standing figure with a nice moustache and twin revolvers on his hips tips his hat as we approach. "You ladies need a ride?" Chapter 134 - 129. Vampire war Boston, December 2nd, 1861 "We may begin," the Speaker says. I find it hard to gauge the mood of an assembly of people whose survival depends on self-control, and yet I can taste concern in the air. One of us has had less need to manage their own emotion on account of being powerful from the start. I do not believe that I had ever seen Constantine angry before. "Before anything else, we have an unfortunate affair to resolve. Sephare, if you will?" "Thank you, Speaker." She smiles, like the cat who caught the bird that had been flitting around him. She makes no secret of her satisfaction. "We have found a traitor in our midst, one who has sent detailed military information to our foes." I did not think that immobile people could grow even more immobile. The absence of motion in this room now defies the very laws of physics. "A few weeks ago¡­" Sephare goes on to explain her ploy, how she sent different cache locations to different lords to see which ones would be breached. A few of the lords tilt their head, and I know that those are more curious than worried now. "And someone fell into the trap. The location of the breached cache was sent to only one person. Lord Yann?" I have come to bear witness to Sephare''s moment of triumph. For three weeks now, the tall, hawkish man and the petite blonde have engaged in a complex diplomatic dance with the prize being the conduct of the war. Yann leads the minority group preventing the majority of vampires from supporting the Union. Some of the recalcitrants have firm ideas about racial hierarchy. Others see no way for their holdings to survive the end of slavery in decent shapes. The last few, however, are mercenaries who consider the crisis as an opportunity to sell their votes. If the deadlock continues, our faction will be forced to pay them an astronomical prize for their allegiance. If it breaks, they will have gained nothing but our resentment. Theirs is a dangerous gamble. They do not seem to care. Yann leads them. As Sephare expected, the man believes himself as too smart for his own good, typical of those whose intellect only shines in the company of their lessers. He has looked down upon our community, and now the community has come to give back, in the person of a miffed Progenitor. "Those are lies, shameless lies! If this is all¡ª" Constantine''s voice barely rises, and yet every other sound is silenced. "I have borne witness to the setting of the trap. I have verified the artefact myself. Jarek sacrificed himself so that we would know the name of those who sold us out. You were generously granted confidential information that our enemies obtained, Yann, information that they could not have discovered on their own." "How can you be so sure!" Constantine''s fist smacks against the liquid stone table. Its surface turns into a forest of glistening spikes, though none come to pierce his skin. Yann stops talking. "No games. No stupid denials. This is no mortal court of law in a piddling village, Yann. The next words coming out of your mouth will be a proper explanation, or I will exact the sentence here and now." The Speaker''s unyielding manners remove the bluster from Yann, but not the pride. "You have no way of proving my guilt. The message could have been intercepted, or one of my subordinates¡ª" "A level above us, there is a facility," Constantine interrupts yet again, "dedicated to extracting the truth from beings to whom the mercy of death has been denied. The accusations laid against you are grave, Yann. Do not waste my time." I know of this facility very well. One my my fingers twitches. Behind me, Melusine''s hand presses against my back, out of sight of the others. I almost want Yann to keep denying. The little prick deserves it. Eventually, he realizes that his bluff is called. "Alright, I admit to sharing the message, but it was not for their benefit. You see¡ª" Ten, twenty, thirty bloody chains of cruel magic erupt from Constantine and the walls. They cover the rebellious lord with blinding speed and through overwhelming numbers. To me, they feel¡­ alive. They move organically like so many snakes. If Medusa was real, her hair would be like that. And Yann is caught in it. The numerous slithering restraints tighten around the man as he mutters something. In a way, Constantine showed generosity. If he were innocent or misled, he could have used the opportunity to defend himself efficiently. Yann was neither innocent, nor misled. He was greedy. The chains contract, then dismember him. A purple light. Ash. The death of a lord. Just like that. Silence rules while we all feign indifference with varying degrees of success. Eventually, all eyes now fall on the most awkward member of our congregation: Yann''s second. He is the only younger Master among us. His voice breaks the silence. "Could you hold off killing me for a minute? I want to enjoy that smarmy bastard''s death." "I have a use for him," Sephare declares, probably saving his life. The nest of angry chains rattles in the air, their heavy links ignoring gravity altogether. I realize that more chains stand from the Speaker''s back, those black and void. I see a blade and a weight on either end. Chains? What a curious soul weapon. "I will consent to sparing his life if he proves himself useful to our cause. Now, for the vote." With Yann''s second reversing his position, we go one more round, and I almost expect his block to remain entrenched. It appears, however, that the opportunists in the Secession camp have felt the winds of change, and they vote with us. It could have been the remains of their leader still staining the table. In any case, the majority of two thirds has been reached. Constantine allows the Warden of Carolina to make a small declaration, and he announces that, in short, he will be heading out to new lands where proper racial order is still the norm. Constantine allows him to leave while his second immediately becomes the de facto leader. The deadlock has been resolved. "Henceforth, the Accords will work in the shadows to bring this war to a swift and decisive conclusion. Those who do not wish to assist are free to do so, but they may not help the Confederacy, and they may not hamper the efforts of the Union faction on their land, up to and including the presence of mercenaries, but not that of other vampires. If you have objections feel free to contact me in private. The meeting is adjourned, as we have a war to plan." As before, we trickle out of the council chamber and retreat to our individual wings to discuss and scheme. To my surprise, Melusine requests that we speak together first, and we walk to my private chambers for a little discussion. "I have no doubt that the powers that be will drag you into yet another daring play of the immortal field, and so I would like to take this opportunity to discuss what we can do for our mortal side," she tells me as soon as we are settled I frown. "We are already supplying many regiments with superior weapons, not to mention the better guns. We have already solved a lot of mobility issues." "And this is all well and good, but you are always thinking at squad level. Ariane, you have always fought skirmishes with a hundred combatants or less, where tactics and superior gear makes a difference." "That is not entirely true," I pout, but she is not done. "The only major battle you orchestrated from start to finish happened on your home ground." I fail to see how that matters. "My point," she continues with some impatience, "is that you are thinking too much about the battle itself. A higher firing rate matters some. Artillery support matters some. Logistics matters a lot." "You mean, like food?" "Food is fine on our side. I am talking about munitions. Bullets. This is what matters the most, especially in large scale engagements, such as we will have before this is all over. Munitions is where the nerve is, and where our profits will be made. It does not matter that infantrymen can shoot fast if they can only shoot thirty times, and badly. We need to provide bullets for them to train, and fight." This¡­ makes a surprising amount of sense. The main argument I was offered against repeater rifles was that soldiers would waste bullets. I found that stupid, but if someone is poorly trained and they fire their daily reserves of bullets in the first fifteen minutes of a day-long battle, I can see how this could lead to disaster. Especially if they tend to miss a lot. "Keep producing guns, but focus your efforts on bullets and bullet packaging. I will take care of the transportation. I have ways," she concludes. Melusine has a keen sense of opportunities. I will trust her on that. "Very well. We should return to the others." "You return to the others. I will return to Chicago. There are opportunities to seize now that others will grab if I delay. Win us the shadow war, and I will handle the mortal one." "I will count on you." "And one last thing¡­" Melusine finishes as she pushes the door open, "remember that our allies care more for victory than for your well-being." "I know this, but I also know that Bertrand will demand my head if there is a peace settlement to his advantage. I have no choice but to commit myself to the cause." "Perhaps not. Bertrand has a vision, and he is not an emotional creature. The reason why he sought your demise was one of convenience, and he is now after you because your continued survival illustrates his failure. Your death only matters to him insofar as he must make a point. Sephare might be right, or she might be trying to keep you firmly on her side." "You think she would lie to me?" "I think she would present the information that encourages you to remain firmly on her side. You have no idea how useful a reliable battle Master is. She can deploy you without fear of betrayal or second-guessing. You know what the reward for competent work is." "More work?" "Indeed. Consider making a plan of your own to carry out so that Sephare has to look elsewhere for agents, or you will forever be her hand." "You''re right." "As always. Sephare certainly has a plan to exploit Yann''s demise. I expect that you will be called shortly. Keep what I said in mind for next time." I nod, and she stands up to leave while I am left thinking. In our society, appearance is everything. I must strike a delicate balance between contributing to the war efforts, and being perceived as more than Sephare''s stooge. Ah well. A knock on the door, and I am once more summoned to meet with our leaders. To my surprise, I am not invited to Sephare''s personal quarters like last time, but to a floor deep within the fortress where I was quite sure there used to be a training room. It was converted into a strategic headquarter some time while I was gone. I enter through a secured door to find the heart of the war effort. Constantine stands in front of a board with a complex assortment of documents linked together by strings, and complex runes in some alien construct that only he could interpret. Sephare and two of the Cadiz lords, Ceron and Suarez, inspect the massive map set on a central table. The walls of naked stone and blue magical lights lend the room a strange air, as on the map, the mundane and the secret mix. Two conflicts, four sides, and extremely high stakes. For the first time in forever, my intuition activates outside of combat. I see the tiny dots showing troop concentrations superimposed with stylized chess pieces representing major vampire squads. They mix and merge in a strange dance, parallel yet separate at first, then things change. Then blue dots merge around the black ones, and some of the grey come as well. White, red, and black dots join the insane dance to form a defensive vortex, for something has come upon the map. A grey mass of viscous fluid spreads across the land like a vile mold. It starts in villages, in faraway places and on forgotten battlefields, of which there will be many. It feeds upon the dead and dying. It harvests the forgotten, those who have been cut off. It spreads silently through remote valleys until all elements gather into an unstoppable tide, one of teeth and gnawing bones. It is too late then, too late. "They will eat until nothing is left, while the eyes and blades of man are turned on each other." Yes. This is right. "Ariane?" This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. I blink. Everyone is staring at me. "Hmm, yes?" "You have the gift of prophecy?" "I, uh¡­" "That was an aura blast, of course she does. What did she say? Let me write it down," Constantine mumbles as he grabs a loose paper. I just outed myself. "Does this happen often?" Sephare asks with widened eyes. "Absolutely not." "Shit. Fuck! The eyes of men? I need to reactivate our dormant information network." Ceron and Suarez nod thoughtfully. "Cancel the order to consolidate mage structures. We must allow them to spread wide, invaders be damned." "Errr, you are all taking this quite seriously," I notice, surprised at their reactions. "You must have a latent gift. That explains how sometimes you dodge things that you should not be able to see. Every experienced fighter eventually develops this ability, but you must have had a seed of power to obtain it so fast. If someone with only a hint of talent feels the web of fate enough to produce a prophecy, then the event must be momentous indeed," Suarez explains as Ceron takes notes, "a threat will come during the war and we will be ready." "Hm. If you say so¡­" I am a bit at a loss. Between this and the thorn roots issue, there is much I need to explore, but there is no time now. Before I can further react, Sephare finishes what she was doing and drags me next to the table. She points at the center of the East Coast. "I need your help yet again, and for a delicate matter. We are, once more, on the defensive. I need you to lay a trap for us." Melusine did warn me. "What did you have in mind?" "Gregory, our brand new Warden of Virginia, has mentioned that his double-dealing predecessor had started negotiating safe passage with Bertrand''s faction." "Then we need to stop that from happening" "On the contrary, I want him to lure a group, which we will then trap and capture. I would like you to go with him first and scout the place. I do not expect treachery from him, since he simply did not have the time to scheme yet. I do believe that he may try something when he is back among his power base, however. Keep an eye on him, and pretend that you are there to provide security. While you do so, several squads will make their way to your position in secret. When the trap is sprung, they will come and assist. Make sure that Gregory shows you Yann''s escape systems just in case. The old fox had a pretty good system in place, but he feared outside treachery while he should have been wary of his own greed." "Are you certain that someone will come? It all seems a bit far-fetched. What benefits would the Expansion Faction have to settle in Virginia? Would they not simply progress through the land state by state? "We are confident that Bertrand will try to finish us off as quickly as he can. Virginia''s relatively central location would allow him to bypass several hostile territories and strike at Washington. There are also a lot of blockade runners around there, enough to reach Boston with a bit of luck. It is too good an occasion to pass for someone on a schedule." "He is in a hurry?" "His faction is far from being as united as it seems. Every day they spend away from their fiefs means more local power lost and opportunities missed. He will want to strike decisively before his powerbase erodes too much and the expedition becomes unsustainable. I do not count on this one operation to win the war, but every scrap we gather, every lord we capture, brings us closer to a favorable armistice." "I see. I will go, and I hope the trap works." "Even if it does not, I have other irons in the fire. One last thing," the petite lady says as she grabs my sleeves. Her blue eyes meet with mine. "Do not die." Her vehemence comes, once again, as a surprise. "I am not just stating the obvious. This trap is not vital to our success, but you have proven to be a valuable agent of our forces on repeated occasions. Do not fight overwhelming odds. Do not sacrifice yourself out of a misplaced sense of duty. If it looks like the odds are against you, do not throw your life away. Do not die." "I will be careful." She nods and returns her attention to her notes. I have been dismissed. Constantine accompanies me back to the entrance, robes swishing as he walks. He closes the door behind us. "Sephare is correct. Jarek''s loss was unplanned for, and reclaiming him will cost us a lot of resources, even if we win this conflict. Do not let your pride get in the way of your survival." "You are acting in an odd way. Is this the prophecy, whatever that was?" "That was a warning that we should keep our eyes opened no matter the cost, and we will. Sephare and I make a point because Gregory''s allegiance is questionable at best. Do not let your guard down at any time. We cannot afford unnecessary losses." "I understand. I will come back in one piece." "See that you do. I would be displeased if my lessons were wasted." One last nod, and he returns to the secured room. *** We travel by carriage. Gregory was neither surprised nor pleased by my imposed presence. He took my excuse of ''safety'' as what it was: a thinly veiled insult against his loyalty. He knows that he deserves nothing more, and so we remain courteous as we move quickly south in the bitter cold of November. Even now, the influence of war is plain to see in the troops we come across, and the checkpoints we pass. The blue uniforms of Union soldiers abound. We even have to bypass Washington and its imposing fortifications. From then on, only our precious traveling documents guarantee that we can go on unimpeded. Sephare facilitated our trip by providing us with diplomatic documents, so that both sides believe us to be part of negotiation efforts. Gregory proves himself to be an effective, if unimaginative organizer. His short brown hair and intelligent grey eyes give him the appearance of a junior negotiator, the kind that can be sent on a dangerous journey with little hope of success. As the days go by and I grow increasingly impatient, we are finally stopped for a longer time near the border, in the southern part of Maryland. I can hear arguments through the armored doors, though their thickness muffles even my senses. Eventually, there is a knock on the door from the driver''s side, one that signifies that the papers have been refused and that we are encountering difficulties. Our carriage has an escort kindly provided by my host. For a moment, I had considered calling for a red cabal group and some of my own security, then decided against it. If we run into a trap, I fear that I might not see my own men as expendable. If I am to run, I need to leave no one behind or I might hesitate. As for my safety during the day, I have prepared precautions, one of which being my old sarcophagus made by Loth and further reinforced by Constantine himself, at my request. The man at the head of our escort now fulfills his role of delaying the carriage inspection. He has several tools at his disposal, such as asking to telegraph Washington to confirm our identity. Most people would consider this proof enough, yet twilight comes and we are still stopped. As the sun sets below the horizon, Gregory walks to unlock the secure compartment we are in. It would take a lot to destroy it, but we are still relatively vulnerable during transport. No sooner is the door unlocked that a clamor sounds from outside, and a man is allowed to clamber in. I take in a youthful appearance, a moustache, stubble, and the typical uniform of the Union cavalry corps. Our little intruder has two crossed swords on his kepi as well as the emblematic saber of mounted troops, complete with a heavy cloak to protect him from the frigid temperatures. He keeps his blade sheathed, for now. Gregory and I sit at a table, looking on as the little mortal struts in. "Some diplomatic mission this is, they have a pretty lady in here!" The young one smells of anger and pride. Gregory tsks, the intrusion on his territory made more frustrating by our guest''s poor manners. He has to react. "My men must have produced the proper documentation. Do you have cause to delay us?" "A group of negotiators between the rebels and us? At this time of the year? I don''t think so!" "And that is why," Gregory deadpans, "you are a cavalryman, and not a diplomat." The brash young one takes a step forward as Gregory rises to meet him. The Roland Master''s graceful movement takes some wind off the young one''s sails, and his arrogance further deflates when he notices the knife, currently in its holster. Gregory''s sheer confidence and a hint of Charm are enough to force a step back. "You should know when you are in over your head, boy." The point is hammered home. "Enough of this, get out of there Peter" another voice says from outside. Now, someone else climbs to join us as the soldier steps down. I notice the broad-brim hat of a cavalry officer. His countenance is calmer, and colder, than that of his subordinate. A pair of blue eyes settle on both of us in turn. Frost clings to his sideburns. I find myself curious as to why he would make trouble for himself. A moment later and I know why. He wears a crucifix which even now emits a powerful deterrent. He does not approach us. Interesting. Gabrielites have withdrawn from the public after several years of intensive hunts on our parts. Churches in Europe are united and mighty. There are entire compounds and monasteries dedicated to fighting the likes of us for centuries, and they offer the kind of safe haven that we could not take without a full-blown war, one we do not wish to start lest it brings embarrassing questions. In America, the land has not belonged to christianity for very long. There are still old magics to fight off, and the only refuges the Gabrielites can find are small and reclusive. We are winning. We have been winning for quite some time, and I had a part to play in it. Instead, our foes have gone to ground and they still recruit in secret, but their ability to conduct large-scale operations like the ones that almost killed me as a fledgeling has faded over the years. We are still, apparently, not entirely free of them. I can see it in the man''s eyes. He knows of what we are. He must have been partially trained. I interrupt Gregory with a hand on his shoulder as he starts to speak. He has not realized yet what we face, and I am in no mood to explain. I taste fear in the air, as well as its counterpart: courage. The officer blocks the entrance like David facing Goliath below the walls of Jericho. I doubt that the outcome will favor him this time. I take one moment to make sure that the outside is silent, and that no one is attaching explosives under our wheels. That would be mildly unpleasant. "I have found you," the officer declares with an unwavering voice. He takes a step forward and hesitates. S~ea??h the N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. I bet he never expected to come this far. We vampires remain few and far between. There are less than four hundred of us on the new continent, spread out between its many regions. This Gabrielite was more likely to catch an accidental bullet than one of us. So I smile as I discreetly fasten my gauntlet, and use it to slam the door closed behind him. The carriage is plunged in darkness. Our guest''s back crashes against the side of the carriage in a defensive retreat as he scrambles to grab his revolver and take out his crucifix. Instead of fighting, I use a match to light a lantern. The yellow light spreads throughout the interior, highlighting the two of us, still sitting. "Nervous?" I ask. The man does not reply. He has no need to. His heartbeat speaks for itself. "You know, I consider us to be¡­ long-term planners, a necessity if you intend to live forever. Longevity tends to change our outlook on things. You know what I am referring to, do you not?" I continue. "You are devil spawns. Leeches. Deceitful creatures, but I can see through your lies. You will not carry out your dark plans tonight." "And you could tell what we were from our carriage, yes? You know how we travel." I like how my behavior goes against his expectations. "The light of the sun purifies you. You hide like cockroaches before the might of the lord." "And so you decided to use your mortal authority to stop us. And you have. Here we are, stopped," I continue, my chin resting on a hand. "Now, the good question is, what was your plan from here on? How did you intend to apprehend us? Slay us?" The man freezes. Perhaps he was waiting for reinforcements, perhaps he merely wanted to confront us. It matters not. Night has fallen, and this world is ours. I stand up and walk to the back of the carriages where my gear is held. I take Sivaya''s spear and deploy it on one sharp gesture. The straight weapon extends far and I slowly place the tip of the blade on the officer''s chest, far enough that even a powerful halo could not stop it. "Your faith is a weapon, not a perfect shield. It does not give you victory. It gives you a fighting chance. And yet here you are, with no plan and no tool, hoping for a miracle?" Before he can start babbling his religion again, I press the blade deep enough for blood to pearl at its tip. I can feel the mighty aura of the local deity pushing back. It whispers warnings of ash and a final end, but I do not listen. It has rules to follow, just like we do. This time, I win. "You can get back out and fight the mortal war. Under your leadership, perhaps a few more men will survive the incoming onslaught. But if we fight now, there will be no heroic last stand for you. I will stab you from where I am and open this door, then I will kill every last one of your men, one by one. I have been playing the eternal game for far longer than you, human. Recognize when you are outclassed, or die. You have ten seconds." I settle to wait. I am, of course, not bluffing. I do not need aura or Charm to conduct a proper negotiation. "What tells me that you won''t kill us if we back down now?" the man asks before three seconds have passed. "You are insignificant and I have no time for you," I reply candidly. The officer looks hesitantly at Gregory, who smiles and shrugs. "Not to add insult to injury but¡­ she is right. We are not in the habit of going around mindlessly killing people." The Gabrielite takes a step back. "Fine. I''m leaving. But one day your time will come." "On this we agree," Gregory replies, "but it will not tonight, and certainly not by you. Farewell." The door closes. Two minutes later, the carriage leaves and the Roland vampire and I resume ignoring each other. *** The trip through Confederate patrols goes without a hitch, and we arrive very soon at the departed Yann''s center of power. This late in the year, most of the roads are snow and mud, but even I can tell that the dead Roland Lord made a genuine effort to make his little corner of the world pleasant. We turn into an alley of poplar trees near dawn, with fields extending on each side to forest hills in the distance. Yann''s compound is a massive, three-stories house painted white and blue, which does not surprise me. What does, is that he made a village for his slaves. Rows of cookie-cutter houses in neat lines take a large space, with paths leading to warehouses and the fields. I can tell that slaves live here on account of the four guard towers surrounding it and the cloudy breaths of sentinels facing inward. A golden prison, as it were. The news of Yann''s demise spreads fast among the few staff members still awake. From their reaction, I can tell that he was well-loved. Curious how a backstabbing schemer can be so cruel around the table and so generous with the help, at least compared to others of his kind. We share this dichotomy with the mortals. It would make it hard for me to dislike the departed if he had not planned to help a man who intends to have me made into an example. My occupation of their previous master''s quarters generates a reaction so intense that I fear I may have to impose upon them that they have no choice on the matter. Eventually, Gregory manages to calm them enough that I am allowed to move in, but I refrain from ordering hot water, lest I find saliva in it and be forced to execute someone on the first night. It takes me half an hour to identify all the defenses I can activate before falling into slumber. Yann kept an entire half of the first floor to himself, with powerful shutters designed to withstand an artillery shelling. I activate everything I can find, from alarms to traps, and finally lay the last surprise in his opulent, personal bedroom. I open the passage leading to his escape tunnel and place my sarcophagus by the side, closed. I will not be using it. Early afternoon. I expected it, and am still disappointed. A vampire bypassed all the defenses without triggering them. I can tell from his aura and the lack of noise even as I rest beneath the ground. Yes, I will not sleep in a sarcophagus if I can hide myself in the earth''s embrace instead. I can tolerate mud stuck to my hair if it means a successful ambush. I wait a little more and heavy footsteps sound throughout the bedroom. A man, I think. Heavy. Not Gregory. The little aura I perceive speaks of excellent control, and I do not want to risk probing it, or I will alert the intruder to my presence. He is up early, almost as early as me. It means a Master. I doubt that a foreign lord would risk themselves. A Master, alone. I will apprehend them and interrogate them. At the very least, I want to know what they are doing here if it is merely a local fighter come to meet me. A spell and I explode from below the floor, fully armored. I manage to materialize Rose and aim it at the trespasser''s back as I emerge. "Hahaha! Surprise!" A red armor. The side of a golden mask turning towards me. Contemptuous eyes. "OH SH¡ª" A backhanded blow. I am sent flying through the nearest wall with only one question burning on my lips. What, in the name of the Watcher, is Bertrand doing here? Chapter 135 - 130. Plans within plans I land on the floor, rolling on myself and coming to my feet in a well-practiced move, only to exchange spells with another figure in Yann''s boudoir. Our spells devastate the precious furniture, sending shards and upholstery up in the air. "Bolt." "Shield¡­ Flay!" "Hive. Bind." I slash with Rose and a claw to keep the chains at bay. They do not break. I merely manage to fend them off as I spring back. My foe''s voice is calm and almost bored. I recognize her from the previous battle. She was the Lancaster archmage who tried to trap us, a short lady with black hair and eyes. She shares some of Melusine''s traits, including her voluptuous form. Bertrand waits by the hole in the wall. They are toying with me. ARROGANT. And correct. Unfortunately. The sun is still out and will be out for hours. The house is sealed, its only escape route blocked by the lord''s armored form. To be prosaic, I am truly and utterly fucked. How did it come to this? How could they already be here? "You know, I have heard that honorable foes are easier to predict than dishonorable ones. I find this simplistic theory amusing," Bertrand says. I back up against the wall as the powerful warrior steps forward unhurriedly. The petite Lancaster lady stays where she is and brushes a wood splinter off her dark armored robe. She does not spare me a glance. "In truth, you can count on scoundrels to act like scoundrels. I always found Yann to be too arrogant for his own good, even when he was but a candidate peddling horses for the royal Musketeers. And I thought I would be the one to kill him." What to do, what to do? Can I get past him? I do not believe that I can. Even if I could, the escape tunnel leads outside at some point, where the sun still rules. I cannot stall for reinforcements because it will be days before they arrive. I am completely done for. Damn, I thought I would be killed by mortals in a clever trap, or by my sire. Not by them. How very frustrating. Bertrand still waits by the wall, managing a casual poise in his heavy carmine armor. "Remember our agreement. I want to know about her quirk," the Lancaster lady says. "Yes, yes, I do not forget my promises so easily, woman." I frown. My quirk? "My dear Martha refers to your uncanny ability to charge your claws, and apparently soul weapon, with alien essence. Such techniques are rare outside of the Vanheim bloodline. I am confident that she will manage to¡­ extract all relevant knowledge from your person." Not this again. "Oh no, despair already? I expected more fire from the sane spawn. Let us see if I can revive the flames of hope. Hmm. Do you know why I am so powerful?" I do not reply. I find him annoying, though I admit to some hypocrisy. After all, I too enjoy toying with my prey. "My Magna Arqa is simply superior. Although lords are all mighty, some are simply mightier than others. And I am more than most. The length of time one can maintain a Magna Arqa also depends on willpower, and we Roland have that aplenty. The thing with Magna Arqa, is that it cannot be deployed during the day." My eyes widen. Does he mean¡­ "Yes. Right now, it is your magic and blade against my axe. We are both weakened, and the escape tunnel is so close, yes? If you reach it, I will not pursue." I expected Martha to protest his decision on account of the risk, but she merely rolls her eyes in an uncharacteristic display of impatience. Her confidence says a lot. She does not think I stand a chance. I must still try it. "Martha, do stay out of our little wager." "Just get it over with, you insufferable scoundrel." IT IS ON. Lunge. Parry. Quick swipes. Bertrand deflects Rose with minimal movements of his massive battleaxe. His counter-strikes are simply devastating. I block the first and am sent through yet another wall into a receiving room with its French windows mercifully boarded. I deflect the second and it still bites painfully into my gauntleted forearm. I yelp in pain. "Flay!" Bertrand let the first spell harmlessly splash against the axe''s wide blade, ducks under the second and brings the axe back, cutting into the tip of my extended right foot. That hurts too. I try to keep Bertrand at a distance, making full use of Rose''s versatility to remain dangerous, but he always strikes where I will be, or close enough that his Herculean strength alters the trajectory. I feel like fighting someone who is in my head, though I am certain that he is not interfering. Bertrand''s battle experience is simply so massive that he must know what range of motions are available to me at all times. Even denying obvious baits and fake openings is not enough to remain one step ahead. It happens again. I mess up and an axe blow catches me in the flank. I groan and jump back to my feet. I just thought of something. It is nasty, but I will attempt it anyway. It is FOLLY. No. I must try folly or I will fall. I remove a smaller revolver from a back pocket, praying that the mud I am still covered in did not damage the mechanism. "How unusual." I aim at Bertrand. Then to the side. And I pull the trigger. The magically-enhanced projectile damages the wall and the thinnest, tiniest ray of sunlight pierces the gloom between the Lord and me. Bertrand jumps back with a hiss. I am already gone backward and to the side. THE SUN THE SUN THE SUN. Shut up, me, I know. I made it happen. The far wall separating the receiving room from the bedroom. It stands in my way. "Shred." The spell blasts away the reinforced partition and I jump through. The bedroom. I rush to the central place. A trapdoor, still open. There is a crash behind me and my back turns into a sea of fire. It hurts. IT HURTS. I scream. Blinding pain. CANNOT MOVE. I do not feel my legs anymore. Just pain. I try to move an arm, and stop with a gasp. It hurts so much. Footsteps behind my back. I wish I could lose consciousness, but I cannot. This mercy is denied to me. The man stops. I can only see the edge of the bed. Every movement is agony. I hear a sound and my body buckles, then I hear a terrible crunching noise of flesh and bone as he tears off something from me, and my mind is lost. PAIN "Ahaaaaa." The blade of an axe, glistening with dark blood. That bit deep. Fucker threw his weapon and took my spine. I think. "Not bad, little Devourer. Very astute of you. I like your style. I do not, however, like the sun. I believe that you use it a bit too generously, for a vampire. Perhaps I should instill some fear back into that devious head of yours." The axe dematerializes and something drags me back. I can only see the walls and some cabinets now, then I am held upright. We are back in the receiving room. I did not realize it, but we trashed that place completely. Bertrand holds me by the neck and left arm. I can feel his hand on my neck, but the left arm flops uselessly. He brings it closer to¡­ Oh no. "Please¡­" Not this again. Not this again. "Such a double-edged weapon for the likes of us, do you not agree?" The armored arm gets ever closer to that thin ray of deadly radiance. "Just a little bit, for the memory." Close so close now. And then it stops. "Did you feel that?" Martha, the Lancaster lady, asks from the other room. Please please please I only feel pain. Just get me away from that. "Yes." Dragged back again, thank the Watcher. Just please get this horrible radiance away from me. Still held upright. Still hurts. Back into the bedroom now, I can only focus on keeping my mind together. It takes all my Ekon essence and my experience fending off the insanity of the Thirst to keep paying attention to my surroundings. I perceive a¡­ pulse. It comes from my sarcophagus? It does. But¡­ why? My old protection. My haven against the day. Loth designed it long ago, and Constantine reinforced it with intricate carvings and protective enchantments. Red light shines ominously along its silvery flanks. Martha grabs the lid and pulls, in vain. "Keyed to her." "Can you crack it?" This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. "Not in a reasonable timeframe. The protections here are¡­ impressive. I recognize two different styles, two masters at work. Besides, we do not need it. Simply place her hand against this lever and the artefact will recognize its master." So very strange, I do not recall a beacon being placed here and I carefully inspected the workings to make sure that Constantine had not left any surprise. And then I realize it. There are no beacons, this is just Constantine''s essence powering the spells directly. How is this possible? As I muse the conundrum, Bertrand places my unresponsive hand against the handle and the lid slides open. A defensive spell triggers anyway. Powerful red light crashes against my two foes. I recognize an area-of-effect pain construct. Bertrand bellows, and drops me. A chain emerges from inside the lids and fastens around my wrist. I am pulled in just as the lord roars in anger. Sear?h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Another set of chains emerges from other defensive constructs to attack my assailant. The lid snaps close while they are distracted. I hear powerful magic crashing against the shield spells. They should fail. They do not. A mighty blow sends the entire sarcophagus flying through the air. My head bonks against the surface. "Ow!" I cough some blood. It appears that Bertrand grazed a lung. That would explain the horrible pain. The wound is only now starting to close with excruciating slowness. An indicator flashes blue above my head. Sunlight exposure. Hold on. That moron catapulted me outside! I am safe! Even if he sends mortals, they will be pulverized by the traps. It would take a cannon to breach it. I really hope that they do not find one. This is Virginia, after all. There are tens of thousands of soldiers around. In any case, there is little I can do against that eventuality. I should focus on closing the gaping hole in my back, because I am bleeding on the velvet upholstery. *** Nightfall. I sigh when I feel the baleful orb dip below the horizon. I have managed to heal myself, though I am now Thirsty as a result. It took more courage than I would like to admit to pass a hand against my back after I was done closing it. I felt normal, if cold flesh, sticky with congealed blood. This section of my armor is now ravaged. Bertrand split me like a log. I find his manhandling aggravating. This is no way to treat a lady! He should have properly struck my heart instead. I open the lid and jump out just as a crash heralds another dent in the manor''s wall. This side of the mansion is close enough to trees that I could perhaps attempt something, if I can run across a snow-covered lawn. I prepare to run and stop, surprised. I have never felt such a domineering convergence of essence, even when we fled the field back in the Natalis compound. Power saturates the very air. The fabric of reality is so thin that spells should be empowered if cast here. For a moment, my senses are so overwhelmed that I cannot manage them, and I stumble to my knees. I feel more than hear the snap of a spell at my back. Someone steps by my side and deflects the incoming blast with a thin foil, her other hand holding a black curved dagger. I see a yellow-dyed banded armor embracing a lithe form, and a curiously antique helmet with a Greek influence. Blonde hair cascade down my protector''s back. She turns to me and I recognize Sephare''s icy gaze. "I apologize for the delay, though, to be fair, we expected you to stay in your sarcophagus." I, being the rational and smart vampire that I am, formulate a witty answer. "What?!" By the Watcher, Ariane, well done. Very smooth. Before I can get an answer, Bertrand stops a dozen paces away from us, with Martha on his right, and another lord wielding a halberd by his left. For the very first time since we met, I can spot wariness in the way he holds his axe. I do not have to wonder why for very long. "Well well well, what a good catch," a voice says from behind. Constantine walks out of the tree edge, wearing a full plate and robe armor made vibrant with enchantments. His dark glare is the only part of his face I can see from behind a barbaric-looking helmet. His hands wield black chains and a massive obsidian staff that no human could carry. We mostly use gauntlets nowadays, but Constantine has always been a traditionalist, and he is not afraid of being recognized as what he is. Simply the second most powerful mage on the planet. And he did not come alone. Ceron in a conquistador garb, then Suarez in an old-fashioned chainmail ensemble emerge from the treeline behind him, then the Roland twins, Adrien and Adam in matching plate armors. Constantine''s two mysterious bodyguards are the last to arrive, standing on either side of the visibly-fuming Progenitor. "How many layers of deception am I on?" I drily whisper to Sephare. "I usually stop counting after I run out of fingers. Sorry." Across the clearing, Bertrand''s golden mask glitters under the moonlight. The night is clear despite the season, and I have the best seat to witness the prelude to the apocalyptic conflict to come. "You are not the first one to believe you have trapped me, ''Speaker''. I have never killed a Progenitor before." "I was hoping that you would say that," Constantine replies with deceptive calm. Not much for preliminaries then. I take a step back, as discreetly as I can. "Magna Arqa." "Magna Arqa." "Magna Arq¡ª" I run. Once, we found a prairie dog stunned in the middle of a field we were using to conduct artillery tests. I know how the unfortunate creature felt then. Behind me, reality cracks left and right as indestructible weapons collide, backed by cataclysmic strength. Shockwaves send mounds of soil flying. Pieces of masonry glide through the air as an entire section of the manor is vaporized. I steal a glance back. I cannot resist. The battle lords exchange blows faster than I can perceive, Bertrand holding his ground against their superior numbers, but the real show comes from Martha and Constantine. I knew, intellectually, that the lady had not even made an effort to fend me off. I can now realize how much I was outmatched. Shields and projectiles, disruptor fields and subtle curses, the spells she chains blot the air in a blinding display of color. She could fight off a full army of mages. I cannot help but be impressed by the skill and dedication it must have taken to reach that level of mastery. And she still cannot hold a candle to the Progenitor. While Martha is a well-honed tactician, Constantine is an artist. His spells skewer the air with a living quality that turns him into an avatar of magic, half-humanoid, and half liquid essence flaying the world around him. Red chains bind, yellow chains explode, blue chains disrupt and scatter, then red chains scatter as well and other merge and combine effects, before coalescing into a massive, comet-like missile. The spells he weaves change with every moment, all the usual techniques and tricks pointless before the adaptive speed he now demonstrates. I spend only one second watching him work, and realize that I have no idea what he is doing. I would be completely unable to counter his magic, not knowing what tool to use on which spell. I might as well fight him blind for all the good it would do me. He is harnessing chaos. I slow down and turn on myself, still moving away but unable to detach my sight from the awesome spectacle before me. Those are world-class monsters fighting it out now, immortal beasts centuries-old, at the top of their art. Every moment is a fugacious scene begging to be painted, but I simply cannot capture it. They move too fast! And the light¡­ The light, it lives with them. The fabric is so thin. I would need a canvas that shifts and changes. I behold¡­ PERFECTION. One day. One day, I will join and dance with them. And when they are no longer my match, when the illusion falters and I see them for the flawed beings they are, I will go after him. But for now, time to run! Amazing how Suarez and Bertrand are almost evenly matched. The old Roland is sporting deep gashes in his living armor where Suarez'' Magna Arqa pierced his strange flesh. The golden mask swivels my way. Hold on. Why is it swiveling my way? "I AM TAKING YOU DOWN WITH ME!" "Aaaaah! Why can''t you just sod off?!" An arm flies off, but the lord rushes me and I cannot do anything but go ALL IN. Wait, what? Bubbling essence. Rupturing vitality. Ah, no, not again! A forest of thorny roots erupts from the ground as I spot the axe descending upon my¡ª "She is coming around." PAIN. Pain on my forehead. I taste mortal vitality on my tongue. "Oooooooow." I crack an eye open through dried flakes of dark blood. A maid retreats, binding the wound on her wrist. She averts her gaze. I return to see Sephare and Constantine kneeling by my side. "How are you feeling?" the blonde woman asks. "Just a skull-splitting headache," I reply. "What a coincidence. What is the last thing you remember?" I have to focus for a moment. I realize that my entire head is covered in blood. Mine, from the smell. I lick my lips and focus. "Bertrand''s axe falling on my head." "Well," Constantine notes, "gravity followed its course." "That bastard brained me?" "Yes. Although, you seem to have regained your cognitive abilities." "That brutish ruffian! How dare he treat my beautiful face as if it were a log. Uncouth! Scandalous!" "And I see that your personality is intact. I will now allow Sephare to explain everything, as I am myself not entirely sure how we managed to capture Bertrand and one of his lieutenants in one fell swoop. And with this, I bid you goodbye. There are secure coffins I must enchant to provide our guests with safe traveling arrangements. Goodbye." The tall vampire stands up and leaves, crimson armored robe swishing majestically as he walks. Very manly. I approve. I turn to a very pleased, very smug Sephare. She makes no secret as to her satisfaction. "You used me as bait." "Yes." "You suspected that Gregory might be a traitor as well." "No. I told you the truth. I did not believe that he had time to scheme, and we found his disabled body in his bedroom with a spike through the heart. I did, however, expect the expansion faction to have contact among the staff. Yann''s demise and your presence would be quickly known to our foes, and you were going to be attacked. Bertrand could allow this opportunity to fall through, but your presence was too strong a lure, or that was what I believed. In reality, they were already getting off a blockade runner further on the coast." "Constantine and you warned me to stay alive because you expected me to face overwhelming odds." "Yes, and you managed to attack the first person you came across instead of staying secured in your sarcophagus, behind, I may add, enchantments that Constantine could reinforce at will from afar." "You were nearby all along?" "Yes, safe in a magically-powered golem construct in the form of a carriage, one of Constantine''s inventions. It allowed us to deploy very close to you, and protect you from a cruel fate." "Well, I mean, I just got axed. Twice." "And you live to be axed again." My glare fails to dampen her mood. "I assume that we can consider this a major success." "Indeed. The enemies are not yet vanquished, but the loss of their war leader will be a terrible blow. One of my best coups." "You did not expect to catch Bertrand himself," I tell her reproachfully. She has the grace to show some embarrassment, though it is all a farce for my benefit. "If you bait a trout and land a fat salmon, are you a bad fisherwoman?" I roll my eyes. "So what now?" I ask, "do we start negotiating an armistice?" "That depends on them. We received dire news that Charleston was under attack. Unfortunately, there are chances that the city is lost and the nest captured. If so, we will need to discuss terms. There might be a few more battles before it comes to peace." "I guess that I should find a squad." "Well, the other lords and I share a different opinion. We believe that you should stay away from the field until you have your¡­ problem¡­ under control." She gestures at a few thorny roots, still intact. "I¡­ I am not incontinent!" I bellow, furious. "Sorry, we cannot risk having a lord''s back covered by someone who may do an eldritch oopsie when under pressure." The Hastings lady turns around and leaves me sputtering on the ground. The indignity! Unfortunately, she is right, and so I calm down after a few moments. I know what that effect means, though the others pretend to ignore me. The thorns are the first manifestation of a lord''s power, I believe. My next priority, after the war is over, is to become a lady. And I think I know of someone who could help, the only faction I have not contacted yet, and whose training capabilities are renowned across our world. The Knights. Chapter 136 - 131. A New Way Our return to Boston is triumphant, and Sephare throws me a bone by publicly announcing that my contribution to Bertrand''s capture was decisive. Since she alone was the artisan of our victory, the exaggeration becomes public truth. Constantine, the only person apparently in the know, supports her version. I am nominated as coordinator for the Union war effort for both my service and the high contribution I already make by supplying most of the Union''s artillery guns. Although the vampires'' main concern now is the immortal war, I am given a contingent of Courtiers to work with and access to a treasure trove of information, including Sephare''s own network. I am left with an ambivalent feeling about the whole affair. On the one hand, I survived Bertrand. On the other hand, I did not win against him, and so I did not claim his essence. It felt wrong. On one hand, I was once again used by Sephare, as Melusine had warned me. On the other hand, I had to commit to that last plan and I am satisfied with the result. It serves no purpose to rebel against my own side when my survival is at stake. On the one hand, I have been hurt, on the other hand, I have been rewarded. The results are quite grey. January 1862 brings a few major events. First, the Union wins its first major victory at the battle of Logan''s Cross Roads, in Kentucky, halting a Confederate offensive. Although the battle is minor in the grand scheme of things, the success of General Thomas over a superior rebel force is vastly advertised in the newspapers, with a little bit of help from us. I remember young George Thomas from the Mexican war back when I was protecting my nephew. He had been instrumental in making the American artillery effective, and the artillery had been instrumental in several major victories, including Fort Brown and Resaca de la Palma. He is a good lad! I hope he can do well now too. The Watcher knows that the other side has its fair share of competent officers. I am myself not idle. I spend a lot of time and effort securing, organizing, then latching our information system to the Union''s spy network, feeding them the right information and purging their ranks of a few double agents. In the meanwhile, Melusine proves her expertise as a Lancaster by proving a deep understanding of humanity. My various weapons manufacturers are merged and rebranded as Illinois'' Guns of Liberty with my approval. Melusine selects an eagle bearing down with its talons extended as the company''s image, with the logo ''arms of victory'' under in nice letters. I work with the Dvergurs to design a water-proof, standardized and easily recognizable crate to contain the paper and metal cartridges we will provide to the fighters. Then, she works her magic. Newspapers, announcers, and even artists sway the public in vast propaganda campaigns aimed at identifying our product with the patriotic love of the Union. Ferries and caravan masters everywhere find room for crates in their many containers, while trains soon come laden with wagons filled to the brim with ammunition at a nominal price. The effort of the whole populace of Illinois comes to bear as unseen-before amounts of powder are channeled south to the troops that need them, turning their winter quarters into training camps over which tangy clouds of spent powder hang like vultures. War fervor spreads everywhere the avian claws of IGL can reach, much to Melusine''s amusement as she no longer has to sustain the fires of mankind''s wrath. They manage that themselves. January also sees the launch of the first Ironclads! So far they are ugly things, slow and ponderous, but I anticipate the time when new designs will launch ships made entirely out of metal to ride the waves, carrying enormous guns with them. What fun it will be. On the diplomatic side of things, I manage to bring the White Cabal on board. They live in the north, hire dark-skinned mages as easily as the others, and dislike slavery in general. As a result, it only takes one polite speech before their council to obtain their support. Although they do not intervene directly, I successfully convince them to bring some medical support to the back lines to prevent additional losses of life and amputations. Rescued personnel can return to war, bringing their experience with them. By February, the resupply operation is in full swing. It will take some time before the abundance of bullets translates into real effects, but we are in luck. Still on the western front, a general called Ulysses S. Grant takes two Confederate strongholds on the strategically significant Tennessee river. He even captures fourteen thousand men in his efforts, a resounding triumph. Although I have little to do with it, the success casts a favorable light on my leadership, a needed boost to our morale. Indeed, a few nights later, Consantine leads our army to recapture Charleston, and fails. There are only a few casualties, mostly unfortunate Masters who died from grievous wounds, but it was all due to Constantine and our battle lords'' contribution. The plan was simple and the European forces were attacked by surprise, but they were rallied by one of Bertrand''s lieutenants, a patient and deliberate Lord by the name of Orpheus. There, the gap in experience was made manifest when their squad rallied and stabilized in mere moments while ours struggled to coordinate. Only a fighting retreat preserved the bulk of our forces. The conflict highlighted how inadequate our fighting force was compared to the European one, but also helped us obtain much-needed experience. In the wake of the defeat, the Accords leadership dissolves subpar squads and forms new ones, while the more successful groups now take part in large-scale exercises. Time is on our side now, and underhanded tactics delay the European movements by denying them the support and intelligence they need to progress safely. I also keep an eye on the Union leadership. Sola makes a discreet visit to the president''s house to save his son Willis from a fever. It would not do, to have the mortal head of state distracted by the death of a child. Towards the end of the month, I receive word of a Confederate victory in the New Mexico territory, as well as skirmishes everywhere. The entire country is at war and frictions happen all across the new border. However, victory will be obtained in the east, and so it is there that I focus my efforts. Under the advice of the infamous Black Dog, head of the White Cabal security, we improve the Union''s communication line with the clever addition of a few mages capable of long-term communication, especially between telegraph posts and large mobile forces. Early March brings a surprise. As I am back in my domain of Marquette, I feel Ollie coming with an interesting, eclectic group. The Dvor essence brings me a slight boost in abilities as long as I am within my territory, with the most interesting one being intuition. I find myself capable of guessing things with greater ease, something I use to hold my own at cards when I play with Urchin. Ollie knocks and I allow him in. He files in with one of his seconds, but also a mundane officer in a cavalry uniform, and more interestingly, a werewolf. One of Jeffrey''s more stable minions. "Welcome. Please, sit down," I offer, and they take seats from my large working room to form a half-circle in front of my desk. "We have come," Ollie says in an unusually formal voice, "to announce the creation of the Red Cabal as a formal entity, with a statement of purpose as follows." He cleared his throat. "We, the people of this world, in order to keep darkness at bay, and establish a sustainable alliance to that effect, do agree to the formation of the Red Cabal. We recognize that peace, progress, and safety, are at risk from a variety of enemies regardless of species. We recognize that the safeguard of the world forms the core of belief of many individuals regardless of species. Finally, we recognize that intent more than nature determines one''s actions. As such, we formally declare an alliance between such like-minded individuals so long as they obey our most basic tenets, so that we may all together work for a better tomorrow. From many origins, one purpose, and may the blood we share together protect our posterity." Huh. Not bad. "As the local representative of the vampire faction, I would like to formally offer my support." "That''s good because we''re broke," the werewolf adds helpfully. They tend to simply eat their production surplus. In the end, we spend a few hours working on logistics and preparation. The idea is to have teams of mundane humans, mages, and werewolves working together to rid the world of threats by employing each species to their strength. We vampires would intervene when they need heavy support. I admit to loving this idea. My little minions, keeping my territory clean of their own accords. In the end, we end with a toast and a group picture. The picture returns a night later. My form is blurred and unrecognizable. That¡­ might become a problem if photography becomes more popular. Unfortunately, there is little I can do at that stage. I must focus on the war. The positive side is that I have, I think, achieved one of the hallmarks of good leadership. Competent underlings. *** The Ranger''s Tale Illinois, vicinity of Springfield. It was cold. The shy sun of early March cast its rays on the land, providing light but little heat. Nature quietly slept away the cold season, and ice coated the branches like glassy ornaments. The cabin was exactly ten miles away from the main road. Only a path, barely more than a trail, linked the two, just the way the Gages liked it. If they wanted people to come on their lands, they would bring them themselves. Just now, Harry Gage, the eldest brother, had walked out to relieve himself. His glare went over the familiar landscape. There were leafless skeletons that would sprout leaves soon enough, rusted pines in the distance, and a large pond to his right that produced the occasional fish. He passed a hand through his dark, scraggly beard. Something was wrong. Just then, he heard it. A horse was making its way down the path to them at a leisurely gait. Harry could see signs of movement through the white and brown of the surrounding vegetation. He felt¡­ violated. No one came here without their approval. No one. Not if they had a lick of sense. Harry turned and banged the door. "Come on out, we have a visitor!" Curses flew through the thick partition. Only a few seconds later, it smashed against the far wall, and his three brothers spread around the railing surrounding their house. The cabin was built high and away from the wet ground. Gus, the fattest of them all, handed him his musket. It was fortunately loaded. Gus himself had an axe while Jeb frantically loaded an antique pistol. Lucius, the youngest, stepped to the side and disappeared in a shadowy corner with his "liberated" repeater. Not a moment too soon. The intruder cleared the edge of the forest and moved forward on a very tall brown stallion. Handsome beast, that. Could sell for quite a lot. The man himself wore a very neat jacket, waistcoat and even a tie in shades of white and blue. He was all clean and proper and slightly intimidating in a rich folk kind of way, but the most curious thing was the hat. It was a wide-brim affair that cast a shadow, masking his features. Harry found the sight mildly upsetting, and just like every time something upset him, he turned it to anger instead. "This is a private property, stranger. You have no business here," he declared with confidence. A white-gloved hand reached through the cloak to grab something in the man''s inner pockets. He used a match to light a thin cigar. For a moment, the flaring flame showed them a trimmed moustache and judgemental brown eyes, then the fugacious image was gone, and only a red, smoldering ember remained. "Y''all took two crates of IGL ammo from Chicago with a promise to deliver them to Louisville, Kentucky, against payment. The crates never arrived. I''m here to retrieve them." Harry froze. A complex mix of emotions twisted his face but in the end, anger won. "Yeah? I say we didn''t." "Y''all are the Gage brothers and you did. Signed for it too. Everyone knows you took the crates, boys, stop wasting my time." Fists tightened over weapons. The brothers had rushed out from a toasty inside and they did not wear enough. Their breath formed white cloud in the frigid air. Tension rose. "I''m getting those crates back, one way or another," the man added with terrible finality. Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. Harry spoke between his teeth. "As I said, this is a private property old man, and you can''t come and tell us what to do." In answer, the man pulled on the left side of his jacket to reveal a shiny silver star. It caught the afternoon light with a strange red hue. "Badge here says I can." "Fuck your badge. On this here land, I''m the law, and I got my brothers to back me up. It''s four of us against you, asshole." The rider''s eyes shifted to the corner where Lucius was hiding. Poorly. His breath had revealed him immediately. Slowly, he pulled the other side of his jacket. The thick fabric withdrew like a curtain to reveal a revolver in its holster. It was, they could see, a nice gun. It looked like a Colt 1860 in the same way that a timber wolf looked like a cocker spaniel. The big iron was customized to the gills. Its grip was engraved bone that showed much use, and its barrel was long and heavy, the muzzle pointing out of its sheath. Minuscule decorations bent the light in a disturbing way. Harry, who was positioned to see it fully, noticed that the gun''s maw had a different color, as if it had been fired a great many times, and the paint had been twisted by countless clouds of overheated salpeter. "Got enough for two more right here," the man said uncaringly. Then, he fell silent. He had said all he had to say. The ember of his cigar shone rhythmically with his breath as he waited. Harry''s breath turned fast and deep. Blood flushed his body. He was practically fuming. A glacial wind blew over the plain. It brought with it the crisp scent of pure air. None of the statuesque trees moved, frozen as they were, and their immobility gave the scene a feeling of suspense as if the world held its breath. Harry sighed. "Of course, let me just¡ª" Things happened very fast. With a cruel rictus, Harry twisted and aimed his musket. Caught by surprise, his three brothers still raised their weapons with commendable speed. A massive boom shook the very earth and Harry''s chest bloomed in a crimson flower. The rider leaned right on his saddle. He moved his gun in a smooth arc that went from brother to brother. Lucius was next. Another boom, and a hole appeared in the barrel that he had used as a hiding place. The rider''s horse twisted to the side. He was almost parallel to the ground now, and the shift of his mount gave him a clear view of his last target. The top of Jeb''s head disappeared and a shot went off. The bullet dug harmlessly into the ground. Time ran again. Harry fell back. Lucius collapsed against the barrel, gurgling his lifeblood away. Jeb''s beheaded body crashed down like a puppet with its strings cut. Gus bellowed, hands still grasping the axe. He had barely had the time to move. The rider calmly sat back in his saddle. He still held the instrument of death. It smoked like the mouth of hell. "Noooooooo! You killed them! You killed them all! What am I gonna tell Ma?!" The rider stepped down unhurriedly while his stallion snorted, unamused by the sudden noise. He walked with no rush and no remorse, cigar still clinging to his lips. "The crates," he said with no emotion. "Fuck! Why did you have to go and kill them¡­" For the first time, the rider showed a modicum of emotion. It was rage. He threw a mighty hook into the fat man''s belly, bending him over in one blow. Gus fell to his knees and gasped, then shrieked when the rider placed the still-smoking muzzle of his pistol against his ear. It burned. The rider removed the gun and hissed. "You listen well, boy. You see them dead and think it''s tragic. I say they''re lucky. I''ve seen things you wouldn''t believe. I''ve gazed at what lurks in the valley of death. We are at war with more than you know and we, the humans, we ain''t winning. I need my side to work smoothly and that means those crates going to where they need to go, even if I have to wipe out every last degenerate in-bred on the way, one family at the time. Now, boy, you got two knees and I got three bullets. Where. Are. The. Crates?" "At the back, Jesus!" The rider pistol-whipped Gus, and he fell to the ground insensate. Silence returned to the clearing, until a young woman stood up from a nearby ditch. She wore brown forrester clothes and a metal gauntlet on her left hand. In the other, she held a fancy short rifle. The woman pushed back her hood to reveal light brown eyes and hair. They had a strange radiance, as if they were on fire. "Aw man, now we have to carry the crates ourselves!" "You stay right there, Daisy, I got it. Bring the carriage forward." She whistled as the rider walked into the empty house. *** The Gambler''s Tale. April 8th, 1862, Shiloh, Tennessee. The night had fallen on a battlefield that had seen the death of five thousand men. In some places, a soldier could walk from one end of a field to another without stepping foot on the ground, so thick the dead lay. On the south of Pittsburg landing, some enterprising soul had set up a temporary bar for officers to drown their sorrows. Most of them had given a good account of themselves on the previous day, but there were memories that only the blurry haze of liquor could dull. Such was not the case for the man in a bottle-green coat. He was a reporter, and had not stepped a foot near the frontline. He was, in addition, quite satisfied with himself. He and some of his colleagues had managed quite the coup. They had reported that the surprise attack on Union line had nearly succeeded, because their commanding officer, Hiram Ulysses Grant, had been drunk. Drunkenness was a common character flaw in the leadership of the war, and that rumor was like a wine stain, easy to inflict and impossible to remove. That would show the young upstart. His successes at Fort Henry and Donelson had made him too big for his shoes, the man thought. There were rumors that parts of the line had dug in because some mysterious, last-minute informers had betrayed the Confederate approach. He gave no credit to those. Transfer of information was notoriously hard in those wooded, untamed lands. It would take a level of organization that neither side had. Just then, a man opened the door and walked in, and the reporter turned to take his measure. It did not take a genius to see that the newcomer was not an army man. He wore an impeccable suit in tones of charcoal under a heavy black coat of excellent make. The temperatures were still frigid, but his face was not flush. The reporter saw peculiar features under a suspiciously clean bowler hat. This curious man could certainly not be called handsome by any stretch of language, but he had about him a sort of rakish charm, a vulgar magnetism that caught the eye. He immediately noticed the reporter''s attention and tipped his headdress, sending water to drip on the wooden boards below. "Some night, heh?" Once more, the man''s accent was difficult to place. It was some sort of northern slang that evoked ships and docks and crates loaded in the dead of night. The reporter watched, bemused, as the man took the stool by his side. He ordered a whisky, double. A silver dollar appeared from out of nowhere and flicked from knuckle to knuckle in a mesmerizing dance. More curiously, the reporter could not see the dollar pass from one hand to another. That was some trick, alright, and no mistake. "We all need a little pick me up," the man continued, "a night like this can drain all the warmth from a red-blooded American. Say, stranger, how about a wager to make it memorable? I bet ten dollars against an answer that you can''t figure out my little mystery." Ten dollars? Ten dollars?! Was the man so loaded? The reporter frowned and passed a hand over his Van Dyke brown beard. His instincts warned him of a scam, for the slick stranger certainly had this sort of air. However, the reporter was not too worried. As long as he himself did not bet money, he would be fine. Besides, it was getting tedious. All the officers around were deep in their drinks in the dark recess of the makeshift tavern. They would not talk to him. "Alright, you got me. Lay it on." The stranger gave a lopsided smile, and poked the hastily nailed wooden plank on which his glass was resting. The light of a lantern cast interesting shadows on the irregular surface as the stranger''s fingers started a little jig. "A friend of mine mentioned an interesting theory. A correlation, if you will, between human traits in a subject, and empathy towards said subject. Now imagine this. On a vertical axis, we have empathy, and on the horizontal axis, we have a degree of resemblance to a human. At the lowest point stands, let''s say, a worm. Who feels sympathy for a worm when they attach it to a hook?" The reporter hesitated. "Err, no one?" "Exactly!" the man of the bowler hat said, pleased, "only the most bleeding hearts would feel sorry for a worm. How about a fish then? A little bit closer to us because it has two eyes and one mouth. Still low eh?" "I suppose?" "But if you see a fish flopping on the ground, opening its mouth because it is quite literally choking to death, you would consider it, at least, while nobody cares about a worm." The reporter frowned. Perhaps it was also because a fish was bigger? It was difficult to tell. "But anyway, still low, still low¡­ but what about a cow then? You can grow attached to a cow if you raise it for a long time, even if it''s technically food. It has two eyes, four limbs, it can understand you. It can recognize you." "I would still not hesitate to kill one for a burger," the reporter added. He was invested now, though he was not sure why. It had turned into a debate. "Indeed. Still low, still low. But a dog is a bit higher. A dog shows loyalty, understands obedience, and those are traits that we like in others, do we not? And those cute little eyes when they beg¡­" The reporter frowned. He was still not entirely convinced about the theory, though it certainly had merits. "I will grant you this point." "Much obliged," the stranger answered pleasantly. "Now, we are pretty high in the list. It might be even more primates like monkeys, though I am not sure myself. But plush bears, puppets, drawings of humans, they are very close to us, and we can identify with them. We recognize cute puppets as representations of people, and we can feel emotions watching a good, well-planned puppet show, can we not?" "We certainly can! Why, I remember when I was young¡­" "I am delighted that you would see my point," the stranger interrupted with a light smile. The reporter blinked. Yes, it made sense. The representations of humans, even if they were approximative, could garner empathy from any viewer. "So we are here on the chart, yes? High resemblance, high empathy. But what happens when something is almost human, but not quite?" The reporter blinked again. He had liked the theory so far. It was something light and harmless you could share in good society, that would provide insight, and give the speaker an aura of brilliance. There was still more? "Let''s say, someone who looks human, but with erratic movements. Like a man suffering from convulsions. There is something intrinsically disturbing about such sights. Or a human with a missing jaw! As long as something is at the very edge of humanity without quite fitting, suddenly, their view horrifies most witnesses. Have you ever noticed?" The reporter frowned. At the edge but not quite? For some reason, he was reminded of one of the memories of his youth. There had been a book, he remembered. On the cover, a tiny gnome was depicted sitting on a mushroom. One fateful night, a thunderbolt had struck nearby and the brief illumination had played tricks on the child''s mind, turning the fairy''s smile into a forest of jagged edge angled inwards, those mad eyes looking at him, ready to jump from¡ª "You have noticed, then." The remark woke the reporter from his daydreaming. "Yes. Some¡­ some dolls are like that." The stranger was closer now, and the reporter felt pulled by those amber eyes. The room closed around him, and the others ceased to matter, to exist even. There was just the stranger and the theory. "Exactly. Here, just at the edge of humanity itself, the curve dips precipitously. And completely. It even goes into the negative! Interesting, is it not? Here is the kicker though. All human instincts have a cause, yes? Bad smells prevent the ingestion of rotten foods. You turn when something moves at the edge of your vision to protect you from attacks. Why then, does that instinct exist? Why does the sight of otherness in the familiar lead to such a visceral, horrifying response?" Sear?h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "I don''t know?" the reporter breathed. The stranger smiled, eyes half-lidded. "Tut tut my dear, this is the subject of our wager. Give it a try." But the man could not. Would not. He wanted to know. "Just tell me why, man, I grant you your question." The stranger chuckled then. "Not everything is as it seems. Too much was hidden that should have been remembered, and too much dismissed that used to be common wisdom. In a darker age, the ability to see the stranger knocking at your door for what he was could have saved your life, for the world was, and still is, vast, and filled with cruel things." It started slow. The reporter''s captured gaze traveled down, and down, from the stranger''s liquid eyes to the deathly pale skin of his cheeks, then to those teeth now revealed and the fangs that were there. The reporter tried to scream then, but he found that he could not. Only a wheezy moan escaped his lips, but inside, his heart beat a maddening waltz. In vain. He was already taken. Tears of terror rolled down his face in warm trails. No one saw a thing. The susurrus of conversations had blanketed the room, hiding the monster within. "My question then," the stranger said, "would you like to live?" The reporter clawed at that lifeline with frantic hope. The stranger leaned forward and whispered in his ear. His breath was cold, and smelled faintly of blood. "The strands of fate have been disturbed by shameless fabrications, and we are most upset. Your article has been lost somewhere along the telegraph line. Tomorrow, you will send another and it will be truthful, or I shall return and silence the voices of discord. Forever. Do we understand each other?" "Y¡ªyes¡­" "Good." The reporter let out a heart-wrenching sob and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the lantern had dimmed. Most officers had left. Of the stranger, there was no trace. The reporter felt something in his right hand. He opened it and the silver dollar fell down from it. It was still cold. Chapter 137 - 132. Snapped shut June 1st 1862, Boston. Accords Headquarters. "Pierce. Shred. Bind." Constantine moves lazily and counters each attack one by one, slipping a bolt between two deflects. I expected it this time, and I manage to shield it. "I need a break," I finally say, as I feel a painful drain on my essence. The Speaker nods and vanishes his soul weapon. "You are making progress. I must admit that I was wrong. Your style is compatible with magical duels after all." "A work in progress," I admit as I check for damage on my dueling gear. There are a few marks where the fabric was singed, but Constantine refrained from using too much power. Once more, my pride is the only casualty here. "I am intrigued as to how you manage to cast correct spell sequences while moving and fighting." "My intuition allows me to feel which spell would be right if I focus enough," I admit. I could hide this piece of information from Constantine, but I see no reason to do so. I must improve quickly, and he is the best magic teacher around now that I have mastered the basics. "The rest will come with experience," Constantine continues, "I admit my own lack of practice when it comes to battle. Wilhelm told me that I was too static, and that I made poor use of my soul weapon. What do you think?" he asks. I consider the question in silence. I have more experience than him when it comes to scraps. Magic requires a lot of attention, one of the reasons why a lot of mages deploy shields to shelter them while they cast. To fight and cast at the same time is an art that only vampires can truly master, as others lack the time to do so. "I think that spells are your main weapon. If you use your soul chain defensively, they are not being underused, they are simply your backup. Your main opportunity probably lies in proper repositioning. Sometimes, it is better to be at the right place and right time rather than throw artillery spells from behind. Especially in a vampire battle." "You are probably right. I will work with my bodyguards to be more mobile across the battlefield. It will allow me to support more squads. Enough of this. The lesson is over for tonight." I unlatch my breastplate and give it to an attendant. The fortress'' sparring room is unusually large, and quite empty at the moment. All squads have gathered in preparation for an offensive that I am not privy to, due to safety concerns. I would be annoyed if I had not such a great control over the way we influence the civil war, with the trusting support of the rest of the Accords, and with minimal oversight. "How are things progressing with the mortal conflict? Are you satisfied with the conduct of the war?" Constantine asks as we move up the fortress. I frown as I consider my answer. "It goes slowly. Every month we spend without major victories in the East increases the risk that the Confederacy receives international recognition. The English may have been scalded by the French recklessness in Mexico, but they will jump on an opportunity if the rebels offer them a good one. It will happen if they grow desperate." "Hmmm, the English only ever support the winning side," Constantine judges, "but more importantly, do you think that you can assist the Union''s army? The eastern theater has remained inconclusive." "Lincoln is pressuring general McClellan to move. The relationship between those two is frayed, but the president has so far declined to dismiss him. I am, myself, worried. Several skirmishes have gone in the Confederates'' favor despite Union superiority in terms of, well, everything. Save for commanding skills apparently. General McClellan''s slowness is a poor omen. The upcoming campaign will show whether or not my worries are warranted." "And in the West?" "That is the thing. Union forces have forced a withdrawal from the major crossroad of Corinth just yesterday. Our more minor theater has an overabundance of skilled and aggressive leaders, while the eastern one, a dearth. I was hoping to force a transfer but I was advised not to push the issue in the middle of a campaign." "You do not change a general mid-battle." "Indeed. Much relies on individual decisions. I considered sabotaging the Confederate leadership, but I was strongly advised against it. Apparently, there is a taboo on disabling civilian and military leaders." "There are no entities on the continent that we need to justify ourselves to." "And yet it would create a dangerous precedent, and lead to questions we want to avoid among the mortals. Or at least that is how Suarez put it." Constantine raises an eyebrow. "Not Sephare?" "She does not have a monopoly on covert actions. In any case, sabotaging Confederate infrastructures has led to some difficulties." "There is not much to sabotage?" Constantine asks with amusement. "Essentially, yes. The resources used when compared to the effects obtained makes such maneuver prohibitive. The Roland twins also told me that most of their mortal agents harbor a strong loyalty towards their own state. They are unwilling to reduce them to cattle to fit our agenda, something I can appreciate. Southern production facilities are also spread out. It makes much more sense for us to reinforce the north." "I understand. Save for a military disaster, the only possibility of defeat lies in the next elections. I have ordered our networks to give you their full support when it comes to information control. Many of us Wardens have taken over the major newspapers in our own states. I trust that you have done the same?" "Melusine and I consolidated our holds years ago," I scoff. As if I could let some louts slander and rabble-rouse to their heart''s content! Many of those journalists are more interested in provoking a response than in informing the public in a responsible, truthful manner. Upstart, social-climbing little careerists, the lot of them. Ugh. "You should not frown that much Ariane, you are scaring the staff." S§×ar?h the N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Sorry. Some of those paper-pushers left a metaphorical bad taste on my tongue that I had to wash away with their blood." "Not helping." We finally arrived at Constantine''s office. His aide Sophia stands and we both greet her. I turn to the Speaker one last time before I go to attend to my own matters. "In any case, we have further stacked the odds in favor of a side that was already the likely winner. The rest is in the hand of the mortals." Especially McClellan. I hope he delivers. We exchange a few farewells, and I return to the ''mortal intelligence room'', a large open space in the basement with a map at its center showing the current border and troop concentrations. Access is restricted to approved vampires and mundane mortals with a knack for organization and data analysis. A pale man wearing a monocle charges me, brandishing a sheaf of papers. He slows down as he approaches but blabbers with the air of a scholar with too many thoughts bouncing around his head. "Black Dog Hopkins sends word of the White Cabal progress. They have seeded infirmaries with agents, but apparently there has been a drive to do that on both sides to preserve lives regardless of allegiance." The Watcher save me from bleeding hearts. I use my superior discipline to prevent my eyes from inspecting the back of my skull. Though, come to think of it, medical mages capable of long-range communication from behind enemy lines would be a boon. "I will discuss it with him later. What else do you have for me?" "Johnston and McClellan are clashing today. Reports are still inconclusive." "You should have started with that. What else?" We go over several things and I make a few decisions that cannot wait, as well as a few others that my advisors and I worked on before. I do not believe that I am particularly smart myself, but I do have access to a broad range of talents to help me. Sometimes, I make mistakes. Such a thing is inevitable in the chaotic environment we find ourselves in. I do not allow it to sway me. It is better to be decisive and sometimes err than be late and allow opportunities to pass me by. Besides, those are unknown mortals dying, and I cannot find it in me to care overmuch. I retire to my quarters as dawn approaches. I already petitioned to travel south, to the human frontline, in order to better understand and coordinate our resources, but Constantine refused me for safety reasons. I would complain, but I would rather not wake up to a hostile lord again, and so I have remained in the relative safety of our fortress. I have to make do with cold reports for now. I know little about the vampire side of the war, save that our side has won several skirmishes through clever use of the home advantage. The civil war has helped us a lot by having locals more wary of sudden influxes of foreigners, and we have used it to our advantage. It also appears that the enemy''s supply of Fae blood, which had given them an edge in early battle, is running out with no opportunity for a quick replacement. I have high hopes that the foe''s position will soon become untenable. I just have to be patient. June 2nd, middle of the afternoon. Every day is the same. I wake up, find more reports waiting for me, and soak up all those changes. For the first time in my life, the Rosenthal essence has become the most useful one. The late afternoon is usually reserved for sparring and this time, it will be with Wilhelm of the Erenwald under whose authority the fortress functions. I am therefore surprised when he knocks on my door as I finish getting dressed. "Yes?" "You could have warned me that soldiers would be conducting training nearby. Any troop concentration in the vicinity makes me nervous." I freeze. And freeze some more. I comb my memories for any related report, and find none. "As they should! We are being attacked!" I spit. Wilhelm stares at me for one second, then grabs a medallion from around his neck. He presses its metal surface, and a siren sounds throughout the complex. The windows behind me, already shuttered, vibrate as heavy steel plates descend to seal them shut. The same is happening everywhere throughout the complex. On the ground floor, I hear the mustering yells of the garrison. It suddenly occurs to me that I may have been hasty in my judgement. It could have been an unscheduled¡­ "Do not second guess yourself. If it is not enemy action, then it is at the very least a good exercise. Now, go to Constantine''s office, I will be there shortly." I run back into my bedroom to grab the case containing my gear and rush down to the Speaker''s quarters. His door lies open, and a stairway, previously covered, descends into a cave that I did not know existed. Melitone, Constantine''s servant and twin sister, urges me on. "Join him. I will fetch Marshal and we will take shelter separately." Marshal, huh? I always call Sheridan Sheridan. The two of them are getting awfully comfortable with each other. Focus, Ariane. Battle first, possibly catastrophic consequences of Constantine''s and my human being a thing later. I step down into a large rectangular room of surprisingly large dimensions, leading me to believe that the rock beneath the manor has the structure of Swiss cheese and more chambers than a beehive. All sass dies in my mind as I take in Constantine''s seat, not of political power, but of magical might. We are in his sanctum. There, he holds the bindings to most of the land''s defenses. "Your warning came just in time for the village guards to retreat, though I fear that for the outer gate men, it was too late." The tall Progenitor faces a far wall entirely filled with rows upon rows of reflective surface rendering a kaleidoscope of sceneries, so many that my mind suffers an unusual feeling of vertigo. I see trees, rooms, corridors, fixed defenses. I narrow my focus on the few that Constantine currently focuses on. The silvery, deformed shapes of impostors in Union uniforms sprint across a small clearing. Two sentries lie on the ground, quite dead. Constantine raises his heavily decorated staff and two golems burst out from the trunks of dead trees. They are thin, insectile shapes made of blades and hard edges. They mangle the attackers with a level of savagery that even I would not match. In mere moments, the squad of a dozen attackers is meat across the ground. "Well," I remark laconically, "that''s the end of that." "No," Constantine answers with a deep, throaty voice. He turns around and I see for the first time in thirty years a new emotion on the Speaker''s face. Rage. "I have only just begun." The next few minutes are the very embodiment of something I fear: bloodshed without the pleasure of the Hunt. Murder on an industrial scale. As soon as the last elderly attendants passed the gate, Constantine turned the forest, lower village, and path to the manor into a death trap of unprecedented proportions. I watch, mesmerized, as soldiers spread out only to be taken out by those thin, mantis-like golems, then they regroup around mages who can disable their simple frames with spells. "Fire mage, mark twenty-seven," I inform Constantine at his request. "Excellent. Thank you. Now, to give them a warm welcome. Incinerate, Burn to cinders, Those intruders, That I did bait. Arcane rain." The circle around the standing Progenitor ignites in furious crimson and a large ''boom'' shakes the manor to its foundations. Through layers upon layers of rock and enchanted steel, I hear a sound like a dozen tea kettles about to boil over. Three seconds later, the mirror goes blind. I brush some dust from the top of my dress. "I think we lost vision on mark twenty-seven," I say. "That is quite alright. So did everyone else. Another target, if you please?" I look around, but our foes are in full retreat. Out of the three or four hundred impostors converging on the manor, more than a hundred have perished in the span of twenty minutes. There are pit traps lined with serrated spikes that opened on major paths now with corpses clogging their surface, the dozens of spikes running red with lifeblood. A steel cable snaps out of nowhere and plucks one of the retreating men from his line before sliding back like a snake with its prey. Some trees have exploded to reveal golems while others, a more immediate payload. Magical wires, previously inactive, triggered as a careless foot came by to catch them in sharpened bear traps. Parts of the forest are on fire. Others are glassed over. Plumes of smoke obscure several mirrors. "Err, I think they are retreating to their main lines. Mirrors one through, hmm, seven." "Ah yes, the edge of the property." "They will probably wait for nightfall. I see sarcophagi and secured carriages. How did they even come so close?" "That is for Wilhelm to find out later. For now, let us continue with our task. Come with me please." We climb back up, then down through the main stairway with Constantine''s bodyguards in tow. The manor''s surface is deserted. According to protocol, all non-combatant personnel should have reached the secured vaults at the bottom of the hill. The vault has several escape tunnels that can only be opened from the inside, and not without Constantine''s knowledge to limit the risk of a traitor letting enemies in. This is only one of the many measures in place to assure the safety of the fortress'' denizens. For once, Constantine''s meticulous efforts are bearing fruits. Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. "How many traps are there anyway? How long did it take to prepare that many devices." I ask as we calmly walk down. "I have been working on and upgrading the defenses since I first moved here, so one hundred years, give or take? As for the number of traps, your question makes no sense. Some of those can be rearmed or remade if they are disabled, while others toe the line between spell aides for me and traps proper. Does the giant mutated fish by the river count as a trap, or as a guardian?" "We have a mutated fish?" I sputter. "Indeed. Which reminds me, I have to tell the cooks not to throw potato peels in the waters. Wilhelm says the fish has trouble digesting them. The potato peels, I mean, good chefs are hard to come by. Ah, here we are." Constantine presses a segment of rock that looks like just any other surface around. It depresses, and a concealed passage opens. I must have passed this specific place a thousand times. I never noticed it. Inside, I find a square room with a tall ceiling, as well as the two largest golems I have ever seen encased in complex scaffoldings. I have assisted the Speaker in building constructs before, and they had always struck me as objects of exquisite precision. His mortal past as a watchmaker was more vocation than employment, and it shows in his work. These golem are different. Only passion and inspiration could produce such seamless union of art and deadly efficiency. And they are huge. Easily as tall as three men, the behemoths shine under the golden light of enchanted lanterns, their surface as smooth as that of placid lakes. The air whistles around magically-sharpened blades, unmoving, for now. Helmets suitable for emperors hide their most delicate systems. I manage to hide my awe through great effort. "Quite a sight eh?" "Oh. Yes," I reply neutrally. "No need to pretend, you have been staring for a whole minute already. I was about to launch them." Dammit. Constantine smirks and approaches a small pulpit. I join him, only to see a single, massive red knob the size of an orange popping out of its center, with ''launch'' inscribed in fat runes underneath. Constantine blinks and turns to me. "I have been looking forward to this. Not the attack. This." His fist smashes the thing and, with a strange sound like something winding up, the golems detach from their protective frames. They step forward. The ground trembles! Two openings in the far wall slide up, then down after their passage. "I have created a vestibule to protect the operators from the touch of sunlight," Constantine says, proud with his foresight. "Can you not call it a lock like everybody else?" "I made them, Ariane. I call them however I please. Now, look behind the frame where the left golem used to be. There should be a mirror there. I planned on slaving both golems to the central control, but having another pair of eyes will serve just as well." I follow his instructions and find a chair hidden within the depths of the scaffolding, hidden under several tons of enchanted steel and other exotic elements. I sit gingerly, and swallow a yelp when the mirror before me comes to life and displays the manor''s exterior, close to the ramp leading up the hill. The two golems are walking down the path to the mortal village beneath. Everything feels so¡­ tiny. "You have but to touch the mirror and repeat a simple command for the golem to obey. It will recognize, kill, capture, take, and destroy. Do not attempt anything too complicated. Only I have the full knowledge of their programming," Constantine mutters as he fiddles with an array of instruments like an organist at a concert. The mortals are fighting with shotguns and basic rifles. Meanwhile, we use war golems the size of Egyptian statues that we control remotely. Unbelievable. And yet the armies to our south are more than a hundred thousand strong. Each. Such a strange world this is. The golems reach flat ground and accelerate, treading the land with disorienting speed. Each of their strides covers so much ground that the difference between what I see and what my body feels sends me reeling for a moment. The mind boggles. If I were still mortal, the sight would make me nauseous. Wilhelm, the fortress'' steward, enters the room, distracting me from the eerie sensation. He wears a full chain and leather armor in brown tones, a helmet that covers everything but his brown eyes, and his long blond beard falls on his chest in a small, rather cute braid. "The evacuation is complete. The manor is secure. May I ask how things are on your end?" Constantine answers with a hungry smile. "The mortals have fallen back beyond the limits of the domain, where they think they are safe. I intend to show them the extent of their mistake. How did you put it? When you have secured an area, make sure the enemy knows it too?" Wilhelm nods, but he does not share the Speaker''s enthusiasm. "This is all well and good, but we have to plan for tonight. This is but a prelude to a major vampire offensive." "And where, do you think, are their resting places?" "In close proximity to us, protected by three hundred cattle and assorted mages?" "And where, do you think, are my golems going?" Wilhelm''s stoic air morphs into one of cruel glee. He watches one of the mirrors as the two war machines charge up the road. I do not think I will ever forget the facial expressions of the sentries shortly before the head golem pulps them. A mix of horror, shock, and disbelief. The war machines enter the encampment unchallenged. Cattle are not the most responsive beings. There is no battle. A mage ¡ª one of Martha of the Lancaster''s peoples ¡ª is the first to order something and the line of carriages moves. They split up and down the road immediately at great speed, heading south towards Quincy and north to Boston proper. I watch uselessly as my own golem uses its massive blade for a bloody harvest. This is pointless. Those cattle were meant to die in droves, though perhaps not as meaninglessly as they have done so far. They are of no importance. Killing the mages would help, but they were the first to scatter. I cannot destroy the carriages either. If any vampire slumbers unprotected, I would be condemning them to a fiery death that would make future conflicts more pitiless, something that my side wishes to avoid. I can only capture one. I inspect the screen and find the gaudiest, most gold-plated coach. I point at it and yell ''capture!'' "You know, you do not have to scream," Constantine remarks with a hint of condescension. Gah! "I see that you two have things well in hand," Wilhelm says, "I asked for reports as to how we could be approached so easily. I will return shortly." "Wait a moment, please. It appears that Ariane and I both managed to capture a carriage. Please, do ask my bodyguards to come in and then return promptly. We will open our presents soon, and see what fate brought to our door." "Is that what we call those now?" I ask. "As you will. Make sure that you and your protegee wait for us, no matter how confident you are in your own abilities," Wilhelm answers as he turns around. Wait. Hold on. His what now? "We are not fools, Wilhelm. Do hurry." His PROTEGE? As in, the one trained to replace him? Me? I did not even consider the remote possibility of a peaceful transition of power! I was ready to laugh over his defeated form and say ''hah, this is for having me tortured all those decades ago''. What will happen if he just abdicates in my favor? Is it a better revenge or a worse one? And Constantine did not even deny it. As I am left stewing in my own surprise, Wilhelm and the two mysterious bodyguards come back, then I am sent upstairs to pick up my battle gear which I had forgotten in the Speaker''s sanctum. I quickly get changed and run back wearing Loth''s repaired armor and a lot of weaponry. The return of the golems is announced by the tortured scream of abused metal. "It appears that your lock is too small to accommodate both golem and carriage," I note. "Vestibule, Ariane. My vestibule is too small. No matter, the golem will wait. We drag the carriages in ourselves." The mortals never see how much we are forced to improvise and make do. Thankfully. Or our supernatural aura of omniscience would fade with the sound of complaints about who should push, who should pull, and who should just get out of the way. Eventually, our grumbling gaggle of undying horrors capable of bending reality itself gathers around the main lock while I stay behind and let the lords take the initiative. I do not trust myself in a life or death situation. Last time, I lost control over my essence. It bubbled over and burnt itself out. I cannot afford a repeat. It takes Constantine fifteen minutes to crack the lock of the carriage. They decided to start with the gaudy one, the one I picked, and the most secure. The door finally creaks on abused hinges to reveal¡­ crates upon crates of beans and desiccated vegetables. Uh. "We have been baited," Constantine gracefully says, covering for my mistake, "they must have anticipated an attack." "This bears the mark of Orpheus, their strategist. He has a keen and devious mind," Wilhelm comments. "We can discuss this later. Push the carriage against the wall so that we may inspect the other. Hopefully, our catch this time will be better." With the benefit of the previous experience, the second coach delivers its content with more ease. A lord in full plate armor casually takes down the steps, holding a heavy mace in one hand and a gauntlet in the other. Only a pair of deep green eyes are revealed by the form-fitting protection. He inspects us, then the gaudy carriage. "Ah, I see that you have found Lord Bertrand''s favored means of transportation. A shame that a man cannot be captured twice, is it not?" he asks with no hint of apprehension in a smooth voice that belies his war-like accoutrement. His eyes travel to a crate poking out of the door. "His carriage was used to transport dry leeks? By the Eye, seeing this almost made my capture worth it. Please tell me there is bacon as well." "Beans, in fact. And who might you be?" Constantine asks drily. The siege we find ourselves under is fraying his patience. "My name is Lucas, at your service." He bows smartly. "Can we discuss terms, or should I prepare myself for some unpleasantness?" "You will have a cell with amenities, regular access to blood, and a book of your choosing that you may change every night, just like your fellow captives. Your belongings will be returned to you once your freedom is granted. You can either go to that cell on your own two feet, or with them in a separate box," Constantine replies. "Would these terms extend to the two Masters I have with me?" "Yes." Two vampires, a man and a woman, peek out from behind the shape of their protector, who then steps down. "You do not wish to interrogate me about our plan?" he asks with a bored voice. I know he is feigning calm, but I also find his countenance commendable. "Will you talk without torture?" "No." "Please drop your weapons and stop wasting my time." The newest prisoners are led to jail, and we reconvene in the lobby. Besides me, there are no battle masters here. All trained warriors have gathered in a single army that is now¡­ I do not know where, but far. Too far to arrive before nightfall. The only vampires here are support staff like Sophia and visitors here to seek asylum ¡ª despite the ongoing conflict ¡ª who shall remain neutral by oath. Wilhelm begins. "I have news. The attackers arrived by ship shortly after dawn, with one frigate escorting two transports. They had legal authorization to land, but the irregularity of the situation, and the presence of many armed men, created such a ruckus that they were stuck on the dock until ten. We rang the alarm before they could fully deploy." "We have been saved by bureaucracy, I am not sure what to say. How many carriages are we talking about?" the Speaker replies. "Eyewitnesses taken from the city say nine." We all ponder this for a moment. "They must be desperate," Constantine finally says. I steal a glance in his direction. I had no idea that he felt so confident about taking on seven lords and their squads with only four. The progenitor is strong, but is he that strong? The others apparently share my doubt. "Orpheus will have come in person for such a project. He will have the cream of the crop with him," Wilhelm says lightly, with the voice of someone trying to goad a small child. "Excellent. I was looking forward to testing the inner defenses." The bodyguards shrug, faces hidden behind black helmets. I cannot read their auras. "I will require your participation for the next phase. We will have much fun together." Nightfall. The invaders have successfully regrouped. They know that with enough time to call upon our resources, we will unmask their ''Union'' troops for the impostors they are and they will be without escort in enemy territory. They must strike hard, and they must strike fast. Instead of spreading out, the squads deploy in formation at the edge of the property. They deploy vampire mages on the side. Shields shimmer everywhere. They move. As they approach the edge of the human village, the traps, so far hidden, all spring at the same time. Pits open and hidden whips lash out. Spells explode. The surface of the hill leading to the manor opens and cannons vomit canister shots at the densely packed formation, but those are not mindless cattle making their way to the fortress. Lashes are dodged, then torn out. Shields soak up shrapnel and blast waves alike. The troop does not relent. They move in with confidence through explosions and an unknown, particularly vicious cloud of blood magic. Then the cloud''s full effect is made manifest. Masters and Lords scream as the fog, which they had ignored, eats at their flesh. Red mist melts undying flesh with voracious hunger. The army is forced to push through despite their pain, for to falter is to fail. The first squad steps foot on the path leading up, and the side of the mountain spits a cloud of steam at them. It burns. The hiss of gaseous water cooking its surroundings is soon answered by yelps of pain. Speed is of little use when the obstacle is omnipresent. A thick barrier now separates the attackers from their target. But these are not backwater mercenaries now assaulting the fortress. Without being told, a few spellcasters dig up wind spells from the depths of their memories. Gauntlets are modified on the fly to assist with the casting, and the steam is warded off. The attackers do not follow the path up. Instead, they start climbing the sheer rocks of the cliff, thus activating a new layer of defenses. Hidden mechanisms throw spears through layers of dirt and vegetation, skewering the climbers at their most vulnerable time before retracting. Worse, the traps emit no aura, making detection all but impossible before they are sprung. Spells howl down with enervating precision. The attackers'' numbers play against them as they are forced to dodge into others or risk being destroyed, and still, they climb. The first of the nimble figures jumps over the edge of the garden, on the northern side of the manor proper, where I am waiting. "Finally," a petite Master in a fuming dress gasps as she stumbles through a bed of roses. "Congratulations!" I scream. I shoot her in the head. And the next person after that, though he successfully blocks with an enchanted bracelet. "It''s her!" "The blonde bitch!" "Get her!" I spring back to the manor, hissing and sputtering on my way. Blonde bitch?! When did I get demoted from Devourer to blonde bitch? Absolutely scandalous. I wish the enemy had followed piecemeal, but they regroup into squads in moments. Some of our foes are still down there, busy with being turned lobster-red. I dive into the complex through one of the few open doors, followed by a Lady in light armor using a whip. Her squad fans out behind her. I dodge to the side as her soul weapon extends and rakes through several yards of wall. Under the destroyed upholstery, I can spot the silvery shine of the fortress'' bones. This is Constantine''s playground. I come across stairs and climb up. The lady jumps¡­ and crashes against a shield, which just appeared. "You are just delaying the inevitable," she hisses. I say nothing, it would be covered by the loud rumble now shaking the corridor. Steel barriers descend from the ceiling to separate us. The predators are being herded. Everywhere across the complex, squads are split and directed like sheep to the slaughter. I climb to the second floor and come across the chained bodies of half a squad, caught like flies in a spider web. They look annoyed and ignore me. It appears that the enterprising lot tried to get in from the balcony, and the manor obliged, only to cut off their escape routes as soon as they were in. A wall shifts to my side, and a mirror appears. Constantine''s slightly strained voice sounds muffled through this means, though perhaps I am simply distracted by the explosions in the background. "Ariane dear, Orpheus attempts to make his way down to the jails as we speak. I believe that you cannot assist with the current battle. There is, however, something you can do to solidify our position in the incoming negotiations." "And what would that be?" "You need to capture the ships the Expansion Faction came in. They are staying put a little ways off the bay." Oh. Yes. "I can do that." Three miles off the Boston Harbor. Two men stood tense on the deck of a frigate. They had the documentation needed not to fall prey to blockading ships. They were heavily armed, just as they knew that none of that would matter. Only a specific signal would steer them from their current, circular course. They scrutated the horizon with anxiety, just like the crow''s nest was doing the same. And quite a few pairs of eyes besides. "Still no signal," one of them said, adjusting his marine officer uniform. It did not quite fit his broad shoulders. "I can see that," the other retorted. He had taken the garb of a Union captain, and wore it with ease. "Ramming speed, Mr. Rolf!" a female voice bellowed behind them. Or was it a trick of the wind, come to torture them through the haze of stress? "Did you hear that?" the captain asked. There was a sound now, like mumbled protests. The female voice returned. It was closer. There was no mistaking it for an auditory hallucination now. "The time for stealth is passed, I say," it yelled, "brace for impact!" A veil was lifted, a steamship hybrid appeared starboard, as if vomited by the depths of the ocean. The men could only see the prow clad in steel aiming right for their deck, and on it, a lithe figure wearing a ridiculous tricorn. "YOU HAVE RAN AFOUL OF THE DREAD PIRATE ARIA¡ª" Impact. The two men were sent rolling on hardwood like pinwheels. The captain winced and tried to climb back to his feet despite his disorientation. They were under attack! He had to do something! Someone landed besides him with barely a whisper of fabric. "I have to work on the timing for that delivery," she said. "Anyway. You are my prisoners now! Are you ready to surrender all your booties?" the female voice said from above. The captain''s eyes traveled up. He considered correcting the woman''s mistake ¡ª at least he hoped that was a mistake ¡ª but then his gaze reached her smile, and he reconsidered. Chapter 138 - 133. The Hive The room chosen for the negotiations is an office on the second floor. It has been cleared save for a long table with three seats on each side. Couches adorn the corner for a handful of spectators. To my surprise, I have been asked to attend by Sephare as an observer. Our side is represented by Constantine, Sephare herself, and Islaev. The Natalis lord acts as Jarek''s second and his representative since the old monster is still captive. By pushing for this, Sephare effectively made a show of solidarity for a minor faction while disabling a third, possibly discordant voice. The major lords will attend as observers. Although she had to align with them on bottom line and objectives, the control of the negotiation is essentially hers. The expansion faction is represented by Martha of the Lancaster, the pint-sized archmage, Bertrand, the grudge-bearing monumental twit, and Orpheus, the yet-to-be-insulted. I stare at the last man for a very simple reason. He is very, very handsome. Orpheus is the model I would use to paint an angel. Come to think of it, I may just do that. He would be falling, wings afire, impotent rage and grief plain on his delicate features. Hmm. And he would be naked, of course. I return my attention to the matter at hand. The Expansion faction wears luxurious but slightly ill-fitting clothes on account of being caught in armor. If the deal breaks down, they will be allowed to reequip and return to the jail where they will be given a chance to fight their way out. It is a doomed prospect. They know it. During the battle, Constantine realized that he could not stop Orpheus from freeing Bertrand. The angelic lord had imbibed a significant amount of fae essence, allowing him to brute force his way through any barrier. Constantine simply allowed him to waste essence on a vain attack and locked down the entire prison afterward. The Expansion faction leaders realized that the risk of being caught on our territory at dawn was too much, and proposed a truce. Now, it is up to Sephare to turn this truce into a favorable treaty, and quickly, because the omen has come to pass. We have lost contact with remote villages. My warning proved useful and our agents have been instructed to keep an eye out for rumors of mass disappearance. Similarly, the lords take the situation extremely seriously. The problem is that we are stretched extremely thin for now. Between the mortal war paralyzing a great many assets, and the vampire war mobilizing our fighters, we can barely spare a squad or two. The knights have already started to move, but we have received no news from them. Nor can we rely on them to solve everything by themselves. When the ''talks'' begin, I am left extremely disappointed. There is no grandstanding, no eloquent declamations. In fact, the six barely talk at all. One side proposes and the other demands something in return. If they disagree, they search for acceptable alternatives, otherwise they move on for now. I can tell that Sephare is being very aggressive while Bertrand is, for once, measured and accommodating. Not that he has much of a choice. The discussion lasts long into the night despite the total lack of emotion displayed. There are long periods of silence during which no one moves, no one speaks, and not one aura flickers. Both sides communicate by gestures they hide from their counterparts. I find the whole thing extremely tedious. Islaev only intervenes when it comes to the Natalis land. They are to be returned in their entirety in exchange for safe passage. Bertrand categorically refuses to leave the American Continent. The two sides finally agree on a line ranging east west from Monterrey all the way to La Paz in the Pacific Ocean as a border. It helps that the French force, under Mask impulse, still has to conquer most of the country including Mexico city. Back and forth the arguments go, using money and other treasures to grease the gears of diplomacy. I regret joining long before the discussion is over. I hate it, every aspect of it. We have won, and still we must make concessions to guarantee a long-lasting peace. I wish we could just all CRUSH THEM. But I am too weak, and only have myself to blame for my lack of power. Even my presence is already a favor rather than a necessity. Dawn approaches when the final document is signed. The Expansion Faction is allowed to spread its influence in Mexico, while we retain control of the rest. If we had created permanent holds there before the war, we could have leveraged their existence. Once more, our main problem is only made more manifest by this treaty. There are too few of us. We do not even have the numbers to satisfactorily control the Mexican capital. We cannot spread indefinitely either since a lone vampire remains vulnerable to a determined assault. "You focus too much on the negative," Sephare informs me as we move to our personal quarters, "the Accords now have an existence in the eyes of our world. Before, it was merely a figurehead, an agora used to solve grievances peacefully. Now, we are a government recognized by all, a new player. The loss of the Mexican south is meaningless because we never controlled it. Our opponents are merely filling a vacuum. Rather than clinging on something we cannot control anyway, we obtain several significant political and diplomatic prizes." "They will attack us again." "Yes, in fifty years, when we have consolidated our position and they have something to lose besides reputation. Let us find what the disappearances are about while we are in peace instead of having to endure years of costly skirmishes. The Expansion Faction is not the only opportunistic predator we have to fear." "I suppose." The agreement leaves a bitter taste on my tongue. We placed the entire Expansion Faction in checkmate. We should be sending them home by boat with a spike up the nether regions and they should thank us for letting them live. Instead, we have to tolerate their despicable presence on our southern doorstep out of fear that the war might escalate and we start going after each other''s mortals. The moment I become a lady, I am gathering an army and leading it to throw every last one of those pricks into the Atlantic, with their heads in separate garbage bins. I really hope that the vampire knights can help me with that. Jimena said that she would make some inquiries. I merely have to wait. June 18th 1862. Two weeks later. Four riders thunder down the path south as the moon rises over Virginia''s valleys and hills. Through forest and field we trot. Yes, trot. The thunder comes from Jarek''s humongous nightmare. I stare at the imposing back of our fearless leader. A custom-made Union uniform, that of first lieutenant of the cavalry, strains over his massive shoulders. I notice that they are quite tense. Behind us, two mortals ride at a respectable distance also in Union uniforms. I wear a pale blue light traveling dress with a soft cotton cloak plus hood, so that I can hide my features. And gloves. And guns, but I always have a gun somewhere. "The forward base is just ahead," Sheridan whispers, "I sincerely hope that our documents will be enough." I cannot comprehend how he could spend so much time with me and still approach such situations with anxiety. I could wave the music sheet of a raunchy song under the nose of a group of sentries and convince them that it is a presidential decree. And that I am, in fact, the Princess of Wales. Here to visit my lover. I believe that some stubborn remnant of obedience prevents him from ever being at ease during a deception. By the Watcher, how is he such a straight arrow? We have engaged in piracy. Goodness me. Some people never grow up. The last member of our expedition is Cedric Birmingham, shield mage extraordinaire and representative of the White Cabal in this endeavor. His presence does not help with Jarek''s mood. We slow down as sentries hail us down, and wait as Jarek convinces the thin mustachioed man in an open vest and kepi to let us through. The poor sergeant takes one look at Jarek''s face and decides to look elsewhere, mostly at the folded paper he was sullenly given. A helpful private comes bearing a lantern. The shy light allows them to take in the full appearance of their visitor. Once more, they decide it preferable to avert their eyes. They find me. "A woman?" the sergeant asks. "Private." Jarek''s voice is low, rumbling, and usually warm, but now it holds an undercurrent of threat that they cannot miss. Silence ensues. "You can read, yes?" the living earthquake continues. A nod. "What is the word at the very top of the sheet I just gave you?" "Err. ''Confidential'', sir. Ahem. Right. No more questions. You may pass." We move on. The sentries guard a road between two forested hills, and we continue through to an open plain entirely covered by a camp as massive as a proper city. I have to stop for a moment to imprint that image in my mind. Rows upon rows of white tents lined up in tight ranks. Most of the cooking is done for the night, but the smell of stew remains strong in the air, as well as that of sweat and human refuse. The camp is well-ordered and the soldiers serene, as if the bloodshed to come could not affect them. Many are young, I notice, and have this green air that I associate with recruits. To think that ten years ago, the army had fifteen thousand men. Now, hundreds of thousands serve under their respective flags, an entire generation rushed to the slaughter under officers as clueless as themselves. They watch us pass with curiosity. The camp lives. I hear violins in the distance, and on an open field, soldiers play a strange game with bats and bases and a thrown ball. I think that my fellow Illinois soldiers might be somewhere around here. It takes us several minutes to reach the other end of the massive encampment, during which we are observed but not hailed. The uniform of an officer certainly helps, but not as much as Jarek''s annoyed sneer. Then we are across, and through the risky land separating the Union force from Lee''s army of Northern Virginia. Nothing has changed in the landscape, but the tension is now palpable. We tread contested land. "Ariane, could you not also wear a uniform to avoid questions?" Cedric asks innocently enough. "I could not be prevailed upon to don male garments," I lie haughtily. My retort shuts him up. "She is too¡­ shapely¡­ to pass for a man," Sheridan whispers to his neighbor a little bit later. "Sheridaaaaaaan, I will cut off your cigar supply!" I threaten without turning. In the distance, an owl kills something small and furry. "Should we not change into confederate garb?" Cedric finally asks as we do not slow down. "No need," Jarek growls, "we will use stealth. Observe." A few miles off, I taste the waiting auras of a few mortals and smell their nervousness on the air. Jarek must have done so as well. We slow down, but do not stop. A single old man in a confederate officer uniform stands proudly across our path on a bay mount. He tips his chin back as we approach, lush white beard on display. I love watching reactions to Jarek when he does not soften the blow of his presence with Charm. The gaze of the moon gives even mortals a good visibility, and the one facing us bears a torch as well. There will be no hiding it this time. It starts with a glare, because we wear hostile uniforms, then a frown as his mind registers that his depth perception might be playing tricks on him, then to a stunned look when Jarek comes close enough and he realizes the sheer absurdity of the Natalis lord''s measurements. Above his nightmare, he towers over his lessers by at least half again their size. A colossus. A monster. Then Jarek stops by his side and the physicality of his presence awakens the most primitive, ancestral part of the person''s brain. Jarek has no use for hidden threats or sheathed fangs. He is not a creature of the ballroom, like most of us. His nature is plain to see, and the officer realizes it now. Jarek looms. He is quite proficient at looming. As the distance between the two men shortens, the human leans back and the vampire simply exists around and above his counterpart, seemingly covering the dry stature of the underfed fighter in a massive, muscular embrace. Jarek''s voice resounds once more, as ineluctable and gravelly as a landslide. "You and your fifteen friends hidden on the side of the road have two choices. You can choose to have seen us. Or you can choose to let us go. I swear to you that we are not here to harm your interests. I also swear that, should you fight, I will kill every last one of you and wear your innards as garlands across my chest. So. What will it be?" I will give the officer credit. He manages to remain upright. It takes him a few seconds to formulate a response but when he does, his voice is almost clear. A respectable attempt. "Well, that is a rather unchivalrous offer," he says. In answer, Jarek pulls back and grabs for the weapon hanging from his thin saddle: a giant battle axe. He waves the titanic implement before his interlocutor''s sweaty brow. "I don''t know about chivalrous, but I can do medieval." Oh please. "I think we can let him go sir, I think he''s telling the truth. Oh, and they have a lady with them," a voice bleats from the side as the officer attempts to keep control of his mount, who caught a whiff of something predatory. If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. The pale man grabs on that excuse like a drowning man to a buoy. "Well. If they are escorting a lady. Clearly. I can let them through. Yes. You are clear to go. Let it not be known that the rigors of war would find our gentlemanly honor wanting." We ride forth unimpeded. "So. Vampire stealth. Huh," Cedric comments. When Jarek was freed, he returned to his land and found it methodically looted, up to the grain he needed to seed his fields. Most of it was recovered as part of the peace settlement, but the sting on his pride has not let out. It shows in the way he handles the current affairs. His people have requested him to leave so that they could focus on repairs while he brooded his annoyance away. I do not mind Jarek''s presence, or his short temper. The ancient Natalis has not crossed the line yet between curtness and indiscriminate violence, at least not with our allies. He was the most vocal in support of the continuation of war. The invasion of his home still blazes in his heart with righteous fury, but he has remained faithful to our organization. For this, I will tolerate his small hissy fit. He is a sweetheart. At least according to vampire standards. Also, we fought side by side in battle and he sacrificed himself to allow me to escape, so I would unleash all the guns in Illinois if he only asked. No need to tell him, or he might be tempted. The mood is more subdued as the night goes on and we follow a complex set of directions to our target. On one occasion, we stop to ask our way to a pair of southern soldiers leaning lazily under a lantern. They very politely inform us that, yes, we are on the right track. They even wish us a prompt journey. "I told you that this was the right direction," I hiss. "It cost us nothing to confirm it," Jarek retorts. We arrive on the outskirts of Dodgetown a little bit after midnight. Dodgetown was unimaginatively named after its founder, like many other hamlets across the country. It barely qualifies as a town to begin with. We decided to come after a report was intercepted that the town had been evacuated. This information was recovered by one of our agents and immediately dismissed as minor by the local authorities. I find the lack of seriousness of the scouts frankly unacceptable. Indeed, the truth becomes manifest as soon as we arrive. S~ea??h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The forested path opens into a humble valley nestled between several low hills, with a small river snaking its way between patches of statuesque stalks loaded with berries. Flowers in rainbow shades adorn squares of ripening wheat, the golden treasure a boon to the surrounding soldiers. Or at least they would be, if there was anyone left to harvest them. The serenity here is a lie. It wields the color of nature like a torn skin to pass for tranquility, when in truth, it is the silence of the grave. The stench of death and old blood saturates the air, as well as another one, bitter and defiled, that sets my teeth on edge. "By the Eye. No¡­" "Jarek?" "No. I may be mistaken. Let us continue, but be vigilant." Then to the mortals. "If I tell you to run, you gallop away. Is that clear?" The two know better than to object. We ride on and it soon becomes obvious that whoever reported on an ''evacuation'' was either blind or a complete idiot. We pass a one-story farmstead with its door kept open. Farming implements and a stove can be seen from the road, as well as the remnants of smashed ceramics. No one in their right mind would have left their houses unlocked and messy, not unless they left in a second. I do not believe that they managed it. We dismount and walk in. I cross the threshold without difficulty, confirming my hypothesis. Its previous occupants have died to the last child. "Claw marks. Here," Sheridan says. I turn and see rips in the door frame. "Too small to be a werewolf, too strong to be a human," Cedric notes. He is right. A transformed werewolf would have ripped off the entire beam. The remnants of aura are wrong as well. Werewolves are cursed, but they do not feel as¡­ tainted as that. Jarek stands silent before a spot of blood. There is surprisingly little of it on the ground considering how heavy the smell hangs in the air. The precious liquid is pinkish and¡­ wrong. Deeply wrong. It STINKS. "By the Watcher, what is that thing?" "Disaster. Absolute disaster. I thought the vilebloods extinct since the fourteenth century. How could they still be alive, here? This makes no sense. Unless¡­ Those insane cockroaches unleashed them as vengeance? But no. They are too greedy to be this stupid." "Jarek, I find your behavior concerning." "My behavior is the least concerning thing tonight. You do not know. You cannot know. We believed that we had rid the world of this evil forever. Our opponents, our opposites. The locusts to our lion. The blood-starved hive. The vilebloods. I must see it with my own eyes. Come on, we must find tracks. There is nothing left in this village." I follow him outside without understanding. The two mortals come along as well although they are subdued before his darkening spirits. We mount and circle around the ghost town, inspect its empty arterial roads and gutted houses. We find nothing. Or rather, we find too much. Too many scrambled tracks. "They could be anywhere, whatever they are. We need to make a bigger circle," Cedric says. "No, wait," I reply. Something tugs at my soul once more. It calls to me like back in Boston when the tide of death overran the map. "That way." Cedric frowns. "Are you¡ª" "We go. Now!" Jarek roars. The urgency has spread to all of us now, and we trot at a good pace through what amounts to little more than a forest track. The land is dark, our allies blind, but we do not stop and neither do they. We soon burst into a deserted clearing around a lone stone. Nothing seems out of place save for the diseased appearance of some of the vegetation, yet I can feel a deep unease, a discordance of sorts. "The fabric is so thin here. Something has disturbed this world," Cedric comments, now fully aware of the wrongness. Even Sheridan frowns. "We must press on," Jarek says. And we do. I smell it first. More blood in the air. "We must hurry," I mutter. "No!" Jarek interrupts, "No, we cannot risk the mortals laming their horses. Not now. They will have to run hard soon. Let them keep their strength, we are too late anyway." And we are. We arrive at the edge of the next hamlet to find devastation. In the previous village, the slaughter was cold. Here, it is fresh and leaking. A single house has caught on fire, possibly due to a fallen lantern. The blaze rises high into the sky and hides the heaven under a cloak of soot and embers. Only the red light remains, and it shines over savaged bodies drowning in their own blood. Men. Women. Children. They lie where they have fallen in torn heaps, still clutching gaping wounds with rigid fingers. A cattle of some sort must have been caught in the open, or so I assume. Only a single bell and frayed pieces of hide bear witness to the feast that occured. The air is thick with terror. Jarek stops Cedric as he dismounts. "No. Stay on your horse, ready your weapons, and whatever you do, do not get hit. I know what we will find, but I need to swear seeing it with my own eyes when the Council of Wardens asks me. Stay close." "Will you finally tell us what those vilebloods are?" I hiss. "You will see for yourself. Keep them off your Nightmare." I grumble. All those ominous declarations tire me. We are the APEX. and those¡­ whatever they are, their stench upsets me. We cross an orchard and reach the main road, well-lit by the flames. "We leave that way on my command," Jarek orders. The street is thick with bodies. Twenty paces before us, a woman gasps her last breaths, bloody hands clutching the ruin of her abdomen. She sees us and gurgles a few inintelligible words through the haze of pain. "I''m going," Cedric says. "You are not. You will sit on your saddle and watch," Jarek says. "But¡­" "And when you are done, you will report what you saw to your precious White Cabal." The shield mage returns his gaze to the dying villager. It does not take a doctor to realize that she is beyond help. She convulses a few more times, then her back arches despite her wounds, and she falls back. And keeps moving. It starts as a tremor, then her muscles cramp and creak with such shattering intensity that her bones break. Her spilled blood inexplicably runs back to her vein. Ridges appear on her skull as hair falls in clumps, and ivory shards erupt from her bleeding fingertips. All around her, other bodies join in the macabre transformation. The corpses are turning to monsters at a speed that I would never have believed possible if I had not been here in person. Everything I know about magic and transformation, all that I have studied, even my own experience and Dalton''s murderer''s fate at the hand of the Key of Beriah, all agree that what I see is an impossibility. Such speed cannot be achieved in our native realm. And yet, with one last sickening crack, the thing that used to be a woman stands up on spindly, spiked limbs. Two dark orbs land squarely on us. There are no iris, no pupils. On the inky void of what this creature represents. I understand it now. The all-devouring hunger. We are shepherds of this world, in a way. We live and die around humans. The wise among us invest and build, but not that thing. They ¡ª no ¡ª it, too, is a stranger, but one that lacks ego. It exists to consume and move on. It is vile and defiled and it does NOT BELONG. The thing shrieks. It calls with a high-pitched trill that finds answers around us. All around us. "About face. Cedric, take point. Don''t stop for anything! Go. Go!" The mortal''s horses do not need to be asked twice. They neigh and gallop as fast as they can. The shrill calls spur on a mad dash. Pale, shambling shapes surge from the nearby bushes. Some are the size of buffalos! "What the fuck?" Sheridan says. I share in his opinion. The jaws of the ambush close around us, but we are not some harmless farmers. "Shield!" Cedric forms a transparent wedge that throws aside the first opponents as they rush him. Meanwhile, Sheridan and I unload into the creatures assaulting our flanks. I watch, mesmerized, as one of the creatures still crawls forward in a demented gait with half of its chest missing. "Ari, he¡ª" Rose slashes above and across a creature''s chest on Sheridan''s side, sending two mangled pieces careening on the ground. I can barely absorb the essence I gain. All I taste is the shadow of a fading entity that thrashes and bites in its death throes, the remnant of something great. The creature I killed is but a tiny part of a distant whole. "Take it," I tell Sheridan, handing him my revolver. I shall wield spells and blades from now on. Behind us, Jarek covers our retreat. Some of the larger specimens can catch up to the humans'' tired horses, and he keeps them off our backs. "Flay." More creatures die. Some, we leave behind as they trail vestigial organs from mortal wounds in their eagerness to kill us. I successfully manage to cover Sheridan while he reloads. As for Cedric, he holds the shield stably for the few minutes it takes us to plow through the entrapment. The forest slows our pursuers down. Eventually, they give up. We only slow down after we have returned to the first empty hamlet. The extent of the devastation and lost life becomes more obvious as I start counting houses and assess how many lives were lost, then turned. "I think that now is a good time for explanation," I inform Jarek. Politely. We wait in silence for the Natalis lord to speak. He looks worried for the first time since I have met him. Even the inevitability of his capture did not provoke such a strong reaction. Eventually, his gaze lowers to the three of us in turn. "Children, all of you. Ah, but it matters not. I was a child as well. Where should I start? Ah yes. Half a millennium ago, a third of the world''s human population died in the span of five years." I stand, flabbergasted. "What?" But Jarek only scoffs. "Children indeed. This event was well-recorded. We call it the Black Death, the mother of all plagues. It was not caused by the vilebloods, but it lured them in. The suffering and agony of a hundred million humans brought the hive to our realm." "They are one among many. Shadows," I whisper. Jarek nods. "Indeed. We fought the hive for over thirty years. Thirty long years of attrition and carnage. Thirty years cowering by day with our mortals in impregnable fortresses of stones, watching them die of disease. Thirty years of red nights and ceaseless slaughter. Poland was our battlefield, and we only found out about the hive because we lost the Dvor lords dwelling there. You see, the problem is not just their savagery, or the way they reproduce. The problem is their intellect." What? "Intellect? But those things¡ª" "¡ªwere cunning enough to ambush us, to wait until we were close enough before rushing in from all sides. A lone vileblood presents little danger to a vampire, but a hundred lays traps, a thousand plan battles, and ten times that number plan a war. To this day, I am not quite sure why they tried to extinguish us instead of moving on to the tender heart of Europe. Perhaps it was aggression, or perhaps it was part of some eldritch scheme that we cannot comprehend. The few of us who tasted their essence figured out their true nature. As Ariane put it, they are shadows. Imprints of something alien and unfathomable. The more vessels there are, the more the mind can bleed into the torrent of flesh that heralds its coming." "So, we need to prevent them from reaching a tipping point," Sheridan observes. "And there lies the problem. They will be cunning enough to avoid armies and large towns until they are ready. By that time, it will be too late. The chaos of war only helps them in this task. No one will bat an eye at losing communication with the frontier, especially along the border. I will warn the council. You, Ariane, will go to Washington." "You want me to warn Sephare?" I ask with a raised brow. I can contact her from here just fine. "No. Not her. The humans." We all recoil in shock at this¡­ preposterous proposal. Talk with the human authorities? What madness is this? "We have no choice. I will ask for the council''s approval, but you must go there." I close my eyes in annoyance, smoothe my long skirt and reclaim my revolver from a confused Sheridan. "What are you doing?" Jarek asks, surprised. "If I don''t want to Charm the entire Congress, I shall need solid proof. I will be right back." Ten minutes later. Do not kill that thing, Ariane, do not kill that thing, Ariane, do not kill that thing or you will have to fetch another one. Jarek watches me as I drag a smaller drone behind me. It stopped screeching after I damaged its throat a bit. I hold it by the neck so that it fails to attack me. Apparently, the creature''s suicidal tendencies do not extend to snapping its own joints. Good to know. "Ariane. What, in the name of the Eye, are you doing?" "Yes, err, far from me to criticize or anything¡­" Cedric adds. "I already told you louts," I reply with undisguised annoyance, "if I want to convince anyone that a wave of horrible magical locusts is descending upon us without being thrown in the loony bin, I will need irrefutable proof. Even a dead thing could arguably be the work of a gifted taxidermist. This claim becomes more difficult to sustain when said thing is desperately trying to claw your face off. Jarek, would you kindly, kindly help me bind it? Much obliged." We easily find ropes in a nearby warehouse. The main problem is that we will not be able to carry the drone around on a leash. "I need to build a cage. A container of sorts¡­" I say. We look around and find no such a thing. Unsurprisingly, since the average Virginian mudhole rarely keeps bears around for entertainment purposes. I do find nails and solid planks. I decide to put my advanced engineering skills to build a crate. There is a joke in here somewhere. Cedric stares at me as I dry-fit planks together to form a solid base. We are going to need something sturdy. "Should you not be standing guard?" I finally snap at the man looking over my shoulder. "Sorry, it''s just¡­ It''s not everyday that I see a vampire Master doing manual labor." "If you could waggle a hammer as easily as that tongue of yours, we could have avoided that situation entirely!" "Jeeesus, woman. Alright, I''m going!" The alliance against the end of the world is off to a great start. Chapter 139 - 134. Revelation Upon our return, Jarek''s plan to boot the door to the presidential office open and dump the hive drone on Lincoln''s desk is short-lived. Sephare imposes her veto and Jarek''s complaints fall on deaf ears. "We will disseminate this information in due time. I give you my word, Jarek. The Council of Wardens must hear of it first, or just imagine how those old lords will react to being told of this momentous event after the mortals. Right? Right." And so we ship ourselves north to Boston for an emergency session. Boston, June 17th 1862 The Council chambers are nowhere close to full, as many domains are still reorganizing following the departure of the Expansion Faction. Time was simply too short. We still count at least one representative per seat of power and I can tell the tension from the postures of the vampires present. It takes an experienced eye to notice concern in a creature with no pulse, no facial expression, and aura control developed as a survival tool. As always, the devil is in the details. Gazes that collectively follow the movements of the newcomers. An artful poise just a bit too relaxed. The signs are many, and I have had plenty of experience in the past few years. Constantine enters last and just on time. We go through the opening protocol with some impatience until, finally, Jarek takes the floor. "I have never been very good at politics so I will state it plainly. In the fourteenth century, we fought a world-ending plague of monstrous creatures that reproduce from human corpses. They killed a hundred of us in combat, almost killed the rest, and now they are back." I see shock in the minute widening of eyes. Hands rise up in the air. "Are you quite sure?" one of the Wardens of Maryland asks. "On my blood I so swear. I saw it with my own two eyes. A pack of fifty drones or so, and there are bound to be more. They fought the exact same way." The next to speak is a statuesque Roland Master from the Mississippi domain. "I have studied our history extensively, but I have never heard of this event. Are you saying that the records were voluntarily erased?" Jarek sighs, a low, rumbling sound like wind through a canyon. He sits heavily in his stone chair and leans forward, hands linked together. Nobody protests at the breach of protocol. "The battle took place around the current territory of Poland. We have expunged all mortal records from that time, because our existence had become common knowledge, and it was our wish to disappear again. Vampire records exist, but those of us who were alive at that time have no wish to go over those memories. You have to understand. We thought this was the end of the world." Jarek''s eyes grow clouded. We all sense the gravity of the situation, of what led a lord as powerful and unyielding as Jarek to bend under the weight of memories. "Hell had come to earth. The world half a millennium ago was more religious than your own. Younglings have grown jaded towards the Christian beliefs nowadays. You believe in technology and profit. We genuinely believed in the scriptures, though we thought ourselves on the wrong side of them, and to us the time of judgement had come. Pestilence, Famine, War, and Death rode across the countryside. Humans died in the millions. Millions. You cannot comprehend the extent of the death we were seeing because, to you, this is just an abstract number. You do not understand the mountain of corpses this represents, how many lives were destroyed, how much was lost. You cannot comprehend and if the Eye allows it, you never will." I am dragged into his aura, the naked sorrow and, yes, terror in it. As Jarek speaks, I can hear it in the background. The sobs of disbelief of the survivors who did not understand why they still drew breath, the roars of hordes of drones climbing castle walls day-in day-out to slaughter every last creature of flesh still moving. The starving humans as no field could be safely tilled. Vampires dying in combat as they were overwhelmed one by one and, behind our foes, that ominous presence that bled in more with each creature adding its mind to the collective. "We spent years in battle. We extinguished entire hordes in our blackest of hatred, slaughtering them from dusk to dawn until the ground was caked with blood and the pyres of the fallen darkened the heavens. We thought the end had come and that they were demons. I almost wished that the trumpets of the apocalypse would sound and that the angels would finally descend to burn all of us, so that it would stop. They did not. We ended the conflict. One summer, we rode across the land bellowing battle cries and nothing answered. It was finished." The end of the tale is received in silence. This all feels surreal to me, as if the gnomes and farfadets of old stories appeared to clean our attics and steal our slippers. Now, I know how mortals feel when they meet us. One of Suarez'' lieutenants is the first to react. "Is it Mask again? Did those ''idiotas'' unleash this on us?" Jarek frowns. "I do not know, but if they are responsible, it must be a rogue. Someone desperate for revenge. Only a madman, or madwoman, would hate the world so much that they would wish to end it in this manner." I contemplate the possibility. A true rogue would rely too much on instinct to come up with anything more elaborate than ''go there, kill''. Someone who lost their bonded humans would fit the bill. "I will summon Mask Ambassador Madrigal after this session has concluded and find out the truth," Constantine says, "in the meanwhile, the situation calls for an immediate mobilization of all our means." A few uncharacteristic mutterings spread through the assembly, but the Speaker is quick to remind them of the sword of Damocles hanging over our collective necks. "I believe that most of you are missing the point. No matter how well we work, the cat is out of the proverbial bag. We are not fourteenth century Poland. There will be no erasing the records for this." "You cannot be serious¡­" "Cohorts of journalists from all across the world have come to document the current conflict. Hundreds of printing presses across the continent work tirelessly to spread the news. Right now, there are only rumors and dismissed reports. It will not last. This is it, ladies and gentlemen, the trend of disbelief that has marked the two last centuries has come to an end. Magic is coming back into the open, and us with it." "No." "Impossible! "We must not let it come to pass!" "SILENCE!" Constantine yells, then he settles back down as his order is obeyed. "What we have is a cannon with its fuse lit. We cannot control the blast, but we can control the trajectory. We will be working around the clock to bend the narrative of this revelation. We will need the help of every last Courtier in this endeavor, so interrupt all training and recall all of your agents. We are going all in. This meeting is adjourned for two hours, during which you will be given the opportunity to discuss with your peers. We will decide on how to communicate with the press, the government, and the other magical factions tonight. I will accept no delays. You may leave now." We all stand and move out with more alacrity than ever. I quickly join Sephare as she hails me. "I must say that your alliance with the White Cabal is a benediction," the lithe Hastings lady comments in hushed tones, "I will be relying on you to align with them. But that will come later. I need your help in Washington with me, and with your two Courtiers if possible." "How so?" I ask, a bit surprised. "I trust only you to be sensible around the Unions'' topmost military and civilian leaders. Now I know that you have better things to do, but it might be a good experience for you to make contact with a few key generals directly while you have the opportunity. Just, please, do not bite them." "And you will need the muscle?" "No, the representation. Remember, they will look at us and see their first supernatural¡­ people. The first impression determines attitude for a long time, and having someone I can depend on will go a long way towards assuaging my concerns and building a long-term relationship with the mortal authorities." "I assent, but I will need to leave soon so that I can get the White Cabal on board with the reveal. I have an idea." "You do?" Sephare asks, expectant. I nod. "If we can put a positive face on the, shall we say, mystically-inclined population, it will go a long way towards making our existence more acceptable." "A figurehead. Who did you have in mind?" "An archmage by the name of Reginald Lewis. He is very handsome and charismatic. More importantly, he has a strong sense of justice and integrity. We will not need to steer him to protect his kind." "If he is naive¡­" "He is, but he also knows it, and listens to the next Black Dog candidate. I can think of no better ambassador. Not to mention that the mages will support us and get invested in this project. We already control most mainstream newspapers. We only need to make sure his attractive mug gets printed on enough front pages." Sephare considers, then assents. "You are coming into your own. Very well, I only need one week of your time to get the government on board, then I will support you however I can." Finally I am showing some initiative. Now, I only need to make sure to bring this project to a satisfactory conclusion, because Sephare will be watching. "One last thing," I say, "have you heard about the drones? Perhaps from your Sire? We certainly need all the knowledge we can get" Sephare chuckles, a teetering sound that I always found vaguely threatening. "You are letting that ancient horror Nirari and Jarek twist your perception, dearie. You are from the first bloodline. Mine did not exist in the fourteenth century. By the Eye, even the Lancasters only appeared a hundred years later. This is ancient history for most of us. Sometimes, I cannot tell if you are one of us, or one of them..." Washington, four days later. The antechamber to Sephare''s offices has been recently refurbished to give off a gentle, old-world charm. I can still smell the acrid stench of drying paint under the more prevalent one of coffee and tobacco. The colors are black, chestnut, and gold, with more attention given to decoration than our puritan society would normally allow. I have dressed for the occasion, in an embroidered black dress with golden filigree. The daring cut leaves most of my shoulders bare without, thankfully, revealing any cleavage. Apparently it is quite popular with gentlemen. Sephare lent me her personal maid to push my hair up in a stylish do, clearing my neck and leading the eye to a beautiful necklace with an engraved ruby. The jewel hosts a powerful shield charm because I will never sacrifice safety in the name of elegance when sufficient preparation will account for both. A knock on the door, and a new visitor enters the room. His brown gaze travels over the many seats, the low tables and the room''s two occupants. Night fell recently, and Urchin stands near a bookshelf on the side opposite me, leafing through a book. Or rather, books. Every time a page turns, he swaps for another one. The transition is seamless enough that only the most perceptive mortals discern the subterfuge. The others only retain a vague feeling of unease, just as Urchin intended. He is, after all, the stick to my carrot. Or the thorn to my¡­ gah, this is barely better. In any case. The newcomer inspects us all. He wears a Union uniform with quite a few stars, a brown beard and thick dark hair. He possesses a keen gaze that lingers on Urchin''s books, and immediately follows my form as I put down my notes and rise to greet him. I curtsey in a traditional manner, keeping my gaze slightly down. "Welcome, sir. Please, sit and make yourself comfortable. Lady Sephare will be with you in a moment." Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! The soldier slowly takes a cigar from his waist pocket and lights it. The reddening embers shine furiously in the diffuse radiance of gas lamps. I find him quite rude. Most would have asked before stinking up the place. Oh, a test. He is gauging our reactions. I still stand demurely with a light smile. "How did you know what I was here for?" "You were let in," I answer honestly. We have wards in place for the occasion. A puff of smoke floats forward. The powerful aroma is still fresh, and thus, not entirely unpleasant. "You are one of them, then?" One of the ''mystical Americans'' as Sephare sold it. She has presented herself as an expert in spirituality. That is, so far, how the handful of key officials see us. She hinted that we can cast spells, but the humans think curses and other inefficient castings. They do not know about the vampires and werewolves, and will not do so until much later. "Yes." "Huh." "Are you perhaps disappointed? Were you expecting a few warts and a broad hat?" Another puff of cigar. The soldier''s eyes narrow. "What am I waiting for anyway?" "The creature is in the cellar. We have caged it behind steel and glass for safety, but there is a limited amount of space as a result. Only seven people are allowed at any time. This measure also serves as a precaution. As you may have heard, the drones reproduce by creating and infecting human corpses. We would not want an outbreak in the center of the capital now, would we?" "Is it truly under control?" "It will not get out of its containment without outside assistance." The soldier contemplates my words for a moment. "You know, I have considered taking a hundred men and coming here to arrest everyone, then find out if this whole thing was a bizarre farce designed to waste the army''s time." Urchin''s claws pierce through the leather-covered tome he holds. I frown. Those are expensive. "You did not," I finally reply, "because you will see the truth for yourself without having to create an uproar." The man takes a few steps forward, blue clouds following him like a veil. "If you are truly witches¡­" "We would prefer the more pleasant term: mystic." "If you truly are witches, then you could confuse my mind." Tick tick tick goes a claw on my coffee cup. This is our TERRITORY. "You are a guest here," I remind the visitor with a tight smile, "we will exert every courtesy, and we expect the same in return." My interlocutor sits heavily in front of me, and I also regain my chair. "Very well. Mystique. Answer my question, please." S§×ar?h the nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "You are a man used to the rigor of battle. You will examine your thoughts and find them clear, even as horror stares you in the eyes. You are also welcome to return here and inspect the creature again at a later date, when you have taken appropriate precautions, I suppose. In fact, we expect this location to see a lot of traffic in the coming days." "What precautions would those be?" he scoffs, "I do not know how to avoid bullets, how could I ward off curses." Oh? "You were shot at? I thought that generals were not subject to that treatment." "The distant rear of an army engaged in battle is not the best place from which to judge correctly what is going on in the front. I have been shot at, but am pleased to report that I was missed." He considers his next words and reluctantly continues. "Though I admit that it got pretty close in Shiloh. One of my aides even lost his hat!" Shiloh? "You¡­ you are Hiram Ulysses Grant!" I click my mouth shut. I saw his attention drift to the hint of fangs, which I had carelessly revealed. It would not do to spook one of the few military leaders I respect! "I was not aware that you people, no offense, were so interested in mundane affairs." "Surely you jest? I have been doing my best to support the Union since the very beginning. Do you not enjoy the abundant supply of ammunition I provide?" "Wait. The eagle?" "Yes! Illinois Guns of Liberty! That is me! I mean, us. I have tried so hard to make sure that our side was decently provisioned. I must say, you are one of my two favorite generals." "And who, pray tell, might be the other?" the soldier asks with some measure of bemusement. I have not gained his trust yet. "George Henry Thomas." "Was he not originally from the south?" "Yes," I reply "as am I. Now, why not tell me how I could help you fill MacClellan''s shoes?" Ten minutes later. "Most officers and theorists alike severely overestimate the range during major engagements," I explain excitedly. "Yes, hitting reliably at four hundred yards is all well and good but how many people do you think can make that shot anyway? None of the Irish refugees or city dwellers your recruiters grab off the streets, that is for sure. That is why we are considering switching entirely to metal cartridges and a repeater structure." "I understand that we are to attack relentlessly and aggressively to achieve victory, woman. Even with your best efforts, our supply trains would not allow us to operate in the south where our supply train struggles to follow. And replacing our entire arsenal would simply be too cost-prohibitive. I do see the appeal of equipping cavalry with repeaters, however." Grant frowns and considers his cigar, which has run its course. "I never expected to discuss matters of war with a woman. This has been a disconcerting evening, all in all." "Please look at me as one of your chief weapons suppliers." "You do not dress like one." He got me there. "I did not come here to discuss theory," the soldier continues, "but those reports I saw. Tell me, is it true what they say? A horde of monsters? Really?" "We would never have come to you in the open if the fate of the nation, no, of mankind itself on this land was not at stake." "There are no signs of those drones you mentioned in the west." "By the time they reach the west, it will be too late. We must stop them before they reach a critical mass, otherwise they will be free to reap the continent and throw armies after armies of creatures at the survivors. It already happened once, and the population density was nowhere close to what it is now." "What period of history are we talking about?" "The fourteenth century." Grant mushes the butt of his cigar in a conveniently-placed ashtray. "Men had swords and shields then, we have muskets now." "And muskets can punch through a knight''s armor but they do not inflict the kind of catastrophic damage that we need to disable those things. At least not quickly. A mortally-wounded drone can keep fighting for thirty seconds. That is a long time in battle." "Are you quite sure?" "I saw it happen. On my blood I so swear." This causes a raised eyebrow. "A strange idiom. Nevertheless, I am still not convinced that this is not some form of elaborate prank. Magic and monsters¡­ what world are we living in?" "Since you asked¡­" I reply, and reveal my fangs this time. "You are living in ours now." Sephare returns before Grant can detach his eyes from my smile. She is followed by several old men in dark suits. One of them holds a handkerchief to his mouth and looks slightly ill. The smell of terror, sweat, and vomit soon eclipses that of tobacco. John is downstairs to provide a much needed confidence boost to the witnesses. The sight of an otherworldly horror still impacts them greatly, and I can understand why. No amount of bars, chains, or panes, can lessen the chilling fear of realization that there are many more of those out there. I am genuinely concerned as I see those men stumble away from the receiving room and out into the cobbled streets outside. They may fear the hive more than they fear us for now, but even if we should succeed, there will be a lot of blame going around. The magical population is a ready culprit. I must make our media campaign work. "And you must be General Grant. Please, follow me sir. The drone is this way," Sephare says. The two disappear into the depths of the domain. Urchin lets out a chuckle. "You are being quite the enthusiast, mistress. I never expected you to look up to a mortal so much." "I do not look up, but think about it. He can order tens of thousands of men into battle! Explosions everywhere!" "Definitely an enthusiast." "I see that you are still using your tricks on the book. Would you like to see mine? I bet that I can make your tongue disappear." Urchin lifts his hands in mock surrender. I know that I have not heard the end of this. Avalon, White cabal main stronghold west of New York, June 27th 1862. "This is unacceptable! Who do you think you are to take this sort of decision in your hands? The White Cabal will not tolerate the vampire''s tyranny!" archmage Pruitt bellows. The council of the White Cabal is a majestic amphitheater with the first row composed of seven wood thrones in a half-circle opposite a pulpit from whence a tired ''President'' moderates the debate. My detractor''s protests do not elicit the kind of annoyance I expected in my allies. Even the usually caustic Frost appears subdued. "This time, the bloodsuckers have gone too far and revealed their true colors. They care not for our alliance except as cannon fodder and this latest action proves it beyond the shadow of a doubt. I propose a vote that we immediately cease all cooperation with those monsters and finally¡ª" "Oh shut up, you do not have the right to call a vote," Hopkins answers. The Black Dog is older now, with grey hair and a slightly stooped back, but his brown eyes still shine with the rapier-sharp intellect that drove all his decisions and turned the motley refugee group that the White Cabal used to be into a force to be reckoned with. Human spellcasters tend to age more slowly the stronger they are, but Hopkins is completely human. His time is coming. At the very least, his legacy is secured in the person of William Hope, a brilliant tactician. The young lad has really come into his own. He is also married with three children to a fellow archmage, Mina Kincaid, so I suppose that I should stop thinking of him as a young lad. Hopkins'' interruption would have gone more poorly if ''voting for an immediate end to our alliance for the sake of mankind yadda yadda'' had not been Cornelius Pruitt''s default answer to my presence for the past twenty years. He fails to understand that proposing something a hundred times and being rebuffed on every occasion makes him look weak. Werewolves do not have a monopoly over pack mentality. "You are all fools!" "Yes, yes, I have heard it all before. Now, Ariane, Cornelius raises a good point. The decision to come out in the open should not rely on vampires only." He knows exactly what I will answer. This is simply one diplomat passing the baton to the other. "You misunderstand, that decision was taken out of our hands the moment the drones appeared in a nation with a relatively high population, reporters, and printing presses. Our own council had to face the same decision as you do now, and we have reached the conclusion that the existence of real magic, not as a superstition, but as a scientifically demonstrable fact, will necessarily reach the public within the next three months. Pandora''s Box has been opened, ladies and gentlemen. We can no more contain it than we can stop the tide. Our only hope to avoid persecution now lies in presenting a united, positive front to the general public." "And I suppose that vampires will handle that?'' Cornelius sneers. "As a matter of fact, I have come to offer the White Cabal the opportunity to take your rightful place at the forefront of this revolution. We vampires have means, but we prefer to remain in the background for obvious reasons. As the people closest to mundane humans, it is my belief that mages will present the most positive image to the people." "And take the brunt of the attack should the mundane turn on us!" Cornelius erupts. "This would happen no matter what," I calmly reply. "Tsk!" "What did you have in mind?" Frost asks in a slightly broken voice. "We have access to many newspapers, and we can use them to present us ''mystical Americans'' as fighters on the forefront of this new war. What would help the most would be a fresh face, someone charismatic who would represent us in the population''s mind. Someone whose honor and righteousness cannot be denied." "And I assume that you had someone in mind?" "Yes. I believe that archmage Reginald Lewis would be the ideal candidate." Befuddled mutters soon fill the amphitheater. I take a risk by naming a candidate myself, since he will be looked upon with distrust by my most fervent opponents. I decide that the risk is worth it, first because Reginald is the perfect figurehead and anyone else would come short, and second because he is definitely on the edge about working with me. Perhaps I should not have eaten all those enemy casters in front of him during our little outings together. Ah well. In any case, the die is cast. "Is there any specific reason why you would choose young Lewis?" an old lady with a monocle asks me with some suspicion. She is speaking out of bond, but a quick look at the President tells me that he will let it go. "He is handsome and a straight arrow," I reply. Silence spreads across the room. "That''s it? That''s the reason? No lies, Ariane of the Nirari, we know that you vampires have layers upon layers of schemes," she says. "I hardly need layers of schemes when handling the hoi polloi. Have you talked with the average person in the street recently? A good-looking square-jawed muscular male anglo straight-shooter has the best chance of garnering a positive reaction. That is all we need. But we need a lot of it." The assembled mages glare at me with distrust. I know that I got them. Old mages are naturally arrogant and look down upon the normal population. In this regard, we have much in common. A common ground has been found. "When you put it like that¡­" And now we are having a conversation instead of a carefully managed political negotiation. I sense the change in the mood and pounce on it. Sinead always mentioned that part of Charm is perception rather than influence. The ability to seize the right moment. "Look, we will need the mages to represent us and you need our access to money and the press. I was the one who sold the idea of cooperation to the Speaker and his lieutenants. The diffusion of magic will lead to a lot of misery for our peoples, even if we manage it properly. This is our one and only chance to seize the initiative and present a united front to shield ourselves against the normal humans'' wrath. We will strive together or we will suffer alone. I am not asking you to sacrifice anything, I am offering you the opportunity to be one of those who steer the ship. We both stand to win more and lose less by working side by side." It takes a moment for everyone to mull over my words. Archmages, especially the old and crusty ones, regard everything with distrust. I do not expect them to agree on the spot. "We would have conditions," the old woman says. "Then list them," I offer. "You are not seriously considering¡ª" "Oh shove it Cornelius, the moment you start contributing, instead of whining, I will listen to you. We need to discuss this alone, Ariane of the Nirari. Please leave us for the time being." I consent, and am led outside. We have acted quickly and decisively. Now we just have to hope that it will be enough. Chapter 140 - 135. Out in the open September 18th 1862, three months after the Accord Council''s vote. Madrigal''s expression is more solemn than usual. I cannot help but draw a parallel between him and Luther, the Erenwald ambassador I had met during my short stay in the Parisian catacombs. While Luther was haughty and distant, Madrigal adopted a more debonnaire persona. Different styles, I suppose. The Mask envoy still wears his usual long black jacket over white shirt. His dark hair falls around his hawkish face to his jaw. We stand in one of the manor''s upper rooms, repurposed from personal quarters to an official reception room to accommodate our increasing administrative needs. Constantine sits on a throne-like chair while a handful of Wardens form a small assembly around a long table. A gesture from the Speaker, and we all sit down at the same time. "Greetings Madrigal. I assume that you have an answer to our inquiry?" "That is correct,'''' our guest answers with a mellifluous voice, "I have conversed with several members of the Mask leadership including Bertrand. The release of the Hive Scourge on the planet has already been qualified as an unforgivable act that will lead to an automatic death sentence. Bertrand gave me his word that all members of his expedition have sworn an oath to that effect, and that Lady Martha will do the same with her subordinates in Mexico. If the culprit was one of our numbers, rest assured that they will be made an example out of. We are no more tolerant of such reckless behavior than you are." We consider his words in silence. Madrigal used the turn of phrase ''give my word'', which qualifies as an oath. He has engaged his own essence. Unless a Mask leader duped him, which I consider unlikely, he is reporting the truth. More importantly, he has made a candid show of things. Simply put, if Mask had been directly involved, he would have played a blame game, deflected, and resorted to the many other tools in the arsenal of the consummate diplomat. There is also the matter that only a madman would have done such a thing. Madrigal must have perceived the mood, because he resumes his argument. "Although we bear no responsibility in this situation, Lady Martha still wishes to extend a hand, as a gesture of reconciliation. She is too far from her power base to assist on a regular basis¡­" By that he means that she is too busy worming her way into the dizzying mess that is current Mexican politics. "... however, she is willing to participate in a decisive operation, should you need her. I would like to point out that Lady Martha is one of the foremost ritual magic specialists in the world, present company notwithstanding, and that her assistance is highly sought after back in Europe." "We appreciate the offer, and I will call upon her when I find a suitable task," Constantine answers a bit testily. If Madrigal is offended by Constantine''s words, he does not show it. As we all expected, he has shown the carrot and now takes out the stick. "Now that we have cleared the air on this specific matter, there was¡­ a concern, if I may, that many of my peers share. The question of ''going public''." I am not surprised that Madrigal would have gleaned enough information to come to that conclusion. We have made no secret of it within our community. "Many of us fear that your decision might be hasty, and motivated by expediency rather than sustainability." Or to translate it in common terms, ''Who the fuck do you think you are? How do you scaredy little upstarts dare take decisions on your own?'' or something of the sort. The subtlety has not escaped Constantine. We all know that Madrigal''s role is also to smooth relations between vampires whose egos could not fit in the Versailles Galerie des Glaces on a good day. The Speaker leans forward on his chair and glares at Madrigal. "We appreciate our European cousins'' insight. In this case, however, I believe that their remoteness hampers their ability to grasp the situation accurately. They may also be underestimating the impact of some of the newer technologies on the spread of information." Or, in less polite terms, they are a bunch of old farts who have no idea what they are talking about. Thinly veiled insults and to-the-point arguments. This is diplomacy, just the way I like it. "Surely..." Madrigal begins, but the Speaker is not done. "Multiple reports of monster sightings are transmitted every week by telegraph to Washington and then to the presidential office. Hundreds of journalists have already interviewed survivors from different attacks, all giving consistent testimonies on both sides of the border. Corpses of slain drones are as we speak autopsied and stored in every major center of knowledge of the continent. West Point scholars have already started on a list of countermeasures and adapted combat doctrines. There are even pictures circulating. Public perception has reached a point of no return, Madrigal, and there is nothing we, or anyone, can do about it." The ambassador falls silent, his pleasant facade still in place. "The world is changing fast, Madrigal. We can either embrace it or retreat to the dark confines of the world and hope that no one notices us. You seem a bit hesitant, so let me ask you a question. You communicated with your ''peers'' via an exhausting communication spell, have you not?" "That is correct." "And I assume that it has been the case since the spell was first invented. Well, you can rejoice. Four years ago, a telegram was sent directly from Queen Victoria to President James Buchanan. The transatlantic submarine cable that allowed this little exploit has degraded since then, but it will be less than a decade before you can effortlessly send coded messages from your office to Paris in mere minutes. In such a world, there is no future in preventing the flow of information. Our only option is to direct it." "I see your point, Speaker." "Perhaps you do," Constantine concedes, "perhaps you do, but your peers do not. I know that the consensus overseas is that the war has made us lose our minds. You still have a few months before the first visiting European scholars arrive to inspect specimens, and before the first preserved remains make their way across the Ocean. You can still cooperate with one another to take control of the situation, but not for long. Our time is running out. All our time. We will not wait for you." "I understand. I shall convey the gravity of the situation to our ruling councils. I do believe that some of us do not quite appreciate exactly how widespread the infestation is." "If you need any evidence for your demonstration, feel free to request the help of our media room. We have hundreds of newspaper extracts on the current events that will support my claim. In any case, thank you for answering my inquiry. You may leave now." *** A little later, I sit across Constantine''s desk in his office, now turned into a retreat of sorts. He had to delegate a great number of tasks out of necessity. Now, only the most vital of memos find their way to the sanctum while the rest awaits his perusal in the intelligence center. We are building a whole new antenna to the complex down in the valley below where fields used to be. There are even talks of purchasing more land. I funded a lot of those projects. My military investments are bearing so much fruit that I do not know where to push all of that money. Following Melusine and Isaac''s advice, I have started to save for after the war, when I will need to diversify, and the destruction brought about by the conflict will require a period of reconstruction. Constantine brings my attention back to the present by tapping lightly on the polished wood. "Forgive me for the delay. I wanted to put my ideas in order. I have come to the conclusion that we need to pull resources from supporting the Union military. As you know, the Union won the battle of Antietam yesterday¡­" "Pfah! What victory? We fed information to McClellan that he had the number advantage and still he did not believe those reports. It should have been a crushing victory. Instead, Lee was allowed to withdraw in good order!" I spit. "Ariane. Focus," Constantine answers tiredly. I grumble about timid generals in a war where indecision leads to six thousand dead in a single day. "Yes, yes," I reply. "As you have so accurately pointed out, we can do little when the men in charge do not make use of the means we provide. This will not change in the foreseeable future. You can comfort yourself in the fact that the ammunition you and Melusine provided have improved the quality of the training of a great many soldiers. You can keep it up, but I am afraid that our information sharing must stop, and all remaining efforts be centered on the political aspect of the war." "Naming generals, you mean?" "Among other methods, yes. As it is, we are suffering losses of spies and agents in the south, and this trend will only increase as magic becomes known and people start to assume that sorcery implies long-distance communication. We are pulling most people out." "How do we keep the drones in check then?" "We will keep a few key people in communication roles, whose sole purpose will be to transfer relevant reports. As for hunting, we shall gather everyone and focus them on this task. The squads we trained during the vampire war are reformed. I will delegate many of my tasks and work on magical means to track and disable the hive. In fact, I already have a few ideas." "I cannot join the effort immediately. I must coordinate with the White Cabal in Washington." "Indeed. I will be counting on you for that. Sephare, Jarek and I agree that you are best left to your own devices, as you have proven yourself to be resourceful. Please report your movements to us anyway. We will assist as we can for those projects we all support and discuss those that we do not, if the occasion arises. Ariane¡­" "Yes?" Constantine''s expression is intense now. He usually remains aloof, but it has not been the case recently. "I am taking a risk by letting someone as young as you carry out operations that will influence our entire kind. Do not let your importance affect your judgement. Remain as part of the whole. If you fail now, you could drag all of us down with you." "Do not worry, Constantine. I have not suffered at the hands of your servant to desert your cause so soon," I add with a smirk. "Perhaps one day you will be in my shoes and come to the same conclusions." "Perhaps I will." Be in his shoes, I mean. September 25th, 1862, Washington. "For two years, our great nation has been engaged in a civil war of unprecedented ferocity, a struggle to determine if the vision that all men are created equal, that all men deserve a fair chance at happiness holds true, or if the purity of this truth must be stained by terms and conditions. And yet, in this dark hour, God has seen fit to test our mettle with a greater challenge yet. Indeed, what you heard is true. We are beset by strange creatures the likes of which we had never seen before." The crowd before the District of Columbia City Hall sways and rumbles like an angry sea. The human horde covers every step, every inch of free space in front of the classical building. Only a thin line of guards separate them from the Doric columns of beige stone and, possibly, an avenue of retreat for the speaker. The faces are grim. Some people pray while others mutter angrily. But the orator is not done. "When the conflict flared, the people of the Union rose to the challenge. Brave men flocked to the banners to defend the nation against those who sought to destroy it. So it was then, and so it is now. Ladies and gentlemen, my fellow Americans, it is my pleasure to introduce Reginald Chester Lewis." I watch from a rooftop, away from the populace. My dark armor adds an additional safety against being found out, not that it is much needed. Humans are apex predators in their own way. They never look up. Reggie steps forward confidently. He wears a full suit tailored to remind the attendants of an officer uniform, up to the deep blue color. The gas lights catch his handsome profile and the virile beauty that many painters would love to draw on Apollo or Theseus. This is it. This is history happening right now. I am a witness to the undoing of a century and a half of lumieres, of enlightenment, of rationality. Magic has run out of places to hide. The spheres have aligned. And now, we are stepping onto unknown grounds. "Be not afraid, people of America. Be not afraid, for where you see a new darkness, so shall you see a new light. For centuries, my family and others have struggled in the shadows to fight the horrors of this world. For centuries, we have shed blood, for centuries, we have fought with faith and steel and unyielding will, and for centuries, we have kept you safe. And we will keep doing so until our Lord returns to install the Kingdom of Heaven. This, I swear to you." You could hear a pin drop. "For what you face is not an unstoppable force, but creatures of flesh and blood that prey upon the weak and the isolated. Scavengers that we will bring to light and smite to ashes. In this time of division, in this time of strife, we have been summoned by the government of this Great Nation to bring our war to the light, and with God willing, we will finish it. "I henceforth declare the creation of the Department of Supernatural Affairs, an entity dedicated to the handling of any creatures of phenomena that science alone cannot explain. Those of us who secretly worked to protect the land until now will be able to do so in the open, with the power and might of our institutions and industries at our back, and, I pray, your support as well. The task before us is a daunting one, but we as a nation have proven time and time again our ability to stand up to any threats, both internal and external, and to push them back from whence they came. Today is no different. We, the people, will pick up our swords once more and return to this land the peace it craves, no matter the cost, for the ideals of freedom and safety that we have built our nation on stems from the natural inclination of the hearts of good people. It cannot be quelled by terror or by complacency or by the forces of darkness. From many, we are now one. It has always been my dearest wish, and I will fight to the death for our future, on my honor. Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. "And now, I would ask you, my fellow citizen, and regardless of your creed, to join me in prayer." Drums roll and trumpets ring clear in the evening light, coming from behind the small platform where officials stand. Voices rise from the crowd, few at first, then more and more as the song picks up and the timid song turns into the tempestuous, unstoppable hymn it was created to be. "Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored; He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword: His truth is marching on." I set it up. I made it happen, and now I find myself buffeted by the powerful winds of divine censure. My essence frays under the roaring faith now spreading throughout the crowd. This deep belief that they belong here when others do not, and that at the end of days, only they will remain. I crawl back with a hiss under the torrent and cling to the core of who I am, one who has endured much and still lives. For one moment, I am terrified by the warning I feel in that tide. The humans outnumber us by hundreds of thousands to one. We are few, so very few. A dedicated search would end us in a matter of days. And yet¡­ As I retreat into the darkness, the voices become dimmer and the shadows spread. And I am at peace. All those humans praying with Reginald Lewis are here because I willed it. This unity they showed will only last until the danger is passed. And then, greed and ambition will return, as they always do. Through the cracks in the pavements and from the top of spires of metal and glass, we will watch and direct, because we are from them yet not them and THE NIGHT IS OURS. Up on the dais, Reginald answers questions from the press. I move back, then away. There is still much to do. October 10th 1862, Virginian Wilderness. It occurs to me that there is a certain hypocrisy in presenting the Scourge Hive as the most dangerous threat to mankind while simultaneously killing some of those who oppose it. But I am a vampire. Calculated, bloody measures are sort of our thing. And so I line the rifle and shoot the head off that Confederate politician. He falls dramatically. The officer by his side mechanically wipes the blood off his shoulders and contemplates a piece of brain stuck to his white glove for an amusing half a second, then the entire bivouac explodes in motion. "To arms!" Men jump from around campfires, grasping for sabers and pistols, widened eyes searching the forest''s edge. When no more gunshots ring the officer whistles and rushes for his horse. I see his greying mutton chops quivering with shame and anger. The small cavalry squadron gathers around him. "You may engage," I tell John. My faithful minion directs his new Nightmare, Gorm, with barely a move. The proud beast snorts and stomps out of the darkness, one step at a time. I believe that, besides Jarek''s mount, Gorm has to be the largest and most monstrous Nightmare I have ever seen. The different temperament truly matches John''s own, and I have come to believe that we are not so much assigned Nightmares and they are assigned vampires. While Metis is a mix of the playful and aggressive, Gorm is half silent presence, and half unstoppable force. And this is what he demonstrates now. Gorm is the only Nightmare I know of that not just tolerates, but enjoys being covered in armor. Only his crimson eyes and a hint of black hair can be seen under the enchanted steel barding. The men pale at the sight of the duo, a black knight from some grim fairy tale, the kind that ends with sliced toes. John wears full plate with helm, a shield, and a cavalry lance. "Shit. It''s one of them," a sergeant whispers. I love this moment when mundane mortals realize that they have stepped out of their domain and into our own. To their credit, they close ranks around their leader. "Gentlemen, blades drawn! Charge! For Virginia!" They roar, a defiant sound that reverberates across the clearing. The sound trembles under their hooves. John salutes and rides to meet them. "For the lady." His voice is almost devoid of emotion. Just as when he was human, his reality remains simple. I ordered it, and so it must be done. The two forces race to each other, one yelling, the other silent, an excellent metaphor of our situation. If things were fair, there would be hundreds of soldiers to face him. They would shoot relentlessly to take him down. They would sacrifice their own to chip at the Courtier''s armor, then at his prodigious endurance. Little by little, they would harry him until, eventually, the lion would fall to the pack of hounds. They would win through numbers and this peculiar altruistic behavior that allows humans to die fighting in the name of a cause. If things were fair. But we do not do fair. The two sides collide. The shock is tremendous, and men and mounts collapse in great heaps of struggling limbs. John is through no worse for it. Two bodies dangle from his spear. He turns Gorm around and, slowly, almost respectfully, allows the dead to slide to the ground. "Let''s go greet them," I tell Urchin. He nods in his light leather and mail and we ride out to meet our victims. I wear my armor sans facemask. Urchin rides his own new Nightmare, Shale, a lithe and agile creature. I designed Urchin''s armor to be form-fitting and host the many knives and daggers he uses in combat. A cowl masks his angular traits, but there is no mistaking our identity. The officer survived the impact, and he and the others are helping their comrades extricate themselves from the heap. A few horses and men have broken legs. The men may recover. They gather in a small circle, weapons drawn and aiming outward. Normally, I would have to use Charm or a few tricks to make them feel fear. Not those men. They know of what we are. I do not believe that I will ever get used to it. The officer takes a step forward and lifts his chin. I think that it takes a certain amount of bravado to serve in the cavalry, for I have never seen a meek officer. A bit of foolishness as well. "No games, foul monster. Face us in battle, and you will not find us wanting!" he exclaims, addressing, of course, Urchin. I mean, I have the prettiest armor by far. But can they envision warriors led by a woman? Nooooo. And Urchin as a military leader? Come on. The light must be too poor despite the lanterns and fire. "I fear that you are mistaken, sir," Urchin politely allows. "You are dealing with me," I say, and move Metis a few steps forward. "We will not surrender our souls, demon. You will have to take us to the last," he says, but I can feel the hesitation hidden behind the veil of temerity. It does not take Sinead to know what scares him. Like a lot of people at the front, he genuinely cares about the lives of the people around him. To die is one thing, a pointless last stand is another. "You could do that¡­ or you could take your men and carry a message back to your superiors." Surprise. Hope. Distrust. "We were warned about your kind." "And what kind would that be?" The man hesitates. "Vampires." "Indeed. Let me guess," I add in a mocking voice, "we steal souls for lunch and bathe in the blood of puppies and whatnot? What else?" The men exchange glances, brains frozen by the surreal situation, perhaps. "Hmmm. You summon new members in massive orgies?" "We do?!" I exclaim, "Urchin, how come I was never invited to such fascinating events?" "I do not know, mistress. Perhaps you should kidnap more babies?" "Indeed. As for you, officer, the situation is a tiny bit more complex than what you were led to believe. We will not hold it against you. You may leave and carry the message I mentioned." "What about the dead?" "What about them?" I ask, frowning. "May we take them with us?" "Yes, yes," I wave dismissively, "I told you that we have no interest in souls. You can pack up and leave. We have more business to attend to." The men step down. It looks like many of them would die fighting if the order was given, but the possibility of a retreat still calls to the deeper part of their survival instincts. "And that message?" the officer asks. "The message is simple. We know what you know. We see what you do. Work with our foes and be considered one of them. We will be in touch." "Is¡­ that all?" "I believe in clarity. You may leave now." Urchin and John lead their mounts by my side. Our little victims scurry back to their encampment to pack it up. Two maimed horses are shot out of mercy. The bodies of the fallen are recovered while the wounded are placed on stretchers. It takes fifteen minutes for them to disappear. Only the campfires remain. Now, we wait for our visitors. A group of men on foot cross the woods, somewhere west of our position. They move through the undergrowth with the light steps of accomplished forresters. An old man, completely bald with a long, flowing white beard, is the first to appear. He and the few men behind him wear a leather uniform in brown hues, with a visible crucifix and a plethora of weapons hanging here and there in so many holsters. Some of those look positively ancient. He raises a fist and the men by his side kneel. "It''s useless, Gabrielite. I can hear your heartbeat from here," I lazily say. The man stands up. I taste the delicate touch of terror and grief, the harbingers of the Hunt. By my side, John rolls his massive shoulders and the plates click and shift to accommodate the gesture. "Double file. Check your weapons," the man orders in a low voice. Two dozen Gabrielites form a battle line with commendable speed. Hands find ancient pistols and rusty revolvers awkwardly inscribed with crosses. There was a time when I would not have attacked them for all the gold in the Rosenthal coffers. This time has long past. The force arrayed against me are relics of a bygone era. Sixty years ago, hundreds of soldiers of god had assailed the vampire fortress where I changed. Now, only fragments of squads remain. We are responsible. We went after the money. In Europe, vampire hunters depend on ancient orders and the Vatican. My European kin cannot face those odds. Here, the religious communities are fragmented and split by a profusion of creeds and the occasional schism. We have uprooted every major source of funding, destroyed every training center we could get our hands on. We struck their ability to recruit and rearm, and it has worked. Those arrayed against us now are old men and a few of their grown-up children. They wear ratty armors and wield obsolete or poorly made weapons. I see a lot of grey hair. Scars adorn their faces. There is even a man missing an entire arm, though he still wields a blunderbuss as if it did not matter. As for me, I have two warriors with me and I am well equipped with spells and guns. The power of faith does not block bullets. Neither do their armors. There will be no battles here. The old man speaks loudly in the line with a roaring voice that only breaks on occasion. "Gentlemen. It has been an honor. It might be that we face our ¡ª" I use a spell to make my voice louder. "Why do you Gabrielites have to be so dramatic?" "Face, errr, our death, but ¡ª" "I have seen less pretentious Thespians after the premiere of Lucia Di Lammermoor." "But we will face it as soldiers of Ggod¡ª" "By the way, a thespian is an actor or actress, in case you were wondering." "Who go to our end without fear and without¡ª" "Lucia Di Lammermoor is an opera by Donizetti." "Will you shut up, woman? I''m trying to speak here!" The man finally bellows, out of patience. Urchin snickers. "You could make your stupid last stand, or you could enter into a truce to hunt the Scourge Hive. A more urgent priority, don''t you think?" The man stops. A few of the soldiers mutter about not listening to me. "You were going to enter an agreement with the Confederate government, seeing that our side was already working with the Union. We cannot allow this to happen. But if you wish to die heroically against drones, we can send you in the right direction. I can even provide you with the rations to go there." "You mean, the ghouls?" someone asks. "We call them drones, but if you are referring to horrid pale creatures that reproduce from human corpses then we are talking about the same foe." "What do you devils care about that anyway?" Aanother bellows. "They taste bad," I reply. No need to sound reasonable with those folks. They would not believe me. I hear dissent in the ranks now. Gabrielites do not discuss with vampires, and vampires do not discuss with Gabrielites. Except for fringe elements, the two sides usually kill each other on contact. "We have no reason to believe you. We will not work with monsters, ever." "Not even for those you left behind?" S~ea??h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Half of the Gabrielites freeze where they are. Those who left their relatives behind, I suppose. "I know that you brought everyone together for that last attempt at relevance, including your families. They are currently going away, but they are quite slow and the night is still young." "Dammit, I should have known that it was a shit idea to meet at night. We should never have agreed to this!" a man with a long dark beard laments. "A bit late for regrets," I reply, "but my offer still stands. A truce, while the drones threaten mankind. After that, we can go back to ruling from the shadows and you can return to fucking each other''s cousins in a desperate attempt to increase your numbers. How about it?" Angry mutters fuse between the men. A few of the older ones spread hatred and bile, while others, especially the youths, cast glances back and wonder what their lives could be if they lasted the night. "What truce? We cannot trust demons!" "No compromise, George, you swore the oath like we did." "I don''t want to die for nuthin''" And so on. Eventually, the leader raises his voice again. "Are you serious?" "I never joke about deals, Geooorge," I answer amicably, "the life of your men and family, locations of hordes sent by telegram to your contact Luther Mason in Richmond, in exchange for a truce until the danger is passed. I am even willing to share food and ammunition. No guns though. You louts do not deserve to wield my beauties." "Situation must be worse than we thought," the black-bearded man mumbles. "No, George. Do not do this," another begs. I simply wait. "Go then, coward. Go, oathbreaker. See how real men live and die," another old man utters through gritted teeth. It was the signal that they were waiting for. The group splits. Half of the men, the old guard, walks forward. The other stays back. A young man tries to join the fighter but one of his relatives socks him, pushing him to his knees. The men walk in the clearing to face us. No matter how much Charm I am willing to use, or how many blackmail levers I have, there will always be men like these. They cannot be threatened. They cannot be bought. They cannot be persuaded or negotiated with. They are the unyielding rock upon which entire factions build themselves. The important thing, when dealing with them, is to recognize them for what they are. And kill them. "Do your wor¡ª" We move. I use spells and guns. Urchin displays the strange dance that we have been working on, all deception and knives thrown from unexpected angles. All the blades that find their marks soon reappear back into the hands of their owner. As for John, he throws his spear through the leader. There was no fight. Thirteen men are dead. I do not drink from them. This was a more¡­ elegant sort of Hunt. "And a goodnight to you, gentlemen," I finish. We climb back on the saddles we had left to attack, turn around, and leave in a cloud of darkness. Chapter 141 - 136. Against the tide Boston, October 12th, 1862. I lean back into my chair and sigh with relief. Paperwork. The bane of civilization. Although I have delegated most of the tasks related to the day-to-day handling of my manufacturing empire to competent subordinates, and while Loth''s kin, the werewolves, and pretty much everyone else manage themselves, there are still decisions to be made. Conflicts to be settled. I simply cannot distance myself too much. Normally, it would be dangerous to leave my humans unattended for too long. Some would forget the price of duplicity. The wars, both overt and secret, have kept them on the straight and narrow, for now. I expect that it will last for a bit longer, just as I expect some culling after all of this is done. And so, I keep in touch with my various managers via spell, telegraph, or surprise visits in the dead of night when they think they are safe. It depends on what is best for the cause. And also a little bit on my mood. There is but one telegram left, labelled ''for your amusement'' in Sophie''s elegant style. Constantine''s assistant has been taking on more and more duties as time goes on. I open it and learn that the Confederate slave owners with more than twenty slaves exempted themselves from conscription, by vote. Just yesterday. "Why not just allow them to pay someone to go in their stead?" I ask myself. Someone knocks on the door. Without waiting for a reply, Melusine barges in with great haste. She throws me a condescending glance. "Talking to yourself in your old age?" "And a good late evening to you too, my faithful minion. Now who are you running from?" I ask, picking up agitation in her aura. "Martha," the redhead soberly replies. She smoothes the sides of her skirt in a very human gesture of nervosity. Her eyes take the vacant stare we sometimes have when focusing on other senses. "Martha? Lady Martha of the Lancaster, the head of Mask in Mexico?" I ask. "Shhhhh! Not so loud!" "And why are you afraid of her? She is a political leader, not the bogeyman." But then I hear it. Soft feet paddling over lush carpets outside in the corridor. One person. They stop by my door, just as I stand in front of it. I take a step back. "This is the room, mistress. Should I announce your presence?" one of the maids says. I recognize her voice, she is a recent hire. "There is no need, dearie. You have been a great help. Off you go then. And take good care of yourself," a more mature and confident voice replies. "Thank you, mistress. Bye!" The footsteps pad away until silence returns. Only then do three heavy knocks sound on my door. "Melusine, I know that you are in here. I can smell your rustic floral perfume in the air, you little twerp. Open the damn door." "I have nothing to say to you, you old bat!" my companion roars, head buried into one of my pillows. I did not see her move. "Perfect, because I meant for you to listen. You can open now, or I can inform your dear Speaker that I want you to be my assistant for his pet project. Then we will see a lot of each other over the next few weeks, mark my words." "Urrrrrrg." "Young lady, do not make me raise my voice!" "I''m one hundred and seventeen!" "Then act like it!" I wait a while as Melusine huffs and grumbles into my pillow, which will now be tainted with Lancaster saliva. Finally, she bumps back and stands back up. She takes a moment to make sure that her green dress is well-adjusted and nods at me. Which means that I have been demoted to doorwoman. Fine. I lower the handle and Martha rushes in, trying to PUSH ME ASIDE. MY TERRITORY. MINE. "HSSSSSS!" A step back. Raised hands. Silence. "Now that we have determined that you are a big bad predator, can I finally have a conversation with my descendent before the sun rises?" "Do not be too cocky," I warn, "remember what you are. A guest." "My my, how proud the younger generation is. I would remember our respective positions, if I were you. We are no longer within naval artillery strike range." "We very much are. Behave," I warn. Then I let her in. Martha rolls her eyes dramatically. She can roll however she wants as long as she does not overreach. Melusine is up by the time the haughty lady makes her way to the tea table. Both Lancasters are short, beautiful, and quite shapely. They even share the same heart-shaped hairline, though Martha''s locks are black. It occurs to me that when Martha speaks of descendents, she is being literal. "How did you even know I was here?" my friend asks. "I simply made a few inquiries. Your Nightmare was stabled with the others. Splendid beast, I might say." Melusine gives me a very small, very arrogant look and I bare my teeth. Those two idiots are wrong. Metis is the best pony. Theirs could never charge into a battleline as the Watcher intended, so they are necessarily inferior. "Then it was only a matter of checking every location with the helpful assistance of the staff," the Lancaster lady finishes with a predatory smile. It does not matter that the local humans were loyal to us and not her. They are accustomed to serving vampires. It was child''s play for Martha to turn it into her advantage. "I must admit that this is the last location I checked. I never expected you to keep such¡­ exotic company," she adds, casting a glance my way. "Rude," I note. "Whatever do you mean? I just find it curious that my blood would agree to play second fiddle to another while they have the potential to lead their own territory." "We joined forces," I retort with a fake smile, "against pushy seniors who would see us brought to heel." "If only my own clan had not deserted against me and left me to die," Melusine adds, "who knows what I could have achieved?" From our tones, a passing mortal could think that we were discussing the weather. A passing vampire would direct us to the nearest duelling grounds. We are not being subtle. "If we were back in England, I could have you flayed for your tone." "Then perhaps you should return there," Melusine growls, all pretense at diplomacy now abandoned. "I shall even provide your ship ticket if you are as short on money as you are on manners," I add helpfully. Monstrous pressure erupts from the old twit as anger gets the better of her. She is not wearing a gauntlet, but someone of her power can cast without one. Our auras flare. Far below, something answers. Something powerful. Martha closes her eyes and leans back into her seat. Her brows rise a bit in an expression of surprise. A second later, she returns to her normal, composed self, as if nothing had happened. "I do not know whether to condemn you for your foolishness, or praise you for showing some spine. Of course, in other circumstances, I would slap you with said spine." She considers the question for a moment. "Or at least a few vertebrae. But these are strange times and I am in a strange land, and I have not come this far without a few compromises. Am I to understand that you do not recognize me, your ancestor, your elder in the blood, as someone worthy of obedience?" "Hell no," Melusine states without hesitation, "hell no. I was turned by an arrogant madwoman. I was caged like a beast when she lost her bid for power. I was sent here, under the yoke of that bitch Moor, to do menial tasks and provide ''favors''. The only person I owe my soul to died defending me from the Order of Gabriel. He saved me from myself. He crawled through his own blood to hide my defenseless form. Even that blonde battering ram¡ª" "Hey!" "¡ªshowed me more respect than any of my kin. As for playing second fiddle as you say, I am a City Master and part of a well-defined alliance, not some glorified eye candy to be paraded at social events. I have my own trade empire for fuck''s sake. Second fiddle indeed¡­" "I see," Martha notes, "I always thought that Moor was a good ''element perturbateur'', but a poor administrator. Too focused on intrigue, I always said." "Oh that is grand." I watch the two go at it. It feels curious seeing people who so closely resemble each other being so at odds. As if I were watching two sisters argue over men, or something. "I have not come to uproot you, young one," Martha finally allows. I have the impression that she is not used to having to negotiate with her inferiors. Which we still are. "Then what is it that you want?" Melusine answers guardedly. "I have come looking for an apprentice." Both of us stare at that, though the two Lancaster''s attentions are now focused on each other. "You must understand. Those of us who were born mages do not consider magic the same way as Masters who gained access to blood spells. It can be a blessing, but only with adapted training. I want to train a pupil, so I am no longer the only vampire at the apex of traditional casting. And before you ask, Constantine does not count. His approach is different, and bound to his nature as a Progenitor. You, however¡­" "I am not the best caster out there." "Not yet. But you managed to make significant progress despite little access to proper resources. And there is one more thing that sets you apart from others." Melusine does not look surprised. Both Lancasters raise their right hands at the same time, palms up. Twin flames flare up. "We understand each other. I do not require obedience. I require commitment and respect. Three months per year living together in Mexico city, once the current crisis is over. You can even use that wild card of yours, the one who travels through the Nightmare lands, to shorten distances." "What do you demand in return?" "Greatness. As I said, it is lonely at the top." "Then I agree. For now, I have matters to attend to. I shall take my leave." Melusine finally remembers my existence and gives me a nod before departing. I go to grab a bag of fresh coffee and turn to see Martha gauging me. "An apt ally for her. And you do deserve your reputation." Ah. Finally. It only took escaping Bertrand three times and cutting my way through two Mask squads back in Paris to finally be recognized. Or perhaps she is referring to my commercial success? I straighten a bit under the praise. "You really do have vampiredom''s best rear." "Excuse me?!" Fredericksburg, November 25th 1862, from the perspective of George Cavill of the White Cabal It was dark and cold. Winter was in full swing. The weather was overcast and the clouds low, their presence weighing on the man''s shoulders though he could not see them in the black skies above. The frigid wind carried in the air the rank smell of the river, and behind it that of spent powder. And behind that, in turn, that of blood and spoiled flesh. The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. George was a soldier of the White Cabal. It was his second mission. His best friend had died during the first. George''s little sister had shown some strange ability when she was young. She could close wounds. When George was thirteen, he escaped the very religious village they lived in with her and traveled the land in search for a place to settle. It had been George''s most difficult time of his life, even considering the recent events. At least dying in battle was fast. It was not the long agony of starvation. But some people had found them and made them move to a city called Avalon. They had found a home, and now it was time to defend it. George was rather small and stocky, with a slightly too large face that made him look more like a fat teen aping a soldier than a real one, but he could shoot with the best of them. He was also cool under pressure. "I will need people with nerves of steel, my lad," Archmage Cedric Birmingham had told him, "as brave as they come to do what must be done." So George had said yes. And he would do it again. Their small column made their way through the muddy path at the back of the Union lines. The army, under a general with epic facial hair called Burnside, had managed to cross the Rappahannock near the city before it could be fortified. Now, the combat had degenerated into a siege as the more experienced Lee had drawn him into a protracted battle. Things were taking a turn for the worse for the besiegers as the defenders were now dug in, but it would not matter to them tonight. What mattered was the dead. There were plenty of those across the fields and outskirts of the city, fat grapes of them rotting in ditches and fallow fields. Grey and blue. And red. And the white of the exsanguinated. Yes, it was rather chilly tonight. George ran his hand along the barrel of his repeater and took solace in the familiar gesture. Their group consisted of twenty mundane infantrymen in borrowed Union uniforms, two strong lads in chainmail under their heavy cloaks, and archmage Cedric, quite fetching with his majestic dark beard and his confident step. God, George hoped tonight would go better than last time. They had pretty much been overrun by the drones. He would never forget the look on his Jeb''s face as he was disemboweled, and the dying plea to make sure his body would be burnt immediately. "Think we''ll see her?" his neighbor whispered excitedly. "We''ll definitely see her. She''s heading the expedition," he muttered back, focusing on his surroundings. "I''ve never seen a vampire before." "Yeah, well, remember that they can hear everything. So don''t say nothing you wouldn''t want her to hear." "Is it true that they drink blood?" George turned to the man. His name was Peter, and he was a dumbass. "Maybe you should ask her in person. See where that gets ya." He left Peter to ponder the question. Everyone said that she stuck to her agreements. At least, there was that. They followed a curve in the road snaking its way between bramble thickets and the odd field. A large rock hid the city from sight, and they could now see a lantern lighting the side of a decrepit barn. The mangy door was open, and a few men were standing in animated discussion by the side. "This is all quite irregular," a wiry man in a clean lieutenant uniform protested. "You saw the written order," another calmly replied. That one was a tall man with brown hair greying at the temples, and a waxed moustache under a peculiar hat. He had an accent that George could not quite place. "Well, I will be verifying their legitimacy, mark my words!" "You do that." The officer huffed and turned around. The hatted man then nodded at the archmage and banged on the side of the barn. "George, Eli, come with me please. The rest, keep a lookout." George and another infantryman detached themselves from the column as it split. They moved into the building, which proved to be just as cold as outside, and found a soldier sitting in front of a curious crate containing equipment that he did not recognize. A woman was next to him. He could see an elegant dark travel dress and blonde hair held in a conservative tail. She was facing away from him. He made a conscious effort to avert his eyes and keep a lookout for anything unusual. The far end of the barn contained one large crate sitting on some sort of trailer. There was also a table by George''s side, upon which he saw a few papers lit by yet another lantern. One of them had ''confidential orders'' printed on it. It was half-open. Inside, words flowed in an elegant, refined calligraphy. It read like this: ''Stop annoying me, I can do whatever I want.'' And below: ''You twits.'' The vampire leaned a bit more and poked the construct with a taloned finger. It was easier to notice what was different if you expected it. What he could see of her face was quite pale and possessed the glacial beauty and alabaster immobility of a statue, like those he had admired in the Avalon Council Hall. Her nails were quite sharp and dark as the night. A human woman would have turned around to see who was coming. This one had no need. The operator of whatever machine that was looked up at her and blinked. "Do you need to see the order again?" she asked softly. The man frowned and shook his head, before returning to his task, eyes vacant. He was, George realized from the rhythmic clicking, telegraphing something. George did his best to stay alert, and saw Eli by his side do the same. The two of them were the smartest of the bunch. Not like that moron Peter who would have spent his time ogling. He thought that vampires did not like it, but who knew? There were so few of the buggers. And that was for the best. Sorcery was one thing. It could not come from the devil because his sister had it and used it to heal people. Those aristocrats of the night were another thing altogether. They said that a single one of them could slaughter a whole company. They said that cities under their grasp could not be visited at night without their leave. They said that striking deals with them could propel someone to the top of their world, but that they extracted a heavy price. They said many things, but it had remained a faraway thing to George who had never been present on the rare occasions when that one visited. Now, he could see her with his own eyes, so close. The red maiden. His heart beat powerfully under his ribs and sweat pearled under his khepi despite the chilly air. "How are things?" Cedric asked, debonnaire. "When corporal Miller here is done sending my message, we will proceed. The cage is at the back. You will need two people to drag it," she answered without moving. Her voice was smooth and cultured with a rather neutral accent. It was the sort of voice you would expect to hear in a salon, speaking little nothings in the ears of blushing suitors. "A cage?" said corporal asked from his prone position. "Do your job," the vampire retorted. George and Eli left the chastised soldier to his task. They pulled the trailer out with no difficulty. A moment later, the vampire strode out with Birmingham by their side. They continued down the path now with the crate and up to a massive carriage sitting by the side of the road. The vampire climbed in without a word. What came out was how the evil queen in Cinderella would look like if she led evil armies as a side gig. Usually, the White Cabal tried to keep a low profile even when they were on a mission. What the vampire woman wore did not follow the same logic. It made a statement. The outfit was dark scaled armor with a heavy breastplate and covered in weapons. The armor itself had seen much use, obvious from the parts of it where repairs had discolored it. It was happening again. George had felt it when the ''Scourge Hive drones'', as they were called, had attacked. It was a peculiar feel of falling backward as if swallowed by the earth while still standing. George had raised his repeater rifle and shot bullet after bullet into the creature''s wire-thin frame, a primal part of him taking over from the depths of his psyche. All the while, his conscious mind had remained paralyzed by the horror and realization that things walked the earth that God had not placed there. He was looking at one now, he realized. The only difference was that this one struck deals and honored oaths. She also looked exactly like a person, if you didn''t know. He did not know if it wasn''t worse. The vampire casually stepped down and clapped her hands together. Once. A woman in a thick travelling cloak popped out from behind a ridge, smirking at archmage Cedric who just rolled his eyes. The newcomer was short, but when she jumped down, he could see that she was quite muscular. The shorter woman''s posture had a strange quality to it. Almost feral. She went to the side of the man with the strange hat. They moved out once more towards the city, George still pulling the cage with Eli. They left the road behind and crossed through water-soaked fields towards the city proper. They came across a picket line of Union sentries but the vampire did her thing and soldiers were sent back with various expressions ranging from curiosity to annoyance. None protested their passage. When they came in view of buildings and ditches, things changed. "Alright. Blind the lanterns, lads. We don''t want to be catching bullets." He wondered how they would see until he heard it. "Nu Sarrehin." The vampire''s voice was both soft and incredibly deep. The words possessed a weight that anchored their existence deep in George''s mind, present and yet somehow incomprehensible. They fell over his shoulders like a heavy mantle. Darkness was pushed back. No, it would be more accurate to say that light was stolen. The column was now caught into a bubble of purple light shining selfishly from the vampire''s palm. A few feet to George''s left. the timid sphere of visibility cut abruptly, and beyond it there was nothing. The muscular woman let out a throaty laugh. "Up to me then?" she asked in a raspy voice. "If you please," the vampire answered politely. The muscular woman snarled and George finally realized what she was. One more monster to add to the pile. Despite her aggression, she sniffed the air and shook her head. "We are probably too close to the troops. We will follow along the lines of fortifications and stop every three hundred paces. Follow." They did. George huffed and drew the crate behind himself with the occasional help of other soldiers when the terrain grew too unforgiving. There was a peculiar charm to walk in the wake of creatures of legends on a hunt for something truly evil, a sort of spice that made the world more interesting. In his feverish mind, the attraction of being witness to such an event warred against his instinctual fear of the unknown. It was winning too. Truth had an addictive quality to it. Once tasted, it could not be abandoned. Not for him. Peter by his side was showing another reaction. He was softly praying and denying the world. Bloodshot eyes dug into the back of the fighter in front of him. Perhaps, for some, it was too much. They stopped again. And again. In the shallow, purplish bubble, time lost its meaning and distances extended no further than a few steps forward. It was on the fifth ¡ª or perhaps it was the sixth stop ¡ª that a change finally occurred. "I smell them. To the west. Close," the werewolf woman said. "Good. You may return, June," the vampire said. "I can fight." "I know, but..." The vampire''s voice trailed off and she turned to the rest of the column, her gaze passing over the men. George saw no trace of contempt here. In fact, the complete detachment made the experience that much more surreal. "Prey," the werewolf snarled, "perhaps I should return. I will see you later." The werewolf raced out and disappeared out of the bubble. The vampire looked ahead and slightly to the side. She addressed archmage Cedric. "I see where they must be. We can bypass the pack''s frontline by walking along the wall. I will drop our concealment when we are on top of our target and leave the capture to you. Would that be agreeable?" "Indeed. Let me talk with my men first." The vampire nodded. "Alright everyone, gather around. That''s it. Now, I can finally share the details of the operation with you. You may be wondering why the secrecy. Let''s just say that even allied forces might want a piece of what we get tonight. Indeed, we are here to capture a node drone." Silence. "A node drone is one that strongly feels the presence of whatever horrid entity animates them. Under its nefarious influence, the other drones move with more haste and coordination. For that reason it always stays at the back, and for that same reason, it will flee if the battle is lost, to bring knowledge of its foes to the next pack. We are going to capture one." "But¡­ will the others not¡­ object?" one of the older fighters remarked. "Yes of course, that is why we have Lady Ariane with us. Now, here is how we will proceed. I will restrain the creature''s movement, then Kant and Philipps bind it with chains," he said, looking at the two strong people dressed in chainmail. "The rest of you must cover us. Four groups, five riflemen per group, one volley per drone. Stay close to each other and make every shot count. If you are overrun, aim for the head and remember that I won''t be able to assist until after the node drone is secured. The capture takes priority. Do you understand?" "Yes!" "Then go, and may God be with all of us. Ariane, we are ready." "Take each other''s hands or grab the trailer," the vampire said, "do not let go. Nu Sharran." Darkness spread over the group. The absence of light was so total, so absolutely final that George found himself blinking and searching for a hint of shape, anything to prove that he was not suddenly blind. Even the sounds were muffled. The only reliable sense he had left was touch, and he grabbed the trailer like a drowning man to a buoy. And then they started moving. The march through shadow lasted a small eternity. George held to the trailer''s handle under his fingers until he could recognize every nook, every shard, every curve of it. His own labored breath was incredibly loud in his ears. He clung to the sound with all his might because it was proof that he was still alive. They slowed down to a near halt. Every step was the matter of seconds. They stopped. The veil fell. The world reappeared under his eyes as the lantern-bearers simultaneously lit their own. Trees, lights, blessed lights of humanity far into the distance. More worryingly, a horrible head with flattened nose, and a large mouth filled with serrated teeth right in front of him. Eyes of pure ink focused on him as the creature prepared to scream. George grabbed his repeater. There was a flash and the head silently fell from its shoulder. In a maneuver ingrained into him through countless hours of drilling, George fell back to back with his squad. The White Cabal detachment was surrounded on one side by searching drones who grabbed corpses to a pile where a few of them defiled them. They were in a small clearing. "Left one!" his corporal bellowed. George let his gun slide, pressing the trigger as the barrel passed over his target. Guns roared all around. The drone his NCO had picked reared back with half its head missing and three holes in its chest. Something alerted George. He looked quickly to the side. Eli was missing. Had he let go? "Next target! Center!" The world came sharply into focus. On the right, Cedric had trapped a strange horned drone inside his shields and the two chainmailed men were using chains to bind it. As to why the vampire was not doing it herself, the answer was clear. While the soldiers eliminated stragglers coming to them, the brunt of the fighting happened through the forest by his side. George could only catch glimpses of it, but whatever he saw filled him with awe and terror. The drones were after the vampire. Almost all of them. They pursued her in a thick, organic group that moved with eerie coordination, trying to corner and killed her. It was not working very well. The vampire was always one step ahead. She always pierced through gaps before they could close, and behind, she left mangled corpses. "Next Target! Left!" George shot again and a drone collapsed forward, claws raking the ground. The monstrous battle beyond was paradoxically much more silent than their own powder-heavy struggle. "Hey," Peter said, "I think we riled the city up!" He turned away from the battle and pointed at lights flaring in the distance. The fallen drone let out a piercing shriek and jumped once. Its left limb tore through the idiot''s torso. George didn''t have a shot. Peter''s gurgling body was in the way. He dove backward and avoided a furious slash. The drone fell immediately afterward. It was already dead. "Shit." More drones smelled the blood in the water. They were coming from God knew where, always more of them. The vale beyond the nearest line of three was a mass of pallid flash sometimes sliced by a black bolt. George aimed and shot at a charging beast. The first blow took half of its jaw out. The second caught it under the left eye. The next drone used the first one''s corpse as a shield. There was pain. An agony so immediate and so shocking that it stole his mind. George fell backward with a gasp. There was no air. He was drowning. He coughed something. An horrible face leaned before him, jaw wide. It blew up. George saw what happened next from a strange angle. He was on the ground. The man with a strange hat was blasting away with an engraved revolver, helping men to their feet. George had one hand free. The other was trapped under the heavy corpse. He tried to pick up his discarded rifle with fingers made sticky by blood. A distant part of George knew that he was dead, but it was muffled under his need to kill the things. They were wrong. "We got it, go go go!" Cedric yelled in the distance. The vampire landed by his side a moment later. For the first and last time, their eyes met. Time slowed down. She gave him the tiniest nod. Her armored hand grabbed something from her back and passed it to him. He took it and looked. It was a squarish object, one that it did not take a genius to recognize. The others left. Drones scrambled around him. One stopped and sniffed the air. It saw him. George smiled. He showed the creature his middle finger, brought the object to his mouth, and pulled the pin with his teeth. S§×arch* The N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Chapter 142 - 137. Para Bellum Newspapers cover my desk. I skim through them and verify that my directives have been followed. I believe that, in order to control public opinion, one has to select a specific topic and give up on the rest. Reporters and columnists argue in favor and against the continuation of the war, in favor and against the status of black citizens and freemen, in favor and against conscription. They hurl insults and trigger hot debates on a plethora of subjects, their tones fiery and passionate. The fracas of discordant opinions provides a nice, smooth layer to the one message I wish to be conveyed. White Cabal good. That is all. ''Local heroes fend off monstrous assault.'' ''Spiritualists successfully capture live specimen in daring attack.'' ''Minister Lewis to address the Senate.'' Like a chaste woman baring herself on her wedding night, the magical world only reluctantly sheds its shadowy garments. We drown every new revelation in the chaos of war news and scandalized opinions on the price of tobacco, and all of those are further sweetened by the handsome face of Reggie himself. His dazzling smile adorns many pictures, including a few where he stands triumphant over the mangled remains of a drone like a hunter over an elk. He has already become a darling of the media. And despite the honeymoon, the first waves of persecution lap at our feet. Witch trials and public execution are in vogue again both south and north of the border. Even as far as my Illinois, twenty hot-blooded young men rode into the village of Moonside for the express purpose of investigating reports of ''unholy activities''. I had to order the murder of two magistrates and three notables before the families of the bereaved got the message that their dead would not be avenged. I even had a small riot on my hands back in Marquette. And this is just the beginning. For now, most people see mages as normal people who have researched the occult and understood it. This has already caused so much hatred, fear, and friction, that I think the country would have simply blown up in an orgy of violence if it were not already in the middle of one. I dare not think what will happen when the humans find out about the more problematic members of our community, especially us and our vulnerability to sunlight. We will have to forfeit all of our public identities on that day. Ah well, it matters little for now. I have my plate full with a much more meaningful question. What do you do when your foe amounts to cunning packs of predatory monsters? Well, so far, we have adopted and adapted the strategies used by our predecessors back in the fourteenth century. Fortify what you can to deny resources, and form roaming squads of hunters to track down and exterminate the foe. By this method, we can theoretically both reduce the Scourge Hive''s ability to replenish its numbers while also actively reducing it. There are, of course, a few problems. Today''s United States is not fourteenth century Poland. First, there are no castles for the smallfolk to gather in. Second, the population density is higher, which means more resources for the enemy. Third, people have lost their healthy respect for the dwellers of the night. We are to blame for that last part, really, us and enlightenment, but it remains that when you warn people about incoming demons, fourteenth century Polish peasants were more receptive than your average modern sceptic. And fourth, the entirety of vampirekind is not currently mobilized to face the foe. The White Cabal, knights, and other allies we have gathered do not equal five hundred irate apex predators who believe the apocalypse has come, and intend to face it with a sword in hand. In short, we are losing. Every sortie, every skirmish comes with casualties that we cannot replace while the enemy grows by the day, feasting on remote villages. I could pretend that we are only improving our readiness and giving the mortals time to act, but that would be a lie. By the time that the Hive has reached the tipping point, even the army of the Potomac will not be able to face them. Drones do not have morale. They are not deterred by relatively inaccurate mass volley fire. Finally, it only takes a few minutes for the dead to join them, so a lost engagement means that they will actually increase their numbers while ours dwindle. We need a solution, and Constantine believes that he has found one. *** Boston, Accord Fortress, February 22th, 1863. "Will this thing even work?" I ask as I inspect the unwieldy, ugly piece of cylindrical metal. It looks like someone touched in the head placed a massive bomb in an ironclad ship, then fused together debris with molten metal and engraved every square inch of it with insane gibberish. The Speaker and my occasional mentor sighs dramatically. He takes a few steps away and straightens his gangly form until he stands far above me. "You are quite critical for someone without the ability to comprehend the complexity of what we are building here. I would like to remind you that we are contending with the shadow of a dead god for control over its fleshy bits. Of course, the result of such pursuits would be a strange and unusual artefact" "Constantine, close your eyes and then inspect your work with a neutral view. What does it look like?" The Progenitor indulges me, which means that he must be more exhausted than I thought. He passes a hand over his thin black hair. "Now that you mention it, it does look like a sick soul parsed a trainwreck for parts and cobbled them together to use as a sword-fighting training puppet." "Indeed. Can we even move it?" "Of course we can move it," he scoffs. "Uhu." "Until it is deployed, that is. Then it will need a dozen powerful mages at all times to keep the enchantment active." "Brilliant." "I could technically replace it by continuous blood sacrifices but since it represents about a hundred people per day, I thought it might be impractical." "Yes. The locals frown upon such methods, or so I was told," I reply acidly. "Yes," Constantine remarks, "troublesome that. It removes so many options. Ah well." "So hypothetically, what does the thing do?" "Ah yes, thank you for reminding me. The construct will emulate essence fluctuation along the Karnalian line on a two point six frequency, but with a constant intensity over a radius of seven hundred miles when at full power. The fluctuation will overtake the natural background frequency of the planet and cover that of the dead god, which we have named the Outsider for convenience''s sake, until the node creatures lose control over their swarm. Indeed, the node creature themselves should fall to the powerful nature of the call and answer the most primal urge of their kind, which is to gather in large enough numbers for the shadow essence of the Outsider to take the foothold necessary to direct them, and¡­ you have no idea what I am talking about, do you?" I raise a haughty brow. Does he think that I have spent my years of study in idleness? The arrogance. "This is a beacon that will override the will of the Outsider and call all Hive Scourge Drones within the surrounding states to its location." "In layman terms, yes." "And then we kill them." "Yes. Hopefully. There is still the matter of killing." "We need an army," I state. "Yes. Unfortunately, the human ones¡­ well¡­ they will not do. Oh no, they will not do at all. Not unless they are fully prepared." "So it is up to us?" "Indeed. I have already recruited all available Rosenthal mercenaries as well as all our standing forces. It will provide a core of professional monster killers for this initiative. As for the rest¡­ I have not decided yet." I sigh, and turn to leave. "Where are you going?" Constantine asks. Well, we need an army. I will get us a bloody army. "To cash in my chips. All of them." *** Later that night. "It could work. It should work," Jimena says, voice distorted by the mirror. "Can I count on the knight''s assistance in this matter?" "Are you kidding? I would have beaten you black and blue if you had not told me!" "What my dear subordinate means to say," Sergei of the Kalinin, knight squad leader, points out from behind her, "is that we will be there as soon as possible. Please give us a location." *** Boston harbor, even later that night. "The ship will sail, madam. Will you be joining us?" "I thank you for your consideration, but I need to gather a few friends before I head south. You will find your destination in the enclosed map. It is an abandoned village behind the Confederate lines. According to our calculations, the locale is both within the optimal range of the construct and heavily defensible." "What should we expect?" "There will be derelict houses with a pier, then a road heading west. South of the pier is a large promontory with a ruined fort at the top. The promontory is the most defensible position, with only a narrow strip of land allowing passage up. It is also large enough for our purpose. You will arrive first, so clear anything that lives here, and start making the fort habitable. The different groups will join you progressively over the following month." "You¡­ have already been there?" "Yes. The name of the village is Black Harbor, and it is there that the man this ship was named after died." *** Moonside, March the 8th, 1863. Something heavy hangs in the air. I can feel it in the wind. The fields, normally always filled with quarreling young betas fighting for supremacy, lie empty. The only illumination comes from the village''s main hall. Even a beginner mage would feel the concentrated, potent auras radiating from it. I dismount Metis at the edge of a wide crowd of werewolves holding torches. A veritable wall of shape-shifting monsters in human form stands facing me from wall to wall, yet when I stride in confidently, they part to let me through. The taste of the moon and the ferocious hunt hangs heavy in the air. I walk through the path they formed into the main square and the dais they raised there. Jeffrey stands proudly with a few of his lieutenants. He towers over them both physically and magically, the largest beast in the collection of packs. His open shirt shows corded muscles. I stop at a respectful distance. I will not bow, but I will show the respect he deserves. This is his land. We are allies. "Welcome, Ariane of the Nirari. We have all felt the change in the earth. What tidings do you bring?" I had no idea that Jeffrey could be concise. I will play the game, and give this moment the gravity it deserves. "The time to face the Hive has come. I call upon our old alliance, an agreement to fight side by side in times of danger. We have set a trap for them. Come with me, and we will lure the foes with the shadow of their own. We will gather them all in one point. We will kill them to the last. Now, I ask you, are you with me?" Jeffrey smiles, not his usual smirk but the satisfied grin of the man who just got his wish. He walks to my side and passes me. His steps carry him to the edge of the platform and the hundreds of werewolves amassed at his feet. "Wolves of the north, my brothers and sisters, how far we have traveled. Thirty years ago, we were slaves in lost forests of this world. We freed ourselves with tooth and claw. We came here to heal and to grow, and we did. We licked our wounds. We built our hearths. We left our marks on the forests and the fields. We made this place our home. But now, decades later, all of it is at risk. You know of what we face. I will not let overgrown locusts take my territory, because after all those efforts, we are strong, and we are ready. I call upon all the families. I call upon all the packs. I call for a war host! And let the Great Hunt¡­ begin." Jeffrey howls. The answering cry from the crowd shakes the very air as the light of the crescent moon reflects in four hundred glinting eyes. *** Marquette, IGL foundry, March 9th 1863 The stern Dvergur opens the warehouse gates, sliding the titanic slab of nailed wood on oiled railings as if it were a kitchen door. The suffused gas light falls on twenty forms covered in tarps. "Here they are," he says with a Swedish accent. Loth is pretty much in the minority when it comes to brogue. "A dozen twenty-four pounders, seven standard mortars, and one Skaragg arcane artillery piece." "Good. Pack it up and give me a list of what we have in terms of powder and projectiles. I will need our stored small arms as well." I expected an assent, but the old bearded fellow stands proudly before me. He is rather short for his kind, but he makes it up with absurdly large shoulders. "Helping you in battle was never part of our agreement." I hold his gaze and his stubborn defiance stops. Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. "I never asked for it," I remark pointedly, "you do not have to remind me of my oaths, mortal." "Aye, lady, no need to act like that. I am older than you." "Then you should know better. I merely ask that you prepare the guns for transport." The older man''s eyes shift inward. "Which ones?" "Every last one of them." He holds my gaze again, and this time he does not relent. "Even the Skaragg piece?" "Yes, Elgir, even my Skaragg piece. Which I claimed as a spoil of battle." "And you will have humans handle it." "Indeed I will." We keep quiet for a moment. I am about to be offered a boon, and so I wait lest the grumpy old baggage decides to withdraw it out of pride. "Can''t have those bumbling idiots manipulate such a fine exemplar of Dvergur engineering. We''ll come with you. But don''t think you can order me around or anything." I allow myself the smallest smile. "It is my privilege to have you by our side," I allow, "can you manage the logistical aspect of things?" "Woman, stop your provocations." *** Marquette, Red Cabal headquarters, later that night. "So the time has come?" the young leader asks me, fiery aura deployed. Merritt''s son has truly come into his own. "Yes, Oliver. I know that the Red Cabal is young and that you are still finding your marks, but I would appreciate it if you¡ª" "No need to ask me twice, Ariane. I know that you already called the wolves. This alliance, this coordination between all races, is what we have been created for. Where, and when?" "I knew I could count on you." "Yes, now where and when? I need to pull everyone back." *** Avalon, White Cabal stronghold, New York State, March 14th, 1863. The Council Room falls silent as I finish my proposal. "Who else is going to that battle? Who would stand by our side?" "Everyone I can find to hold the line until dark, then every battle-ready vampire on the continent." The calm declaration is received with stupefied expressions. Even the ever-irritating Cornelius has fallen silent. But not for long. "What guarantee can you give us that you will not leave us to die and only come to mop up?" he asks, but without malice. Even someone as stubborn as him knows what we are up against. I understand that he has also fought on the frontline with great courage. "Our mortals will be there. I do not have to tell you how strong a commitment this represents." The acid comeback dies on his lips. He takes a deep, calming breath. "So, you finally found a battle that could kill me?" Frost asks with annoyance from his seat. The rest of the council shows various signs of impatience at the outburst. "Well, old man, if a horde of world-ending cannibalistic creatures from some horror tale cannot end you, I do not know what to say," I reply genially. The levity of the comment gets me the reaction I was looking for. The Council relaxes. I hear a few chuckles. "Well, it could work, I guess. Where will it be?" "A place called Black Harbor. I will arrange transportation by ship from New York. My contact will be in touch." "How much time do we have?" Councillor Hopkins asks. The Black Dog sneers lightly and I see eagerness in his wrinkled face. The old trap master gave me some trouble back in the day with nothing but a shovel, wires, and quite a bit of powder. He will have considerably more resources at his disposal this time. "We have a month or two before our position becomes untenable." "Excellent. I will be sure to prepare a warm welcome. I already have a few ideas." *** City Point, Virginia, Army of the Potomac headquarters, March 17th, 1863 General Grant takes a puff of cigar and lets the blueish smoke expand through the dark room''s air. Even with the fading winter delaying the coming of longer days, our visit remains unusual in its lateness. I have taken the time to make sure that Sheridan was wearing a borrowed uniform so that it would look to an outsider like a courtesy visit by a subordinate. Even then, his guards'' suspicion has not abated. "I cannot acquiesce to your request," he finally says, but he raises a finger before we can object. "I understand the urgency of the situation, believe me. Unfortunately, my position as lieutenant general is not secured. The President went over a lot of heads to promote me despite my junior rank. I understand that Burnsides encouraged it, but General Hooker is livid and General Meade is not much better. I am not a man who enjoys court games while the soldiers bleed and die, but I also understand the necessities of politics. Many eyes are on my back right now, eager to see me fall. However¡­" he continues, then trails off. "However?" I ask. By my side, Naminata gives the man an encouraging smile. She looks gorgeous in a more conservative outfit than that which she usually wears, though the mischief on her gaze can never be truly dulled. She has chosen another human in officer garb to accompany her. She was the only one available to accompany me in this important task. I was slightly worried that she would let her playfulness get the better of her, but I was underestimating her. The same woman who hunts Merghol mana hounds with a smile is perfectly capable of acting demure as well. It just feels a bit weird to me. "It would be better if I showed you," Grant finishes and stands up. We follow him down the small cottage''s stairs and out into the winter quarters of the army of the Potomac. We leave a busy wharf clogged with ships on our left and turn inland, passing by white-tarped carriages being unloaded even at this late hour. The General leads us through rows of identical structures at the halfway-point between brick and tent, and a few longer wooden buildings. The uniformity and lack of adornments speaks of structures raised for the express purpose of housing awesome numbers in hygienic conditions. I dare not think about the miles of latrines dug around the city. It certainly smells that way, in any case. We walk for a good ten minutes in silence until we arrive at a clear demarcation in the camp. Where we come from, the tents were uniformly clean. In front of us, they are much less intact. Many of them show old stains, or were hastily repaired with mismatched swathes of cloth from other colors, giving the camp a slight air of carnival. The pickets salute us in silence, in the same clean blue uniform despite their camp''s poorer equipment. They are quite noticeably black. "At ease, boys," the officer allows before turning to us. "We have a lot of colored folks, not just negros, enrolling everywhere right now. Training is well under way for a lot of regiments. I can get you¡­ up to five full regiments of the most experienced ones, mostly people who volunteered earlier and who can already shoot. Plus two brigades of heavy artillery. How many of them do you need?" Six thousand men? Six thousand men, plus cannons? For meeeeeee? "We will take your entire stock," I declare, before being knocked on the head lightly by Naminata. "Hsss. What was that for?" I grumble. Such a display before the General! "You can''t take stocks of black folks anymore, darling. That is why this conflict started, remember?" "You strike me over semantics?" "Semantics is how we get the humans, my little lime pie." *** City Point, Virginia, Army of the Potomac headquarters, March 23rd, 1863 Moise took a look at the repeater rifle in his hands. It was a nice gun, heavy and powerful yet short enough to remain easy to handle. It was practically still shining under the pale February sun. There were pouches of cartridges on the table, and his fellow United States Colored Troops infantrymen were grabbing those and walking to their assigned positions. The firing range before them lay empty, save for lined targets. He approached Sergeant Freeman. Sergeant Freeman was a very tall, very strong fellow with a greying beard that reached his belly button and eyes that just looked like they''d seen everything. "Say, sarge, that''s a really nice gun there." "Yup." "And we got lots of bullets to try them out." "Yup." "It''s for us? For real?" "Yup." "Those shiny shooters?" "Yup." "And those white folks won''t ''requisition'' them from us when they see them?" "Ain''t no white army folks where we''re going." The private contemplated those facts in silence for exactly two seconds. "We''re goddamn done for," he finally said. "Yup." *** Black Harbor, Georgia, March 28th, 1863. The pale light of March had not yet dispersed a stubborn morning fog when some old white man in a black suit rolled into the regiment''s camp on some big carriage with the back covered in white tarp. The meadow was entirely covered in white tents and uniformed folks warming their hands over cooking fires. "Gather around, people, gather around," he bellowed. "Form ranks, on the double!" Freeman bellowed. He was the oldest NCO there and everyone listened to what he said. So Moise did. He and his fellow soldiers shuffled into lines with sullen airs. The white man waited without fuss, though Moise could see his keen brown eyes assessing them. When everyone was ready, he addressed them in a booming voice. "Now, we are going to be reinforcing this position over the next week," he said. Of course, Moise thought to himself, the white man brought them here to dig stuff. He should have expected it. "And I will be counting on your efforts. Now, I know that digging can be a thankless task so let me offer you a small incentive. In two weeks time, we will be receiving very special guests." The man stood and pulled on some rope. The tarp fell away to reveal a creature of nightmare. Moise jumped in fright, as did half of the line. "Jesus Christ¡­" "My god!" "Devil!" The monster shrieked and clawed at unyielding steel bars. Its black talons glistened ominously as it tried to cover abyssal eyes. The flesh was pale with bony ridges. It was¡­ a demon. Had to be. No natural event could result in such a horrible humanoid abomination. "This, gentlemen, is a Scourge Hive Drone. The smallest specimen there is." Moise''s blood froze in his veins. That thing was small? That thing was the smallest? "Ten thousand of the buggers are going to fall upon us before this is all over, and all that will stand between them and you will be the defenses you build under my careful direction. Now, I see that some of you are already getting ideas¡­" he continued in the same, even voice as his glare fell on a shifty man on the side of the line, "so let me remind you that you are surrounded by confederates and the drones. So unless you are very, very confident in swimming your way back to the north, I would urge you to take this seriously. If it''s any comfort, me and my men will be by your side when the foe comes." "Behind us, you mean," someone grumbled. "No," the man insisted, "by your side. The back is for the artillery." Moise sighed and went for his shovel. He hated being right, sometimes. *** Virginian wilderness, March 28th, 1863. "I must admit that I did not expect you to last so long," I tell the man before me. "Save your insults, demon. Remember that we may fail, but God is eternal and his justice¡ª" "Yes yes, please spare me the theatrics. I came here to tell you that the final battle is upon us." The Gabrielite''s eyes widen comically. "Not the end of the world, you lobotomized toad. The battle against the Scourge Hive. We are gathering south of here and you are invited to join us as part of the truce. I even brought you rations to help you go," I say. The man is clearly starving, and so are the other fighters behind him. I know that their hidden families barely fare better. "There is no catch. You come and fight and you will be allowed to walk away freely afterward. Those of you who make it anyway." "You expect me to believe that you would let us go?" "Yes, but you will understand when you see our camp." I see disbelief in his eyes, so I explain. "You will see exactly how insignificant you are, you self-righteous gnats. Does it make sense now?" The man''s eyes lower to the trailer behind me. He swallows his saliva. "How much food are we talking about?" Ah, the path to the heart of the man is truly through his stomach. Though I prefer a puncture between the ribs myself. *** Black Harbor, Georgia, March 29th, 1863. The sea at night carries a strange charm. The ebb and flow appears magnified under the light of the moon, and the smell of iodine and seaweed mix with the other attributes of the ocean to form a whole. The dark place of the hidden depths and sound of the waves eating at rocks bit by bit merge into that one singular entity, a portal to a hostile world that a careless footstep will activate. I have seen the depths, and what lurks below. If only in dream. I kneel on dark rock and slice a vein with a talon. The black blood carrying my essence falls in white foam and greenish algae like grasping limbs, off to carry my message. I settle to wait. It only takes an hour for an aura to brush against the edge of my perception. Much faster than I expected. Soon, a massive form emerges sinuously from the water. The sea woman is tall and muscular, her fishtail scarred and powerful. Yellow eyes focus on me, while a lipless mouth of serrated teeth lifts into a grin. "Nirari," she greets with a raspy, sibilant voice. "Good evening. I will fight this in a few nights," I say without preamble, and throw the arm of a drone. The shaman grabs it and sniffs it with two slits. She wears many strange decorations of coral and dull gold. The smell pushes her to recoil with a hiss. "Yes, an old enemy. Bitter yet strong. Nirari requires help?" "I will fight them with an army, and I want you to join. At night, from the flank. You will coordinate with my allies." I am not sure if she can understand complex sentences. As it turns out, I am underestimating her far too much. "We have little interest in the affairs of the dry lands¡­ but¡­" "But?" Her smile turns greedy. "The Fist of the Drowned God clan owes you a great debt. Powerful shaman. Many strong spawn. I will pay their favor to you. All of my warriors for one battle. Yes?" "I find your proposal agreeable." "Then it is done. We know. We will watch. We will come. We will shed their blood together and feast on the flesh of the fallen. Then, the debt will be repaid." "It is done." "We will watch you, Nirari. We will watch for a long time. I send my first daughter to occupy my seat in your war party." The shaman slithers away, and smoothly dives under a coming wave. *** Later that night. I ride Metis into the vampire camp. Armored carriages alternate with the many tents of household guards, mercenaries and private troops. The clash of so many auras in the same place gives me a feeling of weightlessness, as if reality here were more permeable. Masters and Courtiers check their weapons or spar here and there. They all raise their eyes to me as I pass by and follow me as I make my way to the command tent. Twenty-one lords and ladies wait in contemplative silence. The pressure of their aura would be crushing if they did not control themselves so thoroughly. They gather in a half circle around Constantine and Jarek. "Ariane. I thought you would be joining us?" the Progenitor asks with obvious disapproval. "No no no no," I chuckle, "you are joining me." Two hours later, Constantine''s eyes rest on the absolute death trap that Black Harbor has become. A mile of flat terrain, grass and stumps, then half that again in a dense network of moats, abattis, trenches and traps topped by an artillery park a modern army would not scoff at. And behind that, the masts of warships in bombardment range. As we watch, a convoy reaches the top of the slope, loaded with crates of ammunition. Hundreds of torches shed light on a forest of bayonets. "What in the name of the Eye¡­" "No gawking. And follow the road because there are burrowed mines and pitfalls on the way." I show serenity despite my smugness. S§×arch* The novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. No one can dismiss me anymore, or think me a servant of Sephare. I just demonstrated to my peers, for better and for worse, who has the most powerful military among all of us. Me. *** Black Harbor, Georgia, Alliance command room, March 30th, 1863. "So, this is it," Jarek says in his deep rumble. "We are all in agreement. You start the ritual tomorrow at noon and last until night. Then, we, Jeffrey, and the mermen attack. We will let the mortals coordinate themselves. Does anyone wish to add something?" No one says a word. "Then let the battle of Black Harbor begin." Chapter 143 - 138. Apex Moise woke up early and tired, just like everyone else. Today was the day. The regiments stood and gathered in morning prayer, then they had breakfast. It was the best breakfast he ever had with juicy bacon, boiled eggs, and bread that was not yet too stale. They even had some decent coffee. It was a shame that he had so much trouble keeping it down. Today was the day. And it started slow. All the men made ready at their own pace. He had a pouch, pockets bursting at the seams with cartridges, and a canteen. It was sunny and a little bit cloudy with a nice breeze coming from the Atlantic that brought with it a fresh smell. Flocks of gulls quarreled somewhere behind him. His regiment went to the front and center, descending in single file through ditches and passages defended with raised earth and sharpened wood branches. The going was slow. They had several lines, with quick, easily covered access to allow entire lines of combatants to retreat deeper into the fortifications. An army could not take them. Hell, with those ships behind them, rebels would break their teeth on their fortifications by the hundreds. But they were not facing rebels. Moise finally went through the last passage and arrived in front of the moat. It was a nice moat, filled with sharpened stakes. He had cut the ones in front of him with his own fingers until they bled with splinters. It was his spot. Iwan took the one to his left. Moise was the rightmost defender of his squad. White folks took the spot to his right. They were a grumpy bunch with antiquated pistols and brand new rifles someone had thrown them out of pity. A tall man with a long, wispy white beard threw him a disparaging look and shook his head. Well, the devil take you too, old codger. They settled to wait. That was, he thought, the worst part. Men sat where they were, their uniforms a bit dusty despite efforts to clean them. Smoke rose from the bastards who had filched tobacco somewhere along the way. Sergeant Freeman took a large pipe from one of his inner pockets and puffed on it contemplatively. Some soldiers prayed while others talked in hushed voices. Moise decided to pray. It could not hurt. But after half an hour he had gone through every hymn he knew three times and still hadn''t found salvation. He looked up the trench. There was not a damn thing to see, just mangled grass and stumps for half a mile. They waited. Moise eventually surrendered to boredom and joined a game of dice. They bet cartridges since there was nothing else around. Moise won three, then lost seven in a row. Above him, the lazy orb of the sun finally reached its zenith. Cooks walked down the line with water barrels and stew. They were also handed a piece of bread. Moise could barely taste it. Behind them, something happened. He could feel it along his spine. It started as a hum, then gradually grew in intensity until he felt it like a vast noise at the edge of his hearing, a ghost of some ear-splitting shriek he could not quite ignore. There was some devilry at work here. He had heard of it from some of the folks before they were scolded. Evil worshippers. But the monsters were real, or so the newspapers said, or at least that was what Jupe, who could read, had claimed. Moise scowled and looked forward. The demons he would face were very real. Better to think about that first. They sure were taking their time though. Early afternoon came. The sun was high and the temperature had gone to pleasant. It was so calm here, with the wind in his face and the sun warming his khepi, that he started to doze off. The tension of the past few days was getting to him. It was then that the entire line shifted. Moise felt it in the posture of the men around him. Suddenly, all rifles were pointing forward. There were creatures galloping far in the distance. White ones. They were just tiny dots at the edge of the field right now. Moise''s stomach suddenly filled with ice and dropped into his shoes. Cold sweat erupted over his brow and his lungs suddenly cried for air. Monsters were coming, and they were taking their goddamn sweet time. "Remember your orders," Freeman bellowed, "shoot when you have a shot. Not before, not after. Don''t miss or I''ll throw you sorry halfwits over the parapet!" "Sarge, what''s a parapet?" "That''s where your ass is going if you don''t aim!" Time passed with agonizing slowness. The distant shapes resolved themselves into eight creatures, seven small ones like he had seen and another that moved with a hunch. It was so large that it kept with the others through sheer size. "Damn¡­" Several imprecations echoed throughout the lines before the NCOs screamed at the idiots. Moise relaxed his shoulder and placed the barrel of his repeater on top of the earthworks. He breathed slowly. They were still a bit far. Someone shot to his left. Freeman yelled and smacked him. Moise could only hear the sound of flesh hitting flesh, babbling excuses, and a few snickers from the assholes to his right. The things were coming. He picked one at random and lined up the sights. He could see nothing but the smooth expanse of steel of the barrel and the blurred form of the abomination barreling down on him. Time slowed down, until he could feel every powerful thump of his heart resonating through his body. Someone else pulled the trigger, then the entire line erupted in an acrid blue mist. Moise may have hit his target, or he may have narrowly missed it. It did not matter. It would not have mattered. The almost solid cloud of lead shredded the attacking force like buckshot through a mouse. There was a red, pinkish cloud and flying bits, then it was over. "Hurrah!" someone yelled. The cry picked up across the entire camp. Hurrah, hurrah! The defiant roar surged down the hill and spread through the surrounding meadows. It spoke of the courage of man. It was a torch in the darkness of a cave. It was fire, unity, strength of arms to reveal the nightmare for what it was, the shadow of a much smaller, much more lonesome beast. They could do this. "Alright, alright folks, settle down. Settle down I said! Save that nice enthusiasm y''all got for the rest of''em." Moise moved his arms a bit to work the kinks in them. He pushed an extra cartridge in the chamber to replace the one he had lost and caressed the ''IGL'' image with his finger. Three letters with an eagle on top. They could really do this. Just had to stay calm. Twenty minutes later, another group popped from the bushes and ended up much like the first. Moise did not even shoot. There was no need. Then fifteen minutes later, another came. Then another. At two, there were continuous shots all across the line. It was three when the first man died, a freak friendly fire apparently. Moise saw the covered form being carried up on a stretcher on a passage to the left of him. Blood dripped from the back of the head. "Moise if you got time to gawk you got time to clean your gun," Freeman told him in a low voice. He looked at the field in front of him. Most of the pits had been revealed by now, having successfully slowed down the horde. The drones were forced to jump above or around them which slowed them down ever so slightly. He remembered that they had explosives around somewhere, which was why their artillery was supposedly still silent. Prayers rang in the air coming from his right again. A wave rushed from the edge of the forest. It was the biggest one yet, easily a hundred individuals spread in a sort of herd. "Hold fire until you get a shot!" Freeman yelled. There were small and large drones, some with strange bone plates on their chests and faces. They were tougher, but they did not stop bullets. Damn it all, but Moise was getting used to it. He lined his shot at a smaller drone almost to the front of him, and almost dropped his rifle when the creature started jumping to the sides. "Bloody hell!" The smaller drones were running haphazardly in strange patterns. Moise focused and pulled the trigger as his target landed. It hit the chest. Someone else''s bullet caught it in the leg and made the creature stumble, then a few more shots took it out entirely. The larger one fell as well with a burst head. One drone with a missing arm reached the line to his left. It jumped and landed in the ditch, twitching from a ruined chest. Freeman stepped up and drew his brand new revolver. He shot the head once and the creature''s erratic moves stopped. "Remember that those bastards like to play dead. What are y''all looking at? Eyes front, damn you!" Moise obeyed and saw something he had never seen before. The drones were retreating. "Bloody hell that ain''t good," the white man to his right said. Moise turned to him with some curiosity. Wasn''t it a good thing when your enemy flees? "Wachu looking at, nigger?" Moise returned his attention to the field and wondered if he could get away with shooting the bastard and passing it as an accident. Probably not. Silence descended upon the field, and, for the first time in hours, calm returned. The cloud of spent powder lifted ever so slightly. The smell of the sea returned timidly beneath that of fire. He could almost see the sky. Then there was a sound like nails on a piece of wood. It erupted all across the yet untouched meadows. Moise''s mind froze for the second time today when a thin white line appeared between the green of the trees and the brown of upturned earth. He leaned forward despite his best efforts. The line expanded and thickened. It turned into a squirming tide of pale flesh. The ground vibrated under their feet. "Hold fire!" Fear returned. Moise placed his rifle against the earthworks and tried to forget that the creatures could shake off grievous wounds for a few seconds. He had never felt so alone in his entire goddamn life. A heavy hand landed on his shoulder, forcing a jump. "Steady now, and watch those ears of yours because we are going loud!" Freeman yelled. There were a few whoops in the line but that was it. The things were closer now. Closer. There were so many of the damn buggers, and they had bigger ones that moved sinuously on four limbs. It was bad. Real bad. They came in range, and the world turned upside down. Moise stumbled back, hands on his whistling ears. There were little dark dots in the air, far above him, which he realized were pieces of soil. The air kept shaking with loud explosions left and right. One of them got really close and sent him stumbling again. A piece of drone arm landed next to him. The dead limb gathered into a fist slowly enough for him to see every muscle fiber contracting. The claws pierced skin and let out pinkish fluid. Moise stood back up. There was a lot of smoke. It took some time for the wind to disperse enough of the thick white stuff to see what was left. From the edge of the earthworks to the forest, the ground was craters and debris. There was nothing left of the horde but a scattering of corpses, few of them in one piece. Some people said things, but Moise did not hear them clearly. His focus was on one of the smaller drones back, far away from him. The creature had been the furthest of all mines and it climbed to its feet slowly, painfully. Despite the distance, despite the impossibility of it, Moise and the creature''s orbs met for a second. The distant buzz of the beacon at the back of his head became loud enough to drown every other sound in existence. it was an imperious order to come forward, and Moise took an involuntary step back. The call was so strong... Then the moment was broken, and he was back to being just a Massachusetts boy away from home and in far above his head. The survivors of the assault on the monster side crawled back to the trees. There was a lull. "Reload, reload and drink a bit of water if you can," Freeman bellowed, "steady y''all, this ain''t over yet." Moise blinked sweat away from his eyes. Some of the trees in the distance were moving as if a storm raged among them. Moise had built confidence over the past week. The stone promontory had turned into a nigh impregnable fortress. Hundreds of drones had died without slaying a single one of them. This faith evaporated in an instant. The land came alive with frenzied flesh. Thick, bone-plated monsters came first in a line three-creatures thick that covered the entire plain. The ground shook again. Behind him, cannons roared. The guns vomited steel at a range that made missing impossible. Canister shots dug bloody furrows in an ever-moving mass. The fallen disappeared under the galloping claws of those that came behind. As soon as they got near, fast-moving drones overtook the larger ones. They made use of the now-ruined terrain, jumping and turning as they went. Despite the acrobatics, none of them ever got in the way of another. Moise waited, then shot the ones in front of him. Good thing is, he could not miss. There was just no free space for the bullet to escape to. His first target crashed with a pierced shoulder. Another fell as well though he was not sure if it was his bullet or someone else''s. The din of detonations deafened him, just as smoke made his eyes burn. You could not hear a thing under the incredible racket of so many barrels roaring their fury, the wrath of mankind wielded in censure of whatever thing had spawned the foe. Moise spent one second considering how done-for he would have been without the repeater. The wave crashed into their fortifications. A first creature rammed itself into the sharpened stake and grabbed at him. Moise shot it in the head and slammed his back against the earthen wall behind him, frantically pushing more cartridges into his burning-hot gun. Another creature jumped over the first one but fell with its torso mangled. The soldiers on the tier above were covering him. The creature twitched. Freeman appeared from the side and shot it with his revolver, then moved further along the line. They were not stopping. There was a spurt of blood as someone got unlucky. Another soldier was thrown over the barricade and down into the gibbering horde below. His scream was cut short. Another drone climbed on top of the first. Moise chambered his first of four rounds knowing that he would be too late. There was a fire projectile, and the creature''s head exploded. Pieces of bone and humor ran down his uniform''s trousers. He turned around and saw a woman dressed in white standing behind and above. Fire flared from her fingers and found heads, each projectile aimed with deadly accuracy. He did not stop to wonder what she was using, or why there were men with shields covering her. Using the lull, he started to shoot to the side to lessen the burden on his allies. A drone smashed through the now-demolished stakes to his right and almost skewered the bearded man, but Moise shot it down. He never hesitated. It was man versus monster now. And the pressure lessened. They were killing drones faster than the monsters could come. Folks in white and red uniforms wielded strange weapons. Boneplate cracked, flesh bubbled under the onslaught. The larger specimens had all fallen. Sear?h the Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The tide of flesh turned to a trickle, then stopped as the creatures withdrew. He watched, mesmerized, as distant drones started to drag their dead back into the forest. "What the fuck are they doing?" he grumbled to no one in particular. "Reusing the flesh of the dead," the bearded white man said as he, too, reloaded and checked his gun. His companions muttered prayers. "Those devilish abominations use flesh to strengthen some of their numbers. And they got a lot of it alright. There was no need to have single strong creatures before, but now there is, and so they will come. It learns, that devil. It learns and it adapts." Moise moved aside as men ran with stretchers to the back line. The nurses knew how to stop the poison that turned folks into monsters, so long as they were not dead, or so he was told. It would not help some of the poor bastards he saw being carried, that was for sure, what with all the blood. There was another short lull. Moise reloaded and drank from his canteen to try and wash the smoke and horrid stench of drone blood from his throat, in vain. There were a few sparse shots here and there that made him wince. Supposedly, the drones could not turn a headless body. Folks were making sure. The man to his left, Iwan, silently gave him a repeater. "What''s that for?" "It was Jupe''s, but he''s wounded so it''s yours now. You don''t have to reload so often." "Alright then." They waited, and waited some more until late afternoon. The drones tried the same thing, but the assault was repelled with so many losses that the ground before him could only be seen when an artillery shell revealed it before corpses covered it again. Moise missed his first round. It went wide, a bit too high, probably hit something anyway. As the creatures pulled back once more, he could not help but think that the cannons were slowing done, and so were the men and, amazingly, women in black or red. He thought he knew why as he gingerly touched the barrel of his gun. It was burning to the touch. The heat was starting to get to him and he emptied his cantine, then took a discreet piss against the earthworks. Then it was time again. "How many of the fuckers can there be?" he complained. They waited once more. More wounded were brought up. In some places, drone corpses were piled so high that they obstructed the view, but no one moved out to push them away. He did not blame them. There was a rumble. Things started to emerge from the treeline, things that did not belong on this world. They were so large that he could see them clearly, as far as they were. He had seen engravings of elephants. They did not hold a candle to the behemoths now charging towards them. The cannons roared, the strange weapons lashed, but still the creatures kept going until, somewhere behind him, a signal was given. The ship guns opened. In front of Moise, a crimson flower of death bloomed on top of the beasts. The screaming inferno devoured ranks upon ranks of drones and left behind only charred husks. The devastation they wreaked defied description. Moise''s repeater felt like a toy. The behemoths fell one by one until more than thirty of their carcasses dotted the field, then the rest smashed through the first two layers of fortifications without stopping. Moise fell to his right under a shower of splinters. Pinkish fluid pooled by his feet until his very ankles soaked. Drones were everywhere, climbing over the wall. That was when Iwan fell against him with a strange black spike through the neck. "What the¡­" Above, the woman screamed and fell back between the two shield-bearers. She removed a spike from her arm and resumed firing down. Moise grabbed his second rifle and shot a drone as it fell on sergeant Freeman. They were cut off from the rest of the regiment. "First two barricades, fall back, fall back now!" someone yelled from behind. Moise helped Freeman up. The older man was bleeding heavily, even had one of those spikes in his flank. They stumbled to the path up. Freeman still blew the brains out of the drones coming to them. They passed under the barricade and to the next level. The white-bearded man had been waiting and shot a pursuer. The last defenders were making their way up. The battle was already raging there, and a flow of soldiers were climbing up and up under the cover of thrown blasting charges. There were bodies everywhere. "Keep going!" a man in a fancy coat said as he blasted the foes with two engraved revolvers, each shot putting something down. Moise kept going. Up and up they went. Freeman was getting heavier, or he was growing more tired. They passed ranks of firing infantrymen and a few cannons with barrels so hot they had started to glow. An officer was arguing with a nurse in white as he passed by. "You need to save some water for the wounded!" "If we don''t cool those guns down, there won''t be any wounded to save!" If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. At the back, there were rows of hurt men covered in bandages around three large white tents. The air was thick with the cloying scent of blood. He noticed lines of covered bodies to the side. A woman with white hair and red eyes grabbed him by the shoulder. "Over here, help him down on that stretcher," she ordered. Moise did as instructed. Freeman winced as he lay. "Got to remove the black stinger. Probably poisoned," Moise said because he felt so goddamn useless. The woman did not reply. She was busy applying a paste to Freeman''s shoulder where three puncture wounds leaked blood. "No need. I know the score, boy," the old sergeant said pointing at his flank, "ain''t no coming back from that one." Moise felt his eyes water even more now, probably all that powder in the air. Dammit. Were they all going to die on that mount? "None of that. You don''t give up, you hear? You don''t have the right to give up. I forbid it." "Yes, sarge, sorry sarge." "Mam, can you make sure that I don''t¡­" The strange woman gave him something to hold, a cross of sorts. "You won''t turn. You have my word. Hold tight to this." "Thank you. Now, boy, you go. Take this." Freeman pulled his buckle open and roared, removing the whole belt. Moise was left with the piece. Freeman shoved his revolver in Moise''s palm. "Now you go. Give them hell for me." "Yes sarge. Farewell." "Go with God, boy." Moise about-faced without a word. He realized that he had dropped his repeater somewhere along the way and picked up a piece some other idiot had discarded on the ground. He had one pouch of ammo left. He climbed back down the hill into a hellscape of smoke and fury, dyed red under the setting sun. Chaos had spread over the lower tiers, and that was where he stopped. Regiments had mixed. He found the white-bearded man near the port-side cliff and joined his side because why the hell not. There was a man with a shield and pistol by his side, and soldiers from other companies. He picked his targets and shot again, and again, and again, without stopping. Sometimes, the man with the shield would point at strange drones with an overly large right arm and black spikes on their back. Those were the assholes that had killed his friends. He picked them off one by one. The drones retreated again. The din of battle gave way to a soft layer of moans and prayers. The sun was setting and its last scarlet rays kissed a scene of carnage the likes of which the world had never seen. Blood and corpses and mangled limbs for half a mile expanding in a cone towards a meadow on which a white blob was growing. Men and women progressively stopped doing whatever it was they were busying themselves with. Artillery servants froze with water buckets in their hands. Cartridges stopped at the edge of chambers. Canteens remained in the air, their precious contents forgotten. Silence covered the camp like a thick layer until even the wounded kept their peace. Night fell. An enormous weight crashed upon Moise''s shoulder as the background scream that had lasted for so long that he had forgotten about it sputtered and died. The white blob on the horizon walked to them, a titan of unholy flesh, an aggregate of defiled bodies. It was massive as a temple. Each of its three-pronged limbs shook the earth as they descended to carry it forward. A myriad of black eyes covered most of its face, growing between and around bone plates like so many cancerous growths, but that was nothing compared to its sheer presence. The dominating, heavy aura pushed on Moise until all he could do was to whimper. The thing came, and no one shot. Not one cannon spat. Not one gun discharged. The camp remained unmoving. Moise prayed for the strength to meet death on his feet. Behind the creature, drones of all sizes swarmed until they covered the plain. The leviathan of flesh arrived. Moise had never felt so alone, so isolated in his whole life. It took all of his strength not to fall. "Took your sweet damn time, you big ugly lug," a voice said. It belonged to an old man in a fancy white robe walking down the slope holding what looked like a miniature moon. It was a normal, human voice like you could hear at the market gently chiding a wayward child. It wavered slightly with old age. It was not even loud at all. And yet, it carried across the camp as its owner persisted, and wherever he went, fighters stood and grabbed their weapons. The thing extended its clawed limb, but the old man would not have it. "Polaris." A refreshing cold spread over Moise''s skin and he shivered, cool for the first time in hours. The giant''s arm froze solid and fell, spintering on the ground like a mighty tree. It was the size of a locomotive. The old man raised his fist and another, smaller moon materialized. "And here I thought I would die in my bed." The creature stopped, and for the first time, looked. So far, Moise realized, they had not existed in the drone''s perception except as targets and resources. But now, it saw him, and them. It saw Moise too. Moise lifted his revolver and cocked it. All around him, others were doing the same. The bearded asshole by his side chuckled. "Never thought I''d fall fighting side by side with a nigger." "Go and fuck yourself." The old man chuckled harder. The ranks of mankind fell in. Cannons were realigned and a forest of steel barrels rose, defiant, against the tide. They did not get to fire. Something was coming. The skies lost their dark red hue and gained an eerie, otherworldly dye of purple. Far away to the north, a guttural man''s voice said something that he did not understand. The following roar fought against the Hive''s presence and pushed it back. It was not a nice or reassuring sound, no, it was¡­ eager. Somewhere else, wolves howled while below them, near the port, the waters churned. With agonizing slowness, the behemoth waved its horrid head towards the source. It shifted away. "What was that?" Moise whispered. "That," the man with the shield said, "was our monsters." And he shot the closest drone in the head. *** Earlier that afternoon. I come to and focus on the tiny connection in my mind. Sheridan is still alive. It always surprises me how little control we have over our Vassals. Perhaps their very independence is the source of what makes them so valuable to us. It does not help with my serenity. I want to go out and find him, but I cannot. The sun is still there. The sarcophagus lid slides to reveal grey stalactites. We have decided to hide ourselves in a natural network of caves a few miles north of Black Harbor proper, all while leaving armored carriage in a decoy camp. Other secured resting places lie around me, some open, some not, as some Masters still slumber. I gear up in silence as my senses sharpen and I can finally hear it, in the distance, muffled through thick layers of rocks. The retort of cannons. The battle is raging. Despite my best efforts, I feel the overwhelming need to go out and help them, help him, but I cannot. The mere sight of sunlight would deaden that urge, assuming that I would be foolish enough to go through the artificial wall Martha of the Lancaster has raised. Avoiding the sun is such an integral part of me that I had forgotten how frustrating the weakness could be. With nothing better to do, I walk to the deeper cavern in search of my kin. At least, we can suffer together. I soon realize that something is wrong. The auras below are tense. Guarded. Much more so than they should be. Fearing that something may have created a rift in our fighting force before the battle could even begin, I hurry down the slippery slope. The heart of the complex soon comes into view, a circular room centered around a pool of salt water shining softly with fluorescent algae. At first, I can only see armored backs, each piece of equipment showing masterful work and the journey of its wearer. They are all turned towards the center of the room. Unity against a single threat then. I do not hide my aura out of courtesy, and approach the group at a brisk pace. The group parts to let me through without a look. I feel eyes on the back of my neck. The reason is soon clear. A half-circle of the continent''s most powerful entities glare ahead at the single figure sitting, facing Constantine on an onyx chair seemingly risen from the depths. The cavern has turned into an amphitheater with a play that could kill us all. "So kind of you to join us, little princess," he says. Fuck. Malakim stands by his side with his arms crossed. Our eyes meet and he smirks, tapping the pommel of one of his knives. I remember the night I spent under his orders and the statement he made. He would always hate me, and he would enjoy killing me. Nothing would ever change that. "Now that your spawn has arrived, perhaps you would elaborate on your offer?" Constantine tells him in a glacial tone. He, too, sits on a throne of obsidian rising from the basalt floor in a geological impossiblitly. Where our Speaker shows no fear, Nirari shows no concern at all. He lounges like a well-fed cat. "I will join your charge if you let me head it. That is all." No one whispers, no one moves. Powerful auras only let out the barest of flickers, but even such minor variations are a sure sign of the avalanche of resentment now coursing through the small crowd. Nirari settles his back against the throne and waits, a hint of sardonic smile on his lips. "That is all?" "That is all." "Will you leave afterward?" The smile fades. "Yes. I have matters of import to attend elsewhere." It returns. "But I will be sure to return at some point. We progenitors should maintain cordial relationships, do you not agree?" "Why would you lead, and why would we follow?" "I lead because I do not tolerate pests on my planet. You can feel it as well, all of you, the shadow cast by the Outsider. What you may not know is that it is a dead thing operating on directives that no longer matter. It cannot accomplish its goal. It is too far gone to succeed." "And what goal would that be?" "To live again. As for the second part of your question, I will allow the little princess to explain." What? The weight of the collective attention crushes me like a boulder. It is all I can do to look forward and hide my discomfort. "Tell them, little princess. Tell them why they should follow me." I hate Nirari, and one day I will try to kill him. For now, this ideal remains a distant prospect. What matters is the task before us tonight, and for me, accepting his offer is an obvious thing. So obvious, in fact, that I struggle to make a point. "We will ride with the First." I am back almost a century ago when I was under the scrutiny of my tutor, trying to express what I remembered of the story I had just read. I know what I know, I merely struggle to convey it. I start explaining then, and the words flow more easily. "We are the essence of conquest. You would ride under the banner of the deadliest warlord on earth. We would fall upon them like the chariots of Babylon on the barbarians. You¡­ you will feel the sun on your skin, the wind in your hair. You will hear the arrows whistle. You will touch the very essence of the hunt, of the charge. It will be unforgettable, but it will also carry a price." Now, I have their attention. "And what would that price be?" "Tell them, little one, tell them of my struggle. You are friends with the paper hoarders. They must have told you." "He¡­ he wants to take over." "Over what?" "Everything. He fights his mother, the greatest witch who ever lived and the first immortal. When the last battle arrives, you will remember the rush and ride with him. Perhaps. That is the price." My outrageous statement is received in silence. The others show no signs of acknowledgement, of course. "Disappointing, little princess. You are holding back so much. Very well then, I will tell you myself. You plot and scheme and hide in the shadows. You mask yourself with proxies, companies, and agents. I do not begrudge you your courts, nor do I fail to understand their value. I merely wish to remind you of what you truly are deep inside." Nirari''s aura lashes out. Like a tidal wave, it washes over us in violation of politeness and respect. In an instant, the forty apex predators hiss and bare fangs and weapons. Spells whistle as they charge up, but the tide ebbs as quickly as it came. "This. This is what you truly are." Nirari stands up and opens his hands before us. "Hunters. Killers. Apex predators designed by a nascent god to harvest whatever it is he seeks. We love to win more than we love to reveal ourselves, but fortunately, tonight, we can do both. So join me. Join me to ride down those intruders who would seek to take what is ours. Join me without bell and without leash, free of shackles and oaths. Join me as you are. Remember what we stand for. Then, you can go on your merry way for a few more decades. But tonight, tonight we will turn the fields red under the hooves of our Nightmares, a vision of the world''s past and future alike. Join me and know. I await your decision." The first of all of us sits down comfortably on his throne like an emperor in his palace. No one speaks for a while. Finally, Constantine breaks the silence. "You seek to consume the foe." "I have done it already, and I will do it again. With, or without you." Constantine contemplates the offer for a while. "We need to discuss. Will you please grant us some privacy?" My sire sneers and chuckles, but to his credit, he leaves. I think his ability to negotiate and compromise scares me almost as much as his ability to destroy. The deliberations begin immediately. "Jarek, you were to lead the charge tonight?" the Speaker starts. "I would object if he and I were evenly matched, or if his word could be doubted. We know that Nirari always keeps his oath. I want to slay the Hive to the last drone tonight before the mortals turn on us. I have no objection." "It would be unwise to refuse him," Sephare adds from the side. "He was canny to come to us at this late hour," one of the Roland twins adds, "We do not have the luxury of time. I say we let him. His presence gives us cachet." "I want to see if he is as good as they claim," Jarek''s second adds. In the end, the decision is taken extremely quickly. The only people who grumble are those whose kin were murdered by Nirari at some point, and even they rally to the main opinion quickly. We all have too much stake in the success of this endeavor. We invite Nirari back to let him know that we agree. Everyone pretends that it was a well-considered decision. He departs through the actual walls using the spell I learned from his book. The mood turns to worry after that. It takes a lot for us to show emotion, but right now even a dense mortal could feel the tension in the air. Many of us have Vassals on that hill, though they are mostly in the back line. I know that Sheridan still lives. It could change at any time. There are few conversations to be had. We have such excellent hearing that anything spoken here might as well be spoken before the assembly. With so many heavily enchanted arms and armors around, we look like metal-clad generals pulled from so many paintings ranging from the Middle-Ages to the late Renaissance lounging across the cavern like a pack of wolves between hunts. The seconds pass with agonizing slowness. The roars of cannons do not abate. Every ten minutes or so, a new armor-clad Master climbs down the stairs to take their place at our side. Our numbers swell until every nook and cranny hides a warrior eager to go. Melusine joins me at some point and sits by my side without a word. We feel it. Soon. Soon. Now. The sun dips below the horizon and the cavern sighs in relief. The world cools and expands around us. "It is time!" Jarek says. We rush up the stairs with such speed that we leave the place empty within the span of a breath. We jump in a rush over the seaside cliff and onto rock. All faces turn south. Smoke, thick and dark, forms a heavy black curtain from the fortress we left behind up to the skies. The first layers are empty and ravaged, burning with low embers. The guns have fallen silent. They have stopped fighting. Something is walking to them. It is large, larger than anything here has a right to be, a moving building of apocalyptic proportions. I do not know if I could take it down if it stopped moving and let me try. And behind it, a sea, an ocean of flesh. Drones so thick and numerous as to blot the land like maggots on a corpse. A seething, squirming tide without an end. Nirari watches the show in silence. He wears an obsidian-colored plate armor that looks thick enough to stop a cannonball. On his head, he places a crowned helmet with bone protrusions and I believe that I am looking at a dragon''s smaller teeth. He raises a fist and a large Nightmare emerges from behind. The signal is given. The woods around us darken until the light of the stars themselves dim as silence descends upon us. A wave like a pebble thrown in a placid pool expands towards the nearest drones. Nightmares emerge from behind, more of them than I have ever seen in the same place. Dozens of them gallop out and stop before their riders. I climb on Metis and see John running to his stupidly big charger while Melusine is already waiting for us. Those without a mount will form a roaming group on foot. There are almost a hundred riders. The Nightmares snort and form a wedge, with the most powerful of us at the tip. Nirari, then Constantine and Jarek, then the strongest lords and ladies. The First Vampire spares an amused glance to our right, inland, where the howls of wolves let us know that our allies are in play. Under and around the fortress, the waters boil with the arrival of the rulers of the depths. We are ready. Nirari deploys his full aura. He is soon joined by all the others, including me. At this precise moment, we are no longer competitors. At this moment, we are one. The edges of reality bleed in as creation itself turns more liquid, more malleable. Our concentrated power sends ripples into the hordes before us and, one by one, the despicable things turn their abyssal eyes on us. The heavens turn a deeper shade of purple. The Watcher''s Eye is wide open. Nirari''s voice echoes throughout the valley, both calm and incredibly loud. "No dead god will I allow to tread what is mine! No prey will I let defy me!" Purple light shines on the drones'' pale flesh. We are doing it. We are bringing the Watcher into the world. Its light shines on everything. "And no challenge will I leave unanswered. Come, my kin, and scour the land with me. Crush them, leave none alive, and may the world run red." Nirari calls upon his soul glaive and the pressure increases yet again. Heartseeker, which he only wields when fighting seriously, rises above our heads. I call upon Rose as blades and spikes as black as onyx join the call. Malakim blows into a mighty horn and the entire Hive, from the smallest drone to that abomination in the distance, focuses on us. "Charge!" We start at a normal horse''s gallop and keep accelerating. At the same time, we move away from each other to leave each fighter room to spare. We are going faster still. Martha casts a massive spell and our speed increases once more, the air practically dragging us forward. The tide has seen us. They are coming our way, all of them, including the faraway Behemoth. Nirari roars in challenge and we add our fury to his. We are so close now. There are so many of them, some as large as elephants. "Magna Arqa." "Magna Arqa!" "Promethean." "Shred!" A hundred spells and powers erupt around me. Melusine''s signature fire bolts roar along my blood magic ones. There is no impact. We advance and the first hundred yards of drones simply ceases to exist. We do not even slow down. I see arms, faces, and a lot of eyes but it does not matter. Rose shreds through them like paper, and I have my allies by my side doing the same. John sends shattered parts flying in the air. A great HUNT. I roar in pleasure as we carve a path through the ever-coming horde. We advance and slaughter them by the hundred, but then, someone''s Nightmare screams on the side and I see it, spines flying through the air. "Close rank!" "Shield!" We contract our formation. I use Rose to knock projectiles off the air for John and Melusine. There. RANGED PREY, PROTECT METIS AND KIN. The return fire is immediate and devastating. "Flay." "Inferno." "Heartseeker bolts." Spells explode all around us, targeting those strange spine-throwing drones. Packs of them turn to ash. Constantine screams and massive chains as long as ships whip through the drones, sending great numbers of them to the ground, broken. On our right, the werewolves are fully engaged in a massed formation. They advance more slowly, but they do not stop. YES, JOIN OUR REVELS. The purple light of the Watcher still shines across the battlefield to push our foe to a frenzy. We are surrounded on all sides. It does not matter. They cannot stop us. The charge continues. The wedge''s flanks have contracted to form a circle with the younger members protecting our back. I find myself on the left side of the formation, towards the edge. My task is to fend off the spikes and slay the closest foes. I know this in my essence. It is the proper way. We move south in a slaughter without end. They come. I kill them. I knock spines off the air. More come and I kill them too. Rose''s thorns and edge devastate those that dare approach. John smashes the larger specimen with methodical rage. Powerful spells from our casters clean entire columns. They do not stop coming, and we do not stop slaying. Sometimes, there is a scream of pain from one of us and our numbers diminish. Finally, there is a small lull on my flank as we approach the fortified promontory. An army of fish folks has diverted part of their number, slaughtering the drones that had attempted to climb and flank the humans. Their hisses and tridents keep the drones at bay, though they stay close to the sea. I hear a loud thump. Our three most powerful fighters jump forward from their mounts. Martha, now the senior fighter, leads us to the right as the trio faces the Behemoth. It has grown once more as smaller drones climb on it and fuse with it. The cavalry group maneuvers around the titanic struggle. The behemoth opens with an aura whistle that flattens the ground before it. Nirari pushes it off with its own aura, the clash between the two turning straight lines curved and tortured. Constantine bombards it with spells that leave bleeding, fuming craters behind. It answers by opening strange rifts and growing very thick plates. The rifts swallow the spells as if they had never existed while the thick plates resist the sharp attacks. Constantine retaliates by manifesting translucent chains that disperse the rifts like a fan blowing smoke away. The bone plates thicken more. I finally spot Jarek as he returns, having run back and forth to gain momentum. He jumps. "Magna¡­ ARQA!" The cyclopean gauntlets crash into the thing''s chest. Seismic waves send nearby drones sprawling on the ground while the creature''s entire torso shatters, great slabs of flesh falling on the ground. They close as more of the drones fuse their flesh with the construct. I feel it, somehow, a hollow will to live backed by nothing but cold automatism, like a decapitated beast walking a few steps more. Then there is no more time and I return my attention to the fight ahead. Our charge sweeps everything in front of us until the detonation of cannons stop. We are at the edge of the fortifications. The ground is covered in drone bodies so thick that I cannot spot the earth beneath. A veritable mount of bodies blocks access to the humans beyond, though a few drones still climb them. They are shot down as soon as they reach the top. "On foot now, form a line and cover the humans." We obey and our Nightmares form a herd behind us, before riding south and leaving us to our task. They crash through the few drones there and disappear in a thicket. The nearby forests grow darker and stay darker. The fabric is thin here, thinner than usual. I call upon a bolt, and it forms effortlessly. "Cut them down!" We follow Martha''s voice and stand our ground. The drones are endless and we kill them endlessly, stepping on the corpses of their brethren as the mountain of the dead grows ever higher. I lose myself in the rhythm. Slash, cast, deflect. Cover Melusine when she casts a more complex spell, and John when he advances to crush a larger beast. They, in turn, help and cover their neighbors. It is a dance as old as time, one where a single mistake can cost dearly. Sometimes, someone fails but the rest picks up the slack. I will not fall here. ONCE MORE. Cut. ONCE MORE. Cast. Every new enemy slain by Rose adds to my essence until I feel it BUBBLING WITH¡­ Oh no. Thorny roots explode out from under piles of corpses to grab and lacerate drones. I feel my essence deplete like a pierced balloon. And then a pair of claws grabs my neck and the essence simmers down. "You are not quite there yet, child," Martha says with a little condescension. Then she bellows another order. "Hold the line! Mages, with me! You too Ariane." The command falls to Adam, one of the Rolan twins who contracts the line again as a dozen masters and a lord detach from the group. We rush over the fortifications, ending nose to nose with a thick line of surprised defenders. By the Watcher, they are grimy. "We are friendlies," Martha assures. The men and women''s eyes land on our blood-soaked gear and intimidating weapons. "We really are. Let us through." She pushes with a bit of Charm and their tired psyches accept her gentle touch. They part and we climb through ditches, trenches, and passages. It looks like more of the defenders made it through than I had feared. I even spot a few Gabrielites mingling with soldiers from other groups. Our path leads us up, where many wounded are attended by tireless White Cabal healers under the direction of Sola, the albino mage. We find most of the archmages in a half-circle around a lone tree. I notice that they are all wounded. Carmela, the blonde fencer who is no longer scared of werewolves, even holds the stump of her right hand. I move away from my group to see what this is about. Frost sits against the trunk with a slightly annoyed expression. His eyes are closed and his hands grasp a bottle of expensive brandy. He is also quite dead. I address William, the shadowy heir apparent to Hopkins. "Does it count?" I ask. "Who knows with the old bastard?" he replies with a chuckle. Martha calls me and I leave. We follow a small path along the cliff on the side of the abandoned village. I look down to see a dense formation of fish folk fighting with oversized tridents, spearing drones before they can reach them. As I watch, a large wave covers the front ranks of the creatures and drags them towards the sea where unaffected mermen butcher them. The second group of vampires and the werewolves are still cutting their path towards us in the distance. their progress has slowed to a crawl. "Come on, Ariane, do not dally. We must reactivate the beacon." I follow Martha and the other mages to a cliffside grotto, this one man-made. We find Constantine''s device inside. The mages in charge of its activation lie around with congealed blood marring their eyes and ears. One of them is dead. "You can rest, we shall take over," Martha says. One of the mortals nods and helps the weakest member of their team up. I know what to do, Martha and I link hands, as do the others. We take our spots around the construct to chant. The beacon clunks back to life. Our essence pushes in and we open our mouths. A low drone rings at the edge of my hearing. We stay like this for hours, sharing the burden between each other. The beacon pulses against the Scourge Hive''s nefarious influence, disrupting it, preventing it from adapting efficiently. We hold against it until the waves of power lose strength, until it turns from a torrent to a trickle. Finally, as dawn approaches, they fall silent. We deactivate the construct and return to the surface. The land around us is devoid of combat. Only the moans of the wounded remain. The war is over. We have won. Chapter 144 - 139. End of an era Boston, vampire fortress, seven days after the battle at Black Harbor. "... recommend that those so-called werewolves be either kept in reserves where their tendencies would not lead to bodily harm, or that they be culled entirely out of mercy. Only the Lord may bring an end to their suffering, but only we can ascertain that they do not contaminate us. "The last segment of this report concerns creatures called ''vampires''. For reasons that will soon turn apparent, reliable information of vampires has proven extremely difficult to acquire. In fact, the committee would have relegated them to the domain of speculation, were it not for the compelling similarities in the testimonies we collected on the elusive creatures. Witnesses, mage and mundane alike, all agree on several elements. "First, vampires look and sound like humans, and most agree that they possess an uncanny charisma that allows them to infiltrate every strata of society. They spread their influence over their domain until every other supernatural group either leaves or falls under their spheres of influence. Mages, in particular, have mentioned ''night-held towns'' as hostile cities where uninvited visitors disappear after dark. "This leads us to the notion of night. It is a universally accepted fact that vampires dislike the rays of the sun, and that they may not even survive them. Vampires cannot enter a home without being invited ¡ª please note that it does not extend to public works ¡ª cannot be present on sacred ground, and fear fire with a passion. "Those weaknesses do little to offset their incredible strengths. Depending on whom you ask, vampires move faster than the eye can see and easily display impossible feats of strength. One retired mercenary in particular, while deep in his drinks, admitted that he had seen a male specimen slaughter a whole squad of soldiers in the time it had taken him to raise his rifle. Others spoke of bodies savaged as if by grizzlies. Although fear and exaggeration may have inflated their reputation, vampires seem capable of amazing feats of physical prowess. "Despite their blatant weaknesses and arguably low numbers, we recommend that vampires become the main focus of our group. Indeed, the lack of reliable information would indicate that they are the most dangerous, cohesive group. They may have already infiltrated the highest levels of the government. If we wish to safeguard the sanctity of our nation, it is imperative to uproot the most insidious supernatural elements before we can address the larger problems of mages, whose removal from society will require effort on a much larger scale¡­" I place the report on my desk and look across the room at Sephare. The petite vampire daintily puts her cup down, taking her time in an affected fashion that sets my teeth on edge. "It was inevitable. Revealing our influence was going to create a backlash," she observes. "And we all agreed that it was preferable to pierce the abcess now to limit the risk of a public opinion shift against us." "Yes. Of course. Still, the distrust of werewolves means that we will have to feed some of them to the government''s supernatural control body sooner or later. Their tolerance of us will only diminish as time goes on. The government is decided by election and elections are carried by the masses, not the city elites. They will need their bloodbath." "Then I suppose that we must find them ferals soon." "Ariane." "If you are considering taking my werewolves, the answer is no." "Ariane, a sacrifice..." "HSSSSS!" Sephare opens her hand in a gesture of appeasement. "Perhaps we can revisit this topic later." "There is nothing to revisit. Those under my protection will not be forced to surrender a loved one for the sake of pleasing backward bumpkins who will only want more. Lynching is a bloodsport, Sephare. People love bloodsports. They always have." "What we need now is time. Are you truly willing to die on that hill?" "Someone is dying on that hill, Sephare. I am a Devourer. We keep our words in spirit. Do not go after my allies out of convenience when the country is filled with groups we would not mind seeing gone instead." "Hmmm. Perhaps you are correct, or perhaps you also need to learn how to bend." I half expected that. By helping to gather such a large army, I have become a problematic element within the Accords. The contrast between my official position as a minor actor and the influence I wield fills others with distrust. It does not matter that it was a one off, with most factions agreeing to follow me out of necessity and as reward for past favors. Our kind likes clearly marked hierarchies, at least until the next major power play. Sephare is subtly suggesting that I allowed myself to be ''put down''. Roll on my back and offer my throats to pacify the rest. Clearly, she does not understand how Devourers think. I only bend if I have already lost. "Submitting now will not erase our kin''s memories of Black Harbor." "It would help." "Not if it comes from me. I could not be genuine." She sighs. "Very well. Come, Constantine must be waiting for us." We stand up and leave Sephare''s busy office. Mortals rush past us as we cross the velvety corridors of the fortress'' brand new wing, used exclusively for matters of governance. We walk out into the summer night and across a garden of roses, gathering a lot of attention as we go. The number of mortal attendants has increased dramatically in the past few years. I greet Wilhelm the butler as we enter the main building and we are let out into Constantine''s office by his silent bodyguards without issue. The Speaker invites us to sit with a gesture as he hurries to finish a message. When he is done, he takes the time to clear the space before him. I recognize this ritual as the premise of a long speech. It means that he will dedicate his entire mind to the exchange. "Ariane, thank you for coming. We are forming a government." "Ah?" I thought we already had one? "Do not ''ah'' me, young one. We are getting more and more involved with the affairs of the mundane world. The Accords will require a unified executive branch to direct our influence. Sephare and I have started to distribute the main roles and make sure that every alliance has their say. I have surrendered internal security and treasury to the southern faction, for example." Taxes! Arggggg. "We were thinking about you for the office of supernatural relations, as part of the diplomatic branch under Sephare. You have already proven yourself quite capable at handling other groups. Would you be interested?" I think about it for a good minute. "I have two conditions." "We are offering you an important government office and you have demands?" Constantine asks with a frown. I hiss softly in answer, though it is a faux-pas. The past ten days have been harrowing in many ways. "Do not pretend that it could not be a garbage, thankless position. I can already imagine it. The mortals come to me with grievances and I am brushed off by my peers, then vampires demand that I force unruly allies to fall in line. I end up caught between a hammer and hard place, despised by all. Please." Constantine turns contemplative. Of course, it did not occur to him. He merely inspected a list of tasks to be done and matched a job description to each, not even considering how those could be abused and twisted. He is still enamored with systems, and dismissive of the people seeking to exploit them. "Perhaps I should ask someone else if they want the position," he tells me curtly. "Then do so. I care not," I reply, calling his bluff. I would rather have someone else place their hands in that absolute bear trap of a job. Sephare smiles with indulgence. "It would not hurt to hear those conditions. After all, we might even gain insight into the structural weaknesses of our little project." "Oh, very well. Do enlighten us, Ariane." "Right. First, I need the authority to enforce compliance and cooperation from my peers. If I tell a Warden to stop fighting and wait for council-backed arbitration to solve their dispute instead of killing everyone, I need to be able to stop them by force if they simply ignore me. Similarly, if we decide to assist allies with defending themselves, I need the backing and assistance of our kin in combat. Otherwise, I would merely be a glorified messenger." "Compliance is a matter of internal security while war is under the purview of Jarek. It would also go against my wish that every vampire remains the supreme authority within their territory. Hmmm. A difficult choice." "You will have to decide." "Indeed. You have raised a valid concern. I will rethink the position and come back to you, if that is agreeable. In the meanwhile, you had another condition?" "Yes. I can only enter the function in a decade. I am going to join the knights." This must be the first time that I see true surprise on Constantine''s hawkish face. Even his aura flickers. "You what?" "I am losing control of my aura. Jimena believes that knight training will help me reach the next step or at least help me bring the situation under control. As you know, if I follow the training to its conclusion, I will be honor-bound to assist the knights for at least ten years." "But¡­ I was informed that such weakness was merely temporary¡­" "Yes and in the meanwhile I am terribly vulnerable. Unpredictable urges leave my essence so depleted that I can barely run at a human speed. This is a recipe for disaster. I am leaving." "Ah, I see. I had not realized that the problem had become so dire. In that case, you may decide on a deputy while you are away. Melusine, perhaps?" "She is too busy with managing our common wealth, and will be even busier when the war ends. Say, would you object to a Rosenthal?" "Of course not. Ah, you mean one who still has loyalties to that crone?" "Yes." "I see no objection, but remember that their behavior would be your responsibility. I will go back to you on the position I offered. In the meanwhile, the council is about to start. Let us go now." *** Accords Council room, fifteen minutes later. "And as for our first order of the night, questions addressed to Ariane, Warden of Illinois. Warden, you have the floor. You may select who will ask the next question." I fully expected my peers being about on edge over the whole affair, and I was warned beforehand anyway. I have no issue confronting them. I wave a hand to invite someone relatively neutral, the Warden of Maryland, to speak. "Did you know or expect in any way that your sire would be present." "I had no idea that he would be present, no, nor did I cooperate with him beforehand. I have also not been in touch with him since. This is the truth. On my blood I so swear." The Warden nods to show assent and backs out. The next to speak is Vadim of the Vanheim, who alone can ride a Nightmare through their native dimension. "Are the werewolves safely corralled, and will they become an issue in the future?" "They have returned to my territory, yes." "And what are they doing?" How would I know? Do they expect me to ride out every day and discuss their business over tea and crumpets? "Digesting?" Vadim raises an amused brow, but does not press the matter. He and I are of a mind on my subjects, simply by being outsiders with very little link to our clans. The next person is the replacement for Yann, Warden of Virginia, the same whom Constantine slew in this very room. He is a recent lord by the name of Benoit, who clearly opposes the faction I belong to. His strict demeanor has irked a few of us, but there is no denying his administrative skills. He is as good as the Speaker and considerably smoother. He bears the manners of a private, dark-eyed tutor elevated to raise a prince and who has been insufferable ever since. "We are concerned about a group of notoriously unruly creatures left uncontrolled, especially in these troubled times. For the sake of all, you must allow us to supervise them, and implement whatever measure we deem necessary to guarantee peace." This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work. I wait in silence, until Benoit loses patience. "Well?" "I am still waiting for your question." "Will, you," he asks slowly as if talking to a child, "or will you not work towards the common good by putting a muzzle on your dogs?" "I will not. Next question?" I see no point in engaging in a pointless exchange of barbs with one who may be more proficient at this art than I am. By being curt, I show dismissal more than weakness. All those present know that the way I handle my ''constituents'' does not concern them. If they want to intervene, they will have to force a motion through the council and break the tradition of letting Wardens handle their own affairs. It will not happen any time soon. "Explain your contingency plan if archmage Lewis suddenly decides to turn on us and sends the government on our trail." "I will hide and watch with amusement as his own Cabal tortures him to death. Next question?" "You are not taking this seriously! Your childish behavior dishonors this noble assembly, Devourer." "I am granting your ''questions'' the respect they deserve, Warden. I see that you are done. Next person, please." Naminata unexpectedly comes to my help with a question on the state of the wounded soldiers taken to the White Cabal city of Avalon. Since they fought by my side, I made sure that they were treated fairly and healed by my allies. I even let them keep their expensive weapons. It always feels surreal when she acts so seriously. In the end, Benoit suggests that I be removed from managing the relationship with the White Cabal on account of ''gross negligence'', but the proposal finds little traction, even among my rivals. For once, Benoit made a mistake. The arrangement with the White Cabal is with me personally, not with the current Warden of Illinois. As such, it is considered a private matter and is none of their business. The session soon turns to the future and its difficulties. "This message we intercepted shows that the Office of Supernatural Affairs under Archmage Lewis'' control will not suffice. The veil we put over the mortals'' eyes will tear soon enough, and the public will turn on us as expected. Right now, our control over newspapers afforded us a period of grace, but it will not last. We need to prepare," Adam of the Roland says. He is a more moderate member of the southern faction. "I already expect our dear Sephare to take over the organ responsible for finding and killing us and imagine that it would be enough," he continues. I mask my reaction. I thought that too. "Unfortunately, the rule of law is merely a distant concept in most of the country. We must prepare for pogroms and purges. I request the creation of a standing mercenary army." We look on, surprised. Adam usually advocates for less involvement with mortal affairs. "Right now, the bill of Habeas Corpus has been temporarily suspended by the president. With so many soldiers everywhere, few will risk outright riots, and those will be quickly quelled. After it is done, however, the army will shrink. A lot of men will find themselves without employment. We must make use of this opportunity and take over cities where riots are the strongest. To protect peace, you understand." "You plan on turning chaos into opportunity?" Constantine asks, unexpectedly breaking his own rule by talking out of turn. Adam does not mind. In fact, the canny lord is positively giddy. "Precisely. Our dear mage allies are scattered, and their largest organization has a vested interest in our success. I propose that we go the Dvor route and take a more¡­ direct approach to governance." "We are overstretched as it is." "We need not rule in person, merely direct our investment towards taking control of all important infrastructures in several regions, especially the south. If the war ends the way we expect it to, the south will need a significant financial boost to recover, one that we are in a position to offer. Grab the land and it will not matter for whom people vote, because the candidates will be provided by us." "I see." It makes a surprising amount of sense. We are already relatively protected from witch hunts by virtue of inborn paranoia. As long as we can keep to the shadows, we should be able to weather the coming troubles. It is the mages who will suffer the most, for they are fragmented and alone. The moment the disguise falls, so will we. But we have no choice. It is too late to hide in remote caves and faraway villages "In the meanwhile, we should still start at the top¡­" Adam allows. *** Over the next few days, I finish compiling the reports from my allies on the battle at Black Harbor. We had casualties of over one thousand five hundred. A third of those are fatalities. The werewolves lost a dozen members and were almost all wounded. Eight vampires were destroyed in the entire battle, including three masters. The fighters on foot had more casualties, even with the help of the Knight Squad. The White Cabal did not communicate their losses. Despite our success, the cost in life will create a precedent. I have also used political capital accumulated over decades to gather such a force, and now we are even. It will take some time before I can gather such a force again. At the same time, the different groups have come to see me as a rallying figure, and it can only help my prospects. Newspapers have milked our ''great victory'' for all its worth. The extermination of the Hive is presented as a much-needed triumph, and convinced many who were on the fence about supernaturals in general. It will do little to sway the rest. If we want a bit more tranquility, we will have to be more direct. *** Washington, a week later. Perspective of John Fueller. Mr. Fueller had held many jobs in the past, but the one he was most famous for was bounty hunting. He had started with horse thieves and found out that he was really good at it. After that, he had gone after more dangerous targets, like highwaymen. Then came the exotic. Mr Fueller was not a liar. He had told things as they had happened, nothing less, nothing more. Some people had always believed that he was exaggerating. After the monsters came out, they had reflected and realized that he was uniquely qualified for a certain task. Just like that, Mr. Fueller had gone to Washington. Now Mr. Fueller was Agent Fueller, and he was the first of his kind. The door to the newly made secret office opened after the third key turn into its lock. Fueller crossed the tiled floor of the lobby and greeted the guard, a dour man sitting all night long behind steel bars, loaded shotgun in hand. It was a small measure considering what they faced, but better some protection than none at all. His steps led him up a flight of wooden stairs. The office was a grim and impersonal affair, as befit a task without glory and without end, for Fueller harbored no illusions. Even if one day, mankind got rid of its enemies, he would not be there to see it. And then it would probably turn on itself. The agent came across a half-open door leading to their administrative office. Perlman was here, still, despite the hour. "Sir?" the young man asked with a hint of German accent. "It is quite late. You should head home." The young secretary blinked, then seemed to remember something. "Ah, yes, before I forget, your new recruits have gathered for a meeting." "Here?" Fueller asked with surprise, "now?" The man frowned. "Yes, it surprised me as well." Fueller grumbled and went a floor up, to the dining room converted into an improvised meeting space. His agents were competent men drawn from the ranks of the military, lone wolves who worked better by themselves most of the time, but knew the importance of teamwork when taking down dangerous foes. Loners to find their mark, team players to take it down. Soldiers, to do what must be done. Fueller stopped outside to listen in, and worried. There was only silence. He opened the door slowly, carefully, and saw agent Russel staring vacantly at the ceiling. The man''s warm brown eyes met his, and Fueller went in, hand on his service weapon. At the head of the table, where he would normally sit, was a woman drinking coffee. Wafts of an excellent blend traveled to him. She put her cup down with a click. Sear?h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "What is the meaning of this?" he asked. "Please, join us," she replied with a light voice, the one of a socialite politely inviting someone in. Fueller did not hesitate. He took out his revolver and froze when a monstrous weight settled on his right shoulder. His revolver fell with a clatter, drifting across the varnished floor. It was the only noise to be heard. "I insist¡­" the woman finished. Fueller''s gaze traveled up, from the massive mitt clamped on him to the mountain of a man to whom it belonged. The giant considered him with a complete lack of care and gave him a gentle push forward. Fueller was forcefully awakened to a moment of great lucidity. Suddenly, his heart thundered in his chest and his lungs inflated like sails. This was it, a defining moment. He calculated his chance if he were to flee, or to struggle. He was a confident man and did not usually deceive himself. His chances were not good. With as much calm as he could muster, Fueller walked to the other end of the table, opposite the woman. The man behind her still stood at the entrance. He had this strongman, reliable right-hand feel. The woman was different. She looked quite young and pretty in a provincial heiress sort of way, but there was something mature about her demeanor that bothered him. It took only a few moments to realize what it was. She was not moving. Like a statue, her poise and immobility were both perfect. Perfectly cold. Inhuman. "Oh, no¡­" "Do you know why we are talking, Mr. Fueller? Why your agents still live, unharmed?" The woman asked, inspecting black nails. "You call that unharmed?" He spat. "I do. They will return to normal as if nothing had happened once I release them," the woman asserted. "I¡­ You want something from us. To threaten us." "In a way." Her alabaster finger circled the edge of the cup. There was a dull sound, like the aftermath of a bell ringing. "I believe that you are inevitable. Mankind has discovered the darkest recesses of the world, and you long to expunge its inhabitants. I do not begrudge you this desire. It is in our nature as well." "You are a vampire." She did not reply. "You are the first of many. Even if I kill every last one of you tonight and hang your defiled bodies before the smoking remains of your lair, another two groups like yours will pop up in secret. They will have less competent members, but will take more precautions. It is a game of escalation that we are unwilling to play." Fueller felt it then, a glimmer of hope. "You are scared of us." "No, Mr. Fueller, we are not scared of you. There are simply more dangerous things than us hiding in the folds of history, and they require all our efforts." "What sort of things?" he asked. She met his gaze for the first time. "Pray that you never find out. Now, for my proposal. The world is filled with enough parasites and nefarious idiots for you to have your hands full until the turn of the century and beyond. We will assist you in this endeavor by providing you with leads to genuine targets. In return, you will keep your attention away from us." "And if we do not?" She smirked. "You will receive a warning. Then, you will be shown that the darkness is an ancient battleground, and that you are very new and inexperienced players. I do believe that I already provided an¡­ adequate demonstration. If not, my friend here will gladly provide another." The giant man placed his hand over the head of the closest agent. The view made Fueller think of an egg in the hand of a cook. He swallowed with some difficulty. "No need. You have made your point. I understand." "Do you? Well, I will be sure to send you some valuable reports then, and perhaps visit on occasion. Goodbye." The woman finished her cup and stood up. She disappeared. The man disappeared as well. The other agents were staring at him, awake and alert. "Everything fine there, boss? Are you ready to start the meeting?" "Yes, yes. Of course," he babbled. The agent forced a smile, but it never reached his eyes. Sheer, animalistic terror seized his heart. But Fueller had survived worse. He schooled his expression and made a short summary of recent happenings. The others could feel that something had spooked him, he knew, but he needed time. They all needed time. And a solution. He had one. After they were done, Fueller retreated back to his office and picked up a discarded file, one that he had dismissed as too troublesome. The letters were hastily written as if by someone in a hurry. ''On Gabrielites'' it said. *** I spend the next month working tirelessly to stabilize my territory. All our efforts have only delayed the inevitable. Already, legislations are voted in states to handle the supernatural population. The most popular is the Hawk law, proposed by a representative from Tennessee. Mages are to be corralled and placed in special areas ''for the good of all''. The measure is advertised as a wartime necessity. We are forced to relax our control over newspapers or risk delegitimizing them in the eye of the public. Across the country, lynching and trials abound. Burning at the stake comes back in fashion. The trend hits our allies the hardest. All of the werewolves who can have moved north or to my territory, so that only the insane and the dangerous are left behind. For the mages, however, the situation is infinitely more complex. Most of them just try to live a normal life. Worse, many who have the ability to cast are not formed and their abilities come out as quirks. As such, some unlucky people with uncanny skills are soon singled out, even if those skills are the result of mundane talents. The country is tearing itself apart. Chaos also spreads across the Old World. In the wake of our revelation, the belief in magic has traveled across Europe, leading to significant internal conflicts. Different cultures take different approaches to the resurgence of the supernatural, but the most common remains to create ghettos of casters, at best. We bear witness to a planet-wide witch hunt. By comparison, we are much less hit due to our hermetic nature. All established vampires possess a buffer of mortals between the world and us, and we have experience working from the shadows. On my land, the noisiest troublemakers find themselves victims of accidents and kidnappings. All is not bleak. Mage groups ally with each other to weather the coming storm, causing an explosion in the numbers of Red and White Cabal recruits. Lobbies form to oppose local laws, backed by powerful financial interests. Ours, obviously. ''Illinois Guns of Liberty'' exploits the mayhem to expand drastically. And then, in July, things change. High in spirit but poor in supplies, Lee decides to take the war north, hoping to achieve a decisive victory and turn the Confederate states into an independent nation. He leads his men across the Shenandoah valley and meets Grant''s army at Gettysburg in a cataclysmic, three-day battle. Lee''s attack is relentless while Grant plays on the defensive, biding his time. On the third day, Lee makes a fatal mistake. He orders fifteen thousand men to charge the Union''s center. They are slaughtered. As he scrambles to shore up his defenses, Grant smells blood in the water. Eighty thousand federals now face fifty thousand exhausted rebels. Grant''s counter attack is immediate and merciless. Backed by the most powerful artillery battery ever gathered in the conflict, his troops charge west, cutting the army of northern Virginia in two. A daring cavalry assault under a certain general Sheridan (no relation) routs the northern half of the army. Lee decides to withdraw his battered forces but recent rains have swollen the Potomac river and he is trapped, beset on all sides by furious attacks. On July the fourth, after a four hours artillery bombardment, Lee surrenders to Grant. His army is shattered and only debris of divisions manage to escape. On the same day, the strategic town of Vicksburg falls into Union hands. In a day, the Confederacy received two death blows. The surge of patriotism that follows those much-advertised victories bolster northern morale while the defeat consternates the south. Lee, the genius of Chancellorsville, offered his enemy the road to Richmond on a silver platter. A few weeks later, the Confederate army of Tennessee is also defeated. Despite those efforts, the war does not end and Grant orders an all-out assault with all Union armies pushing deep into the south. One of his generals, Sherman, cuts a scorching path to Savannah in only a few weeks. In November, the war is over. In the wake of the end of the conflict, the Accords vampires change their focus. The fever of victory has lessened the burden on magical communities for a moment, giving everyone time to consolidate. The next battlefield will be political. In the meanwhile, we scramble to seize southern assets and I enter an extremely profitable business relationship with Adam of the Roland, a necessary measure. Indeed, with the war over, the demand for guns drops spectacularly, and so does my income. By helping southern lords to take and rebuild their industry, I somewhat offset the lost revenue. Things are as calm as they will get, and I contact Jimena immediately. She will escort me through Europe and to the knights'' stronghold. It is time for me to attend their training. Chapter 145 - 140. First class warfare I let the wafts of freshly brewed coffee caress my nostrils with its deep, bitter aroma. The ritual usually settles and distracts me, but not tonight. There is a knock on my door. "Come in," Jimena steps into my temporary quarters in one of our secure New York''s compound. With the White Cabal so close, this one has been designed for discretion more than for safety. It still has all the comforts one might expect in a modern city. My bedroom is vast enough to host a small tea party. "Ariane, sister. I am so excited." She then takes in my frown and shows some distress, bless her. "Is something the matter? Are you reconsidering?" "No! No¡­ I am simply quite upset by a recent development. I was attending a recent English play called ''Our American Cousin'' at the Ford Theater in Washington and I had to stop a drunk man with a gun from ruining the show. And the play was not even that good! Crass humor. But honestly. Bandits? Understandable, for what country does not have their scoundrels. Civil war? It happens to the best of them. But a play interrupted by some political action? No! No! Three times no! Thank the Watcher that I am leaving, because this entire country is going to the dogs. I wash my hands of it." I roll my eyes as far as they can go to illustrate my points. Jimena, that heartless traitor, takes it in stride with a light smile of her own. "Finally, I can welcome you into the ranks of the old guard." "Whatever do you mean?" "Only we Masters grumble and vociferate about the current developments. It pleases me that you would join our esteemed ranks, wizened and grey of heart, if not of skin." "Are you calling me old?" "Well, you are almost eighty if we count your human years." I¡­ had forgotten it. "Ah yes, memory is one of the first things to go," Jimena remarks to herself. "Oi!" "Do not be alarmed, it happens to all of us. The losers retreat to parochial villages out of fear for novelty. The successful ones, like the both of us my dear sister, merely sneer judgmentally at every passing new fad while adopting novelties we approve of. Like women wearing trousers." "Oh! Scandalous!" "..." "Maybe one day." "We can but hope. In any case, are you ready to leave? The ship is waiting." "Yes, yes, all my affairs are in order. There is just a small matter that I have to attend to before I leave. I shall direct your help to my luggage while I attend to it. I was just waiting for you to begin." "What is it? Nothing too bad I hope?" An unusual worry seizes my heart. "I hope not. Sheridan asked to talk." It is not every night that I am caught off-guard. The setting Sheridan chose is a nice cafe in the better part of the city. We are alone in the room he picked, and the sound of late diners provides a surprisingly mundane background to our conversation. One that I was not prepared for. In that defining moment, all the small details I had relegated to the back of my mind come in sharp contrast. The crows'' feet around his keen eyes. The grey in his proud moustache. Even the first wrinkles in his always tanned skin. He is still a dominating presence, but it is the presence of the experienced mentor, the battle-hardened veteran who compensates his failing body with wisdom and experience. "I am not coming with you." I can see the pain in his eye, the guilt. The distress. His decision is already made and I feel a knot untying in my essence. I suffered terribly when Dalton died, but now Sheridan leaves me and his departure is soft and consensual. The cold in my mind spreads slowly like winter air from an open window. I do not resent him. I physically cannot resent him, and yet I am angry. "It''s not that you have done something wrong. On the contrary, you have proven that your word was true. We have done good together for the past two decades, but that''s the thing. It has been two decades. I am¡­ tired." It seems to be an important moment for him, and so I let him speak. My anger dissipated as quickly as it came. Even a Nirari''s natural grudge cannot stand before a vulnerable Vassal. My nature will not allow it. "I am not as young as I used to be. The nights we spend awake take me longer and longer to recover from, despite your efforts. Spending an hour in a cold ditch to line up the perfect shot used to mean nothing. Now, my back hurts and my knees creak like a rusty carriage. I must stop now. And there is something else." I wave a hand to indicate that he should continue. "Melitone is pregnant." I almost spit my coffee. sea??h th§× n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "You knocked up the Speaker''s twin?!" "Hold your horses, she''s not ''the Speaker''s twin'', she''s Melitone. A fully fledged agent of the Accords. We have been together for over a decade now. In any case, we¡­ have been¡­ together for a while. We were careless. I asked her to marry me. She said yes." "Wow. Congratulations!" "I asked her two days ago. You are the first person to know. She thought it wiser to inform her brother after you had departed." I imagine the face of Constantine as he learns of everything and immediately feel better. "Yes. I understand," I finally admit. And I do. The truth is that Sheridan was never going to become my Servant. We make a good team, but we do not have the dynamic and mindset I would expect from someone I would keep by my side until the end. He is a conscience and a right hand, one who bridges the gap between mortals and us. I need someone different, more an accomplice than a lawman. "You understand? I expected you to be mad," Sheridan admits, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "I would lie if I said that your decision does not affect me, but I do understand where it comes from. My perspective of time made me forget that things remain different for mortals who are always on a limited time frame. Ah, look at me babble. We had a good run, you and me." "That we did." "So, what now? Will you stay in Boston?" "Yes. Mel says that Constantine will be insufferable unless she is well-protected, and the fortress is almost impregnable. I''ll say, it sets my mind at ease knowing that there are walls and horrors between the world and her when she will be at her most vulnerable. Do you know that a pregnant woman was lynched in the streets in Georgia? Because the mob thought she had turned a child into a goat? The world is mad, I tell you. Mad!" He exclaims, aghast. I smile and let him rant. A Vassal is lost to me, but he remains a person I hold in my esteem and I should keep ties alive with mortals. The cold settles in my mind as the "Cormoran" cuts the waves across the Atlantic. I distract myself from the passage of time by drawing and painting for hours every night. This year, the Parisian scene came to laugh at the "Salon des refus¨¦s", a collection of the works refused by the French Academy of Arts. The Academy prefers realistic, precise brushwork and classical scenes. They called the thick strokes and flamboyant colors of the rebels ''unfinished'' and ''impressionist'', their modern settings vulgar. Uninspired. However, the audacious paintings attracted the attention of Mask and mine as well. Rather than presenting a clear and classical image to evoke emotions, the newcomers use composition and colors to grab the viewer directly by the soul. They provide the perfect answer to the spread of photography by focusing on sensuality and sensation as expressed by the painter. I ordered two paintings I had shipped to me at great cost, even though the artists themselves are relatively unknown. The purpose was to study their style and brush stroke with a real work, not some rendition. Manet and Cezanne. I do not recognize those names, but I will hold onto the paintings just in case. Slowly, I experiment with new techniques over a few sketches and finally decide on my first renegade painting: the view of the distant north as I emerged from Semiramis'' labyrinth all those years ago. In a few days, the painting takes shape. I do not show the entrance of the cavern, which was at my back. Instead, I draw the polished glass of the permafrost and the fresh snow swept by endless winds. I make the mountains impossibly remote, and larger than they truly were. Above, I draw auroras animating the heavens with curtains of shimmering emerald. They provide the only light color in a landscape of dreary darkness. Even then, they are ephemeral and trickery, robbing the attention without pointing a way. Jimena had tried to distract me from my works by presenting the captain and mates, but they do not interest me and her efforts grow more subdued when she sees the fruit of my labor. The first result pleases me intensely, and I soon find another composition. When we visited the Fist of the Drowned God with the latest Bingle iteration, I spent a few hours crawling my way through deep passages. Once, we came across a single ray of early afternoon light piercing by luck through the layers of the earth. They would be soon blocked but for a moment the deep caverns knew the touch of the sun. I try to evoke that feeling and make the sun searing and alien. I also conceal on one side the dark shape of the deep folk''s shaman who led me through it. The light reflects on the two nacreous dots of her eyes, when one looks carefully. "By the Eye, Ariane. You outdid yourself. Although, your choice of composition is a cause for concern." "How so?" "It¡­ is nothing. Probably a temporary side-effect." I shrug and let the days pass by. We feed only a few times, and spread them between willing crew who know what to expect and will be compensated for their sacrifice. Their essence is pleasant enough, though I admit that without our regular spars, I would have been restless. As expected, her style is still direct and to the point. While Nami is graceful and unpredictable, Jimena shows her drive and directness by employing very few feints, instead overwhelming her foe through chains of precise strikes. I delight in ruining her rhythm through aggressive and sometimes illogical movements, and she is quick to show me that she can adapt. What shocks me the most, perhaps, is how evenly matched we are. In fact, I believe that I could overtake her if I relied more on my raw speed and intuition. I refrain from doing so since it would simply defeat the purpose of the exercise, but it shows how much I progressed over the past few decades. I remember a time when she could effortlessly stab me in the heart. Now, I could beat her four times out of five if I used everything including magic. Between painting, gossiping, and practice, Jimena also finds the time to tell me what to expect from the training to come. "As soon as we arrive at the fortress, you will be tested. The knights do not expect all of their recruits to be zealots in the service of justice like myself, but they do want to make sure that you are committed to your engagement." "I imagine that they would take their precautions." "Yes. There will be a few oaths and promises to swear. Before you protest, they are quite reasonable. After all, half of those who join our ranks are vampires who decided to, ah, remove themselves from their worldly troubles." "You mean disgraced people." "Need I remind you that I am supposed to be the brutally honest one?" If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. "Forgive me, oh shrewd one." "I shall consider it. In any case, there are many crises to handle and few volunteers, even fewer who wish to commit for all of eternity. The oaths protect the organization as much as it protects its members. Once the compulsory service time is over, you will only be bound by simple vows of secrecy. The test I mentioned also covers battles, duelling, infiltration, politics, culture, tactics, and language." "Really?" "Yes. If you are accepted, and you will be with just duelling alone, you will join a group of squires in a designated role. The training will be extensive. Knights pride themselves in their ability to take down superior opponents through superior teamwork." "I am not convinced¡­" I remark. "You are probably referring to Anatole''s embarrassing display when he faced Lord Suarez," Jimena continues without missing a beat, "I would not let that give you a wrong impression. Coordination can only carry you so far against a warlord of the Cadiz. You should not expect a band of puppies to take down an old lion." "I will trust your judgement." "Good. After you and your squad perform to the satisfaction of your trainers, you will be sent on a few missions. The first tasks will be relatively simple according to knight standards. Such as preventing a war." My surprise must be obvious, because Jimena reacts immediately. "Yes, you must forget about the American squad''s role so far, and realize that the Accords are more effective than you give Constantine credit for. The old world is saturated with cabals and interest groups. Conflicts flare and die off with the phases of the moon, sometimes in terribly bloody fashions. You will have your hands full. In any case, let me address the training part once again as it is why you have joined after all. All members of a squad receive personal guidance on top of their team-based practice from the best trainers around: the founders of the Knight Order." "The founders? They still handle the day-to-day affairs?" Jimena''s gaze burns with the fire of the true believer. "Yes, when they are not in deep slumber. They sometimes take on apprentices for more private lessons. Your profile is unusual enough to attract some attention. I am confident that they can guide you on the path to ladyship, not just with your current problem, but also to allow your fighting style to reach the highest spheres. I am not merely boasting, the Knights elite are among the best fighters in the world, or we would have been irrelevant from the start. You will be in good hands." "I hope that you are right." The trip passes quickly between all those distractions. The Cormoran is faster than the previous ship I traveled on, and I cannot help but wonder if, one day, we will be able to cross the Atlantic in mere days! That would be incredible. It would also make visiting my dear Torran so much easier¡­ Ah well, one may dream. By the end of August, we moor in the port of Brest where a night train will take us to Paris and more private travelling arrangements. "Vous voyagez seules?" a man with spectacles asks us as we sit down. I was taking out my notebook to review a few variations on my pain spell and his interruption is not welcome. "We do not travel alone," I reply curtly, "since we have each other." Jimena and I wear travel garbs, unique creations from our favorite Boston modist that follow the ''Artistic dress'' trend. While many women here favor Victorian style, I simply would not be caught dead in all those hoops, petticoats and bustles. I have only so many hours in a single night. I will not sacrifice two of them to be swaddled in so many strings like a freshly caught boar. Artistic dresses are easy to move in, with a medieval influence that remains proper without doubling as a tablecloth. My recent obscene wealth still permits me to get the very best fabric, the most vibrant dyes and the hands of a master. Jimena''s dress is light brown with a light forrester effect given by the discreet use of leather, while mine is dark blue and flowing. "And your husbands or fathers approve of this?" the man asks with a mighty frown of disapproval. Ah, yes, I forgot about that. I spent the last few months exclusively interacting with people who knew who, or what I was. In the rare other occurrences when I had to leave a good first impression, I had either Sheridan or John act as an intermediary. Now, however, I am merely a lone woman traveling alone. Most mortals will take exception to that. I have little care for social censure when it comes to random strangers, like this irritating gentleman, but I must remember that I will be dismissed most of the time. In a way, I am pleased. This little escapade will ground me after all that alliance business went to my head. I shall enjoy it as a refreshing entertainment. Now, to ruin this idiot''s night. "I suppose that you will have to ask them." "I am not sure that I like your tone, miss." "How dreadful," I reply in my most bored voice, "your disapproval is duly noted." And ignored. The interloper has been castigated. Justice has been rendered, and I return to my art as he grumbles. "Drawing is such a frivolous activity!" he finally exclaims. "Jimena dear, this man is talking to himself. We share our carriage with a lunatic," I remark, still in French. "I knew it as soon as I laid my eyes on him, dear friend. What are we to do?" Jimena deadpans as she inspects a nail. That is too much chastening for the nosy prick. He yelps in outrage and leaves the first class carriage, grumbling under his breath. "Should we eat him?" Jimena asks. "And have his vapid tediousness sully my palate? Please." "Fair enough. Say, do you want to spend a night in Paris? We have time." I wince at the memory of my previous stay, but I also realize that Jimena is trying to cheer me up and that I should indulge her. After we arrive at the Gare Du Nord, she drags me through the streets of Montmartre where we feed on a couple of drunk artists, leaving them even dizzier than before. We are quickly intercepted by a group of vampire fighters, and I recognize them as a squad I defeated before being captured. There is a thin mustachioed man with the air of Musketeer, and a plump lad with a frizzy dark beard and the demeanor of a bear. They all wear impeccable black suits. "You are...." "Baltasar, my lady. It is a pleasure to see you again in better circumstances," the plump one exclaims. "And I am Cedric, Madam. Likewise, I thank you for sparing my life. Although you certainly gave me a splitting headache." "It is quite common when one''s head is cleft in two, my friend. Milady, I am Ingalles. We never got the chance to be acquainted since you dropped on me and stabbed me through the heart." Jimena slaps my shoulder. "Sister, you had not told me that you had left such a good impression!" "I may have kept the exact details secret for the sake of the gentlemen," I politely reply. "You do not kill and tell. I like that in a woman," Ingalles says, as Baltasar nods with approval. "We came here to act as escort in these troubled times, but since it is you and I personally owe you a favor, name a place in Paris and I shall open its door to you." "Really?" I ask with some disbelief. "Anything but the Cathedrale Notre-Dame, obviously," Cedric adds. "Yes," Ingalles continues, "we have some sort of quarrel with the owner." "A sordid question of religion." "We are personae non grata." "Is it not gratae?" "I would not know," Ingalles finishes, "I never graduated from latin class." "If your offer is sincere," I interrupt, "then I would like to see an art gallery, specifically from the group that was refused by the Academy." "Oh, excellent. I know their art dealer! We will go see one of his exhibitions at once. The old dog owes me one and I know where he hides his keys." The ensuing visit amuses me a lot. Unfortunately, the trio knows little about painting, preferring music themselves, so they are unable to answer my questions. I still enjoy the experience tremendously and when we are done, they politely escort us to the more exclusive train that will take us east. "They wanted to bed us," Jimena notes in passing. "I know." We settle down for the day in the same bedroom, near the last carriage, and spend some time getting to know our train driver. He is the same dour Roland Master I met years ago, still carrying his duty with stoic countenance. My surprise is therefore great when the man thaws in the presence of Jimena. "Knight Jimena of the Cadiz! It is my privilege to welcome you aboard once more. How is America treating you?" "Well enough, dear Crispin. We have had our hands full recently." The man winces. "Yes. Here too. The general public is coming to terms with the existence of magic. We are seeing a massive population influx towards the capital as persecution bleeds the more traditional regions of its more creative people. There have been talks of mass extermination, though our kind has worked tirelessly from the shadows to neutralize the more charismatic leaders. Every nation has turned on itself! Even Hastings herself has returned from her escapade. Rumor has it that she had a falling out with her husband¡­" "She must be doing rather poorly." "Yes, and so are her foes. There are more bodies than ships floating in the Thames right now..." We spend the remainder of the night gossiping with Crispin and catching up with the latest European news. I followed the situation from afar thanks to Rosenthal dispatches, but I was not so interested until now. Apparently, the nations are in turmoil with the rising urban workers opposing the more traditional, religious side of the population. Countries struggle to define an identity, some looking to the past and others to the future. We only retire with the coming of dawn in our plush quarters. We wake up in the early afternoon and get dressed, making our way to the exclusive lounge where we find ourselves alone, no other vampire traveling at the moment. I have barely started to serve myself some tea when a massive explosion rocks the entire train. By the Watcher. Furniture crashes to the ground and the light flips as my sister and I cling to the floor with our claws. With an agonizing sound of twisted metal, the heavy car leans to the side and collapses. I hear a ghastly groan as we slowly slide to a stop. Only then do I remove my talons from the ravaged wood next to me. "That is unusual. And unexpected," Jimena notices calmly. "If my painting supplies have been damaged there will be hell to pay," I say, "we can try and see if we can get the train conductor''s body with us for safety''s sake." "Unlikely. Crispin rests securely in the front compartment. If any of the armor is breached on the way, the sun will pierce through it." The light would kill us in an instant. With no alternative, we stay put and listen, with some surprise, to the sound of firearms outside. The protocol in case of attack is clear. Whoever survives the initial assault is to hide and hold, and wait for the night. There are people fighting outside and they are not ours. The crack of gunpowder sounds for quite some time, and I even feel the aura of magic through our protective enchantments. The battle rages for a few minutes, then calms down. "What is happening?" "I do not know¡­" Eventually, we hear movement inside of the train and someone knocks on the door. We recognize Crispin''s aura and let him in. I see the beginning of anger in his sad brown eyes. He has our gear with him. "I apologize for the inconvenience, I am afraid that we were bested by unknown assailants." "How are your people?" Jimena asks. Fury flares in our guest, and I see his fangs for the first time. "We have lost some. All of the others are wounded. Poor old Emilia¡­ will not see the next dawn." He stops for a while to readjust his crooked tie. "I must admit that I am most curious about who would interrupt us so. I would like to go out and ask them. In person." "And we would be delighted to join you," I say. I can understand vengeance quite well. "Excellent. I took the liberty of removing your equipment from storage. I hope that you will accompany me as I may be a bit out of practice." We take our armors and I watch, bemused, as the man removes an old chainmail and a dark iron spiked mace from a bag. "Were you a warrior?" I ask. "Yes and no. I was a bishop. In my time, bishops went to war with their congregation." I had no idea. This is rather interesting. Without waiting, Jimena starts unbuttoning her dress, forcing Cripsin to gulp. "And in my time we did not swear vows of chastity either. I will leave you to it." We get changed quickly and I check all my weapons, especially the Big Iron which saw little use against the Hive, but remains an effective weapon against mortals. We reconvene in our room and huddle until nightfall. As soon as the sun sets, we exit from a secret trapdoor under the wheels. I open it first and inspect my surroundings. We are in a deep pine forest, and the smell of sap, blood, and gunpowder assail my senses. The train rests on its right side along a flat band of grass now little more than furrowed mud. A body in a familiar leather trench coat lies prostrate a few feet away from me. To the right, on top of a small mound, a barricade has been set, and I see the metal glints of bayonets. The three of us exit with no specific efforts made to hide our presence. We are immediately hailed by the fortified folks. To my immense surprise, the voice is distinctly female. "Hey, hey comrades! Over here!" she says in French. I shrug and let Crispin decide what to do. He sighs heavily and walks up to the defenses, where we meet the most bizarre and heteroclyte assortment of fighters I have seen in a long while. There are men and a few women in factory worker garbs huddling around. They are led by a young couple who look like they are twenty if they are a day. A small red flag flaps in the light wind. The man squints but the woman''s eyes shimmer in the darkness, and I see a simple focus hanging from her rustic dress. "Thankfully, you are alright. We came to save you just in time, comrades! Any enemy of the bourgeoisie is our ally in this glorious struggle! Together, we will defeat the capital and its odious servants, and return the means of production to the people!" We what now? Chapter 146 - 141. First Impressions are Key I sit on a stump and let my borrowed cloak fall around me. The folds mask my armor so as to not alarm the mortals too much. Below, about thirty men mill around under the supervision of a tall lad with dirty blond hair and his female counterpart. There are also a few other women in worker dresses, mostly in support roles. I count one nurse, two cooks and a pair of mages with primitive foci. They look so very young. The oldest lad must be in his mid twenties and he is the most nervous of them all. Jimena and Crispin, the train conductor, discuss with the Marxist leaders around a map. I have elected not to join them. I will help Jimena without reserve and she knows it, but I care little about the fate of the train and its occupants. They are not my people. This entire farce is a diversion. We should just summon our Nightmares and ride to the next stop instead of wasting our time playing discount rebels, but Jimena will not leave Crispin alone and so I stay as well. They must have reached some sort of agreement, because the camp soon comes alive with feverish preparations. A few revolutionaries rush to the train to help some wounded while the others pack their belongings. The female leader squints towards me, then walks up the slope in almost total darkness. I watch her progress with some measure of amusement. The brave little rebel stumbles up the dark path in a metaphor of her struggle. I watch in disbelief as she struts more confidently as she reaches a plateau. As expected, she slips on an exposed root with a yelp, then yelps again when I brace her before she can fall on me. "Ah, errr, hmm, sorry. Ariane?" "Yes. What do you want?" Her eyes search the gloom. She is truly untrained. A more experienced mage would detect me from aura alone. If I let them. "Nu Sarrehin." The Likaean incantation calls forth a purple dancing light, a selfish and tricksy radiance that illuminates only us. Those below cannot see. "Oh, thank you. Ah. Nice to meet you, my name is Louise Lafranchie. Your friend, the Spaniard, she said that you can do magic? Well obviously you can. What I meant was, can you teach me?" Oh? I feel a veil lifting from my heart and for the first time I see her, not as one of many but as an individual with drives and desires that could align with mine. The young woman has auburn hair, dark eyes and a rather plain face, but she has an animation about her that manages to compel the attention of the others. She offers an interesting contrast to the male leader, who is all much more detail-oriented from the little I have seen. "Supplicant." "Uh?" "What you ask, I cannot provide. Learning magic is the work of a lifetime. I must attend to my own affairs, and I am not looking for an apprentice at the moment." "Apprentice? No, I meant¡­ a few tricks. Just a direction. We have been trying to learn but all we have to work with are old diaries and hearsay." "Who are ''we''?" "My coven! There are just four of us now, but we will grow and make a difference in the world soon enough. We will be like the witches of the middle-age, defiant in the face of oppression!" "Perhaps you should not base your movement on people who were hunted down and burnt at the stake." She puffs her cheeks comically. "Their spirit lives on!" I refrain from commenting as we have entered the domain of the metaphysical and I am already quite bored. "So, you seek a¡­ primer? Something to get you started?" "Yes! A primer would be great. We need a source of elementary knowledge." I could easily copy fifty pages of observations and basic runes from my notes to set them on the right path. It would certainly occupy neophytes for a few months and lay a solid foundation for them to pursue the Western Standard tradition of magic. "What do you offer in exchange?" I ask. Her expression falls a bit, and I push down the anger threatening to overcome me. I clench my hands ¡ª once ¡ª before remembering that she does not know better. PRESUMPTUOUS. I can hardly blame the INSOLENT one when I have not shared my own nature. "I know I ask much, but think about it. Our enemies are many and they have all the resources they plundered from the hands of the workers, and still plunder to this day. We are fighting centuries of tradition and indoctrination of the masses. Our only hope if we want to prevail would be to pull our resources together, help each other throw off our shackles. Otherwise, we will just be one more group squabbling for scraps." "An interesting proposal. However, you imply that we are in this together. We are not. Every revolution needs to work with various elements in order to succeed. If you wish for my assistance, you will have to provide suitable compensation." "Jimena said that you came from a very old line of mages. Are you¡­ nobility? I thought Americans had no counts or kings." "Not all dynasties carry a title." Though mine does, but Devourer is not a term I care to share with strangers. "So you really are an aristo. I suppose that poor folks don''t have these kinds of travel arrangements." The poor lady is a bit crestfallen, but like her kind is wont to do, she bounces back immediately. "I should have guessed that from your behavior as well. Hmm. No offense." "None taken. I am still awaiting your offer with some curiosity. What can one who opposes the accumulation of wealth offer?" "Service." "Oh," I chuckle, "I do not think that you want to serve me." "No no no not me as a servant. A service for a service. Knowledge for knowledge? Would that work?" I sigh in disappointment. She is no supplicant, not really. This is just a farce like this revolution of hers and our stay here. I am wasting my time instead of training. I would grant her knowledge as a boon if she provided me for some entertainment. I suppose that I will have to wait and see. "That means no?" she asks with some frustration. "You are searching for something to exchange. Let me know when you have found it, I am disinclined to hear your internal musings." I turn when Jimena''s aura pulses. The lithe vampire waves at me and I stand up to make my way back. "Come, the others are waiting." We head down without her crashing into obstacles this time, and gather around a small map. Jimena brings me up to speed. "The railway crosses the Vosges on its way to Strasburg and Frankfurt after that. It is a mountainous and heavily wooded area." "I noticed." "No sass, sister, we are on a schedule. The Vosges is a remote place, wild casters have been converging here for a while now, and it has become a hotbed of rebellious activity." I look around. The pine forest expands as far as I can see. "For boars?" "No sass, I said. The government of Louis-Napoleon takes a dim view to secessionist activity. Regular troops have started to provide support to groups hostile to mages." I remember the body of the man in a leather coat. "Gabrielites." "Yes. Those mongrels have grown bold if they attacked one of our trains. We must¡­ send a clear message. Gabrielites only back off if you kill enough of them." I shrug. "I would not mind a little bloodshed to break off the monotony of the trip." "And I want vengeance for what they did to my followers," Crispin adds as he comes to us, his hand firmly holding his black iron mace. "The revolutionaries are dispersed so information is in scarce supply, but they all know of areas to avoid. I suspect that the Gabrielites have made their lairs there, as quite a few patrols have gone missing while exploring the area. They should be centered around a small lake here," he continues pointing at the map. Someone placed a pin on our current position and I see that the base is only ten miles away or so. It will be easy to reach it in a night, even with mortals in tow. In the worst case scenario, I can submerge the three of us in the earth''s embrace to survive the day. "So, we find them and kill them all?" I ask with disbelief. I am so used to segmented plans and the need to mobilize large forces that I have forgotten that it is, in fact, possible to just go somewhere and kill people. "Well, yes?" Crispin says a bit sheepishly while Jimena grins. "Sister, you think too much. This is a small scale operation. Did you not want to try your new repeater? The big one?" Aha! "You really know how to handle me," I say reproachfully, but I return to the train to grab my rifle from the armory. I come across the train personnel on the way. They appear to be shaken by their losses and wounds. I gather that trains are most of the time left alone, and that deaths are exceedingly rare. Complacency always has an enticing perfume. I pick up my rifle. It is the latest iteration in a long series of improvements on a custom design: a reinforced barrel and a firing mechanism fed by an ejectable revolver cylinder. Just like the Big Iron, this weapon is not meant for mortal hands. They would struggle with its tremendous weight. Such constraints are of no concern to me. I place a bandolier of spare cylinders across my shoulder and walk out, the monstrous piece resting on my shoulder. The revolutionaries and rebels watch me come with various degrees of disbelief. "Do you even know how to aim, woman?" one of them asks. Ah, to be doubted again in public is not an experience I have missed. "Keep talking and find out," I warn. "Let it be," the dirty blond-haired leader says, "we have to move now if we wish to make a difference. The reactionary forces of the great capital have pulled back because we caught them off guard, but if we wish to win, we must find out where they come from and kick them out. Are you with me?" "Yea!" "We scout and we find them, and if there are too many we will pull back and ask the comrades to join us. Stick with each other and stay quiet. They won''t expect us to dare and follow, but no need to alert them, guys. And girls. All in agreement?" Everyone nods or grunts to affirm their support. The camp is made and the Marxists pack up with satisfactory speed considering that no one seems to be quite in charge. In only a few minutes, the column moves up. "We will scout ahead, Vonany. Be sure to keep only two lights," Crispin says in accented French. Interestingly, his seems to be merely a local, older accent while mine is that of a foreigner. We move out. The pine forest swallows us until the skies are blotted and the heavy scent of sap covers every other. The woods creak lightly under a dense canopy, and everywhere beasts hunt and scavenge. Far in the distance, an owl ululates. Something small and furry dies in its grip. The mortals trudge through the undergrowth with the light steps of those who know that they trespass on hostile territory. For a while, we follow the tracks left by the retreating Gabrielites. I am surprised by how few of them there seem to be, merely a dozen. No wonder that they left when under fire. A wise commander would have brought four times the number and enough powder to topple a mountain, though I am beginning to suspect that our foes are as confused by the turn of events as we are. Political fringe element siding with supernatural entities? The world has gone mad. I keep my musings to myself as we split up and busy ourselves leading the mortals. One of us stays on track and marks the path while the two others roam and search for anomalies. There is very little to be found, but I find myself enjoying the distraction. I used to run the primal woods around Loth''s domain every night, but I have had little time to indulge that hobby in the last few months. I find that I have missed it, and that these deep pine forests lend themselves well to the exercise. The silence of ancient woods is only broken by scurrying things of which we are but one among many. Little by little, I shed the annoyance that had ruined my temper up until now and come to an obvious realization. The departure of Sheridan has affected me on a deeper level than I had imagined. The other humans must now work a great deal harder to garner more than a passing glance from me, like that witch did. I do not believe that I had a single conversation with a crew member during my crossing of the Atlantic. Truly, we need them to stay¡­ anchored in the mundane world. Perhaps we need them even more as we grow older and our ties to our past living selves fade. I should write to June, my grand niece. As I keep my mind relaxed, a powerful stench suddenly wakes me up from my reverie. Now, not all of the forest''s perfumes are pleasant. Carrion and droppings are part of the tapestry of scents I expect. This is different. I smell old rot and burnt flesh. Smoke. Maggots. I flare my aura and wait for fifteen seconds. Jimena joins me with Crispin close behind. "Is something the matter?" "Can you smell that?" The two others taste the air and wince one after the other. "I have smelled this before," Jimena says with obvious displeasure. "So have I, after many battles. This one is both old and pungent, however. Different. Shall we check?" We move quickly through a clearer patch of the forest. The trees are quite tall here, and their trunks are bare. Spiders and other things have made their lairs in the permanent darkness. We come across a path, a deep groove dug through the thick layer of dry pines, wide enough to show wheel tracks. A small handcart. We follow it to a clearing as the stench of death grows from cloying to overwhelming. The scene we come across silences even us. The English term ''mass grave'' does not give it justice. A grave can be a solemn thing after all. I much prefer the French term ''charnier'', which evokes the amorphous gathering of spoilt flesh and jutting bones before us more viscerally. There are raised crosses with their arms blackened by fires planted at the front, like the dessicated remains of giants. Perhaps the magic of the world is growing thicker because I can still taste it in the background, a deep, festering aura of horror and despair. Those who were brought here saw what they were to become. They begged and yelled, then they screamed in agony when the hungry flames blackened their toes. They coughed and retched when incandescent fumes torched their lungs. Finally, their remains were cut down and flung aside to leave the place to others. There was no dignity in death, not for them. Crispin leans by a specific corpse. Jimena and I follow and see a young boy, this one still fresh. His rough-spun shirt shows the first hint of flames but someone shot him in the heart, sparing him some of the indignities he would have been subjected to. Despite the mercy kill, I still feel a deep unease at the sight of the dead. I have rules, a code I picked for myself under Loth''s advice. This code grounds me and gives me boundaries I can follow to keep bloodlust and playfulness at a reasonable level, and despite its laxness and flexibility, I would still break its most basic tenets by doing what those people did. Who would kill the little ones? It is wasteful. Pointless. Cruel to an impossible degree. Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. "I believe that we have found the lost patrols," Crispin says, finally breaking the silence, "as well as some of the missing families Vonany mentioned." The old bishop looks up to us and in his eyes I see a flare that was not there before. "Killing me is one thing, but slaughtering younglings has always woken in me the most terrible of urges. I suppose that I should thank the Gabrielites for making it so easy to hate them." "According to my personal code," I say, "they made themselves fair game." "When have the Gabrielites ever done anything else?" Crispin asks. "Some have fought with honor," I answer. "Not those," Jimena says, "I will guide the mortals here, can I ask you to scout ahead?" "We will," Crispin replies. The two of us split up and I follow the tracks while the man roams around. As we enter another vale through a gap between two mounds, I hear signs of battle to my left. I rush there but find the skirmish over before it even began. There are three Gabrielites dead on the ground and Crispin is currently wiping his mace with a nice handkerchief. I inspect their hiding place and admit that it would have been difficult to notice them on sight alone. Vegetation covers it so that it melds into its surroundings, all while giving its occupants a perfect point from whence to see everything . That was before Crispin found it. Now, the structure lies gutted, much like its previous owners. "They are well entrenched. Gabrielites are good at preparation. This outpost gave them a commanding view of the valley." I turn around and notice that the path we followed is not the only point of interest. The narrow vale we just entered must have been a hamlet not so long ago. Now, only skeletons of buildings remain huddled around a small lake large enough to justify a few canoes. Their husks line the beach. I frown as I feel a tug, my intuition at work again. "Is something the matter?" How perceptive of him. "Perhaps. Let us wait for the others and then move carefully." I shall never let my guard down against them. Arrogance is how they get us. If I close my eyes, I can still remember the oppressive feeling of fire all around me, and the cries of the White Cabal dying to silver bullets. We wait for quite some time before the others join us. I remember from the briefing that this lake is the center of the contested region. The Marxists soon arrive in various states of shock. They are beaten and horrified. Some have cried, but to their credit they are all still there under the command of the grim Vonany. "This is the perfect place for an encampment," Jimena whispers in French when we all gather, "with fresh water, food to scavenge, and ready buildings. And yet it lies empty." "Perhaps a trap?" Vonany says, his eyes nervously searching the landscape. "We should get closer. There is a small house on the other side of the lake. We can get there first, then consider our next step," I say. The others accept my proposition for lack of an alternative, and we set out, this time in much closer formation. The canopy recedes over us until we have to bend, and we silently line up along the shore. The silent houses stand to our left, close enough for even the mortals to see clearly in the moonlight. The scenery is devoid of both sound and movement. Like a painting. Something bobs along the placid waters and I smirk, pointing it out to my companions. A cigar stub. Not far, an apple core floats, nibbled on by tiny fishes. Under the mortals'' curious gaze, I kneel near an untouched expanse of mud and start drawing. Two concentric circles crossed by an eye like the slit pupil of a cat appear, soon covered with glyphs. I am not too familiar with this spell since I have little use for it, but I learned it anyway. I simply never expected to have to use it against Gabrielites of all people. "Pierce the veil," I whisper. A circle like a lense with the diameter of two arms opens in the air, and sounds and lights emerge from the other side. The group gathers around and watches, mesmerized, as a window into a different world opens. Around us, the village lies abandoned. Through the aperture, it is a hive of activity. I quickly study the new scene. The side opposite us, which includes a small pier, hosts quite a few military tents in orderly rows. Soldiers in blue vests and red trousers mill about, with dark scowls aimed at the other part of the camp, where the now-intact houses lie. There, Gabrielites in uniform maintain a vigil over both the edge of the forest, the nearby paths, and, interestingly, the army. The rift between the two forces could only be more obvious if they started fortifying against each other. One last location causes a few words of consternation from our allies, though they are quickly quelled. Cages line a wall of the tallest building, and in them sit two dozen prisoners. I see men, women and children in those, including a few with red armbands. "Prisoners, there! Those are our people," one of the rebels says. "I think I recognize Michelet. And is that not Marie Vaucoeur? I thought she and her family had simply fled the region!" "Yes, yes," Jimena interrupts, "not so loud. Ariane, how come that we cannot perceive them with our own eyes?" I silently point at the front of the buildings where most of the Gabrielite sentries have gathered. They are fewer than the soldiers by a large margin, I notice. The source of the spell becomes obvious to everyone present. A man kneels on a set of planks, his body and arms held to a cross and his beatific face turned upward in prayer. Only a simple tunic covers his body, showing corded limbs criss-crossed by the marks of whip. Dirty brown hair covers his skull in oily clumps. As we watch, a sentry approaches with a sponge and helps him drink. After he is done, he resumes his supplications. "Impossible. They are using mages as well?" Jimena asks "He has the bearing of a martyr. Perhaps they have made an exception," I suggest. "I thought all those witches and whatnot were on our side?" a young revolutionary complains. "Well, this one was brainwashed by our foes to turn on his own kin. Look how he suffers!" Vonany exclaims with a discreet glance at his own mage. The young Louise appears conflicted. "The poor thing," she finally mutters, but her expression hardens soon after. "His sufferings will come to an end, whether he wants it or not. Freedom or death!" A slew of approval echoes her declamation and we are once again forced to curb their enthusiasm. They are so young. "This is your Hunt," I tell Crispin, "how would you like to proceed?" "I see three objectives and two constraints," he says in French after a moment of reflection. "Our first constraint is the presence of prisoners. They must be freed before we engage. Our second constraint is the soldiers, and they should not be engaged at all." "Why not?" someone grumbles, "they are the arm of the capital!" "Because," the vampire replies patiently, "I count a hundred of them and you folks have two dozen fighters, to begin, and second, it is unwise to antagonize the army until you have a strategy to face the entirety of it." "But¡­" "Look at it this way. If we keep the conflict between the Gabrielites and us, the soldiers may simply let us go or make some token effort to stop us. If we start killing them, they will fight back with their full strength. Does your ideology make you bulletproof? No? I thought not." "Antoine is right," Vonany says with a look at the revolutionary who had objected, "they are clearly allied. Why would they not fight side by side?" Jimena answers this time. "If you look at the camp, you will see that their alliance is fraying at the edge. They have two camps and the hostility between them is clear. Gabrielites are a paranoid sort. They do not work well with other mortals, nor do they hide their holier-than-thou attitudes. As for soldiers, those are undoubtedly reluctant to slaughter their own civilians. We are in luck." "Alright, the revolution is not ready in any case," Vonany admits, "but what about the three objectives?" "The first objective is the first constraint. We need to free the prisoners at the start. The second objective is to send a message to the army that the Gabrielites are not the unstoppable experts they must have claimed to be. The last objective is to kill every last of them." "But not the soldiers?" "But not the soldiers." "Your confidence is inspiring, comrade Crispin. How do we do that?" "Yeah," the man from earlier says, "easier said than done." The vampire bristles slightly at the interruption and the other man backs down, chastised. "We obviously need a diversion, a compelling performance that cannot be ignored. If it brings terror to the soldiers, all the better." Jimena turns to me, then Crispin does so as well. The Marxists soon join them through, I guess, mimetism. "Yes, I can do a diversion," I admit, slightly miffed that I have been designated as the prime diversion provider. "Excellent. You attract the Gabrielites'' attention while the rest of us free the prisoners. After we are done, I shall join you while Jimena of the Cadiz covers our exit. If that is agreeable?" Nods all around. I find the mortals strangely settled. Although they are grim, I see a determination in their eyes that the situation does not justify. We have not even used Charm on them and they are still ready to attack a superior force. We only just met. Perhaps our confidence is enough to convince them? "Then we shall move along the edge of the clearing. Ariane of the Nirari, please give us ten minutes to get in position, then you can¡­ let go." "One last question¡­" I say as an afterthought, "are there any pigs held here that you know of?" All but Jimena show signs of deep consternation. As for my sister, she is busy chuckling. "Please excuse my dear sister. She has a bad experience with pigs and diversions. I can neither smell nor hear any, but if I do, I shall imitate a bird cry," she says. "Yes, yes, on your way then." I watch the group fade back into the woods, then hear them progress with cautious steps. Now, for a diversion. I already have an idea as I see an interesting figure walking along the small pier. I put on my scarred battle mask, make sure the cloak is well-adjusted and sneak my way along the lake from the far side. I do not have much time so I go faster than usual. A vigilant sentry catches movement at the edge of his field of view and frowns, so I use a touch of suggestion to make him dismiss his concern. I arrive at the pier without issue and cast a small darkness spell to make it disappear from view. There are a lot of tents nearby, but its occupants are currently sleeping. The officer finishes his cigar and tosses the stub dismissively into the cold water. His dress uniform is freshly pressed, and I see only evening stubble on his cheeks, but the underlying smell of old sweat and drooping shoulders shows the dent in his spirit. I expected that much. "What bothers you so?" I ask in French, and the man jumps up with a yelp to face me, "the death of a child or the torture of civilians?" He clenches his jaw and places a hand on his side, only to realize that he left his sidearm somewhere else. The darkness spell masks the encampment, so that the path behind me leads only to impenetrable gloom. I stretch the spell to encase us just as he searches around. A risky move, as the unnatural shadow could be noticed. Thankfully, the pier was dark to start with and the attention of most guards is aimed outward. "You are one of them," he says, swallowing his saliva with difficulty. I have to give him credit for his self-control, though I smell his terror. Delicious, but he is off-limits. "Yes, and you are in way over your head. But do not take my word for it. I shall visit our religious friends now, and you have but to witness our conflict. Stay out of it." "Honor compels me to¡ª" "Kill children?" I interrupt. His composure cracks. "He was going to suffer more¡­" Oh! So it was him who shot the child in the heart to spare him the indignity of death at the stake. "There will be more of them, an endless tide of innocents whose sole sin was to be born with power. How many times can you see the light fade in their little eyes before you lose yourself?" I ask. In his heart, I fan his burning anger and the simmering pain of intense guilt. It took nothing more than the smallest nudge to get him over the edge. "I will be punished and my career will be over but¡­ dammit. I cannot take this anymore. I signed up to defend the motherland, not to assist a bunch of lunatics. I may be making a mistake, but if you stay away from our camp, I will not interfere while you, while you¡­" His voice wavers, and he takes a great sigh, then his shoulders straighten and I am looking at a new man. "While you dispense justice." We understand each other. The paper pusher who sent this man to supervise the Gabrielites was a fool. The officer is young and naive, an idealist. A jaded monster returning from the colonies would have served the cause better. Their loss, my win. I nod and let the darkness fade progressively, so as not to alert anyone. I move out and decide to reposition. I need to approach the village from the front where the Gabrielites have focused their attention. It only takes me a minute or so to be in position. The only difficulty I face is the powerful illusion still protecting the perimeter. I am forced to cast the piercing spell again to find their sentries and make sure that my approach will not be detected, then I slowly crawl through the edge of the magical construct, feeling it brush over me like a strong wind. Truly, one must work hard to make things look effortless. Finally, I am ready. The night is well on its way by now, and the sentries are growing tired. The fires are little more than embers crackling peacefully in the clean mountain air. The only person still active is the martyr mumbling to the sky, needled as he is by faith and self-hatred. I notice a guarded shed to the side and deduce that it might be the armory. If not there, then inside one of those buildings. That goes first. Then what? I need to attract attention, and for that I must resort to theatrics. I can do theatrics. They are a form of gloating. Sadly I will not be able to use the repeater. Another time, perhaps. Sinead always writes about the different roles he plays on his quest across the world, and what insight he gained every time. There is one skin I can wear, one persona I can adopt that would be perfectly suitable. In fact, I already have an advantage. After all, I have been in his mind and seen his memories. Quickly, I sneak to the shed and find that, indeed, it smells of gunpowder. I come at the sentries from the back and do not kill them as their absence might alert the foe. Instead, I pick the lock open and cast a spell on the hinges so that they move silently. Inside, I find a few barrels. I take my one small powder charge and cast another silence spell to mask the hiss of the fuse. I close the door quietly, and return to my starting position. Thirty more seconds. I am Nirari. I am Nirari, I am Nirari, I am Nirari. I take a deep breath and relax my shoulders. I crouch and place both hands on the green grass. Fertile land, ripe for the taking. All mine soon. Those before me are PREY. They are pathetic and weak, the same fanatics I have faced a thousand times before. This is just a distraction, something to fend off boredom as I pursue her. Yes. I allow my concern for tactics and coordination to disappear from my mind. My allies will do what they want, I care not. I am not here for some grand plan. I am here to punish. I am arrogant. I am detached. I am supremely self-confident. And I am cruel beyond compare. The shed explodes. The two guards'' mangled bodies fall on the turf, broken. I rush forward and take out Rose, slashing at the closest man. A flash of blue and the blade is repelled. Well, I should have expected¡­ No! No. I am Nirari. I am toying with them. I smile at the closest guard and throw a knife at his throat, pick his blade and spear it through his neighbor. The radiance of the human god will not stop a native blade. He falls as well. A few guards aim and shoot. I move conservatively and avoid their scattered attacks by stepping aside at the last moment. Another guard falls to a knife. I crush a fourth with the body of his comrade for the sake of variety. The others run back to the largest building from whence a group emerges. They left the martyr behind. He looks up to me with liquid brown eyes. "I forgive you, for you cannot help what you are," he tells me. "Quite so," I reply. Around him, the bubbling power of faith burns against my skin with such fervor that I cannot approach, so I pick up a bayoneted musket and pierce his flank. Blood spills on the packed earth. Around us, the fire has spread to a nearby building. Heat and light bask us in an infernal glow, providing a perfect background to the scene that will follow. I stand tall and let the fearful mortals gaze at the metal glint of my mask. The Gabrielites gather fearfully around a tall, relatively young fighter with a bushy beard. He and his kin huddle behind a wall of tower shields bearing the cross of their god while, behind, the soldiers have gathered but do not move. They hold their breath and I feel the pleasant weight of their gaze upon me. I am not bothered because I provoked it. All the world is a stage and the main actor just stepped in, and now they will perform for my amusement. "Foul creature! We shall purge your kind from the face of the earth!" the Gabrielite leader bellows, trying to overcome his panic. I allow him to bleat a few more threats before I flick a finger and make myself as loud as an orchestra. "Your banter bores me, Gabrielite. I have heard the same threats a hundred times. Always yapping, never biting. Will you dogs of the church finally provide me with some entertainment before I leave your bloodless corpses to the crows?" Ohohoho this is FUN. Before me, a few fighters take a step back when they finally realize that, yes, I am no simple caster. Their leader tries in vain to regain the initiative. "I know what you are, vampire!" he screams. "Then you will die a wise man." And with that cheesy delivery, I grab my cloak and let it fall to the ground, revealing the obsidian armor below. I do not have to look to know that the embers reflect on its smooth scales. "You will not get away with this! A new age is upon us! Your kind will be left behind!" I have heard that one before. "Are you quite sure?" I ask. Then I take the Big Iron and shoot him in the face. S§×arch* The N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Heh. He falls dead while his followers look on, completely dumbstruck. I just could not resist. Screw Nirari, I will play the immortal horror my own way. "Hahahaha! Die, mongrels!" Rose is repelled, some of my spells hit their silver-covered shields and are somehow absorbed and I cannot get close but it does not matter. They have no real way to stop me, they can only delay, and I am not taking any real risk either. A man falls with a bullet between the eyes, another killed by a knife. I manage to find a rope, form a lasso like Sheridan taught me, and drag one of them screaming into a dark recess where I drain him by the ankle. Through the sock, unfortunately. The others don''t know it and I make sure to throw the severed head at their feet, as well as providing commentary. Normally I would limit the talk but this is not a Hunt. I am exterminating vermin for a friend. "None of you will live to see the dawn!" I helpfully inform them in the most ominous voice. "Don''t listen to her! Salvation comes from heaven!" a leader says as he gathers his bloody troops near the entrance of their base. "No, it will not." Crispin joins the fray. He jumps down from the building''s roof and onto the enemy formation. All their crosses are aimed out and the attack takes them by surprise. The reserved vampire turns into a whirlwind of steel and destruction, his mace sending bodies crashing into walls with mighty roars. His savagery is such that I am a bit hesitant to join him while he is obviously having such a great time. Eventually, we take down the last stragglers and the fire appears contained enough that the village will probably not be turned to cinders. We clean our weapons with all the haughty arrogance we can muster, and walk away into the darkness, casting one last glance at the terrified soldiers sticking to each other in tight ranks. With the illusion lifted, we easily find Jimena and a convoy of civilians, many of them showing signs of abuse. I approach a smiling sister and speak in a low voice. "Do you think that we left a sufficiently strong impression?" Jimena points behind at the burning village and piles of corpses, then at the terrified ranks of soldiers still holding position, then back at our own mortals, also terrified and holding position. "Yes I do believe that you performed adequately." Chapter 147 - 142. Kept in check. "This is bad news," Vonany whispers. "No, this is good news," I retort. The return trip to the downed locomotive has been long and tedious. I even used Rose to cut branches for improvised stretchers like some sort of armored woodswoman. Disgrace. Crispin insisted on helping the marxists and prisoners for political reasons and I agreed with him, though I had to escort the slow-moving wounded as a result. Now, we have returned to find the locomotive sealed and a group of Gabrielites laying siege, lit lanterns creating a perimeter around the fallen behemoth. An enterprising pair busies themselves trying to pry a door with a crowbar. I wish them all the luck, because I am not sure I could do it myself. The crowbar would bend. Vampire trains are designed to resist the heaviest of punishments. It is just a shame that the same cannot be said about the rails they travel on. "How is this good news?" Vonany spits, but Jimena simply taps him on the shoulder as I finally, finally take my custom rifle from my shoulder and check the sights. "Delayed gratification," she explains. "Uh?" I finish making sure that the beast is ready and line the first shot. The barrel is so heavy that it would take two strong men to keep it steady. I take a deep breath out of habit and let it out slowly, letting the sight fall on the would-be burglars. The detonation is so loud that yelps of alarm spread across the column behind us. My targets fall, skewered like roast pigs. I calmly pull a pin and the cylinder rotates, chambering a new cartridge. The next man falls in a deafening crack, then the next. The rest are running. I pick them off as they find cover. I shoot one as he enters the forest, then another as he hides behind a pine trunk. The trunk dies too. One pull and the cylinder pops out, quickly replaced by another. A Gabrielite jumps behind a metal barrel left there by the train crew. I do not know what it contained but it was apparently not solid enough. I finally stop aiming and stand up, letting the smoking, glowing barrel rest on my shoulder once more. "So. Yes. You do know how to use that," the revolutionary allows with wide eyes. "I considered ending those pests myself," Crispin says, "but I do love the irony of killing mortals with firearms. We will just say that their use of gunpowder¡­ backfired." Ugh. "There is one still alive if you have any regrets. He is hiding behind the train," I tell him. "Oh?" "I wanted to test the frame''s resistance against my enchanted silver bullets, but I thought that you might object." "I would be grateful if you did not add to my workload, yes. I suppose that I shall have to weigh in on the situation," he says, then grabs his black iron mace and walks forward. "Is it something about train managers that attracts a certain type of personality?" I ask Jimena in a low voice. "Yes. Forgive the puns, he simply decided to take the situation with humor. He has been working with some of the fallen for decades." "I understand." If it had been me, none of the soldiers would have gone home. Jimena goes to join him and I step aside for a while, letting the column of refugees spill out on the small clearing in crying clumps. Those of the train crew who were not too hurt get out to share supplies. Despite the general anguish, I cannot help but smirk at the sight of marxist revolutionaries eating caviar on blinis, passing along bottles of expensive champagne. And I did all the work. It takes a few minutes, but eventually the witch gathers enough courage to walk up to my retreat. This time, she shows more wisdom and brings a small lantern. She falters as soon as our eyes meet. I wait patiently as she searches for words, until eventually she blurts out what was on her mind all along. "Are you really a human?" Hah. "No, our kind are called vampires. You can consider us as¡­ previously human. Cursed." "I am not so sure that I want lessons from you any longer." "Suit yourself." "But are you really on our side?" she asks. I give her my kindest smile. The one without teeth. "We are on no one''s side but our own. With that said, we make reliable allies and truly unfortunate enemies." "Unfortunate?" "For you." "Ah, uh, but what about class struggle? Can vampires not see that the wealth of nations is currently in the hands of the few? Do you see our fight as worthy?" An amusing question. I believe that the others are like me. We understand group dynamics and power on a fundamental level, one that goes beyond the system in which they exist. As long as mankind is mankind, there will be power structures and hierarchies. They can be flatter or narrower, but there will always be a top and a bottom. I could explain that, and the importance of understanding one''s own nature, but I have a better idea. "Here, let me demonstrate our world view with the help of a simple illustration." I grab a pen and a paper from one of my armor pouches. A cut stump ends up as an improvised desk. To start with, I draw a triangle and write ''vampires'' inside. "This is us." "I see?" I draw a small circle to the side, this one named ''our humans''. The two figures are separate and do not intersect. "This is the collection of humans we currently have an interest in." To finish, I draw a large pyramid under the vampire triangle, so that the triangle ends as the figure''s tip. In it, I write ''food''. "And this is the rest of creation." No reaction. "Any questions?" "No¡­" "If it is any comfort, we do not appreciate the misery that the fires of industry have brought upon many people. Indeed, trapped in it, people no longer live. They survive. Back-breaking labor smothers their passion, creativity, and deep thought. It takes away their humanity by preventing its expression. Entire generations are sacrificed in the name of immediate profit." "Yes! Yes!" I stop myself before telling her that it ruins the taste. Ah, mortals, so easy to appease. It would not do to scare her too much, or she might learn of our weakness to the sun and try something during the day. Then I would have to kill her. Fortunately, it seems to be enough to placate her enough that she can breathe, but not enough that she pesters me about teaching her anymore. The result is that she heads back to her ''comrades'' to help the wounded. I return to my isolation until another train arrives from the opposite direction. We leave the wreck behind us and transfer to the new one while a crew moves out to start the repairs. The sun emerges as we cross the border to Hannover. By that time Jimena and I have retired to our quarters. Prague, two nights later. History in every stone. In the space of a minute, I have come across fine examples of Roman, renaissance, and Baroque architecture. Every tower, every house proudly bears its heritage under colorful tiles in red or blue, with rectangular windows dotting their facades by the dozens. Contrary to the cities back home where wood is used as a cheap and convenient material, rock is king here. The pavements and walls are made of it, and the older ones already bear the wrinkles of age with dignity. And so I take my time enjoying the experience, walking across busy streets and rowdy crowds. My steps lead me to the town square and its gothic church illuminated by gas lights. Tall spires pierce the skies while long glass windows will, tomorrow, let in the sunlight to bask the worshippers. Tonight, it merely keeps me at bay. As I stop moving, roving bands of men in felt hats or berets give me a wide berth. I have grown too used to the cosmopolitan nature of our cities. Here, my traits and garments clearly mark me as a foreigner. A passing gentleman still deigns to inform me, in German, that the object of my interest is called the Church of Our Lady before Tyn, and that it has been standing for over four hundred years. So old! Europeans sure love to put things into perspective, though they rarely mean to. Except for the Master of Prague of course, who is a pretentious twit I wish to strangle and the reason why I have been so eager to take a stroll. Jimena led me here so that we may change trains, but we are stuck in transit for a few nights after missing our correspondence and it was our duty to meet the Master of the place. Said Master happens to be a Dvor lord who thoroughly backs Nina of the Dvor, the very same who objected to my relationship with Torran. I sincerely did not expect this to come back and bite me in the rear. The situation grew tense fast after our introduction. "I know of many noble traditions that we should reintroduce," he had informed me with a pointed look, shortly after a discussion on impalements. "Yes, like gaining a city through feats of power and leadership," I reminded the man who had won his seat by submitting a poem. Things went downhill after that. I continue to move around, not in any hurry and not too worried about my safety. In fact, I am even surprised to have been let out without supervision. Midnight approaches and the pedestrians grow more rare, their footsteps echoing across the streets. The temperature dips a bit. Soon, I am alone and free to move a bit faster, a bit more silently than a mortal could. My steps lead me to a massive bridge over the Moldau and I spot a few towers peering from above a long white wall. I consider resorting to shenanigans before going back, but then I am caught off-guard by something I had not expected here. The tug of fate. I am¡­ needed. Somewhere behind me. Giving up all pretense, I find a dark corner and climb up to the roofs, clinging to their sharp slopes. I run and jump, the artistic dress I wear allowing some freedom of movement. One day, I will give up the habit of keeping the skirt down when I jump so as not to reveal too much ankle, but it is not today. I follow the tug through dark rows and forgotten corners, skirting the more proper part of the city without ever falling into slums. Indeed, the streets grow more crooked and ancient until, finally, I end up in a one-way alley barely large enough to deserve the name, and I wait, but not for long. A man bursts out from behind a pair of barrels and I jump, barely managing to control a yelp. I had not seen him. In fact, I had not perceived him at all. "No time, no time, you are late! Did you bring your tools? Of course not, you silly little thing. Bah, no matter." The man himself is an absolute anomaly. He wears tweed in a perfectly cut suit that shows the body of a strong man gone to fat, still powerful behind a bit of belly. He is a bit taller than me with a long white beard that covers his torso in a wide spread, and two manic eyes of different colors, one brown and one blue, now shifty and unfocused. He speaks English with an accent I cannot place but sounds exotic. Before I can react to his scathing comment, he turns around and rushes to a side door cleverly hidden behind a climbing vine. The slab of wood looks strong and unyielding. "Quick, lend me a hand!" I approach, only for him to shove a leather pouch into my hand. I feel straight twigs of metal between my fingers. "You can have mine, I was never good at that sort of thing." I open the container to find picks. "Hold on, how did you even¡­" "Supplicant. I am your supplicant, if you will allow. This is how it works with the first, yes?" I freeze and relax immediately after, allowing the mismatched eyes to bore into me. "If you know this¡­" "I will offer you a tribute of blood if you complete your tasks. One night of service, well, what''s left of it you tardy bumblebee. Nothing to break your oaths yadda yadda." I frown. The man takes a deep breath and exhales quite loudly. And rudely. "Listen, you were led here, no? You know that you will not regret it. If you do a good job." All my instincts tell me that I should accept the strange offer, despite how risky this all seems. It is my turn now to take a deep breath. "Well, this is rather cavalier." "Yes, the terminally myopic woman stumbled upon a railing. ''Tis the railing''s fault." He rolls his eyes. "Enough dallying. Open it, quick. Busy busy!" I grab two picks and lean forward, casting one last glare at the man who peers excitedly through a barred window. The night is mostly silent at this stage. I hear nothing from the inside. The lock yields under my patient efforts, and I am surprised by its relative complexity. I am about to open it when something stops me. There, under my finger, the lightest touch of magic. I grumble and prick my finger. "This would not happen if you carried a focus around," my annoying companion whispers. "I was not expecting to go out at all?" I hiss back, causing yet another eyeroll. "Some seer you are." "I was never good at it alright? Now let me work!" A simple rune and I blow on the door, revealing a spider web of silvery script. "Alarm?" the man asks. "Some burglar you are," I retort, "yes, alarm and fire. Let me disarm it." "Oh no, no fire! It would not do at all!" This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. "Shhh!" S§×arch* The N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. I carefully engrave a circle with a nail and link it with the alarm''s trigger rune, then deactivate the rest of the construct on the other side of the door. Whoever designed this system was thorough but terribly unimaginative. They never expected more than a direct approach. A click, and the door rotates on oiled hinges with satisfactory silence. No alarm, no fire. It smells of dog and old books. The old man brushes past me in a rush to cross the antechamber we find ourselves in. A lifted curtain, and I enter a packed library. Rows upon rows of dense shelves filled to the brim cover every wall in perfect darkness. They reach the very ceiling to form a labyrinth of overloaded containers, each crammed with crumbling tomes and leather-bound books, loose sheets escaping left and right. The unknown man dives straight in between a collection of treaties on Themistocles and early renditions of Don Giovanni, waving a small lantern he borrowed from the entrance. He is light enough on his steps that he does not trigger an avalanche of the Descartes mountain, which had started to sag. Eventually, he reaches a tiny desk tucked on the side and barely visible under all that fire hazard. I see his back bend as he leans forward, and he turns to me, waving a small, wrinkled pamphlet. "Here it is. I knew it. I just knew it! Those ignoramuses. And they dare call themselves bibliophiles. Hah!" I read the document after it is shoved under my nose by frantic hands. It is, of course, in Czech. Ah nevermind, I turn it and see the same in German. "Herr Matthias Bilek, pious man of the true faith. Disperses curses, banishes demons. Satisfaction and discretion guaranteed." Below, an address was written though I would be hard-pressed to find it without some local help. "What is this all about anyway?" I ask. "The book! The star book of twisted things. They want to destroy it, the horrid lot. Too many weak psyches lost to its hallowed pages. But I digress. We must away at once. I only hope that we are not too late. Tardy one!" "Alright alright, lead the way!" We rush out into the streets of the deserted city with alacrity and I start to suspect that the man may be one of us. I still fail to perceive him with anything but ear and sight, but there is a litheness behind his step that a man of his age and physique should not have, even if they have a past career in ballet. Besides, he cannot have a past career in ballet. His leg muscles are wrong. The man ignores my inspection as we trot across the cobbled streets like ghosts. At this late hour, the ancient walls loom and alcoves help reinforce the impression of progressing through a maze. It must be such a pleasant hunting ground that I cannot help but sniff the air in the search for some lost mortal to snack on. There are none to be found, however, and we soon end up in a small plazza around a tiny well, its rim chipped by centuries of human hands. There is a gas lamp now extinguished. The only source of illumination is a single candle shimmering behind a window like a trembling beacon, barely strong enough to survive the encroaching darkness. "There it is. Can you work your magic again? Quickly, or they will finish what they started." I first check for alarms and find a pitiful one, barely deserving of the name. My work with lockpicks is similarly short. Only when I grab the handle do I stop in my tracks. "What?" the man asks. "This place is a home. I cannot get in." "Curses! I cannot progress without you. Oh no, we cannot delay. They could be trying as we speak!" I let the grown man grumble. There is still one recourse, a tool that I am usually loath to use. I need to be invited in. While some other bloodlines thrive on ambiguity, breaking the spirit of the laws of hospitality upsets me on a fundamental level. Alas. Fate, this cruel mistress, is still needling me forward and I am willing to take the risk, and so I mess up my dress a bit and call upon the Hastings essence. Most of the time, the essence allows me to flush my face and imitate the many innocuous gestures of those whose blood runs warm. This time, I manipulate the essence for another purpose. Instead of the hale flush of the living, I turn my own pallor sickly and worrisome. My lips are blue from some unknown affliction, and dark circles appear around my eyes. I can feel the change and the borrowed essence guides me further. I stoop and roll my shoulders, gripping my own elbow protectively. To complete the image, my instinct guides my eyes to the sides, looking for a danger I know is not there. The old man smiles lightly and steps back in the shadows in order to let me work. I bang on the door, again and again. Somewhere to the left, a man swears through his shuttered windows. There is always a risk operating in a densely populated city. This time, the attention of the neighbour is a good thing. An older gentleman in a dusty robe and with a long, thin beard barges out from the home in a hurry, clearly dismayed. His gaze lands on me and he immediately shows deep consternation. He speaks a few hurried words in Czech, but I quickly interrupt him. "K?nnen Sie denn wirklich etwas tun... gegen einen Fluch?" I ask in my best German. Can you really do something about a curse? He blinks, slowly, once then twice. The upstairs neighbor pops out from his window and starts hurling insults. "Ja, ja, schnell!" my target exclaims, leading me in. Success. I wipe the predatory smirk off my mouth. A piteous performance, Sinead would say, and yet it served its purpose. Sometimes the setting matters more than the depth of the deception. "Sind Sie Matthias Bilek?" I ask as we go in. "Nat¨¹rlich." My host''s tone is curt and brooks no interruption. We pass through a dark reception room lit only by the candle I saw earlier, with cards and vials and other mystical implements strewn about with some attempt at order. For all the mess, the place is clean and smells faintly of soap. I also notice quite a few crosses and other indications of syncretism between faith and magic. We unsurprisingly head to a set of stairs going down. Herr Bilek mumbles in Czech once again. When it becomes obvious that I have no mastery of the language, his instructions grow shorter. "Ruhe." Be silent. Well, I did bother him in the middle of the night. Our steps are quiet on the ancient stones. The scent of cleanliness soon gives way to an interesting mix of wax, chemicals, and humidity. Herr Bilek has a cave, and a good-sized one it is. It reveals itself to me on the lower landing. Diagrams and models cover the far wall on one side, crates and curious contraptions line another, while to my left, a circle has been drawn patiently on a smooth expanse of basalt. Candelabras burn here and there to provide light for mortal eyes. Bilek points to a lone chair, asking me to sit there in a rather cavalier fashion. He did not even offer me tea. With that said, I understand his brisk manner as the other visible occupant of the room jumps to his feet. He is a mousy man in expensive but dirty clothes and bloodshot blue eyes, cradling an ancient leather-bound book as if it were a treasure. He immediately starts a tirade, ripping into my graceful host. I cannot follow the conversation as I do not understand the language, but I can easily surmise its content. "Look what you done did, Billy, you brought a person of the female persuasion here! We were in the middle of something of a private nature!" "So help me god Cooter you dumbass, I couldn''t just up and leave her screaming outside what with all the nosy neighbors. I swear to the lord you''re such a pisser." Or something of the sort. I wait politely for them to finish, wondering if the distraction I am expecting will make itself known. The book is the one I am to save anyway. So long as it remains intact, I can take my time to guess what this whole situation is about. However, the distraction occurs sooner than I expected. From a crate sat against the wall next to the drawn circle, someone sneezes. A boy, if the breath and heartbeat are any indication, anywhere from three to four years old depending on how malnourished he is. I react as a mortal would, showing surprise, then horror, then returning my terrified gaze to the other guest just as he grabs in his jacket for a gun. His next words are ominous. Probably. They are still in Czech. At least, Herr Bilek shakes and protests the treatment, but the other remains intractable as he waves an antiquated pistol around. The guest walks to the center of the circle where a small altar has been placed, and lays the book in a prepared hollow. Herr Bilek is clearly not very athletic and he did not make use of the opportunity. He only yelps in shock when the guest walks to the crate and opens it with a metal bar, revealing its content: a filthy street orphan lying on a pail of straw. The poor youngling shares the bleary expression of one who has been submitted to narcotics. An immediate and heated discussion ensues, and once more I can only extrapolate its content. "Oh woe, woe is me, for what nefarious end hast thou brought a bairn in my abode? Forsooth, how I regret welcoming you here, thy gormless snake!" "Curse be with thine hopeless naivete! The cost of success had always been high, nay, exorbitant. Thou were only too candid to admit it! See as I activate this pathetic, inefficient magical circle and sacrifice someone else''s life to erase a book from existence!" Or something of the sort. To be fair, I can think of five books from the top of my head that I would not mind killing someone to unmake. Like Wuthering Heights. Ugh. The guest now drags the groggy kid to the altar under heavy protest, but he will not be deterred and his hand is steady. I see a manic glint in his bloodshot eyes and recognize his drive. It is the passion of a man who has tasted madness and must first embrace it or he will be devoured by it. Well, time to do something. I have been threatened, and though I would be well within my right to kill the guest where he stands, I cannot do it. It would be abominably boring. Instead, I stand from my chair and smile at the pistol-holder whose expression turns to confusion. At the same time, I fan the flames of outrage in Mr. Bilek''s heart. And then I smile with all my teeth out. Bilek has his back to me and he does not notice anything. The guest, however, is suitably impressed. He screams and aims his gun, but my needled host has already launched his ponderous frame at his ex-ally, and the latter one is too late to react. The guest brings the barrel back, only for it to be blocked with a firm grip. He makes the mistake of holding the child as if scared to lose him and Bilek capitalizes on it by delivering a passable hook. The smaller guest is propelled backward while his pistol clatters upon the rock, quickly picked up by the host''s trembling hand. The child falls where he is. The guest recovers and finds, in his jacket, a nasty blade of sharp obsidian. He speaks, begs. My host''s voice shakes yet his mind is made. I see pure, delicious desperation in the smaller man as he licks his spittle-covered lips, searching for an opening that his body cannot exploit. Bilek readjusts his grip. The guest charges with a frightful cry. He is shot. He falls, gurgles and spits his life blood. Bilek, too, collapses. His knees smack into the rock with a bony finality and the spent pistol is abandoned where it falls. I gave it a one in three chance of exploding, taking the shooter''s hand with it. I guess luck is on his side, for now. "What have I done?" he probably says. That or "I cannot hear at all" since this is the usual result of unloading a firearm in a confined space. With a trembling hand, Bilek reaches for the book, then he sees the dagger in the dead man''s grip a few feet away and steels his expression. I can practically see the cogs turning in his overtaxed brain, despair pushing him on the path to sacrifice. One step, two steps, my presence is forgotten. "Not so fast," I whisper in his ear. And now comes the subtle part. As a guest, I am beholden to certain laws, but I can also show a measure of initiative without resorting to violence. Some doors are best left closed for the mortal mind is not equipped to bear them, but is the wisdom they impart not worth a little bit of insanity? I shall let him decide. "You are a man of knowledge," I purr, forcing his gaze away from the knife and towards the diagrams and books filling his workplace. They form a tapestry of letters over a background of naked stones. Old words, old scripts, an old place. "And the most precious of all, the most unique, is here." "But¡­ the man¡­ his mind gone." "He was weak and feeble, a foolish collector of works he never understood, and never tried to. You, however, you are a man of talent, a light in the darkness. Is it not so?" "Ja¡­ Genau¡­" "If you destroy this treasure without even tasting it, doubt and regret will dog you until the day you die. What thought-provoking ideas might be lost because of fear and obscurantism? Just a peek¡­ If the contents proves to be too much, can you not burn it later?" "Just a peek. Just a tiny one." Shaky fingers on dry leather and the contents are revealed. Just as I expected, the book is potent. Pages flip like butterfly wings in a chromatic dance with no respect for propriety or, indeed, physics. They land on a poem and my host recites in a suddenly smooth baritone. "Beneath the waves, deep, where the lost ones birth the tides Through towers of coral and black shrines tall and cold Altars of whale bones; pillars of black and gold Asheras hides The unholy parades that amble its turbid traits Have not known sun nor stars nor the ice bite of the gale No hale skin to be found; but pale eye, teeth, and scale Asheras waits Beards of drowned sailors, tibias on man-skin drums Hungrily they grasp, their fingers like kelp and worms In an endless tide that through shore and marsh yet squirms Asheras comes Oh mighty city, stay thy hand for one night more That I may drown your memory in much opium and liquor Like poison, your sight in my veins will always burn And one day to Asheras return" Oh, most peculiar. The runes and text is in Akkad and they carry the meaning directly to the reader''s spirit, transcending language. I can taste the auras of fish folks in their terrible multitudes as they crowd the living streets of their sanctum, its sprawl reaching to a dark horizon. I believe that my sire must have visited the place before he emerged from the ocean after his nap. How quaint! I savor the piece of trivia, but the same cannot be said for my host. His eyes turn red and tears of blood trail down his pale cheeks. He mumbles a few words, lifts a page and, once more, the book shifts to another fragment. The hand-written letters belong to someone else now, someone with a wild and enthusiastic calligraphy. It is still in Akkad. "Lo, I climbed the slope of grandfather Kilimanjaro as the Gazanias spread their golden petals. I sat upon the ashes in the shadows of Mawenzi, that great teat of the earth, and imbibed the sorcerous elixir. Dawn came and it was glorious, and as its rays torched my flesh, I felt the true¡­ Aaaah AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH" I shiver at the recollection. Ouch. Even second-hand, having one''s essence annihilated will never be pleasant. It has gone worse for my poor host who even now runs to the prone form of his victim, clawing his face as he goes. He grabs the discarded knife and plants it firmly in his jugular. Arterial blood falls in a cascade. Ah well. I step forth and latch on the wound, taking great care not to sully my dress. Hmm. Provoked insanity. The best kind. I relish the tortured essence for as long as I can, enjoying every drop of twisted psyche. When I step back from the body, the old man awaits. He holds the book and caresses its cover with great affection. "Thank you. You did well," he tells me with a smile. "You are one of us. I knew it." "No," he replies with a fanged smile, "you expected it." "What I did not expect was for you to have stolen one of the Great Books of the Ekon!" "Stolen?" he scoffs, "I made the things! Every copy. They never objected to sharing their experience with me, and so this tome draws from theirs. And a few other select volumes." "Why?" I ask, enthralled. "Why make the book? For the same hobby that you share with me, little Devourer. I knew we were of one mind the moment I smelled the young street urchin on you. We both enjoy making the world¡­ stranger." The man''s face shifts. He is a young dandy, a grizzled soldier, a fat banker. Every face is a mask more convincing than any disguise I ever made. The only constant remains the mismatched pair of eyes, always manic. They draw me in like whirlpools. "By the Watcher¡­ you are Vanheim." "In the flesh, or is it fleshes?" The voice is younger now and comes from a princely man with the demeanor of a spoiled noble. It lasts for only an instant before I see a fresh-faced plant worker in sooty coveralls. "Now I am more than eager to taste that essence of yours," I say. "Ah, the impatience of youth," a wizened rabbi reprimands, "your task is not yet done! You still have to leave your mark¡­" I am handed colorful sticks by a young Parisian artist in a ratty suit. Of course, I know what to do. I find a seat and get to work, carefully selecting the right shades of black and grey for the suitable background. The Nightmares are as dark as I can make them, and their riders blur with speed and the thinning fabric of the world. The tide of flesh facing them writhes like so many maggots but their disgusting presence is smothered, eclipsed by the great entity behind us. The Scourge has covered the land, but The Watcher has come and its many heralds now unleash its gaze. Purple saturates the scene in its many hues. In a cave of Prague, on a piece of paper that only exists in this moment, I draw the vampire charge at Back Harbor and, in it, I pour the excitement, the rage, and the ecstasy of riding down a challenging PREY along the deadliest warriors of this world. Yes. This is¡­ PERFECT. It has taken me two hours, but I successfully imprinted my memory upon the ethereal paper. Now, whoever observes it will be nicely dragged into it and know what it feels to stand at the top. I wish them all the best! "This will do nicely," Vanheim declares, admiring the work, "Now, I suppose that it is time for your reward!" He blurs and I taste a powerful essence on my tongue. This time, I see no recollection, but a haze of sensations and competing thoughts that carry me like a tornado, sending my consciousness to crash through concepts like flimsy walls. As soon as a new provoking idea emerges, it fades like a dream to be replaced by another. I am left stunned by the cacophony of power and fall, dazed for the first time in decades. "Wow." "Quite a ride, is it not? You are the first Devourer I grace with my mind. May you find a use for it as you were of use to me. After all..." He leans and suddenly I am looking at a woman. She is exactly my size, wears my robe and¡­ Deep, slightly amused blue eyes. A pretty face with a sneer too jaded to belong to one so young. Her carmine lips part to reveal eight fangs. "...Our interests align, do they not?" My voice, my face. Before I can protest the robbery, my alter ego''s hair turns as dark as jay and I am looking at a slightly different person. "And with this, I bid you adieu. I do not think we will meet again until the age of ash and thin air. Goodbye, darling. Do keep yourself alive." And he¡­ she? Whatever. Vanheim is gone. I find myself mostly alone in the darkening cave, in my damaged dress, holding a book. What an unexpected turn of event. The drugged child tumbles towards me, lifts his glazed eyes to my face and asks. "Co se d¨§je?" I am going to assume that he is asking what just happened. Well, he is tiny. I can at least take him outside. With his hand in mine, we climb the stairs and exit the building in silence. I find Jimena waiting for me in the small plaza. She is staring at me with her mouth wide open, a decidedly unvampiric expression. "It was a long night," I start, as way of explanation. "Nevermind that. Why is your hair black?" Oh. Chapter 148 - 143. Induction "Uncanny. You can let go now." The unpleasant sensation that reminds me of a failed sneeze forces me to wince. I can handle pain, but this level of discomfort is something else. So, that shapeshifting ability is much less impressive than I thought. I can alter my hair color, eye color, and traits to some extent, but not my body shape except, perhaps, my height. By an inch. It is still an incredibly useful ability in some very specific situations. With proper aura control, I could pass for an entirely different vampire. There are issues of course, not least the fact that if the knowledge of this ability becomes public, its efficacy will decrease. The second is that it takes time and effort to set up a different face and then more effort to maintain it, so it cannot be done on a whim. I am still pleased with this development. I even turned my hair copper as a test, thus pushing Melusine down one rank on the fetching redhead list. Jimena''s thin lips pucker in disapproval. She has ever been adverse to deception and disguise remains one of its many tools. My sister knows that it is merely a means to an end, and that intent matters more than method in many endeavors. She hides her aversion out of sympathy and I decide to stop my experiments for now. I will soon join the ranks of the Knights. There will be no need for such powers in their distant, insular fortresses. I look out and despair. For a while, our train trailed along familiar lines, sometimes stopping at hamlets that were Dvor holds in disguise. I enjoyed the company of quite a few local rulers more interested in the novelty of my presence than in my past attachments. "You are American? How can one be American!" Many of them were old and stuck back in time, served by the same families of mortals for generations. They lived in parochial domains withdrawn from the affairs of the world and out of the grasp of most mundane authorities. Our pauses remained brief enough to prevent being embroiled in local politics. Although repetitive, I have now come to miss those distractions as we have spent close to a week without coming across anything larger than a way station. The heart of the Knight Order sits at the edge of the Ural, an old and vast mountain range deep in the belly of the Russian Empire. For seven days, we have seen nothing but an endless ocean of green sometimes broken by rocky reefs covered in scraggly growths. Our last fellow traveler of the undying persuasion left us long before that. Boredom is only broken by the occasional runs through pristine forests that, perhaps, never knew the hand of mankind. Jimena and I also bash each other''s heads in on top of the different cars on occasion as well. I have won more than I have lost. Jimena is always her same disciplined, technically perfect self. Her ability to adapt and counter my own unpredictable style is quite impressive. What I admire the most in her is her perfect focus on our duel, even for a Cadiz. She never loses patience, and she never lets herself be distracted. I find that admirable. Finally, the train slows as it now has slopes to battle, and the path turns sinuous. Grey expanses of gravel and old stones replace the forested vastness. The weather turns inclement and dark clouds gather above. The peaks in the distance drown in murky grey. We are forced to cancel our next spar or accept being drenched. The very same night, as rain pounds on the metal roof above our head, we stop unexpectedly at the edge of a small building barely larger than a cabin. I see dark shapes enter the carriage ahead one by one and recognize the lamellar armors of the Knights. They wear hoods to fend off the assault of the elements and control their auras, so I cannot tell much about their nature until Jimena and I leave the lounge to wait in the corridor in order to greet them. If we had remained seated, it would have conveyed a belief in our own superiority. "I really do not see the problem." "Knights support Knights dear sister. Be kind, please." "Fiiiiine." I compose myself and watch, curious, as the dripping Knights enter the last carriages. I notice that the first comer''s armor is more elaborate than that of his followers. Any other thought vanishes when I immediately recognize the one at the front. The leader has the face of a saint, the blue-eyed, blond, square-jawed appearance of the perfect fairy tale prince. His charming exterior is backed by a distant gaze that others would think dreamy, but I know to convey disdain for the world at large. I hate him with every fiber of my being and his appearance is an ill omen. Anatole. He tried to have me killed twice as a Rogue, and I have him to thank for the torture I endured in the bowels of Constantine''s fortress. I force myself to relax my fingers at his sight. They are all here. I need not check. Our eyes meet, and for one moment, we stand suspended in time. More than thirty years have passed since our last encounter but I will never, ever forgive him his transgression. The Knight dips his head in polite greetings and passes us by as we move to the side. The others behind him are an assortment of Masters from several clans, men and women who only have in common the poor state of their gear, and the mental exhaustion behind their clouded eyes. The doors of the many cabins close until we are alone. Jimena pulls me back into our own. "I would like to point out," Jimena states, "that etiquette dictates that we should offer greetings and light bows when meeting another squad." "You failed to do it." "Yes. The fault is mine. It bears saying that Anatole is a cunt and I would enjoy killing him immensely." I stare for a while at her solemn face. She swears so rarely. "Those are attenuating circumstances," I say. "Indeed. Unfortunately, he bears the gear of a trainer, which means that you will probably have to interact with him at some point. I am certain that he will not be assigned as your direct superior because we avoid this sort of faux-pas, if it is any comfort." "Would he try something?" "Attacking a fellow Knight as an act of vengeance is punishable by death. He knows this." She leans forward. "This is valid for you also. Please do not try anything rash. The elders of the Knight Order are not to be trifled with." "It was not my plan." I have my hands full, for now. If he returns to the New World though¡­ well, anything could happen. Jimena closes her eyes and sighs. When she opens them again, she has settled her mind. "We arrive tomorrow. You know everything that I had to tell. I will be by your side in any case." I nod. Time to sacrifice ten years of my life in the pursuit of power. By the time the next night falls, we have reached the secluded plateau the Knights call their home. One moment, the train plods through ancient pine thickets and the next, we are out in the open. A monumental gate set between two columns of white stone lies open, its width large enough for three more trains to cross it. Sculptures and reliefs adorn its facade carefully, and I can feel powerful enchantments even through the train''s walls. We slow down to a crawl as a Lord in heavy armor waves us through, a large sword resting on the ground by his side. His dark gaze follows us as we move in. Now that I see the Knight stronghold for the first time, I admit to being suitably impressed. "Welcome to Cloud Haven," Jimena says with a hint of pride. The Order went for a minimalist, sober architecture that remains the same throughout the compound. The militaristic structures and clean, regular alleys evoke an army camp that had been abruptly fossilized. The only parallel I can think of are the drawings of the ruins of Pompei I saw in a review. It does not help that the material is exclusively white stone taken from some unknown quarry. There are quite a few mortals in uniform moving around, but I see very few Knights. All present bear an air of discipline that matches their dwellings'' sober countenance. None of the buildings reach higher than a few storeys either, so that the base remains flat and hard to spot from afar. I consider the location and how poorly equipped it would be against a modern army. Flat stone walls are worth nothing against cannon fire, after all, yet I quickly realize that no modern army will ever get here without trudging through hundreds of miles of poor roads. And angry Knights. The train comes to a stop at the end of the rails. The terminus consists of two benches as well as a massive stone warehouse even now showing signs of activity. Light is provided by lanterns shining the blue of enchanted spells. We let the Knights go first and climb down, leaving our luggage behind. I taste the fresh and crisp air as soon as I step out, cold even at that time of the year. The scent of sap and greenery provides a pleasant undercurrent that reminds me of my own domain far across the ocean. "Knight Jimena, Ariane of the Nirari, be welcome to Cloud Haven, home of the Knights," a man greets us as we exit. He is built powerfully, possibly a warrior while he was alive. Brown eyes and sandy hair that reach below his cheek give him a scruffy appearance, while the impeccable lamellar armor he wears looks like an aristocratic garb on him. His smile appears genuine too. "Salutations to you as well Emanuele. Are you the welcoming committee?" "Yes. We are ready for the induction. Milady Ariane?" "We can proceed." "Then please, follow me." We move deeper into the complex until we reach the edge of the mountain and I realize that the Knights have dug into it over the centuries. Troglodyte structures, alcoves and covered promenades alternate with natural rock formations sometimes lit by torches. Lone trees and plants of essences that should not survive here flourish, their perfumes enticing. Emanuele walks through an arched passage into a tunnel, then to a massive atrium with a small pond in the middle. Once more, white stone is the norm while a fountain gurgles happily. Rather than majestic, the atmosphere is subdued and intimate. The only person waiting is a lean man with a majestic grey beard in armor. Now that I have seen so many of them, I realize that the American team may have been given basic gear, because those worn by the members here are nothing if not impressive. I believe that they even equal Loth''s work, or rather, what Loth managed while in a rush. Said man nods at us with a light smile. He has many scars from his days as a mortal, most of them from blades. He looks like a benevolent master-at-arms, but I am weary. No one will reach prominence in an order dedicated to hunting our own without some measure of success. I realize that, despite my desire to join them, I truly do not see myself as a Knight. Perhaps if they had not been such rotten bastards¡­ Bah, I should keep an open mind. "Hail, Praetor," Emanuele says, and I am starting to recognize Roman influence in my hosts, "I present to you Ariane of the Nirari who wishes to join us." "Hail to you, Aedile, and thank you. Welcome, Ariane of the Nirari. My name is Marlan and I serve as the head of training for the Order. I will answer the questions you may still have if you wish. Otherwise, we can proceed with the induction ceremony." "Knight Jimena already enlightened me, Praetor. I am ready." "Very well. Please stand on the stone." Marlan steps aside and I see a pedestal surrounded by water. Light from the moon falls from it like liquid silver. For all of its majesty, it bears no decoration and I feel no enchantment coming from it. It is just a stone. "We do not trap our applicants, Ariane," Marlan notes with a thin smile, "your word will suffice." "Sorry. Habit," I explain as I step forward. "I understand. Well then, let us begin with the preliminary questions. Are you, to your knowledge, under scrutiny for a crime that could lead to a Knight-backed extermination order?" "No." Jimena already informed me that those questions would happen. They are merely designed to make sure that the applicant''s intentions are true. The Knights do not even ask if the person intends to collect information on the Order as we all understand that it is a given. "Have you come with the intention of causing harm to the Order, its members or properties, or do you plan on committing said harm?" "No." "Very well. Ariane of the Nirari, do you promise to uphold the values of the Order, obey its precepts and commands for the duration of your service?" "I do." "Do you promise to train, fight and conduct missions to the best of your ability?" "I do." "And finally, do you promise to protect and support your fellow Knights as if they were your own blood?" "Yes." The last question leaves a slightly awkward taste in the air. I mean that I would protect them like a spawn I would make. Or John, who might as well be of my blood. The Knights must feel it, but the shadow of my sire will always follow me until one of us dies. "Then I, Marlan, Praetor of the Knight Order, stand witness to your oath." "As do I, Emanuele, Aedile of the Order." "Your struggle is our struggle, your success is our success. Even in the dark of the world, you shall never find yourself alone. Welcome to the Order, Ariane. Pass the trials and you shall be a squire." "Thank you," I say. The oath settles around me. The ceremony was short and direct, which I approve of. Marlan turns around without further ado and bids me follow him. "I will make sure your luggage goes where it is needed, including your weapons," Emanuele says as he leaves us. Jimena and I follow the grizzled Praetor deeper into the mountain, and I see that the larger part of the base is indeed underground. Many of the installations keep windows to the outside, but I can feel powerful enchantments from the openings, a sign that the structure is not as open as it appears at first glance. "We will be conducting a few tests to identify where your opportunities lie and create an adapted training regimen. We will start with mental resistance, then theory, then combat and finally an interview with several specialists to determine which role or roles would suit you the best." We now enter a circular room with, again, an open canopy. A rotunda centered around a colossal weeping willow occupies much of the space. Another Knight kneels in its shadow. A pillow has been left in front of him. "Jimena and I will leave to discuss her next assignment. I will pick you up after the end of the test. Sylvain has clear instructions to gauge your defenses and he will stop when he reaches your inner sanctum without looking for the core." Sylvain nods and invites me to sit with a gesture, which I do. He is a thin man with flaxen hair so fair they are almost white and pale grey eyes. "Good evening. My name is Sylvain and I was tasked with assessing your mental defences." Puckered lips indicate that he is less than pleased with the task. "You are familiar with the concept of mind palace, I presume?" "The mental construct that takes the appearance of a safe place?" "Indeed. Unless American training standards are even worse than I assume, you should possess one, though with your ancestry¡­" Oh, so that is how it is. "I do have a mental construct, yes." "I am delighted to hear it. Since when?" "Hmm, since eighteen oh'' three, when I was turned. Jimena of the Cadiz taught me how to do it on my second night." "You have had a mental palace since your second night?" he asks with barely veiled disbelief. If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. "It was a single room at first, but yes." "Is that so? Are you sure that this is not merely an image you maintain? Image focus and a true mental palace are two entirely different things." "I am reasonably certain, yes." "Well, we shall see. Make yourself comfortable. At your signal, I will breach your sanctum. Rest assured that I will stop there." Confident, are we? I close my eyes and appear in the bedroom of my mental fortress, the heart of my power. Mementos and paintings line the wall while I rest on a comfortable bed. I stand up and appear at the titanic gates of the castle where my defenses are the most concentrated. In the real world, I push myself to nod. Immediately, something rakes against my outer defenses, the wall of brambles surrounding my mind. I remember a mortal mage attempting it. This is on an entirely different level. The assault persists and soon I feel pain. The foe has concentrated his power to form a lance of sorts, a piercing implement that digs into the wall. My defenses are spread out while his attack is focused. On a whim, I focus and the wall of thorns starts moving, its many roots and branches shifting against each other in a din of cracks and groans. The assault is dispersed. The mage tries again and I realize that I could keep going for a while, blocking him out entirely. But where would be the fun in that? With the slightest effort of will, I allow the defenses to part and a form crashes through the brambles. It is, for a word, monstrous. The vampire mind mage''s appearance is that of a savage beast, lithe and powerful with four limbs surging from a muscular back like featherless wings. He has pale skin over powerful muscles. His appearance reflects his expertise in the field of mind magic. Brambles and thorns from walls lash as he passes by, much more reactive than they were during the last incursion into my mind. I smirk as he stops and lifts a hand to his face when he realizes that the scratch I inflicted is not healing. In his moment of hesitation, countless ropes have surged and taken him in their lethal embrace. The intruder forces his way out, the passive defenses unable to stop him, and yet, for every step forward, they harvest their pound of flesh. The mage loses patience, I can feel it in his demeanor. He moves forward and, instead of following the torturous path, smashes his way through a wall of greeneries. For a moment, I think that he has gone mad as the half-collapsed vegetation smothers him completely, but he melts forward and reappears a few paces away, some of his wounds closed. He does it a certain number of times and hits a wall. The sanctum of my mind only has one entrance. He lashes at the unyielding stone but this is no true barrier, just a visualization of the limits of my mind. there is no going through here. To his credit, he realizes it immediately and runs off before the vegetation can crash on him, making his way to the central plaza where most of my defenses await. At first, he crashes through another wall but realizes that it is inefficient as the boughs and branches lash at his flesh. Even the strange healing he uses when he shifts cannot offset the gruesome, patient damage he is subjected to. Eventually, he just speeds through corridors before the thorns can react and finds the first statue, which he mangles in record time. It does not take long for him to find the main square. He warps past the statue of Jimena, but I am directing my defenses personally now and he appears forward only for Loth''s axe to bite painfully into his flank. In his anger, he turns and destroys it but Dalton shoots him in the leg. By the time he has turned, Loth has reformed enough to punch him in the nose. We are not, strictly speaking, fighting with flesh, yet the unexpected strike still catches him off guard and he yowls in anger. He spots my form casually reclining on the top of a fountain and claws at it with unbridled fury. The claws pass through it as if through air. "You do know that everything here is me, right? This is just an image." I tell his rabid maw, amused. The distraction costs him and the largest statue, the one of the Herald, charges him with its horn. I taste more of his essence. He is a Roland Master, quite powerful. It explains his willingness to persevere instead of backing off and admitting that my defenses are solid. The intruder keeps fighting but he cannot destroy the statues faster than I can regenerate them, and each of them scores marks in his flesh that he cannot heal easily. Even his peculiar jumps through my defenses are thwarted as I can just feel where he will appear, and direct the defenses to counter it. Soon, he despairs and rams against the door, ignoring the catastrophic gashes being dug by the defenders. Once, twice. On the third try, I allow the doors to burst open. The mage''s triumph turns to horror when a large fist encloses his face with unexpected speed, then a great rapier burning a fiery purple pierces his breast to the hilt. Sinead, flanked by Sivaya, sneers before closing the door again. Their essence made me a master. They are, without a doubt, the most powerful beings to grant me their backing, even if this world stifles them. By comparison, even Constantine is a young upstart. It is too much for the intruder. He warps back several times in quick succession, but the effort is too much and he half-collapses on his way to the outer boundary. His crawls stop when thick thorny limbs grab him. "Not so fast," I whisper in his ear. Five minutes later. "Was this really necessary?" Marlan asks, clearly annoyed. "We conducted the test exactly as your examiner made them. If you have any complaints you should direct them to him. I merely followed instructions," I remark. Said examiner is quite busy lying on the ground with blood pouring from every cavity. Or at least every cavity on his head, I have not checked the others. He will recover. I let him go promptly and without inflicting too much damage. Vampire minds always bounce back quickly, I should know. Jimena shakes her head in disgust, but her gaze is thankfully aimed at the prone form of Sylvain. "Marlan?" she asks. "Yes, well, I would say that you have passed with full marks. Jimena informed us that your combat abilities were significant and that we should prepare adequately, but I did not know that you were a mind mage as well?" "I am not and have neither taste nor talent for it. My defenses are the result of Charm experience and meditation." Charm does not affect other vampires but mind magic, just like Sylvain uses on me, does. I simply have no reason to train for it as I would never reach the level required to use it effectively in battle. My time is better spent developing my strength. "I will say that the results are quite impressive. I have never seen someone trap another''s spirit quite thoroughly. It will be an excellent learning experience for dear Sylvain. He was growing a bit complacent as of late. Follow me, we will now proceed with the combat examination." "Will you handle it, Marlan?" "No. Octave will." I almost freeze in my steps. Even Jimena raises a brow in surprise. "So, you did believe me," she says. "He wants to assess you personally," Marlan tells me, "you should be honored. It is not every recruit who catches the eye of the triumvirate." The Order has three founders, two of whom are still active. Lorica is a visionary and primarily a diplomat. Octave is the muscle. He is also quite possibly the second deadliest duelist on the planet. Even Malakim may lose to him, I think. In order to meet him, we walk a few more minutes and arrive in a wide sand arena large enough to host a hundred fighters. Tiers of seats allow spectators to watch the proceedings. A man with dark close-cropped hair and an impressive muscle structure awaits, wearing nothing but an open shirt and short trousers. He holds in his hand a simple blade with only a few enchantments as he checks it for defects. He lifts his gaze as we arrive and smiles. So yes, Torran robbed my heart, but this man would have had a chance as well. He is quite manly in a good, solid way. The short hair, honest smile, and stubble give him a soldier''s charm. "And you must be Ariane. Jimena, it is good to see you as well. Still using Justice like a toothpick? I trust that I shall see you later tonight, hmm?" "I have been practicing diligently," Jimena answers without malice. It appears that the two know each other. "Excellent. But let us test this new addition to our fine ranks, shall we? You will find your gear in that room, Ariane. Equip yourself and then come face me." "Can I use all of it?" I ask. "How else can I assess you?" Octave answers genially. The arena has doors, one of which leads to changing rooms. I find my entire gear stacked up neatly on one table and equip all of it, including the rifle. I can use it as an opening move. I return to the others to find that we have gained a few spectators, including a few of the Knight trainees who joined us last night. I get a mix of reactions ranging from outrage to disbelief when they see what weapons I have brought. They dare mock my wonderful piece of modern engineering? I will show them. Octave casually walks to the other end of the open ground while Jimena and Marlan leave. "Ready when you are," he declares, still smiling. I lift the rifle and fire it in the same movement with a small flip of my hand. I watch as Octave is casually standing one moment, and in a lunge, blade extended the next. He cut the bullet in two. One of the fragments still smashed against his chest and pierced his skin, forcing some blood out. That man went and forgot about inertia. I chamber the next bullet with all the speed I can muster and fire another shot. This time, he stops it with the flat of his blade as he rushes forward. "Let there be darkness." An impenetrable cloud covers the area as I rush to the side and lash out with Rose, dropping my gun on the sand. He somehow dodges low and angles himself towards me. Our blades meet. I try my very best to keep him at bay, in vain. He does not even make any effort to see me through the spell. He must guess where I am from the direction of my blade. On a hunch, I curve it and his attack is slightly to the right. I use the opening and lean backward, using my gauntleted hand to grab the big iron. In another smooth movement. I draw the Big Iron and pull the trigger as the barrel clears the holster. Impossibly, Octave twitches at the last moment and the bullet merely hits his flank. Unfortunately for him, those are not normal bullets and a deep, bleeding gash opens, staining his shirt black. Octave smiles. He accelerates. His movements are now less casual and playful and I have to work in earnest to stop him. Suddenly, he attacks one more and I am pushed back, forced to focus on defense to avoid being skewered. "Flay." He lightly steps to the side to avoid the spell and I realize that we have left the cloud. I attack in earnest. He somehow blocks or dodges everything I have, no matter how unpredictable I try to be. Sometimes, he moves faster than I can but most of the time he moves slower as his superior technique allows him this freedom. I try every tip and technique I learned from Torran and Nami to force him back, mixing different styles in an attempt to force a reaction. As I try to disarm him with one of Jimena''s methods, he chuckles. "Trying my own tricks on me, are you?" Damn. Out of ideas, I attempt new things. I grab for the Big Iron and, as he surges forward to stop me, cast a spell instead. "Bind." The tracking chains erupt from my gauntlet as I charge towards him. He reverses course and blocks it with his forearm. Then, he pulls. We both strike at the same time and our blades block each other''s. We are very close. He headbutts me. I kick him. "Shred." At this distance he cannot dodge, or rather he could but decides to block with his sword instead. Just as I expected. The simple enchanted sword blocked two high-caliber enchanted bullets at close range, Rose''s strikes and now a spell designed to destroy inanimate material. It is too much for the simple tool. It breaks, and I see surprise for the first time in Octave''s gaze. Or was it pleasure? He leans under my ''surprise'' attack and grabs my bracer, pulling me in. We are now too close to use anything but knives. He and I claw at each other with merciless fury. His attacks dig grooves in Loth''s armor while I only manage to open tear cuts in his already shredded shirt despite using power that could rend stone to powder. Our deadly dance is frenzy without an end, and he never lets me open the distance. He is toying with me. I should feel more anger, but the fact that he treats me seriously dulls the edge of being so thoroughly outclassed. After a few minutes and just as Loth''s armor starts to fall apart, he moves back and raises one hand. "Enough. Well done. You pass." A few applauses echo throughout the tiers. "Already?" I ask with some surprise. S~ea??h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Octave chuckles again. "Did you want me to go on?" "Not for an assessment. I am simply astonished. I always finish this sort of fight stabbed or smashed into some elements of the landscape." "Oh, you will in the future. I merely did not want to delay your next test. It would not be civil of me to have them wait until you rebuild a head." I glare a bit, but he merely shrugs. "A promising display," Marlan says as he enters the arena again. "Shall we?" I nod at Octave and follow the Praetor out after getting quickly changed. Jimena decides to stay. "I owe him a spar," she explains. I am led to a small office with a pile of paper on a secondary table, with a pen and ink pot by the side. "This will test your theoretical knowledge on a variety of subjects. All Knights and Knight candidates must choose a specialty, but I was informed that you are an expert in blood magic, magical smithing, and business." "I would not go so far¡­" "We will test you on those. You may begin whenever you wish. I will be by the side doing paperwork, so please feel free to bother me if you have any questions. This should only take a couple of hours." I sit down and grab the first sheet, now realizing that sixty years after leaving the school bench for good, I am back to answering test questions. How the tables have turned. The first speciality questions are quite basic, merely true or false answers used to determine if the applicant has basic knowledge about their field. I am then asked to answer a few deeper questions, but again, nothing that cannot be answered in a few seconds. The last elements are practical problems that take me half an hour each. The blood magic and smithing questions are extremely basic, but the business problem deals with real estate in several European countries and ¡ª though I did my best ¡ª I am not convinced that I have been successful. After that, I answer spoken questions from Marlan on bloodline, vampire law, and etiquette. The answers are basic at first, then increase in complexity until I am thoroughly lost. "If a vampire from a Dvor coven is killed, its Lord is absent for a month and the suspected culprit is a visiting Lancaster Master on a diplomatic mission, who should contact the Knights in theory and who would we depend on for hospitality?" "I have no idea." "Hmm. I propose that we stop here. Your combat score would be enough for us to admit you, but you also have strong knowledge of key subjects. I suppose that if we were to ask you about the Accords, you would be knowledgeable?" "I can lawyer it with the best of them." "Indeed. I will make sure that you are registered for etiquette lessons, but I believe that the time has come for the final part of the process. Three of us will discuss where you are the most suited. Come." We move once more, deeper into the heart of the mountain. I notice a lot of unused space in long corridors and empty reception rooms. It is not so much that the fortress is understaffed as it was designed to be labyrinthine to begin with. When prompted, my guide elaborates. "All three founders were quite taken by the Renaissance movement, despite being older than its inception. In particular, Lorica lived in Venice for a long time. Her passion for neoclassical architecture is well-known. As such, she and a few other Masters carve the mountain''s inside in their free time. What you see is the result of decades of patient effort." Quite impressive. It is as Loth said. He and I design weapons while architects design targets. I wisely decide to keep my remark to myself and it does not take long before we enter a square room lit by blue lanterns with a massive table in its center. Three tall, comfortable chairs line the opposite side, two of them occupied by Octave and a severe-looking woman with brown hair in a ponytail. She has sharp features and the jaded air of veteran teachers. They fall silent as we enter. Marlan sits down immediately and the unknown woman speaks first, her gaze cold and measuring. "Greetings, Ariane. My name is Laestra, and I am in charge of the Shade training for new and returning Knights. Are you familiar with the roles?" "Jimena told me about them, yes. The Vanguard is the fighter and assassin, the Shade is the scout and spy, the Vestal is the mage and strategist and the Voice is the leader and representative." "Accurate. Good. As you can imagine, many of the roles overlap. For example a well-trained Shade should be a perfect assassin. More importantly, every member of a Knight squad should be capable of playing any role satisfactorily. In particular, we do not deploy any Knight who cannot perform well in combat situations for obvious reasons. Now, what role do you think you could play?" Oh, I did not expect that they would let me choose. "Hm, I do not think that I would be suitable as a Vestal. My knowledge of magic remains modest and I favor direct applications for the spells I practice. I also prefer simple schemes." "Those are always the most likely to succeed, however we agree with your assessment. From the past events you shared with us, we can tell that you see plans as means to ends and that you prefer to adopt a more flexible approach to problem-solving," she continues. "Like resorting to extreme violence," Octave suggests helpfully. "You are capable, but we believe you do not have the perfect mindset for the role," she finishes "I do not think I would be a good Voice either, considering my origin. Both the geographical one and¡­" "That is true for Europe only. We understand that you have always acted honorably on the American continent and managed a few feats of diplomacy. You will follow additional classes on leadership and, as I am sure Marlan mentioned, etiquette. We will reconsider this option later." "As for Shade, I think that I would be suitable," I say. No one speaks and the other examiners all studiously look at anything but Laestra''s skeptical expression. "So, let us see previous operations and how they developed, shall we?" she says. Uh oh. "In eighteen twelve, you assaulted a mansion for the purpose of capturing a cell leader." "Yes?" "The operation ended as a failure, with most of the manor destroyed by, and I quote, ''pigs set on fire''." Uh oh. "In the same year, you attempted to retrieve a folder from a bank vault. You ended up escaping through the backdoor after threatening an employee with a gun, then ran across half of Charleston with a Cadiz lord in tow, following which you jumped into the harbor to escape pursuit." "The¡­ the documents were intact." "You thwarted the Ascendency attempt to trap you by opening fire on the American army with Dvergur field artillery." "Hey, it worked." "Later, your information gathering ended up in a pirate ship-to-ship canon duel." "Which we won." "You escaped capture in Marquette twenty years later by building an army and conducting a large-scale battle, again, with the liberal use of bombardment." "I prefer the term ''heavy fire support''." "Ending in a duel that destroyed much of a street and catapulted an anvil through a general good store." "Technically, I used a spear. The blade just happened to embed itself in an anvil." "Is that so? Moving on. You set a hostile compound on fire while still in said compound, with the Dvor''s only soul smith present, three weeks after arriving in Boston." "There was a godling so all bets are off." "Moving on, you solved the werewolf problem by killing a third of the hostile pack with powder charges and an archmage-level spell, then led the survivors in a frontal charge against their tyrannical overlord." I am starting to see a pattern here. "Your expedition to Europe for the Rosenthal ended up in yet another large-scale battle against a weakened lord, which you killed. Your visit to the Dvergur land ended in a duel. You participated in the Mask Accords war and escaped encirclement with the clever use of naval artillery. Need I go on?" "That will not be necessary," I reply, "I believe that I understood your message." "I do, however, salute your efficacy as a Vanguard. All in agreement?" she asks. "Vanguard," Marlan says. "Vanguard for sure," Octave adds. "It is done. Ariane shall join the Order as a squire and Vanguard trainee. My congratulations. Please refrain from using explosives within the complex." No promises. Chapter 149 - 144. Knight Training After the interview is done, Marlan leads me farther into the complex and up the mountain. Just as before, many of the installations remain close to the surface so that gardens and promenades abound. "I am surprised to see some of the tree essences," I remark, "they should not survive here." "The Erenwald who joined our ranks maintain our more delicate specimen. They also take care of our Nightmares. The Knights benefit from the qualities of all those who joined our ranks." All the flaws too. "Our harmony and values could be the future of vampiredom, if enough believed in it." "No need to sell me," I reply in a bored voice, "I already joined your ranks." "No, squire, you are here because Octave may have the solution to your immature Magna Arqa problem. We are under contract, not under oath. Not truly. You know of what I speak." "Yes. Let me be honest, Marlan, since you have been a gracious host so far. You have someone among your numbers who cost me dearly and abused his powers to hurt me while I gave him no cause." "I know about Anatole. He was dearly punished for his transgression." "And yet here he is, in the same compound, in a position of authority. If I trusted myself less, I would have stayed on that train." "Knights are to leave their past grievances at the gates," Marlan observes. I allow him to sense my annoyance and he indulges me. "We are not blind to our own nature, of course. Past enemies will not belong to the same line of command. I merely ask you to give us a chance. There is much we can bring to each other." "We shall see if your actions match your words." My last remark kills the mood a bit, and it is in silence that we arrive at a secluded area at the end of a corridor covered in frescos. We enter a square room acting as both a meeting space and storage with an unlit hearth on the side. Large stairs lead up to a set of double doors, all in the same sober white stone. We climb and I see another square cavern with no roof, the light of the moon shining down on a lone willow tree. Grass grows a vivid green under its boughs, and a covered promenade encircles it, leading to six different doors. Marlan walks forward and rings a bell hanging against the wall. The delicate chime fills the clearing. Vampires in simple uniforms emerge from three of the rooms, one from each, with slow but purposeful steps. They try hard, but I have frequented ancient lords and I can tell when someone is pretending not to hurry. They were waiting for this. I study the three newcomers as they line up in perfect order. In the army, they would have been chewed out for taking their time. Here, though, the Knights contend with Masters and if we have a humble person amongst our ranks, I have not met them yet. This is merely a dance to show that, although they serve, they are not subservient. Appearances are important when instincts are involved. This is the proper way. "Lady and gentlemen, may I present to you squire Ariane, your new Vanguard." They have decent aura control but I can still detect a hint of excitement behind their stony composure. "She is the first applicant in history to wound Octave in a formal duel." This time, their control fails. They stare at me with undisguised surprise. "Twice." Eyes bulge and brows furrow. "With a gun." Auras explode, and a tall blond man with a trimmed beard and light blue eyes expresses his surprise. "Marlan, you are doing this on purpose." "Of course, I am," the older vampire agrees, "though I only spoke the truth. With this, your squad has grown to operational size." "Oh, good, then perhaps we can finally win a competition," a man with a dark moustache and a reserved air says in a tone that would fit in a lawyer''s office. The last person does not speak. She is a petite woman with dark hair held in a white shawl. Her skin is tanned and her eyes drift to corners in the manner of those who are always on guard. She is a Vanheim, I can tell. The lawyer man is a Lancaster, while the blond one is an Erenwald. His words do not surprise me. A normal squad consists of four to six members, with some redundancies but always the four roles represented. If they were to compete without a Vanguard, they would surely be at a clear disadvantage against other squads. "I will refrain from commenting. Now, you have one night to get acquainted and help Ariane get settled. Training shall resume tomorrow. I bid you a good night. Squire Ariane, your personal effects should already be in your quarters." Marlan bows graciously and leaves without a sound. We stand unmoving until he has left this section of the compound, which I understand is our squad''s private barracks. I turn to my new teammates before the situation becomes awkward and bow slightly. "Greetings. As Marlan mentioned, I am Ariane. It is a pleasure to meet you all. May I ask your names?" "Of course. Introductions. Lars, would you do the honor?" the moustached man asks. "My name is Lars. I am of the Erenwald. I am the team''s face." He waits, placid, as immobile as a statue. That is all he is going to say? "Well, it is good to meet our face," I say, with a little hesitation. I expected someone¡­ smoother. "Our dear Lars may not be the most loquacious ambassador, but he has qualities that make up for it in my humble opinion. He has a deep understanding of law and interpersonal connections. Do you not, Lars?" the other man continues. "You flatter me," the man answers with the energy and passion of a dead dog. "He is also a proficient spear user. It is just such a shame that he always loses his weapon." "I use javelins. I throw them," Lars elaborates. "He does miss quite a bit so I cannot tell the difference," the other man continues drily, "as for me, my name is Phineas and I am of the Lancaster, though I believe that they may be regretting it now. I am the team''s Vestal on account of my accounting skill." That is too much. "I beg your pardon?" "The Knights have recognized me for my keen mind, and I am following crash courses in strategy and magic. Why, I can even name every chess piece now." "I do not follow. Why would an accountant join the Knights." "Oh, what a great story this is. Let us sit and I shall regale you with it" There is a small table near the willow with six seats. We take positions around it, the other woman still looking at everything but us. "A long time ago, I was a clerk laboring for the government of King George III. My work ethic was impeccable, and since no good deed goes unpunished, I was recruited in the ranks of the Lancaster. In a rather heavy-handed fashion, I may add." "It appears to be the common Lancaster policy" I say in agreement. "Indeed. For a century, I labored for the cause, until I noticed a few subtle irregularities in some of our dealings with the Rosenthal consortium. I, of course, challenged them." "Oh dear. The Rosenthal never make mistakes." "They do not, and they were quite grateful that my hints allowed them to uncover embezzlement from, can you guess?" "Your superiors." "Bravo, Madame. And now I am a Squire. Now, for the last member of our merry band, and then it will be your turn. Please do be patient, I do not actually know the tongue." What? I watch him turn to the shawled woman, confused. "Ahem. L¨¹tfen, kendinizi tan?t?n." The language is strange, and one I do not recognize. The woman glares at Phineas, or perhaps this is simply her normal expression. For the first time, she inspects me. "My name is Esmeray. I am of the Vanheim. I am Shade." "A shade," Phineas corrects. "A shade," she repeats, rolling her eyes. "Phineas," I address as calmly as I can, "what language was it that you used?" "Turkish." "She speaks Turkish." "Indeed." "But not Akkad." "Not so far." "What else does she speak?" "Old Arabic and ancient Greek, as far as I can tell." I would have a headache if I were still mortal. "So, let me summarize. We have a face who does not speak¡­" Lars grunts, proving my point. "... a Vestal who does not cast spells, and a Shade who cannot communicate." "And a Vanguard who uses guns. Yes." I cannot believe the only conclusion I can draw from all those elements. "... Are we the squad of rejects?" Phineas nods wisely. "Ah, I knew you were a sharp one the moment you came in." Dammit. "Please tell me that you can use something more than just guns," Phineas asks without much hope. "I would not have landed the second shot on Octave otherwise. I am a competent fighter, I assure you." "I trust you, but would you mind sparring with Lars? He is the most apt among the three of us. It would help if we could assess your level." "Certainly." I stand up and Lars leaves for his apartment, returning with a steel sword and shield combo. "You do not wish to fetch your weapons?" Phineas inquires politely. A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. "No need," I answer, and materialize Rose in my hand. Seeing Lars'' expression turns sour, I feel the need to comfort him. "I will be gentle. Ready?" He nods. An instant later, Rose shreds the upper top of his shield to reveal his shocked face. An instant later, said shocked face is bodily grabbed and planted in the loam beneath the willow. Silence returns to the secluded garden. "By the Eye. What bloodline did you say you were? One of the Natalis?" "No, I am a Nirari." They only frown. It appears that though Marlan warned them of my arrival, he left me to introduce myself properly. "I do not recall¡­ Wait. Could it be? I thought that you were all insane?" "I lucked out. And you surprise me, I assumed that our existence was common knowledge?" "It is not. Or rather, it should be, but we have other matters to focus on such as the stock market and who we intend to backstab next. Unless... I remember mentions of a dangerous female fighter who stood side by side with lords and ladies during the last conflict." Aha, my reputation precedes me. "So is it true, are you one of the only vampires in existence who can use fire?" "No," I reluctantly admit, "the person you heard of would be Melusine of the Lancaster¡­" Ugh. "My apologies for this lapse in my knowledge. Since we are in the same team, we will have plenty of opportunities to get to know each other." Lars grunts in acknowledgement. As for Esmeray, she¡­ grows wolf ears? I watch in amazement as a pair of long, upward, fluffy parts pop comically out of her shawl. They twitch as she directs them to the door. I point at them, speechless. The two men wince. "We¡­. we can do that!? By the Watcher!" Then Esmeray squeals as I try to inspect the objects of my fascination, struggling against my overwhelming strength. "Ariane, please try not to molest your teammate on the first day?" someone implores, but I do not care. Wolf ears! I have to try her essence. In the end, the rest of the team strongly objects to a sampling, despite my assurances that it would not be fatal, on account of ''propriety'' and ''she cannot give consent'' and other such details that, though important, should be considered as secondary to wolf ears. Alas. I soon leave the common area to settle down in my own personal apartments. They are Spartan, according to vampire standards, but compared to what any military provides, they are positively princely. We have a bathing area with hot running water, a study room, a bed large enough to host the full team and a walk-in closet. The quarters are sober yet cozy and intimate, with a single major difference compared to what I am used to: we are in charge of our own cleanliness. I do not think that I have cleaned my own bedroom in decades. Rather than complaining about it, I simply remember the methods I was taught as a human. The Knights are still an armed force and, like all good armed forces, they require discipline. I expect fixed training hours and strict commands. Once more, the powers-that-be dance a delicate jig between control and freedom. I believe that only our willingness to be here and the oaths we took permit them to order us around. Otherwise, we would be too prickly. I quickly unpack everything including my armor which I will not use, and change into one of the provided uniforms. They are almost my size, only a little tight around the lower back. I will have to ask for adjustment or risk them cracking at an inopportune time. A request to Phineas and a mortal seamstress comes to pick them up. Next, Lars guides me through the common areas. This section of the underground complex is dedicated to training. Besides the lodgings for three other teams ¡ª which are off limits to us unless specifically invited ¡ª we have a sparring hall, a library, and a workshop with some of the most advanced equipment I have ever seen, Dvergur facilities included. The library also contains a spellbook section that I promise to myself that I will visit later, if I can make it past its stone-faced custodian. It takes the rest of the night to see everything and I return before dawn to realize the extent of the protection in place. Vast slabs of stone descend shortly before daylight to isolate every exit against anything but the deadliest of explosives. Even then, all dwellings are deep underground under several redundant layers of magical and mundane protection. They are also isolated from each other, so that anyone trying to take advantage of it would have to progress one chamber at a time. I inspect the enchantments themselves and realize that they are all isolated and self-contained. No one could force the gates to open from the outside because there is no lock to fiddle with. The path will remain closed come hell or high water. Training resumes the next day. For the first week, I am given more comprehensive tests by the individual instructors in charge of various disciplines. There are only twenty squires currently training here, which is apparently quite a bit above average, and around ten specialized instructors. It means that we have ample opportunities for individual lessons. Truly, Knight training is some of the best one can hope for on this planet. As for the number of recruits being so high, I blame it on the current political climate. It appears that many Europeans have felt the need to ''withdraw from the world and its vicissitudes'' recently. It certainly beats being tortured. At the end of the first week, my team and I are set to face another in a small competition. We travel a few kilometers to a maze-like arena sitting incongruously in the middle of acres of rocks. There, we are set against team Oak. "There are team names?" I ask Phineas as we put on the mandated armors above our uniforms. "Yes. We are team Willow." "Because our common area has a willow in it," Lars adds. "At least we are not team Cactus¡­" I grumble, ignoring Esmeray''s hiss. The poor thing still has not forgiven me from manhandling her. I stopped before doing anything too daring anyway, but I understand her fear. She should be afraid. Wolf ears. By the Watcher. In any case, the instructors have not seen fit to forbid me the use of my own weapons, and so the four of us walk out into a dusty, gravelly square surrounded by several entrances. I bet that some amusing games could be played here. Five Master vampires exit from the opposite path. A tall instructor in charge of squad tactics awaits us in the middle, clad in his pride and a more elaborate suit of armor. "Welcome, squires," he says, "now that another team has reached capacity, we will be conducting a few tests to see how they perform. Team Oak, Squire Ariane has proven her ability during the aptitude test so do not hold back." I meet the glares of our opponents. They clearly had no intention of holding back to begin with. "Ah, Squire Ariane, I apologize for the late notice. For the sake of the test, please do not use your firearms." "Of course, instructor," I reply with a conciliatory smile. Everyone watches as I unbuckle the belt holding the Big Iron. The massive, custom-made revolver is left on a nearby stone with an audible ''plonk''. Let them feast their eyes on this marvel of aesthetics and technology, its silvery engraving shimmering under the light of the stars. I even have a matching purse, but sadly no opportunity to wear them together. "Now, both teams will salute." We bow to our vis-a-vis. "Please go to your respective side of the arena. You may engage on my mark. Ready?" We do, of course, have a strategy. The strategy is that, since my team and I have not trained together yet, they would support each other and let me go to town. "Fight!" I sprint forward and extend Rose, sliding her under the nearest opponent''s kite shield to bite into his foot. "Bind." Five chains erupt from my left hand. They latch on a surprised spear-user who yelps. Her confusion increases when I use my Natalis essence to smash her into her wounded partner. The two fall into a pile, which I jump over to get at their panicking Vestal. "Frost whip!" "Shield." I allow the spell to bounce on my defenses and dive under a small sword''s stab. A punch throws the mage against the wall. Immediately, I duck under an axe blow from one of the foes who came to aid his flailing allies, and sweep a foot under his¡­ oh, hers. I had not realized that the axe user was a powerfully-built woman. She manages to keep her balance by dancing back and throws a counter attack which I easily deflect. I also take a step back and quickly overwhelm her with a flurry of strikes. "Stooop!" the instructor bellows. The fallen ones pick themselves up. "Ah, an interesting performance. My apologies again, Squire Ariane, but I fear that for the sake of training, I will have to request that you do not use your soul weapon. It was an exemplary performance nonetheless." Again, I do not begrudge his attempt to limit me. In fact, I relish the challenge. The poor oak team has done nothing to provoke me, yet I fear that tonight I must make an example out of them. After all, I cannot force myself to lose. I listen as the instructor offers feedback to both teams, crediting the axe woman for heading back but castigating the spear-wielder for not watching her sides. My own allies are told to stay closer to me to provide support and maximize the threat. His tone is calm and respectful to soften the blow of public criticism. He eventually gives us a short lecture on the challenges of facing a stronger opponent, then round two starts. This time, the stout axe-woman, limber spear-user, and the shield-bearer all rush me, with the Vestal and a man wielding a dagger providing support. "Darkness." The obfuscating cloud swallows them, and I enjoy the surprise on their face when they realize that they are blind as bats. Even Octave had issues perceiving me by sight, though he immediately compensated for it. Those recruits do not stand a chance. The second fight is even shorter than the first. "Stooooop." The instructor''s voice feels more tired this time. We go over the effects of large-area spells, deception and diminished perception. "Squire Ariane¡­" "No spells?" "Please." I remove my gauntlet and place it next to my gun. The other squad appears more annoyed and ill-at-ease than before, but if any harbor true hostility, they hide it well. I would be a bit miffed at being beaten repeatedly. Come to think of it, this is what my spars with Jarek or Torran look like. sea??h th§× N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The third round begins much the same as the second. I sent three throwing knives at the shield-bearer in quick succession, with one drawing a painful dark line across his calf. He stumbles with a curse. I step backward to avoid an axe strike and kick my assailant in the chest. Lars rams the spear-user with a javelin as she tries to stab me. I twist and grab her weapon while she falls. Phineas and Esmeray take my sides. I twirl the spear in my hand in the hypnotic, distracting dance that Nami created. I am far from being her equal, yet the hum of the blurry weapon robs the last traces of hope from team Oak. I smack the axe-woman''s face with the butt of the spear, then stab from behind her at the shield man. He does not see me well, though he still manages to scramble away from the strike. "Lethargy." I let the Watcher essence fill my nails and slap the spell away. The Vestal''s face shows considerable dismay and I use the distraction to plant a throwing knife in his gauntlet. Their flanker tries to stab me and I manage to block the attack at the last minute, although his other attack bites into my shoulder. Because the weapons are made of steel, the wound heals almost instantly. Esmeray uses the opening to take him down. "Bolt!" Phineas exclaims, quite pleased with himself. A decent magical projectile emerges from his own gauntlet, only to be dispersed by the enemy Vestal''s shield. It does not seem to affect his good mood. With this, all our opponents but the Vestal are disabled and the instructor calls an end to the third round. We receive advice on positioning and moving as a squad, though the instructor informs us that we will be trained thoroughly on squad tactics further down the road. Even then, it is clear that he is running out of steam. You can only pretend so much before it becomes clear that our side wins simply because I outclass every other combatant by a significant margin. Some of our foes clearly received instructions in the art of battle. It simply does not compare to being tutored by Naminata the singing spear, Torran the soul smith, and Jarek the whatever-he calls-himself, possibly ''the earthquake'' or something equally ostentatious. Oh, and stealing essence over sixty years of bloody battle. I drop my throwing knives and replace them with steel training gear, something I should have done before. On the fourth set, I plant them in the axe woman''s eyes, steal the shield-bearer''s shield and bash her with it. "Is this really necessary?" she complains. "Sorry, holding back would be a disservice to you," I assure her as I smack the knife-thrower into a nearby pillar. "Stoooop!" The shield I just threw crashes in the wall over the Vestal''s kneeling form, showering him with dust. He looks up as the steel pane falls on his nose. His reflexes save him. "Not that I don''t appreciate the experience of facing overwhelming odds," the knife-wielder says as he removes a blade from his shoulder, "but I think four times in a row is quite enough." "I fear that you are right. We will need to adjust our program. In the meanwhile, we will practice maneuvering." We do so. Both teams train to move through the maze while maintaining a flexible formation that protects their Vestal. We are supposed to keep an eye on the other formation without engaging. The dance feels forced and contrived. We even have an accident when Esmeray, who did not perfectly understand the nature of the exercise, throws a stone at a complaining Oak team member. I remember the smooth cooperation of the American Knights and only now realize how much effort went into reaching their level of performance. I suspect that working with vampires from different bloodlines does not come naturally. The training ends an hour later, and we move back to attend our respective classes. Phineas boasts that he managed to cast a spell in a combat situation. He deems it ''encouraging progress''. I discover that he was an untrained mage before he died, but his sire did not see it fit to give him a formation, which I find unbelievable. Lars is to study eloquence, and Esmeray, Akkad. I can only assume that it is a recent development since the results have yet to show. At all. As for me, I find myself facing Octave in a secluded grove. As before, he wears a casual white cotton shirt and wields a training sword, this one made of steel. Steel means that he will not be afraid to cut me to ribbons. "How did squad training go?" he asks. "Are all recruits usually this raw?" I reply. "No. In normal times, we mostly have one or two teams training simultaneously. Right now, we have four in total including one that is undergoing retraining." "Retraining?" "Knights retire and die. Most Knights will only stay with us for a limited time. Fragments of teams are often merged together to create a new one. But enough of this. You have come here because your aura is not under control." "Well, to be precise, my essence¡­" He lifts a hand to silence me, and I comply. "If you could control your aura, and essence, you would not have this issue. Your essence is you. It should always obey you. A lack of control simply means that the power and emotions overwhelm your mind. Do you think that becoming a lady will fix the issue? It will not." Seeing that I do not object, Octave continues. "True aura masters can mask their presence entirely. You could walk past them in the street and never realize that a vampire was there." "Unless I smell them." He snaps his fingers. "Do not let yourself be distracted. I will help you, if only because a Knight who disables herself is of no use to us. Aura control is the perfect expression of a true warrior, because only those who master themselves can master the deadliest arts. As for the physical aspect of training, I notice that you favor mid-range engagements with that curious soul weapon of yours." "I merely wanted to use my superior reach," I say. "Lies. You don''t know how to use a sword beyond the basics," Octave replies with a smile. "We will remedy that too." He swings and the sword blurs in his hand. This might sting a bit. Chapter 150 - 145. Surface Tension I slap Octave''s blade aside before it can bury itself in my breast, counter-attacking immediately. Our swords clink against each other, whistling through the air. We step back and forth and to the side in a lethal dance. I am fully absorbed in the fight with the help of the Cadiz essence and manage to reach a state of perfect calm and focus where my arms move faster than I can think. Instinct, experience, intuition, all guide me through a fight I cannot truly win. Right now, it does not matter. Octave leaves me an opening and I take it. A flick of my wrist, and Rose extends enough to slam against his massive chest protector. "Good! Good. Better. You are less afraid of short range." "If only those I faced in short range were not all stronger than me¡­" I grumble. Torran, Jarek, even Malakim, they all favor close quarter combat. The only way to win against them is to deny it. "They are only stronger because they practice more. Rose is a whipsword, not a swordwhip, is it?" I frown. That makes no sense? "What do you mean?" "Just a jest," he says. "My point still stands. You need to be comfortable at every range or your more capable foes will notice your reluctance. Your style is very aggressive. You cannot overwhelm your foe if they can just get into your face and win. Your advantage over a spear user is that they always have to mind keeping their enemy at bay while you are much more flexible. Flexibility leads to the unpredictability that you cultivate with so much gusto. Again." I charge him before the second syllable is out and get a smile as an answer. The dance resumes. Octave is purposefully lowering his skills in a way that only a true master could. He gives me openings and makes mistakes that only someone a little less competent than him would do. I have to work very hard to corner him, overwhelm him with a series of movements that leave him with no choice but to take a hit. Feints and changing attacks are key. Using more strength in specific strikes thanks to the Natalis essence helps as well. After two hours, we are done and the time comes for the last leg of the exercise. The full experience. With the exception of my armor, which I am to discard in favor of the traditional lamellar gambeson, I am using all of my gear and facing off against Octave for his own amusement. He delights in facing off against my guns specifically, and I have worked hard to integrate them in a style designed to take him down as a result. I had to reinforce the trigger mechanism to fire faster, train to shoot twice almost instantly while drawing, and empty the whole barrel in an instant. He faces me only with his shirt and heart protector while insisting that I use my own bullets. I have run out of bullets. I had to make more bullets. The workshop master only calls me the ''boom girl'' now, when the apprentices are not here. I dodge a strike by leaping back. "Flay." The spell surges and even alters course to strike at Octave, but he moves with impossible grace, in strange sequences that would make me blink if it was the first time. His footwork is out of this world. I draw and fire but he merely continues moving in those strange patterns without stopping, having once more anticipated my strategy. Our dance continues. Sometimes, I manage to nick him by shooting randomly in small clusters but it does not happen every session. I think he will grow bored of it after a while. With this, our session ends and we bow to each other. I clean up quickly while Octave welcomes another student, this one a full Knight. I hurry to the library feeling very much like a young student hurrying to class. The stone-faced librarian welcomes me. He is an old Dvor Master who had chosen the library as his domain, an extremely strange decision that I did not dare investigate too closely. "Welcome back, Squire Ariane." His name is Drakla and he is almost bald, with a white face and deep-set eyes that never blink. With a gesture, he invites me to a secluded alcove that contains a series of books piled carefully. I sit down and notice thin markers at specific spots. Sear?h the N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "I have been considering your project. I also saw you cast and practice magic. I have come to several conclusions." He speaks slowly and meticulously as if words were precious. "You have little skill for magic. Your only decent affinity is centered around¡­ information." "Information?" "Yes. Analyzing it with your intuition. Denying it with darkness. As such, I have compiled a series of spells that will be useful to you, split in two categories. There are a few spells that relate to blood magic and, though difficult to master, will fill an important role in your arsenal. The second category contains spells designed around information gathering, information denial and deception. Although usually not worth the effort, I believe that they will be interesting assets and tools in your hands." "Deception you said?" Drakla grabs a dusty old tome and opens it, showing me a strangely organic glyph, at the very limit of what a traditional gauntlet could achieve. The work on it is heterodox while remaining anchored in the ''western standard'' magic system. "This spell is called mirage. It will allow you to show an illusory set of movement as well as the one you are actually performing. An enhanced version exists that can mask your current position, rendering the spell even deadlier in the hands of an accomplished duelist, which I was informed you were. The strong point of this spell is that it emits light rather than acting on your target''s mind directly." "Meaning that people will not be able to defend against it." "Exactly. The spell is so fast that even a vampire could not dispel it before it has finished running its course. There are conditions beyond casting, of course. You need to visualize the feint you wish to make in the midst of battle. It will require great focus. On the other hand, my understanding is that it is not a taxing spell to use, therefore, you can use it in quick succession to overwhelm your foe." Between this, my unpredictability and Nami''s hypnotic movement techniques, I will be able to throw off even the most battle-hardened veterans! "Even Octave will be unable to escape my reach," I whisper. "I would not count on it too much just yet, young Squire, though I applaud your enthusiasm." I stare at the librarian, who was once banished from Athens for killing too many young adults, and thank him. "Now, a less combat-oriented spell. This one will allow you to see through walls as if they were windows¡­" The session continues and I start collecting spells. My training in the magical arts will continue in an arena, but I will be sure to return to the library on occasion. The next class is one on law, taught by Marlan himself. I find that a lot of common rules used throughout covens have been co-opted by Constantine when he created the Accords. After all, why discard something that had worked for centuries? This is where the issues start, however. Mask laws put the emphasis on secrecy and the respect of nation-wide directives, while Eneru unsurprisingly place the city-masters at the heart of their system. The influence a city-master wields in their domain is simply unequalled, and only legal travelers are protected from their reach. It makes the legislation between Eneru and Mask faction members in time of peace impossibly complex. "Do not worry overmuch, there are many contradictory elements and no one cares about precedent. You simply need to be aware of the law. Most of those cases will be solved not before court but behind closed doors, with dealings and compensation," Marlan tells me. "What if they cannot agree?" "Then you have a minor vampire war and that mission was a failure," Marlan says, and I wince. "It will happen," he adds. "Sometimes, our kind is just looking for an excuse. The savviest Knights know when to withdraw, or when to punish." "We can intervene directly?" "If you feel the need. We rarely do so. It will be covered in the squad leadership classes which you will attend later. Remember that any intervention will put you at risk, and also that half of our casualties come from politics-related issues. You do not want that to happen." The lesson finishes a bit later and I rejoin my group for a small get-together. The discussion is mostly between Phineas and I, with Lars occasionally commenting. As for Esmeray, she spends this free time in full wolf form. It also explains how she can be such a good shade. Her wolf form is not the same as a werewolf''s one. Her shape is that of a normal animal, only darker, and she has a remarkable ability to hide her aura and presence in that shape. This time allows us to compare notes and to get acquainted. I spend a lot of time talking about some of my past experiences, and getting recognition for those. Phineas also has some interesting stories about people who disrespected him and how, as the accountant and paymaster of his coven, he made their lives miserable without failing his duties. Then comes the last branch of the evening. I have agreed to a special lesson involving Anatole''s team, the more experienced Knights. It is a test. A test to see exactly where he stands, but also how much I can achieve with no equipment. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. I enter the arena set for the challenge, an empty place of sand devoid of obstacles. it will make the opposing team''s task easier. At first. The squad trainer awaits with my opponents. My nemesis is by his side. "Ah, Squire Ariane. Thank you for joining us," the trainer says without malice. "Team Aspen, tonight you will practice an important skill: how to stop a rogue." Only a vampire could spot the minute sneer on the face of the other team''s shield-bearer. The other members are mostly guarded, their stoic bodies at attention. There are five of them, a Roland shield-bearer with little interest for subtlety, a Cadiz fencer straight out of a pirate story, an Amaretta mage with her face veiled, a young-looking Dvor covered in knives and another Cadiz with a maul. "The test begins now." I rush forward, without waiting for anything. This is a rogue fight. A rogue has no rules. The first to react is the Amaretta. She steps back and whispers something and I almost stumble. Only years of experience keep me going. My intuition is gone. I feel like I had one limb removed from me and must now fight amputated. The feeling of loss claws at me, demanding satisfaction, but not now. A rogue is cunning, not smart, but cunning. I rush to the side of the shield-bearer, aiming at the maul-wielder. He is only now starting to move. I pretend to expose my flank. The shield-bearer strikes with a sword. I roll under his blow. The steel sword still rakes against my back. I could not adjust that well without intuition fine-tuning me, but it will suffice. I grab on his leg and bite behind his knee. I taste the barest hint of essence but I do not draw it. A sword skewers me, missing my heart by a finger. HURTS. "Stop!" the trainer says, and we all freeze. "Mannfred, remove that sword from her. You are out." "What?" "A Devourer bit you. You are out. Just in case it was not clear, if a Devourer plunges their fangs in you, you are dead unless someone disables them in the following half a second. Even then¡­ you will wish you were. The exercise resumes in three seconds. Three, two, one, go!" I stand up and grab the sword from the shield-bearer''s semi-resisting fingers. A rogue often dislikes weapons, but a rogue is cunning. I back away and dodge a maul strike, then twist to avoid three knives. A fourth finds my shoulder. I brandish the sword like a javelin and find the Amaretta vampire, still hanging back. She crouches and I realize that I will not get her. She will see. GET TO THE TENDER ONE. I roar and use all of my raw strength. The sword flies through the air at the knife wielder who fails to deflect it. His gasp of pain distracts the swordsman as I grab the knife from my shoulder and throw it at him. A rogue is cunning. I do not need intuition. Power is a crutch. Take my weapons and I can still fight. I CAN ALWAYS HUNT. The swordsman dodges at the last moment, though he pays for his inattention with a gash to the cheek. I jump over the descending maul and bite its wielder. "Basil, you are out." I sprint. The knife wielder is still removing the sword from his chest. It is planted in his sternum, a very painful wound. He has to drag the blade out handspan by handspan. I change my target at the last moment and jump on the pirate swordsman rushing to help his companion. PAIN. His sword through my hand. I close the distance and slap him. A claw wound would take too long to regenerate. This is not the purpose of the exercise. He goes down anyway. The knife-thrower offers little resistance. To her credit, the Amaretta spellcaster extends a folding quarterstaff and faces me head on. I end the fight by slamming her against the wall, but keeping her face intact as a favor. "And stop! Full team wipe." I stand up and return to my side of the arena. The Knights regain theirs with obvious displeasure, except for the Amaretta woman who just brushes sand off her uniform. "Mannfred, why were you not ready?" How bold of the trainer. Most of the time, criticism comes through understatements or in private. Public chastisement is a good way to antagonize us. Case in point, Mannfred hisses, showing a bit of fang. "You always ask us to bow first." "Oh, do I? You stand in an arena in full armor but you also need to be told to bow to be ready?" The instructor''s tone is cold and humorless, his point clear. Mannfred does not react, though the anger in him radiates outward. This victory brings me no joy either. They were not taking this, and me, seriously. It was a disappointing Hunt. I lick my lips to chase away Mannfred''s essence. To bite without drawing frustrates me to no end. If it were with friends, I would not mind as much, but those people are¡­ not truly mine. The Knights are structured like mortal orders, with some concessions made to our nature. They have not formed a coven. Its members are not mortals. We are creatures of instinct. I am Thirsty. CULL THE WEAK. No. This is not my decision to make. I listen impassively as the instructor lectures his pupils. "You have slain a rogue Kalinin a decade ago. It was a good job, neatly executed. It made you overconfident. Not all rogues are equal. You never know when you will end up facing a rogue Devourer. "Rogue Devourers are force-fed powerful essence. Their physical abilities are like nothing you have seen before. They will be truly, utterly mad and no pain will break through the terrible Thirst gripping their insane minds. Squire Ariane is showing kindness by demonstrating an approximation of their behavior and fighting methods, but remember that they may be even worse, and it is common for Knights to fall to them. Once even an entire team," he adds gravely, to his pupils'' horror. Malakim. "We will start over. Squire Ariane, the exercise begins when you move." I nod in understanding and wait for them to raise their weapons. I charge forward¡­ and back out immediately. Now, they are a Knight squad. The three front-liners work in harmony, their support keeping me pinned and disabled. The swordsman and shield-bearer keep their pressure on with light strikes while the mauler occasionally throws a devastating, powerful blow, when he knows that his allies cover him. I am still faster than any single fighter but it is not enough, not when I am practically fighting a creature with five bodies and ten hands. They manage to back me up against the wall but I use it to run and jump higher, our fight turning into a pursuit. I slap the swordsman on his greaves as he overextends and pull out almost immediately to avoid a particularly vicious hammer strike. I am¡­ tiring. The night nears its end. I have studied and fought to the most of my abilities. I must now contend with the Amaretta sealing my intuition, and my own instincts pushing me to KILL. A near miss leaves me sliding across the sand. I jump to avoid two thrown knives, too harried to even pick one up. I am not a rogue. I must act like a rogue. I must listen to my instincts. KILL THEM. DRAIN THEM DRY. I must ignore my instincts. My aura bubbles. The hammer hits the sand, sending a wave of grit in the air. Need... to stop or I will HUNT instead. The face of the hammer wielder, my hands around his ears. He is quite handsome, with skin damaged by the sea and blue eyes like a Turner painting, ethereal and beautiful. A sword slices into my flesh, another. The pain is muted. I breathe and center myself. The essence is me. The bubbles are like emotions for a mortal. They exist, but they have no impact. They do not have to spread and explode. They can simply exist. Bubble, bubble toil and trouble sunlight burns and slit throats gurgle¡­ I come to. The mauler and I are still locked, close to one another, unmoving. His eyes dive into mine with rare serenity, and I slowly, slowly relax my fingers from his head. The claws have drawn a little blood but the man does not show signs of pain. Only then do I realize the silence. Only then do I remember to close my mouth with an impossibly loud click. "I think it would be better to stop for tonight," I finally allow, realizing that I am surrounded by the squad and that they are, essentially, ready to kill me. "That would be for the best. Perhaps the test was too intensive," a smooth voice declares. To my surprise, it is Anatole. I stand up. I was not about to Devour that man, I simply didn''t want the sand to erupt with thorny growths. I cannot express it, however. It would be admitting weakness. I cannot do that. Let them think what they will. I leave Anatole''s team to train and look for the ''hotel''. We have a variety of mortals sent here for short periods. Many of them come from Russia and I have some trouble talking to them, but they all know what I need. I pick up a powerfully-built forester who smells a bit of tea and jam. He slakes my thirst, to an extent. Training here is arduous. My vitality expenditure reaches heights I had not experienced since before I became a Master. Perhaps Anatole was indeed correct and I am pushing myself too far without the occasional release of a Hunt brought to its proper conclusion. I may want to look into it before my mood plummets, along with my patience. The night ends with some relaxation. We are encouraged to pick up a hobby, and I have decided on a new one besides drawing which I feel reluctant to do here. I have decided that I will play the piano. "You are picking up the technical aspect very fast, as you are wont to do. Unfortunately, the emotions do not convey," a mortal with short brown air informs me, speaking French with a strong Russian accent. She blinks and averts her eyes. "I know. I still wish to learn. Who knows, it could prove useful down the line," I reply. "Have you considered another instrument? Like the flute? We also offer singing classes." "Oh, trust me, you do not want that." The next night, we practice moving as a team again. It appears that we have been assessed and considered wanting on every aspect of our craft, from fighting to diplomacy. As such, Team Willow will practice the basics. We move in formation through a variety of difficult terrain at increasingly higher speeds. On occasion, our formation instructor will create an event by throwing a stone in our direction or by starting a light. When that happens, we are to smoothly change direction to investigate the cause of the disturbance. We have a few false starts, and it takes a few minutes to explain to Esmeray that ''investigate'' does not mean ''turn furry and disappear off somewhere''. It takes hours, but eventually we manage to cooperate better. I find the whole exercise frustrating. I am used to running at full speed, this whole¡­ tame maneuvering bores me. I must pay attention to alternate paths so that Lars and Esmeray can remain at my side. If there are none, I must signal and the formation closes in a single line behind me. Am I hunting, or am I herding ducklings? Not to mention, there is nothing to find. I can feel and taste our instructor on the wind. He makes no effort to hide. We run in circles again and again without any outlet, teased by someone that only rules protect. I am going mad. On the next night, Octave meets me outside of his training room. I feel his aura brush against mine and hiss at the disrespectful way he gauges me. Very cavalier of him! "Ariane, what a wonderful coincidence. I was notified of a small matter requiring my attention. How would you like some werewolf blood?" "Yes please." Chapter 151 - 146. The Crimean Vacation Journal of Peter Seminov Last night, I dreamed of rope. I felt the harsh caress of woven hemp around my neck and every wood grain of the barrel under my naked feet with unnatural intensity. The recollection was so vivid that I woke up in a jolt, drenched in my own sweat at some ungodly hour. Only when dawn came did I realize the cause of my anguish. It has been five years since my peculiar proclivities have seen me banished from Guildford in shame, reputation ruined and social credit exhausted. It has been three years since I fastened the fateful instrument around my throat with the desire to follow Micah''s path. So willing I was to see him again that I had not cared where my decisions would lead me, only that we should be together again. To this day, I do not know what held me back. I suspect that my service to the dark ones simply brought into sharp relief the existence of a more sombre world, one where the bible ¡ª that accursed book ¡ª was more than the tradition it represented. I considered the works of Hieronymus Bosch that morning as I took my tea on the porch overlooking the bay of Sevastopol, the foamy waves of the Black Sea disappearing to the horizon. Was the mad Dutchman merely an individualistic visionary? Or was there something else pushing him to draw all those hellish vistas, filled with demons and lost souls? Perhaps he was granted a glimpse of the afterlife. Perhaps it was his own. I felt my sanity waver then. I grew up in an enlightened era only to see all my beliefs crashing down as I was already an adult. Fortunately, Saide saved me from my ruminations. The old Tatar woman tsked mightily as she dropped a fried ''chebureki'' on my plate with all the grace of a bear. Her grounded nature pulled me back from those morbid thoughts, and I prepared to face the day. Only when I read my mail did my heart skip a beat. The dark ones were coming, two of them to be precise. They required my services. I had another day before their ship moored, bringing along my latest supply of precious teas. Although the news chilled me, I had to carry on with my day. I walked down to the city as the sun shone on fort Constantine in the distance, enjoying the cool breeze coming up the shore and carrying with it the fresh scent of iodine. Even years after the siege, the city bore the scars of the long siege it had been submitted to by European forces. The local soldiers and people did not hold my Surrey blood against me. They saw me as an exile, and the presence of a Ukrainian grandmother gave me the aura of a lost son returned to roost. The local officers even invited me to card games where they would spend hours teaching me their specific Russian linguo, one idiom at a time. They called me Pyotr Seminovich after my ancestor. I let them. My own modest shop was but a brick house barely more elaborate than its surrounding dwellings, but it hid such treasures. I had coffee from Zanzibar, sturgeon eggs from the Caspian Sea, tea from Ceylon, and tobacco from Virginia. All the luxuries that lonely sea captains and passing travelers may desire to stave off boredom could be found in my den. Porcelains and antiques to please the lady or to show off at a marriage lined my shelves in orderly rows. In fact, my business would have never prospered were it not for the seemingly limitless supply the dark ones had afforded me, and the reasonable sums they demanded in return for their exotic goods. Oh, I harbored no doubt that the reports I wrote justified in their eyes the expense, and that some of the crates I had been instructed to leave alone hid more than mere curios. The unexpected generosity of my strange benefactors still allowed me to live a comfortable life, one that I did not deserve. I retired early after selling an assortment of chinas to be used as dowries, and spent the evening smoking and reading. My nerves, which I had believed to be jaded by the rigours of life, failed me then, for I could not sleep until late into the evening. The following day passed as a blur, and so distracted I was by the task ahead, that I nearly missed an opportunity for a social call. A Captain Solzhenitsyn ¡ª whom I had met on occasion as he spent his shore leave at the nearby casern ¡ª came to invite me for an afternoon tea, and I almost refused him, much to my dismay at that time. Finally, we regrouped on the top floor of a merchant''s datcha with a pleasant infusion, blackberry jam and barley biscuits, and the tanned officer shared with me a most alarming report. "Beasts! Wild things!" he exclaimed, fingers gripping his ample brown beard, "we are beset by foul animals. Entire hamlets devastated. The Tatars say that Ashina, their mother she-wolf, is angry. Too many Russians, Germans, even Bulgarians settling in and changing the land. Jews too. The commander wants to send a squadron of Cossacks to hunt the beasts." Solzhenitsyn leaned forward then. His vast girth bumped against the tiny table and threatened our cups, yet his manic, bulging eyes glared into my soul. "They will fail. We are not facing mere animals, Pyotr Seminovich, but something older. Veles is on the prowl. The grumpy old god may avoid the Western plains, but this place is ancient and he is passing through to ruin somebody''s day. Pah! You don''t believe me. You have spent too much time on your island, and now you have forgotten your blood. Oh, but you will see. You will see!" No reassurance that I would keep an open mind placated the boisterous man, and he spent almost an hour extolling the deeds of ancient deities who hid from the Chirstian cults in the more remote recesses of the world. I gave his speech little attention, for I was still distracted by the impending arrival of my guests, and yet some of his words latched onto my heart. Indeed, hidden things existed, this I knew for certain. Perhaps there were more creatures haunting the edges of civilization, and I had found why I would be receiving visitors. As to who would be haunting whom, I knew not, and dared not consider. I bid adieu to my graceful host with the promise to return the favor and headed to the pier, where I waited, restless, for the ship to arrive. It landed on time as the sun was setting and drew the attention of the crew. It was a modern sail and steam ship, painted a dark green so deep it was practically black, and it attracted the attention of the various crews around. The Black Sea fleet might not have been the most dangerous navy in the world, but it was the mightiest here and its members knew that here was a ship that could outrun their fastest frigates. Though it bore no obvious armament, its sinister nature prevented the local sailors from lowering their guards. After the necessary paperwork was completed, their old and dignified captain disembarked and two dark ones walked down the gangplank with the unworldly grace that defined their kind. I recognized the man on the spot. His name was Octave, and I had met him the day I chose exile. He had not changed in the slightest. Despite the wind, even now sending my hair aflutter, he was only dressed in a cotton shirt and tight leather pants that would have given him the appearance of a cavalryman were it not for his lack of moustache. He had spotted me long before I noticed him, and I met his eyes as he climbed down. Behind him walked a blonde woman with clear eyes and an impassible face that, I suppose, others would have found gorgeous, but I merely found distant. She gave me the barest inspection before returning her attention to her surroundings. "Ah, Peter, so good to see you," the dark one greeted with a hint of Italian accent. We shook hands and I tried not to shiver at how cold his palms were, nor at the hidden strength held in those artist''s digits. The powerful man placed a hand over my shoulder and led me back, robbing me of any illusion of agency. "Will you be staying the night?" I asked with a weak voice. "We have made our own arrangements. You are welcome to join me, by the way. I am sure that you miss speaking the tongue of Oscar Wilde." The double-entendre was thick enough as to earn a condemning glare from the woman. She deliberately chastised the man in a breath-taking display of audacity, caring not one bit for social propriety. I immediately wondered if the source of her bold assurance was her nationality, as she had an American accent. "Octave, you are being uncouth, and flustering the poor boy." She wore a sarafan of good make, a traditional Russian attire in the form of a jumper dress. Hers was dyed a deep blue, and white on the chest and arms. From afar, she could pass for the daughter of an affluent merchant, but the masquerade would fall upclose. Her traits were too sharp and exotic. She was also too confident. Her hair was not braided properly, instead falling freely to her shoulders. The implausible boldness stunned me so thoroughly that I could not help my reaction. I knew with certitude that Octave played a major role amongst the dark ones, yet she did not defer to him in the slightest. Undeterred, we walked through the muddy streets, gathering the attention of sailors and soldiers alike, until the woman turned to inspect the cliffs in the distance and I leaned into the ear of Octave. "Your friend fears no one, it seems. Is she perhaps an important member of your organization?" I asked. "One with her lineage will show respect, but never deference. " With that cryptic remark, I gave up on the conversation to search for the origin of a curious hiss I had heard, but my inquiry remained fruitless. Octave stopped us as we were nearing my home. "We should each go our own way," he said. "I have preparations to make, and I was told by my dear Ariane that she had an interest in the local landmarks. Would you kindly guide her, and we shall reconvene here later tonight?" I must have babbled some excuse then, for I soon found myself moving with the woman to the outskirts of Sevastopol proper and to the ancient Greek site of Chersonesus on a less-traveled road, our arms linked in the semblance of kinship, and my other hand grasping a lantern. We came across a detachment of hussars whose members gave me a knowing smile. I made no attempt to return them, fully aware that any expression would have betrayed the deep unease I felt at the cold skin against mine. "There are only ruins there. The crown has already excavated the place thoroughly." I noted, unwilling to provide false hope and risk the consequences of disappointment. I need not have bothered. "Ruins themselves have always been an important source of inspiration, especially neoclassicism. Surely, a man of the world such as yourself should know this?" she asked in a courteous yet curt tone. Her voice carried despite the wind, and I found myself shivering in the rapidly cooling air, against which my meagre jacket offered little protection. If the temperature bothered her, she displayed no signs of it. It took us a good hour to walk to our destination, most of it spent in silence. As luminosity declined, I feared that we might lose our way, and I was only spared floundering by my companion''s sure steps and unyielding grip. At last, we found the site, where walls of white stone still stood amidst dry grass, and the moon peeking from behind the cloud bathed the scene in an otherworldly light. There she stood, the strange dark one, in the middle of an extensive, once-flourishing city like some ill portent. Broken fragments of civilization jutted from the ground like the ruined bones of some great beast eons-dead, and yet she sang an off-tune, strange warble with a pleasant face as she strolled through the remains with obvious interest. As for me, the memories of Solzhenitsyn''s tale proscribed any warm thoughts, and the frigid wind froze me to my core. I mistook every moving bramble for the steps of beasts. The few stars visible through the cloud covers shone briefly like blinking wolves through the underbrush. "Bloodshed has tainted the land," I tell the wraith-like woman, "some evil is afoot!" "I am aware," she calmly replied. "Are you not concerned? We are far from the city now," I tell her with impatience, some anger at her casual dismissal, yet she simply turned and there was now something sharp in her blue eyes, which shone brightly despite the encroaching darkness. "I am not, and you should guess why." She kept moving without care and for the first time tonight, I disdained my surroundings to study her, and it finally occurred to me that her steps were perfectly confident even when she left the lantern''s protective halo. It occurred to me that her gait had a predatory air that we mundane folks could not easily match, and finally, it occurred to me that I was the fool for agreeing to such a visit. Feverish thoughts of blood on corroded stone froze my heart in my chest and, to my dismay, the woman stopped and sniffed the air. Terror gripped me then, but the woman merely chuckled. "You belong to Octave, Peter." The way she said my name showed disdain, a distance and carelessness that her next words belied. "So long as I am around, you are one of the safest mortals out tonight, I assure you." My mind screamed not to believe her words, animated by some ancient instinct, and yet I remembered then that the dark ones always kept their word. I clung to this reassurance like a shipwrecked sailor to flotsam as we made our way back and I realized that the woman was not breathing. I dared not look at her anymore, instead forcing one step after another, and it took an eternity for us to find again the lights of my domain in exile. We did not go in. Instead, I followed my silent guide to a nondescript and isolated stone house at the edge of the city. She walked without hesitation through its steel gate, as though guided by some mysterious means. When I inquired about her ability, and to fill the silence which weighed so heavily upon my heart, her cryptic answer raised more questions than it solved. "Oh, we can always find one another if we wish. Octave''s presence is more¡­ flamboyant than most." She did not wait for my reaction and we quickly found ourselves on the modest ground floor of the unknown building, its only noticeable feature being banality itself. A fire crackled merrily in the hearth and I could finally recover from my ordeal. My companion sat by its side after grabbing a notebook from a nearby table. She busied herself drawing and ignored my presence entirely. I clung to the appearance of normalcy with all my might and silenced the persistent voice that told me to run. "Octave is upstairs, if you wish to see him," the blonde woman finally said. She had still not raised her eyes from the paper before her. She had merely offered a suggestion, yet something pushed me to obey, to seek the stairs. It was the call of the void gripping me in its inexorable embrace, for I knew that if I headed home now, sleep would elude me for another night. The second floor consisted of a single large bedroom merged with a study. As soon as I closed the door behind me, the sounds of the world faded, until only the fire and Octave''s pen scribbling on a sheet of paper broke the eerie silence. The dark one signaled me to take a seat without turning his head, and I obeyed, noticing what occupied most of the central table. It was a map of the surrounding area. "I take it that everything went well?" he asked as he placed his letter in an envelope. "Yes," I replied with hesitation, "your companion has curious interests." "One of the few among us who has developed a passion for the visual arts. I hope that you did not make any requests of her." "No. We barely spoke." His brown eyes captured mine as he stood up. Octave''s height and impressive physique were easily overlooked until he stood by one''s side, then it became impossible to focus on anything else. "I should have mentioned it before. Ariane comes from a¡­ background that gives a lot of importance to those who make requests, and expects a word given to be fulfilled. Be careful, and do not provoke her," he warned me off-handedly. "Is she also a warrior?" I asked, curious despite the circumstances. "Yes, and she is one of the few with the potential to match me, one day. Come, let me show you what we will be doing." Surprised by the non sequitur, I follow the tall man to the central table depicting a map of the south of the Crimean peninsula, with pins set at regular intervals. Each one is adorned with a flag with dates meticulously inscribed in a neat handwriting. As I express my incomprehension, Octave elucidates the small mystery. "Surely, you have heard of local attacks by wild beasts?" he said. "Indeed, and they have carved a bloody path through steppes and plains alike!" I answered. "You will be pleased to learn that we have been tracking their progress and believe that we know where they will strike next. To an extent. We shall solve this problem promptly." "How?" I exclaimed, "how can I, a humble salesman, face those creatures whose sharp claws have savaged so much flesh? I am no hunter!" "We have no need for another hunter, dear Peter, we merely require someone with a good knowledge of the local dialects." "And you will protect us from the beasts?" I asked with natural concern. "Us?" he scoffed. "You misunderstand. Ariane needs no protection. She came in search of an outlet." Despite my best efforts, I failed to school myself to hide disbelief of the highest order. Perhaps as a jest, Octave decided to further confuse me. He mistakes my confusion for fear. "You have nothing to worry about. I will keep her in line. Enough of these boorish topics, dear Peter, why not tell me of your life in exile?" Despite the appearance of polite interest, I recognized the predatory nature of his gaze, and yet I did not feel fear but a deep sense of loneliness. In truth, I longed to share with him the pain I felt at being pushed away from my ancestral home, and the grief that hounded me even years after the tragedy that led me here. Dark ones might be peculiar, yet they still held an interest for mortal matters that perhaps binded them more tightly to their human appearance, and so I spoke of my dreams. It was as if a great dam had failed under the tremendous pressure of a deep lake. I could no longer hold back my emotions and I spilled them like a gutted deer spills its blood, until tears ran down my cheeks and the fire had become embers. Then, Octave kissed me. He was cold and tasted of anise and fresh mint. Stolen novel; please report. We spent the night together. I am still unsure what I expected from our intercourse, but it was not the tender care he showed. I knew that any attachment I developed was bound to lead only to suffering, not just because he would not stay. Dark ones only wear the mask of civility. I have seen them kill and the memory of this event still haunts my nightmares. Despite my misgivings, I abandoned myself to our embrace and woke up the next day alone but warm. He had consumed some blood at one point or the other as a strange sensation in my neck reminded me. Somehow, the ordeal had left me feeling lighter as if a great burden had been lifted from my shoulders and I faced the day in a better mood. When I came back home as the sun was setting, I saw that a letter had been delivered through means unknown. The contents, written by a talented calligrapher, asked me to be ready for an evening out. I thus donned warm traveling clothes under the disapproving glare of my Tatar helper, Saide. The wizened crone grumbled about bad omens and as I waited with some trepidation for the dark ones to arrive, her remarks contributed to my frayed nerves. Although I expected it, the knock on my door jolted me like thunder. I opened it and met the pleasant face of Octave. "Would you like to come in?" I offered. "I appreciate the offer but we are on a schedule. Come on out." I closed the door behind me and regretted it immediately, as both my companion and the mysterious woman had brought horses with them, although I was not convinced that the term would do these fearsome beasts justice. They were black as the night itself, tall as the mightiest charger, and they had an imperceptible aura of dread that forbade any approach. "I did not think¡­ Should I fetch my horse?" I asked with a tremulous voice. "No, you shall ride with me. We cannot afford to bring a prey animal," he answered. "A second one, in any case," the woman added with dark mirth, and Octave frowned but refrained from chastising her. He jumped atop the creature with impossible grace and dragged me up as if I had the weight of a child. Soon, I was sitting in front of him. I would have rued the humiliating display, were it not for two vital elements. First, Octave was riding without a saddle as if it were the most natural thing. Second, his mount gave me a crimson glare and I caught lantern light reflected on sharp ivory. Those were not mortal mounts, but the man-eating mares of Diomedes themselves that we were riding into the darkness beyond the city. To my side and in front, the woman too rode, and likewise her mare had no saddle, but wore a strange light armor with a front spine like a sinister image of a unicorn. The horror I felt then was only compounded when the last of the lantern lights left us and the dark ones¡­ let go. I knew not how fast we went, only that the meagre rays of the moon blinking through holes in the cloud cover blurred with the speed we reached, and that the wind whipped at my face until tears filled my eyes. They dried before they could fall. We went faster still. For one instant, we passed a sleepy hamlet of peasant hovels lit by torches, and a group of late guards jumped out of our way with cries of great fright. In that instant, I saw the dark one better. She wore a riding dress that flared behind her and she was pale, so pale. I felt hunted then, dragged forward like a wounded elk by a wild hunt of otherworldly riders. Panic rose in my chest and I only wanted to escape, to stay behind with the earthy, honest people we almost ran down. I wanted it to stop. The woman felt it, I could have sworn that she did. She turned her fair head to the side and smelt the air like a bloodhound, then the dying light caught in the sapphire of her gaze and we went out, swallowed by the all-encompassing void. I closed my eyes then, and did not open them until we were stopped. Octave grabbed me by the back of my coat and lifted me once more, depositing my shivering form on the muddy ground. We were in a forest, though I could see very little. The only source of vision came from a trio of candles shining through the gaps of a derelict house''s shutters. I could not see the dark ones in the utter darkness. but I could still feel Octave''s powerful grip on my neck, as threatening as it was protective. The dark ones spoke in a sibilant language I could not recognize. Their voices were carried by the wind as a soft whisper to an extent that I could not tell when a sentence started and the other ended. I only learned that they had come to a decision when Octave leaned into me, and his cold breath caressed my ear, carrying with it the scent of mint and anise. "We caught the trail of our quarry, or so I believe. There are only two of them, you see? We expected more. My companion believes that they are not the ones we seek, yet may hold the answer to our questions. I believe that when a rabid pack attacks a herd of sheep, one should not care about the sake of any of its members. I hold precedence, yet I find myself harried by curiosity. You will accompany her and act as a translator." I nearly jumped out of my skin at such a preposterous proposal, but Octave''s grip was like iron. No matter, I would express my reserves and make him see reason. "You would have me stand in a small room with those butchers?" I hissed, yet he merely chuckled. "The woman will protect you, have no fear." "I have fear!" His breath was close again and I felt something sharp dig through my scarf, drawing two pears of blood. "You would refuse me?" I remembered then. A blur. A man dead on the pavement, head twisted at an unnatural angle. Casual disinterest. "No, I would not dare." "Good. I quite like you, Peter dear. Remind yourself that we do not huddle in hovels, nor do we feel the need to cast off the darkness, hmm? Off you go then, amici." The woman hissed something and gripped my arm with irresistible strength. She pulled me forward. I would have fallen a hundred times if she had not kept me upright until we reached the door, upon which she banged once. Vile curses came from inside. "Not a home then." She banged a second time. It proved too much for the rickety plank. It fell forward with a groan, spreading rotten splinters on a filthy ground of moldy straw. There were two men inside, dressed in scraps of fur and little else. They were as cavemen, hairy and muscular. The stench of their unwashed bodies permeated the air while the light of the candles reflected in their bloodshot eyes. They had placed their hands on rusted knives when we entered, though the improbable sight of a young blonde woman had frozen them in their tracks. The woman sniffed the air once more and her placid expression turned into a moue of disgust. "An suqqam hayatu. Bah. You there, Peter. Translate for me. Ask them who they are waiting for." The surreal nature of the situation finally weakened my brain. I could only utter the most ridiculous of platitudes. "Should we not introduce ourselves first?" "Oh no, they will handle that part for us. Wolves are such simple creatures." Anger took over our hosts at being ignored. The woman became the center of their attention as they, too, sniffed the air with great noise. How they could perceive anything over their ungodly stench, I shall never know. One of the men was taller and larger with rugged traits and long dark hair. The other appeared young and less assertive. It only took me a moment to realize, from the similarity of their features, that they were siblings. Silence and our intrusion had pushed the older one to his limit and he marched to the dark one with fury on his brow. He spouted a few words, which I hastily relayed. "He asks what you are and if you are mad. He is being quite rude." "Tell him that I ask the questions here." I gaped, helpless. "Tell him." I did not have the time to finish. The man swiped at the dark one with frightening speed. I heard the ghastly crack of shattered bone and he howled, clutching the crushed remains of his right hand. An instant later, he was on his back with the woman''s leather boot on his chest. She leaned forward with the amused, yet intimidating smile of a teacher who caught a student lying. "I ask the questions, and I asked them who they were expecting." I realized that the second man had moved when her foot painfully dug into the downed brother''s chest, eliciting a squeal of pain. Her eyes were now fixed on the offender. I knew with certainty that I did not want to be on the receiving end of such a brutal treatment, and endeavoured to translate her words with all haste. The older sibling proved his foolishness once more when he barked an obvious question. "That does not sound like an answer," the dark one commented. I could only babble a few syllables. I finally screamed shortly after. The woman extended her hand with exquisite slowness. One moment, there was nothing. The next, she held in her arm a jagged horror of a sword that merged the grace of the masterpiece and the painful horror of the razor in one terrifying amalgam. Its tip bit into the throat of her victim, just below the Adam''s apple. A single droplet pearled on his filthy skin. The woman licked her lips and I saw it then. Fangs descended from her crimson lips in delicate ivory stilettos. The others saw it too, or perhaps the reality of their situation had finally pierced through their primitive skulls. "Once more. I ask the questions. Who are they expecting?" I relayed the terms again, and it was the youngest who answered, as the older dared not even swallow his saliva. Their accents were thick and their Russian approximative, and I gave the dark one my best opinion. "They say that they are expecting the white shore¡­ group? They were part of it but left." "Ask them how long they have been in this pigsty." "Only one night, miss. He says that they are on the run." "Ask them why they are on the run." "He says that his companions turned¡­ sour? Acid? I apologize miss¡­" "No need, I understand quite well." "Ah, miss, the young one asks if you could let them go, as the others are hot on their trails and they were about to leave. They are afraid that their foes might catch up to them." "Out of the question. It would truly be in their best interest if the others came." I had no difficulty imagining that whatever the dark one had in store for the siblings would be unpleasant, and neither did they show much surprise when I relayed her refusal. The dark one walked to a corner and opened a shutter wide. It appeared that her interest in my companions'' misfortune did not extend beyond the most basic information gathering. Left alone, and eager to break the heavy silence weighing on us, I asked the strange, primitive men their stories. To my surprise, they answered without reservation. Their horrible Russian proved only to be a minor effort in front of my determination, and I soon had a full story. The two men were called Fedor and Kolya. The elder, Fedor, declined to share the rest of their names. I would have complained at the breach of etiquette if the rest of his tale had not captured my attention. They were part of a tribe, though the term he used was ''pack'', that worshipped the wolf goddess Ashina. They somehow ''claimed her form'' which I assumed meant sharing the hygiene, scent, and living accommodations of wolves and explained quite a bit. Their tribesmates had gone too far as they took in the darker aspects of the savage beast. They had started to make a sport of travelers and their excesses had only grown as the seasons passed. Fedor and Kolya had disapproved of such practice. They had managed to flee before the leader decided that their protests had to be silenced and moved west and south. Unfortunately for them, the pack was filled with vicious and vengeful members who could not tolerate any perceived slight no matter how trivial. The enraged ex-companions had pursued the pair with dogged determination. I understood then that the ravaged communities had been attacked to gather both information and supply, as well as allowing those merciless killers to indulge in their basest instinct. It led me to wonder what the dark ones'' interest was. So far, I had always considered their motives as too hermetic and mercurial for me to waste efforts on, but now that I was involved, curiosity needled me. It was then that Fedor made the decision to attract the dark one''s attention, to my befuddlement. "Miss, that man, whose name is Fedor, thinks he knows what you are." "Fascinating," was the reply I received, but I decided to persist if only out of belief that it was the tribesman pestering her, and that I was merely an intermediary. "He thinks that you are what they call a Kalinin." She reacted then, if air pushed out of one''s nose can be called such. "Kalinin is the name of a bloodline, dear Peter. I am not one of theirs." "But they are dark ones like you?" "Dark ones?" she asked, finally turning. I realized my blunder then. I called them dark ones in my mind, but only by default. Indeed, those of their kind I had met had never taken the time to explain their nature. "Dark ones will do, I suppose. The Kalinins are not too different from me, though their fascination with the divine is something I will never understand. They do maintain order around here, however, and that is how those mutts heard of them." "So that is why you came? To enforce order?" I asked. "No, Peter. I am here for sport. Speaking of which, our guests have arrived. Have the two idiots follow me out." I translated her orders and, to my surprise, they obeyed. I was about to leave the hovel as well when a hand placed on my chest stopped me. "You should stay inside," the dark one said. "But¡­" "Not to worry, I promise you a good show." With those words, she stepped outside with the two brothers slightly behind her. Octave and the horses had disappeared somewhere in the gloomy woods, and it was enough for the pair of tribesmen to look at each other and consider fleeing. No sooner had they taken a step back that the woman hissed. I believe that I had witnessed inhumanity when she had shown her unnatural strength, yet it was that dreadful sound that truly reminded me that we were mice before a viper. There was a difference there that even the two rugged strongmen would never bridge, not even if they practiced pugilism rigorously. A new development enfolded before they could consider their next move. I heard noises like howls made by human throats, and torches soon appeared in a half-circle before me. They surrounded the hovel on all sides, trapping us before we could even notice. The dark one showed not a trace of concern at the seemingly desperate situation. Indeed, if I had a gun, I would have considered using it on myself to escape the dreadful treatment those poor villagers had suffered, instead of as a means of defense. As it was, my fate rested in the cold hands of my benefactors. It was not long before the torchbearers closed the distance, forcing the two siblings to huddle closer to the hovel. If I earlier believed that they were uncivilized, the dreadful appearance of the newcomers made them positively gentlemanly by comparison. Their beastial traits, mangy furs and blood-coated faces revolted me on a fundamental level. No human should ever devolve to such a dreadful state. I concluded that they must have lost their souls, if they had any. My horror only mounted after that. sea??h th§× ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The leader of the butchers, a tall man rippling with cord-like muscles, addressed the siblings in a guttural growl that only passed as language by the laxest of definitions. His manic eyes landed on the woman and he approached her with the rest of the tribe close on his heels. He smelt the air without shame and spat a few words. His attempt to grab her was thwarted when she simply slapped his hand away. He roared, and was pushed back. The woman spoke in that strange language of hers as if making quiet observations around a dissection table. The contrast between her graceful pose and clean clothes on one hand, and the tribesmen''s feral appearance on the other, gave the scene an improbable air of mankind against nature, of inner city sophistication against the inbred degeneration of parochial hamlets. This false air, this outrageous deception lasted for a few more moments as to my inexpressible shock, the men''s bodies cracked and groaned. They were transforming! Their flesh bubbled and expanded in a grotesque display of sorcery that left me utterly speechless. Soon, the horrendous group had taken the appearance of bastardized hybrids, chimerae of man and wolf with sharp talons and fangs that glittered in the dying light of their torches, now discarded on the ground. They launched themselves at the woman, still as immobile as a statue. The deception ended then when the dark one revealed her true nature. Horror at the monster''s appearance gave way to monstrous acts committed with the appearance of a human. Of the struggle that followed, I saw little as it took all of my courage not to whimper and go prone. Only flashes of memories remain of this dreadful spectacle. I saw the woman tear out a throat with her fingers and dance gracefully under a geyser of arterial blood, painting the packed snow red while her dress stayed pristine. I saw her shatter legs and jump on the back of one of the collapsing abominations. I saw her latch on its neck. At some point of the struggle, the two brothers crashed into the hovel and hid by my side. I understood perfectly. After what felt like an eternity, but could not have been much more than half a minute, one of the hybrids with its arm missing tried to enter our haven. It was bodily dragged out. Its last whimper was silenced as my eyes were still fixed on the furrows its claws had left on the ground. The bout of unspeakable violence finished as abruptly as it had begun. Wafts of blood and offal turned my stomach. I threw up then, quietly and on the side. When I was done spitting, I turned to see the dark one standing above me. I was too terrified to move. She was unharmed. She was not even dirty. Only a fringe of blood remained over her mouth like poorly applied rouge. "Octave will pursue the survivor and I shall let him have his fun. Come on then, translate for me. I have an offer for those two lost souls." "An offer?" I stammered. "Indeed. We could use them for¡­ training purposes. They will not be harmed permanently, and they will be fed and clothed. And washed. They should feel lucky. Few of us would tolerate their stench long enough to consider sparing their worthless existence. Now, talk." I did. Words came at a snail pace first, then faster as I felt an irrepressible need to let them know. The offers of the dark ones were not as they seemed. They would bind you until death in ever-tighter chains. I tried to express this truth, even though I suspected that they, like their deceased fellows outside, were probably cursed. It was somehow important to be candid. My small speech was interrupted by two talons around my neck. "You are suddenly quite talkative, Peter. Are you taking some liberties with your role, perhaps?" I expected anger, but it appeared that no transgression could draw from her anything more than a chuckle. It occured to me that I did not have the means to be more than a mild nuisance. That was why she had not punished me. "Miss¡­ I¡­" "Warning them, perhaps?" I closed my mouth with a painful click. Once again, my reaction elicited nothing more than slight amusement. "Oh, Peter, you are so deliciously naive. I see now why Octave finds your presence so delightful. For one as world-weary as you are, you have kept a core of innocence that only children should have. Ask them for their answer." I did, and was surprised at how eager they were at forfeiting their freedom. It was as if my warnings had not been understood, but simply ignored. I did not have to wait to understand the cause of their prompt decision. "They agree." "Do you know why?" she immediately replied, and I found myself hesitating. "You have considered the dangers of the offer. Now consider the alternative." Death. Of course. The two had immediately understood the nature of their world while I still held in my thoughts the Habeas Corpus and Universal rights. I was a fool. It was no longer my world. "Two words of advice, dear Peter, then we will leave this pigsty. First, do not provoke Octave the way you provoked me. Your lover used the metaphor of the sheep and wolf earlier, did he not?" "Yes?" "You should remember that the shepherd cares little more for the sheep than for the wolf. Both end up skinned. As for the other advice, tell me, do you feel pity for those poor sods? Is that why you wanted to warn them against eternal servitude?" I had no answers for that question. Perhaps I still wanted to accomplish something of note during this confusing night. Perhaps... I merely wanted to believe that I mattered. "Before you go pitying them, ask yourself why so many villages were destroyed." She must have seen my confusion then, and did not wait for my answer to elaborate. "They led the beasts there. They left clear scent trails for the others to follow." "What? Why?" I replied, scandalized. "The ensuing slaughter would delay the ferals for hours. It gave the two of them the time they needed to stay ahead since a pack is naturally faster than individuals. It would have happened again until they gained enough ground or got trapped, but do not let those considerations get to your head, dear one. Even at night, there are only shades of grey." Chapter 152 - 147. Fraternal Russian winter has descended upon the Ural. The cold, crisp air carries no hint of human presence. No soot, no smoke, no persistent stench of sweat and refuse. Only the vague taste of slumbering sap floats under the snow-covered boughs. At night, nothing moves, nothing but diamond powder caressed by the wind. The landscape is one of death and eternal silence, and it is on that perfect canvas that we battle. Team Willow runs through the valley, fast and silent. Little wafts of pure darkness mask our movements from faraway observers and our speed does the rest. Phineas is to my left and Lars to my right. They move smoothly, letting me take point while covering my back. A few larger rocks and the bare trunks of Siberian firs pierce the frozen ground. Ridges abound, perfect for ambushes. "Anytime now," Lars says. His predictive ability is commendable, but I would have felt the poorly veiled auras of our rival squad without help. The apprentices emerge from a bend in the path we follow and array themselves against us. All five members of the novice team Oak are present, with the addition of the Shield-bearer of the experienced team Aspen, Mannfred. The solid Roland Master wastes no time raising his sword at me. "En guarde, Ariane!" I salute out of respect for this man''s dedication. Out of all of them, he has made the most progress. Our blades cross and I start the long, harrowing process of backing him against a corner. I aim for his head, uncovered hand, and feet as soon as they are exposed, forcing him to shift his defenses which he does with practiced efficacy. Meanwhile, his allies circle me and look for openings. They remain close to him so he can cover them, a lesson I taught them repeatedly. It helps that Mannfred has been ''volunteering'' to face me in as many exercises as he could, going so far as to forgo other classes. I start mixing mirages into my fighting style, sending false images to provide diversion and feints as the battle is joined. On top of Mannfred, I have the rest of team Oak to contend with. Fortunately, I am supported by Lars'' precise javelin strikes and Phineas'' spells. The two work with me in harmony. They make use of their range advantage. The melee draws out until seconds turn into a full minute. Slowly, I use my training sword and spells to chip at the other team''s focus, inflicting wounds here and there. Mannfred must finally fall back when one of his teammates overextends and I skewer him near the heart. "I forfeit!" the wounded knight announces in a tired voice. The fight continues and Mannfred''s allies fall one by one. They do not work with him as well as he does with his own squad, while Phineas and Lars show no mercy. The Lancaster accountant, in particular, has managed the feat of saying the wrong spell, a practice that amuses him greatly. "Chains!" he yells, and the vanguard facing him blocks, expecting a bolt. Chains grab the axe and pull the fighter forward, providing enough of an opening that I manage to stab him as well. "Sorry, it was a real chain spell this time." "Damn the Eye and your cheap tricks. Fine! I forfeit." I try my best to make as perfect a mirage as I can in a battle situation. I have tried them with Octave, to his delight, but it did not work because the illusory attack always ''felt wrong''. It is not enough to cast the spell, one must visualize the movement perfectly, and one needs to visualize a movement that would be threatening enough while still being realistic. I think that without my intuition, I would never have been able to integrate it into my fighting style. I will still need a lot of time to perfect it against my most experienced foes. In the end, Mannfred is not Octave''s equal and I manage to slip my sword between his ribs. "Agh! You got me. Curses. Victory is yours once more, Ariane." The two members of team Oak still standing step back and sheathe their blades. Mannfred frowns mightily. Like that, he looks like a broody hero of legend with a stiff upper lip and inability to ever retreat. With his thin moustache and goatee, I expect him to go after Aztec gold or to stab the nearest windmill at any time. Rather than annoying, I find his desire to overtake me endearing. I can appreciate a persistent fighter, especially one who treats me with respect every time, and so I salute. "Should you even be here? I expected you to stay with the rest of team Aspen," I note. The sturdy shield-bearer smiles ruefully. "Where is the honor in that? We are training to make progress, not to one-up each other. The other teams are our partners, not our rivals. We should all strive to improve through healthy emulation!" "An admirable mindset, Mannfred. I can see how lying in wait by the enclave''s entrance would chaf for a warrior such as yourself." His face lights up with obvious delight. "You know that I cannot affirm or deny the whereabouts of my team," he states, though his smile is all the confirmation I need. Mannfred disapproves of cheap tactics when used against allies. He believes that in order to train for real situations, one must face difficulties in training. I would argue that even cheap tricks need to be rehearsed, but the proud master would dismiss it. He is a Roland, after all. I would have better chances trying to convince a rock. "Your mastery with the shield has improved once more," I observe. His defensive style is quite infuriating and counters me quite well. It is, after all, why he has developed it to begin with. "I appreciate your recognition, my rival, but are you sure that you have the time for a talk? I do not see your shade¡­" he continues with a smile, which I return. I nod one last time at the defeated team and leave. I can still see some resentment in the face of my foes but I have started to see them as allies and have thus gone out of my way to make my victories as painless as possible for their self-esteem. It has served me well. I hardly get any hostility. There is, after all, only one thing we value more than superficial pride, and that is victory as the current exercise demonstrates. Our instructors have placed all four squire teams in a valley with a stone fortress on one side and a flag on the other. The first team to take the flag back wins and the three others lose. Such conditions would normally lead to a messy free for all, but one of the teams has a powerhouse that skews the odds. Team Willow cast off immediately before the others could shut us down and we found the flag undefended. Now, the other two teams are firmly entrenched near our destination''s only entrance. We would have to force our way through to win, a difficult challenge while protecting a flag. Of course, it would be the case if I had not thought of a plan during the briefing. It must be near completion now. "We could wait near the walls," Phineas suggests. "No need for us to battle in the mud when we could find a comfortable stump to sit on and watch the stars." "I would rather not," I reply, "team Aspen has an Amaretta. We want her to focus on me, or she might divine our scheme." "Fair enough." We run over the thick snow without leaving a trace. The fortress looms before us, a simple edifice of old stone with no real interior, barely more than a husk designed for training. Its wind-swept rooms beckon, but as we crest a ridge, defences appear. Two squads await us in two concentric circles around the narrow entrance. The first circle consists of fighters in tight formation while the second has vestals and anyone with ranged capabilities. I spot a basic circle dug in the ice, enough to enhance spellcasting and provide a shield that several people could feed. I make no secret of my presence and all eyes quickly turn to me. A hundred paces separate us. Lars and Phineas take their places by my side. The squads are in no rush to take us out. They wait, unmoving, under the moon shadows of the walls. They know. I was not entirely honest with Lars. I suspect that he let it go out of politeness because the reason for my action is not entirely rational. I simply cannot accept a draw. In that sense, I am entirely too predictable. My own essence prevents me from tolerating anything else than full conquest if it is at all achievable, and the other teams count on it to force my hand. Or so they hope. "They stare at us, we stare at them. No one speaks. It reminds me of my family reunions with in-laws back when I was a mortal," Phineas comments in his off-hand manner. "A prelude to the violence to come." "Precisely! Should we poke them a bit? They spent so much energy creating those defences, we might as well test ourselves." "Of course." I draw a circle on the ice and use a knife to carve a few glyphs with a quick hand. I would normally never be caught dead resorting to such inferior means. I shall consider this an exercise, a limit test, so to speak. The other teams object. The fighters stay where they are but the mages open fire on us, long-range spells with as much hope of hitting a moving vampire as a wet sponge has of downing an eagle. I watch the crimson bolts curve over the land. "Phineas?" "Shield!" Without looking, I continue engraving the circle as my teammate blocks the attacks and Lars throws a few javelins at the mages to annoy them. The stalemate lasts until I return to the center of the circle. Time to apply the Librarian''s spell in a combat situation. I call upon the glyphs and feel their power thrumming. This is blood magic at its core, a powerful yet double-edged instrument. It dives deep and takes what it needs. On most mortals, it collects a steep tithe, yet it calls to us because we understand life on a level that few others do. I let the spell draw power from me and feel it crystallize in front of my chest. Comets as small as toys and as carmine as rubies. They wait. I call for more until I have a ball the size of a large skull. It begs to be released. "Salvo." The blunt, unsubtle thing explodes forward in a heavy arc, roaring like a freight train on its catastrophic descent. I am left gasping but I also smile to see the look of disbelief and horror on the others'' faces. Some of the salvo''s bolts go off in corkscrew trajectories, some go up and down. Some violently and unexpectedly swerve. Chaos rules and none can guess where the deadly things will end up, least of all me. I am not facing some two-bits mages, however. The two vestals rally and reinforce the shield. The fighters nimbly step out of the way, easily dodging the few errant projectiles. The spell crashes into the circle and cracks it like an egg. Vestals are sent to the ground, shaken but unhurt as they make sure to avoid the brunt of the attacks. A boom echoes throughout the valley while powdery ice is sent up in the air. The earth heaves under the assault. I do not make use of the chaos. My attack will not suffice to gain a decisive advantage and, besides, the fighters have already recovered. I just stand and enjoy the sight while a dull ache reminds me that even we cannot cast such spells freely. Finally, the last of the unamused squires dust themselves off just as Marlan steps out of the gates. The examiner frowns and crosses his arm with displeasure. "Team Willow wins." Ah, yes. The inevitability of victory when one side envisions a path and the others just wait passively. Sometimes, I feel pity for my brethren. Many of them see sanctums as inviolable, perhaps as a cultural bias or perhaps as a consequence of our inability to enter homes. I do not have that issue. I have spent too much effort breaking barriers, both physical and metaphorical. "Ariane, if you will follow me please?" I walk past my flabbergasted colleagues to the instructor as he does his best to mask his aura. Once more, Torran''s advice shows its true value. When a true master makes theirs perfectly flat, they are surely livid. Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. The fortress'' insides are hollow and not designed to protect anyone. We walk through an empty corridor to the ''throne room'', an isolated rectangular chamber at the back of the construct with no openings. To be precise, it did not have any opening until tonight. "Yip!" Esmeray greets. Her wolf form''s fur is small and dark. I also suspect some eldritch shenanigans that help her mask her presence to an unnatural degree. She holds the flag in her jaw. It flaps weakly in the wind provided by a circular hole that leads to the snowy expanse outside. Marlan stops and takes a deep breath. I wait. "I do believe that I was quite specific." "I did not use explosives," I affirm. He glares. "Or the others would have heard it, I used a spell instead," I admit after a few seconds. "It costs money, time and energy to build reinforced walls." "And I commend the workers for building this place despite adversarial conditions. With that said, you can hardly blame me for my creative thinking." "I expected you to find a solution that did not involve destroying our exam grounds. We placed walls for a reason." "You know, I have always seen walls as aspiring doors begging to fulfill their potential." "This explains quite a bit. Make no mistake, I am pleased that one of our numbers could be so refreshingly resourceful. I cannot help but notice a dramatic increase in my workload since your arrival." "Perhaps we have more teams than usual undergoing training and I am not to blame," I lie. Marlan''s grumpy face shows that he remains unconvinced. "In any case, let me congratulate you on completing this examination with a high grade. You and your team will now take part in real-life training, alongside team Aspen. I will summon you after we have returned." "So soon?" I ask with some surprise. "During early training, we withhold information from recruits, as you may have noticed." "Yes?" They isolate us from the world so that we may integrate more easily. I am familiar with the concept. Extremists use this method to acquire pliable subjects and to sever them from their friends and family. We recruits are aware of it, but we would not have joined if we were unwilling to play the game. "A week ago, on Christmas day, the Polish Szlachta gathered for an extraordinary Sejm, a parliament of sorts. Now, Poland is no longer independent but tensions are running high and neither Austria nor Russia saw it fit to intervene lest they start a full-fledged revolt. The Poles do not have autocrats and the Szlachta used to elect the king. They are a sort of nobility." "Interesting." I have not studied the Polish system yet. Classes have focused on Western Europe where I am more likely to be deployed. "The Catholic faith is prevalent there, so the Sejm voted that every spellcaster had until January the first to leave the country with whatever they can carry. Failing that, they will be burned at the stake. Pogroms and general lootings are already underway." "By the Watcher. Country-wide?" "Yes." "But¡­" "I know what you are thinking. Neither Mask nor Eneru, nor indeed the Brotherhood have much say in the conduct of the government. Our next mission will be in Krakow. You may familiarize yourself with the city before the briefing. That is all." And with that, he leaves. I turn to the wolf-shaped Vanheim as the wind howls through the gap of the fake fortress. "The world has gone mad." "Yip." It has been over half a year since team Willow gained its vanguard. I have made full use of their facility to improve, as have the others. One of the defining elements of my education is the lack of structure. I have studied the basics with Melusine, although she was my worst teacher by any measure, then engineering and forging with Loth. Naminata taught me the spear. Sinead showed me the intriguing potential of Charm and politics. Aisha, the American team''s Vestal, introduced intuition to me. Many others helped me learn their craft, all of them masters in their field but all of them dispersed across the world. I am attending structured learning for the first time since my mortal childhood. Never have I felt more keenly the immense value of a university. As a result of our efforts, I can now decently understand the rules that govern our kind. I can also cast quite a few more spells, including a specific mage counter designed by my sire and left in his human-skin tome. My swordwork also improved. The most telling progress is squad-based, however. Now, we move like a team instead of as a vague gathering of inhuman socialites on an outing. And their suspiciously large dog. We can fight as a unit, though I pull most of the weight in actual combat. As for our cooperation in real situations, we have not had the opportunity to test it yet. It seems that we soon will. "The Krakow City Master, Tadeusz, has requested our assistance with two urgent tasks. The first concerns the evacuation of his coven for the duration of the pogroms. The second concerns the eradication of an organized group of spellcasters called the Raclawice Brotherhood," Marlan explains as he lays a map upon our table. "Why would we bother with a complicated killing when the mundane mortals should do it for us?" Lars asks, uncharacteristically talkative. Sear?h the ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Good question. All of the local covens have always paid tribute to Tadeusz with the exception of the Brotherhood, which has always remained in the vicinity of the city. They have entered the walls proper and set up in the Jewish quarter just after the declaration with ample weapons and equipment. Tadeusz believes that they are planning a significant operation. We agree with his assessment. We also agree that a catastrophic event that leads to mass destruction would not deter other governments from following suit, quite the contrary. For the sake of appeasement and having the mundanes lower their guard, both Mask and Eneru advocate staying in the shadows until the fanatics have slaked their thirst for blood on the more unfortunate mages." I have always taken a different approach on my own territory. On the other hand, I have a measure of control over most of Illinois'' armed forces, so I can afford to be more direct. "Team Aspen and Willow will be deployed as soon as possible. You will depart tomorrow. Ariane, one last thing. You have a visitor." Whoo a visitor! I am exchanging enough letters with Torran to know that he is somewhere around. Could it be that he came to visit? I need to tidy up my room. A quick jump and all the dubious literature with ripped bodice and ravishment disappears in my wardrobe under my spare knives. I make my way out of the fortress and into the surrounding town where a ''visitor center'' has been installed. Now that I think about it, I am not even sure that I can bring an outsider inside of the fortress, but as I approach the squat white building reminiscent of Roman architecture, I realize my mistake. Only one aura comes from the building. It does not belong to Torran. I have only once before experienced a similar situation. I have never met this person before, yet he feels intimate. Only one person fits the profile. While Malakim''s was hot and insane, this one exudes serenity to an extent that I wonder if he feels the Thirst at all. While Malakim''s dripped with barely contained ravenous hatred, this one is a placid pool as smooth as a mirror. I enter the bare lobby and find a tall man wearing a richly ornate yellow gambeson that falls to his knees, a fur cap, and the longest moustache that never graced a morse''s face. Dirty blond hair falls wildly around two light blue eyes. He smiles when he sees me and bows lightly, without calculation, without expectation. He is, by far, the most peaceful of us. I can barely believe that we belong to the same community, let alone bloodline. "Greeting Svyatoslav," I say, returning his bow. "Little sister. I am so pleased to meet you. You do not mind if I call you little sister, do you?" "No," I reply with honesty, "but I shall call you Svyatolsav for now." "It is agreeable. The Knights care little for hospitality, but back in my land it meant something. Would you like to have some tea?" "With pleasure." Ah, the trappings of good society. I must admit, with so few Hastings joining the Knights, I have been missing the simple ritual. Svyatoslav invites me to a private room in the local inn, the only concession to comfort being a pair of pillows on the stone benches. The center of the room is dedicated to a square table, upon which Svyatoslav places a strange contraption. It looks like a large bronze vase with a chimney on top. I am stunned by the incredible details worked on its surface, and I can tell from the small deformations that this object has known the touch of fire quite a few times. "I always bring my own samovar," Svyatoslav explains soberly. I can tell when someone is absorbed in a task and do not wish to interrupt him for a question he may soon answer. And indeed, he does. The Devourer opens the top of the vase and pours water from a nearby jug into the main body. I note with interest that the chimney is in fact the top of a column set vertically in the middle of the samovar. With religious attention, Svyatoslav then fills this column with pieces of wood he chips with his talons, then finishes by dropping a few burning coals he squeezes down with a branch. I watch his large scarred hands work with slow care. I know for a fact that he could be faster, more precise, but there is no point. Rituals settle us, anchor our humanity. They do not help as much as a Vassal does but they matter just as well. I personally prefer drip coffee and gun maintenance. Finally, the loading up is done and wood smoke leaves, dragged up and outside by an air current before it can sting our eyes. The peculiar scent, so prone to permeate clothes, reminds me of my youth baking potatoes by a campfire with my papa. Heat spreads across the frigid room. In the companionable silence, we take the time to get used to each other''s presence. I hear the water dancing against the edge of the metal and Svyatoslav caps the chimney. He removes a teapot from under the table and opens it. I can smell the powerful fragrance of dark tea. Water sings as it goes. It does not take long for a heady fragrance to spread across the room, fighting the light smoke for supremacy. Svyatoslav soon hands me a cup of liquid the color of caramel. We sip in silence. It is quite strong. "Thank you for your patience," he finally says. I nod. There is no need for formalities between the two of us. "It has been quite the stressful affair to follow your progress," he continues. "First, you are a slave, then you are dead, then alive again but tracked by the Knights. You disappear yet again and I assumed you to be destroyed, only for you to resurface for an important trial. Truly, I had never been so concerned so much for someone I had not yet met." "I could have done without most of it, I assure you." Especially the trial, the memories of which still push me to touch my fingers on occasion. "Yes, how insensitive of me. I just wanted to express how pleased I am that you still live. Until you came, I was alone. Now, I have one who can understand what I have been through. What we have been through." "You are talking about¡­ how we were made?" "I am talking about everything. How Nirari tortures and violates every last one of us so that we bear in our psyches the fear of helplessness at his hands. How we are pariahs before we scream the beginning of our second life. How we have to smile and bow and be polite just for a chance at what the others receive as a matter of fact. We were thrown into this world like discarded rags, struggling with instincts that we did not understand and hounded every hour of every night¡­ I do not have to continue. You know of what I speak." Svyatoslav stops there. For the entire speech, he displayed no signs of anger but a deep sorrow. It is an emotion that we do not experience very often, if only because there are few losses that can cause it. "I do not wish to complain anymore. For all our difficulties, the two of us were at least given a chance. Most of our kin did not even have that. But enough about me. Why don''t you tell me about your life? We have tea and a few hours before dawn." I oblige him but do not allow the conversation to center on me. After I finish telling him of the events that led to my escape from the Lancaster and my reunion with my father, I ask him to tell how his own change went. "After our sire killed the Kalinin progenitor, he had to leave Kievan Rus in a hurry. Despite his great powers, facing blessed weapons still inflicted wounds on his body. He decided to leave a parting present, so to speak, and made me. I was to be the last trace of his wrath. It was¡­ a difficult time. Trouble wracked Novgorod, to an extent that even my disappearance was merely blamed on the Teutons. I remember that I woke up to the corpses of my men. I was force-fed a werewolf and other creatures then sent out into the wild, a demon. I wanted to kill myself because I had been forsaken, yet I could not muster the courage. I went to find my wife and children. It¡­ did not go well." As expected. I was extraordinarily lucky with my father. Most of those who were turned against their will return to their families at some point. Tragedy and bloodshed remains the norm. "I will spare you the details of my first years. The Kalinin were in disarray and when I offered a truce, they accepted. I was a hunter. They needed vampires to cull the population of ferocious beasts. For centuries, I have danced a delicate routine to remain powerful yet independent. The Kalinin mean well but they can be overwhelming." "So you have stayed independent." "Yes. The Vityazi and I have an understanding." "How do you manage the¡­" How should I express it? A drive that I shared with my mortal self. An instinct beyond the instinctual. "The conquest. Yes, I know of it too. We carry this curse and blessing as surely as the Thirst itself. Perhaps because he was the first, it molds certain aspects of our personality. Our sire is violent subjugation. Malakim kept of the drive only the destructive, vindictive aspect for he can keep none of his prizes. As for me, my approach is¡­ outlandish." "What did you wish to conquer?" "Myself." My reaction must have been clear because Svyatoslav laughs. "Ah, I can see that you are unconvinced. You must understand. I always was a hunter. Self-control and patience form the core of my effort. That is why I picked the bow and why I own very little beyond a few houses, a misery compared to lords my age. And that is also why Nirari will kill you." His tone turns melancholic and though I would like to argue, I restrain myself. "I removed myself from the playing board, but you cannot. You have already chosen your path. I can see it. All successful paths of conquest are bound to collide at some point and yours is no exception. Should you live long enough, you and our sire will cross paths. You cannot win that fight." "You seem quite certain." "I am." "Yet I can tell that you are not trying to convince me to stop." "I can no more convince you than I can prevent the sun from rising. We vampires who have kept the flames of our passion burning for a lifetime possess a solid core that keeps us going forward, while the world changes so much as to become unrecognizable. We are the same. You will fight, and I have come to prepare you." I chuckle at that. "You would train me for a doomed battle?" "Yes. I have centuries of experience in combining and using our captured essence to best effect. Others see us as wild things driven by their instincts and made insane by power, but it is not power that makes us so dangerous. The Natalis are stronger. The Cadiz can focus more and the Ekon can endure pains that will make us flinch. They are still but victims before us, provided that we have survived long enough to collect essences. When I am done training you, you will be one of the deadliest warriors of this world." "I would never object to it and I am quite grateful. I just do not understand why you would spend time on someone who you see as doomed." "We are all doomed, Ariane, eternal youth or not. You just tend to forget it." Chapter 153 - 148. Intruders Krakow is burning. I wish I could have seen the city before the mob and before the persecution. Even now, the Saint Mary''s Basilica rises from the ashes around it, clad in its late Gothic glory. Ochre stone offers a counterpoint to the blood-stained snow and its many tiny windows seem to glare at the two pyres beneath. The stench of fear, offal and roasted meat saturates the air of the main market square. A few stalls lay crushed to the side. Behind us, the convoy moves. The feet of mortals splash through the disgusting sludge. They are scared. They have a right to be scared. As the city master told us, a difficult time is upon them. I keep an eye out for danger and remember our short interview with Tadeusz, Krakow''s resident Lord. He had given brief instructions to Anatole and then gone off to handle yet another crisis. I was not spared a single glance. It is, I believe, the first time that I remain anonymous in a gathering of vampires. I find the experience curious and refreshing. In America, I was always the local Devourer or Sephare''s pawn or Constantine''s apprentice. Here, I am but a faceless agent in a group charged with handling a crisis. I do not bring my reputation, network, or enemies with me. The uniform I wear replaces all those considerations. I am expected to follow orders and fulfill the mission, nothing more. The Knights handle those who pursue hidden agendas with extreme prejudice, not that I would have one considering that I have never been involved in Eneru politics beyond ravishing Torran. I am but a cog in the great machine. Another cloaked figure, armored in leather and covered in weapons. In fact, the only person with whom I have past grievances currently leads our mission. Though technically he may not give me direct orders, Anatole is still above me in the hierarchy. Lars leads the squad. I assume that the powers that be decided to see if we could let go of our enmity for the sake of the mission, a test of professionalism perhaps. After all, he merely tried to murder me twice for the crime of not being dead and got exiled from America as a result while I am guilty of brazenly walking around not being dead. A gray area, to be sure. I consciously unclench my jaw and gesture to the side, not that it is needed. A mortal could hear the trampling ruckus of a band of looters approaching us. They come from the south, where the strange Wawel castle stands, alongside the old royal road. Perhaps someone saw us pass by and alerted them. Greed is a powerful motivator when faith condemns the current owners. We are currently escorting three carriages filled to the brim with crates and other valuable goods. Tadeusz has decided to relocate for the sake of his followers but he will not abandon his precious belongings unless he has to. At least a dozen mages and assorted help stumble from within our protective cordon. The mages are useless. You would think that someone who can bend the world to their will would be able to take care of themselves, but when said power relates to dreams or making plants grow fast, survivability suffers. I can hardly complain. I find dream-witches particularly tasty. "We need to fend them off quickly. Other groups could find us and we might get swamped," Lars says. "I could shoot them," I reply. "It might be better to use silent weapons. Knives and spears?" "Agreed." We keep heading north, out of the square and through the old streets now dotted with the occasional frozen bodies. The cart''s wheels clatter on the frozen pavement. For a moment, I think that the looters will give up the chase but even mortals can hear us from five streets away and it does not take long before their ''outriders'' notice us. Men in dirty urban clothes, most of them young, hurry after us. I see the glint in their eyes, that manic anticipation of the hunt. I do not sympathize with it. My anger does not stem from the imbalance of power between marauding bands and fleeing refugees. It is the hypocrisy that infuriates me. At least, debased highwaymen know why they kill. Those younglings lie to themselves, committing acts of utmost savagery under the dizzying influence of fanaticism. They do not truly understand what they are doing. They will wake up in a week thinking themselves virtuous for ridding the world of devil-worshippers. Or at least, some of them will. There is an art to breaking mobs. The first thing to remember is that not all mobs can be broken, not without overwhelming force. Like a great beast, some will riot and bite when subjected to pain. Such is not the case here. Only a people beset by hunger or some deep-seated, enduring injustice will rouse itself to revolutionary heights. The marauders facing us are what happens when nine-tenths of a population realizes that it can feed on the remaining one with impunity. The second thing to remember is that, although mobs do not have a true leader, they have people who steer. We quickly find him. He is a blond-haired man wearing a leather apron with a cross sewn on it. He brandishes a blood-stained cleaver and yells imprecations, agitating the men behind him. My first knife finds his forehead which explodes like a melon. Blood and brain-bits rain over the rest in a crimson cloud. The third thing to remember is that being in a crowd is like being drunk, and that nothing wakes them up quite like pain and death. Lars wisely allows two seconds to pass and for the headsman, minus the head, to fall down before throwing his first javelin. It skewers a student and a baker. They squeal abominably. I walk forward. The group dissolves. They run back in disarray. A few of the folks at the back only trot, still unclear as to what exactly happened. The sight of death has not quite yet hit home. I glare at one of them and our eyes meet. He is wearing a cross and the taste of ash and sunlight caresses my lips, an eternal warning. No matter. Power is a crutch. I do not need Charm to intimidate. As the man watches, I grab the mewling student by the neck and lift him enough for the stragglers to see Rose''s blade go through his sternum. They run. I quickly return to formation. Our path continues north. We only come across a smaller group of looters and they run away after one look at our numbers. Soon, the tower above the Florian gate appears. We are close. "We must go through the gate then continue for one hundred and seventy-six meters before turning left," Lars informs us. I memorized the map too, but not to Lars'' extent. Someone placed a few crates on the way. It only takes Lars and Phineas a minute to move everything without reducing it to kindling. We cannot afford the noise. "And to think that back in America, we could have had your minions do it for us," Phineas remarks bitterly. I am personally standing at the top of one of the carts, keeping vigil. "What are you blabbering about, Phineas? You are my minion," I calmly reply. The enticing smell of terror emanates from our charges, distracting me. My blood consumption has increased lately, and every potential meal is all the more tempting. Sometimes, I wonder how I ever managed to get anything done as a fledgeling. Phineas hisses playfully and the mortals squirm. Delectable. Bah, I must concentrate. I pat on the caravan master''s shoulder and we go on. A few minutes later, we reach the rendezvous point. Other carts are arrayed in a column under the watchful gaze of Team Aspen. There are corpses on the ground, signs that some enterprising pillagers tried their luck for the last time in their lives. Anatole has very little patience for transgression, real or imagined. "Any problem on the way?" the blond twit asks in a low voice. "One group engaged us. No damage," Lars replies. "Good. Esmeray scouted the surroundings of the Barbican. She found a group lying in wait, not far from the entrance. They appear wounded." Anatole shows clear distaste as he looks at Esmeray''s sulking form, her arms crossed and gaze averted. "Or at least I assume that this is what she meant, given her failure to master our language. In any case, you will make contact with them and investigate the Barbican. Esmeray mentions a¡­ foul smell. I think. Investigate while we bring the caravan to safety, but do not engage unless the matter is urgent." Lars salutes. For one moment, I am left to wonder why the experienced team is on guard while the novice team is sent scouting but it is the exact doctrine. Escorting the coven is the priority. Getting rid of our target is a secondary objective, hence why we were sent on the task. The squad plus Esmeray returns to the city. Somewhere to the northeast of the square, the red glow of distant fire illuminates the sooty sky. Dark ash falls around us in a slow-dance hail. "Kazimierz, the Jewish quarter," Lars comments laconically. "Any chance that the fire reaches here?" "Unlikely. The wind blows in the other direction and it will snow soon." Esmeray turns into a wolf and takes the lead. She prefers her wolf form, unless specifically asked not to turn. Her lithe, dark shape guides us around blockades and through small passages. At times, we take to the roofs. Standard practice is to avoid doing so too much, as those who expect vampires will keep guards above ground. I maintain that most folks never look up but what do I know? We spot the Barbican very quickly, a squat, circular fortress situated close to the Vistula river. It is¡­ smaller than I expected. Many small windows adorn its light brown walls and several tiny towers with pointy roofs pop from above the thick walls like exquisite, tiny decorations on a boring cake. Esmeray does not stop. She leads us to a thicket of trees nestled between two tall houses. The only access has been blocked by debris, except for a tiny opening which we do not take. I can smell blood and sweat in the air even through the ever-present, acrid stench of smoke. We take to the roofs and lean in, even Esmeray who apparently can scale vertical surfaces with her paws. Below, we find a small patch of earth, a back garden of sorts. Half a dozen mages look around, gloved hands clenched on sabers and war scythes. I count around four guns. Another five gather around a pair of people quite busy bleeding to death. Their piteous cries are muffled. They are prey. I am quite fascinated by the color of the blood on their weapons. "Merghol mana hounds," I say. "What?" "They have fought creatures from the dead world beyond the veil. The hounds feed off spells, which energize them. I am amazed that those mages survived at all. They must be adequate fighters as well." "What in the name of the Eye is the veil? What?" Phineas asks, utterly lost. I assumed that this was common knowledge. I give them a short lecture on spheres and the new alignment, as well as portals and the only world mankind has discovered so far. "It sounds like a shithole, pardon my French," Phineas says, in English. "We know enough. Let us ask our dear mages a few questions. Just drop in. Aggressive interrogation. Keep them alive." Like a single man, the squad lands on the pavement in silence. The sentries yell and fall back. One of them takes out an antiquated pistol and waves it around. The group of mages is quite diverse now that I see them. I would wager that a few of them are foreigners, and my suspicions are confirmed when one of them points an accusatory finger at me and bellows in German with a proper Hannovrian accent. "Mein Gott! You! Have you not done enough already? Have you finally come to finish what you started? Is my life so abhorrent to you?" My fellow squad members do not stare, though I know they want to. We have to look deadly, and we do. The mages huddle in a pathetic herd. I study the man who submitted me to such a venomous address. A bushy blond beard, plastered by sweat and grime. Manic brown eyes. A scar on his cheek. I have no idea who he might be. No idea at all. "Are we acquainted?" I finally ask, in German as well. "Kennen wir uns? Kennen wir uns? Are you mocking me, vampire?" he screams, finishing in English again. "...No." This is terribly awkward. "Are you telling me that you are here so far away from your lands, in the city where I fled to, and that you come in my hour of darkness not to feed off my misery but by happenstance?" This time they cannot resist. Even Lars raises a brow. "You know the gentleman then? Perhaps he would be amenable to an exchange of information?" Phineas suggests with barely veiled mirth. Augh. Such an uncomfortable situation. "Yes, or rather, we are meeting by happenstance. I have no memory of you." And that is truly strange, as my captured Rosenthal essence should at the very least give me a hint. "You destroyed my life! Killed my friends!" he spits, as if it made everything obvious. "You will have to be more specific as I have destroyed many lives and killed a lot of friends," I suggest. "You wiped out most of my crew!" "Again, not specific enough." "How can you vampires be so arrogant? Do our lives mean nothing to you?" I cast a furtive glance towards Phineas. Why do mortals ask such rhetorical questions when the answer is both unpleasant and obvious? "We masters have had many foes throughout the years. They are dead and we are not," I try to explain diplomatically. His face scrunches. Perhaps I was not clear enough? "For you, the night you lost your friends was certainly harrowing, but for me, it was business as usual. I do not even remember you." "AAAAAAAARG!" What is wrong with him? "I heard that those who lose a Vassal tend to¡­ swing back. I had never seen it in practice," Phineas remarks. "Maybe your previous acquaintance does us a disservice," Lars suggests. "Alright, enough. Get a hold of yourself. We have questions." "Questions?" the man screams. "Why would I ever help you?" "Oh. This is my part, is it not?" Lars asks. "Yes, please proceed," Phineas encourages. Esmeray merely growls. "Ahem," our fearless leader says as he takes a step forward. So far, the other mages have watched out the exchange with absolute confusion, so much that they have not yet noticed that one of the wounded has passed. "Good people of the Raclawice Brotherhood and associated mercenaries, we are here to deal with reports of an otherworldly threat manifesting as, and I will have to quote, ''hounds the size of bulls with their heads split open''. You may report all relevant information to me. Should you be reluctant to do so, you will share all relevant information to her." This is my cue. I manifest Rose and, with the flick of the wrist, crack her like a whip. The delicate links coil like a deadly obsidian snake while the blade whistles. Our little hosts take a collective step backwards. A few courageous souls vociferate in Polish, but their betters speak in hushed tones and soon they cross themselves. Muttered prayers hiss in my ears like nails on a chalkboard. To my surprise, they rally around a squat, old man who fills them with the fire of faith in an old bleating voice. They all wear crosses. Charm is of no use. The man I apparently offended tries in vain to reason with them. With one last amen, spells fuse. We engage them. The following melee is short and disappointing. While Gabrielites know to hide behind their crosses and physical shields, peppering us with bullets and prayers, those men charge bravely. They die bravely as well as we close around them like the jaws of some great predator. Knives and javelins skewer them. Our blades tear them apart. They die with dignity, with furor, but still, they die. It does not take long before I grab the last combatant by the neck and feed off him. One part of my mind rejoices at a rich bounty while the other tries to follow the ongoing conversation. Indeed, three of the fighters have decided not to join their brethren in their collective suicide. The offended man is one of them. "Please, we do not wish to fight," another pleads in German. "That is most wise," Lars says while cleaning his blade on a fallen scarf. "Now tell us about the hound things." "Oh, this is worse than that. Much worse." "How so?" "It''s not just the hound things, sir, it''s the beings that lead them." Ah. Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. This might be highly problematic. "They came from the portal and¡­ they had those gems¡­" "Hold on, man, start from the beginning," Phineas says as well. Esmeray tilts her head. She doesn''t speak German. "Right, the beginning. Of course. It all started when I was hired by the Raclawice Brotherhood a month ago. They paid us, that is the two other people here as well as a few others, to help them in their endeavor. They paid¡­ very little but the market for mercenary work is chaotic right now, what with all the governments cracking down on us." "Focus please." "Yes. The Raclawice Brotherhood had a plan, one they did not trust us with and for good reason. You see, they kept talking about the price to pay for betrayal. We thought that they were going after a rival organization, but apparently, they wanted to go after Poland itself." "For turning on the mage population?" "Yes. The Brotherhood was always made out of disgruntled fanatics. They opened a portal using a pilfered book and planned to bait the denizens of the world beyond ¡ª the hounds you mentioned. I¡­ thought those were demons for a while." "I wager that you found more than hounds?" "Monsters in human skins! Or at least, some mongrel line of white man and Mahometan and Persian perhaps! The gate had been opened for a few hours and the Brotherhood was patiently capturing one specimen after another, through the clever use of nets, when disaster struck! I, wanting nothing to do with this treachery, was on guard duty. I saw everything! One moment, the other side had nothing but dreary lands. The other, those strange men were filing out! They were all bald and wearing white cloth and strange metal armors. Some of them had gloves that shone green and red, like nothing I had ever seen. Like a star came down from heaven. But those were demonic tools because no sooner had they arrived then they started mesmerizing or manipulating or I cannot know for sure, but the mages could not move and they placed collars on them and dragged them away! I hid in the promenade inside the walls and watched. They dragged their prisoners through the portals! They were treating people like animals!" "And you did not act?" Lars asks with a hint of disapproval. The man merely shook his head. "There was nothing to do, dark one. Any man they approached stopped moving completely. They could not resist¡­" He is telling the truth, I am sure of it. "Some sort of mind magic, perhaps?" Phineas says. "It could be physical shackles as well. To my knowledge, there has been no known instance of contact with sapient life on that world." I reply. "So we are dealing with an unknown," Lars says. "I am more shocked that I had never heard of those portals, you would think that this is important information," Phineas hisses with anger. Esmeray yips in agreement. I do agree. Knights should be informed, though to be fair, I did not think to share this knowledge with the others. It simply did not occur to me. "It matters not. We have acquired valuable information. We have a breach with dangerous hostile forces with unknown capabilities. Ariane, call it in." Lars finishes debriefing the mage while I find a secluded spot and cast a communication spell. Snow melts and gathers into the watery figure of Team Aspen''s Vestal. "Yes?" I succinctly relay the information we gathered. Anatole''s face soon replaces that of my interlocutor. "Team Willow is to stay put. I am now reclassifying this aspect of the mission as a category one priority. We will join you and advise. If you can, find a scouting party but do not engage. Wait until we are all there." "Understood." Lars orders the mages to stay where they are and we make for the roofs again. The Barbican remains strangely silent and, just as Anatole expected, a scouting party finally leaves its monumental gate. The group of intruders is made of three middle-sized hounds with collars held by three men holding gun-like weapons. They are indeed all bald, of a strange ethnic group and their attire is curious. They wear metal armors of excellent make, but under that I can see frayed white threads of poor quality. They are led by a man wearing even more elaborate armor. He does hold above his gauntlet a sphere of the most vivid, iridescent green I have ever seen. It looks so breathtaking that I commit the sight to memory for a future painting. The spell shines like a beacon with the dreary background of the smoldering city. We observe the intruder''s progress. What impresses me the most is the confident arrogance they display. Anyone with a hint of sense would realize that they are in a habitation center, and not grow overconfident. Even we tend to hide, but not them. They stroll down the street with the giddy ferocity of victors in a defeated city. I see the greed in their eyes as they slowly walk the district. Sometimes, one of them comments on something in a guttural tongue and the others snicker. We do not act. I am part of a hierarchy now, and the decision to engage is not mine to make. I also understand why Knights are never deployed near their home territories. Were this scene to happen in Marquette, blood would have been shed already. Anatole finds us quickly. He knew where we were thanks to Esmeray''s report. After a quick assessment, he decides on a plan of action. "We need to assess their capabilities, that disabling spell in particular. We will surround them, then I will act as bait to identify the nature of their tool. If I fail to move or if I give the signal, you will act. Please use your ranged weapons. Ariane, you are cleared to use your gun if needed." "With all due respect, sir," Mannfred says, "I will act as bait." Mannfred wears the heaviest armor among us. I have enchanted leather but he has plates and chainmail, also reinforced, and a heart protector that could stop one of my bullets. With his shield, he is the most likely to survive being immobilized. He is also extremely stubborn, which will help with any mental effect if applicable. Most importantly, Anatole is too valuable. I highly suspect that Anatole knew that the straightforward Mannfred would take his place. "Very well," our fearless leader replies, "get in position." Our two teams easily surround the scouting party as it walks down one more deserted street. A signal and Mannfred falls out of view. He walks from behind a wall with his sword clearly shown. He truly looks like a Spanish knight from the days of yore, up to the ''honorable to a fault'' approach. S§×arch* The N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The invader with the sphere scoffs and makes a snide remark, leading to hilarity among his subordinates. They approach Mannfred like bullies. The Vanguard stays put. The invader lifts his gauntlet and his shiny armor reflects the iridescent hue. Mannfred freezes in his tracks. He stumbles. One of the men takes out a collar from his belt, but the mage barks a warning and he steps back. Mannfred takes a step forward. Something is very wrong. I feel it in the air, a domineering draw. The mage pulls on the energy around him. At his feet, the colors grey out. Mannfred lets out a terrible roar. The three guards release their hounds which race forward. We all drop. For an instant, I think that Mannfred will be bitten, but then he charges forward with all the speed he can muster. We are still in the air when his enchanted sword goes through the sphere. It explodes in a blinding kaleidoscope of colors. Vitality washes over me. I have never tasted something so pure. This is the true nature of what we draw from blood. I shiver under its heady taste, but it soon fades. Mannfred is not impacted. His sword takes out the mage''s head next. As soon as I hit the ground and move forward, I know why. The liberated vitality has settled over the area, healing it to an extent, but it feels wrong. The fabric wrinkles like peeled skin pushed back over a wound. There will be a scar. A step forward and the terrible feeling of violation intensifies. Those¡­ those curs! They are stealing our world, its very life! DEFILERS. How dare they do such a thing?! It is monstrous. Unnatural! Is it because their world has so little life that they have been forced to harness it? Unbelievable. I stand by a panting Mannfred while the rest of both teams make short work of the hounds. They capture the three guards as well, breaking their limbs through their armor. The would-be invaders scream and show some delicious terror. "This is better than steel," Phineas says as he inspects their equipment, "I detect no aura, however. There are multiple dents and breaks on this one. It appears to be old." "Mffflgrn!" the owner protests. "I cannot Charm them," the Vestal says. She tears off her victim''s helmet. "Oh, I can now but¡­ his lifeline is severed." "What?" Anatole asks. Soon, the answer becomes obvious. The captives spasm. Blood runs from their eyes and ears. We step aside, but it appears that whatever killed them will not affect us. Lars kneels by a body and uses a knife to unclench his jaw. The maxilla breaks with a ghastly crunch. "Poison capsule. I can still smell it. A sort of flowery aura." How very pedestrian of them. And here I thought that their arrogance would translate. Ah well, it rarely does. "Mannfred, report," Anatole finally says as his vanguard has apparently recovered. Mannfred looks sheepish, as expected from someone who destroyed an important source of information. "The attack is mental¡­ after a fashion. The orb contains vitality, so much vitality¡­ as much as a whole crowd. It tried to latch onto my own but the difference was too much. Even then, the caster pushed and I could almost feel it, taste it, the sheer felicity of being joined with the sphere. Yet, when I got too close, I had a taste of this cornucopia. It was barely more than a drop, but I knew enough. The orb was made by harvesting people." We stop at that declaration. We are hunters. Cattle are a necessity, but only an ersatz of the real thing. Those who rely too much on cattle are frowned upon and they taste bland. The very idea of harvesting a crowd for their vitality¡­ to adopt a systematic approach to what should be an exciting event¡­ I can only consider it with the most visceral disgust. Only empty shells would be left of the sacrifices. "It also drained the life from the fabric of reality," I remark. Anatole looks at me strangely. What? It is true. He must have felt it as well. "It was a vulgar and blighted tool. A claw that tears and grasps without finesse, unheeding of the consequences," the Amaretta Vestal continues. She, too, shows obvious anger. "We must stop them," she finishes. "I decide what must be done," Anatole reminds her, and she acquiesces. "Nevertheless, I am convinced by your arguments. We must close the portal before any more of those strange beings come through. Mannfred, how difficult was it to break free of the compulsion?" "Not too difficult but I believe that nothing prepares you for it, therefore it will be harder the first time. I recommend that we focus on the casters first and try to take them out before the battle." "Agreed. We will scale the Barbican''s walls and attack from the roofs. Team Aspen plus Esmeray and Phineas will attack the gate directly while Ariane and Lars provide support. Unfortunately, I doubt that magic will work against them if they can indeed rip out energy from around, so we will have to get stuck in." "If only someone had let me take my powder charges," I grumble. "You can complain to Marlan when you return. Let us depart." Oh, I will. The restrictions on accepted doctrines is simply appalling. I was more effective when I was alone, and I did not have to wear this highly flammable, flimsy leather cuirass either. Bah, this is what I chose and their traditional training is without a match. Focus on the prize, Ariane, focus on the prize. The two squads move carefully. We progress in the shadows of the bridge near the Barbican''s entrance and then in the angle between the rectangular entrance and the circular main body. We spot several sentries but they do not notice us while we are so close. Most of them stare away, towards the fires. We scale the sheer wall and end up on the roof. The main structure of the Barbican is circular, open-roofed and hollow. The central court is quite small. Less than fifty people could fit in it, standing, much less now that it is cluttered with crates and foes. A handful of soldiers in metal armor mill about around a dozen lounging hounds. Soldiers come from and disappear into nearby alcoves lit by lanterns, but the main attraction is down center: a portal several yards across, and before it, two casters. And before them, a skeleton. I can barely believe my eyes. While all the soldiers are close enough to human to pass as one, the creature crawled out is some sort of nightmarish depiction of a mummified titan from the dawn of time. It is dead. It has to be dead. Its skin sticks to its bones and it has empty eye sockets that shine blue in the darkness. I have no idea what we are contending with. The thing moves. It tilts its head up. "Now, dammit," Anatole hisses. The eyes look up. I shoot it. A monstrous shield, a latticed half-dome, rises from the ground. It cuts a man in two as it closes around the skeletal form. I shoot one of the casters. The bullet hits him in the eye through the helmet and he topples backwards. Lars'' first javelin smashes against the skeleton''s protection with no effect but the next one kills the second caster. Those are heavy javelins, each one a heavy piece of steel and silver designed to go through shields and flesh alike. Despite his armor, the target is skewered through the sternum. The weapon ends up planted in the ground like a gore-covered pennant. We have serious problems though. I grab Lars by the scruff of his neck as the warning in my head turns into a screeching crescendo. We dive. Behind us, the roof of the Barbican explodes. All of it. Over a distance of fifteen yards. It just¡­ disappears into a shower of rock and splinters. The skeleton had¡­ moved its hand. It hit me then, the nauseous feel of the world flayed to its very fabric to fuel this creature''s spell. This will not stand. KILL IT NOW. I run down the wall and hit the ground in a dead sprint. No spells, it would be useless. Rose erupts like a coiled cobra and strikes the shield. It barely shimmers. The cover and its occupant are eating the world alive. Team Aspen slaughters the helpers and hounds while Lars and I engage the targets. Phineas and Esmeray attempt to flank it. I feel its attention settling on me like a heavy yoke. Its mere gaze has weight, the sort of pressure the truly old ones have. I do not bend. The world dies around us. That is the best way I can find to describe it. The world dies and the last surviving servants of the creature fall dead. We stand inside of a gouge in the world''s fabric, a necrotic wound on a healthy body. The lack of life chokes me in a way that only the loss of Dalton had done before, though it had been more painful by an order of magnitude. The shield still holds against our relentless assault, but it weakens. The monster lifts a boney finger and one of the two spheres the casters discarded pops out. Power and life erupt from the broken tool. It grasps it and raises its hand. The temperature drops just as I use Rose''s teeth against the surface of the shield. Magic is weakened here, I can feel it. Any spells I throw may be captured. What it cannot take is essence. It certainly tries, but just like with the Herald, our nature is too alien for drain spells to work on us. I pour as much power as I can from the Watcher''s gift in my blade and run around it. The shield groans and wavers. Team Aspen joins the fray. The creature sighs something in its strange tongue and the temperature drops precipitously. Blood freezes and flesh cracks. Flakes form on my brows. It does not affect us. We do not mind the cold. The shield wavers. For the first time since the battle started, the creature moves faster. Its fingers form a mesmerizing pattern as it grasps for the second sphere, only to find that it is gone. I saw it happen. Esmeray picked it up in her maw and fled. Smart girl. The shield groans once more. The creature turns to the portal and makes to leave, but not before gesturing. While my instincts did not warn me against the cold spell I felt coming, they urge me now. I grab Lars and dive to the side, imitated by most of team Aspen. Fire brushes over us, an explosion so powerful that my ears pop and my eyes bleed. I try to jump back to my feet and stumble. There is a blue flash from somewhere behind. Screams. The creature is trying to go through the portal. Oh, I think not. NOT SO FAST. A roar and my aura explodes. Bad. I grab the power as it leaves me and pull on Rose. Her thorns wreck through the shield. Anatole is here, smashing into the protection with his twin soul blades. The shield breaks apart with a crystalline shatter. Dark roots rise from the floor and whip at the fleeing foe''s legs. It stumbles. That is enough. Just as power leaves me and a deep fatigue fills my limbs, the rest of the Knights fall on the fallen creature with utter savagery. I can no longer follow their movements. The portal closes. Beyond it, I spot a few invaders and one shackled Polish mage amid a small camp. They look on with absolute disbelief at the spectacle of the creature being torn asunder. For one moment, I consider trying to kill them before giving up. There are too many of them and I do not have enough bullets. And I am not about to go through that collapsing gate. It closes. Team Aspen steps away from the body just as the last roots disappear in a flash of light. They are missing a member. I turn around to see a discarded war hammer near a pile of ash. Damn. The survivors have not escaped unscathed either. Mannfred apparently covered their Vestal as his shield-bearing arm bears the marks of the attack. Silence returns to the Barbican. Nothing remains alive save for us. "Team Willow, secure the place please. Esmeray, give Shania the captured artefact before you go. Shania, contain it, make sure it''s secure." Team Willow leaves knowing the reason why Anatole asked for privacy. I am forced to leave through the gate since I can barely walk, and I settle to wait near the bridge. As I leave, the cold that had permeated the air fades and so does the deep feeling of wrongness that came from the wound in the world. Interestingly, that feeling fades as life surges to replace the lost fabric. It will heal, in time. I suspect that it will take a while. Team Willow returns. Aisha goes to sniff around while the other two sit by my side, knowing me to be vulnerable. Their presence is familiar and it comforts me almost as much as having my loaded gun in my hand. "This is a disaster," Phineas remarks. "Even though we won¡­" "They know of our world. They know that we are here," I reply. "Yes. That other world cannot have too high a population or people would have noticed." "Sentient population, no. Unfortunately, those who stayed on the other side are now aware of our world and its bounty. My only comfort is that we killed the creature before it could head back and report that fire is our weakness. Or at least, I think so. Who knows what the invaders on the other side noticed." We keep quiet as we mull over the encounter. I cannot even fathom the consequences of this meeting. The invaders clearly had the mentality of raiders and their magic is powerful, so powerful that local mages can do nothing against them. Mundane humans should also be enslaved by the mesmerizing sphere. If the invaders find a way to open a portal from their end¡­ I dare not imagine the consequences. Even if we find a way to contain them, their presence will be taken by the mortals as a sign of the end of times or some such nonsense. Or as something that the magical population called upon them. We need countermeasures. We need a slurry of countermeasures. And we need explosives. I must contact Loth and Constantine. Team Aspen leaving the area interrupts my thoughts and we are sent to pile up the hound''s bodies to burn them. The corpses of the intruders are collected while we wait for Knight reinforcements. This is a major crisis after all. I find myself being the useless one for the rest of the night. Over the course of the next two days, we grab every proof we can to be transported by train. The unrest wracking through the cities makes our task much harder, but we finally manage to board the train back. Our only saving grace is that low temperatures prevent the bodies from rotting. The nightmare begins when we return. Knights, as it turns out, have an overabundance of protocols and this is especially true when we have had a loss. I had not expected that hurdle. We are debriefed and cross-examined by the hierarchy, though not in an aggressive way. We have to write reports on the events. Even after all is said and done, I find myself struggling to find an interlocutor. "With all due respect, Squire Ariane, we have been at this for much longer than you have been alive," Marlan tells me, "please trust that we will share any information that we deem relevant to you." "What about the major alliances? What about the Accords?" "We will be sharing our discovery, of course. This concerns us all. With that said, and at the risk of repeating myself, you should concern yourself with your own problems and trust those who have been at this game for centuries to act responsibly. Am I being clear?" I grumble in assent. I expected it. As someone who has played an active role in the Accords these past few decades, I have grown used to my own position. Now, I have returned to being nothing more than a cog in the great machine that is the Order. I regret the loss of agency and the lack of access to a shared information network. The decision to contact Constantine and my other allies is an easy one, but the execution is made delicate by the complete lack of infrastructure. The Knights have magical means of communication. Unfortunately, they are reserved for internal messaging, and without dedicated tools I would be hard-pressed to even reach Loth. I am forced to send my letters by train and hope that they will cross half of the world to their final destination like some sort of Neanderthal. Could they not install a telegraph at the very least? Ugh. I shall suggest this later. On the second week of January, I receive an unexpected visit from Mannfred. He sits in front of me at the table of Team Willow''s base and makes a rather shocking proposal. "Ariane, I have thought long and hard about this. We are well-equipped and well-trained to hunt down rogues and beasts, but it has now become clear that the dangers we face are of another nature. We operate with outdated arsenals and limited methods, neglecting a great many tools that would make us better. That is why I wish to suggest the addition of firearm training and anti-modern weaponry methods to our training regimen." "You¡­ wish to learn how to use guns?" "Yes. Guns and other modern tools that you have hinted at. Just imagine what we could have achieved with explosives in that last mission. Perhaps the shield would have failed before my friend died. We could have tossed them through the portals and the foes would have been blown to smithereens, hopefully carrying their knowledge with them to the grave. As it is, they have prisoners who participated in setting up the portal. They will open one. They will return. It is inevitable, and we must be ready." Oh yes, I have not annoyed Marlan enough with all my questions, let me rock the boat a little more. I should refuse. "We should set up a gunshop so that you may equip us, and have the Knights acquire the materials you need." "Count me in!" Chapter 154 - 149. The Age of Powder and Magic A frigid wind blows on the dead mountain, raising powdery white ice into the air. Cadiz essence for focus, Natalis and werewolf for strength. I draw on them in my relentless assault against Svyatoslav as he parries and dodges backward. He flows around in a liquid manner that frustrates me to no end, avoiding strikes by a hair. There are so many things to focus on. Roland essence to keep going. I use and release as needed. My attention falters and Svyatoslav pounces. His blade rakes my arm. It takes a lot of effort not to drop Rose. I draw on the Ekon essence to mitigate the pain and the Roland essence again to fight through it. My return strike pushes Svyatoslav back. "Not bad, little sister. You are making progress." "AAaaaugh!" I reply eloquently. Fighting Svyatoslav, or Slava for short, irritates me to the highest degree. He has a very defensive style of fighting that uses a curved saber, and a range of movement that only Naminata could match. More than once I thought I had him, only for the nimble fighter to pull off some truly insane acrobatics. Once, he even stepped on Rose. The gall of this man! It cost him his shoe though. "Not to worry, you will get used to it soon enough." "Why is it that I have to learn so many things at once! I am almost eighty years old! Why am I even in school!" I mock protest to work out my annoyance. "Of course, to stagnate is to die," Slava replies with a pompous air, hand brushing his long mustache. I pick up a branch and throw it at him. "Look out! The overgrown walrus speaks," I huff. "No need for mockery, yes? You are doing fine. I bet you could even handle two mortals at once!" The truth is that I am temporarily weaker. Integrating a new tool in my arsenal means retraining me to make use of it, as I had done after gaining my intuition. As I had also done after obtaining Rose. One must keep a flexible mindset in order to reach the top, it seems. Nevertheless, I am slower and more deliberate while I practice. While I am fully decked out, I need to be mindful of an ever-growing list of parameters. There is Rose and her range, my opponent, my footsteps, the flow of battle, my armor and the way it affects me or even allows me to deflect a strike instead of dodging it, my magic, my firearms, my intuition and so on. The list is long and it would have been impossible to think of everything were it not for the Rosenthal essence and the improved memory it brings. More importantly, I am physically weakening. I drink more, slumber longer. I find my aura harder to manage. I have shared my worries with Octave and Slava, both of whom I trust for different reasons. They showed no signs of concern and so I expect that it relates to my progress, although I still show no signs of becoming a lady. I cannot wait for all those investments to pay off. "The little sister is weary and distracted," Slava remarks. "The conclave starts later tonight. I am concerned," I reply truthfully. "Ah yes, you wish to convince those crusty old fools that you know better." "That is Mannfred''s project!" "A proper lady does not shirk her responsibilities, is it not what the English teach their little ones?" "I am not English!" "They do not shirk their heritage either." "Please stop aggravating me." Svyatoslav shrugs and smiles, and we talk a bit more about his life. The ancient warlord is an endless source of anecdotes and amusing tales, some of which I highly suspected to be ''embellished''. He carefully avoids the topic of his relationship with the Kalinine. Politics is something he understands but does not enjoy, and he often complains loudly about time wasted offering guarantees or being tactful instead of being effective. I realize why he owns few assets despite his age. He is simply uninterested in any involvement beyond what it takes to maintain the status quo. A few of the older stories also concern his family with whom he has long since lost contact. It had been too many generations. They are gone, spread out throughout the endless expanse of Russia. It makes him suffer. It has become obvious to me that Svyatoslav holds family in high regard. Whether it is born from a cultural bias or out of personal preference, I do not know. Suffice to say that he has desperately been trying to find someone who could relate and now spends as much time as he can training and socializing with me. I appreciate his company. I consider Team Willow as work acquaintances, not friends. We respect each other but we do not click in the intimate and comfortable way that I did with Jimena or Nami. As for the rest of the Knights, my many requests and questions somewhat sour the mood. In particular, Marlan has had it with my constant nagging. Sometimes, I wonder if they realize that many of us Knights might be new to the organization but old hands at dealing with otherworldly threats. I am so used to them that I find the most threatening of them all quite fetching, if infuriating. I wonder what he and Sivaya are up to right now. After we are done, I walk back to the compound across a small trail, leaving the snow undisturbed. No one stops me as I cross the gates and walk into the main underground complex. My feet lead me deep underground to a place I had not visited before. A powerful pair of guards let me through a small gate into the conclave room proper. Several squads have been called back from the smoky pigsty fire that is Europe right now, as each kingdom and republic decides how to handle their own mages. The Knights have split along the different tiers of the room. Down on the ground, high wood seats around a table of polished black stone will host the officers, most of whom are fashionably late. The second tier, a bit above, hosts the bulk of the true Knights while the last tier sits on a mezzanine borne by massive Ionic columns. I find my fellow Squires leaning over the balustrade and take the stairs up. Contrary to their habit, the Knights have eschewed white austerity in order to give their center of debate more gravitas. Pale and black frescoes cover the walls, showing heroic fighters triumphing against all odds. The ground is polished to a shine while enchanted lanterns provide a calming blue glow. I even spot a few golden leaves on a few of the characters, the only one I recognize being Octave. It must be quite nice to become old enough to have a temple dedicated to oneself. I could imagine some ancient lady visiting a museum of statues and seeing her own breasts immortalized for the ages, nipples fully on display. Yes, I should stick to painting others. That would be best. We settle down and I realize that Mannfred is nervous. He holds in his taloned hands a sheaf of papers covered in annotations. His speech, counter-arguments and examples are all organized by color code. I would be amazed by his dedication but I finally understood the man. Mannfred is obsessed with improving his combat capabilities. Nothing will stop him on his quest to become deadlier. I actually asked him once, if it saddened him that no amount of effort will ever allow him to match the antediluvian horrors of this world. He answered that he did not care a bit about the wrinkled old farts, he only pursued self-improvement. It was a brilliant night if he was deadlier than before when the sun rose. It was not a bad approach, not with how flexible he was with the rest. He has found his path. Despite the ever-increasing number of vampires, the room is perfectly silent. All preparations were completed long in advance, and anything said here will be heard by dozens of ears. It would also be an admission of weakness since anyone with a bit of sense should be ready by now. Without a noise, not even the susurrus of fabric, the room fills nearly to capacity. The third tier remains the least populated by virtue of the comparatively large space we occupy with our small numbers. The Knights never have that many recruits at the same time, and those who stay with them do so for centuries. Down in the inner circle, Octave has joined. A severe beauty in form-fitting armor and sensible brown hair tied modestly sits by his side. I also see Marlan, the Shade trainer, and another few, less important figures like the librarian. I assume that the newcomer is Lorica, Octave''s peer and one of the three co-founders of the Order. The ceremony begins with a few oaths reminding everyone present what the Knights stand for: peace, justice, honor. They are merely repetitions of what I already agreed with and so I bow to tradition. Many of the auras flare to show sincerity. I find the experience¡­ uncomfortable. Like bearing one''s calves to a stranger. Finally, everyone sits and the first order of the day is discussed: the current chaos engulfing most of the civilized world. The countries where Mask''s presence is the most prevalent, mostly England and France, have decided to identify and regulate their magical population despite the objections of the Church. Spain and the Italian states have taken a more drastic route with anyone suspected of sorcery forcefully shipped off to the New World, possibly due to the power of the catholic faith there. As for Prussia, her history of ruinous religious conflicts led them to adopt a more lax approach with every major population center deciding for themselves. This has led to a few key cities like Frankfurt becoming centers for refugees. Reactions in Eastern Europe are both more diverse and more extreme. In Polish and Hungarian cities, pyres still burn, belching plumes of smoke day and night. The reports are short and to the point, the votes, fast. Everyone already came with their own conclusions based on freely-circulating information. We squires do not have a voting right, therefore we are reduced to watching the proceedings. The Knights decide to petition Mask and convince their leadership to share the mage lists they will have inevitably acquired. Measures are taken to protect affiliated mages from persecution, and to ''convince'' select groups and individuals to come under our benevolent rule for their own good and that of their families. I really should be in Marquette to take care of my territory. We live in an age of turmoil and those who adapt the best will come up on top. I simply cannot afford the risk, however. One of my saving graces is my dangerous battle potential. If my rivals know me to be unstable, they will pounce. I hope Melusine is fine. I almost miss her jabs. My worries and the little interest I have in the minutiae of the proceedings almost make me miss the time. Mannfred''s petition relates to training, a minor element in the grand scheme of things. As a result, he is one of the last speakers to address the crowd. "Squire Mannfred wishes to present to us a proposed modification of the Knight training program. Squire, please join us on the floor," Marlan says. The local administrator has made his opinion clear. The official proposal was ''improvement'' of the training program, and by forcing Mannfred to walk down instead of speaking from his seat as the others had done, he forces a ten-seconds travel down to the center of the room. Every tick of the clock stresses Mannfred''s status as an outsider. However, the Roland master is as stubborn as expected and he approaches his speech with a refreshing giddiness that the rest of us have lost. "Ladies and gentlemen, my fellow Knights. I have little need to remind you that the world is changing faster than ever before, and so do the challenges that we face. The mundane governments have remembered the existence of magic and will soon dig deeper to see how far down the darkness spreads. The mages have spread and multiplied across the planet and now their numbers are so high that they have become a tangible concern for rulers everywhere. A new age is upon us, one we are not fully equipped to handle." He takes out his notes and starts quoting a few incidents in the past where the results of squads were less than optimal. All of those are instances where the Knights had to contend with new situations brought about by modernity: stopping a train, taking over a powder reserve. They are handpicked to illustrate his point. "In all those instances, the tools used against us were not blades or magic but the inventions of man. Guns. Explosives. Engines. We are letting the mortals gain a monopoly over technological innovation. As Knights, our greatest advantage has never been the sharpest blades or the fastest bodies. It has always been cooperation and preparedness, the use of the right means in the right situation. We must no longer delay in acquiring said tools for ourselves, so that no aspects of warfare shall find us wanting. As such, I propose that we introduce firearms and firearms defense training to the curriculum, as well as optional training in powder-based sabotage, mundane lockpicking, all and anything that could be useful in our arsenal. In order to show how my proposal would affect our abilities, I have taken the liberty of exploring alternate solutions to past situations our knights actually encountered." I helped him with that and nod as he demonstrates how long-ranged guns would have been useful in assassinations or how powder charges could have been thrown through the portal last month. He explains that guns would offer more options against Gabrielites and essentially all faith-wielding fighters by nullifying the effects of their crosses. The presentation is not too long but it is thorough and extremely concise, and he finishes long before boredom can set in. "Thank you for your attention. I will conclude by reminding everyone that the only way to stay at the top is to get to the new top before the others do. I have spoken." We do not applaud. It is not tradition. A few people nod to acknowledge his good points. Then comes the time for objections and Marlan unfortunately takes the helm. "My fellow Knights. One could spend a lifetime studying warfare and still learn little. There are only so many hours every night and a great many subjects to cover as it has been for generations. During our history, we have encountered several innovations, but many of those have gone the way of the longbow or the catapult. And we are still practicing as we have." You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. Some people chuckle. Too many people. "Our main priority during training is not to provide as many tools as possible but to make sure that the most important ones are mastered. More Knights have fallen through history to rogues than any other causes combined. Yes, guns are fast, but their wielders are not. Very few throw the kind of projectiles that harm us. In fact, only Squire Ariane has proven to be dangerous with one, and she has both our speed and a pistol that mortals cannot handle." Marlan continues his objection. I can summarize his argument easily: the time investment does not make it worth the effort. We would need expanded facilities. We should focus our efforts on political pursuit. All of those are valid excuses that he exposes to undermine our point but I know the truth, he finds us annoying. Rigid minds like him search for reasons to say no instead of factual truth. Mannfred gets a chance to answer and he does, but by that time the cause is lost, as I expected. I can see annoyance and impatience in the minute changes in some of the Knights'' postures. "The main reason why we do not consider guns as a worthwhile pursuit is that we have never tried. The Knights are deadly in battle, with or without guns. Politics will also accomplish tasks that a fist will not, but in the end, we are Knights, not envoys. Battle is our speciality and weapons our focus. All weapons. We should at the very least explore the question." That was Mannfred''s secondary plan in case Marlan opposes us as firmly as he has. Throw us a bone, he says, you know that we are correct and you are a bunch of arrogant, stubborn old farts. Or something of the sort. I might be projecting a little bit. "Very well. Squire Ariane being our only¡­ gunsmith..." His words drip with disdain. "... we will allow her to use the armory to make parts for volunteers. We will also explore anti-firearms techniques. Squire Ariane, please see me after the meeting." He will not have to ask me twice. I love shooting people, and I was planning on doing just that. "I thank you for your support, Ariane. You truly are a worthy rival," Mannfred tells me as we leave the room. Phineas rolls his eyes. "You are welcome. I am sorry that your efforts were hampered," I reply. "Think nothing of it. We shall use the opportunity they granted us to demonstrate the values of guns to our kin. They might love tradition, but they love winning even more. It is only a matter of searing the lesson painfully into their flesh, bullet by bullet." "I commend you for your positive and wholesome attitude, Mannfred." Later that night, I sit across from Marlan in his tidy office. He is not amused. "Congratulations on convincing the council of your arguments," he starts. "Why thank you," I reply, ignoring the small jab. We did not convince them. He made sure of it. We merely received a consolation prize, and Marlan will make sure to dispense it like a miser. "I would still like to point out that instruction is to be taken seriously. I expect a report on how you will proceed as well as a list of the things you will need. Teaching Knights is a serious endeavor and only the most prepared and determined of teachers will be accepted. This is no game. I hope that I am making myself perfectly clear." As an answer, I grab a file by my side and remove my project plan, complete with possible training hours and a detailed list of supplies I will need. It amuses me that he would think me unprepared. The next night. The compound arena is the only place designed for range training, and even then only the most basic one. The few vampires who use ranged weapons come to the Knights at expert level, and have no need for targets unless they stand a mile down range. My two students stand before me, ready for instruction. "There are a few rules about gun safety, gentlemen. Rule number one, when you are not directly looking at the gun, tiny powder fairies load it with live ammunition." Mannfred frowns mightily and brushes his villainous mustache while Phineas tilts his head. S§×ar?h the nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Is this an enchantment specific to this weapon that I do not know about?" the Roland master asks. "No. Every gun is the same. That is why the consequence of rule number one is that you always treat a gun as if it were loaded, and you do not point your gun at someone you do not actively intend to shoot. Threats are fine too, but you must be willing to shoot the person if they mouth off. Similarly, keep your finger off the trigger if you''re not going to pull it. We may be able to regrow fingers but the process is quite painful, I assure you." "I understand. I have learned how to handle blades before," Mannfred scoffs. "Blades have less range and it takes quite the acrobatics to rip off your unmentionables with a twitch of your finger, therefore I advise you to mind my words and to keep the barrel pointed in a safe direction until such a time as someone gets demoted from person to target. Right now, the ground is a safe direction." The two accept my explanations. I have already proven myself, after all. Octave often leaves our training sessions with his shirt burned and stained. I only have my own revolver and there are two students so I pick Mannfred to start because he started the whole affair. I take my time to show Mannfred how to hold the gun properly, and a proper stance. Balance is just as important as strength when wielding my Big Iron. Thankfully, we do not have to worry about breath control. "When you are ready, line up the sights on the target. You must focus on the front sight then align the rear sight. Once you have done so, pull the trigger. Watch for the recoil. You may begin when ready." At first, I thought he would aim for the head but he reconsiders and aims for center mass, thus achieving an accidental headshot. "Not bad." "That thing kicks like a Nightmare!" "Yes, a mortal may only shoot my gun twice because of that." ".... why twice?" "Humans only have two wrists. Moving on, calmly shoot five more times and try to get a feel for the weapon. Please make sure to take your time and aim properly. When you are done, place the gun safely back on the table." Mannfred is nothing if not disciplined. He is calm and talented enough to turn the dummy''s chest into a shredded mess. His eyes glint in the semi-darkness. "I could get used to this." "Good. You will practice with my Big Iron while I build your own." "You will build my own?" the man replies, excitement clear on his face. "Yes, for you and Phineas. We could train with mortal weapons but it will be faster and more efficient to let you get used to customized weapons." "Can I pick the color?" Phineas asks. "Oh, and the design of the grip?" Mannfred adds. Hssss. More work. May 1864, three months later. Spring has returned to the Ural, and nature has erupted from molten snow, green and vibrant. The air smells of sap and blooms. We stand at the edge of the forest not far from the compound, one of the endless training spots Knights can use. I did not pick this spot at random. The difficult terrain will prove useful. Before me, my students are arrayed. They stand with guarded expressions as they sometimes cast furtive glances at my bullet belts. It might not be the most fashionable item, of course, but few people will ever inform someone with a bullet belt that they look drab. It would be unhealthy. "Welcome to the first class of bullet avoidance. In this course, I will shoot you and you will attempt not to get hit." Team Aspen looks chagrined for some reason, except for Mannfred who carries a shield and the Amaretta girl who can see the future. It shows that they know very little and will sorely regret their overconfidence. "Bullet avoidance is different for us than it is for mortals because of our speed. Nevertheless, both the mortals and vampires can use cover. We will begin with that." "Are you telling us to hide? From mortals?" Anatole asks with disbelief. I almost shoot him there and then. I have not forgotten. "Yes, I am telling you to hide if the situation calls for it, such as if you need to protect a mortal or if you feel like playing cat and mouse. Now, there are two elements you have to choose when picking your cover. The first question is, does it break the line of sight? I will let you guess the second question. Go hide now but stay close enough to attack me." Team Aspen runs to the woods and disappears in an instant. They may not all see the interest of the exercise, but they are disciplined. I note that the Amaretta Knight hid behind a dark pine. Her slender figure disappeared behind the thin trunk. I could not do that. Because my armor is too padded at the back. For added protection. I suddenly find the Amaretta witch vaguely annoying. Her cover will also illustrate my point nicely. I aim and shoot as fast as I can, and, although I see her start moving before I pull the trigger, I adjust my aim to compensate for her own intuition. The bullet shreds the edge of the tree and lodges itself in her thigh. "Ow! Cazzo! Hsss!" "Thank you for illustrating my point. The second question you need to ask yourself is: can my cover actually stop a bullet? If it does not, you are devolving from a moving to a stationary target. You do not want that. Now, hide better." The exercise continues and with every advice, the Knights grow less contemptuous. "If you can see the dark in my gun''s barrel, it is aimed towards your face and you need to move. Remember, most of us cannot outrun a bullet but we can always outpace the shooter." Active avoidance is not something that mortals can reliably achieve. This part of the training remains brief since most of the Knights have been shot at before and understand the concept. "Lateral movements will make you harder to hit." Anatole weaves right and left. I aim and wait for him to pass in front of the barrel again, then I shoot him. He looks particularly aggravated. I am enjoying every second of this. "Being unpredictable makes you harder to hit. Do not allow your foes to stop aiming and shoot you when you pass in front of the barrel." Most mortals would not be able to do so, but Gabrielites train exclusively to shoot at where we are going to be. We should not make this task easy for them. "Duck!" This one is easy. By staying close to the ground, we offer smaller targets. I also advise the use of face masks, though I know that many of us cannot stand them. Head protections affect our senses. I just believe that one can adapt to them and the added protection makes it worth the inconvenience. They remain unconvinced. I do not mind. Classes continue for a while and we finish the course in a little less than twenty lessons. The squad develops several techniques such as hiding when being the focus of sustained fire and letting other squad members close in. They also enjoy attacking at an angle so that enemies have to stop shooting or risk hitting an ally. The exercises turn into games where I, the unmoving shooter, need to be overwhelmed. It calls to their predatory instincts. The module is a success and Marlan grudgingly accepts its addition to the standard curriculum. Another victory for us comes when Marlan is forced to ban the use of guns in standard exercises. While we are not making any concrete headway, vampires can always smell weakness. They know that Marlan would not ban something unless it were dangerous and a few more recruits join my private lessons. Even Esmeray gives it a try until she realizes that she cannot absorb a gun into her wolf form. I am more impressed by the fact that she can absorb her armor. Training continues over the next six months. During that time, I make remarkable progress. Between Octave''s and Svyatoslav''s lessons, I grow deadlier by the day even though I feel a bit weak. Through determined practice, I merge all my abilities into a fluid, aggressive style until the results finally speak for themselves. One fateful night, as I am sparring with Octave, a series of exchanges turn into a hotly disputed exchange. I feel it then, I feel a path to victory and absolutely outdo myself. For one fugacious instant, the world is perfect. I know everything that will happen. I know exactly where to strike, how to press, how to force a step back, a dodge, a deflect, a series of maneuvers that will grant me that one tiniest of openings in Octave''s adamantine defence. I land a blow. It is merely a glancing blow, but I did not use a gun this time and the slice appears clearly on Octave''s pristine shirt. The spar stops. In the deserted arena, Octave inspects his damaged piece of cloth. His gaze travels up and he gives me a respectful nod. "Satisfactory. Let us see if you can reproduce it reliably." We try again and fail without surprise, but I do remember this feeling of floating, of being perfectly in control. I cherish it and commit it to memory because I know that I will find it again, one day, and that it will take at least that much to face the ultimate foe. Around the same time, I receive a message from Constantine in the form of a letter. "Ariane, Thank you for bringing this threat to my attention. So far, we have had no reports of increased portal activity, quite the contrary. It appears that the existence of hounds and the fate of those who capture them has finally started to spread and even the wildest of mages have turned to other endeavors. Nevertheless, I took your warning seriously. You will find attached to this missive a construct that will reinforce the weave of this world and deaden magic as a result. It can be set in a Myrrdin-style array, however you will need at least three other mages to stabilize it¡­" I glance through the spell''s prerequisites. As expected of Constantine, he has managed to turn an impossibly complex problem into a series of logical steps that even a donkey could follow. The spell would make it extremely difficult for one of the skeleton things to tear our planet to shreds. The short range is not really an issue. We would go in as soon as the spell takes hold. Casting magic while inside the circle should be almost impossible, reducing the struggle to one of physical capabilities alone. I am certain that we can manage. "I would love to know who shared those calculations with you¡­" I am certain that Constantine would love Sivaya, perhaps a bit too much. "... I shall ask you to be careful. The drive west has created rifts within the Accords while Mask has shown an inclination to finish what they started. Those of us who wish to build a lasting society sorely miss your dedication to the cause. When you return to us, you will find a warm welcome." A better welcome than the first one I received, I hope. I have not forgotten what he has done. I do wish I could at least kill Anatole. It is not fitting that my kill list should contain more than five names at any time. Finally, two years after our arrival, Marlan summons Team Willow to his office. "You have passed all the elementary classes and your instructors are¡­ satisfied with your progress. As such, you will be given a mission to fulfill as a true squad. Your performance will be judged and, should you prove yourselves, you will receive dedicated training in your respective roles in preparation for your nomination as true Knights. Take the details and go, and for the love of the Eye try not to start an interdimensional war." I am not the one starting it if they attack first. Chapter 155 - 150. Examination "Join up with the local visiting lady and investigate a string of disappearances," Phineas summarizes as we step down from the train. "It looks straightforward enough. What if a group of bandits is to blame? Do we pass the test anyway?" "First," I reply, "a lady would not move for a group of bandits. Second, I have a strong feeling about this mission." "Your intuition again?" "My intuition told me to move, and that is why I requested said lady to move." The rest of the squad takes a moment to catch my meaning before looking at me with a mix of horror and fury. "You¡­ you made this mission happen?" "Yes. I contacted the lady and she requested a squad." "This mission is your doing? What if Marlan decides that you broke a rule? We will have to repeat training or be expelled in shame! We are not to interfere with the examination process," Phineas complains. I roll my eyes. "This is a Knight test. We are not students sitting in rows to write on the merits of constitutional monarchy, Phineas. You may have forgotten what matters." The Vestal shakes his head. "What could be so important that you would risk antagonizing Marlan even more?" I push the anger down. What indeed? How can they not be concerned? "You remember that we faced invaders from beyond the veil and discovered that they were not just intelligent, but they knew a category of magic that quite literally kills the world?" "And you think that they would mysteriously learn how to open a gate from the other side?" "Yes, absolutely. They even captured the mages who conducted the ritual," I answer with anger. "And our superiors in the Order obtained the bodies and they know of the situation. You would endanger our prospects just because you think that you know better than those who have kept the world safe for centuries?" "From rogues, perhaps. This is an entirely new kind of threat." "Is it an American thing not to trust those in charge?" "Need I remind you that fifteen years ago, Europe burned with the fires of those who did not trust those in charge?" I hiss back. Our voices are raised. Conflict is never good in a squad. Not resolving it and letting it fester is even worse. "Those were mortals and their governments, not the Knights. I think that we can safely wait for proper deployment instead of rushing in ourselves." "We were properly deployed," I retort. "Because of you!" "And if Marlan, in his infinite wisdom, decided to accept the call then perhaps you should too? We are wasting time." "Enough of this," Lars interrupts. He is our official leader and we both fall silent. "Your argument serves no purpose. We have been given the mission. We will fulfil it." "Agreed, but one last point," Phineas says, "you should trust the hierarchy of the organization you chose to belong to." "A hierarchy is an empty concept. It does not give orders, the flawed individuals who constitute it do, and if you trust them blindly, then you are a fool," I counter. Phineas shrugs. Our difference of opinion cannot be reconciled. I do not care. We are exactly where I want us to be. Although I prefer winter myself, Poland looks quite nice at the height of summer. Perhaps the lack of acrid smoke carrying the stench of burnt human hair plays a part in my general impression. Nevertheless, we have been dropped in one of many isolated stations, with the only signs of civilization being log-house villages surrounded by ripe golden fields. We are not too far from Krakow, which reinforces my suspicions. According to Sivaya, our world and its neighbor are dimensionally single-point contiguous, meaning that portals have fixed destinations. She implied that places in the same vicinity on earth would lead to similarly close locations on the other side. In other words, and assuming that the invaders live in some sort of settlement, then this area of Poland is close to said settlement. Once again, the Poles have drawn the short straw, it seems. The train conductor gives us directions and we shoulder our bags and walk out along the edge of a light forest. Great patches of fields lie around us, with piles of straw showing that the harvest is underway. We move on for an hour under Lars'' vigilant guidance. Our destination is easy to spot from the column of smoke. We go through one last thicket to see a small camp set in the middle of a village. A smattering of tents has gathered around a much larger one, a blue structure that only a travelling festival would possess. I would not call it gaudy. The word did cross my mind, however. The mortals of the camp look up nervously when we announce ourselves. Their attempt to show a relaxed front falls short, and they keep jumping at shadows. Most of them wear the sort of clothes one could see in the streets of Vienna, most of them are male, too, and quite fetching at that. "The lady was expecting you, she waits inside," one of them informs us in German, dreamy amber eyes betraying his worries. "None of that now! The time for social niceties has passed!" a female voice explodes from the inside. The tent''s flaps bounce aside to reveal the strutting figure of a young woman, even younger than my own appearance. She has black hair and velvety dark eyes that glance at Phineas and Lars with naked interest before landing on me. "Greetings, Viktoriya," I tell her. The tiny lady is the very same I met on the train as I was going to Torran''s castle, sans her prot¨¦g¨¦e, this time. "Ah, Ariane dear, you have come. Good! I was getting tired of sitting on my butt all night long while SOMETHING clearly preys on the good folks! I protest. Only we Dvor have that right around these parts. This is nothing less than poaching." "You have, ah, noticed disappearances in your land?" Lars asks, apparently flustered by Viktoriya''s direct manners. The short lady strides to my teammate. She is shorter than him by a large margin and still manages to look down upon him. "Ariane? Who is the blond stud?" "May I present you Lars of the Erenwald, our team leader. He is the Face of the group." "A pretty one too. I love the vacuous expression as if I could shine a light through his ears. It reminds me of my first lover. So, boy toy, have you noticed something about this village we currently stand in?" It is unremarkable apart from the fact that the doors are open and there is not a single soul to be found. "It is missing its inhabitants," our fearless leader replies. "Excellent! Do Knights come equipped with a functional cortex now? What a brilliant innovation." She turns to Esmeray. "The shade I presume? Another Vanheim lost lamb?" Our team mate growls softly. "Oh, a wolf! I like wolves." I remember that she mentioned killing one with a pitchfork while she was still mortal. "Nicest pelts. How about you?" "Phineas of the Lancaster, madam, at your service." "An Englishman! You are far from your shores, islander. So, Ariane, you mentioned that those creatures from beyond the portals may have found a way through? Are they the ones responsible for this act of depredation?" "I think that it is likely." "And are they humanoid?" "Yes." "Wonderful! Have you tasted one yet?" "I have not had the opportunity, alas." "Scandalous! We shall remedy this situation forthwith. I brought two mages, by the way, as you requested. Where are they now? HENKEL! STEINER! KOMMT HERAUS!" She can certainly bellow for one so diminutive. Her voice has this stable, high-pitched quality that I associate with trained sopranos. As we watch, two men sheepishly exit the tent while shoving shirts into their loose pants. "I hope they are not too drained," I remark, "the ritual requires quite a bit of power. "Oh they are drained alright, just not of blood. You can rest assured that they have ample stamina. I checked." I cannot prevent myself from groaning. "Aha, still prudish I see." "I am not prudish, you are outrageous!" "Bah. You are still a child. I can give you suggestions later, for now, we have a quarry to hunt. Do you happen to have a plan?" "Yes, in fact. Lars?" "I have a map." We follow Viktoriya inside to find a positively princely arrangement: a large bed with a scarlet canopy, a low table surrounded by plush pillows and a massive writing desk in warm colors. Lamps provide enough illumination that mortals could comfortably read. I wonder how she transported all of that to this remote region. It also smells a bit ripe and I scrunch my nose in displeasure. "Leave that tent flap open dearie, we could use some fresh air," our host says without shame. She invites us to sit down and I eye my purple ottoman with no small amount of suspicion. It appears to be clean. The sight of all of us armored warriors on fancy colorful pillows amuses me. I allow myself a smile and commit the image to memory so that I can paint it later. Lars does not care about the scenery or anything else. His mind has a single track and he picks a map from his backpack, which he unfolds on the table. It shows the surrounding area with a degree of precision that local noblemen would envy. It was made by the previous master of Krakow, who has temporarily left. "These villages have been emptied of inhabitants," he says, placing little pins on our current area. There are nine of them, covering the map in a haphazard fashion. He then starts applying little blue flags on top of the pins. "Those two were evacuated due to the disappearances. This one was partially destroyed during the troubles a year and a half ago and the last holdouts recently gave up due to persecutions. This leaves six unexplained disappearances, all of them without witness and without violence." He then places little red flags on the remaining pins, revealing a clear pattern. "Those three villages are in the same vicinity, only separated by a deep pine forest and their inhabitants all went missing in spring." "You are well-prepared," Viktoriya sneers, eyes fixed on the fancy colors. "We received information from the local master," Lars continues, "and those other three villages went missing within two weeks of each other." We have a patch of destroyed villages and then three others in opposite directions, like someone scouting around. "Quite the problem indeed. I wonder why no one acted before," Viktoriya says with a frown. "There are too many disappearances and pogroms happening all over the world right now, especially in communities suspected of magery. One of the first villages to disappear had jewish inhabitants and it was not seen as too unusual. We are only noticing now because we were expecting it." How kind of him to take credit for my vigilance. "I see. We must scout the epicenter of the event." "Indeed." "And the mages? Why are they needed?" "I have a spell that should prevent their undead mages from defiling the world too much," I explain. "What do you mean by defiling?" "They steal the energy from the world and kill it. It feels hollow afterwards, dead. The energy tries to return but too many of those and¡­" "I was informed that the world beyond the portal was dead and felt thin. Could it be related?" "Either it was from the start and the undead mages found strength where they could, or¡­" "Or they harvested energy until they killed the planet. How many generations of casters would it take to achieve this?" "An interesting point, but purely academic. We should make sure never to find out." "And your spell would prevent that from happening?" "I hope so. Our world does not want to be moved and this will improve its inertia. We must try it. I can only pray that it will be enough." I succinctly explain the ritual. Although it requires four people at the very least in order to be stable over a large area, only one person is responsible for the casting, therefore the role of supporter should be easy enough for an experienced mage. Phineas already knows his part and I take a few minutes to explain it to our newest companion. "Pah, magic is such a fickle and annoying thing. I am glad that I found others to do it for me," Viktoriya says. We do not all share the same drive. "My entourage will remain here. Let us depart." Our team leaves their personal effects in her tent. We only keep with us our weapons and a few select tools. Viktoriya does not wear armor, but she does change into something like a forester''s dress. We move at a brisk pace with the two mortals on horseback following us at a good distance. They are quite slow. It takes us a couple of hours just to reach the first abandoned village. It stands intact yet empty, just like the one we left. Doors and shutters turn with the light wind. A disturbance echoes throughout its silent buildings. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. "I can feel it," I say. Even weeks after the fact, the weave of the world still feels off. Uneasy. "Yes, something is wrong," Viktoriya agrees. "The undead mages'' servants use a curious orb to mesmerize mortals. I would assume that they used it here and retrieved the locals." "Quite likely. We are on the right track." Everyone remains calm, yet I cannot help but secretly fear for the future. The implication of our discovery has been mentioned. The other side has opened a portal themselves. They are not friendly. Between the Scourge Hive earlier and those raiders now, I wonder if the number of incidents involving foreign incursion will grow with time. If it occurs, it will only be a matter of time before our side sends their own war parties. Perhaps. The world has grown quite strange in the past few decades. "This is Tarnozych, one of the three villages that were hit first. From now on, we should assume that we are in enemy territory," Lars says. "Squad, fan out. Esmeray will take point. Will you allow us to protect you, milady?" "I will remain at the back with my two pets. Be sure to call me if anything happens." "Of course." We separate, and I roam through the nearby forest like a ghost. Strolls such as this one used to be a great source of enjoyment and relaxation, but this time someone disturbed the life and tranquility of this heavily wooded area. The night is too silent. Most of what could move did so already. In another few months, the trees will start to die from whatever they hide from us. My feeling of unease only grows as we tread deeper with great vigilance. I see no traps, perceive no magical constructs. It does not mean that there are none. The invaders'' grasp of magic is simply too different, and we might be walking into a trap. It does not matter. Someone has to go. I crest a small incline in the forest and watch the next valley unfolding in front of me. The vibrant green of early summer greets me in all its glory, with many leafy trees struggling to gather the sunlight they need by day. Nothing out of the ordinary can be seen, yet I close my eyes and taste the weave, and my unease only grows. This is wrong, all wrong. What those creatures are doing is the burnt earth, take everything sort of conquest that even the Huns did not do systematically. Our enemies have more in common with the locusts that they have with us despite their clearly humanoid appearance. I wish I could unleash my sire upon their world and then close the portal behind, forever. A bird call interrupts me. I react immediately and leave my hiding spot to rush forward. There are very few birds here, and I easily recognize Esmeray''s call sign. I am first to arrive by the woman''s side. She kneels by the only path through the thick underbrush, the same that Viktoriya and her mages are currently following behind us. The Turkish girl does not move, she has no need to. Her finding is obvious. Someone put up an alarm between two trees. I feel thoroughly insulted. When setting up an alarm, discretion must be considered. Any enterprising thief will find a way to bypass a trigger if it is too obvious. Whoever designed this one did not take discretion into consideration at all. They performed the magical equivalent of dragging a rope across the path and fastening a pair of bells to it. I will admit that the enchantment is sound. I just feel ridiculed, looked down upon. The glyph is even plainly marked against the surface of a withering tree! Its alien composition shows a lot of triangles and twisted angles, a sharp and aggressive design that gets in resilience what it loses in subtlety. "An alarm. What should we do?" Phineas asks. "We go on. Keep your eyes peeled because this could be a decoy. I want to find the main base quickly." Lars orders. The hunt goes on. At first, we follow the uneasy feeling but soon it proves unnecessary. There are campfires in the distance. The smoke rises in the air in diffuse plumes into the cloudless sky. We reconvene once more with Viktoriya. "I will come as well so that I may report to the Dvor council. My pets will remain hidden behind," she tells us. We sprint to a small elevation to the side and make our way to the top. There are no sentries and no traps. If there were advanced traps, we would have seen them already. "They are not taking this seriously," the Dvor lady observes. "They seemed quite arrogant," Phineas agrees. "Remember that they have tools against which mortals are defenseless. They have had no cause to fear us yet, although I would believe that the slaughter of their men in Krakow should have been taken as a warning," I say. "In any case, we should check the camp." We all crawl through high grass and inspect what we are up against. The camp is as large as a small town already, arranged in a triangle. Cages of baying hounds form one side, individual tents in purple leather and racks of weapons another. As for the center, it hosts a massive gate that leads to¡­ a city. An actual city. From where we stand, I can only spot pavement and dirty walls. The stench permeating the place reminds me that those are waterless soldiers at the height of summer, and that their latrines must be full. As we watch, a new convoy crosses the veil, bringing with it fifty soldiers in metal armor and another undead mage. Just like its predecessor, they are incredibly tall, but this one wears grey robes inlaid with colorful gems and a strange sort of crown. It confers with one of the servants who kneels before its presence. Another undead mage exits from one of the tents. So. Sear?h the N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Yes. We are going to need reinforcements. "By the Eye¡­" "Shh!" We stay put for a few more moments then leave like mice. As we run, I cannot help but consider the unexplainable circumstances we find ourselves in. First, they have had this portal open for a while now, which begs the question: where are the rest of them? I counted only about five hundred fighters. There should be many times that number now unless they are being overly cautious, and if they are being cautious, then why not build fortifications? At the very least a wall? Warfare in their land must be quite different from ours, or there is more at play than we can guess. I shiver and give up on understanding their alien motives. We ignore too much. Any hypothesis I could conjure would be an idea floating in the air. No, if we want to learn the truth, we are going to need prisoners. I know just the way. So do the others as we run back to the alarm with no one the wiser. We come across other similar constructs and even tracks that suggest common patrols, but no other signs of activity. "You would really think that invaders would be more cautious," Phineas spits with annoyance. I, too, feel miffed. They are poor hunters, too brazen and arrogant. And it will cost them. You do not let your guard down even when taking out a weak prey. Those who do not learn, die. "The question is," Lars says, "do we trigger it, knowing that they will learn they have been discovered? It will cost us the element of surprise." "Their most dangerous feature is their magic. Remove that, and they are a minor threat. We must know if we can defeat them," Phineas replies. "Ariane, you are the architect of that spell. Can they find a countermeasure if we cast it now?" I am in no way the architect of the spell. It was made by Constantine, the greatest blood mage since Semiramis herself, based on notes by Sivaya, genius of the Court of Blue. "This spell is not mine yet I understand how it functions. It is not active in the way shields are. It solidifies the weave and only time can bring it back to normal. To counter its effects, one would need to not just understand the fabric of this world intimately, but also work against the weave itself to undo the effect. Those mages look down upon us. I doubt that they harbor an academic interest in our world. They are too condescending for that." "I agree," Lars says. "Then let us proceed. Ariane and Phineas will be front right and left while the human mages will be at our back. The rest will fall upon our foes first, except for Esmeray who will carry word back to the Knight leadership should we fall. We will only trigger the spell if one of the mages investigates. If two or more do, we will retreat. Lady Viktoriya, will you join us?" "With pleasure, but my pets will remain behind." "That would be best. Remember that the soldiers we first encountered killed themselves when captured. Try to bite them before they realize they are doomed. Slay the mage, and watch out for strange artefacts." We are gone in a moment and I settle to wait. We stay unmoving for half an hour, then I see our quarry through a gap in the trees. Two men with hounds trot along the path in relative silence. They have no light with them, instead, they wear helmets with visors decorated with two tinted glass circles. It likely allows them to see in the dark. The two men pass by and we decide not to trigger the spell. We wait for another minute and hear the ululating cry of an owl, the signal for a meeting. I find four bodies near the alarm. Both hounds and their guardians are dead. "They do not commit suicide," Lars says laconically as he holds a warrior with white foam still dripping from his chin. "They are killed remotely?" I ask. Instead of answering, Lars peels back the man''s gorget to reveal a glyph tattooed under his throat. The symbol is dark and smoky, still smouldering after its activation. It shares the angular nature of the alphabet used for the alarm spell. I cannot read it. "I find it unlikely unless the observer has vampire-like reflexes. He started to die the moment I took over his mind." "A countermeasure then." "Probably," Vikoriya says with a frown, "and it explains why the invasion force is so small." "It does?" I ask. I am not alone in wondering how she reached this conclusion. "They do not trust each other, at all. Only a society rife with paranoia would develop and implement such a barbaric tool in all of its agents. I am sure that the same dispositive was used on the minions you slew in Krakow." "I wish this piece of information had been shared with us," I grumble. The rest of the team does not react. We are back to my lack of trust in our hierarchy. This time, I believe that our leadership made my point for me. "So do I," Viktoriya says, "in any case, we did not find any strange artifacts. We can reset the trap and hope that they send a bigger patrol before dawn." Her concern is genuine. With summer well on its way, the nights are shorter and so is our window of opportunity. It has become clear that we will not get a prisoner. We should still attempt the spell. Esmeray leaves once more to observe us from afar and we wait in ambush again. One hour later, a larger patrol arrives. Seven men plus tamed hounds, more cautious than their predecessors. It seems that, although they may be arrogant, we are not facing complete idiots. Unfortunately for us. Unfortunately for them, their vigilance does not save them against a Knight squad and a powerful lady. Time drags on and we now expect a more serious war party. It takes another hour for them to arrive, and only two hours remain before sunrise. This time, the twenty-men group is led by an undead mage from what I can hear of heartbeats and feel of its oily aura. I lay low as they move on because I fear detection. The undead mage searches for threats, I can tell, but it does not seem to find us before it walks into the perimeter. I feel its nauseating passage in the deepest part of my being. The creature is an abomination, a reaver of life. I now believe with certainty that this creature is partly responsible for its native world''s demise. A signal, the call of a bird of prey. I cast as the sound of combat erupts from the patrol. I have little time. I use special runes I inserted in my gauntlet and call upon the spell by slicing my palm open. Thick black blood levitates and coalesces into a form, both simple and so very evocative. An anvil. The world is heavy. Oh, yes, so heavy. It refuses to be moved. It fights and resists like a grumpy old bear, only allowing the lightest and trickiest of schemes to alter its shaggy fur. What the world hates the most, however, is strangers encroaching on its territory. "Stubborn foot and clenching jaws Downward boot and closing maws Transgressions won''t be suffered Not by hand and not by word." The trap shuts close like a fortress gate. I gasp. So powerful. Gravity and inertia and every other little thing we like to disregard slam on me like a yoke and stay there. For one precious moment, I fear that I may have killed my teammates, then I move and everything is¡­ not right, but in working order. I may be just a tad slower but not by much. Every step is close to my usual speed, even though I feel the world holding me back more acutely than ever before. It feels like a stern guardian allowing me to cheat for the greater good. It knows what I am. I am only permitted to exist, for now, until the sun rises over the lost valley. And a massive, building spell collapses. I arrive at the path to find that the melee is in full swing and that Phineas is missing an arm. He still dances between attackers and skewers a hound as I watch. Viktoriya carries the fight. I do not believe I had seen anyone fight with a trident before. Her foe hides behind a powerful shield, sometimes casting rays of fire that she gracefully dodges. Her strikes chip at it with repeated pings. She remains static and strikes perhaps dozens of times every second over a large area, testing for weakness, then she is gone. As for her adversary, it still casts. This undead is shorter than the previous one we faced and wears on its head a stylized helmet showing horns and long hair in the same dull metal his compatriots use for armor. A long black robe covers its desiccated body. It shimmers beautifully in rainbow hues from the cascade of jewels woven in its form. As I attack the first foe on my path, a few of them lose their spark and a massive bolt hits Viktoriya, sending her tumbling on the ground. "Sie sind Tiere," the creature screeches in a horrid voice like tearing metal. "Tiere." We are animals. I dispose of a fighter who was trying, in vain, to use one of their orbs to mesmerize Lars. I grab his focus and throw it back towards our exit. No need to offer additional resources to the monster. Rose is out in an instant and her thorny back lands on the shield. I infuse it with the essence the Watcher granted me for defeating the Herald and shred. It distracts the creature for long enough to allow Viktoriya a quick escape from the next fire spear. Her limbs still twitch. I start running and drag the shredding part of Rose against the shield. This place is still filled with life, stubborn, angry life that refuses to move, and the creature uses its robe as fuel instead. Not only that, but it can still cast. I cannot. DANGEROUS PREY. What manner of adamantine does it take to pierce through this level of magical inertia? By the Watcher! Finally, an interesting challenge. I hiss and duck under a blue arrow, never remaining static. The shield is weakening and second after second, more gems dim. All the soldiers are dead now and Lars'' javelins plink against the protection. The monster stretches its hands. The temperature drops to arctic lows. I even hear trunks snap from the frozen sap. We remain unaffected. "Schnelle kleine Tiere." Fast and small animals. Perhaps some of the captured mages were German mercenaries and that is why it now has approximate knowledge of the language. No, Ariane, focus. Keep attacking. We must kill it fast, or else¡­ I feel its will when it turns its glare on me and I feel something connect to my flank as I momentarily stop to reverse course. I check and see nothing there but a potential, a tension. The creature raises a skeletal hand. I see thunder. DIVE. Need metal, quick. I drop on the floor and stab my spare knife on the ground, then Rose too for good measure. I am kicked by a mule "Gah!" Cannot move. Hurts. Cold pain that courses through my body and burns everything away. Then it is gone. Actinic bolts still dance between my weapons, the ground, and I. The shield is fading. The creature snaps its fingers and disappears, landing a hundred feet away. Impossible. Teleportation? For one instant I feel its gaze on me as I pick myself up. The others are going after it. It raises a finger and I am lifted, feet dangling. I struggle against the spell and feel it break. My right hand is free. I twist in the air and avoid a fiery bolt aimed at my heart. With the other hand, I draw the Big Iron and perform the most seamless, beautiful shot of my entire life. The creature''s head snaps back and its helmet cracks with the sound of broken chimes. It falls like a bag. The others land on it and Viktoriya tears its head off. I stumble once again. HURT. My left arm hurts horribly and I can see why. There is a burnt hole where most of my elbow used to be. My arm hangs by a miracle. PAIN. FIRE. "I have you," Esmeray says. She helps me to my feet, eyes fixed forward. She is holding the sphere I threw away. In front of us, the others are dismantling the body and splitting its parts. Lars grabs the mummified legs and arms. Something is electrifying the air. We must leave, now, I know it. "We need to go!" I croak. The others sprint. We are away. From the camp comes a flare. A yellow projectile climbs to the heavens and bathes the Polish forest in sunny radiance for a handful of seconds. Somewhere to the side, a lone surviving bird lets out a startled chirp, then the thing descends upon where we fought. I yelp as I am thrown to the floor by the cataclysmic shockwave. We are all sent tumbling like puppets. Heat and something else washes over us. I cannot breathe. I cannot hear. I can feel my arm painfully knitting itself back together. I know the Thirst again. Then the world snaps back into focus and there is nothing left behind us but an incandescent crater where the forest used to be. It spews spent life force like the fumes of burnt petrol, and I know that nothing will grow there again for a very long time. My ears pop. "We need to keep going," Viktoriya says. Excellent advice that we all follow. We pick up the two mages who were huddling in the distance like they were ordered to and race back to the tent. Viktoriya''s servants display shock when they see us arrive only an hour before dawn. We collapse around her table without a word. This will be a short discussion. "The spell worked," Viktoriya admits as she brushes ash from her dress, "though I shiver to think what would have happened if the creature could have stolen the life of the planet. A shame that we can do nothing against the shields themselves." "We cannot use magic ourselves when the spell is active. I tried and it cost me dearly," Phineas says, his arm now half-regrown. "Enchanted items seem to work," I remark. "My bullet functioned and so did their artifacts. Perhaps they function differently, or they entered the area already altered." It is Lars'' turn to speak. He proves uncharacteristically talkative. "Tomorrow, I will call the banners. The entire Order must assist us in this endeavor. This is not the sort of disaster that we can tackle on our own. We will need all hands to face this threat. Ariane, have you shared the spell with us yet?" "I sent it to Marlan." "Can it cover the entire base?" "Yes it can, though it will take a few more mages to do it safely." "I will make sure that you have them," Viktoriya says. "And I want to fight again soon. We must force the invaders on the defensive or they might spread through the countryside and wreak untold destruction. If only there was a way to get more fighters¡­" "We could use the regular army," I say, "with muskets, they do not have to get close to the orb-wielding slavers to fight." "Yes. I know of an artillery regiment stationed nearby. We will recruit them under the guise of dealing with dangerous separatists then bring the fight to the mages." An artillery force? Oh, they will do nicely. Chapter 156 - 151. The World Reavers I readjust the peasant''s garb and swear under my breath for what must be the sixteenth time tonight. The dress is nice enough, I suppose, with a white shirt and a small red skirt over a larger blue one that reaches my ankles. Unfortunately, it barely fits. The shirt is so large that I could fit two Arianes in there. The second skirt is just a little too short and my heavy boots peek from under the azure fabric. Were it not for them, I would be showing my ankles and thus die of embarrassment. I look like a jester. "You seem ill at ease," Phineas innocently declares. The twit. He is aware of my feelings on the matter. While I packed cartridges, that dilettante brought a fancy hunter outfit he now wears. I cannot even complain since it was my idea. "Hush. They are coming." A patrol of cavalrymen bearing lanterns emerges from a nearby forest. They immediately spot us since we stand in the open, in the middle of harvested fields. The sleepy village slumbers by our side though a few older folks inspect us with mixed feelings of distrust and concern for our well-being. "Hallo!" I greet. I count ten of them in the white uniforms and black helmets of the Austrian dragoners. The leader frowns when he sees us and his gaze sweeps the plain, looking for anomalies. He is an old man, grizzled and scarred. I can detect in his caution the prudence of a veteran expecting an ambush. He knows that the region is in turmoil. Nevertheless, nothing happens and the wrinkled soldier pushes his ride forward. "Was ist los?" he asks in a rather cavalier fashion, which I do not excuse even if he sits on a horse. He looks at Phineas inquiringly. The man should speak. "Greetings officer, my name is Louisa and this is my employer, Lord Phineas Ainsworth, hailing from Great Britain. I act as his interpreter," I tell him. The soldier lifts his helmet. "A pleasure." "I apologize for disturbing you, however my employer and I have fallen victim to horrible circumstances. We have been beset by bandits! They stole almost everything we had and sent us off on the road. They even forced me to swap my good dress against these ill-fitting clothes," I add as the officer eyes me dubiously. "I am outraged on your behalf, madam. I hope that they did not mistreat you further!" the man answers with some emotion. "Fortunately, they stopped at robbery, or I might just have died." I need to be taken seriously and those who have been assaulted rarely are. "And where did you say those men were?" "Perhaps twenty miles away down the road, near an abandoned village." The rider considers me in silence while his men mutter among themselves. I hear words of ''country going to the dogs'' and ''Prussian low-lives, no doubt'' as well as other complaints. As for their leader, he has had the time to think about the situation and realize the gaping holes in my story. "And what is Mr Phi¡­ mr¡­" "Phineas Ainsworth, sir." "What is that gentleman doing here, if I may ask?" "Mr Phineas was visiting distant relatives with the intention to offer them passage to his land, a favor in these troubled times. Alas, we have not found them yet." "Have you mentioned our problem?" Phineas asks. If Lars had come instead, I could have briefed him and he would do the talking. Instead, I find myself saddled with a man utterly devoid of acting skills and common sense. I rein my temper and address my companion. "Kindly do not interrupt me again if you hope for our success." "What does he want?" the officer asks. "Mr. Ainworth worries about the bandits and our safety, as they were quite numerous." "How numerous were they exactly?" the man asks with a frown. I turn to Phineas again. "I am just wasting time because he wants to know the enemy numbers. Reply with anything as long as it sounds like a list." "In my life I have bedded five brunettes, one redhead and seven blondes. And one whose hair was gray." "Mediocre for a century of activity," I reply coldly, before turning to the officer again. "My employer says that he counted no less than sixty fighters in the ambush, most of them on foot and wearing strange metal plastrons not unlike those of cuirassiers." "Sixty? Is he quite sure? Perhaps the darkness played a trick on his mind?" "He calls you a coward for exaggerating the numbers." "Oh, man of little faith. You will get to see those numbers with your own two eyes." "My employer says that sixty is his lowest estimate, and that he fought enough sepoys in India to count enemy soldiers at a glance." The rider inspects Phineas once more. I do not need to look at him to feel his aura deploy and his countenance to grow more predatory. The outward show of aggression grates on my frayed nerves. It proves sufficient to the task of convincing him, however. "I see. This is grave news. I must report this piece of information to my superior officer. He will know what to do." "One more thing, officer," I add in a pleading voice. I lick my lips and keep my eyes down. A hint of Hastings essence grants me a light blush under the lanterns'' glare. "I may have dreamed it, perhaps, for I was afraid, but there were strange lights in some of the bandits'' hands. I may be wrong, yet I suspect¡­" I lean forward and our eyes meet. "... dark sorcery." I show fear and let the thread between us inflate that emotion. The man turns pale and takes a deep breath, managing to hide most of his distress. "I understand. Thank you for telling us, miss, your suspicions might not be as outlandish as you seem to believe. Would you mind joining us? I believe that my superior officer might want to hear your story as well." "Of course not, sir." "By the way, what¡­ language did you two speak?" "Welsh, sir." "I¡­ I see." The officer steps aside to give a few orders just as Phineas leans in with an accusatory air. "I caught that last sentence. Welsh? Really?" "If you had spoken English like your character ought to, I would not have had a problem," I hiss back, "and no I cannot lie and tell him that we were speaking English on the off chance that the lie is found out. Clearly, our interlocutor recognized Akkad as a different tongue. More people have a passing knowledge of the language of Shakespeare than you seem to believe. Your carelessness might yet undo the subterfuge!" "And Welsh is different?" "If anyone speaks Welsh in the surrounding one hundred square miles I shall eat this dress without condiments." "Fair enough." "Now please for the love of the Watcher keep quiet while I focus on a calming spell for the beast that will carry your useless self." The ride to the camp takes only an hour, the longest hour in my forsaken existence since I was last dying of Thirst. Keeping ten horses calm despite the scent of a monster titillating their nostrils has to be the dumbest and most exhausting use of Charm I have ever done in my second life. Never again. I cannot believe that I overlooked that simple fact. Ugh. And to think that Lars would not have triggered a reaction since he is an Erenwald. Truly, our lack of experience is making itself known. The Austrian force here is the size of a battalion, about eight hundred soldiers, I would say. It would be quite the prize to add it to our offensive. They do seem to have an artillery park, which I find rather curious since those are ill-fitted for maintaining order, however the men we pass by speak in Polish, Hungarian and even Italian and I suspect that their presence here is politically motivated. I suspect that the Austrian crown would perceive German speakers as more loyal to the throne in troubled times, though I may be wrong. In any case, they display the sort of discipline that we will need and we have to pass quite a few guards before we are allowed to wait by the command tent. After I hear the detachment officer being efficiently debriefed, we are called in to find a man in a decorated uniform and shiny black and gold helmet sitting in a field chair with a map in front of him. He is quite short, which is not uncommon in cavalrymen. I watch him twirl his moustache absent-mindedly as we approach. His keen eyes follow us, taking in every detail, while with a simple gesture, he tells two aides to stand at attention. "And you must be Mr. Ainsworth," he tells Phineas in English, "welcome to my humble and temporary abode." I feel the barest hint of surprise in my companion''s aura and resist the urge to flare my own in a vampiric equivalent of ''I told you so''. His casual approach to our little plot annoys me deeply. Even if our target does not know what we are, even if he does not oppose us with faith, our attempt can still fail. He underestimates the mortals, a mistake that has killed quite a few of us. "And a greetings to you too, sir. How may I address you?" "I am Colonel Maximilian Reissig. You may call me Colonel Reissig, Colonel, or simply Herr Reissig, if it pleases you." "Well, Herr Reissig, I am both delighted and surprised to meet someone with such a mastery of my tongue so far from our shores." "Yes indeed, you are lucky," the colonel replies. His tone is pleasant enough but his eyes remain full of distrust. "I had to study it to talk to my dogs. Beagles, you see? From Yorkshire. I purchased a pack to hunt hares." "Is... is that so?" "Are you a hunting man, Mr. Ainsworth?" "No, I prefer the city myself, at least since I returned from India." "A curious thing, Mr. Ainsworth. You see, you have the demeanor of a hunter. Even now, I can feel it in the confident poise you display even as you stand in the middle of a foreign army. I have tried to instill that spirit in my men, but far too many slouch and lounge like fat cats, showing some of the cunning but none of the finesse, which makes me wonder about you, Mr. Ainsworth. I would expect someone who just fell victim to ambush, lost his possession and now stands before me to show more emotion than you do. It makes me wonder where that stiff¡­" He frowns in disapproval. S~ea??h the nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "...hairless upper lip stems from." Although he was caught off-guard, Phineas is still one of us and he recovers instantly. "Perhaps we have misunderstood each other, Herr Reissig. I have never hunted animals that stand on four legs. As for my lost possessions, I would never travel outside of my own country with belongings I could not replace. I will not suffer much from the loss, I assure you, even if you and your gallant forces fail to recover them. In the end, my most dire concern, and the reason for my dedication to this cause, is the safety and tranquility of my relatives, some of whom may still live around. And one more thing." He leans in and whispers. "My dear interpreter was deprived of her dress, a family heirloom if I understand. Although I am not personally affected, I share a part of the guilt for bringing her here and failing to guarantee her safety. It would lift a tremendous weight off my chest if that dress could be retrieved. The dear girl shows a brave face, as befits her good breeding, yet I know that she has a delicate heart and that the ordeal terrified her." The officer''s eyes flicker to my face while I pretend not to have eavesdropped. "They stole her dress?" he hisses. He sounds absolutely scandalized. "They mercifully allowed her to change in a deserted house, thus preserving her virtue. Still, the mere thought of being so compelled..." "This is a disgrace! We shall reclaim her honor and her dress in the name of the empire. Hmmm." The outburst is short-lived as the colonel remembers that he is not supposed to trust us so easily. "You claim that those bandits numbered in the¡­ how many was it?" "Sixty, though I think that they had more fighters nearby. I heard dogs bay, as well. A large breed, and no mistake." "Tell me more." Phineas repeats the story we agreed upon, taking great care not to deviate too much from our line even if he enjoys embellishing details. If circumstances had not pushed him towards accounting, he might have made a decent socialite. There is still time, of course. We always have time. Five minutes later, we are seated across the command table and the map, the colonel now more interested in distances and numbers. The story we brought was one of a twilight attack, leading to a release at dawn. Phineas explains in great care how the foe was careless during the night, seemingly confident that their position could not be discovered. It appears to be a trap, yet Phineas is smooth, and I look suitably exhausted, a hint of Hastings essence darkening my lids. Despite his apparent acceptance, the colonel still attempts to trap Phineas a few times. The experienced Lancaster adroitly dodges both pitfalls and the annoyance such repetitive questions entail. He finally understands the interest in playing this well. We are hunters, but we do not all share the same tastes. The Rosenthal seek knowledge, Dvor and Hastings women seek successful schemes. Phineas now understands better how proper manipulations become their own rewards. The eternal game never stops, and as I remind myself often, power is a crutch. To do without is to reach true mastery of the arts. It will always surprise me how someone who spent so much time in this world could miss so many important experiences. Phineas certainly knows how to interact with mortals. It just happens that he has little experience getting them to perform tasks for him beyond, I assume, feeding. "Vielen dank, mein Freund. Much obliged. And now, I would like you to accompany Lieutenant Skorezy here. He will show you pieces of gear the rebels might be using. I would like you to help him assess the provenance of their equipment." He smiles. We smile, even though a child could see the ploy. Phineas pretends concern on my behalf. "Do not be alarmed, dear Louisa, I shan''t be far." I curtsey shily and wait for the colonel to focus his attention on me. He is a true gentleman, and he invites me to sit with a cup of chocolate which I sip gratefully. He added a bit of sugar and a little cinnamon. The drink is rich and decadent. "What an amazing concoction!" I freely admit. "Thank you, Fraulein. Sprechen sie Deutsch?" The good Colonel steers the conversation towards me and my background, in German this time. I explain that I was born in England and learned German from an aunt. He asks me to describe my house. I pick the Bingle family domain as my reference, smiling at the slight irony. I even throw a few village names with the suitable amount of ''shire'' around to assuage his worries. Truly, Herr Reissig is one of the most paranoid soldiers I have ever met. Finally, the time comes for him to dig at our tale. "Is what Mr. Ainsworth said accurate? Is there something you would like to add?" "It was accurate," I assure him, "although¡­" "Yes?" the man asks, curiosity piqued. "No, no, I must be mistaken. Forgive me, for my emotions got the better of me, and I must have let fear twist my memories." "I assure you, madam, that although the fairer sex might be impressionable at times, every detail you remember might save lives at a later time, even if they are inexact." "Ah, well. Please forgive me for uttering such words, but I fear that I may have been witness to¡­ to some devilry. Magic!" I spit. "Mein Gott. Hexerei? It would explain much and I seem to remember that my subordinate hinted at it¡­ but how come Mr. Ainsworth did not share those findings?" "Oh, you believe me? I thought I would be laughed at and dismissed¡­" I interrupt with a grateful air. I meet his eyes and cannot resist tweaking his mind a little bit. I fan his protective instincts a smidgen. "Please, madam. We live in strange times. The thought of magic is no longer quite as preposterous as it used to be." "I feared that I was mistaken when Mr Ainsworth himself omitted to mention the strange occurrences we noticed during our brief time as captives. Perhaps he feared being ridiculed? In truth, several dreadful details terrified me even more than those ruthless louts who held us at gunpoint. Were it not for their apparent lack of interest in us, I fear that they may have used us in some terrible ritual or some such pagan deeds!" "Himmel, this is too terrible to behold. And what happenings, madam, what events led you to believe that you were in the presence of witchcraft?" "Those breeds of dog, sir, I am no man to know my bloodhounds, yet they were too large and terrifying to be natural. Why, if I had met them in the sun-baked savannas of Africa, I would have thought them to be a strange species of lion heretofore undiscovered by science! They smelled terribly, sir, and those men who held their leashes wore thick armor as if to protect themselves from their fearsome bites! And they held orbs, sir, like crystal balls those gypsies claim can see the future, and from their depth shone a light most unnatural! They were green like a summer meadow or blue like a sapphire sea, and beautiful, but in a way a cruel woman is beautiful. I could feel the malevolence in their cursed depths, sir. Those were evil tools, I would wager my eternal soul on it!" Haha. A costless promise. The good Colonel is mine now, drowned in the feelings of my recollection. I did not mean to enchant him but I became overwhelmed by the strange mix of beauty and horror the invaders bring with them, and I shared some of it with him. As soon as the spell fades, I channel the Hastings and don my weakest, meekest persona. Shoulders stooped and trembling lips to inspire trust, wet eyes to garner sympathy. Colonel Reissig''s cautiousness dips and falls into the abyss of outrage. "Sir?" a soldier says as he enters, "the reports are confirmed by all surrounding villages. Three hamlets are deserted, their inhabitants gone. There are reports of strange beasts running through the fields!" "Mein Gott, heathens and demons on my Vaterland? This shall not stand!" "Please, sir, be careful!" I beg. "Of course, madame. We will depart at¡­ but wait, you said that the rebels let their guard down at night?" he asks, my suggestion worming its way into his psyche. "Yes sir, they drink and make merry." The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. "Then we shall teach them that this is not their land! To arms! The men are rested enough. We will catch those mongrels by surprise. To arms!" He then struts out of the tent. His screams send the whole camp into a flurry of activity as orders burst out left and right. Hmm. I may have gone a bit too far. I thought that we would have more time, but a night attack is the only solution I came up with to reliably deal with the enemy. Should the army attack without us, there is a large chance that the undead mages might wipe them out before they even make contact. Those who have not trained to face magic react poorly to having spells tossed at them. In short order, the entire detachment has been fed and they leave under the light of torches towards the invaders'' base. It will probably be a good three hours before they can make contact, assuming that they hurry. "You will be safe at the base, Louisa. Wait for our return!" the Colonel tells me before riding off on a massive black horse. As for Phineas, he is drafted into leading the column to their foes. "Congratulations, it appears that your feminine guiles have moved an army, Ariane. Are you perhaps related to Helen of Troy?" "Do not compare me to that vacuous tart, Phineas, and mark my words since you think my role easy: most men show us kindness until we forget our place." I watch the slightly annoyed Lancaster summon his Nightmare and Charm the nearby soldiers into believing that the lithe mount was part of their stables all along. He departs and, as soon as the guard is down, so do I. "Our window is short, Ariane. You leave us little time," Viktoriya growls. Her eyes sweep our encampment while she considers our options. Lars is back and Esmeray lounges on the grass in wolf form. Her pet mages are here too, though the promised reinforcements are not. "I am being unfair. You have managed to net us quite the prize and with no investment. It is quite an achievement without forcing a bite and all the risks it entails. You have my appreciation." "Perhaps I was a bit heavy-handed," I admit. "Nonsense. You did quite well for one whose focus is slaughter." Oi. "Oh, do not make that face. If you had spent more time at court, you would see that it is a compliment. In any case, we absolutely need your spell, dearie. I shall depart forthwith and fetch my additional mages. In the meanwhile, You, Lars, and Esmeray should disable the alarms and perhaps create a disturbance if the army arrives before I do. Can you do this for me, Knights?" "Certainly, milady," Lars replies. I see no fault in her plan either. I change back into the now frivolous-feeling lamellar armor and stock up on weapons. I so wish I had Loth''s incredible work and not this lackluster piece of inferior craftsmanship. Alas. We leave quickly. Lars splits us at the edge of the invaders-controlled territory. Esmeray scouted entry points while I was gone and found another one. "I shall start here. Any idea on how to disarm the alarm without arousing suspicion?" "I would need to study the glyph to be certain. I believe that I can find it. Let us look for one." It appears that yesterday''s battle has not left our enemies unphased. Not only do we find a glyph close to the nearest deserted village, but this one has been camouflaged, though it remains a simple construct at best. Whoever made it dug the symbol into the very tree and took little care to leave it intact. A basic distraction element prevents the mundane from noticing the trigger until it is too late, but the effort is ruined by the poor state of its support. The tree has already started to die, its leaves brown and cracked. The glyph also lost some efficiency because whoever carved it dug deep into the trunk. They shed splintered bark on the ground in their¡­ anger? Hurry? I would not know. In any case, it makes the study smoother. I merely need to follow the angriest strokes to guess in which order they were made. "This is the trigger part, I am sure of it. The signal is not sent by the glyph but by the rope itself. The glyph only exists to sustain it. Hmmm." "Fascinating, Ariane. Unfortunately, we do not have time for a full lecture on alien magical theory. If you would?" "You are asking me to decipher a new language on the go, and use it to divine the working of an elaborate spell," I reproach, "You must be patient. The matter is extremely complex." It really is not, but I would like some appreciation for the decades I spent studying arcanistry, thank you very much. "Here, if we disable this part, it should make the rope insubstantial. In other words, no matter what goes through the alarm, it will fail to trigger." "What if you are wrong?" "Then the caster will detect a malfunction, not a full breach. Here, let me do it." I use my glove to alter the glyph by the tiniest amount and watch the rope flicker with satisfaction. With this, only a large amount of magic should trigger the spell and the soldiers possess none. "You must carve a line here between those two parts. It will do the trick." "Very well," Lars replies, "then please clear that path since the army should take it. I will go on the other side and handle the other. Esmeray will cover you and check for additional surprises in the bushes. Any objection?" "None." "Yip!" "Then good luck." Lars leaves and my task continues. I have never asked Esmeray if she could perform magic ¡ª I assume not ¡ª however she can apparently ''sniff'' it for lack of a better term. Besides the alarms, she finds pits and a few other string-based traps that use magically-enhanced tools but are not spells themselves. Contrary to the alarm, those have been made by ''human'' hands and show a level of care and dedication that I can appreciate. I look closely at one specific trigger mechanism and see an oily fingerprint marring its pristine surface. Not made by an undead then. I am starting to think that the difference between living fighters and undead mages is one of caste, or even of species. They do not share the same mentality at all. I only stop when I am close enough to the undead camp that I can see the light of their fires. During that time, I have avoided two patrols and taken great care to mask my smell by staying downwind. The hounds do not detect magic unless it is active and I have made sure not to use it anywhere close to them. As to how their collars can control them, I suspect that the defiling magic of the undead is to be credited. I am certainly unwilling to conduct experiments. Those creatures disgust me. Locusts. I fall back and run around the camp at a safe distance, soon joined by Esmeray. There, the woods are pristine and undisturbed. Even the beast trails have been covered with new brambles. The silence is complete. It is the silence of the grave, unnatural in this place of green things. It is our fate, should we fail to hold back those creatures. I realize that something happened as we complete our half-circle. I hear sounds of battle. It is too early. Esmeray and I sprint through the foliage with little subtlety. The sounds of conflict grow closer and we burst into a clearing to find Lars deeply engaged with a patrol. Hounds lie bleeding on the ground while those orb-wielding men try to keep him at bay with jets of pure energy, unfocused yet mesmerizing. I attack from the back, annoyed beyond words. How did it come to this? It is too soon! I shred the backs of both wielders in the same strike and disperse the rest while Esmeray mauls foes left and right. The fight is over in only a few moments, but the damage is done. "They used a different glyph for one of the alarms," Lars explains, anticipating my question. He anticipates erroneously. I only care about one thing right now. "Run, idiot. Run!" We sprint away. I do not wish to be on the receiving end of the kind of spells that leveled an entire field''s worth of vegetation. Unfortunately, my instincts scream in alarm thirty seconds into our flight. We are too late. "Incoming," I warn Lars. Esmeray wisely splits from us and disappears in a cloud of canine darkness. I feel pressure behind us, overhead. I turn expecting a massive spell and instead meet a pair of pale blue orbs. This skeleton is flying after us. My eyes widen with surprise. Flight! It is considered too energy-intensive to be viable! But of course, with the price being paid by life itself and the casters being short-sighted insects, limits no longer matter. Just like its kin, the creature is mummified flesh and sinews covered in elaborate and highly decorated robes. It carries no obvious ornaments because it has no need for them. Its bony claw holds a twisted branch of some unknown wood, expanding strangely in a double helix. In each hollow, a colorful orb shimmers with vibrant light. This mage came prepared. I feel a disgusting pull on the life around us. Something shimmers in the air before us and I instinctively slash with Rose. The deadly blade meets an unyielding barrier. We jump to the side and I rake the barrier as I pass. A circle. We are trapped. As the reality of our situation settles in, I cannot help but feel anger at my teammate. Why would he risk it? It was such a stupid decision. He should have waited for me. This was not even a vital avenue of approach! A trained Knight should know better! We have been taught so many times not to overextend, to forget our pride and ask for help¡­ Lars just called for reinforcements, for the Watcher''s sake. Why? This was no time to make such a mistake. "Little parasites," the skeleton says in German. Contrary to the previous one we faced, it has a smooth, extremely deep voice, like a condescending god. Its German is slurred and clipped, yet the power behind every syllable evokes a lack of interest in mortal tongues rather than a failure to learn. "The Eight was correct, there are parasites among the cattle. You miserable creatures, you have committed the unforgivable. Your filthy hands have touched what is sacred." "If you are talking about the other mummies, we are going to commit many more such things." The creature laughs then, a deep, gravelly sound that shocks me to my core. Rogues do not laugh. Automatons do not laugh. Those things are capable of complex thought, and they still decided to practice their vile magic. Unbelievable. "You are weak and this world is rich. We will add more worthy candidates to our rank until your planet is but a husk." "Like your own?" Lars is stalling for time. He might be right to do so as no more skeletons appear. They are not needed. With his power unsealed, this one is more than enough to handle the two of us. "There are many more worlds to reap and you have shown us how. Yours will feed our expansion. Only those who follow the true path are worthy. You will remain parasites until we kill you, beasts. Now, I shall test another of the Eighth''s hypotheses." I could swear the skeleton grins then, though its face does not move. Flames appear on its closed fist. "Do not shoot," Lars warns, "wait for my opening." "Our window is short." "I know." The skeleton hurls its fire and I dodge to the side, my instincts and eyes showing me clearly where the projectile will fall. The skeleton pays no heed to its failure as it summons another ball and I know why. The first fire still roars, turning the loam under our feet to ashes and feeding off the surrounding life. The world grows grey and dim around us. FIRE. Shut up, me, I know. We dodge once more, with more difficulty this time. The skeleton descends and makes the projectile smaller, faster. I could not reach it if I jumped and I see the faint sheen of a shield around its dessicated body. All of this, fuelled by the world. I hate it. Another attack. The temper ature increases and I frantically attack our prison, in vain. The creature''s reserves are simply too vast. "Almost," Lars says as the skeleton descends a bit more. It is fully confident that we cannot reach it. "Now." The skeleton casts a fire spell directly at Lars, who jumps up. His arm whirls and I hear a terrible crack. In one beautiful moment, one of Lars'' javelins smashes through the spell and into the monster''s hand, destroying the closest orb in its utter violence. It was a beautiful throw, a perfect hit. Before our foe can so much as hiss, I lodge a bullet in its skull. It doesn''t kill it. I am limited by the material I work with. The Big Iron is an impressive tool, but the hammer can only fall so fast while the shield reforms. The second bullet, I lodge into its chest and see dust fan out from its back. The third and fourth follow. I place the next one in its waist and blow its right knee off with the last. It stumbles and tries to flee. "Lars, we got it!" There is no response. "Lars?" Silence. I cannot feel his aura. Around us, no, around me, the fires dim. Wait, it cannot be. "Lars, where are you?" The spell. He went through it, through the blazing fire. He is¡­ dead? I see only ash. Some fragments of armor. Oh. He''s dead, the absolute idiot. I¡­ never liked him, not really, and yet, I feel grief. Lars died. He died to save me? The imbecile. We just needed to stall! I have no need for people dying for me! By the Watcher. Far away, the creature tries to stay afloat. "Oh no, you are going nowhere." Just as I rush forward, a black trident flies through the ether and lands on the thing''s back. It pins it against the ground. Viktoriya is here. Too late for Lars. "You." I smash a weak shield. Hard to digest an inch of enchanted silver with no stomach, huh? "Are." I grab its helmet. "A blight." No more jaw. "And we." No more face. "Will." No more head. "Stop you." "Enough of this," Viktoriya says as she pulls me away. She is late. "There is no time. You must cast the spell right away." She is right. This is a nightmare. If the mages are free to devour the magic around us, I might as well have fed them the army tied up on silver platters. I must hurry. There will be time for recriminations and reflection later. "The mages are here. Henkel will stay. You will lead this one to the right side and take the third position. I shall handle the left and then warn Phineas. Hurry!" "Without Lars, I will be unable to form a perfect circle¡­" "The mages will feel the construct form and adjust their position. Have faith in your Speaker, Ariane, if not in your fellow Knights." What does it have to do with anything? Pah! I grab a squealing caster in a Princess carry and drop him inside of the thicket with ticks and his regrets for sole company. "Be ready," I warn. "Ich weiss!" the man grumbles back. I move up in a circle and realize our predicament. I hear musket fire, full volleys of them. A red halo speaks of many men carrying torches. I stop when I believe that I am in position. There are no real landmarks here, I just tried to remain at a constant distance away from the light of the invaders'' camp I could see. It will have to do. I draw a circle with Rose, fall and gasp. A mighty draw is swallowing every piece of vitality in the surrounding world. This place is about to become a desert. No. No, they will not win. Their cruel and callous magic has the appearance of power, but it is the bloody grasp of the usurper, a rule steeped in terror and death. Unsustainable. The world might be at their mercy, but I am not, and if there is one thing I learned about magic by myself throughout the years, it is that only one thing attracts it more than creative thinking. Balance. "Stubborn foot and clenching jaws Downward boot and closing maws Take back what was once taken Be fortress and be haven." The other mages are not quite in a circle. I am not the best caster, far from it, in fact. I use a circle of dirt and ferns instead of proper glyph inscriptions. None of it matters. When the spell winds up, all the energies drawn in by the undead pull back with merciless strength. I become the focus in a tug of war between greedy ants and a full world bent on survival. I have not felt that much power since I drank the blood of the fae royal couple. This time, however, I am a tool. It matters not. I would do it a hundred times more. Sweet, untainted life rushes through me, escaping the grasp of the invaders. I am a crux, an anchor. The very trees sway under the absolute power rushing out of the area. Around me, the brambles and vines could not be a more exquisite emerald color. I breathe in freshness untouched by the hand of man. Somewhere in the distance, a bird tweets a greeting to a sun that only dawned in its mind. And then, the hammer falls. With the weight of millennia of grumpy inertia, reality settles down to stay. Again, I feel heavier and more shackled than before, but this time, I also feel more grounded. More resilient. The exception granted to my kind extends as protection. This is just the beginning, however, and I rush to the main road where rifles crack like fireworks. I stop as I near the edge of the burnt out clearing left by yesterday''s massive spell. The ashy plain is the scene of a furious battle. Austrians and Hungarians in white uniforms stand in triple ranks, shooting down waves of hounds and armor-clad invaders. I start picking off isolated targets while I observe the battle. A single skeleton stands at a distance, drawing from its reserves to throw dark javelins at infantrymen who die on contact, but most of its attention is turned to its defense and I quickly understand why when a hail of steel balls crash against its radiant shield. The guns are in play. Meanwhile, the foot soldiers attempt to advance from behind large shields close to Roman scutum. It appears that the mesmerizing range is limited. What a pity. Between picking down wounds, soldiers carefully aim shots at advancing formations. Most of the bullets ping against the surprisingly durable shields, but others find arms, feet, or inquisitive eyes and a warrior falls. As I watch, an orb wielder loses his cover and falls down on the spot. A blueish cloud of smoke rises from a nearby tree. Our soldiers have brought jaegers, it seems. I can sense Phineas'' aura farther out, on the other side of the clearing. I decide to join him, but not before giving our side an edge. I disappear back in the underbrush and reload the Big Iron with my most potent bullets. I weave between sentries until I am at the skeleton''s flanks and inspect it. Why are they all so tall? The shield only protects its front, as expected. My instincts scream danger. I shoot it in the head. I dive to the side and rush out as a massive tongue of fire roasts everything in a cone, including the sentries. The lamellar armor protects me from most of the heat. I may have judged it too quickly. The skeleton wavers and flies up, then away. A second bullet pings against another shield. Nevermind, I have already overstayed my welcome. I keep weaving and slaying the invaders I come across on my way to Phineas. On the edge of the forest, Esmeray jumps out from the darkness to steal an orb-wielder''s treasure. And also his head. We run side by side. I do not speak. "Yip?" she yelps around the orb. "He sacrificed himself to slay a foe." Esmeray says nothing but her ears droop. We find Phineas wiping his blade on a stained jacket. He stands among a sea of corpses, some of them Austrian riders. I recognize the officer who led us to the camp. "I almost fell trying to cast that spell, Ariane. Where are the others?" "Viktoriya should be here? Lars is gone." It is the first time I see the Englishman truly lose his composure. "He is dead?" "He walked through a fire spell to give me an opening. I could only avenge him." Phineas hisses softly, then our eyes meet. "When this is all over, we will open a portal to the other side and pay them a visit, I think." "This will have to ¡ª" I do not finish. We all feel it. A domineering aura like no other. Silence falls upon the battlefield. Even the guns, much farther removed, fall silent. Unmatched power unleashed with casual ease captivates everyone by its very presence. We three run back to the quiet battlefield. I find it quite unfair that after all those efforts, we would be defeated by a mere presence. This undead skeleton does not fly, it hovers. Its chest is covered in embroidered robes while a massive headpiece the likes of which a pharaoh would envy adorn its front. Silvery orbs observe the assembled forces with glacial contempt. The undead would be quite impressive, even if from the torso down, its bones were not that of a colossal serpent. The creature must be at least forty feet long from head to, well, tip. Its tail undulates in the air with lazy grace. We stand dumbstruck. Is this still Poland? Have I been transported to some fantastic land of horrors? It grumbles a few things in a clicking tongue. With a single finger, it points at the closest line of soldiers which had started to push on. They die. They fall one by one without a word. A trident as black as the void flies through the air and impacts a barrier with a clear sound like a delicate chime. The spell is broken, and behind the lines, Colonel Reissig comes back to his senses. "R¨¹ckzug! Zieht euch zur¨¹ck!" The cry to retreat wakes his men from their stupor. By ones and twos, then all together, they run. I can hardly blame them. I would do the same, but the Dvor lady lands in front of us. "You must run, Knights. You must run and tell the others of everything you know. Go. Now." The serpent undead sees her and lifts a single finger. Viktoriya is lifted from the air. She struggles but her form is still slowly brought forward. It is casting this through the heavy mantle. Its control must be divine. "PARASITE. IT HAS BEEN EONS SINCE I LAST CRACKED OPEN A NEW SPECIMEN." It did not speak German like the others. It thought, and I understood. "I am no specimen. Everywhere I go¡­ I.. am¡­ Queen! Magna Arqa!" Against all odds, the spell breaks and Viktoriya lands on her feet. The area around her shakes and breathes and I realize that she has claimed it. She is a Dvor Lady on her home ground. I now understand why she would be the one they deploy. With this, she can fight at full power wherever she goes¡­ No, she cannot. The stopgap merely allows her to match a powerful battle lord and what we face is even deadlier. A shield encloses her, preventing her from escaping. The trident reappears in her hand but even as we run, I know that it will not suffice. We flee. There is nothing I can do. This creature is too much. Only old monsters would be a match, only those who have survived for centuries could face its ancient malice and live. Unless. "Hold on, I have an idea." "Ariane, no heroics! We have a mission!" "We are not returning. We are merely sending a last message." "What in the name of the Eye are you talking about?" "I want to tell that abomination to embrace modernity." "What?" Soldiers and lesser undead mages ¡ª I cannot believe that I would ever have to use the terms ¡ª take positions around the clearing behind us, bearing their strange orbs. Viktoriya is trapped. She does her best to dodge and deflect spells but this is only a matter of time. I find the nearest abandoned gun and grab a solid shot from one of the fallen servants. He was killed by a long range spell. The cannon is primed, the powder in place. I only need to add a projectile. Black talon against dark iron. I inscribe, and wish, and pray, and beg. I write the Likaean symbol for scorn on its smooth surface. A pearl of blood and I bring the ball to my mouth. "Will of the world, carry my hatred. Let it be known. Let it be known." I feel my aura deplete as the enchantment takes hold. It is a rough thing, a spur of the moment born from desperation and defiance. The old magic sinks into the modern implement in an unholy marriage of technological excellence and primal savagery. The old and new arts merge as they always have in the pursuit of carnage. We have ruled over Earth since time immemorial. Every human civilization has carved its place in blood just like I have, back home. We are not animals, but we do bite. "Nu Rask Enthreis." Let my hatred go forth. With one last thanks sent at Sinead for his lessons. I push the projectile into the waiting maw where it disappears with whispers of doom. The barrel shakes when the payload comes to a rest. The floating thing is just there, chuckling to itself. I move the gun and align it, just like Loth taught me. A blind man could not miss at this range. I grab the rope and press my body against the frame. I have to keep it stable or the recoil will send the projectile off-course. A pair of hands grip the wheel to my left. Dark eyes, dark hair. A silent nod. I turn when another does the same on the other side. "For Lars," Phineas hisses. I pull the rope, and the world goes white. The ensuing roar deafens and blinds me. It sounds like five cannons shooting simultaneously if the cannonballs were made of damned souls. I feel more than hear glass breaking, then the most mind-rending shriek I have ever heard. The sound makes me scream and grab my head. Someone pulls me. I find myself running next to Phineas and Esmeray. Viktoriya is there looking worse for the wear. "You are an idiot!" she bellows. "Also, thank you!" Behind us, the forest burns. We flee without looking. Chapter 157 - ??? - The Wish IV Pah, one of those strange fever dreams again. The man Edmund pokes at everything for treasure, Elaine eats mangoes with frantic despair, the kin yet not kin waves her axe around, and the cat-eared woman with the interesting weapons talks to her imaginary companion. Meanwhile, fruits rain on us, rotting shortly after they hit the ground while seasons and moons dance a mad waltz. Sadly, all of this falls within my expectations. I have already decided that I would never face such an occurrence sober, and the girl Elaine has delivered nicely. She tastes of wings, stars, and mangoes. "Your wish?" the horror disguised as an affable man offers. He would do well to hide his essence a bit more. If I cared for this world, I would call him for what he is, and probably eat him as well. If I could. Pah, no matter. If I am to be stuck in this nonsensical dimension, the least I can get in return is a good hunt. "I wish for a hunt for the perfect blood that I would have a decent chance of succeeding at within an hour." I thought my wish carefully worded enough to avoid imminent disaster, but obviously I was wrong. The creature smiles and delightfully smirks. "Granted!" he beams. A portal opens, and out of it, a dragon emerges. Well, emerges would be generous. It is ejected without ceremony, squawking as it hits the ground. "Finally, a challenge!" I roar. "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Elaine screams. She should not worry too much. I specifically asked for one I could win. We are also clearly out of the normal timeline of this planet. All will be fine. I jump on the creature as it flaps its wing in a pitiful attempt to run for its life. "Hahahahaha! PREY!" "I''ll help if I can get the bones," the kin-yet-not-kin Maud says. "Loot!" the boy announces, twirling his spear. Cat mumbles something about point value, but it is Elaine who expresses the clearest emotion. Her dismay is so awful that she has dropped her mango. I do not understand, and I care little. Dragon blood, here I come! The creature tries to fly away, but it is slow, surprisingly slow despite its modest size. I grab its red, scaled flank and bring it down by stabbing its wing mid-launch. The soul blade in my hand drinks up a smidgen of essence and vitality, a fragment of a fragment, but I can already taste it on the tip of my tongue. Magic in its purest form. MUST HAVE IT. It attempts to shake me off with a slow bite, then fire roasts the spot I promptly left. Powerful, but sluggish. It will be an easy ¡ª The world shakes. "It''s not a dragon, you madwoman, it''s a whelp! A baby!" Elaine screams with despair. A baby dragon is still a dragon, unless I misunderstand taxonomy. Bah, this is all distracting me from the hunt. The others have already started beating the beast while I was looking away, poking it with a variety of weapons while the kin-yet-not-kin blocks its flame breath with an ice spell. I cannot let them claim the trophy! Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. The world shakes again, and this time I almost fall. Shortly, the mad dance of seasons around us stops until we are mostly back in tempo with the world, but not with the moon. They continue to move around, except this time, they crack under the tremendous pressure that comes with their speed. The eyes on them blink out. And are transported to a pair of malevolent real eyes in the distance. They seem to be attached to¡­ Ah. Now that. That is a dragon. S§×ar?h the n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The world cracks and realigns at the same time. I land on the whelp, only too aware of the mother''s malevolent gaze. Suddenly, it occurs me that if I die here, I might die in truth. On the other hand, dragon blood. "HSSSSS!" The mother reappears in front of us in an instant. A loud bang pops my ear and I see a hint of fang, but suddenly a terrible radiance fills the space in front of me and the mother is gone, the image revealed to be an illusion. A cataclysmic battle starts between the mother and strange, giant animals coming out of nowhere, the shockwave of their struggle sending all of us tumbling down into the fallen remains of the nearby forest. The whelp tries to escape, but it gets knocked down by a particularly vicious hail of mangoes. As the battle rages, the whelp''s attempts to flee grow more frantic. We believe we have cornered it until a loud explosion sends us all careening to the ground. "I GROW TIRED OF THOSE DISTRACTIONS!" I scream, until I realize the issue. The world is on fire. Pieces of the moons are raining down upon us. They leave smoking trails as they ignite in the atmosphere, striking the earth with great fury. "Glacias tempestas," Maud whispers to counter a scorching plume from the whelp. Cat stays at range, peppering the creature''s wing with her weapons and preventing it from taking off. Meanwhile, Edmund has found a strange rod in a chest inexplicably placed under a mound, and uses it to turn the destroyed trees into javelins, which he hurls at his target to great effect. I rejoin the fray, eager to claim my due and block a sweep of its tail. We are cornering our target nicely. The enticient perfume from its many wounds titillates my nose, but I fear the fire. I must subdue it before I can drink it dry. "Promethean!" The heavy links fasten around the creature''s neck, robbing it of its balance. This is the end! I jump on its back, just as Elaine''s ray hit it on the head for the kill¡­ wait. She healed it? She healed it! "What are you doing?" I scream. "You are insane! Lun''Kat is destroying Remus! I live here, okay?" "Why do we care about a loon cat, we have a mostly sane cat on our side," I retort, pointing at the dark haired girl now trying to saw a wing off with a blade made of void. "Not a cat, the mother! The mother dragon!" "The weird animals can take care of it while we defeat its child. Come on. Think of¡­ whatever it is that makes you stronger in this place." "It''s going to make me dead instead." "She is right," a mysterious man says as he appears by her side. He has white hair, red eyes and¡­ fangs? A kin? Here? "Greetings," I salute in Akkad. "It is always a pleasure to meet one of the blood." He is not from any bloodline I recognize. "We do not have time for pleasantries, or indeed for anything else while Remus is at risk of total annihilation because of your reckless behavior. By provoking the mother, you have unwittingly¡ª" Blah blah blah. I tune him out. Milksop. Who cares about some continent, it''s a dragon hunt! "Have at you!" I declare, and charge back into the fray with renewed vigor. The creature''s wings are already back to their previous, tattered state courtesy of Cat. Edmund somehow managed to wrap a large rope around its maw while Maud clobbers its fingers with every swipe attempt. We have it. I once again drop onto its neck and twist it, forcing the beast to the ground. If I can just bite through the thin shells around its jugular, I should be able to finish this fight once and for all. With all my might, I tilt the head back and stare with wonder at this wonderful sight. An exposed, scaly throat with the stars and flaming debris forming a scintillating background. Wait. Why are those moons so big? Chapter 158 - 152. Life Itself We run and we keep running until we reach the camp. Our retreat is made in silence as we spend all our attention searching the earth and sky for danger. No cloud of death descends upon us, nor do the stones beneath our feet rise up, but after seeing what we stand against, I can no longer dismiss the possibility as too outlandish. We did not truly stop at the camp so much as take it with us. It only takes ten minutes for the twitchy mortals to pack up their wagons with our help, and we only halt several miles away just as the sun warns us of its coming. The four of us huddle together in Viktoriya''s armored cart which contains, to my surprise, several sealed sarcophagi concealed below thick, armored walls. "I sometimes fetch prisoners or kin whose lives are in danger," she tells me when I express my surprise, "this carriage was designed with group safety in mind, hence why my main bed remains outside." The absence of it obviously leaves her chagrined. The only comfort comes from several cushioned seats, a fluffy carpet, a myriad of plush pillows and a couch large enough to accomodate Jarek. The air is dry and smells faintly of rose. Absolutely Spartan. "My attendants will swerve around and travel to Krakow. We will join the families there and link up with the Knights at dusk. My people shall provide nourishment when you wake." We three nod to indicate our gratitude. Viktoriya is clearly not done, however. "I will not forget what you have done for me. Ariane, in particular, I would like to talk to you alone. Esmeray, Phineas, we will discuss your reward tomorrow after I have given it some thought." She rolls over their protests. We are, after all, Knights performing our duties. "Nonsense. Your mission was to carry word of my demise, not to prevent it. Enough now! Go to bed, little ones. I need to talk to Ariane. Shoo!" The two obey and I take the seat opposite the diminutive black-haired lady. She seems uncertain, which given her youthful air gives her a more convincing mortality than some Hastings I have met. Only the dark of her eyes still carry the weight of centuries of strife. "Ariane..." A pause. "I know that you will be in the thick of battle tomorrow. It would pain me if you died before I could repay my debt, therefore allow me to offer you a valuable piece of advice. I do believe that it might save you in an hour of great need¡­" Another pause. Viktoriya sighs deeply, and I smell the cold spice of her breath. Her eyes close. "The Eye, though I believe you call it the Watcher, is more¡­ active than some may think. You have the more fluid aura of those who almost went rogue, so you have tasted the alien essence we carry deep within our minds. You have felt the canvas of our foreign souls. You know of what I speak." "Yes¡­ I just never expected¡­" "We lords and ladies do not share with our less experienced brethren because there are no words in Akkad or all the tongues of men to convey the experience. To describe the nature of the Eye is to muddle and confuse with inaccurate statements. I shall not do so. What I will do, however, is to talk about you." "About me?" "Yes. We, the bloodlines, each embody a principle. Our strengths and weaknesses reflect the concept, whether we know it or not. Our borrowed instincts will influence us while we, in turn, interpret it according to our own beliefs and experiences." "I remember that my servant John mentioned tranquility being at the heart of who he was." "Precisely. For Lord Jarek of the Natalis, tranquility stems from crushing all opposition. For me, domain is not a place I know and love but what I can control right now." What is she¡­ Oh¡­ "For your lover, domain is the spirit of a place, which permeates everything up to its very soil. Do you understand?" "So then¡­" "You must ask yourself what conquest means to you." I do not speak as the possibilities swarm my mind. "It will not suffice but it is a necessary step. All of us have spent at the very least twice as much time as you have before we took the final step on the path to growth. You are young, proactive and, besides, American. Long periods of melancholic introspections are not in your nature." I frown. She is exaggerating a bit. "When I was at your stage of my life, I kept Aristotles'' five books on ethics and the biography of Hildegard von Bingen as my bedside books. You keep raunchy novels." "H¡ªHow do you know!" "Jimena of the Cadiz mentioned it the last time we met, and the thought of your prudish self reading bodice-rippers amused me enough to remember it. It does not matter. What I wish to convey is that you need to reflect on what your nature means to you. How do you see yourself as part of your bloodline? This is the best advice I can give." "I see. I understand." "There is a reason why we do not guide mature Masters on the path to ascension. More often than not, our advice will hurt them because what worked for us might not work for others. I still believe that my advice is worthy, because I am quite old and quite experienced in guiding others. That is all. We will speak no more of this." "I appreciate it." "It will not repay the debt I have towards you. I have no doubt that, given your propensity for conflict, an occasion will arise sooner than later¡­ provided that you survive long enough." "You have a mistaken impression of me. I am more than capable of diplomacy." "Oh, I know. You would be dead otherwise. You still resort to violence more than most people I have met. Enough talks, Ariane. I know you feel the coming of the sun as well. Until tomorrow." I awaken in an unknown sarcophagus. The air inside is stale with the stench of ash and old blood. I carefully open the lid to find that the others have not risen yet, except for Viktoriya. A terse message leads me outside. Our carriage, like many others, has been parked inside of a large, underground warehouse. The ceiling is high and arched, each section resting on four thick pillars, so numerous as to form a forest. Lamps shine everywhere and I hear the footsteps of mortals, as well as smell their sweat. Men huddle in groups and speak in hushed tones. I see a group of them in the non-descript, dull clothes of private guards. They fall silent when I allow them to spot me. The eldest bows and points me in a general direction in a Balkan language I do not recognize. I make my way between crates of supply until I find a wall. Sentries let me in through a reinforced gate, and into what appears to be the vampire quarters. "Good evening, Squire Ariane." "Knight Marlan¡­" The warrior nods, his eyes hooded. He is surrounded by men I do not recognize and the Shade trainer. They stand in a circle, inspecting sheafs of paper in the antechamber I found myself in. We are still underground as the naked rock walls attest. Other auras come from beyond other doors. "My condolences for the loss of Lars. Normally, you would be debriefed, however, we require the presence of every combatant for the following operation and Viktoriya vouched for your squad. I assume that they are still slumbering?" "They were when I left them." "Please take the door to my left and go to the cells. You are on time for the next interview with our prisoner. We will give formal orders once everyone is awake." "We have a prisoner?" "See for yourself," the man finally says before dismissing me. I search for the jail across a maze of corridors and small rooms. The entire place is dank and filthy. It is also crawling with vampires, most of them Dvor Masters and Courtiers. None give me more than a passing glance. Eventually, I find myself in a large, empty room guarded by Anatole''s squad. We exchange greetings, then the leader himself addresses me. "You arrived just as we were beginning." Anatole morosely bangs on a barred door behind him. A female vampire in a beautiful blue dress emerges from it. She looks incongruous in this dank, rancid basement. Her deep perfume overwhelms my senses. She is also sporting some cleavage. Before I even have to mask my surprise, I see a large Natalis follow her. He has all the trappings of a mercenary up to the elaborate but bare armor. His face shows burn scars on the left side. The reason for their presence becomes obvious when I see the one who follows: a pulse, a bald head and relatively short stature. Hints of a burn wound under his chin. The man turns and sees me. His face shows a beatific smile. I had never seen such unadulterated joy in an adult before. "You! You killed god!" he exclaims in broken German. I am confident that I did not. I do, however, understand what he means. He is one of the invaders, more precisely, one of the armored grunts the mages sacrifice by the dozens. It lets me wonder how he can still be alive. I must be staring at his chin, because the woman in a blue dress soon talks. "His suicide glyph malfunctioned and fizzled out, Squire Ariane. He then escaped to us and was picked up by Austrian soldiers who happened to be around. Our men seized him before he could be executed. My name is Andrea of the Dvor, and I am pleased that you have joined us. You and your companions left a lasting impression on Kurshu." His name sounds like someone choked on a piece of vegetable, coughed, then swore. "Kurshu has been very cooperative with us and we have managed to learn much from him despite the language barrier. He has shown a¡­ refreshing approach to our planet." "Could you elaborate?" "He was given fruit and cried with emotion." I hope that they do not let him try maple syrup or his heart will stop. "I was more interested in what we learned from him," I tell her. She smiles in a way that does not reach her eyes, a polite rebuke. I feel a stillness in her aura that reminds me of another, but who? Ah, yes. Ignace. Constantine''s torturer. She is the Dvor interrogator. That alien showed wisdom in its enthusiasm. "Kurshu here informs us that he is a resident of ''The Last City,'' commonly referred to as the City. It hosts quite a few of his brethren and extends up and down in a monumental, labyrinthine complex." "He told you that?" "City very big, many many many streets, and cave," the woman replies laconically. She glares. "Please stop interrupting. The City also harbors the last remnants of life on their planet, as well as sixty-eight gods numbered by rank. That is, until you came along. Now there are sixty-five." "Killed the gods," the man whispers in wonderment. "And the half-snake thing we faced was¡­" "The Eighth." I digest this piece of information for a little while. "This does not bode well." "The ''gods'', although I assume that they merely asked what the German term was for ''ultimate beings'', practice the true path which consists of ''harnessing the life of the world''. They used their ultimate powers in times immemorial to save the Last City from a looming disaster, and should be worshipped and obeyed as a result." "They probably destroyed their own planet by consuming its very life." "The present members of the Dvor council and the Knights agree with your assessment. As for the rest, the renegade mages opened a path too close to the Last City and were discovered, following which mercenaries were captured and interrogated, hence why the invaders know a bit of German. The undead mages then opened a portal of their own from inside their city and started capturing prisoners. We estimate that they have upward to a thousand slaves, which are ''harvested'' for their life force. Kurshu confirmed our suspicions on the current politics of the Last City. They are not united. Instead, the faction to which the Eighth belongs seeks to ''make more gods''." "Let me guess, it will kill our planet." Anatole''s team forms a concerned circle around us. Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. "I suspect that the existence of¡­ over sixty of those gods means that the planet can survive quite a bit more than one ceremony. Only a fool would believe that sixty is what there is instead of what is left. Nevertheless, the Dvor council unanimously agreed that an attempt at creating more would be unacceptable. We have fully mobilized for an assault on the gates. Together with the Knights, of course." Her late smile shows exactly what she thinks about our support. "Now, I believe that you do not need a deeper understanding of the City''s caste society and utter lack of food to carry out your mission, therefore I suggest that you make your way to the command room in order to be briefed." She makes to leave, only to stop when the de facto prisoner moves towards me. He seems eager to speak. "Great one! Will you kill more gods?" "Yes, I will." Come to think of it, I have more questions for our amusing rescue, starting with those orbs they use. And the hounds. "Andrea of the Dvor, why not take a break and let us speak further with Kurshu here. We have questions on their weaponry. I am sure that you can delve deeper into the lore at a later date." Ah, I finally get more of a reaction than condescending disdain. "We have no reports of the invaders deploying special weaponry," she retorts. Anatole cracks the mercenary''s grip open with the clever use of leverage and the relative fragility of wrists. "Beast collars and concentrated life used as a mental manipulator count as weaponry," Anatole says, surprisingly coming to my help. "The Order will take custody of your ward until the time of the briefing as stated in our arrangement. Thank you." "Very well then," the torturer replies with the same fixed rictus as before. I would bet a gold bar against a bag of chestnuts that she wears the same expression when showing prisoners their own pancreas. We move out and I follow Anatole throughout the chaotic depths while the ever-smiling Kurthus fixes me with puppy eyes. "I have questions." "Of course, great one! Your world¡­ amazing! Many trees! Apples! You like apples?" The man grabs in the pocket of the simple shift he wears and offers me a brownish apple core with the seeds exposed. "Thank you, but I already had dinner," I lie. The strange man nods in understanding before shoving the entire thing, twig included, into his mouth and chewing pensively. "Sweet." He sighs deeply. "May I ask you a few questions?" I say. "What?" "I ask questions." "Of course, Great One. Nat¨¹rlich! Ask away." "How do the collars work?" "Collars?" I gesture at my throat and then mimic the opening maw of a Merghol hound. I catch sight of Mannfred from the corner of my eye, the man looks so shocked that his opera villain moustache bristles. "Oh yes! Collar? They are made with the true path. Feed the¡­" He mimics. "Hounds, but slowly, and with trick! It makes the hound sated, but is lie!" He gestures strangely with his hands, as if his face were melting. "Deception! The hounds is still hungry. It just doesn''t know. Other part makes like very, very big hound." I remember the horror we faced with Nami all those years ago. It appears that the undead and their servants favor the medium specimen. I wonder why? Perhaps they are the most efficient. I also assume that the largest creatures being the size of small wagons, collaring them might be a more daunting process, especially if the mages consider the activity beneath them. "Why capture hounds?" "They hunt, hmm, bad servants. Very good and very cheap. There are always hounds outside. Take the collar again and find another hound when they die." "So there are people who go against the gods?" I ask with some hope, but those are shattered immediately when the man crosses his arm and makes a pained expression. "Not fight. Flee duty." "Where do the hounds come from anyway?" "What?" S§×arch* The N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Who made the hounds?" The man looks fearfully around, but seems quickly comforted by the sight of moldy bricks glimmering ominously under the twilight glare of oily lanterns, and armor-clad vampires. "Bad servants say that it was made for war between gods, by those who follow the true path. To kill the rest. The gods say they came with the great thing that killed the world." "If this is the truth, there could be ruins across this world, with more answers," Anatole''s Vestal says. "It could have happened millennia ago," Anatole retorts, "long enough for only dust and bones to remain." Kurshu observes my companions a bit fearfully during their exchange. "Kurshu," I continue, "what of the orbs?" "Orbs?" I try to for a ball but he apparently cannot quite catch my meaning. After a minute of fruitless inquiries, by which time we have emerged back into the underground warehouse, I give up and summon a light illusion of the real thing. Kurshu''s eyes widen in amazement. "You are like a god." Perhaps we could liberate more of those invaders. They might be bad for the planet but they are good for my self-esteem. "Please answer me. Those are orbs. What are they?" "Many servants die, make one. Very useful. Even servants can use the true path when they have an orb, if they have, hmmm. If they are very good. The gods give their orbs to their best servants. It is a great honor." "How do servants use the true path?" "It depends on the thing below the orbs. There are¡­" He pretends to write with a stylus. "Glyphs." "Glyphs say what the orb can do, then the servant says the orb should do it now. Not easy." "I understand." I consider experimenting with the orbs we should still have, but then give up on the attempt. I refuse to resort to this tainted power. I would rather break the tool and free its imprisoned life force. Our steps lead us to a great gathering of vampires around a central table. I have some experience being among so many powerful auras, but this is the first time that I see such a divided assembly outside of peace talks. One side of the large, lantern-lit underground belongs to the Knights. On top of my team, I also see three others whose members are unknown to me, but whose armors are significantly more elaborate than my own. I curse once again the need to wear a uniform. Loth''s armor would have made a difference here. Even the armor Octave currently wears as our representative pales in comparison to that masterpiece, in my own unbiased opinion. The Knight Champion sits on one end of the command table with the Shade trainer and Marlan by his side. I force myself not to smile when I recognize someone I know well standing behind him. Kurshu is returned to Andrea and I make my way to my team, as is proper. She does not care and moves around the assembly and bumps against me. I smell the cold spice of her perfume covering that of mildew. "Sister," I whisper. Jimena only winks. Ah, but it is a comfort to see someone I can truly, fully rely on. A pressure is lifted from my shoulders. More relaxed, I study our counterparts. The Dvor form a much more eclectic mix of fighters, most of them male and armored in antiquated, though well-crafted and enchanted armors. They remind me of engravings of soldiers throughout the ages in some expensive historical recounting. Despite what their diverse appearances might suggest, the warriors stand in close formations behind a handful of battle lords like retinues. Viktoriya sits on their side of the table but she does not lead. Instead, authority was seized by a greying, bearded lord wearing a genuine lion skin over his shoulder. He has strange traits, drawn and sharp, possibly of an ethnic group that no longer exists. While I do not doubt that Octave can defeat him in a duel, it will have to be through skill alone because the aura radiating from the seated figure speaks of the strength to crush boulders. A few Natalis mercenaries add their not-inconsiderable weight to their side. A few weaker fighters join us, quickly emerging from their dwelling places to join us in silence. The only person still moving is Kurshu, who tries to amble around every minute like a guttersnipe on a sugar rush. Eventually, all who matter are gathered and the old Dvor lord addresses us in a rumbling basso. "Welcome to Krakow. For those of you who live under a rock, I am Commenus, second member of the Dvor council. We are here to address yet another barbaric invasion on our lands, this time by¡­" he sighs, "skeleton mages from another world. I do not know who cocked up this time and I do not care. We are here to kill every last one of those things and send their heads home as a warning. Speaking of which, Andrea, you will retire this instant with the prisoner. This is a war council." Another smile from the strange woman, with one death glare thrown my way for good measure. Well, am I truly to blame? Nobody said that she had to stay. "Women¡­" the old lord grumbles. Ah, one of those. Torran warned me that his kind''s views transcended time and space. "Right. We face an enemy whose knowledge of witchcraft defies everything we know on earth. Now, I was led to believe that our own magicians somehow made themselves useful for once by levelling the playing field? Who was it?" A forest of gazes settles on me and I take a step forward in silence. I know better than to speak. Any discussion I could have with this gentleman would be counterproductive and, besides, I do not value his opinion. I feel the brush of aura against my own. It stops short of being rude and so I do not have to enter a contest of control against an ancient monster. "A¡­ foreigner. You will give the spell to one of our elder mages for study." Vikotriya hisses softly, then deliberately points at a note on the table by the man''s side. The pair glares at each other with the sort of animosity bred by centuries of conflict, but he eventually relents and reads the report. "Ismael will handle the spell, unless the Knights have a caster lady hidden under their armored skirts? I thought not." It annoys me, yet once again I made an oath to serve the Knights and I will abide by it. "The spell requires a circle to be formed around the affected area," Octave informs the old Dvor, "we will need everyone capable of casting to work together if we want a circle large enough to affect the right battlefield." "Fine, all the mortal mages will be under the supervision of Ismael then. Can it be cast several times in a row?" We enter the more tedious part of the briefing. It is decided to cast the spell twice, once to address the invader vanguard, and a second time around their base. I hope that they have not developed a countermeasure yet, though to be fair, the interdiction field seems to be more of a nuisance than anything else. "As of an hour ago, the invader forward troops have engaged the Austrian army and Krakow garrison within riding distance of the city. Casualties seem to be heavy on both sides but the local forces are holding, a pleasant surprise. It appears that a certain Colonel Reissig managed to bring back enough bodies to convince authorities of the reality of the threat. Hmmm. We will crush them first to get used to the opposition and then move on to the base." After a few discussions, the two clans align to start the battle by casting my spell around the current battlefield, then by attacking all together. The Dvor command the Dvor and the Knights command the Knights, each taking a wing. A special detachment of a Dvor and a Knight squad are charged with protecting the mages during the process before they rejoin the battle. Then, we are to repeat the same plan around the base and move in to destroy all opposition. Both groups have stockpiled projectiles and weapons enchanted to destroy shields, the skeletons having proved themselves rather flimsy. Those are distributed, then Marlan goes into great detail about the enemy capabilities up to and including their telekinesis and deadly fire spells. Word is sent to get specially enchanted shields from the nearby armory. I am amazed at the quality of the materials soon distributed around the room, and I realize another difference between New and Old World means. Our difference does not just stem from our lack of Fae blood. They have also been stockpiling master-crafted arms for centuries. With a few last orders to the respective team leaders, the meeting is about to finish when I raise my hand. "Yes?" Viktoriya asks before both Marlan and Commenus shut me down. "How do we close the gate?" The susurrus of conversation dies out as all eyes return to the speakers, me included. "In case you have forgotten, the gate is not a spell, it is an anchored magical construct teetered on the other side of the veil. Only the aperture appears on our side. With magic sealed, we have no means of closing it on our end." "And would they not close the gate behind themselves when we descend upon their camp?" Commenus asks, annoyed. Oh, so kind of him to hand me the stick. "You seem to believe that we are facing the bulk of their forces. Our prisoner indicated that the undead mages number themselves by ranking power, and the creature that endangered Viktoriya was called the Eighth. Moreover, we have only come across a handful of the sixty-five undead mages present in their city. For whatever reason, our foes are holding back. I see no reason to assume that they intend to persevere in this mistake." "You are making assumptions," Commenus says. "And you are basing your plan on an enemy failure." "Ariane," Marlan says, but I have time for one last jab. "Bold of you to assume fear from creatures lacking endocrine glands." Perhaps that was a bit too much as the man stands and growls. Ah, I simply cannot help myself, it seems, even when I know better. "Ariane!" "She is correct," Viktoriya interrupts, though she does not look pleased by my antics, "and unless we intend to cross to the other side, we need a solution. I do not see us triumphing if the foe has free access to our planet''s lifeforce. Ariane, do you have a solution?" "It will be explosives," Jimena says, nodding wisely. The Knights and Dvor combatants focus on me. "Well. We could pass a powerful bomb through the aperture and destroy their installation," I admit, "but it needs to be done carefully lest the first spell sends us to a fiery doom." "I knew it." "Not helping," I hiss. "I have no objection provided that you build the bomb, prime it, and deliver it yourself," Commenus says with a ghastly smile. "Of course!" I retort with outrage, "I would not trust luddites with such a delicate project." The table groans under two different sets of claws, only one whose owner can give me orders. "That will be all, Ariane, thank you," Marlan says between gritted teeth. "You may now pursue this endeavor, but keep in mind that you only have a few hours, then we leave and push the invaders out in any case." I consider the question. We have receptacles capable of withstanding powerful spells already, but I do not see us achieving the sort of damage we need with just powder. I sigh. "What do you need to create your bomb?" Phineas asks by my side. "I can find all the ingredients easily. The problem is getting enough power to damage whatever is on the other side in a way that deters any further attempt." "You need power?" Esmeray asks. "Yes?" I ask with some surprise, but Esmeray merely bounces away and returns, giving me a bag. Even before opening, I know what it contains from the powerful energy it emits. Orbs in every shade of the rainbow lie there like pilfered eggs. I remember that she captured as many as she could to deny them to our foes. "Will that do?" I caress the surface of one of the mighty artefacts. Roiling power pushes back tamely against my fingers like a purring tiger, containing more magical might than I have ever held. And there are eight of them. "I am going to need those, Kurshu, a sarcophagus, air-tight bags, mercury fulminate and as much phosphorus as you can find me..." Phineas massages his temple as I keep listing supplies. No backsies. Chapter 159 - 153. The hammer falls The sun has set for an hour and I am giving the finishing touches to what will be the most devastating explosive device this world has ever seen. I used the sarcophagus as a base, its isolating protective spells enough to protect it against all but the most determined assaults. Unfortunately, the lid needs to be opened to start the countdown but I deem it a necessary precaution. For a primer, I have a simple yet sturdy contraption based around a clock and a generous amount of mercury fulminate, linked to enough white phosphorus to melt down a factory. The heat of the primary explosion will be concentrated through a double circle and used to break the orb''s containments. All of them. Simultaneously. Kurshu helped with understanding how the orbs work. There are glyphs inscribed in their base that stabilize them because, as it turns out, life energy compressed to the size of a fist can be quite volatile. How truly surprising. It was a simple matter of manipulation to weaken their containment. Once it is done, the explosive release will create a significant amount of damage if the frozen, panicked smile on the prisoner'' face is any indication. He must have asked eleven times if I was quite sure. I place the last orb in its improvised casing and smile. This will be glorious, nay, historical. I only regret that I will not be able to see it explode, one way or another. No one can trigger the device and run far enough to escape its blast. Phineas barges into the secure room I liberated as I perform one last check. He holds in his hands a dark satin undergarment with little while frills on the thighs. "I have it! I have found it!" S~ea??h the Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. I blink very slowly and my mind leaves the labyrinthine depths of military engineering to recall our past conversation. "Ah." "Is this not the garter belt you requested?" "Well, yes, that is to say, well..." "Out with it woman, time is precious!" "About that. I fear that when I listed a garter belt among the necessary supplies, I was speaking in jest." Phineas'' face crumbles, aghast. "I apologize for the deception. I let my excitement carry me away. The bomb is ready." "Do you have any idea how difficult it was to find a garter belt around here? Do you think that I went from district to district, knocking on the doors of the most renowned hussies?" "I can only offer my most heartfelt apologies. It was inappropriate." I sniff the air, a new aroma now overcoming that of tightly packed phosphorus. "I see that you were able to offer some incentive to separate the item from its owner." "If the skeletons do not kill you, I will." It takes only a moment for me to calm Phineas down as he can see how contrite I am about the whole fiasco. We pack up and make to leave until I realize that we will need some sort of cart, if only for the sake of balancing the bomb. Fortunately, it appears that Marlan has taken my proposal seriously for once. Jimena is here, as well as Anatole and his team. "The leadership recognizes the potential use of your device. We are to provide escort," the blond fake prince intones in a cold voice. I understand his reticence. While he is saddled with the role of guardian, the other teams are fighting on the frontlines. His being the least experienced true Knight team, the leadership must have considered him as non-essential. I would be more worried about a bomb that would scatter us over the whole of Lesser Poland if it sets off while we are around, but he has always had a terrible sense of priorities. "We can depart," I tell him with just a bit of condescension, just to needle him a bit. Jimena rolls her eyes for a second then we are off. My sister kindly organized a cart and a lower Nightmare to drive it. I decide not to call on Metis out of respect for Phineas who would remain on foot. The only mounted person will be Kurshu who follows us at a safe distance on a horse he rides with the grace of a sack of potatoes. We leave at a brisk pace through wide-opened double-doors. The pungent smell of fermented hops hits me as soon as I see the sky. "We are under a brewery. Enchantments keep the stench at bay, until you open the doors at least," Jimena explains in a low voice. Anatole leads the way without hesitation out of the compound, then out through tilled fields and the golden stalks still to be harvested. The warm summer air still carries the scent of cut wheat and dust, and a few lamps and torches shine on top of locked doors. No one looks through their windows even as wheels growl on packed earth. We hurry. Thirty minutes through tamed land and we hear distant guns. I express my surprise. "The mortals are still fighting?" "They engaged the invaders in the early afternoon. Several detachments of the Austrian army as well as Polish militia units have fought back and forth for hours, to and from the village of Tarnozych, which is currently in the skeletal hands of the opposition. The skeletons themselves have held back, instead deploying a stupendous amount of soldiers and beasts," Mannfred replies, clearly impressed. We continue and find our first bodies soon enough, mostly soldiers fleeing the frontlines who died from their wounds. An aura flares in the distance, a clear beacon to those with any sort of sense. We move forward when I hear a commotion ahead, as well as a mighty roar, one I recognize. "A Merghol brood mother. They are quite dangerous." "Squad, forward. Team Willow, Jimena, you will keep moving the package," Anatole orders and half of the group charges forward. We hear sounds of battle, intense and bloody, and finally a great yowl as we arrive upon a field through a curtain of trees. The great, horrendous shape of a broodmother still twitches on the ground, its (not her, I refuse) form bleeds from many small wounds and a few devastating gouges that would have cleaved a cow in twain. I recognize my kin''s unsubtle touch. There are also mortals in the clearing. They are cavalrymen in stained uniforms who look exhausted. Two dead horses lie on the ground, with their riders still holding blood-stained sabres in their shaky hands. The vampires discuss their fates in low voices. "Anatole," I say, "you should know that you stand in the presence of the commander of yesternight''s mortal forces." His pale blue gaze travels disparagingly over the gathering of terrified humans. It stops at the short shape of the moustached colonel Reissig, now much less polished and bleeding from a gash in his shoulder. He is the only one who hasn''t taken a step back yet. "Will he be an issue?" "I believe that he wishes to return to his lines. I am certain that we can come to an understanding," I tell him, feeling a natural respect for a man who leads an artillery battalion. "You have two minutes, barring this, they will only be a few more corpses on a field that already has too many." I nod and make my way forward, Phineas and Esmeray covering my back. Colonel Reissig sees us approach with obvious distrust, and yet he does not move. I do not know how I would react if I saw unknown combatants with the sort of abilities that Anatole''s team just displayed. I allow myself a smile. The good Colonel stares at me with growing suspicion, his memory hazy after such an exhausting battle. His eyebrows finally rise when I stop a few paces away from his anxious mount. "You¡­ the peasant girl!" "Guten abendt. I see that you have found our foes." "You deceived me! Do you know how many¡ª" I interrupt his sputtering with a raised hand, Charming him into silence. "Have you missed the part where we saved your men? We share the same enemies, you were just unaware of the fact." "You are witches! Witches and sorcerers!" "And mages and whatever you wish to call us. It matters not. We are being attacked by devils and their worshippers. I merely showed you the truth before they could collect too many innocents." "I do not trust you. I will never believe you or your kind!" He is livid. Any supernatural attempt at calming him down now would lead to suspicion. "Do as you wish. We have no need of your approval to carry out our mission, the elimination of those monsters and the closing of the gate from whence they came." "A portal to hell?" "They certainly did not pop out of a fairy circle," I lightly comment. The Colonel still glares with his furious eyes, moustache unkempt after a day of fighting. Now that I am close, the cloying smell of horse and human sweat almost overwhelms that of blood and offal. "I do not trust you, and still I must ask. Where do these things come from?" I frown. "You engaged them yesterday. You were within walking distance of their gate." "You saw us?" "We fought by your side, from the shadows, as always. You should have saved your artillery guns." "I know! Dammit." He takes a deep breath and I use the opportunity to exploit the chip in his self-righteous armor. "Those creatures are news to you but we have been fighting their kind for decades. You were just blind to it." My declaration is welcomed with various reactions from the onlookers, which is much better than overwhelming censure. "Are the end times upon us then?" the colonel finally asks to himself. "Not if we can help it. Speaking of which, you should return to your men. We have demons to slay, no?" "Perhaps they come here because of you, the evil worshippers!" he declares, but his heart is not in it and I merely chuckle. "If you think we are the only sinners, you have not been paying attention. Auf wiedersehen, herr Reissig. If we both make it through the night. You should be on your way now." The man grinds his teeth. Only his sense of duty prevents him from asking more questions, I think. He was already paranoid when we met. How his natural curiosity must war with his distrust now. "The beast is dead, gentlemen, let us head back. Raus!" And they are gone. "Is it wise to let them go?" Phineas asks with a frown. I shrug. "Tonight''s events will ruin the reputation of spellcasters anyway. I would rather not deny our allies a capable commander." "If you are done, we should leave," Anatole interrupts with obvious impatience. We are nearly at the beacon. We leave the road and follow a beast trail through a well-traveled forest. The ground is quite trampled and we do not have to wait long until we find a clearing where a dozen mortal mages finish setting up a circle. They work under the supervision of a dark-skinned lord with close-cropped hair and a long beard, wearing robes of exotic make. He turns to us as we arrive. "Greetings," Anatole starts. "Unfortunately, we do not have the time for pleasantries. Casters, please come and join me. Now." Phineas, the Vestal and I detach from our rank. The archmage points at several circles slaved to the main construct. Compared to what I used to cast, his work is that of a true master, and it took him less than an hour. He also successfully modified the base spell to allow for additional mages to bolster it. Impressive "You were the first to deploy the hex?" the man asks as we take our positions. "To my knowledge, yes." "Were you the first to cast it here in a combat situation?" "Oh, yes." "Then you will start the casting and I will focus on the essence management. Do you understand?" "I have cast with an archmage before. I know how to proceed. I will direct the spell while you provide the power." "Very good. I, Ismael, consent to it." He speaks with the rhythmical intonation of one who repeats a ritual sentence, and so I refrain from pointing out that he was the one to ask. I take my place and sigh in delight. This circle is a masterwork. I can feel the connection of over thirty mages in a circle so wide that it could encompass a small city. Their power thrums through the inscriptions, smooth and pleasant instead of overwhelming, thanks to Ismael''s careful management. The proper runes have all been inscribed in smooth rock covered with silver powder. Everything is ready, and not a second too soon. The world bends and pulls inward, its life force draining. The circle reacts instantly as every mage present resists it on the fumes of a previous casting. "What is this, a tug of war?" I grumble as I reform my link. "An accurate if childish assessment," Ismael reproaches. "Now that you are here, we should win easily. You were the first to cast, therefore it is a proprietary spell." He must see the incomprehension on my face because he sighs and elaborates. "The world remembers, and the world remembers you. A spell is always the strongest for the one who made it, with or without help. Enough talk. We do not know what the skeletons are doing and we do not intend to find out. Now, cast." He is correct. I center myself, take a deep breath. Power rushes through me, the might of dozens of war mages. Normally, I could not manage this much power but Ismael is here to guide it, weave it into the mighty construct. I activate each rune in turn and voice the incantation. "Stubborn foot and clenching jaws Downward boot and closing maws Blades are drawn, the light is gone Gates are shut, your time is done." Because of me, the spell is cast with full effect and because of Ismael, the power of our aides is fully employed. Our might breaks the stalemate and tranquility descends like a shroud upon the land. Life essence shivers then settles down. The enemy efforts have been rendered meaningless. We hear a distant, terrible moan. No human throat could produce this. "What was that?" Phineas whispers. I hear a horse panic behind us and Kurshu walks into the clearing under the disapproving glare of Ismael. "One of the gods grieves," he whispers. "Their pain is of no import," the old lord grumbles. He lifts a hand and launches a spell that arches into the air before glowing like a flare. Somewhere in front of us, a great roar echoes throughout the empty night. Soon, the din of battle reaches us through the thick brambles. "We will proceed forward now. Do you have your explosive device?" Ismael asks. "Yes," I answer guardedly, but he merely smiles. "I remember a time when greek fire ruled the seas, little one. I approve of your ingenuity. You will follow with your team and the¡­ prisoner, but you will not engage. We are yet to approach the main hold." He sprints away and I follow with the rearguard, including the mortal mages. We come across the scene of a ruined village surrounded by blackened, fallow land. Only burnt wrecks remain of the buildings. To our left, the fields are covered in corpses of hounds and armored servants, while a few lines of white and dun uniforms show where the Austrian and Polish assaults came to a halt. In front of us, the vampire force is shredding through battered and beleaguered enemies, exhausted after a day of fighting. I come in time to see a trio of skeletons fly up unchallenged into the darkness of the night. Only one has remained and it even now emits a terrible keening sound. It is not the Eighth but another one, imposing and clad in golden armor. As I watch, it raises a hand and launches powerful fire lances at the fleet figure of Commenus. The ancient lord dodges them with blinding speed while, beyond, vampires scatter to allow the two ancient horrors free reign. I am surprised to see that the undead mage is on the offensive, destroying everything its staff touches with great explosions. Commenus, however, fights much more defensively. Like Anatole, his soul weapon is a twin set. He wields a Roman Scutum and gladius, which would make him very, very old indeed. His defensive style allows him to dodge most strikes and block what he cannot avoid. As I watch, the undead sends a great wave of fire his way. When the spell fizzles, the ancient lord stands from behind his shield, unharmed. It would seem that Rose is not the only soul weapon with special properties, because Commenus should have been torched until only ashes remain. A shield does not stop heat coming from the sides. The lord charges in turn and pushes the creature back with fast, precise strikes. The skeleton howls again and brings his staff down. The world burns around it, but Commenus is already gone. He stands facing his foe as it rises from the resulting crater. "Magna Arqa." Even though he must be far from his land, the power of the lords answers. I hear the words and experience that peculiar feeling of the Watcher seeping through the cracks of reality. Commenus turns into a dark-winged, demonic figure and points his blade forward. At the same time, Ismael unleashes his spell. A mighty ray of dark light links both the archmage and the skeleton across a hundred paces. The skeleton freezes and so does the mage, locked as they are in a mental contest of will. I can feel the might of the mind magic from here. As for the result of the war, we shall never find out, because Commenus charges. The angelic and demonic figure lands on the skeleton and smashes it to pieces. Ismael reels back from the shock. By that point, the field is ours. The surviving servants run away, leaving their hounds to be slaughtered. The rearguard moves down into the remains of the village. To the right, I see an altar surrounded by alien sigils. "What is that?" Phineas asks. I study the strange structure. A massive stone slab occupies the backyard of some large edifice, now an unrecognizable ruin. I noticed no such a thing the last time we inspected the village so this must be a recent addition. The closer we get and the more detail I discern. The richer life energy in the air shows that we are approaching the epicenter of what the invaders attempted. Even the grass seems more vibrant. The rune work soon appears not just on the ground but in the air as well, where they float with fading light like dying embers. The small vortex of energies disperses from the slab in a gentle, immaterial breeze as refreshing as light rain after a summer drought. On the slab, we find a woman. She is old and wizened, just as bald as Kurshu but clearly feminine. In death, her naked form lacks the puppet quality that some corpses have. A black dagger is lodged in her chest. A complex attire is folded at her feet. She died recently. "What sort of ritual were they conducting? What can they achieve with one sacrifice that their orbs cannot do?" Phineas asks, surprised. His knowledge of spellcraft is still lacking but in this situation, it would not have helped. We are facing an entire new brand of magic. Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. Although, I can infer the purpose of the ritual. "Feel the power in the dagger. They were channeling energy into it, not out. They were pushing life into the woman." The elegant man raises a dubious brow. "Would it not be counterproductive to stab her then?" "They were creating another undead mage, you daft twit!" I finish. "Oh. A bit hurried, is it not?" I shrug. Who knows what goes in the craniums of those strange beings. "The old man killed the fifteenth," Kurshu says in a subdued voice as Commenus picks up the mage''s skull. Some of us are collectors and this is an unusual quarry. "It was the fifteenth?" I repeat. He was significantly weaker than the serpent mage despite being less than ten ranks apart. "Fifteenth very strong. Eighth to first¡­ different. Best gods. But, fifteenth and eighth are not in the same faction." "What do you mean?" "So far, only the Eighth''s cohorts have been here. I was one of his servants. Now, the third''s cohort is here with their Merghol beasts. The eighth must have entered an agreement." "This cannot be good," Phineas mutters, and Esmeray shakes her head. "You brought the prisoner here?" a rugged voice says behind us. I felt his aura, of course, and did not turn. "He has valuable insights on the current situation," I inform Commenus as I face him. He and Ismael are soon joined by Octave and other senior knights while a slightly intimidated Kurshu relays what he observed. "If we were only attacked by a faction before, then the invaders have a lot more troops to commit to their cause. We must take the gate before they call upon too many reinforcements. Nights are short right now, and so is our window of opportunity," Marlan remarks. "This changes nothing," Commenus grumbles. "We were on full attack against an unknown number of enemies before and we are doing the same now. Enough talk. We leave." The ancient monster walks forward without waiting for further input, soon joined by the entirety of the Dvor contingent. There is little to do but to follow. We soon reach the woods surrounding the enemy base for the third time in as many nights. Just as before, I stay in the rear to guard our precious cargo. The vampires fan out before us to cover our approach. Soon, Ismael stops in the middle of the forest path. "We have no need for another spell." "Why?" I ask, taking a few steps. Then I feel it. The interdiction area we cast yesterday still holds. The land is quiet and reticent. "I have never been so glad to be made powerless," the dark-skinned man chuckles. He gestures and the mages fall back. Commenus does not wait. We soon arrived at the scene of yesterday''s battle. An entire section of the forest has been turned into a glass plain of scorched earth. Farther up, we find the battlefield where Reissig''s men stopped and fought. It has been picked clean. Only a great mountain of hound carcasses remains, a stinking tower of purple flesh, rancid and vile. Not even the flies have picked at it. "Not far now," I tell myself. We move a bit more, then the ground erupts in a great gout of flame, instantly killing a Dvor master. "Traps," Ismael growls, "Let me go first." Our progress slows to a crawl. I cannot feel the constructs, though I stand rather far. The heavy cover of the interdiction area allows our presence and little else. We may not cast. I suspect that even Magna Arqas might be subdued here, and yet our foes still manage to work their unholy arts to inflict more death. Ismael takes no risk. As soon as he spots a trap, he throws a few unidentified stones he removed from a recess of his robe. They trigger and spew their deadly payload into the air. Our advance is marked as clearly as if we carried beacons with us. "Could they have moved the base?" I wonder. "No," Anatole says by my side, "even they depend on supplies. It takes time to move and build a camp to accommodate thousands. They will not move unless we make them." He does not look at me. Instead, his blue eyes sweep our flanks, looking for anomalies. I always assumed that he would not give me the time of the day, much less explain things. Perhaps he did make some progress. His insight soon proves warranted when Ismael gestures and we stop. He throws a stone and it flashes against an invisible wall, sending ripples across its smooth, flat surface. A shield, of a scale never seen before. The base lies nestled in its dying valley beyond sight and we will have to break it to move forward. Without magic, the task is nearly impossible. Members of the vanguard with soul weapons bang them helplessly against the colossal defense. It will take hours, hours that we do not have. Just as I consider my options, the impacts cease and the crowd falls silent. From the skies, the form of a skeleton mage holding an orb descends, majestic. Its robes move in the light wind like pennants and its great ivory snake tail twirls lazily. Six others flank it, three on each side. "All but the lords, back up. Back up now," Octave declares, and I hear the concern in his voice. He will not have to repeat himself. We run. Even the Nightmare we use senses the urgency of the situation. I turn around as we flee to take in the Eighth as it lifts a gnarled hand. Its voice is warm and velvety. It does not fit its abominable image. As for the words, they are clipped and guttural and I do not understand their meaning. What I do understand is that it is casting a spell from within the safety of the shield and that of the air, and we can do nothing to stop it. A white ball gathers between its claws. With one last word, he lets it fly. The spell explodes in a whitish, powdery veil that expands in a sphere. It covers the lords, even Commenus. It covers our frontlines. It reaches me. I feel something poke my essence, then a cloak-like feeling as the spell settles on my aura like ink on paper. I look down to see whitish stars shining on my armor like a mirror of the Milky Way, not harmful but present. And always visible. "Shit, they marked us," I say. "I felt something," Phineas said as he inspects a glove. Esmeray shivers and scratches herself, clearly ill at ease. Looking forward, it has become clear that the entire vanguard is marked as well. The only ones exempt are the mortal mages. The Eighth has figured out that we were different, which we should have expected when they started to resort exclusively to fire. Now, he is targeting us, and he is right. Without us, Krakow and its defenders will fall, then they will have free reign to defile the planet to fuel their disgusting rituals. I look up with no small amount of fear, convinced that the serpent mage will now release some seeking fire spell of great power against us. I wonder if I can run fast enough or if Rose will help, and yet it does not happen. The creature contemplates us like insects under its hollow gaze and¡­ flies away. The other creatures follow it in a cursed flock. We are alone. "What just happened?" Phineas asks, but no one replies. Some of us try to remove the whitish powder from our beings, in vain. I try as well and realize that it clings to us like an oily layer, and is just as impossible to remove. We have to restrain Esmeray who had started to claw at her skin. "They marked us. Are they going to cast some grand spell?" "Probably. And if they can locate us, they will not even have to." "What do you mean?" "She means," Anatole says, "that if the creatures have somehow learned of our weakness, they will not even have to expend spells. Our best protection during the day has always been stealth. Now, they can just pick us off if they can find us." Kurshu walks to us and sighs. "Ah, bad. It is the Amkur. Bad servants have this if they open the wrong gate. Take food." "How long?" I ask, "How long does it last?" "I do not know. Bad servants always die first." Well, this is problematic. We quickly go and relay Kurshu''s finding to Octave and Commenus. The two leaders exchange a glace. "We will have to scatter at least three hours before dawn. How much time do we have left?" "A bit over two hours if we follow your plan," Ismael says as he joins, hands holding a massive brass watch. "All shields draw on resources to be maintained and to resist attacks. We could try exhausting it. With that many soul weapons, anything is possible." "Do you truly believe that we can breach that?" Octave asks, looking behind him. The main group still bangs helplessly on a dome as wide as a town. "There is a chance. The skeletons are starved for resources," Ismael agrees, "they have made liberal use of their orbs over the past few days and lost many of them. It makes little sense for the snake monster to let us go instead of eliminating us in one large conflagration, unless he would prefer to save his strength. The skeletons do not appear to need sleep and they operate during the day without issue. They also fly while the mortals do not." The others consider the question. I would remark that the shield might consume more energy than a spell designed to track and destroy us, but the truth is that I have no idea how this branch of magic functions. "The undead do not create life energy," the Vestal of Anatole''s team says. Oh, of course. "They cannot replenish their aura naturally like we do. They must take it from somewhere." "Yes. And with the life energy around their base denied, they might not have had much opportunity to collect more safely." "None of that matters. If we do not breach the shield, we cannot get into the base." Hmm. Can we? I turn to Kurshu, clearly ill at ease in the middle of so many of us. He is starting to stink a bit as well. "Is there a way to go though? Key?" "This¡­" He mimics a barrier. "Shield." "Understood. This shield¡­ very strong. The gods use it to protect their houses." "We need to get to the gate." "Can you not open one?" he asks. I wince, I do not know the ritual. Opening the gate is a complex, grueling process that leads to desert and hounds. Until now, I had no particular reason to learn it. "I do not know the runes," I admit. "Runes?" I kneel and draw the dwarven symbols for ''looming disaster'' on the ground. "Runes. I understand. If you want a gate with runes, can you use the first?" "The first?" Kurshu nods. "Before the gods come here, they make a gate to go back, not too far, so if there is a bad thing, they can get back to the Last City. The runes are there. On the ground." All the vampires present stare at the man, with the notable exception of my teammates who do not speak German. "Can the circle even be reactivated?" Commenus asks. "It depends. We would need to see it to know for certain," Ismael replies. "Then I think it best," the old man speaks between clenched teeth, "if we focus on the plan at hand." "Hold on, old friend. If the circle can be reactivated, we can send the bomb through." "It would not close the gate that concerns us the most." "Perhaps it would. Ariane, how powerful is that bomb, exactly?" My intuition wakes and coils. For the shortest moment, visions of flame and a sound like tinnitus break through the heavy yoke of the interdiction spell. "All of the Last City will feel its touch. Some more, some less," I tell him. "I see. Commenus, Octave, I propose that their team pursues this lead with our mage followers. Meanwhile, we will keep probing that shield. The investment is small and the potential benefits are immense." "Mph. I suppose that a handful of masters and neutered magic tossers will hardly make a difference. What do you say, duelist? Those are your minions after all." "We prefer the term squire, Commenus," Octave replies, but the gruff monster ignores him. Octave tilts his head and inspects the wall, still imperiously ignoring the weapons banging on its surface. "I have no objection, but team Aspen and Jimena will stay." "With all due respect, sir, if we successfully open the gates, someone needs to cover Ariane while she triggers the spell," Anatole says. Octave considers him in silence. "Very well. You and your team will go. It should be more than enough." And like this, we are dismissed. Jimena squeezes my hand before she joins the assault. Anatole signals and his team starts off behind an eager Kurshu. The free invader struts excitedly, reminding me of a labrador on a stroll. The rest of us are more subdued. We share a general unease that proves warranted when Esmeray changes into a wolf and starts pawing at her face. Her claws dig bloody furrows on her muzzle. "She is not doing well," Phineas says. An understatement. We are left with no choice but to restrain her or risk her skinning herself alive. Mannfred and the other fighter carry her limp form back to camp while the rest of us keep going. We cannot spare a caster and Phineas understands it, though he is unhappy about leaving the tiny Vanheim behind. We are off to an inauspicious start. A little bit later, we are forced to leave the cart behind as the forest grows too dense to navigate. I end up carrying the crate with Anatole while the human mages follow us in a loose column. Kurshu gets lost once. "So much green!" he explains to our unamused group. "Your dog is starting to outlive his usefulness," Phineas remarks. "Enough." It takes us almost half an hour to reach the second site between the detour and the time it takes the mages to climb the slope to our destination. We end up on top of a flat hillock populated by scrawny pines. Three of the four sides lead to sheer cliff, with only the path we took being somewhat practicable. The undead mages chose well. More importantly, we are outside of the interdiction circle. Kurshu excitedly points at the center of the elevation, though only a blind man could have missed the giant circle covering most of the free space. Runes have been engraved in the rock, and the air still smells of pine sap where trees were ripped apart and thrown away. Needles crack under the feet of the trudging mortals as they spread around the circle. I kneel to study the construct. "They haven''t changed anything," I realize as I trace the western standard rune for location. "The captives they took in Krakow knew the proper way to set up a circle. Perhaps the skeletons saw no merit in altering a working construct. I would imagine that dimensional magic is a daunting prospect, especially when the cost of failures is unknown and one clings to its own existence with a dead grip," Anatole says. "The question is, then, can you activate it?" I check the different segments of the spell. I have seen it many times and mostly dismissed it as too complicated to bother, but now necessity needles me and I cannot help but discern the different components. Built on a base as old and solid as history itself, the spell then expands outward to reach more exotic and subtle parts, acquiring its true function. One segment speaks to me of a shard, a stinger, a needle that would jab and leave behind cleanly sliced flesh where blood would pearl. Another speaks of a diapason oscillating between two frequencies. Subtle elegance has joined surgical brutality in a marriage that led to disaster and the death of hundreds, and we are going to activate it. Only a few key elements could bear modification in that delicate framework. I will have to attempt it. "We need to clear more space. I must alter the circle." "Why?" Anatole asks with suspicion. "Because," I tell him as I clear growth with my own hands, "there are many more of us and we have much less time. I need to allow the spell to feed from more members while decreasing the casting time, unless you believe that we can stay until late afternoon on the next day." Anatole does not comment and directs the mortal mages to work instead. They are Dvor servants, distrustful yet disciplined. They clear the vegetation as fast as I can carve new elements with Rose. I feel my intuition pushing me forward now and I know why. My death is imminent. Perhaps the Dvor have access to defensible facilities but I will not. I will be one of the easiest fighters to pick off with the other low-ranking Knights. That, or the world guides me once again. With a sure hand, I inscribed the last circle to allow mortals to slave their power to me. We will need all the help we can get in this great endeavor. Failure is not an option. The bomb must go off. I am absorbed in my task until the spell takes on an organic, living quality. The components appear in sharp relief like superimposed figures instead of grooves in the rock beneath us. The circle lives and grows with me, stroke after stroke, until finally the last piece clicks and the spell hums. It is ready. I am ready. The time is now. A few steps and I am in position, near the center. The mortals take their places without prompting, with Phineas and the Vestal by my side. We raise our hands, and I begin. I speak of our world, of its music and its taste. Of the sun and the moon and the ground under my feet. The spell anchors itself with a low thrum which only grows in intensity as we go on, a heartbeat of a thing without blood, and yet, alive. The leitmotif comforts me, although it is not truly mine. No, mine is deeper. I spare a glance to the eternal presence of the Watcher. I had forgotten its beauty those past few nights. It gazes on, more subdued than usual. It does not wish to disturb. I shiver when a strange cheer bolsters my concentration. The first part is done, now for the second. Slowly at first, the diapason twists the world around us and the thrum changes to a different melody. This one speaks of great trees, a golden age, then gouging pain and, finally, death. That song is a dirge and those who first cast the spell should have known that they were fools. One hour passes. Another. At some point, someone comes but I ignore him. We must go on. To change the music and fix it is an exhausting attrition battle against our surroundings. Several times, I fear that I might be too fast until a rush of power sets us back on course. Three of the mages fall unconscious and are carried away. Thankfully, the construct takes this possibility into account. Another hour passes. We are done. The second part of the casting is finished and three more mages stumble out of the formation. The third and final part begins now. We have our destination. Now we must breach the veil. The diapason quiets and the shard awakens under our push. This is the last stretch. Do or die. I push power and speak more words, I speak of piercing a fabric that none can sense. The abstract and unfamiliar meaning almost makes me falter, but intuition guides me through the most delicate steps. The fabric of reality might be thick and syrupy here, unwilling to be seized and much less manipulated, yet the spell has clamped on a minuscule expanse of it, and we will pierce it. The shard looms, a dark sword, or a shark. Something bleak and edged. It hovers near the vulnerable spot like a guillotine blade, but I do not let it fall. It needs to be keener and heavier before we can even make a dent. More mages fall one by one, and with every person leaving us with bloodshot eyes, the burden increases for the rest. Stamina and strength are no longer enough. Now, only willpower can save us. Half an hour passes. Only thirteen remain. Another fifteen minutes. We are five now. The pain is excruciating. Phineas chokes and collapses to the side. Dark blood drips from his mouth as he crawls away. Another fifteen minutes. The last mortals fall in turn. The Vestal leaves. Only I remain in a sea of power and agony. Whispers drill into my ears. Thunderous magic cracks at my fingertips. I close my eyes. The blood covers them anyway. It hurts. Almost as badly as going rogue. Need just a bit more. The needle hangs over the chasm. Almost ready. And then, it happens. The first hint of the coming dawn caresses my mind. I am out of power. The last dribble of energy leaves me. So THIRSTY. Losing control. No, no! I will not fall here. I roar, and pull. In the urgency, something explodes within me. Weak black roots surge from the earth with the last of my reserves. Another loss of control, but this one proved useful after all. The clearing is empty. Almost everyone has evacuated. The final surge pours into the spell and something clicks. "PIERCE THE VEIL!" The spell is a needle going through meat if the needle were the size of a ship of the line. I open my eyes and clear away the blood as the last of my aura leaves me. Before us, a luminous circle expands in the darkness that comes before the aurora, an aperture into a world of empty, cold daylight that fails to burn. Mesmerized, I walk forward and look through. We stand on a stone platform hanging over a void, and around us, our goal expands as far as I can see. The Last City. A maze-like, impossible structure that dives into the abyss below and climbs to a sky of perpetual ash. Hive-like, bulbous blocks of sickly yellow extend in colossal fingers, their surface covered in windows like necrotic sores. The stench of unwashed humanity permeates the air despite a chill wind while the landscape weeps artificial misery and generational despair. The platform we stand on is empty and bare. A corner reeks of urine. Somewhere far above us, a child screams in agony. "Last City servants'' houses up there," Kurshu says in a subdued voice. Only he and Anatole have stayed until the end. The vampire is dragging our bomb to the empty space. "House of the Eighth is to the right," he adds. We three go through. It is day on the dead planet. Kurshu currently points at the man-made mountain adjacent to the platform. While the others remind me of sick, bloated trees infested to their cores, this one stabs up in a dizzying display of obsidian designs and chthonic architecture. There are no windows here, only smooth, glassy surfaces punctuated by sharp angles. "Will the bomb even breach that fortress?" Anatole whispers. I can barely hear him. I am so weak. "Yes." "Then start it now. We have little time." I lurch to the sarcophagus and slide the lid with some difficulty. Kurshu helps while Anatole keeps vigil. I push a button and hear the ping of the active mechanism. It rings like a death knell in the unnatural silence. We move back and through the aperture with haste. "How do we close that thing?" Anatole asks, and I realize that I cannot do it. I am too exhausted. And we are running out of time. "Put some blood on your hand then place it here and say close." "Here?" "Yes, hurry!" Tick tick tick. Kurshu steps away from the circle with terror in his eyes. The aperture closes. Slowly. Too slowly. "Get on the other side," I wheeze. We move around. From the back, the portal just looks like distorted air. The bomb detonates. I assume that the bomb detonates. For the barest of instants, impossible heat touches my skin with the promise of oblivion. My vision goes white, and, when I open my eyes again, the portal is closed. Far in the distance, we hear a rumble and see a great fire. The night comes alive with the tweets of distant birds. In front of us, something has seared a cone into the landscape. It starts thin, but then expands until I see burning vegetation on a faraway hill. Within the cone, all is dark and smoldering. "By the Eye," Anatole says. "So strong," Kurshu whispers. His dark eyes are full of worship. We have no time to rejoice. We have no time for anything except hiding. "We cannot dally. The sun will rise soon. Anatole, I used my essence. I will need some help to return. I am too weak." "Oh, I know," he replies. A shove. I am flying through the air, then awkwardly down the cliff. By some ancient instinct, I curl into a ball and protect my head. A crack. Pain. My pelvis is shattered. I gasp. But¡­ how? He... threw me? Impossible? Impossible! Would that not break the oath? Is he using a loophole? Kurshu lands next to me, spine broken. His honest face twists in pain and disbelief. He is dying. The sun is almost up. With a muffled cry, I roll on myself and crawl. I am too weakened. I cannot heal. I have one chance, only one chance. "I am sorry," I tell him, and bite down. His essence is rich with the power of fate. I kill his pain as soon as I regain a smidgen of power. "I am sorry," I say again. He smiles and breathes one last time. I taste the sweet savor of apple on my tongue. Dawn is almost here. I must hide now, but tomorrow, Anatole dies. "Entomb." The earth takes me. Chapter 160 - 154. Athena For the first time in my second life, I wake up in absolute panic. I cannot move, I cannot see. The presence of the sun weighs on my mind like a yoke. A deafening silence assails me and deprives me of even a limpet of information. I believe that my time has come. I shall be stuck in limbo for all of eternity, finally punished for the murders and the greed and pursuing naughty activities with Torran. It takes me far too much time to realize that it is, in fact, a normal and predictable state of affairs. I am underground. Terror soon gives way to fear. I acted in desperation last night, and crawled underground as soon as I could. In truth, I should have waited until the last moment. That cur Anatole could have felt me cast a spell and come to investigate, thus putting me at his mercy. I may yet be a victim of the skeleton mages as they scour the land in fury. Any time now, a bony knuckle will pierce the soil and grab me like a doll before drawing me up to a fiery demise. It does not happen. A cursory inspection of my aura reveals that the glow is gone, dispelled, as it were. I am free of any mark. I am still wearing Nashoba''s earrings, of course, I just would not bet on them over the power of the Eighth. My worries dissipate under the smoldering embers of rage. That mongrel. That despicable, back-stabbing, oath-breaking son of a flaccid baboon. That lily-livered roach-brained overgrown scullion. That fucking asshole. I will skin him, dress him, then spit-roast him on a red-hot poker. Ugh! How did he even do this? I distinctly remember taking the oath! It said: "And finally, do you promise to protect and support your fellow Knights as if they were your own blood?" Anatole cannot possibly have skipped this step. I consider the question for a solid twenty minutes and find only two possible explanations. Anatole does not see me as a fellow Knight, or that is how he treats his own blood anyway. This is the kind of risk and loophole one has to work with when forcing oaths upon vampires. It would still mean that he went against the rules by knowingly putting me in danger at the very least. He should be hurting right now. He will hurt much more when I get my talons on his sorry, flea-ridden hide. Poor Jimena must be worried that I have gone missing. I must be sure to find her soon. Speaking of which, what should I do? How do I take revenge? Betrayal or not, I am still a Squire of the Order and I have a duty to let my hierarchy handle it. It means joining my team and reporting the crime. Fortunately, more detailed oaths and interrogation can lure out the truth. I also believe that attempted murder on a fellow Knight should be punishable by death. While I would prefer to drain him myself, I cannot deny that there is a certain beauty in having the Order he swore to defend do the deed in my stead. Bah, what am I even considering? I swore ten years of my life to those glorified thugs. I have to follow the law. To skew a mission to serve my own purpose is one thing. Breaking the laws for the sake of vengeance is another, a clear violation if there are any. Once more, I am struck by the limits of oaths on vampires whose vision of the world differs from¡­ Oh who am I kidding? The limits of oaths on morally ambiguous, backstabbing little pricks like Anatole. Truly, Constantine accomplished a miracle by creating laws both restrictive and specific, so that the manacles remain small yet inflexible. My mind is wandering. I find it hard to focus on any single topic, between my unpleasant circumstances, the anger in my heart and the sun above me. What if Anatole obtained the blessing of his hierarchy to ''let an accident happen, should fate choose this path'' or some other trite nonsense? What if this is a purge? No, I must focus. I am not some timid fledgling. These doubts serve no purpose. I will wait and I will find my way back, carefully. After that I will present my case. Yes, this is an acceptable plan. Now to ignore the moist soil pressing all over me. Since I do not suffocate, the sensation does not lead to panic and a reflexive intake of breath. I just worry that some slimy worm might crawl into my nose by accident. That would be dramatic. No, everything will be fine. I just have to wait. And wait. Slowly, late afternoon gives way to early evening, and then, night. I feel its coming and burst with impatience, yet once the last rays of the radiant bane disappear, I do not explode out of the earth like a rabid mole. I allow the spell to carry me to the surface and open my eyes as I lay on the ground. No aura. No strange smell. No suspicious light burning on the horizon. Only the normal scents of the forest grace my nose, though the stench of carrion is prevalent on account of poor Kurshu''s remains left to rot under the summer sun. After a few moments, and satisfied that nothing is actively tracking me, I emerge from the crumbling soil and sigh. I am, of course, filthy. With a heavy heart, I grab the body by my side and walk to find a path up. If Anatole made up some lie about the prisoner, it could work as proof. I would also like to bury him. He really tried his best in the pursuit of freedom, and it is a struggle I can sympathize with and deserves my respect. I can easily find my way back to the base under the brewery. I merely need to watch my step. Kurshu''s blood still sings in my core. He was¡­ very close to human. It makes me wonder how we can be so similar. I walk to the top of the incline, keeping my guard up, and stop to take in the new landscape before me. Entire parts of the forest have been torched. Some are still smouldering quietly under the nightly breeze while columns of men bearing torches patrol the valley. An elevation blocks my line of sight so that I cannot see the exact state of the invader camp, yet the sentries wear native, mundane clothes. It appears that our foes were successfully pushed back. I always knew that explosives were the solution. We just had to use a lot of it. I shake my head and accelerate. If the humans can so freely tread the plains, then it means that I only have the coming ordeal to fear. I retrace my steps back to the place where the shield stood and see signs of damage in the earth. It appears that our ''superiors'' ¡ª and I am employing the term reluctantly ¡ª brought tools to help with their attempt. Come to think of it, I remember that someone came to interrupt us, just before the last of the mages and my companions left. What did they say? I search my memory for the fugacious moment. What was it? Oh yes, something about evacuating and spreading out to limit the casualties. AFRAID. WEAK. I was right to ignore them. Now, to find them. I keep going. I reach the outskirts of the abandoned village to see that it is occupied by the mortal army. I have nothing to tell them and so weave between groups to go on my way. They appear to have buried and burned the dead. I keep my guard up just in case something happens. After the ceaseless crisis of the past three days, I can hardly believe that I walked a few miles without anything actively trying to kill me. The first excitement of the evening occurs just as I leave the camp and feel a familiar yet troubled aura rush towards me. I have never felt her so panicked. I flare my own in answer, and she swerves violently. A few moments later, Jimena is in sight. Then she slams into me, and picks me up under my armpits. Kurshu''s body falls to the side. Jimena is a picture of grief and terror. Her normally stoic face is twisted and barely recognizable. "It is you. Really you," she whispers. "Yes." I am pulled into a very, very tight embrace. Since Jimena is on the short side, I end up with my head above and behind her shoulders while she buries hers in my armored bosom. I pat her awkwardly, and she sniffs in a way that makes me feel sorry for being so dusty. When she finally puts me down, I understand. Two red trails drip down her cheeks. "I thought you were dead. I would have never ever ever forgiven myself. Ever. For sending you here." She smiles despite her tears and grabs my hand. She guides one of my fingers to her cheek and I pick up a single sanguine droplet. In my half a century of existence, I do not think that I had ever tasted vampire tears. The droplet lands on my tongue and fades away immediately. It only leaves behind a vague, salty taste. My heart gives a powerful thump and I lurch forward under the sudden onslaught of sensations. Worry clamps on my chest like glacial claws, soon followed by guilt. I left the one who trusted me alone. Then I grieved because I killed her, I caused her death. The emotions explode in me in a way that I have not felt since Nirari killed me. They are full-bodied emotions that touch my chest, throat, mind, and soul. I gasp as they take and carry me away. Joy and relief replace the negative feelings with a torrent of warmth and pleasure. I fall on a knee. "Strong stuff, huh?" Jimena sobs, "I still had to return the favor." It takes me a moment to understand her words, so moved and flustered I am. The foreign emotions linger and I feel flushed and alive. My heart is beating, and I have to breathe to feel whole. A distant part of me acknowledges that this is an illusion, a phantasm of a world lost forever. The rest of me cares not. I once gave her my tears back in the vampire fortress an eternity ago. The circle is now complete. It takes a little while for Jimena to finally release me. She sits heavily on a nearby stone and speaks in a low voice. She is still affected. "After Anatole told us that you two were separated after the explosion, I feared the worst. I fell into slumber against my will knowing that you had most likely perished. I ran here telling myself that I was looking for your ashes, but I was lying to myself. I held onto that last tiny spark of hope that you had survived¡­ and I was right. I imagine that you found a cavern of sorts?" "No, I use a spell to submerge myself in dirt." "Good, excellent. I forgot how resourceful you were." She looks up. "I brought you here thinking I could support you. Instead, I was ordered to pull out when we gave up on the wall. It was my fault to assume that the Order would allow personal feelings to matter. I failed you, Ariane." "No, you followed your oath, as I expected. More importantly, Anatole and I were not separated. He tried to kill me." Jimena''s mouth opens in utter surprise, then she stands up and rushes me yet again. "Are you¡­ but how? How?" I relay the events to her, including the detonation of the bomb and Kurshu''s death. Jimena''s answer is immediate and thunderous. "Oh that little¡­ He told us¡­ Oh the spineless, honorless bastard. I will see him die for this transgression. We must away! I cannot rest while he dishonors the uniform." I nod in understanding and pick up Kurshu''s body again. We move fast now, needled by her mounting anger. I do not think that I have seen Jimena truly furious before, but I do now. Her aura flares dangerously. We reach the secret base in record time, and find a group of Knights gathered before an armored carriage. They are loading supplies. Both Anatole and my team are there, as well as Marlan who supervises recruitment and training back at Cloud Haven, the fortress. We have come upon the junior group. I spare a glance at Jimena to ask her how we should proceed. I need not have bothered. She struts down the main path with the fury of all the women ever scorned. "Anatole, you stand accused of attempted murder on a fellow Knight. Yesterday, you waited until Squire Ariane was exhausted and pushed her off a cliff, breaking her body on the rocks below. You executed the prisoner Kurshu to avoid witnesses. You returned to us and claimed that you had not ''seen'' her and that you ''did not know where she went'', twisting the truth through technicalities and half-lies. You are a betrayer, a coward, and a disgrace. Marlan, please take this man into custody." I stand by her side in all my grimy glory. Phineas and Esmeray smile while team Aspen stands shocked, their gaze going from Jimena''s angry shape to a silent Anatole and back. Marlan turns to Anatole, voice cold and a look full of distrust. "Anatole?" "Squire Ariane is clearly out of sorts. I did not attempt to kill her." Technically the truth since he left me to die. I hate people like him. I could never say such a thing, because I would be betraying the spirit of the truth. "You created a situation where she would be helpless under the sun, you motherless cur. Your sophisms will not save you now." "Marlan, Jimena and Ariane have clearly been under a lot of stress these past few days, and they are known, shall we say, excitable persons. I do not doubt that they believe their own words, yet perhaps Ariane''s memories of the events are a bit skewed." "We are also known to be honorable and Ariane is a Devourer with captured Rosenthal essence. She has a better memory than all of us combined. Pah, why am I arguing with someone who was exiled from America for unethical behavior? Marlan?" The vampires have gathered around us now, their expressions cold but their auras uncertain. We form a circle with Jimena, Marlan and Anatole at the center. Curiously, I have been swallowed by the circle with Phineas and Esmeray standing by my side and definitely defensive. The other team shows circumspection, however. Their support is not as unquestioning as I would have assumed. In fact, the Vestal even shows signs of hostility. It occurs to me that Anatole might be a cunt, generally speaking. Not just with me. Marlan takes his time to reply. When he does, his tone is slow and careful. "Those are extremely grave accusations made against a Knight in good standing with an excellent track record in Europe. We will head back to base where the situation will be fully elucidated." "Good. I will fetch the manacles." "No manacles are necessary. Anatole is not under arrest." I would be outraged if I were not so surprised and afraid. Jimena''s aura is flaring spectacularly and what I see of her face looks consternated. "Marlan, he could decide to escape? Nevermind that, the protocol is clear. Someone accused of violation will be restrained, Manacles are too kind for him, he should be spiked and sealed in a sarcophagus!" "Calm down, Jimena, you are making a spectacle of yourself." This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. "Like hell I am! This is a murder and a betrayal, Marlan! Can you please take this seriously?" "You overreach. We will look into this troubling matter back at the fortress once emotions have had the time to settle down. Anatole is, as I mentioned, someone who is in very good standing and has proven himself repeatedly in Europe where our organization has been present for a long time. You bring very serious accusations and we will consider them carefully." "Marlan, Marlan Marlan, you are not listening. This is murder. Murder!" "I do not like your tone," the other man says as his eyes narrow. "I am merely ''asking'' you to follow the basic, Knight-recommended, standard protocol when dealing with someone suspected of a grave crime. If it were Ariane in this situation, she would already be in chains at the bottom of some carriage." "Yes, she would." Some Dvor Courtiers timidly emerge from the nearby building to see what the fuss is about. As for me, I do not dare speak. Fate stirs. "Anatole has, I repeat, a record of success as a member of our organization with the exception of the disputable American debacle. You will forgive me if I take the accusations of a Squire with a grudge with a certain amount of caution." "No, I will not forgive. Ariane has honor while Anatole was expelled for using the squad for his own purpose. I fought by her side many times and vouched for her. I am vouching for her now. Marlan, follow the damn protocol." "You have no right to demand, Jimena," Marlan spits back. "Since she arrived, your Squire has been a constant disruption, going against tradition every time she could. Giving her wild accusations consideration is already more than I feel is warranted." Jimena takes a deep breath. She feels ready to explode. "This is not your call to make. We are Knights. We have rules and a code and one of those is that the accused must be restrained. You are the Knight hierarchy here, Marlan. Your action now will show what we really stand for. Will you let your personal feelings get in the way of proper protocol or will you do your fucking job?" They are barely spitting in each other''s face. "You are out of line, Jimena. You will obey the orders of the hierarchy you claim to respect or I will have you disciplined." My sister takes a few steps back. Her expression is a glacial mask of distress and barely restrained anger. "Do not do this, Marlan. Do not betray what we all stand for." "I gave you a warning that you chose to disregard, Jimena. You will surrender your armor and enter the carriage where you will stay confined until we return to the fortress for judgement." "You are making a mistake." "Will you comply?" "You are making a big mistake." Marlan takes a step forward, then another back. Jimena has materialized her soul sword, Justice. It now hangs in her hand, blade aimed low. "I did not join the Knights because I wanted to police the world. I joined because the Order embodied the values I thought should rule our society. Integrity. Honor. Justice. It has been a rough ride, and yet I have always been proud to count myself one of your numbers. It has changed in the past thirty years." "Jimena, you are mad. Drop your weapon. Now." "You and a few others have allowed squad leaders to act according to their personal beliefs instead of according to the law. The moment you do so, you are no longer an impartial group fit to administer justice. You are merely one more piece on an overcrowded chessboard. So I am going to ask you one last time, Marlan. Shelve your prejudice and your arrogance, and follow the rules you enforce yourself, or we will reach a tipping point. There will be no going back from this. Do your fucking job, or I swear on everything I hold dear, that I will do it for you." We all take a step back and I consider drawing my blade, but we still stand on the edge and there is still a chance. Which Marlan immediately throws to the wolves. "I gave you a chance and still you defy me and the Order. I will teach you discipline one heart at a time if I have to, Jimena. I will give you one last chance to regain your sanity. This is not insubordination. This is treachery!" Oh, the fool. The fool! Jimena swore already. It is done. Over. My sister still has not moved, however, and Marlan does not dare act first. How did it come to this? "We all must decide what we stand for, Marlan. I saw a world of favors and nepotism. I saw a country destroyed by corruption and the banditry it led to. I saw the collapse of Society because men and women placed their own selfish interest above that of the common good. Because they committed crimes that hurt a hundred for the profit of one. I will not stand for it. True justice is impartial. There is only one path to peace and it follows this simple rule. Fiat Justitia, Ruat Caelum. Let Justice be done, though the heavens shall fall. The Knights have failed to uphold their own rules. I repudiate you. I declare you in failure of your oath. Marlan, you sacrificed justice for peace. You will get neither. "MAGNA. "ARQA." Jimena''s aura explodes. Its cataclysmic flare increases in power in mere instants. It doubles, triples. It keeps growing. We are all forced back under the incredible onslaught of unleashed power. The arrogant lord is pushed back and draws his own soul sword to face the world''s newest battle lady. Jimena''s eyes blaze purple. She points her sword at Marlan and speaks with a voice like an angry chorus. "YOU ARE JUDGED GUILTY." A link forms between the two just as Jimena''s blade twists, taking a serpentine shape. One moment they are away, the next, Jimena''s blade is embedded deep inside Marlan''s shoulder. Transparent wings spread from her shoulders. "Magna Arqa!" he gasps. His body disappears and reappears a few feet away, wound not so much closed as denied. Jimena does not care. She lays into him and smashes him against a nearby wall, scoring another wound. We are left behind. We are now spread across the factory''s front yard. The Dvor Courtiers have decided to make themselves scarce. Anatole is taking a few steps back. No one else has reacted yet. I feel shame at hesitating. Of course, I know what I must do. It is the most natural thing in the world. "I survived an attempt on my life by a fellow Knight, only for his superior to dismiss my claim. I declare the Order to be oath breakers. I renounce being a Knight and spit on their poor excuse for honor." I draw Rose and take a step forward. I will fight by my sister''s side against an army if I have to. I almost expect pain, yet the oath dissolves in my mind. I am no longer a Knight. They have failed me for the last damn time, I will never allow someone else that much power over me as long as I live. "I have witnessed Knights betray the spirit of their oath, and will not associate with betrayers. I renounce the Knights." Phineas winces in pain, yet he takes a resolute step forward. He pulls his thin sword from his sheath, waiting to see who will take sides. Esmeray also speaks. "Knights are no better than the others. I spit on their treachery and reclaim my freedom." Anatole manifests his sword and dagger and faces me. "Squad, we shall subdue the traitors!" There is no ovation. "Both sides are at fault and you most of all, Anatole. I withdraw myself from the conflict," his Vestal says. She leaves uninterrupted. The axe-wielder and the swordsman whose name I never bothered to learn take his side, but Mannfred does not. The progress-obsessed fighter picks his shield from his back and addresses his fallen leader. "Can you realistically swear an oath that you did not allow Ariane to die?" Anatole freezes, eyes calculating. Mannfred merely draws his own blade. "I have my answer. I declare the Knights in violation of their oath and renounce them until they render justice. I have spoken." "Traitor!" Anatole hisses. "Honorless murderer!" Mannfred roars back, now all pretense at politeness forgotten. The pendulum of destiny swings silently and we throw ourselves at each other. Mannfred faces the axe warrior in a careful dance that shows how familiar they are with each other. I rush Anatole. Fifty years ago, I was a small young thing and watched him and Suarez perform the dance of death. They had amazed me with their deadly precision. Since then, I have learned its steps too. Twenty years ago I may have struggled. I wound him on the third exchange, easily reading through his feint and catching him in the stomach. "You had to go too far." I point my gauntlet without looking and unleash a binding spell at the sword wielder''s back. I hear a snarl and a scream, abruptly cut. I parry his next attack, smash the dagger aside and rip part of his throat open in the same backswing. He glares. I smile. S§×arch* The NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Just like last time." I drive him back, scoring wounds on his legs by using my superior range. Anatole and I have never sparred, but I have faced many swordsmen before. He has never faced someone like me. "Nashoba was right, you are a false prince." I sever a foot and shove Rose in his shoulder. "All looks, no substance." He still fights when I pin him down on the ground, when I push his arms away. He only stops when my fangs latch on his ruined throat. Anatole tastes like mediocrity and a long-overdue debt. He falls to ash. Nashoba is avenged. The architect of my suffering is dead. I feel strange. I would have expected revenge to taste sweeter, yet this time Jimena unexpectedly stole the spotlight. She is still laying into a massively outclassed Marlan, who has only lasted so long because he periodically blinks away with one less wound. The fight on our side is over with the two masters disabled. We gather and watch Jimena finish the job. At some point, Marlan tries to escape. The light binding them shortens then, and Jimena delivers the coup de grace. Her sword skewers the man''s heart and the follow up sends his head flying. Soon, only ash remains. So. Yes. As the sounds of combat die down and Jimena''s power dwindles, I am assailed by the realization that we just killed two members of one of the most dangerous organizations in the world in cold blood. This might be¡­ suboptimal. "Did you really have to kill them?" Mannfred asks, nonplussed. To be fair, it did not even occur to me to leave Anatole alive. "He tried to kill me three times over a period of fifty years with minimum interactions in between. Why would I ever let him have another chance?" Mannfred nods grudgingly while Jimena stumbles back to me. She looks exhausted, much more so than any other lords I have seen deploying their Magna Arqa. I suspect that the first trigger might be special. That would explain why she merrily trounced an experienced warrior. "I may have been hasty," she finally declares as the reality of our action settles in her mind. Why yes, we could have followed the proper chain of command and simply complained to Octave, however we ran the risk of being discredited, have more attempts on our life or Anatole simply fleeing, which would have perhaps hurt his essence but not killed him. "It is done now. Where are Octave and the others?" "In Krakow proper, participating in a celebratory banquet. Experiencing the local flavor, so to speak." There are Dvor Courtiers gaping at us. I do not doubt that a messenger is already on its way. "We must run as fast as we can. The Knights will kill us without doubt for slaying one of their own. I will get the rest of my gear from my quarters. I suggest that you do the same." "I will not join," Esmeray says. "You are too human. I will return to what I trust." "Then good luck to you," I tell her with no resentment. She was here when it mattered. Her fate is her own. Esmeray nods and turns into a wolf. She is gone in moments while we rush in and recover whatever we can. I have one powder charge remaining. It might prove useful. My Dvergur armor is lost to me now. I will never recover it from the Cloud Haven Fortress. We reconvene at the entrance and I ask the others to follow me. "We are heading south west. Quickly." And we are off. Jimena clearly suffers from some mental exhaustion, yet she is still the fastest on account of her newly found power. I wish we could celebrate her ascension. We leave the city behind and ride into the wilderness at full speed. Once we are far enough away, I call Metis and Jimena calls her Nightmare. The proud creatures allow us another rider although I can tell Metis does not like it one bit. Fallow fields soon give way to more fields, then to lost villages and forested areas. We never slow down. I take a few moments of introspection to accept in my heart that we are most likely done for. We are days away from the nearest port. Soon, we will be pariahs in every court of the continent. The situation is disastrous. "I am sorry," Jimena says, eyes clouded, "I think I killed us all. Now they will try to make an example out of us." "You acted with conviction, Jimena. Sometimes, you have to accept bleak odds if it means reminding the other side that they cannot act with impunity. In a way, I feel better now than yesterday," I reply truthfully. "I forced your hand." "You did not. I could have let Anatole run." "I agree with Ariane. You only know if you are a person of principles when holding them proves inconvenient," Mannfred says. "Out of all the causes to die for, Justice is a worthy one," Phineas adds. Jimena takes a moment to digest our words, then she gives us one deep nod. "Thank you." After that, we no longer speak. The Nightmares are fast but the additional weight seems to tire them despite their immense strength. Mannfred finally decides to drop from Jimena''s saddle and run by her side. "Better for the two more dangerous fighters to keep their strength." Phineas soon mirrors him and we pick up speed again. This will exhaust their essence and make them thirsty, yet I do not object. We must create as much distance between the rest of the Knights and us as we can. The race continues for an hour or two. At first, I think that we have succeeded but I realize that I am mistaken when my instincts scream. I flash Rose and deflect a thrown knife coming right at Metis. A shape flickers in a nearby thicket. "What was that?" Phineas asks. "That was Laestra," Jimena groans, "the Shade expert." Ah yes, the trainer. They are already on our trail. Jimena takes out her blade and artfully deflects another knife. "She is trying to delay us. Keep going," I say. I know that Laestra has access to a lot of interesting tools. We are lucky that she had to come at us unprepared. I still almost scream when the light wind produces the slightest whistle in front of us and I cut a wire before Metis can hit it. I deflect another knife immediately after and destroy it. Laestra runs and hides at the edge of our field of vision. She is taunting us. Sometimes, I catch a dark, furious glint in her brown eyes. It comes with a sneer when I hear the first sounds of pursuit, a low drum of hooves on packed earth. We are hunted. "They will dismount and accelerate when they get close enough," Jimena says. "How can they be so fast?" Phineas moans. He is still running at full speed. "Nightmares go faster the more of them there are," I reply, remembering the charge at Black Harbor. We will not lose them. I feel the tug of fate. My intuition is pushed to overdrive since death hounds our steps, and I know we have a way to create distance. It is simple really, and has the added benefit of teasing Jimena. I keep my nose to the wind and lead us onto a road as soon as we come across one. "What are you doing?" Jimena hisses. "Finding us a diversion." She grunts in assent, then her expression turns to worry, then naked terror when she catches the scent I have been searching for. "Ariane, no." "Ariane yes." "It will not go well!" "It will go exactly the way you think it will." We rush into a sleepy village, finding large wooden barns near the main road. I dismount and grab a pair of lanterns from the local tavern''s front door. "What are we doing?" Phineas asks with terror. "You are running, and I will give you the opportunity to do so. Go. Now!" Jimena is the first to run away. I turn and see a great mass of Knights entering the road behind me. I do not hesitate and throw the lanterns at the feet of several of the barns, setting them ablaze. I launch my powder charge as well. Yes. This will be¡­ glorious! The group of Knights slows down. I see Octave, who looks unusually cold, Laestra, and the full squads. He brought everyone. They stop as I raise my hands to the sky. "Squire Ariane, you¡ª" "ENTROPY CANNOT BE STOPPED!" Everything happens at once. The powder charge explodes, sending burning planks and embers flinging through the air. Humans scream in terror, while behind me, a hundred terrified squeals of agony turn the village into a particularly heinous circle of hell. Incendiary swines crash through doors, walls, and people while the vampires try and fail to keep their mounts in control. A master is impacted by an inexplicably airborne specimen and is sent careening into his companions. Chaos spreads unfettered. I laugh maniacally and disappear into the darkness. Chapter 161 - 155. Breaking through I wake up in the dirt once again. Panic seizes my heart, then fatalism freezes it. The exhilaration of unleashing porcine devastation upon our pursuers has now faded. It has been replaced by a terrible sense of impending doom. The Knights are too good and too well motivated for us to escape, and they were on our heels up until an hour before dawn. I managed to hide myself and the others underground, but I know that it is only a temporary solution. With carriages at their disposal, the Knight can simply spread themselves out during the day and wait for us to come out at night, then they can overwhelm us. I shift once and feel the vast yet fragile weight of earth above me. The most tragic, the most ironic aspect of this morbid farce is that I could escape alone. I could change my appearance and use the earrings'' effect, my spells, and Metis'' alacrity to lose myself in some nearby town. It would take some luck to reach a port without valid travel documents, but it would be a possibility. I would die rather than leave my companions behind. Survival at any cost is not what I stand for when my allies must perish for it. I need to win despite all odds. Victory will not come through diplomacy, however. Octave may have been willing to talk but it would have been to take me into custody and I know where it would have led. Executing a fellow Knight for any reason is punishable by death. I also renounced the Order publically, and those are aggravating factors. No, I will not put myself at their tender mercy. I will not surrender myself to anyone ever again. And that is why I am doomed by my principles, just as Jimena doomed herself with hers. A sad end to my tale. As I am considering my fate, the earth vibrates above, resonating with a spell meant to unearth. So, this is it. I allow the spell to pick me up and place a hand above my heart. The other grasps a knife at my back, for all the good it will do me. I expect the bite of silvery steel in my flesh. Somehow, it does not come. Instead, the spell weakens and my head is pulled up. I am very close to the surface now, and I can feel something that could bode well or terribly. The absence of sunlight. I sit up and let packed soil crumble from my form. A few moments and my face is free of anything but grime. I expected restraints or some form of attack, and so I am immensely relieved when I only feel one mage aura and a few mundane mortals around me. Nobody in their right mind would send those to capture a vampire. I am inside of a tent, a thick one designed to protect our kind. I see a few worried faces on surrounding men wearing the white, embroidered shirts that I saw in the Dvor base. Most of them stand as far away from me as they can. One of them, the mage, whispers a few words before pointing at a corner of the tent. Most of the men leave except a scared mortal and the mage. The isolated corner contains an open barrel of fresh water and a simple desk with a white towel and a letter. I understand the message and clean myself summarily. The towel is brown and dirty when I am done with it. I frown at my own slovenliness before I can stop myself. Now is not the time. The letter it is. "Dear Ariane, I was quite surprised to learn that a fellow Knight made an attempt on your life considering that you are the artisan of our prompt victory. Thanks to your impressive device, the undead mages have retreated to their dead husk of a world, thus bringing a temporary end to the conflict. But I digress. Your exploits have garnered a lot of goodwill with the Dvor and all of Eneru. Although we are honor-bond not to interfere with Knight justice, some of us feel that our obligation towards you surpasses this rule and we have decided to, shall we say, facilitate your departure. Dvor servants have been tasked with recovering the sources of some curious auras Ismael followed yesterday. I hope that they will find you quickly as well despite your tendency to disappear from the sight of scrying spells. Once done, they are tasked with transporting you and your allies to a minor, hidden train station via secured sarcophagi, where you can travel wherever the line can take you. Please note that the train attendant must notify the authorities if your status as wanted criminals is found out. Please also note that they are not to stop the train. We will inconvenience the Knights, but little else. You are valiant, my dear, but your valor cannot undo centuries of alliance. I would do more if I could. Yours, Viktoriya. PS: destroy the letter." The missive goes off in a puff of blood magic. I turn to the mage and mortal just as the others return with an empty sarcophagus. "You are the last one," he says in German. "How did you find me?" "Disturbed earth, like a tomb. Same as the others." By the Watcher this could prove problematic in the future. I must refine the spell. I accept the offer of blood given by the mortal. Afterward, I lie in the sarcophagus. I feel myself transported outside for a minute, perhaps, during which the unfamiliar weight of the sun on my last bastion fills me with unease, but nothing happens. I am hoisted, stored, and carried away by vigorous horses. We stop a few hours later, in the late afternoon, and I feel more movement. Someone knocks politely on the lid as soon as we are put down. I open my senses again and hear the whistle of a locomotive. Only one vampire aura shines by my side besides that of my companions. I recognize it. Carefully, I slide the lid open and see a wide back covered in black fabric. The man is currently knocking on Jimena''s sarcophagus. We are inside a train car. "Crispin?" I ask, recognizing the master with whom we traveled through the Vosges and who bashed Gabrielites with his mace. The dour conductor turns and gives me an uncharacteristic smile. "Ariane of the Nirari. Ah, forgive my carelessness. I meant Squire Ariane. Welcome to my humble abode once more. I will be delighted to carry you to your destination, where I am sure you will conduct your Knight-related business." He waggles his brows suggestively. "Too much?" he asks. "I have no notion of what you might be referring to, good sir. We must indeed go south-west and our business is absolutely Knight-related, I assure you." "Splendid. We will be on our way. Oh, I have received a message related to Knight business but since it does not appear to be very important, I shall let you read it instead. You can tell me if you deem it worthy of my time." "Of course." The conductor smiles, obviously excited by the heavy-handed cloak and dagger. I let him strut away while Jimena emerges with difficulty from her protective case. Her fingers make the steel groan and she bares her teeth, checking the corners. "Jimena? Sister?" "I¡­" She blinks. "Are you alright?" I ask. "No, I do not think I am." Phineas and Mannfred come out as well, but they quickly read the mood and decide to retire to the male quarters to clean themselves up. We are left alone in the storage carriage, between crates and other pieces of equipment. "When I triggered my Magna Arqa, it felt so¡­ right. So much like me. I knew exactly who I was and what I stood for and there was no hesitation in my heart. And that power¡­ Ariane, I am not a battle maniac like Mannfred and yourself, yet I cannot deny the exaltation I felt when fighting a battle lord as an equal. Alas, I think that I killed us both with my recklessness. We would already have perished yesterday were it not for your presence of mind, and the Knights will never let us leave. They will drag us back to the fortress and make an example out of us for defying them. They are too strong and we have few tricks." "We are not dead yet." "Ariane," she says, staring into my soul, "you must run. Leave us behind. I know that you can escape alone." "I know you mean well, so I will forget this insult to my honor." "Ariane, I am serious." I raise a hand to forestall her objections. "I remember a time when I was a fugitive, and someone protected me and even swore a blood oath to be my sister, which she has followed until now." "..." "Jimena, you acted according to your belief and became a lady as a result. I think that if you had not¡­ it would have broken you. Your actions were meant to uphold justice. I knew when I met you that you had a spine and a bit of an unyielding sense of duty, and I desired to be your friend anyway. I did not think that it bore mention, but blood sisters do not desert blood sisters at the first difficulty." Jimena looks up and licks her lips with a nervousness that I had never seen before. "If I die, Aintza dies." "Then let us make sure that it does not happen. Together until the end?" "Yes. Together until the end." "Good. Now that this emotional moment has passed, let us withdraw to the women''s carriage. You look like a mudslide." I grab the fragile vampire and drag her to the nearest faucet. Words are cheap, and yet spelling out my decision lightened my worries. If they catch up, well, they catch up. Many of them have not yet seen what I can do with a gun, a sword, and a really bad temper. My influx of courage only lasts until we are cleaned and then settled down in the restaurant carriage. The train is empty, so empty in fact that I find no reason to justify its travel exactly at the desired moment exactly in the direction we are heading to unless someone made it happen. Someone with quite a bit of influence. I am starting to think that our new Dvor friends are more appreciative than I thought. Nevertheless, my nervousness is amplified by one stupid element, one that I had not anticipated. Hope. I verified with Crispin and we are set to arrive in Vienna two hours after midnight. We could stop before and cut across the fields to our destination. In any case, we will have more than enough time before dawn and it means that we could reach relative safety tonight. We could succeed. I expect that the presence of an unplanned train will be known to the Knights promptly, seeing as they have squads all over the place, yet it would mean that they are unable to deploy their full potential. "I was considering the future," Phineas said to the empty table. "Assuming that we survive, will you two return to the New World?" "As soon as we find a ship, yes," I assure him. "I do not suppose that you need an extra blade-wielding accountant?" "Of course I do, or more specifically, I have a fiery ally who complained for years about a dearth of competent right-hand men." "This sounds interesting." "As for you Mannfred, we always have needs for warriors with principles." "Do any of your cities host German speakers?" "Hmm for a rather generous definition of German, yes. I will see what I can do." "Excellent. I am sure that you have plenty of combat masters around." My thoughts go to Jarek, who is struck with ennui if he spends three days without a fight. "Indeed we do. You two qualify as exiles and I will vouch for you. Rest assured that American Knights will have to restrain themselves as long as you join the Accords." The others nod, and we return to silence. We know what happens if we get separated. Those who are left must run and try their best to survive. We also know how to fight, although we have three Vanguards and a middling Vestal. Furthermore, we have a lady. Not every squad can boast this sort of battle potential. "Do you think you can use your Magna Arqa again?" I whisper to Jimena. For a moment, I hesitate to mention it before Mannfred and Phineas before realizing how unfair of me this consideration is. Those two renounced the Knights in the name of justice like we did. They deserve to know our full capabilities, even if I am taking a risk. The only thing I will withhold is our destination, and only because reaching it would be pointless without my presence. "Yes, I think so. Unfortunately, it will be much less powerful than yesterday. The first activation was¡­ I had felt weakened for a long time, and now I finally felt that my essence was fully under my control again, with interest. It will take a long time before I can reproduce yesternight''s results. And there is something else." She takes a sheepish expression. "I have to believe that the target is guilty in order to use it." I would laugh if it were not so tragic. "A significant restriction," Mannfred comments, "yet you would not be a lady without it, and just your strength and speed will help us tremendously tonight." "I suppose." It appears that our champion of justice tolerates no compromise. I should have guessed it. With nothing else to discuss, I start meditating and the others soon join me. An hour passes with the mundane sounds of the carriage soothing my nerves. Another. Clocks tick without incident as we leave behind elite squads of the Knights, hopefully for good. Vampires can outpace a train, but only for so long before burning their entire reserves of vitality. As time goes by, I allow myself to relax ever so slightly. For a while, nothing happens. Unfortunately, our respite comes to an end when Crispin enters the carriage and bows to us. "Ahem, dear Knights, I was notified that our train will be stopped in Vienna for safety reasons, though I could not imagine why. With that said, we will be compelled to pause fifty kilometers north of the city for resupply, if you wish to use this opportunity to make other travel arrangements. That is all. Please enjoy the rest of your trip." Crispin is too giddy. He does not appreciate the gravity of the situation. I do not let it ruin my esteem of the brave man, however, since maintaining himself woefully ignorant of the situation will later allow him to claim ignorance when confronted. He is helping us in his own way, and I can hardly begrudge him his moment. "Thank you, Crispin. I heard that the Austrian countryside is lovely at this time of the year." "Assuredly! And with this, I bid you adieu. And, good luck!" We watch the man depart and prepare in silence. There is not much to do. We left with practically nothing and the train does not have any sort of military supplies. Finally, it stops and we exit cautiously. No one awaits us on the barebones platform. Only a sleepy hamlet lies in the distance and around us, rolling hills spread in every direction. We immediately disappear into a nearby thicket, then call upon our Nightmares. While Metis is displeased with the presence of another rider, she must have sensed my anxiety and merely whinnies in protestation. We are slower as a result of the unorthodox arrangement. We head east this time, and I must resort to a basic spell not to get lost. We still make good time and my hope increases until I feel it. It starts as a susurrus, barely more than wind through leaves, then it increases with every passing minute. Something whispers under the boughs, snakes along the roots. Something is spying on us. It may have lost us in the carriage, but now it has found us again. "We are being tracked," Phineas tells us. Clearly, his perception has improved. I consider several spells but whatever it is must have persisted through the night and I fear that its power is beyond me. I remain a second-rate caster, and whatever the Knights are using, I suspect that it may be a powerful artefact. Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings. Despite our best efforts, the whispers grow louder. Soon, I hear distinct words of excitement, eagerly speaking to¡­ someone else. They report the prey, us, and where we flee. They urge pursuers onward with promises of violence. Of blood. It maddens me because my best efforts could not slay it anymore than I could slay a musical note. We are pursued by echoes. "Can we get any faster?" Phineas asks from behind me. "I''m afraid not." "Then perhaps we should continue on foot." He is correct. We jump from our tired mounts and run instead, gaining speed at the cost of stamina. Our feet allow us to scale ridges and cut through the difficult terrain. We soon reach a slightly higher elevation, barely more than a hill, and I feel a gaze on the nape of my neck. I turn and I see them. The Knights have come. Octave is here, as well as Laestra and another lady I do not know. The last one holds a battle standard adorned with bloodhounds in russet colors. She is a tall, sharp woman with curly dark hair flowing freely to her shoulders. Our eyes meet and she smiles, baring fangs. A squad of masters follow them at a short distance. They all ride Nightmares. Octave blows a mighty horn and they are off and after us. Nightmares are slower than running vampires. I know this for a fact. Somehow, I turn again at another summit and they are closer. The wind''s whispers grow frantic, eager. My gaze catches on the hound flag. It writhes in the darkness. And then, as the lady brandishes it, it topples. Something pulverized the entire midsection. I did not see what. The unexpected attack throws the Knights in disarray. I am not sure what or who interrupted them, and I am not eager to ask. Our flight continues. So do the whispers. We rush over empty valleys and light forests, never stopping, never slowing down. I have never felt more liberated and scared at the same time. When we crest another incline, I look behind to see that we have made some distance between us and our pursuers. I meet Octave''s gaze just as he dismounts. Ah, so this will soon be the end of the line. We are really close now. So close that I can see the low mountains in the distance. Even the smell of sap and fresh water are just right, but I fear that our window of opportunity just vanished. As we pass by a small brook, I take out Rose to intercept a thrown knife. "By the Eye," Phineas says, "Laestra is already here." "To our left," I reply, "now keep running." We sprint, every smidgen of energy dedicated to keeping us moving. I am not sure why Laestra is the first to engage. I suspect that the two other lords are simply not in a hurry. Glints of silvery steel and angry glares flicker from behind thickets, the only hints I receive before three inches of enchanted blade follow. By some miracle I manage to deflect all of them. "You are merely delaying the inevitable, you know?" I hear her say lightly from the shadows. "It can only end one way." The pressure of powerful auras increases on us. I feel the gaze of the lords on my back when we cross a field, but then there is another explosion and I hear the unknown woman swear. "Are you doing anything?" Mannfred asks. "No, are you?" He shakes his head. Someone is helping us. A pleasant surprise. We are over fallow fields now, in open terrain. A village appears in the distance. Just a little bit more. "Ariane, I should¡­" "Just to the village!" I scream at Phineas as he falters. He grits his teeth and accelerates one last time. He will not last much longer. We pass some sort of boundary. I feel the invisible barrier, but I do not believe that anyone else has noticed. The sensation is too subtle. They do not have the proper essence. "It will have to do," I tell the others. We stop and turn. Behind us, the three hostile lords slow down. Octave remains in the middle, with his close-cropped hair and heroically handsome face. He appears¡­ weary. Laestra the Shade looks furious while the last one, the unknown woman, merely shows eagerness. She smiles and bares fangs when I inspect her. Their auras smother ours despite my best efforts to flare my own. Those are three old and powerful fighters, while we have three Masters and a newborn lady. The odds are not against us. They do not exist. Victory is impossible. But just as Loth and Dalton taught me a long time ago, if all pieces are against you, flip the table. We just need to buy some time. "So, this is it. I will admit that I am quite disappointed by your decision. At the same time, I understand it," Octave says. "What?" Jimena mutters. "You, Jimena, the unyielding one, the honorable dunce, have acted exactly how I should have predicted. Once again, you have forgotten to keep a cold mind in service of your ideals. Instead, you acted on your anger and brought this not just upon yourselves, but on three others as well. You could have come to me and I would have reigned Marlan in. You could have gone to Laestra or waited until we returned to the fortress. You could have bent to better strike back. You did not. And now, here we are, with two officers murdered and our reputation in tatters. How the Dvor must laugh now, they who always doubted our professionalism. How your actions have proven them right." Jimena had arched her back, but that last jab woke something in her and she stands with dignity. "I am more flexible than you think, Octave. I can adapt to plans, hide and retreat. I know how to manipulate and mislay, contrary to what you seem to believe. There is, however, one place where I will suffer no compromise, and it is corruption and deceit within our own ranks. Instead of blaming me, perhaps you should consider your own leadership. Marlan signed his death warrant the moment he let nepotism affect his judgement." "Perhaps I share a part of the blame for creating the situation that led you to a murder, which you decided to commit on your own, knowingly, against our rules. You broke us last night Jimena. Now, you must pay with your life. You have left us with no choice. There is, however, the matter of your accomplices." He turns to me. "You could have disabled Anatole instead of killing him." "I see no point in giving a man who tried to kill me twice a third chance," I retort. "Our rules are clear. He would have died for his crimes." "According to said rules he should have been taken into custody the moment I accused him of murder, yet he was not. You will have to forgive me for not trusting the Order anymore." "You do not have to trust the organization but I hoped you would have trusted me." "You were not there. Marlan was," I reply. "Yes. And I will regret it to my last day, I think. You executed a fellow Knight. I would have averted my gaze if you had merely disabled him. I cannot since you killed him yourself. For what it is worth, I accept that a Devourer could not let such an offence pass. Although, my feelings on the matter are of no consequence." Masters appear from behind him, the same who were pursuing us. A full squad. Possibly from Vienna. They stop at a respectable distance. "Can we get to the killing part already?" the unknown lady says. "Quiet, Hilde. This is personal. Ariane, I will fight you myself when we are done here. As for you two, Mannfred, Phineas, you have technically abetted traitors. Considering the circumstances, I would accept your surrender and inflict a light punishment, following which you will simply be expelled from our ranks. A generous offer, I believe." Phineas bows elegantly, tipping an imaginary hat with a flourish. "A generous offer indeed, my lord. Unfortunately, you cannot expel me from an organization I already repudiated. I may have more affinity for accounting than for combat, but when it comes to honor, you will not find me wanting. I refuse." The valorous fool. "Mannfred," I warn, but he shakes his head. "I pursue excellence in combat not just as an end but also as a tool. You are in the wrong and you know it, Blade Master. Hiding behind rules only shows that you are more interested in saving face than in dealing justice. In life and death, I remain true to myself and my companions. I refuse." Silence descends upon the flat land. We have been flaring auras for a minute or two now. I do not think that it will suffice. "Unfortunate. I understand and accept your decision. I can only offer you a warrior''s death." The Masters step back and form a half-circle behind the three old ones. I face Octave. Phineas joins Jimena against the third lady, Hilde, after a last nod at Mannfred who is now alone against Laestra. We draw. We salute. Octave lifts his fist and a long shape forms within. His soul weapon is a simple, unadorned sword with no markings, the most basic blade I have seen. It lets off an incredible pressure and I feel cold metal against my throat just looking at it. He points it at me. "Magna Arqa." Everyone but Octave and I fade away. I find myself in a ghostly colosseum with shimmering blue walls. I can still see the others through the phantomatic apparition, though they look transparent and sounds reach me as if through water. Hilde and Jimena cross the surface like two wraiths. "There," Octave says, arms extended, "a fair battle. You and me with our weapons in a fight to the death. No cheap tricks. No outside intervention. Just what I have always wanted." "You are a lord," I remark, "not exactly fair, is it?" "Not entirely, no," he admits with a bitter smile. "I wish I could have trained you longer. We still had much to learn from each other. I am sorry, Ariane, but the time has come." I breathe deeply and let go of my worries. I shift my right foot in the illusory sand. I forget about my plans and my hopes and the others. I shed all of my concerns. I abandon my future. There is only the present. Only the killer facing me and the edge of his blade. We jump at each other. I slap his sword aside, or try to. The weapon is deceptively heavy and quite sharp too. A quick exchange, and we lock blades. I aim a few blood bolts at his leg. I disengage. I do not draw the Big Iron yet. I only have five bullets left from our previous battles. He charges again. I counter with a thrust, a series of lashes which he parries but then I feel more than see his stance shift and hit with all my strength. I push him back for an instant and create some distance again. Another assault results in a series of quick exchanges, following which I sidestep a thrust and back off. "You know, it does not suit you to be so defensive," Octave says. He takes a step forward and holds his sword in a strange horizontal stance I have not seen before. He blinks once and breathes. My instincts scream at me. I throw myself back, vambraces aimed front and still feel an invisible slash dig through the armor into the flesh of my arms. I twist on myself to avoid the following bull rush, yet he still manages to punt me against the colosseum wall. The shimmering surface stops me. I somehow turn mid-air and kick it, meeting the follow-up head-on. "Bind." Four chains erupt from my left arm. He steps back and cuts them down as they approach. I shoot him as his blade aims for the last one. Octave offers his side and blocks the first bullet with his armguard. The last chain latches on his arm. I pull and destabilize him just enough for the next bullet to lodge itself in his flank. There is very little blood. Octave''s armor could slow down a soul blade. I should be flattered that he bleeds at all. I attack. I use the ''mirage'' spell, the one that deceives with a false strike, to drive him back. Strike strike strike, and strike again. I try every trick I know to break his rhythm, to overwhelm his defenses. He takes a few steps back and fights conservatively. His movements are economical, measured. He never wastes a single motion. I hate it. I hate that my efforts make no difference in this fight. He simply waits me out. Octave weaves back and finally catches my blade as I attempt to rake his flank. I half-jump and half stumble to the side, hand on the cross of my gun knowing that it will not be enough, yet he does not strike me. He takes no risk. He has no need to. Blade to the side, he only has to use this opening to do that strange strike projection technique. I listen to my instincts. Left. Right. Right. I throw myself down and feel a few blonde hairs being cut off. I crash heavily, try to right myself and stumble. I gasp in pain. My gauntlet and gun are on the ground, to the side. Bastard took off my left arm at the elbow. HURTS. I stand anyway. I close the distance. He takes his time to dismantle my defenses. I am caught in the right thigh. I can barely move. "Sorry Ariane. My hands are tied." No they are not, you asshole. And you still have both. I wait for death, but the unexpected happens. Hilde''s ethereal form is thrown through the arena with something lodged in her gut. I recognize it. It is a massive arrow. Octave''s Magna Arqa fades and he turns to face a new threat. I use the opportunity to take a look around. Mannfred is wounded but he still faces a frustrated Laestra. Broken knives lay at his feet. She holds a curiously curved shortsword in her hand. On the other side, Jimena and Phineas have fought Hilde to a standstill, with the Lancaster only showing superficial wounds. As expected, Svyatoslav emerges from the forest at our side. He holds a bow as tall as himself as well as a curious, silvery glove. A barrel is strapped to his back. "You should not have shown yourselves, Slava," Octave greets, "I was willing to disregard a few arrows, but now you have appeared to face me." "I will not let you kill the only sister I have left, Octave. I will stop you." "I know that you will try. You lot, move in. Magna Arqa." The pair disappears just as my only sane brother flicks his wrist and three short arrows are suddenly nocked in his bow. They are wraiths to me, but the incoming squad is not. I clench my jaws to fight off the pain. Three of them engage me while the other two split up on the two other ''duels''. I try to join Maffred to fight back to back but they manage to box me in before I can recover enough. I let a powerful axe blow slide against Rose and dive under a spear thrust. The bleeding flesh of my arm hits the ground and I hiss in agony. Not healing fast enough. No time to stop. I parry a sword attack and strike back. The axe wielder focuses on defense. I cannot overwhelm him. I am too tired. For almost a minute, we fight a losing battle and I only manage to escape death by the skin of my teeth. I cannot even use spells anymore. My combat turns into a two on one fight where I must constantly maneuver to prevent the third warrior from reaching me. I am left with no opportunity to disable an opponent. Mannfred breaks first. Laestra plants her blade in his shield arm and pulls. Black blood rains on the ground. It falls to his side, useless. In one smooth motion, she forces him to drop his sword. The three Knights pull back and leave me a moment to see my friend''s death. Laestra seizes him by the throat and places her blade against his heart. "Any last words?" she asks clearly in the moment of calm. I can do nothing but watch. "Of course," he replies. Mannfred flicks his right wrist. A tiny revolver pops out from the sleeve. The one I made for him. He blows Laestra''s brains out. The Shade trainer falls like a log. "Try again." The Master helping Laestra jumps in shock, then moves to protect her body. He needn''t have bothered. Suddenly, Svyatoslav''s unmoving form reappears at a distance, covered in wounds. Suddenly, Octave''s blade is lodged in Mannfred''s chest. The valiant warrior spares a glance at the soul weapon of earth''s foremost duellist and smiles. "Heh. Not bad." S§×ar?h the Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The blade goes up, through his heart. Octave pulls and slices, decapitating him. Mannfred is ash before he can hit the ground. Octave salutes the body, and turns to me. And freezes. I can hear and feel it. The hooves of a massive Nightmare. An aura like no other. I turn as he approaches. I must look terrible, with the blood and the missing arm. I know that I brought death to his door. I know that his status as a soul smith may not protect him this time. I know that he loves me. "I am sorry," I whisper. Torran does not reply. He raises a hand and I feel its weight settle on top of me. He is¡­ patting my head? Pat pat pat. Three times. I am speechless. The grey-haired and grey-eyed lord looks at me tenderly, then his gaze travels up to the intruders. His expression morphs to one of pure rage. He roars. A massive titan of steel and stone takes one step forward and his colossal sword catches the three masters harassing me at the same time. Their broken bodies are sent tumbling on the field. One of them dies on the spot. The earth rises. Roots crawl up only to turn ethereal. Now he and Octave are locked in battle. "Are you sure you have time to watch?" an amused voice whispers. I turn and block an attack from a vicious, barbed polearm. Hilde has left her second to finish off a flagging Jimena. She is defending the body of Phineas. He lost his heart. Jimena did not manage to trigger her power, it seems. She is struggling. The strength of the attack sends me careening through the air. I crash through the wall of a warehouse, now much closer than at the beginning of the fight. We have been pushed back to the edge of the village. I sit up and spit straw. It smells of beast and ripe wheat in here. Hilde follows me in. The whispers that pursued us grow louder. They speak of my gruesome, imminent death. The raw bloodthirst I feel all around me leaves me tracked, trapped. Surrounded. Suddenly, it stops. "Not much fun that way. If only the old man had decided not to come, then it would have been a match. Laestra would have been more careful too. Ah, how should I kill you?" Hilde says. By shutting up to start with. She is still smiling. Her eyes are very dark and her wild curly hair flutters in an invisible wind. "You know, I admit to being impressed. You have a Lancaster, had a Roland. Another Devourer showed up. You were helped by Dvor and even now another dies to protect you. Quite the collection of followers! You must give some fantastic fellatios." "Not that. The others and I, we found ourselves to be of kindred heart," I reply as I try to regain some strength. I feel myself giving ground. So tired. "Kindred of heart?" she asks, amused. "Yes. Integrity, self-improvement, a love for creativity and what makes life worth living. Letting others live and find their happiness. Those are some of the values we align on, not just for vampires but for others as well. It does not matter that Nami likes risk and sex and Torran loves organ music, we all found ourselves through the passion and respect we share towards worthy pursuits." Hilde stabs half-heartedly with her halberd. It takes all my remaining strength to block most of those attacks, and the last jab still hits my shoulder. "How very cute. I wonder if sex and organs can save your lives now?" she mocks. "You know, I think that is what conquest means to me. Not destruction and domination, but building something together with the people I respect, against all odds. It means to gather the tools to change the world instead of letting it change us. To build the homes and domains where we can be ourselves and where we can be safe. I will not reave the world searching for a promised land. I will build it myself." Another backhand blow slams me against the far wall. I use it to stay upright. "You are into some niche shit, my dear. Very niche. I believe that some would call you pathetic and without ambition, while others would call you simple." "I do not need their approval. Quality is better than quantity for friendships." I dive under an arching strike and roll over a row of crates just before she reduces them to splinters. "I really enjoy listening to people''s dreams before they die. It always amuses me to realize how many projects collapse because their architects bite the dust. The world is filled with ideas that withered and died because I killed the ones having them. It feels like pruning a tree of all its weak branches. Yours is the latest twig added to my collection. I am sorry to say that your little kingdom of happy philanthropists will fail because you simply did not have the strength to make it real." "I agree, Hilde. Power will give me the tools I need to accomplish my goal. Thank you for the chat. And goodbye." My vision turns purple. Roots as large as trees explode from all corners of the building, shredding everything like paper. The warehouse tilts into an abyss that was not there an instant before. "Magna Arqa." And the world collapses. Chapter 162 - 156. Daughter of Thorn and Hunger In the interstitial gap between a moment and the other, in the cracks between two atoms, enough substance exists for the transcendental to crawl through. That is, provided that someone foolish showed it the way. What is space, what is time to one that exists before it? For some reason, the entity has chosen the image of a young man in a tan suit. He sits on¡­ nothing really, just a crenelation in the infinite vastness of a dot. His features remind me of my brother and father, like a long-lost sibling even though I have never met him. Except the eyes of course. Those are the eyes I know, slitted and purple. "Why am I here?" Awake. No voice graces my illusory ears. The entity has no time to waste on converting concepts into sounds. "You mean ladyship? Is that what awake is?" Term... suitable. Adopted meaningful core value. Essence now free of form. Awake. I understand what it means on a fundamental level. The last step on the path to ladyship requires me to interpret what my bloodline means to me. Now that I know with unwavering certainty, I am no longer limited to the constraints of my body. Essence is malleable, after all. Nevertheless, it does not explain why I am here, wherever here is. I think that a part of me was left behind. I feel no particular emotion now, while I do¡­ outside. "Was there something you wanted to ask?" No. You fulfill your purpose. This moment is for you. "So it really is you. The Watcher." Fragment of a fragment of a shadow. "I thought that much. I always wondered how an entity so large could care about something so small as us." Humans do not know what the cells in their bodies do. Still relevant. "Is the Watcher not a nascent universe, and therefore impossibly vast?" Universe unfathomably vast. Mostly. Empty. Mature concepts are valuable. "I fail to understand how it can be of importance." Cannot explain. You cannot conceptualize. Hurts your mind. "My mind is too addled to follow your reasoning, huh?" Not addled. At scale. As it should be. I give you a glimpse. Suddenly, my consciousness¡­ melts. I find myself carried away across fields of alien logic that I cannot word, along streams of concepts I cannot grasp. I am limited to an infinitely small window into the workings of the Watcher, as if peering through a needle''s eye, and yet what I see defies understanding at a level that I would be frankly unable to explain. I do not have a suitable vocabulary in the same way that a savage who has lived all their life on a deserted tropical island cannot comprehend an aurora borealis. The vision fades away after a few non-seconds. What I saw disappears from my mind as if it were a sieve, for my own sanity I suppose. The only thing left is a vague awareness of something greater. The strange apparition smiles. Ask. "What happens to me when I die?" Rejoin. Understand. "Will I lose myself? Will I stop being me?" Change. Always. Scary. It annoys me how it can read my emotions directly. Oh well. "What is really a Magna Arqa then? Are you, or the Watcher in its entirety coming through or something?" No. Essence freed. Made manifest through concept. You will feel. You will understand. "I see. One last question then I will head back. I have people to save and people to kill. Are you aware that the first vampire you made may lead to the destruction of our kind?" I am the Watcher. I get a feeling of general distance. The Watcher is interested in us but not interested in acting. No matter the outcome, it will have gained something. Destruction is also valued. Not all concepts are peaceful. Not all concepts are harmless. Our window closes. Go and be yourself. I watch over you. Until the end. Always. I open my eyes and pure, incandescent power roars through my veins. "Magna Arqa." The world is essence and it is perfect. Every sliver of worm-eaten wood, every rusty nail, every corroded tool sits exactly where it was intended. The whole of creation exists in a sublime state around my expanding perception, in this glorious moment where I finally, finally understand my soul. I allow it to naturally form a sphere around me where the rules of physics are mere suggestions, and I luxuriate in an incredible feeling of liberation. I have spent months, years, being hampered and limited, my aura buckling like an unruly colt while still forming the core of my being. I understand now that it was merely trying to bloom, to become what I am deep inside. All that energy I lost sleeping earlier and drinking more was only stored and saved for this exact moment when I had to break the shell. For now. And it has. And it is glorious beyond compare. A yoke has been removed from my shoulder. The shackles are broken. I am free. I. Am. COMPLETE. The sphere is mine, it belongs to me. The thorny roots of my mental palace manifest here as easily as they do in my psyche as the frontier blurs and the delicious light of the Watcher''s gaze shine upon my world. The warehouse falls in the abyss, for what is height in my realm? It crashes against thickets of massive brambles, its debris spreading over volcanic sand. The roots coil and lash at my command because they are a part of me, and they are me, and I am, right now, without limit. Only one little thing holds me back, and it left droplets of blood when it landed. I can taste the barest hint of Erenwald. I will devour her. A suitable first snack. "By the Eye, how can a lout like you have a domain type? Impossible!" There she is. Scurrying like a rodent. I direct my defenses at her and she barely manages to outpace them. The tendrils are so fast because they are barely slower than the speed of my mind. Even she struggles when they lash at her, corner her, box her in. We are in my playground. I know where everything is to the last atom. There will be no running away. "LITTLE MOUSE FLEES." "You bitch. Magna Arqa!" The same wind, the same killing intent, but this time I can smell it in the air, this insidious little cloud of wraiths. This time, I have the tools. There is nothing in this world the roots cannot shred given time. Wind splits between the black spines with a wintery shriek. The whispers grow panicked. They hurt. She hurts. She screams. "You freak!" "YOU SOUND SCRUMPTIOUS." "Shit!" The little pitter-patter of foreign feet, so nice and rhythmical. The Roots rise like a tide to crash down and form a dome. She fights back with her polearm. She destroys a root. I reform it immediately. My energy is infinite for now. Rose passes through a barrage unimpeded. I taste essence. More screams. The roots part like a curtain in a small arena. We are in a tube that goes from obsidian sand to the infinite height of the Watcher. I can do arenas too. Mine stings more. "I''m going to kill you, you upstart bi¡ª" "CHATTERBOX." Rose smashes into her guard once, twice, I move around and under her strike and kick her, sending her stumbling. Cannot claw. Still missing an arm. That will not do. Essence flows and calls flesh because flesh follows it. I have an arm again. The claws find the woman''s face and draw three deep furrows on her sneer. She pushes me away and I stab her in the arm as we disengage. Roots slither around her ankles and she is forced to slam her halberd down. I rake her leg using the opening. She is hampered by the size of her weapon. No. I am faster than her. "HSSSS!" We lock blades and I ram her into a nearby wall, which twists as I designed. She screams when the thorns shred her back through her armor. The spines are so very destructive. Her enchanted armor disintegrates under the onslaught. She tries to claw me. I grab her wrist and shatter it, then I slam her into the ground. "No, not like this!" Oh, she struggles pleasantly, yet all her efforts are in vain. I outclass her in every respect. This was not a duel. It was not even a test of my limits, no. This was merely a punishment. I do not commit her mistake and indulge in silly games. The lover is in peril. I have no time to lose. Hilde tastes of cruel hunts and shallow pleasures. Her essence bolsters mine, although I can barely feel a difference. I leave the ash behind and walk through parting layers of thorns and to the limit of my domain, except, that is not quite correct. The domain moves around me. Branches form a tunnel to the clearing where we held our desperate battle. I vaguely remember that we fell a hundred feet down. It seems that my Magna Arqa considers this a pointless detail. I rush forward and feel an exhausted Jimena at the edge of my perception, still covering Phineas'' prostrate form and now Svyatoslav''s too, though my brother is recovering. The enemy masters have left and apparently taken Laestra with them. Only Octave remains of our foes. Manffred''s ashes lay where he fell with his precious gun discarded in the dust. Sand replaces grass where I walk. I refrain from growing trees to allow me a better sight of the arena where Torran and Octave still duel. I search with a fearful heart for their phantomatic shapes and find them without difficulty. Torran is now the size of three men. Octave runs on one of his immaterial walls to avoid a strike, in vain. The soul blade extends at the last moment and still catches him in an armored greave. The Knight successfully bounces down on the ground and back up before awakened stones can pelt him to mush. Right into Torran''s stone covered fist. The avatar roars and the Knight''s domain trembles. I am so strong now, so whole. I will help the lover. He is worth it. Domain against domain, old one. Let us see if yours is as resilient as you believe. I trot to the middle of the arena and ignore the wraiths caught in their deadly dance. I can taste a presence in the air. Octave''s essence removes him from the world to live his passion as a duelist. He exists completely elsewhere while I exist in between. We overlap. I smile and allow the roots to tear through the earth. They latch onto the phantasmagoric walls languishly. They take their time. Soon, an entire half of the ghost colosseum is covered in a cocoon of spindly death. They latch on. They bleed through. The colosseum becomes solid under our unwavering will. Octave''s ghost gasps and wavers. Our eyes meet, a gaze separated by a different space. I cannot help it. I smile and snap my fingers. The thorns shift on themselves like cobras. They rip the construct to ethereal shreds. Octave and Torran''s colossus appear before me. Octave is absolutely shocked. I LOVE it. "ROUND TWO." Torran strikes downward, I strike laterally. Octave is forced to block both and loses his balance but he manages to push himself off the debris before we capitalize on it. Slippery slippery. Torran and I coordinate without a word. Octave is now fully on the defensive and we harry him back. I manage to score a few strikes on his formidable armor, denting it. Three domains now compete with each other and I can barely form a few walls of thorn, but then there is a lull in the battle. Torran''s avatar form walks by my side and places an oversized hand on my shoulder. There is a rumble and an invitation felt rather than heard. He is opening himself to me and I, in return, open myself to him. There is no hesitation. There never was any doubt. The sand and stones shift from my control to his while the trees and roots are fully mine. Our combined domains subsume the last spectral walls. We are so unthinkably powerful that we could give even my sire pause. Octave realizes it immediately. He picks a vial from a chest harness and downs it. His flagging aura rekindles. We face each other across the fields. The colosseum reforms behind him and prevents my roots from piercing the earth, but it breaks halfway under the power of our combined strength. "I wish it had not come to this," he remarks. "So does Mannfred," I retort, and then with a lick of my lips, "and so does Hilde." Octave hisses in fury, showing anger for the first time. He charges us and we charge back. Gone is his restraint and his patient combat style. He is now a tornado of perfect, vicious strikes. And so are we. Thorns cling to every step he takes while rocks smash in his chin, disturbing his perfect balance. It will take more than that to pierce through his amazing armor, and this is where we come in. Torran takes the lead, an unyielding, unstoppable titan of war. He has shed half of his armor to increase his speed. His style is as straightforward as I remember. Torran advances and overwhelms, only stopping to strike harder on the next step. As for me, I let my lover take the brunt of the assault and slide in and around, sending vicious thrusts and wild, sweeping strikes at the beleaguered Knight. Our dance is, without a doubt, the deadliest on earth tonight. Purple light shines down upon us while our concepts battle for supremacy. Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. A part of me revels in this fight to the death where two mistakes in a row spell death, a waltz on the edge of the razor. Thousands of hours of battle experience together with skill and grueling training all led to this very moment. I slice twice with Rose, both attacks blocked, then lean back to avoid a counter and rake his armor at the knee because I knew that a stone would slightly displace it from his position on a level I cannot quite explain. Torran makes full use of the opening to attack the chest and forces Octave to block awkwardly. He is now on the backfoot. Another part of me marvels at my new physical abilities. Octave''s Magna Arqa enhances him when he is outmatched and I still manage to keep up. I rush through the air. I deflect blows that would have sent me reeling. Is this how it feels to be at the top? The sensory ecstasy of fighting a monster to a standstill? Of winning? The rarefied heights of the world hold such intoxicating scents and I dive into this fight with the pure, unadulterated joy of being alive despite someone''s best efforts. We breach through Octave''s armor in the next exchange. Torran''s massive blade cleaves into his chest on the right side and I use the opening to stab him under the left shoulder. He tastes like frail perfection. The roots smell the blood in the air and grow ever faster to box Octave in. I direct the closest one, but others act without prompt or perhaps I direct them subconsciously. Octave blurs. In a series of blinding movements, he pushes me off and lunges at Torran, somehow weaving between several strikes. His sword pierces through the stone-covered chest at heart level. Torran backhands him and sends the hostile lord tumbling. I almost stop there. HILARIOUS. Of course, Torran''s real body would not perfectly align, was it not obvious? The Knight falls back and tries to attack me instead, but we know each other so well by this stage. I can get into his rhythm and delay, escape, deflect. Meanwhile, it is unwise to neglect Torran. The furious Dvor takes a few step backs, then charges forward like an avalanche, complete with flowing rocks. Octave is forced to jump to the side. Meanwhile, I have found something of interest on the ground. My discarded gauntlet. I pick it up and fasten it in mere moments. It appears undamaged, somehow, and the glyphs light up in my mind. Octave sees me and I spare him yet another smile. He jumps away, outside of the limit of Torran''s land. He surveys the devastation. "All of this death¡­" he whispers in a broken voice. Suddenly, a third vampire joins Torran and I. "You let it happen," Jimena answers with bone-deep weariness. "You sacrificed your honor for the sake of your reputation. And you will lose both." She lifts her sword. "I judge you guilty." Octave hisses. Bloody trails drip down his smooth cheeks. He touches a glyph on his mighty armor and his form blurs. It disappears, as does his aura. Jimena waves her sword around. "Did he turn invis¡ª" "ROAAAAR!" Torran sheds his armor and screams in triumph. I join him with a gleeful hiss. We have done it! We have won against the Knights! They will remember this day to the end of times! The ecstasy of battle fades as it becomes clear that Octave has left for good. My essence retracts somewhat, although it still bubbles eagerly. We are alone. Phineas still lies prone. Svyatolsav has already rebuilt his damaged heart and moves to join us. Mannfred is dead. He fell against an overwhelming enemy after disabling a lady, a fitting end for one so dedicated to martial prowess. He fought by our side to the very end. I will mourn his passing. Somehow, having the Knights remember me forever does not seem like such a glorious prospect anymore. The thorn roots burrow under the earth, which settles down. My Magna Arqa fades now that its purpose was fulfilled. I can still awaken it, should I see fit to do so. I do not. I feel a bit empty with the last of my passion leaving me. "Should we give chase?" Jimena asks half-heartedly. "It would be unwise to chase after him outside of my land," Torran replies calmly. "He most certainly will have reinforcements. Better to go to my castle and let politics follow its course. The Dvor may like their alliance with the Knights, but they like having a soul smith even more. Come. Pick up your friend and let us retreat for now. I doubt that we will be attacked again before sunrise." "I will not follow," Svyatoslav answers with a shake of his head. "I thank you for your hospitality, Lord Torran, yet I must leave and hide. I do not wish to create a rift between the Kalinine and the Knights. I already committed too deeply by showing myself in person." "I understand," Torran says. "Ariane, I am so relieved and pleased to see you are alright. Congratulations on your ascension and we will meet again once the dust has settled. Do not die." "Thank you again Slava, and be careful." He departs without a word and we decide to do the same. We are only delayed because I ask for a container for Mannfred''s ashes. I did not get to recover Lars'' remains myself and Kurshu was left unburied in our flight. I will not leave this man behind. I also pick up his armor, but Phineas asks for his gun. "The man had a great point and he demonstrated it brilliantly. Please, allow me to carry on his legacy." One day I will be shot by a vampire and I shall be extremely sore about it. We call on our Nightmares. Metis tramples the ground in excitement at my new power, but she grows more subdued when she feels my mood. I wonder if my despondency stems from fatigue or if it is a backlash of using Magna Arqa for the first time. In any case, we follow Torran in silence through deserted streets and empty fields, then up the mountain to his idyllic retreat. The castle is just as vertiginous and story-like as I remember. "Lift the drawbridge," Torran orders when we stop in the inner courtyard, "we may have company." "Understood, milord." I would love to be able to get home and order a minion to lift the drawbridge and arm the cannons. I now have a new life goal. My lover''s gipsy Servant emerges from his private quarters. They exchange a few words. Jimena leaves with Phineas to their personal quarters. My sister gives me one last worried glance before leaving. Yes. Well. I look up to Torran''s impassible face. "Torran, I¡­ I did not think. I brought death to your door." "You saw me as the only person in Europe willing and capable of stopping an elite Knight strike force, did you not, my star?" "Yes. I can only blame the urgency of the situation on being so¡­ ooh?" Torran grabs me and places me over his shoulder not too gently. I am now looking at his back while my legs wiggle uselessly against his chest. He starts walking. "Continue." "Hmm. On being so callous and not considering your, ah, willingness or the political implications of this decision. And I will be forever grateful for your help. I just hope that rescuing me will not tarnish your image and, hmmm." We are in his bedroom. "Were you not going to beg for my forgiveness?" a low, rumbling voice says. "Hmm. Yes?" Torran dumps me on the bed, then he rips his shirt open. "Beg better." I am not used to the caveman version of Torran but I do believe that I shall grow fond of it. I open my eyes the next night to a terrible, terrible feeling. Vampires do not normally wake so much as reach full consciousness in an instant. Tonight is different. I remember when I was fifteen and I wanted to try one of papa''s cigars on a bet. It had been the vilest thing I had ever tasted, and I was so desperate to remove the stench from my tongue that I had downed a glass of liquor the way I had seen adults do. It was apple liquor. The sight of apples made me nauseous for the next three months. This is worse. Suffice to say, I would throw up if I physically could. "Urrrrrrggg." "How very eloquent of you, my star. As always, your intellect shines upon this humble home." "URRRRRG. How could Jimena move and fight after she turned into a lady? I want to crawl in the nearest hole and wake up for the winter solstice!" "First, my star, one does not ''turn into a lady'', they ascend to the rank of lady." "You can ascend up your own¡ª" "And second, you shall feel better momentarily." "..." "..." "When is momentarily? You predate the invention of the water thermometer, Torran. Momentarily could mean in a month!" "How short is your gratitude, my star," Torran chuckles. Then he does something with his cold hands on my neck and I feel much better. "Ah, thank you." I let him work in silence for a while and cannot help but wonder. "What should I do now?" "I believe that returning to America might be best. In fact, it is a necessity. I awoke earlier and took the liberty of contacting allies. A ship will pick you up in Trieste in three weeks." I would be mad that Torran did not ask for my input, were I not mature enough to realize that his decision was the right one. I must evacuate with my allies as soon as possible. "What about you? Will you come with us? Your land¡­" Torran merely chuckles a bit. "Your concern is noted and appreciated, little one. It is, however, completely unwarranted. The Dvor council already sent a security force to ''negotiate'' with the Knights and to make sure that we are not disturbed. It appears that a member of the council whom I would qualify as an ''old bat'' kept a grudge against you. Unfortunately, she was completely outvoted by a party led by Commenus. You certainly have a way to impress crusty old warriors." "I fight a lot and tend to keep quiet during briefings?" "And you avoid political games, instead working for the success of your side. A vanishingly rare quality these days. Commenus guarantees your safety. Nevertheless, we will be cautious when moving you out. I have a plan to hide you by day." "And by night?" "Viktoriya is joining us. You may still be unaware of it so I will spell it out. Jimena and you are war ladies. When four of us move, anyone with an ounce of sense gets out of the way." "Hmm. You make a good point." "Yes, I tend to do that." "Three weeks is a long time, however. Shall we make plans with our allies?" "I fear that this task falls to me, Ariane. You are a weakened, freshly betrayed Knight slayer who needs to lay very low for as long as she can. You also know very little of Lord-level European politics, therefore I advise you to follow my lead in this instance." sea??h th§× NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Hmm." "I do not wish to trivialize your achievements. You have accomplished the impossible by surviving a Knight hunt. Now let me make sure you survive the experience." "As you wish. I trust you." "Thank you, my star, and for what it is worth, welcome to the top of the world." The top of the world does not feel like much in the following days. Perhaps altitude-wise we are somewhat high? It certainly does not translate into anything concrete. I am kept aware of the evolution of our situation by a very open Torran, who informs me that the Knights have preferred to retreat rather than push their case. It appears that even they know that the Dvor will not relinquish Torran and that Torran will not relinquish me. His reputation as an intractable fighter is well-established. During our stay, Phineas dedicates himself to learning how to shoot with unexpected fervor and I am more than happy to assist in my free time. Jimena remains a fidgety little fusspot until her Servant and lover Aintza joins us, following which she is much more relaxed. We try to train our respective Magna Arqa, however it soon turns out that she is physically unable to trigger hers on me, even after I stole her favorite pair of socks. She must truly believe the offender guilty in order to fight. I do not have such compunction, and I experiment on mine with Torran''s help after recovering for a few days. As I observed, my Magna Arqa creates a sphere almost a hundred yards across. Within its confines, I can feel other people''s presence even when they hide through magical means. Meanwhile obstacles like walls and boulders only remain if I allow them. Elevation and direction do not appear to matter much either and I can climb to sets of stairs by walking on a flat surface. Paradoxically, the sphere moves with me if I will it or if I leave its limits. I do not understand how this works. The last interesting element is that objects like furniture or even trees can disappear when the sphere expands, but reappear afterward. As for the roots, I can summon them at will. They are very similar to my mental palace defenses in the way they move and act. Other roots always appear and act without my prompt, especially at the edge of the sphere, although I can take control of them directly if I focus. As for my control, it will take some time before I regain the instinctive feeling I had on the first night. Torran assures me that this is perfectly normal and that Magna Arqa grow in power with their wielders. I ask him about ''domains'', as mentioned by Hilde. Torran goes on to explain that there are several ''types'' of Magna Arqa. Strike powers allow the user to launch a specific attack or effect. Jimena can select a target and gain advantage against them, including the ability to track them through their bonds. Suarez can cut anything in front of him at a distance. Those are considered to be ''strike'' Magna Arqa. The next type is ''avatar'' Magna Arqa which allows the user to take on another form. One of the masters we fought could turn liquid, and Jarek increases in size. They both belong to that category. There are ''exotic'' Magna Arqa such as those that relate to the control of humans. Finally, the last category are the domains. Mine falls squarely in that category. Torran has a hybrid domain and avatar Magna Arqa. He mentions that they are arguably the most useful in an all-out battle. They also tend to be very powerful. After spending twenty minutes explaining those differences, he reminds me that using categories is a pointless exercise, a remnant of our human tendency to organize things into neat boxes. We do not speak of it, but we both know that what matters is the strength of the concept behind the power. And indeed, even with Jimena, I feel no need to mention the curious encounter with the Watcher''s shadow of a shadow. Merely thinking about it fills me with unease and a deep sense of reverence. I would never consider sharing the details willingly. The following three weeks pass without incident. I make sure to enjoy Torran''s attentions and I show him, and only him, my ability to make adjustments to my body. He is quite pleased. Eventually, all good things must come to an end. Viktoriya joins us and we depart the castle using an unexpected cover. I now realize what Torran had meant when he mentioned being ''discreet'' when I spot a convoy of carts covered in beautiful, handmade decorations handled by people dressed in garish color. It is a gipsy caravan. "Seriously?" I ask. "I bet five marks and a favor with the leader that you could take him on in a knife-throwing contest." "I am a Devourer lady, Torran, not a circus performer." "He claimed that he could not possibly be bested by a frail, anemic woman and that you should learn your place." "I want three of the five marks and another neck massage." "We have an agreement." I give a few other demonstrations on our way south, then we split up from the amused mortals to board the Vienna-Trieste Austrian Southern Railway. We arrive at the Italian port city the very same night. Trieste has to be one of the most pleasant places I have ever visited. The city extends, majestic, along the Adriatic Sea. The blockish buildings with a myriad of windows show both Viennese and Venetian influence. I regret bitterly that we cannot take more time to explore, alas, I am informed that the City Master is displeased at our cavalier arrival and we must away while Torran appeases him with a diplomatic gesture. I leave my lover on the Piazza Venezia and resist the enticing smell of coffee permeating the place even at this late hour. "I do believe that I shall be the one to visit your land next time, my star. Your travels are too full of excitement for my tastes." "Oh, do tell me and I will make sure to prepare the place so that you have a pleasant experience." "Yes, well, if someone can tidy up the New World, it certainly is you. I do not do farewells very well so I shall leave you for now." Torran immediately shows that it was a lie by kissing me passionately in public and drawing a few appreciative comments from Viktoriya and a nearby group of students. I call him an uncouth vandal to his back and leave for the waterfront. We find our ship with great ease. "Ariane?" "Yes, Phineas?" "Is this a Dvergur warship?" "So it would seem." No sooner do we approach the powerful ironclad steamship with its predatory, sharp design that we are spotted by a sentinel. He signals inside and a man walks down the gangplank, a man with a scar and a deep air of paranoia. Loth''s bodyguard. He is practically shoved aside by my friend''s massive shape. "Ariane, ye terror!" I forget all proprieties and jump into his arm. He twirls me around like a child before planting me back on the pavement. "It is so good to see you, Loth! But how? I never thought you would be the one to come!" "What are ye blabberin'' about? I''m here on official business! On a diplomatic mission to allied vampire bigwigs of the, wait which one was it?" "The Eneru faction," his bodyguard grumbles. "Thaaaat''s the one. Hey, Skjoll, get that stick out of yer ass. Who would attack us here aye? With three battle ladies present?" "I would rather not find out, my liege." "Pffft. Anyway, I''ll be the one to pick you up and drag ye back to whence ye came. I must have words with Constantine, aye? I hope the old chap has made some exciting progress with his war golems!" "What his majesty means is that he will address the issue of the long-term safety of the local Dvergur population as well as commercial points of interests." Loth rolls his eyes. "Yadda yadda we''ll handle that shite in an afternoon and then talk about sending weapons to kill people by themselves. Right! So I hear ye were in a bit of a tussle? Hah, count on the American vampire to start a revolution!" "I assure you," I reply, somewhat miffed, "this was purely accidental." Loth stares with open disbelief. "Ya mean to say that ye have no problems with authority whatsoever?" How unfair! I am perfectly capable of following orders, especially if I agree with them! "Ya mean to say," Loth continues without waiting, "that Constantine did not send me that long and rambling letter asking me how to handle you." I gape while Jimena displays a suspicious lack of reaction. "He did no such thing," I affirm. "He very much did. I wonder if he took my advice? I told the lad to get off yer case and distract you with explodey stuff. It worked for me!" I huff. Constantine merely sought my cooperation on various projects including offensive spells and war golems, not uhhhh. Wait a minute. Waaaait a minute. "So he did listen. Smart lad." "Oi! I am not so predictable. Right, Jimena?" "Of course not, dear sister." "See! See!" "Only when it comes to music, painting, project management, engineering, and large scale warfare. Oh, and raunchy novels." "Arg! Traitor!" "So ye''re unpredictable aye? A shame, and here I was sure that my gift would make ye happy." All negative emotions melt like snow under the sun. "Oooh a gift? What gift? Is it a weapon?" I am not bouncing. A group of four burly Dvergur bring a massive metal crate and deposit it on the ground with visible effort. An intricate pattern of runes cover its flank, most of them isolation runes, and despite this, I can still feel a comfortable cold seeping from the cracks. "Quite the contrary, lass. The Ice Palace you got us in that stupid wager had the mother lode of interesting materials. Now ye''ll see what the King of Skoragg clan can accomplish with top tier tools and materials. Ariane, get a gander at yer new armor. I named it ''the Aurora''. Ye''re gonna like it." Chapter 163 - 157. While the cats away. The crate containing my armor now lies on Trieste''s deserted docks, hidden from view by rows of barrels and other supplies. It only takes me a moment to realize that the box is unnaturally cold and also that the metal exterior is, in fact, a containment field. I mention it to Loth who nods with pride. "Oh aye, it is as ye say. Below the mountain, we found a place that used ta be a magma chamber. Once, it had been connected to the surface by a chimney, but that one had closed eons ago. When we first excavated the place the miners had to use special equipment against the cold. It got so bad that we considered giving up and containing it instead, but we persevered and found ice." "Ice?" "Black ice as cold as the void and as hard as diamond. Even explosives could nae put a dent in it. I had to use a special heated wire to cut through a single block. We also realized that it was too heavy and freezing to be used in anything we could think of except¡­" And he smiles. "The armor of a vampire lady. And here ye be, all fresh from the mold or whatever ye cold ones use. It took me six months ta cut all the pieces and engrave them. I have inlaid them with obsidian glyphs ground to shape over weeks of effort. The links and nails are enchanted electrum left to bask in the moonlight at the heart of the Skandes. It weighs over two hundred and fifty kilograms, would kill any human on touch, would stop a cannonball without cracking, and contains enough enchantments to make a battle golem. It is¡­ the perfect armor." "By the Watcher Loth, did you truly make such a thing?" "Aye, lass, ah did. Maybe you will fall in battle one day, but it won''t be because of the armor that''s for sure. Enough preliminaries aye? Open it." I plant myself in front of the box and pull on the chained ring I see. All four sides disengage with a clang. They unfold like a midnight rose to reveal the undeniable proof that Loth is a mad artist, and that he is also the greatest armorer the world has ever seen. "By the Watcher¡­" "In the name of the Eye¡­" Both Phineas and I cannot help but widen our eyes before the wonder in front of us, just as the mortals take an instinctive step back at the sudden chill in the air. While the protection I lost was a dress of exquisite make, this one is a deadly plate of polar death as elegant as it is intimidating. This is an armor fit for an immortal on the warpath. If the devil crawled out of hell to lead his unending horde, he would be wearing its male counterpart. My previous battle dress could pass as real cloth from afar. No one with a functional eye and a bit of sense could gaze upon this lethal perfection and think that it is anything else but a tool of slaughter. Plates of black ice interlock gracefully in a narrow skirt over greaves. The chest is made from a single slab while delicate scale-like fragments cover the stomach and articulations. The right gauntlet is a sophisticated masterpiece barely larger than a glove while the left one shows an integrated spellcasting system and knuckles designed to knock down a castle wall. There are pauldrons as well, barbaric things covered in destructive enchantments so that blocking with them would destroy even a solid steel weapon. The helmet is specifically designed to cover most of my head while still giving me full range of movement. A mask in the likeness of my face in silvery metal leaves the eyes and mouth free so that I may bite down mid-battle. The rest, up to my chin, is protected by a heavily enchanted mesh of interlocking small mail over a respectable gorget. It will take a colossal force to behead me. The gorget is even designed to stop blades neatly instead of pushing a potential blade up and into my face. It was designed with me in mind from the ground up. Every plate, every part of the armor shows intricate engravings of black on black where obsidian comes to enchant the eternal heart of winter and the chill I feel in my vein takes on a magical quality. I place my hand against the familiar sigil adorning its chest, now smaller to give room to a dense lattice of fire and shock-repelling enchantments. The cold caresses me and my essence. I remember that moment of breath-taking beauty when I got lost in Semiramis'' maze years ago and ended up near a pole. They share the same lethal and untouchable beauty. "Loth¡­" "Lass, I present to you the Aurora. The crown jewel of my collection and the hardiest armor ever to come out of Dvergur hands. I must also apologize. I wish you could give it a try here." It pains me to admit it but he is correct. We do not have the time for me to change and find not just a suitable partner, but a proper battlefield as well. I shall have to ''christen'' the armor at a later date, and what a shame it is. I know exactly what Loth was thinking when he created this masterpiece. This is the armor to end all armors. If I wear this and face my sire, I will be able to deflect a few hits. In fact, the Aurora must be one of the only armors on the planet that could give him pause. Loth knows this. That is why he gifts it to me now. He is preparing for the end long before it can happen, just as I would expect from someone who was alive when the vikings started their first raids. "Loth, thank you. There are no words." "You can try a few superlatives and see how they feel, aye?" I do not roll my eyes this time. Instead, I give him a proper bow. "It is cold perfection given form." "Not bad. Now, ya know who I had in mind when I made it, besides ya." "Yes." "But disnae forget to give it a whirl beforehand aye?" "Oh, Loth. With the way my life is going, I will be wearing it three weeks into getting home." We board soon after and leave before dawn. Loth''s ship sails smoothly across the Adriatic and I busy myself getting up to speed with the fallout from our little rebellion, as Loth affectionately calls it. It appears that the image of the Knights has taken a serious blow and several agreements are being renegotiated, but there are no significant changes in terms of allowing Knights access. Vampires are pragmatic and Knights are too useful to be simply discarded. Indeed, their continued existence proves that they fill a necessary role. Nevertheless, the Knights organize a massive conclave, the results of which I do not know. Perhaps they will implement new rules to make sure that corruption and self-interest no longer taints their organization? I wish them the best of luck, but it will not erase this offense and it will certainly not bring Mannfred back. I wash my hands of their entire organization. If they come after me in America, I will kill them with pleasure. Crossing the Altantlic with Loth proves more interesting than my usual fare. The Skoragg sovereign naturally brought enough tools to pass the time, and we work on design improvements for an interesting innovation called the Gatling gun. In particular, we consider ways to make it portable and practical but fail to achieve a definitive result in the time it takes to reach Boston. Phineas grows melancholic despite my best efforts, until Loth finds an unexpected source of amusement for the Lancaster: financial records. It appears that my newest ally hunts mistakes and anomalies with more fervor than rogues and undead mages, not that I blame him. Jimena worries until she is assured that her lover is secured and on her way to the New World as well. Interestingly, she is less affected than I feared. Her absolute confidence that she made the right choice to leave means that she is not harassed by regrets, not that our kind much suffers from this unfortunate tendency. I also expect some sort of attack, but apparently even the most foolish of privateers would think twice before attacking a warship. We moor in Boston''s harbor three weeks later, having made good time. We are welcomed with a ceremony by Constantine and Sephare since Loth is technically a foreign head of state. The fortress'' security has been improved once more and the dense woods surrounding the lone castle now host a few new hamlets, all inhabited by retainers loyal to the cause. Sephare takes me aside while Phineas goes through the induction process. The delicate blonde lady sits me down in her opulent room for some tea. I now realize how much I changed in those past two years through the telling mirror of her reaction. Viktoriya and Torran took my side the moment we came across each other, because the bounds that tie us go beyond that of mere allies. As such, my ascension to the rank of lady received their unconditional approval. Sephare and I have always been allies of circumstances, however. Now that my essence rivals her own in power and my control has reached new heights, I can see that she is a bit at a loss. It will take an aura master to read mine now, thanks to Svyatolsav''s tireless teachings. Perhaps one day I will manage to mask my presence as completely as Malakim does. "Allow me to congratulate you on your progress. With you by our side, our influence can only grow," she starts with a fake smile. An empty remark designed to probe my intentions. I could play subtle games with her if I could spare the patience. I know that some newly ascended lords and ladies tend to settle grudges and remove yokes. What she fails to understand is that I joined her faction fully knowing that she was a snake whose interests aligned with my own by sheer luck. Nobody compelled me. I realize that she is judging me according to her own standards. No matter how much time we spend together, she cannot fully believe that I could work towards common good out of my own volition, even after I demonstrated it, because she is a mercenary at heart. "Indeed. Despite its disastrous end, I achieved the desired effect. Now I am ready to work again with the Accords to guarantee our common future." Nothing has changed, I am still on your side. Now empty your bag, you duplicitous flaxen-haired knot of vipers. "Excellent. While I would normally let you recover from your ordeals, there are three major issues we must address immediately. For the rest, I will have my second prepare a full report on the situation. "First, we have reached a point where the knowledge of our existence will soon be spread to the masses. We object, of course, and have prepared counter-measures." "I imagine that you do not intend to slaughter every pamphlet printer in the new world?" "Of course not. The key to long-term public success is not to remove your opponents but to discredit them. We have received an intriguing proposal to publish a book of monsters by an unknown genius. One of the entries concerns us, and shows a list of weaknesses, some real, some less." "Such as?" "The author included garlic and flowing water as repellants." I scoff. "Preposterous! Who would swallow such nonsense?" "And our lack of reflection and inability to appear clearly in photographs makes sense to you?" she retorts. "We have grown so used to our own nature that we tend to forget how peculiar our existence remains. In any case, the book has been advertised and will hit every shelf in a nation obsessed with the strange ones in their midst. There are tales of witches, werewolves and fae filled with inexact statements and exaggerations, and yet the flowing prose makes them so very believable. The mysterious author also includes absurd creatures such as chupacabras and drop bears which we are reasonably certain are jokes. He even mentions traveling courts of magical dancers and small winged creatures!" Wait. Wait. Hold on. This sounds awfully familiar. "Ahem, imagine that. What does he say about the fae?" "Oh, some nonsense about good fortune and sexual prowess. Here, I have a copy here if you want." I check the name. Simon Nead. Sinead. Of course. "Are you quite alright, my dear?" The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. "I am. I merely find the author quite cheeky. Have you ever met him?" "Oh goodness me no, he is a rather eccentric fellow and only communicates via proxy. I have been unable to track him down so far. Quite intriguing! But I digress. The reason why I mention this is that the book will be published one month from now and it would be best if you and your allies could momentarily lay low while the general public treads the street looking for us and the woods looking for drop bears?" "Yes, of course. What was the second point?" "When you are done at home, I would appreciate it if you could return to us because we could use your diplomatic touch for the sake of coordinating between the different supernatural communities." "Of course. Now, what do you mean about ''being done at home''?" "This is my third point and the one I must conclude with. Despite our best effort and financial backing, your interests and that of Melusine are under significant and relentless attacks. You could not have returned at a better time." Oh. "I think someone is going to have a very unpleasant surprise." "I think so too. Do enjoy yourself." Jimena chooses to stay behind as she decides to wait for Aintza, which I encourage her to do despite her worries. She must decide what to do next. Phineas'' induction into the Accords is done by the end of the night thanks to my benevolent influence. By vouching for him, and because Constantine is aware of his circumstances, he is cleared to join. It really helps to be friends with the boss on occasion. It also helps that I fulminate so much that Constantine mentions the carpet catching fire. We are going to Illinois immediately. I will not tolerate little ROACHES ON MY TERRITORY. When the cat is away, the mice come, is it? I will find them and I will make an example out of them. Theirs will be a cautionary tale. Whoever they are, they made a big mistake. Vadim, who possesses the unusual ability to transport us through the realm of the Nightmares, refuses to help me get to my territory faster citing that it is only for emergencies and some such nonsense. The gall! Would he not consider it urgent if he had ants in his sarcophagus? How is this any different! Ug! I am forced to take a mortal train that travels by day, thus being carried around like a vulgar piece of luggage. We stop before Chicago and I rush through the wilderness on Metis while leaving Phineas with the gear. I cross the boundary to my territory and feel more¡­ alive. My perception extends and I feel my intuition grow keener, as does a deep sensation of wrongness. I am under attack. There are assailants on my territory. I must DEFEND THE DEN. Alright, enough Ari. I must first understand what is happening. Metis carries me through fields I know, some of which now host houses instead. Parts of the plains are now fields, and the forest has receded. Progress has not stopped while I was away, it would seem. I keep going at a slower pace now and hide my features under a cloak. I wear a spare armored dress I had left in Boston. My compound looks intact, it seems. Nothing much has changed. Two guards salute me nervously when I enter the administrative building and make my way to Merritt''s office. I stop at the door and took a deep breath. There are two auras inside. One belongs to Merritt and the other is strangely familiar, although I do not recognize it. My second-in-command shows clear signs of fear and anxiety. That will not do. I must not judge her for failing her mission before I understand exactly what happened. They have held the fort while I was away, arguably on a personal quest. I must exert restraint. S§×arch* The n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. I politely knock and one of my oldest allies invites me in. Merritt is seventy-three. It had not occurred to me until now because she is quite a powerful witch and age only has a limited grasp on her body, but her hair is mostly grey now and there are crow feet besides her keen eyes. She wears a conservative dress in green that compliments her sprite body. She currently sits with a straight spine as if preparing for an onslaught. The second person lounges against a nearby cupboard with affected nonchalance. I would be more impressed if her aura did not flicker and if the room did not smell of nervous sweat. I recognize Lynn, Merritt''s daughter. I am quite surprised since she was last married to some rich gentleman in the east. I had not quite realized how powerful I have become since ascending, and not just in terms of pure physical abilities. I can sense others effortlessly. Even my control has improved since my essence is now more malleable. I have not yet tried to cast spells, but I suspect that they may be more potent now. More importantly, others can feel it too. I may no longer let go of my aura under any circumstances. "Good evening, Merritt. It is good to see you again." "My God, Ariane, is that really you? You are so cold. I felt you since you were outside of the building." "I have resolved my aura problem." "You have?" "Yes, I am a lady now." "Hmmm. Congratulations?" She is afraid. Her reaction does not hurt me, however it reminds me that I must behave. "Alexandria Merritt, it is me, Ariane." She flushes and frowns, ready to scold me for using her first name, which she dislikes. I give her a small smirk to let her know that I got her and anger dissolves into tired amusement. My antics earn me a vague snort. She lowers her guard. I have accomplished my goal. Terror was making her a bit tempting and I promised myself that I would not feed on my allies. "Yes, sorry. Your appearance is the same, and so is your terrible sense of humor it would seem." "I assure you, I am fully myself and in control. Now, I have heard alarming reports and I would like a situation report, if that is fine with you." "Yes. Yes, of course. I have it here." She picks up a bundle of paper from her desk. "But before we begin, I would like to inform you that I am¡­ in the process of stepping down as the manager of your interests in Marquette." Her heartbeat increases and she stutters a bit. "Not that I was mistreated or offered a better alternative. I am just¡­ tired. I have been at this for thirty years, Ariane. Thirty years. I need a change of scenery." "I understand." She blinks and turns to Lynn briefly as if to verify that she had not dreamed my words. "You¡­ you do?" For a moment, I consider dismissing the entire conversation to focus on the intruders. My instincts roar at me to go out and kill but I smother them, for now. Merritt is important. I accepted it years ago when she went out of her way to help me defeat the Herald. She is¡­ the sort of character I want to see by my side. Honorable. hard-working. Effective. She is her own person with her own take on things and I need individuals like her to reach the top because the Watcher knows that I am not perfect. My sort of conquest requires generals by my side. She is, well, was, one of them. I owe her an explanation, I think. "Believe it or not¡­ you are the third mage I will lose." She seems stupefied. I imagine that she expected another type of reaction. "The first was Nashoba. I lost him to a wasting disease. He was a shaman of a proud nation called the Choctaw and he could see the future. He taught me much about choosing one''s battles, about working on what one could change. He was also someone who knew when the cost of something was too high. "The second was Frost. He died after using all his power to push back the Scourge Hive and save the lives of countless men. He was the first and so far only person I offered to change. He refused, of course. They died but some others, like Sheridan, left because they had turned a page and were ready to see what else life had to offer to them. "I understand that I do not age. I understand that you do and that you will not always be by my side. I need mortals to remind me of what I have lost. Losing them in turn is a necessity I must accept, even if it pains me. So yes, Merritt. I understand. We have worked hard together to turn Marquette into the city it has become. You can pursue your next project with the knowledge that what we accomplished here will build the path to a prosperous future. And besides, you are not the kind of person who simply quits. I imagine that the presence of your daughter relates to your retirement." "Yes, indeed. Thank you Ariane. Your words¡­ they mean a lot coming from you. And yes, I will leave you in good hands. Lynn here has been managing more and more of my duties over the past few months. She is also better at manipulating those rich twats, I mean, the good society of our fair city." "Mother tends to forget that much can be achieved by simply¡­ asking politely." Bands of aura unwind from her person like ribbons. Ah, I see. We call her kind enchantresses. They focus on mind magic. Most of them die within one year of starting their social career, either at the hand of a scorned lover or because they stole someone they should not have touched. Lynn is smarter than most. She knows that I perceived her power and pulls it back. "And when did you return?" I ask. She understands the unspoken questions. "Three months ago with my son, after our enemies started harrying us. I give you my word that I have nothing to do with them. I swear on my power that I am firmly on your side. As to why I returned, it all comes down to the unfortunate death of my husband." She leans to the side and shows her willowy figure. While Merritt dresses in a more conservative, provincial fashion, Lynn is more daring. She boldly exhibits her new position as an affluent widow whose east coast accent remains mild enough to impress without growing condescending. She also wears perfume. I would be interested in watching her work a room. Perhaps I can learn a few tricks from her later. "My dear Edward always doted on me to the disapproval of his family. With his unexpected passing, he could no longer shield me from their retribution and I prefered to liquidate our assets and return to the frontier rather than fight a protracted battle in the courtroom." "Merritt," I ask, "is this a reinterpretation of the Pyke family affair? Should I prowl abandoned farmstead for irate relatives to snack on?" "Worse, Ariane. Instead of mercenaries, they will send lawyers." "That is fine. They share a delicious flavor of greed and moral flexibility." Lynn interrupts us and thus ends my hypocrisy. Isaac and Salim are lawyers and they would not be amused by our banter. "Ahem. While dear brother busies himself with the Red Cabal, I have put my skills to use against our foes. I have always had a way with business dealings and my husband made full use of them. As a result, I have already managed to stabilize our more vulnerable ventures within the state. It helps that no one asks if I have my husband''s permission when I drop your name." "Yes, very good, but we are now talking about recent events. Sephare only mentioned an attack in passing and my intuition speaks of enemies on my land. Please start from the beginning." Merritt nods. She checks her notes and breathes in. Her back curves under the weight of the recollection and she places both of her hands on the table, palm open against the grainy wood. "Right. Half a year ago, we started getting hit in a way that I immediately recognized as deliberate. Some key shipments of steel or textile went missing at crucial moments, messing with our supply chains and forcing us to fail deliveries. Mysterious agents underbid us in key contracts proposing prices that could in no way turn a profit. Our image took a hit. We lost quite a few guards to those ambushes as well, which meant that we had to pay a premium on the next. We were facing a domino effect. You know how it is. I managed to track down suspicious movement by newcomers in the city and sent spies after them. They were all slain in one night." I force myself into immobility and grab my aura tightly. I know where this is going. "We did not retreat. I called the militia upon the suspected locations for a raid at dawn and we did find suspicious men. Mercenaries. They all fought to the death." "Disposable agents?" She nods. "We believe it is so. The bodies we recovered showed marks of fangs and we found a secret passage to an underground secured room. Unfortunately, it was empty when we breached it. Its occupant had already left. We managed to plug a few leaks by checking for signs of thralldom but we are fighting an uphill battle without a vampire on our side. Our people are scared of leaving the city at night." "We have vampires on our side. Where is Melusine?" "Besieged with your followers in Chicago. Fighting a losing battle, or so the reports indicate," Lynn states in a smooth voice. She stands up and removes a map of Illinois from a nearby table. Pins cover its surface, many of them around the cities of Marquette and Chicago farther north. Most of the isolated dots remain close to the border to Kentucky and generally in the south where the terrain is more rugged and troops are more mobile. "Our enemies are extremely well-funded. We are being overwhelmed and dismantled piece by piece. The Red Cabal is forced to neutrality since most of the threats do not appear to be supernatural in nature. Meanwhile, the werewolves are being hunted by people who know who they are. They have closed the gates and secluded themselves." "We are facing vampires and they are trying to depose me," I calmly state. Both mages look surprised. "Depose? Like a queen?" "We vampires are rather old-fashioned when it comes to territory. If one is unable to defend theirs, they are unworthy of holding it. The support of my allies in the Accords can only go so far. If I had not returned, they would have had ample time to destroy my reputation and that of Melusine until defending us became untenable." "Could those allies not help us?" "Of course, but only if we bring undeniable proof of foreign involvement and you have been prevented from doing so. No matter. I am here now. Their little games will end." "I admire your confidence, however¡­" "You do not have the tools to comprehend what it means to have a Devourer lady on your side." I release my grasp on my essence and allow it to spread across the room. Thorny roots crawl through the cracks of the world until tortured mortar and straining planks protest at the edge of our hearing. The shadows lengthen and the gas lights flicker and dim. The temperature drops. "Please, no more." I stop the demonstration and notice that both women have grown noticeably paler. "It so happens that someone thought me weak," I tell them. "I will¡­ correct that misconception. Out of all the vampires my sire spawned throughout the millennia, only three ever reached the rank of lord. The time has come to remind those intruders of why we survived. A new ally by the name of Phineas will arrive tomorrow. You will grant him access to all relevant documents, including anything you found in the mercenary''s homes. I want to know how they paid for everything and where the money came from. I want to know who owns the companies that underbid us. In the meanwhile, I shall visit my good friend Jeffrey and solve his trespasser problem, then while he roams the land looking for rats, I shall head north and pay a certain redhead a visit." "Do you expect our enemies to have a lord as well?" "No, dear Lynn, I do not expect it. I am counting on it." Chapter 164 - 158. Cry havoc I decide against leaving immediately and spend the rest of the night patrolling Marquette. I pay particular attention to auras and smells. Unfortunately, if there are any vampires around, they are being cautious. I do meet with some success while inspecting my personnel one by one and finding one under the thrall of an enemy. The influence appears as a light hue in the man''s aura. A summary inspection of his neck reveals two discreet bite marks. I manage to control myself before I kill him on the spot. He is a victim of circumstances, not a traitor. Once the influence is removed he confesses with great fear that he was ordered to send all manners of financial and trade information to an address in Chicago. Truly, if Melusine has not betrayed me, those people have some gall. I let him go and complete my purge the next afternoon just as Phineas arrives. The Lancaster warrior dives into charts and legal documents with a Rosenthal-like delectation, peeling the truth wherever it may be. With him on our side, it will not be long before hostile fundings are tracked to their sources. Already, a few ''persons of interest'' in Marquette are set to receive some pointed questions in the near future. I leave Phineas to his intellectual hunt and grab my armor. Oh yes, I see no point in holding back now. Besides, the werewolves appreciate true strength. I wait for nightfall and slip out of the compound to an empty warehouse at the very edge of the city, near the road to Moonside. I call Metis and the old girl gallops excitedly by my side. She, too, can smell a good bloodshed coming. "Now the real question is, can you carry me while I wear that." This is a valid point. Metis is a powerful, fast warhorse, not a Percheron. I wonder if she can accomodate me. No sooner have I asked that she neighs and flips her head with great agitation. As I stand there like an idiot, she turns on herself and lightly kicks me. I block and complain. "Metis, what is the meaning of¡­ Ow!" She is gone. I stand there dejected for five minutes, until I hear hooves and she returns wearing her barding. I will never understand how she puts it on. This is the barding Loth made years ago from light metal and alligator hide, sShe looks absolutely regal in it. I smile at her confidence and place a hand on her flank. She bolts away. "Come on, Metis, it was a genuine concern!" A proud neigh. She snorts and turns her head away. "I mean, I never doubted that you could carry me!" I lie, "I was just concerned that you might find the armor cold and uncomfortable." Considering that it would freeze a mortal solid on contact, my worries are genuine. Well, they would be if I were being truthful. Metis casts a dubious, red glance at me and shows some teeth. I apologize respectfully, call her the queen of destriers and the best pony on earth and elsewhere until she finally deigns to let me climb on her back, then we are off at breakneck speed. I think she wants to make a point so I go with the flow and let her race through the plains of Illinois. It occurs to me that if we hit someone right now, they might as well be standing on a train track with a meat grinder hanging in front of their face. No such accidents happen. We arrive at Moonside shortly after. I ask Metis to slow down, reign in my aura, and remove my helmet. No need to appear too hostile in those trying times. It makes little difference to the two sentries hiding in the bush by the village''s entrance. I hear soft curses when I arrive like a nightmare (haha) and stop next to their hiding spot. Branches wilt overhead while a puddle whitens with spiderweb lines of frost. I breathe in the scent of wolves, of their fear, of harvested fields. A tension hangs in the air, not just because of my presence, but because of a general feeling of unease. Werewolves are meant to be predators, just like us but less competently. It grates me to see them so vigilant because it implies weakness. I cannot abide that in one of my faithful minions. "You lot. Tell Jeffrey that Ariane has returned," I tell the bush and the men behind. Nothing stops except their breath. A bit late for that, gentlemen. Besides, you two reek of sweat. "Metis can always use more ears. Do not make me repeat myself." That does it. Whether the familiar name or the familiar threat jostles them into action, it matters not. They race to the center of the village to fetch their leader. I dismount and walk to the wood board on which the village proudly announces itself. I always found ''Moonside'' to be quite tacky, yet I believe I understand it now. Jeffrey always wanted a haven where his folk could be wholly and publically themselves. And since the place is out there in the boonies, they normally can. Something must have changed recently because as I look at the many thatched roofs and fields, I find something missing. Namely, a lot of naked people. Werewolves will not clothe themselves unless compelled. I only have to wait a minute before a group comes running. Jeffrey jogs down the road, followed by two columns of fighters. I raise a brow when I notice that they wear leather dusters but no shirts. The women in their midst wear horizontal bands to cover their breasts, but leave their stomachs and cleavage shamelessly exposed. Ah, werewolves and dressing codes. I should not complain. At least they covered their genitals. Jeffrey slows down at a respectful distance and gives me a devious smile that does not reach his eyes. He is quite dashing with his rugged good look and corded muscles. It helps that he approaches Jarek in height, if not in size. Although his roguish facade has not changed, I can see calculation running behind his keen brown eyes. Recent events must have tried his patience. "Good evening to you, Jeffrey," I greet pleasantly, "I heard that you have a pest problem." "Aaaah, bosswoman! You have returned to us in our hour of upset, just as I said you might. Didn''t I June?" He elbows the lithe blonde woman by his side. She rolls her eyes dramatically. "I said to her, I said, that''s a bosswoman problem for sure. No way the usual bounty hunters would bother with smart stuff when they think silver is enough, no! Not like that Hendricks fellow who just rode into town asking about large beasts in spring, remember? That guy was dafter than a headless goose, he was." "Jeffrey¡­" "Right! We do have a pest problem, and those pests are quite pesky if you catch my meaning. Because they''re a pain in my backside. See, they know exactly who we are. All of us." I think I know what he means. Very few people are aware of a werewolf community thanks to my efforts. Of course, there are rumors of large creatures in the woods of the region but so far all those who visited Moonside wrongly assumed that werewolves were hiding within the populace. By the time they realized that their quarry was neither hiding nor ''in'' the populace, it was too late. "Do they use specific methods?" "Yes. It all started two months ago." As Jeffrey speaks, his demeanor changes. The affable persona he usually dons like a cloak fades away to reveal the cunning leader underneath. It pains me to admit that I was one of the first to be fooled, when I unwittingly allowed him to bring a whole pack to my lands. "First we lost a patrol, but said patrol was composed of two very aggressive young men and they are the most likely to leave. Unfortunately, we found a body in a far field a few days later. He had been killed by silver bullets at a long range. Tracking them to their source was made impossible because the culprits used vast amounts of mint oil to saturate the place. Everyone got a headache, including yours truly. It happened two more times." "Culprits? Plural?" "Yes. The bodies we found showed signs of multiple bullet wounds. We suspect that the attackers shoot a volley to prevent their victim from escaping and potentially recovering once the bullets are removed. I personally led a tracking party to all the surrounding camps and valleys around the place but we never found more than traces of their passage. And that damn stench." He sniffs. "God I can smell it in my nightmares. Do you know that I used to enjoy mint tea? Jesus. In any case, we have had trouble tracking them because the entire west part of the village stinks to high heaven." "I see." I consider the situation for a while. I have several tools that do not rely too much on smell and a powerful scent is not as debilitating to me as it is to the wolves. "When was the latest attack?" I ask. "Two days ago, by the edge of Zeller''s field. They tried to shoot at a patrol but failed, then legged it with horses after dispersing a full vial of their horrible oil." "Can you lead me there?'' "Of course, right this way." I leave Metis behind to follow Jeffrey on foot. The squad closes in behind us, showing a surprising amount of discipline for their kind. They match my walking speed. I do not jog in full plate. I either stomp or I sprint, none of that infantry routine thank you very much. "I put rules and protocols in place to avoid further deaths," he tells me. "There are large patrols moving around the surroundings in irregular patterns, a curfew, and we have set traps in some places. We even killed two of their horses that way. But it can''t last." I feel Jeffrey''s gaze on me and turn to meet it. He flinches. "Damn it''s cold tonight. Anyway, we cannot stay cloistered for long. We are already pushing ourselves to live a normal life." "I understand, Jeffrey. Do not worry. You are one of mine." "I appreciate the help. I¡­" He snarls. Ghastly, giant fangs grow in his mouth, eerily disturbing on his still-human face. "I only wishhhh to find a throat to rip mysshhelf." I deploy my essence around in a way that only he can feel. The polar wave forces his jaw to go slack. I have no time for this. "The night is young," I tell him, not unkindly. "Yes. And full of surprises." Zeller''s field sits at the edge of the village, nestled between two stretches of forest. Only a few tracks of blood and the lingering scent of peppermint reveal that the locale is more than just a boring field. I place my helmet back on my head and take down the mask. It has a function that blocks noxious gas and I use it now. Even without breathing, the aggressive aroma would still be distracting. "Stay here." The werewolves do not protest. Some of them even pinch their noses in distress. I walk to the epicenter of the herbal explosion to search for traces of an intruder. I find it easily: someone smashed a bottle of oil against a tree. With their bare hands. The darkened piece of glass showing a dark set of fingerprints speaks for itself. Whoever used it was careless and in a hurry. They are making it almost too easy. I use the glyphs embedded in the armor''s powerful gauntlet to cast a tracking spell. Unfortunately, it returns no result. The enemies are too far, and the construct is too amateurish. I am not giving up yet. There are only two possibilities. Either the attackers ride from a distant base every time, or they have a base nearby that the wolves have been unable to find. Both options have their own risks but I would lean towards a local base since one of the attacks occurred a few days after the other. As for the base escaping detection, well, Illinois is vast and recently quite minty. My inspection done, I grab the shard and leave the forest, finding the group alert and away. They collectively take a step back when I arrive, until I force the shard into a piece of tissue and down my glove. Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. "They are too far for my spell to pick up but I suggest that we ride a mile out and try to catch their trail." "It has been two days, it would be faded by now." "Not necessarily. One of them hurt his hand on the bottle he threw. Which means that some of the scent may linger." "Maybe. Let''s try it." I call Metis who arrives from the forest to our left, this time. Her space shenanigans send the werewolves in a tizzy, or so I think until I catch a whispered sentence. "It''s her! The ear-snatcher." Metis is now Moonside''s boogeyman. Or boogeyhorse? Bah, it matters not so long as she gets her well-deserved infamy. We ride out through a thick ring of trees and out onto more empty fields. Once we are far enough, I have them fan out and we ride in a curve that follows the edge of the village. Eventually, I pick a powerful perfume on the wind. "That way," June says. Jeffrey''s blonde beta points to a lone tree standing proudly on the side of a dirt road. We find our first hint discarded on the floor: a leather glove of average quality with two fingers torn and dark specks of blood. A good half of the fabric is saturated with blood. Discarded bandages litter the sparse grass. "They must have made a halt there to stop the bleeding," Jeffrey comments with his sleeve held over his nose. I do not comment. It would have been easy to find the tracks left by our foes. A simple organized search would have revealed those clues within an hour, yet Jeffrey could not manage that because¡­ in the end, he is limited by his nature. The werewolf curse was of human making while ours is divine. They failed to sniff down their quarry and thus¡­ gave up. Whoever sent those men must be familiar with the nature of my allies, their flaws and their struggles. They accounted for those, but they did not account for me. I do not need the werewolves to be perfect. I merely ask for their loyalty. They have proven it before when I brought them to bear against the Scourge Hive. I have not forgotten, and I have the skills they lack. The glove proves a much more powerful focus than the shard was. I believe that some items, especially those charged with meaning, possess more inherent trace than other more mundane ones, another quirk of magic. A damaged garment soiled with the blood of an escaping criminal gives off much power, and the spell catched on it. "That way." We ride out, this time much faster. The pack behind me growls and snarls as they run, still wearing their human forms. We make good time and I once again marvel at my companions'' seemingly unending stamina. Their auras merge into a large cohesive whole that smells of hunt, but also of heat and flesh, which I cannot quite grasp. I still enjoy the presence of this great roiling mass that the pack has become. Each individual helps the other calm the curse, direct it, become part of a greater whole. Even their smell and nudity fade in my mind while I enjoy the experience. It certainly helps that I am upwind and do not have to see them. The plains of Illinois move past us, flat expanses of grass decorated with small copses of trees. The hills roll up and down under an immense sky. There are no trails here, and no farmsteads. For a while, we just move with determination. All hunts must come to an end, however, and I slow down on the edge of an empty field. A heavy log marks its boundaries. Someone carved the initials ''JP'' on its surface with a sharp knife. "This is the Patterson estate. We have an understanding with Joseph, the patriarch," Jeffrey says. "We stay off his land and he doesn''t bother us." "Not tonight. The trail leads on." He looks uncomfortable. "The owner of this glove is close," I continue, "very close." Jeffrey frowns. Just like me, he cannot easily go back on agreements. "We are demanding explanations, not trespassing to steal his milk and bark at his cow, Jeffrey." "Lead on." Whoever lives here believed in being self-sufficient, though it must have changed recently. I dismount and we walk through the field and over a small incline to a compound surrounded by a relatively sturdy palissade, with a fresh coat of paint. Jeffrey''s bubbling aura betrays his suspicion. This must be a recent addition to the farmstead. A locked double gate bars our way. I place my hand against it and push. Wood groans and cracks. A chain snaps. We walk in. This is it. Three buildings now stand in our path. A slightly sagging one that shows signs of age, a well-built barn, and a larger, newer house with an attic. A man peeks from an upper floor shutter and ducks back with a soft swear. I can hear eight heartbeats from the newer house and seven from the older one. I can smell horses in the barn. A light smell of gun oil mixes with that of grain, beast, dust, and peppermint. More than that, the Dvor instincts in me scream their outrage. Someone harbored the enemy. Someone who had no cause to go after me. S§×ar?h the N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The aura of the werewolves shifts too. Someone whispers about Joseph Patterson never having horses before. More mutter about the horrendous smell. Furious outrage flares among the pack. "Not yet, Jeffrey. I need answers first. Then you can have them." "Please¡­ Hurry." The pack tenses. They instinctively spread out behind. This is the ambush part of the attack. Now for the theatrics. "Mistral." A frigid wind carries the armor''s glacial aura forward. A lantern flickers. Frost crawls on the glass of a single window while, behind, the horses whinny softly. They caught my scent. "Come out." A scramble in the house. Someone moves the nearest shutter with a laughable attempt at stealth. I turn my gaze upon the mortal, and my helmet swivels ominously. "Do not make me repeat myself." "We don''t want anything to do with you! Go away, this is private property!" the person bleats. A man, rather old. Joseph Patterson, I''d wager. The attackers in the second house slip weapon barrels through the windows. Cute. Ultimately useless. "I will not leave without answers, and you will not like me asking questions. Neither will your family." A sigh. Footsteps, interrupted by frantic whispers. They stop when a revolver clicks and a grown man utters a threat. Interesting. It appears that one of the hunters does not trust his host. A part of me decides that the objective here is to retrieve the leader and any documents they may have. Another enjoys the prelude of threats and banter that comes before the inevitable violence. The last part revels at my newfound power. I know where everyone is. I know what they can do, which is very little. I smell the acrid perfume of their fear. I stand there while the patriarch glances fearfully outside with the full knowledge that I am exactly where I am meant to be and there is no force inside of my territory that can challenge that. I let my arrogance radiate. The door opens. A fearful man peers at me from behind the futile barrier of nailed planks. He hesitates before standing on the threshold. The cross on full display on his chest shines a nice blue. I recognize the old promise of ash and retribution, much more potent than it used to be. It feels so nice to be recognized for one''s own achievements. "I know what you are, vampire." "I keep hearing this as if it made any difference. I shall cut to the chase. Quiet." I raise a finger and block the sound of our conversation from those still inside. Another spell and I see the interior clearly through the wall. I count a scared woman with a ruddy face, four children, and a nervous man with a beard holding the muzzle of his colt against the youngest kid. "You will invite me in and I will spare your family, or I will tear you apart and let the one you pray to sort them out." "You cannot go in." "They can," I add with a smile. The old man looks behind me and blanches. "It is finished, Patterson. Make your choice. You have until your guest loses his nerves to make your decision." "I can''t¡­ They have us¡­" "Oh, I can hear him breathe harder. Will he shoot your eldest first, or will it be your wife?" "Damn you. Damn you! Come in..." "Bolt." A ray of pure blood magic pierces the wall and lands squarely between the eyes of the hostage-taker, killing him on the spot. It drills through the back, until I hear a horse panic. A bit heavy-handed on this one. Ah, well. "Much obliged." I turn and take a step towards the new house. "Fire!" someone yells. Bullets clang uselessly against the armor. I let them, because this is fun. Some miss and hit the ground instead despite my proximity. Those idiots waste much silver! Do they not know the price of an ounce? Bloody wastrels. "Shred." The front of the house explodes in a hail of shards. Eight men scream. One, who was hit in the eye, is quite vocal. I take a small jump towards the attic and smash through the few planks still attached. The floor groans under my weight. This is what I had been looking for. I calmly make my way through a writing desk where some correspondence awaits. My slow pace surprises the three men present so much that they forget to shoot. The oldest finally recovers his spirits just as I place those documents in a ratty leather bag. "Monster! Die!" He empties a revolver on my back. The bullets ping pointlessly against Loth''s impenetrable aegis. "Warriors should face their own deaths with dignity, do you not agree?" I ask. Click. Click. Click. His eyes meet mine. He does not wear a cross. I slap his meager defenses aside and seize his mind in an iron vice. Lots of guilt here, tempered by alcohol and rage. We will have time to be more intimately acquainted later. "Sleep." With a prisoner and his papers under an arm, I jump down just as the door to the attic bursts open. A man clamors after me while I leave. "This isn''t over." "Indeed not." The werewolves have waited far too long for this moment. "Ladies and gentlemen, they are all yours. Do enjoy yourselves," I tell them. Growls and snarls answer. Hybrid forms surge after defenders who apparently forgot to reload and the bloodshed begins. Jeffrey stayed back. His interest is still on Patterson. "Why? We always left you alone." "You¡­ ain''t natural." I am surprised at the hurt in Jeffrey''s eyes. Oh, his policy towards human neighbors might change in the near future. "Ah, but it is not just faith that motivated you, is it?" I grab for my prisoner and realize that he is frozen solid. Ah, oops? I may have forgotten about the armor''s effect. I drop the corpse, which unfortunately breaks, and pick up a note instead. "A receipt for payment of seven dollars per week of rent to a Mr. Joseph Patterson." "You fucking sellout¡­" "Quite a princely sum for such a hovel. Now, as promised, your family gets to live. You have fifteen minutes to pile on whatever you owe on the nearest cart. I will even consent to you keeping one of the horses." The old man pales even more, something that I thought impossible. "But¡­ you can''t" I do not speak. Sharp claws dug into a support beam somewhere behind me. The man lets out a short yelp while I hear a snarl. "Or you could keep wasting time¡­" I suggest. They rush, a pathetic scramble to carry your entire life in a few minutes. Patterson turns to us when their cart is filled. Behind, the rest of his family waits in a terrified huddle. "They can go now." He blinks. "They? Agh!" The claws of my right hand dig in his shoulders. I bring him to his knees. "I said that your family may leave. You may not." "Nooo!" the tallest boy screams, but the others hold him back. Ah, yes, I can see the anger in his eyes. The fury. I could act on it, since he is almost old enough. Instead, I lean forward and smile. "You can try to get me when you are old enough. Just remember not to miss your first shot, because I never do. On your way now, or I will consider that you declined my more than generous offer." They leave. I drink Patterson dry. By the time he dies, the werewolves have cleaned themselves. "Someone please set the horses free," I request. While Jeffrey sends a minion, I grab the flickering lantern and smash it against the dry roof. I repeat the maneuver three times, one for each building until the entire farm is ablaze. I use the provided light to take another document from the list, this one a map. The hunters were truly careless. Perhaps they underestimated the werewolves'' intellect, or perhaps they expected to have the time to destroy incriminating documents if they were spotted. It matters little. I give it to Jeffrey, who dutifully inspects it. His eyes still shine with a deep resentment and his usual demeanor is gone, at least for now. "What is this?" "A list of safe houses and supply caches. I must deal with the main threat. You handle the raiders. Find the bases. Kill everyone. Burn everything." Ah, it is good to be home. Phineas finds me the next afternoon, back in Marquette, with the pride of a man who just resolved a particularly complex problem. "Our opponents have proven quite canny. All the return addresses have turned out to be drop points. I checked on the map of Chicago you currently have. They correspond to law offices and boxes. It would have been a dead end, except that several of the shipments requested and transferred by our mysterious foes are leather goods. Gloves, belts, soles to replace equipment damaged in operation and sourced here quickly." "They bought their own supplies?" "Whoever designed this operation clearly has a good knowledge of tactics but their understanding of strategy and supply chain in particular remains quite lacking. There are several traces of such mishap in the documents I found. The important point, however, is that there is only one cheap and reliable source of leather goods in Illinois." "The local tannery. I funded the purchase of sewing machines myself." "Indeed, and the founder''s grandson holds you in high esteem. The goods were delivered to a warehouse block in Chicago. I have the address." "You think that our mysterious adversaries might be hiding there?" "Payment was made there and a receipt was issued, with reference to an account at the Chicago Trade Bank. This implies the presence of a support staff. Where the support staff is, you will find answers. This is the best lead I can get without being on site." "How serendipitous because I am done here. Prepare your luggage. The time has come to nail the problem at the source." Chapter 165 - 159. Autumn Cleaning We leave Marquette the next night in complete secrecy. Phineas has received a gift from Constantine while I was away, a low-born Nightmare. This is, in reality, a thinly disguised show of support for our operation. I suspect that by now most Wardens know that Illinois is being contested anyway. I make sure to bring my armor and have personal effects sent by carriage. As for us, we will ride through the countryside in travel clothes. I did not have the time to find anything better than a chest protector for him and his Knight armor should not be worn. "Is this really necessary?" Phineas asks, "Do they not know that you have returned?" "Our enemies do not know where I am and what I am doing right now, and I intend to keep it that way. I want the element of surprise on our side." "You have burnt down a farm." "And among our enemies'' agents, I left no survivors. You would be surprised how easily one can achieve discretion when there is nobody left to observe." Phineas gives me a glare from the side as we rush past a small pond, grown smaller by a lack of rain. "I have grown familiar with your methods and the underlying philosophy." "And it is such a good one too. You are welcome," I finish with a smile. Truly, it should be common sense. I would have killed the family too but it would have gone against my code. "What do you plan to do once we arrive?" Phineas asks, this time more seriously. "We know very little about the situation. Our first priority is to reconvene with Melusine. She is a shrewd woman, and will no doubt have knowledge and strong opinions on everything. She usually does. Her help will prove decisive." "Should you not be the one who provides help? She is a city master." "And I am a war lady as well as the Warden of this state." I realize that Phineas stopped me on a question of etiquette and amend my remark. "Melusine would not be losing unless she is being heavily outclassed. We have already determined that the scale of the assault is at the level of the state, therefore the responsibility to repel it falls to me. Do not be concerned, Melusine and I have cooperated on several occasions with great success, despite her natural prickliness. I blame it on her English heritage." Phineas and I engage in a brief staring contest. "How dreadful," the Lancaster man retorts, "especially when compared to your French and American tendencies to start revolutions." Touch¨¦. "The Watcher save me, there are two of them now," I lament. We both smile and keep riding into the night. It takes us a few hours to reach the outskirts of Chicago despite our speed, and I am amazed to find that the city has continued its explosive growth. Tatty wooden houses and shops sprawl explosively from the beating heart of the city, pulsing in time with the stock exchange and the innumerable train lines. It even smells a bit cleaner with the recent addition of an excellent sewer system. I just find it slightly disappointing that the sewage would spill in the city''s freshwater source but what can I say? I am no civil engineer. We ride through deserted alleys on our way to Melusine''s compound. I have to admit that the poverty and squalor are not as dreadful as I had feared. Melusine always said that many of her more influential citizens promoted clean living and that she would support their impetus. We even come across a natural park, a surprisingly fancy addition to an otherwise poor district. I have Phineas dismount shortly before we approach Melusine''s compound in case there are hostile sentries and we take to the roofs, or at least I try to before I realize a bit of a conundrum. There are no wooden roofs in all of Chicago that can support a vampire carrying five hundred pounds of eternal ice battle armor on her back. I am reminded of that fact and hope that the cost of repair will not prove too taxing for that innocent family. I also discover that accidentally and forcefully entering someone''s home uninvited feels terrible and disturbing. I was essentially shoved out. "Nevermind, you stay up and scout for the both of us. I will walk. Contain your aura as much as you can." A click of the tongue to mark his acknowledgment and we are on our way. Melusine has set her base next to meat-packing factories, and while the smell is not the most pleasant, the lack of late night entertainment allows us to easily spot groups of individuals with questionable motives. We avoid them and find our destination guarded and fortified, an immense relief. I dreaded the unlikely possibility that Chicago had been entirely taken over. If we have a base, then we have a chance. I signal Phineas. We move through the shadows, then circle the main entrance. A tall, protective stone wall encircles the brick buildings my ally made her seat of power. I glance up to see a subtle line of enchantments surrounding the entire perimeter. The hint of fire in the methodical work reminds me of Melusine herself. She must have spent some time setting it up. "We should get in," I suggest. I jump and allow the alarm to trigger. Phineas lands by my side shortly after. We have arrived in a small courtyard. The windows leading to the two-storyies building in front of us are all boarded cleanly. It takes less than thirty seconds for three familiar auras to arrive. Melusine lands first, traits tense under an armored dress I made for her. To my dismay, it looks damaged. John and Urchin follow in similarly patched-up gear. My joy at seeing them again withers at the pain I notice, and the palpable relief when they recognize me. All of them show clear, distinct physical signs of mental exhaustion, a shocking display for us. It makes me angry. This unprovoked attack will be punished. I will make sure of it. "Ariane. I dared not hope. It really is you, but, your aura? I cannot feel it." "It would be better if we two kept a low profile at first. Everyone, meet Phineas of the Lancaster. Phineas, those are Melusine of the Lancaster, Urchin of the Vanheim and Doe of the Natalis, by order of seniority." "A pleasure. It is good to finally see you again after hearing so much," Phineas smoothly greets." "Only good things, I hope?" Melusine asks with a hint of her old abrasive self. "Naturally. Gentlemen, an honor." "Likewise," Urchin greets as he spins his silver dollar. John merely nods, then our eyes meet and he lowers his in shame. It makes me distinctly uncomfortable. "We should talk more in a more secluded place. There is much to do," I say. "Yes, indeed. Yes. Congratulations on recruiting someone normal, Ariane. Everyone, follow me please," Melusine declares. What is that supposed to mean? Pah. We move between densely-woven defensive enchantments and sturdy bricks then to a fortified door. Guards on the outside are few and grouped, a sign that Melusine expects a vampire attack. Isolated sentries are of no use against vampires. Worse, being picked off tends to affect morale adversely. Those few we come across share the fatigue and stress I detected in my allies. This is a siege and it has lasted for far too long. Finally, we climb sets of stairs to an elegantly decorated boudoir. The understated luxury belies the base''s rough exterior. I wait for Melusine''s invitation to sit on the nearest couch, a courtesy that she acknowledges with a minute smile. "Before we begin," she says, "may I ask if you are back for good? We were informed that you had returned by Sephare, however¡­" "Yes. My stay with the Knights has been cut short." Phineas makes a choking sound. "By this, I mean that a member tried to assassinate me and we parted as a result. Violently. Under Jimena''s initiative, I might add." "Jimena?" Melusine exclaimes. "Really?" "Yes. Really. It is fine, however, I have my aura firmly under control." I show a bit of fang. "Trust me." "Well that will be more than necessary, because we are facing a lord." I keep calm. I expected such an outcome, of course, but to hear it from Melusine herself confirms my belief that we are facing a coalition. Between the financial means and the presence of a lord, whoever is attacking us has invested a stupefying amount of resources for the sake of taking me down. I almost feel flattered. "Please do elaborate." She sighs, and her shoulders slump. Melusine almost never loses her composure. "We have been under attack for months. At first, those were just hostile financial moves, then our enemies escalated to physical attacks against supply convoys all masked under the guise of banditry. Even carrying goods by train could not stave them off. Wagons went missing. Entire shipments were sent somewhere else by mistake. Tracking down our enemy proved useless as most of their agents were disposable stooges hired by proxy or simply bitten. I was compelled to ask Sephare and Constantine for assistance." She stops then and passes a hand through her thick red hair. She searches my face, perhaps waiting for judgement, perhaps comfort. I signal her to continue. I cannot rest until I know. "With their help, we managed to stabilize the most vulnerable ventures but I must warn you, we have to abandon the expansion west and some of our reconstruction projects." "Naturally. You were under attack," I say. Another nod. "I am comforted that you would agree. With our assets in relative safety, I finally managed to follow the money trail out of state. More specifically, to the south. I could not send agents to investigate while we were under siege but there were enough hints to locate a base east of here, on the edge of the lake. Urchin and Doe joined me on a determined assault." She winces. "We were soundly beaten. The attack started normally and we managed to disable two courtiers and wound a master. Then the lord arrived with reinforcements. He disabled all of us. A clean blow to the heart." "He was trained for war," John says. "Like Jarek." "It is as he says. He knew how to fight and so did the others." "They had Roland aura, Mistress," Urchin says. His silver dollar disappears somewhere and a knife replaces it. Melusine huffs at the memory. "Unfortunately we cannot prove anything. We woke up at the base with half of our standing forces decimated. I will be honest, I could have kept fighting but it was not worth it. I know when I am outclassed. The plan so far was to hire Natalis mercenaries from Jarek, discreetly. He has been reluctant to send them. He called it a show of weakness but what can I do against this aggression? We are weak, comparatively." "Not anymore. You have me now." "It will not be enough, unless you are suddenly a lady." "I am." "Then¡­ Pardon me?" "I am serious. I ascended. It is done." Melusine glares though I can feel hope bubbling in her carefully-controlled aura. "You are going to be so insufferable." S~ea??h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Oi. "I shall permit you to bask in my illustriousness after we have triumphed," I generously allow. "I would rather bask in the morning sunlight. I¡­ cannot feel it in your aura." "I am aiming to become nearly invisible. I suspect that several local lords have reached that level of aura control. Mine is still insufficient but I have had an excellent teacher. Enough of this, we must strike at our foes before they realize that I am here." "Are you fully confident that you can face a battle lord in combat?" "Yes." "Then it would be best to defeat them before they go to ground. Unfortunately, they have since moved from the base we found. We will have to find them either in or around the city, and with that size¡­" "Ah, this is where I come in!" Phineas says with a smile. He picks a folded paper from his breast pocket, then places it on the coffee table between the five of us. It contains a summary map of the warehouse quarter along the shore of lake Michigan. Phineas briefly explains how he followed the paper trail to what seems to be the logistics heart of the opposition. "It should be in this warehouse." "Yes, that makes perfect sense¡­" Melusine muses. "This place used to belong to a wizard cabale called the Dresden group. They and the other practitioners left following a citywide edict against magic." "Oh?" I exclaim with some surprise. "Yes. Chicago is almost exclusively white and magic free, and therefore respectable enough for east coast citizens to move to. It cost me my detail of magicians but in the grand scheme of things, I deem that it was worth it. They would not have made a difference." I would think that she underestimates how resourceful a group of supported, trained mages can be. She should not. We sided with one when we escaped the Gabrielite trap all those years ago. She has forfeited safety for profit. Perhaps this is why our enemies wormed themselves in her city while only sniffing around mine. Nevertheless, she has brought us great wealth and will again, given the chance. It is only fair that I should protect our interests. This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. "Let us return to the subject at hand. The warehouse." "Yes. I had no interest in it when it was sold so I did not follow but it appears that it was acquired by our foes. The proximity to the shore means that they are well-positioned to receive shipments of supplies while only having to keep an eye on a few key streets." "Why would they only keep an eye on a few key streets?" She stops. "Hm, I suppose that we would be expected to approach by land? Since we already live there." "Then we shall approach by sea. Or lake, in this case." "Do you know how to operate a ship?" she asks with some surprise. "We will not ride on a ship of the line, you dunce. Can you not row?" "I will row," John says with finality. Melusine''s aura reflects her true nature. She is pouting. "This hardly counts as a plan." "We get a rowing boat, we sail along the shore to the warehouse and disembark. We identify which building or buildings host the vampires and attack them before they can plan a defense. We capture as many as we can and use their supply routes to wipe their organization from the land in one fell swoop." "What if the lord is out?" "Then we capture his underlings. This is a key location. They will not leave it defenseless." "Their supply routes will surely be coded," Urchin remarks. "And I am confident that those in charge are scrumptious. I already have the wolves handle a few of the groups we found. We will handle the rest and use my security forces to mop up. It is time to send a message." Something shifts in the auras of those I call my friends. I realize that, until now, they had held little hope that the situation might be resolved. A siege of several months has a way to sap even the most stalwart defenders. I do not envy them. "Very well. This is more a guideline than a plan, but with so many unknowns, anything too elaborate will be of no use anyway," Melusine admits. "What if they have two lords?" She continues after a moment of hesitation. I slap my hand against the coffee table just hard enough to receive a satisfactory reaction from the harried vampires. We do not like sudden movements and unexpected noises. This jolts them awake like a cold shower. "Stop thinking about worst case scenarios. If they decide to violate the Accords that brazenly then there is nothing we can do. Plan for the likely, not the technically possible. We will go there and we will retake what is ours. First your city, then our state. They will rue the day they thought us weak, because we are rising vampires and there is no battlefield we cannot tread." For the first time tonight, Melusine gifts me with a genuine smile. Three knives appear in Urchin''s hands while John rolls his shoulders. They are ready. "Go and take your best gear. We leave in ten minutes." Melusine and Urchin stand to leave, and so does Phineas when he realizes that John has stayed. The tall man has regained some of his countenance, and yet I detect an underlying frailty so unlike him that I do not know what to think. "I have failed you, Miss Ari," he says. Ah, so this is what it is. "Explain." "You tasked me with defending your territory. I could not." I nod to myself, but really this is just a show. "In truth, I should be the one who apologizes." He frowns mightily after hearing such an outrageous claim. Good. "If the leader gives her follower an impossible task, who is to blame when the follower cannot complete it?" He tilts his massive head, considering. "I could not know that we would be attacked by such a foe, and you could not have defeated them. Now I am back and you will be by my side when we teach them a lesson." "As it should be." "Good. You still have that maul I gave you?" "Shiny as a new dollar, Miss Ari." "Go get it for when you need to make an entrance." With some privacy, I quickly change into my armor and we reconvene outside. They all inspect it in silence. Urchin even raises a hand, marveling at the coat of frost decorating his sleeve like a frilly ornament. "Now I can believe it." "Show some patience and you will have proof," I tell him before turning around. We rush silently through the streets, dodging sentries until we arrive at the shore. It is a matter of moments to find an embarkation large enough to accomodate all of us, but when I alone am left on the dock, Melusine tsks. "You are too heavy to join us." "Then I will not," I reply, and step down. The placid water freezes solid under my feet. I stand on the quickly spreading ice while an entire blanket forms around me. It is time for a nice, polar stroll. "Follow, please, and let there be darkness." Under the protective aegis of the spell, we progress quickly to the warehouse where our foes gather. The fae spell hides aura as well as magic and vision. We move unimpeded in the relative darkness of the cloudy night like wraiths on the surface of the unmoving, fetid waters. The city might be working to clean itself but my friends row through its dirty bath water on our way to an equally dirty deed. In a way, tonight links back to my early years as a courtier. Cloaks and daggers have led to more cloaks and daggers, but this time, I hold the blade. "We are here." Melusine''s whispers only reach me because the darkness spell likes me. It remains the first one I cast perfectly, and I feel a deep understanding of its nature. It will hide me until the time has come to forfeit stealth. The warehouse complex stands on a more desolate part of the shore. It does not even have a proper pier, merely a few planks jutting forward so that midnight travelers can pass their cargo from hand to hand without wetting their feet. Crates and boxes pile up against a rickety wall but I can pierce through the illusion. Those are creaky things that will betray any attempt to climb them. The wall is high and sturdy. The only door has been reinforced with metal. There are no enchantments I can detect, however. We all gather next to it. "There is a sentry farther up. He hasn''t noticed us," Urchin whispers. I saw him. He is remarkably vigilant for a stooge, but he is looking in the wrong direction. A quick spell and the door opens without a sound. Behind, we find a large courtyard with more crates and jars. There are three large buildings inside of the compound that I can see with one being little more than a barn used to store goods. I dismiss the second immediately because there are no lights there. The third is the right one. "Enchantments. Defensive wards," Melusine whispers. "And here I was afraid that we might not have the right place." "They would not place them on their walls. Too obvious and they still pretend to be hidden. Far sight." The spell opens a smooth window into the interior, showing a slightly distorted image of a serious man in black pants and shirt inspecting notes with a frown. I recognize a vampire from his immobility, though his aura is hard to perceive at this range. He, too, makes some effort to keep it under control. "One of their masters. I do not know his name. He was masked last time but I would recognize that frown anywhere," Melusine says. I nod and inspect the rest of the structure, not too worried about the being found out. This spell was specifically designed to go around wards. A careful inspection shows many mortals hard at work around an improvised office, I count another Master cleaning a sword as well as three Courtiers on the second floor currently busy getting ready for some unknown task. We caught them all, it seems. The lord sits near the entrance to my right, brooding. "He is the one who defeated us," Melusine says. "Alright, here is the plan. You four take the backdoor. When I give the signal, John breaks it and you come in to engage the downstairs Masters before they can regroup. I will attempt to disable one but be ready for anything. Once this is done, move up and catch the Courtiers. Disable them as you see fit. Try not to destroy the hearts and heads, normal wounds should suffice." "Understood," Melusine says. "Hold on," Phineas says, "what is the signal?" I glare reproachfully. "You should know." "Yes," Urchin adds, "the signal is always the same." I decide to explain a point I deem important. "Please note that I do not mean it as a metaphor for the condition of women or young proactive vampires although it would be fitting, but sometimes, in life, you have to make your own doors. You can enter once I''ve made mine." "Oh I see." No he does not, but he will. I watch the four warriors walk stealthily to the left entrance. John lifts the maul. Time seems to slow down, heavier. Inside of the house, the lord blinks. Good instincts, but it will not suffice. I sprint forward. Despite my grace, the moving armor still produces a whisper of a noise. The lord jumps to his feet as the others look on with confusion. It does not matter. They are too late, because I. AM. HERE. I hit bricks with my left pauldron and fully unleash my aura. The wall explodes inward in a shower of chunks and debris under my weight. Masonry flies and men scream. Dust fills the air just as my left gauntlet closes around the head of the nearest Master. I clench and pulp it like a ripe melon. The door behind me shatters as well with the roar of a frustrated and rather pissed off Natalis. The lord materializes a dueling sword. I let Rose grow from my hand. "I FOUND YOU, LITTLE RATS. MAGNA ARQA!" "Oh shit." Ah. Yes. I can feel everything. My four allies crash through the demolished remains of the back entrance, dogpiling the remaining master. Thorny roots shred beams and tiles. They turn bricks to powder as if they were sand. I only manage to stop myself from destroying the desks as the first one sags from a missing leg. This time, the area is considerably smaller and I can only control a handful of roots directly and yet there is no ruining the exhilarating sensation of utter liberation and power now filling me. I am exactly as I was meant to be, complete and free and fully myself. I can grow in strength later. Now is the time to enjoy the moment and this man LOOKS DELICIOUS. He runs away. Roland lord. Adrien. Adam''s twin and the more quiet of the pair ruling Kentucky. We had an agreement made at the beginning of the civil war. KILL HIM. CLAIM HIS ESSENCE. "COME BACK, YOU COWARD." He only wears a beige ensemble that would not look out of place in a salon. They always wear beige with their stupid beige hair and light brown eyes. Like looking at a backstabbing monochrome. Pathetic. Adrien jumps through a lone window in a shower of glass shards. I demolish the entire side of the house on my way out and cleave the legs of an unfortunate Courtier who had the misfortune of running down the nearby stairs when I pass him by. A hint of Roland power feeds me. Just an appetizer. "Magna Arqa!" Adrien melds into the shadows of the courtyard, his form insubstantial now. No matter. I rush forth and flay the ground with searching roots. I can still sense his presence within the sphere as roots track him even now. A hint of movement leads me to the door we left half-opened. I race after the fleeing lord and turn right out. A root catches his leg when he emerges from behind a crate that would be too small to hide a dog. Reality shenanigans! Two can play that game. More roots burst through the ground and out of walls to join the others, tightening the hold over my surroundings. Adrien frees himself and only leaves a piece of fabric and a drop of blood in his mad dash to get away from me. I sprint after him. The armor slows me but I care not because who would stop me anyway? I turn the corner to a panicked sentry and regrettable lack of fleeing Roland. I swat the man''s mind like a fly. "WHERE IS HE?" Panicked eyes flick to a side alley. I stomp the ground like an unstoppable juggernaut and smile when I feel a presence in the corner, behind a discarded cart with a missing wheel. We are in my sphere. I have to struggle not to let my roots rip him to shreds. I walk by and lean to the side. Adrien''s soul blade grinds on my shoulder and bounces back. I angled it perfectly. I grab his wrist before he can retreat and snap it effortlessly. His handsome face is so close to mine that I can feel the small exhale of controlled agony drifting over my eyelashes. I pull him in and retract Rose but he melts again before I can bite down. "I like it when you wriggle," I tell the fleeing form while I race after it. He turns towards the shore. He comes to a stop in front of a small fishing cabin. I do not. I rotate and cast a fast mirage to duplicate the following horizontal strike. Adrien gifts me with delectable consternation before vanishing again. Arg. So frustrating! I hiss. The cabin explodes in a torrent of shards. Adrien slips through the rain to a barrel and then, to my immense surprise, jumps into the water. I watch him disappear under the dark waves. Calm returns to the surface a moment later. That feckless ruffian. I cannot follow. I will not follow. I would only turn into a livid ice cube, propelled by rage. The water is filthy. I roar once and let the Magna Arqa fade away. He escaped, the slippery bastard. No matter. I can testify of his presence and we should have enough prisoners to put his wardenship to an end. Amusingly, Melusine was entirely correct. There could have been two lords here, with his twin included. I turn and realize that this is almost a recreation of that scene in Savannah I survived back in eighteen twelve. I had to run from a furious lord Suarez after a small incident of bank robbery, only to dive head first in Savannah''s tepid and filthy waters. How the tables have turned. I scrunch my nose under the face mask and thank the Watcher that I avoided an impromptu bath this time. Let another smell of pee! The curse has been lifted. In a significantly better mood, I return to the abandoned base to find that we did indeed get all of our foes prisoner. Unfortunately, their base has collapsed. Only half of it still stands. "What happened here?" I ask no one in particular. "You, Ariane. You happened. We are lucky to have recovered so many of the documents, but the rest is lost under a significant amount of debris because of your heavy-handed approach!" Melusine spits with obvious frustration. "Well excuuuuse me! Next time I shall leave you to beat the lord while I handle the housekeeping, yes?" "At least my beatings do not extend to the architecture!" "Really, little miss firebug? Really?" "You are just as insufferable as I remember. Please let me know when you leave so I can tidy the city, your Hallowed Bumpkinness." "Next time I will bring explosives." We bicker with pleasure while packing up. All in all, tonight was an auspicious haul. I was right to act fast. I decide to head back to Marquette where I can securely hold prisoners while I summon Constantine or one of his enforcers. The next day, Melusine presents me with a newspaper cut framed in elegant rosewood. "Here, as a mark of my appreciation and to remember your timely assistance," she tells me. I frown and read in silence. "The Chicago Tribune. ''Panic by the shore!'' An unidentified lunatic terrorized the coast yesterday evening. At two in the morning, Chicagoans living near Menomee and Wisconsin streets were forced awake by the screams of a deranged individual of the female persuasion. Although many citizens opened their shutters to investigate the disturbance, the guilty harridan could not be found, leaving the inhabitants baffled and irritated. ''Twas like a mountain lion in rut,'' Mrs. Culpepper reports to the Tribune. ''If I wasn''t living in the city I would have sent my old Paul with a rifle and a prayer, I would!'' Since the harpy bellowing those horrendous screams could not be found¡ª" I carefully lower the frame. "Your doing, I suppose?" "I have no notion about what you could possibly mean." "For the sake of the continued existence of our arrangement and your own continued existence, I shall leave this place. Please make sure to pull your own weight in something other than making bank, for once." "Ah, concerning this," Melusine adds more seriously. "I would be grateful if you could leave Phineas with me to help with the investigation." I turn to Phineas who considers the offer with greedy eyes. "Phineas is his own man. If he agrees¡­" "It would be convenient, yes," the man agrees a bit quickly. I bet a cotton bale against a twig that they plan on investigating each other''s nether regions. Ah well. "Please do your best to solve the current crisis," I remind them. Urchin, John, and I ride out of the city at nightfall while doing our best to avoid attraction. I unexpectedly feel an aura tugging at us while we move through small streets surrounded by wooden houses of poor making. A fire hazard is what it is. I keep moving at a slow pace until we find Adrien waiting for us. He wears a new, clean suit which annoys me a bit. I stop Metis, who snorts derisively at the vampire in front of her. "This is not what you think. I would like to discuss terms." "Why would I bother when I can have the Accords bury you?" "Because that is what they want, and they have my brother." Chapter 166 - 160. The World does not wait The fall wind blows with the promise of rain over the deserted road. Adrien stands over the trampled dirt of the flat road in his impeccable beige suit, an exquisite transplant in an otherwise drab garden. His essence and mine meet in the middle where they touch but do not mix, setting a frontier that we both respect, for now. I am still not used to this new sensation of existing outside of my body. Urchin and John take a few steps back. In a contest of lords, all other combatants are merely different magnitudes of flies. "You will have to offer an extremely convincing argument Adrien, because my current options are to kill you, or report you to the Accords and watch Ignace torture then kill you." The Roland lord sighs minutely. I have him. "May we talk somewhere? I would not want to be interrupted." "Are you surrendering yourself to me?" "I cannot." He means it. His words carry a weight of conviction that I can taste on his essence, but only because he allows it. For a moment, I entertain the thought of going back to a clearing we passed by on the way, but I quickly crush those parasitic remains of a time when I was much weaker. He will not get a single concession from me. The balance of power is firmly in my favor. "Then this place will serve." Adrien leans slightly forward in a predatory gesture that speaks of a deluge of claws. I let him. Metis turns her head to consider him in that peculiar judgemental manner she has. I am stronger than him even without the armor. His shadows mean nothing because the thorns will find him no matter where, in whatever form he has chosen, and they will rip him to shreds. "Try your luck, or do not, but stop wasting my time," I tell him. Adrien hisses softly. It speaks of defeat. "We never intended to face you. Our arrangement throughout the civil war has been very fruitful and we know you to honor your bargains. We were trapped by Benoit, Warden of Virginia." I remember him. He commands the opposition to Sephare''s faction. An ambitious man with the demeanor of a brilliant scholar. "Benoit summoned Adam to his estate for the sake of coordinating the reconstruction effort, or so he claimed. He called him a traitor to the cause instead and had him imprisoned. I am to obey Benoit''s directives or my brother dies. I do not need to tell you what happens if they find out that we are cooperating." This makes little sense, and yet Adrien is open and his truthfulness is beyond doubt. "A territory will never be worth alienating two powerful lords when its custody depends on a larger system. There is more than what you are telling me." "Perhaps, but I was only able to discover little. Adam was tortured by someone talented. His clothes were returned by Lord Loic, the new Warden of Tennessee, who immediately took over our spy network. Loic is Benoit''s creature and a man of the shadows. My eyes and ears were stolen from me before I could even deploy them. I only managed to gather snippets from illegal outings. Loic¡­ has taken over my place of residence." He grits his teeth and his gaze focuses on me. The beast is close to the surface. It must take a colossal effort for him to retain his will. "They have moved a significant amount of monetary resources to the attack but the amount of schemers involved remains small because Loic has to make excuses to his own side for lack of commitment to ongoing projects. Those are the actions of a secret cabal. The problem is that without prior knowledge of my brother''s current location, any attempt on my part to take revenge could end his life. I will not accept that. Never." Metis moves slightly, sensing my agitation. I rein in my imagination. It will be of no use right now. "Benoit''s motives matter less than discovering the means of stopping him and his group. Unfortunately, a direct approach will not serve us here. Even if we capture Loic, which would be complex, his absence will be remarked on long before we can extract the truth from him. Roland lords are notoriously difficult to break." Adrien''s expression darkens further at the reminder of what his brother has gone though, but I can sense the determination under that. I have lit the flames of hope in his heart, which means that he is ripe for the taking. "We need to involve Sephare. I do not have the spy network to find out what Benoit is up to." I lift a hand to stop his protests. "I will use a mirror spell and require her to be cautious. I know that you have little reason to trust her but I assure you that she will take every precaution to safeguard Adam''s life if I am the one to request it. In the meanwhile, the masquerade must be kept. I will return your agents and we will coordinate to pretend that you are still attacking me." It is too much, and Adrien realizes the trap too late. The beginning of a smile freezes on his lips. "Of course, I have conditions." "Name them," he hisses. "You will be part of my faction now and for the next century. Whatever I vote for, you vote for. Whatever I fund, you fund, within reason. My battles are your battles. You will be, for all intents and purposes, my subordinates." "For a hundred years? Are you mad?" I do not reply. Instead, I step down from Metis and come to face him. Rose materializes in my hand. "There were choices to be made, Adrien. The ones you picked hurt my friends and my interests. You did it because I was away and you thought us weak. You were wrong. I have absolutely no reason to spare you." "I spared your second and your Courtiers." "That is good or we would not be having this conversation. You must understand this. We Devourers are jealous masters. My mortals are mine to the last wagon driver. My mages belong to me to the youngest apprentice. My wolves run for me when I call them. Their lives were not yours to reap, and now you will bend and commit to my banner for a century or you will die. Choose." I care not. He already revealed enough. I can place a name and a face on my mysterious foe and Adrien''s help is no longer needed. "Be careful, Ariane. Your ascension was swift and those in your position often make enemies they might regret later." "While you are regretting yours now. Enough talk." "I accept. I will have to take solace in Benoit''s fall and, hopefully, his ignominious end. Do not push your luck too far, Ariane." "For the offender in this affair, you certainly show me hatred. Save it for your true tormentor." "Oh, young one. My heart has room for all the hatred in the world." I scoff. This man is not Malakim. He does not know true hatred. "We need to return to Chicago for now. There is much to plan." One of Melusine''s Courtiers leads me into her mirror room. His name might be Donald or Duncan or something similar. To be perfectly honest, I had forgotten that Melusine had followers. She recruited them young and they are still undergoing training, therefore they were useless and hidden during the conflict. Typical of the redhead. I close the door behind me and sit in front of the communication spell''s focus. It does not show my reflection, of course. Without touching it, I fill it with power and reach for the blonde vampire''s location. A pulse crosses the space between us and the mirror''s surface shimmers and undulates like wind blowing on the surface of a pond. It takes some time for the pulse to find an echo, which does not surprise me. Few individuals can claim to have Sephare''s ear at their convenience. The ripples merge and gain color, resolving into the petite and seemingly demure Hastings lady. She wears an intricate teal dress that leaves her shoulders bare. "Ariane?" "We may have a problem." I quickly expose the recent developments and my findings, summarizing the liberation of Illinois in three sentences while expanding on Adrien''s revelations and my own conclusions. "Goodness me, yes, this is preoccupying." "It just feels so short-sighted to me. With this action, Benoit endangers his reputation and the very existence of his faction, and for what? There is more territory to snatch than there are powerful vampires right now." "Yes, although, not every territory is currently worth the effort it would take to grab it. Imagine trying to establish a coven of cultural and sophisticated immortals in Arkansas? In any case, please get Adrien here so that we may learn where to start." I call upon the Roland and maintain the spell while Sephare questions him with meticulous attention. She asks him how many mercenaries and agents he has employed, how much they are being paid and how much the supplies would cost. Adrien was recently cut off from his possessions, but he was the one to handle the shadier aspect of the twins'' business and his knowledge of his own logistics does him credit. "Ariane was correct. This operation is completely unsustainable. Loic must be receiving funding from outside and I suspect that the entire operation might be used to distract us from some central scheme." "Could it be related to Mask?" I ask. I did not follow up on internal Accords politics while I was with the Knights. I did, however, get acquainted with European power dynamics. The expansion faction has successfully united their wayward covens across Europe''s colonies. Only we remain, and only because we have both a unified government and the military power to back it up. "I have kept an eye on Martha. There has been no buildup of forces recently. In any case, I do not wish to waste time on conjectures. I will see how our Virginian friend employs his money. It should give us a hint. In the meanwhile, please prepare a plan to neutralize Loic in a way that we have enough time to turn him, or Adam will be in danger. We need him pliable so that we can move more freely. Ariane? Any ideas?" "I have one that could work. I will require some assistance and it also depends on a specific condition." I turn to my neighbor. "Adrien, how much would Loic want to capture me alive?" There are times where immediate and overwhelming violence is not an answer, or so I have been told. I argue that there are two types of diplomacy. The first exists between people searching for common ground. In this case, diplomacy allows both sides to benefit as part of a positive sum game where each participant has a chance to increase their own well-being. The second exists when one side''s purpose is completely unacceptable to the other. For example, the newly formed Integrity party considers the existence of supernatural creatures as unacceptable while we would very much prefer to stay alive. In those instances, diplomacy is merely the continuation of overwhelming force by other means. The White Cabal advocates moral superiority and taking the high road. I wish them good luck in their endeavors as I pull the trigger. The rifle roars between my hands, propelling a little cone of lead at amazing speed through representative-hopeful Holst as he exits a house of ill repute. The projectile bores through his chest and splatters his lung on the wall of this fine establishment. An employee screams. Her dress is ruined. Tragic. I pick up the rifle and drop out of sight. For all their talks of faith, most integrists look down on those who lend the other cheek. They are filled with the burning passion of righteous outrage. If they win, it is not that the other side respected the law. It simply means that God is on their side. Thus, my intervention shall act as a reminder that they are not invincible and that their champion was not as pure as he claimed, depriving them of a martyr. Every little bit helps. I jump across roofs back to the office Sephare lent me while I reside in her city. We have much to arrange and Marquette is quite safe right now. I let myself in through the window and remove the black cloak I wore for the occasion. Under, I wear one of the normal blue dresses I use for business. The design is simple and includes a heart protector. The fabric shows enough care to indicate wealth while keeping a conservative appearance to lure others into a false sense of normalcy. It will suffice. I sit down in front of an empty table in my office to clean and disassemble the rifle I used. The mundane task soothes me. Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator. The world has moved on while I was away, it is a fact of life that I had not anticipated and that I now apprehend. I had previously lived through many changes in government, of course, but this is different. The mundane humans know of magic. Some countries already outlawed it completely. My eyes travel to the newspaper placed on my desk. "Louisa Pasteur executed this morning by firing squad." She is the first person to be officially slain for the crime of sorcery in a long time. Louisa was an untrained witch with a small quirk. Her power went out of control during an argument with her husband, causing his accidental death. It could have been manslaughter were it not for the means used to push the poor man against that fateful chimney frame at the worst possible angle. Unfortunately, using magic to harm people is now punishable by death, no matter the circumstances, and no matter the result. The accidental nature of the death only gave the integrists the ammunition they needed to show how dangerous magic could be. Never had a man''s broken neck caused such a pain in my own backside. I know where this is going. I am not surprised when a knock on my door comes an hour later. One of Sephare''s men announces the coming of a visitor. He wears a tuxedo with white gloves and a cane like the rest of them, a uniform that Sephare picked for them. Some of the goons look like circus bears in this outfit, which I find amusing. "Come in." A man in a navy suit enters the room. He grasps a bowler hat between nervous hands. I smell fresh sweat and terror in the air, fear in his shifting blue eyes. Those who know of me without knowing me always react in the same manner. "Is it wise?" he finally asks. I maintain eye contact while I keep cleaning the gun, which is an old model I know well. It only unnerves him more. "Mr. Holst was killed on the doors of a famous brothel. Sadly, a note will be found in his breast pocket concerning a debt he contracted three years ago and remains outstanding. A regrettable affair, but one should not give lessons when they are sinners themselves. Let him cast the stone, and so on." "Was he that dissolute?" "He did receive some money from a relative three years ago to purchase a property here. It is such a shame that this relative died and the source of this gift shall remain dubious." "That is quite a low blow." "No, sir, I shot him in the heart." "That is not¡­ I meant¡­" "I know what you meant. Newspapers will smear his name by dawn and now the integrists have lost quite a charismatic leader. You think that I am being too harsh?" "We are not murderers!" I glare and he has enough backbone to take a deep breath and to stand his ground. "You are not, and this is to your credit, I suppose. Now I assume that you have your license?" "Hmm, yes?" "May I see it?" He hesitates then removes a mundane piece of paper from his breast pocket. It shows his name and description in clinical details. The term ''wizard'' appears in bright red letters below the stamp of the ministry of supernatural affairs, its seal showing a reverse blade hanging over the name like a sword of Damocles. A fitting image. "If a sovereign puts your name on a list, you are either a nuisance or about to be taxed. You cling to notions of respectability and I commend you for it, but you are also a rich little man living in a mansion in Washington. You are a useful activist whose role during the civil war clads you in an aura of respectability living in a lawful and policed city. Others will not share your good fortune. So wash your hands and your conscience of my deeds, if you must. Veil your eyes with the belief that your exemplary behavior will move the masses to new heights of morality, since you believe in mankind''s goodness. I know the truth and I will resort to the same tools as our foes, because this is the only thing they will understand and respect." "An eye for an eye will leave all of us all blind, vampire." "Only those removed from disaster can allow themselves this sort of sophistry, but since you served me an expression, sir, allow me to reciprocate. Vae Victis." "We are not at war." I stand up and pick the newspapers, which I throw at his feet. "And yet blood has been shed by both sides." We remain silent for a minute or so, during which I finish cleaning and placing the gun back in its case. "The Lady Sephare warned me that you had a more¡­ hands-on approach to problem-solving. I just hope that it does not cost us too much good will. I will condemn this action and express my condolences at daybreak. I hope that your logic does not throw us in the precipice of war we are trying so hard to avoid." "Best of luck to you." He leaves and I return to the desk to check my correspondence for that night. The main point of interest is a letter in a cream envelope addressed to me in person. I am cordially invited to join the extraordinary conclave of the White Cabal in response to the creation of the first supernatural task force. This is not the sort of event that I can afford to miss. I write a formal reply and ring a small bell. A moment later, the doorman answers my summons. "Please have this letter sent, then bring me the memo on the supernatural task force, thank you." "Understood ma''am." I have my document a minute later, brought by a mousy intelligence expert. Let us see. The government is hiring mages to deal with mages under the supervision of selected officials. Hmm, I wonder if they can be at all infiltrated. The book of disinformation Sinead wrote has already become a bestseller, but the higher level of the government must have access to more precise briefings, including on how to protect themselves against us. We shall see how Constantine and Sephare want to play it out. My focus must remain on the supernatural alliance. This is more my area of expertise. One cannot be good at everything. Like singing. Curse singing. I sigh and prepare to pack. Two days later, near Avalon. When the White Cabal first made their lair in the wilderness west of New York, they may not have anticipated their drastic growth. As one of the only two organizations to enjoy an alliance with me and a relative truce with the rest of us, the Cabal has found itself a durable species lacking natural predators, with the expected result. They have been fruitful and multiplied to cover all of the earth, or at least all of it between New Brunswick and Princeton. What started as a refuge has now grown into a tentacular network of connected towns kept safe by a comprehensive system of wards, patrols, and good old-fashioned distrust of strangers. My carriage would have been interrupted a dozen times were it not for uniformed guards riding along. I cannot blame them for their caution. Hamlets succeed to forests, small subsistence farms, and active factories. The Cabal is almost entirely self-sufficient and they export high-quality consumer goods to afford what they cannot create themselves. Shoemakers and textile mills stand next to small foundries. The strategy is a bit backwards, although affluence has never been their primary purpose. Safety is. They do not enjoy the sort of anonymity our small numbers afford us. I am still musing when we drive into a ravine dotted with tall sycamores and the head horses neigh in distress. The convoy stops. The head soldier draws a pistol and scrutinizes whatever his lantern reveals. "Who goes there?" he demands with the courage of those who defend their home. I sigh and open the door. Their attention turns to me. By the time they follow my gaze, Adrien stands squarely in the middle of the path in a long beige duster. He wears a fox mask, which I will admit is quite a nice touch. The head guard is less impressed. "By God. Is this¡­" "You may want to back down, my good man. This is not an opponent you can face," I tell him. Leaves crunch under their footsteps as they dismount and fall back. The scent of fresh sap and rotting vegetation caresses my nose with a small burst of wind. A hint of vampire spice comes with it. The scent reminds me of Torran. Adrien''s aura spreads and touches my own. Although he does not move, a sort of pull attracts my attention to a massive boulder on my left. I appreciate the delicate attention but there was no need. All my instincts scream and I use a lazy mirage spell to create a decoy and take a step back. A spear shrieks through the air where my heart used to be. It clangs noisily against a nearby rock in a deluge of shards. "If this is what passes as aura control around here, I cannot blame the Europeans for looking down on us," I casually say. My attacker rises from behind his hiding place like an opera highwayman. He wears proper mail armor, which I can respect. The enchantments show that he cares for it, while a few scars on its black surface show use. A black mask hides his features, though I recognize Loic from the aura alone. "You are quite chatty for a trapped little minx. I bet that you are regretting your early return, right now. Do not be alarmed. We will not kill you. We merely need your presence for a project of ours. You can be our guest!" "If this is a masquerade, you merely had to send an invitation to the Boston fortress, Lord Loic." My remark stops him in his tracks, but only for a moment. "Ah, you must recognize our auras from the council. It appears that your reputation as an airhead was slightly exaggerated." "Only imbeciles base their strategies on hearsay, Loic. I could recognize every member of the council and their seconds. And for a kidnapping attempt, you should have taken a better spot." S§×arch* The N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "I think you may be overestimating the White Cabal, my dear. But I am not one to monologue for too long and we do have to kill your escort as well, so you will forgive me if we cut this conversation short." I block a quickly manifested black spear and dodge under Adrien''s blade. I cast mirage then dodge against a roaring sweeping attack. I fight my way out of the ravine by using trees as obstacles and rocks as platforms. Loic fights with casual grace while Adrien supports him with limited commitment. Loic is annoyed. I see it in the impatience of his follow-up strikes, though he will never admit to it. Our contest of strength continues and leaves behind shorn trunks and upturned stumps. I manage to rake his flank but Adrien deflects the blade with an attack of his own. I stop at the edge of a small pond. "Well, young one, where is the proof that you are one of ours." "I will not need it. Darkness." The shadows spread over the land as Loic laughs and laughs, amazed at my stupidity. Adrien is in his element now. "Magna Arqa," the twin whispers. The Roland lord disappears in the spell just as Loic''s hilarity redoubles. Then he chokes. And screams. "How dare you, you traitor?! Magna Arqa!" I do not let the spell drop. Loic''s spear gains an ethereal quality and so does he. My first attack passes him by as he jerks away at the last moment. He tries to run out of the cloud. "Traitor?" Adrien says, "You call me traitor after what you have done? You have no shame!" I force another moment of ethereal shift with a lunge at his leg and cast immediately. "Promethean." The chain spell, Constantine''s specialty, latches on the man''s arm despite his shift. Loic strikes down and manages to pin one of the seven links I manifested to the ground, breaking it. Adrien''s next attack digs a furrow along his flank through the armor. Loic drags me closer through the magical construct. He is stronger than me. "This will not hold me," he spits. "It was not meant to," I retort. "Promethean," a deep voice says. More than thirty golden chains are vomited by a fantomatic silhouette at my back. They curve around my right and gather around an already immobilized Loic, pinning him down under an extraordinary weight. The surprise is too much for Loic, who gasps. I can also say from experience that the exercise can be painful when the caster wants it, and this one definitely does. I let the darkness spell fade to reveal Constantine''s dark eyes glaring from above his hooked nose, the Speaker majestic for once in a red battle robe brimming with enchantments. Loic''s surprise is complete. It immediately turns into outrage. "You¡­" Before he can throw a single slur, Constantine raises a hand, causing a few golden links to tighten around the captive lord and stealing his breath. "Let me summarize the situation for you. Benoit unlawfully captured Lord Adam of the Roland without provocation and tortured the keys to his information network out of him, following which you were sent to their land to exhaust his means in another unlawful attack against a member of the Accords in good standing. Would you care to rephrase the term ''traitor''?" The chains relax slightly and Loic vociferates as if he was not trussed like a deer. "You are all playing this stupid game where you think you are a real faction. You only survived Mask''s previous attempt as a fluke. We will not fall with you." "Ah, the self-realizing prophecies of people torpedoing their own ship because they believe it will sink. No matter, I gather from your lack of denial that you find my accusations accurate. We will need the location of Lord Adam from you. Now." Loic opens his mouth to curse but seems to reconsider. A slow smile spreads across his keen features. Constantine remains unfazed. "So you know where he is. Sephare was right, it seems. Silence can be so incredibly loud. Let us see how long you can keep that smile on. Ignace?" A man I wish I never saw again emerges from behind us. He is wan and gaunt with an angular face and pale eyes the color of watery hydrangea. He also tortured me until my mind broke. Even decades later, I have to resist the urge to pull on my fingers. The effect on Loic is much more dire. "You wouldn''t dare." Adrien takes a deep breath and we turn to him, surprised at the flare in his aura. "Before we begin, if you will permit me?" We remain silent. I highly suspect that Constantine has no idea what the offended Roland is talking about, that is, until the man jumps on Loic and pummels his face with great enthusiasm. I watch the spectacle, mesmerized, and wonder if we will have to wait for the head to regrow, but it appears that our ally removed his gloves before the cathartic event. "Give. Me. Back. My. Brother." This goes on for half a minute, then Adrien stands up. "He is all yours." "Thank you kindly," Constantine replies, acerbic. The blood archmage moves his gauntlet and the captured lord is dragged back to Ignace, who takes down his backpack to reveal its grisly content. A memory comes to my mind, unbidden. ''Which fingers?'' ''One, four, eight.. No! Nine!'' I stop a shiver before it begins. Ignace''s eyes are on me. "Many hold a grudge for what I have done to them, what I represent." I bare my teeth. "You went above and beyond. I will not forget." "No," he nods, "you haven''t. That is why you called upon me to advance your plan." The other two are studiously ignoring our exchange, busy as they are attaching Loic to a nearby horizontal stone. It appears that Ignace is confident that he will only need a few hours. Or is this merely the preliminary work? I have not replied and so Ignace continues. "We live very long lives, long enough for deadly rivals to become friends and vice-versa. Now that you are in power, I have merely turned into one more tool in your arsenal." "Be careful." "Of course, milady. Wardens may come and go but a good torturer is so hard to find. I shall serve your cause well. Now, if you allow me access to the patient¡­" Chapter 167 - 161. White Cabal "Is it her? She doesn''t look like much." "What did you expect? A tail? Bat wings?" The young guard crossed his arms defensively. Hazel was against ribbing but this time, the little twat had it coming. "Shut up you two. Vampires have excellent hearing," she said in a low voice. Joel sulked in silence while the older man, Willis, gave her an irate glare. She widened her eyes in the universal ''are you going to say something'' message and he relented. It chaffed Willis to be under her because he, too, had fought at Black Harbor. That made him a veteran of the scourge war. It just didn''t make him a good leader. He still hadn''t got it. Hazel held her gaze for another second. Willis was getting to be a pain in her arse but so long as he remained professional, she wouldn''t act. Rules were in her favor. Politics was not. Fucking politics. "Roth, stop scratching your ass, Jesus." The hairy soldier jumped and straightened. His uniform stretched over a small potbelly that had never disappeared even during the lean months of the war. Poor sod was not the brightest but he was trying. The last member of the fireteam, Moise, stood straight as a rod in perfect silence, every brass button shining on his impeccable vest. He was holding a repeater polished to a shine and looked straight ahead instead of gawping at the newcomer. Like her, he didn''t have politics on his side, and so he made sure that he had everything else. The vampire slowly made her way to Avalon''s ''Spider'' gate, looking incongruous with her exquisite lavender dress against the background of ancient forest. The evening wear was the sort of custom work that cost an arm and leg. Hazel had to admit that she was a little bit envious before reminding herself that this was a monster. She would not envy monsters, or associate any sort of normal emotions with them. That''s how they got you. "Welcome to Avalon, ma''am. Name''s Hazel Zellik. My fireteam and I are charged with your safety. Our first task is to escort you through the compound and to the council room, where the archmages are waiting. Are you ready to depart?" There, all prime and proper. The vampire nodded once. Her hair was held high in a complicated hairdo. It was slightly asymmetrical as if readjusted in a hurry. There was a gash on the carriage, she realized. Hazel frowned. "Something happened, ma''am?" "Nothing to concern yourself over, corporal. Please lead on." Hazel removed the concern from her face. She had a mission and she would get it done. Let the brass worry about the rest. "This way," she said. Her four squad mates closed around her and the vampire, as if she needed any sort of protection. Hazel took out her key from her uniform vest and inserted it in the metal gate''s lock. Something shone briefly. She knew that they were wards and alarms though how it worked was beyond her. Some magical thingamabobs. The key turned once more with the clank of released mechanisms before the imposing steel slab rotated on well-oiled hinges with nary a sound. They moved on. Hazel took a last look behind at the carriage they had left. A single lantern shone at the edge of the Spiderwood like a candle at the edge of a nightmare. She had to remind herself that the woods were just old and gnarled and that the true monster stood by her side, looking all proper and smelling vaguely of jasmine. "Oh, I forgot. Do you have any luggage?" Hazel asked as an afterthought. Damn, did she already fuck up? "I have what I need with me. The rest will be delivered through the front door." The vampire daintily reached into a recess in her skirt and pulled out a black caster glove with nasty obsidian knuckles, because of course that thing would have pockets. She put it on in one smooth move, without looking, and fastened the clasps with slow and precise movements. There was nothing too predatory yet. She was slow and graceful. The only weird thing was how she was not looking around and yet still managed to evade the occasional puddle of mud. Hazel felt like she didn''t depend on sight that much and that was just a tad off putting. Little things, really. The path from the Spider gate first led them through a thicket of oaks, a remnant from when that place was just untamed wilderness. They emerged on the other side through peripheral barracks meant for scouts returning past midnight. The academy was further away. That late, no one was out except the odd patrol. Hazel shivered in the fall air, even if it wasn''t that cold yet. A gust of wind rustled the leaves until she finally found the silence abhorrent. Empty. The vampire was just by her side and suddenly it didn''t feel like such a good idea to imagine what she, or it, could do. The memory of Black Harbor returnedcame back, unbidden. Steel-clad forms cleaving through huge drones with practiced ease. A shower of bone and ichor with every strike. She had tried to reload but her old rifle was so hot that it had burned her fingertips. It had not mattered. None of the drones had made it through. Hazel''s gaze landed on the woman''s pale fingers and caught a hint of onyx claw. Her breath hitched in her throat and perspiration made her back wet. She shivered again. The vampire sniffed the air. "So, will you be staying at the inn?" Hazel asked. Her voice had only wavered a little bit. "No. That place is not secured. I have made¡­ other arrangements." "I''m sure that the Black Dog could accommodate." "I have an understanding with his predecessor. Mr. Hopkins." No one said a word though she harbored no doubt that they were all as curious as she was. There were rurmors. Fuck it, she wanted to know. "Is it true that you two faced each other in combat?" "Traps, mostly. Hopkins is far too cunning to attack one of us directly. He almost gave me a fright." There was amusement in the vampire''s voice and Hazel felt a smile on her lips. She killed it immediately. "Ah, thank you for indulging me," she continued. That was probably the polite thing to say. "Not to worry. Since we started talking, you smell less of fear, which is desirable. And so does our escort." Hazel almost froze in her tracks. An escort? But then someone swore from behind a trunk thirty paces to her right and she lifted her rifle. Her barrel was stopped by the unyielding grip of the vampire. "None of that now. They are also White Cabal." "I didn''t know¡­" For some reason, that pissed her off. Didn''t they trust her? Why didn''t they tell her anything if they were going to send nannies to watch every last step? She grit her teeth but she kept going. There was nothing to do. "Not like you need any more protection," she said out loud this time. "You are not protecting me," the vampire stated. "Then what are we protecting?" "The peace." More cryptic bullshit, just what Hazel needed. There was not much to do except moving on. Her squad soon arrived at the expanse of kept grass surrounding the White Cabal''s political heart. The more Hazel looked at the circular building. and the weirder it got. The columns and fancy exterior reminded her of the government buildings back in Washington she had seen once towards the end of the Civil War. It was like a government outside of the government and that was all sorts of strange. It was also built with white stone to the contrary of most everything else around here. Hazel thought that it stuck out like a sore thumb but what did she know? Rich folks probably had their reasons. "Hmmm so we have arrived. We''ll escort you in, unless you have orders or something?" "No, I do not have orders," the vampire replies off-handedly. Hazel blushed when she realized her blunder, but the vampire didn''t seem to mind. "What I expect is for you to lead me up the steps and announce my presence, then your council will make me wait for a few minutes because they are a pack of grumpy old trouts and they can get away with it. A few hours of speech and grandstanding will follow. After that, we will retire to a place I shall inform you of at the time of departure to spend the rest of the night." "Oh. Okay." There was a soft hiss, then the vampire forced a smile. "Proceed." Hazel moved on with her squad dutifully keeping formation. Their mysterious escort stayed in the woods, though she caught a hint of mage armor and assumed that they were there as insurance. Typical. She climbed the marble steps to the council''s antechamber and realized that she''d never been there before. It was¡­ better than she expected. A large, circular corridor extended left and right. It was filled with paintings. Her eyes traveled despite herself. Many depicted landscapes. Meadows, cities seen from afar and even an enchanting sea both blue and grey that almost melted into the cloudy sky above. Those were relaxing and absorbing, but the paintings that bordered the entrance to the central chamber were different. She mechanically announced the vampire''s presence to some posh asshole dressed like a butler, but her attention was on the work behind his head. It depicted a line of soldiers in dark uniforms executing a group of civilians. The light centered on a man in white, arms stretched in supplication or to cover those behind. She couldn''t tell. There were bodies on the ground. Blood too. "El tres de mayo by Francisco Goya. The soldiers on the right are Napoleon''s occupation force in Madrid. The people on the left rebelled the day prior." "It''s¡­ different from the others." "It remains a revolutionary work in every sense of the term, though I suspect that your council placed it here as a reminder." "A reminder of what? That people die?" she spat. The work of art was so poignant. It grabbed her by the chest and didn''t let go. It annoyed her that someone would use this as a deliberate tool. It was meant to be free. "Yes, that, and the dangers of tyranny I supposed, but the warning is also for the councilors themselves. You see, Francisco Goya supported the revolution before it soured into an aggressive empire. Many forces start as protectors of freedom and justice. Few manage to keep to those ideals." "That must have stung. For the artist I mean." "Ah yes, poor painter. I managed to acquire one of his works. Such a talented individual." "You did?" "Saturn Devouring His Son. Ah, the circus begins." The butler guy invited the vampire in. For some reason they didn''t close the door and Hazel could see the court inside. They had a central open space then big chairs hosting old coots in fineries, then lesser geezers in lesser fineries above that, all in concentric circles of wealth and age. A large man with a small hammer ¡ª a gavel maybe? ¡ª had an entire side to himself. He looked quite tired. "Ladies and gentlemen, please reveal and verify your protective amulets, thank you. Everyone has done so? Good. The council welcomes the Ambassador of the Accords, Ariane of the Nirari. You have the floor." "Thank you. I will be brief. You should have all received the report we compiled on the Supernatural Task Force by now, including the agenda for implementation. Their avowed function is to monitor and police America''s magical population. We, however, believe that they will be used as a tool of control to list and monitor us, as a first step. Once the Congress and the White House have a firm idea on the current magical landscape, they will use it to shape their policies, up to and including extermination. The Accords propose the creation of a committee to coordinate actions on and against units of the task force that endanger us in one way or another through infiltration and coercion. It must happen now while the hierarchy is still being selected. That is all." She stopped speaking and Hazel waited for the rest. That¡­ was all? Most politicians really liked speaking. Maybe they were like that in private and saved the big words for public events. Those always made her drowsy. She wondered why the vampire wasn''t trying to be smoother. They were supposed to be good at it. "Thank you, ambassador. Now for the questions. Anyone? Everyone. Alright, we will do this by seniority. The Chief Librarian has the floor." "Who''s in charge of that idea and why haven''t you killed him yet?" an old woman asked. Hazel couldn''t see her from here yet the voice carried a great deal of annoyance. "Senator Williams from Massachusetts, and we believe that the task force remains the better option because¡ª" "How is that a better option?! Will they be putting all our names on a list to grab us at dawn and drag us to the pyres?" There was a moment of silence and Hazel leaned forward under the disapproving glare of the butler. The vampire was sitting in a comfortable chair, reclining as if it were a throne. Her talon beat a little staccato on the polished arm. Tic tic tic. It resonated terribly in the following silence. "And we believe that the task force remains the better option," the blonde woman ¡ª no, vampire ¡ª continued, "because this solution involves mages every step of the way and because all of the alternatives are worse. We do not go against the grain. The integrists will take southern states by a landslide in the next election." "They are a bunch of inbred morons. They couldn''t take their own asses with both arms." Once again, the vampire stopped talking and the atmosphere grew heavier. Really. And perhaps a little cold. Some of the attendants shifted in their seats. Hazel was familiar with the concept of aura but she also knew that it was rude to use it on someone. It felt like you were being pushed by an unseen hand, but this was different. The room was deeper. Larger, perhaps. And darker. And then the vampire audibly sighed and everything returned to normal. The butler blinked and readjusted his tie. Moise rolled his shoulders. "I would advise you not to underestimate the power of a mob. The integrists will ride on a tide of resentment. If a legal, legitimate organization is not in place by the time they reach congress, they will push for more drastic measures. We cannot undo centuries of fear and resentment through assassinations." She leans forward. "Or we would have done it, of course. Next question?" "Right. Next is finance minister and opposition leader, Hoffenstadt." "Thank you, president. Now, please tell us what is preventing me from walking to archmage Lewis who still heads the ministry in Washington and telling him to hunt all of you monsters. You, the werewolves, and those fey creatures? Hm?" The inflammatory comment was received with a roar of disapproval from the majority, but quite a few people cheered as well. Insults streamed across the amphitheater. "Order! Order! Councilor Hoffenstadt, you are out of line!" "I will answer," the vampire said. Calm progressively returned. The vampire still lounged on the throne, no, in her seat, Hazel corrected. "Mundane people fear us. I am including the caster population in that statement. They fear all of us, even that washerwoman whose only quirk is to make clothes smell like flowers. And rightly so. If someone can access a power and you cannot, and they have hidden it until now, how can you trust them? What if they can influence your thoughts? Where are the limits? Right now, the world is awakening to a new dimension with unknown limits and they are afraid. Entire regions of Europe have outlawed any and all magic. It will happen here as well unless we whitewash our image. "Now is the time to present an affable face as Lewis has managed to do so far. You will be rich, and clean. Handsome and pale. Your powers shall be obvious and useful. Government mages will wear easily recognizable marks and work under the direction of respectable and pious men, and still, you will be scorned. It will still take decades before you can appear to the general public without the stench of sulfur marring your public personae. No, indeed, now is not the time to give the opposite side more resources, because that mud will stain us all and the mundane population will not be able to tell the difference." The vampire shifted a bit and Hazel followed the languid gesture. it was a lie, of course, all a lie. The vampire had no need to move. It was just a mask. "I assure you, acting against us right now¡­ isn''t in your best interest." Hazel knew a threat when she heard one. She didn''t think that it would work against Hoffenstadt but it didn''t matter, he was just trying to get a rise. Waste of time. More questions came after that. There were a few about the Accords'' opinions on several matters which the vampire succinctly explained. Inquiries on the Accords capabilities and military were politely yet firmly shut down. By this stage, Hazel wondered how important the Accords were exactly. Anyone who held a weapon in Avalon was taught of their existence and not to engage, yet for all those efforts she couldn''t think of anyone who had met one of their agents. That was weird. Very few people talked about meeting vampires since the end of the war as well. Were they hiding? It would not be difficult. There were so few of them. Barely a few hundreds, spread across a large land. Perhaps that was for the best. "Thank you for your time everyone. It is now two in the morning. Two in the mor ¡ª Interrupting me will not change my decision, councilor Heynes. We shall retire for the night. Thank you for your time, ambassador." A collective hum rose Hazel from her torpor. Those old bags were finally done. After listening to them for hours, she wasn''t sure what to think. Yes they knew a lot but did they have to bicker all the time? It all felt very childish. The vampire was the first to leave. She strode out without hesitation sparing not a glance to others. Hazel and her squad scrambled after her with middling dignity. "Should we proceed to the place where you''ll be resting?" she asked. "Yes. Follow me, Hopkins showed me the way before." Silence returned and Hazel felt no need to fill it. It was dark. She was tired. Had to keep her eyes open. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. They went past Dunley''s which served a sweet wine she liked and Barnaby''s with its affordable pulp books. Places she knew. The darkness made them menacing and unfamiliar now, and the worst thing was that she didn''t know if it was the vampire doing something, or just her nerves. It was Avalon, god dammit, her home. Not some integrist den of drooling assholes. The vampire walked confidently. Hazel could hardly see under what little light the group''s sole lantern provided. They stopped in front of what could only be described as a gardening shack at the edge of a pumpkin field. She felt stupid but didn''t dare ask questions. The vampire picked a key from behind a log and opened the door for them. She signaled the others and went in first. A part of her brain screamed that she was getting into an enclosed place, alone, with a monster. The more rational one told her that if the monster wanted her dead, there was fuckall she could do. "Huh," Joel said as he went in. His youth was showing but Hazel agreed that this was strange. Avalon''s inner perimeter, inside of the walls, was quite large. There was the city, but also production and military facilities. Some fields too. The walls were more here to slow down invaders and provide increased security against spies than anything else. She had never known that places like this also existed. The cabin was a secured location with a small forward square, the visible part, and a much larger back one cleverly hidden under a thick copse of trees and probably a few illusions as well. She spotted four beds on the right and a table on the left with chairs, barrels of water, and packed rations. There was even a small open door leading to a privy. She made a note to use it before Roth did. Sometimes it felt like the man only ate dead skunks. The implication was staggering. "Right, everyone settle down. Ma''am, could I have a moment of your time?" "Certainly, corporal." They moved outside. Hazel pestered under her breath because she hadn''t thought of taking the lantern with her. The night was dark and moonless. "Nu Sarrehin." A purple light revealed clawed fingers entrapped in a black gauntlet and the vampire''s cold, perfect beauty. She was close. Her skin didn''t have the pores and blemishes that everybody else had, a bit like a statue. Hazel wondered if men got trapped by that honey pot or if they realized on time that it was too free of defects to be true. "What''s going on?" Hazel asked without preamble. No need to play coy. The vampire knew what she meant. She had to. "There will be a coup tomorrow." Hazel gasped. The vampire kept talking without care. "A group will attempt to capture and execute a number of councilors during tomorrow''s afternoon session. They will attempt to capture and kill me." "How do you know?" "Hopkins, of course. The old fox forfeited the post of Black Dog to better focus on internal security." "A secret police?" "Of a sort, yes. He shared this detail with me and asked me not to intervene." Hazel looked for signs of deceit, but of course she might as well have stared at a log. The vampire did not move. At all. "You are wondering if you can trust me. In truth, your confidence is not required. You merely have to follow orders." Hazel frowned. "To guarantee your safety?" "Precisely. You will watch over me just as you were tasked to. Nothing more, nothing less. I warned you so that you would not be caught off-guard." Hazel pondered that for a moment. "Why us? Is it because we are¡­ who we are?" For the first time, the vampire smiled. It was thin and skin-deep but it did disarm a little bit of the tension that had been building in Hazel''s mind. "The mundane soldiers'' only female NCO, promoted on merit, leading a squad of undesirables. Yes. Let us say that the members of the cabal who will conduct their uprising wish for a more¡­ traditional ruling body for their organization. You would have no part in it. A curious thing, really. In Europe, the revolutionaries I met were progressive but here they are conservative. In any case, Hopkins trusts you. That is why you were selected to cover me." Hansel''s mind reeled. Hopkins trusted her? She didn''t even think that he was aware of her existence, except in reports. The hound himself! She felt a blush coming to her cheeks while pride swelled in her chest. "You should go back in and rest. You will have a long day tomorrow." "I''ll set up a guard¡­" "No need. I will retire at dawn. You are safe until then." "We are in charge of your safety." Something rustled behind Hazel and she jumped, turning around to find that the vampire was there. The light still came from her back. Hazel swivelled to find the light hanging in the darkness. The vampire walked by her. "Trust me, corporal Hazel Zellick. I could slaughter my way from here to New York and nothing could stop me. I will survive for a few hours without your monitoring. More seriously, I will need all of you awake and ready tomorrow at dawn, so please do as I say." Dawn came and the squad settled to wait. The vampire had retreated underground where a large storage room led to a secure place for her. Nothing was happening. For one terribly long hour, she thought that the vampire had manipulated them into doing something strange and unthinkable, until Willis found a note in the supplies they had. "Do not abuse it," it said with Hopkins'' hand. She could recognize it anywhere. The note came with a deck of cards. Hazel had one sentry look outside the windows at all times. She would be the second one. Discretion was their sole advantage here, so they should not show themselves. It made their quarters cramped and malodorous. Her uniform was wrinkled. She felt a bit grimy even though she had washed her hands and face with the barrel water. A coup huh? She supposed that it had to happen at some point. The White Cabal had been through a lot of changes over the past few years. There was resentment going around. Still¡­ at a time like this? It bothered her deeply. It also bothered her that the vampire had been told before they had. The hours passed. Dawn became morning. The sun crept over a cloudy sky. Outside, nothing much was going on. A few pedestrians walked by on morning strolls and she made sure to stay hidden, not that anyone was paying attention. The first shots rang at around ten. The squad members at rest froze in the middle of a game of poker. "Corporal?" Willis asked. "We have our orders. We stay put and do our duty." "Corporal," he insisted, "I can''t be on the wrong side. Are we sure?" Hazel almost lashed out then. Her grandmother had told her never to give an inch or it would be all over, and the old woman had been right. She did not. Willis was not challenging her. He was terrified. His hands shook with panic and sweat covered his wrinkled face. No. She had to be calm right now. Show she could be the leader they needed. "Willis, this isn''t like your old group, I swear. We''re the good guys. Besides, protecting the vampire is important." The more she talked and the more she joined the dots. "If the vampire is assassinated under our custody, the Accords will probably go to war. I don''t have to explain to you why that''s bad. The best thing we can do for the loyalists is to keep that thing alive. And we will." Joel stood up and loaded his gun. He made sure that the path down was open and ready. "Maybe they won''t find us," he said. No one said a word and the game of cards stopped there. Moise made sure everyone had enough bullets and went to polish his repeater. It was already shiny enough to use as a mirror. "People coming," Roth mumbled from the window. "Down," Hazel ordered. She had a look. The cabin had no fire and no light to avoid visibility. A large group of combatants walked past them with guns at the ready. They wore no uniforms. Many of them were mages with gauntlets and grim expressions. They went by without noticing them. "They''re going to Hopkins'' house. It''s not far," Willis said. "They won''t find him there," she said. No way the hound would be caught in the open. He will have brought his family to safety. The others all nodded. "Then we wait." They didn''t have to do it for long. Those they had seen soon returned and spread out. They were clearly looking for something. The sounds of distant detonations still rang across the town. Hazel was afraid, but she had to trust others to do their job like she was doing hers. Sometimes she wondered what her life would have been like if she had just married Simeon the clerk like her father had ordered. If she would be happier being his wife than here, surrounded by enemies. She gripped her rifle tighter and felt the smooth wood of the stock. Moise placed a cartridge in the chamber of his with a click. It rang like thunder in the silent room. Hell nah. Roth waved his hand to get her attention. He signed for one, rifle, walking here. She nodded and crawled through the door to unlock it. She then pointed at Willis and Joel to hide on the sides. The rest stayed near the door. The walls of the cabin were deceptively thick. Her squad would be hard to spot. The sound of footsteps came from outside. She didn''t move. Someone was by the windows. She held her closed fist to signal the others to wait. Silence. The door handle rattled. She looked at Moise by the door. His brown eyes were on her. She made the ''cut throat'' gesture to tell him to neutralize the threat. He nodded once. The door opened in her face, blocking her view. She jumped up, heard the smack of wood against flesh. A man fell. She was on him in an instant. He was clearly dazed. He wore civilian clothes with a white band tied over his right arm. She didn''t recognize him. Moise and her dragged him in while Roth closed the door again as silently as he could. They found rope and gagged the man. Willis and Joel brought him to the basement. "Alright, one down," she said. "Fifty to go," Roth said. They chuckled, but not for long. "Hey, Jimbo, you there?" someone yelled outside. Hazel gestured frantically and everyone moved up. There were two voices now. More came. "He was supposed to be around here," the first voice said. "Maybe he''s a bit farther. Still think we''re wasting our time. "They saw the bitch and the misfits walk in that direction, man, and they never reached the gate. Can''t be too far." "They could have just left, over the wall or something." "Why would they do that? The council is still debating." "Fair. Let''s check that cabin over there. Hey, Chuck, cover me will you?" "Yeah yeah." Hazel risked a glance. There were three of them. One was a mage with a gauntlet moving carefully towards them. Another was a soldier with a rifle held lazily in his hands while the last had a revolver. He was checking the woods. Hazel signaled Moise. The black man was their best shot. He took his repeater and aimed. S~ea??h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. She drew her regulation revolver. The door opened. She shot the closest soldier in the chest three times. Time slowed down. Her target lifted a bloody hand and looked at it with disbelief. He was already dead. The rifleman fell with a bullet in the heart. Willis and Joel''s bullets pinged on the mage''s shield. They didn''t have silver. Oversight. The man retreated with a cry but it was useless. The entire town must have heard shots by now. Distant figures already rushed at them from behind a bend in the road. "Alright everyone give it to them!" she bellowed. The men smashed the windows and started taking potshots at the enemy troops who jumped to cover and returned fire. The walls of the cabin held fast. They were thick enough that only a cannon could go through. A spell sent wood shrapnel flying by her though. She removed a splinter from her bleeding cheek. "That fucker," she mumbled. For the next ten minutes, her squad slowed down and only took sure shots. They had to hold. Time was on their side, that was for sure. Moise got a guy crawling forward in the neck. Roth managed an impressive feat when he got a rifleman in the head through a thin birch tree. "Nice one Roth," she said. "I was aiming for the chest!" the pump man bellowed as he reloaded. He was nervous. They all were. Okay, doing well so far. Just had to last. Slow them down. Maybe they would think that it''s not worth it. She was trying to convince herself. It wasn''t working. Hazel lost her notion of time. Some people tried to flank them but the cabin only had openings at the front and the brambles were so thick that it would take hours to cut through. She shot someone trying to take a peek. They were trapped. It was only a matter of time before everything went to shit. What were the others doing? She checked her watch. It was half past eleven. They had only been at it for an hour but it had felt like eternity. She was already drained, numb from being on edge for so long. She sponged the sweat from her face and took a swig of water. At least no one was seriously hurt yet. "What''s going on there?" an authoritative voice demanded. It was an older mage with a robe covered in talisman. It cut through the haze of the battle. For one naive moment, Hazel thought the man might rescue them but it didn''t happen. A man ran to report to the approaching figure. Moise took a shot. It pinged against a massive shield. The man didn''t even turn his eyes to them. "No you imbecile. The vampire will be underground. Do you want to wait until the fire dies out?" Hazel blinked when she realized that she had been very close to being roasted. Or not. Actually, setting the house on fire might be a good idea but it was too late to set it up. "Alright, you lot in there," the powerful mage said, "you have one minute to get out with your weapons down and your arms in the air. Do so and you will be allowed to leave Avalon safely. You have my word." "The negro dies though," the rifleman added. "No, he does not," the mage added pointedly. The foes waited. "Right," Hazel said. "Right, make sure the way to the basement is clear. Lock the door. Let''s put the table against it. The windows are too small for an adult so it might save us some time." The team scrambled to shove everything they had against the opening. Willis broke the nervous silence. "If anyone thinks to say yes to those assholes, I''ll shoot him myself," he grumbled. "Not if I get him first," Joel added with scowl. "Alright we''re all very loyal in here," Hazel said. "Now move those hips and grab me that chair. "Time is up!" the mage declared. The squad fired but they knew it was useless. All they had was mundane lead. A wall of shields covered the approaching troop. Their only saving grace was that the enemies could not shoot through that shield either. "Fuck. Prepare to¡ª" Hazel''s order was interrupted by a cataclysmic blast. The door''s upper half was shattered and pieces of broken furniture rained in. Hazel''s gaze froze on the gaping hole left behind, uncomprehending. "This place is warded!" the mage declared. "No matter, the windows are not. Fire at will, men!" A torrent of bullets buzzed through the openings. The far wall and most of the furniture turned into a pitted wreck. Hazel had enough. "Alright, back, back. Into the basement." She shot blindly to give them a few seconds. Her squad ran. They jumped down. She ran as well. The gunshots stopped. She heard something fall down. The mage was here, well, his head was. He was young with a well-trimmed beard. Quite handsome. He looked serious and uncaring. His gauntlet extended almost lazily. She was going to die. Then a chair smacked into it. The spell went off and demolished a cupboard. Roth was running towards her. "Go, go!" he yelled. She did. Rifles roared. She jumped down onto packed earth lit by a yellow lantern. Roth pretty much smashed by her side and rolled over, eyes vacant. Blood spread on the ground. "Roth¡­ Roth!" The greasy man''s gaze turned to her. "Yes." "Are¡­ you alright?" "I don''t know." She inspected him. He had a wound in the fat of his left arm. It had gone through cleanly. Otherwise he looked fine. "You got shot in the arm." "Maybe that''s why it hurts." "Any other place hurts?" He took a few seconds to answer. "No?" "Then stand up!" He did so heavily and Hazel bandaged the wound. It didn''t look too serious. She just had to get him to a healer before it soured. Moise jumped down, having secured the hatch. "That will get us a few more minutes," the black man said drily. Willis was aiming up to cover them. Joel was reloading. They were in an antechamber of sorts with a ladder going up and a door leading farther in. It was locked. "That''s the vampire quarters. Should we¡­" The door opened by itself. "Come on in," a familiar voice said. They did and Hazel found the vampire sitting elegantly in a comfortable chair on a background of thick beams and naked walls. She was putting the finishing touches to a sketch she had been drawing. Hazel noticed the sunken eyes and sickly skin. So they did have limits. But¡­ "Don''t you sleep during the day?" "A common misconception, one we have no intention of clarifying. I take it that our guests found us?" "Yeah. They''re going to go through the hatch really soon." "I see. That is quite alright. If things become difficult for you there is an escape tunnel behind that wardrobe." "No," Hazel replied. "We''ll stay." The vampire returned to her drawings while Hazel pushed herself against the wall, and waited. She had never tried fighting in a room before. It felt like it would be messy. She was afraid. It smelled of gunpowder and perspiration, down here. And blood. Roth was breathing hard enough that the sound went through the ringing in her ears. She forced herself to slow down, let her thundering heart calm. Yes. Calm. Calmer. Everything was going to be fine. Everything was going to be just alright. Just relax. Breathe. She just had to open her mind to ¡ª oh shit. The door burst open but Hazel could do nothing. The voice in her head was no longer her own and, no matter how hard she tried to push it out, it was too late. Her thoughts grew muddled until she didn''t know which one were hers and which one were the intruder''s. Should she fight back? The people in this room¡­ had to shoot them. Or was it the ones outside? Hazel collapsed against the wall. Her body stayed mostly upright but her mind kept going down, and down, and down, into the darkness. Hazel was in a room. It was hers, but not hers. It was a bit larger. Here was her bed with the knit cover she had received from gran gran, and there was her official contract, signed by Hopkins himself, that announced to the world that she was a corporal and no one could say it wasn''t so. A candle shone, bathing the open space in a dim light. Something was wrong though. "You can''t be there," she told the man rummaging through her meager possessions. That wasn''t right! It was her. It was hers! But her voice was small and childish and the man ignored her. She tried to move, and almost collapsed forward. The world was thick and syrupy and her hands were so tiny, with that scar she got while trying to fish so many years ago. "Come on, come on, where is it?" the man grumbled. He was rude. So rude. But he was inside and she didn''t have the strength. Finally, he tossed the picture of her first love on the ground and turned to her. He was tall and terrible and she suddenly felt so afraid. "Well, nothing to it. I will just kill you instead." Hazel almost choked with the anguish of knowing that there was nothing she could do. She waited for death to come. It did not. The man stood up and looked around instead. There was a crash. It should have hurt when that giant thorn trunk ripped through the door, embedding itself into the man''s torso before retreating with his twitching corpse attached like a grotesque puppet. And yet, the door was already open to some extent and so it was sort of fine. Hazel stood up and went to follow without really meaning to. This place was strange. It was playing with her mind. Outside, she found a weird sort of plazza. It was night, she thought. The walls were made of thick walls of vegetation covered in thorns, leaves, and tiny white flowers. A massive statue occupied most of the center. It stood upright inside a white circle and depicted a werewolf of impossible proportions. She was aware that she was small here and it did not matter. The statue had to be as tall as a building. There were no traces of the man. She looked around and took another few steps forward. The statue seemed to follow her with its eyes until she passed between its muscular legs. They were so big! And the light was strange here. The wrong color. Slowly, her eyes trailed up. Past the edge of the maze they went, to a dark sky and¡ª Someone''s hand grabbed her shoulder and she yelped. She was turned around with ease. She saw a pair of amused blue eyes belonging to a blonde woman. The woman loomed above Hazel with an indulgent smile. She seemed familiar. "Time to wake up," the woman said. She placed her hand against Hazel''s forehead and pushed. Hazel fell with a yelp against the packed earth floor of the basement. "FUCK!" Hyperventilating. Her mind? No, later. First check on the squad. They were still there including Roth who was still alive. They were terrified. Her nostrils flared and brought back the stench of shit. The vampire stood above a mound of corpses. She held a mage''s neck in one hand, his arm in the other. At first, Hazel thought that the vampire was nuzzling him but of course that was not the case. She was drinking his blood. The vampire tossed the cadaver aside when she was done. Hazel had not dared interrupt. The issue was, however, that they were stuck in a rank basement with bodies and a vampire. "What now?" she asked no one in particular. "Well I suspect that they know I am awake," the vampire said, "so we will stay put until nightfall." "That works for me, miss vampire." "Not to worry, I look after my allies. And please, call me Ariane." Hazel watched Ariane gently throw the bodies outside of the door ''to help with the smell'' and decided that the world was quite peculiar and that she was quite happy to still be alive to appreciate it, but now she really, really needed a glass of whiskey. Chapter 168 - 162. Here we go again. Something stirs in the threads of fate. I wish I could remove this pompous, overdone sentence from my mind, and yet nothing else can accurately describe the weight on my mind since I returned to my domain. My intuition functions more sharply as long as I remain in my lands and it hints at something important, something that is not even related to my current worries. The trip to the White Cabal was a pleasant and filling diversion, but the main urgent issue remains. Lord Benoit, Warden of Virginia, attacked me on my domain. Therefore I shall mount his head on a spike. His support was cut with the loss of Loic and the turning of Adrien. Now, it is just a matter of finding him. And there lies the problem. Benoit has disappeared west, past the frontier, with most of his retinue. "The prevalence of native populations makes the circulation of information difficult," Lynn says as she hands me a report. "Tensions have been high those past years with colonists expanding relentlessly and the encroached nations sending raiders and war parties. There have been thousands of casualties within the last five years, at least. There are also reports that the natives have been using sorcery to increasingly great effect." "That would support Constantine''s opinion that magic is growing stronger," I idly comment. Lynn nods and reclines on her comfortable couch. We have taken to sitting in front of the hearth in a more casual setting than usual. It is late, after all. "We have little to no communication with them. Benoit could be carousing around, putting entire Sioux villages to the sword and we would not know it." "So there are no military reports about a lost band of settlers?" I ask, perusing the document. "None that would match him and his followers. He has disappeared." "The question remains then. What is he seeking?" "Could it be gold? There have been gold rushes before." I dismiss the possibility almost immediately. "I doubt it. All the wardens are currently seizing and developing cheap assets at a record speed. We have never been so rich and influential than now. Benoit has seized much sea-side land that should be bringing him dividends. Bah, none of this truly matters. Vampires do not go to war over money. We always have ways to obtain more. No, he must be looking for something different." "People? Magic?" "Perhaps¡­ Unfortunately, there are many different nations over an extremely vast territory. Dakota, Cheyenne, Comanche to name a few, and the frontier is ripe with skirmishes and rumors. We might as well look for a needle in a haystack." I shake my head. There is no helping it. Information gathering is best left to existing networks. "Sephare''s agents are on the move. We will continue to monitor nearby territories but prioritize our new arrangements with Adam in the meanwhile. We have already lost too much momentum in the post-war asset grab." "Understood." Lynn departs the room, leaving me alone with a mass of documents to verify and sign. The advantage of being on hand is that my associates tend to be more rigorous and our profits mysteriously increase. The downside is, of course, paperwork. I was made to ride through dark forests spear in hand, hissing and hunting to my heart''s content! Year-to-year production of pig meat was never supposed to be part of the deal. Something must have gone terribly wrong at some point. And why do pigs eat so much? I thought they fed on trash. By the Watcher, someone distract me from the boredom. Just then, I hear knocks on the door and I watch the dark oak pane with some amount of trepidation. Surely, I did not tempt fate with that last remark. I never voiced it. It remained in my head, therefore, it does not count. "Come in," I say with calm and confidence. Urchin comes in looking thoroughly amused. "We have a visitor, Mistress. He tried to reach you earlier during the day but was¡­ turned down. Given his insistence I found him at nightfall and, after careful consideration, decided that it would be best to grant him his request." He looks far too pleased with himself and my suspicion grows. I frown but only receive the most innocent expression that someone who fleeces card sharks for fun can achieve. "Can I show him in?" he asks, giddy. "Very well then." I feel no powerful aura around, no danger, only a mortal in the corridor with a nervous heartbeat. "Certainly. Come on in, lad!" He says. Urchin moves to the side to reveal a remarkable young man showing clear signs of fear under a layer of courage. He has traits that manage to be familiar and strange at the same time, with a proud, clean-shaven chin and well-styled blond hair. His handsome face and solid build give him the countenance of a young cavalry commander, both dashing and reliable. He wears a mighty scowl that contrasts severely with Urchin''s smug expression. To my utter bafflement, the youth grabs an object from a recess of his ironed black suit and tosses it on my desk. I pick it up between two claws, sensing nothing amiss. Is that¡­ a garlic bulb? I think my mouth hangs open when he retrieves a bible and what can only be a very sharp stake. He takes a step forward and raises both implements as his powerful baritone fills my office. "Beware, foul creature, sly demoness, Ariane Delaney! For your curse is at an end. No longer will you drag my family into dangerous ventures. No longer will we bend our backs to fulfill your nefarious purposes! Our secret indenture ends tonight, for I will slay you, or my name is not Alexander Bingle." Ah. Ah. Ah! I see. Me, Ariane. Dragging THEM. Aha. HOW FUCKING DARE HE. Bang. THE TWIT. Bang. THE INSUFFERABLE, AMBULATORY DISASTER. Bang. The avatar of collateral damage, the herald of horror. The godling of getting-stabbed-and-shot. The ass in aspiration. How dare he ¡ª Bang. ¡ª call ME¡­ I come to and realize that I have been smashing my expensive silver candelabra against the hearth''s brick lintel, chipping and cracking it. I drop the mangled piece of metal and return to my seat. Urchin stands to my right, and some youth, to my left, paralyzed with fear. He holds a bible which I find endearing. "Right. Right." I massage the bridge of my nose. "Where were we?" "Please give her a minute Alexander, she is not quite as young as she looks," Urchin says. Yes. The unfair accusations. "So let me summarize. You believe that I have been keeping your family in thrall for three generations, is that it?" "Ehm." "And in order to prove it and save yourself, you have crossed the Atlantic Ocean and then several states, finally ending up in a small town in Illinois after at least a month of travel for the express purpose of lifting that tight leash I supposedly have over you. Is that correct?" "Well¡­" "And in order to threaten me, you have armed yourself with a bible, a piece of sharp wood, and¡­ please tell me that I am not dreaming and that I indeed have a half-peeled garlic bulb on my mahogany desk, Urchin?" "I believe that this is correct, Mistress." "..." "The weakness of vampires to garlics was plainly stated in the Guide to Supernatural Creatures by the famous Simon Nead, Mistress," Urchin adds. "And he mentioned garlic? Preposterous. How could he ever come up with this kooky notion?" "I cannot possibly imagine, Mistress. Apparently, we are also unable to cross flowing water." "You!" Alexander spits accusingly at his guide, "so you are one of them!" "And," I continue, "your strategy was to just walk into my office and shake those things under my nose and I would be undone." He has the grace to look a bit sheepish under all the bluster. "Urchin, is it me or do they breed them duller with every generation? Will his children manage to walk and breathe at the same time, do you think?" The latest Bingle sputters in outrage but Urchin ¡ª the traitor ¡ª comes to his timely rescue. "I believe that this is Mr. Bingle''s first outing. The blame could partially be placed on the shoulders of inexperience." "Well she has a solid back, that inexperience, to carry such a burden, aye? Lack of experience indeed. Your first pick was vampire slaying! With a sharpened stake! Why not attack me with a toothpick while you are at it ya worm-brained, donkey-arsed wee bampot!" "Careful Mistress, Loth''s influence is showing." "I will not suffer such abuse!" the insulted greenhorn declares. "My first adventure will also be the last when I pierce your black heart and free us from the curse!" My mind goes cold. Anger replaces exasperation. "Oh? It takes quite a bit of effort to shove wood through ribs, I will have you know. I speak from experience. How many hearts have you skewered yet?" "None, and God willing, yours will be the only one. He is with me. I know that you cannot approach so long as I hold the holy symbol and my faith is strong!" "No, indeed not. So let us put your plan to the test. You will be trying to stab me with a rustic tent peg and I will be using this." I open the first drawer on my right and grab a tiny revolver with a pearl handle and a silver body, which I place in front of me. It would look more appropriate in a salon than on a battlefield. "This," I explain, "is a customized Smith & Wesson model one. It can fire seven twenty-two caliber bullets before reload and is more than capable of taking down an adult man if its wielder knows how to aim, and I assure you, I know how to aim. Now please tell me exactly how you intend to take me down. You may even assume that I will not stand from this seat as I see absolutely no need to do so. Do elaborate. I am most curious." The latest iteration of the accursed bloodline stares at the gun in front of me with a refreshingly pleasant mix of horror and betrayal. "But¡­" "Yes?" "If you are fast and strong, why do you need a gun?" "So I can shoot other fast and strong people as well as the mortals that annoy me. I swear on everything that I hold dear that without my esteem of Cecil Rutherford Bingle, your heroic and kind grandfather, you would be a bleeding mess on the ground right now. I am just figuring out if I should laugh at your dismal intelligence and thorough lack of preparation, or be offended that you would underestimate me so much. You are without a doubt the most inane vampire hunter in the history of the planet by any measure." The young man suffers my lashing in silence, skin crimson but eyes fixed on the gun in front of him. So annoying. But wait. What if¡­ What if it were my turn? After all those years? I freely let a toothy grin expose my fang and recline in my seat, enjoying the sudden shudder wracking the worst Bingle''s body. A plan starts to form. I spread my arms in a gesture of magnanimity. "You know what? I believe that I may grant you your request. I shall solemnly promise never to contact your family to drag them in dangerous and far-fetched quests if¡­" The beginning of hope fades in his eyes as I intone in my most dramatic voice. "If you prove your valor by completing four tasks." "Why would I trust your word, monster?" "The alternative is that I shoot you in the knee for bothering me and then dunk you in the Mackinaw river with a sack on your head and your hands tied behind your back." "I assent." "Good. Excellent. To lift the dread curse of Ariane, you will complete a feat of wit, a feat of courage, a feat of intellect, and a final feat of intuition!" He narrows his eyes with suspicion. "You are being truthful? You will really do so?" "We vampires cannot renege on our promise without breaking our souls. This is even more valid for a lady." "A lady? You are landed nobility?" "I will send for you tomorrow at sunset to complete your tasks," I finish with a tired voice. Then, I watch with disbelief as he hesitates. "Why not start now?" The disformed candelabra lodges itself in the wall by his head, showering him with a rain of splinters. "OUT! GET OUT! HSSSSSS!" As soon as the door closes, I put my head down and moan. "He is quite young, mistress. Eighteen at most," Urchin says. "I do not remember ever being this stupid." "It was a long time ago for you, Mistress." I glare. "Sassing me after subjecting me to this treatment, Urchin?" Sear?h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Forgive me, Mistress. I live to please." "Then you''re in charge of the contest of wit." "... any requirement?" "Of course! The ordeal must not be dangerous. Instead, we shall achieve the optimal level of annoyance and humiliation. Oh, I have an idea. Do you fancy a bit of poker?" "Always." "Then this is how we will proceed." *** I open the nicely-dressed, nervous Bingle into the high-stake room of Marquette''s premiere gambling den, property of me, myself, and I. Oh, I remember the time where a new town councilor attempted to close all such establishments and would not get the hint, but he unfortunately died from three stabbing wounds in the chest before the decree could be signed. Self-inflicted. A real tragedy. In any case, the high-stake room has been reserved for tonight''s event. Only a dealer, a waitress carrying a glass of liquor on a fancy silver platter and Urchin remain. Velvet and walnut offer a dark, intimate setting while the permeating scent of cigar reminds the visitor of past fortunes lost and found. Gas lights shine through warm yellow glass. I bring the newcomer to the small table where his fate will be decided and leave without a word. Alexander Bingle sits awkwardly. His chair rumbles thunderously against the floor when he adjusts it. The waitress serves him and departs immediately, leaving Alexander nose to nose with the wicked smirk of my associate. He has left his bowler hat behind and his hair is impeccably combed back to reveal an intelligent forehead over the face of a lout and the eyes of a schemer. The vampire speaks first. A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. "Good evening, and welcome to the first contest: the contest of wit! We will be playing cards. Are you familiar with poker hands and their ranking?" "I am more partial to bridge myself." "Fascinating. Are you familiar or not?" "...Yes. Someone introduced the game to me when we crossed the Atlantic." "Good. In this instance, we will be playing an interesting variation I discovered during my travels around Corpus Christi. I simply call it Texas poker." Urchin introduces the rules. Rather than having each player draw five cards, his system has two cards given privately to each player, called hole cards, and five cards in common, which are revealed across several rounds of betting. The player who achieves the best hands by any combination of their own private cards and the public ones wins the ''pot'', or the sum of all the money bet during the round. I find the fact that everyone can see the common cards smart and inventive, allowing for a wide variety of bluffs made by raising the amount of money one has in the pot and forcing their opponent to either match that amount or give up the round. Luck matters less than statistics and reading the opponents over the course of several rounds. It puts Alexander at a clear disadvantage. "We will be starting each game with ten tokens. The first person to take the other player''s tokens wins. In order to complete the task, you must win once." Alexander frowns. "I do not have that much money." Urchin shows a pity he has never felt in his entire life and comforts the little twit. "There is no buy in. You get back your tokens at the end of every game. Each round, one of us will bet one token which is called the small blind while the other bets two, the big blind. We will take turns. Of course, there must be a price to failure." Urchin lifts the apparatus I decided to dub the ''swatter'', essentially a tiny shovel used to move ash around a hearth with a leather glove glued at the end. "Whoever wins gets to slap the loser. I will obviously not use my true strength or any other vampire ability to win the contest." "Wait. Do you mean that I can try as many times as I wish?" "Yes¡­" Urchin replies with clear enjoyment, "Of course! Shall we?" Alexander nods and the dealer gives them two cards each. Urchin checks his with fluid efficiency while Alexander fumbles, glares at an uncaring Urchin, checks his cards, then checks them again. The first round is fast. Urchin bets aggressively, raising several times until Alexander folds on the fourth round. The second round, Urchin raises the stakes and Alexander follows with confidence. Urchin folds immediately. The third round is also the first to end at the card reveal. "Mr. Urchin wins with three of a kind," the dealer says laconically. Alexander growls and mumbles with his two pairs, but his confidence has taken a hit and when Urchin next raises, he is flustered and barely responsive. The next two rounds seal the end of the first game. "You win," Alexander admits with his head held high. Said head swivels to the left under the force of the blow. Ksh. "Ow!" the man protests, massaging his reddening cheek. The swatter is not exactly light. "It hurts less than losing twenty bucks. Another?" The second game takes longer with Alexander no longer rising to the bait. He takes his time and deliberates before folding or calling the raise. The game lasts eleven rounds before Alexander drops his cards and his last token. "I conce ¡ª" Ksh Alexander''s other cheek turns rosy while his temper flares. "Do not be cross. He who correctly anticipates pain suffers twice," Urchin generously offers. The deflating youth takes a sip of liquor to bolster his spirits and almost spits it out. "Moonshine," Urchin explains pleasantly. "Strong stuff. Another?" Alexander eyes the swatter with fear but he will not be deterred. This time, he tries to bluff. He loses even faster. Urchin is a master at his craft. I was taught by Dalton and Loth and he can still give me a run for my money despite the ease with which I can read his aura. Of course, vampires playing poker are as unmoving as marble statues so the hints must come from somewhere else. No matter what, Alexander''s attempt at bluff is a doomed folly. Urchin metaphorically eats him alive. The fourth more balanced approach ends in painful failure. By now, Alexander looks like he cursed an entire ball of the debutantes. And their mothers. Twice. "Why is it a wit test? The only thing being tried is my patience." "Then perhaps you are not using the proper resource?" Urchin casually remarks. The man''s eyes widen. It took him four slaps before realizing that success would not be achieved through traditional methods. Truly, the younger generations are lost and this entire country is going to the dogs. For his fifth attempt, Alexander bets aggressively every time and still loses. For the sixth time, he massages his now-purple jaw and smirks, thinking he has finally found the solution. He does not touch his cards. Every round, the decision is made by coin flips. Urchin smiles in return and trounces him once more. Ksh! "Why?" Alexander roars. "You randomized as many parameters as you could, but you will never be capable of preventing me from calculating the odds with the cards I have. So, what is left then?" "To get lucky¡­" Alexander grumbles. It takes two more rounds for Alexander to finally get his breakthrough, but they last an hour each. I think that Urchin relented a little bit at the end. By that time, it is almost three in the morning and we both have better things to do. Alexander stands up and grabs the swatter. Urchin leans back with another calm smile. The youth swings as if he held a zweihander. The swatter disappears as it was about to smash my associate in the face, to his unending dismay. The implement now hangs lazily from Urchin''s resting hand. He didn''t move. "You¡­ you cheated!" "False. I rigorously adhered to the rules. I did not move and I did not use this power to win the game. Consider this another valuable lesson. And with your eventual victory, you have completed the contest of wit. Congratulations." "You only adhered to the letter of the law!" "And so will most people you interact with in your life. Remember, there will always be fine print and there will always be a hidden cost." The young man grunts then retreats sullenly. I approach the table where Urchin uses his power to reorder the deck without looking. The dealer has gone as well. "You let him win towards the end." "I may have. Contrary to you, Mistress, the big lug and I are not unstoppable Devourers but mere Courtiers. I would rather keep my interactions with the godling to the bare minimum. He was on the verge of despair and I would not want to spend another night slapping him around, no matter how vindicated it makes you feel." "Understandable." "Not to worry, mistress. John had something special in mind." The next night finds me, Alexander and John walking through the semi-deserted muddy streets of Marquette''s riverside. Despite the decree confining them to this part of town being discreetly overturned years ago, most of the city''s black and dark-skinned population still prefers to stick together and their district is mostly shunned by more affluent white folks, with a lower cost of living overall. I get giddy with anticipation the farther we go because I recognize the destination. Alexander has come loaded for bear to face the ''test of courage'' and I can already tell that his brand new revolver will be of no use. John stops in front of a low, long building with lit windows. We knock on a side door and wait. John turns to face Alexander who squirms under the merciless gaze of the impassible giant. I feel a hint of disapproval from my most faithful follower in the way his nostrils flare, a remnant from his human days. John seldom bothers to judge people at all so his assessment comes as a surprise. A solid twenty seconds later, a harried, disheveled woman with deep pockets under her eyes opens the door. She winces immediately when a baby shrieks from behind her. The noise is deafening. The air smells of soap and excrement. "Sorry. Come on in." We follow her in a small room lit by a single lantern. Another thick door leads deeper inside, though the noise is mostly muffled as if the two parts were separate. I would know, I designed and installed the discrete sound enchantments. There are two fascinating facts about orphans I learned rather early in my town management experiment. The first is that, given proper care, they make some of the fiercest, most loyal followers one could hope for. Case in point, John. It must be noted that proper care goes beyond simply food and roof. The second interesting fact is that raising them properly is significantly cheaper in the long run than just letting them fend for themselves with the implied level of crime and violence. I therefore own the three Marquette orphanages with this one being dedicated to the youngest children. Eight cribs adorn a room with a bare floor while storage closets and wardrobes occupy an entire wall. A comfortable chair remains the only concession to comfort and, given the state of the nurse, it has seen little use in the past three hours. The ''special room'' only hosts three guests besides their caretaker tonight, but they certainly make up in volume what they lack in numbers. The first to screech is joined by two others as the bedraggled nurse rushes from crib to crib, checking on her charges. The scream concerto makes conversation difficult. "We will take care of them tonight," John tells the woman. "What?" In her bloodshot eyes I see disbelief, and then, hope. "We will take care of them until tomorrow morning. You go have a rest." "You will?" "Yes, you have my word." To her credit, the nurse inspects the three of us with a bit of doubt before accepting. Her gaze lingers on Alexander''s fluster face with obvious doubt but when she recognizes me, her eyes widen. I am almost an open secret here. She nods once and stumbles to the door, missing the handle the first time. The second attempt is more successful. Soon, we are alone with the three deafening tiny mortals. "You will not need your gun here, nor your hat or vest. You will remove them and place them by the door. Those are Christie, Thomas and Jane. They are two, three, and four months old respectively. They all have colic of the infant. Your task is to look after them and make them comfortable until sunrise. Do so, and you will have completed the test of courage." "Is this a jest?" John''s gaze could have frozen a smelter. "No." "You want me to look after babies? I am no woman!" John leans forwards until his and Alexander''s gaze are aligned. Alexander is not a small man. It still takes a surprisingly long amount of time. "Do you give up?" "What? Never," the godling huffs. "If you think that this is a test of courage, suit yourself!" "I see. I will guide you through the steps at first. To begin with, Christie needs to be changed and Jane must be fed." "Why does she need to be changed? Jesus Christ, she smells like¡­ Oh." "Time to get to work." I sit down with reports and cast a quick silence spell to protect myself from the worst of the yelling. Technically, this is a test of perseverance and stamina. Some of the tasks will require the courage to handle a screaming ball of fragile humanity and remove the icky excretions so I suppose that it counts. Those are all details. What matters is that I will see a godling hand-wash a soiled cloth and that is worth more than gold. Alexander carefully picks up baby Jane according to John''s instructions, following which she promptly throws up on his shirt. *** Alexander returns home shortly before sunrise dog-tired and a little foul-smelling. While his firearm stayed shiny, the rest of his outfit shows an interesting mix of body fluids. I have always been surprised by how male toddlers can spray urine in arcs at incredible range. So was Alexander. I find him the next evening in casual wear and looking significantly more sheepish than before. "Are you ready for the feat of intellect?" "I wish I could say yes with confidence," he grumbles, shoulders slumped, but he is also a Bingle and the fire of poor decision-making revives in his heart. "Though I will most certainly try!" "Good attitude. Let us see where it gets you." I lead him through the streets of Marquette to a small school. Like the nursery, I own it and provide cheap access to the children of allied families. Minions are considerably more useful when they can read instructions, after all. We walk through a corridor decorated with painted animals to a well-lit classroom. I have Alexander sit at one of the desks, only slightly too small to be comfortable. Papers and pens have been provided. Alexander takes one look at the writings on the blackboard and shakes his head with disbelief. "Solve for x?" "Is something the matter?" "I¡­ you are monsters, I saw your teeth and¡­ here I am, doing algebra. What next, will you ask me to memorize a speech by Cicero in latin?" I tap my chin in mock consideration, causing him to pale. "Sorry I do not mean to object. I just expected something more¡­ exciting!" "Hehehehe." "What?" "Nothing. Since you find harvest yields and compound interests boring, I assume that this will be an easy task for you." He pales even more. "Compound what?" "You should probably get started." I install myself at the teacher''s desk. I have never done that before! How exciting that I shall still find and enjoy new experiences at my age! An age which is not advanced at all, especially for a vampire. I busy myself with the last of the reports on werewolf activity and the full withdrawal of Roland forces from my land. We are free and well on our way to recovery. Given the circumstances, Constantine has decided to seize Benoit''s assets and guaranteed the lion''s share to me. Truly, power and being friends with the ruler have their benefits. I take a look at Alexander''s sweaty form. He has barely started. "Hmm, my apologies," he says, "for orders of operations, is it multiplication first or parentheses first?" My own pen snaps between my fingers. "Parentheses! Definitely parentheses. Just a momentary lapse, haha." "The proper order should be parentheses, exponents, multiplication and division, addition and subtraction, you ant-brained village dullard. If the acronym PEMDAS is too difficult to remember, consider the phrase ''please excuse my dear aunt sally'' while I try to excuse the cobwebs between your ears." "There is no need for such abuse, vampire. I can work equations. I was merely unprepared." "So I have gathered," I reply drily. He walked right into that one and he knows it. Alexander blushes once more and returns to his paper. After four hours of effort, I collect the page and inspect it. His hand calculation of the interests are clear and rigorous. Some people forget to account for additional food for the mules when calculating how many mules a convoy needs but he didn''t. All in all, he was rigorous and systematic. I correct one error he made towards the end which I shall attribute to mental exhaustion and reluctantly decide to give him a passing grade. "Well you would have noticed your mistake if you had waited a day and gone over the calculations once more. It was a fairly minor problem to start with so I shall accept that you successfully completed a feat of intellect." "Thank you. Only the last feat is left then?" "Indeed, we shall complete it tomorrow." He sighs heavily before tidying up his desk. There is little left of the foolish youth who threatened me with a piece of wood. "You are not quite what I expected," he finally says. "Lucky you." "I know you have been teaching me a lesson and I am grateful." Hmmm no, I just wanted to have him slapped, peed on, and then subjected to paperwork? "My father, the esteemed Colonel Bingle, taught me notions of valor and courage by sharing tales of his adventures as a soldier of Her Majesty Queen Victoria in India." Ah so this is why I have never met him. He was on the other side of the planet! Good riddance. "I apologize for my earlier reaction. By placing deeds of valor at the top of my priorities, I have forgotten all the work and support behind every victory, the steel behind every sword and the engineer behind every weapon. Indeed, even the tireless mothers and nurses who raise the next generation of heroes deserve not just our consideration, but our undying support as well." He nods to himself while I stop my growing horror from affecting my poise. "The hand that tills, that counts, the one that holds a babe to a breast are just as worthy of support as the one that holds a gun, nay, worthier indeed! For it must be protected. And I shall. You have opened my eyes to my own short-comings, Miss Delaney. Despite your curse, you carry with you the wisdom of the ages." "Hmm. Yes, of course. How intriguing that you would figure it out so soon." "I have come to a decision concerning my future, but first, I shall complete your last task." This is definitely not going to return to bite me in the posterior. *** For the last night, I have decided to conduct a simple experiment. I have given Alexander an artifact keyed to vampire essence and dumped him in the middle of the Illinois wilderness with the instruction to cut a path to one of the three vampires present here. John and Urchin do not seem to mind the little outing and so we split apart a couple of miles away from our bright-eyed young aspirant hunter. The concept of vampire-tracking devices is nothing new. Mask squads used them to hunt me down back in France, using the absence of essence to find my location despite Nashoba''s earrings. Constantine is capable of making some but he has been reluctant to distribute them outside of specific missions, citing blatant favoritism and ''sending the wrong message'' as reasons to refuse me access. The artifact Alexander now wields is a prototype of my own design. I am rather confident that it should not work properly. I want to see what happens when shoddy workmanship confronts the godling''s luck. What will come out on top? Will he stumble upon one of us or upon some sort of treasure instead? I am confident that he will not simply err over the plains for hours, smashing his big toe against errant roots. Some part of me remembers the warning that cruel fates await those who attempt to experiment on godlings. I simply assume that those would be ''brand runes on their chest with a hot iron'' sorts of experiments, not the ''three parts practical joke'' experiments. Besides, my intuition is telling me to proceed with some strange insistence and I have yet to be disappointed. I have chosen a spot I sometimes visit, a bend in a nearby water reservoir with a lone rock covered with moss. When the wind blows, the entire pond ripples and the reflection of the trees above grows twisted and menacing. I close my eyes and meditate for the first time in a month. Fifteen minutes later, I jump to my feet and whistle to call Metis. Something is wrong. My intuition screams at something in the direction where Urchin left. I ride out immediately. A moment later, a red flare climbs through the fall air, warning the plains of an imminent danger. Metis gallops like the wind and it takes barely a minute for us to arrive. I immediately hear the sounds of battle. In a valley below, Urchin and an unknown man fight while a wounded Alexander finishes climbing the clearing''s lone tree. A few blood stains and handprints decorate the bark. The scent is quite enticing, as Urchin''s opponent has realized. As I jump from Metis unhurriedly, I note prominent, wide cheekbones, long braided brown hair and a wide tunic that has clearly seen better days. He still has a simple knife attached to his belt, though he either forgot he had it or decided that his claws would serve him best. I suspect the former. The curious fighter smells of young Courtier with the acidic aftertaste of a rogue. More importantly, his aura is quite peculiar. "Should I kill him, Mistress?" Urchin asks without removing his eyes from his foe. They circle each other with the rogue casting eager glances at Alexander. "Disable him. Have fun." "Oh, I will." The rogue has seen me but since I do not move, he decides to attack Urchin instead. However, the wily Vanheim had merely been delaying and now shows the full extent of his capabilities. With every throw, knives bloom over the rogue''s arms as he protects his vitals. Urchin dances around him, exploiting his superior range to cut sinews and sever bones. In desperation, the rogue turns to Alexander and charges, only to receive a knife in the back. It misses the heart by a finger. Sensing danger, the foe twists on himself and jumps. With a high-pitched cry, he kicks Urchin with both legs, sending the Courtier back with a grunt. I think I heard a rib crack. Despite the apparent setback, Urchin smirks. His opponent falls gracefully on his feet, then immediately stumbles. Urchin hamstrung him. On both knees. The Vanheim rises and strikes at the same time. His heaviest knife buries itself in the rogue''s heart. I give the victor a single nod. "Excellent performance, Urchin. Nearly flawless." "Thank you, Mistress." "Now let us see what this is all about." I seize the prone rogue by the throat and prepare to drink. His essence is so peculiar that for a moment, I believe that he is another Vanheim. I bite deep. The plains. Life used to be good, or so I was told. When I was three, a plague came that made people''s skin become like pebbles. When I was four, another plague hit, one that had people empty their bowels until they fell. The white hunters made towering piles of skulls out of bison and left the meat to rot. I was left alone. Ako told us that we could bend or take from those who had much. We left on horseback with other Nokoni to raid and find food, weapons, and slaves. We rode deep. The white men were at war with each other but the farther we went, the more we saw. The white men are everywhere and there are so many of them, many more than all of us, the Kiowas and Apaches together. Ako left this night to reflect and came back with a revelation. He found a way to make us strong. So strong. We will be one tribe and we will know where to find each other. We will be victorious. And so¡­ very¡­ thirsty. I pull back and lick my lips, enjoying the pleasant sourness of rogue essence. I know why Benoit rode west with such abandon. I know why he would risk it all. And I know why we have no choice but to follow. I notice that John arrived and that Alexander has since climbed down from his tree. "Gentlemen, we have a trip ahead of us. Our kind has a new progenitor." Chapter 169 - 163. Devourer "I have decided on a course of action!" Alexander clamors back in my office in Marquette. "Your trials have shown me the truth. The west is wild and untamed, filled with dangers and savages. Outlaws terrorize the widows and orphans!" "Errr, it might not be all that bad," I observe with diminishing patience. Time is short. "But where good men do what must be done, evil cannot triumph. The law and justice have no frontiers, and I shall be its sword. Starting today, I will endeavor to become¡­ a bounty hunter!" He unholsters his new revolver to my mounting horror, feverish with enthusiasm. The gun slips from his tired hands to clatter on the ground by my feet. I almost expected to have a new hole in my favorite pair of walking boots. Thankfully, fate is generous tonight. "You will complete the Red Cabal agent training in its entirety to the full satisfaction of your mentors, or I swear to the Watcher that I will bind you in chains and ship your sorry posterior back to Sussex on the first ship I can find." "That would probably be best. I understand that no amount of enthusiasm can make up for training and preparation. Justice shall not suffer a dull blade! I will not forgive myself if I fail because of carelessness. You will find me a devoted student." "You will find Oliver a devoted mentor, not me. I have urgent matters to attend to, and besides, I cannot oversee your day training with my delicate skin." "Oh yes, the curse. Not to worry! You can depart with your mind at ease." As if I could ever do so within walking distance of a Bingle. I leave him to the training chapter of his life since I have much to do on my end. A ringed bell summons John and Urchin. "I need you to prepare for a long trip. We are going west. You must expect a fight against vampires, so take the battle armor and all the weapons you think you might need." They nod and leave without comment. The next task is both easy and painfully annoying. I must report this development to Sephare and request our faction''s support in this endeavor. I may be trying to swallow more than I can chew. It would not do to pursue Benoit only to find him surrounded by a retinue of battle-hardened Mask lords. I highly suspect that the little weasel is operating on his own so he can claim full credit for the capture or conversion of the newest Progenitor. I simply cannot take the risk, and so I call Sephare on my mirror and relay the encounter to her. Her reaction is unusually strong. "Oh goodness me this is¡­ momentous! A Progenitor, here! I am at a loss for words." "I was surprised as well." "You know, sometimes I wish that you called me for other reasons than just war and other impending catastrophes." I raise a dubious brow. "You wish to socialize?" "Why yes, we Hastings tend to do that. You should try it sometimes." "We should perhaps focus on the matter at hand." "Indeed. Could Benoit already have captured this man¡­ Ako, was it?" "Correct and no. I absorbed the rogue''s essence. His bloodline''s ability is to establish a sympathetic link with his kin. They are one ''family'', so to speak. I do not know exactly how much they can share and I suspect that it might expand in time, but for now I can tell you that they can locate each other and share their experience¡­ whether they want it or not. Ako sired a lot of fledgelings in a short amount of time." "Foolish." "I concur. Some proved incapable of enduring the overload. Nevertheless, I got enough memories and impressions to point west, a week''s ride away from here. I will depart immediately but I will need your support, diplomatic and otherwise." "We will send reinforcements but our logistics do not extend to the frontier. It will take time." "I will go first and stall as much as I can." "Excellent. You surprise me, Ariane. I almost expected you to keep this discovery to yourself." Ah, as if. "This is far more trouble than it is worth." "Of course, I did not expect you to betray the faction. I merely thought that you would wait until you knew more." "Your calculations do not fill me with confidence," I reproach. I naturally expect her to consider her own interest first, but being so vocal about her own duplicity bothers me. It feels out of character. "Goodness me, Ariane, I would not want you to feel ill at ease. I promise that I would take great considerations before betraying you out of fear that you might survive the attempt. Which leads me to my next point. When you find Benoit, you might feel a deep resentment towards him after what he has done to you and your own." "To put it mildly." "No matter what you choose to do, remember that Benoit is already set to be executed, and that we will support you should you choose to carry out the sentence yourself." I glance with suspicion at the petite vampire''s wavering silhouette, vaporous in the silver mirror I use as a focus. "You always value prisoners." "Benoit is a snake. An incompetent and overconfident one, that is. He has been dealing with Marthe and her Mask enclave down in Mexico for quite some time according to some interesting correspondence we found. We can discuss this more later. Right now, flaunting your existence is much more valuable. So please, by all means¡­" She smiles. "Go wild." "Oh, I will." *** Our convoy rides west under heavy escort. We are walking into unknown territory, and I have hired a Rosenthal escort at great expense in order to proceed smoothly. The reasoning is simple. I do not know how deep Benoit''s influence has spread, but I have no doubt that he has recruited agents to monitor Accords movement since he has been away for quite some time. I must make sure not to be noticed until the very last moment or he could trap and even kill me. Unfortunately, not everyone is capable of stealth. Red cabal members form hunting squads and my own security forces have neglected acting and impersonation classes in favor of shooting and shoving sharp implements into other people''s fleshier bits. As a result, I lack the qualified personnel capable of passing as settlers and had to hire external help. I do not mind it since my new guards rode tirelessly to reach us and found a mature woman in conservative clothes waiting for them. As far as they know, they are escorting a widow searching for a niece captured by the Comanches. It is, incidentally, the first time that I use my Vanheim transformation power to alter my appearance. Except those times with Torran but they do not count. I find the exercise interesting and vaguely upsetting, especially when I have to maintain my disguise for a very long time. At least I can go out freely, unlike my unfortunate subordinates. Obviously my travel arrangements have told those in the know of my nature, and their suspicion must be confirmed when, on the fourth night, we are intercepted by a cavalry detachment. I have never been to the Great Plains before despite their proximity and I admit that the place has its charms. A seemingly endless expanse of colored grass extends to the horizon under a layer of blue clouds laden with rain. I am struck by an impression of immensity. A gust of wind scours the sea of grass. The air is heavy with the promise of thunder. I inhale and enjoy the heavy scent of horses and woodsmoke. "Milady?" the mercenary sergeant asks. He is a serious lad wearing a long beard and a perpetual scowl. "Yes?" "We have been joined by a detachment of the Seventh Cavalry. They claim that the Comanches and Kiowa have been on the warpath recently, and object to our passing. They wish to escort us back to a nearby fort." I inspect the camp and notice military tents in proper order. Discipline is maintained, and yet I notice that much of the gear is threadbare. "I do not know why they would impose upon us like that, milady. This is highly unusual." "They wish to requisition our supplies, Sergeant. The Seventh belongs to the Army''s Department of the Missouri and they are notoriously low on everything. Allow me to talk to their commander. I am sure that I can convince him to see the light." The sergeant inspects me. His gaze lingers on my lips, perhaps trying to discern the fangs underneath. This one knows what he is dealing with. "If it is you, then yes." I walk to the command tent where a young officer with a drooping moustache and long dark hair stands, smoking a pipe. He readjusts his crumpled hat when he sees me. I perceive no anomaly in his aura, which means that he is not under the thrall of any of my kin. As usual, I do not use Charm. Instead, I invade his personal space and force him to take a step back when he realizes that he is a head shorter than me. S§×ar?h the N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Well well well young sir, what do I hear? You want to divert our expedition? Well, that will not do, that will not do at all." "Ma''am, for matter of national sec ¡ª " "You do not have the authority to stop us. You do not have that right unless you suspect criminal activity. Do you suspect me of being a criminal, my boy?" "Well, no¡­" "So here is what will happen. We will leave you three crates of fresh vegetables and seasoned jerky, not as a gift you understand, against a formal letter from you that you acknowledge the reception of said supplies. I will even throw¡­" I lean forward conspiratorially. "A small bag of arabica beans, prime quality. Then, tomorrow morning, my men and I will ride out into the unknown with your blessing. If you attempt to stop us we will not comply and you will have to arrest all of us and imprison us in your fort." "I am certain that ¡ª " "If this happens I assure you that you will be dishonorably discharged within a fortnight and that you will never again hold a commission in any of the armed forces of the continent. I hope I am making myself clear, dearie." "Well, this is most irregular! Madam, with all due respect to you as a member of the fairer sex¡­" "Shhhhhh," I interrupt, placing my finger over his lips to his flustered, blushing confusion. "Sh sh sh. Hush," I tell him with a genial smile, "nothing good ever came after those words. Hush now, there''s a good lad. Think of the coffee, sit your pretty bottom on the nearest chair and just¡­ let go. Hush now. There, there." I pat him on the shoulder and leave. "Remember what I said dearie, and have a pleasant night. Ta ta!" The convoy departs the next morning without incident. On a related note, I need more coffee. The grim sergeant''s retelling of our encounter amuses the soldiers for another two days as we cross the empty plains. Unfortunately, their mood plummets when we reach the destination I saw in the rogue''s memory. The mercenary sergeant enters my safe carriage a little past midday carrying dire news. "Milady, we have reconnoitered the area and found the remains of a village. It was treated¡­ cruelly." I ask him a few more questions but decide to wait until night to see the battlefield with my own eyes. "Stay put, sergeant. We will inspect the camp ourselves." "By yourselves you mean you and your¡­ hidden associates?" the man asks. I smile and let him see a hint of fang. "That is correct. You have fulfilled your part of the mission." "Will you require blood, perhaps?" he asks. I feel no fear in his heart. "No, thank you. We found a raiding party yesterday." "I see. Well then, take care." Any doubt about our nature is dispersed when we exit the carriage in heavy armor. The sergeant frowns at my hair, suddenly more blonde than before, but my face is thankfully hidden behind a mask and so my ability should remain hidden this time. A Rosenthal mercenary will not betray the trust of their employer anyway, therefore I have no need to eliminate the potential witnesses. We leave at a fast pace. The plain is so vast and empty today that one only has to open their eyes to see the remains of a sprawling village on the edge of a small lake. All of the remaining tents have been destroyed but the most striking feature of the carnage is the field of pony corpses littering an entire side of the abandoned locale. As we approach, more elements become clear. The village was attacked by a group wielding firearms as the rotting bodies of warriors we come upon attest. This close, the stench of decay is so thick and cloying that it eclipses everything else. Swarms of flies and the caws of buzzards hide the music of the night and I find myself shocked not at the dead Comanches we are seeing, but at the methodical fashion in which everything was mowed down. Even the potteries and sacks were not spared the brutal punishment. Despite the dreadful attack, it appears that a significant portion of the population managed to escape as we find plenty of horse and human tracks leading north. The most recent ones show several thick carriage wheels, which means that the assailants were probably white people. The three of us circle the camp again. "This band was successful until someone fell on them like a brick wall, Mistress, beg your pardon. Look at those bags. Military supplies bags, those are. They probably raided a fort." Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. "Or took down a patrol, we would have heard about a fort. I agree with your assessment." I point at a pile of goods. I see a makeup kit, needles, and velvety fabric next to a mirror that now lies broken. Other civilized goods pop out here and there. Some of the discarded clothes and furniture are quite valuable which tells me that the pursuers did not come for plunder. It could be revenge, or it could be that Benoit finally found his quarry. "Do you think the new vampires raided settlements?" "Possible. If this is what happened, it might explain how Benoit found Ako. He merely had to follow reports of devastating night raids." "How did he even figure out that there was a Progenitor?" Urchin asks. I shrug. We can figure it out later. "Before we leave, I want to check one last thing." We circle the camp, seeing that some of the dead horses also carry saddles and horseshoes of American make. I soon find what I was expecting. A trail of warrior''s bodies ends at a line of heavy tracks still flattening parts of the tall grasses. I find rectangular, discarded casings on the ground. "They have gatling guns." "Does it matter to us?" "No, but our escort must be warned." "I shall do so, Mistress. You and John can go ahead." Our pursuit takes the better part of the night. We start finding graves at the edge of abandoned camps as well as more dead Comanches and their horses. Those are warriors, not civilians like before and I suspect a running battle took place. Shallow graves with crosses on top confirms that the pursuers are from my side of the frontier. I know with certitude that the pursuer is a vampire and most likely Benoit. A party of this size could not have repulsed a Progenitor at night, even one weakened by youth and fledgelings. Our only saving grace is that the battle was long and time-consuming. It is slightly past midnight when I see the first fires on the horizon. They dot the plains, forming two light islets on that everlasting green sea of undulating grass. The first is small and disciplined. The second is wider, larger, but also dimmer. It does not take a strategist to guess that the pursuers are winning. The Comanches left their first encampments in a hurry. They must be starving by now. I hide my aura while Urchin and John suppress theirs with some effort. I use the darkness spell to cover our entrance even more. Fortunately, our approach remains undetected until we are quite close and I see why. Those are Benoit''s men. The Roland lord himself stands at the front of an encampment, inside a ring of torches with three masters by his side. Four courtiers stand guard at regular intervals, including one who faces us but whose empty gaze reveals a deep mental fatigue. For now, Benoit seems focused on the scene ahead and has not detected us. "What should we do, Miss Ari?" John whispers. I could try to negotiate with Ako, though the loot in his camp shows how much he values my race. Young vampires tend to keep attachments to their blood and groups. It takes some time before the attachment fades. He would have no reason to believe that Benoit and I are not on the same side. Yes, it would be tricky. That is why I shall not do so. Benoit has kept the Progenitor and his remaining fledgelings, if there are any, at bay, and I can taste his essence. I can taste all of their essences. The path to follow is as obvious as it is seductive. "You will wait here and engage the courtiers when battle is joined." "Understood." I keep moving, alone this time, and stop at the edge of the circle. The sentry finally senses that something is wrong and frowns lightly. The poor prey gives me a delectable expression of unmitigated horror when I drop the spell and appear only four paces in front of him, in full regalia. I believe I shall cherish this memory for years to come and, to express my gratitude, I salute him with a nod as I pass him by. Cries of dismay greet me on my slow walk throughout the camp, not the least because of the absolutely glacial aura that sends the mortals reeling. I see the gatling guns protected and arrayed to my right. A group of mages in a protective circle stand to my left, whispering with confusion. Benoit feels me and turns immediately. His surprise is replaced by fear and then by arrogance when he recognizes me. I stop in front of the lord at the end of my casual stroll. He does look respectable in full plate, his handsome face hidden behind a helm. A bloodied greatsword hangs behind his back, a sign that battle has already been joined tonight. His aura covers and protects the three masters by his side. I see a woman in a wizard''s embroidered robe covered in runes, a warrior with a massive flail, and a last man in darker armor wielding a rapier and dagger. They take a step back. The courtiers group around the gatling guns. Meanwhile, the armed mortals all take their distance, an amusing yet ultimately vain exercise. If they had a bit of common sense they would be running as fast as their legs can carry them, but the herd instinct has prevailed. "Oh, I did see the report on your return, Ariane of the Nirari. And you came alone? A little risky, I think." I smile and do not answer. "I fear that I am unwilling to share this prize. First come, first served," he continues. "I will admit that I admire your courage, Benoit. You are ready to wager all of your standing, all of your possessions in a single hunt for one of the handfuls of entities that we should still fear. Bravo." "There is much power in a lord, as you will discover. And after that I will have some questions for you, such as how you found me, and after that, why, I believe that some of my acquaintances in Mask might be delighted to see you again. They were frustrated to see you go, last time. I shall be the pivot of this meeting and many more after. Do you know what I can obtain in exchange for a Progenitor?" Oh, he does love the sound of his own voice, but I can wait no longer. The frustration of the past months is finally catching up to me at a most auspicious moment. "I no longer care about your motives, Benoit. Politics, power plays, they only exist here as abstract background to the matter at hand. I did not want to speak to negotiate or question. I just wanted to say thank you." Benoit is taken aback, I think? Not that it matters. I let go of my aura. I unleash it and let it flow around and through the others. I allow it to seep through the cracks of reality and at the edge of all that vitality and power. Benoit''s eyes widen behind the medieval helmet because he knows and understands the implication, but it is too late. Too late! I am already in the middle of the camp where he thought he had me cornered. No one corners a Devourer. We thrive in the thick of carnage. This is where we belong and this is where we are at our most unstoppable. "Thank you for invading my land and killing my people. Thank you for stealing and destroying what I held dear. Thank you for striking me so ruthlessly and, from the bottom of my black heart, thank you for coming here. This lost place is so far from any information network that anything that happens here, if reported, will be taken as nothing but fables. Here we stand like at the dawn of time when the elder city emerged from the sands and our kind came into being. We do not need to hide here, Benoit, we are entirely free. We can let go. We can be ourselves, fully ourselves, in all our furious, blood-soaked glory. You called me and I am here, Benoit. Now show me your fangs and your claws and your rage. Let us break the world together. You are a rock and upon this rock I shall build my legacy as the first and only Devourer War Lady. Magna. ARQA." My world is a sphere. Thorns rip the earth asunder. They rise to the sky, sending men and weapons flying, shredding, mangling. What was a plain is now a deep and treacherous forest writhing under an alien sky and the purple, curious gaze of the Watcher. They experience this apotheosis just as they die to feed it, my captive little things, my prey. Essence flows and vitality drips from so many obsidian nails and there cannot be enough, there can never be enough. I need more. MORE. "SHATTER AND FALL." Every drop of power feeds the Magna Arqa. Its area of effect is still much smaller than it was when I faced Octave, and yet I can feel it growing yet again. I am not done growing. I just need more PREY. Benoit attacks the roots. Futile. The Master with a flail rolls under a lashing root so I can pin him like an insect and grab his head. Reveal the throat. Consume until all is ASH. A blue flash and I spot the Master in her robe running. So soon? "Heartseeker." The Devourer signature spell sends dark arrows hissing through the air. They catch her in the back, in the leg. They turn her flesh dry and desiccated. She falls. "Noooo." "YES." My allies come. John and Urchin have engaged the Courtiers guarding the Gatling guns. I let them. USEFUL WARRIORS. Something could emerge if I willed it, to help them, and I do so. I dive deep into the maze of twisting roots and spot a hint of white marble statue, of an insectile humanoid hybrid wielding long claws. It swipes a shrieking mortal. Oh, the Herald, one of the prizes of my collection. More essence. More life. I feel the mages huddling under their protective circle and spitting fire as if their pathetic flame could ignite the primeval nightmare. I sprint to them, roots parting to let me through, embracing me. They are mine. "Shield breaker." I punch the protection with my gauntlet and let the spell and the Watcher''s deleterious energies spread through the construct. It falls to pieces almost immediately and leaves the mages defenseless. They are caught by the tide and by me. I drink an old man dry. I walk to the next. Loth''s armor makes every step a statement. Benoit finally understands that attacking the roots is pointless. Whatever he destroys will just regrow in time and it is barely worth the effort. He jumps and squeezes between the appendages, seeking me. Perfect timing. I give him the illusion that I do not know where everything is in my domain. He cleaves down with his sword. I let the edge slide against Rose with amused ease. Our eyes meet. "You fucking Devourer monsters." "WE ARE ALL MONSTERS. I AM BETTER AT IT." Benoit screams and strikes in a deluge of attacks that I deflect and dodge, moving back and creating a thorn funnel around him. He realizes. Too late. He disengages, the pathetic weakling. "Promethean." The chains Constantine invented surge from my gauntlets in starving snakes of reddish blood essence. Benoit finds himself trapped and strikes them down with a great overhead strike. It leaves him exposed for a lunge. Rose bites deeply into his chest, slightly below the heart. Benoit is forced to push the weapon down lest I finish him off here and now. The blade bites deep. The roots close around him. "Enough of this. Magna Arqa!" Benoit takes slow, careful steps forward but where the roots used to give him pause, they now slide helplessly against his pitted armor. I strike him and find Rose deflected by ever-more powerful strikes. Interesting! This is not an avatar type but an effect that will stop, I suppose, at the end of his stroll. The gait accelerates and I abuse my reach to keep lashing at him. He manages to block most strikes and I feel his speed increasing, yet I am still faster and slightly out of reach. I entertain myself by testing him and keeping an eye on the last master who thinks himself hidden. Nothing is hidden from me in my forest. The speed keeps increasing. All Roland lords have an absurd willpower, a perseverance that extends the duration of their Magna Arqas past what any other bloodline can achieve. Except, of course, for mine. I consumed so many of them. Nevertheless, I do not underestimate him and increase my focus. The roots at the edge of the thorn forest grow indolent and unresponsive, not that it matters since their prizes are drained and lifeless. Benoit accelerates further as he pushes me back and the forest moves with me out of the camp. I move around him, forcing him to perform abrupt turnarounds but it does not seem to negatively impact his speed. It does, however, impact his patience. "Stop running!" "Stomp and moan your fill. Then I DEVOUR YOU," I retort. I stand my ground more and more, pushing his devastating strikes away with a flurry of blows, deflecting and dodging while lashing out. Most of my attacks do little more than chip the armor, and yet he takes them as a personal affront. "You dare!" "I dare." We approach a climax. For a moment, I let him believe that I can be overwhelmed. A final lunge pushes me back, seemingly destabilized. The enemy master emerges from behind a root and strikes. I smirk and cast the combat''s first mirage spell. The illusion catches the two fighters off guard while a root props me back up and on the offensive. "Promethean." The spell and a strike from Rose disable the master and I dive under a root as the forest rises to prevent Benoit''s passage. The lord rages against the obstacles, in vain. They close around him like a prison. He smashes his weapon repeatedly. Every blow cuts a root and costs me energy but I can see his Magna Arqa unravel. "Caught in a trap of your own making," I idly comment. "Shut up! Show yourself you coward!" Benoit strikes at what he thinks is me. His sword shatters the shield and arm of a new statue I extracted from my domain. Loth''s face plate turns to him in all its marble-like glory and the lord stops in his tracks. This allows me to lop his right arm off in one blow. I ignore his cries of pain and supplication while I peel off the helmet to reveal the tender skin underneath. He blabbers about threats and deals but we are past those, we are so far past those that I do not stop for a single second. After all, I have a prize to claim. Benoit tastes of ambition and scheme. He was powerful and cunning but he was also arrogant. That is why I did not underestimate him and that is why I notified Sephare of my actions. One cannot stand alone in this world. My Magna Arqa fades. We stand in the plain with the wrecked remains of the camp in the distance. I walk back to John and Urchin waiting patiently by the bound and insensate bodies of the fallen fledgelings. John stands like a hero with his titanic warhammer hanging over a shoulder while Urchin lazily spins knives between his fingers, switching and moving them with his power in a hypnotizing display. They are quite pleased with themselves and they deserve to be. They took four foes with no apparent wounds. An impressive performance. "Well done, you two. Take the two surviving Masters and bind them as well. I will negotiate with our new bloodline." I keep walking calmly to the Comanche camp in the distance. I hear the heartbeats of human scouts in the distance, foolishly away from their camp. Many fall back when they spot me. I do not hide my approach. In fact, I should advertise it more. "Let there be light." Ghostly purple orbs appear above my pauldrons, bathing me, and only me, in their radiance. I take my time as I approach my destination and spot horses and mortals in various stages of despair. Those people are thin, exhausted. They teetter at the edge of surrender. They merely need a little nudge. Truly, Benoit paved the way for me. And truly, I owe the Bingles yet another breakthrough. Is this a symbiotic relationship? It does not take long for Ako to show himself. He is a tall, handsome man with high cheekbones and a dark glare. I feel a smidgen of sympathy for his overly long hair, which he will have to braid for as long as he lives. He is almost naked. Only scraps of fabric still cling to his muscular frame over long stains of congealed black blood. The fledgelings behind him are in marginally better physical shape but their faces show a deep suffering. They must have figured out that not all experiences were good to share, and that enough agony members can lead to a devastated community. Ako grumbles a few words in his native language. I ignore him. "Speak the true tongue, I know you can do it." More agitated words I''d wager are insults and threats. His voice is gravelly, tired. "You are too close to your mortal kin. It will not last." He refuses to communicate. Ah, well. "Suit yourself. Magna Arqa." The thorns catch all of the fledgelings while I advance to engage the weakened warrior. He grabs a throwing axe from behind his back and hurls it at me with great energy. Of course, the movement lacks the fluidity immortals are capable of and I easily catch it in my gauntleted hand. Feathers and charms adorn the shaft. Oh, a local production. How quaint. "Shred." The full-powered disruptive spell cracks the axe which falls to pieces between my armored fingers. I keep moving forward and cut the shaft of a spear. A native warrior shoots a glowing arrow at me from afar. I let it plink uselessly against my chest and retaliate with a blood bolt that destroys his knee. Ako charges me. He jumps in the air and kicks me in the chest with both feet. I let him. We almost never jump, except to dodge. A vampire in the air cannot change trajectory, and a predictable fighter is a dead one. His naked feet impact my braced form with no discernible result except pushing him away. I slice both of his calves before he can land again and watch him crawl away from me. He was losing against Benoit. He does not stand a chance against me. Worse, he is fighting like a mortal. Weak. Clumsy. Bound by limitations that he should have shed, not that I can blame him since no one could show him the way. "I have come to accept your surrender." He is still defiant. I take control of all the thorns around his fledgelings and squeeze. The pain wracks him so I squeeze them more. He rolls on the ground in agony. Ah, yes. I remember a time when pain terrified me, long before the sight of the Accords'' fortress basement made me want to pull on my fingers and count them. I kneel by his side and grab him by the neck, twisting one of his arms behind him. "I know you understand the tongue. You will surrender to me or I will kill all of your men one by one while you watch, and then, I will kill you last. My kin have slain Progenitors before. I have no qualms expanding the list." "You black-clad devil. Leave us alone." "I will start with the pretty girl with the stolen cavalry saber." Ako stops struggling against my hold. I can feel the power in his limbs. They do not matter. He is trapped. "What good would it do? Why would I choose an eternity of slavery to ''taibo'' like you over a warrior''s death?" "We look after our own. If the land you tread officially belongs to a white man we control, it is truly yours. We can offer you a future for your people. Or you can choose your warrior''s death and I will drain you dry here and now." He does not hesitate and I can see the true despair crawling under the surface of his thoughts. "If you speak the truth then I accept. I will join your community. You had better not be lying." "I have no need to lie to you, Ako. Oh, and another thing. You will join my faction. In fact, I believe that I will take my tribute immediately." It has been a few years since I last tasted a Progenitor. I bend down and bite. Chapter 170 - 164. Liberation, opus one In the Accords chamber below Boston''s fortress, Constantine''s arcane display moves more than all the participants put together. The Wardens stand like statues, each influential and powerful enough to devastate an army ¡ª or buy it ¡ª each holding back by tradition and the knowledge that there are other monsters around. Despite our restraints, we still play our games, starting with our appearance. Every lock of hair, every understated jewel and custom-made ribbon of fabric speaks of wealth beyond wealth, a display of taste that only those who never consider the price can fully appreciate. Even Ako is no exception despite his recent induction. The Comanche chief still wears leather, forrester clothes, but now the fabric is calfskin and linen. Unfortunately for him, his distaste of our assembly is plain as day. The rest of us have had decades to learn how to hide behind a smile. "Fellow Wardens, it is my honor to introduce Ako, Progenitor and Warden of Kansas," Jarek says with his deep, gravelly voice. His sober introduction sets the tone for the rest of the meeting. I almost expected the Progenitor to be shunned, yet it appears that his nature grants him some manner of leeway. My peers and I ignore his hostile glares and outward shows of boredom while Sephare explains his special status. I was a poor contender for the formation of dear young Ako. As a young woman from another tribe, I bear the resemblance of a victim, which suits me fine when hunting but does not translate to respect during training. As much as it would have amused me to destroy Ako''s expectations, Jarek has much more experience making young upstarts fall in line. It also helps that he is possibly the third highest elevation in Texas and that he can outpunch a freight train traveling at full speed. I have first hand experience in the matter, so to speak. In any case, his tutoring has borne fruit. Ako has taken to combat training like a fish to water and he also agreed to stop making fledgelings for now. I believe that the blood strain on his tribe has already shown him the errors of his way. A nation of cattle is a dead one. Unfortunately, Ako does not trust us at all. Fresh supply, including food, has helped us, but he finds himself in a peculiar situation. All of the emergent bloodlines either found themselves in a power vacuum, or in contact with older clans that shared cultural elements with them. Ako is unique in the way that he has to integrate with a community representing cultural groups with whom he was previously at war. It takes time for us to grow old enough to identify ourselves with other vampires, not the population that gave birth to our mortal self. Ako does not just find himself having to work with strangers, but he has to do so at a time when his original kin find themselves on the business end of progress. I feel a bit of sympathy for him, not in truth, of course, but on an intellectual level. I believe that a mild appreciation for Progenitors is part of our instincts. After all, I have considered deposing Constantine and even torturing him a little bit, but I never seriously planned on killing him. The same goes for Ako. He will be protected, but that should not stop a smidgen of friendly ribbing so when his eyes meet mine, I smile and show him all of my fangs, which makes him flinch. The delicious youngling. His essence is peculiar and when I focus on it, I merely feel a sense of great distance, which indicates that all my kin currently walk another continent. Or at least, I hope so. Soon enough, the introduction stops and Constantine has a new seat added to the ever-expanding table. Ako looks impressed, for once. The flowing stone of the thrones and central table are certainly one of Constantine''s best works. After the remote-controlled battle golem, I should say. "Thank you. I would like to invite Warden Nirari to share her report on the recent implementation of the Supernatural Task Force. Lady Nirari, you have the floor." I rise and feel the full attention of the others on me. Lady Nirari was used before, as a courtesy. Now, it is owed. "Thank you. As of March of this year, The Supernatural Task Force is the mandated law enforcement agency charged with handling any and all criminal matters involving spells and spellcasters. This covers both the tools used to commit the crime and the crime itself, but not mutated animals or werewolves. Those depend on special ranger offices. I am pleased to announce that the infiltration of their ranks by White and Red Cabal members has been completed, with at least one member per office in all but the most distant hamlets." I wave my gauntlet and the table between us shifts like sand under a strong wind. A map of North America emerges, with numbers written next to several major cities of the United States. "After two months of operation, I can confirm the trend we all expected. The numbers you see represent cases assigned to the newly made forces. As you can see, it is quite significant. We believe that many of those cases are assigned in error and the overall number will decrease as local civilian authorities better understand the limits of magic. In the meanwhile, a combination of high workload, animosity from police forces, fear from the general population, and mistrust by their superiors have left those who applied disabused and frustrated. Keep in mind that the recruits we have not seeded were mostly idealists. This development should allow us to obtain information easily since their loyalty is low." A warden lifts a hand in a sign that he wishes to ask a question. He is a Canadian Roland, one who is mostly unaligned but often votes alongside my faction. Canada appears to be following a much harder line right now, so he may be looking into ways to improve the situation for his followers. "Yes?" "What benefits does this bring that you would spend that much effort?" "By facilitating the task force, we will reinforce their image as a necessary evil in the eyes of reluctant populations rather than a group to be systematically exterminated. This is especially valid in the south where reactionary forces are already in play to neuter the consequences of emancipation. The mage population is our buffer. The more human they appear, the less likely the government will resort to complete cleansing. On the other hand, they will also help us regulate the many spell-casting outlaws bound to come up as more and more people with minor gifts realize their true potential." "You believe that spellcasting outlaws will rise in prevalence?" "Absolutely. Recognized mages are unofficially barred from all major offices. When the mages become aware that they are being discriminated against, many will choose the only path to wealth and power still available to them." "Crime." I nod. "We must maintain a subtle balance between acceptability and alienation. Too far into alienation and pyres will turn the sky red. Too much acceptance and the supernatural task force will see their job as a way to escape the social stain while their own population see them as traitors. Neither outcome is desirable. "Our campaign of disinformation has made our existence close to a myth and we should strive to keep it that way, reach a new equilibrium." "What of the werewolves? Their existence opens the door to questions. If they exist, then other species might exist as well." "Werewolves are cursed humans. It is what they are and how they have been presented. The discovery of the fae would pose a greater risk for us." The lord nods. Others ask more questions, mostly legal details and local specificities. I expect a lot of letters and correspondence in the near future. It is fortunate that I was granted a staff to handle most of the information exchange, or the workload would have been simply too much. The same goes for finance. The burden on covens has increased exponentially, to the point that the Accords have become pretty much a shadow government. Now I need to sacrifice a portion of my income just for taxes! Ugh. Thank the Watcher for Rosenthal ''creative'' accounting. Because of them, I have added ''tax evasion'' to my long litany of misdeeds. Our aggressive grab on all sorts of frontier and post-war assets really came as a windfall. After me, Lord Ceron of the Cadiz advocates more funding for the various safe havens we are building in the wilderness for our followers and us, should the worst come to pass. I reluctantly vote in favor and soon the council ends. We line out, coming to the surface shortly after. The air of early summer night greets me in all its complexity. Our fortress hugs the Charles river to the north and its muddy smell mingles with that of flowers Steward Wilhelm affectionately cultivates. Beyond that comes the vast swell of humanity and more distant, the Atlantic ocean. It almost tastes like home now after all those years despite my painful first memories. I walk out onto the inner courtyard with John joining me. Our Masters and Courtiers lounge on benches and balustrades with the grace and affectation of a well-rehearsed choreography. Everyone pretends, although we are all aware of it, for to stop is to remove oneself from the only true community left to us. I smile at calculated curtseys, nod at measured greetings. This waltz is much preferable to the alternative when so many touchy predators gather in the same spot. I convince myself of this while exchanging names with a young fledgeling. By the Watcher, was I so bleary-eyed at her age? She looks like someone woke her up with a bucket of cold water to the face. I finally make my way to the main path in the hope of visiting Wilhelm''s flower garden of rare and mysterious essences, when I feel Jarek''s domineering aura approaching me. Courtiers part before the human-shaped icebreaker while I turn with a polite smile. Jarek''s aura projection was a courteous request to stop and, for him, I shall always oblige. The Natalis greets me with a rumble and a grin. "Lady Nirari, we have not had the time to catch up since your return!" "We have both been busy, Lord Jarek. How may I help you?" His grin only widens. "I want to see what you learned, of course! And since you are a Lady, I can be more¡­ myself." As if summoned, Wilhelm of the Erenwald practically runs to us with all the gravitas he can summon, which is not much with the way he worries his blond beard. "No wild fights on property! You will make your way to the designated dueling grounds and for the love of the Eye, no Magna Arqa from either of you. The masonry is entirely off-limits. Am I being clear?" I shrug and move while Jarek assures our host that, no, we will not use his beloved trees as blunt instruments and that is a promise. The news of our spar bounces from group to group. We soon acquire a tail. The dueling grounds themselves result from a truce between Jarek and Wilhelm. The Natalis powerhouse has an unfortunate tendency to destroy trees during practice fights and there is no telling which specific one Wilhelm considers as his. As a result, a thicket was cut down on the south-west side of the manor to accommodate an arena of sorts with the understanding that combat would be confined to its limits. Casual combat, that is. We conduct ritual duels in an enchanted underground arena. "No Magna Arqa, no armor." "I will use magic," I warn the tall man as I fasten my gauntlet. I am not going toe to toe with that mountain without some sort of edge. Conquered essence can only carry me so far. "Of course!" Jarek says, uncaring. "No breaking the windows!" Wilhelm complains from behind a line of spectators. "Ready?" I barely have time to assent that Jarek rushes forward, fists materializing on his massive hands. He is nothing if not consistent. Since I fully expected it, I take a step back and to the side while whipping Rose out. The unexpected movement sends the tip exactly where the massive lord''s throat is. He tilts his head and the blade merely slices his cheek. Another sidestep takes me away from his downward followup jab and the dance is on. I attack mercilessly to prevent myself from being overwhelmed. Jarek''s style is heavy and powerful ¡ª not as precise as Octave but designed to work with his Magn Arqa. He merely needs a glancing blow. A small opening is enough. As long as Jared connects, the next hook will connect harder, then the next, until his opponent is paste on the ground. I move by half-steps to keep ahead when I realize that he is more defensive than usual, much more, and I realize why. He does not wear armor. Neither do I. We would probably both prefer to keep our clothes intact. So I aim exclusively for his head. He mimics me and it turns into a game. Even his fists are not enough to protect all of it while I have no shield. We exchange long sequences during which we try to outmaneuver or overwhelm each other. It does not help that we are very familiar with each other''s style. Jarek accelerates. I expected it. I already saw him move at his full speed, after all, and find that I can match it. He is strong, so strong, but at the moment he thinks he has me, I cast my first mirage. The fugacious spell leaves an illusory version of me going to the left while I dive right. To his credit, Jarek does not hesitate. He attempts to strike both at once and I use his weaker position to launch a counter, which he blocks at the very last moment. He is now on the backfoot, dodging high and low a series of powerful strikes. I soon corner him on a side of the arena and we exchange flurries of blows with neither combatant crushing the other. Beautiful and exciting. I lose myself in the deadliest dance, no longer trying to kill him but just trying to win our little contest without breaking the rules. It does not work. Jarek is much more nimble than I ever realized simply because he never had to display much agility before. There was no need. The spar turns frantic and I realize that I will not win the normal way, so I do not try. This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. A last vicious exchange reaches its paroxysm and I am at my limit. At the last possible moment, I turn aside and lunge under a jab, scoring a second gash on his face. He adjusts his punch, of course, and my head whips back under the power of the blow. I recover just in time to see a devastating uppercut coming. Twisting, I grab Rose with two hands and cleave down. The impact of the two soul weapons sends a shockwave rippling through the dust we raised. I find my own smile mirrored in the old monster''s grin. He does love a good match and there are few who can push him like I can, now that I have ascended. I cannot wait to face him at full strength. We pull back by common agreement and wipe our faces of the blood we shed. Polite applause welcomes our impromptu performance. Some of the mortals are particularly enthusiastic, even though the fight cannot have lasted more than two minutes and they probably missed most of the action. "A splendid performance," Constantine comments. He had joined the assembly, carefully masking his aura not to distract us. Ako is here as well, looking pensive and, perhaps, a little bit envious. Jarek''s desire to test me again stems from his unending battle lust, but his decision to do so publicly is a gesture of help. By allowing me to display my prowess, he cemented my position as a force to be reckoned with. Martial might remains important to us despite our outward courteous dealings. Now, everyone knows that the Accords have gained another heavy hitter. The Natalis lord and I salute before he clasps his heavy bear mitt on my shoulder which I allow despite the cavalier nature of the gesture. He means well. "Good show! But you must come south to visit so we can see if you wield your Magna Arqa as easily as those fancy illusions. And bring your two acolytes, they could use some practice as well." "Now that the situation calmed down somewhat, I am sure that I can make the time." "Good! And we can go crash some Integrist night meetings. They love those!" "Oh, I would be delighted," I assure him, then we turn to accept congratulations. I expected to spend another tedious fifteen minutes playing the princess, but Wilhelm unexpectedly pulls me aside and invites me into his office, where a hot cup of coffee awaits me. I thank him and take a sip while he explains the reason for his summon. Wilhelm is an interesting Steward of the Fortress. As suave as he can be with guests, he becomes inexplicably flustered when he needs to ask a favor. Sometimes, I believe that he would rather fend off an irate lady than ask another coven''s Courtier for a one night mission. "I am faced with an unusual situation. We have a large economical presence in Boston as you well know. Recently, a toy maker by the name of Smith has enchanted the market with new and expertly made designs that caused quite a stir. The small mortals like it." "You can say children." "Well, yes. Them. In any case, his fame has been profitable. Unfortunately, Smith must have some issue because he requested you by name." Suspicion immediately fills my heart, but Wilhelm must have anticipated it because he opens a palm in a gesture of appeasement. "We investigated. Apparently, you assisted one of his relatives years ago with a family matter." "I have solved many family matters, some of them decisively." "And that is why we reserved judgement on his claims. Smith has been reluctant to share the details with our envoy. I would really appreciate it if you could talk to the man and see what he wants. It is no obligation and I would normally not bother you with such an errand were it not for his public presence." I nod and shrug. I find myself in a lull between crises right now and needed to get to town to order new dresses anyway. "Give me the address and let us see what this man wants. It is as they say, the reward for good work is always more work." *** The plush toy shop is still open by some miracle, or rather it is not, but a light burns behind the drawn curtains. The toys themselves show an expert hand with puppy-eyed designs and exquisitely made articulations, and yet some details bother me. I detect a hint of alienness in them. A pointy ear, a fluffy piece of white fabric cut into a slightly too sharp fang. The effect only appears under certain angles and to those who pay attention. A daring artistic choice, and perhaps nothing more. Nevertheless, my mood goes from relaxed to alert. I knock on the door and receive a hesitant ''come in''. Behind the curtain, the modest shop extends under the yellow radiance of a gas lamp. Shelves line half of the room before a door that leads deeper inside. An ancient clock ticks the seconds away, in tune with the soft whisper of fabric. I look and see an old man with a shock of white hair hard at work behind the counter. He appears to be sewing together a knight in shining red armor, his heart beating peacefully away. The mortal looks up and shows two tired brown eyes, widened by apprehension when he recognizes me. He is clean-shaven, which is an unusual choice around here, and his clothes and apron are well-ironed. I approach and sniff the air. What curious aromas! I have to control myself so I do not show any reaction. The man puts the toy down with long, delicate fingers and the care of a father. He sighs his nervousness away and finally faces me. As he is about to talk, a door farther in opens with a creak. I heard a tiny heartbeat and so I am not surprised when a young boy shuffles in timidly under the disapproving glare of the old man. "Michael, I told you to go to sleep." "But grandpa, I want to know as well." The old man''s expression softens. He hesitates and casts a glance in my direction. I would indulge them but my time is rather short and, besides, I would rather get to the point. I slowly clap. And I speak in Likaean. "Yes yes, a very touching performance, you scandalous scoundrel. I am awed as always." The old man pales. "Miss?" "You always did smell like a field under the July sun, but even then, how could I believe the family charade when you have a corpse in the wardrobe? I can taste the rot and preservatives from here." The old man''s expression turns into a scowl. "I told you to seal it," he accuses his ''grandson'' in Likaean as well. "Ah, oops?" the ''boy'' says, revealing needle-like teeth. The childish demeanor and size stay but his eyes turn the black of a bottomless pit. He saunters to the wardrobe and opens it, revealing an exact copy of the old man in front of me, only clearly dead for a while and¡­ stuffed? The cadaver''s eyeballs have been replaced by crimson rose blooms. "Charming," I announce. "I thought you might like it!" Makyas of the Court of Keyholes exults. "Tacky," the ''old man'' complains. He exhales and his hair turns a golden blond while his eyes take the hue of amber. The older traits melt into a devastating, angular face with the smile of an angel hiding the mind of a demon. "Hello there, poppet. It has been far too long." "Yes yes, Sinead, I am sure that you are positively delighted. Is it you who summoned me here or the dearly departed?" "Why me, naturally. Old Man Smith has been dead for, what, a month?" "And you stuffed and mounted him as a prank?" "I blame Makyas and his strange hobbies." "Old Man Smith was really affectionate," the fake boy explains with the candor of a child sharing his day. "A bit too affectionate with other children, you see? So I lured him into an alley and shoved my thumbs into his sockets. Gross! But fun." "Ugh. Why would you ever do that? Best way to get vitreous all over your face." "I have a lot of experience! And vitreous is really tasty." sea??h th§× NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "His court regularly asks payment in eyeballs," Sinead adds helpfully. "They''re squishy and delicious!" "To each their own I suppose," I grumble. Icky. "Now, why did you two troublemakers come to my little corner of the world?" I ask with a voice that drips with disgust. "Look at her," Sinead complains, "too young to have lived through ten fae seasons and already jaded. Ah, the debutantes these days." "You complain a lot for someone who is practically cradle-robbing," Makyas objects. "I certainly hope that this comment did not refer to me¡­" "It did!" "... and I would like to know the reason for your presence here, if you do not mind." Sinead struts from behind the counter with the grace of a ballet dancer. He stops in front of me and curtseys like a European court animal. An old one. When they still had more kings with their heads intact. "I need a little assistance," the rogue admits. "Of course you do," I scoff, "you only ever show up when you need my help. What is it this time? Piracy? Arson? Are we killing the president?" "None of that, just a little bit of larceny in preparation for the real deal." "The real deal, is it? And you expect me to help you out of the kindness of my black heart?" "I thought you might because you find me irresistible." I huff and cross my arms, thoroughly unimpressed. "I will have you know that someone else already stole my affection." "And I am very good at stealing things back. And besides, poppet, have you forgotten? We Likaeans are¡­" His eyes blaze dangerously and, under the weakened shell, I see a glimpse of the fire giant with the hair of gold I once beheld in dreams. The scion of the Court of Summer is still there, buried, chained, and waiting. "...very seldom possessive." "Ooooh bedroom eyes. Is this how you plan on seducing me?" He considers me with amused pity. "Oh poppet, you know I seduced you a long time ago." I throw a plush at him, which he deftly dodges. "I am merely waiting for you to grow plump and juicy," I inform him. "Then I will enjoy your essence with a cup of arabica." "Are you two going to fuck?" Makyas asks innocently. "Language!" "Come on, poppet. Ask me what I plan to do. You know you cannot resist." Well, I should figure it out, if only to protect myself. I sigh. "I knew you would see reason," the insufferable man declares. "We will have to proceed carefully for some time. Thirty years at most, a blink of an eye really. And then¡­ we shall commit the greatest, most ambitious heist in the history of this planet. The bards shall sing our praises for eons! All the courts will know our names. Why, we could even be depicted in living statues while we pass into eternity as the greatest liberators who ever lived." I lean forward, intrigued despite myself. Sinead spreads his arms like a charlatan at the end of his sales pitch. "We are going to steal¡­ the fae." "You are going to steal the fae," I numbly repeat. "Which ones?" "Why, all of them at once, of course!" *** It takes me a full minute to recover from that outrageous claim, during which Sinead parades around the shop selling his ''master plan''. "It would be absolutely impossible to free the captive fae by force on a planet where vampires are so powerful, therefore we had two choices. Either we returned alone and notified one of the forces of the fae planes, leading to an unfortunate invasion of your world and the subsequent extermination of hundreds of thousands of mortals¡­ Worse! We would not be able to take credit. Or we could find an unconventional way to free our people and, thanks to Sivaya, we did! She is not called a genius of the Blue Court for nothing, poppet. She found a way. I cannot go into too much detail as of now, but we will require several items of extreme rarity." "So you do not want me for just one thing, you want to retain my help for the next three decades, is that it?" "Precisely. Ah, it hurts my poor heart to see you less enthused at the prospect than I hoped!" He performs an annoyingly convincing display of sadness. "But of course, I would be a fool to demand altruism from someone as influential and busy as you are, poppet. You have grown so much! It is only fair that I would provide a service. Nay, two services!" "It better be as valuable as you claim." "Of course! The first service we shall provide relates to your autonomy. Do you know that¡­ Mask was it? The canny clowns have the New World in their sights?" "Is Bertrand really this stubborn?" I hiss, but of course he is. He is a Roland. "Bertrand? Poppet, how many powerful and influential men have you met since we last saw each other?" "Are you trying to be my lover or my dad?" "Ouch," Makyas whispers from the door. "I beg you, Ariane, never use that comparison again," Sinead asks more seriously. He shivers. "I am no Prince of Winter." "Wait, they favor incest?" "Could we kindly return to the matter at hand please? I know that you have a daddy complex¡­" "HEY!" "... so I will let it go. To crime! Yes. In order to help you and buy you time, we shall perform a good service. We will trigger a large-scale war between Mask and Eneru." I gasp audibly, which shows just how much the preposterous claim shocks me. He has to be lying. "You cannot be serious." "I have absolute confidence that we will succeed. As for the second service, it relates to the liberation itself. The specific method we shall use will rob vampires of their blood canisters, which means that the Europeans will no longer have an edge. In fact, no one will." Again, I spot a flash of anger under his calm demeanor. It fades just as quickly. "Swear to me that this is the truth." The Likaean does not hesitate. He places a hand on his heart and stares me right in the eye. "I, Sinead, prince of Summer, swear on my honor and everything I hold dear that this deal will benefit you in all the ways I mentioned and others I have not. I will add that your safety and happiness are a great concern to me, and that I will never sacrifice you for my goals. In the end, you will not regret this." "And in the middle?" "There might be some mildly unpleasant moments. Nothing that you cannot handle, I am sure. In case this was not clear, I will be closely involved in the whole process. If we fall, we fall together, so you can trust that I will make sure that the odds are stacked in our favor, because I could get captured and I would rather die than go through what my kin are enduring." The serious tone tells me that Sinead will go to any length to prevent that from happening. The truth is that I like him. I could claim that accepting the agreement would favor me and that is why I do it, but I would be lying to myself. I am doing it because Sinead asked me to. I do not understand why I appreciate this obvious manipulator, though he certainly taught me much. Ah well. "Fine. Tell me more about that larceny¡­" Sinead''s grin radiates pure joy. I hope I will not regret my decision too much. Chapter 171 - 165. Larceny May 16, 1867 I was more than ready to go out for an evening to accomplish that bit of larceny Sinead mentioned, only to find out that the insufferable cad had taken one month just to prank me, and that the event would take place later that year in Philadelphia. I should honestly not be surprised, because I have always known Sinead is a dilettante and that his perception of time is somewhat skewed. And so I find myself at the top floor of a comfortable inn overlooking the Delaware river, entrenched in a salon with my coffee and my resentment. The cozy salon and excellent blend do little to distract me from my current circumstances. "Why, poppet, I thought you might be excited! This is the birthplace of your nation, after all. I promise that we can break into Carpenter''s Hall later tonight," Sinead offers, regal in a beige suit and waistcoat. I wonder where he gets money for all his fancy attire seeing as I have never seen him work a day in his life. Swindler. Charlatan! Oh, he was working. And he wrote that fanciful book on magical species we are using to muddy the waters about our existence. I suppose that the Prince of Summer can indeed commit to a task as long as someone suffers from it, or is made a fool. Or loses her virtue! Charlatan! "First, you have presented yourself as my husband for the very last time or I swear I will consummate our union and by that I mean that I will eat you." "But poppet, it is the perfect cover!" "Second, if you ever allude that we are indeed in some sort of relationship, I will thank you not to flirt with every member of the fairer sex in a two miles radius!" "Ah, but my dear, consider this, I have not done anything but talk. Now, all those pretty birds swoon for the unattainable, the forbidden fruit that is yours truly while they assume that I ravish you every night. How they must see you with envy!" "Has this excuse ever worked on anyone?" "Yes." "And that is why mankind should not be allowed to govern themselves. Enough of this. The plan?" "To business then!" Sinead struts to an overly decorated desk to retrieve a map, then unrolls it over the gaudy coffee table. The inexplicably rich cad probably picked one of the only inns in the city that chose late baroque as a decorative style. I think that rococo is what happens when someone has too much time and gold paint on their hands. I glance at the map and sigh heavily. I remember that the Likaean and I paired up before when planning to rescue his fianc¨¦e, and that he was fully capable of pointing a destination on a map. Wait, I am remembering this wrong. He pointed at a general area. "This is not a plan. You have made a drawing. A very convincing drawing of¡­ is that me in that blue dress?" Despite my annoyance, I cannot help but stare fixedly at my representation. It is me, as I remember it from so many years ago but¡­ different. The same nose, the same chin. He even managed to catch the shade of blue eyes I saw staring at me so many times in my small mirror, or blurred in the garden''s pond. The Ariane dancing with an unknown man is different. She is supremely confident, with an enchanting smile and a bit of calculation, but that is not all. Her neat clothes and poise evoke a certain purity and innocence I believe I lost on the night I died, yet here I find them, expressed with a tenderness and attention to detail that would have stolen my breath if I still had one. And it is not the only one. Instead of a blueprint of a house, Sinead''s plan is a sequence of events drawn across a childish rendition of what a manor looks like to one who has no sense of perspective. Each bubble of planned reality pops on top of another. I receive a ring from an old man with whom I share a smile of deep trust. I walk elegantly to a parked car. Each take shows always the same face but I look so¡­ alive, as alive as Hastings essence and perfect acting could make me. "Do you like it?" Sinead says, suddenly very close. Too close. He smells like fields under a summer sun. "Back off. Would it be too difficult to give a proper map of the place?" "This is a map, poppet. Your reality might be boring and inflexible but I will not allow it to dictate my planning. I am a prince, not an engineer." "Well¡­ Fine! Then please do explain the, hmm, steps." "Steps! Steps? I am not building stairs, I am telling you a story. Act one! The old professor and his protege visit the Stow household, invited to the party as exotic visitors come from faraway Savannah." "There is absolutely nothing exotic in Savannah besides the contents of its river." "Psh! Quiet, you blathering mooncalf! How dare you interrupt me after demanding an explanation?" "Alright! Ugh. Go on then oh storyteller." "And you shall be the choir and you shall be quiet until called upon. As I was saying, behold, two strangers bringing gifts and carrying many secrets, but the darkest secrets our hosts shall never learn, for we will away into the night before they can unveil even the first layer. See, this woman, Mary Stow. She carries with her a prize most unwise, a gold ring carrying the armories of the Myrddin clan. It can unlock many more doors than she believes, and so does not belong on her dainty finger. But look! Our charming pair mixes with the guests, turning a great many heads. The professor greets Mary and the ring is gone. He passes it along to his accomplice so that, should he be searched, the treasure might not be found." "Can you not just glamour it?" "Foolish child, do you know how difficult it would be to glamour a stolen magical object in the house of its owner?!" "Sorry." "I could do it, naturally, but trust me when I say that we must take few risks so early in the operation. We will have enough unknowns by the time this is all over. In any case, we shall depart the event in a reasonable time frame so as not to arouse suspicion then retire here for the evening. The Stows serve decent champagne and it would be a shame for me not to partake." "And I? Is there anything I should partake of?" "I sincerely pray that it does not come to this. By the way, I know that vampires do not enjoy make-up or wigs but I was hoping we could come to some¡­ oh." I now have wavy dark hair, large chestnut eyes and a soft face. "A perfect glamour! Physical as well¡­ Impressive for someone your age. It must be innate." "Yes, I acquired it in unusual circumstances." "A woman of many talents! Why, only a gifted niece could match the genius of one such as I." A change of tone warns me and I turn to find myself looking in the bespectacled, wrinkled face of a wide-haired old man, his fantastic beard expanding in silvery bristles. "Oh. And whose skin might you be wearing?" "Nothing so crass, Madchen. You have the honor of addressing Herr Professor Friedrich von Pappen. At your service!" "Kannst du wirklich Deutsch sprechen?" "Nat¨¹rlich! I can speak any language that strikes your fancy, ma mignonne. Or did you think that your primitive grunts were beyond me?" "Ugh. Fine. By the way, could you do this before?" "Not without a focus. It appears that the alignment of the spheres has led your rigid reality to become a bit more limber, like a widow hiring a young, rustic gardener. Where was I? Oh, yes. Crime! We depart tomorrow." *** The Stow residence lies on the outskirts of Philly, to the west. I am told that they used to keep another south but the area was overwhelmed by German and Irish immigrants, especially after their famine. It would not do to share space with poor people, I suppose, and so they share it with cows. And goats. I can smell them from the muddy road. "Are you sure you wish to present yourself as a musician?" "It would certainly be more believable than as a student of¡­ what is it you study?" "Phrenology." I glare at the scandalous man, currently ensconced in glamour and a dark coat. "You study skulls? Can I really go fetch one and you shall analyze it?" "Of course! I can already deduce that the person is dead." "Brilliant. Utterly mind-boggling" "But my question remains. What if they ask you to sing?" "I can eat you here and now, Sinead, and save us all this cruel fate. I am too young to be a governess and an actress would be too scandalous, hence, a musician." "Is it not socially acceptable for women to be painters?" "Not successful ones. And besides, I do not paint for mortals if anyone asks for a demonstration." "You could draw." "I will draw a blade before I draw a pen for my prey." "You should paint me." "I have." "Can I see?" "No." *** The Stows knew they could not match the wealthiest families of the land and so they did not make the attempt, for which I must credit them. It takes much to impress me after Constantine''s fortress and its mirrored ballroom. Most attempts at majesty fall short in comparison. The Stow estate has no such pretension, and they receive their guests in a series of rooms separated by open double doors. Candles and gas provide enough light to see the varnished floor and sturdy furniture covered in brown quilts. Both the guests and the house itself favor earthy colors in shades of brown, black, and green. The women here prefer high-necked gowns and I now see the reason why Sinead insisted on a dark blue conservative outfit instead of the lilac ones I have been favoring lately. I would have stood out like a rose on a bed of begonias. And besides, my hair is black for now. I allow ''Herr Professor'' to lead me in, bypassing the flock of young ones by the entrance and garnering quite a bit of hostility, which happens sometimes. Some communities have an inflated image of themselves, and all newcomers must submit to the ruling pair before being allowed to socialize. The blond man and short, severe dark-haired ones are especially hostile so I assume they fear a newcomer in their den. A part of me smiles and greets people whose names I will have forgotten in three days. I remain demure and shy to fit the obviously Puritan gathering. Another part is amused by the circumstances. I obtained permission to stay here for ''personal business'' from Warden Patrick of the Lancaster, a member of Sephare''s faction. As a lady and someone with weight, I could simply demand the ring and obtain it within a week, wrapped in tulle with a polite note. I could also ask Urchin to acquire it and he would oblige without difficulty. I would not even attract that much attention with how busy everyone is these days. I am, technically, slumming it. No self-respecting vampire of my rank would lower themselves to this charade, and yet I believe they should. A little masquerade is always a good practice and, besides, it can be fun. "Liebchen, I appreciate you taking care of your old uncle but you will never find a good party if I do not let you mingle. Go now and make some friends!" "Oh, uncle!" I reproach him with a fake blush. Nevertheless, I leave his side with pretend excitement, eager to throw myself in the maw of hazing. I make my way to the nearby ruling couple who watch me approach like a pack of wolves finding an errant sheep. "Good evening, everyone, my name is ¡ª " "Is it true that you are from Germany? Where in Germany?" The blond man says. Ah, the old interruption game. "My name is Adele von Pappen. My uncle is from Germany, I was born and raised in Savannah." "Pfff, why would someone move to Savannah from Germany?" "It is a coastal city," I explain with patience. "I know that!" "Then I fear that I do not understand your question." I smile disarmingly, in a way that just hints that I am provoking them instead of stating it clearly. I could play it more smoothly but I will not because I am arrogant and prideful, and also unapologetic. "So you are a musician then?" the short, severe girl asks in turn. "A student of music. I would not claim this title just yet." "Father Williams says that it counts as a frivolous pursuit for a woman." "Really? You never sing when you worship?" "It is not the same! Those are hymns for the glory of God!" "Ah, yes. Music conveys emotions with such incredible passion. It speaks to the soul and lifts us in a way that words seldom do, would you not agree?" "Well¡­" "All voices joined in unison until they form a whole greater than themselves, until the harmony exists more vividly than the individual notes. Deep male voices and dancing female ones singing praises with joy, carrying more emotion than an hour-long sermon. You must have felt it, no? The touch of grace." The woman blinks as I focus on her. It would not do to try and affect the man while I present myself as an outsider. The woman would see it as a challenge. "Ah, women can be so frivolous," the man declares with a pompous air of moral superiority. "Cease, Andrew, or do you find me leading the choir and singing God''s praises to be a frivolous endeavor as well?" "Laura, I did not mean it that way," he retorts with more anger than would seem warranted. In truth, he is probably disappointed at being publicly scolded in front of an unknown. Well, he should not have started then. "Adele, you are probably one of those artsy types, are you not? Do not listen to Elias, he is all happy to hear our voices every Sunday but rehearsal and practice are ''frivolous''! Typical." Aha! I got them to bicker. "Oh, that is quite alright. There are so many who appreciate art yet look down on those who toil to provide it. So, you are a singer then?" We discuss for a while, with the stern Laura proving deeply knowledgeable about sacred music while her companion Andrew fumes at being sidelined. Ah, yes, vampires. Sowing discord since the dawn of history. Our short conversation is soon interrupted by the return of Sinead, who slips the ring in my sleeve with the grace of the expert pickpocket. "Ah, Liebchen, I see that you have made friends! And who might those people be?" "Those are Laura and Andrew. They kindly welcomed me and it turns out that Laura is quite the expert on hymns and requiems." Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. "Wunderbar. You enjoy yourself with people your age while I go examine the skull of Frau Peters. It is a remarkable example of deep sensibility." I stop myself from glaring at the shapely woman standing awkwardly behind him. She is flushed and smells of arousal. I find myself deeply annoyed by a little bout of jealousy, though it would be hypocritical of me to comment since we vampires are hardly monogamous. Sinead really got under my skin, somehow, and it appears that age is not helping me grow wise. "Oh, uncle, when will you stop your pursuit of science! Off you go then." No sooner have the pair disappeared to beds unknown that a dire scream shatters the mood of the evening. Sinead avoided the attention just in time. "My ring! My ring! I have lost it!" The circus begins with the guests making a token attempt at finding the lost jewelry, in vain. I help with the search, staying close to Laura and her flock now that we have become acquainted. I cannot help but feel a wave of excitement when the victim of the theft walks by me and I feel the aura of several enchantments. She may not be a caster herself but she keeps one in her employ. Perhaps she has even warded her private quarters. The loss of the ring sours the mood since the probability of theft is considered. I have been quite visible throughout the evening and I feel the weight of suspicion in the gaze of the people around me. I could change that with charm, of course. It would be too easy, however, and defeat the purpose of the exercise. "Do you perhaps have something you would like to confess?" Andrew says in a low voice by my side, and by low voice, I mean that he is perfectly audible for half of the room. "I must admit that the mood has plummeted¡­ Oh! You could not possibly suggest¡­" I gasp in outrage and flush my cheeks to simulate anger. "Sir, I certainly hope that you are not implying what I think you are!" "A woman we have never seen joins the ball and, less than an hour later, a piece of jewelry goes missing? I find it curious." "What? You! I never! I have nothing to do with the loss of the ring. In fact, I have never seen the ring we are all searching for. Those accusations are baseless and cruel and I have never been treated so disrespectfully in any event I have ever attended." Technically, I was shot at and set on fire before but it happened after the event so, really, it does not count. My outrage makes Andrew flustered and the guests are split between supporting a local and risking to be seen as immoral. The key is not to get too angry because mortals somehow perceive this as a sign of guilt, while remaining suitably offended. Laura herself appears to be uncomfortable. "Come on, Andrew. She was not even in the other room." The man frowns while I huff and cross my arms. It would not do to leave now because the crowd might close around me. I need to cast doubt upon my accuser first. "We do not know her. She could be lying." "You question my credentials as a musician?" He frowns, slightly confused. For the first time tonight, I use Charm for the sake of a spectacle. As an operation, the robbery has gone wrong. I should never have attracted attention to myself, but just like any operation set up by Sinead, flair is half of the fun. Andrew decides to throw the gauntlet. "You know, that is a good point. If you truly are who you say then surely a demonstration would lift doubts? Unless, of course, you are a thief in disguise." "I will! There is a piano in the boudoir, and I shall play it." "Oh, I thought you would sing," Laura says, "but this is even better." Indeed, it is. I make my solemn way out, surrounded by a proper escort. Mrs. Stow even follows us to enjoy the show, all thoughts of her ring temporarily forgotten. I adjust the seat and place my hands on the ivory keys. They are solid and smooth under my fingers. I feel a hint of nostalgia. Despite its dreadful end, I have made some good memories during my stay with the Knights. Mannfred''s ashes rest in my secret collection in Marquette next to my favorite painting of the Watcher as a reminder of lost friendships. One of my regrets is that I could not spend more time with Nastasia, the advanced teacher for piano. Vampires can pick up techniques fairly quickly. Our natural dexterity and coordination gives us an undeniable edge when it comes to playing. For all of our advantages, we find it impossible to convey the emotions we no longer feel clearly. Some rare kin still create art like I do, but to my great regret, my skill with the brush does not extend to the keys arrayed before me. I can play a piano, but I cannot play music. I can, however, imitate it. Nastasia was an intriguing woman, so severe and cold with her graying hair held up in an impeccable bun. She had a strong jaw that she jutted out in defiance to every new student who joined her classes, and I was no exception. For all her rigidity, she was different as soon as she sat down. Then, the diminutive Russian woman came¡­ alive. It was a breathtaking metamorphosis that I could never grow tired of. Suddenly, the stern walls of the base rang with music as it was meant to be, fugacious and vibrant. She moved with grace and energy as easily as she breathed. She taught me the Marche Hongroise of Berlioz not as a solemn piece but a bouncing succession of phrases, almost naughty in their careless joy. The one piece I asked her to repeat a dozen times until I could ape her was L''idee Fixe by Liszt, the one I shall reproduce now. I breathe deeply as I remember the curve of her back while she played the first arpeggio. The notes would flow in a waterfall of harmony, then before they could settle she would pull back and start another. Her hands never truly landed on the keyboard. They hovered there like dandelion seeds caught in the wi ¡ª "You clearly know how to play, I suppose that you are not some lowlife who stole a dress." I turn to Andrew as he stands from a nearby chair and I gasp in outrage! What! To doubt me is part of the game, but to interrupt me! HE DARES. "I suppose we can end ¡ª" "YOU SIT YOUR POSTERIOR BACK DOWN MISTER OR SO HELP ME I WILL TAN YOUR HIDE UNTIL IT SHINES LIKE A FRESHLY PLUCKED HIBISCUS YOU BOORISH, VULGAR CHURL!" Andrew freezes in terror. He collapses back down while the rest of the assembly gasps in surprise. Absolute degenerates. Interrupting Liszt. I should just Magna Arqa the entire place into the afterlife and be done with it. Where was I? Oh yes. I ignore the mutters to concentrate again. "She''s from Savannah, I heard, hence the southern accent." "Hot blooded folks, aren''t they?" Arms like a swan aloft on an ocean gale. Yes. The tempo is an irregular one, especially at first. It languishes on some specific notes, only to fly off again. Ah, what I would not do to have a virtuoso play an entire piano concerto in front of me until I can replicate it. I let the memories carry me through the entire piece, loving every second of it. The false silence of beating heartbeats offers a perfect background, and when I stop, no one dares speak. I stand up and gather all of my non-negligible pride as I strut away. "I hope you enjoyed it because I shan''t return!" I proclaim at the front door. Misdeed accomplished. I disappear into the darkness, only to mysteriously reemerge a few steps away inside of our carriage. Soon, we are underway. I give him the ring and inspect his now natural appearance. Something is off. The smell. "I had assumed that you would seduce ''Frau Peters''. Were you interrupted?" "We merely had a conversation during which I assured her that she was sound of mind and incredibly lucid. She believed me, and I predict that her lying donkey of a suitor will soon receive his due. Why do you ask?" "It just feels strange not to see you gallivanting." "I used a pleasant way to escape the attention while you gathered it." "It was stupid of us to do so. They could have found the ring if I had let them." "But then, there would be no stakes at all. We always leave a chance to the mortals, poppet, unless the matter is too serious to leave to chance." "You are deflecting." Sinead leans towards me, amber eyes shining ever so slightly in the complete darkness. "Is it not vampire etiquette? You may separate depending on circumstances but while you are together, you are together." "It is indeed proper etiquette for us." "Then I will flirt and charm the hapless mortals but none of them shall have me while we¡­ work together, yes?" I narrow my eyes with suspicion. I find it quite unlike him to exert tact. Sinead shows me an expression of perfect innocence and so I know with certainty that he is up to something. "You are wondering about my motives, poppet. I assure you, it is nothing sinister. I merely wish to maintain a pleasant environment. And now, let us away. The path to the exchange place is far and I really want to get rid of this tasteless bauble." "Wait, you did not explain that part. Are we selling it?" "Bartering, to be precise, in exchange for a specific tool we will need. Sivaya will join us. Only she can make sure that we have what we have come for." May 21st, 1867 The exchange spot was picked by our esteemed partners, somewhere in the wilderness south of Baltimore. I complained that the choice of a remote location screamed ''ambush'', but was curtly informed that the reason for my presence was specifically to prevent this sort of mischief. My disappointment turned to elation when I found out that the deal would (hypothetically) take place in a forest, a deep and untamed one. At nightfall, we ride out and turn away from a muddy road past a forlorn mill, stopping at a brook bubbling merrily under low branches. The setting is quite intimate in this dense forest. It makes me want to go for a run. Sivaya appears from a beast path wearing a beautifully embroidered azure dress. Her dark auburn hair, sharp face and large blue eyes reinforce the faerie-like appearance the grasping branches and poking roots already evoke. She salutes me in a Likaean gesture of respect, which I return with pleasure. "Your¡­ armor. In the cabin." "Get changed, poppet. We would not want you to be recognized." I find the place easily enough as well as a simply incredible set that I put on. I immediately come out once I am done and stop close to the pair, interrupting their discussion and causing a great deal of surprise. "My¡­ it certainly brings back memories." The armor resembles nothing that I have ever seen even in the Skoragg clan arsenal. Most of my body is covered by thin, silvery plates covered in a fine network of runes. They breathe power. The front molds my chest rather snuggly, which I find a bit embarrassing. Tiny mail covers the articulations and are strangely silent, especially considering that they are so shiny I expect them to clink merrily like a wedding cake decoration every time I attempt to move a limb, and this is without considering the cloth. I wonder if Sivaya expects me to attend a royal coronation wearing this blinding apparel. I even have two flowing ribbons in teal popping from my shoulder blades like a pair of budding wings, and it is not even the most shameful part. "Why am I wearing a tutu?" I ask. "It is a skirt," Sinead replies, distracted. He is not done inspecting me. "A skirt used in classical dance which can also be called a tutu." "A tutu would flare while this skirt falls down." "It is maintained in position by clasps," Sivaya adds helpfully. "A controlled tutu is still a tutu!" I look down to the gossamer, spidery fabric covering my thighs and my virtue, or what is left of it in any case. It shares the same teal dye as the rest. "I confess to being impressed," I grudgingly admit, "I can feel the power emanating from the armor, and yet I could perceive nothing until I touched it." "We must protect your anonymity. Speaking of which, we had prepared a mask for you, but a change of appearance would work just as well. The armor on you..." Sinead stops and confers with Sivaya in high Likaean. I cannot follow the exquisitely complex and subtle language. Instead, I perform a few moves with Rose and find that the armor does not restrict me in the slightest. Even Loth''s old armor had not granted me such a degree of freedom. "Could you turn your hair to silver and your eyes to pink?" Sinead asks. I frown but I obey. The pair asks for adjustments, including a sharper face. When they step back, my hair falls straight to the small of my back and I have taken on a cold beauty. "Uncanny. You resemble a Seeker of Stolen Memories, one of the many factions of the fae worlds." "Stolen Memories?" I ask, my voice having taken a slightly lower pitch. To my surprise, Sivaya replies. She walks around me until I feel her light fingers braiding my hair. "Not so long ago by our standards, the Courts had adopted various methods to mold partners and rivals into minds that were, shall we say, more suitable to their purposes. A gathering of errant warriors united to bring an end to the charade. They saw the theft of one''s self-determination as the vilest treatment one could inflict upon another sentient being and forged a pact with an ancient creature we refer to as the diamond mind." "Every freed slave joined the Seekers as payment," Sinead says. "Until entire duchies were consumed by the flames of vengeance. Then, the diamond mind went too far and tried to reclaim Winter''s prey." "The Coldest Court ever loves their games." "An agreement was reached by all to curtail the practice, but not before the plane of winter gave birth to another twisted landscape. Seekers are rare nowadays." "They are also unerringly polite. They always inform you of their intentions, preferably while you hunt afield with only a small retinue." "You bear a strange resemblance to one." "I assumed that it would be preferable to show discretion," I object. "You can be memorable so long as you can shed that notoriety like a mask. It will help us, I assure you," Sinead answers. "The mages will focus on your unique appearance, one that only exists when it serves our purpose." "If you say so." "I enjoy the company of seekers, back home," Sivaya whispers. "They talk little." I nod in understanding. I had never considered the question but, naturally, the Likaeans miss their homeland. The familiar sight must soothe them. I will never get used to them behaving like people instead of actors in that great farce that is my life. I shall have to consent to the tutu then. To be perfectly honest, I love that garment. I merely want to kill anyone who sees me wearing it. "And the finishing touch. I thought of a weapon that could fit your style," Sivaya tells me. She walks behind the tallest tree around, returning with an axe. An enormous, two-handed axe with a crescent blade. It shines with enchantments as well. "I use a whip blade. How is an axe close to that?" "You fight aggressively." "Consider it like a cathartic experience, poppet. Try swinging it around a little bit." I had some basic lessons in axe-fighting from Jarek if only because I must know how to face one. This weapon is perfectly balanced. Not only that, but it is surprisingly heavy considering the lightweight nature of the armor. Between its weight and my strength, any strike will be devastating. We should not need it tonight but it will certainly help. With nothing much to do, we wait until midnight, discussing other aspects of Likaean culture. I lose myself in the myriad stories they have. Likaean society has existed for an extremely long period of time. As for how long, the princely pair cannot give me a firm answer because time flows at different paces in different worlds, and the relative speeds between said worlds varies across, well, time. Sinead even alludes that the Court of Blue possesses a device capable of slowing down an entire plane, though Sivaya refuses to elaborate. It must be quite the experience to live in a world where the laws of nature are merely suggestions. I interrupt a recollection of a three-days long dance because our guests have arrived, on foot of all things. I signal the fae and climb to a low branch, ready to intervene should a danger come. A discrete darkness spell suffices to hide me. A trio comes into view. They wear boring brown and black garbs, not forester wear. Their heavy boots trample the wet soil as well as the errant twigs, except for the third man, who inspects my charges with obvious greed in his dark eyes. I almost expect him to twirl his pointy beard. He is a Courtier, a rather old one. Decent strength. Interestingly, I recognize Cadiz essence which implies that he has traveled far for this meeting. The man in the center carries a locked box while the third bears a musket and a gauntlet, a sign that he is the muscle tonight. They approach with a great amount of caution for people who set up an ambush. Once they are close enough, Sinead lights a blue lantern and welcomes them in a fancy grey ensemble. The scene is set. The beginning of the negotiation goes well, with both parties presenting the goods. I see that the Courtier attempts to smell or perceive the fae''s auras, but he struggles to come to a conclusion. My allies are no castaways crashing down on this plane and stunned from the fall. They have learned to hide. The Courtier must be wondering if it is worth offending an unknown party just to realize that he only captured eccentric mages. Nevertheless, he takes a step forward, and that I cannot accept. I let the darkness spell lift. The blue lantern shines on me too now, playing strange tricks with the silvery metal of my armor. "That is close enough," I tell them. All three newcomers jump. The muscle man aims the musket in my direction but he does not pull the trigger, possibly held back by my lack of motion. I slowly lean forward on the branch. "You do not need to come closer, especially you, nightwalker." "If you know what I am, then you know better than to try and stop me," the Courtier retorts, though he stays where he is. His companions look embarrassed rather than scared. They already know what he is. I sneer and my disdain provokes a reaction from the other vampire. He cannot feel my constrained aura, and so he attempts to charm me. "Why don''t you come down so I can have a better look?" His arrogance melts like dew under the sun when the attempt fails spectacularly. My grin widens minutely. "You do not want me to climb down, nightwalker. In fact, I will even tell you what you want because I can see your destiny." I swing my legs a bit and twirl the massive battleaxe in front of me with as much ease as if it were a toy. The whisper of displaced air tells the little one all he needs to know. I enjoy watching his confidence decrease further. "In the first future, either you or the mounted group by the mill attacks us. In the second future, you get to leave this clearing alive." "You do not know what you are doing. I represent powers you could never imagine." "Do not bark your desert tongue at me, nightwalker. Make a deal or attack, I care not either way, but you will stop wasting my time." The Courtier glares and hesitates, but at the end we vampires know better than anyone else that the world is dangerous and filled with unknowns, and some of the unknowns can rip your head off your torso with the spine still attached. "Carry on," he tells his associates. They glance fearfully from him to me, then back, but eventually the leader relents. He presents Sivaya with an intriguing item. I see that it is a scepter of sorts made of a curious wood that shines deeply, as if lit from the inside. "Dear?" Sinead asks. "No need to examine it. The imprint has stayed strong. It will do." Sinead nods and tosses the ring to the leader, who examines it covetously. S§×ar?h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "The seal of the Myrddin clan. And the mana signature as well. It really is true." The man frowns. "You didn''t empty all their vaults before coming here, did you?" "I am flattered that you would think me capable of such an achievement, but no." The negotiator shakes his head with disbelief before turning away, soon followed by the other two. "You are mad to give away such a prize in exchange for that weird focus. Bah, no matter. I hope we work together again. Farewell." The trio leaves. I signal the fae and clad myself in darkness once more to follow them. As they approach the mill and their armed escort, the vampire stops and turns, considering. I lift the veil of shadow and tsk in a low voice. Our eyes meet. He stares at the axe, shimmering under the moonlight. He turns away. I join the fae a bit later as they pack and get changed. "You can keep the armor. It will still be useful after we are done here," Sivaya mutters, head turned away. "Hm. Thank you for this wonderful gift," I tell her with all honesty. Just the enchantments alone could occupy a team of Dvergurs for a decade. "By the way," I ask, "could you tell me what that focus is for?" "It is not a focus, but a branch cut from an old tree. Here, take it. Then you will know." I grab the item and inspect it. It does not appear to have been worked on. In fact, the radiance appears to be natural. "You hold an offshoot of the World Tree. Wherever it is, it still holds a connection to the primordial forest it came from. And now, we have our gate focus. We will use it to drill a portal home. You will get to see our forest soon, but for now, we have work to do. Chapter 172 - 166. Asset collection. I sit at my desk and sign the construction order for a shipyard; an entire shipyard for standardized river steam ships. I used to sign orders for table cloth. It has been a long century. In the wake of the civil war and hive scourge, the north of the United States expands its influence with feverish energy and we have made full use of it. Real Estate and abandoned farmlands. Factories. Infrastructures. Schools and ports. Private security. There is no sector our tentacular influence will not grasp. Train lines cleave through the frontier on their way west to link the coastal regions, while outposts and small towns bloom across the land like flowers in the desert. Or like cancerous growths, according to Ako. We fund many of those new havens. Vampires may not have the drive to invent but we certainly can back those who do. It matters not if five out of ten ventures fail. A single successful one pays for all the losses. And so, we increase our influence as fast as the mortals do. The wave of corruption and illegal grabbing that comes with it only provides more fuel for us, more emotions to exploit and more pawns to play with. Already, I had to send Urchin and John away on their own errands because I could not handle the tide of supplicants waiting for a generous monster to help them. The mortals burn with greed and passion as they swallow native tribes and forsaken land in their unmatched appetite. I thought that the furor of money could distract them from a more insidious agenda. I was wrong. Fueled by anger at their loss, which they attribute to the devil, the black arts, and pretty much everyone but themselves, a group calling themselves the integrists has risen from the surviving grassroots to cleanse the land of its impurities, especially the people. Their ire spreads generously across several races, creeds, and professions, but what they hate the most is casters. Surprisingly, they are not even the largest pain in my posterior. This achievement goes to the Supernatural Task Force, or STF as they make themselves known. Speaking of which, I hear my guests for tonight. Three sets of footsteps. "Come in," I say, before the secretary knocks. This always has its little effect. The well-dressed woman shuffles in two visitors wearing badges pinned on their chests. Their clothes are crumpled yet clean, a sign that they have taken the train from Springfield where they are based. I will never forgive myself for my silliness, when back in eighteen thirty-seven I missed the opportunity to make Marquette the State Capital. It was a stupid oversight that I am still paying now by having uppity morons build up the courage to bother me while I could have had them within slapping distance all along. Truly, eternal life means eternal mistakes sometimes. At least I did not die with a large mole on my nose. I tap a finger on the expensive wood in annoyance. The sun outside still clings to the skies, and it will continue to do so for many more hours. It tends to make me more irritable. Well, better to get it over with. "Take a seat," I order. "I''ll stand, thanks," says the man on the left. He has dark brown, messy hair under a hat he has failed to remove. The one one the right is stouter and older, with a well-trimmed beard and greying temples. He appears resigned, which I can respect. "You are here at my sufferance and you will sit or I will have you escorted outside. You have ten seconds," I inform him without using charm. "You can''t do that. We''re officers." "I can and I will. Sit." The older man takes a seat, then stares insistently at his companion who licks his lips in consideration, split between anger and reason. Eventually, he concedes and joins us. "Good," I continue. "You two are officer Trell and officer Tobin of the STF, Illinois branch, here to ask me to save your flailing investigation into the recent murder of a certain Mary Potts, whose sole achievement in life was to be humorously named after my favorite brand of kitchen implements. You wish to know if she was murdered by magic. You found me by insistently asking about the owner behind a certain grocery store where said woman often went. Did I miss any relevant points?" The young man shows signs of being impressed, the older one stares defiantly. He should know better. I Charm and spark the terror in his heart until he does. "If you know why we''re here then you can tell us what you know, sweetheart. Then we''ll be on our way." Oh dear. "Of course I shall tell you what I know," I reply with a light smile. "I know that you are overstepping yourself and I also know that I could not care less about how Potts died, by whom, and why. She is not one of mine. I have no interest or stake in her fate and it will remain so until someone makes it worth my time, which you two have not." "Hey come on lady, we''re just playing nice. There is no need for hostility from someone as delightful as you, right? We''re all friends here, aren''t we, Tobin?" "For now," the man says, gathering his courage again, "but that might change." "I see that my point is falling on deaf ears, so I shall have to give a clearer demonstration. Look around you. What do you see?" The guileless pair inspects their surroundings and fails to see the forest for the tree, as I expected. They do not even have the wealth required to understand wealth. I lean forward. "You stand at the heart of a compound hosting a staff of over a hundred and sixty people. You have never heard of me, or this place, until we let you. The resale value of the most humble piece of furniture here would suffice to cover both of your wages for the next five years. You, gentlemen, see power and wealth so vast you have not even started to imagine it. That is why we will not mention the murder again, and you will desist in your pursuits, because your threats are laughable and you are wasting my time. Now, you will come to the natural question you should have asked the moment you came in." If they fail even that I will kill them. I have only so much tolerance for stupidity. Perhaps sensing his demise, or perhaps graced with a last mental spasm of his bacon-greased, chew-fuelled brain matter, Tobin sees reason. "What do you want?" I can tell that I am having an effect on Trell, the younger man. Why, I believe that he finally deduced I was not just an eye candy before he could call me sugar and lose his jaw. Astounding work. "What I want is for you to understand two things. First, I only tolerate your witless bumblings across the land because I have a vested interest in the success of your agency and no, before you ask again, it does not mean that I shall do your job for you. Second, do you think that your hierarchical superior is on your side?" They blink with eerie synchronization. "Do you?" "I''m afraid I don''t follow." "I believe I have been clear. Do you believe that, right now, the organization you belong to aims to serve the people? That it will protect you? You report religiously to your superiors and you even kept the commissioner apprised of today''s journey¡­" "How do you kno¡ª" "Silence. You are children, children who were given a toy gun and think that it equates legitimacy. You are not defenders of justice. Hell, you are not even true law enforcement. You exist for one reason and one reason only, to pacify both sides of the current conflict. You are dogs on a leash for people who need you to control your own kind. You will earn the hatred of casters but you will never earn the respect of the mundane population. You will never be seen as anything but tame, a credit to your kind, the exception that confirms the rule. You will be tolerated so long as you remember your place but you will never, ever be trusted. This is the truth you should remember when investigating and reporting. You do not serve justice. You serve peace. Therefore, you shall cease your pathetic grasping at straws and exert judgement when attracting the authority''s attention on your fellow casters, if not out of ethical concern, then at least out of survival instinct. Remember that you only exist because the alternative is even more undesirable, and when the integrists come knocking, your precious bosses will not shield you. I may. Now, Trell, you may leave first. I need a word with your partner. Privately." This time, I need to leave an impression so I let the full power of my Charm ride on his caution and surprise. He departs groggily, following which I discreetly lift a finger and the door slams shut with a resounding bang. Tobin jumps and twists at the noise. When he turns to me again, I stand a foot away from him. "Shi¡ª" "Shhhh." Slowly, I release the hold on my aura until it fills the entire study. The sun might cover the earth outside in a field of purifying fire. Its sheer presence might hang over my shoulders like a lead mantle. I am still a powerful lady. No five pence mage will ever come close to stopping me as Tobin is realizing now. "You know what I am." He whimpers as the pressure reaches its paroxysm. "Or at least you suspect. A bit of advice. If you enter a den expecting a vampire, be it night or day..." I move behind him and grab his shoulders between my fingers, hard enough to bruise his muscles but without drawing blood. He moans in pain but the magic keeps him stuck in place. My cold breath tickles his ear. His breath comes out in amusing little puffs in the freezing air. "...you ought to pray to that light god of yours... that you are mistaken." June 16th, 1868. Sinead must have caught something on my face ¡ª when did he even look up? ¡ª because his next remark finds its mark. "What bothers you so much, poppet?" "Nothing." "There is no need to lie to preserve my feelings, I assure you. You can complain to your heart''s content." His eyes remain on the skylight he is patiently unscrewing open. Sinead looks dashing in a dark, form-fitting outfit and his panoply of strange tools reinforces the image of dastardly rogue I am getting now. As I watch, another paint-covered nut joins the mounting pile by his feet while behind, the night lights of New York offer both little and far too much light. "Very well. I find this task¡­ unnerving. I am breaking the law," I whisper. "Are you, now? I thought that your very existence broke the law." "Not the mortal one, you goose." "Ah, so when you hid from the Accords for twenty years it must have been quite uncomfortable." "This is different!" "Because you were not yet one of them and your survival was at stake, yet when it came down to the Accords, you did not hesitate to subjugate your new brood daddy before seeking Constantine''s approval." "Please use the proper term for Progenitors and you will live longer. Are we committing theft or having an argument?" "You know that we Likaeans never fulfill one purpose if we can fulfill three." "So I noticed." Another nut joins the pile. The heavy glass pane is only kept in place by a strange suction cup on the roof of the fortified warehouse. It annoys me that he can complete so many tasks efficiently. "So then why is it? Some sort of internal system of value?" "I am stealing from an ally. Technically. There, I said it. We are illegally acquiring Hastings assets." Despite my best efforts, my intense distress radiates outward clearly, drawing Sinead''s eye. "I have become a criminal. Aw, if my papa could see me now, he would be so disappointed." "What about the murders?" "What about them?" Sinead sighs heavily. "Ariane, my dearest eldritch duckling¡­" "Oi!" "You do not expect for a single instant that this entire operation will end without the Accords opposing us, do you? You will have to choose between your allegiance and my cause, sooner or later. I doubt they will do more than slap you on the wrist, but you will burn bridges before we head back home, and although our departure favors your side, there are some who will be blinded by greed. You must accept this." "Hmph." Is he right? We are all given leeways in the manner we conduct our affairs. If my goal benefits the Accords, would they truly resent me? A part of me wants to believe that they would give me a grumbling recognition, the other realizes that I am expected to transfer ownership of the blood slave to my own kin. Will they fear me for my resourcefulness, or blame me for being naive? "You are not fully convinced," Sinead observes. "Do not presume." "If you were convinced, you would be annoyed that I was right from the start and then you would threaten to eat me." "..." "Aaaaah there it is. Well, are you?" "None of it matters because I already committed to the freedom of the Likaeans in my heart. So long as we do not mess up, I will not have to choose, and Sinead¡­" I glare. "It really is in your best interest¡­ that I am never forced to choose." I think I hurt him a little bit. You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. "Ah, you truly do not see me as your equal, though I can hardly blame you. I am but a husk of my true self now, and young poppets must protect themselves first. You have had it hard and you still decided to help against your own short-sighted interests. I shall take heart in this. I shall accept that I remain a liability. For now" Sinead pushes down and the glass panel pops from its hinges with worrisome ease. He shifts his grasp and grabs the heavy piece of glass back in almost as smoothly as I would have done it. I realize that this is the first time I have seen him do labor work and he is significantly stronger than I expected, probably more so than a human. I do find the contracting muscles of his forearm slightly distracting, although I will never voice it out loud. "Like what you see?" He whispers, and I frown. "No time for that. We have to get in." Sinead places the glass panel down on the roof tiles. He quickly dons strange clawed gloves and dives through the opening first, which means that I get a good look at his butt. Some expeditions pay for themselves. I follow him and we soon cling to a horizontal support beam far above the open ground under us. The storage space extends below us over a large surface, organized in long shelves packed with non-descript crates bearing letters and numbers. I sniff the air and notice a strange resin smell. Below, the ground shimmers in my aura perception. "Enchanted dust," Sinead whispers. "We can''t touch the ground." I am familiar with this anti-burglar measure. I would use the same in my private collection but I abhor the smell and dusty appearance it gives to a place. I much prefer to rely on strategically-placed defensive arrays and some choice paintings of the Watcher. Somewhere to the front of us, a lone lantern swings with the slow gait of a late-night guard. We follow his progress in perfect silence for long minutes until he passes right below us. He is an old mage with liver spots and a lurch. He wears an old gauntlet and yawns, but his feet land in the footprints of previous patrols with unerring precision. He stops at the edge of the row we find ourselves in, lifts his face and scowls. I see two white orbs and realize that he is blind. "A draft?" The old man considers the question, but tonight, the weather is particularly clement. There is little wind. He ends up shrugging and resuming his patrol until a door opens and slams closed. "We must hurry," Sinead says. "He will not call for help. His heartbeat remained steady and he didn''t smell like fear." "Is it good or bad that I cannot hide my arousal? I agree with your assessment. Guards are almost as worried of triggering a false alarm than they are of missing a real one. We have ten minutes to make sure that another draft does not push him to reconsider." We crawl along the beam, Sinead moving with cat-like grace in front of me. I do the same but I use my own claws instead. "Why did we have to wear black again? There is no one here," I notice. "Just in case, and do not pretend like you are not ecstatic to be wearing trousers." "Hush." I would never be caught dead wearing this strange suit. Fortunately, Sivaya gave mine a small, rigid skirt that reaches to my knees. I am only mildly scandalous in my own eyes, which is all that matters in the end. Sinead inspects the letters and numbers on the row before angling to the side on a perpendicular beam. It takes little time for us to be above our destination. We attach ropes to the wood above us then secure them in our harness. The two of us rapel downward until we are but a few handspans above the shelf. "Second row from the bottom. The small one. Could you get it? Too heavy for me," he whispers, the voice imperceptible for anyone but a vampire. I hiss softly and lower myself a bit more. As I go lower, I feel him lean toward my descending figure to take a good whiff. Ugh. Is he a dog? I pinch his butt on my way back. "Don''t," I warn with a growl. "Oooh, I kind of like that. Very daring poppet. Does the danger get the essence pumping?" "Your face is red and puffy and you look like a bat." "You''re lovely too." "Open the damn box, princeling." "But of course." I grumble and maintain the container in a stable position while Sinead lowers himself to my position to work on the opening. He easily pops a few nails out with full focus. He is quite close and smells divine. If only his presence was not so distracting. Sinead removed the lid to reveal a black case with a golden lock. He whispers a few words in the high tongue of the fae, which is still beyond me. A light shines on his chest and the receptacle pops open. "A gift from Makyas. No keyhole can resist him on this earth. Ah, here we are." A diamond, a shiny cut diamond the size of a pigeon egg with a mesmerizing yellow core in the shape of a swirl of sand. It must be worth tens of thousands of dollars, perhaps more. Enough to buy several city blocks. No, a small town and all its businesses. Sinead pockets it. The box is shut, then returned to its crate. I lower myself again. S§×arch* The ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Nice calves. Were you a dancer?" "I will kill you." I place the crate back exactly where it was, then push the nail back in. The groan of wood echoes strangely to my vampire senses but no alarm triggers. We are apparently in the clear. We promptly pull up and make our way back outside. As soon as we are through, Sinead replaces the pane and starts screwing every bolt back in. "With this, the theft might remain undiscovered for years," I observe with a bit of hope. "Indeed. Ah, nothing like a flawless little heist to put me in high spirits!" "Why do I always end up in the company of eccentrics?" I lament. "I could tell you, but you would threaten me again." I hate July the most. Although the longest day occurs on June the twenty-first, it seems that the days drag on the following month with prideful indolence. I hate it because I was born in July. I hate it because I died in July. Mostly, I hate it because I miss the smell of the sun on wheat, its caress on my shaded arms. I miss the taste of sugar cane. And the light seems to burn forever. I find myself to be irritable when the secure carriage crams itself in the Byron family hangar and a group of Rosenthal mercenaries struggle to take the massive sarcophagus out. I believe that I am almost dropped twice. It can be so hard to find good help these days. Whispers of consternation follow my progress to the inner part of the manor. I have the authorization of the local warden to attend the auction, but the Byron clan did not expect that ''Ariane Delaney'' might be a fake name. I am finally placed in a lone room and leave as soon as I can confirm that no sunlight remains. Not a single drop passes through the shutters and heavy drapes. The room is secure. I will always find it interesting that it takes walls of some sort to protect us from the sunlight. Drapes and shutters would not protect me in a carriage, but this is a house and, therefore, it is safer. Magic works in strange ways. Or is it science that does? I can no longer tell. Soon, a knock on my door distracts me from my thoughts. "Come in." An aging gentleman enters, wearing a fake smile and an even faker confidence. I appreciate the black hair pulled back and made smooth, the villainous moustache and the greying temple. Why, he would fit the cover of a bodice ripper aimed for widows. He searches the darkness for me, and so I snap my fingers and use a cheap trick to light the house''s gas lamp. As expected, his improved visibility does not settle his nerves. "My name is Ariane. Thank you for accommodating me this afternoon." "Ah, and I''m Andrew Byron. It is my honor to welcome a guest such as yourself in my humble abode. You¡­ received an invitation?" Ah, he knows quite a bit. "I did. Right there," I tell him, showing a cream envelope. "Yes. Yes, indeed." His eyes narrow, go to the shutters. He assesses his chances, just in case. I take no umbrage. I would have done the same. "Before you calculate the risks, consider two things," I tell him. "First, one cannot uninvite a vampire during the day unless they misbehaved. After all, what manner of host condemns his guest to a fiery death? Second, we are not inside of your home." "I promise you that this is my manor." "The public wing, reserved for auctions and events. This is nobody''s home but profit''s. Although, if you doubt me then by all means, try to banish me." I taste fear and the quickening of his heart. "There is no need for this. If you want an item, I can deliver it to you and you can be on your way." I tsk at the cold reception. "As tempting as it might sound, you are in good standing with the warden and so I shall attend your auction like any guest. You will make arrangements so that I am not disturbed in the lodge''s antechamber, of course." His eyes narrow with suspicion. When he next speaks, his cultured voice may be controlled, but I hear the slight tension underneath. "Warden? My contact among your¡­ kind¡­ is named Samael." "Oh, that youngling? How amusing. No, we wardens do not handle the day-to-day business. And I assure you, if we take an interest in your affairs, you will most certainly notice." I release the hold on my aura until frost crawls on the mirror and darkness creeps at the edge of the room. "I am quite convinced, milady. I will make the necessary arrangements. Let it not be said that the Byrons would fail to receive esteemed guests, no matter who they might be." "Excellent. One more thing... I requested to be placed on the last floor." "Just so, milady." "The path from here to the lodge will be protected from sunlight and closed to other guests. They have no reason to be on this floor to begin with. My employees¡­" "The ones with the guns?" "And gauntlets, yes, will make sure that access remains clear at all times. It would be unwise to interfere with their work." "I understand. We will make the necessary arrangements. If I may ask, was there any specific item you wished to acquire?" The answer is obvious. Mr. Byron is merely fishing for answers, which I will allow as a gesture of goodwill. "The serpent stone." "My God, so it can be enchanted¡­" Byron''s gaze turns distant. I can practically see the cogs and wheels turning in the greedy mortal''s mind. "I know that the starting price is two thousand three hundred dollars. It would be a shame if it were to increase just before the auction." His avaricious drive wars with fear, but in the end, I am here as a guest and we are both bound by rules, including me. "I am free to change the numbers as I see fit. This is still my auction." "Of course," I tell him with a smile. He nods and departs. There is no need for me to threaten him, and it would be a breach of etiquette anyway. He is too crafty to push me far. As soon as the door closes, I massage the bridge of my nose. I should have just stolen the damn thing. I am concerned about attracting too much attention, should many of those stones disappear in a short timespan. Golem cores might be exceedingly rare, but the ability to craft a suitable one is even rarer and only the richest mage families build one in the hope that it will benefit their dynasty. A wave of acquisition would seem suspicious, especially because there are no other known uses for them, except, of course, massive rituals. And this is the sort of warning that the Accords will look for. A short wait later, the head of the mercenaries informs me that I may attend the event and I leave the room behind me. This would be a good place to try and assassinate me, so the secrecy and escort are important. I walk across an empty floor with the stairs down retracted thanks to an ingenious mechanism. All the windows are shuttered and covered, while a bobbing light awaits me in front of a double door. I notice an embarrassed mercenary officer and a pair of young adults barring my way. The man smiles, and I immediately notice the familiarity with Byron senior. The girl is beautiful in a more reserved, distant way. She shares his dark hair but her eyes are pale blue. "Yes?" I ask a bit curtly. "Oh, nothing, we merely wished to meet the one whose shadow darkens our hall. And who might you be?" "A guest of your father." "Oh yes, I have not introduced myself yet. My name is Jacob and this is my sister, Lara." "I am Ariane. Charmed. If you do not mind, however, I am already quite late as it is." "Why the rush? I do not believe that you would be here for the cheapest item." "You believe wrong. Excuse me." I bypass him and walk into the antechamber, which is completely dark and cut off from the main auction room. I have no time or patience for children''s games. A mercenary left a pile of documents for me to skim through while the sales go on. By the Watcher, those are reports on grocery stores. Some of those owners cannot spell to save their lives. Uggggh. "The first item is a Biancchi stiletto, enchanted to remain sharp at all times. Ice bolts can be channeled through the tip for additional precision. The starting price is two hundred and fifty. Do I have two hundred and fifty?" The auction goes on behind the curtain and I take a quick look at the list. Most of those are magical tools enchanted with some specific effects, their most appealing feature being a mundane appearance. It does not do to advertise one''s talents nowadays. I tune out the proceedings. I have a mercenary standing in for me. Apparently, I lost quite a bit because of a robber baron. Truly, the west can be lawless at times. I shall have to visit him and make a nice, large example. Why, I might even invite Ako. He so enjoys murdering enemy raiders. "Milady?" "Yes?" "Byron brought an unexpected item, a last minute addition. Meteorite steel, or so he claims. Should I make an offer?" "No need, thank you." Ah, the canny lad, assuming that I intend to build my own construct. Good business sense is no replacement for proper research. None of what he owns could rival what I can purchase from the Skoragg clan, at cost. On the other side of the curtain, the more expensive prizes are finally brought out just as the afternoon nears its end. I never expected that there would be so many prizes, but a lot of those are rather mundane. Below us, I hear people come and go. The Byron auction seems to be quite an event, though I had no idea. I only ever attend the Rosenthal Hell''s Gates, and mostly to socialize anyway. Outside, night falls. I breathe a sigh of relief as my essence once again expands. Magna Arqa cannot be deployed during the day, except deep underground. The relief of freedom lifts my mood in time for the main bidding. "I present to you, the serpent stone, a rare diamond extracted from a newly discovered mine in Kimberley. This jewel is believed to be one of the few in existence capable of storing magical essence indefinitely! Such a rare¡­" Yes, yes, all who would be interested in building a golem already know this. "The starting prince is two thousand five hundred." Whispers of consternation. A man could buy a farm for this amount. Animals included. "Do I have two thousand five hundred? Yes! Three thousand here for the gentleman." "Five thousand," I order the bidder. "Five thousand! I have five thousand from upstairs. Five thousand! Five thousand five hundred for the Zimmer representative. Six thousand for the coven! Six!" "Ten thousand." "Ten thousand!" Silence. "Ten thousand from the lodge. Anyone else? "Twelve thousand!" A familiar voice echoes. Oh? Someone is picking up a fight? Ten thousand is already generous for a small diamond. Well, small by core standards. It fits in a palm. "Jacob," my host growls, "What are you doing?" "It is my right to bid for this, father. Is it not?" Oooh, naughty. Naughty naughty naughty. I open the curtain and take a deep breath of fresh air. It smells like soap, perfume, and old furniture with an undercurrent of sweat. The auction room resembles an opera house, with the scene replaced by a pulpit and several chests. Fifty breaths provide an interesting background to the current drama, one that I will end before it ever begins. I will make a point, and I shall do so without breaking the rules. I will not even deploy my aura. Doing so would frighten the audience. I lean on the balustrade, the mercenary captain moving aside with all haste. Below, a hundred eyes peer at me in my pleasant lilac dress. Mostly, they see the hint of purple in my iris, the Watcher revealing its ancient presence. A deathly quiet spreads across the assembly and Jacob''s smirk turns into a grimace of horror. "Thirteen thousand." This time, I remain unchallenged. Byron senior invites me to collect my prize and I send a mercenary to do so, carrying a bank note with the proper amount. A pair of panicked security guards drag the son out under the fascinated gazes of the attendees, and my own. He orders one of his men to present the last item and climbs the stairs to deliver the stone to me. I take ownership of it without a word. I watch, amused, as he turns around to welcome a bag, possibly a gesture of apology, but by the time he faces me again, I am already gone. If Jacob thinks that he can outrun me at night, he has a nice surprise coming. The little twerp should have gone home instead. The next day. "I almost drowned and you want to make peace? She crashed into my carriage, father! We must retaliate, or at least protest, or we will never be taken seriously again." Andrew Byron glared at his foolish son. The boy was shaken, obviously. He was hiding his fear under a layer of bravado, a good strategy but not one that will serve him right now. "She did not crash into your carriage. She pushed it." "What?" A pair of servants walked in. They carried between themselves a pane of steel taken from the door. Impossibly, they showed the indent of two elegant hands. "As I said, she pushed your carriage into the river. I was informed that vampires prefer to wield power from the shadows, yet it seems that some take a more ''hands-on'' approach, if you will pardon me, when they perceive a slight." Andrew signaled the servant to pick the letter he had finished closing, ignoring his fulminating child. "Mr Slocum, you will give this bank order of three thousand dollars to Samael, with a request to send it to the one known as Ariane, please. As for you, Jacob, you will keep this warning in your room from now on and until I deem the lesson learned." "That was a warning?" "Yes, my son. It was, or the impact would have been in your ribs instead." Chapter 173 - 167. Maturity September 1869, near the vampire fortress in Boston. A blur. I use a thorn root to try and hamper him but the man reacts immediately. "Magna Arqa." His soul weapon splits into two identical axes. Their edges glow an ominous crimson. A wolf-like cloak covers his head, only leaving a braided blond beard visible. He bellows. The axes bite and shred through the roots I send after him. It hurts. I lunge and push him back with a carefully aimed, miraged attack. We exchange a series of strikes, him, the furious whirlwind of destruction and I, the elusive flayer. I manage to land a few hits, but the wolf skin inflates and covers the wound. I am running out of time. He is pushing me towards the other. The lithe woman jumps on a root before I can move it and dives. I dodge left of her rapier''s blade and under a swirling axe. She is not as fast as us but her positioning is so intelligent that it does not matter. Even without striking, she remains dangerous. I have to fight to keep her at bay, anticipate the openings she provides. The roots are too slow to really hamper the two. They get cut down. It hurts me more. I hiss and increase my pace, sometimes throwing spells and wide attacks at the woman, but her armor and reflexes block all of them until the fateful moment happens, the one that I anticipated. I am backed into a corner. "Magna Arqa!" Sephare extends her arms and pushes reality away until only she remains, bathed in a purple corona. I am sent flying directly at Wilhelm, the fortress'' stewart and first line of vampiric defense. His blade descends on me. This is how they got me last time. No. I REFUSE. "Darkness." I disappear from his perception and in that single instant of hesitation, manage to block the first axe and grab the second''s haft. I throw myself over him and strike downward. Our eyes meet, his widening in disbelief. Then Sephare''s blade goes clean through my torso. "Hah¡­" I gasp and collapse, lung pierced by the merciless soul blade. Chest wounds always have a way to spread through everything including my mind. This would have been a killing blow if Sephare had hit a little higher, and thus the spar is over. She could easily have struck a second time. I still make the effort of landing on my feet, ready to go on despite the pain. Complacency leads to death. I stand up to salute. The thorns disappear, giving way to the wild forest around the fortress. The distant sounds of the river return while the light pales, losing its purple sheen. Nature breathes again. "Thank you for this spar, Lady Sephare, Steward." "An impressive display Lady Ariane. Your control over the tendrils has improved dramatically. I am certain that with a little more practice, they will be redoutable even against Jarek," Sephare politely states. "Yes," Wilhelm adds, "I am uniquely suited to disabling them. The old monster will find it more difficult to take them apart, especially with those blunt mountain boulders he calls his fists." I would thank them effusively if my pride did not sting me so much. Objectively, I am aware that they are two experienced lords and I am new at this. Subjectively, I want to wipe the floor with them. I believe that Malakim and my sire changed my perspective. Anything else but complete domination will be unequal to the task of taking them down. I must be patient, but time marches on and I have yet to find a real way to defeat them in combat. The weapon we have found in the Mediterranean is just a blade, it will not guarantee victory. With the amount of magical tools at the disposal of both Nirari and Semiramis, I doubt that we will be able to outsmart them and catch them off guard. A fight will be involved. I hope I will have the time to catch up. "I must thank you for the opportunity to practice. I believed that centuries of training made work sessions redundant, yet it appears that we can still learn and have a pleasant time together," Sephare says. "Old ones tend to avoid practicing together back in Europe. Competition can be fierce and few would wish to display the exact extent of their abilities," Wilhelm explains. "I always assumed that lords and ladies knew their techniques intimately after all those years fighting each other," I reply with a frown. "We can improve too, dear one," Sephare replies with a twinkle of amusement in her sky blue eyes. "Facing a faction in pitched battle every fifty years is a suboptimal way to assess the talent of individual fighters. Spars are without doubt more interesting. It also helps that some of the action can be seen from the western garden of the manor, so that Courtiers and Masters remind themselves of the path yet to walk, and the power we wield. I have heard talk, my dear. You leave quite an impression on the newcomers. Now, Wilhelm, I know of a cabin by the river. Would you like to spend some time?" "I would love to." "I would invite you as well, Ariane, if I did not know that you are not yet comfortable with this sort of arrangement." And I probably never will be. I bid them goodbye and return to the fortress with Sephare''s remark heavy in my mind. We can still change. In fact, we have no choice. I have changed. Ladyship brings a challenge I had never anticipated. The lack of challengers. Yes, I can play games where I give the mortals a chance and yes, I can still find worthy blood, but the strength of their essence is a droplet in a lake when my sire is a sea. I face the greed and corruption I have faced before. Anger is an old, familiar song. They taste like different takes on a classic recipe, good but not daring, not unique. I am well fed but starved for novelty with little prospects. The immense power I drew from Ako allowed me to expand my Magna Arqa to over eighty yards, almost twice what I could do when I ascended, while practice has refined the control over it and the tendrils. It will not matter. My sire killed a lord by shoving his hand into the man''s ribcage, without giving him a chance. I am still infinitely far from his level. Sometimes, it feels like running a race my opponent finished before I could cross the starting line. I have changed. My place in the world has changed. More importantly, the world itself has moved on at breakneck speed, not waiting for anyone or anything. I tried to head back to my family home back in Louisiana. I lost my way. Where once was only soaked wilderness, now slums and even nicer houses sprawled in a tentacular, decades-long explosion to mold the land to the will of civilization. Creole, French, and Spanish influences endured and married in a subtle, spicy mix. The Choctaw ''bayuk'' turned into a bayou which turned into a grave for my memories and for my friends. Constanza just died. She was my last friend alive. She perished in her sleep, and will be mourned by the extended family she created with her doctor husband. Lucien had died during the war fending off a group of looters I mercilessly identified and executed. With her death, the last string linking me to my human life has been cut. None of those who knew me as a mortal still draw breath. It is finished. Human Ariane is dead. Only I remain. The last one standing. I am eighty-two years old. There are rare older humans. Many archmages have lived much longer. I am aware of that, yet seeing all those new inventions, and the quickly expanding cities, it can feel like I have lived for centuries. Even ideas progress at such a fast rate. Music, art, philosophy. Politics. Old ideas resurface from the abyss of history with new cloaks and new success. Socialism. Nationalism. Concepts unite people who have never met in hatred of others they''ve never seen. I can only ride the wave of progress and hope to step onto the next before it collapses, taking me under with it. So do the other vampires in power. Once, I considered leading a coup against Constantine, but the canny bastard pulled out the most perfect defense: he distributed his power to those willing and able to take it. Sephare handles spying, propaganda, and counter-intelligence. Frankly, I do not envy her. I handle diplomacy and economic cooperation while Jarek develops our security forces and private armies. Constantine remains in charge of law and internal affairs if only because he cannot trust anyone for it. As such, we have a reached a balance and I find myself losing the urge to take revenge for the torture. It does not help that his door is always open to discuss his war golems and how we could put repeater guns on them. Curses. In any case, the Accords'' tendrils have wrapped me in their comfortable embrace and I find little reason to upset the status quo right now. This new and rigid status brings with it a realization that only my true end goal should be a concern right now, the death of my sire. My only hope, currently, is to help the Likaeans. There will be another war with Mask before the end of the century, and plenty of opportunities to make some progress, but in the meanwhile the escape attempt is my only path to potent essence. I will not say that I miss the time when survival forced me to gain power quickly. I still wish I did not have to plan for years for another great gain. And time is not on my side. I have much catching up to do, and I have also realized that I do not gain power as I age, contrary to, for example, Melusine. If I want to grow, I must fight for it. Of course, none can match a Devourer''s progress, but few realize that we must strive for it. This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. *** "Of course, we will help you," Sinead says pleasantly, "although you should have asked for it during our negotiations instead of agreeing so readily." His eyes flash in the darkness while a wind ruffles his golden hair, coming from the ocean. "Yes my good heart and generosity will be the loss of me," I grumble. "You harbor feelings towards me, which I understand perfectly. I am, after all, quite the catch, poppet. It would be hypocritical of me to criticize you for falling for my roguish charm." "Be careful or I shall make something else fall indeed." "But never my interest in you, that is why I shall find a way to help you with your maniacal egotistic ascendent madman problem as soon as I am back in the spheres, I promise. You help me, I help you, poppet. We are past deals. And speaking of deals, this will be our final battlefield. I can feel it." I look around us. Sinead dragged me all the way south from Boston, specifically at Black Harbor where we killed the Scourge Hive. I have many memories here, not all of them good. "Are you quite sure?" I take in the surroundings. We stand at the top of the ruined fort looking north, past the ruins of the village below us and at the promontory that hides the caves where we took refuge before the fateful charge. The wind grows and whips blonde strands past my nose. It carries the heavy scent of the ocean with it. The latest iteration of the Dalton''s Spirit bobs down below. More importantly, there is something left of all this bloodshed, a presence. A sort of weight that hangs over me and blocks sensation in a way that leaves me feeling naked. "Your future sight is gone. That is why you feel vulnerable," Sinead explains. "How do you know that?" "You frown and check your corners when you feel threatened." "Not that! The future sight!" "I can taste it as well as you do, poppet. I might be shackled but I am not blind, yes? I am certain that you will develop your senses more when you grow up a bit. You just have to¡­ relax." sea??h th§× N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "How can I relax here when I am cut off from one of my most useful resources?" "It blocks scrying as well. We will obtain a masking item, of course, but this will help protect us from inquiries." "It will not. We are in Roland territory. We will never be allowed to operate here, or build a base." "Oh, we will. Remember what you mentioned? The southern faction is focusing on acquiring land and developing a network of safe houses." "You¡­ want me to fund that one?" "Precisely!" "Ugh, do you have any idea how much this will cost me? Just building the thing will cost upwards to ten thousand dollars. I have already spent that much on the stone! This is easily four months of profit for me. Do you have any idea how much I could achieve with four months of this kind of cash flow?" "If you are in trouble, you could stop paying for the creation of the Chicago Grand Opera House you pushed for, you know? I bet it cost just as much." "No." "Did you not invite musicians from Vienna and architects from Florence? I bet it cost you a pretty penny." "Leave the Opera House out of this." "It surprises me that you would splurge like that. Sometimes, you are such a miser that I swear you would take the morning''s coffee grounds for an evening brew, stretch it a bit." I gasp in absolute outrage. "YOU TAKE THAT BACK MISTER OR SO HELP ME..." "Hahaha, I so enjoy it when you let your emotions surface, poppet. One more benefit of my company, yes? Your alien essence sometimes makes you morose." "You are very lucky, Sinead, that I find you endearing." "Of course I am lucky, I was born Prince of Summer. Where were we? Oh, yes. The plan. We have a spot, we have a time, we have three out of four secondary power supplies. We still need the main gem, an anti-scrying device that I have identified, and a containment field. You worry about building us that fortress and I shall identify who we should borrow from. Do you happen to know someone belonging to the Rosenthal consortium?" "Yes," I tell him, glad to return the favor, "their leader on the continent and I sometimes share a night." Will this hurt him? "Well. Now I am having second thoughts." Haha! *** The most unfortunate realization that comes with maturity is, tragically, that not everything can be solved with murders. Or rather, I have to handle situations where murder would only create more problems. Fortunately, we have many other tools, some of them only symbolically violent. It certainly helps that the mortals do most of our work for us. If tonight I was transported to a world of isolated, religious parishes where no one goes out after dark, I give it three days before a mayor invites me in to take out the town priest. We could not exist in a world without sin, but neither would the humans. The temptation is everywhere, in everyone. Even the meekest man hides in his bosom the flames of desire. We do not even need to fan it. "You will not find it here¡­" "Shit!" "¡­ Mr. Norman," I finish. The man jumps, terror gripping his chest. I hear the thundering beat of his heart pumping desperately, as it has been for some time. The dark office offers many nooks and crannies between towering file cabinets and monumental desks. It is no wonder that the cornered accountant would miss my presence in the middle of his frantic searches. Now, his growing panic has reached the end of a minute-long crescendo, and the nervous sweat in the air smells of fear, of delicious guilt. I light a match and briefly study the fleeting flame, alien and unwelcoming despite its short life. How Melusine can harness this power, I will never know. It can be pretty I suppose. My lantern soon shines on me and my prey tonight. Mr Norman is portly and balding. A neat mustache and good tweed suit would have given him airs of stolen respectability, were it not for his current disheveled state. Although, I suppose that the bribery might have skewed my perception. I watch Mr. Norman calculate his chances with some interest. His breath slows down, anxiety soon replaced by a colder despair. I have backed him into a corner and we both know it. Right now, I have borrowed the appearance of life from my Hasting essence. The yellow radiance of the lantern shows a pale woman, lithe and vulnerable. A man of his corpulence would have no trouble overpowering me. He only needs to wrap his fat fingers around my delicate neck and squeeze. Will he try? He will not. Norman sighs one last time. Some will resort to murder when faced with ruin and the accountant does apprently not count among their number. His exhalation expulses the last of his hope and I watch his posture collapse under the weight of the situation. He drags a chair, that of his colleague, and collapses into it. A sweep of his handkerchief wipes out perspiration. "How did you find me?" he asks in a low, broken voice. "That is not the right question. You may try again." "There is no need for games! I assume that you are one of those who left that¡­ that horrendous letter at my place of residence. Threatening me! Making demands¡­ What do you people want with me!" "Now that is the correct question. We want Johan Kingsley." I watch the confusion bloom on his flushed face. He licks his parched lips while his eyes flutter, trying to place the name. He frowns when he does. "John Kingsley? The senator hopeful? What do you mean? I just¡­" "You protected his assets, which had been seized at the end of the war for his vocal support of the confederacy. You have provided this service to a few other people against compensation. As I mentioned in that document I sent, I have taken the liberty of seizing some incriminating documents which will find their way to the authorities if you do not comply with my demands. And I do not mean your superior, Mr Norman. I know that he is in on it." "Then you should make demands of him!" "Oh I may, but you are much more interesting since you are genuinely competent at deception. I assume that the paperwork was your doing?" "... yes." "Then you will have no difficulty giving me the proof I need to expose his regrettable attempt at bribery. You will also provide every valuable piece of information you have on this person." "We worked through an intermediary!" "Then I want them as well. You will give me everything you have." I cannot kill all the Integrists. Well, I am more than willing to try but those old reasonable boring old allies of mine have objected. I can, however, tarnish their reputation in the eyes of the public, and I will. Such methods will never uproot them given how capable they are at blocking information within their area of influence, one press-burning mob at a time. "I do this for you, and then we are done," the accountant spits. I cannot help myself and chuckle to his face. Done? Oh, he is quite precious. "My dear sir, you wish to let bygones be bygone? How quaint. You do not purchase absolution with this action. You purchase a reprieve. If you wish to be done, as you say, feel free to denounce yourself to the Revenue Collector, or better yet throw the whole ring at the feet of the Secretary of the Treasury. Then you will be done. And so will your house, your reputation, and all the other little things like a private tutor for your two children that you sold your honor to purchase. Then, you will have washed away your sin. We will no longer have power over you. In the meanwhile, you are corrupt and stained Mr Norman. So long as you continue to enjoy your fortune, you will remain ours to use as we see fit, just like so many of your fellow tax officials. Bend or sacrifice, there is no half measure. Curiously, a flash of realization crosses Mr. Norman''s feverish gaze. "Wait¡­ I heard rumors. About mysterious folks who look younger than they really are. That''s you isn''t it? Who are you people?" "That is not the right question, Norman. The right question was¡­ what are we?" I jump on him and feed. Stupid theatrics always wake up the Thirst and now he just smells too tempting. I erase the last memory and leave, only to find an annoying person lounging languidly against my carriage. "I thought you had much to plan?" I ask. "I can plan and accompany you! A journey west, to the lawless wild lands of the frontier. Guns! Moonshine! A bloodbath! Would you make me a revolver?" "Why would you ever put yourself in harm''s way?" "I intend to put others in harm''s way." "Only if you can shoot to my satisfaction." His eyebrows wriggle. "Oh, grow up." Chapter 175 - 169. Guns and Glory! Pearls are Forever The establishment known as the Pearl greeted me with a massive room vibrating with the din of conversations even so early in the day. A few steps up led to a central square covered in tables, couches, and chairs where men and their hosts socialized without reserve. A long counter extended to my left with a collection of bottles and glasses sitting in well-ordered rows on a shelf that covered the entire wall. Stairs and doors surrounded this pulsing heart of sin, passages to ¡ª I assumed ¡ª private rooms where one may consummate. A well-kept piano occupied the back of the room on a small pedestal where a man of indeterminate pedigree was busy playing the violin with surprising skill. None of this truly mattered to me at that time, for my mind no longer belonged to me, but to her. My breath caught in my chest. My heart skipped a beat. A lead mantle settled on my wit, robbing me of my countenance at the sight of this apparition. She was a diamond at the center of a tin tiara, a rose in a bed of dandelions. A hive of ¡ª forgive me, dear reader ¡ª painted harlots buzzed around her, wearing gaudy garments and enough make-up to renovate the Westminster Cathedral with some left over for a couple of Whitehall pubs. By contrast, she only needed a plain dress in the deep green of winter pines to cover her lithe form. Her cleavage was just on the edge of daring, while a slit in her dress showed just a little too much calf. Ah, dear reader, you must feel me weak of heart and of conviction, but think! Think of the first time you lay your eyes on the one who robbed you of your heart with a casual tilt of the head. Then you would understand my predicament, for indeed, she had captured my attention while my cold mind refused to let go of the only thing that stopped me from throwing myself at her feet. She lounged gracefully in a brothel''s main room. It did not take the mind of Isaac Newton to guess what her occupation might be. The scarlet of her hair was like a winter twilight, brazen and beautiful, yet cold. The smoldering of her brown eyes held a distance that I feared no man could ever bridge. For all her modesty, she was a kiln of desire, and for all of that passion, she was cold as ice. None of the activity around her touched the windows of her soul as they followed me across the room. As much as I tried to escape the burning frost of her fingers on my heart, I knew that I would charge a fort for a true smile to bloom on her angelic face. It took all of my willpower to swim away from the whirlpool of her pupils and to make my way to the bar. If it had not been my original plan, I believe that I would have failed to think of one. My arrival and the lady''s gaze was noticed by a quartet of rough men nursing hard liquor. Their leader was a thug with a dirty, messy beard, two porcine eyes, and a gut covered by a shirt that might have been red under the stains at some point in the distant past. They smirked, but I decided to pay them no heed. I was a marshal now, and a marshal should not provoke people for the sake of his ego. Challenges would come soon enough. The barman was a barwoman, a solid lass with a square jaw like you would see socking their husband by the Thames for coming home stinking of gin. What she lacked in conventional beauty, she made up for in confidence, giving her a powerful presence. The mistress of liquors inspected me with a quirked brow but a pleasant enough smile, and I knew that I was not considered for shoe-slapping quite yet. "What is the second most refreshing thing you have?" I asked, still in the thrall of my heavenly vision. And indeed my heart beat a thunderous drum at the thought that she was here, behind me, so tantalizingly close. "Oho, good one. For you, pretty boy, I got some lemonade just the way my ma used to do before the pox got her. Fancy a glass?" "That would be terrific, miss," I assured her. I was eager to sample the local specialities after swallowing dust for seven days. The lady smiled and served me in a beer mug. I sipped on tangy bliss and sighed with contentment. It was then that I heard the heavy thud of footsteps tramping behind me. Ah, what a conundrum, dear readers. I could turn and face the sun of her beauty, or show my back to what was possibly imminent danger. Come on, Alexander, I told myself, trust in yourself. I gathered my phlegm just in time to face the tall man in the red shirt, and recognized in his lopsided grin the base, animalistic pleasure of the simple bully at the sight of a fresh target. I was immediately on my guard and he didn''t disappoint! Stopping a few paces aways, he placed his meaty fists on equally meaty sides and roared his provocation. "What''s a lilly-livered coward doing in this here fine establishment?" I delicately placed the mug on the counter by my side and straightened my posture for the inevitable showdown. Sear?h the N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "I was wondering the same thing, friend. What are you doing here?" It took the brute a remarkable amount of time to decipher my insult. By that time, I had come to a decision. As a representative of the law, I was to avoid brawls and show exemplary behavior to steer the frontier masses on the path of righteousness. Unfortunately, one could not garner respect without showing a bit of spine first. I had to be realistic about my chances of convincing anyone if I hid behind my badge at the first sign of trouble. The law-abiding lad in me wanted nothing less than to bring this troublemaker to the authorities, but the adult saw that this was a different place from my proper Surrey, and when in Rome, give an idiot a sound thrashing. "Don''t think too hard, you''ll strain something," I added helpfully. By that time, I was already on the balls of my feet and ready to give the lout what for. Indeed, his bovine face exhibited confusion, then consideration, then finally crimson anger as my defiance finally crawled its way through the underused paths of his mind. He took a step forward. He stopped immediately. Even I felt my smile slip a little when the barrel of a long hunting rifle bypassed my left ear to aim squarely at the bully''s chest. "None of that, boys, you take your ''disagreement'' outside or I''ll splatter your guts over the floor. That means you, Walker." "Don''t point that thing at me, Sally. You wouldn''t want to see me angry." "The only reason I''m not seeing you inside out right now is that I''m the one who''ll have to mop your lard off the parquet if I pull the damn trigger. You mess with me, you mess with the Pearl, Walker." The thug snarled, an animalistic move that surprised me, as I would never have expected such a crude expression from a white man. "Come on out, stranger. Let''s see if you can put your fists when your mouth is. You and me. I''ll be waiting outside." "I''ll put my fist where your mouth is," I grumbled to myself. Not only was I dragged into an embarrassing affair in front of a fallen angel, but now I was even denied my lemonade. For shame. "Be careful," the bartender said. Her previous confidence had faded like snow under the sun. Now she looked strained and worried. "I seen them drink from a vial around their neck. Makes them as strong as a bear and just as stupid. Drugs of some sort." "Can they stoop any lower?" I exclaimed, scandalized. "I ain''t eager to find out, Your Lordship." "Thank you for your help, Sally. I will be careful. And my name is Alexander. No Lordship for me." "He will hit hard and he won''t feel pain. Perhaps it''s better if¡­" "Do not suggest it, Miss Sally. I could not entertain the thought." I left and thought I heard a whispered sentence about entertaining her instead. Duty called. The sun greeted me far too soon. Four brutes waited downstairs, spread evenly to prevent my escape, I suppose. I placed my felt hat on a wooden balustrade and stepped down to meet them. I noticed that the men all had revolvers on their hips, and so I didn''t remove mine. "We can start whenever you wish," I informed my would-be opponent. A crowd was already forming to watch us rumble. "Now then, you little shit. I''m going to show you why they call me the hammer," Walker grumbled. He spit in his fist, which was to me as abhorrent as it was incomprehensible, and picked around his soiled shirt to reveal a tiny flask. He drank from it what must have been just a drop, but his ugly mug immediately exhibited into an expression of pure, unadulterated felicity, a happiness defiled by the beastly instincts it fed on. The brute roared and came at me swinging. Dear readers, I never mentioned it before since it was scarcely relevant to the story, but do note that I took quite a few licks from William ''Bendigo'' Thompson at the bequest of my father, who had rescued that awesome man from his drunken morass. One does not survive apprenticeship under England''s former heavyweight champion without learning a few tricks, a notion my opponent discovered immediately when I dove under his haymaker and delivered a powerful jab on his liver. To my surprise, the man barely grunted under the onslaught, and the backhand blow would have caught me off-guard without Sally''s warning. As it was, it was all I could do to dodge the onslaught. Walker would rush at me and hit with everything he had. I would move to the side, deflect and block what I could before he would charge again. The few painful counters I landed would have incapacitated most men, but he was no longer himself. It was when he landed a solid blow on my shoulder and I reciprocated by breaking his nose that I realized the only avenue of salvation left to me. The blow got me the first solid reaction since the beginning of the fight. Walker shook his head and pulled back. His blood ran a fresh coat of color on his blemished shirt. I had to aim for the face. Instead of waiting for the man to recover, I charged into the breach with determination. A proper pummel would see me take the day! And pummel him I did, until my knuckles bled. I gave the lout the correction he deserved without giving him the chance to recover, even taking a small hit to the temple so I could keep fighting. It was when my adversary barely stood that an imperious voice woke me from the focus of battle. "Behind you!" I turned just in time to block a hook aimed at my neck. The gall! What manner of miscreant interrupts a fisticuff, I ask? Only the vilest, most honorless fiends. Anger seized my heart, and I gave the surprised foe an uppercut that sent him careening on the ground. When I turned, Walker had not moved yet for he was stunned, but one of his cronies had his hand suspiciously close to a grubby handle. That was when, dear reader, I decided to put a stop to this farce. Insults and knuckle fights might toe the line of legality, but assault with a gun crosses it. I casually opened my vest, revealing the star beneath and saw my assailant pale. "You will remove your filthy paw from that disgrace of a gun or, with god as my witness, you won''t live long enough to regret it," I told the man It was with some trepidation that I observed the terror on the man''s traits. Unfortunately, he had frozen in place and, heeding Mr. Delaney''s advice, I took a step back and to the side in order to put my back against the wall and keep all the mooks in sight. This maneuver let me look at the man still on the ground, nursing his jaw and glaring. "You''re messing with the Crew," the gunman grumbled into his (possibly lice-infested) beard. "Nobody messes with the Crew." "The law messes with everyone, villain. Remove that hand now." "Let''s all calm down now," another one said. "We will all take a deep breath and go our separate ways." "Surely you do not expect to threaten an officer and refuse to comply and just walk away? I have questions for you lot," I said, outraged that they would suggest just leaving. You must understand, dear readers, that I was quite young at the time. The very idea of letting those ruffians go even temporarily filled my heart with righteous fury. Did they honestly believe that they could almost kill a man, then walk away after their attempt failed? The hammer of justice would smite those louts here and now, for the scale-bearing goddess could suffer no compromise. "That''s a bad idea, friend," the man continued, his hand sliding to his holster. I could feel where the situation was going, and placed myself in the proper posture to draw. Around us, the crowd raced away to take their distance. They knew too. I breathed in and breathed out. All thoughts of anger left me. There was only me and the three targets. Two on my right, one on the ground, on my left. Walker was still standing drunkenly, a line of drool dripping down his bruised lips. Three. They would move. I knew they would try. The right man would do it. The man in the middle was hesitating, and the one on the left was waiting. Breathe in. You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. A rictus of rage. A hand grabbing down. Motion. I was ready. I drew and shot once, twice, thrice. I caught the first two in the heart and the last one under his chin. They fell. Breathe out. They were dead. I would have liked to claim, dear readers, that I felt vindicated since I had stopped an attempt on my person. A sense of duty fulfilled and of safer streets would have been welcome, I assure you. However, the only thing filling my chest were horror and a deep sense of emptiness. I had killed. I had broken the first commandment. The circumstances did not matter to me at that time, and neither did the legality or morality of my actions. The visceral reaction to ending one''s life cared not for such abstract notions. I had killed a person. I had killed three people, and my life would never be the same again. Curiously, what drew me away from the abyss was not the muttering mob, but the memory of my mentor''s advice. I knew, as a marshal, that I would have to deliver death. My father Ronald and his father Cecil had taken lives all around the globe. Miss Delaney had been quite insistent that I should realize this, and not to hesitate when the time came. I was alive because of my conviction. It had been their choice to draw on an officer of the law and it had been my choice to pursue this career. I was where I had meant to go. Now, I had to own it. Out of habit, I checked my corners and replaced the three spent cartridges in the cylinder, just in time to see Walker collapse on his side with the ponderous speed of a toppling tree. A few of the women in the crowd screamed at the sight of three cadavers. I did not feel like doing much right now, so I hailed an old caravan driver with a massive white beard. "Is the sheriff on his way?" "He sure is, my boy. You''re a little young to be a marshal, but there is nothing wrong with your aim. Hot damn." "Then when the gentleman arrives, please be sure to direct them inside. I need a drink." "Sure thing Your Lordship." "Just Marshal Bingle is fine." I went through the doors again. I had a lemonade waiting for me. Of course, as soon as I crossed the threshold, all thoughts of liquid were forgotten in favour of something infinitely more invigorating, the sight of my fallen angel and her smile. Oh, that smile. I will never forget it. In this false palace of stucco and golden paint, from within that den of sin, surrounded by colored glass and frilly apparels, it was the only genuine thing I could spot. Oh, and Sally''s lemonade too, I suppose. It was quite fine. "You had us worried there," she told me. Her voice was low and husky, as smooth and indulgent as dark chocolate. I could have listened to her read an address book and never grown bored. "I might have been concerned as well," I freely admitted, "though concern cannot stop me." She chuckled. Waves of bliss radiated from my stricken heart with every ''ha'' of merriment. I could do nothing. I was undone before the battle even started. "I prefer courage over temerity, sir. How may I call our savior?" "Alexander Bingle, milady, at your service! I cannot claim this title since those ruffians were after me, not after you." "Oh, they were after all of us. The Crew regularly comes to ''unwind'' in town between two dastardly deeds. They are rowdy, rude, and they do not pay." "Dreadful. Then I am glad that I have done my duty!" This boastful comment awarded me with another chuckle. Then, my fallen angel removed a shawl from ¡ª forgive me, dear readers ¡ª her cleavage. She used it to sponge the smidgen of blood on my temple despite my protests. I was loath to soil such a precious piece of fabric, but the lady would not have it. When she was done, she tied the colorful item around my arm. "You defended us, Mr. Bingle. It is only fair that my knight in shining armor would wear my colors." I was blushing mightily during the whole process as you can imagine. It did not help that the shawl still carried her perfume, and its delicate scent titillated my nose during the entire delightful ordeal. I prayed to be delivered from inappropriate thoughts but my faith failed me, or to be precise, it could not compete. "How may I call you, my fiery angel?" "Aw, that''s a new one. Call me Annie." Annie. Annie. Annie. I had a name for her now. Quick, Alexander, get a hold of yourself! "Then, Annie¡­ why is the sheriff not acting?" "He is a reasonable man. The sheriff has five deputies to deal with scuffles between colonists. He doesn''t have the numbers to stop the Crew. They have a hundred men, all veterans from the war. On both sides! Disciplinary battalion dogs, the lot of them." "They do nothing to stop this ignominy?" I exclaimed. Scandalous. "Alas, no. My thanks again, Mr Bingle. I have to talk to the other girls. If you''ll excuse us." "Certainly!" I made my resolute way to the bar out of fear that I would stare at her back and not stop until she had disappeared from my view. Sally was still at her post, polishing a glass with nervous gestures. Her smile was more bitter and sad than I remembered. "You got them. Well, better than the alternative, I suppose. It couldn''t go on anyway. Here," she said, giving me a piece of cloth drenched in cold water, which I applied to the bruise on my head with effusive gratitude. "Think nothing of it," she replied. "You just, ah nevermind, a wild weed can''t match a rose heh? Just be careful when you go out. The Crew will want to take revenge. You should get out of town soon. Hole up somewhere." "Never! But I understand your concern and will not go charging at a hundred men. I am courageous, not stupid." A doubt crossed my mind at some of my past actions. I firmly believed that a dumb man can never learn, which made me exempt. In my own eyes. "You take care now, Mr Bingle. Can I call you Alexander?" "Of course Sally, tis only fair!" "Oh, the sheriff is here. Can see his hat from the window. You¡­ ought to go talk to him. Don''t let your guard down, you hear? Never let your guard down." "Thank you Sally. And I will see you later!" "Yeah. You do that." I stepped outside, ready to face the music. The sheriff was an old man with a neatly trimmed grey beard and a white felt hat, making him visible from afar. He was accompanied by a few fellows of various ages and they all had one thing in common besides their badge of office: a deep fear that they never bothered to hide. "You done did it, boy. You done did it. The lord save me from hotheads, Jesus. They''re dead." "I was merely defending myself, sir. They drew first." "Yes yes, I''m sure. Not that it matters. You just started a war, boy, and it''s us that got to pick the pieces, if we ain''t pieces ourselves. Jesus lord have mercy." "Instead of complaining, should you not call for reinforcements?" I asked, annoyed. "I understand caution but it looks like you gave up." Alas, my comment turned the man''s face red with unbridled rage. "You think I ain''t done it? That I''m sitting on my ass all day long? The Crew''s a fist, boy, and the arm behind it is longer than mine, is all it is. I did ask, and I was ignored. The second time the Crew officer visited me at my home, got it?" "I see. Then¡­ it is a conspiracy!" I exclaimed. What an unexpected development! Who could have guessed that a chance to apply justice would present itself so soon? The sheriff just shrugged sadly. I begrudged him his defeatism. The man needed a stiff upper lip and a proper moustache to adorn it, I say! His responsibility for the town was too important to give up after two attempts, and I did not think that the grasp of the Crew extended to the marshall office, or to the anti-corruption commission. Unless... "Is there some dark magic at work?" I regretted my words as soon as they crossed my lips and the men present crossed themselves in a cascade of muttered prayers. "No witches here, boy. This is a Christian town. They''re not allowed inside¡­ and if we catch one, she''ll burn." I closed my mouth with a click, because their reaction spread a fear that almost reached a boiling point. I had to return to my convoy and take stock. "Well, are you going to at least arrest Walker? We cannot leave him lying in the street like a swine." "Yes, yes. We''ll get him inside, look after his wound. You should go, boy. Leave town if you know what''s good for you." I decided that discretion would be the best part of valor, for now. I needed to learn more about the situation before deciding on a course of action. I did not face a small band of cattle thieves, but a large group with a powerful backer. Almost a private army. Rushing in headlong would only lead to a lone grave on the prairie. I left on my horse, wary of my surroundings. The town was barricading itself already, and I spared a thought for the safety of Annie. The locals were rushing back while the visitors fled to the safety of their own camps. I made good time and found Miss Delaney''s convoy without much difficulty, as they had found a prime location on a small hill. I was let into her secured carriage and locked its massive door behind me. I had no idea how oxens managed to pull forward what amounted to a portable fortress. Inside of the carriage, a pallid Ariane awaited me. The vivacious woman lost her lustre during the day. Her traits were drawn and her eyes had sunk, yet they still shone with a cold intelligence in the shimmering blue light of a strange lantern. A series of documents were laid on a large desk that occupied much of the surface. A steaming cup of her excellent coffee awaited my presence. I sat down and tasted it gratefully. Then, the floodgates opened and I dumped the tale of the recent events onto her patient lap. The mysterious lady listened without interrupting me until I was fully done. Her first reaction was to quirk a brow with an expression I seldom ever saw on her delicate features: surprise. She picked an elegant silver watch from an unseen pocket and checked the time. "Barely one in the afternoon and we already have a brawl, a gunfight, and a love interest¡­" she grumbled. "You certainly worked fast. I credit you for your success, although you could have avoided the risky duel. That was an unnecessary risk." "Why would I do such a thing! The Law must have the last word!" "Humiliated thugs must retaliate or lose their main source of power: fear. They will come for you no matter what. I would advise you to be more flexible in your pursuit of justice, young Bingle. You can always make an arrest while in a position of strength. The side of good should never look down on guile and delayed punishment, as some of your fellow mor¡­ people, have demonstrated. In any case, you are uninjured, so I suppose it does not matter. Did you keep the vial of potion with you? The effects you describe sound familiar." "Alas, no. I did not think of it," I grudgingly admitted. "No matter, I will be sure to visit the morgue tonight. I am quickly learning more of the situation as the day goes on. It appears that your private militia and my railroad project issues are related." "Could it be that the mysterious backer behind them is the SAME PERSON?" I exclaimed, happy for the quick and gratuitous development. "Yes. How fortunate," Miss Delaney said, though she betrayed no emotion. "I need some more time to finish reading those reports. Stay as long as you like. Don''t waste coffee." I pondered today''s events in a silence only broken by the susurrus of turning pages. I had found a terrible injustice, but more importantly, I had desperately fallen in love at first sight with someone no mother would approve of. I had to save her. I had to find out which circumstances had led her to sell her dignity and make an honest woman out of her, I could accept no other outcome. After finishing my cup, I escaped and tried to absorb myself in the many tasks before me. The repetitive nature of cleaning, washing, and darning the holes in all I had provided no distraction. My thoughts wandered back to the woman, Annie, her smile, her delicate perfume. I dared not touch the shawl tied to my arm. What did it mean? Had I truly earned her favor, or was this a ploy from a cunning woman? Did I even care? Forgive me those ramblings, dear reader. I was a moth caught by the prettiest fire this side of the Atlantic. The fallen angel had me hook, line, and sinker. I was a doomed man. My only solace came a couple of hours later after everything was done and the shock of love and death merged with the fatigue of the trip. I collapsed on my cot and only opened my eyes after the sun had set. I realized that I was ravenous and left my tent to a surreal vision. The camp was on a sparsely wooded hill around a grass-covered meadow. Its center was now occupied by the most curious of scenes. Miss Delaney stood to the side next to a table carrying scientific equipment, inspecting a test tube filled with dark liquid. Meanwhile, Mr Nead sat at a table covered with a genuine white cloth. Candelabras provided a warm glow that seemed to ward off the evening''s chill while tall glasses filled with golden wine spoke of summer afternoons by the lake. Mr Nead himself was resplendent in a beige ensemble, princely and lavish, yet sharp. An ethereal woman I had never seen before played the harp with impressive mastery, reinforcing the feeling of otherworldliness. I felt as if I had stumbled across a banquet in a dream, and that Puck might lead Oberon and Titania to join us shortly. And yet, the glass felt solid under my fingers when I joined them, and the wine tasted of honey. "So good to see you, young Bingle," Mr Nead said as he shoved a cracker in my hand. It was covered with cucumber sliced so thin it was perfectly transparent. I took a bite and sighed in contentment. At the back of my head, memories of fairy tales warred with my rationality, hinting at journeys with no return and century-long stays. "Eat plenty, because the night is young and filled with secrets," the man whispered. I turned to ask about the elfin woman, but felt rebuked even thinking about her. "I have found more about the liquid your opponent consumed," Miss Delaney said as I did my best to eat with moderation, instead of gorging myself like one of Circe''s guests. "Mr Nead kindly obtained a sample from the town''s, for lack of a better term, surgeon. The solution is magical in nature, and quite dangerous at that. It ignites the consumer''s essence, pushing the body to its limits and providing relief from pain and discomfort, but it does nothing to protect the body itself. Whoever drinks it will be a dangerous, implacable warrior for the effect''s duration at the cost of, I suspect, longevity. Additionally, the substance is a potent mood-enhancer and disinhibitor which contributes to making it highly addictive. If the Crew members do use it regularly, then they are fiercely loyal. I also suspect that higher brain functions might be impaired, from what I have gathered. "I see, and how does it relate to your train line issue." Miss Delaney put down her tube and nodded at me. "Well spotted, Mr Bingle. An unknown interest is buying strategically placed land from local farmers at cutthroat prices, then reselling it to my venture at rates that make expansion unsustainable. Usually, such individuals or organizations transfer funds east to reputed banks to safeguard their interest, but it seems that we are dealing with a local, paranoid organization. Their refusal to deal with everyone is a weakness in the sense that they lack backing, but a strength because they leave no trail. We will have to inquire more." "The sheriff mentioned that he had contacted his superior twice, but that it only resulted in threats to his family," I remarked. "Yes, an excellent starting point for our investigation. I fear that I must rely on you for the¡­ day-to-day operations, so to speak. May I suggest ¡ª" Miss Delaney stopped mid-sentence, and when I looked up, she was facing the city with a deeply intense expression. A moment later, I heard the roar of a gun. I was on my feet before the noise died down. Chapter 176 - 170. Guns and Glory! The West is not Enough Just as I reached the end of the circle of light, Ariane''s voice interrupted my mad dash. "Alexander! Your guns." Her glacial voice cooled down my urgency. She was right, of course. I was running blind and unarmed into the maw of danger, and as my father always said, the line between courage and temerity lies in self-control. I quickly passed by my cot and grabbed my weapons, tying my belt as I moved. I ran the first yards blind as an owl anyway, relying on the path''s regularity not to fall. My eyes progressively grew more accustomed to the darkness and I found I could see reasonably well thanks to the radiance of the moon over my head, and the town''s lights in the distance. It was enough to see shapes hurrying towards the safety of the buildings. I ran after them until I stumbled upon a scene that made my heart skip a beat. There were two bodies on the ground. The first, I dismissed with a huff of anger. He was a man wearing filthy rags, his face still contracted in a rictus of vicious ecstasy even as the last of his blood soaked the ground in a slowly expanding dark pool. He had caught a coach gun shot to the chest at point blank range. The weapon lay discarded on the ground next to its owner. I am still unsure what led me to recognize her. Perhaps it was the cut of dark hair, or a certain pride that still pushed her to hold on in her last moments that caught my attention as I kneeled by her side. Her single eye found me. The other one was lost under bruised flesh and blood. "Sally?" She coughed. Her body shook under shock and what must have been a tremendous amount of pain. The parts of her left untouched still shone with vibrant life. Details seared themselves in my memory. The muscle strands under the skin of her forearm, used to hard work. The clean fingertips. A bare calf revealed by accident. They contrasted with the pulped mess left by ham-like fists, the marks of a beast-like savagery. My mind could not comprehend how humans could have been so mindlessly brutal, but my heart pushed me to grasp those searching fingers so she would know that she was not alone. "Wished¡ª " She coughed, her voice broken by agony. "Wished you had looked at me like that before." "Sally, help is on the way." "Help. Yeah. The Pearl. Coming for everyone." "The Crew, you mean?" "Yeah." She coughed, and this time blood erupted from her pale lips in an omen of death. I panicked because it was too soon for her to go, too senseless. She still lived right now, intensely so. She was so courageous to have come here alone. It was her coach gun I recognized lying on the ground. The Crew members must have seen her, they must have recognized her. She shot one before or after they ran her down, it mattered not. They had pummeled her into the ground then left without a care for their victim or even their fallen accomplice. Those men were beasts, no, worse than beasts. Wolves mourned their own. "Ariane? Ariane!" "I am here," the blonde woman said at my back. I had not seen her arrive, of course. "Can you help?" I turned. She was wearing a darker dress with what appeared to be chest armor, and she wielded a rifle. She nodded once, but there was something in her gaze I did not like: pity. "I can make her comfortable." "No! We must have doctors¡­ someone!" "She is bleeding too much, including from the inside." Sally started to choke. Her breaths were growing more labored by the second. "Others¡­" she said again. She released her hold on my hand. "You must go now," Ariane said in a low voice. She kneeled by the woman''s side and brushed her hair back from her sweat-soaked forehead. "Will you¡­" I asked, aware of the price of her curse. "No. She is not prey." "Right." It was all the time I could spare. I sprinted away, hoping to outrun my guilt, my fear, and the welling grief in my heart. If I had not¡­ but no, I had to concentrate on the task before me, not on the lives those insane fiends left broken in their paths. I do not believe, dear readers, that I ever ran so swiftly as I did then. Every step propelled me forward as if by wings, but they were brittle, made of wax and feathers, and my sun would come soon enough. And it did, when I arrived upon Grove''s main street and saw a Boschian vista open before me. From the grocery by my side to the dirt road, it was a normal small town in Kansas. After that came hell and its demons. A horde of roaring, whistling, hollering riders galloped along the streets in a senseless cavalcade. The noise was deafening. They were carrying torches giving everything around them a fiery glow so that their flushed faces and filthy hats made them devils and demons come here for a single night. The anger and fear in my heart turned to despair at the sight of so many men ¡ª they were at least a hundred! ¡ª and then to impotent guilt when I spotted Walker among them. The horrendous man was laughing where he was, and on his horse''s greasy bridles I saw his heavy mitts, and on them I saw much blood. And I knew. I knew he had brought his petty vengeance and I knew that, right now, I could kill him. And I would not, for it would kill me. It was not self-preservation that drove me, but cowardice. I didn''t want to die, not senselessly. Not like this. I did not regret that choice later, but know this. I was not motivated by wisdom but by fear, and to this day, it was that fear that saved me. I do not regret it. I never got the chance to regret it. After I gathered my spirits, I slipped in the shadows before anyone could see me. Gunshots erupted from the street, first one, then a thundering ruckus that wouldn''t stop. I made my way along the back of the street, through gardens and flower patches until I could see the centre of the men''s ire: the Pearl in all its decadent glory. Fortunately for me, the bordello''s management had more sense than me. The establishment was barricaded, every window boarded and the main door was locked tight. A swarm of riders was shooting at shutters and walls with more mirth than determination. I raced a bit farther and crossed the street to circle back. A few burly men threw themselves at the entrance as I did so, but it seemed to be holding for now. The back of the Pearl was larger than I thought, with a low wall, several sheds, and a lot of room to hang laundry. I climbed over the wood separation and found light at a second-floor window. I hailed them, and soon Annie''s face peered through the opening. The light framed her breath-taking beauty even as worry marred her traits. I finally understood what Romeo would have felt under the balcony of the Capulet''s princess, if he had existed. Nothing could diminish her charms. "Mr Bingle? Is that you?" "Yes, my night angel, it is I, Alexander." "What about Sally?" "I¡­" Anguish stole my breath, but I tore the words out of my unwilling throat. She had to know. "The Crew got to her first. I am so sorry¡­" I could not see her so clearly from below, but I believe that her lips trembled and a tear traced a wet path down her perfect cheek. "Ne¡­ nevermind. Get in, quickly! I''ll open the door." I was let through and faced an eclectic crew. Old men, a few brawny lads and the prostitutes themselves. Without the feathers and glass trinkets, they were just scared women. Many of them were as young as I was. "Should we evacuate?" I asked. "What we?" an older woman spat. "You just came here." "Enough chatting, Hortense," Annie said as she clambered down from upstairs. "Unless you got a cavalry regiment under your skirt, we need all the help we can get." "That you do," a glacial voice said from behind. I turned to see Ariane and Mr Nead by the entrance behind me. The Pearl''s staff took a collective step back. Although Miss Delaney had the appearance of a girl my age, she possessed a poise and demeanor that spoke of supreme confidence, an effect only reinforced by the urgency of the situation and the impressive rifle she carried over her shoulder. As for Mr Nead, he was also armed with silvery guns that shone in the light of the only lantern present as if haunted by some inner fire. "There are men waiting in the woods behind us for you to leave. The Crew is trying to flush you out." "We have a secret passage out of town," Annie explained, and Hortense made to protest but she was silenced with a glare. That surprised me considering that Hortense appeared to be the madame of this establishment, with richer garments and an attempt at dignity. I was under the impression that they were in charge, yet Annie had the upper hand now. "It will carry us to those rocks over yonder." "Far enough that you might avoid detection," Ariane conceded. "You should do so now." "What about the kids?" a prostitute with blonde hair and a pointy nose asked. "We have children with us. It will take some time to evacuate them as well," a dark-skinned woman added somberly. "Then you need some more time. The riders have gone through the grocery and found oil. They might decide to smoke you out instead," Ariane added. "I can go upstairs and lay covering fire," I suggested. "That could slow them down." It would not do much and I might get shot, but the fear from earlier remained strong in my mind and I needed an opportunity to exorcize it. "The third floor dungeon room has thicker walls. It overlooks the street so it should do," Annie says. "I will go," I stated. A few others volunteered to join, including three of the rough men. The blonde woman with a pointy nose joined despite my brief protests. I noticed that none of the others objected to her decision. We had the beginning of a plan. "Mr Nead and myself will provide covering fire from the bank''s roof," Ariane informed me, "although I cannot reveal my presence so early. Do you understand?" "I do. I hope the sounds of fighting will attract the men lying in ambush." "That is likely. Unfortunately, you might be swarmed while you attempt to escape." "If only we had a stick of dynamite!" I exclaimed, "Then I could drop it on the ground and clear the entrance while providing a distraction to flee. Two birds with one stone. Alas¡­" Miss Delaney flinched, an expression I had never seen her express before. Mr Nead leaned towards her. His amber eyes shone with amusement. "Are you perhaps contagious, poppet?" "Silence. Ahem. As for you, Alexander, I do have a powder charge with a timed detonator you might use." She retrieved a small packet from a pouch at her back. A string emerged from its well-wrapped shape. "Simply pull on this and throw it." "Then run like hell!" Mr. Nead added with a dazzling smile. "Jolly good!" I exclaimed, spirits rekindled! Sometimes, dear readers, it felt like I had a guardian devil watching over me with jealous zeal, favoring intelligent violence rather than virtue. "It is decided then," Annie said, "everyone do their best and see you on the other side of the passage. And you?" She finished with some hesitation. "We will find you, don''t worry," Miss Delaney finished. Everyone nodded, allies of circumstances brought together by adversity and a purpose: to survive the night. I made sure I had my weapons with me and climbed the small stairs at the double behind the form of another fighter. Finally, the time had come to dispense some well-deserved justice! Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings. *** Back outside, two shapes moved through the night with preternatural grace. Their speed and quiet would hide them from the vigilance of all but the most determined sentries, and there were none tonight. The pair climbed the walls of the bank, now gutted and emptied of its contents. They settled to wait for the hostilities to begin farther across the street. "Sinead, I want some explanations," the female form hissed in a tongue that few people knew on this plane. "What about, poppet?" "None of this! This Annie woman is related to you. I can taste it in her aura." "Of course! She is my granddaughter." The blonde vampire turned a murderous eye to her partner in crime who merely shrugged. "Elaborate," she demanded. "When two people enjoy each other very much, the man pushes his hot seed in the ¡ª " "I will flip you over the edge like a witty pancake." "Do you remember when we met in Marquette for the first time?" The vampire frowned. She remembered a fancy hotel. An open window across the street. The shadow of a naked leg. "You had spent the night with Louisa Watson. An Suqqam Hayatu Sinead YOU DIDN''T!" "I told you I had left her a souvenir, and that Louisa Watson would be promptly married. She was. Her first-born son grew up to be an immensely charming lad who attracted the attention of Lynn Merritt in forty-eight while they were both bored, horny teenagers. Nature followed its course and here we are!" "Lynn never told me of her first child!" "I believe that Annie was left at an orphanage so Lynn could marry her east coast sweetheart. A tale as old as time itself." "But that means¡­ No¡­" "Oh yes. You will never, ever get rid of me. Welcome to generational messes, dearest poppet. It is the true delight of the long-lived folks. Do you know that I once bedded someone who was my great-great-grandmother by alliance? It was the talk of the court for an entire day." "I regret everything." S~ea??h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "I am sure you will be pleased with the final product." *** When Annie mentioned the ''dungeon room'', dear readers, I admit that I expected some sort of cell where the most intoxicated patrons were sent to cool down. I was apparently quite wrong. Suffice to say, the depths of depravation to which mankind would delve in search of earthly pleasure appalled me to an extent that I cannot put quite into words, and I still pray for the soul of the carpenter who designed and built that specific chair. May the lord have mercy on his deviant soul. Ignoring the dreadful contents of the room, as well as the crude remarks of the men around, I took my position at the front, near a barred metal window. The blonde prostitute settled opposite me. Once more, I refrained from commenting on her presence. "Ready?" Everyone assented, just in time for me to spot two men walking down the street, carrying a satchel between them. "Fire at will!" I lined up the man on the left and shot him in the chest. The second man fell at the exact same moment. "You''re not just talk, then," the blonde woman approved in a calm voice. I seethed at being judged passable by an armed strumpet! My short outburst of outrage died down soon, however, when I realized that I had a competent ally. I lined up a horseman come to investigate why his companions were dying on the ground, and hit him in the chest as well, but this one merely jumped in surprise and pointed at the Pearl. "Turkeys! Upstairs! Little turkeys!" He rasped, yet somehow his voice carried over the noise of men crashing against the barred entrance. "Shoot the turkeys!" I fired faster. A second bullet in my target''s torso barely got more of a reaction. He rode away, firing a hastily drawn revolver at the bordello''s facade. At first, I thought I may have missed it until the torches of a nearby group showed the dripping red on his horse''s flank and I finally realized that he was drugged to the point of numbness. All of them were. "Damn serum!" the blonde woman pestered. "Those fucking swine juicers." "Is the person who taught you how to shoot the same who taught you how to swear?" I asked as I reloaded. "Yeah, my dad." "Should have done a better job at the swearing part," I told her with some vindication. Obviously I objected to the fair sex spewing curses, dear readers, but I had to repay her for her earlier comment. "Fuck you!" Soon, there was no more time for banter as the numbers of riders increased and what they didn''t achieve through accuracy, they would soon get through numbers. Bullets whistled past us like furious wasps. The dull thud of lead impacting the dungeon''s wooden walls reminded me that our haven was simply the least flimsy walls we had, and that there was a limit to its endurance. Worse, we were forced to shoot faster lest a lucky bullet caught one of us. Our only saving graces were the festive mood outside and our precision. Several times, the woman and I managed to shoot dismounted crewmen while they busied themselves picking up oil. Our bullets would catch them in the head, or in a part of the torso that disabled them immediately. Our task was only possible because of the perfect vantage we had, and also because of the one watching over us. "That cold bitch of yours is a beast!" my companion of misfortune exclaimed while yet another rider''s head snapped back. It appeared that Ariane had decided to forego the heart in favor of an organ the ruffians did not seem keen on using. The results spoke for themselves. Many of the men stopping to take proper aim ended up dead. My world narrowed until there was only the window, and the targets beyond it. The crewmen knew where we were by then, and so their focus improved. At one point, a bullet pinged on a metal bar and traced a small, bloody furrow on my right forearm. The wound seeped blood but I could not stop because more and more riders were coming and we needed to buy some more time. Look, find, aim, shoot, reload if needed. Only my focus remained, and my will to survive. I was beyond emotions, even fear. I just had to line up the sight on one more moving chest, and pull the trigger. One of our men was hit in the hand, losing a finger but not his determination. His cries and angry mutters dragged me back from the strange mindset I had adopted to see that the blonde woman was terrified. Below, I heard the sound of wood shattering. We were breached. The crewmen had abandoned the smoking out plan, and they would be swarming us very soon. "It''s time to go!" I screamed. Everyone else pulled back with speed and I wondered if they had stayed because I had. They were looking at me now, as I retrieved the powder charge. "Hope this thing works," I mumbled as I pulled the rope and tossed the package through the chipped window bars. "What now?" the wounded man asked. "Run like hell!" I replied, remembering the precise directions. And we did. I spared a look down towards the open space that formed the core of the Pearl, and I met the gaze of a tall man with a long black beard as dark as a raven''s coat. He was huge and mad, with bulging muscles, yet his was a controlled rage. He glanced up and smirked. I smirked as well. Then, the bomb exploded. When Mr Nead had advised me to run, I expected a blast powerful enough to tear down a wall. I should have remembered that Ariane Delaney was of the school of thought that, if one elects to shoot the same target a second time, it ought to be for entertainment purposes only. The detonation sent us to the ground as the entire building shook to its unstable foundation. My ears rang and my head swam with dizziness. Dust fell from the rafter above us in a veritable shower. The smell of smoke and burned wood permeated the air. Below, the dark-haired man screamed as half his face had caught on fire, or so it seemed to me. I did not wait. I dragged the closest person to their feet and rushed forward. We raced down the back stairs as if we had the devil himself chasing after us. I followed the directions of the blonde woman. Our steps carried us down to the back entrance landing. Just as we reached it, the door to the garden banged open. I drew faster than I ever had before and lodged a bullet in the charging man''s head before he even saw me. He collapsed at my feet, but the next man tackled me and sent my revolver clattering on the ground. I barely got the time to place my feet against his chest. His expression of beastial delight was short-lived. I sent him face first against the closest pillar. Unfortunately, I looked up to see another lout aiming at me. But I was not alone. The others opened fire and the man fell, pierced by a thousand wounds. No more attackers followed, and I was helped to my feet by a shaken cook. "We should leave." Discretion being the better part of valor, I picked up my fallen weapon and we collectively crashed into the kitchen just as yells and the sound of thrashed furniture erupted from the open space. Sweat covered my body despite the evening chill and my heart beat like a drum. We found an open trapdoor, just as planned. It led into an underground passage dug through the earth. We hurried through this claustrophobic corridor in complete darkness. The sounds of the others breathing saved me from fear but not from introspection. I had killed again. I had been shot at. All within one day of choosing a cause to stand for. Truly, this land was in dire need of peace and justice. Tomorrow. I believed that I had seen enough blood for the day. We quickly left the absolute darkness of the tunnel for the relative darkness of a clearing nestled between rocks and trees, giving us a view of the main street in the distance. A dense forest of oaks and ashes hid the scared band of women and children huddling together on the side. I moved to the side, finding Annie surveying the land. "We cannot stay," I tell her. "The Crew will find the tunnel soon enough." "I know. We were just waiting for you to leave." She sighed deeply, and I wanted nothing more than to hold her in my arms. "I am not sure where we can go. If the Crew catches us on open ground¡­" "I will assist," Ariane''s cold voice said from the darkness. Once again, people jumped at the noise, then at the appearance of my guardian demoness riding into the camp atop a mare as dark as the abyss. I swear, dear readers, that Kelpies had nothing on this creature. The tall horse stopped and snorted in a way that felt derisive. Mr Nead sat behind her without shame despite the incongruity of the situation. He dismounted, and the mount bumped her head against him, which didn''t make her any less threatening. "I can have them protected them while we attend to some more¡­ important business." "Ariane, thank God the two of you came out in one piece," I exclaimed with some relief. I would never doubt her ability, but lucky bullets tend to hit the idiot and the wise with the same exacting strength. "Yes. What a blessing." She frowned, and I asked her more questions while the small crowd erupted in confused mutters. "Did everything go well? Are we being followed?" "The woods are clear." "Then¡­ is something the matter?" "The elixir makes the locals tasteless." "I know!" I reply with much outrage, "such brutes! A scandalous display. I cannot wait to get my hands on the one behind this." "What a coincidence. But, in any case, we need to reach the convoy. I gave them orders to hide in a more secure spot. We should be protected for the night while the Crew crashes down." "Then let us ¡ª" "Why are we even waiting for you? This is all your fault!" A voice said from behind, silencing all whispers. I turned to the expected and unpleasant face of Hortense, the Madame. Behind us, flames licked the edge of the Pearl, spelling the doom of her venture. "If you hadn''t come, none of this would have happened. "This isn''t my fault," I calmly replied. She gasped in outrage. "Oh, really? So the Crew came to avenge tepid whiskey then?" "It was my doing. I triggered those events. But they''re not my fault," I reply with absolute conviction. Some of my certainty must have affected Hortense then, because she stared at me uncomprehendingly. I had to explain. It was important. "Was it bad that I stopped my face from being caved in? Was it bad that I drew on those who were about to kill me? Did I commit a crime? Was it a horrible thing to do, not to lie down and let Walker break me in two? Was it so unforgivable?" "You say that but Sally''s dead." "Yes, she is, because of events I started. I probably shouldn''t have revealed that I was a lawman, that backed them into a corner. But perhaps they would have come anyway after the thrashing I gave Walker. Or maybe I could have lost the fight and then they would have come a few days later anyway, for something unrelated. Maybe, maybe, maybe. We can spin our yarns until the Day of Judgement but it wouldn''t matter because it''s not my fault." I stand square in front of the old woman and cannot help but feel a bit of disdain at her sight. She is frightened and weak, sheep willing to bend before the first thug and let them run amok among those she''s supposed to protect, because that''s what a leader should do. In retrospect, dear readers, I realize that my anger was aimed at myself, at my earlier cowardice, even if it proved salutary. Hortense was merely the mirror to my failings. That was why the sight of her irked me so much. Nevertheless, I vented all I had on my heart. She would pay for myself, and all the others. "My father always used to say, don''t blame yourself for the actions of monsters and idiots, or you will be crying all day. I am responsible but I am not guilty. I was not the one who punched Sally to death, I was not the one who rode through the city shooting at everyone, oh no. If we are to distribute blame, I was not the one in charge of the town''s security who hid God-knows-where. I was not the one who let Sally leave by herself to search for help." Hortense flinched, then, but I was not done. "You got the short end of the stick and you look for fault in everyone but the guilty, and that includes you. The Crew has been terrorizing this part of Kanses for years and you did nothing, said nothing, or did you think the money they spent here was legally earned? Hah! The ruined farms, the castoff families, you were more than happy to forget about them so long as you had your tranquility. It only started to matter when it affected you. Guilt implies wrongdoing. I have done no such thing." I took a deep breath and settled down. Miss Delaney was following me from the corner of her eye with great intensity, while Mr Nead looked like a man at the theatre. In some ways, they were my guardian devils, but in other ways they felt like spectators of an opera, observing tragedy from the lodges and savoring the catharsis it brought them. No. I was overthinking. I needed to recentre on the problem at hand. Distractions could not be tolerated in this moment. "But I am responsible." Consternated groans answered my claim. They were confused. "I am Marshal Bingle, an Officer of the Law. It is my sworn duty to bring criminals to justice or to the grave and by God, I will not shirk it, no matter the odds. A single determined man can make all the difference in the world, so long as he has brains and courage in equal measure. No, I did not cause the Crew to appear or to do what they do, but yes, I will end them, here or later, alone or with help, I will end them. And I will find those behind this band of ruffians and they will rue the day they thought themselves out of reach. Now, those of you who wish to leave to safety, you ought to do so soon. The fight back starts tomorrow." And by start, I meant that we must plan for success. It might take a while, since I didn''t even know where to start. "Wooh, that was hot," the blonde woman with a pointy nose said, fanning her cleavage in a decidedly provocative way. I looked at her first, but my eyes were soon drawn to Annie, who now stared at me from under hooded lids in a way that endangered my very soul. "I want to see what you can do, pretty boy. I will help you however I can," the fallen angel declared. "But¡­ the dangers." "You will need to gather information, yes? I am very good at extracting information." "I am coming as well," the blonde girl said, "enough being pushed around." Little by little, men and women detached themselves from the group of refugees. Those who didn''t have children, the zealous and the believers. The mad ones. Those who would take the first step so one day, others wouldn''t have to. I was facing some of the rougher sorts the West had to offer and yet, in this moment, it was I who was humbled, because they were not sworn to this war, but they would wage it anyway. How could I refuse such a crowd? *** "The Godling has gathered a ragtag band of prostitutes and caravan hands, Sinead." "I know. Victory is assured!" "The fact that you are right bothers me on a fundamental level." "No, it does not. You love it. You are just being jealous." "Would you stop being so perceptive, please?" "You will get your ragtag band as well, poppet. Yours just takes a little time to prepare, but you know what they say. The longer the wait, the more intense the pleasure." "I hate you." Chapter 177 - 171. Guns and Glory! Steelborough never dies. "You could solve this entire situation in a week," I remarked. The blonde woman reclined in her seat, hands together and fingers twined in a demure pose that would fool many a man. She studied me with eyes as blue as a summer sky but infinitely colder. "I have worked for decades to be able to solve a situation in days." "I suppose that it is up to me?" "If you abandon your project and return to New York to board the first ship, then I will take over." A pause. "Will you?" She continued. "Never!" I erupted, "What sort of man boasts about a dream then gives up at the first difficulty? I will stop the Crew or I will die trying." "See that you do not." "I am just unsure as to how¡­" "You can always ask me questions." "Yes¡­ Yes of course. Have you ever been in a similar situation?" "Where I had to defeat an enemy I had no hope of stopping in a regular battle?" "Yes." "Indeed. Several times." "What did you do then?" She turned away and her expression grew distant. "I borrowed an army. But here you do not have the luxury of time, I believe. Not with so many people you need to protect. There were cases where I lured mindless foes into a trap to take them down." "A trap¡­ It could work. What did you use?" "A positively ungodly amount of explosives." I sputtered at the thought of such a classical beauty in a neat dress manipulating such dreadful forces, and yet could I blame her? Was it not gunpowder and gumption that brought civilization to the farthest reaches of the world? "Yes, we could lure the Crew into a place and blow it up. They seem unconcerned with their own lives. We need to find a good place and explosives, however. Perhaps someone knows something?" Ariane removed a map from a drawer under her desk and unfolded it before my eyes. It showed the local territory. Pins pierced specific areas in a color code I did not understand. "This is Steeleborough, an abandoned mining town at the edge of the trail. It was to be a mining town, but due to high transportation costs the activity never picked up. The Crew came to expropriate the inhabitants when they heard that a railroad would be built in the vicinity. It was the final straw. Now, the settlement is a ruin." "My, we could even use some of the steel if some remains." "Steeleborough was named after its founder, Mr Steele. With an e at the end." "Oh." "They mined zinc." "Nevertheless, they could have dynamite." "Indeed. While you were moving to safety, I took the opportunity to¡­ have a talk with the mayor while he was inspecting the city for damage. He had much to say about the family who sends the demands that the Crew backs, but the most important thing is what one can read between the lines. The elixir those ruffians quaff comes from a mysterious ''Mr Winters''. Until his arrival, the family was but one more frontier clan, albeit a cruel one." "You think that they are patsies and that we must identify this Winters." "Absolutely, and we must do it without him learning of my presence or he might go to ground, only to resurface later with a similar scheme." "He would know of you?" "People with his knowledge of blood magic almost always do." "Fantastic, you have found much, Ariane. Between my brawn and your brains, we will get to the bottom of it yet!" My elation was ruined by the distant voice of Mr. Nead. "We''re all doomed!" He said with amusement. Ariane did not share his mirth. *** "I built a business empire starting with guns and expanding to alcohol and entertainment, but do people call me Ariane the Entrepreneur? No." "I regret teasing you, poppet, I did not realize it was such a sore spot." "And I created the alliance that stopped the Scourge Hive, bringing more species and factions together than the Lancaster renegades gathered to take down their insane progenitor, but do they call me Ariane the Negotiator? Oh no, not at all!" "Aw." "I have engineering skills, I can play the piano, paint, and I am a master of enchanting and blood magic, the equal of archmages, but do they call me Ariane the Polymath? Ariane the Scholar? Nope!" "I call you poppet!" "But call a naval artillery strike on ONE war lady, and I''m Powder Ariane. Or the Boom Girl! Why? Why, I ask! Scandalous." "Take it that way, Ariane. The ranks of the Midnight Aristocracy count a great many schemers, scholars, and entrepreneurs¡­ but only one Boom Girl. You have successfully given yourself a personal brand." "..." "Take it that way, my dear. Whoever thinks you are only resorting to explosives underestimates you, and that can only lead to their ruin. And even if they expect explosives, well, they never expect how much you are willing to use." The vampire frowned, then relaxed. "You do have a sweet mouth." The Prince of Summer smiled suggestively. "No." *** "What do I look like?" Annie asked with a tense voice. "Dust cannot hide the sun, rags cannot mask Venus in marble. You are my ardent dream, my fallen angel, and no artifice can make you less." "No, I, aw, you are so sweet. I suppose I should not ask you," the muse replied, placing her hand against my chest. I felt the warmth of her palm through my shirt while her flowery perfume lured me in like a promise of spring. I was well and truly lost, dear readers. "You should make ready, if you insist on accompanying Honore." I nodded and moved out of her way. We had made camp in a secluded clearing nestled between two hills, very close to the town of Steeleborough. Too close, I would have said, but we would occupy it or be found out long before crew members would find us. I quickly found Honore at the edge and looking up. "Are you sure, marshal?" "It has to be done." "We will not be able to arrest them." "Although I loath to be judge, jury, and executioner, I fear that I may not have a choice here. We are simply too outnumbered." "Right. Anyway, walk where I walk, imitate me and we should be fine. It''s an Injun that taught me." "I''m always eager to acquire more skill, good Honore. Lead on!" I exclaimed. "Shhhhh." I wilted a little under the quiet reprimand. What we were going to do was underhanded and ¡ª dare I say ¡ª dishonorable. The lows to which I must stoop to protect the innocent terrified me, and yet the hammer of justice suffered no weak handling. I had to go all in. Annie''s safety also depended on it, which was a powerful motivator in itself. Honore was as dark-skinned as they came. He wore a deep green coat over a white shirt and moved with the predatory grace of a panther. We walked up the slopes and I could not help but wonder where his strange knowledge came from. "Say, Honore, were you perhaps part of the, what was it, colored regiment?" "Non monsieur, I come from Haiti and I traveled here seeking my fortune. My ancestor was Dessalines himself." This all sounded suspiciously French. "He overthrew the colonial government and killed tens of thousands of Napoleon''s soldiers." Good man. "I am honored to fight alongside the descendent of such a noble character!" "I thought you might, monsieur. Now hush. We must not give away the game." We progressed slowly and kept our eyes up. I had my guns but they were a last resort, or so I hoped. It took us almost ten minutes to crest the incline as we were quite careful not to be seen. Our caution turned out to be wholly unnecessary. Steelebrough was equally nestled between two ridges and barely deserved the name of town. Rather, it was a village huddled around a mining pit now abandoned, with a single street and a well down near the exit. Most of the buildings looked deserted but there were a few outliers centered on a two-stories edifice that might have been a saloon. Even from high up, I could spot three sentries, two on a roof and one in the streets. They were looking down, however. This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. "Annie will be here in ten minutes, we have to get to work or the diversion will be wasted, monsieur." "The two sentries on the roof first?" "Absolument." We stayed low on our journey down, although when I got close enough to see the face of our foe, I knew that they would not see us. I watched sentries at work before, having visited my father while he was back from India. They all handled boredom in different manners. However, they all exuded that feeling that they would rather be doing something else, especially resting. I did not get this impression from those men. Now I know, dear readers, that I compared those ruffians to cattle before, but believe me when I say that I expected more energy, more vivacious attention from grazing cows than I saw in those men. They lounged impassively, without talking, without any sort of drive. Their faces were frozen in a mask of bovine disinterest. Never did they even glance in any direction except forward. It was as if someone had removed from them what made them humans. Until, that is, they spotted a familiar figure making her way up the slope. Then, animation filled the men. Their impassive traits turned to grins of predatory glee, dripping savage, cruel joy. They chuckled horribly while we scaled the opposite side. "See what I see? Do you see?" "I see, I see." They were debased. Defiled. Devolved to their most degenerate tendencies. Honore and I struck at the same time. He slid his knife in his sentries'' more tender part with an efficiency that reminded me of a butcher and worried me slightly. As for me, I simply struck my target''s head with a stone and a considerable amount of force. The pair went down like logs and without a sound. Below us, the third man had spotted Annie making a convincing impression of a survivor seeking help. He took a few steps forward, and I felt anger well in my chest. He would get close to her, with his grubby hands, his filthy clothes. He had lost that right the moment he fell in with a band of murderers and drank that vile mixture. "We could take him down as well." "She will lure some of the others outside. It would be best to wait. Divide and conquer, monsieur." "If you say so." I watched Annie be dragged by the lout with trepidation. She was mewling and gibbering in a way that sent the man smirking, but she turned at the door and our eyes met, and hers were calm, calmer than mine in any case, dear readers! For the drums of the light brigade would not beat any faster. Thankfully for my nerves, we did not have to wait long. The sentry himself was tossed bodily across the saloon gates, body tumbling on the ground. He jumped back to his feet with a bestial snarl. His courage did not last long. A man walked out, soon followed by two other cowed bandits. He was the red-hair man I had seen at the brothel''s first floor and he towered over the rest like a keep above a hamlet. A crimson gash decorated his left cheek. It bled a pinkish fluid as I watched. The man had been burnt and the wound was left unattended. It wept humors too unsettling to consider. The pain must have been excruciating. The sentry''s rebellious fit lasted only long enough for him to stand back up. He and two others left in sullen silence. The red-headed man returned inside without a backward glance, a terrible oversight. "We can act now," I suggested, terrified at the thought of leaving Annie alone with these ruffians. "Very well, monsieur. Please take the one on the left." We climbed down from the roof of what must have been a dormitory, taking great care not to be seen from the saloon''s windows. We trotted silently after the party seeking what Annie described as ''a caravan in distress'' with terrified women, but would only turn out to be their doom. I picked a stone and gave the man on the left a terrible smack. David would not have brained Goliath any harder, for my spirits were inflamed by fear and outrage in equal measure. The man fell. Meanwhile, Honore jumped from one man to another, silencing them with the largest knife I had ever seen. Blood spilled on the grassy path, over grey rock. It looked paler than it should be. I averted my eyes, not used to such violence yet. My father had mentioned it. Paintings and stories have always failed to express the horror of death, quite likely on purpose. Blood and innards on a recently living man could strip away the fervour of battle like nothing else. Only my sense of duty and Annie''s fate kept the horrifying realisation at bay. I had seen what these men could do. I would not stop. Honore and I snuck back to the saloon just as the rest of our ragtag band came from the road, armed with whatever they had grabbed during the escape. We found the door unguarded and crawled in. Another pair of men stood in the middle of a dirty room cluttered with crates and barrels. They were trying to look into an inner door from whence Annie was screaming and calling for help. I did not wait for the Haitian and smacked the first person I found on the way, bursting in a moment later. Sounds of struggle came from behind but I had no choice but to try and save she who had so graciously acted as bait. I saw her push herself back up from a table, lips bloody. I ducked at the same moment, trusting my instincts and providence and finding them warranted. A fist swung over me, missing my temples by a hair. A powerful hand grabbed my collar before I could react. The red-hair man had found me. He cocked his arm in a move as predictable as it was powerful. Unfortunately for me, I was unable to dodge. I blocked the incoming blow on my forearm and felt pain. Numbness spread. We struggled for a moment and it was not to my advantage. Nevertheless, my unexpected resistance irked the man immensely. "I will crush you like an insect!" He roared. I watched more lymph seep from the raw meat of his cheek and knew that I had no choice. I punched it. It was a harrowing experience for me, but an even worse one for him. My foe dropped me with a terrible bellow, taking a few steps back and allowing me to breathe properly again. He bumped against a piece of furniture and his already bloodshot eyes took on a dire intensity. He rummaged in his shirt for the vial I knew to be here, but I found myself unable to capitalise on his gesture as I was still recovering from my ordeal. "You are meat, boy. I will enjoy putting you in your place." He brought the vial to his lips and smirked, but his expression turned to dismay as a terrible clang echoed through the room. He touched the back of his head and saw blood, then slowly toppled forward. He slammed onto the dusty ground like an old oak. I beheld Annie with a frying pan standing like an Erynie over her fallen victim. She was dishevelled and her clothes were in disarray, but she was whole and so very beautiful. "My valkyrie, my fallen angel." "Wake up, champion. Honore needs help." sea??h th§× Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Oh yes!" Ashamed of discounting my comrade in arms, I rushed back into the main room to find my companion doing the same. We practically ran into each other, a dangerous prospect considering that he was still wielding his blood-soaked blade. "Honore, you are unharmed! Well, except for that gash on your forehead." "And you as well, monsieur, besides that spectacular bruise on your cheek." "Praise the lord." "Hurray!" My apologies followed our mutual congratulations, for I had left the man high and dry dealing with his own foe. "I concur, monsieur. If you had helped me we could have faced their leader together. However, perhaps mademoiselle Annie would have been used as a hostage or worse and so I cannot begrudge you this decision. We just have to perform better next time." "Indeed, my good Honore! Although," I add after a frown, "I hope we do not make a habit of stabbing miscreants in ghost towns?" "Certainly monsieur, we can do it in the forest as well." "Haha! Good man. And now, let us see what those ruffians left us!" I actually let Honore handle that part out of concern for Annie who had not resurfaced yet. I returned to find her still holding that frying pan, glaring at the prone form of her attacker. "When do you think he will wake up?" She asked. I watched the expanding pool of blood under the man''s head, knowing immediately that such an event would not occur before Judgement Day. "Not any time soon, milady. How are you feeling? You were very courageous, but I cannot imagine how terrifying this must have been." To my surprise and guilty delight, she threw herself against my chest. I put my arms protectively around her before I could think and stayed still, too afraid to move, too afraid to even breathe. She was soft and warm and so very alive. Her back arched slightly with every sob. Fine hair tickled my chin. They smelled like sunshine and like her as well. Slowly, she hugged me in return. My mind broke apart through the sheer, unexpected felicity. I did not want that moment to stop. For a while, we just stood there, but Honore eventually brought us back to reality by knocking politely on the open door. "Excuse me, but we have news of an urgent sort." Annie and I left each other with embarrassment. She dried her cheeks while I enquired about this new development. "A man escaped. He was returning from a hunt, as far as we could tell monsieur. One glance at us and he ran away like a rabbit!" "Did he have a horse?" "Non monsieur, they are all still here." "Then hopefully he will need time before he can notify his fellow henchmen. No matter! We were planning to lure them in anyway. Call the others and we shall fortify this place. Now let us see what the Crew left us." I opened the nearest crate to reveal rows of rifles of different makes, most of them from the previous American conflict. They were old but in good repair, and more importantly, clean. Other crates delivered clothes and revolvers aplenty, as well as enough cartridges to withstand a siege, which would be necessary. The real treasure came from a set of reinforced barrels, familiar brown sticks in bundles. "Are those¡­" "Yes," I replied. "The key to all our problems. Now then, gentlemen with me, we must barricade and reinforce the saloon. As for the ladies, please clean and load the guns." "Which ones?" The blonde prostitute asked. "Why, dear Felicia¡­ all of them of course!" The strange huntress graced me with a smile that would have sent most respectable gentlemen running, and more is the pity, for her markswomanship would come in handy! In the following hours, we did our very best to turn the derelict into a fort worthy of a siege, and I had never seen before such a motivated team of hard-working folks. Men shovelled slag from a nearby pile into crates, bags, and barrels which were then lines around the shooting spot we had selected. Most of us would be on the upper floor to give us a vantage point, and all of the windows were either barred to anything short of a battering ram, or reinforced by planks and the aforementioned crates until it would take a cannonball to breach through. As for the first floor, it was left free for now but we had furniture we could collapse to turn the access to the stairs into a merciless slog. We kept an escape route at the back to allow us to flee to the mines in case all was lost, but I hoped it would not come to that. The determined women volunteered to stay to reload the guns while we fought. Soon, night came. We all had a nice meal in the common room and separated after deciding on a guard rotation. I was granted one of the small rooms upstairs but when I entered it, my heart lost a beat. Annie was there. "Annie¡­ I.." "Shhh. I am tired of being scared, champion. Please, do not refuse me." Ah, dear readers, I could write a book of poetry on what happened but a gentleman does not kiss and tell. A gentleman does not do what I did either. Judge me, dear reader, judge me and condemn me for the folly of youth, for the fear of death and for love consummated in that most holy and unholy of unions. Judge me but do not think that I left my guilt behind. Just know that my heart was hers and that I would have braved all the circle of hells for a kiss of hers. I would have charged the devil himself with a rusty spoon. I was taken like Ulysses but the sirens, but unlike him, there was no rope to hold me back. I never trained myself to control my love for I had been taught it was the most precious of emotions, and so when love found me, it found no resistance. I fell asleep in her arms. *** "We are pregnant!" "Sinead, I really preferred it when you played the court animal." "Such an exciting moment for us, poppet. Will we attend the birth? Should I bring gifts? I heard that the mortals like foreign kings bringing precious offerings." "I think you have already spread your offerings far and wide, Sinead. No need to contribute more or you will have more offspring than Genghis Khan." "Is that a challenge?" "No." "It appears that this little escapade of yours is coming to an end. When we return, we will have to proceed with the plan. You know why." "I know. Mask confirmed your claims." "Did they now?" "Yes. Ambassador Madrigal offered generous terms for us to join his organization." "And what was Constantine''s answer?" "He offered him and Bertrand generous terms to join the Accords." "Daring! I like it, but you know what that means, yes?" "I know." "We are going back to Europe! More murders! More intrigue! And this time¡­ you will know how it feels to hide from the most dangerous predators of the land. I cannot wait." *** The ruffians arrived on the second day, much sooner than I anticipated considering the distance involved. I assume that they were searching for us, or that our mysterious enemy Mr Winters expected some shenanigans. In any case, the Crew arrayed themselves against us at the bottom of the slope on their horses like some barbaric horde from ancient times. To my surprise, they were followed by a few carriages that must have contained supplies and showed a level of preparedness I had not anticipated from such degenerates. More surprising was the presence of a single stubby barrel between two wheels, which a group of cleaner men deployed at the bottom of the slope. Honore, who was by my side, leaned and muttered in a worried voice. "Do you recognize that thing, monsieur?" "Oh yes, Ariane Delaney mentioned it several times. I believe this is called a Gatling gun." Chapter 178 - 172. Guns and Glory! Winterfall. The Crew clumped around the Gatling gun like ants around jam fallen from a scone. We could hear vulgar laughs from here, though the general noise remained low. They didn''t seem to be in a hurry. "I bet I could pick off the Gatling servants from up here," Felicia whispered from the side. The two of us had taken the balcony directly facing the horde as the defenders'' best marksmen. I considered her offer but declined quickly. "We want them to commit first. This gun is powerful, but it will not pierce half a meter of sandbag." "What''s a meter?" "A slightly larger yard." "You Europeans have the weirdest quirks." I refrained from defending myself before this grave accusation and focused on the enemies I would actually have to shoot. They were deploying at the edge of the village, well within range of even the most antiquated rifle. I considered using this opportunity to open fire and realized that I had no objective reason not to shoot now. "They''re disrespecting us, let''s give them a welcome," I announced, and lined up a man who seemed to be giving orders. The detonation made a few of the men jump. The officer slumped in his saddle. A few of the riders did not resist the call of violence. Despite the objection of a few men in charge, a few split from the group and charged us with screeching war cries. Just as Felicia shot another, I pushed her head down and warned everyone. "Stay in cover!" The Gatling gun opened on us. We hunkered down before the incoming storm of lead. Except¡­ it didn''t exactly arrive. Bullets dug into wood and the piled furniture behind, starting with our balcony and then to the barricaded windows around. Although it was quite impressive, it represented only three to four bullets per second mostly centered around the same target. The deluge of fire we had faced at the brothel had been far scarier if only because of its unpredictability. Meanwhile, the furious attackers I expected to see mowed down reached the base of the store and opened fire on us as well. It was a frustrating development. "Nevermind. Felicia my dear, give those amateur artillerists what for!" I did not have to ask her twice. A single shot took care of the servant moving a lever. His companion dove under cover and we had free reign to engage. "Fire at will, lads!" I roared. "And lasses," Felicia corrected to my dismay. This is not what my father''s tales prepared me to expect. Nevertheless, I peeked over the barrier and gave the riders a taste of my revolver. Just as before, the thugs were not affected by deadly wounds. They kept shooting and growling with no regard for their leaking lifeblood, to the extent that I started ignoring the dying foes in favor of the livelier ones. It was fortunate that the very elixir that gave them bravery beyond death also diminished their intellect. Many stabbed their guns forward when they shot despite the absurdity of such a movement, ruining their aim. Others even swiped at the air as if fighting invisible enemies. Eventually, my companions'' concentrated fire diminished their numbers just in time for reinforcements to arrive. The Crew was trickling into town without organization, driven forward in a herd by the most determined specimens. I made good use of a provided rifle, taking them down with great alacrity and passing the empty weapons to Annie. The woman passed me fresh weapons before scurrying back into the room where she and other determined women reloaded them as fast as they could. Our sustained fire finally made a dent in the enemy''s determination. The most sober of them all dismounted and scrambled into houses, seeking cover. The return fire increased. At least the Gatling gun had fallen silent. The minute I spent shooting left and right felt like an eternity, dear reader. The dull thuds of bullets impacting our defenses echoed the buzz of those flying over our heads. More than once, dust and debris flew into my face, but I was well-protected thanks to our preparation. Others were not so lucky. I heard a cry from one of the windows. I had no time to offer help, however, as we were at risk of being overrun. Already I could hear the bangs of men trying to break in. The tail of the formation had not yet entered the village. I needed a few more seconds. By my side, Felicia busied herself taking out the most dangerous of foes, those who actually took the time to aim. Her sense of priorities impressed me from a civilian and a woman. It allowed me to stay focused on the easier targets, downing one man after the other. Whenever possible, I even aimed for the head! Such an unwise course would be the very height of stupidity in any other circumstances, yet the urgent situation and abundance of ammunition forced my hand. It appeared that most of the crew had entered the trap when my hand was forced by fate in the form of a great crash coming from downstairs. "It''s time!" I screamed, and rushed through the window and our stunned reloading assistant on a mad dash downstairs. As I moved down, I took in the alarming sight in front of me in a flash. Walker was here, standing over a dead guard. The very man I beat to a pulp had a gun and a red face still covered in bruises. His malevolent eyes lit up as soon as he saw me, and he turned himself to take me down. I had my revolver in my holster and would not draw in time, so I did the next best thing: I jumped, feet forward. "Have at ya!" My boots impacted with the lout''s surprised mug and I rolled before he could react, soon jumping onto the detonator. No time! I could hear other foes breaking their way in. The lever depressed under my weight. I turned on myself and blocked my ears. Walker stood back up, blood dripping from a cut lip. He snarled as he aimed his revolver at me. I could see the rust on the side of the barrel, dear reader. I could count the hairs on his knuckles. Before he could pull the trigger, the world went upside down. I was ever so grateful for protecting my ears because even with both indexes firmly rammed in the outer canals, I almost went deaf from the terrible fracas. The series of explosions rocked the very earth, making my chest vibrate and clench painfully. How fragile we all were in front of the wrath of chemistry itself! Fortunately, this mighty force had been harnessed by our side, and the dust settled over a silent ghost town. Walker stumbled to his feet. I drew my weapon and pulled the trigger, only for the hammer to click on an empty cartridge. Damnation! I had forgotten to reload! Cursing my foolishness, I assessed the situation in an instant and dove through the nearest door and into the room where we had stored all our supplies. A bullet smashed into the far wall, shot by my pursuer. I hid behind a crate just as he bull rushed in after me. "Come on out, you lily-livered coward!" He bellowed. I ignored the slight on my honor. I would not forfeit my life for the sake of bravado. Too much hung in the balance. I crawled around the room, between barrels and bags. As for Walker, he moved about the room with nervous energy, screaming as he went. "Come out and face me!" I realized that he could probably hear very little, yet sneaking on him was risky because he turned on himself quite often. He seemed both drunk and innervated at the same time, which I understood. There was no need to hurry. Time was on my side in this confrontation. I patiently reloaded while following the man''s progress through the room. When he stumbled, I stood up. "Haha! Got¡­ got¡­" Walker''s step back turned into an awkward tumble when his foot slipped on the expanding pool of blood under his feet. He wobbled and fell against the wall. His weapon fell in a clatter. "You¡­" "Pain is not useless," I said, though I doubted he could hear me. "Pain is the body''s way of telling us that it has reached its limits. You are not transformed into gods when you quaff the vile mixture, you merely forget that you are still humans." He finally found the glass shard deeply embedded in his flank, the very same that he displaced with every step. The very same that was killing him now. Walker collapsed just as Honore walked in. "Flawless victory, monsieur?" "Not quite, old fellow, I believe I made a hole in my trousers." "I am confident we can mend the situation, monsieur. In the meanwhile, Felicia reports that the enemy captain is attempting to crawl away." "Then let us give him a hand." Of the devastation outside, I can in truth say very little. A more lyrical soul than my own could have filled pages of notebooks with flowery descriptions and sobering metaphors. Unfortunately, I must admit that words mostly failed me when I came out and the result of my plan appeared through a cloud of dust and soot, lit by the pale morning sun of autumn. I will spare you the more gruesome details, dear readers, but know that in this moment I realized that mankind had bridged the gap between act of god and act of war, and that if this was the result of today''s technology, I feared what fruit we would harvest even half a century from now. Those of our foes left whole stared unblinking at the heavens, bloody tears trailing down their cheeks. It was a strange possession that walked through the remains of the cataclysmic event, and it was in silence that we found our fallen enemy. He reacted on the spot. "You have no idea who you are messing with, you imbeciles! Do you know who I am?" The man on the ground roared and spat, but even a child could see the terror in his eyes. His mewling threats are the last defiance of a man with more anger than dignity. "I know you are a member of the family behind the Crew. I care little about you, I want to meet Mr. Winters." "Mr Winters? How do you know¡­" "I know a great many things. My knowledge is extensive, sir, quite unlike my patience. You will provide me with his location now or I shall have to extract it out of you!" "I don''t know where he lives really! We meet him at the bottom of the mountain and trade the elixir for¡­" The man paled, and suspicion filled my heart. "For what, sir? Answer me I say!" "Food. Silver. Captives, sometimes." "You despicable monster!" Felicia screamed. "How could you?" Annie whispered, and her horror needled me more than I could ever say. Honore was also affected, for the man took out his monstrous knife from its sheath and waved it around, ready to bleed the villain like a stuck pig! Taking it upon myself to be the voice of reason, I halted his gesture before he could give our prisoner problem the Gordian treatment. S§×ar?h the n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Hold on, dear Honore. You must not! We will not just stab him in the streets like savages, or worse, socialists! We must not allow our anger to rule us or we will have become like those we fight. Justice, not blind vengeance, must guide our actions!" "Very well said, monsieur! But then¡­ what should we do?" I picked up another slice of roast and sat down on a nearby rock, watching our foe''s body swing in the wind. Hanging certainly brought a certain cachet to public execution, I always said. The man had forfeited the path to Mr Winters'' lair, eventually, before accusing me of lying. Apparently, caring little about him would imply that I would forget his crimes. What a peculiar conclusion. I merely meant to say that his demise would not cause me to lose even a wink of sleep! Speaking of sleep, I resolved to talk to my fallen angel before we left. I found her in quiet thought, leaning against a wall in her dusty but nonetheless gorgeous dress. "My condolences for the guards we lost today." "What? Oh, truth be told, I barely knew many of them. I was passing through. I tend to travel a lot." "Oh, I see. I assume that you were griev¡ª" I interrupted myself before I could ruin the mood. My angel appeared wistful and it broke my heart. It was my fault that I had not yet made the world into a place where she could be happy. "Nevermind that. Then, it is good that you are ready to depart. I am glad that you are used to the rigor of the road." "Travelling has its perks. New scenery, new people." I was so happy, for I feared that it would be some time before we could settle down anywhere, not least because I could not see my angel engaged in back-breaking labour on a farm. As much as I respect the occupation and Annie herself, I believed that she was not cut for it. "Your words fill me with joy. Then there is just the matter of Mr Winters and we can leave." "Oh, already? And where do you intend to go, Alexander?" Imagine, dear reader, a pit filled with frozen water. You are heading back home after a hard day''s work, body tired yet soul filled with contentment. Suddenly, icy liquid splashed where the sun caressed. Suddenly, you are drowning. I was not quite drowning yet, dear reader. I was in the air as the gate opened, subjected to no force but gravity, going nowhere but down. I was slipping from the cliff and the ledge still seemed in range of my grasping hand, but it was all a lie, an illusion. I had no hope. "Me? But. Wait. We? No? You do not intend to stay?" "I already told you I¡­ oh. Oh no¡­" "What do you mean oh no. Annie, please. Annie. You are jesting." "I am so sorry Alexander. I forgot that¡­ Oh, I did not mean to play a cruel trick on you. Forgive me if I set the wrong expectation." "Wrong expectation? But surely¡­ But why would you leave? I thought we were together? I want to make an honest woman out of you." She looked suddenly afraid but I didn''t want her to be afraid. I wanted her to be happy. "I am sorry, Alexander. I do not wish to be a honest woman." "Annie, Annie if I failed you in any way¡­" "You did not. You were a perfect gentleman and I have no cause for complaints." "I must have, or you would not leave me, surely? Give me a chance to understand? What have I done?" "It is not about you, Alexander. What I want in life is what I have now. Freedom, adventure, something new. I am living how I wish to live and I will not allow myself to be bound, even by you. I am sorry." Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. "I do not understand¡­" My mind refused to accept the evidence. Annie did not wish to be with me. Annie did not love me. For my parents and before, an act of intimacy was the ultimate form of trust, and though I did not begrudge my fallen angel the brevity of our courting, I had assumed that my feelings were reciprocated. It was not the case. She did not wish to be my wife, my other half. Prompting her more about what I had to do scared her and confused me even more, to the point that I slumped against the nearest wall, utterly defeated. Gutted. Drowning. Swallowed by the dark sea of my unrequited affection. She left me no flaw to fix or proof to deliver. Her heart did not need a key, it simply had no door, or at least not for me. I was crushed. I would have prefered it if she had killed this love before it had bloomed its strangling thorns, before it had turned to poison in my heart. I was lost. I left her in a daze. I spent the rest of the evening in a daze. In the morning, I saddled my horse and left with a blank mind, too stunned to even protest Felicia''s company. She and Honore trailed me without a word while we followed the path north, where the Crew had come from. We walked in single file over mud trampled by a hundred horses, all carrion now. I thought I might have munched on something for lunch but I could not for the life of me recall what. The land was flat here. It was empty and depressing. There were just plains after plains after plains, until we saw it in the late afternoon. "Is this what the leader described?" I finally asked. We had stopped our horses, so great was our surprise. "When he described a mountain, I assumed he was exaggerating monsieur. I expected a small hill. "Everyone knows the land around here is flat¡­" Felicia said without much conviction, and for a good reason. In front of us stood an impossibility. Like an obsidian shard lodged in flesh, a jagged piece of rock emerged from the vast expanse of Kansas almost vertically. The lone mountain pierced the landscape by its presence, and the evening sun dyed the snow at its top a bloody red, nevermind that it had not snowed yet. It must have been perhaps three hundred meters high, which would not have been much in a mountainous region. Here, the elevation made it properly sorcerous. "I must be dreaming," Felicia whispered. "Monsieur, I suspect that we face some devilry." "You are quite correct, Honore. Nevertheless, I knew I would be facing evil the moment I witnessed the effects of that elixir. This changes nothing. We must press on." We approached the edge of the strange rock in silence. We walked the edge for a while before realising that there was no clear path up, or at least none that would be practical for our horses. We dismounted with some trepidation then followed a treacherous path that seemed to be carved from the very rock. The stone here was dark and glassy like the corpse of a long-dead volcano. The weather worsened immediately. The cloud above us, so far only threatening, opened to disgorge their cottonous content. The wind picked up. "We are not equipped to face bad weather, monsieur." "The summit cannot be too far, Honore. We saw it from the bottom." "I pray you are right, monsieur, but I do not trust my eyes, and I do not trust this place either." The brave Haitian''s concerns were warranted, because our ascent was marred by slippery stone and treacherous fog. More than once, I almost put my foot down only to discover that an entire side of the wall was missing, and that the setting sun reflected on the crystal ice had my sense of perspective fooled. It became so hard that I used the rope I had brought to tie us all together. Alas, it was not enough, for the cold itself became unbearable. My fingers and toes hurt despite the gloves I had. Eventually, a cry from Felicia stopped my progress. "Felicia?" "I¡­ am sorry. I can''t I can''t!" Her teeth chattered from the cold. her lips were blue, her face flushed. Honore was barely better. I stopped then, and came to a realisation. As soon as the chase had started, I had stopped thinking about my lost love. All of my life, all of my focus had been dedicated to climbing that damn rock and seeing our crusade against evil to its fateful end. I had forgotten everything in that pursuit. But I would not forget my friends. "You two must go back." "Monsieur, this is suicide¡­ This weather, it is like nothing I have ever felt before. It must be some powerful voodoo. " "I know." "You believe me?" "Magic has been proven to exist by the scientific community and the both of us¡­ sorry, the three of us know damn well that this mountain ought not be here, and yet, despite the adversity, I must forge onward. I shall do so alone." "Monsieur¡­" "No matter the odds, no matter the costs, a Bingle will not back down in the face of such evil. The time for ruses and stratagems is over. I am facing the unknown with no choice but to carry on, for the enemy is weakened and he might decide to run and start over elsewhere. No, this adversity calls to me. I will continue. I can do it." "You appear to be doing fine, sir. Perhaps you have a better constitution. Nevertheless¡­" "Trust me, Honore. I was born for this." The courageous Haitian appeared worried, his concern made even more heart-warming because we had known each other for a short time and, despite the tumultuous events, developed a deep respect for each other. His unwavering support turned my resolve to steel. I would not allow myself to fail, not with such people as he behind me. This led me to Felicia. "You two take care of each other and await my return. I will be there shortly." "Do you want my rifle?" Felicia asked. "I prefer to have my own, and besides, it is only so accurate because your hands wield it." She blushed delicately, which should help with keeping warm. As for Honore, he pulled his massive knife from its sheath and presented it to me handle first. "This is my family''s heirloom, monsieur. The handle is gold taken from the flanks of Pik Lasel while its iron blade was used to shave the island''s seven most cruel slave holders. I will lend it to you¡­ but I expect you to return it!" "Shave, you say?" I asked with some confusion. "He means castrate," Felicia explained in a darkly amused voice. "Can I have it later?" Honore and I shared a long glance, a mutual promise that such a terrible tool of justice should never be found in the hand of a woman. Promptly, I detached myself from the rope binding us and moved on while the two trotted back the way we came. The wind seemed to redouble when I kept going, forcing me to shove my gloved hand in my pocket. Strangely, Honore''s knife felt warm and the hand holding it less frigid. With my spirits momentarily high, I rushed onward with determination. I knew in my heart that I was running away from my wounded feelings, but I also acknowledged that stopping Mr. Winters was a valid cause. Suddenly, as the wind against me felt like a physical presence, I crossed a threshold. One last step and I was out of the cloud of snow. All around me were black rocks surrounded by a sea of dark clouds. The last rays of the day showed me a strange spectacle the likes of which I had never seen before, and I knew for certain that some terrible magic was at work here. In front of me stood a castle of ancient make, all tall spires and needle-like crenelations. Spiked corbels extended from flanged, small towers and from them hang icicles as sharp as daggers. It was all sharp angles and black stone. it was not a keep, it was a maw. And yet, for all its aggressive appearance, the manor lacked any sort of sensible defenses. Castles back home were honest constructs of solid stones with clear purpose. The edifice in front of me wore its thorns without practicality, like scale mail as a salon dress. The strange impression only accentuated what I perceived as evidence. Just like the mountain, this edifice should never have existed. The architectural style itself was like nothing that could be found on earth, not to mention that it would take a determined team years to build. I was on my guard from the moment I saw it. I moved forward with determination, however, and reached the door in short order. It was an incongruous set of two gates with a heavy knocker. It took me a measure of self-control not to knock to be polite. I let myself in as quietly as I could, and gasped in surprise when I arrived in the lushest, most welcoming entrance I had ever seen. The room itself stretched in a long rectangle, generously lit by candles. A bright fire crackled merrily in the hearth and brought a sudden warmth to the previously frigid temperatures. A table laid in the middle charged with victuals, gold and ruby wine in crystal decanters, and silvery spoons glittering under the lights. Athletic statues lounged or stood on seats here and there. They lend the place a classical atmosphere that I did not trust for a single second. Only a liar and a cheat would use classical statues in a baroque room in a fake gothic castle. I did not trust the heat from the fire I felt on my skin, nor the food, nor, even, the statue. When the urge to sit down and relax filled me, I slapped myself awake. When hunger and thirst harried me, I bit my tongue. Finally, I felt somnolence assail me as I made my way to the far doors and stopped. This was not real. This was not me. Anger, yes. Sadness also, but never somnolence. I had been careless in the den of a monster once, and she had taken me under her wing. There was not enough luck in the world for a man to survive twice from this same mistake. I brought Honore''s knife to my chin and sliced. The only reason I did not bring it to my gloved hand was the warmth I felt. It was wrong, feverish. Illusory. Immediately, the full room came into sharp focus. A strange light glowed from every brightly lit object. The more I looked, and the brighter they became, yet at the same time the edge of my vision turned dark and foreboding. The tables were ice blocks, and the food was frozen bones. The fire was white and blue. I jumped and waved the blade around, still red with my blood. An illusion! A trick of the mind, dear reader. Afraid, I put the tip of the knife against one of the statues, and behold! It chipped, a fragment falling on the ground. Beneath were frozen muscle fibers. I was beset by frozen corpses. Alarmed, I rushed to the next door, only to be pushed away. The heavy oak panels ¡ª or were they? ¡ª almost ended up catching me in the cheek when a man barged in with the most vicious expression I had seen. He was a pale and wan, tall fellow with a stoop and a handsome if angular face, but his eyes were the crystalline blue of the frozen lake. He wore an elaborate doublet in shades of black and blue while a fur cap hid his hair. Indeed, it appeared that my host had picked a theme for his appearance. "Mr Winters, I presume?" I asked, hands creeping to my holster. "You come in, you do not partake, and now you damage my collection? How rude you mortals can be. Very rude. Although¡­ you are different." He whispered a few words in a strange tongue that tickled my ear with the edge of understanding, as if the words were just slightly beyond me, and yet they carried a powerful meaning. I heard his interest before a peculiarity, but it was a cold and merciless approach. He was not the caretaker of a rare flower but one who pins butterflies to a board. I had enough. "Are you Mr Winters?" "Yes, yes, I am known by that name." Confirmation made, I shot him in the face. Now I know, dear reader, that you might find this a bit unsportsmanlike, but do please keep in mind that I stood alone in a gallery of cadavers facing a man who made mountains appear out of thin air. It was better to err on the side of caution. Unfortunately, my quick attempt was thwarted when his image seemed to fracture before me, then immediately reform. A statue shattered in the hall. Sorcery! Winters'' pupils stayed blue but the white turned black. He smiled. His teeth were a forest of dark needles tipped with brownish flakes of dried blood. He removed a dagger from his still-impeccable doublet and dove under my next shot. He moved right with inhuman dexterity, dodging another shot under the table. I moved back. "You are other but you smell local. How curious." He asked another question, again in that unnerving language. I heard a question and the notion of origin but I cared not. "If you are going to hide then I will go after your precious prizes," I claimed, and shot the nearest statue. It cracked and broke down and I aimed at the next one but my time ran out. Winters snarled and launched himself at me. I got him between the eyes but another statue was destroyed in his stead. A second shot brought the same result, except that it was at point blank range and, somehow, the cloud of smoke blinded him. He dove back under the table. "You will run out of bullets soon enough, curious thing. I know how that contraption works¡­" "Then you should also know that I have two of them." I emptied my last bullet at another grisly trophy before taking my rifle out. I calculated that I had seven bullets and there were only four targets left plus winter himself. Somehow, I doubted that I would be given the time to reload, especially if I had to do it with gloves. I had to make them count. "Let''s see you shooting a cube of ice," a sinister voice uttered from the shadows. Quickly, I pulled the trigger of my quickly cooling weapon and another bullet came out. Then another. "Did you hope for something, abomination?" "Damn you!" He rushed me again, and against all odds, I missed. Or rather, the bullet clanged uselessly against the silver blade of the man''s knife. Out of despair, I dropped my rifle and raised the knife I had been holding with two fingers. The monster gave another ghastly smile. I could see every sharpened fang in clear detail when he lurched. Somehow, I managed to dive to the side, but I felt a sharp pain in my flank. The beast had cut me! "I will enjoy bleeding you dry, strange little thing. I think I will find your flesh delectable." Another charge. I had to get a hold of myself! Out of options, I yelled in return and charged him back. "Have at you!" We crossed blades, and for one moment I was pushed back by an incredible strength. It was like standing before a moving ship and trying to stop it with one''s bare hand. I did not stand a chance. And then the feeling shattered. The dagger stopped against my knife and his face turned to disbelief. "You dare bring iron? In MY HOME?" He grabbed me by the collar before I could react and threw me aside. I expected the cold impact of stone, and yet I went through the castle boundaries with a crash, rotten wood splintering under my weight. I crashed out into the howling storm of winter''s heart. The winds instantly froze me to my core. I could barely see a couple of metres in front of me. I was also disarmed. The monster stepped out from the wall, backlit by a blue radiance. His mouth extended all the way to his ears now. He was tall and still stooped. Fingers extended like claws to unnatural length from his malformed hand so that any resemblance to a human was obscured by the horrifying shape he had finally revealed. "You were an amusing diversion, little thing. It was smart of you to weaken my hold by slaying my pawns, but it will not suffice. I will move on. I will find other pawns to feed my blood to. They will bring me all the power I need. Despair now, tasty treat, because this is the end of your story." "Yes it is," I replied with a grim smile, "because night has fallen. And you are outside." She fell on him. *** My claws pierce the fae''s shoulders and an interesting bit of magic happens. An elaborate fae magic construct transfers meaning between the one before me and a reserve behind, somewhere inside of the house. He shifts out and reassembles a few feet away, no worse for wear. Complex and resource-intensive, however. I believe the range might be short as well. "Who are you?" he asks in English. "Can you not tell?" I reply in child Likaean. "Or what, indeed. Truly, this world is more filled with tasty things than I first assumed. The weave is not quite as rigid as I thought. Although, you are claimed. I can smell the stench of summer on you. Keyholes as well. An intriguing mix." "The desire for freedom makes the strangest alliances don''t you think?" "Those are the tools of weaklings. True power tolerates no partage." "Oh, you do not wish to escape?" The fae gives me an impressive smile. I am almost inclined to harvest a tooth just to inspect it later. Fascinating. "Why escape when I can bring winter here instead? So many mortals sacrifice their independence for the truth I offer. The blood on the snow, the hunt, hunger that needs to be quenched. They speak to the local things on a level they understand. I will just have to find more to replace the ones you broke. When enough of them believe it, then winter will come as it always does." "Amusing, but there is room for only one cold-loving apex predator in this world." "Agreed." He jumps on me. Slow. He is barely more free than Sinead and with his men dead, his house breached, and his plans in shambles, this is merely the end of a rather short hunt. I slap his pathetic attempt aside. "I believe this was your last statue." I love the loss of confidence and the sudden fear. I love the smell of his panic, but they are cut too short when a blue shield surrounds him. It fills with ice. He still speaks through the quickly forming frost coffin as if it were not here. "Your thing mentioned night, so I will see you during the day. Soon." "Naive." I take out the thorn with the absolute certainty that I will grind down his defenses in only a minute. I need not have bothered. A sound like breaking glass pierces through the gale. We both look down to see the fae''s own silvery blade digging deep into his shield. I hear Bingle cry in triumph. He threw the weapon. The fae''s protection cracks under the weight of his own magic turned against him. My prey''s expression of disbelief is quite delicious. His protection falls to pieces and I bite down before he summons any more cheap tricks. *** Cold. Ice. Night. A polar winter in shades of blue, black, and green. Scattered bones, remnants from a feast long since reduced to gnawed shards and frozen tufts of hair. Aurorae shimmer in the distance. There is no wind here, only the immobility of a polar midnight. To breathe is to invite death in one''s own lungs. It is to surrender the warmth in one''s breast to the eternal, unending expanse of the end. There will never be a spring here. In some places, summer will return and the cycle will continue, but one day, the light will dim. One day, winter will remain. It will bury everything under its frozen embrace until the world reverts to one vast dead rock, until everything stops one piece at a time. It is inevitable. Cold is not spellcraft or feelings. It is the absence of movement. One day, all of creation will return to it. Forever. *** I surface and pull the cold inside of me. The concept crystallizes in my veins and my psyche, chasing away the intense pleasure that comes with fae blood. A crack appears on my forearm, but it disappears soon enough when I digest the idea further. Behind us, the illusory castle collapses in a pile of planks. The fog disperses. We are at ground level with grass under our feet. The blonde prostitute and the black man stare with amazement. I suppose they are his acolytes now. Bingles seem to have a propensity to meet the most curious personalities. Not me, of course. Loth. I pick up the dagger from the dead fae, all his teeth now returned to normal. I present the captured weapon to the winner of the fight. "Ah, thank you. I will be keeping that and returning his knife to brave Honore. It has saved my life. Will you stay with us?" "No. The mystery is resolved. You can rest for a while before resuming your adventures, young Bingle. As for me, I have my own path to follow." Chapter 179 - 173. The setup October 1870 "The Council welcomes Ariane of the Nirari. Please check your talismans, thank you." The White Cabal council has changed a lot since my first visit. Frost has been replaced by his granddaughter Margaret who has dark hair except for a single white strand near the front. Cornelius, who did not appreciate me much, died during his attempted coup. I almost expected the White Cabal to exile the insurrectionists in a bleeding heart moment, thus creating a hostile faction bent on their destruction. It would have been stupid, of course. The Black Dog was anything but stupid. They were all executed. Cedric succeeded him as a member of the ''golden generation'', the one I helped examine. He has grown into a stout bearded man as reliable as his barriers. William is the Black Dog now, and he is present. The head librarian is still a withered old lady while the president is the same fat man waving his gavel around I saw struggle all those years ago. The White Cabal leadership shows a much broader range of ages than before. I still do not begrudge them their protective measures. They will pretend that they take every precaution against me, and I will pretend that I cannot bypass them. A satisfactory arrangement. "Ariane of the Nirari, you have the floor." "Thank you. Esteemed allies, I have come to share the information we obtained on the ghost killer." "Why did you restrain our access to the crime scenes?" Someone interrupts. I sigh heavily. Those people grant themselves quite a few liberties with respect that I would not tolerate under any other circumstances. Unfortunately, they are useful allies. I am forced to resort to diplomacy. "Every warden is free to accept or refuse supernatural presence on their territory." "So you do not control your own people?" "Every warden is given a measure of independence. The same autonomy that allowed me to forge an agreement with you¡­" I reply, letting the implication sink in. Some lesser mage alliances have been wiped out when they became a nuisance. The White Cabal is a true, genuine danger. They would have been dealt with if it were not for me. "As I was saying, we have investigated every scene and determined that the same caster was responsible for all of them. It is also the Speaker''s personal conclusion that the culprit was never present, or indeed, near the scene. The murders were committed by a creature." "A summon?" William asks, considering. "So it would seem. The entity carries part of the aura of the caster. We also believe that it is immaterial and invisible." "How do you figure?" Cedric asked. "Witness accounts and the lack of any signs of entry. Some of the trace aura went through walls as well. I have compiled every piece of information we have on this case in a file that will be provided to you as a courtesy." "What do you mean, courtesy? You have already resolved the case?" "No, however we have assessed that the entity steals the caster''s vitality with every casting. The murderer will be killed next summon or the one after that." "So¡­ you expect the case to resolve itself?" "Yes." "That is quite irresponsible. What if others use the same means? Have you considered that?" "We have taken enough measurements to create a locating beacon. However, it would take much effort to build and the Speaker''s time is precious. If other cases arise, we will intervene." "Are you not at least a little bit curious?" I consider my answer for a few seconds. It must convey my meaning clearly. "With the return of magic and the dramatic increase of mages aware of their own abilities, we expect freak accidents and strange quirks to continue increasing over time. We simply do not have the time or inclination to investigate every unusual matter. We prefer to leave this task to you and your sister organizations." And by this I mean the Red Cabal. The Accords'' interests lie in politics and law, not in the miscellaneous and circus shows. "We simply do not have the manpower to handle every strange occurrence," I finish. "Every strange occurrence could lead to world-ending threats." "Then feel free to escalate to us. In the meanwhile, you have our report on the situation." In truth, we do intend to watch instead of intervening, but Sephare did identify the woman behind the murders by correctly guessing that it was a tale of premeditated vengeance. I would have been surprised that a member of the fairer sex could be responsible for such a wanton massacre when I was a mortal. Now, few things surprise me. One cannot doubt the depth a depravity a woman can sink to after spending five minutes in the company of Melusine. After our little summoner dies, we will recover her research. "What of the creature? Is it¡­ a demon?" Whispers spread around the assembly. Some people watch me in fear. "I am afraid I cannot comment on matters of religion." I shrug helplessly, gathering a few chuckles. Eventually, I am forced to interrupt the muttering. "There was another issue I wanted to address. I will be leaving my position on an¡­ errand." "What sort of errand?" Cedric asks without malice. "A private matter. It should not take much time. Two, three years at most. I will be replaced by one of my subordinates, Urchin." I am quite pleased to see immediate apprehension in most of the people present. "Much can happen in three years, and with the current rise in integrist sentiments¡­" "There will always be a crisis," I interrupt. "No year passes without a new rising threat. The matter that concerns me cannot be delayed." I dismiss several accusations that I am not taking my position seriously, or that the Accords do not value the White Cabal. Urchin can be smooth when he bothers, and he is better at insidious remarks than I am. All will be well. I wait for the council to end outside of the rotunda, reviewing more reports. Sephare''s intelligence is unambiguous. Bertrand, head of the expansion faction of Mask, has taken over the leadership by allying with the Hastings progenitor. They now control India through local covens and proxies. Weapons and funds are sent to Mexico, which is currently under Mask control. They are ready to return. Although we are much stronger than we used to be, Mask will bring many more elites to the fray this time. That is quite fine since I will take the fae blood away from them. Then we will see how they fare without their liquid courage. Over an hour later, the councillors finally leave and I stand up to intercept one of them. "Margaret?" "Hm yes? Is something the matter?" "There was a private matter I was hoping to discuss with you. It does not concern the Cabal. Rather, it is a spellcaster concern." "Oh?" The woman is wary. We have known each other for quite some time but Margaret is as cautious as her grandfather was daring. She is the only young archmage who is not part of the golden generation group, prefering to keep to her own for reasons I am not quite clear on. Nevertheless, she accepts my request and we soon find ourselves in her personal quarters. Her favorite color is pale blue. And white. Perhaps the intense study of a specific branch of magic comes with a measure of distortion, although it might be difficult to measure. Constantine enjoys chains and binding and he is stuck up. I am decent at blood magic and I like blood. Something to explore later, I suppose. I follow Margaret in her personal office and watch her realize too late that it is covered with confidential reports. "Should we retire to the salon instead?" "Hm, yes." I follow her yet again to a boudoir, in which I find a coffee table covered in confidential reports, as well as a folded cardigan and an empty cup. "I take it you do not receive much?" I ask, teasingly. Margaret glares and blushes at the same time. I give her some time to clean up and sit, making myself comfortable. A distinctively flustered woman sits across from me. I lean forward and suddenly she remembers what I am. I will never tire of it. The White Cabal knows what I am and what I can do, or rather, they do not but it makes no difference from their perspective. At night, like now, none of them stand a chance. Because of my appearance, they often forget and treat me like any other caster, challenging me on the floor for more precise answers. They lower their defenses. I am a person. Then we are alone and they remember. I do not completely hide my aura as it would be quite rude, and there is a coldness in there that chills them to their bones if they pay attention. Even Margaret is not immune. For all of her mastery, she is still warm flesh and blood while I am not. I smile lightly. There is no need to intimidate her. "I have come bearing a proposal. I wish to perform a trade." "A trade?" "I wish to learn Polaris." Margaret scoffs, first dismissive yet soon suspicious. Polaris was Frost''s signature spell, one so powerful it froze the entire arm of the Scourge Hive''s main host. Even Constantine acknowledged the incredible power it took to wield this sorcery without killing everyone around him, a testament to the old codger''s incredible control. I want it. "I thought you had little affinity for ice." "Things have changed." Margaret licks her lips, careful in her response. When she speaks, her tone is slow and deliberate. "Polaris is my grandfather''s legacy and lifework. It is not just extremely complex, it also represents everything he stands for. I do not even allow the White Cabal to access it, though I shared the rest of his spellbook. You cannot possibly think that¡­ my God. What is that?" While she refused me, I removed a small chest from a bag and placed it on the table, opening it to reveal a frozen ruby shaped like an icicle. Immediately, the temperature drops. Margaret extends a greedy hand but I seize her wrist before she can touch the object. "Careful, it will freeze your finger off." She blinks, suddenly remembering where we are. "Where did you find that thing?" "In the heart of a frozen corpse, one who bore the gift of winter. You will not find a better focus on Earth." "Incredible." "I will throw in a few shards of eternal ice so you can make yourself a nice gauntlet." She stares at me, calculating. "Can you not make a gauntlet with it?" She asks. "I already have gauntlets and they suit me well." "I mean for me." I tut loudly, closing the treasure''s lid. "Would you like me to help you dress and pomade your posterior as well while you are at it? Contact the Dvergur. They will build it for you." Margaret whines and grumbles, but we both know she is interested. "If I were to show you how to cast it, you cannot teach it to anyone else." "I assure you, my intentions are purely selfish." "Good, wait, no, ugh. You didn''t consent!" "I consent. I will not teach anyone else, nor will I help anyone else develop it through tips or advice." "Fine. Just Polaris, not the rest of his library?" "Just Polaris." The truth is that the fae blood did not turn me into a gifted caster. It will take years of effort for me to learn the spell. I am still going through what Sinead and my sire gave me. I have no need to add more situational hexes to my repertory. "Ugh, the rest of the Cabal will be livid when they learn about it." "There is no need for that. It can be our little secret," I tell her as I lean forward with a gentle smile. For some reason, it does not comfort her. *** Ah, the Atlantic ocean, with the fresh wind upon my face and a healthy reserve of good novels, coffee, and some more private reading. I smile and enjoy the speed of the Spirit of Dalton as it cleaves the waters. I even get the immense pleasure of seeing Sinead miffed. Glorious night! This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work. "Must I?" he grumbles, readjusting his hat. "What is the first rule of the sea?" I bellow, making the Likaean jump and eliciting an immediate, well-rehearsed response from the cabin boy. "Tricorns are mandatory, except for the chef, ma''am!" "Indeed." "Did you actually make it into a rule? Wait, did you make more rules?" Sinead asks, suddenly suspicious. I am so glad he asked. "Boy, what is the third rule of the sea?" "There are only two types of ships, targets, and targets of opportunity, ma''am!" "Seventh rule! If it is bearing down on us, what is it?" "An enemy warship, ma''am!" "What if it is too small?" "A boarding craft, ma''am!" "Smaller?" "A torpedo, ma''am!" "Good lad." "How many rules have you made?" Sinead asks, somewhat amazed. "You can join the crew of the Dread Pirate Ariane, Queen of the Sea and find out." "Do I also get my cute cabin boy?" he asks with a teasing smile. "No," I reply with a toothier one, "you get to be the cabin boy." "Touch¨¦. Now, are you sure about¡­ your guest?" "Yes. He defended me against the Order of the Knights. I am certain that he will not begrudge me this little escapade, even though our objective is in Eneru hands. I selected it specifically among the list you provided." "Any reason?" "It belongs to Nina of the Dvor." "I have not yet had the privilege of being acquainted." "She is a bitch." "I see." "She tried to bully me and stealing her belongings will bring me great amounts of satisfaction." "Understandable." "In the meanwhile, you and your merry band of outcasts are going to do something for me." Sinead is on guard. In fact, I have not seen him so careful in a long while. Even being shot at by ruffians did not generate this amount of stress. Delightful. "My Sinead, are the waves not to your liking? Does the Prince of Summer favor small ponds?" "I have many ways to escape while on land. Here, I am trapped. Are you not concerned?" "No, I am trapped by the sunlight every dawn. This is a Dvergur-made warship. Whatever it cannot outrun, it can sink. In fact, it can both sink and outrun all but the sturdier ships of the line." "Are you done gushing?" "All of my ship voyages have gone well, while taking the train has led me from disaster to catastrophe." I stop, frowning. I have been intercepted twice and derailed once while riding the train. Is it a cursed method of transportation? Perhaps Metis punished me for cheating by calling bad luck upon my unworthy head. Hmmm. "I would like to know what, exactly, you intend us to do." "Simple." I explain in great detail the plan I have in mind, including some of the details I managed to obtain from a French immigrant. The details remain sketchy due to distance but it does not seem to deter Sinead. He laughs, and laughs, and laughs. *** It starts as a rumor, then spreads all over the newspaper of Europe in a wave of outrage and awe. Gossips and officers babble and exclaim, baffled by this most peculiar of heists. The mind boggles. Who would commit such a bizarre crime? Who would steal such a curious object? Why, only the best paramour in the world of course. *** The Spirit of Dalton (mark three) moors in the port of Trieste on November 12th, 1870, under a Maltese flag. This time, I enjoy the city''s neo-classical and baroque architecture as I stroll through the Austrian quarter. I take a midnight walk on the Piazza Grande and enjoy this extraordinary sea-front square. I draw the Dolomite Mountains from the Piazza Venezia as they disappear under low clouds charged with snow. I sup on a drunken sailor. Ah, to tour the world free of concerns. That would be the life. Perhaps one day when the list of people who want me dead has considerably shortened, I shall indulge. Alas, the holiday must soon end. The three Likaeans who will be my accomplices and I travel north under disguise. I have to grant it to Sinead: he is an extraordinary guide. Where I before enjoyed the administrative and logistical power of the vampire alliances, here my comfort comes from the man''s incredible charisma. There is no paperwork he cannot obtain, no frontier guard he cannot coddle or bribe. I do not even have to resort to charm once during the entire trip. In fact, there is little for me to do except keeping a disguise and enjoying my evenings. We frequently invite ourselves to parties and events. Sinead even wins a poetry contest with a raunchy sonnet about a Russian maid and a train driver in some border town. Although I expected cloaks and daggers, it turns out that I spend most of the trip with brush and canvas. A pleasant development. We arrive at Torran''s castle one fine autumn night, finding it empty. The forests around Errenstadt have put on their fiery fall dresses. His manor juts over the sea of reds and browns in all its pale glory. I do find his Servant Nadia present, and she welcomes me with guarded respect. When I expose my idea, her pleasure and amusement reflect mine, and we soon free a rarely used reception room on the first floor for our little project. The prize of the theft is brought and reassembled there to everyone''s merriment, despite the engineering challenge it poses. Besides Sinead, Makyas of the court of Keyhole is also present, as well as a Likaean I had never met from the Court of Shadows. He is a strange man with a hooked nose, very tall and painfully thin, who answers to ''Mr. Elusive''. I forget about his existence if he has not manifested himself in a while. The worst thing is that it is not an attack on my mind. He merely fails to make an impression. I find it aggravating. Nevertheless, the trio of fae has retreated to the village and its inn while I remain sole guest at the castle. As for Sivaya, she will not take part in the heist. She remains a researcher with little taste for the violent and the noisy. Her loss. On the night Torran returns, I wait for him in the room and hail as soon as his thunderous aura returns. I find the annoyance in his powerful presence titillating, especially when it turns to eagerness and curiosity when he identifies my own. His steps lead him to the room I occupy, then to my gift. His eyes find me, then find the prize and his face turns into a beautiful ''o'' of surprise. It is not every day one floors a lord. Torran grips the wall with a hand, stumbling. He shakes a finger at my loot. "You¡­ you! It was you! The entirety of Europe talks about it! It was you! It was you? You stole it for me? The Grand Organ of Amiens Cathedral?" "Tada! You always said it was wasted on the mortals. So, I gift it to you instead." He has not quite recovered. I am filled with an immense amount of pride. "By the Eye! My star! HOW!" "A falsified repair order, an impersonated crew. The middle of the week. A deflowered nun." "It''s the most beautiful instrument I have ever beheld¡­" Torran lurches to the seat and almost collapses on it. He runs his long fingers over the keys with amorous jealousy. He slowly places his hand in the proper place and pushes down softly. The organ sings. With religious attention, my lover places his feet on the pedal while he delicately pulls and pushes knobs on the side, apparently designed to produce various effects. When he is done, the first bars of Bach''s Tocatta and Fugue in D minor fill the valley. I smile gently. He can be so old-fashioned, sometimes. I watch in silence as he plays, fingers closed, swaying with the rhythm. He is so alive right now. In fact, two bloody tears fall down his cheek. "Drink them, my star. For you." I oblige and lean forward. It tastes a little salty and a little bloody and it transports what passes for my soul until my black heart beats again and my lungs gulp the air. Blood rushes to my cheeks. I vibrate with every note, feeling the echo of his pleasure down my spine. He is happy. Genuinely, truly, unambiguously happy. His fingers now dance over the ivory keys like the steps of ballerinas, then they press down imperiously, then they jump and stab down like dueling swords as the music requires. Seconds turn to minutes then to hours as he explores his gift. I place my head over his shoulder and I let him. Hours later, we walk in silence to the balcony and watch the night die, then retire to his room for a tender tryst. Worth it. Alas, all good things must come to an end. After a night of fun comes the inevitable questions? What am I doing here, and why have I returned to Europe secretly and very, very illegally? Indeed, the existence of traveling papers only protects me insofar as I notify the concerned faction in advance that I will visit their land. Unfortunately, it would be foolish of me to do so seeing as I intend to rob them of their strategic assets and ¡ª if Sinead delivers ¡ª start a war. Torran is understandably unamused when I inform him that I am here for covert reasons. I do not share the details with him so he can maintain plausible deniability, which means that from his perspective I am being most unwise. S~ea??h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "You are playing a dangerous game, my star. Eneru and Mask are old lovers and old rivals. We know each other inside out from locations to finance to manpower. You are a child joining a bridge table among old friends. You will be eaten alive." "I am not working alone." "Then I would like to meet those accomplices of yours." I hesitate, but Torran leans towards me. "Those who helped you steal the organ?" "The very same." "I know they are here, in the village." "Well¡­" "What are you not telling me?" "WELL¡­" "You brought another lover on my land?" "That would be a terrible faux-pas." I have grown used to the fact that vampires see relationships as fleeting things. I meet Torran once every blue moon and do not expect him to stay celibate. Vampire couples do not move together, do not create families together, and we have no legal stake in the whole process. One can hardly be blamed for not promising themselves to each other ''until death do us part'' when it could happen in three centuries. Even the crustiest immortal can change quite a bit in that time frame. We are also fundamentally selfish creatures driven by instinct. Regardless, there are still customs one should observe as a sign of respect. We do not bring a lover on our paramour''s territory. It is simply not done. "No, the reality is other but, to reveal it, I will require an oath." Torran appears surprised and perhaps a little offended. "You do not trust me with this information?" "You will understand my caution if you agree to keep their identity secret." "Are they rogues?" "No. I would never partner with rogues, Torran." "Then I swear to keep their presence and identity secret." I have no obligation to let Torran know, and yet could I truly distrust someone who went against the knights to save my life? Never, I owe him too much. And he swore. "It would be better to show you." *** The introduction between Torran and the fae is glacial. More specifically, Torran ignores Makyas and Mr. Elusive to focus on Sinead with raptor-like intensity. Similarly, the Prince of Summer stands with the poise of a duellist, right foot slightly forward. The pair glare at each other for a few seconds in the deserted inn''s room. Mr Elusive scurries away. Makyas winks. His lips form the words ''drama queen''. A complete fabrication. "My, what delicious guests." "Torran. Play nice please," I whisper, but he pays no heed. "Charming little hamlet you have here. Very pastoral," Sinead replies. The two men glare holes into each other. "Are you two done? What is going on? Alright, you have met each other, now let''s go, Torran." I drag my lover outside, feeling quite awkward about the whole affair. "He is not my lover," I assure the old lord. "Does he know that?" "You know that anything between the two of us would result in his death." "And that would be for the best." Torran stops me. "You are an adult, my star, even by vampire standards, so I will not patronize you. I will, however, tell you this. You are playing an even more dangerous game than I assumed. If you get caught, do not bring your pursuers here if they are Eneru, because as much as I love you, I have no esteem for your comrades and am bound by previous agreements." "I understand." "Good. Now, let us retire to my armory, just in case there is something there you could find useful." Ah, he still cares. *** The time for planning has come. "Our target is one of three blood fortresses the Eneru possess in Europe. The holding facilities are located in the Hohenwald basin in the Austrian Alps, a small depression surrounded by mountains on all sides but one. All of the surrounding hamlets are fully under Eneru control, and all travelers will be reported to local enforcers as soon as they are spotted. As such, we will need to make our approach in secrecy. As for the fortress itself, we have limited information." I watch Sinead place his fists on the table in an unusual display of vulnerability. "I have observed the place myself during an extremely risky trek three years ago. There is a single approach to the fortress on an exposed path filled with runes, guards, and defensive constructs. By observing the comings and goings of convoys, I have determined that access to the fortress is scheduled well in advance, with plenty of seals and permissions. I believe we will not be able to pass as reinforcements. Their security is top-notch for such a lowly realm. Our best chance is to scale the mountain from the back, which will pose problems of their own. There are defensive measures there of a nature I do not know, then the scaling itself on an ice-encrusted wall. After we manage to get in, our objective is three-fold." Sinead unfolds a parchment. A spell emerges from its depth, deploying over the table in a shower of lights. A miniature, ghostly fortress now stands before us in ethereal blue lights. I study the construct with interest. The body of the fortress was built on rock hanging over a forest of pine trees. The only path leads to a barbican, then over a chasm into a narrow inner court. The main keep is a rectangle, blockish and ominous edifice of large stones. A small flower garden on the balcony overlooking the court provides the only concession to life I can see. Even the windows are designed not to let anyone larger than a child pass. As for the roof, it appears to be well-patrolled and locked tight. "How did you get a view of the roof?" I ask. "I climbed the mountain and used binoculars," Sinead replies. I must admit to some surprise, as I had never seen Sinead so serious even once in my life. Even his usual quips have disappeared. The man before me is focused and determined. The only Likaean influence remaining comes from the magic he uses to let us see our target. "As I said, the objective is three-fold. First, we must recover the Soul of the Storm from the keep''s guardian golem. We need this, for it is one of the only stones in the world that can contain the energies of the ritual. The others are just as protected as this one, and if the vampires discover that we are after them, our task will only become more difficult." A stone appears in front of us. It is black and carved into a teardrop with white lines crossing it like thunderbolts on a midnight sky. Pretty, I suppose, and quite powerful. "I have prepared this approximation based on the memories of one of the guards who saw it. We will first work on obtaining it from the golem bay, near the entrance." A red dot appears at the base of the main structure. "Our second objective is to recover the documents showing the current distribution and locations of the captive fae. It will allow us to start the war." "How?" I ask, surprised. "Eneru has broken the treaty that ended the last war. I am going to provide Mask with an opportunity they cannot ignore." "Are you certain?" "Trust me, poppet, I was pitting powerful idiots against each other long before you were born. It will work. As for the third objective, it is optional: the rescue of the imprisoned Likaeans. As much as I dislike leaving them in the hands of their torturers, saving our kin is not a priority. We already have enough resources to complete the ritual. I would go so far as to say that we should not free them unless we are already noticed, and need a distraction. As for how they are guarded, the sentry I interrogated did not know. We only have limited information about the inside, which gives us far too many points of failure. Nevertheless, the attack remains our best option. There are some things I was about to learn and it relates to the staff and alarms." "Can we expect vampires?" "Yes, in fact there will be at least one, a master with a strong tendency for corporal punishment. The sentry hinted that he thought the man was insane. Besides that, there could be visiting Eneru, come to replace their blood vials. Unfortunately, we have no way to find out in advance." "What about regular troops?" "About twenty soldiers, twelve staff members, and five mages including one whose only role is to call for help if the alarm rings." "We should eliminate the messenger if we get the chance," I say. "Yes. In fact, if the alarm triggers and he calls for reinforcement, we must abandon the plan and flee as fast as we can because all of Eneru will come for us." "Security features?" "Many, many wards. Fortunately, the staff often changes so everyone carries keys tuned to the defenses, allowing free passage between the different rooms. We will have to¡­ liberate them. As for the golem, they are an unknown." "I will handle it," I say with confidence. "As much as possible, we should complete the first objective before being spotted or all is lost." "The lack of intelligence on the inside presents many unknowns," I comment, concerned. "Any chance for a diversion?" "It will be worse. You are not facing mortals, Ariane. The fortress will go on high alert at the first irregularity. You can also expect the soldiers not to take any chances. If they spot something unusual, they will trigger the alert first and investigate later. There will be no room for mistakes. For now, I would like everyone to discuss possible plans and options. Ariane, you had something for us?" With a nod, I reach under that table for one of my special chests. The interior reveals quite a few goodies I have made and acquired over the years. I have built most of them myself. "Very well gentlemen. Shall we?" Chapter 180 - 174. Grand Theft Faerie My feet land on snow without a sound and I take a deep breath. It smells of cold and of pine sap. The air is crisp with only the lightest wind. Tonight is a good night. Fluffy clouds cover the sky, not yet heavy with snow yet thick enough to protect our progress from the view of mortals. The forest here is dense and wild. The trees count their age in centuries. We are but trespassers. Truly, we are trespassers not just in the forest but in the entire valley. A village far to our right is populated with loyalists willing to die for the local Dvor. Even birds could be spies. As such, we move in silence which spares me Sinead''s constant grumblings. The poor lad does not enjoy this ''season of savages'' very much. As for me, I wear the fae armor I was gifted. The teal-colored ribbons still flow freely from my shoulder blades, the skirt is still ethereal and blue as before, and the silvery plates still stick snugly to my form in a shimmering waterfall of enchanted metal. The entire effect is somewhat ruined by the heavy bag I carry on my back. I simply could not be caught dead unequipped on such a difficult operation. A part of me wishes I had the solid slab of eternal ice between my heart and enemy blades, not this skimpy thing. Alas, it would be best if I remained anonymous, clad in a foreign garment that emits no aura. Anonymous, or at least, plausibly deniable. Similarly, I have altered my traits to appear more elfin and gave myself preposterous silver hair and pink eyes. The effect on my companions, at least, was noticeable. My new appearance intimidates them. Behind me, the two, ah no wait, three fae move with various degrees of grace. Makyas seemingly floats above the pristine surface while Sinead struggles a bit. There was someone else? Ah yes, Mr Elusive. Curse that sinister beanstalk and his strange magic. I hope it works on the enemies as well as it does on me. As I move on, a hole in the wall of frozen pines gives me a glimpse of our destination. The fortress is just as ominous and monolithic as Sinead''s image led me to believe. I signal the others and we quickly convene. "From here on, not a word," I tell them in child Likaean. "We use sign language only. If you absolutely need to say something complex, inform me at once." They all nod before I am done talking. Sometimes, I feel like they are indulging me though at least they certainly treat the situation seriously. I can never know what they think. Our procession continues. We are entering the woods the Erewald vampires set up to protect their otherworldly blood sources. The bloodline consists of druids and gardeners. The place is undoubtedly trapped. The question is how? Scouting would only increase the likelihood of discovery, so we will go in blind and be vigilant. As we move on, the shadows grow and the woods go deeper. Trunks expand in size until some of the coniferous around us reach a prodigious size. Ancient spider webs extend in crystal shawls across the low boughs, their makers long since frozen. Nothing, absolutely nothing, comes to mar the pristine surface of the snow, no bird tracks, no paw prints. We are the first to walk there since the last snowfall. I look up and down, searching for traps or spies and finding none. I fail to detect even the tiniest heartbeat beyond that, muted, of my partners-in-crime. At a loss, I take out a measurement tool and point it down. It has the appearance of a sphere and its function is to reveal traps, pitfalls, and enchantments. There are no holes I can find. Thorough inspections show no signs of gargoyles or golems or permanent constructs designed to spot intruders. I feel myself growing paranoid. Why is nothing happening? And then I feel it. At first, just a susurrus at the edge of my essence, it grows and appears like a distant choir whose voices I mistook for the wind. It slithers in the still air until I recognize the dark bark for what it is, cursing myself because it might be too late. This is the Nightmare forest. I stop because for one instant, the night has grown too deep for this world, but then the moment passes and I can see the clouds again. This is bad. I hold a fist and the others gather around me, all two, wait, no, three of them. A small circle later and all sound is trapped inside, causing our voices to echo strangely. "We are near the Nightmare forest. I do not know how but I can feel it. We could get lost." "Place between places, leading to a plane between planes," Mr Elusive confirms. It might have been the first time he spoke. I am not entirely sure myself. His voice carries a raspy note, and it feels distant as well. As if it had been born by the wind from over the next valley. "This is the trap, but I do not know how to bypass it with certainty. We are beyond the scope of what I expected for alarms." "This plane is bound to you," Mr Elusive says again. "You can guide us out." "How would I do that?" "Seek out. And guide us there," the strange being replies still in awkward Child Likaean. I understand that he is struggling to convey a complex meaning in a language that was not designed for it. The Likaeans have an entire branch of language dedicated to magic, one that human speech lacks completely. He is simply struggling to help me understand something for which I have no point of reference. "The, ah, wavelength of this world and the liminal forest plane are different, poppet. As someone bound to both, you are our best hope to, hmm, disentangle them. Find us a way through. Find the fortress." He waits patiently until I finally nod. "This task is not complex but it is unfamiliar," he continues. "We have many such pathfinders among our ranks. Being certain is more important than being fast, here. I want you to take your time. We will not be lost until we start moving." "The place is stable," Mr Elusive adds. I am not so sure. Or rather, something shakes at the edge of my perception. There are more dangers here than simply being lost. Nevertheless, I close my eyes and try to get a better sense of my surroundings. The fortress is out there, it really is. I have seen its murder holes, perceived the dull lights of its selfish lanterns. I just have to find it. It exists for sure. Slowly, I get accustomed to the taste of the world. My native one is stable and almost mineral in its antediluvian existence, an old, rigid relative who only moves when compelled to. By comparison, the other fleets and touches. It barely has more substance than a light air current. One that carries the scents of the night. The two lie intertwined here, but some trees live more in one realm than in the other. I glance around and find two that belong to earth close, their branches crossing over us. "Every arch is a gate," Sinead whispers. His voice bears a slight tremor. Something is wrong. The wind has stopped. We might be closer than I expected. I confess that those Erenwald crafters certainly wove an exquisite trap. I must take every precaution to prevent us from being lost. What can I do to increase our chances? Symbols. I need symbols. I sigh. "Sinead, please take my right hand." To his credit, he obeys without sass. He must be feeling the severity of the situation. Makyas then Mr. Elusive add themselves to the chain while I call a ball of light. "Nu Sarrehin." The purple radiance shines the way, and I move forward with confident steps despite my fear. An arch, a door. We have to be getting closer. I find another such arch going in the right direction and lead us there. I cannot see the fortress right now but I remember where it was compared to us. It will have to be enough. We make progress, but now the silence has grown oppressive and I am concerned about why. The purple radiance of my light spell bobs with every step as I move forward, bringing us close to the exit, of that I am sure. I can finally spot some clouds in the canopy''s breaks. My concern is no longer getting out, it is getting out on time. After all, a light in a forest is sure to attract attention. We almost make it. Almost, but not quite. Just as I catch a glimpse of frost-covered walls, heavy stomps break the silence. My first reaction is relief, as I recognize hooves and I even go so far as to curse myself for my absent-mindedness. I was so focused on secrecy that I forgot to ask Metis for help! My elation lasts for the blink of an eye. Metis is quiet unless she wants to make an impression, but even at her most intimidating, she never comes close to that level. Those are the impacts I expect from one of Constantine''s golems. I spot mirages and shadows first, an image broken as if seen through a shattered mirror, but finally our pursuer appears between us and our exit. It is not quite a horse. If Sinead described a Nightmare to a demented fae who had never seen the animal, then asked them to recreate the beast with shadows, roots, and shards of obsidian, this is what it would look like. In fact, it would be a miniature of the entity now barring our way, for I could walk between its powerful limbs without bending. More concerning, I cannot assess its power. At all. Two silvery orbs like moonlight reflected on tar bore into me. I cannot detect any essence, not even a smidgen of magic. It has no scent either. Is something wrong with me? I turn back to the three fae, now as unmoving as statues and obviously worried. Prey. Prey. Prey, but cute. Everything is in order. I turn back to the shard, elephant-sized Nightmare. Nothing. Troublesome. It tilts its head. I cannot tell what it wants. I cannot read it. No, wait, I can. Slowly, I call upon the little Erenwald essence I have, undoubtedly one of my least used abilities. I still cannot tell much, but I can tell that it is¡­ inspecting us. Perhaps expecting something. Before I can reflect more, a second step of hooves crunch on the snow. This one is more familiar, and a moment later, Metis trots by my side. She shakes her head and snorts. The thing does not move, and neither do we. I think¡­ I can tell. "I ask for safe passage," I say. The creature''s attention lands on me. Before, it was looking. Now, it is paying attention. "An offering of blood¡­ and¡­" Metis takes a step forward and her small saddlebag, the only one she tolerates, bumps against my shoulder. "And flesh of a prey." The massive creature takes one heavy step forward and waits. Taking it as a sign of agreement, I move forward and grab the blade of my axe. It is not a good tool, but the handful of throwing knives I have discharge their effects on impact, and that would be quite unpleasant. The cut gives me more pain than I expected, but soon dark blood pools in my palm. I present it to the creature. Rather than licking it, it breathes in, and the black pool disappears. Next is the offering of flesh. I grab in the saddlebag and find a caramelized pig ear. The creature''s head moves down, a horror of black stones and sharp angles. An ethereal fog bubbles behind some of the plates, and I detect no flesh at all. I take a step back, my end fulfilled. The creature head''s slowly, slowly turns to Sinead. "No," I say. The deal was safe passage. It knows. NO PLAYING WITH WORDS. It takes a step forward, and the tip of Rose comes to rest under where the throat would be. Metis'' hooves stomp the ground. "No," I say again, "thrice I deny you, no." I flare my aura. "DO NOT TRY ME. DO NOT PLAY COY WITH A DEVOURER." The creature''s focus returns to me. I bare my fangs. No games. And it turns into a Nightmare. The shift is seamless. One moment, I face a spiky abomination born by the opiated dreams of a suicidal wretch, and the next I follow a large horse, a humongous horse, but a horse nonetheless, outside of the forest. The titanic beast stops at the bottom of the cliff upon which our destination rests and turns around, disappearing into a dense copse. I turn to Metis with love and curiosity. "Can you change into that as well?" I ask with some trepidation. In lieu of answers, the best pony lowers her head and bumps my posterior. "Hm, yes, that would be very uncomfortable indeed. Nevermind." I pull two ears from the bag and offer them one after the other because she is the best dread pony and that weird large one was slightly dishonest, so it gets less and that is final. She bumps against me one last time and leaves, again in silence. Good Metis. In the meanwhile, the Likaeans have remained quiet and focused. I nod and receive nods in return. They are ready to proceed. We should not speak. I take out spikes and Sinead grabs a rope so thin it might as well be a string. We fasten it to our belts and I climb first, planting the pitons, as those spikes are called, deep into the ice. My natural strength is enough for the task and those are enchanted for maximum adherence. The Likaeans have gloves that help them scale the smooth surface but I end up carrying most of their weight, which is fine. Stamina is not an issue for me while their night is still young. After a slow but uneventful climb, we reach the first true stone. I stop, but Sinead bids me go higher. I only feel a tug on the rope as we reach the first window, or rather the first murder hole so thin I could not pass my arm through it. Glass covers it, but behind I see the flickering orange of an open flame. The detection tool reveals no particular enchantments and for good reason. Enchantments can be set up but it still takes a mage to recharge them. Each one increases the burden on those in charge of the upkeep. Even the most paranoid defenders would not place powerful wards on every stone wall, so finding no defenses here does not surprise me considering the trap outside. I do expect security measures once we are inside, however. I silently cast an enchantment and a small hole opens, revealing the interior. We have found the laundry room. Makyas salutes us mockingly. I hear the flutter of wings and, suddenly, he is inside. I had nothing to do with it. Truly, the power of the Likaeans is increasing lately, even if they are still limited to parlor tricks. With our first infiltration done, I keep climbing. Makyas is our poisoner, or so he claims. His task is to find the kitchen which, even at that time, has warm drinks for the men and women on patrol. Sinead assures me that he will not be noticed, and I have no reason to doubt. He has been dodging my kin for decades. It should be fine. My ascent continues and we reach the next level. This time, the windows are dark and I peer into an administrative area. Time to let Mr. Elusive in. I focus and call upon a rather complex spell, one that I learnt from the Knights of all people. The stone flows and expands. The magic would be more taxing if I did not have immense reserves, and I manage to keep the spell under control as well as discrete. Mr Elusive ¡ª I frown. I glare at Sinead. What were we doing here? He points up. Oh yes, there we go. I make sure to leave the pitons dug as deep as they can go, even if they bite into the stone. The rope is almost invisible from above and will be used as an emergency exit should the worst come to pass. The next level is only one below the roof. The fortress only has three floors with windows for added security, and this will be our point of ingress. A summary inspection reveals access to an armory. I am about to get in when Sinead places his gloved hand on mine and shakes his head. He signs ''alarm'' and ''door''. Oh yes, the armory will be locked from the outside and this one will have magical protection without a doubt. I am also unwilling to cast the wall-piercing spell closer to mages and without several yards of granite between us. It would be best to find another entrance. Without a noise, I move left to the nearest entrance and lodge the last piton on the battlement jutting out, just above me. I hear a nearby heartbeat. There are sentries there, unaware of the daring intruders under their feet. Let us keep it that way. We have found the dormitories. The next window leads into a small room with two beds and wardrobes. Forms sleep in their bed. Sinead nods. This is it. I focus and cast again for what I hope is the last time. The rift widens, and widens. One of the shapes shifts in their bed. Sinead smoothly dives through and I follow a moment later. He unsheathes a dagger and stabs the man on the left in the temple. I see his dagger get in and the wound close behind with utter disbelief, yet there is no doubt that the person is quite dead. His cell companion soon shares the same fate. The blade leaves no visible wound behind and even the smell of loose bowels fails to occur. The only sign that our foes have met their demise is the absence of breath. I am as impressed by his tool as by his ruthlessness. We used the euphemism ''disable'' or ''neutralize'' during the planning phase. It appears that my friend wishes to leave no survivors. It is¡­ acceptable. A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. The two men do not look like locals. One of them was clearly of Slavic descent, though this is the best estimate I can make from the man''s features. I find uniforms among their belongings, in light green. They wield pistols loaded with silver bullets and enchanted short swords. I noticed rifles in the armory, so their upstairs colleagues might have additional equipment. We also find rectangle metal cards I use to deactivate their door''s seal. Sinead follows me out into a corridor decorated with tapestries and lined with more doors, all of them locked for now. Most show two names and must be personal quarters. We follow the corridor right to an atrium decorated with large open windows leading to the balcony garden, or so I assume. The windows are currently closed and locked behind metal shutters. I can feel no less than three layers of wards here, unsurprising considering that it presents a major security risk. The atrium was designed as an entertainment area. I see a bar of sorts, couches, and a well-stocked library with books in various states. The curiosity comes from the scent in the air. I recognize tobacco and Cologne, but there is a lingering stench of potent dry blood. Its source soon becomes apparent. To the side, a cage has been placed around a single chair. ''Prisoners?'' I sign to Sinead. He nods. We explore a bit more, but it soon turns out that the entire third floor only consists of those rooms and a few other amenities such as bathrooms. I propose to unlock the gates leading up and down using the dead guards'' chit, but Sinead stops me once again. He shows a list of people and hours stuck to a sheet of paper to the side. I frown. Does he really think that they would set the alarm to trigger if the wrong person opened the door? I examine the construct and find no such workings, but still decide to give him the benefit of the doubt when he signals me to wait. We stand there for over ten minutes in silence until a pair of guards open the door. They appear bored out of their mind. We kill them both. I do not attempt to bite them for information because I wish to keep to the Seeker of Lost Memories persona I have for as long as I can, even if it means giving up information. If the guards do not have some sort of protection in place. I would not know. As far as vampire records are concerned, the last fae-holding fortress takeover occured in fifteen ninety-eight. With the patrol disposed of, we end up in possession of various sets of key cards. I am about to take the stairs down when Sinead interrupts me yet again, still signaling to the timetable. I read some scribbles in German and realize what the canny rogue meant. Next to the name of Herr Muller, I find the orders for golem maintenance. We move back to the bedrooms with our newly acquired universal access card, find the one belonging to the poor technician and dispose of him and his neighbor. In his personal effects, we find two cards: one for golem access, and the other for golem emergency access. This immediately alerts me. Did they design the castle layout for quick golem access? I show the card to Sinead and he points back towards the garden access. We lock the door on our way out. All this skulking around feels extremely unseemly, and yet I must ignore the nagging feeling that we are improvising because we are, in fact, improvising. And we have no choice. Getting more information proved unfeasible. We must gather it now. Sinead points at something I should have noticed. I would have, if I had not been in charge of magical detection. Behind the bar lies the only carpet in the entire public area. I lift it to reveal an unadorned trapdoor. It opens with the keycard, revealing a dark shaft and some serious anti-detection enchantments. I shiver at the thought of how many burglaries my companion has committed. Impressive. Before leaving, I remove a package from my bag and place it upon the floor, following which I remove a silver needle from its flank. A light click informs me that the mechanism is armed. Sinead frowns. He tried to veto the explosives idea, but I would not have it. They have always been the great equalizer in my more lopsided fights. Some of our foes might guess it was me from the simple fact they were used, but the good thing is that they will not be able to prove it because explosives tend to erase evidence. All they will have will be suspicion. I will take this as an acceptable price for the added option. After one last glare, Sinead follows me down. I believe he might be afraid of explosives and make a note to tease him about it later. The shaft itself is dark and unlit, with only metal bars lodged in the stone facilitating the access. I stop at regular intervals to check for enchantments and find nothing beyond secret doors probably hidden on every level. We keep going down and soon reach the basement level where the shaft ends. The golem access card opens the way into a lit hangar of impressive proportions. While the rest of the castle had a distinct medieval feel, this exudes modernity. Steel beams line the ceiling, and from them hang harnesses and pulleys. Storage cabinets line the walls in tight metal ranks. I spot a workshop on one side next to a small door while monumental steps lead up to what should be the inner courtyard. The access is blocked by a trapdoor large enough to let the golem through. As for the war machine itself, it stands alone in the middle of the room. It is now that I appreciate the genius of Constantine, both in his craftsmanship but also in his ability to remember that a golem''s structure is not limited by biology. The golem in front of me looks like a giant in steel armor. I estimate that it would be slow and ponderous, though powerful. Constantine prefers reversed leg articulations, a more thin and streamlined appearance, and more adaptative armament than a giant iron mace. Honestly, what a waste. My attention returns to the situation when I hear a voice coming from the last corner of the room. There, I find a house within a house, a cubicle of reinforced stone with thick glass and a heavy door. As I watch, a man in uniform exits the safe room and frowns in my direction. "Muller? Was ist los?" I move. He dies from a fractured spine on my way to the door, which while open, is protected by a shield. I crash against it. My eyes meet those of a terrified mage. He reaches for a bulging red button. I remove three steel balls from a pocket of my bag and throw them. The shield moans under their deleterious effect, then cracks under the strain. I power through. I grab the man''s hand ''in extremis'' and break his neck as well. I had to resist the urge to bite him, which surprises me. Nevertheless, the crisis is averted. "That was close," I whisper to Sinead as he joins my side. "And that is why you are here." Ah yes, I am indeed a vampire lady. It does help. "This booth appears to be the center of the fortress'' defense," Sinead declares. His amber eyes inspect every piece of equipment in the tiny room. There is the large red button, but also mirrors that show the outside of the fortress: the courtyard, the garden, the gate, and the top of the barbican. "We are fortunate that there are so few of them," I observe. "Although it makes sense since their main enemies are vampires and surveillance devices do not catch us." "They do not?" Sinead asks, surprised. "No, but it would not have mattered here since you were with me. We were wise not to attempt the garden entrance given what I have seen. Oh, the sentries on the barbican are still awake." "There should be around ten guards awake at this time of the night. We have eliminated four. Two patrol the barbican and two others should patrol the roof. It leaves one patrol, possibly on the first floor or outside. Makyas might have been successful in putting them to sleep." "Then only the master is left. But first, I will deactivate the alarms," I say, examining the desks around me. "I will retrieve the soul of the storm, then." Sinead removes pliers and other items from his own bag and walks to the golem. As for me, I am left severing the nerve cord linking this antenna of the Eneru alliance from the rest. They will quickly notice that the fortress is non-responsive, but we will hopefully be long gone by the time they send reinforcement. The long-range communication mirror hangs from the back wall, surrounded by enchantments. I consider just destroying it, then reconsider. Since I have a few minutes, I can sabotage instead. The unfortunate sod who will next attempt to activate it will receive a mouthful of crystal shards for their trouble. It might also look like a malfunction from the other side. With vicious glee, I cut a few lines and extend another to create a power loop, which will destabilize and quickly destroy the mirror. My misdeed completed, I recenter my attention on Sinead. The rogue deftly plucks our prize from the golem''s exposed mechanism as I watch. He places the pearl carefully in a small box. Our main objective is complete. And nothing went wrong! What an auspicious start. We could even leave now if we wanted, but I know Sinead. He will want to attempt to free the Likaeans if possible. Despite his apparent detachment, I remember the anger he showed at the thought of his kin being treated like cattle. The small door should lead to them. I point at it and the Prince of Summer nods with determination. The golem access keycard opens the path. We next enter a storage space for important pieces, including repair equipment and magical supplies. This is a mage armory, of sorts. The next exit leads down a flight of helical stairs. As we descend, I feel it. Misery has a way of sticking to the walls with the echoes of unending hopelessness. The air tastes of salt and regret, of lost time. Of death. We are entering a place of deep and enduring suffering, an agony so intense it has marked the place. Blood magic will work well here. It even smells like blood when we reach the landing, and the cause is easy to find. Beyond a glass pane, we find the bleeding room. The window is reinforced yet also perfectly transparent. It gives us a perfect view of the manacles, the tables, and the alchemical supplies required to draw then conserve that most potent of essence. Although the premises have been cleaned to a maniacal degree, a powerful perfume of anguish wafts through the reinforced door that bars our path. Unfortunately, none of the keys we have grant us access. "I can break through, but it will trigger an alarm," I inform Sinead with a whisper. He leans towards me and I catch his much more pleasant scent. It distracts me until I almost miss his next words. "We should be fine for the alarm itself, but what about sound?" I inspect the enchantment and realize that the alarm is, in fact, silent. All the better to catch a careless intruder off guard. A strand goes deeper into the facility, however. "No, but I suspect the vampire will be alerted. This is it." Sinead barely stops. "Do it." Sear?h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The time for stealth has passed. I hope Makyas will be fine, though there should be very few threats left in the fortress. I open my bag to remove a dedicated piece of equipment, an enchanted tool designed to fragilize both the magical and the mundane at the place of effect, all while allowing me to make use of my great strength. Some uncharitable luddite might call it a runed crowbar but they would only show their ignorance and complete lack of decorum. It is, in fact, an advanced piece of arcane engineering. Or de-engineering. In any case, I place the flat end against the lock and dig. With a terrible shriek of twisted metal, it gives in. Sinead and I wait for a few seconds within the bleeding chamber, but no one comes to stop us. "Farther in," Sinead whispers. I take the lead. The next gate is by far the most imposing in the entire fortress. Several layers of steel and silver block our path, yet before we can inspect it or rummage the room for credentials, it opens. The coppery taste of spent essence assails me, then come the sounds of frantic hearts beating too fast to bring thin blood where it is needed, a constant effort that will never seize for spent blood barely regenerates before it is harvested again. No moans break the calm before the storm, no complaints. The people inside are beyond despair. Even when I was under the thumb of Lady Moor and we kept cattle in cages like animals, we still did not treat them like those fae are treated. Rows of cages with just a thin bed and a pot. No curtains, no intimacy of any kind. There are no personal effects in any of them, just different scratches on the walls, different marks on the unyielding bars. Light is dim and red, provided by a magical lamp drilled in the high ceiling. Their inhabitants all share the same elfin traits and peculiar traits as the Likaeans I have met so far, but they are all sickly. Broken. Lying where they are in thin shifts. The most shocking detail is the cleanliness. It must take a lot of effort to keep such a corrupted place spotless, and yet there are no marks beyond the wear and tear. A colossal amount of attention and efforts are dedicated to making this atrocity as clinical as possible. I am disgusted and impressed in equal measure. And the architect behind this grand horror stands in the midst of it, next to a pillory and a strange board. He wears a full plate armor revealing his face and the dark blood staining his pale cheeks. Short blond hair covers his scalp, and his jaw is locked in an expression of barely controlled rage. His blue eyes stare into mine, and in there I find a raging hatred that only death can end. It only takes me an instant to realize what has happened. Killed. We killed. We have killed a Vassal. At least. I suppress the deep-seated feeling of horror gouging my chest. We have CAUSED THE UNFORGIVABLE. No, it was not my design. It was¡­ my side. What have I done? No, I would have felt it. Then¡­ Makyas? Anger and horror war in my chest, a feeling I keep suppressed. He must not know. Or is secrecy even necessary? I intend to kill him after all. No. The other Likaeans are watching. They could be captured again. I need to maintain the facade. I need to get it together, this was not my fault. MY FAULT. I could have anticipated this¡­ Too late. Too late, in any case. They are all watching now. "A Seeker of Lost Memories¡­" a tall prisoner with thick black hair whispers with disbelief. "So, you are Fae. I expected many things, but not that," the Master says as he steps forward. Only now do I notice two more details. First, he wears a cross on his chestplate, something I find abhorrent. This will prove problematic. The second is the dangling corpse of a young man with a shocking flock of green hair hanging from his right hand, and that will prove even more problematic because I have seen what a vial of essence can do and this is considerably more potent. "Has your species finally grown a spine?" Sinead remains at the threshold but I take a step forward then make sure that my knives are fastened. "I would have prefered insane mages or suicidal Gabrilelites. Now I will be punished for killing the two of you instead of capturing you to be drained. I considered letting you experience the fate of your brethren, but the very thought of you still drawing breath while my Ulrich lies in the ground proved unthinkable. I will very much enjoy killing you." "Be careful, he is drunk on power," I tell Sinead, still in child Likaean. "I noticed. You fight him while I free our brethren. There is no choice but to kill him. You realize that, do you not?" "I do. I have killed a vampire for you before." The fae prisoners gasp in amazement, and I realize that I should not say too much. "Do you even understand the tongue? Probably not, you failed invaders. Bah, I will have to hear you begging in that incomprehensible babble. Enough of this." It begins. The master charges with a roar of pain and rage. I bring my axe out and intercept him. The blow lands fairly on the axe that he himself just deployed. A soul weapon, of course. He is so angry that he has not realized that I match him yet. I have a short window, perhaps. GUILTY. No, I¡­ I miss an opportunity to slam my weapon behind his knee when his next charge misses. Enough of this. Focus, Ariane, focus. We quickly move across the room. There is no cover here, only flat ground and steel bars. And victims. Worse than cattle. A desecration of blood and THE HUNT. PATHETIC. Yes, pathetic. He does not deserve to rule over this macabre farce of a feeding ground. SHOW THE DOMINANCE OF MY WAY. A lunge of his proves to be a feint, one I do not take. He overextends and I slam my blade into his flank. He crashes against the nearest bars, armor cracked. Dark blood decorates my blade. Alas, he screams in rage and ignores the wound. It closes in front of my very eyes. Even Sivaya''s baleful enchantments can do little against the regenerative power of fae blood. It will take a decisive blow or a significant amount of attrition to take him down. Our combat continues. I give ground and counter as soon as I get an opening, keeping my head cool and my aura suppressed. He is a better axe wielder than I am, but I am a much better duelist overall. His positioning is reckless and his poise leaves many, many openings. I am faster and do not need to move much anyway. It is enough to push him into blunder after blunder. I finally manage to hamstring him, causing him to fall briefly. Unfortunately, he jumps back on his intact foot before I can capitalize on it. If I were to use my full power, it would be over in two moves. That is fine. A good huntress leaves her enemy a chance to prove themselves. So far, I am not impressed. "Impossible. How can you keep up with me? You are strangers here. Invaders!" I ignore his prattle and attack in turn. His armor is now more malformed metal than true protection, with half a dozen body blows denting it beyond salvation. I just need to be PATIENT. Eventually, I smash him against a cage with a devastation counter. He hisses and grabs his key card, which was hanging from his neck. "I will just take¡­ a little pick me up." Oh no, you will not. I take a step back to avoid a wild swing, then throw a knife at his flank. He rotates to let it slide along the armor while he opens the cage, eager to consume its occupant. The dagger explodes in a cloud of silvery magic. The master screams in pain and outrage. He lurches to the side. AN OPENING. I jump in and smash the axe against his neck. It digs in¡­ but not deep enough. "In the name of God!" A blue light. I resist hissing as the taste of ash fills my mouth and I slam on the ground, dazed. Ah. I have not been punished by that one for a long, long time. I cannot say that I missed it. Picking myself up from the ground, I stand back up with no hurry. The master has not moved. Meanwhile, Sinead still frees more Likaeans. "You are one of us? But no, your appearance¡­ Impossible! Did the Eye grant one of you his essence? I was told that it was impossible! Unless¡­ a Progenitor?" He shows every sign of shock, and I find myself appalled by his stupidity. If I were a Progenitor, he would fit in a tray right now. "No, you would have the power of the lords already. Intriguing. I cannot wait to drink you and learn everything, strange one. Perhaps we will converse before I kill you." By the Watcher does that man love the sound of his voice! But wait¡­ yes, of course. He is drunk. I should have noticed it before, but I had never faced a drunken foe yet. He is riding the ectasy of a shameful murder. I must use this. With a grim expression, I attack him and let him bat aside my counter. I slow down. It takes some effort to dodge just by a hair, to force my strikes to fall short by the most embarrassing margin. The master helps me with his complete lack of attention. I am managing a hurricane of confused strikes and all out attacks. At a point, I am forced to capitalize on an error and crush his left arm or he would have noticed my game. "No matter what you are, you are weak! Die!" This is it. He accelerates and ignores his own defense. I step back. I retreat again. We pass Sinead, busy freeing one more panicked kin. The cad does not look, but I notice his smile. The master screams one last time. "Your kind does not belong here, begone!" I am pushed back once again, but barely. He was too far. He charges uncaring, ready to deliver the coup de grace. At the last moment, I arc my back. The soul weapon shrieks against the scales on my chest, but Sivaya''s incredible craftsmanship shows its worth. The blade slides and jumps, diverted. At the same time, I throw my second knife where I knew his knee would be, the same knee I damaged earlier in the battle. My dagger finds a chink in his armor, blowing up the entire articulation. From the corner of my eye, I see the surprise when his leg fails him. The pain when he realizes why. I finish my arc and smash my axe into his wounded flank. He gasps. I jump on him and we fly across the room. Risky, but¡­ I CANNOT RESIST. A bite, as short as can be. Power. We are the guardians of this world, Samuel, and its bane. That is why we wield the symbol of the Lord, and why it will kill us in the end. He who lives by the sword, dies by the sword, but we cannot allow ourselves to fall until the last of the monsters has bitten the dust, or until Judgment Day. Do you understand?" A clerical outfit. a Hand on my shoulder. "Yes, Father." I pull back from the vision and lick my lips in delight. It was short, but by the Watcher it was good. Kalinin essence. The ability to wield the tools of religion so long as one''s cause is just. I wonder what I will retain. We crash at the far end of the room. The foe is dust. Good riddance. "There is no time, poppet. We must leave!" "Yes, yes. The return to the surface is not as fast as I had hoped, even by ignoring the vampire''s possessions. I still left another bomb in that accursed prison, despite the lack of urgency. That one is just for my own satisfaction. We find stairs up and end up in the inner courtyard where two bodies await, both dead. Makyas kneels by the nearest victim. He does not look relieved to see our slow procession. "Do you have everything?" Sinead asks. The false child assents, but his expression does not relax. "Is something the matter?" "A convoy has come tonight. For new blood." A chill runs down my spine. This is bad luck, and a night convoy means more vampires. At least one. "When will they arrive?" I ask. "They are already here." Behind me, the massive aura of a Warlord flares. Chapter 181 - 175. The Great Escape "You need to evacuate while I hold them off," I tell Sinead. "We''ll rappel down the cliff, walk along the wall. Meet at evacuation site one?" "You got it." "And be careful, poppet. The plan will work without them," he whispers, "but not without you. You must return." "I will. Now go." With one last nod, the Prince of Summer races out in his warm coat, herding the weakened Likaeans towards the main keep. I am left alone in the deserted, icy courtyard. Quickly, I remind myself of the basic engagement rules I set for vampire combat. First, I must absolutely keep my identity secret. Using blood magic might out me as a vampire because of the inherent potency of my spells, though I might be able to mask my aura for a few simple spells. Using Rose or my Magna Arqa will lead to an easy identification and must be saved as a last resort. Finally, being hurt will lead me to be recognized. The Vanheim essence can change my smell a little, but it will do little for spilt blood. To summarize, I need to survive a fight with a warlord without using my soul weapon, my Magna Arqa, heavy magic, and without being hurt. A completely achievable and reasonable goal. I sigh. This smooth-talking summer snack will be the end of me. Speaking of snacks, what is the warlord doing? He flared his aura and then¡­ stopped? I wait, and then wait a few more seconds with my axe held in front of me. It takes a little longer before the heavy barbican gates open with ponderous slowness. The warlord is still there, I can taste his aura. It feels strangely familiar. Male, old, powerful and¡­ Ah, a Dvor! Outside of his domain. Those lands belong to Nina of the Dvor and those territorial old monsters never cohabit. Whoever faces me now will do so outside of their domain, weakening them considerably and blocking access to their Magna Arqa. It will not save me, but it will help. The gates are open. They lead to an underpassage and the fortress'' exit on the other side, so tantalizingly close. The distant mountains on the other side of the valley call to me, but there is an obstacle in the way. He walks carefully from a side door, sword and shield on display. I realize that I know him. Before me stands Commenus, the man who led the assembled Dvor and Knight forces against the skeleton-mages of the Last City only a few years ago. Although, to me, it certainly feels like an eternity. The old general is still his wizened, gray-bearded self. His sharp traits remind me of ancient sculptures more than of any current ethnicity I have ever come across. Dark blue eyes peer at me from the barely lit entrance with wariness. What a thoroughly unexpected outcome. Commenus fears me. Or rather, he fears what I represent: Likaeans capable of fighting back. My presence with an axe and my obvious lack of emotions can only mean that the master of the place fell to me. Commenus does not know how I proceeded. He is ancient and cautious, rather than brash like some masters who believe themselves invincible. Also significant is his leadership at the helm of a force that battled enemies our kind had never faced before. He, more than the others, must keenly feel that the world grows wider and more mysterious every year. I must capitalize on that, but how? Acting is required. Unfortunately, I am forced to improvise while Commenus has centuries of experience dealing with machinations. Unless¡­ I do not have to be smarter? I could just be more¡­ upsetting. After all, even I find Makyas strange and he is on my side. I merely need to don the proper mask. I am Likaean. I find eyeballs tasty. No, I really cannot. It is not in my nature. Even the guise of Seekers of Lost Memories I wear will not do since I have never met one, and thus cannot impersonate them. I need a character close enough to my natural disposition so I do not fail, but strange enough to dissuade Commenus from engaging. I need teeth. Power. I need to be different, far from the smug superiority of summer and distant haughtiness of the blue. Give me teeth. Give me hunger. Cold. I am winter. I have devoured every bloodline on this planet, and I have more to taste on the planes. I know the polar winter, and I have seen the northern end of the world where ice reigns to the horizon and beyond, and the green lights of auroras reflect on permafrost. I have walked into battle clad in cold. I have tasted it, used it. I have broken houses and left nothing behind but BLACKENED BEAMS JUTTING UP LIKE BROKEN TEETH. Tufts of hair, gobbets of meat. Oh yes, I understand winter. It is a trap, a degenerescence as numbing and painless as hypothermia. In a way, that is what being a rogue entails. They forget themselves and abandon their minds to the plenitude of pure instinct. I will never walk that path, but I will happily wear its trappings for an evening. Oh yes, this will be fun to PLAY A LITTLE. I hunch forward a little and let my arm fall forward. A beast of winter has no need for posture, for nobility. I am power unleashed and ravenous. The Vanheim essence extends to its very limits to change my face, answering my need for a more feral persona. Oh yes, this will be fun. I am not just my blade and magic. I am the dedicated student of countless masters and the survivors of many close battles. I will show him. "A warrior fae. Now I have seen everything," he declares with false bravado. I know enough about old Dvor fighters to see that he is looking for the trap. "Don''t understand a word I say, huh lass? Weird one you are." I do not react, just follow him with my eyes. He glares with annoyance and takes a step forward onto the courtyard and out of the cover of the barbican. Perhaps he is expecting fire or sunlight? NO TRICKS, COME CLOSER. "Wo ist Samuel?" I slowly, slowly tilt my head, and still I do not speak. You can try every language under this sun and the others, dear Commenus, I shall not answer. As for Samuel''s fate, he must have guessed it. Commenus suddenly kneels and picks up a stone, which he throws at me at a speed no mortal could follow. I move the axe''s handle by a hair, deflecting the projectile. I still wait. "Well. Nothing to it." Commenus charges, shield high. I smile. I feel my cheek split to my ears, revealing a forest of needles. By the Watcher, this feels eerie. The effect on Commenus is even more dire, and he unexpectedly flinches, which means that he reacts just a little slowly when I hook the axe''s head into the side of his shield and send him careening. He manages to roll mid air and land on his feet. I am immediately on him. I know how to face a shield user. Mannfred, you who sacrificed your life to hold Octave at bay, your lessons will not be in vain. Strikes to the side, to the head, low then high, high then low, I unleash a whirlwind of mighty blows on Commenus, forcing him into the defensive. Any lesser weapon would have shattered in impact before the sharpened art of Sivaya. Even a magical shield would be a mangled piece of scrap by now, but this is a soul weapon I face and its user is old and patient. Commenus disengages and shifts to prevent me from peeling him open. He angles it with minimum effort, deflecting my attacks with thunderous sounds. Nevertheless, the power I put in every swing forces him back again and again until he finds an opening. He dodges under a beheading attempt and charges forward, which is exactly what I wanted. A firm kick in the shield forces him to stumble, a risky maneuver but one I started in his blind spot. The return strike is so strong that I smash him against the nearby stable wall. Tiles fall from the roof onto his head even as I almost decapitate him. "Right, this is not working." Commenus'' style changes to one of unstoppable offense. He charges shield-first right into me until I am in stabbing range of his gladius. I do not change mine, I attack as well. We just smash into each other with the power of two warlords, and I progressively see the fear of the unknown disappear in the eyes of my enemy, soon replaced by the joy of battle. I knew I liked the old codger. HE UNDERSTANDS. Our fight spills over the entire courtyard in a whirlwind of unbridled destruction. We demolish the barn, collapse the well, turn every crate to kindling. At one point, he throws an anvil at my face and the return shot sends the lump of steel through the keep''s unlocked gate, breaking the unwarded lock. Whenever he manages to close the distance, I attack with my claws and force him to move back. Otherwise, I bash him to my heart''s content. At no point did my ghastly smile fade but now it is matched by his, sharp and bloody from a lucky punch. "Not bad, lass, not bad. I cannot wait to taste you." YOU CAN TRY. Commenus adapts to my wild style with small, sharper gestures. In return I adapt to his with more overhead, massive strikes followed by low horizontal cleaves that force him to block with all he has. Once he tries to jump over it and I adjust my course, tossing him back into the barbican''s passage. A few humans from the convoy have come to watch the fight and recoil when the lord lands in front of them. They look positively terrified. I have to give it to Commenus, he grows sharper and closer to hitting me as the fight progresses, but at the same time I have more openings. I manage to hit his arm once then the blade of the axe bites in the back of his leg, causing him to fall. None of those are debilitating injuries yet the sight of his blood on my weapon throws him into a frenzy. Eventually, it happens. A lucky counter lets him force my axe to slip on his shield and his blade rushes to my heart. I twist on myself at the very last moment. A soul blade can rip through stone. A soul blade wielded by a lord can tear through steel. The scales of my armor sing when the edge of his gladius slides on them. I hear chimes. I see Commenus'' eyes widen with complete bafflement. I kick him in the jaw and send him flying through the air for what feels like the seventh time tonight. Right, I have overstayed my welcome by a large margin. We have been fighting for minutes, an impossibly long time for vampire contests. The fae must be long gone by now, even if they were weakened. I have tempted fate one time too many. While he recovers, I jump on the keep''s walls and scale their sheer surface, claws digging into the rime-covered granite. "Not so fast!" A gentleman should know when to abandon his pursuit. I reach the balcony garden and jump over its edge, possibly triggering half a dozen alarms as I go. I reach the top and find two dead sentries. Commenus is right behind me, shield strapped to his back. He had to dematerialize his blade. Our eyes meet and I smile indulgently. Then, I press the remote control of the bomb I placed in the recreational area. With an ear-shattering blast, the entire floor explodes. Commenus lifts his shield just in time to avoid a warded shutter to the face. Smoke and debris fill the air and slowly, almost lazily, the top of the keep slides into the empty air, masonry and all. Ah. I might have overestimated the resilience of their wards. I jump to avoid the avalanche of stones and wood. Below me, the Erenwald forest extends to the snow-clad peak above. I turn to see if Commenus recovered. He did. He is watching me. His face goes through a series of emotions with blinding speed. Shock gives way intense thought, then to disbelief. His mouth forms a ''o'' of complete surprise. He smiles and dips an invisible hat. I detonate the second bomb in the basement. He flees into the Barbican, leaving the collapsing courtyard behind. I might have been found out. While our infiltration was slow and subtle, our flight is a ceaseless race across the wilderness. Sinead once more demonstrates that he is more than just an actor by leading us without fault from camouflaged cave to hideout, all of those prepared long in advance. At no point did he inform me of their locations for ''operational security'' which I can accept since our meeting point is the ship and I am more than capable of looking after myself. We encounter our first difficulty during the first day when one of the prisoners attempts to kill Mr. Elusive. Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. I did not expect that, to be quite honest, yet Sinead did and I find enough nourishment to be sated for a good week that very night. It reminds me that the Likaeans are a vast and diverse people arrayed across multiple planes of existence. In fact, we are the isolated, parochial planet in their eyes. It so happens that Mr. Elusive''s court has a sinister reputation. It also happens that the Seekers of Lost Memories keep a close eye on its members and have decimated them in the past. My identity as a vampire revealed, the Likaeans regard me with confusion rather than the hatred I expected. For many of them, my apparent altruism is more alien than the predatory policy of using them as blood fonts. It speaks poorly of the general climate of ethics and courtesy across the spheres, and reinforces my concerns that earth will face many dangers in the near future. The supplies and artifacts the Prince of Summer prepared allows us to reach the port of Fiume unimpeded, where the cunning man finally delivers on his promise. "This is what Mr Elusive delivered," he tells me, showing me maps and coordinates. "What are those?" "Let me tell you a story, poppet. A short time ago, Eneru and Mask were at war." "You will have to be more specific." "And during that war, a Mask convoy escorting a few of my compatriots was lost. Tragedy! When those two esteemed, honest, and reasonable factions agreed on a ceasefire, the Eneru negotiators swore that they had no knowledge of their fate, and they told the truth!" "Let me guess. Those who had taken the Likaean failed to inform them that they had conducted the raid." "What a devious little thing you are. There is hope for you yet! Yes indeed, and withholding such information could be construed as a violation of the terms of the agreement if Mask were to be made aware. Now, of course, Mask could very well demand compensation in a mature and patient way, estimating that the Dvor would do the honorable thing and not hide their prize in a different location while denying everything." "Please, my sides." "Or they could come across the exact location of their lost possession as well as the timetable of the expected visitors and security code. They might then decide to resort to some dubious means rather than solve their problem through diplomacy. Unfortunately, said document will fail to notify them of the trackers." My heart would freeze in my chest if it could. "Trackers?" "Of course I disabled them immediately upon freeing my kin. You have nothing to fear." "I have much to fear from you. How do you even know all of this?" "The vampires have servants, and those servants know a great deal. You night walkers never touch each other''s precious pets. I have no such qualms, though I know better than to break your emotional support humans." "Makyas killed one. It¡­" "It was an accident, we did not expect one to be present. I am sorry for causing you undue distress." The unspoken hangs between us like a cloud. Commenus suspects me, and his knowledge will spread to his most high-ranking allies in the aftermath of the flaring war that will come, for I have no doubt that Mask will enjoy collecting on their debt as much as they will stabbing at a surprised rival. Similarly, Sephare will take less than a month to link my disappearance with some well-timed European shenanigans. Although no one will have proof and no one will dare pursue the matter, the powers that be will come to associate my operation with the loss of a Vassal, then with a new war between old enemies. My already sulfurous reputation will inflate to the very heights of infamy. Do I regret it? No, because like in many things, it comes down to the bottom line. I cannot allow Bertrand, leader of the expansion faction, to take over the New World. It is simply unthinkable. There is a century left before the final, cataclysmic finale to the millennial conflict between my sire and his mother dearest. I have no time to rebuild a power base, and therefore cannot allow myself to be exiled or worse. The Accords will survive. They must. If I am to keep its foes at bay through trickery and infamy, then so be it. I never sought to make allies of the Europeans to begin with. Those mighty factions certainly share the appetizing presence of a fruit basket, with might and opportunities aplenty. All the better to hide the cobra of Byzantine politics and infighting. This is not a battlefield I can win on. And so I will have to make do with a daunting reputation. That is also fine. It is better to be renown for ruthlessness than for incompetence. I suppose I could have pursued other avenues than an alliance with the Likaeans but I have no regrets here either. Their fate pains me. The possibility of antagonizing every faction of an ancient and powerful species remains a strong incentive as well. Sinead being charming remains the most powerful of all, but I would rather not dwell upon that thought. "Worry not, poppet. Remember, I am on your side," the man himself whispers with certainty as we arrive on the pier. The thought comforts me a little because he is himself a force to be reckoned with, but my attention is soon lost when I feel an aura flare in surprise far to my left. When I turn to watch, I catch the edge of a coat made horizontal through sheer speed. Someone has spotted us, someone with inhuman reflexes. It appears that the game is up. If the Eneru doubted my involvement before, now they have absolute proof. "Of course, they would be watching the ports," I grumble. "Is the ship compromised?" Sinead suddenly asks. I shrug, uncertain. The sleek hull of the Spirit of Dalton exhibits no signs of tampering, and those who lower the gangway are the usual suspects including the Dvergur captain. "Lothar, any anomalies?" "People sniffing around the place," the bearded man grumbles, "might be suspecting us." "Prepare to depart immediately. A lookout found us." "Aye, Ma''am." I allow the liberated Likaeans to move below deck while I inspect the outside of the ship, finding nothing. The protective wards and crew appear free of outside influence, though my inspection leaves many shaken by the sudden charm to check for foreign influence. Soon, we are underway and I find my place topside with my throne and my tricorn. Finally, I can figuratively breathe a little. "Do we expect problems, Ma''am?" Lothar asks as we proceed south along the coast at cruising speed. "If they knew you were our way out, the Spirit would be already sunk. Fortunately, there are many ports in Europe and we manage to hide our trail. Now that we were spotted, I expect other ships to be sent after us so keep your eyes peeled and do not stop for anything." "What if we are hailed by warships?" "What sort of Dread Pirate answers the navy''s summons?" S§×ar?h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Aye Ma''am, orders understood." Our crossing of the Adriatic Sea happens without hassle, due I suspect to the time it takes for the interception order to reach the right hands. Lothar keeps us on course but avoids the most common lanes even if it makes the journey longer. The Mare Nostrum is vast and mostly empty outside of those well-traveled areas, and we make good progress. Unfortunately, I know what it means. "They will be waiting for us at Gibraltar," I say one evening. That is unfortunate. On a more encouraging note, the Likaeans have obeyed the first rule of the seas which is that everyone must wear tricorns, so not all is lost. We can face the odds in high spirits. Lothar is no dilettante. We approach the straits under the cover of stormy clouds, taking full advantage of the approaching winter solstice and its inclement weather. Heavy rain batters the reinforced hull as we make our approach under the cover of silence and the complete absence of lights. I remain on the deck and inspect the Rock and its vicinity from afar. There, I find three squadrons of warships awaiting us including one ironclad. Her black-painted hull and red border give her the appearance of some snake waiting to bite. Discretion will be the better part of valor here, at least at first. "Ma''am?" "All hands ready. Half speed. Lower the rig and engage stealth protocols. Have everyone ready to implement the ghost stratagem." Now the Spirit of Dalton has been called a vanity project and other unflattering names by both Melusine and Sephare, which shows once again that I am the most visionary female vampire of the New World bar none. I will not challenge Constantine since he is developing a battle golem that can be piloted by a sealed sarcophagus and I cannot top that. Nevertheless, the Spirit has retractable masts made of relatively light, magically reinforced steel. Their hollow nature allows them to be folded and then withdrawn into the hull, giving us a much smaller profile. With the rig hidden, the ship is propelled by a corkscrew turbine situated at the back of the ship while the steam itself is recovered and recondensed to prevent trails. It is a marvel of engineering and I will eat whoever calls me an uncultured wannabe sailor. I even added a few surprises. "Aye Ma''am." Like a prowling sea dragon, the Spirit cleaves the black waves on its course west. Unfortunately, alarms ring on the leftmost squadron. Flares soon bring a blue light over the seas, but they are launched too early and the eyes of mortal sailors fail to find us. As for me, I find the culprit behind our early detection in the presence of a vampire pointing impotently in our direction while a British officer watches on, politely incredulous. I doubt that Mask had the time to learn of my little adventure and I am certain that Eneru would not ask them for help, so an Eneru agent must have taken control of British warships. Oh, the Hastings will not like that, not at all. War is all but certain now, which will help us little if we are blown to smithereens. Lothar steps next to me, a tad nervous, but I choose to wait. I signal to maintain course which places us on an intercept path with the vampire-occupied trio. If we are to face them anyway, better to face them alone rather than provide targets for the other groups as well. The vampire watches us approach with disbelief tinged with concern. It is not every day that a civilian ship charges the Royal Navy in the age of the Pax Britannica. Finally, the next flare reveals our presence and shouts echo across the three ships. They slowly swerve to present their broadside and the many maws of their cannons. The vampire looks even more concerned when we show no signs of slowing down. I signal to Lothar. He whistles, the signal strangely distorted. Spectral green fire suddenly erupts from our sides thanks to well-positioned barium nitrate burners, while I cast an illusion to give the sailors'' flesh an ethereal quality. Unexpectedly, Sinead pops out from a trapdoor with his Likaeans in tow, now undressed (except for the tricorns or I would have complained) and covered with white, pearly paint. They start dancing madly. Sinead winks. Music plays while our masts extend again, basked in phantomatic radiance. Hidden vents belch steam in our wake. On the warships, the silence is deafening. Every last mortal watches us sail with open mouths and eyes as wide as saucers. The vampire recovers first and vociferates, but in vain. We have gone through. I signal again and all the fires peter out at the same time. The music is silenced and the rig disappears once more into the hull. Our steam engine is pushed to the limit to leave the blockade behind. So yes, that was quite nice. "I did not know you could perform such amazing bluffs, Ariane," Sinead declares in Likaean. "The tricorns, the dancers, all conspire to give your ship the guise of the flying Dutchman! I admire your dedication." Yes this is absolutely why I insist on all of those things, totally. "You taught me that pleasure and results could go hand in hand when it comes to deception," I generously allow. "Indeed," Sinead replies, suddenly suspicious. I give him my best smile. "Ma''am, one of the ships is giving chase!" I react at the warning and confirm that yes, indeed, the vampire''s chosen flagship has turned and now follows us at great speed. I believe we could outrun them given time, however, that would simply not be fun. "Very well, deploy the gun." "Ay Ma''am, deploying!" Now, having plenty of cannons can considerably slow a ship down, not to mention the tall hull required to hide them all. That is why I have a single turret and that turret harbors a single gun, which slowly extends from its hiding place. It would be incorrect to say that I designed the ship around the gun, but it would not be completely false either. Loth helped. It is my pride and joy. "What, in the name of the spheres, is that?" Sinead exclaims at the glorious sight. "It is not even yet fully erect yet, just you wait," I reply with joy. "Did you really need such a monstrosity?" "Captain Lothar, what is the third rule of the sea?" "Firing on the same target a second time should only be done for entertainment purposes." "There you have it." ''The Gun'' as it is commonly known finishes its deployment and the turret slowly rotates towards a quickly panicking vampire. "Maintain course, angle one ninety-three, elevation minus three point five." "Aye Ma''am, one ninety-three, minus three point five." By the Watcher this is so fun. "Solid shot," I concede. I could use an explosive one to get a kill but I would rather not poke the hornet''s nest any more than I already have. "Are you sure you want to fire at a British warship?" Sinead asks with a little concern. "My dear, half of the fun of being a Dread Pirate is firing at the Royal Navy. BRACE!" "What''s the other half¡­" the fae mumbles as I move forward to get a better view. "Ramming, sir," Lothar says. "Oh." "FIRE!" I had to design new hydraulic shock absorbers to prevent the Gun from tearing the Spirit in half. It shows. The cataclysmic boom generates a shockwave that extends over the waves, flattening them. Over here, ice-magic based cooling mechanisms hiss. Over there, a dreadful clang sings the dirge of the ironclad''s lower hull, as well as that of the pursuit. "She''s sinking, Ma''am," Lothar comments laconically. "HAHAHA YES! Ahem. I meant to say that they could keep her afloat with some effort," I reply. They merely have to condemn a few sections. I think? That vampire seems a tad angry. Ah, but this was delightful. "Come to think of it, I have not yet lost an engagement at sea," I observe. Sinead shakes his head and withdraws. I am left pondering on my throne while a cabin boy dances a merry gig, as it should be. We have everything we need for the ritual. Before we proceed, I will have the enviable task of convincing the Accords that I triggered an international incident for their sake, all while preventing the creation of a blood-draining facility on our territory. Once this is done, I will handle the penultimate step of the ritual. We need to set up a fortress on the other plane, where only skeletons and mana hounds dwell. It might be a bit challenging. Chapter 182 - 176. Ariane, master schemer "What were you thinking? By the Eye Ariane of the Nirari are you out of your mind?" I sit back and relax, letting Sephare vent. I shall have to endure Constantine''s ire later and would rather preserve my strength. "You enter Eneru territory secretly. You help fae escape vampires. YOU SINK A ROYAL NAVY WARSHIP." I smile at the recollection, despite my best efforts. "Ariane of the Nirari! This is no laughing matter!" "Yarrrrrr!" "ENOUGH OF THIS! How old are you really?! By the Eye I cannot possibly imagine how I thought you mature and reliable! Next you will tell me you stole that organ as well." Unfortunately, my light smile freezes on my face ever so slightly, and the cunning socialite that is the Hastings lady picks up on it. She leans above her desk with fury on her brow just as I regain my composure. Her pale blue eyes bore into my soul, or they would if I still had one. She cracks the wood under her dainty claws just from anger. I had never seen such a loss of control from the smooth court animal. "Ariane. Ariane. Ariane! Why?" "How did you even hear about that?" "How could I not?! This is the most bizarre crime in the century! All of Christendom is screaming in outrage. Pope Pius IX even made a public declaration." I am more than famous, I am infamous! "Answer me, why?" For fun and because I cherish Torran''s happiness. "We could call it a proof of concept." "The concept being riling up the mortals into a frenzy?" she asks, aghast. "Oh please. They are not truly outraged, they are amazed and intrigued. You know mortals." "We are not discussing the merits of scandals, we are talking about your¡­ your inexcusable actions! I cannot in good conscience shield you from their consequences. What were you thinking?" She places both hands over her face, then a second later, glares at me from between her fingers. "I sincerely hope you were not hoping to keep the fae for your personal consumption." "Of course not." "So you do not object to us seizing them?" "By all means, if you can find them." "Ariane¡­" I lift both hands to show my lack of resistance. "I am not fighting you, merely saying that I released them." "You¡­. what?" "I solemnly swear that I don''t know where they are. I let them go." "Haaaaa. Ha. Ha." I believe I may have broken her. Sephare screams, a shrill sound that pierces through the Boston fortress to herald danger. The small lady then grabs a bust from a pedestal near her window and smashes the glass to pieces. Then, she jumps through it. How very dramatic. I inspect my fingers until a knock on the door heralds the coming of more questions. Always more questions. "Come in." Constantine''s stewart and Boston Fortress'' master enters the room. Wilhelm wears a black suit but leaves his beard and long blond hair flowing free, offering an interesting contrast. "Is everything fine here?" "Sephare felt unwell and decided to go for a walk." "Through the window?" "Very unwell." "Ariane, I appreciate levity as much as the next man, but I cannot overstate the danger you are in. Your stunt has placed you in great peril from the Accords as much as from Eneru, and even perhaps Mask. As someone who respects you, I would advise you to prepare your defense because you will be tried for this rash action, quite possibly by Constantine himself." I stand and turn to face the Erenwald lord who has expressed a more straightforward opinion than most of his peers would. It was heartfelt and I feel compelled to answer his favor in kind. "Lord Wilhelm, I am a busy woman. How many times do you expect me to answer the very same questions?" "Whatever do you mean?" "Why have you done that? How would you answer those accusations? Our dear kin will want an explanation and I will provide them twice and no more. Sephare will calm down and listen when she is ready. In the meanwhile, I have much work to do." Wilhelm considers me in silence for a moment. I cannot read his expression. "Will you at least give me a hint?" I ponder his request for an instant. He is a brave and honest man and deserves that much. "I will emasculate the expansion faction''s military for the foreseeable future, thus preventing them from winning the next war against us." "The one they are preparing for right now?" "Quite so." "I hope you are right, Ariane of the Nirari, but if you are, I will be very impressed." "We shall see. I hope to be impressed as well." I really, really do. The council room has always struck me as a place of potential. An unfamiliar spectator might equate our ancient garbs with obsolescence or associate the stone seats with stagnation, but it would be a mistake. As in many aspects that concern the aristocracy of the night, the truth lies beneath a thin mask. The unmoving monsters are not statues but powerful beings ready to pounce at the first sign of aggression. The controlled auras betray odd variations, signs that their owners hate cramped space and the proximity of their kin. Councils are not unlike the final moment of a pendulum''s swing. The ball has slowed down to near-immobility, only to come hurling back. I must grab the attention before the rest of the wardens fall on me like several brick houses that someone would have set on fire. To come forth for explanation would normally be unwise. It acknowledges the authorities of others. It weakens my position, implying that the approval of my fellow wardens matters to me, an unthinkable proposition. Wardens are only held accountable when tried. I, however, have gone too far. The Accords are willing to tolerate the odd bout of piracy or government destabilization. I bet even the occasional town could be razed to the ground. Clearly, crossing the Atlantic to trigger a war between vampiredom''s two mightiest factions crossed a limit. Rather than waiting for the inevitable trial, I have decided to go on the offensive, so to speak. Sephare and Constantine approved the plan. I ran it by Sinead to be certain it was the best choice on the off chance that the pair had decided to sacrifice me to my rivals. He agreed. Constantine climbs down the stairs and gives me a cold look. He has not quite digested my little escapade, not that I blame him. Soon, the session begins with the usual greetings. The few more urgent issues are solved expeditiously. Barring a few exceptions, all of the wardens are present. Everyone wants to get to the meat of the subject, so to speak. "For the next order of business, Ariane of the Nirari wishes to share her findings from her recent trip to Europe. After consideration, I elected to merge this topic with the accusations of reckless endangerment of the Accords some of you have raised considering they were linked. Since Ariane of the Nirari volunteered to present an explanation, I will let her talk first. The session will conclude with a vote to go or not to trial. Lady Nirari, you have the floor." I stand up as Constantine sits. "Thank you, Speaker. As most of you have heard by now, a fae-holding and blood-harvesting facility in Austria was attacked and its residents were taken. I was involved in this operation. I helped to transfer the fae captives to new owners." Technically true since Sinead is their leader. When it comes to vampire negotiations, technically true remains the best choice. Semantics matter to us almost as much as to the Likaeans. Normally, I would despise half-truths terribly, but we are playing a game with other rulers. I am not truly collaborating with them, I am deceiving them to protect Sinead who was my ally from the start. Curse him and his handsome face. "I realize that my actions appear reckless to casual observers, and I will endeavor to enlighten you as to my motivations. Before we begin, I swear that it is my firm belief that what I have done will benefit the Accords in the short and long term." The clear oath takes and holds. I do believe that depriving hostile factions of Likaean blood will significantly even the playing field. The truth is that the Accords do not have access to any blood-harvesting facility and that, by law, any resource found locally belongs to the territory''s warden. By extension, captured fae are the property of the captors and no one else. Those of us who managed to find those rare and elusive creatures have kept it to themselves, me included. "I moved to answer a request from an entity I shall not name. I shall keep secret the details of the operation, but know that my end of the bargain allowed us to gain a significant advantage in faction politics." A Roland lord raises a hand. I allow the interruption. "Please elaborate. What advantage?" "Nothing less than a major, unplanned war between the Eneru and Mask factions." The wardens blink and turn their head, the vampire equivalent of a strong reaction. "Are you quite certain?" someone asks out of turn. "It is true," Lord Ceron says in a smooth voice, "some of my export contracts were canceled because of flaring hostilities. I received reports that Baden-Baden and Lausanne were attacked." "Information remains difficult to obtain due to the improvised nature of the conflict," Sephare confirms, "though I can tell you that conflict is occurring as we speak." "How did you achieve this?" another asks. "Elements of Eneru violated the previous peace agreement with Mask without the signatories'' knowledge. I presented Mask with an opportunity for revenge by providing the location and security access for other fae prisons," I reply. "Very tempting. How long does that grant us?" Although we have not addressed the situation yet, all of the wardens know Mask will attempt another conquest sometimes soon. "It is difficult to ascertain," Sephare admits, then she reveals a precious nugget with her usual flare. "However, I just learned that Jean-Baptiste landed in Mexico a couple of nights ago." "The Scythe user?" Jarek asks. I met the man in Paris when I visited the undercity. He is one of Mask''s deadliest combatants, perhaps on par with Jarek himself. "That is not all. The twins Andre and Vincent came with him." The same who pierced my heart. What a small world. "They mean war," Ceron observes. "Certainly, and on a much shorter time frame than we expected," Sephare continues, "This diversion could not have come at a better time. In fact, they could very well decide to proceed with the offensive." Sear?h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Sephare warned me of course. The truth is that even with fae blood, they would still be at a small disadvantage according to our estimates. Of course, theirs could be different and they might believe they hold the advantage. They might even be correct. "The escaped prisoners, what of them?" someone finally asks. Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings. "I delivered them to a contact in Morocco. You have my word that I do not know where they are at the moment, and I have no claim on their blood." The old ones eye me suspiciously. I left much unsaid and there are loopholes, yet to lose sight of captive fae implies that I either gave up on them or trust the unknown party blindly. "I would be curious to know who that contact of yours is." I shake my head. "I believe I have proven that my behavior did not recklessly endanger the Accords. Beyond that, my deals are my own," I reply. "You have yet to prove it beyond the shadow of a doubt." "The burden of proof lies with the accuser." "I have another question," Jarek interrupts, and the small susurrus of conversations dies down. Jarek was none too happy about my trip as well. If I had to judge, he does not begrudge me the initiative but dislikes risky politics with a passion. The situation must have left him irritated. "You obtained an advantage for us at a risk for yourself. Why did you not share this information with us before starting and what did you get out of it personally?" Ah, direct and to the point as always. "I did not share this information because my partner in this endeavor required secrecy, and for good reasons. With the prize of a dozen fae, the temptation would have been too great to sabotage our work. I do not have to tell you that this many donors represents a strategic asset. The risks were simply unacceptable. Even with things going to plan, I was forced to evade patrols and run a Royal Navy blockade." "It shows how much you trust our leadership," a rival lord declares. Constantine turns his gaze to the man, but I decide to disarm the conflict before it can occur. "The secrecy was my partner''s wish, not mine. As for what I gained, besides some powerful magical artifacts, I was also granted an excellent opportunity to guarantee our independence for the foreseeable future." Jarek does not react, yet a few pointed looks show that no one believes in a gesture of altruism on my part. Wardens are seldom witless, after all. "You might remember that during the last conflict, Bertrand personally attempted to capture and punish me on several separate occasions." Recognition shows on many faces. Our enmity might have been a quirk or a footnote during the last conflict, but now I am a lady and the stakes are just as high. "If Mask wins and the Accords are dissolved, some of you may retain your territories with some concessions. It will not be the same for me. Not only would I lose my seat of power, which for a Devourer is abhorrent, I would also lose most of my means. A majority of my funds are tied up in local ventures, all investments I would be rendered unable to collect should I go into exile. If Bertrand''s faction wins, I lose everything I have built for the past half a century. Our loss, for me, would be unthinkable." "And you burnt bridges with Eneru," Sephare added. "Quite so. You realize now, ladies and gentlemen, why I have a vested interest in our success. We already warded off one attempt and will face at least another before the end of the century. The opportunity I was granted will cripple Bertrand for good." "Can you tell us about this opportunity?" "I can do better, I will invite everyone to participate in the final phase once it starts, but under two conditions. I require an oath of secrecy, and one of obedience¡­" Cries of consternation ring throughout the room. "You cannot possibly imagine¡­" "Obedience? To one so young?" "... with an opt out," I finish. Those who join will be forced to silence, and free to leave the scheme if they do not like it, though they will be compelled not to oppose it in any way. The protests die down, though frowns show that they find the proposal less than enchanting. "You know, if that mysterious benefactor is your sire, you can inform us," Suarez offers. I shake my head lightly. "Full secrecy enforced by oath," I reply, thus letting those on the fringe suspect him, Semiramis, and who knows how many ancient monsters capable of such grand schemes. The prepared oaths might be comprehensive but I would rather limit our numbers to true believers who will not spend every hour of every night trying to work around their binding words just so that they snack on a certain shameless rogue. If anyone gets their fangs into him, it shall be me. "How do we know that this operation of yours does not endanger the Accords?" "I swear that it is my belief that this will help the Accords in the short and long term." "You might be mistaken." "And we will not know until I try." "She is correct," Constantine continues seriously. "A binding oath is the most one can request of a warden and Ariane has already given one. We give each other the benefit of the doubt. I will grant you a few moments to consider your options, then we will move on." The Speaker truly has my back despite his reticence. If he wanted to sabotage me, he would have asked for a recess and let those old schemers cook up some legal way to force my hand or at least delay me to let me know of their displeasure. If we get to the trial vote now, the wardens should be too concerned about my next scheme to try to stop the past one. We do enjoy novelty. Their curiosity will protect me from legal retribution more surely than any convincing proof could. As expected, no one makes an argument, though I receive one last question. "Will those who vote against you be allowed in your scheme?" "Of course not!" I scoff, "Either you trust me or you do not." A few more grumbles and I am a free woman. A small yet hallowed committee sits in my fortress room, so busy that I had to borrow chairs from a neighboring Cadiz master. Lord Suarez stands for the Cadiz while Lord Adrien represents the Roland and, to some extent, the traditionalist faction which I oppose. Jimena is here, of course, and so is Naminata. Jarek showed up without a word. To my surprise, Sephare joined us. She raises an annoyed brow when I look at her. Those men and women reflect my journey to the Accords and to power. Lord Suarez raced after me in Savannah, a pursuit that ended with me swimming through its pier''s soiled waters. In my mind, he represents the Cadiz, the first faction to ally with me purely for their own benefits. Jimena and Nimanata are my first friends and the ones who helped me with no benefit to themselves. I helped Sephare obtain her territory, then integrated her group as she helped me in return. The canny blonde was my first formal, political faction leader. As for Adrien, we worked together during the human civil war then he attacked my land during my little Knight adventure because of the capture of his twin brother. He owes me a debt yet still nominally belongs to the traditional faction. In a way, Adrien is the opposition party in a government at war, opposed on minor issues but united during times of strife. Although their numbers are few, those lords and ladies represent the entirety of the Accords'' political spectrum and will no doubt report to their respective sides once they know my little secret. The oath will prevent them from giving out any details so they will be limited to saying yes or no. I do not mind. Although their support would be welcome, I do not particularly need them anywhere except off my back. Adrien sits somewhat uncomfortably, the last person to join. I stand up and close, then ward the door. I also double check that Constantine is not eavesdropping through the fortress'' defenses as I am sure he can, but find no signs of tampering. Satisfied, I return behind my desk and pass out the forms detailing the oath. All of the persons present swear with no signs of hesitation. It feels strange to be the heart of a conspiracy. Strange, yet exotic. "I am sure you are all eager to know what this plan entails so here it is. We are going to remove the fae blood advantage from all factions. In order to do so, I am going to steal the fae." My guests receive this declaration in consternated silence. I let them simmer for a second, then give them their second serving. "All of them. At once." "Is this a joke?" Sephare asks. "No. We will open a portal to the dead sphere and set up a ritual site using a war-class golem core as well as a few other stones as portable magical sources. Then, the most high-ranking fae couple under the leadership of a prince will use a royal authority ritual to summon every stranded member of their species to the dead world. They will then open a second portal directly to the closest faerie world and go through." "The closest what?" Jakek asks. "Hold that thought. A royal couple, you say? Your partner has access to a fae prince?" Sephare asks, stupefied. Oh. Oh! Oh this is going to be so good. "No. My partner is the fae prince." Horror, awe, and stupefaction war across the old ones present to my immense satisfaction. Is this how it feels to bring a machination to a perfect close? I understand Sinead so much now, I would even laugh maniacally if I were not a mature and poised lady. I shall have to do so later in private. "But¡­ Since when?" "I have been working with the Prince of Summer for the past seventy years, almost since I was reborn." The only persons not to gasp are Naminata and Jimena who knew to some extent. They put on satisfied smiles while the others display powerful emotions. The most shocked of them all is Sephare. She grabs her forehead between her hands then, to my surprise, she laughs. "Of course, of course by the Eye! It makes so much sense!" Once her mirth calms down a bit, she meets my eyes with pleasure clear on her delicate features. "You were not growing more erratic, you were merely adhering to your first allegiance, which was not us! Oh my, I had it wrong the entire time. Backwards, as it were. Oh, goodness me, what an amazing turn!" "Yes yes," I reply, suddenly a little put off by such a queer display. "The way you can assist is by helping me clear the ritual area of mana hounds, of which there will be many before we can finish a magic containment circle. You are also welcome to take part in the final ritual and defend the ritual site from aggression, which there will be." "How?" Jarek asks. "Did you not maintain secrecy?" "Yes, however this will be an event of tremendous reach. We live in a magical world now. Momentous occasions bring portents." "The Amaretta. The Seer bloodline," Sephare whispers. "Precisely," I reply with a nod. "As an event that will shake vampirekind to its foundation, the liberation of the fae must have been or will shortly be predicted by their Progenitor. I have no doubt that either they will intervene or they will warn those who can." "Which leads us to the obvious question," Adrien remarks. "If the Amaretta do attempt to stop you, would that not make it a terrible idea? It will weaken us as a species, and we have already been exposed to one dangerous foreign entity, the skeleton mages. Who is to say that they will not return or that others will not take their places? Fae blood could carry us to victory in our most desperate hour." "First, the skeleton mages will return, of that I am sure, but they illustrate a real problem. A few decades ago, portals were an anomaly. Now, the dead plane''s Last City knows of our existence and no doubts plans on stealing earth''s lifeforce. Our world grows increasingly bound to others, including that of the fae. Already their powers have grown. Now, do you have any idea how powerful the Likaeans are?" "Likaeans?" "This is what they call themselves while fae is our term. The Likaeans exist across a multitude of interlocked planes, gathering in many factions and many species. While they were all forced into a human appearance here by the world, it will fade in time and a determined invader could let their warriors keep their form. If the prince is to be believed, the Likaeans'' numbers are beyond reckoning. Untold billions populate their realms. They are a fractious and bickering lot, for now." "But if they realize we enslaved them¡­" "And treated them as cattle for centuries, and believe me, they will find out sooner rather than later, we will face a foe we cannot possibly hope to prevail against. If, however, a faction frees and returns them, they will incur a debt we can capitalize on. The Likaeans understand infighting and power struggles. We would just be yet another plane to them." "And they would leave us in peace?" Sephare asks, disbelief clear in her voice. "Of course not. We would just have a fighting chance against a scattered opposition." "I see now why you kept this whole affair hidden. It would just be wiser not to poke the bear and hope they never find out about us. Or to obtain better guarantees. Or better yet, kill them all and hope the truth is never discovered. Goodness me, there is nothing worse than an idealist with power," Sephare laments. "My solution does not rely on unknown entities with unknown powers never finding out, so I believe it will do just fine, thank you very much. Before we move on, I will ask which one of you would like to remove themselves from the agreement?" No one volunteers. I expect the ancient ones to consider their options before withdrawing their support, but sometimes, some of us react strongly to what we perceive as foolishness. It does not appear to be the case here. No one erupts in furious vociferations. "Very well. One last thing before we begin," I continue. I place my hands on my lap and close my eyes. I need to¡­ oh, to hell with it. I will just speak my mind. "Although the oaths are comprehensive, I hold no illusion that a particularly determined vampire could somehow find a way to sabotage this project, so I will state this clearly. If I ever discover that one of you, and I am not aiming this at anyone thus far, if one of you betrays me, they shall find out why and how I became the fourth Devourer. I will find them. I will kill them. Nothing will stop me, neither distance nor allies nor personal might. Think very carefully before you commit, because I am fully invested in this endeavor and will tolerate no duplicity. None, at all." "Well," Sephare replies with an amazed smile, "now I am eager to meet the one who would cause such a strong reaction!" "I did not leave Europe to bow to Mask again, Ariane. You shall have my support," Adrien says. "Spoken with honor," Jarek adds, "I respect that. You have my fists." "Honor, purpose, and audacity. A Cadiz can ask for nothing more. I will stand by your side," Suarez speaks with conviction. "Thank you for inviting me for this little outing, cupcake. You always bring the most delicious adventures," Nami adds. "I will always be there for you, sister," Jimena says. "Then we can depart for my territory whenever you wish," I say. Before I can stand up, Sephare picks the service bell and rings it. A knock on the door replies. "Come in?" Constantine steps into the room and stares at me, but it is at Sephare that his question is aimed. "So?" "I am convinced and conscripted." "Very well. Show me that oath. Let us get this over with." A long time ago, Semiramis came to the Illinois wilderness to complete a ritual. At the time, I wondered why she would pick such a desolate and random locale to conduct one of the greatest feats of magic this world has ever known. Only now do we realize that the weave of the world is particularly porous here, and that the cause for this thin barrier stems from the dead world. I hope it was not caused by some horrifying rift into reality or some similar concerns. I turn to the quickly growing fortress being built by hired workers under the vigilant gaze of my most faithful followers. Likaeans and vampires walk the ground, looking at each other with suspicion for the former, and longing for the latter. Our otherworldly guests still wear human shapes but the exoticism they exude makes them unmistakably alien to those of us in the know. I stop when I discover Sinead casually leaning against an oak as Sephare leans forward with naked curiosity. "You were Simon Nead all along?" "One of my more amusing achievements, yes. Ah, poppet, you have come. The first portal is ready for activation." "I will need a few minutes to put on my armor. Anything of note?" "Sivaya will come with you for the initial measurements. Do return if you are assaulted by a whale-sized burrowing worm or anything similar. We can always consider another site." "If we do find something of the sort, Naminata will do her very best to kill it." "Then I wish you a good hunt. Remember, this is a scouting mission, nothing more." "Yes yes." I roll my eyes. I soon find myself near a ritual spot, one that is eerily similar to the one I opened during the skeleton invasion, though Sivaya naturally improved it. Melusine, the Blue Court Princess and I pierce the veil easily. A wound in the world reveals the same drab desert I am used to, as well as forms like giant, jagged dark spikes jutting from the ground in the distance. Time to explore. "Ladies and gentlemen, shall we?" Chapter 183 - 177. The Undead World The exploratory group walks into the dead world with care but without worry. All of us working together would be enough to topple a small nation, so I am not overly concerned, but it is the truth that our destination hosts strange creatures and that we had fatalities fighting off only a portion of the Last City''s skeleton mages. We need to keep our eyes open. The landscape before us is both familiar and strange. The same bland, colorless desert of dust extends to equally bland mountains on the horizon. The air smells of little except brine, the explanation of which can be seen in shallow pools far to our right. The main point of interest stands around us, however. We have landed in a small depression surrounded on all sides by black monoliths jutting up for dozens of yards before retracting inward, their ends tapering into cracked spikes like the ribs of a fallen titan. A quick look reveals the faded remains of unknown glyphs. We have barely started to fan out when Jimena calls out. "Hm, you may all want to see this." The Cadiz lady points at the back of the portal. At the edge of the circle, we find a skull. Or rather, the top of one, its sockets quarter-filled with sands. The two most striking details are its surface as it seems to be plated with gold or some similar metal, and its size. "By the Watcher. The entire skeleton must be, err thirteen yards tall?" I hazard. "Probably closer to eleven if you must use imperial units," Constantine replies pompously, "the local natives are more squat than a regular human." "Really?" I ask. "Yes. The scientific community even calls them Homo Alien as they believe them to be an entirely new hominid species." "Would you two please save the scholarly debate for later?" Jarek interrupts. He goes for the skull and we follow. I would rather find out if it represents a danger sooner rather than later, especially because mana hounds will not fail to perceive our intrusion if there are any around. On cue, Adrien strides to the edge of the clearing for a better look while Sephare takes position behind us and next to Nami, the only master present. The seven of us eventually form a half circle around our findings when it becomes clear that we are not in immediate danger. The skull is just that, a skull. I feel no aura from it. The surface intrigues me, however, as the metal plating shows fine lines engraved with what must have been painstaking patience. "Perhaps the metal can be harvested? It could be valuable," Sephare says. "I would be interested in examining the spellwork first. This was clearly designed by magic users," Constantine replies reproachfully. I understand him. What do we care about a pile of gold when we are already wealthy? This new finding could revolutionize our understanding of magic, and possibly not in a way that would destroy the world! Truly, we might have found ourselves an unexpected treasure. "Am I the only one who is concerned that we have faced skeleton mages and this is a giant skeleton¡­ and possibly a mage?" Adrien asks. "It has not moved so far¡­" Jimena says, unsure. "Only one way to find out," Jarek declares. He takes a step forward. His armored gauntlet soul weapons materialize on his fists. "Jarek?" I scream. Constantine protests vehemently as well, undoubtedly out of fear the markings might get damaged. Nevertheless, Jarek punches down. The skull shakes under the jab. Cracks expand over its surface, but not very far, merely the size of a large plate perhaps. I have seen Jarek pulverize rocks with that amount of power. "The thing is quite durable." "What are you doing?" I hiss. "Remember your oath. I have not approved of attacking it!" "You have not forbidden it either. Hmmm. It does seem dead." I open my mouth to argue that there is a difference between proactive thinking and recklessness, but I am interrupted by an earthquake. A very small, very localized earthquake. I shift to the side when ribs, actual ones plated in metal, breach the dusty earth. We all scatter except for Jarek who hammers them with limited results. A patella pierces next, followed by the whole leg. "The Watcher dammit JAREEEEEEEK!" I say. "At least we got the first hit in. What are you all waiting for?" We all attack at once. Just as we expected, the creature proves incredibly resilient. Even repeated hits do little but open tiny crevices in its reflective surface. Jarek''s deafening blows prove the most effective at damaging it. I decide not to waste anymore time. "Magna Arqa!" No matter the circumstances, letting go will always feel amazing. The roots explode from the earth normally, wrapping around the skeleton''s leg and making it stumble. Constantine''s chains grab the other leg while another of Jarek''s fast series of strikes pushes it back, on its, well, pelvis. Despite this, the creature rises again until it towers above us. "What monstrous strength," Constantine remarks. "Should we focus on its right leg?" I ask no one in particular. I already scratched it pretty well. "You will notice that it is indeed eleven yards tall." "NOT NOW, SPEAKER!" The massive skeleton does something and the world is drawn in¡­. but nothing happens to us. The same cannot be said about our equipment, however. I feel Aurora''s cold radiance diminish. The skeleton bends forward and reaches for Sephare, who dodges with a curse. It is quite fast for a construct yet still pales in comparison to us. Despite that, our inability to hurt it means a stalemate. Uncaring for the growing network of rifts marring its surface, the giant swipes at Sephare, this time much, much faster. She still jumps over the blow. Then, the creature''s fingertips grow transparent as if clad in ghostly talons. It reaches down for a lost piece of metal on the ground. I recognize one of Sephare''s side weapons, a dagger of exquisite make. It disintegrates. "It''s starving. It will feed on our magical items!" I warn everyone. Constantine already guessed it and forfeited his spells in favor of blows from his chain-like soul weapon. As for Sephare, the destruction of her blade sends her in a fury. "Agh! This was a gift from¡­ HOW DARE YOU, YOU OVERGROWN ANATOMICAL DISPLAY?" She screams incoherently and attacks with utter savagery. I find it a little adorable, but cannot let myself be distracted too much. There are too many powerful fighters in a crowded space. We cannot use all of our strength. I decide to focus my effort on the same side Jarek and Constantine are attacking with my roots and Rose''s shredding edge. Despite the improvised nature of our team and the lack of room, we work together rather well. "Magna Arqa!" Adrien drags Sephare out of the way of the thing''s attacks by jumping at her from her own shadow. The creature appears to be at full speed now, and I assess that its claws destroy magic on contact. I would complain if I were not cheating in a similar fashion. Finally, with our combined attacks focusing on its right leg, the wobbly tibia fractures to show actual bone and the fossilized marrow underneath. We jump on the weakness like wolves on a wounded stag. The creature kicks, which we avoid with ease. It opens wide its toothy maw. The world shakes. Sand at my feet dance in strange patterns while my ears burn with a searing pain. I lose my sense of balance. My vision turns red. Pure instinct makes me raise more thorns to block a wide sweep from the skeleton. It tears off at least five of the trunk-sized offshoots. That thing is impossibly strong! Around me, the others pick themselves up. They are all bleeding from their ears. A pop and an itchy sensation let me know that I am already healed. "Can we ward against screams, somehow?" I ask, attacking the leg again. "WHAT?" Sephare answers. "No magic will work against this thing, it will just consume it," Constantine replies soberly. The Aurora picks this moment to flicker. "That thing is killing our gear!" "It is of no use anyway," Jarek replies, "Magna Arqa!" Power fills him as he launches himself at the beast. He lands squarely on its ribcage and sends it crashing on the ground. "Remove them! They will not save you if you get hit! Go!" He is right. One glancing blow from those talons and the armor will simply be gone, as well as whatever part of us it touches. It serves no purpose. I race away with the others except Jarek and Nami. The shameless woman simply tears off her light armor and sends it flying far in the distance. She now fights in the state of nature, smiling all the way. Ah well. "Wait, the portal is closed?" I exclaim. "I told them to close it for ten minutes. Security protocol in case we meet more than mana hounds, remember?" Adrien retorts reproachfully. Ah, right. I insisted on it too. "I had not seen you do it." "All of you were obsessed with hitting that thing, you battle maniacs. Nobody cares about the plan, ever," he grumbles. The sourpuss. We run at full speed for a few seconds until the depression is far behind us and the Aurora''s power picks back up. A signal, and we all drop our belongings where they are, leaving only the under armor and our soul weapons. I end up in a gambeson with ¡ª and may my papa forgive me ¡ª trousers. "Ariane, you think this creature is one of the skeleton mages?" Jimena suddenly asks. "Undoubtedly, but it is obviously quite mad. Perhaps it starved?" "Would you say it participated in the destruction of this world?" "I am certain of it." "Me too." Jimena accelerates and points her sinuous sword at the large skeleton. "I JUDGE YOU GUILTY! Magna Arqa!" Vast wings of purple light grow from her shoulders and she positively flies at the creature''s head. Her power shifts the balance of the local place. I can feel it. In the thin fabric of this world where reality was pierced before, our combined essence calls it. It draws itself forward across unimaginable distance. On the horizon, the eye of the Watcher opens. Its black slitted pupil narrows and lands on us. The time has come to leave a good impression. Our assault redoubles and one last hook from Jarek cracks the bone. The skeleton tilts to the side and falls once more. This time, it will not rise again. The foot is severed. It opens its mouth and screams again. I do not even bother to block my ears, fully expecting the blaring sound to send me to the ground, bleeding, except it does not. A pure, clear note impossibly blocks it in. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. Nami laughs, and laughs. Confused, the maddened creature screams again and again, Nami twirls her spear then sings. The world takes a purple shade. She starts to dance. A ghostly music covers the monster''s impotent noise with drums and flutes. Nami sings still, then she pauses and looks at me. "Pants, cupcake? How scandalous!" "YOU ARE ONE TO TALK!" But Nami does not care. She keeps dancing with the beat and I cannot stop myself from joining her as her eyes turn purple and feline as well. "Magna Arqa!" The fight becomes a dance. We strike with the tune and dodge with graceful steps. Our attacks beat a staccato on the beleaguered monster. I sway my hips suggestively. "Is this really necessary?" I complain. "Just relax, treacle pie, go with the flow!" It takes a long time for us to detach the skull from its neck, but with its yells silenced and its patterns known, the skeleton no longer stand a chance. Nami''s strange power forces me to be more predictable, yet at the same it enhances our coordination. Our range means that I can cover Jarek while Constantine covers Adrien. Nami forms a deadly trio with Sephare and Jimena, their attacks concentrated on a single vertebra. Going with the flow proves extremely easy while even thinking of resisting it hampers my movement. A vexing yet interesting development. Finally, the titan collapses into true death this time, and we are left waiting to see if it will explode or some equally distasteful last gesture of spite. Fortunately, no such thing happens. We find ourselves in the possession of the largest pile of metal-plated bones in history. I jump on Nami. "Congratulations on your ascension!" All of us greet the latest vampire to join our hallowed ranks, though she merely hums and smiles, then, without warning she grabs Jarek and Sephare before aiming for the slowly reopening portal. "Ah. She is going to celebrate," Constantine remarks. I glare at him. A bit crass. "Do not look at me that way, Ariane, you should know that I do not enjoy intimacy of any sort." "Do not flatter yourself! The only intimacy you will get from me is¡ª" "When you shove that sword somewhere tender, yes, I know, I know," Constantine replies with a look of supreme boredom. "If you really want the throne, I might give it to you." I freeze at that and look at the Speaker, confused. "You would?" "Do you have any idea how much effort I spend every night regulating petty conflicts and signing things so that we remain the Accords and not some squabbling confederation of bloodthirsty old monsters? No one, not even I, have the power to put the likes of Jarek or even you in line. It would take the likes of your sire and nobody would benefit, but I digress. Spend a week shadowing me and we will see if you truly have the stomach for it. You know enough by now that it should benefit you." "If nothing else, you have my curiosity. Right. In any case, we should recover our gear quickly." "Hm? Oh." Constantine finally notices the approaching horde of mana hounds backed by their monstrous broodmothers and swarms of flying drones. The land is not quite purple, but it certainly is more colorful than it used to be. We quickly put on our armor and recover our weapons. Thankfully, whatever damage the creature did does not appear to be permanent. "Did those three just leave us all the work so they could engage in coitus?" the Speaker complains. "Well, yes. To be fair, Nami''s situation is a once in a second life-time experience and we would have refused anyway. I do not do groups." Constantine blinks and turns to Adrien, as if seeking confirmation that this was normal. The Roland lord misunderstands his meaning. "I do not mix combat and pleasure," he explains. "Aintza has all of my heart," Jimena says in turn "Oh, reinforcements!" I exclaim to lift the decidedly awkward direction this conversation has followed. Said reinforcement are the Illinois vampires, Urchin, John, Melusine, and Phineas. The fire mage seems protective of the fallen knight, which I can understand since he was still far from deadly when we escaped Europe together. "Did you not have more Courtiers?" I ask the prickly redhead. "They are not ready, you bull-headed barbarian." "I was not ready when I escaped your clutches. Those sound like excuses to me." "We cannot all improve our strength by traveling the land and eating its people, you juice-brained slurper." "Is it jealousy I hear from my lesser, Master Melusine?" "Yes yes, enjoy being a lady through power because it would never have been by your manners. Speaking of dignity, Isaac of the Rosenthal has sent a package for you." "Oh?" John fetches it. At first, it looks like a sealed sarcophagus and quite heavy to boot, but as soon as I read the message attached to it, I know I was mistaken. "My dear Ariane, As you expected, I cannot assist you since the Rosenthal enforce a strict neutrality policy. We cannot involve ourselves in matters that involve two or more factions, as your current project does. Nevertheless, nothing says that I cannot hurry along the secure transfer of some mail orders, so to speak. I wish you the best of luck in your endeavor. Yours sincerely, Isaac." Curious. The envelope contains another letter, this one in Loth''s familiar script. "Lass. I finally refined and finished our little project. Gatling might be a smart lad but I''m an efficient one. The handle and firing mechanisms are isolated against temperature changes. I added silver bullets for your immediate enjoyment. Have fun. Loth." Ooooh yes. The hound cleanup takes all of two hours but is otherwise uneventful. Regular castings lure the attention of the beasts away from the portal. Constantine also successfully altered his chains so they would not snap immediately under the anti-magic effect of the disgusting creatures. I believe his inability to act against the skeleton must have frustrated him, because the ensuing rampage is quite spectacular. Loth''s weapon turns out to be a portable machine gun with a shortened muzzle and a higher rate of fire. It takes me a bit of effort to get used to the weight, and also to realize that I need a small moment to dig my feet in so I can compensate for its tremendous recoil. I wonder if I could use a hydraulic shock absorber in a portable weapon but it will have to be a consideration for later. After a quick test, I am forced to switch to Rose because of the lack of ammunition. It was fun while it lasted. With the land under our control, we spend some time clearing the corpses, gathering them in a mound a distance later which I propose to set on fire. Unfortunately, my proposal is refused on account of the inevitable plume of smoke it would create in this otherwise cloudless land. "We are half a planet away from the last city," Sivaya explains. "The gate spells link loci that are only related to true distances, not bound." "What she means to say is that the distance between two portals on earth and the same two portals here would be different but not so much that it would make portal-based movement very attractive," Sinead explains. "So we should have no interference from the Last City," I reply. "There is no evidence that they are, in fact, the Last City. That was my actual point," Sivaya continues. "The present skeleton proves that this world is rife with old dangers and ancient traps. We must remain cautious." "Very well." A large number of mages come through the gate including Ricardo, the man I saved in Alexandria and had forgotten since then. It feels strange to see so many old faces, and I am reminded that our current task is the result of years of efforts and resource-gathering from everyone involved. When I told my allies I had been part of the conspiracy for seventy years, it was an approximation. I was more a willing and constant ally ready to provide support whenever needed but otherwise busy pursuing my own interests. Only now do I realize the extent of efforts invested in the liberation when dozens of fae join our encampment as it transforms into a starfort. They immediately get to work casting, enchanting, and reinforcing our defenses under the watchful yet respectful gaze of the Accords and our human guards. Our numbers swell to hundreds, forcing me to increase the delivery of food and other necessities. Although I am concerned about operational security, there is little I can do beyond increasing patrols and traps. Fortunately, the fae rise to the occasion once more and I successfully intercept a Mask spy before she can find out more about our project. "This is not especially alarming," Constantine says as we are gathered inside of the starfort one evening. "Few factions would fail to identify that we are working on a major project, but so far they must not know what or they would have tried to intervene. Your warning about the Amaretta seer is concerning, however. Although we are moving at great speed, I am concerned that we may be found out too soon." Sivaya lifts a dainty hand to speak. Her elfin features show more confidence since Constantine has taken a serious interest in her and her research. Honestly, I would be concerned if I were Sinead, intimacy or not, but the Likaeans are much less exclusive than we are. "The manipulation of fate is more the domain of my father, however, if I would hazard a guess, I would say that the trigger will be the start of the ritual which will take three days to complete. My understanding is that our foes could reach us before we are done." "It would cost them many resources and probably leave them with no avenue of retreat, but perhaps, yes," Sephare confirms. "If that is the case we can delay the trigger until our defenses are complete." "Will you call upon your allies?" Adrien asks. I shake my head. "If we face any serious opposition, it will be vampires and for one night only. I see no other way for them to react. Any mage or werewolf deployed to face a host of lords and ladies at night will only be wasted." The others agree with me, and our work continues. Over the month of March 1871, we finish the starfort around the permanent portal. The loyal workers are returned to Marquette and the other surrounding villages they came from with the expectation that informers will get at them. Fortunately, none of the mortals present saw the portal open or, indeed, recognize the Likaeans for what they were since their existence has always been kept a secret. We begin working on the necessary elements of the rituals, firstly by deploying a magic-blocking seal. Sivaya explains its purpose while we use basic spells to flatten the ground around the ribcage-like structure. "The dead world drinks magic like starving land drinks rain. I suspect it might live again but not easily, and especially not with the power we possess here. Our first order of business is to keep the spent energy inside. It will serve a double purpose by also protecting us from detection and questing hounds." "Will the ribcage not affect us?" I ask as I work. "I examined the mark and believe that it was used to create one of those skeleton mages you speak of, and that we call liches." "Wait. You have seen this process before?" Sivaya nods. "It is an inefficient technique that mortal species can resort to if they wish to fend off the end of their natural lifespan. The spells I know require objects of great vitality, but the people here used the essence of their own planets. Such shortsightedness can unfortunately be found regularly among the more ambitious species. In any case, the ritual dug a deep wound in the fabric of reality which will serve our purpose well. The ribcages are inert now, their purpose fulfilled. I suppose it could be used as a focus in certain rituals, but it would be used for what it represents and not as an active ingredient. We are safe." Well, she is the expert. Once the ground is flattened, Sivaya and a few others harden it until it has the resistance and consistency of stone, then trace an intricate network of glyphs in a large circular band around what I suspect will be the heart of the ritual. They use strange tools that emit a blue flame to dig. Physically imposing Likaeans then fill the grooves with an alloy molten in an engraved furnace that I suspect might be electrum. I dare not think how many rich widows Sinead seduced out of their savings to achieve this level of financial liquidity. Curious, I ask him when we take a break. We have installed a massive tent at the edge of the working place with sentries all around. Guarding the unmoving dust desert has to be one of the most boring tasks in existence. One might as well watch wallpaper dry. "So, how many banks have you robbed to afford that much electrum?" "Many, but not the way you think. I took some loans." "You intend to dodge repaying those by escaping to a new dimension?" I gasp. "You have to admire the elegance of the solution. Do not be afraid, I mostly scammed banks tightly linked to the Rosenthal and other vampire organizations." "You have defrauded vampires." "''Tis only fair," he replies with a shrug. "Our liquidity for their liquidity, thank you." I hear an edge under the joke but do not remark on it. Sinead is nervous. I can feel it in the most minute variations of his colorful aura, in the way he has stopped lounging. The Prince of Summer is afraid. Too much hangs in the balance. Uncharacteristically, I grab his shoulder and massage it a little bit in what must be a brazen display. I have not been tactile, not since I was changed. Vampires hate being touched. Any unsolicited stimulus tends to trigger extreme responses while we rely much more on our sense of smell. Sinead feels how much it cost for me to bare myself emotionally, somehow. His smile softens until it feels genuine to my less sophisticated social perception. His hand squeezes mine once, softly. He is quite warm and smells of the sun on fresh linen. S§×arch* The N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Gah, I wish I fancied him less. Sinead sighs deeply. Tension leaves his dancer''s frame. When he looks at me, the intensity of his gaze reveals that this will be one of his few serious moments. "You have helped me so much Ariane. This liberation, this return home, it means more than you could possibly imagine. We had no hope, no hope at all, but you gave us some. You freed me. You freed Sivaya. You found us Ricardo and saved us years of research. We are building a fragile edifice made of a hundred machinations and much of it rested on your shoulders, and you have never failed us. You cannot possibly imagine the impact your actions will have. And do not pretend that you did it out of self-interest. We both know that the debt I incurred cannot be repaid with all the gold of your world. Freedom, Ariane, is priceless. If we achieve success, I promise to make sure that your altruism is rewarded, the spheres know you will need some help. And I will never forget what you did." "Well," I retort, suddenly embarrassed, "I think freedom is priceless too." Well done, Ariane, very smooth. Eighty years alive and that is all you come up with. Truly, what is left unspoken weighs heavily on my mind. Sinead and I have made no real secret of our mutual attraction, merely skirting the issue since we could not even kiss without me feeling an overwhelming urge to kill him. I would not accept to be bound just to enjoy intimacy either, never again, not even with someone I trust. We are at an impasse. And he is leaving, possibly forever. Perhaps there will be a time when our worlds finally align, but I know that we will have met our end before that one way or another. There is a non-negligible chance that the earth he finds will be under the thumb of Nirari, meaning that I will be dead. It all feels so far away. There could be centuries, millennia before we could meet again. We do not grow old but we grow¡­ tired. I know some have fallen into slumber. It could happen to me too. Despite all of this, we have not broached the subject and I dare not address it lest we are distracted from the more immediate matter. This is the endgame for the fae. Soon, the vampire world will realize that they do not just face serious opposition from the species, they also gathered allies and are capable of freeing their kin. We only get one opportunity to succeed before many doors close to us. I cannot lose sight of the goal, no matter how meaningful his absence would be. With the first circle finished, work continues unabated. Many of the vampires including myself spend daylight hours in the dead world rather than the confines of the starfort with no negative side-effects beyond the vague impression that those are poor hunting grounds. The lack of background life would render us insane in short order if we were isolated, but it is, for now, compensated by the strange impression of being out under the sun. The local pale light shyly piercing through the eternal cloud cover does not trigger any of our fears in a curious phenomenon none of us can quite explain. Regardless, I would not want to live here. As the hour draws closer, I spend more and more time imagining the world beyond the portal. In retrospect, this should have raised an obvious question but it is John who asks it. "Will you go through the portal, Miss Ari?" "The portal? To the Likaean worlds?" "Yes. If you go, he will not come after you." I will be able to live free of Nirari until I die or until he annoys a Likaean king and loses his life in the process. "You are right of course but¡­ I cannot. Earth is still my world. Perhaps, one day, I may leave it, but not while it teeters on the edge of the abyss. I would never be able to forget the ongoing conflict. It would weigh me too heavily. Besides, would everyone I care about leave with me?" "I would," John replies, "but Jimena would not. And you would not leave her to die." "Indeed not." John nods and, for him, this concludes the discussion. His trust and certitude ground me. The middle of March brings us more news. A sudden war triggered between France and Prussia ended in the quick and total destruction of the French army and the creation of the German empire. Much to the general surprise, we learn that vampires from the middle faction, the Brotherhood, have been granted titles of nobility while mages are hired in legal positions. As for France, a grassroot movement installs a socialist regime in Paris while the republican government in Versailles is attempting to negotiate, the cause of their sudden tolerance being their lack of trust in the army. Many free spellcasters have joined the ranks of those they call the communards. For the first time in history, magic has made an open impact on the side of the leaders. The second surprise comes from Mask''s own defeat. Despite striking the first blow, a sudden and temporary alliance between Eneru and the Brotherhood, as well as the absence of some of their best fighters, have left Bertrand and his tactician Orpheus completely overwhelmed. We fail to learn much on the exact course of the conflict, only that Mask is currently in disarray. I fear their reversal of fortune might lead them to desperate measures concerning the incoming war. The stakes are now even greater. The fae finish the construct on the seventeenth, right on schedule. We all stand witness to a spellwork as large as three tennis courts engraved on petrified earth with molten electrum. It is a sublime work of arcane knowledge and craftsmanship. Even Constantine is impressed by the displayed precision and dedication. The secondary stones are charged. The main stone is at full power. The only thing left is to place the focus and start, but the Likaeans request a break to recover, one I grant and that we spend exploring and hunting. Two days later, Sinead gathers all of us. Ranks of loyal mages of the Red Cabal and fae of all origins stand shoulder to shoulder with us. On top of the previous lords, we are also joined by Lord Suarez of the Cadiz for the defense, Adrien''s twin Adam, and Islaev, Jarek''s second. The number of warlords and ladies present eclipses all but the most determined war parties. Despite our presence, the Prince of Summer shows no trace of fear when he faces us, the men and women who will bring his people home. "Welcome, everyone, to the second most important magical event of this century," he starts in English. A few of us smile. Everyone who matters knows that Semiramis'' work set the foundation for what we will soon attempt. "This tent behind me doesn''t look like much, yet now it is the headquarters of the most culturally and ethnically diverse group of beings your planet has ever known. We have mundane humans, mages, and vampires. We have fae from the diminutive eye hunters of the Court of Wings and Keyholes to the giants of the Court of Stones. A hundred courts from dozens of worlds have lost themselves here and have or will join our numbers. Why, we are only missing the werewolves." "I could always use a snack," Islaev grumbles, causing a few nervous laughs. "And yet, we are still working together towards a singular purpose, but we have a flaw, a fatal flaw that could cause our demise in our hour of need." Sinead leans forward, stealing our attention with a conspiratorial wink. "We are here for different reasons. We have not aligned." He stands back up and paces before us. "Now I know that oaths bind all of us, not just you my fellow Likaeans but also those who could have been our jailors! But oaths can only force us to comply. It is not obligation that will push us to our limits, that will burn away the debris of our indecision until we fight, reborn in our finest hour, oh no! We will need more than this to triumph, because at the end of the day we are not evacuating, we are not depriving enemies of their magical juice. We are doing nothing short but achieving the most daring, the most audacious breakout in the history of this world and beyond! We are stealing an entire species. What bards will not envy us this moment? What seeker of adventure will look us in the eye and claim they would not have wished to be here?" I think Naminata would spontaneously burst if she could. Sinead turns and spreads his hand like an entertainer "Panache, ladies and gentlemen. Panache will bind us in that noble endeavor. There are no stories like the one we write now, no achievements like the one we shall claim, and it is you, all of you, who are the actors and architects of this masterful play. So stand straight and laugh, channel the powers of the arcane with mirth in your breasts, face your enemies with a smile on your lips, because when this is done, no matter what, we will be legends. The ritual starts tomorrow and will culminate on the night of the spring equinox, following which we will be free or dead. May the fates smile upon us all. Dismissed." Chapter 184 - 178. Heist of the Millennium Power feeds into the construct from four cardinal points. Sinead and Sivaya stand in the innermost circle where they will stay for three days until the ritual is complete, hands linked in symbolic union. Other fae and powerful mages like Ollie line the middle circle. We will be able to come and go thanks to the ritual''s extraordinary flexibility, so long as enough people remain to assist at any point. From behind Sinead, the first stone burns the yellow gold of August noon. Crimson red bleeds from the second one, clockwise, while the stone behind Sivaya radiates a polar blue. The last one pulses green and verdant like a dewy May lawn. Between the encircled arms of the royal couple, the last and largest shines a terrible white so intense it casts shadows behind the outpost''s tent. The last parts of the construct are the chalice at the edge behind the autumn stone, and an arched gate behind the spring one, currently empty. To goodbyes and new beginnings, I suppose. I will take part in the ritual as the mage closest to the winter gate due to my new affinity. The fae to my left and right taste of darkness and cold, but not yet the ravenous claws of winter itself. I pride myself in my raw power if not in my control, yet the energies deployed here surpass all but Semiramis'' ritual, and we are just getting started. Slowly, the outer circle''s electrum turns an intense silver, then the power slowly fills the delicate engravings going inward. When it reaches me, I feel a pull and allow my aura to feed into the ritual, contributing to it yet also directing the energies to grant them meaning. One by one, the others join me until the last inner circle ignites in turn and we are set, or that is what I believe. Instead, the power keeps increasing. If the spell were to destabilize now, the resulting explosion could be seen from the horizon, but it will not. Sivaya''s weave is a thing of beauty, an exquisite system built with failsafes and redundancy to satisfy the most paranoid of mages. It gorges on our combined power and the energy stored in the stones until the combined auras give me a sense of vertigo. Only after the inner circle glows incandescent does the royal couple speak in Likaean. Even though it is the language of adults, the meaning is so clear that I have no difficulty following it. "We call upon you," they say, "we summon you here. Wanderers, return to us and find your path. Warriors, return to challenge us if you dare. Prisoners, return to find your freedom. We call upon you. Return to us, return to us." Even I feel a tug, the power of which would steal my breath if I had one. The call they make is so compelling and so strong that even I, an outsider, feel its pull to the bottom of my essence. Sinead and Sivaya draw on the bonds of kinship and shared legacy, but also their shared suffering and their longing for acceptance as who they are. The sky above the inner circle changes, images manifesting almost too fast to see. Golden halls filled with lifelike statues alternate with vertiginous spires over a frigid lake, then gloomy caves lit by strange mushrooms where dwellers sleep forever. A forest of nets and webs where small winged beings flutter gives way to fiery cliffs dripping molten rocks, thick and bubbling. A still forest. A lush jungle made of dancing, singing plants. A monumental tree. A palace bathed by moonlight. The colors swirl in an ethereal mirage until it merges into an ocean of possibilities and landscapes of the mind, the true soul of the fae spheres. "Return to us. NOW." A woman appears in the air with a loud pop and falls with a yelp. She is dressed in a strict brown dress, but her matronly traits shift as I watch. Her nose grows very long and pointy and her chin expands, square and stubborn. Her entire eyes shift to a warm brown. She stands up with a huff and walks out with dignity towards the outer circle where she stands, aligned with the spring stone. Another pop. A child-like Likaean falls on his butt with a complaint, but he soon walks behind the autumn gem. A tall, powerfully-built woman appears and almost collapses, but she grits her teeth and goes to stand behind summer. A shadowy fellow in a shift bites back a sob then crawls behind me. Blood drips from thin air into the chalice. I feel giddy. By the Watcher, this was the first prisoner. We are doing it. We are stealing the Likaeans! More and more join us, in all shapes and forms. Most of them appear to be in proper shape with few exceptions, and I assume that those are the most geographically close and thus not the result of centuries of systematic hunting. They appear with regularity, maybe one every three minutes or so, yet the ritual never falters despite its expenditure. Instead, it grows in power with every new addition. The summoned fae flock around the circle in an eclectic mix of features and clothes, of moods as well. I recognize a winter fellow, his teeth still stained with fresh blood and he waves a bone club at Sinead with the promise of violence. Nevertheless, he, too, joins the circle. We are a court, I realize. This is the first and hopefully last gathering of the Earth Court. The Court of Exiles. As soon as the thought crosses my mind, the winter fae by my side smiles and gives me a crazed glare of agreement. "Yes. The Court of Exiles. It will do, for now." The power increases yet again until it grows absolutely overwhelming. The Likaeans will answer. Nothing, no chain or enchantments will hold them back. The summoning may be slow, but it is the slowness of the changing of season: no less inevitable for its tectonic pace. At some point, some of the mages and fae switch position between circles to rest and recover in the adjoining tent. I also give way to the winter fae as dawn approaches, and when I walk out, the dizzying switch that comes with leaving the spell''s embrace makes me lose my footing. Suddenly, the delicious scent of potent essence replaces my serenity with a dull ache. I stand in the richest hunting environment I have ever been in. The number of fae present is close to two hundred, and many more will join us before this is over. I also realize that many of the Likaeans were never prisoners of the vampires. Of course, we control only a fraction of mankind''s domain and it makes sense that the lost fae would appear in random places when they first fall through. I wonder if we lost some to the seas, or to the unforgiving temperatures of the poles. Bah, the dawn is robbing me of my focus even on this side of the gate. I decide to return to our earth''s starfort and fall to slumber in my sarcophagus. I wake up in the early afternoon, excited and worried. A quick check with sentries confirms what my instincts and the Dvor essence tells me: nothing untowards happened on my land while I slept. I wash and dress in the gambeson I wear under my armor anyway. I quickly walk into the dead world to find that the ritual is still on course, but that the main tent has been joined by a smattering of smaller ones. Likaeans are resting and in some cases engaging in coitus within their confines. Smoke and the smell of food come in wafts from a central pavilion. Constantine hails me from a corner where he holds council with Likaeans I have never seen. "Ah, Ariane, you are here," he says in English. "Those are Tourneas and Secluded-Black-Sand-Beach." The Speaker waves at a man who shares Sivaya''s elfin traits, and a woman with thin scales seemingly drawn on her skin. "They will manage the encampment while the ritual is in progress.You can rely on them if there are any issues," he explains in English. "There were issues?" I ask. "Court of Shadows and Court of Stones have old feuds," the woman whispers with a singsong tone in Child Likaean. "Old enmities should be on hold," the man answers in chiding English, "but one can never be too careful. I have experience as a Master of Ceremonies. I am aware of conflicts both current and past." He sighs. "Relatively current, in any case. I am also aware of debts," he finishes, meeting my gaze. "You have our thanks. Will you join the circle again?" "I prefer to wait until nightfall, unless my presence is required." "We have enough representatives for all sides now. Perhaps you should save your strength." "I agree," Constantine continues, "Melusine used a beacon to confirm what I thought. The signature of the spell can be felt by mages, even those who are not fully trained." "How far?" I ask, though I doubt he knows. "Everywhere, Ariane. The entire planet knows that we are doing¡­ something. The Amaretta seers know exactly what we have been up to for at least a day now." "Here is to hope they will not have the time to react." "Regarding that, I forgot to mention it but Mask declared war on us. Ambassador Madrigal delivered the scroll yesterday to the Boston fortress. Wilhelm just notified me by spell." "Good, we will not have to parlay if they deign to visit." "Are you going to make a quip about southern hospitality?" "Oh, hush," I tell the Speaker. We fall silent and pretend very hard that the ritual does not occupy our mind. Vampires come and go under the wary gaze of the gathered Likaeans. The freshly released captives in particular appear leery of us. Our gathering soon turns into a unique mix of nervous excitement and impatient wait, reminding me of Christmas Eve as a child. I find myself inspecting my nails while, a few paces away, history writes itself. Soon enough, night falls. All the vampires breathe deeply at the same time. Urchin smoothly transitions from juggling coins to juggling knives under the amused gaze of some of our guests. Meanwhile, the tent gathering has grown to a festival. Music and dances fill the air for the first time in what must be forever in the dead world. Wine flows, and the cooks work overtime to sate those who catch a rest between casting sessions. In the innermost circle, Sivaya and Sinead have almost disappeared from view under the torrentuous flow of combined auras. I only catch flickers of their intertwined arms and the central stone overhead. Their indomitable will still calls more of their kin, and still more heed their call. Unfortunately, my excitement gives way to concern, then to dread. The Likaeans still work towards their freedom and the spell shows no signs of being destabilized. No, the cause of my worries must be something else, but what? I close my eyes and realize that the Dvor essence in me warns me of something. It should not be possible, and yet¡­ No, my instincts have never failed me. I rush to Constantine and signal. "We have incoming hostiles." "Now?" he calmly asks. "Now." "Gather everyone around the chalice." A quick surge of my aura and the vampires join us. It takes a few more seconds to wait for those who were standing vigil earthside, but eventually we all form a circle around the chalice. Even now, the enticing fragrance of fae blood lures us. The fae keep a respectful distance. "Ariane, would you like a word?" Constantine offers. "Right. I do not know how but vampires are coming and they will be here soon. My instincts tell me they are intruders. My dear accomplices in crime, I formally invite you to the greatest Hunt that can ever be, that of our kin. Ladies and gentlemen, a toast!" John distributes tiny golden goblets. In turn, each of us approaches the chalice to harvest a tiny amount of mixed essence. I can taste the tension as everyone wants to drink it dry, and damn the others. John stoically retrieves his own after I confirm he is allowed. Urchin falters and stumbles, but with a supreme effort of will, he manages to return to his position without indulging. I nod in open appreciation, congratulating him before the lords for his restraint. Soon enough, we are all gathered. Melusine is the only Master while Urchin and John, the only Courtiers. The two of them will remain behind while Melusine''s powerful magic can still make her useful. I raise my glass and declare with more confidence than I feel. "Fellow warriors, to victory, freedom, and glory eternal!" "Hear hear." I bring the lid to my mouth and drink deep. CONFUSED. I stumble, drowned by the recollection of so many different essences mixed together. The torrent of vitality floods my mind but destabilizes it, at first. Then, slowly, they coalesce at the most basic level to speak of only one concept, the only common ground shared by the diverse people that contributed. Home. I flare, I explode. There is so much of it that I cannot control it all. I tilt my head back and enjoy the tidal wave of energy. For one moment, I float in a sea of plenitude because the Thirst is gone, silent for the rest of the night. Ah, yessssss. So much life, so much spirit. Such a powerful, delicious, delectable drive. What a rush. What an ecstasy! MORE. No, no more. That is more than enough to regrow a hundred limbs. I am so very alive I could make my heart beat until dawn just for the sake of it. I could let a light blush linger on my cheeks, and breathe a thousand times. So that is what it feels to feed on the gratitude of so many supplicants at a crucial point of their life? I luxuriate in the feeling even as I know I will never experience it again. I open my eyes to find that the others, too, are transfixed by the experience. Urchin is crying, while John has a knee on the ground and moves his lips in silent declamation. The lords and ladies stand like frozen statues, enjoying the experience. I am, curiously, the second to snap out of contemplation after Nami, who is frantically taking notes on a journal. We silently wait until the last of us recovers, then Constantine clears his throat. "I believe some experiences speak for themselves. Let us gear up and regroup at the gates." We rush to our own personal quarters. I put on the Aurora and pick my newest gun as well. I wish I could bring a utility belt for shield breakers and other toys, but alas, I have not managed to design one that would not bring its share of complications. It should not matter with how many lords and ladies backed by a progenitor we have. In short order, we fan out of the starfort''s entrance. The access will be blocked by heavy gates, while the defenses remain unmanned. At night, any mortal taking a defensive position among the fortifications will just be that much more collateral damage. Only we matter. "We will adopt formation three," Jarek says, "but Ariane and I will switch positions." It means a defensive formation where I take point, the best one under the circumstances. Once we are ready, I do not move. "No need for us to go to them. They will come to us," I explain. "Well, less walking," Islaev grumbles before squatting, one hand going over his bald skull. I am tempted to start a Hunt despite my lack of Thirst, but whatever advantage we would gain cannot offset our doom if it turns out we are outnumbered. Here, we still have the luxury of withdrawing within the fort and forcing a chokehold battle through the gate. Out there, anything goes. I would also not want to leave the fort itself undefended. And so, we wait. The sensation of violation increases, one that annoys more than it hurts. Someone has entered my land without my leave. They intend to stop me. That will not do at all, oh no, and with the strength flowing through my veins, it will take quite a lot to stop us. My main concern would be the timing. Anyone who was aware of our project would have attacked on the first night to guarantee many captures. They would have waited until we were committed, then struck. Those that were warned by the spell''s aura and ferreted out its location with the help of the Amaretta or some other information dealer would need time to mobilize. Only the Mask vampires in Mexico could have reacted that fast, and even then it would take them at least two nights to find us if the stars aligned, given the distance and their complete lack of preparations. Even then, only their powerhouses with access to entomb spells could possibly survive the trip. What happened? I shall have an answer soon. The intrusion gnaws at the back of my mind like a hound gnawing on a bone, but I have not come this far to succumb to my instincts, even as they scream at me to come out and track my foes. A patient huntress knows when to wait. And so we do, in perfect silence. And they come to us. The first one to emerge from the thick forest surrounding the camp on all sides provides both an answer and a daunting warning. I should have expected it. I really should have. Of course, there are warrens that allow one to move quickly from one corner of the world to the other. I knew it. I even walked them. And of course, my sire found them. My only saving grace is that it is his servant who guides our enemies to my doorstep. Naturally, Nirari himself is no one''s errand boy, but it seems he is not above renting out his minion''s services. I only wish I had been wiser. Semiramis picked this spot for her ritual, and she has linked many of her bases to her network of space-bending passages. It stands to reason that an entrance would be nearby. I hope this oversight does not cost me dearly. Malakim smiles uncaringly when he sees me. He wears no visible armor, though I know he is entrapped in one close to his skin. The ones who follow him do, however, but they do not share his mirth. The first to appear is Martha, without her human mages this time. The powerful Lancaster mage steps forward with a confidence she might not be feeling, followed by a flock of masters. Andre and Vincent, the twins who stabbed me in France, are with her, as well as Jean-Baptiste, the scythe user who guided me through the Parisian catacombs. Truly, this exemplifies the nature of our conflict. Yesterday, we had courteous discussions. Today, we meet in the field of battle and tomorrow, if everything goes well, we will party together again. "Evening, sister. I am delighted to see that your habit of reaching beyond your station has caused yet another amusing development. Our dear father sends his regards, by the way. I think he is impressed," Malakim begins. "I am ecstatic," I reply in a flat tone. "And a lady now. This brings our little family to four monsters. Perhaps I should query our sire to add another sister. What do you say?" "That is quite enough, thank you," Martha interrupts. She inspects us while we stand. I have no issues taking my time. There are more and more masters deploying around her in a half-circle, clad in elaborate armors and grasping a plethora of weapons. They also happen to be in range. "We will be taking the second part of the contract, thank you," Martha continues. "So soon?" Malakim asks with mock disbelief, and Martha bares her fangs. He certainly has a gift for getting under everyone''s skin. "It appears that I must leave you for now, sister dear, but I promise you that we will meet again promptly." I ignore him as he departs without a word. It seems that there will be no confrontation tonight, yet his tone indicates that we will face each other, perhaps before the ritual is done. Did Mask retain the services of Malakim as a warrior? They must be mad. Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. Martha and I glare at each other. It flatters me that the one who so casually threw me around during the last conflict now considers me with wariness. It also flatters me that she would naturally regard me as the ringleader, instead of discarding me to address Constantine. Yes, it was all me. "I suppose I cannot convince you of the madness of your project. You would weaken us all as a species." "On the contrary, I have never felt so powerful," I reply amicably. "You are playing with powers you cannot possibly understand, child." Oh no she didn''t. "It is because I understand those powers that I am freeing them, before their relatives realize what happened and come seeking vengeance," I spit. "Do not speak to me of seeking common ground. We both know why Jean-Baptiste and the twins are here." "This is bigger than even our conflict. Do you realize what you are doing? You will deny us fae blood?" I give her a fanged, Devourer smile. "Then you will have to hunt." "You are mad." "And you see nothing past your own self-interest. What is the point of living forever if you cannot accomplish great things? I am liberating a species tonight, Martha. What have you ever accomplished that could compare to that?" "You have not succeeded yet." "Then stop me if you can. This is the eternal game, Martha, but you are one turn late." The canny lady lifts her gauntlet and immediately casts an inferno spell. I have been expecting it, of course. Her essence spoke of embers while we talked, a sure sign that she was preparing her opening move. I am ready. The Polaris spell I obtained did not work for me. It carries the cold affinity of its creator, a human archmage named Frost. His understanding of the cold is different from mine. He saw it as crisp and refreshing, icicles hanging from branches in the morning light like so many decorations, crystalline sculptures shimmering blue. His air is pure. Mine is unbreathable. To me, the cold is the infinite vista of the far north expanding to unfathomable distances where nothing survives. It is dark, the wind howls, and the only vibrant movements come from the aurora borealis dancing above my head, as alien as the star and just as unreachable. The Winter Court showed me the end and now I will share its strange allure with her too. "Polar Midnight." Just like our spells, the opposing forces crash into each other. Constantine''s chains break the masters as they align around us at optimal distance. The two sides collapse against each other with a blinding display of magic and battle prowess. As for me, I pour the limitless power running through me into the winter construct. Martha may be the better mage but I have power aplenty, and quantityit has a quality of its own. Our spells meet and my murky ball of greenish darkness pushes back her flames. With a hiss and a flick of her fingers, her flames concentrate until my spell explodes. A wave of cold expands towards her, then over her despite her flames. She pulls the spell around herself and her followers to protect them from the impending doom, as even vampires would struggle against the cold I unleashed. Chaos ensues, just the way I like it. "Magna Arqa." Thorn roots explode among the masters, wounding those who could not dodge on time. Martha casts something that disintegrates the appendages around her but I care not. Tonight, I have an endless supply of them. The shadowy garden blooms around us, adding to the confusion for their side. Before Martha can do more, golden chains smash against her shield and damage it. More masters fall, disabled, though not dead yet. We still follow the rules. I disengage from the battle of magic to help a beleaguered Suarez fend off attacks from the twins. The powerful warlord reminds of Torran in his style, although he feels more scholarly. He smashes aside coordinated strikes with some difficulty while his opponents try to corner him with a level of teamwork I will never achieve with anyone. A sudden attack pushes them away, then it is our rhythm against theirs. We dance an unpredictable and deadly waltz, my devious whip with Suarez'' devastating swings against the twins'' needlework. An opening is all they need, and a trio of ambitious masters provides it when they dodge enough roots to distract Suarez. The conspicuous twin salutes and engages. "Magna Arqa." I remember that I must defend myself, though I forgot why. I pour essence into my chestplate''s enchantment and surround myself with unyielding roots. My instincts tell me to defend myself. He hits a mirage, the first illusion I cast tonight. Surprise grips him, but I fail to capitalize on it when another blade pierces my roots and buries itself in my torso. Fortunately, it was deflected enough that the tip bounces against my ribcage. I grab a delicate hand in my armored fist and pull in the subdued twin. "THERE YOU ARE." I cut his arm off, then pull the soul blade from my wound. The Aurora freezes again, sealing the hole. The little aura I get from him tastes delicious. I must have more. "THAT TICKLED." Suarez'' counter wounds the other twin, but before we disable them, I feel danger and block while casting another mirage. Something massive and quite sharp destroys the illusion and smashes into my guard, pushing me back despite my own strength. I turn and face death incarnate, or so the image of the grim reaper would have me believe. "I HAVE COME FOR YOU," Jean-Baptiste growls. Adorable, but I must give him credit for the effort. "You had your chance," I reply, then I engage. It is my first time facing a weapon I am completely unfamiliar with, and I do admire him for making it work. Jean-Baptiste strikes with wide, circular motions that sweep aside all opposition, including my poor roots. Mirages barely slow him down because he simply slices through them as part of his normal pattern. To fight him, I start by attempting to block his strikes, only to hiss in pain when a phantomatic echo sends wracking pain tearing through my arms. A transparent image of the scythe finishes the arc I interrupted, to my dismay. Fortunately, the longer our dance continues and the more I grow used to his patterns. Scythes are unwieldy and there is only so much he can do to compensate with techniques. I jump over a low swing, dive under the next and lunge, expanding Rose as I do. Once more, my instincts scream and I feint at the last moment. A spear crashes in the ground where I stood an instant before, sending rocks and gravel flying through the air. Jean-Baptiste blocks my next counter with¡­ a spear? The grim reaper grins with skeletal amusement, and the spear becomes a scythe once more. It appears I am not the only one with an articulated weapon. Ah, but it seems he is quite proud of himself. So I pull the repeater gun from my back and shoot him. The roar of the weapon covers that of everything else and Jean-Baptiste attempts to block and dodge the hail of bullets. They gnaw at his dark halo. The skeleton cracks. I expect him to understand and close the distance, yet he does not. In fact, he runs away. I feel all the masters and enemy lords disengage at full speed through my domain, going so far as to leave their disabled allies caught in my thorns. The decision surprises me, until I feel tremendous energy being pulled by Martha. As I watch, a desperate squad of masters sacrifice themselves to hold Constantine back. I raise a wall of thorns before the Lancaster archmage, but in vain. "King''s domain," she whispers, and we all fall to the ground, including her. Such¡­ oppressive weight. Everything is so heavy! Somewhere to the side, Adrien melts into darkness and reappears outside of the spell''s reach, but his attempt to strike Martha fails because the troublesome woman included herself. I fully expect the Mask warriors to take advantage, but they are pulling back in droves. With a supreme effort of will, I kneel, then stand. It feels like being crushed by a wall. I hear bones snapping from my victims and release them from the thorns. They will not manage to stand anyway. Step by step, I grow closer to a prone Martha who even now keeps feeding her construct. She glares at me from the ground, powerless against my slow progress. I wish the gun were not so heavy. It would have been the cherry on the cake. Suddenly, I hear a bang, and something clangs uselessly against my chest plate. I look down in disbelief but no, there is indeed a tiny impact on its otherwise pristine surface. A clump of heated metal shines at my feet. No, this cannot be! I look up to see a single master who remained behind, a ferocious bearded man in light armor. He holds a rifle in his hand, which he reloads with quick, practiced movements. Another bullet hits my helmet and falls, forcing me to face the truth I had denied so vehemently in my heart. "You shot me? You shot me! You are a vampire!" "You damn walking apocalypse icicle¡­" he grumbles. "How can you shoot me? How dare you?" I demand, scandalized. I shoot vampires! And I make fun of them! How could this man even contemplate imitating me? Shooting vampires is my trademark! Aaaarrrrg! Jarek bypasses me and kneels by Martha''s sputtering form. He places a gauntlet on her cheek with an almost tender gesture. "Do you yield?" "Yes, damn you. I do." "Ariane?" Jarek asks as the spell lifts. "Would you mind snapping out of it?" "But he shot me!" I exclaim, pointing at the guilty party who has widely decided to refrain. "He shot me with a gun! What ammunition do you even use?" "Hmm. Silver? With toughness engraving." "You absolute clown! You must use chromium steel which you then anneal to add the runes, and only then can you use silver. How do you expect to pierce enchanted armor with those gumballs?" "Well excuuuuuuse me, we do not all have access to Dvergur engineers!" "You could do it yourself for the price of the silver, honestly, an ounce costs¡ª" "So, we do not pursue?" Constantine politely asks. I realize that my allies are busy watching the exchange with expressions ranging from vague annoyance to haughty amusement. Martha glares furiously from her kneeling position. When our eyes meet, she growls. "I cannot believe I was defeated by an armored lunatic." I sigh. "No, we will not pursue them. We would only take out the masters, and I would not want to be caught in the open. We do not know when their reinforcements will arrive, nor where the warrens'' entrance is." I glare at Martha on the ground. "What she said about the second part of the contract must mean she wants Malakim to transport more people. He can cross vast distances over a short time, which means that even the ocean''s crossing will be of little concern to him. We can expect Bertrand and others to join in the next assault. It also explains why she was so quick to cover her men''s retreat instead of fighting to the bitter end. She preserved her forces for a final confrontation." The most minute flinch in the caster''s expression tells me I was correct. "May I ask for mercy for my followers?" she politely requests. The master who shot me takes a few steps forward and gulps, but I merely shrug. We are still playing by the rules. I have no interest in killing her here. "Of course we will bring them in. If you swear an oath that you will act as a prisoner, I will even refrain from shackling you." "How very generous," she hisses. "This is more than you gave me," I remind her with a slight warning. "I consent." Constantine handles the oath part, as I trust him to voice it properly. The rest of us retrieve the wounded masters and bring them in so they can heal safely. Those who are still conscious swear as well, and I can tell that most of them are more curious about our project than angry at their defeat. Mask vampires enjoy schemes and grand projects, it seems, even when they are at the receiving ends of them. We even end up allowing them into the Dead World since their oath would prevent them from helping our foes even if they were to be freed. Martha walks to me while I prepare to join the ritual again. "I must admit, you are considerably more prepared than I expected," she grudgingly allows. "I did not work alone." "Nevertheless, I am quite impressed, and¡­" She licks her lips. Her heart-shaped face scrunches in a curious expression of longing. "I would not be adverse to participating." "You would betray your side?" I wonder. "Not betray. I am a prisoner, and this ritual would complete even without my contribution." "She just wants to experience this magical masterpiece," Melusine comments as she joins us. "The old witch would give up an arm just to inspect the runework." Martha scowls at her distant offspring, but Melusine shrugs and crosses her arms. "You can join if you tell me what you paid to retain Nirari''s assistance," I reply on a hunch. The archmage flinches while I politely wait. Melusine inspects her fingers. "Our magic is compatible with the autumn stone, by the way," she announces offhandedly. "Curse you. I suppose it doesn''t hurt to let you know. We agreed to serve Nirari in battle, once." Horror fills my heart. I slap my forehead in despair. "You absolute fools, what have you done?" "Only five of us lords and ladies, and only for one night. Bertrand and I are included, but the others are exempt." "Do you not understand what you promised?" "You backed us into a corner. Bertrand felt he had no choice." "And you jumped down the well. By the Watcher, you are certainly not helping." "What do you mean?" Melusine demands. "What battle are you referring to?" "Child, later. You have my answer, Ariane. Will you uphold your end of the bargain?" "Yes, yes. Melusine will show you how to participate safely." The vindictive redhead smirks as if I''d just offered her the moon. She clears her throat and takes an affected tone while Martha fumes quietly. "Listen well, child, and pay attention. This is Likaean magic, not your pathetic backwater¡ª" I let the sassy Lancaster take her revenge on her equally pompous ancestor and rejoin the ritual for a while, feeling its amazing intensity with the same wonder as the first time I beheld it. Sinead and Sivaya still stand silently in their circle, arms linked in symbolic union. A naked man appears and falls with a scream of infinite misery while I link arms with others. It takes him a full minute before he recovers enough to join his kin, whose assembly has grown to the population of a respectable village. A song starts from the tent circle and drifts to us. It speaks of lost childhood. Some of the Likaeans stand straighter. We are still doing it. An army could not stop us. Another one will come tomorrow, but for now, the sense of violation that comes with intruders has retreated to the back of my mind and I know we have caught a little reprieve. The winter fae steps to my side and offers a bloody smile, then we close our eyes and pour our focus into the ritual. The setting sun marks the beginning of the third night of the ritual. As I watch, the last of the fae, the ones from the farthest reach of the world, come forth wearing strange guises and exotic traits. Some are clearly of Asian descent while others are dark and unfamiliar. With their coming, the spell sighs and shudders. Sinead and Sivaya separate. I have never seen the prince so tired, but his eyes burn with resolution and when he sees me, he smiles. His gaze hardens soon after. This is the last stretch, yet also the most difficult. The royal couple turns to the closed portal and calls as one. "Part of the whole, key to the gate, shore by the sea." The wand we recovered the first time I wore that ridiculous armored tutu rises from the ground. It dissipates into strange motes that swirl in the portal''s location. The essence I taste on the still air of the dead world speaks of green life and growing things. I can almost smell sap and loam with strange spices mixed in. I have run quite a few times through a great many forests, but I have never experienced such a rich scent. If it does belong to a Likaean world, then I fear John''s suggestion of leaving might tempt me after all. The entirety of the Likaean population on earth clutters on the outside ring to bring their support and the ritual''s intensity grows deeper and sharper. The summoning part is finished. They are all here, and they are free. Now, they will find their way home. Power flickers in the arch. A shard the size of a needle materializes from thin air at a small distance. It grows at a snail pace. Hundreds of Likaeans pour their heart, auras, and beliefs in the tiny spike with the hope that it will achieve the impossible and find them a way back. Their voices rise in unison, singing strange hymns that make the air quake around them as the corpse of this old world shakes in its death throes. Even the vampires pay attention, because the tongue of the Likaean speaks to all even if they cannot quite grasp it. I see them as well, the elusive wisps of memories I have no words for. We are so close, so close that when the feeling of intrusion returns, I am angry. I signal the others and like one man, we gather around the chalice to drink the last fae essence of our world. As before, power courses through us as we leave without a word, only this time, there are more of us. The chalice is empty now. We file out of the starfort at a leisure pace, armors glittering under the moonlight while our blades absorb it. I signal, and we jump on the ramparts to form a battleline, then wait. I feel the enemy come and when they encircle us like wolves, I raise my gauntlet. "Nu Sarrehin." Let there be light. I have no concerns using Likaean to cast now, and why should I? The secret is no longer required. Tonight, I have no need to pretend. "Come on out," I whisper, "stop hiding like rats." Bertrand emerges from the edge of the forest, clad in his red armor and gold mask and followed by a smirking Malakim. With him come the elite of Mask. Orphee the tactician takes his place in silence, angel face grim under the purple light. Jean-Baptiste and the twins join his side, then a darkly charismatic man with a saber and gauntlet who must be Gabriel, the Lancaster''s deadliest duelist. A diminutive woman with light brown hair and a calm beauty walks on in golden, form-fitting armor. I recognize Hastings from her description. The only person absent is Dominique. Besides her, we are facing the entirety of Mask''s military. This will be a true test for the Accords, and they are here to the last Warden. It does not even surprise me that they would all happen to be around, ''visiting a friend'', as it were, when Constantine called upon them to fulfill their obligations. Everyone is here. Haughty Roland and crafty Lancasters have gathered in a golden pack around Sephare. Jarek has gathered the Natalis and muscular Suarez around himself. As for me, I stand at the front with the Ekon and the Vanheim. Ako and Constantine occupy the center with the Speaker''s bodyguards and his Erenwald stewardt. We are more diverse than our foes, but no less united in our desire to kick their collective arses back across the ocean. The collected essence is so dense that the Watcher opens his eyes in the real world, and its feline pupil narrows on us. The wind dies. Bertrand and I match gaze. We understand each other. There is no need for talks. It is time TO HUNT. The world explodes around us. Trees are shredded. Rocks shatter. The ground erupts in so many geysers of mud, gravel, and crushed stones. Spells clash in a cataclysm of colors and sounds, sending out shockwaves so dense they impact each other with sonorous blasts. In the chaos of battle, I rush Bertrand. CUT THE HEAD. No, I cannot triumph against him. Already, his size has increased while his blood red armor glows crimson. His Magna Arqa has triggered. I throw a heart seeker spell as an opener which he blocks with the flat of his axe. For a handful of seconds I have him on the back foot as we exchange very quick series of blows. The roots I can manifest hobble him while mirages disappear under useless strikes, but as I manage to hit his chest, a backswing sends me flying. More roots catch me and we stand apart, the eye of the storm in this fantastic battle. Bertrand smiles while the break in his armor seals over with dark blood. I mirror his smirk when the Aurora repairs itself. His eyes widen in surprise and he charges back in. We fight in a duel, the others leaving us alone, and exhilaration fills my heart. I am fighting one of the deadliest warriors in the world and I am not losing. Or at least, not fast. Our dance shows he is taking me seriously, and so I use every trick I know to push him back, never leaving him time to perform full swings. Bertrand does not hesitate to take glancing blows to land a decisive one, but I am his equal in this regard and the Aurora truly shows its incredible craftsmanship, allowing me to match a Magna Arqa manifestation blow for blow. I laugh with delight for a while, but eventually our difference of experience is made manifest and I am pushed back. That is, until a freight train by the name of Jarek smashes into Betrand''s flank, carrying him across half of the battlefield. I can accept it. Bertrand may be MY PREY, but my priority here is victory and helping my allies. A quick glance around shows that Mask outnumber us with their masters, but that they are unable to bring those numbers to bear due to our tight formation. Normally, this would put us at risk of magical bombardments. Unfortunately for our foes, Martha is not with them while Constantine is free to unleash his full potential. Only Gabriel on their side stops him from having free reign and even then, it is an unequal fight. I use my Magna Arqa to help where I can, covering those of us who are wounded while harassing our foes. The speed of the battle prevents me from coordinating well with my companions so I limit my actions to sure bets ¡ª truly, we should train together more ¡ª yet even those tilt the scales in our favor. I have the satisfaction of interrupting the fight between Jean-Baptiste and our shadow-wielding twins, and landing a very satisfactory punch in his skeletal nose before an unknown lord forces me back. I race across the battlefield, destroying formations and maiming entire squads of masters. My instincts guide me in this whirlwind of violence, enhanced by the Dvor essence singing in my veins, whispering advice so I can defend my land. I attack Hastings as she is on the verge of defeating Sephare, our waltz one of guile and feints against unpredictable savagery, then Naminata triggers her Magna Arqa and the dance becomes real. We step up with the beat while our foes are left confused and disheartened. Hastings disengages, but not before I shred an entire side of her golden armor. By the Watcher this is GOOD. As it should be, with Rose singing and the roar of spells shaking the very air. The vitality of the fae means that I have no need to care for energy expenses. Suddenly, I feel a pull and make my way to the entrance just in time to see Islaev''s muscular arm flying through the air. Jarek''s kin falls to his knees with a triumphant Malakim preparing a killing blow. I extend my hand and cast our sire''s signature spell. "Heartseeker." For one faithful moment, delicious terror twists his vicious grin into an ugly grimace. But it is soon replaced by deep rage. I charge him. Malakim salutes. "Magna Arqa." My roots disappear, as if swallowed and I feel a block on my domain. My perception narrows to my human form. Malakim lands his jagged longsword against Rose, locking guard and pushing me back by exactly one step. I trigger the whip and a long, dark gash opens across my brother''s rictus. He flinches. "Surely you didn''t expect this to be enough," I mock. Malakim attacks with a savagery that equals my own, and our duel is merciless. I find myself using my gloved claws as often as Rose herself in this snarling brawl. I claw his face once, but otherwise his blade finds flaws in my defenses and only my current vitality saves me from defeat. My only edges come from the mirage spells and Octave''s training. Otherwise, the monster surpasses me in every aspect. Sometimes, Naminata passes us by and her hypnotic dance grants me a few seconds of respite. I am, once again, losing my duel, when Islaev reappears whole and angry. He roars and a horse materializes under him. The resulting charge sends Malakim crashing back with both arms snapped. "Why do they always cut my limbs?" The proud warrior complains. "Have you ever considered wearing proper armor?" I ask, pointing at his naked chest. "No." Malakim comes roaring back, but he stumbles, and we all stop. The world shivers and for one brief instant, our battle lines show the ghostly echo of a circle of dancing Likaeans. An inky blade the size of a menhir hangs ominously over the two assemblies, solid enough to be seen in both worlds. The ritual is reaching its paroxysm. Golden chains encircle Malakim before he can react and Constantine smashes the irate Devourer into the ground, again and again, bypassing the beast''s armor. "Go." Constantine yells. "Make sure it works. Go!" I run, entering the star fort and leaving the battle behind me. Everyone seems to be holding well thanks to the fae blood they partook of. The same battle of attrition that almost defeated us in the first war is now carrying us through the second, but that is secondary for now. I sprint through the portal and behold the shard spinning in its axis. The chant of the fae assembly inflates with a terrible crescendo. Sinead lifts his exhausted arms in supplication. "World tree of ours, blessed guardian, grant us your salvation. We beg of you, by all the courts and all the spheres, by your life and your kindness, we beg of you. Take us home. Take us home. Take. Us. Home. BREACH!" The shard plunges into the flesh of space. Reality screams, then it gives way. Emerald light floods the dead world, casting the shadows away and with it comes the enticing perfume of other world flowers. Lilac and lavender flowers peek while from a window into a vibrant world. The cries of strange birds caress my ears like an invitation, or a lullaby. The Liakeans cry and scream, struck with disbelief, but their leader has not lost sight. "Through! Everyone, go NOW!" The assembled fae form a snake pouring through the portal''s aperture. As soon as they step on the other side, they shed their human form and transform into a kaleidoscope of creatures as strange as they are beautiful. I spot Makyas turn into a tiny sprite with fluttering dragonfly wings. He gives me a playful wink then disappears out of sight or simply shifts to some other locale. As for the others, they race in with abandon. It takes only a minute for the assembly to melt into a small gathering of the most determined ones, those unafraid to act as rear guard. I recognize Tourneas and Secluded-Black-Sand-Beach as they make sure no one was left behind. The winter fae walks by me with one last needle-filled grin. "Perhaps we will meet again, sister." "I am not your kin, I merely ate him." "Then you know our way and you are kin. I will be seeing you," he replies with a laugh, then he is through, a gaunt wight that freezes the loam with every step. To my surprise, Naminata comes back through with bloody tears trailing freely down her cheeks. Of course, the Ekon would send an explorer. Ugh. They could have asked. "You have to see this, my meringue, you simply have to. I have no words!" I hesitate at the edge of the green as the last leaders walk through. Sivaya is the penultimate traveler. Her elfin face grows even more alien with liquid blue eyes and an ethereal quality that makes me feel like she could walk through a wall. Then it is simply Sinead and I. He takes my hand. I do not resist when he walks me through the passage. The intoxicating perfume of the Likaean world almost overwhelms me. We stand in a small clearing under a green sky. A tree the size of the tallest mountain rules over an infinite forest of strange vegetation. Lianas fall like garlands from the heavy boughs. A rainbow-colored insect flies lazily through the clearing. I am in the arms of dream Sinead, the true one. He is so tall now, and I lose myself in the molten gold of his eyes. Amber hair undulates in an unseen wind like the quiet flames of a campfire. His arms are so strong, now, strong enough to encircle me and make me feel safe. From a dilettante noble, he has turned into a royal heir. He gently grabs the back of my neck and I gasp under his controlled power. Even the Aurora''s cold aura cannot smother the heat that now emanates from him in great waves. Sinead is himself, truly himself, for the first time I have met him, free of fear and the suffering of his people. A true Prince of Summer. "Ariane, I love you. I have loved you since we met. I have loved you until it hurt. I could not stop loving you." His kiss is fire and honey and a foreign sun, all things that should terrify me and yet do not because he is Sinead and¡­ I love him as well. I drown in the passion I feel here, helpless yet unafraid. The urge to bite is drowned by his feelings and the power with which he embraces me. "And I am sorry," he finishes. Huh? "Do it," he tells Sivaya. I barely manage to struggle, so surprised I am. I can only watch, lost, as the princess of the blue claps her hands and the portal winks out. Sivaya teleports away just as the last motes of energy of the spell fade to nothingness. My way back just disappeared into thin air! I am trapped? I am trapped! "Sinead, what have you DONE?" S~ea??h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Chapter 185 - 179. Spirited Away "You trapped me! You LIED! How could you?" I scream. I shove Sinead, torn as I am by anger and betrayal. After¡­ after everything! Everything we have done for each other, he traps me? Too late do I realize that my strength should have caved his chest in, but Sinead merely turns aside to soften the blow and backs up a few steps. He closes his eyes, in shame or resignation I do not know. So I shove him again. I wish I had the strength to kill him here and now but I am more heartbroken than outraged. Perhaps rage will come later, when I do not feel as empty as a gored carcass, and twice as ridiculous. All of this for that? "I did not state a falsehood," he dares claim. "No? NO? You said this would benefit me! You trap me here, away from my friends? You cut off the bridge back, and this is supposed to benefit me? Please tell me the gate is still active somehow, TELL ME MY FRIENDS ARE NOT DYING AS WE SPEAK." "The path is closed." "Fuck you Sinead, I trusted you, I loved you. You¡­. Why? WHY?" I shake him and see his face twist in guilt, but there is something beneath that rises and I feel monstrous heat under my fingers. Suddenly, he grabs my shoulder with more strength than I would expect from a lord, perhaps as much strength as Jarek, and the gold of his hair turns incandescent. Tears run down his cheeks. Really? Really? I should be the one crying right now! "Because¡­ you are going to die!" he screams with more pain than I ever heard from him. The naked emotions do not erase his actions, but they do grant him a moment of respite before I disembowel him where he stands. "You''d better have a damn good explanation and a good plan to get me home or I swear I''ll¡ª" "I have both," he interrupts with a grumble ¡ªthe shameless twat¡ª "Of course I had both before I dragged you here. I wouldn''t have done it otherwise. I¡­ you are so very young, sometimes. Too stubborn and hopeful to see the plain truth. Semiramis may ascend or not, but even if she succeeds, she will not kill her son." "How can you be so sure?" "Because I talked to her." "You¡­. what?" "She had need of knowledge and Sivaya knows more than most. The selfish bitch could attempt to assassinate her spawn but she has not and she will not. You know this to be true." I make to protest, but a memory surges in my mind, that of the stone golem. It called Malakim the primary target but called Nirari ''my son''. She still has no intention of ending his life. "Once the Babylonian perishes or succeeds, Nirari will have free reign of this realm. You will ride to war with your allies, your tricks and your artifacts and you will die. You will use fire and metal and all those spells, your fencing techniques and still, you will die. No dragon tooth, no sun magic will save you from him. Nirari is so above you that you cannot comprehend the gap in power. He will sacrifice you on the altar of his ascension, you and all those he cannot turn to his cause in one glorious slaughter to the glory of his reign. You have no chance unless you can obtain what can only be found here, what he has denied all of his kin." "Dragon blood," I whisper. "You want me to get dragon blood. You think this will give me a chance." I ponder his words in silence. All of this for¡­ and yet it makes sense, in a way. The resources of the Likaean world are fabulous as well as beyond his reach, for now. Here, I can become more powerful than he ever expected, perhaps powerful enough to stand against him in single combat. It all depends on whether or not Sinead can deliver on his tall promise. "You really think we can kill one?" I ask. sea??h th§× N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The question surprises Sinead, who smiles bitterly and a little condescendingly as well. "You cannot kill a fae world dragon even if you prepare for a thousand years, my dear Ariane. I am not exaggerating. Perhaps ten thousand years would be enough, but you do not have that long. There is, however, another path, a ritualistic hunt that will allow us to request the precious liquid as a prize. It will cost a significant portion of the goodwill we obtained, however. The plan is long, if simple. Let me start from the beginning." Sinead paces, radiating heat with every step. It feels extremely strange to see him like this. He is still the same Sinead, still scheming and planning, but where an average-sized man stood before, now he towers over me like a giant. More, he is now strong enough to block me where the humanized Sinead would struggle against the strongest humans. The contrast is jarring enough to distract me from my anger. "Sivaya left for the Blue Court to align this sphere with yours and push the time dilation to its maximum." I frown. "What do you mean?" I ask. "I shall not bore you with the complexity of it all as I have myself only a vague understanding of time weave magic, however the speed of time is relative in the Likaean spheres, and especially so between one sphere and another. Time only ever moves forward but not always at the same speed." "So a day somewhere could be two elsewhere?" "Or a week, or more, and there comes the power of the Court of Blue. They have a measure of control over the¡­ speed of time, shall we say, and the less connected a world is and the more dilated time can be. Your earth is only weakly connected to the World Tree sphere, and thus we are confident we can slow down time on earth relative to here. Sivaya estimated that we could achieve a ratio of ten thousand to one. It will, however, cost us our greatest asset: the liberation and return of one of the three greatest geniuses the Court of Blue has ever seen." "Ten thousand for one is¡­" "One second on earth is three hours here. Sivaya should be implementing it right now. Her favorite uncle is in charge of the Chronal Solarium, and she has all the calculations." "You are stretching my belief in you, Sinead." "I did not break my promises, or you would know. We will challenge my brother Revas for his position in the succession line and use our challenger status to participate in this year''s dragon hunt. Then, you will be ready to return home, which Sivaya can arrange." "I''m sensing quite a few gaps in that plan." "I will get into details later, but know I have a way to win the hunt. As for challenging the prince, it can be done easily and we do not even have to win. We are flush with favors, Ariane, hundreds of them across dozens of courts. I need only a fraction to move forward. We will get you the tools you need to survive." "You seem confident that I will just follow you, Sinead. It annoys me quite a bit." His gaze drills into mine. His confidence is absolute. "I am your best chance at going home. You know this and you care about those you left behind. You also know that dragon blood is your one chance of winning against your sire. I know you, Ariane. You are an idealist in your goals but a pragmatist in their realization. You will work with me, even if you hate me. I can live with this hatred, but I cannot live with your death. I am willing to pay that price." "If you are so sure I will do all of this and if you believe in the strength of your arguments, why the deception?" I demand with all the venom of my anger. "Would you have followed with all your allies locked in combat, fighting for their lives?" "I could have planned for it." "You could have also decided that my plan was based on assumptions, which it is, and opted to stay rather than risk your life in the spheres. You could have moved back at the last moment out of fear for the life of a friend. There were many ways you could have prepared yourself against this trip and the only hope I had to definitely catch you was to take you unaware as you were still flush with the ecstasy of battle. Let me be clear: there is not a single person left on earth whose welfare matters to me more than one of your smiles. I will sacrifice every last one of them if it means that, in the end, you triumph." "So you are claiming that you did it for me." "I did it for us, yes. I believe it." "There is no us, Sinead. There was never an us because you have never seen me as a partner. A partner does not look down upon their partner to the extent that they deny them the choice of a decision. If there are mistakes to be made, they are mine to make and you have no say in my final decision, no legitimacy in forcing me to choose between the immediate life of my friends or a potential victory at the end. From the beginning, you saw me as a person to be guided, not respected. Either you love me and treat me as an equal, or we are just allies of circumstances because I will never let anyone decide for me again if I can help it. I will follow that damn plan of yours and get back home but we are done. You betrayed me. It does not matter that you thought you knew better. You betrayed me and I do not grant my trust lightly. I do not have the words to express how gutted that leaves me." "I said it before, I can live with your hatred but not with your death. I really believe my actions will benefit you in the end," he replies with finality. "Really?" I retort while the numbing grasp of despair finishes wrapping around my heart. "Really? That kiss was for my benefit?" Sinead freezes and looks like a rabbit caught in the glare of a gas lamp. His eyes swivel, looking for a metaphorical exit. "I find the situation upsetting," he slowly enunciates, "so upsetting that my wits seem to have deserted me." "Try honesty for once." "I¡­ I knew you wouldn''t let me after what I did." My punch caves his nose in and sends him crashing into a tree. *** The fae world is powerfully alive, I have no better ways to express it. Its fabric is both dense and malleable, a perfect playground for those with the right key. I do not have it. A few steps into the world and the frost imprints I leave behind are pushed back into the armor with what feels like a huff. My aura of cold is still there, it is just not allowed to affect the world. I inspect my surroundings, more wary than amazed now that my status has fallen from visitor to exile. The emerald sky is alien, the dense forest hermetic and hostile. The gigantic tree in the background seems all the more imposing now that I had a second look. It is an old and gnarly thing so massive it should have collapsed under its own weight a million times, yet looking at it fills me with a sense of eternity, as if it predated mankind itself. It most likely does, at that. The line blurs and suddenly the tree is impossibly large, so large that it would dwarf earth. It is the single most massive object in existence and the sky is but its breath, the light its blessing. We are only gnats on its antediluvian surface, there and gone like a flicker of light as it travels through eternity. I remember what the Watcher showed me in that brief instant when he opened my mind. Concepts so complex and absurd that everything I know is detrimental to their understanding. There is simply. So. Much. Head hurts. Ugh. I look again to see that it has returned to being just a mountain-sized tree. For now. The scent of Sinead''s blood travels to me and my teeth ache. I must kill him and make an example, let others know they cannot break my heart. What others, the squirrels? It is a matter of principle. It is a matter of feeling better. It is vindication. It is pointless. I need him to escape. I do not need him. I need him, but the very sight of him tears my heart apart. I feel so empty right now. My false soul is a sieve. No emotion will sway me for more than a second, before being replaced by an equally ephemeral pulse. I cannot even muster the energy to cry. Bursts of anger and bursts of sadness fight each other over the pit. I am experiencing powerful emotions that do not relate with the hunt with an intensity most immortals would envy and they are so bad I would wish them upon Melusine. I must be the butt of some grand cosmic joke. I look up and seek the Watcher''s gaze but it is not here, or at least not yet. What have I ever done to¡­ No Ariane, better not explore this question. Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. I sit on the ground to wait while the second greatest twit in history picks himself up. He grabs his nose and, with a dreadful snap, sets a cartilage I had believed to be powder now. Truly, his resilience has increased to impressive levels. Perhaps I should kick him in the unmentionables. Discarding ideas of further violence, I wait in my little circle of frosty grass while he ambles back. "We must move quickly," he tells me with a nasal voice. "The news of our deeds will be the talk of the spheres within the next two minutes, and five minutes later, my brother will send assassins." Ah yes, an important detail I forgot. I am no longer a deadly existence here. "I need to know more about fighting Likaeans here," I inform the scummy weasel in the most neutral way I can manage. "While we move, yes." I follow after him, leaving the tree to our right and ducking under a low branch. The forest of the fae world swallows us in silence. It shines with all the colors of the rainbow from dusky crimson to shining blues as we run by. Flowers follow Sinead as if they were the sun while they shirk away from me. A strange scaled beast glares at us with yellow eyes before disappearing behind a trunk. On earth, there is a certain harsh messiness to unmanaged forests, a struggle for life reflected in every tiny sprout fighting to survive on a craggy slope. This merciless environment makes the fugacious beauty of life that much more valuable, for it is elusive and ephemeral. It must be seized and appreciated while it lasts, but here I am walking as if through a carefully curated garden. Every angle is enchanting and wonderful, or they would be if I were in the proper mindset. The trees are old and covered in moss, their barks showing strange patterns. The plants are varied and thriving, all of them, which should be impossible. There is a design pervading the very air, and yet it does not feel conscious so much as instinctive. The world feels fluid and heavy at the same time. We use roots and ancient, fallen branches to move across the crowded ground on our silent trip under the canopy. The leaves are thick over our head and yet light still manages to get through, somehow, while bugs and petals radiate with inward light to keep the darkness at bay. Meanwhile, Sinead speaks in a voice that betrays little emotion. "There are dozens of common, sapient races in the spheres, a hundred billion individuals living and warring across their surfaces. While you vampires gain power by removing yourselves from the laws of a place, we harness it. The result is ostensibly the same, combat-wise. Those of us who can do so the most obtain ranks of nobility if they were not already born into it, through as many methods as there are courts. Let me be honest, I believe that only high nobility or princes can hope to prevail against you, but this is an oversimplification you cannot rely on. A Blue Court baron might succeed in trapping you into a time bubble, and then you would have been disabled as surely as if a Blood Court knight had pierced your heart. Combat is but one of many tools in the arsenals of those who seek power around here, so do not take anything for granted. Some of the methods we use for war might also surprise you. One of the assassins might try to sing you into submission." I could just sing back. "And people will find out about your vulnerability to light or fire. The pecking order is much more fluid here than it would be back on earth. Circumstances will crush you or allow you to defeat enemies far beyond your normal reach if you know how to harness them. Half of the game in Likaean politics is managing the circumstances." "And the other half?" "Equal parts sex and warfare." I resist to urge to tell him I had the warfare part down pat and would let him handle the sex. I want to rise above snarky remarks and witty jabs, partly because I would like to get over my pain, and partly because Sinead would not react. He has already shown no interest in defending himself, physically or otherwise. It would be punching someone willing and that makes it a kink, not a punishment. Or maybe a sacrifice. Ugh. I hate everything right now. "We will recover some fruits and a branch first, it will allow us to get passage to a port city where I can get some work done," Sinead continues. "Why get them, I thought we were flush with favors?" "And I would rather not waste one on something unnecessary. We can collect free assets and face the assassins outside of Assidina ¡ª the capital of this world ¡ª rather than meet them in the settlement and make the situation complicated. Two birds with one stone, to use an earth idiom. Ah, here we are." We move out into a meadow, again under the strange ever-present emerald light. A single massive tree reigns over the surrounding grass. Without hesitation, the Prince of Summer walks to its monumental trunk to climb. He is quite agile. A real little chimpanzee. "My mother showed me waypoint trees when I was a child," the prince explains. "The Wandering Court loves and makes use of them. Ah, those seem quite ripe." He climbs down with a pair of fat, yellow-green balls. I can smell sweet, tender flesh from here, but the scavenger is not done yet. He knocks on the tree as if it were a door. We wait in silence. Nothing happens. Sinead grumbles, fiery hair fluttering in an unseen wind. He still wears expensive human clothes, I notice. They somehow expanded to fit his size and look much less rumpled than a garment that has been worn for four days should be. The Prince of Summer knocks again, this time with more insistence. "Come on!" He finally bellows. The trunk opens and spits a stick, which the fae grabs before it can painfully smack into his chiseled jaw. The Prince glares at the deceptively normal bark, mumbling something under his breath. He wisely decides not to complain out loud when he sees my glare, then proceeds to place his blood-soaked hand against the surface, leaving a red print that quickly fades. "Good, now to get to the city. It will take us an hour." "It will?" I ask with disbelief. "Yes. Every point of this plane is ever an hour away from the tree, if we run. We will stop shortly before the outskirts of Assidina." "Why did we not do like the others and flee immediately?" I ask with suspicion. "Because¡­ we had to have this conversation. And it took some time for me to pick myself up from that tree. I am still a little weak." "How concerned should I be? We have assassins on the way." "With you by my side, we will be fine. My siblings have always underestimated me. They think me a dancer only." "We can just dispose of them, yes?" "Oh indeed. Although, as a general rule, I would advise you not to kill unless you are certain you are not triggering a chain reaction that ends with a king''s favorite consort whispering words in their lover''s ear. In this situation, it would be best to send a strong message. Please, kill them all." "Can I drain them dry then?" "I see no reason to waste perfectly valuable essence." "I''ll kill them thinking about you," I deadpan despite my earlier resolve. "I fear that the taste may not match your expectations," he replies without missing a beat. "A bit like expecting a Saint-Emilion and tasting a Gris de Toul," he continues. I give him a cold glare to make him know that his attempts at humor do not amuse me, and I see genuine hurt on his delicate traits before he can pull it back inside. I find it¡­ satisfying, but it is a hollow pleasure. Like taking someone else when falling to one''s death. "When you are done being a wine snob, perhaps you can help me prepare for the incoming battle?" I coldly ask. "You are as ready as can be with your armor and magic," Sinead replies off-handedly. "Just be aware that winter magic will be weaker here, though not the weakest. Do not worry overmuch, Ariane." Not worrying overmuch is how vampires die to humans. The rest of the short race is spent in silence. I attempt to enjoy our little outing, in vain. My heart really is not in it. That unconscionable rake ruined my first foray into the World Tree sphere even though I usually love forests, one more notch to add to my growing list of grudges. Finally, after jumping through a copse of trees whose roots and branches could not be told apart, we reach another clearing. This one is considerably larger than any we''ve been in before. It could host a festival, but not any time soon because its current occupants may ruin the mood. "Corpses?" I ask, aghast. Before us, the remnants of a battle spread across the green grass undulating under a strong wind. Pennants and cloaks wave in a symphony of color that is reflected on the ground by the bodies of combatants. Armors come in hues of gray, brown, and green. Some weapons still shine with some unknown enchantments, and this variety is reinforced by the curious anatomies of some warriors. By our side, a man with four arms leans against a stump, his quatuor of swords stained with blood and his chest pierced by arrows. The blood itself glitters crimson and shiny. I can smell it, and I can guess that it would be potent, except, it is not there. Not really. I get an impression like a painting reminding its spectators of past deeds. We are not treading the site of a recent massacre. "This is a memorial," I realize. "The succession battle. Trebilen fell here. He must have been favored by the World Tree because the field has been conserved as is for the past millennia. We will wait and fight. Pay tribute with the blood we shed today." I walk a bit to inspect the site, curious despite my reservations. I find a slice through the ground with melted glass on its surface. The temperature must have been hellish, and yet the grass around it is barely scorched. Come to think of it, Sinead''s bulk should have broken the tree I sent him against. Perhaps this place is harder to damage. I do not mind, because the people are not. Fallen warriors litter the ground, still clutching their weapons, expressions frozen in displays of rage, regret. Terror. There are quite a few women, I notice. They were offered no more quarter than their male counterparts. I even spot a girl with snake hair clutching a dreadful gash in her chest, her hands still frozen around bandages and a poultice. The Likaeans are not merciful races. I must remember that. Finally, Sinead stands from the spot he had picked and I join his side. We do not move. A trio emerges from the tree. The lead woman holds an orb with a single drop of blood in its midst. She has golden, reddish hair that reminds me of Sinead''s but her traits are thinner and she wears a hard, cruel expression. Her smile widens to reveal pointy teeth and she grabs the handle of a thin sword by her side. The second is a man covered in armor seemingly made of bark and transparent stone. His skin has the color of the earth and he looks at me with large, colorful eyes with no white and no iris, just an amber sphere around a dark dot. His expression feels strangely vacant. The last person is also a woman in a dress holding a wreath of all things. She is taller than the others and wears blonde hair the same color as mine. Her black eyes survey the area with concern. She is the only one to display signs of concern. "The prodigal son has returned!" the leading woman exclaims. "Welcome back, Prince Sinead of the Court of Summer. Welcome back." She gives us a mocking bow. She speaks adult Likaean, but the gap between the two languages is extremely small in everyday conversations. I would be lost if it were a philosophical discourse. Insults and threats? I can follow. "We were so disappointed after missing you last time, but here you have returned whole and hale. My friends and I could not be more pleased," the woman gloats. She certainly likes the sound of her own voice. I have difficulties assessing her strength. Her aura inexplicably tastes of torn skin and porcelain while the pungent odor of sun-baked blood comes from the man, and the tall woman bears the scent of a hand gripping a family portrait. Humans feel so drab by comparison. "Oteissa, a pleasure as always," Sinead replies in the uncaring voice of a bored socialite. "Out of curiosity, how much will you be compensated to look after my well-being? I find myself curious." "The wandering prince is curious! How unexpected," the woman mocks, and the bark man chuckles in a voice that sounds hollow. Only the tall woman glares at us with increasing panic. "One protection favor and a hundred bright tokens," the woman says with a shrug. "Pretty disappointing considering you are technically royalty. Why, I would almost be inclined to negotiate since it appears¡­ you have something to bargain for?" She stares at me and discomfort crawls up my spine. It does not take much study of Likaean society to guess that they would have their slavers as well. I turn instinctively to Sinead, but not because I do not trust him not to betray me. It is because his aura is flaring spectacularly. It starts like an amber, then explodes outward like an alcohol-fed fire in a great, incandescent plume. His hair sticks to his scalp under the pressure of an unseen hurricane. Heat radiates from him in great waves, so intense that I take a step back. So intense that the unchanging grass under his feet wilts. I am certain that he is still weakened, and yet the power on display is absolutely monstrous. Sinead is angry. And for the first time in a century, he has the physical means of his ambition. He grips the branch between reddening knuckles. "It appears you and my brother need a reminder. No matter who my mother is, I am still Prince of Summer and summer, my dear, is the season of war." Sinead hurls himself at the assassin with lord-like speed. He uses the branch as a sword, casually slapping her hand away from the sheath of her rapier. His next strike pierces her thigh, drawing blood despite the lack of sharpness. With a dreadful snap, the woman is sent tumbling away. She screams in agony. The rest of us are too awe-struck to react. I would have reacted to anyone else but¡­ this is Sinead? How did the smarmy dilettante turn into a ferocious warrior? Have I missed something? "Do you need an invitation?" Sinead asks me. Oh, right. The assassins. I rush at the bark man, who was already casting something. The yellow stone in his armor gain in radiance and I panic for an instant before realizing that it is not sunli¡ª BLIND. "HSSSS!" Instincts and practice take over. Octave trained me well. When blinded, attack. Swing where the enemy will be. Strike wide and disrupt, rather than retreat. Rose materializes and bites deep into¡­ Oh my. Oh my! DELICIOUS. I can taste, I can smell. His aura is just there. Blood flows, so much of it. A waste. Quick! I jump and bite down, drinking the vitality before the blood-soaked meadow can drink more of my prize. He is lazy violence and overlong hunts, the blood of the victim congealed by the time he delivers the coup-de-grace. Perfect. Someone interrupts the feeding. Thorny brambles snared my feet and climb up my chest, but the Aurora''s power cannot be denied and they freeze, the concept of cold shattering them even in the pleasant heat of spring. This is pathetic. Risible. "YOU CALL THESE THORNS?" My consciousness expands in a sphere. One is fire, not prey, punishing an idiotic huntress. Annoying, but not a foe. The other thinks she can hold me down with little twigs. A tendril grabs her around the waist, pulls her to me. She is slow. "No, please! I only¡ª" "YOUR WORLD IS SO RICH." She tastes of a ship dragged by a sudden tide, with a zesty note. I love it here. The fire bloom throws a twitching body in my direction. She smells scrumptious. I am not even thirsty at all. In fact, I feel fantastic. "WHAT DO YOU WISH FOR, SUPPLICANT?" I ask. As is proper. "Forgiveness?" the fire bloom replies. Forgiveness? Oh. I pull the roots in, letting my essence return to its human limits. The thorns burrow. They leave the grass undisturbed. It appears that my Magna Arqa can be counted on here. I look up but do not perceive the familiar presence of the Watcher. Hmm. "I refuse." "Take her anyway? No need to let her essence go to waste," Sinead offers. "Wait! Wait!" the bloodied woman retorts. She looks like her world is crumbling around her. "I know things! I can help!" Sinead grips her neck with more strength than purely necessary. His jaw is set in a rare expression of hatred. "I know you can be useful, but there are plenty of useful people out there and only a few I genuinely hate. Goodbye, Oteissa." I drink her dry. I take my time now that the fight is over. She tastes of a powerful drive coupled with a terrible lack of foresight. Once I am done, I feel as if I were floating. I have consumed so much powerful essence that I feel full, even a little tipsy despite the purity of Likaean vitality. My inebriation dulls the pain of the betrayal I still feel, pushing it into the background. I gaze at the world around me with renewed interest. The turf we damaged with our fire and ice already recovered its lustrous green, like water flowing back into a puddle. The earth has swallowed the blood we spilled. Sinead sits a distance away, eating glazed mushrooms and meat skewers he recovered from the dead. The rest of their interesting belongings wait in a pile by his side. I notice he took the time to lay a cover on the ground to protect his butt before plopping down to eat, turning the slaughter into an impromptu picnic. As I approach, he swallows and hails me. "I told you we didn''t need to worry too much." "Why did you flee them before? You could have handled all three," I remark. "Two reasons. First, I was not that strong. Liberating all those fae has increased my pull on the spheres. Second, if you get rid of a group of assassins but not their client, your reward is a more expensive group of assassins." "I see." "Here, take this." He throws two pouches at me. In them I find cubes and crystals of different colors. I pull one that looks like a miniature pillow made of amber. it is slightly warm to the touch. "Court tokens. You can swallow them for power or sustenance, or to fuel a spell. They are useful for bargaining, but keep in mind that nothing truly worthwhile can be bought with money around here." "Hence why we need the fruits?" "Correct. If there are any dark blue, cold tokens, they can help you to cast winter spells." I do not find any. Our would-be killers were not flush, apparently. "If you are ready, we can depart. I will keep the rapier if you do not mind. The rest is up for grabs. Assidina awaits." There is little we can recover. The wreath of the woman hosts some enchantments, but just grabbing it would destroy it. The man''s spear is trash designed to inflict suffering rather than killing. In the end, I only keep the pouches. We leave the battlefield behind and walk on directly towards the World Tree. The woods around us grow less dense until we meet our first orchards. Strange houses that feel more grown than built pepper the ground, their walls dark wood shaped to be flat, or at least flattish. The roofs are made of bark instead of tiles, and the chimneys look like hollowed out trunks. All of them lean as if tired and, as I watch, an eye opens next to a window sill. It inspects me lazily before closing again. A cat watches us pass with twelves slitted pupils arranged in a cluster. It still meows. Eventually, we come across a stone road leading towards the base of the giant, and I spot complex wood structures in the distance. The houses grow more common and we come across our first inhabitants entertaining themselves under the shade of a willow. More specifically, I spot firm buttocks grabbed by two feminine hands. Another man pops out from behind the first one''s back, thrusting into hips unseen. The trio has hair and skin in earthy tones, or what I can see anyway as the sole woman appears to have her hands full, so to speak. The only man facing us smiles. He is quite handsome, with elfin traits and a squarish jaw. "Welcome to Assidina, travelers! Enjoy the embrace of the Eldest!" Sinead thanks him while I avert my eyes. I do not consider myself too conservative, but surely¡­ "Is this normal?" I finally ask the prince. "Oh, I forgot to warn you. The Spring Court is the most promiscuous one. Today might also be the Day of Seeds, which occurs every fifth one." "The Day of Seeds?" I ask, afraid of the answer. Sinead merely points forward to a square we are approaching. "Oh dear." Chapter 186 - 180. The Two Cities It takes us the better part of a day to cross the outskirts of Assidina. Although Sinead said the tree was only an hour away, he was referring to the outer shade of its nearest canopy, of which there are countless, and under whose protective shade the Fae of the Court of Spring conduct their business. As far as I can see, it mostly involves fucking. The Day of Seeds spills like a drunk post-luncheon stroll upon the uneven streets. Fae nobles in human form and other, more exotic creatures with the appearance of dog-men, or grotesque puppets and even, in one instance, a walking plant, mingle with glasses held in various appendages. Sinead weaves smoothly between groups busying themselves reciting poetry or doing each other. We walk along the garland-covered walls and dodge bottles and naked, brown limbs grabbing at us. The scent of alcohol and sex is overwhelming, the vitality so powerful I would have fallen upon them if I were not so full. The Prince of Summer guides us to a throne nestled under a monumental trunk. From there, a very pregnant fae rules over her subjects with a shy, benevolent gaze. She blushes delicately when Sinead pays his respects, and her answer is buried under two hands held in embarrassment. We are directed onward by her laughing handmaidens as another recovers her fir-leaf crown, which had fallen during the encounter. "The queen of the Day of Seeds is elected by the will of Assidina''s people," Sinead explains. "This one must have been quite surprised." "What language do they speak?" I ask, pointing at dog-people bartering for pine cones with a doe-eared Likaean. "The main dialect of this sphere. There will be many languages spoken around here but you only really need ours, even if it is the child version. The words carry their own meanings. You also look like one of us at first glance. Nobles almost always share humanoid traits, so speaking with our tongue will promote your social standing." "Should I learn adult Likaean then?" "Of course. As soon as you have conquered your home plane and joined it to our merry band, I will be delighted to teach you. I think fifty years will be enough for a passing mastery." "A simple no would have sufficed," I grumble. As we move on, the living houses give way to what I can only define as apartment buildings: troglodyte dwellings carved from the titanic roots emerging from the rich earth. I approach one to get a closer look and spook a bird which proceeds to fly through the nearest wall in a flash of smoke. There are no traces of tools on the sill. Instead, the wood has been convinced to grow around a circular hole where some local placed a window. "Tree singers built this. They are the best crafters around here," Sinead explains without prompt. "Although, this specific work is lacking." Huh. "Functional, at best. You should see what they can come up with when sufficiently motivated. It is just such a shame that they tend to tie up their partners when they find one. Last time I had to use a fire knife to free myself." "Where did you hide it?" I ask. "In a dream. Why? What did you have in mind?" the shameless cur asks with a perfectly straight face. I should not engage with him. It makes me remember our complicity, then the memory peels off the scab of my betrayal. "We should move on," I reply, when suddenly something catches my eye. We are following a path up, currently devoid of people. Roots extend up on either side of us, showing brown bark except for a single flower sitting incongruously between two doors. Indigo petals as long as my arm extend from a pistil the color of gold, and from its spherical body radiates a soothing light that captivates my attention. A flutter, and the petals unfold. A delicate perfume comes to titillate my nose. It smells like blood and, inexplicably, coffee. I tilt my head. "What a curious thing. What might it be?" "Bait. A piece of advice, my young and impressionable friend. If you happen upon an isolated stretch of land and find there an abandoned treasure of great interest, seemingly made for you, then¡­" "It is a trap," I finish, dejected. I give one last glare to the offending piece of vegetation. It fails to wilt. Sinead and I move on soon after. The closer we get to the trunk and the more vertical the city becomes. Haughty lords with their spear-wielding retinue ignore us, clad in bark plate and leaf scale on their way to parts unknown. Their scent remains after their passage and makes me close my fists, glad that I could feed before coming. The emerald skies progressively dim as we circle the monumental trunk, following a path that climbs offshoots and crosses chasms between two twigs. Sometimes, we come across marketplaces selling wares, favors, sometimes even people. No one pays us more attention than they do to other nobles, although I sometimes smell a delicious hint of fear from their guards. Night is falling when my guide stops before a mushroom as tall as a train station''s main hall. He knocks on a large gate that opens with a noise of shifting roots. Acrid, blueish smoke assaults my eyes. We walk into an antechamber midway between a reception desk and a museum of morbid curiosities. Shelves cover the white walls, occupying every inch of free space. They bear items as varied as can be. I turn and inspect the closest one. Each alcove bears a different treasure. I see a red ball made from an unknown material. A slab of steel covered in golden filigree. A long, green crystal that resembles the horn of the Herald I removed from its body. An ancient book, cracked with age. A small, dry head with bulging eyes opens its mouth in silent agony. A flower. An ingot made of unknown metal bearing the mark of its maker. As the outside light briefly touches it, the surface bubbles like boiling pitch. A person huffs from behind the counter. His traits are a perfect blend of man and goat down to the pointy white beard and horizontal pupils. An impeccably ironed shirt covers his hairy chest. He breathes into spectacles and places the pair on his nose. "She is expecting you," the man bleats softly. Sinead walks forward with resolute steps while I sustain the unerring gaze of the receptionist. My Charm finds no purchase here and I do not try to force it. The Prince of Summer lifts a curtain and leads us deeper into the mushroom, past scented candles and cluttered corridors. Finally, a ray of light from a side door announces our destination. We walk into an intimate boudoir, with low walls made of the bark of the tree itself. A brazier gives the place a warm and comfortable mood. My armor-covered feet sink into the lush carpet, the cold aura momentarily subdued. From atop a pouf, a curious woman inspects us with amusement. Long black hair falls freely from her head, melding with a multicolored robe she wears loosely upon one shoulder. The other is naked and her cleavage reveals much of a small breast. She does not appear to care. Shockingly yellow snake eyes peer at us from under heavy bangs, full of mirth. Her sensual lips blow smoke from a long, heavily decorated pipe. It turns into a cloudy dragon and flies away. The scent of cinnamon and clove remains. "Amaryll''s child. Welcome. We thought you lost," she says in adult Likaean. Her voice is low and purring. "I was." "And you brought back many fallen children and¡­ one not quite lost as well. Welcome, morsel." "Thank you," I reply curtly. "And she speaks like one of us too. We are glad. What do you wish for, child of Amaryll? We do not know where your mother is right now." "I am not looking for her. I want passage to Voidmoore." The declaration must have come as quite the surprise, because our host blinks exactly once, then after a few seconds, her lips part into the tiniest smile. "Ambitious. Or foolish? The line blurs, sometimes." Another puff turns into a small fish, then another into a shark that eats it. "We expect payment." Sinead removes his plundered backpack and reveals the juicy fruits he picked earlier. The woman smiles again. "Oh little one, you know us too well. Call us by the name we like, and you will have yourself a deal." "Yes, Aunt Carnaciel." "This pleases us. Will you consider staying for dinner?" "I apologize, my aunt. Time is of the essence right now." "So it is. Sit down then." We do so. A pillow seemingly rises from the sea of fabric to accommodate the eternal ice of my tasses. "It is your first passage, yes? Morsel?" the woman enunciates in Child Likaean. Her eyes almost draw me in and for an instant, I fight off her influence. "Auntie," Sinead curtly interrupts. "My apologies. Force of habit." "It is indeed my first passage," I agree to get this strange interaction over with. "Then relax and let yourself be carried across the weave. It is unusual but we know what needs doing and will send you on your way." "What¡­ now?" I cannot help but ask. Sinead coughs lightly, then explains. "The, ahem, portals of this plane are within the tree, making them excessively difficult to reach outside of special times. This is the fastest and safest way to travel." "We will hallucinate our way out of this sphere!" the woman calmly explains. "We what?" I ask. She smiles and reaches for a fold, removing a tiny, dry plant she places into her lit and quite hot pipe. A strange scent emerges from it. "I am not sure it will work," I inform them. In answer, the woman blows smoke in my face. The smell grows more powerful, and I believe I can see strange, tiny butterflies floating at the edge of my vision. "Intoxicants have no effect oooooooooooowowowowowo" I am floating! I am floating under the massive eye of Carnaciel, her form growing to massive proportions. Her robe is now a billowing gown trailing after her, its end vaporous as it merges with the night sky. We fly. We leave the house behind. We leave Assidina behind. The people are like ants crawling over the face of a giant, their long lives still blinks for an existence beyond time. Wars and reigns matter little, though fugacious moments inexplicably do. Farther, familiar flowers lure a young dogman in. The simple creature smells its tantalizing nectar, it bends forward. The petals snap around their neck. A creature swims from behind a fold of reality, pulling the flower back from the end of its stem. It grabs its prey with long, transparent fangs. A massive eye turns over an angler body. We are seen. Farther, church-sized dandelion seeds glide over unseen currents while tendrils from its disks lazily grab passing sprites. Their luminous bodies blink out and the other sprites disperse. If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Farther, the tree is one and it is all, moving close to a small white star. The star is incredibly hot but the tree is well prepared. It does not need a sphere of mud like its lesser cousins for it moves inward as well as horizontally, and vertically, and in depth, and across time, and across thoughts as well. Farther, the tree is eternal. Farther, the tree is not eternal, it is still a living thing in a fragment of a fragment of the universe, only eternal relative to small organisms and not other, also eternal things. There are degrees of eternity. The tree knows one of them. The void, too. Farther, I wake up to cold, wet stone under my head. Which hurts. "HELLOW!" a¡­ turtle man dressed in rags greets. "Ow. Not so loud." "Sorry. HELLOW!" I look around. I lay on a paved square surrounded by gray, water-stained walls topped by high-peaked roofs. Low clouds hang overhead. A statue stands in the middle of it. It shows a grotesquely obese man kneeling mid-declaration, a flower held between two sausage fingers. The artist perfectly captured the extreme agony, the desperate struggle of his lower buttons. A few cheap stalls complete the impression of a bad London district I got from some of the books I favor. One sells clocks and the other, some leek-like vegetables. "Would you like a sneeze?" the turtle man whispers. Sinead brushes himself off and I stand, imitating him. We appear to be both intact. He still has his bag, rapier, and waypoint tree branch. I would have expected us to be robbed by now but the small, insulated pocket near my armored back still holds my money purse. "Pardon?" I ask the sales, errr, person. "Would you like a sneeze?" he asks, brandishing an ethereal feather. "Freshly harvested from the dust cleaner guild. Only one summer token for five. Really cheap!" S§×ar?h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "I haven''t sneezed in almost eighty years," I idly remark. "Then treat yourself!" "I would prefer if we settle down first before going shopping. For safety''s sake," Sinead interrupts. "Besides, your unique constitution may prevent his goods from working." "I have extra strength ones! Mustard flavor! One token for two, three because the lady is cute." "Let''s go," Sinead interrupts. He seems worried. "Perhaps another time," I tell the turtleman with a placating smile. "Have a nice day!" he calls after us. We leave the square from a narrow street. Sinead appears to know where we are going, and I follow him without a word. Poorly dressed fae pass us by, scurrying in the gutters and casting worried glances our way. They seem much more diverse than the Spring Court species, with many sharing animal features or strange, exaggerated traits like bulbous noses or long teeth. Everyone gives us a large berth. "I should show you the edge, at least. We are very close." Very close apparently implies a half an hour fast walk through winding paths. We come across a theater room advertising creative public executions, three marketplaces, a large square where two bands of street thugs are battling it out with merciless fury ¡ª they split and let us through when they see us ¡ª and a large greenhouse. Finally, the houses grow taller and fancier. Guards with pitbull faces or geometrically square jaws start to line street corners, hands contracted over large truncheons. They, too, let us pass with fear clear in their hunched shoulders. I find their terror appealing, but refrain from indulging for now. Finally, we end up on a broad road lined on one side by fancy houses with small gardens. The other side has a single barrier of what appears to be wrought copper. On the other side of it is the void. I approach, unable to resist the pull of curiosity. I lean over the banister. I see stone beneath us, some passages. A tunnel spills waste water into the air. It dissolves into rainbow colors. Above us, there are clouds. In front of us is the void. Pure, black nothing as deep as the abyss. I stare at it for a while because I have never seen anything so dark since I was turned. It quite simply fascinates me. Wind blows. Where does the light even come from? "I¡­ admit that this is quite the sight," I tell Sinead. My anger is almost gone by this point, although I shall never forgive him for this treachery, even if he brings me the most amazing sights. The cur smiles sadly again and points upward. I follow the direction and see a ship hanging in mid air. "By the Watcher. By the Watcher, is it what I think it is?" An oblong balloon holds a ship body aloft as it flies through the ether, propelled by horizontal sails and what seems to be some sort of crystal. The crew moves with energy around its sturdy body. A four-armed crewman busies himself cleaning the hull. "Welcome to Voidmoore," Sinead says. "What happens to those who fall?" I ask as we make our way inland. "They line the skylark guild''s pockets. Unless they are considered to be especially obnoxious, then they feed the void. We are not quite sure what happens to them but Voidmoore keeps growing so who knows? The city is built on an inverted pyramid of rock. It somehow grows much faster than its population despite the tendency of lost ones to end up swallowed in its labyrinthine streets." He tilts his head, considering. "Sometimes literally. In any case, we shall find refuge in a certain pension, then I will start the challenge process. Thankfully, the Court of Summer has an embassy here. I will enjoy access to quite a few nobles without the inconvenience of Revas breathing down my neck. You will be safe while I organize everything." "Kindly elaborate. What does the challenge entail?" Sinead looks with interest as a dozen thugs come out of nearby alleys, smirks adorning their ugly mugs. They take a single look at us and flee. Truly, the Likaean survival instinct vastly outperforms the human one. "The King of Summer has ruled since time immemorial. Few expect him to relinquish his throne within the next couple of centuries, at the very least. Nevertheless, intrigue must occur or the people grow weak, or worse, bored. His majesty has many children. The most devious, powerful, successful, and wise gather in the council of eighty-one. Its members have some say in the conduct of the kingdom and its wars. They are given land and soldiers, so there are real benefits to it that no one would scoff at. Revas is number fifty-six and one of its, shall we say, order keepers. I am going to replace him through a ritual challenge." "I assume those are not easy?" "No. Sadly, we are missing one key element of every successful venture: competent allies within the court. The favor we have accrued should offset this, but it will not be easy. The challenge will consist of three different ordeals. He who wins two will be victorious. Due to time constraints, the dragon hunt will be the second one." "I see." "The first one will occur here if I can manage it. It should give us time to prepare. I will travel to the embassy first thing in the, well, morning, or what passes for it in Voidmoore while you familiarize yourself with the surroundings." He looks at me, then licks his lips in hesitation. His fiery hair flutters in a wilder fashion. "I understand that after what I have done, you would see my words with doubt, and I do know that you are a resourceful and careful woman, but I would kindly request that you exert extreme caution while visiting Voidmoore. Contracts and such often carry traps, as do promises though you are familiar with the concept. What others will mostly fail to obtain by force, they will attempt to steal through guile. Do not underestimate them, Ariane dear. They have been at this game for far longer than you and I. Voidmoore is, well, this place has a propensity to make people disappear, sometimes. I beg you. Be careful." "I have no death wish," I remind him. "Quite so, poppet. Ah, we are here." He turns before I can finish my bristling to tell him he can shove his nicknames where the Watcher cannot see, but my retort dies in my throat. We stand in front of an orchard, a forested vale somehow nestled in the heart of the city. Yellow crystal atop metal posts provides a warm, soft light that sets my teeth on edge. Ruby fruits hang heavy from the nearest branches. As we get closer, I see more trees loaded with a bountiful harvest. Large dogs patrol the ground and, as I look, one samples the air with the flick of a forked tongue. Sinead resolutely takes the winding path heading deeper. So long as we remain on the stones, the hounds leave us alone, though a particularly large specimen growls when our eyes meet. "Please do not kill the creature, Ariane dearest, or our would-be host will refuse us his roof." I shrug. I do not necessarily kill aggressive wildlife. He should see all those werewolves prospering on my land. I even consider some of them as good, well, talkative pets. Unaware of my grumblings, Sinead moves on until we find an isolated cottage at the heart of the orchard. Candles and lanterns hang from every sill, bathing it in a warm glow. While many of the houses outside look damaged because they are derelicts, this one looks well-lived in, with squat walls plopped comfortably on the loam and leaning a bit like an old bottom-heavy chef reading a book of recipes. We knock on the door and hear a lupine growl. The door opens. A powerful cloud of canine scent aggresses me, forcing me to hiss. I meet a pair of moon-touched eyes, but force myself to stop before I can show further signs of aggression. I still take a step back to protect my nose. We face a gentleman with graying hair in a tweed and velvet ensemble, a comfortable bonnet sitting on his face. He also has a wolf head but not a real one, more like what illustrators would have come up with trying to draw the Little Red Riding Hood. It explains the smell. "Yes? Oh, a Prince of Summer. Wait, you are¡­ Amaryll''s child. Sinead, was it?" "Correct," my companion replies. He bows graciously, though he does not quite lower his gaze. "Greetings to you, Old Marrow. We wish to ask for your hospitality for two times seven day cycles." "You will be doing politics," the wolfman grumbles with surprisingly clean enunciation. "Yes." "I do not like politics." "I have brought something that might compensate you for the displeasure," Sinead coldly replies, though I see a slight bend in the way his lips move that tells me he expects success. The prince casually shows the branch he obtained from the Waypoint Tree back in the previous sphere. Old Marrow inspects the stick with obvious doubt for a few seconds, but then his eyes widen comically. He grasps for it with very, very hairy hands. They pick the innocuous piece of wood with the reverence normally reserved for chalices and other sacred things. A callous finger caresses the thin bark. "A sapling¡­ you brought me a sapling. It wants earth, can you hear it? Such an energetic little thing¡­" Old Marrow blinks, suddenly remembering that we are here. His gaze lingers on me for a bit longer than I am comfortable with, but in the end he shrugs. "Yes, yes indeed. Lodgings. That is quite fine. Will you be going to the embassy?" "Quite often." "I have a nephew there, if you wish to employ a messenger. Yes. Such a beautiful young thing. She will love it, when it has grown. Amaryll. Come child, let me give you access." Old Marrow huddles back into his cottage and returns with two intricate keys. He points to the side, where the winding path continues towards a small, isolated square with large houses. "Take the center one. There is food in the pantry and you will be safe. You can stay for a while, young Sinead. It was thoughtful of you to grant me this boon. Now where shall I place you, you little hellion¡­" We leave the wolf man rummaging through a wheelbarrow and reach the square in short order. The keys let us in, and I feel powerful enchantments settle around us as we move in. We enter a corridor with blue walls and dark wood furniture. It smells like embers and old books here. I follow Sinead through a receiving room in which a fire crackles merrily. There is tea on the table. We explore, finding a kitchen and a pair of bedrooms on the upper floor. I pick the larger one because I want to annoy Sinnead. For the first time in a while, I can finally get out of my armor. I leave it in a storage room before it can freeze off the carpet, but I hit a snag. I do not have a change of clothes. Fortunately, I was not wounded and so the gambeson and pants I wear under the plante remain white and pristine. I use the attending bathroom to wash myself before returning to the receiving room for a little tea. It tastes minty and delicious. This place is idly comfortable. I shall rest my eyes just a little bit. I slept, or slumbered, I am not quite sure. The light outside the narrow windows is brighter than before. Birds tweet in the distance, their cries strange and exotic. A glance shows that the cloud cover has retreated up and the light they offer is whiter than before, though it cannot be called bright, or can it? Did I really sleep, or was it a normal slumber? And why did I wake up in what appears to be the morning? It makes no sense. This place upsets all the rules by which we function on earth. I am not the most dangerous species here. I do not fall at dawn, and the light of the day does not burn me. I could ignore it during our foray into the Dead World because the portal to earth was constantly open, but here I cannot. I am trapped with new rules and a culture I have little understanding of. Suddenly annoyed, I stand up to see someone placed a cover on me. It has to be Sinead. The cur saw me sleep and I did not even react! Ugh. He left me a letter on the coffee table. I open it and read. "My dear Ariane, I must away to the embassy. As you know, time is of the essence, and I must move things forward for our sakes. I must apologize again for being a poor host on top of the rest of my many offenses, as I will be unable to show you the wonders of our worlds. I had planned on explaining the opportunities and dangers of this place yesterday, but sadly you were asleep. I beg you to spend the day here and wait for my return, perhaps get accustomed to our lodgings and the gardens outside. Voidmoore is dangerous, more so than you would believe at first sight. Please be careful, and no matter what you do, do not travel underground. Yours sincerely, Sinead." Blah blah blah, verbose, dishonest, faithless, manipulative handsome devil. ''Wait for me home, hen, I''ll take good care of you!'' As if. I grumble and forage the pantry for something to drink. The teapot contains steaming water as if freshly boiled, and I use it to make an infusion, then notice the pillows are all spread haphazardly so I fix that, and reorganize our belongings, move some of the furniture back where they OBVIOUSLY had to be, frankly, did nobody notice they were in the way? And then I find a small library and read about the early colonization of Voidmoore and how it had a village but no habitants. One of the images turns into a floating painting with a little essence, and I realize it used to be much smaller. Curious. Apparently, Voidmoore has a portal to quite a few spheres and an actual port as well, where floating ships come to roost. I have to see it. I want to see it. Alright, I am going. But first, I need a dress. I cannot possibly move around in form-fitting gambeson, or I will be made fun of and will have to kill people. Ugh. Maybe I can find a spare ja¡ª "Aaaaa!" "Bonjour bonjour!" a fluttering form says as it flies before me. The use of French stops me from shredding it mid-flight and I watch, mesmerized, as the form is soon joined by similar creatures. They are humanoid, as large as a forearm, and quite naked, but strange dragonfly wings emerge from their shoulderblades and long filaments from their head and spine. Both wings and hair seem made from the same white thread with a multitude of feather-like extremities. Those filaments are as long as they are and float behind them as if they were immersed in liquid. The French speaking one floats gently in front of my face until I recognize familiar traits around the dark pits of his eyes. "Makyas? This place was supposed to be locked! How¡­ oh, of course." "Court of wings and keyholes, darling eyyyyy." "Darling darling!" "Yes yes, listen to us!" At least two dozen of the creatures stop flying around and join up in a fluffy cloud. Their wings and hair puff out around them in spheres, shaking and bobbing. "We have a proposal," Makyas announces. "Tis a good one too!" a tiny woman adds excitedly. "A bloody good one, hehehehehe!" a third on exclaims. They all snicker. The drone grates my ears. "Alright, alright! Let me hear it!" "Feed us eyes!" "Yes yes yes!" "Soft and squishy." "NOOOOOOO!" Makyas interrupts, and his vitreous humorthirsty companions shut up. "Everything in order. First, we will guide you to the arena! Many fights! They will never expect you. We bet on you. We win big. You find us the right opponent and kill him. We eat his eyes, you get all the money minus our buy in." "We will like you even more!" the girl says. "We will help for sure. You are funny, and not completely there. So strange." "Are you a new court?" a younger one asks. "Hush. What do you think?" Makyas asks. "It sounds like a plan that will get me killed." "You are very strong, Devourer. Not the strongest by any stretch, but this is the arena. Royals don''t come to duel it out here." "Tis a place for mangy prospects." "With squishy eyes! Fat and juicy." "Besides, we help from the shadows, make sure the fights are fair. For you, we mean." "It is never fair to face one of you predators," Makyas concludes with a vicious sneer. "You will give us the eyes and we will make you rich, richer than you could ever hope to become alone. Tokens can buy favors or at least grease a few palms, and would you not prefer to purchase a few souvenirs? What is tourism without bragging trinkets?" "And that will not kill me?" I ask with suspicion. In answer, Makyas places two fingers upon his heart and takes a solemn countenance. "Upon my life I swear that we want you healthy, happy, free, and rich. We just want you to kill someone specific for us. You will get blood and money for it." "And we get the eyes!" "Well, I don''t know, maybe? I need to buy a dress first," I half-heartedly object. "Oh! Oh! Oh! We have disguises for you! And good ones too! You can buy a thousand dresses with the rewards. Or a single very good one." "Hmmm." "Oh and it will really annoy Sinead. He will be sick with worries." "Alright, I will help." Chapter 187 - 181. Isekaied Callipygean Pirate Captain Party "...under certain conditions," I amend almost immediately. The temptation to visit this sphere, gaining allies and funds along the way grips me, however I have just been scalded by one betrayal and would rather wait until my next disappointment. Is this how my sire operates? Dealing with others knowing he will be played and will have to get his point across with a hand through the chest? Ugh. "Name them!" Makyas yells with enthusiasm. If anything, he seems even more eager. To begin with, I mercilessly interrogate him about every aspect of his plan. Although I would not imply malice from the tiny eye-eating monster ¡ª no, I do imply malice, but not aimed towards me ¡ª the point of failure of many plans is not enemy action but incompetence. He might just consider an escape plan that I could not use because he can go through keyholes and I may not. I am capable of going through protected doors but most of the time, the lock will not survive the experience. Makyas should not have a perfect understanding of my abilities, nor of my limits. I need to know the plan from the beginning to the end. To my surprise, he does seem to have one, and it is quite intricate at that. What Makyas also has is numbers. His minions or associates are numerous, and each come with their skills in being where they shouldn''t be. As such, not only does he have extensive information on where we are going, we will also be able to adapt our plans on the fly. I will also be wearing disguises. I cannot help but feel excitement growing. Blood and masquerade? What more could I ask for to mark my grand entrance in the faerie games. They can keep to their strange customs while I collect eyeballs and favors. "Yes," I finally agree after detailing everything. By that time, we are approaching the end of the night and day cycle. "Yes, this will do nicely." Voidmoore is an anomaly, even by Faerie standards. It was discovered eons ago by the Court of Blue and quickly populated by virtue of having readily available houses. Who built those? Even Makyas doesn''t know. What he does know is that Voidmoore used to be a fraction of its current size. "This house was not there last time I came," he says, pointing at a spindly building nestled between two fat warehouses. I inspect the decrepit walls. The roof tiles look like they are a light breeze away from splitting the head of the next passerby. By comparison, its two neighbors display clean walls while warm lights radiate from the windows like cozy invitations in the gloomy later afternoon. I blink and grab the latch of the newcomer, curious. "Careful, some houses here actually move," Makyas notes. "Yes yes, on many foots!" one of his kin adds, bobbing excitedly. "They eat people!" another gasps. "Rude!" "Any way to tell?" I ask. "Check the entrance and you can see the teeth!" the tiniest trumpets in a piccolo voice. I look around and find only bricks. With a shrug, I enter the place without resistance. It means it is abandoned, as I felt something when visiting Aunt Carnaciel''s demesne. This one looks clean enough if impoverished. The pantry contains a half-filled bag of millet and a peach-like fruit in syrup, held in a sealed glass jar. It has plumbing. The proportions are not quite right. Yet. "They grow like mushrooms!" Makyas laughs. "Or like flowers." "With the food in?" I ask. "You still have to buy your own." "Or steal it." "Or scavenge it!" "Or eat your enemies!" the flying chorus replies. "Hmmm." "Let''s not tarry, Ariane the Devourer," Makyas buzzes by my ear, "We have to resize your disguise before the fighting begins." "Oh yes, let us away." Above us, a flying frigate leaves a trail of smoke. It fades into the clouds a moment later. I discover that Voidmoore is a shell upon which live roving bands of lost fae, I discover. Many of the houses we pass by stand empty, though for each strange, empty domain, there is one lived in by fae of all shapes and sizes. Ratmen and boys with hare whiskers run in the street after each other under the benevolent gaze of a parent. Merchants haggle for all sorts of wares in the shadows of leaning apartments. Some warehouses host glass blowers or dye makers or all sorts of industries while others are empty, gutted of their occupants like old crypts. The uniformity of the architecture lends the place a maze-like feeling only reinforced by its immensity, and some of the alleys give me an impression of terrible foreboding rather than the melancholy I expected. If the streets were Voidmoore''s shell, then the pit is its stomach. Makyas leads me to its edge, while I hide under a cowled cape so as not to attract undue attention. The entrance lies in the heart of the most populous district, this one under guard by armored fae in pristine uniforms. There lie the embassies and trading house branches. There, also, lie the piers. Like the twisted roots of a dead tree, they extend over the abyss in a haphazard mess of splitting extensions, some solid, some so rickety I wouldn''t trust them with Makyas'' weight. Ships themselves come in a staggering variety of specimens. One in particular shines blue and dangerous, its prow mounted with a swordfish blade that crackles under the darkening clouds. Others are merely more than boxes strapped to patched up, stubby balloons. All of them show those strange crystals that keep them afloat and that I will absolutely, definitely, in no uncertain terms acquire before all of this is done. Illinois Guns of Liberty expanding into flying warships? Yes please. With one last look of regret at a damaged sloop leaning on its side like wounded prey begging to be slain, I return my attention to the Pit''s entrance. It is, quite simply, a dark maw in the middle of the plaza. Even the uneven pavement appears to swirl into its depth, stone as frozen liquid stuck for all eternity at the edge of a vortex. Tough thugs line stairs going down, eyeing the pedestrians with suspicion. "They look for banned folks," Makyas whispers from my cowl, "but you are new so we are fine for now. You''ll definitely be banned after tonight though!" "Can they even stop me? Where are the heavy hitters?" "You''ll be eating them tonight!" "Most excellent." A basic ramp snakes around the chasm''s walls, without any railings of course. The temperature increases as we go down. Interestingly, all of the fae we come across bow and take a step towards the abyss when they see me. A matter of etiquette towards someone who might be a noble, I presume. My presence is known by now, but it should not leave our prospective foes a chance to do anything but speculate. After a steep descent, the maw opens to an immense cavern well-lit by crystals embedded everywhere. I study the walls and find them peculiar, smooth like volcanic glass. Before me, half of the cavern is filled with stalls and rickety shops hawking food, weapons and armors, gambling dens, and a variety of projectiles to toss at performers. The other half hosts the circular, walled confines of the arena, with a blockish square at the back to hide the cells and the morgue. It is quite simply massive. So massive, it should not fit in a cavern without its ceiling collapsing. So massive that it could host thousands of people at once, perhaps tens of thousands. Here hides Voidmoore''s devouring mouth of sin, eating contestants and spitting entrails and profit. And here I shall make a killing. Hopefully. "The back entrance is over there," Makyas whispers. He forcefully turns my cowl in the right direction and I walk, feeling a bit like his horse. Once again, I am either ignored or avoided entirely, and the strange feeling reminds me of the foreign nature of the spheres with as much certainty as the flying ships. Back on earth, most social differences are constructs. I can look like an affluent daughter of a Boston family in the afternoon, then wear the guise of a scullery maid by nightfall as I weave between groups of people, my back bent and my eyes modest. At midnight I can be an exotic European beauty and no one except my kin would be the wiser. Here, my humanoid traits place me squarely in the ranks of the nobles. This difference of status stems from inborn magical might, a gap between species that no amount of artifices will ever truly bridge. I could be powerful. They are not. There is no need to delve deeper. We reach a small gate hidden between two beige stone pillars just as I finish my musing. A titanic man in chainmail with tusks and quills for hair glares at me with suspicion, though he seems less fearful than his brethren. I can feel power from his aura. He could give a Courtier a run for their money, maybe even stall a Master. Makyas flickers and whispers in his ear, then we are through to a long corridor dimly lit by blue stones. The stench of death is cloying here, and it is old. It has soaked in the very stone. My magic will be powerful in this place. Hmmm. At the end of the passage, we find an incongruously decorated reception ''manned'' by a bespectacled mole in a fancy outfit. The strange creature taps thin fingers together when it sees us. Makyas dives forward to greet it, as we planned. It is best for me to appear meek and demure until the blood starts to flow. "Another skull to the pile, winged one?" the creature huffs. Male, from the voice. He speaks in Child Likaean as well, though his feels clipped and difficult. It lacks the associated meaning, even to my inexperienced ears. "This one is good!" Makyas assures him. "You know the rules. We cannot have grudges." "This one is not a member of any court. This I swear." The mole man glares at me. I remain unfazed. I am mostly sure Sinead will turn this place to ash should I die here, but he asked a question and we gave an answer. Besides, I do not intend to die. "She looks like a noble. Smells powerful too." His tongue flicks out. "Very powerful. But it will not be enough. You know this, winged one." Makyas smiles and our host sighs. "You, listen. This place isn''t what you think it is. The arena will swallow you whole, as it has many others. It is not a question of skill but of odds. The one in control likes to play them. No matter how strong you are, he will find the perfect counter and then you will wake up in the afterlife or with a collar around your neck to compensate the Thousand Leaves for ''medical costs''. Do not throw your life away." Makyas turns to me, a sign that answering is safe. "I understand the risks," I assure the man. I appreciate that he would go against his employers in the name of fairness. Obviously, he does not believe me. "You foolish young nobles, always too confident. You have won three duels and think you know danger. I wish you luck. Your candidacy is accepted. You will join the third melee. Do you understand me, winged one?" he finishes with a scowl. Makyas mimes beating someone with a mace until the mole man takes a swipe at him. On a prompt, I drop a purse of Makyas'' tokens on the table. "Private room?" the creature asks after inspecting its contents. "Yes." "Number thirteen. I will let the guards know." sea??h th§× Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. We delve deeper into the base, finally stopping in front of a room that is half a cell and half a make-up room for ballet dancers. There is even a mirror which does not reflect me. I find an old, cracked painting stuck in a corner. It shows an embracing couple moving to hug and separate in a loop. A helpful message is drawn in the corner. ''I shall win and return to take this back.'' Someone else drew a face laughing itself silly over the doomed oath. Ominous. The rest of the support crew arrives as I inspect other discarded memorabilia. They fly through the keyhole though I left the door ajar ¡ª a matter of principle, I suppose. "We''re in!" "Yeeeee!" "When eyeballs?" "Do we have the list yet?" "It smells like dog in here." "HUSH!" Makyas interrupts. "Check the room for tricks and traps and pits and rats. Leave no tile unturned!" The swarm of flutterlings spreads across the room, pushing and pulling and looking all around. A group almost breaks a small vase and bickers. The other pulls a strange glass from the ceiling. I feel a spell being cast. As before, the world moves around to accommodate the will of the fae with plastic grace, while casting on earth is like pushing mud around. So unfair. "Looking eye isn''t looking!" the tiniest flutterling reports with an exaggerated military salute. "Excellent. There isn''t much to do beyond wait for the third melee. It will mean¡­" "That I face Tog the Cudgel, yes. I remember." "And then a slew of other small timers before the arena really tries to take you down. We will make sure you are protected from ambush outside of the arena, where they will send you between bouts after you have bloodied their nose. They cannot be too obvious about being rotten, cheating scum." By they, he means the Thousand Leaves alliance, one of the dominant gangs in this land. I should be out before they have the time to retaliate, if they even dare. Makyas'' target is one of their most dangerous combatants and I intend to make a show out of him. The wait is made less tedious by two things. The first, and expected, is that I change into my first costume. It is a simple, white gambeson with buckles and a skirt over fitting leggings. Astute eyes will recognize this as an under armor and draw the necessary conclusion as the show goes on. The flutterlings even grant me the intimacy I desire with a curtain they brought themselves, though I am not quite sure how. The second and more pleasantly surprising is that they braid my hair, forming a harmonious, humming chorus to do so. I find the feeling of dozens of tiny hands on my scalp relaxing, just as their songs soothe me. Soon enough, the time has come to join the melee. A heavily armored sentry leads me to a large waiting room where other gladiators await in sullen silence. Crude weapons line a wall, shoved haphazardly against a rack for those who came unprepared. The closest halberd still sports a lone, severed finger curled around its handle. "You''re up," a fae finally says. He is a tall, hunched man with chitinous fingers, his face hidden behind disheveled hair. Only yellow eyes can be seen peering from behind his matted bangs. He glares at each other in turn before addressing us in Child Likaean. "Rules are simple. Anything goes after the game master says you can fight, and not a moment before. Fights are to the death or incapacitation. You can surrender, I guess." I see a hint of fangs when he smiles. "...but the others don''t have to stop. Hehe. The last one standing gets to face a named gladiator. Now form a line and remember, no fighting before we say so or you die first. Got it? You, near the door, you''re the first out. The others get behind." We obey. Most of those I see are lesser fae clutching poorly made weapons in sweaty grips, but there are a few outliers I deem capable, including a tall masked fellow with twin axes and a strange, insectile being with a skull like a horseshoe crab. The strange being and I share a look. Its eyes are pure dark. The dozen or so fodder line up. I have brought no weapon, nor will I use one at first. We obediently step out. A roar hits me like a wall. Powerful, hot light weighs upon my shoulders. The sand is red and reeks of old blood. Stained steel hooks angled down prevent people from climbing out, arrayed like so many inward teeth. The space is enormous. In front of us, a high dais hosts the more important people of the place: a smattering of influential people and the current owner of the pit, the Queen of a Thousand Leaves, the infamous Malera. She lounges in a high seat, looking bored. Her visible eye shines crimson while the other hides behind a green band. Blue hair hangs on her jacket like a sash. Her interest in us wanes, and she turns to an advisor to whisper a few words. The public gives us only a mild roar. The arena is far from full, and those present negotciate or purchase snacks from vendors more than they watch us. It is as Makyas said. We are but cannon fodder. Above them, vast enchantmented walls show images of us from up close like photographs, but unlike photographs, they move. What a brilliant innovation, if it can indeed follow the contestants. Meanwhile, we stop in front of the dais in a loose formation. The game master is recognizable from his loose purple toga and antlers rising from his brow. I expected much from Likaean entertainment and this is¡­ unsatisfactory, though to be fair it would be like judging humanity from a back alley rooster fight. The only interesting point so far is the delicious smell of fear that comes from some of my fellow rivals. If the game master shares my feeling, he does not betray signs of it as he spreads his arms wide as if welcoming a trusted friend. "Ladies of gentlemen, my fellow connoisseurs of the fine things in life," he announces, and I am struck by surprise. Not only does he speak true Likaean, but his meaning is conveyed with such clarity that an earthling might understand the notions he conveys. "We gather tonight to welcome more hopefuls to our warm embrace," he mocks. "Those fierce warriors will bleed for your enjoyment and a chance to fight a real gladiator. So, have we found steel or will they fold like paper? Let''s find out. Kill!" Abrupt. But not unexpected. I backhand a spear wielder to my right and dodge a sword strike to the back of my head by leaning forward. I am using human speed and barely more strength right now. For Makyas'' plan to work, I need to look beatable. Only when our enemies place their head through the noose will we pull on the rope. I have never fought like a human before, but I have enough battle experience to make up for it. I block the next horizontal strike from the swordsman by moving forward and blocking his wrist with my right hand, then I punch his throat with my extended left hand. My claws dig into soft flesh. I smell delicious blood, but do not succumb. Instead, I use his shoulder as a springboard to flip over his head while the spear strike aimed at my back buries itself in his chest. I kick a knife wielder who had used shadow magic to hide himself and grab him by the throat. A headlock, a twist, and his spine snaps like a twig. I lean forward and under the second spear strike and step to the side to dodge the third. I grab the shaft and kick its owner back, then shove the weapon in the mouth of a spell caster. The orb of purple energy she had conjured flickers and dies. I kick high, deflecting an overhead axe strike. I steal a knife from its wielder and stab him in the throat before he can recover. I lick my fingers. So much delicious essence there, but I must be patient and savor the moment. Only take from the strong. Yes. My fangs ache but I resist. I must not indulge quite yet. The fight has lasted thirty seconds but already there are only five contestants left standing. Most of those on the ground are dead. I am left facing the tall masked fellow with twin axes I spotted earlier and a person with goat legs and a staff. We circle each other, unwilling to strike first and offer our backs to the other. The crowd grumbles. We have gathered their attention with a good display. Now, they want more. The horseshoe crab head fighter solves the situation by disposing of its enemy with blades growing out of its forearms. Twin axes roars and attacks him while I am left facing the quarterstaff fighter. He controls the pace well at first, but I soon grow used to his rhythm and grab his staff at the end of a swing. To my surprise, the weapon glides from my fingers, so slippery I could not hold it at full strength. It is not enough to catch me off guard and I use my foe''s overconfidence against him by dodging under the next attack, blocking the one after and punching his fingers as they hold the shaft. The pain makes him lose his grip and I am on him soon enough. He never gives up, never stops even as I open wound after wound. I end up licking my fingers pensively as he agonizes on the sand. Not much essence, just enough to tease the appetite. The insectile being won the other match. It has waited patiently for me to finish, and I give it a short nod to express my appreciation. It tilts its head and raises its blades. When my guard is up, it attacks. I start by moving backward while it strikes in short jabs. It is very, very fast for a bipedal crustacean, reminding me of a mantis. It also immediately backs away when I counter and I soon realize why when it mistakes a feint for a strike and attacks the air. The interesting foe moves faster than it can think. It cannot adapt mid-movement. I have confirmation when I dive under an assault and kick its leg, causing it to stumble. It recovers quickly, however. From then on, its attack sequences shorten and it mixes with counters. I believe it is trying to slice my arms. A decent strategy. I try to counter or grab its wrists on several occasions, only avoiding sliced fingers because of my ability to predict where the blade will fall. I am now faced with an interesting aspect of fae life. If I limit my speed and refuse to use a blade, I am completely outmatched. The creature is simply a better technician than I am. Only the speed of my mind protects me from defeat. Although the melee is supposed to involve only fodder, I have already found an opponent who could defeat most human blademasters without breaking a sweat. If it sweats. Nevertheless, I am still me. As we fight by the body of the goat-legged fae, it twitches. The insectile being is distracted. I strike. Three clawed fingers dig into its armored chest, between two plates. Green ichor covers my fingers. It smells acidic and a little exotic. I step back and lick my fingers while the creature launches a defensive flurry. Tasty. In fact, surprisingly full of flavor. There is quite a spark in that one. And it is male. I can almost see a vision at the edge of my mind but not quite yet. The foe still stands. I have not yet defeated it. The creature moves with small steps now. He shivers in pain, carrying an acrid yet tantalizing smell to my nose. I understand something I had not. He is not wearing armor. He is wearing an exoskeleton. Which means¡­ I adapt my fighting style by moving to the sides, forcing him to turn using his feet. I knew it. His chest cannot move like ours do. He is slower in lateral movement. I use it to my advantage and press him. It soon proves obvious that he trained for just this occasion and manages to fend me off with blind swings, but it is not enough. A last feint and I kick his feet from under him, then I am behind, one hand on his shoulder and the other on his wrist. He bows his skull in defeat, though he does not speak. "Do you yield?" I ask, not eager to kill an honorable opponent. "He''s a hive lad from the Marsh Court," someone screams in the closest section of the arena. "They communicate by smell only! Hahaha." I had not been paying much attention to my surroundings and now realize that our fight has gathered more interest than they perhaps expected. The arena had fallen mostly silent. Now, many roar for me to kill the creature. Instead, I tilt its head back and push Charm into its dark eyes. "Submit," I order. I receive a strange smell in response, but the feeling that carries through our link is one of a bared throat and that one is universal. I lightly bite his arm, taking only a sip of essence. Will not stay in the marsh. Will not conform. Will not serve. Will seek perfection. Will dance. Until I die. I push the arm away and help the interesting creature to its feet. The game master sneers at the display, but the crowd seems to approve. Our demonstration of skill has awoken their interest, it seems. The creature limps away while teams of guards come to carry the dead and dying out. The antlered fae does not show any concern, though the same cannot be said for Malera. She whispers orders to a painfully thin servant. Perhaps she saw through my deception? It should not matter. I have not revealed enough to warrant too much attention. More importantly, they have never met a vampire before. "And we have a winner. Let''s see if our newest bleeding heart has what it takes to defeat the next opponent! You know him you love him, the headcracker, the master of mace, the thumping, thundering, grumpy thug, the teeth fairie, Tog the Cudgel!" The roar appears more genuine this time. Many of the fae throw flashy magic in the air to welcome the new contestant. One of the large gates in the arena''s walls opens to let through a giant. An actual giant. I barely reach his midriff. His mud-colored skin shines with whorls of tattoos, but most of them have been marred by deep scars. He only wears a tiny kilt. Hair covers most of his face except for a pair of bloodshot eyes. He waves what is basically a steel-tipped trunk and charges me with a roar, and the reason for Malera''s concern soon becomes obvious when the ''cudgel'' smashes harmlessly against the ground, then again when I lean under the follow-up swing. I even stand for a second while my enemy attempts to locate me, not realizing I am still at his feet. He is much weaker than the insectile fighter. His only notable feature is his strength. I frown. I should not lower my guard. Perhaps he has hidden abilities. In order to deny him his reach, I step close to him which seems to anger him greatly. I circle him and slice at his knees, then at his wrist when he goes for a grab. He is not exactly clumsy, but compared to the other fighters, the challenge is lacking. I suppose not everyone has experience dodging massive blows so as not to become intimate with the nearest cliff wall. I should buy Jarek a present when I get back. Maybe a dictionary. I decide to play a little bit, half out of boredom and half because being popular with the crowd will afford me a measure of protection when the stakes increase. On the next downward swing, I casually jump on the trunk and find myself face to face with a dumbstruck giant when he pulls it back. I kick him in the teeth and drop down to avoid the grab. I rely only on my feet for the next three exchanges. It soon becomes clear to everyone that I am toying with my prey. Laughs and jeers echo around the bleachers. I am still being careful, though it appears Tog really had only strength going for him. In desperation, Tog races away, leaving me behind and rather surprised, but it is only to better turn around and charge me. Let it not be said that I would refuse a good challenge. We run at each other at his speed. At the last moment, I kneel and flatten myself, letting inertia and sand carry me under his mighty swing. I take his heels as payment for the smell. Thankfully, I did not look up at the critical moment. Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. Tog crashes on the ground. I jump on his back and walk on his spine while he mewls in pain. A puncture near his heart and I latch on his back, drinking a gulp of delicious vitality. Just one, just a little bit. I can only do this because fae vitality already sustains me. The frustrating deprivation will only make the last feeding that much more exhilarating. It will also make this hunt meaningful: an escalation of increasingly stronger prey to ¡ª hopefully ¡ª a worthy finale. After taking my due, I kill him by crushing his neck. The audience hoots their pleasure at the gory finish. I suspect Tog was not the most popular fighter, but more importantly, they are too canny not to realize that Malera was grooming him for her roster. An offense has been made. The bait is set. "What an upset, ladies and gentlemen, what a fascinating development! Our rookie has disposed of Tog with vicious ruthlessness. The cudgel is broken, crumpled and trampled by the hand of our mysterious challenger. And now, we are short a named gladiator for our next bout! I suppose you will do, newcomer. Let us see how far those skills of yours carry you. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome¡­ Syma the Red!" Ah, it appears Malera intends to use me to dispose of problematic elements. Makys informed me that Syma was one of those who refused Malera''s ''generous'' offers of employment. I do not mind being a tool, for now. The Mistress of the Thousand Leaves does not yet realize it, but I intend to take all her assets from her, both good and bad. Syma sashays from another door under a mixed reception while I pick the cudgel''s handle to make myself one. I end up with a rough mace, a blunt tool barely more than a cut piece of wood. I turn around and study my new opponent while she stops a few steps away. Syma wears a red, form-fitting armor made of some sort of leather. It does not look very sturdy. Black hair caught in a braid hangs down her back and two crimson eyes glare at me viciously. She also has four arms, rather interestingly, yet she holds only two sabers. That strikes me as awfully inefficient. "From the Court of Fire, Syma has shown she earned her name both from her style and brazen personality. Let us see if she can give our newcomer some new colors." Court of Fire? Oh dear. The woman rushes forward and takes a deep breath, which is the moment I pick to throw my improvised cudgel at her nose. She does dodge at the last moment, but the effect is done: the gout of fire she spits roasts sand to the side. Ugh, a Melusine equivalent. The Watcher preserve me from those harridans. To prevent a repeat, I charge and pick my cudgel from the ground. Syma fights me off in a flurry of saber slices. She fights like a dervish, always moving, always rotating. I find myself thrusting much more to try and stop her dance. She is pushed back and it does not take long for me to realize that she is used to wielding four blades. Her style is too telling. Why bring only two? The blades are not even in good condition. Our fight is fast and decisive. Using the cudgel like a rapier, I manage to land fast jabs between her defenses. The blunt end might not be particularly sharp, but I can tell from her hisses that I might have cracked a few bones. Her dance grows increasingly desperate as we move around the arena. I quickly gain complete control of the fight and keep landing strikes. In desperation, she adopts a more offensive style and loses even harder. The public jeers at the poor woman. They hurl mocking insults, belittling her struggles. Distasteful. Out of her wits, the woman decides one last, daring strike. She catches the cudgel between her two sabers and, with a roar of triumph, cuts it in two. That little maneuver leaves her completely exposed, so I kick her in the sternum. Her body smashes on the sand, all air stolen from her lungs. I am on her before she can recover. Her four arms give me some problems while the public''s appreciative whistles test my patience, however, I finally backhand her and use the moment of reprieve to disarm her. "Do it then, kill me," she spits, but it is bravado. She is quite a bit younger than she pretends. I can taste her terror, hear the rolling drum of her heartbeat. "Do you yield?" I offer. "What good would that be? Malera will make me a slave." The prey should RESPECT THE HUNT. "It is to me that you submit," I hiss. Silly goose. What does another have to do with anything? Wait, no Makyas told me¡ª "Then I yield, but to you," she says with some hope. I grab a wrist and drink one gulp. More essence teases me, still not enough. And I have gained a favor from the little fire spitter. I will be sure to collect it later. For now, I pick a saber and wait for her to leave, which she does, stumbling weakly on the way. More cheers come, and I see with some vain pride that not only do the crowds enjoy my display, but more and more are pouring to watch the show. Malera seems pleased and I see a mocking expression on the game master''s face, but that is fine. Again, they believe they are using me. I do not mind. Their confidence will make the finale that much sweeter. I test my newly acquired saber and decide that it is a piece of scrap that should never have seen the outside of a forge. My letter opener is a deadlier implement. As I examine the blade, my next foe makes an appearance. "From the recess of the Swamp Court, the flying menace and another promising beginner, I give you Nol the Fleet!" My opponent has wings! How peculiar. Oh, and the head of a fly, except for his mouth which appears quite human. Thin limbs grasp a thinner sword. No armor, only clothes. He will be fast but not very strong. Another undesirable thrown at me, perhaps to test my limits? "You have done well so far," the creature declares, "but you have not faced the likes of me!" Only because he is one of the weirdest things I have ever seen. Without further ado, the fly man charges me, the drone of its gossamer wings overpowering even the crowd. He intends to skewer me in a single charge! I approve until I realize he is aiming for my hip instead of center mass. I side-step him easily and clip his leg, but not too deep. Not yet. This one''s blood is red as I show the mob the trace of my victory. Nol sees that his own blade remains unbloodied and curses, though he appears undeterred. I find him interesting but silly. He should be using a spear with a curved head at the end, not a sword! I wish for a BETTER HUNT. It will be fine. The night is still young. "Lucky hit. Let''s see you do it again!" he bellows. Courage in the face of defeat, a respectable trait. He charges again. This time, I am hit by sound. My ears ring painfully. I charge him. Nol flies back and out of reach though he cancels his strange attack. I wonder why he would not fly up, though I suspect the arena might have measures against that. He pretends to charge then swerves abruptly at the last moment. I shrug and spread my arms in silent question. The crowd''s jeers needle him on. He charges several times and tries to clip me, but I simply step aside. He really does need a longer reach. WEAK. I am starting to believe that I am pitted against children. The next charge, I step into his path and brace. A saber slice deflects the sword before it can pierce my tender flesh. The fly man crashes against my chest. I twist to absorb the shock and send him careening into the sand. As expected, he is very light. I definitely won that exchange. Not that I am heavy of course, it is the armor. I notice with some annoyance that my saber did not survive the battle. I toss the handle to the side and walk to Nol. He is slow to recover, having landed head-first. I grab him by the throat and pull him up. "Do you yield?" I ask. The crowd boos, execution denied, but once more I am assailed by the feeling that those I face have not been given the chance to fight to the best of their potential and killing them now irks me. Besides, they are problematic subjects of my current adversaries. I see no reason to remove this thorn from their flank. "You¡­ will not kill me? Do I not disgust you?" Nol asks. I cannot read the expression of his strange face. I suppose some might find the contrast between his almost human mouth and compound eyes disturbing but honestly, I care little. "The only thing that disgusts me is that sword of yours. Do you yield?" "Yes, though if our host provides me with their ''medical care'' and the associated cost, be sure to kill me after you have collected your earnings¡­" he answers, dejected. "Then offer your blood, supplicant," I reply. I understand the real request. Do not leave him here as slave. He brings his wrist up and I bite, taking one gulp and no more. It tastes of mud and freedom. Intriguing. I recover his sword and send him on his way. The game master mumbles something about giving me a chance to rest and I leave the din of the arena behind me. The shadows push my instincts further until the guards take a step back. Makyas flies to me with his flutterlings to guide me back to my room. "They have taken the bait," he declares excitedly. "They are summoning their more hardened fighters. And we have already broken the bank with our earnings. Look!" he declares. A cloud of his kin carry a bag loaded with a kaleidoscope of tokens. The riot of light makes me hiss. No more light. Hunts should be done in dim places. "Do you want to get some now, or?" "Bet everything on me, HSSSSS. I hope the next opponents deliver." "They will be named, all of them. They will counter you, too." "They better." I hear steps in the alley, someone large and weak and slow and so, so full of life. The gate guard opens the door silently and scowls when he sees me facing him. Stupid degenerate, I am backed by the Court of Wings and Keyholes. How did you expect to catch me off guard, exactly? "The Thousand Leaves¡­ requests your continued presence. You are not to leave the building. Don''t try to escape," he grunts. "Escape?" I repeat, then I laugh. I should not since the head has not quite cleared the noose yet, and Malera could still pull out. She must believe I am as limited as I appear. I simply cannot help it. Me, escape? Hah. WE SHALL SEE WHO RUNS. "I would not dream of it," I conclude. "What she said, dull one," Makyas adds, "Now off you go. We are busy gazing at our navels." "You should clean yours!" the tiniest flutterling adds. "Ewwwwwwwwww," they all echo. The guard takes one step forward, a mistake. The swarm of winged terror assembles in a cloud above me, their tendrils stretched out and linked. In my mind palace, the thorn walls shiver. I blink. A strange hum spreads throughout the room and I must actively fight off the urge to sing along. The gate guard wisely decides to take a step back and leave. I admit to being impressed. Their focus was not even on me. "That was impressive," I admit. "Most courts have ways to deal with us," Makyas admits, "but they are not always ready, and this one was not." I nod and kneel, focusing on breathing. I must stay in control for now, despite the mounting Thirst and instincts that scream for an end to the Hunt. Patient. I must be patient. It will be an excellent opportunity for me to practice fighting in adverse conditions. Meanwhile, Makyas and his kin add pieces of colorful armor to my gambeson. Part of the next disguise. It takes far too long for the gate guard to summon me. I pick up Nol''s blade and make my way out. The arena has filled up. Eager Lesser fae occupy every bleacher now. The food merchants must be making a killing. An excited buzz gives the bloodstained aura of the place a bubbly quality I both appreciate and detest. The potency of any blood magic spell here will be multiplied, but the precious vitality spilled here was often wasted in unfair hunts. Those lead to dark paths. I breathe in. So much vitality here, and I have teased the Thirst into a craving. I hope our foes deliver a proper challenge. "Ladies and gentlemen¡­" I ignore the announcer, let his meaning bounce against my indifference despite how loud it is. Malera appears slightly upset, but in the way of a teacher whose student misbehaved. My status has risen from side note to inconvenience, then to chore. The winter color of the light mail I wear can only increase her discomfort. I will be promoted quite a few times before the night is over. "... The metal man, the slippery spiked sparrow, Hanadro!" A tall man enters the arena from another door. The moving paintings above show every detail of his massive body, including strange ram horns curving around his bare skull. He wears a cape and nothing else. His manhood hangs freely. No one seems to care, and so I show no sign of being bothered. "Fight!" The man spreads his arm, welcoming a first strike. I could kill him in so many ways, but I must resist and be a patient huntress, and so I charge him, sword first. He doesn''t react. At the last moment, I swerve away just as liquid steel emerges from under the cape to cover him in thick armor. A massive slab rises over his chest while a helmet merges seamlessly with his horns. Steel even covers his sneer, turning his face into a mask much like Bertrand''s. Even his eyes shine with silvery light. Hmmm. This might be problematic. The fae twists on himself and swings. I run to the side to avoid whatever comes. Sand explodes at my feet when an overly long whip cracks like thunder in his hand. Seeing he has missed me, Hanadro walks forth with ponderous inevitability. Contrary to the previous contestants, this one seems well-equipped, and his strangely extending weapon gives him the range he needs to offset the weakness that comes with such cumbersome armor. He is quite adept too. Nevertheless, a whip needs time to wind up and so I charge forward between two attacks. Hanadro smiles and strikes once more. I wait until the last moment and jump, curling into a ball midair. The whip carves a scar in the sand beneath me. Perhaps he expected me to repeat the same stunt as with the giant. They still underestimate me. It will make the reversal of fortune that much sweeter. I get within reach of Hanadro before he can strike again. To my immense annoyance, he pulls the whip back and turns it into a sword through what seems to be a simple effort of will. I should sue for intellectual property theft. With legal outrage at my back, I attack first. I am not a dimwit and I avoid his truly armored parts, yet I also know that some measure of flexibility must remain or an armor set is merely a statue. I jump to the side and twist the blade in my hand, hitting backwards and down. My sword''s tip breaks against the back of his knee. Hmmm. I avoid and hook and take a step back. "How are you going to fight now, little girl?" Hanadro asks. "Claws? That butter knife?" I lunge forward and up, dodging a grabbing hand to smash what is left of Nol''s weapon into my foe''s eye. Even with the steel cover, it has to hurt. And it does. The fae swears and grabs for his head, so I grab for his feet and lift, using my feet to push him off balance. He falls face first, incapable of keeping his balance. I climb on his back and grab a foot and his neck. I pull. He fights me but the weight and flexibility now work against him. "You will¡­ tire soon enough!" he roars against the sand. I cannot strangle him, true, and I cannot break his limbs with steel protecting his articulations. I can, however, smother him. Readjusting my grip, I use my knee to shove his head against the sand. The metal still changes. Spikes emerge from his chestplate to dig into my shin but I am now wearing armor as well and they lack the power and sharpness to pierce through. Choking on the blood-soaked ground, he next tries to use a steel spike to prop himself up, but the sand once again betrays him by letting the spikes in. His struggles turn more erratic. As for me, so long as I prevent him from buckling, he will not be able to push me away. Eventually, his struggles cease. He extends his hands in a strange sign I do not recognize, though the meaning is easy to guess. I stop pushing and move back. "Do you yield?" I ask. "Yes, damn you! Yes. You have won," he bemoans as he makes to stand. I place my index finger against his cheek and he freezes. The sharp nail digs effortlessly through his skin, drawing fresh red blood. I lick my finger and no more. I have my due and he understands. I could have gone through his protection. I merely elected not to. "What an amazing victory, and the mysterious cold one keeps triumphing! Is there a champion to stop her rampage?" the game master asks. I look up to see the crowd go wild, while Malera''s face has soured like an old grape. Her one eye glares down balefully, but when she notices my attention, she smiles. I understand her confidence. She operates a gambling operation. From her perspective, all she has to do is to stack the odds in her favor and eventually, the house always wins. From my perspective, I am cheating excessively. "...The Mistress of Mayhem, the untouchable mind reaver, Tarana the Elder!" the game master finishes. Most of the crowd boos, then the moans only increase when crystals set in the walls belch out clouds of smoke. It smells like swamp humidity, their pungent odor diluting that of blood. The lights dim. A fae who could pass as Makyas'' mother rises from the fog. While her kin flies naked, this one sports a shimmering cocktail dress, the light forming a rainbow prism on her form. She has a mature beauty to her, though it is marred this instant by one of the most arrogant smirks I have ever been subjected to. My defenders scream from the bleachers. "Booo! Traitor! Vile hag!" the flutterlings hiss. "Hush, children. You have all been quite naughty, disturbing aunt Tarana from her nap. Why, I believe I will break your toy first, and then we shall see about a few nightmares hmmm?" Her voice is warm and sultry even with its chilling message. She is also talking in adult Likaean with perfect ease, though the taste of hers differs from Sinead''s, somehow. Her aura is diffuse. "Let the fight begin!" She disappears. Something drills through my mental defenses, fast yet agile. Extremely powerful. The outer walls are breached. It''s in my mind. A simple effort of will places my consciousness back outside the castle''s entrance, where most of the statues are concentrated. An intruder seeks to breach the way in. I can feel her presence, moving around before the thorns have the time to grab her. Some of the outer statues take swings, but miss. She is too fast. I need to get in and close the gates behind me. Get in. Get inside¡­ Get inside? I scowl, why would I get inside? I am already inside. The inside is me. "You are merely delaying the inevitable, child," a voice whispers. I open my eyes and crouch. I am no match for her. She is old and made for this, and though my defenses are formidable, she will eventually destroy them. Of this, I have no doubt. I focus and trace two circles in the blood-soaked sands. Glyphs soon adorn them, all of them in Akkad. The fog blocks sight which explains why the spectators are displeased. Mental duels must not be all too exciting to watch to begin with. I am done in only a couple of seconds. "Pierce the Veil." I knew I had grown in power since the last battle against Mask, but I had not quite realized how much. The spell is far from perfect in my hands ¡ª I shall never be a great mage ¡ª but it is very, very powerful. The fog splits apart in a funnel in front of me to reveal¡­ nothing. "Magic! The cold one can do blood magic! What a surprise!" the game master erupts. I did not expect to succeed on my first try. That is quite alright. "Pierce the Veil." "Pierce the Veil." "Pierce the Veil." On the fourth try, I catch the glimpse of fleeing tendrils. My fifth attempt reveals Tarana''s scowling form. The assault on my mental defenses begins in earnest. It appears she was merely playing before. I grit my teeth and endure. "Pierce the Veil." This time I have her well in my sight. I trigger the second circle. "Promethean." Constantine''s signature chains lash out in the dozens. I am so surprised that I almost lose my focus, but of course, this is a place of blood and captivity. There are probably few better places in all the spheres to cast it. A torrent of blood-red links hunt after Tarana''s fleeing form. She is faster, but we are in a closed space and there are just so many. Eventually, she tries to fly up but crashes against a shield. The chains envelop her. Her next spell dies, smothered by the powerful restrictions. I drag her to me. "Kill her!" Makyas bellows. "You miserable cur! I''ll shred your soul like wet paper!" my captive promises. The crowd goes wild, demanding her blood. I win. They get a show. That is perfectly acceptable. I bite Tarana''s head off and use her body like a bottle, drinking one gulp before discarding it like an empty gin flagon. The crowd falls into a horrified silence. And then, they go absolutely wild. The deafening roar shakes the walls of the arena. I stretch my arms and bask in their adoration. Yes, prey, love me, fear me, worship me. I am not even done. I turn my head to the dais and, for the first time, smile smugly. The head is through the noose now. They sent their best at me and I turned it into a show. They have to make me kneel, or they will lose face forever. Although the game master keeps talking, Everyone present knows that the entertainment part of the evening is done for and we are in open conflict. Malera cannot break the rules but she can certainly skirt them. The fog disperses and runes glow on the wall. The light returns with a vengeance. I feel my magic being smothered in an effect amusingly reminiscent of the becalming spell I used against the skeleton mages. Pillars of heated stone emerge from the ground. "... I give you¡­. Fizzledill the Wasp!" The contestant who enters the area might be short, and lithe as well. I find it hard to tell. He shines like fireworks until I am forced to avert my eyes. Heat radiates from his shimmering body. Magic answers my call sluggishly, too sluggishly to be of use. "Fight!" I dodge back, then under flaming rays of incandescent magic. Not a spell. Short range projectile? I can barely see. All I can do is to run and use the heated pillars as shields. It does not work very well. Fizzledill cuts me off. He opens his helmet to reveal a pair of ruby eyes. "You ¡ª " I Charm him. Or rather, I use the mental equivalent of a sledgehammer to capture his attention. He does not have any protection I can perceive. In fact, he is even more vulnerable than the average mortal, something I have noticed with those who enjoy opium. I grab his mind and do not let go. Fizzledill crashes on the ground. He is a strange one, with tiny transparent scales that cover much of his body. I squeeze his mind like a vice and grab him by the collar. Fiery blades clatter against a rock. He is quite light. I take one sip and no more. He tastes of ash, both from his power and from what he has done to his dreams. I snap his neck. This one is too broken to be of use. The crowd goes mad. They laugh and point fingers. The air shakes when I toss the corpse to the side. The dais occupants blister with unspoken rage even as they maintain an appearance of aloofness, but I can see the flared nostrils and contracted eyes, the fingers gripping decorated chairs. They know our next play will be the last. The noose has closed, now. The gates open to let me out. Makyas waits for me by the nearest alley. The usual guard is nowhere to be found. "They tried to trap the room! Twice!" "Did you manage?" "Yes. There are many more of us now that you have done so much fun stuff. The guards had wards but they were cheap, so now they are dead and I have more eyeballs. Follow!" We return to our room and the flutterlings bring the last elements of the ''disguise'', true plate armor. This time, they will bring Makyas'' true target. The next opponent will be the last. I can stop hiding. While the first gambeson was a neutral white and the mail a deceptive blue, this is black plate. A statement. I am entirely dressed when Malera comes calling, only my head remains without a helmet. She stays by the door. Her lone eye finds the dead guard by the wall. "A social caller," I comment. "I don''t know who sent you and I am eager to find out. Not now though, not even if you change your mind. You will tell me everything I wish to know after Gorgath is done with you." A hiss reveals a forest of pointy teeth. "I have seen your kind before, girl. Young and strong and so very naive. You lived in a backwater and cannot possibly comprehend that this is the real world, and you are one of many. I will be seeing you soon. Do try to make the fight interesting." I chuckle. She is right. It is quite a large universe. I stand to leave. Makyas sends a few flutterlings with me but they are not really needed. The gloves are off, the gauntlets are on. No more hiding. In no time, I stand before the gates. Half of the crowd calls for the cold one, the other, for my opponent. The area is back to full sand, and the dais has returned to cold haughtiness. "Ladies and gentlemen, she has taken the arena by storm and made short work of every opponent so far! She is as adept with her fists as she is with magic! The winged ones favor her, I give you the mysterious Cold One!" The arena shakes and I spread my arms, demanding a better ovation. They scream my nickname, as they should. "And to stop her, the reigning champion of the arena, with seventeen fights and seventeen victories! They say his father was of the Court of Blood. They say he killed his first man when he was six with his bare fists, the cranium cracker, the blood spiller, I give you, Gorgath the Crusher!" The creature that comes from the largest gate is closer to the traditional Christian rendition of a demon than I would think possible, a stark contrast to his golden, angelic armor. He even has the horns and the utter ugliness of the most revolting of gargoyles. He towers above me and holds in his hands a maul that positively shines with enchantments. "I hate being bothered without notice, little girl," he says with a gravelly voice. "You''re lucky the boss wants you in a state where you can just speak." I smile at him and quickly cast a voice-enhancing spell, struggling a little to cast under the effect of the arena''s anti-magic runes. It is time to make myself known at least to an extent. "I am going to kill you without moving a finger," I state. Gorgath huffs with disdain, and I notice the source of his confidence shining ominously on his armor: a very, very powerful protection against mind magic. Unfortunately for him, I was not referring to Charm. When I first triggered my Magna Arqa, using the roots was as easy as breathing. I have struggled to reproduce this effectiveness ever since then, and my mastery showed its limits when I fought Bertrand and his followers. In theory, my Magna Arqa would not simply let me fight, it would allow me to control the terrain for both me and my allies until it becomes as deadly to intruders as the garden of my mind palace. In effect, keeping so many factors in mind when facing foes just as fast or even faster than me remains a daunting challenge. Now that I have grown from the fae offering, I should have a smoother control. All that is left is to practice. It cannot be my ultimate weapon if I only use it for my most difficult battles. Practice makes perfect. And it will feel good to let go. Any time now. "Fight!" Ah. YESSSSSSSSSS. I tilt my head back and release my hold. Essence spreads and my aura flares. The tiniest amount of resistance holds me back, more a matter of finding a path than a real obstruction. Rocks above my head block the purple light but I know, I just know, that Voidmoore''s starless expanse just gained its first astral object. It is here. It has come. It is, as always, WATCHING. A pulse of wonder, like the coo of a soul. Yes, feast your eye on this new world. As for me, I shall feast as well. The time has come to bring this masquerade to its inevitable conclusion. "Magna Arqa." Thorn roots crack the bloody sand, thick and strong. I pull one back with an effort of will just as Gorgath charges. When he is in the right spot, I release it. The root whips back and smashes against the chestplate with a resounding clang. The massive fae bounces back, but it will take more to stop him. He bellows. I sit down, letting an arched root carry me. Gorgath struggles to advance against the shredding, whipping spikes. His armor resists for now. He grunts with effort and, when he is close enough, takes a deep breath. I raise a wall to block the acid breath that emerges from his throat. Fluid hisses on the red sand, but the roots hold, just as durable here as they were on earth. The supposedly unstoppable champion is dragged, pushed, carried stumbling through the sands, tossed and caught and smashed down. It doesn''t hurt him yet but the tone is given. I look up to the dais to see Malera standing, arguing with an advisor. The magic-dampening runes are still active. They simply do not affect my power. She knows now, she understands. I see fear. I can almost taste it. With one last look, the Mistress of the Arena turns around and abandons the place, leaving me the ground. Oh, such a meaningful decision. Gorgath roars. He swings his maul vertically and a massive arc of fire emerges, making a beeline for me. I have the root under me carry me out of the way. Hmmm, I should use them to reorient myself more, maybe even change direction midair. Such potential. Seeing his attack has failed, Gorgath redoubles his efforts. The struggle never ends for him, because the roots never end. They flay him without respite. Even without infusing them with essence, damage has already appeared on the previously lustrous surface of his armor. Pits and scratches accumulate with every smack, every shredding pass. My foe shows he is mad with anger and it makes no difference whatsoever. I stand on a throne of thorns, unmoving despite his best efforts. A new charge ends in a prison I raise all around him. He fails to escape it once more. He bangs on the surface again and again with no result. I think it is time to hammer the point home. Loth''s statue strikes his flank. Gorgath turns and roars. His addled mind launches him at the nearest foe even though the dimmest fighter would realize this is a construct. False stone flies, then so does blood. Dalton''s gun roars. The werewolf jumps on his back. Gorgath fights. He bleeds. He resists. He kneels and stumbles. Sivaya''s statue stabs a spear in his back, finding a chink in the ravaged armor. He screams and falls for good. I use roots to bring him to me. Our eyes meet. With his remaining strength, he throws a pathetic punch. I allow it to slide on my armor. He tried hard, though not very smartly. I bite down. The accumulated essence of all the previous gladiators coalesce into his own as I drink him dry. He is a fae on his own territory, a champion at the end of a line of warriors. And I made an example out of him. I won. He tastes amazing, like life and triumph and struggle on those blood-soaked grounds. I take my due under the ovation of the crowd even as they know they have witnessed history. It feels amazing. Now, time to collect more! "Teeheeeheeeeee!" I go through the door. Its guardian has left, run off somewhere. That was so good! Makyas comes from somewhere to hover around my head. "Wonderful, Ariane! Such tasty eyeballs! We have your winnings! Follow me!" "QUIET, WINGED ONE!" I exclaim. "We are not done yet! I have to collect my other dues!" Makyas turns back, intrigued. "Other dues?" How can he not know? He was there! Everyone was there! "The gladiators, silly!" I explain to the slowpoke. "I spared them so they owe me their lives, and I also promised I wouldn''t leave Syma in their grip. So of course I will, ah, liberate them. Yeeeesh. I liberate Likaeans is what I do. You should know!" I thought I had seen Makyas ecstatic before, but now he looks like a child on Christmas eve. He will assist! "No more words! Lead on, faithful guide! For freedom and the pursuit of a great hunt! I am bringing liberty to these forsaken lands, one broken door at a time! Onward, I say! I did not free you all to stop on the earth side! To gates and collars! Teeheehee!" With the cloud of flutterlings opening the way, I rush deeper into the maw of the arena, meeting only a handful of terrified guards. A thought occurs to me, however. I had a fantastic hunt and a great feeding while I was not even Thirsty. Could it be that the massive influx of power has made me drunk? Am I placing myself needlessly in harm''s way? Could my judgment be impaired? Naaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah. "Open up, door, you know you swing that way! Teeheehee!" Cells! Spartan ones, too. The insectile hive thing with the blades on his arms sits against the wall with a collar. Unacceptable! He''s a good lad! I tear it off and pull him to his feet. I know he doesn''t quite get sound communication so I will have to be especially eloquent. "You are Dancer. Got it? That''s your sound name. Dancer. Daaaaaaaancer. NOD YOUR HEAD BECAUSE THAT MEANS YES." Slowly, the Likaean meaning behind the words filters through his chitinous skull. He does nod. "Excellent! More freedom! Yay!" Syma is next, then Hadrano. Others too because they are on the way and I don''t really mind. Nol caresses his newly manacle-free wrists. "Are you a royal?" he asks. "Nope!" "Well¡­ you should be." "You can call me Princess of the Blood. I shall allow it. Because I am in a good mood." "This is all well and good," Hadrano interrupts, "but we won''t stay free for long unless we strike at the Thousand Leaves. They have more captives in the abandoned High Markets. They can just replace us ¡ª" "More captives, you shay?" I interrupt. Walls are weird here, very naked. Oh yes, a cell. "We can show you!" the flutterlings agree. So helpful! Very kind of them. "I shall not have prishoners on thish nice daaayyyyyyyyyyeaaaaa forward my dragonfly things!" We leave the arena in a mob, ooooh, but that is all nice. I find the turtleman that sold sneezes by the entrance and grab him by the collar. "I''ll take your entire stock!" I announce. Makyas pays from the massive bag that contains my money. No, treasure. No, booty! Some guards attack us so I eat them, let the gladiators have some so they can take their weapons. We move out and I eat another guard. To the plazza! But then the path is blocked by a big weird house that smells alive. "It wasn''t here yesterday. It''s a moving one, a mimic. We should..." "A HOUSE THAT MOVESH?" I inquire reasonably. "DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT THAT IMPSJ What that ipmish, WHAT THAT MEANS FOR THE REAL ESTATE MARKET? Revolutionary. How do I find one?" "They¡­ they have teeth above the door. You can see if you look." "Oh yes I KNEW THAT ALREADY HAHA." I approach and open wide. It smells a bit and it''s warm but there are couches. I glance up. No bricks, but retracted fangs. A droplet of drool falls on my armored shoulder. I frown. "Magna Arqa." Roots embrace the house completely. Something screams in a high-pitched voice. Tentacles and spike-tipped legs struggle in vain. The roots pull the incredible habitat innovation forward. Large, saucer-sized yellow eyes open where the windows are. An integrated intruder alarm system! Don''t even need a dog. There is a strange intellect inside, half beast and half abstract thoughts on magic and furniture. Need to update the catalog later. "I am going to get in," I inform my newest hostile takeover, "and I am going to sit in that chair. And then I will wait. When I open the door again, we''d better be in a prime spot with easy access to amenities, a good view of the High Markets, and a quiet neighborhood OR ELSHE." "Eeeeeeeee." it replies. Good. "Get in everyone, I have acquired a faithful steed!" We have a merry time. I ask the fireplace to be moved three times to see if the design could be improved upon and I have to say, it would make a wonderful mansion if you don''t mind the occasional bit of drool. Can probably fix that by feeding the beast. I''ll try soon. We smash into the High Markets, which turn out to be a very, very large warehouse filled with goods and collared workers. There is some sort of battle, I think? People protest our completely reasonable demands to fuck off. Some weird large creature that looks like a furry dog with a spear fighter on top tries to stop me but I just toss them around a bit. Everyone seems to be having a jolly time! Things calm down after I drink the rider dry. What an interesting clutter of goods they have here. I try to purchase some curios, but the sales person says something about everything being free and me being their savior, which I find quite nice. Good sense of hospitality around those parts. "The alliance is in disarray!" someone says while I recline in a pilfered throne. "Egg shell ant!" I reply. They wince. Wrong meaning? Pah, I do not care. "But Malera has retreated to her flagship, the Edged Bets. It''s a massive floating spell platform. How can we even prevail against that?" a silly person asks. "Flying sip, you shay?" I ask. "We only need to commandeer our own!" I toss a corpse at Pookie, my house. She''s nice. She is also a bit larger. Yay for fast and free renovations! Makyas tries to garner my attention so I listen because he''s a good sort despite the absurd eyeball fixation. "There is the Leaf on the Wind, but it''s a derelict now. The hull is shredded. And besides, the Edged Bets'' spell lances will tear us to pieces before we can approach." "You there!" I yell, pointing at Had¡­ something. The metal man. Ugh, what was his name again? Whatever. "You''re first mate Jenkins!" I declare. "But my name is Hadrano¡­" "That ish perfectly fine, First Mate Jenkins is a title." And it is because I just said so. "Aye aye, ma''am," Hadrano, the First Mate Jenkins answers. He looks mildly put upon. "You can manipulate steel, right?" I ask. "Yes?" "And we can take the balloon and the lifting crystals from the Leaf on the Wind, right?" "Yes!" a chorus of voices answers. I realize there are over a hundred battle-hardened free gladiators around me. A very large swarm of flutterlings also gravitates around us. What a funny band! Good. Focus Ariane, the night is not done yet! "Then I have a plan! A brilliant one too!" I remove a ghostly feather from my pouch and shake it under my nose. Ah, that feels so weird and ticklish. "Aaaah ahhh ahhh¡­ AH PSHAAAA! Nice. Listen here, me lads and lasses, because the first and most important thing we are going to need is hats! Yarrrr." *** The susurrus of conversations snakes through the lit corridors of the Summer embassy. Crystals shed golden light on the most illustrious visitors of Voidmoore, a radiance harvested from the Summer Palace itself. Warm tones of wood and understated wealth welcome them in the hallowed company of its sophisticated staff, while the armed guards in citrine armor remind everyone of the fist under the velvet glove. In the ambassador''s office, two people lean casually against the balcony''s railing. The sharp tower of the embassy provides an unmatched vista, from the cloud to the piers, from the pit to the void itself, all can be seen with ease. Sinead''s mind races. At his level, negotiations are a high-stake game where every word is a clue, and most are revealed on purpose. He needs the ambassador''s support. Scenarios are considered and discarded. A part of his mind observes the woman from the corner of his eye for any gesture she could make. They would be decoys, of course, but missing them would show incompetence and ruin his plans. Annoyingly, a greater part of his mind worries about Ariane. Old Marrow has confirmed that she has not returned home in five days, five long days of agonizing wait. Only the tracking spell he weaved upon her purse prevents him from leaving the building at a dead run. He knows she is unharmed and free. That is all he allowed himself to perceive after breaking her trust so fully. The pain of his action grips his heart, but he pushes it back down. Even if it takes ten thousand years for Ari to forgive him, he will wait. All that matters is that she has those ten thousand years. "Will you not ask about our little diversion?" the ambassador asks. Sinead produces a witty answer about never rushing a beautiful host, and she replies with the expected, polite laugh. She speaks, and Sinead listens. He judges that she genuinely desired a break. He calculates that she expects him to make it more pleasant. The possibility of sex hangs around them. "... quite a surprise. We expected the Thousand Leaves Alliance to fall when they attempt to take over the docks, not before, yet they have been maimed from the inside by a deliberate, planned effort carried by their freed pit fighters. The Court of Wings and Keyholes appears to be involved in the elaborate plan. I admit to being impressed by their foresight and flawless execution, though I wonder how they expect to dispose of the Edged Bets." Sinead''s gaze travels to the squat spell barge hovering over the city like a fat renter. The crime syndicate sacrificed maneuverability and autonomy because they had no need for it. Their flagship serves a single purpose: to ponderously move where resistance is, then destroy it with the hex spears covering its flanks. "All those who have tried to take it down have failed. I wonder what our new challengers have planned." *** Aboard the Dalton''s Fury, a lone figure in a tricorn climbs on the prow. The clouds part to reveal over a hundred woad-painted, determined fae from over a dozen worlds. They bristle with rage and sharp weapons. And hats. The figure places her hands on her hips. Her first attempt at talking is interrupted by a hiccup but no one seems to mind. Finally, the figure is ready. "Lasses and lads, this is it, the moment we have been waiting for. AAAAH PSHA! Tonight, we take down the Thousand Leaves!" "Yarrrrrrrrr!" the mob answers. "Remember the abuse you suffered at their hands and show them no mercy. Let the skies run red!" "YARRRRRRRRR!" "This story will be our story. This city will be our city! AND WE WILL CRUSH ANYONE ON OUR WAY!" "YARRRRRR!" "Mr Dancer, full speed ahead. Raise the black flag. ALL. HANDS. ON. DECK. FORWAAAAAARD!" *** Sinead''s chest freezes when a familiar shape descends from the cloud cover with predatory grace. It looks disturbingly like an earth warship hull design, its sleek figure made to slice through water, or it would if it were not for the eyes and teeth. The newcomer is a small shark to the Edged Bets'' fat turtle. It moves forward at great speed just as its opponent turns to offer an armed side. Sinead pushes panic down. One of the greatest faults of planners everywhere is confirmation bias. He is scared for Ariane, therefore he sees her in danger everywhere. The thought that she would be responsible for this is absurd. "Rascals are not even changing course. Oh, they strapped a mimic house to a balloon! That is... why, I am not quite sure what to say except, perhaps, daring? And what is that strange contraption?" the ambassador asks. The Prince of Summer silently accepts the offered looking glass. It reveals a stubby metal tube decorated with runes firmly attached to the attacker''s prow. Sinead feels as if he had been plunged in a Winter Court lake. Surely, surely the fuck not. No, he tells himself, this is probably a coinci ¡ª BOOM With a deafening blast, the gun vomits its payload. White smoke coming from the ship shows that the tube did not survive its first volley, but the effect on its target is larger still. The Edged Bets is skewered from end to end. It tilts dangerously to the side. Black smoke belches out from the gaping wound, hemorrhaging men and debris down the city below. The ensuing shockwave pushes the clouds aside. "Oh my!" the ambassador whispers. The last dredges of Sinead''s denial perish when the new ship rams its opponent at full speed, and the roar of its boarding crews spreads above the city. He calmly places both hands on the railing and leans forward, the weight of the world placed upon his shoulders. "Your Highness?" the ambassador asks. "Hmmm," Sinead chokes. "I guess I deserved that." Chapter 188 - 182. The First Trial I do not recognize the new Sinead, and yet he is the same person. His aura tastes of ripe fields under the summer sun, with a dangerous note. Even his perfume has not changed, and yet I can barely reconcile the shameless dilettante of before with the tense nobleman now walking by my side. Perhaps the fault is mine as well. The persona Sinead picked on earth was a means to an end, the best tool a man without support could use to achieve the impossible. Now, that person is gone, replaced by a prince fighting a dynastic war for survival. He walks with confidence and fights like a lion. He does not quip. He does not provoke. He is an aloof dancer and expert negotiator, obtaining what he needs with a few terse words. It annoys me. I am, in truth, no longer furious. A week-long, cathartic drunken bender dulled the edge of my anger. I have not forgiven him and will no longer grant him a trust that extends to friendship, but that is no reason to stop being entertaining! Ugh. "This way, please," our guide finally says in a smooth tenor, his smile tailored to express the most non-committal amount of polite benevolence. We walk through mahogany doors into a reception room, long windows letting Voidmoore''s light in. The Dalton''s Fury floats in the distance. Its predatory shape appears that much more ominous under the purple radiance of the Watcher, present even during the day cycle. Not that the fae would notice. I blink. Was it a coincidence, or does Sinead hold the ambassador''s favor to display my ship so? It feels too much like an intimidation tactic. "The ambassador will be with you shortly," our guide says, then he leaves, closing the doors behind him. Sinead silently points at one of the five seats currently occupying the middle of the room, around a low table currently empty of amenities, including drinks. All business then. I sink in my designated chair and inspect my surroundings. The Summer Court''s embassy favors warm tones and lighter woods. Some of the furniture shines a varnished gold, and the actual light comes from golden globes hanging around the place like ripe apples from the garden of the Hesperides, which Hercules burglarized. Despite the warm interior, I have never felt a stronger mask from any location I have been to. The silent guardians and carefully camouflaged defensive spells make it clear that we are here at the court''s sufferance, and that a rescinded hospitality would come with a hefty price. Sinead does not speak and neither do I. My attendance is merely a show, a symbol that I shall act as his second in the coming conflict. Neither I nor Revas'' bodyguard need to speak. A minute later, the ambassador comes in, her presence announced by a careful flash of aura. The door opens. The fact that Likaean nobles do not age and their flawless aura control conspire to hide their true nature. The ambassador has donned the appearance of a pleasant middle-aged woman, demure and polite in every respect, respectable yet non-threatening. Even her dress lacks the flamboyance some of her staff members have adopted. By comparison, the next person to enter the room does not hide. If Sinead is a dancer, Revas is a knight. When Sinead is elegant, clean-shaven, and aloof, Revas adopted the bearing of a young king up to the trimmed beard. He wears golden mail under a tabard that could double as a court apparel, and perhaps it has. I have to admit that he is extraordinarily handsome. Revas walks with confidence to his own chair and sits without waiting with the poise of a king. I notice that we did not stand up to welcome him, a small slight, and that he did not wait for us to do so. Revas'' second is also a woman. Her hair and skin are scarlet and when our eyes meet, she smiles a forest of needles at me. She wears armor of black scales, the links clicking with every step, prowling like a panther with the confidence of one who has killed much and knows she will kill again. Revas walked into this talk with a naked blade. By comparison, I am at least wearing a tunic. The woman smirks. We will kill each other soon. This is what her smile conveys, and so I return it, because I can taste her essence and know she is strong. "Welcome, welcome!" the ambassador says with more levity than this gathering demands. "Ah, it is such a pleasure for me to receive two of the royal princes in my humble abode, this twig of the everlasting Palace of Summer. For the first time, Voidmoore shall see the first step of a succession challenge. The entire staff is honored by your presence. My name is Erilis. I shall be your host and, with your agreement, the arbiter of this most noble, exciting, and sacred of contests. Before we begin, would you like to say a few words to each other? I know you haven''t met in quite a while." "I would love to!" Revas declares with an affable smile. His voice is a deep rumble, a baritone as warm as a July evening by the sea, with cool sweet wine and a light breeze chasing away the warmth of daylight. It rings with majesty, control, supreme belief in the self. It is the voice of a not-yet-king, but one who could be so. This man could walk into any seat of earth''s governments at dawn and lead the country by noon. He truly is a prince of the spheres. "My dear brother, let me be the first of our siblings to congratulate you on your liberation. What an incredible tale! The spheres shake with news of your accomplishments from the deep caverns of stone to the Court of Blue''s aerie peaks. What an incredible feat of resourcefulness that was. You honor us with your deeds." He leans forward, a smile on his handsome face. "And so when I was informed you wanted to ascend, I canceled all my plans to grant you this opportunity as soon as it was feasible. Let it be known that the greatest liberator in our history will not be left waiting. Ah, and another thing. I would like to offer you, here and now, access to one of my fleet messengers. One word, and I will make sure your mother comes to visit you between the first and second tasks. No questions asked, no string attached, no conditions. It is my gift to you, as a token of appreciation." "That would be much appreciated," Sinead pleasantly replies. "Then it is done!" Revas declares. I almost expect him to call for wine right now, but he does not. "Our time is precious, brother, so I have nothing to add. Your turn!" "I have little to add, Revas, except that it is good to be back. Ambassador, if you will?" The woman closes her eyes and breathes. When she opens them again, there is steel and solemnity in her demeanor. Although the entire exchange is spoken in adult Likaean, the meaning courses through my essence with perfect clarity. "The words I say are known to you both. They are meaningless, for you know the rules, and you know the truth behind them, yet they must be said all the same. For tradition. For the memory. So that we may never forget. The purpose of the challenge is to bring fresh blood to the hierarchy of the heirs. The hierarchy''s purpose is not to split the burden of the kingdom, though it serves this end as well. Iit is not to winnow the weak, though it serves its purpose also. It is to guarantee that the next sovereign shall be the best of the best, as the current one is. We are Summer. We crush those who would threaten the spheres. We radiate out like the solstice sun. And we can never fall, for we are Summer." "... and Summer is the season of war," the two princes quote with finality. With those last words, I catch glimpses of battles past, memories, perhaps, or echoes. Golden spears kill a great beast covered in fur, its breath the very essence of cold. Blood spells and hellish blades stop on metal shields. Staves push away the darkness. More significant, it happens in faraway spheres. Sinead''s court might not be the strongest everywhere, but it can go everywhere, and it will certainly, certainly make an impact. "Now, to the trials. The first will occur here on Voidmoore tomorrow. Due to some¡­ recent changes in the sphere''s social and political landscape¡­" Everyone deliberately ignores me. "... I had to change the parameters. All will be explained here before we start so as to prevent participants from engaging in too much preparatory work. The second trial will happen ninety cycles from now, on Autumn''s lands at the occasion of the great annual dragon hunt. Victory will belong to he who wins or, failing that, the one who lasts the longest. If there is a final round, it will occur on our own sphere with a melee, barring any decision from the King himself. You are allowed all and every personal resource you can gather, but none from the court itself, willing or not. You are not allowed to engage in any way outside of the trial." "We understand." "Then we reconvene at dawn." We spend the walk back in silence. We are still living in the house he first showed me the first day we came to this strange land. Despite my hold on the High Markets and its recently freed staff, Sinead considers the location as unsafe. "You cannot contemplate the breadth of means Revas can employ to turn your ambitious minions against you. Only Old Marrow is almost incorruptible. That is why I picked him," he had said. I trust him to know better in these circumstances. I also expected him to comment on my unexpected and, to be honest, reckless conquest of the Thousand Leaves'' assets. He has not said anything. His silence disturbs me on a deep level. Who has taken my loquacious, smooth, and scandalous rake? Who has replaced him with this brooding courtier? I understand why he would betray me, now that I have had the time to consider his options. To a fae, rebuilding trust for three thousand circles would not be so daunting a prospect when the alternative is to lose someone forever. What I do not understand and did not expect is the effect it seems to have on him. Even as I slow down on the paved path to give a hand signal to one of our escorts, he matches speed with me. He knows where I am and what I am doing. He simply elects not to comment. "Should we talk now or within safe walls?" I ask. Sinead tilts his head. I watch his reaction, which is always the same. The hint of a pleasant smile, the first signs of a roguish retort will bloom on his deliciously attractive face, then die. He will snuff the flame of his amusement before it can take flight. All that is left is melancholy. It annoys me to no end. I should be the betrayed, moody, melancholic one lamenting my cruel fate from the walls of some wind-swept fortress. Sad Sinead ambles around clad in duty and sacrifice like some doomed Roman general. I cannot even insult him without feeling like I hit a puppy. Ugh. "If you have questions, you may ask them. We should wait to start planning, however. Just in case." "What did you get from the meeting? I must have missed much." "I have made a mistake," Sinead says. "How do you mean?" "I have made a mistake back on earth and he will use it against me. That is what his first comment implied. The fact that he did not protest the location means he will use it against us in this first trial. As for the offer to contact my mother, it is genuine." "It is?" I ask with some curiosity. "Yes. And that means he intends to kill me. Consider his offer a mark of respect from him to me, and a chance to leave my affairs in order. He genuinely respects me for what I have done, hence his offer. Revas sees himself as a mostly benevolent person. He will still kill me, should he win the contest, possibly because my continued survival could be perceived as a failure on his part. And the last important detail is that the ambassador is angry at him." "By giving us a view of my ship?" Sinead turns and nods. "You picked up on it, good, but that is not all. The way she belittled herself as if in jest means he forced her to do something and she had no choice but to agree. This is her way of letting us know." "Any idea what?" "None." He leans back in his chair. "None. I am sorry, Ariane. We may face complications, but bear in mind that we will attend the hunt unless we die. So, do not die." "I will keep your advice under consideration." For the first time, it rains. The white cloud ball hovering atop Voidmoore opens up, and water floods the grimy streets, washing blood away until the next revels. Weather from a county-sized planet floating through the ether remains just as inexplicable as light or, indeed, gravity, though it all seems within what I would expect of the spheres. We walk to the embassy at a steady space, gladiators arrayed behind us. Sinead wears a green and gold armor I did not see him acquire. I have to admit it suits him very well. He also has a large bag bursting at the seams with magic. A fencer sword adorns his sides. As for me, I wear the Aurora, expecting trouble. Both of our ships hover above with their hex lances and newly made bombards bristling out. Makyas is here as well, with a small flock of flutterlings. The mood is dark. Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! "Can''t believe we''re going against a prince," Nol the fly-headed one grumbles. "We got our own," Syma retorts, though I can taste her fear. They are correct in being concerned. Even the rain feels heavy, and the purple radiance above cares not for our success, only that we try. Upon our arrival, we are not directed inside. Instead, the ambassador walks out, flanked by four silent guards in shimmering armor. We are led far away from my ''usual haunts'', though the term might be generous for a place I only just discovered. Twisting alleys and streets succeed another until the bustle of life disappears completely. There are houses here as well, endless streets of them, but they have a more rustic feel. Then, they become strange. Some of the houses lack an entire wall, another is just a single bathroom covered in tiles with random furniture visible through overly large windows. Other houses seem to have shrunk on themselves. We come across a deserted marketplace through an entrance dug into a wall, only to realize the square is not just empty, there are no streets leading into it. It had been designed to be walled off. Eventually, we reach another pit entrance. The familiar walls form a steep chasm, this time without light at the bottom. The ambassador stops to address us, her expression slightly regretful. Or it could be my imagination. "The first trial is simple. The first person to reach the heart of Voidmoore and touch the pedestal paced before it wins." "The what now?" Syma asks. "You may enter through here or any other path of your choosing. You will wait until the turn of this hourglass to engage the other party on the surface. That is all. Remember that this is but the first trial of three and do not let the light of summer fade. " With this, the ambassador removes from a pocket the hourglass she mentioned and places it on the ground by our feet. She leaves without a last glance, guards in tow. We remain behind, facing the pit. "I know nothing of a heart. I know little of the underground, Sinead, save that you recommended against exploring it." "And the Court of Summer deemed it wise to do so anyway," the prince whispers. "All I know is that the warrens beneath the ground are a labyrinth and many die trying to explore it. I also know that nobody who returned ever found anything of value. No crystals, no ore, no artifacts or forgotten lore. Just warm stone and dark dreams. Screams, sometimes." "Right. Right¡­ Exploration time. We have four far-speakers recovered from the alliance. We''ll use them to keep in touch. Would they work underground?" "They should. For a while," Sinead replies. "And the warrens branch, I suppose?" "Quite a bit," Sinead adds. "Does the stone heal or change?" "Not to my knowledge, or at least not fast," Hadrano adds. "I''ve mined some of the stuff to repair the arena before I signed in as a pit fighter." "What is the likelihood we face Revas in battle." "It should not come to this if we hurry," Sinead says. "The first trial is never designed for direct combat, since the two opponents would probably duel to the death." "Fine, proposal then: we split into three exploration groups. We mark the tunnels we cross with the following code¡­" I carve some of the Red Cabal field marks designed to help them navigate hostile places on the pavements using rose. Safe spot for exit, no loot for dead end, and direction for where the group decided to go. It is by no means perfect, but it should help us map the place. "It is safe to assume that something called a heart could be near the center, so we try to go deeper when we split." Nods all around. Sinead is strangely passive. "The Fury should go and check the other pit. Fire on whatever setup they have on the ground. Don''t get close." "I''ll stay with them," Nol says, "I don''t perform well in enclosed spaces." "We should mark the passages we come across with numbers," Makyas suggests. In the end, we split into three groups as I planned but not the way I thought. Sinead insists on staying with me, as will Makyas. The rest of our forces distribute evenly. I send the Fury to hunt down Revas'' people on the ground if there are any. I give them clear instructions not to get close. "There are several entrances," Nol explains, "we will start with the one we know and then search for the more remote one. Don''t expect much." "That is fine." A few more minutes to distribute additional equipment, and we are set. We move down into the pit in a single file. The cavern below rivals the arena''s grotto in terms of sheer size. None of the lights my minions brought can even reach the stalactites-covered ceiling. Their footsteps echo strangely in the darkness. No one comments. We walk the monumental surface to find four different tunnels leading down. I simply pick one at random and with a few wishes of good luck, we separate. Not two minutes inside our path, and Sinead stops. He takes down his bag and removes from it a lamp clad in swirling patterns of cobalt. The aura explodes out, tasting of rarefied air and magic. I consider the item and realize it is undoubtedly more complex than anything I have seen on earth with the exception of Semiramis'' ritual. "What?" I ask. "Although I appreciate your efforts, my dear Ariane, you can imagine that I have prepared for a certain amount of possibilities during the couple of weeks of our stay here. This Blue Court pathfinder will lock on the greatest source of magic here and show us the fastest path down. I did tell you we had several favors to call upon. This is one of them." "You could have mentioned it before¡­" I grumble, "then my followers¡­" "Are not as reliable as you wish they were. You are in the Fae spheres here, Ariane. Vampires are not the unstoppable creatures of the night they are back home, and the temptations here defy your imagination. Revas knew you had acquired fresh recruits, unbound by oath, from a variety of courts. They are walking security risks despite your best intentions. It was better to share as little information as possible with them." "I wasted our time." "No, they offered a good distraction," Sinead explains. "And they will be useful later. We are running a Marathon, not a sprint. Now, enough delay, we have to keep going." We move faster. The lamp lights our way with a ghostly radiance, darkening where the magic is thickest. The passage narrows and dips. I cast occasional glances at the stone and find it round and smooth, as if polished by eons of water in a place that I know for a fact rain has not touched in recent memory. Sinead''s steps are quiet. The only noise comes from his heartbeat, breath, and the frantic flapping of faerie wings. They provide a low drone that prevents me from listening carefully. The same can be said of my sense of smell. Sinead''s enticing perfume saturates the air. Ugh, that is why I prefer to hunt alone. I am running blind. We barely ever slow down. When a side tunnel opens, I take an instant to mark our way. Sinead does not stop. He runs with determination. The stone changes. The color turns more pinkish, like quartz. The temperature increases. "Captain!" a voice says, breaking the silence. It comes from the far caster. I bring it to my ears immediately. "Nol?" "Oh, thank the spheres. You have incoming!" His voice cuts and goes, scrambled by interference. I still manage to catch most of his meaning thanks to the properties of Likaean. "Big¡­ Hostile. Pookie was hurt, we had to¡­ Too dangerous!" The communication ends. I ask for clarification several times and receive none. The stone surrounding us must interfere with the spell, somehow. Frustrating, though it confirms we are being pursued from our own entrance. I doubt the Fury had the time to reach another one. "Wait," Sinead warns. We slow down at the edge of another pit. The prince opens his bag again and finds gloves. He jumps down, using the tiniest irregularities of the wall to place a toe, then using that fragment of a foothold as a springboard to jump lower. Sometimes, he uses his hands instead and the gloves inexplicably stick to them like frog fingers. I use my claws to the same effect and try not to feel too inadequate at the grace he displays. I should add climbing to the list of skills I should work on. Nevertheless, we make good progress. At the bottom of the chasm, we find our first corpse. "What is that?" I cannot help but ask. A fae cadaver emerges from a side wall, head bowed down and cold arms hanging limply. A male one, quite handsome with a deep gash where the heart should be. His hair has turned pallid at the root while a crystalline growth covers most of his body. He does not stink of rot, not even a little. Instead, a pungent organic smell permeates the still air. "We have no time," Sinead insists. I know he is right. We follow the lamp''s lead towards another tunnel, this one so narrow the prince has to bend a little. Makyas and his flock land on my armor. I do not blame them. I blame them even less when we find more bodies in various stages of either being swallowed or being pushed out. I am not sure which is worse. "Captain, there are too many of them, you¡ª" A sentence, brief and cut too short. Syma''s voice. "Last group, can you hear me?" I ask. "Yes, boss," Hadrano whispers. "Abort and return to the surface." A delay, then¡­ "Understood. We leave." I grit my teeth in anger. When I find those who attacked us. "Do not think of revenge," Sinead interrupts. "Think that they caught up with the other groups in here. They could catch us still. We must hurry." As frustrating as it is to run, I agree with him. Voidmoore''s innards feel dangerous enough as it is. Around us, the air grows ever wetter, warmer. The walls turn more red. I am drawing rather unfortunate conclusions. Despite my misgivings, we do not stop. We cannot stop. I hear it first despite the interference. A deep, booming thump. "It is not sound," Makyas tells me. "What do you mean, can you not hear it as well?" "We can hear it, but it is not sound," the winged one replies. "It beats in your head." I shake my head. Sinead keeps going at a steady pace, driven by a single purpose. The darkness would be absolute without the lamp. We climb down another pit. We must be so deep now. Water drops over our heads. A few puddles are nestled between two ridges on the ground. I look up by sheer instinct and see two pink iris glaring down, or perhaps I imagined it. I stop drawing my path on the ceiling. It feels wrong, it feels dangerous. We are tracked. We are also trespassing. The warrens turn labyrinthine. Every passage looks the exact same as the previous one. Even Sinead''s scent becomes elusive in the swampy air. After an hour at breakneck speed, we are almost there. The heartbeats are so loud my teeth would vibrate if it were indeed sound, but it is not. Suddenly, the tunnels widen. We slow down at the edge of the most colossal cave I have ever seen. It is a hollowed out sphere in the center of Voidmoore, its surface criss-crossed with bone-colored stone bridges, and at its center is the heart. It looks like an unholy marriage of stone and flesh centered around a single eye. A pedestal stands proudly at the bottom of the bubble, right below the crystalline organ. Our destination. Revas is nowhere in sight. The way ahead closes. One moment, we gaze into the strange rift, the next, a night forest extends before us with a lake in the distance. Black branches extend from withered trunks, bare like the fingers of crones and just as gnarly. Something has come behind us, and it is deafeningly, blindingly, stunningly powerful. We turn to face the newcomers. Behind us, Voidmoore''s artery has widened to form a chamber around a stone throne. I felt the shift. I knew the spheres to be more malleable than my home dimension, but this is something else. The leader of our foe has changed reality by sheer force of will. Even now, I feel the weave of space smoothe out after its momentary violation, ripples expanding out. I gaze in the face of she who has trapped us and realize what Sinead''s sin was. In retrospect, I should have expected it. Our opponent is twice as tall as Sinead, and clad in an armor shining silver and diamond. A crescent moon blade rests in one of her hands, a round shield in the other, half white half black. Her mouth extends almost to her ears and shows fangs where the incisors should be. Ears like those of a hare extend up while curved antlers jut out from her temples. Her eyes are the same pink as that of albino rabbit, but this is no prey, no, not at all. Warriors of both genders stand by her side from wall to wall, clutching diamond and silver weapons. For an instant, the moon behind us shines upon them until the sheen of their blades reaches a cruel intensity, then the moment fades, though the threat does not. I recognize their appearance since I borrowed it when freeing captives in Austria. Those are Seekers of Stolen Memories. They seem displeased. I check again, our way is blocked by what has to be another plane. It does not feel like an illusion. In a hunch, I take a step back and feel grass under my feet. Not an illusion. "You are being used," Sinead states in a voice that does not hint of fear. WE ARE. I wince. The words shake my mind, rumbling through my mind palace like an earthquake. I am a toddler defending a toy fort. I realize that Sinead speaks true Likaean, but he does not understand it. Not yet. Not like this one does. Her word is fact. IT MATTERS NOT. THE SEEKERS MUST REMAIN INVIOLATE. IT MUST BE SO. REVAS WILL PAY LATER. YOU WILL PAY NOW. Sinead licks his lips. He smells nervous now. I am nervous as well. "At least let her go. It was my mistake, not hers." SHE HAS DONNED OUR GARMENTS. SHE HAS CLAIMED OUR NAME. I gasp and take a step back. The accusations hit me like a wall. I am guilty guiltyguiltyguilty. NO. IGNORANCE DOES NOT EXCUSE THIS SIN. YOU WILL COME WITH US. "The trial¡ª" IS LOST. Must push back. Not lost yet. Not until Revas finds his way down. Not lost yet! Lost. Lost. Lost. "I will not¡­" I grit between teeth. "I will not submit to another one''s mercy ever again. Never. Never." YOU WILL COME WITH US. S~ea??h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Get out of my head," I spit in Akkad. The language settles me, somehow. It removes me from this world and its rules. We are of the Watcher, outsiders ourselves. I bow to no one. I tell her so. "I bow to no one. I accept no chains." "Ariane," Sinead whispers. "No. Never again," I reply. He nods. "I understand." YOUR COURAGE AND DEFIANCE ARE NOTED. "You''ll note Rose up your liver. Magna Arqa!" For the first time, my essence barely expands past my form and¡­ stops? I try to grow roots and fail, but I can move. At least, I am not collared. Makyas and Sinead are trapped though I feel their own magic struggling against the overwhelming pressure the woman releases. I push and push and take steps forward. The woman waves her hand. The corridor disappears. We are in a clearing under a crimson moon, forest extending everywhere else. A bird ululates in the distance. I can move freely. The roots finally answer my call. For a small moment, fate hangs in the midst of its swing. Makyas and Sinead come by my side, free. The woman tilts her head. I will not submit. I attack with everything I have and meet a wall of shields. They are fast, so fast here. Almost as fast as me but not quite. They do, however, know how to work together. Offensive roots are pushed, stabbed. The pain hurts me deeply, somehow. Rose hurts a warrior, slithering under her guard. She tastes like patience and murder. I dive under lines of spears, slide on roots to reposition. I am everywhere. I am surrounded. They push me back with discipline and cold purpose. A blade is deflected. Sinead has joined the fray. He is fire to my ice, grace to my savagery. We deflect and strike, causing wounds but never a killing blow. An opening. "Heartskeeker." Shields block most tendrils, but others find their mark. I am stronger. They falter. The werewolf statue crawls out of the free space, grabbing a hand. A spear stabs it. The pain is excruciating. I gasp, despite my high tolerance. Vision turns red. I allow the statue to crumple. Makyas falls, grabbed by a soldier. He is bleeding. Sinead bleeds as well but he still covers my back. Strange curved blades bounce on the Aurora. They fail to find purchase, for now. The warriors step back, many hurt but none dead yet. The woman has not moved. She gestures, and my fae crew leaves the nearest thicket, shackled in moonlight. Lesser warriors hold them captive. Makyas'' insensate body joins them. "Even if you have them, I cannot accept. I can never, ever be at another''s mercy ever again," I coldly state. I am hurt. A quick glance inward shows that my mind palace is cracked and wounded, the statues breaking. The hedge maze has died in some segments, creating weaknesses in my defenses. When did that happen? I was not attacked mentally. "Release us from your domain, or kill me," I finish. CHILD. YOU ARE NO LONGER IN OUR DOMAIN. I freeze, sensing the truth in her words. "The Seekers of Stolen Memories started as the Court of the Blood Moon," Sinead pants by my side. "We are in their world now. We have left Voidmoore. This is a different sphere." "What? But¡­" My protests die upon my lips. I know it cannot be easy to change worlds. Only one kind of Likaean could possibly have such power. So, that is why the ambassador was displeased. She was made to permit this. I AM A SOVEREIGN. A wave crashes into me and I kneel or risk keeling over. Sinead does not fare better. My entire essence is compressed back into my body, then more, then more, until my skin cracks and my muscles groan, deprived of what makes my existence possible. My fingertips turn to ash. It hurts. It hurts so much. Then the pressure vanishes as the voice fades and the message it carried eases itself in the past. I was not attacked. The Queen of the Blood Moon merely mentioned a fact, and that nearly killed me. By the Watcher, I do not want to hear her scream. "You helped me fight her anyway, knowing what she was?" I ask Sinead. His eyes are bleeding a bit as well. "So long as we are here, you will never fight alone. Makyas agreed even though he knew that the Seekers of Stolen Memories are the bane of mental fighters, you included." He sighs. "We have lost the first trial because of my mistake. Not all is lost, however. Ariane, do you trust me?" The court waits for my answer. I see the plea in Sinead''s pained gaze. Ugh, it is so much like him to put my back against the wall. "Damn you, I do. But I have not forgiven you," I finally hiss. He nods, and stands. The queen allows him. "A bargain to decide our punishment." YOU HAVE FOUGHT TO LIBERATE, AS WE HAVE SINCE EONS PAST. YOU MAY SPEAK. "Let us retrieve stolen memories. Let us fight your fight to wash away the crime of borrowing your appearance. We will make you proud or die trying." YOU WOULD MATCH THE ESSENCE WITH THE FORM? "When is a lie not a lie?" Pressure. I gasp. Sinead does not. He stands, bloody yet unbroken. YOU DANCE DANGEROUSLY, CHILD OF AMARYLL. "You will let our allies go and return us so we may compete in the second ordeal." IF YOU PROVE YOURSELF, I SHALL. I HAVE SPOKEN. IT IS DONE. Chapter 189 - 183. The Seekers of Stolen Memories The sovereign smiles and then, she is gone. The air shakes with the trace of her passage. I notice that my gladiators have gone with her, and so has Makyas. One by one, the warriors facing us pick themselves up and split, heading deeper into the forest in clumps. Only one stays behind, a man I have faced and failed to kill. His silvery armor shows signs of damage where Sinead''s rapier hit, while his shield looks flayed, gnawed by Rose''s thorns during a heated exchange. Nevertheless, he remains unruffled. We wait in silence until the last of the warriors has left. When the silence returns to the moonlit meadow, the man bows lightly, keeping his eyes on us as if to challenge us to run. We do not. "I am Khadras, Seeker of Stolen Memories. Welcome to our Court," he greets. His voice is cold and cultured, his traits handsome and somewhat melancholic, from the unsmiling jaw to the thin line of his lips. The pale hair and pink eyes reinforce the appearance of alien aloofness, though the most striking feature is the pair of hare ears jutting up from his skull. They are white and covered in fine hair. They must feel quite fluffy, but I will not attempt to pet them because I am a mature person in control of her own impulses. Alright, it appears I find him rather charming, now that we are no longer trying to skewer each other. "I am Ariane of the Nirari," I greet in return, then I remember those folk tales about not giving an elf one''s true name. Ah, well, I suppose Sinead would have warned me. I hope. "Sinead, Prince of Summer," my guide replies. "Your task has been chosen," Khadras explains. "Please follow me. I will assist with its completion." Without waiting for our approval, he turns and walks between two dark trees, the shadowy branches forming an arch over his armored figure. Over us, the blood moon lingers, perhaps disappointed that little blood was shed. All those nobles speak adult Likaean. Fortunately, I am able to follow and provide basic answers but I can feel some of the subtext escaping me. Ah, no matter. I have no choice. We move deeper into the silent forest. "Any idea what we should expect?" I ask Sinead. "The Seekers only ever do one thing: retrieve stolen memories. They never act for any other reason, and they always act when this reason is given." "We sometimes act for other reasons," Khadras says from the front. "Though few are foolish enough to give them." His voice sounds both sad and mocking. "The mission of the Seekers is sacrosanct. No one should interfere in any way, including by taking a similar appearance in a cut-off world, apparently," Sinead says with scorn. "The girl was taken for one of us and you did not see it fit to correct this misunderstanding," Khadras retorts. "Should I take responsibility for the mistakes of others?" "When you mislead them, you should, Prince of Summer. If you find those terms unacceptable, I can call your mother back." "We shall keep our word, thank you," I interrupt before something unfortunate happens to my essence. His answer leads to another question. "If you are the child of a sovereign, does that not make you a prince?" I ask. "Yet you did not present yourself as one." "The Seekers have chosen a different path," Sinead says. "If you will let me enlighten the outsider child about my own family, child of summer?" Khadras suggests, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, now you are voluble and prone to explanations?" Sinead replies. "Enough!" I tell them. Ugh, they are supposed to be this ancient and mysterious species. Why do I feel like I am dealing with two grumpy teenagers? "Please tell me of the mission and of the Seekers," I ask. Khadras considers my words in silence, then he sighs. "It will be easier to explain who we are so you understand what we do. We are the Seekers. We have forfeited our royalty, our legacy, so no one could steal what once was ever again. I never was a prince. Mother gave me life long after she took on the crystal." "Sinead mentioned a deal before." "So he knew you looked like one of us, and did nothing. We must remain inviolate or our sacred mission will be compromised." "You have said that before. What is so sacred about stolen memories? Many things get stolen all the time." "Memories are different. Memories are the past," Khadras grumbles. "A long time ago, there was a prince of the Court of Shadows. The prince was weak in body, frail and sickly. He skulked as his kind were wont to do, trying to be forgotten by all so they would not hurt him. One day, he wished a foe had forgotten him. He wished the memory of him left the mind of the foe, just like his presence escaped the attention of others." I remember one of their kind, I realize. Mr. Elusive, who helped us free the fae from the Eneru fortress. He could make me forget about him. What a terrifying ability. "He wished for the memory to disappear with great desire," Khadras continues, "and the darkness was with him, and the darkness loved him. It suffused his being with every prayer until, one day, he succeeded. The dark one plucked the memory from his foe''s head and it was no more. And he liked it." Khadras turns his head, pink eyes searching for the moon with a peculiar form of longing. "The dark one found more memories he did not like, and he erased them from the head of their owners. When they were erased from enough minds, from enough meaningful, powerful minds¡­" "Then the related events¡­" I whisper, realizing the implications. "Were gone, of course. Those who insisted things had happened because the memories remained were scorned and mocked, and the proofs they pursued had disappeared as well. Suddenly, heirs found themselves deposed. Children were never born. All the while, the dark one''s influence grew. With a shadowy hand, he could stop a dynasty without them even being the wiser. A princess might have been beautiful and strong of arms. He might have been unable to face her, but what if she were never born?" By the Watcher, what a nightmare. All the achievements of someone could be annihilated because someone made it so. "The past was getting mangled. Cracks opened in reality. But there were some who noticed." He stops and turns, his hand grasping at the figure of the moon above the skeletal canopy. Fingers only grasped air. He would never reach it. "We were hunters then, or so I was told. Our rides lit the skies of every sphere, but the queen saw the spheres unravel and knew something had to be done. She took it upon herself to act. She hunted for a solution and found the Crystal Mind. For a price, it would turn her spirit to perfection. She accepted. She found the traces of the dark one and tracked them back to its source for one last hunt. She found him, weak and mewling under her glare. He died, and the world healed in time. We will never hunt across the skies again. We will never hear the call of the blood moon. Our minds are as crystal, eternal and unbreakable, but cold." It is not every day I feel pity. Khadras is not weak. He is strong for a purpose he did not choose, yet must be fulfilled. "Some of us are old enough to remember the before. I do not know if it is a blessing or a curse." There is silence while we walk, then I hear it, barely a whisper. "I wish I could be angry about it." "You are immune whether you want it or not?" I ask. "Of course. What is immunity, if one can opt out of it? There are so many ways to sway even the most stubborn of fools." "Really?" I ask with disbelief. "When space is vast and time no longer matters, much of what you believe set in stone can be eroded," Sinead notes in a sober voice. "And so I cannot be made to feel much." "There is no way to avoid the deal at all, I suppose?" I ask. Khadras faces me, a light sneer in his face, but it disappears when he sees I meant nothing by it. "Outsider child. I can be a Seeker or I can be nothing at all. The Court of the Blood Moon is gone. So, I am a Seeker. We scour the worlds for those who would rob them of their past. And when we find them¡­" The pink of his left eye fades, and I realize it is merely an illusion. His eyeball was torn off and replaced by a sphere of shining diamond. I peer into its depth and recoil, struck by an atrocious pain. It is so vivid that I moan despite the Ekon essence. A crack reopens in my mind palace. "Ugh, by the Watcher. Makyas must have suffered so much." "Mother was merciful. It was very brave of him to face us for you." I threw the winged one into the lion''s jaw without realizing it. Between the gladiators and the flutterlings, it appears I have spent the last day charging off a cliff, allies in tow. The spheres are too strange. I must exert greater caution here, before I am truly punished. By the Watcher, I feel like an ignorant fledgeling again. "Mother intended for you to live. If she wanted you to die, she would not have brought my siblings and I." "Are you all hers?" I ask, surprised. "The Queen of the Blood Moon has lost much of her powers, but her children are many and strong," Sinead remarks. "Yes. We share roots with many courts. On a related note, please note that mother is not with child at the moment, Prince of Summer. Should you wish to¡­ leave a mark," he mocks. Sinead does not look comfortable with the idea. On one hand, I do not care what this backstabbing, arrogant twit does with his nethers. On the other hand¡­ I do. A cold and calculating part of me realizes that he has betrayed me for my sake at great risk for himself. He has also had my back ever since. Another part of me realizes that I am rationalizing and accepting a terrible breach of trust, one borne from a lack of respect for my own judgment. He has been unapologetic about that breach, and has not tried to justify himself, which can only mean one thing. He expects that I will forgive him within the next couple of centuries, should I survive. It annoys me to no end that he could be right. I frown. Our eyes meet, and he does not avert his gaze. "We are here," Khadras announces. The forest opens on a crater of incredible size. The dark loam disappears, fused into volcanic glass at the edge of the prodigious impact. A city stands at its center far below. The sight fills me with a sense of melancholy. S~ea??h the Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Great roads traveled by people and caravans emerge from the surrounding forests and plains, the other side so far away that even my sight cannot catch them. They converge at the bottom of the crater, at the heart of the sacrificed court and the base of the Seekers of Lost Memories. No, their capital. It is mind-bogglingly large, so large, in fact, that I have trouble apprehending it. How can a city grow to such proportions? The immensity of the sprawling metropolis drowns me with a myriad of sights, people, and places I can see from up here. It exhibits a dazzling collection of styles and trends, with many visible spires and statues clearly looted from somewhere else. The mad labyrinth of captured architecture grows denser closer to the heart, but then, it stops abruptly. The remaining towers are clear crystal, symmetrical and perfect yet also still. Unchanging. Like a prosthesis at the end of a graceful limb. There must be millions of fae living in there, their essence truncated forever. The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. It takes us a good hour to reach even the outskirts of the urban landscape at a good pace. We stop by stables and are offered massive elks with muscular bodies to carry us inward. They move as swiftly as the wind across clogged streets, its inhabitants wearing cloaks and robes in earthy colors. They part before us like a sea. Khadras never slows down. Eventually, we leave the more lively districts behind and find a massive complex of blockish design, with crystal pillars supporting its massive roof. We cross its cyclopean rooms unimpeded by the halberd-wielding guards. Eventually, we reach a warehouse that could fit an entire fleet at drydock. Circular archways dot its surface, while armories and supply rooms line the sides. Khadras wordlessly guides us to one such arch as it hums, power coursing through its mineral innards. "Could you tell us about the mission?" I finally blurt out. I hate to break the silence to ask my questions, however the past few days have shown beyond the shadow of a doubt that I am out of my depth. I would rather ask and look stupid than act and confirm it. "Simple enough. We will visit a prince''s court and find who among them has removed memories, and why. Once this is done, we will punish the guilty then leave. So it has been done before, and so shall it be." "Will we have time enough before the next trial?" I ask with some concerns. "We will," Sinead answers with more certainty than I deem necessary. "You seem quite certain," Khadras notes idly. "I am. She would not give us a task we could not accomplish in time. Remember what she said. We get punished now, but Revas gets punished later. What would be the best lesson to one who uses the Seekers to win a game?" To cause him to lose the game, in the end, thus proving that there are no benefits. Nevertheless, there is a chasm between plan and execution, as I have learned for too many times. It would be enough to make Revas suffer losses as a warning. It will be up to us to turn this warning for him into a warning for the world at large. Or worlds, as it were. Khadras looks on mournfully at the gate as it finishes stabilizing. A shimmering blue surface covers the aperture. "Ladies first," he offers. I grumble and walk through the thin membrane. Cold hits me abruptly, and even more abruptly because I can feel it, really, for the first time in an eternity. The chill seeps into my bones, strongly enough that it seems to freeze parts of my mind as well. The idea of warmth dulls until I can no longer even summon it. In front of me, a snow-covered plain leads to a vast frozen lake, with mountains farther in the distance. They rise under a gloomy sky, their surface cobalt and sapphire. The only warm color comes from the crimson berries adorning the nearby bushes, thick and alluring like freshly spilled blood. The Aurora starts to shine. By the Watcher, I know where we are. "Welcome to Winter," Khadras comments offhandedly. Sinead glares around, clearly displeased. Strangely, the gold of his armor still shines in the dim light. He sighs, and a puff of foggy breath escapes his nostrils. "Will¡­ this be a problem?" I ask, suddenly unsure. "If you are asking about my powers, they will not be severely hampered. Winter and summer do not oppose each other as concepts here, not like they do in your world. The winter fae are not my enemies because of their origin," he replies. "But because they are criminally insane," Khadras finishes. "And the culprit, if I may use the term, is a winter fae?" "Most assuredly, and a powerful one too. A noble at the very least. Mastering the shadows of oblivion requires some measure of power and skill, thankfully. Come, the city is that way." We walk closer to the shore and I find myself uncomfortable in the Aurora as it glows, drinking in the surrounding magic. Its aura of cold increases, though my companions do not seem to mind. As we approach, I stumble to a stop. The clear reflection of a castle extends on the limpid surface of the lake, a perfect gothic construct of spires and gargoyles. I try to discern the illusion that hides the castle, or creates it, but cannot manage. It would be too embarrassing for a dangerous lady like myself to question, point, or otherwise conduct experiments while we could be under observation, and so I will refrain. My curiosity will be soon assuaged in any case. As we move on, I realize the reflection is growing larger. A sense of vertigo takes hold of me, and I falter on the smooth surface of the lake. A school of translucent fishes swims under my feet before darting away when a larger one catches their scent. They disappear behind a reverted guardhouse. The castle is inversed. It digs into the lake, ice maintained through unknown means. Soon, we reach the start of a chasm. Frosted stairs descend into depths laced blue and white, doors leading to different parts of the castle. The upside down structure does not seem to bother its inhabitants. Clad in furs and skins, humanoids with gray skin and pointy features barter and growl in the depression. They are messy, clawed, aggressive mix of lean races showing more teeth than needed. A savage crowd. As I watch, a bear-like man seizes a shorter one, punching him with hairy mitts. Scarlet blood spills on the permafrost, which drinks it greedily. One of the small creature''s siblings jumps on the man''s shoulders and bites his cheek, deep. He roars. Battle is joined. We move on. The deeper we go, and the cleaner the furs are. Windows of transparent ice show the watery abyss beyond and the strange fauna living there. I catch hints of silvery scales and distended maws. And half-eaten corpses quickly snapped between hooked fangs. The nobles of the court of winter have eyes like the abyss or like fire, if fire were blue and froze men to death. There is a stark beauty to them, one that makes no effort to hide the needle fangs. Those who walk those corridors have brought their nature under control, but they have certainly not forgotten it. I feel at home already. Soon, we arrive at the gates of what should be the tallest keep, but ends up being the deepest point, the timid sun barely reaches it anymore. Guards in armor of ice and fur open them without a word. Their blue eyes follow us like wolves follow a wounded elk. Nevertheless, we are let in without issue. Some of the guards even watch the Aurora with undisguised greed. They will get four feet of crystallized essence down the gullet before I let them even touch it. Grumbling to myself, I almost gasp when we enter the throne room. The ground is made entirely of glass. The bottom of the lake has risen into a mountain to meet the massive castle in the middle. Underwater, fluorescent life gives us all the illumination we need to meet the court, its nobles in rich cloaks garnered with precious gems. The hilts of blades peek out from under heavy fur like medals on an officer''s chest, all part of the dress. We progress three abreast to the throne room where, thankfully, it is not the king of winter who sits. The aura he reveals is nevertheless extremely powerful, more powerful than Sinead''s by a significant margin. If I were to face him here, I would undoubtedly lose. My eyes lower and, once again, I fail to reconcile what I see for a short moment. A woman in a luscious dress kneels in front of him, her hands on his lap, and her head bobbing up and down over his nether. The man on the throne lounges backward on the high chair with a hand on his sword and the other grasping through the woman''s pale locks. I can guess what is happening. UGH. UGH. I knew Sinead called those people degenerates, but this is a little too much! Unfortunately, no one else shares my absolute outrage and terrible discomfort before this deviance. I am compelled by the circumstances to remain mum and endure. If we were on my lands, I would kick the girl in the backside with much strength, solving both problems at once. Unfortunately, I have enough time to inspect the man''s dark iron armor and delicate, fiendish traits while the show continues. At some point, his smile turns into a grimace of bliss. He grabs the woman''s head with both hands, shoving her forward. I wish I could drive my claws into my ears and save myself the agony of listening to those gagging sounds, but alas, it is not because they are being improper that I will lower myself to their level. I still wish I could just gut them where they are. "Thank you, daughter. You may withdraw." Oh hell no. Ew. Honestly, I have not appreciated the unflappable stomach that comes with my nature enough. I would have retched otherwise. Ew ew ew. These incestuous inbred degenerates. The woman turns, smiles at us, then she sashays to his side with no hint of shame, although to show it here in this den of wolves would be foolish indeed. She appears rather young compared to her father, which makes it even worse. Poor thing. I hope this was a figure of speech, and that they are not truly related, at least. Pah, who do I hope to deceive? They share the same cruel features. The lord of the place sighs with contentment, then grabs to the edge of his seat for an ash-colored circlet gathered around a shimmering azure gemstone, which he places upon his amused brow. He leans forward to inspect us with interest. I notice that he has made no effort to hide his flaccid manhood. Pig. "What do the bunnies want with me?" he asks with a bored voice. "Is there a violator in my court?" "Yes, Duke Gnash. There is." "Hmmm." The men and women around us tense. They do not move and their aura barely ripples, but I can tell the mood has shifted, somehow. The noble closest to me takes a deep breath and he starts to smell like fear. He is not the only one. It appears the Seekers do have a reputation. "I wonder which little mouse told you, instead of bringing this to my attention. No matter. How will you seek the perpetrator?" "Is there any strange occurrence nearby? I am concerned by mysterious events or discordant perception." "There is one thing¡­" the duke considers, tapping a finger against his chiseled jaw. "The Beast of Gildring. Some say it is a man, others that it is a feline creature as long as a war machine and quite destructive. Strangely, I am not quite sure what to make of it." "That sounds promising, Your Grace. Where may we track this Beast of Gildring?" "You may try," he says. "And if you were to succeed, do bring me the head." "Very well," Khadras readily agrees. "Sern will show you the way." One of the fae nobles gracefully bows. He is one that smells the most of terror here, making me wonder if the duke has some way of telling. What am I saying? He must have a way to perceive fear. This is winter, after all. Without a word, we move back out of the throne room. The gates clang shut behind us. Many glare at us, though none bar our path. We walk out of the inverted castle immediately to my disappointment, as I would have loved to explore it a bit more. I shall have to accept that I am on a schedule. The year I have to find dragon blood feels far too short now that I caught a glimpse of the scope of what several worlds imply. Our guide walks sullenly in front of us to the edge of the forest where we appeared. It looks quite dense from here, with snow-clad forests extending far. "So, a duke?" I ask as we walk. "Does summer have dukes as well?" "We use different titles to reflect a different situation," Sinead explains in a careful voice, his attention on the world around us and the hunched back of the noble facing us. "Winter is fragmented, compared to the other courts." "The children of winter follow the herds and the berries. Our land is harsh," Sern says in a raspy voice. He still smells afraid, though he tries to put on a brave face. SCAREDY PREY. Wait, no feeding on the locals, Ariane. Diplomacy comes first. I am not even really Thirsty after that terrible indulgence over Voidmoore a week ago. "Yes," Sinead comments, caressing the hilt of his rapier. "Ariane dear, we will need some bloodless privacy, if you may?" Sern squeals when my talon clamp on his neck. His face is thin, elfin, with the needle teeth of his kin. His eyes are two pits but he sees me and I see him and he is mine. "You smell deliciously afraid, boy." Terror. The man is a bit of a coward. A survivor too. He tastes like a rabbit fighting an owl, only one kick away from salvation. "You are scared, are you not? Do not worry. We are strong, and we will spare you. You get to live another day. Are you relieved, Sern?" "Yeeessssss." "You are quite relieved. You live under our shadow. It is safe there. Walk by our side and relax." "Yes. As you say, milady." "Good." I return my attention to the prince and the seeker. Sinead nods in appreciation. "Quite elegant for a rush job, poppet," he starts, but then catches himself. We are no longer at the ''poppet'' level of a relationship. Khadras has averted his gaze, and I realize why soon. I catch a hint of pink and my hold over Sern falters. His diamond mind truly suffers no artifice, not on him and not even around him. "So you wanted some quiet?" "Duke Gnash is guilty," Khadras declares without preamble. "He is the one who stole memories." "Wow, that was, uh, fast?" I observe. "Mother sent us to complete a simple mission. You would be unable to help me complete a more complex one before the next trial is set to happen. I am surprised he would allow us in his court, but perhaps he expected his circlet to hide the traces of his sin. It locks his spirit and protects his mind from me. Although, he cannot influence others while he wears it. Quite the irony, for a crown." "And he expected it to work?" I ask. "The exact method I use to see his violation is unknown to most, even though they try to hide the evidence. Fortunately, the research on us is sparse." "They do not leave survivors," Sinead explains. "To steal a memory is a death sentence." "I see. Regardless, I assume knowing is one thing, and slaying him another?" "He is a deadly warrior and, more importantly, we are on his land. His might will be multiplied here. Duke Gnash is old. His power rivals that of princes. We must exert caution." "He will come to kill us," Sinead says. Even Khadras seems surprised. "Are you certain?" "I have faced winter many times when I first joined the court. If they risk being overwhelmed, they will retreat in the cold reaches to avoid destruction, only to return after their foes have lost patience ¡ª or if they unwisely perished in the cold. But he needs time. He will follow us, then strike us while we are weakened ¡ª both to delay reinforcement and to make a point. He will be long gone by the time your kin comes to avenge us." "Sern''s reactions indicate the beast is real," I say. "He expects us to be slain by it, perhaps?" "It might be involved in all of this. We will see. You seem to be capable combatants. If Duke Gnash attacks, he might also be alone." "Will he not bring trusted retainers?" I ask, surprised. "There is no such a thing in winter," Khadras replies. "Must we contend with both the duke and the beast?" "Perhaps not. We can lay in ambush around its prowling grounds, perhaps even force a three way fight." "None of this matters until we learn what we are up against and where we will fight. Or does it? This place is strange to me." "Preparation will carry us a long way," Khadras agrees. "But first we must learn more. There are things in the realm of winter that even a sovereign would avoid, although we have not gone too deep yet. If we are forced into a fight now, I will provide support while you two fight as you have before." "Understood." Cajoling my newest pet Sern yields little result, save for the confirmation that Duke Gnash did steal memories that relate to the beast itself. "Yes, extremely dangerous. Terrifying, even." "How do you know this?" "Hm." He frowns, then hisses in a strangely familiar way. "You are right, lady. Something is amiss." Indeed. "What can you tell me of the Beast of Gildring then? What can you remember?" "Terror. Shame. Grief." "Grief?" Sern nods. Charm has not completely robbed him of his survival instincts. "You must proceed with caution, mistress. Gildring is a marshy old graveyard. The land is treacherous and filled with old, angry things. Many dangers hide in its confusing fog. Some of them ought to be dead. No one in their right mind would track a man there. It is no surprise the beast would pick it as its hiding place." Despite my expectations that the trip would take longer, it only takes a couple of hours for us to find Gildring. The sun is setting by now, or at least I think so since its presence is hidden behind a deep gray cover of clouds. Mortals would have struggled between the temperature and the snow, not to mention the pervading chill. By contrast, my companions move with a grace and alacrity that Masters would envy, their steps weaving between roots and ice. Sern shows that he has not survived for no reason as he guides us deeper into the land, until finally we find a marsh. The trees split before us on a series of ponds filled with brackish water. Rotting trunks and bulrush conspire with a pervading fog to block the sight. Boulders rise from the blurry distance like idle giants. Some creatures swim in those surprisingly unfrozen waters. I watch a curious thick branch half-submerged under the dark liquid and realize it is a corroded spear. Another stone reveals its nature as a corroded piece of helmet. I wonder if the skull is still inside. "The king defeated red-skinned invaders here, eons ago when the sphere had thawed. Some of the heat still lingers." "The spheres change seasons as well. Their power waxes and wanes," Sinead whispers in English for me only. I jump up, rising dozens of feet into the air. Marshes as far as the eye can see. Some of the boulders look like gutted war machines. Perhaps they were. "How do we find this beast, or traces of it?" "It will find us," Sern explains. "Predators hunt. It is the way." "So it is," I agree. We advance with caution now, blades drawn and in formation. Sinead and I take the lead while Sern follows, a short blade in hand. Khadras takes the rear, vigilant. We move in silence. Water burbles ominously around us. Sometimes, an unseen creature disturbs the water in the distance. "We have been spotted," Khadras eventually informs us. "Where?" Sinead asks. The Seeker does not answer. Instead, he points ahead, where a larger expanse of dry ground disappears under a thick cover of noxious smog. The form of a hairy beast emerges from it, or at least that is how it looks at first, but then it resolves itself in the shape of a man. He wears a surprisingly pristine white shirt of modest make under a much grimier cloak of knitted furs. The cloak gives him a large profile, but in truth his chest and arms are lean and sickly, covered in starving, corded muscles. His pale skin clings to angular, delicate features over a stubborn chin. Silky black hair contrasts with keen blue eyes the color of the ocean under a storm. A small part of me insists that this trip in the land of faerie has been quite scenic when it comes to attractive lads. It drowns when the first hints of his scent reach my nose, and I focus on his essence. I gasp and come to a stop, the surprise too much to bear. No. It cannot be. That¡­. is impossible? And yet, Semiramis did mention it. I just could not imagine I would meet the legend in person, the man who disappeared through a unique portal centuries ago in search of a new challenge. Before he can slaughter us to the last, I take a step forward and give a polite bow. "Buenas tardes, se?or Cadiz." He freezes as well. The liquid pool of his eyes rise to the cloudy skies. "Es por la tarde? Qui¨¦n lo hubiera dicho." His gaze lands on me. A cataclysmic aura smashes into mine. So. POWERFUL. No! No. I bend the knee to no one. Never again. I REFUSE. "HSSSSS." "Are you real, Scion of the First? Are we both insane?" he asks with deceptive calm. "You are not insane, Progenitor. I crossed over¡­ it is a long tale, one we have little time for right now." "I feel your nature. Show me your essence, young one. Let me taste it. Unleash it. Prove this is real." Under his calm appearance, the essence I feel bubbles and crashes with the power of a centuries-long despair. I must help him. "Very well. Magna Arqa." My sphere expands over him and roots covered in frosted thorns tear the muddy ground. They form a wall and rise to the sky around us, blotting it. "A domain type. That means¡­" The Watcher opens his eye, pupil contracting over us. Cadiz falls to his knees and weeps. Chapter 190 - 184. Duke Gnash Cadiz cries in silence, a virginal marble statue in the midst of old death. The lines of dark blood trailing his cheeks like stigmata give the wan fencer an image of sanctity, one that his underlying power only enhances. Cadiz does not move and neither do we, because our mutual status is yet to be determined, and if we fight Cadiz, we will be crushed. Of this, I have no doubt. It starts to snow. When Cadiz finally comes to, I politely request to drink his tears as the lure is simply too strong. Unfortunately, he flatly refuses. "We do not know each other. You have no right to ask me. Have the Devourers forgotten all propriety?" I do not react to the cheap jab, mostly because he is right, but partly because I am forced to jump on Sern, our guide, as he tries to scamper away. The Winter fae has shown his ability to survive against all odds, and only an idiot would fail to see that we sympathized with his obvious enemy. "Just so we are clear, I am not attacking my kin. I have no reason to, and it would be suicide," I inform my allies. "You speak their tongue? Good," Cadiz says. While we talk, Khadras kneels and takes a curious pen out of a slot in his armor. The seeker focuses on the ground and begins tracing strange signs on the marsh''s wet loam. His explanation only comes when he realizes we are all staring. "If we do not have to be concerned about the Beast of Ingmir, we can prepare for the inevitable battle. I will provide support and stop him from erasing us from each other''s memory while you two fight him off. Can we count on your brethren''s help, Ariane?" "Can we?" I ask the interested man. "That depends. Tell me of our world. Tell me what the old horror is planning." I sigh and sit by his side. It will take a while. I highly suspect that Cadiz is not on Nirari''s side, given his choice of words. I also suspect that he might be less friendly than he appears for now. After determining that he left the planet a century before my human birth, I give him a brief recounting of recent historical development. The cruel fate of the Spanish empire upsets him greatly, though my reports on the success of his clan seems to ease his mind. He takes my compliments on Jimena''s character with jaded indifference. "Naturally the Cadiz are honorable and perfectionist. I expect nothing less from my offspring, and if they had failed to accomplish even this, I would have had to treat them like the White God treated Sodom and Gomorrah." I flinch at the mention, causing him to smirk knowingly. "Your sire dislikes him as well. It irks him to no end that empathy and love could create a force that even he cannot contend with. Enough of this, what are your plans concerning him?" "My plans?" Claws grab me by the collar, dragging me forward until we are quite close. They would be on my neck if I were not clad in the protective embrace of the Aurora. Nevertheless, the message is clear. Or it would be, but a naked blade comes to rest under Cadiz'' neck. "Keep your distance," Sinead states calmly. "You do not want to face me," Cadiz replies. The Progenitor''s understanding of child fae is less than my own. I expect he never received a formal education. I also expect he has little interest in mastering it, or he would have. Cadiz can focus on a goal with more intensity than anyone else, thus making them adept at learning new disciplines. I lower the tip of Sinead''s blade and push Cadiz away, gently. He allows it. "Let us stay calm. Thank you for your help Sinead, I appreciate it. And you, do not raise your hand on me unless you intend to fight. I ask for the same basic respect you expect from me." Cadiz glares. I do not relent. Eventually, his expression softens. "Good. You have a spine, even when you know you cannot stand against me. This bodes well for the future." "So, will you help us?" "No." I am flabbergasted by the immediate answer. "Duke Gnash is dangerous. Do you not wish to see him gone, then leave this dreaded place?" I ask. "You misunderstand two things. First, I came to Winter of my own accord and, so far, it has delivered exactly what I expected of it. Secondly, I do not fear Gnash. He fears me." I look down at his tattered appearance. "I expected difficulty and that is what I got, child. Not all of us crave comfort." "He does want you dead." "He wishes me dead, but he will not get it. I have already fended off all his attempts against me, though I suspect foul play since some of the fights I remember seem not to have occured, or at least, I can no longer find the bodies." "Who did you slay?" "His son." I must exert some self-control at the realization. Did Gnash remove his son from the memory of everyone else, including his daughter? What a dreadful proposition. Unaware of my horror, Cadiz continues his tale. "I have come here to perfect my understanding of the blade, child of the Devourer. When I stepped through that portal, I did so because I heard the echoes of battle. Battle I found here, and plenty of it. There were more masters of the arts of war on that field than across Christendom over its entire history. I fought them, and I learned much. But I found a mountain I could not climb." "The Sovereigns?" "Even before them, their children stood before me. They wear part of the mantle. Some wear more than most. Some, in turn, have weaved their own with the concepts they hold most dear. This is a rich land, child, ripe with revels and bloodshed. One could battle a millennium and still find oneself surprised by an opponent. I once fought a fishman who used a conch as a weapon. He almost killed me." The pale man tilts his artist''s head, hooded eyes dreamy from the reminiscence. "I lacked power to contend with the strongest of them, because a blade does not suffice when an opponent wields the world around themselves. And so I have grown, and learned. I came here to fight beasts, the cold, and isolation, and I did. Duke Gnash hired me to rid his winter fields of the Beast of Ingmir, a fearsome frost drake as large as an elephant. He sent his son with me. We fought the creature and bled it to death. Its blood smelled sweet, though I could not consume it." He leans forward. "Obviously, they betrayed me to avoid payment. I slew the son in single combat. I think. The memory is hazy now, like a barely remembered dream. I slew him and his entourage. I left their bodies where they had fallen. In a clearing. I returned there and it was as if he had never been, yet I remember the taste of his blood and the intensity of the fight when our blades net. I killed him and then he never was. I do not understand how I was robbed of this fight." I relay Cadiz'' words to Kharas, who nods. "This explains much. I do not believe Duke Gnash ever suffered such a meaningful humiliation. To be defeated and lose one''s heir on their own land is a terrible blow to his power, and thus, his person as well. Perhaps it would be enough to lead to a coup. He would not be the first to succumb to the temptation, and call the dark court to his help." "This does not explain why you will not fight," I argue. His refusal frustrates me, not because I fear Gnash, but because I feel like I am being used. "Why did you come here?" Cadiz asks me. "I am on a mission for the Seekers of Stolen Memories." He waves my words away, annoyed. "No. Do not pretend to be obtuse, child. If I ask you where you are, you will not answer ''on mud-soaked grass'', will you? Why are you truly here?" I glare. He does not seem impressed, but he indulges me anyway. "I did not come here to take on beasts. My goal is not to defeat Sovereigns. It is to touch upon divinity through the pursuit of martial perfection. I do these things I mentioned and many more. I train and practice until my mind numbs from repetition for a purpose. My purpose is perfection, as unattainable as the stars, which is why it suits me to have all of eternity to pursue it or die trying. I asked for time this coughing, shivering body of mine did not have and I was granted it by our friend above because I had this purpose. I live for the moment a weapon whistles a hair away from my neck, or when I plunge my blade in the heart of one who thought themselves immortal, because I am just a little closer to an infinitely distant goal. Do you understand?" "I think I do." "Then tell me, what is your purpose?" Should I tell him? No one ever asked, but I do not think I mind him knowing. Not considering his aversion for my sire. "I want to prevent my sire from ascending to godhood and plunging earth into an eternal war against the spheres it has no hope of ever winning." "And? Have you worked tirelessly, year after year, to fulfill that goal? Has it occupied your every night?" I do not reply, but Cadiz still draws the conclusion. "You are complacent. You have worked hard and faced difficulties, I can tell, or you would not be a lady. You would bear scars if our bodies could. But you do not understand what it means to pursue a purpose with unerring focus. The Cadiz essence you stole gave you the tools but not the mentality. You are just a passenger cruising on the waters of destiny, hoping to one day float across a solution to save you from the falls at the end. You will never succeed, at least not without my help." "You assume much." "I am old, child of the Devourer. Older than any of us save the first, thanks to the way time acts here. You understand it in your mind but not in your essence. I can smell the fresh-faced accidental immortal in even the way you tolerate those Likaeans to give you orders. You smell of uncertainty and doubt. There is no clear vision in you, only a vague, ultimate goal you tell yourself when you search for meaning. You are a dull blade." "Are you quite done?" "And you are here for dragon blood." I glare. He speaks too much. "Even I cannot face your sire," he says. "Even after this training?" Cadiz smirks and extends his arms. "Power is a fleeting, situational thing. Mastery of the blade is another. The first of us does not even need technique, though he has it. His Magna Arqa is truly a wonder designed to kill us, and it perfectly reflects his personality as well." I lean forward, unable to maske the excitement blooming in my chest. "What is it? We have no records. Can you tell me?" "You have no records because I am the only one who ever survived it. Why would I waste a minute of my time explaining it to a dead spawn walking." I would argue that he already wasted more than that flooding my ears with his verbal incontinence, but judge it might be counterproductive to point it out. "Unless Svyatoslav''s personality has changed drastically, and he comes here, you have the best chance of facing him and livinglive out of everyone else in the world. The dragon blood you seek will not be enough to bridge the gap, however. You will eternally be playing catch up unless you can make your time more valuable than his time by a large margin." "I have spent years in training before." "With classes and several professors and a strict schedule?" "It counts as training," I grumble. "It certainly is efficient in churning out dozens of unimaginative, doctrinal fighters. I will grant you that, child." "My name is Ariane." "You have no name until I have decided." Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. "Hssss. If you will not help and if you have nothing to contribute, at least contribute by your silence." "Foolish child. I am explaining what I expect from you as my disciple." My surprise must be obvious. "You are the only valid candidate I have had in eons. Surely you do not expect me to let you go to die a useless death, dooming our world in the process? You cannot be this foolish." "I have not agreed to anything." "Whatever you say, child. As a starting practice, you will defeat Duke Gnash while your allies keep his minions occupied. Both kinds." "What do you mean, both kinds?" "He will be here in five minutes. Do not disappoint me." And with this, Cadiz disappears, the only traces of his passage footprints upon the water. I have no idea how he managed that. "Charming. Is he one of your kin?" Khadras asked as he finishes drawing. "He says he won''t help. And that Gnash is coming with two different kinds of servants." "It would not surprise me if Darkness Court renegades had come with him. They would not waste an opportunity to slaughter an isolated seeker. I can handle them." "So the Shadow Court disapproves of the practice?" I ask, suddenly curious. "Those that survived the purge have forsworn it. Now is not the time to explore their lore, however," Khadras gently chastises. "They are coming." The two princes draw their blades while I take point. The fog covering the marshes writhes, caught between the modest heat of decay and the cold of the Winter Sphere. The temperature drops slightly. The snow gains in intensity, the thick, cottony flakes dancing in hypnotic patterns. Silence descends upon the glade, as even the most clueless beasts must have sensed the bloodshed to come. I decide to release my Magna Arqa, aware of my previous decision to use it more so I can improve my control ¡ª and not because Cadiz must be watching. My improvement is my own duty. The sphere expands. Immediately, the weather loses its meaning, now just one more aspect of my domain. I sense the presence of Khadras behind me as an unyielding crystal pillar that only death can shake. He is restraining himself not to hurt me. Gnash is coming. The world speaks to me of his passage. It recognizes him as its master ¡ª for now ¡ª and us as intruders. It stills. A massive shadow emerges from the fog wall, then the vaporous curtain parts before the fur-clad, armored form of Duke Gnash of the Winter Court. His dark iron armor shines ominously under the dim light of the setting sun, while he holds in his slender hands a vicious axe carved with a wolf head. His retinue follows. Hollow-eyed retainers advance, their step certain yet lacking the predatory grace of their court. Their silvery scale armors look tarnished even from this far away. I feel slight disturbances in my sphere, but it is Khadras who reveals our hidden foes with a flick of his hand. I suddenly perceive them, not in a way that they were invisible and now revealed. I had forgotten them while Khadras had not. Their ability reminds me of Mr. Elusive, the sharp-eared and pointy-nosed whose assistance had been useful during the Dvor fortress heist. While he had been meek, hunched, and spindly, those are muscular and predatory beings, clad in tanned skins. They only want to be forgotten so they can better stab me. Their grins reveal yellow fangs and an eagerness to inflict pain I have seen in the most damned of rogues. They are not my targets, however. Mine swings the axe casually on his back. The circlet bearing a stone on his head reminds everyone who rules on these lands. "So you knew. I suppose it saves me the pain of tracking you down." "You should have known better. How the memory thieves always manage to fool more people is a mystery I shall never understand," Khadras spits in an uncharacteristic display of emotion. "I would have expected a duke to be less short-sighted. Look at your men! They are husks. Is this what you wish to rule over?" His face twists into a rictus of disgust. Duke Gnash merely shrugs. "You are strangers here, so I shall explain for my own entertainment. Rules. Domains. Reputation. Those are all shiny layers of civilization we put on to play with this other sphere. There is only one truth to winter." His mouth widens impossibly, the jaw opening to his ears to reveal grasping fangs while his eyes shine a cold, sapphire light. "I HUNGER. I EAT. I DESIRE. I TAKE. I ANGER. I KILL." And he attacks. I rush to meet him, Rose brandished against his monstrous axe. I angle it to deflect the downward blow and am pushed back, sliding over the muddy grown. Roots rise from the earth to stabilize me against the second blow, which comes immediately after. My counter hits the aft, the next the blade. I strike fast to overwhelm him and prevent him from using the much heavier weapon. At this close range, I actually have the advantage by denying him the opportunity to strike. Even then, it is difficult. He is fast. Perhaps even slightly faster than me. While I finally pushing him back, a blue light shines from the blade. "Shred." "AWAKEN." My spell hits the head of the axe as it roars and teeth appear on the blade. An arc of cold energy arches out, freezing everything in its way. Gnash takes a step back, out of balance, and stumbles on a root. Others lash at his back, grinding against the armor with a shriek of tortured metal, but Gnash shines and the appendages freeze solid. Ugh, why do all strong combatants have a way to dispose of my precious roots. Frustrating. Incensed, I charge, only to leap back when his axe slams into the ground. The blade turns the earth into shining permafrost. I cast Promethean and Constantine''s chains wrap around the handle, pulling Gnash off balance. More roots lash at him. While he struggles, I lunge, Rose slicing against his thick chest plate and damaging it. Gnash roars and I disperse the spell before he can pull me in, then raise a wall of thorns to block an expanding ball of chilling energy. He strikes through the frozen roots and my turn comes to be pushed back, until more roots grab me, then help me slide against the follow-up. I carve a deep groove in his knee''s armor as I pass him by, but he has already turned when I attempt to press my advantage. Our exchange continues for a while and I let myself sink in the pleasure of battle. Gnash is such a strong fighter, cunning and aggressive, just like me. Our dance is a breathless tango on a rope above the abyss, each strike vicious and decisive, each parry performed to allow for a faster counter. Finally, I manage to wound him by striking his shoulder where the armor had been weakened by a previous strike, but the return sweep sends me rolling on the ground. His attack pierced right through the Aurora, to my mounting horror. He hit my flank. The blood has already frozen, and I can feel a numbing chill seeping into my essence. I must combat it. More importantly, I cannot be hit by that thing again. "Cold take you," Gnash hisses with his distended jaw. In answer, I lick the blood on Rose and smile. His essence is so very concentrated, and so¡­ relatable. The cold in my vein fades away, stepping back to let the two of us contend for supremacy. Such is the way of the winter sphere. Gnash smiles and charges again. He is in his element. And even faster? No, I am slower. The more time passes and the colder this place grows. Frost appears on my roots and even they become sluggish. A quick look at my mind palace shows frost-kissed white flowers and icicle-covered statues. I intended to keep them as a hidden ace, seeing how fast and destructive Gnash is, but it appears they will be too slow to even be that. "You found out," Gnash whispers. The words carry through the din of battle, even as the two princes contend against their foes. The mist rises and becomes a powdery diamond, thick and freezing. They chill my essence as the sphere around me contracts in pain. "You are strangers here, and your kind always falls. You come to winter expecting a battle, but you find a freezing hunt, and an empty, hungry world. You understand cold, but you do not understand winter. I smell your craving for life from here, little moth seeking the light. You still have bonds and friends and other useless things to drag you down. You have come with others but you will die alone. You are strangers here, and your kind always falls. Your flesh will nourish us for one season." "You talk too much," I retort, but only an empty chuckle is left behind like the ghost of a traitor''s kiss. Winter gathers around Gnash. He is right. He is right, and I cannot face him the way I would face a lord back home. The world is with him unless I can reverse the narrative. The sphere of my Magna Arqa retracts again, punished on all sides by the howling blizzard. Gnash stalks me, waiting for the perfect opportunity. He will strike as I am the weakest, but just before the princes come to help. The sound of battle has gone. I realize it for the first time. Silence has replaced the clash of blades and the roars of magic. Only the howling wind breaks the hush now. Another trick of the world. That is fine. I know how to face him. As strange as it is, his words in Likaean carried power and the world became what he envisioned because he spoke them. I am different. I am not a Likaean. My power comes from another source, and yet, Winter will not care. Whatever works for him will work for me, if I can formulate it properly. I do not need grand declamation since, again, Winter will not care. The shorter the better. The clearer the better. Gnash claimed the title of wolf. I will claim the title of hunter. After all, it is what I am. I whistle, and the distant woods shake with the thunder of familiar hooves. The world''s most noble charger canters by my side. She neighs, and I mount her smoothly. "Nu Sarrehin." Ghostly light spreads around to illuminate the diamond powder, but only to my eyes. No one else needs to see. "You hide, because you are prey. You run, because you are prey. You talk, because you are prey. I will ride after you under the Watcher''s gaze. I will find you. I will eat you. I have no need for Likaean tricks. I am what I am, and what I am is a huntress. I. Am. Coming." It works. Yesssssss. The roots break the frozen earth and crawl after the tracks we see, the scent he left behind. We move in a wave as unyielding as the turn of the seasons. My hungry lights flicker after the running beast. I wish I had Sivaya''s spear. What am I talking about? Of course, I have Sivaya''s spear. Am I not a huntress? And here it is, silver blade lit by purple radiance. The fog parts when the roots tear it apart, searching, tearing. Winter is in balance. There is a hunter, and there is a deadly prey. The roles may switch at any moment but it matters not. Gnash no longer controls the story. And we find him. Metis gallops after him. She is considerably faster and more powerful here. I think she may have even grown a bit. We charge him and stab down, the fast spear catches Gnash in the smallest gap between blade and aft. I smirk. The power of the spear activates, sliding through his armor like butter and digging into his flesh. I smell rich blood in the air. Before he can free himself, I lift him above my head. Droplets of blood fall on my face. He smells so delicious. He winces in agony while Metis rears, the hunt concluded. Or at least, that is what I hoped for. Instead, clawed, hairy hands grab for the shaft and break it, despite the enchantments. Gnash collapses on the ground behind us and coughs blood. His maw has grown even more monstrous. "That is Winter," he growls, "victory at any cost." I charge again, this time with Rose. His armor cracks and pops and Sivaya''s spear tip is pushed out by newly grown, wiry muscle. His shoulder expands ever so slightly, and I realize what I thought was a cloak of fur was, in fact, his skin. What is it with insane foes and abandoning the human form? Ugh. I hope I can still EAT HIM. We begin another type of dance, one where his flexibility and ferocity oppose our teamwork. Metis and I are used to each other. We understand each other. He figures it out the first time he attacks from behind and gets a faceful of hooves. I hear the crunch of shattered bones, but when I look, the duke now has a deformed maw instead of a normal face, so there is little improvement for us. The duke grows larger the more wounds I inflict, which makes him more cumbersome, more awkward, as his mind struggles with its new form. Some of the movements are too jerky to be natural, and he soon loses the ability to wield his axe. The problem is that he grows immensely stronger to the point where the roots struggle to keep him in place, even as the cold makes them more brittle. I am struggling against an enemy that grows stronger the more I hurt him, and shows no signs of exhaustion. It forges after me through a maze of shredding roots and grasping limbs, tearing itself on it. I flit like a ghost through covered alleys and harry him but am I grinding him down or forging him into something stronger? Even the essence I take from him seems infinite. He is closer to a standing werewolf than a human now. I wish I could jump on his back and bite him, but his thick coat and fast reflexes make this a daunting prospect. My magic is useless as well, except to deceive him. "It is useless. He draws from the land," a voice says from behind. Khadras emerges from the darkness with his halberd bloodied. He inspects the torn battlefield with calm. "Our only hope is to keep him here and let him exhaust the local essence. Then, we can wear him down." "This feels like a poor plan," I complain. "Feel free to share a better one." Gnash heard our voices. He shakes himself or roots and charges, tearing through the defenses I have set. His sapphire glare meets my eyes and I find an opportunity. "Khadras, can he still erase us from memories?" "Not in this state." "Then let me use mental magic, please." "As you wish." I slam the duke hard enough to lobotomize a Gabrielite. He reels, and we jump on the occasion. I slam Rose into his chest but fail to penetrate to the heart. The werewolf and Loth statues materialize, tearing into him with little result. Khadras stabs him in the nose and dances away from a ferocious swipe, ducking under a quickly forming wall. Gnash roars and a blue bubble forms around him, and then summer comes. A flash of golden light falls upon the forming attack, dissipating him. Sinead lunges and carves a bloody groove across the duke''s leg, hamstringing him. We pile on and retreat immediately while he heals and explodes in a whirlwind of fang and claw. A curious exchange happens, with me taking more of a support role and protecting the two princes as they demonstrate their martial prowess. Our efforts are not in vain. Wounds accumulate on his body, the regeneration slowing down. Suddenly, he stops and makes a run for it. I try everything. I fight with all I have. Sinead and Khadras pierce him with a thousand blows. It is of no use. His maddened form crashes through everything we have like a boulder through a toolshed. His paws freeze the waters of the marsh on his way to the nearby edge of the trees and we cannot stop him. Finally, he turns around. "I am as infinite¡­ as the cold." He roars and¡­ nothing happens. His wounds barely close. While the expression of fury turns into a growl of frustration, I charge. A shimmer on the ground attracts my attention and I lean to the side and grab Sivaya''s spear tip, its blade still stained with blood. Khadras throws his halberd and Sinead his blade in a desperate gambit. I jump at the height of Metis'' sprint and land on Gnash''s monstrous chest, stabbing him deeply. The sphere of my Magna Arqa expands, fuelled by my determination and the story as it slips from the duke''s grasp. Tendrils emerge from everywhere, the air itself. They lift his massive carcass in the air and deprive him of the contact he needs. He is mine now, he is outside of Winter and inside my domain. His struggles are the death throes of the vanquished. I grab his deformed neck and bite down. He tastes of frantic battle, of¡­ Of a mouthful of hair? What? I hiss when I realize I am holding a wolf''s pelt. A naked Gnash crawls away and jumps when he realizes I have seen him. Seriously? "HOW MANY TRICKS DO YOU HAVE, PREY?" I complain, spitting hair. Ugh, I have some stuck to my tongue. The horror. The Likaeanity. He is a dead fae. Gnash grabs his axe between naked hands while I charge, the princes busy recovering their discarded weapons. Gnash stands to fight. He is back in human form, which I find extremely unfair though mentioning it aloud would be too hypocritical for me to contemplate. He raises the weapon and gasps. A blueish spear tip emerges from between his muscular ribs, then withdraws. Red blood gushes out. He falls. A woman in full armor stands behind him, an expression of utter vindication on her thin traits. I recognize the princess who had been, ahem, entertaining Gnash while he received us. His daughter. It appears we can add patricide to the long list of Winter''s sins, though to be fair, I understand her. After all, I am trying to do the same. "Claim complete, pig," she spits. Still, the arrogance. "That was my prey! HOW DARE YOU!" I trample the ground on my way to skin that little minx raw, but she stops me by bowing her head, exposing her neck to me. My steps falter. "Grace, milady," Sern says as he kneels by her side. Our guide seems to have made it, somehow. Khadras and Sinead stop by my side. The hare prince cleans his halberd disinterestedly. "My task in this world is over. I wash my hands of this." "You are the offended party, Ariane" Sinead assures me. "Make sure to get your due. Winter does not know mercy." "What do you wish, supplicant?" I ask. "For you to leave the duchy and me for ten years." I grab her by the neck until our eyes are level. I see the ruthlessness in her cruel traits, the same her father exhibited. Anger fills my heart. "A supplicant speaks plainly, or they are no longer a supplicant. This is your last chance." "I ask for forgiveness for my transgression." "You interrupted a hunt. You robbed me of my kill through deception." "I helped you!" she claims. Seeing my doubt, she explains with more calm than I thought her capable of. "I knew he was hiding something. We had one room too many in the keep, and I found missing gaps in my paintings, in my notes. I found¡­ gifts. From a man. My brother. I am sure of it." I see pain in her unshaking glare. "His memories were stolen. I will never know if we fought or if we loved. I will never find out why I am the way I am, because my most defining memories have faded. How can I understand what I have become? That filthy swine took my dignity in more ways than I ever thought possible. So I challenged him during the fight by claiming the castle, and you¡­ completed the task. It is acceptable to Winter." "But not to me." "What do you wish in return for your forgiveness?" "Blood was taken, so blood must be provided. Willingly." Sern lifts his head. "Would mine suffice?" "No." "Will I survive the experience?" "You may." "Blood offered willingly against your departures, and¡­" Her eyes swivel to the pelt, so I break two of her fingers. "I will compensate you for it, of course," she replies with calm. Sweat pearls on her brow, the only sign of discomfort despite the fragmented knuckles I hold between thumb and index, the claw poised to snap. "How?" "If I may?" I let her go. She searches the marshes for a few moments, but soon finds the discarded circlet that protected Gnash from Khadras'' assault. She picks the gem and approaches me, then places it against the Aurora''s chestplate. The gem disappears through the obsidian surface. I see it sink into depth I know for sure do not exist. Before I can protest, the armor comes to life. It contracts with a ghastly creak. All the imperfect and slightly barbaric details melt away to reveal only the sharpest, most perfectly designed scales of blue. The Aurora is now the cobalt blue of a night sky with flashes of distant green fire deep under the polished surface. It is much closer to me and denser at the same time. I can move perfectly freely. More importantly, the aura of cold that hurt my allies falls dormant until I need to call it. Its power has increased as well. "Now your armor is that of a Likaean princess. Do you find this satisfactory?" She dares to give me a mocking smile, knowing I will be forced to admit this is a royal gift. So I give her a fanged smile. "We have a deal." I reveal her neck and bite down. Cold. Hunger. Betrayal. The strong do not survive, and the weak do not perish. This is an illusion the survivors tell themselves to justify their victory, but I know the truth. I see the eyes and the backs against the wall. It is treachery and ruthlessness that govern here, not strength. Not individual might. Not even talent. Guile, plain and simple. I used to have a brother. He is lost. Perhaps I hated him, and perhaps I did not. The memories are gone as surely as Winter will wax again, not long after those strangers are gone. I hate it here. And I know I will still stay. Sern helped me. There are others, as well. Winter can be huddling together around a campfire, sharing what little warmth there is. My people have forgotten that, and the beauty of the distant mountains. I have not, at least, not yet. I pull back, surprised. I will have time to explore what progress I have made, but that can wait. We can depart now. Hmmm. Sear?h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. I feel as if I had forgotten something important? Metis bumps against me, her large form strong enough to push me to the side, as it used to so many years ago. She neighs softly. "Ah, yes, my dear. That is to say. I¡­ do not have my bag with me. Sorry." Her red eyes widen at the gall, the sheer audacity I displayed when I called her to battle without providing a well-deserved snack afterward. She ignores my hands raised in supplication and monches on the hair near my neck, dragging me by the roots. "Ow ow ow, Metis, stop this instant! You are embarrassing me in front of the cute guys." Alas, my pleas fall on uncaring ears. She ruins my hair then disappears in a huff. Ugh, this is going to cost me one month of profit in bison herb and caramelized pig ears when I return to earth. "You have acquitted yourself of this task quite well," Khadras admits after a moment of confused silence.. Sinead remains inexplicably silent, while I expected him to exchange more barbs with the prince. He seems resigned for some reason. "We have worked well together and fulfilled our purposes." "Are you really congratulating us?" I ask. His unfeeling pink eyes inspect me with unusual intensity. I find his focus unsettling. "Is it working? I am told the more emotional courts enjoy flattery." "You get points for trying." "I detect sarcasm. I will assume you are ecstatic and move on to the next step. We simply have to make our way back to the portal." We easily find our way out of the marshes. At the edge, we find a rock and on this rock, sitting with his elbows on his knees and his head resting on balled fists, we find Cadiz. His eyes are closed. "We have a significant amount of work ahead of us, if we are to turn you into the blade that slays Nirari," he says. Chapter 191 - 185. Wanderers Bickering in front of the princes would be a shame. Refusing advice from an undisputed master would be foolish. I must show unity with my kin since we are surrounded by strangers. If I repeat all those arguments often enough, it will distract me from Cadiz'' endless litany of observations. A master must praise publicly, but chide in private. The rule is even more important when dealing with competitive apex predators born with a tendency for remorseless violence. Truly, the old Progenitor lacks bedside manners, and yet his insight is particularly brilliant. Perhaps this is why I tolerate his incessant babbling. "You have the method of one who has grown and acquired tools too quickly. Your style is cobbled together, your methods sloppy. You are also missing a key element of your fighting style. What is it?" I hiss under my breath. Cadiz'' face appears in front of me, the man sometimes capable of moving without me noticing. "Are you ignoring me, disciple?" "Has it occured to you that we are walking through Winter and that now is not the best time to get into an in-depth discussion about my many apparent failings?" We glare at each other. Or rather, I glare while he stares fixedly into a point that could be my eyes or nothing at all. "Perhaps I have been a bit abrupt in my approach." "You think?" "I will make no apologies. You can punish me as you see fit when you can defeat me. I have never been good with manners and customs and all those masks and ribbons people wear on their heart to interact with each other. You can choose to care about image and reputation, or not, but you will listen. Your success is too important for me to stop." "Have you considered that you would save much time and effort by acting according to the way the world is, and not the way you think the world should be? We care about those masks and ribbons you mentioned and we cannot stop caring, because they tie us back to our origins, yes? Our human, social nature?" "You know they are a distraction." "They are the reason why Nirari and his mother have not turned the world into a series of heavily fortified parochial city-states where no one leaves their house after dark, or do you doubt it?" "I do not doubt it. You are also the first in history with a chance to match and stop the old monster. I know all of this. I am simply not capable of caring, not with all of eternity to practice. Kindly allow me to teach you, disciple. Even if you should hate me, let me guide you. As I said, you can punish me all you like after your victory is complete. You need to win first." It sounds like a supplication. I stop, the two princes imitating me with eerie coordination. Their good manners allow us this moment. Cadiz is the very image of the doomed artist, complete with hooded eyes and sickly body. Resignation haunts his gaunt features. Perhaps he speaks the truth, and he genuinely cannot play the delicate dance we keep between our instincts and the veneer of civilization. Perhaps his singular drive protected him from the savagery that comes with a lack of attachment. "Are you telling me that your lack of social graces is beyond your control." "I could do better, but it would take much effort with little result. My time is better spent in pursuits where I do excel." "Then you will address me as Ariane of the Nirari as a sign of respect, and I, in turn, will ignore the occasional offense. Are we in agreement?" "Does this mean you will listen and commit to your training?" "So long as it does not violate previous agreements, yet," I agree. The terms are large enough that I can wriggle out of them should he go too far. "I accept, Ariane of the Nirari. Now, which part of your arsenal are you currently missing?" I breathe out. "I fight with a handgun as well, usually. A pistol that can shoot several times in a row." "You fight vampires with a pistol?" he asks, aghast. "Technically a revolver. And to great effect." Cadiz does not comment. We start moving again. "Do you have it here?" "Unfortunately, no. My armor used to interfere with its functionment." "A shame we cannot include it in your training. No matter, there are other aspects of your style to work on. And why are you flailing around so much?" "I was informed I was aggressive and unpredictable." "Yes, I can see how all this flailing around can be perceived that way. There is a fine line between being unpredictable and being suboptimal and I fear you cross it too often. Your Magna Arqa also needs some work. How long can you keep it active?" "I do not know." Cadiz freezes midstep. His expression is one of unmitigated horror. "I beg your pardon?" "Fights have always ended before I would lose focus." "And you have not tested your limits? Ever?" "You know they vary with mindset, not to mention I have been growing in strength recently and can hold it longer." "You will now use your Magna Arqa and keep it active until I tell you to stop, or you are on the verge of collapse." I accept. My essence expands into the usual sphere, now larger than ever before. I immediately grow a root under Cadiz in an attempt to trip him, but he effortlessly side-steps it. "Oh, excellent initiative Ariane of the Nirari. Continue doing so. Perhaps then you will wield those branches of yours with more agility than a toddler holds their bottle. Hmmm." What an infuriating man. I am starting to believe someone tossed him through that portal, after all. While the old twit grumbles under his breath, I concentrate back on our current predicament. Revas outmaneuvered us in the first trial to succeed him, and I have no reason to believe the second will be different. I hate so much to be so out of my depth that even the most basic task cannot be completed with any degree of surety. When we freed the fae from the fortress, it was Sinead''s project, but the details of the execution were clarified under my responsibility. The lack of control frustrates me. Perhaps some training would at least distract me from the deadly game. I walk up to Sinead, finding him despondent. It irks me. "I am starting to think you were happier on earth, Sinead." The prince blinks, as if he had never considered the question. "I was perhaps more light-hearted. You are right. My worries are getting to me." "What concerns you? The second task?" Sinead casts an annoyed glance at Khadras but the hare fae ignores us, his attention devoted to our surroundings. It is true that we are still in winter''s domain, and yet the weather is more clement, somehow. The red fruits hanging from nearby frosted bushes are the crimson of ripeness, not blood. I can smell a hearth''s smoke on the wind. Besides, my Magna Arqa shows no threats anywhere close. "I am concerned about the second task, true," Sinead says in English. The message feels more diluted now that there is no objective meaning behind the words. "And something the queen said," he continues. "But there is more. I do not know if I should burden you with this. "Better than burdening me with this dark mood of yours. The least you could do to redeem yourself is to entertain me, not present me with this gloomy air of doomed hero. Soon you shall write about ravens and casks and stare outward the battlement of some wind-swept fortress, cursing your cruel fate." "I cannot wait for you to become fluent in Likaean" "So that I may nag you in your native language." "Oh, poppet, I would rather be nagged by your beautiful voice for a hundred years than serenaded an hour by Voidmoore''s greatest beauty." "Finally, some Sinead. Wait¡­" I add with suspicion, "given the local proclivities, it would not happen to be some sort of tentacled, eight-breasted creature? Because Nol has the head of a fly above a human mouth and I have to admit, I have seen better." "I have no idea! And yes, I am surprised you would tolerate him." "Strange appearances are tolerable, it is smell I cannot abide. Have I ever mentioned werewolf gatherings? I hate werewolf gatherings. I can always assess how many of them have engaged in coitus right before they attend." "It reminds me of my younger years." "As much as I want to learn more about your mysterious past, I believe details are not needed right now." Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. "As you say." Suddenly, Cadiz throws a snowball at me, and I lean forward to dodge. I felt him in my sphere. "Good, but for the sake of practice, please use roots instead." "We are not training now in the middle of winter. Please wait until we are out of this death trap." "We are the death trap, Ariane of the Nirari." "There is a time for everything. Now, we are concluding our agreement with the Seekers. Deploying my Magna Arqa is enough to start with." Cadiz relents, but I dread the coming weeks before the dragon hunt. We arrive at the portal while night falls. From this angle, it appears as a circle of frozen ice, like a wave caught as it hits a rock. A pair of winter fae let us through without interruption. I cast one last glance at the frozen lake and the castle hidden beneath. Despite the sphere''s apparent hostility, there is a certain beauty to it I regret leaving behind. There is so much to explore here, but I have so little time for now. I also know that the spheres are so vast and numerous one could spend a millenium traveling through them without growing tired. Immortality can be so frustrating at times. The passage of time will not kill me, but it can certainly stop me from living. Ah, well¡­ Oh. Rather than the warehouse I expected on the other side, we are drawn into a cathedral-like structure of stone and crystal. Immediately, the bone-deep chill of winter fades, replaced by the crimson presence of the moon above. I lose control of my Magna Arqa, my essence contracting under the pressure of the one who is receiving us. A guard of princesses and princes in silver garb wait in cold silence, occupying the space between massive diamond columns. Facing us is a throne of red glass in the semblance of a flock of ravens taking off, their red wings frozen forever mid-motion. The sovereign sits on it with impeccable poise. It feels wrong. She should be lounging. Khadras does not stop so we follow him to the steps leading up. I spot my free gladiators and the flutterlings to the side, the latter held in a cage, which I find aggravating. The prince kneels with respect, hare ears still jutting up. The queen tilts her head ever so slightly. TELL US. "Our task is finished. The world is preserved. They acquitted themselves of the task to my satisfaction." WE ARE PLEASED. THE DEBT IS ALMOST REPAID. Sinead glares, and I recoil in horror. What does she mean, almost? The sovereign stands slowly, and I resist the urge to fall. The pressure coming from her is oppressive. Her hand opens to reveal a strange device made of crystal, a handle ending with hooks around a small sphere. Oh no. ESSENCE WILL JOIN FORM. S§×ar?h the N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "This is not what we agreed upon. I said we would retrieve memories." YOU DID NOT DENY US WHEN WE OFFERED THIS CHANGE OF THE TERMS. WHEN IS A LIE NOT A LIE? "Her maker will not allow it," Sinead says. The full attention of the sovereign falls on me. I suddenly exist much more, and cannot move, and intensely wish I were somewhere else. "Our watcher is a jealous one," Cadiz says. BE QUIET. The world itself falls silent. If I were to scream right now, the sound would decline its own existence. WE HAVE NO TRANSACTION WITH YOU. Cadiz handled, the sovereign inspects me. The experience is both intimate and rather upsetting. Eventually, she relents. YOU HAVE A JEALOUS PATRON. YOUR PRINCE DOES NOT. HE WILL BECOME PART OF US. A missing eye? Dulled emotions? "This is not what we agreed," I state. "We would help you return memories once, not be drafted into your court." YOU WILL ANNUL THE AGREEMENT? The pressure almost crushes me but this time, I do not relent. I know she is not using her true potential, but I do not care. She would betray the essence of the accord? With me? A Devourer? I think not. I push back and unexpectedly feel my essence expand by a tiny bit. "PERHAPS I SHALL." "Ariane? It''s inevitable." WE WILL HELP YOU FACE THE OTHER PRINCE. "WE DO NOT NEED YOU." The sovereign leans forward. And turns her head to my right. We hear it first, and I suppose the sovereign must have felt it. It starts with a horn, but soon pipes join it, then merry drums. They rise in the blood moon sphere with a great clamor both defiant and happy, a clear statement as shameless as it is friendly, for it cannot be coming with her approval. The queen walks towards the disturbance and I follow, grabbing the cage of flutterlings on my way since they cannot move themselves and make their desire to know very loud. We approach a titanic opening into the crystal and face the dark sky of the sphere from the height of its capital palace. The balcony overlooks the metropolis thriving inside of the crater, and in the distance, a portal has opened. It would be large enough to let an old ship of the line through, with its masts and sail. Beyond, a blue sky can be seen. A multitude of fae cross the passage, singing and dancing and throwing petals around. Their music carries impossibly far and for a fragment of instant, it smells of the sea and of a meadow in spring. The Likaeans themselves are a strange lot, many humanoids and other satyrs or beauties made of bark. Beasts of burden carry pavillions and, in the case of a whale with feet, an entire gazebo on their back. Madmen juggle swords on fire, spells, or each other. A tall woman recites poetry while flowers bloom under her feet with each step she takes. Despite how far they are, I merely have to give one my attention to hear and see them as if they were right next to me. The lot is presided by a grotesquely obese man lying on a chair moved by hundreds of laughing revelers who switch and change roles so fast it is a miracle he manages to stay aloft. He holds in his hand a golden goblet dripping wine with every step, but he is not the star of the show. That honor goes to a woman launching herself from the ground with a single step. She arches her back, extends her arms while her light brown hair forms a cape behind her, lithe limbs gliding through the air. She is genuinely floating. The entire orchestra of wandering fae, hundreds of them, take a deep breath. They play. The young one is born under the boughs of black trees. It is spring. Silvery flowers bloom under the moonlight. She is awkward and innocent, her feet unassured in a way only a master dancer can simulate. She stumbles against trunks and rocks with an agonizingly beautiful enthusiasm. Her steps grow more assured. She leaps, she struts, she leans by a lake and watches her reflection for the first time. The young one wears a close-fitting dress of red leaves over her pale skin. Her arms are lean yet strong. She saunters. Summer comes. The young one feasts from heavy fruits and stalks the underbrush, scaring grey birds away she titters, the sound like rain falling on chimes. She is so silly, but she is getting better, and we can already see the predator in the grace of her gestures. Summer is at its zenith. The young one is a deadly huntress, her feet leaving no trace. We follow her, prowling the woods for prey. She rushes. She pounces. None can stand against her. The first of her prey falls ¡ª some beast hiding in a grove ¡ª and she drinks its heartblood under the light of the moon. The fresh offering drips down her carmine lips, dying them with the color of victory. I take a step back at this moment because I can feel a foreign influence in my mind, but also because I have never wanted to draw more than I do now. If I could immortalize those moments on paper, even just a sketch, oh, I could create masterpieces to damn a soul to despair. The Seekers share my rapture and I think I see why. Below the incredible dancer weaving her tale in the air, the other Likaeans keep playing with a degree of mastery that would ruin opera forever to me if I cared more about perfection in art. There is something in the air, however, in the smirk of some of the players. It sends a shiver down my spine. Above us, the woman keeps creating vistas and dances. Ghostly echoes make her moves more ethereal. Her dance is both animalistic and impossibly graceful. I cannot resist. I am drawn in. Autumn comes. The young one hunts beasts with unmatched mastery. The other creatures fear her, though they do not know what they fear, for she is a shadow, a sting that leaves no witnesses. Only one contests her realm, an old, scarred bear. He has survived a thousand challenges and readies himself to survive one more. Under the moonlit sky, they fight for dominion. The old bear has seen much and lived through it. The huntress is strong but naive. He plays her, outmaneuvers her and conserves his strength. The huntress loses patience and snarls, but then a leaf withers and falls before her. Autumn has come and winter will follow. Patience is a necessary tool. The huntress takes her time. She studies her opponent. The bear is old and experienced, but he is also scarred. She tests him. She circles him to find his limits. She prods him, expecting a trap and finding it. She learns when he is faking a weakness and when he is not. The two opponents battle much more evenly. The bear is forced to go on the offensive or risk being cornered. He is no longer used to it. He makes mistakes. She makes him pay. He bleeds and she smirks. He roars and she giggles. Finally the old bear knows his end is near. He charges her in a last-ditch attempt to fend off his demise. She meets him midway, easily jumping over his swipe. She passes over him, and at the apex of her ascent, a hunter''s arrow pierces her heart. She falls, broken. Dead. The dream breaks. I recoil as if I had been smacked, but all my woes pale to the one of the sovereign. I assumed she could not feel, I was wrong. Whoever aimed that dance at her aimed to bite deep and bit deeply indeed. It tasted like the remnants of a forgotten past, brought back again to be murdered a second time. The balcony in front of her explodes out. Chunks of stone and crystal fly through the air, crashing into the buildings far below. The dust left behind covers the deathly silent assembly. The pressure from the sovereign makes me collapse against the balustrade. Even my Magna Arqa cannot save me from her, suppressed as it is by her presence. I dare not look at the sovereign. It is the dancer''s face that attracts all attention. She lifts herself from her corpse-like position like a blooming flower and salutes us. She pauses in the middle, the cascade of her hair falling strand by strand over a naked shoulder. She tilts her head. She is absolutely breathtaking. Her smile is rather vicious, however. "Another, milady?" the woman asks. Her voice is to die for. Poor Jimena would be undone. Her words also carry a promise, one to bring a different sort of closure, but there is a condition. There is always a condition. The world holds its breath while the sovereign decides. Eventually, her terrifying gaze falls on us and I feel smothered, for she exerts little restraint. LEAVE. We are practically pushed out of the balcony and towards the exit. The flutterlings complain in their cage which does not surprise me as they seem devoid of the instinct of self-preservation. As an afterthought, she sends Khadras after us. He appears consternated in an unusual display of emotion. We all move down the main crystal stairs and straight corridor of the keep with haste until we find more stone than crystal. Still, we do not slow. Only after we have reached the ground level and left through a monumental gate into a large, currently empty plaza do we finally stop. One of the chunks from the keep''s upper strata fell here, squishing a building and its occupants. Likaeans busy themselves clearing the debris with spells and sorrow. Some of the gladiators sit down where they are, complaining loudly. Makyas flies and lands on my shoulder, happy that my armor finally feels comfortable. In the ensuing chaos, I almost miss Khadras'' whisper. "That was quite cruel." The short trip has not given him the time to recover. I realize we should not stay there and order the gladiators to form rank. Unfortunately, they are hungry, thirsty, and tired. I will have to find a place for them to rest before we can return to Voidmoore, where I assume the next trial will be announced. I share my thoughts with Sinead, but he is distracted. "You know we were freed, poppet." "I assume this is the wandering court." "It is," he says, looking into the distance without expression. I follow his gaze. A woman approaches with two figures in tow, all wearing heavy robes. I recognize her as the dancer just from the supernatural way she sashays, every step an invitation to duet. She stops in front of my friend and places her hands on his broad shoulders. Her smile, which had been a sneer before, turns genuine, or at least as genuine as it can get for this strange race. Now that my attention is no longer taken by her story, the family resemblance is quite striking. "My son," she sings, "you have returned to us." Emotions spread from her like a perfume. She is delighted, relieved, but also concerned for the future. I had never seen such happiness on Sinead''s jaded traits. They stay unmoving while we sheepishly wait, or rather I do. Khadras and Cadiz do not appear to care much. Eventually, the emotions grow more subdued. Curiosity and amusement replace them as the woman inspects me, her deep amber eyes scintillating softly. "And you must be Ariane. I have heard quite a bit about you. Sinead my dear, why don''t you introduce us?" "Ariane, it is my pleasure to introduce the High Dancer Amaryll of the Wandering Court, my mother. You know Sivaya, of course," he tells me as the elfin lady removes her hood. The last person is a man of noble stature, tall, with gray hair though not through old age. His dark eyes watch us with impassibility. His resemblance to Sinead''s mother would indicate that they are related. "And this is Fanel," Sinead concludes. "My son. Hello, Fanel." "Father." Hmmmmmmmmmm. HMMMMMMM. He looks older than me. This is extremely, extremely awkward. I curtsey to mask my embarrassment. I am entirely uncomfortable with the current development. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Ariane of the Nirari," Fanel says with a warm voice. "Sivaya mentioned your exploits, but she failed to mention your charms." Oh no please do not court me please please please someone let me jump into a lake of piping hot lava argargargargargargarg. He looks like Sinead''s older brother WHY IS EVERYTHING SO AWFUL? "I see you take after your father," I inanely blabber. I wish there was a sun here so I could roast myself to sweet oblivion. The Likaeans chuckle. Amaryll exudes mirth ¡ª at my expense, no doubt. "Right, this is wonderful but could we move to another setting? My warriors need to recover," I say to make it end. Amaryll approves and her mood shifts again to anticipation. "Of course. You must all be exhausted! Come, join our encampment while we prepare the revels." I let Sinead have his moment with his mother, walking behind but at the head of the procession. The streets of the crater city hum with nervous energy, every person discussing the coming celebrations with excitation. Apparently, it has been eons since a troupe of the Wandering Court graced the Seekers with their presence. Makyas enlightens me by whispering into my ear, the experience only mildly disturbing. "There are six large troupes in the Wandering Court. Lady Amaryll''s is one of the most famous. It is said she can dance a sovereign to tears!" Well, she just did. I think. I could not watch. The Wandering Court''s carnival comes in sight soon enough, and their members drag my warriors to tents in order to rest, eat, and pursue some other activities if my ears are not mistaken. I am given an individual tent while Cadiz leaves with Khadras. To my surprise, I fall into slumber almost immediately. I wake up to music and laughter. Although my life is no longer governed by the sun, it appears my mind still requires some measure of rest. When I get out, the party is in full swing. Bands and performers delight the crowds with strange displays, forming clearings in a forest of pavilions. Strange games take place within the covered recesses. Moans of pleasure mix with the music and words in many tongues to form a peculiar cacophony, one that I do not mind much. "Training starts tonight! Or rather, later today," Cadiz says with cold certainty. "Activate your Magna Arqa." I do so, and the purple eye opens on the sky above us. I feel someone''s attention descending upon me. On a small throne in the distance, the obese man inspects me with attention while tearing into some honey-glazed haunch. I ignore him, for now. "What do we do?" "I discussed our next move with the sunny prince while you were lying there, senseless and defenseless. We will regroup in Voidmoore to announce the result of the first trial and prepare for the next. Your rival Revas will be waiting for us, since he was the one who notified Lady Amaryll." "He was?" I asked, surprised. "Yes. Although he intends to kill you, he plans on looking merciful doing it. I would chafe, being underestimated so thoroughly." "We are not being underestimated. He is merely playing several games at once," I correct. Cadiz shrugs, uncaring. "After you are done with the diplomatic waste of time, we will travel to the Court of Blue for training. They have facilities that can help us, and their infiltrators will be of much use to teach you a thing or two. I already have a plan." I groan, but soon we are on our way through yet another portal and back to the gloomy streets of Voidmoore with a rested complement of warriors. The first thing I find is Pookie, the house/ship moored nearby. She squeals when she sees us. I stare under and realize she has apparently given birth to a toolshed. The spheres are quite a wild place. Chapter 192 - 186. Training Montage Titanic pillars of blue stone rise up into a strange fog, one I cannot pierce through with my senses. The ambient magic is so strong it saturates the air with its heady presence, overcoming the scent of crisp mountain air. We come across a group of fae knights in shimmering armor the color of sapphire, their eclectic assortments of weapons dark and wicked. They look so insufferably smug, though it could simply be the pride that comes with completing training. Or simply a Blue Court quirk. I would not know. "How does that work, anyway?" I ask Sivaya. The elfin princess blinks once, then her large orbs focus on me with a peculiar intensity. "The aura memory wave locator?" "No. I do not know what that is. I meant the time dilation." "Oh! Yes, an important piece of technology and the power upon which our safety is built. I could get into the details as they are quite fascinating, but unfortunately you would need to complete around twenty earth years worth of advanced physics education first, and then the Blue Court special forces would have to cull you." "That might be counterproductive." "We are of one mind. Oh! But I can tell you that it relates to mass." "Mass?" I ask, flabbergasted. "This place is much heavier on the outside." Our discussion is interrupted by the man guiding us clearing his throat rather tactlessly. I suppose it is not his first time dealing with the princess'' foibles. Sinead frowns. "Please, Ariane, curiosity has killed enough cats." "Alright," I concede, grumbling. The Blue Court mastery of the passage of time fascinates me, despite the nature of my current situation. When I have more time, I would be interested in learning how this all works. In any case, they have certainly put it to good use. An open door to the side shows a room filled with training equipment, most of it showing signs of intense use. Servants carry the most damaged parts out, including an animated training golem so pockmarked it looks carved by a patient crafter. The Blue Court forces might be few in number, but their training is as perfect as they can make it thanks to their peculiar training facilities, when one might spend a decade practicing under the guidance of a master while only a year passes outside. The time difference between here and earth must be truly staggering. "A great opportunity, Ariane. It will take more than a few months to develop your true potential," Cadiz adds. Of course he would. "How delightful," I grumble. "I will have no complaints from you, young lady, you have spent far too many years thinking yourself a master of the art of war. I just mean for you to stop pretending." He frowns. "I do not understand. You have the opportunity to approach perfection yourself thanks to my assistance, which I will provide freely and to the utmost of my abilities. Some would kill for the privilege. You do not strike me as someone who appreciates mediocrity in yourself or others, yet you resist me." I sigh, as I realize he misunderstands the source of my reticence. "I know your guidance will push me to greatness, just as I have no doubt that you will put me through hell." "That is correct." "It concerns me because you are a maniac. Put it that way. I am looking forward to the destination, but certainly not to the journey." "I will make it as exciting as I can." "Oh, joy." "Here we are," the majordomo guiding us says. I cannot tell the difference between this room and any other, but it will suit our purposes. The training center has separate spaces for each team, and common areas where one may engage in friendly competitions and social activities between two sessions. Sear?h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "His Highness Prince Sinead has requested a master of tactics, who will arrive shortly. Is there anything the lady would like as well? We were not informed of her preference. Would you like to try a training golem?" I detect a hint of condescension in the man''s voice, the sort of fatherly concern one has for a lost child who seems out of their depth. Cadiz misses the cue, of course. "It would provide for a wider variety of styles to measure herself against." "Well, how strong is the lady? We have several models." "I saw her fight toe to toe with a Duke of Winter." Shock filters through the unctuous expression. "... on his own land," Cadiz finishes, unperturbed. The majordomo gives the appearance of consideration, but I already know the answer. "I fear we have nothing quite fitting. A pity. Some of our blademasters might be interested, however." Cadiz gives him a predatory smile, and I suddenly feel empathy for the first poor sods who will answer the call. "We would love visitors, yes. Polearms wielders are especially welcome." The majordomo leaves us. Sivaya and her fiance walk to the side to discuss the dragon hunt with a dour Khadras, but I will not be joining them. Cadiz drags me directly to the arena. "We will be working on several aspects. First, your technique, second, your Magna Arqa, and third, your battle experience. All of those must be mastered by the time we return to earth, or it will all be for nothing. Are you ready?" "As ready as can be." "Then let us begin." *** All of the dragon hunters commit to the training with their full attention. The cycle of night and day is represented by a dimming of the light, and I understand why teams leave the space every month or so. The absence of sky will prove taxing, eventually. For now, I am too busy to contemplate a break. A tall warrior who possesses the timeless air I associate with old fae briefly examines Sinead''s strategy so far and qualifies it as ''decent in an amateurish sort of way'', then Cadiz and I fully isolate ourselves so we can focus on bringing my abilities up to speed. To my surprise, Cadiz does not simply drown me under obscure and preposterous exercises. Instead, we go over each and every tool in my repertoire from my illusion spells including the combat-oriented mirage, to the few offensive ones I have. Cadiz tests their limits, their range, their use¡­ nothing escapes his patient scrutiny. He deducts that I have been using them wrong, of course. "You fight like a woman wielding a bundle of sticks, using each one without rhyme nor reason. Your tools must be forged into a single blade, each component indistinguishable from the other to form a harmonious whole." "You were quite clear the last time you informed me of this." "First of all, have you considered casting Promethean behind you?" he replies, ignoring me. "What do you mean?" I ask, surprised. "If you move your arm forward, the foe will expect a directional offensive spell, while if the chains surge from behind you in multiple directions, they will take a moment to estimate their trajectories. You can alter those, can you not?" "Well, yes?" "Since you can dispel them whenever you wish, there is no reason not to make them more unpredictable." And so on, and so forth. The court provides a wand in lieu of my firearms. It lacks the kick, but will suffice for training. The more time-consuming test comes with the Magna Arqa. The room is far from large enough to test its limits, even though it is larger than most of the Boston fortress. We still learn that my control works equally well anywhere throughout the sphere when I am not actually fighting. When I am, my focus narrows to the space I occupy. In other words, I am not smart enough to use my own power to its full potential. "I believe your assessment is wrong," Cadiz assures me. "How so?" "Magna Arqa is the purest expression of one''s own essence. You cannot possibly wield a blade that cannot be wielded at all. You mentioned the power resembled your mental defenses?" "Yes." "Do you have any issues controlling those?" I freeze in my tracks. "No." "Then perhaps a similar approach would allow you to move the roots around more effectively, perhaps relying more on your instincts. Less conscious actions, more flow. We will try this method." It does not take long for me to grow more enthusiastic, especially when the time comes to let the statues out. Just like Cadiz had surmised, they can function independently if I do not focus on them too hard, instead letting the legacy of their makers move them as needed. I force back a sob when Dalton''s statue gives Cadiz the old double tap, shooting him once, then another time with a concealed pistol just when the old monster thought himself safe. Of course, Cadiz is far too fast and canny to get caught so easily, but the old tactic reminds me of my lost vassal. The second aspect of the first, exploratory part of our training concerns range and positioning. Cadiz takes great care to test each of my weapons at different distances, including the wand. We also do some light spars, during which I am only allowed to use Rose. After long sessions of practice and an entire day spent only making notes, Cadiz finally comes with a schedule. We also find out the definitive date of the dragon hunt. It will be six months from now, relatively speaking, and will take place on an isolated sphere considered neutral territory. It is when Cadiz shares his plan with me that I realize the implication of a strong time dilation. "Five years? We will stay here for five years?" "We will not. You will leave this place several times to relax and hunt. Sometimes, we must take a step back to realize we have been hitting our heads against a wall." He stops to consider. "Did that metaphor work?" "I think so." Stolen story; please report. "Then I have made progress. Excellent. In any case, this is a unique opportunity for us to work in relative peace, so be sure not to squander it." "The Court of Blue should have the best fighters with such a tool at their disposal." "Ariane, first, they do have some of the best fighters, and secondly, the limit is set by the availability of mentors. You can spend a century bashing a target with a saber and you will get better at it, but that will not make you a good fencer. You need to perfect your technique in the crucible of adversity or you will never know its worth. The Court of Blue simply lacks a sufficient number of good teachers." He pauses for a moment. "I know you do not mean it as an insult, so I will not take umbrage from your ignorance. I have been known as one of the best sword trainers in history, and I sincerely doubt someone else replaced me. Do you know any Cadiz lords?" "Hmmm Lord Suarez and Lord Ceron." "I taught Suarez all he knows. Does he still stick to that one strike philosophy of his?" "If you are referring to his Magna Arqa¡­" "The boy has always relied on it too much. I hope he worked on his timing as well. As for Ceron, I am glad to hear he made it to lord. He was always more politically minded than was wise." "You are getting sidetracked." "Oh, my impatient pupil. You seem eager to resume training and I believe I made my point, so let us continue." With the tests finished, we begin in earnest. Half of the time is spent working on technique and technique alone, first with Rose and then by progressively adding back more of my tools. He shows prodigious amounts of insight. "Considering your soul blade primarily as a trick sword is a grave mistake. You have a whipsword, one that can and should extend and retract as often as feasible to keep the enemy on their toes. Any thrust can potentially end in their eyes. As for the fully extended blade, its tip can move at speeds that will cause it to crack, like a whip. You must use this as a constant threat to those who would try to keep their distance. We will be working on proper footwork as well." During our early spars, Cadiz slows down and intentionally makes mistakes to help me improve, and I do believe it works. His style reminds me of Octave''s, the Knight blademaster. None of his movements are wasted and it mostly feels like he can read my mind and anticipate my actions before I do them. The reality is different. "At any point of a duel, only a limited number of the actions you can perform will not result in your immediate demise. You have relied on your intuition and I salute your efforts, but you must also understand your enemies the old-fashioned way. A duel between experienced vampire warriors ends when one successfully overwhelms the other, placing them in a position where one can inflict an unavoidable blow. The task is difficult. You must corner them first. We will be working on longer sequences." Cadiz'' brilliance does not simply reside in his own skill, he is also able to identify my flaws and provide inspired advice. "Your unpredictability is a gift against dogmatic combatants, but you must narrow your focus until all of the actions you take ¡ª unexpected as they may be ¡ª place you in a more advantageous situation. In other words, you must surprise rather than merely confuse. An expected move that results in nothing is merely wasted." His advice is good and pushes me to cut useless flurries. He also insists on faster casting of my spells, focusing on only a few I would reach full mastery of rather than a wide selection. Night by night, I grow sharper and more relentless. If I have to fall back, I do so while casting Promethean from unpredictable directions, the chains'' trajectory more difficult to read. I shoot from the wand as part of an attack rather than between two exchanges. A short conversation with a Blue Court duelist leads to an interesting description of my style. "Frustrating and relentless. You gave me no opportunity to develop my own technique. I did not get to fight properly." "This is exactly as it should be," Cadiz notes with a pleased expression. And I hope so, because for all my efforts, I have yet to land a single blow on him when he fights properly. Even on the rare occasion Sinead joins me against him for his own development, it feels like fighting against two rather than one, so competent Cadiz is at taking advantage of our lack of coordination. "We will study group fighting later. You are still far from that stage," he tells me. The second half of our time is entirely dedicated to Magna Arqa training. His first action leads me to believe that we will have a more relaxed time when he sits down and places a hastily carved chess set between the two of us. "We are going to be playing chess, mostly because I am terrible at it." "Well¡­ so am I," I admit. "You will be acting as the host for this event," he finishes. My confusion lasts until a contingent of Blue Court archers walk into the large arena, smirking in anticipation. They nock arrows and wait. Cadiz glares at me. "Of course, if anything were to happen to me, I would deem you responsible. You will only use your Magna Arqa." He pulls a stick with a comical wooden hand carved at the end. "And if you lose the game or break any rules, I will slap you with this." "Surely, you are jesting." "No." I thought the first game would be easy when I create a thorn cocoon around the two of us. Unfortunately, Cadiz puts an immediate stop to it. "I cannot see." "Excuse me?" "I cannot see. I need light to see the pieces." "You do not," I sputter, but he merely crosses his arms, and I know I will have to relent. I am training, not engaging in a contest of wit that benefits no one. We play and I lose the first round to an arrow taking out my king, cleaving the piece in half. "Checkmate," Cadiz says, Then he slaps me with the hand. I even tried to dodge. "Again." The issue is, of course, that I cannot detect the arrows once they are in flight. Those are Blue Court warrior archers and even lords would have trouble intercepting the projectiles without warning. I am forced to follow the squad. It soon becomes clear that I am incapable of stopping them, but in order to keep the game going, they perform aggravating tricks like clipping my fingers or cutting holes in my training tunic without making me bleed. I somehow offset this by attacking them in return, preventing them from shooting me too easily. Snapping branches or roots grown under their feet yield some results, but never enough to finish a game in peace. "Have you considered using thinner roots? Could you do that?" Cadix asks once. "Well¡­ I suppose? Only, thinner roots would get destroyed instantly." "You need them to hamper your opponent, not hurt them or block them, at least not realistically. I believe speed would be preferable to impact." I admit he is right and get better results by harassing my foes, and then even more by letting the statues run amok. Unfortunately, it is still far from being enough. Either I focus on the game and get shot in the nails, or I do not, and I get slapped for moving a pawn in diagonal. I do make some progress in terms of flexibility, but we are still extremely far from turning my Magna Arqa into the hell of thorns that will stop Nirari. So far, it can only dispatch weaker opponents en masse, and I have no need for that. Worse, I can either control the roots or the statues to great effect, but not both at once. On this specific aspect, we find ourselves at an impasse. In order to keep my spirits up, Cadiz recruits the help of one master Yura, spear instructor. He is one tough nut to crack, but I manage to defeat him in most of our engagements, relying on my superior abilities and what I can get from my Magna Arqa. "You two are pathetic board game players, but you sure know how to fight," he remarks. "You should play while being shot at." "Not only could I do that, but I could beat both of you at once and within twenty movements." I grumble and admit he might be correct. Unfortunately, my attempts at revenge fall short when I am tasked with defeating him without the Magna Arqa. For some reason, he can read through my mirage even though he has no ability to pierce through the illusion. "Instincts. I have fought and survived through a hundred battles, young wanderer. When you get to be as old as me, death and danger become old companions. I can tell when they are coming." Ugh, why is it always old monsters all the time. At least, downtime provides some amusing distractions, including games of luck and agility with the other trainees. After what felt like three months of this, we move out for the first time. "You need a distraction," Cadiz assures. "And so do I." We leave the training world through a series of secluded corridors, the walls humming with unknown power, or at least unknown to me as the Court of Blue keeps its secret well-guarded. The passage leads out onto a square overlooking the wind-swept glades of the sphere, far below us, while the rarefied air of the aerie buffets our faces for the first time in what feels like an eternity. After so long, the crisp wind wakes me up, while the pure light feels strangely neutral rather than daunting. Nevertheless, I would have preferred the night. The Blue Court has chosen a tall, narrow mountain as its home base, and most of its members live there, in troglodyte dwellings carved into the very rock. A chandelier above us has fully merged with a large stalactite, lending the decoration a natural appearance. I hope magic was involved in its creation, because I dare not contemplate the time it would have taken to complete this project otherwise. "Enjoy your vacation," Cadiz says, then he leaves with Yura. Sinead takes his leave to find Sivaya as well while Khadras departs without a word. We have both been extremely focused, with little chances to communicate beyond training-related matters. I thought we might have gotten closer at the end of the winter expedition, yet there remains a barrier I have set and am unwilling and unable to take down. Sinead has so far respected my desire for distance, and a treacherous part of me wishes he hadn''t. I still miss the boisterous, scandalous rake. I also realize that he will not feel free to flirt and be his witty self so long as I harbor a deep distrust of him. The ambivalence of those feelings upsets me even more because they are unusual in my kind. My emotional world tends to be simple and well-defined, none of that half lover half person I wish to eat sort of confusion. What a dreadful sort of affair. "Are your thoughts clouded?" I caught the scent of Amaryll before she arrived, meaning she allowed me to do so. The dangerously attractive Likaean stops by my side, her gaze following the contours of distant peaks. I feel her emotions clearly: anticipation, joy, and a sort of amusement that comes with young and refreshing things. She was clearly looking for me. "Would you mind a little company?" "No," I reply, realizing that nothing will be gained by dwelling on ''Prince Sunny''. Perhaps sensing my turmoil, she links with me and guides me, arm in arm, to a nearby balcony. This section of the mountain holds many parks and restaurants, the mood enhanced by musicians and works of arts. The blue ones seem to prefer sober, streamlined works with a strong abstract bend. I realize that it is carefully designed to induce relaxation. Amaryll''s amusement bubbles to the surface, betraying a curious amount of giddiness. I look askance, and she explains. "Locking arms is such a strange custom. I like it!" "Oh, I had not realized it was so unusual." "Oh, there are a few courts that favor it. I am merely enjoying the experience. Say, my son mentioned you had difficulties with an aspect of your power. Perhaps you would allow me to help?" I frown and feel anger at Sinead, though I admit it is not entirely rational. Ugh, why am I being so emotional? Is Likaean blood increasing my sensitivity? "Forgive me if I am being intrusive," she continues, transmitting concern, then her concern gets deeper to the point of anguish. It happens very suddenly, and I am left recoiling in shock. She sighs. "My son should not have challenged Revas so soon. His rationale, that it would take the older prince by surprise, is foolish. Revas always expects aggression. All of the council members develop paranoia as a survival trait. He should have waited for his allies. For us. For me. Now, I see him risk his life so soon after he has returned to me. I am afraid of losing him again, just as my heart has not healed from my previous grief. Do you understand?" "I think I do." "I think you do not. He knew it. He took the risk for you." She breathes deeply, shedding the frustration and anger I felt building within her heart. "You have saved him once, and I do not simply mean his life. You have seen what our kin have endured under yours. The burden of duty has a way to change a person, but you have provided what he needed the most: hope. Someone to trust." "And he returned it well," I hiss. "He fell into the usual trap. Old ones think they know better and try to keep flowers in glasshouses. He has wronged you, and I am not here to convince you to forgive him. It is between the two of you. I refuse to intervene in this matter." "You do?" "You are both old enough to handle your differences, one way or another. No, what I want is for you to survive the coming ordeal. And yes, both of you. I will do whatever I can to ensure your success. Right now, it means helping you harness the expression of your alien soul." "You want to help me with my Magna Arqa? You? A Likaean?" "You forget. This strange power of yours relates to concepts, and us old nobility understand concepts like no others can. Tell me of yours, and we will see if we cannot build a story out of it." "The concept behind my Magna Arqa?" "Yes." I stare into her brown eyes, feeling her emitting patient understanding. I do not know how she can live exposing her emotions so freely. It feels incredibly constraining. Do I trust her? More importantly, can I afford not to take her help? My natural distrust, only reinforced by the spheres'' treacherous environment, begrudgingly deserts me. Exposing my weaknesses here to allies of fortune does not matter compared to the daunting task that is Nirari. He is the priority. I cannot afford to hold anything back. "Each of our bloodlines was born with an idea. Mine is conquest." "Most of us fae are content with our spheres, preferring them to others, so it is not a notion I am familiar with. How do you see conquest?" "I defined it when I ascended to what I am now. It is to build something together with the people I appreciate, against all odds. To create my kingdom where we can be ourselves through violence if we must, safe and free to pursue our various goals. I will use the power granted by the Watcher to build it myself, not wait for someone else to deliver it." I feel surprise and pleasure radiate from the strange woman. "How pure and hopeful. I would have never imagined it, considering your taste for blood, but yes, I can see it. I can feel it. You want that little haven very much and you have worked hard to do so. It would be a mistake not to take you for a driven individual. You do want to build and develop and have done so well, but now you must protect those who make up your dream. Since you have a well-defined purpose, how is your Magna Arqa reflecting that?" "What do you mean?" I ask. "An expression of pure essence reflects one''s vision. You can no more escape your nature than we can, despite your strange, alien origin. Understanding how your power reflects your vision will lead you to the improvement you need if you are to succeed, and I am sorry to say, if you wish to survive the dragon hunt." She made sense in a peculiar sort of way. "We have time, still, thanks to our host. Come. Walk with me. Tell me your story." "Are you sure? I am not some hero from your tales." "My son tolerates many flaws in his partners, but tediousness is not one of them. Do share!" And so I do, talking about my story so far, though only in broad strokes. She does not need to know about my personal experiences. She does, however, have me expand upon two things: my allies, and pitched battles. As we walk through vertical gardens loaded with azure flowers, I sometimes feel as if Dalton''s intonations or Jimena''s determined tone just finished ringing in my ears. Sometimes, I can smell the smoke of fires or the acrid scent of spent powder. I can taste blood on my tongue, my own and some of others. I hear echoes of joy and despair, and the longer I go on, the more real my reminiscence grows. I remember facing the herald whose horn I stole, I remember fighting through the streets of Marquette. The story comes alive through Amaryll''s presence, and patterns start to emerge. I gather allies, people from different origins and with different agendas who share common values. Together, we face those who would kill or suppress us. Our differences matter, but not as much as a common goal to live our lives how we see fit. I have indeed been practicing my ethos long before the rise to ladyship crystallized it into words. But then, how is my power related? I think I may know. I have been acting incorrectly. I now believe the statues and roots are not fully mine, or rather, they are, but they are animated by instincts and memories conquered from or granted by those I came across and whose essence I took. The conclusion is surprising, yet it makes sense in a strange way, though it goes against everything I have experienced about vampire powers. I do not need better control. All those successes I have achieved, I could never have achieved them alone. I need to let go, and trust those memories I have collected. Amaryll nods when she sees I have come to a realization. "I hope your epiphany will lead to success, as sometimes, stories are just stories. If it turns out to be the case, I will help you again." Amaryll does not abandon me in the middle of the city. Instead, she guides me towards the handful of gladiators I have elected to keep around and not send back to Voidmoore to take care of Pookie. Oh, and the cartel thing. They are undergoing training as well, but for them it has only been a few weeks instead of our three months, as they have been relegated to lesser training facilities. Makyas is here as well, being his usual facetious self. I spend some time with them playing strange games of luck, then I return to training with renewed passion. My first attempt at changing the Magna Arqa ends catastrophically when one of the roots upends the chessboard. Rather than growing angry, Cadiz encourages me instead. "I see you are attacking the problem from another angle. We will practice with lighter exercises while you find your marks again." As expected, my control over the Magna Arqa collapses completely when I am not trying to direct it. After a few attempts, I do realize that, indeed, if I do not focus on them, the statues move much more naturally, as naturally as they do inside of my mind palace. Progressively, I try to find the sweet spot between order and autonomy. The roots and statues must follow directions, but I cannot be controlling them directly. The task is made excessively hard by the level of ruthless aggression they display when I make no effort. Even the archer squad decides to withdraw at the beginning. Yet despite all those difficulties, I know I am on the right path. Nights blur into weeks, then into months. Under Cadiz'' guidance, I keep progressing at an exhilarating pace. He is truly a great mentor despite his poor social graces. Finally, after one year of effort, I am ready for the next step. "You have dramatically improved. You are a much cleaner fighter than when we first began, and so the time has come to focus on the next step of training: giving you experience fighting a superior opponent. My Magna Arqa is called Blade''s Edge and it is unfortunately a strike type. Nevertheless, it should still help you." "You give names to Magna Arqa?" "Yes, it helps to memorize and understand them. I named yours ''Garden of the Thorn Queen," for example." "Poetic, but I would rather choose myself. Speaking of superior opponents, you never mentioned what Nirari''s Magna Arqa was." "Ah yes. I call it the Last Dawn of Babylon, both a domain and avatar ability. It grants him an aura that empowers him and weakens vampires through light magic. I understand that it grows with every foe he has ever killed." "Wait¡­" "Much like yours, it is an infinitely growing ability, and yes, he has had three thousand years to feed it, and yes, I could not defeat him the last time the two of us met in battle centuries ago." ¡­. what? "I see I should have led with that. I have never seen you so committed!" "It does what?" Chapter 193 - 187: I am ready Cadiz'' Magna Arqa is a strike type. It allows him to conduct a series of fast, powerful, and particularly vicious strikes over a period of several seconds. I find its use redundant since I can barely follow him when he is not trying. It does not stop him from abusing it during our spars. Those are disheartening, both physically and metaphorically. I fail to see the point since even blocking the blade ends up shattering either my wrist or shoulder, something few have ever managed to do. If I block, I am eventually tossed aside like a ragdoll and skewered before I can recover. If I try to counter, he avoids me with ease and defeats me on his next strike. Dodging is impossible at this stage. I still try my best and sometimes, I believe it is my mind he is training more than my technique. Cadiz expects Nirari to overwhelm me, not least because he is my sire and there will always be remnants of fear in my heart. He prepares me for it as best as he can. "Have people given up on your training before?" I ask him one day as I am regrowing fingers. To my surprise, he appears more affected by this than by the colorful language I sometimes aim at him in occasional moments of frustration. French remains a favorite. "I have always done my best to train my followers to the utmost of my abilities, so that we may walk that path together. I hoped that an improved focus would bring more people to my side. That we could for, a family of like-minded people encouraging each other in wholesome emulation. Somehow, it never lasted." "You call what you are doing to me wholesome emulation?" I ask with a laugh. He sulks, or rather, I offended him more than I expected. In fact, he appears genuinely hurt. "You need a special blend to make a master, Cadiz. They must have the arrogance to believe themselves great and the humility to accept they are not the greatest, at least not yet. If I were here for a vague sense of greatness, and not because I wish to grow strong enough to defeat a de facto demigod, I do not know if I could have endured for so long. One can only hit their head against the wall of your invincibility so long before they realize that no amount of effort will bridge that gap." "I am not invincible." "If no one except Nirari can defeat you, for all intents and purposes, you are." "This seems like a¡­ lazy and pessimistic perspective on life." "You are a Progenitor, Cadiz, born with powers most of us will never match. I can only hope to equal you one day because of my bloodline and the presence of a dragon. For many of us, to compare ourselves to you will only lead to disappointment, and this is what your training does day after day, however¡­" "However?" "There will be folks who care about nothing but perfection. You must have met some." "They left." "Then they left to pursue their own path. It is not as sad as you think, and when you return, perhaps they will come see you and share their progress." "Yes¡­ that would be nice." "If it is any comfort, I promise to keep training alongside you. Even if we have defeated Nirari." "Yes. I believe I would enjoy that. And now, I see you have regrown all of your fingers and that we may resume practicing proper parries." It never stops. Due to the potency of fae blood, I only have to feed once every two weeks despite the dramatic energy expenditure. I remember the constant thirst when I was first remade. It drove me insane with its unceasing urgency. When I grew away from fledgeling, I could go a day, then two without feeding. Masters only need to drink once a week if the hunt is good enough. I wonder how long I could last without the constant training and occasional unmangling of my innards. Between the lack of sun and the time between donations from curious warriors, the spheres themselves have acquired an atemporal quality that I am not sure I enjoy. Even the cycle of seasons is canceled in the training world since only weeks have passed outside. To avoid the burden that comes with repetition, we leave the compound to attend various events. In the entertainment area of the Blue Palace, the party never stops. At any point of time, there are several teams coming out after weeks of intense and relentless training, high on aggression and the euphoria that comes with their own progress. The Blue Court are a strange lot and Sivaya is stranger still, set apart from their numbers by her love of magical theory. Blue nobles as a rule share alien, elfin traits, and cruel tendencies in their games and, if I understand the gladiator''s comments, their lovemaking. Their arrogance stems from a deep sense of superiority. They boast a strange grace and devious combat arts backed by magic as all of their warriors cast spells. I have not yet faced one of their squads in battle but Sinead has as part of his own training, and he returned annoyed if victorious. I am not the only one making progress. Indeed, Amaryll has taken her son under her wing and has encouraged him to rely on his dancer''s heritage to develop himself. The flame of his aura has changed, more subtle and biting now, to match his more elegant movements. I beat him in the few spars we share but I can see he has grown even more evasive and he favors devastating, decisive counters. After two years of training, I have merged my style into a harmonious whole, though there is still room for improvement. Interestingly, I have a new spell I can use in combat situations. The old ones find their use, especially the feint spell which shows an illusionary double of me. Promethean becomes a staple due to its significant potential against strong targets. Even Cadiz must be cautious of its many chains. Heartseeker is harder to manage, though it will help me against multiple opponents. Some other spells are more situational. Flay is stopped by armor, so it will be mostly useless against Nirari, but shatter and shred will be of use against the more delicate and magical items he may have. Polar midnight is virtually useless against another vampire, though fae fear it, and humans will as well. My new spell is a variation on the blood bolt. I call it the salvo. The salvo has many flaws. It takes time to cast, requires so much concentration I cannot use feint, and even the most inept caster will feel the magical buildup. Nevertheless, the result is beautiful enough to justify its ridiculous requirement. Salvo launches a powerful scattered barrage of bolts that will demolish all but the most durable of shields, and the projectiles travel fast enough to be difficult to avoid for even limber foes. The first time I use it on Cadiz, he is forced to use his Magna Arqa, or lose. He no longer lets me cast it if there is any risk he will be in the blast radius, and I take this as the compliment and show of respect it is meant to be. During the second year, I perfect my technique and train with various masters invited for the occasion. Once news of our prowess travels, Blue Courts blademasters and even a prince come to see if we do deserve the fuss. I lose against the prince after he uses a tool that cancels magic to take me off guard, following which Cadiz gives him a sound thrashing. The haughty noble and myself are left glaring at each other at the end, drinking mulled wine from cups and throwing snide comments at each other''s reliance on toys and brute force, respectively. I am not quite sure why, but old ones tend to criticize me for using my raw abilities as if centuries of experience were not an unfair advantage as well. Preposterous. In the third year, we start practicing group fighting to see if I can use my Magna Arqa with my allies around. Despite some scraped armor and bruised ego, it works wonderfully. We discover that my allies can somehow direct the thorns, or at least they part to let them through. We also discover that my subconscious enjoys grabbing Sinead''s heel while he jumps, mistakenly smashing a branch in his belly mid lunge and other facetious little things. Silly unconscious mind. Nevertheless, I have made significant progress towards operating with a team. Makyas returns on occasion to practice, usually spending a day inside and a day out, so he only participates on occasion. I cannot blame him. Training of this nature goes against his own trickster instincts, but we do make sure I cannot harm him and he knows what I am capable of. Khadras remains the odd one out. The Seeker commits to the training with as much energy as us, but while Sinead learns tactics and I focus on combat, Khadras does his best to control his crystal powers better, to the point that he can selectively exclude me from its deleterious aura. The level of commitment he is capable of is simply staggering, even to me. "How can you keep working alone, night in, night out?" I ask him as he recovers from his latest attempt, disheveled and almost feverish. Khadras does not speak for a while, but I know he is considering rather than ignoring me from the way his torso faces me, and his eyes wander. John does the same, sometimes. We have time in abundance so I do not press him. "I will be joining you until my mother sees it fit to recall me, most likely after the challenge is brought to its conclusion, and provided I survive. I cannot let my weakness dishonor her, so I will do my best to improve." He looks up, pink eyes hollow and cold. "You can call upon your nature to gain power. So can your strange kin and the Prince of Summer. I will fight with the abilities I was given." A brief pause, then he took a step forward. Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. "I have never operated outside of Seeker squads. Make no mistake, we have been designed to complete our assessment, but that is the issue with a specialized tool. They lack flexibility. I had never realized how constraining this was until I lived by your side." He sighs, and turns away. "This was a mistake. Leave me. I must return to my training." I depart to my side of the training hall without a word. He is clearly suffering, yet at the same time I am not sure how to proceed without endangering the team''s coordination. I would rather leave the emotional aspect to people more patient and subtle than me, such as Amaryll. I would only be interested in Khadras'' state of mind if I intended to eat him. For the taste. I also manage to take down Cadiz for the first time, before he triggers his Magna Arqa. Following a complex sequence of movements culminating into a really good blind feint, I abort a spell he would have dodged and claw his face off instead. The bleeding Progenitor almost cries tears of joy, and his excitement reaches new heights. Unfortunately, so does the difficulty. During the fourth year, we slow down, and I realize that we will not use the time to its maximum. Even the frequent breaks and the entertainment we see no longer suffices to dispel the deep unease that comes with being cloistered for so long. We must escape the confines of this place. I expected Sinead to discuss our options, but he agrees wholeheartedly. "We need training in the appropriate environment anyway, poppet, something even the Court of Blue cannot provide. We will move to another sphere and prepare for the hunt. We know more now. Yura will brief us on the proceedings." "Is Yura our main source for intelligence now?" "I believe you have Cadiz to thank for that, as they have grown quite close over the, ah, years. Time is such a strange concept here. No wonder the Blue Court folks tend to waste mine when we are outside." I find Cadiz'' kinship with Yura interesting considering the old man has never mentioned, or even given any hint he was interested in intimacy. I am pleased that he would find someone to spend time with, however. Soon, we do leave, still having over a week left before the hunt gathers. The first priority is a celebration of our progress. The gladiators who have stayed come as well, their eyes bright with pride. Or at least I assume so, given that two of them possess the compound variety and I have never learnt to read those. We move to a secluded villa in the entertainment district prepared by Sivaya, and gather around a central table in an open garden under the light of the local stars. Lanterns cast light over dishes and drinks, all strange and designed to accommodate a variety of tastes and, I assume, digestive systems. It was wise of Sinead to organize this celebration. I come to this conclusion naturally when I inspect the guests. We have met several times during training, however the gladiators have not enjoyed the benefits of time dilation and a chasm has formed between us. We always were a diverse group. Now, we need some measure of unity. I realize I should have done it, then dismiss my regrets immediately. Sinead has taken the lead on this plan, and I rightly prioritized combat prowess. One cannot achieve everything at once. Let Prince Sunny carry the weight of leadership; for once it does not involve drinking, seducing, and a heist. At least, I think so. "Ladies, gentlemen, other beings of indeterminate gender¡­" "I''m a man," Nol protests, his fly head bobbing over thin shoulders. Dancer signs he is male as well. I notice he has armor over the black chitin of his skin. It gives him a more statuesque and less horrifying appearance. Unlike Nol, who wears a doublet, and looks like the tarot card of a baron of hell. "Very well then. Let me all congratulate you on the successful end of your training. Now, we know that perfection cannot be attained, and especially not in such a short amount of time, yet I am still proud of each and everyone of us, for we are much closer to this unattainable goal than when we began. I want to thank each and everyone of you here for helping me survive and perhaps even reach the hallowed heights of the Summer Council. It could have started better," he concedes with a smile, and we chuckle. "But we made allies along the way, and nothing is done until the last trial is concluded. Now, you have come here with different expectations and for different reasons. I acknowledge that, and I say, this is fine. My brother demands full obedience from a contingent of loyal court retainers. This is not my path. It cannot be my path. My mother wanders the spheres dancing stories alive. I have myself walked many spheres, made friends and enemies among them. This is the vision of summer I wish to embrace, the same you are seeing around you. Friends gathered in banquet in the cool evening air, travelers from far away gathered for a celebration. The taste of sweet wine on our tongue. To me, summer does not need to be pavilions and horns and the arrogance of superiority. We all carry a piece of summer within us, even those who prefer the cold, for do they not also seek warmth? Hah, I have spoken enough. Rejoice. Be merry! Take pride in each other''s company and your own efforts. Tomorrow is another day, but tonight, we celebrate the moment. Cheers!" "Cheers," we reply. Feeling in a good mood, I find color sticks and enough papers to draw the likeness of all guests while Syma the red takes out a flute, playing a happy aria. Her four hands dance on the wood. I manage to make Nol more alien than repellant, and he clutches the drawing to his chest with emotion. Even Khadras folds the paper with reverence after I am done. "You are certainly proficient at causing emotions where there should be none, Ariane of the Nirari," he begrudgingly admits. "I am not sure I like it." "Do you regret feeling more?" I ask, curious. "No," he confesses after a pause. "I just wonder why it had to be longing." "I am sorry for you, Khadras. I hope you find a way to experience other emotions as we do. If it is any comfort, you have the eternity to do so." "Not if my mother summons me back." "Perhaps she will not," I retort, though my idea is not founded on any evidence. "Perhaps you have a chance to forge your own way." "What we sacrificed can never be ours again." "I lost my human life and all that it entailed, but I built myself another one and have come to love it even more. I do not know what your future entails, I only know it should be yours if you manage to seize it." "Perhaps you are right," he agrees after a pause. "Perhaps you are full of wind and images like the others. I suppose it is up to me to find out." "For what it''s worth, good luck." I return to drawing and manage a good impression of Amaryll''s smile, though I discover she is too complex to draw in her entirety. She loves the illustration and thanks me warmly. "You might go far. Here, have my pen," she says, and hands me a gold and ash-colored one. I use it to draw, finding that it gives off the color I want without prompt. Those Likaeans have all the best gear. After some time, the party expands when the Blue Court archers and a few trainers join us. We play more games of address, with Makyas winning a majority of them. I find that I enjoy my time with others despite our differences. We spend another week training in forests then the time comes for the hunt proper. In a cycle the length of which only scholars can predict with any degree of accuracy, the time comes for the oldest of dragons, simply called the Old One, to return to roost. During that time, he will be ritually hunted and slain, only to be reborn later and resume his migration over the skies of many worlds. The hunt itself is a deeply traditional exercise with no specific gains beyond bragging rights, though they have their importance around here. Nevertheless, the dragon does not really die at the end, merely going into slumber, and the winners return to their occupation, if there are any. Indeed, it appears the last few cycles have had no success. "The Old One expects brilliance from prospective hunters. It is not enough to reach him. You must impress him as well," Amaryll explains. "But first, you must beat others to his lair. Since the latest hunts have failed, he has not moved location. We can use our knowledge of past attempts to plan for this one. Your training in the past week serves this purpose." I listen with rapt attention, and we get to planning. The portal opens on a vast field crowded with tents and pavillions, some as tall as buildings. Music fills the air while the scent of food and perfume saturate my nostrils. Colorful pennants, flags, and clothes provide a clashing foreground to the sober green of the forest and the gray of distant mountains. Our group is one of the last to arrive, and we move to the edge of the encampment. From there, I can see the edge of the nearby forest. Those are old trees with ancient, gnarled trunks. The shadows feel deeper under their boughs. I can see the distant glint of fangs and webs hanging from a branch, moving in the wind like an ethereal shroud. The forest denizens are none too happy about the fae''s return. I am happy about the fae''s return. We can EAT THEM. No, bad Ari. Remember the plan. No eating my allies, even though they smell so very delectable. We set up quickly, using enchanted gear that mostly deploys itself and that I would drown a convent to keep with me back on earth. No sooner have we gathered that a fanfare trumpets towards us, even as some of our own tents are yet to rise. The Likaeans near us clear the way before a large procession of warriors led by a familiar figure in golden armor, his fieryfirey beard glittering under the sun. He has elected to keep his sun-gorged mail, but adopted a green tabard over it, quite likely for aesthetic reasons rather than for any desire for stealth. His second is here as well, wearing black scale like last time. Her infernal red hair and red skin clash with the pastoral background in an interesting way. I know from her smile that she anticipates killing me with relish. I look forward to her attempt, though I do not look forward to wasting the sweet nectar of her essence as it leaves her broken, lifeless corpse because I must stick to the plan. Ugh. "My brother," Revas greets with a glorious smile, arms spread in a gesture of all-encompassing affection. "It delights me to see you today. I hope you had a pleasant time preparing. Did you find your mother without delay?" "I did, brother. Thank you for finding her." "Of course, of course, think nothing of it," Revas generously allows. "I expect you at your best. No matter what, our respective performances will reflect on the glory of our court, because we hunt for summer¡­" "And summer is the season of war," they finish at the same time. The two princes exchange pleasantries and compliments with the utmost certitude that one will kill the other before the year is done ¡ª for a certain definition of year. Meanwhile, their followers stand around with solemn attention. Including me. Although I merely pretend to pay attention to their exchange, blah blah blah, platitudes. Worthless chatter. We should HUNT ALREADY. Revas'' followers are all summer court nobles dressed in hunting leathers with enough similarities to pass as uniforms. Meanwhile, we are the motley crew. I complain in my heart that I always tend to end up on the side of the underdog, only to remember that I have been working for the vampire government for the past forty years. Perhaps it is just a matter of who, rather than what. Sinead certainly feels less pompous and false than his blood relation. In any case, the difference could not be clearer, an impression reinforced by the fact Revas intentionally came while our camp was still in disarray, yet late enough that the interrupted setup could be mistaken for slovenliness. The absolute cur. In a way, I admire the Likaeans for their elaborate pettiness. Even Revas'' apparent generosity serves to reinforce his aura while distracting Sinead with apparent kindness. Every gesture they make serves several purposes in an elaborate dance. Revas'' kindness does not just destabilize, it promotes a certain personality among his peers, and being memorable improves his standing in the order of succession. Similarly, the training collaboration with Sivaya shows Sinead''s powerful yet diverse backing. So many games with unspoken rules. I would feel right at home if I were not missing so much context. Finally, the scrumptious ones separate and the more obnoxious of two princes returns to whatever fancy quarters he picked for himself, perhaps a pyramid to fit his ego. We are left with little to do, so I join Cadiz in practicing breathing exercises. Our meditation is short-lived, however. At midday, a deep thrum shakes the air around us. "It has started." The entire camp holds still as the sky seems to split open, night and stars popping through the aperture of some impossibly wide portal. A wave of magic washes over us until it feels I could summon winter with a word, and Sinead could do the same. I take a deep breath and gather inexplicable scents I do not know how to qualify, then night falls. Or rather, there is an eclipse. A vast silhouette covers the sun from us, casting a deep shadow over the entire glade. For a moment, my mind struggles to reconcile what I see with the limits of what I believe possible. A triangular head appears first, titanic horns like old oaks jutting out from its side over a jaw that could smash a fortress gate open, then a sinuous body covered in bronze scales, four limbs with talons like spires. Heat radiates from the colossal form. He turns the air around into a kaleidoscope of twisting volutes where other shapes come to dance like fading dreams. Its armored body melts into the heavens until I cannot tell where the sphere ends and He begins. Then, after I have given up on comprehending the dragon, he spreads his wings, and night truly falls. He is impossibly massive. He has no right to be flying. Watcher save me, he has no right to be moving at all. I have taken strolls on smaller hillocks. The dragon flaps his wings and the pennants and flag shudder from the tempestuous blast, expanding outward from the camp''s circle. Dust fills my nostrils. The dragon roars, and I can hear nothing else, and do not believe I will experience another sound ever again. And then it flies away. It takes me a long, long moment to come back to my senses, and an even longer moment before the majesty of the beast disappears enough, and I realize he made me completely forget I was even Thirsty. It is a feat that nothing had managed until now. "We¡­ are supposed to hunt this?" I ask, aghast. "Now you understand why the hunt is ritualized," Sinead comments with an amused grin. "Shall we get ourt mounts?" I look again at the titanic being even now circling among the clouds. It is the most majestic creature I have even laid my eyes on. S§×ar?h the N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. I am going to bite it. Chapter 194 - 188: Ritualized slaughter "It appears we put up our tents for nothing," I remark to Sinead. "Of course not, we need them for our victorious return," he replies amicably. "Shall we get the horses?" The dragon flies far above our head, a distant shadow on the background of white fluffy cloud. He is impossible to ignore. The weight of his aura weighs upon my shoulders even when I do not look. He will complete a full circle before picking one of the distant, lone mountains as a lair. The HUNT will start at the moment he completes his revolution. I hope he does so before the Thirst overtakes me. We will need mounts to keep up. Fortunately, I already have one. Our group leaves the tents for a large stable by the portal. We do not need to worry yet. The rules of the hunt prohibit any sort of sabotage before the horns blow, so my companions take their time to get acquainted with their mounts. Those are Wandering Court stallions and mares, with vaporous gray coats that sometimes puff up like smoke. They work together well, and depend on each other more than they depend on riders, which will work well, because Khadras and the gladiators have little riding experience. As for me, I do not need anyone to carry me but her, and so I make my way to the dark edges of the wood and whistle. The compound eyes glaring at us from below the boughs skitter away while the undergrowth turns dark and gnarly. Light fades a little. Tendrils of fog snake out from between centennial bark coated with lichen. "You could be dramatic¡­ ooooooor," I tease, shaking my bag. Metis prances out, shaking her mane and snorting with good humor. By the Watcher, she is massive around here. And her armor has grown with her. "Yes, yes, I am delighted to see you as well. It has been¡­ a very long time for me." I pat her flank, but a nose bump soon reminds me that the glutton expects her due offerings, and so I fish in my bag for a caramelized ear. This time, it is the ear of a giant bat. They almost look like pig ears. I have no idea where Amaryll found the bats, and I do not wish to ask. Apparently, they do not taste exactly the same from Metis'' confused expression. Nevertheless, the hellion accepts her boon, and I can tell from her searching manners that she is curious as to why I am here, Thirsty as a devil, surrounded with delicate, juicy prey. "We are hunting bigger game, dear. In fact, we are hunting the game to end all game." I point up. She spots the dragon. She inspects me with wide eyes and lets out a low neigh. I feel immensely judged. "We have a plan." A snort. "Trust me, I would not go on a suicidal mission." I still feel judged. "Listen you overgrown pony. This dragon will land in a nearby mountain. I only need you to lead a charge of other horses as we compete with arrogant summer court people. Do you believe you can beat them there?" I ask innocently. Metis neighs furiously, outraged that I could ever doubt her. I am lifted on her saddle with insistent bumps until I sit atop her. I am so far from the ground¡­ It has subjectively been four years and I had forgotten how tall she had become. It almost makes me forget the Thirst. Unaware of my broodings, the proud Nightmare saunters towards the front of the camp where the riders gather. I find Sinead and look around, drinking in the sights. There are several parties and quite a few outriders gathered at the edge of a vast plain, their pennants, flags, and banners flapping in the light wind in a riot of colors and sigils. Armors glint under the sun in every color of the rainbow. I count as many sharp spears as there are puffy vests and outrageous hats. Singers and dancers compete for attention in this tense environment. I watch with interest as a four-armed fae juggles knives and forks while standing on top of a beast, itself standing on the back of another one. Those are the travelers here for entertainment rather than for the hunt itself. They will ride then return after possibly some hunting and most definitely a few trysts on isolated meadows. The true hunters will compete to the end, or they will try to at least. I count five serious parties among the hundreds of riders, as well as a few lone contestants such as this lad riding a giant wolf with a bow as tall as he is. Besides our own rather eclectic party, I see a Spring Court company riding elks, gathered around a couple drinking amorously from the same cup. A gathering of small folks riding dogs follow in a squabbling mass. Another is made of muscular men riding a mechanical contraption not unlike a locomotive. Lastly, Revas'' party gathers in the most harmonious and military whole. His retinue of grim-faced summer warriors ride stallions of identical dun horses while he awaits at the front of the formation, his gauntleted hand clasped around the haft of a massive banner depicting a golden palace with his personal symbol. Just like our own, his banner evokes not just his name but him as well. S§×ar?h the N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The sun reflects on Revas'' perfect, fatherly figure. He gazes in the distance towards the series of peaks we will race to. The foreign sun seems caught in his aura, gathered in a gentle and protective glow. A feeling seeps into my essence, flowing through the cracks because it is not an attack. Looking at him, I feel at peace. He would be kind, and thoughtful, because this is the aura he picked and because Fae become their personae to an extent. Revas has chosen the guise of the father, the same solid dependability I felt in mine. Papa was always there for me, even after I¡­ died. He saw what I had become and did not cast me away. He offered me my first rifle. I frown and glare, just as Revas turns and our eyes meet. The red-skinned devil woman who acts as his second smiles needles at me from the side, now revealed through a step forward. Everything is a game with him. The rules that stop him from acting against Sinead on pain of death until the event starts do not apply to giving me a pleasant feeling, and so he did. I resent the gift for what it truly is. A ploy. It also reveals an important aspect of the contest. While Revas is established to the point of embodying a concept, Sinead is not. He is a liberator and a dancer, but he is not freedom and dance. Amaryll was correct. He rushed into it for my sake. It makes me hate him less, despite the needling thirst. While I brood, Hadramo the muscular metal-shaper finishes his inspection of everyone''s weapons and armor. He has taken to leading the group, with Dancer as a silent second. The mantis-like fighter remains quiet, but he has taken to communicating via gestures since, despite his best efforts to teach us, we have yet to decipher his pheromone messages. Syma the red massages a pair of hands with another pair of hands while Makyas flits about, window-shopping for eyeballs. As for Nol, the fly-faced man sits uncomfortably atop his mount. I believe he will soon ask me if he can fly instead, which I will vehemently deny. Honestly, the gladiators are too weak to make a difference, but they are followers and they matter. Their presence matters. They send a message, and this will, in turn, impact the world. Truly, the fae spheres never cease to confuse. Eventually, the time comes. A powerful roar resonates above our head, low and rumbling like an earthquake. A flap of titanic wings sends dust over the plain and pushes clouds away. I find myself ecstatic that the hunt is ritualized or I would be halfway through the next sphere, thirst or not. Slowly, the flying behemoth tilts towards the mountains where it will pick a lair. We wait with baited breath ¡ª at least some do ¡ª for the signal. The riders slowly move forward to the starting line. The unaligned riders wisely decide to let us go first. There has not been a single hunt without casualties, and this year will be no different. In the tense silence that follows, we all admire the sinuous yet heavy shape of the dragon move away, leathery wings catching the high winds with lazy mastery. Light shines on scales as large as shields, reflected in phantomatic rainbow patterns by the creature''s monstrous aura. Slowly, it edges away like a distant ship of the line. And then, suddenly, the wings ignite. A line of fire expands across their length, red and furious like life and blood. It calls to us like a taunt, and like a chasm under one''s feet. I instinctively lean forward because I cannot stop myself. This message is for us. This message is for me. A taunt. A call to prove myself. All the parties blow their horns at the same time. Through the cacophony and kaleidoscope of banners, we launch ourselves forward. "Go, Metis, go. Let''s catch us a dragon!" Land disappears under us, with Sinead by my side holding his banner. I have not felt this glad of a ride since the Scourge Hive crisis. The rush of hundreds of beating hearts around me pulsing with life only brings it into sharper focus. Hooves pound the earth beneath like the roll of a drum while we ride, ride after the elusive form of the dragon, this omen of a great hunt. Over hills and down valleys we go at breakneck speed, never stopping lest we lose our quarry. Seconds turn into minutes, and minutes into hours while we pursue. When I finally come to from the exquisite rush, I realize that many of the followers have abandoned the attempt, glad for the experience, I suppose. The rest of us have shed them like a comet sheds its tail, only keeping those who intend to see it to its fateful end. Around us, the plain narrows into a series of forests and hillocks. Still, we persist. All is lost if the dragon disappears from our sight. We find the end of the valley soon enough and must pick a path among the many routes moving forward. As planned, Makyas lands on my shoulder. "The truce ends here. Yay! Looking forward to the spiders." "I am not," I reply. "But they have eight eyes! Each!" I give up on this old argument to focus on keeping course. Speed is of the essence. Soon, mountains will mask the dragon from sight for those who are behind, and to lose him from sight is to lose him forever thanks to this world''s strange magic. Sinead leads us down one of the two central paths. We are the first, though Revas is a close second. He picks another path. We race forth, a wall of old trees on either side. I hear a tremendous crash and turn to see the locomotive smash a path through the forest, belching teal and pink smoke. The strong fighter at its top leaves a bloody handprint on his flag and roars. "For vengeance!" The oath resonates powerfully with the world and they soon pick up speed. The front of the locomotive catches on fire which, from the flame, is a design decision. "Are they not riding in the direction of Eldraneth the Ever Brood, second most dangerous creature on this sphere?" I ask. "They are. And good luck to them," the prince hisses between grit teeth. A curious yet courageous way to face the inevitable. Eldraneth is a permanent resident of this sphere, a reclusive spider whose size is rumored to be greater than that of a whale. The fae sometimes lack judgment. A few independent hunters also choose to leave the path, though I suspect they have tools other than sight to track our quarry. We have to have been out of the plain for five minutes before the baying of hounds comes from our right. The dogs party returns, but this time the eyes of the men shine red under the canopies while their hounds display maws not unlike those of deepwater fishes. "Abarri cannibals," Makyas spits from my shoulder. "I recognize their pathetic mewlings. They compete with us for eyes! Kill them all, Ariane!" "Have you considered eating normal food?" "What''s a normal food?" I sigh and watch the hounds circle us then approach. The leader cackles madly from under a filthy cowl stained with gobbets of fresh meat. They stopped for a snack before finding us. I feel insulted. As the first of his riders launch themselves on our flanks, an arrow takes a hound in the throat. The cannibal leader bleats in alarm, but too late. Other arrows come from behind us, skewering his men with unerring accuracy. The smell of hound blood mixes with that, sweeter, of the little man eaters. I taste jealous rage and mindless ferocity in their alien fragrance. I could just TAKE A SNACK AS WELL. No, Ariane, poise and control. I am better than this. The Spring Court riders on their elks join us while the cannibals disperse. Revas paid the hound riders while we bought the Spring Court''s help long before the event started. In fae politics, such maneuvering counts as preliminaries to the real contest. With the danger dispersed, the Spring Court veers away to take potshots at Revas or at least, his lackeys. We have to maintain a constant speed or risk exhausting our horses even more than we will. Any brusque acceleration will tire them considerably. We cannot afford to fight on horseback. Even Metis will be tired before this is all over. Makyas urges us on as he never lets his gaze wander away from the dragon. We pass by the first lone peak on the way without slowing down, then another when night falls. Two moons rise here, and still the trail of fire left in the wake of the dragon lights the path. Makyas acts as our anchor, making sure that no disruption will make us lose our way. Sometimes, his tiny hands grip a lock of my hair when he wavers. I suspect there might be some unknown difficulties involved. This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. It must be well past midnight when the dragon dips. By then, the ecstasy of the ride has long since given way to a feeling of persistent exhaustion in most of my companions. I am untouched so far thanks to my unusual constitution, but I understand now what Khadras said when he claimed this was a test of endurance. We watch him select a destination with agonizing slowness. Until the last moment, he seems to hesitate between two different peaks, but eventually settles for a craggy, steep rock cracked with age. From here, I can see ancient bridges criss-crossing its withered body. With a clear destination, we leave the road and dive into the forest, and into an immediate ambush, which I call with a whistle. Spiders as large as dogs, sometimes even more, jump from moss-covered trunks or up shallow burrows with furious clicks. Metis grunts and pulps the first under a massive hoof. The gladiators form a circle around us and the battle is joined. Syma devastates the assailants with quick, precise jabs of her four sabers while Dancer repulses them with palm strikes that leave his victims bleeding ichor from their mouths. Hadranno uses a heavy hammer to catch jumping foes in the air. Khadras is everywhere, placing critical halberd strikes in the gaps when help is needed. Sinead opens a path with deadly accuracy. As for me, I merely block flying nets with a smidgen of ice magic. I am so Thirsty now, and we are still far. Any energy expenditure would be¡­ unwise. We quickly get out of the trap before reinforcements can come. Those woods belong to the spiders. We have no time to get stuck in. Fortunately, with our destination well in sight, we no longer need a constant vigil and Makyas finally lifts off from my pauldron to grab a passing arachnid head, which I do him the favor of detaching from its previous owner. "I have to recover my strength!" I do not argue. I merely avert my gaze. Sinead slows down now that the risk of attack is higher, and I soon hear a commotion to our right. The call of a horn confirms that a pitched battle is taking place a few hundred paces away. We recognize the Spring Court instruments. I leave it to Sinead to intervene or not. To my mild surprise, he decides to offer assistance. We make for them through difficult terrain. "We should let the horses go," Khadras suggests in his usual cold voice. "They will soon become a hindrance." Most of the gladiators agree since they are not riders to start with. I also dismount, though Metis could handle the treacherous path and web traps. We are a group, for now. I do give her another ear for her excellent service before chasing her off. All the horses disappear back from whence we came. "Let''s go," Sinead declares. We run between ancient bark crusted with mushrooms and webs in the direction of the fracas of battle. Arrows whistle and soon we see the flash of green of moving warriors lost in a sea of chitinous rage. Our group lays into the back of the spider tide with gusto, Nol and Dancer especially vicious. I suppose a fly and a mantis would harbor little love for spiders. Once again, I mostly protect the others from the occasional wave. I dispose of a few larger spiders spitting acid at the fleeting forms of our allies before they can turn too much ground into hungry green puddles. We dive into the fray in a wedge, leaving broken bodies in our wake. There are a few clicks, then a massive tarantula with an exposed brain lets out a high-pitched whine. Immediately, the whine grows in intensity. Then its brain explodes. Khadras lets out a dark chuckle while the spiders retreat in disarray. It matters little. There are tens of thousands of the buggers throughout those forests. Only a fast pace will protect us from being overwhelmed. The Spring Court warriors rally around the towering, antlered figure of their leader. The women with whom he shared a drink of wine places herself into his protective embrace. He appears to have lost one fighter and half of his elks. "My love," she whispers in true Likaean. "You saved me." He smiles gently at her and, for a moment, an emerald light filters from the boughs, casting them in a gentle glow. She raises her hand to his rugged cheek. He catches it with lightning speed, turning the fingers over. She is wearing a ring and, with a flick of his finger, a transparent needle dripping with liquid unsheathes itself from it. "Is this how you killed my brother?" he amorously asks his horrified companion. Her blabbering answer gets cut by a vicious dagger plunged in her chest. He stabs her with hateful spite until she chokes on her blood, her pleadings dying on blood-stained lips. Oh, she smells amazing. What a show. Wait, no, Ariane, you are supposed to be judgemental and we are wasting time. Eventually, a panting noble of Spring turns to Sinead with grateful, if empty eyes. "It was as you said, Your Highness. The debt is repaid. No, my debt is still running." The touching scene is cut short when Syma coughs, her breath labored. I am immediately by her side and removing an antidote from the pouch at my back. By the Watcher, it is so good to be able to wear accessories without them turning instantly into frozen icicles. "Are you hurt? Where were you hit?" I ask as her face turns purple. Spider poison, no doubt. "No¡­ I¡­" I force the concoction between her darkened lips and wait for it to take effect. It does not. "What¡­" I place her gently on the ground but she is choking, and fast. I consider stabbing the base of her trachea to bypass her constricted throat, and rip apart her chest armor. The exposed skin is mottled with black spots. Syma grabs my hand between two of hers and guides it to her neck, where I feel something transparent under my fingers. I remove a practically invisible dart from her skin, the blood-covered tip barely visible to my improved senses. "Better¡­ here¡­ than¡­" She stops, and her arms grow lax. She is dead. Someone just assassinated one of my gladiators. I find myself¡­ rather annoyed. They are duelists, not schemers. The use of poisoned weapon in an assassination is¡­ so very low. Disrespectful of their efforts. I just got her the nice saber too. She liked them. "A Blood Court assassin''s tool," Khadras explains. "The red woman?" I ask, thinking of Revas'' second. "Yes. She is one of the few to escape the control of her senseless court. There are no others near this sphere right now." "I see." I track in my head where Syma was and realize she moved too much. "I can find her," Makyas announces. I look at the tiny flying man. He looks tired yet determined. "I would love to have your help." "We cannot afford to have her pick us off, but we cannot stop. We will move towards the mountain. Makyas can guide you to us." "Agreed," I declare. "Hadrano, can you take her body? I don''t want to leave it here." "Of course." "Then let us go." "We will accompany you to the base of the mountain," the spring noble says. "It is the least I can do." We split, Makyas guiding me. First, he erratically flows around the site of the battle and I sometimes fear he will disappear behind a trunk and be gone forever, but this is not the Nightmare World and he eventually glides back to my shoulder. "Found her. Over here." I have no idea how he managed it, since even I can see no hints she has been around. I decide to release my Magna Arqa and curse the wasted vitality. I cannot afford not to see her coming. "I can feel them," I whisper to him, and he tugs on a lock in response. We arrive in a short clearing, not so much a true opening than a less crowded spot where the lights of the stars can be seen. A large spider lies dead, curled on itself like a contracted hand. One of the lone hunters sits against a stump with a pallid face. He sweats abundantly, and when he looks up, his anger turns to despair. As far as bait goes, this one is rather pathetic. At this stage, I believe I will go mad if I taste even the slightest amount of vitality. So, even though I heartily wish to shred all those ambushers into minced meat with my thorns, I will have to deprive myself of the satisfaction. That is fine. I approach the resigned form of the lone hunters and pretend to believe this is the man who poisoned Syma. I lean forward and grab the short spear on his back, then I give him another antidote. As I suspected, the red woman poisoned him with borrowed spider venom instead of whatever horror she used on my gladiator. He immediately regains some color. "You might as well come out," I announce. The Summer Court fighters shoot me with arrows. I collapse on myself and let them fly over my head, then I am up and running towards the red woman. All those who can attempt to intercept me, but I easily slide under their blows or around their lunges. Those men are competent, but they are nothing compared to what I have faced before. Even their archery pales in comparison to the vicious imagination of Blue Court''s sharpshooters. I move through them without stopping. They are slow and unused to the terrain. They struggle with so many obstacles, I can tell. I make short work of them, stabbing the borrowed spear in the chinks of their armor and through solid chain mail. They scream and they bleed and they are simply too delicious. I need to¡­ no, I must not. The red demoness does something and I block another invisible dart with the haft of the spear. She emerges from the darkness near a lone rock, a black tube held in her armored hands. She raises both hands towards me. A red ball rises between her palms like a twilight sun. We cast our spells at the same time. "Hellish chaser." "Polar Midnight." Our words spoken in Likaean resonate, each in their different way. Mine is winter, hers is a land steeped in fire and endless conflict. They smack into each other. Her spell is more focused, but mine is unyielding. The orb of fire dives into the maw of winter and pierces through, only to find itself slowly digested. It peters out in the endless cold. I smack her head aside with the tip of the spear, digging a furrow through a horned helmet. Five years ago, we might have been a match. No longer. I even dismiss my Magna Arqa to spare my strength since she is so powerless to face me. Her style is perhaps the most similar to my own out of all the foes I ever faced, but while mine has grown sharp and effective, hers still reeks of wasted motions, of sloppy steps. I punish her every step of the way. "Is that it?" I ask, somewhat disappointed. She snarls and dives under a spear jab, full of openings just as she thinks me disarmed. Instead of repositioning the spear, I drop it and punch my claws into her abdomen. They dig into her armor, though the process itself is rather painful on my knuckles. I inspect my talons while she is tossed aside, reeling from the blow. There is blood there, carmine and so very vibrant. Just a little bit of it. Just a smidgen. I casually stab a soldier trying to attack me from behind because I simply cannot take my eyes away from this perfect treasure, this new, unknown scent unlike any court I have sampled yet. Oh, yes, so small and precious, a ruby on the black needle of my claw, shivering in the wind. Its warmth will soon disperse. If I could have it, just a little lick. "HSSSSSSS!" "Shit, we''re leaving!" the woman claims. "YOU ARE GOING NOWHERE." Alas, the morsel takes a bell from her pocket and rings it. Fog emerges from the earth with remarkable speed until I am lost in a cloud of fluffy white, the only clear point a single, armored hand holding a bell. So I strike with the spear and all my might. The broad tip slams into the wrist, shattering it. The severed hand falls on the ground, fingers clenched over the ghost of the bell until it, too disappears. "Damn fae and their stupid toys," I grumble. I turn around to see the archer on his feet, two arrows notched at the same time. He is a tall man with a beard and some spectacular sideburns. I remember he rode a wolf here, though there are no signs of his mount. He seems a bit worried. I realize I reactivated my Magna Arqa during the demoness'' escape. My eyes should be purple and slitted to his perception. Also, I might be drooling a little. From the frustration. It is fine. "You are safe," I assure him, and he amazingly takes my word for it. "It appears I owe you a debt of gratitude, and then a debt of blood." He scowls mightily and takes a deep breath. "The woman killed Juron, my companion." "My condolences." "That is fine, he will be reborn soon." Convenient. "How may I repay my debt?" I remember all those stories about humans lost in faerie land, losing their names and youth and whatnot. Honestly, they merely need to follow three simple principles. Do not be greedy. Do not try to extort them. Most importantly, be capable of hacking them to mince meat. Simple. "You may help us win the hunt," I quickly reply. "That would suffice." "Then let us be away." "Yes, let us be away," Makyas announces as he flies back from the Watcher knows where, mouth bloody and tummy bloated. The three of us race forward to the forest''s end, only chasing off a few skittering denizens on the way. The mountain rises abruptly with a sheer cliff, but there are stairs in the distance. Out of patience, I grab the archer and claw my way on the sheer wall, ignoring the mild panic singing through his veins. I can hear voices above. Soon, we join the stairs again and I find Sinead leading our companions in a desperate climb. "You took yet another stray?" the sunny prince gasps. "You were the first stray I picked up," I remind him. "Nevermind that. Revas is above. Can you delay him?" "I will," I say, and race ahead. The wind blows harsher now that we are much higher. The large body we are climbing will soon end, but it appears linked to the steeper, larger side of a larger peak by a narrow bridge of prodigious length. Revas is currently running across it as we arrive. I do not know if the spheres play a role, or magic does, but sometimes, life has a way of lining up perfectly. Four arrows pierce the far pillars, severing the ropes hanging the bridge. The far end drops immediately. To his credit, Revas turns and races back, displaying unnatural grace in the way he uses the falling wood as support. Our eyes meet as he approaches the halfway. I cut the support on our end. It brings me great joy to watch him plummet to the ground, golden armor shining like a falling star. Sinead finally reaches us, catching a last glimpse of Revas before he disappears in the forest far below. I have no doubt that he survived, alas, but the archer was correct in his choice. I doubt he could have pierced that armor. "Shall we go on?" I ask. "Hush," the prince replies, eyes closed. "Let me mark the memory of this moment in my heart forever. We hear the distant noise of broken branches and of metal smashing on stone. "Beautiful." "We have not won yet. We need to cross and get this over with," I protest, especially because we either find the dragon in the next couple of hours, or someone is getting eaten. "This is my time to shine!" Nol declares. I do not say I could just grow roots across the chasm. Instead, I allow him to fly a rope to the other side, which we cross in turn. Most gladiators just walk on it like performers, which I find pleasing to watch and might paint later. The archer also joins our merry band to see his debt cleared. We keep climbing. Sometimes, I look behind at the trail of various warriors who have joined us on this strange quest. Far below, the rest of the mountain dives into the ground like a blade through flesh. I had not realized it in our mad rush upward, but Likaeans can cross distances in a way few other mortals could. Only a pack of werewolves could have moved faster. Returning home will require some¡­ readjustments. I shake my head and continue up, feeling nervous energy swell in my black heart. This will soon be over. All the major parties are accounted for, and they are always the fastest without exception. Our climb continues in silence. The height of the mountain catches me by surprise. It is so high that the temperature plummets and the howling winds eventually force Makyas to hide in my bag. Around me, those who can breathe suffer despite the occasional stop. We reach a plateau at dawn. Here, dawn is not synonymous with an agonizing and fiery end. Instead, the sky turns pink in the distance and the light of the stars fades. A few of the gladiators sigh with contentment. I understand something is wrong when the deep fog covering the plateau fails to disperse, covering the land in cottonous layers far into the distance and almost to the distant peak. We expected this, however. It is the reason why I have not fed in a while. "The shroud of oblivion, a classic," Khadras replies. "Unfortunately, it would take my mother to disperse something of that magnitude. We will have to do our best." "Is everyone ready?" Sinead asks. Everyone takes a few last swigs of whatever liquid they fancy. We are facing the last hurdle before the dragon proper, if everything goes well. The shroud of oblivion will cast away all those who lack the drive to reach him. Only the most determined heroes get a chance to face magic incarnate. Many hunts end without success. "Good luck, and see you back at the encampment," Sinead tells everyone. We all step in. Holding hands or using any sort of device would be of no use here. The shroud is the dragon''s doing, and he does not tolerate cheaters. I am swallowed by a vaporous tide on my way forward. The hard, creviced stone under my feet turns into something smoother and colder, reminding me of the marble of an ancient castle. My senses are soon dulled, but I do not fight it. Even my Magna Arqa would be of little help since we are in his domain. The first of the whispers come soon. "You are no one. Unimportant." I ignore it. Unfortunately, I cannot rely on Sinead''s inflated ego and unerring sense of self-importance. From the beginning, I was thrown into a merciless world where I was at the bottom of the pyramid. I have spent a lot of time there, finding my own happiness, working on my own rules and developing skills. Even now, Nirari''s power weighs upon my mind. I could not convince myself I am truly important even if I tried, because I do not believe I am. I do, however, achieve important things with people who are important to me. This is what matters. Not glory everlasting or those pompous concepts. "You are not the first, not the last. Not even someone exceptional. You live in the middle, scrabbling in the mud with the rest. You are no one. Unimportant." "I am enough," I reply. The fog takes away my outrage and gnaws at my ambition. It weakens the ties I have with others. "When you die, no one will remember you, no one will carve your name. You will be a footnote in history.." "I made a kingdom for the living, and it is them I care about. Not my own majesty." "In three hundred years, no one will know you even existed." "What do I care about people three centuries after I die? I never met them. They might be twits." "Your sire will kill you." My steps falter and I almost fall on my face. What? What did it just say to me? It felt¡­ important somehow. I struggle to remember. "You will be a stepping stone, the last one. He lets you grow now so he can take you down at the end. You will be a statement. A cautionary tale." I remember that¡­ it matters? I believe it matters. "You could submit to him. Let go. He would treat you well." "Would he? I think you are wrong." "He would, now. You merely have to bend." Something is wrong, however. How can one bend and BITE? How can prey drink blood? And I will drink blood. I must have it. I must have that hunt to its conclusion. "You were never meant to rule his empire." "There is no empire. He rules over ash and bones. I will not let him turn what I have into a tool of senseless conquest." "There will be, when he is done. Submit." Something rebels inside of me, backed by my essence. I have bent in the past because it was necessary, because death would have followed refusal, but this time is over. We are on the cusp of the last great act, and I will no longer surrender. I will face him, I will kill him, and I will DRINK HIM DRY. "I am enough, I know what I want, and I will hunt everything in my path. I will slake my Thirst on your sorry, dessicated ¡ª" My words die on my lips when the fog evaporates, and I gaze into the depth of an amber orb the size of a coffee table. It slowly blinks. Chapter 195 - 189: Dragon Hunt Slowly, my consciousness returns and I realize the eye is, of course, attached to a massive head taller than I am, triangular with a squarish chin area. Armored scales thicker than any plate cover the creature, shining softly in the red light. I also realize that this head is attached to a body so massive and so long I could line eight Pookies to reach the tail and still have room for another Pookie. The retracted wings, when expanded, could blot the sun from half of Marquette. The dragon rests supine in a cavern of epic proportion, its existence an affront to every law of structural integrity. Impressively, space acts in an erratic manner, sometimes blurring the edges of the cavern until I am not sure if it is there, or I am merely looking at the reflection of some distant land. There is no source for the light, of course. The cave''s host has no need for such mundane contraptions. The most striking features are the absolute calm spread by its presence. Merely looking at the dragon from the ground gave me vertigo, as if my senses could not quite grasp him in its entirety despite my experience with the Watcher. Nevertheless, I can gaze upon its tower shield-sized scales and feel nothing except a mild dread, even though being in close proximity should blind me. The Thirst has quieted as well, my instincts silent. Why did I ever think I could hunt this creature? I am fifty thousand years too early. As I recover from the shock, I realize that I am not alone. Two others stand by my sides. Behind us, a long tunnel snakes back outside. I do not remember treading it. I expected Sinead, of course, considering his involvement in the hunt''s result. Khadras is a surprise, however. I assumed the crystal part of his body and mind would not tolerate such meddling, yet here he is, a mighty scowl on his cold traits. We stay here for a moment, quiet as mice while our host inspects us. When he finally speaks, his Likaean is the clearest, most articulated I''ve ever heard. It bears the clarity of a sovereign but none of the barely veiled power. A mellow voice like that of a perfect gentleman emerges from the air. It evokes a quiet spot in a private library, coffee, and a pleasant time. He is so unthreatening that it represents a threat itself. His control is simply baffling. "Well, here we are again. At least someone reached me this time." He snorts and the searing air pushes my hair back, forcing me to blink. A human would have been sent careening into the nearest wall. "Little Carnaciel tells me I should not judge the current generation to the measure of the best but, honestly¡­" I feel terribly belittled. "Very well, I am sleepy. Let us get this ''slaying'' done. You may challenge me and the victor will earn a prize. You may pick whichever game you believe you have a chance with, or violence I suppose. That would make this meeting mercifully short. There. Who goes first?" "I challenge you, Great One," Sinead announces, taking a resolute step forward. The dragon sniffs him, the prince''s golden hair fluttering forward from the short intake. "Are you related to Arathon?" "My grandfather, the founder of the Court of Summer." "Hmph. You are¡­ not his equal. Though I suppose you are still quite young. Speak your challenge then." "I challenge you to a dance." The dragon stays quiet for a brief moment, then Sinead is suddenly standing in the middle of a circle lit by bobbing golden lights far in front of us. The cave has spontaneously grown by fifty yards. "You may begin." The prince closes his eyes and breathes deep. He seems to pull on himself, then his back arches out, his arms spread. He launches himself, and the dance begins. A golden robin flies between branches, barely dodging raptor claws. An eagle screeches out of sight. The robin weaves a complex path that drives him, deeper and deeper, until the sky darkens and the branches turn to gnarly fingers grasping for him. It is silent now, but still the robin flies. It has been fleeing for so long against such a relentless foe that to stop would be madness. The eagle will never stop. The robin is lost. He lands on a mossy root. It is a dark, merciless world, and so the robin plunges in the dust. Dark patches cover his radiant plumage. He is tainted now, dull, but only in appearance. The summer sun has never ceased to burn within his breast. The robin evolves in this world without light, without fire. He outwits predators and gathers allies, including those who could have harmed him. He finds others broken and lost, and he puts him back together until the dark world teems with the fires of emotion, hidden, damaged, but never extinguished. The tarnished gather into a great flock and reveal their true colors. The dark world shimmers with their revealed lights, dizzying in their beauty. The monsters try to extinguish the light but they cannot touch the robin as it flies in a rainbow of color, opening the thick canopy above. In a breathtaking apotheosis, the robin sheds its dark feathers and ascends to be a phoenix. He and the others escape through the opening into an azure sky. Sinead reaches the apex of his ''Jet¨¦'' and lands with a bow. I take a deep breath, amazed by his performance. I knew he had been practicing with Amaryll and other trainers while Cadiz used my chest for a pincushion but I had no idea he could be so inspiring! I want to draw him, so handsome and so free. What a performance! I almost want to grab him back with me so I can open a ballet. Even now, the remnants of emotion make the world blur with riotous colors. Amazing. Well, I do believe he was amazing, but the dragon does not seem impressed. The old one sighs. The circle disappears. We are back at the entrance of the cave. The dragon stretches and stands. It now dwarfs even the largest buildings I have ever seen in New York and Boston by far. His wings spread and the flap, once. I am still standing on a horizontal piece of rock. I have to convince myself of that, because the cave pulled open like an opera curtain to reveal a night sky filled with foreign stars, pink nebulas, and two large moons like antediluvian eyes. The dragon flies through the cold air with increasingly greater speed. His wings ignite. The dragon dances through the air and his motions ignore inertia, gravity, and anything that could possibly constrain the purity of his message. Scales, wings, and claws merge into a mirage of movement. Suddenly, I am no longer watching the dance so much as having an epiphany. A tide of¡­ I am not quite sure what to call it, the closest concept would be ideas or revelations, touch my essence, sharing deep truth about the nature of the soul and the worlds and the relationships therein. I understand that earth will be bound to other spheres, first briefly then for extended periods of time over the eons. I understand that the Watcher sees the world around and through us, and what is unknown to us stays unknown to it, or the fabric of reality might be damaged. I understand that space and time are one. I understand that time itself is a river, no, it is a circle revolving, no, a spiral, no, I am but an ant perceiving an apple slice by slice because I cannot experience it in its entirety. I¡­ I¡­ I am crying. The dance has stopped. The dragon lies before us, and I have fallen to my knees. It was¡­ life-changing. I must focus, try to remember nuggets of the truth revealed to me, but the concepts seep through the sieve of my limited mind. I lack so much background to bind this new knowledge to. I am lost. Eventually, I am left with strands of the tapestries I clutch between jealous fingers, longing for the moment I have lost and will never live again. I have witnessed a gift beyond anything and I am too stupid and limited to appreciate more than a fraction of it. Disgrace. Also, we have lost. Incidentally. The three of us shuffle awkwardly, quite aware that Sinead''s performance does not hold a candle to what we were just offered. Normally, the dragon will recognize great attempts and grant the petitioner a symbolic victory but it appears it will not be the case this time. There are rumors he sometimes kills those who reach him. For the first time since Revas fell, doubts assail me. Our lives depend on the whims of one we cannot possibly influence. "Your next attempt, please," the dragon grumbles. "I challenge you, Great One, to do what I do," Khadras says softly. He looks a bit lost, yet resolute. "Hmph, I know of your fate, child. A mother has no right to sell the soul of her children. Go ahead then." Khadras takes out a dagger and resolutely stabs himself in the eye, the crystal one. He grits his teeth in pain, even though the sharp tip fails to penetrate. Another moment passes, then an unseen force wrenches the dagger from his grip. The enchanted weapon plunges in the dragon eyes with a dreadful squelch, right in the middle of the pupil. Power dense enough to make me reel pushes the dagger out, disintegrating it, enchantment and all. The wound is unmade before it can shed a droplet of blood. Of the weapon, only dust remains. Khadras gulps. "Will then," the prince says. Both Sinead and I turn in horror, but too late. I wince in pain and force the barrier around my mind palace to thicken. The world loses a little bit of color while I take a step back, hurt by the onslaught coming from the prince. He is not even targeting me. His power surprises me, and I assume the moment grants him strength. It is entirely pointless. His might washes over an invisible wall yards away from the dragon''s body like a wave upon a rock. When I was twelve, I challenged my uncle to arm wrestling. He allowed me to struggle for two minutes and even use both hands, then my entire body to try and defeat him. After allowing me to expend myself, he casually put his arm down. I believe this memory to be the only valid comparison to what happens next, the main difference being that Khadras is sent screaming to the ground, a fist over his bleeding quartz orb. Sinead and I approach the fallen to render assistance, but we are pushed away. "Do not interfere," the dragon states, and we pull back. We will not interfere. It must simply be so. I shake my head to push back the dragon''s control but it is already gone, having fulfilled its purpose. At least, Khadras will survive. I am reasonably sure of it. The dragon sighs, a miniature storm we must withstand once more. His gaze turns to me. The world fades away until there is just me and the eye. "And what might you be? A new sphere? Hmmm, not quite yet. Interesting soul. Well, do you wish to try your luck?" he asks. I feel an undercurrent of threat mixed with boredom. I am entirely certain that he will kill us if we fail to convince him we were serious enough. If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. By the Watcher, this is complicated. "We can choose the contest, and try several disciplines, is it not so?" I ask, unsure. "Yes. I will lose patience after the first few hundreds, however, so pick wisely." "Then I choose¡­ a drinking contest!" The two princes watch in horror, especially Khadras who barely recovered from his mishap. I failed to understand how a giant lizard with no facial expression to speak of can convey how unimpressed he is, but the spheres are a strange place anyway. "And I assume I need to provide the drink seeing as you have not a single container on your person, child. Very well, here you go." A volcanic bottle appears out of nowhere on a pedestal that did not exist a moment before. Its cork pops open and pours content in a tiny sifter. A waft of powerful alcohol almost makes me flinch. We vampires with the Hasting essence can consume liquids without ill effect, so I should be entirely fine. I hope. I approach the glass, now filled with fuming, crimson liquid. My eyes water which should not be happening. I grip it with determination and bring its cusp to my lips. The very scent scalds my nostrils. I feel as if someone had scrubbed my lungs with hundred proof alcohol inexplicably holding a touch of flower. By the Watcher. I take a sip. I think, sometimes, that the world throws multiple hints in my direction to inform me an idea of mine is particularly stupid. Unfortunately, it only serves to make me suffer twice since I absolutely cannot back out of the contest. The liquid fire ravages my innards. I must have swallowed lava. I stumble forward and completely lose my balance. "Oooooooawawawa." Oh this is quite nice, in fact. I should not be so worried and oh. Oh no. I collapse and retch bile, then grab my suddenly painful head between two clammy hands. Impossible. Impossible! The dragon upends the bottle in his maw using nothing but the power of his mind since moving one''s limb is apparently too pedestrian. The titanic head splits to reveal fangs as large as support beams. It closes immediately afterwards. "A pleasant surprise, I should demand a few more crates, though it could have been aged a few more millenia. Well, it was a pleasant starter. Next, we raise the stakes with a nice Gordian firebelly rum from the first Blood Court invasion. Unless, of course, you give up." "I apologize but I believe I must withdraw before the next drink sets me on fire." "What a shame." A new bottle appears in the air, this one actually on fire. A rainbow liquid emerges from it and levitates into the creature''s monstrous mouth. The dragon inhales, exhales, and the mere smell of alcohol forces a hand to my mouth. "Too sweet. Well, what is your next attempt, I wonder?" "Hmm. Err. Riddles?" The dragon snorts yet another storm. "You are missing far too much context to appreciate my riddles, but do ask yours and if I fail ¡ª and it is not some ''what is in my pocket'' nonsense ¡ª I shall declare you the victor." "Oh, uh, hmmm. I am worse than the devil, better than¡­ a god, rich folks need me, poor folks have me, and if you eat me, you die. What am I?" The dragon literally plucks the knowledge of god and the devil from my mind and without my consent, with such delicate ease that I feel him doing it and it does not hurt. "Your cosmogony lacks sex, in my opinion. And the answer is nothing." "Aw. I liked that one. Alright. I come from nothing. I have no taste, no smell, no consistency, yet I am more painful than the sharpest dagger, and I have destroyed empires and laid waste to armies. What am I?" "Hmph, even your riddles are born from a void. You are hunger. It fits you, little predator." "Damn. Hmmm, a king has five miners who produce the same amount of gold coins every day, but one of the miners shaves an ounce from each of his coins. The king has a magical scale of devilish precision with a large capacity but only one use. How can he know in one go which of his miners is stealing from him?" "Interesting. I faced a similar situation some time ago. My method was more¡­ definitive. You merely measure one coin of miner one, two coins from miner two, all the way to five against fifteen normal coins. If you are one ounce short, it is miner one, two short, miner two, and so on. An amusing childish guess. It reminds me of different times, when will was not enough to alter the world. Anything else?" I do not think I can beat this ancient wit. I challenged him because I was out of ideas, and also because it felt story-like enough. Unfortunately, it will not be enough. I still decide to give it my best try. "A princess is as old as the prince will be when the princess is twice the age that the prince was when the princess''s age was half the sum of their present ages." That gives the dragon a second of pause, but only a second. "An interesting concept, to muddle a matrix with a deliberately obtuse formulation. It unfortunately limits those tricks to base tongues, but it does give me an idea using the Song of Beginnings and its three versions. Hmmm, yes, I believe I can provide my peers with quite a conundrum. Oh, and your princess is four thirds of the age of your prince, and the prince three fourths of the age of the princess." That is it. I give up. I have nothing more twisted. If only Isaac was here with some Rosenthal puzzle. Alas. "Do you have more?" the dragon asks. "Nothing that would pose a challenge." "What a shame. Well, this meeting was not a complete waste of my time at least. I am still far from being defeated, however." "How about¡­ a painting challenge?" I offer. "And I have to provide the supplies again. Hmph. Fair enough, I suppose. We shall draw each other." "I have a pen," I answer defensively, and so I do. The dragon gives me a canvas and lets me work. I decide to pick the view of his shape far up, just under the clouds, his wings ablaze. I take good care to blur the air around his shape to express just how breathtaking he appeared. While I draw the rest of the sky and the distant mountains with as much realism as possible, the shapes and lines of perspective bends around his form. More than anything, I try to convey how unattainable he seemed, how I felt like a wolf jumping after the moon''s reflection on the surface of a placid lake, thinking they would reach the real thing. I tried to convey the vain hope I felt when I told Metis I would bite him. It is perhaps the smallest subject I have ever drawn since most of the emotion will come from its surroundings. When I pull away from my last adjustments, an unknown period of time has passed, yet the Thirst is still kept at bay. The dragon inspects my work. I can tell from the slight sheen emanating from the colorful bits that I have succeeded, and that the painting would produce an effect on the mind of men, should it be brought back to earth. He keeps silent for quite some time before harrumphing. "Very well. Here is my piece." As before, a canvas appears from the empty air. The dragon then exhales loudly. Bubbles of color escape his maw in a display that would be humorous if he were not so terrifying. They coalesce around the canvas, merging together until the painting is little more than a swirl. Suddenly, the scene appears. *** July. I am eighteen. To celebrate, Papa opened a bottle of rum as old as I was on the porch overlooking the garden. He poured the old liquor in three glasses during lunch, before friends and guests would arrive. Sugar cane syrup and lemon juice joined it to form a murky mix, the vapors strangely powerful. "My daughter, you are an adult now. Soon you will leave the nest." "She could have already," Achille comments in a teasing voice. "Hush you. I wish your mother were here with us but I know, wherever she is, she must be proud and happy. You have both grown into the people we always hoped you would become." "Aw," I say, moved to tears. "Hug!" Achille uncharacteristically says. He was never tactile. They both embrace me, then our glasses meet with a merry chime and we drink. A powerful taste washes over my tongue, softened by the sweet aroma of the syrup. Achille clears his throat. "Oh, yes, that''s an adult drink and no mistake." We all laugh. The noon light shines upon the carmine of mother''s roses. They look exceptional this year. *** Aaaaand I am crying again. I stop my hand from reaching to Achille''s smile, father''s muscular back, and the healthy hale on our sun-kissed skins. They have left this world while only I remain, but on the canvas and in my heart, they still live. "So beautiful." I drink in the moment and they let me. Eventually, I turn my attention to the old one. "I do not have words in Akkad or Likaean that could do this justice. May I keep it?" The dragon frowns and for a moment, I fear the worst, but he relents. "I agree to a swap. I shall keep this rendition of mine, although it is¡­ hmph. You are quite young. I judge it passable." "I appreciate that." "You lose, by the way." "Yes, I did, did I not? Or rather, you won." I grab the painting, which the dragon rolled into a protective case through an effort of will. The process gives me a few seconds to think. Unless the princes have come up with another idea, and from their dejected faces, they have not, the arrogant twerps unused to defeat, then we are at an impasse. I wish we had someone to blame besides us, but we do not. We were so focused on beating the competition to the dragon that we underestimated how difficult it would be to take that last step. In a way, we were right to account for Revas and his tremendous means, we just had the misfortune of meeting the dragon while he was in a bad mood. Now, the fact remains that I have no skill the dragon the dragon is not better at. We simply cannot outperform this old monster. I might as well just¡­ Wait. Hold on. Hmmmm. "Do you have something else or can I go to sleep?" the dragon rumbles. "Yes, I do, in fact, have something else," I reply with the most innocent smile I can muster. This immediately makes them all suspicious, and for good reasons! But I shall take comfort in the fact that, even if it does not work, at least the dragon will pay for what we have been through to reach him. "We are going to sing!" I exclaim. "By all the spheres, no¡­" Sinead breathes, too late. "You want to challenge me to a singing contest?" the dragon asks with naked contempt. "Yes. Opera arias to begin with. We shall operate according to the same rules as the riddle. I shall sing until I give up, or until you find a song you deem worthy! Ready?" The dragon inspects me with suspicion, yet he is just as bound by the rules as we are. "You may begin." "Excellent." As a starter, I sing my favorite aria: Prendi, per me sei libero from L''elisir d''amore by Donizetti. Once I am done, I see that Sinead has stuffed his ear with fabric he tore from his under armor while Khadras slowly blinks, shocked to his core. As for the dragon, he gives no reaction except for an extremely dilated pupil. "No comments? I shall go on then." Thus begins my campaign of death and destruction on classical composition. I slaughter Lucia di Lammermoor, maim La Traviata, defile Rigoletto, and mangle Aida which only just came out. After I am done insulting the Italians, it is Mozart I choose to vandalize. I massacre the Zauberflote, especially the air of the Queen of the Night which I handle particularly atrociously, then it is the turn of Don Giovanni to be violated. Figaro regrets ever getting wedded after I am done with him. I take a small detour by Paris to ravage Berlioz'' ''Les Troyens'', then off to Russia I am to tickle Tchaikovsky. After what must be hours enjoying the increasingly horrified faces of my spectators, I pause to give them a chance to intervene before I go from mild insult to actual torture, and also before I return to Italy to give Rossini what he did not deserve. "I¡­" the dragon starts. He stops for a moment, apparently at a loss for words. "How can this be? I can tell you love music and you are genuinely trying, and I can tell you have practiced. It is almost good, then a wrong note or slight waver ruins the song, and then you improve until I gather hope which you promptly dash again. How, in the name of the spheres, can you be so bad?" "Perhaps I just need more practice," I reply with a smile. "I still have much to sing, and then we can start on the male arias, and then the choirs!" The dragon inhales, no doubt contemplating weeks of uninterrupted musical damnation. "Extraordinary," he finally says after a minute of silence. "I must say I have not been this surprised since Erikel the mad tried to graft dove wings on my nostrils." The dragon sighs a storm again. We all hold our metaphorical breaths, knowing that our fate hangs in the balance. This is it. "Hmph, it is as little Carnaciel says. One can train for a millenium to obtain proficiency, but an eternity is not enough to grow a sense of humor. I may have been¡­ difficult with you lot. You all seem quite young. Oh very well, I applaud your efforts and your creativity. You have impressed me enough that I grant you this victory. Hmph!" I try my best not to exult too visibly, although I have no doubt the dragon can see it well enough. "You may ask for a boon, starting with the strange girl. What is it you desire?" "Dragon blood! I want dragon blood! Some of your blood! Please!" "And you shall have it." The majestic being places a siege-weapon-sized claw against his chest, above the heart, and pulls. Although his scale remains intact, a single droplet of precious liquid levitates above the razor-thin tip. It approaches me. "Open wide." I do so, if only to voice my protest at this casual treatment of the most precious of gifts. Immediately, the droplet lands on my tongue and I ¡ª Ah. *** Three months later, Court of Blue training gardens. Sinead walked the steps leading to the deep undergrowth where Blue Court warriors faced beasts and each other in vicious battles. His sure steps found footing among the treacherous roots, carrying him forward up the winding path. All the while, his mind churned with plans and machinations, for the third and final trial would soon be upon him. He found Cadiz sitting on the stone a distance away. Night birds flew around him as he rested, a hand placed on his essence blade. Cadiz illustrated the blind spots inherent to obsessed blade masters, Sinead thought. They, most of all, had trouble accepting that others would live by different values, or would not pursue excellence in a discipline with maniacal focus. At least the old vampire acknowledged his weakness while others did not. "How is she?" Sinead asked. Cadiz replied with a clipped accent, his Liakean cracking at the seams to reveal the translated Akkad underneath. Not everyone possessed the inherent skill to learn the perfect tongue. "Articulate. She asked for my blood." "Please tell me you did not give it to her!" Sinead hissed. Cadiz shrugged. "It will make no difference at this stage. Besides, she asked me. I cannot refuse one who can beat me so soundly. I have to trigger my Magna Arqa just for a chance to resist her onslaught and she is not even trying seriously. If she asks me for an admission of her superiority, I have to grant it. A Devourer would not tolerate a refusal." "I hope you are right." Sear?h the ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "You should talk to her. I believe she has mostly returned to sobriety." Sinead nodded and moved on. At the end of a path, he found a secluded glade. The girl sat on a root incongruously grown in its midst. The starlight hit her in a way that broke his concentration. Suddenly, all his planning and calculations ceased, because she was here, just as precious and beautiful as the first day he beheld her, though they had both grown in the meanwhile. Her feet were bare since she had started to refuse shoes. A simple linen dress covered her from the shoulders down to her knees. She delicately held a moonchaser hare by the ears. Those were reputedly impossible to catch on account of their ability to phase through solid matter, a boon that had not sufficed to stop his clueless poppet. The hare itself had stopped struggling while she inspected it, poking its fluffy legs on occasion. She turned to him with obvious excitement. "Rabbit," she announced. "Technically, it is a hare, a different species." "RABBIT!" She suddenly seemed moved to tears, beholding her caught prey with all the wonder of a child discovering chocolate. "Rabbiiiiiiiiiiiit," she sobbed. "Yes, I find their fur amazing too, poppet." "Sinead! It is you! Yay! We should make love!" "Not until you are yourself again, my dear." "Aw." "You need to pull yourself together so you can return home, poppet. The others are waiting. You have a world to save." The earth dipped under his feet and it was all he could do to remain standing. Suddenly, Ariane was very close, though she was still sitting on her root, and still holding the hare. He looked up to the summer sky of her eyes. They were frowning mightily. "You are trying to get rid of meeeeee. I can tell. Have you killed Revas yet?" "No. I still have to compete in the last trial, but would you not prefer to return to your land? I do not need you to participate." "Nah, you need me to win! No unfinished business. I hate unfinished business! If I leave and you die I shall be upset forever! It is so." She nodded to herself. "So¡­ you wish to help me triumph?" he asked. "Yus! Triumph! And sex!" "A better program I have never heard." Chapter 196 - 190: Solstice The brightest sun of the spheres nourished the rolling hills, where the royal capital spread amidst quiet glades and ripening fields. Countless statues of white marble and gold filigree recounted the exploits of generations of warriors, scholars, millennia of victories. Banners from every court captured in battle hung from the walls of barracks, loaded with the weight of a glorious tradition. A new statue of a raging minotaurs dying on his knees now adorns the main thoroughfare. It had been cast in the bronze of ten thousand captured blades from the latest war against the court of blood and its endless aggression. There would be more. There were always more. Slowly, summer was expanding, ever victorious, ever confident, ever arrogant. The light never dimmed on the most radiant of spheres. After more than two centuries, Sinead was home. The court''s power waxed ever so slightly as winter''s grasp ended. Sinead could feel it in the wind, the sun beating on polished stone. He could taste it in the warming air. He could hear it in the cheers of the crowd and the songs of distant birds. He knew it in his heart, wanderer that he was. The king''s blood had never truly left him. He sighed and leaned forward, taking in the sights from his high perch above the pit. The Court of Summer had used claw fiends as a test of might for generations. Hopeful princes and princesses, eager to display their might, had challenged those fearsome foes on the crimson sands of the Zenith Arena to prove they were capable fighters in their own right. To demonstrate to everyone they were worthy of commanding a golden legion in glorious combat. Claw fiends shared the resilience of winter and the ferocity of the Court of Blood. They stood on four razor-sharp legs, using two forearms to grab and two claws to mangle. Quite a few candidates earned wounds from the reveal of a hidden, retractable stinger camouflaged in one of the appendices. Their location changed from specimen to specimen. Between their thick armor, range of motion, and terrifying bouts of speed, a claw fiend allowed a gladiator to demonstrate the full range of their talent. A claw fiend fight attracted spectators without fail if only because of the casualty rate. One in ten hopeful royals lost their lives in the arena. Many more were maimed before being rescued. Such was the fate of those too weak to fight, for they were trying to join summer, and summer was the season of war. It made the current situation all the more farcical, Sinead thought. "COME BACK HERE MISTER LOBSTER MAN!" Ariane bellowed with obvious annoyance. Her bare feet danced on the powdery ground, lifting puffs of dust with every flourish. Oh, Sinead had tried to make her wear shoes, but her answer had been as definitive as it had been clear. "Nah. I don''t want to." It was unfortunate that no one short of an assembly of princes could force her to wear anything. Even Cadiz had excused himself from that battle. The genius swordsman had claimed he would not taste the bitterness of defeat for such a worthless cause. And so the vampire wove across the field in a short linen dress, hair free, wielding a giant chef knife as a weapon. Said chef sat in the bleachers, occupying eight seats with his girthy bottom. "You have to expose ze entire muscle, or ze sauce will not be spread evenly," the titanic man helpfully suggested. Ariane ducked under the stinger, used the creature''s blind spot to race along razor-sharp legs, then jumped over a claw backswing. She landed pommel-first on the exposed appendage, cracking the shell and exposing the quivering, pink flesh underneath. Another chitinous plate joined its brethren on the floor. The claw fiend whined piteously. The vampire raced back to the large bottle of dark sauce discarded against the wall and picked it up. She ran back to find that the fiend had once again moved from the position she had left it in, much to her surprise. Ariane''s addled mind had not yet processed that her victim would run rather than having acidic sauce poured over a gaping wound. "Arg! Where are you going?" she demanded, before swearing in the vampire tongue. A joust followed, with the foe trying desperately to shatter the container and the vampire doing her best to pour the precious liquid to finish preparing the beast for consumption. It did not help that, for this attempt, she had forgotten to remove the stopper. Finally, she lost her patience and returned to grab the knife for another peeling session. sea??h th§× N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. It had been going on for quite some time. "No need to panic, fiends stay fresh for half a day," the giant helpfully added. The spectators were now betting on how many cycles it would take to finish the bullied monster. The crowd cheered after the pommel descended on its blue shell, eliciting another ghastly crack. In Sinead''s mind palace, the giant chef finally registered as an entity worthy of his time. The mountain-like man clad in pristine white fabric was a herald of the feast. The dishes he fashioned graced the palates of the king. With a sigh, the prince stood from his seat and took his leave. For now. "Please excuse me, I must greet an old friend," he told the master of ceremony. His richly dressed host showed no reaction, then his keen eyes noticed the prince''s body language. He finally granted him a delayed smile. "But of course. Your time here is precious," the man casually replied. Sinead turned around and walked out of the lodge of honor under a bright sun. Once again, a part of his consciousness registered the message hidden behind honeyed words. The master of ceremony believed Sinead''s point had been made, and that his agent should expedite the combat. Talking with the herald of the feast could satisfy this request as well, if Sinead played it well. He recalled the little he knew. A passion for cuisine, obviously. Trained in the Court of Stone. The prince had been away from the palace for too long, and it was too late anyway. The chef turned a beady eye towards him in a way that showed he expected the visit. Sinead expected it. No amount of skill sufficed here, at the edge of the royal domain. One had to understand politics to survive. Sinead hurried his pace. The arena was growing to accommodate newcomers, the summer citizens here to watch this strange display. New levels rose from the ground to expand the sitting areas. He only slowed down to bow gently. Although a prince technically outranked a chef, there were many princes and princesses, but only one true master of the culinary arts. In any case, Sinead had learned to show respect unless he had a reason to do otherwise. "A good day to you, Herald of the Feast. I hope my friend will not damage your knife through prolonged, poor handling. She is not quite herself," Sinead said amicably. "Oh, Amaryll''s child! Sinead, was it?" said the giant. "Do not be alarmed, this is merely a training knife. You know, I have always entertained the thought of cooking as a spectator sport. I simply did not expect it could be a comedy as well!" "She is full of surprises," Sinead admitted with a grin, then cursed himself immediately as the giant''s massive eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. "I found her display refreshing," the chef replied, then he proved he had not missed the meaning hidden behind Sinead''s use of ''prolonged''. "But I believe I will relish her duel more." He turned his massive chest towards the center and bellowed in a voice like an earthquake. "Can you be a dear and cut the head cleanly? I can use it for a soup." Ariane twisted on herself to give an obvious, unnecessary nod of assent. The fiend did not miss the opportunity presented by an exposed back, and Sinead''s breath caught in his throat. For one fugacious instant, all of his plans, all of his schemes collapsed. The partitions in his mind crashed down, undone by the intensity of his concern. She would be fine. She had to be fine. He went for his blade. A root launched her above the thrust of a poisoned stinger. Gravity stuck her dress to her body, the thin cloth kissing the curve of a thigh, the flat expanse of her stomach up to the twin vales of her breasts. Blonde hair trailed her lovely face like a halo. At the apex of her jump, she was a dancer and a slayer, seamlessly joining both arts. Dainty toes caught another root. She fell with the finality of a guillotine''s blade. The chef knife cleaved through the beast''s neck at a perfectly perpendicular angle. Its blade stuck in the sand. She landed on the pommel with preternatural grace while the fiend''s decapitated body contracted like a clenched fist. Sinead released the death grip on his sword finger by finger. He buried the terrible longing under layer upon layer of masks, drowning the pain born from her rejection. He deserved it, he reminded himself. He deserved it for not trusting her, for betraying that pure affection. He had lost her as surely as if she had died. If he repeated that sentence often enough, perhaps he would eventually believe it. Hope could be so cruel, sometimes. Momentarily stunned by the abrupt end, the crowd nonetheless cheered. They believed Ariane had been fast and decisive to finish the show. Sinead knew she was still merely playing around. He returned to his seat after taking his leave. "I am convinced," the Master of Ceremony said drily. "You can indeed bring her as your third in the duels." "Second," Sinead corrected. The two men glared at each other in silence, each bristling from the other''s understated rebuke. Nevertheless, Sinead could not back down due to their respective roles, and the master knew he had let his impatience get the better of him. It was, after all, a very minor event in the grand scheme of things. Only the first eight heirs shuffling would matter to the court at large. It mattered to Sinead. In fact, it mattered a lot, because he had offered her to leave and she had decided to stay, even as the rush blurred her mind. She still cared for him, deep inside. No, she did not, he had to forget that soon they would be parted for an eternity. He would win this contest no matter what, or his eternity would end today. He would not waste this chance. "Very well. I was told her kind only ruled because of the rigidity of their own sphere, yet it seems they can still perform in a real domain. I believe Prince Revas is ready. Now that the preliminary match is over, I shall start the main event. If you will excuse me, I have a few small matters to attend to before we begin. I am sure you do as well." Sinead nodded. The Master of Ceremony had unsubtly revealed Revas had suggested the contest, possibly in an attempt to distract or handicap them with wounds. His last words suggested there was another trap. Although Sinead appreciated the warning, he knew Revas had already tried to have Khadras recalled at the last minute. Truly, his elder brother did not balk at the lowest of tricks despite his valorous persona. It was a shame for him that the Seeker Sovereign had taken the scheme personally. The prince stood and walked to the gladiators sitting tightly in the rafters in tight ranks around his mother, wife, and son. "It is time," he told them. While his family ritually embraced him to wish him luck, Ariane''s free gladiators kept an eye out. They were an eclectic sort, even decked in a blue and gold uniform to signify their allegiance. They truly represented what it had taken for Sinead to reach this moment where a lost lamb could challenge an established power. The other liberated fae were here as well to offer their tacit blessing, so that the arena showed an extraordinary number of strangers. Revas would try to argue Sinead was an outsider backed by more outsiders. Sinead was expecting it. Sinead was counting on it. He breathed deeply to push his fears away. He had done all he could to prepare. The prince turned on himself just to see Ariane chew on a strand of fiend claw flesh, its extremity quivering under the effect of the sauce. Sinead believed she could not truly eat it. It was not for lack of trying, however. A hand sign on his part gathered her attention. She replied to his signal with an exaggerated wink, then she waved the piece of meat, collected both knife and sauce, then left the arena through the victory gate. It was going to be a long day. Six contestants stood across the sandy expanse of the fighting pit. They carried their helms in their hands while their blades were sheathed as protocol dictated. The Master of Ceremony waited at a distance in the early afternoon''s stifling light. Sinead himself wore gold and blue scales, an armor designed by Sivaya herself. His sword radiated heat despite the hand he kept on its bone handle. By his left, Khadras bore the silver armor and crystalline halberd he favored. Revas would not fail to notice the seeker''s disheveled appearance, but would not know what to make of it. Ariane had taken this step seriously. Sinead suspected the vampire was no longer quite as drunk as before, possibly through an effort of will. The Aurora armor clad her body while she kept Rose hidden, having instead taken a saber which hung from a sheath on her back. She appeared relaxed compared to the rest of them. Her only concession to comfort was the parasol she insisted on keeping above her head when she was not fighting. Revas had once again chosen the garb of a warrior heir in golden plate armor. A broadsword and shield pair hung from his back. They glowed with barely contained power. The red woman who served as his second bristled with rage. Her attention would not leave the uncaring countenance of the vampire. Her left hand had been replaced by a prosthesis covered in amber stone, the fingers ending in claws. The skin was red and puffy around the edge, and black veins expanded from the stump like swirling tattoos. The last member of Revas'' retinue was a member of a rare and elusive race called the Mon. Stone covered most of its features and it held a mace in its craggy fingers. Sinead knew the Mon were considered immune to mind magic of any form. He stopped himself from smiling at Revas bringing foreign assets for his last battle. It reeked of desperation, to replace known allies by agents taylored to counter opponents. Adaptability was not part of Revas'' persona. The man had always favored tradition. The mask he had chosen was starting to crack at the seams. As for Sinead, he had rarely been himself more. After all, he had brought two royals to a royal contest. The amusing thought soothed his frayed nerves. In games like these, only when the last card was down would the game be decided. The chaotic contest he had chosen introduced too many variables. Just as Sinead thought he might relax, a whisper breathed through the arena. A hiss of warm air quieted the diverse crowd. For a single instant, the light shone so much it seemed Ariane would wither. Her parasol cast a shade the size of a ball on the blazing sand, so small it seemed barely more than a pinprick of darkness, then the moment was gone. To his side, the Master of Ceremony blinked once. Revas'' nostrils flared. He knew. They all knew. Ariane grumbled under her breath and soon, a wave of cold air spread out. A few droplets of water fell from the eternal ice of her armor. The king was in attendance. As one man, every citizen of summer turned and bowed, leaving their many guests sitting awkwardly, willing to honor their host but unsure how to proceed. A benevolent wave of hand that was more felt than seen freed them from protocol. The sovereign was not here in his official capacity. His aura retracted until it was almost imperceptible. Only a remnant of it remained, a mere trick of the light, a ghost at the edge of the vision. It would¡­ complicate matters for Ariane, but she was more than a match for their foes, he thought. The Master of Ceremony retrieved a ceremonial coin from his pocket and flipped it. It fell on the edge, as was normal. The side facing Sinead showed the emblem of a moon. "Prince Sinead will come second. Prince Revas selects the order." Sinead held back a smile, as the order favored him this time. A good omen. "The seconds shall face each other, then the third, and then us if necessary," Revas declared. "Gor is my third, Lady Mareath is my second." Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings. It was Sinead''s turn to announce. It would let him swap his second and third, thus canceling the prince''s favorable matchups. The Court of Blood madwoman foamed at the mouth at the thought of being deprived of a rematch. The Master of Ceremony stared, waiting for his decision. This time, Sinead did smile. "Ariane of the Nirari is my second. Seeker Khadras is my third." Sinead knew he had declared his absolute confidence in his success, and that fortune did pay attention to the daring. Sometimes, she took them down, but Sinead''s confidence did not come from sheer cockiness. He had seen Ariane fight now. Or rather, he had not seen. As for Khadras, the stone creature was in for a nasty surprise. "Very well. The contestants except the seconds will return to their quarters until summoned. May you fight with all your might, for you fight under the gaze of summer¡­" "And summer is the season of war," they finished. Sinead walked back to his gate with Khadras in tow. It took a solid minute to reach it, because the area had grown yet again to accommodate the influx of spectators. Such was the sovereign''s influence that thousands would flood the rafters over the next minute, eager to see what caught his eye. It would make the world more willing to bend, which suited him just fine. The prince and the seeker stopped near a wall, where a mirror showed the upcoming fight. The red woman clanged her scale armor with her fist. Her move signaled the beginning of the time-honored tradition of pre-duel banter. The arena crowd loved it, yet beyond that it would also set the stage for their whole confrontation. The spheres loved a good show, especially when it ended in death. "My name is Mareath, the unbound. I have broken free of the frenzy of my sphere and cast its perpetual rage from my heart. I have left the red lands and crossed the battlefield towards the side of good. Now, I serve summer through my allegiance to Prince Revas whose exploits I have no need to repeat. You are a creature of the cold dark, vampire. I know your kind. Your ''rescues'' spoke to us of their treatment at the hands of your kin. But that is not all we learned. You fear the light because they reveal what you are, beasts without substance. Fakes who steal a body to plague your world, hiding in the dark corners with your schemes and your games. You fear fire for it will purge your existence and return you to ash. You are in summer now, creature, the seat of fire and light. Your arrogance led you here, to me. This is the end of your tricks." The red woman ceremoniously placed a circlet on her scarlet brow. Sinead recognized a ward against mind magic. Ariane visibly rolled her eyes. She was still holding her parasol, which meant it would technically be counted as her chosen weapon in the official records. Her foe was not done yet, however. "I will cleanse this place from your presence as the first act of justice against your entire race of jailors and parasites, and then I will rebuild myself a hand with your frigid entrails," the red woman concluded. Sinead''s dear poppet inspected her frozen gauntlet, before replying with a bored voice. "Good luck with that. My name is Ariane of the Nirari and I do not trade barbs with my appetizers." The crowd conceded appreciative ''oohs'' because they loved supreme confidence the most. No matter what, one person would be humiliated before this was over. Sinead smiled in his heart, knowing for a fact Ariane did, in fact, exchange banter with her appetizers on several occasions. The intensity of her provocations were proportional to her foe''s susceptibility to them. He could hardly blame her for the hypocrisy considering he did the same. The Master of Ceremony left the sandy expanse and reappeared shortly at the lodge of honor. He held a marble in his hand. "This duel has no rules, save for that of interference. You may begin at the ring of the bell." Ariane and Mareath stood apart. Silence reigned in the bleachers, where thousands of people had gathered with still more taking their seats. A light wind blew over the arena. The honor lodge''s deep bell chimed. Ariane unfurled her parasol immediately and waited. As for the red woman, her time had come to take her revenge or die trying. The amber stone in her gauntlet shone with ever-increasing intensity. Soon, even the mirror was blinded by its intensity. Only a dark spot remained in the sea of light some distance away. Sinead spotted the shape of an extended hand at the epicenter of the miniature sun, then fire joined the blinding radiance. Crimson tongues licked the sand, melting it. The purifying torrent went on for a while. Its intense heat forced the closest spectators to recoil before the onslaught. It culminated with a cry of pure rage and desire to live. Slowly, the light returned to the softer glow of a summer afternoon, revealing snakes of molten glass expanding from the now kneeling Mareath. Her gauntlet hissed, red and angry. The amber stones had dimmed considerably after the onslaught. Mareath searched the ground for a trace of her foe. Sinead knew she lived, for his eyes had never left the spot of darkness. The ruins of the torched parasol fall to reveal a ball of entwined roots. A large circle of frozen ground remains. The ground there is the blue of permafrost. Hot and cold air form a powerful current that lifts scorched fabric towards the sky. The sphere of roots exploded outward in a flurry of limbs that the tiny ball could not possibly have contained. A thin branch grabbed Mareath by the ankle and sent her against the nearby wall with a dreadful splat. It was so fast that Sinead could barely follow it. Sinead smiled. He knew his poppet would not resist. "Oh no, light and fire, my true weaknesses. Oh no no no how could have I foreseen this development? I am undone," a bored voice said. "If only I could have prepared a countermeasure." And there it was. The banter. Ariane stepped out from the protective embrace of her Magna Arqa, which expanded to cover the entirety of the arena. Above her, in the jealous sky of one of the oldest spheres, the entity she calls ''Hayatu'', the Watcher, opened a slit pupil. Sinead recentered his attention to the ongoing conflict before the horror''s gaze could capture his mind. Some of the spectators were not so lucky. The prince had felt its influence only a few times but he knew it was as powerful as it was distant. The sovereign allowed the foreign influence to affect his subjects and guests for a moment, then he grabbed their attention back with a wave of his domain, thus freeing the unwitting moths from that alien light. The eye remained however, and so did its champion. Ariane did not move from her spot. She did not draw either. Mareath coughed and fell to her knee. A wave of her hand incinerated the branch. She stood through a sheer effort of will and gasped. "This is not over! Hellish Pursuer!" A ball of roaring inferno arched over the arena. Once it reached the halfway point, it met a cold front. The projectile petered and died a few paces away from Ariane''s impassible face. "Hm? Oh, yes. Polar midnight." Voiceless casting always remained a mark of power. This was not a battle, Sinead thought, but a humiliation. He always found Ariane amusing when she was dominating her opponent, a bit like a cat playing with her food. She also avoided the old pitfall of underestimating her opponent too much. Even now, her domain expanded far to keep the situation under control. Mareath knew it. Her expectations had been dashed, but she was far from giving up. Sinead fully expected it. Someone who escaped the Court of Blood could not give up, even in the face of desperate odds. It was touching, how she charged forward into the hell of thorns with nothing but her courage. It was not enough, however. It would never be enough. The spheres did not do happy endings. A curtain of thorns opened to her side. A massive arm punched out from its confines, hitting her side with a shriek of tortured metal. She rolled to the side and came up, gauntlet raised to fend off the titanic wolf man emerging behind her. She was so focused that she failed to notice the next rift open. A battleaxe of monstrous size descended on her extended hand and severed it, slightly above the stump. The red woman''s gauntlet was sent flying. She gave a shrill scream. It ended when armored knuckles compressed her windpipe. Ariane exposed her neck and bit¡­ and then pulled back. "This saber belonged to Syma the Red," Ariane commented as she pulled the saber from her back. "I got it for her. She was an ally. I have left a great many of those in my wake to come to this point. Dalton. Nashoba. Mannfred. Names that mean nothing to you. Syma was an arena fighter like us until you shamelessly poisoned her with a dart. See, I may have lost people but I do not forget, and in the end, I always, always¡­ get¡­ even." Ariane skewered the other woman through the armor and let the body fall, then she withdrew her Magna Arqa and walked back to him. It amused Sinead that she was supposed to leave through the gate of the victors. She must have been distracted and returned to him instead. Her mind was perhaps still not yet recovered. The accidental attention pleased him nonetheless. He smiled broadly when she sat by his side. "Congratulations are in order, poppet. Are you back to your normal self?" The woman glanced at Khadras who appeared to be meditating with mixed results. She shrugged. "Not quite yet. I had a¡­ premonition, of sorts. It was a rather unnerving and unexpected occurrence, so now my fun is gone and I am trying my best to focus. I still feel a little out of sorts, that is why I did not approach Mareath before disarming her, just in case she had a way to detonate her stones. Now that I had this vision, I know this battle will decide much. I also know what to ask as a prize." "Please do not request the blood of my father. He will not take the request kindly." She waved his concerns aside. "I am not so bold, Sinead. I need something else. I absolutely must have it before I return." "And what is that precious prize?" "You will see." The voice of the Master of Ceremony interrupted their discussion, announcing the coming of the next fight. Khadras grabbed his halberd between two silver-clad hands. He was sweating. A nervous tension shook his stooped shoulders while his ears shivered above his head. There was pain in the pink of his eyes. Pain, and anticipation. To everyone outside, he looked like a man on the verge of collapse, but Sinead knew better. Khadras was on the verge of a difficult choice. His handsome face scrunched in anticipation. The Master of Ceremony stepped up from the honor lodge the king occupied. "You may begin," he merely said. The two contestants burst into motion. Khadras lunged gracefully. The tip of his polearm slid over a hastily raised mace, scoring a small gash in Gor''s stone skin¡­ and little else. The heavy warrior immediately slapped the haft aside with a swing of his heavy mace, then counter-attacked. It soon became apparent that Khadras could not compete in terms of strength with the large golem-like warrior, and so he did not try. He would dodge backward or duck under heavy mace swings with practiced movements. His landed accurately and any other foe would be bleeding from a dozen wounds by now, but Gor simply twisted on himself, angling his body to absorb the shock and only leave behind the barest of scratches. All of his efforts were for nothing. After a particularly heated exchange, the seeker spoke a few words and the air blurred around his foe. It was clear he expected little. Even the mind-numbing magic felt brittle to those who were familiar with seekers, and Gor shrugged it off completely. It was obvious that Khadras was slowly being pushed back while his enemy conserved his strength, patiently backing him in a corner. Sinead waited for the fateful moment when Khadras would face the abyss and take a bold step forward. It happened later than he thought, but not too late to condemn him. After a particularly vicious exchange where the seeker carved a furrow in the stone man''s face, an enraged backswing smashed into the crystal blade and shattered it. Pieces of diamond rained on the ground, pearlescent shards as lethal as any blade. The crowd held their breath as they knew it was impossible. No seeker weapon should have been destroyed so easily. Even Gor seemed taken aback by this unexpected development. Khadras gasped and kneeled, grabbing the largest piece with firm resolve. Crimson blood stained the sharp edge. "I didn''t know if I could find the strength, yet now I have no choice but to do so." He then resolutely planted the improvised weapon in his eye. Khadras screamed a horrible, soul-rending shriek. A cry of such exquisite agony that shivers spread across the spectators like a ripple across a calm pond. The cry did not stop for several seconds while he used the fragment as a lever. An orb of crystal still attached to fleshy tissue popped out of the socket with a torrent of blood, each strand breaking one by one. Khadras was no longer driven by choice, but by insanity born from the bleakest torment. The ghastly spectacle froze even Gor in his tracks. After what felt like an eternity, the hare-eared warrior held a pinkish globe in his trembling fingers. Gor knew he had let an opportunity pass and, with a roar, he charged forward. Khadras casually tossed the remnant at his foe. The jewel exploded in a shower of mineral shrapnel and the stone man roared, grasping at his savaged face. In turn, the lost seeker did not attack. He grasped feverishly for an item from his pouch and brandished it towards the sky. The mirror focused on it, revealing a tiny scale imprinted with an ancient rune of the red moon. "Grandmother. Please. I beg you. Please." A breath caressed the arena. The sovereign deigned to withdraw his influence, and the afternoon sun turned momentarily to twilight. All eyes glanced up to a new celestial body, a visitor in those proud skies. A temporary guest. The moon hung there, full and dripping. Shadows extended from every shade. They melded together in seas of dark. The seeker cried tears of blood, enraptured by whispers at the edge of Sinead''s hearing. Khadras could hear, understand. He offered his reply. "Yes. Yes of course. We do not ask. We take. I will be worthy of you, grandmother." The dragon scale pulsed and flattened. Khadras smashed it against the gaping wound of his orbit. It stuck, forming a runed eyepatch. "Yeessssssss." Antlers grew from Khadras'' brow. The end of his halberd turned from shattered to jagged. He leaned forward, all placid countenance lost to a deep fury. He gave the recovering Gor a pink-tinged sneer filled with the promise of violence. And then he charged. At first, the hurt Gor and changed Khadras were evenly matched, but the experienced stone man soon recovered. Khadras was not used to this new aggressive style. He was more cub than lynx, and while the changed spear bit deep, it did not bite deep enough. Gor finally scored a glancing blow and sent Khadras careening to the ground. The fallen seeker winced as he stood back with difficulty. It soon turned to a wide grin. "I have never felt so alive." By Sinead''s side, a voice spoke. "A TRUE HUNTER UNDERSTANDS PATIENCE." Sinead froze in fear before remembering that screaming advice at fighters was legal. Khadras hummed and returned to the fight. He was less messy now, hints of his earlier control seeping in the way he moved. He did not take long for his spear to catch Gor in the elbow, digging almost to the hilt. The fallen seeker withdrew a blade stained white. "So you do bleed," he hissed. Gor bellowed in pain and anger. He went on a rampage, swinging the heavy implement with furious abandon. The series ended with a powerful downward swing that missed Khadras by a hair. The fallen seeker planted the spear in Gor''s revealed wrist, skewering it. The stone man lost his grip. Khadras grabbed the mace with both hands, laughing all the while. He took it and smashed it against the stone man''s body. The rest of the combat was more of an execution. Gor never surrendered. Or perhaps he was not given the opportunity. The red of the blood moon lingered until Khadras left the arena, trailing his gore-drenched trophy behind him. The one-eyed Prince of the Court of the Blood Moon greeted Ariane with a nod, from one hunter to another. Then he collapsed, thoroughly exhausted. Sinead and Ariane caught him as he fell. The vampire looked up to him, still calm and composed. "Hm, unless I am mistaken, welcome to the council, Prince Sinead," she said. "You may kneel," he deadpanned. "You wish." A healer moved towards them and the pair left Khadras in her care. It was time to collect. Sinead felt very strange. He who had lived for a thousand years had experienced so many events. Great food and great wine could be appreciated, but not as much as the first time. He had long believed the only raw emotion that could still move him was a deep love, but it appeared relief and triumph could move him to tears as well. After decades of surviving Revas'' petty persecution, after nearly a century of suffering on the human world where he was but a shadow of his true self, after the subjective years of trying and preparation, he had done it. He could feel in his breast the fire of summer rise like a new dawn, acknowledging his victory. A heady pleasure rushed through his body born of pride and the knowledge that he could finally turn his back to a door and reasonably expect that there could be no assassins. Oh, it would not last, but nothing in life did, and he had long since learned to appreciate the moment. There was just one thing left to do. Leaving through the gate with Ariane by his side, Sinead walked out over the warm sand under the cheers of ten thousand throats. The master of ceremony waited for him, as did a stoic Revas and a tall figure in a yellow doublet, his noble brow bearing a crown of molten gold radiating heat. He stopped at a short distance and kneeled while Ariane gave a deep bow, as befit a foreign dignitary. "Father," he greeted. MY SONS. The sovereign held himself back out of concern for Ariane, which Sinead appreciated. Though the laws of hospitality protected her, he could have decided to ''accidentally'' make her uncomfortable. Once more, a peculiar sense of unreality shocked the prince to his core. The times he had met his father could be counted on the fingers of two hands, and now he was so close, so real. A family member rather than a distant king. Sinead looked in those eyes as intense as the sun and felt familiarity, a sort of resonance. He was truly of summer, not just an exile among wandering performers. It was all he had hoped for and more. The sovereign inspected the still bowing Ariane and frowned. Looking up, he waved his hand at the distant form of the Watcher. Although the spectators would miss it, Sinead felt the roll of an immense power, a world-changing might that could open volcanoes under enemy cities. Such contained power defied understanding. Sadly, nothing happened. The Watcher kept watching. The king''s mouth formed an appreciative ''oh'' of surprise. Sinead pretended very hard that nothing had happened. YOU BRING ME AN INTERESTING GUEST, PRINCE SINEAD. AS BEFIT THE NEWEST MEMBER OF THE COUNCIL. He breathed out, and suddenly all the arena was within his domain. SUMMER IS ETERNAL, YET WE ARE NOT. ONLY THOSE WHO CHANGE REMAIN ON TOP, ONLY THOSE WHO NEVER STOP NEVER TRULY FALL. FOR EONS, THE COURT OF SUMMER HAS SHONE OVER THE LIKAEAN SPHERES, KEEPING ITS FOES AT BAY THROUGH MARTIAL MIGHT, INTEGRITY, AND TRADITION. WE HAVE DONE SO THROUGH CEASELESS EFFORT AND WE SHALL KEEP DOING SO UNTIL THE LAST STAR WINKS OUT. TODAY, A PRINCE FALLS AND A PRINCE RISES. SUCH IS OUR WAY, FOR ONLY THE BEST SHOULD RULE. MAY THE RISEN NEVER GROW COMPLACENT, AND MAY THE FALLEN RISE AGAIN ONE DAY. ALL HAIL PRINCE SINEAD, FIFTY-SIXTH OF THE COUNCIL OF NINE TIMES NINE. MAY HE MEET WITH SUCCESS. The crowd cheered once more, even the foreign guests roaring their approval of his victory. Sinead found his mother and fiancee cheering for him, along with some of his children. It was an amazing moment. WHAT WILL YOUR FIRST ACTION BE? The king''s smile was resigned. He must already know, of course. "Ladies and gentlemen, spectators, appreciators of the fine arts, greetings!" Sinead bellowed with his arms apart. The crowd loved it, of course. Sinead felt the electrifying pleasure of his own nascent domain expand as his rightful rank helped him grow in power. He knew what he was. He knew who he had always been. He was an entertainer, a dancer, a duelist and a scoundrel. It felt great to be truly oneself, sometimes. "Far from me to begin my tenure by robbing you of a good fight! I know you were expecting three duels¡­ You were, you blood-loving rascals! You expected one of us to lose!" The crowd returned good-natured jeers. Sinead waved them off. "I do not truly blame you, and so my first generous act as your fifty-sixth prince will be to return what I was only too happy to rob: your last duel¡­ provided my brother agrees, of course." For one moment, Sinead truly believed Revas might refuse. It would be an acceptable move, and one he could graciously execute by suggesting a better candidate. In a few hundred years, no one would remember and he could return¡­ but Revas was too greedy. Sinead could see the fire of ambition burning in his eyes. If Revas were to slay him now, he could claim final victory in the contest and declare Sinead lost to his own sense of flair. It was a lifeline to the preservation of his status. Revas always believed he was the hero of his own tale while Sinead knew better. Fate did not favor the hero or the villain. As Ariane would say, fate favored superior firepower. And Sinead had not brought his dragon boon for nothing. "Of course, I would not want to disappoint, brother," Revas stated. The sound carried over the sand and the spectators went wild, all except Sinead''s family and the king himself. He knew he would watch one of his children die today. Sinead would have more sympathy if he had not been at risk of dying for a very, very long time. THEN YOU HAVE MY BLESSING. BE STRONG, MY SONS, FOR YOU ARE SUMMER¡­ "And summer is the season of war," they both finished. The king left while the two siblings faced each other, light armor and long blade against heavy plate with sword and shield. Sinead had prepared for this moment for a very long time. After they had won the dragon hunt, he had returned to the time chamber for one more year and a half. The Blue Court had provided masters and training partners specialized in close forms of fencing. Sinead was as ready as he was going to be. Revas drew first. The sun reflected on polished, summer-made metal shimmering with enchantments. It was a noble blade. He must have paid a pretty sum for it. Sinead drew as well. The white, mineral blade ignited with a deep blue fire. Whispers spread across the bleachers. Many recognized the appearance of the blade. After all, his father had a similar one. He felt his domain expand and settle a little more with every piece of legitimacy he acquired. By comparison, Revas'' domain waned but only a little. He had been on the council for a very, very long time, and nothing could dull his achievements. Revas knew in which direction the momentum was going. Time was not on his side. He struck first, and Sinead danced. He was free. For the first time since he first escaped his brother''s goons, he was free, himself, unmasked, and unbound. He wanted the world to know it. He also didn''t want to become a cautionary tale, so he parried Revas'' blade without flourish. Time was on his side. He would dance carefully. And he did. Revas was a moving rock, trained to be an anchor at the heart of a summer formation. He attacked with relentless fury for short periods of time then returned to defense, where he would occasionally throw a spear of flames or another spell. Sinead waltzed around his figure, poking and prodding. When Revas attacked, he twirled away and respected his foe to get used to his unique style. There was no need to hurry. Revas remained extremely dangerous as the veteran of a hundred battles. His shield was not just protection, it was also a bashing weapon in its own right. The two attacked each other relentlessly until seconds turned to minutes, a breathless exchange that never truly stopped. The crowd stayed at the edge of their seat, waiting for one of the combatants to falter, but they never did. Both were princes of a war-like nation, though they differed in many ways. Both were formidable in their own rights. Sinead was having the time of his life. Despite the risk of death, his heart beat a maddened rhythm. Revas would let blows slide over shield and pauldrons. He was the immovable object to Sinead''s unstoppable force. The tall warrior''s fierce offenses sent chills down Sinead''s pine with their precise violence. Their domains clashed, almost matched now that Sinead had formed his own¡­ but Revas had made a mistake. He had hired an outsider to beat Khadras. Revas embodied tradition, and instead of calling upon an ally, he had selected a warrior likely to counter a seeker. Worse, his scheme had failed. It created a chink in the man''s persona while Sinead was and had always been his own self. Little by little, white pinpricks accumulated on the shield and armor where Sinead had struck them. By the time Revas realized, it was already too late. His right pauldron was ablaze. Fire magic was a summer speciality. Revas managed to keep the flare under control through an effort of will, but he could not completely smother it. His attacks grew more frantic. Sinead still waited for an opening. It would come, he knew. Victory was within his grasp. Suddenly, the shield was much larger in his field of vision. Suddenly, the shield slammed into him, thrown away by his foe. Revas'' blade pierced through the fragilized membrane and right into Sinead''s heart. Or where the heart would have been if he had not twisted at the last instant. The damaged summer blade slid over the powerful defenses of Sivaya''s armor. His own blade hit higher. He was rewarded with a choking sound. The shield fell in fragments, revealing a very surprised Revas with charcoal where most of his neck used to be. "Just like you to throw your precious things away. Goodbye, brother," Sinead mocked. The victor spread his arms and basked in the adoration of the crowd. Chapter 197 - 191. Coronation I stand in the shadow cast by my little parasol, a new iteration in a line of objects doomed to fail here in the court of fire and light, in the sphere of righteous war, under the gaze of its sovereign. It provides the little dot of penumbra I need to anchor my power, so that the cold and dark can lurk at the edge as they always do. Without this, I could not face him and stand. A vampire of lesser power would be leaking ash from disintegrating fingers by now, so powerful he is. I can only thank the Watcher that he elected to make only our native sun a bane, rather than every star, or my little foray into the spheres would have been more difficult. Regardless, the heat beats upon my shoulders like a hammer. Scalding air scorches my back even as the Aurora attempts to keep it at bay. The sovereign holds himself back, I can feel. He has withdrawn from me the same aura that Sinead now basks in, and I owe my continued survival to his restraint, a restraint that much more commendable since he has failed to cast away the Watcher. I hope he does not ask me to make him leave because I would have a better chance tickling Nirari to death with an ostrich feather. Thankfully, the king and the crowd''s attention are fully dedicated to the smiling, rakish prince. It is his day after all. VICTORY IS YOURS, YOUR ASCENDENCY IS COMPLETE. Behind the powerful feeling of recognition, I feel a relatively hidden note of grief in the sovereign''s words. His Likaean is the truest form of language, and its meaning cannot be faked. Although he promotes a cut-throat approach to social climbing, the king obviously regrets the deaths it brings. I come to wonder if he would have felt such pain at the death of Sinead back when he was alone and isolated. Perhaps he only cares about the more notable ones. It would not surprise me. His congratulations feel genuine, however, and after a few more platitudes comes the heart of the matter. YOU MAY ASK A BOON OF US. "I wish to inherit Revas'' estate," Sinead declares without hesitation. IT SHALL BE SO, MINUS WHAT IS OWED TO HIS WIVES AND OFFSPRING, ACCORDING TO OUR RULES. "Thank you, father." The sovereign turns to me and I almost fall to my knees. He keeps the fire and light at bay and despite that, the mere weight of his presence pressures my mind. Suddenly, I feel my hand held in his. The king''s skin is warm, his fingers calloused. They are delicate and covered in small scars that cannot be seen from afar. His presence now steadies me instead of pushing me aside. YOU ARE WELCOME HERE AS OUR GUEST. ASK YOUR BOON, CHILD FROM A DISTANT SKY. I look up to a suddenly close face. He smells of the sun over clean linen and also faintly of ashes. His smile is for the crowd. In his eyes, I find a warning meant only for me. He must know I would ask for blood. Or I would have without the prophecy. When Sinead challenged the Old One to a dance-off, the dragon''s response had been a life-changing spectacle that revealed the secrets of the universes, one that my feeble mind had failed to retain. Except for a few fragments. When I was still drunk and looking for what I remember to be a particularly fluffy rabbit ¡ª an episode I will never admit happened ¡ª I mistakenly tried to force a prophecy, opening my intuition to greater heights. It is not an exercise I usually do because Nashoba and the seer Aisha both insisted I should not depend on it. And so, I have not. It seemed like a good idea at the time. The event conspired and it was as if I had opened the flood gates. A powerful vision came to me, one where I recognized the Choctaw''s words of ash and thin air. I remember little of it but what I do know is that there is an item I absolutely need before I return. "I need the seed of a world tree," I tell the sovereign. Silence spreads over the arena. The quiet expands directly from the king, as if it were not so much an absence of noise as a denial of all sounds. If I have to be perfectly honest, I do not know how rare those are. I just know that a world tree can fare well almost anywhere. For an instant, I fear I may have offended him, but he soon nods in approval. SUMMER EVER APPROVES OF THOSE WORKING TOWARDS A BRIGHTER FUTURE WE SHALL GRANT YOU THIS BOON. Oh good, I did not accidentally offend him. That would have been a relatively awkward and brief experience. I relax a little as Khadras names his boon. "I wish for the spear of Orifan the One-Eyed, whom you defeated upon the field of Kresh, and slew, then taking his weapons as trophy." YOU WISH TO RECLAIME THE LEGACY OF YOUR ANCESTOR. WE APPROVE OF YOUR CHOICE, YOUNG ONE. MAY YOU ACQUIRE HIS FURY YET KEEP YOUR OWN JUDGEMENT. "I shall, king." THUS IS THE CHALLENGE CONCLUDED. I HAVE SPOKEN. The sovereign about-faces, walking out while we all bow to his passage. Only when the afternoon light loses some of its radiance do I finally take a breath as the environment shifts from unbearable to merely stifling. The Master of Ceremony chases us away gently since we need to give the ground to a group of dancers. I suspect he wishes to reset the mood. Some of the spectators leave, sated. We leave through the victors'' gate. Sinead races through a maze of clean corridors to a large room at the edge of the arena''s titanic structure. The sun drifts through large windows and a balcony at its back, from where we see the red-tiled roofs of the summer capital. Amaryll stands from her seat near the end of a long table, her eyes wet with emotion. She is joined by Sivaya and then Sinead''s children, who I cannot quite get used to considering some of them look older than me. The newly minted prince of the council embraces them with a profuse display of affection which I find touching since the fae nobility is not prone to betraying genuine emotions. It makes me miss my human family. I lean against a column, hiding from the light. I wish I could wait but I am a guest of honor, and they will not let me. Khadras and I sit at the left and right of Sinead as tradition dictates. Amaryll and Sivaya come after which they do not seem to mind. I am toasted and celebrated like Khadras then they allow me to fade a little while Sinead attracts most of the attention. This suits me. The celebration attracts quite a few visitors who come to congratulate the newly ascended prince. The gladiators are invited, of course, as is Cadiz who takes ten minutes to comment on my performance. All of the guests party with much mirth. Soon, the king delivers the requested spear to Khadras with his blessing. A demonstration follows, with our new Blood Moon royal demonstrating how the imposing weapon shines when held by a worthy hand. The gladiators gather around me while the sun begins to set. "It was nice that you killed her with Syma''s sabers, captain. It was a nice touch," Nol the fly-man says. He sips on a cup of fruity alcohol. I could have done without the visual. "What now captain? Will you be returning to Voidmoore? Or to your native sphere? Will you take us with you?" the muscular Hanadro asks. "I will return after dealing with a few last errands. I have tools I can acquire here that will be very useful in the long run, but I cannot delay for much longer. The Court of Blue can only reliably maintain the time dilation for so long and I am needed home before the battle I left is over. As for taking you with me, I refuse. You would suffer the same fate as Sinead as you are deprived of your abilities and preyed upon by my kin. It will take centuries before earth finishes its alignment and magic flows free. You will not live to see it." My declaration seems to sadden them, so I decide to give them a measure of hope. This is a celebration after all. "However, I believe Makyas had plans." "Indeed I do!" the winged one exclaims as he joins us. "How would you like to be my enforcers as we take over Voidmoore and its smuggling ring? My little minions have already refurbished the ''Edged Bets'' so we can fly it around as well!" "Do we get paid in eyeballs?" Dancer signs with suspicion. Or perhaps it is eagerness. I find the chitinous plate where his face should be hard to read. "No eyeballs for you! I shall compensate you with coin and meat, the very best! The eyeballs stay with me." I leave my minions to discuss the terms of their service. I trust Makyas will make a proper offer if only out of respect for me, but I also suspect some like Dancer might not take it. It does not matter. Their fate is their own, and they are free to continue on their own journey. I can offer little more. Despite the knowledge I will leave very soon, at least according to fae standards, I mingle with the rest. Amaryll congratulates me on a magnificent display and claims she wants to turn it into a dance. Sivaya thanks me for helping her fiance and wishes us a pleasant time while I remain. In truth, I still find fae openness strange, though I admit the arrangement I have with Torran would shock most mortals. As night settles and the capital lights up with multicolored flying lanterns, the party spreads over neighboring rooms. Some dancing occurs and much drinking as well. Couples and groups detach themselves from the rest for privacy. I move to a secluded balcony, letting the cooling air soothe the fear of the day. The seed I requested has not been delivered yet. I have no idea if it will take another hour or a month to obtain it, but until I do, I cannot return. My thoughts wander to earth where less than an hour has passed, I think. Sivaya warned there might be small variations. My friends and allies might still be fighting it off, or they could be in the middle of negotiations now that the casus belli has crossed the portal en masse. It could be that Bertrand has forced the issue to avoid the second disaster in a row and the political blow that comes with it. I hope they are fine and that the battle has not taken a gruesome turn. While I enjoy this moment of respite, I feel Sinead''s presence hovering at the edge of my small haven. I pulse my aura once and he approaches. The sunny prince takes a spot by my side and we watch his homeland settle for the night in companionable silence. He is quite close and smells nice as well. I love sunshine on the skin of others, just not mine. It finally dawns on me that we have reached the inevitable end to our foray. There are only details left, a few things to acquire but otherwise I will not engage in any major quests. "Once this is done, we will say goodbye for good," I admit. "No!" Sinead said, "no. You are an immortal as well. Time is what we have, provided you win. Provided you endure. No matter how long it takes, we will meet." "How long will it take for a path to open from earth to any of the spheres?" "Technically we could open one through great effort. You could do so as well, perhaps. You have enough brilliant minds to at least study the question" This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. "How long, Sinead?" "TIme is relative, Ariane." "How long on earth? Do not lie; I know you asked." A moment passes. The prince leans against a nearby railing, his knuckles clutching the stone as if it would fly away and leave him. "Three and a half thousand years." It is my turn to be robbed of words. I expected a long time of course, possibly centuries¡­ but thirty-five of them? Really? Babylon still ruled over part of Mesopotamia around that time. By the Watcher, thirty-five centuries? It might as well be forever. I have lived for one and I already barely tolerate some of those strange new fads like ''okay'' or the prevalence of morse code. It might as well be forever. This only reinforces my decision. "So when I leave, it will be goodbye for good. I feel that I must clear the air first, so to speak. Solve the tension between us." "Can it be solved?" "It can at least be stated. You already apologized, Sinead. I already admitted that although I understood your decision, the trust between us was gone. It will take a long time to rebuild, a time we do not have because the dilation the Blue Court agreed to maintain will soon come to an end. The spheres will decouple from earth and the path will eventually be lost. I must leave soon." "But not right now!" I nod, touched by the slight despair I hear in Sinead''s voice. He seems so vulnerable now despite his victory, despite the armor that still clads his handsome form. His eyes of gold settle on me with longing. "You are not leaving tonight." I hesitantly take his hand. As expected, it is warm and both soft and calloused under my fingers. "Not tonight. As I was saying, you might be an insufferable rogue who thinks he always knows better, but I am still fond of you, you damnable rascal." "And thus you are still my poppet." "Now I did say I would not leave unfinished business." "Ariane?" I grab and kiss him. He lets out a muffled squawk, which I find endearing, but then the surprise melts, replaced by a fiery passion of an intensity that surprises me, almost scares me. Sinead kisses like a madman. He is so very warm, and he tastes sweet. The dragon blood has sated me for a while and I do not feel the overwhelming need to bite as he gathers me in his arms. He caresses my cheek with a sense of pure wonder. I feel desired and I like it. Yes, despite my misgivings, I believe I would have regretted not seizing the moment if I had not decided to let go of my hurt. At least for a while. We do not need to speak for what follows. *** It has been a month since Sinead''s ascension, more than a year since the Court of Blue aligned earth with itself. It has been over five in subjective time. It felt like an eternity. The portal room of the Blue Court will leave a last sterile image of spheres yet so filled with life. Everything is ready. I turn one last time to the people Cadiz and I will leave behind. I have said my farewells and we all maintain a brave face, but even the frigid cloud smothering my emotions cannot fully shield me from the realization that, by the hypothetical time I return, all of the gladiators will have perished. Makyas has not confirmed it but I was led to understand that his species rarely tolerated eternity, preferring to lose themselves in the depths of their spheres. Sivaya is the last to leave the deck of the Dalton''s Fury. "Our window will be short, even shorter than we believed. Be sure to stabilize the ship and land as soon as possible. Our measurements indicate the ambient magic will not suffice to keep it airborne." "We expected that much." "Your house mimic will go dormant quickly. Just make sure to keep her well-fed and she should adapt, eventually. All of the goods including the seed are secured in the cargo hold but place them in a safe spot as soon as feasible. This is truly farewell now, Ariane of the Nirari. May the blue ever favor your aim." "You all take care of each other." The princess turns and leaves. We are set. Khadras signals the Blue Court magicians waiting by the crystal aperture. They move and the circle hums with power. My hair stands on ends when azure thunderbolts course over the intricate construct, leaving iridescent scars in the air. Power spikes, a tremendous amount of it, more than we exerted against the Scourge Hive. The Blue Court''s wheel treads a needle through time and space, binding our worlds together. A window opens on a cloudy dark sky. The familiar smell of rain and behind it, maple and pine crosses over the sterile room. I have pushed the power lever forward before the portal is even fully open. The Dalton''s Fury, or rather Pookie in ship form, slides on metal rails to a deep dive. We pass through the opening as it reaches the maximum size. The skies of Illinois spread all around us, fresh and familiar. Colors dull. The very air gathers around me, making magic sluggish as the local realm refuses to bend to a foreign will. I lose a sense of wonder and freedom I had come to take for granted. The distant presence of the sun reminds me that strolls under the light of morning will no longer be a possibility, and yet despite all of this, I cannot stop a measure of excitement. I am home. Behind us, the way back to the fae spheres closes for good. It is finished. I have no time to mourn the end of a fascinating part of my life because the gravity crystals dim and we quickly lose altitude. "Over there," Cadiz yells as he points down and left. I turn the wheel but the commands are barely responsive. I will have to adapt. "We''re going too fast," Cadiz remarks. "Cannot help it, we don''t have the means to slow down," I reply. "Then we''ll overshoot. They are still fighting below, though it seems to be just duels." I do not voice my concern. Instead, I take a quick look below and recognize Constantine''s red chain. They battle a wave of fire. Thankfully, I anticipated battle and I am already wearing my armor. "Come take the wheel, I will drop down," I inform Cadiz. "I will endeavor to set the ship down." "The ship will do that part for you. Endeavor to keep it in one piece. We cannot afford to lose the cargo." "Yes, child. You have no need to enlighten me," the Progenitor spits back and I do realize that I will have to show deference in public despite our familiarity. There is however, one person who does not deserve it. I jump overboard as we fly over the site of the battle. I fall and use a whisper of magic to adjust my course, taking in the sights as I grow closer. Torches still surround the earth bastion we used to host the fae ritual. Two crescents of warriors stand across each other over a cleared field, the Mask army still at the edge of the nearby forest. Constantine is dueling Gabriel and winning. I check our line for my friends and spot a slightly singed Jimena. There is also Melusine, who lost her arm but not her tongue, always a pity. Ako, Jarek and Adrien. Sephare. I count them and find them hurt but alive. Melusine''s arm is even slowly regrowing, unlike her dignity. They are fine. I am not too late. I could land discreetly behind ¡ª Pah, who am I kidding? I throw Rose on the torched ground between the two casters. The impact showers them with smashed gravel, separating them. A moment later, I slam down with both feet and send a plume of dust to cover both sides. The cold, familiar aura of vampires and the scent of our skin fills my nostrils. It is just as I remember, really just as I remember, up to the damaged gear. We really are the same night I left them all those years ago. It feels so strange, because I am not. The spheres truly are a strange place. "I have returned! What did I miss?" My side gasps in surprise and confusion while the Mask alliance protests and growls. Hisses surge at my interruption. The Accords must have learned I was gone, at least its leaders. Bertrand, however, does not. "Insolent child. You are interrupting a ceremonial duel!" "So we are dueling now?" "Have you lost your mind? Yes! We are!" He said it. I release all the power I have accumulated across hunts and challenges culminating in the dragon hunt, the tributes I received from Sinead, Cadiz, Khadras and even Makyas. I release it all and raise a hollow mountain of thorns around the entire valley, shutting us from the outside. I only leave the Watcher and the moon bare in a window high above us. Thick, shredding thorns bloom on the rampart''s surface. The Mask vampires recoil visibly when they experience the essence that defeated a dragon and they finally, finally realize what I have become. Or rather, they assume so. They do not ¡ª cannot understand yet. "I accept your challenge," I inform a dazed Bertrand. And then I acknowledge my anger towards them. I rush towards the man who cleaved my back with his axe, split my skull open and invaded my land, then smash his face into the ground. I throw him bodily against a sprouting root that snaps back and sends him to the side and into the statue of Loth''s axe. I call Rose and shred his flank, piercing through the strange crimson armor that his Magna Arqa forms and revealing the flesh beneath. Bertrand yowls in pain. Jean-Baptiste throws himself at me with his massive scythe. I grab him by the neck and look deep into his terrified eyes under the death mask of his avatar. "Wait your turn," I order. A tendril grabs Bertrand by the heel as he is standing up and sends him on a careening journey ending in the middle of the clearing. The mask masters and lords have taken a few steps back. They have not reached that age by being foolish. I let Dalton''s statue shoot him in the back of the knee as a matter of principle, though it will not penetrate deep enough. I am merely making a point. "You come to my land to destroy us," I tell him. Roots and Rose shred him, peeling off his armor layer by layer. The statues emerge from root curtains to deliver underhanded blows. I do not let him stand. sea??h th§× n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Twice," I say. I have roots toss him from one side of the battlefield to the other, never letting him regain his footing. Oh, he does twist and turn, but so do the roots. Those do not have articulations. "But that is not even your worst sin, no." I withdraw all the tendrils around him. He does not even waste a moment to charge me with his axe, swinging it towards my chest. I step aside and strike at the last moment. His arm goes flying. I stab his undamaged knee as he passes me by, carried by inertia, then his spine. Each strike of Rose leads to a dreadful crunching sound. I find the experience unchallenging yet cathartic. "Your worst sin is to commit to serve a mad king in a battle for which you do not know the stakes. You fool. You absolute¡ª" I punctuate every word with a kick against his fallen form. "Utter. Arrogant. Short-sighted. Thuggish. Moron." The Mask faction does not react. They know that only one other vampire on this planet could possibly hope to stop me, and he is on no one''s side but his own. I lift him and stare in the eye revealed by the cracked golden mask. "Give me one reason why I should not kill you now." "Ariane," a voice interrupts from behind. "We are still following the rules of war. Please." Constantine''s voice shows the usual patient politeness, as calm on the battlefield as he is in a court of law. I hiss, my face only inches away from the Mask leader. He does not beg and his gaze remains steady, though clouded by pain. I could always punch him more. "Bertrand, I believe new elements have changed the balance of power. Perhaps you would consider a withdrawal?" "That would be wise," the man chokes. And yes, I suppose it could be done and why am I ever considering LETTING HIM GO HE VIOLATED MY LAIR, TRIED TO TAKE WHAT WAS MINE. "Unaccepta¡ª You dare? YOU DARE? THIS IS MY LAND, MINE. I DECIDE WHO WALKS AWAY AND WHO DIES," I roar. The walls around us shake. The thorns grow sharper and more numerous. He is on my land for the second time and this makes me so very angry. I cannot control this burning rage. He should not speak. He should not negotiate. He should grovel like the two-legged PATHETIC INTRUDER HE IS. THIEF. "Of course," Constantine agrees calmly. "Bertrand was merely surrendering. We are discussing terms now. You have been away¡­ quite some time." "Yesss," I agree. "It would be best if Bertrand makes amends and they all leave your territory promptly. This very night." "Hmmm." I realize that my anger has gotten the best of me, and a curious one it is. Where could it be coming from? I have not lost control in a long time. Perhaps my brutal return set off something. Even now, the Dvor essence in me recognizes those are intruders on my land who must be punished for their transgression. "Yes, we surrender," Bertrand says. I grab his remaining arm and bite. Some of his lords take a step forward but freeze when Jean-Baptiste holds them back. Bertrand does not struggle and his sweet essence nourishes me. Calms me down. "Oh, very well," I say, and release him before I can do something too¡­ definitive. Even with the certainty that this is the right decision, I still struggle against the urge to turn around and finish him off. Only a single thought occupies my mind now. There is one among my enemies that I will not let go. I walk forward, the Mask vampires splitting like the Red Sea before Moses, revealing the bare-armed, blood-soaked form of Malakim. I draw. He grins horribly. His rictus is half provocation and half fury. I need to kill him now. The outer wall of thorn explodes. My intuition warned me and I dodge back. Some of the less fortunate masters are sent crashing down by broken roots. Another aura rises to match my own, overtaking it a little. The Mask vampires run aside. Where they used to stand, only Malakim is left. Malakim¡­ and his sire. For a long moment, Nirari and I glare at each other, taking each other''s measure. His strength is incalculable. I might stand a chance now, I think. The rage that came earlier is replaced by an indomitable sense of purpose. He is my equal and I will face him, and I will kill him or die trying. There is no fear in my heart, no sense of powerlessness. We are not evenly matched but we belong to the same kind. We are devourers. We are dragon slayers. On this planet, we are without match. Nirari wears black plate and he holds in his hand the glaive with which he led the charge back at Black Harbor. Powerful magic hums in his aura, ready to be unleashed. We take each other''s measure. And then, another aura comes, not as powerful but still prodigious. Constantine takes his place by my side, then Ako, Jarek, Naminata, Adrien and the lords and ladies that make up the Accords. The Mask battle lords may stand to the side but they watch keenly. Cadiz returns from landing our ship. My roots let him through. He moves up to us under the whispered awe of all the masters. Nirari takes in the scene. His cold, inhuman countenance betraying nothing. And then, he laughs. And laughs, and laughs. The curious sound breaks the oppressive silence and surprises even me. It sounds so genuine. "Yes¡­" he exults. "Yes, of course. It had to be done. It had to be you. And here I worried, thinking it would end in a disappointing slog after a drawn-out hunt, but no. You have achieved the impossible and now I shall finally, finally have a proper ascension. Truly, fate has set you on my path. I shall leave you now. Do not disappoint." The monster grabs an enraged Malakim by the shoulder and leaves the valley through the gaping hole he left in my defenses. I do not object. Many of us sigh in relief at his departure, but I do not. What he said shows he now considers me as a threat. He should, but I would have preferred to have more time. "Do you mind if I conduct the negotiations?" Constantine asks me. I wave him away, not eager to experience this bout of rage again. I absolutely cannot allow myself to lose control like this. It appears some adjustment will have to be done. In any case, I turn to my friend and greet them. "What exactly happened?" Jimena asks. I hug her publically, to her surprise. Naminata asks for a hug as well and the taller girl picks me up. "You have so much to share, cupcake, so much to give! I can feel it in your essence. Ah, I should have gone with you. I should have gone with you!" "Sorry, it was unexpected." "Wait, so you were gone for much longer than it seems?" Melusine asks with shock. "Yes, it is a long story," I wisely tell her since she is only a strong master and therefore a child compared to my greatness. "That means you slept with your summer prince while we were fighting for our lives?" she explodes, livid. "Errrr." "I knew it! You hussy! Trollop! Thrill-seeking degenerate!" "You are wrong! Wrong!" My reputation is in tatters. Chapter 198 - 192. Fame After silencing Melusine with the promise of unbridled violence, I have the notable displeasure of facing a large group of irate vampires demanding answers. From their perspective, I was gone for half an hour while they were fighting for their freedom and the only witness to my disappearance was Martha. My friends would know that duplicity is not in my blood, quite literally, although deception is. The temporary allies I gained for this project are significantly harder to convince, and I do not blame them. Indeed, I have acquired invaluable strength while they held the line. The major issue here is that they are my allies and partners and therefore I cannot simply bash them over the head with a heavy root for questioning my honor. Although, the drive is strong. There is something different with me. I assumed some of my behaviors would fade with sobriety, but it appears some of the changes are permanent. The urge to remove shoes indoors will be manageable. My sudden bouts of irrational anger might prove more problematic now that the incentive to stop is considerably lower. Why would I care for consequences when I am the consequence? I must force myself to be mature, composed, and patient, the wiser person so to speak, especially when faced with an insistent Sephare buzzing with concern. "Silence please, give me a moment to QUIET YOU LOT! As I said very clearly and several times, I will begin by telling you of my adventures, and then those of you who have questions can take turns to ask them. I will answer most questions to the best of my abilities, and we will not stop until the situation has been made clear. Now, I propose that we reconvene in the dead world where they have seats. Unless you wish to stand in the middle of the clearing until dawn chases us away." We move through the portal with our ''prisoners'', although they keep their weapons and armor. They spread across the tents while we gather on the ritual site with the most precious of commodities and the reason why I moved us all here in this starved, desperate place. Coffee. I would have stabbed Constantine if he had insisted on talking outside when I have my own fresh supply of ground beans waiting for me in a prepared pot. It has been close to five bloody years without a nice cup of java. To deprive me would be a crime. For the next two hours, I give them an abridged and simplified version of my discoveries, omitting the adventure and insisting on the spheres themselves ¡ª their compositions, populations and so on. Cadiz supports me whenever my word comes into doubt, not that they believe I would lie but they consider that my mind could have been influenced. The existence of the Sovereign of Summer spreads confusion and dismay among my kin. At some point, one of the Mask vampires thinks himself smart by ''retiring'' to a nearby tent for the express purpose of eavesdropping. Although not completely a breach of contract, the practice annoys me enough to shove him back to his own men with a forceful application of roots to the groin. Let it be known that I shall answer low blows with lower blows. The questions come soon, and most of them relate to what I can do now since I have kept the existence of Pookie and the Dalton''s Fury secret so far. I answer politely. I answer patiently. Even the insinuations that I knew, should have expected, or planned my departure. The only accusations I struggle with are those of delaying my return. Unfortunately, they are correct. My arguments that the opportunity to gain advantages was simply too important fail to gain traction. "A hypothetical final battle only you believe in makes for a poor excuse for leaving us alone." "I left you for half an hour, and this battle is nowhere close to hypothetical." "Even if you win, we would only be replacing a Devourer overlord for another." "I can only assume you have never interacted with my sire for more than one minute, sir, or the difference would be obvious." I can tell they are not satisfied and I know why. I have made incredible progress with this trip, progress that I have not shared yet. They most likely feel neglected. No amount of explanations will make up for that, and that is fine. I will reveal my gifts and acquisitions after they are properly secured. I suspect what upsets them the most is the sudden upheaval of the balance of power. Constantine himself seems unsure on how to handle me, though my calm and lack of grandiloquent evil speech on world domination must assuage his fears. Eventually, there is not much to do but to remind them of the reason for their coming. "Mask is defeated once more and our land is secure. We have permanently removed their access to fae blood, equalizing the battlefield for the foreseeable future. I believe this calls for celebration more than blame." To my surprise, Constantine diplomatically addresses me. "You have to understand that we have learned of you disappearing through that portal against our expectations. Now you return much stronger. Have we swapped one threat for another?" My outrage must have been obvious because the Speaker winces, aware of his heavy-handed approach. Have I not been his supporter all along despite what he did to me? Do the years spent working on golems together not matter at all? "What Constantine means," Sephare rushes to correct, "is that this new situation is a lot to take in. We have seen much and been disappointed by much throughout the centuries. Please do not take our concerns personally." Of course I damn will. "But never from her!" Most vampires turn to Jimena, who had been so far standing awkwardly and with puppy eyes next to her equally uncertain progenitor. "You have no right to doubt her. My sister has been nothing but an abiding, honorable member of this community and one of the most active proponents of our continued independence. You heard her. She was kidnapped and simply made the best of it, as I would have done, as any of you would have done in those circumstances. Our purpose was to stop Mask and we have done so. You are not entitled to any other results than the ones you joined for!" "Ariane has been unerringly loyal to her allies during our stay together. I have seen her respect her word every time, especially to me. She has displayed commitment and a sense of sacrifice. I am glad to call her a friend." Suddenly, the public attention switches to Cadiz and I see something that I never anticipated from my kin. Relief. S§×ar?h the nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Oh, they mask it so well I had mistaken it for concern but what they feel is fear, really. I can taste it in their aura, though they try to mask it. They are¡­ smaller than I remember. The Accords vampires are afraid of me. Not all of them, of course, but enough to be telling. Despite what my dear Jimena said to defend me, the others will not trust me. Our kin cares about their immediate network to some extent, everyone else is rival, ally of circumstance, or prey. There is no in-between. She will not convince them. In the next ten minutes, my ally and I perform an improvised social gig to soothe everyone. Sephare and a Constantine walk up to welcome Cadiz and fail to walk back, staying by my side instead. The Cadiz form a line behind the Progenitor who stays around while discussing his plans to stay for a while and observe. The Roland rally around Adrian who smoothly recenters the discussion around what demands we should make of our Mask captives. Ten minutes after the talk has started, I have graciously receded in the background of a newly formed circle, only intervening when the others involve me. I am part of the group again. The fear recedes, turned into the respect afforded to the strong as more and more people ask me questions about the fae spheres and the hypothetical danger they represent. I do not begrudge them their curiosity and answer truthfully, even though I know I will have to repeat myself in front of the council. The meeting winds down when Constantine walks to a waiting Bertrand, standing with Hastings herself. I hear the unassuming woman jest to Sephare about the large number of Progenitors present. We do have four, an extraordinary occurrence. The fact I brought them together brings me great pride. As expected of Mask, they smoothly turn the occasion into a socializing event and vampires who were skewering each other a couple of hours before now exchange jokes and taunts. A few sanctioned duels occur when opponents find themselves curious to see who would have prevailed. The abundance of willing mortals helps sake the thirst of those who were seriously wounded. I am fine with this outcome so long as they leave me alone, because I have not forgiven them. I only tolerate them because of our code. We are still on my land. My mild annoyance melts when Urchin and Doe approach me. "I knew you''d be back stronger ma''am. I told the big lug but he wouldn''t believe me. You''re so strong now, I feel like I''m standing in front of a coming storm. Are you fine?" "More than fine now that I have had some coffee. I believe things are looking up." "I thought I had lost you again, Miss Ari," Doe says. He clasps my hands in his giant mitts in an unusual display of physicality. I allow it because it is Doe. "I could not follow," he finishes. "But you were here when I returned." "I was waiting." "I know I could count on it. Come on, do not stay on the sides. Mingle." They obey, disappearing behind the arguing pair of Martha and Melusine. They look so similar besides hair color. I find the resemblance eerie. Shaking my head, I turn to Jimena as she discusses excitedly with her Progenitor. "Not just the German School, but also L''Ecole des Armes and the progress of mounted fencing and formation! There is so much to discover!" Jimena says. "I will be looking forward to it. I have my own treatises to write on fencing with vampire powers." "Oh, oh and I have a request. If I may." "Do tell," Cadiz says guardedly. "Could we spar? I do not mean to presume¡­" "I would love to receive pointers as well," Suarez adds. Cadiz keeps silent for a few seconds, then slowly, a genuine smile blooms on his pallid face. "I would love to." This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. Before we leave, Constantine together with Cadiz, Ako, and a few other warlords ask to spar with me. It soon becomes obvious that despite their considerable powers, I still win. The thorn forest may not seem as impressive as Jarek''s seismic fists, but it is uniquely suited to making me control groups and their numbers do not help them when I can grow roots between each member of the squad and focus on one while keeping the others busy. Constantine''s barrage of powerful chains exhausts itself chasing ghosts while statues overwhelm him despite his decent close quarter skills. Cadiz cannot match my speed and I show no mercy in my style, fully aware that any sloppiness on my part will be paid later when I face my sire. I outpunch Jarek ¡ª which brings him great satisfaction ¡ª thus canceling his main strength. Ako and Wilhelm are not strong enough to oppose me although they use axes to great effect. The chaos of battle inevitably ends in my victory although I do have to make efforts. Between magic, fencing, my Magna Arqa, and guns, I have the tools to overcome any opposition. I use the opportunity to remind Jarek that he would personally sponsor me for the seat Queen of America if I were to defeat Bertrand in single combat. My remark is taken quite seriously and leads to a round of negotiations behind closed doors in the Boston fortress. In the end, I accept not to claim that title for two reasons. First, there should be no queens in America. The last time someone tried it did not end so well. Second, I find our community to be a den of ruthless, manipulative, devious, stubborn old curmudgeonly predators and I refuse to spend a second more than I have to on unruffling feathers. I would very much leave that task to Sephare since she not only excels at it, but she enjoys it too. Truly career socialites are strange creatures. The same applies to Constantine and his Watcher-cursed paperwork. I am pleased to let him handle taxes, fees, trade dispute arbitration and the general application of the law and by that I mean that I would rather stab myself in the knee with a sharpened cross than be more involved. I have enough to handle as it is. "We effectively hold all power between the three of us. I propose to simply enshrine yours by granting you a title and the power you desire, that of summoning the Accords to war," Sephare offers as we sit in comfortable chair in the Speaker''s private quarters. "Unfortunately, we need a majority of two-thirds for any major change to the power structure. We do not have it now." "I can purchase it," I assure them. "I have a bargaining chip I wanted to share anyway." *** The streets of Moonside have not changed much. A population of werewolves tends to remain stable at most times, due in part to their amazing physical resilience, and the lack of children. Jeffrey greets me with his usual congenial smile. "It''s good to see you bosswoman. How did that little thing go? I told June it would be fine, that you knew what you were doing after all this time but she wouldn''t stop." "I am sure the thought of losing me was too much to bear," I sarcastically reply. The werewolf leader gives me a mischievous wink under the worried gaze of his guards. So long as I live, the werewolves are well-protected from many dangers. "I happened to travel to the other side for a little while and I bear a gift. Or rather, I thought it was when I found it, but it might be double-edged." "The other side? The dead world you mentioned?" "No. The world of the fae." "You¡­ went there." "Briefly. And I brought something back." I remove a statuette from my pouch. It features the frame of a woman, little more than a miniature mannequin. "Hmm. Very nice?" "Touch it Jeffrey, and you will understand." He does and his fingers freeze as soon as they touch the delicate artifact, or delicate in appearance at least. His eyes search mine. "It is calling but¡­ I cannot answer. So calming." "Only women may bind this. If she touches it during the full moon¡­" "It will cut her from the curse." "Yes." "But then¡­" "Yes." Jeffrey breathes hard. He licks his lips with nervousness and a powerful longing." "Will the child¡­" "I do not know. I only know that it will be possible. The artisan was quite certain it would function." Jeffrey guffaws. It is not a nice laugh. "Poisoned indeed, bosswoman. The sweetest poison you could ever find. Ah, and to think we went five years without murder. Only one person at a time can bind this item, is it not so?" I nod. "It was difficult to acquire, or rather, I had to find one who could do it." "Yes. How wonderful and damnable. You know, bosswoman, sometimes hope is a curse. I read somewhere that all gifts of the fae were traps. You are no exception." "You could return it." "No, I really could not. Name your price." "I want you and your clan by my side when I face my sire. I will not send them to fight my kin but I will need all the help I can get during daylight." "When will it be?" "Not any time soon. This is a pact between myself and your clan. Your clan must adhere to it and they will collectively hold the promise." "The clan answer to me. Yes, you have a deal. All of my warriors and myself for that last campaign." He stays quiet for a moment, though I can tell he has something left to say. " You smell¡­different. What else did you find?" "Power. I found power." *** The White Cabal complex at Avalon may not have changed over the past years, but my accomodations have. Rather than being made to wait outside at the councilmen''s convenience, I now wait in a guest office inside of the expanded government building with a cup of black tea. I do not really enjoy black tea. I hinted at it several times but the only reaction I get from the assistant who delivers my drinks is terror. The last time, she almost tipped the cup into my lap, and so I sip the bitter liquid with mild annoyance. Finally the woman returns to whisper that I am expected. She smells of cheap terror. I can go weeks without feeding now and the mild temptation is easy to keep under control. The council room is circular, with seats arranged in an amphitheater and each chair placed behind the more decorated one belonging to the main counselors. The fat president still gives and takes the right to speak with bangs of his mallet ¡ª I never bothered to learn his name. The Head Librarian is the same positively ancient woman covered in trinkets. There are some new faces however, especially since a few were removed from their shoulders after the attempted coup a while ago. "What is that she''s holding?" a new councilwoman asks. The president turns to me this time. I have in my hands a long staff wrapped in a snug wood casing. Its shape is quite obvious, especially for mages whose use of the gauntlet is only a recent change. "Would you like to tell us now? I assume this is relevant to the conversation." "I come bearing answers and a proposal. The staff is part of my proposal." "How do we know it''s not a trap?" the councilwoman insists, breaking protocol. She is quite young and beautiful in a pouty sort of way, with raven hair and thick lips tastefully underlined with minimal makeup. I approve of her efforts but not of her interruptions. Ugh, every time I deal with mages, a good third of the time is wasted on grandstanding. They are like us but without manners. "Then I propose you start with it since there are bound to be many questions" "Certainly. I will be brief. There will be a battle in the future that will decide the fate of our planet, and I want you by my side when it happens." "We have already agreed to a defensive alliance. Will this be any different?" "The man we will be facing will not attack us, he will attack another immortal. If he wins, he will gain enough power to take over the world single-handedly, and there will be very little we can do to stop him." "One of your kin?" "The one who made me. The first of our kind." They mull over the news in collective silence for a moment. I sometimes forget that the mortals know very little about us as we like to keep our affairs private and deny the curious with extreme prejudice. I consider the current notion to be relevant to the negotiations and ultimately harmless, unlike, for example, the number of top level civil servants we hold sway over. Which is most of them. "How old is he, exactly?" the Black Dog asks. "Approximately two thousand six hundred years." This time the mages are dumbstruck. They know very well the older a vampire grows and the more powerful they become. It does not take a genius to realize the implication. "Can a man like this even be stopped?" another counselor asks. "Due to special circumstances, I have gained the strength to face him at least. Victory is not assured, however." "Can you give us an idea of what he can do?" In answer, I deploy my aura. I always keep myself under control these days since it is only polite, but now I am here to impress upon them the necessity of unity. This time, I let go. It feels like removing an overly tight piece of garment if said garment encircled one''s soul. I refrain from sighing in contentment. A few of the people at the back gasp, but the archmages and veteran politicians facing me merely flinch, doing their best to keep their composure. The lights flicker, which is new. Slowly, the warm glow of the lamps turn blueish and the temperature drops. The fading warmth of the mortals'' breath produces amusing puffs of mist. "You have made your point," the president says. I regretfully pull my power back in. The cold lingers for a while, even after someone opens a window to let warmer air in. It gives the mages a moment to consider. Eventually, they recover enough to pretend they were merely considering my words. "And what do you expect us to do?" "I do not expect you to face him in direct combat. The strength of mages has always relied on preparations, planning, and superior tactics. This is what I would like you to contribute. In return, I will offer you this staff," I say, and I open the package. "What does this do?" a younger member asks with interest. "It gives you a fighting chance." I reveal a silver implement of sublime make, a work of art covered in thin, interlocking layers of runes. No human hand could craft such an elaborate masterpiece, and even a mundane human could feel the power it exudes. "This is a Blue Court war rod, a proprietary design of their fighting forces. No human mages can live long enough to hope to harness its potential, although Frost would have been able to use the entire ice magic system. The man or woman who wields this shall become a champion among mortal casters. They will outshine entire cabals through sheer might." "And the price for that¡­" "I already paid it. Only one person may bind the staff, but so long as you hold your part of the agreement by supporting me with your full military for one battle, it will be yours now and forever." We understand each other. Mages may not lie or break oaths easily. If they deny me, they might not lose their lives but the staff will at the very least become cursed, not least because it was made by a Likaean. I am asking for a very serious commitment. "Where did you find such a thing?" "You know the fae are gone," I start. There is a little back and forth when they deny and deflect, as if the beat of their hearts and the smell of their stress were not all the answers I need. It takes half an hour of pointless deliberations before the leadership admits they knew of this phenomenon, which leads to another fifteen minutes of subtle recriminations from those who were unaware of the fact. It has only been two weeks. The news is still fresh. Casters in general only kept a handful of fae captive due to the amazing reward one could receive by giving them to our kin, and also the risk of being slaughtered if found sheltering them. It does not surprise me to learn that their fate would be hidden under a mantle of secrecy. I admit I was also wrong, many of them did not know. Sinead has the truth of it. One of the most common mistakes is losing sight of what people know. I will miss the smug bastard. "The path to the fae worlds has closed and shall remain so for the next few millenia ¡ª barring the odd and unreliable phenomenon ¡ª so this is effectively a unique artifact of unmatched power. Please consider this a mark of my esteem, of my respect for your abilities, and of the hope that we will face that devil together." Over the next couple of hours, I am asked much about the Likaean spheres and I keep my answers secret and mysterious for a single overarching reason: I am having fun. Besides, being insufferably mysterious is so deeply rooted in our personalities that to act with too much honestly would raise even more suspicions. They finally work their way backward to the conclusion. "Wait¡­ you freed the fae? You?" "And sent them to their home plane, yes." "How do we know she just didn''t slaughter them all," the aggravating girl replies. I learned that her name is Daphne and she is the new face of the human supremacy faction. Although I respect her for her attempts, her continuous insinuations are working against her at the moment. The proper way to do so is to save all those insinuations for her followers and only confront her foes with accusations that are too difficult to deny, otherwise the conclusion is what happens now. "And how would she have collected the staff then? You can feel its power as well as I can. There is no denying it. It was made in another world," the librarian scoffs. I let the argument wind down a little, until I am asked to leave so they can deliberate. I wisely leave the staff in plain sight with a small charge just so they can feel its power calling to them while they talk. Eventually, the temptation is simply too great and I get a carefully worded contract signed. I have the core of a group. Now that it is done, I need to keep searching for new allies. I have time, but so does he. *** "Ariane? Lass, is that really ye? I thought you were still in the new world doing your thing." "I have not left yet and I also completed the project successfully. It is done." That''s great ta hear, aye. How can ye reach here from America? No mirrir should be this stable." "I have enough power to fuel a spell at this range. I am also using the Aurora''s chestplate. It has changed a little." "What did ye do to my masterpiece?" "The fae ice world helped it along to¡­ completion, shall we say. You will see when you get here." "And why would I get¡­ what is that thing? Those runes, but no, it cannot be. I do not¡­ Is that one gravity? Wait. Wait wait wait wait wai Ariane WHAT DID YE FIND?" "Flying ships." "Please tell me ye didn''t let any of those young numpties catch a gander at this they''ll demolish the bloody thing. By Tyr tell me ye kept the diagrams. Drawings. Anything!" "I brought back the ship." "You¡­" "Yes. It is currently moored on my land, but we have a problem. The ambient mana is too weak to keep it afloat for extended periods of time. We need a way to adapt the design to our sphere. You are the best arcane engineer on the planet. Think you can help?" "Dinnae move it, dinnae screw with it, and keep the humans'' mitts of that thing, ye hear? I''m coming." *** Over the next few months, I find that the recent crisis has subsided but that its waves only grow with every passing day. The news of Mask''s second defeat and their retreat over the ocean is noted by most information networks including the more mundane ones. The reason for their defeat and the disappearance of an entire species all trace back to me. As a relatively public figure I have no need or advantage denying the truth, especially since many rumors claim I murdered the fae to the last one. The unintended consequence of my success, the sheer scope of the operation, and Bertrand''s crushing defeat in a one-on-one duel propels me to fame. I receive much attention from almost every faction that knows of us. Isaac even hints that the information package on my person has been purchased so many times it became the information broker''s most sold commodity this year. Not all of this attention is good obviously, and I am compelled to hire additional help to protect the secrecy of my latest project, as well as my life. The sun has not lost its hold on me and as unstoppable as I am at night, the cruel orb still stops me. I suspect summer essence has increased my resilience. It just means I will simmer instead of roasting. Progress. Eventually, Constantine and Sephare put my request forward and the vote is called. I can tell from the eyes of my assembled kin that they expect some sort of compensation as the council assembles in the courtyard outside of the Boston fortress. I point up to the night sky, surprising many with my seemingly absurd display. Above us, there are only low clouds. First they hear the flap of propellers and the woosh of hot hair leaving a balloon, then the hull appears, soon followed by sails. Curses and exclamations of surprise emerge from a notoriously quiet crowd, pleasing me greatly. "Is this a flying ship" "It is more than a flying ship. It is a proof of concept. It is¡­ the future. It is here, and through me, the Accords shall control the exclusive rights to it. Welcome to a new era of magic and technology. Let us control it, shall we?" Chapter 199 - 193. A Night in the Life of a Devourer June 1872 Of all the major industries that graced the humble city of Marquette, none were more emblematic than the designing and making of weapons of war. IGL, Illinois Guns of Liberty, had claimed the position of crown jewel of the American military engineering business. It had kept this title through a combination of reliability, excellent supply lines, and an ability to streamline any design they came across. The Illinois Guns of Liberty could be found in the hands of infantrymen as it had during the war, but also equipped private security companies, Pinkerton detectives, and all manners of discerning individuals. Contrary to most of its competitors, IGL had thrived in the post-war crunch. Its founders had used their profit to diversify their activities. IGL had contracted with grace to match the rarer orders, only to bounce back with more vigor like a gunpowder phoenix rising from the ashes of peace. Now, the forges belched out black smoke in turn with falling hammers. Deadly contraptions emerged from its maw, contained in crates stamped with the eagle of its crest. IGL was Marquette''s largest employer and its roaring fires never cooled. Despite IGL''s respectability, there were some questions as to the nature of its engineering department, as well as the strange materials they seemed to work with. Certain rumors of witchcraft and curious pursuits titillated the curiosity of the town''s gossips. It was said that they were working on ships, even though the closest body of water lay far to the north. Those rumors were left to run amok for a good reason. As in most cases, they were a lure, a smoke screen to divert the attention of the hoi polloi from the true enigma. Situated behind the factory wall on a small hillock, the Reynaud family estate occupied a modest stretch of ground and would, to the uninitiated, appear as nothing more than a Gothic Revival estate designed for a large family. Its facade showed arched windows painted white, pink brick walls hidden coquettishly behind rigorously maintained hedges. Flowers were rare, and so were the guards, though an imposing wrought iron gate blocked the main entrance. A more astute observer would have noticed that the house came to life at night while most of the company''s activities were winding down. Maybelle worked there as a receptionist. Now, there were quite a few anomalies in this house, not least the death of its famed founder some thirty years before the company''s official incorporation. A massive painting of Hercule Reynaud greeted visitors with a fatherly, warm smile. It was quite recent, yet felt almost lifelike. No, indeed, discretion was the better part of valor for most employees. Maybelle had never hoped for such good employment as a single, unwed mother despite her training, and she never would find one again if she lost it. Similarly, Hortensia Staunton from accounting was on the run from a jealous and violently separated husband, while Glenn Jefferson was wanted for murder in Virginia. She knew it because Mr. September had left his memo open on his desk while she was bringing him an order to sign. Everyone working at the estate had reason to stay here. Quietly. This led to the most polite and soft-spoken environment Maybelle had ever worked in, which suited her just fine. The employees kept quiet about ''the'' woman, her strange comings and goings, her mysterious guests and other, stranger details. In return, they thrived under her black wing, left to enjoy their second chance at life in a world that would see them crushed. The woman, whom her colossal bodyguard called ''Miz Ari'' but everyone else called Miss Reynaud, showed unerring respect, and her requests were always reasonable. Maybelle was more than willing to excuse her peculiarities for those reasons, and also because she was terrifying. Maybelle was reasonably certain others had noticed. When Miss Reynaud walked around, sometimes, the walls would rustle. Her comings were heralded by a strange chill crawling up the spine of her attendants. She was unreasonably strong as well, sometimes picking up samples or interesting metal pieces with inhuman ease, while at other times she would pretend to struggle. Like the others, however, Maybelle would not lift the mask to see what hid under. She knew witchcraft was involved. She also knew that looking deeper might cost one more than their lives. No, the Reynaud estate would stay polite and peaceful. At least from internal disruptions. A chime rang from Maybelle''s desk, rousing her from her distraction. The sun had set, letting the August night dispel the day''s stifling heat. She grabbed the copper horn hanging near the wall and spoke into it. "This is reception speaking." "Mrs. Starr, hello, whose child is currently asleep in the south wing guest room?" "Wallace''s, miss. The new hire." "And where is she right now?" "Undergoing training with Mr. Jefferson." "Inform them the child needs changing. There is no need to alter their schedule further, however. And do we have an update on the Lynn contract?" "I''ll bring it to you immediately, miss." Maybelle picked the prepared file and walked the stone stairs to the second floor, where the strange woman''s palatial office was located. Her brand new leather loafers sank in the lush carpet with every silent step. Mr. Doe stood at the top, his attention focused on what appeared to be a primer on the Finnish language. He nodded at her in passing, as he always did. As usual, she held her breath when entering the last corridor until she was certain no one could hear her, and as usual, Miss Reynaud spoke as Maybelle''s hand approached the polished wood of the door, but before she could knock. "Come in." The strange woman''s desk occupied almost all of the space from wall to wall, cutting the large room in half like the world''s fanciest barricade. Sober carvings decorated its surface, while gas lamps cast a warm glow over the rare wood essences. Shelves occupied the far wall, some holding books, others files of recent projects. They were only half-full as their contents were regularly archived to avoid cluttering. Miss Reynaud did not like cluttering, as her desk''s surface confirmed. The woman herself sat in her chair, holding a small telegram. One of her brows arched imperiously in a gesture that did not quite fit her youthful features. With her poise, she possessed an ageless quality that made receiving orders from her less grating to the more traditionally-minded employees. Maybelle wordlessly placed her folder in the receiving rack and stood, waiting to be dismissed. The strange woman balled the message and tossed it in her bin. Her expression had returned to polite neutrality. "I am informed that we should expect guests belonging to law enforcement soon. Please direct them to my office as soon as they arrive. Thank you." "Understood, miss." Maybelle returned to the reception. She spent the next hour scheduling appointments and checking inventories. The expected visitors showed up a little later. The first was a handsome young man with hard features. He entered with vigilant eyes and a hand on his holster, from which a metal handle emerged. A cross hung from his neat tie. Maybelle surveyed the newcomer with distant interest, noting the double-barreled coach gun strapped to his back. Two older fellows in dusters followed soon after with guarded airs, weapons on display. They approached her as if expecting her to bite. She expected bank robbers to show less nervous energy. "We''re here for Reynaud," the lead man threatened. "Of course. Take the stairs to your right to the second floor, then it''s the large room at the end of the corridor." The man blinked. Maybelle blinked with as much exaggeration as she thought she could get away with. "Was there anything else?" she asked coyly, but the man was already gone with his two partners in tow. Maybelle resumed her work. The vampire felt the men arrive when spheres of denial appeared in her Magna Arqa, bubbles of existence that refused her own, protected by their faith in something greater than themselves, and her. Her bodyguard had pulled back for now, leaving the men to trail dust on the expensive carpet. They filed in fearfully, weapons drawn, crosses revealed. The vampire placed her elbows on the desk and rested her head on her balled fist, looking at the intruders with detached interest. "You are Ariane, the Red Maiden?" the handsome young lad asked. He smelled of delicious terror mixed with courage, a true hero facing impossible odds. And those were impossible odds. "I have been called that, yes," the vampire replied with a half smile to three gun muzzles. "You''ll be coming with us." The vampire lifted a finger. A small ball of steel smacked into the man''s revolver, tearing it off his hand. He yelped in pain when his knuckle cracked as well. The same fate befell the other two men as well with such speed that the swear words covered each other. The attack had been sudden and devastating, and the would-be hunters were left holding their broken digits. The scent of fear increased. The vampire stood up, and the door slammed shut behind the three men. She walked around her desk with slow purpose, coming to stand in front of her guests. Her voice never abandoned its polite, descriptive tone. "Hypothetically, if I were to stand in an empty room made of enchanted steel with a single exit you could block, three men could indeed neutralize me. I would be backed into a corner, so to speak, but this situation will never arise." The vampire extended a hand, and the man''s revolver jumped into it. She twirled it for effect. "The purpose of the cross is not to make you invincible but to offer a safe haven, that is why it makes for a poor offensive tool. So long as you stay home and pray, we shall never visit you, but the moment you step into the night with a weapon in your hand is the moment you forfeit the protection neutrality afforded you. Why did you not attack during the day?" The men kept silent, glaring at the ground and at each other with the embarrassment that comes with a swift defeat. "Answer me!" the woman hissed. The crosses flashed blue and the man signed themselves. One of them retreated to the door, only to find that it would not open. The vampire grinned. She cocked her borrowed gun. One of the men gave in. "We know you cannot be found during the day. No one can see you. And there are too many guards." The vampire frowned at the thought of a leak, then reconsidered. She was a well-known ¡ª if mysterious ¡ª quantity in Marquette. The nosiest gossips had already drawn a parallel with Miss Delaney who had led the Dream in its heydays. And reached an unfortunate conclusion. Such was the price of hands-on management. "There are three reasons why you still live," she said. "First, killing law enforcement is infinitely more problematic than killing a nobody. Second, I do not want blood and brain matter on my brand new shaggy rug. Third, you were so hilariously incompetent I am more amused than vexed. You have two choices. You can leave by this door and never bother me again, or¡­" Darkness crept in the corners of the room. An unnatural chill spread through the air, freezing the men''s breath in their throat. Their visions narrowed to a corridor and at the end of that tunnel was a cold presence, purple iris slitted with cat-like, baleful pupils. Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. "I will shred your souls and drain your life force like a fine wine and then, I will kill you." The men had not signed for eternal damnation. They took a collective step back. "I thought not," the woman said. The door banged open and they ran away. The vampire sighed in relief. "An Suqqam Hayatu, the tall one almost soiled himself." She grumbled and inspected the threshold, her toes sinking in the fluffy fabric. Satisfied that no irreparable damage had been inflicted and it was not too dusty, she returned to her paperwork, signing spending bills and inspecting diagrams of what appeared to be a large ship. Or perhaps a hot air balloon. An hour later, she contacted the reception once more. "Maybelle, I do not see the report on the Indian territories trade route. Where is it?" "Ah, sorry ma''am, analyst Briggs said he needed one more day because some of the reports were late. He has provided an outline of the situation. It''s in the sector report folder." "Hmm. Thank you." "Oh! Your order has arrived, ma''am. From France. The Berthe Morisot?" "The painting? I will be right down!" The vampire hummed a horribly off-tune little jig and put on some moccasins. She made her way down to the reception where the cylinder encasing her prize in a protective embrace awaited. She unsealed and opened it with dextrous excitement. Maybelle leaned in and caught a glance. The painting appeared to depict a port with a couple at the forefront. Masted ships waited, moored in the distance. She squinted and realized the lines were a little blurred, the colors strange and fleeting. It was a far cry from the realistic landscapes lining the wall. Concern filled her heart but the strange woman smiled fondly, revealing, for an instant, teeth that were perhaps a little too sharp. Maybelle noted the strange Miss Reynaud seldom displayed emotions, yet now covetous greed gave her cold beauty a strange animation. After a while, she deftly rolled the painting back and replaced it in its sheath. "Have it framed and brought to the exhibition hall. I do not need to remind you of the rule?" "No one enters without your express consent. We will leave it in the lockbox, as usual. Ma''am." "Good. Well, back to it I suppose. Ta ta." Maybelle nodded politely and watched the young woman''s blue dress swish as she walked. Shaking her head, she focused on her next task. *** The vampire returned to her desk, still humming with contentment. Paperwork disappeared with commendable speed. Sometimes, she would call down to request a specific document from the archive or send orders that could not be delayed. Her outbox collected notes filled with carefully written cursive. Suddenly, she froze. Then she blinked very slowly. Ten seconds later, the chime near her copper horn rang softly. "Ma''am, we have an intruder near the east wall. Your¡­ security thing made a sound. It appears to be a young man with a backpack." "I see. If he makes a move towards the entrance, apprehend him. Otherwise, just keep an eye on him. I want to know what he plans to do." The vampire sat back and waited. Sometimes, her eyes would travel down as if she could see through the thick walls. Eventually, she stood and huffed a little laugh. "Well, you are quite the little monkey." She went to the nearest window. Suddenly, branches of pure darkness dotted with white flowers appeared out of nowhere. They parted to let the statue of a man in armor out. It rolled the precious carpet out of the way and disappeared just as it had come. In the silent room, there was a loud thud. The strange noise was quickly followed by a muffled curse, then another lesser thud. Wards shone softly around the reinforced frame. The vampire sprang in motion. She opened the window, pushing aside the man who had tried to break in. She grabbed his wrist before he could fall back down and pulled him in bodily. Her visitor swore as he crashed on the varnished hardwood. The man was young, muscular and tan. His clothes were worker garb, dark to fit in, and covered in sewn pockets. Surprise marred his handsome, honest traits. The vampire noted the acrid stench of garlic. He scrambled to his feet and opened his backpack with movements panic made feverish. The vampire politely waited with a hand supporting her elbow, the other tapping a clawed finger on her chin. The intruder finally revealed his target: a rolled bundle of dynamite. The vampire''s brows rose. "You can''t get away with it!" he blurted. Grasping in his pocket, he found a matchstick. This did not seem to bother the vampire. "I am afraid you might have to be more specific," she said "... what?" "There are many things I intend to or have already gotten away with. You need to name which specific occurrence of me getting away with things you are referring to." "You stole our land! You poisoned the well and killed the cattle, only to buy it for a joke of a price! You think you can just take our home? I''ll take yours too." With a terrible rictus of unbidden rage, the intruder brushed the red tip against his boot and¡­ nothing happened. With a puff of cold air, whatever fragile ember had started to form died a lonesome, pathetic death. The intruder appeared a bit aghast, but another match soon joined the first on its path to incandescence with the exact same result. Panic replaced fury in his expression. The vampire had not moved. After the fourth attempt, cold sweat covered his face. The vampire, however, reached a conclusion. She headed back to her office and sat, writing a quick note. "Name and address, please." "What?" A breath later, the temperature plummeted. The intruder heard a sigh and watched the monster in the skin of a young woman massage the bridge of her nose, a human gesture performed with a clawed hand. "Are you hard of hearing or just dense? Your name and address, boy, what are they? If one of my employees has been overzealous, I want to know about it." "Why do you care? You''re a monster!" "Because," the woman patiently explained, "I have no need to create grudges and deep resentment over business when the long term cost is that young men attempt to break into my place of work at eleven in the evening, carrying dynamite instead of flowers." There was a lull in the conversation, but then the man frowned. He fiddled with the cross hanging from his neck, surprised that it had not stopped her from grabbing his wrist. His suspicion grew. "You just want to go after my family." "I swear that this was not my intention. However, you are free to decline. I suppose we should resume our previous business and address your invasion of my private property and your threats against me?" she asked, picking up an elegant revolver with a pearl handle from a side drawer. The man considered his options. "Hmm. The Lord protects me." "Has your faith made you bulletproof? Let us put it to the test." "Wait!" To his surprise, she did. "Wait. Are you.. are you really the monster behind IGL? Is that you?" "Yes. Do you need my signature to prove it? The company''s seal?" "No, no, this is¡­ quite sudden and unexpected. You are playing tricks with me, foul monster." His heart was not into it. The vampire tutted. "Language please. I believe I am already being quite understanding, no need to test my patience further. Now, please state the address of the house that was stolen from you. At least." "My family farm. Near Rushville. We don''t live in a city, it''s just the old Adams estate. I''m Roger Adams. Folks around us know about it. They know we were done dirty by some city fellers." The woman tapped her finger on the wood of her desk, the tick tick tick playing with his nerves. "Schuyler county, was it? I will verify your claims. If you are correct, your property will be returned. I understand the concept of home more than most people, I assure you." "Is this real? Not some lies to get rid of me?" "Mr Adams, do you sincerely believe I need to expend any effort to get rid of you?" She tapped on the revolver to make a point, but the man suspected there was more to it. She had not been afraid even before she got a hold of the gun. He remembered the way his matches failed. The truth was that he had no weapons left, except a stake hidden in his back pocket and a knife. He had counted on the threat of explosives to be enough and¡­ perhaps he should have planned this with more care. So focused on getting in, he had neglected to prepare what to do once he had achieved that goal. It felt stupid in retrospect but¡­ he had been so angry. "No. Uh, are you speaking the truth about getting our house back?" "If you have told the truth, then yes. The perpetrator will also be¡­ disciplined. I provide incentives for the acquisitions of key properties across the state. Financial incentives. I also impose rules and guidelines. If someone broke my directives out of greed, there will be consequences." The intruder thought the woman used a lot of what his sister called euphemisms. She said it was when you say something soft that means something hard. He thought ''consequences'' here didn''t mean what most folks meant. The woman finished her note, then placed it on the table where it sat there waiting with the tantalizing promise of justice accomplished. She entwined her fingers in front of her and asked him a question. "Do you know what I am?" The intruder hesitated, thinking he could still die. Eventually, his honest nature pushed him away from the easy lie. "I think you are a vampire." "Is that so? And why do you believe that?" "My family, they said only a monster could do that to us. When I learned those fellers that harassed us were from over here, I asked about you and also my sister has that book about fantastic creatures of the world. Says a lot about pretty folks who come out at night." "Is that why you stink of garlic?" "Hmmm, that''s right. The book said¡­ it would help. It does not, does it?" "No." "Damn that liar. This Simon, errr¡­" "Sinead." The name was barely whispered, and yet it carried with it impressions, feelings. For a moment, the wan light of a nearby lamp gained a golden quality and the air smelled sweeter. The intruder got an inexplicable vision of eyes like amber, a devastating smile, the taste of wine on his lips. And also, a vision of a very erect penis. It was an extremely disturbing experience. "Err. Yeah. Simon Nead. That man." He gulped. "Can I go now?" "Hm? Oh yes, let me help." The vampire stood and moved to the window once again. She opened it, giving the intruder a vision of a nearby fountain near the main entrance. "That should be fine." She placed a hand on his shoulder and gripped. His cross shone blue and she lifted an index in warning. He raised his hands in surrender. He did not know how but this affected the object, which lost its radiance. "Well, Roger Adams, I cannot say that it has been a pleasure. Next time you have a complaint, use the damn door. Now kindly show yourself out." Next, he was flying through the air. Gravity and panic gripped him. He flailed his arms in vain before landing face first in the shallow pool. He managed to twist himself, hitting hard stone with his shoulder. The shock made him gasp. The cold water jolted his mind. He surfaced, breathing quickly, his heart beating against his chest. He wiped the liquid from his face. He was in the fountain. Alive. The window slammed shut behind him. A click to the side attracted his attention. A man wearing a crimson uniform under a Stetson sniggered, his hand resting on an engraved rifle. He had just unlocked and opened the main gate. Their presence told him all he needed to know. She had seen him coming and allowed him to do so. He scrambled out of the fountain and advanced, dripping, through the exit. As he ran, he noticed a short blonde woman with a muscular build under a similar crimson uniform. He had not noticed her until now. She growled softly when he ran by. Terror and relief fueled his flight. He ran until he found his room in a nearby hotel and spent the night awake with the lights on. *** Maybelle did her best to focus on the expense sheet in front of her. Sadly, she was too curious about the intruder. She could not help but wonder what they were here for. Was this a burglary? Spying? A scorned lover? She burned to know. Then, it started with a light tremor in the house''s foundation, a vibration of sorts. Maybelle braced and covered her ears. The voice of Miss Reynaud was soft, yet it carried through the walls with unnatural clarity. It started with a string of expletives in some language she did not know, then French curses peppered the unholy mix. Eventually, it was in English that the eruption took place. "I HAVE BEEN EXCEEDINGLY PATIENT AND I HAVE NOT SHED THE BLOOD OF THOSE BRAINLESS TWITS AND SO I DESERVE SOME COMFORT." Maybelle grabbed the copper horn. A moment later, the chime rang. "This is the reception." "Mrs Starr. Can I have a coffee please? Blend number five with some cream and a, no, make that two sugars. Have Mr Jefferson prepare it please. Thank you." "A long one, miss?" "Yes. And get the office of the architect to get me a proposal for a tower. Seven floors at least, with a large basement. And the office on the top floor. Gargoyles. The works." "Understood." Maybelle hung up and raced to the majordomo. Seven minutes later, he walked by her at a brisk pace with a silver platter in his hands, trailing the enticing smell of a perfect roast behind him. *** Ariane aspired to some respite after being intruded in her sanctum not once but twice in the span of a few hours. Restraining specific instincts had become incredibly hard since the dragon hunt, especially those that related to territory. If anyone had dared enter her private, special collection of paintings and art, she would have just dismembered them where they stood. As it was, it had taken all of her self-control not to bite the idiots. She raised the cup to her lips. Cream altered the taste greatly, especially to her enhanced senses, and yet there was a smooth quality to the sweetened coffee that brought balm to her irritated mind. A few sips later, she felt better. That was when the screams started. The vampire stayed perfectly unmoving as cries and chants grew in volume until the words were clear to all but the most hard of hearing. "No more gin, drink water, close the pubs and stay sober!" The sentence was repeated at nauseam by distinctly female throats coming from the gate. Ariane placed the half-empty cup in its decorated saucer. Outside of her property, a group of women had gathered in conservative dresses waving around signs and banners. There must have been two dozen of them and they seem agitated. Ariane came to a quick conclusion. "Tonight is Thursday. The temperance league holds its weekly meeting," the vampire idly commented. It was well-known that IGL owned and regulated the town''s brewery to contain the endemic spread of alcoholism which now affected most of the United States. The temperance league were merely complaining directly to the owner. Ariane placed her hands on the window''s stool, resting her head against the cold glass. The human Lord was testing her. The problem was that she had been forsaken by said lord long ago and really, that was a little too much. In the middle of her coffee. Sacrilegious, even. She returned to her cup but the relaxation that came with the ritual had been broken. "You know what? Fine. Fine!" A chime later, she had Maybelle Starr on the horn. "Reception here." "We have manure, right? From the stables?" Consternated silence met her question, though the girl recovered quickly. "Yes. We do." "Excellent. Have a boy race and fetch me a large bucket." "... to your office miss?" "Over my carpets? Have you lost your senses? No, have them meet me by the fountain. I will be right down. And tell them to hurry, my patience is wearing thin." Grumbling, Ariane put on her moccasins, again, and walked down, again. It was dark in the inner court so the protesters did not spot her. She could see them and realized in a calmer part of her mind that they would pay for everyone else''s behavior. She also knew she did not really care. A sleepy stable lad rushed by her side, the required bucket held in a strong grip. The container looked heavy, and its payload let out an acrid stench. "Good. Place it here." "On the ground, ma''am?" "Yes, and step back." S~ea??h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The lad did so. In an instant, a root erupted from the ground and seized the bucket. It snapped forward like the arm of an ancient siege weapon, catapulting its nasty content across the courtyard. Some of it splattered on the metal frame. More found the dresses, exposed skin and singing mouths of the protesters. Atrocious screams and terrible wails replaced the slogans. Their misery drowned the street with a terrible din. The abused troop retreated in poor order, leaving behind discarded hats and abandoned umbrellas soiled with excrement. The root disappeared as if it had never existed. Only the discarded bucket remained, a mute witness to the terrible crime that had occurred. Near the gates, the female sentry gagged. Her male counterpart sighed and left to fetch a shovel. "Kill one warn a hundred," the vampire soberly commented. Nodding to herself, she left for the tranquility of her art collection, knowing that if anyone came to bother her, Pookie would get an extra meal. Chapter 200 - 194: The nerve of war "You know, if you wanted to remodel the place there were better ways," I idly remark. Melusine''s face twists with rage. "You jest? A third of my warehouses went up in flames and you jest? Do you know how much time and money I lost? Do you comprehend that your own bottom line will be impacted?" Financially as in life, I am confident with my bottom line. I would never invest most of my assets with a fire mage anyway. "Of course. A tragedy. Chicago shall never be the same," I comment. "It will not because three square miles have gone up in smoke! A hundred thousand people are homeless." "But there is a silver lining," I point out. "All those slums can be replaced with brand new buildings of much better quality. Parks, even. And the smell would be much improved." "Ariane, it was warm, dry, and windy for a long time. I know what you are trying to do and you are being silly. Childish. It was a terrible accident. Preliminary reports say a cow did it." "Yes, a cow did it," I reply without concealing my smile. "The question is, did she use firebolt or inferno?" I let Melusine scream incoherently for thirty seconds before cutting the communication. Pleasure is all well and good but I have work to do! The demonstration is about to begin. I must monitor the situation although the sun is out, and I am a prisoner in my own quarters. Another spell and I get a blurry vision of an open field not too far from the Boston fortress where I currently reside. A helpful assistant has the dubious honor of carrying a silver plate in front of him for the entire day, despite the sweltering heat of summer. Curse summer. Curse the summer solstice most of all. I cannot stop myself from sticking my nose to the metal surface of my scryer, even though the quality of the image does not depend on my own senses. Loth stands in the distance, looking regal in a beautifully made beige suit. He smiles genially at the sweating patent officer and assembled army officers. Their medals and decorations shine in the sun almost as much as their brows. I know for a fact Loth keeps a cooling steel plate stuck to his hairy back to handle the unbearable heat, the sly old dog. I sit back and wait for the show to begin. The dragon vision was clear to me. I still have several decades before Nirari finally backs Semiramis into a corner. I would not say that time is on my side since her loss remains inevitable and I will have to intervene, however I have no reason to rush the final confrontation. There are still ways for me to grow more powerful and to add new tools to my arsenal while Nirari has already reached the peak of his power. My options are diplomatic, technological, and the last is a special project I started before freeing the fae. As much as it annoys me, the world is also filled with threats against me and my allies. The major players will not show the basic decency to wait until I rid them of a world-conquering tyrant before shoving a spike in my heart, therefore measures are required. I need to build up my forces. Fortunately, I enjoy doing that immensely. Loth smiles in harmony with my own pleasure. He widens his arms in benevolent welcome, a show considering his size. "Welcome, gentlemen, welcome to the first demonstration of the unthinkable. For the first time in the history of mankind we touch upon the true dream. Not a controlled fall, not floating at the mercy of the wind. I am talking about the holy Grail of modern engineering: man-powered flight." I wanted to put ''woman-powered flight'' on the patent but the old Dvergur refused using my own weakness against me: the rules of language. He said that if I would not tolerate the utterance of the despicable term of ''okay'' anywhere on my compound, I would certainly not allow my own patent to break the laws of grammar. Curse him and curse semantics. "We have not come here for snakeoil speeches, Mr¡­ Skoragg was it?" The man who spoke is a reed-thin gentleman with a ruddy face despite his bookworm physique. Scaled glasses rest on a thin nose, while he keeps in his hand a worn leather case. Except for him, everyone wears the blue of the army "Yes," the old warrior replies with a slight Nordic accent. He decided to shelve the Scottish brogue for the occasion and for ''respectability'', though it still surfaces when he swears. His new position demands it. "My name is Loth Skoragg, head of Skoragg Heavy Industries. Our prototype is named the Prometheus and it was designed at the behest of Illinois Guns of Liberties, in collaboration with their engineering department. The patent includes both of us." "I have not come here for a history lesson, Mr ¡ª" "If you will excuse us," a colonel with a long brown beard and pale eyes interrupts. The patent officer sighs but complies. "Please, continue." "Although the Prometheus is a Swedish-American partnership, the plans and factories are all hosted on American soil. I have no need to explain how momentous this is." "You explain much, but I have yet to see any sign of a flying device." Loth grins and points up. On cue, the roar of an engine comes to life and rotors turn to move the air. A shadow falls upon the assembly. A hull with a flat bottom descends like a bird from heaven, side sails taunt in the wind. Its shade covers the waiting group. The witnesses'' flabbergasted expression is positively precious. Hiding a ship in a cloudless sky can be difficult, if one forgets that the sun exists and that no one stares at it willingly. The Prometheus is not a proof of concept as most new designs are, it is a fully functional ship capable of flying at a height of a thousand feet and an autonomy of eight hundred miles at the moment. It can host a crew of twenty five and bears four light cannons aiming down. As a navy ship, it would do a decent job patrolling the coasts for smugglers. As a skyship, it bears a distinct advantage. No armies of the world can reliably take down a moving, plated target a thousand feet above their heads. It, however, can hit them just fine. The plate bearer turns the mirror to show the Prometheus land in all its glory. Two of the officers fall on their posteriors and clamber back, their eyes wide as saucers. The ship comes to rest with a light thud while red-clad sailors lower the gangplank. The Prometheus is flat-bottomed so it can rest on both land and seas, but not properly sail on anything too agitated. The decision came out of a joint accord. It pains me not to have a flying and sea-worthy ship now that Pookie guards my precious hoard, I mean, my art collection, however the result is worth it. I can be patient. Really. The world has not seen the end of the dread pirate. While I entertain the thought of a flying ship of the line, the officer and patent office agent have recovered enough to gather the shreds of dignity they still have. Loth walks them patiently around the ship, unveiling its attributes while a hired photographer captures the moment with his annoying contraption. Soon, they board the Prometheus with various levels of courage, and the ship takes off. The plate-holder has come aboard despite the limited space. The ship will not go very high, nor will it travel very far. Only to a pier where it will settle under the amazed eyes of the populace. I hum a little tune under my breath as the inspectors stick to the railing with hilariously fake nonchalance. Loth spoon feeds them anecdotes, knowing well they will barely remember their conversation. After a flight of half an hour at a decent speed, the ship flies low over the streets of Boston. A gasping crowd trails our prototype with excitement until it lands in the harbor. "Mass production can begin immediately. We have several models to choose from and we hope the army will consider our creation''s remarkable potential. A ship like the Prometheus can strike anywhere unimpeded, travel as fast as a running horse, and shoot without being shot at. It is as much a revolution as modern logistics was. The Prometheus will revolutionize the way we wage wars, gentlemen. You can count on it. And now if you will excuse me, I have to greet your compatriots." Loth steps on the railing with a sound amplifier of his own design. His rumbling voice rolls over the calm waves like an avalanche, as unstoppable as the march of progress. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is the year of our lord eighteen seventy-two. Welcome¡­. to the future!" *** While Loth and the more business-oriented members of the Accords manage the development of the airship project, I focus on one of the greatest challenges we will have to solve if we want to keep living under the glowing light of gas lamps, that of photography. Indeed, with every major event attracting the presence of picture takers, we will soon be forced to shun major public events or have people wonder why all their cameras only catch a blur. Unfortunately, the very idea of stabilizing our image poses a challenge. We do not lack a reflection so much as we lack presence. We remain the fleshy avatars of a curious and slightly strange god, and the Watcher has not seen fit to help us fit in too much. As usual, the solution lies in deceit and misdirection. We need a mask. After a little work, I believe I have found a way to cheat cameras reliably. Those accursed tools merely capture light through a lens, so I must give them light to process. The good news is that the energy required to produce the image of a single vampire is extremely limited. Sadly, there are obstacles. First, the vampire must be aware they are being photographed to ''aim'' the light properly. Second, the projected image may not match the vampire because, again, there is no true self to project for some strange reason. I circumvent the first issue by adding an extremely complex reactive component to the masking spell, one based on the flash a camera needs to produce a good image at night. A strong variance in the lighting will cause a reaction. The second issue is more complex, and the best way I find to handle this difficulty is to ''save'' a standard realistic portrait the vampire must identify with. In the first attempts, the results are still blurry and I have to make adjustments in material and complexity. Eventually, I pick electrum as a base component due to the vanity associated with both silver and gold. The resulting enchantments allow me to project not one but four different images depending on the vampire''s body positioning compared to the camera. It feels a little unnatural and forces the vampire to wear similar clothes or create suspicion, much to Sephare''s dismay. Fortunately, the canny Hastings finds an easy solution. This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. S§×arch* The N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. She orders twelve different pendants and rings bearing the enchantment. She can afford them too. The creation of said enchantments for the hundreds of Accords vampires occupies much of eighteen seventy-two. While time-consuming, the task also puts me in the good graces of Mask and Eneru vampires after I sell the design to the Rosenthal. It also requires me to meet every vampire I create tools for seeing as they need a firm image of what they currently look like and many have forgotten. I have to paint them first. I meet a lot of people over the next months. Some I even find tolerable. With enough money and goodwill collected for a while and with the first small flying skiffs shipped out to city masters across North America, the time comes for me to create one such item for myself. The issue is obvious and immediate. I cannot paint myself. Fortunately, I have no need to do so. During the dragon hunt, I challenged the Old One to a painting competition which he beat me handily at. I was allowed to keep his creation ¡ª which he casually sneezed on a canvas ¡ª and use it as a baseline. It leads my kin to say that I appear ''sunnier'' and ''of an easier disposition and temperament'' on film than in reality. I refrain from gouging eyes but I do gouge them on my prices for this affront. While I work on preparing us for the future, I keep an eye on the larger events. Nirari has disappeared again into the maze of history, pursuing his mother and his ambitions. Mask has decided to bind us diplomatically rather than militarily to Sephare''s delight and my personal annoyance. I believe we should make them pay for their audacity but my kin are ever pragmatic and I cannot begrudge them the wealth that comes with having valuable trading partners. I also manage to purchase many paintings as a result, so not all is lost. I favor impressionist paintings but I do find myself acquiring naturalist paintings, some neo-classical works so long as it does not depict temples and so long as the denuded butts remain anatomically correct. Romantic and pre-raphaelite masterpieces come to bring some spice to an ever-growing collection. I find myself less interested by older trends, preferring to capture the zeitgeist of eras I have lived through. This leads to some consternation among my friends. "You will need an entire village to host your collection," Jimena remarks at some point. "And not a single visitor." "I am the only visitor I truly seek to satisfy, and besides, have I not invited you?" "Fair enough, sister. No one is owed a visit to your little haven. It is just such a shame. Art should be shared, should it not?" I grumble some excuses about pedantic commenters and children with grubby fingers and no manners, but I know that she is correct. I believe I will eventually open my collection but only when I have adequate safety measures and such is not the case now. And by adequate I mean that both visitors and paintings are safe, the paintings themselves remain quite safe right now. *** "I have a gift for you," I tell Melusine at the inauguration of her new stone apartments. "Is it syphilis?" I roll my eyes at the cheap jab. "If you could catch it you would have it by now. I am referring to a real gift, one that will benefit you and through your status as my faithful minion, me as well." Melusine''s suspicion does not ease. We stand in a small, newly opened park surrounded by storied buildings in a renovated part of Chicago. The city is gaining her letter of nobility now that the most defining architectural feature is no longer ''slum'', and we have gathered to celebrate. I reach in my satchel and remove a single dark gem, glowing from an inner fire like an ember under a cloud of ash. The fire specialist''s eyes widen with surprise and greed. I feel her aura resonate with the slow pulse of the incandescent piece of jewelry. "What is that thing? Where did you find it?" "The fae spheres, of course. I brought gifts for everyone that mattered to me." "... thank you, Ariane." "And for you as well." "You bitch." "Darkfire gems help those who prefer their heat shrouded in shadows. I am confident you will find a use for it." "I need a new focus." We stare at each other in silence for a minute. She knows I am a very capable crafter myself with access to Skoragg expertise. She can do no better on this continent. "I am sure someone could help you against just compensation." "So you gift me the jewel but I have to pay to use it." "You can sit on it for free. Does that count?" We bicker for a while but I can tell she is most pleased. *** It does not cost that much money to build a skyship. It does, however, require uniquely skilled workers, hard-to-source materials, and a patented technique. I have achieved monopoly over the world''s most coveted arcane technological innovation. For a year, IGL and Skoragg Heavy Industries achieve world-wide fame. Journalists besiege the city. Scientists beg to join our hallowed ranks, bringing with them knowledge and talents. I can dine on a spy every night and never drain from the same neck. More importantly, I become fabulously rich. Even accounting for Accords ships, taxes, and contributions to several projects for the Accords, a hundred and fifty thousand dollars for a ship will net unprecedented profit when the production cost is barely a tenth of that. And people will pay. Affluent investors, governments and military rushed orders to be the first to possess our work. I have no doubt that most of our sales to Europe were eventually dismantled and cracked like nuts for analysis but Loth and I made a significant effort to use fae and Dvergur runes, and there are very few experts capable of deciphering our work, not to mention understanding it. For now, life is perfect. And so, of course, it was not meant to last. *** I wait patiently by my office, a hand placed against the nearest illusory window. Those are actually mirrors that reflect the exterior to let in a simulacrum of the sun''s light. Any casual visitor will simply see me in my office by day, working normally. Keen observers might notice the blurred nature of the image, and perhaps the slightly wrong angle of the third window from the entrance which I still have not fixed, though they could blame faulty glass. Anyone asking to open a window will be flatly refused. Nevertheless, the false sunlight is of such a color that I can never truly relax in its presence. A part of me sees the pale radiance and expects to burst into flame, and nevermind reason or evidence. As such, I tend to keep the mirrors off while alone. Unfortunately, my next visitors must be given no reason to suspect that I abhor the sun. Unfortunately, our existence has reached the level of urban myth, though we have yet to deplore any loss from it. I should not give them an excuse in any case. Four men in uniform walk through my front gate at a brisk pace. Their steps carry them through the main entrance with a decisive gait. My quietly competent receptionist Mrs. Starr directs them up and warns me afterward, which is good because my Magna Arqa cannot be cast during the day. They bang more than knock on my door then step in without an invitation. I could do something drastic to them and get away with it, but the truth is that the office is still not technically the heart of my domain and I have suffered fools here before. I shall suffer these as well. The four officers stride in and stop with various expressions of disapproval. "So it was true. A woman. I cannot believe the War Office would leave the arming of our nation''s military to a mere girl." "Not that there is much to equip, Colonel Andrews. Our army''s manpower is not even a tenth of France''s," I casually observe. "But we are getting sidetracked. You have an injunction to deliver, yes?" "Before we begin, I would like to give you one last chance to do what is right. I do not know whether this is some sort of trickery or you inherited this position and no heir came to contest it, you must listen to reason. The sky ship is no less important to the development of our nation and the industrial revolution we find ourselves in than the cotton gin, the steam engine, the railroad and many other innovations have been over the past century. Manufactories now occupy a lot of our workforce because we have wisely protected it from the predation of the old world with reasonable tariffs and other adapted measures. The sky ship gives us a chance to compete on the global scale against those who have occupied the arena since its inception. I beg you to reconsider the export of this strategic resource to countries that have done little to deserve such boons. Countries that, I may add, are even now peeling off the hulls IGL designed to get at the secret marrow. Do not squander such a treasure." I was going to let my guest handle it, but I believe a small precision is in order. "Correction. What I have is first and foremost MINE." I sit back down in my comfortable chair, doing my best not to claw my desk''s surface off as it is quite expensive. Before the officers can react to my outburst, I ring a little bell I have ready. I would have normally done without but my guest insisted that it was no sign of disrespect. A moment later, a dark-haired, handsome man in an exquisitely tailored suit and a winning smile crosses the threshold. While the soldiers'' uniforms are a little crumpled, the newcomer is so neat his appearance is almost surreal. From his pomaded hair to the flawlessly polished shoes, even a maniac would be hard-pressed to find a single flaw. "Gentlemen, hello," he says. "I am Isaac Rosenthal of the Rosenthal Consortium, Banks, and Legal services. It has come to my attention that you were to produce a ''requisition order'' hmm? Let us see it? If you please?" He snatches the wrinkled envelope from off of the officers'' stunned hands and opens it with ceremony. His brow wrinkles while he reads the official document. Soon, he tuts under his breath. The officers do not speak and for good reason. The asset grab they were sent to perform was decided at the highest level and by people I never suspected of treachery. Grant, you devil, I trusted you. I even got you promoted. I soothe the anguish in my heart by watching sweat pearl on the officers'' skin. They came in expecting resistance, I am sure. Threats. Grandstanding. I bypassed all that by calling upon the last option. I brought in a lawyer. They should not have messed with my property! "As expected, I see several issues with this ''requisition'' order and I regret to tell you that they are as I expected. First, we are not a belligerent state¡­" Thus begins a litany of complaints that lasts for a good ten minutes, a remarkable achievement considering the order itself is merely two pages long. Isaac finishes with a nice touch. "... and last but not least, a requisition order may not cover patents, plans, and contracts as you seem to believe. I admit to knowing in advance the broad lines of this order, though I hoped you might have reconsidered this foolish endeavor, and would like to present you this executive order signed by Governor Spencer himself rescinding your permit to seize my client''s property." If I understand properly, all of those are meaningless documents disputing everyone''s legitimacy and mandate in general. Pah, I care not, so long as we block their attempt. Unfortunately, it also means that we will have to trigger a certain operation early. *** "My little treacle tart! What brings you here in my humble abode?" "Hello Nami. I am on my way to see Isaac, and I wanted to use this opportunity to bring you a gift." "A gift? How precious. What manner of gift?" "Do you have your book around?" "You know I do, sweet thing. You asked me in your latest letter, did you not?" "I am just confirming. You will need quick access." "Stop titillating me! What is it that you believe the experience will be worth it?" "A potion. A memory potion made by a servant of the Court of Darkness. It will work on you." "A memory eh? Whose?'' "Mine. It will not be as impactful as the genuine article, but I believe that given your love of dancing and new experiences, it shall still satisfy you." "And who will be dancing?" "The Old One." *** The world is changing fast. Technology carries it, but the rest follows. Population leaves the countryside to glut the outskirts of town, feeding their flesh and labor to the fires of industry. Alcoholism runs rampant, and with it tax evasion and corruption become the norm. The victors devour the vanquished. The vanquished blame devil worshippers for their defeat, rewriting history to fit the agenda of the Intergrist party. The persecution of anyone suspected of magic becomes routine in the south while authorities either turn a blind eye or stand complicit. As a result, White and Red cabal recruitment are at an all time high. Perhaps my time in the faerie world has given me a sense of perspective or perhaps history is accelerating. In any case, recent developments challenge the way we act and evolve in society. Sephare, Isaac, and Constantine take to it like fishes to water. One wields the law, the second wields finance and the third influence to achieve what armies could not. We are now in eighteen seventy three and I have not had to wield my Magna Arqa to solve issues in two years. I still used it, I just did not have to. It is a strange new world we are leading to in this end of a century. Magic has returned to the forefront after being trimmed and unveiled by the purging blaze of enlightenment, and yet rather than wonder or fear, it is dogmatic hatred and bleak resignation that celebrate its rise. It has all become so very normal. Standard. Taxed and regulated according to well-defined laws. There are even chartered trinket shops for the discerning customers now, and alchemy shops pop out selling pimple removers and birth control elixirs of women wearing shawls so as not to be recognized. All those challenges require new solutions and it is Isaac I meet to keep control of my ships. "The current administration has proven unable to keep their office clear of corruption despite our assistance. We face an endemic issue, so like all such problems we shall ride the wave instead of fighting it," the banker says as we watch out the window of his New York office. "Will they not lash out when they figure out someone operated from the shadows?" "There will be no proof, just a succession of unfortunate events. Remember, we are not intimidating your foes. We are replacing them." "I am ready to sign on those authorizations." "I know. The fireworks begin tomorrow." "And when do they stop?" Isaac''s smile could not be more savage, an unsettling sign on a face of one usually so composed. "When we are done." *** A tidal wave sweeps across the financial landscape, a terrible event that sinks many rickety ships, their decks too weak from years of prosperity. The portents were there: railroad constructions had boomed after the war with much money tied up in risky, illiquid ventures. The fires in Chicago and Boston put a strain on national reserves. To slow down the rampant inflation, the government raises interest rates and thus the cost of debt, punishing the typically indebted farmers. And then it happens. Jay Cooke and Company, a major actor of the banking establishment, finds itself unable to market several million dollars worth of Northern Pacific Railways bonds. There is much to finance but the money to do so is too scarce. In September seventy-three, the company''s unfortunate financial situation is revealed via a series of reports. The same month, the company declares bankruptcy. The fall of the giant creates ripples, a cascading effect that culminates in the closure of the New York Stock Exchange for several weeks. Most of the railroad companies go bust. The construction of new railroads stops due to a lack of financing. Unemployment explodes while the demand for lumber collapses. And then, the cash which the industry was starving for flows again from mysterious actors, the very same who had held back at the height of speculation and saved their profits. Several mysterious consortiums and obscure interest groups gobble up their competitors for a fraction of what they cost a year before. The behemoth, the leviathan raking the most profit, becomes famous for the Gothic R that starts its name. The polite yet merciless lawyers they send to conduct their affairs become known to most as last resort saviors. Many protests are broken peacefully through harsh yet human negotiations, for no one knows better than us that humans should never be backed into a corner. Because of the economic downturn, IGL successfully asks for a right to export its goods, considering the weak local demand and the need for additional profits. The secretary of war replaces its negotiators with smoother agents. Lumber prices stop tumbling down as Marquette grows to match the demand. Three years later, the country has stabilized and we are immeasurably more powerful than when we started. Four years later, there is a transatlantic flying ship line, sky navies, and I have more money to my name than I could possibly ever hope to spend. Chapter 201 - 195. Fools Gold "Hello Urchin, I have something for you." "Heard you were distributing faerie gifts, boss. I''m glad you didn''t forget your Urchin." "Naturally. You have been of great help, and I will always reward loyalty." "So, what are the odds that this gift will play tricks on me? Will I be nabbed and carried away by red-capped goblins?" "Worse, you will serve an immortal monster bent on world domination who will send you on risky errands for only a modest remuneration." "So business as usual?" "Exactly. This is the many-blades, a dagger that can extend into a sword. The size and shape of the blade follows your wishes." "That''s the second knife you give me, boss. It''s like you expect me to shiv someone." "I am, in fact, counting on it. You are an average fighter but an excellent trickster, Urchin. I would prefer if you stabbed before getting attacked. This should help you do so." "Great. When do I get to practice?" "Right now. Draw it." "Fuck." "Language." *** "Hello John." "Miss Ari. You had something for me?" "A gift I brought back from the other side. I hope you like it. It was difficult to find one that suits you so I had it made by a winter court artisan. This is the Life Cage, it will protect your heart and chest without prompt but it will not spare you from the pain you would have sustained. Winter gifts tend to be double-edged, I am afraid." "But it will keep me fighting?" "So long as the Life Cage endures, so will you. And it can endure quite a bit of punishment. It is not quite as effective as my armor but it can fit under the one I made for you. It might seem strange to hear but I hope you never have to use it." "I want to keep fighting, Miss Ari. Until the job is done." "I know." "Thank you. I will use this for you." "I know." *** November 1880, Marquette, IGL group Headquarters. It starts with an itch at the back of my head, as if being observed by someone. Someone who would not be the usual massive purple eldritch being. It crawls in my everyday life when I hunt some large alligator and watch behind my shoulder for an invisible threat. Ako, who trains with me when he can to create his Magna Arqa, notes that I am more distracted than usual. Even the safety of Pookie and my art collection fail to distract me from the impending doom. It is inevitable and there is nothing I can reasonably do to stop it. It is as inevitable and regular as the tide. On a fine night of February, the news comes as I sign on the purchase of some land to the west. Winter still grips Illinois in its icy claws and I have started a fire in my office''s hearth just so the ink would not freeze. The nostalgic smell of wood smoke mixes with that of fresh coffee in a rather pleasant perfume that fails to distract me. Mrs Starr''s bell chimes with the solemnity of a death knell. "Yes?" I grumble into the horn. "A gentleman here to see you, he says¡­" "Send him up." "Right away, ma''am." Uggggggggggggggggggggg. I brace my hands on the desk, waiting for fate. He knocks on the door soon enough. "Come in, Mr Bingle." Sear?h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Miss Reynaud? Or would you prefer Delaney? You can call me Alexander, if you prefer!" The latest spawn to grace my shores has grown a lot in the past years. Gone is the fresh-faced English lad. Now a powerfully built frontier man in well-fitting if worn clothes stands with confidence, poise, and a glorious mustache the likes of which I had not seen since his glorious ancestor Cecil Rutherford Bingle graced us with his presence. "Miss Delaney or simply Ariane will do. I prefer consistency when it comes to pseudonyms. How are you, Alexander?" "Fine! Or rather, as well as can be expected in my endless struggle against the injustices of this world. The frontier is a cruel place where laws and customs only apply so long as someone believes they might be caught. Why, just last month¡­" I settle to listen to his passionate retelling of how he uncovered a ring of unscrupulous cattle farmers who paid bandits to rob rivals only to absorb their stolen herds into their own. I have followed his adventures from afar, of course. I may have inflated some of the bounties he collected in the past with some ''concerned citizen'' bonus when times were lean, as a sad Bingle is a risky thing indeed. I may have also provided medical help in the form of a traveling healer mage once or twice. Alexander stops when Mrs. Starr comes to deliver a cup of coffee and some floral tea for him. "But I digress. Oh, Jasmine! My favorite. How did you know?" "It is part of my nature to know things," I mysteriously reply. I just pay talented investigators to keep an eye on him. He does not need to know that. "Impressive as always, Miss Delaney! But then, perhaps you can guess as to why I am here?" I can guess he is here to ruin the opera season, which is supposed to open in three days in Melusine''s domain with ''The Pirates of Penzance''. I had saved the best seats. Now I will have to miss the premiere. The knave. "No, Mr Bingle, I cannot see your thoughts, I am sure we both find that knowledge very comforting." "Haha, indeed, though that would be most impressive! No, then please lend your ears to a terrible tale of corruption and death. Do you know of the Black Hills?" "Oh yes, what a fiasco that almost was," I reply, thinking about that dreary place and the battles that took place there. "We had to silence the discovery of a certain precious metal to stop settlers from moving in too fast." "We? Who is¡­ You call the battle of Little Big Horn ''almost'' a fiasco?" "I never liked Custer," I reply with a frown. "Glory hound. Not like George Henry Thomas, my favorite by far! The one you worship rest his soul. We are getting sidetracked, young Bingle. The Black Hills are an Indian reservation in the Dakota territories due west of here under the control of the Lakota, Dakota, Sioux or whatever you fancy calling them. They have a relatively unified social structure and military. Local resources are timber and gold." "Gold?" Alexander replied, alarmed. "Yes, gold. Keep it to yourself. Due to the, ah, presence of accursed among recent Lakota allies¡­ it would be best if large-scale conflicts were not to happen. We have managed to acquire and monopolize a lot of the land directly around them to create a buffer and this shall hold for now, but publicize the presence of underground resources and all bets are off." I lean over the desk and stare right in his eyes. "You will not do that, will you?" I ask. "Of course not! I will be no party to treaty breaking. Of this you can be sure!" "Focus young Bingle, and tell me of death and corruption." "Yes. It all started in the fall of seventy-nine while I was traveling north to claim the bounty for an escaped fugitive. On a fine morning by a river, I came upon Johnny the Butcher bearing a sheriff''s star. Now, you may not have heard of this dark and twisted individual, but know he has slain seven women across the frontier in his murderous spree, and that I believed him hanged. Thus you may imagine my surprise when I not only found him alive, but also representing a cause I had dedicated my life to. Him. A scoundrel whose dark soul would not find redemption in a thousand years!" Alexander scowls and closes his hand into a fist. Few things seem to genuinely anger the Bingles, yet those that do send them into a spiraling rage even I would fear. "Dear Johnny thought his new position and the posse at his back would give him the right to taunt me. He dared believe I would fear touching him. Fool. I could not stand that a symbol of justice would adorn a chest hiding such a shriveled heart. I would have died rather than let such a desecration go unpunished!" "Yes, yes. I understand." "My apologies. You are not at fault and yet I lose my temper in front of you. In any case, I opened fire on those mongrels and slew them to the last man. Trying to interrogate Johnny as he breathed his dying breath led to more taunts, and I learned the identity of the man who had allowed him to turn a new leaf. It was none other than a judge by the name of Zakarias Ramsey based in Ortonville at the edge of Big Stone Lake. A judge! I had to go and investigate, and so I went there with Honor¨¦ under the guise of an escaped outlaw from Texas." For a moment, his light English accent turns into a surprisingly convincing Texan drawl. "Heard some good things about y''all fine fellers." "Impressive. And then?" "We were recruited and discovered the truth! Judge Ramsey recruits outlaws as enforcers and lawbringers, then sends them in ''patrols'' into the Black Hills where they pillage camps left and right. When the Lakota braves inevitably fight back, he moves in with his full force and clears stretches of land which he then sells to illegal logging operations." I realize that this is a serious issue. It will only take one fortunate prospector trying his luck in a nearby river for gold deposits to be discovered, and then we might be too late to catch the rumor on time. I have to warn Ako that it might be better to let one mining consortium on some lands and let them police settlers than a tide of illegal miners. Hmm. In any case, Judge Ramsey certainly found himself a sweet, cost-free arrangement. His only loss would be disposable ruffians. "Unfortunately we were found out before I could find undeniable proof of wrongdoing bearing the judge''s stamp. The snake is canny, I''ll give him that much. We were found out when we resisted an order to slaughter women and old folks in a deserted camp. We managed to flee the ensuing firefight, and I have since then petitioned the marshal office and even the army! It was in vain, however. My complaints have never reached a sympathetic ear despite my best efforts. I suspect the corruption runs deep." Well of course it does. We are relying on it. "The hearts of mortals are ever filled with greed. We know this," I agree. "Hmm, yes, the mortals. Hmm. Indeed. In any case, I shall not rest until we clear this infamy! Given the extremely challenging circumstances, I can think of only one solution." I personally can think of several. I could contact a few people and have the judge removed in two weeks. I could also have him murdered in one, or three days if I do it myself. "We need to strike hard and shine the light of the law over this den of corruption, whether the local authorities want it or not. The gaze of the entire nation shall fall upon them. In order to attract such an intense glare, we are left but with one choice!" "We are?" "The government has moved some of its gold reserves to secure locations inland in case the Eastern Seaboard is attacked, including a secluded fort in Minnesota right next to Ortonville. We are going to steal gold from the Western United States Bullion Depository. A few metric tons should do." This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. It takes me a few seconds to remember to close my jaws. If Alexander notices the fangs, he makes no mention of it. "I beg your pardon?" "I have a plan but I could use your expertise, because none of us know how to use explosives. We will return the gold afterward, of course. " "Why yes, obviously, dynamiting a gold reserve? Such an incredibly daring endeavor, young Bingle!" "Unless you have a better idea, of course." "No no. Nope. Truly, we have no choice." "Then will you help?" "How could I deny you my help in such a grand challenge? You were right to come to me. Together, we will grab all that gold and make away like thieves." "And return it eventually," Alexander tells me with a warning tone. "Yes, the pursuit of higher purposes is its own reward." "Hear hear! How brilliant, how inspiring of you Miss Delaney. We truly are kindred spirits. Blessed was the day when my esteemed grandfather met you. Nothing moves me like justice itself." Well for me it would be high-yield explosives but I do not wish to dampen his spirits. "Will you come with me then or do you need to prepare first?" "Just a few hours should do. Give me a rendezvous at and I shall join you with supplies and¡­ I believe two of my allies. You can count on me." *** "Good evening Sephare. I am going to rob the western bullion depository." The image in the mirror does not move. I know the spell is working because of the way the silvery picture shivers like wind sending ripples over the lake, and so I wait for the inevitable reply. "Goodness me, what a way to start a conversation. Could you perhaps not?" "I must." "And what outlandish reason could possibly justify such an absurd action, hmm?" "Alexander Bingle." Sephare sighs, an unusual sign of annoyance. "Ah." "It has been a while since the latest adventure for him. I have been monitoring his progress." "I suppose it is preferable to channel him than let him run amok." "My thoughts exactly. Although¡­" I frown, suddenly considering a new thought. "Is there a reason why the godlings always return to me? Do you know? Or do our kin also engage with them?" "I know of a coven that keeps ties with the godlings of love, or romance, or whatever you see fit to call them. No one else has chosen to approach them and no one else will. Once bound, you may become, and please forgive the term, a recurring character. As for finding out the logic behind their working, you know what happens to those who get too close to them for the wrong reasons. I regret to inform you that as far as the Accords are concerned, you are the resident expert on godlings. It goes without saying that you have our full support to handle the issue and bring it to a satisfactory and flaming pigs-free conclusion." What a subtle way to tell me that they wash their hands off the problem and leave me to handle those shenanigans. Also I do not have a flaming pig problem. Those were all just coincidences. "Do contact Isaac. I believe the Rosenthal monitor the bullion reserves and their contents. It would be wise to find out what the consequences would be and how to offset them before you pull the proverbial trigger," Sephare continues. "Certainly." I attempt to contact my sharp friend, but I find that he is currently in the middle of a meeting which is fine. It gives me time to think about what to do. I do not have any pressing matters to attend at the moment and it has been some time since I last worked with John and Urchin. We shall have a coven moment all together with our Nightmares. It will be fun. I also need boots. And a felt hat. For a moment, I entertain the possibility of pants. Do I dare? No, not while there are some who will recognize me. John would be fine but not the rest. No, I shall not cross that last line. I am a respectable member of the community now, not some savage hellion Jimena dragged around for her assassination projects. Aw. I shall compensate this loss with a generous acquisition of guns. And explosives. There is always a need for explosives. We will also need two secured carriages. I take notes with a quick hand to have everything prepared by dawn until Isaac has his mage open the channel again. "Ariane? I believed you reached out to me?" "I am involved in yet another Binglery." "My condolences. And how can the consortium assist you in this terrible ordeal?" he asks with the barest crinkle of amusement around his eyes. "I am going to burglarize the western bullion depository and quite likely escape with a fortune in gold ingots." "Ah." "Yes." Isaac sighs deeply, the burden of a stable US dollar exchange rate heavy upon his shoulders. "Why can your strange friend not find us some forgotten gold mines and ancient treasures filled with unknown artifacts?" "He does not need my help for that." "So it is. What are the chances that the gold could be found again and recovered?" I consider the options. Bingle is fundamentally a champion of justice and a good egg. Of course, the fortune will eventually find its way back into the hands of the law, as it should be. The story would suffer no other conclusion. If it were ill-gotten gains there is a chance they could end up at the bottom of some unplumbed chasm, but government property is usually returned. "Very high, in my opinion." "I shall trust in your Bingle expertise, my dear. Very well. I will warn our associates and prepare to manage the crisis. The media will love it. Oh, do note that the Supernatural Task Force has agents on hand. There might be wards." "Excellent." We make some small talk and promise to catch up on this development later. Truly, a welcome distraction. My preparations are done long before the sun returns and, soon after, we are on our way. *** "Gentlemen, I shall set up a few rules for the next operation for the sake of anonymity and also to provide a good story. We are not here as problem solvers. We are here as facilitators while Alexander Bingle completes his task. Remember that the most important way to work with godlings is to provide a good narrative, and barring that, to leave them alone, for whatever fate manipulates the world around them takes interference very poorly." "Yes Miz Ari." "As you say, boss." "The first rule is that we will not show any ability that could not reasonably be displayed by a human. From now on, there will be no shows of strength or agility a mortal at the top of the world could not achieve." "Does it mean I must miss?" Urchin asks. The thought clearly displeases him. "It means you may strike arms, fingers, and weapons rather than eyes every time." "Can I use the strength I had as a mortal?" John asks in turn. "Of course. It would be strange if your power did not match your imposing physique, dear John. Just¡­ refrain from derailing any locomotives with your bare hands." "I understand." "We will all take our Nightmares and ride alone as much as we can. You two still scare mundane mounts." *** The edge of the Black Hills is so dense with forest I am tempted to explore the region by myself later. Rocks and lone elevations jut out from the woods like old teeth cracked by eons of wind and rain, their rocky flesh in turn smooth and brittle. The moon is beautiful tonight. Bingle''s team spreads over the clearing we have reached, leaning against trunks and sitting on stumps in a picturesque fashion. A low log cabin propped against a cliff awaits us a few steps away from a merry campfire. Temperatures are glacial. The mortals bleed out their heat with every puff of frozen breath that escapes their chapped lips, and yet they still stand with casual grace as if the deep cold did not bother them. Alexander has expanded the ranks of his gathering of misfits since the last time we talked ¡ª not that I am in any position to criticize. I recognize Honor¨¦, his Haitian second-in-command and expert knife wielder. There is also Felicia, the pointy-nosed sharpshooter who even now cleans her rifle with confident moves. I am utterly jealous that she has the confidence to wear pants while I do not, but no, I have made my decision. Maybe I shall buy a pair and try them in private. Yes, that sounds delightful. Next to the pants wearer stands a hulking brute with scar-covered hands named Bill Hannigan. He plays the role of the bruiser and he plays it with both efficacy and gusto. His blue Irish eyes follow us as we ride in and settle on John, recognizing competition when he sees it. The last member of this eclectic group is Whistles-at-Dawn, a grim Lakota shaman of some power whose family was killed by trespassing poachers. He is the group''s most mysterious member and possibly the only one to recognize us for what we are, if his spiking heartbeat is any indication. Both Bill and Whistle joined the group after the Steeleborough firefight. We meet in the flesh for the first time. "Ladies and gentlemen, please allow me to introduce an old family friend, Ariane Delaney! Some of us met her before. She will be providing precious help for our next endeavor." "He was not joking! You have not changed at all!" Felicia gasps as she stands. She takes a few steps forward to confirm what the light of the fire hints at, but stops at a respectful distance, suddenly afraid. "Bondye sove nou, that is the truth," Honor¨¦ agrees. The others tense and I smile amicably. "Gentlemen, and lady. I assure you that the curse is not contagious." "At least not easily," Urchin whispers and I use a small liana to throw a pebble at the back of his knee. "I am here as a friend and ally. You have nothing to fear from me while we are on the same side." "And when we ain''t?" Bill grumbles. "Surely, Mr Hannigan, you are not considering defection, hmm?" I ask. The poor man''s expression turns into a rictus of fear. Yes, you big oaf, I know who you are. "My friends! My friends. My family has known Miss Delaney since eighteen oh five. I trust her with my life." The Lakota mumbles something in a tongue I do not recognize. John answers in the same tongue to everyone''s surprise including mine. He patiently exchanges a few sentences with the shaman until the native slowly nods and sits back down, pushing tobacco in his pipe with shaky hands. "Hmm, John?" I whisper. "I speak Ojibwe. I told him we were honor-bound to assist. He believed me." "I see. Well done." "Hmm, well, yes," Alexander continues. "Right, introductions!" The three of us listen to Alexander briefly introduce his minions, all of whom I have detailed files on. We politely nod and smile, then our time comes. I allow Urchin to go first. "Urchin, knife-wielder and poker player extraordinaire. At your service," he greets with a bow. "I''m John Doe," John greets with a rumbling voice. He does not elaborate. A small shrug shakes the main sail that passes as a shirt over his mighty frame. Massive muscles slide under buttons, making them bob up and down like buoys over high tide. I allow the deafening silence that follows to last for a few seconds before continuing. "And my name is Ariane. Mr Bingle perhaps mentioned that I am cursed and was well acquainted with his grandfather, the illustrious Cecil Rutherford. My friends and I do not like the day very much, but the night likes us. A word of advice, do not play card games with Urchin, and do not arm wrestle John." "And what should we not do with you?" the girl asks. Ah, a perfect introduction. I grab the Big Iron at my side and flip the heavy revolver around a finger, then two, using tricks Sheridan and a few others taught me. The mortals watch the deadly implement twist and jump and dance and twirl in my expert hands. To finish, I turn in my saddle and let the gun land back in its holster. "So, dueling. Got it," the girl finishes in a cool voice. "Why admit you lots are cursed? Feels suspicious to me," Bill Harrigan growls. He is right to be wary. I believe he represents the human norm. The Bingles and their immediate allies tend to be a little naive, I find. "I do not lie to Alexander or his close friends," I reply with a shrug. "The others have no need to know." "You say you knew his grandpa? Ain''t you a little too fresh around the ears for that?" "I am considerably older than I look." "God won''t like that, I bet." "I would not know. We are not on speaking terms." "As fascinating as this all is," Alexander interrupts, "we are on a schedule, so I will remind everyone of what matters here. I have called upon you fine folks because I trust you, or in the case of Miss Delaney''s guests, I trust the one who brought them. We have all proven ourselves countless times against the cruelties and injustices of this world and now the time has come to do so once more. Cast aside your doubts and remember that we are all servants of good regardless of our past and nature. United in this most noble of purpose, we cannot fail. Close ranks, stand shoulder to shoulder, and we will achieve the impossible as we have before. The corrupted judge will fall. We will make sure of it. Now let''s head inside so I can tell you more." The godling of adventure turns without a doubt in his pretty head that we would follow and, naturally, we do. Our Nightmares ride back to the forest as we move in. I end up walking side by side with a nervous Felicia. She smells of anguish and old sweat, the poor dear. Red welts mar her pretty cheeks. I make a note to get her a scarf of some sort to mitigate the damage, and also to have a talk with her. Reassure her that I am not after Alexander and she can return to her unrequited love while Bill himself burns with passion for her. Ah, the group dynamics of mortals. Always amusing to see from an outsider''s perspective. An ambitious player could set Bill against Alexander with a few words and test that old friendship of theirs. Love and jealousy could achieve what battles have failed to do. Not me, though, I have better things to do. The log cabin turns out to be warm and dry, which makes me wonder what the group could possibly have been doing outside. Perhaps they were feeling cramped? In any case, we gather around a central table and the map pinned upon it. Two separate structures occupy it. The first is a sprawling complex surrounded by a wood palisade labeled ''Fort Dearborn'' while the second is an isolated square surrounded by empty space and, beyond that, another palissade. The word ''depository'' was added with a blue pen. Alexander points at it once we are all settled. "Right, this is our target, the Gold Bullion Depository. Two floors and a relatively small surface but what interests us is the vault underneath. A single set of stairs leads to a corridor and then the vault gates proper. Two safe combinations are required to open the secured door, but unfortunately we cannot obtain one of them because the holder is in another state under constant guard. Hence the need for dynamite." I frown. This all sounds terribly wrong. I decide to speak up. "Hold on. Even assuming we can use explosives to open the gate, the resulting explosion will be noticed. You cannot move metric tons of gold away if you are under fire from an entire garrison!" "That would normally be true, but the vault is built deep into the earth. It was carefully dug out. With the military base far enough away, they should not notice." "This means you have a plan to subdue the local guards." "Yes." "A non-lethal one." "Yes." "Given by your inside man," I add. Alexander blushes while the others shift their postures, looking askance at the ''brain'' of the operation. Seldom has the term fitted less than now. "I was going to introduce everyone tomorrow but I suppose I can mention him now, since there is no cause for theatrics anymore. We do have a man in, yes, the very same who shared his knowledge with me. His name is Willy Adler, and he will get us through the guard." Aha! With a name like that, he has to be an antagonist. Wily adder indeed. It appears we will be backstabbed and left behind. Oh, the humanity! Was the man called William or Willy Adler before and got drawn into our tale, or did the force behind godlings create him from nothing? Was he born and raised for the sole purpose of becoming a secondary character? Sometimes, the unthinkable power behind the godlings scares me. "How will he do that?" Honor¨¦ asks with suspicion. "He is a guard himself. In fact, he is a high-ranking member of the mint. And before you ask, yes I questioned his motives. Mr Adler wants to demonstrate a flaw in the current safety measures used by the depository, the very flaw will be using ourselves. You see, the defenders on site number few, barely a dozen, because they rely on alarms to rouse Fort Dearborn''s garrison. Take out the alarms and the depository is defenseless. Relatively defenseless. "The alarms number two: the first is a hand-cranked siren on the second floor, and the second is a buried telegraph cable linking the depository to the fort''s headquarters. We must disable both before reaching the gold." "The defenders could shoot at us. That would be heard," I say. "Hmm, good point. We will have to be fast then. Whistle says he has a concoction that can disable grown men in only a few seconds. We merely have to sting them before they can pull the trigger. They will wake up without consequences. We employed this devious yet effective method before." "How do we get in?" "Let''s go over the plan step by step," Alexander says. "At six thirty in the evening, our team will arrive by train at the stop facing the depository. We will take the spot of a weekly, regularly scheduled delivery that Mr Adler canceled on his side. The sun will have long set by then so people of Miss Delaney''s proclivities should not be affected." "Thank you kindly," I say. "We will be disguised as guards. Mr Adler will be present as well as a few of his fellow guards, who will assist us in moving crates inside." But of course. I have read enough tasteful fiction to recognize we are being made into patsies. Ariane of the Nirari, a trope. Disgrace. "While we move in, Whisper and Honor¨¦ will dig out and disable the telegraph cable. I wish you could come with us gentlemen, but the local mint does not allow the employment of members of the Sioux and Negro race. I am sorry." "Not your fault, monsieur." "The same goes for you; Felicia dear. I fear no disguise would allow you to pass for a man." While I can manage through a careful binding of my chest, I fear our sharpshooter''s bust may not be so easily hidden. In a real situation, a mortal with my body would struggle to pass as well. I walk differently, not to mention other wardrobe issues my dress currently masks and that I would rather not utter here. Once again, Alexander proves his inexperience with duplicity. Ah, truly he is still young and so are his associates. No matter. A simple illusion will allow me to blend in. "Once we have gained access to the first floor by presenting falsified documents, Bill, John, Urchin, myself, and Adler''s best fighters will move from room to room and disable the guards without raising the alarm. Shouts might not be heard belowground, but gunfire and the siren will be so we must move with diligence and precision. Remember not to kill any of the guards, or wound more than their self-esteem whenever possible. The crates will contain ropes which we will use to secure them. After this is done, we will gain access to the vault through the same means. We have to go through a series of gates to reach the vault door and we will use our numbers to hide the pacification of the guards we come across. Mr Harrigan will make sure they may not call for help without harming them," Alexander continues with a pointed look at his hulking follower. "Yeah don''t worry. I will be gentle," the man replies with conviction. "After all of the guards are secured and both of the alarms are gone, we will move them to the top floor where the explosion will not harm them, then Miss Delaney can work her magic with the dynamite we will have brought in the crates. We will rush in once the vault is cracked and carry as many ingots as we can, though no more than two stacks. We will carry them to the train and escape from there. After we have put some distance between us and the fort, we will unload the gold at a safe house and, from there, Mr Adler will share its location with the relevant authorities. I have prepared an envelope with my plan and sent it to General Hall in Illinois as an extra measure of safety in case we are found out so we can prove our intent was good." And thus the law will have his name when the prize inevitably disappears and the note is taken seriously, not to mention that a crime made in the name of good is still a crime. Ah, the sweet naive child. He has not yet been backstabbed enough. Oh well. "There is just one last minor hurdle. We must acquire the dynamite from the Pattersons who have yet to deliver it," Alexander finishes with a frown. "Oh, let us do it!" I offer without mentioning I have brought my own explosives. "We are retrieval experts," Urchin adds. "And I can use this opportunity to ascertain the quality of the goods. It would be a shame if they failed," I continue. Especially since I have no intentions of using them. Only an absolute donkey would believe dynamite sticks can achieve anything except collapsing the building on our heads. The vault doors have to weigh literal tons. It would take Loth''s expertise to pierce through them without specialized equipment. No, I will be using my safecracking skills and spells, since Isaac mentioned mages and there are bound to be wards in place. As for the explosives, I wonder what they will eventually be used for. Oh, I cannot wait! Chapter 202 - 196. The Most Elusive The powerful man sat at his desk. To his right, the snow-covered meadow led to a frozen fence from where small icicles hung like diamond ornaments. Guards in blue uniforms and cloaks fought the chilly wind with courage, struggling not to shiver while puffs of smoke rose from distant chimneys in the city proper. Inside, however, the room was toasty. A merry fire crackled in the hearth, and the powerful man waited for his cup of tea to cool down to a more consumable temperature. He felt safe and secure enough, ready enough, and so he summoned the expert. The chime of a bell. The door to his office swung on oiled hinges, then closed swiftly. The expert was a cool and collected man, a dependable man. No one could doubt his commitment, especially not those who had access to his military profile. The powerful man wondered if the expert kept this pleasant, mildly serious expression when he killed. Could be, could be. "Please, take a seat Mr. Zahn. Should I send for drinks?" he asked. "No need Mr. Secretary. Thank you," the expert replied. "Very well. I will cut to the chase. I have read the available reports on¡­ supernatural folks. God, I still cannot believe this is real. I would like to know why information about the last three is so¡­ sparse." The powerful man lifted four files from the desk. One of them was thick and clearly annotated with markers, eared pages and loose sheets of notes. By comparison, the remaining three would barely suffice to write a single speech. "Sir, the notes are presented in such a way that a reader would understand the facts and hypotheses related to each race at a glance. As for the availability of said knowledge, a bit of context might make the reason clear, if you''ll allow me to explain." "That''s why you''re here, Zahn. What''s going on?" The expert smiled gently in a way that didn''t reach his eyes. He leaned forward on his chair and placed his elbows on the varnished wood of the powerful man''s desk. "After mages, the next most understood race is that of werewolves. Please note that werewolves are not a separate race per se, but rather a curse that changes those who bear it at a fundamental level. You have read their abilities and weaknesses?" "Indeed. Silver! What a peculiar, nonsensical thing. One day we will have to slay demons by injecting them with mercury!" The expert knocked on wood, and the powerful man paled, anger smothered by a fresh wave of fear. "Let us hope you are not a prophet. As for werewolves, you may recall there are two kinds, feral and controlled. Please note that we did not pick the words ''tame'' or ''civilized'' on purpose. Controlled is the correct word for what they are." "Controlled by whom?" "Each other, to an extent. Most of our information comes from remnants of the Order of Gabriel, American branch, as well as first-hand witness accounts of the action at Black Harbor. Controlled werewolves appear human until they turn into their beast form. Except for a few quirks, they would pass enough to merge into society as isolated farmers and hunters. Until they gather, at least." "My God, and we cannot tell at all?" "Order knowledge says they will show signs of heightened aggression. They will turn during a full moon, whether they want to or not. Nevertheless, an isolated community might go undetected for decades." The powerful man sat back against the backrest, reeling from the revelation. It was his duty to imagine the worst case scenario in the hope of preventing it, and now his mind churned with possibilities. "What stops them from racing across the country, turning everyone they come across? A tide of beasts no one can stop. Zahn, I hate judging people according to what they might do and I understand most of those folks didn''t ask for such a treatment but surely, it would be better to just¡­ end them, don''t you think?" The proposal hung between the men, carrying with it the bothersome mental stench of gray morality. "I understand we almost had such a situation, sir. The ferals ran rampant half a century ago. Many disappearances and beast attacks of the time can be attributed to them. There was no beast tide because they were hunted to extinction. And not by the Order of Gabriel." "Someone took them out?" "Yes sir. Only a few incidents remain here and there and they are quickly handled by a mercenary group calling itself the Red Cabal." "Witches again?" "Yes sir. With guns." "God help us all. Zahn, you dodged the question. Tell me why we can''t just gather four cavalry regiments and send them after the werewolves." "First, we would have to locate them and it has proven suspiciously difficult. The scouts tend to go missing. Documents are lost, or waylaid. People forget to share their orders. Priority missions take precedence. Finally, we have yet to secure a budget for ten thousands silver cartridges." "Are you saying¡­ someone is protecting them?" "Covering for them at the very least, but I will return to that later. Next come the fae. We have no first hand accounts of their presence but they appear to be genuine visitors from another world." "Faery tales are true?" "Some of them appear rooted in truth, yes. The Order of Gabriel''s knowledge on the matter was surprisingly complete because they managed to capture a few of their weakened numbers and interrogated them thoroughly before termination. The fabric of our world weakens them until they become thoroughly harmless." "Another world, eh? Do you realize what it means? The bible does not mention it. If God created the universe, why does Genesis not mention¡­" "I am not here to discuss cosmogony, sir. Perhaps the other worlds, yes, there are several, perhaps they are mentioned in some texts that the church has hidden. I would not know. It no longer matters because the fae are gone." The sentence hangs in the air with all the finality of an extinct species. That was more than morally ambiguous. Someone had exterminated a race? "What do you mean, gone? Dead?" "No sir, we have confirmation from a private intelligence network and two mage groups that the fae disappeared on the same night almost ten years ago. They are just¡­ gone." "Do we know what happened?" "We suspect. There are rumors that members of the third race left our territory shortly after. Magic was most likely involved." "The third race, yes. The vampires. Your report mentioned they are currently public figures in the German Empire?" "I would not go so far, but their presence is known. The official title is ''Ritter Der Nacht'', ''Knight of the Night''." "We live in strange times when monsters can walk out of children''s stories and wear the guise of aristocrats." Both men fell silent. "Your report contained a lot of maybes," the powerful man eventually said. "Once again, context is important. Knowledge on vampires is sparse because those who seek it tend to disappear. Even the Order''s prodigious resources only scratched the surface of what can be learned, and they did it at great cost. We know there are less than a thousand on the American continent, probably even less than five hundred. We know they feed on blood, fear the light of the sun, are repelled by crosses and can be taken down by destroying their hearts and heads. What we also know is that they are incredibly dangerous." "Are the reports accurate? Faster than a galloping horse?" The expert winced, hesitant to go on. "Sir, I believe the situation is much worse. Vampires do not age. The old ones are so strong they can destroy buildings with their bare hands. Witness accounts of Black Harbor speak of figures moving faster than the eye can see. Sir, I need you to understand. In eighteen twelve, a lone vampire defeated a mercenary troop three-hundred strong and killed them to the last man, as well as most of an island''s population in a single night. This was considered as fact by the Order. The reason why we cannot determine their full capabilities is because no one has ever managed to test them. I would advise considering them completely unstoppable at night." "Jesus. Unstoppable you say?" "Yes sir. Even by the army." The powerful man took a gulp of tea and winced when the hot liquid scalded his tongue. The expert politely ignored the incident. "I hesitate to ask but can those monsters be defeated?" the powerful man finally asked. "Yes sir, I believe they can," the expert said with conviction tinged with sadness. "In theory. In practice, no one would be ready to pay the price. Vampires were at the origin of the initiative that stopped the scourge hive during the civil war. They handled the werewolf threat. They erased the fae, or enslaved them, or exiled them perhaps. We have credible reports that they were at the forefront of the Austrian offensive against the living dead incursion near Warsaw. More importantly, we have never been able to find signs they would act, and they have proven their ability to mobilize large resources in short order, including governmental ones. The truth is that they see us yet we do not see them. Fighting them would be fighting blind against a foe that already has the key to our homes." At the mention of infiltration, the powerful man felt fear grip his heart. The expert had been shown a respect for the vampire threat that bordered on admiration. What if¡­ "I am not theirs," the expert said, cutting into the silence with a decisive gesture. He grabbed for his collar and displayed a cross. "My devotion is to the nation. I am merely being realistic. Even if we successfully unleashed the general populace on them ¡ª and that is no guarantee it would even succeed ¡ª the two of us will not live to see the fruit of our labor. We will be cut down before the purge starts." "You think our citizens would not fight against inhuman creatures from the dark?" "Our citizens drink to forget the civil war and dream of a better future out west, sir. Few would be willing to throw their lives aside to fight ghosts. At least, I believe so as a veteran." "I am not comfortable leaving our nation at the mercy of an unknown party, especially not one of¡­ what are they, cursed humans?" "Yes, sir. The Order claims that vampires turn humans into other vampires. The process is apparently very slow." "If humans can join them, then¡­" A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. "We have to consider that some may go to their side to be granted power and immortality, sir. A tempting offer for some individuals of great influence and a deep awareness of their own mortality." The powerful man considered the difficulty of fighting an enemy both hidden and well-connected. "Between this and their¡­ mind-altering abilities, what is preventing them from taking over?" "I am not sure, sir, but I surmise they are too few in number to control the world. They probably prefer staying hidden and influencing events from the shadows." "How do you explain their actions over the years? Stopping the hive and controlling the werewolves, if this is what happened." The expert hesitated. "Sir, I would like to point out that my previous answer was a conjecture and this one will be one as well. I believe the vampires were at the origin of the Red Cabal group of mercenaries given the suspicious way their funding moves. As you may know, they are the largest bounty claimers for rogue mages and animals of unusual size. It might just be that they consider our planet and its inhabitants as¡­ their backyard." The powerful man blinked, unwilling to accept the conclusion. "So what, man, are we their pet?" "No sir, their prey." Once again, the room fell silent. The wind howled outside under heavy dark clouds. It was going to snow. "If we cannot eliminate them, we might need to open¡­ a channel of conversation." "The Supernatural Task Force might not like that sir. Some of its elements have displayed great vehemence in their desire to cleanse us of all magical beings ¡ª " "And I do not see them purging the United States of a hundred thousand of its constituents. The last time I checked, I was nominated to represent the people, not them. The mages will not be exterminated. Now, enough of those madmen. How would we proceed and what precaution should we take to contact the vampires?" The expert did not have to think for very long. "Carry a cross with you and pray when you meet them and your mind will stay yours. Of this we are sure. As for making contact, a simple inquiry sent to the STF will do. The vampires will learn of your wish, sir." "The STF is infiltrated?" "Undoubtedly." "Hmph. Very well, I shall do just that. Please make sure you stay around Washington. I may need your assistance in the immediate future, Mr Zahn." "Of course, Mr Secretary." The expert knew a dismissal when he heard one. He stood quickly to leave the powerful man to his writings. It only took a couple of minutes to finish a simple note, then the powerful man sent it out after only the briefest of hesitations. He returned to his other duties, distracted. Sometimes, his gaze would leave the pages and travel to the world outside, with its bored sentries and frozen world. The fire in the hearth felt much weaker than before while the world outside was large, cold, and the gale did not let up. The powerful man sighed and joined his colleague for their daily meeting, but his heart was not in it. He found his mind drifting to reports and rumors, to the few illustrations the confidential files contained. An aberration of man and wolf standing upright, claws extended like so many blades. A beautiful woman with red hair over a heart-shaped face fighting scourge drones with a sword, her body covered in an antiquated black armor. She had a blazing fire in one hand. That one had been drawn by a Colored Troops corporal after the battle, and could not be unreliable. And yet, it had been so breath-takingly vivid¡­ "Are you alright sir?" The powerful man looked up to his assistant, a serious young man with sharp eyes. "Not feeling myself this evening, Lucas. I believe I shall head home early and take the Sioux dossier with me." "As you wish, sir. I will have the carriage ready for you." The powerful man sighed and returned to his office, now cold. He put on his coat, hat, scarf, and gloves with careful attention, not least to avoid being scolded by his Annie for risking sickness. Outside, night was falling quickly. He greeted the guards by their names and climbed into the prepared carriage. When he was settled, he knocked on the front panel. "We can leave, George." Silence. "George?" The door of the carriage opened and a young woman rushed in. The carriage left immediately after she closed the way shut and before the wind could push flakes in. "Oh, goodness me, what a weather! Windy windy!" The powerful man could only stare at the strangest of intruders. She was short and dainty, the heavy green dress and cloak barely hiding her small stature. Pale blonde locks escaped from her fashionable hat to artfully frame her beautiful face. A light pink blush spoke of the frigid temperature, and her blue eyes sparkled with excitement. The powerful man noted her high-pitched, slightly accented voice. English, perhaps? What was the young thing doing here? She felt so young and innocent. Or maybe not. For an instant, he saw something old and calculating behind the frilly demeanor, then it was gone just as quickly. "Errr, you may have the wrong carriage here, madam." "Oh no, no no no no Mr Secretary, I believe I am exactly where I am meant to be. After all¡­" Her voice grew low and cold, so very cold. "You called for us." The powerful man did not scream. He did, however, press himself against the far panel while a hand searched for the door handle. The vampire sat back on her side and smoothed her dress, chasing away the errant slow flakes. She granted him a politely interested smile. "But¡­. it''s still day!" He protested. She did not reply. She just waited. "Are you perhaps not one of them, then, but a servant of sorts?" The woman slowly extended a delicate, glove-clad hand. The powerful man noticed that the extremities were quite sharp, as if they were hiding claws and not nails. The cross on his chest ¡ª a gift from his late father ¡ª warmed up. The man reached for it through his scarf and when the piece of silver was revealed, it was shining a deep blue. The vampire pulled back her hand and massaged the middle finger. The carriage smelled like ash for a little while. The vampire shrugged in a deceptively human manner. He found the gesture disturbing because it just felt so natural. "We would not insult you by sending an underling, sir. My name is Sephare. I represent the Accords." "And you¡­ command your kind?" "I am one of three. Relationship with human authorities falls within my purview. If you wish, you may also meet our lawmaker. I believe you two may see eye to eye on many issues!" "And the third?" the powerful man asked without thinking, so peculiar this whole situation was. "Oh, our herald of war, the Hand. She is terribly busy at the moment, so perhaps later?" The powerful man shivered while his imagination conjured visions of unspeakable deeds. *** "Are we really going to steal poorly made dynamite from a bunch of bumpkins?" Urchin asks with cautious annoyance. I tut loudly to express my deep disapproval. His understanding of bingleries has proven terribly lacking. "First, we will not steal it unless we have to. We will try to negotiate for it first, using old-fashioned discussions. Second, it will become important later." "You do not plan on using it." "I do not, therefore the story will find a use. It would never waste perfectly valid ordinances." "If you say so¡­" "We know we will be backstabbed. Surely, a little explosive comeuppance is only fair." I hum under my breath as we move on. The path we follow leads us through dense thickets of pine trees, their branches heavy with snow. The scent of sap and needles pierces through the crisp note of ice. Sometimes, we catch sight of the moon through an opening in the canopy while the branches bend under the weight of crusted ice. The earth is old here, its bones bare and weathered by time. The Pattersons have made their den under a raised geological formation I hesitate to call a hill since it looks like a bundle of femurs frosted together after some ungodly feast. It looms over the makeshift plank edifice, a grisly trophy caught in a millennia-long fall. The den itself lets out sickly yellow light through uneven windows dug haphazardly through the front wall. From a certain angle they bear the semblance of baleful eyes from an alien predator. It makes me miss the spheres. We cross an outer palisade as I commit the view to memory for later painting. Crates and rusted remains of cages and other ravaged implements dot an inner courtyard I will only name as such because pigsty does not quite fit. A dog barks from inside when it catches our scent, carried by a frigid wind. Whispers of conversation die down and the curtain moves on the nearest window. I am honestly impressed they managed to get glass here without breaking it. I know, however, how they afforded it. The entire place smells like alcohol, the bad kind. They make rotgut or moonshine or whatever they call the abominable swill they distill out of two apples and a bucketful of sawdust. "Boss, I think they might not agree to let us just have the dynamite," Urchin says. "I agree. If one dodges taxes with such brazen confidence, who knows what manner of depravity they will sink to? Murder is a lesser evil by comparison," I reply. "We may have a problem," he continues. Indeed, the Patterson estate is a home. We will not enter without a proper invitation. Inside, several male voices hush each other as if the clamor of their hounds would let anyone ignore our presence. I let Metis take a few steps back while Urchin and John move on with practiced ease. The tall man''s massive fist slams on the solid door like a ram, threatening to pop the hinges. "Mr Patterson, we are here for the dynamite, if you would kindly give it to us," Urchin says in a loud yet perfectly polite voice. He has picked on a slight upper crust accent, a good wager. Some ruffians answer better to harder and nastier people than themselves but others fear the unknown city behemoths. With Urchin''s current garb, the thuggish approach would not hold water. "Don''t know what you''re talking about," a voice sounds from within, testing us. "This is the Patterson house and you have dynamite for Mr Adler who already paid for your services. We are here to collect." "Is that right? I don''t recall being paid. You got money?" S§×arch* The Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. This would be the proper time to leave or prepare for a fight. I quietly dismount and walk to our left, from where I hear the shriek of groaning hinges. The locals are not exactly being subtle. John turns to me and I nod, confirming that under the current rule to act as competent mortals, one might reasonably expect to be ambushed by a band of isolated aggressive lawbreakers clearly asking us if we are worth robbing. And hear the growls of the dog the approaching party keeps on leash. Honestly, they are not even trying. I remove the pearl-handled revolver from its holster and hide behind a rusty cage while John creeps along the wall with a dexterity that belies his size. We find a party of three plus a dog, two with knives and one with a coach gun. They are men of various sizes with beards and stained, ratty clothes. All together, they might have one intact denture but I would not bet any money on that. I feel insulted. I also feel grateful not to be downwind. The lead man carefully leans along the side wall to peer at the entrance and finds John''s grasping hand, then the giant smashes his victim against the wall hard enough to dazzle him. I shoot the dog who falls with a yelp and the coach gun handler in the arm. At this range and with the light of the windows to guide me, I have no qualms hitting my targets. I would start missing on purpose at a range greater than nine yards away, but not before. John punches the remaining knife wielder and we have ourselves three prisoners. "Get up," John says in a bold voice while I tut at the wounded lad as he goes for his revolver. "Do that and I''ll shoot you again." "A kid? No, a WOMAN?" "Get up slowly and show me your hands." "You fucking bitch, you killed Nero!" I cock my gun, the distinct click enough to convince my newest captive to hurry. The three stooges line up with hands in the air except the idiot applying pressure to his wounded arm. "You cocksuckers! Henry? Henry, are you alright?" a female voice screams from within. "I''m alive," the lead idiot mumbles, chastened. "They ain''t much, just th ¡ª" Before Henry can share confidential information, John backhands him into silence to screams of protest inside. "Leave him alone!" Urchin gestures. I roll my eyes and pick a watch with a timer from a hidden waist pocket, starting it. "Looks to me like you have what we want and we have what you want," he calmly declares. "You fuckers, you''re dead! Dead!" "You inbred degenerates always think you can pull a fast one on your betters. Get the dynamite out with no tricks or I''ll start cutting toes." "Henry you stay put! You fuckers better get off my land ''fore I shoot y''all full o'' holes." "Yeah, you tell her, Mama," another voice says. This one has much less confidence. I notice that one of our captives is reaching for a pocket and I step on his hand. The cry of pain riles up the besieged family. "You stop that right now!" "List here, you dumb twat," Urchin replies, "I''m going to come in and punch the teeth of you and your crotch monkeys if you don''t get us our fucking due." "I''d like to see you try, fucker!" Aaaaand I stop the counter. "Twenty-nine seconds. A honest score but not your best," I inform Urchin. "It did sound like an invitation to me." John steps forward and kicks the door. He does not kick it down, he kicks it forward with a decisive boot perfectly placed near the handle. Both the lock and hinges give up at the same time, the heavy piece of wood finishing in someone''s nose. The deafening din of cracked bones and demolished furniture soon follow in a symphony of violence. A heavy body smashes through a window with a yelp and lands on the ground. "To be fair, he was already that strong before," Urchin tells me while I contemplate the prone form of Mrs Patterson with strands of gray hair escaping her filthy bonnet. A shot goes off but no one screams, at least not immediately. John emerges with two more people held under his prodigious arms. One of them nurses his broken fingers and the other, a shiner that will turn out quite spectacular if he lives long enough. "Right, I think we have wasted enough time with the likes of you. Where are the explosives, and don''t tell me a nice thumper or I''ll start collecting body parts," Urchin says. "Don''t tell him nothing, Henry," says the woman as she picks herself up. Urchin sighs, grabs her by the scruff of her neck and shoots her ear off. A deafening screech follows the detonation, with the matriarch''s hearing now indefinitely impaired. At least the Pattersons show more sense now. They whimper and plead. Sometimes, I do not quite understand the pride and stubbornness of some mortals. One should know when they are desperately outclassed and work with the flow instead of against it. Ah well, if they were smart, they would not have found refuge here to begin with. "I''ll tell you, please don''t hurt Ma," Mr Shiner says. I follow him inside to a trapdoor barely hidden under a tattered carpet. The crates are sealed, a note dating the manufacture of its contents to only three months ago. There are no obvious traces of humidity damage, and the nitroglycerin has yet to weep from their cardboard container. All good. "Everything seems to be in order," I tell Urchin as I step out, a crate held with two hands. We line up the Pattersons away from their home. They shiver in the glacial temperatures but that is fine, I intend to remedy the situation very soon. "Of course, and since you tried to double-cross us, I believe a small quality check is in order¡­" I say, rummaging in the crate to pick one stick, only to realize¡­ there are no detonators. "Where are the blasting caps?" I ask. "The what?" Henry asks, terrified. "The blasting caps? The primers? Tiny mercury fulminate or black powder charges at the end of a fuse?" The man''s utterly bovine lack of understanding gives me the answer I need. "This cretin sends us to grab ordinance from minging wallopers," I honestly and objectively remark as I grab a spare cap from another pocket ¡ª it pays to always have extra caps. "And the daft twat forgets to order primers. I swear I''m surrounded by utter bampots, amateurs the lot o'' em, might as well ram the vault door with their thick heids." "Boss, you are having a Loth moment." "What? Oh. Yes. Where was I? Ah yes. Quality check." I finish making sure everything is done and light the fuse of the selected stick, tossing it inside the family house. "What are you? Wait. NO!" The stick detonates beautifully, sending the mortals tumbling on the ground. Pieces of wood shrapnel rain on us and for a moment, I realize I broke my rules by not taking adequate precautions. A mortal would have been more careful about flying debris. Ah, well. I signal John and Urchin that they may feed in the confusion and we soon leave the Pattersons with their partly demolished estate, dazzled, hurt, but alive. "You are quite generous with them," Urchin remarks as we ride away on our nightmares. "I tend to be merciful when in the vicinity of a Bingle. It would not do for their allies to be too bloodthirsty. I would also have condemned a child to death by killing them all." "You would have?" Urchin asks. "A cellar dug under the main building housed their distillery and a child hid there while we fought. I felt her in my Magna Arqa. To leave an isolated child in the wilderness with such cold weather may lead to her death with the shock of utter loss. In this case, respecting my own code while abiding by the spirit of the binglery came with the same decision, thankfully." "Nothing truly abnormal has happened so far." "We are mainly here to fill the role of the safe breakers. At first, we will facilitate the story. Only once the intrigue has bloomed into a full blood-soaked heist story will the benefits become obvious. We just have to do our best to remember that secondary characters die. So stay focused." "Yes boss." "Should we take additional precautions, Miss Ari?" "I have forces on standby. No need to panic now, the most important part is to let the story run its course. And remember¡­ it always ends with a bang." "Does the base have pig pens?" Urchin asks. "You shut up right this instant." Chapter 203 - 197. The Hoard Someone has sliced through the ancient earth with unstoppable will. Diggers have carved up old rocks and blasted through antediluvian formations. Centennial trees were felled and processed to produce the train tracks in front of us. The steel of its beams glints under the light, cold as the ancient stone that surrounds it but more dead than wizened. Cross half the country and I could find their exact copies, but I would be hard pressed to find ancient mountains eroding quietly like the Black Hills do. I find it all quite interesting. Truly, progress reaches out to everyone, ready or not. On said tracks waits an armored moving fortress that I shall call a train for the sake of simplicity. I am feeling lyrical at the moment, and will indulge by comparing it to some invasive species of armored beetle belching smoke like a dragon belches fire. Men will soon shovel coal into its sooty entrails, but for now the beast squats quiescent in the clearing, waiting. Waiting for us to be ready. Urchin, John and I have changed into our uniforms with record speed. I have hidden my hair into a slightly larger cap and dressed myself in a baggy uniform with the vest reaching to my thighs for additional discretion. A delicate use of the Vanheim essence has softened my expression until I look more like a young boy at the edge of puberty than an adult woman, an image I shall reinforce with proper posture and gait. With Urchin and the very noticeable John by my side, I expect that I will merely be overlooked as a new recruit among a cadre of veterans. If necessary, I shall use a bit of suggestion to reinforce that effect. John turns instinctively when we are approached. The assembled troops of Mr Adler and Mr Bingle scramble to prepare their weapons under the disapproving glare of Adler himself, a man with intelligent features and horn-rimmed spectacles, but also an unfortunate short stature that several of Mr. Bingle''s mastermind antagonists and backstabbers have shared over the volumes. I am not quite certain where this prejudice comes from, but I suspect it might be an emotional scar associated with Napoleon, who was said to be short himself. In any case, the man walks to me with clear anger in his steps and two goons by his side. It always amuses me when people realize that my own small size is merely a trick of perspective, that I am in fact rather tall for a woman, and that yes, John is that large. Truly. The thugs'' eyes widen when it becomes clear they are in the presence of a superior specimen, an alpha goon as it were, though to underestimate John''s patient intellect would be a mistake. The man is unimaginative but he can be quite thorough. Adler does not stop. To him, every goon is too large to matter anyway, I suppose. "So, you are a woman," he accuses. "Yes," I amicably reply. I want to smile and allow myself to do so. Ah, but our perspectives must be so different. He believes he plays a high-stake game for his own future and that the next hours will decide his fate. Fortune or infamy will be his until death depending on our performance, he thinks. Only we three know that Mr Adler is playing with loaded dice and that, although Alexander may die in the process, evil will not be allowed to succeed no matter what. He will necessarily be caught and punished. My condescending smile sends him into a fit of barely contained rage. "And you are supposed to be our demolition expert? Do you have any idea ¡ª " "Hush," I reply. "Shhhh. There, there," I reply, and place a finger before his mouth. Adler is too stunned to react. One of the goons is more sensible and realizes I have insulted his employer, but a simple shake of John''s head suffices to convince him he is not paid enough to jump to the defense of the obnoxious man''s honor. I use this opportunity to clear the air. "You were about to tell me how much you have worked and sacrificed for this plan to come to fruition, and then lament that your partner is showing a terrible lack of professionalism by bringing in a woman to handle the explosives. I appreciate that I may not look like what you expected, but let me instead remark upon certain facts regarding your own preparations." By now, Adler has recovered. Instead of showing anger, his expression has turned cold and calculating. His pale blue eyes search my face for hints of something ¡ª I do not know what exactly. "Firstly, you did not order nearly enough dynamite to force an arm-thick vault open. I have brought my own just in case. Secondly, you did not order percussion caps so the explosives you bought could not have been detonated. Thirdly, the structure of the vault means that I will have to shape the charge or risk a full collapse, a process that only a few people on the planet know is even possible. And fourthly, I am also an expert safe-cracker." I tap on the small chest in Urchin''s hand. "This is plan A, and¡­" I point at the conical shaped charge in John''s large mitts. "This is plan B." I look into his eyes, leaning forward until we are level. "I will get us through that door and into the safe, Mr Adler. Count on it. You should make sure your part of the plan goes off without a hitch instead of worrying about me. After all, there are so many complex steps to follow," I assure him with a smile. I enjoy the burst of anxiety that spices the man''s essence at the thought that, perhaps, we are onto him. That we know he will betray us. The sweet hint of terror and faster heartbeat makes the two Courtiers at my side react. One of Urchin''s talons digs into the wood box with a creaking sound. Fortunately, they both fed yesterday and we should be fine for a while. Adler chases away the suspicion out of a deep-seated belief in his own superiority. I can practically see the cogs turning in his head. He is the smartest person present, and therefore cannot possibly have been outsmarted. Thus comforted, he finally frowns when it occurs to him that I have taken control of the conversation. A man like him needs to have the last word. I allow it. "Make sure we do get in the vault. It''s all our heads on the line if we don''t," he says. With one last glare to imply that this is a threat on my head and my life specifically, he departs. I watch him stomp away with cold delight. "Should we get on, Miz Ari?" John asks. "As soon as our team is ready, yes." Night just fell and the temperatures are already freezing. The mortals hurry with great haste to close the armored doors behind themselves. We move on in a middle carriage with the rest of the Godling''s agents. They outnumber us six to one, I''d say. It seems like an large number for a gold convoy escort but I admit not being familiar with the mint''s security protocols. In short order, the heavy train leaves the wilderness, pushing on through copses of old pines. There are windows in our carriage though they look more like murder holes than anything else. I keep an eye out while many of the men check their weapons one last time, probably hoping they will not have to use them. If a gunshot rings outside then things will have gone tragically off course. It takes an hour for the ground to be more level and for the path in front of us to open on a small wooded valley. The ''ka-chunk'' of the wheels slow down until we slowly, slowly stop. I bid John open the gate and we move out on a small concrete platform. A simple stone path leads up towards a tiny hill with forests and snow-covered earth all around. A few lights to our left hints at the edge of the military base. To the right, the tracks extend east back to our origin and, if everything goes well, our destination. A few heavily dressed sentries with lanterns are making their way down to the first car which Adler is in the process of exiting. They do not seem alarmed. I feel Whispers and Honor¨¦ leave from the other side. Their task will be to cut the telegraph line and I wish them good luck in this weather. Felicia will stay with the train and cover us with her rifle if the worst comes to pass. The rest moves on, carrying heavy crates filled with stones and guns instead of the expected gold. We form a column two-men wide and walk briskly. The weather means that we wear scarves on top of our hats which will conveniently hide the nervousness of the thugs. All thirty of us move on with commendable discipline, the guards merely waving us on. I hear them talking to Adler. "No carts, sir?" "In this weather? Through the snow?" the man replies with acerbic condescension. The guards are chastised. We climb a short incline up the hill, taking great care not to slip. Gas lamps cast a timid glow on the squarish concrete and stone building. Our destination, the Gold Bullion Depository. The brutal cube emerges from the frozen earth like a peering hunter, its barred windows inspecting us as we approach the gates. Two pairs of guards open it with some difficulty and we accelerate so most of the heat stays in. In passing, I admire the thick steel panes and solid walls. This place could withstand artillery bombardment. We are fortunate to have a way in. "Mr Adler sir, good to see you," A keen man with sharp dark eyes and a thin mustache greets. He wears the mark of a captain on his shoulders. The local guards watch us pile into a sparsely furnished entrance with limited interest. I see a desk, murder holes hiding the snub nose of a gatling gun, and a door leading further inward. "Mr MacTavish is not with you?" the officer asks. "He is at the back," Adler curtly replies. Ah, I can see doubt bloom in our guest''s mind. He was not picked at random. I believe MacTavish might be the man holding the second part of the vault''s combination, the one Adler was unable to get. He is an important person and should be at the head of the formation as well since his presence is required to open the vault. I wonder if the captain will act on his suspicions. To my surprise, he does. While Adler approaches the far door in his urge to press on, the captain casually approaches us as we stand at the middle of the formation. He did not truly pick us at random. Urchin possesses the same magnetic charm most old Courtiers share, though his takes on a more roguish edge. The captain is perceptive enough to pick up on it. "Damn weather eh? Did you travel long?" "All the way from New York, sir," Urchin replies in a convincing eastern accent, not too posh, not too low. "I don''t recognize you. You''re from the mint over there?" "That''s right." "Well, give my greetings to commissioner Trent when you return." Urchin frowns convincingly. He blinks and his expression suddenly turns confused. "Who''s that, sir?" "Nevermind," the captain replies with a chuckle. "I made a mistake. Trent works in Pittsburgh." "If you say so, sir." The officer turns to leave. Urchin and I share a look of amusement while John remains impassive. The brave officer tried to bluff a vampire with the oldest trick in the book, trying to catch us in a lie. Mortals are so cute, sometimes. Meanwhile, the heist group delves further into the complex while the outside door is closed behind us. Quietly, thugs jump on the four guards still with us and disable them with Whisper''s poison darts. The sleeping men are tied with ropes and muffled. There are so many of us in the way that the captain does not realize something is wrong. The main room leading down proves to be quite large, with a central space open to the second floor where balconies allow guards above to shoot down. None of them stand vigil for now. Our group disables the guards present including a very angry captain and a sleepy Gatling crew. After that, we walk into a side room where we take care of a few clerks still working. Most of the guards on this floor are currently eating their meal, however, and they are grouped. If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. "There are many of them together," Adler observes. "We could clear the upper floor first, then call half of them out. The less people we face at a time and the less chances that one of them warns the others," Bingle replies. Adler agrees. For all his confidence, the man has little experience with heists. Bingle officially holds the title of most accomplished planner and so we use keys to unlock the way up. As for me, I suspect his luck will hold until the last moment, so I am fine with anything he decides. Nevertheless, a nod on my part sends Urchin and John up. As a woman and an essential part of the group, I am left behind. I can still follow their progress through my Magna Arqa. Bingle splits his troops into two groups. One goes from dorm room to storage space, taking out anyone in their way without hesitation while the other lingers in the main corridor. Urchin prevents a wandering guard from asking questions by hitting him in the nose with the flat of a thrown knife. Soon, they have tied and muzzled most guards including the telegraph office members. Only the alarm room remains. They try the door, finding it locked. The guards react to the noise of a turned handle with panic. One of them opens the slit only to find the ugly mug of Bill Hannigan inches away from his nose. "Who the fuck are you?" he asks. "Private Hannigan, sir. Bringing you sandwiches from downstairs. Your pals are too busy moving the gold in so they sent poor me up instead." For a small instant, I consider that the infiltration should fail here and now. Guards like this one should have clear instructions not to open the door if anything feels amiss. Fortunately for us, he is hungry, tired, and the mint does not deploy its most astute grunts in the ass end of Minnesota. "What sort of sandwich is that?" the guard asks as he opens the door, none of his five acolytes awake or aware enough to stop him. "KNUCKLE SANDWICH!" Bill roars. The melee is short and one-sided, owing to John and Bill''s presence. Meanwhile, it takes more self-control to stop myself from groaning than it did sparing the last person who jumped through my office window. I am positively horrified. The last guards above the surface are still eating when our men return, and we must move on or risk alerting the vault level that something is amiss. "Fear not, friends of justice, for I have a plan," Bingle whispers with utter conviction. "I shall lead them out where we can surprise them. Be ready!" A moment later, the fearless godling barges into the eating room where he half screams, half whispers: "Quick, we''ve been followed. There might be robbers. Quick, quick, hurry!" The guards are used to following orders. They race out in under three seconds, slowing down when they find themselves in the main room surrounded by strangers. "So¡­ about those robbers?" the lead sergeant asks. "That''s us," Bingle answers from behind. The rake. Once again the guards are caught off guard and vastly outnumbered and, once again, they are subdued before they can so much as scream. With the surface secure, we immediately head down the stairs to the vault level proper. I also pull in my Magna Arqa to avoid triggering sensitive wards. It feels unlikely but I would not want to take unnecessary risks. As we descend into the heavily fortified bowels of the installation, I cannot help but feel excited at the thought of all that gold waiting for us deeper in. Life has taught me on many occasions that there is more power in a single document or a useful contact than in solid metal, and yet gold is still gold. It has a certain weight to it. A glint, too. A nervous energy fills our mortal companions with every step down the narrow passage. It ends quite deeply, deeper than I expected. I judge there are at least three to four levels worth of unused rock above us when the barely lit way ends on a small landing. An unadorned corridor leads deeper in still with several barred partitions separating us from our goal. Guards wait by each one, including the first. "Evening Mr Adler. Terrible weather to travel in," he greets. "Indeed," the man coldly replies. "Is Captain Blucher not with you?" "He went to see the train crew. Why?" "It''s just¡­ according to protocol, I can''t let anyone in without¡­" I can practically hear the grinding of teeth within Adler''s mouth, but to his credit the man merely replies in a tone that could freeze warm toffee. "But of course, I can wait for his return if protocol is so important." It only takes two seconds of annoyed shuffling and pretentious glaring for the doorman to relent. Adler is a known quantity. I understand the poor guard. Better to entertain an important superior than to stick to a protocol no one will commend him for obeying. In theory. In practice, John smoothly subdues him as soon as the column has moved on enough. We reach the vault''s entrance within another minute, leaving a string of strung up sentries in our wake. The takedowns are so fast and silent that the next sentry cannot detect them beyond the mass of crate-carrying men. The vault''s antechamber is large enough to host fifty men, with no furniture beyond a few chairs. Another gatling gun waits by the tunnel entrance. Interestingly, someone linked four steel panes around the muzzle to protect the crew while they fire. An intriguing innovation, perhaps a necessity considering the number of steel bars on the way to the entrance and the dangers of ricochets. Half a dozen men wait here by the massive door, with a little surprise to the left. There, in a fortified vestibule, stand two guards. Mages. Oh, they wear the normal uniform, but their auras are unmistakable, and while I have almost perfect control over my own, the same cannot be said about my two Courtiers. The mages grow aware of our presence. The tremulous call of their panic immediately garners my minions'' attention, but I take the initiative by shocking them with my own aura before they can trigger the vault''s magical alarm, which Bingle was not aware of. The directed pulse I aim at them attracts their gaze to me, where I capture their attention. Rather than crush them, I send feelings of patience and biding one''s time. They assent with ease, surprising me until one of them discreetly takes out a pristine handkerchief embroidered with the symbol of the White Cabal. In answer, I lift my cap a little to let them see my bound hair. We do not know each other but we know of each other. An understanding is reached. There will be no need for violence. I smirk to myself. There has to be at least five different interest groups represented here, all wearing the same uniform, all pretending to be on the same side. There has to be a joke there. A vampire, a mage, a godling, and a traitor enter a gold vault¡­ "Good evening Mr Adler. Is Mr MacTavish not with you?" a guard asks. "He is right¡­ bah, why do I bother? You are the last ones." "We¡­ pardon?" The robbers jump on the remaining guards. Urchin and I make a big show of waving our revolvers under the mages'' nose through the bars of their little box, which they exit with their hands up. We bind them comfortably and in a way that would let them escape easily as reward for their help. It is done. With little fanfare, we have taken over the Gold Bullion Depository in under fifteen minutes without casualties and with only a minimum of violence. We could not have done it without an inside man but it will not matter to the journalists. Oh, what beautiful waves that will make. Perhaps I should have kept the operation a secret. Sephare''s furious tantrums always amuse me. Ah well, I am almost a hundred years old ¡ª an adult now. I must act responsibly. "I believe my turn has come to shine," I announce to the room. Suddenly, quite a few pairs of eyes land on me. "Yes!" Bingle declares from the side. "Get us through that door, miss. What do you need us to do?" Aaaand Bingle has monopolized the attention. Probably for the best. "I need Adler to input his own combination, my tools, and some calm. Urchin, John, and you may stay. And those two guards, I might have questions. The rest must leave." "What do you mean, leave?" Adler interrupts. He leans forward in an amusing attempt to be intimidating, though I have to admit that the numbers at his back make a decent case. "You would not be trying to pull a fast one, would you?" he pointedly asks. "Are you afraid that I would drop several metric tons of gold down my waist pocket and make a run for it? Just back up in the corridor and leave the doors open, I do not mind. I just want you not to breathe down my neck," I reply. Adler huffs and puffs and threatens a bit but he knows he needs me. It takes him a good minute to unlock one side of the vault door and another for he and his goons to amble out, prisoners in tow. When our numbers have decreased, I turn to the last obstacle. The vault door is massive, there are no other fitting terms for such an imposing disc of reinforced metal. It stands ominously under the yellow gaslight, its form alien, an unmoving defender hiding complex guts and bones, and beyond that, gold. More gold than any man could spend in a lifetime. A fortune like no other hiding in the shadows. For a moment I let myself forget about my power and how little that pile of metal means in the grand scheme of things. Instead, I immerse myself in the story and consider this last silent guardian in our quest for glory eternal. Only the hermetic surface matters, as unyielding as a mountain. Ah, yes. With reverent attention, I take out my old magical glove. The form fits snuggly over my fingers and reminds me of my father who gifted it to me long ago. A flick of my index is enough to block the sound going out, and to create a small illusion for our ''friends'' outside. "You may speak freely," I begin. "You lots are not wearing masks," one of the White Cabal mage says, "Do you intend to kill us?" "Never!" Bingle says. "We will return the stolen wealth in two days at most, once higher authorities have gathered here to seek their lost funds, I assure you." "As long as it does not end in bloodshed¡­" another says. I do not need to look to know he is looking at me, but I do not reply. I have already been generous in allowing them to speak. I do not have to give explanations to my allies. I am only bound to guarantee their safety, nothing more. I soon realize that the wards themselves are relatively simple and also a late addition. Rather than enchanting the door, the mages have cast a spell they must constantly refresh, though I can appreciate its complexity. My first task is to disconnect the ward from the magical alarm in the security booth where the mages were posted. To do so, I sever the link and reattach it to a simple, stable construct so it does not snap and alert whoever is listening for the breach. Once it is done, I seize the ward''s heart and twist it, unraveling the entire spell. "I told you we should have placed the anchor on the other side, but you said it was too complicated," one of the mages complains to the other. "It was too complicated. We would have needed to be physically present in the vault at least once every two days!" I ignore them. Now that the magical defenses are unmade, it is time to address the mundane ones. Safecracking is an art I have seldom practiced, but Loth did teach me, and I have always been a dedicated student. Given the size of the safe and my lack of heavy tools, the best path for us would be safe manipulation, the discovery of a safe''s combination through careful manipulation of the wheel. Once the right number has been reached, most safes will let out a tiny sound, or there can be an infinitesimal increase in the resistance of the wheel. To open a safe that way takes time and an intimate knowledge of the mechanism one is working with. Fortunately, I can cheat. A few whispered words and a spell opens an illusory aperture into the bowel of the vault, revealing the inner workings of the lock. I can now watch the effects of the wheel''s turn as I manipulate it. Meanwhile, the mages bicker. "I told you we should have protected that in priority," "Hush you, it would have made no difference. " Click Click Click Clang goes the pin. I mess up once and have to restart but it does not matter. Sound and light guide me through the little dance. Eight to the right, forty-five to the left. Seventeen then, and thirty-six. I am patient and silent and really, really focused. Thirty-eight. Twenty-seven. Forty-two. Six. Twenty-one. Nine. Forty-two. One. A clang, loud and clear. John walks to the wheel and turns it, muscles bulging from the pretend effort. The massive door rotates on oiled hinges. Slowly, ponderously, it reveals its contents. For a moment, I think I have opened the way into a maze, a labyrinth of brick walls leading farther in to the real treasure. My mind churns with possibilities. Is there a final layer of defenses? I expected chest-high stacks of bullions on wood planks to keep them off the ground, but soon I realize my error. Those bricks glint in the light with an unmistakable glow. Those are entire walls of gold, filling space to the ceiling. Oh, what a sight. What an incredible hoard. The amazing view steals my voice for a moment. Only when Adler speaks by my side do I detach myself from this breathtaking sight. "Well, you did it. And concerningly fast too. I may have misjudged you after all. Crates, gentlemen. We do not have all night." The goons rush into the vault''s sacrosanct interior. I refrain from slaying them here and there for ruining the moment. Ah, mortals, rushing everything. Would it have killed them to wait for ten seconds? Barbarians. "Let''s have a look," Bingle whispers reverently. I leave John and Urchin to gather ingots and follow the godling into the vault''s shimmering innards. We find lanterns and light them as we delve deeper into this most unique of dungeons. The walls reach to the ceiling around us, reflecting what little light we have. To my surprise, Alexander finds a room near the back. He enters it first, his large frame blocking the way. I spot pedestals lining its walls as well as a few barrels. "I can see an old document in a glass casing. By jove, this is¡­ the Declaration of Independence!" sea??h th§× n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Please do not steal the Declaration of Independence," I remind him with a tired voice. "We will receive enough attention as it is." "And there is this strange armor. Looks old." I approach and peer through the opening while he moves in, but I can already feel the sharp grasp of apprehension around my black heart. There is magic in this room. I can almost taste it. I identify the nature of said ''strange armor'' in an instant. "Wait, don''t touch¡ª" Too late. Alexander walks to its engraved breastplate and taps the surface under my mesmerized gaze. The golem activates immediately. Steel spears descend to block the doorway. I need to decide. Do I go in to help or not? At a loss, I call upon my intuition, relying on it as if on a coin flip. The decision is immediate. This is not my doing. This is not my adventure. The bars slam down in front of my nose. Alexander turns at the dreadful clang, but his attention is misplaced. I point through the opening and scream. "Behind you!" The godling jumps back and survives a vicious swipe more out of luck than out of skill. The golem takes one ponderous step upon the stone. Its armored sabaton lands with a sound that speaks of great weight. Its next attack brushes Alexander''s shoulder and takes some of his shirt away as payment. Blood pearls on the Englishman''s pale skin. He takes out his revolver. "No! Find the core!" I advise him. I see now that the room is a small square, its walls lined with precious items on pedestals and the odd crates and barrels. A central one bears a large paper document which I suspect might be older than I am. Fortunately for our protagonist, the golem has received clear instructions not to destroy its charge. A game of cat and mouse begins. The golem turns around, sometimes changing direction. It is deceptively fast. More importantly, it will not tire. Alexander cannot last long. The abrupt changes of direction are already taking a toll. He is sweating under the warm winter clothes. "The core must be in the chest, hidden behind that breastplate," I tell him. "I don''t have anything that can get through that!" the man bellows. Neither do I, except¡­ Rose. I materialize my soul blade and wince at the thought of letting a mortal touch it. Must I really? Alexander stumbles and falls, then rolls under a downward punch. His back smashes against a nearby barrel and spills its contents. My decision is made, I must¡­ This¡­ is impossible? Impossible! It should not be here! It should not, and yet there is no denying it. I grab the bars with both hands. I know my mouth is open and I do not care. It is here, here! But how? And Alexander finds it, because of course he does. His fingers snap around the handle, missing the blade by some divine guidance. He surges to his feet with a valorous prestance and strikes. The blade sings, a perfect upward slice that leaves behind a silvery arc and an enduring chime like the persistent gong of an old church bell. The golem''s extended hand falls, severed cleanly. I could not have made a better cut. Cadiz could not have made a better cut. Alexander Bingle takes a fencer''s poise, light on his feet, one arm back, the other firmly in control of the dragon''s claw. The same artifact I ''liberated'' from the Fist of the Drowned God with Alexander''s own aunt, Miranda. The only thing reputed capable of piercing a dragon''s leathery hide. The godling waves the legendary blade and surges forward. He uses it like a saber with grace and the evidence of a dedicated training. The golem is outmatched. Its most potent advantage has always been durability and persistence. None of this matters in front of a weapon that could slice the beard off of God. In less than a minute and after a heroic struggle, the godling leaves the vault''s guardian as a dismembered pile of quivering spare parts on the ground. I have not moved, nor have I said anything. Alexander breathes heavily and stares at the blade, a strange longing upon his handsome face. "Miss Ari? What is happening?" John whispers from the side. I had not even noticed him. "I think I just invited the godlings to the apocalypse." Chapter 204 - 198. Lets just get everyone A dazzled Bingle uses the dragon claw''s edge to cut the bars of his prison. He appears to be in a state of shock, to the extent that I must hold the severed metal rods before they fall on his face. A sense of wonder gives his face a more youthful air, reminding me of the first time we met. He gingerly returns the ''liberated'' blade to its sheath, then holds it in front of him, looking lost. I have John disperse the few robbers attracted by the commotion. We move back to the main entrance just in case Adler gets the brilliant idea to forget his plan and seal us in out of fear we triggered some sort of alarm. Well, we did, or rather Alexander did, but he disposed of the response force. An operation is perfectly silent if there is no one left to listen, I always say. "Should I¡­ should I return it?" the godling asks with hesitation. To my surprise, greed does not motivate him. Instead, I feel a sort of longing in his mind or perhaps a connection of sorts. Most peculiar. "You should hang on to it," I tell him. "It is theft¡­" "You can return it with the rest of the ingots, after we are done." "Ah? Oh, yes of course. In for a penny, as they say. Still." "Alexander, look at me," I interrupt. The man blinks and returns his attention to me. I do not resort to Charm this time. Power is a crutch, even more so because he is a man of conviction. "The sword chooses the owner, sometimes." Amazement fills his traits even more. He looks so very young. "Are you sure?" he breathes. "My instincts say yes. Hold on to it, for now. I know who it belonged to before. I am sure they would not mind." "Wait. You do? Miss Delaney!" "No time!" I reply as I move us forward. "We have a heist to finish, remember?" "Oh, yes. Of course." Our steps carry us back to the earlier walls of gold. By the Watcher, we have filled entire crates and barely made a dent. I could melt it all for a twenty-feet tall statue of myself and still have enough to gold-plate my entire arsenal. Hmm, there is an idea. Wait, no, focus Ariane. I would never be that tastelessly gaudy. With haste and no small amount of excitement, we all return to the locomotive and even make a second trip. I judge that we have acquired at least one ton''s worth by the time the hulking form of the locomotive puffs back towards the wilderness, away from the violated fort and its oblivious guarding base. The first stage of the operation is complete. Not too bad. And no shot fired yet! Oh, the finale will be to die for. I can already see the glint of avarice in the eyes of the goons, the way their gazes linger on the sealed crates, the gears turning in their primitive minds. How much is their share? How much more would it be split twenty ways instead of forty? Split ten ways? Five? Who to trust? Decisions, decisions. Ah, I love this moment so much. Greed, passion, buried resentments fill the air with an enticing perfume of duplicity. Never have so many daggers been aimed at so many backs. In the middle of it, Adler moves from group to group, reminding them of their situation in a low voice filled with threats. The entirety of America will hound us within the next half a day, long before they can cross the border south as they likely plan to do. Only strict discipline will carry them to safety. I have to give it to the man. He can certainly anticipate trouble. Mortal trouble, that is. He will find Alexander a much tougher nut to crack. In any case, the train moves with as much speed as it can muster along the train line first east then south. We change paths several times in the hours before dawn. We are cutting it short by the time the black plated locomotive finally slows down into an abandoned maintenance track. We do not take part in the unloading. Instead, all three of us bid Bingle and his followers goodbye while we move towards the forest. It appears they will find a safe harbor among a pair of old warehouses while they wait for the night. A whistle, and our nightmares emerge from the treeline with a proud Metis prancing at the front. She is¡­ just a little larger than before the fae worlds, but nowhere close to the Herculean size she had taken there. Perhaps the aura of our world is still too thin. We are off without delay, riding towards a nearby elevation. I cast a message spell on a mirror I have without much hope and surprisingly find the amused face of Ollie, the leader of the Red Cabal. "You found us?" I exclaim with surprise, "I thought we would have gone too far." "Isaac found the deed for the property on which the train waits, bought by Mr Adler only a few months ago. The proof has been temporarily hidden for your convenience, Ariane." "Very kind of him." "Yes, it certainly pays to have such a competent fling," the red-head replies, wiggling his eyebrows with far too much attitude for someone who used to barely reach my waist. "Do not bring my personal life into a binglery, boy." "Yes, Ariane. We are a little west of your position by a small pond hidden behind a tall rock. Follow the forest trail and you will find us without difficulty. What do you intend to do next?" I speak while we urge our nightmares on, the coming of the dawn pressing on our minds. "It will depend on how Adler and Alexander''s interactions develop," I tell the mage through the mirror, "Adler will try to move the gold one way or another, then head south to escape scrutiny. Or perhaps west. Perhaps he will hide the gold under crates of turnips in a caravan, who knows? Bingle will obviously object and I am not sure how the interaction shall play out." "Would it not be easier for our evil mastermind to simply kill Bingle and be done with it?" "You would think that," I reply, "especially because Alexander might inform the authorities about the thieves'', but I am not sure. Mortals consider the step-up between theft and murder as rather steep." "It most certainly is," Ollie pointedly replies. I wave his words away, belatedly remembering that he can only hear me. This mirror does not work on vampires. "Adler may try to liquidate them, or he might try to take a hostage to enforce compliance and leave them tied to a tree. There could be a battle from which he disengages. I am unsure what will happen." "Do you want us to move closer and support them if the worst comes to pass?" I consider his offer for a little while, but eventually decide to follow my instincts. "No, that would be a Deus Ex Machina. Trust in the narrative. Bingle will get a chance." "Very well." Just as Ollie said, we reach the armored carriages with some time to spare and hunker down for the day. I wake up around noon feeling restless. Ollie informs me that nothing out of the ordinary has happened yet. A scout reports that the train is mostly hidden, a large pile of snow hiding it from view. The mortals spent part of the morning hiding the tracks and now rest, exhausted. Not much happens until the middle of the afternoon. Suddenly, a firefight of immense intensity breaks the silence for a solid ten minutes. When the scouts return, they find a new train parked in front of the hidden one, empty. The place is deserted. Everyone has left. *** The moment the sun sets and the Courtiers wake, we rush out. The pair of warehouses where the mortals rested stands empty, discarded cartridges littering the floor. We find a body dressed in stolen uniform and another wearing a leather duster ¡ª a new addition to the cast. I surmise he may have come with the train. Many of the doors are open with some crates dropped on the snow-covered ground, their golden content spilled. It appears everyone left in a hurry. I walk around to inspect the many footsteps heading out in many directions and stop, frowning. I taste the air. It feels wrong. Drained. Empty. "Boss?" Urchin says in English, "something ain''t right." "I feel it as well, miss Ari," John says. I take a deep breath, months of scheduling and projects disappearing down the drain in an instant. I can already picture the chest-high stacks of letters and documents I will have to send in the next few months. Ah, Bingle, you pointed me to Ako and now you point me to this. Why could you not direct me to a brand new strain of coffee beans next time for a change? By the Watcher. This is a disaster. "Change of plans. Wait here I will bring our weapons." "Armor?" "We do not have the time. If we are overwhelmed, I will cover you while you leave. I am confident I can achieve at least this much." I move as fast as I can, back to the armored carriages like the wind to grab some gear and then back again. Urchin''s knives, John''s axe and our guns soon find their sheathes and we leave, this time at vampire speed. In the distance, the fight resumes. I hear the cracks of gunfire, much weaker than expected. I hope we are not too late. I resist the urge to just grab the Courtiers and move faster. Soon, we arrive at the edge of a large clearing. A massive boulder occupies the center with a log cabin lodged at its top, next to a lone, scrawny tree. The cabin itself looks abandoned, perhaps a summer refuge for a hunter. For now, it is occupied by Felicia whose back we see from down here. Bill, Whisper, and Honore have taken cover around her perch and lay fire on the far side of the open area where I see a glint of metal. I would recognize those armors anywhere. Their wearers pop their bald heads out and return to cover on occasion. Mana hounds lie dead on the field with the last one hacked to death at Honore''s feet while in the middle of the clearing, Alexander battles a flying skeletal mage under the red glow of blazing pines. It appears the dead world has invaded the new one. We are breached. As I watch, the skeleton casts a thin tongue of flame. Alexander takes a strange posture. The bands of arcane fire wrap around the dragon claw he holds in his hand before ending up absorbed. For a moment, the artifact appears almost¡­ alive, then the light fades and it returns to being a sword. A shot echoes through the clearing, the bullet pinging against a powerful shield. The mage lets out a low hiss that sounds suspiciously like a snicker before weaving a new spell, this one crackling red. The bastard is experimenting. After what we did to them near Warsaw, I would have expected our foes to grow more cautious yet it seems arrogance is ingrained in them. Unless the Last City is not quite the last. That would be a terrifying prospect. Nevertheless, I believe some help might be acceptable. More importantly, I do not want the mage to escape. I will need its corpse. "The plan is this. I will provide silver ammunition to the humans, meanwhile you two engage the skeleton mage. This one is rather weak but do not underestimate its fire magic. The most important thing is that it must not flee. Meanwhile, I will seal the space around here so it cannot steal too much life force. Any questions?" Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. "Can we use our full strength?" John asks. "Yes. Survival is your priority. Use any means necessary." "Understood, boss," Urchin replies. "Then go." I rush and stop by Felicia''s side. She screams in fright. "Calm down," I interrupt. "I bring proper ammo." "There is a skeleton! And it flies! It flies! And I shoot it but it does nothing!" "It has a shield, yes. What caliber do you use?" "And those horrible beasts!" Ugh, mortals. I smack her face between two gloved hands and use a smidgen of Charm to help her focus. Hm. She really does have a surprisingly long nose. "Felicia, listen to me." "Yush." "What caliber do you use? For your rifle." "Fifty-eight." Dammit, one I do not have, of course. I regretfully, hesitantly, and with much trepidation, place the mortal-friendly rifle I picked in her waiting hands ¡ª against my better judgment. "Use this and for the love of all you hold dear take care of it or you will wish the skeleton had gotten you, yes?" "Thank you Miss Delaney! It looks amazing!" "Use it and those bullets." "Can it kill this monster?" "Maybe not but it will certainly feel it. Good luck!" I drop back and move around the clearing, drawing a circle with Rose as I run. I could use my magna Arqa to trace it faster and quite likely win the battle instantly but that would make the story less exciting, and so I refrain. I tread the thin line between the best scenario and the most awful one, should some characters die horribly. I must exert caution, and so I keep an eye on the battle as it enfolds. The skeleton''s mortal troops have not left their cover yet, so the action focuses on my Courtiers, Alexander, and the creature. The skeleton itself wears a rather simple robe over a metal armor designed to protect its gaunt frame. Golden filigree lines its arms and legs, forming hypnotic patterns while a circlet adorns its skull. Reddish light shines from the eye socket, following Urchin and John as they approach. He holds one of those life-capturing orbs in one hand and a hooked staff in the other, which he uses as a spell aide of sorts. It tries to pull vitality from the area and succeeds, but only to a limited extent. It appears the claw acts as an anchor, holding the life of the planet steady. The skeleton flies back when it turns out that John and Urchin have resisted the pull as well. Mortals would have simply died where they stood. The orb would have swallowed their life force. Rather than charging in, John and Urchin simply walk to Alexander''s side, letting the tired godling catch his breath. It has been the second night of activity in a row for the poor dear. Moving in the snow is exhausting work. His shoulders heave as he gulps the cold air. The two Courtiers take place by his side, three men facing a flying monster. A hero, An enforcer, a rake. They look mighty fine like this. The wind blows, and the light of the moon pierces through the fluffy snow clouds, adding a silvery sheen to the ice around the red-bathed arena the clearing has become. "Gentlemen, a pleasure as always," Alexander greets with a calm voice. "You always bring us the best fights," Urchin adds. "It dies here," John concludes. "FREAAAAKSSSSSS," the creature hisses. While I rushed to complete the circle, the skeleton has descended, bony feet resting on the ice. Its voice sounds mechanical and alien, yet it speaks English with barely an accent. I understand the implication. The mages have been here long enough to learn from captives. It is not that they have not just arrived, we have just found them. Unaware of my worries, the four opponents face each other for the time-honored tradition of pre-battle insult hurling. "FREAKS. WE TAKE YOU. WE LEARN. YOU FEED THE FORGES OF OUR NEW ASCENDERS." "The only thing I''ll feed you is three inches of steel," Alexander retorts. "And the only thing you''ll take is my daggers down your eye sockets," Urchin adds. John remains silent but that is enough. The skeleton is angry, and the battle is joined. I do not intervene. This is not my moment. I can feel the change in the air, the momentum of fate in the making. Equally importantly, Urchin''s aura has started pulsing. I have no other terms for that strange rhythm. He appears uncharacteristically angry as well. The skeleton throws spells at the three fighters, who do their best to keep away from each other to make his task harder. Alexander moves with care, making sure to keep enough distance between himself and the foe to parry and absorb its spells ¡ª I did not even know it could be done. John dodges with a grace that belies his size. Sometimes, he uses the axe to throw chunks of ice at the mage, blocking fire spells and putting pressure on its shield, but it is Urchin who does the most. His knives clang against the shield without respite, testing it, pushing it blade after blade. He is untouchable. Bolts of electricity land on his longest knife which he plants in the ground before teleporting it back to his hand after the energy is absorbed. He dances around spears and flames, blocks red tongues of energy with crescent daggers. The skeleton mage understands that he is the main danger and focuses its attention on him. A mistake. In a single dash, John closes the distance and smashes the heavy blade against the transparent sphere, pushing the creature back into the waiting embrace of Alexander. The godling slices beautifully. The blade ignores the shield and severs the bottom end of the monster''s staff in a single strike. Energy destabilizes around its surface. With a shriek of rage, it lifts up the air, screaming more when bullets land on its renewed protections. The sphere dims a little. The mage is using vast amounts of energy, something I know the skeletons are loath to do. It will lose patience soon. "FREAKS. WHY STRUGGLE? THE SUPREME ART IS BEYOND YOU." "Freak? That''s rich, coming from a talking circus curio," Urchin replies. The skeleton hisses and throws a wave of fireballs towards Felicia out of spite. I consider intervening but John surprises me by grabbing Alexander under the armpits and carrying him back, thus allowing the godling to absorb the attack before it roasts his companions. "YOU CANNOT TOUCH THE WORLD SOUL AND IT DOES NOT TOUCH YOU. FREAKS." S~ea??h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. A new wave of spells rushes out, aiming for the Vanheim rake who waltzes between them with vicious elegance. "Calling us names because you can''t just snuff us out like a dime candle. You are angry because we are not part of a system you dominate. It pisses you off when people don''t play by your rules." "SPEAK, FREAK. YOU WILL TELL ME ALL I WANT TO KNOW." Urchin''s bubbling aura keeps pulsing. He is no longer listening, even as he fights and even as more bullets keep coming after the skeleton. Even John has taken his rifle. Only Urchin remains to stand against the creature. "I was abandoned and could not speak the tongue but I still found folks to trust, still found myself. It don''t matter to me that folks like you get pissed off. If I can''t win by your rules, why¡­" Urchin''s aura shakes and contracts. Invisible bounds linking it back to its maker pull back in towards his heart. The aura reforms, stable. Independent. It belongs only to him now. "I think I''m gonna cheat." Urchin jumps, an action I have taught him not to do. I believe I could see a smirk on the undead''s grim expression if it still had flesh. it creates a large ball of pure fire to release. "No deal, chief." Urchin reaches and¡­ the staff reappears in his hand. The mage screeches in absolute dark rage at the violation. It roars a word of power and the staff hurls back towards its waiting hand with great strength. Such is the creature''s haste that it did not realize Urchin had left a small gift tied to its already damaged surface. The powder charges explode. Inside the shield. I see an army fly off. Ah, it pleases me to see the Vanheim grow like that. How devious! The mage screeches more as a wave of power pushes it back, flattening the snow and smothering a few fires. Urchin charges. The creature falls. It has had enough. A massive pull emerges from its gaunt body. All of its soldiers die in an instant, their bound lifeforms feeding the orb. Felicia gasps. She grabs for her chest. Oh yes, it is my turn. "Stubborn blade and clenching jaws Upward strife and closing maws You have come and found a guardian. Full of wrath he has awaken" My will spreads across the frozen earth, waking it up from its torpor. I feel a diffuse yet monumental sense of disapproval at the sight of the wound, only an imperceptible scratch to something as large as a planet but something that cannot be tolerated anyway. The world yawns and stirs, then stills again, silent, but awake. My aura is smothered. The Magna Arqa is allowed to expand as a courtesy, a temporary agreement that can be rescinded at any time. It feels fragile, unstable, like a man clinging to a cliff''s edge by his fingertips. Both John and Urchin stumble. The effect on our foe is much greater. A stupefied curse emerges from Urchin''s quarry when the deadly pull abruptly stops. The beast still tries to attack, expanding the orb''s remaining stored power. "Mine now," Urchin says, and the skeleton has no more tools. Vanheim''s newest master lands on his opponent blades first. He sinks them in the creature''s eye sockets with cold glee, destroying part of the skull with its rage. Another hit cleaves through the gold-plated spine. More slashes follow. As tempting as it is, I cannot let him demolish our prize. "That is quite enough," I say in English. Urchin stops and turns. I see something new in his eyes, a challenge. I understand it. I was drunk with power the first night I became a master as well, and so out of concern for him I temper my remark with a smile as I approach. "It is already dead, Urchin. Before everything else, allow me to be the first to congratulate you on your ascension. We will have to celebrate properly when we return. This is one of the most important milestones for our kin, and not everyone can reach it. Well done. Truly, well done." It occurs to him that I have spoken the mortal tongue, a reflection of his earlier statement. He nods in appreciation. Later, we will revert back to Akkad as is proper, but for now it is his moment. I will let him enjoy it. I refrain from patting his back and calling him a worthy minion for now. "Thanks, boss. What now though?" "SPLENDID!" a voice interrupts. "Now we let the protagonist return to the spotlight," I whisper. "Fantastic job, Mr Urchin. What a display! Masterful. We sure showed this horrible necromancer bastard did we not? Capital performance." "That we did, Mr Bingle, that we did. With the three of us and the support of the others, it did not stand a chance," Urchin allows. Everyone gathers around the golden corpse of the mage. A few cast a furtive glances at Urchin''s pilfered orb which he still holds. "What horrible thing is this? Where did it come from?" Alexander asks, subdued by the sight of the remains. "Our world is linked to another," I explain, "portals can lead from and to it but it is a dead place populated by those creatures you saw, their slaves, and their beasts." "It almost killed me," Felicia whispers. "I felt myself die." "They can drain the very life of everything around them, including the planet itself. I surmise they killed their world in their quest for power and immortality." "While we just had to get bitten," Urchin whispers too low to be heard by the mortal. I use a root to slap the back of his knee. "Ow." "What are we going to do? We must inform the authorities!" Bingle exclaims, to the agreement of his companions. "I will make sure it happens, in the meanwhile, you have other things to worry about, or have you forgotten?" "Hmm?" "The gold? Where is Adler? Where are his men? Must I remind you that you are wanted until we return it to its rightful owners? You will find defending mankind from within the walls of a penitentiary to be a challenging task." "OH! Right. We must head back!" "Yes. You do that. I need to, ah, call this in. Urchin, leave the orb, thank you." While the group makes their way across the snow, Honore supporting a shocked Felicia, I turn and activate the mirror again. Ollie answers in record time and I leave him clear and detailed instructions on what to do and who to contact. The team must recover the bodies, preferably before they freeze. The orb must be kept at all cost, as must the remains of the mage. The Accords will be notified immediately. I fully expect Constantine himself to ride here through the nightmare world. We have found Pandora''s box opened and its content already spread across the floor, and now the world must be informed. Ugh. By the Watcher, there will be so much to do. With that issue addressed for now, the time has come to return to our current binglery. I race back after the mortals as they trudge through the snow. Bill has lit a lantern he must have found somewhere. As I approach, Alexander starts recounting the events of the day. "We awoke when a new train moved in. I knew something was wrong when the person who left it was no other than Judge Zakarias Ramsey, of Ortonville! The very same I was trying to stop! Adley and him were working hand in hand from the very beginning!" "How dreadful¡­" I say. All three of us vampires exchange a knowing look. "Miss Delaney! Thank you for saving Felicia earlier. Urchin informed me we had you to thank. You will never believe what shocking development just occurred! We were betrayed by Adler of all people!" "Truly, who can we trust in these dark times?" "Very few people¡­ but I can trust you to help me render justice as a champion of good. Or at least I hope so, because I confess to being awfully unprepared. As I was saying, I recognized this sinister character as soon as he stepped down the train. We barricaded the door to our separate space and shot a man before they could assault us. Thankfully, those ruffians lacked in courage what they had in number. None of them dared to challenge Felicia''s marksmanship." "Markswomanship," the interested party mutters from the side. "... and so it seemed we had reached an impasse. Rather than siege us, the feckless cowards attempted to unload the more conspicuous armored train to transfer their ill-gotten gains to a more generic carriage," said the man who had committed the ill-getting to begin with. "When suddenly, a dark apparition came with the twilight, a flying skeleton! A nightmarish creature that¡­" He suddenly calms down. "That you saw and therefore do not need further descriptions on. But by jove, what glorious moment it shall be when I write it in my memoirs." "Alexander, please. What happened then?" "Oh yes. Some men ran, some prayed, some shot at it. We ran away from its presence when it killed a goon with a single wave of its accursed hand! The creature followed, and I realized it was corralling us, leading us into a trap. Fortunately, I felt a call from the sword ¡ª and I shall never forget your advice to take it with us or we would have all died or worse. Drawing the blade, I was able to keep the creature at bay while my heroic companions fought off its damned servants. As for Adler, Judge Ramsey, and their men, they ran! The lily-livered poxy cowards!" A thought finally occurs to him. "I hope they did not double back and leave with the gold. That would be a disaster." I stop myself from swearing. Now that he has said the word, it is as good as done. When we arrive at the warehouses, the smaller train is gone. Of course. Bill goes into a long tirade of insults while Honore and Whispers curse the vile enemies. Sadly, without magic to make them tangible. "We could use the larger train, perhaps?" Alexander says. "Unfortunately, I see two problems. First, we will be relentlessly shot at and probably stopped on sight by every law enforcement agency this side of Lake Ontario. Second, they have sabotaged the coal container." "What?" I point at the small car following right after the massive locomotive. Before departing, someone has unlocked a side panel and now the heat-producing dark entrails have spilled over the ground and tracks, frozen like a day-old kill. "Curse them! Are we without recourse?" our hero bemoans. I rake my mind for a believable solution. Technically, I could summon the most recent iteration of the Dalton''s Fury and have it here in two hours since I requested it be on standby, but that would be an overkill and godlings tend to dislike those. Or I could ¡ª "Did you hear a horse?" Honore suddenly says. I feel her come through the edge of the woods. I turn, aghast, and here she is wearing her chain barding. Metis. John''s monstrous steed comes to a stop by her side, clad in full plate while Urchin''s agile mount saunters to the side. More nightmares join them. Younger ones, I feel, not yet fully comfortable with their new forms. Their crimson eyes go back and forth to inspect the strange structures and mechanical contraptions of this world. I count five new flesh-eating steeds. "What is this?" I hiss at the dread beast. "Bring your foal to work night?" Metis tilts her head, the very picture of equine innocence. "Just because we have no other option¡­" I whisper. Ah, what a mistake. No sooner have those words crossed my lips that she points her greedy snout at the pouch by my side, where I keep some emergency supplies. "And you want caramelized pig ears as well?" A neigh. "To all of them? This was YOUR idea!" "Are those the famed horses of the cursed hunters?" Alexander roars in a voice that the entire valley might hear, "I learned about them from the mouth of uncle Nathan himself! What a privilege to see them in the flesh. Can we count on those noble mounts to pursue the evildoers?" Metis points more insistently and I realize I have to tolerate this¡­ this moonlight robbery! Why is it always me bankrolling those silly expeditions? Eight ears cost at the very least a full dollar! Ugh! I should keep a gold ingot to cover my fees. I mutter curses at the cutthroat negotiators and pray to the Watcher no one important will see me get outmaneuvered by a damn overgrown pony. Eight ears it is. The nightmares take their due, then each one walks to a rider. Felicia touches her mare with a sense of childish wonder while Bill and Alexander gush over theirs, admiring their impressive shapes. Honore whispers words in kreole I cannot understand but it is Whispers'' reaction that surprises me the most. He pats the head of his chosen companion almost tenderly. After five minutes of bonding, we climb on their backs one by one. I feel a small amount of vindication when the mortals appear a little confused, and I decide to take full advantage of it. "First, I would like to insist that this is an unprecedented honor you are given, so be sure to appreciate every second of it. Second, ladies and gentlemen¡­ welcome to the hunt. WE RIDE!" "Wait¡­ they have no saddles? Are we really¡ª" And we are off. Chapter 205 - 199. Fated We did not, in fact, leave immediately. I stopped to grab the explosives. Now the nightmares cut through the snow-encrusted boughs and frosty glades alongside the tracks, which we spot sometimes when the path takes us closer. At first, the mortals were terrified, but soon the peculiar gait of those tireless mounts got to them. I used to ride a lot when I was a mortal, and so I can tell the difference between even the stoutest destrier and Metis. Nightmares are smoother despite preferring forests, as if roots and branches propelled rather than hindered them. With nearly endless stamina and a sure step, the humans have grown more exhilarated. It is then that the third major difference makes itself manifest. Horses are prey animals. They ride in herds. Nightmares are predators. They ride in packs. We hunt. Sometimes, Metis leads us through a shortcut when the line would bend around a particularly dense stretch of wood. Sometimes, we all jump over small chasms and frozen brooks. On rarer occasions, we rejoin a human road and race through sleepy hamlets, sending screaming humans back into their watering holes. The nightmares know where the quarry is, somehow, and we are as fast as we are relentless. The pack thins into a line when it rides through a gully, expands as a wing when we cross a plain. I honestly expected us to need several hours to catch up with the train by sheer virtue of its consistent speed, but I was mistaken. We are already here. In front of us, the tracks cross a flat field and the metal beast puffs away, laden with our gold. It is not quite as defended as the previous one, yet I still count two armored cars, one behind the locomotive and one at the back. A man stands near the last door and frowns, looking out. Vampires are quiet but nightmares are not. They were never meant to be. Stomping hooves alert him of the pursuit. "Incoming! We have pursuers!" he bellows. An alarm rings inside, soon followed by shouts. A window at the top of the back carriage opens in a strange cylinder I see there. I notice the glint of a muzzle. So does Bingle. "They have a machine gun! What do we do!" "What else?" I hiss. "We close in. Chaaaarge!" Whoops and roars spur the nightmares on. We close the distance with the last carriage. I take out my rifle and line a shot, intentionally missing the sentry by a hair and forcing him to get back in with a yelp. Felicia lines a shot with the machine gun''s turret, pulling the trigger at the last moment. A cry of pain grants us an extra few seconds. The machine gun opens just as the train enters a forest. Our nightmares weave effortlessly between the frozen trunks while it spits bullet after bullet to shatter bark and branches. Nevertheless, it will make the approach difficult. Or so I believe until I see Whistles-At-Dawn tie a stick of dynamite to one of his arrows. He lights it and nocks his bow, drawing it in a smooth motion, his upper body incredibly stable despite the hard terrain. I know enough about archery to be certain this will never land. Any additional weight will make shots extremely inaccurate and this is quite heavy, yet the man seems very confident. So confident he closes his eyes. "Waokiye Sungmanito." The words hang in the air for a fraction of a moment, the time it takes for them to take effect. The rush of the hunt seizes my heart until I can almost taste the sweet blood behind the cold metal of the man-made beetle shell. A howl echoes in the distance. Whistles releases his arrow. It impossibly flies between two oaks, right into the tiny opening where the gun is. I distinctly hear a very loud, very short and very, very incredulous curse before the entire turret explodes. "Wow," I ruefully say. I worked so hard to become a sharpshooter and I could not manage that with a bow. Cursed cheating shamans and their godling-powered violations of physics. "Jealous, boss?" Urchin asks from my side. "Hush you." "Excellent shot, Whistles! Gentlemen! And ladies! Forwaaaaard!" With a collective yell, the hunt reaches its paroxysm, the nightmares flying like the wind. We leave the forest into a larger plain. The clouds part to reveal the form of the moon. We move so quickly that the wind sends my hair flying. So close now. I lift my legs to kneel on Metis'' back, then when I am ready, I jump, smoothly landing on the tiny platform at the back of the armored car. A door leads within but I ignore it for now. Urchin and John are quick to follow. The sentry returns just as they land. I turn and smile at him. He swears and slams the door behind him then frantically attempts to lock it. This is when John places a boot against the handle and slams the frame into his jaw. "Urchin, cover us. John, help me get the mortals on board. One by one, the mortals either jump or grab the guard railing and let themselves fall off their nightmares. John is everywhere, picking them up before gravity can win the wrestling match. Only Felicia remains. "I can''t do it! I''ll just stay behind!" she screams despite our encouragement. "Come on Felicia, you can do it!" Bingle roars. "I can''t!" she sobs back "It''s too fa ¡ª" I can tell the exact moment her Nightmare loses patience from the equine snigger. It jumps and bucks at the same time. Felicia is too surprised to react. She is also late to realize that she rode without saddles and therefore without stirrups. Her mouth twists into a beautiful ''o'' of surprise while we prepare to receive her before she can plant herself face first into the platform. We only need five seconds to stop her screaming, mostly because I decide to slap her. "I''m fine! I''m fine! I''m fine!" "You really are," I observe. "I will stand up now." "That would be best." "Boss!" Urchin interrupts. "We have guards coming in!" "TO ARMS!" Alexander roars. The godling team leads the way into the entrails of the fortified car. I realize it was not meant to be defended once breached because the interior is designed for ease of use, crates of supply and racks lining its lengths. Our mortals dive behind cover with practice ease while the coming guards do the same and a fierce firefight ensues. Honore and Whistles form the background around the pivot of Alexander Bingle''s devilish marksmanship with potshots and the occasional repositioning. Bill provides bursts of coach gun fire while Felicia covers the far door, her accurate shots felling and discouraging anyone who dares enter. Us three vampires find ourselves redundant in front of this well-oiled machine. I admit to being impressed. Slowly, the guards are taken down until the last of them retreats through the door. A few surrender when they realize they are cut off, quickly bound with ropes fortuitously found around the place. The squad moves up to the front of the carriage where Alexander takes a quick peek through the door. Sustained fire pings against the steel wall. "We have to push through!" he exclaims. "That seems unwise, monsieur," Honore placidly replies as more bullets impact the car. "An armored car is built to defend itself against all directions," I lie. "Look for murder holes." It does not defend upwards but mortals almost never look upwards. Downwards as well, but I dislike digging. "She''s right! Here," Bill says. He pushes a lever, muscles bulging under the effort. Thin slits open towards the exterior. The return fire from the squad is immediate and violent. I peer through the opening as well to find that the next car is merely a platform upon which strapped containers await, covered in tarps. It offers precious little cover and, just as importantly, the biting wind makes protracted battles untenable. The guards immediately retreat to the next car, a few of them disabled as they run. One theatrically grabs for his heart before falling to the abyss, which I would score as a passable performance if he were pretending. Truly, the Bingle aura affects the strangest things. "Forward! We must not give them time to regroup!" We race ahead, jumping boldly over obstacles. Honore slips at some point but Bingle grabs him as he falls, setting him back on his feet. "Merci, monsieur. When this is over, let us please head south, hmm?" The next carriage soon comes into view. This one is a standard passenger car with seats, two on each side of an alley, except for the middle where they have been torn off to form a barricade. Heavy fire rains at us and we are forced to duck as some find their way through the wood planks. "I don''t suppose this one has levers?" Bill asks with little hope. "I''m afraid not, old chap," Bingle replies, his native accent slipping in more heavily. "That leaves us only one direction." "Up," Bill sighs. "I am coming as well," John states. No one objects as the two climb up. I take a quick glance inside. Someone fires. Honore unloads his revolver in their general direction with little result. "We should get their attention on ourselves or we put Bill and John at risk," I say. "Yes, but how?" "I will get in using a diversion." I use a knife to gut a dynamite stick, letting the nitroglycerin-soaked dust blow in the wind, then I light the fuse and toss it in. The result is immediate. "BOMB! A BOMB!" I use the confusion to slip in and hide behind a seat. There should be enough backrests in the way to block incoming gunfire but I remain concerned, doubly so when Alexander joins me. "Hah, it fouled," someone observes. Which is when we shoot them, or rather, at them. A firefight ensues during which I grit my teeth in annoyance at the fact I have to miss. I find it especially jarring that one of them just stands there, most of his torso uncovered while he calmly fires shot after shot in my general direction, and I have to stay in cover or it would be strange and the bloody humans keep missing him. He is such an obvious target! And he is shooting at me! Why can they not just take him out? Ugh! Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. I cannot take this anymore and stand up as well. Our eyes meet. He smirks, and shoots. And misses. "How can you fail that shot? I am barely six yards away!" I exclaim with disbelief, "I am not even moving!" I shoot him in the shoulder, eliciting a string of insults. "Now that is entirely uncalled for!" "Twat!" "You are being quite rude," I reproach. Honestly, I have exercised great restraint in giving them a fighting chance rather than shredding them into conveniently-sized pieces, and this is how they repay my generosity? They could even survive the operation to be hanged instead of mangled. Scandalous. Back in my days¡­ no Ariane, embrace the binglery. All is well. We exchange more shots until a twin roar interrupts the proceeding. Bill and John ram the defenders from behind with the fury of a cavalry charge. The goons find themselves thoroughly outnumbered since they face not one but two unstoppable forces of nature. Molars fly left and right. Surrender follows quickly. Once more, we find ourselves flushed with ropes, apparently the second most important supply aboard a train after goons of middling intellect. Tying the prisoners down barely stops our elan. There are only two more cars before the locomotive, and I presume most of the gold would be in the front car. We carefully cross the gap leading to the next wagon and find a hybrid storage and passenger space where a significant number of men awaits us, almost two dozen spread behind barricades in columns, their heads poking above the red upholstery under the light of a few lanterns. Alexander gets a heroic scratch across the cheek just for looking. We boost Felicia over just for her to lose her hat to a shot. "I think they won''t fall for the same trick twice!" Bingle says. The wagon is silent, but ahead, we can hear voices rising above the howling winds. "They are uncoupling the wagons," I say. "What?" Bingle says and the squad''s attention falls on me. "I can hear them from here. They are busy uncoupling the wagons but the mechanism is frozen. If they manage to break it open, the locomotive will move on ahead and it will be quite light. I am not sure if we will manage to catch it again." "Curses. What should we do? Move to the sides?" "This would be suicide," Bill says, and I would agree for a mortal. Not without pitons and certainly not in an environment when one can easily catch a mouthful of tree. "I believe the time has come for the three of us to make a difference," I tell the squad. "How?" Honore asks with suspicion. "Thanks to our curse, we can see in the dark." Bingle frowns, then ¡ª "Ooooh. Go ahead then. I trust you, Ariane." As well he should. I take a furtive glance at my first target and fire. Naturally, I do not shoot at the glass casing of the lantern because our purpose is to cross the wagon, and that would be extremely difficult if said wagon were on fire. I use my rifle to snap the supporting handle and watch the lantern fall behind a crate, the light now suffuse and intimate. A peppering of shots answers while I wait behind cover, until the man in charge roars at them to stop. I pick that moment to disable the second and third lanterns in quick succession. Urchin, John and I crawl through the open door under the cover of the ensuing chaos. A few shots come off but we are close to the ground and have no need to dodge. The herd of mortals stinks of fear, of confusion, of distrust, a rare cocktail that the Courtiers will have to resist for now. We are close. We slip among them. "Enough of this!" a man with more control than the rest screams. He lights a match, his face an island of light in an ocean of darkness. "Focus! You, go find that lantern that just fell. And the rest of you lot, look forward, even if you can''t see much! With the yabbering of those they could already¡­" The man finally notices the main sail posturing as a coat to his side. The hand carrying the match travels up, and up and up, towards the ceiling, until it meets John''s impassive mug. My minion has raised quiet intimidation to an artform. He slowly bends forward with the ponderousness of a toppling, centennial tree. His cheeks puff up. He blows on the match. S~ea??h the N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The flickering flame dies. All hell breaks loose. We move through the crowd with ease, delivering punches and throwing people against the walls, barrels, and each other. On a whim, I quietly signal that they may feed while I finish disabling the louts. A quick check on the squad shows them near the door, staring in owlishly to what must be indistinct shapes wiggling in the shadows to their mortal eyes. I finish the mop up with a bit more speed before crossing the threshold to the space between the first and second car, where a bunch of semi-competent men try to pry open the coupling mechanism. They attempt to pull up a pair of pins from their links by using a bar, but the car is moving fast and the half-frozen mechanism resists their efforts. They work under the supervision of Mr Adler who stands in complete horror when I appear into view. I use this opportunity to kneel by the closest team and release my Magna Arqa. As expected, the next wagon contains the gold. I make no particular efforts to veil my eyes with illusions, so when the guards look up, they find two dark, slitted pupils surrounded by purple light. "Boo." They scream and jump out, which I admit is not just expedient but represents their best chance at life. The second pair stands up just for John''s trunk-like arms to grab them and pull them back into the darkness where their cries are quickly silenced. In reality he walked back five steps and muzzled them because we are playing nice, but Addler does not know better. "You! You! The safecracker! It is all your fault!" he screams, finger pointed in accusation. I shrug. "Truly unfair accusations." "Only some devilish happenings could have led to this! I did not dream the flying skeletons! There is evil at bay and I know you have something to do with it. A young woman as a safecracker who pierced through the vault in record time? Horseshit. I do not know how you did it, but I know you are a devil-worshiper! A witch! Something of the sort. I should have known that Bingle man was a degenerate when I realized he surrounded himself with negroes, savages, catholics, and women!" "A dreadful list," I comment while inspecting my fingers. "I am sure you find the situation very unfair." "How dare you¡­" "And yet I cannot help but notice you were ready to abuse a kind soul''s naivete for profit. Your scheme to make away rich as Midas failed and now you search for a culprit. Even your religious outrage reeks of hypocrisy. Did you perhaps forget the commandments? Which ones have you violated recently?" "I have not come here to exchange barbs with a woman." I shrug again. "You may save them for Mr Bingle. I am sure he will be curious. After all, it is not my story." "Indeed not," Adler hisses. He removes a revolver from a thick pocket and opens fire. The first three shots go wild because the train turns at that moment. The fourth as well when the light of the moon falters for an instant, masked by a thick cloud. I notice the fifth will land and so I take a step to the side, dodging it, then step back. Adler overcompensates and that sixth one misses as well. He should have aimed for the center mass instead of for my head. Amateur. I drink in the expression of sheer panic on his face as he turns and runs, the door soon slamming behind him. The last bastion. I assume the judge and his most loyal followers will be there. The rest of the squad is quick to join me on the small platform. They eye the fortified door and its current lack of defenses with suspicion. A wise defender would have opened the murderholes and laid down suppressive fire, I suppose, but the car remains silent. Meanwhile, I hear a strange noise above, a low hum under the flap of fabric. It sounds strangely familiar. Too familiar. Wait¡­ oh. I should have seen that one coming. "Only this last obstacle and we can reclaim our honor!" Bingle roars. Ah, to invite misfortune upon one''s head with such wanton abandon. If I had not heard said misfortune approaching, I would have been tempted to slap him now. Suddenly, top-of-the-line floodlights powered by an onboard electric generator of revolutionary make bathe the area in a pale, unforgiving radiance. So intense is the glare that the humans raise their hands in reflex, their night vision ruined. The hum is so loud now that it can be heard over the chug of the nearby locomotive. An expert helmsman keeps the light centered on us despite the train''s speed. We do not have to wait for long for the newcomer to present himself. "This is Captain Gilder of the USAN Independence. You are hereby ordered to stop the train immediately and submit yourselves to inspection or we will resort to immediate and lethal force. Any survivors will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. You have ten seconds to comply. Ten!" "Oh my," Urchin loudly says for all to hear as we rush back into the carriage. "If it is not the flagship of the United States'' brand new air navy, the Independence, a flying vessel designed for war from the ground up!" We take cover among the piled crates while the mortals wait for the inevitable onslaught. "Designed and built by Illinois Guns of Liberties in collaboration with Skoragg Heavy Industries, a warship the size of a large brig with two armored bottom towers carrying state-of-the-art machine guns under an experimental bulletproof glass, a top speed of sixty-five miles per hour and an autonomy of eight hundred miles. Two main guns on the top deck lets the crew of sixty-four rival a warship in terms of destructive firepower, bringing the thunder wherever it is needed then climbing up before retaliation can hit. The most versatile force in the arsenal of our glorious nation." "Will you stop that? The irony has not failed to escape me, yes." "What irony?" Felicia asks. Before I can reply, the countdown reaches its end. "Zero. Open fire!" Bullets sweep over the train, breaking the windows of our current place of hiding. Shards of glass and wood rain down on us. The din is infernal. Thankfully, most of the attention remains on the lead carriage. The sound of metal hitting metal at muzzle velocity precludes any discussion and for a while, we can only hunker down and wait for that storm to pass. Eventually, it does. The ship takes some elevation and accelerates away from us to the right. I admire its predatory hull with the retractable turrets as it flies away on stretched sails, enchanted rods singing with aura. A good sight. "Curse that ship. Can we take it down? With dynamite, perhaps?" Bill yells. "Certainly not!" I scoff. "Ariane is right, Bill, those are the army. Good guys. If we do destroy the ship, how many of them would die? Do not lose sight of our goal," Alexander says reproachfully. "Oh. Right." "We must get to Adler before it returns! Quickly, forward!" the godling continues. All of us have miraculously made it through the ordeal by virtue of the gunner aiming too high. We rush ahead to the fortified door to find it locked. "How do we open this?" Bill asks. "Dynamite?" I want to complain that dynamite is not the answer to everything. I would know because I tried. Just then, the train leaves a patch of forest. The ground falls to our right, revealing a large plain with the lights of a small city in the distance and, beyond that, wilderness as far as the eye can see. It also lets us watch the path the rails will follow before heading back to the left, including a bridge over a small chasm. This happens just in time to reveal the Independence lining with said bridge. A powerful detonation shakes the very air, a plume of smoke wafting from its floating form. Next to it, the bridge turns to shrapnel. We enter another patch of wood. "We are on a schedule, monsieur!" Honore says. "We cannot force the door!" Bingle replies. "Use the sword," I hiss in his ears. He hesitantly reaches for the handle on his side. "Now, or we all perish!" I lie. In one smooth motion, Alexander draws and slices the lock and part of the frame. We immediately pile on to see a crowded interior much like the back carriage, this time much less crowded. Four guards stand awkwardly with their hands on rifles they seem unwilling to use. The judge Bingle meant to stop stands to the side with a defeated air, mustache dropping and eyes filled with tears. He is a portly man with the affable appearance of an old, meek gentleman. We find Adler hiding behind a slab of steel, only parts of his face visible. "It is over, Adler. Surrender!" Bingle yells with righteous anger. "Never!" "He is right, old boy, the game is up," the judge adds. Adler turns and shoots him in the heart with his revolver. The judge falls, a red-tinged hand clutched to the chest. "I know this! I KNOW THIS! And you shall all come with me, you demon spawns! We will all laugh with the devil together!" "You are mad." "And you are dead! This is about vengeance now!" Adler huddles behind his steel slab and waves his gun at us. Sadly, there are no easy covers in range but I need not worry. As the traitor lifts his weapons, so does Bingle. The insufferable Godling switches guard and wields the dragon claw like a harpoon. "It is not, and you are missing the point." He throws as the first shot misses him by a hair. The sword beautifully arcs through the car''s interior, landing square in the middle of the slab. It goes through the reinforced steel like a hot knife through butter. A dreadful gurgle spells the end of our foe. "But I won''t ¡ª " "No time for this!" I yell to spare us yet another abominable pun, "the brakes!" We race to the locomotive, finding it empty. Bill pulls the lever and the train lurches. In front of us and slightly to our right, the demolished bridge and its guardian airship await our compliance or our fall. We slow down. I run a quick calculation, realizing we cannot possibly stop in time. A brief examination of the chasm shows that there will be no secret cave of conveniently placed garden-sized pillows and I take the immediate decision to apply a corrective course to the plot before it ends the arc with my head planted in the landscape. "John," I whisper, "get behind and slow us down. Do not stop us immediately," "Understood." We all watch the cliff approach with trepidation. Despite a curiously unexpected speed drop, it becomes clear we will still fall. I also realize that the bridge being fragilized, we might destroy what is left of it with our presence. At the last moment, I call upon my Magna Arqa and grab the rear compartment with roots, staying close to the ground to avoid detection. The mortals almost fall when the increased pull destabilizes the locomotive, yet the result speaks for itself. The locomotive stops at the edge of the bridge, the front wheel already hanging over the void. The bridge takes this moment to dramatically collapse. It causes us to fall by a foot reaching a balance. The bridge''s heavy structure disappears into the gorge below in a great cascade. Truly, that Captain Gilder is so reckless! Does he not know how expensive a bridge is? Not to mention we almost died! I harbor the thought for a fragment of an instant before realizing the extent of my hypocrisy. I cannot exactly criticize anyone for airborne recklessness. Or ship-based destruction for that matter. We all wait above the abyss, silent but for the sounds of panicked breaths. "Well, ladies and gentlemen, the day is saved! Hurray!" Alexander says. "Come out with your hands in the air slowly or we will open fire again!" Captain Gilder yells from his megaphone. "I think the night is not quite over yet," I suggest. "Not to worry, Ariane! As soon as I show them my marshal badge of office and explain the situation, I am certain all will be clear!" I do not know if I should be relieved or frustrated by the fact he is most likely right. *** "How fast did you say they were going?" Captain Gilder watched the investigator pass a gloved hand over the thick white beard that escaped from below his scarf. The man had knelt by two strange furrows by the track in the dim light of this winter''s morning. At their bottom, the white of crusted ice gave way to leaves, then the black of a healthy soil. If he didn''t know better, he''d say they looked like someone had dug their feet in and let themselves be carried over a distance. Of course, that was impossible. The person would have to be harder than steel. "Fifty miles per hour, sir, maybe more?" he replied. "And they started slowing down here?" "Around those parts, sir. Yes. I think I recognize that rock over there, even though¡­" "It was night and you didn''t have a good look." "Yes sir, sorry sir." "That was for the best." "Sir?" The investigator stood up slowly, knees creaking in the unforgiving cold. Captain Gilder thought he might be a bit too long in the tooth to be trudging around in the snow like that, but his intellect was keen, that was for sure. "Captain, the distance between this point and the broken bridge is less than eight hundred yards and I estimate a train of that size with two armored cars would have needed at least a mile and a half of track before coming to a full stop. At the very least." "That''s¡­ impossible." "So it is," the man said, "so it is, just like nothing we know of could have deformed and partly shredded the rear armored wagon. And yet, here we are." He smiled a little bitterly. "You did not happen to see a peculiar man or woman among the passengers? Someone aloof and confident despite their age, perhaps? Someone who never showed much concern." The captain searched his memories. It did not take long. "Hmm, yes. Three of them, in fact." "Three you say? Oh dear. Well, all is well that ends well. We have recovered the gold. The criminals have been captured. The last word remains with the law." "You do not want to know what happened?" Captain Gilder asked, somewhat scandalized that an investigator would not seek the truth. "I know enough. As for you, young man, let me give you a piece of advice. If someone can, on a whim, stop a train in eight hundred yards instead of a mile and a half without anyone on board noticing, the last thing you want is their undivided attention. Now let''s go back to the ship. It''s cold as an old grave out here." *** "I''ll be brief, Mr Bingle. We want you to keep the sword." The man behind the desk crossed his hands over the desk, a pleasant expression on his elegant face. Not a hair, not a strand of fabric was out of place. "Are you sure? It seems precious. Such a blade¡­" "Could accomplish great deeds in the right hands and horrible crimes in the wrong ones, yes. I believe it would benefit¡­ all of mankind more if you used it rather than us letting it languish in storage. After all, a good tool is to be used, would you not agree?" "I don''t know, sir. Don''t get me wrong, I''d love to have it. But what if I lose it?" "Oh, we are confident it will find its way back into your hands, somehow. Call it intuition." "If you say so, sir. Then I accept." "Excellent. We dared not hope you would join our initiative to make the world a better place. Welcome to the true war, Mr Bingle. Fate has guided all of us this day." Chapter 206 - 200. Concerning humans "Convincing the mortal military of the seriousness of the situation is paramount, Ariane. Please do not take umbrage when I say this but¡­ in this instance, your appearance might do you a disservice. The same harmless countenance that makes warriors lower their guard will prevent them from taking you seriously," Sephare said, an expression of fake, polite concern plastered on her delicate traits. A lie, of course. The cold, calculating Hastings does not plead. She moves chess pieces and when those prove to be unwilling, she merely adapts her strategy. She will have to do so now as I have absolutely no intention of agreeing. "Power must be used, else it is lost," I reply. "I am not sure ¡ª " "You want someone like Jarek or Wilhelm to take my spot and convince our mortal partners that a true soldier is at the helm. A tall man, muscular and bearded like the knights of old. It would work, of course, but I refuse to step down. First, if I am the Hand of the Accords, I must be so in any circumstances. A true leader will not use a shoe in. Second and most importantly, Sephare, I think you forgot an important detail. I have never, ever had a need to change my appearance to terrify people. You can send them my way. I promise I shall be convincing." *** It had been a long ride. The carriage had taken twists and turns across the pavements until the men were thoroughly lost. Curtains covered the windows as agreed, hiding the streets except for the blurry orbs of gas lamps. The men themselves did not talk. They were all experienced soldiers, veterans of the Civil War who had stood in the midst of their men even as lead harvested limbs and lives around. A tacit agreement prevented them from speaking, from revealing anything to the night folks, including their own nervousness. Eyes stayed on the roof, or the ceiling, or the occasional glint of light reflected on the metal of their bared crosses. Soon, the noise from the wheel changed and they came to a stop. A polite knock heralded the arrival of their host. The door opened, revealing the smiling ¡ª if pale ¡ª face of a large man with an impressive, braided long beard. "Welcome, to the Fortress, gentlemen. I am Wilhelm, the steward. Please, come in." They climbed down one after the other. Their ride waited in a grotto of sorts, or a basement. A tall metal gate waited behind them, shut. A corridor led in and up. The walls were stone, unadorned except for racks of equipment. There was no one else. As the last officer stepped down, they realized the blond man was tall and imposing. Although he wore a perfectly cut suit, the finely tailored tissue only served to underscore the lean forester constitution hidden within. With his beard and long hair, he belonged more in the primeval forests than here in this man-made catacomb in the heart of Boston ¡ª or so they thought it was. "This way please," the man said. "The Hand will be receiving you." "Are you.., a vampire as well?" the lead man said. He was the smoothest of them all, clean-shaven except for a well-oiled mustache. "Yes, Mr. Zahn. I am." "I hope you have brought sufficient proof of your claims. We will be reporting our findings with honesty." "Oh, yes, solid proof since I suppose you would not trust testimonies from our partner." "Yes, the werewolves and mages. We live in strange times." "That we do," the vampire agreed, his voice still even and polite. The group walked through the corridor, finding witch lights guiding their ways. Many doors and side alleys branched out, locked or deserted, revealing nothing except for how expansive the complex was. That such a deep structure could exist under the republic''s very feet filled the officers with concern, but only one did not miss the unfortunate metaphor it drew with the power of the vampires themselves. Their base had snaked its way deep, so deep he was not sure they could ever be rooted out. "Your partners are the werewolves and mages?" Zahn asked after a pause. "Yes. We have an understanding with them, especially when it comes to external threats." The underlying message was clear. "We have the Hand to thank for this alliance. I am confident you will fit at her table just fine." "I thought your ''Hand'' was in charge of military affairs?" "A hand extended in welcome, or closed as a fist, is still a hand. Ah, we are here." The narrow stone alley widened ever so slightly. At the end, an armored door as thick as a hand silently rotated on its hinges. A wave of cold emerged from the threshold. "Go on in, I will return when it is time to go," the blond man said with a last smile, and it revealed a hint of fangs. Zahn did not hesitate. Following him, the rest of the officers filed into what appeared to be a large command room. Maps lined the wall overlooking desks and tables filled with pieces of armor and antiquated weapons. A massive central table covered in dark gray sand occupied its center. Inside, there was a man in a strange crimson uniform, fiery hair escaping over a white mask that would fit an old world masquerade. Another leaned against the table in an unseasonal light outfit, one that should make him shiver, yet the cold did not seem to hold any sway. He wore a crooked, cocky grin on his handsome face. The third was a woman. The cold emanated from her, or rather, her armor. It was a hypnotic work of strange lights on a midnight sky, ephemeral and always changing, yet eternal all the same. The polar winter had somehow left the sky and twisted itself in the shape of a full plate armor engraved with strange, mesmerizing letters of no alphabets they had ever seen, shimmering like dancing lights. The woman''s fair face, pale as death, emerged from it. Her blonde hair half cascaded, half held above it. A pair of blue eyes left the table to land on them. It was the only trace of movement they could perceive. As they woke up from their stupor, the officers realized their crosses were shining a light blue, a strange aura trailing back like snow pushed by a strong wind. It did not feel hostile yet. More of a light wind that never stopped. "Welcome. I am Lady Ariane of the Nirari, the Hand of the Accords. Take a spot around the table, please." The men shuffled because there was nothing much else to do than to comply. A rift was forming, one that had not been obvious until now. Those who wanted to protect the peace turned their eyes to the tables and their strange contents. Those who wanted to cleanse the land looked at the woman and considered, more than ever, the necessity to rid the world of such a powerful evil. They also realized the difficulty of such a task. The woman met their glare and smirked. She extended a nightmarish gauntlet ending in dark claws over the table and the sand shifted, merged, split to finally form a comprehensive map of the North American continent. Lines drew over the easily recognizable landmasses to form borders. The officers stared at this breathtaking rendition. Three spots radiated out like beacons, the map almost¡­ alive with the shifting grains. "In the past two weeks, we have detected no less than three incursions by forces foreign to our world and intercepted one. In two cases, entire villages have disappeared from the map while the fabric of the world has been damaged. We have also discovered evidence of portals in all three locations. Those are the marks of the same strange skeleton creatures that attacked Warsaw twenty years ago." "Hold on," an officer asked, "How can you be so sure? I''m not calling you a liar, I just want to know." The woman spared a glance at him. "I was there when we fought them off." "You were in Europe?" "Yes. If you are here, you must know about the dead world and the possibility of portals leading there. The skeletons and their lackeys crossed such a portal. Their foot soldiers mostly fought with swords and strange metal, but they also had a unique weapon of dire effect, an orb that captured the attention of any humans who came close to it. The skeletons fought with an extremely powerful brand of magic fueled by life itself, which they were able to retrieve from the environment. The third incursion and its participants perfectly matched those characteristics." "Do you have solid evidence we could present to our superiors?" The woman pointed at the tables lining the wall. "Those are pieces of armor and gear the invaders had with them. The alloy that forms their armor is light and made using a process we do not understand. You will be given several such pieces of gear so your researchers may examine them in detail. You will also receive the frozen remains of a few foot soldiers along with this. We will not, however, give you an orb as they are too unpredictable and might kill everyone around them if activated." The woman silently stepped to a side wall, the officers following her after a delay. A skeleton waited on it, displaying clear signs of damage. It was incredibly tall. It was also engraved, metal-encrusted, and covered in armor that was not designed to protect flesh. The empty eye sockets seemed to follow the men as they moved around it. One of the officers touched a tibia and lifted it with some difficulty. "Heavy. Must be all that metal. What is it?" "Electrum and platinum. Not all skeletons are built the same and there are major differences of power between one specimen and another. That one was on the weaker end of the scale." "Why do you think that may be?" The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. "We believe the skeletons are made from willing humans and a significant amount of the planet''s¡­ life force. We surmise that the process varies from one person to another to match them, and that the most powerful individuals were already mages while they were still alive. We also believe they are trying to make more of themselves." "What are they here for? What do they want from us?" "They are locusts, eating then moving on." The woman hissed softly. The room grew more oppressive, shadows creeping around the corners. The crosses burned more brightly for a while. Eventually, the light returned. It took its time to do so. "The skeletons are fully sapient. They speak. That one could communicate in English, and we believe they already harvested captives to teach them. Given enough time, they will increase their numbers and eat our world alive. We will not let them of course." "This dead world, can we visit it?" Zahn asked. The woman turned her attention to him, then moved back to the table. "We will arrange it. But not tonight and most definitely not around here. A portal is never safe. One should never be opened around a large population center." She pointed at the three spots on the map. "Those separate marks are distant, and we believe they might be far away from each other in the dead world as well although we have been unable to confirm it yet. We suspect the skeletons are¡­ mapping the place." "Like one finds the best mushroom spots¡­" one of the officers whispered. "When they are ready, they might bring more forces to bear to commence harvesting the local populations, depending on the availability of resources. Skeletons are jealous of the energy they use and it takes quite a bit to open a portal, so they will favor spots with much to get, lightly defended cities." "Humans are the richest source of life energy?" "I personally believe that it is not the case, but that they have the most experience draining intelligent creatures." "Do they have a base of some sort, one we could siege and destroy?" another asked. "Good question. I do believe they have a secondary base somewhere around, however destroying it would be a temporary measure. It is likely the common base is the Last City, or so the prisoner we had called it. The city itself harbors a hundred of those beings including some of remarkable power. The number of servants also seems to be in the hundreds of thousands." The men mulled the news in silence for a little while. "More importantly, the skeletons use their power sparingly while on the offensive, and we have proof that they do not trust each other much. If we were to attack, however¡­" "They would unite against a foreign invader. I''ve seen it out west with the Comanche. You think you''re against a tribe, then three thousand warriors attack your vanguard," another said. "Precisely. The Last City has stood alone for a very long time. Who knows what defensive tools it has accumulated over the eons? We need to learn more or any expeditionary corps faces annihilation. In order to proceed, I propose the following measures. First, we need to protect our people and deny the skeletons any resources as much as we can. Two, we must capture a slave of theirs and interrogate them." "Can we capture a skeleton?" Zahn asked. "We have no idea how one would go about disabling one. We consider the task too dangerous for now." "Are those slave humans?" "They appear to be human, but shorter, slightly stooped and bald, with strange traits. Dissections have shown different organ sizes and a missing gallbladder. A great portion of them have small tails and they have nictitating membranes over the eyes. We are not sure if they are human at this stage, though the resemblance is¡­ remarkable." "Incredible. Could they have been kidnapped after the fall from Eden? Or are they demons?" "I shall leave the theological questions to you," the vampire interrupted drily, "I believe we were discussing measures. Now, one thing we have tried so far was to patrol the dead world to intercept or find them, but we have run into an issue. Ground forces will be constantly attacked and eventually overwhelmed by Merghols, a local species that feeds off magical energy. An airship cannot function for very long because the current models rely on our planet''s ambient energy, something the dead world is devoid of. For now we have no recourse." "How about a true expedition? A cavalry detachment would wipe those creatures from the field!" "Of this I have no doubt, but then there would be another field, and another after that. The Merghols are without number." "Nasty things they are," the smirking man said. The officers turned to him, suspicious. There was something off about the man, about the way the blue, unnatural lights reflected in his eyes. His posture spoke of aloof confidence. "I intended to introduce my partners later, but I suppose now is fine too," the woman said. "This is Jeffrey. He represents this nation''s werewolves while Oliver here stands for the mages." "Kind of you to throw me a bone," Jeffrey said. One of the officers frowned, clearly unamused. "If you think that ¡ª" He made to take a step forward. Before his foot even touched the ground, a deep growl escaped from Jeffrey, freezing the man in his tracks. It was not the animalistic noise that stopped the man but its depth and power, one that could only come from a chest several times the size of the person facing them. It was a growl that spoke of volume before it even spoke of violence, and it inspired with both aplenty. "Please do not do that," the werewolf said in a clipped voice. The temperature lowered and cross radiance started to overtake the light of magical lamps. "Please show my other guests the same respect I extended to you," the vampire said. "Let us return to the main question, that of countermeasures. You were mentioning patrols," Zahn interrupted. Once more, the light returned to normal levels. "I have mentioned the limits of such attempts, although we are looking into solutions." "How do the skeleton mages cross the planet then?" "Their orbs and powers allow them to control the beasts. It has been confirmed on multiple occasions. We suspect they might have means of transportation as well. In order to prevent them from having free reign, we will have to intercept raiding parties on our side. For that, we must rely on mundane reports of attacks or villages that last contact with the wider world. A fast response team should be formed to investigate the reports as quickly as possible or we risk losing too many people. We are also working on a sort of¡­ sensor. A detector to find breaches as they occur." "Those are temporary measures. You mentioned capturing a slave?" "Yes. This is a task made complicated by the existence of a killing curse they carry in battle. It binds them to their skeletal overlords. We have witnessed one malfunction back in the Austrian empire, however we are also looking into an interdiction field that would prevent the hex from triggering." "And if you do capture a soldier, will we have access to him as well?" "Yes," the vampire assured, "just like we will leave the equipment here with you, we will share what we learned for the future of us all." "We know you can wipe information from their minds," an officer said. "Then I suggest that you take a captive by yourself," the vampire suggested in a sweet voice. "Right, capture and combat. How do we fight those things?" another asked. "Haven''t met a thing that an elephant gun couldn''t stop," one of the oldest officers said, his sideburns bristling at the thought. The vampire smirked. "Standard armament deals with their soldiers well enough, provided one does not get too close to their orbs. The skeletons are more of a problem. Excessive damage will overwhelm their shield, but it needs to be concentrated. They have spells that can destroy fixed positions with extreme accuracy, making the use of artillery and machine guns hazardous. Even airships will be at risk because the skeletons use fire." "Then what?" "My men can use a ritual to cut the skeletons from the world''s life force for a while," Oliver said from behind his mask. "The area of effect is large. The spell lasts for half a day, more than enough to triumph or perish." "My kind has few tools to kill them but we can certainly keep one or two occupied," Jeffrey added. "Though you might want to get some specialized gear, for good hunting. Like the IGL stuff." A wide grin spread over the strange man''s face. The vampire rolled her eyes behind the mortals'' back. "Illinois Guns of Liberty? I hear that name all the time, do vampires have a stake in them?" an officer grumbled. The woman merely smiled. "I have another question," the oldest officer said with a scowl. "Why do you monsters care?" The men held their breath, waiting to see if the woman would reply to the insult. She mulled her answer for some time. "Remember that we were first in line to face the Scourge Hive. We see ourselves as the custodians of this world. There has always been much hiding in the shadows, and we have always protected mankind from it. If you are too cynical to believe this explanation then the other is that¡­" The lights disappeared from her armor until there was nothing left than glacial darkness. A purple light flashed through her eyes. The men took an instinctive step back when their crosses shone so bright they threatened to melt. "We do not like to share." She walked to the table and dispersed the map with a wave of her hand. The gray sand returned to its shapeless form. "Right, gentlemen. Regardless, I believe we have heard enough," Zahn said. "The secretary will want to know of this. In the meanwhile, we agree¡­ in principle. Such a threat cannot be left unchecked. We will be seeing each other more." "Happy hunting," the vampire replied. *** July 17th, 1884 My paintings line the wall of the Accords fortress ballroom, each one depicting a fantastic view either from the Watcher, the dead world, or faerie itself. A massive skeleton head half buried in a dreary plain sides with our dearest eldritch maker overlooking the battle of Black Harbor, then a desolate winter plain next to Sinead''s aunt, Carnaciel, rising above the world tree in her ethereal form. We have already had to install a round of guards to wake up human guests from their stupor. I had to refuse seven separate offers to buy my work at astronomical prices, although I take it as a compliment despite their persistence. A brilliant pianist invited for the occasion plays works of my beloved Camille Saint-Saens while waiters and waitresses walk among the crowd, offering refreshments and, sometimes, a taste of their own life force to the revelers. I sit enthroned at the end of the room with other hosts by my side, sometimes Constantine, sometimes Sephare, sometimes no vampires at all. I smile at my latest guest and clasp her wrinkled hand into my own. "Thank you so much for coming. Are you sure you are feeling fine? Would you like a glass of water?" "For the last time, stop fussing ''Aunt Ariane''," June retorts in a curt voice. Her tolerance for nonsense has decreased over the decade while her wit remains intact. I still worry about her. She is over sixty now. "I told you I would be fine coming tonight so long as you return the favor." "I will endeavor to do so," I assure her. "See that you do. Pah! Why do you have to look like a freshly grown daisy? My head reminds me you are my aunt, but my heart wants to tell you to keep your fussing to yourself, young lady!" "Oh very well, I shall not worry then. In any case, the time has come for the traditional speech." "Don''t make it too long or boring!" "That is my goal as well." I stand up as the music ends, then wait for silence to spread across the room. There is no need for a sound enchantment here. The room''s acoustics are great. Speeches. No one really wants them yet a party would not be complete without one. Such a strange paradox. With a sigh, I start speaking. "Age is seldom a matter of perspective. Everyone is born on a certain day, at a certain time. However, we denizens of the night can be said to have been born twice, the second time by far the more illustrious occasion. I firmly disagree. "I only survived my first month because of the support and loyalty of my father. My human father, Hercule Reynaud. He accepted me for who I had become and gifted me the rifle with which I slew the servants of Gabriel sent after me. It was his support that carried me through a difficult battle, and it is his memory I elect to honor tonight on the hundredth year of my existence. As of two this afternoon, I am a century old. "I have much to boast about and we children of the Watcher are not exactly known to be humble, but rather than submit you to an unwelcome litany of my deeds, let me talk about those who led me here. Often, mortals are the ones who tie us to this world. They give color and music to our darkness and bring a veneer to the Hunt. Without them, we would forget. This, you know. Let me speak of them, those who left us and those who remain. It seems fitting. "My father was the first. After he saw me off, he would visit me on occasion while I was in hiding. He once asked to see my fangs which he promptly grabbed with his fingers in order to test their sharpness. His loss while I had exiled myself to Illinois was¡­ difficult, but he did leave me with my first focus which he acquired after years of trading. A last gift. "Loth of Skoragg helped me, but I would not count him as a human. The next would be my first Vassal, Dalton. Dalton loved to threaten people with his pistol then shoot a second, hidden one before they could recover. It was an intimidation strategy I always loved." Little by little, I reveal tidbits about those who help carry me this far. After Dalton I mention Nashoba and his habit to remind me he can see the future, members of Isaac''s human forces who died to the Herald, members of the Dream back in Marquette ages ago, the mayor who stood proud against the Lancaster assault despite his fear, Hopkins the mad bomber to whom I temporarily lost half of my hair, the courageous women of the Home Guard including Sybil who would only aim for the crotch. The list is long. For each, I only mention an amusing achievement rather than detail their qualities. I want them to be remembered here as well. John before he became a vampire joins the list, Crow the warrior, King who sacrificed his life to save me in Alexandria as I burned from the assault of the sun, the space mage I saved in the library and whose studies paved the way for the fae portal. Sheridan, who is still alive and well with his unaging wife ¡ª Constantine does not appreciate the reminder. The ship captain whom I lost a bet to during my adventure with Miranda Bingle. The list continues, and I can eventually see in the eyes of my kin that they too wish to share a few words about their own mortals. I quickly end with the female guard who became a White Cabal squad leader then let the conversation spread, everyone eager to talk about the missing or the departed. I feel it is an important moment. Gifts come next, as is tradition. Constantine offers me a lightweight casting glove with an exterior made of tissue, a remarkably thin affair I could wear with a dress. Wilhelm offers me a carnivorous potted plant to keep in my Illinois office. Jimena somehow found a rare Nippon-made ''Tanegashima'' flintlock rifle, recently made with ancient techniques. Loth has an upgraded war mask sent to complete the Aurora. Many offer paintings from unusual or little known artists, many of whom I discover with pleasure. The Rolands gift me an entire artistically made piano. Jarek made me an enchanted flag. Eventually, the line dwindles and Melusine arrives with a massive, covered painting. "It took me a while but I believe I found the perfect present. Here it is." She removes the veil to display a rather convincing rendition of me, running away from a tide of swine set on fire, their porcine eyes mad with pain. sea??h th§× novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. I can still hear those abominable squeals. "You somehow forgot to mention those aspects of your memories, and since they play an important role in your life, I thought this little piece of art could help." "I should have left you to drown in that river." "You are welcome, Ariane. I will always be here for you when you take yourself too seriously. Have a great evening!" Chapter 207 - 201: The Invisible Hand Esme''s bones creaked when she bent over the counter to wipe the far side. The rag left a stream of droplets in its wake, so many globules catching motes of ember light in their tiny prisons. Soon they''d be gone, but now they formed a hypnotic pattern to the old woman''s eyes. They whispered something in her ears she could not understand. Sometimes, the murmurs were almost clear as hymns, sometimes she missed them entirely. They were growing stronger as she aged, though whether it was some witchcraft or just her brain turning to mush, she couldn''t say. Tonight, the motes were especially vivid,smoldering there before the heat of the hearth could disperse them. Something was happening, or would happen, here or near. Nothing good, no doubt. Not with her luck. Esme stretched, her back cracking pleasantly. Her tired eyes swept the Shoreside Inn. The clock ticked away the seconds but it was only a little after ten, not yet the witching hours. The weirdlings hour. The time of those that were lost or on their way to be. A smattering of night owls sprawled over the comfortable chairs and old, sagging couches of Shoreside. Esme felt she should leave this schedule to someone younger, perhaps her daughter or that young immigrant from Ireland, but she liked it. Those were her lost sheep, in her quiet time. Let the young ones live in the day and find love. She preferred to tend to the lost souls now. The first was old Mr Stibbs, by the door, nursing his third whiskey. A good day then. Stibbs and his wife hated each other with a passion. He would wait until he was sure she was too tired to argue. Esme gave it less than two years before Stibbs offed his other half, himself, or both. She had a good instinct for such things. There were a group of two, a boy and a girl in their early twenties, studying a book of natural science. They wanted to attend the College of Pharmacy nearby as a pharmacist and nurse, respectively. They would study hard until a little past midnight then go rob a warehouse. Esme had no proof, of course, but there would always be an article in the Globe the day after. The girl could also do a bit of magic. Esme felt it in her marrow. Arnold Clarke was here as well, which meant that the widow Smith would spend a pleasant evening. The entire street knew they were lovers and that he would sneak through her open window, carrying ugly flowers and a bottle of wine. He also forgot to lock behind him and the sound of their lovemaking traveled far, making their married neighbors smile knowingly at each other. Only they thought they were being subtle. The last bird was a little different. A lost one for sure. She was gaunt and far too young to be out. She had paid for a night with a clean bill and when she had passed by, Esme had caught a whiff of sweat and male cologne. There was a slight bump in her abdomen, already visible under her dress. Esme judged she was four or five months along. She''d have to find a place to hole up within two, before her belly would make work too complicated. That was not the main thing with the waif, however, no. What made Esme blink was the power that emanated from her thin form, much more than from the would-be nurse. Strong and alluring, yet brittle. It tasted hungry for chemical dreams and made up paradises. The sweet release that would, at dawn, leave her craving for more. The girl''s eyes met her own. Defiance and hatred filled them. She expected to be judged. Esme did judge, of course. It was one of the fine pleasures of life that old age had not robbed her off yet. She did keep it to herself, however. Yes, the old woman thought, if anything happens, it will be with her. The waif attracted the strands of¡­ No, no, what was she thinking? That was for those spiritualists and whatnot to say such things. Esme was just a loony old bat, and that was it, thank you very much. All she was saying was trouble would come from or for that girl,one way or the other. Esme considered throwing her out but immediately tossed the idea aside. It was too late and, besides, the Shoreside never retracted an invitation without good reason. And she also had a coach gun under the cash register. It would be fine. She wished her Greg were still around. He would have stayed by the fire, puffing on a pipe for so long as she was nervous. He would have been in charge of the gun as well. Slowly, night settled in, one flipped page at time. People asked for refills and she gave Stibbs a cup of tea which left him blinking terribly. It was past eleven when the woman came. That was the start of the troubles, for sure. Most of her patrons did not walk so much as amble in. The inn was a refuge in the dark at this time, not a destination. No one entered it on purpose. No one had business here. The warm glow of her windows lured them in like fish, hooking them when their hands touched the handle. Before they were aware, Esme had sat them with a soft word and a hot drink to waste away the minutes they needed to get a grip. Not this one. She had not picked the place at random. Esme let her feelings guide her. Was she a little on the strange side as well? The feelings said no. She didn''t taste different. In fact, she didn''t taste like anything. S§×ar?h the N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Her experience said yes. It was her appearance. Her dress was a colorful blue and her coat hung open despite the unseasonal cold tonight. A normal person would have closed it. A normal person would have shivered from the change of temperature. She also moved too little with no wasted motions. And she was beautiful with azure eyes and golden hair like a field in summer yet too glacial and foreign like a princess in a hovel. The last thing that warned Esme was the woman''s supreme confidence. No lady in their right mind would feel safe in the streets at this hour, especially when it was so obviously clear she was worth robbing. The newcomer gave the inn a cursory glance, her attention lingering on the pregnant girl for half a second, then she resolutely walked to Esme. She stopped by the counter like a ghost. The rush of frigid air from outside pushed forward a cold spice, like anise and something else. It felt cool and a little relaxing which set all sorts of panic bells ringing inside Esme''s head. Flowers and ladies of the night smelled nice as well, to attract prey. "Good evening. May I have a cup of coffee?" the woman asked "Oh? Hmm." Emse blinked and focused, blaming herself for her lack of attention. Old age, surely. This was just a customer and the Shoreside had standards of hospitality she was breaking right now. "I have warm stuff if you are in a hurry. Otherwise, I can brew you a new pot. Will cost extra though." "That will be quite fine. A fresh pot, please." Esme busied herself at the back. She had hot water in the kettle, not boiling, never boiling. They had filters and freshly ground beans. Not the best stuff, but decent, and she knew how to make a pot. Selecting beans had been more Greg''s thing. Yes. The woman was here, standing still. Yes, the coffee. It was ready. She poured it in her largest cup. Ceramic, large. People at this hour wanted large drinks that kept warm for a long time. "Cream? Sugar?" she bleated. "Cream, please. A dollop." She did as asked and returned to the counter. Her hands were shaking. She didn''t trust herself with the cup so she placed it over the clean, varnished wood and pushed. The woman stopped it with a finger. Esme looked up into a pair of permafrost rings. "Are¡­ we in danger?" she whispered. The woman would not hear, of course. Esme was too far. It was just silly. But she did hear. The woman tilted her head slowly, in a strange, serpentine motion. She looked at Esme for the first time, not as a passing person, but as a genuine individual. "Hmm." She seemed to hesitate before giving her a reassuring smile. "You will be in a dangerous situation, but I shall protect you as my host since you granted me your hospitality in good faith. And made surprisingly decent coffee." "You have not tried it yet," Esme reproached before her brain could catch up to her mouth. The woman tapped her nose. Her nails were quite sharp. "The scent does not lie." "What sort of danger?" The woman''s smile widened. "I do not know." Esme sputtered, though she caught herself quickly. Stibbs was casting curious glances towards them, recognizing a strange situation through the haze of alcohol. If Esme herself didn''t know what was coming, she could hardly blame the newcomer for being in the same situation. Somehow, her promise of protection felt genuine. The words had been ritualistic. Maybe Esme was mad as a hatter but she believed them. The woman drank her coffee in small sips and the inn, temporarily disturbed, returned to its cozy apathy. Esme sighed deeply and allowed herself to relax. That is, until the woman perked up. "May I have another cup, please?" she politely asked. Esme picked her half-empty cup with more confidence than before then headed to the back, which is why she was a bit further away when the door banged open and a couple came in. Now those, those were trouble. Their clothes were dirty with obvious stains she could see even from here, despite the failing light. Their eyes were wide and searching, hungry, vicious. They shared the smooth motions of the sitting woman but while hers were quiescent, theirs felt coiled and threatening. They turned and grinned at each other like two puppets animated by a demented artist, showing teeth that were a little too sharp. There was a young man with noble features twisted with cruelty. His companion had dark hair matted to her skull by neglect. She licked her lips as Esme watched. They were both attractive with the smooth skin of those who didn''t work outside, but slightly wrong. The same wrongness she saw in opiate addicts, sometimes, on the piers when the poor souls lurched by. Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. That was not what gave her the absolute confidence that those were the ones her feelings had warned her about. It was their stench. Although Esme''s nose remained mercifully focused on fresh coffee, her marrow inhaled the acid, rotting chill that those two emanated like sewer grates. The cloying aroma stayed even as they walked out of sight. Esme mechanically walked back with the warm pot clutched in her hands despite her best instincts because it was her inn, her place, and she was damned if she gave them free reign of her domain. Under the counter, the handle of the coach gun called to her with the tantalizing promise of an equalizer. Esme put the pot down but the sitting woman raised a hand. She had promised. Esme let the confidence of her guest calm her down. The blonde woman was waiting, for what she wasn''t sure, but she had things under control. Esme knew it with certainty, even as Stibbs'' fingers gripped his spoon and the girl burglar swore under her breath. Clarke reached for his chest pocket and found nothing. Everyone knew, yet no one moved as the insane couple stopped by the waif''s table, tittering like magpies. "Well well. How delicious. And what might you be?" "Won''t you join us, dearie? We are feeling peckish, morsel. A game, a game. Nothing lost, no." "Little morsel you are, carrying life alone. We are sinners too, you know?" "I don''t know you," the girl retorted as if it mattered. "I don''t want anything right now. I''m fine. Begone." The two chuckled with disturbing synchronism. The man grabbed his lady friend''s hand. Esme saw her nails were sharp and grimy. Like the talons of a carrion bird. Then the man leaned forward and spoke in a honeyed voice that made Esme step forward despite herself. "Stand up, morsel. Come closer." Tink tink tink. The room stopped and blinked. The moment was broken by the blonde woman tapping her spoon against her cup. Esme noticed she had given herself a refill. She felt detached from her own body, as if the experience happened to someone else. The couple flinched and sneered, but the distraction only stopped them for a moment. "Come now, morsel, on your feet, up up." "I, uh¡­" The waif was clearly struggling. She looked so lost. Esme wanted to tell her to stop but she could not. Her muscles were not her own. "Now." "Fresh off the boat, are we?" the blonde woman asked. Silence fell over the room. You could have heard a pin drop on the upper floor. The couple moved near the blonde woman with some wariness. They stood, heads forward, like skulking wolves. She turned to face them. Esme was struck by vertigo. She could almost see herself standing unmoving by the pot, reflected in the eyes of the others. Distorted words came to her as if through water but she could hear them and understand them though she did not, should not know the tongue. "You may not hunt without the consent of the city master, and I am quite confident you have not met him yet. The Accords forbid poaching." "Not poaching, kin, just a bit of fun," the girl said with a smile that didn''t reach her eyes. "We would not dare but we are Thirsty, yes. Terribly so. Ship travel can be so dull. We want to unwind a little," the man slurred. "You were refused twice and still insisted. This is a violation." "It was you!" the woman spat with sudden fury. "You distracted her. You broke the Charm, you WHORE." "We saw her first. We did!" "Oh no, you most definitely did not," the blonde woman replied. "I have had my eyes on that one for a long time." She sniffed disdainfully. "Let us return to the matter at hand. You will come with me to meet the Speaker, one way or another. I think you are too far gone, but who knows? He has worked miracles before." "You think we need help?" the man spat. "We are better. Purer. We are as we are meant to be!" "You will accompany me on your feet or in a box, but you will accompany me," the woman replied with terrible finality. Esme felt the world hold its breath. Her other, normal guests were frozen, completely frozen, perhaps like her. No one moved. They stared fixedly ahead. Never had she felt so small and so powerless. The couple blurred. The blonde woman''s right arm blurred as well. There was a crack. The man stood there with his head looking back and up, neck twisted at an impossible angle. The dirty woman hissed inhumanely. The blonde woman put down her cup. Esme was hit in the head by winter. It slapped her with a shovel and left her shivering in the freezing cold of a polar night. A small gasp escaped her chest. There was another crack and the dirty woman joined her companion on the floor. The blonde woman was standing. Winter left. It had never been here. The air was warm with the hearty, comfortable heat of the fire, yet the ghastly chill would not leave Esme''s chest. A massive man knocked and entered. Esme thought she had never met someone so large, and yet he moved in a way that felt restrained and controlled. "Miss Ari?" he asked. "Take them to the Speaker." "As you will." A moment passed. Esme blinked. The others blinked. It was warm. Logs crackled merrily in the hearth. Outside, the wind made her chimes ring a merry tune. The blonde woman sipped on her coffee. There was nothing wrong. Nothing at all. Just a normal evening with a strange chill in the wind, nothing more. No need to panic. "May I have another cup, please?" her guest asked. Esme mechanically grabbed the handle. The others did not seem to have noticed, but she had. She leaned over and faced the strange one. "Hmm, errr. Thank you," she whispered She frowned. The tongue had felt¡­ strange. Very foreign. It just occurred to her that letting the woman know she understood might have been a colossal mistake. Instead of getting angry, however, the strange being merely seemed curious. "Situational hyper awareness. Interesting. Do keep the words to yourself, dear. Some knowledge should not be shared so freely," she replied, and Esme found she could breathe again. Just in time to huff. Dearie? This summer duckling sure had¡­ bah, it didn''t matter. She could do as she pleased. The blonde woman stepped away from the counter and walked to the waif. Esme realized the small girl remembered too. Her expression was too terrified not to. Her gaze lifted to meet that of the blonde woman and stopped there. "What?" the waif spat. "I thought you might be the one, but it appears I was mistaken." "Don''t look so disappointed," the girl retorted in a way that felt almost too defensive to be detached. The woman sipped her coffee. Esme didn''t need to see her face to feel the weight of disapproval. "Oh, another holier-than-thou stranger here to spit at me. Go ahead then, do your worst. Can''t even get five minutes alone without someone judging me." "I judge you because you are a homewrecker and an addict." The remark had been delivered without anger. It bit all the more for it. "He said he loved me! He promised he''d dump the bitch and marry me!" "I felt the touch of your magic on his mind, Nathalie. You almost broke him." "Accusations of witchcraft!" the girl scoffed. "Of course." "Sympathetic magic, to be precise. Inherited from your mother." The girl''s face lost all composure in an instant. Esme thought her daft. Only an ape would still believe the blonde woman was here at random. They obviously knew each other, or at least one of them knew the other. And intimately enough to know such secrets, it seemed. The waif recognized the danger she was in and remained quiet. "So yes, I am disappointed, though I know when to recoup a loss. I will provide you with food and shelter until delivery, then you will give me your child and I will¡­ compensate you." The girl licked her lips, eyes alight with greed. "How much?" "Five hundred dollars." The girl huffed. "What sort of mother do you take me for?" "The kind that sells her child. Right now, we are merely negotiating the amount." The girl winced, though it didn''t last very long. "Three thousand. Take it or leave it." "Deal. Now come with me." The blonde woman walked with the unresisting waif in tow. She stopped by the counter and dropped a pile of silver coins. Esme usually made that much in a month. "For the coffee, and the trouble." "Thank you for¡­ everything. Have a good evening. Come back soon! Alone this time please." The blonde woman smiled but did not reply. She never returned. *** 1885 The darkest of cabals. It is a somber age, it is an age of lights, citizens of America. As the turn of the century approaches and I look upon our works, the closing chapter of a hundred years of growing pains, I cannot help but consider our future with hope and terror in equal measure. We may have achieved much and may achieve much more, but in doing so, we may lose ourselves forever. So many contrasts define our society, the envy of the old world, a shining exemplar of progress, that I would be at a loss to find which one I would find the most striking, the most worthy of starting this demonstration. At a loss, I decided to pour them on this page for your consideration. Our cities shine with the lights of gas lamps and, soon, electrical ones too thanks to the work of Mr Edison, yet they fail to penetrate deep in the mines where children and men labor with back-breaking fury to carry the weight of progress. They fail, too, to illuminate the dark corners of lost alleys where crime and corruption fester out of the eye of the public. Our people are one of the most politically involved on the surface of the globe, eclipsing even red France and its socialist mages, yet we tear each other apart on the issue of women''s suffrage, negro rights, and the ever-rampant consumption of alcohol. It takes six days to cross the country from New York to San Francisco, yet our people have never been so divided by culture, purpose, wealth, and faith. And let us talk about wealth. Indeed, the average income of our factory heroes has risen by over eighty dollars per year on average, and yet the millions of refugees swarming our shores have not tasted of this boon, oh no, far from it! Give me your tired, your poor, so that I may show them the gilded door ¡ª and then let them starve on their way west! It is a gilded age indeed. The lights of reason and civilization we thought so competent at casting away the dark have only served to give it a form and shape. Hexes, spells and sorceries. Curses. All may now be purchased at a corner store for a crinkled paper bill. In this day and age, a woman is just as likely to weave magicked ribbons in her hair as she is to take proper, doctor-approved cocaine drops. Indeed, mages and warlocks have made a thunderous return on the wings of generous investments. Did you know that the airships would fall from the sky without magic? That is correct, for only unnatural designs may afford wood and steel the buoyancy it needs to defy gravity, that impartial old crone. Light and darkness, wealth and misery, ignorance and knowledge. Have I talked about knowledge? Great institutions of learning are opening left and right in the north, promoted by churches, while a fellow could walk a hundred miles south of Virginia and find barely more than two dilapidated elementary schools. What little people learn, they do so under the lead of Integrists who inform them that they were robbed of their freedom by devil-worshiping Pennsylvanians. In this age of opposites, there are so many issues that a much longer article may not cover them, or even mention them all, and yet I write here with hope in my heart, for I know that a nation that survived a war of independence, a conflict with its erstwhile masters, and the deadliest modern civil strife has proven time and time again the resilience and spirit that inhabit its valorous people. And yet, this hope is tempered with fear because survival hinges on a single yet fragile condition: that it be its own hands, its own brains that bring solutions to the main challenges I mentioned. This will not happen so long as there are vampires. Oh, I know what you will think, oh incredulous reader. Children''s tales. Jokes. A large-scale conspiracy with no evidence, even circumstantial. A running joke combat mages and soldiers hint at to defend the necessity of their existence. It is not so. Do not believe the pamphlets and farcical manuals speaking of creatures with the face of a man who can turn into mist and fear open water, because those are smoke and mirrors to discredit truth seekers. Vampires do hide in the shadows, and they manipulate us by focusing on what matters. The government, the army, companies, and newspapers. Civilian power, military power, economical power, and information. Have you ever wondered who were the main shareholders of the flagships of our industries, whose products end in every home? Or our most famous journals or gazettes, whose words are read in every office? If you inquire about names, you will not find any. Instead, the truth will be buried under layers upon layers of shells and facades, until you find very exclusive and private institutions whose doors will shut in your face faster than you can say ''obstruction''. Where do the profits go, you may ask? They follow torturous routes that end in the pockets of politicians, interest groups, or funding more projects through complex financial mechanisms. Power is a currency that moves in the night. Perhaps many of you remember the double reversal of Judge Montgomery earlier this month. Reversal of ruling, yes, but also of fortune! His wealth, which had been ailing after the failure of Western Electrics, rose from the ashes like a dark phoenix when an unknown benefactor bought his stocks at full price. Now, the good judge takes a suddenly dim view of Integrists and their crusade for a magicless society. How curious! And he is not the only one to change his mind after a close brush with misery, nor the only diverted patrol or repurposed public office. The prudent observer will notice an invisible hand guiding the people towards a more apathetic society, and it does not belong to the market, for the market itself is not free. The Lancaster mining consortium, Tracks of America, IGL, even the bloody opera houses ¡ª pardon my French. There you will see signs of the darkest cabal at work, vampires. They exist and they are here, hidden and manipulative. I invite you to demand answers, dear reader, to search for those not-so-mystical creatures and to bring them to the light where their actions will be judged and they shall be held accountable, at the very least, for if we do not do so, we will be robbed of the decision to steer our future without even realizing it. The man read the piece of paper one last time and signed it with his name. It was daring. Provoking. At least two thirds of the readers would laugh at him, but like the tiniest mustard seed, a grain of truth would be planted. The post would not do for such a delicate material. He had to give it himself to the print and hope his boss would not be around to stop him. He had been warned times and times again. The risk was high. And he knew he was right. The vampire had admitted so herself. He would not listen. The people had a right to know. The man stepped out of his home and slunk in the shadow, taking a familiar path to the printing shop. He had walked this path so many times before that every step was as confident in the night as it would have been at noon, which is why he did not notice when a form detached itself from a nearby wall. The form stabbed him, once, twice, thrice, then it made away with the file and his wallet for good measure. The man lay dying in a pool of his own blood, too pained to let out more than a gasp of agony. Regardless, he still smiled a sad smile. He had always said he was ready to die for the truth. He had not expected that fate would take him at his word. It did not take long for him to bleed out. A few streets away, two shapes waited on a rooftop. One of them stood straight. The other''s feet dangled freely from the edge. "It''s done, boss woman." "I know." "Those robbers are getting more daring by the night." "Dreadful that." "I do feel a bit sorry for the man, yes? If only he had blamed the Irish or the Jews like normal folks do. Men of moral standing always impress me, especially if they never bend." "A respectable adversary. Well, it is done and Le Nozze di Figaro starts in half an hour. Good evening to you, Urchin." "And to you too, boss." They left. Chapter 208 - 202: The Twentieth Century The strings of fate tease me once more, sneaking upon me one fine summer night. I am more sensitive to them so long as I am in my domain, or the lesser version of a Dvor domain in any case. I can feel her when she crosses the boundary, making her way to IGL''s front door without hiding. It has to be a decoy. In a way, it was inevitable that we would meet again. I feel a flicker in her form once she enters the range of my Magna Arqa. I remotely open the door to what has to be a simulacrum and enjoy the hesitation in her step. She stops and speaks in a low voice. "I request your hospitality for the night, and all rights it implies in spirit." In answer, I use a small root to write in the wet mud near the entrance. Only if you face me in person. The simulacrum chuckles and suddenly, the real person jumps down from a nearby roof. She moves between guards to the front door, then makes her way to the room after I call reception to let her through. I can hear her steps. I can smell the barest hint of perfume, floral, with a hint of amber. I cannot, however, feel her aura. It is closed to me, even through the sphere of perception I have gained. Very impressive. She comes in and closes the door behind her. I look. She has not changed at all, still gorgeous and deadly with wavy black hair, brown, soft eyes and a body poets would write about. I would bet some did. "Good evening to you, Semiramis," I greet. The ancient queen of Babylon and Nirari''s mommy dearest smiles in a perfunctory way, her eyes sweeping over the room and stopping at every hidden defense. "Please, take a seat," I graciously offer. "Thank you. I must admit that I miss speaking in the tongue of my people. Only my son''s heirs have maintained a proper diction." "And to what do I owe the pleasure?" A touch of annoyance seeps through the cracks of her facade. It takes only an instant, yet I see it clearly before she restores her composure. "Back home we would talk and drink before getting to serious affairs, or ''business'' as you modern ones tend to say." "That is between friends. In our latest and only encounter, you tried to kill me three times through semantics and technicalities." "You speak the truth," she freely admits, "then I will speak plainly. I am here to forge an alliance." Ah. That is unexpected. I thought I would have to contact her myself. "I assume you want help with your ascension." "You could not help me if I personally taught you for three decades. I do not need assistance with magic. I have all I need. I must have protection during the final ritual." I lean forward. "Do elaborate." Once again, annoyance pierces through the veil of polite detachment. Semiramis has interacted with our kind throughout the years, though mostly with Rosenthal and her brood. Isaac mentioned the woman only valued power and the arcane arts. I have gathered my power fast, and my knowledge of arcane is merely functional as its more subtle aspects escape me. I have kept the approach of an engineer while she is an artist. In fact, she is the artist. "My warrens are no longer my own," she says. "Even now, my son''s minions course its length in a brute force attempt to understand its function. I have lost the last effective tool I had to waylay him. The ritual I will conduct requires time, focus, and it will be felt across the planet by anyone with even a smidgen of talent. My little Adad will not fail to detect it. He will come for me and I need someone to stop him." She stands and paces, her voice growing more animated. "It will take time to complete my preparations, yes, a lot of time still. Several key locations must be seeded. The undead must be driven away from them." "The undead?" I interrupt. "From the wasted world?" "Them, yes. They showed me the proper way to drain energy, though their methods were crude, brutish, and destructive." "I will not help you slay the world!" I say. Semiramis dismisses my concerns with a wave. "Those morons had no idea what they were doing. They killed their planet through a thousand cuts, biting at the life force small morsel by tiny bite until it bled out in the void, perishing from the compounded loss. No. A single world contains more life force than any creature can contain by an astronomical amount, and it recovers. My harvest will be less than the sting of a single mosquito, but it must be done equally across the globe, or both it and I will suffer. I need more time. I also need¡­ an army. One I cannot gather by myself." "You know much about the dead ones'' past and methods." "Of course, I do. Have you not guessed why?" And I have. I have guessed why. All the pieces were here for me to see. She mentioned finding knowledge in a book coming from another world. She found knowledge on how to ascend, which is what the skeleton mages have technically done. I also remember visiting her abandoned workshop during that very brief period in captivity, down south during the American-Mexican war. The tools and tables had been slightly too low, the measurements slightly off. Semiramis was using dead world citizens. She has been in contact with them since before she even aligned the spheres, bringing our worlds closer. "Give me one reason why I should help you," I tell her. "I shall grant you two. First, I will leave this world immediately upon ascending. I shall not return. I give you my word." "You would simply leave?" "This miserable ball of mud has held me back for far too long!" she spits with more venom than I expected. "I have no equal here. Do you know how boring and frustrating it is to live in a place without peers? I know there are other practitioners of the arcane arts out there whose skill and experience surpass my own. I will find them. You are free to keep this inflexible old crusted world to yourself. I wish you all the best with it." "And the second?" I ask. "The second? Ah, yes. I will take my son with me." "You will remove Nirari?" I ask, because I require confirmation. "That is correct. You and your friends will have the planet to yourselves without ancient beings to hold you back. A world at your disposal. Help me and you will solve both of your largest concerns." It is indeed tempting. "I will require a carefully worded contract in writing." "Yes, yes, you shopkeeper, you estate louse, yes. I will submit to your barbaric ways." She sighs. "Back in my days, a queen''s word was enough." I resist the urge to call her a queen of nothing, but I control myself. I did offer her hospitality. "Why me?" I finally ask. "There are other factions out there." "Foolish girl, you know why. Others may face your sire, but they do not have any hope of winning. Only you can stand before him without being swept aside. Do not waste our time with silliness. We are both busy. Ah, time, so plentiful yet so easily spent. Where were we?" "Contract." "Find your Rosenthal pet and let us get this over with." *** The Dalton''s Revenge approaches its final destination, the sun-colored tip of the Eiffel tower, even now covered in the glittering lights of thousands of electric bulbs. Below us, Paris sprawls with the illuminated and fantastic buildings of the ''Exposition Universelle''. The year is nineteen hundred. I stand on the ship''s deck during the last maneuver under the vigilant gaze of the Baboeuf, France''s Minotaure class heavy cruiser. This vessel can pack a punch. I would know. I worked on the plans. If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. My ship moors without difficulty. Tonight, we are tame and innocent, weapons tucked, guns hidden. I even forfeited the tricorns for more traditional hats and helmets. Slowly, carefully, men in the blue and red of the French army attach a bridge to our lower hatch. I am the first to lower myself in the protected tunnel, though the wind still batters at my dress. My steps carry me into the glass-covered observatory of the third floor, the thick panes covered with a criss-crossing field of gold-painted steel. The entire structure forfeited stone and wood to flaunt modernity. With the warship domineering the sky, it represents one more boast that the national pavilions below will surely match to the best of their ability. The Exposition Universelle is the vitrine of the world and the major powers will stop at nothing to impress upon their visitors that, though they tread on French soil, there are mighty industries and flourishing arts beyond the alps, the channel, or the Atlantic. I cannot wait to see this all. I smile atthe welcoming party, but mostly I smile at Torran. He looks handsome in a modern gray suit that marries his muscular form, his gray hair pulled back to show a handsome face. His steely gaze softens when it meets mine. For a moment, only he exists, but reality is quick to reassert itself. An unusual group has gathered around us. Besides a majordomo of sorts, I count an officer and a few soldiers armed with swords and sheathed revolvers including a severe lad with a cross on full display, his hands stained with paint. An artist! And a mage, according to his aura. I also notice a photographer with his cumbersome contraption already deployed on a voluminous tripod, and a few gruff handymen with the bearing of infantrymen. The soldiers do look fine in their navy and red uniforms under kepis decorated with gold threads. I appreciate the visuals. Unfortunately, I predict that they will come with some degree of frustration. "Bonsoir, mademoiselle," the officer greets. "You are Ariane Nirari, I presume?" He is quite young, handsome as well, which does not surprise me. As first impressions go, one may impress or one may seduce. Apparently, the person in charge selected option two. I look at his pencil-thin brown mustache and consider that he would look better with a beard as well. I also smile at the deliberate jab. The French have grown defiant of nobility and titles since their more radical members have taken power, following the Commune. They have settled down without rolled heads this time, but there remains a resentment of particles they cannot quite let go of. "Ariane of the Nirari, as my traveling documents state," I reply in French. This time, I am much more confident that my accent does not sound like I was raised in a barn by a particularly rustic cow. The Watcher knows I have spent enough time working on my pronunciation. I hand him a perfectly valid and legal identification paper which he carefully inspects before handing it back to me. "Bienvenue ¨¤ Paris. If you will follow us down?" "A moment, please," the photographer interrupts. "My name is Henry Duplessis with Le Parisien newspaper. I must take a photograph of all the guests, if that is fine with you? This way, please." Ah, so that is how it is. If that gentleman is a journalist, I am willing to drink tepid, boiled coffee made with used grounds. His ramrod straight back and calloused hands betrays his military origins. The French must know of vampires, particularly because their neighbor across the Rhine employ them semi-officially. Mysterious, rich, and young-looking individuals will be suspected now. The photographer''s purpose will be to identify me as a denizen of the night because of the blurry image he will eventually develop, then the dour soldier wearing a cross will paint me so that my likeness is kept in the archive for later recognition. Very daring of them, to create a file on us, especially considering that the Mask vampires certainly have access to it. Perhaps they consider it a spare depository, or a free and freely accessible archive. A little rude, I would say. Nevertheless, I nod and step in front of the tripod holding a state of the art camera and focus on the ring on my finger. We have long since perfected the art of the masquerade ring. At first, our attempts led to unnatural pictures with wrong angles and dubious lighting, but we have refined the process since then to include many variables. Essentially, the ring will add a layer of light slightly below skin level so that a picture of us will fail to hold onto our real form, but will latch on the illusion and process it. There are limits, of course. The complexity of the adjustments means that only a single, stored facial expression can be used. It also requires the vampire to focus the ring on the camera''s aperture. A click, a flash, the unpleasant smell of smoke. The crew unloads my and their personal effects near the lift while we wait. I use the barest hint of Magna Arqa to shred the picture inside of the camera itself. A matter of principle. They will see the ravaged remains with hints of unblurred images and wonder. "Torran dear," I greet in Hochdeutsch. "Such a pleasure to see you again." The soldiers frown and glare as I close the distance between us. Whatever goodwill I gained by speaking French has melted like snow under the sun when I demonstrated an equal mastery of Goethe''s tongue. The two nations are in a constant state of tension over Alsace, and only ever a spark away from war, I believe. With a sweep of my hand, coasting under that deep-seated resentment, I grab their minds and muddle my appearance in their recollection with the lightest of touch, so that they will struggle to remember more than a vague impression of me. I do not, of course, touch the man wearing a cross. It would not do to bring an ominous blue light to our current golden arrangement. No, for him, I use another method. I use Vanheim essence to change my appearance, hooking my nose and changing a few other details. My eyes tilt, giving me a less conventionally attractive appearance yet also a more striking one. I see the man inspect me with intense care from the corner of my eyes as I greet my lover. "Torran, dear. It is so good to see you." "My star. I owe you for your gift, the armor performed wonderfully. Truly, fae craftsmanship is impressive." While it is the first time since the prison break that I visit Europe, Torran has made use of flying ship to visit me on occasion, and I have already gifted him his fae equipment, a stone armor that merges with his Magna Arqa and can even imitate its effects to a degree when he fights outside of his domain. It appears the addition to his arsenal has made him even more formidable. "Oh yes. I heard you were involved in a little kerfuffle?" "Just a small incident to decide the future of the Austrian Empire, nothing too dramatic. I won, of course. Me, and a few others." "You know what I love about you? You are so humble." "I thought it was how I played the organ?" "Torran!" I reproach without meaning it. Ah, he must be as pleased as I am. I kiss him chastely and use this brief window to turn my traits into a more Scandinavian version of myself. Torran has noticed my little game, if his smirk is any indication. As for our would-be illustrator, his shock is so great that I could shove an entire egg down his throat without touching teeth. Or perhaps it is outrage. That is quite fine. The true issue is not with intelligence officers having access to my likeness, though it chafes. Father used to say that a woman''s beauty is not just her own, when I would grow tired of the gazes of my suitors. Especially when they were staring at my backside. No, the issue is not the ownership of my image. The issue is that this likeness would be captured under false pretense. Mortals need to be taught that playing a game of deceit with a vampire is a losing proposition. Either they are honest, and they are part of the game, a game that has run for a long time and known many competitors, most of whom are dead. With any attempt at identifying me compromised and my baggage inside of the iron cage that will carry us down, the time has come to depart. An orderly shuts down the metal bar, then we are off and aiming down. I watch Paris get closer, hand held in Torran''s own. They are quite large and touching them makes me feel relaxed. We do not speak for now because there are too many people observing us, which irritates me. "We have no record of a previous visit," the officer tells me suddenly, his head leaned forward to look at me from beyond the vast expanse of Torran''s chest. "Is this your first time here?'' he asks with an inquisitive smile. I feel Torran tense, so I squeeze his fingers to let him know I am fine. He gnashes his teeth yet relents. "I have come before, by train. To visit a museum," I reply. "Is that so? Which one?" "Oh, a private collection of impressionist artists." "When was it?" "A few years ago. I even purchased a few." The man leans even more. "Would you have anything to declare?" This time I do not hold Torran back when he replies. "The Fraulein is a little weary from her travel," he replies in passable French tinged with a powerful Prussian accent. "Perhaps all those questions can wait for tomorrow." "Certainly. Around breakfast?" Torran smiles. The man smiles. Torran draws the soldier''s saber from its sheath and twists it like a pretzel, showing an incredible amount of control since the steel does not, in fact, break. In the confines of the elevator, the shriek of metal is positively atrocious. "I would love to have you for breakfast," Torran pleasantly agrees. I can feel his rage bubble under the surface, which I find so very endearing. On the other hand, they ruined our reunion with negative emotions and teased us without¡­ knowing their place. Yes. This is the proper term. Most humans are not prey, but when they are, they should not act so rashly. We can tolerate games but not blatant disrespect. It appears I need to drive the point home. "Je vous trouve tr¨¨s grossiers," I say, informing the soldiers I find them rude. We are approaching the first floor. I already feel the engine linked to the left and decide to act. Using a root, I push the shut down lever and the cage in which we are slows down. Below us, the operators watch the tendril lock the mechanism tight. In the awkward silence above, the majordomo frowns and looks at the buttons. I make several tendrils appear in an effort of will and drag the cabin to the first floor''s landing link by link, inch by inch. The soldiers gasp when thorny branches push the doors open. Nevertheless, they do not move. A wise choice. A few civilians turn to watch us. The first floor is bathed in the glow of electric lamps. Families watch maps showing the Parisian landmarks visible from here with an accent placed on the Exposition''s main attraction all the way to the Seine and the bridge Alexandre III. I take a few steps forward and clap, once. The susurrus of conversations dies down. I have grabbed the mind of every mortal present, around fifty, in a single second. Children hang from their mothers'' arms while gentlemen remove their hats, slack-jawed. Hundreds of glassy eyes focus on me. "Mesdames et messieurs," I greet in French, "if you would give us five minutes, please?" Without a word, they file out until we are left alone in the well-lit room. I drop all pretense and twist at maximum speed, then slowly form a ''come hither'' gesture with my fingers. I am wearing my birthday gift gauntlet which looks like a normal glove. The soldiers are picked by the scruff by an invisible hand one by one and carried in a line amidst curses and imprecations. The cross-wearing man''s flabbergasted expression when his prayer fails to break the spell is simply delicious. Torran walks by my side and manifests his humongous zwei-hander, letting the massive blade casually rest on his shoulder. The temperature falls until their breaths leave little puffs of mist in front of them, despite the mild summer night. I let roots crawl on the edge of the room, thorns scraping grooves into the polished marble. Some try to swivel their heads to spot the unseen terror but I do not let them. They smell like terror. "There is a drive among mortals that I do not quite understand. The very same that pushes you to investigate that strange noise in your backyard, or that glint in the tunnel. You walk up to your ceiling bearing a lantern and asking: ''is someone there''? You feel the overwhelming need to follow the giant tracks to find what is at the end and I always, always wonder¡­" I step next to the officer and lower him until our eyes are level. At the same time, I remove the illusion I always maintain over my eyes. His own brown orbs stare in the depth of the Watcher''s gaze, all purple sclera, iris, and yellow slanted pupil. "When you do find what you seek, what will you do? Well, mortal. Your suspicions are confirmed. Now, what?" "I will¡­ tell the Babeuf¡­ to fire on you." Ah, a nice bluff, but it is a bluff. And like all bluff, it must be called. I smirk and grab one of my trunks from the elevator and approach the mage painter soldier believer, as the cross glows with some strength. I take out a communication mirror and offer it. He takes it. I release him, sending him to the ground with one more curse. He stands back up with all haste. "Go ahead. Call it," I say. The painter observes the officer and the officer, the painter, wondering which one will ask a warship to open fire on a civilian-filled landmark in the middle of Paris with the risk of sending hundreds of tons of screaming metal on the top of the champs-de-mars revelers. "So, which one of you wants to annihilate his career for no gain whatsoever? Hmm?" An awkward silence follows. Outside, the civilians watch the city through conveniently placed telescopes while complaining about the need to leave. "I thought not. Well, I believe a little lasting reminder would help drive the lesson home. Now, what shall I do with you." Some of the men whimper in fear while others feel more resigned. Only the officer boils with impotent rage. "You are about to commit a grave mistake. To threaten us is one thing, but to hurt a soldier¡­" "Who said anything about hurting?" I ask. When the lift resumes its journey, it does so with a laughing Torran at my side, as well as a dozen torn uniforms. I shall keep the French officer''s one and knit it back together for Jimena, whose collection of male uniforms only ever expands. We leave the Eiffel tower without issue but we do find another reception committee waiting downstairs. I recognize the thin man with the air of a musketeer as well as his bear-like, bearded friend, coarse hair visible through his then shirt. "Cedric, Baltazar, gentlemen, it is good to see you." "And a pleasure as well for us," Cedric replies, "since we once again meet without bloodshed." "The first time we came across each other, a terrible misunderstanding led to my arrest. I did give them hell before I was taken, however." "She smashed my head in," Cedric helpfully says. "She left me alone so I could help him and our other friend Ingalles, who is regrettably tied up on the Nile smoothing things out, as it were. We were sent to escort you and open whatever doors need opened without having to.. ah.." His gaze travels up. "Knock." "We would love to start with the Exposition, actually," Torran says, anticipating my desires. "Wonderful. Most of the buildings are staff and faker than a Montmartre prostitute, but the national pavilions are fantastic!" "And the magical and technological innovations. You have an interest in technology, yes?" We move on at a sedate pace. "The Nile, you say? Could it be related to the Fashoda incident?" I ask. S§×arch* The N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. I am referring to a war scare between France and the United Kingdom over who would add Sudan to their long lists of colonial conquests. The English won the diplomatic standoff, having brought considerably more troops. "Yes. It would not do to have the two most powerful armies in our collection face each other off. We would very much prefer for them both to aim their efforts at the German empire, since the Brotherhood and Eneru have resolved their differences." "At the tip of a sword, but yes," Torran helpfully agrees. "We predict that the next war will be a large one, comparatively, although we expected it to have already happened," Cedric says. "Yes, thirty years and my compatriots have yet to reclaim Alsace! They must not be feeling very confident. An entire generation has grown fed on vengeance and¡­ nothing yet? Most peculiar." "Do not be too hasty," I warn. "Oh, I know. Your civil war was bloody and that was even before modern weapons and magic came into play. Yet the war will happen sooner or later. We must prepare for it." "Since vampires fight for the Kaizer, Dominique will no doubt have us face them. It means we will take to the field, like back in the days. Oh, the tales those lords and ladies recount. Cavalry charges! Sieges!" "It is said Bertrand destroyed a fortress gate by himself, once. Chopped it down with his axe!" "Much less chances of that with star forts," Torran observes. "Spoilsport!" We chuckle and I try to remember that when we face each other again, at the end, I will not have to kill them. Bertrand offered his service to Nirari for a single battle and there is only one my sire will fight at full strength. Ah, well. "Ah, one more thing. By agreement, you are protected from Knight interference, but that is only valid for the official duration of your stay and within the walls of Paris, I''m afraid." "Do you mean they could attack the Dalton''s Revenge?" I asked, a bit outraged that Mask would not extend its protection until I am at least over the ocean. "Yes, although you know how they are, old fashioned and everything. Unless Octave has learnt how to fly¡­" "They could commandeer a warship¡­" I grumble. "And you would absolutely love it, my star," Torran teases. Ah, he knows me so well. My ship will be fine for now, but that might change in the future. Many engineering teams are working on a new kind of flying contraption that does not rely on magic: fixed wing, flimsy things. Like those steerable road locomotives I am investing in. Ah, well, we shall see. The visit is as pleasant as it is uneventful. The colonial pavilions are interesting in themselves, but the Moroccan and Chinese pavilions display architectures so unfamiliar and strange that I feel a powerful drive to go there and explore. I walk on an electric carpet that carries me forward and see a massive telescope. We have a delightful time scaring people half to death in the palace of mirrors, then ride the great wheel which grants Torran and I a moment of romantic intimacy. By the time we are done, dawn is not too far away, and I have fulfilled my primary purpose which was, essentially, to take a vacation, yet a certain sense of worry lingers. In six months, I will start living through my third century. Change is all around us, a change that grows ever faster. I am not so much concerned about getting left behind as I am about it going the wrong direction. My homeland may enjoy its isolationist privileges, but here in Europe, they think only of the next war. With the size of the concerned empire and the network of alliances forming around us, I fear that this war and the next may reach levels of destruction the world has never seen before. I have to make sure it never happens. Chapter 209 - 203: Red then Black It was hot inside of the small cottage, hotter than it should reasonably be. Everard unconsciously patted down his red armored robe for specks of dust, conscious of the lush persian carpet lying near the clean hearth. From outside, the house had all the appearance of a cozy home for a bachelor, but inside the signs of wealth were much more obvious. So were the wards. Silvery engraved glyphs lined the windows. His host cleared her throat and made him feel self-conscious. A question escaped his lips before his brain could catch up. "Are you related to the Order Master?" Everard asked. The older woman sat back in her chair, a cup of tea steaming gently in the late September light. Everard was young and rather inexperienced, but he had seen pyromancers at work before, heating their tea without a word. The woman''s control was impressive. That led credence to his idea. "The Order Master, Oliver Merritt," he insisted. "Ah, yes. What makes you think that?" Everard studied the woman. She had graying red hair and a sharp face that evoked mischief. Her posture was impeccable and relaxed at the same time. More importantly, he could hear something in her diction, a mix of accents he had heard from the Order Master himself on regular occasions. especially when he swore. The resemblance was uncanny. They were also both pyromancers of great talent. "Oh, do not bother telling me. Yes, I am his mother. Alexandria Merritt." "Oh, so that''s why we were ordered to be stationed here. Had me wondering." "I am left with many questions as well. This village is a place of calm and retreat, not to be involved in conflict." "Well¡­ what do you know about the skeleton mages and their minions? We call them liches now, or at least that''s the official definition." The woman took a sip of what should have clearly scalded her tongue. "I know they raid. I know stopping them has been a topic of hot debate between the Republican and Integrist candidates in the last presidential elections. I know they are still out there and dangerous." "That''s correct. We are at war with them. The Speaker has come up with a¡­ grid to detect them. We have an idea when a portal will form but they figured out we knew and they''re adapting as fast as we are." Merritt raised an eyebrow. "It''s like this," Everard continued. "They start rituals and suddenly stop them in spots where they have scouts to see how we react. Sometimes, they open decoy portals that spill out Merghol hounds and other horrors while the true raid takes place somewhere else. We know it costs them energy but if they can grab a whole village, it''s apparently worth it. They steal everything that''s not nailed down as well. They''re gone by nightfall, because, you know¡­" "At night, the vampires come out to play, yes. So they will come around here?" "Maybe. The liches are more careful now that they have lost some of their numbers. They still have a seemingly unlimited supply of goons and magic-eating wildlife." Everard shivered. He had faced them before. Against the hounds, his spells were useless. Only his trusty pistol could make a difference. They just felt so wrong to him, like maws eating at the world. "We can win. The Speaker is refining the process every day while our alliance is hard at work setting bases in sensitive spots. Soon, no settlement will be out of reach of a fast response group." "Tell me about the Red Cabal. I had no hand in its inception. That was between Ollie and Ariane." It felt strange to Everard, having the order master and the Hand referred to so casually. He assumed she had earned the right to do so. "We are a mercenary and security group dedicated to eliminating the supernatural threat before they can become a danger to society," Everard loudly claimed. "Though we haven''t managed to do that too well," he finished, a bit sheepish. "I''m not sure anyone can blame you for the skeleton things." "The integrists sure can. They say before spell shops, flying ships and combat mages, there were no skeletons. Many believe them." "People will always look for knowledge that conforms to what they already believe, then dismiss the rest as enemy lies. But enough of my ramblings. Give me some news." "Well as I was saying, we have mundanes, mages like me, and werewolves. Sometimes, a vampire will join us for the most dangerous mission but it''s a rare occurrence." "Are the werewolves fitting in fine? It was always a concern for us." "There are accidents¡­ but not a great many and we prefer to have the furballs on our side." Merritt huffed a tiny laugh. "Furballs¡­ I wouldn''t call them that." "They don''t like it much but we got to have fun the way we can. There''s been more of them recently. They''re all over Illinois now. There''s some coming from the north. Others have joined¡­ more organically." "What do you mean?" "Well¡­" Everard hesitated, but that knowledge was common enough. "It''s no secret being turned cures people of diseases. Lots of determined dying folks hear about it from a friend of a friend. They ask around and often the wish is granted. I hear survival is not that common though. And there is¡­ Well, I heard from Amaruq ¡ª that''s our wolf ¡ª that hmmm." He leaned forward, speaking in a conspiratorial tone. "The Hand gifted them with a unique thingamajig that lets them have kids. Trouble is, there''s only one so they have to take turns. They have a waiting list. Those who perform services for the pack¡­" "I assumed the most aggressive leaders would have priority?" Everard shook his head, suddenly very proud of his knowledge. "The hierarchy is much more dynamic than what one would think and strength isn''t all that important. Even when they gather." He blushed. "Or that''s what Amaruq said." "You seem to care about her a lot." "It''s not like that. She''s married. Her husband and her come from the far north. They want to start a family. It''s a noble goal! They work very hard, both of them." Everard felt protective of every member of his squad. The White Cabal had its fair share of purists but the red one wasn''t like that. It was all about what people did, not what they were. They even had a proper charter like the Knights of the Round Table. Or the Garter. Some fancy old world group. "I see. And you have come to Freshspring because you expect an incursion?" "There could be. The energies are all over the place so a portal could open nearby, or, as I said, it could not, or it could open and just send us hounds. Nasty critters are dangerous enough though." "I am familiar with them and the difficulty mages have in fighting them." "That''s why I got that pistol, mam. Good rounds!" S§×ar?h the N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Everard patted the holster by his thigh. The handgun only contained five bullets, but those were designed to punch through thick hide or those strange armors the liches'' servants wore. "As long as I land a good body shot or even better, hit the brain, the creature goes down. Did you know its brain was near the spine, on its back? The thing doesn''t even have eyes! If this isn''t a sign that they were not made by our good god, I don''t know what is. Too weird to be wholesome, those are." "I can only assume you have never encountered a platypus. But I digress. Should we not evacuate?" "Thing is, Mam, we don''t know where exactly the portal will open, so we don''t know where we should evacuate you to. But don''t worry! There are four squads here, twenty-four of us. Wakowski is in charge of the explosives and he''s an expert. We have set up shop near the bridge, the mill, a sniper on the church belfry¡­" "Should you be telling me that?" the woman asked. "What do you mean?" "You should not share your entire disposition with a civilian who has no need to learn it," the woman gently chided. "I just thought¡­ with you being the mother¡­" "Security comes when only those who need to know, know. It is not just about trust, young Everard. It is about making sure only the minimum amount of information can be retrieved from any single person." "Right, sorry." Everard passed a hand through his short hair. His armored robes felt cumbersome, suddenly, too hot to be indoor. "Wait," he said, frowning, "why did you ask me about the Red Cabal then?" "I only asked about what should be common knowledge. If everyone in the Red Cabal knows then it cannot really count as a secret." "Hmmm." "Though you are right. I suppose even learning about the statue that lets wolf bear children could show a deep vulnerability. In any case, should we stay put then?" "We are moving everyone into the church, not that those stopped the invaders before, but this one is made of stone for some reason and we expect, well, at least it won''t burn quick." "Very well. Give me a few minutes to prepare." Everard left the cottage behind. The weather was rather nice and the afternoon sun shone on several other comfortable houses with, he suspected, more wealth inside than there should be. He was starting to believe the place hid many secrets. In front of him, Gaelle was pushing a wheelchair upon which a wizened old man sat, clutching a fancy repeater between shaky fingers. "You can''t even wield it, grampa," the mage sighed, her pointy chin set in a stubborn scowl. "Y''all better not try me, you little pissants. I was shooting hounds before you were a glint in your mama''s eyes!" "Yes, Mr Sheridan, let''s get you to the church, alright?" More people left, herded back by Red Cabal members mostly out of their depths. The village had no mayor. Instead, it was a collection of maimed or old folks and their attendants. There was a doctor as well, a tight-lipped yet well trained mage. Yep, definitely a weird place. Almost like a hidden refuge. That would explain why their squads had been deployed so quickly. "Come on people, we don''t have all day!" their leader Lafayette said. Lafayette was one of the shortest and also widest men Everard had ever met. He was also very, very loud. "Alright folks, maybe tonight we sleep like little babies, or maybe a lich will come to tickle us. We don''t know yet. There isn''t enough able-bodied folks to fill sandbags like usual so I''m open for ideas." "Can''t the servants help?" someone asked. "There are few of them and they are mostly medical personnel, not laborers. I asked them to fortify the gates of the church but that won''t stop a determined attack." "The river on the west side of the town only got a narrow bridge and the water''s deep." "How deep are we talking?" "Deep enough to fish." This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. "Would that be enough?" "Merghols can''t swim," Everard explained. All eyes centered on him, which made him a little nervous. "They''re too dense," he continued. "If we make sure all the boats are on our side¡­" "Good call. Squad one will do that upstream and downstream for a mile as soon as the briefing is over. Split in two groups. Alright. So the bridge is a defensible point." "Yes and it covers the place well. We don''t have the time to build real fortifications unless we use spells," "I''d rather save my mana," Gaelle interrupted. "You don''t have to remind me of protocol," Lafayette retorted. "As I was about to say, the cottages all have stone walls around them. Squad two, find a place to deploy your machine gun crew, then switch to other sites. Alright, it''s very unlikely that the foe will come from the north according to intel, but if they do, we''ll face them at the church. The north side has plenty of murder holes and the view is clear for half a mile. South side?" "The mill," someone said. "Good call, let''s go there, have a look." Everard sighed and followed. It was going to be a long afternoon. *** The Red Cabal team worked hard to prepare as best as they could, creating spikes to slow down the hounds though they did not know yet where the creatures would be coming from. Hiding spots were selected around the village including fallback positions. The town doctor and two nurses volunteered to bring the wounded to safety, which was a relief. Squad one returned and confirmed that the lich folks wouldn''t get through the river except by swimming. Everyone had finally settled down for a quick meal when the news came. A squad two mage raced to Lafayette, pale. "Sir. Multiple incursions across the board." The Red Cabal combatants gathered in a loose circle around the messenger. "Spit it out then," Lafayette ordered. "At least six gates, multiple liches including a single numbered specimen. Everyone is mobilizing but¡­ we have low priority. Scouts report our opponents are few. There could still be a lich with them. "How many is few?" "Thirty plus the beasts." Everard could tell Lafayette wanted to swear, but the man kept in control of his emotions by some miracle. The same could not be said about the rest of the team. "Goddamn." "Simmer down, folks. Which side?" "West, sir." "Well. At least it''s the more defensible one. Squad one mages, go to the edge of town and prepare a becalming ritual, gotta stop that lich from sucking us dry like a soda bottle. The rest of squad one will support the machine gun crew. Squad three will take point with Amaruq near the bridge. Wakowski?" "I''ll set the explosives, sir. I have time to prepare some mines on the other side, catch a few without destroying the bridge. Two phases." "Do it then. Everyone finish eating first. This might be a long night." *** The minutes ticked away with the annoying slowness that came with nerves, as if time was stretching now, only to accelerate when the action would come. That way, Everard had all the time in the world to marinate in the juice of his fear so he would be well drenched by the time the lich came to roast him. Fantastic. Hurry up and wait was the name of the game. He sighed and checked his powder charge for the thirty-seventh time. It was still within arm''s reach. It was still safe and secure. It would be his first time using explosives in battle now that he''d passed the accreditation. Amaruq turned and growled. Her eyes reflected the late afternoon night. "Cease." "Sorry, nervous." "I could not smell an army over the stink of your anxiety." "Sorry," he replied with more bite than usual, "nervous." Amaruq huffed, her exotic traits hard to read for Everard. She''d mention her people were called Inuit that didn''t mean jack to him. He just wished she''d have a less sensitive nose. "Good," the she-wolf said, "afraid you''d lose your spine." "I''ll show you my spine." "Please don''t. It serves well where it is." A few men on the line smiled. Everard took solace in the fact that, at least, he had not failed to amuse. Squad three, of which he was part, waited by the edge of the bridge. It was long and made of stone, another curious choice in a country that heavily favored wood. The river flowed lazily under its two arches. In front of them, the path led to a deep thicket of oaks and other deciduous trees, some of their leaves starting to turn yellow. No one would see squat until the enemy were almost upon them, nullifying some of the advantage their weapons provided. The machine gun waited in its nest a little back and up to Everard''s right along as well as a strong fire team of mages and riflemen. Squad two stretched to his left along a stone wall. A cottage and a shed anchored the formation on either side. They had been shut tight to avoid flanking but Everard could not stop but thinking those were all flimsy barriers against an old and malevolent enemy. More importantly, he wondered about the escalation. Five liches at once? That was unprecedented. The White Cabal scholars said that there used to be over seventy of the things during the first incursion, but that number had dropped after they took losses. Since then, the life forces of the captives might have been used to create more. And the dead ones were on the weaker end of the spectrum as well. And even the weak ones were terrifying. If one of them was here¡­ He shivered. By his side, Amaruq sniffed the air. Everard half expected a jab but it never came. The wolf stood. "I smell something." A mage from squad one removed an enchanted stick from his pocket. Everyone watched the small enchanted contraption in silence. The man held it between two delicate fingers. It snapped. "Ward breach." "Lock and load. Stay put until the beasts charge," Lafayette ordered. Everard chambered the first round in his pistol. Damn. He didn''t feel ready. Would have to, though. "Changing," Amaruq warned. The men averted her eyes as she quickly disrobed. There were grunts of pain and cracks, but soon a hybrid monster crawled by their side, ready. Silence fell over the forest. They waited. And waited. Everard''s breath steadied. Any second now. Any second. Now. A wave of purple flesh raced across the path, trampling the overgrowth. Tentacle maws of solid bodies covered the grass. The machine gun opened immediately, punching holes in the thick wall of muscle as it approached. Mass fire was useless against the hounds. They had no morale, only hunger. Everard lined up a creature and shot, probably missing but it didn''t matter. There was not enough space to miss. "Arm!" Lafayette screamed over the din of gunfire. "Detonate!" Wakowski did¡­ something, and the far side of the shore exploded. Everard barely ducked, then he was firing again. He could not care because the hounds didn''t. One by one, the surviving beasts were falling to the hail of bullets. No one was dumb enough to use spells on them. Eventually, people had to reload and the first wounded hound impaled itself on a nearby spike. Everard shot its brain out, but it was replaced by another. Amaruq jumped into the fray. She was a whirlwind of claws, shredding and tossing the beasts like toys. Evererard lined up and shot more. His job now was to protect her flank. A werewolf could move faster than he could react, so squad members were trained to shoot where she would reasonably not be. Like that, Amaruq broke the tide and left them unscathed, but now they had more problems. A stone landed near Everard''s hand with a dull thud. "Invaders!" The metal clad servants of the liches had used the confusion to approach them from the other shore, forming a line parallel to their own. They had learnt as well that range was king now, and so the skeletons had granted their servants slings. Bastards were pretty good with them. The only saving grace was that none of them had dared to put some of their strange magic on the stones. Everard wasn''t sure if they were simply too unimaginative or if the liches disliked the idea of mass producing explosives for their slaves. Using the cover of a shield wall, the more daring servants were trying to cross the bridge. "Switching to armor-piercing!" someone on the machine gun crew yelled. The weapon fell silent for a few seconds, eliciting a cheer from their foe, but it did not last. The return fire was terrible and mowed down the attackers. At the same time, the mages, who had been quiet so far, unleashed their own spells. Everard held back. He had one job. The servants were starting to fall. Someone cried in pain on his side, then another got hit on the helmet and lost consciousness, but most of the squad was still intact. "It''s just a broken arm, I can still fight!" a woman yelled from his side. "Why do you all have to be such hard cases," the doctor replied. Everard didn''t care. He was still waiting for one thing. Ah, there it was. A servant officer took out one of the transparent orbs and approached, again under the cover of shields. Some of his men died but the gunners soon stopped, shaking their heads. Even far away, the orb''s fascinating aura was strong. The Red Cabal fighters averted their gazes. Amaruq turned and hid. She growled. "Yes yes," Everard said. "Just a little closer." He felt the orb come closer, its draw gaining in intensity. The return fire from the Red Cabal was only a shadow of what it was a minute earlier. They came in range. Everard never really had a knack for fire and all the showy stuff. It was fancy lights, powerful to be sure, just not his taste. He preferred his magic to be a little more¡­ tactile. "Pull." The servant officer lurched forward and fell, his armored hands slipping on the orb. The precious artifacts flew through the air under the consternated gaze of the opposition. Tough luck for them. It was Everard''s now. The orb almost reached his side, then it abruptly stopped. "Everard?" Lafayette asked. "I''m trying! Something''s wrong!" A voice erupted from the forest, a hissing tirade that set the Cabal fighters'' teeth on edge. Everard felt his face freeze into a scowl of despair and there was nothing he could do to push away the dread, nothing at all. The screeches, the cowering servants, all of this could only mean one thing. A lich was here. They were all dead. The Red Cabal had confronted liches before. So had the White Cabal and the army. If no vampires were present, the result was always the same. People died, a lot of them. Sometimes, there were no survivors. Entire villages depopulated, entire squads gone, prisoners or sacrificed, their lives harvested. Even flying ships were at risk. They were that deadly. This one was almost naked except for a thick mass of bands covering its waist. Some of the liches were mummified and still kept a modicum of flesh, but not this one. Horns of some long dead beast surged from its temples while its knuckles gripped a staff like a shepherd hook. From his boney ribs hung a necklace with three small orbs brimming with life force. It pointed at Wakowski and ignited the explosives the man was carrying. Everard was thrown to the ground. A piece of ear landed on the earth in front of him. He wanted to retch. A sensation of oppression added to his dismay. The first squad had becalmed reality. Casting spells would be harder now, but at least the lich could not simply absorb their lifeforce with a wave of its will. It wouldn''t save them though. The lich forcefully levitated Amaruq, slowly bringing her to the end of its staff which started to glow an ominous green. Everard tried to fight it. He didn''t know what else to do. He was losing, but the lich still turned to him, bullets and spells pinging off a magical shell. Gaelle stood in front of Everard and cast a powerful shield. "Just keep doing what you''re doing. It doesn''t like ¡ª" Gaelle stopped mid sentence to clutch her gut. She moaned, then collapsed. The lich had skewered her with a spell. It flicked a finger. Fire balls erupted on the house, the shed, the machine gun nest. The two crewmen went up like torches. Everard''s lungs burnt from the smoke. A ball aimed for him. This time, there were no shields. The ball winked out. Amaruq fell, changing back to her vulnerable human form. Everard rushed forward to bring her to cover. Someone was pushing the lich back. Spells landed on its shield, large ones, heavy ones that seemed to warp the word. It was Merritt, decked in an old battle robe and wielding an old-fashioned staff. She was fighting through the magic-inhibiting effect and holding back the skeleton. "Evacuate the wounded," she ordered. "Leave the village. We''ll hold them back as long as we can. Everard helped the doctor and the survivors of squad two put the wounded on stretchers. Amaruq would probably make it. Gaelle would too, if the doctor could get time. Others had never stood a chance - like Kowalski. Lafayette coordinated their efforts while behind them, the retired archmage was fighting an impossible battle. She did last for a while, with quick exchange of powerful spells and a generous use of disruptions. Merritt was an amazing pyromancer. It was just¡­ not enough. It would never have been enough. The lich cast without pause, finding chinks in her defenses. It was only a matter of time before a spell sent her reeling on the ground. Merritt moved painfully to her knees, then climbed back up with dignity, defeated yet unconquered. "You wield powerful and cruel weapons, but I will still face you without fear, because I am not alone," she claimed loudly, and her voice cut through Everard''s stupor. "ALL OF YOU ARE ALONE." "...And also because night has fallen." The skeleton oriented its face west, towards where the setting sun had disappeared behind the hills. Enough light came from the burning village that even Everards had not seen it happen. It had, however, and now a ponderous step echoed through the mostly silent street, both sides silent on their respective shore. A titan in black strode from a bend in the road with heavy steps. He wielded a tower shield covered in runes and a hammer of such massive proportions it could have come from the hand of Vulcan himself. A helmet covered his face, but there was no need for Everard to see him to recognize him. Only one of their regular allies fit that description. John Doe. They had a vampire on their side. "THE FREAK WILL NOT SAVE YOU!" the skeleton screeched. For the first time, Everard thought he saw hesitation in the boney rictus. The lich sent a plume of flame after the vampire. Doe dodged with easy elegance, disproving the legend that vampires feared fire most of all. Another spell followed, much faster this time. Homing red arrows tracked the titan as he stepped aside. Cold blue inscriptions ignited on the shield and the incendiary spell died on its dark surface. The skeleton conjured lightning in its hand. It hit the shield and dispersed on the ground, where the protection had been set. The enemy mage suddenly veered away, moving back a good few yards in a terrible noise like a gong. Cracks appeared on its transparent shield. The vampire lifted his hand to recall his hammer, the thrown weapon landing a moment later. A deadly dance started. The vampire dodged or countered most spells thrown at it. Waves of power were blocked and resisted square on. He tiptoed around earth changes, ignoring spikes and crushing others under steel boots. Lightning and fire dispersed on the surface of the shield with little effect. Strange black energy and ice were completely ignored. Meanwhile, the titan kept pummeling his opponent with careful throws of his hammer. Annoyed, the skeleton screamed orders at its minions. Stones started to fall on the improvised fortifications again. The human defenders had been content to take a break until now, especially because they had not stayed idle. They had reloaded. "Alright fellers, give those beasts hell!" Lafayette shouted. With a roar, the earth defenders fought back with prejudice. The thunder of gunfire soon covered the deadly exchange occurring above and behind them, but Everard could not ignore the fight. He was having an epiphany. Doe was moving before the skeleton could cast. His movements were too identical, too perfectly efficient. He was clearly anticipating the spells'' effects and adapting accordingly. Unfortunately, the lich came to the same conclusion. "YOU ARE LIKE AN AUTOMATON, FREAK." Hr grabbed an orb hanging around his neck. Power filled its gaunt frame. A torrent of hexes flew towards Doe, many of which bore strange colors. Doe reacted immediately, dodging at great speed. Everard found it impressive that the man had prepared himself to act when caught off guard. Some spells turned to liquid and hissed as they burned through stone and grass alike. Another petrified a tree. A third rotted a shutter, causing it to fall in black, moldy fragments. Doe intercepted a fast, black bolt on the shield and gasped in pain. He fell to the ground. The skeleton hissed in triumph. A red bolt followed, but Doe was already back up and he stopped that one without issue. "SURRENDER YOUR SECRETS, FREAK" the lich said. It waved its staff around and Doe''s shield was seemingly caught, the heavy piece of equipment dragged across the ground, Doe, too, was pulled, though he left deep furrows in the mud. Everard expected him to let go of the possession. Instead, Doe seemed to fall on himself, crouching on the ground. Everard heard a small cry, a ''Ho!" of effort. Suddenly, Doe was much farther away, standing again. The skeleton''s staff went flying through the air and away from its grip. "Enough!" The lich removed a second orb. It stretched its hand over its head and called a giant orb of scarlet energy. The orb sent spear after spear at the vampire. "YOU HAVE FAILED, FREAK. I WILL KILL YOUR SLAVES WHILE YOU WATCH." "They are my charges, not slaves, and you will do no such things." Everard felt a chill down his spine, partly at how calm Doe was, partly because a cruel fighter would have used this opportunity to kill a few of the Red Cabal squad to make a point. Fortunately, the skeleton''s full attention was on the vampire. Perhaps the red orb was too difficult to control. It was certainly efficient. A cry of alarm forced his attention forward. A mana hound was closing in. Everard helped shoot it dead and reloaded, but then his attention returned to the duel that would decide all their fates. It was not going well, and it did not take long to see why. The tower shield''s defenses were running out of energy, winking out one by one. Cruel spears of energy clanged against the armor, some of them drawing black blood. The titan was bleeding, and the bloody sun of the lich''s spell showed no signs of weakening. Everard wondered if he should try to distract the lich, knowing fully well that it would cost him his life. "No," a voice came from his side, and he realized Alexandria Merritt was sitting by his side. "Observe." "YOU BLEED, FREAK. I WILL BE REWARDED FOR SUCH A GOOD HARVEST." "You will not. I will stop you, because she ordered it." "YOUR WISHFUL THINKING DELIGHTS ME, FREAK" Despite his many wounds, the titan kept dodging with calm. None of them were critical, Everard realized, and the more time passed and the more efficiently he dodged. He was learning. No, more than that. He was going faster. A strange hum like a distant whisper rang at the edge of Everard''s perception. It was merely a whisper and yet there was something accumulating here, a crescendo in the song of battle. Everard felt it come just as his strength returned. He realized he had one good spell left in him. And he had an idea. He just needed one good opening. The vampire would provide it. Somehow, he believed. "There is no wishful thinking. She willed it, therefore it will be done. I will make it happen." "YOU WILL DIE." "No one can stop me. Not you, not the lords, not her sire. Not even the sun. I will make it happen. It will be done." The vampire dug in the earth with its gauntlet and threw a rock that intercepted a bolt mid-flight. Both exploded in a shower of incandescent stone. "No matter what, it will be done. I am John Doe. YOU CANNOT STOP ME." The dance reached its paroxysm. The vampire''s eyes flashed violet and all the latent power accumulating around him from¡­ somewhere, coalesced in its titanic frame. The energy filled him and cut him from outside at the same time. He stood, and he was whole. The lich shrieked. Doe smashed his blood-covered gauntlet on the tower shield, which flashed to life with blazing intensity. The runes shone the deep blue of primordial ice. It pushed the projectiles away with ease. Doe roared and sprinted forward, unstoppable. "Get ready," Merritt said. She had guessed Everard''s intention. The skeleton moved backward, the red orb spitting energy as fast as it could. Doe was barrelling towards it like a locomotive at full speed. A dreadful crack echoed through the valley when the overcharged pavise smashed into the lich''s defense. They both exploded. Doe was thrown aside, though he recovered instantly. As for the mage, he reached for the last of three colorful spheres. Everard knew this was his moment, the defining chapter of his life. Magic flowed through his veins and his mind when he extended his fingers, grasping at it. The orb slipped from the lich''s grasping claw with casual ease. Never had Everard felt so focused, so certain of his success. It was like watching a recording of him accomplishing the task. The creature let out an ear-splitting screech. Its defenses were stripped. "Oh it''s my turn," Merritt said. "Infernal gaze." Everard''s world went very, very hot. He saw two bands of black crossed by a thinner band of red. It took a moment for his brain to register what was happening. Merritt was wielding a beam of the densest fire mana Everard had ever seen, and it stuck to the lich even as it tried to escape. The focused spell lasted only for a couple of seconds, but each one felt as long as a small eternity. When the spell faded, there was nothing left of the lich but ashes and scorched bone fragments. "And I believe this makes me the first archmage to kill a lich. Kindly wake me up for the ceremony," Merritt calmly concluded. Then she collapsed face first into the nearest barricade. *** Amaruq grabbed the next corpse and fought the urge to growl. Stinky. Wrong. Hopefully the pyre would cleanse¡­ She scowled when she realized that this one did not show the massive throat damage the others shared. Lich servants all bore a death mark that would nearly decapitate them if their master fell. And yet this one¡­ Amaruq placed her finger against the invader''s throat and felt the pulse her ears had detected. She poked the body. The male winced, then he moaned. That was¡­ good? Probably? It was most likely good. The cold ones would make him sing like a southern bird. "Fellows? We got a live one." Chapter 210 - 204. Servant Hunting Sinead mentioned that fae nobility cultivates bloodlines. I suspect their version is to mine as fine horticulture is to shoveling pig shit on a cabbage field. Eighteen years ago, I picked up Nathalie, daughter of Annie and Alexander Bingle from an inn. I saved her from a rogue attack, then offered her my protection and three thousand dollars for her child. I thought the matter settled but I was wrong. Nathalie''s caretakers gave up on controlling their charge shortly before birth and informed me of it. I did not blame them. They were to help the girl with the pregnancy, not control a drug fiend. It would have taken restraints to stop Nathalie Bingle from the ephemeral pleasures of artificial paradises. Her daughter Constance was born premature and addicted to opiates. I considered killing Nathalie after the birth, but I realized with some pain that staying clean had never been part of our deal. Basic self-respect was never a term of our agreement. So I did pay her three thousand dollars, then sent her on her way, knowing exactly how she would spend the money, knowing that she would be turning tricks again as soon as her body recovered enough, and the money ran out. I remember carrying that bundle of cloth back to Marquette on Metis'' back. I still do not know why her mother named Constance after that particular quality. Was it because she had perverted it to its utmost, showing no signs of remorse in her pursuit of easy gratification? Was it a cruel joke? Or did she still harbor some hope that her child would do better? Sometimes, I think Nathalie could have gotten rid of her pregnancy if she had really wanted to. It would have been easy for someone of her mental talents to find help. A controlled healer mage could have done so safely. I find it hard to identify motives with lost souls like her. Their minds are fleeting. Their essence tastes wan and never fully sate, the last drop feeling more dreamt than truly consumed. They have a tendency to flee ever forward as well. I kept an agent on Nathalie after that and focused my attention on Constance. I think Nathalie noticed, but she did not care. I am now sure Constance is the one. Fate has been playing tricks with all of us. Sinead ravished Louisa Watson and they had a son, a mage. Alexandria Merritt had a child, Lynn, an enchantress. Those two had Annie together before separating. Annie left home and met Alexander Bingle. The two made Nathalie together. Nathalie Charmed and raped Arthur Reynaud, one of my grand-nephews visiting Marquette to greet me. There must be some cosmic joke at play. A fae prince, a vampire, a godling, and an archmage walk into a bar¡­ Constance carries the memory of many of those important people who crossed my path. She does not know it yet. In a way, this is not fair to her. In another way, I have kept my intervention to a minimum. I did not even take part in her education. The time when I could help with Ollie and Lynn is long gone now that my travels carry me all over North America. Leave for a measly two years and when you return, the children you knew are entirely different persons. It can make for a frustrating experience. As such, I have left Constance''s education to the city''s well-funded orphanage. I made concessions so that it would be the best institution possible with mindful and kind caretakers. Specifically, I opened the positions to nuns and other religious figures despite my misgivings. Satisfied, I let her grow at her own pace. It is now 1903. Constance is eighteen. The time has come for her to travel as part of a Red Cabal team of mages for a practical exam. This leads me to today, sitting in my office with a note on my desk informing me that Constance and three of her classmates will visit the city of Indianapolis for their training mission. A cold shadow grasps my heart. Oh, misery, oh why? Here, at the heart of my power, my Dvor essence multiplies the acuity of my intuition, and I know with absolute certainty that I must go there and chaperone the group, so that my desire be done. Oh, tragedy, for I dislike Indianapolis. It is a dreary place with nothing that interests me. It is a logistical center for transportation from not-Indianapolis to not-Indianapolis, with both endpoints bound to be infinitely more attractive than Indianapolis. Oh, who am I kidding? I dread it because it is the world''s third largest pork packing city. Incidentally, Melusine directed enough funds and made full use of Chicago''s prime location to turn the city into the world''s pork packing capital. That degenerate. That swine-herding fiend. That absolute hag, the hog-born daughter of Circe. I should have spiked her when I had the chance. But at least, with no Bingle-blooded child in her domain, I can fully enjoy the opera season with no fear of porcine pyrotechnics. Indianapolis will be different. Oh woe is me, and that terrible curse. Why can I not get the gift of prophecy without being believed like a normal cursed lady? Why must it be pigs? Desperate, I ring my bell. "I will need a two weeks traveling arrangement to Indianapolis, please. It is a neutral territory. I will also need the Accords and Rosenthal information package on the city and its surroundings, supernatural population, risk assessment, and politics." "I will have it prepared," Maybelle says. "Will you need an escort?" "One elite squad, full gear. They will take the wagon to the city''s outskirts as soon as they are ready. I will be traveling by train and taking residence at the city''s best hotel. Find whichever it is and make a reservation." "I will telephone them immediately." "And the automobile. Have the automobile go with the wagon," I say. "I will use it to move around town." S§×arch* The N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Very well, I shall notify your chauffeur." I grumble in my heart but let it go. A decade ago, after a few¡­ mishaps¡­ I faced my first ever mutiny, and had to concede to my humans that I would not drive myself barring extenuating circumstances, such as being shot at. It is a thoroughly unfair situation. Sadly, I only have myself to blame. With the logistics arranged, the time has come to delegate most of my duties. I suspect this little escapade will tie me up for a couple of weeks. *** I take my quarters in the better part of the city, next to Monument Circle with its tall pillar upon which a goddess of victory stands, celebrating the nation''s soldiers and sailors. The Grand Hotel is nice enough, I suppose, with cream colored stone under dark gray tiles that remind me of Paris'' Hausmannian houses. Unfortunately, many of the surrounding buildings share our country''s ubiquitous disdain for decoration. Those are functional, plain brick constructs that only accept adornments if those serve the pursuit of profit. The closest one advertises a popular brand of soap. Arguably, the local population certainly needs more cleaning and quite likely less drinking. The epidemic of alcoholism that struck the general population ¡ª and that I have managed to keep mostly at bay in Marquette ¡ª is in full swing here. I prepare Constance''s arrival by reading the files delivered to me. It so happens that Indianapolis has a more diverse population than I expected. It appears that its relative isolation relative to the supernatural power structure has turned it into a haven of sorts. First, we have the Silversmiths, a powerful local family with an interest in trade and shadow-based magic. An interesting bunch. Local power, not too expansionist, moderate illegal activities. I do not expect much trouble from them as the Rosenthal report qualifies them as pragmatic and the cost to benefit ratio of annoying the Hand is well known across the continent. The second major group consists of members of the local black population. There are many mages forming a loose community, the result of years of underground railroad activity. Mages always had a higher chance of escaping, even untrained ones. By contrast, the white population has few mages and they all live hidden, like the Silversmiths. Such a distinction by ethnicity is not uncommon. There are no vampires present here, not even transients. At least in theory. We have no need to keep the Accords apprised of our movements. In fact, vampires are notoriously hard to control when it comes to travel, making any such attempt doomed from the start. The only exception remains moving on another vampire''s territory, because we dislike intruders even more than we dislike shackles. In any case, Indianapolis is indeed neutral territory, for now. The last group is composed of werewolves. I put down my coffee to read this passage again, then compare it to the similar entry in the Red Cabal information package, confirming what I, at first, found hard to believe. There are isolated werewolves here, living in a sort of commune and working in the meatpacking industry. They seem to be mostly outsiders, capable of handling their curses by themselves. The reports speak of a man named Quill who helps shelter his brethren. As for why they would not prefer the safety of Jeffrey''s pack, I have no idea. It could be that they do not trust large groups, or perhaps they prefer to be alone. Werewolf communities tend to be¡­ overwhelming at times. What with the public nudity. And the smell. By the Watcher, the smell. Ahem. My inspection is done and after taking a few notes, I send my escort team led by Lafayette to reconnoiter the surroundings, asking them to keep to their civilian clothes. There is no need to alert the locals about my arrival quite so soon, though they will undoubtedly learn of it in time. I have my automobile drive me along the central canal and visit the city market before returning to my room to fortify it. This is a public place, the perfect location to have me assassinated. I therefore ward the room to the utmost before using a spell to open a hole in the brick wall where I encase my sarcophagus. The room itself will act as a decoy. With my defenses now at an acceptable level, I prepare to slumber for the day. *** "Target has entered the building," Lafayette says. I recline back in my seat at the Grand Hotel and resist the urge to order a coffee, which will be as terrible as the previous two. The large silvery mirror in front of me lacks color, but the details are quite realistic. It is the only way by which I can follow the progress of my would-be protege, given the human proclivity to work during the day. Oh, well. The short squad leader angles the mirror to show me the entrance to an innocuous brick building at the periphery of town. This is a useless shot that shows me exactly nothing, but mortals who relay images with my small, magical camera always feel the need to point it at the most inane things. I tap the control panel to switch to the other camera''s point of view, this one held by the woman in charge of overseeing Constance''s squad''s mission. She is a teacher by the name of Schindler, reliable but otherwise unremarkable. Her camera is held in a breast pocket, and comes with a much worse quality. The silvery image pans on the four sitting figures of my protege and her classmates. They stand at a steel table placed on the open space at the center of the building. I match every person to their file. The first is Constance herself. Constance Snow, named after another name for orphans of unknown origin. She has dark hair and Sinead''s strangely amber eyes. The file speaks of an extraordinary ability in ice and mental magic, but a stubborn personality and a lack of respect for authority. She has suffered from isolation in her early years on account of a powerful yet unchecked ability, though her isolation stopped with the help of her best friend, a member of her squad. As I watch, Constance turns her head. She looks nothing like Sinead or my brother, though that would have been a shocking development. I do recognize some fae traits on her elfin, delicate face, though any sign of softness or vulnerability has hidden behind a slightly pointy chin and a gaze full of youthful confidence. Constance is rather tall for a woman, though she would not stand out in a crowd. By comparison, her companion is rather short. Cute and dainty, Mille Willis would reach my shoulder with a proper posture and some good heels. She has little offensive potential to speak of, but managed to pass the defense test by virtue of a wild ability to detect the presence of others at a range. She escaped the instructors without having to repel them in combat, thus passing the test. The file notes that she is Constance''s only friend, having been protected by her from bullies. She is the carrot to Constance''s stick and the charm to Constance''s blunt approach to honesty. The two work together well, or so they claim. The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there. She looks like a waif, one rude word away from bursting into tears, and her baby face destroys any credibility the group may have at this table. But I digress. The third member of this group is a young man wearing thick glasses, clammy, and so thin he might have tuberculosis. The file calls him Jacob Van Graff. He is described as an able kinetic mage equally competent at throwing wards and people. The file also says he barely passed the physical aspect of the test on a second try and with the stellar grade of D-. Truly, a paragon of martial prowess. I would give him the raw physical might of the wet sponge with which he shares his complexion. Between the scars and the pimples, I would be too scared of slapping him and risk having to peel off the pus. I would also add that he has the charisma of a dead skunk and the confidence of a freshly castrated squirrel. But none of this matters, compared to the last member of the team, the one on whom most gazes have fallen, the dominant male figure of this gathering. Aramis Boone. Named after one of Dumas'' musketeers, the handsome young lad stands with a straight back and all the propriety his young age can command. Wavy black hair falls over a handsome, virile face full of brooding confidence. Top marks everywhere. A fire mage, according to his file. He and Constance should in theory struggle to match each other''s style and yet they work together like a house on fire which would quickly get frozen. As the screen in front of me pans to the left to show the local mages standing behind their representatives, a fleeting concern crosses my mind. Those look like the main character with her sidekick, the love interest, and his sidekick. As soon as I think that I chastise myself for this irrational fear. Constance is no Bingle. She does not even share her last name. But what if¡­ Alexander came to recognize her and she adopted their name? No. No no no. I must cast away those fears. I am not being rational. All will be well. I shake my head and return my attention to the squad''s vis-a-vis. Interestingly, both the instructor on the Red Cabal side and an old man on the local mages side have taken opposite seats at the heads of the table, while the squad and local negotiators face each other four for four. Only two of them seem confident, however: a mature, handsome man with ritual scarring under his eyes and a bald, younger woman with a high forehead, her scalp covered in colorful tattoos. They are richly dressed in traditional clothes of unknown origin, though I can tell from the eclectic styles and vastly different traits that each of them belongs to a different ethnic group. The instructor and the old man start the discussion by introducing each other and their charges, and I come to suspect that the Red Cabal is not the only group training members for new duties. The local firmly expresses his desire for deeper cooperation between the two entities while the instructor mentions the necessity to adhere to a common code of conduct and the proper exchange of information. The Red Cabal heavily relies on informants to identify its targets, after all. She finishes by saying the Red Cabal brought knowledge on wards, freely given as a gesture of goodwill. I find it interesting that the instructor and the old man would present this as a negotiation. I know that, traditionally, an envoy would leave the package with the local authorities then wait for them to deliberate. By presenting the situation as a confrontation, they create tension that has no need to exist. Even using a round table or an informal setting rather than an exposed spot with allied mages sitting around to witness the process. I surmise they both agreed to turn this into a training event, since even a disagreement here could easily be remedied. "Why did the Red Cabal send a child to talk to us?" the bald woman asks, her voice betraying her displeasure. "I assure you," Aramis says, "that everyone present is fully qualified. We have all been trained to the Cabal''s exacting standards." Ah, they picked the handsome stud to be the speaker. Good call, good call. Some would object to a woman leading the conversation while Jacob Van Graff possesses the charisma and presence of a drowned rat. The woman waits for a second in silence, her eyes quickly drifting. Oh, what an interesting development. "How long was that?" she further asks after the tiny delay. "The Red Cabal asked us to represent it during those talks. I merely ask that you extend the same trust to us," the handsome young man replies with a pleasant smile that does not quite reach his eyes. "Hmph." The discussion resumes, with the Red Cabal trying to get the other side to accept more rules, most of them being of the nature of ''please do not desecrate the dead by rising temporary rotten corpse golems to send after your rivals'' and other benign requirements, while the locals attempt to get more concessions in terms of knowledge and training. I watch to see if Constance will catch up to the others'' little game. She stares like a hawk but she misses the hand signals. The gentleman will wait until the talks reach an impasse, then signal his ally who will act as an attack dog, then he will reign her in and obtain a few more concessions. Rather than opposite sides of a faction, they are in fact in cahoots. Aramis is doing well but they are working from the wrong assumption, that the woman represents a reluctant faction they need to convince of their good intentions while, in fact, she is just here to milk them for more. I shall have to train her. Hmmm. "This book is good and all, but you use western standard and nobody here has formal training in western technique. It''s practically useless!" the local woman erupts. "Who made the wards near the entrance?" Constance asks, talking for the first time. The question takes the two locals off guard. "I did," a man at the table says. He had been silent until now. "Then you can help with passing on the knowledge, since you are more than qualified with western standard," Constance finishes. She rests back into her seat, her eyes defiant. I admit that it was a good ''gotcha'' moment and serves to destabilize the opposition. After that, Aramis is much more unwilling to agree to anything. The other side perceives the change and stops. To my endless surprise, the negotiation concludes with both sides pleased with their results. The local mage immediately turns the occasion into a party with songs in several different languages. One of the guests makes a significant effort to get everyone drunk on ti''punch, which he calls ''tea ponsh'', a mix of rhum, cane syrup, and lime. So, everything has gone well? It cannot be; my instincts never lie. I keep an eye on the party as it enfolds. The instructor who carries my camera in her pocket shows no signs of being drunk, instead dutifully moving around to give me a good view. I spot no anomalies, no murderous outliers offended by the agreement, nothing. A quick talk with Lafayette confirms that there are no dark forces preparing to raid the celebration, only revelers coming and going in a pleasant stupor. After an hour of partying, the event winds down just as my anxiety peaks, until finally I hear words of a new development. "Mistress," Lafayette says, "someone is running in. He seems afraid." Soon, the instructor''s camera shows a harried lad rushing towards the corner where the negotiators have retreated. He stops, breathless. "There¡­ there''s been a murder!" Intense relief floods my soul. A murder! How quaint. How¡­ not immediately threatening. Perfect. I stand up from my seat, and walk, considering my options. The first thing I will need is knowledge. The night will set soon, then, I will make my moves. *** Instructor Schindler checks with me before delving into the problem. As the Cabal''s main financial backer, I have a lot of pull on the organization provided I do not go against its core beliefs. I immediately agree to her request. What must happen, shall happen. I am merely here to limit the damage while allowing the young ones to grow. Let them solve this mystery. Perhaps it will be the crucible that forms them into a respected squad. Perhaps I shall end this little trip with a Servant candidate. Perhaps they will break. I do not know. In any case, the Red Cabal contacts the mayor to offer their services. Technically, the Red Cabal is a respected mercenary company that deals with supernatural threats, mostly lich incursions, giant beasts, and rogue mages or werewolves. The Supernatural Task Force enforces order in the civilian population, solving crimes committed with unnatural means. They would be better suited to solving this issue, were it not for politics. Right now, two inhabitants of Indianapolis in five are not members of the white race. As American ethnic relations reach a nadir, a powerful reaction against all that is other has shaken many cities including this one. The establishment of an STF bureau was thoroughly refused and the mayor''s office took the decision not to host ''those people'' firmly, a decision confirmed by vote and enshrined by directives. As such, the murder of Ichabod Silversmith caught mundane law enforcement off guard, mostly because poor Ichabod was found savagely dismembered. Lafayette reports that the body was recovered in several small bags. I have my escort keep a close look on the squad and manage to eavesdrop on the meeting that follows. The mayor, a tall, rotund man with a vicious gaze, allows Miss Schindler to investigate, though I can see the condescension and disbelief clear through the mirror. He considers her an expandable resource, a scapegoat to feed the papers if she fails. The chief of police who attends the meeting offers his most strenuous objection, to stay polite. He is overruled. I catch a few comments after Schindler leaves, mostly disparaging ones. Now let us see how the young ones solve a murder. *** Before his mangled demise, Ichabod SIlversmith used to live in a small cottage at the edge of town surrounded by rows of similar houses separated by high walls. Trees, clad in their fall garment, provide a fiery curtain to protect each''s dweller intimacy. Or at least, I would like to imagine the leaves are yellow. The silver of the mirror gets dull at times. I shall have to find a way to get colors to work. The squad of younglings approaches, Schindler wisely decides to let Aramis take the lead. Despite his youth, he has countenance to be taken seriously while an older woman may not. Her role is more to oversee and protect, in any case. The squad first heads to the crime scene, which happens to be a shed belonging to the victim. Although the silvery image I see lacks color, I notice quite a few spots on the leaf-strewn lawn at the back of the victim''s house. Their origin is quickly elucidated. "Wah, it looks like someone here has been violently and repeatedly sick," Jacob says, once more demonstrating his suave charm. The officer guarding the shed frowns mightily. "You''d be sick too if you''d seen what was left, boy," he grumbles. "And what are you clowns doing here anyway? Magickers ain''t welcome in this town." "We have an authorization to conduct an investigation signed by the mayor himself," Aramis says with a deep voice. "We would like your assistance in bringing the murderer to justice." The police officer spits on the ground ¡ª which taints the scene for werewolf hunters, but I digress ¡ª before grabbing the signed sheet none too gently. "Hmph. Looks genuine, I guess. Knock yourselves out." Schindler conducts an impromptu exercise by letting her wards inspect the scene, then hearing their report. Unfortunately, the lack of colors and relative darkness inside the shed play hell with the camera''s controls, so I have to rely on their testimonies to understand the scene. "The lock was closed, but it was forced by something supernatural," Millie says. "How can you tell?" Schindler asks. "The metal is broken and twisted, and it was done with great strength. There were wards traced here and there but the power broke them. A crowbar would not have sufficed." "Anything else?" "The damage was done with claws," Jacob says, "though we will need to see the cadaver to be certain." "Given the amount of blood and¡­ remaining viscerae, it appears to be the work of a werewolf," Aramis adds. "In the city?" Schindler challenges without bite. "Indianapolis has a population of city-dwelling outsiders. They certainly have the means and level of control required to take out someone like that, even if the target is a mage," Aramis whispers so the officer outside does not hear him. "We should¡­ talk to them. Or their leader, at least." "We will do that after we have more concrete evidence," Schindler says. "You know werewolves." "They can be quick to anger, yes." On a secondary mirror, I hear Lafayette''s werewolf growl. Case in point. "Was there something else?" the instructor asks. The camera pans on Constance as she taps the ground with a wand, focused. She bites her lower lip. "Ichabod Silversmith knew the killer was coming. The attacker may have let him know to toy with him. It was either personal or to send a message because nothing was taken. You can see it from the blood pattern." "It could have been taken before he was killed?" Millie objects, but Constance shakes her head. "No. Look at this track here, near the lock. The victim started to bleed immediately when the ward was breached. The pattern is uninterrupted, here and there." "How do you know he saw his end come?" Schindler asked, suddenly more serious. "Because no one locks themselves in their tool shed." Ah, good catch. There could be other reasons, of course, but they are less likely. The others nod. After that, the squad decides to ask the attending officer if neighbors heard anything and get told to fuck off. Constance manages to sway him by speaking of duty and the importance of getting this menace taken down. And also a generous dose of mind influence, I suspect. Nevertheless, the neighbors heard nothing and the attack happened at night. It does not mean much. The squad leaves to see the body in the local morgue. I can tell from Millie and Jacob''s violent retches that the corpse is in as bad a situation as expected, and when the camera focuses on the pile of meat resting on a gurney, I cannot quite make head nor tail of what I am watching. Mostly because I cannot find said head. I will have to visit in person. "Multiple¡­" Schindler says before taking a few shallow breaths, "Multiple lacerations. Oh God." "Here, let me cool the air," Constance says. I wait until the group''s breath eases. "Much better. Now it does not smell quite so strongly," she comments. "Now, where to begin?" Aramis puts on gloves, then lifts a mangled arm for all to see. "Definitely no tools were used to cut that, not even a rusty blade. Our victim was killed with natural weapons, making the theory of a murderous werewolf likely." Not to be outdone, Constance grabs a rib pointing out of Ichabod''s eviscerated chest. "Absolutely, the strength needed to pull out a rib like that without a tool is monstrous. Even with appropriate tools, it would have taken a determined human too much time to inflict that sort of damage." There follows a strange game where the two companions attempt to outgross each other, pushing me to check their files again. Hmmm. They were in different classes until last year. Aramis was given the express direction to protect the girl after he arrived here from Europe with his family. He has no relationship with the Bingles. I read his family tree just to be sure. The Watcher protect us if there are two of those in the same place. It looks like they care about each other''s opinion. I do not know what to think of it. Teenage love? Pah, it matters not for now. Soon enough, the inspection is done. They did manipulate the head and found no trace of vampire bites near the neck, or what was left of it. I applaud their vigilance and watch them take their leave. "Still, I cannot get over the complete lack of bite marks. Werewolves always bite," Jacob observes. "Could it be that the werewolf did not want to leave teeth marks? I read that each is unique," Millie answers. "Can a werewolf even reach this level of control?" Aramis muses. "We can ask them in person," their instructor says. "For now, we will retire to our hotel to eat dinner and refresh ourselves. Tonight, we will impose upon the hospitality of the Silversmiths to ask them a few questions. This attack could be deliberate. Let us learn what we can." The squad nods. I let the spell fade. Immediately, I feel better. "By the Watcher, that was draining," I say to myself. Night is falling. As soon as the sun dips behind the horizon, I take a deep breath of intense relief. It is time to do some legwork. A quick call summons Lafayette and my escort back to the Grand Hotel to rest, except Amaruq, their Inuit werewolf, who will keep an eye on their wards for a little longer. "Have my automobile wait near the Silversmith residence, with my trunk" I tell my chauffeur. Now, finally, I am free to play. I race to the crime scene via rooftop, dressed in light armor. I do find the place where the attacker waited by correctly identifying claw marks. My, what an impatient little hunter they are. The crime scene stinks too much to get anything worthwhile, but the remains of Ichabod Silversmith reveal what I need to know. I find the attacker''s scent all over the corpse, then I spend half an hour criss-crossing the city until I find a matching trail. Soon, I track it down to the killer. What an intriguing culprit. And the implication of their existence is delicious. Nevertheless, I shall let my proteges prove themselves if they can by finding a solution of their own. In the meanwhile, I have an appointment with the Silversmiths to eavesdrop on. Chapter 211 - 205: Procedural The Silversmith estate stood near the center of the town. From the outside, it did not look like much, merely a brick building surrounded by high hedges. The waxing days of winter had revealed holes in that protective embrace, beyond which waited a naked, rain-stained wall. The season did Indianapolis no favors. A prudent observer would note the lush, thick curtains behind tinted windows. The entire ground floors had been reinforced with bars and the door was solid oak, newly painted. Despite its barren state, the garden showed signs of care in the empty flower patches waiting for spring and the hand of a loving gardener. A marble table sat at a corner with three ornate chairs delicately decorated with whirls of colored glass. Wealth was here, although it was hidden. Beyond the mundane, I could see no obvious flaw behind their protections. A double circle of alarms encircled the outer perimeter, one at chest height and the other above the hedges. The first floor was thoroughly reinforced around the fortified door while the upper levels were more modestly covered. All in all, rather adequate for a bunch of provincials. I watch my proteges ring the bell. A moment later, the outer gate opens to let them into the garden. They hesitate before taking the stairs up. They knock. A nifty piece of enchantment, remote activation. It always has its effects. I can feel and hear people waiting near the entrance. They detected the Red Cabal apprentices before they even approached. Now, they will make them wait. The power games have already begun. It takes a good thirty seconds for the door to finally open. They get in. My Magna Arqa cannot penetrate this place. Stronghold it might be, but this is the stronghold of a clan, and they consider it their home. I will not be able to enter without an invitation. That does not leave me without tools, however. A simple remote casting targeting their unprotected walls allows me to see inside the house with minimal interference. I find the interior of the house fascinating. It has four floors plus an attic, but only the upper one follows conventional architecture. The first to third all center around a large, central open chamber with each floor linked to every other by thin stairs. Warm electric light shines on shameless opulence. A grim majordomo leads the squad up the stairs under the condescending gaze of various clan members dressed in finery. Crystal carvings in many hues hang from balustrades or from small brass statues set on the railings. Most of them are enchanted with deadly spells. The entire place is a death trap, though not a very smart one. Aramis notices he is being watched and turns around, meeting the gaze of a beautiful brunette in a red dress showing a scandalous amount of cleavage. Those young mages grow more daring with every generation. Back in my days... No, I need to stop saying back in my days. I am far too young to fall into this trap. Besides, one day, I may wear trousers. That would be nice. A pair of young men wearing smirks and tuxedos wait near the third floor landing. They have cast a small spell force at knee level to make their guests stumble. Ah, so we have fallen off the thuggish intimidation ladder and crashed face-first into kindergarten bullying. Soon, they will start calling Constance names. Professor Schindler casually walks over the trap without a word, making the sneers fade ever so slightly. Constance does the same with an expression of confused contempt that sparks the flame of anger in the would-be hobblers. Minnie walks over with her nose up while Jacob takes careful steps, looking particularly annoyed. Aramis smashes into the trap and breaks it on impact. "Grow up," he casually drops as a parting gift. A decent show, I suppose. After that little incident, the squad follows a stuffy corridor lined with gaudy paintings of ancestors sitting besides glass-making implements, a really pretentious display considering the whole glass theme was started by their grandfather and the family was made of sailors and cheesemongers before that, according to the files. What a bunch of pretentious, gilded twits. The first true hurdle comes when the squad enters a heavily warded room, possibly a sanctum of some sort. I simply cannot pierce it from outside. I suppose I am already doing well, seeing through walls and eavesdropping on private conversation. The world should be grateful that I do not use my forbidden knowledge to spy on rugby players as they bathe! Fortunately, enough sound escapes through the unlocked door to let me follow the conversation. "Welcome to the house of the Silversmiths, Cabalites. I am Loretta and this is Douglas." Female voice, on the older side. Quite possibly the matriarch. "And to what do we owe the honor?" a male voice says with dripping sarcasm. There is an edge to that voice, one that does not come from grief. I do not hear the sound of chairs, which means the squad has not been invited to sit. A quick exchange begins under the careful arbitration of Professor Schindler, with her pupils realizing that no, they are not seen as defenders of justice and protectors but meddlesome strangers, no, people do not share their dogged pursuit for the culprit and that no, the family will not help them. "Surely you care about safety as much as everyone at least? So long as this thing is out, none of you are safe!" Minnie argues. "Our safety is our business and, as we mentioned, we do not recognize the authority of the Red Cabal or your right to come here and interrogate us," the man replies. "We are not mandated by the Red Cabal. We represent the mayor''s office in this regard. I am sure they will appreciate your assistance in this matter. Before the creature makes another victim." S~ea??h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "You have no reason to believe it will make another victim." "So you believe this is personal? " Aramis asks. "Old Ichabod? Pfft," the man scoffs. Silence fills the room for a moment. The next time the woman speaks, her tone is chilly. "Thank you, Douglas. We have no reason to believe that Ichabod was targeted in particular. It could be that the animal you are pursuing already moved on, or it could be that it is still here, around, and you are wasting your time doing police work rather than laying traps." "You know this is no normal beast," Aramis says. "No such creature could kill in the middle of the city with no one the wiser. It has to possess some measure of intellect." "Then you should ask the werewolves," the woman insists. "They do not care about Ichabod. They do not know why he was killed," Constance states decisively. Hmmm. A bit abrupt. Let us see where she is going with this. "He lived isolated on the other side of town, as far away as possible without completely leaving your sphere of influence. He lived alone. None of you went to check the crime scene or the officer or chief of police would have remarked upon it. Some families would avenge the murders of a member no matter what, but not you. He must have done something truly horrific." "You have no right to judge us," the man hisses. "Some of the activated defenses cannot be sustained for very long," Jacob observes. "You are preparing to hunker down, weather the storm and see what''s left at the end. More than half of your family watched us climb those stairs. You are bringing everyone home. Everyone who matters, in any case," Constance says. She sounds bitter to me. Her voice is harsh and her tone icy. "You''ve already left him behind." "I think you have enjoyed our hospitality for long enough," the woman replies with equal disdain. "We have all the information we need," Schindler says, "thank you for your time." The squad leaves in a line of offended, dignified heroes. So precious, so adorable. They walk out without comment until they reach the end of the nearest street, then start complaining all at once in a gesture of unity and camaraderie. Before I can terminate the spell, I hear the Silversmith side of the dispute. "We can''t just let them go like that! What will the negroes and mongrels think if we don''t fight back? That they can just come here and waltz around our city?" Douglas erupts. "They are useful idiots so long as they are just visitors. Those voodoo heathens will use them then toss them away like yesterday''s toothpicks. In fact, it would be best if the two groups do not get closer. Perhaps a casualty in the line of duty for our crimson friends wouldn''t be amiss. Nothing like some blood spilled for the ungrateful to sour relation. Have Walter do it. One of the girls for best effect." "Yes, grandma." Ah, no. Ah, no no no no. That will not do. That will not do at all. This is not some farcical Binglery I am attending right now. I cannot rely on just fate and Schindler''s vigilance to protect them from an assassin, not when they are expecting a beast instead. I cut the connection to call Lafayette instead. "Lady Ariane?" "I just found out our dear locals wish to assassinate one of the pupils. I think they need a courtesy visit." "That would be best. My visit would be less courteous." "We will resort to that if they refuse to comply. Their fortress is a home. I cannot get in without leave." "I will come up with a plan in the meanwhile." I cut the communication and race down the tiled roof where I was waiting. My automobile is waiting nearby. The chauffeur does not even look when I get it, lower a screen between his side and mine and then get quickly changed into a more official outfit. Soon, I am dressed to impress in a blue and red dress of exotic make based on a Summer court design. I have to say, the back of an automobile is not the best place to change clothes. My embarrassment will fortunately remain private since the windows are one way. Now ready, I return to the estate, knocking on the door after jumping the wards. Someone swears inside. "Hey, Francis, were we waiting for someone else?" the farther man asks. I use a small spell to carry the sound forward. A minor feat of magic, but one that produces the desired effect. "I know you can hear me ''Francis''. Open the door this instant or I will peel the wards off and remove it from its hinges." The closest man jumps. I hear a spike in fear from his heartbeat. A moment later, I see a shift in a carefully camouflaged peephole. I turn towards it and lean forward a little, meeting Francis eye to eye. "Hello there," I greet. "The Silversmiths are not receiving anyone at the moment," the man replies somewhat carefully. I smile more, revealing fangs. I let a hint of purple shine in my eyes. The eye in the peephole disappears. "Is this your final decision?" I ask "Shit," Francis whispers to his companion, terrified. "What?" "I think it''s a vampire." The other man rushes away. I hear him confer in a low voice, presumably through an enchantment of sorts, though I cannot tell without a line of view and with this much interference. A moment later, the door opens to reveal a panicked majordomo. Sweat pearls on his wizened brow, but he still stands tall. "The matriarch will see you now," he says. This counts as an invitation. The gates open again, revealing the same man who had tried to hobble my proteges with a cheap trick and the majordomo, the man by the name of Francis. I follow the sweet-smelling older man up the stairs and notice that the mages are still there, though I can tell from their concerned gazes that I was not a planned visit. Now that my Magna Arqa can deploy, I notice they have a deep basement filled with booze, a still, and a hidden exit in a nearby warehouse. Ah, illegal alcohol distillation. Such a standard post-war occupation for those who wish for quick money. A little pedestrian, but I cannot exactly comment since my first major operation was a brothel. It feels amusing and strange to walk the same corridor I have seen several times through my spell, to feel the lush carpet under my bottines and smell the faint touch of cigar and mold. I find the two same people waiting for me in the sanctum. I have to say that I have seen gaudy, rococo horrors in my long, God-forsaken life, but that place takes the cake. It takes all the cakes under the sun, the moon or the Watcher. I cannot find a single free spot from the bookcases overwhelmed by old tomes to the desk covered in jewel-encrusted baubles. Most of them are enchanted, of course. I am getting a headache. By contrast, the two people waiting for me show the most restraint out of all their relatives. I see a young man with a square jaw and a vicious glare, with the solid shoulders of someone who does not shirk physical activity. A stubble covers his handsome cheeks. The woman is older. A human would consider her to be mid-forty, but her aura indicates she is significantly older. Jowls and a carmine complexion hint at the abuse of the very same thing they peddle. In fact, I can spot a freshly uncorked bottle of brandy on the shelf behind her. Under her outward appearance of calm, her heart thunders. Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. I sit without waiting for an invitation. "I could not help but hear the end of your little discussion. I ''request'' that you desist. Those young ones are under my protection." The matriarch''s fear spikes at the same time as her associate''s anger. The violation of their privacy hits a nerve in the young man. Only his partner understands the implication. I suspect she may be more familiar with my kin. I lean forward, deciding to give them a little respect rather than just demanding. Let it be known that I do not always jump to the big stick part of the negotiation. "You have played games with them, which I do not blame you for. Defending one''s territory is a perfectly reasonable reaction to what you perceive as an intrusion," I say, giving the young man a passing glance. "However, their purpose remains to solve a murder. Even if you intend to catch and punish the perpetrator yourself, surely cooperation would be preferable to sabotage. You can certainly appreciate that now is not a good time to rock the boat, particularly not with an organization with the¡­ reach¡­ the Red Cabal can display. If you let go of your anger, you will see I speak the truth," I tell the matriarch. Our eyes meet, though not for long. Fury does not turn her lungs into bellows, or her heart into a drum. Fear does. We both know I am merely being polite. "What tells us you are not the murderer?" the man coldly asks. I wave his comment aside. "Nothing does and I am not interested in proving myself. The only question here is: will you let your perceived offense go?" "Of course," the man smoothly lies. He is a mortal and so the outright lie does little more than to sting him. If he were to swear first, it would hurt him more, but not as much as an oath break might hurt me. That is the punishment magic would inflict. The punishment I would inflict, though? That would be an entire other question. "Douglas," the woman hisses in warning. I place my clawed hands on the desk and lean forward and to the side, towards the young man. "We vampires have many rules. If you lie to me, you remove yourself from the protection of those rules. We do not take kindly to oathbreakers." "Douglas, enough," Matriarch Loretta interrupts before the man can reply. He does not seem too impressed Sometimes, my comparatively small frame, my gender, and the appearance of youth serve me well. This is not such a case. "No grandma, I don''t think we should listen to another word coming out of this monster''s mouth. Your invitation is rescinded." I am taken as if by an invisible force, pushed out and I leave as fast as I can until the wind of my passage makes the majordomo, Francis, yelp in surprise. I turn to see the insides of the house, now barred to me. Well! I tried. I could have Charmed them, I suppose, but that would not have been the behavior of a good guest. I suppose it will have to be the stick then. The younger, arrogant man by the majordomo''s side laughs with vicious glee. "Hah! Thrown out on your posterior, were you? Begone, dark one, and if you dare return, we will show you the full might of the Silversmiths!" he yells at me from the entrance. Ah. Ah! And here I was going to bother charming him into letting me in, but this is the time for a more¡­ direct negotiation. This will serve just as well. It is true what they say. The devil is in the details. What an unfortunate phrasing. Like my sire, I keep to my word without treachery. Disrespectful boasts are an entirely other matter. One that we usually answer with a hand through the ribcage. "I accept your challenge in the spirit in which it was given," I reply amicably. "Wha¡ª" I rip out his jaw before he can finish his sentence. His tongue lols from the gap while a massive geyser of blood stains the curtains. Ah well. It is not against the rules I set myself! Francis screams horribly. Above us, the mages swear. Offensive spells are primed all around. I wave my gauntleted hand, casting a quick sound enchantment. "I am going to go back up and you shall show me the might of the Silversmiths! OR ELSE." I form a shield around myself and walk. I have to give myself some challenges, or I might go rusty. "She''s a vampire!" the girl in a dress screams. "Use fire!" "Get the bitch!" another girl screams. "No need for name calling," I reply. "Shatter!" The basic spell hits the railing against which my verbal attacker was leaning, disintegrating it. She falls down a floor below. "Aaaarg my knee!" Good, she can watch that and her tongue. Bolts of incandescent mana land on my defenses, peppering them without much result. "Oh no!" I mock. "Fire magic. If only I had predicted that turn of events! I could have based my shield on ice!" The barrage stops, soon replaced by a large glass javelin. Interesting! I have never encountered such magic before, at least not on earth. I let the projectile pass by me. "The shield doesn''t stop glass! Shoot!" the female mage roars in triumph. Shards land on me, most of which are, in fact, blocked by the shield. She cries in dismay. "I did not fail to block the first spell. I merely ignored an attack that would have missed me anyway," I chastise. I have now reached the first landing, and without hurrying at that. Two of the locals flee me, casting panicked glances behind them. I do not bother. They would probably taste as bland as their personalities anyway. "I am still waiting!" I say. The next attempt also comes from the mage. She sends a dagger that would have missed me, except this one contains an explosive core that would have exploded close to my face if I had not detected the trap and blocked it. It is a good attempt that relies on my overconfident behavior. "I commend you for your efforts," I tell her. "Fuck you!" "Well that is quite rude," I grumble. Ah, we have reached the first of the brass statues, and I realize the crystal ornaments they bear are also complex, small objects designed to explode when triggered remotely with the use of glass magic. It is an ingenious design with an unstable nature that I would not personally use as a decoration on my house. I stop and cast an illusion of myself walking forward, dimming my true body. The panicked casters take the bait without much problem. The ornaments explode and fill the air with shrapnel. The few that reach me are stopped by the shield. I merely resume my walk after most of the damage is done. "Gah! Just keep attacking!" the mage exhorts. I have reached the second landing and walk on the stairs to the third when a series of stomping sounds emerge from above. A towering golem of metal and crystal lumbers in plain view. I find the design elegant and refined. The transparent crystal hints at the cogs buried underneath. Serrated, transparent blades emerge from its fingers. "Oh no!" I loudly lament. "A bloodless, magic-resistant creature! My weakness. What am I to do? Shatter." The furniture-breaking spell fires. As it lands, the mage screams in triumph. "Hah! Golems resist spells, don''t you know?" There is a terrible crack, then my original target crumbles and falls. I was aiming at the floor under the golem''s feet. Masonry and beams collapse into the void below, carrying the construct with them. It lands on the ground floor with a terrible shriek of broken glass and twisted metal. "At least my weakness isn''t stairs," I observe. I only get incoherent screaming in answer. And to think some of the mages call us blood-starved beasts and other epithets deriding our lack of control when we fight. Typical. "You know," I tell her as she switches to proper insults, "people who live in glass houses shouldn''t throw stones, or turn them into death traps while they are still inside." The shrapnel-spewing glass constructs follow a simple yet effective method. A cavity contains a charge of essence which has to be rearmed every few days. The Silversmiths can use their glass magic to remotely release a seal on the cavity, causing it to violently explode. The weakness of such a system is that the seal itself is fragile, and a sufficient impact will break it. "Shatter." I activate the traps on either side of my adversary. One of the shards catches her in the cheek and she falls screaming. Below me, the golem has stood back up and climbs after me, but it will be too late. A short hop, and I am past the hole in the stairs and on my way to the office I had so curtly left. At this moment, Loretta and Andrew appear in full battle robes, possibly to check what was wrong. Loretta''s face twists into an expression of horror but Douglas lets his anger go free. He casts a powerful spell that tastes of crystal and edges. I lift my hand and use a basic telekinesis spell to grab a fallen brass statue, which I send into his rib with much less speed than I could. The invitation''s purpose was to show me ''the full might of the Silversmiths'' which I am in my rights to put to the test, but my honor prevents me from killing any one of them as I am still their guest. Nothing says I cannot make it painful. The young man slams to the ground, first winded by the blow, then retching from the feedback of his interrupted casting. That leaves the matriarch now ensconced in a flimsy shield. This one tastes of crystal as well and I expect subtlety in the same way a subtlety in a house will protect it from a rockfall. She knows it. She takes a deep breath in. "Please stop, dear guest." Ah, a test. I do stop, slightly below her which is annoying, but I believe I am still the winner in our little disagreement.. "I suspect someone said something that could be perceived as an invitation. Who was it?" "The one with the loose tongue." Loretta steps forward and finds Francis kneeling on the ground, vainly attempting to stop the bleeding of the unjawed prick. "I should have guessed. James, you have been nothing but a disappointment. Step aside, Francis!" A glass spear pierces the fallen man''s chest, ending his agony. It also digs a hole in the damaged parquet. Am I the only one who tries not to destroy my own furniture in every single confrontation? In any case, the terrified lady puts on an air of courage before facing me once more. "What are your terms then?" "The same as before," I reply, generously spreading my arms, "leave my proteges alone and I shall return the favor." I would be in my right to ask more. In fact, I would bet a finger that Loretta expects it and even then considers various concessions. This is how her kind functions. They grab every advantage they can take, and this is how they have come ahead in their own city, local barons without competition. I need to make it very clear that we are not playing on the same chessboard. They are simply not important enough, nor their resources valuable enough, to justify much of my time. "Very well," Loretta finally agrees with a slow nod, "we will not act against your subordinates in any way for the duration of their stay. You have my word. Now, begone!" I am violently pushed back for the second time that night. Landing on my feet, I keep moving until I stop in front of my automobile and lean in, scaring my chauffeur. "Young miss? I mean, Lady Ariane?" "Where are the message canisters?" "In the back." I hurry and find said canister along with a pen and paper. A quick message follows. Remember that I do not need an invitation to get to you. -A The Silversmiths might not be worth my time, but getting the last word is. I use a spy spell to find Loretta''s personal bedroom, smashing the canister through her window before leaving like a hooligan and feeling absolutely shameless about it. I believe I am finally at peace with my own vengeful pettiness. At least until someone else remarks upon it. Then I will be forced to vehemently deny everything. I also enjoyed this little challenge, stopping an army of mages while moving at a slow pace without using my physical strength. Games like these will keep me sharp, that and my occasional spars with Cadiz and his apprentices. Satisfied, I return to watch over the squad, then once they have gone to sleep and the place is secure, I do a little scouting. It turns out that Indianapolis hides more than I expected. Oh, this might turn out to be an interesting diversion after all. *** The next day, I am back at the hotel with a tired mind and a pot of coffee I made myself. I have missed quite a bit during my slumber, the squad having been active since six thirty, before the dawn even disabled me. Ugh, I hate early birds! What sort of civilization is this when the day starts before the actual day even starts? Now I have to read a report by Lafayette before I can even start spying. There has been another murder, this time of a local werewolf. She was killed early during the night in a deserted meat warehouse where she was employed. The modus operandi is the same. The victim was mauled to pieces while she was alone, caught off guard before she even had the time to transform according to the wound they found. There were little traces of struggle except for a lone, spilled crate of pork meat cans. The entrance was forced open like before with a single, powerful blow that ripped the lock apart. This leaves everyone absolutely certain that the killer was the same, but unclear as to its motives. The werewolf was a young woman while Ichabod was an old mage, Lucy was destitute and recently arrived while Ichabod was doing fine and here since birth. She was timid and social while he was an old grump. The two could not have been more apart. With that determined, the squad leaves to meet Quill, the local werewolf leader. I asked Lafayette to pull back for this operation. Amarruq, our furry-oriented squad member, has smelled sentries all around and they have no doubts done the same. Werewolf are usually better at defending their territories than mages are, because mages use passive countermeasures while werewolves will use their senses to actively track any perceived intruders. They tend to roam and patrol a lot as well, making them unpredictable. The other issue is the location. Meat packing plants are busy places where foremen keep a constant watch. Outside, police officers check on passerbys for any hint of socialist activity. I run too much risk of losing an agent to questioning. As such, my only source of information is the faint trail coming from Schindler''s own mirror. It appears I have already missed part of the show. Quill does not look very threatening. Perhaps this is the reason why he has attracted so many outsiders to his banner. On the other side, the few followers he does have, and who are present for the meeting, will not empower him much. He is rather young with a narrow build and sad eyes of a color I cannot determine from what I see. "It is not one of us, and yes, I am sure. Links between outsiders and the pack might be tenuous, but we can tell when someone has gone rogue, if only by smell. It could be a newcomer though. Recently, we have picked up the trail of a newcomer. The murders started the next day." "Have you located him?" Aramis asks. "Her, it''s a she. We can tell from her scent." I did not know that; I did not wish to know that. "That person is not a rogue but that doesn''t mean much. Sometimes, humans are monsters even before the conflicting instincts. She might just be a killer, or know the killer. Quill shrugs. "Who knows?" "Could a woman be the culprit then?"Jacob asks to be certain. Most of the rogues the Red Cabal hunts are always men. Female rogue werewolves are exceedingly rare, though I am not sure as to why. They do, however, exist. Not that it matters. The local pack merely picked up on Amarruq. "Yeah. We love our ladies with a little bite," a voice I do not recognize says. The camera pans to the side where a handsome young man with a wild shock of hair leans against the wall. He winks. I notice that he has left his shirt open to reveal some impressive muscles, a daring choice considering the already cold temperature of this early November. The male werewolf winks towards the side. Where Constance is sitting. Ah! "You don''t even know if the murderer is one of us. Lucy was weak and newly made, but she would have heard the attacker come. Tried to flee. Screamed. Something! You forgot? All the attacks happened at night." "You''re thinking it''s a vampire," Schindler says. "Maybe. I know there was still a lot of¡­ her blood left on the scene," Quill finishes with a heavy voice. He adjusts his posture on the seat. "But maybe it was a decoy." "It''s a misconception that vampires drain a victim of all its blood. They consume the essence more than the liquid. The target dies of that. Not exsanguination," Jacob says. "So you know if a target was drained?" Quill asks. "No. A vampire would know. Or we could with some advanced alchemical equipment we do not have here." "There is another way," the handsome rake adds. Quill sighs, not looking directly at him. I recognize a werewolf calming method. No matter what, do not meet the eyes. "I could come with you, sniff the corpse and know if it was slain by one of us or not. Then, by process of elimination¡­" "We will know if it is a vampire," Schindler says. "I have but one condition. I want you to ward my sister''s room. She''s like me but the curse¡­" He frowns, suddenly less aloof. "She did not take it well. She is scared to leave if I am not with her. Won''t you do it to protect her while I am gone?" "I''ll help," Jacob says. "Not you," the young man says. "She''s afraid of men. Her," he says, nodding at Constance. There is a moment of tension. Schindler returns her attention to Quill. "He is his own man. I do not control the pack, merely provide a safe space for those of us who do not take well to a more traditional structure. Mathias will be on his¡­ best behavior." There is a hint of threat underlying the last words, the meaning carried clearly when he turns to the roguish young buck. Said young man offers his open hands in return. "I''ll be good." "Glad to see you''re not¡­ all bark," Constance finally says. "And I''ll help. And you will keep your paws off." "I promise not to get in your hair," he replies with a dangerous glint in his eyes. The two leave while alarm bells ring in my heart. Letting those two go¡­ without a chaperone? What are they thinking? But no, Ariane. Different times, different mores. And different species, technically. I am sure the young Mathias will not try anything that will end with his pelt decorating my chimney. Yes, yes. It will be fine. Just as the squad leaves the office to wait for Constance, I catch Millie''s voice. "It seems those two get along really well. Maybe we can have her ask Mathias to join us for a longer time. I''m sure he can fight," Millie says in a sweet voice. I hear Aramis grunt back. Wait a moment, did she just throw her best friend under the train, or is she trying to make him jealous? Damn those hormones. Unless¡­ Could Millie have designs on Aramis herself and see an opening? Oh, teenage drama. How refreshing. Hmmm. As I think on it, the late morning leads to noon. A return to the morgue confirms that the two victims were not killed by a werewolf as no smell lingers on the wound. Interestingly and somewhat predictably, Mathias asks to stick around. Schindler agrees since there are procedures for working with local authorities and we tend to encourage cooperation. The group comes to the conclusion that a vampire is a culprit after a short discussion. This is now beyond the squad''s paygrade. Schindler says she has to report this possibility to her hierarchy, meaning me. I inform her that a vampire will come tomorrow evening to take over. The news obviously leaves the young squad angry. This is their first hunt. They do not wish to just up and leave. With a short message, I tell her that they are free to search for the beast''s lair before I arrive. After consulting with the local mages, the squad decides to visit some of the more remote and dubious meat-packing plants during the afternoon. That is fine. As they proceed, Mathias shamelessly flirts with a cold Constance and butts heads with Aramis while Millie drops a few hints that the two are together to the incensed young mage. I frown and sit back, thinking. We have two heroes, two sidekicks, a stranger, and a mentor. The handsome lead is called Aramis Boone. No one is called Aramis Boone, ''tis a silly, romantic name based on Alexandre Dumas'' Four Musketeers and some one syllable last name. Ridiculous. The heroine''s childhood friend is quite certainly jealous of her, leading to tensions. Two love triangles have formed. All on the background of a bog-standard monster hunt with a surprise twist at the end that I instinctively feel I should not interfere with. Is¡­ is Constance actually a godling? But no, it does not feel quite right. And yet¡­ something is off. Terribly off. On a hunch, I call Isaac. "What can I do for you, Ariane? How is your little trip going?" "Would you happen to have any information on a certain Aramis Boone in those cavernous archives of yours?" "Please do not refer to my head as cavernous, thank you. As for Boone, B O O N E? Like the godling of romance?" The. What? No. No no no no no no. Noooooooooooo! "Watcher save us all, there are MORE OF THEM?!" Chapter 212 - 206: Disenchanted "I need to impress. I will be the first vampire they ever meet. I cannot use my usual polite and harmless persona or they will hunt with flawed ideas," I remark aloud. Lafayette, whose input I value, stares at me. The short and sturdy man only gives me an impassive glance, though his heart thunders in his chest. "Harmless persona? Ma''am?" I tut, though I do not begrudge him this rare trait of humor. "They shall still see me as a young woman, no matter how thoroughly they were drilled on the danger my kin represents. No, I believe I need a¡­ grandiose introduction." "We can set up the hotel''s last floor, if you wish." "No¡­ No. This is still civilization. Masked power. I will meet them at the edge of the city, in a forest. The closest one. Instructor Schindler will guide them there tonight when the time has come. I will use some ice magic and, yes, I shall unseal the Aurora." "Your armor, ma''am? Does it need unsealing?" S§×arch* The N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. I consider this option. I see no downside to bringing an early winter. November is already upon the mortals anyway. They will not realize anything. "It needs unsealing, yes. The Aurora is so powerful that its mere presence alters the weather patterns. I realized it too late to save the first harvest around Marquette. A rather costly mistake. In any case, I believe it is for the best. I shall set the scene. Then, you will bring me the actors." "As you say, ma''am." I only wish they do not get in trouble where I have to rescue them, or the impression might be ruined. *** Constance''s Tale Another day being Constance in a world where constance is expected and garners no reward. We were just here for a simple negotiation at first, then it turned into a murder investigation, and now it is more. A hunt, perhaps. I could not help but feel we were being shepherded into doing something beyond our ability. It did not take a werewolf nose to smell a fish here. I looked around to see my team and friends, the fragile group I hoped would survive this, if only because I could use some friends. I just could not help it. Jacob van Graff, competent yet so oblivious he was unpopular. Millie, like a sister to me and like all siblings, we were undergoing a bit of a temporary argument. And then there was Aramis of the strange, exotic name and the brooding manners. I believe I fancied him a little. We had never been close before, being in different classes and groups. He had always kept a barrier between us, but now that had come tumbling down as soon as we started working together. The loner had become a partner. It helped that he was as fetching as some dark prince. I would have to be careful. The cad had weapons I was ill-equipped to face. He paid attention to me, for once. Even now as we made our way through the meat packing plants, he made sure to stick to me. No one stuck to me like this before, and I was not sure what to think. "Aramis, could I ask that you take the flank? I do not feel safe," Millie said in a whiny voice. Aramis grunted but assented, which placed him to Millie''s right and Millie to mine. Jacob stood at our back with Schindler, who once again acted as a supervisor more than a guide. I didn''t like that one bit. I liked that it left Mathias to my left even less. Our werewolf addition gave us a firm advantage, that of having two brawny fellows instead of one, but I found him to be too sticky. Too close. It did not help that he was very warm and I could feel it on my skin even as I turned my head. It also didn''t help that he was assertive and forceful. It was funny how I longed for someone to just hold me and tell me we would get out of this strange circus alive, yet when someone kept reaching for me, I found myself weirded out by his insistence. Not like this, I supposed? Something was wrong with my heart, to be sure. My strange feelings notwithstanding, our visit to the meat packing plants turned out to be even more gross than the morgue had been, which I would not have believed possible. Under a morose, gray sky shedding snow as a miser sheds money, we went from factory to factory under the guise of inspectors to check for hints of abnormal activity. Our official cover was to make sure no child under fourteen were employed, as was the law. It was turning out to be a disaster. Not a single factory respected those rules. We were not supposed to actually succeed too well. "Yeah, I''m fifteen," said a girl who could not be a day over ten. We were finding a lot of things we were not meant to, and that was costing us time. Schindler took a list of names and addresses, ignoring the threats and supplication from harried foremen with commendable composure. As for me, I spent more time trying not to walk into too much shit that it could not be peeled off my boots as soon as we left. The factories were pits of filth unsuited to the making of food. Over layers of crusted offal, meat, and congealed blood, workers without any protection operated machines with speed, the knives and presses falling over dead meat, most of the time. The state of the workers'' hands spoke another tale, and I promised myself here and there that I would never eat potted meat again for fear of eating human flesh. I would have been comfortable with rats, and there were already enough of those to feed all the cats of Egypt. I wanted to retch. The squad weaved between hanging carcasses in various stages of processing to return to the exit of our current target. Yet another bust. It was true what they said, everything would be harvested but the squeals. As I turned, I caught a few glares devoid of hope and anger. The workers here were raw, used to the bone. Chemicals had eaten into their skin and their only concern was that activity might be stopped ahead of the seasonal firings, so that they would return home to feed on regret and watery gruel. This place was ripe for diseases, recruitment into crime gangs. Or socialism, I supposed. What a crap hole. I was lucky to be born a mage, or I might be working here in that line with one child and eight fingers. Many schools simply didn''t teach women. I took a breath of fresh air as soon as we were out. Carcasses were cooked over pits, so the temperatures inside went from cold as hell to hot as hell within a few steps through a stinky purgatory of human design. "No unusual smell so far," Mathias said. He sniffed. "Although I will be getting a headache." "How can you smell anything above this awful stench of scum and chemicals?" I asked with disbelief." "My nose is¡­ more sensitive yet less easily disgusted. I think humans have stronger reactions because you can die from indigestion. Our wolf selves do not discriminate as much. We eat raw liver with relish, you see?" "I do. Perhaps an evolutionary bias." "Oh, a disciple of Darwin. Well, do I gross you out?" the rake asked, looming dangerously. "Not quite," I admitted. "Ahem," Aramis said from the other side. "We have more factories to see. Kellogg''s, near the river. It''s supposed to be nicer and cleaner, so I saved it for last. We should hurry, however. Night is about to fall." "You''re a dear," Millie replies. "My nostrils need a break." "I can use a ward to protect us from the smell?" Jacob suggests. "No outward signs of magic when you are posing as inspectors," Professor Schindler interrupted in a bored voice. The temperature continued to drop as we moved on through the poorest part of the city, with tenement buildings as rickety as they were full. Screaming children were shepherded back in by panicked mothers caught off guard by the unseasonal cold. As for us, we found Kelloggs'' factory easily enough. It stood a little way, past a fallow field and a couple of empty log houses. My first observation was that the place looked cleaner than the rest. Not exactly an amazing achievement. A foreman with pale blue eyes and a large mustache welcomed us warmly, in contrast with, well, absolutely everyone else so far. He walked us past rows of cooking carcasses and assembly lines casually, explaining as he went. "The beasts get processed step by step, you see? Our employees are well-trained and well compensated to ensure Kelloggs'' potted meat becomes a symbol of quality everywhere." This here was possibly a model factory. If I were the mayor and I were to invite some committee or person of power to show the workers didn''t need to be protected by law, I would bring them here. The floor was clean. Detritus was carried through sluices to the nearby river. There was even ventilation for Christ''s sake. The workers wore gloves and showed none of the scars of missing pieces of flesh I had come to associate with the operation of knives. Everything was as spotless as could be, and yet, while the foreman led us deeper into the complex, I could not shake a deep sense of unease. It was the way the workers were following us with empty eyes, hungry eyes. They were all lean and muscular, but not in the full way werewolves tend to grow. Leaner. Almost skeletal around the belly, which their overalls cinched tightly. "Something smells wrong here," Mathias said by my side. "Dilated pupils, inhuman constitution on all of them. Not werewolves though," Jacob whispered. "Could they be cattle?" Aramis asked. The foreman opened a door, leading to a refrigerated space used to store the dead animals. "No, they are not guarding the vampire," I replied. The foreman''s ear twitched and he turned slightly. There was another door, leading to a second frozen chamber. I spotted a hint of pink skin from the glass porthole. "Because they are wendigos. Ghouls. GHOULS!" I screamed. The foreman turned. His face split in two under the mustache, revealing a maw filled with jagged, yellow fangs. Behind us, the workers were rushing in. "Astra," Schindler whispered. The foreman was grabbed and sent smashing against the far wall head first. He landed with a horrid crack. "Close the door!" Aramis roared. He slammed the heavy pane of steel with Mathias'' help, and not a second too soon. Mutated laborers were rushing at us, slavering from their distended maws. Jacob took a moment to ward the gate to hold them but¡­ we were trapped? "The other door chamber," Schindler said. We rushed forward, only to find a mirror of the previous room. This one was filled with human carcasses. Adults, children, mostly young and thin. They hung from the ceiling by butcher''s hooks. The ground felt unsteady under my feet. I heard Millie retch. I tasted bile at the back of my tongue. The air was cool yet tainted, morbid and yet so stupidly clean. I hated it. I was scared. I did not want to end up hanging like a piece of flesh. Workers stared at us, unsure what to do. Stupid. The gig was up. They ought to know. Anger and fear overcame uncertainty. We had to get out. I wouldn''t die like that. Millie blinded one of the monsters while the rest of us sent offensive spells at them. Mathias grabbed the flailing one and broke her neck. One of the ghouls charged us, trailing his innards behind him with a horrific screech. "You got to aim for the head, otherwise they won''t die quickly," Schindler said between gritted teeth. We raced again, finding a warehouse at the back. Jacob immediately cast a distant ward on the way to the workshop, hoping to belay the reinforcements but I could already hear rumbling steps on top of us where offices ought to be. There were transformed ghouls barring our way. They charged. I heard a growl. A half wolf monstrosity exploded from behind us, taking the first two ghouls down in a whirlwind of claws and fury. A howl and a gesture bid us to run. I was scared. Would we leave him behind? "Where can we hold them?" Aramis asked as we sent spell after spell against their ranks. "We don''t! There are more than thirty of them," Schindler hissed. "Run!" We made to break through the still standing guards. They were falling, but not fast enough. Clawed fingers reaching for us. I had to stop them. "Move," I screamed. The fear spell managed to push away a few of the weaker ghouls. Millie and Jacob disabled the rest while Aramis led the charge. The heat from the nearby ovens would weaken my ice magic here. We had to leave. I heard a crash of glass as Mathis jumped. The door was so close. The few remaining ghouls barring our way fell, mangled by our efforts. Aramis sent a fireball at a wagon filled with dead pigs. They instantly burst into flame to my surprise. The fire quickly spread. A few ghouls were caught. The diversion was perfect, and I heard broken glass where Mathias was, perhaps windows? We were almost out. We were out, slamming the door behind us. We raced out of the death trap and onto a deserted street. The cold weather slapped me in the face after the intolerable heat of the fire. I gasped from the shock, but there was no time. The street extended in front of us. What should we do, regroup here? As soon as I thought that, another ghoul landed on the brick roof of the opposite side of the muddy street, atop a deserted house. There was a nest of them. Left seemed to lead out of the city. Probably good. Right? Right had an automobile roaring towards us. The mastodon screeched when the driver hit the brakes, then its massive steel frame rammed the landing ghoul and sent it tumbling to the side, a broken wreck. The back door opened. "Get in," a commanding voice told us. "Go go go!" Schindler roared. She set the factory exit on fire as the first ghoul broke a hinge. Aramis had managed to lock it by slamming a bar against the handle but it wouldn''t hold for long. We jumped more than got into the car, which was moving while Aramis'' legs were still out. The closest ghoul missed him by a hair, then the others were after us like a pack of demented beasts. We were all here, well, all except¡­ I felt my throat close but pushed back my worries. Mathias was missing. This was the real world now. I had to fight first, wonder later. Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. I looked around us. Millie was crammed against me in the relatively small, enclosed space. Come to think of it, the backseat was huge if it could hold four people. Wait, forget about us. Who were our rescuers? There were two persons in front of us. One was an old man with a grim face and pale traits. Dark brown eyes under bushy brows met the stare of the second passenger, the one who had urged us in. To my surprise, a young, pretty face with cold blue eyes and golden hair peeked from under a fancy fur hat occupied the passenger seat. She was eyeing the wheel with longing. "No one is shooting at us," the old man politely stated. "I know. Turn right here, then stop at the end of the road." A screech pulled my gaze back. We were pursued! Two dozen ghouls, at least. Mad with hunger. I flared my aura, ready to bombard them from the safety of the seat. The monsters were out now. They would slaughter their way through a few apartments then leave, spreading to a nearby city. Unless we stopped them here. Which was when, again, my gaze swiveled to the front when a familiar click attracted my attention. Now, the weapon teams of the Red Cabal mundane members trained with machine guns made by IGL, so I was familiar with most modern armaments, but the beast of a gun the woman was calmly assembling trumped anything I had ever seen be used by a human. Was she going to hunt elephants with that thing? With a last click, she chambered a bullet from the ammunition belt. "Now would be good," she said. The driver veered right sharply. I was thrown against Millie. Her elbow dug into my ribs. The woman immediately stepped out while we were still an awkward pile of limbs. She shoved her head back in a quarter of a second later. "What are you waiting for, an invitation?" We were out before she had finished her sentence. We positioned ourselves in a half-circle, gauntlets forward. There were too many of them. I knew this, but we had little choice. The street was a chokepoint. It would have to do. The first of the ghouls turned the angle as I was almost finished casting. A few spells from Millie and Schindler wounded the first runners, slowing the rest down. It was my time now. Outside, there were no more vats. The sudden onset of winter bolstered me, funneling power in my construct. "Grasp of the winter beast." A wave of pure cold covered the charging ghouls in a white mist. Aramis'' attack landed a moment later. "Oppressor." A powerful heatwave turned the mist into steam and the ghouls into white-fleshed, cooked beings. A few screamed as they died and others were sent to the ground, crawling after the loss of their legs. Oh, they were still attached, but I knew the score. They were meat still attached to barely living tissue. The damage on the wave was devastating. And yet, I knew it wouldn''t be enough. This was our most powerful attacks and the back ranks had escaped it entirely. Even now, they jumped over the corpses of their fallen brethren, rushing us with exposed yellow fangs dripping drool. I prepared myself to make them pay for ¡ª. BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM BLAM I was forced to the side, holding my ears in pain. Loud! Goddamn, this was so loud. What was going on? So much smoke. In front of us, the slowed ghouls turned into paste and red mist, taken apart by a hail of bullets. Each impact shredded a body part, leaving naught behind but mangled meat held together by bloody strings. Such was the intensity of the slaughter that even the ghouls stopped where they were, stunned by such a display of violence. The dreadful carnage lasted for only three seconds, but it felt like an eternity, and when it finished, there was nothing left but discarded limbs on pulped innards. "Holy shit," Millie swore, unexpectedly rude. It looked like some demented painting. Or crumpled pink wallpaper, street-sized. From far enough away. Jesus. "Well that''s that then. Congratulations, I am off," the blonde woman declared. She jumped back into the car, which took off at speed, leaving us all stranded between a rock and a disgusting place. "We should move," Schindler said. And we did. We trotted away from the horrible slaughter. I believed my friends and I all shared the same observation as we latched on anything that would erase the memory of all that human flesh. It didn''t take a genius to realize who it was that had saved us. "A weapon of that size and power wielded so casually¡­" I began. "I never met her in person, but she matches the description," Jacob added. "It can only be her. The Red Cabal''s vampire founder. The Hand of the Accords," Aramis said. Millie says what we all figured out. "It was the legendary Boom Girl, Ariane of the Nirari. What is she doing here?" The mystery was only growing more confusing. *** The retreat to our hotel was swift and decisive. It was dark now, and we could not afford to be caught in the open by the killer at all. At least, the hotel room was warded. I was immensely relieved when we found Mathias waiting for us in the lobby, looking a little worse for wear. Our hotel was an old one, and the receptionist was glaring at the disheveled man with clear disapproval but she was clearly hesitant to go out and confront him. He was clean now, and wore warm clothes. Our eyes met. He felt brittle to me, fragile, now that the layer of bravado had been peeled. It made him eminently human. And infinitely more sympathetic. "You''re alive. I was fearing the worst," I told him. "We are glad to see you well," Aramis added immediately after, then Jacob, too, expressed his relief. "My man, that was some awesome display. You really helped us out here." The three men exchanged virile nods. "Very moving, children. Let us continue upstairs, hmm?" We had booked the upper floor suite, which had enough room for all of us provided we slept two abed, something that had not been an issue until now since Millie and I were used to it. I felt the world crashing down on my shoulders as soon as the door was locked tight. Never had a nondescript lounge felt so homey before, so comforting. So normal. It¡­ had been a day. I killed a creature in combat for the first time in my life in that factory and I felt, well, empty. I looked at the others as we listlessly crashed on the faded couches. Only Instructor Schindler retained the wherewithal to check the wards, a silent figure looking over us yet letting us make mistakes. Millie and Aramis soon leave to get changed, their clothes stained with blood. I was luckier and avoided most of the gore, so I warmed up some tea instead. Mathias was still here. He gingerly approached me while I gathered enough cups for everyone. "I am sorry. The beast in me, it¡­ What I am trying to say is that I could not help it. I had to leave, to protect you all." A surge of fear and disgust at the bloodthirsty form surged through my heart, yet I pushed it aside. What a strange feeling to have. I knew about werewolves, having trained with some before. I knew the curse was incredibly difficult to manage. Besides, he had helped us escape mostly unscathed. Shaking my head, I focused on his vulnerable gaze as he waited for a word from me. I felt strange having so much hold over someone I only just met. "No, do not apologize. Your timely help allowed us to escape. You¡­ you did well." He blinked, the picture of a flabbergasted child. "You think so? Really?" Once more I felt a curious drive to push him away and resisted it. Were my emotions so out of control tonight that I would wound our savior with unkind words? Well, at the very least our ally? Something was wrong with me. "We are told about your struggles at school," I try, slowly. For a moment, I felt resistance, but then it broke. "I do not begrudge you your nature. Thanks for your help." "Ah, I am touched. I do not know what to say. Our leader, Quill, says that outsiders will never understand us. I really thought you¡­Well, nevermind." "You know, the Red Cabal offers a safe place for people like you. And your sister. I mean, you seem happy enough here¡­" I hazarded. Suddenly, Mathias is very close, so close I feel the warmth of his presence. "Is it Constance the recruiter, or Constance the friend speaking?" "The friend," I reply, then because I feel like I put a foot in quicksand, "but just the friend. We are not that well accustomed, as I am sure you have realized." "I have realized enough. Watch how someone acts in a crisis and you get their measure, our mother would have said. You acted like everything I was hoping for." I pushed him away, firmly, because the pain in his eyes might make me falter. I did not know Mathias, not meaningfully. I would not succumb to my basic need for company, not if I was going to be hurt again. Especially not with Millie growing distant and catty. "You are going too fast and I am not convinced. I am sorry." Mathias took a step back, defeated. "I should go. I will run back to our compound through public streets, not to worry." He was out before I could utter a word. I saw Instructor Schindler walk by, inspecting our windows and wondered if she had heard. If she had, she did not say a word. I felt guilty. I had given him hope and hurt him afterward. Maybe it would have been a mercy to tell him werewolves scared me. Then he could have blamed me, not himself. Or perhaps I could stop trying to care about how others felt when I hurt so much myself. No, I had to be strong. Not let the others see my loneliness. I could accept indifference but not pity. Never pity. Out of ideas, I returned back to our room to the side. Millie should have been done by now. To my surprise, I heard Aramis'' voice coming from my room. "What is it you wanted to say?" he asked in a tired voice. I stumbled, then stumbled again when Millie spoke next. "She doesn''t love you. She wants the werewolf. Forget her, because I do love you more than anything." "What?" I entered the room, only to see the pair kissing. Well, it was more Millie dragging Aramis down by the collar and reaching up. He even let out a little gasp of surprise. Nevertheless, he did not move. Millie and I exchanged a glare. Hers was triumphant, tinted with fear and hatred. I had never seen such an expression on her face. It hurt. It hurt even more coming from her, and it hurt now, while we were vulnerable. I wanted to hide and cry and just forget about everything, but I could not. We had to leave and visit the Red Cabal''s vampire contact the very same night, despite the risk. I could not face going out again and yet we had little choice. I did not know what to do. I really didn''t think Millie could be so foolish. "Why?" I ask her as she runs by. "Because¡­" For a moment, her expression breaks and I see the little crybaby I used to protect from bully boys. "Because I want to be happy as well!" she sobbed, fleeing. I do not know what to say. "This isn''t what it looks like," Aramis begged. He looked mortified. Again, I felt a foreign pull telling me to be angry, to lash at him for courting both my friend and I. Again, I pushed it away. What a ridiculous notion. Millie set this up, and as to why, it did not take a genius to figure out. The heart had its reasons that reason could not grasp, as they say. "Really? It looks to me that Millie finally snapped. I apologize on her behalf. She is not herself. Although, she will have to apologize to me first, the little minx. Ugh. What is wrong with everybody tonight?" "You¡­ you believe me?" Aramis blinked owlishly, the pull breaking. "Well yes. I have never seen anyone so reluctant to kiss before in my whole life. You looked like a drenched cat." "Constance I¡­ I wish you hadn''t seen me like this, no matter what. I should have pushed her away, I should¡­" "Don''t take responsibility for idiots or you''ll be apologizing all day. I got it. The blood, it''s making all of us stressed out. I think¡­ we were not ready for the hunt, for tonight. The dead¡­ Well, I''m sure Schindler will call it in. All those bodies¡­" "Yes, it was horrible. And yet we have to go," he said. "And yet we will go," I agreed. "And solve this emotional mess later. I don''t want to open now or I''ll crack. I¡­ I hope you can understand." "I''m more than happy to¡­ spend more time together, after we are done here," Aramis agreed. He reached for my hand, gave me a squeeze that sent shivers down my spine. His fingers were calloused yet his grasp was tender. I think I liked it. I moved my hand to my heart before I realized it. "Yes. When we head back. For now, focus, or we might die yet," I told him. "Good." Aramis nodded. I waited for a few seconds before needling him on. "Aramis." "What?" "You''re in my room. Get out, I need to get changed." "Oh! Sorry." *** The carriage dropped us at the edge of town, in a marshy area on the shore of the River White. The sudden winter that gripped the earth had taken everyone by surprise, and those who could headed home early. I did not share that I saw an emaciated woman leaning against a wall in the distance, the snow sticking to her alabaster skin. She had been too unprepared. There were few fates left in store when the fires of progress left someone behind. Death was not even the most cruel one. The others shivered despite their warm clothes, though I did not. The air here felt good, pure after the horrid stench of the meat plant. Almost otherworldly. The layer of grime that turned the city''s ice gray and pokemarked after only a few hours failed to take hold here. A merciless wind caressed my hair. It refreshed my mind after the ordeal of the past few days. We followed a path through the naked trees. Soon, whatever electric light could still be seen faded in the distance. A series of strange, magical lanterns cast a purple glare on the path. A light wind caressed the glittery branch and made them clink like chimes. I felt smothered yet protected here, in this land of pure winter. I did not wait for the others. I followed the path where it would lead, pulled forward by some strange call. I knew they were following from the sound. Above us, there were no stars. I could not even spot the clouds. There was just an endless abyss. The wind died. I was the first to see light dancing furtively between the dark trees, then we saw more. Enchanted lights in bulbs and glass containers radiated in cold hues around a frozen clearing. Purples, blues, and whites mirrored by hanging icicles shone like candelabras over a lone court lost to the world. No sound penetrated this place. The silence, besides us, was absolute. We approached and took notice of this open-sky room''s only occupant. Sitting atop a throne of ice, the woman wore an armor of deep cobalt that felt grown more than forged out of a shining star inserted in the chest plate. Delicate patterns on vortices and sharp angles decorated its surface, the deeper parts hypnotizing yet still like the surface of a lake. Strands of smooth blonde hair rested on it, falling free from under an impressive helm. Eyes like blue fire looked at us as we entered softly, reverently. This impression lasted for a few seconds, but then it broke like a flimsy mirror. This was Ariane of the Nirari, one of our sponsors. The woman we''d seen in the car earlier, just presented differently. A part of me resisted the pull of some force that would twist my perception. A quick glance backward revealed that the others were not so fortunate. Their gazes were filled with fear and stars. I did not understand. "You have come," the woman said in a soft voice that nevertheless carried. "Speak your request." Seeing that the others were silent for now, I decided to take the initiative. I still was not sure if I should be transfixed like them and the problem lay with me, or if their fascination was misplaced and the problem lay with them. It was puzzling. And frustrating. "We would like your assistance in slaying the vampire who has been killing in Indianapolis," I said. "And what have you learned so far?" she asked. "That they are a rogue, a young one." A nod urges me on. This is a test as well, and I am ready. I must defend our ability, show that we were able to glean much despite the unusual circumstances. "They are a rogue because they failed to hide their traces after a violent feeding. If they meant to send a message, they would not have ripped the throat of every victim to hide the fang mark. If they meant to frame a faction, they would not have attacked the werewolves as well. Or at least, not so soon. A sane vampire would have already moved on after being so blatant, I think. As for their age, rogues typically go on a rampage when they start, but this one did not. In fact, they picked isolated targets that were safer to kill. A feeding might have sufficed to make them sleepy. Hence why I think it is a young one. There are other signs, like believing ripping the throat would be enough to confuse a determined detective. Finally¡­" "Yes?" "Finally, you would not let us go after a master." She smiled under the helmet. "Good. Your educated guesses are correct. Now, what do you wish?" "Please help us kill it?" I asked, thinking it was obvious. "You will finish the hunt you started." "Then at least help us find it?" Another smile. She leaned forward on her throne. A strange glass contraption appeared in her hand. It floated through the air to me. I picked it up. It is cold but not unreasonably so. I saw a captive compass within the sphere with a single drop of black blood held in magical stasis to prevent it from degrading to ash. It was a very expensive yet temporary construct that required the essence of its victim. That could only mean one thing. "You found the vampire? You found and touched it? And you left?" "Yes," she simply replied. My voice died in my throat with a simple gesture, smothering my anger before it could even begin. "I care not about the local powers. I would sacrifice them all if it meant gaining a competent team to deploy against the true threats of this world. We do not operate on the same scale, you and I, and lastly, remember this. We vampires defend the world as we see fit. You can give us lessons when you no longer need us." Oh, so annoying, playing all high and mighty. Is the purpose of all those lessons not to teach us how to stop monsters? Would the hunt be different if Lucy or Ichabod were still breathing? It all sounded like excuses to me. Excuses by someone who simply didn''t care. And yet, I gritted my teeth, not because she sat on that fancy throne but because the point she''d made was unfortunately correct. The weak and isolated may not speak up or they would be pushed down while the mighty did as they pleased. It had always been the way my world worked, from child disputes to arguments. This was no different. "Good, then you may go on your way. I will be watching your progress with interest." I almost turned here and then, pushed by the others quietly retreating, but I decided to stand my ground. There was still something I wanted to know, and since it concerned me directly, I would at least ask, even if I may receive no answers. *** Ariane''s Tale. It has all gone terribly. I can feel it. "There is something you are not telling us," Constance says. "And you too, Miss Schindler. Something''s wrong." Although the others are too terrified or at least polite to stop, Constance stares defiantly. "The Hand of the Accords and Red Cabal''s main financial backer doesn''t just show up to shadow a squad. I won''t believe it. And I don''t buy that talk about training us. No sane leader would send a squad of untested green blood, which is what we are, I''m not ashamed to say, against a vampire. Rogue and isolated or not. Especially if you have veterans on hand and don''t tell me you''re here alone. Established vampires never travel alone. We''ve been taught to remember that time and time again. You are hiding something from us, something major. I think it''s fair for us to know since our lives are at stake. No? Does that not make sense?" Constance stops to catch her breath. Then, she turns on her instructor. "And you, you knew from the start that there was more to this hunt than this." "Of course, I did, but I''m not the one being evaluated. You are." "For what? No squad faces those odds. It''s plain ridiculous." "May we have a word alone, the girl and I?" I ask softly. The rest of the squad is more than eager to grant us privacy. They retreat to a far side of the clearing where Aramis immediately starts a fire from wet wood and a considerable amount of power. The group huddles around it like moths to, well, a flame. Only Constance appears unbothered by the glacial temperature. Well, I suppose I should be honest. It would not do to lie to my potential servant. I can feel our connection, the thread of fate, yet she is different from any Vassal I ever had before. No snark, no righteous instincts. Just a keen intellect backed by blunt honesty. She feels sharpened to an edge and¡­ not what I expected. "The truth is that I am training you for a specific purpose." "Question," she retorts, "did you know where the vampire was since you arrived here?" "...yes?" "And you didn''t see it fit to stop them from killing? Chase them off?" "As I said, I won''t be here to save and protect you every time. You are responsible for the hunt." "But you did save us when we were at risk of being overwhelmed." "I consider the Red Cabal part of my alliance, so yes, I''d take an extra step to save them." "Save them¡­ you¡­" A flash of realization stills her face. "You meant to train me? Not the squad, me?" "Yes. You specifically." "Why?" And here we go. "I believe you are meant to be my Servant, my bonded pair. The mortal side of the coin." Constance glares at that. I was hoping for more. I wished I had time for a better delivery. The situation is slipping from my fingers and I do not know why, or how. I can see her emotions and yet a strange barrier prevents me from understanding them. Perhaps it has been too long since I last had a vassal? She is pushing me away. The strands of fate are being undone before my very eyes. "Me? You don''t know me. I''m just a nobody." "You are not a nobody. I have been watching over you since your birth." "No fucking way." "Language! And yes, very much way." "You have been watching over me since my birth? My birth? Almost two decades ago?" "Yes." Pained rage twists her traits. She balls her fists and takes a few angry steps forward. "And you didn''t see it fit to tell me at any point?" she demands. "During that entire time?" "I¡­ human children are¡­" "Eighteen years?" she screams. "I¡­" "And you didn''t talk to me once? One fucking time?" I watch her pace in silence. Blue streaks lash out from her aura, turning the snow to crystal and the soil to permafrost. This is getting worse and worse. I am swallowed in the hurricane of her fury. "Do you have any idea, do you have any notion what it would have meant to me if you''d just told me someone, anyone, just one person cared that I was here? Do you know how much it would have meant to know I was wanted, even by a single person? Looked after by someone? Do you know, what it means, to matter? Even a little? Just one fucking word. One word. Just one single sentence. That would have been enough to make a difference. Human children? Do you think human children are complicated or what, you mighty vampire? Huh?" "I¡­ find it difficult. To relate." "I find it difficult to grow as an orphan only to discover I spent eighteen years thinking I was unwanted and someone just stood there and said nothing. I would have been even ok with you missing my fucking birthdays, you understand? I just wanted to know! Why even keep silent? How much effort would it have taken to spend a few minutes with me while we all know you are based in the same damn city!" She stomps away, clad in roaring winds. Branches crack overhead from exploding sap. She whirls around. "My birth. Since my birth. So you know who my parents are." "Yes." "Are they even alive?" The truth. The truth must be told. She is not a Vassal yet, but the truth must be told. My essence will not tolerate hypocrisy at this junction. "... yes, both of them." "I¡­ I just¡­" She throws her hands in the air, then sprints away, into the forest. Well. Shit. It has all gone bad. This is a bit of a humbling experience, I should think. None of the planning and theatrics matter because, in the end, I have been sowing the seeds of my failures since the girl''s birth. What she said was right. I was sloppy. I have been so focused on gaining power to face Nirari that I forgot a Servant is a human first and a tool second. Oh, I have no doubt the lack of Vassals had a role to play in my carelessness, but I am not stupid. I should have known better. I was just so busy, busy with every small operation, with details. I lost sight of what mattered. The Hand forgot the heart. I suppose the time has come to fix my mistakes. If she will let me. Chapter 213 - 207: Family Humans are stupid. I wish I could blame most of the nonsensical behaviors to either fate or an addled, fringe elements. Unfortunately, the case remains that even those who should know better do worse. It is with disappointment but no great surprise that I watch Millie enter the building just before dawn, interrupting the rogue vampire''s departure preparation. "Where are you? Come out here?" she half-sobs, half-screams. "I won''t let you hurt anyone else!" Her small mage light wobbles in the frigid air. From the rafters, I wonder exactly how she intends to achieve this. The answer is soon provided when the young adult exposes her throat willingly and quite dramatically. If we were at the opera, I would have judged her performance dramatic and over-the-top. Fiction is often no match for reality, it seems. A hiss answers her from deeper in the warehouse. The rogue releases her pack to investigate the cause of the disturbance on her domain. If Millie had used a quarter of her brain, she would have realized the rogue would have stayed the day and departed at twilight. Who leaves only shortly before the outside world turns into a deathly oven, I ask? Foolishness of all foolishnesses. You have to understand the prey when you hunt, or you are playing a game of chance. "What¡­ are you doing here?" the rogue asks in a cracked, low voice. She has still retained her ability to think to an extent, though it matters little. Conversations with a rogue only ever end one way. "I won''t be a burden on my friends anymore. I have betrayed them¡­ betrayed the person I used to see as my sister, and for what? He doesn''t love me! It is better to make myself useful in the only way I can still think of!" "What?" "You heard me, beast! I am here to die." "That¡­ is good then." Ah, the heroic sacrifice trope on the road to redemption. I am familiar with the concept and still find it overused to this day. Many times, such as now, the life of the guilty could have been spared for later use if only they had not chosen the easy way out. But I digress. Perhaps it is godling magic or simply youthful hormones driven to despair. The question remains. Do I save Millie? I believe I have to. Constance has already derailed the tragedy with her multiple use of that incredible power: basic common sense. If I were to let Millie die, it would not make the story much more convincing. Worse, I would lose any chance I have of attracting Constance to my cause. No, I believe I am compelled to save the horrid little airhead. Curses. May Darwin forgive me for what I am about to do. "Now¡­ stay still. Morsel¡­ Youngest princess." I dramatically drop from the ceiling in front of the slavering rogue, then grab her by the shoulder and smash her against a nearby wall. She falls, temporarily stunned. "You are being silly," I tell the flabbergasted young mage. "And if it is death you wish for, I shall contact your instructor back in Marquette. There are some drills that will make you wish you were." "I just wanted to stop her!" "And you picked the most costly and inefficient manner to do so. Your friends will mourn your loss more than you could ever know, so sit down to the side, shut up, and let me work." "They hate me!" "There is a terrible gap between being annoyed at someone and seeing their lifeless body sprawled on the ground, believe me. This is my last polite request. Do as I say." Millie trots to the side, chastised and denied her moment. Silly humans. I return my attention to the rogue vampire. She has picked an abandoned factory with all its equipment taken, leaving naked walls and rusty doors. The lingering scent of old blood and the general air of abandonment suit her. The biting cold of the pre-dawn has frozen the fresh blood on her throat into a shiny ruby coat. Her acid smell mixes with that of the pungent setting. As soon as she sees me, her mouth opens with disbelief, revealing eight stained fangs. "You. It is you!" The woman has straight black hair, cut short around her neck, and hooded dark eyes. The tattered dress reveals a thin build with the corded muscles of a dancer. She is hunched and feels frail, brittle, an impression only reinforced by the caked blood on her talons. She sways dangerously. "He spoke of you. Said many things. Too many. TOO MANY. I tried. I tried so hard," she wails. She clutches her forearm with her filthy fingers while her face shows rage and despair in equal measure. "I tried to please him. Tried tried tried. I gave him everything, but it wasn''t enough. I was never enough. He was bored. Your fault. Your fault!" "I am sorry," I say, and find that I mean it. "Do you know what he did to me?" she whispers. "I am sorry. He broke all of us but he let some go. There are no words I could say that would make it better." "Why did he have to throw me away? Why not just let me live? Why did it have to be me?" Millie remains frozen in fear. It matters not. The rogue is far gone, too far gone. Her rictus of rage mark a Devourer and the claws show she is far beyond salvation. Thrown away too young, broken too fast. She never stood a chance. Our instincts are so difficult to manage if we are left alone. And she was left alone. "He wanted another you." "I am sorry." "If I kill you, maybe¡­ IF I KILL YOU!" It happens very fast. Nirari did not force feed that specific spawn, not like the others. She is terribly weak. I grab her mid air, then drink her dry as softly as I can. I discard her memories. There is nothing to find here that I do not already know. She fades away, though I manage to grant her a few seconds of peace before she leaves for the Watcher''s embrace, free of the Thirst for some precious moments. She did not deserve it. None of us did. A wave of exhaustion washes over me. The sun will rise very soon. I leave Millie with her friends who came rushing to her rescue as soon as they realized she was gone. They would have found her lifeless body and the sleepy vampire, which would have been at their mercy. I believe I prefer my version better. With little else left to do, I leave them to their reunion. *** Reynaud laughs when his grandchildren hit his legs at full speed. They squeal ''Papy!'' and demand sweets. Their mother scolds them shortly after while her husband smiles. We watch from the carriage like thieves. After a short discussion, the young couple leaves in their finest clothes for some spring event while Constance''s father walks back in with his grandchildren. There is no denying the air of familiarity between all of them, though the old mans'' traits are smoother where Constance is all sharp angles and exotic grace. Constance keeps quiet for a while. I wait. "So¡­ he really doesn''t know I exist?" "No." "Explain. I know how babies are made, Ariane. Surely he would know that if he sowed his seed, there was a chance it would take? No?" "He was not himself." I sigh. There is no good way to say that. "Your mother damaged his mind when she forced herself upon him. She was not trained in mind magic. She still is not trained in mind magic," I amend. "We let the memories fade because it would let him recover quickly." "So he doesn''t know. And he is mundane. And he would not believe me. And his family¡­ this is a Puritan region." "It is still your right, and he is still your father," I tell her. "You were right to tell me I had no authority to deny you this birthright. I could arrange a meeting in private. Keep it secret." This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. "I don''t want to be a dirty secret!" she roars back. "I want to be accepted! I don''t want some cloak and dagger meeting, alright? I want the real deal." I do not speak. We both know it will not happen. My negligence made sure of it. So did her mother, and so did puritanic society. Mundane humans do not really understand mind magic. If I had explained right away he was spelled, it would have been a terrible indiscretion that endangered his marriage and I could have smoothed things over. Now, though, so much time has passed that the wound has scarred over. Constance''s appearance would never go smoothly. Not even with a generous dose of charm, which I am wary of using. "I¡­ need to think. I don''t want to meet him like that. I want to see my mother first. I need to understand¡­ what or why she was doing. What she was trying to accomplish." I nod to the chauffeur and we are out. *** The Allister House of Retreat stands on the shore of the Patapsco river, just before it pours into the Chesapeake Bay. It also belongs to the sphere of influence of Madrigal, Mask ambassador to the Accords and a man known for his neutrality. Few in the entourage of vampires fall into substance abuse with the exception of alcohol. The presence of a powerful supernatural creature tends to captivate the mind, I have found, and all but the most alienated artists prefer the mysteries of reality to the mist-filled dreams of opiates. Mages even more so. Perhaps it is their fae ancestry, or perhaps changing the world with one''s mind provides a deep sense of satisfaction that leads to violence before it leads to listlessness. There are, of course, exceptions. The Allister house welcomes all those who cannot face the day and their own cravings in its calming embrace. A thousand acres of park and forest surrounded by tall fences protects its inhabitants'' privacy, but the orderlies that patrol it also protect them from themselves. I have no need to hide here. My existence is well known, and so we park near the entrance in a designated spot. "Well, this is it," Constance says without break. "Three days of travel for this. Eighteen years for this, actually." She looks at me, searching for words. "Am I making a mistake?" she asks. "I do not think so. You need the truth now, even if it turns out to be disappointing. What you are feeling is nervousness." "Are you reading my mind?" she asks with suspicion. "I do not need magical powers to understand the motivations of young adults, fortunately." "True, you just don''t care. Most of the time." "There happens to be a lot of you around," I reply without much bite. "Hmph! Well, I''m off. Don''t leave the engine running." She is off like a storm. Chauffeur leans to the side and we exchange a glance. His dark eyes under the bushy brows express only one emotion: doubt. "Ma''am?" "Leave the engine running. I will spy on them." His wordless disapproval radiates out when I leave the car. Constance is still in the lobby, signing some admission papers. I cleared her in advance and, instead of following, climb the outside wall to Natalie''s room where I settle in to wait. It only takes a minute for Constance to reach the locked chamber. "You got a visitor," a female orderly soberly announces. "Yeah?" a voice replied. I use the eye spell to observe the following scene through the wall. Natalie looks good in a conservative dress, despite the circumstances. She is clean and healthy with dark hair that reaches her shoulders, full cheeks, a rosy skin, and the general poise and strength of a mage in her prime. Her dark eyes follow Constance''s own gray when she arrives, then she blinks. Between the two, the air of family is more than evident. Constance really takes after her mother, though her chin is more forward and her beauty more unconventional. Natalie is not stupid. She immediately understands who she faces, and grips Constance''s shoulder with great strength. "It¡­ it cannot be. It''s you? You? Constance? My¡­ my daughter?" Tears well in her eyes, an emotion mirrored by her daughter. The two stay there, standing in front of each other in disbelief that they finally meet. "Look at you, so big already. So, tell me how you are? I was told you''ve graduated?" "Yes! You know? I mean, you know about me?" "Of course, I''ve been following your progress for a long time. It''s unfair that we''ve been separated like that, but now that we''re here we can all make it better. Stay together, be a family! Listen, I am sorry I wasn''t there before. The years I had you it¡­ was really hard. Luck really tossed me around you see? But now, it will all be right." "Yeah, yeah but I got questions. Stuff I need to know." "Oh, of course, sweetie, anything you want, I''ll tell you. Your mother won''t hide from you." Constance blinks slowly. "I mean¡­ yes, fine. Yes, the truth. I heard, well, I heard you and my father, it didn''t go well." "It''s not fair of you to say so. They have lied to you," Natalie replies with a frown. "Sorry." "Oh, it''s nothing sweetie, not your fault at all either! Anyway, he was looking at me with all this desire ¡ª men are beasts, you know ¡ª then we grew close¡­ very close, over a period of a few weeks. He was away from an unhappy marriage to a harridan down south, arranged by his parents. Some woman he''d barely ever met before." "But then, why use mind magic?" Natalie''s smile freezes on her face, though she battles on. "Oh sweetie, it ain''t that simple. I had no choice, see? I just wanted him to see me as I was, not the daughter of someone or a member of a family but me, your mother. A person undefined by her circumstances. I was untrained, so it ain''t my fault. No one ever told me that my wishes could hurt people! But that''s water under the bridge. We don''t need him. Just you and me, we''re going to have such a grand time together. Think about it!" "But errr, you''re trained right now?" "Yes, yes, I''ve done some of those horribly tedious exercises. Images and whatnot. Not that it would matter since I am shackled like an animal. Look!" Natalie pulled on her collar, revealing a silver filigree torque of good make. "That''s¡­ a restraining collar. Used on rogue mages. But¡­ mother, those visualization exercises are the base of mage training. Have you not achieved materialization yet? Or do they prevent you from manipulating your essence?" "Oh, I can''t possibly practice when no one lets me do anything and I constantly have someone looking over my shoulder like I am a child. But you are here now! We can do it together! It will be a great bonding moment." "Right. Right, that sounds good, I think. Yes. We should spend more time together. That practice sounds good. I''ll make sure that¡­ yeah, that I am here." "Oh, honey, we are not leaving? I thought we could go together." "I don''t know¡­ you are not in control of your abilities if you are still at this early stage of¡­ how can it be, you must be at least¡­ but no. No." I watch Constance lose her sheen of hopeful happiness with morbid fascination. In my breast, I feel an unusual, cold feeling of dread. I realize what it is with painful slowness. Sympathy. For what is happening. For what I can count on Natalie to reliably do next. "It''s alright, sweety, it''s alright. We can take our time. I''m sure those reasonable ladies and gentlemen downstairs will let me go after you make a demand. You''re important now, right? I can wait a bit longer. It''s an important moment for us." "Right." Natalie licks her lips, considering. And here we go. "Just wondering, could you give me a little something? Five dollars would do. It''s so boring here, I need something to take off the edge." "What?" "Just to tide me over until we leave. I''ll arrange something with the guards." Constance opens and closes her mouth like a fish out of water. "You¡­what? Mother, you are sick." "No! Don''t listen to what they say, I''m perfectly fine." "You¡­ you¡­ but we said together, we¡­" "Of course, dearie, of course, together! Your mother just wants to live a while, is all. Don''t hold it against me, yeah? It''s nothing. I''m in control." Natalie''s smile grew strained. "I¡­ gotta go. I got to go now," Constance says. I watch her storm out, her back bent under the weight of pain. "I love you," Natalie sweetly says while the door slams shut. With a simple spell, I open the window. Natalie''s head swivels towards me. "You are such a fuckup," I say. "You bitch, you turned her against me!" I watch her rage-filled face for a few moments. "You''ve always been my greatest disappointment. Well, I''m off to pick the pieces. Farewell." "Curse you!" I let myself fall down while taking great care not to let my dress flare. This is a civilian outfit. It does not come with my many improvements. I am inside of the car by the time Constance strides through the lobby. "Miss, you need to sign¡­" "FUCK OFF." I can hear the staff girl talk to an orderly. "Wow, rude." "She''s Natalie''s daughter, met her for the first time." "Ah. The poor thing. I forgive her then." Constance gets in the car, slamming the door behind her with such strength that the glass shakes. She places her head against the driver''s seat and sighs heavily. A few hiccups follow. Hmmm. She smells of extreme distress. This will not do. "You know," I hesitantly start, "one of your ancestors on your father''s side was my brother Hercule. I miss him dearly." She looks up, eyes red and filled with tears. "Which makes me your great great aunt, I believe. And thus family." S§×ar?h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. She sniffs, possibly a bit lost. "So. Hug?" "Yeah, I could use a hug right now." "Then hug." We hug. I believe I have not hugged anyone in forever. Embraced a lover, yes, but not¡­ hugged. It feels quite strange. Since it is her, I do not mind. I signal the chauffeur and we are off while Constance bawls her heart and snot out over my shoulder. It takes quite a bit of time for her to go through all that pain, so I merely stay there. "You smell comforting," she says as we finally split apart. "Why do you smell comforting?" "Perhaps because we are family." That is a lie. We smell comforting because it lures the mortal, yet I have no wish to hurt her or prey on her. For once, my scent becomes just that. "Oh. Pfft. Wait, do I have more living relatives? Besides those two, I mean." "Yes, your maternal grandfather will be quite cross with me when he finds out I hid your existence from him." "I am still quite cross with you as well, Ariane. Do not think that a hug and a sorry will erase eighteen years of absence." "Naturally. And you have more mages on your mother''s side. Lynn, for example. She is your great grandmother." "Lynn Merritt? She was always kind to me. Do you think she knew?" "I did not tell her, but perhaps she felt something. Enchanters like her tend to be more sensitive." "Right. I want to talk to her and my grampa. What''s his name?" "Alexander Bingle. He is a marshall. Still not retired, though I understand he is busy writing his memoirs right now, having accumulated a good amount of wealth throughout his late career." "Bounties." "No, ah, grateful widows, if I understand." "Ah. And I want to know more about you. I have questions. And I want to ask your staff what they think of you. I don''t want to just take your word for it. Like the chauffeur. Chauffeur, you will tell me what you think, right?" The chauffeur stops the car. He turns and gives Constance a look of condescending incredulity, then stare pointedly at me, present next to Constance and technically his employer, then back to Constance with the most speechless befuddlement I have ever seen in a mortal, then back to the road. "Generally you should not ask what people think of their bosses in front of their bosses if you want an honest opinion," I kindly inform her. "Right, I knew that¡­" she grumbles. The rest of the trip is spent answering questions about my past. She attempts to count the total number of people I have killed and I must admit that I do not like where this is going. *** Constance prowled the Nirari vault for documents. The Nirari vault could also be called the archive room, complete with dust and a sour staff member. Constance preferred her term. The answer she sought was here, hidden in some volumes. A janitor and Ariane''s butler had strongly hinted that the answer to her question slept in those drawers. After almost half an hour of search, she found it. An article clipped at the edge of a motion aimed at a certain A. Reynaud, preventing her from accessing IGL''s official automobile for her personal use. That was it. Constance checked the date. The document dated back to 1891. Terror on the road. Chicagoan police are on the hunt for a deranged harridan who caused the death of one man, injured another, and caused significant property damage. On May the 12th, the unidentified woman ran a carriage out of the road after an altercation with the driver using a brand new automobile. The man, identified as Horace Caldwell from Willings street, was uninjured but one of his horses had to be put down. Later that day, it was reported by a Miss Butler that a certain Oliver Twill, 42, unmarried, was justly remarking that women did not have the temperament to operate such heavy pieces of machinery as she drove by. Mr Twill reportedly heckled the woman while she was crossing the street at a slow pace to allow pedestrians to make way. At the end of the road, she turned her wonder of technology around then ran him down, killing him on the spot. "Twas ghastly, he screamed and then it sounded like crunched wood!" Miss Butler was reported saying. The hunt for that lunatic has not yet borne fruit because the model of the car could not be identified. The Chief of Police has so far declined to comment on the odious crime. So. Constance made a quick calculation. Cars were only just getting started on mass production now, which meant that automobiles were far and few at that time. The implication was clear. Ariane was not just the first person to have a car accident. She was the first to commit vehicular manslaughter. All in a window of a single day. Ariane was the world''s first automobile road rager. That was why she was banned from driving. "God help us all if she gets her hands on a wheel," Constance muttered. "Amen," the archivist replied. Chapter 214 - 208: Sixth Despite her best effort, Constance didn''t find anything too horrible about Ariane. The strangest element of it all was that she allowed Constance free reign over the domain. She felt like a child being allowed to play spy in a normal house, except she was an adult and the house was cannibalistic. The existence of ''Pookie'' certainly came as a surprise. Despite that, the strangeness of a shape-shifting building mimic came second to Ariane''s art collection. Some of the pieces there were mind-boggling in the truest sense of the word, leaving the spectator lost in a state of fugue. Ariane did have to drag her out but only because she''d been trying to watch them all and the vampire argued it was no excuse to skip dinner. Constance had to relent. It was difficult to see someone who insisted on the benefits of a balanced diet and inquired about her taste for grilled spinach as a lethal threat. Constance would have been more suspicious if Ariane had been squeaky clean, but the Hand of the Accords (or the Boom Girl depending on whom you asked) made no secret about ''the murders'' as she said, even directing Constance in the direction of her secret archives. Every accusation was either met by simple questions that undermined Constance''s entire argument, or were met by a thoughtful ''hmmmm''. "You could have left the factory to his son. It wasn''t fair for you to buy it at such a low price." "Even if it would have been repossessed two weeks later by the Bank of Missouri?" "Well, errr, that is, no of course not! Not like that." "Hmmmm." Or that time she had learned about a wholesale massacre. "You could have just let them go! They were no longer a threat to you. To kill them all to the last was cruel, and an unnecessary loss of life." "Then you were fine with the execution of June''s family? Since they knew she was a werewolf." "No! Wait, you could have just brainwashed them!" "Brainwash five years of dogged pursuit ¡ª excuse the pun ¡ª and leave them as lobotomized simpletons. I thought it was more cruel." "How about¡­ paying them off?" Ariane didn''t immediately comment about the astuteness of bribing bounty hunters who would sell their own mothers for three pennies and a beer, expecting them to respect their own promise. S§×ar?h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Hmmm," she finally said. "Augh!" The most annoying aspect was that Ariane never argued, and that the underlying message could not be clearer to Constance. If she were there, she could influence the vampire''s decisions. It had been made obvious not just by the vampire but also by the quiet titan John who never told a lie, and even by that Isaac fellow whom she had officially hired to answer her questions. Those were the minor operations, most of them related to maintaining the peace, thwarting Integrist encroachement near her territory, or just taking revenge on people who mostly deserved it. The main attraction remained the constant war against dead world raids, a merciless conflict that spanned the entire continent and that Ariane spent most of her time managing, either directly or through her many allies. A quick skim of the reports revealed that the raids had been gaining in intensity though reducing in scope after several devastating losses. It seemed the foe had picked up on the vampires'' ability to detect portals as they opened. Nevertheless, the losses the invaders were willing to withstand stunned her. Ariane, however, had a plan, one she remained particularly tight-lipped about. It was the only exception to her rule. "I do not discuss ongoing operations with someone who might not be involved," she had said from the recess of a comfortable couch in her office. "Not even Constantine will be spared from this rule. No exceptions." The vampire felt more raw in the late hours of the afternoon. More tired. There were pockets under her eyes while her skin tone felt more sickly than the usual delicate alabaster. The sun, it seemed, never truly released its hold. She moved less as well. "I thought you would keep no secrets from me?" "I keep no secret when it comes to my past deeds," Ariane said, leaning forward with a stern expression. "The secrets of others that could endanger them if known, and personal issues are off limits. Those play no role in your¡­ project to unearth every detail of my life for unethical behavior. Please respect those boundaries." Constance felt a little chastened when she realized she had pushed Ariane to the limit. The vampire was strangely tolerant of mortals in many ways, especially if she saw them as belonging to her. The automobile revolution provided ample proof of that. It stopped at some point and past that, she was without mercy. A staff member had been caught trying to sell secrets to government agents a few years back. He had been summarily executed. No second chances. This at least, Constance could understand. Mages would be persecuted without mercy if they were not willing to go to certain lengths to defend themselves. "What if I were to join you?" she asked. Ariane gave it some thought. "You are trained well enough, I suppose." "I meant as your Vassal." Constance found herself the center of attention of a creature whose attention was potentially deadly, yet she did not feel threatened. The old vampire just waited, quiet and quiescent in the dying hours of the day. She could have been a statue. "I mean it. I have seen what you are trying to do, I suppose, and even if you were hiding things from me, it wouldn''t matter much. I am still not exactly sure how Vassals help, though Master Isaac tried his best to explain. I don''t see the value of being more human. I mean, do you really need it? Wait, don''t answer that. I have seen what you are trying to do. I believe I understand. And if by joining you as a partner, I can protect earth from its most dangerous adversaries, I will do so gladly. It has been months. I believe that I still do not know who you really are, but your actions speak for you and in your favor. I will assist you." Ariane nodded, slowly. "Very well. Then there is the matter of sealing the pact. You need to drink my blood to forge this alliance." "Oh¡­ does it hurt?" "No." Ariane calmly slid a claw over her wrist, splitting her pale skin. Black blood slowly welled on its surface. Constance approached and kneeled, pressing her lips to the already closing gash. The blood was cold and thick like syrup. It seeped down her throat like liquid ice. "Why is it¡­ spicy?" The vampire blinked. "What?" "It tastes spicy." Constance licked her lips. "Not bad at all, in fact. Very unusual. Will it turn to ash in my stomach?" "Constance, as much as I appreciate your trust in this matter, this is not a tasting session." "Oh, sorry." "I wish your generation had a little bit more decorum, but I digress." "And also you''re not the best person to talk about decorum, pirate queen." "It''s Dread Pirate Queen to you, and how are tricorns not a proof of proper... Urg, it has already started." "What could you possibly mean?" "The sass." *** The dead world spread all around, a vast expanse of gray and ochre under a cloudy sky. The wind here was cold and persistent, though never violent. The mana here was dead and its lack, oppressive. The air smelled of perpetual ash. In contrast to the morose, unchanging nature of the place, the Accords base camp swarmed with activity. Men and women loaded the carriage train, orders fusing left and right. The uniforms spoke of the presence of many factions and they formed an eclectic bunch, but unerring discipline turned them into a careful dance instead of a mess. Constance looked front to her commanding officer, then to Ariane by her side. Several vampires stood at attention by the side, and they were more diverse than she would have expected. There was John in his titanic dark iron armor but also Urchin with his ever-changing blade, then a black woman in close-fitting mail wielding a spear. A large hispanic warrior in full plate wearing a massive sword stood next to a short fencer with a square jaw and a strangely wavy sword. In total, there were almost two dozen war-trained vampires in attendance. As for the humans, they numbered in the thousands. The officer, a burly man with gray hair in an actual army uniform, spoke first. His words carried over the general hum of activity. As soon as he started speaking, the rest of the army fell silent. "Gentlemen! And ladies, I suppose. I''m sure you''re all wondering why the secrecy, so I''ll tell you now. As of a month ago, the Dalton''s Vengeance spotted the liches'' main base in North America." A wave of susurrus surged from the ranks, with many turning to their friends. "Silence," a woman''s voice said, quieting everyone instantly. "This is no time for gossip," the officer continued. "You know the deal. Those monsters are using that place as a staging ground to unleash their slave raiding parties on our land, kidnapping left and right. They''ve eluded us for years with their clever use of this world''s terrain but we spotted them in a caldera not far from here, and now, we got them." A low rumble rose from a thousand angry throats. This time, the vampire didn''t interrupt. "We''re going to march there, liberate the captives, raze it to the ground, and kill every last fucker who thought they could ravage our earth." This time the roars were louder but the general quieted them with a gesture. "The plan is simple. You will march with your company at the edge of the caldera then walk along it until you are in position. Your approach will be covered by our irregulars¡­" His eyes flickered to Ariane who was even now decked in her otherworldly armor. "Under no circumstances should you shoot your gun. We must not let the enemy know they are found out until the very last moment. If you are found by hounds, fix bayonets and take them down. You will not fire unless expressly ordered to do so, am I clear?" "Sir yes sir!" "Good. Once you are in position, a signal will be given and you will walk over the edge then down on the base according to your CO''s orders. Those of you who''ve never fought with the cold ones, remember to seek cover in the thorns." Part of the army looked on in confusion while the rest chuckled. Someone next to Constance brushed off a rookie''s question. "You''ll see. Can''t miss it." No one spoke in Constance''s squad. They were all scarred veterans, and the speech had not affected them. Instead, they searched the horizon for signs of hostility. Constance thought some of them might be searching their own ranks, too. She was no idiot. The squad had accepted her as their mage with no questions, no comments, not even a remark that she was a young woman. She could tell they were bodyguards almost at a glance. Their presence comforted her, but not as much as Ariane''s next words. A sound enchantment carried her voice to Constance''s ears. "I have ordered John to look after you. He will protect your life as if it were my own." "It will be done," the colossus rumbled with unshakeable conviction. "I must leave you now. You will be in good hands but you will also be in a battle. Keep your eyes open and ready." With this, Ariane moved to the back of the formation where her flying warship was waiting. The rest of the army moved out immediately, their progress made easier by the lack of need for a road. There were no forests to block the path here. They could spread out as much as they wanted. Or they would if it were not the wildlife. The most boring yet stressful part of any battle started there. The soldiers walked in columns under a cloud of dust from the forward elements. Warned, Constance had brought a shawl to wrap around her nose. The grit still stung her eyes when the wind picked up. You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. "Why are we wearing winterized stuff? It''s so hot in here," someone said to her right. "Trust me you''ll regret it if you don''t," a veteran replied. Constance assumed it was for those who would end up fighting next to Ariane, though perhaps having the entire army wear hot garments was a waste. There were probably considerations she didn''t know. Or perhaps it was not related to Ariane at all, and she was blowing her new partner''s importance out of proportion. Her thoughts grew muddled and she focused on putting one foot in front of the other. Minutes blurred into hours. Squads stopped only once to drink and attend to natural needs. She could see John moving by her left flank, sometimes. The right flank was covered by more soldiers she could shake a stick at. Mundane ones. Close to noon, the ground started to rise. They came across crevices and broken earth that forced the columns to split. Strange, spine-like formation of white rock sprang from the earth like rotten bone from a cadaver. The barren soil turned a deeper shade of red until her boots and the entire landscape appeared rusty and pitted. They came across gutted hounds including a broodmother sometime later. By early afternoon, the slope was clear. She could spot a large, circular elevation in front of them through gaps in the cracked terrain. They were almost there. Groups stopped to eat cold rations before the last stretch. Constance was so nervous she could barely taste anything. Then it was time to climb. Hers was not the first group to reach the top, but it was still early. She and others crawled on their bellies as they approached the hidden base after a couple of powerful mages gave her to go ahead. Apparently, the liches had alarms but the forces of Earth were ready for them. She watched on while the rest of the army deployed along the edge of a massive crater. The liches were canny, she had to give it to them. The base was formed from low buildings topped by gray roofs indistinguishable from the surrounding ash. Kennels and barracks formed a side while a training field and prisoner cages formed the other, the entire complex ending with a couple of large buildings that might be armories or administrative centers. A large portal occupied the center of the compound, though it was deactivated at the time. She could not see much more from where she was, a quarter of a mile away. What surprised her the most was the lack of sentries. Or perhaps the liches relied on the hounds to warn them and the vampires had eliminated that resource before they could realize it. It took a few long, agonizingly slow minutes for everyone to get in position. Constance felt so tense her teeth ached. She couldn''t wait for everything to start. And then, it did. "Starfall, forty seconds," someone screamed. Immediately, whistles trilled along the edge of the caldera. Trumpets echoed it, soon answered by a thousand throats heralding the imminent violence. Constance''s ear rang from the clamor. Behind her, the thump of distant mortars provided a low drum. The barracks in front of her were hit. Plumes of smoke started to rise. Constance stood and ran with the other, the acrid air burning her throat as it didn''t seem she could gulp enough of it. "Shouldn''t we stay in cover?" she asked no one in particular. "Cover doesn''t work against liches," the officer replied. She kept running. Far to her right, a detachment of transformed werewolves took over their formation to engage a flow of hounds gathering towards them. The army ate up the distance, never slowing, far too close for an optimal engagement range, Constance thought. "Twenty seconds to starfall!" a communication mage said. And then she had trouble thinking. It started with silence. Constance gasped when the voice was taken from her throat and the thunder of hundred of feet were replaced by an oppressive, quiet. Her steps faltered. Looking around, most people had it worse. They all struggled to take a step with some falling to their knees. Others persevered with grim expressions, eyes forward. Constance faced the base and saw why. Almost lazily, an inhumanly large skeleton rose from the base with sinuous grace. The top was humanoid and garbed in fineries, but the lower part was a titanic, skeletal snake tail of biblical proportions. That lich was not just massive, it had a presence, a pull on its surroundings that arrested an entire army. Constance felt its baleful weight on her psyche. She fought the urge to scream when it spoke in her head. "THE CATTLE CAME." Constance growled just so she could hear the muted sound in her ear. Had to fight it. Parlor trick, nothing more. She was better than this. Her gaze traveled to the blue flame in those empty cavities. They were looking at everything and nothing. Constance refused to let herself be controlled, not by it, and not by anyone. It was just a pile of bones. Not a god. "SHEEP DELIVER THEMSELVES TO US. MARVELOUS." There was only one explanation. That lich was¡­ a single number. The most powerful of their kind. She recognized it from reports of survivors from the Austrian army. The Devil of Warsaw. Number Six. It was here. To take revenge? It didn''t matter. Had to break free. And she knew how. It was a lie, all of it. "Lions¡­ have no need to hide," she hissed between clenched teeth. She didn''t know how, yet the simple statement of fact broke the hold Six had on her. Humans were not cattle, liches were not lions, because humans were attacking and liches were hiding. It was just as simple as that. A ripple shook the human army, centered on her. The wave of disbelief spread out like a droplet falling on a placid lake, freeing them of the monster''s control. Constance felt an ephemeral sense of triumph when her comrades in arms stood up and walked. More shells fell on the base. She could hear the distant roars of werewolves again. The spell was broken. "Five, four," a voice counted from the side. Her relief was short-lived. Six pointed a finger at her. "YOU DIE FIRST." A figure landed in front of her, interposing a shield covered in runes that could probably withstand a battleship round, yet Constance knew it wouldn''t be enough. "Two." Red lightning gathered in Six'' bony palm. The air above it shattered on complex curves and angles that hurt her eyes. "One." The lich grinned at her, or at least it felt that way. More liches flew up from the wounded compound wielding orbs and staves fueled with stolen lifeforce. There were a few of them. "Zero." A meteor clipped Six''s shield. The base exploded. Or at least, that''s how it felt. Constance fell to her knees from the impact, and she wasn''t the only one. She looked up expecting heat and thunder but found a burst of cold air and an expanding wall of thorns. Starting at the epicenter, the redwood-sized growths climbed to the sky as fast as waves crashing on a shore, covering the crumbling walls below layer by layer. The center was already taller than most buildings and it just kept spreading. Constance suddenly understood what the veterans meant. As strange as it felt¡­ this was safety. She rushed forward with the others as fast as her legs would carry her. Beyond, there was already a battle. The forest swallowed her and her squad. It was cold as winter here and the air carried the crisp, clean scent of a December night. Spider fingers of ice writhed on the crevices of the dead world though it did not quite feel like that anymore, and Constance soon realized why. The mana was back. She could freely breathe again. She could also cast again. The forest had freed her. Constance ran through the corridor of twisted roots. Small, white flowers provided enough light to see from. She heard gunshots to the side. The tunnel turned unexpectedly and they found their first cages. Constance did not need to think. She rushed to the nearest lock and started casting. "Reveal. Ah, here we go." A few expert casts cut the lines of the defensive ward. The threads were sloppy yet strong, an amateur working with the amazing power of lifeforce. It still made her glad humans had not found how to use it. "I can''t get this thing open!" a member of her squad said. The people in the cages egged them on in a mix of languages. They were filthy and looked malnourished. "Try this one," she said to the man who held a crowbar. "I popped the defenses. Work on the ones I''ve weakened." "Understood." The squad worked fast under the cover of the forest. Civilians were soon free. "Mi hijo!" a rail-thin woman screamed as she gripped her wrist with desperat strength, "Ellos tienen a mi hijo!" "No time!" a man said, taking her away. "Go for the guns. Get out of here!" Constance screamed. They''d just be fuel otherwise. Constance realized they''d just rescued their first victims. It felt right. "Let''s keep going!" A new tunnel opened, carrying them where they were needed. The sounds of battle raged all around them. The curtain of roots once more fell away to reveal another squad being overwhelmed by hounds. Constance saw soldiers at the edge of the forest firing on a veritable tide of flesh supported by enemy slingers. There were uniformed bodies on the ground. Blood. Someone was about to get killed. Ariane''s Magna Arqa had carried them here just in time. Constance wondered how much of it was conscious as she lined up her brand new revolver, Ariane''s gift of course. Somehow, it felt light and she felt more in control, faster. She could perceive everything that was happening. It was almost easy. Constance pulled the trigger and managed the recoil with more ease than expected. Her target opened like a blood flower, petals of stripped flesh peeling off near her allies. "Hoooly shit," a burly man said, then he kept reloading. Constance felt the squad leader jump on her to cover her and went with the flow, recovering on a thornless root. She lined up another shot and killed another hound. The squad jumped to cover along with her. "Right, right, stretch the line!" an officer said. Other squads were emerging from the maze of thorns and opening fire immediately. A line of smoke and fury formed at the forest''s edge, mowing down the approaching hounds under a hail of lead. Machine gun teams set up as quickly as they could. The Earth army was stabilizing until an explosion took half a squad. Other humans were falling from stones slung by the enemy footmen. "We need cover. I''ll do it," her squad leader said. The grizzled man licked his lips, sweat covering his brow, He grabbed a hanging branch and pressed his thumb on a jutting spine. Blood pearled on the needle-thin end. "Cover, cover, cover, I need cover." Thorns awkwardly moved to form a hedge of sorts. It was imperfect but it was better than nothing. Soldiers repositioned. "We''ll take care of the beasts, can you fend off their infantry?" the squad leader said. Constance nodded. It was cold here and filled with exactly what she was good at: ice with a bit of dream, or mental magic as they called it. She was in her element. Magic answered her like never before. It was not just the ambient mana. Something in her had settled and now she felt abnormally strong, much stronger than she should be at this stage of her life. Power answered more readily, bent more easily. It was less a change in her and more a change in how the world reacted to her. The result was the same. "Grasp of the ice wolf." A blizzard rose and fell, smothering the enemy troops. The wind howled and spat flecks of sharpened ice on the ranks of slingers. Attacks ceased but Constance did not let up. "I can only keep this up for a little while," she said. "That''s fine!" Now free of the covering fire harassing them, the human soldiers were free to line their shots. The effects grew more devastating as more and more squads joined the fray. Some of the hounds diverted to her ice storm and would emerge energized, faster and deadlier, but not bulletproof. "It''s fine!" the squad leader reassured her. "I can''t hold it," Constance stated. Despite her increased power, there was a limit to what she could achieve. The blizzard died down and Constance prepared to warn that return fire would soon resume. She quickly realized she was wrong. "Wow¡­ I think I killed them." Normally, her spell merely slowed and disabled, then Boone would turn it into a hell of mist. Here though, the temperature had dropped enough to leave behind nothing but frozen bodies half buried under a crystalline layer. Constance felt her stomach lurch but fought it off. Now was not the time. She felt pressure increasing and an itch between her shoulder blades. "Incoming!" she said, and dived. Only those nearby heeded her call but it saved them. Obsidian shards fell on the human ranks, eliciting cries of pain. The roots proved resilient enough to block them or the toll would have been much easier. A lich flew into view. Thankfully, it was a lesser one, for a certain definition of lesser. The bones were whiter, newer than the others. Whatever preserving method the monsters used to keep themselves intact over the eons had not quite taken in. Constance knew what it meant. The Last City was making more liches, sucking earth dry to do so. Bunch of locusts. Just as the obsidian lich landed in front of them, a form in black armor smashed into its shield. Constance could only see a flurry of hammer blows pushing the foe out of view, sending it crashing in nearby buildings. "The hell was that?" the squad leader asked while the humans resumed firing. "John. We''re¡­ damn, there is another." A skeletal figure in golden armor descended over the battlefield in front of it, clinging to appearance despite the circumstances. Constance wasn''t sure, but she thought the two dozens battle-ready masters and lords descending upon them might count as ''an emergency'', yet that idiot was still trying to impress. And it would work because they had nothing to oppose it. She needed help. Or at least, a shield. Without hesitation, she planted a finger on a nearby thorn. The reaction told her it might have been a mistake. While the thorns had sluggishly reacted to her squad leader, they pulsed and writhed as soon as her blood touched the cold bark. A shockwave spread through the nearby vegetation, contracting it until a single tendril as tall as a church erupted from the dusty stone, slamming the lich down like a flyswatter. Constance fell on her ass and cowered because it was not over yet. A terrible, terrifying roar of anger shook the air, calling on the part of Constance''s brain that remembered when mankind was not the animal kingdom''s deadliest species quite yet. It seized her chest in its icy grip. She had to look around. Find the threat. Run. Her throat was dry. Her heart struggled to escape against her ribs. "Fuck." A dragon landed on the recovering lich. There was nothing more accurate to describe the monstrous statue of pale stone bowling against the caster with unabated fury. A hurricane of claws met a deluge of obsidian, each regenerating as fast as the other, then an armored statue with a battleaxe attacked the lich from behind. The creature, perhaps feeling it was overwhelmed, rose in the air while a pulse of lifeforce magic pushed the constructs away. It lifted both hands to form a gash in reality above its head, then a third statue shot it in the head. The projectile pierced the weakened shield while the lich was distracted, causing the gash to destabilize and eat one of the lich''s hands. Despite damage to its skull, the monster was very much alive and screaming. It screeched more when the statue shot it a second time. It was a man in leather coverall wearing a tricorn. The statue engaged the lich but for a brief instant, the man in coverall flipped his old-fashioned pistol as it turned to her. Perfectly sculpted eyes found Constance. Inexplicably, the statue winked. And then, it shot the lich again. *** It feels good to let go. No more politics, no more family drama, no more dealing with disappointing actors of the dark world''s stage whose interests need to be handled with diplomacy. No careful dance while disaster lurks in the shadows. No more bridles. No more taxes, no more paperwork, no more laws, no more waiting. Just me, and that bony prey over there. Number Six. I stand up from the crater and laugh, feeling the Magna Arqa expanding unrestrained. I recognize that lich. Last time we met, he was playing with Viktoriya until I shoved a homemade artillery shell into his aura. I seem to remember having turned his palace into finely baked powder with a lifeforce-based explosive. He seems to remember me as well. "YOU!!!" "I have had a long month so¡­ please attempt to make this interesting." "ARROGANCE!" A crimson thunderbolt pierces the mirage I left behind but I am already moving and encircling the creature''s powerful shield with Rose, shredding it as I go. We have found no way to pierce those constructs before weakening them first and I suspect we never may. It matters not. My soul blade sings a dirge as it rips the construct apart layer by layer. More fast attacks come from the serpent lich, hitting mirages, the growing thorns, the places where he thinks I might go. He is just far too slow and the shield overheats around an ellipse. "BURN!" A wave of pure heat explodes from the creature. The nearest roots are vaporized in an instant. "Polar midnight." My Likaean spell calls on the surroundings and the tiny star of the lich''s wrath rages over an infinite field of uncaring cold. There is always more dark, more empty, more entropy for my foe to consume themselves over. There will always be more thorns for them to hack at until they realize the vines are without numbers. I dive under the cover of spikes and let the lich rage on, feeling my minions spreading over the camp in a pitch battle to the death. Both Nami and Suarez have already dispatched their first foe in moments. "STOP HIDING!" Number Six suddenly blurs and becomes much faster. It manages to locate me somehow and I find myself running as fast as I can to avoid the onslaught of scarlet rays. He falls for more mirage, but one of the spell hits the Aurora near my leg and damages it. "Darkness." The lich speaks but I cannot understand his words, garbled as they are. He somehow managed to accelerate time around himself, it seems. That cannot be cheap. A cruel red light disperses my spell and the hunt is on again, but when he finds me, I have prepared a countermeasure. Thankfully, I prepared something for fast adversaries that I might as well try with this one. Let us just say that Loth does good work. I pull the trigger of the aptly named Nemesis to unload a deluge of enchanted silver into the quickly moving lich. Amusingly, it does not seem used to fighting this sort of battle. I do not truly need to be faster. I merely have to keep the barrel mostly aligned. The magic of muzzle velocity rings the shield like a bell, then the hastening spell ends before my supply of bullets does and I drop the Nemesis to the waiting roots below. As satisfying as it is to see technology prevail over long dead skeletons, those bullets are quite expensive. And the temperature keeps dropping. "ANNOYING!" Number Six sings as I attack. His voice is guttural, primal, calling to a long dead land. His staff shines with vital energy. It will call back this great corpse between our feet to life where it lands to unleash its rage once more. The staff launches downward and lands with a thunderous blast, and then the spell¡­ peters out. "Do you not understand yet?" I ask with some surprise. "There is no earth below." "PRIMITIVE TRICKS." Not primitive. Primal. We stand in my domain. There is no dead world around us. This is all me. The lich slows down more as it calls another massive spell. I test a few shield breakers made by Dvergur but without much success. Rose seems to do the best job at grinding down the shield. Rose, and the cold. Blue, striated cracks worm their way through the shield. Perhaps its life-fuelled nature attracts the embrace of winter more than pure aura would. I keep moving and fighting, sending the occasional spell as well, though few really matter. I let my statues support my allies as well. At one point, I taste Constance''s blood but she does not feel in danger and I let her fight her battle, confident in my allies. I am relentless. The lich climbs, the thorns climb with him. He burns them, they regrow. He chases me and I run around, still shredding him, still taking apart that stolen life piece by piece, victim by victim. I peel him off like an onion. Power bleeds with every tooth raking against the smooth shield, gnawing on it like a fresh bone. The marrow is within reach, I can feel it. A strange starfall of white light is one of the monster''s last, desperate attempts. The projectiles fall downward and seem to breach through everything so I do not fight them, instead making sure I have no allies on their path. The shield starts to crack. Finally, it happens. A small crack. This is the signal I had been waiting for. As one, the largest roots I have snap into the sphere all at once. It cracks like an egg and I am on the lich before it can move. My claws grab cloth. I can see the small inscriptions on its ancient skull¡­ but then it disappears. With one last pull, the lich reappears a hundred yards above my head. It immediately takes off, flying at great speed. I watch it look back with naked hatred, but it sees I am not following and keeps going. That is why it misses the shape of the Dalton''s Revenge diving from the cloud cover. The Dvergur skipper calmly aligns the sight on the main gun before firing, showing remarkable patience and restraint. Number Six disappears in a cloud of incandescent light. It is done. *** It takes quite a bit of time for us to process all we have found. The recently freed mortals inform us that the portal at the center of the base leads to the Last City, though it remains blissfully shut while we disable some of the key components. Following that, we recover no less than three hundred captives. Constance takes an active role in helping them adjust thanks to a benevolent application of her mind magic to calm them down. We also avoid deaths thanks to a few White Cabal healers, who inform us that eating solids will kill some of the weakest survivors. I did not know that. We find archives that show how many thousands of victims escaped us, taken to the Last City for processing. They are definitely dead. I find Constance a little later as we prepare to leave. "Did you make me stronger?" "Yes, as a side effect of one of my captured bloodlines and, I assume, your own nature as well." "Sweet. As for your offer¡­ so long as you stand for what you have stood for today, you got yourself a deal. And if you stray, well, I will be here to remind you." "That is acceptable." Chapter 215 - 209: The Queens Hoard March 1907, the night of the lich camp raid. The thief was good at his job. He had retired once already, and would have stayed retired if he had not been found. Few managed such a feat in his line of work. Fewer managed it without visiting prison, yet he had succeeded. The thief knew the keys to success. Dedication, preparation, cold rationality. He had canceled jobs before because he smelled a fish. He had refused others because they were too ambitious, going after targets whose insurance policy included dismemberment. This was a dark world. His quirk was not enough to fend off the worst nightmares the night had to offer. If he had a choice, he would have refused that job too. He would have slammed the door in the client''s face and left for Timbuktu. But he didn''t, and so he had waited, and prepared, and now was the time to strike. The previous thieves who had attempted the heist had all disappeared without a trace. From their failures, he had learned a few vital details. First, no entrance could be done from the front as that was instant death. Second, no entrance could be done while she was around. Third, no local could be trusted. The thief had hidden nearby and then he had waited. His contact told him when she would leave on a special operation that would carry her far away. How far? Far enough, he''d said. A world away. The thief prayed that it would be enough. The thief breathed in the evening air, then clutched the medallion on his chest. He checked his gear and the dark cloth he wore one last time before rushing forward, out of the bushes and towards the high fence surrounding his target. Had to hurry. Sometimes, werewolves patrolled the region. The man held his pole in the proper position. He sprinted faster, then lodged it in a small pit he''d prepared just for this occasion. The pole bent and he vaulted. His breath caught when he took off, sending him far over the fence and the spearheads that decorated its top. The proximity enchantment extended far over their boundary, eager to catch those who thought themselves safe having scaled the metal barrier. At the apex of his course, he jumped and pushed. The pole swung back towards the ground outside while he grabbed for the branch of a nearby oak, and missed. The thief did not swear. However, he did gasp when the next branch caught him in the ribs. He still grabbed it like a buoy and hung on like his life depended on it. "Not twenty anymore," he growled to himself in the safety of his head. Could not make a sound here. The collection waited ahead, garbed in magical protections like a beacon of colors shining in the night, a kaleidoscope of defensive arrays. There would be no piercing it safely because, as the thief had noticed, the one who had designed them worked from an unfair advantage: she was simply better than him. Therefore, he wouldn''t try. The thief raced across the lawn, avoiding a few well-placed mines, then scaled the wall to the second floor with claws affixed to his forearm. What mattered was the mundane security outside. So long as he didn''t alert them, he would have some time. Deftly avoiding a few outside triggers, the man soon found the only open shutter on this floor. The light of the moon gave a perfect view of the inside, which seemed to be a botanical garden of sorts. The thief could spot lianas and leaves. Interestingly, more light cast the tiles in silver radiance than should be possible. He used a diamond blade to cut through the enchanted glass. It took him a few minutes to finally manage an opening, but then he was in. A simple thread manipulation changed the window''s alarm sensitivity so it could stretch without breaking. Nevertheless, the thief knew he was leaving tracks. Something was clinging to him, a pervading feeling of cold like sticky, half-melted ice. Ghostly thorns raked against his skin, not yet finding blood. He was intruding. The house knew he was intruding. It was slowly waking up, looking for him. He was living on borrowed time. The thief carefully placed his arm through the hole to reach for the window latch and found a lock instead, fully closed. He did not panic. Instead, he removed a small mirror at the end of a retractable metal stalk from a side pocket and inspected this new obstacle. A normal lock, with a key. He recovered the mirror then used another tool. This one looked like a key with no indentations. He placed it inside the lock then focused on its magic. The metal bubbled as if alive, pushing against every pin until they were stuck in place. He was about to turn it when he hesitated. Time was of the essence, but the mistress of the house was devious. Better be extra careful. He tried to feel up instead of down and, sure enough, there were pins on top too. Probably an alarm as well, though he could not be sure from this side. All in all, it took him over five minutes to get it, but it was done in silence. Guards walked the perimeter outside. They remained unaware that he was attempting the unthinkable. His black leather suit stuck to skin now, soaked with sweat despite the cold evening air. Nevertheless, the alarm string did not break. Slowly, the man eased himself into the house. A ghostly thorn pricked his cheek and he winced. He lifted a finger to the painful spot and realized it had drawn blood. She knew now. Hopefully, he would be gone by the time she returned. He shut the window behind himself slowly and took in his new surroundings. This was, indeed, an inner garden of sorts. The light came not just from the window but from the ceiling''s skylight, a skylight that had not existed on the outside. Or it was so well-camouflaged that he could not have told. Water gurgled from copper pipes on a terrarium that surrounded the entire center of the room where a couple of storage shelves waited, loaded with fertilizers and tools. Vines and strange glowing flowers grew in the soil around a crystal bulb the size of a ball. In its midst floated a seed, frozen in time. The thief knew instantly and without a doubt that this single seed was more valuable than anything he''d ever stolen, more valuable than what he had been sent to retrieve. He also knew without a doubt that to touch it was death. It was not just the enchantments protecting the crystal. He realized, looking more closely, that the garden was, in fact, a single entity linked by branches and lianas, bloated with magic. Tendrils swirled delicately around the seed as if to provide a bed or to benefit from the potent aura seeping through the crystal container. There were also curious, fava-like growths that looked suspiciously like unripe fruits nestled across the vegetation. Some of them were as large as violins. The thief took a step forward, and the plant shivered. The thief froze and looked around. What he had taken as fruits were now rising from the bed of earth, splitting along their lengths to reveal purple gums and thorn-like, serrated teeth dripping with nectar. Some of the more vivacious lianas had slithered to the ground with disturbingly serpentine motions. The thief did not quite panic yet, but he did bar this room as an exit option. Despite his lack of motion, the planet didn''t stop moving. In an instant, he rushed to the door while using his signature spell. His quirk. His own, self-made luck. "I am not here." The lianas and carnivorous growths stopped, confused for an instant. The door was mercilessly unlocked and he blasted through, slamming it behind him. A series of thuds informed him he had been a second away from disaster. "Goddamn." Giant, man-eating plants? Not even really surprising. No matter. He had to hurry. Now, where was he? A corridor extended towards the front and back of the manor. A dull light provided enough illumination for him to see that it was empty of anything save basic furniture to allow the exhibited works to take precedence. Most of them are portraits. He knows he is meant to steal a painting, and that this painting is stored on the ground floor, but his eyes wander anyway. Some of them depict simple scenes like a slave family by a plantation. Others feel very basic, as if the painter had only begun to come into their own. A mature man, solid, with a large beard and muscles straining a shirt stood side by side with a man with sharp traits, a malicious smile, and a pair of pistols in side holsters. The thief quickly realized those were all made by the same painter across the ages. It was decidedly her, and he was watching her progress. And he had been told vampires did not change. Horseshit. They changed at their own speed. They learned, too. Shaking his head, he walked towards the front of the house, opened the door, then stopped. In front of him lay a large entrance with the gate beneath and in front of him. Candelabras loaded with witch lights provided enough radiance to see the tastefully decorated interior. Mostly neoclassical with a touch of color. Not gaudy as he expected. More paintings and other precious items waited in corners or on pedestals for a visitor that would never come. The thief expected this to be the fastest way to the first floor and his target, but he also knew that none who had tried that way had survived. There was something peculiar going on here. To his back, the manor was whispering with magic but it was still a building. In front of him, though, the place felt different. A light air flow pushed heat and a strange, animalistic smell towards him that he didn''t like one bit. Some of the walls felt strange as well, not quite straight one moment, rigorously so the next. The light felt off. He was not quite sure why but there was something going on. Maybe a chained beast in a camouflaged partition waited for intruders to step in before jumping on them? A movement caught his attention. On a Dorian pillar to his left, an eye opened. It blearily looked around and found him before closing again. The thief gulped. The thief looked up to an array of knife-sized teeth growing in an interstice above the gate. The thief realized that the chained beast was the entirety of the manor''s front. He closed the door, but not too hard, just in case. The thief took a few steps back. "Jesus. Okay, okay. New plan." The thief walked back through the corridor, passing the indoor garden on the way. There were more portraits here. Some of them showed humans smiling gently. There was an older maid with Scandinavian traits, an adventurer with a winning smile, and an outlaw chief with a crow on his shoulder. A native man smirked, sitting atop the back of a giant tortoise. Others were here too, and he knew without a doubt that they were vampires. There was something off, an atemporal impression about the way they looked, something predatory about the way they posed. No fangs were shown, though they did have claws if one looked closely. He spotted a man in an impeccable suit standing confidently near a desk, black hair slicked back with pomade. A black woman reclined sensually on a couch, honing a spear head with a glowing whetstone. The most impressive one was a tall man with gray hair and a steely gaze standing proudly on a ship, the bay of some city in the background. There was something else standing at attention and the thief averted his gaze, impressed despite himself. He didn''t expect erotic paintings from the old monster. The most surprising paintings waited at the end and they distracted him from the earlier spectacle. There were two of them. One showed an old man with a short beard and golden hair standing in a sugar cane plantation with his shirt open, a careless smile on his lips. There was so much love here that it hurt him, reminded him of his daughter waiting outside. He wished he could express himself like that. He wished he could show her he loved her with such naked abandon, as if the world would not crush them for this audacity. The man in the painting looked so confident it made the thief jealous. The second picture showed the vampire as a girl. It was her, there was no denying it. He had been shown a rather poor rendition of her made by a mortal artist, and the traits were the same, but the girl in the painting felt fresh, hopeful, and innocent to a degree that scared him. She felt so happy and certain. No doubt the world had seen it fit to take her down. He wondered if it had worked. Looking at the art collection, he was not sure. None of those paintings were the one he was tasked with recovering. The thief walked left at the end of the corridor. There were windows, shuttered, of course. What worried him slightly was the length of the corridor. He was rather sure the building was slightly larger on the inside. He could not wait to be out. Turning left, he walked past landscapes then came across another door, this one unlocked as well. Inside of the place was an armory. Racks lined the walls while other weapons hung from plates hung at eye level. Quality had been prefered over quantity, but some of those were positively ancient. Most of the weapons had seen little action and shone with the polish of newly minted pieces, but a few bore the wear and tear of extensive use with pride and the mark of loving attention. The thief watched an ancient musket of good quality, the muzzle forever blackened by countless shots. The word ''Talleyrand'' was inscribed in the scuffed barrel and the trigger was polished to a shine. It was one of the least enchanted pieces of the lot. There were others like it: daggers, throwing knives, some broken, a shattered short sword with molten edges, even an old Prussian needle rifle. He also noticed more modern weapons, including an ungodly, portable Gatling gun that would take a team of humans to operate, much less carry. There were a couple of feminine pieces of armor as well. One of them was a perfect mirror polished to a glimmering perfection. Shaking his head, the thief found what he had been looking for: the stairs down. Those were secondary ones, and the portraits in there all shared a certain familiarity with the vampire woman, all blood relatives it seemed. Living or dead, the thief didn''t know, but they came to life in those colors. He ended up in a shrine. There were no signs of a cross, as expected, or any altar he could see. There was still no mistaking the general air of sanctity that surrounded the pedestals lining the walls. Many of them stood empty, and there was something sad about the way she expected more losses. One of the pedestals showed the portrait of her father he had seen upstairs, and it bore a pendant and a few faded letters. Another bore a tricorn and a pair of old pistols which he, again, recognized from their portrait. Another painting showed a bald vampire in lamellar armor standing proudly, holding an old-fashioned shield and a pistol. Said shield rested against the pedestal next to a black axe made of steel, this one mundane. Possibly a reproduction. There were other memorials around, holding personal belongings of the deceased. The thief felt a pang of envy for he would not be remembered, and a pang of guilt at his own transgression. That was why he avoided houses when he could. It felt too personal. Without so much as a whisper, the thief moved on. Another corridor, shorter, led to the main exposition hall, its door hidden behind a drawn curtain. This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. That room was large and well-lit with a polished parquet floor that reflected the sculpted ceiling. He remembered his strict instructions. Under no circumstances should he look up. To do so would make him lose focus until the vampire came to pick him up. He had a capsule of cyanide ready for that eventuality but little hope to use it on time. He would not look up. The safety of his daughter depended on it. He walked past a massive canvas with his head resolutely down, and still, despite knowing of the dangers, despite his own self-control, it called to him. Whispered of sights the likes of which he''d never seen. This one spoke of a tide of wolves descending upon their captors. It spoke of snow, blood, and a hunt like no other. The moon. The moon was calling him, she who had witnessed so many of his misdeeds. Drool pooled on his tongue. No more hiding. No more shackles. Tear it all and KILL¡ª "No," the thief whispered in the silence. No, that wasn''t him. He was the hand in the dark but he didn''t draw blood. He just wanted peace for himself and his daughter. No knives in the night. Step by step, just like that. The next painting involved three armies fighting by the sea, moved by hidden hands. Its draw was less because the thief had never been a military man, nor a man prone to groups. He was a loner through and through. Deeper, he walked. The sky opened and witnessed a charge the likes of which the world had never seen. The seas rose to devour the intruder. Wolves hunted to take down rivals. Humans, always the rock, resisted the intruders from a fortress built by their own hands. The apex predators of the world faced a beast the size of a hill and a tide without number but there was no fear in their hearts, because they were WITHOUT MATCH. He had nothing to fear, because he was at the top of the food chain and the NIGHT WAS ¡ª The thief bit his tongue, not too hard. The pain was enough to center him once more. The paintings'' effects felt so strong. Escaping one just meant entering another one''s orbit. A painting spoke of wings, the void, and a dance so alien it barely nudged his spirit. It felt like walking on a bridge of a glass over an endless abyss, knowing a heavier person would break it and fall. It was his own insignificance that saved him. The last one was the one he was looking for. He didn''t have to look. It could not be any other. The night sky called to him, and the alien object here was the reason his client had wanted the painting to begin with. It was also much smaller than the others. The man looked up, barely stopping his eyes at a gorgeous night sky and the signature ''Ariane'' discreetly tucked in a corner. That had to be it. He picked that one and placed it on the ground, cutting the canvas away from the frame with dexterity before rolling it. It had lasted less than three seconds and he was placing the tube on his back when a heavy clanking sound came from the predatory house. The thief didn''t think. He sprinted. The main door to the exposition hall opened behind him just as he left from a side door. "Lock." The door wasn''t spelled, thank god. It closed shut and not a moment too soon. Thud. Thud. Thud. THUD. THUD. No sooner had he turned to race again that a mechanical limb holding a scythe smashed through it, sending wooden shrapnel against his back. It was a golem, a freaking female-looking golem with a smile showing a vicious, overly large smile and lithe limbs of silvery metal. It was lightweight for a golem and quite fast. "Fuck." The thief sprinted with all he had while his pursuer methodically thrashed the obstacle. He took the corner at full speed, almost crashing against a strange banner made of skin. Had to get to the back door. Only way. He hoped it could be unlocked from the inside. It was just there. There was a key on the side. He grabbed it. At the same time, the golem reached the corridor with a loud thud. That sculpted smile froze the blood in his veins. In a moment of desperate inspiration, the man grabbed a shawl from a nearby pedestal and tossed it, expecting the golem to prioritize the asset. It did. It took a dive and grabbed the rolled shawl before it could fall, unaware that the shawl itself was not at risk. The thief rushed through the open door, slamming it behind him. He raced to the fence and the golem did not pursue. An alarm blared in the distance. He was really on borrowed time now. With one last effort, he scaled the fence and dropped on the other side, using a bit of peppermint oil to mask his smell tracks. He was gone before the few guards discovered the intrusion. As the thief moved away, he summarized the plan in his head. A successful heist was not enough. One had to avoid pursuit as well, and who knew what a cold-blooded, patient predator could achieve? *** SOMEONE STOLE MY STUFF. AAAAAAAAAAARRRG. When I find them, I will peel their skin off to use as lampshade. I will roast them on a large grill and baste them in their own grease. How dare they dare they dare they dare they INTRUDE ON MY LAIR. THIEVES. RASCALS. "Are you alright, Ariane?" "No." "Look, I can bend metal!" I look at Constance who still marvels about the incredible abilities my stolen Constantine bloodline and the power I grant her let her achieve. Yes, yes, you are very strong. Heh. It is true that we select Servants to help us maintain our humanity. She is just too precious. Like an immortal toddler. It is almost enough to make me forget I will find every last one of those cockroaches and make them pay. How dare they? HOW DARE THEY? And at a time I was out to defend our planet from depredation. They have no shame, no shame at all. Scandalous. The entire country is going to the dogs. "Why are you grumbling?" "I am not! And someone stole my stuff." "Oh. Don''t worry, I will help you." I feel better already. I wait for my ship to return to earth, then order it on a direct course for Marquette. This injustice shall not stand. It is still night when I arrive a few hours later. I jump down to see the pale face of my current head of guards, a mortal man who shivers in his boots. "I already know someone broke in. Was it a burglary?" I ask, precluding any apologies. "We don''t know because we didn''t get in¡­ as per your orders," he replies, terrified. "What can you tell me about the intruders and what about pursuits?" "One intruder. We can tell he entered from the north-west side by pole vaulting over the perimeter fence. He left in a sprint after triggering the alarms, but it took time to find his tracks in the dark and by that time he was gone. He used some sort of scent bomb to disorient dogs and werewolves, perhaps. One of Jeffrey''s patrols picked up that scent at the edge of town heading east towards Fairfield. They''re in pursuit." "Hmm." Fortunately, the culprit did not head north or south, preferring to stick to small roads. It would be impossible to find him in Chicago, not with so many smells and so many train lines. Perhaps he does not know the limits of our capabilities? "I''ll check the house. In the meanwhile, find me the latest about their location. And have a mage charge those anti gravitic crystals!" "What about me?" Constance asks. "What about you? Go to sleep." "Like hell I will." Pah, I have no time for unruly mortals. As expected, the thief entered through the window to the world seed garden. At least they didn''t damage it. Hmm, perhaps I should enchant the inner doors to be locked when the main entrance is to avoid the entire collection being compromised. I follow the tracks of foreign magic to the main hall where Pookie greets me with hungry guilt. "OoooOOoooOOOoooOOOoo." "Not to worry," I tell her in Likaean, "I will get you something soon. It was not your fault." "Oh." The intruder mage is male, a mage, mature and cautious. His lingering essence tastes of control and precision in a way that reminds me of Hopkins, the previous White Cabal Black Dog and the only mortal who almost blew me up. I retrace his steps with boiling rage to the armory which he left intact, then downstairs to the graves which he also left untouched, and then to the main hall. He stole a painting of the Watcher. Not my best one either. Hmmm. The anger I felt simmers down until I feel more impressed than really furious. I need to find him and send a message, of course, but to be honest, I am more amazed than furious now. What an amazing display of skill. And he clearly did not know about Pookie since he lingered on the threshold. My, what an asset. I simply must meet him. I tsk when I realize my golem broke a door which I will have to replace. That is fine. I should probably replace them all anyway. Outside, Constance is waiting with a communication mage. "He had a horse ready. The wolves lost his track when he crossed the border towards Indiana. We think he switched to a ship on the Wabash river." "Going north?" "It seems likely. I asked Jeffrey if he could help. He said he''d go himself, check every ship for pungent peppermint if he had to." Using a scent bomb might be useful in the short run, and it is a tactics mages use on occasion. They often forget that unless they manage to hide in a large city, there is a critical period of time before the scent fades when they are vulnerable to tracking. It takes a single droplet. In the meanwhile, I mobilize everything I have to find him. Urchin and John leave on their nightmares while teams of red cabal members scour the plains. I want this man found. We have a direction. Now, it is only a matter of matching my means with his. My ship finds the river soon enough, and my communication mage directs me to a small pack under Jeffrey. Unfortunately, they found the thief''s discarded suit, most of it burnt to a crisp. The man got changed, which was smart of him. I try to detect traces of my painting but find none. I suspect he might be using a sealed container that blocks the essence. It can be frustrating to deal with competent adversaries, but that is fine. I can be patient. With dawn soon approaching, I order my men to find the boat that took him, assuming the person to be a local. There are not that many ships on this branch of the Wabash, and even less capable of mooring in such shallow waters. I suspect we are dealing with a local. Now, it is only a matter of asking the right questions. I decide to give a bounty of fifty dollars for anyone with useful tips, then go to slumber. "Don''t worry, I''ll keep looking while you get your beauty sleep. I won''t let that man rob us," Constance assures me. Her power grants her improved stamina, but I still ask her to rest whenever possible. "Don''t worry, I''ll have breakfast before getting to work. I''ll sleep as soon as you can take over! You can count on me." I nod in appreciation, then retire for the day. *** Constance enters my sealed compartment with a map and an attitude. She moves aside two sheets of paper and a fancy pen with grandiose ceremony before slamming down a map of Indiana like some adventurer in a bodice-ripper. She seems quite pleased with herself despite the deepening pockets under her eyes. "I think we got him! So, we found an old gossip called Mrs. Williamson living with her husband on the shore and she noticed her neighbor''s boat ''coming and going at unchristian hours''," she says, mocking an old woman''s grumpy voice. "And it was him. He was paid ten dollars to deliver our man upstream to Vincennes. Oh, we paid Mrs. Williamson for the information. She was pleased as a peach because her husband always told her keeping an eye on everyone was a waste of time. Thank god for busybodies!" "And here I was hoping to solve this without committing atrocities¡­" "Anyway, we tracked him to Vincennes. That''s a city north east of here." "I am familiar with the surrounding geography," I tell her as I finish brewing my coffee. "What then?" "He took a coach towards Indianapolis. We''re hanging over it." I almost slam the pot on the table. "You found him?" "Yep! It turns out that things are much easier with unlimited manpower, money, and a flying ship." "How very unexpected. Nevertheless, well done. I did not expect us to succeed so fast. In fact, I thought he might have escaped us." "But that''s the thing. Why not go north to Springfield or better, Chicago?" "We can ask him when we interrogate him. Have you confirmed his presence aboard?" "A man matching his description was spotted exiting the carriage during a break. He climbed back on immediately afterward. I directed a patrol there just in case. They found no tracks leading out, so he didn''t swap with someone else." "I see you have grown as paranoid as we are." Sear?h the N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "And I can assuage my concerns without stepping foot on the ground! Isn''t that grand?" "It most certainly is. Now, to anticipate his next move. Hmm. Did he have a container with him?" "A sort of tube made of leather he kept over his shoulder." "So he has not dropped it off. Hmmm. I honestly do not know what he intends to do. I suppose we shall see when night falls." *** The thief kept to small roads to leave the immediate vicinity of Marquette, then to fast horses, one nearby, and another on the road near a small farm. He switched to a boat around midnight, praying that the old man he''d bribed would still be there. He had, baited by money no doubt. The thief burnt his clothes despite their price and tossed his tools in the river. If everything worked well, it would be his last stunt anyway. The boat trudged along the river slowly, frustratingly slow. The thief inspected the shore for pursuers but found none. Nevertheless, his mind played tricks on him. The forest was dark and menacing from here, hostile. Strange and alien, and none of the arguments that it was just childish fear worked to keep the terror at bay, because there were monsters. The thief had seen them. He left the ship at dawn. Daphne was waiting for him in the boarding house he''d left her in. She smacked against his chest in her eagerness to hug him. They stayed there for a moment, but not too long. The hostess already cast suspicious glances their way owing to their ''complexion'', no doubt. He was already lucky they accepted him in the post to Indianapolis, though some passengers turned their noses up when he climbed in. The trip was as stressful as it was uneventful. No pursuers could be seen, no howls shook the leaves after them and for the first time, the thief allowed himself to breathe. Perhaps he had done it, outrunning the net his target was no doubt dragging around her fief. Perhaps he could lose himself in the populous cities of the east coast before she could make him lose his life. Now he only had to worry about the client. He passed a hand over the bag by his side. If that man tried to get back on his word¡­ well, he would see if an old dog couldn''t learn new tricks. His agent had made it clear the thief had no choice, but he had also offered a substantial reward. "We know how to reward¡­ uniquely qualified individuals¡­ Mr. Adams." The thief would see if that was true. Eventually, the coach stopped for the evening at a small town where the thief knew of a hotel that wasn''t too stringent with its guests. He paid for a room in advance and climbed the stairs. Night had fallen by now and he''d gone without much rest for almost two stressful days. It was time to catch a breather. *** I drop from low altitude rather than engaging in the time-consuming activity of landing. I do not accost the burglar in the streets, especially because he has a girl with him. Clearly a relative. Instead, I wait for them to make their way to a nearby hotel then wait on the roof while they pick a room. I read the room number through my Magna Arqa, then locate it and crawl through the window as they climbed the narrow stairs up to the second floor. Then, it is just a matter of casting a simple shadow spell to mask my presence. I pick a rickety chair, sit down, and fluff my nice, blue travel dress. Sometimes, less is more. And there are few pieces of furniture capable of holding any of my suits of armor anyway. The mortals seldom realize how much we work to appear to act effortlessly. The thief checks the room. He would have detected me if I did not use some form of camouflage, which I find admirable but that his daughter apparently finds annoying. "Dad, come on, don''t make it weird!" Despite her supplications, the thief takes his time to enter. He is a black man of muscular proportions with graying temples, sad eyes, and the slight hunch of a man on his guard. No crosses. This might still be difficult, so I place both my hands on my lap before dropping the darkness spell. "Ahem," I say. "FUCK!" the girl swears. The burglar''s reaction is more contained yet more terrified at the same time. I could swear his heart skipped a beat. "Oh sorry," she tells her father. I love it when the young ones stick to a proper language. "Dad, are you okay?" Nevermind. "Please, can she go?" the man whispers. I think he is on the verge of collapse. "That will not be necessary, especially since the following conversation will concern her as well. To begin with, you will tell me who ordered the hit and where you were meant to deliver it." "If I tell you everything, you let her go." "Dad? What''s happening?" "You are in no position to make demands of me, THIEF." The Likaean term escapes me. Outside, the town grows silent. I contain myself and realize the daughter is watching in horror. "You¡­ you stole from her? You told me you were doing a service to a friend! You said you''d stop stealing!" "It''s complicated." "The hell it is!" Oh, she is angry alright. I sit back and allow her to lay into her increasingly flabbergasted father, shrugging when he looks at me with confusion. I will not kill the pair. They are simply too precious. Why, I want to paint them, add them to my collection after a fashion. It is only fair. After that, why, I want to know where my painting was meant to be exposed. I believe I might visit. *** The old man stood with difficulty, a hand grasping his cane in a dead grip. Outwardly, he was a strong, venerable businessman whose acumen had not declined with time. Inside, every joint in his failing body tortured him, grinding against each other with every motion like so many gears grinding the cartilage to a pulp. "Gentlemen, my dear friends. We all share various beliefs on the nature of art, is it not so?" The dozen well-dressed men agreed in hushed tones. They held glasses they were more than eager to sample. The amber liquid had been poured from a cask of Macallan, aged eighteen years. The old man could barely taste it. "Our more utilitarianist fellows would argue that art must serve the masses, or a cause, or some grand purposelike education or patriotism. Herr Konrad here mentioned that art should inspire the viewer to be a better man through the search for perfection. Proportions, forms, all must elevate the mind and call to the intellect. Our photographer friend Mr Hayes here would, I am sure, appreciate art as a form of chronicle. His silver captures the zeitgeist of an era for the edification of future generations. Indeed! I believe that what we can all agree on, is that we disagree on what art should be. And yet, we all agree that even the most scandalous painting is art. Bad art, to be sure. A waste of canvas, though rarely a waste of talent. It occurs to me that our difficulty comes from the transcendental nature of the artistic expression. You see, we do not appreciate art with our minds. We appreciate it with our souls." He could feel he was losing them. The old man held back a sigh. He did not have very long, and they didn''t see, couldn''t understand the implications of his words. Where he saw will triumphing over matter, they saw differently qualified workforce. Where he saw the possibilities of new worlds beyond the dead one, they saw untapped land ripe for mineral extraction ¡ª should the Merghol menace be contained. He did not blame them, oh no. That very spirit had led them to success and wealth. In this society, he who grabbed fortune deserved receiving it, for God had meant it for them. The old man wasn''t so sure. It didn''t matter. They would see soon enough. "Gentlemen, minds like ours deserve more than words. They deserve proof. I present to you¡­ the ineffable." The old man painfully pulled the rope, and the curtain was undone. It revealed a large painting that elicited a gasp in the assembly. The men were all shocked. But not as shocked as the old man. The eye was missing. The image depicted a strange apparatus on an altar, a horn of some sorts, its edges blurry, its lines melting into each other until he was sure they could not exist in an Euclidean environment. Glyphs went on and off along his edge, yet he could not land his eyes on one as they seemed to fade while he searched for them. A good quarter of the painting was gone. Or rather, it was painted a black so thick, so abysmal, that it felt like a hole in the world itself. There were whispers here, but none he could decipher. The painting showed a key¡­ but that key was beyond his grasp. No, that was not quite correct. The painting was a lock. He was confined outside. Clearly, the cold ones had a sense of humor. The old man chuckled though it was brief. A vague sense of dread filled his heart just as he turned his head to the assistant who had unwittingly betrayed him. The younger lad stood by the door with the expected vacant expression. By his side, a tall man with smooth features and carefully combed black hair lifted his top hat in greeting. Pale, aristocratic features were complimented by a suit where not a single button was out of place. The old man walked to him, though every step was a torture. He would not allow himself to falter. The cold one''s grasp was cold, firm, yet soft enough to spare his delicate knuckles. "Good evening, Mr Marshall," the cold one greeted. "My name is Isaac of the Rosenthal. If you would grant me a moment of your time, I have a proposal that might be of interest to you." "What sort of proposal?" The cold one smiled. "Ingress." Chapter 216 - 210: The Great One Rows of smelters lay cold and quiet. The giant machines forging the guns of tomorrow no longer beat with heavy hammers, pounding steel into the perfect shape. The Dvergur engineers who manage the enchantments that make IGL the best supplier on the planet are nowhere in sight. I walk among the assembly line with a calm step, then a more cautious one. The smell is slightly wrong. Overheated metal has a specific aroma that I find lacking here. I look down and see I am missing my usual clothes, replaced by a horribly unfashionable dress. A century out-of-fashion to be precise. Someone is playing me. How did I even get here? A growl makes me turn, though I move at human speed. A humanoid shape emerges from behind a cold press with soft steps. Blood drips from a vicious, massive cleaver made of a glassy stone that cannot exist on this plane. Humans might call it a devil from the red skin and corded muscles, but they would be wrong. The face is cruel yet handsome, under quills and not horns. Those are crystal and serve an interesting array of functions, the most basic of which is to infuse its wearer with a bloodlust that will only be extinguished when he is. I have seen the creature''s likeness before, though I have never faced it in combat. Too weak. I did kill a commander in the arena, however. Its presence on earth is surprising but not impossible, though a single detail allows me to take a step back and expand my consciousness. It is too early. The warrior roars and charges. I allow its ghostly blade to trail across my chest. At the same time, a dream Aurora manifests over my shoulder and I grab with my recovered power. The warrior disappears and a woman avoids my grip at the last moment. My fingers close around wisps of hair that fade like spider silk in the wind. Nevertheless, the cogs of the nearest machines grow thorns as they close around us. I find myself face to face with the intruder, unmoving. I wager she is a Berber from the traits and the deep blue eyes. She wears a scarf, though black strands of lush hair escape from it in a deceptively graceful manner. The dark dress she wears expands to cover her shoes, but a simple belt gathers around her lithe waist. This is the garment of a woman who displays modesty but invites attraction. A contradiction. "You have some nerves to invade my dreams," I start. Then, because the jab is simply too tempting. "Are you one of Amaretta''s minions?" I see a sudden flash of anger, soon repressed. "You know who I am, though we never met, Ariane of the Nirari." "Can you not send a telegram like everyone else?" Amaretta, Progenitor of the seer bloodline hisses, her composure cracking ever so slightly. "Girl, you have no idea what threats I survey, the responsibilities I shoulder. You would be wise not to waste my time with pointless provocations." "Yet you find enough time for a pathetic power game. Your kind are always the same. It is beyond you to show respect and merely ask. You tried to crush me, and only when that failed did you decide to talk instead. You rude bitch. Everything has to be about power, so spare me your remarks." "I had to impart the importance of the threat onto you." "I know better than you what the Court of Blood can achieve, you sleepy wench. Which leads me to your presence. They should not be here yet. In fact, they should not even be the first. Say what you have to say." "Rivers of blood and rotten ichor. An earth plowed by fire and steel. Anguish the likes of which this world has never seen. The perfume will be too sweet for them to resist. They will spend much to cross the void between realities but they will succeed, and if allowed to stay, they will turn our planet crimson before the eldest can manage it. You are the best suited to stop them because you understand while I merely see. You have two years at most." "This is a short notice to stop the most warlike court of the spheres." "They will be weak for a time. You must strike precisely and without hesitation." "I suppose you will be joining me on the front line, oh, ancient one?" "This is not who I am. Be our blade, and you shall be rewarded¡­" Her features start to fade, but I catch her essence fleeing downward. The factory roof parts to show a night sky and the Watcher''s domineering gaze. Hedges rise everywhere, while a sheer wall grows in the distance. Roots lash out, bearing fragrant white flowers. Most miss but I spot a single droplet of black blood staining a lonely petal. At the same time, I taste the barest hint of her essence. "Next time, call," I warn the fleeting form. The midnight wind carries an offended hiss. Serves her right. A step carries me inside of the palace, where I find a discarded copy of the Chicago Gazette waiting on a desk. The Headline shines under the strange light, reading its fateful message. July 28th, 1914. S§×ar?h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The central powers declare war on Serbia. Austria shells Belgrade! Europe''s suicide has begun. Thiaumont, near Verdun, June 1916. Hell on Earth. It was night. Perhaps, three years before, this could have been a place. Perhaps grass covered the slopes under the shadows of old trees. Perhaps young lovers came here for a kiss, or perhaps it used to be a field. It could have been an orchard for all he knew. There was nothing left of it now. Nothing but scorched earth raked again and again by the same artillery batteries, the landscape remade every night. Not even the hardiest grass had survived the constant fury of an unhinged mankind as they fought for the same length of dead field again, and again, and again. Holes as deep as mine entrances led to the false promise of security. There was none to be had here. None at all. If you huddled against the powdery earth you could spot pieces of shoes, broken metal, or the scorched remains of viscerae of those who had tried before. Once, Maurice had seen a glassy eye staring at him from the abyss, then a shell had hit and cast the ghastly piece in a hellish radiance. It was just skin glued to a broken helmet by the terrible heat. This place was hell, and it was made by men. The only thing that survived here was lice. They jumped from the corpses to the living with frenetic vigor, biting to extract blood before a bullet stole it. Maurice ignored the itch in his beard. It wouldn''t help. A terrible explosion turned the world red beyond the nearby ridge. The sound carried through the tissue Maurice had stuffed in his ears, making his teeth shake. The earth shook. It shook again a little later. It shook nearby. Shrapnel beheaded a man from C company. Maurice kneeled though his officer wouldn''t have it. It didn''t matter. The screaming political officer couldn''t be everywhere at once. He kept screaming something about the republic. Maurice looked up to the striated rays of light far above where the sky battle took place. He hoped the Minotaur-class cruisers held again before the onslaught of the Luftmarine. If not, they would be picked off from the sky by well-placed bombs, slowly and without a chance to fight back. The order to hold spread across the lines. He could spot figures moving in the distance. "Les schleus! A droite! Feu, feu!" Enemies. Maurice lined a shot and pulled the trigger. He didn''t know if he hit and he didn''t care. More explosions rocked the ground around the trench. Maurice shot again. Someone said ''les schleus'', the Germans, were running as if it mattered. The order to countercharge came from some Saint-Cyr ''connard'' back in his bunker. Maurice was numb. There was no escaping this time. Still, he fixed his bayonet to look in front of him, towards the lava-tinged darkness of the battlefield. "Chaaaaa ¡ª" The world went white and upside down. A warcry died in Maurice''s throat just as it was filled with soil. It was dark. He was lost. He could not breathe. He could not scream. He was so, so very scared. He was in so much pain. Maurice died an ignominious death, too much in agony to even curse. *** It was wrong to think that if a tree fell in the woods with no one to see it, it did not make a sound. The world remembered if someone had sung or remained silent. The world remembered if a person died on the spot or after twelve agonizing hours. The world remembered even if no one sang or wrote what had happened. The world was remembering five million dead over a period of two years. It remembered all those lives cut short and the atrocious suffering and anguish that came with it. The song of agony resonated through it, unheard by humans but so, so very loud. It called to them across the void and they searched for the source, for the cause of so much delectable pain. A pain on an industrial scale. Even they couldn''t have done better. They were not meant to resist that call. They didn''t even want to. The radiance of the moon caught the line of buried bayonets and the dying men beneath just as they perished. Two years of unceasing horror rang across eternity like the most horrific of beacons. Above, people died as well. Around, people died as well. It never stopped, the fracas and the blood and the pieces of human bodies squished under boots. The first thing a human saw was a facepressing against the air like a baby''s head against a placenta. The German officer thought he had gone mad and lowered his head in prayer, and why would he not? The traits of the face were male, cruel and beautiful. It showed orgasmic pleasure as well as unspeakable suffering and it did not stop. With a sound like ripping sails, the creature crossed into earth. Instantly, the fires grew more dire. Bones and molten steel turned to grasping limbs begging to be severed and wielded. The earth grew unyielding under foot so that even a pick could not scratch it. The creature that came out was three times the size of a man and rode atop a creature half horse half tiger, and in its wake, the numberless hordes of the Court of Blood raced out to reap their bloody harvest. The wave that reached Citadelle Verdun was mistaken for Germans and bombarded without mercy, but those that reached the empire''s lines found them ready to attack and unprepared before the onslaught. On the first night, the Prince collected over ten thousand skulls. He killed five masters and one lord, turning them to ash as they tried to stop the onslaught. The frontline collapsed. If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. *** Night had fallen over Berlin. Far over the Kaiser''s head, the last rays of the sun hit high, cottony clouds. A light wind chased the heat of the day. They rustled linden leaves all along the street, providing a relaxing background to the stressful moment. The kaiser wondered if the perfect weather showed that God had not abandoned his empire. No matter how dire fate seemed, His grace would never leave them. Or perhaps their sins had grown to be too much, and they had been forsaken. And God no longer cared. The skies should rain with blood. It would only be fair. A tall man walked by his side, his aide, always helpful to wake him up from his melancholy. "I still do not trust the Nachtsritter. You should not be in an enclosed space with him, your highness." "They have paid a heavy price trying to keep our foe at bay. And besides, we have crosses." "I still don''t trust him." "That is why I keep you around, Jodl." His carriage was there. Mages of the ''Garde du Corps'' stood on each corner of the heavily armored and enchanted frame. More were inside. It was a large carriage. The interior was dark and foreboding. Konrad sat in the corner with a relaxed, predatory posture. His armor reminded the man of pieces found in private collections, but this was genuine apparel. It was told they could stop bullets. Gardes du corps glared at the Nachtsritter contact from the other side of the carriage. As usual, it left him completely unfazed. The vampire sat properly, then greeted his kaiser with deference. "Mein Herr." "I am told your guest has arrived?" "We have learnt that she made her way to K?nigliche Oper. She booked it for the afternoon." "Since when do we allow foreigners to dispose of our orchestras as they please?" Jodl asked. Konrad delicately coughed in his sleeve. "Ah, I understand that she made a significant monetary contribution for a single afternoon of performance. She requested works director Blech favored and was familiar with. He found her knowledge intriguing." "Hmph!" The carriage made its way across the deserted streets. Many of the citizens of Berlin either huddled in churches or bars now, made despondent by the news. Calls for repentance echoed calls for peace with concerning regularity, but the Kaiser knew there could be no peace with whatever had come for them all. "Why do we need a stranger? Is there no warrior among your secretive kind who could take on this beast you mentioned?" "The beast commands fire with a mastery this world has never seen. We are powerless before its might." "But this woman is not?" "No¡­" Konrad leaned back and blinked, a rare display of emotion. When he spoke, it was with polite hesitation. "Masters like me could defeat a regiment. You know this to be true. I would stand almost no chance against a lord, a lord would stand no chance against a trained warlord, and several trained warlords would stand no chance against that woman." He sighed. "She was born an American. They are a chaotic, irreverential lot, often unaware of their status and the status of their interlocutors. I would not put it past her to provoke you. She is well known as a firebrand among our kind. She has even engaged in acts of piracy." "Scandalous!" Jodl interjected. "None of it matters for two reasons. First, we need her to kill the devil, or whatever that thing is. Second, and I cannot overstate it enough¡­" Konrad turned unusually serious. "If she wishes to cut a bloody path from here to Brest or Copenhagen to catch a ship back to her home, there isn''t a single force in the empire capable of stopping her. Even among our kind, she is monstrously powerful. Do not see her as a woman. See her as a pagan goddess, Athena, or perhaps Nemesis. You cannot threaten her. Do you understand?" "If we cannot threaten her," Jodl said, "then perhaps she can be swayed by the fate of her airships'' crew? Mein Herr, give the order and I shall have them arrested." "If you decide to do so, please give me time to leave the city first so I am not caught by the consequences of your actions," Konrad calmly retorted. "Enough," the kaiser said. "I have been aggressive in the past, and it has cost the empire dearly. As much as I dislike the English and their many offsprings, we must forfeit all propriety if we ever hope to stop the apocalypse." "What if¡­ what if it was God''s will?" Jodl whispered, his facade cracking. "Then we will fail." *** They stopped below the opera house''s portico on Unter den Linden boulevard. Bodyguards lined the steps and the greco-roman colonnade, but they were not alone. Around fifty men waited nearby at attention, their advanced weapons shining with runes in the light of gas lamps. They wore armor that could belong in some fantasist gazette on the future of warfare, each one costing enough to outfit several squads. Anger sparked in the kaiser''s breast. IGL, the armament juggernaut, flexing its muscles on his very doorstep! How much more abuse would he need to face, he wondered. It was dark inside. Gardes du corps stood face to face with IGL private soldiers. Masks covered the foreigners'' faces and, quite shockingly, he thought some of them might be women. The kaiser silenced an impulse to forfeit all his responsibilities to find shelter in the nearest church and repent for his crimes, like some of his generals had done. He had a responsibility to his people, however, and he would not give up until he faced the pearly gates. Music played in the deserted venue. A violin danced with its orchestra in a tight and breathless air, a far cry from the solemn hymns he favored. "What is that?" "Introduction and Rondo Capriccioso in la mineur, by Camille Saint Saens," Konrad whispered. "We are here a little early." The kaiser removed his watch from his breast pocket. They were, by a few minutes. The song reached a crescendo as they climbed to the second floor and the private lounges there. The kaiser had to admit that music was universal and that the violin''s unceasing rush brought a measure of beauty to an otherwise grim situation. It occurred to him that the situation was terribly incongruous. Him, listening to degenerate socialist music on his way to meet a woman. The group stopped in front of the lodge because its approach was guarded by a titan in black armor of a make he had never seen before. The colossus waited with his arms crossed over a prodigious chest, while an axe as dark as the night rested on his shoulders. No human could possibly wield such a weapon. He raised a hand as they approached. Despite heading an empire of almost 70 million people, the kaiser felt compelled to stop. So did Konrad. The vampire facing them emitted an aura of calm determination that dulled the outrage the kaiser should have felt. The gesture was not a personal insult or the result of petty games. This man would have asked God himself to wait and thought nothing of it. It took thirty more seconds for the music to finish, during which the man didn''t move, merely listened. After the last note faded, he waited two more seconds before opening the door. Instead of going in, it was the vampire who came out. Were it not for her attire, she would have been the least vampire-like creature the kaiser had ever met, not that he had met many. Her flush skin spoke of a healthy constitution, though she was a little pale. Her smile betrayed a confidence a woman her age should not display in front of her betters. Her blue eyes vivaciously inspected them in turn. Hers was the beauty of a Junker''s daughter used to walks and horse-riding, not the wan composure of capital waifs. "Thank you for your patience, gentlemen," she greeted. Her German had a distinct Saarland touch, but old. It revealed her true age. Then, the vampire curtsied lightly. The kaiser took this for the voluntary mark of respect this was and returned a small nod. Those were strange times but appearance, as ever, were important. The curtsey also gave him a good view of the lady''s apparel. While she wore the mask of mortality, her dress was a thing of living ice straight out of some of the Brother Grimms'' fairy tales. Blue and whites cascaded from her shoulder in icicles. Hypnotic diamond patterns covered her flanks while the hem disappeared in a mirage of vapor. Clearly it was a masterpiece of tailoring and sorcery. It also told the kaiser exactly how the foreigner intended to stop the devil''s inferno. She would extinguish it. "I had a room prepared for our discussion, if you will follow me. Your guards are welcome as well." "Of course they will come," Jodl grunted. He was ignored. Everyone knew that if half of what Konrad said was correct, they would not make any difference. He hoped that this was not all a morbid farce played on him in his hour of despair¡­ but no. The Nachtsritter would not dare. They were not a group prone to jests. The vampire led them to a receiving room on the second floor ¡ª he had almost expected to be led to a secret crypt. It was well-lit. A table with refreshment awaited the humans in a corner. Her giant bodyguard stayed outside, but the rest of the group moved in towards a central table. The kaiser forbade his guards from searching the room with a gesture, which the foreigner did not comment on. Her attention was on a table holding a map and a pulpit showing a trio of ghastly faces. She waited until everyone moved around to speak. "For the past two days, you have been invaded by a scourge called the Court of Blood. I will go back to them later. For now, I would like you to pay attention to this map. This marks the epicenter of the invasion, with elements advancing as far as the Rhine. There are infiltrated elements farther in." "Infiltrated elements?" Jodl asked. "The Court of Blood is as insidious as it is destructive. Brute force is not their only weapon. I digress. Most of you must be familiar with the current developments, I was merely setting the stage to my demonstration. Now, let me tell you what you are facing. The Court of Blood is technically part of a group of worlds quite different from ours called the fae spheres. It is one of the larger, yet is fully separate due to its denizen''s absolute inability to engage in any form of diplomacy." "Fae? As in¡­ elves?" Jodl asks. "The fae are humanoids from other worlds who get lost in ours," Konrad explains. "Or at least they were. Ariane of the Nirari sent them home around forty years ago." The kaiser does not miss Konrad''s frozen traits, or the woman''s smug expression. "And you know of this¡­ Court of Blood through your association with the fae?" he asked. "I know about them because I traveled to faerie and faced their deadlier warriors in single combat. For sport. My friend there warned me of the Court as there was a chance they would be the first to make contact when we align with them, in¡­ three thousand years at the very least." Stunned silence welcomed this statement. "I have a very real chance of being there to see it," the woman gently reminded them. "But then," the kaiser asked, "how are they here now?" "Over six millions dead soldiers in two years over a relatively short span of land. Everything has power, and death most of all. Such a slaughter could not escape their attention. Fortunately for us, this world is yet hostile to their presence. They cannot deploy the full extent of their powers, and they will be slow to turn the land." A chill crossed the room. "What do you mean, turn the land?" "The Court of Blood transforms the land they dwell on into more Court of Blood. They had devoured an estimated four other spheres before being found and contained." "Four spheres? As in four planets?" "Yes." The revelation was welcomed in sullen silence. "For all we know, you could be lying through your teeth! Faeries? Planets? Nonsense!" "You can call them demons for all I care," the woman replied with a shrug. "I am merely providing background information for the main point: wherever they go turns into their domain and if we wait for too long, that change becomes irreversible. This world is young and vulnerable, as far as magic goes. It will not resist for very long. We will have to destroy the portal before we reach the point of no return. Without their connection to their domains, the warriors already here will eventually fade, if they are not killed before." "Are you telling me that our world is connected to theirs, and theirs to the other¡­ spheres you mentioned? Would they be willing to help us?" The vampire considered the question for a few seconds. "How can I explain? The allied courts and we stand at either side of a narrow path. A path filled with traps and enemies. Their world is so vast that even I may not cross it without being overwhelmed. You see, the Blood Court has no industry, no fields, not even vegetation. What passes for cities are merely transitory structures used by current warlords to muster their troops against the spheres or each other. Blood warriors are born from the soil. They rip their weapons from geological formations growing through the hard red ground. They only gather when a more powerful warrior demands it, otherwise they fight each other to gain strength. It is an accursed place." "And it cannot be purified?" "Even the Court of Blue hasn''t found a reliable and reasonable way. The alliance prefers to lance the boil periodically, allowing their armies to meet on the Fields of Eternity every so often. It builds characters for the young nobles. But I digress. All that matters is that we stand alone facing this." The woman moved to the pulpit to reveal a familiar quilled visage. They recognized him from the reports. "The Prince, unnamed as of now. We know little about his powers save that he wields fire, a whip, and rides atop a colossal blood beast that appears to be invulnerable to conventional weaponry. He leads the attack. He has two lieutenants we can tell, a duke and a duchess." "They have nobility?" "The spheres do, and they used the same method to classify their foes. This one seems to be the most problematic." The woman pointed at a rendition of a tall and extremely lean figure that resembled a mantis. Its chest and waist ratio lent it a disturbing, vaguely feminine air. It wielded thorny spears in each of its four hands. The shape of a man had been drawn by its side. That creature was massive. "Fortunately, I have an ally interested in crossing blades with her. The other feels more straightforward, but my subordinates might not be up to the task of stopping him. Sir Konrad''s friend might want their pound of flesh, however?" "We would like this very much, yes." The Nachtsritter eyed the lumbering figure of a toad-like humanoid with a promise of violence rarely seen on his cool traits. "Those are nobles, creatures that have distinguished themselves through bloodshed to rise to individuality. Those are the reports I could obtain on my way here." "May we know who gave you those reports?" Jodl demanded. "You may not," she deadpanned. "There may be others we do not know about because they left no survivors. Below them are troops that can be regrouped in several categories: infantry, cavalry, war beasts, living siege rams, living transports, flying monsters, and finally, the lemure. This one will be the most problematic." "How so?" "They steal the appearance of dead soldiers, revealing themselves at an inconvenient moment." Most of the table gasped in horror. "Should we¡­" "They cannot be here yet, and besides they do not steal the memories of the deceased. Vampires and werewolves can detect them from their smell. Mages can use an aura reader. I can provide the schematics." "One more question: how do we close the portals?" "I have a spell that will work. It is the same that is used to seal the deadland portals." "Will it suffice?" "It will if I cast it. I was the first one to wield it against the liches. The world remembers." The Kaiser turned to Konrad for confirmation. The vampire nodded. Between closing portals, hunting elves, and piracy, that woman had been quite busy. "Then we know our enemy and we know our objective. I shall order the troops¡­" "Not so fast. There are three important details to solve first." The kaiser frowned. The woman was smiling now, showing her fangs without pretense. His cross remained cold, yet a chill crawled up his spine. "The first is that a land force will be too slow. We will need your skyfleet." The kaiser and Jodl exchanged a glance. They knew the state of the Luftmarine. Right now, biplanes were the best tools they had to keep the combined French and English fleets at bay and even that cost hundreds of lives every month. "The prince and his lackeys are too mobile. We need to tie them up where they cannot afford to retreat. We need to tie them up at the portal. For that, we will need airships and airborne troops to hold the ground, or they will not follow." "If the goal is to close the portal, can you not do it yourself?" "As a matter of fact, I can." The casual comment stunned everyone around. "What? But then¡­" "And I will, whether you want to or not. However, that will not solve your prince problem." She shrugged, the movement sending her dress to shimmer under the light of the gaslamp. "What do you want?" the kaiser asked, a rising sense of dread filling his chest. "Two point three million marks." "You¡­ you madwoman!" the kaiser sputtered. "Ah, this is just for me. The operation will require many more ships than what you have left. We need the fleets of all of Europe for the operation to wipe out most invaders at once. And there is only one way for the Allies to agree to help." "Oh! You want us to capitulate!" he bellowed. "Face it, you have already lost. The allies merely have to wait then pick up the pieces." "Never, you hear me? Never!" "And thus our negotiations end tonight." She smiled. It was quite sharp. "See you tomorrow." Chapter 217 - 211. Hellfleet The base extends below us for miles, a haphazard assembly of tents that lacks the usual discipline. Poor weather sends the tarp aflutter and there is little I can do to mitigate that effect. The Aurora has a mind of her own. "We have our work cut out for us, gentlemen," I tell my newest minions. "Do you mean to tell us the lemures have already infiltrated their ranks?" an Erenwald courtier says. Daft lad. A blond. Feels compelled to repeat everything I say like the world''s blandest parrot. "Yes, as I warned you. If there are wounded or squad members have lost sight of each other, then lemures are likely. The Summer Court has tools to detect them but we will have to proceed the old-fashioned way." The Brotherhood vampires gather around me in a court of ducklings. For some reason, I expected the ''Nacht Ritter'' to gather their strongest warriors in a show of force, but instead they sent me disposable courtiers and young masters. What, do they expect me to kill them? Contrary to¡­ other things, I have an excellent record with trainees. Ugh. I tap my nose. "You''ll have to smell them out." "You have to be joking." "I''m afraid not. I can tell at a glance that their aura is wrong, but since your superiors have seen fit to send me people without magical capabilities¡­" "I can cast spells." "...or skill, you will use your noses. But first to introduce ourselves." We walk down the slope, passing by an ambulance that stinks of old blood. A woman rests her head against the wheel, exhausted. A couple of soldiers hide behind it in an effort to smoke in peace. One of them finds me. In his gaze, there is no more soul than in that of a cattle. This man has been chewed and spat out by whatever he faced farther west. He does not even react to the Aurora. "Where is the command tent?" The man waves a hand towards the center of the improvised encampment. I follow his direction through milling soldiers and screaming officers. We are not stopped. Those who have the authority to do so recognize my follower''s uniforms. As for me, a look is enough to classify me in the ''above your paygrade'' category. We find the commanders unimpeded. Even the sentries do not block our path. Sloppy, but I can hardly blame them. Inside, the command tent is the very image of wanton disarray. Oh, the maps are in the right position and the officers suitably grim, but they converse in small groups while two high-ranking men argue rather loudly about the next steps somewhere in the center. Pure chaos for Germans. If it were France, a fisticuff would have already erupted. Someone could be peeing on the maps. "Congratulations!" I yell, silencing everyone at once. "Your camp has been selected as the meeting point for the combined fleets of Europe, which will start arriving within the next few hours. You will get the camp in order and establish defensive positions. Fortifications must be built to the west, by order of the emperor himself." I wave my decree like a little flag. Oh, glorious moment where I wield the ultimate power but have to use it to dig ditches. Alas, alas for maturity. At least I can watch that fat bearded dude get an apoplexy. "You dare?" he erupts. "Do you know who I am?" "Hush." A deadly silence spreads through the tent, quieting even the clamor of the voices outside. The man speaks but no sounds come out. "That is better. Now, I have never killed a general before¡­" I stop and reconsider my words. "Well, not one so high-ranked at least, but I will do so without hesitation if you oppose me. The decree gives me full authority to turn this sorry cesspit into a functioning forward base. If you oppose my work, I will retire you. Permanently." The general turns an interesting shade of tulip, but one of his aides picks up the paper and pales when he recognizes the seal. I lift the sound interdiction. "Sir¡­ this is genuine." Sadly, this turns the man purple. He needs a moment and a glass of schnapps. I am left dealing with underlings. "You will clear the field in the direction of¡­ what is the nearest town?" "Baden-Baden." "Yes. That one. And set a perimeter around it to prepare for landing crafts." "Madam¡­ there are no fields large enough. This is the Black Forest." I sigh. I have used my Magna Arqa to clear land before. It just feels like such a vulgar use of an amazing power. Removing forest runs against its very principle. Pah, whatever. "You will lead me to a suitably flat spot then. In the meanwhile¡­ there is the matter of the lemures." I grab one of the sentries who had been watching with empty eyes. The man struggles while his comrades watch in shock, unsure how to proceed. Then my captive twists into a thin, ghastly creature, all taut skin over countless bony extensions, a mix between a man and a gecko. Teeth snap at me. The vampires stand there. "Well, this is the perfect opportunity to get used to their essence." "Errr." "COME CLOSER." I shake the beast as it snaps at me. Annoying. And slightly malodorous, though the essence is rich. Ugh. I know exactly what to do. I open the tent flap and cause a small panic among the soldiers. "Milady?" repeats the man with some doubt. "I have a task for you. Go catch it!" I toss the lemure bodily into the nearest post. It falls, dazed, then attempts to flee. This is all that is needed for the vampires'' instincts to kick in. "And bring me back the corpse of the others! There are at least seven!" I scream after the hissing pack. The head elements have fallen on the shapeshifter to eat it, leaving the slower folks to spread out to earn their meal. At least this will get them out of my hair. "Where were we? Oh yes, deforestation." *** "And to think this is the military that kept ours in check for over two years," the man who just entered says. The infuriating individual who so casually forgot the contribution of the French and the might of the Germans can only be Sky Marshal Jacobi, the head of the Triple Entente fleet. He is an older gentleman with impressive sideburns and a perfectly groomed mustache. His aide rushes by his side, embarrassed for some reason. They spot me. "And you must be the vampire." "Sir?" "What gave it away?" I ask, showing a hint of fang. "No respect for your elders, which sometimes means that I am not, in fact, your elder." "Indeed not." "What a troublesome era. At least, you should have been a man." "I fear I cannot take responsibility for my condition." The admiral huffs. Another man, this one in a blue uniform, moves in. "Ah. Mademoiselle, you must be the Hand of the Accords zen?" "In person." "Is it true they call you the Red Maiden as well?" "You sank my uncle''s ship near Gibraltar," Admiral Jacobi says reproachfully. "Oh yes, that was quite fun," I observe. I remember well. Sinead was with me. "He said you had naked men dancing on your bridge!" "Quite a lot of fun." "Scandalous." "Any person who sank a British ship and is not German has my immediate respect, madam. My name is Admiral Gireaud. I represent the French fleet. You are American, yes? We have brought your minotaurs. Please keep them in good shape as we have yet to pay them fully." "I am sure you have a good contract," I reply genially. "A capitalist misconception." "If you would focus on the issue at hand¡­" Jacobi chides. We gather around the table where maps await. I have received constant updates from the Rosenthal over the past hours. Their intelligence network is working overtime to follow the invasion from up close. "Here is what I have," I begin. "The German fleet was unfortunately mauled over Colmar. Only the Scharnhorst is still fully operational, but they have brought their entire complement of biplanes from every front and we can count on them to protect our approach. The Italians sent fast frigates, twelve of them, and they are already here. What about you?" "The Entente sends twenty-one cruisers and five frigates. The admiralty refuses to commit more to the defense of an enemy power, even one that has capitulated. We must defend our land." This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it He gives me a pointed look. "We also refuse to give you command over our contingent. We formally request that you give me overall command since we bring the most numerous and powerful detachment." "That is fine," I reply with a shrug. Jacobi blinks, quite likely expecting protests. "I have no experience commanding a fleet," I explain, "Not to mention that my presence will be required on the ground at the end of the run. I am more than willing to let a competent leader direct the fleet, so long as all our objectives are complete." "Is that so? And you will commit your personal ship?" "Of course. It will be carrying me into battle, after all. Please make sure it stays covered since, you know, there isn''t anyone else capable of taking down the prince." "Then you have no objection to us sending an observer to the ship?" I could refuse, of course, but that would not be fun. "You can send someone, so long as they respect our rules, starting with the most important one." "Yes?" "They must wear the hat." *** The late afternoon sun shines over the newly made field between Baden-Baden and the natural barrier of the Rhine. Thousands of troops in various levels of preparation board their designated ships for the first, and likely not last union of mankind against a foreign invader. Reinforced balloons shine with glyphs and protective plates while sailors load the last of the available ammunition. Baden-Baden was never meant to be a major supply hub. From the safety of my sarcophagus, I observe the wear and tear on many of the ships'' hulls and sails. Those all bear the wounds of an extended conflict. Even the newest ship shows signs of extensive repair. The war has raged mercilessly and the flying vessels have borne the brunt of every large battle due to their ability to fly where they are needed, both a blessing and a curse. By comparison, the Fury looks brand new and quite different. A mundane observer could think the airship is designed for racing, and they would not be wrong. She is designed for speed and maneuverability. The massive gun lodged in the airframe and the spell spears may be hidden. The hull is thinner and offers less resistance to air than that of a more cumbersome cruiser at the cost of armor. It is custom made to my specifications. And now, it flies in formation with ships that, a few days earlier, would have shot at each other without mercy. I wonder where this is all going. The world is changing so fast, now with the invasion of our second group of pests. Thankfully, this one comes from far away, and they should not have the ability to stay once we sever the portal. I spare a thought for the fae spheres on the other side of thousands of kilometers of hell. I will never reach them but sometimes, I wish I could. I wish I could summon some help to deal with Nirari instead of having to stop him myself. I wish it did not just depend on me. There is so much to explore and so many things to do, but now much rests on my shoulders and¡­ I do not like it. A part of me wants to cross that boundary and fight the blood court for a century, until they break me or I break their world. Just for the adventure it represents. My sire''s presence looms like a sword of Damocles, as it has since I stood a chance to stop him. This is but one more diversion, but this time I see an opportunity to further even the odds: the blood of a prince. I cannot let him escape. Outside, a horn sounds. One by one, the ships take off into the sky. The Dalton''s Fury is no exception. "Why do I have to wear the tricorn?" the ''spy'' officer asks, a bit aghast. "It''s the rule," the skipper replies without emotion, though I can taste his amusement. "Is it true your boss is called the boom girl?" "You can always ask her." "What''s that big tube over there?" "The main gun." "Your main gun is larger than a coastal battery!" "What else would you expect from the boom girl?" "I thought this was a jest!" "I assure you sir, here, we do not joke about explosions. It ties into rule nineteen." "Is it the same list of rules that covers the tricorns?" "Yes, and rule nineteen states that nothing is a laughing matter until after the enemy has been blown up." "I want to get back to the Zephyr." "Wait! You have not seen our anti-personnel spell arrays yet." I close the communication, letting my skipper amuse himself. He is one of Loth''s men. He will die before he betrays my trust. In the meanwhile, I watch the combined fleet lift toward the skies. It is quite a sight. I have lived for some time now, and I am glad for the spectacle. It does not beat the Court of Blue but¡­ it will do. Each ship ponderously gets in formation, the cruisers in the centers and the escort ships around. We are considered to be an escort ship. The Fury is only thirty meters long with a crew of seventy in wartime, such as now. Contrary to others, it is not powered by a mix of modified engines and mana. The might of the Fury comes from the Aurora itself. So long as I am aboard, its power surpasses that of even a flagship. I am eager to see what the Court of Blood intends to throw at us. As the fleet gains altitude, we pass through a cloud and the rest of them disappear from view for a while. I adjust the mirrors around me and enjoy just resting in fluffy clouds, imagining that stepping outside will not turn me into a screaming Ariane-sized torch. We pierce the cover and the gray turns to pinks and reds. For two hours, nothing of import happens. We are too high to be intercepted, a superiority of human technology. I relax and check on the other night denizens aboard my ship. The poor dears do not have access to the external recorders and appear to be bored. It will change soon enough. Towards dusk, we dive. The cloud cover thins to reveal what is left of the battlefield around Verdun. It starts with red light, like a field of fireflies seen from above. Soon, however, the little dots resolve themselves into so many fires, burning without much fuel on a seemingly endless plain of blood-soaked, scorched earth. Red and brown to the horizon where Verdun still holds, the land has perished. I find the culprit without much difficulty. The portal to the Court of Blood hovers in the middle of a crater, its surface like a bullet gash in reality complete with frayed edges that bleed mana onto earth. The soil beyond is more crimson than our own, but not by much. The process has already started. "Ma''am, the Zephyr has ordered us on a course to the plain in front of the portal. They want to land the marines there," my skipper tells me. "Follow for now," I reply. The prince should have taken the bait, but he might be further afield. I suspect my human allies might be able to unload some of their troops before they are swarmed. And then, we are inevitably spotted. A cloud of human-sized combatants lifts off from the many recesses of this strange earth. The rays of the waning sun shine on dragonfly wings, leather wings, strange, segmented body parts stuck to much, much larger specimens. "By jove, is that a dragon?" the spy asks. It most certainly is not. It has a good size, however. "The Zephyr is signaling to prepare for an engagement. We will not change course," the skipper observes. He turns to his communicator and his voice appears more clearly in my sarcophagus. "Ma''am, any instructions?" "Do as you will, Skipper. Just get us through this in one piece." "Aye ma''am, and even afloat if I can manage it." "DEFENDERS OF MANKIND," a voice bellows with a terrible intensity. I listen with rapt attention, considering two things. One, those defenders of mankind are here because I, a vampire, brought them here. Second, only a fraction of those defenders of mankind actually speak English. Admiral Jacobi does not mind. "I know you are confused. I know you look left and right and see the foes of yesterday, against whom you fought and to whom you lost friends. I know this and I ask you to look beyond that to the hellish landscape in front of you. This is our world''s future." Ah, the sweet taste of terror spreads across the fleet, though I know Jacobi is only preparing for a delivery. "We are facing invaders from another world. Those invaders will turn our planet into this unless we stop them here and now. So look left and right. All those you see are our world''s only chance. And I am not afraid. "I have seen your mettle, gentlemen, over the past two years. Friends or foe, you are all proud sailors of the fleets of mankind. Tonight, you will give me your best for tomorrow the skies will be blue and they will be ours. Everyone, battlestations. The time has come to reclaim our earth. Kill every last one of those ugly bastards, and let their gods sort them out." In front of us, the swarm approaches. The Zephyr is the first to open fire, then the rest of the cruisers join in. The largest creatures are immediately turned to paste, torn asunder by shells designed to kill a ship through its plating. As the large, dragon-like enemies fall, their smaller brethren still approach. They look like horrible winged humanoids with blades instead of arms. I watch the Zephyr signal for beehive shells designed to fill fighters with shrapnels. Soon, the swarm is close enough for machine guns to open on them. I notice larger specimens now that the combatants are closer. They have officers of sorts, and one of them concerns me more than most. He looks like the duke my allies identified, only with wings. If they have one of their two dukes, we might be in trouble. A minute later, the swarm is upon us. A veritable hail of bullets meets them, downing many. Blood and body parts fall like rain on the desolate earth below. The barrage of constant gunfire is deafening and, outside, I see the barrels of machine-guns overheating from unceasing activity. The sky turns into a confusing painting of black shapes and the white rays of tracer rounds. The Blood Court warriors die in droves but there are many of them, more than I thought possible. Perhaps they crossed the border in priority. Soon, the first manage to land on escort frigates'' hulls and jump on the bridges where they are welcomed by marines with short guns. Just as the heart of the formation approaches, a buzz covers even the din of the cannons. An entire armada''s worth of biplanes dives on the enemy. Their weapons are not the best to pick off small targets but there are so many of them and the warriors are packed so dense that it does not matter. Like sharks hunting a school of fishes, human fighter planes carve bloody paths through the formation, climbing back before they can get in range of their many foes. Chaos spreads through the enemy ranks while their nobles try their best to keep the warriors focused on the easier and more dangerous forms of the warships, but many fail. Long trails of flying warriors go after the biplanes in a futile attempt to catch up. Sadly, a few of the fighters are too slow to get altitude and fall under the tide of flesh. Their sacrifice gives us enough time to inflict devastating casualties on the swarm. "The Zephyr orders us to tighten the formation," the skipper tells me. "I will take control of the frontal arrays," I reply. "Get all hands on the deck." "Already done." Inside the sarcophagus, a handle pops out from under the mirror, courtesy of Constantine''s technology. I use it to aim at the nearest officer. A hiss, a roar, and the spell spear screams, sending a flashing blue ray of energy at the winged creature. It explodes rather pleasantly. Sadly, one of the Italian frigates in front of us falls down in flames, soon joined by a French cruiser. Heavy smoke follows the wounded titans as they fall to their death. With the ships tighter, the fire intensifies. A good half of the ships are boarded now, but they never stop firing. I watch the duke lead the solid core of his dying troops toward the Zephyr. Going after the largest ship makes sense, I suppose. "Get us closer to the Zephyr," I order. "That will get us within range of the swarm." "Can you hold the bridge?" "Yes." sea??h th§× ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Then go." The Fury accelerates and aims up and right, going in support of the beleaguered flagship. We are not the only ones to do so. Lighter cruisers and frigates close rank, risking boarding to fend off the attackers. More biplanes have turned around for another dive. The fire that pours into the duke''s group is staggering. "We''re tearing them apart," the spy exults. I am not so sure. The duke has landed on the Zephyr''s bridge. I can spot its tail from here. It speaks in a low voice, calling the Court of Blood''s primal magic. Royal marines fight his men off with their courage and their bayonets, but I can tell this will not be enough. A corona of fire expands from the winged form and the entire front of the massive warship is caught in a raging inferno. The leading sails fail and the ship immediately dips forward. Carnage resumes on the damaged bridge. The Fury approaches and the warriors now flock over to us, a light target daring to close the distance. My soldiers cover the bridge and kill them as fast as they can approach with their excellent equipment, a disciplined wall against a raging tide. I can hear them banter as they kill. Good people. I fire in the crowds as fast as I can while other gunners use the lateral arrays. Despite this, damage accumulates on the sails. Something is gnawing on the ropes. A shadow falls over us and a thundering volley takes down all the incoming foe. I turn to see the Italian Sirio frigate rushing forward to buy us a precious few seconds. We clear the Zephyr''s bridge, giving me full view of the duke. I line up a series of shots and lay into him as he summons fire again. The shot pierces through him, to his surprise. He roars. Now I can see he was still unharmed until now. Molten iron rests at his feet in small puddles. An issue of bullets, as always with highly magical creatures. It seems he has identified us as a major threat. "We have incoming!" I warn the skipper. "I see it." The duke rises, torso ravaged by our strike. He flies straight at us under a deluge of bullets. Some of them manage to hurt his wings, but fire carries him to us. "Turn to port, now. Accelerate on my mark," the skipper says. I watch the massive creature bear down on us with a cry of wounded fury. I hit it two more times, but it can no longer be stopped. "Boosters, now!" Magic and gasoline pour into the engine and the Fury swerves like no other ship, dodging the duke. I rake it as it misses us, front then side then back. It falls and¡­ does not die. A red biplane goes after it in a senseless dive. Well, I wish them good hunting. With the duke out, most of his swarm disperses or dives. As for us, we follow the flaming form of the Zephyr as it plunges towards the portal. It will crash-land right next to it. The low clouds part before us and I realize that¡­ we are not the first on the scene. Strange yet brilliant contraptions that look like armored cars with guns lead a formation of infantry towards the portal and, as I watch, vampires engage. It appears that Mask has joined the fight on the other side. Chapter 218 - 212: Prince of Blood I am King. Bertrand took a knee, then stood back again. The heat assailed him, pushing against his instincts to flee the burning hell around him. The flaming wreck of a Renault tank smoldered to his right while human soldiers shot and died against the fae''s onslaught. But fight they did and so Bertrand would stand. I am King. Reality clashed against the lord''s vision. This was a world of volcanic rock and bloody dust. Cracked stones and spontaneous fires dotted the infernal landscape. This was no more his kingdom than the depth of the ocean was. "Yes, it is." Once again, Betrand''s conviction crashed against the truth around him and once again, his adamantine will prevailed. Bertrand was a scion of Roland. He could not be tamed. This was France, despite the fire and fury and the bones of the invaders. France was under his dominion. It would be so until he died and he. Was. Still. Alive. Red armor regrew while his golden mask reformed, the death mask of Agamemnon. I am King. Bertrand was not defeated yet. He dodged to the side. A moment later, another tank smashed on the ground where he used to be. The fae lord spoke and the air shook, forcing Bertrand to take a step back. Even though he could not understand the words, they made sense, sending images in his psyche despite his best efforts to ignore them. No one could deny the tongue of the fae, it seemed. Shell. Thick. Annoying. Trick of metal. Still. Weak. He turned around on his monstrous mount to smash another flank of the Triple Entente''s advance. Maybe the Brits. Bertrand charged ahead before more tanks perished to fae warriors. More vampires fought around him, ''delousing'' the heavy war machines so they could act as anchors for their formation. The air was heavy with the sound of cannons. The fae lord was stalling. He knew that with every second, new warriors crossed the threshold to join the melee while he was weakening with every loss. It thought it was winning. Bertrand knew better. I am King. The Roland lord moved forward and bisected one of their leaders. He charged and broke the tide with every swing of his mighty axe. Carnage followed. The humans rallied and reformed with the strength of those who are ready to fight to the death. Bertrand knew he was setting himself as a target but that was fine. It was his duty. I am King. Blood dripped on his crimson armor as he kept going, and going. Quilled heads rolled before the onslaught. Giant, boar like beasts died to well-placed tank shells. Humanity took another step forward. They followed in his wake, as it should be. Then the inevitable happened. A horn announced the return of the fae lord. Fires intensified, choking men and sending a wave of terror down the spine of the stoutest vampires. Bertrand stood, for he was king. The fae lord crested a nearby ridge. He was as tall as three men, covered in scales that could be armor or could be natural, Bertrand could not be sure. Quills covered his massive head and fell down his back like a waterfall of hair, delicate if it did not adorm such a monstrous being. Beautifully cruel traits sneered at Bertrand under scarlet eyes that burnt with an inner fire. He wielded a fiery whip, and flickering embers rose all around him like a cape. The body of a titan and legs like oak trunks completed the picture, though the fae lord was not walking now. Instead, he moved from atop a beast like a komodo dragon if those were the size of a large sloop. The beast itself was so resilient that even cannon shots failed to pierce its thick hide. Bertrand stood to face it though he knew he could not win. VIctory was not the point. The point was standing. Once more, the fae lord hissed at him. Cold ones. Slow. Amusing. Satisfactory. Distraction. It charged, and so Bertrand charged as well. Bertrand fought through the terror washing over him through sheer grit. Fire licked at his form long before the fae lord reached him. Incandescent motes gnawed at his armor, his mask, the flesh underneath. He persisted through all of that with all his speed and towards the forest of fangs and the fire whip of the fae lord and the death that could take him at any moment. But he would not falter. I am a King. The whip carved the land as Bertrand dodged to the side, as before. Even with his roll he could not escape the searing heat and the pain that came with it. Smoke ravaged his lungs, made his nose bleed pink foam but he held on. His armor further melted despite his efforts but this time he intercepted the tip of the whip on the flat of his axe blade. The impact made his bones creak. He was airborne. A roll, and his foot found a stone just in time to dodge again, just in time not to die. Bertrand roared and threw his axe. The fae lord deftly dodged, beast and rider moving as one. He dematerialized it and made it reappear in his hand. More precious life force wasted, more essence drained. He could not keep going, but he had to try. You, Persistent. Insignificant. Try. Harder. The fae''s voice drilled in Bertrand''s mind. He used the rage and impotence to fuel his regeneration, to rebuild his armor and mask again for what felt like the thousandth time that night. Behind, in the clouds, a new trail of fire appeared next to the sooty clouds. A form raced across the sky like a falling star. He recognized it. It was the HMS Zephyr, and it would crash land at the foot of the breach. The fae lord turned to watch and Bertrand didn''t attack. It would be useless. Instead, he finished healing. The hellish mount still glared with its beady eyes. Even. Mightiest. Machines. Faillible. Vulnerable. We. Endless. Tide. He turned back to Bertrand, his attention now focused on the battle lord. The air seemed to shift, turning more oppressive. World. Joins. Natural. Order. Lost. Reborn. Glorious. Inevitable. "That will not happen." Bark. Strange. Tongue. Wind. Pointless. "We shall see." The two combatants charged at each other again, and this time the lord''s whip dug a painful groove through the armor and into Bertrand''s chest. Too hot. Too much pressure. Just had to hold on a little longer. A tail coming at his face. Bertrand flew through the air, but the pain never came. "Took you long enough," he croaked. The ghastly form of Jean-Baptiste smiled grimly. In his Magna Arqa, the expert duelist looked like death as seen by artists, complete with cowl, a scythe, and a skeletal mask. The fae lord turned on himself to stop a blow from Dominique''s oversized cleaver. The androgynous leader of Mask in France exchanged a few quick blow with their foes using their peerless speed but they had to retreat before the heat. "Quelle chaleur," they commented drily. Finally. Fun. Contest. The three vampires stood apart from each other. They were foes on the political chessboard but here, those considerations melted like snow under the sun. There was only one earth to play with. "Gentlemen," Dominique said. They charged first. Jean-Baptiste and Bertrand followed, letting them take point. Bertrand tolerated this because he was wounded. Like that, the three and the two danced on the dead expanse of land with the humans at their back and the portal in front, backlit by the flaming trail of the Zephyr. Mask vampires had waged war for centuries and they knew each other well, but this one a type of foe they had never meant to face. Quickly, their coordination collapsed. Dominique was meant to deliver the finishing blows but they could not get close enough, so this time it fell to the other two. Bertrand was already slowing down. Jean-Baptise was a peerless duelist, but this time he was facing a pair. He was the first to fall. The fae lord moved gracefully across the battlefield atop his accursed beasts and kept a perfect engagement distance. It took a single mistake. A wrong angle on a crater and Betrand''s wounds prevented him from covering his favorite rival in time. The fire whip tore through the image of death and dispelled it, a nightmare replacing another. Bertrand smothered the guilt and rage he felt at the loss of such a rival by his own failure. He could not stop now. He would probably join him soon anyway. I am King. Until the end. Dominique collapsed without legs soon after, then it was just Bertrand. The fae watched him charge with a frustrating sneer. The two warriors charged each other for the final blow, and only one had a chance of being a winner. Bertrand roared and threw his axe. It missed, but not because the fae dodged. THONK. The terrible noise came with an impact and a plume of dust the likes of which only artillery could produce. The fae lord jumped and rolled a few times, landing nimbly on his feet with the first hint of concern Bertrand had ever seen on his face. When the dust cleared, his mount was left on the ground. It was very, very dead. A projectile had gone through its head clean. It resembled a massive quarrel if quarrels were launched by ballistae the size of a coastal battery gun. Enchantments covered the entire surface in thin, delicately engraved scriptures that simmered a pleasant blue in the choking darkness, A inscription could be read on the metal fletching. To add insult to injury, it was written in English. Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. ''Extra large game hunter, mark IV. Property of IGL. Do not touch.'' And below, in Akkad. That means you. Ariane. Bertrand''s first thought was that if the shot had been made only a few minutes before, if the fae lord had been delayed by another attack, if the Verdun High Command had waited a little more to launch their assault as he had requested, Jean-Baptiste would still be alive. His second thought was surprise that the thing had not exploded yet. NO! The fae lord rushed to the side of its deceased companion with a cry of rage and despair. Bertrand was left standing by himself, alive. In the distance, the Zephyr finally touched ground. If he had not seen the puff of dust a little farther, he would have been quite surprised to see a bed of roots and white flowers bloom with incredible speed, embracing the full length of the massive warship. Branches grabbed then let go, replaced by others as the wreck slowed down. It came to rest on its flanks without a sound. One by one, in the distance, the fires died out. Darkness expanded in a sphere and the screaming warriors were abruptly silenced. A cold wind blew from the east, chasing away the acrid smoke and the stench of old blood that saturated the air. The mortals'' breath in the distance puffed as the temperature dropped precipitously and in the distance, more impacts announced the arrival of reinforcements. A curtain of green light parted the clouds to show the combined fleet take position around the Zephyr, the frigates being first to land. Complements of elite marines landed and joined the fray. You DARE. Bertrand winced but he didn''t bend and he didn''t flee when the fae''s whip flared. He thought he was dead but another voice came, this one a woman''s. It was cold and just like the fae lord''s, he could understand the words. Princes. Always. Babble. The ''prince'' roared incoherently. Man children. The voice was cold and uncaring. In the distance, radiant blue lines shone, expanding from a blue sapphire to form the shape of a woman in heavy armor. This, more than Jean Baptiste''s loss, chilled Bertrand''s heart. For centuries, he had kept the most fae as resources among all Mask lords. He had traded their blood for favor and power. This had been the proper way of things and this¡­ this upstart had used the fae to carve a path to their world and reaped untold benefits. She had taken what could have been his by seeing what he had not and it hurt. It hurt¡­ to be left behind. It hurt to be made irrelevant. He was a King, but he no longer had a hope of being¡­ the King. The armored shape disappeared, reappearing next to Bertrand almost instantly, arm stretched. An extended soul blade dug into the prince''s armor, shearing parts of the metal shell but failing to draw blood. This time. The whip retracted immediately. A counter was easily dodged. "My, what a hot lad. Bertrand, it appears I need to tenderize our guest before he is ready for consumption. May I ask that you bring Dominique to safety?" "I consent to it. After that I shall join the mortals." She nodded. Bertrand left. *** In the distance, a mantis-like creature skewered one of the cold ones but retreated before it could eat it. Frustrating. They covered each other but she was patient. Nibble here, nibble there, and then feast. So it had been and so it would be. She found an isolated cold one and moved through the shadows. It did not turn. Of course, it did not turn. She was a duchess and they were so very slow. The duchess bit down on nothing. The duchess moved back, a blade cutting into one of her pincers. The cold one stood there, blade drawn. "Greetings," it said in Likaean. Hated language! Hated foes! How did the cold one speak it? It was weak and cut off! It should not know the tongue. "My name is Cadiz. I wanted to test the prince but¡­ I guess¡­ You''ll do." The duchess streaked through the shadows and struck at an angle. Her scythes cut through air. A voice whispered by her ear. "Magna Arqa." *** I should have let Bertrand die. He is not just a prick, but he also swore to join Nirari in his next battle. That means we will be on opposite ends of the final conflict. I should have let him fall, yet after I helplessly saw Jean-Baptiste return to the Watcher, the instinctual part of me felt revolted at the thought of losing an elder to a glorified raider. Blood Court twats have no right to take what remains ours, the curs, and so I saved him despite my misgivings. Sometimes, I hate those instincts. Maybe I could kill him in a duel later? I am sure it would be acceptable. "You will pay for this!" the prince roars in his guttural dialect. Scions of the Court of Blood do not speak true Likaean but a twisted version of it that does not allow for concepts such as peace and tranquility. In fact, those words do not exist for them. They cannot conceptualize them. The broad gamut of Likaean words associated with truce and harmony all translate to apathy and weakness, a most curious fact that bridges nature and language. Pah, whatever. I am no linguistics scholar to consider those details. "Die!" I dodge under the prince''s whip attack and follow with a riposte. It is the first time I fight a proficient whip user who could give me a challenge. A good opportunity to practice a little. I pour more power into the Aurora to combat the prince''s fire and close the distance so we are both fighting with our whips. What follows is slightly disappointing. The deadly part of the whip is the tail end which can move at speeds even I cannot follow, but knowing where the end will be is just a matter of seeing how the whip moves. The fight devolves into a dodging game of not being where the whip lands. At some point, our whips meet and the fight turns into a brief contest of strength, but the heat on Rose hurts me and the prince disengages before I can drag him. His whip is also too hard to be destroyed. In fact, it consists of strangely flexible, meshed metal scales that move in a snake-like motion. Quite frustrating. Eventually, I get bored and start peeling off the prince''s impressive armor chip by chip. Or perhaps it is his hide? In any case, he gets angry at the treatment. "You puny thing, burn to cinders!" In an overly dramatic fashion, the prince lifts his whip above his head where it thickens and lengthens. Soon, a massive fire snake slithers towards me, fangs bared. It is larger than me. I dodge it as the body appears to be quite hot, but the head turns quickly and gives chase. I start racing across the scorched battlefield. The technique''s weakness is apparent. I assume the snake has a limited length and it appears the prince has to remain stationary. I could escape for a moment but I refuse to do so unless compelled, so instead I charge him and stab him in the leg for a change. Another blow to his head rips off his quills. It appears he can move it after all. I veer left just as the snake bites down and dodges. The massive body of the snake goes through the prince who does not seem to be any worse for the wear. "Fool, did you think I would be hurt by my own tools?" Well, yes. It would have amused me. But since I cannot have it and he does not seem inclined to move, I take out my newest gun from a back holster and point it at him. The first enchanted bullet digs through the already damaged chestplate. Blood like lava drips from the wound, falling to the ground with a terrible hiss. It smelled scrumptious. The best blood since I left the fae spheres. I feel my fangs grow. But no, he needs to simmer down a bit first. The second bullet cuts a dozen quills and the third catches him in the biceps, taking flesh with it. Perhaps some bone as well? In any case, the prince is not happy. He lifts both hands. A moment later, his aura explodes. Waves of fires roar out from his form and roll over the ravaged landscape in a tide of fire. "Winter shield." I pour a lot of energy into the Aurora until a bubble of icy cold appears around me. It parts the flaming wave in two. The prince persists but his attack is inherently indiscriminate while my shield is small and compact. Time and stamina are on my side. Rather than giving up, the prince spreads his arms and the whip turns into two whips. Convenient, I guess? Should he not have done that from the start? "Burn!" He turns like a dervish and a storm forms around him, then a twister that swallows flying corpses and scorched debris. Annoying. "Enough of this," I tell him in Likaean. "Polar midnight." The hurricane is snuffed before it can fully form and I watch with some delight the prince''s expression turn flabbergasted. For the first time, real fire twists his cruel traits. A thorny root whips him in the back, making him stumble. I use the window to plant Rose in his exposed shoulder. He screams in pain and retreats. Meanwhile, I admit to being stunned for a moment here. "Oh my, you taste absolutely DELICIOUS." "Foul thing! Get away from me with your coarse tongue!" "COME BACK, WE ARE NOT DONE YET." Oh, he runs. A chase! How exciting. I call Metis with a whistle and wait. And wait a few more seconds. A vague sense of annoyance reaches me through the ether. Oops. I form a small forest of thorny trees and white flowers. The world''s best pony gallops out a moment later. "Sorry, I forgot there were no forests here." Metis snorts in a way that conveys condescending disbelief. I grumble as I mount her and we gallop after the fleeing form of the prince. Once again, I resist the urge to ask her if the Aurora bothers her ¡ª it does not. Instead. I focus on our quarry and its flight towards the portal. The prince blows a horn. I dare not contemplate where he was keeping it. A wave of warriors moves away from the fight to attack me. Unfortunately for them, they now form a nice, compact group of combatants well clear from the human soldiers. Distant cannon fire sounds and soon, the earth explodes under them. The distant forms of the flying ships provide covering fire to our side. The prince hisses and runs. We are losing ground. I call more forest around us and suddenly, we are gaining ground instead. Nightmares really work in a peculiar way. Ah well. S~ea??h the N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Metis snorts, sniffing the air. The scent of fae blood is intoxicating. "You can have his heart after I''m done with him." A neigh. "After." Another neigh. "If you want first dibs, kill him yourself." An annoyed neigh, but she gallops faster. The portal is almost in view. The lead tanks have stopped in front of it and keep unloading round after round into the aperture. Ranks of infantrymen and marines have joined and keep a rolling fire in to kill reinforcements as they pour through. They will be out of ammunition very soon, I can tell. "Ou sont nos mages?" a sergeant complains. Why, excuse me. I was busy whipping a demigod. The gall of those people. The prince sprints back to his world. Oh no, that will not do at all. "Wounded land and clenching jaws Bloody ash and closing jaws Heal the gash that carnage wrought. Ban the scourge that slaughter brought." A titanic wave of power courses through my wave coming from deep under my feet. Such a rush is not mine alone. I feel like a conduit to something greater as the nascent soul of the planet revolts against the intrusion. The land is becalmed. Spells fail. Even enchantments dull, suppressed for now. All the warriors of the Blood Court collapse and howl, affording the humans some breathing room and prone targets. The prince is no exception. More importantly, however, the wound in the world snaps shut with a resounding thunderclap. I step up next to the kneeling prince. His burning aura has reduced to a reddish shadow of its former self. "It looks like you are almost done," I tell him. He jumps, he runs, as I hoped. Metis neighs in outrage. "Come on old girl, did you not want to build an appetite?" She bites me. "Alright alright, let us go." *** The pursuit is unfortunately short, with the prince fading quickly between the fallen portal and his own defeat. I jump on him and fight him, the cold of the Aurora smothering the last embers of his aura. I have to peel off the skin armor with my bare claws while he resists which I admit I find a little arousing. His blood is warm and thick like hot honey. It speaks of blood and the endless conflict, singing a discordant song as the essence merges with mine. I receive a shock of confusing images, of carnage under a scarlet, sunless sky. Blood emerges from the land and returns to it in an endless cycle of senseless violence without end. It is less hunt and more frenzy. It also lacks succor. Calm or contemplation do not exist. Theirs is a race forward that only ends in death. A pity for them, but I know where to go in a couple thousand years if I need a restful holiday away from political considerations. Provided I live, of course. I do give Metis her heart and since I am feeling generous, the tongue as well. As to why she asked for that specifically, I do not know. Perhaps she just finds the taste interesting. I hunt a little more and find a noble trying to rally his warriors on a distant hill. "You!" he roars when he spots me. "Grant a warrior''s death." "Very well, supplicant. Heartseeker." My blood sings, denser somehow. More aggressive. The spell tears through ranks and leaves behind desiccated husks clinging to cracked weapons. Essence rushes through me, feeding me as the last of them dies. Ah, as expected. I believe that I am getting closer to matching Nirari toe to toe. We shall see. *** "Although I regret your loss, I must ask what possessed you to attack the fae," I asked Bertrand as he rests against the wreck of a Renault tank. Other vampires give us some privacy as they revel with the human soldiers. Entente and Alliance soldiers do not mingle but they have decided on a truce, and two teams even play a football match on the site of the portal. "Attacks across the frontline intensified during the last twenty-four hours, leading the Verdun High Command to believe they would do better on the attack. The plan was to use the brand new Renault tanks as anchors for a formation that would take down warriors as they emerged. Trucks would carry ammunition. Of course, they did not account for¡­ the prince, was it?" "Correct. And a Duchess." "I understand Gabriel and Hastings kept her at bay. One of your own killed her. We found her head on a spike." "Cadiz is not mine but he does prove reliable when a good fight can be found." "If the nobles had been left unchecked, they could have smashed through the human ranks and spread deeper with unknown consequences. We could not let them go alone. The Republican mages prevented us from altering the final decision. We¡­" He looks at me with deep-set eyes. Once upon a time, I hated him. No, once upon a time, I feared him. Now, he is no longer a real danger to me or my allies. He is merely someone who will be against me at a turning point, then who will serve the winner as a powerful lieutenant. I should really consider having him assassinated, and yet¡­ it would be dishonorable, for we are in the middle of a truce. *** In the aftermath of the battle, victory of what newspapers and scholars have come to call the Great War belongs to the Entente, yet this victory is not complete. The German Empire did not unconditionally surrender and so the victor''s conditions are not all applied. Their attempts to dismantle the Habsburg Empire are flatly refused, but they console themselves by some respectable territory gains. The French regain control of Alsace and Lorraine thus erasing the painful humiliation of 1871 while Italy gains control of pieces of the Tyrol, Dalmatia, and the city of Fiume. Both alliances return more or less to their starting positions with war reparations and map colors balanced towards the ''Triple Entente'', with one notable exception. Under the stupefied eyes of the whole of Europe, a terrifying ideology rises from the flames of the war. A red flag flies over Saint Petersburg. I should have known that Karl Marx would be problematic. This is of little concern, however. Soon, deadland activities spark again over Europe. I know what my next target is. And this one will be more than problematic. I fear we need a larger bomb. Chapter 219 - 213: Shanghaied Marquette, April 1927 "What do you want?" I ask the redhead sitting in front of my desk. Melusine has free access to me as one of my oldest and most annoying allies. My door is always open to her, though our rivalry precludes long and friendly visits, thus she has never felt the need to make appointments as she has done now. It must be serious. Especially since she usually enjoys catching me at the most inopportune moment. "There is little need for artifice between the two of us. I have found Lady Moor and I intend to kill her." I lean back in my seat. Hmm. Lady Moor. It certainly brings back memories and not of the tender kind. Curiously, I held more animosity towards Melusine than I did towards Moor because Moor was an abject fallen politician whose cruelty felt distant and, shall I say, utilitarian. I was merely a tool in her arsenal and since she cared not for her tools at all, she did not care for me either. Even her ''lesson'' when she asked me to lop off my arm stopped the moment I asked her to do so. I did not pursue the family of Mrs Boucher who was my governess when I was five and she was a rotten bitch. Meanwhile Melusine was a moving stain. And I have not killed her yet. I can tell I have left Moor behind in the list of people who do not matter enough for me to expand any efforts on. Obviously, Melusine will think differently. "Well done, I remember you have been looking for her for a while now." "Indeed. The shameless bitch ditched her execution in England by taking a ship to Algiers, then she absconded to the far east via the Suez canal and ended up in¡­ Shanghai." "Shanghai," I muse. "Well, it makes sense I suppose. Enough foreigners to fit in, enough poor locals to feed on." "Exactly. She has taken her new spawn with her and scurried but someone noticed her and the money trail does not lie. She is preparing her return, buying some Mask lords to arrange it. She has done well pillaging the rotting corpse of the Qing dynasty. This is just like her, robbing away instead of building her own empire." "I assume she does not intend to stay there for long." "No," Melusine replies, showing a bit of fang. "She will not." "And while I would enjoy seeing her fall, I also assume you have not contacted me because you wish to share your vengeance?" "She killed my vassal! Her stupidity and betrayal led to his death. I will never, never, never¡­ I WILL RIP HER TO SHRED MYSELF." "And you need help," I conclude. Her fury dies out. "Well, yes. The trip by ship would take¡­ not to mention there is no Allied branch to speak of there. I would be going alone against an entrenched foe, a lady besides. I can live with the possibility of my own demise, but not that of her survival. I need your ship and your presence but please let me kill her myself." I consider her request. One cannot rush research and so I am left waiting and strengthening my position as I prepare for the next great offensive. I could use a holiday, and I could stand to visit more of the planet I am meant to defend. I would also love to see Moor suffer while making sure Melusine survives this ordeal. She has proven a great if insufferable ally over the decades. "I have two conditions," I tell her. "Of course you do." "No backtalk, supplicant, or did you expect me to ask nothing?" "Name them." "First, the Colorado deal." "Yes yes, eighty percent for you. And I will toss in a silver mine I found." "Where?" "Alaska." "Hmm¡­" That is great news as I always need more silver for the enchantments. The precious metal is no longer used for legal tender here, yet the demand remains too high. "My second condition is that once we arrive, we will conduct an investigation, just the two of us plus Constance, I suppose?" "And your weird pair. I will not bring my own, as they are not warriors." "No, I have plans for them. They will be busy. In any case, you will keep it a secret and tolerate the fact that I shall be wearing trousers." Melusine gasps and glares like a very offended, freshly caught fish. "The whole time," I precise. "I am avenging my vassal in a blood feud and you want to attend wearing PANTS?" "I guess that if it is too much, you can always ask your other friend who happens to own the world''s fastest flying ship and can toss ladies aside like they are mortals." "Fine. FINE! I should not have expected a bumpkin to acquire a sense of decorum in less than three centuries. Trousers! Pah. It is such a shame that your bloodline does not let you devour intelligence." "And if yours drew power from sperm you would not need my help. You could just swim there." "OH!" *** I watch the waters of the Pacific far, far below us. I must admit that after so many trips, the sea of clouds over a sea of water has lost some of its exotic charm, but when the light of the moon hits the cottony layer just so, I still enjoy drawing it. Tonight would have been such a night were it not for my official rival leaning against the railing by my side. Is she still a rival? Or should I consider her a friend? No, absolutely not. "I do not suppose you would be willing to land the Fury for half a day? I could use a distraction." "The thought of your impending vengeance weighs on you?" She rolls her eyes. "Please. I am suffering from cabin fever." "Well, the Fury has many advantages and one of them is the endless supply of energy the Aurora provides as it slumbers. Unfortunately, I had to proceed with some arbitration. This model of the Fury is not designed for the ocean." "You mean that it is not seaworthy?" "More¡­ sea-floaty. But I would be loath to capsize during daytime. It would be best if we focused on making good time." "Oh, very well." She sighs, a very human gesture that betrays her agitation. "Tell me about your plan for the dead world. I know you have been focusing your efforts on a solution. Knowing you, it will be a drastic measure." "Why not? What do you know of the situation?" "I know the frequency of incursions has increased." "Frequency and might. We are now talking about full scale, temporary invasions led by higher-numbered liches. More powerful ones. It can only mean one thing: their factions have finally united to reap our world." "It only took them half a century." "Yes, well, they are doing it now and we face major difficulties. The German Empire is holding the line together with Brotherhood vampires. The constant struggles have turned their society even more militaristic, their leaders even more paranoid. The Kaiser has resigned in favor of his son." "I knew that! I do read the newspapers." "With the consequence," I insist, "that the blame for the situation lies at the feet of the Triple Entente. They see themselves as robbed of victory in the Great War at a decisive moment because of supernatural reasons, and now more monsters plague them in an attempt to make the empire fall." "Do you really believe they could have won at Verdun?" "No, though it does not matter. Only their perception does. This climate of patriotism and xenophobia has made cooperation all but impossible. If we are to rid our world of those locusts, it will have to be done in one decisive operation. We will never have the political capital to ensure a long cooperation." "Then what is your solution?" "We need to win one decisive engagement and destroy them once and for all, and more importantly before they can bring their full power to bear. You see, the presence on the battlefield of the third for a mere moment turned the tide of a major battle in the territories around Munich. It stands to reason that the most powerful liches are incredibly deadly, and it is with taking into account the limit they impose on themselves." I take out a new page of my notebook and hastily throw lines to show the glimpse I had of the Last City, back when I left them with a nice bomb. The result is a chthonic landscape of towering buildings as high as mountains, their many windows like hive openings or the sores on some giant, decaying organ. Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. "This is a small district of the Last City." "That place is enormous!" "Exactly. Not just enormous but also heavily populated. Do you understand?" "Understand what?" I glare a little. "The liches have stagnated for a long time after the death of their world. Now that they have access to new wealth and the possibility to make more of their numbers they will not stop, but the only way to win is to destroy them on their own land and that will remove the limit on what they are willing to do. The same stagnation comes not just from circumstances but also from careful management of their resources. None of this will matter if they believe they face their own extinction. They can extract power from the life of their followers, Melusine. There are millions of them here. Between killing half of their population and losing a single lich, you know what they will choose, and this is just the tip of the iceberg. Who knows what ancient horror they have slumbering under that blighted landscape, ready to wake at the first sign of a good meal? No, we need to blow them up before they realize we have that possibility." "I knew it would end with explosions with you." "Because they work," I curtly interrupt. "We cannot possibly hope to defeat them if they fight us at full power because we have standards and they do not. Do you understand?" "How, pray tell, do you intend to demolish a magically protected base the size of a small country? I am no stranger to military affairs. We do not have explosives that would make this even remotely feasible." "I have two leads. The first is to use life energy to make those globes I used the first time." "Fighting fire with fire?" "Constantine has firmly vetoed that idea. I see no signs that he will go back on his decision." "Hmm. And you have followed his directives? Curious." "He is required for the project to work. Those advanced life magics are beyond me and besides, they feel¡­" "Unnatural?" "Yes. Destructive. If light and dark magic are two sides of a coin this is the pit the coin will fall into, never to be seen again." "I agree. We must not become them or the problem will only be compounded when we kill our world just as it wakes. What else do you have?" "Well, the powerful nations of the world have realized the importance of flight. More viable planes with mundane engines are being developed, but the possibility of flying fortresses or even plane carriers excites every major general under the stars so a lot of money is being poured into researching new energy sources. Are you familiar with the works of Rontgen and Becquerel?" "Who?" "Those are scientists that study radiation," I explain with some impatience. "They observed that some materials like Uranium or Thorium emit a form of rays that become visible on a fluorescent screen. If something emits energy, then that energy could be harnessed." "This seems like a very long shot." "Indeed, but I have been experimenting with Thorium rounds and they seem to be animated with some innate power that bolsters certain forms of enchantment. Also, the metal turns black when touched by air and it looks quite fancy." "Do you conduct any experiments that do not involve projectiles?" "Would you like to take part in an interesting experiment on the aerodynamics of a tossed trollop?" "Please continue." "Thank you. Know that many major countries are pursuing this avenue of research with great interest." "Are you funding the American one?" "Of course not. We are not supposed to know about it. I shall just wait for one of the laboratories to succeed then steal their research." "Naturally." *** Our arrival at the port of Shanghai might have been a sensation. In fact, I am absolutely certain that Moor will be aware of the presence of foreign agents no matter what, so I make no attempt at secrecy. Perhaps she does not know that the Fury belongs to me. After all, there are no Rosenthal branches here. At least, not the information gathering kind. Nevertheless, we are welcomed by a committee of heavily armed local soldiers in khaki uniforms, bearing an insignia like a white sunburst on a blue background. They are accompanied by a pair of American soldiers and a couple of men in uniform. The mood is tense. The presence of three women and the subdued, cold aura of Andrew, Melusine''s vassal, certainly does little to calm them down. Those in power dislike engaging with those who threaten the status quo. Well, nothing to it. "Hello," I greet. "Are you the welcoming party?" The one who answers is a bespectacled old man with impressive jowls and large round glasses. He wears a full suit complete with a top hat, a curious choice in the warm and wet weather. His voice carries a thick English accent. "I am certainly not that, madam. My name is Henry Douglas. I represent the Shanghai Municipal Council and I would like to inquire as to what you are doing here, at this time?" Ah yes, the municipal council. The British control most of the industry of Shanghai, and the foreigners have enclaves here. Shanghai is Asia''s largest port and so the foreign population is quite significant, though I did not expect such a cold reception. "We are here," I reply, "to see relatives." A Chinese man in a well-tailored suit leans close to a Chinese officer with the countenance and warmth of a bulldog. He glares mightily under bushy brows. The insignias on his shoulders fit the German style, interestingly, and they mark him as a colonel. There are quite a few soldiers waiting by the pier. Two hundred or so, I would say. Both Mr Douglas and the colonel inspect my obvious warship filled with obvious marines obviously armed to the teeth with obviously top-of-the-line gear obviously enchanted to the gills. They assess the likelihood that I have come for tourism. I can see the cogs grind in their heads for a quarter of a second. They come to the conclusion that the likelihood is low. Then, their eyes come to rest on my entourage. Melusine wears a gown, a conservative one that would become stifling in the day and clearly marks her as an outsider. Constance is the only sensibly dressed person in a sleeveless dress with a nice hat sporting a fluffy feather (a fad, I am sure). The problem is the obvious holster around her narrow waist. As for me, I am regretting the choice to wear pants. No, I am not, but I am regretting the choice to do it now instead of later. I have a long vest that splits in the middle to form a sort of skirt so technically, technically, I could be wearing a skirt and leggings. A scandalously short skirt. That exposes the crotch area. AUGH. I even placed a nice sunflower in my hair for the irony. "My partner Colonel Zheng and myself question your choice to come here, now, at such an uncertain time. We are concerned that your presence would destroy the proper conduct of large-scale police operations." I shrug and the gesture marks me as the leader of this little expedition, to the men''s obvious displeasure. Those two do not feel like the progressive kind. "As I said, we are here to see a relative. Your operations do not concern me." "They do! The city is plagued by communists. Those wretched curs provoke the masses. They have pushed our students into a frenzy! You would be wise to avoid the city for a while, miss, if you know what''s good for you." "As I said," I patiently reply and this time I push the notion of threat through my aura, "We are here to see relatives. Your political purges are of no import to us." S§×ar?h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The air cools around us until the nearest sentry''s breath puffs in the deepening darkness of the night. "You all seem to be quite busy, gentlemen. Surely you would not want to waste time and resources of poor little us while we search for our dear relative." The men stiffen because the supernatural is part of our world now, and I have firmly placed myself in that category. More precisely, at its top. "It would be wise of you to let us proceed while you pursue your own agenda. Yes?" On cue, the Fury deploys spell arrays which deactivate so the younger members of the crew can climb them for maintenance. Rays from the moon catch the blue engravings of the main gun just right. Soldiers here have rifles. Their ships have cannons. I have a ship killer. It is, I believe the Poles who have the say: not my monkeys, not my circus. My hosts must easily realize that they have many monkeys to wrangle and that their circus looks eminently flammable. Brittle. Just like my patience. Douglas turns to Colonel Zheng and they speak in a quiet voice that I can understand well enough. There are enough ''it would be wiser'' and ''time best used'' and ''probably not linked with our foes''. It takes ten more minutes and a considerable amount of threats, but the pair leaves with their goons in tow. Just as Douglas turns, I replace my pleasant face for one of rabid fanged fury, promising punishment for the audacity he has displayed. He stumbles and when he looks up, I am my usual pleasant self. "Are you sure I cannot convince you to join the communist purge?" Melusine asks sullenly in English. "For the last time, pay your employees a decent wage and the communists will have no hold on them." "You still see my business empire as some sort of self-contained little empire, huh? I do not have a monopoly on Dvergur tech like you do! There is such a thing as competition!" "What is the break-even point of a can of ham, you harpy? Your profit margins¡ª " "Not that I have not heard this argument in one form or another a thousand times over the past five years, but could we please get on with tonight? Some of us will have to wake up at dawn to investigate matters, yes?" Andrew interrupts. "You know old folks love their arguments," Constance tells him. Melusine and I hiss at her, then at each other. "Don''t hiss at my Servant," I warn. "And you¡ª " "You mentioned a contact?" Constance says with a frozen smile. Melusine frowns. She knows we are being distracted, though she relents. "Yes. A local vampire, of which there are very, very few apparently. She was the first to inform one of my agents. We will meet her first to get the lay of the land, so to speak. I have a map here to a meeting point." Melusine removes a folded paper from her handbag. She unfolds it again and again under our collective glare until we are now seeing a massive, extremely detailed map of the city down to the last building drawn as tiny squares. A large red cross marks our rendezvous point. A suggested route starts from the pier, having anticipated our landing zone with concerning accuracy. I order my men to stay on alert as Shanghai appears to be on the verge of a major conflagration, then we are off. *** We make our way through the chaotic streets through clouds of sweat, cigarette smoke, and a peppery scent mixed with frying oil. The architecture is quite unique here, and rather fascinating. Locals turn and gasp as we pass, which is not surprising considering our rather eclectic and exotic appearance. Men in thin sleeveless vests and without shirts watch us pass or work, carrying bags or dragging carts. Their thin bodies are taut with dry, long muscles and without a speck of fat. I take a note to draw them later, and they do the same with me, watching without shame. Others show the same curiosity though with more grace. Women in tight, colorful dresses smile with short black hair made wavy by a process that must be time-consuming, but it is the men who show the most variety in their clothes, and that is without foreigners who must be confined in their districts right now. On top of the poorest members of society, there are some who wear traditional robes the likes of which I had only seen in illustrations before. Others wear long, dark clothes under wide-brimmed hats. Finally, some have completely absorbed western culture and you could see their attire on every street of Paris or Chicago. Truly, this mix and match of eras and fashions speaks of a land between epochs where ideas clash, as they do tonight. The deeper we go,the fancier the people become, although most of them seem to be in a hurry to be somewhere. Examples of foreign architecture creep in here and there until at some point we come across a checkpoint manned by nervous French policemen. On the other side I see a bistro, now closed, and a neat avenue bordered by ''platane'' trees like a vision of Paris. It fades as quickly as it came. At some point though, the wealth disappears again. Screaming gang louts wearing green turbans replace the angry students. Soldiers of the white sunburst also become more frequent. There are corpses as well, heads smashed in. Here and there, I feel the aura of mages though they never show themselves and I taste something diffuse in their power. Interesting. I suppose I will find out soon enough. The place of our meeting is, quite frankly, terrible. Whoever owns that filthy dump has made some token effort to make it appear as a palace of sorts, the least of which being the location. Anything looks good compared to offal-smelling slums and yet a dump will always be a dump. The lantern''s paper is damp and discolored, the walls moldy, paper stained by constant smoke and the Watcher knows what else. Hostesses in scant clothes use the dim light to hide their sores and the cheap make of their garish clothes. The paint on their face clings to pimples. Their teeth are strangely black. We step up rickety stairs and make our way through a pungent cloud of burnt, floral scent. Opium. This is an opium den. A man tries to stop us while his bouncer looks on in sullen silence since I am, in fact, taller than him. "Should we ask them our destination? They might not speak any European language," Melusine says. "Can you not detect the aura of our host? It comes from deeper, straight ahead," I tell her reproachfully." "I do not have an all-seeing Magna Arqa!" "I am not using it." "Oh." "You are just bad and lack practice. Slacker. Slouch." "Cease!" Our small banter makes our progress unopposed as everyone here is either at a loss on what to do or lacks the required brain matter to act. Those people lounging here have so little vitality, I could drain the lot and get less energy than in a single healthy adult. And they stink! A rancid, diseased stench that crawls under the flowery touch like a corpse hidden under a bouquet. Revolting. At last, we find the backrooms and a more comfortable, cleaner space. Lights shine on a richly dressed woman waiting in its midst. We have found our destination. "Hello hello!" The person who welcomes us, sitting with crossed legs on an elaborate silk pillow, is definitely a vampire. The use of English does not surprise me as her essence screams ''Vanheim'' and the old monster has never seen it fit to make its descendants fluent and, for that matter, normal. "Why are all Vanheim such lunatics," Melusine grumbles. "For the same reason we all build empires, and you are all sardonic twats," I reply. Then I turn to the woman. She is clearly of mixed descent as I have seen before, but this one shows clear signs of European and Asian ancestry in equal measure. Her eyes are dark, shaped like almonds yet less so than some of the other locals. Straight hair falls to her shoulder freely, black yet shiny even under the dim light. Her face is sharp and perhaps on the thin side, with skin a shade darker than my own. Her smile is wide over ruby lips and there is something in her iris, something ephemeral yet incredibly colorful. I also notice she wears a qipao, a local, close-fitting dress. A pipe rests in her hand, though it lacks the small receptacle used for opium. It looks like a custom creation with a thin, graceful body like the neck of a swan. The design is quite unique and reminds me of¡­ hmmm. Just as I frown, she puffs and a delicate, otherworldly floral scent caresses my nostril, bringing back memories of lush carpets and walls of living wood. Vivid colors swirl in her iris. And I see a hint of denuded shoulder, of very long black hair. Shadows of a dangerous smile. Memories flood back from my short stay in the Court of Spring. "You can call me Cassilda. Carnaciel said hello again, little one," she tells me in perfect Likaean. Melusine steps back, shocked. I am amazed that Vanheim would pick up someone with the gift of gab as a spawn and still manage not to transfer the mastery of Akkad, but my humor fades quickly. Cassilda is linked to someone even Sinead was terrified of. The Dreamer of Old Spring. The spheres'' first warlord, now retired and a heavy smoker. Even the Old One acknowledged her. "Please extend my greetings to Lady Carnaciel, and I long to dream with her again. Some day." Cassilda took a puff, her smile extending to show fangs in a malicious rather than intimidating way. "She said you would be formal and to call her auntie. She also said she would like it if you married Sinsin, put some fervor in his head. He is too smarmy. Thinks about plots and politics too much. Remind Summer of the old days, back when Spring had¡­ a lot of fun." "Auntie?" "She is so old, you know? She said you will grow tired of conquest like she did if you play the game long enough, once your tree is big and sated. Maybe you will, maybe you will not. I am not so sure, but what do I know?" "What you know is what we are here for." "Ah yes, business. A blood feud." Cassilda taps the pipe against an ash cup, sending embers to fall. The fire attracts my eyes because I fear it, and Cassilda''s smile widens. A glare sends her hands up in surrender though she never stops smiling. "You," she says in English, "are a tarantula. Powerful. Kills even birds. The fire one is like an orb weaver. She will wait at the center of her net. But the one who seeks, why, she is a huntsman. You will not see her until she has bitten." "We expected Moor to hide." "She is hidden, yes," Cassilda admits. "And she will know you are here before you find her. Too many eyes, too many strands. Even your mere steps shake the weave." "Will she run?" Melusine hisses. "She may. She may try to kill you first, red one. She may think you are too much of a bother while the tarantula prefers her birds. Too busy for revenge. She has slain Enrico, my lover. He was too involved. Too visible." "Is that why you told me she was here?" Melusine asks. "Yes. If I am too weak, I can find someone strong, the enemy of my enemy. You are that, yes?" "We are," I confirm. "Then we can look for her. But first, we must corner her a little. Search for her with strength and determination. Force her to move from her trunk. Rattle the cage a little." "Don''t worry," Melusine says as she points at me. "Chaos is practically her middle name." "Oi!" My middle name is Lucille. Chapter 220 - 214: Kung Fu diplomacy and other diversions After weeks of travel, I would have hoped to stay in a nice hotel upon my arrival. Unfortunately, Shanghai is hostile territory, and the city lives through difficult times. A message on my desk informs me that martial law has been declared throughout the city. Constance is in there. I am rather cross. Towards the end of the afternoon, the skipper comes to see me. All my skippers are Dvergur-blooded men with grim countenances, possibly due to my unique need for both engineering knowledge and tricorn tolerance. They switch because captaining the Fury is a taxing endeavor, but I always call them skipper. I suspect they might all be brothers. "A Colonel Something-or-other came today. He had a letter from a certain Mr Douglas demanding our ship''s assistance in pacifying the communists, which I understand they intend to exterminate." "Could you politely tell them to get bent?" "I have already written an answer to that effect, claiming neutrality." "And to keep their filthy paws off my ship." "I reminded them that we are flying an American flag and thus exempt from requisition." "And if they try anything I''ll crater the lot of them and send the city through a winter without end." "I finished by pointing out the undesirability of a diplomatic incident." "Thank you, skipper, you are a dear. I do not have the patience to deal with them right now. And it''s Colonel Zheng." "I shall keep it in mind for the next seventeen seconds." I look at him questioningly. "His expression when I slaughter his name is simply too priceless." "I understand." A report comes. The ship has finished loading supplies and is ready for departure, should we need it. The men bemoan the lack of shore leave but the presence of an entire company of those white sunburst soldiers outside reminds them that necessity makes law. I am told they are part of the ''KuoMinTang'' which is the, well, not communist faction. Towards the end of the afternoon, Constance returns with a man I have never met before, as well as a gash in her dress. Her ear is covered in dried blood. Hers. "HSSSS!" "I am fine, Ariane." "Who? Where? Is it the men outside?" She attempts to pat my head and I slap her hand away, though not too hard. "No no, it happened earlier." "And who is this?" I ask, turning my attention to the man who came with her. He is clearly a native of sorts, with pale skin and delicate traits. A gray, western style suit with hat and assorted gloves covers his solid frame. I can see a fencer''s build from the muscles under his white shirt. The suit looks more than expensive, tailored in fact. He completes his look with a pair of round glasses over calculating brown eyes. An aura like a storm comes with him, fresh yet threatening. He bows when he feels my attention on him until I see the hint of a tattoo peeking from his right sleeve. Interesting. "This is Wang Yunlong. He is from the north. Ah, it would be better if I start from the beginning. Following the advice of Melusine''s Vassal, we decided to follow the money, as it were. We made our way to the Bund this morning. That''s the riverside. The financial trail Melusine''s men found led back to a local branch of the Hong Kong and Shanghai Banking Corporation. Unfortunately, it had been evacuated by the time we arrived." "Because martial law was declared." "Yes. What are you doing?" I remove a first aid kit from a cupboard. I call this piece of furniture "the pointless storage place" since it contains that item, along with glasses and a few bottles of alcohol, all of which I have no use for. "I will clean your ear and disinfect it." "You know I''m regenerating, right? It''s almost closed." "Good then it will sting less. Sit down." Constance grumbles but she obeys. The wound is small and clean, new tissue already closing the gash. It will be closed and unscarred by tomorrow but that is no excuse to be like a street lout and move around with blood on one''s face not to mention leaving scab on the carpets and pillows, thank you very much. "I managed to open the way in thanks to your invaluable lessons. No broken windows this time. We found records of the transaction in their office with the help of a guard." "That you manipulated?" "And bribed and threatened. Ow!" "Quit fussing!" "Moor covered her tracks very well. HSBC looked into the donors. They are all phony facades made just for the transfer, with no real origin we can track, but he had an idea. In the meanwhile, I decided to pursue another lead. You see, we were not the first to ask about those transfers. Someone else had been making inquiries, though with the same success. A local ''private detective'' company. I decided to pay them a visit. Believe it or not, they were quite rude." With her ear clean, I replace the first aid kit in its compartment. "Martial law and the inevitable chaos has made us¡­ distrustful. Especially of outsiders," Mr. Wang adds in a mellifluous voice. "I failed to convince their secretary to talk to me as she did not speak English. And also because I had forced their lock. It was enchanted. I met Mr. Wang in the agency''s inner courtyard. We fought. ARIANE, NO!" "INSECT." "Ariane, let him go. He wasn''t the one who hit me anyway." Mr Wang looks quite shocked, pushed against the wall with my claws on his jugulars. "You¡­ Xixuegui. Vampire!" He raises his hand in surrender, all while taking great care not to struggle. A hand rests on my shoulder. "Let him go, Ariane. Please." I delicately place him back on his feet and step away. He readjusts his tie. "Cold one. I thought you were a myth." "Can I finish my story?" Constance asks testily. "Yes, yes. I have not killed him, have I?" Accursed dragon and blood prince essences. I have difficulties handling bouts of aggression, especially if they concern Constance or my domain. I suspect they will be subsumed in time, but vampire timelines approach the fae ones in scale. It could be decades and it would still be a short delay in the grand scheme of things. Ugh. "Right. Mr. Wang took the intrusion seriously, especially because we are both mages. We fought in the garden. It was quite nice!" "Miss Constance is powerful in the way of ying. She froze my cherry tree." "I already apologized." "That will not make the tree regrow. You must seek balance." "Your spellcasting and mine are not similar. When I fight, winter comes with me," Constance says, and her blue eyes take an icy color. "Can you finish your story?" I interrupt with no small amount of Schadenfreude. "Right, sorry. Mr. Wang and myself took each other''s measure. He uses a lot of internal mana to move faster, hit harder. It is quite fascinating." "It requires many hours of practice, discipline..." "And tattoos," I finish. "Those are merely finishing touches on a masterpiece." "Their external spells are weaker," Constance says smugly. "Anyway, after we were done, we had a talk and realized we had the same purpose when it comes to Moor. She has apparently been aggressive to her neighbors and they are quite eager to find her to even the score." "How surprising." "Is it not? Mr. Wang represents a faction of the local mages based in Beijing, to the north. He proposed a solution¡­ but it''s a little complicated so I will let him explain." "Please sit," I offer with a smile. "Would you like something to drink?" "Not at the moment, thank you," the man replies with an ever-polite smile. "You are a vampire, yes?" "Correct." "We have heard of your kind but thought they were stories meant to scare children. It appears the world is vast and full of surprises." "You have no idea. You were going to explain how we can¡­ help each other?" I ask, the alternative to cooperation clearly implied. "Yes, well. As you may have presumed, China hosts a vast number of magical groups. They very much prefer to backstab and fight each other rather than work for the good of society." "Then we are not so different after all," I grumble, making coffee for myself. "This vast¡­ community of groups is called Jianghu. The lake and rivers. We have existed for a long time in the margins of history and¡­ separate from the central power. Thus it has been for centuries, but the world has changed. Invaders have come to China, not to form a new dynasty but to steal its wealth and drag it far away. My faction purports that we have been separate for too long, and that it is time for the individual mage to reenter and serve society again so that we may throw aside the weight of unfair treaties. Only through unity can salvation be found. My faction¡­ is not very popular." "By that he means to say that we were attacked by assassins on the way back and nearly killed. I nailed one with my pistol, by the way. He looked really mad about it." "My favorite part," I admit. "The one you call Moor, that spider, she has preyed on us for a long time. She has weaved her nets and killed many promising students. This I know. It is time for our group, long divided, to unite against her. You could help." "I will go out on a limb and wager that your Jianghu friends do not like foreigners very much," I tell him. "Yes, but they respect strength even more. The one you call Moor was but a ghost until now, a shadow, but if you know her, you can give a face to our enemy. A good slap and redirected anger can achieve what a month of backroom deals will fail to do." "And once we have gathered your merry band of boxers, then what? Bang on every door until we find the bitch?" "Twenty spies might fail where a five working together will succeed. Her money must come from somewhere. Find enough business irregularities over the past few years and you will find a trail of people who know things." "Thralls," I say. "Moor trusts no one. She has always been very hands on. She will use an agent to guarantee oversight. There is only one person she will trust." S§×ar?h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Baudouin, her servant," Constance says. "Find him and we will find Moor. DO NOT hurt him," I warn. "If you do, our deal is off." "Why?" Wang asks with surprise. "Because," I reply, "I asked politely." *** In order to leave the ship, I have a dinghy lowered on the other side of the hull, opposite the shore. Melusine has joined us. I prepare to row but Wang offers to do it and I consent, seeing as he attempts to get in my good graces. "Nu Sarrehin." I no longer need a gauntlet to cast simple spells, provided I do not need to channel too much power. I use a simple glove instead. It suffices to drown our small boat in illusory darkness. Not one soldier sees us move along the shore. We move through warehouse districts, the streets empty except for roving bands of men armed with swords, axes, and cudgels, mostly. Large groups huddle in some of them, discussing in low voices in a tongue I do not understand. It appears I was mistaken. Shanghai is not going through hard times, exactly. It is a powder keg with its fuse already lit. "What happens if the city devolves into a civil war while we still look for Moor. Will she use the opportunity to flee?" "The balance of power is heavily skewed in favor of the KMT, and they will not dare to touch the foreigners. I suspect Moor will not depart so long as there are English pockets to empty. As for your plan to use local resources, I would advise looking into opium dens, illegal gambling rings..." "You might as well search for a ¡ª what was it again? ¡ª a needle in a haystack, yes. Shanghai is the world capital of vice and debauchery." "And here you are missing all the fun," I tell Melusine. "I am after your kind of fun, for once. I will be fine." Then to Wang. "We need such establishments that cater to foreigners, as she would not risk Baudouin standing out even more." "Hmmm." "First, we need to rally the troops," I remind them. "Do we have a plan? I assume they will not just come running if summoned." "They might, but they might also take their time. The only way to get them quickly is to bait them. I believe the provocation that your presence represents, as well as a personal interview with the leading grandmaster, will be enough to attract their attention." "And why would the ''leading grandmaster'' receive us? For that matter, why would they admit us in what I assume is their meeting point?" "Yes. Master Shu''s home. I¡­ will think of something." "Items that reinforce the¡­ external expression of magic." "Qi emissions?" "Whatever you choose to call it. We have them and know how to manufacture them." "Ariane? You will sell our western know-how to¡­ to barbarians who still fight with swords?" "Oh, you own the patent for the western standard magic system? A system widely known over every continent where the English have spread their empire?" "It is not the same thing as teachings from a master." I lean in front of her so we are practically nose to nose. "So you agree I am a master of magic. Will you also agree I am better than you, despite being born mundane?" She sputters. "I am not so sure we should be arguing¡­" Wang interjects. "No no wait, I have never heard that argument before!" Constance adds. "You wield it like a warhammer! Your power does not make you a good mage, merely a strong one," Melusine blurts. "And yet you are concerned with a poor mage teaching the locals how to make a focus?" "That is not the same thing." "You have no right to tell me who I teach and why, especially after dragging me to the world capital of vice at the height of political oppression, which is, by the way, the most Melusine thing you could do." "Fine! Not that I expect much anyway. Do as you wish. I am merely tagging along because I do not want to stay confined a minute more." "Does this mean that you will not talk? As if!" "Aaaand we are back on familiar grounds," Constance says. I let myself settle into the familiar bickering while Wang looks on, apparently a little surprised that the legendary ''xixuegui'' would devolve into squabbles. Hah, he has seen nothing yet. This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. *** The house of Master Shu is a manor, and by manor, I mean one of those strange complexes made of courtyards and rooms the local rich folks seem to appreciate. The roving gangs we have seen avoid this place like the plague. Guards patrol the low wall in groups of two wearing strange garb and wielding strange weapons. "Why pick a short halberd? Too small for horses, too large for unarmored infantry." "Those are called guan dao and they are a respected and honorable tradition," Wang says testily. "They are not even in formation." "What do formations have to do with them?" "Polearms are best used in formations where wielders might cover each other." "I see. I was considering another form of formation. A repartition of qi users to empower an effect." "A spell array? Alright. Lead the way Mr Wang, let us see if they take the bait." I hide my aura out of habit but Melusine and Constance do not. We approach in full view and are let through the dense network of guards and quite a few subtle arrays without being molested. I like their subtle spells. I might look into them to add one more layer of defense to my hoard. I mean, my art collection. A hoard? I am no dragon. We witness a small conflict between the doormen and Mr Wang. To say that the relationship is tense would be an understatement. Without him to translate, we are left in the dark about the details but I can pick up the gist of it. The doorman harbors animosity towards our guide, but our guide has a right to be here. Eventually, the surly sentry gives up and we are let into a gorgeous inner garden made of gravel and curiously-shaped stones. Ah, this is the source of the subtle array, a curious arrangement of plants and minerals that form an extremely primitive spell. The gardener would be forewarned about intruders without them noticing, unless they have practiced to the level of archmage. Melusine studies the construct with equal interest while Constance focuses on the archers she has spotted on the roofs. That was fast. I will commend her later. People do not pay enough attention to the skies. A lack of airborne predators will do that. I cannot be everywhere. We find more soldiers inside, obviously belonging to the same faction. Most of them are mages. If I were to trigger my Magna Arqa here, I would reap quite the harvest. They cast looks of disbelief our way and hatred towards Mr Wang. I notice that he is the only one who wears western garb. "You do not seem to be very popular," I observe. "We embrace western ideas, believing that it will make us wiser. Many in the Jianghu find this dishonorable. They think we betray our ideals in the name of power while we argue that ideas should clash so that the truth may emerge. I am also from the north while they are from the south. Finally, we advocate for a return to society while they argue the opposite. We have little common ground." "Let us hope Mr. Shu will be more accommodating." "Grandmaster, please. He has earned that title." I do pay attention to our surroundings as we are led to another courtyard, then to a waiting room with varnished wood tables and high seats. Their mages count both men and women in their ranks. Many of them appear related, with younger wards in the care of older masters. I see mostly traditional clothes, not even the qipaos and simple robes of Shanghai''s affluent society but old sets one would see on ancient travel journals. Everyone is armed. The situation appears tense through no fault of our own. We are not offered tea, which sends most of us into a sullen silence. After a while, an old man in a long, flowing white robe and a pristine white beard appears flanked by two youngsters with mighty auras. Like others in the compound, they keep hair long, which I find cute on Torran and pleasant enough on them. All three are powerful mages and carry blades. Wang and the grandmaster immediately engage in a tense discussion. This one appears much more subtle than the one with the gatekeeper, and I find myself unable to follow. Wang grits his teeth, but eventually returns to us as the grandmaster waits. "Grandmaster Shu will accept a petition, unfortunately, I am unable to summon the other grandmasters to hear your proposal immediately because I am not, myself, a grandmaster, and only they who bear this title may summon their peers." "How does one become acknowledged as a grandmaster?" I ask, sensing an opportunity. "You have to challenge them to duels and beat five among the assembly. The grandmasters may decide to challenge as well, three times." "And you cannot participate?" "Impossible. To even ask this opportunity would dishonor my master, for it means rejecting his teachings and deciding I am ready. I might as well spit in his face!" "That sounds, errr, unpleasant. Not to worry, I shall give them a good walloping." "I apologize, this is not an English word I am familiar with." "The battle maniac will get us the summon," Melusine interjects. "She means she''ll thrash them," Constance helpfully added. "Ah. Yes. I might be able to argue this case. Is there a protocol westerners use to announce this short of challenges?" "Slapping his face with a glove." "It would be best if I conveyed your offer¡­ verbally." "Whatever you prefer." Wang returned to argue his case. As soon as I feel three pairs of eyes on my back, I turn, aura still masked. They stare at me, so I smile. I feel a probe and block it. Wang addresses me. "Grandmaster Shu would like to tell you that the challenges will test your control and body, not just your destructive power." "How else can you tell if someone is more than just a battery?" I ask. Wang conveys my words. The old man agrees. They turn to leave but the strongest young lad''s gaze lingers. He has a cute blue robe with white, weird horned horses. His aura tastes like a storm. He nods imperceptibly. I smile back. Ah, duels. I love duels. "Grandmaster Shu bids us return tomorrow. He adds that the grandmasters will be present. If your challenge is successful, you may propose your deal immediately afterward. If your performance is good enough yet you still lose, the grandmasters may still consent to hear you so he wishes you good luck. I will add that the grandmaster''s reputation hinges on you holding your ground against the others." He frowns. Ah, mortals, so prompt to forget. "How is your throat?" I ask him. Wang reaches for it, his fingers immediately finding the jugulars where my claws rested but a scant hours before. I give him my toothiest smile. "I had forgotten. How peculiar." "We tend to have that effect, but do not worry, we will remind you." *** The next night, the patrols are so dense that we are forced to travel by rooftop for part of the way. Fortunately, Mr Wang appears to be as nimble as his local counterparts and we manage to reach the Jianghu compound in time. While yesterday it was mostly empty except for patrols, today lanterns light the white circumference of the wall, casting a festive mood on the complex. Well, the sort of festival where people fight to the death in any case. My sort of festivals. More groups patrol the walls which only improves security slightly as they seem more eager to glare at each other than two look out. They wear garbs and antiquated armor of different makes and styles, some clinched at the waist with a silk rope, others tight with shoulder pads. Some are decorated, others sober. Some, finally, emit the same sort of ashen promise war priests do. It would be more ominous if they did not wear bright orange. The most interesting part is the abundance of women in their ranks, not mixed but gathered in sisterhoods of different creeds. Some of the men are slightly deformed, as well. That or their order only hires horrendously ugly people. It remains a distinct possibility. We walk through the gate under the collective gaze of hundreds of people. Perhaps this is how convicts feel when they enter the courtyard of their penitentiary for the first time while the residents wonder if they are meat or killers? I will never know for sure. What I do know is that the practitioners inside are stronger than their guards. The air is thick with auras. I have never seen so many mages gathered in the same place since the Great War, and even then they were not quite so close together. Western mages also share a certain uniformity because they mostly follow the same tradition. Differentiation starts at a later level. The casters here are different, as varied as can be, so that their auras form a tapestry of colors and tastes, an experience that my normal senses cannot quite catch. Ah, perhaps this is a cause for an impressionist painting? I could superimpose colors over the men and women. Hmm, yes, I can see it now. I come to my senses because our way is blocked by a tall man sporting an impressive black beard and equally long eyebrows. How peculiar! He wields one of those short halberds and smells of fire and a mountain. He sneers at our guide whom he towers over with naked contempt. They quickly exchange a few sentences while the crowd looks on in sullen silence. Like before, Mr Wang remains calm under the onslaught of what I assume to be profanities. I can taste the hint of smothered fury under his perfect composure and I can tell he wants to even the score, though his face does not betray a hint of emotion. Not even gritted teeth. After a while, the man lets us pass with one last threat or insult. "Is he a grandmaster?" I ask Wang. "Yes," he quietly replies. "It appears I have found my first opponent." I move closer to him, annoying Melusine as I push her aside. "You want to face him, do you not?" "I will face him, vampire. After your challenge, if you leave him alive. It must be done, for he insulted my master and myself." "Oh do not worry, I would not slay those we want as helpers. It would be most counterproductive. You will have your chance at revenge." Wang nods and leans in to whisper. "I shall translate what is said to Lady Constance. I trust you will pick up on it?" "Oh yes. Let me know of the insults so I may repay them." In short order, we arrive where the crowd is densest, a large open space surrounded by walkways turned into impromptu bleachers. A structure has been raised, composed of vertical beams planted in soft soil around a sort of gymnast set: four posters holding four horizontal beams with two more beams crossing at the farthest angles. All the beams are quite thin, barely as large as a foot. They are also above the reach of even the tallest man around. There are no obvious ways to climb. A rack filled with a wide assortment of weapons rakes an entire side of the arena. A semi circle of men and women sits at the far end of the arena, with Grandmaster Shu at their head. They are all powerful mages in fineries with a few notable exceptions, like an orange monk and someone who looks and, unfortunately, smells like a beggar. A conscious choice, I presume. There is no accounting for taste. Grandmaster Shi stands. The humdrum of conversations dies in under a second. "Tonight, we gather to see the merits of western magecraft," Wang translates for us. "But more importantly, we talk with those who have crossed the ocean and stand before us with an open hand. For too long our nations have been at each other''s throats in a world where allies are only too rare. I hold the sincere hope and belief that we may become a whole greater than its parts. Perhaps I am an old man who has seen too much and I will be proven wrong, but it will not be by the hands of those I have called under my roof. The following challenge will be held according to all rules and without fouls. Prove that you are knights even in this day and age." The meaning is clear. If there is treachery, it will come from the white outsiders, not them, or so Grandmaster Shu hopes. A few of the other masters sneer at these words but that is fine. Someone who plans to cheat would not show it. "As for the rules, they are simple but I will explain to our guests. Lei Gong, if you please?" To my surprise, one of Shu''s two prot¨¦g¨¦s stands up to face me. He is the one with the word horse on his clothes and the storm aura. "Greetings. The challenge is one of control and ability, not one of might. You must make your opponent fall or forfeit without killing them. That is all. You must defeat five. Three may call to you. Do you accept?" His English is clipped and laborious, but no less clear for it. "I do," I say, and a roar of confusion emerges from the crowd. "Her?" Wang translates, "she is not even awoken! They are making fools out of us!" "Let the first challenge begin. Any volunteers?" A guan dao as tall as me smashes into the ground. The mountain grandmaster roars a few words, then he jumps on a nearby beam, gracious despite his size and boisterous character. He also wears cute little boots with pointy, upward ends and I want a pair. I shall have to ask Wang. Perhaps we can burglarize a place on the way back. My first opponent starts a diatribe that lasts for a good five minutes. At first, Wang makes a token effort to translate the many figures of style and subtleties the man uses, but he soon gives up after a last ''spill words in eight directions. It means talking nonsense and, oh, I have lost the thread''. I do not need a translator to figure out he is quite hostile. Just as his anger winds down, I go and grab a guan dao myself from a nearby rack. I hold it by my side while the mountain main chokes with fury, then with an easy step, I join him. The rules will be simple. I cannot simply do away with my heightened perceptions so I will be using reflexes and strength at the limit of what a human might achieve and nothing else. It will be good practice. The mountain man spits a few more words that Wang translates as ''errrr. You dare.'' Good enough for me. I swing the guan dao a few times to get used to the unusual balance, then the unexpected happens. The mountain master swallows his rage to salute. Placing his open palm over his fist, he nods. "Qing." I salute with my borrowed weapon in return: immediately after, Grandmaster Shu says a word and the fight is on. Fire erupts around him in great gouts, and he charges forward. FIRE. Yes, instincts of mine, I know. We have faced it before. FIRE. Yes yes. Enough. I dodge under a first swing, feeling the heat as a wave of fire travels where my head would have been, then over another. I strike back at the limit of my own range but the mountain man darts away to his side of the beam. He is cautious. Another cry and he starts in a series of swings I easily dodge. After all, a guan dao is quite close to a glaive, my sire''s soul weapon. Of course I would train extensively with and against it. We fall into an easy dance. My foe screams then charges, then I dodge and counter. I am not sure a blow could easily pierce the armor he wears, yet he will not risk it and the fight extends in length. Since he cannot bring his strength to bear, he switches to more jabs but I answer by deflecting rather than dodging now that angle and pivot can make an impact. Attentive silence has replaced the earlier mutters. Still, he is slightly faster and much stronger than any human mage I have ever faced. Only technique and anticipation have kept him at bay. I can tell he is building up quite a sweat, however, and I expect an opening quickly. Because of the way the pillars are planted, there is no real way to back someone into a corner. They can merely jump on the outer ring and bounce about. This appears to incense my new friend. Eventually, he roars and plants his guan Dao in a beam, then punches the air. A fist-shaped burst travels on, a rather impressive if wasteful spell. The man soon follows, ready to grab me wherever I may dodge if his expanded arms are any indication. It is with some surprise he sees me fall to the side, the distraction is enough that he misses the haft of the glaive I have left in his path. His back foot moves forth, propelling me to a nearby pillar. He stumbles while I am already moving towards him. I kick him as hard as I can. Despite this, he still manages to flip on himself. A foot lands on the outer beam and his fingertips reach a central one. I slam the glaive''s haft down. I distinctly hear his knuckle break, but to my surprise, he does not budge. I look up in wonder to see a red face. Furious, bloodshot eyes bore into mine. He growls while I smile despite myself. How manly! I like it. "Grandmaster Shan. That is enough," our host says. "I am not done yet!" "But I am. Please give the next contestant a chance." I step aside as a gesture of politeness and because I will uphold the rules of the challenge. Shan growls again and, with a flex of his impressive arms, pushes himself back to a standing position from a plank, using nothing but arrogance and his broken fingers. Marvelous! Truly, this has already been an interesting evening. I step aside to let him retrieve his formidable weapon and, though I can tell he is still furious, there is a grudging respect buried there. Behind us, the crowd is agitated. Shu appears displeased, if his scowl is any indication. Perhaps he expected a display of prowess with the glove rather than the mysterious beat down I am delivering. I can display later but an opportunity for a proper duel should not be discarded so easily. "The warriors believe she is a, ah, seer fighter. Rare and fragile but beautiful to behold." Well, they are not wrong. "Grandmaster Lin wishes to go next," Shu says. I find myself facing a reedy man with short, graying hair and a short beard so carefully cut it cannot have been done more than an hour ago. He wears trousers and wields a whip, so I politely replace the glaive and pick a whip myself. This one is a crude tool. It does not even have a link at the tip! I could have robbed an ox driver and found better for myself. Travesty. Nevertheless, whip users are rare, and I might learn a thing or two. As before, he salutes with a ''qing'' which apparently means ''please'' while I return with a more western weapon salute. "Careful, Lin," Shan says from his seat. "The beams are very narrow today." Haha, what a nice way of warning his friend. Oh well. Our duel is shorter and not all that interesting. For all that a whip is rare and exotic, the use is frankly straightforward until vampire speed gets involved. The tail of the whip will break the sound barrier and leave a rather unpleasant gash on someone''s flesh. Be somewhere else, and the windup will result in nothing but a sharp noise. Grandmaster Lin complements it with graceful movements and quite a few tricks using electricity and illusions, but I see through his games easily enough. At some point, he even sends three lashing tongues for thunder bolts with his main weapon but I stay where I am and they all miss. A slower opponent would have struggled enormously. These are all things I know and understand well. Frustration builds up while I score painful hits on his flanks. Eventually, he overcommits into a strike and I manage to lash his leg with my own whip. He lands on a crossing beam and grabs it. At the same time, electricity bursts out. I have, of course, already dropped my own and soon land feet first onto his head. This ends the fight. We salute again and I replace the now seared whip in its compartment. What a crappy weapon. In fact, a good half of this arsenal looks made with pig iron by some cross-eyes wanker in two hours tops. Some armory this is, aye. They could just offer the good stuff and turn the rest into shovels for all the good it does. Pah! Just as I frown at some trident thing - is this seriously rust I see? - a woman complains loudly among the grandmasters that they are ''too tender'' and ''weaklings unwilling to tarnish the beauty of their foes'' and other less savory epithets. I turn to face my new opponent. She is an older, matronly woman carrying a sort of wooden box. Now, far from me to detract those who nature has not blessed. It is indeed unfair that the creator has not seen it for to evenly distribute beauty in the fairer sex. Nevertheless, I will be a little cruel and say she is dog-faced and, as my father would say, a complete tuna. I would also add that if my opponents feared to damage my picturesque profile, they could have taken cudgels to hers and I would have been none the wiser. She gives me another similar box with a smirk that indicates she does not believe it will do me any good, then she jumps on the beam. This one does not salute. I see a flick of a finger and martial instincts more than sight warn me to move. My intuition remains silent since poison will not hurt me. A black needle flies by my face, practically invisible in the shadow of the night sky. Or it would be for a human. I grab another between two fingers while I use a hand to open my own box. More needles. I have no idea how to use these. I am also uninclined to learn. The woman looks quite surprised when I throw the entire box at her face but an extended palm ends my dream of an easy win. I still rush her and we duel at close range in a flurry of open-handed strikes. She would be extremely hard to face as an unarmored fighter. All her attacks come bearing a needle and most of those are hidden behind flexed fingers until the time has come to strike. She must be lethal in a wild fight. A simple wound and she could fade away, leaving her foe to die to toxins while she cackles or whatever else it is extremely ugly people do for fun. I would not know myself. I resort to picking the needles as I see them, ripping them off her grip as they appear. Her mobility is not bad but she is on the back foot as I pursue relentlessly. Since she focuses on shivving me with her trick weapons, I manage to land quite a few hits until, finally, a kick to the chest sends her flying against a nearby pillar. She lands and dramatically spits some blood on the ground. I could swear it hisses like acid. Even more spectacular is the fact I never hit her jaw or her lungs so I have no idea where this is coming from. "You may have won, but thanks to my crimson toad drool poison, your beauty will wither before morning! Be thankful killing you was against the rules!" In answer, I open my hands. Two dozen needles fall on the beams with a clatter. She blanches. I am sure I got them all. "I would have inflicted this poison upon you but who could tell the difference?" I reply. Mr. Tempest helpfully translates. This insult triggers a few laughs across the crowd, quickly silenced when the woman flares with fury. She leaves with a huff. I am under the impression that she may not be very popular here. I am ready to continue but the people are not. It appears that dozens of sharp poisoned needles peppered around the arena would be considered as a hazard. As safety is extremely important to me in the lab, being personally flammable, I understand. The group is waiting for me as I return. Melusine starts complaining immediately, as expected. "You could have blasted them with a storm of magic and saved us this farce but no! It is too much to ask you to demonstrate the power of our focus. It has to be a faaaaaair fight with the mortals. You and your insufferable quirks!" "I do not have quirks. Just good habits." "Oh so your hoard of art pieces behind more layers than Fort Knox is just normal behavior?" "It is called a collection, and I was burglarized once! Art collections are a valid hobby, not like sampling blood spiced with every sexually transmittable disease known to man!" "I have pastimes I shall have you know, and do not try to avoid the topic. Your fascination with explosions, for example!" "It is a fascination for military engineering, explosion being sometimes a desirable result." "It''s a strange mania and you know it." "Nonsense!'' "And your tricorns! You are obsessed!" "That¡­ is a homage to my fallen Dalton who always wore them and who guided me through my first ship battle. He stood as the rudder while I climbed the masts like a monkey, tying and untying with vampire speed. I did not know my knots back then¡­" "Oh." "Loth acted as our gunner. We were too few for even basic operations. I ask for the tricorns because my ships are named after Dalton." "I see, and I understand." She contemplates my words in silence. "Do you reckon I could ask my house guard to wear what my Arthur favored?" "Since when does the night ruler of Chicago and America''s deadliest Master ask anyone for permission?" "Huh. I believe I just got an insight into the world you live in." "Congratulations on achieving enlightenment!" "Do not get ahead of yourself, you overjuiced bumpkin. And how long do you intend to keep this charade up? We do not have all night!!" "We do, in fact, have the whole night. Do you expect them to start searching immediately? Please. We will only see movement tomorrow after they return to their bases." "Perhaps!" "So relax and let me fight them properly instead of sneering with your nose up, pipsqueak." "I hate you so much." It takes only a minute of bickering and seven sighs from Constance for the way to be cleared. My fourth opponent will be the young storm lad, Shu''s protege. I am surprised that our guest would risk his obvious heir apparent for such a purpose. If he loses, this will certainly show weakness. Ah, come to think of it, not facing me might also imply weakness. The young heir does not seem worried, however. If anything, excitement shines in his dark eyes as he approaches me with two boxes. He opens them to display their content under the silent gaze of the mystified crowd. "Although the weapons available on the rack would be decent, I would like to offer you the opportunity to wield a true creation of the Shu clan, if it pleases you. Pick one and I shall use the other." Two swords rest in lacquered chests. They are straight, short, and double edged which does not suit me much, but the enchantments on them leaves me appreciative. Though more subtle and perhaps not as violent as what I can manage, they speak of patience and fine control to a degree that only a master of the craft could achieve. The storm boy does me a great honor to lend me one of those, and I nod to show that I understand. One of them speaks of lightning while the other speaks of cold. A test, perhaps. I pick the one meant for me and let him have his blade. He smiles and jumps. I move to follow him. "You may begin." We fight. Hmm, the young man does not use external magic. It is his blade against mine and our duel is fought at close quarters, without artifice. His style favors beheading swings and high strikes, with great lunges on occasion. It seems better fitted to a battlefield or to duel another eastern mage. As for me, I use it as a short rapier, resorting to quick jabs. For a moment, the economy of motions favors me since it takes so much less effort to stab someone rather than cutting their head off, but my foe soon adapts to my style. He already wastes very little movement. Even my heightened perception does not let me gain the advantage. It feels like we are both playing chess, and I am losing. I lunge and he stops at the edge of my range, the swings for my wrist. I parry instead and he rushes forward with another blow, forcing me back. I move low and he stops to dodge another thrust. He moves at the same time as I do, but it does not feel like intuition. Or rather, it feels like a more natural one born from skill and experience. Curious, I move much more to increase the variables and he follows, though we are evenly matched for some time again. It takes me another minute to resolve myself to a terrible admission just as I move from pillar to pillar, still exchanging blows. I am losing. Within the parameters I have set, I cannot win this fight. The foe is simply better at fencing than I am using human speed, despite my fast perception. At some point, it happens. A flurry of blows leaves me with the tip of my sword near his armpit, under the cover of his ample robes. When I try to pull it back to push his blade away, I find it stuck. The fabric moves aside to reveal two fingers holding the metal, near the edge. I am caught. I allow his blade to come to rest against my neck, trusting that he will respect his own rules. We stop in position and the crowd goes wild. I can feel Melusine''s rage and Constance''s annoyance on my behalf but I am myself at peace. It serves me to be reminded that I am not the best at everything and that a margin for progress always exists. If one does not fail a challenge now and then, it only means they were never truly challenged. The storm boy and I salute each other. "Thank you," he says. "What will you do now that you have lost?" He seems to care. How precious. "You must have forgotten the terms of the contest. I can lose four more times and only need to win twice," I reply. "And I may no longer be challenged. Why, I do believe I am at the advantage now." Around us, the mood has turned more festive. Wang translates words of praise for the boy, whose name is apparently Lei, but also for the duel which was appreciated by everyone. "I know you held back something. Will you fight me again with your full power?" The boy asks? "No," I scoff, "not with everything¡­ but I can show you some magic." He grins and steps back up. Whispers of confusion spread across the arena but Grandmaster Shu forces everyone to calm down. "Nothing prevents the contestant from challenging someone who already challenged them. You may begin." A halo of small bolts surrounds the boy''s form, but his pleasure disappears almost immediately. "Bolt." I cast a series of fast attacks as I move forward. He parries the first but this is a spell perfected over a decade and empowered by my own blood. His arm shakes with the effort. A third casting rips his dress and draws blood. The crowd''s mood turns from eager to impressed, I believe. My glove shines from the strain of power so that all may see that yes, I am using my focus and yes, it is quite powerful. And this is just a cloth version. A bolt erupts from the boy''s sword, which I divert with a wave of power. It crashes on the ground and leaves behind a cup-sized glassy surface. Not too bad. I watch him charge with some level of amusement and raise a shield as his sword comes down, making sure it is grounded. Bolts travel its surface then touch the ground while I retaliate with my own sword, activating its enchantments. Moonlight surges from the tip. Nice enough. I slice a small wound on the boy''s neck. We part. He dramatically reaches for the bleeding gash and finds red liquid on his fingertip. The crowd whispers in appreciation. To my annoyance, he does not take it as a sign that I could have killed him. The wound makes him giddy and the storm around him gains in intensity. He soon hovers above the beams like some beacon that says ''shoot me, shoot me!''. I oblige in spirit. "Promethean." Constantine''s signature spell latches on him. He contemptuously cuts at the links, only to realize that they have been designed to contain warlords and will not cut so easily. His aura explodes and undoes one of the chains but it is too little, too late. I have piled more on in until, with one last flick, I force him to the ground. Gently. As soon as he lands, I let the chains dissipate. Wang translates that this was a good demonstration of ''qi emanations''. This should calm Melusine down. The young Lei bows to me and returns to his leader''s side, clearly a little sore about the prompt defeat. I would have played a little longer but I must show that our focuses are worth their time. And I cannot let the younglings get some ideas. They need humility. "This marks your fourth victory. You may pick your last opponent," Grandmaster Shu says. The chief of the monks in orange robes stands up, surprising everyone. A hushed discussion between the bald man and my host is cut short when I accept the man''s unspoken challenge, despite the fact nothing forces me to do so. I expect he knows I am not human, and he will reveal it no matter what. We climb back up for what should be my last duel. I have read reports that other faiths besides the monotheistic ones have managed to repel us. I want to see for myself. "You may begin." The monk wields a staff which he smashes against the beam. The chime of metal resonates through the arena with supernatural focus: I grit my teeth and take a step back, fending off the taste of ash on my tongue. "Polar midnight." A veritable storm gathers around the monk and it takes all my focus to restrain it both in power and shape. My opponent feels the bite, I can tell, but a golden bubble around his form fends off the worst of the damage and what goes through seems to affect him very little. He bends like an old man braving the elements, not defiant but patient. Enduring. He rings his staff again and I am forced back. I land on the farthest beam while the storm still rages. Once more, he endures. Our eyes meet and in his gaze there is no anger. He lifts his staff for a third time, then stops. Grandmaster Shu has placed a hand on his shoulder. I watch him blink and realize he stands on the ground, the beams now nothing but shattered wood fallen to the ground under the onslaught of my cold. Victory is mine once again, but Grandmaster Shu seems displeased. He speaks in a clear voice, once again translated by his protege. "You must serve a dark sect to be repelled by my friend. He claims you are not of this world." "And if I am?" I retort, "will you go back on our arrangement?" "You will get your meeting but first we will decide how to protect ourselves. Is our common quarry of the same nature as you are?" "Yes." "You have respected your side of the challenge according to our rules. We will take this into consideration. Please excuse us while we deliberate." Mutters and whispers move to the crowd like lit powder. More than a few give our group a wide berth. Melusine appears calmer, somehow. "Good, now that you have finished your little games we can return to what really matters in this expedition? You know, hunting down Moor?" "Oh yes, that. For me it was always about the trousers." I dodge a claw swipe and smile. Tonight provided some fine entertainment. *** Chapter 221 - New book is out. Come look at the artwork. Next book for Journey is out and should be linked in the post chapter author notes, but mostly I wanted to show the original artwork I got for it, in its native resolution. The book covers the end of Ari''s first trip to Europe and the civil war/vampire war. I particularly enjoy the composition. Anyway, another great work by Antti Hakosaari! S~ea??h the ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. USCT deserve some supernatural representation imo. Chapter 222 - 215: Lancaster There were corpses in the streets. Not many, not yet. Just enough for that familiar stench of the battlefield before carrion got to work. It turned the streets of Shanghai into familiar grounds for Constance. Just another warzone filled with corpses. The architecture and tools became secondary before the universal nature of human suffering, and human cruelty. The cloying heat didn''t help. Sweat stuck Constance''s gloves to her skin. It made her armored dress damp, clinging to her lower back. She would still not trade them for anything. She clenched her teeth. A flick of her finger and cool air would surround her in its familiar embrace. It would also make her trail aura all over the place, laying a track every mage in Shanghai would follow. Her signature was too¡­ exotic. "Are you alright?" Wang asked. Constance did not slow her gait, nor did she focus entirely on the conversation. The streets were not safe. Patrols walked them, moving carefully between checkpoints. The pair had resorted to rooftop traveling on occasion despite the risks. Some of those were positively rickety. "One would think that I would have grown used to carnage, yet after all those years, I still cannot take it." "You must have seen quite a few horrors with¡­ the vampire." "You would suspect that, yet the deaths she inflicts are never so gratuitous. See that one?" Constance pointed at a couple killed behind an abandoned food cart. The man lay face first on the ground while the girl still sat against a wall, her short hair matted with blood. A torn suitcase lay gutted on the wet ground beside them. There were clothes lying stained in the mud. "Fleeing couple. They got caught by a patrol. They jumped and killed the man before interrogating the girl." "How can you tell?" "Hematoma near her wrist." Wang stopped. So did Constance with some annoyance. They had no reason to linger because she could continue her explanation on the road. She was still in danger, even when no one hunted her. "You have the eyes of an eagle, to see from that far." "Perhaps." Constance ignored the unspoken question. They started moving soon after. "I apologize for the interruption. Please go on." "They didn''t ask for long given the lack of other wounds and just opted to execute her, a bullet to the head. They looted their belongings before moving on. Scared, perhaps. That was gratuitous. Unnecessary. The liches fight like that sometimes. Some just capture everyone in a village. Others kill the defenders, even when they don''t have to. Once, we found a church. Men had tried to fortify it and they''d gathered the children in the basement. The lich had¡­ made an example. That was the hardest thing I''ve seen." "I believe I understand. Your monster does not believe that life should be too cheap. It is a¡­ commendable belief." "That you do not share?" "It is belief, not fact. The facts are all around you." "Careful, patrol, to the left. We can take that corner here." "And ears like a fox too." Eastern practices reinforced the body, but not the senses. At least, not to the same degree. Those were Constance''s observations. Wang was testing her subtly as well as through small confrontations. He knew she could do more than she should. The reason for her power though, was being Ariane''s Servant. She had compared notes with Constantine''s sister and she knew her might came partly from Ariane''s monstrous might. It paid to draw strength from a practical demigod. Mostly, it came with the dawn. It also woke her up every time. As one slumbered, the other rose. That power in her limbs had grown in time and now it was mature. It would protect her until nightfall and then fade a little. But then, she didn''t have to fight during the night. She had her own fury-propelled war lady. For now, everything was sharp. The stench of voided bowels warned her of dead bodies in a nearby house, the smashed door confirming what had happened a moment later. Sounds were also amplified. There were heartbeats in those houses around her. Scared heartbeats pulsing in so many chests. Terrified. They pumped blood and the vitality it carried through their frail bodies. She just had to get in. Nothing could stop her. She would take her knife and plunge it in their tender flesh, part it, let the crimson essence flow and¡ª Ariane''s essence. Distracting, sometimes. Had to wonder how she got anything done. Constance licked her lips and the nubs of her too-small canines. Wang caught something. He flinched and turned to her, so she returned him a pleasant smile. A moment later, the patrol she''d warned about moved through the city in silence. Those were mobsters, faces ravaged by opium abuse. Thin limbs. She could break them like twigs if she wanted, punish them for what they''d done. What she could smell on their stained rags. She wouldn''t. There was just one Constance and so many injustices to solve. Picking her battles had been the hardest lesson to learn. "We''re almost there," Wang finally said. "Hold on. Someone''s on the roof." They were at the edge of the international settlement, basically a merge between the English and American enclaves. A barrier stood a street over. This one was manned by anglo soldiers with machine-guns. Not a trifle, though nothing insurmountable. It was just the aura that protected them, the knowledge that messing with those people would attract the ire of the world''s most powerful nations. They still didn''t take any chances. Constance heard the thundering heartbeats of several squads. She smelled cigarettes and coffee in the air. Above her, another heartbeat answered to the staccato of the farther orchestra. She climbed lightly, but stopped midway to glare at Wang. The man blushed, caught peering at her exposed calves. Ariane would have bitten his head off but Constance merely gave him a knowing smile. He blushed even more. Her uncovered hand scraped painfully against the stone. Her gear was too heavy, especially the haversack that contained her tools and weapons. On the flat roof, she found a small sniper nest with a single shooter next to a small radio. No spotter. Sloppy. The man turned when he heard Wang''s feet fall on clattering tiles. Constance grabbed his mind as he spotted her and gave him a dazzling smile. He was young and tan with light brown curls. The beginning of a beard struggled on his sweaty face, but he remained remarkably calm when he inspected her. She was a white woman wearing good clothes, clean, with a hat, ergo not a threat. "Hello hello! Don''t worry I have the right to be here," she told him in a cheerful southern drawl. "Oh of course," the soldier replied with a British accent. "Ma''am. Didn''t mean to stare." "No worries at all. We will go over to that house over there, get out of your hair." "It''s no trouble at all. Please be careful and return as soon as possible." "You''re very kind." The sentry returned to his vigil. Wang and Constance crossed the street soon after. Constance could taste the concern in the Chinese man''s sweat. It always amused her when they were afraid of her. "May I ask a question?" "And even two." Sear?h the ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Much obliged. Are you doing something to me? Like you did to that boy?" "Why would I?" Constance asked with pretend indignity. "You are already doing everything I want!" This answer didn''t please Mr. Wang too much. Constance chuckled and they finally reached their destination. It was a colonial house hidden behind high edges. Thick brick walls and alcoved windows complemented white lime wall and exposed wooden beams. It was as if a Frenchman from Alsace had taken his home apart piece by piece, carried it over the seas and then rebuilt everything here. The expansive place belonged to one Mr. Colmar, a fake name of course. Constance was rather sure they had found Baudouin. Now, Melusine''s vassal believed the money came from a series of opium dens, especially those that may have changed hands in the recent years. The sects had found them and quite a few gave their profits to Mr. Colmar himself, an intimidating man with a nasty smile, piercing eyes, and a scary business acumen. Constance was going to visit the house and learn more. There was little doubt in her mind that Moor would not be here, but she was also confident there would be a trace they might follow. The pair landed in the empty, small garden after scaling the outer walls. Besides spikes, there had been no defenses to speak of. The house itself was another matter entirely. Solid protections surrounded it from ground to roof. "What now?" Wang asked. "Now we engage in the age-old tradition of breaking and entering." "Ah?" There were three major things Constance could do that Ariane could not. The first was going out during the day. The second was lying shamelessly as she had done to the sentry, a thing Ariane could no longer do, though she didn''t realize it. The third and by far most entertaining one was home burglary. Constance retrieved her pouch and opened it, revealing quite a few tools. "I confess, I am not used to such activities. My faction is righteous. We do not act like xiaotou. Thieves." "Really? What do you do when you need to get into a house?" "We¡­ knock." Constance stopped to stare. "Sometimes forcefully," Wang added. "How is that working out for you?" She approached a nearby first floor window, currently shuttered. An enchantment covered the opening so she applied a powerful arcane acid from a small vial, then watched the carved wood bubble. After a short delay, she removed the shutter''s interior with a wet squelch. The glass behind was cut and moved with a spell, leaving the entire shutter frame intact, the alarm untriggered, and the house vulnerable. "I can appreciate that a more balanced approach might be preferable." They climbed through the opening and looked, or at least Constance did until Wang fumbled for a light. "Nu Sarrehin," she whispered. The fae tongue rolled off hers with an aftertaste of nostalgia, hers and that of her teacher. Hers was born from missing that famous trip, only living it vicariously through paintings and tales. Ariane''s, well, she kept quiet about it. Perhaps she would live long enough to walk the spheres. "I appreciate it. Where do we start?" "Baudouin''s office. It will be upstairs." "This is an office as well." "His will have an additional layer of defenses. Here is too exposed." She leaned on a table, finding an invoice for furniture. Baudouin wouldn''t care about miscellaneous spendings. "Secretary''s office. Baudouin focused on the income back in America." "We must move in silence, for there could be guards." "No, this place is deserted." Constance thought for a moment. "There could be a golem." "A what?" *** If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. Baudouin''s domain was not too hard to find. He had picked the master bedroom and reconverted it, changing the door to a rococo horror with enough gold paint to cover a car. A plate read ''bossman'' in upper cases, also in gold, in gothic letters. A lush red carpet led to it. And yet, they found a strictly organized office behind. Ariane had warned her. Baudouin only affected the appearance of vulgarity, cultivating it with care so he would be underestimated, but Moor''s mortal servant was a shrewd businessman with a gift for using the right people. It would be interesting to get his measure. There was also the possibility they might kill each other. It was considered acceptable in a confrontation to the death between powerful vampires such as was the case now. No matter what, a servant died with their master. She was fully committed. But first, they had to find Moor before she decided to leave the city with her ill-gotten gains to start elsewhere. "Is any of this useful?" Wang asked as he watched Constance search through the documents. He held a piece of paper covered in densely packed scribbles, face lost in dismay. It was not hard to guess why. "It''s all coded," Constance admitted laconically. It would have been nice if Baudouin had left a nice note saying ''we live over there, cheers,'' but reality was seldom this accommodating. "Can you¡­ break it?" "Not really. Baudouin does not so much use a cypher as his own thief cant. Look here, he mentions ''trois deniers pour mou¨¦''. Mou¨¦ is the phonetical spelling of what ''moi'' used to sound in French. Still does in the countryside. Deniers is an obsolete form of currency. Those are accounts, yet we would be hard-pressed to find what means what exactly. I doubt he shared the meaning either. What matters to him is that he understands himself." "Then we cannot find him." "There is a way, but it will be dangerous." "Do tell?" "We will trigger the alarm. And he will come." Wang considered their options in silence. He had fought off assassins with grim determination the day before, but now it was different. She was asking him to seek danger. "You are certain? He might send servants instead." "Not for the breach of his sanctum. He will want to know if anything was lost, and¡­" She hesitated. She still didn''t trust the Chinese man. Oh, he was polite, competent, easy on the eyes. It didn''t mean he would not favor his own agenda. Nevertheless, this was not a significant piece of information. "He will also come because¡­ that is what I would do. Being a Servant comes with an interesting set of new instincts and drives. A man like him will fight for his territory." "I see. Then success is assured¡­ provided we can take out his escort." "Which he will have, yes. Do not worry. I have a plan. In the meanwhile, we must damage the wards." Wang took a few steps to the side, pivoted on himself then lashed out. His right foot gained a silvery gleam when it met the gaudy door. The door lost. It was sent careening in the hallway. "That will do nicely," Constance said. "I aim to please." "Then go pick up your door. We will need the way clear in case we need to run." *** The plan was to shoot Baudouin. If hurting a Servant was not so abhorrent to a vampire, Ariane would have been proud. As it was, Constance chambered a marker bullet in her enchanted revolver, ''memento mori''. It would be an easy shot if Baudouin stood still. She hoped he would. "There is some sort of commotion near the checkpoint," Wang noticed. The house stood close to the border of the settlement so the military checkpoint was only a few blocks away. Expert eastern mages could scale the walls at a moment''s notice, avoiding the sentries if they tried. Baudouin was not such a man. They watched a small group detach themselves from the mass of soldiers, stopping at the corner of the deserted street near tramway tracks. Too far even for her enchanted weapon. A few moments later, they were joined by eastern mages who dropped nimbly from nearby roofs. Those wore loose clothes of drab colors. Constance hoped those were not muscles she saw moving under their trousers or a kick would send her into orbit. "Toad style experts. Traitors! The council will not like that." "If we can prove anything." "I can always bring a hand." Constance turned from the window with a curious look on her face. "A hand, used in a ritual to¡­ this is not important. What? This is not savagery! Do not pretend that you have not committed dire acts as well." "I''m not the one collecting body parts as trophies." "Please do not give my face too many colors to see. Oh, they are coming." Constance waited, hidden behind a curtain. Baudouin looked up and frowned. He probably remembered that every shutter had been in place when he had left. The group hastened. Unfortunately, Baudouin kept his men between the house and himself. Besides the eastern mages, he had a pair of white goons in slightly outsized suits. Probably imported. No way they had the brain cells to take a boat to a place they could not spell. As Constance despaired for a clean shot, Baudouin gestured to the side, two of the practitioners detached themselves from the group on their way the side entrance. For an instant, the messy group''s formation was undone. It was all Constance needed. Her breath calmed down as she pointed her gun in front of her, feet apart. Time seemed to slow as she focused. There was only her and that tiny gap towards Baudouin''s left leg. She pulled the trigger. Memento mori roared and the glass of the window formed a perfect, half-burnt circle. Her ears rang. Her bones hurt. Enchanted bullets were a bitch on the wrist. Blood was spilled in the heated street, one that had escaped the slaughter until now. Baudouin''s face formed an ''o'' of surprise, then he grasped for his wounded limb. Constance saw the red liquid pooling under his hairy hands, not too much though, thankfully. It would have been counterproductive to hit an artery. Or perhaps she should have and let a bereaved Moor come to them. But no, vampires became unpredictable when they mourned. Baudouin decided for her. He turned and made a run for it, or a limp rather. Meanwhile, his goons charged the house with a level of anger Constance had not expected from hired louts. "Watch our flank, some will be coming from the side entrance." "Understood." Before Constance could move, she saw a shadow approach the damaged window. The first toad style fighter smashed through the opening without difficulty, his trousers breaking under the flex of the largest quadriceps she had ever seen on a human. Honestly, he could give buffalos a run for their money. So Constance shot him. The other five bullets were lethal. The man''s revoltingly ugly face twisted into a rictus of outrage when his ribcage exploded. She emptied most of the revolver in it, center mass. He wouldn''t fall. She expected him to jump but he never did. A terrible scream escaped his blood-stained lips. He fell to his knees. Constance collapsed on herself by reflex. A shape blurred above her, then smashed into a far wall in a shower of plaster. Wang was here like a blur to stop another. They fought in a flurry of deadly strikes, fists covered in metallic light against gnarly flesh. She rolled behind Baoudouin''s desk an instant before a foot came where she had been, showering her in splinters. It smelled like old wood and, strangely, vinegar. Wang engaged him as well, managing both warriors at once. She stood and noticed a third toad warrior on the window. "Winter''s tooth," she said in Likaean The quickly cast spell left a blue sheen on the man''s chest. Hallucinations attacked his mind. He was being devoured. He was eaten from the inside. Jagged teeth gnawed his bones. He roared in pain, which she amplified a moment later with a mind assault. Her own attack met a powerful compulsion already embedded in his mind in a terrible clash. The hesitation let the man recover. His legs brimmed with power. "Lake of Erinoth," she said in Likaean. His heavy body hit the shield, which bent forward. An expression of triumph twisted her foe''s face. He was very close, so close. She felt his mind struggling against the drive to dive forward for that one special prize, to lose some more heat for a prize beyond his dreams. Again, a foreign influence opposed her but she was here and the other one was not. The shield fragmented like ice over the coldest waters. The man stopped, his smile a terrible rictus of frozen greed. Constance twisted towards the room''s entrance. "Kiss of winter." Pure cold expanded in a cone in front of her, leaving the wood brittle and blue. The corridor''s entrance slammed open to reveal the flankers. Wang punched his remaining foe with both hands in a strange gesture that catapulted him on the path of her expanding orb. The flankers dodged to the side, but Wang''s victim was caught in the trajectory. He froze solid, falling with the noise of broken stone. The two survivors rushed back in with war cries and their enthusiasm intact. Wang dodged under a jumping kick and punched up into his enemy''s nethers. Even Constance winced when something crunched with a ghastly sound. She reflexively fanned the cold flame of terror in the survivor''s mind, but once again hit a wall. Her last opponent dodged under Wang''s kick. Constance barely saw him squat in a strange position towards her before her training kicked in. She jumped to the side. Pain shot up her wrist when she hit the ground but it did not interrupt her casting. A heavy weight crashed against the wall with a heavy thud where she had been an instant before. "Last embrace," she said in Likaean. Constance allowed the alien magic to take over. The room took a blue hue and she suddenly felt sympathy for that poor little man, all alone, all scared under that nasty control spell. The fae magic made her stretch her hand to the flabbergasted man with all the love in the world. His control spell blew away like fresh snow in a blizzard. She would free him. Forever. Because she loved all of creation, and it would accept the gentle repose she offered in time. Her finger reached the skin while her gaze bored into his, sharing her undying felicity. Yes, little morsel. You are free forever. The spell faded, its task done. Little was left but the crisp smell of winter and that warmth that came at the end. Colors returned to her. The last foe stood where he was, crystallized to his very marrow. Tears of felicity, bliss like sapphires on his cobalt face. A shot broke the silence. Constance rushed to peek through the shutters. Outside, the international settlement militia sprinted towards a fleeing goon who had dropped a gun where he was. Not the smartest bulbs, those lads. Constance would have cried and begged them for help, but Baudouin had no need for intellect among his hired muscle. Nevertheless, she had what she wanted. "Let''s go. Next time I''m setting up a circle, risks of being found out or not. I have never had so many men jump on me." "China is a great place for new experiences." Constance watched Wang''s back as they ran. She could swear he was blushing. *** It took a while for Constance and Wang to avoid pursuit. By then, it took a moment for Constance to create a tracking spell. They followed it from the edge of the British cordon. It was fresh. It appears even the smooth Baudouin had issues convincing a full patrol to let him wander with a bullet wound. There were no spots of blood so she assumed he''d wisely decided to use some method of transport. The trail was still fresh. It still took them a while to track it down past the traveling patrols, deeper into the slums. Constance was tiring despite her improved constitution. Battles had a way to drain her and she had been in two in so many days. The spell led to a local manor no different from any others at the edge of the Yellow River. The smell of mud was overpowering while Constance inspected the compound. The doors were thoroughly locked. It was quiet here, but she could still spot patrolling guards from her vantage point off the road. Subtle magic protection hung in the air, some western and others local. More importantly, many of the windows were shuttered tight. Someone inside had a sunlight sensitivity. Only other manors occupied this place. She was not sure, but there could be a pier on the property. "So, this is it?" "The marker says the bullet was removed. It was done so here, so even if this is not Moor''s abode, it is still her main base due to the size, people, and existence of medical facilities." "Oh. Will we do any more thief activities?" "No. Not unless you wish to die? I may be spared and captured as a Servant, but you would be fair game and I do not believe the two of us could assault such a large place, not to mention the risks of getting indoors." "A fair point. I saw what your mistress could do." "You have seen nothing at all. When the skies darken and you find yourself in a thorn forest without end hunted by ancient guardians, then you know she has developed an interest." Wang swung between concern and disbelief. "You seem to hold her in high regard." "I have been her partner for a long time now. She is still a monster but¡­ she grows on you." "Peculiar. I would not expect a¡­ servant to use such familiar expressions." "Servants for vampires mean something different. We are their daylight counterparts. Some are complementary, others similar. We all share something, however." "What is it?" "We are not scared of monsters." "I suppose this is a requirement." "Speaking of, I fear that we may have an issue. A serious one. Those men we fought were subjugated by a subtle charm effect. I fear those may not be spells so much as essence, a natural ability." "I do not follow." "They were perhaps traitors but they were controlled. Moor or one of her minions infiltrated your council of the grandmasters, possibly for years. She has her claws in your Jianghu warriors." Wang turned and showed the strongest emotion since they''d met. It was fear and strangely, grief. "Are you sure? Are you absolutely certain?" "I could swear that the marks were left by a vampire, though it was both subtle and strong. Unsurprising, coming from the bloodline with the best ability to manipulate. Are you alright?" "No! No, I am not alright! Do you not understand? My people wanted to bridge the chasm between our two worlds, but if the first mage contact ended in manipulation and deceit, why, it would prove everything our enemies are trying to demonstrate! If your quarry has turned our people against themselves then it will be the most significant act since the opium war, our own humiliation. We will lose all hope of ever reaching an understanding with your side. And just because of one woman. Wo de tian. Zhen de shi buke siyi." "Only you and I know," Constance reminded him. "What?" "Only we know. The others will believe the toad style fighters were lured by power, cultivation gifts to improve their power at a dark price. It would not be the first time, right?" "... no, it would not." "And besides, even a Lancaster cannot grow a seed in a barren garden. They must have been ripe for corruption before she began. Vampires will go for the weak link every time. They are quite expert at it." "You may speak the truth. Still, the realization that we were betrayed before even meeting one of your kind¡­" "We are here to kill her," Constance reminded him. Wang glared, but then his expression softened. A disillusioned smile carved through his handsome face. "You are not here on our behalf. You could hardly care less about our well being." "I do," Constance said without thinking. "I care. We came for ourselves but we have reached an agreement. It was our first and natural reaction. We respected your customs." Wang sighed, a weight leaving his wide shoulders. "You are right. I cannot expect strangers to immediately care about our plight. You have dealt with us fairly, and most of us have done the same. I only hope that the future will not change that." They fell into a companionable silence after that. Constance sent a quick message to Ariane, notifying her they had probably found the main base. After that, it was just a question of waiting. The city behind them was getting more and more agitated, with patrols clashing and ambushes triggered everywhere. There was a limit to what a lone mage could achieve. Constance could die from a stone to the head just as easily as from a bullet, therefore the risk of interception was not worth crossing the city again. As for taking the long way around, it would take far too much time. Also, she wanted to visit the lavatories. Constance convinced Wang to get in one of the nearby, deserted manors. It was clear the occupants had left recently and in reasonably good order. It only took a couple of spells to open the gates. Constance used the opportunity to clean up as much as she could. A little fire magic let her dry her battle dress to an acceptable level. Still, she could not wait for this little escapade to be over. They even found tea, which they took in the manor''s courtyard. "I feel terribly ambivalent about drinking tea in someone else''s home." Wang confessed. "So¡­. You do not want any?" "That is not what I said." "Then¡­ wait, I feel something." Constance moved from her chair in the house''s deserted room. The basic wards she had set around their temporary refuge had been damaged in every direction. "Shit, incoming." "We should run." The sounds of fast heartbeats rang from all around, rushing towards her. They moved very fast. "Too late." Constance raised a shield from the makeshift circle she had prepared, expecting the worst. Fortunately, the first person to appear was not the one she feared the most. "Grandmaster Shu?" Not just the old bearded man but his prot¨¦g¨¦ Lei, then other grandmasters and practitioners jumped the surrounding walls. They all wore their weapons and in some cases, armor. Ranks of eastern mages lined the walls all around Constance in every direction. She was utterly trapped. They had surrounded her, then moved in. For a moment, silence reigned over the manor. Constance was only too happy to let it be. The sun was setting. "What is the meaning of this?" Wang asked, to her annoyance. "Grandmaster Shan was assassinated last night¡­ by a foreign woman with yellow hair!" Lei said, eyes suspicious. Constance decided to redirect the conversation before it could go somewhere she wouldn''t enjoy very much. "And I suppose she was seen by many witnesses but they couldn''t get a clear view of her face? I also assume the assassin used a dagger, yes?" Lei translated immediately, leading Constance to suspect that his outrage was faked, and he did not believe such a vulgar plot either. "And we are supposed to believe them? Foreigners have no honor!" Lei translated. The accusation had come from the toad style master. Wang immediately went on the offensive. Constance could not be sure what was said since her two translators were busy, but she could get the gist of it. The toad grandmaster scoffed until the orange-clad monk spoke a few words. "He told them I was truthful," Wang said excitedly, "that the toad master''s experts were without enemies." Mutters erupted in the rank and file of what Wang called ''experts'' while the grandmasters themselves remained stoic. Subtly, the united line shifted to turn into groups as old alliances and enmities cracked the veneer of a united front. "That was a mistake," Constance replied. "What?" "Can''t you feel it?" Left and right, charm markers went off, though only someone who had studied vampire charm could tell. Friend turned on friend, rivals revived old grudges. Everyone was arguing and more than a few auras flared with danger. Constance considered talking but she did not know their tongue and translating here would be too weak. And it would get their attention on her. Discreetly, she stepped back and out of the circle as the assembly turned into a mob. A feeling of anger gripped her chest but she pushed it away. It was an outside influence. Constance shuddered as her power weakened ever so slightly. Night had fallen. "We can''t stay here," she told Wang. "At least you can''t. She will-" "Take her revenge as she always does, eventually," a smooth, cultured English voice said from behind. Constance slowly turned. A woman stood at the entrance of her refuge, her outline clear on the background of the river. She wore a traditional dress in black. Raven hair fell freely on her shoulders, framing a beautiful, aristocratic face. Emerald eyes filled with condescension inspected her. Constance felt judged and found wanting. She held the stumbling form of Baudouin under his shoulder. The man was sweating from the pain, though his leg was bandaged and clean. "Do it, mistress. Show them a real charivari." "Of course, dear. You see, perhaps we Lancasters cannot match idiots like your mistress in a contest of brute strength, but we have no need to do so when the mortals will oblige. Allow me to demonstrate. Magna Arqa." Her eyes turned purple and slitted. Among the eastern mages, someone threw a punch. The mob devolved into a brawl in a single instant. Spells and kicks sent fighters flying while a riot of color and aura shattered the fragile truce. Blood was spilled almost immediately. Savagery spread out like a wildfire, but it did not stop in the manor. A few seconds later, the first gunshots rang through the night. Cannons and the rattle of machine gun fire joined quickly. Two minutes later, a red halo informed Constance that Shanghai was burning. The city had been a powder keg since day one. With two words, Moor had lit the fuse. Thousands of people would die tonight because a Lancaster had let go. "Now I suppose your friends will be busy for some time. As for you, you know quite well I will not allow a servant to be hurt. However, you did shoot my Baudouin." "You whore!" "Yes yes, my dear. Do calm down. You shot my Baudouin, so I believe a little¡­ compensation is in order." Constance powered her shield before Moor was done talking. Before she could see the lady move, claws raked her defenses in front of Wang''s face. Chapter 223 - 216: Bitch Queens of the Universe Another claw raked the shield. It sounded like nails on glass. Another. Constance held a wince at the unsettling sound and the pressure on her mind. She just had to hold a little longer. "Constance," Wang said by her side. "Shut up." Quick movements let her recenter the shield; make it smaller. She traced a ring with practiced ease using the tip of her foot while another claw traced its circumference almost sensually. Moor was circling them like a shark while in the background, the eastern mages and Shanghai bled and burned. Another rake weakened the shield so Constance switched symbols. For an instant, the protection flickered but Constance timed it well and her defenses recovered before Moor could react. The lady was watching the enfolding chaos. In the distance, a warehouse went up in a fiery conflagration. More explosions lit up the night. "Mistress." "You are right. We have no time to waste." Constance changed her shield frequency to face blades, and not a moment too soon. Something stabbed towards her. The blade stopped an inch from Wang''s face. Ice covered the dark dagger to the hilt, then the delicate hand holding it. Moor considered the encroaching ice with disdain. A flex of her fingers and it all fell to the ground in fading shards. "Ice? Cute." She stabbed harder. Constance winced this time, and she could see a strain in Moor''s posture. Moor would kill Wang and, perhaps, take her hostage despite her clear discomfort, yet the attack of a Servant went against her very essence. The foe was struggling as much as she was, so Constance drew her own knife. "Constance, this is acceptable," Wang said by her side. "No." The mage slit her hand and placed the bloody print against the surface of her protection. Moor hissed. Constance could see the cold woman''s dainty nostrils flare from the blasphemous aroma. Moor recoiled and grabbed her forehead. She almost stumbled. Constance felt a moment of triumph, but it was short-lived. "Right. Right. Canny girl. I suppose I am¡­ merely extending your suffering." "Ah, shit." "By delaying the¡ª" A crash and Constance fell with a yelp. No matter how fast, no matter how strong, she was still a mortal. And Moor was a lady. The feedback of her broken spell seared her brain with a blinding pain. She smelled blood, her own. There was something wet on her upper lip. Wang''s body smashed against the manor''s gate, limbs clad in silvery radiance to bleed off the impact. He was still alive for now, and Constance could guess why. An iron grip grabbed her neck, angling her towards the prone form of the eastern mage. "Don''t miss it," Moor''s mocking voice said. Her cold breath brushed against Constance''s ears. She smelled of anise and the iron tinge of her latest meal. "Vampiresneverlookup!" Constance screamed. Moor froze. Constance spotted a raised hand with the lady''s black dagger in it about to launch at the wounded mage. The hesitation led to a relative silence, the perfect scene for the enfolding drama. "What she implies," a deceptively calm voice said, "is that predators are not used to being ambushed so they never bother to search for their foes in every direction." Ariane was calmly sitting by the edge of the manor''s main building, boot-clad feet dangling casually over the edge. She still wore her elegant rider outfit with a modest attempt at trousers. The vampire looked rather calm but Constance could feel the unhinged fury bubbling under the surface like lava inside a volcano. Only her agreement with Melusine kept her from attacking, and even then it was a close thing. "Kindly¡­" A low growl escaped from a frame too small to form it before Ariane brought herself back under control. "Kindly unhand my Servant right this moment, thank you." Moor let Constance leave. She slipped from the lady''s grasp without resistance. Shame and anger warred on her captor''s face. Baudouin was a mask of impotent rage. Interestingly, Ariane''s aura had remained perfectly under control so that not a whiff of power could be felt in the chaos of battle. "How are you already here?" Moor spat. The meaning of the Akkad words appeared clear to Constance, as usual. Wang looked lost, however. He was standing back with some difficulty while his gaze swiveled from his savior to his would-be executioner. Constance hoped he would stay smart and avoid moving too much. "Have you forgotten? Flying ship." Ariane pointed up where, in the distance, the shape of the Dalton''s Fury stood like the north star on the background of the soot-stained heavens. Searching floodlights cast blue layers on nearby smoke clouds. Constance spotted the shard-like edges of spell arrays, fully deployed. Just in case. "But-" "We jumped." Aiane smiled then, baring her fangs. "But it appears our discussion is at an end." What followed was too fast for Constance to follow. There was a blur, a small spurt of dark blood. Dust puffed where the vampires had fought like blurry after-images. When shapes stopped long enough to be seen, Constance was looking at Moor and Melusine in a face-off. The lady was wounded, though the shallow cut along her left flank had already scabbed. As for Melusine, she was leaning forward, rapier denuded and bloodied. While the lady stood with nobility, Melusine leaned forward like the monster she was. Fury twisted her heart-shaped face. She wore full battle regalia. "You followed me all the way here for her?" Moor scoffed at Ariane. "For that reject?" "And for the show," Ariane mockingly added. A new exchange, as fast as before but this time there was a wound along Melusine''s cheek. A gash damaged the glyphs of her pauldron. Constance could only follow the fight as a blur of motion at the edge of her vision, the combatants gone before her eyes could flicker. It did not look like it was going very well. Moor was no war lady but she was still a lady, and the gap between the two could not be closed so easily. Even social animals like the old Lancaster viper trained for their survival. Melusine would be fighting an upward battle. "I should be flattered that you would cross the oceans to see me, really. I knew I was leaving a strong impression," Moor mocked. "You were always so good at talking," Melusine snarled. "And scheming. It will not help you now!" Another quick exchange followed but this time, an orange glare marked a new phase of the duel. Flames erupted from quick spells. A blast pinged against a nearby wall, eating the plaster. This fight ended with a transparent bolt pinging against Moor''s dagger, which she had placed before her chest. It had been longer too. The lady''s confident facade finally cracked, shattered by the new wounds harrying her. The sleeve of her gown trailed in scorched filaments. Ugly, weeping sores stained her alabaster skin all along the length of her arm in a constellation of pain. It had to be torture, yet the lady remained disturbingly quiet for a while. Melusine did not look confident. Her fingers twitched. "Of course I should have expected you to cultivate the only skill your degenerate human bloodline granted you." "Says the bastard daughter of an alcoholic count." Moor hissed and revealed her fangs for the first time. Another attack, another flurry of strikes Constance could not follow. The conflict extended over space. It forced her to move to the gate where Wang and Baudouin waited in an uneasy truce. A circle of fire that just kept going soon bloomed, then trails of crimson light slashed the night in front of her faster than she could see. Vampire magic, designed to take down their only true opponents: themselves. Melusine crashed against a nearby pillar, shattering it, but Moor screamed as she rolled on the ground. Eventually, she launched herself at the courtyard fountain. The proud lady was a ruin of her former self. A deep gash ran along the edge of her jaw, exposing a few molars, yet the green eyes were as unyielding as before. Melusine stood up with a wince. A deep gash oozed black blood from her sternum. It showed no sign of closing, and the master moved cautiously. "Still with that little flame of yours. Unnatural. You know that no matter how much your struggle, you will only be second fiddle to that blonde bully. I heard about you, little sparrow. You hide in a city in some second-rate state as a third rate city master. A failure. An underling." "Projecting much?" Melusine retorted with a smirk. "And you? Not going to protect your pet slut when I dismember her?" "I respect grudges," Ariane replied with a smile and a shrug. "Thank the Eye that your bloodline did at least that much. Frankly, I am surprised you are even sane. Or are you?" Constance could see some of Moor''s wounds closing. Melusine could heal as well, but certainly not that fast. Masters did not win against lords or ladies. At least not without some sort of miracle. It was a fact that Ariane had explained times and times again. Nevertheless, Ariane made no move to assist her ally in her fight to the death. She just watched it with patient interest. Constance could feel the calm undercurrent of the vampire''s thoughts and there was a lack of anger there she found curious. She wondered what had really happened between the three women and what sort of offense killing a vassal was that Melusine could not let go almost a hundred years later. Yet Ariane who had been tortured could let go. As for Moor herself, she was an enigma, a tale from Ariane''s distant past back when she was not quite so formidable. "Look at you, foaming at the mouth with your petty insults! At least you look like your soul right now," Melusine said, pointing at Moor''s ravaged face. "This is who you truly are! A miserable, lonely wench with delusions of grandeur. You think you''re queen of the castle in this city at the end but you are alone, and you have always been alone. You have no friends. You have sycophants and slaves." "That would be because I have NO EQUALS HERE! You¡­ you utter lowlives! You mud-guzzling bottom feeders! I was destined for MORE! Not the New-Orleans! Not Shanghai! London, Paris, Madrid, Berlin, Prague! I was the equal of the best long before I became a lady but there are always, always little cockroaches like you to ruin it all for me. You are like an infestation! You! You have ruined everything, and you are doing it again! And I will have you know that my slaves are more than enough for the likes of you." A smirk and Constance feels something heavier in the air, something of a call. Ariane leaned forward with interest. The locus of chaos moves towards Constance. She could feel it come in the same way she felt the pull of fate around Boone, her old friend and almost lover. The way the world bent to awaken their interest. An instant later, the eastern mage battle spilled over the arena and she watched Grandmaster Shu push all opposition aside with a wave of his hand. Blood soiled his erstwhile pristine robes. Half of the eastern mages now lie wounded on the ground. A few looked dead. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. The old master spat a few words and rushed the wounded Melusine. More followed, their aggression somehow centered on the red-hair vampire but not her foe. "Tut tut tut," Ariane said with disapproval. A wave of thorny roots bursts from the ground, hiding the eastern practitioners from sight. "This is a private event." "You! A Magna Arqa. So the rumors were true," Moor mutters. "You are very far from the centers of civilization, Lady Moor. There is much that is true that you have not even heard about. But do not let your lack of enlightenment get in the way of your survival. The duel is far from over." "Oh it will be soon." Moor and Melusine launched themselves at each other, but this time Moor did not stop speaking. Spells clashed against wooden pillars and stone walls, shattering them. "I see you still rely on others to take your defense since you cannot do it by yourself. All flames, no substance." Melusine snarled. Constance watched the chaos of battle around her though it never quite reached the two servants. Even though she could not track it, something felt different in the same way an orchestra played differently to those who could not discern individual instruments. The field seemed wider. The clash of blades were fewer. Spells were now more careful, with a few persistent circles of fire placed at strategic places for purposes unknown. The duel slowed down into a battle of attrition. Moor may be no war lady but Melusine should be commended for her persistence, Constance thought. Most masters would have been flattened by now. Nevertheless, as the fight continued, she believed she sees more damage on the redhead''s armor, more blood staining her dark outfit. "I suppose if you could wipe your own ass then you wouldn''t be here avenging imagined slight. You could not accept your own failure so you picked someone else to blame. Typical." "You brought the Order of Gabriel on us! You left with your fledglings! You caused all of this!" "I left you at the head of several Courtiers, a force more than sufficient to fend off an army but what did you do? Lose them all. You are as competent a leader as you are a follower." "Your cowardice caused this! You never really faced the consequences of your actions! You either fled or let someone else take the fall! No more!" Constance watched the fight devolve with clear worry. Melusine was making mistakes. Spells grew fewer while clashes of blades left a persistent din in her ears. Melusine had the advantage at range, but she was forfeiting it out of anger. She had never seen the cold and poised master so emotive and so lost. It was strange, like watching a parent cry. She wanted to help but knew she could not. Above, Ariane still did not move. Constance tugged on their connection but Ariane shook her head minutely. She would not intervene. Down on the ground and within the arena of thorns, Melusine was losing. Her aura pulsed in disarray while Moor was still standing, and the most dire wounds on her healed fast to leave only alabaster skin behind. Despite that, she never let up. "You''re down here with me," Melusine wheezed, "because you''re not better. You just think you are. You got slapped again and again but you don''t realize it''s not lack of luck. It''s not unfair persecution. It''s you. It''s just you. We''re here because of you. What you chose to do." "You can''t understand choices, Melusine. You don''t have the brain or skills to make meaningful ones. People who make choices need to understand them, like your Vassal Arthur understood he had to die to protect you after you collapsed. That was a choice. You''re just operating on instinct and low cunning." "Don''t talk about him," Melusine said in a dangerously low voice. Her gear was a mess. Her hair was a mess. Her aura flared uncontrollably. Blood dripped down her temple where a glancing blow had sheared her skin. "Sore spot? You speak a lot about failure for someone who can''t accept her own. Face it. He would have lived longer without you." "FUCK YOU!" "Best thing you could have done, really, was to get out of his life." "Stop!" "To think he died defending you. How hard can you fail as a vampire, I wonder?" "You left us! You torched all my hopes as we were finally, finally getting better! I''ll burn you to cinders!" "Will you now?" The battle reached its paroxysm with a quick and unceasing exchange of blows. After-images piled on each other until Constance''s brain strained under the onslaught of information. Spells crashed in a fiery onslaught. The exposed parts of the manor were barely more than ruins. Two forms crystallized in the middle of the devastation, struggling for supremacy. Moor held Melusine from the back, her dagger aimed down at an armored chest. Each held the arm of the other in a contest that Moor was easily winning, but no matter how many nicks the soul weapon added, none of them came close to a real wound. "Come on," Moor whispered in Melusine''s ear. sea??h th§× ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Her voice was so clear over the terrible rumble of battle, yet so intimate. "Give up." Melusine screamed incoherently¡­ then she exploded. Her aura detonated in a torrent of fire, pushing Moor back. The lady bit a scream for the first time then used her dagger to sever her own left arm which was on fire. Meanwhile, Melusine fell to the ground as a screaming torch. Constance just watched the flames devour Melusine''s form as the woman screeched with boundless fury. Embers licked her very fingers. Moor casually walked to Ariane, a diva in the middle of her opera finale despite the sorry state she was in. Nothing seemed to mar her confidence. "So," she claimed on a background of screams. "You are next then?" Ariane smiled, calm as ever. This one showed all eight fangs. "Tut tut tut. I believe your claim to victory might be¡­ a little premature." Constance understood now what the issue was. Melusine had not stopped screaming. Vampires burnt quickly but she had not, and she was still¡­ whole, somehow. The exploding aura¡­ that could only mean one thing. The living torch stood back up, scorched armor clinging to limbs of orange fury. Hair like a great blaze formed a corona around a pair of slit, purple eyes. She moved up, spitting embers as she came. "MAGNA ARQA." Melusine''s aura expanded, covering not just her but a sphere around her presence. Pulses of heated fury brushed against Constance''s perception, an anathema to her own ice and somehow it was both vampiric and fiery, an impossible combination, and yet, and yet. Melusine harnessed it. "No, no, that''s impossible." The avatar of flame jumped on Lady Moor and grabbed her in a deathly embrace. They both screamed, one dying, the other taking revenge. Melusine pushed the crumbling lady down with overwhelming power. It was only when her victim was but an indistinct pile of ash that Melusine stopped, triumphant. Her aura flared once more. Her fiery form tilted backward and laughed like a madwoman while fire torched the villa in a deathly conflagration. "AT LAST! AT LONG LAST, I AM ASCENDED. ALL WILL KNOW THE POWER OF MELUSINE OF THE LANCASTERS. I SHALL BATHE THE WORLDS IN FLAMES! MY REIGN¡ª" Ariane blew air. A freezing gust slowed the inferno. All of the free fires in a cone disappeared before the arctic onslaught. Melusine flickered, her corona settling. Soon, the fire was out. "Eh." "Heady, is it not?" Ariane asked cordially. "I¡­ can feel my aura out in the world. I can gather it. Ignite it. I am so¡­ alive. Is this how it feels?" "Yes. Let me be the first to congratulate you on your ascension, Lady Melusine of the Lancaster." "I really did it¡­" Melusine said dreamily. She stumbled a little and then Ariane was there, keeping her upright. "You have been promoted from America''s strongest master to its weakest lady. Well done." Her rival ¡ª or was it friend?¡ª huffed with a hint of annoyance. "And your first act was to embrace someone immune to disease and leave them with a burning sensation. I am not surprised, just disappointed." If glares could kill, Ariane would be a pile of ash right now. Melusine gave her a last venomous, annoyed hiss before closing her eyes. Her body went limp. "Will she be alright?" Constance asked with some concern. "Yes, do not be distraught. Killing rivals can be exhausting work. She will return to her normal bitchy self tomorrow. Ah, but vengeful people are so verbose. Hmm.. Was I that talkative? I cannot remember." "Yes, you always are," Constance grumbled. "Huh. Well. Let us go then." The roots disappeared. Now, Constance could finally take in her surroundings. Wang stood by her side, unharmed yet silent. A vampire she had never seen before waited behind them though he did not seem hostile. He was a bearded man with gray temples and a commanding air, the impression reinforced by an impeccable gray suit. Ariane did not move so it did not feel important at the moment. The last person was a corpse. Baudouin, his face frozen in a mask of anguish. Beyond the devastated half of the courtyard and burning ruin of the nearby manor section, the eastern mages were backing up from each other with the faces of men and women waking up with a hangover. Most were wounded but it was the dead who got most of the attention. A mix of horror and disbelief painted their face in the flickering light of fires. Far behind, the battle for Shanghai raged unimpeded. That one merely needed a spark to get on, and it was by now self-sustaining. "I need to go to them. Talk to them. Tell them the foe is dead," Wang said softly. "Yes. Most likely." "They will be glad that the foe is dead¡­ although I fear that it will still be a bitter medicine. I¡­ I believe that I may make a difference." "You mean that you are staying. And we should go." "Yes. That is my duty. For the future of all we stand for." Constance nodded. She understood. Wang had dedicated his life to this cause and she would not expect him to change course now. The way he said it, however, now that hinted at something. Something she''d suspected for a while. "If¡­ if we ever open an embassy in your land, would you consider¡­ meeting again?" Constance pulled Wang by the collar and kissed him. He was unyielding under the western suit with muscles like steel wires. He was quite warm. And tasted nice too. She pushed him back as his hands reached for her waist. Her friends back home would have much to say about cavorting with men of another race, but they were not here and she did not really care anyway. Ariane had politely averted her eyes. "You can take this as a maybe," Constance allowed. "Not a definitive yes, we have not known each other for very long after all." "What? But¡­ Then¡­" Wang caressed his lips with a scarred hand. He smiled in a rather lost way. "Ah, you western women are quite strange. I will endeavor to travel then. Please do write!" "I find your proposal agreeable. Now go, save your community. Oh, you can keep the ash!" "That is not for you to decide!" Ariane exclaimed from behind where she was talking with the newly come vampire. "Please," Constance said. "Oh, very well." The eastern mage walked back to his brethren as they looked on, eyes filled with suspicion and grief. He had his work cut out for him. Constance used this opportunity to come closer to Ariane and the male vampire. She thought he might be a newly ascended master from his aura. "Constance, meet Irvine of the Lancaster. He was the one Moor kidnapped and turned, thus causing the White Cabal to come for revenge. I was bringing him up to speed with the history of his lost faction." "Reliable news was hard to come by here," Irvine explained with a gravelly voice. "And being Lady Moor''s spawn has¡­ complicated matters." Constance was not sure she understood. Ariane must have guessed she was lost because she provided an explanation. "Courtiers fall under the influence of their sires when it comes to sympathies and allegiance. Irvine here was the previous black dog, the military leader of the cabal." "Oh!" Poor Irvine may have felt ambivalent about his previous friends while under the yoke of their enemy. Constance seemed to remember that Melusine was the same. Ariane had let out fragments of knowledge across conversations hinting she had been turned from a family that actively fought vampires. It did not seem like an enviable position. Constance thought about being forced to kill her friends and shivered. "Enough talks," Ariane said. "We need to retrieve Melusine''s vassal and evacuate the city. I believe we have overstayed our welcome." "Let''s get the Fury on the river then. We can board and¡ª" "That would take too much time and make it vulnerable. The Fury will land near the Bund, where the Vassal is anyway. We will be taking a car there for the sake of speed." Without waiting for an answer, Ariane strode forward with Irvine in tow, Melusine carried over a shoulder. Constance frowned. That didn''t sound logical. Not with so many likely barricades over the city. Surely, the skies were safer? Even with Ariane herself around? Heedless of her concern, the shape of the Fury turned around to follow the river and they found a car on the road. It had been delivered on a palette with a large parachute that, by any laws of nature, should not have had the time to open. Nevertheless, here it was, black and shiny like a giant beetle. It looked more like an armored vehicle than a taxi. There was even a turret at the top. A triangular steel plate at the front would clear most of the obstacles a mob could throw at them. Not that it was needed with the Hand of the Accords inside. Constance quickly climbed in after a fast Ariane. Melusine and Irvine were securely strapped while her bottom still had not landed on the front seat. Constance sat down and frowned. Something wasn''t right. She turned to her left to see Ariane in her trousers smiling an ominous smile, clawed hands clamped on the wheel. On the wheel. Ariane was the pilot. Her neurons fired an alarm but it was too late. The trap had closed around her with steel jaws a team of hunters could not pry open. "No," she still said, "nonononono." "Yes." "Ariane, please, no." "Ariane definitely yes. Fasten your harness please! We are about to depart." Constance knew when the battle was lost. She strapped herself in with feverish hands. A moment later, the armored car was off with a roar of its powerful engines. She wondered if it was a good time to convert to religion. "Did you just come here so you could drive while wearing trousers?" "No!" Ariane replied far too quickly. "Not at all." Constance''s next words were lost inside of her seat where the sudden acceleration sent her. Ariane whistled, driving the armored car down the narrow road at breakneck speed. No human would have driven so recklessly, though no humans had a full range of perception and the reflexes of a vampire to back them up. Constance still gripped her leather seat with all her strength as mud and fields turned to squalid slums then two the edge of town. A barricade blocked access to Shanghai proper, manned by opiate addicts wielding cleavers and other implements. "You call THIS a barricade you wankers?" Ariane screamed. Constance realized there was a horn of sort relayed to a sound enchantment so everyone, and really everyone for the sound was enhanced, could hear her ''master'' scream vulgarities at the top of her unliving lungs. It was a little embarrassing, even more so when the tank rammed the improvised roadblock in a terrifying din of broken crates and mangled bodies. Ariane didn''t slow down. In fact, with the streets flatter, she increased the speed. "Is this normal?" Irvine muttered to himself. Sadly, it was. Constance grit her teeth through sandbag blocks, screaming soldiers, mobsters, rioters, arsonists, and a chicken once. Ariane was a terror and the more the destruction spread unchecked and the more ''heated up'' the woman was growing. "Really? I was hoping for a challenge. My departed grandmother''s faster than you, you CUNT!" "By the Eye," Irvine muttered. "Ariane please." "Look at that idiot, Where did you get your license huh? Bingo night? Kiss my ass! Constance did you see that rust bucket? And they thought they could catch up, haha!" "That was a kuomintang armored car." "More like kuomin can''t. Yoohoo! FASTER." "Ariane please," "Oh don''t be such a cold pisser, we''re almost there." "Mmglrf," Melusine said from the backseat. "What¡­ what is happening?" "Ariane is driving!" Constance bemoaned. "Hahahaha look at them run. Anybody wants to get the roof machine gun? Fifty caliber. Shoots like a breeze." "How does one wield that contraption?" Irvine said, suddenly interested. "Aim the barrel towards the foe and press the trigger. Release the trigger once the foe is gone." "I will attempt." "I am going back to sleep," Melusine declared, and apparently did so by sheer force of will. Constance felt terribly betrayed and left alone. Suddenly, an explosion rocked the compartment. "Hah, you missed! I knew you would!" Ariane roared. Constance looked through the slit of the passenger side. Straight ahead, the shape of the Bund''s western buildings could be seen jutting over the nearby architecture, but in the front there was a fully fortified checkpoint and at the center of that checkpoint, there was a tank. Not an armored ad-hoc vehicle. An actual tank. "Ariane could you just use ¡ª " "Look at that piece of junk that they think can stop me! I am deeply insulted. Forwaaaaaard!" Constance was yanked backward yet again, then she bumped against the armored door when a convenient root helped the car roll on one wheel. Above, Irvine was letting out a torrent of bullets on the hapless, fleeing defenders. The armored card slithered between two concrete blocks while the tank''s turret turned at a snail pace, too slow to zero on the fast-moving vehicle. As soon as they were through, Ariane screamed at her newest recruit. "Irvine! Shoot the damn back where the gas is." Constance had no idea how Irvine knew where to aim but the magically enhanced bullets slammed into the enemy vehicle which burst into a flameball. As for their car, it was already accelerating away. "I thought you said no diplomatic incidents?" Constance screamed. "There are no incidents if there are no witnesses!" The Accords'' foreign politics had bright nights ahead of it. Chapter 224 - 217. Setting the pieces Sweden, November 1938. Snow crunches under Loth''s mechanized armor. Each of his feet stomps the earth with as much might as an elephant. I can barely hear myself think in the cold winter night. "You could just stay, you know?" "Lass¡­" "Not that you''ll make a difference in that hulking thing." "Lass, do not try to neuter me please. Those are my lands." "And I''m a good friend. I could just run there and be back by the time you get off that thing." "Let us just say I''m breaking that thing in. Doing a field test, aye?" "You could field test your slippers instead. And spend more time with your kid." "Looks like you won''t be touching the Mark VII Siegfried Cannon." "Carry on, good sir." "That''s what I thought. And besides, we are almost there." Our steps, oh so slow steps, lead us through the pristine snow and ice-covered pines. A light wind sends plumes of fresh snow, forming a crystalline cloud on our path. I am not wearing the Aurora tonight. The weather is cold enough as it is, and I am not alone this time. Loth''s armored foot sinks deeper into some sort of depression, unbalancing the entire bipedal frame around him. Pistons creak dangerously. "Damn you and your¡­ lack of weight. How do you even do it? You gotta weigh at least¡ª" "Tut tut tut you do not want to tread that ground, dear Loth." "I bet your power even told you there was a frozen brook here. But you didn''t warn me. But fine, I can tell I should stop." "Wise." "A posteriori." "Loooooth! Wait. No more jokes. Body ahead." "A scientist?" "Too far to tell. Hurry." Throwing caution and discretion to the northern winds, we race ahead. "I can feel that the body is small. Unarmed." "It could be a scientist then. We only lost contact a few days ago." "I thought you expected an attack?" "The research conducted there was extremely important so secrecy was of the essence. Their last message sounded like an attack but¡­ it was so messy. They mentioned blood. We will see." I grumble a bit. I could take care of everything by myself in short order, but Loth has a strange sense of duty and responsibility. I suspect he is also fed up with king duties and wishes to be on the field once more. Our precious research facility might be already lost and we dally because of his principles. I hate it. I hate it even more when we find the body. It is a woman wearing a white laboratory gown over a thick sweater. It is thoroughly unsuitable for those arctic temperatures. I spot bloody tears and spit under her frozen black hair. There are no visible wounds. "Damn. That''s Erika. Recruited her myself." "I am sorry, Loth." "She has a son. What happened here?" "Something must have terrified her to run like that into certain death. And I smell little blood but her essence is¡­ blurred. Disturbed. What little is left of it." Silence returns to the forest. "Poison?" "Airborne, possibly. I have not encountered any death quite like this one. It does not feel magical." "Dangerous." "You should not come, Loth. You have a mirror in that thing. We can keep in touch." "This armor is perfectly insulated and plated like a tank." "And cannot even get through the main door without wrecking it." "Tyr dammit. Fine!" It takes a moment to connect our mirrors, then I am on my way and much faster. The research facility appears a moment later. No one would have noticed it from the air. It consists of a series of interconnected bunkers dotted with actual trees and only a few easily locked, circular entrances. Its main defense is discretion. Its second main defense is how it is fully buried and always connected to the Skoragg fortress by radio signal. It should never have fallen, and yet it has. Light spills from an opening. One of the only two sentries lies dead a few feet away from it, sitting against a tree trunk. Blood seeps from each of his orifices. The spectacle is quite ghastly. The strange blur has intensified until I feel a sort of disturbance. I stretch my shoulders and frown. I am being hurt by something. The damage is far too weak to be of consequence, however a mortal would have suffered greatly from it. Especially if, just as Loth, they could not detect it. I walk inside and find a white tiled corridor. The second guard lies in the bed in the same state as the other. "Found two guards. Dead. Same method. Some sort of aura is present in this place but I cannot tell what it is." "Responsible for the deaths?" "I believe so. It hurts me as well, though nothing too bad yet." I follow more corridors to barracks, living quarters, a meeting room. All of them lit by the yellow glares of electric light, all of them devoid of signs of combat. Just dead scientists and their congealed blood. I track the source of the aura to a deep lab at the core of the facility. A hand-made poster on the door reads ''demonstration day''. "I found it," I tell Loth. Inside of the open case waits a large circular disc of metal as dull as steel. It vibrates in my eye until my vision swims. I detect no magic, still. Strangely, I taste ash on my tongue. "And what might you be¡­" I whisper. "Describe it?" "Metal disc. Unremarkable." I shut the case and feel the vibration diminish but not fade away. Damage done, I assume. I look around to learn more. A blackboard occupies the entire far wall. Most of it is covered by a few equations of¡­ it appears to be atoms. I am not quite familiar with this sort of research since it remains in the experimental domain, yet there is something truly mesmerizing about the expanding half-circle of dots under it. I look closer. "Uranium two three five plus one neutron is¡­ barium, krypton, three more neutrons, and¡­ no. No, that cannot be right. Over two hundred mega electron volts per reaction? This has to be a mistake. That would mean that one mole of this stuff has¡­" The answer waits at the bottom of the blackboard, underlined three times. "Just under twenty terajoules for two hundred and thirty grams. Just two hundred grams. Such might. This is¡­ the power of the sun." My mind swims with possibilities. "Lass?" "This might kill us all or grant us salvation. This¡­ is what we needed." "For what?" "To kill the gods of the dead world." *** Back at the fortress, Loth and I read the combined research notes I have recovered from the doomed research facility. It has everything we need. Even the process required to ''enrich'' the substance they prefer with a certain ''isotope''. I did not even know that some atoms existed in two versions! Perhaps I should catch up to the more theoretical aspects of physics. I have been lacking in my efforts. Too many other priorities. A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. Oh, who am I kidding. Just reading the abstracts of those papers makes me feel like a moron. I need a private tutor. Uggh. At least there is some good news. "We have the tool we need to destroy the Last City." "Aye lass, but it won''t be easy." "Not anywhere close to easy. The prisoners we have brought are unanimous. The defenses of the last city are many, powerful, and can be turned on invaders just as easily as against other liches. Those old monsters have had centuries to accumulate power. Who knows what horror they have conceived? We cannot even raid the place. There are so many detectors and checkpoints. Even lords would be caught before they reach the center where the ziggurats are." "We would need several bombs. Just to be sure." "Yeah. And we would only need to trigger one." "Surely a single bomb cannot destroy something of that size?" "If I am reading this right, it would. And the subsequent fallout would poison the air for a small eternity." "The liches will not care." "The liches need sustenance as much as we do. With all their servants dead, even the stragglers will perish. More importantly, we will destroy their power base. All those artifacts and dangerous spells shall be burnt to ash by the might of fission. This is what we need. Still, the matter of getting them there remains." I stop, aware of the immense list of difficulties. All the fights against the liches have so far been brief, more a succession of raids and skirmishes than a real field battle. Any invasion would inevitably lead to a change of paradigm. Where the liches were scattered, they would gather. Where they fought each other as much as us they would unite. Finally, while they have always sought to gather resources and energy, they would spend it all to survive. We simply lack information. And lack of information kills us as surely as overconfidence. Worse, there is no realistic way to acquire it. I suspect the liches themselves do not know what they are capable of. There have been no large-scale wars in the Last City. Even those amoral, world-reaping twats know better than to blow up the last boat. "We are going to need chaos on an unprecedented scale to sneak a bomb into their land. I am talking about full-scale invasion, slave revolt, the works." "Slave revolt?" "I have been working towards a little side project. It turns out that the deadworlders are not all fans of their undying overlords." "You want to let some escape to our world? Can it even be done?" "It has been done before." Loth and I exchange a glance. Only two beings have used bald servants of short size on an industrial scale. "We will need all the alliances working together as well. I will talk to Sephare." "Can some of the liches be turned?" "Constantine has worked on it, believe it or not. He has analyzed their social structure from whatever testimony we can get and he believes they cannot conceptualize cooperation. The best we can do is hope they backstab each other enough to make a difference. We cannot count on it, however." "And for the invasion?" "We need the army. And we cannot use skyships. Only mundane fighters and bombers will do." "Which of the Great Powers will you use?" "Why, all of them at once, of course. And there is one last ally we will absolutely need." "That''s not a great idea, lass. Not a great idea at all." "Let us slay one dragon at a time, yes?" *** The room is dark. Sconces no longer provide more than dregs of radiance, their dying embers smoldering quietly in the late night air. Openings to the outside smell of brine, so we may be close to the sea. I hear no waves, however. I have also pulled in my Magna Arqa. It will serve no purpose here. I walk past a few columns towards the back of the long corridor. There are pillars here, quite a few of them. It must have taken hundreds of hours of work to make it as large as it is for no other purpose than to serve the sense of grandeur of its denizen. It is a cold palace with no people, that serves no nation. The only concession to culture holds an eternal vigil by the door. A lion, or perhaps a dog. It has clearly been crafted with more passion than skill by a mortal hand. I sigh and step forward, then back when a sword flashes out, attempting to take out my head. A shadow rushes from behind a pillar. I block his sword with my own and step back again. He attacks as expected. My counter takes him in the chest but his armor holds. As expected, I suppose. I still hear ribs crack. The armor remains too soft. "Bitch." I ignore the insult. A quick exchange of strikes makes me realize my foe''s reputation is not underserved. I am still stronger, much faster¡­ and I have been trained by Cadiz himself. I dodge under a decapitating strike and punch him in the face before locking guard. A twist and I sever his hand at the wrist. He still tries to claw my face off. His blade reappears in the off hand. I deftly parry a series of blows, landing a few counters on his armored chest. There appears to be a limit to how much damage I can inflict via the true and tested blunt force trauma approach. My foe smiles with the barest hint of a smirk. Barely a quiver of the lip, yet it is an ugly thing. He knows little more than cruelty. Our sire has stripped the rest as superfluous. In answer, I duck under a powerful lunge that lodges itself into a pillar. My counter cleaves through his arm lengthwise. Black blood lands on my cheek. I disengage and lick it. "I would say our roles are reversed since the last time, Malakim, but you failed to draw blood." "Talk talk talk like the others. Always so haughty like you''re ANY FUCKING BETTER." "What happened to you is unfair," I admit. The furious devourer lashes out with unbridled rage. We grow so jaded when we are older, and we carry with us decades of self-control. Seeing such pure emotion on one so old shocks me. Malakim is so raw after all those centuries. Magnificent. How can he not be completely insane? "It should have been me. ME! You and all the others¡­" "Have it comparably easy, yes." My affected sympathy only angers him further. I should not push him so far. S§×arch* The N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "You know," he says with a sinister smile, "he tried to make more of you." I feel myself tilting my head with a calm expression though inside, I am shocked. I cannot tell if Malakim perceived it or not. It matters little. He will attack no matter what. This is all he understands. "We had quite a few recruits. Young, attractive, ambitious. From good families but not too good. He broke them one by one. I watched him pick the pieces of their psyche while they begged for the attention he has never been capable of providing. They were like you, in a way. The same mix of hatred and love. They were so afraid. They tried so hard to satisfy him. They tried everything. You know how he is. Sex is only a tool of domination to him. Same as conversations. Everything, really. He didn''t know what he was looking for and they didn''t know how to please, so eventually, he would run out of patience. I got to play with a few. I closed my eyes and thought about you when I gutted them like fishes." "Color me amazed," I reply with calm. "This is the closest you two ever came to a compliment." "Oh we are both quite interested in what makes you tick." "I wish I could return the compliment. Unfortunately, you do not live in my mind as I seem to live in yours. As for the other candidates, you should know well what the issue was." "You are unique and so very special?" "Of course not, simpleton. The issue was that you should have let them go. You cannot succeed in building a rival because the one attempting it is you two morons. Breaking is all you understand. Breaking and taking. If you touch it, it gets worse. Every time." "Shut up." "But you know everything about being broken, do you not?" Claws whip at my hair. I lean back and kick at the same time. My armored boot catches his chin, then the followup up smashes him against the nearest pillar. I pin his leg with Rose before he can react, then I step aside. "You¡­ you insufferable¡­ I changed my mind. When our sire ascends, I will not die. I will kill you first, then I will go after everything you ever held dear." "I think you overestimate how valuable that hatred of you is to our dear sire. I have built quite the empire. He would not share." "You two owe me." "I will find a way to repay you, have no fear¡­" I stare in those eyes filled with hatred. The lust for death rises in the wake of our little banter. He is just there, arms mangled. Pinned. Helpless. I should kill him. I would be well within my right to kill him. Unfortunately, my instincts scream danger. Something is wrong. I know I can attack him but I will not be able to kill him. I remember that Nirari knew exactly when Malakim''s life was in danger, that he was there in an instant. But he looks so weak here. I could decapitate him then shove my sword down the throat and to the heart. No. This is a distraction. Malakim is inconsequential compared to the liches, or Nirari himself. I cannot risk the entire game to take a bishop, if that. "Enough delay," a voice says from everywhere and nowhere at once. "You know where to find me." "I do." "Then come and speak your piece while I am feeling merciful, little princess of the blood." Aki''s bloodline gives me a general direction for where my sire might be. It is a diffuse feeling I have to really focus on to succeed, but combined with a fast airship, it has allowed me to find a man whose mobility only relies on his mother''s warren of space-violating corridors. We are currently deep within the mountain range of Haiti. I cross the last gate and find a cavern of biblical proportion. In a natural cave, bald men and women work tirelessly in a series of workshops under the glare of oil lamps. The stench of unwashed bodies, sweat, and trash almost overwhelms me. While I have always promoted a strict organization in all my endeavors, Nirari does not care, and his minions have expanded their domain by sticking the next project at the end of the previous one. This has led to an organically grown network of workshops strung across the stalagmites like a cancer. I hear the clang of hammers and the whistle of bellows. Weapons are stored on racks, rifles of poor qualities and swords. This means he has access to steel. Nirari has found a way to build an army, if not an empire. Either he no longer fears his mother''s interference, or perhaps she is too busy with the final preparations for her ascension. She has better things to do, I suppose. As for my sire, finding him will not be difficult. A throne of black stone sits in the middle of that vast domain. All passages and carved stairs lead to it so all may bow their heads to the one sitting above, on his pedestal, the weight of chthonian architecture weighing over them in all its alien glory. It is perhaps the only part of the cavern designed with form and function in mind. It really is just like him. No care for his underlings, no care for such pedestrian things as a proper industry. Or organization. The only thing he has ever cared for is domination. Dark eyes follow me as I make my way down. Those servants I come across bow and scrape the floor with their foreheads. More of them leave their work to see what is happening. By the time I reach the pedestal, the cave has grown silent but for thundering heartbeats pushing boring, submissive blood around. "Approach." I lightly jump on the platform, and notice that its mirror surface hides another step. Even placed above the squirming mass of mortals, I am still below Nirari, even as he sits. Very symbolic of him. Bravo. "Speak your request." "I suggest a hunt." "And what prey would you have me slay with you?" "The gods of the dead world." Nirari wears his black plate armor. I remember him materializing one from thin air in a dream once, but this one feels permanent. I hold back a smirk when I realize that for all his ancient knowledge, the protection it offers feels second rate, especially compared to the Aurora. No, I should not let my guard down. I do not believe I have even seen him bleed yet. "I do not run around deserts chasing prey, little one. It is a job best given to those who serve. I see no interest in wasting time while a much grander endeavor awaits. You will be glad to know that a certain game of hide and seek is reaching its end, dear one. Perhaps you can bear witness to the inevitable finale." "I am not calling you for a desert trek. I am calling you for a siege." My outrageous proposal seems to awaken his interest. "Oh? You have a plan to take on that death trap?" "I do, but we will need people who can face the liches head on and live." "And win, you mean?" "Winning is not required¡ª" A powerful wave of aura physically pushes me back a step. So concentrated. So focused and so deep. He is¡­ even with the dragon, I cannot compete. Nirari tastes ancient. Inky black energy comes to life at his back as if the weight of his presence clawed at the fabric of our world. "I fight to win. So should you." "Will you, then?" I force between clenched teeth. "Fight. Will you fight?" "And what will you offer me to join your banner, Princess of the Blood?" Nirari''s expression is politely curious. I tread on thin ice. We are in a state of truce so long as I act as an envoy, but giving him the excuse of an insult is the only thing he would need to kill me now without breaking his code of honor. The problem is that there is nothing I can reasonably offer that will pay for the services of an arrogant demigod during an entire campaign. Just the use of pathways cost Mask the free employ of their top fighters for the duration of a battle. I cannot possibly compete, especially since money and influence hold no interest to him. This will be difficult. "You will not join my banner. I will join yours," I tell him. "Oh? You would place yourself under my command?" "If you hold the line against the liches, I will stand at your right if you will have me. I will even bear your colors. I propose this alliance in good faith to rid the world of its invaders." "And so we can fight for it in peace and without foreign interference. I could do this, however, they are in no position to take over the world, yes? I believe I shall purge the spheres of their presence to mark my ascension." "You will miss it then, because I will fight. With, or without you. One of us must be the defender of this sphere, but if you forfeit this hunt¡­" I shrug. My words bear no insults. The implication, however, is aggressive. Now to see if he takes the bait. "You would stand alone?" "I never stand alone. The question is, do you? Or do you lead from the front?" "Do not think I am blind to your games, GIRL." The last words echo through the cave with all the meaning it carries. Nirari has lived for three thousand years. I am a mayfly to him. "If," I calmly say, "If you want the world to know you as the conqueror you aim to be, you will have to start somewhere. Out in the open." And not here hidden in this cave. "Do you truly wish for me to come out in the open, daughter of mine? To lead the combined strengths of humanity, magery, and us to victory? Do you wish the world to know of me?" "I do." "Then I will lead as you desire, little princess. May it be everything you wished for." He smiles, and I know I have been told to leave. As I retrace my steps outside, I cannot help but believe his words sounded awfully familiar. More importantly, he agreed too easily. As if he expected me to come, perhaps. Strange. *** A trill from my mirror makes me turn abruptly. I inspect the magical communication device, surprise gripping my chest. It should be impossible. The mirror trills again. I approach it, suddenly wary of a construct I designed and built myself. I do not recognize the sigil over the frame, although only those I personally entered may contact me. We are currently flying over the Atlantic and not even Constantine should be in range. Regardless, the mirror rings a third time. "Yes?" A blurry image refines itself into the form of a gorgeous woman with wavy black hair dressed in a form-fitting toga that leaves little to the imagination. Lush lips curl into a vicious grin. "Hello dear. I have a proposal." "I am all ears, Semiramis." Chapter 225 - A Journey of Black and Red short: Constance meets the family Constance approached the man with more nervousness than when she had last faced a werewolf. She''s been burnt before. A part of her whispered that no one wanted her and that she was unloved, just a planned weapon designed by fate to accompany a powerful being. This was her last relative here, alive, at least in direct line. If he didn''t like her¡­ and why would he like her? The voice urged, insistent. She was an adult grandchild. Alexander had just been married to a much younger woman. He didn''t need her. She was a complication. A burden. She had always been a burden. S~ea??h the ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The man turned. He was tall, with a graying beard and bubbly eyes that found her easily on the train platform. His entire face lit up with wonder and a sense of awkward longing. She realized it probably mirrored her own expression. He moved forward as she did, hesitantly. She paused in front of him but he did not. Strong arms pulled her up and forward in a bear hug. He smelled of soap and a hint of cologne. A good one. He was very warm. Something broke inside of Constance but in a good way. Like a dam filled with lava, the caustic spill left her and behind there was a cool emptiness like rain on a smoldering forest. Constance choked out an awful sound that was too brittle and weak for an adult woman. The best hug disappeared, replaced by a worried gaze. It was a little wet as well. "Sorry! So sorry! Too strong?" "No, no. I just¡­ could use more hug, I think." "Of course!" There was more hug and it was everything Constance hopes for. "I must say, when I learnt¡­ oh but it was so late. I wish I had known before," Alexander mumbled. "So did I¡­" "You can be sure I have given Ariane a stern talking to!" "Did she pinch her lips and look down? In that way she has of being angry to be told off¡­" "Yet her values prevent her from deflecting blame when it is earned. Yes." They parted and smiled. It was the same crooked, self-deprecating smile Constance had cultivated. Alexander Bingle''s smile was deeper with a little more bite to it. There was a scar on his lower lip, drowned in the beard. He had seen things. Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. "Come let''s not linger here. There were many grandfatherly things I was planning to do." "Ariane mentioned shooting with a rifle?" "Pah! Of course she would. I was hoping for something that allows for more discussions. Like fishing! There is a lake nearby, a private one actually. The owner owes me his life. What do you say about a bit of angling?" "I have no idea how to do that!" "Perfect. I can teach you then. Come on! And tell me about that boyfriend of yours?" "He is not! I fear he comes with too much¡­ baggage." "Ah, but most people do!" *** Constance had a great time fishing though they didn''t catch much. Fishes enjoyed the silence while her grandfather did not, and she didn''t mind. The spring weather was nice enough. A light wind from the south sent ripples over the placid surface of the water, rustling the ferns as it went. Alexander has stories. So many stories. He would stop and blush worriedly during certain ''encounters'' Constance imagined he meant in a biblical sense. She gave him a knowing look although she had not found her loved one yet. If anything, her agreement with Ariane granted her the time to choose wisely. Her grandfather brought out fresh bread and jerky from a satchel which they shared over the afternoon. The topic turned to Constance and her studies, her dreams, then to her mother. Grandfather was inconsolable. "I went to see her, but¡­" He shook his head, ashamed. "If only I had known her sooner." "Some people just need a hand, others will never try." This killed the mood a little, which meant that she got her first catch soon after. "Don''t fight it or you''ll snap the line! Let it tire itself out!" Constance managed her fish with her grandfather''s hands on her shoulders guiding her. She grabbed it from the ground where it flipped ineffectively, but her grandfather was silent. She turned. He had his gaze fixed on the far shore. There, a great stag waited and he had saddlebags on his flanks. The incongruous sight was enough for the fish to splash back into the pond. "What manner of lunatics uses venison as transportation? I must know!" Constance felt the onset of a great silliness in the depth of her marrow. She was pulled forward, still able to resist, yet she knew her grandfather would not let it go. And she wanted to spend time with him, so, surely this counted? They chased after it. *** "And I felt I could step aside and say no but¡­ I would have missed something." Ariane nodded. "Is it the same for you?" Constance asked. "Yes." "And you let it happen?" "Yes." "Have you ever regretted it?" "Never in the long run. I always gained something, and stopped Bingle from losing something. Besides¡­" "It was fun." "Yes." "Then why did I hear that you once threw an entire table through a window once because a Bingle happened?" "Because," Ariane pointedly replied, "they should not have to ruin my weekend just to improve my life. " Chapter 226 - 218. Gathering the Storm The Amaretta stronghold lies at the heart of the Atlas mountain outside of the grasp of colonial France. There, seers have built a secluded temple in shades of ochre, sober and hidden like an ancient ruin. Patches of green could be taken as errant copses of thorny growths from the sky. Only by getting close would the casual observer see the care and attention given to desert roses and cedars. I can tell it irks them to no end that I would find the place so easily when summoned. In order to avoid attention, I have left the Fury on standby over the Mediterranean. It has been a matter of an hour to run there. Normally, vampires would avoid such wasteful expenditure but I am far beyond such concerns. I still asked Metis to carry me over the last few kilometers. She does enjoy treading new ground. I am let through ranks of veiled sentinels wielding a variety of polearms. They do not seem surprised to see me, which is expected of a bloodline that can see the future. A silent attendant leads me deeper into the complex. A few mortals glance at me from arched doorways, fearful about my arrival. My dress clearly marks me as an outsider. I see they have no men here. A terrible loss. Some of them are quite fun to be around but I suppose a little fun might distract them from all that navel gazing. In short order, we arrive at the heart of the complex. A circular gate leads into a room built as an amphitheater, and in the recession rests one of the last living Progenitors I have not supped on yet. Resting on a bed of white, translucent flower as the only spot of ethereal glory in this drab fortress, Amaretta is one of the few female vampires turned as a mature woman. Strands of gray and crow eyes give an appearance of wisdom and dignity to her severe face, an image reinforced by the pristine dress clinging to her thin body. She could be from anywhere around the Mediterranean. Masters and a couple of ladies in similar, pale garb sit around in the stone rafters according to their seniority. The more powerful members have the privilege to meditate closer to that unwithered corpse. How can she even exist like this? As I watch, the strongest lady stands and approaches, face veiled and eyes shut. "Greetings, and welcome to our sanctum, Daughter of Thorns and Hunger." Ah yes, showing off Nashoba''s little name for me. Cute. "It is my pleasure," I reply with a smile. Ah, the game of the old ones. All fanged smiles and hidden hatred. But I must play. It would not do to antagonize one of my most pivotal supporters. "My mistress has summoned you to impart wisdom. She must not abandon her concentration so I will be her voice in her stead. Please grant me a moment." The lady grabs Amaretta''s wrist with the reverence reserved for relics. She opens her eyes suddenly and they have taken a milky white appearance. I assume it works to impress the weak-willed. I, however, felt the spell used to grant her orbs their strange hue. Parlor tricks. This visit is starting to get on my nerves. "The heir to the Devourer. You have come here." "Yes." "You should not have. This place is sacred. You are placing us at risk by not waiting for my envoy like last time." The guards and attendants freeze like statues. Few people ever provoke me anymore. I may have acquired a bit of a¡­ reputation. Fortunately, I made the opening move so I feel no need to react. "Do you honestly believe my sire does not know of this place?" I ask with overt disbelief. In truth, we are merely playing our part. She has decided to acknowledge my power play by confronting it. "It matters not. There was no need for you to come. Enough of this. There is much for us to discuss." The puppet waves and the guards leave. Interestingly, I can feel the briefest hint of fear betrayed in the aura of the Progenitor. The puppeted lady picks up on it as well and I notice the barest twitch of her eye, her surprise contained quickly enough. It would fool most of us but I saw it and I must stop myself from flexing my claws. Showing weakness without subservience is such an invitation to be tested. Alas, I cannot afford more enemies right now. "The final conflict will be upon us soon. A storm siphons all the threads of fate to it right now. To him." "He blocks your view of the future?" "No. Explaining the vortex of visions to a stranger would be beyond even the most talented visionary. Suffice to say, all the paths we can see lead to him because his success or demise will change everything. Not just for us. For the fate of the world itself. If he is allowed to succeed, tens of millions will die. Hundreds! If the Great War was enough to open a portal to the hell of blood itself, I have no doubt what follows is next. And you are partly to blame for that. After all¡­" The puppet glares, then shivers. "You are the one who gave them the tool to destroy themselves." "I assure you that they would have found it without me. We need it for the liches." "They were not an immediate threat!" "They very much are a threat. Did you not admit that you could not see past our final confrontation? You would know how dangerous they truly are, or will truly be when united if you got off your bed and walked the world again." "Do not think to dictate my behavior, child. I am a seer. Seers see and predict. That is my role. It will always be my role, for no one else can do it for me!" "And what are you seeing beyond my sire''s face, hmm? Looking forward to an eternity of captivity should he win?" "It will not come to that," she replies testily. "If he enters this sanctum, I will end my own life." It is my turn to be silent, not because of what she said but what it implies. Not when, if. Not capture, but ingress. Someone who sees the future should know of a myriad way to escape his grip forever. The world is so large, and now, there are several of them. Surely she could stay one step ahead or at least believe she could. Unless¡­ Isaac of the Rosenthal always surmised that the Amaretta had limits on their abilities, a blind spot, so to speak. I believe Amaretta just betrayed her own blind spot. Herself. Interesting. That is why she felt fear. She could not be sure I would not jump on her once her guard had left. I find it amusing she could believe that her guard might stop me to begin with. I remember learning the rudiments of future sight, back with the American knight squad. My teacher at the time was named Aisha and she repeated many times that intuition and prophecies should never be relied on. Yet, her own progenitor has shut herself completely to the normal world. Does she know better? I doubt it. She is lost in the strands of her own power, thinking more of it will solve all her problems when she should get out and obtain more tools rather than straining the ones she has beyond what they can reasonably achieve. Ah, no matter. "I assume you did not bring me here to scold me on the development of new weapons. Enough delay. What do you want?" "Young ones. You are so much in a rush, so eager to leave. Someone ought to have taught you respect. Do you not recognize the opportunity I present? Do you not wish to know what the future holds, you who spends so much time and effort understanding the world around you?" "Please. You will only tell me what you wish for me to know." The puppet scowls under the influence of its master, but the free hand forms a fist, the host losing composure. Perhaps fearing for her life. A curious development. She should know I have not come here to fight. "Very well. You could have made a friend today." "I do not communicate with friends through seances." "Enough! I have two gifts for you. The first is information. Of all the strands that lead to victory, there are none that do not involve England." I blink. What? "The Entente must be involved in the assault on the Last City, or all will be lost." "It will be hard to convince the Kaiser to allow foreign troops on his land." "You must succeed in bringing them at all costs. Only a mixed intervention will lead to success. I am sure someone as eloquent as you can come up with convincing arguments. After all, have you not saved Europe once?" "I will think of something." And it will involve an ungodly amount of strong arming. I see at least two ministers that will have to be disposed of or the deal will never be made. What a headache. I will definitely delegate this to Sephare. "And the second I already regret, yet it is my duty and burden to see it through." Aha! "You will partake of my blood. It will give you an edge against your sire. It is necessary to even the battlefield." "Because he already consumed yours," I finish. The puppet flinches yet again. Poor control. I can see the shock in her tense shoulders. "A long time ago, yes. He found me. I leave my fate in your hand. I trust that you will be a person of honor." "Yes. You have my word that I will not abuse your trust in this matter," I easily promise. With a last shiver, the lady steps out. Her glare follows me while I lean and grab the wrist she just recently released. The skin possesses a dry and cold texture that I have never felt before. I wonder if Amaretta is in deep slumber yet still active at the same time. Will I ever slumber? I wonder how it would feel. I also wonder if I will get the same sense of wonder as before with Progenitor blood. After all, they all pale compared to a dragon''s. Can I still enjoy such a rare treat? I would certainly hope so. With a sense of trepidation, I bite down. *** The woman is named Ismat. She is the only wife of a noble from Medina. Under her care, her children and their lands have prospered. Caravans loaded with her goods travel from Anatolia to the lands of the Berbers. Her endeavors often meet success because Ismat can see the future. It comes to her in dreams, in flashes, on the fall of the bones over her prayer mat. They whisper of what could be and what should not be. It is a gift she has kept secret. Not even her children can know of it. "You must not go to Tiberias," she tells her husband. "The crusader will go there. You will be killed." "Your visions are never that clear, woman." The woman sees resignation and anger in the glare of him. He places a saber at his side. The setting sun shines on the metal helm he has placed over his head. He looks so strong now. She could almost ignore the screams she heard, the smell of blood and offal in her nose as she woke up at midnight, shivering and drenched in sweat. "You will not return to me." "Then I will have died a man! I will have died doing my duty and with god willing, you will do yours as well." The husband never returns from Tiberias. The city falls to the cross bearers. So does Jaffa and Haifa and Acre and Beirut. Soon her sons perish as well. Her caravans wither, pillaged by crusaders and bandits alike. It is a dark time. She has lost much. No matter how many glimpses she is offered, it is never enough. Knowing a blow will fall is not enough to ward it off. She is desperate. One night, a stranger stops at her door. Ismat felt her come and so she welcomes her into her abode. She gifts the stranger perfume and dresses, the last of her wealth. They eat sherbet in dainty crystal cups. The stranger offers her a deal. They have no need for words. They both know she will take it. With her power now reaching a new level, the woman turns her daughters and leaves her remaining son in charge of her crumbling trade kingdom. For centuries, she shapes the fortune of her family then her own from the shadows. The crusader kingdoms wither and die. The Turks come. She leaves her mortal past behind. Why lead a consortium when one can tilt the world on its axis with a single sentence? *** Wind buffets me when I leave the temple behind. Metis is more than eager to gallop away over the rocky expanse of the Atlas as I leave the seers behind, locked as they are in the past. The experience reminds me that no matter how old and powerful one can grow, flaws do not get polished out unless a conscious effort is made. It has been centuries and Amaretta, since she has chosen this name, cannot let go of control, Nirari is still a domineering maniac, and Cadiz is still a battle-obsessed blade head. I must be sure not to fall into the same rut. I suppose I have no choice. No matter how uncomfortable it shall be, I must constrain myself to accepting the unpleasant or I risk becoming a creature of habit ensconced in layers of obsessions, quirks, and predictable defects. It must be done. Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. *** "And here on your right is an interpretation of the blood moon forest before the Seekers of Lost Memories left them." I proudly wave at a large painting at the corner of the main exhibition room. If I focus, I can almost smell that strange scent of pine and the immensity of a sky locked in an eternal night above me. The bloody hue of the moon speaks of the expectancy of the hunt. Most of the pieces here have their own identity, so to speak, and this is one of the most peculiar. A study upstairs holds the painting of the dragon mid-flight and the Watcher''s eye opening over the Winter sphere. Those tend to affect my visitors a little too much so I have refrained from showing them. Unfortunately, rendering guests insane goes against the laws of hospitality. I expected a positive reaction from my werewolf allies. Allies, since I would not go so far as calling a man who never wears pants a friend. A lady must have standards. I admit to some disappointment when they inspect my work warily. Something bothers them on a fundamental level. Perhaps it is the curse. I turn once again to check the painting. It really is just as I remember it, so why? As soon as my back is to them, it begins again. Blake, leader of the werewolves in Canada and Jeffrey, leader of the local ones do their best not to sniff the air when I am in their direction, but their instincts push them to inhale as soon as my back is turned. I could hear their sniffs over a locomotive, I swear. "Look, for once, I shall be understanding. Get that sniffing out of your system before I lose my sanity!" They have the decency to look ashamed. Werewolves leaders can be a delight to the eyes, especially those two with their powerful builds and confidence. Sadly they usually smell. And they maintain a natural aversion for underwear. I am really trying my best to accommodate them! "Sorry bosswoman. It''s changed again. There is something, I dunno, reptilian? And hot," Jeffrey says. "Yes, most peculiar," Blake adds. "Not unpleasant. Quite unique." "I am not a glass of wine." "I did not mean it like that. A memorable mark like your own will give you influence around our kind. It helps with being accepted." "How delightful," I deadpan. "No need for arrogance, Ariane. You understand what I mean. Which leads me to the question that has hounded me since we have arrived. I do appreciate the visit and all those paintings clearly mean the world to you. I really enjoyed the fancy landscapes from that French man." "Monet," I grumble. "Yes. With that said¡­ what are you playing at?" "Excuse me?" Blake fixes his gaze on mine, a daring move but one that also speaks of honesty among his kind, and only between equals. I tolerate it. "We usually meet on the fields of Moonside. Why the change of venue?" "It has occurred to me that I have been¡­ hoarding art since my return. I considered that it would do everyone good if I shared what I have with others. Temporarily. Opened myself up a little bit and stopped being so protective of my collection." "Is that why this place is more defended than Fort Knox?" "Merely a side effect of being at the heart of my power." "The standing army?" "Private security personnel," I correct. "Warships?" "Demonstration products meant to be sold to the military." "The enchantments designed to turn intruders inside out? I recognized the blood magic runes." "If people do not wish to see their own pancreas, they merely must refrain from trespassing." "And why, I must ask, do your doors possess teeth." "It is Pookie." The two men exchanged glances. I do not like those glances. They feel quite rude. "What the hell is a Pookie?" "Pookie is the house." As summoned, the walls shiver and a massive eye opens on the ceiling. Yellow and slanted, it centers on the two guests before a myriad of smaller eyes open around it. "Ah," Jeffrey says. He''s usually more eloquent than this. "What fresh horror. I mean, whatever bosswoman. A stowaway from the fae land?" "She was the ship, actually." "It''s a she?" "Yes. I mean, I assume so. She can give birth." "The tool shed?" "Aye." The two men ponder this new development in silence. "I thought it was moving as well but I assumed it was an illusion. We are safe, I suppose?" Blake asks. "You are my guests. You are the safest people on earth right now." "Excellent. It soothes my heart," Blake lies. His heartbeat has not changed at all. "Nevertheless, I would like to know why you called us here first. It worries me." "Sorry Bosswoman. This doesn''t look like just a social call so we''re both waiting for the other shoe to drop. What''s going on?" "You must be joking. I come to see you even when everything is going well." "Yeah but it''s always on schedule. Not out of the blue. And you''ve never invited me indoors before." Arg. This is exactly what I was afraid of. Getting predictable! "She looks like she swallowed a lemon." "I am still here. Alright, yes, very well, I admit, I have called you here because I need your help. We are going after the liches." They exchange another glance, charged with meaning. It annoys me. "You are always at each other''s throat whenever you meet. Why are you two suddenly so buddy-buddy?" "Even rivals band together when facing a bear, bosswoman. Not that you are a bear. Or afraid of a bear. It''s just a figure of speech." "I am familiar with the concept." "What we mean to say," Blake adds diplomatically, "is that we have been going after the liches for decades. Is there a new base in America?" "No." Both sigh, understanding the implication. "No," Blake says. "Bosswoman, you''ve told me many times that the liches would be unbeatable on their home ground." "I did say that." "You said that attacking the Last City was not just suicide. You also said that it would cause the liches to unite for a retaliatory strike." "And I pray to the Watcher that I was wrong." Again, a moment of silence interrupts our conversation. The two shift on their feet at the exact same time which causes a spark of rivalry. Their body language changes before relaxing once again. They cannot help being rivals. "You are serious about this, are you not? What makes you believe that you stand a chance against beings that can rip the very lifeforce from a subject?" Blake asks after a delay. "That is on a need to know basis." "If I ¡ª" "And besides, you are not to come with us." The pair tilt their heads with remarkable synchronism. "I need a detachment to protect my ships on the earth side of things. My mortal soldiers will be here as well as the White and Red Cabals if I can convince them." "Do you expect trouble?" I tap an index on my chin in pretend consideration. "What would I do if I were a mortal concerned with vampire interference, and most of the powerful ones were to gather in one place, possibly returning wounded from an expedition?" "Are there even weapons powerful enough to take you all out in one fell swoop?" "There is now," I inform them, and the cold in my voice lets them know that I am serious. "So that''s why you''re attacking, bosswoman. Just one thing though, if they have stuff that can take you out, then me and my folks won''t make much of a difference, you know?" "I do not expect you to stop a general attack. I have other contingency plans in place should this event come to pass. What I need is for you to make sure the mortal militaries do not have full control over the gates on the earth side. Your mere presence should deter large-scale plans." "And if we are attacked? We would only be a hundred at most because only powerful leaders and outsiders could stay in control so far and for so long. Modern militaries have hundreds of thousands of troops. We would be swarmed in moments." "This will be a delicate time for everyone involved. The armies will be more concerned with each other than with you. If the worst comes to pass, you will be evacuated." "How will you know if anything goes wrong?" "We will open several gates, including secret ones. Indirect communication will be guaranteed between our agents on either side. You will be here as observers and¡­ an insurance. During daylight only." The werewolves ponder my words for a moment. "I must discuss this with my aides. However¡­ I am not opposed in principle. The liches are a blight upon our planet. My kind will not stand idle while they threaten us and all we stand for." "Same, bosswoman. Our alliance is for defense, yeah? But we''re already at war. Will be nice to go tickle them where it hurts, for a change. I''ll talk with June and pick a team, yeah? Just make sure we''re as safe as can be." "I am more concerned about keeping the others safe from you," I inform him. "Oh I mean from the cold folk. If any of those mortals want to act up. Well¡­" His eyes turn yellow and suddenly, he seems to occupy more space in the room. Much more space. The taste of the hunt titillates my tongue in a ghostly caress. "That is all I ask. And now, would you care to see my weapons collection?" "Now we''re talking." It pains me to have to lie to them but it is for the best. *** Marquette is a hive of activity. Two men watch a warship load soldiers and ammunition before departing into the night sky, its tails shining with signal lights. "Modern design that one. Better against them fighter planes," the first says. "Like you know anything about planes, Rogers. You''re a janitor." "We got fighter planes as well. I didn''t know we had trained pilots." "They''re not your planes, big boy. And how do you even know that?" S§×arch* The ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Don''t want to stay a janitor my whole life." The second man huffs into the night air. His cup of tea steams in his gloved hands. "Huh." "I want to be head janitor. Work in the main hangar where the magic happens." "Damn you Rogers. You ambitious prick. What''s even the pay?" "Not that there''s a lot to clean. It''s like an entire army just left. They''re heading east to the sea. Makes you think." "Yeah," the other added. "Hope they come back." They stayed silent for a while until the first man broke their contemplation. "Seven dollars a week plus benefits." "Goddamn." *** "I hope you know what you are doing," Constantine states. "If Mask breaks the truce, they will do so on Polish territory, not here," I reply. "The Rosenthal are formal. They are all gearing up. Not just Mask but Eneru and the Brotherhood as well." "And the German knights?" "Of course. They will stay with the empire''s military." "Ariane, if this fails¡­ Vampirekind could lose almost all of its remaining Progenitors." "It will not fail. And remember who is on our side." "He is just one man." "You know that is a lie." The Speaker crosses his long fingers over his desk. It is studiously clean as always. "Speaking of that, I shall require your assistance. I need to move my own weapons." "You will have it." *** I watch the man lean forward in his seat with a condescending smile. The guards by his side stand with their arms crossed over muscular torsos, an unsubtle display of power. We are currently sitting in his warehouse at night under the glare of electric lights. It means a lot that he would not welcome me in his office. The gates open to the outside, letting much needed cold air get in after the stifling heat of this Louisianan summer. "Listen, little lady. I''m sure you mean well. Hell, it must have taken a lot of courage to come here alone to make this request of me. I respect you for it. Really, I do. It''s just that I got a family to feed as well, see? God in his greatness has seen it fit to make our world a harsh one. The Reynaud have been blessed for a long time, right? Well, all good things must come to an end. It''s the invisible hand of business and all that there is supply and demand, and you can''t meet the demand and we got the supply. It''s just the way things are." He gives me an indulgent smile, then goes to pat my knee but reconsiders when I pull back a little. His smile does not fade. "I can''t just stop doing business simply because you asked nicely, you see? That''s common sense. Now if you had something to offer¡­" His eyes roam over my body, despite the rather conservative outfit I picked for this little outing. My, I have not been ogled so shamelessly in years! It certainly brings me back to the days before my reputation or bodyguards preceded me. I feel thirsty and full of spite again. Hmmm. Let us keep the act up for a little longer. "Oh, mister Tibbs, this isn''t the laws of the market I''m worried about, It''s just that a few nights ago, my cousin got robbed. His wagons were looted and the thieves absconded into the night. Even killed a caravan hand!" Now his smile fades. The harsh lines of his face turn grim and the thug peeks out from under the ironed suit. Mr Tibbs wears his reproachful persona with the grace of an inmate pretending to be a guard. Unconvincing acting. Two out of ten. "Now now, little lady, that sounds very much like you''re implying old Tibbs, and we don''t much like implications over here. It''s a serious offense to insult a man like this in this here barn on my property. My god-given property, certificate and all! Why, I oughta ask for some compensation for this libel. Slander. This terrible slight on my honor." "Oh no sir, I am not accusing anyone. Well, anyone except him." I point at one of his guards who had made the mistake of wearing a small bandana when his forehead showed a very distinctive scar. "Witnesses recognized the scar, see? He should have worn a hat, perhaps?" My hosts tense. Tibbs glares daggers at the shamed henchman who wilts under the attention. The thug chief licks his lips in consideration and I can almost see the gears grinding under that lice-infested scalp. Ah, I do so enjoy those amusing distractions. Flaring my aura, I start the next arc. There is a whack and a body falls behind me. John steps out from the shadows dressed in a leather duster. A few of the guards are armed but none of them have their guns out. John does. He also wields a latest generation trench gun, slightly oversized to accommodate his bear-like mitts. He does that thing I love where he moves slowly and it''s only when he''s close that our interlocutors realize that yes, he''s really that big. A few of them pale. They pale more when Urchin comes from the other side juggling his knives. Then a few of my scruffiest men join, forming a line at my back. I allow my posture to change from meek to regal. I lower my pitch to sound more professional now that the cute act is over. I may have intimidated idiots for decades and yet I never seem to tire of it. Perhaps I have a thing for poetic justice. Or maybe I just like the hunt. "Every generation or so, some idiot decides to go after my family using less than legal means. Oh, I do not mind the Reynaud''s influence waxing and waning as talents bloom and fade. I am not here to baby them to greatness. I did, however, promise them protection against more illicit attempts on their fortune. You see, I will be going away for a while and you provide the perfect opportunity for a¡­ reminder. A reminder that there are layers of darkness beneath true society and you lots are merely the muck hiding the true dangers." "Woman, you¡ª" "Shhhhhh." For the first time tonight, I use Charm. Tibbs'' eyes narrow on the claw tipping my finger and a sense of recognition sends his heart into a delightful staccato. We are still considered legends and conspiracies among the citizens of the United States, yet it appears I have found a believer tonight. The enticing perfume of terror titillates my senses. I have not fed in so long. Perhaps I should indulge a little. "Now," I ask, "which one of you shot a member of our staff, hmmm?" Silence. Several of the henchmen shift their attention to a dubious man with a messy blond beard, his teeth set in a rictus of fearful rage. They have not spoken however. I point my finger at the scarred man. "Doe." The thug''s head explodes in a geyser of blood and brain matter, away from me thankfully. The mortals'' ears still ring when the unmistakable click clack of another shell being chambered reminds them that their predicament is far from over. The bearded man does not wait. He runs for it. "We''re taking him with us, Urchin." Our little escapee stumbles and falls with a yelp. Muffled screams ring through the otherwise quiet barn while Urchin drags our little prize away. Since we are finished, and I believe the message has been received, I stand to depart. One needs survivors to carry a tale. My sire would only leave one but I believe a group is both faster and more reliable. "Just so we are clear, there will not be a repeat of this warning. Find your way somewhere else before the week is over. A good evening to you, gentlemen." We file out. Once we are a safe distance away, I turn to Tibbs'' compound. He bought a home and attendant buildings from a family fallen on hard times. The De la Fontaine clan. An old one. I always thought their attempt at Victorian architecture was a terrible eyesore. "Have you finished your inspection?" I ask. "Yes, miss Ari. All clear. No pigs." "Burn it to the ground." *** Avalon has grown tremendously since the turn of the century. Now, it practically counts as a borough of New York. While the general public is aware that supernatural types tend to congregate there, few know that mages have formed a second government complete with armed forces, civil service, and education. And taxes. The double tap remains a bone of discord to this day. I wait by the entrance of the council room as usual. Those old codgers need to remind me and their constituents that mages do not serve others, so they always let me stew on a bench for five minutes before letting me in. Not one minute more, not one minute less, It has become something of a game. I perceive them classifying notes through the sphere of my Magna Arqa since they believe the wards on their room are enough to shield them. Ah, games of power. I will never grow to enjoy them. I am let in when the time comes. Guests are granted a chair facing the half-circle of councilmen and their lesser peers behind that. The president uses his gavel to call for attention though it is not needed. We are dancing an old dance. I am a proven entity here, and while outside novices look at me with awe when my back is turned, here we are old allies who have fought on dozens of battlefields side by side. They still make me wait though. "The council welcomes Ariane of the Nirari, Hand of the Accords. Please check your protective amulets." The council complies with mechanical gestures. I have never attempted any sort of charm here so I would not know if the amulets would warn them or not. I am betting I could bypass their defenses thanks to Sinead''s exhaustive training. There is no reason for me to try, however. No rewards would be worth the risk of a broken trust. "Ariane of the Nirari, you have the floor." "Thank you, president. I come here to ask your support in our next grand endeavor. Six months from now, the assembled might of the Entente, the Alliance, and the Soviets will enter the Dead World around Warsaw to besiege, and hopefully destroy the Last City." Half of the council erupts in concerned mutters. The other looks on impassively since they are my closest allies and I have, of course, already secured their support. Most decisions are taken behind closed doors long before they are even publicly debated. Reginald leads the White Cabale, or at least its civil service branch which is de facto the most important one. He used to be the minister of ''supernatural affairs'' ages ago when the position first opened, back before the government took a dimmer view of magic for electoral purposes. The opposition has the important portfolio that is defense and it is them I must convince of the importance of our mission. Kaltstein leads them. He is a large fellow with a powerful build and a no-nonsense attitude I have come to respect. "Our alliance is purely a defensive one. You have no cause to ask us to intervene not only in an offensive operation, but also in one that will take place across the world. You may be able to escape unscathed from every operation but we cannot. Our people bleed and die to defend our land and they will continue to do so for such is our duty, but do not expect us to fight this on this adventure. Our duty is to protect our constituents." "We are already at war. Attacking the enemy''s base in a defensive war is a valid decision. No, it is a necessity to stop the conflict once and for all," I retort. "And this is not an adventure. We are conducting the most ambitious military operation in the history of mankind. Mortal soldiers will form the majority of our power but the decisive blow will be delivered by us." "When you say us, do you mean your immediate entourage or the Accords themselves?" Reginald asks. Perfectly timed for me to deliver the most important message. "The first of us will lead our elites into battle. Every vampire alliance will send its best warriors to kill the liches to the last one. Every European mage group will participate as well. This shall be the defining battle of our age. If you wish to stand aside, then by all means do so, but I will consider you to be in violation of our agreement in spirit. If you do wish to attend, then I shall place your agents under my aegis. I will protect them as my own." "It is not for you to decide if we have broken our word!" Katlstein says. "You are mistaken sir, it very much is. I will go to battle to defend our planet against those who have taken the lives of your alliance. If you decline to help, you forfeit this alliance at its most vital moment. This is a common enemy that has repeatedly attacked us. You cannot possibly justify opting out of an attempt to end them once and for all. Not when you are stronger than you have ever been." "Mages do not perform well in the dead world," a councilor reminds me. "They will remain on the mortal side for security and to recharge key enchanted items we will need to protect the mundanes. They will only fight if something moves through. "Humph. Perhaps, but it will be volunteers only," Kaltstein says. "I am sure there will be plenty of those." *** Of course we will be there," Ollie says. "Do you know how many people we have lost to the liches?" I do, in fact, know how many people we have lost to the liches. "So who are you bringing?" "Everyone." Chapter 227 - 219: Masovian Sonata I would love to fight with the wind in my hair at the prow of the Fury. Sady, the dead world lacks both wind and the magic to keep us afloat. I still enjoy the view as we fly over the Polish countryside. The last time I was here, I was running for my life pursued by the deadliest law enforcer of the planet. Much has happened since then and the land below us bears the stigma of half a century of planar siege. Plains bear the round scars of mortar fire. Train tracks and warehouses dot mark the land like old wounds still covered in steel stitches, for the nerve of war is logistics and no place on this planet has more roads and tracks than this one. The Germans and Austrians fully expect soviet encroachment when the lich tide recedes, a concern that does not speak of paranoia so much as it speaks of experience. There are enough lights here to guide even a blind man to whatever concentration of forces he would wish to find. We fly over barracks. We fly over airfields. We fly over concentric rings of trenches, bunkers and pillboxes filled with men. Artillery emplacements are more common than farm houses here despite the endless fields of ripening wheat. There certainly will be a harvest. This land is crowded and the air is no exception. Even now at night we come across fighter squadrons and quite a few modern, barded airships bristling with machine guns. I watch this concentration of force with amazement. Even during the height of the Civil War, encampments were just the size of small towns. Here the mortal military spreads out to the horizon in bright patches of fighters and those who make them ready. There are millions of humans wielding years of industrial production engineered and designed for the express purpose of ending life. I would be scared if I had not brought them here myself. I had help, of course, but what is a queen without her minions? My pleasure would have been complete if I had been the face of the conflict. But I will not be and this is acceptable. Pride has ever preceded the fall for us, and I will not let my own get in the way of victory. We approach our final destination around 9PM local time or so my watch tells me. For a moment, I believe we have flown too far east, so dense the network of lights is but I soon realize my mistake. No city could ever be this ordered even by design. No architecture could be so painfully utilitarian, and no human population wears only uniforms. The united base of mankind covers the area of a city around a massive open square and around it, ordered in neat rows, wait the tip of the spear of our operation. Armored vehicles. Thousands of them. "We are being hailed, ma''am." "Take us down, Skipper." Dozens of warships wait parked by the side of the base, crates of supplies being loaded even this late at night. The latest Fury and her sister ships follow the signals of a control tower into prepared mooring spots. I know that we have been cleared, yet an officer in Austrian uniform still waits for us with a considerable escort. The gesture is mostly symbolic. Their small arms would be of little use against warships and we would be blown to smithereens by the armada around us. This is just posturing. Fortunately, vampires are really good at posturing. It is time. I retreat into my cabin using my full speed. The Aurora''s sealed case opens with a press of my fingers to reveal the sleek cobalt lines of the cold armor. Although it takes me only a few seconds to put it on, the air outside is already colder when I step out. The Skipper addresses me with a subdued voice. "Should we lower the gangplank?" "That will not be necessary," a cold voice says from behind. The Dvergur does not move, does not flinch, yet I can taste the terror pumping blood through his veins. The heavy clank of armored boots rings on the deck, my deck, and I grit my teeth to keep a leash on my instincts. "Shall we, little princess?" Nirari wears a heavy plate of pure black material that looks more like stone than metal. It weighs so much that armored steel planks groan under the pressure, and black symbols glitter on its surface like glass in an asphalte bath. He also looks larger than before. I know that lords can change their appearance to a certain degree but I always thought major changes would be foolish as balance needs to be relearned. My sire has no such qualms, and he is now as tall as Jarek. "You may begin the festivities," I reply, goading him before my mind can catch up to my anger. He merely chuckles while Malakim arrives by his side, giving me a murderous glare. "Come out and state your business," a voice says in German. "What does the mortal say? Bah, it does not matter." Nirari drops over the railing like a comet. He lands with a heavy thud, interrupting the annoyed officer. I watch anger lead to surprise which leads to terror on his face. Technically, he could have rung the alarm here and there and the night would have ended poorly. Instead, he freezes. Nirari''s immense aura blankets the airfield and beyond until every man, every creature down to the basest insect freezes. Those who find their crosses burning an incandescent blue still kneel in desperate prayer because the weight of his presence surpasses the strength of even the staunchest faith. Those that pray do not beg their god to keep a monster away. They pray to stop another god, an old terror from the dawn of history when religions enjoyed blood quite a bit more. They pray for an immaterial deity to defend them against a striding one, each of his steps ringing over the silent plain like the dirge of a funeral bell. Even the most distant of sentries prostrates in fear. The radios fall silent. Approaching airships slow down until they are static. The world holds its breath. Cadiz jumps down from the Voice of Nashoba, then Constantine and Aki. Their own auras echo the monstrous power of the first of our kind. I jump followed by John and Urchin. Jarek, Ceron, Suarez, Adrian, Wilhelm, Melusine, one by one, all of the lords and ladies of the Accords land followed by retinues of battle masters. The clouds above us part to let in a purple light that shines over the hoarfrost freezing every last blade of grass caught slumbering in the spring''s air. The vampires are here. Armed and armored shapes walk past the terrified soldiers in perfect silence behind the eldest of our race. I am given a place of honor behind the progenitors. Our march through the base is unchallenged. Nirari''s domineering aura sees to that. He lowers it to a more manageable level when we approach the central square. A tent has been erected at its edge to host the commanders of the eclectic force assembled to defeat earth''s invaders once and for all. They will retreat to their respective command posts tomorrow but for now, they are all in one place. I judge the tent to be adequately protected with sentries from elite regiments and subtly woven wards. They all amount to nothing when Nirari marches in like the walking natural disaster he is. A last line of defense composed of German ''Nacht ritters'' stands in front of the entrance flaps but it is clear to all they do not stand a chance. The leader bows, though he does not step aside. Nirari stops and smirks. We arrange ourselves around him in order of importance. Nirari still does not move. "My lord," the German knight begins, but Nirari interrupts him immediately. "Hush, little one. Your courage is noted but your opinion is unneeded." Our host bows a second time. It does not take long to see why. A wave of approaching cold auras rounds another avenue and the forces of Mask come into view. Under Bertrand''s leadership, his elites join us, more numerous than we are but we were first and we have the first with us. Numbers mean nothing. Hastings steps forward with a frown, her form clad in golden armor covered in pockets. "Just as subtle as you always were, old one. You could not help but make an entrance." Nirari considers her for a few moments. "Once this is all done, I will bend you over the grave of your husband and take you like a bull takes a sow." His answer elicits no hisses. Hastings stands but she does not protest. Her bluff was called. No one insults Nirari unpunished, not even her. Another wave saves her from further humiliation. More vampires arrive in more piecemeal order but still unchallenged by the mages I feel assembling on the edges of the field. Many lords of the Dvor walk with arrogance wearing ancient liveries. I recognize old Commenus and Viktoriya with her strange trident. Torran gives me a wink through the lid of the armor I gifted him from the fae lands. Then come more troublesome allies including Octave the leader of the Knights, who glares at me with hooded eyes. The last group to arrive wear chain armor under the leadership of Svyatoslav. All four living Devourers are here. The new arrivals are wiser. None of them dare defy the one standing in our midst with absolute confidence despite the army of apex predators surrounding him and for good reasons. He is the deadliest of us all. Under the radiant light of the Watcher, he addresses us as the first and possibly last united assembly of vampires. "My kin. It fills my heart with pride and joy to see you all assembled tonight for the common purpose for which we were born: to hunt what was never prey. To slay the unkillable. We shall make history tonight and tomorrow as the harbingers of death for the remnants of a dying world. Under my command, we will conquer our first prize together. Make no mistake, it is but the first in a long line of better prizes for domination is our destiny and the unveiled craving of our dark souls. Now, I invite the Progenitors and faction leaders to join us for the war council. My princes and princess will join as well." Nirari enters the tent unopposed, followed by Cadiz and the rest of us one by one. My sire has created a situation where to defy him is to stay outside. Similarly, to challenge his order means entering a tent where he is present. No one dares to oppose him. Hmmm. Perhaps I am the one obsessed with defiance. I assume a majority of people here will worry about tomorrow''s assault since Nirari''s existence is a tyranny they can never hope to overthrow. As for me, his death is not a possibility but an obligation, and I am the only one on earth who can stand toe to toe with him. The interior of the tent is now crowded, despite sentries and aides being evacuated. I count quite a few high-ranking officers as well as a group of five powerful archmages standing proudly behind an invisible shield. I recognize the Myrddin, a man with a short dark beard and the title of most powerful caster in all of Europe. He is in charge of the portal. A map of the dead world and the edges of the Last City awaits along with pieces showing proposed lines of defense. For safety reasons, the portal will be facing away from the city so as to avoid providing the liches with a direct line of fire into our reserves. Nirari walks casually to the map which he inspects with mild interest. His aura still smothers anyone around though it seems to be thicker around the pale archmages. I can smell the terror in the sweat of those around. My sire is done with subtlety, it seems. "Yes, yes, very interesting. Daughter of the blood, why not go over the details with our mortal friends? The concerns of the footmen have never been mine." I step forward, Nirari''s fear applying to me as well by proximity. I pick German as the language of my choice because most of the men present understand it. The Imperials speak it by default. The French speak it for the same reason a shepherd recognizes the howl of a wolf. The English speak it because they are allied with the French. The Italian General present speaks it because he comes from Milan and was trained in Munich. As for the Soviets, even Hastings herself could not force the Imperials to tolerate their presence on their land without breaking their entire command chain one mind after the other. "Guten abendt. You know who and what we are so I will be brief. We have come bearing two answers and one gift. The first answer replies to the question: how do we keep the liches away from our troops. The answer is that we will engage them. The second answer replies to the question: how do we take a city from an entrenched foe who has been fortifying it for centuries. The answer is that you will not. We will handle them. You merely need to hold the line against the many threats those monsters send at you. As for our gift, it will protect you from the liches'' most common and frustrating tool: the ability to wrench the life from people with a wave of their hand." I reach for the pack at my back to remove a carefully engraved and decorated spike made of dark wood, carved and polished to perfection. To his credit, the Myrddin leaves the protection of his circle to pick the item. He inspects the glyphs for all of three seconds before speaking. "A portable becalming area hex. I believe it depends on earth''s willingness to defend itself, Fraulein." "It will work in the dead world so long as there is an open portal nearby. I have tested it." This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. "What is the range and the duration?" "The item covers everything in a fifty meters radius around itself. It will last for a week." "And I assume you have more of them?" "I have over a thousand. I made them myself. I call these the scorn spikes." "It feels unusually strong. Were you the first?" "I was the first to cast this spell, yes, although the credit for its design belongs to another," I say, sending a glance towards Constantine. "I can vouch for this if other spikes match this one''s quality. They must overlap. Our mages will have great difficulties casting within its area of effect, however we would be of limited use over there anyway. Well done." He fixes me with a glare. "They do not explode, do they?" "We have given our word that we would come as allies. Do you question our honor, mortal?" "I suppose not." "I have questions," the general in charge says after a miraculous recovery. Did Nirari permit him to speak? Some of those mortals boast some impressive willpower. "General Stiglitz. Do tell." "How exactly do you expect to take down the city?" "For the sake of operational security, we cannot share this detail, General Stiglitz," I allow with a smile. "Besides, you have stockpiles designed for a real siege so just act as if you intended to grind it down." "Why, this is¡ª" "What is the mortal saying, Princess?" "The mortal leader wants answers." "I see." Nirari turns to him and speaks a version of German I can barely understand. Stiglitz understands it if his absolute shock is any indication. "You will be silent and you will not question your betters. Be grateful that we come to deliver you from these invaders." "There is no need to be heavy-handed," the Myrddin retorts. "We are partners, creatures. Not your subordinates." "When you can stand by our side as we face the liches at the heart of their power, we will consider you a partner." The old archmage bristles but he, too, can feel the impossible might contained in Nirari''s massive frame. I can tell he is fighting the aura''s domineering aspect and slowly losing. "Go on, little princess." "Our vanguard will enter the dead world with your first wave. Others will hold back. You need not concern yourselves with us. Merely fight with everything you have, for they are mankind''s greatest foe at the moment. Many humans will not live to see Earth again." "You could at least have told us you were coming and in what numbers. We could have built our strategy around it," the Myrddin grumbles. This time, I am the one to answer. "You know very well why we didn''t tell you when and how we would arrive," I mockingly reply. "Lest some of you get¡­ ideas." "Do not question my honor, creature." "There is only one path that would lead me to trust you. Make a good show of yourself tonight and¡­" I lick my fangs. "Perhaps it can be arranged." "Never." "Then we are done here. Unless you wish for us to double-check your spellwork?" "Begone, creature." Ah. Cannot let that go. My mental attack probes and finds a gap in a protective amulet by following the man''s instinctive fear, then I claw up his defenses to find a formidable sphere of spiked steel and glass in which he sits. Dark eyes peer down at me from his mental fortress, sneering, then¡­ I pull him in. The sphere lands in my thorn garden''s central plaza, a perfect circle of white marble under the ever present gaze of the Watcher. I see arrogance turn to confusion. The sphere tries to dig through my palace through weight alone, The marble cracks a little, yet from those gaps emerge the questing tendrils of new growth. Vegetation slowly surrounds the fortress, testing the inanimate object for flaws. The Myrddin focuses but finds he cannot escape unless he is willing to come out and play. The first crack appears in the glass above his head. I watch confusion turn to panic when the roots move faster to cover his palace, pushing and pulling against the protection. Then, I let him go. He stumbles back under the befuddled gaze of his peers. We exchange another glance. "Careful," I tell him. "You are too lenient, Princess. That is your greatest flaw. Let us be on our way. I wish to converse with our kin." *** Three teams have gathered on the Fury''s deck. Well, three teams in the loosest sense of the term. The first consists of Malakim and a retinue of Dvor fighters, mostly nimble masters wearing light armor. The second team is led by Cadiz and gathers his most dedicated students at master level. The third group is just one lord who volunteered to do so. I do not recognize him, or his aura. I would say he is of Mediterranean descent. He also declined to share a name but I know he is a vampire and he did swear a restraining oath. Nirari also confirmed the man could be trusted based on the same information and the Rosenthal delegation vouched for him so I shall let it go. "There are three devices. Each one weighs one ton and will detonate with a yield of thirteen kilotons. " S~ea??h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "What is a kiloton?" Nirari asks. "A thousand tons of a powerful explosive called TNT." The first of our kind tilts his head in a gesture that reminds me of myself, annoying enough. "Truly you have aligned yourself with the scholars to develop such a tool. Although it does sound impressive, the Last City expands up and down as well as horizontally. Will it really be enough?" "We have interrogated prisoners and they have revealed that the structural integrity of many of those buildings is¡­ less than ideal. The skyscrapers were built in the last days before the Last City became the Last City. Since then the liches have had little interest in fixing the living conditions of their slaves. It is an expenditure they are not willing to face. This will play into our hands because the quake that comes with a single detonation should collapse most of those towering ant warrens, doing the work for us. Most of the lich bases are at the center of the city, where the bombs should be planted for a direct impact. I estimate that it will only take one team to succeed for the city to be destroyed." "I have questions," one of the lords says. "Do ask." "How are we to escape the blast?" "Yes. Each team will carry two items. The first is a large metal box containing the bomb, which can require two people to carry as it is quite unwieldy. Unfortunately and despite the use of enchanted material, I could not make them any smaller. The second item is an emergency portal opener packed in a hexagonal silver array. It is almost as unwieldy," I say, eyeing the lone volunteer. "No problems. One at the front, one at the back!" I shake my head in disbelief. Isaac vouched for him! Perhaps he is one of their agents and the silly act only serves to hide his abilities. No matter. I brought three bombs for safety but in truth, Malakim and Cadiz should both succeed without much difficulty. "Once the bomb is armed, you will have a minute before the countdown reaches zero and it detonates. The gate back links to arrays we built all over the countryside and it activates in under three seconds. Nevertheless, I would advise testing the gate before triggering the mechanism just in case local enchantments interfere with your point of egress. All three teams will remain in contact via paired arcane communicators so all will know when a bomb is triggered and when a portal opens. We have extensively tested those in the deadlands but there is no telling if they work in the heart of the Dead City. Once again, you need to exert extreme caution. Evacuate if you believe the mission is doomed. We have plans we can implement if our first attempt does not succeed." "You should not prepare them for failure, daughter of the blood." I simmer in my resentment at being interrupted, yet another emotion soon fills my heart: dread. Nirari is too kind to me. This makes no sense at all. He should have at least threatened me a little for daring to take the spotlight. Perhaps I do not understand him as well as I should. Perhaps I am missing something important. In any case, there is little I can do. The dies were cast a long time ago. "You cannot let the bomb fall in the hands of the liches, no matter what. Trigger them or bring them back." "Or die trying," Nirari helpfully adds. I hiss but he merely chuckles, his posture more relaxed. Our display seems to unnerve our allies. "You cannot enter the city directly since the wall surrounding it is under constant guard and will be even more so after the portal opens. The Last City stands in a valley of sorts, with the surrounding mountains filled with storage spaces and farms that bring much needed food to the slave masses via underground trains. We have been unable to get a definitive map of the region so you may need to improvise. We have, however, located entrances. You should find direction and tracks easily." "Those bombs have failsafes so they do not¡­ explode prematurely. Yes?" Malakim challenges, bare muscular arms crossed over his dragon armor. "Indeed." "So you surely do not object to me taking Cadiz'' while he takes mine." "All the bombs and portals are interchangeable, Malakim. You may take the one you prefer," I drily reply, unamused by his implication. "Let me remind you that we are in a state of truce." "Accidents happen," he replies. That is when I smash his face against the deck. I half expected Nirari to stop me but he waited. Only after Malakim''s head is buried in a steel plate does he take a step forward. "Now now, my spawns. None of that. Makalim, you know very well that your sister is of the blood just like you are. She would not break her word so freely." I toss my ''brother'' aside. We are done here anyway. "You can set out as soon as the first wave has deployed. Use them for cover." "Will you be part of the first wave?" the unnamed lord asks. "Yes, as well as a few elites and our long-range combatants. The bulk of our force will only come when we are confident they will not be annihilated." "By this, we mean to say that the mortals will act as our canaries," Nirari says with an indulgent smile. I hope we will not join them. *** "This is goodbye for now, my apprentice," Cadiz tells me with all the seriousness in the world, and nevermind that he cannot defeat me in a straight fight if I use all of my power. I cannot match his technique or his skill, of course, but then I do not need to be the best at everything. I just need to win. "Avoid the liches if you can. I know you want to push yourself to your limit¡­" "The battlefield is no place to test new techniques, Ariane. I know this as well as you do. Much rests on our shoulders. Speaking of shoulders, I wish we could have practiced your extending backswing a little more. You are still off target, sometimes." "We could spend several centuries refining my techniques and still find grounds to improve." "Which is exactly what I intend to do. In any case, I know you are worried but perhaps you have forgotten a tiny detail?" "Which is?" I ask. I will not lose my composure, however this is a grand undertaking relying on a plan with too many unknowns. The liches could even have their own bomb equivalent which they would unleash against us. Our only hope is that they act the way they have acted so far, using their strengths sparingly until they are forced to unveil a new tool. The attack on their last and only stronghold could change that. Suddenly, Cadiz'' power expands. Despite Nirari''s own aura lingering like a lead yoke on my shoulders, the strength of earth''s most talented duelist breaks through. It tastes of snow, effort, and fresh air. "I am the Progenitor of a warrior bloodline." "Ah yes." "It tends to escape your notice on occasion." "I have been busy." "You younglings have forgotten what respect for the elders means." "While you never learnt." I dodge under a light slap at the back of my head through sheer muscle memory. He is right. I have to trust that he will succeed. No one else could improvise better. *** "I should be going with you, Miss Ari." I feel sorry for John. His drive has always been to protect me and he has grown into a formidable defensive fighter. Sadly, I have little need for protection myself. "You are someone I trust to keep a target protected. You and Jimena will hold back just in case." "Do not worry, sister. We will hold the fort while you are away. Be careful about your sire. I do not trust him. He has been too accommodating." "I noticed." "Perhaps he sees this as an opportunity to turn you to his side as some people have feared you might be tempted into doing." "I have not forgotten his methods. He knows how to be seductive when he wants to. That is how he lured me in at the start." "Who will you be taking with you?" "Nirari and I will take point. I will keep Urchin with me as he is uniquely suited to fighting liches. Svyatoslav will join along with Wilhelm of the Erenwald and Jarek of the Natalis on the side of the Accords. The rest will join the second wave while Constantine and the casters remain earth side. The mortals will carry the brunt of enemy attacks this time. Do not be alarmed." "Then we will meet again once this is done." "Keep an eye on Constance, will you?" "We both know she will keep an eye on herself." *** Power gathers in seven circles around the immense field, the chant of dozens of cabals covered by the rumbling of hundreds of engines. At the heart of the ritual, the Myrddin stands with his arms extended to direct colossal energies towards the opening of the colossal gate. White flames pulse at the periphery of a silver circle with more intensity with each passing second. the air smells of ozone and exhaust. It is time. It starts with a pulse up above us as if an invisible giant plucked at the world. As more energy feeds into the construct, the pulse becomes frantic, accelerates. Soon, it is a blur, then a sinking hole going deep where the world should have no depth. We have come a long way since the first barbarous puncture into the fabric of reality. I have to admit that the mages know their business. I am not participating in the first ritual. Even I find it exhausting and we will need every ounce of concentration we can muster once that thing opens. Sitting back allows me to appreciate the beauty of an opening portal. There is something divine in the act of connecting two places so distant normal travel would never bridge them. Everything is ready - it has been ready over here for a long time - so I simply stand there, relaxing. Svyatoslav joins me at some point and we wait in silence. He wears forrester garb over mail armor, not that metal has ever done anything to stop the liches. An enchanted quiver rests against his back. His helmet is pointed and of ancient design, with mail links descending down to his shoulders. "When I became free, the deadliest threat in my mind was the Teutonic Order," he whispers. Another moment passes. The shadows under the portal deepen. "Now we travel across worlds to slay undead abominations. This and the bomb, I am afraid. History is going too fast. A human tool that can burn down a city? What is a bow to all of this?" "You can always shoot the man who intends to drop the bomb." He chuckles. "I suppose I could. I am concerned. Worried about being¡­ left behind." I bump my greave against his. I know he values physical gestures more than any other vampires. At least those that come from me. "Humans will always leave us behind. They will always be more numerous and more dangerous. We survive because we live in the shadows and make killing us all prohibitive. And besides, this whole operation is my doing." "So?" "So from my perspective¡­ those are my bombs. I could say I am leaving the mortals behind but, to be fair, they got that thing working." That garners me another smile. Just then, the ritual reaches its paroxysm. All seven circles flash white, then the bubbling space expands in a vortex until alien daylight shines on the encampment. Aides rush to carry the stumbling mages away, except for the Myrddin who walks away of his own accord. The time is now. Nirari is the first to cross the portal. I am quick to follow while the roar of engines and the cries of men form a wall of sound behind us. The dry, stale air of the dead world greets us. Ochre mountains tower in the distance. No signs of hostiles for now, except for the odd mana hounds we dispatch with casual swings of our soul blades. The portal faces away from the city just as planned. I move to the side and turn to see our target. It is immense. Pillars of dark stone reaching to the sky form a forest of crumbling giants crawling with slaves and their undying masters far in the distance, behind a wall as tall as a hill as a demented monument to greed and neglect. There are so many towers that they blot out the horizon from one end of the valley to the other, their sizes so mind-defying as to induce vertigo. By comparison, the column of tanks and armored personnel carriers are like ants planning to take down a city hall. There are many ants, however, and they carry little surprises. Engineers are already at work marking positions for artillery emplacements and supply depots. The invasion of the dead world has begun. I have never exterminated the last sapient races off a sphere. I believe that I shall enjoy it. Chapter 228 - 220. Dark Gods of Gaia If my vision were not so perfect, the walls of the Last City could be taken for a cliff, so impossibly vast they are. The craggy rocks damaged by unrepaired cracks and ravines share more with a geological feature than a man-made work. I surmise it is the result of some spellwork due to the sheer scale of it and the current state of abandon it finds itself in. It perfectly represents the liches and their mentality. They feed off the work of others and the dregs of some illustrious past. Infamous too, given the state of their world. Just like the last city, the wall is decrepit and rotting and just like it, it is still impossibly formidable. It would be enough to repel most armies if our level of technology had not progressed since the portals first opened. Mundanes, mages, and kin now stand side by side in the metaphorical shield wall and more importantly, the mundanes now wield weapons of war fit to burn down entire cities. Even now, the roar of diesel engines behind me heralds the coming of the old world''s wrath, a military might the likes of which history has never seen. Tanks and self-propelled artillery vehicles form a well-spaced line across the portal, the first defensive square already completed. Infantry companies and the crew themselves have climbed out of their positions to dig trenches as fast as they could. The first of many scorn spikes are plunged into the ground to protect the mortals from having their lifeforce reaped with a single gesture. In an hour or so, ammo trucks and ambulances will clog part of the way but for now, earth is spitting as much power as it can to begin the siege. The rattle of small arms fire already sounds from the periphery, where soldiers clear out the odd hounds. Nirari stands by my side in a relaxed posture near the front of the formation, our back to the reverse side of the portal. Humans move around us while studiously ignoring our armored forms. He does not seem worried at all despite the non-negligible chance that the liches will wipe us off in an instant with some wonder weapon. Instead, the old monster claps his hand. A moment later, a throne emerges from the gray ashy earth like a submersible from the sea, then a stone platform rises underneath until we can see over the turrets of the nearest tanks. He sits, opening a bag of average size I had not noticed until now. The packed stone flows to accommodate his colossal black armor. The armored hands disappear in the bag''s recess. Larger inside than outside, it seems. I had seen such enchantment in faerie but they were atrociously hard to reproduce. Shortly after, Nirari removes a javelin from the artifact''s depth. First I see the hard grain of dark polished wood, then the head appears and I am forced to avert my eyes. They hurt from merely watching the ivory tip, so sharp it feels. I have an idea what it might be. "Is it not early to lug out dragon bone weapons?" I ask. "Oh, little princess, the commander does not stand for the small fry. You shall lead the effort with your knowledge and acumen. I will remain here. It does not do for the strongest warrior to open the hostilities unless there is a duel, you see? Go forth and tickle the skeletons. I will be watching¡­ with great interest." "So you intend to let me do all the work?" "Of course not, princess. Only the menial tasks. Ah, and I believe the undead are making their opening move." Very far away, the massive gate leading into the city opens. Or rather, one pane opens while the other remains stuck midway. It would be comical if their size was not so daunting. A purple tide rushes out from the maw soon followed by a cloud of a similar color. The hounds might be the most common of mana-starved creatures but they are not the only one. They have scouts as well. Fliers. Brood mothers are notably absent even though they have the best chance of withstanding the punishment the mortals shall inflict upon them. "Your prediction has come true, little princess. Indeed, the undead beasts always go for the easiest method first." Vampires throughout the century have used this to great effect, catching liches off guard before they could deploy their most dangerous weapons. Urchin, especially, has elevated the technique to an artform. I can feel him covering our flank at the edge of my perception between two Hastings masters. We are opening with our best tricksters. The mortals are not blind to the tide of flesh rushing to them. They stop working, jumping into their half-finished defenses while engineers bring sandbags as fast as they can fill them. The first line of defenses finishes its preparation right in front of us. A bit early, perhaps. It takes several minutes for the distant purple wave to become individual creatures. By the time they are almost in range, the scent of fear thickens the air. Human soldiers keep coming in. At this stage, I have no idea if time is with or against us. The first artillery positions open fire soon after, almost at minimum range. Little red flowers bloom on the enemy charge. Each shell pulps dozens of creatures, yet the tide feels just as large as before. I notice that there are no more hounds coming out of the gates. At the same time, more guns are firing at our back. I feel no breach within my sphere of influence, no mysterious passage or portal opened to deliver beasts within our fortifications, yet the battle already rages all around us. "The undead scum does not even need a beacon. All the life force we have brought formed a banquet no creature can ignore," Nirari idly comments. "Oh, princess, you might want to intervene if you wish for the battle to continue." "I thought you were the leader here," I hiss at him. Giving orders sitting on his arse! Ugh! "Of course. And as your leader, I command you to break the enemy assault. You are welcome." It annoys me to see him so smug, yet it scares me to see him so accommodating. I have challenged him several times and he has yet to do anything but deflect with good humor. What is happening here? Surely he does not expect to convert me to his banner? In front of us, the tanks open fire. More craters and dust pepper the land, thick black smoke rising into the stale air. The scent of powder grows pungent, the song of the guns, deafening. Machine guns soon add their rattles to the din. We have taught the mortals that morale is not a factor to hounds a long time ago. They understand only hunger. Men are trained to kill as soon as they have a shot. In front of us, the plains are nothing but oily plumes of soot, fire, and a wall of purple flesh. It is only now that I realize that the tide has barely been slowed despite the constant pummeling. The hounds'' number is beyond reckoning. Every gun on the front line now spits lead at the incoming assault. Officers scream their orders, whistle their commands. The men shoot as fast as they can. I can already see the barrel of some of the weapons shining red at the tip. They do not stop. By the Watcher, there is not even a need to aim. Every bullet will hit something. The tide barely even slows down. I feel like I am standing in front of an ocean. Time to help, I suppose. S§×ar?h the nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Magna Arqa." I wish I could save my strength fully but it appears I have no choice. No matter, I can make a difference with minimum use of resources. Instead of doing anything fancy, I form rows of outward facing roots upon which the beasts impale themselves. It takes a bit of time for all of them to fully form but they considerably slow the advance. Some of the soldiers are surprised at first but they are quick to catch on. For a beautiful moment, it looks like I have brought the beasts to a standstill. The hounds that follow the first are blocked by the squirming mass of the wounded, caught as they are on my spikes. A dike of corpses forms until the mass of flesh becomes too much and rolls over on yet another line of spikes so that yet another group of hounds plant themselves on the next defensive line. The mortals do not let that opportunity go to waste. Mortar fire and a storm of bullets tear into that easy target with abandon until blood floods the trenches in a gory carpet. The human artillery is fully active now. Some enterprising grenadiers lob their ''pineapples'' dozens of meters away. It is a carnage. And then, the fliers arrive. Masked by smoke, their drone swallowed in the deafening din of detonations, thousands of bladed insects fall on the human defenders like so many locusts. Rifles aim up but too late to make much of a difference. The first human screams erupt soon afterward. Independently, flying drones are not much. A small child would outweigh one. It takes little effort to grab and smash them against the nearest rocks. Unfortunately, they move fast, bite, and there are a lot of them. The first line is overrun in seconds. "It appears that our campaign is off to a poor start," a mocking voice taunts from behind. I must act. As much as I hate revealing my tricks, this specific one would be useless against him anyway. I extend my hands, calling the Aurora''s power. Rime appears around me. Nirari''s throne grows crystalline decorations of icicles and verglas. The Duke''s prize at the center of the armor shines like a winter''s sun behind a frozen waterfall. I extend my hand. The hounds absorb magic. The drones merely resist it. Neither absorb the cold. The Likaean words ring true. Winter comes to a planet without seasons. "Polar midnight." Light fades. Like a giant maw closing on its prey, an arctic wind blows through the tight ranks of the drones in an extending cone. Most of those caught freeze solid mid-air while the others escape the death corridor sluggishly. Meanwhile, the mortals are not idle. Flak cannons add their staccato to the sounds of battle. The tanks never stopped shooting, their servants protected by solid steel. More soldiers charge forward, shooting, fighting to throw the creatures off their beleaguered companions. The wounded move back, replaced by fresh men with full ammunition belts. I keep feeding power to the spell until it collapses by itself. If I had not fed on a dragon, this would have been exhausting. On the other hand, if I had not fed on the dragon, I would have never made this plan to begin with. With most of the fliers dead, the hounds are the only threat remaining but they have used the lull in gunfire to its full effect. They are almost within stabbing distance now. Meanwhile, more soldiers join the fray. I watch the carnage enfold with fascination. The humans have forfeited their usual tactics to form thick firing lines. Standing men shoot over kneeling men who, in turn, shoot over leaning men. Machine gunners rush in with their weapons held at the hip like some cowboys and with good effect for no one can miss at this range. Here and there, the tide breaks through, entire squads savaged in instants. Tanks get covered in tight masses of clawing hounds before the flak cannons ''delouse'' them with extreme prejudice. It is an orchestra of destruction, a symphony of entrails without pause while blood red and purple dyes the ground. I have seen war before, but this? This is madness. And yet, we must win. Many masters have decided to join, several fighting a roaming battle, closing gaps and delaying advances where they can. A blue flash far to my side reveals that someone underestimated their foe. Gah, it is too soon to lose kin. This is just the appetizer. For a few minutes, balance is achieved between the waning wave and the constant rush of human reinforcements. A few tanks are destroyed when determined hounds finally manage to tear off the turrets, though it costs them much. At some point, the last of the hounds in close quarter combat dies and the soldiers manage to kill the rest before they can even reach the human lines. Explosions fade to low a drum while the men wipe the sweat off their brows and reload their overheating guns. I see disbelief and the distant gaze of those lost in a waking nightmare in the front squads, those that survived the assault anyway. The world in front of them is a charnel pit of charred earth and offal. It is not that I could walk on corpses for a mile without having to touch the ground. For that mile, I could not find an unsullied rock, a dry patch of soil to save my life. The stench of burnt hound meat suffices to make me scrunch my nose. It is done. At great cost, we have withstood the first attack. "This is Cadiz," a voice says in my ear. "Is that accursed piece of technology working?" I tap the enchanted ear link I hid inside of my helmet. "I can hear you." "Oh. Incredible." "You have used radios before, Progenitor. What is it?" "None so small. We have used the hound tide to slip out. The lunatic has disappeared somewhere, alone. Malakim went the opposite direction. I hope you know what you are doing." "I am doing my best with what I know." "We will enter the city access tunnels soon. From then on we will remain quiet, just in case." "Good. I will focus on the battle. They started with a hound tide." "Just like you predicted. And Ariane, be careful. The Dvor escort around Malakim was too familiar with him. I suspect they struck a deal." We already knew he had people on his side, especially those Mask leaders who aligned with him. "So long as they complete their mission, I have more urgent concerns. Be careful, mentor. We do not know what safety measures they have in place." "I am always careful, young one. See you on the other side." The communication ends. Below us, the mortals have recovered. The battle lines have reformed with fresh squad while the dead and dying are evacuated on stretchers by nurses. There are hospitals ready on the other side to take care of them. By now, over fifteen thousand men spread out in an ever-expanding wedge. The influx has slowed to a trickle now that ammunition is required to keep them fighting. As ever, logistics will be the bane of us. It is in the lull of force gathering that I notice something is wrong. A sentry to the far side suddenly shakes, then falls, moved to convulsion. Another soldier joins to help only to succumb to the same fate. Then another, always at the edge of the formation. "Poison?" I ask no one in particular. "Little princess, remember the Vision of the Dead spell I wrote in the book I gifted you?" The human skin book. "Yes, I remember very well. It tracks the lingering essence left by the recently deceased." "Why not cast it now?" Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. I swear and obey. I must remain wary of the dynamic he is trying to impose on our relationship. Unfortunately, he is right. As soon as the blood magic spell is cast, a gray film covers my vision. Everything appears in sharp contrast including the ghostly figure of those who died to fend off the hound. And behind them, wraiths cross the field with monstrously long, extended arms. Hair like braided wire, dislocated jaws and famished figures define this new threat. Tattered robes trail behind them as if dragged by an unseen wind. As I watch, one of them embraces and kisses a soldier who immediately gasps and falls, their life drained in an instant. "Dammit!" I race away from the platform. Rose extends and whips at one of the horrible creatures. The blade passes clean through to absolutely no effect. I swear again. "Flay. Bolt!" The spells are just as useless. "They are already dead," Nirari remarks from behind. "So are the liches! So what!" "Impatient child. What keeps them together?" "How should I know!" "Can you not guess?" "Can you not help?" "I am helping, little one. Tick tick, how long will it take for them to create a panic? You must make haste or all is lost." Needled by frustration, I observe a feeding specimen. Envy. Greed. It is motivated by powerful emotions. It gazes up at me and¡­ I feel a contact. The soldiers around me watch with fear while officers scream orders but we all know it is only a matter of time before they break. Men will stand against a cavalry charge but not against an enemy they can neither see nor comprehend. Alright. Time to put my heart where my mouth is. I can feel a strange sort of magic expand towards me, ghoulish and hungry. I grab it and pull. *** My mind palace. Even the greatest mind mage would get lost if they dared enter. A maze of thorny hedges and statues welcomes visitors into a torturous death trap no one ever managed to conquer. The defenses will heal so long as I live for no one can bear trauma like a midnight aristocrat. Shredding vines will grind down the most steadfast protections because no one can match our patience and ferocity. The size itself makes every fight a battle of attrition for no one lives longer than us in an endless pursuit of power. I had never felt fear until now. I observe the wraith from the confines of my bedroom. The creature does not seem lost. To be lost would imply a desire to be elsewhere, a destination. The wraith merely moves away from a place where no prey can be found to another one. It will keep doing so until it finds a target or the universe ends. The fact that it avoids the hedges fills me with hope. So far, the creature had always moved through terrain as if it were not here. The desiccated, malformed corpse still fills me with worry. Is this truly a ghost? I had never observed one before, though there are stories. How did the liches come up with such a monster? I discreetly move a thorn in the creature''s path. The thorn catches the monster''s shroud and stretches it, wispy trails forming in its path. I feel that it is affected but I fear it will not be enough. Soon, however, I get a surprise. This creature has life essence. Very little of it, but life essence nonetheless. "Interesting." This time, I flay the entire creature with several branches. The shape stutters and blinks like a bad movie while more of the essence filters back to me. I sit down in a meditative position. I need to understand. A distant memory calls at the edge of my perception. I nudge my intuition to waken it, capture it. The memory is alone while most would be linked to others and yet it is so strong and so very vivid. I am close. Another attack leaves the wraith a ratty remnant of its former self. I see it now. *** ''YOU ARE GUILTY OF THE GRAVEST OF CRIMES. EMBARRASSING YOUR BETTERS." "No, please my undying lord!" I almost recoil from the bizarre sensation that assail me. I have no body. My essence is anchored to a set of runes engraved in my own remains. I do not see. I perceive the information given by other runes set in my form''s eye cavities. I do not move. I impose my will on the many parts that move my shell. Everything is second-hand. Mechanical. Distant. The sensation is so antithetic to everything I am that it takes a great effort of will to stay. The one whose memory I stole is a lich, that much is plain. A weak one. Its master stands before it, bone claws grasping an obsidian athame. The lich is bound. Emotions do not truly translate except as overwhelming cold swords that pierce through its mind. The lich is terrified. The athame falls. Even as a dream, the pain I feel is unspeakable. Essence flows into the athame then into a canopic jar carved with angry runes made of edges and shard ends. The lich hungers yet it cannot feed, wants to die yet cannot fade. It loses itself. Behind, it leaves only its thirst for lifeforce. I pull out of the memory. The parallel with my own situation makes me somewhat uncomfortable. A wraith is nothing but a rogue lich. How upsetting. In any case, I know what to do now. I grab the sheer terror of the obsidian knife and turn it into a mind render, a memory shaped as a weapon, a very personal one. It manifests as a sword in front of me. I grab it, then I break it. Silvery liquid spills between my hand, then through the floor. Outside, thorns take on a silvery edge. They slam into the weakened wraith. Its screech threatens to deafen me. The fright is so intense that it pops into white motes, drifting off into the unseen wind. A quick check shows that my physical form still stands outside, but the wraith is no more. A step in the palace brings me to the main square. I clap my hand to form a massive circle, hedges moving to accommodate my request. Thorns with silver barbs grow to form a cage. A heavy stomp shakes the ground at my back. Loth''s statue, clad in his formidable armor, lurches forward brandishing a warhammer. The head shines silver as well. Next, Mannfred smoothly strides in caressing the edge of his axe, a revolver resting in his other hand. He still wears his knight armor set. Dalton arrives, twirling his dual pistol. Then the werewolf, then Sinead and Sivaya now wearing their original forms. Statues gather in a circle, humans, mages, werewolves and fae. A mob forms with weapons brandished. A flock of winged fae buzzes overheard led by the statues of fly-faced Nol and Makyas of the Court of Wings and Keyholes. And above still, a massive flap of wings sends white flower petals drifting to the ground. "Right. Ladies and gentlemen, if you will give me a minute? I shall fetch dinner." *** There are now dozens of wraiths eating their ways through the panicking ranks of the mortals. They have dispersed but most are still within the range of my Magna Arqa, and in here, space is relative. Relative to me. The first of them jumps at a nurse and faces a wall of thorns, then it faces me. "Please step inside." It disappears. Inside of my mind palace, a shot rings. One by one, I pull the wraiths in. The essence they feed me helps me perceive and understand lifeforce more though I have little idea what to do with it. Inside of my palace, the slaughter never stops. Soon there are no more prey to be found. "I am going for a walk," I inform Nirari. "Good hunting." It takes me all of ten minutes to hunt stragglers. Men and equipment keep accumulating in the dead world while I work. I find the last wraith after it exits a tank, having devoured its crew. I had missed it the first time. Soon, I am on my way back. Urchin intercepts me as I walk under the cautious gaze of human soldiers. "What was that, boss?" "Invisible hungry ghosts." "Huh." The Vanheim master shrugs though his eyes never stop staring out towards the wall. "The battle has lasted for an hour, there are hundreds of casualties and the liches have yet to show up." "There will be more traps before they deign to face us." Urchin flips his blade, the metal turning into a cane. "They always go for the lowest bid." "Yes." "One would think they would make an example." "We will need to inflict more damage upon them before they even consider uniting. But for now, we need them to exhaust their resources one by one before they wake up and decide to throw too much at once." "And you have a plan boss?" "Of course. For now, we are just sitting in front of their door." "And what''s the next step?" "We knock." *** Three hours after the first soldier has set foot on the dead world, our camp has grown to host over eighty thousand men. The flags of twelve nations float on this foreign ground, limp because of the lack of wind. Mortals have tirelessly worked to dig trenches, install barbed wire and set up artillery installations. Stockpiles of shells and crates now dot the newly built fortifications. The human leadership has decided to pause reinforcements now that the earth army extends for miles. A constant stream of trucks brings supplies to the farthest wings of our formation. Guns rattle constantly to fend off an unending stream of hounds and fliers, their survival instincts overridden by the promise of so much meat and life force to feed on. I have come to miss the stale air of this fallen world now that the stench of corpses has come to replace it. For hours now, the humans around us have done their best to ignore us, though I have heard many whisper that I was to thank for the thorns and the dead ghosts. A sense of cautious optimism animates the men who have arrived after the early slaughter. Many mock the decrepit state of the walls as well as the lack of reaction of the besieged city. They are fools, of course. Let them enjoy their fleeting confidence. As the hours pass, I am faced with an unexpected complication. Although the portal leads away from the city while Nirari and I face it, the coming dawn casts its purifying rays through the aperture not far from my position. I can feel the pressure on my back, taste ash at the back of my tongue. A faint memory of pain on my right side serves to remind me that, although I have grown strong, a few dozens steps back would be enough to end me forever. Nirari does not seem affected. He casually lounges on his throne and since he displays no concern, neither can I. Near noon of our time, the human army turns to the offense. First one, then dozens and eventually hundreds of guns open up, but they do not target the gate. They never intended to assault the city first thing. Instead, they aim at the complex of low structures standing between the wall and the first of the bloated skyscrapers. Once again, a constant, thunderous noise makes my ears ring. Black smoke and the tip of massive fires soon blots out the horizon, masking the city from view. The Liches'' answer is immediate. The gates open, this time fully and with an ominous creak of twisted metal. A tide of armored slaves emerges from it in thick ranks. This time, I see towering constructs among their numbers, something we had never seen before. It appears they were amassing before the bombardment forced their hand. Our mortals are not fools. Our guns soon focus on that thick mass of troops but as the first shell lands, it stops against a thick, transparent barrier. "A shield. It looks like one of ours," I idly comment. "It appears they can learn as well," Nirari replies. "I suspect they remembered," I correct. In terms of magic, the liches are our masters, not our students. Their understanding of the arcane arts likely overpassed ours millennia ago until lifeforce casting made most of it obsolete. What is the point of a shield when your foe can rip through it and your life as easily as taking candy from a child. Now that they face us, it appears they have returned to their roots in their endless quest for efficiency. Battalions of soldiers march out under the cover of those shields as they are carried by what appears to be reanimated, elephant-sized beetles. I can spot the glint of lifeforce orbs under their polished exoskeletons. Titans of bone and metal march among them, each step lifting clouds of dust. Punishment that would level a city falls on the shields to no effect. Nevertheless, our mortals persist. They know that every protection has its limits. I am just unsure as to what those are. As for the slave warriors, they do not stop coming. Most immediately move to the sides, under their wall, to form a battleline of biblical proportions. The sunset light shines on the dull steel of their gear to form a tapestry of blood-tinged metal. When the fire of the artillery drops to a trickle, not one of the defenders'' protections has failed and still more of their men leave the cover of their walls. What I took for a massive army is outnumbered four to one, then five to one, then I simply lose count. Night falls on the Last City before the lich army has fully deployed. By then, an entire infantry division has reached us from earth as officers call for emergency reinforcements. A drop in the bucket compared to what we face. To my surprise, we are approached by a group of humans. I turn to see General Stiglitz, his command staff trailing him with determined steps. Their shining uniforms are backlit by the light of our noon sun. I gather my will to resist averting my eyes and for a fugacious moment, they appear regal, here, walking fearlessly in front of hundreds of thousands of warrior slaves with their golden ropes, their medals, their berets and kepis. There is not a hint of fear on their traits. They mask it well. "It appears the welcoming committee has finally arrived. And still not a lich in sight!" "Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof," I reply. "A dark goddess quoting the bible? Now I have seen everything," he jokes, and we all smile. We need it. Also, I like being called a dark goddess. My papa would be very proud if he could see me now. "I have some bad news and some good news," General Stiglitz continues in what seems to be an unexpected bout of humor. I wonder how much of it is bravado but I admire him for it nonetheless. "Always start with the bad news." "Good, I would have done so no matter what. The enemy''s wings have already started to move. It appears they intend to envelop us." "Ah. And the good news?" "Soon we will be able to fire in every direction." This time I do smile genuinely. Our force are already defending the entire edge of the camp due to the constant threat of hounds. It still means that the warrior slaves can bring their entire force to bear, and with our artillery neutered, we have lost our greatest tool against human waves. "I suppose you come here with a request. Do ask?" "Yes. Since you can call winter and bloom an entire forest, I do not suppose that you and the other vampires could do something about those pesky shields?" I consider our options until a smooth voice interrupts my musings. "What do the mortals want, little princess?" "To take the shields down." "Ah. I see." Once again, my sire speaks in that old German I barely understand. The meaning, however, is crystal clear. "You will focus your modern weapons on three shields at a time, until they break. You will remember that those shields are powered by stolen life force and that their servants cannot replenish them without the help of a lich. My kin shall assist you when the enemy draws near. And lastly." My sire finally turns. His dark eyes take in the entire group. They take a collective step back. His domineering aura smashes into them, blue light fighting back from hidden crosses in what should be a winning battle but, once again, those are not fanatics who lead Earth''s armies. Their faith protects them like an umbrella stops the deluge. "You can honor your allegiances to your nations for now but if you come to us for help again, you will bow first or I will take your knees." All the goodwill I have accumulated melts like dew under a desert sun. The officers nod and flee as fast as their dignity will allow. Nirari''s aura recedes once more. "I shall count on you again, little princess. It will not be long now." And indeed, it does not take long. Drums beat in the distance. Horns bleat. Slowly, the gigantic wall of soldiers move forward, brandishing spears and battle standards like a warhost of old but this time they have magic on their side while we have the hope that their shields will fail before we run out of shells. Well, it is finally time to give instructions. "Wait until the shield cores are less than a mile away to attempt destruction. Come from unexpected angles. Use the walkers and troops as shields. Do not engage too early or you will be singled out," I say. A flurry of acknowledgements return, though less than half of the numbers of vampires who should be here. They are not dead. They are merely ignoring me. Again, time slows down to a nervous crawl while the foe crosses the miles that separate us. All of the artillery focus on the three central shields, each one large enough to protect thousands of men. They disappear under a torrent of fire and steel. The air is now hot and it constantly shakes. Ceaseless explosions deafen me, making any conversation impossible. The first line holds fire while the enemy approaches with the slow inevitability of an avalanche. Soon, even the mortals can see the faces of their enemies. But then, the first shield breaks. It is too much for even stolen life force. A shattering noise heralds the breach after almost half an hour of effort. The brigade that used it for shelter is instantly obliterated. Shells still fall for half a minute before the cannons redirect their effort to the two shields near it. They fall soon after. I can now see the gate beyond a sea of ravaged corpses. It gives me a prime view of the unending mass of armed civilians it vomits. Malnourished bodies covered in sores, brandishing stones and cudgels run forward with abandon. Women, children, toothless wretches foam at the mouth in their urge to join the fray. There has to be some sorcery at play. General Stiglitz sees the danger. Guns focus on the gates to stem the flood of maddened paupers. I dare not look. This is not a battle anymore. This is a senseless travesty of everything that makes a life, a hunt, civilization. The liches have emptied their poorer districts in an effort to end us. And it might just work. With our guns busy, the shields are about to reach us. The first soldiers enter the reach of my Magna Arqa. Well, nothing for it. I am one of the first to charge forward. The shield barely slows me down. It is designed to stop projectiles, not people. I have sprinted past the first foe before they even realize I am coming. I notice javelin throwers and orb wielders hidden among the ranks of armor-clad men. The mortals have their work cut out for them. It is merely a matter of a second for me to peel off the steel exoskeleton around the generator. A thrust of Rose and the orb collapses, bleeding lifeforce over the sweaty ranks in a refreshing breeze of energy. I am away and to the next before the closest slave even turns to watch. I reach the next in an instant to inflict the same treatment upon it. They appear to have no traps. Perhaps I should have gone before. In front of me, Urchin weaves between fiery tongues sent by the hidden orb users. Those who come too close catch a thrown knife to the face. He takes great care to step on as many officers'' heads as he can on his way to the generator. I watch him extend his hand. "Mine now." The shield array''s massive lifeforce ball lands in his hands. The spell fails at the same instant. It remains an annoyingly useful ability. Urchin runs back, cackling and holding his prize. Behind us, the mortals are eager to take advantage of the failing defenses. A torrent of fire and steel turns the attack into a carnage. There is nowhere to hide here, no time to run. They die where they stand or crushed under the weight of their fallen. On the sides, other forces are not so lucky. Some vampires have died or failed or there were not enough to begin with. The shields get in contact with our lines and the warrior slaves charge. Javelins and massive spells woven from orbs answer rifles fired at point blank range. Spearmen charge on bayonets. The melee is immediately intense and the armored warriors overwhelm the first lines without stopping. For each of them who falls, a dozen take their place. They may know fear but they do not know disobedience. The left flank is immediately under threat. I run from shield to shield to disable them, feeling like I accomplish very little. Even with my thorns attacking with me. There are simply so many of them. Then I hear it, a drone like a buzz of very, very large wasps. "They took their sweet time." We do not rely on a single portal, of course. Other have been opened in air bases all around Europe and the first squadrons have arrived, ready to deliver The first wave of dive bombers must have received their instruction because the first ace dives fearlessly into a shield and reappears on the other side, no worse for wear. I suppose a plane is much slower than a bullet. This oversight will cost the liches dearly. I suddenly feel an urge to step back. To see. This is not my battle yet. I can feel it. The mortals are pulling the thread of fate for now. This war is one of numbers, not champions. I want to watch it. Using a root, I jump up in the air and into a vista of apocalypse. The earth base forms a star of interlocked defensive lines and scattered guns. Tanks form thick, impenetrable lines around flexible companies of defenders. By contrast, the warrior slaves of the Dead World advance in thick lines around their strange walkers, groups of javelin throwers and orb users providing support. A thick smoke blots the sky while the thunder of cannon fire covers everything else. It smells of meat, blood, fire, and death. Every sense is saturated before the unceasing fury of two alliances that can never be reconciled. Where the shields have faded, the Earth''s troops harvest the city''s defenders in a nightmarish display of superior technology. Dive bombers smash formations before they truly form with hails of explosive bullets. Tanks patiently line up walkers to blow them up mid step. Those who stand die. Those who hide burn. There is no escaping the jaws of progress. Where the shields still hold, however, the back lines cannot support the front ones. Waves of spearmen overwhelm the trenches, stabbing the defenders in the guts. The walkers stomp turrets and crumple them and the pilots underneath. Javelins catch machine gunners while pockets of resistance are torched by terrible spells. Screams in English, German and Italian echo the moans of the local, more guttural tongue. Mud covers both sides for the first time not because of rain but because there is simply so much blood in those tightly packed quarters. I brought the Earth army here. This violence and death from wall to the horizon, I made it happen, but looking at this now gives me a strange sense of vertigo. I may have started this all but not even god could stop it now. Enough of this. I will make myself useful. I join the melee. Those metal walkers they have might be tough cookies but compared to what Loth can achieve, they remain awkward piles of junk as I smash them on my way to the next generator then the next after that. I do not lose myself in the thrill of battle. The real opponents have not arrived yet. They should. This is the perfect opportunity and they are nothing if not good at exploiting weaknesses. Above me, stars of fire engulf a squadron of dive bombers. Their wrecks crash among the tightly packed men, leaving great and bloody furrows. I withdraw Rose from a walker to watch the new arrivals. All of us do. For a moment, there is a lull in the battle. Tiny dots fly over the distant ranks of the rear guard. Small, yes, yet immeasurably more dangerous than those who precede them. Aura crashes against us to promise death or servitude. There are so many of them. At least fifty, each one more powerful than an archmage. A monstrous, six-armed figure leads them. It extends a massive scepter forward to the core of our formation. Terror strikes the earth fighters before whatever horror that thing is about to conjure can even manifest. Even I feel it like a solid weight above my shoulders. Power gathers to a blazing intensity. And then the scepter explodes. The lich screeches, one hand lost. Only then do I hear an extraordinary boom that breaks the oppressive silence. The enemy leader retreats behind a shield. Svyatoslav joins my side, bow deployed. The undead aura of the life defilers recedes like the tide against another rock, more ancient and much more powerful. Silence spreads over the dead plain. Even the screams of the dying are silenced. For the first time in over twelve hours, the land before the Last City is quiet. Two worlds hold their breaths. "Rejoice," a voice deep says behind me, and somehow I know everyone can hear it, and everyone can understand it. "Rejoice, children of earth, for tonight, you fight under the gaze of the heir of Enlil, the scion of Babylon. Rejoice as you witness Conquest made flesh. Rejoice, for tonight, the First Clan shall lead the Hunt." Purple light blazes, bathing the battlefield. The time of numbers is over. The hour of champions is now. Nirari stands up. Chapter 229 - 221. The Dragonslayers "Blood is life," Nirari whispers. A heartseeker spell forms, the one spell he named after his weapon and, given the apparent power, designed himself. Tendrils of red energy spread out in front of him, scouring the battlefield like starving wraiths. The packed ranks of the slave warriors are ravaged, their shields never meant to stop magic. Orb weavers attempt in vain to take control of the energy but they cannot handle so many tendrils and, column by column, company by company, the spell engorges itself with blood. It leaves behind white husks baring their teeth to the heavens. Even the liches recoil before the display of power. I sense something in the spell that I had not anticipated: it manipulates life and so it would resist the liches'' attempt to alter it. When I came to Nirari to invite him to my war, I did not give him a new idea. He has not just considered invading the dead world. He was already preparing to do so. He proves it with his next action. "And death." All the drained blood gathers in an ominous crimson orb as tall as a hill. With a gesture, he sends it crashing against the farther slave warriors and armed civilians. A veritable wall of carmine energy surges over hundreds, thousands of foes, mangling them in instants. It has taken at most five seconds for Nirari to stand, silence the battlefield, then cast a city-ending spell before anyone else can recover from his calamitous aura. The field leading to the liches cleared, he does what I expected to do from the start. Nirari roars, then under the purple gaze of the Watcher, Nirari charges, and we charge with him. His attack frees us of the aura. The world, which had held its breath, now releases it eagerly. The roar calls upon the most primal part of us all. This bloodshed is about conquest and supremacy. All of us know this, including the liches. Who steps away from that battlefield will eventually come to rule two planets. There is only one acceptable outcome, one thing left to do. Fight and triumph. There is no viable alternative. As one, the two armies resume the hostility with renewed fury. Ranks of spearmen charge entrenched shooters and machine guns nest. Cannons roar. Rifles rattle. Orbs char and freeze entire trenches. Tanks and other vehicles move forward, crushing the wounded and the slow under their treads. Dive bombers drop fire and steel on shield arrays and walkers alike in an unending display of carnage. This is no longer war as I know it, with maneuvers and logistics and positioning where a stronger opponent can be defeated with superior tactics. This is a slugging match of biblical proportion with men killing and dying where they stand. The slave warriors and their masters have no regard for life whatsoever. The carnage will continue until only one side remains. This is it. I no longer need to worry about the big picture. Kill or be killed is a concept I mastered a long time ago. In a way, I rejoice. I am at peace. I can shed my concerns and do what we were all designed to do. Hunt. I charge forward, following Nirari and the path his spell carved. In front of us, the liches spend all they have to unleash torrents of magma geysers, shimmering lights and the fury of the sky as viridian bolts join the chromatic cloud aiming at us. I raise a forest of roots and thorns to block it. Blood sprites and shields grow among the boughs like grotesque fruits to intercept the attacks. Magic might crashes against our defenses and fails to break through, the stolen energy absorbed by the otherworldly power granted by the Watcher. The liches fly and spread out as we approach, their first concern always being their own safety. Soon, shields flare left and right. Nirari stomps the ground. I know what to do. We have no need to speak. A massive root flips out, propelling the first vampire on a collision course against a lich at a speed that the creatures cannot follow. My sire goes through the shield, the lich, and the slaves beyond in one strike of his glaive. I block some of the answering spells with a wave of thorns beyond which my sire hides before launching himself at another target. Those liches that keep climbing soon find themselves picked off, the large shields an easy target for the European aces. Svyatoslav takes shots at targets of opportunity as they lower their guards. I am the shield, Slava is the spear, and Nirari is the hammer. Only after smashing through another lich do I take a moment to slow down. A transmission comes from my ear receiver, which I had temporarily forgotten. I can barely understand the words. "Ariane, I do not ¡ª have done but the liches are pulling ¡ª spells forming and they are removing a seal on a ¡ª absolutely massive." "Focus on getting the bomb ready. The longer we wait and the worse it gets." " ¡ª hear you well but we are almost ¡ª fore detonation. Good luck!" sea??h th§× N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Stop dallying, little princess. You are missing out." I take a moment to watch our surroundings. I expect the Last Judgment may approach what I see in intensity if God will have cause to be particularly vindictive. Smoke, fire, liches and warplanes battle in the skies for supremacy while the war on land has reached a paroxysm of savagery. I observe Urchin stealing yet another scepter before absconding back into the melee to the screeches of his victim. Far to the side, a master ascends to ladyship and reappears inside of the shield of her victim. Many others trigger at this juncture while some of our kin fall to fire spells. It will take decades to rebuild the ranks of those who have met their ends here and will meet it before this is all over. As I watch, a rod of light arches from the city skyline over our heads, then lands in the middle of an artillery detachment, vaporizing it. More streaks soon appear on the background of clouds. I resume my offense. There is nothing I can do for them except take out liches and attract their attention. The more time passes and the more desperate our foe will grow, and the more they will sacrifice their reserves to bring us down. It has not been one day and the weapons they throw at us could already level towns. I lose myself in the flow of battle. It feels so natural to fight with my kin. I surf over roots and tendrils, emerging from the cover only to swat the liches unfortunate enough to remain. My statues slaughter anything that approaches while Slava and Nirari use the protection I provide to dodge spells, only to resurface in bursts of speed and aggression. A lich attempts to roast me with a bolt of lightning but the strange taste of the air warns me and I use a tendril to intercept it. I jump on a root to launch myself at it, then a vertical swing to smack the creature down with its shield. Thorns cover and shred it before it can escape again. We are chewing through the opposition at great speed, matchless and deadly. Truly, fighting besides the oldest, most powerful vampire does have its perks. The liches that attempt to attack the mortals find that the scorn spikes buried at regular intervals weaken their spells while anchoring the lifeforce. it takes them a lot of resources to bypass or destroy them, time during which they become visible, slow targets. Nevertheless, the long-ranged spells coming from the city''s heart still inflict great damage on our backlines. An earthquake shakes the ground, spreading out from the gates but most of the tremor stops at the edge of the spikes, their energies calmed. It ends up helping our side more as the slave warriors stumble and pause. I hope Cadiz will not be long. Suddenly, I am caught in a gray dome, the outside world muted. My Magna Arqa becomes restrained to the sphere and I watch both Nirari and Slava emerge on the naked ground, soon becoming the target of a thousand spells. I hope Slava will be fine. A lich takes the center of the sphere, clad in a silvery armor dulled by the ages. It wields a sword encrusted with jewels. "You have come to this world to die," it says. A torrent of fast, silvery barbs emerges from its blade with every swing. The first wave hits my stone dragon as it flies out from the forest of thorns. I can feel that the stone cannot reform, at least not for now. The spell appears designed to kill my kind. "You should have taught it to your brethren," I mock. It does not reply. I race around the sphere, dodging all of the clouds aimed at me. They leave the ground pitted behind as if by a rain of acid. It does not move from the center of the sphere and I am not eager to escape. Any creature that traps itself in an enclosed space with a war lady deserves what happens next. I feint a few times by moving up but the lich does not react. Perhaps it does not have a short-ranged countermeasure? That would be foolish. With a hiss, I ride a wave of thorns up and strike with Rose at the maximum range. The creature''s shield cracks and a wave of fire expands out in the same reaction. A reactive defense? Adorable. I am gone before it can reach me. I notice a crack in the shield. Flimsy work for a powerful lich, perhaps a side effect of the reactivity. I ride another wave to target the same spot again. Once more, I swing with all of my strength, the blade''s teeth slicing through the air with a ghastly crack. The wave this time is stronger and the lich swings where it believes I will dodge. "Polar midnight." I simply pass through the wall of flames. FIRE BAD. But victory is sweet. The shield cracks. The lich raises its sword above its skull. Purple orbs emerge in a rain of projectiles. I strike the first one as I dive. It explodes. Rose twists away from my hand. I am disarmed? The soul blade clangs against the wall and I feel a sort of pressure upon my essence, though it does not break. For an instant, my soul weapon was subjected to a monstrous force but thankfully, and so long as I live, it is quite unbreakable. I summon the whip sword back in my hand though I do not use it. Inefficient. Instead, I call more statues. They launch themselves at the balls to intercept them. The projectiles leave behind perfectly spherical gouges in my constructs. Even the dragon gets obliterated just as I reformed it. I dive under my roots and pick up my revolver from a back pocket. I named that one the Slayer. The only reason why it is not a pistol is that my hand could not fit around the handle. The Slayer has exactly four bullets and each one has been carefully assembled over a night for a single purpose: to kill the unkillable. Voices like a choir chant when I aim. I feel a strange pull on my instinct. I can watch the exact trajectory the bullet will take with my intuition before I even fire. I pull the trigger and am launched back. The lich''s body explodes, skull going and ¡ª Suddenly, I am caught in a gray dome, the outside world muted. My Magna Arqa becomes restrained to the sphere and I watch both Nirari and Slava emerge on the naked ground, soon becoming the target of a thousand spells. I hope Slava will be fine. A lich takes the center of the sphere, clad in a silvery armor dulled by the ages. It wields a sword encrusted with jewels. Wait a moment. This¡­ what? It cannot be. The lich raises its sword above its head. A dissonance gives me a headache. A different path? I was flung back in the past! "Do it again so I can kill you a third time," I tell the creature. Well, I have wasted enough time on this episode, pun intended. The first purple orb tosses Rose away. The second hits my werewolf statue as it emerges. I recall Rose and extend her, hitting the third orb as it leaves the shield. An explosion pushes both me and the now shieldless lich away. Before it can recover, I fling Rose at it. The creature''s torso is mangled but it is not quite dead yet. If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. A veritable inferno surges from the lich directly at me. I do not think it quite understands so I merely fill the Aurora with power. The jewel on the chestplate shines a teal blue. The hungering jaw of winter welcomes the heat, absorbs it with greedy fangs. It fades and only the endless expanse of stillness remains. My armored boot crushes the lich. Suddenly, I am caught in a gray dome, the outside world muted. My Magna Arqa becomes restrained to the sphere and I watch both Nirari and Slava emerge on the naked ground, soon becoming the target of a thousand spells. I hope Slava will be fine. "I can do this all night!" I tell the lich. The dome fades. It tries to fly away. I move up while the dragon statue swoops down. Another attempt at fire fails to deter us and we crush the lich one last time as the sword crumbles to dust, its power exhausted. I find myself on the dragon''s back, flying. I¡­ can ride the dragon. I cannot believe I did not think of that before! My meeting with the Old One terrorized me so much that I considered using his effigy as a means of transportation to be simply too blasphemous, perhaps? Yet, this is merely an effigy and qualms of propriety have no place on the battlefield. Flying it is. The next lich that crosses my path appears quite surprised. By now, the two other Devourers have split and I realize why. The liches have completely scattered, no longer trying to overwhelm us with their numbers. I believe they had a good chance at success if they had worked together but obviously that runs contrary to their very nature. I look up to see a large explosion, then another reveals what is happening. Against all odds, dive bombers are flying straight at those rod spells and intercepting them mid air. Human pilots are sacrificing themselves to protect hundreds of men from certain death on the ground. As I watch, another squadron positions itself to intercept more. This is the difference between the liches and us. This is why we will win. As the mousquetaires say, one for all and all for one. Our mortals are also starting to counter-attack with new forces rushing out of the portal with pristine energy. It seems the balance is slowly tilting in our favor, until the next disaster comes for us, of course. I ride the dragon statue up and scare a plane or two before assaulting another lich from the back. We crash back into slave ranks and I kill it there, then I invoke a veritable forest to tear into the tightly packed enemies. Devoured energy fills my essence. There are just so many of them. I feel completely refreshed once I am done. Truly, the battlefield is where Devourers perform the best. We could just keep going until there is nothing left but us and a sea of exsanguinated corpses. "¡ª eal undone. We are setting the ¡ª fore whatever comes your way affects the portal tool. Ariane ¡ª out of here," a voice says in my ear, but I am not listening. I stopped. I had to. Just to make sure I have not grown mad. I am struck with disbelief. A small spell confirms my suspicion and I watch a tiny needle of aura go mad trying to find the planet''s magnetic north. I see the other vampires reacting as well. They have felt it. The magic is back. The Dead World is¡­ alive? It feels alive. Normal. How can this be? I look around, finding the liches leaving the frontline. The battle continues unabated though the vampires also stop, hesitant. I was so sure, still am so sure that this planet has perished. I do not understand what is happening. Nirari flares his aura, calling us back to him. I ride the stone dragon higher on my way to see around the plain. Nothing unusual jumps to my eyes but I remember Cadiz'' message and peer at the Last City''s skyline. Nothing much has changed. It is still a forest of titanic, decrepit buildings. Hmmm, I can see something over the horizon. A tiny dot, rather far and ascending. It arches back towards us and flies with¡­ beats of wings? For a moment, I believe my vision betrays me. Bone wings move diaphanous membranes, a blue fire burns inside the chest and in the empty sockets of a massive form but no. I have to believe the evidence as I can feel the wave of magic emanating from the ghastly form. The realization forces me to swallow my fear as if I were still human. This seems entirely too much. They have a lich dragon. It is a dragon, It brings life, is the symbol of a rising world. A dragon! All hail the ¡ª No! No. I shake my head, concentration momentarily lost. Around us, the fighting has stopped. Men stand in the middle of what they were doing, weapons forgotten. The planes fly in slow circles. The cannons have grown silent. Everyone watches the coming of what appears to be a liberator, a symbol of hope and majesty. Life returned to a long perished world¡­ except they are deceived. I can sense it, somehow. This is not a true dragon. Someone has stolen its form and now wears it like one wears a mask, a grotesque parody of its true self. This lich dragon represents life in the Dead World in the same way maggots represent life in a rotting carcass. It is bleeding off excess energy, not gathering it. The dragon flies but a humanoid mind drives it. If the Old One were here, this world would be turned to ash in moments to atone for this vile desecration. No matter. We have a real issue. If that thing reaches the portal, my scorn spikes will stand as much chance as a sand castle against a tidal wave. The army will die in moments, and the portal will be undone. We need to do something. I move towards Nirari, only to find him looking at me. We are the only two here who can still function in the frozen hellscape this battlefield has become. I know why. "Dragonslayers," I tell him. "Yes. We will have to take it down. I assume its shield will be formidable. You will play your role while I play mine. Get me an opening. Crack that beast open." Ah yes, the spear. It rests against his throne even now. While he races to pick it up, I rush back to our lines. The fact it takes me more than a few seconds stands as testament to the sheer number of soldiers killing each other on this plain. I soon find myself at the front, near German troops. Nirari sees conquest as domination and destruction. He killed his dragon in single combat. He draws power from the dead. I see domination as an empire to build against all odds. I defeated my dragon in a ritual contest. I draw power from the living and it is the living that will see us through this ordeal. Normally, we old vampires keep our auras contained at all times. To emit one''s energy freely is not just rude, it places a beacon upon our location and one never knows what might be paying attention. I can no longer afford to be hidden, however. I must be heard. I do not just flare my aura, who I am and what I have done. I push it out until it drowns the siren pull of the lich dragon''s presence. I immediately realize that it will not suffice. It lacks¡­ personality. Momentum. A spark to get the pyre going. In front of me stand a squad of German infantrymen, the closest a heavyset man holding a rifle with a bloodied bayonet still attached. He stares listlessly at the approaching doom. I slap him, gently. He blinks. Using my best drill sergeant voice enhanced by a sound spell, I begin my tirade. "Wacht auf ihr Schweine! Wake up you fools. On se r¨¦veille, tas de m¨¦duses! Pick yourselves up and fight! Fight if you want to live! Si sveglino, imbecili. NOW!" I launch into a polyglottal rant of the most abusive insults I can muster as I rush through the ranks, distributing wallops and comments on their mothers'' proclivities, weight, and species when applicable. "Stand and fight. Fire, FIRE! Feu ¨¤ volont¨¦! Angriff. ANGRIFF! Fuego a discreci¨®n! ? Finally all those years of study are paying off. Also, I find clocking helmeted goons to be really cathartic. First by pockets, then by companies, my wake up calls force men to move, reload. Shake their neighbors. No one here believes for a single second that the breathtakingly captivating sight means anything else than something coming to ruin their day. The previous hours of bloodshed have cured them of any illusions. The Dead World is that, dead, and anything that comes from it carries a final sentence. I am trying to remember enough Swedish to abuse their expeditionary corps when Stiglitz finds me, a few officers in tow. He signals and one of his aides insults the group in Danish which seems to stir them awake even faster. "What is that thing and how do we stop it?" "We need to crack the shield. We need all our guns on it but¡­" "But it''s a flying target. Rather slow. Yes?" "Very much and the shield bubble should be quite large. Still¡­" "Do not worry about asking artillerymen to commit geometry. I assure you, it will be done. In the meanwhile, kindly get up there and give me my fighters back. Getting flyers off our ass is their damn job." I nod, surprised about the change of tone from the previous conversation. I suppose that being confronted with a myth tends to give someone perspective. "Right." We will need all the firepower we can to even dent its protection, and the most effective would be anti-ship weaponry. If only¡­ I almost smack myself when I realize what I have missed. It is a matter of moment to change the frequency of my earpiece to the desired one. "Skipper? Talk to me." I wait. One, two, three¡ª "This is Skipper. I copy." "Skipper, the magic is temporary back in the Dead World. Shove the Fury through the portal aperture as fast as you can and bring everything that flies and has a gun with you. General Stiglitz will back us up." "Yes ma''am. And when we get there, any specific instructions?" "Yes. Fire everything you have at the dragon." "¡­. pardon me?" I do not grace that with an answer. Instead, I take to the skies on the back of my statue. The planes are still airborne which is a small miracle in itself, but they have spread out. My previous method of punting people into each other until they start moving will not work here. I need a more¡­ thorough method. Even if it tires me a little. Most of the planes have formed a sort of wide, disorganized death spiral circling over the battlefield. I move to the exact middle and pull my aura in completely. Then, I feed it to the Aurora. The gem shines like a star as I wake it up and feed it all I have. The wind picks up over the Last City for the first time in eons. The clouds roll, darkening. "Come on," I say in Likaean. "Let them taste winter." I feel something fall against my cheek, then look down to see where it fell. Over a strand of blonde hair, I find a perfect snowflake. I can feel a smile blooming. Ah, this will be fun. If there is one thing dive bombers and fighter pilots fear, it is to be hunted by something on their tail. Today, I am that something. Winter does love a good chase. The statue flaps its massive wings one last time on its assent. For a moment, gravity loses its hold. The stale air of the corpse planet is replaced with the crisp kiss of a solstice twilight. I spread my hand, relaxing for the first time in what feels like an eternity. I channel all I am in that beautiful moment with nothing but the clouds and the gathering blizzard. And I ROAR Like a scared flock of birds, the planes buckle and dodge. If they were not so widely spaced. Some of them would have crashed into each other. Swear words in half a dozen languages erupt through the skies under the drone of engines. A part of me is concerned about the need for refueling but the rest has only one thing to say, and I say it in adult Likaean. I do not do so for expediency, or even because time is of the essence. I do so because the ritual has begun and proper form must be followed. A story with a dragon is never about the dragon. It is always about the one who kills it. "You are the wings of the dragon slayer. Follow me. When you can fire, fire. When I turn, turn. Fly with courage if you want to live. Strike without hesitation if you want to be a legend." I do not wait to see if they obey. I know they will. The strands of fate positively vibrate as I make a beeline for the spheres'' most powerful predator. I have something to say about the mortals I have led here. They possess the grim tenacity that leads armies past the breaking point and into the realm of heroism. Without prompt, squadrons reform, wingmen find wingmen until I have them all behind me, to my sides, above and under the dragon statue. We form a shape of our own, though one made of trained soldiers, machinery, and a total disregard for the odds. I watch our prey take more of the skies as we approach it, passing over crumbling skyscrapers. If I refer to it as a prey in my mind often enough, I may end up believing it. Just as ordered, the planes fire when they have a shot, more than five thousand feet away. They cannot miss. I consider using my gun but my intuition tells me that I shall need those bullets later, and it will not make any difference anyway. The hail of projectiles rattle off a village-sized shield. Several planes run out of ammunition almost immediately. No matter, I can see the shield flare. We are applying pressure. I break off the attack at three thousand feet. I can already feel the creature''s pull, even though there is no intent in its gaze. It feels¡­ sleepy. Passive. We have not endangered it yet. I consider doing another pass but I cannot. Suddenly, explosions bloom on the immense shield. First a few, then dozens, then a torrent until the very view of the lich dragon disappears under a firestorm. The last I see is a blue eye waking up. Enormous pressure smashes against my mind and fills me with a sense of vertigo. For an instant, all those material elements like bombs and vectors and fuel levels become secondary to a clash of concepts happening together and parallel to the real world event. The lich represents the dragon''s power, life even though it is weak and rotting. I represent the dragon slayer, unity, manipulation, blood, the hunt. We are an arrow and a target in the tapestry that is destiny. I am the unstoppable force to its unmovable object. Time does not matter. Place does not matter. We are merely two particles on an ancient, unavoidable collision course. The last spark of blue fire disappears and I am myself once again. Concept or not, that thing is going down. The human camp is now a grid of artillery placement with flying ships spread over it, firing broadside after broadside with more climbing to attack altitude with every second. The shield hums, a wakening song fighting the onslaught. It seems to thicken at the front but I can already see the first flaws forming in the apparently impenetrable shield. I have done all I could. Now the assembled might of mankind will pierce the shield or not. The die, as they say, is cast. It is only when I hear his voice that I remember the pitfall that intuition can be, the way it blinds those who dance with fate to outside factors. I am not a particle on a collision course. There are two of us. Nirari makes his move. "Do it," he says in a cold voice. "Yes, master," Malakim replies. Ah. Shit. I think very fast. I scream ''back'' at the planes, though we are already on our way out. At the same time, I change the frequency to find Cadiz''. "Get out of here! Get out of here now!" "¡ª already armed. We are activating ¡ª" "NOW!" I am too late. A second before it happens, I can feel the pit of my stomach drop while primal terror overcomes me. Some scientists argued that triggering a nuclear explosion would set our atmosphere on fire, wiping out all life. I am happy to confirm that they were wrong. It certainly feels that way, however. For a brief moment, I can see every bone in my arms through the armor. Every knuckle of my digits, even though I know they would turn to ash if detached. They are all there. I could count them. The world becomes a gray tapestry, a negative version of itself. Then I am set on fire. I am thoroughly ashed. It lasts for merely a split second and is more terrifying than really painful. I do not even feel the horrible pain that is fire. I am already dead, gone from the world. Whatever passes for nerves in my eldritch body has fried before reporting to my brain. But the moment passes and I am alive. I gasp when the shockwave hits me. Several planes dislocate mid air while others wobble. barely holding on. The statue cracks and falls like a stone because I have lost control of my essence. It takes a supreme effort of will to recover before I can dive. I cannot believe it. I cannot believe it! Light and fire rage behind me. The groans of titanic mountains collapsing on themselves deafen me so it is in perfect silence that I perceive more than see the lich dragon''s shield cracking, smashed in its weak side by an unexpected blow. I also perceive more than see Nirari arming his throw, his perfect form as the dragon bone spear flies through the air. I know it will hit. There can be no other outcome. The lich dragon is hit with a death blow. It crumples like a bus hitting the bottom of a cliff. The almighty bones that survived countless centuries imbued with arcane might shatter like glass. The second shockwave feels almost as world-ending as the first. This place is so hot. Need to get away but¡­ I am still flying forward when my earpiece crackles, his word carried to my regrown drums. "The pact is done. Victory is ours and so does our truce end. I will not blame you for your plot back on earth, little princess. You have respected the terms of our contract. I will, however, return the favor by playing the first card. Until next time." I hear the voices of the panicked attendant when Nirari crosses the portal. I also hear him sing my own bloody spell. "Bloody glaive and clenching jaws Thorny whip and closing maws Hear me out and close the gate Let the little one be late." For the second time in my life, I watch, powerless, the portal back home seal itself in front of me. Nirari used a calming spell which not only closed the portal but will also make it almost impossible to open one again from our end. Not until the spell fades. More importantly, he will not fail to notice the beacon of power formed by his mother''s ascension ritual, one that she began the second he entered the Dead World, as the two of us agreed upon. His parting words imply he knew of it before returning, in any case, which implies he made a contingency plan. Now, the first vampire can set his sights on godhood and the only person capable of standing in his path has been left behind like the complete idiot she is. We have a problem. Chapter 230 - 222: All In. There is no time to plan. I must absolutely get to the other side. Fortunately, the next portal should be fairly close and completely out of reach of the becalming spell. I estimate it will take ten minutes at top speed to reach it if it was indeed opened as planned. Before that, though, there are things I must do. "Skipper. The magic is going to fade again. Make sure all ships have landed before their batteries run out." "Aye aye, ma''am." A few seconds later, I land at the empty spot where the portal used to be and where ambulances now stop, their shocked drivers looking at the empty space where the lifeline of their patients used to be. General Stiglitz is already racing towards me with anger flushing his face. Around us, the battle has stopped. The slave warriors have collapsed in various states of horror while it appears that a regrettable amount of allied soldiers have simply been blinded by the detonation, even with buildings blocking most of the blast. Only now do I turn around to take in the results of the detonation. Where the city center had been hidden from sight, now fragments can be seen from sparse holes in the concentric layers of skyscrapers that form the Last City. The little I can spot from my position reveals hints of pyramids and toppled towers and fire, fire everywhere, a crimson glow that radiates like a second sun. A storm of ash dances around an expanding cloud so tall it dwarfs even the colossal buildings. The sight would steal my breath if I still had any. For all their corrupted ways, the inhabitants of the dead world built enduring structures so vast I could confuse them for geological features. I was wrong. The mushroom of superheated ash? Now that is the size of a geological feature. It appears our ability to destroy far outstrips their ability to build. I have a feeling this has been a constant for many years. Cadiz should be there, somewhere. Hopefully underground. By the Watcher, with the land becalmed, his emergency recall portal will not activate. I do not even have time to look for him. I think I killed him by bringing him here. I gaze at the inferno hidden behind the wall of damaged buildings. The crimson glow of the gigantic blaze bathes everything in red. It is so far, miles away, that the moans and cries of the slave warriors drowns it out. They abandon the field and start to walk back to the city as I watch, perhaps in the vain hope to stop the enfolding disaster. The surviving liches have abandoned them. Their world is collapsing. I doubt there is enough water in all of the city to make a difference. "Was this you?" Stiglitz screams, "was this your plan?" I consider Charming the anger away from him before I come to the realization that I do not care. "The bombs were my idea. Getting trapped was not." "You madwoman! This is insanity! Wait. Are we even safe here?" I am about to reply that yes, they are, but I remember the corpses strewn across the lab back in Sweden. "No. You need to pull back to Charlie Bravo point. It is the closest ¡ª" "Makeshift landing strip for emergency recovery. I know. I can read a map." I hiss softly but he stands his ground. "I would advise leaving everything behind except what you need for the trip. The Last City is done for." "Why did the dark god close the portal?" "Yes, I would like to know as well," Slava''s voice says behind me. Urchin has come as well with a smattering of vampires. I see the Fury maneuvering in close. I should have flown to them so they can carry me. Or perhaps not. Perhaps waiting a minute to clear things up will not make a great difference in the grand scheme of things. And perhaps the dragon will be faster. "The dark god is not truly a god, not yet. To do so, he needs to consume his mother," I explain. "That thing has a mother?" Stigitz asks. "Yes, he did not pop out of Hades'' thigh, fully armed. I made a deal with her. She will try to ascend to godhood herself, leave this planet and take him with her. Or at least disable him completely. Unfortunately, the ascension ritual is felt all across the planet. She started as soon as Nirari left with the hope that she would finish before he could return. Unfortunately, we have been too effective." "So now he is after her and she is on earth, defenseless?" "Not defenseless. I have left a squad of people I trust with her but her wards and schemes can only last so long while the guards themselves would merely be a speed bump. I suspect he has summoned his own forces as well. Chaos likely reigns on the earth side. I will fly there immediately to stop him." "We will discuss the use of an experimental weapon IN RANGE OF MY MEN after this is over but in the meanwhile, I will be coming with you." "Room is limited and I must take others with me," I reply. "Listen, woman. The portal closed and now the soldiers under my responsibility are in disarray, possibly attacked by forces unknown. You will take me with you so I can bring order to the allied forces before this degenerates into a second world war. I know what it is you deployed just as I know there are more earthside," he says. "Believe me. You want me to stop this as much as I do." Hmmmm. He is making a lot of sense. Chaos serves Nirari more than it does me. The dragon reappears from a wall of thorn. I have delayed enough. "Very well. Jump on. Slava and Urchin will come as well. Let us go." Stiglitz screams a few instructions at his subordinates, mostly to drop everything and retreat in good order. We have a lot of wounded so it will take some time. The blind will have to be led as well. He also orders them to recover the pilots of the fighters and dive bombers as they make emergency landings across the battlefield, something I had not considered. I sit on the neck, Slava takes position over the wings with Stigtiz safely nestled between us. Urchin is left clinging to the tail. We are airborne in short order, though fear still constricts my heart. I believe that every second counts. The dragon statue takes off. Its very flight bothers me because its wingspan should not possibly be enough to sustain its heavy weight. This affront to physics tickles the engineer in me though so, technically, does my body. Another part hopes that the Old One never learns I used his likeness as a cargo transport, or all is lost. No one speaks as we fly away from the battlefield and across the deserted plains. The tension is palpable. Even Slava''s nervousness pierces through his stoicism. "Are you alright?" I whisper. "Yes. I only hoped I had more time to prepare myself for this final confrontation." "I could not let others know¡­" "I understand, though I now wonder how Nirari learned of this little maneuver." I sigh. To be honest, I was a little foolish. "He has agents and allied vampires on the other side. One of them must have long range communication options, something I did not consider given the old vampires'' general aversion for technology. The plan worked insofar as Nirari was trapped by the terms of our agreement until the end of the battle. Unfortunately, his little trick at the end might undo whatever advantage I managed to glean." "How good are the wards?" "They were designed specifically to stop him so¡­ quite good. Still, with Semiramis busy, he will find a way to bypass them." "Where is the site?" "About twenty miles from the allied base." Slava hisses with disbelief. I have never heard him do so. "This is the place where the barrier between worlds is the thinnest and also where most of our loyal forces have gathered. Nirari knows how to access the warrens of the world. He has gained almost complete control over them. She could have started in Antarctica and he would have been there in half an hour. We would not." "I see." Suddenly, the world turns black and white. For the second time that day, I can see every bone in my body and for the second time, a kiss of heat leaves the taste of ash in my mouth. A shockwave hits us, sending my hair aflutter and forcing a swear word out of Stiglitz. I look back and see a second ball of fire engulf and devour the first one, most of the buildings still intact collapsing, shredded and abused. The Last City is a desolated wreck of its former self. In less than twenty-four hours since we arrived, a metropolis that had withstood the end of its world now breathes its last, gutted and charred beyond salvation. A second mushroom rises above what remains of the blackened skyline. "God almighty," Stiglitz whisper. We no longer speak after that. It takes seven minutes for the dragon statue to fly as fast as it can to the secret air strip. It lies hidden in a recess, portal mercifully open. Two damaged planes already wait on the tarmac, though I am using the term loosely. It is merely more than packed earth and a few camouflaged tents. Two anti aircraft guns open on us but they aim far too high and we are on the ground before they can truly do anything. The soldiers rushing out lower their weapons when they spot us. No one opposes me as I march resolutely through the portal and back on earth. I step out on green grass, rich, loamy air with the scent of golden wheat, the din of distant battle, and quite a few people. "You are here. Good," Aki says. Our newest Progenitor wields a blood-stained javelin over his armored shoulder. The black weapon glints in the light of nearby lanterns. I smell werewolf blood. My perception expands to cover our surroundings. We stand in the middle of a clearing with yet another airstrip built to be the continuity of the first one. Mages and soldiers rush around, carrying crates of ammunition and other supplies. It appears Nirari has already started. I spot Ollie standing by a table with human officers while Slava, Urchin and Stiglitz cross over. The leader of the Red Cabal looks majestic in his uniform. "What is happening?" I ask. "Your fire mage will explain better than I. I must return to the trenches." "The trenches?" I ask, but he is already leaving. Ollie looks up when we approach. "You are here, and earlier than I expected. Is it done?" Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. A flash of blinding light lights up the aperture behind us. The earth shakes on the other side of the portal while it remains stable here, a disturbing sight. All three bombs have detonated. I am not quite sure what to think but I am quite sure the war is over. There is such a thing as overkill. Unfortunately, the fact often only becomes obvious in retrospect. "It is thrice done. What is the situation here?" "That is a relief. Well, hard to say, Ariane. Total chaos since ten minutes ago. Suddenly, everyone started firing at everyone while a wave of feral werewolves attacked our position. I felt Nirari''s aura heading west towards that massive ritual. I assume this is bad news?" "The ritual must succeed. What of the rest of the Accords?" "When we lost contact with the base, they headed north towards the ritual site while Aki stayed behind to fight the werewolves. One of their masters reported that they had engaged Mask troops. I know little more. Ariane, everyone is moving in from everywhere. I heard reports that Amaretta squads deployed before everything went dark. They normally never fight. What is going on?" "Semiramis is trying to become a god. Nirari is trying to eat her. We are on Semiramis'' side. I made a contract with her." "I hope that contract is airtight." "I sent it to the Rosenthals for verification," I tell him, feeling no need to elaborate. No one can wiggle out of a Rosenthal contract. Ollie turns to watch a blazing airship crash nearby, a trail of fire marking it advance. Flames erupt in a line a few hundred yards away. "I need to move," I tell him. I can feel the monstrous pulse of Semiramis'' ritual needling me on. Nirari must be in this direction. At least she is still alive. I have no time to waste. Running is faster than flying here. I also need to consider mental fatigue. We have been fighting for over twelve hours now and even my mind needs rest. I hope I do not run into too many obstacles. "We will clear you a path," Ollie tells me, perhaps understanding my concerns. "Over here!" "I will stay here and find a radio," Stiglitz tells me before heading off to the nearest tent. The redhead races, Aki by his side. I follow him through a nearby copse of trees to find the trenches he had mentioned. In front of us, several lines of fortifications and machine gun nests host a hive of moving soldiers in French uniforms and Red Cabal fighters in crimson. An empty field extends to faraway woods, now filled with mortar craters and the corpses of ferals. I recognize Jeffrey in the first line with a group of American werewolves. He is already transformed. Nervous soldiers reload and prepare. I notice that the French soldiers wield IGL guns rather than their own. "Sharing my property with strangers?" I ask Ollie. "Their rifles can''t fire our silver bullets so we shared. Have you ever tried to use steel jacketed rounds on a mad werewolf?" "No, I do believe I ever have." "I guess you wouldn''t," he grumbled "Ah, here they come again." A massive werewolf appears at the edge of the forest, soon surrounded by a mass of ferals. "He has been testing us. Steady!" Ollie orders. The humans and mages abandon what they were doing to grab their weapons. "I could just kill it," I observe. "That will make the ferals berzerk according to Jeffrey. He wants to kill the leader himself. He has refused my help," Aki says with approval. "I will open the way for you after they charge." "You go ahead," Slava tells me. "Urchin and I will catch up." The enemy leader howls, a mournful sound closer to a dirge than a celebration of the hunt. The ferals do not seem to care and they rush in while he stays back. "Steady¡­ Now! Fire!" Under Ollie''s direction, the soldiers unleash a storm of silver. I notice that they attack everywhere except on a corridor that leads straight to the leader. "We hunt," Aki says. I follow him and Jeffrey as they charge the mass of attacking ferals. Jeffrey roars a challenge but the foe merely snarls, moving away. He intends to let us tire ourselves. Trees explode behind him. A long black arrow is lodged in the grass. The foe hesitates and that is all it takes for Jeffrey to roar again, and for battle to become inevitable. Aki skillfully carves a path for us with his spear. He throws it in front of him to skewer several foes before it shortly reappears in his hand. Our path leads us away from a large circle where Jeffrey and the foe duke it out while his men form a ring to cover his back. We are in the forest soon though I keep track of the duel for a while longer. "I will remain behind," Aki says by my side. "We will join you as soon as we are clear." "It might be too late," I reply bitterly. Aki chuckles, a low rumble that shakes his whole frame. I can count on the fingers of a single hand the times I have seen him smile so his display comes as a surprise. "You do not understand him as well as you should. It is his first hunt in many winters. He will make sure he enjoys it." "If you say so." "The moment matters, Ariane of the Nirari. You will understand." He nods then heads back. I accelerate, leaving the woods behind. I race across fields and bases, finding desolation everywhere. Even here, far away from the base, the signs of conflict are omnipresent. Deserted bunkers and slaughtered patrols alternate with running groups of men firing at everything that moves, and above that, the urgent call of the ritual. Squadrons fly aimlessly overhead. Chaos rules everywhere. I consider the distance and whistle for Metis though it will slow me down even more. The valiant lady gallops the moment she appears without sass this time. She must be feeling my tension. I can see it soon after, as I leave another patch of wood. Far in front of me, a lonely hill surges out of the surrounding flatland, its top dominated by a dome of shimmering golden light. The power it would take to fuel such a construct boggles the mind but I remember that Semiramis has some way to store power. She has been storing it for a long time, apparently. The protections are still in place and do not appear to shake or flicker. I wonder what Nirari is doing. Between the hill and I, a battle is raging. In contrast with the Dead World''s merciless struggle, this one is fast and moving, with groups constantly moving in and out before repositioning. I can spot a mass of warrior slaves and mercenaries arranged before the edge of the shield in a half-circle, the only constant in that ever-shifting contest. They appear to have engaged British soldiers as well as mercenaries I do not recognize. I do, however, recognize the hulking armors providing supporting fire. "Loth¡­" I should hurry. Metis surges forward even faster. Entire fields disappear behind us on our mad race ahead. For a moment, I believe I am clear until auras approaching from the front force me to slow down. There are many of them and I fear leaving them at my back. I recognize old foes and friends as they grow closer. A wall of fire appears in front of me, the flames reaching as high as the tallest tree in a sudden conflagration. The edge of the wall immediately shifts and turns into a ball that slams back into the one who cast it. I hear invectives in Akkad. A mere push of the Aurora kills the inferno, allowing Metis and I to pass through. On the other side, I find a familiar duo. The two women stand face to face on a field of ash. The same heart-shaped faces and rictus of rage animate them. Being on Metis'' back also makes their short stature even more obvious. I would say they are having a small disagreement if I were in the mood for barbs. "We''re not done you harridan!" Melusine hisses at her distant relative. Martha of the Lancaster frowns though she does not take the bait. Power gathers in her hands, forming two blindingly bright flashes. "You are aware this will achieve nothing?" I ask the war mage. "It does not matter." "I bet you are regretting promising Nirari help for a single battle now that the time has come." "You do not have to remind me, girl," she hisses. "Not that it matters. He is waiting for you atop his throne like an emperor of yore. You can hurry up to him as much as you like but you cannot win." I huff at the provocation, or at least start to until I see a cunning glint in her eyes. More telling, Melusine has not used the opportunity to spew vitriol. Martha does not enjoy her predicament and she is sneakily attempting to tell me something. Bertrand appears before I can decipher the meaning of her comment. "We stand and fight here," the Mask champion grumbles. He knows I can dispatch him in moments. "Though I suppose the duel would merely be symbolic," he continues with a flat voice. The delivery is so deadpan that I stop and frown, momentarily thrown off. I am missing some context here. Constantine appears soon after in his golem armor. He stands far above the others in that colossal suit of enchanted silver and steel. Chains ripple on its surface. A few stomps bring him to my side. More and more vampires arrive from both Mask and the Accords. Adrian, Wilhelm and Jarek take their spot by my side while Rafael stands by Bertrand''s side. A blind man could tell the Mask vampires are less than thrilled to be here. Unfortunately, they gave their word. "What my esteemed colleague is trying to tell you is that we are fighting a battle for the fate of the planet and since fate is involved, symbols matter quite a bit. You know the importance of a proper hunt. You must understand." And I do. This is a contest for domination. Two world views clash tonight and the winner takes all. Nirari stands for sovereignty without compromise. I stand for unity of purpose. He stands on a mountain of corpses while I walk at the head of the living. I remember that brief confrontation with the reanimated dragon, the way matter and physical events seemed less important than meaning and corresponding actions. Perhaps tonight will be decided by a single stroke of the blade but in order for there to be a chance, I need to act my part. I need to be the leader I claim to be so that others may carry my vision as well. I need to fight Nirari as an equal. Ollie and Aki understood it. That is why they insisted on opening a path. I am merely a little slow. "Ariane. It is time," Constantine declares with absolute conviction. All it takes is a step forward. I need to trust them. I need to trust myself. I spared a thought to those who lost their lives making sure the day would come, not just for me to stand a chance against my sire, but also to do so with my mind intact. Dalton. Nashoba. Mannfred. Thank you. It was all worth it just for this moment. "I am the Queen of Thorn and Hunger. Tonight, I challenge the first of us all for dominion over vampirekind. Warriors of the Accords, open a path for me." Auras explode on our side. Constantine''s power is exceptionally domineering, like chains on one''s shoulders. His golem armor''s fist lifts, showing serrated, engraved claws. They point at Bertrand who seems really eager to be somewhere else. "We have faced each other many times for power but this time, I face you for the future¡­ and I think I am going to enjoy this. CHARGE!" Magna Arqa explode all around as the Accords force falls on the reluctant Mask warriors. I push Metis who moves on at a smug canter while the vampire war rages all around us. Constantine grabs a lord in layers of Promethean chains before smashing another who had stepped on my path. The ground heaves with furious displays of power yet we never falter. After all, I am queen and queens stand above the melee. "We''ll catch up," a Roland lady yells at my back. And I believe her. I let my intuition take over, if only for now. There is no need to rush. He is waiting for me. Relaxing my grip on the Aurora, I make way towards Nirari''s main line of defense. I am a queen on her way to a contest, walking over a field of ice. All of the groups in the plain perceive my power and how could they not? They converge towards me. Among their numbers, one aura blazes like the north star and causes me no small amount of concern though I do not show it. It tastes¡­ ancient. And primal. Soon, a man stands in front of me with a retinue of elite warriors in old armor of chain and furs. The wild facial hair and stretched auras hint at their nature. Those are old and powerful Dvor lords. The first among them is a wide man with gray hair, a beard that reaches his belly, and a frown over a nose broken far too many times to keep its original shape. Disapproval radiates from him in waves. I am forced to stop which I fear may not be ideal until I remember that being opposed then let through will reinforce my image as queen. I merely need people to stand for me. In the meanwhile, I only need to stall. S§×arch* The N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. It should be easy. Dvor seems eager to speak. "It was mistake to make woman into warrior. It was mistake to invite her to sup on the black blood. Now she has become manlike, and her servants, who follow her into battle, will lose their way." A measure of shock fills me. He speaks Akkad, as I do, and yet the meaning behind his words and the way he articulates them feels old and alien to me. He talks like one reads an ancient tablet gnawed by time. He probably saw it engraved. I am talking to a vampire as they were near the beginning. Nirari evolved. He did not. Well, time for a taste of modernity. "Feel free to bring it up with Nirari since he decided to change me. I am sure he will value your advice." "Woman wields sharp tongue," he spits. "You are no Ishtar. You are but the smallest babe crying for a breast. We remember the scent of blood on the sand of Egypt. We will force you into the accursed ground until you grovel. Order will return to the city." "You''re a little out of date, you old fossil," a voice says from behind me. As before, people line by my side. The one who talked this time is of Dvor''s blood which incenses him. Viktoriya rests her trident on her armored shoulder and stands, defiant and cocky. More Dvor line up by her side, the young and the hungry. I am surprised to see Dominique, de facto leader of Mask and the Roland twins come as well as a contingent of loyalists. It seems our current struggle has split factions in two. Brotherhood members are next, then Amaretta warriors with their glaives, then a group I have never seen before wearing silver mail and crosses. Those are the Vitiazi, Slava''s supporters. The last group surprises me the most. "Do not think that makes us even," Laestra the Shade trainer says as the Knights join my side. Finally those scoundrels are fulfilling their promise eighty years after I told them to sod off. There is hope yet. Or not. I do not see Octave among their ranks and he is one of the only ones who can genuinely threaten me due to his equalizing Magna Arqa. No matter. My role is set. There is no path but forward. "I am the Queen of Thorn and Hunger. There are allies brought together by a common cause and then there are allies of circumstances, allies brought by a common enemy. It does not matter what sparked the fire in your heart. What matters is that you serve. Enemies of the first, open a path for me." "You overstep your role, little child," Dvor grumbles but he is vastly outnumbered and he is no Devourer. "You''re far from your ruins, old man, while everywhere I am at home. Magna Arqa!" Viktoriya says with an eager smirk. She is the first to lead the charge towards her Progenitor which I find quite courageous of her. Dvor''s honor guard is forced to peel off by a multitude of Magna Arqa while the ancient monster himself stands his ground, that is until the leader of the Vitiazi brandishes a cross in his face. Dvor is forced back and I move through, still on the back of Metis and still unbothered. I am very close now. I can almost see the last line of defense. Behind me, familiar cries clue me that the battles I left behind me have joined as a general melee. The battle is reaching a paroxysm. I also realize that if I had to battle through all of this, I would have reached Nirari exhausted. I can finally see him, far away at the foot of the hill, his back to the golden shield. He is looking at me. *** The bunker was dark despite the pale glow of electric lights. The three men inside stood nervously across a table. Confused reports came every minute from different sources but all agreed that the portal to the dead world had closed and that slave warriors fought on the plains. Despite the late hour, summer heat never left them. They sweated under tight uniforms that clung to them. They glare at each other and the map. They had discussed this before but now that action was required, no one dared take the lead. Worse, the situation was simply too chaotic. Some said that the main base had been attacked and others that the Last City was razed to the ground. Uncertainty weighed on their shoulders. They knew the decision they had to take might lead to the pantheon of heroes or to a place in Hades'' collections. They knew that no matter what, it would end in history books. The fate of the planet hung in the balance. "Gentleman, we will not get a better chance," the central figure finally said. "May God forgive us for what we are about to do," the left man said, always eager to follow the first. The third man hesitated. He had always been the voice of reason. Now though, he realized the first man was right. The vampires had all gathered in one spot. This blight upon mankind could not be rooted out without a full commitment of the population, one the heathens would never tolerate, yet in their arrogance they had all gathered in one spot. It was as if a cancer had retracted its insidious tendrils and gathered in a single, easily operable spot. Healthy tissue would have to be excised as well, they realized. Hundreds of thousands of patriots defending their land would fall when they pressed the button but it would neutralize the aristocracy of the night and break them for millennia. Perhaps even forever. All the intelligence sources agreed that their strongest members were all in attendance. The first man was right. They would never get a better chance. Mankind would never get a better chance. "I will do it," he finally agreed. The three made their way to the radio station in solemn silence. The sentries on duty paled when they spotted the three together. Those brave men knew what it entailed. Many began to pray. Jaws locked in the radio room. The central man approached a long device and inserted a key in consternated silence, soon followed by the three others until a complex machine was revealed. He pushed a dial and a number appeared on a slim sheet of paper. The central man approached the nearest radio then took the microphone. Besides him, an operator had already selected the right frequency with trembling fingers. "Eiger this is central three, please confirm your current position and heading, over." "This is Eiger, we are circling over Home One at seventeen thousand feet, over." "Eiger, prepare to receive the code." The central man read twelve numbers in a slow, deliberate voice, then he repeated them to complete the protocol. He soon received acknowledgement. The central man took a deep breath. This was it. "Eiger, you are clear to drop the package. I repeat¡ª" Gloved, delicate fingers stole the microphone from his rigid fingers with disconcerting ease. He felt like a child whose prized toy was snatched by his mother. Shock froze him in his tracks. "Picard, is that you darling?" a female voice asked. Said voice belonged to a beautiful woman with mesmerizing gray eyes under black locks. She smiled in a sinister fashion. He had no idea where she could have come from. It was as if she had appeared from thin air. "This¡­ yes? Who is it? What is going on?" "It was the best of times. It was the worst of times." The three men beheld a fit body clad in a positively scandalous black bodysuit, but they were soon fixated on black gun she held in her left hand, barrel ending in a thick cylinder. "Lady Constance? What can I do for you?" the bomber pilot finally said. The three men gasped but they were alone. All around them, the operators and sentries looked ahead in bovine dazzlement. A song like a distant hum teased their ears though they could not quite hear it. There was something about the woman''s eyes. Something cold. So very cold. "Belay that order Picard. Come home." "Understood, Lady Constance." The three men could only watch in horror as the stranger returned the microphone to the operator. She never broke eye contact. "Who are you?" the central man finely demanded. "Oh. I am insurance. Farewell." The stranger lady raised her gun and, calmly, shot them each in the head. Chapter 231 - 223. Conquest, Incarnate It was a beautiful thing, to witness the birth of a god. Semiramis hovered over a circle of incomprehensible proportions. No matter how many times Jimena tried to wrap her head around it, the scene before her always seemed to shimmer and fade, replaced by another ephemeral burst of radiance that should not have been here. It was as if dimensions and perspectives were an annoyance the spell struggled against. It pushed the boundaries one by one before retracting, gathering strength for another attempt. Aura so powerful it pushed against her, shook the weave and gave the air the subtle taste of ash. It did little to attenuate the breathtaking display. Those were arcane diabluras she wanted nothing to do with. She was more than happy to leave those to her sister and keep to her blade, thank you very much. Her thoughts went to Aintza, outside and hopefully safe in the Red Cabal camp. She would have enjoyed the lights. Her mind was wandering. Semiramis had picked an isolated spot deep in the warrens of the world. She had sealed all access except for one, a cave in a lone mountain over the plains east of Warsaw, where the world was thin and fragile. She had woven her cocoon of wards and traps, then Ari had sent Jimena and a few others to act as a last line of defense. The defenses were specifically meant to evoke the sun and they were specifically aimed at a single person. That old monster now sat outside, far above and beyond. He was held off for now, but Jimena could still feel a distant gaze over her shoulder. Cadiz had trained her and there was no one more guilty on this planet than Nirari, save perhaps his mother. Nevertheless, she kept her peace. One thing Cadiz had taught her was to avoid fights she could not hope to prevail if she could help it. Footsteps echoed in the tunnel in front of her. There were no decorations in the empty cave. Not even lights. The magic was enough to let even a mole see. For all the labyrinths the old witch had prepared, her defenses would not have been enough. The footsteps were deliberate too. He wanted them to know he was coming. Jimena stepped in front of the tunnel entrance with her blade a comfortable weight in her hand. Diego took her left. He was a spear-wielding lord trained by Cadiz as well. John took her right in an armor so heavy every step shook the earth. They were some of the best defensive fighters of vampirekind. Malakim stepped out of the shadows. Despite the cruel man''s smirk, it was clear that the wards were weakening him, taking their toll with the pressure of the sun itself. Yellow light shone on his naked arms and Jimena could swear she could see the skin peel and turn to ash in some places. It would not be enough but it would be a start. Behind her, the ritual gained in intensity. Semiramis was defenseless, her entire attention dedicated to the complex spell as it bloomed into being. Almost there. An hour at most. Malakim would not give them an hour. "Well well well and here I thought this Hunt would end with a boring execution. It would have been rather anticlimactic. Instead, I get to bleed my sister''s sister. Do you have any gift or recognizable trinket I could give her to prove I painfully killed you?" "Ariane warned me you loved the sound of your own voice. By the way, is it not a little hot in here? You seem uncomfortable." "I''ll peel your skin off and use it as an umbrella." "Ever in a rush to see your end. You should enjoy the heat, damned one. It will give you a taste of your afterlife." Malakim hissed. Jimena saw no hint of a doubt on the cursed Devourer''s face, not a shred of consideration for his opponent. He was absolutely certain of his victory. Jimena would enjoy wiping that smirk off his face. "I guess I will just have to sift through the ash to find a proof of death. It would not be the first time." Jimena scoffed. Malakim drew. Diego and John took her side. Malakim rushed forward like a tornado. His powerful thrust whistled through the air on its way to her heart, Jimena grunted and struck up with all her might. The blow was barely deflected but it pinged against a timely raised shield. John was slow but he was quite strong and really good at following directions. Her counter was parried and she was forced to move back, just as practiced. Diego''s spear appeared besides Malakim, blindsiding him yet he still managed to veer away. Another furious assault began. Jimena deflected some of the vicious strikes, attacking unexpectedly while leaving her heart open to Malakim''s obvious surprise but there was always a shield on the way. He aimed for her head but a spear tip grazed his face, almost taking the eye. It was clear Malakim was unused to being contested, especially by people he believed to be his inferiors. A sideway sweep clanged against all three defenses and left him wide open. None of the defenders took the bait. Jimena saw a vicious eye glaring at her over the extended shoulder and knew it was a trap just as her window closed. Malakim took a few steps back, still sneering. "Not very adventurous, are we?" "I was told by a little bird that you had quite the armor. I wouldn''t want to waste any strength on that nice little shirt of yours." "My sister talks too much!" Malakim resumed his reckless offensive, or so it seemed, but Jimena saw it for what it was. Malakim''s entire style revolved around his disregard for pain and the knowledge that the chestplate would protect him against any attack. What seemed like wide openings were all feints he wanted them to fall for. His ceaseless offense teased out the beast in her. Her dark aspect wanted to rise to the challenge, to punish him. The fencer in her ground her teeth at the flawed style. Malakim was a living invitation to make mistakes. Thankfully, she was prepared and so were the others. Diego only aimed for the head. John only defended her, covering a side at all times. Malakim realized it and suddenly veered to her left to strike at the vulnerable Natalis master. At the same moment, the entire formation pivoted. Jimena lunged and caught the Devourer in the arm while Diego managed to score a gash on his leg. Makalim''s blade still smashed against the shield, pushing John''s titanic form back. To his surprise, the shield held. When he pulled back, there was not even a hint of damage on the monumental slab of enchanted metal. There was also not a hint of emotion in the twin brown eyes peering through the closed visor. Not even fear. The three repositioned, not pressing the assault even though Malakim was wounded. They knew he would only use it to his advantage. Malakim was twisted and resourceful. He thrived off chaos. They would deny him that chaos. "You are the best-looking cockroaches I have ever beheld." "We have time on our side. You? Not so much." "What sort of predators hide behind shields! You are worse than janissaries!" "The patient kind," Jimena replied with well-deserved smugness. They exchanged another few blows. Her triad moved fluidly, just like in training. "Why? HOW?" Malkim spat as his efforts failed once again. Jimena weighed her options, then decided that making him angrier and prone to mistakes would serve them better. "Ariane has fought you several times. She and Cadiz specifically trained us¡­ against you." "She¡­ knew?" "Nirari cannot get in but she expected he might have the power to let people through. And you are his right hand man, the only tool he trusts." "He trusts no one." "He trusts his power over others. The end result is the same. We are ready for you, Malakim. You cannot defeat us¡­ not that you can stop trying." Malakim screamed incoherently and the assault redoubled. *** The first vampire did not move, which meant that there were more hurdles yet. I could feel the next one rushing in. Metis stopped, feeling his approach. Octave walks in with grief plain on his handsome features. His knight armor is the most elaborate I have ever seen. He blocks my path. In a way, I feel sorry for him. When I followed Jimena into reclaiming my freedom from an order that betrayed me, I was fully aware that I was dealing with the most corrupt elements within their ranks. Octave has always been a believer and his path has always been that of the blade. People like him, those who pursue a goal with singular focus, often fail at seeing the flaws and risks within those who help them along. I can lay the blame for his neglect at his own feet but I can never accuse him of dishonesty. I will also never forget the passion he displayed when training me to the best of his abilities before I turned the sword he helped me forge and metaphorically plunged it into his breast. It would make a confrontation unpleasant if I ever intended to fight him. "You broke us, you know?" he softly accuses. Ah, he feels like monologuing. Well, time should be on my side, after all. "After you left, our star dimmed. We could not retaliate against you while your lover escaped punishment by virtue of being a soul smith. It showed us as weak. At the same time, reports of your confrontation in Warsaw spread throughout the Old World thanks to the Dvor witnesses you failed to chase away. It showed us as corrupt and divided. I cannot tell which was worse. We lost our image as impartial arbiters that day. Now, they only call upon us for rogues and petty disputes." "It is as you say, Octave. The events showed you as weak, corrupt, divided. I merely revealed the rot that was already there when it almost caused my death, or have you forgotten that?" This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. "You could have come to me. You know I would have done right by you." "I know. I know you have integrity¡­ just as I knew I could not trust those around you, and more importantly, neither could Jimena." "You two destroyed my life''s work. I¡­ understand you. I just¡­ cannot let it go. After almost a century, I still wake up every twilight bearing the loss of my dream." "I do not blame you either, Octave. You did your best." "Then you understand what I must do. You have acquired a lot of enemies, not just allies, in this short time you spent treading the world. I am merely the one who can stop you." "And as usual, you are forgetting that dreams are carried by people¡­ and so are grudges. I am not the only one with unfinished business." More steps from the side. A large man in a flowing armor of wood and stone stops in front of me with pale hair freely falling down his back. "Hello, my star. Hello, Octave. I believe we disengaged last time without a firm winner?" "You are a fool, young smith. We are not on your land." "Oh, I know that," Torran replied. "But just as your Magna Arqa gives you the raw power to match your opponent, it also means that it makes no difference when you are evenly matched. And there is a little something you have not accounted for." The armor flows, covering his face as if the wood is alive. Which it absolutely is. "This is the fae armor my little star brought back for me to play with. I believe I have turned it into something quite impressive. Now shall we? Ariane. Give the word. Continue the ritual." "I am the Queen of Thorn and Hunger, but there are some who will follow Ariane, crown or not. Torran my love, please clear the path for me." "Let''s take this to the side," Torran orders, and Octave feels compelled into accepting. It would not do for a vaunted duelist to refuse a duel. They leave and I am once again on the move. The last hurdle before me is paradoxically the weakest, the one I could probably clear simply by walking. Fortifications typical of this region of the world where danger could come from any corner hide very different groups. Nirari''s slave warriors occupy trenches in front of me, their inferior weapons brandished yet unused. They are perfectly silent and grouped in a way that hints at discipline if not at superior training. They number in the thousands, their lines disappearing behind a hill far to my left. Their flank is covered by an assembled mass of Germans harried by furious officers who needle them to bring the fight to another contingent of European soldiers, those ones directly to my right and wearing the colors of a British highland regiment. It is clear at first sight that the highlanders had to turn their entire formation very quickly to face the new threat, yet they still enjoy a massive superiority in the presence of Dvergur shock troops in elaborate steam armor. I recognize Loth''s own making its way towards me. The earth soldiers on both sides take half-hearted potshots at the other, clearly not too happy about the situation. The expanse of grass between them remains empty, however. It is one thing to recognize an unmotivated foe and quite another to test them. I need to find a way to break the status quo. Suddenly, the radios that had been silent until now blare a message in English of all things. I recognize Stiglitz'' voice. The British soldiers stop firing at the sky. At the same time, the same voice is transmitted to the German side. A pre-recorded message, perhaps. "This is General Stiglitz addressing all the defenders of mankind. Listen well, men, because this is the most important order you will receive in your lives. Perhaps you have heard the rumor and I will confirm it. We have destroyed the Last City, razed it to the ground. We have broken the liches. Our purpose is achieved but we have not won, not yet. One last push of mercenaries and monsters aims to take control over us. They seek to exploit the chaos to fulfill their nefarious needs at the moment of our unity. The seeds of distrust were sowed and now they seek to harvest us. I say no. I say, we show them that no matter what face they wear, those who seek to break us shall fail. I say forget your flags and your uniforms until dawn shines upon us once more. Stand shoulder to shoulder against the darkness with warriors of every nation. Find the golden light and defend it, champions of humanity because the field must be ours no matter the cost. Stand up and FIGHT!" One of the German officers rushes forward over the trenches, vociferating in vain. A gray-beared sergeant stands and punches him in the face. Like one man, the entire German line turns on their compromised officers. The punishment is swift. Well, it seems my solution is all found then. Nirari''s slave warriors barely have time to reform when the onslaught of steel takes them in the flank at point blank range. English soldiers rise from their trenches with fixed bayonets to join the fray across the devastated plain. Dvergur armor suits walk forward to support them. The wave of soldiers overwhelms the first line of defenses in seconds but Nirari''s warriors are disciplined and they do not fear death. They regroup in order then the battle in the trenches grows fierce. Nevertheless, humans have swept away the last obstacle. "Right. I''ll leave ye to it then. And keep those basterds off yer arse. Ariane?" "Yes." "Give him hell." "You have my word." The king charges off then while I dismount from Metis to ascend the steps towards the throne. Each of my steps leaves behind ribbons of frost expanding like flakes. My sire watches me climb with a satisfied smile. He stands just as I reach the pedestal. We face off then. He, taller in his armor of obsidian, me in the Aurora shining with the colors of winter. He slowly reaches behind him to bring forth a black-plumed helmet which he slowly places over his head. A crown as dark as the void mirrors the cobalt dragon horns decorating the sides of my visor. sea??h th§× n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. It is time. I feel one last pang of regret for all those who brought me here without seeing it to the end. I will make them all proud. Their sacrifices will not be in vain. "I, Ariane of the Nirari, Queen of Thorn and Hunger challenge you," I start, "For dominion over our kind and this world." Nirari smiles and for once, it is not condescending. "Yes, you finally claimed that crown. I had stopped hoping, yet here we are at the end of the world, Devourer to Devourer, competing for dominance, as is right. As I chose on that fateful night, an eternity ago." He sighs, eyes dreamy. "Tonight would not have been proper without a last confrontation yet for the longest of times, I could not think of one person who could unite a powerful enough force and then stand more than a moment against me. I did not found the first house to create a lasting legacy like the others did as they clung to their humanity. I founded the first house to be the legacy. Who needs children when one can live forever? And yet, here you are. A proper heir. Very well, little princess. I, Nirari, the first of our kind, accept your challenge. I am Conquest incarnate. Stand against me, if you can." I somehow feel as if I were watching myself from afar as I call for Rose, mirroring Nirair who summons his glaive. We salute to a background of screams, gunshots, and explosions. The Watcher opens his eye to reality. A great breath goes over the battlefield as even the mundane combatants feel the weight of its alien attention but the battle soon resumes. We are observed in this defining moment. This is it. The fight I have been dreading for over a century since I saw Nirari casually plunge his hand into a lord''s chest. The time has come. I have done everything I could to have a chance and now, I can seize it. I discard all my concerns and the lingering fear of his power. They will not help me here. The die is cast. We charge each other. For the first time since the dragon, I pour all my power and mobilize all my strength in this fight. I push myself to the limit. The world around me slows down until the humans are barely moving at all. Mortar explosions are but flowers of fire and steel blooming leisurely in the background. Spells dance across the air while other vampires are graceful dancers fleeting across the land. By the Watcher, I can see bullets. I could stop them. I dive under a horizontal slash and lunge at the same time. Nirari turns on himself to let Rose''s tip glance off his armor. He finishes his rotation with another slash. Cannot dodge, but can block. I deflect. The two soul weapons rake against each other with a grinding sound. He pushes me back with the shaft. I let him and counter. Strong. Fast. There are symbols on the black plates of his own armor. Not used yet. I attack again. Nirari uses his reach advantage to strike at me but Rose extending means that I can surprise him. A parry turns into an attack on his gauntlets, which he respects by twisting the ghastly glaive. Close in. Rose is now a sword and I have the advantage. A flurry of blows is hastily blocked then he moves away. He is the most physically powerful enemy I have crossed blades with yet I am faster. I am used to that. Cadiz taught me how to fight with speed. I follow him. We weave across the battlefield in a flurry of quick exchanges. Earth shatters and lifts in great rocks across our path but we are gone before it can even reach human height. Soldiers die between us without ever realizing they were in danger. We dance across the cones of machine gun fires. We hop over exploding ordinance. We swat shrapnel aside mid explosion. It is a contest like no others. The king of all hunts. I have never felt so alive. It is¡­ fantastic. A fast exchange and we end up splitting. I see an opening. I take it. "Heartseeker." "Salvo." Our spells meet, strand for strand, and explode in a cataclysmic shock that sends dust sky high. I use flying debris as stepping stones. I am airborne, though not for long. A thrust. Nirari blocks but he is forced back by the power of the blow. He does not quite fight like what Cadiz showed me. Too graceful and conservative. We fight at maximum range, whip against glaive. Each blow deflected carves through the land. We leave scars behind. We reach a pack of vampires and move around them as they fight their own duels. I manage to redirect a soul spear to where Nirari will be, forcing him back once more. I close in and Nirari shoulder checks me. My intuition screams but it feels confused. Of course, it is confused. He probably ate quite a few seers. It matters not. I know I have to act so I roll with the blow and claw at his helmet. The talons rake the side, leaving gashes in the obsidian. The shriek is atrocious. I bounce and strike at the same time, forcing him to pull back a punch. He is too physically imposing, have to be careful not to get grabbed too easily. He comes at me again. I dodge behind a flying boulder then hit it. Heartseeker carves through it. "Promethean." And right into a faceful of chains. They surround him on all sides. He drops his glaive. What? Nirari''s form shivers, then he appears a few feet away. Oh, of course I knew he could do that. Still¡­ Troublesome. My turn to be defensive. Nirari likes to alternate quick jabs followed by sweeping, powerful swings. He is so damn STRONG. I peel off. I have to use Rose as a sword because the whip gets slapped aside. Nirari grabs an entire tank and slams it into my face. He dares? Using technology against me? Grab the gun as it falls. Complete circle. Slam him back. Hear the pureed pilots. Groan of steel and parts screeching. Close in and stab him. STAB HIM. Faster now, as fast as we can. We know each other well. We have grown used to our styles. The space grows more narrow, the attacks more precise. He tries to smash me away.. Block with the grinding part of Rose and block the blade with my elbow. Grab it. I kick up and catch his fist as it descends on my face. An opening. "Promethean." The chains touch him, latch on the armor. Red runes shine and disrupt the spells structure but those were designed by Constantine and they are sturdy. They pile on. I close in for the kill. Any time now. Any time. He joins his hands and teleports away. I turn and draw the dragonslayer revolver as he reappears. The gun roars. The bullet crashes against the left side of his helmet. Obsidian explodes. The fragments destroy a machine gun nest. A ricochet obliterates a small hill on its way out. Nirari stumbles. I see flesh. I charge. "Charioteer," Nirari bellows. "Shred." He catches my spell on an armguard. I am sent flying by a wave of pure force. The earth is peeled around me, revealing sheer rock. Can''t see him but I still feel him. Need to hunt him. Cannot let the pressure go. His blade shears through soil to find the first mirage I have used in ages. His blade disappears into the illusion. I see his eyes widen. He is out of balance. He still leans against my blow. His chest armor shrieks under Rose''s ravenous edge. He uses the power of the blow to turn. We both slice at the same time. I catch him in the jaw where the helmet has broken. He hits Aurora on the chest. Specks of eternal ice fly off. We are pushed away from each other. Now, we stand apart at the same distance we began. I move my shoulder as if stretching. I felt that blow to my bones but I appear to be intact. The gash in the Aurora''s flank is already closing with every pulse of the winter''s gem embedded on my chest. Time takes its hold back on us. We appear in the midst of a particularly violent confrontation between Cadiz squads and crumbling Mask loyalists. The duels stop once we appear while the fighters step back at a respectful distance, eyes lowered despite their own powers. None try to take advantage of the situation. Around us, hills fall apart, men are tossed like sticks of wood in a storm. Showers of gravel and minced flesh fall like rain to mark our passage. Screams of horror ring where we have carved rocks, weapons and people in our attempt to murder each other. For a moment, the battlefield holds its breath as every pair of eyes in range from the most humble private to the mightiest lord search to find exactly how close they are to the cataclysm that can devour them before they realize it. An expanding circle of emptiness spreads when they find exactly how close they are to us. Debris are still falling when my opponent finally moves. Nirari slowly places his fingers against his wounded cheek, then watches the black liquid smudge with unbridled fascination. His face splits into the most beatific, the most unadulterated expression of felicity I never expected to see. I watch with shock as thick tears drip down his eyes. A deep, rumbling laugh shakes his massive frame. It rises to ecstatic, then almost hysterical intensity. The part of me that wants to attack while his guard is down remains powerless in front of the fascinated horror that fills me. What¡­ is happening? Do my eyes deceive me? Have I gone mad, or as he? Nirari is capable of feeling happiness? Satisfaction? What strange sorcery is this? "Finally! Finally¡­. hahahaha it has been TWO. THOUSAND. YEARS since some last made me bleed. Do you understand? Do you understand at all? Of course, you cannot. You cannot conceive the dull, lingering pain of a world without a challenge where the only person who opposes me does so by running and hiding. I have been waiting for so long¡­ for so damn long¡­ I had stopped hoping¡­ and finally. Finally, I have it back. By my own blood, no less. After two thousand years¡­ someone can stand up to me. Someone can cross blades and live for more than a moment. Someone is a danger. Someone makes me care. Thank you. Thank you so much, little princess. You gave me back my reason to live. And now." Power explodes from his frame. Even the grass at his step dries up, taking on a red tinge. The purple gaze of the Watcher now covers the cloud, the hills. We are at the center of its attention. "Now DIE!" Ah. Yes. Now that is what I expected. Nirari bull rushes me. Now, his style is angry, overwhelming. Each swing or thrust is backed by his whole body. I am forced to block rather than deflect once and am sent crashing through several trees. Even the Aurora will not suffice. That is fine. That is completely fine. That is the style I trained to face. The one that closely resembles my own. I use entomb to disappear under a sweeping strike then stab up through the earth. Got him. Chipped the armor. He stomps and pushes me up in the air. I taste blood when he punches me in the chest, even through the armor. Would have caved my entire chest in. We are fighting again before the soil even completes its ascent. Quick strikes, fast strikes. I close in the distance just to break his rhythm. I allow glancing blows on my armor just so I can retaliate. Mirages confuse him a few more times though it is a close thing. Exhilarating. I cannot stop, cannot break away. I have to overwhelm him. Add more dents to his obsidian defenses because they will not regrow. The Aurora heals every attack. Time is on my side. We dance faster and faster. I kneel and stop an overhead strike. He smirks and presses down but a mortar round lands at his feet. He loses his footing. We have moved before dust reaches our knees. We race around Dvor lords locked in fratricidal combat. He pushes me into Martha''s fire. "Polar midnight." I swing with my feet firmly planted while he sprints on the tip of his toes, flinging him against Constantine''s hell of chains. He bounces and teleports again. Another predicted path. Another bullet of the dragonslayer, this one against his chest. He is pushed back, then surges back with a deafening roar. He is enjoying every moment of this. So am I. We lock blades. I am pushed down and away. We cast shred at the same time. The resulting explosion levels a hill. We are blasted away once again and find ourselves standing aside from each other. Nirari breathes, armor damaged. He is still smiling. "Yes¡­ Yes. This is perfect. I deserve it. I deserve it. I deserve to do it. Just once. It is only fair." His aura jumps and then explodes. I am forced to stay where I am or risk being undone. Crosses burn blue hundreds of yards from us, so intense the release is. "I deserve to be free." Our eyes meet. His are purple and slitted. "Magna Arqa." Chapter 232 - 224. Three Parts Ascension Light. Pain. I am pushed back. Not the sun. Too red and angry, like blood on warm sand. Too dim¡­ for now. I still live. Nirari rises in the air, laughing, arms spread in the beatitude of pure abandon. An incandescent red sphere has appeared on his back like a giant halo, the regalia of an ancient sky god. He is so joyful and relaxed. Gravity has lost its hold on him. He rises and his light spreads everywhere, ghastly yet so very powerful. His presence casts shadows on fallen trees, splintered rocks, and the wrecks of the conflict. The closest masters die before I can react. Far in the valley, a bird sings to greet the defective sunrise. It is the only noise to break the oppressive, numbing silence and pressure of his presence. No one challenges his ascent and no one strikes him. I cannot even consider doing it. He is a sun, bathing us with his merciless radiance to reveal our flaws and the inherent weakness of our nature. I can already taste ash at the back of my throat. The last dawn of Babylon is upon us. "Magna Arqa." A forest of thorns covers my allies before more can die, cover me as well. The light hurts me through the Aurora. It can stop fire but this is different. Nirari is our anathema and our hope at the same time, the hope that one day we can escape the vengeance of the sun purifier. I cannot face the light. No, I must. He cannot go uncontested. Roots cover us, cover me. I am out of the rays. Immediately, the awe and despair leave me, pushed back by my own outraged ego. Wow. He certainly has some gall presenting himself as a savior. My forest shivers now that the men inside have started to recover. I extend my protection to enemies as well, if only because it costs me no effort to offer a unified defense. The battle has stopped anyway. With my own power extended, I realize we were winning quite handily, not that numbers will make any difference now. Nirari steps on thin air towards me. The nearest roots recoil from the damage his very presence inflicts. Cadiz did warn me that merely looking upon him would be difficult but I never expected this crushing might. I cannot even stand in front of him without losing my focus. Was the blood of the Old One truly not enough to bridge the abyss between us? My only salvation will be in the ace I brought. If only I had not left it behind¡­ "Skipper, talk to me," I whisper in my earring. "This is Ollie, I''m acting as relay. The Fury is diving into the portal now. ETA one minute." Well, I need to hold on for a minute. "WHO WILL OPPOSE THE KING? WHO WILL OPPOSE THE SON OF BABYLON?" I have to do it. I have to stand up to him, now, or he will be unopposed. He cannot have the field. If he does, then all is lost. The ritual is gaining in intensity, I can tell. We only need to contain him for a little longer. He is going to kill me. He is going to kill me. With the bloody SUN at his back. THE SUN. THE SUN. THE¡ª Quiet, my instincts. This is a ploy. "I will," I whisper, and yet, the words carry. Nirari merely laughs. "WHERE ARE YOU STANDING? I CANNOT SEE YOU." A mass crashes into the forest and only the strange effect I have on space allows me to be somewhere else as it lands. Roots are crushed, tendrils are burned. Shattered thorns return to dust. The first vampire only has to walk and all but my stoutest roots can''t even resist his presence. I try to bat at him a few times. He slaps the roots away. I call upon statues but they are instantly destroyed without accomplishing anything. I have to get out and¡ª "I will as well." I freeze in my tracks while Nirari turns with ponderous majesty. I feel the forest shift in answer to one I am protecting. Roots peel off to reveal the glittering form of Constantine''s golem. "Hahaha, and what do you have to show me, Pyrenean child?" A wave of power expands outward with the challenge. I can feel Constantine falter in my sphere, see the rictus of terror on his traits. I¡­ I need time that he can buy. I must help him. A twitch of the roots wakes him up from his fright. Nirari waits, expectant. He is so certain of his victory. "Well¡­ Point fifty caliber?" I distinctly see Nirari''s surprise turn to shock then annoyance when Constantine lifts his extremely hefty machine gun, which he proceeds to empty on his target. The first vampire raises a massive shield of blood to stop the onslaught and it works¡­ to a degree. Nirari might be a pagan god but every bullet spat at him was carefully carved by a master enchanter and there are a lot of them. I can see when arrogance turns to doubt, then focus. "Oh, and napalm as well." The armor golem''s second arm sputters, then spits a thick liquid. I can feel the heat from here, hundreds of yards away. Nirari''s shield expands, bubbles and hisses, poorly matched blood struggling to keep the fire at bay. Nevertheless, he is not without recourse. I close roots over Constantine the moment I expect Nirari to move. His thrown glaive pierces through my strongest defense and reaches the cockpit¡­ only to ping off Constantine''s own monstrous defenses. Chains whip out to join the double assault. Nirari huffs and teleports to the side, his glaive returned. "Insolence!" The fire he left behind suddenly roars then rushes at him to our surprise. "I will stand as well," Melusine whispers as she steps from the edge of the forest in her fire form. That harridan upstages me at my own final battle! Unbelievable. "Insolence, insolence. You are NOTHING!" Nirari gestures and a torrent of blood washes over the flame in a tidal wave, drowning them with a cacophonous hiss. He chuckles and gestures. "Heartseeker." A field of crimson blades erupts in every direction, slamming into my forest with devastating effect. I attempt to shield the two and fail. Constantine''s golem loses the flamethrower arm. Melusine loses a leg. They are forced back. "You are all children confronting their father, incapable of understanding the difference between us. You are gnats. I have walked this world for millennia! Each victory has made me stronger! Every kill has fed the sun at my back, and soon, the spheres will feed it until I am one with it, resplendent, the uncontested master of all creation. You cannot stop me any more than you can stop fate itself. I have allowed you to test your skills and I find you lacking. Now bow, or¡ª" Nirari flinches and moves his hand. I do not¡ª A loud bang spreads a shockwave that flattens the nearest tendrils. Nirari is pushed back, his feet digging a furrow in the ground. When he stops moving, we are boh surprised to see an arrow planted through his forearm, the obsidian vambrace shattered. I recognize that one. It belongs to Slava. "You DARE, child?" Something shifts. We have all resisted him little by little and the effects of our wakening auras are compounding to force his own back. Oh, I am still afraid as are the others but now we can at least function. The time was granted by Nirari himself. He could not resist gloating after all. The Myrddin is next to act. He activates a scepter with an amber stone at its tip. THE SUN. This time, true light hits a blood shield and pierces through it almost immediately. Nirari is forced to move and I use a tendril to guide the mage''s aim since he cannot follow by himself. I sadly fail but Nirari is forced to sacrifice many precious seconds. I close the roots around my ally just before Nirari strikes him and he is now somewhere else. "I find your existence frustrating, little princess. If you will not come out, I will find you¡­ and kill you first." There was never a doubt in my mind that he would execute me. Others may be useful tools, I have grown too much to tolerate. Fortunately, the distraction has lasted long enough. I hear the Fury''s engines roaring overhead. "Package away," a voice says in my ear piece. I perceive the Fury roaring at the edge of my spheres, all engines at maximum. A heavy silver box slams down at some distance without Nirari noticing or caring. "Come on out! Face me!" "Just one moment," I reply. With one step, the box appears next to me while Nirari destroys an entire copse with a swing of his glaive. I may have lost people here. I find focusing on both tasks a little difficult. The box surrenders its content and I attach a second layer over the Aurora. Piece by piece, the armor lodges itself over the powerful set. I feel a pang of outrage and ignore it. "I am already getting sass from my horse, not my armor set too. Please and thank you." Hoarfrost spreads as spider webs on the new addition. Pah. Temperamental garments, the bane of all ladies of the world. With a last strap, I am ready. "I apologize for the delay," I pleasantly say as I exit the forest, just as Nirari faces me with renewed disbelief. "A¡­ mirror? You prepared a mirror armor?" "Refurbished, to be precise. And yes. Now, where were we?" I barely feel the pressure of his sun. My eyes are of no use under the thick faceplate and that is fine. I can feel Nirari in my sphere. "We are at the point of me making an example out of you!" I swing Rose. I feel¡­ better. Back to being myself. I deflect the first blow and am still sent like a puppet against the nearest tree. So¡­ so very strong. I deflect the next one by cutting upward with my extended whip. It feels like hitting a wall, the kind I cannot break. Such stupid strength! The false sun at his back bubbles and in the recess of that disk, I perceive the emerging forms of screaming faces before they are subsumed under the surface once more. He is powered by death and there has been a lot of it. A short exchange ends with me slammed into the ground, forcing me to use my last Dragonslayer bullets to keep him at bay. I¡­ am running out of options. Jumping up, I use the forest to impede his movement. It barely slows him down. The light burns my roots. "Running again?" Nirari lunges as I disappear under a hedge. His body just smashes roots aside and he finds himself nose to nose with the second item contained in the silver box: my own repeater gun. The weapon vomits a torrent of enchanted silver. A few score more marks on his armor then most of them are blocked by yet another blood shield of immense power. Nevertheless, he is pushed back. "Tch! Tricks and toys! When will you stop fighting like a woman?" "I am a woman." "YOU MOUTH OFF AGAIN?" "You sure whine a lot for a sovereign candidate." "I WILL CRUSH YOU." I dodge under a monstrous blow. He might, in fact, crush me. The follow up blow comes too fast for me to dodge. A mirage spell gives me a moment to recover my balance. I deflect another, jump over a third and catch the fourth with Rose before it caves my chest in. I am sent tumbling on a pillow of roots. The Aurora protects me for now but I can already hear creaks, weaknesses in the mirrors. I cannot stop him at his full power. I can barely even slow him down. Not good. *** "We are losing," Urchin whispered. It hurt to admit. The bosswoman knew her business and she had prepared for a long time. Didn''t matter in the end. Power was power. General Stiglitz stood by his side. The man had rushed here at the head of an armored column and was now busy placing bullets in his service pistol. He didn''t seem worried. "I don''t think that will faze him. You might as well pray," the Vanheim said with more bitterness than he expected. He wanted the boss woman to win. To prove the young and cunning could surpass the old and entrenched. It mattered to him a lot. "Herr vampire, do you perhaps know the parable of the three ships and the drowning man?" "Can''t say I do." "A drowning man prays for God to save him from the sea''s embrace. Three boats come, one after another, and offer him rescue but he says God will answer his call. He eventually dies and when he faces the pearly gates, he asks God, why did you not help me? And what does God answer?" "I sent you three boats." The general nodded gravely while the tanks spread out around him. More soldiers, mages, and allied vampires were pouring in by the minute under the protective canopy of the thorn forest. "Ja. When you pray to Him to deliver you from evil, do not expect an angel with a fiery sword. Expect to find a gun. And we already have that gun." "You are right," Urchin replied. Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. He looked at the form-changing blade. It would not make much of a difference. He would certainly die. He would fight anyway. "Warten Sie einen Moment. Wait a moment, Herr vampire. You misunderstand. I will not throw us in the meat grinder. You said your mistress draws strength from the living while her sire draws strength from those who died by his hand, correct?" "Yes?" "And she drinks essence from her thorns?" "... yes? Oh." Stiglitz smiled and calmly grabbed a nearby root. The thorns bit into his flesh. Crimson liquid dripped down his glove but he never lost his smile. "Then we shall provide it." "I did not think of that." "And that is why, mein freund, I am the general. For the Queen of Thorn and Hunger." "For the Queen of Thorn and Hunger," Urchin agreed. He grabbed a tendril. A shiver ran through the forest. *** Naminata pulled her spear back and spared a glance at the Vanheim master a little further. Ariane''s man. He and a few others had grabbed roots and were now offering their blood to her little cupcake. The ritual aspect of the offering was turning it into a massive blood sacrifice of a proportion she had never seen before, while more and more creatures of all sorts joined. "Oooh that is clever. Very well! If you can hear me, my little cookie, this is for you. Enjoy!" *** The Cadiz line stopped and regrouped. The field was theirs as the last foe had surrendered. Ceron and Suarez felt the change overtaking the forest. They heard the call of the improvised ritual and its raw, primal power. It was almost ''alive''. "Do you remember when she was much weaker than us? Like a little puppy," Suarez said. "Oh she already had some teeth. There is no shame in being overtaken by the talented." The two exchanged a glance. "It still stings a little, no?" "We are like old complaining abuelos." They chuckled and grabbed the nearest branch, soon followed by the others. *** "You know, we slept together, her and I." Isaac mentioned. He was not sure why he felt like mentioning that. "Is this the right time to boast about your romantic life, sir?" the mercenary captain by his side asked. "No better time." He grabbed the offered branch. The captain eyed the thorns with distrust. "Must we really?" "I cannot pay you if we are all dead." "A fair point, sir." *** "She saved my life by aiming a cannon at a lich, you know? Got it right in the ribs. I figure we are even," Viktoriya of the Dvor explained as her blood pooled. "So, how did you meet her?" Commenus of the Dvor winced. "She collapsed a fortress wall on my face." "Oh?" "With an unreasonable amount of explosives." The two pondered the similarities. "She does love explosions a little too much, methinks." *** "Here is for you, my star," Torran said. Octave considered the branch. Torran stood at a distance, wounded but still very much a danger. The long wound down his own chest served as a reminder of the soul smith''s mastery of the blade. The old knight looked at his feet. He felt¡­ empty. Even revenge had lost its meaning. It had done so long ago. "Come on, Octave." "I am not sure if I have the strength to accept the fate that is now mine." "You have always been about what is right. Do not let your mistakes change that." The two men stood on opposite sides of a clearing, unmoving. They did not speak for a while. "Damn you for being right," Octave finally agreed, and he kneeled to grab on a root. "Damn you both for being right." *** Constantine called for the liana. It snaked along his suit''s arm and then through the tiny hole in his cockpit. Thorns caressed his skin. He flexed his arm and they bit. It didn''t hurt as much as he expected. "Nirari damaged my mark seven. As your Speaker, I kindly request that you make his night miserable, thank you." He wondered if the request was perhaps too formal. *** The Myrddin glared. Ollie didn''t mind much. He''d been glared at before. "Young man, you have no idea what you are getting yourself into. Vampires cannot be trusted. You are selling your soul to one who is undeserving. Her reign could be even worse than his own." Ollie grabbed the branch tighter and lifted it so the blood would trickle down his arm. He maintained eye contact with the old man. "Pussy." The Myrddin seethed in silence for a good ten seconds, then he grabbed the damn liana. *** "How many damn times do ah need to pull yer arse out of the damn fire with my red stuff, lass? I''m not a bloody dispensary!" *** "I will do anything for family. You are my family now, little sister. Take my offering and¡­ don''t miss." *** Jeffrey didn''t enjoy the hybrid form very much at this moment. He felt the urge to speak but his instincts insisted he should howl to signal the attack instead. It was a historical occasion too! He couldn''t wait to tell June. In the meanwhile, had to help the boss woman win. His paw descended on an exposed root. He had to try and say at least something! Mark the occasion. "Arf!" For shame. *** So. Much. POWER. So much essence, so much life force. So much! I am going to explode! I block Nirari''s strike. Not deflect. Block. My feet dig grooves on the ground but I arrest his momentum. Our eyes meet. "Oh?" "My turn now." I punch him in the face. I think he was not expecting that. Nirari smashes into a tree, which I am now powerful enough to twist into another tree, and another three before energy explodes out, undoing them. They have regrown before he is fully standing. Nirari roars and the light blasts out. "Nu Sharran." My first spell, the darkness one, surges forward like a bolt of shadow, fighting his light for dominance. Its power shields me and from this protective aegis, I strike¡­ and so does Slava. Nirari blocks the arrow but not my blade, which smashes through the weakened armor on his flank and¡­ stops. Nirari is still pushed back by the violence of the blow and for one fugacious moment, I spot the ominous glint of old scale. Of course he would have made dragon armor for himself. I will just have to dismember him then, and before my followers inevitably run out of energy. I rush ahead and unleash a flurry of blows. He blocks and parries, then counter-attacks. Our dance is one of finely tuned chaos. I clip him with the end of the whip, body so close to the ground I barely reach his knee. He slams the glaive down and the ground explodes out. I kick a stone. He uses a spell to fan the rest at me. We fight through a blur of dust, now used to each other''s style. Easy, when we almost mirror one another. He ignores a mirage spell and believes he catches me off guard. In the distance, the beat of a music begins. Nirari''s body jerks while I dance with it. I stab him in the leg in that brief instant before he understands. "What manner of Magna Arqa is that!" he protests. He must have never met Nami. I push him back in the path of Jarek''s titan arms which he has to block, giving me another opening. I score another gash on his arm. He is slowing down a little. He attacks and I hide behind the armor-clad form of a Roland lord. Nirari smirks, then slams his glaive into the armor. It fails to pierce at all. Another wound joins the others. Behind us, the lord swears with all his breath but I knew he would make it, after all, his Magna Arqa makes him temporarily invincible so long as he does not move. As we weave through the forest, I coordinate with more and more people to overwhelm Nirari. Constantine''s chains, Melusine''s fires, other powers of European allies, I use them all. I even find one on the verge of blooming and I smile in anticipation. *** Urchin watched the first of his kind fight and it frustrated him. He had worked really hard to overcome his nature and yet, despite his best efforts, there was a gap between him and the Babyonian royal that no effort would ever bridge. He was still, and would always be, an urchin. And that was fine. The right urchin only needed a single opportunity to make a kingdom fall. "Magna Arqa." Urchin extended his arm forward. He flexed his finger and felt a weight settling in his palm. It was damn heavy. His eyes settled on the long, deadly form of Heartseeker, Nirari''s glaive. "I''ll be taking that, thanks." The old monster would claim it back in a few seconds. It was still a symbolic victory. *** "ENOUGH! I have had enough! Is this a circus or a battlefield? If you will draw strength and ruses from your followers then¡­ I shall have to take them from you!" Nirari jumps up and up and¡­ just flies, out of the range of my sphere. The rays of his light now bathe the entire valley in blood-tinged colors. "DESPAIR, WORMS. THIS FOREST WILL BE LEVELED. YOU HAVE NOWHERE TO HIDE." He glares at me, from his unattainable position. "Now watch me weave your end. Fist of Anu!" An orb forms over him, a dark red planetoid that grows with every second, gathering power. I can feel the hunger and power it gathers from down here and watch, shocked by the spell and the decision behind it. "Wow," I admit, "your anger has robbed you of your senses." And truly, he is too used to looking down on everybody. Until that moment, Nirari had been a blur of unstoppable destruction so that the majority of my allies could do little but to support me with their offering. I suspect they might be feeling powerless, outmatched and at the mercy of forces beyond their ability to fight. I feel a lot of silent rage and fuming resentment from those who have joined their fate with mine, and until this moment, I could do nothing for them. Nirari, however, has decided to parade like a peacock over a battlefield of tens of thousands of annoyed warriors. And after that, he made the most peculiar decision he could come up with. He made himself a stationary target. There is no need for me to give any orders. They know what to do. Intents flow from their blood to the spines. The tendrils grasp and pull at machine guns, tilt cannons back, and lift the front of tanks. Soldiers find their arms supported, their aims adjusted. I enjoy watching doubt wipe the rictus off Nirari''s face the moment he faces tens of thousands of muzzles, arrows, spears, spells, shells, everything everyone can throw at him. Everyone fires at once. The single, coordinated volley is absolutely cataclysmic. Since Nirari is far above us, I watch with fascination the tracers form a pyramid of light, a pyrotechnical show that only the earlier atomic bomb could have matched. The blast is deafening. After the relative silence, the single boom makes the ground shake under my feet, rattling my teeth. They all land on either Nirari, his hastily rising shield, or the expanding sphere of hungering blood above him in a fury of fire and steel. They disappear under the onslaught. I manage to find my own machine gun and bring it to me, joining my voice to the chorus. And it does not let up. Men only stop to slot fresh magazines or shove another shell in their cannons. For the first time since Nirari called his sun upon them, people can let go. And so, they do. The cumulative weight of all races unleash their pent up frustration on his still unmoving form. I know he could let go and return to fight me, possibly hold on until my support is exhausted¡­ and I know he will not. He cannot. He might be shrewd but once provoked, he is as unbending as iron. And like iron, he is brittle. Nirari''s insults are drowned under the torrent of detonations, he whose voice had silenced a whole army is in turn swallowed by a flood of defiance. I watch his shield crumble, the sphere scatter. Again, I feel this strange disconnect I experienced when facing the dragon. His adversaries were scattered and so he was a monolith. Now they are united in a single blade aimed at his heart and he cannot discount them anymore. Through me, they exist in the thread of destiny. We are but droplets but with enough droplets, one can swallow a continent. "NO, you INSECTS!" Nirari gives up. His roaring form descends on us like a falling star trailing the debris of his spell like the tail of a comet, still dangerous but broken. I¡­ I could do anything, and I can see the perfect end. Of course, it could only be this way. With a monumental effort, the forest rises to form a bowl, a recess with the limits of my sphere as walls. He plunges into that waiting maw while still peppered by projectiles. I watch him, his purple eyes, his fury, his failing belief in his own invincibility and I smile at him just because I can, just because I am no longer that scared little girl he thought he could break a hundred years and an eternity ago. His maddened anger redoubles while the armor shatters, revealing the scales underneath. Wounds cover his arms and legs. He is still bleeding from his cheek. "Gotcha." His glaive lands on Rose. My feet plunge into the ground from the titanic impact but I do not fall. Instead, I drop my sword and catch his hands. We are locked. Nirari''s sun blazes. I am slowly, slowly pushed down. We stand face to face, him in the ruins of his helm, the crown broken, and me under the mirror patiently crafted by Loth. "I. am still. THE STRONGEST!" "And you have still lost." Behind us, a man screams and jumps at slow, human speed over a root, descending on Nirari''s back. I watch the utter confusion on the face of a monster who has always known his place in the world and the incomprehension in the face of the unexpected, because my ace is entirely human. At first glance. Because he is human, the light of the false sun does not stop him and because he is human, Nirari still cannot believe this man would be a threat. I can see him very well in my sphere. He wears the uniform of the British forces. He wields the dragon tooth sword. On his chest, a single line reads his name. Andrew Bingle. I would have it no other way. Nirari struggles to escape but it is too late. The sword bites into his back, shearing the scales and the flesh underneath like paper. I hear his gasp of pain and feel his strength failing so I allow the mirror to fall and bite down, blinded but victorious. At the last moment, there is a magical trigger of sorts but the dragon scale armor under my arms is still there and so, I taste Devourer essence. S§×arch* The nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. *** The warm sun of Sicily. The sun burns my back under the thin linen. The ships are coming. I need to return to the village, tell them to run for the hills. The ships are fast and the village is far. I leave my herd behind because there is no time. I have to make it in time. Wait a moment. I have killed them all. I have killed them all and it felt good, it felt great, better than killing Turks on their ships. It felt like winning. It felt like having a choice back and their blood made me stronger! No that¡­ is impossible! I am so angry all the time. I wish I could go mad. I wish I could die. No! I pull back, furious and confused into the face of Malakim. They¡­ they swapped? Runes on the armor still shine from a remote activation. Malakim is heavily wounded. He is disintegrating into ash. "Ah. Thank you, sister." No. No no no no no this cannot be. The armor disappears from his body before it, too, is ruined. Urchin stands next to me with the set in his hands. He looks uncertain. They¡­ they swapped places? The twinned armor allow them to swap places? Was it his plan from the beginning? "He¡­ he is in there?" Urchin asks. By the Watcher, please no. "Ariane!" a voice screams in my ear. "Constance?" "Ariane! Aintza is dead! She¡­ she just died!" Ah. *** One minute earlier. Jimena''s focus was absolute. Malakim was the most dangerous opponent she had ever faced and any mistake would spell disaster. Deflect low. Step back. Counter. Deflect right. Wait for Diego''s hit to distract to lunge. He was always just a little late. That was fine. They did not need to win. Malakim pulled back once again this time without new wounds. They didn''t matter. Malakim was a bear trap of spite and mutual destruction. Committing against him meant death. He wanted it, wanted people to attack his protected heart. Ariane told her. Ariane trained her in his style. Jimena would not let up. Her focus was absolute. Then, Diego made a mistake. He overextended. Jimena pulled the lord aside but their formation was in disarray. John was to her back. She had to hold him. That was fine. She still had an ace. "Magna Arqa." Behind them, Semiramis cried out. A burst of power distracted Malakim long enough to push him back but she still needed to fend him off. Semiramis was ascending right now. She was becoming a goddess. They had almost won. Jimena pointed her sword, Justice, at Malakim. "YOU ARE JUDGED GUILTY." Power, intoxicating and rightful filled her veins. She felt like living thunder as she rushed him. It was great to fight with the perfect knowledge that one''s cause was just. Malakim smirked. "Magna Arqa." He stole her thunder. He cut her wings. His sword aimed for her heart. She lightly deflected it then stabbed him in the jaw. She almost beheaded him but he twisted away at the last moment, face a mangled wreck. His baleful gaze was still on her but it was clouded, confused. Thick black blood dripped down the dragon scale armor. She had hit something important. Diego and John were in position. She attacked. Malakim stumbled. She had him. And then, the runes on his armor shone and Jimena was facing death itself. There was no time to react. No time to curse her fate. One strike. "YOU ARE JUDGED GUILTY!" Power like no other. One lunge, one perfect movement to close the distance. The red sun of Nirari''s might was already eating at her skin. Nirari was weakened, hurt. Still taking his bearings. Her gaze met his. He roared, an expression of rage, pain, and anguish. Jimena''s blade bit deeply into the flesh of his hand but he did stop her, the tip of Justice only a finger away from his eye. She saw terror, there. She had shed the blood of the first. Then he killed her. With a series of furious strikes, Nirari cut down the entire squad before they could react just as his Magna Arqa failed, power buckling under the strain. He dragged himself forward to the circle. The cave''s enchantments turned his spilled blood to ash but it would not be enough. Even on his last leg, he was still the first. Only John remained to watch the old queen''s last moments. Nirari moved inside of the circle to the hovering form of his mother. Her dark eyes shone like magma as she glanced upward, lost in the felicity of apotheosis. She was blind to the world while the secrets of the universe were finally revealed, so she could not react when Nirari embraced her one last time. "Even¡­ even now, you cannot see me. We¡­ always leave each other behind. I wish you had spoken." Nirari bit down. It took a while for the power to transfer to him, for the ritual to change direction but eventually, it did. It was his turn to ascend. John pulled himself towards the side of the cavern. The dying god had come. He had killed Diego and Jimena with a gesture. He had tried to kill John as well but Miss Ari''s chest protector had stopped the first blow and the helmet, most of the second one. He was still terribly hurt. Pain. That was a familiar companion. He kept dragging himself forward. In the center of the circle, the wounded god finished killing his mother. He was a broken thing. Miss Ari had done a good job. Now it was his turn. "Magna Arqa." Nothing changed at first glance, though the god turned to him. He was struggling with all that power he kept trying to grab. It fought with his broken frame, his defeated persona, refused him, and yet, he was still a god. Still immeasurably stronger than John. It wouldn''t change anything. John never wanted to be the strongest. He only wanted to be strong enough to do what mattered to him. To do what must be done. "Still alive, cockroach? Impressive." A moan of pain interrupted the wounded god. John stood, in agony but his body whole again. He grabbed for his massive duffle bag and pulled it open. Inside, there was a very large metal case. He opened the lid. "Stop¡­ stop what you are doing! Stay where you are." "I only answer to Miss Ari. No one else," John replied. There were keys to turn and codes to enter but John had memorized it and his hands went through the gesture with quiet competence. He did not spare the wounded god even a glance. "Then DIE!" Spells tore through John''s form and through the casing but they both returned to their original form after the spell was through. The damage was simply denied. "You¡­ How? Ah, I see, It delays the damage. Then you are already dead, fool! Accept your fate!" "I already have. My name is John Doe. I was saved by Miss Ari in Marquette. I swore I would repay her and protect her, no matter the cost. That has always been my goal." John was finished. The countdown read five seconds, then four. It was done. He finally met the wounded god''s glare. They both shared the same purple gaze now but John knew his was serene. At peace. "And so I have. She is going to kill you, you know? And I will be waiting." It had been, John decided, a very good life. "Goodbye." Atomic fire devoured them both. *** The mountain has turned into a volcano. It roars, bathing us in the light of genuine fire this time. The explosion is much less than expected because, I suspect, it occurred in the Warrens. They are surely destroyed by now but whatever power leaked through now blazes with a rare intensity. The problem is that¡­ I can still perceive Nirari''s new, godlike aura. It lacks the raw intensity of before but it still struggles¡­ and I cannot get in there to finish him off. John. Jimena¡­ "That is why I wanted some more advanced warning," Slava stoically said by my side. He walked to Urchin and grabbed the pilfered set of dragon armor, shedding his own to put it on with slow, deliberate movements. The runes engraved in the surface had cooled but now that Slava wore it, their intensity increased again. "I meant what I said earlier. You are family. My one regret from my human life is that I did not get to die with them. You are the last one. This is only just, the only way this world makes sense to me. So¡­ make it count." "What?" Slava does not reply. With soft gestures, he embraces me, then places my mouth against his collarbone. I do not understand? Another hand on my neck forces me to open my mouth. My fangs touch his skin though they do not pierce yet. He wants me to¡­ what? The runes activate once again. I am suddenly no longer hugging Slava. There is a void between my hands, an emptiness filled with nothing but raw power and the burning form of mangled dragon scales. The incredible heat fights against the Aurora which pushes back with a furious hiss of metal on ice. There is nothing under my fangs but superheated air, then ash, then flesh. Then power. Nirari reforms, screaming under my fangs and I drink him just as he does. Power fills me in a burning wave but this time, I do not lose my senses as I did with the dragon blood. The energy fills me as if I were a receptacle meant to receive it. I am merely¡­ being completed. The rush is still incredible. I let it swallow me. *** The weave. The song of the world. The song of the other spheres in the distance. This sphere is mine. It is waiting to be claimed. It can be claimed now. To claim a sphere is to be the center and keep the music alive. I do so now. I have challenged and won. It is done. I will mourn those I have lost later. For now, it is done. Chapter 233 - Epilogue 1: Long Live the King My mind palace. The forest has grown exponentially. It still expands with every passing second as more of the power I subsumed permeates my essence. Just as before, it feels less like I am being stretched to the limits of my soul and more a sense of completion. Nirari''s power fills a gap that raw essence could not. Strange new memories assault me. I set them aside for now. Above and around me, the forest rises to form a reverse sphere with an empty night sky and the gaze of the Watcher far above. More statues appear in deserted squares and empty plazas. More white flowers bloom. The change is also qualitative. A new understanding of the world''s nature leaves my mind reeling. I caught glimpses of it when I fought the lich dragon, then challenged Nirari. It covers the ontology of my sphere and the interlocked fates that we are currently aiming for. It takes me¡­ some time to get enough of a grasp to realize that something is out of place. My steps carry me to the plaza of kneeling forms. New ranks have formed with my latest offerings, so much that a plane could take off from any side with room to spare. The only one that concerns me, of course, is the only one standing up. I should have guessed that things would not be so easy. Roots shift to answer my call and point towards the intruder. Unfortunately, they do not detect his presence. Nirari extends his arms in surrender. A smug smile makes him look a little less dangerous than usual, especially with its brittle quality. "Greetings. If you see this, you are my spawn and you have killed me, hopefully in glorious combat. And if you are my spawn, you must be attacking me right now." Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. "I was about to." "This is merely a memory, a last message, if you will. You have won. Congratulations. Now, you will learn the true, final nature of the first bloodline. You will understand what it means to be a conqueror. Perhaps you have attempted to bring life to spawns before despite¡­ misgivings. Well, I am pleased to inform you that as the new Progenitor of our line, you may now do so with a content heart." "What did you say?" "Yes, you heard me right. Devourers eat upward. You have dethroned the king and now you are king in turn. Your instincts will inexorably push you to bring more spawns forth and one of them, one day, in turn, may devour you. Complete the cycle. None may stay at the top forever, after all. In any case, congratulations. My powers, my spells, my instincts, my physical abilities, my drives, I give them all to you as my legacy. Where I failed, you shall succeed until defeated by someone greater. And now, farewell¡­ may it be everything you ever hoped for." The statue kneels, joining the rest of the cohort. I do not feel any different. Power still rushes through me at the same speed. It is still too early to assess how much, exactly, I have obtained¡­ but one of his words terrify me. I do not want his drives. I do not want the urge to dominate he experienced his entire life. Around me, the forest extends ever farther. I need time to digest it all. I need to make sure I stay sane. Sighing, I open my eyes. Sear?h the Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. A cocoon of thorns falls apart, revealing empty ground for¡­ miles. I can feel a multitude of soldiers in encampment. I perceive airships far up in the sky. They are all within my domain, all those thoughts, all those minds. All this essence. And yet, it does not come close to the full realization of what I am experiencing right now. I slowly unclasp the mirror armor, then the Aurora gauntlet underneath. I flex my fingers and watch my skin stay pristine in the soft, golden glow of the light of the sun. It does not hurt. Birds sing. The wind brushes the blades of grass that survived the cataclysmic confrontation. Insects buzz, uncaring. It is day. It is day, and I am fine. Chapter 234 - Epilogue 2: The Great Escape A day earlier. The dead world shook like the reanimated corpse of a giant. Deep in the bones of its ancient structure, Cadiz watched cracks spread over smooth stone that had withstood the end of a sphere. Temperature was rising steadily. It smelled like powder and charred meat. The others looked at him wearily. sea??h th§× N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Sire. The emergency portal¡­" "Is not working. Iago. The bomb. Now." The powerfully built lord opened the metal case and worked through the control with great speed. The heat. It was becoming unbearable. The others were moving closer with eyes closed in resignation. To their credit, none of them spread the blame, even though they had dedicated their lives to the blade, only to face death by fire. He pulled a pendant.from his shirt and brushed a finger over the smooth surface. It bore the semblance of a butterfly, or a moth perhaps. Death wings and a body like a dagger. The faint smell of tree sap and blood emanated constantly from it, only when one was looking. Another brush and he heard a scream of terror. The room under the Last City darkened every so slightly. "It is done, my liege." "Thank you, Iago. Everyone, please gather around me." They did so, exchanging last nods of respect for fellow blade masters. "I hope this works," Cadiz muttered. "My liege?" The Progenitor firmly pressed on the pendant''s body. A thin needle snapped through his thumb. He felt it bite into the bone and drink greedily. The pendant consumed a tremendous amount of power in a single instant. The intensity made Cadiz hiccup and would have forced him to move away were it not for his adamantine self-control. All of the squad felt the tether latch. Suddenly, they were standing in the air above the ground where a mushroom of fire and death expanded upward over gutted ziggurats and crumbling towers. Shimmering colors danced around them as the ground blurred and became distant, then they were watching a beige orb hovering in the void, with a sun and distant stars in the distance. Then they were going faster and faster, locked in place. Distance changed meaning until straight lines became an absurd, diminishing concept, until the tiniest fragment of icy rocks carried an unacceptable mass, until even that and time resembled traps designed to swallow their true form in the muddy pit of existence. The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. And then they were inside of a dim room covered in pillows. The air smelled of tobacco and something else. It was warm. Comfortable. "Well well well," a voice said. A woman in an exotic gown that revealed a pale, naked shoulder lounged on a sagging couch. She tapped her pipe against the wood. Long, inky hair surrounded a gaunt yet elegant face like a waterfall of darkness. Her eyes were pits of nothingness. "You lot, clear out. This is not a conference." Though the squad did not speak fae, the meaning carried through them anyway. Cadiz nodded to signal his assent and they made their way out respectfully. "Cadiz. My lovely." "My lady Carnaciel." "I give you a gift of affection and you employ it as a lifeline. I am most hurt." "I apologize, my lady. I would not have resorted to that if I could have used an other method. Our other lifeline failed us." "It is that little cub, is it not?" "She has done well. I believe she will win." "So you do not wish to return?" Cadiz smiled. He shrugged. The movement felt incredibly liberating. The air here smelled good and familiar. His gaze followed the casually revealing cleavage to the barest hint of a dark nipple. An amused smile bloomed on Carnaciel. It was full of mischief. "I have done my part. She is the one favored by fate now, and besides, I have been missing you." "Then come my little fencer. The night is young." *** Outside the room, the squad distinctly heard a moan of pleasure. Lady Inez crossed her arms, radiating disapproval. That was most cavalier. "Do we just¡­ stand there?" Iago asked. A door opened behind them. A goat man stood at the threshold. "Come on," he said in high Likaean. "I have prepared tea." "We cannot drink tea." "You can drink this one, vampires. Come now. I have much to explain." *** In the bowels of the Last City, a slave rushed by a patrol, carrying a crate of large proportions. The warrior leading the patrol turned to scream but the slave smiled and pointed up. The warrior screeched. A moment later, this entire part of the complex collapsed on hin, burying the entire patrol under thousands of tons of rubble. The slave shrugged. That was good enough. He stopped. His body shifted, his form filled until what was left behind was a man, or rather, something that looked like a man. The newcomer had wild, white, messy hair like a windswept bush, and odd-colored eyes. He smiled to reveal a pair of fangs. "Welp, suppose this is far enough." He dropped the third and final bomb, armed it, then stood away. He rummaged in the pocket of his coat and finally grabbed a box that could not possibly have fit there. He shook it a little. The box remained inert. "Meh, I do not want to see that old monster anyway. Kilimandjaro is great at this time of the year. Time to brush up on my Swahili!" He tossed the box and pulled a large book from his breast pocket. Just like the box, there was no possible way the massive tome could fit there. It floated in the air and opened at a seemingly random page, showing the picture of a large mountain. "That was fun and new¡­ but I can''t possibly work on a dead world to make it weirder," Vanheim said. He jumped into the image. The book stayed floating for a second, shivering with outrage at being left behind. Then it willed itself back to earth through sheer annoyance. Chapter 235 - Epilogue 3: Severed Futures I buried Aintza in a small valley far from everything, under the shade of the Grand Teton. The two lovers would have loved the irony. I made memorials for everyone we lost. I split them apart, each in a place I found beautiful. It does not matter that our ash cannot be recovered because upon each stone, I placed a precious belonging. Then I encased it in glass so they would not decay. Rituals are for the living so we do not forget. For John, I picked one of his favorite books. It is a compilation of Finnish poetry. This copy is damaged and filled with earmarks from being carried on several expeditions. "You know, most of us do not spend so much resources on the dead. We dislike being reminded of the inevitable," Jarek rumbles by my side. "The inevitable is not so bad. We will rejoin in something greater. My only regret is that the mortals will travel to a different destination. I¡­ will miss them." "You do not intend to perish any time soon, do you? The world is in disarray." "I know. I have no intention of doing so. I am only aware that our time is limited. Human mind was never designed to accommodate the burden of immortality. Whatever changed us cannot make up for that. We could hold centuries. Millennia. Perhaps more. At some point though¡­" "Will you stop being so melancholic? By the Eye, lady. You''re only, what, one fifty?" "Oh, fine, you uncouth rogue. I suppose I should get back to work." *** The weave of fate bristled under a long shadow. It made Hejju nervous. She always favored the calm and certainty that came with future sight. Layering her skills with that of her sister guardians meant that all angles were covered against threats seen and unseen. So far it had worked even when the tyrant''s grip had restricted their view of the distant possibilities. This interference was more insidious. It hovered over them like a cloud far out of sight. She tightened her grip on her spear. In front of her, sand rushed against the ochre walls of the desert. It was almost time. One moment, there was nothing but the familiar view she had seen for countless hours, holding guard in front of her Progenitor''s haven. The next, there was a forest. The entire mountain was a forest, a deep, labyrinthine hill of twisted roots and white flowers. She shivered. She had seen the spawn at work near Warsaw, an existence that surpassed even Progenitors but this? This was different. Only one kind of existence could manipulate reality to such an extent. This world had a goddess¡­ a¡­ a sovereign. S§×arch* The N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. The word snaked itself into her mind until it took hold and she could no longer dislodge it. Her fingers latched on the shaft of her weapon as if it provided a lifeline. The shadow deepened. Hejju was blind. She was not deaf though. From the forest, the stomp of heavy hoofs emerged, heralding the coming of a nightmare of imposing size under a heavy armor of black metal¡­ or so she thought. Her vision shifted and she saw the nightmare as what it was, a large creature made of parts that didn''t quite touch, alien and disturbing. She blinked. It was just a massive charger with a woman on top. Nothing more. It had to be nothing more. Hejju stepped ahead of her sisters. "Welcome, Lady Nirari. Thank you for answering the call. My sire wishes to speak to you immediately." She kept her tone polite and respectful. Her mistress was mighty if she could call and summon such a being. Truly, future sight provided one with the key to their own future as well as that of others. Fate could not be denied. If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. The thought bolstered Hejju''s flagging confidence. The sovereign merely smiled and waved, indicating she should lead the way, The smile itself didn''t reach her mouth. It felt distant and wan. She was overthinking this. Hejju''s future sight might be blocked now, but she would have felt her death coming. Of that, she was certain. Hejju led the newborn monster through the bowels of the Amaretta fortress, deep into its core. People did not come to watch her this time. Her presence bathed the hall in a leaden coat of sheer pressure. It was all Hejju could do not to flinch, not to step away anymore that she already had. It felt like standing next to a forge of cold stars. Amaretta''s retreat no longer felt like the solemn haven it once was. Another sister bent over the sarcophagus holding the form of the slumbering Progenitor. Her eyes flickered. "You are here," Amaretta said with a borrowed voice. "Good. You have shown more wisdom than your predecessor. His grip was broken and now I see, but the futures are still strangled by another bottleneck. In the future, I see¡ª " "Ash and thin air, I know." The puppet frowned. Seers disliked being interrupted. "Since you know, I would like to remind you that this is your fault to begin with. The destruction you unleashed upon the Last City made the humans scared and eager in equal measure. Even now, they are building more of their bombs and with at least four great axis of power forming, it is only a matter of time before someone snaps. Revealing our presence to the mortals also made them paranoid. Your doing, once again." "I will spare you a lecture on the inevitability of technological development." "You would do well to remember which one of us knows more, girl." "Because I do not care much about your opinion of me. Now, I suppose you have lights to shine and orders to give?" Hejju wanted to express her outrage from the cavalier and, frankly rude manners the monster had shown towards Amaretta. Unfortunately, she was too scared. To her shock, Amaretta was scared as well. The Progenitor''s emotions bled through the puppet''s expressions. Her sire lacked practice. Practice, and control. It pained her. It was like watching a parent growing old. "There is but one path to salvation now. You must unite the world¡­ against us. You must strike terror into their heart until the very idea of using the last fire seems so abhorrent they will only use it as a last resort. It will cost us dearly. We will lose many of our people and so will the mage¡­ and yet it is the only way. The only way for earth to survive. I will guide you and thus, you will live. We will return to the shadows where we were always meant to belong to. The natural order will prevail." The sovereign smiled. "No." "You foolish¡ª" Hejju could not move. The puppet could not move. Roots covered the sanctum''s entrance. They covered her as well, thin and covered in thorns. They held her back. She struggled and didn''t even make them budge. The sovereign grabbed Amaretta by the throat, plunging her hand through several layers of wards as if they did not exist. A keening sound escaped the puppet''s throat. Hejju tried to scream but her jaw was locked. The sovereign bit Amaretta and drained her dry. It took only three seconds for Hejju''s entire world to collapse in ashes. No. No, that was impossible. She had to be dreaming. It was a nightmare. Hejju had guarded her sire for centuries. She had walked these walls until she knew every flaw in the stone beneath her feet. It could not end like that. It just could not. There had to be some sort of trick. No one would kill a seer! No one would sacrifice such a precious asset! This made NO DAMN SENSE! "Furious, are you? So quick to cross from denial to anger." The sovereign was here, looking down with purple, slitted eyes. Hejju felt her anger resist that pressure like a sharpened stone splitting a torrent of water, resisting simply by sheer solidity, at least for a while. "I know I am not supposed to hurt any of you, else someone could have predicted their own death, and yet it is done now. I wonder, what if I kill you for DEFYING ME?" The complex shook. The cornerstone of Hejju''s anger was washed away by a tide of glacial power. More roots grew, and forms emerged from the void. Twisted creatures of stone and exotic metal. She knew the first one. She recognized it from shared visions with his black armor and demon eyes, with his sardonic smile. It was Nirari, the first, or at least a specter of him. There were more. Each one of them felt so powerful that she doubted she could even slow them down and the sovereign just called them to her service¡­ just like that. The sovereign winced. She waved down. The statue retreated into the shadowy corners between realities. "Please do not provoke me. I find it difficult to¡­ hold back." Her voice inflated and Hejju knew everyone in the complex had to hear it. "It was a mistake to believe a sphere sovereign could surrender themselves. It was foolish to count on a Devourer to sacrifice themselves for their lesser. If the world must first fall to be reborn, then it will be so. I will not shield the mortals from their folly, and I will not allow anyone to sacrifice me for a cause I do not believe in. "Amaretta is dead. You felt it. I killed her. "From now on, you are free to pursue your own goals. Hate me if you want. Curse me if you must. But do not get in my way. I shall build an ark that will survive the coming deluge and I will not let deny us of our salvation. And remember, if you consider vengeance, as my good friend Nashoba used to say¡­" She smirked. "I can see the future." Chapter 236 - Epilogue 4: Ash and Thin Air Article taken from the Financial Times, June 1947, four years after the Last City''s fall. ''Accords'' to acquire sovereignty over Cape Breton Island. In a shocking development, the mysterious group known as ''The Accords'' purchased the sovereign rights to Cape Breton Island from the Canadian government for a sum of eleven billion US dollars. The lease will last for a hundred years and cover the whole of the island. The Cape Breton Island is part of the Nova Scotia province and separated from its peninsula by a short strait. The island''s size reaches almost four thousand square miles and is home to almost thirty thousand people, mostly of Scottish heritage. It represents one of the largest land concessions made since Hong Kong. The development was unexpected and seems to have taken the world off guard. The Canadian opposition has not yet formulated a rebuttal. League of Nations secretary Iorgo Papadopoulos reacted to the news yesterday. "Canada''s decision may come as a surprise, however it is the decision of a sovereign nation and must be respected. I would like to remind my colleagues that this territory still nominally belongs to Canada and will be returned. It is not a partition." Defense secretary Mercer was much more critical of the decision. "For years, the Intergrist party has warned humanity against the insidious dangers posed by subhumans, witches, and heathens. Now, a group of such people has robbed an entire nation of the sanctity of their territorial integrity. We will immediately launch a probe into the groups that participate in this blasphemy and suggest whatever sanctions we deem appropriate to the Department of Justice. We cannot let our guard down against the sinful hordes, even now that we have the Bomb." The mysterious group known as ''The Accords'' gathers a vast community of various interests with no formal structure. Spokesperson Ariane Nirari defended the decision as ''lawful and ethical in the respect of the local population''. Several projects have already been announced including a causeway over the Canso straits, a highway to Halifax, and a large development of the island''s infrastructure, including its main seaport. Local populations will retain the same right as before and enjoy a tax cut as well as a slew of other benefits. Several groups already pledged to move part of their facilities to this new ''cit¨¦ franche'' including IGL and Skoragg Heavy Industries. Economists expect the pledged amount assigned to this project to surpass twenty billion US dollars, a frankly absurd amount according to Yale Professor Andrew Cleggan. "There are no mineral, agricultural, cultural, or strategic resources that justify such extravagant spendings. Even the local coal mines are currently inoperable. If I must, I will provide two possible explanations. First, we simply don''t have all the information we need to understand the Accords and their rationale. it''s entirely possible there is a resource there only magically inclined people may use. The second option is ideological. It is entirely possible that, given the deteriorating geopolitical environment and the worsening conditions of abhumans everywhere, the Accords would wish to create a ''safe state for the magical people''. Cape Breton might be it." No matter the reason, Cape Breton and the Accords remain an enigma wrapped in enough capital to buy a small nation. *** January 1st, 1970. The spy breathed a sigh of tension when the elevator''s door closed behind him. If things were going to mess up, they were going to mess up now. The glass structure around him showed nothing but rock and steel beams. It was probably too late to run. The vampires were paranoid. He had already pushed his luck to the maximum. And no one could keep secrets from them. The man strapped on latex gloves then reached under his shirt for the first of three necklaces. This one was a metal card with a strange, eye-like object on its surface that looked slightly like a lens. He pressed on the gray button. There was a ding. A panel opened. The man pressed his gloved finger on a fingerprint scanner. A green beep rang and he felt an intense relief flooding his veins. Despite that, his heart still thundered against his chest. The suit chafed at the skin of his neck. That was only one hurdle. The man those prints belonged to was currently chained in a basement. He had to hope the code he''d surrendered would work. That was the second hurdle. sea??h th§× Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. One by one, the man pressed the keys. He wiped his sweaty forehead with a stained handkerchief. This had to work. He would not get another chance like that again. Daltonville was in the midst of new year celebrations, hundreds of thousands of people braving the cold to watch the parade. Security was overwhelmed and most of the vampires were asleep. He had exactly one shot at this. A second beep validated his credentials. Another scanner opened. Retina scanner this time. The man placed the card''s lens opposite the scanner. Another beep. So far so good. A last panel opened in the shape of a handprint. Aura scanner. That was the most likely point of failure. With shaking hands, he picked the second pendant. It contained a vial filled with blood, the red liquid pulsing strangely under the shining runes surrounding the crystal container. Witchcraft, but sometimes one had to fight fire with fire. He rolled the vial against the aura scanner through his gloved hand. Had to work. At first, he thought they might have failed but enough of the living man''s essence remained in the linked blood and the final hurdle was finally undone. The spy pressed the lowest floor number the prisoner had said he could reach. Minus one hundred and twelve. That seemed too insane to be true considering it was not even the lowest point of the complex under the old fortress. The lift slid down. The spy pulled a small camera and started to record. He had to hope the twinning enchantment would work so that his sacrifice would not be in vain since he would not get out of there alive. He had no way to know if it did or not. At first, the window revealed nothing but rock but soon it showed a strange avenue decorated with lamps around a statue of a short-haired woman wielding an undulating sword. Shops and cafes adorned the street while above, a strange vegetation gave the illusion of a starry night. Men and women walked there. One of them turned and looked directly at him. The spy averted his eyes. He knew he was on the clock. He only prayed he would have enough time to complete his mission. The lift went on. Under the commercial street, there were indoor gardens and habitat quarters stretching in every direction though walls prevented him from seeing for how far. He had an idea though. His idea crystallized when the lift reached the ''hydroponics'' levels. Farms and greenhouses grew industrial amounts of greenery across a cavern as wide as the largest stadium. There were even trains! He knew then with absolute certainty where most of those uncounted billions had gone. "They are building an underground city¡­" he whispered. No, an underground nation. The spy forgot to turn to film. He was stuck against the glass, watching machinery replace the greenhouses, then entire factories. Some of them were building those Skoragg gunships. There were barracks. Research labs. All livable, all within caverns built with unknown means. The vampires¡­ had an army. An entire fucking army. The lift reached the lowest level. The spy stepped out, camera almost discarded. He was now standing over a balustrade overlooking a great chasm at the bottom of which, something red and hot bubbled. The heat was unbearable but he did not care, did not even thing to remove his vest, because on platforms hanging over that void were missiles. Large missiles, black and ominous with strange scales and twisted geometries. There was no mistaking their functions, however. "Hastur class ICBMs. Practically undetectable," a voice whispered in his ear. The spy did not turn. He dropped the camera and reached for his collar where the last pendant waited. He retrieved the cyanide capsule and made to swallow, only to realize the capsule was no longer there. His heart skipped a beat. The capsule had simply vanished. The camera floated back to his hand. "Cannot have that," the voice said again. "The entire complex is shielded so your transmission did not go through. I admit to being impressed so I let you go down while I checked on my employee. Leaving him alive was inspired. And gave you a respite." The spy turned to a pair of blue eyes like a summer sky. The woman leaned against the balustrade in a black cocktail dress, as if disturbed from a party. That was probably the case, he realized. "I wonder what I was going to do and then I realized, perhaps there is hope after all. You have seen the city. You have recorded it. Your higher-ups know we have premonitions. So they should understand why we have prepared." She sighed. "Of course, some of them will want those preparations for themselves so I suppose you will have to show them the end of the movie, yes? Attacking us would be¡­ rather foolish. You must take care of your own. We have already stopped two attempts at ending the world. I am growing¡­ wary. This is your last chance." "Are you¡­ her?" "Yes. Off you go now. Tell your masters that only they can stop the end from coming because I will not. Do not forget the film." *** Archived National TV recording, November 9th, 1989 Grainy texture. An anchorman faces the camera with a background showing the Los Angeles Skyline. Today, he has picked a serious, concerned expression. "Goodday, ladies and gentlemen. Breaking News. After a month of turmoil and massive protests over all oblasts, the unthinkable has happened. The State Duma announced the dissolution of the Soviet Union today after an intense session during which several members engaged in physical confrontations. Central power militaries have reached maximum readiness in what they describe as a ''challenging and fast-moving environment''. The German Empire, in particular, voiced concerns about Communist hardliners who might grow desperate in the face of imminent dismantlement. The League of Nations have gathered for an emergency meeting to address the risk of escalation that would come with a fractured army and ¡ª" The man places a hand against his ear. He listens in on a message. His expression melts. Off screen, a woman screams. "I am getting reports of¡­ Nuclear explosions. Nuclear explosions over the Eastern seaboard. At least three confirmed hits. Silos all over the country have¡­" The last of his composure breaks. "Oh my God. It''s happening. It''s happening." Belated air sirens cover the silence. A woman climbs to the podium and takes the anchorman''s hand as he stands. He still watches the camera. There is a tension there he''s not willing to break yet, even as a sound technician and the cameraman join the pair in a huddling mass. He is the last one who has not broken yet. "The¡­ There will be a security announcement. listen to it, Listen to it and follow the instructions. Seek shelter. Do not give up. Seek shelter and live. And may God be with all of y¡ª" NO SIGNAL. Chapter 237 - Epilogue 5: Seeding The Geiger counter clicks softly. The man steps forward through the falling ash and snow. There is barely anything visible but he must be on the right track. Has to be. The gray thing crunches underfoot. He can hear only his labored breath through the gas mask. He readjusts the one on the child in his arms. His arms are tired. He''s exhausted. He''s almost there. It has to work. The child doesn''t react. His heart skips a beat. "Hey. Hey, Elsa?" He shakes her. She winces. She''s too thin. He has nothing left but he has a little more time. Surely, he has a little more time. Sheer adrenaline pushes him up in the infinite gray expanse, the blur of that false snow. He knows what the silence means. His brain screams it but his heart refuses it. The slope goes up and up. He cannot give up. Elsa is still breathing. She doesn''t look like she''ll do so for very long. He reaches a plateau. He finds the evac point. There are tents. A helicopter pad. Cots and barb wires and a guard post. They are all empty. They are all unmoving. Not a soul remains. With a supreme effort, he walks up to the pad and wipes gray muck off the plastic panel. It shows the evac schedule. The last entry was meant to be today. It is barred with a black marker. The man''s breath slows down as the seconds pass. He breathes in deep and every time, it sounds like he''s pushing a scream away. The man walks around for another few minutes before he gives up. As gently as he can, he places his daughter on a picnic table. He wipes it first. It doesn''t matter but he still does it. There is a sheet of something with a shiny side on the ground at his feet. He shakes the dirt off and places it over her thin frame. That''s it, really. Fucking shame. The man grabs for his side holster. There is a stubby thirty-eight there. Four bullets left. He bought it for home defense. Slowly, he places it on the table. Snow lands on the matte, pristine surface. He doesn''t have the courage yet. Elsa is still breathing. He wonders if she''s suffering at all. Maybe she is and he''s just being a damn coward. The man waits while the snow continues unabated. He is lost. So very lost. "I''m so fucking sorry, Elsa." Can''t cry now. Can''t do it first. Can''t break down. He finally notices a woman standing a little away. She wears an elaborate azure dress. The filthy snow does not seem to touch her. She does not move. Maybe he''s lost it already. "Hello. Are you Death?" "Not to you," the woman replies. He doesn''t understand. An engine roars. A block, beetle-like object the size of a semi lands on the helipad a moment later. People in full black armor and full masks rush out. He is, for the first time in days, feeling hope. One of the soldiers plops in front of him. A light is shoved in his face. "Can you talk, sir?" "My¡­ my daughter." "Ok, we got you guys. I''m going to give you something that will help, alright? Then you''ll need to come with us." "Sure, but Elsa¡ª" Something cold pinches his arm. Hot energy bursts through his veins. He suddenly feels awake. Alert. Lucid enough to see three other soldiers around Elsa. "She''s critical. Three CCs of manadrene to stabilize then we need to get back. Milady?" This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. S~ea??h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "You may go first. I will fly back." "Come on, let''s move." The soldiers pick Elsa though the father protests. He is ignored. That is fine. Elsa is breathing. He can see her chest rise. The blonde woman stays behind. She watches the gunship lift and leave. She saved one more person. She wonders if it will make a difference. She wonders why she does not seem to care. The woman takes a few steps through her domain, ending miles and miles away from the evac point. She now stands in a secluded valley seemingly untouched by the desolation. Green grass covers every slope under a grimy sky. She moves to a tree of incredible proportions reaching up. It already approaches the size of a redwood yet still bears the shape of a sapling. Cobalt leaves struggle to bring life back into a dying world. The sovereign uses a claw to open her vein, She places a hand against the bark, which shudders. The blood print left behind is absorbed. "Grow, my little World Tree. Grow." The World Tree hears High Likaean and it obeys. *** "We have lost contact with the Midwest enclave." The president sighed. It was cold in the tiny chapel, deep below the earth. His aide shuffled back and soon left when he did not react. The president knew what he had to do. He had to walk to the command room, ask questions, call a meeting and discuss the same option he had discussed over the past three days with the same people to reach the same conclusion that there was nothing they could do. They could not go out. They could not even climb to the top of the mountain to verify the state of their receiver. As safe as they were down here, they were trapped as well. To open the vault was to waste the efforts made to enforce secrecy. It was to expose thousands of America''s brightest minds to retaliation by those who had survived the first blasts, and there were still many. Who knew how many silos still waited out there, ready to spit their payload at the first sign of surviving authorities? He could not risk it. So the man sighed. The chapel was peaceful. He only had his armored bodyguard with him as well as a secret service escort. No one else. He''d been told the place was necessary to keep the vampires at bay and he believed it but he also didn''t feel like praying much. One of the world''s greatest nations had been destroyed under his watch. Oh, they would rebuild. Probably. He would be long dead by then, away to join the hundreds of millions of his constituents who had died in the atomic fires and the aftermath. He was one of the greatest failures in the history of leadership. He wondered if there was a hell. He was in the middle of yet another sigh when a tube of stone came crashing down the pews, shattering the wood with a dreadful crack. Dust filled the air. He was deafened. Someone was screaming. Someone else grabbed him under the arm and pulled him away. The bodyguard in his enchanted armor. The secret services were shooting at something. In this enclosed space the quick detonations hurt his ears something fierce. He pushed his hands to protect them by instinct. He saw a man fall, an icicle plunged in their eye socket. Holy shit, they were under attack? They were under attack! HE was under attack! Scrambling, he finally remembered to use his damn legs to help the bodyguard but the man turned away. Something plinked against his armor. The president looked back. His escort was dead. The dust settled, revealing a woman in close-fitting black armor. Cold gray eyes watched him impassively. She seemed so calm after all this carnage. Blood had spilled everywhere. The bodyguard whipped out a gun and shot but the bullet only found a shaky mirage that disappeared in a blur of cold light. More bullets pinged on his armor. He was fighting and pushing the president towards the heavy door at the same time. The president just let the bodyguard guide him. But then, there was no door, just the focused gray eyes. The woman came from nowhere. She placed her hands around the bodyguard''s gorget. Her eyes turned black as the abyss and the president felt an unending, unfathomable and deep love coming from her. All would return to the cold embrace, eventually. Winter loved him. Winter would sing him back to sleep. Sleep¡­ "Not you," the woman said. The gate was held by a spell. The bodyguard stood, frozen solid and dressed in blue stalactites. The president felt lost. Someone took his hand, gently guiding him to the altar. "It''s been difficult." Well, obviously. "You must be tired, depressed. Guilty." "Yes¡­" the president whispered. "I do not blame you. You did not fire the first missiles. You did not make it happen." "I could have done more. Should have done more. I should have built more shelters for all those poor people" he commiserated. "Yes, I agree. But you can still make a difference." He lay down on the altar as directed. "I can?" "Yes, you can. Close your eyes." "Alright." Something plunged in his chest. He felt a foreign object but it didn''t hurt, and then, he died. *** Constance stepped away from the body. The chapel was desecrated. The protections fell. Ariane moved in. A curtain of thorns appeared, then parted to let through a squad of heavily armored soldiers behind a man in strange armor wielding two sabers. He had a rifle strapped to his back. He stepped forward. "Mistress. Please. Let me." Constance did not react when Ariane made Micah wait a little. The two knew the young Courtier had trained as much as he could. He was ready. Ariane nodded, just as Constance expected. The newest Devourer practically vibrated with excitement. Constance could practically see the map of the complex unfold in his eager mind. He did love a good puzzle. The squad left. "What of the civilians?" Constance asked. "There are many scientists there. They can be put to good use. You could have spared this one," she said, nodding at the altar. "He had much knowledge." "You already ate the vice-president." "Even so. Just admit you wanted to kill him yourself." "I will, of course, admit to nothing." The pair smiled with the familiarity of old partners in crime. Constance still felt a distance. A turmoil. "You''re doing it, aren''t you?" she finally asked. "Yes. I need time to digest everything, understand what I have become. We have cleared most of the old world''s hidden bases. Our government is stable. Almost half of the continent is already under our control. The World Tree is healing the planet. Everything is fine for now. I will sleep until needed or until I believe myself in full control. Loth has almost finished setting up everything." "And us? What will we do?" "Rebuild. Expand. And do not die." "And no pigs on fire." Despite her power, it was still fun to watch Ariane check her angles. The thorns bristled in the far wall. "I should have just let the whole accursed species go extinct." Chapter 238 - Epilogue 6: The End I wake up and take a deep breath, an immediate mistake. It smells stuffy in my sarcophagus. Blood still drips down my throat so I rip out the tube and frown. A press of the button above me and a panel open with a dreadful ''beep'' ''boop''. Arg! I already told Loth Junior to stop but the little twerp has so much fun making all those technological thingamajigs so unnecessary noisy! A screen lights up, much nicer than what I remember. I see earth from above. It looks blue and green enough. Gibberish text lines down the right side, talking about ''OS versions'' and whatnot. What do I care about the version? Give me the facts already. A large sphere soon appears in its place. It looks like a massive disc with, appropriately, a pirate hat placed delicately upon it. It appears to be quite dusty. The Space Fury must have stayed in orbit a little too long. "You! Artificial thingie! Report. What indicator woke me up?" //PROCESSING REQUEST. "Why, in the name of the Watcher, can you not be made to talk normally? Aaaaargh." I press more buttons ¡ª eliciting more infuriating boops ¡ª but there does not seem to be options in the menu to make the machine less obnoxious. //Environmental status, normal. //Geopolitical risk, low. If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. //Invasion risk, low. //No anomalies detected. "OH THAT IS IT!" I simply teleport out of the sarcophagus and dress with a thought, in armor because I can. The immense hall I am resting in is still in the waking up process but it does not matter. I feel two distinct forms outside of the wards, made blurry by their opaque intensity. Those two clowns woke me up? I am going to eat them. I teleport out and rant immediately as I stride towards the control panel in the far wall. Many wards and traps around here but they are all keyed to me. "What did I say last time? What did I bloody say? THE NEXT CAD WHO DISTURBS MY SLUMBER WITHOUT CAUSE WILL GET MY BLADE UP HIS DISRESPECTFUL FLACCID ARS¡ª Oh, it¡­ it is you?" Eyes of amber peer amusingly through a slit in the blast door. I can tell who it is because he stands in my domain, yet disbelief still forces me to stop. Sear?h the N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "Sinead?" "Poppet! It has been far too long. Nice trick using the tree. Love what you have done with the sphere! And with magic increasing at such a pace, my friends and I have found a way to visit! We met a local kind enough to wake you up so we could assist with your¡­ little problem." Torran steps out of the shadow with a tender smile. "Torran!" I yelp excitedly. Then I realize that, while it is not unusual for an immortal to keep a lover in every sphere, having them meet constitutes a terrible faux-pas. "Well, this is a little awkward." "Not to worry, my star, we have already agreed to fight for your hand in a struggle to the death." "Could you please reconsider?" "Hahaha he jests, he jests," Sinead replies with a slightly manic smile. "We just wanted to save you from centuries of hermit isolation. And I have just the thing! A little visit to the spheres to get some advice from auntie Carnaciel, then off to the Blood Court for some action! The non sexual kind!" "Well, that does seem nice. What are we waiting for?" "We were hoping you could get us through the traps," Torran helpfully added. "So lazy." "Loth Junior created a fire pig one. He had a Bingle install it" "Nevermind I will just fly us out. HOW DARE YOU RISK MY LIFE LIKE THAT!" Chapter 239 - Mecanimus, signing off. Journey is complete. It was an emotional moment when I uploaded the last chapter on Patreon and it is still an emotional moment here, on Royal Road, where it all started. I began writing because I could no longer find what I wanted in the genre I preferred. Looking back, I was merely not looking in the right places, and there were plenty of stories to discover but it doesn''t matter. What matters is that it got me started. I wrote with passion on my phone in the subway. I wrote coming back from a dead-end job I was about to lose. I wrote and the story¡­ didn''t succeed. It wasn''t this one, but another. That was fine. I had more than enough stories in my head. The next one was journey and incredibly, it took off. After I lost my job, I started writing more consistently even as I worked on another project. That one didn''t pan out but writing did. First, I had enough Patreon money for food. Then I had a minimum income. Then I had more. I think it hit me, truly hit me, that I could write for a living when I had enough money to buy really good food for my wife who was, at the time, pregnant with our first. It took the donations of twenty people, but I could do it. S§×ar?h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. It was almost hard to accept that I could live from my passion. I thought it couldn''t be me but you people made it happen. Fans here, fans on Amazon, fans on Patreon, your continued support meant that day after day, week after week etc, I could sit down and tell you stories and weave them with words and it made people happy, and they gave me enough money for it that I could keep doing it and live. I kept reading the comments and reviews, some of which were more flattering than other, and I realized I was making a difference in people''s lives by entertaining them half an hour per week, not much really, but I was doing it. And I could keep doing it. And that is absolutely crazy. Stolen novel; please report. Journey changed my life therefore you, my readers, changed my life. I wouldn''t go so far as to say that you saved it by giving me faith back in myself, but you certainly saved my soul. Anyway, enough ramblings. Just know how grateful I am and now let''s get down to business! What next? Well, there is Bob for those of you who enjoy it. There is also Changeling which has hundreds of pages down and that I will publish in the coming weeks. Same deal as Bob: you get a chapter a day for a while and when there is enough content for some fun, I''ll reduce to a chapter a week, as much as I can manage really. That is all. Thank you for being there until the end. As a gesture of thanks, please appreciate our earth as a fae sphere drawn by my friend Matthias.